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jennrypan · 3 years ago

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I rewrote the part where Scourge and Sonic have that "Just like me convo" so it can fit my au of them.

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Fiona cheating on him with his anti didnt make Sonic angry..

Fiona actively lying to him didnt piss him off, maybe annoyed him..but it didnt piss him off.

What did piss him off however was how she antagonized Amy and Tails, and how she seemed to preen at the slightest attention Scourge gave her..because she wanted someone to protect her..someone to care about her, he didnt know..and what set him off was how she slapped Tails away, mocked him for crying and all to impress his anti!

"What the hell Fiona!?"

Sonic snapped, though this just caused the vixen to roll her eyes before she looked at him..god her attitude was grating his nerves,

"What?" She mused as if she didnt just slap his best friend for no reason,

That ..that made him scowl, and without warning he moved- he wanted to actually..throw her, her attitude annoyed him, her disregard for his friends pissed him off- he hadnt accounted for Scourge actually protecting her, as when he moved..so did the green hedgehog and before he could touch Fiona a fist crushed into his cheek causing him to let out a sharp grunt and lose his footing for a brief minute, instantly turning his attention towards Scourge..he still had that same sleazy smile..taunting.

"Bad move, blue."

Scourge drawled out, and Sonic just clicked his tongue watching as Scourge slowly paced around him..hes been itching to fight him for who knows how long..that much Sonic knew, but Sonic just hummed,

"Oh so you can help other people besides yourself, I was beginning to worry you had no redeeming qualities!" He stated sounding visibly amused,

Scourge just scoffed lowly, "Please, thats not a redeemin quality, raise your standards." He sneered, and without warning he ran forward..and the fight began.

Amy had since charged at Fiona but Sonic could barely focus on that as Scourge kept matching him blow for blow..only thing was Scourge was a lot more violent..a lot more aggressive.

It wasnt everyday Sonic worked up a sweat fighting an opponent as not many people matched his speed..Shadow and Metal were the only ones..now Scourge had been added to that list of people that seem to want to kill him for no reason.

"Jeez its hard to believe someone so bitter could be me, like damn dude, did your favorite jacket get discontinued?"

Even during this fight Sonic didnt stop being taunting, as he landed on top of a rock- narrowly avoiding being kicked into a tree, watching as Scourge turned towards him, his eyes were surprisingly still shielded by his shades but Sonic could still feel him glaring at him,

Scourge moved again and this time he successfully swiped Sonics legs from underneath him and when Sonic fell the blue hedgehog instinctively moved to the side as Scourges fist came crashing into the floor were his head had previously been,

"Lets see you keep makin jokes when I break your fuckin legs." Scourge hissed- despite his words he sounded delighted by the thought, pleased with the thought of hurting him and hes use to this from Shadow and Metal, they were both assholes who worked with Eggman on their worst days and they just genuinely didnt like him that much but Scourge? Theyve only met three times before this and he didnt remember antagonizing the male enough to make him want to hurt him that much-

Scourge charged forward once more and Sonic quickly moved to the side, arm pulling back before he crashed his fist into the side of Scourges face as he had done to him earlier..knocking the shades from his face which caused his anti to pause briefly, glancing down at the shades for a millisecond as they landed on the floor, cracked and lopsided.

That millisecond was soon forgotten as Scourge retaliated..his body moved lower and his leg rose before he kicked Sonic straight in the chest causing the male to grunt, stumbling back at the force but the kick wasnt enough as Scourge had soon punched him in the stomach,

"God- I still got a few more jokes- first, those shades were lame anyways- not a joke but a fact!"

Sonic stated quickly, jumping out of the way from Scourge once more as the male just growled,

"Im not takin shit from someone who thinks 'Way past cool' is a thing people actually say!" Scourge retorted,

"Hey people said it before!"

"No ones ever said that shit before!"

It went on like this for what seemed like a few minutes with both of them arguing with each other, Sonic just wanted to see exactly why Scourge was going out of his way to hurt him- even trying to actually break his leg if he was given the chance..the rage was so weird..he knew antis were different but he didnt expect his anti to be so..angry, so violent- his anti seemed more like a very verbal Shadow with the way he kept attacking him,

"Ya know being an asshole isnt as rewarding as ya think it is right?"

Sonic questioned- grunting when he got into a tree, thankfully avoiding Amy as she chased Fiona around still, she had tried to help but Fiona kept distracting her.

"Pfft, its more rewardin than wastin my time saving a buncha useless dicks who dont deserve it!" Scourge replied, sounding amused by the sheer thought of saving someone else...Sonic couldnt imagine not wanting to save people..yeah sometimes he thought some people didnt deserve it but still,

"Youre still a Sonic! Still me- you should want to at least try and help people!"

"Why? Cuz thats what you do?"

Scourge just laughed and without warning he moved forward..punched him in the stomach, then his chest- he didnt wait for a retaliation as he kicked him into a tree, he found with the purpose to bruise and scar while Sonic fought to distance and distract-

His head spun for a split moment, the wind knocked out of him,

"You dont get it! Rulin people with fear and hate, is soo much better than tryna be some glorified saint!"

Scourge stated, his eyes were blazing..the rage was back..he looked nothing like him right now..something was off, Sonic didn't like how unhinged he was, how cruel-

"That isnt true, and it never will be."

Sonic declared and Scourge just sneered at him, laughing, fist pulling back as Sonic quickly moved from his spot, his knuckles slammed into bark instead of Sonics nose,

"When you finally realize not everyone deserves to be saved, when you see how much more freein it is to be above people than to depend on them- you'll be like me, all it takes is one bad day, one bad situation and you'll see that." Scourge hummed out, side stepping as Sonic went to kick him, only to have his leg grabbed and he was forcefully thrown down, causing him to grunt lowly, and without warning Scourge stepped on his chest, Sonic could only stare at him for a brief moment before he just grinned-

"Thats where your wrong dude, a bad day doesnt just make someone a villain..but a good day? A good day could change a lot, all it takes is someone showing you an ounce of kindness, someone showin you the love you never got and you'll be like me, a good person..maybe even a hero." He stated, grinning.

He expected another mocking laugh instantly, expecting Scourges foot to press down but for a brief minute..the green hedgehog paused, eyes widening ever so slightly, and for that minute Sonic was sure he got to him..he knew deep down Scourge wasnt evil, he could just show him he didnt have to be like this, he could help him..he didnt know anything about his anti besides the fact something was severely wrong with his mental state and he took too much enjoyment in hurting him but he knew he wasnt evil.

Then.. the green hedgehog just smiled, his expression hardening as if it hadnt changed in the first place,

"How naive."

He sneered and that slowly shattered Sonics hopes of getting through to him..he just dismissed his words-

"Not naive..hopeful." Sonic retorted, moving his arm to grab his ankle but his foot had moved towards his neck and Sonic jolted- the malice in his eyes was so..floundering..he could never imagine that look on his own face.

"Same thing." Scourge stated dismissively, and Sonic didnt get the chance to reply as a blur of yellow and brown crashed into Scourge, pushing the older teen to the ground successfully allowing Sonic to sit up instantly,

"Get away from him you bully!" Tails screamed, Sonic heard Scourge cursing and soon Tails was thrown back, causing Sonic to quickly move to catch him.

"Thanks bud." Sonic murmured, staring at Scourge who just fixed his jacket- appearing inconvenienced as Fiona neatly landing besides him as Amy ran up next to Sonic, "Stop running you coward!" The pink hedgehog hissed, Scourge just plucked out a warp ring from his jacket, just smiling at Sonic.. His smile was so..mean looking, it was too sharp..too fake,

"Til next time blue."

Was all Scourge said in a sing song like voice as he let Fiona into the portal first and he followed quickly after just as Amy chucked her hammer in their direction, who she was aiming at specifically he had no clue.

"Dammit! Stupid! Assholes, ugh!" Amy screamed, storming over to snatch her hammer up,

"Theyre such bullies! Why did I even like her!" Tails exclaimed, Sonic just frowned before he sighed quietly, glancing from Amy to Tails.

"Lets just go, theyre gone now, might as well enjoy the peace." He stated with a simple shrug, giving them a small smile, the smile made Amy visibly melt while it comforted Tails slightly, the young pink hedgehog was at his side instantly, clutching his arm- which he allowed for the time being while Tails was a little slower to approach him, still dejected.

He knew his anti despised him but he'll never get the reason why, and unfortunately..Scourge was too far gone to talk down from whatever path he was taking..the friendly route was no longer an option.

#j.p writes #sonic one shot #sonic au #sonic the hedgehog #scourge the hedgehog #tails the fox #amy rose #sonamy if you squint #archie comies #archie sonic #not shippy. cuz no #scourge get therapy challenge #sonic rewrite

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dindjarindiaries · 5 years ago

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Collide - Chapter 1

summary: Bella arrives to Colombia to start a new life at her new job and instead runs into some old things.

warnings: angst. lots of it.

rating: R

word count: 4.315k

masterlist

chapter 1.

Medellín, Colombia, 1992

You look out the window of the plane as it begins its descent into Colombia. A soft sigh passes through your lips as a weight seemingly falls off your shoulders. Getting out of Texas is proving to be a relief for you already; you may be running from your problems, but damn does it feel good.

Colombia is a dramatic place to run to, you know, but after hearing about the crisis on the DEA’s hands there with Pablo Escobar having escaped from La Catedral, you couldn’t help immediately requesting a transfer. Not only is it getting you far away from Texas, but it’s also putting you at the heart of some of the trickiest work the DEA’s had to do—a sure distraction from the daily torment of your mind. With no family to leave behind, you feel as unattached to your home as ever, and the feeling is already more freeing than you’ve anticipated.

After waiting a painfully long amount of time for a cue, you’re soon reaching for your carryon and getting off the plane. You stop at baggage claim once you’re in the airport, preparing to get over the border. You raise an eyebrow when you see a man start approaching you, his tall and lean demeanor not appearing as threatening but simply surprising, sticking out oddly amongst the locals who roam around. He ruffles a hand through his light hair before he stops just in front of you.

“DEA,” he greets, flashing his badge. You do the same with your own. He offers a small smile. “Good, you are the new agent. I was hopin’ they would give me an accurate enough picture.”

You chuckle a bit yet keep your gaze skeptical. “I’m not new,” you correct him, “just… reassigned.”

He nods, reaching out his hand to shake yours. “I understand. I’m Steve Murphy, your new partner.”

You shake his hand and introduce yourself, letting your arm fall back at your side, returning a smile as best as you can. “Nice to meet you, Agent Murphy.”

“Please, just Steve or Murphy is fine,” Steve insists. You nod to acknowledge the correction. “Look, I know you’re probably confused as to why the hell I’m here, but you see—when I came through here the first time, they found out I was DEA and somehow ended up killin’ my cat, so… I didn’t want that happenin’ to you.”

You widen your eyes in shock. “Damn, I’m sorry.”

Steve waves his hands. “I’ve done my mournin’. I’m just here to make sure you don’t have to do any of your own.” He pauses, looking at the luggage you’re carrying. “You don’t have a cat, right?”

You laugh lightly. “No, Murphy, I don’t.”

“That’s a great start.” He bites back more chuckling as he takes your largest bag for you. “Let’s get goin’. You’ve got a lot to see today.”

You can’t help feeling a swarm of butterflies ignite in your stomach, composed equally of nerves and excitement. You follow Steve to the border control, getting cleared with ease thanks to his presence and soon finding yourself outside in his car. He takes you on the road quickly, and he gets down to business straightaway.

“It’s dark shit down here,” Steve begins, not looking away from the road as he speak, “as I’m sure you know.”

“From what they’ve told me,” you respond, “and what I’ve seen on the news.”

Steve huffs. “The news. Don’t got a damn clue what they’re talkin’ about.”

You raise an eyebrow. “I thought they agreed that Escobar—?”

“No, no, not with that shit. Just…” Steve trails off, letting out a heavy sigh before finishing. “Things. It’ll make sense once you’re settled in down here.”

You offer a nod, tapping your fingers against the car door as you look out the window. You watch as your new home passes you by. There’s lots of children running around and enjoying the warm air, bringing you a nostalgic smile regardless of the pain those memories of your own now offer. Other people stroll down the streets, looking like they’re either going to shop or just having a leisurely trip. Some simply stand there and stare at Steve’s car as it passes by, and at the sudden unease their attention brings, you break your eye contact with the window to look back to the windshield. The city seems surprisingly active and busy for a place that’s suffered from acts of terrorism and violence at the hands of a drug lord.

“You alright over there?” Steve’s voice pulls you from your observations, and you turn quickly to look at him. “You got quiet.”

“Yeah, yeah, just looking,” you murmur. “I’m surprised. It seems…”

“… normal?” You offer a nod as Steve finishes the thought for you. “Yeah. That might be one of the saddest parts of it all.”

“Do they all know about Escobar?” You know the question sounds naïve, but you can’t imagine how they could possibly know about everything that’s been happening and still function as if the world’s completely normal.

“‘Course.” Steve pauses as he takes a turn, soon pulling up into a parking space outside a large building adorned with a sign designating it as the Policía Nacional de Colombia. “Some just still think he’s a hero.”

You scoff. “A hero?”

“He built neighborhoods with that money, helped out the poor. To some, he’s their Robin Hood.” Steve turns off the car, looking over at you. “Sorry we had to come here first. You can leave your stuff here, and I’ll bring you back to the apartment building after. Your rental’s there.”

You wave a dismissive hand at him. “It’s fine. The flight wasn’t that bad, anyway. The sooner I dig into things here, the better.” You’re yearning to lose yourself in your work, to finally push aside some of the darkness that clouds your mind—or, at least, exchange it for a different kind of darkness.

You and Steve both get out of the car, and he leads you inside. You already feel surprisingly comfortable alongside your new partner, likely because of his sheer kindness and evident grip on reality. He seems educated, motivated, and experienced, which are all things you’ve always wanted to see in a partner. You’re about to vocalize some of these thoughts to ease the nervous tension that’s surely exuding from you when Steve unknowingly cuts you off. “So, there might be one small detail I haven’t told you yet.”

You raise a curious eyebrow and look at him. He looks over at you, a small grin appearing on his lips before he looks ahead of you again.

“We have another partner. Now, he doesn’t know you’re comin’, because—well—he isn’t the best at makin’ quick friends, and he can be too skeptical for his own good. We had to surprise him.”

You hold back the urge to roll your eyes. Of course there was a drawback. Things had seemed too good when it was just you and Steve. “Oh, that’s… great.”

“Don’t worry, you know your shit. I’m sure Peña’s gonna warm up to you just fine.”

Upon hearing the name, your gaze snaps over to Steve, and you feel a rush of strong emotion run through you as you nearly stop dead in your tracks. “Who?” He doesn’t even have to answer as he suddenly stops at a cluster of desks, and you look ahead to meet the deer-in-the-headlights expression of none other than Javier fucking Peña.

You freeze. It feels as if your entire body has turned to stone, and if you make one wrong move, you’ll crumble into pieces on the tile floor. You haven’t seen Javier ever since that night—that fucking night. That night was unlike anything you’d ever experienced before—and, as hard as you try to keep it tucked into the shadow of your memory, it always somehow makes its way to the front of your mind again—and the fears that’d crept up in your mind shortly after ended up coming true. That’s when life in Texas became a shitshow: right after senior prom. Nothing had changed between you and Javier, and he treated you the same, as if you never shared those intimate moments together under the night sky at all. You didn’t gain the faith to confront him about it until just before he left for college. It proved to be a bad decision, as Javier was immediately flustered and, as a result, very angry. He questioned your friendship, your lifelong bond, and you—and he rejected it all. When he left the next morning, you never saw him again. Ever.

Until now.

His dark gaze pierces through yours in a way it hasn’t ever since you shared far too much of yourself with him. You want to look away, but you can’t, and you absolutely hate yourself for it. You shouldn’t be feeling fireworks inside your stomach, or a skip in the rhythm of your heartbeat. Your eyes shouldn’t be noticing his new sense of fashion, having exchanged the modest flannels and loose jeans for tight short-sleeve button-ups and fitted denim. You shouldn’t have the urge to melt into the ground when you observe the long sliver of tanned chest the loose buttons of his shirt offer, or the new mustache that makes his lips look even more kissable than they did all those years ago. Yet, here you are, unable to do anything but stare.

“Javi?” you finally choke out, your throat already feeling dry.

“Bella.” Javier’s voice is much gruffer than it used to be, as if it’s been roughened over the years, and your knees almost give out at the sound of it. Hearing him say your old nickname nearly makes tears rush to your eyes, but you refuse to let something so childish happen during your first few minutes at your new workplace.

“So… you know each other?” Steve interrupts your trance, and both you and Javier look over at your partner who’s evidently confused by your familiarity and longer-than-necessary stares.

“Why are you here?” Javier questions you as if Steve never spoke. You look back at him, seeing his gaze glitter with a hint of concern at your random presence. You want to tell him to cut the protective and sympathetic shit out, but you also want to wrap your arms around him and let him comfort you.

“I work here, now.” You say the words more firmly than necessary. Javier’s brow lifts, and you swear you can see a hint of horror in his expression. “As an agent.”

Javier’s head snaps to Steve, and he gives him an accusatory glare. “You didn’t tell me we were getting a new partner, Murphy.”

Steve shrugs. “It was last-minute.” Javier exhales deeply, closing his eyes as he pinches the bridge of his nose and leans back in the chair of his desk. You feel an ache in your chest, detecting that he’s displeased at your presence. You let it fuel the angrier side of you as you cross your arms over your chest indignantly. “That won’t be a problem, will it, Peña?”

Upon hearing Steve’s words, Javier looks up quickly, his eyes falling on you as he shakes his head. “No, Murphy, it won’t. I just… I would’ve liked a warning, at least.” Javier stops, and his eyes continue to watch you as Steve pushes a vacant desk over to the cluster of two where Javier sits. He maneuvers it so that it splits the end of his and Javier’s desks, placing you in almost a mediator position. It’s just as close to Steve’s as it is Javier’s, which you feel grateful for at the moment. Still, there’s a small part of you that yearns to be even closer to Javier to make up for all the years you’ve endured without him.

You scoff to yourself at the thought. Endured. Javier’s absence was torturous, indeed, but it was mainly because of his stinging rejection that had made you question so much about yourself. He’d taken your vulnerable heart in his hand, provided it with the most love and comfort you’d ever felt before, and then ran it through with the sharpest of knives, leaving it to bleed back in your own chest. And now, he’s staring at you as if that never happened, as if he can’t understand why you haven’t run over to him and embraced him yet.

What a cocky bastard. The Javier you knew—rather, the one you thought you knew—would never be like this.

“Don’t get too comfortable,” Steve warns you, gesturing with his thumb back to the hallway you just came from. “Messina wanted to see you.”

You nod, unable to produce words thanks to your racing thoughts as you file into the hallway behind him. Though you’re faced away from him, you can feel Javier’s gaze burning into your back, and you bite your lip to keep yourself from looking at him. You’re still unable to process the fact that it’s him, and that you’re going to have to get closer to him again whether you like it or not.

Maybe one of the things he said that night had been true: your paths really did collide in the most unexpected of ways. Is it a good thing? You’re not sure. You’re not sure if you’re even ready for that answer yet.

The brief meeting with your new boss feels like a blur, and while you’re able to hold together your professionalism and understand the things you’re being informed of, your mind never leaves the man who’s waiting for you back in the office. You’re proud of the way you can compose yourself despite the storm that’s raging within, like a feral animal being caged and managing not to fight its way through fragile iron bars. You tell yourself you can keep it up once you’re heading back to where you came from, but you’re not sure if you can.

So much has happened since Javier walked out of your life, and you’re sure it’s been the same for him—and, despite how hurt you’ve been by him, you still feel attached to him. You want to know about his life because you still care for him. He’d mangled your heart, yet it still belongs to him, and you know that. It’s just what makes everything shittier, because you know he doesn’t feel the same way. How could he, if he’d walked so easily out of your life and never even tried to come back? Javier’s never been one to leave things to fate, so it’s not like he’s been waiting for a miracle to see you again. If he had, he wouldn’t have tried to marry one of your high school friends or started a brand-new life in Colombia without so much as a phone call to let you know.

Shit. It’s gonna be a goddamn fight to keep this animal caged.

When you get back to your desks, Javier’s gaze snaps up from his previous work straightaway, falling on you naturally. You avoid his eyes, knowing they’re a trap that’ll drown you back in the feelings you can’t give in to right now. Steve announces that they’ll catch you up on everything they’ve got so far, and so all you have to do is sit in your chair as they tell you names, places, faces, whatever the hell they’ve managed to scrape up and what they can do with it all—which is not much, right now. They talk about the tip lines and how unproductive they are but encourage you to just deal with it for the time being.

While in the midst of a rant about a time they ended up visiting a complete setup, Steve suddenly gets cut off by the ringing of his phone. He picks it up and answers, and your gaze falls to your thumbs as they play with each other in your lap. You refuse to look up, knowing who you’ll have to face if you do. You’ve been doing so well, and you’d hate to ruin it so fast. Your gaze only raises once again when you hear Steve hang up his phone, and you look to see him gathering his things.

“I hate to do this, but I gotta run,” Steve announces, looking between the both of you with a guilty expression. “Connie’s getting called in for something, and she needs me to watch Olivia.” Upon seeing your confusion, Steve gives you a clarification. “That’s my wife and adopted daughter.”

You nod, lifting your brow in an attempt to alleviate his guilt. “Don’t worry, Steve, it seems like not much is happening around here, anyway.”

Steve scoffs in agreement, grabbing his keys and stalling immediately after. He looks at them and then back at you. “Shit. Your stuff.”

You make a move to stand up, intending on going with him. “I can just—.”

“I got it, Murphy.” Your head snaps over to Javier upon hearing his interruption, and he’s already risen from his chair to walk over to Steve. “We’ll put it in my car, and I’ll bring her back when we’re done here.”

“You sure?” Steve seems almost dumbfounded, as if this is something extremely out of the ordinary for Javier. You resist the urge to roll your eyes. It probably is.

“Yeah. Now let’s go before Connie calls back asking where the hell you are.”

Steve chuckles, shaking his head as they walk down the hallway towards the exit. You sit in a panicked heap at your desk, staring blankly into its metallic surface as you try to determine how you’re going to keep yourself composed once you’re alone with Javier. Your fingers bounce on your thigh as your other hand runs over the crook your neck, a typical nervous habit of yours. The thoughts in your mind run so fast that you can’t keep up, and before you know it, his voice is breaking everything up again.

“You alright, bella?” Javier’s voice, while still rough, is softer than it’d been even just minutes before, and you watch him as he sits back in his chair and leans towards you. His dark gaze never leaves you. I wish he never left me.

You curse your thoughts mentally, instead forcing a small smile on your lips. “I’m fine. Just… adjusting.”

Javier raises an eyebrow at you. Your fingers begin to tap against your thigh again, and your hand slides back and forth over your neck. “You’re doing that thing.”

“What thing?”

“Your nervous thing.” He gestures to your neck and thigh with his head. Your mouth nearly falls open at that. You didn’t expect him to remember things like this anymore. You were sure he’d long since forgotten about you—but things like this are starting to make you think otherwise. “Are you nervous?”

You shrug. “Sounds like a lot of shit’s happening down here.”

“Not at the moment.”

Your lips make a thin line as you try to ignore the awkward tension swimming around due to both your inabilities to address the elephant in the room. “Well, that’s good, I guess.”

“No. It fucking sucks.”

“Oh, yeah, well—sorry about that.”

Javier stares at you blankly for a moment before the corners of his mouth start to twitch up. He lets out a curt laugh, shaking his head as he runs his hand over the back of his neck. “Dios mío, bella, relájate. You know me.”

You feel your anger begin to bubble up as you furrow your brow at him. “Do I?”

Javier’s eyes widen a bit, and you resist the urge to flinch at the shock and hurt his gaze reveals. “What do you mean?”

A crude chuckle leaves your lips as you cross your arms. “Javi, you’re acting like it hasn’t been almost twenty damn years since I last saw you, after leaving off on the worst of terms.”

Javier doesn’t respond at first. He only begins to look around nervously, as if he’s scanning the area for potential eavesdroppers. He then rises from his chair, beckoning you to do the same. “Let’s have this conversation somewhere else.”

You oblige, feeling more than glad to be getting the freedom to give Javier a piece of your mind. No, you chastise yourself. You can’t do that. You have to stay calm. But, after the hell you’ve lived in ever since he walked out of your life, how can you possibly do that? Everything went to shit after he left, and he never even checked back in to see if you were okay. It’s not his fault, but for some reason, you put a lot of the blame on him. Unfairly.

Your mind runs through all of this as you follow Javier to his Jeep, trying not to think about the times he’d opened the door for you that night. Once you’re both sitting inside, your mind envisions him holding your hand in his, and you shake your head to try and get rid of it. As soon as Javier starts pulling away from the building, he wastes no time continuing where you’d left off.

“So, you never thought about me all this time?” There’s a pained tone to Javier’s voice, and you feel a quick pain in your chest upon hearing it. “Is that why you’re saying you don’t know me?”

“No, Javi, you idiota. That’s just the problem—I have. A lot. But have you? Because it really seemed like you didn’t even want to remember me when you left that day.”

You see Javier’s jaw clench, but he remains silent for a few minutes before speaking again. “I was young and stupid then. I didn’t mean what I said, bella.”

You bite back a harsh remark requesting not to be called that, knowing it’s just second nature for him—a word with completely detached meaning. “If you didn’t mean it, then this wouldn’t be the first time I’ve seen you since that night.”

Javier’s hands tighten around the steering wheel, and you watch as his knuckles go white. “Well, you haven’t made much of an effort to see me, either.”

You scoff at his words, looking at him with widened eyes. “Because I thought you never wanted to see me again! What the fuck did you expect me to do? Beg for you to forgive me for being honest? You broke my fucking heart, Javier.”

Javier’s shoulders tense at that, but you’re too angry to read further into its meaning. Your gaze has now switched to the window, and you continue to look out and breathe in tempo with the bounces of the Jeep over the uneven Medellín streets. Javier’s silence is deafening, and you’re almost relieved when he speaks again to break it. “I never wanted to.” His words sound like they’ve been choked out, and it almost makes you tear your gaze away from the window. “I know it won’t mean much now, but… I’m sorry. I’m real fuckin’ sorry.”

You bite your lip to keep yourself from forgiving him on the spot. Those are some of the few words you’ve been craving to hear from him ever since he left, but you can’t give in that easily. There’s just too much he hasn’t addressed yet—things that you know and things that you don’t. He has to realize it’ll take time. So, once you compose yourself and take a deep breath, you speak to him again. “I appreciate it, Javi. But you have to know, we can’t go back to the way it was.” You finally look back over at him, trying to ignore the way his eyes are glossier than usual. “Maybe… maybe we can get there, but it’ll take time and work. Since we’re partners now, we have to be willing to do that. Especially for Steve’s sake.”

Javier nods right away. “I’m more than willing if you are.” He pauses as he arrives to the building, pulling into the small driveway and parking the Jeep before looking over at you. “You may not believe me, but I’ve really missed you, bella.”

You offer a small smile, trying to ignore the rush of feelings you gain from his words. “I’ve missed you too…” you trail off, hesitating before reaching into the depths of your strength to utter the last word, “… cariño.”

Javier’s eyes light up a bit at the sound of his familiar nickname, and he gives you a smile similar to your own before he steps out of the Jeep. You do the same, allowing him to help with a piece of luggage as he shows you to your apartment, which—lucky for you—is just down the hall from his. “Did Steve give you your key?” he asks, and you nod as you pull it out of your jeans pocket and show it to him. Javier gives a nod of approval, watching as you unlock the door and step inside. He sets the luggage down near the doorway, freezing in place after he does so. “I’ll, uh, see you tomorrow.”

You stop to look at him, nodding in response. Javier lifts his hand to offer an awkward wave before he steps out, closing the door behind him. You release a breath you haven’t realized you’ve been holding, and you find yourself plopping down onto the nearby couch. As you look around your new home, a wave of overwhelming feelings sweeps over you, and your face falls into your hands. You have a brand-new place to get used to, Escobar’s missing at large, and the man you still love is right down the hall, and he’s one of your new partners.

Maybe the true shitshow’s just getting started.

chapter 2

translations:

Dios mío, bella, relájate = My God, beautiful, relax

tags: @tarrevizslas @none-of-your-bullshit @lavenderl3mons @gooddaykate @flower-petal-blooming @mrsparknuts @fionnthebandersnacc @pisss-offf-ghostt @gaydreamland @longitud-de-onda @literallytrashhhhhh @arrowswithwifi @rage-isaquietthing @awesomefandomsunited @theforceofdarkandlight @murdermewithbooks @blushingwueen @marchingbass1 @madadlorian @ah-callie + three users that tumblr said didn’t exist! (stilllivindue2spite, kkgraham, irishleesh93)

#javier peña #javier pena #javi peña #javier peña x reader #javier peña fic #javier pena fic #collide fic #dindjarindiaries #narcos #narcos fic

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the-awkward-outlaw · 4 years ago

Text

You are not alone

This is a one shot with Arthur Morgan. For once, it is not a request but rather more like a therapy piece for myself in order to process some current issues I have. That being said, trigger warning for parental abuse.

Masterlist

Read on AO3

You lie in bed, not really wanting to face the day. The idea of staying in bed all day and doing nothing is tempting. That familiar ball of nothing sits like a weight on your chest. This void inside you seems as deep and fathomless as the universe itself. It doesn’t feel good.

You know why you’re feeling this way. How could you not after everything that happened with those people you used to call family? Everything’s blown up so quickly. There was almost no warning to it either.

You’re also confused. Why are you so hurt to be abandoned by those people who hurt you for so long? Your father, that abusive bastard who never earned the title of “dad”. His words still echo in your head, the words “I want you gone, I don’t want you here”. When he’d screamed those words, it unburied so much hurt you’ve kept locked away for over 15 years. Things you never told anybody about, things you yourself barely remembered until recently.

Then there’s your mother. Not nearly as abusive, but just as guilty. That pointless conversation she had with you a few days back did nothing but show that she’d seen your father’s abusive tendencies long before you were even born and she did nothing about it. Admitting now that she should have done better back then does nothing to erase the pain. Damn them both. Damn this whole scenario!

Of course, the fight that led to this situation has been overdue by several years. You’ve seen it coming for a long time, you just hadn’t been aware of it happening so quickly, and in such a bad place. You’d been on your vacation with your parents, visiting a lake you’ve loved since childhood. Because of certain situations and acts done by your parents (though you know your hands aren’t clean either), the fight broke out and the result is that you have now been estranged by both your parents.

The situation is so complex and you don’t know how to feel. Anger, sure. Resentment, of course. Betrayal. You also want your parents to admit that they hurt you during your childhood and you’re damaged because of it, but you also know they won’t. Especially your father. He’s under the impression he was a wonderful dad, despite the fact that most days as a child, you hid for fear of his abuse. How can you hate them so much yet still want them as part of your life?

There’s a sudden knock on your front door. Who the hell is calling at this time of day? Sure, the sun’s up, but it’s Sunday morning. Why would anyone be at your door?

With a heavy sigh, you force yourself to get out of bed. You tidy yourself up enough to not look ghastly. Maybe it’s just the Amazon guy dropping off a package (though you don’t remember ordering anything within the last 2 weeks).

When you open the door, you’re surprised to see your neighbor and good friend (not to mention the guy you’ve been crushing on forever) Arthur Morgan. He smiles when he sees you.

“Hey, hope I didn’t wake ya.”

“No, you’re fine,” you say, forcing yourself to smile. “I’ve been up a while anyways.”

“Okay. This is gonna sound silly, but would you have two eggs to spare? I, uh, started makin’ myself some breakfast and realized I didn’t have any.”

“Oh, of course! Here, let me grab them for you.”

Arthur walks in the house after you. As you go into the kitchen, he looks around. Though your house is usually quite tidy, he can see there’s been a lack of care to it. Dust rests on your shelves, your TV. Your couch shows signs of not having been used in days. There’s also a smell that suggests the house has been empty, but as your neighbor and friend, he knows you’ve been home everyday. He’s been in your house often enough to know that it isn’t usually like this.

Not only does it not look right, it doesn’t feel right. There’s a heaviness in the air, almost like a shadow sits over the house. He gets the feeling it’s stemming from you.

Now that he thinks about it, he has barely seen you in the past 3 weeks. Pretty much ever since you came back from your vacation. You’d asked him before leaving to watch your house and feed your cat, which he did. But now that you’re home, he’s hardly seen you. Again, this is strange as the two of you are fairly close.

Before your vacation, you’d watch movies together every Friday night. When you came back, you didn’t invite him over and when he invited you, he got responses that suggested you had other plans.

“Here you go,” you say, walking out of the kitchen and holding out two eggs. He reaches for your hand, but then doesn’t let go.

“Why don’t you come and have breakfast with me?” he says, his eyes soft. “You look like you could use some company.”

You look up at him. You’ve wanted to see your friend for a while, ever since you came back. However, if your father made anything clear, it was that if he didn’t want you around, then no one did.

“I… I don’t know, Arthur. I don’t want to be a bother.”

“You ain’t gonna bother me, Y/N. Never have. Y’know, I been missin’ our Friday movie nights.”

His comment makes you look away from him. “No, you don’t, Arthur.”

He squeezes your hand a bit, then he lowers his head so he can look you in the eye. “You okay? You been different ever since you came back from that lake. Somethin’ happen up there?”

Arthur’s the first person to point out that you’re not how you used to be, and his acknowledgement of that is what finally breaks you. Tears well up in your eyes and you cannot bear to look him in the face, feeling pathetic.

“To… to be honest, a lot happened. Most of it wasn’t good.”

A brief silence passes, then he squeezes your hand again. “Come have breakfast, darlin’. Looks like you could use a friend. I’ll cook for ya and you can talk about it.”

At first, you think he just wants to hear some gossip, but when you look in his eyes, you can see he’s genuinely worried. So you nod and grab a couple more eggs and follow him out and over to his house.

Arthur’s house is about the same size as yours. He’s more simple than you are, and being raised on a farm out west, he decorates like so. There’s a big painting of a horse over his couch which you’ve always liked. You peak in his office and see the large stag’s head hanging from the wall.

In the kitchen, Arthur makes you a cup of coffee and then begins breakfast. As you sit at the table, your hands wrapped around the warm mug (which has a beautiful design of an elk), he gets some bacon cooking.

When a few strips are sizzling away, Arthur sits down across from you. “So… tell me about this vacation of yours.”

Arthur doesn’t say a word as you begin talking. First you start out with how you had bad feelings right before you went on vacation, but you attributed them to other aspects in your life.

“It was like a part of me knew something bad was gonna happen,” you say. You’re shivering a little (something you always do when talking about a deeply personal thing). Arthur gently takes your hand in his to comfort you. It does help and you go on.

You tell him about how things started to build up. Things started off with your mom. When you voiced your problems with her to your father, stating they made you want to leave early, he said if it felt right to you that you should leave, but then he suggested you talk with your mom first and try to resolve things.

“The problem with that is these issues I’ve had with my mom have been going on for well over ten years. I’ve been nearing the end of my tether for ages.”

Arthur nods and prompts you to go on. The talk with your mother you thought went well, but not twenty minutes after, she was doing the same things you said were causing the issue. Things escalated from there with not just your mother, but your father going and doing the same things that have been causing all these problems. They were doing a few things that suggested they’d heard you, but when push came to shove, they went no further.

“On Thursday night, we went to this one place at the lake to try and fish. When I finished there, I realized that I was just done. I wasn’t angry or resentful, I was just ready to come home.”

Arthur nods and you notice he squeezes your hand a little. With that, you go on to say how the very next morning, you packed up your things and as you loaded up the car, your mother came bustling over, clearly upset, and accused you of ruining her vacation. She laid on the guilt hard.

However, your father has always had a habit. When your mother gets upset, your father gets angry and he has an excellent way of making the person who hurt his wife feel like less than shit. He pulled out all the stops for you. Not only did he accuse you of being intolerant and inpatient, but he wouldn’t let you stand up for yourself. When you tried to, he put you down, stating you were an intolerant, selfish little brat and he wanted nothing to do with you.

“What about your mama?” Arthur asks gently. “Surely she didn’t want things goin’ that badly?”

You roll your watery eyes and look away. “My mom did what she does best. She just stood there and listened to him, not saying a fucking thing. She sat there and watched as my father essentially chased me out of there.”

Arthur lowers his head and sighs. “I’m real sorry, Y/N.”

“That wasn’t it,” you say and then you go into explaining how your father’s verbal abuse uncovered a bunch of memories from when you were a child. Memories of your father verbally and even physically abusing you. Things you’d forgotten and sat on for over 15 years. They all came bubbling back up as you drove home, sobbing. Along with them came the emotions. The fear, the confusion, the anger and the hatred.

“So…” Arthur says, dishing the food onto plates and handing you one. “That was, what… two weeks ago? Have either your ma or pa said anything?”

You sniff a little and shake your head. “Well… my mom did. She came over and we talked for two hours. Honestly the stuff she said made the abuse from my father even worse, because she basically told me she’s known about his abusive tendencies longer than I’ve even been alive for and has let him do them. When I asked her why she didn’t stop him that day I left the lake, she said she was focusing more on what was going on in her head. Honestly I think that was a lie. I think she’s just as scared of my father as I was as a kid.”

Arthur looks down. “That’s bad business, darlin’. Had no idea your daddy was so awful.”

“Me too. I guess I worked hard to forget all that bullshit he did to me as a kid.”

“Guess so. Did your mama try talkin’ ya into forgivin’ him?”

You shake your head and sniff again. “No. No, she didn’t make excuses for him, but she tried gaslighting me. Said I should focus on the 80% that’s good and focus less on the 20% that’s bad. But when I think about it, there was no good when I was a kid. All he did was get angry at me. We didn’t start to have a civil relationship until I was just graduating college. And I don’t know, but in my opinion going to Yellowstone when I was 23 and having a good time doesn’t count.”

“It don’t. Your daddy betrayed you when he hurt you all them times. He made a promise to protect you when he became your father and he broke up. Not only that, but your mama betrayed you too when she just stood by and watched him do those things.”

You start crying again, letting the tears slip down your cheeks. Arthur stands up and cleans up the dishes (you didn’t eat very much, but he understands). When he walks back over the table, he comes over to your side and holds out his hand.

“Come on, sweetheart. I know you’re probably feelin’ confused and hurt that even though your parents were abusive and did a lot of damage, it must be difficult to have lost them. Come here.”

When you’re standing, he pulls you into a hug. Arthur’s only hugged you once. He’d gotten drunk during a movie night and had hugged you when he said goodbye. It was then that you’d developed your crush on him.

You press yourself into the hug, his heart thumping in your heart, calm and steady. Your body molds perfectly against his, like a puzzle piece. His arms wind around you, creating a protective barrier as you settle your forehead into the crook of his neck.

As his heat seeps into you, all the emotions you’ve been mulling over come, only there’s a new one. Support. Arthur is the first person who not only showed any concern, but also showed any interest in wanting to help you. You feel his thumb rubbing circles on your lower back.

After a few moments, Arthur leans away just a bit so he can look at you. “Y/N, can I tell you somethin’?” You nod and he goes on. “Even though you lost your family, I want ya to know this. I care about ya. Cared about ya a long time. When the two men who raised me passed away and I came out here, I had no one. But you reached out to me, made me feel like I wasn’t alone. I’m gonna do the same thing for you.”

This makes you smile for the first time in days. “Thank you, Arthur. I couldn’t ask for more.”

He smiles and then his hand comes up to cup your cheek. As you stare at him, his eyes flicker down to your lips. Is he thinking about you the same way you think about him?

“Arthur?” you whisper.

He responds by leaning down and gently placing his lips on yours. Your heart feels like it’s going to leap out of your chest as you sink into the kiss. His breath washes over your face and his hand moves up your back. After a moment, he pulls away, his cheeks pink.

“I, uh, hope that was okay,” he says softly.

You smile a bit. “I would give it a better word than that, Arthur. Thank you.”

Arthur’s lips stretch into a wide grin and then they’re on yours again. “I’m gonna always be here for ya, darlin’,” he says after another moment. “You ain’t as alone as your parents want ya to think.”

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #red dead fanfic #rdr2 fanfic #i'm awkward

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fndmxreader · 4 years ago

Text

TITLE : the end | part : one. PAIRINGS : broken up dean & cas ( in 2015 timeline ), established poly!dean x reader x cas in present . SUMMARY : zachariah’s battle plan chances, setting his sights on you, the angel sends you forward in time to 2015 to show you what lies ahead . takes place before dean visits . INSPO : it was a big big world, but we thought we were bigger, pushing each other to the limits, we were learning quicker. by eleven smoking herb and drinking burning liquor, never rich so we were out to make that steady figure.

" YOU TAKE ME BACK RIGHT FUCKIN’ NOW, ZACH “ you had gotten a lead from an a tore up photograph at bobby’s house of where to go, however as of right now you were very much in the dark . the world had changed, buildings crumbled, shot up bodies laid out across the surface like an accessory . so to say you were on edge was the understatement of the century .

“ BUT YOU HAVE SO MUCH TO LEARN “ he doesn’t care, continuing to read out the paper of the latest headlines, you were seething with the narcissism and pride that radiated off of him, it took everything in you not to slam his face against the dash board until blood poured out from his ears “ you see, you’re a problem, getting in the way of dean saying yes - you aren’t meant to be here “ your eyebrows crease at the words, your silence makes him continue “ so this is to show you, the longer you be a little pest, the longer you pretend you actually matter to dean and... castiel “ the name like venom, the cool exterior of the man fails to cover up the hatred of his brothers name “ you’re only allowing this to happen, in a way, the world like this is your fault “

“ BITE ME “ you snapped, fingers tightening on the steering wheel, “ you and the whole fuckin’ armored up birds are so full of shi - “ the fluttering of wings tells you he left, you don’t even have to look at the passenger seat to feel the absence . with a pent up frustration, your fist smashes down on the wheel . this wasn’t the first time an angel told you that you were in the way, but it only made you want to stay more, to push away the insecurities and stay beside your boys and never leave them, you don’t care if it made you selfish, you have been so unselfish your entire goddamn life, put everyone first : gave creatures second chances when they don’t deserve it, offering shelter to those in need no matter what the eyes hide . for once in your goddamn life, you’re going to be selfish so unapologetically that it becomes even more of a damn problem “ put that on the heaven tabloid, fucker “ you think, already knowing that zach has your thoughts and movements on display like some lab rat running around in a maze box .

THE DRIVE IS LONG AND LONELY . the road seems to stretch out for miles, your heart pounding all the way as you think back to photograph found, dean and cas looked ... different, older, more warn out . it made your chest ache, 2015 certainly wasn’t expected to look like .... this, even with the apocalypse, you never dwelled on it too long, ever trying to ignore the bad endings and simply think of what it would mean to succeed in stopping the apocalypse . your so out of it you swerve on the road, thank god for the desertion, otherwise a car crash would’ve certainly took place .

YOU PARK THE CAR AWAY FROM CAMP WHEN YOU FINALLY GET THERE . sneaking around as best you can as to not alert anyone from inside, almost tripping on the stray tires and busted signs that scattered around the place, avoiding the tripwires were an absolute chore, you wounder how you managed it for a full ten minutes before finding an opening at the side . allowing a sign of relief as you quickly dart towards he bused fence, though your heart breaks at what you see ... baby, completely torn apart - you know how much dean loved that thing, by extension, you couldn’t help but approach like it was your own, bottom lip turning into a pout and your eyes borderline watering “ oh, what happened ? i bet dean fought this every step of the way - “ you murmured, hand slowly trailing over the roof of he car, wincing at the texture of the rust underneath, but not finding it in you to pull away .

YOU INSTANTLY STRAIGHTENED YOUR POSTURE AS YOU HEARD A GUN CLICK, the cool metal pressed against he back of your head as a deep rumble of a growl hits ears - it’s familiar, you know it, never been on this side of it however and because of that your blood runs cold, the hairs on the back of your neck standing as a wave of anxiety causes your arms to shake as you held hem up in surrender “ actually, it was deans idea - “

“ ... DEAN “ you breathed out, you know this isn’t your dean, you briefly wonder where you are in all this - your lips feel dry, you turn around before he can threaten you again - you don’t miss the way his eyes widen with shock, his mouth falling open before jaw tightens “ THANK GOD, it’s been a m - “

“ SORRY ABOUT THIS, DOLL “ he seems conflicted, and you can’t help but resist the urge to ask when you could finish a damn sentence around here . though you didn’t have time to dwell on it much, not when the butt of the gun collides with your head and knocks you out in an instant .

YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW LONG YOU’VE BEEN OUT, but when you come to you wake up in a dimly lit room, your body locked in several places as you tried to move, a low whine escaping your mouth in the absolute agony you were in, the headache, the body ache, for a hot minute you think you’re in hell . though there is one thing for certain, you don’t need to look around the room to know dean is there, he isn’t the type to leave a threat unattended, out like a light or no “ how lon - why the FUCK does my thigh feel like it’s been blown to shreds - “ you body catches up to the pain, eyes shooting open in shock as you did your best to sit up from the scratchy material beneath you .

“ COUPLE OF HOURS “ theres a scraping of a chair against the floor, the floorboards squeaking with his heavy steps “ 'n i shot you while you were out, salt gun - makin’ sure you weren’t a ghost, done all the other tests too “ he didn’t have to shoot you, in retrospect dean thinks that it was more for him that he did that - to see you were real, that you wouldn’t just vanish . though you remain in the dark to those thoughts, but it was easy to detect a hint of remorse at the start of his words, but he quickly closes off as your eyes squinted in his direction, doing best to breathe evenly to get the pain under control .

“ I’D CALL YOU AN ARSEHOLE, but you were only doing what you gotta, damn deany ... y’got an ice pack or something ? “

“ ENOUGH “ his tone made you jolt, in both shock and ... fear , suddenly very aware of how dry the back of your throat was, eyes widening - you could never handle the people close to you being angry, you could take it from anyone, any creature and any person - but sam, dean ... castiel, it made something inside you flinch “ WHAT IS THIS, what are you... ‘type of joke is this ? “

“ ZACHARIAH - some sort of lesson, i suppose “ “ CALL HIM, RIGHT NOW “ “ if i could, i would - i don’t wanna be here just as you don’t want me here “ the words hurt to say, and you could tell that they struck a cord in dean, though considering the intense pain in your ribs, you wouldn’t let it eat at you... not for another couple of minutes at least, “ what... happened to you ?”

THE AIR WAS THICK, SOMEHOW HE OXYGEN LEFT THE ROOM . dean has never been more tense, his eyes hardened but never before has he wanted to reach out to you, to hold you, cradle you and never let your timeline get you back . his icy heart has never been colder, but with you there he finally feels it beat . how does he begin to tell you what your life becomes ? him and cas have never been more apart ( basically broken up, it was all too much ) between your death and sam saying yes to lucifer, he broke, collapsed - castiel having his break down over becoming mortal certainly didn’t help matters . it was 2015, nobody survives and nothing does . so he gives you the shortened version, the version where he doesn’t feel like there’s a knife in throat when trying to speak it .

“ LUCIFER HAPPENED, i didn’t say yes and sam did - the croatoan virus ran rapid and now i’m just tryna help other people survive this mess “ a mess he feels responsible for, a mess he wishes he could take back “ that about cover it ? “ you only nod, you feel like your head is about to explode with everything going on, you know he’s hiding more things; but you can’t bring yourself to press it, not when you’re having such a hard time trying to adapt to the current situation “ good, now you’re staying here, i have to go on a run and the last thing we need is someone freaking out over seeing ... you, when you’re out on a run “ he quickly adds the last part, but you know its bullshit, you can see the way his eyes cast a shadow - it seems this dean forgets how much you know him, but you let it slide ( he did just admit he thought you were a ghost, so you can make an educated guess of what the hidden subject was ) . you slowly raise yourself from the bed as best you can, hissing at the pain that shoots through you, blind from pain . you miss the way dean twitches to help you .

“ SERIOUSLY ? you can’t just keep me locked in a - “ as your eyes trail over his after you finally blink away the mist, the look on his face makes you pause, in fact the look he gave you made your features twist of that of a kicked puppy “ whatever happened here isn’t my fault, isn’t any of ours . don’t punish me for the future shit, i just got here “ it comes out stern, even with the waver . you know you break through to him, but the walls are still there .

“ JUST ... “ it comes out as a sigh, one hand raising to drag across his face, truthfully he just wanted to get away and fully register the situation at hand, however to do that he had to get away - and by extension, hide you so he doesn’t have to deal with questions about the situation before being ready “ stop being stubborn - “ turning to walk out of the door, allowing a smile to cross his features as you utter “says the most stubborn person on the planet.”

#this was getting long and my brain goes brrrrr when i write too much onto one text post #so this is a mini series !#there might be two more parts to this uwu #honestly im queen of 'that episode. but y/n is bein subjected to the torture' LMSDOSHDOISHDOISDH #destiel x reader #dean winchester x reader #supernatural x reader #spnxreaders #spn x reader #spnxreader #fic

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sugarbutterbroadway · 4 years ago

Text

Crowning The King

The sun was high in the sky and beaming. It would’ve been a perfect day to not be walking the Brooklyn bridge. But here Race was, little on his back and damp hair stuck to his forehead. He’d strip and dive off if it wasn’t broad daylight, wouldn’t be the first time either. On the bright side they were making good time, Shadow getting tired was a blessing in disguise. He was growing on him, but little legs could only move so fast. He spared a glance at Spot and stifled a laugh. Ah yes, little legs could only move so fast.

“What’s with the smirkin, Higgins?”Spot huffed. He wasn’t too keen on the heat either.

“Jus thinkin about stuff”He said innocently. Spot narrowed his eyes. It was never a good idea when Race started thinking.

“What stuff?”

“How short you’s is”he said. He felt a sharp pain at the back of his ankle and gasped.

“Don’t kick me! I‘m your beau!”

“You’s a pain in my ass, that’s what you is”Spot grumbled. Race’s smirk broadened.

“I could be a pain in your as-”

“Racetrack.”Spot warned with a pointed look. Race sucked his teeth and whined.

“You never let me have any fun!”

“Oh me and you had plenty fun not even an hour ago”Spot said, “And plenty fun this morning. Keep it in ya pants until we get there, I ain’t bailin you out for public indecency”

“Oh I just love when you say big words at me”He swooned, batting his lashes. “Really makes me melt”

“...’m sendin you to an asylum”

“Why? Cause I'm so crazy for you?”

“No, Cause you’s a complete nutcase”

-----

“Alright,”Race said, once the lodging house was in sight. “Do you um...do you wanna stay outside? I mean I don’ know how Jack is gonna react and-”

“And leave you to deal with him by yourself?”Spot said, raising a brow. “Yeah, no. Let’s go”

The fact that Spot was willing to put himself in the line of fire—with firsthand knowledge of how unpredictable Jack could be—made him want to sing. He smiled and slung his arm around Spot’s shoulder, careful not to jostle the child on his back.

“Ya know how gone I am for you?”He said with a dreamy look in his eyes. Spot quickly looked around them, and sighed when he was sure no one was looking. He grabbed the hand that was around his shoulder and gave it a quick squeeze before pressing the blonde’s knuckles to his lips.

“Yes I do, now get yer arm off a me! It’s too hot for this,”Spot said and squirmed away from his grasp. Race made a noise of protest but Spot shook his head, later he mouthed.

Race huffed and started walking in full strides. He wanted to get this shit over with as soon as possible. He heard Spot yell but kept walking, after all it wasn’t his fault that Spot was short.

By the time Race made it to the doors, Spot was still down the street taking what seemed to be his sweet time. He gently maneuvered the sleeping child into his arms and leaned back against the building.

“They should call you sleeper”He said with a laugh, “Boy you could sleep through a war and wake up askin what happened” He looked up just in time to see Spot stalking towards him looking angry and very very sweaty.

“You’s an ass, Higgins”Spot huffed, his chest rose and fell at an unsteady rate. “A right ass”

“I-”

“I wear a shirt with sleeves, to try and make a good impression”Spot continued. “And you go and leave me? Your cathedral sized body was blockin the sun!”

“Oh so I'm a cathedral now?”he drawled, “You wanna explain how that makes any sense?”

“Really pretty, decently tall and provides me with shade!”Spot stressed.

“Oh you think ‘m pretty?”he said with a wink. Spot nodded quickly, wiping his forehead.

“And smart an’ tough as nails, but can we go inside!”

“Yeah Spotty just...just hold on”He said. He lifted his back off the cool bricks and faced the doors. He didn’t know what was waiting for him on the inside. Best case scenario Jack would be angry, maybe soak him, but get over it. Worst case scenario, he’d walk in and get thrown right back out. Sure he did have Brooklyn to fall back on but these boys were his family, he didn’t want to lose them.

“You’s nervous”Spot said. Race nodded. Sure he had a temper,and he’d soak anyone who crossed him. But he didn’t like conflict with his boys. It made his stomach tie itself in knots, made him feel like he was going to be sick. His paling face must have been a dead give away because Spot had quickly plucked Shadow off his back and pushed him in the direction of a bush. He fell to his knees and retched. His body shook and his head felt like it was spinning, but thankfully nothing came up. Spot had pulled his cap off his head and fanned him with it while he tried to regain his composure.

“I ain’t seen you nervous like this in a long time, Racer”Spot said carefully. “Are you sure you wanna do this?”

“I gotta”He groaned, “ ‘m tired of bein a coward”

Spot squatted down next to him, voice dropping to a whisper. “It’s makin you sick, Angel. I don’ want you to get in there and vomit all over Davey”

“How do you even know Davey’s there?”He asked quietly. “An’ why not Jack?”

“Firstly”Spot said, “I can see him through the window. Secondly, if you vomit on Jack it’ll be the best day of my life”

“Shut up”He said, pushing himself up on shaky legs. “ ‘m good, let’s go”

“Racer-”

“ ‘m good, Spot”He said, wiping the corner of his mouth. “Honest. Let’s go”

-----

He was holding Spot’s hand when they walked in. He knew that he shouldn’t be, that it would cause Jack to freak out even more, but he needed to. He needed to touch him. When he saw Jack—or more like Jack saw them—Spot gave his hand a squeeze, he didn’t complain when Race’s nails dug into the pad of his hand, he didn’t comment on the way he was trembling down to his fingertips. Race squeezed back and slowly willed his eyes to meet the ones he had been avoiding. Blue met green and Spot squeezed even tighter, he knew. He knew that Race wanted to run and it was his silent way of saying no, it wasn’t worth it. They took another step forward and all Jack did was stare. His eyes scanned over Race,then Spot, then their connected hands.

Race made the decision to let go. His arm went limp and dangled at his side, he turned to Spot and nodded. Spot took a few steps back while Race continued walking forward. He walked until him and Jack were only a few feet apart.

“Hey Jack”He said with a weak chuckle, “ya miss me?”

In an instant he was roughly pulled into a pair of arms. His chest hit Jacks and he groaned but didn’t pull away. It seems like he wasn’t the only one who was trembling. Just as quickly he was pulled away, and boy did Jack look angry.

“Don’t you ever!”Jack snapped, “Ever, pull that shit again. You hear me? Boy I outta soak you good-”

“Jack”Davey said softly, placing a hand on his shoulder. Jack closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

“We had boys lookin all over the city for you”Jack said, “All day, and all night. Racetrack I did not sleep last night because I didn’ know where the hell you were. So next time you plan on runnin, at least yell where you’s stayin”

Davey pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “What he means is we were all worried about you and we’re glad your back”

“ ‘m sorry Jack”he said, “I didn...I was scared--I still am scared, I ain’ no good at leadin”

“That’s where yer wrong!”Jack exclaimed, “Racer, I wouldn’ve made you my second if I thought you was a shitty leader. These boys look up to you, they see’s how smart you are—you’s the only one here who can do that fancy ‘rithmetic ‘sides Davey! You’s quick on yer feet and even quicker with that brain you got. If you think it’s too much, then so be it. But these was my boys since the day I got here and I wouldn’t leave them with you if i thought it’d be puttin’ them in danger”

“Honest?”he asked, his fingers gripping the sleeves of Jack's shirt.

“Racer you got my word”Jack promised, “I don’ make promises lightly either, now c’mere”

Jack pulled him in for another hug and he finally exhaled. Things were going to be alright, he was worried for nothing.

Or maybe he spoke too soon.

“Group hug!”Davey exclaimed. His eyes widened.

“No-”

“Too late!” An extra force was added to Jack’s already tight embrace and Race felt like he couldn’t breathe in the best way possible. He felt a small pair of arms wrapped around his leg and looked down to see Shadow hugging him too. Spot wasn’t too far behind him.

“I tried to stop him,”Spot said, but he was smiling. The three pulled away and Jack knelt down in front of the small boy.

“And who might you be mister?”Jack said with a goofy grin. Shadow spared him a quick glance but opted to hide behind Race’s legs instead. Race couldn’t help but smile as the little boy gripped the bottom of his trousers. Spot patted Race on the back and mouthed I got him before gently guiding Shadow back to his side.

Jack couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

“Look at that!”jack exclaimed, “We leave him in Brooklyn for a day, he comes back with a kid!”

“What can I say?”he smirked, “ ’m loved by all”

“Except the nuns”Jack said.

“And the cops”Davey pointed out.

“And that one shop owner down the street-”

“Alright!”he snapped, “I get it!” Jack laughed and clapped him on the shoulder.

“It’s good to have you back, Racer”Jack said, “Now you,”he said turning to Spot, “What’re you doin here? I thought you’s never left Brooklyn”

“Ah no”Race mumbled, he shot a glance at Davey who must’ve been thinking the same thing because he rolled his eyes.

“ ‘m just here to make sure Racer got back safely,”Spot said calmly.

“Racer?”Jack said, raising a brow, “Oh, so he calls you Racer?”

“Jack-”

“Nah”Jack said, he squared his shoulders. “Also the hand holdin, what’s that about?”

“What’d you think it’s about, Kelly?”Spot said.

“Don’ go gettin smart with me”Jack warned, “What did you two do in Brooklyn last night”

“Nothin we ain’t already done before”

Jack’s nose twitched and his hands were already bunched at his sides. “Spot Conlon you’a dead man-”

“Jack!”

“Spot!”

Race and Davey looked at each other before turning back to their respective partners.

“Don’ Jack me!”Jack exclaimed with wide eyes, “I jus’ think Spot’s gotten a little too comfortable with our Racer-”

“Please don’t start,”Race groaned.

“-and I think he should know that it is completely inappropriate for them to be doin this kinda stuff-”

“That’s it, ‘m not listenin.” Race said, “I am not listin, one of you’s watch the kid, ‘m gonna be outside if anyone needs me” without another word he walked out the door. Jack was still going and Davey rolled his eyes. That boy could rant himself to death.

“Spot”He said, “let’s talk” When Spot nodded Davey walked over and took a seat.“Now”He said, “I may not be as forward as Jack but that doesn’t mean I care any less for Race, is that clear?”

“Crystal”Spot said.

“Now I'm an older brother”He said, “I’ve got two siblings that I love dearly and I'd do anything for them. I feel the same way about our boys, ya followin?”

“I am”Spot nodded. Davey leaned in across the table and his voice dropped to a whisper.

“Which means i’m not above getting my hands dirty if you hurt him in any way. I don’t like getting violent, it’s not my thing”He said.”But I’m as sharp with my wit as I am with a pistol, I’m as dangerous as Jack but unlike him I think my plans through, thoroughly. We on the same page?”

“Absolutely”Spot gulped, pulling at the collar of his shirt. “You’s scary when you need to be”

“It’s one of my hidden talents,”He said, pushing his chair out. “Good talk, Spot”

“Um, yeah”Spot said. “Good talk”

-----

“Can I sit out here with you?”Jack asked.

“You gonna stop lecturin’ me about my virtue?”He asked.

“Never”Jack scoffed as he lowered himself to the ground. “So uh...you and Spot huh?”

“Yeah,”He said.

“How long?”Jack asked. Race smiled as he fiddled with his hands.

“Officially since last night, but it’s been me and him for years”he said. He could hardly remember a time before the soft smiles and gentle touches that were Spot Conlon.

“You’s grinnin’ like a fool”Jack said.

“Well he makes me happy”He said, “You don’ gotta like him, but I do. You don’t know him like I do Jack, you don’t know how sweet he is to me”

“I guess I don’t”Jack said softly, “I just wanted to uh...apologize for how I acted in there, I lost my head”

Well that’s not what he was expecting. “Don’ worry ‘bout it Jack, you was just tryin to look out for me”

Jack stared at him long and hard. “When did you get so grown up?”

“I don’t know”He said softly, “I guess it jus happened”

“I still remember you and Crutchie squeezin into my bed at night cause you had nightmares”Jack said, “Now you’s got a beau and you’s ‘bout to be leadin...where does the time go?”

“Down the drain if you think too long”he said, “Time don’ wait for no one Jack, life moves fast so I just gotta be faster so I don’ miss it, ya know?”

“Yeah”Jack said, “Yeah I know exactly what you mean, yer gonna do good for our boys”

“I don’ wanna be good”He said, “I wanna be great...wanna give them the things I ain’t never had, wanna give them a chance”

“You got a chance,”Jack said.

“ ‘m sixteen with no proper education”He chuckled, “My life’s already been planned since the moment my Ma passed...i’m doomed to a factory”

“Racer don-”

“But it don’ gotta be the same for these boys,”He rushed, “I wanna do what Brooklyn’s doin. I wanna send ‘em to school, I want us to care about each other...I want us to love each other. I mean most of us ain’t got families anyways, why not make this a family?”

“You got that fire in yer eyes”Jack said, “keep goin”

“We need to have each other's backs”he said, rising to his feet. “Not just for necessary shit like food and clothes, ain’t no bond. I wan’ these boys to come to me with their problems, I wanna know how they’s feelin, if they got a dame or a beau, I wan ‘em to know they ain’t gotta drop like flies when they sick because we’ll take care of ‘em”

“That’s what i’m talkin about”Jack said, “what else”

“I wan’t them to be able to ask for help”He said, “to feel comfortable enough to put their pride aside ‘cause I don’ wanna lose no one else, after Eagle we...we can’t lose no more boys because they felt like they had no one” tears pooled in his eyes but he blinked them away, “We’s always singin songs ‘bout brotherhood, but we gotta act like we brothers too”

“You see Race”Jack said, “you think you ain’t ready but you came up with all that by yourself”

“Ain’t all my ideas”he said with a shrug, “It’s just how they do it in Brooklyn”

“You love Brooklyn,”Jack said, shaking his head.

“Nah, I hate it over there”He smirked. “But I love their leader”

Jack’s eyes nearly popped out of his skull. “You…that word holds weight Race, you gotta be careful ‘bout it”

“Like I said Jack”he said, “Life moves too damn fast, one blink and yer ancient. All I know is I don’ wanna see a day that Spot ain’t in”

“You got it bad”Jack said standing up.

“Got it bad?”He said, “I’m fuckin gone for him”

-----

The room felt a little tense when they walked back inside but Race ignored that and beckoned Spot over.

“Davey you too”He said, taking a seat at a table. “Need to have a witness with sense”

“Hey!”Jack exclaimed. Davey practically beamed and took a seat, so did Spot but a little closer to Race.

“I want peace between these two boroughs”He said, when nobody objected he continued. “Things have been calmer since the strike, i’ll give you that. But we’s the only two boroughs that got it out for each other, with absolutely no reason? Now does that make any sense?”

The boys shook their heads.

“Exactly. We ain’t all that different from each other, the only thing separating us is that bridge. I know it’s gonna take time but I want peace, complete peace”

“That doesn’t seem like a half bad idea”Davey said.

“I know,”He said. He shifted to face Spot. “I don want my boys bein scared of you or Brooklyn no more, especially when there’s good sellin spots. It ain’t right”

Spot's face shifted and Race could tell he was putting on the King of Brooklyn. “Well if your boys can be sellin in Brooklyn, that means mines can sell here. Right?”

“Absolutely”he said, “I don’ got a problem with it-”

“I do!”Jack said. Race raised a brow.

“You’s not leadin this borough no more, I‘m doin this to better our boys.”He said. “Now if you ain’t gonna say anything worth sayin, keep yer mouth shut”

Spot stared at him in awe, this was his boy. “And the King of Manhattan is back”

Jack glared at him and crossed his arms. “Fine”

“I got one more thing to say”Spot said, “Your boys tend to get rowdy, fists flyin before they even think. What you gonna do about that?”

“Says the one who’s boys soak anyone who even steps foot in Brooklyn”He countered, “This gotta go both ways, Conlon. If one of my boys soaks yours, they answer to both of us”he paused and leaned closer. “But if one of your boys soaks mine, then i’m raisin hell. You’ll hear me screamin from across the bridge before I even get there.”

“I expect nothin less”Spot said, his face was hard, but his eyes were sparklin. “So tell me, Higgins. How do you plan on punishin them?”

“I’m glad you asked, the way that…”

-----

“Racer!”a voice shouted.

“Huh?-oof!” Albert. His brain supplied just as his back hit the ground. The voices around him seemed to multiple, the boys were back. He groaned and tried to sit up, but was knocked back down by the force of the entire borough, plus Les.

“Jesus, give a guy some space!”He shouted.

“Not gonna happen buddy!”

“Where the hell’ve you been?”

“Jack was worried sick!”

“We looked everywhere for you!”

The familiar guilt from earlier tried to rear his ugly head, but this time he buried it. He was tired of feeling guilty. He managed to fight his way through the sea of limbs and sat up.

“It don’ matter where I was”He said, “It just matters that i’m back now”

The boys all seemed to pause collectively before barreling down on him with an onslaught of questions. He groaned as he was tugged every which way, but he was happy. Brooklyn was calm, but this is the hell he was bred for.

“Boys boys!”Jack shouted, clapping his hands. Everyone—even Spot—turned to face him. He perched on top of the table and made sure all eyes were on his. What was he doing?

“Boys”he addressed, “As you know, I recently had a birthday”

Race’s eyes widened, oh no.

“An eighteenth birthday, meaning in the eyes of sellin, i’m as good as dead”he continued, it earned a few laughs. “I don’ got no fancy speech prepared but, i’m stepping down-”

The uproar started up again and he flailed his arms wildly.

“Hey hey!”he shouted, “Ain’t no need to freak out! I ain’t gonna leave you all alone”

His eyes scanned the sea of boys and they landed on Race. “I’m sure you all know Race is my second”

The boys nodded and murmured in affirmation.

“Well then say hello to your new leader, boys.”He smirked, “You all know me, I wouldn’t let this knucklehead lead if I didn’ trust him. We was talkin earlier ‘bout the plans he’s got for here and well, the future looks bright. I know we ain’t got no booze, but cheers to Racetrack!”

“Cheers to Racetrack!”the boys repeated. An arm gripped him tightly around the waist and he was hoisted onto somebody’s shoulders. He looked down and saw Spot looking up at him with a grin.

“Who’s your second!”Someone shouted from the crowd. A chorus of voices repeated.

“Yeah, who!”

“I think we all know the answer to that”Race smiled, “Alby, my partner in crime. Will you be my second?”

“Only if you don’ plan on leavin no time soon”He smirked. He lurched forward as someone slapped the back of his head.

“Just say yes, idiot!”

“Of course, Racer”He said rolling his eyes, “Like i’d pass up the opportunity to do business in Brooklyn, heard the dames there are beautiful”`

“We’s not gonna be there checkin out dames”Race said, “If we’s goin on business, it means business.”

“You’s no fun anymore”He said with a pout. Race gave him a face.

“There’s a change comin to this borough, once and for all”

“I’ll drink to that”Davey grinned.

“But there ain’t no booze”Albert said with furrowed brows.

“For the love of god Racer, please don’t make this idiot your second!”Finch said.

“Who’re you callin in idiot!”

Race felt himself getting carried off to a quieter side of the room and thanked not only Spot but god. It was barely his first day as leader and his boys were already tearing each other’s heads off. Spot squatted and he took that as the initiative to climb down. The two sat on the floor in the corner side by side. And Spot, boy was he still beaming.

“ ‘m proud of you, Angel”Spot said, “It’s been so crazy today that I didn’ get to say it but i’m proud. You’s gonna do good for these boys, I know you are”

“Stop butterin me up, ‘m already sleepin with you”he said, he could’ve sworn Spot was blushing before a cap hit him square in the face.

“Ow!”

“This is why I can’ be nice to you”Spot sighed, “If you ever ask why I ain’t romantic in the future, remember this”

“Please”He said “Like you can resist me.” Spot chuckled and wrapped and arm around his shoulder.

“I think that’s the smartest thing you said all day”

-----

The festivities died down when they remembered they all still had work in the morning. The boys trickled up the stairs slowly until the younger ones were eventually ushered up by Crutchie. That left only Jack,Davey,Spot and Race sitting in the middle of the room trying to take in all that happened.

“Racer”Jack said, breaking the silence. “Come with me, I got somethin for you”

“What is it-”

“Don’t ask questions,”Jack said. Race sighed, hadn’t his day been eventful enough? He slid off the table he was perched on and followed Jack down the hall. They stopped in front of Kloppmanns desk, Jack snagged a key sitting on the hook.

“What’re you-”

“I think it's about time the King gets his crown”Jack said, his smile wavering a bit. “I ain’t got much to give you so here, from one leader to the next” he placed the key into Race's palm.

“Is this for…?” He didn’t want to get his hopes up.

“You know the rules, Race”Jack said, “Leader gets his own room”

“Are you sure about this?”He said slowly, though all he wanted to do was run upstairs and lock himself in there forever. A taste of privacy seemed intoxicating.

“As sure as I've ever been,”Jack said. “I already got an apartment waitin for me. Drawin them cartoons for Pulizter and sellin really helps rack up the money”

Race’s jaw dropped. “You’s got an Apartment!”

“That’s not the point, it’s yours now Race, you earned it.”Jack said, “But, I will be stopping by very frequently, and if I see you and Mr.Conlon-”

“Alright!”He exclaimed, “I get it”

“One last thing, from leader to leader”Jack said. Race didn’t trust the look in his eyes.

“Yes”

“The headboard thumps against the wall when you rock the bed too much so I’d-”

“Jack!”he said fighting the blush creeping up his neck. Jack laughed and wiped his eyes.

“Okay okay, i’m done now,”Jack said. Race gave him a look. “Honest, just make sure you’re safe and olive oil helps-”

“That’s it”He said, “I’m leaving” he could still hear Jack laughing as he walked down the hall.

-----

“Do you really have to go?”Race asked.

“I do”Spot said, “Someone’s gotta bring this little guy back” Shadow was once again fast asleep in his arms. Race nodded, this borough wasn’t exactly child friendly yet. He took a step forward and placed a kiss to his cheek, and then one to Shadow’s forehead. This kid was really starting to grow on him.

“Make sure you get back safely”Race said.

“I will”Spot said, “I may be soft to you but to everyone else i’m still Spot Conlon”

“King of Brooklyn”He finished. Spot grinned and brought a hand up to stroke his cheek.

“And don’t you forget it, Angel. I’ll still see you tomorrow, right?” “Of course you will”He said, “I may be the leader but ‘m still a newsie”

“And you’re still my boy”Spot said. He felt himself blush again.

“I thought you was done bein romantic?”

“I thought we agreed that wasn’t possible?”Spot countered.

He narrowed his eyes, “Fair.”

“I really have to get goin”Spot said, “New York don’ get no less dangerous just cause we’s high on life”

“Then go”he said.

“I want you in bed before I do”Spot said.

“Fine”he said, “After I watch you leave, I will”

“You’re impossible”Spot sighed,

“You love it”

“I do”Spot said with a grin. He gently grabbed at Race’s collar pulling him down to plant a kiss on his cheek.

“I’ll see you”

“Y-yeah” Why was he stuttering? Spot smirked and walked out the door. Race held a hand to his cheek and grinned. If you would have told him two days ago that he would have a beau,a borough and his own room he would’ve thought you were crazy.

“Well”He said to himself, “Guess this is what it’s like bein King of Manhattan”

#newsies #broadway #racetrack higgins #jack kelly #newsies broadway #spot conlon #davey newsies #crutchie newsies #jack kelly x david jacobs #spot conlon x racetrack higgins #spot newsies #race newsies #oc Shadow #all the newsies #King of manhattan #javid #sprace #this took me two days #please be kind

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songfell-ut · 5 years ago

Text

Chapter 3, still a-comin’

Cirumstances, am I right, folks?

If you didn’t make it through Chapter 2 or this is all 100% new, welp, this is a continuation of this comic by @lostmypotatoes, after which Frisk has gotten him to be her witchly apprentice, but now he’s trying to flake on her. ACTION

Sans was getting soft in his old age, or maybe from proximity to someone as aggressively good-hearted as the High Priestess, because he found he didn't want to demolish the entire wall. For one thing, without his magic, it'd be too much effort. More importantly, though, Frisk's rooms were many, many stories above the ground, and falling masonry could kill or injure someone below who hadn't earned it. Most important of all: Frisk would probably end up trying to help dig them out and put herself in danger.

He also figured that he had time to do things neatly and cost her less in repairs. Everything had been loosened by that first colossal blow, but he had to give it a few more whacks before he could start pulling it apart, making a pile of glass shards, wood paneling, bricks and stones in front of her office. Luckily, whoever had constructed the outside wall hadn't done a great job, or else it would've taken him all night. A carefully judged body-slam was enough to weaken the remaining support structures; a few kicks and a yank created a space big enough for the giant skeleton to squeeze through, and then he could see the barrier itself.

Panting, Sans took a moment to survey his handiwork. It sucked to exert himself like that, but he figured that sometimes in life, you just had to punch things until they broke.

Unfortunately, he didn't have that option with the barrier. The old stories came back to him as he stared at the golden latticework hovering outside the ruined wall. How was he going to get through without touching it directly or throwing something big enough to hurt someone below?

His eyes fell on the worktable and the vials of stuff he'd made this afternoon. Four hadn't been infused yet. Sans grabbed one, pulled off the cork and, with a speck of magic, willed the liquid to boil, burn, dissolve anything it touched. It promptly began to fizzle and hiss in his hand, and he had to fling it away like an idiot before it started eating through his metacarpals.

He did one thing right in throwing it at the barrier, which instantly melted and let the chilly night air wash over him. Outside, moonlight shadowed the bricks of a nearby wall that stretched almost all the way to the ground, ending in the roof of a building only a couple stories high. He could hop out, grab onto the brick edifice, climb down safely and be gone before Frisk even got back up here, never mind moving the statue and getting the doors open. From there, it'd only be a matter of time before his magic regenerated and he could take a shortcut home.

Poor Frisk. She'd tried. Hell, she'd survived his murder attempts and taught him a few things, and he'd never forget her.

Anyway, she was better off losing track of him and finding a smaller, tamer monster to work with. What was she even getting from him being here, besides a hell of a lot of trouble?

The question was supposed to be rhetorical, but as if in reply, he thought of Frisk standing at the worktable with her arm up those ridiculously oversized trousers, grinning and saying, "The pleasure of your company," looking up at him like...well, like he was her friend, not an inferior or a dangerous monster or a giant pain in the ass, pun absolutely intended. Of course, it wasn't as if she had many other friends, but he couldn't tell himself that she was just using a captive freak to keep her company; he already knew her too well for that.

This, right here. This was why he needed to leave now. The skeleton took a few steps back, gauging the distance to—

Whhhsh went something in his mental ear. He jerked around to see Frisk standing half in his shadow, half in the moonlight, with her veil in her hand and absolute murder in her eye. "Sans." It was a whisper, lost in the wind.

Shit fuck shit shit shiiiiiiit fuckity fuck SHIT rang in his head as the satchel hit the floor. "Frisk?" he whispered.

Frisk beckoned him closer with one finger. Unbelieving, he knelt, and she punched him so hard that he almost felt it. "Here is what's going happen," she said as he touched his jaw. "I assume you've blocked the doors, so you will go and unblock them, and I'll tell the guard that you were—we'll say you were fighting off an assassin, and everyone will be impressed when they see how much damage you did trying to kill him before he escaped. Won't they?"

Sans nodded helplessly. "How...how'd you...?"

"How did I get here?" She tossed the veil aside, letting it drift to the floor. "Let me tell you a story, Sans. Once upon a time – yesterday morning – I had a long talk with Dr. Serif. He said you probably didn't intend to stay for a whole month, and I needed to be on my guard, just in case you decided to pull a stunt like this. I didn't want to believe him, but I followed his advice, and lo and behold, less than a week later, I caught my lying, backstabbing apprentice trying to break his word because he was apparently too bored with me to waste time learning crucial information for the survival of his entire race! The end!"

Frisk had to pause for breath. The boss monster took great exception to that last accusation, and he doubted that was actually the end of the story, but he was afraid to interrupt. "Do you see this?" she continued. Sans flinched as the tiny woman ripped off her brooch and brandished it at him. "Dr. Serif brought it yesterday afternoon. It seems he'd taken some of your magic while you were unconscious, and not only did he refuse to return it to you, he said I couldn't be here every hour of the day, and I needed to have this if you ever tried to break loose. He infused it with enough of your power to teleport myself one time." Another deep breath. "Do you have any idea how angry I am that he was right, and I was right to listen? And do you know how sick to my stomach I feel right now?!" Frisk threw the brooch to the floor, where it shattered. The last bit of magic quietly evaporated, and she pressed the back of her hand to her lips, eyes unfocusing. "And...how do you stand—"

There it was. He couldn't believe it had taken this long to catch up with her—the first time he'd tried using a shortcut, it left him feeling like his head had been screwed on backwards.

The skeleton glanced at the open, crumbling wall, then at Frisk, who was leaning heavily on the worktable, eyes closed. Then...

The priestess squeaked as Sans swept her up into the crook of his arm and headed to the bathroom. "Put me down!" she croaked, thumping his clavicle.

"Yes, m'lady," he said, opening the door, poking the light on and placing her at the very back of the room. "Go for it."

Once she was settled and could puke in relative peace, Sans went to the double doors leading into the hall, replaced the statue in its niche, and headed back to the workroom. Her office door was blocked by the many chunks of wall piled in front of it, and moving them again would take effort, so the skeleton ignored it for now. He picked up the satchel and set it on the worktable, wondering if the wind was too cold for her and how, exactly, he was going to pay for this, in every sense of the word. After one more look outside, Sans made himself tiptoe back to the bathroom and ask, "You done?"

There was a pause, the sound of water running, and a much longer pause before she opened the door and stared up at him. "What are you still doing here?" she demanded.

Sans blinked at her, mostly for effect. "'Zat a trick question? I'm makin' sure you're okay. That magic can knock you on your ass the first couple times ya try it."

Her face tightened, a hard, bitter expression that probably shouldn't have surprised him. "You don't say." She turned her head to cough, resting her forehead on the tile wall. "Congratulations to you, Sans. I'm here, but I'm in no condition to do anything. Your plan worked after all." She pushed herself upright. "Good night."

Shit. "Uh...Frisk—"

The priestess walked right by to open the double doors. He heard her exclaim something about the guard not being there, and mutter that she'd deal with it in the morning. She barred the doors shut, which he hadn't even noticed was an option, and wobbled past him into her dressing room, evading his halfhearted attempt to steady her.

Hangers rattled. There was an occasional sniffle. When Frisk came out in a long crushed-velvet robe, she actually looked offended to see him. "Don't you have somewhere to be? I said good night, Sans."

Wasn't she going to at least try to stop him? Sure, she was sick and exhausted, but where was her determination? ...Was she so upset that she was determined to cut her losses and let him go?

That really seemed to be it. Well, Sans should have been elated, but he mostly just felt insulted. Besides, he couldn't leave until they got a few things straight, or else he'd spend the rest of his life trying not to think about it. The boss monster wracked his brain for a witty yet conciliatory opener, but what came out was "You're not boring."

A blast of wind howled through the room, flipping the lighter books open and ruffling the weighed-down stacks of paper. Frisk remained stock-still as her short, wavy hair fluttered across her face. "I beg your pardon," she said, colder than the autumn air.

"Okay, yeah, I admit it. I was gonna ditch ya," he said desperately. "But it wasn't 'cause I don't like you or I don' care about helping the other monsters. I—you remember all you heard about Papyrus, right?" Her expression softened a little as she nodded. "I had a dream about him last night that I'm pretty sure was real. Me bein' gone and him not knowin' I'm okay is killing him, Frisk. I can't..."

She stayed silent as Sans pressed the heel of his hand to his forehead. It had been so long since he'd told someone the entire truth that he felt completely exposed. It was scary as hell, but he owed it to her and to Pap. "Ya gotta understand," he mumbled. "My brother's all I got left, and I'm all he's got. You've been nothin' but fair to me, and it's not yer fault there's no real way t'contact 'im. I just...I can't go a whole month without lettin' him know I'll be home soon, and I can't dream at him with yer barrier up." He sat down with his legs crossed, staring at the floor. "I spend too much damn time away as it is. He never knows for sure if I'm comin' back."

Frisk swallowed. "Why didn't you tell me sooner how important this was to you? And what do you mean, 'dream at him'?"

"I didn't bother 'cause you might'a thought I was lying to make you feel sorry fer me. I know I wouldn't trust me." The skeleton jerked his head at the ruined wall. "What I mean is, I can talk to Pap while we're both dreamin', but you wouldn't be there to hear what we were saying. I could tell him all sorts of crap, like how strong the High Priestess is and how much safer it'd be for us monsters if she was dead."

The priestess was silent again. Sans risked a glance in time to see her reach up to sweep her hair behind her ear, only to yelp in pain. Sure enough, as she raised her hand to inspect it, the outside knuckle was red and swollen. "Augh! How did I not notice this?" Frisk tried to move it and had to stifle another exclamation. "Wonderful. If it hurts this much, I must have broken it." She made an incoherent noise and started toward the rack of finished potions on the worktable.

Sans dimly recalled that humans didn't feel as much pain when they were scared or excited, and that it could catch up to them pretty fast. It also occurred to him that it was a bad idea for a small human to hit a thick-headed skeleton with her bare hand. "What are you doin'?" he wanted to know. "You can heal that up in a jiffy."

"I can't heal myself," she said brusquely. "I'm not very adept at healing to begin with, and I can't make it work on me at all."

That couldn't be right. "Ya mean to tell me you're good enough to hold me off and keep me penned in for days with no magic, but—"

"Leave me alone."

Her voice was so quiet and furious that he stopped dead. But as she picked a vial and started to pull the cork out with her teeth, Sans got up and held his own hand out. "Lemme see."

With as much dignity as she could muster, Frisk closed her mouth and handed him the vial. He put it back impatiently and beckoned again. "Not that, dummy. Yer hand."

The priestess gave him a long, eloquent look. When he didn't move, she placed her broken hand in his huge one, wincing as his thumb closed lightly over her wrist. It was hard to remember how to turn his magic green, but she'd been right about intentions: it helped to think about how badly he wanted it to work, not only to help her, but to prove that he was capable of fixing things as well as destroying them.

Sure enough, within seconds, his palm began to glow as if he held a handful of emeralds. When Sans could bring himself to let her go, she flexed it easily. "You've gotten some magic back already," she observed. Frisk smiled at him for a moment, and he couldn't not smile back. "You know," she said, anger rapidly resurfacing, "you're not only a lying reprobate, you are a huge idiot." She rapped her knuckles on his palm. "I've always had a barrier guarding the bedroom from any external magic. If that was the only thing keeping you from reaching Papyrus, you should have asked me to remove it."

Sans sat down again. "But—"

"As for the possibility of giving him illicit information, I will ask you this only once." Frisk moved closer, looking him square in the sockets. "Do you intend to tell the other monsters, at any point, that your race would be better off with me dead?"

He didn't even have to think about it before he answered, "Not anymore. You're pretty damn useful as you are, speakin' up on our behalf to the other humans. I don't see anyone pressuring you into screwin' us over."

A brief smile. "I'm glad to hear it. For my part, I don't mind letting you talk to your brother as long as you take me with you. I'd love to say hello—I've heard so much about him that it'll be like meeting an old friend." She stifled a yawn. "If you start tattling on me in some fashion, I can always pull the barrier back up."

"...You want me to...bring you...in my dream?" Blink. Blink. "But how—what're you gonna—"

"One thing at a time, Sans. First, we're going to bed."

"We're what now?"

"If you're not leaving yet, then we're going to bed, now. This mess can wait till morning." With a nod at her blocked office door, Frisk motioned for him to follow her into the bedroom. "Come along. There's nowhere else for me to sleep, and I'm freezing."

And so it was that Sans found himself lying rigid on the huge feather mattress, the priestess curled up like a cat in the armchair. He had no idea why he was so nervous; he couldn't even muster a semi-joke about her joining him in bed. "I've heard of this spell before," said Frisk, who seemed unperturbed by their proximity. "It's not very complicated. You've just healed me, and I've recently used some of your magic, so we have enough of a connection that I should be able to find you once we're asleep. ...The key word being sleep, Sans. You have to relax. I'm not going to eat you, no matter how short-sighted and dishonorable you've been."

"You're not gonna let that go, are ya?" he mumbled.

"You have no idea. We haven't even talked about repairing the wall yet." Her voice warmed again. "For now, though, don't worry about it. We need to find Papyrus and set you both at ease."

Now Sans felt nervous and extremely weird again. He turned onto his side so she couldn't see him changing color. "'Kay. I...yeah. Thanks."

"Of course," she said, as though it was the most natural thing in the world to do a favor for someone who had completely betrayed her trust, and turned off the witchlight. He felt her raise another barrier at the bedroom door, one solid enough to stop an army, and a thinner barrier disappeared from behind the headboard. "There," she said in the darkness. "We'll see how well this works. Go to sleep, Sans."

That seemed unlikely, but he'd forgotten who he was dealing with. When about ten minutes had passed and the orange light of his eyes was still going strong, something wonderful started creeping up on him, a soothing vibration that spread through every bone in his body before he even knew what he was hearing. It was Frisk humming, of course, and of course it worked; Sans was more than content to let the sound and her presence lull him to sleep.

He jerked upright as something hit his skull, reflexively swatting the air and yelling, "Piss off!"

The lights were back on. In fact, it was full daylight, or what passed for it. Sans rubbed his eye sockets, turning this way and that. He was still in bed, but the bed stood alone in the middle of an open, snowy field. Kid monsters were racing back and forth under gaily decorated trees, throwing snowballs at each other and catching him in the crossfire.

The skeleton brushed himself off, reasoning that the Underground could be a weird place, but it wasn't quite random-snow-bed weird. This must be a dream, then. Damn it...

Oh, well. At least it was a nice one, and it felt pretty real—his good dreams tended to be fuzzy, while every single one of his nightmares was incredibly vivid.

Footsteps crunched on the snow behind him. "Well, hello there. That was simple," said Frisk, looking around them as he got up. She was in her plush robe and bare feet, but seemed at ease. "So this is Snowdin. Which house is yours?"

"BROTHER?"

Sans froze as a familiar shape emerged from a nearby fog of ice crystals. "Papyrus?" he whispered.

"I KNEW IIIIIT—OOF!" Papyrus had run to give his brother a bear hug and fell straight through him, as if Sans was also made of fog. "WHAT IS THIS, SANS? HAVE YOU BECOME TOO LAZY TO STAY SOLID?" he accused him from the ground.

"It's a dream, bro. This happens every damn time," the boss monster said wearily. "Just keep it together and listen, okay? I'm here t'let you know—"

"WAIT. A HUMAN? IS THAT...KRIS?" Papyrus was staring up at Frisk, his face somehow creased in puzzlement. "IS IT REALLY YOU? I THOUGHT YOU'D BE...KRIS-ER, NYEH."

Sans snorted. "Not every human is Kris, Pap. Don't be racist."

"Hello," Frisk said, offering a bright smile and a hand up. "My name is Frisk. It's wonderful to meet you, Papyrus."

"YES, IT IS. NYEH-HEH-HEH! YOU ARE CLEARLY VERY WISE AND ATTRACTIVE, HUMAN!" Papyrus brushed the snow from his fake armor, throwing his red scarf back over his shoulder in so dramatic a fashion that he didn't notice Frisk grinning, though Sans sure did. "WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN MY GREAT AND ATTRACTIVE DREAM?" he added.

Still smiling, Frisk watched the pack of young monsters run by. The monsters didn't seem to notice them, though the bed was still there and her purple robe stood out like a dark beacon against the snow. "Your brother wanted to see you, and I decided to come along," she explained. "Sans was captured by humans about a week ago when he was out looking for food, but please don't worry about—"

"CAPTURED?!" Papyrus clapped both hands to his skull. "THIS IS TERRIBLE! PLEASE DE-CAPTURE HIM IMMEDIATELY, HUMAN, OR ELSE I...I...!"

"Pap! Take it easy. She's okay. 'Fact, she's the reason I ain't dead or enslaved right now." Sans plucked at his shirt. "See, she even got me some new duds. You can finally stop bitching about what I'm wearin'."

Papyrus stopped flailing long enough to examine Sans' shirt. "NYEH! I SEE NO HOLES OR QUESTIONABLE STAINS. WHAT SORCERY IS THIS?"

Sans smirked, letting his brother poke at him in vain. "I told ya, bro, I just got it. You don't hafta rip me apart like this."

Frisk rocked back and forth on her heels. "So," she said over Papyrus' exasperated groaning, "I gather you knew a boy named Kris from the last human delegation. Is that right?"

"YES, IT IS RIGHT! KRIS WAS OUR DEAR FRIEND," Papyrus said as Sans grimaced and turned away. "WE WENT FOR WALKS AND HAD SLEEPOVERS, AND MADE HAND PUPPETS THAT ALSO HAD SLEEPOVERS. IT WAS LIKE HAVING A CUTE LITTLE PET THAT CLEANED UP AFTER ITSELF. WE'VE ALL MISSED HIM VERY MUCH, NYEHHH."

"Yeah, he left with the other humans," Sans muttered. "Can we please move on now?"

"Yes, of course. I'm going to borrow your brother for a few more weeks," Frisk told Papyrus. The latter was glaring at his brother's new shirt again, as if daring it to make a false move. "I have a plan to start making peace between monsters and humans," she continued, "but I need a monster's help to do it. Can you get along without Sans until I send him back to the Underground?"

"HMMMM." Papyrus straightened, one hand on his chin. "YOU WON'T HURT HIM?" he asked, sounding almost timid.

"Absolutely not, Papyrus," she said firmly. "He'll be back safe and sound."

Papyrus nodded, evidently impressed by her sincerity. "I AM IMPRESSED BY YOUR SINCERITY, HUMAN. IF THIS DREAM IS NOT MY MAGNIFICENT IMAGINATION PLAYING TRICKS ON ME AGAIN, THEN I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS, SHALL SPARE MY GOOD-FOR-NOTHING BROTHER FOR A LITTLE WHILE LONGER. NYEH-HEH-HEH!" Without warning, the skeleton grabbed at Sans' wrist bones. "HUMAN! I WOULD LIKE TO TALK TO MY BROTHER IN SECRET FOR A MOMENT, IF YOU WILL PLEASE EXCUSE US. IT WILL BE SECRET!"

"Of course," said Frisk. "I'll be right here. Just make sure it's not too secret, please."

Sans covered his face with his hand as Papyrus marched toward the fog bank, still holding his brother's imaginary wrist. "Ya can't touch me, remember?" Sans called after him.

"...I KNEW THAT. CONGRATULATIONS, BROTHER! YOU HAVE PASSED THIS TEST! NYEH. ...HEH." Papyrus waited for Sans to join him, and they walked towards the river. "ARE YOU SURE THAT'S NOT KRIS?" the younger skeleton asked doubtfully.

Sans laughed, jerking his thumb in Frisk's direction. "Does that human look like a sixteen-ish-year-old boy?"

"HMM. NO, IT LOOKS LIKE A HUMAN. BUT! IT SEEMS DELIGHTFUL! THE GREAT PAPYRUS THINKS YOU SHOULD BRING IT BACK HERE WITH YOU. IT'S BEEN TOO LONG SINCE WE HAD A HUMAN TO PILLOW-FIGHT WITH, NYEH-HEH-HEH."

"That's probably not a great idea," Sans remarked.

"NYEH-HEH! WHY NOT?"

"I could spend literally the rest of the night tellin' you all the reasons why not, but the biggest one is that she's the High Priestess, Pap. The other humans would definitely notice if she was gone."

"HIGH PRIESTESS?" Papyrus cocked his head in perplexity. "WHY WOULD A DELIGHTFUL HUMAN BE A HIGH PRIESTESS? DON'T THEY CREATE BARRIERS?"

"It's complicated, bro. Look, I've gotta go soon. Is there anything else you wanna say?"

His younger brother paused, and sighed, shoulders slumping. "SANS. WERE YOU REALLY JUST LOOKING FOR FOOD? WHEN YOU GOT CAUGHT, I MEAN."

The bigger skeleton tried to kick a chunk of ice into the water, his foot passing right through it. "I wasn't slaughtering humans, if that's what you're askin'. I was mostly tryin' to track down monsters who've been sold off recently. But I did want to see how the humans' harvest turned out, an' it looks like it was pretty good this year."

Papyrus nodded, still troubled. "ALL RIGHT, BROTHER. I UNDERSTAND. PLEASE, JUST...TAKE CARE OF YOURSELF. NYEH."

"You too, Pap." Sans felt a familiar stab of trepidation and backed away. "Shit, I've got a nightmare coming. I'll see ya soon, okay? Don't tell anyone about Frisk!"

He had to turn and run before Papyrus could answer. Frisk was sitting on the bed in the snow field, ducking snowballs. She turned and started to say, "I hope you weren't telling on m—"

"No more dream! End it now!" he panted.

The priestess didn't waste time asking stupid questions. As the nightmare nipped at Sans' heel, Frisk made a quick swiping gesture, and just like that, he was back in bed, in the bedroom, staring at the sun-washed ceiling.

The skeleton sighed in relief. He rested his forearm across his eyes. Between the radius and ulna, he could see the flickering shadows of birds flying past the open windows. "Thanks, kiddo," he said, "an' thanks for lettin' me talk to him. I really appreciate it." Sans scratched the top of his skull, rolling over to face Frisk. "So, how'd you like Papyrus? He's a cool guy, huh?"

Frisk didn't answer, because she wasn't there. A strange human child sat in the armchair, perched on the edge of the seat, holding a kitchen knife. It stared at him with red-shining eyes, teeth bared in a horrible grin.

If Sans had had more than a shred of magic left, he would have pulled all his blasters at once and obliterated half the building. As it was, he jerked back, nearly choking in terror. The child wasn't moving, but menace radiated off it like heat from a furnace, eyes boring into him as its grin widened. Sans looked around wildly for an escape. The windows were too small, but maybe he could—

A sharp whistle split the air. The barrier snapped on, and the child vanished.

Sans was sitting upright in bed again, in the dark, awake, panting as though he'd run a mile in a few seconds. "Sans, I am so sorry!" The light snapped on. Frisk stood at his bedside, wide-eyed, clutching the neck of her robe. "I didn't think I was going to have that nightmare again before we woke up! I thought it'd be fine, I—" She took a step onto the bed, leaning over to grab his humerus. "Sans? Sans! Please say something!"

He shook her off, and she stumbled backwards, falling into the armchair. "What the fuck was that?" he rasped.

Frisk sat up and pulled her robe tighter around her shoulders. "I'm sorry," she said again. "I should have warned you. It's the reason I have that barrier up in the first place." She swallowed hard. "It shouldn't happen again."

"It better not," Sans snarled. "What the hell was that thing, anyway?"

"I don't know." She looked so miserable that Sans wanted to smack himself, but he was too unnerved to lie and tell her that it was okay; he was shaking so hard that he could almost hear his bones rattle.

For a solid minute, the only other sound in the room was the wind blowing outside the shuttered windows. "I hope you had a good talk with Papyrus," Frisk said presently with a decent attempt at calmness, placing her palm on the bedroom door to dissolve the thick barrier. "I can see why everyone likes him so much. It's good to know he hasn't changed."

The skeleton grunted, hoping she was smart enough not to ask him any questions about him changing. "Yeah. Thanks for fixin' that up for us. Sorry I pushed you just now."

"It's fine. It was an accident." Frisk fiddled with the key in its lock. "You know, Sans, I'd like you to help repair the damage you caused, but...if you still want to leave, I won't stop you. I wasn't thinking of how much it was to ask, staying an entire month."

Sans stared at her. She wouldn't turn around. Finally, he said, "What the crap, lady? You already let me talk to Pap. That was the whole reason I tried to bust out of here. Why wouldn't I stick around 'n make it up to you? Ya really think I'm that bad?"

There came a soft knock at the door, startling them both. "Your Eminence?" It was a male voice, deep and pleasant. "Are you awake, my lady? Please forgive my intrusion, but His Holiness urgently requests your presence."

Daylight was showing through the closed shutters. "Yes, of course. I'll be there in a moment," said Frisk, running her fingers through her hair, eye twitching as she found a tangle.

Sans watched her, and watched her move to unlock the door, feeling a different sort of unease. "Wait a sec," he rumbled. "Frisk, wait. Didn't you bar the big doors last night? How'd he get—"

The man knocked again. "Just a moment," Frisk repeated, turning the key. She glanced behind her. "What, Sans?"

The door banged open. Before she could blink, a stranger in tattered clothes rushed in, his arm raised to strike.

The boss monster was already moving. The man lunged, and there was a sound of steel hitting bone; the priestess found herself staring at the tip of a knife, inches from her face, jutting from between massive skeletal fingers. "Sans!" cried Frisk, twisting around to look at him.

Red clouded Sans' vision, but one clear spot remained: with his free hand, he reached out, corralled Frisk and gently maneuvered her behind him, fingers forming a protective cage. The other hand flexed briefly, then backhanded the intruder so hard that the man rolled clear out of the bedroom, hitting the worktable with a crack and a thump.

The skeleton clamped his teeth on the dagger's hilt and pried the blade out from between his knuckles, jerking his head to fling it to the other side of the bedroom. There was technically nothing to pierce where the knife had been lodged, but it still stung. He glanced down to be sure Frisk was unscathed, then edged forward into the workroom.

To his great irritation, the man wasn't dead; he was not only conscious, but pulling himself up on the table. "Who the fuck are you?" demanded Sans. Only the vague awareness that Frisk was watching kept him from grabbing the guy and pinching his head off.

The stranger wiped the corner of his mouth on his sleeve, squinting against Sans' literal glare. He was gaunt and generally gross-looking, but had moved fast enough and aimed the knife with enough skill to peg him as a professional killer. "What's a big-ass talkin' skeleton doing here? They said you got sold off already!" The assassin laughed shakily. "So it was you bashin' that wall down! What the hell'd you even do that for? It took me all goddamn night to get out!"

Sans glanced at the office door, which was ajar. Several pieces of broken masonry had been moved out of the way by shoving the door repeatedly from the inside. The guy must have snuck into the office after Frisk left, while Sans was in the bedroom but before he blocked the entrance, and gotten trapped in his hiding place by all the debris piled against it.

It would have been kind of funny, except that if Sans really had left, Frisk would be dead now.

The young woman was leaning on Sans' femur, peering around his outspread fingers. He could feel her trembling, which only intensified his urge to kill something. "I know you," she said. "You spoke to me after a service last week. You said I...I..."

"Had a positively angelic voice?" The man leered at her, showing several broken teeth. "S'truth. But I needed to be sure 'xactly who you were. The last High Priestess used body doubles sometimes." He looked her up and down. "Gotta say, I like yours a lot better."

She shuddered. Sans leaned down, not taking his now-flaming eyes from the assassin. "You need this piece of crap alive, Frisk, or can I take 'im apart now?"

"Frisk?" The man cackled, slapping the worktable with a dirty palm. "That's your real name, lady? That's gotta be the dumbest—"

And just like that, he launched himself at Frisk, closing the distance and ducking between Sans' legs like a snake. He whipped another knife out from his belt and would have sliced her neck open if Sans hadn't been ready to nudge her out of the way, grabbing the assassin on the backswing and slamming him against the open door.

Before Frisk could react, Sans turned his head to the opposite wall and said, "Holy crap, what's that?" As she whirled around, Sans plucked the knife out of the man's hand and gave him one squeeze, very quick and very hard. "Whoops, my bad. Nothin' there," he said to cover the sound of ribs breaking.

The priestess started to turn back. "Stay where you are," Sans ordered, pulling the assassin out of her line of sight, stepping into the workroom and closing the door behind him. "Oh, no you don't," he said loudly, as if chasing the man down. "Nooo, stop! We just want to talk to...oh, no!"

The assassin didn't seem to appreciate the theatrics, especially because Sans was carrying him straight to the broken wall. Ignoring the man's feeble protests, the skeleton drew his arm back and murmured, "Now think about what you've done, pal," before tossing him out into the open air.

His only concern was that the bastard would make a lot of noise on the way down, but it seemed he'd knocked the wind out of him, ha. By the time Frisk peeked out of the bedroom, the assassin was long gone.

Sans shook his head and turned from the opening. "Nope. Sorry, I couldn't catch him before he told us who sent him." He wished he had his jacket; his hands had nowhere to go. "You all right, Frisk?"

The priestess gulped and wiped her eyes on her sleeve. "No, I'm not." She slid down, back to the wall, and wrapped her arms around her knees.

She didn't seem be physically hurt, so for the moment, he said, "'Kay," and stared at the slightly open office door. "Son of a bitch. I'm gonna tear that guard a new one. D'you think he knew you were sleepin' in there, or was it just a convenient...place to...crap."

Frisk's shoulders had hunched and her face gone pale. Sans ground his teeth, cursing his stupidity. "Well, it's over. He won't bother you again," he reassured her, coming to kneel beside her. "At least that cover story 'bout the assassin ain't a lie now. Right?"

She didn't look reassured at all. With the threat of bodily harm removed, Sans was out of his element again, with no clue how to help her. Should he frame this as an inconvenient but probably solvable problem that she'd always known might come up? No, that would be dumb. She already had enough problems. She didn't need to worry about more shitheads getting in here to hurt her. As long as she was an important and politically vocal person, it wasn't like she could do much to...

Wait. That was it: Sans had the idea. "Actually, ya know what?" He waited for her to shake her head. "You were sayin' this weird stuff about me leaving once I'd seen Pap. Before we talk about that, I gotta ask, what's the going rate for a bodyguard around here? A good one, not just some moron following you around tryin' to look scary."

She bit her lip, a habit Sans had noticed and been distracted by several times already. "Um...it depends. A skilled full-time personal guard? Anywhere from fifty to a hundred dinar—"

"Oh, nice. I can probably—"

"—an hour. I only sleep a few hours a night, so..." Frisk gave him the ghost of a smile. "If you're offering your services, Sans, I'd be glad to accept. Would a salary of one thousand per diem be acceptable?"

Now he really was at a loss for words. "A thousand a friggin' day?" he repeated blankly.

Frisk nodded. Her shock seemed to be fading as she thought aloud: "You could pay for your clothes in one day, and I can negotiate the repairs down to about ten days' worth. After that, well, wheat is about five dinar a bushel." Despite herself, she sniffled again. "You could buy a lot of wheat, or beans, or...or wedding cakes, or literally anything else you want to take Underground with you."

He was patting himself on the back when, without warning, Frisk's smile faded. "I'm sorry I didn't listen to you before I unlocked the door." Sniff. "Thank you for staying with me." Sniff. "And thank you for saving my life."

Shit shit was as far as Sans got before he lost even that bit of coherence. His senses were already heightened by the unexpected danger, his SOUL still feeling a little queasy at how close she'd come to dying right in front of him; to cap it off with Frisk looking up at him like this with big eyes, messy hair, and her robe falling off her shoulder was more than he could handle. She never looked bad, but right now, damn.

Sans didn't realize he was reaching for her until his fingertip brushed her cheek, toying with a wavy lock of hair. "Don't mention it," he said gruffly. "'s the least I can do."

Frisk pulled away, face flushing, but only in momentary surprise. He devoutly hoped that she'd get up and go get dressed, or maybe pack her things, buy a fast horse and leave the kingdom forever, but that damnable woman didn't know any better than to smile and take his hand, or at least rest her hand in the space between two of his fingers. "Just so long as you keep in mind that you're still my apprentice," she said with mock sternness. "Do you promise?"

Fffffffff

Neither of them understood what happened next. Sans felt something welling up that made him want to grab her and...he didn't know what would happen next, but he wanted it so badly that he backed away in sudden alarm. All he knew was that this feeling – this energy – had to go somewhere, and if he directed it at her, he could accidentally mash her into paste. The only thing he could think of was to whip around, look for something else to latch onto, and focus his attention on the pile of stones, etc. by the office.

His magic was barely available, or so he would have said a minute ago. Fueled by the whatever-it-was, though, and with the barrier gone from one of the walls, Sans didn't even have to think about it: Frisk jumped back as the heap of debris by her office began to glow red, rising into the air and flying into the broken wall. To their mutual astonishment, the outside bricks and internal structures zipped back into place first, followed by more bricks, mortar, stone, wood, and finally the glass and lead of the windows. When the dust settled, the entire facade had been imperfectly but almost entirely restored, the floor sagging under the windows.

Sans stared at his hand, still breathing heavily. "Huh," he said by way of explanation.

"Indeed." Frisk absently ran her fingers through her hair again, working out a tangle as she examined the wall. "Did I know you could do that?"

"I didn't know I could do that." Now that the unfamiliar energy was gone, Sans found he wanted to sit down. He sat down next to her, comfortably but not dangerously close. "Welp, I need a break from life," he said, which got a laugh out of her. He snorted. "Break. I actually didn't mean that one."

Frisk gave a long, long sigh. "We'll knock down your fee to three or four days of repairs," she said gravely.

Sans couldn't help grinning. "I always knew there was mortar life than money."

She kept a straight face until he added, "Makin' it pretty again is gonna be a pane in the glass," whereupon she broke out in hysterical, snorting laughter, which cracked him up in turn and guaranteed a minutes-long feedback loop.

As nice as this all was, Sans was a little concerned when he got under control and she kept going, and going, and ended up nearly gasping for breath. "You okay, kid?" he asked. "Ya need some water?"

"Oh, Lord," she wheezed. Frisk wiped her eyes on her already-damp sleeve. "Sans, you're killing me."

Silence. Frisk thought about it, and promptly buried her head as far between her knees as she could get it. "I didn't do that on purpose," she said, muffled and sheepish.

Sans shifted his weight. He wasn't ready to admit to himself how badly the whole attack had scared him, much less to her. Just to check, he considered escaping again – maybe once she was letting him walk around with her outside and his magic was naturally restored – and now, less than twelve hours after doing his damndest at it, he couldn't believe how much he hated the idea. No problem, really; he could chalk it up to her letting him connect with Papyrus and needing to make it up to her. Also, holy shit, one thousand dinar every day for the next twenty-five days? That was as solid a set of reasons as he'd ever come up with.

"Well," he finally said. "Guess you'd better get yer scary witch dress on and go tell everyone about this whole mess." He snapped his fingers, making an odd click, as something occurred to him. That's right—I got both those knives off him. Maybe someone can take a look at 'em and figure out who he was, where they were from."

Frisk raised her head, staring into space. "No," she said, as if to herself. The boss monster looked askance, and she smiled in a small, nasty way he hadn't seen before. "We won't say anything." The smile grew. "I'll go about my day as if nothing happened, except I'll be accompanied everywhere by a ten-foot skeleton. Whoever set him after me will have no idea what happened, and it'll drive them absolutely mad. We can see if anyone incriminates themselves, but...ohh, I'm going to enjoy this."

"It's a neat idea, but the garbage threw itself out already, remember?" Sans indicated the repaired wall. "Someone's bound to notice 'im."

The young woman did a remarkable impression of shock and distress, eyes wide and mouth hanging open before she murmured, "That poor man jumped from such a height? What a hideous tragedy. Peace be upon his soul and those of his loved ones."

"Daaaamn" was all Sans could say. He might have killed the guy and covered it up, but he couldn't look that cute telling a bare-ass lie! Also... "Ain't you a priestess? Isn't that a little...?"

Frisk scowled. Despite her bedhead and furry robe, she was the very image of sternness and, yes, determination. "I was taught that it is my duty to aid the weak and be an instrument of justice against people who, for example, want to stab me in my own bedroom when I've done nothing to harm them. It's no sin to protect yourself."

The skeleton shrugged, holding his hands out. "Okay, that's enough. I think I love ya. Where do I sign up to kill people for you?"

The priestess laughed. "I bet you say that to every girl you try to escape from. And, please, don't kill anyone." She glanced at the clock, and her amusement melted into panic. "Dirt! I have matins in twenty minutes!" She sprang to her feet and made a beeline for her dressing room. "Can you please find my veil for me?" she called before she shut the door.

Sans also got up, muttering, "'Dirt'? Seriously?" as he retrieved the veil from where it had blown onto the table. As an afterthought, he returned to the bedroom and picked up the assassin's daggers. He studied them, saying out loud, "I think I'm screwed, is what I am," then placed them on the nightstand.

He heard Frisk emerge from her dressing room and went to meet her as she asked, "Sans, do you have my—"

He handed the veil over. "Thank you, sir." She threw the veil over her head and adjusted the headdress over it. "May I assume that you haven't been to many religious services?"

"Er..."

"Well, we have an oral contract, effective immediately, and I am going to church, so you are going to church." She inclined her head, moving toward the double doors. "Follow me."

And, of course, he did.

#frans #onwards aoshima

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diddlesanddoodles · 4 years ago

Text

DUMPLING ch 44

Kol was busy hauling in sacks of flour from storage and Bart had called Saen and Avery to come help him along with the tenderfoots out in the courtyard, leaving just Yale and Quinn in the kitchen with Nenani. Farris had left in a fowl temper to attend a meeting with Donal regarding the upcoming dinner. Apparently, more Lords had sent their intentions to be present and the whole affair was beginning to grow in grandeur and size.

Yale was making some sort of cold sauce made of oil, crushed nuts, and the macerated leaves from a large stalky green that was taller than she was and smelled like a cross between celery and basil. Nenani sat comfortably on a folded tea towel, pulling apart the large nuts and tossing the shells into a waste bowl and the meat into another bowl. The nuts reminded her vaguely of walnuts, but much bigger and had the same sort of oily astringency.

“I don’t care if it’s normal for high-borns,” Yale said, using a little more force than necessary to rip the stalks off of the leafy greens. “Marryin’ off a lil’un is just beyond the pale.”

“Mama said she wouldn’t make me marry anyone,” Nenano replied, trying to assure Yale that she was in no danger of suddenly being married. “She said she doesn’t want me to become someone’ pawn.”

“Well, I’m glad yer Mum’s got a sensible head on her shoulders,” he replied. “Someone need to straighten Lolly’s out for her though. She’s got a bug up her skirts fer sure. Not sure why. Makin’ me nervous though.”

“Me too,” she replied with a grunt as she had to put in a bit of effort to break apart a particularly tough nut.

“So, puttin’ that mess aside fer the moment,” Yale said, reaching for the bowl of shelled nuts and used the flat end of a wooden spoon to smash the soft flesh into crumbs and then adding the lot to the larger bowl of greens. “How’re yer magic lessons goin’?”

“Stopped for now,” she replied. “Maevis is busy making the lanterns.”

Yale turned towards the stone archway, gesturing vaguely to the black lantern hanging just above the lintel. “They put that one in yesterday. Curious to see if it works, but if it never went off, I’d be happy.”

“He says I’ve got a decent enough grasp now that I may not even need the amulet,” she said. “But Mama wants me to wear it all the time anyway.”

“Can’t say I blame her fer that,” Quinn said as he walked up beside Yale, reaching over him to grab a salt cellar, and forcing him to duck down. “Ye scared the lot of us shitless that one time.”

“Oi!” Yale snapped as Quinn retreated and he could straighten himself again. “Ye got salt over there!”

“Empty,” Quinn replied with a careless shrug.

“...so go fill it back up,” Yale retorted with some heat.

“Nah,” the baker smirked and turned around back towards his station. “This one’ll do just fine thanks.”

Yale chased after him, but Quinn seemed to have sensed him and stepped easily to the side as Yale made a grab for the salt cellar. Nenani laughed as they ran about the baking station, Quinn sprinkling salt onto the prepared loaves as he ran and dipped and danced around Yale. “Give it back, dammit!”

“I just need a bit, ye stingey bastard!”

“Use them long legs of yers and go fill yer own up!”

“And I said no thank you!” Watching as the two grown giants banter and fight like children, Nenani sat back and laughed, the mood carrying away the grimmer thoughts that had been congealing in her mind. To the corner of her eye, she saw a shadow descend the servants stairwell, but paid it no mind. A swath of blue fabric caught her eye and she turned to look.

Dressed in the blue coat of the rangers, Thrist stepped down into kitchen and his round coarsely shaven head was turned away from her as he watched Yale and Quinn. But almost as though sensing eyes upon him, his head swerved around and Nenani was suddenly the focus of his two beady eyes. Thin lips curled into a sickening grin. With an arrogant bounce to his gate, he sauntered over to the table and he drew nearer, Nenani glared. Hared.

“Go away,” she told him.

“What? Not even a hello?” he asked mockingly. “Well don’t that just show it then? Ye find out yer a Princess and suddenly yer too good fer us low folk?”

“No,” she replied. “Just you.”

He thrust his hand towards her and she fell back, raising her hand and pulling her magic out. But instead of grabbing her, his fingers dipped into the bowl shelled nuts and grabbed up a handful.

“Don’t flatter yerself, Sparkles,” Thrist snickered with an oily grin. “Ye ain’t worth it. Probably taste like three week old mutton anyway.”

“Better than smelling like three week old mutton,” she snapped back.

His arrogant grin dropped as just before he could retort, there was an angry shout from behind him.

“Oi!” Yale growled as he and Quinn both bore down onto the Ranger. The black haired cook slipped between the table and Thrist and thrust his pal against the ranger’s chest, pushing him back. “Ye fucker got a lotta nerve showin’ yer ugly arse face around here, Thrist.”

“Oh, calm yer tits, Yale,” Thrist sneered, batting Yale’s hand away. “I’m on duty. Ain’t after yer damn pet.”

Quinn swiped at the ranger’s arm pushing Yale away and laughed darkly. “Suppose havin’ to spend three weeks scoutin’ the swamps wasn’t all that fun, eh? Be a shame if ye went and earned yerself another bout of that, eh? Don’t think yer boss would be too happy with ye messin’ with his brother’s ward. Again.”

“Fuck ye both,” Thrist replied, unconcerned with the threat. He cracked a nut and ate it, tossing the shell into the fire and then threw himself hard into one of the chairs. His boots made a dull thud as they planted themselves onto the table only a few yards from where Nenani was sitting.

“No thanks,” Quinn said, the hard look in his eyes betraying the light lilt of his voice. “But ye can turn yerself right round and go find a nice sunny spot in gurney’s manuer pile. Ain’t that where pigs like to play? Neck deep in shit?”

“Fuck off, both of ye. Like I said, I’m duty. Sweepin’ the grounds fer anyone not belongin’. Suspicious characters and the like.”

“Well, as ye can see, we all belong,” Yale growled. “Now piss the fuck off.”

“And ye fuckers can go back to yer work,” Thrist replied lightly with a shrug. “Rheil and Keral have got us all scrounging ‘round the castle. The Magician sensed something that freaked him out. Supposed to make sure none of his stupid fuckin’ lanterns were on.”

“Well as ye can see, it ain’t. All is well. So do like Yale said and piss the fuck off.”

Thrist made a great exaggerated showing of pondering their words and then shrugged and then cracked another nut and tossed it into his mouth. “Not convinced. What if I leave and it just lights up?”

“Then ye’d be as useless as ye are now,” Yale replied.

“Yer pretty ungrateful ye know that?” Thrist said, folding his hands behind his head.

“Oh? And how do ye figure?” Quinn asked.

“Seein’ as I’m the reason yer pet’s even alive,” the ranger said. “After all that mess with the dragon.”

“Piss off,” Yale snapped. “Keral was the one that found her and brought her back.”

“Aye. After I spotted the thing and reported it to him. Like I say: she’s alive ‘cause ‘a me.”

“So? Do ye want a fuckin’ meddle or somethin’?” Quinn asked.

Thrist grinned. “A silver or two would be nice. A princess is worth that much, eh?”

Both Yale and Quinn looked murderous, but before either could formulate a response, Farris’s voice spoke just outside the stone archway leading out into the courtyard. “That’s what coats are fer ye idiot.”

“I couldn’t find it,” replied a quieter, but familiar voice.

“Does Hev know yer out here?”

“He’s not my mother,” Connar asserted.

“Don’t look that way t’most folk, lad.”

“Oh shut it. I can go where I want….so long as I’m allowed.”

“It’s not the being allowed part ye don’t seem to have a handle on. It’s the physical ability to make it there.”

“I can’t help it if the cold makes it hard to walk.”

“Again. That’s what a fuckin’ coat is fer. Now do ye want to take another trip ‘round this same bush or are ye done with yer tantrum?”

There was a deep sigh. “...yeah, fine. I’m done.”

“Good,” Farris replied just as he stepped down into kitchen with Connar sitting in the crook of his arm. Despite the cold and snow, Connar was only dressed in a pair of thin trousers and a short sleeve tunic. “Because ye was one smart-ass reply away from bein’ dumpin’ back into that snow pile.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Wanna bet?” Farris grinned darkly, but his eyes pulled away from Connar swept the room before falling onto Thrist. To the ranger’s credit, he hastily pulled his feet off of the table. “Who let in this fucker?”

“No one,” Yale replied. “He just sauntered in like he owned the damn place.”

Farris’s eyes never wavering from Thrist and he said in a low growl, “Ye got three seconds to get out of my kitchen before I shove my foot so far up yer arse you’ll be tastin’ leather fer a week.”

Thrist rose from his seat, clearly taking the threat serious enough. He took a few tentative steps towards the archyway, but keeping a good arm’s distance away from Farris. Nenani eyed him warily but grinned when an idea struck her.

“I just came to tell ye,” Thrist said defensively. “That Maevis sensed somethin’ off. We’re just checkin’ to see if the lanterns are lit. And to let ye know to keep an eye out.”

Nenani pulled a small amount of fire from her amulet, letting the small flame dance in her palm for a few moments before tossing it towards Thrist. It caught the middle portion of his coat, just below his waist. And began to burn. She caught Connar’s eye and shrugged innocently. The blacksmith bit his lip to keep himself from laughing.

“Message received,” Farris replied. “And seein’ as it ain’t lit, ye can get out. Now.”

“Right,” Thrist replied, scurrying towards the exit. “I’ll just be on my way then.”

“Oh, and Thrist?” Farris said.

“Huh?”

“...yer arse is on fire.”

“What…?” Thrist twisted to look behind him and seeing the back end of his coat beginning to smolder, jumped with a cry of alarm and ran for the archway. “AH!”

Laughter followed him up the stairs and out of the kitchen and into the courtyard. Still chuckling himself, Farris walked over to the table and sat Connar down next to Nenani and ruffled her hair into a fluffy mess. She pushed her hair out of her eyes and looked up to find him grinning at her. “That’s my girl.”

She giggled, trying to put her hair back into some semblance of order. Kol came running down the stairs with a sack slung over his shoulder. “Oi!” he said with a breathless smile. “Who tossed Thrist into the fire?”

“No one,” Quinn laughed. “It was the Dumplin’.”

“Threw a fireball at him,” Yale replied, his words bouncing along with his laugh.

Kol howled with mirth as he laid the sack down onto the bakers’ station table. “He’s out here rollin’ in the snow!”

Beside her, Connar was laughing as well. “Ah, man. If only I could do that. Would’ve come in handy so many times.” He hobbled unsteadily over, greatly favoring his left leg, and plopped down onto the folded towel next to her. Wincing, he reached down to rub his left knee and pulled his trouser leg up to reveal the carved wood beneath. Where the wood ended, a large leather belt began, wrapping around his lower thigh. He popped a few buttons and slid the leg off to reveal the remnants of his real leg. Bright pink scar tissue created a sort of cushion just below his kneecap and there seemed to be a sort of callous where fake leg repeated rubbed against his skin. “Sorry,” he said, pulling his pant leg down. “I just needed to get it off for a bit. I know it’s an ugly thing to look at.”

“So, Farris,” Quinn asked, gesturing towards Connar. “Where’d ye find this one?”

Farris snorted as he dug through a cupboard. “Half frozen in a fuckin’ snow pile.” He pulled out another tea towel and tossed it over to Connar. It unfolded in the air and enveloped Connar completely. It took him a few moments to pull himself out of it’s tangles and wrapped the excess fabric around him.

“Why are ye even outside in this cold?” Yale asked, returning to his original task. “Don’t it hurt yer leg?”

“My leg? Not at all,” Connar replied with a cheeky grin, holding up the wooden leg. “But what’s left of my knee feels like it’s on fire.”

Yale shook his head, but was smiling. “Then why the fuck are ye out here?”

Connar pulled a satchel from behind him and placed it on his lap, patting it with a triumphant grin. “I heard Nenani was down here and I wanted to hand deliver this to her. Wanted to see her face.”

“My belt?” Nenani asked, eye bright.

“Yup. Among other things. I promised you I’d make you something you would love.”

“Oh!” she said, bouncing and holding her hands out. “Let me see, let me see!”

Connar held up a placating finger. “Ah-uh. What’s the magic word?”

“Please?” Nenani asked, but paused, recalling how much he seemed to enjoy Jae’s bribe. “...whiskey?”

Connar stared at her baffled and the grinned. With a laugh, he said, “No. It was please. But I may change it now.”

Flipping open the satchel’s flap, Connar reached inside and pulled out a leather belt as wide as her hand and decorated with intricate motifs. Trees, a mountain, a stream, and in the center, a seven petaled flower. “Here,” he said, flipping it over so show her the inside. “It snaps on, so it won’t be a huge problem to put it on. And you can secure your dagger’s sheath to it here with this flap. It buckles just here...and there’s another on the other side. You know. Just in case.”

He gestured for her to stand and she obeyed, remaining perfectly still as he he wrapped it around her waist and snapped the metal buttons. He hummed. “Hm. A little loose. Hold on a tic, I’ll adjust it. Spin a bit for me.”

She did as he asked and he began to put at the strings at the back of the belt, the leather beginning to tighten snugly against her. “How’s that?”

“Good,” she replied.

“Not too tight?”

“No.”

“All right!” he said, patting her side. “Let’s see you then.”

Nenani stood back, looking down at the belt and with a wide grin, spun around. Yale bent down to inspect it, giving an appreciative whistle.

“It’s a fine piece, lad,” Farris said. “Gen taught ye well.”

“Thanks,” Connar replied and then reached back into his bag. “But I’ve got more.”

“More?” Nenani asked, interest piqued. At Connar’s beckoning finger, she skipped back over to him.

“Let me see your right arm,” he said as he pulled out another piece of leather, tubular, and with similar motifs to the belt. He slipped it onto her arm and used the strings at the side to secure it. He motioned for her other arm as he pulled the second matching piece from the bag. “They’re vambraces. Kind of like the bracers archers wear.”

“Fuckin’ hell, Lolly’s gonna flip if she sees ye wearin’ all that,” Kol said. “Ye almost look like ye ready fer battle there, lass.”

Nenani’s face hurt from how wide her smile was. She looked over at Yale. “I’m gonna wear these to the dinner. The sleeves are long enough you’d never even see them!”

“Good luck with that!” he laughed.

Connar called her back over. “Haven’t even shown you the best part yet. Let me see that amulet of yours.”

She remembered him saying something about getting a better chain for it so she pulled it over her hear and handed it to him. He took a moment to inspect it. “Man, this thing is old. Like...ancient. Where’d you get it?”

“...Maevis took if off a dead mage in the catacombs inside the walls somewhere near the keep,” she replied. Connar looked up at her, giving her a look, but when she did not reveal it to be a joke, he frowned.

“...you’re serious.”

She nodded and he regarded the fire opal amulet with a growing look of unease. “This thing isn’t like...gonna curse me or anything will it?”

“It hasn’t cursed me,” she replied with a shrug and then paused. “At least I don’t think it has.”

“Very reassuring,” he snorted. From within his satchel he pulled out a few tools and with a deft fingers, used a pair of pliers to pull apart the links securing the chain to the amulet and sat it aside. With the amulet in hand, he gestured her forward and when she stood in front of him, he held out the amulet and placed it in the center of her belt. He used the pliers one more time to loop the ends with a link set into the leather and after only a few moments, he leaned back to inspect it. “There. Now you don’t have to worry about that old chain breaking loose.”

She took a moment to admire the whole of her new gifts before leaping at Connar and all but tackling him to the ground. “Oh, hey now! Oof –!”

“I love it!” she said, wrapping her arms around his neck.

“Told you that you would,” he laughed.

“All right, that’s enough,” Farris said. “We’ve got plenty to do without any more distractions. Kol, go get the others and have ‘em all come down here. I’ve got somethin’ ye all need t’hear.”

“Will do,” Kol replied, turning to race back up the stairs. In a matter of minutes, the entire kitchen staff was assembled. Farris looked them all in the eyes and with an irritable grumble, said to them, “Donal’s just told me the guest list fer the dinner just doubled.”

“What?” Yale asked, looking pale. “Doubled? Ye can’t be serious.”

“They’re all coming,” Farris replied, not bothering to disguise his irritation. “Every Duke, Duchess, Earl, and Countess. All of ‘em.”

The answering silence weighed heavily in the air.

“Fuck!” exclaimed Avery, breaking the quiet and yet seeming to capture everyone’s sentiment perfectly. “It’s the weddin’ all over again.”

“Worse,” Farrie replied. “We ain’t got nearly the same amount of time to prep. Donal’s got my list and he’ll be handlin’ the orderin’ and we’ll have twenty tenderfoots to help. Ten of ‘em are the ones that helped out during the weddin’ feast so they’ll at least have some sense of what’s expected of ‘em.”

Connar gave a low whistle. “I don’t envy you boys.”

Kol made an exaggerated moan, leaning heavily against Quinn. “Ugh, please. Someone just throw me off the battlements.”

“Alright,” Quinn smirked, grabbing Kol around the waist and bodily hoisting him up.

“Oi! I was fuckin’ jokin’!” Quinn obligingly sat Kol back down, laughing.

“I’ll trade you places,” Nenani offered Kol. “I’ll stay down here and you can go to the dinner instead.”

“If I thought we’d get away with it,” he said. “I might very well take ye up on that offer, Dumplin’.”

“Don’t think he’d fit into yer dress though,” added Saen with a grin.

“He could just wear it on his hand,” she offered.

“I’d pay good money to see Kol in a frock,” Avery snickered.

“Aye, I bet you would,” Kol replied with a frown.

“All right then, let’s get to it, lads,” Farris barked, sensing where the conversation was leading. He turned to Nenani. “Best go head on back upstairs, Dumplin’. Donal mentioned yer Mum was lookin’ fer ye.” Nenani made a sad noise of disappointment. “Yale? Go find one ‘a the guards to take her back up.”

“Why can’t I just take the tunnel?” Nenani asked.

Farris eyed her. “Ye heard Thrist didn’t ye? Maevis sensed somethin’. And I ain’t takin’ no chances.” He turned to Saen and waved at Connar as he was slipping his false leg back on. “Saen? Make sure Mr. Observant here gets back to Hev in one piece. Afraid to let him walk back on his own. Might not find him again until spring.”

Connar glared up at Farris. “You’re a real comedian, Farris. You know that?”

“Oh I wasn’t jokin’ none.”

#DUMPLING #g/t #g/t short #g/t writing #Giant/tiny #Nenani #Yale #Farris #Connar #Kol #Quinn #Saen #Thrist

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lunafeather · 4 years ago

Note

9 for the kiss prompts?

Hey I don’t know if you saw that I posted my response to this on AO3 (I was taking a break from tumblr at the time!), so I totally forgot to answer this ask and shit, I hope you saw it on AO3.... I’ll post it here, too, just to be safe haha

9. Fuck You Kiss

------------

It becomes a routine:

Put the kids to bed, stay up prepping their lunches for the next day, entertain Dean until he finally collapses onto their air mattress, then sneak out when he’s dead asleep.

She usually drives to Boland Bubbles in silence, her mind whirring, picturing the numbers in her head and rearranging them in a way that’s believable, but profitable, in a way that her husband won’t catch on -- not for a long while, anyway.

The parking lot is empty as she pulls in, the building ominously dark. She knows its dumb, but she wedges her keys between her fingers anyway as she leaves her car and treks to the employee side entrance and lets herself in. The motion sensor lights flicker on as she makes her way down the hallway, peeking into the warehouse to make sure it all looks kosher, doing the same with the break room and then the mood room, her eyes sweeping through the one pink tinted light they leave on for good luck, and she’s just about to turn away --

She screams when she notices the shadow looming in the corner of the room, hands in its pockets, seemingly staring into the hot tub they always have filled for customers to test out before buying.

Rio meanders closer, into the light, and Beth should have known it was him, of course it’s him, it’s always him. Still, she presses her palm to her chest, against the harsh thudding of her heart.

His eyes track the movement with interest.

“What the hell are you doing here?” she hisses.

He smirks, that dumb, handsome, terrible and infuriating smirk. “That any way to greet your boss?”

Beth rolls her eyes and stalks away, not waiting for him. He won’t answer her, and he’ll eventually follow her to the office planted in the center of the show room. She doesn’t have the time nor the patience to entertain him.

He appears in the doorway a few minutes later, leaning his hip against the frame, and she has to resist the urge to look up from the papers in front of her to properly take him in -- but she can see him in her peripheral, sees the black beanie tugged low over his ears, the charcoal grey button up shrouded by the black coat with the one white button hole, the loose black jeans and the black and white sneakers.

He’s found a color scheme he likes and stuck with it, and she can respect that -- her brain chooses to focus on this thought instead of the overwhelming surge of want that flows through her, the frustration prickling at her skin -- frustration with everything that’s happened between them, frustration with this business not being hers, not really , frustration with how fucking beautiful he is. He’s taken to sporting a full beard lately, trimming it instead of shaving, and it drives her to distraction when they’re in the same room together, many times Rio just staring at her while she tries to fight the blush at the memory of that beard against her thighs, of her fingernails running through it.

The worst part is that she’s convinced he knows exactly what it does to her.

All of this lust, all of this attraction, had been a lot easier to keep at bay when she was convinced he was going to kill her at any moment, reap his revenge with three matching holes -- his and hers -- blasted in her body, and when she was consumed with the desperation for survival, convinced she needed to get rid of him first to save herself.

This stalemate of theirs makes it too easy to slip.

So she ignores him.

She can feel him smiling at her.

Still, she’s the first to break the silence.

“How did you get in?”

Rio shrugs, doesn’t answer.

She didn’t really expect one anyway.

“You worried about bein’ all alone in this big warehouse in the middle of the night, baby?”

He smiles when she glares at him.

“Maybe if you told me how you got in, I’d be able to keep the place more secure.”

His eyes are dark, framed by those thick, long lashes. “Nah, where’s the fun in that?” he murmurs.

They stare at each other for a moment.

“Well, if you didn’t need anything, I’ve got some work to --”

“Why you keep coming here at this hour anyway, Elizabeth?”

Her brows furrow. “How did you --”

He tilts his head, gives her a look.

“Are you still having me followed?” she splutters.

He shrugs again, faux nonchalant, sticking his lower lip out and then pursing his lips.

“I thought we moved past that.”

“Oh, what, you think I’m s’posed to trust you, after everything?”

Beth tips her chin in defiance. “I mean, I did bring you this idea--”

A bark of laughter, devoid of amusement. “Nah, sweetheart, that’s not how it works and you know it.”

Her mouth settles into a hard line, and she lets her expression go blank. “Fine. But if that’s all --”

“You never answered my question.”

She can’t help it, she squawks, indignant. “I’m sorry, when the hell have you ever answered --”

“Why you keep comin’ here in the middle of the night?”

“Will you let me speak?” She’s not proud of losing her temper, never likes to let her emotions slip around him, especially not now, so she balls her hands into fists in her lap and tries to channel her anger into them.

Rio watches her, waits for her to say something else, but she doesn’t have anything else, was mostly annoyed at him cutting her off. His eyebrows hit his hairline.

“Oh, that it?” He takes three long, slow steps towards her, his fingers sliding along the edge of her desk -- well, Dean’s desk, but just for now, just until she can wiggle her way in -- stopping at the corner and leaning over it, hands splayed. “Cause I thought maybe you were gonna tell me why you sneakin’ around your business, fudgin’ numbers. Why your husband still thinks he runnin’ the game and callin’ the shots.”

Beth swallows. “I told you, it’s going to take some time for me to convince him to let me handle the books. He can’t know you’re involved, or he’ll --”

“He’ll what?” Rio sneers. “Go runnin’ to the cops, the FBI? He still refusin’ to see you’re the one who bossed up and pays the bills, huh? Guess what, darlin’, I shot him once, nothin’ stoppin’ me from doing it again.”

She’s not sure what reaction he’s expecting, but she has a feeling that her cool indifference isn’t it. He squints at her.

“If you let me take care of him, it won’t come to that.”

“I ain’t got time for you to try to pussy whip your dumbass husband --”

“Excuse me?”

“You should be pullin’ in way more cash than you are, so I’ma need you to stop gaggin’ on Dean’s dick and get your shit together --”

She’s up and in his face before she realizes what she’s doing, jabbing her finger into his chest. “How dare you!”

Rio snatches her hand and holds it away from them both. “Don’t.”

His voice is rough, a warning, but she doesn’t catch it, blinded by her fury.

“You don’t know anything about my marriage, about what I’ve had to do, what I’ve had to sacrifice!” Flailing wildly, she yanks her hand from his and goes onto her toes to get onto his eye level, waving her hand in his face and prodding him again.

“Elizabeth,” he growls.

“I will not let you degrade me, or treat me like --”

And then his mouth is on hers, effectively shutting her up. The kiss is rough, angry, desperate and filthy -- Rio’s hands cup her ass and lift her onto the desk, then slide up her back to mold her body against his, her breasts wedged against his chest and spilling out over her v-neck sweater. Beth wails into his mouth and clings to his shoulders as he steps between her thighs. He ravages her mouth, alternating rubbing his tongue against hers and sucking on it. She sinks her teeth into his lower lip hard enough that she thinks she tastes blood, and he groans and twists his fingers into her hair to yank her head back and expose her throat.

“You think about my tongue in your mouth when you kiss him, mama?” he says against her skin, sucking a hickey below her ear.

She scratches her fingernails against his scalp, helpless in his arms and writhing against him. One of his palms lowers to her ass to hold her in place, not allowing her to seek out any friction.

“You close your eyes and pretend its my cock fillin’ you up, makin’ you beg?”

Beth moans as his voice vibrates against her ear, pleasure singing down her neck and across her shoulders, threading through her spine and pooling at her tailbone. He grinds his hips into hers, and she can feel how turned on he is.

“He can’t make you come like I can, huh, baby? Gotta wait til he’s passed out and touch yourself, but your fingers aren’t enough, are they? Can’t reach inside you the way mine can.”

Those fingers clench in her hair, forcing her eyes open to meet his stare, his eyes dark fathomless, drawing her in and smothering her. She tries to lean forward, to kiss him again, but he keeps her still.

“He ain’t me,” he growls. The words tumble out from his lowest register, like he pried them from deep within himself, from a place he never lets see light, dripping with possessiveness and pride, and maybe even hurt.

She shakes her head. “He’s not you.”

Almost like he doesn’t want to hear it, like he’s already said too much, revealed too much, he crushes his mouth to hers again, and this kiss feels like a punishment and a plea. Beth lets it consume her.

And just like that, he’s releasing her, both of them panting as he steps back, putting some space between them and looking at her like she’s hexxed him, woven a spell to lure him, tempt him. And then the mask is back in place.

“You got a week to get your husband in line,” he says as he wipes their spit from his chin with his sleeve. He turns to leave, but stops in the doorway and looks over his shoulder. “And you better get a gun if you gonna be spending this much time here alone. Need to protect yourself.”

She arches an eyebrow at the implication under those words, that she needs to protect herself from him.

Beth’s got a feeling that his intentions are a little less murderous and a lot more carnal.

“Aren’t you afraid I’ll empty the clip this time?”

His responding grin is slow, feral, like he’d been hoping she’d say that.

“Nah.”

And then he’s gone.

#Brio #NBC Good Girls #I still have like 10 kisses to do so I won't link the prompt list #sorry for taking so long to answer this!#I wrote this on the 9th then forgot I should have answered the ask haha #my fic #Luna writes #inyoursheets #ask answer

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maluminspace · 5 years ago

Note

This is all because of you! and you make me feel so small with Calum please.

A37 “This is all because of you!”

A22 “you make me feel so small”

You’d always promised yourself you’d never let anyone reduce you to this. Somehow, though, Calum fucking Hood had managed it.

No one had ever meant enough to you, before, that a simple jealous argument would cause you to try and drown your sorrows in a bottle of cheap vodka.

Calum had stormed out hours ago. He hadn’t called or text you since he’d sped off in his beloved sports car. You know he’s probably just crying to Michael or Ashton about what a nightmare you are but it infuriates you nonetheless.

The last swig of vodka you down burns your throat, making you wince but your pour another measure anyway. Some of the alcohol sloshes onto the coffee table as your aim becomes clumsy. It’s a clear sign that you shouldn’t drink anymore but you’re hoping it’ll help you pass out soon so you don’t have to sit here crying over Calum for the rest of the night.

Wanting your boyfriend to come home has barely resurfaced at the front of your mind when the sound of crunching gravel on driveway draws your attention. A few seconds later a car door slams and footsteps make their way towards your front door.

As much as part of you wants to jump on Calum and apologise while he wraps you in a tight hug, the rest of you kind of wishes you’d put the chain on the front door so he can’t get back in.

When your boyfriend slopes into the hallway closing the door behind him, he immediately turns towards you. Calum must have noticed that the lights were still on in the living area when he’d pulled into the driveway.

“Didn’t expect to see you back here tonight.” You slur, scoffing in an attempt to seem uncaring.

“Yeah?” He asks, looking far too tired to be mad anymore. “Well I didn’t fancy sleeping on Ashton’s sofa so...”

You let out a humourless laugh. “I knew you’d you go crying to your boyfriend about this.”

Calum shakes his head, toeing off his converse before padding across the living room towards you. His eyes linger for a moment on the half empty bottle sitting on the coffee table. When his usually soft brown eyes finally meet yours they betray the anger still simmering beneath the surface.

“Are you drunk?” He asks incredulously.

You shrug as you down the glass of vodka you’d poured just a few moments ago. It doesn’t sting your throat as much as the last time. “What do you care?”

Calum rolls his eyes, an angry blush rising in his cheeks. “Of course I fucking care!” He replies, the effort he’s using to keep his voice steady is painfully evident in his tone. “If I didn’t care I wouldn’t have come back in the first place.”

“Whatever...” you scoff, picking up the bottle again.

“Seriously?” Calum asks, the exhaustion written all over his face as well seeping into his voice. “Are you gonna just keep drinking until you throw up everywhere? Is that your plan?”

There’s still a part of you that wants to resolve this argument and just go to bed. It’s tiny voice is given strength by the pleading in Calum’s eyes as he watches you slosh more vodka into the glass in your hand and into your lap. “‘M not planing on the puking part...” you reply, trying to keep the fire of your anger alive over the desire to just apologise.

“Well that’s where your heading!” Calum insists, “and I’ll end up having to clean that mess up too, like everything else you fucking touch!”

You drain your glass and slam it down on the table along with the bottle. “I’ve never asked you to clean up my messes!” You retort, “I’m a fucking adult, capable of sorting out my own shit!”

Calum rolls his eyes impatiently. “Yeah, it looks like it.” He snaps back, gesturing sarcastically at the items you’d just returned to the table. “You’re really acting like someone who has their fucking shit together, aren’t you? I leave for a few hours and come back to this...”

Your irritated boyfriend gestures a little too hard and knocks the half empty bottle of alcohol onto the floor. It smashes into several pieces, its contents seeping over the wooden flooring.

“Well done, Calum!” You snap, “you’re such a fucking idiot.”

Instead of sniping back at you as you expect, Calum simply leaves the room. He returns a moment later with with a roll of paper towels and a bin bag. Without so much as a glance in your direction, he drops to his knees next to the puddle of vodka and broken glass.

Your drunken brain finds it hard to comprehend why Calum’s suddenly gone all quiet. For some reason it makes you angrier as you drop down next to him. “Don’t ignore me, Calum!” You command, keeping your bleary eyes on him as he carefully wraps the broken glass on a few layers of the paper towels. “You’ve already done that enough, tonight!”

You can tell that Calum is annoyed by your words but he continues to concentrate on wrapping up the dangerous shards of the broken bottle.

“Do I really mean that fucking little to you?” You demand, your tone of voice betraying just how disgruntled you are by Calum’s lack of communication.

Your words seem to strike a nerve with your boyfriend as he snaps his face towards you, his brown eyes filled with the sad sort of anger that would usually break your heart.

Unable to tear your gaze away from Calum’s, you’re fully expecting a barrage of vexed words but all that escapes him is a pained yelp.

You glance down to see a trickle of blood running down from the pad of one of his fingers. For a split second you forget your anger, feeling only concern for the love of your life. You instinctively reach out to him but he immediately shies away. “Leave me alone.” He mutters, struggling to his feet. “This is all because of you!”

And just like that your anger is back. You watch through narrowed eyes as Calum strides off towards the kitchen.

It takes you much longer than it should to struggle to your feet. That’s probably unsurprising, given your inebriated state, but it’s still frustrating. “What’s that supposed to mean?” You ask, stumbling after your boyfriend.

Calum doesn’t reply. He simply turns on the cold water tap and holds his bloody finger under it. The way he winces in pain kind of makes you want to hug him but your drunken brain reminds you that your still pretty angry with him. “Are you ever going to answer me?”

Your boyfriend finally turns to face you. There are tears brimming in his beautiful eyes, you’re not sure if they’re a result of his pain or frustration but either way it hurts to see him like this.

“I can’t do this with you now.” Calum concedes. “Please can we just talk in the morning?”

You shake your head, stepping a little closer to your boyfriend. “I didn’t wait up all night just to go bed without resolving it anyway.”

Calum scoffs impatiently. “Yeah getting shit-faced was a great way of showing me you want to work this out.”

Even in your drunken state, you know Calum has a point and you feel the shadow of something like embarrassment or shame. “Well I had to do something when you just ran out on me!”

Calum turns off the tap and steps over to the draw where you keep your little first aid kit. “I left because you hurt my feelings.” He confesses. “I know I’ve been distant lately, but you didn’t have to say the things you said.”

Sober you would have agreed with him in an instant. Perhaps you had actually been a little harsh earlier. Drunk you is still angry, though. “I don’t know what I’m meant to think, Calum!” You argue. “You’ve been sneaking around, acting shifty and nervous all the time...”

Calum grimaces again as he places a plaster over the cut on his finger. You’re not entirely sure it’s the tiny injury that causes the physical reaction, though. “I’m not cheating on you.” He sighs, exhausted and obviously just done with this whole argument. “I could never...”

The sincerity of Calum’s words almost seeps through your inebriated brain... Almost. “Then give me an explanation, Calum!” Bursts from your mouth as you sway on the spot.

“Not now.” Calum replies, his voice quiet. “Not when you’re drunk.” He insists. “Not when you make me feel so small, like this!”

Your boyfriend’s last sentence kind of hurts but you manage to stop yourself from uttering a venomous reply by literally biting your tongue between your back teeth.

Calum doesn’t say anything else as he returns the little first aid kit to its drawer before heading back into the living room.

You follow him, but only to the doorway. Your brain is slow to think of a reply other than ‘I’m sorry’ and you’re not quite ready for that yet.

As Calum cleans up the rest of the broken bottle and mops up the spilt vodka, you find yourself absently watching him. Just as you open your mouth to demand an answer, something falls out of the pocket of Calum’s leather jacket. The tiny item turns out to be a black velvet box. Initially you’re a bit confused. It’s only when Calum opens the little lid, that you realise there’s an engagement ring hidden inside.

Suddenly everything makes perfect sense, even in your alcohol soaked brain. Calum’s been distant and shifty lately because he’s been nervous to ask you marry him.

All of your anger and suspicion suddenly melt away, leaving a knot of guilt in its place. You want to run over to Calum and apologise for being so oblivious and tell him how stupid you feel for ever thinking he could be unfaithful.

Before you can do any of that, though, your boyfriend closes the box and shoves it back into his pocket. He wipes a tear from his face as he throws the last vodka-soaked paper towels into the bin bag and carries it outside.

As much as you want to tell Calum that you know the real reason why he’s been acting so strange, you know that he was completely right about now being entirely the wrong time to talk about ‘the truth’.

Instead of giving things away, you decide that you’ll act surprised when he finally asks you. He at least deserves that moment of knowing that he’s chosen the exact right way and moment to ask you.

In the mean time, you’ll stop being so paranoid and start making him feel like the amazing person he is. Starting with an apology as soon as he walks back into the house.

Masterlist

#calum hood #calum hood imagine #calum hood burb #calum hood fic #5sos #5sos imagine #5sos blurb #5sos fic #calum imagine #calum blurb #calum fic #angsty!calum #my writing #200 dialogue quotes #tw: alcohol

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newsies-geek · 4 years ago

Text

You’re Always Welcome

Javid Vampire Werewolf AU Part 2

Because why not

***

TW: Blood, Pain

***

The next night was indeed a quiet evening. Davey kept casting glances at the window, left halfway open versus all the way open tonight. He'd be lying if he said he hadn't started gently whining at around an hour after Jack would usually come around...a longing seemed to have instilled itself in his chest- meaning that as soon as it was certain Jack wasn't coming, longing gave way to a particular anger that Davey couldn't explain. This was what he had wanted, right? For Jack to leave him alone?

No- not for Jack to leave him alone, but for him to...want Davey versus wanting Davey's...property- his location- his area to crash, to hide- Davey wanted to be the one to provide the safety, not his roof.

He hated these emotions and these confused feelings that left him tossing and turning until he finally fell asleep in the dead of night.

Davey was a light sleeper, in part to his attuned senses, and in part to how he'd always just been, even before he got bit last year.

Regardless of why, it was this fact that made Davey's eyes open in the early hours of the morning. Perhaps five. Perhaps six. The sun wasn't up yet but it would be soon.

The sound of thumping from the fire escape outside made Davey's eyes flicker open, followed by a groan as his sleep was disturbed, not that it had been going very well anyway, "Stupid raccoons, go to sleep." Davey growled.

More thumping came...and then silence.

"D-Dave-"

Davey sat up in an instant with the familiar voice, he hated the feeling in his chest that drew towards the window, quickly stifling it to stay quiet.

"Y-You is up, I heard it-"

"G-Go away, Jack...bother someone else."

"Dave, listen-"

"No, you listen- I told you last night, I don't want you coming here as a safe house, go find someone else-"

"Dave.." Jack's voice got quieter and Davey felt his hair stick up a bit in concern before shaking his head.

"S-Stop moping, I'm-"

The sound of something hitting a wall sounded from outside and Jack gasped, "D-Davey- please- the Delanceys are-"

"They always are, I know." Davey sniffed.

"F-For real this time though-"

Davey blinked a few times in confusion. For real? As if-" A thud sounded an arrow launched through his bedroom window and hit the wall, making Davey get into his feet.

"Dave- Davey please let me in, I- I'm s-" Jack screeched as another thud sounded with a more muted sound.

It took only a moment before the scent of fresh blood hit Davey's nose. It made his mind reel backwards, but not in the hungry way such as how a Vampire like Jack might feel- in an angry way- a recognition- the scent of blood from someone who was part of his pack.

Davey snarled and was at the window in an instant, skin tingling and teeth bared, ready for whatever threat had just hurt Jack, only to find the boy gone, followed by thuds as the taller boy looked down to see two shadowed figures dragging the bleeding body down the steps. Eyes atoned to the night, Davey could see the shine of a silver arrow stuck in Jack's back.

Davey had turned on purpose only a few times before. Once when a group of boys had been teasing Les, and another time when the Delancey's had gone after Sarah.

The brunette hoped that the brothers would recognize him as he dropped down onto the street below, his four legs taking most of the shock and absorbing it well with the thickness of muscle and fur that now made up a snarling, chocolate-brown wolf with fluffed fur from anger as the Delancey's reached the bottom steps, carrying Jack and immediately dropping him when they spotted Davey's massive form.

"It's that loony mutt again, Morris." Oscar shouted to his brother.

"It's a supernatural, and we've got a crossbow this time, stop talkin' and start makin' yourself useful." Morris raised his arm, going to reload the crossbow, struggling with it as he pulled the string of it back.

Davey was quicker than the reload as he lunged forward in his canine form, grabbing Morris by the front of his shirt and shaking him like a chew-toy before throwing him against the nearest alley wall while praying his parents hadn't been woken up by any earlier sounds or current ones.

"Christ!" Oscar hissed, teaching for a wooden stake in his pocket and throwing it at Davey. It bounced off his shoulder with ease, alerting his attention to Oscar who he picked up by the shoulder and threw out of the alley and into the street in one swift swing of his head.

"It's a werewolf, not a vampire you idiot, a stake isn't going to work!" Morris groaned from where he was left in a heap at the other end of the alley.

Davey snarled and moved to stand over Jack protectively, who looked up at him in confusion.

"D...David?" Jack whispered, but if Davey had heard, he gave no sign to it, continuing to snarl at Morris who stumbled to his feet with his hands in the air as he scrambled towards the alley exit.

"I'll give you somethin to chew on you-" Morris struggled to, but managed, to run past Davey while he attempted to shield jack as Morris shot a silver arrow right into Davey's side, making him yelp and stagger long enough for Morris to escape and book it down the street with his brother.

Davey's form, around five to six foot tall and six to seven foot long, fell onto its side in pain, landing beside Jack who lifted himself with a groan of pain, "Is that...? Is that you, Dave?" His answer came in the form of Davey's form getting a foot smaller into a curled up position of a vulnerable boy who's white shirt was getting redder by the second.

"Sh-Shit-" Jack stumbled towards Davey, wincing at the pain in his shoulder from the burning sensation of the silver arrow in his shoulder. He couldn't break it like one would with a wooden arrow, and it was only causing more pain by the second.

Davey seemed to have passed out from either the pain of an arrow in his side or from is deformation, but Jack needed to get help quick, and the hit that was the scent of Davey's blood wasn't helping him think straight, "Shit..." Jack cursed, struggling to cup his hands over his face- he needed to get the scent out of mind...but what a pleasant one it was... he- his ears twitched at the sound of a high pitched whine from Davey, forcing him to plug his nose and shut his mouth to keep his senses at bay. Davey needed help- pulling out the arrow wouldn't help, but what else could he do? Even if the arrow wasn't silver, it would still need to stay in, or Davey would start bleeding out without pressure of a seal.

It took a moment of thinking before he remembered the silver plate and the candle. If he could pull it out fast enough and...his hand would still be hot...

He had to- it wasn't like there was a hospital for Supernaturals in these areas and-

"Okay.." He reaches for the arrow in Davey's side, hesitating for only a moment before pulling it out quickly. It instantly made the boy wake up with a gasp of pain, but Jack was quicker, biting back screams of pain as he slipped a burning hand under Davey's shirt and pressed it harshly to the wound before pulling away. His skin couldn't melt off, only eternally burn, which kept his flesh from fusing to Davey's as the wolf-boy's wound fused itself shut, the boy biting down hard on his shirt to keep from screaming out in pain.

"I-It's okay! It's okay-" Jack winked at the pain in his shoulder, "J-Just gotta- one more time-" He whispered, reaching for the arrow in his shoulder and repeating the process before falling limply to his knees and clutching his sides.

The smell of his own blood mixed with Davey's, causing confusion in his brain that made his fangs grow and his desire for blood shrink. A vampire couldn't drink their own blood without the desire to immediately vomit it up- it couldn't be processed and, "I- h-hold on-" Jack gently picked up Davey and embraced him tightly, the blood on his shirt staining Davey's, along with the scent itself.

It didn't entirely set off the alarms in his head that told him he was hungry, but it was enough to give him control over his own actions, and right now, his immediate actions were to cradle Davey in his arms who was whimpering quietly from the still present pain.

"D-Davey?" Jack whispered.

"Jackie...?"

Jack held Davey tighter, pressing their foreheads together, "Oh thank ya god..."

"I-Is your hand okay?"

"It's burned, but it's intact." Jack nodded.

Davey gently took the wounded hand gingerly, turning it over as gently as possible, he frowned tiredly, "I'm sorry.."

"It ain't your fault...I...shouldn't have brought you into this..." Jack stroked Davey's cheek with the back of his thumb.

Davey closed his eyes, "How'd they know...?"

"Long story- they was uh- I was in the wrong place at the wrong time and-"

"And what did you mean...this time?"

"What?" Jack chuckled quietly as the sun began to rise, shade gathering around them from the stacked boxes in the brick alley.

"You said...you really meant it this time...that the Delanceys were after you...they're always after you..."

"A-About that..." Jack cleared his throat, "The- the first time, for real, they was- and every now and then they'll be after me- but um-"

"E-Excuses.."

"What...?"

"You were making up excuses.." Davey's eyes opened, "To...come over- why?"

Jack's pale features seemed to become darker for a moment, "Can't a buddy just...want to hang with a pal?"

"You've been coming over every day for a year...why...why didn't you just ask?"

Jack looked away, "Was worried you wouldn't uh- wouldn't want- or Uh- wouldn't let me in without an excuse...and you were so mad the otha' day about me botherin' you with my coming over-"

"Jack.." Davey reaches up to touch the dirtier face of the vampire, "I love it when you come over to hang out with me...but when it's to hang out with 'me', not to just have a failsafe area- that- you're only coming over because it's the only place you can go, not because you want to be around me..."

"O-Of course I want to be around you!" Jack defended.

"Well, I...it didn't seem like it- seemed more like you wanted a roof over your head than my company." Davey shrugged with a wince of pain.

"I just didn't...want you to...to notice- or um- or care how often I came and went- Dave, I was always vistin' to see 'you' not to hide. Your house ain't my safe space, 'you' is my...safe space.."

Davey felt his heart rate pick up and he couldn't help but smile, "I..."

"How long have you been a- uh- ya know?" Jack cleared his throat, making a growling face as an interpretation of a werewolf.

"A year, around the time you told me about-" Davey bared his teeth in a vampire interpretation.

Jack chuckled, "That's not how I look."

"No, cuter.." Davey whispered, closing his eyes.

"Wh-What?" Jack nervously chuckled as Davey shrank down a bit.

"W-Well, I'm not going to repeat myself.

"You make me blush, Jacobs. Well, I mighta just kissed ya if I wasn't afraid'a bitin' you." Jack smirked.

Davey's eyes widened and his words came out more desperate than he meant them to, "I-I'll take that risk."

Jack's eyebrows lifted, "Y-You- you'll- you would?"

"A year of me allowing you to come over without fail- until...today-" Davey cleared his throat, "And you think I...wouldn't?"

"Well, I-" Jack cleared his throat, "Can't say I wasn't hopin' for somethin' to uh...be...there- but- I figured you was bein' friendly and uh- well, I myself was bein' rather subtle-"

"You burned your hand so that you could light a candle for me. Now, I thought I was reading into things but-" Davey was cut off by Jack's lips on his. He didn't hesitate before holding Jack's face and kissing back.

They parted with gentle breaths after a few moments.

"I love you..." Davey whispered.

"R-Really?"

"After everything I did tonight? I should hope that wasn't platonic." Davey sighed before looking up at Jack with slight expectance and hope.

"I love you too..." Jack kissed Davey's forehead, "Ya' dumb dog."

"I'm not the one who confessed to being a vampire just so his crush would like him." Davey smiled.

"H-How do- do you know why- I um- why that's why I-"

"What? You think being a supernatural is-" Davey chuckles, "Hot? Or something? Like- like in the books?"

"Lookin at you right now I can't say I deny it." Jack winked, making Davey squeak slightly.

"I-I could say the same.." Davey mumbled.

"You could." Jack kissed the boy's cheek.

"I don't think you deserve it though."

"I saved your life tonight!"

"And I saved yours."

"Fair..."

Davey leaked up and left a gentle kiss to Jack's lips, "You're not that bad yourself, Kelly."

Jack grinned widely.

"You're always welcome, whenever you need- or 'want' to come over."

"I don't see myself ever leavin' then." Jack teased.

Davey rested his head on Jack's chest, "I'm not opposed to that."

Jack smiled, "We should head back up..."

"Just a few more minutes..."

"The sun will reach us eventually.." Jack whispered.

"I'll protect you then.." Davey murmured tiredly.

"Promise?" Jack smiled.

"Always.."

#javid #javey #newsies #jack kelly #jack #davey #davey jacobs #david #gay #gays #jacobs #musical

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randaccidents · 5 years ago

Text

Under Arrest

Yeye another fic! This has been waiting as long as Good Night has, and I finally got it out! It’s kinda messy but I think I like it like that :3

Set directly after Good Night.

Song used! Cause I gotta remember to link the song!

Shadow People AU by the gentle @mine-sara-sp

TW: nightmare mention, Demise mention

but this fic is very much light and funny!

Someone is under arrest for not resting crimes

---------

knockknockTHUNKknockknockknockTHUNKTHUNKkno-

"Geez! Who's makin' that racket! I'm tryin to sleep 'ere!"

Bdubs was quickly shushed by his friends around him, eyes flickering over to check on Wels. Chagrined, Bdubs quickly quieted down. “Could someone at least get whoever it is to stop?” he stage-whispered.

“That might be a problem Bubbles.”

Several sets of eyes followed the direction that Keralis was pointing in, cringing backwards slightly when they realised who the problem was. More accurately, two someones.

knockTHUNKTHUNKknockknockknockTHU-

“I’m not dealing with that man, I may fear no hermit, but those things scare me.” The cyborg- creeper shuddered lightly. “Theys unnatural.”

The ensuing soft scuffle was interrupted when Cub stood up with a sigh, Brushing himself down, the hermit carefully maneuvered his way over to the window, avoiding sprawled out arms and legs. Reaching the window, he inspected it, quickly finding that the central section could swing outwards. The knockers had withdrawn their hands, waiting impatiently for Cub to open the window.

Taking a deep breath, he unhooked the latch, quickly shoving the upper half of his body out the window to the surprised shouts of his friends. Crossing his arms in an attempt to look less afraid then he felt, Cub addressed the impatiently bouncing duo outside. "Can’t you two be quieter?"

“W̏ͭ̒a̘͉̅ͣ̚n̗̱̑͛͊ț̲̝̮͔̎ͬ ̇̈́̃́̈ͤW͈̹͙̟͙͈e̼̳͕̜̼̱͓l̜͕s͉̙̞̮͍̦͍̉̃̓̈́!̩̱͚͇̏” “W͎̼̯̮̺̞̬h̖͈͔̪͆̅ͭ͒̈́̊ệ̯͚̫͕ͮ͐r̮̘͊e͎̳̙̲̘̘͌̀̍͗?͖̣̼̠̱͎̻”

Cub flapped his hands at them gently, shushing them. “He’s sleeping. He had a rough night, so if you want to be let in, quiet down, got it?”

The two shadows tilted their heads gently, mirrored yet opposite in direction, bumping their heads together in the process. “Ṟ̙ö̬̩̜̭̭́ͭ̾ͅu͙̠̤̅̏ͧg̑̋ḧ̖̙̝ͫ ͓̟̓̎̌n͆i̒̂g̈̈h͔̭̜͊̅͗ͅt̠̩?͐̑ͧ” “K͊͊͊nͬ̾i̼̥̝͍̼̜̎̆ͮ̃ġ̥̻͈̹h̬̼̦̻͙̓ͧ̎t̍ ͓̙̣͇̺̪̣̚tͥi͎̿r͙e̙͖̝d̒?͛”

“Yes, and if you keep up your noise he’s going to wake up and feel bad.” Cub hissed at them. “Whatever you want can wait this one time, can’t it?”

The two seemed to consider, twittering lightly at each other, before turning to face him in sync, giving him a singular clear chirp. Cub shuddered, he will never understand how Wels figured out how to deal with them calmly. Bracing his arms against the window frame in preparation to head back inside, a sudden realisation hit him. “And no murder. Everyone will scream, our communicators will make noise, he’s gonna wake up. Got it?”

The shadows whined pitifully at him, but nodded their heads at his stern glare. Satisfied, Cub finally popped himself back inside, turning to face everyone who was awake. “Guys, don’t panic.” he hurriedly said.

And just in time too, as the vexdows materialised into the room. Predictably, there was the general noise of panic and fear, although uncharacteristically hushed. Avarice and Keloid didn’t quite seem to care, speedily pinpointing where Wels lay and leaping over hermits to loom over Biffa and Jevin. The two were the only ones who were unafraid, if only because they were currently highly protective over Wels. “Touch him and we will end you,” Biffa hissed, Jevin nodding furiously beside him.

To their surprise, the two shadows didn’t become violent or angry, instead finding a space to sit down, keeping a gentle eye on Wels. “Uh.”

The vexed shadows mutely hissed at them. “S̺̗l̫̬̫̻̮̻͚̒ͭ̽̑ē̳̭̺͒͛͒̉̚e̲͕̯̓ͦ̆͗͂p͖̮̱̖͙̀î̞͖͂͆̅̾͂n͇ͨ̏͑g̤̜̋ͤ̆!̝̫̟̪̊̎̊͗ͧ̊” Avarice whisper-shouted, Keloid nodding rapidly beside them.

Biffa and Jevin gawked at them, sharing a look. This was… new. Normally, the vexed shadows were a lot more aggressive. They looked down at their still sleeping friend, tear tracks dried on his face. What had Wels done to make them so tame?

Jevin nudged Biffa lightly. “Might as well get some more sleep, yeah?” he whispered.

Biffa side-eyed the shadows cautiously. “You get some more sleep. I don’t quite trust them.” he whispered back.

Jevin shrugged, gently easing himself back into the mess of blankets and pillows, jostling Wels slightly. The knight grumbled in his sleep, turning to latch onto Jevin’s hoodie and snuggle into it. Smiling softly, Jevin gently put his arms around Wels before closing his eyes and drifting off to sleep.

Biffa smiled down at his two friends being cute, before a noise caused his head to snap back to the vexed shadows sat opposite. He pointed two fingers at his head before turning them sharply to point at the two shadows. “I’ve got my eye on you.”

Keloid perked up, shoving three of their arms into some of Avarice’s tiny faces before pointing them at Biffa. “Eͣẙ͗̉e͗ͧ ̠͈̲̣͐̀̒o̲̙̮̎n̍ ̔̐͛y͌o̼̟̟̓̉u̻͍!̀̽̑” they giggled, Avarice quickly shoving a large hand into their face to muffle their over-excited laughter.

Biffa blinked. On one hand, that was adorable, in the way that toddlers were. On the other hand, the way they said that was very disturbing. Casting his gaze around the room, he saw that while the hermits had found their own clusters to chat amongst, at least one person in each group was looking over their shoulder, monitoring the shadows who were now playing with each others’ hands. Sighing, he leaned against the wall, resigned to watching Avarice and Keloid.

-----------------

Wels woke slowly, blinking the sleep from his eyes. Dimly, he realised that he hadn’t woken from a nightmare this time, and silently gave thanks. He smooshed his face further into the fabric before him, too comfortable to really move.

“Hey, Wels, you awake?” A hand placed itself on his shoulder, tilting his body slightly. He brushed it aside, turning back into the warm darkness. Muffled laughter issued from above him. “Yep, he’s awake alright.”

Another hand touched his arm as the fabric surface he was cuddled against pulled away, shaking him lightly. “Come on Wels, wake up. It's almost midday and you have visitors.” said another voice.

Wels sighed internally. Guess he did have to get up. Releasing the comfortable fabric, he pushed himself up into a sitting position, stretching his arms above his head. “What is it, what is it,” he grumbled, eyes still refusing to open. He could hear Jevin giggle next to him. “Uh, might wanna open your eyes Wels.”

Grumbling, he opened his eyes. And blinked. "Who let them in here? They're going to steal all the diamonds." He whispered, pointing at the two shadows who were still obliviously toying with their hands.

Cub raised his hand. "I did, and don't worry, we've been keeping an eye on them this whole time, no way they stole any diamonds."

Wels dragged a hand down his face, quickly blinking the sleep from his eyes. "Oh you guys have no clue," he muttered. Turning, he called out to the shadows. "Keloid! Avarice!"

Their heads snapped upwards lightning fast, wide unnatural grins only growing upon seeing the knight awake. "Wͧ̍ͫ͑e̒l̎ͤs!̒̒” “̞̭̲͚̩́̈́̒ͯͨẄ́ḛ̗̭̞̫̄l̾ͩsͦ!̞̅͒” “̭̗͉͔̻̤̰̋̅ͪͦW̖̰̤̊̿ͥe̍́l̗̱͈̫̑̔sͤ!ͣͣ” “̝̦̣̓͗ͧ̉Wͭë̘̹̒͆̿̒ls̽ͭ!̆ͬͤ" they crowed, bouncing on the spot, clearly wanting to crowd around Wels but limited by the lack of space around them.

Wels made a motion like pushing down air with one hand, laughing at their antics. "Calm down, calm down, I'm awake. Thank you for waiting until I woke up this time." The shadows beamed at the praise. Wels quickly moved on before they could get too rowdy. "Now before we get to why you're here…" His gaze sharpened as he glared at the vexed shadows. "Give the diamonds back. I know you have them."

Avarice leaned back slightly, face the picture of innocence. Behind it, Keloid averted their eyes, whistling a bird's tune. "Ẇ͗h͔͚͆̂a͕͙̟̫ͩ̈́t͇̣̟̠̺ ̄ͥs̭̾̽ͫ͑h͚͍̠͉̱̰̣i̓͂̿ṉ̰ͦí̟̬̞̼͎̊̌̑e̼̮̜̗̖̱ͧ̃s͙̪̭̪̞?̂ͣ"

Wels narrowed his eyes at them, unconvinced by their act. "Stop stalling, you know what you've done. You two are never able to sit still unless you have diamonds. Give it back to them."

The shadows whined, but quickly crumbled under Wels' glare. Keloid reached behind it's back and pulled out 10 diamonds, gently placing them on one of Avarice's floating blue hands. The hand floated across the room, stopping to dump the diamonds into a confused Ren's lap before floating back. "Wait a minute…" Ren leaned back, shuffling through his pockets and finding them empty. He whirled back around to point at the smug looking vex shadows, incredulous. "How did you guys do that? Doc is the most observant man I know!"

Wels smirked knowingly. "They have their ways." The shadows cackled proudly at those words, adding an ominous layer to his words. Wels turned back to face Avarice and Keloid, missing how his friends cringed at their laughter. "On to business. Why are you two here? Paladin hasn't died again right?"

The two shook their heads, their bodies moving along with it. There was some mild commotion as the hermits nearest the vexed shadows took cover from flailing arms and wings that he ignored. “C̩̯̩aͥ̋m̼͙̬̰è̑̏ f̆̆ỏ͈̘͕̣̮͖̾̌̌r̻̻̗̐ ̬̫̖́͊ͯͅyͩ̋o͔̙̰ͅu̗͔̼̼͈͈̼̽!̯̖̮͓̺͓̙ͥ”

Wels raised an eyebrow, unconcerned by the disturbing phrasing of the sentence. “That’s new. Why?”

Keloid’s face conveyed the emotion of concern better than Avarice’s many laughing faces. “S̘̠͖̭̻̎̾͋ḧ́̐iͨ̏̚ny ̃ͣ̌n̰͖͚̣͂ͧ͂o̾̑t͇̯̙̠͖͕̎ͩ̆ ̑ȓ͛̊̚ͅe̔ͧ́̍ș̖͑̉tͯ̅!̊́͌ ͍̻̰̥̳̬ͦN̻e͓͌̿ͮe̍͋d̜͚͎̰̦̠͕́͊ ̀̇̚yo͋̒u̟̹̬̖̭͚̾̽ ̓͒h̟̏͛ͅeͮͮ̇l̲͕̻̮͚̣̭ṗͭ!͐”

Wels frowned in thought as he pieced together the rag-tag bits of information he was given. “So Paladin isn’t taking any breaks?” he questioned, receiving twin affirming clicks in response. “And you want me to come help you deal with it?” he guessed. Another set of affirming clicks.

Guess that settles it. Pushing back against the wall, Wels pushed himself up from the comfort of the blanket nest below him. “Alright, let me just do my morning stuff and suit up before we go.” he said, moving to step over his friends.

A pair of hands latched onto his arm, stopping him in his tracks. Instantly, the shadows began hissing aggressively, drawing the clatter of weapons being drawn. Wels sighed. He held his hand up high in a universal stop gesture, pitching his voice above the noise. “Calm down! The lot of you! Act more mature!”

All sound in the room froze, shocked by Wels' sudden outburst. Wels didn't just get angry and shout, Wels was calm and collected. The hands on his arm increased in pressure and weight for a moment, nothing he couldn't handle, and then he had two hermits hanging off of his shoulders. He tilted his head gently in acknowledgement, smiling softly. "Morning Biffa, morning Jevin, whaddya want?"

Biffa pulled himself up into a more upright position, leaning down to whisper into Wels’ ear. “Are you sure you’ll be safe going alone with them? You know they’re dangerous.” On his other shoulder, Jevin nodded in agreement, head bouncing up and down. Wels smiled softly at their concern. “Guys, I’ll be fine. This isn’t my first time and it won’t be the last. At least they asked this time instead of spiriting me away.”

“But you haven’t been sleeping lately. You’re still tired, I can feel it.”

Wels winced at the implications behind Jevin’s words, hurriedly covering it up under a confident tone. “I’ll be fine, I trust them not to harm me, they’ve come so far. Do you trust me?"

He could feel his friends flinch at his implied accusation, guilt slithering down his spine. It was a low blow, but he also knew they were all on a time limit that was as long as the Avarice and Keloid felt like, and he had probably wasted so much of it sleeping. He had to get moving now.

Thankfully, with only a quick side glance, Biffa and Jevin let him go with a nod. Shooting them a glance in thanks, he headed for the bathroom with quick steps. Stopping just inside the doorframe, he leaned out to shout, "And no murder of any kind! Anyone tries something and all of you are out of my house, with me still in it! Are we clear?"

"Yes dad!" came a clear British voice over the general chatter of agreement and twittering chirps, followed swiftly by another, gruffer voice shouting “Ok, Boomer!” Wels whipped back around. "Who said that? I just want to talk to you young man." he said in a mock-threatening voice, eliciting laughter from the crowd. He spied Mumbo, the mustached man grinning proudly, hi-fiving an equally overjoyed TFC in the back. Shaking his head in mock disappointment, Wels left the room, muttering about ‘kids these days’ and ‘no respect for their elders’, to the hooting laughter of the hermits.

Door now closed firmly behind him, Wels quickly unlatched the leather bracers from his arms, rubbing his arms. He might be used to wearing armour everywhere, but having them on 24/7 made him long for the softness of a shirt again. Absentmindedly tracing the edges of his scars, he made quick work of his armour, making sure that the chainmail undershirt covered his neck fully. Tugging lightly to ensure that everything was a snug fit, Wels pushed the door open again.

And had to duck to avoid the dirt block thrown in his direction. Offended howls and raucous laughter greeted him as he slipped back into the room. Somehow, no one had noticed his return.

And honestly, that was a blessing in disguise. Observing how the hermits had now clustered around where Avarice and Keloid had been sitting, he wondered what they could be doing as he tiptoed his way to one of the tables that had been pushed aside. Grabbing the pack he had stored inside, he scrambled up onto the table, trying to see what his friends were up to this time.

He observed his friends throwing items to each other, tools, dirt, stone, diamonds, wood all flying through the air. Diamonds were held up like bait before being thrown across the circle, the vexed shadows in the middle having no space to manoeuvre, grey-blue hands instead reaching up to grasp at the items flying by, flailing in an uncoordinated attempt. A piece of wood was snapped up between Keloid’s elbows, observed, then thrown out of the circle with a howl and a burst of laughter from the hermits. Avarice’s large hands grabbed a chunk of items from the sky. The hand floated down and opened, revealing two diamonds amidst a pile of stone and other items. They crowed in victory, quickly pocketing their winnings. From the corner of his eye, Wels saw TFC and Scar pulling out some diamonds to replenish the pool alongside more random blocks.

Sitting down cross-legged on the table, Wels rested his head on one hand and watched the group play, a small smile playing across his lips. It was rare to see this kind of sight, everyone else was always so afraid of Avarice and Keloid, which was a pity. Months of being kidnapped to resummon Paladin or for some other obscure reason had removed the fear of their unnatural looks and actions, revealing a childlike wonder beneath. Hopefully this small bubble of fun they were all having would soften the hermits to the vexed shadows.

He didn’t know how long he sat on that table, watching his friends both player and shadow play. Keralis had glanced back and seen him at some point, but instead of telling anyone he had winked at him before turning back around to throw all three of his held diamonds.

Eventually, he was caught. Keralis had glanced back at him one too many times, alerting the rest to his presence. Predictably, there was some uproar.

“How long have you been sitting there!” “Do you know how many diamonds I lost?” “We thought you would never come out of the bathroom princess!”

Cheeky grin in place, he slid off the table. “How could I resist? You guys were having so much fun I couldn’t bear to stop it. Besides,” he added, walking through the circle and standing before Avarice, reaching out to pet their arm. “This is a much more fun way to get diamonds, don’t you think?”

The small faces on its arms lit up a brighter blue as the both of them whistled in agreement, Keloid taking out the diamonds they had gathered to show Wels in excitement. “L͌̿o̠͑̈́o̓̎k̰̏̐̇!͉̱̼̽ͨ̋ L͌̿o̠͑̈́o̓̎k̰̏̐̇!͉̱̼̽ͨ̋”Keloid chirped, somehow managing to bounce despite sitting down, holding out a whole fifteen diamonds to him. Wels laughed at their pure happiness. “Yes, good job you two.”

Preening in pride, Keloid returned the diamonds to its inventory. Avarice looked out the window, then beeped in alarm. “T͒͑iͪ̎m̂̓e̘!̥̪͈̬͉͎̻ͫͤ ͭͤ͒N͊eͯ̿̄̋e̱͚̤̣ͩd̓ ̝̯̻̙̜g̏ͣ̈́ó̺̼̄ ͎̜ͨ̎ñó̓͐w̼͍̼̦̹͑͊̆!ͦͬ͆” they stressed, grabbing Wels roughly by the arm.

Wels grunted, tapping Avarice’s hand. They twittered a quick apology, relaxing its grip but keeping its hand wrapped firmly around his arm as it walked towards the window, Keloid fluttering above.

Wels turned slightly to face his concerned friends, raising an arm to wave. “Guess I’m off! Don’t worry too much about me guys, this is mostly normal! Bye!”

Turning back, he crawled through the window after Avarice, coming to stand on the roof of his mansion. Avarice had released his arm, so he tilted his head at them in question. Avarice answered with a coo, clearly expecting him to understand, then sighed when he didn’t move. Reaching over, it scooped up Wels in its arms, drawing a squeak from him. Looking up, he could see Keloid latch its six arms around Avarice, wings beating lightning-fast, and then they were in the air. Twisting around in Avarice’s hold, he looked down at the house below. Spotting some multicoloured figures below waving up at him, Wels pulled an arm free to wave back down at them.

Eventually, the house fell out of view. Twisting back, Wels settled himself within Avarice’s arms, resigned to waiting out the journey to the Hoard, wherever they had moved it to this time.

----------------------------------

The jolting landing woke Wels up. Blinking up at the stone ceiling above him, he lifted his head to look around. Keloid was nowhere to be seen, Avarice still moving down the cut-out corridors deeper into the Hoard. He leaned back to look at Avarice properly. “Hey, can you put me down? I can walk.”

Avarice glanced down at him, considering, then giving him a small rattling noise as they continued down the hall. Seeing as Avarice hadn't put him down, Wels guessed that was a no. Letting his head fall back into Avarice’s arms, he let out a small huff, watching the ceiling go past.

When the ceiling shifted from stone to smooth andesite, Wels noticed. A low whistle, and Avarice was setting him down on something soft. Blinking, he looked down, discovering a nest of pillows and blankets. He pressed down on the blanket. It was… really soft, actually. Softer than his own bed. It made him want to bury his face in it and hide for a few days. Noise from the corridor drew his attention away before he could actually go through with his thoughts.

Keloid fluttered in from the hall, holding an indignant Paladin, whose feet only just brushed the floor. His shadow was shaking their arms about, yet carefully making sure not to hit Keloid. A set of gauntlets floated behind them, still holding smelting tools. “Put me down Kel! I got commissions to finish!”

Keloid shook its head as Avarice moved to support it. “Y͚̱͉̑̀̄o͓̗üͦ ̳͉͍͍ͫ̐n̆̐o̒̃ͧt̑̉ͧͅ ͔̻͇̥r͇̜̮͂̆̄̏̇̉e̼s̓͐ͨtͤ͑!̣͔̓̾͌̓”

Paladin looked up at Avarice, “You too? Come on, I’m fine! We don’t even need rest.”

Avarice twittered at them. “Ń̎o̰̳̩͆ͥͥtͥ̆ͯ s̎ͭͦp͒̂ͪḛ̬̠͎̳̟̩n͋ͨd̝̭͔̞̞ͪͪ̈́ ̈́ͤ͂ͭ̓̽tiͬ̇m͚̭͚̥̖̹̀e̞͍̲͓̩͍͙̎̿̒̔ ̽̄̄͑͐̓̅w͛ͧ̓i̼̐̄t͍̲̤̳̿ͮͣͅh̞̩̘̥͔ͥ̾ ̳̗̃u̐ͪs͓̗ͩ͑ͯ͐?̖̞̖̤̻̼́̒̈́̀̎”

Paladin looked down guiltily. Walking them forwards, Avarice gently pushed them onto the nest, shooting Wels a knowing look. Catching onto what was going on, Wels twisted his waist, leaning over to wrap his arms around Paladin, startling his shadow. They tilted their head slightly in confusion. “Wels? What are you doing here?”

The position he was in was uncomfortable. Straining backwards, Wels pulled Paladin down next to him on the nest. The shadow flailed, disoriented. “Wha- you too Wels? Come on!” they whined. Wels didn’t respond, instead burying his face into Paladin’s side. He felt the shadow tense up, then sigh, tension bleeding out of their frame. A shifting cloth came up to cradle him in a vaguely familiar manner.

A large arm draped over them, effectively trapping them both in place. Wels could feel a presence slip in behind him, draping over his side and resting its head on his shoulder. “S͒̚ī͑̈́n͌g͛?̱̌ͅ” Keloid chirped. Avarice rumbled its agreement, the vibrations rattling down its arm. He could practically feel Paladin roll their eyes, yet when they shifted to speak to him he could hear the affection in their voice. “Got any songs to humour them? I don’t really have any right now.”

Wels thought for a moment, flipping through his mental song list before coming on the perfect song. “I sing and you do the backup?” he asked, poking Paladin in the side.

“Oh you should know dear summoner,” Paladin ribbed back. Pulling back slightly with a smile, Wels cleared his throat, letting the first words out, Paladin humming along, giving his voice an echoing quality.

“Time is an illusion that helps things make sense,

so we’re always living in the present tense.

It seems unforgiving when a good thing ends.

But you and I will always be back then.

You and I will always be back then.”

He heard Avarice and Keloid shift over them, adding soft plinking noises to their song.

“Singing will happen, happening, happened.

Will happen, happening, happened.

And we will happen again and again.

'Cause you and I will always be back then.

You and I will always be back then”

-------------------------

“So, why are they dragging you here?” Wels asked, holding back a yawn. They had been singing for a few hours now, and he was getting tired. Avarice and Keloid had gone to grab some food for him, leaving him to hold down the fort. Paladin grunted, looking away. “I haven’t been hanging out with them since the incident. Just trying to catch up on my commissions, nothing special.”

Wels propped himself up onto his elbows, staring into Paladin’s face, reading the lines of pain they didn’t quite manage to hide. He sighed, slipping back into his space besides Paladin, wrapping an arm around their chest. “You don’t have to hide from us, you know. Avarice and Keloid already noticed, and you hiding it from them is only going to make them more worried.”

Paladin twisted to look at him, surprised, “How did yo-”

He pointed at his face. “I know my face when I see it. You’re like an open book to me.”

Paladin huffed and turned around fully, a blue wing curling up to box him in. “Then you are just as open to me. You’re tired. Sleep.”

Unable to hold back his yawn, Wels snuggled into Paladin’s side. “Maybe… I will…” he muttered, drifting off.

-------------

Amazingly, he didn’t wake up to a nightmare, instead finding his shadow with two attentive shadow vex at their feet, pointing out the shininess factor of each gem. He smiled. This was nice. He could get used to this.

He didn’t leave the Hoard that day, instead staying in and learning more about how the shadow vex and his shadow interacted.

--------------

The next night, he did wake from a nightmare.

He’d clung to Paladin, sobbing, face hidden against their chestplate, unwilling to look up and see that accursed blue. The three shadows had held him, he had felt their hands and arms encircle him comfortably. Someone was rocking him, petting his head, he could hear Paladin humming a song, the song they had sung a day prior.

Eventually, he tired himself out, falling back into sleep.

No one asked him about his nightmares the next day, giving him understanding glances, and for that he was grateful.

-------------

“So, when can I leave?”

“Ǹ̳̂͒oͤ͊t͋́̂ ̑ͤͮ̚n̜̲̼̊o̲̝̞̣wͦ͒͑̑!ͤ̂͐”

“ͨ͗͑͑̔͐͆T͆r̯ͭ̇͊̎ͯ̊a̬̺͗͑̌̈̅p̀͒̓s̫̖̘̱͚͒̍ ̗͖̥̺͉e͋ͯ́v̟̰͖̯͔̳ͣͅe͒ͣ͌r̃̒̽y̟̻̟w̚hͯ́͊̓eͩͣ̊ṟ͎ͫ͆͆̊̎̚e̽̓̓ͮ!̼͍̹͛”

“Oh, I think that’s just Demise. I don’t think anyone’s died yet though, are you talking about what’s going to happen. Ah, alright. Hopefully Grian got my payme-”

“Sͩͦ̊t̠̩̘͕͋̇̏̃o͑͊l̾ͦͬe̠̮̤͕͓͕ ̞͍̳̠̆̾ͩ͌s͎̘͚̿̍̈̂h̠̗ͪi̱͚̖̲n̊ͦͭiͧͫͣe͌ͭ̎s͖̯̙͍̻̝̾̚!̮͆ͫ͊͛ͦ͐̑”

“... of course you did. Guess I gotta go tell Gria-”

“N̺͍̮͑o̬̬̩̹̼̰ ̠̻̠͚̪̰̍̇̈̈̔̽l͙͖ͧ̇̄̏̐e̱̺͇̦̳̖a̠̮ͣ̂̽͆v̪̩͔̤͈̺̺̌ͣͫ̍e̠̺̝̞̮͋̿!͓̗̝̜ͧ̂”

“̹̩͈̗̿̾̏̃D́͑͐a̝n̓̎g̽̃̋̊ͮe̯ͩr̝̹͔̗ͮͫoͥ̈̋̌ũ̲s͕̜͉͈͚͔͍͆̓̃͂̚!̳͇̗̮̆̐̃ͯ”

“Woah! Put me down please.”

“̹̩͈̗̿̾̏̃D́͑͐a̝n̓̎g̽̃̋̊e̯ͩr̝̹͔̗ͮͫoͥ̈̋̌ũ̲s͕̜͉͈͚͔͍͆̓̃͂̚!̳͇̗̮̆̐̃ͯ”

“Ok, I get it, you won’t let me out until Demise ends, won’t you? Guess I have to tell Grian that I can’t play Demise then.”

Opened Another of Grian’s messes

[Wels] hey Grian you awake?

[Grian] when am I not?

[Grian] hey wels long time no see where you been

[Jevin] the sleeping beuaty has awokened!

[Wels] that is not how you spell awoken Jevin

[Wels] and speaking of where I’ve been, I need to talk to you

[Grian] ominous, Im listening

[Wels] so the vexdows? I’m going to call them that now it’s easier

[Jevin] i spelleth things how i wanteth

[Wels] the vexdows won’t let me leave the Hoard cause they heard that traps and death are included

[Grian] wait they are protecting you? Weird

[Wels] Jevin please that hurts my eyes why would you curse this world with that

[Grian] WAIT THATS UNFAIR NO ONE KNOWS WHERE THE HOARD EVEN IS

[Wels] that’s why I’m talking to you

[Jevin] it speakerth from mine mind, all of youse shall be cursed with it owo

[Wels] could you take me off the game? I don’t think I can convince them to let me leave until the game ends

[Grian] on it

[Wels] oh also they stole your diamonds

[Jevin] pwease tawk to me I'm wonyewy

[Wels] Jevin did you sleep? you’re not you when you’re sleepy

[Grian] they stole them? Agh

[Wels] I’ll pay the winner when the game ends, no need to refund me

[Jevin] no

[Wels] go to sleep Jevin

[Jevin] no

[Wels] how dare you say no to me

[Grian] whomst'd've

[Jevin] itz on scrub

[Biffa] @Xisumavoid presidential alert: the girls are fighting

[Wels] bless you Biffa

[Xisuma] what’s going on here

[Jevin] WHO CALLED MUM

[Grian] DID YOU CALL ECKS-EYE-EASE-ONE-A-VE-OID MUM

[Biffa] I did this to call out X for not sleeping :3

[Xisuma] firstly, go to sleep, the both of you

[Xisuma] secondly, I might as well be your mother with how everyone acts

[Grain] !!!

[Jevin] but XXXXXXXXX

[Xisuma] and thirdly, how dare you Biffa

[Biffa] you gotta sleep too mum

[Xisuma] I am headed to your location. Do not move

[Biffa] what are you going to do, kill me

[Jevin] oh boy the other girls are fighting now

[Xisuma] no, worse

[Xisuma] I’m going to confiscate your tea

[Biffa] :0

[Biffa] >:0

[Biffa] >:V

[Wels] aaaaand I’m leaving

[Keralis] bye Wels, stay safe <3

[Grian] MUM KERALIS ISNT ASLEEP EITHER

Wels tucked his communicator away, giggling at his friends’ antics. Two curious chirps caught his attention, and he turned back to face the vexdows. A lightbulb went off in his head. “Could you two show me the Hoard?”

#shadow people au #I am not tagging cause I am lazy to tag everyone #cute little family bonding stuff #cause this is before they got close enough to be a big family #so they are not quite fully there yet #aight trigger tags time #nightmare #Demise #cause I know some people aren't comfortable with it #my writing

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wantstoflyafraidtofall · 4 years ago

Link

Chapter 7: Playing With Fear and Fire is out! This will be the last chapter before school starts again so it may take longer for any new chapters to come out.

Read on Ao3

~~~

Chapter 7: Playing With Fear and Fire

**TRIGGER WARNING**

Mentions of suicidal thoughts, past rape, and slight homophobic language!

(Chapter below the cut)

~~~

Dean is standing on the balcony. He doesn't remember getting out of bed or coming out here, but he is.

It’s a cool night, the sky is dotted with dark clouds but you can still see the sky peeking through. It’s a new moon tonight, only the stars lighting up the dark night world.

He can’t move. He’s stuck again. The shadow is looming right next to him, looking over the balcony as if longing to leave. Or make someone else leave.

Dean can feel the cold press of the creature on his back but it's different this time. It’s taken control of his emotions, making him feel some sort of empty, like the silence plaguing the house.

It has Dean move to the edge and begin climbing up the wide rail. Despite his fear of heights, Dean feels nothing, his mind is empty. He doesn't fight to climb off or call for help, he doesn't even fully register what's happening.

He stands on the wide, flat top of the railing, the breeze ruffling his loose sleepwear and messy hair, feeling the slight tense of the muscles in his feet and legs as he balances precariously on the edge.

“Dean what are you- DEAN!” Cas wakes from his half sleep when he sees Dean standing on the ledge.

The shadow pulls back, letting Dean stand without assistance on the ledge. It slides back against the wall, watching.

Cas sees a dark flicker of what looks like an ink black shadow holding Dean at the rail before he lunges over to him and reaches for him, pulling him back and catching him in his arms as he falls to the ground.

Dean still feels dazed and a bit confused as he lies partially in Cas’s lap, looking up at his roommate with unfocused eyes.

“Dean... Dean, can you hear me? Are you okay?” Cas was asking, gently cupping Deans cheek, keeping his head from rolling around.

The realization of what just happened hit Dean like a punch in the stomach. He felt his heart jump and his breath quicken. His eyes grew panicked and he sprung out of Cas’s lap and stood, ready for attack and searching for the shadow.

Cas was on his feet almost as fast and ushered Dean inside and back into the bed, wrapping him in a blanket and sitting him up against the headboard.

The lamp on Cas’s side of the bed(Cas gets his own side now) Is on, casting a creamy yellow light over the room and making the shadows soft and fuzzy at the edges.

“You're going back to bed and we are talking about this in the morning.” Cas says as he gets back into bed after giving Dean a once-over, checking for injuries.

Cas turns off the lamp and Dean quickly falls into a deep sleep.

~~~

Dean spends the next day dodging and deflecting the questions Cas throws at him. By noon, Cas went from asking questions to angrily staring at him.

It was hard to spend the day with Cas giving him the silent treatment but Dean found plenty of ways to distract himself. He even tried to have staring contests with Cas but he always had to forfeit.(Man, does Cas even need to blink?)

By evening, Cas had calmed down a bit, coming to the conclusion that this may be a sensitive topic and it would take time and patience to get Dean to talk about it. Dinner was much more pleasant now that Cas wasn’t glaring him down or drowning him with inquiries about last night.

They ate the rest of the leftover spaghetti and meatballs from earlier that week and cleaned up the kitchen. Dean asked if Cas wanted to watch a movie but he refused, telling Dean that he should get some sleep.

It was only 9 but after last night, Dean was tired. He pretended to protest but followed Cas up the grand staircase and back to his room and got ready for bed.

Cas pulled Dean into his arms as soon as they got into bed, hoping that it would help keep him there instead of wandering around in the middle of the night.

Dean didn't complain, hoping he would wake up in bed and not one step away from his death. He felt safe in Cas’s arms and was sure he would get one more decent sleep before the shadow came back.

They drifted off to the sounds of each other's breathing, protected underneath the covers from the rapidly cooling air seeping into the room.

~~~

Dean was shivering. It was freezing and he was only wearing boxers and a T-shirt.

He was standing in the kitchen in the corner where the counters along the wall met. He held a sharp, gleaming steak knife in his hand which was shaking.

Panic rose in his chest. How did he get down here? Why is he holding a knife? Why is it so fucking cold?

“Dean.”

Dean’s shivering stopped and he widened his stance to a more defensive one. He knew that voice but it can’t be him. It can’t.

He looked up from the blade in his hand to the direction of the voice, his stomach dropped and the blood drained from his face.

His father was sitting at the island, hands folded beneath his chin. He glared at Dean with stone cold eyes, examining the man standing before him with the scrutiny of an Olympic judge.

“You know, I was proud to have two sons,” John began, “I was gunna teach ‘em how to grow up and be good, strong men. They were gunna get married to nice, pretty ladies and give me lots of grand kids.”

John stood and walked behind his chair, gripping the back, eyes never leaving Dean’s.

“Who knew that one was gunna be such a disappointing, disgusting little cocksucker? That after fix’n ‘em two times, he would still be a broken little faggot.” John practically spit the words at Dean, eyes filled with anger and disappointment.

“Y-your- you- you can’t- your dead. ” Dean stuttered in a small voice.

“Don’t go changing the subject!” John snapped, “It’s just me ‘n you now, Dean. Sammy ain't here to keep me from fixin’ the problem in this family anymore! I can do whatever I want with ya an’ ain’t nobody here to stop me!”

John advanced towards Dean his hands balled in tight fists by his sides. Dean raised up the knife before dropping it back down and raising it again. It’s his Dad, could he really hold a knife to his dad?

“HA! That knife ain't for me, boy. Remember, I’m dead. Now I wish you would be too so I can watch you burn in hell with those other fairies you flit around with.”

Dean’s hands were shaking again. The knife was for him . His father was here to kill him.

“I never really wanted you. I only kept you around to watch Sam, even then, it was a big debate on whether you more of a help or a pain. I trained you up anyway though and I was proud. I thought I finally had a good son, but then I catch you makin’ out with a man. I never fixed you. You were still just as much of a disgusting little waste of space as you were before, maybe even more then.

“I remember you could barely walk the next day after I was done with you. I thought that that was the end of it, that you were all better. You told me you were. And I was so naive and proud of my ability to fix you, I believed it.”

“If you're here to kill me, get it over with already.” Dean said in a shaky voice, his whole body trembling.

John ignored him and continued. “You were 18 the next time I caught ya with another guy. He ran off when he saw me, that coward. I took you back to the motel and got you another room and called up Jazmine.

“She came, I paid up some extra money to keep it quiet, and I thought I had finally found the way to fix you. She left satisfied and I never saw you with another man ever again.

“Not until now. I should have known you were beyond repair. That you are rotted to the core and no matter how hard I try, you can’t be fixed. You will always be a filthy little cocksucker and that won't change till the day you die.”

Dean could feel the tears leaving warm trails down his face. He held the knife in both hands but they still were shaking violently.

“You can still do it, Dean. You can still make me proud.” John’s tone became gentle.

Dean looked down at the knife. John wants him to do it himself. To take the knife and let it slide along the soft skin of his throat. Let the blood pour out of his body and stain the kitchen tiles.

He wants Dean to join him in some afterlife where he can be proud of his son and not revolted.

He continues to stare down at the shining blade in his hands. It is so sharp, it would be so easy. He could end it all now.

The door banged open on the other side of the kitchen and Cas ran in, spotting Dean immediately. Cas began to head to Dean but stopped when he saw the knife in his hands.

“Dean, don’t! Put it down!” Cas yelled.

“This is your final chance, Dean.” John warned.

Dean looked at Cas with wide, panicked eyes, flicking them back and forth between his father and his housemate.

A sob burst out of Dean’s mouth and he fell to his knees dropping the knife onto the floor and sliding it away from both him and Cas.

Cas ran over to Dean and wrapped him in his arms, letting him brokenly sob into his shoulder.

“I-I’m so sorry, Cas,” Dean sobs, “I shouldn’t even be here.”

“No, no, no, Dean. You belong here. I wouldn't trade anything for you to leave. I want you here. Sam wants you here. Kevin and Charlie want you here.” Cas whispers gently while softly petting Deans hair.

Dean cried for what seemed like hours before his breaths became softer and the tears stopped falling. Cas picked him up and carried him bridal style into the living room, gently laying him down on the couch.

“I’ll tell you.” Dean rasps, his voice weak from the crying.

“What?” Cas says.

“I’m gonna tell you more.”

“No, Dean, you don't have to, not right now-”

“No. I’m telling you now because you should know.”

Dean waits for Cas to refuse to let Dean speak again but he just settles down on the couch by Dean’s feet, facing him.

“Ok.”

“Dad got into drinking when Mom died. He was sad and angry. He couldn't handle it. I was always a disappointment to him so naturally, he took that anger out on me. He didn’t have a preference on how, belts, bottles, fists, sticks, words, the only thing he did was make sure Sammy didn't see and that it could be covered up by a shirt.

“Some days, I couldn't even sit down. After he caught me with a guy the first time, I could barely walk. The second time, he hired a prostitute to “fuck the gay out of me”. I was around 18 at the time.

“Even after he believed he fixed me, the beatings didn't stop. Not until he got sick and Sammy and I went to live with Bobby. Once Dad died, I still could hear his words wherever I went. It’s like he never left.

“I went to therapy for a bit but stopped when I went to the military. When I got sent back home, Sam tried to get me to start again but I didn’t wanna.

“I was doing ok before I came to this house, Cas. It wants me gone. It kept me awake in the beginning, that's why I was always so tired. That time you stopped me from falling down the stairs, It was like controlling me. Last night, It made me stand up on that ledge, I didn't even know what was going on till I was on the ground.

“Tonight, I woke up in the kitchen with a knife… and my father. He wanted me to kill myself, Cas. He said he would forgive me.

“This house wants me dead.” Dean finished.

Tears were rolling down Dean’s face again and he sat curled into himself in the corner of the couch.

Cas was looking at Dean, eyes brimming with tears and sadness masking over the shock he felt. Cas had thought he had seen something every time this happened.

A shadow on the balcony across the entryway, a shadow holding him on the rail, a shadow in the back corner of the kitchen. They were all brief flickers of it but what if Dean was right?

“We’ll figure this out, Dean.” Cas soothed.

He scooted closer to Dean and held out his arms. Dean shifted towards Cas and leaned into his embrace, curling up in the solid warmth of his friend's body. Cas held him close, softly running his fingers through Deans hair.

Cas listened as Dean’s breathing became slow and calm. He watched his friend's chest rise and fall in even breaths and tried to match his own rhythm to its rhythm but he couldn't shake the feeling of being watched.

He couldn't stop thinking about the shadow thing Dean had mentioned. Even though he had seen it, it couldn't have been real. They are just stressed and need some time to clear everything up and relax.

Cas grew eased as he rationalized the odd things he saw that night. He shoved the uneasy feeling into the back of his mind as his eyelids grew heavy. This will all make more sense in the morning.

~~~

Cas wakes up first and it definitely does not make any more sense than it did last night. If anything, he was more terrified of what happened now then he was last night.

Dean was curled in between Cas’s chest and the back of the couch, allowing Cas to get up without disturbing Dean much easier than if he was in the same position they fell asleep in.

He got up and crept quietly to his room and grabbed his phone off the charger. He knew exactly who to call. The line rang three times before it was answered and a cheery voice came through the speakers.

“Hey, Cas. Is everything alright?”

“Sam, I… I think Dean should come stay with you for a bit.”

“What? Did something happen?” There was a note of panic in Sam’s voice.

“No- Yes. Kinda. I don't think it’s my place to share what happened but I think Dean would be safer with you.”

“Okay, I’ll come pick him up as soon as I can. Don’t tell him I’m coming or he’ll find an excuse to stay there.”

“Thank you, Sam. I’ll watch him till then.”

“Thanks, Cas. See you soon.”

Sam ended the call and Cas set his phone back on the table, feeling better now that getting Dean somewhere safe was set in motion.

Dean woke up without the, now familiar, feeling of another body against his. He sat up, keeping the blankets pulled tightly around his shoulders to preserve warmth.

He looked over through the archway into the foyer to see Cas trying to tip-toe back into the living room, changing to a normal but still light footed walk when he saw Dean was awake.

Dean scooted over to make more room for Cas, grabbing the remote off the coffee table and lifting up one side of the blankets for Cas to go under. Once they were settled shoulder-to-shoulder underneath the blankets, Dean turned on the TV and began searching for a good movie.

They settled on The Princess Bride(“Come on, Cas! How have you not seen The Princess fucking Bride!”), finishing the movie before surrendering to their growling stomachs.

Dean got out the remainders of the pancake mix and got to work while Cas sat at the counter, watching.

He had to admit, telling Cas felt kinda nice and made his worry a lot easier to shove down now that there was an empty space for it.

Dean looked up and saw Cas watching him and smirked.

“See something you like?” Dean winked over at Cas.

Cas folded his hands under his chin, a sly smile on his lips. He let his eyes drag up and down Dean’s body, flicking his tongue out across his bottom lip, “Maybe.”

Dean felt a flush rise to his cheeks as he looked back at the pancake sizzling on the skillet.

They plated up their food and began to eat in a comfortable silence, their mouths to full to say anything as they scarfed down their pancakes.

They left their dishes in the sink when they finished and raced back out to the couch. Dean grabbed the blanket away from Cas, who then grabbed a corner and tugged it back from Dean.

“Oh so that’s how it's gonna be, huh?” Dean smiled and got into a pouncing stance.

Cas laughed and balled the blanket in his arms. Dean pounced grabbing the blanket from Cas and freeing it from his grip with a sharp yank.

“Ha, I win!” Dean grinned triumphantly.

“What makes you think that?” Cas smirked before tackling Dean.

They spun around, Dean holding the blanket just out of Cas’s reach while he climbed around Dean trying to grab it.

Dean’s knees bumped into the couch and he fell back, dropping the blanket and Cas being tugged down after him. Cas was straddled over Dean, pinning his hands just above both sides of his head.

Both men were breathing heavy from the tussle, the blanket discarded on the floor.

Dean looked up at his housemates flushed face and into those deep, ocean eyes. He could get lost in those eyes, their stunning shades of blue that seemed to have an endless depth.

Cas’s pupils were slightly blown, it may be from the dim lighting, but there was also this look, almost like longing, like half a question. Strong but restrained. Timid.

Dean glanced down at Cas’s perpetually chapped lips. They were slightly parted and looked so soft. Dean flicked his gaze back up to Cas’s eyes to see his pupils had dilated even more.

Dean ran his tongue along his bottom lip, wetting it slightly. He watched Cas’s eyes move down and catch the motion before moving back to look at Dean.

Cas lowered towards Dean, their hips settling together causing Dean to gasp, Cas was only an inch away from his face now, eyes dark and hooded, Dean's hands still pinned above his head and their bodies connected waist down.

There was a sudden, loud rap on the door that caused Cas to jump up from Dean, a deep rosy flush covering his face and most likely an identical one on Dean’s.

Dean looked away from Cas, not wanting him to see this ridiculous blush or how turned on Dean had actually been. They smoothed over their clothes and walked to the door, pulling the heavy oak wood open to see who was outside.

“Sam?”

~~~

@stuff-that-is-other

If you want to be added to the tag list, just ask!

#pieces of heaven and hell

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the-awkward-outlaw · 5 years ago

Text

Second Chances - Ch. 26

Seeking Forgiveness

Warnings: swearing

Word count: ~6800

Masterlist

Read on AO3

You stir awake in the morning, the sunlight streaming through the leaves amidst the song of birds. If you weren’t stuck in this horrible clearing of Beaver Hollow, you’d enjoy this moment. You reach for Arthur, but your hand falls onto the cot. Opening your eyes, you see he’s not there, nor is he in the tent. Upon further inspection of the camp, you find he’s left camp entirely, but he had neglected to tell anyone where he was going or what he was doing.

Not wanting to be trapped here alone again, you head over to Rannoch with the intention to leave. An obstacle appears in the form of Grimshaw. Turns out Pearson’s too drunk to cook again and everyone liked whatever you had done to the stew a few days ago, so she wants you to make it again. You almost tell her no and that you’re going out to do a job, but the thought of bringing in at least one good thing to camp stops you. Sighing, you nod and go to the table.

The day passes slowly as you prepare the stew, using what ingredients you can. Sadie marches passed with a repeater in hand, prepared to take guard duty. She gives you a brief greeting, which you return. Javier walks by, staring at you coldly. It surprises you.

“Hello, Javier,” you say lightly, trying to sound neutral.

“Y/N. There are rumors that you and Arthur have been going behind Dutch’s back. This is the time we need to stick with him.”

“Who’s saying these rumors?” you demand. “And where’s the proof?”

“You two have hardly been in camp, and after that thing with John. All Dutch asks is for us to be loyal.”

“And where’s his loyalty to us?” you snap. “We are the ones risking our necks to get us out there, all Dutch does is sit in his tent and talk about a plan he hasn’t bothered to share with any of us. So where’s the loyalty to the ones doing the real work?”

Javier glares at you. “That isn’t the way it works, Y/N. Maybe if you had been more often or been with us longer, you’d understand.”

He stalks away, leaving you shaken. You’ve always been on good terms with Javier, yet here he is acting like you’re the one causing all the trouble. Turning back to cutting up the rabbit on the table in front of you, you wonder if he’s just frustrated and taking it out on you.

Charles wanders over to the table an hour after your interaction with Javier. He stops for a moment, not saying anything until you greet him.

“Hello, Y/N. I’ve asked Arthur to help out Rains Fall. Think he mentioned you met him.”

“Yes, of course. Did he agree?”

“He did. Just thought you might like to know.”

You thank him and he sits down next to the table, offering you his company which you heartily agree to, glad for some of it.

“I’m sorry that all these horrible things have been happening. I’m sure you’d rather be planning on a wedding with Arthur, not an escape plan to Tahiti or Australia or wherever.”

“Well, one thing at a time,” you say, reaching for a carrot. “Yes, I’d love it if Arthur and I could sit down for five minutes without feeling like we need to be worried about everyone else. Set a date, at least. But it can wait, Arthur and I aren’t going anywhere so we can deal with the wedding later.”

He nods and rubs his chin. You notice his hair, the sides of his head shaven away. You want to ask him why but decide not to, figuring it has something to do with the recent losses everyone has suffered. For the next little while, Charles helps to lift your spirits as you talk.

Dutch and Micah end up leaving by midday, claiming they need to go and investigate something to do with a bridge near Cotorra Springs. You sigh, feeling like a part of the heavy cloud that has been looming over everyone’s heads has gone with them.

Early afternoon and Arthur returns to camp, looking angry. Charles nods to you and then gets up to leave, figuring Arthur will probably come talk to you. You wait patiently as Arthur dismounts, but he doesn’t head over. Instead, he goes to the opposite side of the clearing where Strauss sits on a boulder. He looks up at Arthur and even from where you stand, you can see his lizardish grin. He says something to Arthur, but his back is to you so you can’t see his face.

Suddenly Arthur grabs Strauss by the shoulder and yanks him to his feet. He marches Strauss across the clearing and towards Strauss’s tent. You aren’t the only one to stop and watch as most of the others have done the same.

“Vhat are you doing?” Strauss demands as they reach his tent.

“Something I should have done a long time ago,” Arthur growls. “Get your bag.” He grabs it and starts throwing some of Strauss’s possessions into it. Strauss watches him, clutching his ledger.

“I don’t understand,” he says in a surprisingly calm voice.

“I ain’t gonna kill ya, though I probably should.” Arthur stands up, still holding the bag. He glares at the other. “You disgust me, and you shame us, if we could be more ashamed than we already are.”

He tears Strauss’s ledger away from him and throws it to the ground, shoving the bag into Strauss’s arms. “That should do. Now go.”

Strauss is forced to walk backwards as Arthur marches towards him, his eyes boring into Strauss with intense anger.

“I don’t understand you,” Strauss begs. “Vhat are you doing?”

Arthur grabs his shoulders again and takes him towards the horses, finally pushing him to the path. “Go and get a job!”

Strauss turns and stares at him, taking a few steps forward. “I vas your friend, Herr Morgan.”

“You and me, we ain’t decent, but those folk. They was.” Arthur reaches into his satchel and pulls out a bundle of bills. He quickly counts them and then tosses them to Strauss’s feet. “Take that and get lost.”

Strauss hesitates, but then he bends down and picks up the money. When he straightens up, he points to Arthur. “I’m-”

“Leaving,” Arthur cuts him off.

Strauss gives him a sad look but then turns away and walks down the path, his head hung low. Arthur watches him leave, breathing hard. You wipe your hands off and quickly join his side as the others begin going back to their chores. “Arthur. What was that?”

He sighs and finally looks at you. “It was time, Y/N. We don’t need filth like him makin’ things worse for us.”

You grab his hand. “Come on, come sit down and talk to me while I finish making dinner.”

Arthur lets you take him to where Charles had been sitting. He sits down, watching you go back to slicing up vegetales.

“Come on, Arthur,” you say. “Tell me what happened. You’ve been tolerant about Strauss and his bullshit until now. What changed your mind?”

He sighs and explains how he went to collect the last debt. Turns out the man died from an illness, a likely result of being overworked in the mines. Arthur had gone to retrieve the debt from his widow, but he found her with her young son, claiming men were coming to take their house and what little they had left.

“She looked at me like I was the devil,” he says, his voice somber. “All I could think of was how Eliza and Isaac must have looked when those men… I couldn’t do it. I told ‘em the debt was cancelled and gave ‘em some money. But I’m tired, Y/N. I’m tired of chasin’ these poor people Strauss sets himself on, takin’ what they don’t even have. I can’t sit here and watch him ruin people’s lives like that, we ruin enough already. He ain’t contributin’ to camp, he ain’t helpin’ feed us. It was time.”

You grab his hand, your heart breaking for him. “You did the right thing, Arthur. Strauss has never done anything to help us and we’re in enough trouble already. But you did one thing I don’t know if I agree with.”

“What?”

You smile softly at him. “I wouldn’t have given him any money. If he has enough money to lend to these poor bastards, he has enough to take care of himself.”

“Oh,” he says, hiding his eyes beneath his hat. “Well, Strauss and I were friends at one point, I at least owed him a chance out there on his own.”

“I’m sorry, Arthur. I wish I could take some of this weight from your shoulders. You keep going on like this, it’s gonna kill ya.”

He squeezes your hand again. “I ain’t gonna die. I got you by my side.”

You smile at him and scoop the last ingredients into the pot. “Well come on, cowboy. Help me get this onto the fire.”

He stands up with a sigh and lifts the pot onto the fire. Once it’s down, he grabs your hand and starts heading over to the tent.

“You’re not even gonna try my cooking?” you say, coming to a stop.

He looks at you and then over to the pot. “Well, I suppose.”

“Come on, I didn’t cook it like Pearson does.”

He smiles and grabs a plate, tasting it. “Hmm, actually pretty good, considerin’ your limitations.”

You eat as you head on to the tent, several gang members lining up to get dinner. Once he’s done eating, Arthur looks over at you.

“You wanna come with me tomorrow? Promised Charles I’d help out Rains Fall, you remember him.”

“Of course. Any idea what he needs help with?”

“Sounds like this Colonel Favours feller is givin’ ‘em a real hard time, can’t figure why. Anyways, I figured we’d stop by tomorrow, see how they’re faring.”

The sun dips behind the trees, casting Beaver Hollow into the cool shadows. The mood of the gang does little to bring warmth to the clearing. You sit on the ground, your head leaning on Arthur’s thigh as he sits on the chair. John, Charles and Javier sit on the log, but no one says a word. You wish you could think of something to say, but nothing comes to mind.

After a while, you get up and walk towards the horses, unable to stand being stuck in the middle of the awkward silence. Rannoch rumbles affectionately as you approach him, pulling out a treat. It’s been hard, being so close to the site where Rain died and having a new horse, although Rannoch has been a blessing.

“You make the stew tonight?” Bill’s harsh voice comes out from behind you. He takes you slightly by surprise.

“Oh, um yeah.”

“Well, I’m… I’m just surprised, is all.” He takes a few steps closer to you and Rannoch. Your horse suddenly snorts in irritation. He’s never like anyone much with the exception of you, Arthur and Kieran before he’d been killed. Bill ignores the warning signals and takes another step forward, causing Rannoch to stomp angrily.

“Watch yourself, Bill,” you say immediately, patting Rannoch’s neck to try and calm him. He lifts his nose, snorting again and Bill steps back.

“Figures,” he spits. “I knew he’d be a turncoat, too.”

“And what is that supposed to mean?” you demand, turning to face Bill properly.

“You know what I mean, Y/N. People been sayin’ you and Arthur have been doin’ a lot lately since you ain’t been in camp much.”

“Oh, and who said that? Micah?”

“Micah’s the one sayin’ there’s a rat in camp. Seems like ever since you and Arthur got engaged, we been dealin’ with nothin’ but trouble.”

“So this is my fault?”

“You tell me, Y/N,” Bill hisses. “You’re the one runnin’ around everywhere. Who can say where the two of you go?”

“Hey, take it easy there, Williamson,” Arthur says from behind him. “What’s going on?”

Bill whips around to glare at Arthur. “Nothin’, Morgan. I just think you need to keep a tighter leash on your woman.”

Arthur slowly walks up to Bill and they size each other up, the air between them seems to crackle. “I suggest you stay away from my woman, Williamson. She ain’t done nothin’ wrong, and if she ends up killin’ ya for antagonizin’ her, I don’t think anyone can stop her.”

Bill grumbles something and marches off after throwing you a sharp glare. Arthur walks up to you, putting a hand on your elbow. “Bill was out of line, darlin’. Don’t listen to him.”

“I’m not, Arthur. Bill’s a fool.” You pause as Arthur pats Rannoch’s neck. The horse rumbles happily again, settling down. Artemis walks over, almost as though she’s jealous that Arthur is giving your horse attention and not her. As he rubs her head, your mind wanders back to how bad things have gotten.

“I can hear you thinkin’, sweetheart. What’s goin’ on in that head of yours?”

“It’s just… why is everyone acting like it’s only a matter of time before we start ripping each other’s throats out?”

He sighs heavily. “Like you said, Bill’s a fool. He’s been angry a long time, I ain’t surprised by this.”

“It’s not just him, Arthur. Earlier I heard Javier going after Charles. Charles, of all people! Saying he ain’t being loyal to Dutch. All Charles has done is help out the Wapiti a little. And it’s not just that. Tilly was ranting to me about you and all the other boys, saying you all been causing too much trouble and you’re gonna get us all killed.”

Arthur sighs again, finally lowering his hands from Artemis’s face. “I know, sweetheart. Things are bad. But we at least owe it to all of ‘em to try and get us someplace better. Y’know, that whole ‘night is darkest before the dawn’ bit.”

“I hope so,” you sigh. “I just hope that all this fighting doesn’t come between us.”

Arthur smiles and looks down, his eyes finding your left hand resting near your side, the ring on your finger glinting from the distant firelight. He grabs it, rubbing his thumb across the back of your hand. “Me too, darlin’. I wish things were better right now, that we could sit down and plan on our weddin’ instead of plannin’ on how to get outta this mess.”

“Me too, Arthur. I just hope that things calm down enough eventually that we can.”

“We will. All things come to an end, even the bad things.”

He suddenly pulls you close so your head is resting against his chest, his hand planted on your head. You sigh, closing your eyes as you enjoy the sensation of his other hand rubbing up and down your back. You fold your arms around his waist, pulling yourself closer as you hear his heart thumping.

In the morning, after having coffee, Arthur and you head out towards the Wapiti reservation, as per Charles’s instructions on how to find it. The reservation lies north west of Beaver Hollow at the northern tip of the Cumberland Forest. You both pass a long railroad bridge near a large station which seems to have been abandoned. Across the gorge that the tracks cross over is a military fort. Arthur leads you up north on the trail and you look to the right, your eyes going up the steep mountainside and resting on a boulder sitting at the edge of a small peninsula. An eagle sits upon it and takes flight, his wings glinting gold momentarily in the sun.

The scenery begins to change as you head farther away from the railroad bridge. A swift river runs to your left, the banks going from gray and green to a brilliant orange. You come upon a bridge which hovers above the end of a wide section of the river, which dazzles a clear, enticing blue amongst the orange rocks. An elk somewhere hidden in the trees calls out, his cry echoing through the forest. Across the river and tucked amongst the pines, several columns of smoke from campfires swirl lazily into the sky.

Arthur leads you across the river and up the trail until the village appears. You’ve always known about teepees so you’re surprised to find a few buildings nestled among them, along with wagons. Men and women mill about, throwing you and Arthur suspicious stares. After hitching the horses, you feel incredibly self conscious, knowing exactly how unwelcome you are. Arthur seems tense as well, his hand folds around yours. He approaches an older man sitting cross-legged outside of the nearest teepee.

“Uh, excuse me, sir,” Arthur says calmly.

“You two should not be here,” the man says bluntly, looking from you to Arthur.

“I know, but I have some business with Rains Fall. Said I could meet him here.”

The man narrows his eyes before he finally points to a teepee near a large shack. Arthur thanks him and you both go to it. He hesitates, clearly wanting to knock but not knowing where. Eventually, he settles for hunching over to try and look into the flap of the teepee and say a gruff and unsure “hello?”.

“Come in,” a voice answers from inside.

Arthur glances at you before going in, you following. Inside, the teepee is more spacious than you had imagined, a fire in the center, making the teepee swelteringly hot. Crates, pots and other items line the walls, including finely woven blankets and a large bull’s skull with feathers attached to the horns sits high. Rains Fall nods in greeting to you both, another member of his tribe sitting close to him.

“Thank you for coming, Mr. Morgan, Ms. Y/L/N,” Rains Fall says gently, staring at the fire. “Tell me, how is your friend, Mr. Van der Linde, fairing? My son has spoken much about him.”

“He’s uh,” Arthur begins awkwardly. “Well, I don’t know. He’s angry, I suppose. Throwin’ us all into a lot of chaos.”

“Then I hope, amidst all the chaos, you both may find peace.” Rains Fall begins poking at the fire.

“I don’t know too much about peace,” Arthur says.

“Apparently not. Did you have fun with my son, the impetuous Prince? I believe you went on a raid with him.” Rains Fall and stares hard at Arthur, clearly pointing to how Arthur helped Eagle Flies retrieve their horses. Arthur had told you about that, how Dutch had gotten Eagle Flies ruffled up, how they had attempted to sneak onto the boat and steal the horses quietly but it had gone badly, ending with Dutch crashing the boat.

Arthur sighs, clearly embarrassed and ashamed. You squeeze his hand. “I’m sorry,” he says.

Rains Fall reaches into a pot with hot water, pulling out a cloth. He approaches another man you’ve just noticed, his face shining in sweat. He dabs at the man’s forehead with the cloth. You suddenly realize why he keeps it so hot in the teepee. He must hope the heat will break the mens’ fevers.

“I suppose I lack the grandeur of a conventional king,” Rains Fall says gently.

“I don’t know too many kings,” Arthur says. He pats your back softly, urging you to speak.

“Um, I don’t either.”

“Colonel Favours,” Rains Fall straightens up, looking at Arthur. “He has already exacted some measure of revenge for the raid. Two women were assaulted by his men.”

Your heart sinks upon hearing this. While your ex husband, James, had raped you many times, you can’t imagine the horror of being attacked not only by a stranger, but a known accomplice of your enemy. You and Arthur both hang your head in remorse.

“I’m very sorry about all of this,” you say as Arthur rubs his nose. “Arthur would never have done it had he known it’d end that way.”

Arthur nods in agreement. “No, I wouldn’t. A few horses ain’t worth it.”

“Yes, sometimes the correct path, the bravest path is the least obvious, and also the gentlest.” Rains Fall straightens up, his eyes show a certain depth and intelligence you’ve rarely seen. “I’m a great disappointment to my son.”

“Your son seems to want a war,” Arthur says.

“My son thinks there is glory in death. I saw death being handed out so freely by the most foolish of men, I never could equate it with victory.”

“I’ve killed a lot of people,” Arthur admits. “For a whole lot of dumb reasons, I ain’t never seen much glory in it.”

“Perhaps we could go for a ride. Discuss a few things. Your friend is more than welcome to come.”

Arthur nods, squeezing your hand as Rains Fall leads you out of the teepee.

“I’m an old man,” Rains Fall continues. “All my life, I have tried to bring peace. Perhaps you both can take pity on my plight. It won’t take long.”

Arthur pauses and looks at you, as though questioning whether you should both do this. You nod, doubting that a simple ride with this man could do any damage. He sighs and goes with you to the horses. Just as you’re about to mount up, a voice rings out from behind you.

“Sir!”

Turning, you see a military man on a huge red roan draft horse approaching. Rains Fall nods in recognition and welcomes the man.

“Captain Monroe. Do you know my friends, Mr. Morgan and Ms. Y/L/N?”

“No sir, I haven’t had the pleasure.”

Arthur introduces himself and you to the captain. You nod in greeting when he says your name.

The captain turns back to Rains Fall. “Sir. I was just in Saint Denis, spoke with the mayor. It’s not good news, I’m afraid.”

Rains Fall sighs as though he were expecting this. He offers for Monroe to ride with your group a short ways, to which the captain agrees. You and Arthur mount up as Rains Fall climbs onto his horse.

“Mr. Morgan, Ms. Y/L/N, come with me. I want to take you to a sight in the mountains, a place that’s long been sacred to me. A place for reflection.” Rains Fall begins trotting down the trail, you and the others following in a line.

Rains Fall asks Monroe to tell him the news from Saint Denis. Monroe reports that an oil company has already been approved to drill upon the Wapiti’s land, but that nothing would be likely to happen for a few months.

“I promise I will continue to do as much as I can,” Monroe finishes. He then glances back at Arthur. “Mr. Morgan, would you have time to help me? It would be better if certain actions were taken by friends outside the tribe.”

“Of course,” he replies.

“I will too.” You say.

Monroe thanks you but then warns that some of the work may be potentially dangerous. You just chuckle. “You clearly don’t know nothin’ about me, captain.”

“I suppose not, but I appreciate your eagerness. Come meet me on the reservation when you can. Anyway, I won’t take up any more of your time, sir.” Monroe kicks his horse into a canter and runs down the path which leads to the long railroad bridge. Rains Fall lifts his hand in farewell.

“I hope you don’t mind,” he says after a moment, “but I am going to look for some herbs that might help some of my people. The army has been making things difficult for us, but I’ll go more into that later.”

The group heads on a little further up the path and up ahead on the foot of a mountain, something large and gray is moving. As you approach it, Rains Fall says, “You see those wolves up ahead?”

As you get closer, you can see the wolves feasting on a horse.

“Brutality and beauty are both all around us,” Rains Fall continues in his calm manner as he leads you both up the fork in the road. “So often, though, we’re unable to see past our own grievances. I try to teach this to my son.”

As the group approaches the wolves, they stop eating and growl, lowering their ears.

“Don’t shoot them,” Rains Fall warns. “They may not be a threat.”

As he predicted, the wolves snarl once and then run off into the forest, abandoning their kill.

Rains Fall leads you both further up the path until there is another fork in the road, traveling up the side of the mountain. “We can talk if either of you want, but please don’t feel like you have to. It’s a beautiful ride ahead if you need time to think.”

“Well,” Arthur begins, “we don’t know you too well, but I wanted to speak to you about your son. I figure you know something about Dutch.”

“A little, your friend Charles told me about him.” Rains Fall leads you off the path towards a rather steep area of the mountain. He heads over to a copse of bushes and stops to gather herbs. Looking around, you once again see the large boulder on the lip of the peninsula. The view is breathtaking as it sweeps across the Grizzlies and the Cumberland Forest. You feel an immense sense of peace, something you’ve seldom felt since the bank job that ended in Hosea and Lenny’s deaths.

Rains Fall slides the herbs into his satchel and gets back onto his horse. Arthur, who had been admiring the view as well, turns back to Rains Fall.

“I don’t know why Dutch is gettin’ involved in your situation,” he says. “This ain’t easy to say, but I don’t trust that he’s got your son’s best interests at heart.”

“So what can we do?” Rains Fall asks.

“I don’t rightly know. I just thought you should be aware.”

“Ah, I understand. What do you think, Y/N?”

You’re caught by surprise that Rains Fall would ask your opinion as he leads you both up the path again. “Well, I only been runnin’ with Dutch a few months. Before, he always seemed like he genuinely cared for everyone, but now he just seems to want a fight. Much like your son but for different reasons, I think. He’s changed a lot since I first met him, but I agree with Arthur. Just be aware of him and try to steer your son away from him, if you can. I don’t think Dutch has any good intentions in mind.”

“Well, thank you. Both of you. I appreciate the warning.”

The three of you continue traveling along the path once more as the path winds east along the mountain. It rounds to the left, opening up to a spectacular view. You’re sure you can see Lemoyne from this vantage point. The sun beats down pleasantly as you admire the view.

Arthur suddenly brings you out of your own head. “I had a son once. Years ago. Don’t talk about him much.”

“What was his name?” Rains Fall asks.

“Isaac.” Arthur tells the story he had told you, of how he had met a waitress named Eliza and she had gotten pregnant. He also explains how he promised to do right by them, despite her knowing what kind of life he led. You can’t help your heart tugging painfully when he describes finding their graves after they were murdered for nothing more than ten dollars.

Rains Fall pulls off the path again as Arthur finishes telling his story. He dismounts and picks some ginseng, putting it into his satchel. “I appreciate you both coming with me to pick these herbs,” he says gently. “And I’m sorry about your son, Mr. Morgan.”

“It hardened me,” Arthur says. “Feelin’ that kind of pain. But I know now you don’t get to live a bad life and have good things happen to you. That’s why I’m tryin’ harder this time.” He looks pointedly at you when he says this. It does not go unnoticed by Rains Fall as he mounts up again.

“I think you’re being hard on yourself, Mr. Morgan.”

“Maybe,” Arthur says as he follows Rains Fall down the path again. “All I can do now is try to make some things right. Try to earn the good things I got and the ones I want.”

“Arthur,” you say with a soft smile. “I’m hardly a desirable prize.”

He grunts something you can’t hear as Rains Fall calls back to you from up ahead on the path, which is rounding to the right. “I think you underestimate yourself, Ms. Y/L/N. The way Arthur here looks at you makes me think he believes otherwise.”

You feel your cheeks burn at this comment and Arthur looks at you over his shoulder, winking. You can see his cheek is pink.

“Well, I done bad things too.” You kick Rannoch to walk side by side with Artemis so you can better talk with Rains Fall. Something about this man makes you want to trust him, to open up about your past. You tell him about your father and his abusive ways to try and raise you, your passive mother who let him, your cousin and then about James, who your father bribed with money to marry you and how he constantly attacked you.

“I couldn’t take it anymore,” you say, shaking a little from your story. “So I finally shot my husband and was still so enraged that I went to my parents’ house. Shot my father and… tied my mother up before setting the house on fire. That was the thing I regret doing the most. At least my father’s and James’s deaths were quick. Hers wasn’t. I wish I had just shot her too.”

“Hmm, anger is a powerful emotion, especially when it’s grown from that sort of pain,” Rains Fall says.

“Sure. I’m just surprised Arthur still wants to marry me when he knows exactly how I killed my last husband.”

“Yeah, well I ain’t foolish or cruel enough to treat you like that, darlin’.”

You smile at him as the path winds into a switchback, going down the mountain. A few more moments pass in silence, allowing you to admire the sweeping landscape, marking the Heartlands.

“That feller Monroe,” Arthur says. “How do you know him?”

“Captain Monroe was reassigned here from a regiment in the north. The news of our conflict has spread all the way to Washington. He’s a good man and he wants to help. The army aren’t all bad men, just as my people aren’t all good. But this Colonel Favours, he walks an old line. He’s obstinate, and he hates Monroe. I just hope we can work things out between us.”

Rains Fall goes silent as the path evens out and goes west. You can see that it travels up between two peaks of the mountain, where a copse of pines grow. The group goes up it and smoke rises from the trees. You’re expecting to see a campfire as a source of the smoke. Instead you see some of the pines have been burned and among them sits a Wapiti hut, charred to the point that only the branched structure still stands with tatters of the coverings on it.

Upon seeing it, Rains Fall dismounts. “No. It can’t be. What’s happened?” He approaches the burnt hut, a long, low tune coming from his mouth. Although you don’t understand why he’s making the sound, you realize it means something horrible has happened that has shaken him. He kneels beside the burnt ground, looking devastated.

“No! They destroyed everything!”

You and Arthur dismount, walking up behind him.

“ Who would do this?”

“Someone who wanted to enrage you,” Arthur says.

“Help me look around please. I need to find the Chanupa.” Rains Fall stands up and looks at you, his eyes begging. He describes the Chanupa to you, a kind of smoking pipe. You and Arthur begin looking around. You see a few bottles of whiskey and a bundle of rum-soaked logs. Just as you’re bending down to inspect the logs, Arthur hollers out.

“Over here!”

You and the Chief go to where he’s standing on the west side of the burnt hut. At the edge of the path, the mountainside looks out across the valley once more, and at the foot of the mountain lies a large camp, a smoke trail rising from it. Pulling out your binoculars, you look on the camp. Without a doubt, it’s the army. You can see their blue uniforms. You hand the binoculars to Rains Fall and he takes them, looking.

“These… brave men,” he says gruffly. “They are Colonel Favours’s men. They must have been the ones who did this.”

“Are you surprised this happened?” Arthur asks. He lowers his binoculars.

“Not at all, but I hoped we were past this.”

“Well you got land they want, land with oil.”

“But they were the ones who moved us here,” Rains Fall says, clearly confused. “They’ve taken everything we had. I signed three treaties myself and they’ve broken each one. Now they’ve taken the last hope, and my people will want a war.”

“This Chanupa,” Arthur says. “If we get it back, will it makes things better?”

“Some. It will at least deter my people from demanding we fight.”

“Then I’ll go,” Arthur says. “I’ll go in the camp and look.”

“Me too,” you say.

“Thank you, both of you. But please, try not to hurt anyone. Their dead will not help my people.”

You nod and head down the path with Arthur on foot. The path leads into another switchback until it slopes out to a less steep decline. You and Arthur hide in the cover of the boulders and sparse bushes that dot the land, sneaking your way closer to the camp.

When you’re close, you both stop and observe the men. There’s only about eight or nine, three of them sitting by the campfire while most of the others patrol the camp. Arthur takes out his binoculars again and sweeps the camp.

“There’s somethin’ by their fire. Looks like a long rod of some kind. I think it’s the Chanupa.”

“I’ll go get it,” you say. “Cover me.”

“No, I’ll go.”

“Arthur, I’m smaller than you and you’re a better shot. If anything happens, you can take them down quicker. I’ll try to be quiet though.”

He sighs but lets you go. You scurry from your boulder to a bush and wait for the nearest patrol to you walk a little further away. Dashing into the camp, you sidle between a tent and a wagon. As you’re tip toeing on the side of the tent, you hear someone inside of it snort as though waking up. You hear the sounds of him getting up and walking towards the front, causing you to flit to the back again in case he comes to your side. He does, and you watch, peaking around the corner, until he’s gone.

You sneak up to the front of the tent again, which isn’t far from the campfire. The three men sitting around it talk unconcerned.

“I heard old Favours was trying to get him transferred. Don’t like him much,” one says. You creep up to the front of the tent and peak around to see the men. Two of them have their backs to you but one could easily see you from the corner of his eye if you move too quickly. You take a few seconds and look around the area, spotting a long pipe in a colorful leather sheath. It must be the Chanupa.

“He always seemed like a decent fellow,” another man responds.

“That’s exactly the problem.”

The man whose side is facing you turns his head away to scratch his neck. You take the chance and dart forward quickly, grabbing the Chanupa and retreating back to the cover of the tent. Standing to the side of it again, you pause again to make sure you weren’t spotted.

“Monroe went to west point, Favours never made it.”

You sigh in relief, they didn’t see you. Although your heart beats hard in your chest, feeling like it’s about to leap into your throat, you calmly back away towards the back of the tent the way you’d come. Checking that the patrol hasn’t come around to your side again, you hunch over and sneak from the bushes to the boulders until you finally meet up with Arthur again.

“You got it?” he asks. You show him the Chanupa in your hand. “Good. Fellers don’t seem to have seen you. Let’s get back.”

You follow him up the side of the mountain, still using whatever cover you can find until you reach the switchback. After climbing it, you breathing heavily and Arthur wiping his brow, you find Rains Fall sitting cross-legged next to the burnt hut where the opening surely would have been. He looks up at your approach.

“Please tell me you found it,” he begs.

As you both walk up to him, you hold up the Chanupa and set it in his outstretched hands.

“I think that’s it,” you say, a little uncertain.

“Yes, thank you.”

“I’m very sorry about all this,” Arthur says.

“Even sacred things are only things,” Rains Fall says. “People, the heart, matter more. Was anyone hurt?”

“Don’t think those bastards even knew we were there,” you say simply.

“Good, good. I wish my son knew such restraint. My people owe you both a great debt and I’m giving you very little.”

“You don’t owe us anything,” you say.

Rains Fall reaches into his satchel. “Please, take this,” he says as he holds out what looks like a bracelet with a carnivore’s teeth and an owl feather. Arthur takes it from him gently. “We believe it is sacred,” Rains Fall explains.

“Thank you,” Arthur says, handing it to you. You hold it just as gently, though you run your hand over the owl feather. It slips easily between your fingers without making a sound like other feathers would have.

“I must get back to my village,” Rains Fall says. He begins to stand but seems to struggle slightly so Arthur helps him up. “I hope you both can find peace within yourselves.” He heads off to his horse and trots away. You raise your hand in farewell as Arthur inspects the hut.

“Come on,” he says when Rains Fall has vanished around the curb of the trail. You both hop onto your horses and make your slow way back towards the direction of Beaver Hollow.

“He’s different than I thought he would be,” you admit on your way down the mountain.

“Who? Rains Fall?”

“Yes. I thought, being in the situation he’s in, he’d be more like his son. Angry. Even when we found that place, he wasn’t. I don’t know if I’ve ever met anyone quite like him.”

“Hmm, well, to be honest, he’s a man who, not so long ago, I would have found weak and pathetic,” Arthur admits. “But now I see him as wise, thoughtful and sensible.”

“I know what you mean. Maybe we’re both changing.”

“No, I think just our perception of the world is. I would love to help him, or at least stop Dutch pushing his son to do something real stupid.”

“Why do you think Dutch is doing it? He killed Cornwall, but you said all that’s happened is Pinkertons have swarmed into Van Horn and Annesburg.”

“They have. Dutch said he killed him because Cornwall had his hands dipped in the Pinkerton’s pockets, shoveling money into them. Said he was hoping with Cornwall dead, they’d ease off. But to be honest, I think Dutch is… just startin’ to like killin’ folk. Exactly the opposite of what he told me and John not to be when we was growin’ up.”

“He’s not who I remember first meeting,” you admit as the horses walk into a thick covering of oaks dotting the path. “I remember he was suspicious of me, but it was because he feared I might be a threat to you. If I had been in the same situation and you’d brought me into the gang with Dutch the way he is now, I’m not sure he wouldn’t kill me on the spot.”

“Nor am I, though I think even now you’d have to give him a reason. Mind you, he don’t seem to need much at the moment. I just hope we can help him see reason, make him see that our situation ain’t good for any of us. We at least owe him the chance, sweetheart.”

“I know, I know. We’ll try, Arthur.”

#Red Dead Redemption #red dead redemption 2 #red dead fanfic #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur x reader #arthur morgan x reader #arthur x female reader #van der linde gang #R* Games #rockstar games #second chances #I'm awkward

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clansayeed · 4 years ago

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Bound by Circumstance ― Chapter 19: No Sympathy for the Bloodwraith

PAIRING: Nik Ryder x trans*M!MC (Taylor Hunter) RATING: Mature

⥼ MASTERLIST ⥽

⥼ Bound by Circumstance ⥽

Taylor Hunter (MC) has made it good for himself in New Orleans; turns out moving to a new city fresh out of college to reinvent yourself isn’t as hard as people make it out to be. Things only start to get confusing when he finds himself the target of a malevolent wraith. Good thing someone’s looking out for him though — because without Nighthunter Nik Ryder as his bodyguard he definitely won’t survive long in the twisting darkness of the supernatural underworld he’s tripped into.

Bound by Circumstance and the rest of the Oblivion Bound series is an ongoing dramatic retelling project of the book Nightbound and the rest of the Bloodbound series. Find out more [HERE].

Note: Circumstance only loosely follows the events and plotline of Nightbound, and features a separate antagonist, different character motivations, and further worldbuilding.

*Let me know if you would like to be added to the Circumstance/series tag list!

⥼ Chapter Summary ⥽

Cadence recounts one of the worst events in the Council’s history as the bloodwraith’s motives are brought to light. Taylor’s new empathy turns into both a helpful gift and a terrible burden.

[READ IT ON AO3]

New Orleans, 1921

“If you think the entire Garden Coven unwilling to march on you without hesitation, then you’re far more a fool than you’ve already proved yourself to be.”

The Nighthunter rounds on him with stake in hand. Even as unofficial allies his intent is clear: I will use this.

But Cadence doesn’t step back because he fears the weapon. He fears the man using it.

Has seen that wild look in his eyes elsewhere — though never in a human. It is the look that watches his every step, that hoards the limp limbs of their meal closer, that seeks only to gorge on thick veins and will not be sated until red ichor spills from their lips they are so full with it.

In a reversal of fortune it is the human who looks at the vampire with the gouging claws of bloodthirst and madness.

Any creature of sound mind would fear Reimonenq now.

“They can’t touch me,” the sneering reply, “those damn Accords keep y’all from actin’ as a faction!”

“Those same Accords demand the same of you!”

“It’s different for me an’ you know it, Smith.”

“No—honestly I don’t. You’re just as much a part of this community as any of us. You’re beholden to the Accords just as we are!” But the thing he’s still struggling to grasp, the thing that leaves him gaping even as Derek Reimonenq resumes shoving his things into a ratty sack, is far worse.

“Even with the legality aside — you just murdered three young women in cold blood.”

If any vestiges of warmth remained in his once-alive body they are dashed in the moment the man’s cruel laughter reaches his ears.

“Trust me when I say there weren’t nothin’ cold about it.”

A blind fury consumes him. Sends him rushing at the man with preternatural speed to pin him to the wall; the same grasp capable of turning concrete to powder wrapped around the mortal’s neck.

“You think this is funny?!”

“What it is, damn bleedin’ hearted fool, is justice!”

Derek shoves him back; only succeeds when the vampire is too stunned to speak or hold his ground. “You storm in here spoutin’ all yer high-horse shit about them Accords but you think I’m the only one what broke ‘em? You think those devil-whisperin’ freaks didn’ bend they’re own rules just the same?

“Those girls were unnatural. Even for they’re kind. I been at this all my life Smith — I know how to suss out the ones who ain’t got no hope a’goin’ anywhere but bad.”

“You killed them before they even had a chance. You’re no seer Reimonenq, you can’t possibly think you’re justified on a hunch!”

Derek’s upper lip curls. Cadence is almost surprised he doesn’t glimpse fangs.

“A Nighthunter’s job ain’t easy an’ it ain’t nice an’ it definitely ain’t simple. I already compromised every-damn-thing I believe in when I joined in on ya damn Council. But Come Hell an’ high waters if I stop makin’ this city safe for me an’ mine.”

Like a creature in her own right there comes a small hollow noise at the door. Low and center — the tap-tapping of child’s knuckles. The men break their brawl to watch — to wait.

The knuckles tap-tap again. Firmer this time.

Derek wars with himself for only a moment — opens the door and smooths the kind eyes of a father over those of the beast before.

Cadence knows it isn’t his spectacles that cause him to see a familiar child; not the honey-eyed daughter of Reimonenq but the wild ginger mane of Meredith LaPointe’s youngest. Her face frozen in terror as it will always be; carved behind his eyelids and in his soul.

Even in a town like New Orleans some hauntings have nothing to do with the supernatural. Some are personal.

The little girl stands with her nightshirt bunched in impossibly tiny fists. Wide eyes shining at the sight of her father before realizing he isn’t alone. When her lower lip begins to wobble the vampire realizes his mistake and averts his unnatural ruby gaze.

“You’re supposed to be in bed baby girl,” croons the same man who had burned three girls mere hours ago.

He picks his daughter up and tucks her in close. Cadence wonders if she can smell burned flesh and hair on his old army coat. “Where’s that momma’a yours…” Doesn’t look back to his guest even as he closes the door behind him, ventures deeper into his slumbering home.

Now alone the towering man begs for an answer only he can give — the same thing he had thought with the sunset a looming enemy at his back on the steps of Reimonenq’s domain.

Why is he here?

He has no stake in the Nighthunter’s life. In fact they’ve run afoul of one another more than most. For a man apparently so dedicated to upholding the tenets of the original Nighthunters he sure found himself in debt to the creatures he should so despise often enough. They’d met that way — another payment to Cadence’s three year debt to Carlo in strongarming the money that was promised.

And fucks sakes… there’s nothing redeemable about a man who would hold his daughter with hands still stained with the soot of a witch pyre.

The Council will come for him. There’s even a likelihood the vampire himself would be one of the men tasked with bringing him for his trial.

Maybe he just has to accept that there isn’t a reason for confronting Reimonenq alone.

Maybe he just wants to understand.

Monster to monster.

“What foul…?” He catches another whiff of burned flesh and a shudder rolls through him. He wonders if it should remind him of the battlefield. Still so strong even with thin walls between them — like Reimonenq hadn’t even left the room.

Curious.

Out of the corner of his eye he sees the lumped and dark shadow of the hunter’s sack. Ready to cut and run even with a family awaiting his return on the city’s outskirts.

Cadence doesn’t have a family — or if he does he doesn’t know where to find them. Are they waiting for him? Are they just as ignorant to the truth?

All his unanswered questions and here the other man is almost eager to abandon it all. Jealousy is an ugly thing.

When he reaches for the bag it’s because he’s angry; because he wants to delay Derek as much as possible. Not just to face the consequences of his actions but so he knows what the fuck he’s leaving behind. Has to dial down his strength lest he send a myriad of Nighthunter’s essentials hurtling through the thin drywall.

Stakes clatter to the floor. A medieval crossbow lands arm-down and snaps the archaic metal off like shattering glass. Bare essentials of fabric tumble out and reveal the prize he had wrapped within with care and greed both; what remaining skin was peeled from muscle tissue and bone from the flames that had consumed them starts to flake off and settle on scuffed wooden floors.

One cooked finger snaps off and rolls under the nearby bed. The rest are curled up and in like spiders after they die of starvation.

He’s caused his fair share of bloodshed but this—

Trophies…

Cadence’s tears gather and the world goes blurry at his eyes. From rage, from disgust, from incredulity…

He rips his glasses off and shatters them in his fist.

To the Elders of the Garden District Coven, Carlo de la Rosa was at the center of the city’s vampire community. If they weren’t of his blood they owed him in one form of another — Cadence is proof of that.

He was old, powerful, and connected. He had to go.

To the malevolent specter of Derek Reimonenq, Carlo was a threat. Not just as the leader of the vampires of New Orleans but on a personal level as well. In the months following his death Reimonenq’s wife and daughter inherited more than his legacy — they inherited his debts too.

He was as remorseless as he was undead. He had to go.

The Elders witnessed firsthand the rapid rise to power of Denna Ostrowski; a shapeshifter rumored to have had over a hundred forms under her pelt. To the mundane world she was new money investing in the rich history of Louisiana. And money opens many doors — even among the supernatural.

She had her hands steeped in the cauldrons of both worlds. She had to go.

Only Denna came to town long after The Bloody Hand had been dealt with — near forgotten.

That didn’t stop her from learning as much as she could about the history of the Council; from allies to enemies. Learning where they lived, where they died, and where they had hidden every rotten putrid trophy hand.

It was a part of the past best left forgotten yet that didn’t stop Denna from destroying them all the way down to the bone. And for that her days were numbered.

Though they didn’t know it the Elders and their ghoulish pet saw eye-to-eye when it came time to level that gaze on Tonya Reimonenq. They called her Lady Smoke because those who ran afoul of her always disappeared without a trace.

Poof — gone like smoke.

She never asked for her gift; the Reimonenq Curse. But she took it and she used it without shame or guilt. Made a show of keeping her touch under expensive wrappings but everyone knew the truth.

She liked having such power; control over who lived and who died. And despite being of Derek Reimonenq’s decaying flesh and molded blood, Tonya had turned herself into a target — made herself a creature more than she ever was a human being.

“I was the one who brought him in front of the Council,” Cadence says without regret, without remorse; “I kept him from going into hiding. If I hadn’t gone to him that night the Garden Coven may very well have never found him.”

Cal frowns. “I thought you said he couldn’t be accused and punished. Which I still can’t make a lick’a sense of.”

“In the eyes of the Accords both sides were at fault — for different things, but equally guilty of knowing the laws and consciously choosing to break them.”

“What did the Coven do?”

The vampire shifts in discomfort.

“The girls Derek burned weren’t born into the families that made up their ranks at the time. The Elders back then had plans to blood them fully — sort of like an initiation you can’t back out of — but they were brought into the city from outside covens before it was done.”

“To put it plain they brought enemies onto Quarter soil,” explains Katherine with a tired rub of her eye.

Cal throws his glance back to Taylor and Vera and matches their confusion.

“I’m missin’ somethin’. ‘Cause no offense but I can’t see a guy like Elric agreeing to put kids to death over bein’ somewhere they shouldn’t’ve.”

“You’re right — Elric knew the girls were smuggled into town. The whole Council did, actually. Given the circumstances they agreed to turn a blind eye.” When he’s met with a silence that screams for him to keep going Cadence does, though the reluctance is clear on his expression.

“Listen — I never met them personally. I only know what I do from rumor and that’s putting it lightly. But one person heard from another who heard from God-knows-who-else that the girls all shared the same power—could do the same thing in the craft, you know?

“It was said they could remove free will. I don’t know how, or if it was wild speculation or the truth watered down. Even I laughed when the story reached far down enough to my rung on the ladder. Nothing of the natural world — be it magic or sensation or psychic connection — can truly take away all resistance to command. Even my kind, while connected to our Makers on a deep and intimate level, can resist their influence if we do so with all of our being.

“None of this mattered though. The Coven may have concealed their nature but everyone could put two and two together.”

“No one thought they were gonna try somethin’ shifty?” asks Nik. Cadence shakes his head.

“One of the Elders had a natural gift of his own; he could sever the witch from their ability to practice the craft. It was clear that was their plan — that the city didn’t have to worry. They just couldn’t do so until after being blooded into the Coven.

“I think most of us just felt sorry for them.” Doesn’t stare at the carpet underfoot but through it; both in the room with them and some place he thought he had left far behind. “I did. All around the country young men had been sent off to war and returned home empty husks, if they returned at all. There was a sort of cultural agreement that didn’t need words: children and their innocence was worth protecting.”

Kathy’s hand hovers over his before making a decision, offering contact to ground the man to the present. But the smile he gives her is hollow. The memories still haunt him — maybe they always will.

“Derek Reimonenq didn’t agree,” he continues to everyone’s surprise, “not that anyone expected him to. Neither did the Bayou Alpha but the war didn’t even give her back a body to bury, so she fell in with the rest. Everyone figured he would air his grievances and follow through as he usually did… bottle in hand.

“It’s the only time I can remember that the Council tried to find a flaw in their own laws. They wanted to convict him — everyone was demanding justice. But rather than two trials and needless punishment on the side of the Coven the only solution they could all agree on was a clean slate.”

“Which didn’t sit well with the witches,” Vera rests her hand on her racing heart like that will help — it doesn’t, “so they Cursed him. And all the Reimonenq blood ‘longside.”

Cadence nods tight-lipped; has said more than he thought he would have to and more than he wished to if his tension is anything to go by.

“Makes sense, now.”

Nik’s fingertips are warm on Taylor’s scalp. They card through his hair as if to remind them both they are here; that it’s all come down to this.

“Those Elder bastards were targetin’ power in the city but somehow usin’ Derek’s spirit gave it an agenda. Carlo for the past, Denna for revenge on his stuff — can’t say I blame it for hatin’ Smoke but —”

“And how exactly did I piss off ‘The Bloody Hand?’” Taylor asks in bewilderment. Nothing about the casual way the man shrugs reassures him.

“Dunno — you were convenient?”

“And we’re back to that now.”

“Sometimes a spade is a spade is a spade,” his mouth twists with deep thought, “though now we know why it wasn’t houndin’ on us the second you were outside a ward. They gave it a hit list but it chose the order.”

No one responds — what is there to say? Sure it’s satisfying to finally know, to understand.

But does it change anything?

It has to. Otherwise The Fate wouldn’t have led him on this; the altered path.

“This is good — this is a really good thing.”

The incredulity and judgment that bears down on Katherine isn’t personal — she knows that. More than that she doesn’t care. Not with the wry look she’s sending Ryder’s way. “Damn,” she laughs dryly, “it might actually be the only time in all this weird crap that things might work in our favor.”

“How d’ya mean?”

“You said it yourself; a spade’s a spade. Think about it, Nik — finally this is just a job like any other. Just creatures following their nature.”

A look of understanding comes over his weary features. “So maybe it’s time we follow ours, you mean.”

Like she’s reading his mind Vera speaks up where Taylor still struggles to connect the dots; “For the class, guys?”

Kathy’s smile is a rare thing. Rare and unnerving.

“We do what Nighthunters do best; we hunt.”

Even with everything he’s seen and endured the sight of rusted cemetery gates still form knots in his belly; dread and memory all tied up with the knowledge that at the end of the day he’s just as vulnerable here and now as he was that first night.

And you know what doesn’t help? Being in the Garden District again; that doesn’t help.

Being so close to their enemies — those literally plotting to kill them with more than one attempt under their witchy robes — that doesn’t help.

But it must be done. “It’s a risk we’ll have to take,” Katherine had said while hoisting a rusted toolbox from its shelf in Cadence’s office, “since it’s proven already it can attack us anywhere — wards or no.”

“There aren’t any protection measures we can take?” Vera had asked; though they were all sure that if there was an answer they would have found it by now.

“Find a god and pray.”

That the cemetery is largely untouched is a miracle. Not for fear of ghosts and the scary stories tour guides like Tilly tell but for the fact that tourists usually just don’t give a damn.

Then again this is the closest cemetery to the Coven. That has something to do with it no doubt.

Cadence leads them through the dark and winding paths — Cal bringing up the rear. “No flashlights,” the vampire had insisted, “the moment we trespass is the moment the mundane authorities become just as much a threat as the witches.”

Lucky they have a vampire and a werewolf on their team then. Precision hunters pretty much known for their ability to see at night.

They keep close-knit ranks but let’s be honest; they’re about as subtle as the Scooby Gang would be in this scenario.

A joke he will not be saying within earshot of Cal if Taylor values his life.

Though the vampire insists—almost too much—that he hasn’t been to the Reimonenq crypt since Derek was put there almost a century ago he sure knows his way easy enough.

“Are you sure you’re okay with us doing this; vandalizing your family crypt?” Taylor asks Vera, because this just feels awkward especially with her here. And if she says stop you better know they will be stopping.

But nope; it’s all good. “I’m only frustrated I can’t get us in myself.”

They come to a stop — abruptly, like jostled dominoes — in front of an old stone grave.

Any other day Taylor would have walked right by it; dismissed it for another piece of city history made illegible from erosion over time. But through the greenish muck and years of wear, maybe because he knows what he’s looking for, it’s there.

REIMONENQ “Mourn not the dead, but those burdened to continue living.”

His heart sinks at the inscription beneath Vera’s family name — chances a glance her way, ready to offer what little comfort he can.

Her eyes scream of hatred but he can feel beneath the surface. All that anger stemming from a place of hurt, of loss; of regret. Hatred at the bones they hope to find within and regret for every life that could have been spared in the aftermath of him.

Cadence motions for Cal to help him strongarm the front slab.

“Wait,” says Vera through the stones in her throat and the tears in her eyes she refuses to shed, “gimme a second.”

Katherine holds her breath — thinks better of pointing out that they may not have a second to spare. They know; Vera knows.

But she also deserves this.

She removes her left glove while approaching the crypt. They step back, give her a wide berth and not just for her sake.

Fingers stretched as far and forward as they’ll go Vera lays her palm on the surface. Pushes with a fruitless effort but it probably isn’t the physical barrier she’s forcing back. At least that’s not what Taylor feels in her soul.

“When I was a lit’le girl Momma told me we didn’ have the luxury of choosin’ whether or not to be killers. That day I vowed to myself to be the first — to keep the Touch from ever takin’ a life so long as I held it.

“I was fifteen when she tricked me into usin’ it on a man — staged it like I was savin’ her life by taking another. And I’ll never forgive her for it.”

Taylor feels his heart begin to crumble, then crash into a deep dark sea in chunks as tears roll down her cheeks.

“But she proved something to me that day —” she continues, “— she proved she was right. That so long as we had the Touch we would be killers whether we wanted to or not. She may have tried to make me a hero but no one who can do what we do could ever be one.

“But here—lookin’ at this grave, knowin’ what I know and all that The Bloody Hand did? I don’t feel guilty anymore. I finally realize that I really never had a choice.

“It was always gonna be in my nature.”

Cal’s knuckles crack hollow in the silent cemetery. Cade averts his ruby eyes, swipes his tongue over the hint of a fang.

If anyone here can understand her, it’s them.

“That’s what makes him so evil,” Vera tugs on her glove with jerking frustration; and not for the first time turns her back on the name REIMONENQ, “he had a choice an’ he chose to kill. And I ain’t gonna forget that — no matter how ‘tortured’ his soul is supposed to be.

“Those Elders ain’t in the right in what they’ve done but he wouldn’t have been their weapon had he not chosen to do great evil first.”

Not a rallying cry or solemn eulogy — but her intent is clear.

No sympathy for the bloodwraith.

No sympathy for Derek Reimonenq.

Ryder insists on proceeding with caution—still a statement Taylor’s trying to wrap his head around to be honest—and earns Katherine’s grumbled agreement that they should at least check for remnants of the Elders’ visit.

Cal spots a couple of markings drawn in chalk by the base that set teeth and fangs on edge but ultimately Kathy concludes they’re nothing more than lay-hexes; the witch equivalent of spitting on someone and cursing them to burn in Hell. A bit ominous but not meant to guard the abandoned tomb.

Which, frankly, leaves Taylor more than a little unsettled.

“If they saw no need to enchant it, does that mean there’s nothing inside we can use?”

Nik shakes his head and steps back, allows the two creatures among them to really give in to that nature of theirs and pry the weathered granite from its seal.

“First thing any hunter does when dealin’ with the hereafter is t’learn about the life of the haunting dead. We got the life story and we got how he died —”

“Step two is consecrate whatever bones can be found.” Katherine finishes.

A groan of resistance cuts off with a loud THUD, the noise bouncing from crypt to crypt definitely more than loud enough to awaken the dead. Nice timing to start regretting not bringing Ivy along.

Cade props the front plate on the side of the structure, waves his hand at the irritating dust and sand set off from their force.

It must be nice not to have to breathe, Taylor would say — if he wasn’t hacking his lungs out and praying there isn’t any powdered body on his tongue.

When it settles and they can properly peer inside — the good news is that aren’t any corpses that might make him lose his nerve. One more fainting spell and Taylor might just have to live in shame in the backwoods of the Bayou.

The bad news, though, is also that there aren’t any corpses; rather a large black hole stretching into a void. Darker than the night around them, practically made of nothing.

The vampire sighs and pushes up his glasses. “It’s a small stairwell,” then looking back to Vera, “I know you aren’t to blame in the least but… there’s a reason no one has a basement in Louisiana.” Judging by the look she throws his way it’s better that she takes the high road and doesn’t comment.

“I can’t smell any water rot,” Cal sniffs the air again and the face he makes might as well curl the ends of his hair, “but there’s definitely dead things below.”

“Wow, dead things in a crypt, who would’a guessed?”

“Hey Ryder?”

“Yeah Kujo?”

“Shut the fuck up.”

There’s only enough space for them to go one at a time; and even that is being generous. Taylor can’t help but try to imagine the dignified Elder Daniels in her power-suit crawling into this muck — or Elder Vion hobbling through like a bag of bones.

Kathy volunteers Cadence to go first — an act the vampire looks like he objects to strongly. “Tall people aren’t really made for small —”

But it isn’t his height the huntress is concerned over; a revelation spurned by how she shoves him through the passage—crawlspace, really—and holds her breath as if waiting for something to happen.

Nothing does. “The inside isn’t bespelled. You can come out now if you want.”

If Cade could turn his head he would no doubt be glaring wildly. “Why bother, I’m already inside!” He seethes but takes cautious steps into the tomb, then into the earth.

Vera goes next, and of her own volition.

“Anyone else worried about the amount of oxygen down there?” And it’s such a clear opening for Nik to take a shot at the werewolf but Cal does have a point — while also looking a little green in the face.

So he and Katherine stay up top to guard the rather obvious and gaping hole in what should be a sealed grave. And for the sake of conserving breathing room, can’t forget that.

Nik’s hand is warm, solid as it coaxes him at his lower back. Only a few steps in he feels the drop of the descent. Waits until what little light from outside is obscured by the bodyguard at his back before he begins the journey down.

Down into the not-so-final not-quite-at-rest place of Derek Reimonenq.

Cal was right; there is a body down here.

But—and he’s just spitballing here really—he’s like… a little pretty-damn-sure it isn’t the guy who’s been dead for 98 years.

Ninety five, ninety four percent certain.

As he finishes igniting the last of the half-burned candle circle Cadence pockets his lighter and stands — doesn’t even have to hunch over. It had felt like they were walking for an hour in the pitch black but maybe he wasn’t that far off.

It’s not a tomb like anyone buried would have a tomb; more a room made sturdy with brick and mortar to do one purpose — and not even for forever. The candles have to be a new fixture courtesy of the Coven Elders and whatever hellish ritual they performed. Even the ground beneath them still holds traces of their visit; looks like Elder Daniels got her heel stuck in some as-yet unpacked dirt.

Derek Reimonenq’s body is probably supposed to be on the waist-height stone slab in the middle. Only it isn’t.

But someone’s is.

Ryder’s hand ghosts over yellow chalk marks on the walls. He pulls back a fingertip of the powder residue and gives it a little sniff; instantly regrets it with a recoil.

“Sulfur,” and he smears it back on the brick feeling desperately unclean.

Cadence joins Vera in looking up to where something large catches the reflection of the flames. He’s just tall enough to reach and brush the surface with a touch. “Looks like a quartz geode… I think I’ve read somewhere that halite can be cast to ward away weathering.”

“Explains why this place wasn’t swallowed up in Katrina,” agrees Nik.

There’s a long moment of silence before Taylor just can’t take it anymore.

“Is no one else gonna mention the dead corpse?”

Cadence snorts. “As opposed to the living one?”

Not what he meant.

But as the rest of the room’s oddities had been deduced the only logical progression was to the young woman laid to rest in a grave that isn’t hers. Maybe wasn’t supposed to be.

That she hasn’t shown any signs of decay isn’t even the strangest thing. No, that would be the pile of bleached-white bones serving as her funeral bed. Definitely more than what one human body should be made up of — but who says it’s human?

The almost medical distance with which Nik studies the long gash across her throat—not scabbed over but not bleeding, either, simply open—has Taylor looking away in discomfort.

While Vera may not have been initially as shocked as he, though, she keeps her distance beside him. “She’s so young…”

“Eighteen, maybe a tad less,” Cadence shrugs off the way they stare at him, “I tried out medicine a ways back, I think I can date a body.”

“Then how long has she been dead?”

“That’s the misleading part — but I think we have the halite ward to thank for that. Context included—I’d say she died the same night as Carlo de la Rosa.”

Vera sucks in a breath. “It killed her, too?”

“No, she doesn’t look like the other bodies.” Nik grunts and stands, wipes dirt from his palms and grabs one of the bones from under the girl’s knee to study it closely. “Conjuring the wraith — pulling Reimonenq’s spirit from the Veil, that’s some heavy necromancy, the kind you have to have in your blood. It could be one of the Elders but I’m gonna go out on a limb and say she’s our born Necromancer.”

Why is it that with everything he’s seen Taylor still has a hard time looking into her face, soft and so very still, and imagining her bringing that much evil into the world?

Ryder uses the bone to drag a wide circle around the dais in the dirt; follows the path just inside the candles and forces the other three back against the walls. “The Elders stood in a triangle — see the concentration of steps — and she did the summoning over the altar. When they were done… she wasn’t of any use to them and and had to go.”

“But she was one of their own,” Taylor protests, “they keep talking about how they’re trying to protect their Coven — she had to have been one of them right?”

It’s a heavy thought. Makes the air in the room feel a little thinner. Cal was right there isn’t enough for them down here.

“Come Hell and High Waters,” says Cade; and he probably means well but those words make him feel sick to his stomach now — some of that ends justifying the means bullshit.

“A sacrifice of one for the survival of the many. I wonder if they told her… that what she was doing was the right thing.”

“The right — they murdered her. There’s no way that’s right.”

“You’re questioning their morality now?”

Taylor falters. He has a point.

There’s just so much grief building up inside his chest he feels like his lungs might burst out of him. A terrible loss; losing himself, losing faith in something, losing trust and truth and…

And where the hell is this coming from?

I can’t breathe. Clutching his hand to his chest, heart seconds away from giving out, that familiar burn of breathing in too hard—too much. “I can’t breathe.”

Before he can collapse Vera helps ease him down to his knees, Nik suddenly at his side hands hovering — unsure of what to do, how to help, but filled with the desperate need to do something because feeling useless is a thundercloud gathering overhead.

“Rook—Rook breathe. I — what’s wrong? Can you talk? Talk to me Taylor, please —”

“Give him some space, Ryder.”

“Do you not see him having a panic attack?”

He gathers enough energy to rasp out only once; “Hey—huff—Nik—huff—backthehelloff!”

And because he can’t say it again he just waves Vera away with heavy slaps of his hands. He doesn’t mean to hurt her. Only to get his point across.

The breathing room they give helps a little. Not enough. Doesn’t stop the feelings he’s feeling or the confusion about those feelings.

They wait in silence while his panic subsides. Maybe it wouldn’t take so long if he understood what had caused it; but he’s met with nothing but patience and a whole lot of concern on Nik’s end.

When Taylor reaches out with a shaky hand it’s immediately grabbed; his entire being tethered to that one act. Nik squeezes first, he squeezes back.

His gaze drifts over the leather-clad shoulder to the body on the stone slab and… and he understands.

“I’m feeling her.” The aching grief twisting in his gut like a rusty knife, the purposelessness, the betrayal. “It—she—is everywhere in here. She’s suffocating.”

“She’s dead, Rook.”

“I mean her emotions—her soul. She wants to be known. She wants to be grieved.”

“So grieve her,” Cadence says, “however you can, you must. If you’re feeling that strong of an empathic connection there must be a reason why. It could tell us something we don’t know—something crucial.”

Taylor hopes to see some sort of confident support when he looks to Nik for help — but the worry is staggering. That makes it better, somehow; genuine.

“You don’t have to do anythin’ you don’t want,” his voice is quiet; hiding the scratch of emotion in his throat where his Adam’s apple bobs.

If only it were that simple.

On shaky legs he stands, makes his way to the altar where Cadence gives him a wide berth and waves for the others to do the same. Nik looks ready to stand by his side no matter what happens. He will, too. But he shakes his head, whispers “it’s okay,” and lets their touch linger until he’s too far to reach.

There’s no manual on this kinda crap — hopefully he doesn’t need one. He doesn’t think he does.

No… he doesn’t feel like he does. Which is apparently different now; a thing to worry about later.

Taylor inhales and brushes a trembling touch along the soft curve of her copper cheek.

“You swore a sacred oath to your Coven in blood, dear girl.”

Elder Vion’s voice rasps in his ear. Makes Taylor want to recoil out of a bygone terror. He’s half a step back when he remembers Nik is there and the Elder is not. And stands still.

“No one else would have you Cassiopeia. We took you in, gave you our protection.”

“We gave you a family — a home.”

Then an unfamiliar voice among them; young and trusting and tired—so very tired, dragged out of her bed in the middle of the night.

“Of course, Elder Millet, a-and I’m grateful! Please, please…”

“All of these things without expectation of repayment. Because our kind must stand together — must straddle the worlds of both dark and light and know balance in them.”

“You have been cursed, darling girl. But today we will turn that curse into a blessing.”

“But you made me promise —”

Then the feeling changes — grows old and damp and determined to do good by those who took care of her, by those who loved her.

The bones of a persecuted witch. Of three. The last three to fall victim to The Bloody Hand and the ones to call him forth from the hereafter.

They bind him in torment, in hellfire unseen.

The sight of them, knowledge that she could be one of them, makes her skin crawl.

Elder Daniels watches ever-present at her back as Elder Vion finishes the rite of conjuring; sprinkles the last of the dry spell over the bones. The mandrake powder tickles her nose. She holds her breath and prays not to sneeze.

The ochre within stains the bones her favorite shade of orange; the burned hue of a Bayou sunset. But combined with the flakes of iridescent mica that catch in the candlelight — the spell takes hold of the bones and claims them for their use. Leaves them a bright, almost bleached white as the powders are absorbed into the long-gone marrow.

Cassiopeia looks to her left for Elder Millet’s familiar motherly smile. It gives her calm and hope — reminds her of all the other fostered witches they are acting in faith for tonight.

This is what she was born for. This is why she was abandoned; because the Garden Coven was meant to find her.

She’s meant to do this; use her curse. This is how she’s going to repay them for all they’ve done for her.

“Cassiopeia, sweetheart,” Elder Millet doesn’t move—can’t move—from her spot in the triquetra; coaxes her forward still with a nod of her chin, “whenever you’re ready.”

A hasty nod; then she takes one final moment to steel herself and her nerves.

She’s meant for this.

The sulfur powder itches at her palms but Cassie resists the urge to scratch. Spreads her fingers wide and hears a pop in her thumbs as she reaches over and above the ritual bones.

On the other side of the altar comes the thud. thud. thud of Elder Vion’s walking staff on the ground a this feet. The candle flames around them flicker — almost to death.

Then comes the slow and throated chanting of Vion’s native tongue. The flames begin to grow.

The young witch buries that last shred of doubt way deep inside and trusts her protectors.

“Claw and blood, claw and bone. Bloodied flesh, endless stone…”

A whispered wind overcomes them. Fills the room warm near her toes and chilly to the touch.

Around the crypt it circles round and round — and grows.

“Soar with the zephyr, shriek with the crow. Life renewed I now bestow…”

She can’t quite tell if the shaking in her hands is the growing itch, her nerves, or the power of the spell. Nothing worth the reason to stop.

“My darkest will with blackened vein Unto this rotted soul I chain.”

“Again!” Elder Daniels commands. A tone that takes none but obedience.

“Claw and blood, claw and bone. Bloodied flesh, endless stone. Soar with the zephyr, shriek with the crow. Life renewed I now bestow. My darkest will with blackened vein Unto this rotted soul I chain!”

“Again!”

“I—I’m trying!”

“Try harder! Millet!”

“Cassiopeia you can’t break the chant. You can do it, I know you can!”

The whirlwind threatens to catch her voice and steal it from her lungs. Rattles the bones that stay together because they cannot imagine being apart — even in death. Hands stained with the sulfur’s ire and Cassie squeezes her eyes shut to keep it from getting in her eyes.

“Claw and blood! Claw and bone! Bloodied flesh! Endless stone!”

“It’s working! Jean—the knife!”

“You’re doing so good Cassie—we’re almost there!”

“My darkest will with blackened vein! Unto this rotted soul I chain!”

Taylor chokes on his own air; can feel the icy bite of the blade dragged across his throat. Sharp—so sharp it’s barely a pinprick but the wound left in its wake spills warm and wet down his front into his clothes soaking the ground taken in by the dirt and given a home here, below, in this awful place.

Ichor of the innocent to bind and control.

Before he can fall backwards Nik is there; familiar and solid and so so steady against the violent shaking that overcomes him.

He can still feel her— forces everything inside him to will himself not to see what happened next. Knows what was born from her spell, her devotion to the Elders, and her sacrifice.

Cassiopeia.

“She trusted them,” the words hang thick and dry on Taylor’s tongue, “she trusted them and they told her she was doing something good… she felt like she owed them.”

“And repaid that debt with her life…” Vera looks away; suddenly can’t stand to look at her.

Nik helps him back on his feet, brushes a hand through his hair and he leans into the warmth of it. Feels so cold now that the hot sting of Cassiopeia’s anguish is gone from him. Pulled out as if by a rusted hook embedded in his gut.

“Was it Reimonenq that did this to her?” asks Cade, who drags his finger along the curling edges of her wound.

“No, no… Elder Daniels, I think, was the one who sacrificed her.”

Nik frowns. “Why would you sacrifice the one doin’ the damn ritual?”

“The power in a ritual is beheld by the caster, obviously. With her death the entire thing should have been rendered null. But we all know that not to be the case.”

A strange look comes over the vampire’s expression for a moment; lips pursed thinly. He doesn’t look up from the body as he waves towards Vera. “Can you come here a moment? Take your glove off.”

“What? No!”

“Relax, you won’t be Touching me. I need you to Touch the witch’s hand.”

She looks between them all, Cassie’s body included, as if hoping one of them will speak up. “I won’t be Touchin’ anyone because I won’t do it. It’s too risky, especially here all… all cramped.”

“Please.”

Vera pleads at him silently. Taylor can feel her panic icy and crisp at the back of his throat. So he asks; “What do you think will happen?”

“If I’m correct,” whether he steps away from the altar and simply gestures, giving Vera space, is for her sake or his own is a mystery, “then nothing will happen at all.”

That it’s a risk he’s willing to take on behalf of Vera—that he isn’t the one doing the Touching and is all the more insistent anyway—is worrisome. But he’s their friend; they’re all in this together.

That—and the fact that if Katherine were down here she’d already be tugging Vera and her cursed hand forward without hesitation.

Curiosity, survival; whichever wins out it doesn’t matter. Not that it keeps the unfortunate inheritor of her family name from doing so slowly. As if trying to talk herself out of agreeing up until the last second.

“Which hand?”

“Either one will do,” then when her fingertips are a hair’s breadth away— “I seem to recall Derek wasn’t picky.”

Taylor wonders—quietly, in his head, and very much to himself—when the last time Vera actually touched another human was. Was there some sort of coming-of-age trigger for the curse? Or could she have been putting all the other toddlers on the playground at risk should she have decided to pull off her gloves and play tag?

Too long ago, the obvious answer. Obvious when Vera covers Cassiopeia’s hand first in fingertips — then her entire palm.

They wait. Nothing happens.

She shakes off her wrist—like this is something she’s at fault for—and tries again. Pushes this time enough to jostle the poor young sacrifice.

Again, nothing.

There’s a collective sigh of relief. All eyes on Cadence for answers, explanations, anything?

Nope. He just nods, as distantly academic as ever.

“So what does this mean?” Nik finally asks.

The last time he started rolling up his sleeves, Taylor witnessed Cadence’s transformation into some kind of merciless brute; a monster. Is it any wonder the hairs on the back of his neck stand up when he sees it again?

“It means I’m going to need something that can cut through bone.”

#nightbound #choices nb #playchoices #nik ryder x mc #nik ryder #cal lowell #vera reimonenq #katherine nightbound #oc: cadence smith #nightbound mc #mc: taylor hunter #oblv: bound by circumstance #oblv: new chapter #; my fics #cassiopeia

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