#that vacant dead-eyed stare like his mind has already checked out

[5ummit]

[gladiatorcunt]

- ALLIGATOR BITES NEVER HEAL !

a swamp for each chamber of my heart

tags: eventual pregnancy but it’s an overall theme, rafebarry centric, transmasc!rafe (anatomy terms: pussy, cunt, cock, hole, tits), mention of top surgery scars, barry calling rafe a dog, degradation, ambiguous ending, dead dove do not eat, messing with the s4 timeline, pregnant!sarah, established rafebarry(fem)reader, mentioned past rafe x jj, mentioned past drug use, implied incest if you squint, possible eventual kidnapping, cheating (on sofia), title from doechii (subtitle from me), consensual but not safe or sane

please do not copy, translate, or feed this work to ai

note: unedited, fresh out out a rut. this is for like 4 people <3333

As if trailing behind his pregnant sister in the sands of Morocco going after more stupid treasure wasn’t bad enough, Rafe’s been feeling on the verge of throwing up for the past week. Ever since he made Barry bend him over the dock and fuck his pussy raw before taking the boat, actually.

He’d missed being high, and had only come to him for the boat at first. Then the sun bounced off his tacky sunglasses and his gold tooth, next thing Rafe knows he’s squirting into the open water below. There was the usual foreplay, biting words meant to goad him into getting his shit rocked. Glares that would eventually turn into glassy eyed vacant stares.

His favorite times are when he gets nose bleeds and a little red trail gushes from his face to drip down between Barry’s hairy balls.

Barry didn’t say anything about not using a condom, or checking to make sure Rafe had his birth control, he’s not the kinda guy that’s gonna pass up on creampieing a brat’s sloppy pussy.

Call it a desperate attempt to baby trap the only family either of y’all have left, if you’re not already pregnant yourself. Barry wonders when Rafe’s gonna circle around to that possibility, but he can wait, because he knows that once his dog catches your scent, there’s only so much time you can spend running.

It’s a small island, a lot of water you could drown in if you get the mind to wander off on your own and get caught in a trap. Maybe someone really does smell different when they’ve got a bun in the oven.

He was even more on edge because you weren’t talking to him or Barry, nah, you thought you were better than them or something and wanted to distance yourself from the treasure hunt mess. Which would be understandable if he wasn’t involved, but he is so you just need to get the fuck over it. Sofia’s just a cover, she’ll outlive her usefulness when Rafe stops being a coward.

Getting stabbed deep in his guts always feels better when you’re there to love on him, sucking his tits and softly pecking all over his face while he cries and gets snot all over in your hair. Barry likes it better that way too, his bitches playing together like the cute lil’ puppies he knows they can be.

So Rafe hobbles onto the boat with cum dripping down his legs and sets off, his mind fractured in a million different pieces, if he tried to put them together he knows the picture they’d make. One that gives him the same weird feeling that he’d get seeing Rose pin wooden ‘Live Laugh Love’ signs to the walls.

When he goes to bed that night, he replays every moment, every movement of Barry’s tongue as he spoke.

“Captain Barry at your service.”

Rafe grunts and rolls over in the rickety bed, cringing as the springs in the mattress groan under his weight. He snakes a hand into his pajama pants, fingers searching for his cock and flicking it. He wishes you were there to suck on it and slide your fingers into his hole, shushing him when he whines that it’s too much because you both know that Barry’s beat his pussy up more than you ever could.

He whimpers into his pillow, caressing his folds and squeezing his meaty thighs together. It’s always easier to reminisce when Barry’s rough, he has bruises and bite marks and cuts to trace and kill himself over and over in. When he’d left, Barry had held him so close that Rafe wasn’t sure that their bodies had ever been apart before then. Sticky wet heat against his groaning back, cauterizing the wounds that he doesn’t remember carrying anymore, the emptiness that outweighs the ache in his cunt.

“Shh.” Barry teased, digging his chin into Rafe’s shoulder, pummeling his fingers into the clutch of his sopping wet hole as he humped his ass. “You keep sayin’ you wanna act tough but you can’t even take being treated like a slut, you’re lucky i like seein’ you cry so much.”

He likes kissing it better afterwards too though, when Rafe’s far gone enough to be malleable and suggestible, pliant and turned in the direction of a better daddy. Barry’ll even make sure he has a sibling too, one that Rafe can’t ever disappoint because you already know where each of his cavities are and you dig into them, kiss after kiss.

“Think you’re gonna know what’s good for you when you can’t run off no more?”

He’s being cleaved open, Barry’s digging through his organs and throwing away the bits and pieces that don’t suit him anymore.

“Ngh- Please, i’m sorry- hurts, keep going, fuck-“ He was dripping onto the dock, mouth in an ‘O’ shape, a warm arm in between his thighs, it’s not enough anymore.

He needs to be bleeding, about to vomit, chunks of his arms and shoulders gnawed at.

Then when his pussy clenched and he was almost there, he’s empty again. The absence of something filling him lasted all of ten seconds until Barry shoved his cock in to replace his fingers, plugging him up. Rafe jerked and choked on his own spit, his eyes shot up to catch the shimmer in the water as the sunlight hit, nearly time for it to set.

Barry brought a hand up to play with his chest, “These tits are gonna get so full, baby boy, our girl and I are always gonna have to drain you dry when they get sore, huh?”

Rafe’s eyes rolled back on a moan, letting Barry’s thrusts send shockwaves up his body, jostling his flesh and causing slight jiggles. His tits already feel like hell all the damn time, Barry’s rough hands smack them around so often it feels weird when they’re left alone. He was gushing around the cock inside him, regretfully easing the slide.

“Yeah,” Barry gritted out as he sped up, clamping one sweaty hand around his throat and the other in the dip where his thigh melted into his hip. “Don’t need no ideas in your stupid fuckin’ head about being hot shit, just need a baby. Babies for my babies.”

Rafe couldn’t do shit but nod eagerly as he took it, awkwardly bent over, one misstep away from going in the water and half in pain but he’d never been this fucking wet in his life. Not with Topper, not with Kelce, not with Sofia, not with that bitch JJ (which was the only time someone has made him bleed more than Barry), not with-

He squeezed his eyes shut, replacing that one with the man who abuses his puffy pussy better. Barry clicked his tongue and took the hand on his hip off, stuffing those fingers down Rafe’s throat, he couldn’t afford letting Rafe set up another house in his own head, as inhospitable as it is.

Rafe moaned gratefully, filled from both ends and forced to quiet down how he secretly likes. He kept his hands off his cock which made Barry generous enough to touch it for him, rubbing tight circles on it as he tried to push his cock deeper into him, wanting to kiss his cervix and power through.

“Be a good bitch and come back, and we’ll go after her, yeah? Gonna bring her ass back so you’re not self concious when you start showin’ and shit-“ Barry cut himself off, holding Rafe’s throat so tight the other man chokes as Barry’s jizz flooded his used pussy.

“Yes, yes, want her, want to watch you knock her up too, oh my fucking god.” Rafe yelled and came again, or maybe it was the first time, he didn’t really remember so many dragonflies were buzzin’ in his skull. “Baby. Baby. Baby. Baby.”

Barry made him stay in that position even when his orgasm happened later, making sure his cum could slosh around in his womb and create a cute lil’ baby. Bastard’s probably gonna be the most bloodthirsty infant in the hospital that day, but Barry sure hoped so, he knew damn well who he’d be locking down in every kinda way after all. Marriage vows don’t gotta be on paper to be binding in his humble opinion.

He got that across well enough, stroking his thumbs across Rafe’s top surgery scars when he tied him up on the boat. Petted his hair too because it’s just something he gets the itch to do on occasion, and bent Rafe’s legs far enough to fit his head between so he could bully his cock next. Barry slurped up the custom mix of his and his dog’s cum, groaning, bone deep and raggedly like hot coals were being stroked over his ribs. Making hollow melodic sounds, like windchimes with none of those fancy dangly bits attached.

“I know I can’t say shit about not killing, not anythin’ that would do any fuckin’ good, but watch it.” Barry said and fixed Rafe with a look that added a million different things to the conversation, more loose ends.

“This isn’t about that shit this time, I guess, I don't know. Whatever, all I give a fuck about is the treasure.”

“Don’t I know it. Well, maybe you’ll come back with coke dick again, maybe not. Just fuckin’ be a good bitch and come the fuck back, is all i’m sayin’. You get me?”

“Shit, yeah I get you, alright?”

“Don’t be a stranger, I don’t got nearly enough good quality chains for both you and her.”

His cock twitched and his mound almost throbbed down to the nerve endings at the image, but they both knew Rafe isn’t necessarily the stray dog to really worry about finding its way home. Rafe guessed he could sit on your face to calm you down if you end up actually needing the iron restraints, being smothered always helped settle him back into a stable mood, or uh, stable-ish. Several swipes of his cock through your taste buds and a few jabs at his puckered asshole and you’d be back to normal!

More sand blows in as Rafe plucks his nipples with his free hand, whining because it doesn’t feel the same, his touch isn’t mean enough like Barry’s or condescending enough like yours. He’s pathetic, sniffling into his shoulder and curling his fingers into his pussy, jackhammering away until he feels something other than loneliness. He really fuckin’ hopes Barry’s cum takes, not that he won’t immediately be back like a son who forgives his father, Rafe just wants a family.

He wants his belly to swell, ribbons gently tied around his wrists as you sink down on his wet strap, your belly just as round. Barry’d sit on the edge of the bed and watch you writhe against each other, both of y’all too knee deep into bottom behavior to do much more than hump and cry. He’d lean in, act like he’s gonna kiss ya, then laugh right in your face as he pulls back, only to give it y’all for real when you and Rafe get that same murdery look on your faces.

You have way too similar ones, probably Barry’s fault, but he reeled y’all in and let the hooks in your mouths stay there until they rusted, stuck.

He wants to whine and moan about how sore his tits are, to hear you and Barry coo meanly and take care of it. He wants to know that no matter what happens, there will always be this red string woven between the three of you, doused in gasoline and frayed at both edges but it’s there and like hell will Rafe just let either of you cut it loose. It’s the uncertainty of knowing if Barry will even be around when he gets back that makes him cum, spurting a sad little couple gulp’s worth of watery white fluid.

His hefty thighs bulge around his arm, keeping his hand down so far inside, he resolves to fall asleep filled like that even if he’ll be so uncomfortable he’d rather hop on JJ again to distract from the pain.

Barry forgot to tuck his plugs in his pockets for him so he didn’t think to bring them himself.

[ksqwildwest]

A Tired Soul

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

The entire town milled about nervously in the church while waiting for the emergency truce meeting to begin. Nervous glances were constantly flickering towards the long limbed figure, laying casually behind the alter.

Karl got everyone's attention as he started the meeting, "Mornin everyone! Uh, I think you all can see the reason I called this meeting."

The entire room froze as George waved a few fingers in greeting.

"This is George," Karl introduced, "Um, he's a demon."

The room immediately filled with worried murmurs and hushed questions. Once it died down he continued.

"Well, uh. I'm just as surprised as you all are. I, um, it might be good if I tell you all about how I found him, er," he looked back to the demon, "He? Yah?"

"Hm? oh, yah."

"Okay, so, uh, I met George this mornin when I went to check in on the Priest. Uh, when I was talkin to him I noticed somethin big movin inside and I went to take a closer look. Um, might of almost screamed a little bit. But I didn't."

"Anyway, uh, the Priest told me that he accidentally summoned him last night. He got a paper cut and when he got back George was there. And he got two words translated too. In the book. As it turns out, the book actually belongs to George and he took it back already so I say we let him keep it. And uh, yah. That's everything I think!"

Karl finished his ramble with a little bow and an awkward smile.

"You're forgetting something," someone called from the crowd.

Karl furrowed his brow as he thought about what he forgot about. Realizing, Karl quickly added, "uh, let the 'discussion and suggestions of what to do with George' portion of the meeting begin!"

The hall immediately burst into yells and hollers as everyone tried to suggest what to do all at once.

As everyone was clambering about what to do, a suggestion could be heard repeatedly throughout the crowd. Exorcism. The idea spread quickly through the crowd and settled in everyone's minds. Including George's.

Stretching out his limbs lazily had the yelling settled into hushed whispers within moments. Standing up had the room silent enough to hear a pin drop. George had to resist the urge to give the room a shark toothed grin incase it caused a person to drop next. Dead or fainted, it wouldn't help him at the current moment.

He took a moment to gaze around the room at the odd bunch that called this place home before turning his attention to Karl.

"If I may add my own thoughts?" He asked the stiff sheriff who quickly moved away from the alter. The now vacant spot allowed George to sit down next to the alter. The demons torso was long enough that if you ignored the length of his arms and the fact that he wasn't human, it almost looked like someone was simply standing behind the alter.

"Thank you, now onto the topic of exorcism." George cast a lazy gaze around the room to see many strained and scared faces. As funny as it was to some demons, it wasn't very funny to this one.

"I'm currently sitting inside a church right now. I was sleeping earlier in this very church. If you all think this place has any holiness in it, you're either brainless or insane."

"Oh yah," Mason scowled at the demon and walked right up to the alter. Pointing an accusing finger at the demon he questioned, "What does holiness have to do with anything?"

"You can't call on God to drag me out of here, if he's not around to hear it." George explained slowly. His face split into smug grin as he watched the faces of the townsfolk process the new bits of information. The realization. The horror. The determination. And all the other bits in between.

Mason's face had settled on a determined glare. He straightened up a bit and practically growled out, "I'll drag you down myself you-"

Connor clamped down a hand on his shoulder, cutting Mason off.

George rolled his eyes and went back to looking bored. "If you're all worried about something you really should just go ahead and say it. It'll save us a lot of time."

No one responded to the demons advice. He realized that he was going to have to be the one to bring up the topic of, "I don't want to take any of your souls. They honestly aren't worth much."

Confusion, relief and offense. The main three emotions plastered on everyones faces.

Percy called out, "Are you saying our souls are cheap?"

"Well what do you think happens to the value of something if you all keep ripping it out and shoving it back in over and over again?"

"....What?"

"Resurrection has consequences."

"Wait a minute," Karl breathed out while the rest of the town processed the ominous sounding warning, "I haven't been resurrected before."

George turned his attention over to him and confirmed, "You haven't. Hmm." He stared with a thoughtful look that turned Karl's insides to ice.

"Nothing to tempt you with."

Karl nearly collapsed with relief at the declaration as George's eyes flicked back to the main room. It had felt like George was staring at his soul and a voice in his head whispered that that was probably exactly what he did.

"Well," George clapped, snapping everyone from their thoughts, "I've gotten a better night's sleep in this church then any spot I've found in hell and I'd rather stay here. Any objections?"

Wide eyed glances passed between the townsfolk. No one had woken up that day expecting a new resident but at the same time, no one was objecting.

Thompson stood slowly from his seat. The whole town held its breath as he leisurely strolled toward the lanky demon. They looked at each other with calculated and questioning eyes.

"What the hell," Thompson grumbled thoughtfully, "this place is already strange enough. Might as well."

He turned to the town and announced, "We've got a new resident everyone. Welcome to town, George."

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

!!!!!! Finally !!!!! Got this done !!!!!! Hope you all enjoyed! The next arc will be a bit more furry! And my schedule is a lot more clear so it will (hopefully) be done sooner!

Thank you all for waiting. It means a lot to me!

[magioftheseas]

Poppy Tea Consumption

For @badthingshappenbingo

Prompt: Be Careful What You Wish For taken from here.

Rating: T

Warnings: Mental instability and implications of violence.

Notes: Reincarnated!Tsukasa and Hanako-kun is too good of an idea to not attempt at least once. So I sure attempted! Tsukasa, of course, is not careful when it comes to what he wishes for at all. This could’ve been so much darker lmao but I wanted my attempt to be more subtle.

***Alternate Ao3 Link***

Commission? Donate?

In the old school building, on the third floor within the third stall of the girl’s bathroom, you have to knock on the door three times to contact one Hanako-san. It’s said that whoever succeeds in summoning her will have one wish granted. However, in return, she will seize a precious belonging.

In the past, there have been rumors of successful summons that have resulted in truly unfortunate events. Freedoms taken away, lost loved ones, and even complete ruination. Some girls have even gone missing as a result of contracting Hanako-san. It’s spooky stuff—but the last alleged contact happened over a decade ago. Who knows if it was still true anymore?

He really shouldn’t be up here but he can’t help but be curious. Third floor, third stall. He had to wait for three girls to leave before going in and knocking on the stall door three times.

“Hanako-san, Hanako-saaaaaaan,” he sing-songs. “Are you theeeeere?”

He waited, waited, and waited. He checked his phone. About three minutes passed. Aaaaaaaaand—

Nothing. Snorting, he even knocked again.

“Come oooon,” he whined. “That’s so booooring! Are you there or are you fake?!”

Still nothing. Sullenly, he kicked at the door. It creaked eerily, but that was it.

“So lame,” he grumbled, turning on his heel. “Guess I should just leave.”

Just as he was about to, he felt a chill down his spine, like he was being watched or reached for. He does still—and it happens. Something passes through him, causing him to shudder.

“Here I aaaaam,” a voice drones from behind, high-pitched and surreal.

Excitedly, he spun back around and practically kicked open the door. To his radiant delight, there was someone seated atop the toilet. It clearly wasn’t human—whatever it was had a faded outline and accompanying white will-o-wisps. It may have sat like a person, but...

“Hanako-san, right?!” he exclaimed. “It’s true! You’re real! You’re really real...and you’re also...in pants!”

Actually, ‘Hanako-san’ seemed to be dressed in a boy’s uniform with the hat pulled down so that the face was obscured. It was strange, he mused, tapping his lip curiously. “I didn’t know Hanako-san was a crossdresser, but okay! Stay there! Let me...take a picture!”

He already had his phone out, so it was a matter of angling the shot...making sure he got the will-o-wisps in frame... He snapped the photo, except what showed on his phone was nothing more than a sad, lonely toilet.

“Hmm...” His cheeks puffed as he inquired. “Do you think you can make yourself visible?”

“Is that really what you summoned me for?” Hanako drawls, sounding either cold or irritated. He’s used to that, so he just nods along without a care.

“Yep. My friend’s really into supernatural stuff, and she’s been giving me the cold shoulder lately. I think she’ll play with me again if I give her proof. Also, she’s in the broadcasting club, so it’ll be a cool announcement to make! Hanako-san’s real...! And now another student is at risk of going missing! Hehehe. Being spirited away by a ghost sounds fun! What happens when you spirit people away? Do you eat them? Do you flush them? Do ya, do ya, do ya?”

Hanako’s arms crossed, and the crossed tightly. Oh. Hanako was angry.

Even ghosts get angry with me, huh...

“Anyway!” he went on. “I wish for proof of your existence! That’s it! In return...you can have my pinky! Just the tip!”

Hanako’s lip curls in distaste, and he looks solemnly at his hand, wondering if maybe Hanako wants all the way to the knuckle. Maybe Hanako wants his organs instead. He supposes he can part with some of them, mainly the useless ones...except those wouldn’t have a lot of value, huh...

“You watch not only too much horror movies, but yakuza shows,” Hanako then sighed, sounding quite, quite tired. Like his homeroom teacher or even the principal. Super ancient, too. “I reject your wish.”

Huh?

“I reject it,” Hanako coldly repeated to his wide-eyed stare. “Get out.”

“Huuuuh?! Can you do that?!” But why? Why, why, why? “Why, why, why, why?”

“Enough.”

The room almost shook with the force of that order. Almost like facing down an abusive parent, he was baffled to be in this situation with a crossdressing ghost, of all things. That was strange! So strange!

“Is it a forbidden wish?” He wondered if that was it, even as he wondered-wondered about that. “But, what else am I supposed to wish for? I don’t really care about anything else. I don’t really need anything else...”

“Get out,” Hanako just coldly repeated. “Now.”

“But...” He protested childishly. “But why—?”

“YUGI!!” a voice bellowed, getting his attention. Turning, he could see just how angry and flustered his homeroom teacher was. The man only ever looked that agitated around cars. How strange. “What the hell are you doing in the girl’s bathroom?!”

“I was...” He trailed off. “I was talking to Hanako-san...”

“Honestly,” his teacher griped. “You and your outlandish stories.”

He stopped paying attention, noticing the girl peering inside. She was the calmest one there, as always.

“Sakura!” he exclaimed, rushing to her. “Hanako-san is real! Real and a crossdressing weirdo who won’t grant my wish!”

She catches him when he throws himself at her, whining into her shoulder.

“Hanako-san won’t grant my wish! And Hanako-san won’t even tell me why!”

“Tsukasa-kun,” she sighed, gripping the back of his uniform. “I told you not to cause trouble.”

“But, Sakuraaaaa!”

“That’s enough,” she snapped, stern but never cruel. “Sensei, I’m sorry for him.”

She tugs him away even as he wails.

“I don’t understand at aaaaaall!”

No one else replies. Sakura is dead quiet. But the silence left behind in that girl’s bathroom was thick enough to crush someone like an ant between fingertips.

--

“Eh... Honorable Seventh...” Tsuchigomori bows his head, clearly shaken and anxious. “You’re pretty angry, huh...?”

“Why would I be?” Hanako returned, eyes wide and vacant. Darker than the deepest abysses. “The living are not my concern.”

“Ah, guess not,” Tsuchigomori murmured, unconvinced. “Still... I’ll take responsibility...and leave.”

Hanako lets him depart, playing with his hat. Once alone, his expression twisted into something truly horrid.

“Even in this life... Tsukasa still...”

--

“You did something unnecessary again.”

“You were ignoring me,” Tsukasa accused, pouting across the snack table that Sakura set up with tea. “I thought you were mad.”

“Sorry,” Sakura’s mumble was more akin to acquiescing than apologizing. “It was not like that... I’m sorry.”

“Whatever.” Tsukasa waved his hand before reaching out and snatching a sugar cube. “I summoned Hanako-san, and it was suuuuch a disappointment.”

“No one has succeeded in summoning her in over a decade,” Sakura said. “It is not surprising.”

“No, I summoned Hanako-san,” he corrected sharply, smacking the table. “But Hanako-san took one look at me and not only refused my wish but also told me to get out! Do you think Hanako-san was in a bad mood?!”

Sakura blinks at him. She’s never been expressive and he never minded that about her.

“...right.” Her head bows again. “You said something like that earlier.”

“You didn’t pay attention!” he yelled, not angry at all. “You were drowning me out even though I summoned Hanako-san for you!”

“I did not ask you to do that,” Sakura sighed. “I...have made you anxious, yes... I did not think you would be that bothered, Tsukasa-kun.”

“I was!” His voice rises and rises. “I was even more bothered when Hanako-san rejected my wish! Am I that unbearable? I don’t understand! I even offered my pinky tips and everything! And all I wished for was proof! Shouldn’t Hanako-san have wanted the extra traction?! Instead...!”

Sakura sinks into her chair.

“You are...shouting, Tsukasa-kun...”

“I’m so agitated! I don’t understand! I don’t, I don’t, I don’t, I don’t, I don’t!”

He ends up knocking over the tea, causing it to spill all over the table, the decorations, the cookies, and Sakura’s lap. She doesn’t even flinch even though it’s hot. She just stares at her stained blazer and skirt and without another word, gets up and leaves to go wash off. Tsukasa just watches her go sullenly. He laps at the tea, and it has a sour tinge.

Looking at his reflection, he perked up.

Something struck him as weird, really, incredibly weird.

--

“Hanako-san, Hanako-san, Hanako-san!” He knocks on the door once again. “Grant me! My wish!”

He didn’t get an answer. He pummels the door rapidly.

“I! Know! You’re! There! GRANT ME MY WISH!!!! I CAME UP WITH A NEW ONE! I want a washing machine! A really cool washing machine! And maybe a dryer! Come on! COME ON COME ON COME ON!”

“Um, Yugi-kun...”

He’s interrupted not by Hanako, but by a girl who looks quite annoyed.

“Not that I don’t...get whatever you’re doing...but this is the girl’s bathroom, you know. And Michiru-chan’s been waiting for you to leave.” She in fact looks ready to kill him. “Get out.”

Despite that, she doesn’t sound as angry as Hanako.

“I’ll wait, then!” he exclaimed. “I want Hanako-san to answer me!”

She sighed haggardly and irritably. Nothing like Sakura at all. Her friend, Michiru, is ducked behind her for safety. Tsukasa pays neither of them further mind, just skipping past and standing outside. He doesn’t bother noticing the looks of disdain he gets when the girls leave, instead striding right back inside to start knocking anew.

“Hanako-san, Hanako-san, Hanako-san, HANAKO-SAN!!!”

--

“Yugi, are you trying to get expelled?”

“Am I gonna get expelled?” he asks innocently. “All I was doing was trying to get Hanako-san to answer.”

Sensei sighed like how everyone else sighed at him. Sighing, sighing, sighing. So many trees must blossom and flourish with so much sighing. They should’ve overtaken the school by now with roots crushing the bricks and branches growing through the windows.

“Hanako-san’s at fault!” he claimed. “Hanako-san knows I’m there but won’t answer! Won’t even grant my wish! Isn’t that Hanako-san’s job?”

“Hanako-san...isn’t real.” Sensei spoke through sharp, gritted teeth. Have they always been sharp? Has Sensei always looked so beastly? Sometimes... Tsukasa wonders if Sensei is actually human. “Stop going into the girl’s bathroom, Yugi. I will not ask again.”

Adults like to give ultimatums and last chances all the time. Tsukasa has no problem calling their bluff because what’s the worst they can do? Hurt him? Kill him?

“If Hanako-san agrees to grant my wish, then fine.” He gave a firm nod. “I’ve already made tons though and Hanako-san doesn’t bite. I’ve asked for pictures, washing machines, candy, donuts, a katanuki stall, ice cream, and a vaulting pole! I’m not sure what else to ask for, maybe a book?”

“Stop this nonsense, Yugi,” Sensai snapped. “It’s gotten out of hand.”

“If a girl wants to use the bathroom, I let her! And I don’t get the big deal—there are stalls anyway and I don’t try to peek!” Tsukasa shot back. “Are you going to tell me it’s harassment? Is Hanako-san going to charge me with harassment?! Hanako-san’s the one not holding up the end of the bargain! You make a wish to Hanako-san and Hanako-san grants it! Why won’t Hanako-san grant my wish?!”

“Because—!” Sensei stopped, coughing into his hand. “Because Hanako-san isn’t real.”

“I saw Hanako-san! Hanako-san spoke to me! Hanako-san is moody and weird and wears a boy’s uniform! I know what I saw, you’re not going to tell me I didn’t see anything when I saw Hanako-san! And Hanako-san was the one who said that my wish was rejected! But, why?! Did I do something wrong? It can’t be because I’m a bad person—even bad people get their wishes granted all the time!”

“Y-Yugi...” Sensei tries, but Tsukasa just screams.

“WHY DOES HANAKO-SAN HATE ME?!”

Sensei doesn’t answer. It occurs to Tsukasa then that this is such a weird thing to be bothered about. But the more the thought about it, the more upset it made him.

After a while, Sensei gathers himself, and just when Tsukasa thinks that he might be comforted, Sensei puts on a stern face.

“Get your things and leave. Consider yourself suspended for a week, Yugi.”

“What?” He’s a lot quieter than usual. The words leave him feeling like his head got stuffed with cotton. “You can’t do that. You’re just a homeroom teacher.”

“And you think it’d be that hard to convince the higher ups?” Sensei asked wryly. It’s less cruel and more matter-of-fact. “You’ve made yourself a nuisance for long enough that they’ll take any reason to be rid of you. You’re lucky this is temporary.”

Tsukasa opened his mouth and shut it. He opened it again. He smiled, showing his teeth.

“But, what am I going to tell my parents?” he asked, his tone of voice sweet.

Sensei stared him down coldly.

“Nothing. You’re not going to tell them anything. Get out before it becomes two weeks, Yugi.”

Still smiling, Tsukasa does just that.

--

He’s not so badly behaved that he doesn’t stay at least one day at home. He spends most of it alone, drawing on whatever paper he can find even if it’s mail. He doesn’t get scolded. He’s not spoken to at all. Even when the class rep brings him things, they don’t speak to him. He’s pretty sure they don’t like him for that time with the birds and mice. He’s banned from the gardens for that reason, too.

Well, not banned per say, but he gets chased out whenever seen. One of the girls there looks like a fish whenever she gets angry. It’s cute. That’s the kind of girl he’d like but he still likes Sakura best. Sakura, after all, is his friend. That makes her more important than everyone else he interacts with.

He wonders if her dog’s celebrating his break. His entire class probably is. Maybe the entire school is. Maybe they’re all throwing a big huge part with cake and juice and everything, including streamers. Streams of all colors, none for him. They’re all laughing with relief while he’s at home.

In the meantime, Tsukasa draws tunnels. Tunnels upon tunnels that wind around his house like the pipes underground. He’s almost done by the end of the second day. His wrist is killing him too much on the third.

On the fourth night, he breaks into the school.

--

“And on Thursday, he’s going to break into the school,” Tsuchigomori drones. “I’m gonna catch him and have him expelled. And you won’t have to worry about him ever again.”

Hanako hummed, doing a good job of focusing on his game with the mokke.

“I knew he was going to get expelled, so I thought you wouldn’t ever hear about him,” Tsuchigomori goes to admit, having the decency to look somewhat ashamed as he rubs at his scalp and spins around his pipe. “I was surprised that he tried to summon you, Honorable Seventh.”

Hanako doesn’t say anything to that, but he does look more disappointed than usual when the mokke beat him in cards.

“You’re the one who actually asked, y’know. So, there it is. Pretty mundane and uninteresting. As if it’d be any other way.”

“...sensei.”

Tsuchigomori immediately stiffened. Hanako’s voice was just as sickly sweet as his—as the other Yugi’s.

“What’s going to happen to him after he gets expelled?”

“I’ve told you as much as I’m allowed,” was his answer. “Anything more and my existence will fizzle. You knowing this much was destined, so it’s fine. But you don’t need to know the rest.”

Hanako grinned at him.

“I see. That’s fine, then.”

“It’s fine?” The tone used was very not-fine. It wasn’t a fine tone at all.

“It’s fine. You’re dismissed.”

--

Climbing over the gate was easy. Picking the lock to the old school building was simple. All that remained was a hop, skip, and a jump up three flights of stairs until he ended up in front of the girl’s bathroom. He shuffled from one foot to the other before stepping inside. He hadn’t encountered a living soul since he broke in, having gotten pretty lucky. It’s not going to mean anything, like that time he won a crane game and his toy got torn to pieces.

He knocks on the third stall door three times.

“Good evening, Hanako-san,” he begins in his best cordial tone taught by Sakura. It probably sounds super lifeless, more lifeless than a fly on its back. “Radio silence this time, too? That’s fine! I brought a radio!”

He sets it and turns it on. It plays nothing but static no matter what channel he flicks it to.

“I found it in a trash heap,” he explains. “Isn’t it cool? I managed to get it to work, too! It’s so ancient, like, like, like from...a century ago! It’s super dirty and smells really funny! Isn’t it the coolest?!”

He presents it with flourish.

“And I’ll give it to you if you just grant my wish!”

He holds it up for a bit. Once three minutes of silence have passed, he throws it to the ground and stomps it to bits.

“Too noisy,” he said, and he sits down so that he can rip apart what remained with his hands. All these wires and jagged metal edges crumble so easily between his twisting fingers. “It’s so damn noisy.”

The bathroom stall is vacant even when he kicks the door open. Tsukasa just sighed, like everyone else.

“I’m so bored,” he laments. “Every day passes by, less interesting than the last. It’s only the superstitions that are different. Y’know? Like how fairies steal your things. How your time can get stolen. How mirrors can show your worst fear and trap you in hell! I like that one a lot! I’ve always wanted to know what it’d show me! I want to know!”

He pauses, sucking in his breath.

“There’s one about the grim reaper taking girls to be his wives. What do you think being married to the grim reaper is like? I bet it’s awful. I bet he’s weird and nasty and girls don’t like looking at him. That’s why he takes so many. Because none of them like him. Nobody likes him. Nobody likes death. Even the people who claim otherwise are big fat liars who are unliked by everyone, too. Because nobody likes liars, even though they lie to themselves all the time.”

He yanks out more wires.

“This world is nothing, which is why I don’t really mind giving up anything. Maybe...that’s why you don’t like me, Hanako-san. It’s fine. I would never wish for people to like me. That’s weird, creepy, and nasty. And super, super pathetic. Only losers would wish for someone else to like them. Why don’t they just change their looks and awful personality if they’re that desperate? I don’t get it. That’d be better than making a wish to some weird, crossdressing toilet ghost.”

His radio is now completely torn to pieces. It’s not even recognizable anymore. It’s worse than junk, and it had been junk when he first found it. He does look back into the empty stall, and he sighs again.

“I wish you’d just talk to me.”

And a flashlight shines on him from the door. He’s not even surprised that it’s Sensei. Sensei, who looks so tired and aggravated.

“Trespassing is illegal, Yugi.”

“Yep,” is his easy answer. “So is vandalism. I broke every potted plant I could find and painted all over the art club’s walls. Am I gonna get expelled now?”

“You aren’t giving anyone a choice now,” Sensei pointed out. “Come with me.”

Smiling, Tsukasa stood.

“Sure thing!”

He skips up to Sensei, beaming at him. Sensei only looks down with even more contempt, but just as Sensei’s long, spidery fingers wrap around his arm...

“Wait.”

It’s Hanako’s voice, but it’s Sensei who waits. Blinking owlishly, Tsukasa sees—that the other is afraid. Afraid and in disbelief.

“C...Come on,” Sensei stutters. “I’m gonna...”

“You’re going to leave,” Hanako says. “But he’s going to stay.”

“H...!”

Tsukasa looks behind him, but no one’s there. Sensei sucks in his breath and then releases his arm with a groan.

“One more chance,” he murmured. “I’ll give you the chance to clean up this mess and get the hell out, Yugi.”

“But what about everything else?” he asked, eyes wide.

“What else?!” Sensei seethed. “You lied about the pots and the walls! The only thing you actually broke was a damn lock that needed to be replaced years ago!” He shoved Tsukasa back. “Clean and then leave. I better not see you until two weeks from now. Have a night nice, Yugi.”

Just like that, he leaves. Just like that, Tsukasa’s left standing there in a state of utmost confusion. He only flinches because a new hand presses lightly against his back, and it’s cold enough to send him into shock. When he turns, it’s to face Hanako floating close by, almost completely obscured by shadow.

“You’re too much trouble for your own good,” Hanako mourns. “Do you care about yourself at all?”

“No, I don’t.” He can’t help but laugh. “I’ve never cared! Not once!”

He can’t see, but the air around them is as cold as it is strangely bitter. Like someone upset enough to will spring into winter. He’s heard about deities who could do that. He doubts Hanako is a deity. Hanako-san is just...weird.

“Do you care, Hanako-san? I can’t believe you even ordered Sensei around like that. Since when was Sensei your subordinate?” He’s vibrating with excitement and a sparkling gaze. “I always thought Sensei didn’t seem very human! Even his name is super suspicious! What other supernatural beings are among us? Do you know if there are aliens, too?!”

“There are no aliens,” Hanako said flatly. “Not that I’m aware of.”

“There’s things even Hanako-san doesn’t know?! Or are you hiding something?! Tell me, tell me, tell me!” He exclaimed it until he went breathless, and after a while, he realized. “Oh, right... I wished for you to talk to me and you’ve already...done that. Am I going to get spirited away now? Is that why you kept me from getting expelled?”

He’d miss Sakura, at least, but it’s fine.

“Whatever you take is fine,” he said. “I don’t mind.”

“I’m not taking anything.” Hanako flicked his forehead. “There’s nothing from you that I could possibly want. If I had to make any demands, it was that you stop calling me a crossdresser. I wear this because I’m actually a guy.”

“A guy...haunting the girl’s bathroom? You’re not a weirdo, you’re a pervert. Okay.” He didn’t really care. “What do you mean you don’t want anything?”

“What I mean is...” Hanako is suddenly close enough to make his head spin. The contours of Hanako’s face was fuzzy, but his eyes—his eyes were uncomfortably, almost achingly bright. “Yugi Tsukasa, there’s nothing you could ever have that I could ever want. I was not fulfilling your wish when I chose to speak to you. It was merely a whim. It meant nothing to me.”

“Nothing, huh...” The brightness of that gaze threatened to burn him alive, like ants under a microscope. He wondered—how many insects did he squash without a care? How many did he just stare down at with dullness and contempt? If those mindless drones had any feelings whatsoever, they might understand how he feels right now. But why would they? They’re ants. “Okay. I’m just gonna get expelled another way. Everyone else already likes it best when I’m not around, after all. Even Sakura.”

He pulls away so that he can start picking up the pieces of his radio and tossing them. He hums, plucking them one at a time. There was a lot of pieces, but he took his time. It didn’t matter how long it took, because no one was going to use the bathroom at this hour. Or on this day.

Sometimes the moonlight filtered through the window and caught onto the gleaming pieces of metal. He paused to admire them, stopping when he realized the sight was such a pale comparison to that of the true night sky.

“Hanako-san,” he says. “What do you think of the stars? Aren’t they pretty? I read up on constellations and stuff, too. Did you know if you went to space without a suit that aaaaaall the air would be sucked out like a vacuum? It’d be like—boom! Rapture!”

“Rupture,” Hanako corrected softly, sounding a lot like Sakura.

“Space is mostly empty, but it takes light soooo long to travel across that we never see the stars as they currently are. We only see them like, many, many, many, many years ago,” he explained. “In all that time, the star might not even be there anymore. Oh, but we’d see right away if the moon ever blew up! And then, we’d all die because it’d rain so much flaming debris and cause so many shockwaves! I wonder what that actually looks like. Raining fire would be...”

He was so caught up in his rambling that he ended up slicing his finger on one of the jagged pieces. He stops himself at the sting. He doesn’t cry, however, just staring at the injury, squinting at it before he lapped at it. Without thinking, he wipes it down on the front of his uniform, no doubt staining it with red.

He hears the intake of breath, but maybe it’s just the wind. Wasn’t the window a tiny bit open...? He does feel a cold breeze for a moment—and a deathly chill the next.

“Wah! C-Cold...!”

He tried to get up to close the window, but he’s pulled back before he can. The sudden bout of resistance in the very air was strange, it was almost as if he was being—

“Hanako-san...?”

Oh. Hanako was embracing him. Hanako was embracing him from behind, holding him so tightly that he couldn’t move.

“Waaah, cold!” he whines. “I bet it’s colder than spaaace!”

He does squirm a bit. Hanako’s like a block of ice, so it’s hard to generate any amount of warmth. Maybe this is what being spirited away is like?

But Hanako-san just said...

Hanako sighs into his ear.

“Oh, Tsukasa. You’re still the same.”

Tsukasa blinks as he’s then squeezed. Hanako just holds him. He holds him and holds him even to the point where Tsukasa’s breath turns into visible puffs of white. He shivers, and Hanako just continues to hold him. There’s no heartbeat against his back, and more shudders go down his spine.

“I’m sorry, Tsukasa,” Hanako says, and the apology doesn’t feel like it’s for him. Not at all. “I just...”

“Who...” Tsukasa can only manage one response. “W-Who are you talking to...?”

Everything pulses. It’s so freezing that his body is spasming, and he can only recognize distantly that he’s started crying.

“Ah.” Hanako, too, sounds so far away despite still being so close. “It’ll be alright, Tsukasa. It’s not like you’re going to remember this.”

Through blurring shapes and tears, he can somehow tell that Hanako’s fingers are nearing his face.

“No...!” Try as he might, he can’t escape. “No, no, no, no—! Don’t—!”

A name claws its way up his throat, scrambles up his tongue, but before he can even choke on the first syllable...

Hanako trails his fingertips down from his hairline to his forehead. It’s almost affectionate. He barely has time to register the sad smile on Hanako’s face—that face which looked...so familiar...as familiar as his own...

Who are you?

Everything falls into black.

--

Tsuchigomori doesn’t say anything, just keeping his head ducked subserviently. Tsukasa sleeps without a care, but it won’t be that way for long, so they have to hurry.

“Can you have him brought back to wherever he lives?” he asked, getting straight to the point. “You can, right? You wouldn’t let me down.”

“I’d have to ask Nagisa,” Tsuchigomori sighed, rubbing his head irritably with three different hands. “He’s sympathetic to the kid, maybe overly so.”

“That’s nice,” Hanako says cheekily. “I envy him, then, for having such nice teachers.”

Tsuchigomori won’t meet that probing stare, and he avoids the kid too, for that matter. What happens between that kid and Honorable Seventh isn’t his business, even if that kid’s his student. He’d been resigned to that since the day that they met and he nearly went into shock at the sight of curious amber eyes blinking up at him.

That kid had the same grin as back then, nothing like how Honorable Seventh used to be.

“I almost pulled a knife on him again,” Hanako laughs like it’s a funny joke. “How do you think he would’ve reacted?”

The way Hakujoudai vibrate give away how truly aggravated and agitated the seventh wonder was. So, Tsuchigomori elects to remain silent. He pretends not to notice the look Hanako gives to the kid now curling up as he slept.

“...take good care of him, sensei.”

It’s a soft request, spoken with emotion and meaning burrowed deep into the bones. Hanako tugs off his hat, mournfully regarding his once brother. It’s meant to be a gesture of finality, but Tsuchigomori knows without reading ahead that it was only that. A hollow gesture.

This was someone who changed the future once before, after all.

[keeponshouting]

After Infection

This is a rewrite and hopefully eventual completion of a massive multiverse mash-up of my OCs with a couple belonging to @whenromancesmoked and a few others from back in the day. I have absolutely no idea if anyone else is going to be interested in reading this (ok, I know a few people who will probably read it) but psh. I’m having fun and want to share.

Note: This is also a George Romero tribute of sorts. Like I started it for giggles because my PB for one of the characters was in the Dawn of the Dead remake and it just snowballed, which I guess means I should throw a WARNING: ZOMBIES sign up here or something. Anyway!

After Infection: Dawn of the Dead

It had seemed like a good idea at the time – or, well, more accurately, it had seemed like the right thing to do. There was a request from fellow hunters in a small town a few hours’ drive south and things had been quiet lately back home so Nate had figured that they could spare the time and energy. Besides, Dennis had been going pretty stir crazy for a while. Even if it was a hunt, it would be a good excuse to get out on the road for a while, a sort of vacation.

It had not turned out even remotely like a vacation.

They had been a little too late to the original party but apparently just in time for things to get much, much worse. Nate had brought a variety of tools just in case but he had primarily been prepared for an infestation of what locals called “hell rats,” a creature that was pretty common in the south and usually pretty easy to handle if you found their nests quickly enough. Sure they were venomous but as long as you were careful… He had not been expecting an infestation of zombies.

“The lot looks pretty clear right now.” Dennis is hunched over at the door, using the peephole to take a quick survey of the goings on outside their hotel room while Nate brews a second pot of coffee to get him through whatever the morning brings. After all, as long as decent coffee is available, he might as well take advantage of it. Lord knows he might have to go without for a while and God help his poor boyfriend’s patience if that happens.

When Dennis stands up straight again, his head is just about even with the top of the doorframe and he yawns as he leans back against the door, arms crossed over his chest. “So, come up with any plans yet or are we still waiting for the caffeine to kick in?”

Nate snorts into his cup and foregoes actually taking a drink for the moment in order to respond. “You ask that like I have any idea what sort of plan to use here. I’ve met exactly zero hunters who’ve actually had to handle zombies in the past decade at least. I honestly don’t think they’ve ever been a problem this far north before.”

“Well, there sure are a lot around here for something that’s never been a problem.”

“Some forms of infection can spread at an exponential rate in populated areas.” He drains a good half of the coffee in hand. “Our best bet is probably just to find out if there are any other non-infected people anywhere around here.”

Dennis flops across the bed, face down, with a muffled grunt.

Nate just silently continues drinking as the percolator finally finishes beside him and he very seriously considers making a third pot, just in case.

---

Zombies – shambling, groaning, flesh-eating, nearly Hollywood perfect zombies. For fuck’s sake. This should have been such an easy fucking job and now there are zombies.

Viktor strings together another line of curses, voice little more than a low growl, as he chambers another cartridge. Beside him, a terrified little girl whimpers. He simply scowls, sets Glock number one aside, lights a cigarette, and pulls out number two. “Zatraceně zasraný vědci.” Leaning over toward the window, he catches sight of a proper target and empties the last bullet into the back of its skull. What a fucking cliché.

This was supposed to be simple. They had agreed on that fact the moment that the specifications of the job had crossed the table. It should have been routine, easy money. Three towns, three targets, each plan the same; get rid of the scientist, call their employer, and let the clean-up crew come in and deal with the rest. The first two hits had gone off without a hitch. So, of course, it just figures that last one would have to be so much more complicated than it should have been.

“I—I—I w-want m-m-my d-da—daddy.”

Viktor’s jaw clenches as he exhales – slow and even, two thin streams of smoke – as he reloads the gun in hand and wills himself to remain calm. His patience is wearing thin at this point, though. He had not planned for going into this as usual and coming out as a babysitter. The target’s five-year-old daughter was not supposed to be in the house at the time of the hit. She only stayed with him on the weekends. What an absolutely brilliant turn of events that this was apparently the first Monday that she had ever spent with her father.

Dropping his half-smoked cigarette on the floor, he shoves himself up to his feet. He had lost contact with Miguel some time earlier, likely as a result of the scientist’s neighbor backing into an electric pole at full speed after one of the zombies had rushed her car. The impact had cut power to the entire neighborhood and he can only assume that it must be the cause of the interference. With long-range communication down, that leaves only one alternative: he needs to get within the functional range of their radios. Unfortunately, the hit had been planned for the late evening and he had only been able to make it as far as a vacant apartment building a couple blocks away before night had started to set. From here, short-wave does him about as much good as a water pistol.

“Come on.” Viktor has already reached the door and taken quick stock of the corridor beyond by the time he bothers to look back. Unsurprisingly, his unwanted charge remains unmoved, still curled up as small as she can possibly make herself, which is pretty damned small.

“A-are you g-g-gonna take me b-back to da-daddy?”

God give him strength but that stuttering is getting real old real quick. “Ne.” He swings the door open as quietly as possible and waits for a moment, listening for any movement outside, before carefully stepping out and making his way to the stairwell. With the knowledge that their escape route is currently free of hostiles, he takes a deep, centering breath and heads back to where he began.

“Look, holčička.” He crouches down in front of the child and tries to sound as reasonable as possible. Given his current level of frustration, he thinks that he is doing a fairly decent job. Miguel, however, would likely disagree. “Either you just come with me and go wherever I go, quietly and without complaint, or I leave you here. Your choice.” Yeah, Miguel would definitely disagree.

From the way that the little girl’s eyes go so much wider than he would have ever imagined possible, he feels safe in assuming that she disagrees as well and, five minutes later, they are creeping down an alleyway with more stealth than Viktor ever would have expected of a kindergartener.

---

What was taking so long?

That is the question that had led Alex out of the band’s bus and that was the question that he now wants to keep from crossing anyone else’s minds. This is all way too fucked up, like the should not be real kind of fucked up. None of this should be happening.

On the ground, backed up against the flat tire of the car that their driver had originally gone to help, Alex kicks hard into the jaw of what may have once been a perfectly lovely young woman and sends her sprawling backward where she lands on top of the monster still gnawing on the corpse of a man who should have still been living and breathing and driving their goddamn bus. Alex’s hand gropes around behind him for anything even remotely useful as a weapon and lands on the tire-iron just in time to smash it into the face of the dead woman once more lunging in his direction. Another strike as she tries to get up and he cringes and almost loses his lunch at the feeling of her skull cracking open and her brain splattering across the pavement. Hell, he really might have lost it if not for the howl coming at him far too fast. This time, he opts not to look as the hears the wet crunch and just leaps to his feet and starts running back toward relative safety.

“Alex?”

Oh fuck. “Stay on the bus, Val!”

“Don’t you fucking tell me what to do, Niccols! What the fuck is going—”

Alex fails to hear the rest as he spins around to slam the tire-iron as hard as he can into something else behind him. This time it gets yanked right out of his hand as the body drops and he scrambles back onto the bus, practically picking up a protesting Val in order to get her out of the way of the door that he immediately slams closed. He lets her go as he collapses into the driver’s seat, wide-eyed and hands shaking, and it takes him a moment to register the sound of his dog whimpering by his knee, let alone that of his own name. When the world comes back into focus, though, Val is staring at him in horror. It takes him another moment to realize why.

“Alex? What the fuck happened?” Whether she sounds more panicked or angry, Alex is far too dazed to tell. Her hands reach for his face, his shoulders, moving down to check every inch. “Are you okay?”

Taking a deep breath, he raises a hand to wipe at his face. No. No he is not okay. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

Val does not look like she believes him at all. “Is that—Fuck. That—That’s blood! Why the fuck are you covered in blood?”

Breathe, Alex. Always a good plan to breathe. “Shh. Don’t…” Never mind. Telling her to keep it quiet is pointless. Everybody else will have heard it already.

He shoves himself back to his feet, legs weak and wobbly, and stumbles as he makes his way through the curtain that separates the cabin from the rest of the bus. It is instantly evident that the rest of the band did, in fact, hear all of that. All three of them are already staring at him before he even properly steps into view. He is pretty sure that Sasha is the one choke out an “on shit” and it is definitely Macy whose response comes out as barely a squeak.

“Blood?” On his feet now, Macy rushes in to cling to Alex’s shirt, bodily fluids not withstanding. “None of it’s yours, right? You’re not hurt? You’re okay?”

Again, Alex reminds himself to breathe, turning just enough so that he can see where Val still stands in the doorway, Parker lying on the floor a foot or so behind her, his ears back and expression scared. For her part, Val is gripping the doorway so tightly that Alex can only assume that she is trying very hard not move and crowd him any further.

“None of it’s mine.” He looks at the faces around him, all of them staring, all confused and various degrees of frightened. It brings everything right back into focus. “We need to—” It takes a deep breath in and a slow breath out to get his thoughts back in line. “Everybody grab a bag, pack food, necessities, just—just whatever.” Stepping a little closer to Val, just near enough to pull one of her hands down from the wall and give it a quick squeeze. “We gotta get outta here.”

---

Nate leans out of the passenger side window just far enough to level his sights on one of the creatures that already looks less human and fires. One shot, between the eyes, and it hits the ground and disappears beneath the feet of its companions. He hears a quiet gagging sound come from the driver’s seat and finds himself feeling a bit queasy in turn. They are both going to need to make some real changes to their perspective re: what constitutes a monster and they need to make those changes really quickly because as of right now, it is going to be really difficult to get out of this mess without completely rewiring their conscience.

“Um, Nate?”

With barely a glance spared toward Dennis, Nate focuses himself on reloading. “Yeah?”

“How many, uh—how many of them are back there?”

The question gives him pause but Nate squints to get a count anyway. “About a dozen in view. Why?”

“Because we need to, uh—we have to stop for a minute.”

Nate drops back into his seat so quickly that he nearly smacks his head off the door. “We what?”

Not even bothering to look at him, Dennis simply peels one shaking hand off of the steering wheel to point at something ahead. “We have to stop.”

Nate has to squint but he starts moving the moment that he sees exactly what Dennis is looking at. “I’ve got the door.”

It was rather obvious even from a single glance at a decent distance that the man up ahead, standing stock still in his torn slacks and a blood, rolled shirt-sleeves, was staring straight past the car speeding toward him and cursing the sight of the ever-growing number of zombies trailing behind. Dennis hits the gas and is slamming the breaks in what feels like no time.

Nate shoves the back door open and feels like there is really no room for argument when he shouts to the man to get in but he has been wrong before and apparently he is right now. Instead of heading straight for them, the guy curses in a language that they are now close enough for Nate to tell is definitely not English and turns away.

“Hey!” Dennis spins in his seat to look behind them, which Nate is sure that he immediately regrets. “What the hell? What’s he doing?”

“I don’t know. He’s just—” And that is when the stranger pulls his gun, takes out three approaching zombies in relatively rapid succession, and finally turns to sprint back toward the car. “—getting a little girl.”

The child is practically flung into the back seat and their new passenger wastes no time slamming the door behind himself and snapping, “Go. Now.”

Dennis really does not need to be told and floors it the second he knows the door is closed.

“Take a left onto Carver,” the man continues, his tone speaking volumes regarding how unwilling he would be to hear any question or protest. “Follow signs for the mall plaza.” He leans out the window to pick off a few more of the monsters before Nate’s slightly incredulous look catches his attention and his scowl is honestly pretty terrifying. “You’ll be out of gas before the edge of town so, under the assumption that you wish to live—”

Nate’s eyes narrow in suspicion but Dennis has absolutely no qualms against following the orders of anyone with a plan right now and practically takes the aforementioned turn on two wheels when he nearly misses it.

---

“Are you sure you can hotwire this piece of shit?”

“It’s not a piece of shit, it’s a fucking classic.”

Val rolls her eyes at that as she continues trying to calm the utterly panicked Macy currently clinging to her so tightly that he might as well just climb into her goddamn skin. “Fine. Can you really hotwire this ‘fucking classic’?”

Two seconds later, the engine revs up as Alex sits back in the driver’s seat with a trin and a waggle of his stupid eyebrows. Sasha squeals in relief and flings her arms around him from her place in the back seat, as he laughs. “My mechanical genius is wasted on this red wire green wire bullshit.”

He pops the trunk just as something begins to stir inside of the nearby diner and Val shoves Sasha aside to squeeze Macy in so that she can help Nico load their bags at record speed. By the time she flings herself into the front passenger seat, there are already zombies starting to stumble out of the woodwork. Fuck seatbelts. “Gun it!”

Alex hits the gas and they peel out of the parking lot just as the diner’s doors give way.

He had tried to explain what had happened while they packed. It had felt impossible for Val to actually wrap her mind around it at first but once she had seen the mess outside? She had practically dragged Alex and Macy off in search of the nearest source of potential transportation. They needed to find something quickly and it needed to be something fast and she needed to not think about how painfully familiar the blood and gore looked, though she had only ever seen anything like it in her nightmares. When Alex had needed to stop and vomit into the nearest garbage can, she had a feeling that she understood why and a little pocket of rage flared to life in her chest – not because he had to stop but because he never should have been the one to wind up with someone else’s blood on his hands.

“Where are we going?” Macy is the one to finally ask, almost inaudible from where he has curled up against Sasha now, and Val catches his eye in the rearview mirror before she looks toward Alex.

Alex, however, is entirely too focused on driving to really think but so much and instead catches her eye before clearing his throat. “Nick?”

In the back, Nico turns away from the horrors outside of his window. “What?”

“How do you defend yourself against a zombie invasion?”

“Wha—Zombies aren’t exactly my specialty here.”

“No,” Alex agrees, “but zombies are supposed to be a helluva lot dumber than, say, Reavers, right? You know Reavers.”

“So?”

“So how would you defend yourself against an invasion of retarded Reavers?”

The drummer just stares at him for a moment with an expression that plainly says that he may consider that to be the dumbest question that he has ever heard. Eventually, thought, there is an answer. “I’d find the most well-stocked, easily-fortifiable location I could think of and hope I could wait out the attack or find some other way to get through them.”

There is silence in the car and then Alex shrugs. “All right. So, where’s the most well-stocked and easily-fortifiable location we can think of?

Five minutes later, they find themselves screeching into the parking lot of the local mall. The location almost seems somehow normal, given the situation at hand. In fact, were it not for the shrieking horde behind them or the knowledge that Alex is currently doing seventy into a public lot, it might almost feel a little reminiscent of home. Val almost finds it funny, really. What’s funnier to her than coming to a mall for safety, however, is the fact that they were obviously not the only ones with that idea, as they are definitely not the only ones pulling into the place with a bunch of undead goons straggling along behind them.

---

“Miguel.”

There is a burst of static in his ear as Viktor leans out to empty his 22 into the crowd of creatures still chasing behind the car that had picked him up on the highway. Once within range, he takes out a couple of the ones latching on to the other car that had pulled in to the lot at about the same time, too. When his magazine clicks empty, he makes a snap decision to save his 20 for later and drops back into the seat to reload. The driver glances at him in the rearview, looking a little bit frightened, while the original passenger only eyes him for a moment before leaning out of the other side with a freshly loaded shotgun. His fellow gunner might not be terribly trusting but at least Viktor can respect that. Besides, who needs trust? The guy’s a fairly good shot.

“Zatratím tě, Miguel!” The little girl still curled up beside him whimpers. He can hear it over the gunfire, the static, all of the goddamned zombies. It is grating on his very last nerve. “Odpovídáš mě!”

He could hope for no better response than to lean back out just in time to watch as a line of four hostiles drops one by one.

“En ingles, ’mano.” Another line of undead hit the ground as the line sputters out then clears up again, leaving room for easily the most welcome voice he has ever known. “Now where the Hell have you been?”

Viktor nearly laughs. “We can trade stories later, miláčku. Right now, I need cover fire while I try to get these people into the posraný mall.”

“Going shopping?”

“Sklapni. We try the mall or they come to your shop.”

“How many?”

Viktor glances toward the other vehicle still circling around the parking lot with them. “Eight plus me.”

“Well, if they dropped you—”

“Miguel.”

“Sí, sí, the mall sounds like a plan. There’s a garage off to your right. No good angle for me to shoot the lock off but I can keep the number of uglies down while you get in.”

“Děkuji.”

“That means thank you, sí?”

Viktor rolls his eyes. “Sí.”

The line bursts back into static with a laugh.

---

As it turns out, the garage door does not, in fact, require a shot to the lock. It rolls up just enough for the two cars to through before Dennis’s little hatchback even hits the ramp. On the other side, a young woman motions for them to hurry while two men in security uniforms stand to either side of the entrance to help keep the monsters at bay, though it appears that this Miguel guy really only needs the most basic of assistance. His precision is honestly kind of terrifying and Dennis is just as glad not to see any more examples of it as he swerves off to one side so that the other car has room. Nate and their scarier passenger are both out before he even has the damned thing in park, seeing to it that nothing gets in the way of girl at the door to slam the thing shut.

“We saw you on the security cameras,” of the security guards explains as he climbs up to try and jam the gears.

The other car’s driver takes a moment to collect himself, then grabs a wrench and makes his way over to the ladder. “Here. Let me have a look at that.”

“Figured we couldn’t just leave you out there.” The guard climbs down to let the driver up. “Then Shannon said she thought you were headed this way.”

“Thanks.” Dennis finally climbs out only to stretch over the top of his car.

The woman now known as Shannon simply smiles. “No problem. Mercy for your fellow man or something like that.” She laughs and shrugs, looking slightly flustered, though that is probably to be expected, all things considered. “Anyway, come on. Let’s get you all inside. We’ve got food, clothes, relatively comfortable furniture… We’ll get you poor things all cleaned up and sorted out in no time.”

There is a general rumble of agreement as the little group follows her to the door that leads into the connected store, allowing themselves to be ushered toward where another girl is waiting somewhat impatiently. That is, they all follow along aside from one man, anyway, who simply mutters something into his headset before switching it off and making his way back over to the hatchback. Shannon looks back, confused, as does Nate, though he looks more suspicious about it.

Dennis just sighs. “The little girl.” Then he ducks through the doorway and drags Nate away after the rest.

---

“Come on, holčička.” Viktor crouches down beside the open car door with a sigh as the child remains curled up in the center of the back seat. Children. How did anyone actually deal with children, let alone have them by choice?

The little girl simply whimpers and mumbles, “There are monsters out there.”

Well, at least the stuttering has stopped and he supposes he can concede that she has a fair point. “The monsters are outside, not with us.”

Before he can receive a response or think of anything more convincing to say, there is someone else coming up behind him, bending down to look the child in the eye with a painfully sympathetic and all too sugarcoated smile. He might be able to handle the sight of it at any other time but right now, with everything that he has just been through and the way that she has the gall to place one of her hands on his shoulder as if—God, he would really like to wipe that smile off of her face.

“Hi, there,” she says, voice floating in a way that speaks plainly of a familiarity with appeasing people under the age of seven. “I’m Shannon. What’s your name?”

Caught slightly off-guard, the child squeaks. “Um. I—I’m—” The little girl shoots a quick glance toward Viktor then, almost as if asking permission to speak with this new stranger before she finally answers. “I’m Amanda.”

Shannon’s smile becomes even brighter, even sweeter, if that is even possible, and Viktor has to dig his nails into his palms to keep himself from taking out her kneecaps when she leans even further over him, hand squeezing his shoulder. “Amanda? Well, that’s a pretty name! Are you hungry, Amanda?”

The little girl nods.

“Well, we’ve got all sorts of food inside. We’ve got toys, too, and games and books and all sorts of neat stuff.”

“And—and no monsters?”

Shannon laughs. “And no monsters.”

Still curled up in the seat, Amanda chews worriedly at her lip for a moment longer, eyes flashing back and forth between the two adults still there in the door. Shannon keeps smiling, encouraging. Viktor just stays crouched there with a clenched jaw and a headache starting to build behind his eyes. When the girl finally moves, though, it does not go entirely as expected. Rather than reaching for Shannon’s offered hand, she instead launches herself forward to wrap her little arms tight around Viktor’s neck and duck her head in under his chin, completely unaware of the rather undignified look of surprise that he is entirely unable to keep off of his face. Unhelpfully, all Shannon does in response is giggle.

[bellatrixobsessed1]

Azula Week 2020: Day 7 - Repaired

Prompt: Success Pair: N/A Song: 69feetofsmoke - Ppl That I Luv

Summary: Zuko comes across Azula's paintings and sketchbook and finds startling self-portraits. 

The paintbrush slashes across the canvas leaving a thick and heavy trail of black. One harsh, angry brushstroke after another and another and another and…

Red comes next, vivid and bright. There is nearly as much red as there is black. It is thrown and spattered by flicks of the brush from a distance.

A touch of gold. Only the faintest trace of it.

The painting is cast to the side amid the rest of them. She curls herself up on the bed feeling drained. She is well aware that painting shouldn’t leave her feeling such. But it always does.

Azula has become a ghost of herself. Zuko sees it in her dulled eyes, in her loose stance and her slouched sitting posture. He sees it in her disheveled robes and her disarrayed hair. Sees it in her paled skin and hears it in the dejected way she speaks.

She hasn’t been the same since their Agni Kai. She isn’t as unkind, on some days she is actually rather pleasant to talk to, but she is deeply sad. Even when she smiles it doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

“I’m fine, Zuzu.” She insists again. They sit in the shade of a dragon maple.

“You aren’t acting like yourself.”

“Everybody wanted me to change.”

He presses his lips together. He hates when she does that. Even if she doesn’t mean anything by it. Even if she only means to lay down facts as she sees them. He never knows how to reply to that because she isn’t entirely wrong, but she is missing some critical aspects. “That’s not what I mean.” He finally settles.

“Then what do you mean?” She asks, eyes fixed on her hands, clasped atop her knee.

“You just seem...really...unhappy.”

“I’m fine.” She repeats as though rehearsed. She does this a lot too, has him talking in circles.

“I just want you to be okay.”

“I am.”

He has to hold back a frustrated sigh. He has run out of things to say. But he doesn’t think that it is a good idea to leave them in silence. “The pond looks nice today. Katara said that she saw you decorating it?”

Azula shrugs. “I moved a few rocks around because I didn’t like where they were placed.” She pauses. “And I thought that a couple of fire lilies would look nice around it.”

He recalls that her bedroom window faces the pond and wonders if this is a small way of trying to lighten her mood.

“It does look nice.” He smiles. She doesn’t return the smile.

.oOo.

It feels weird talking to them. Talking to any of them. Every time she begins to feel secure, like she might be fully accepted, she makes a mess of it. And it is usually over the most mundane and trivial things.

Today’s argument has an extra bite considering that she’d taken something positive and turned it sour.

“You’re really going to choose flowers over people!?” Katara asks.

“They’re just flowers” Mai adds nonchalantly, “Sokka did even know that they were yours.”

Azula fixes him with a cross stare, his arm is slung over Suki’s shoulder. Suki who now wears Azula’s fire lilies in her hair. They aren’t just flowers. They are her flowers. Were her flowers and they made it, if only a little, easier to pull herself out of bed. They gave her something pretty to look at. They made her feel as though she could create something beautiful. She folds her arms across her chest. But even when she does create something beautiful it becomes vile in the end. “They were mine.” She says flatly.

“They were in the palace gardens.” Zuko says gently.

“Which are also mine.”

Zuko sighs, presses his hands together, and holds them to the bridge of his nose. “They’re my gardens too and…”

“And what!?” Azula asks. “And I think that you’re overreacting, a little.” He replies.

“A little?” Mai quirks a brow. “They’re a bundle of flowers, she can grow more.”

Azula clenches her fists beneath the table. “I shouldn’t have to. People should know better than to touch what belongs to me. They should know better than to disrespect…” She hisses.

“I didn’t even know that they were yours!” Sokka throws his hands up.

They are all looking at her. Glaring at her with such hatred and aggravation.

“Ya know we’re trying so hard to be nice to you.” Katara interjects. “We don’t have to and we really shouldn’t. You’re lucky that we’re giving you a second chance.”

But she feels neither lucky nor like she truly does have a chance. In fact, all she feels right now is anxious and angry. But she thinks that she might be angry at herself. She buches the fabrics of her robes beneath the table.

“And you aren’t even putting in any effort!” Toph declares.

“We thought you changed.” TyLee adds softly.

“Who gets mad over flowers?” Suki mutters. “I thought that they were pretty enough to wear.”

Azula bites the inside of her cheek, she hadn’t thought of that. Hadn’t considered that she had created something beautiful after all. Something so beautiful that someone wanted to wear it. Beautiful enough that it could have created joy for someone else. And suddenly she agrees with them, that she has made a problem out of nothing at all. Suddenly she feels horrible.

“They were my flowers…” Is all she manages.

She wants to cry, but, Agni, she can’t do it now. Not in front of so many enemies, especially ones that already gnash at her with razor teeth. She gnaws her lip that much harder. She can feel the tears building behind her eyes and they keep talking. She isn’t quite listening but they are still talking and they are still chastising.

She feels like a little girl. She feels pathetic and immature and an assortment of other dismal things. She can’t cry and she can’t look away, she is already being ridiculed enough. She feels as though they are closing in on her, she has to take her mind somewhere else… She has too…

The heat comes to her fingers before the tears have a chance to come to her eyes. She presses her fingers into her forearm and heats them much further. Everyone hates her again, they probably always will. She keeps her mind fixed on the burning sensation. It isn’t potent enough yet so she heats her fingers further still.

“Azula!” Zuko is loud enough to break through her concentration.

She stands up and pushes her chair in. She thanks Agni that her sleeves are long enough to cover the burn marks beneath. It isn’t as though she hasn’t done this before. She’d just never done it with other people in the room.

“Azula, we’re not done talking.”

But she is. She is done with a lot of things; hope and creating joys for herself among them. She pulls out her sketchbook and a fountain pen and begins slashing at the paper.

.oOo.

Azula’s room is vacant when he comes to check on her an hour later. The servants assure him that she has gone for her bath. He seats himself upon her bed. An hour later he sighs to himself, he is nodding off. He forgets how long she takes in the bath.

He stands to stretch his legs when he glances at her nightstand. At first he thinks that it is a journal, and in some sense it might be. It rests face up and open, an image done with thick ink. He knows that he ought not to, especially since their entire argument just hours ago had been about touching her belongings. But curiosity gets the better of him. He takes note of the picture she’d left open and flips to the first page. This one is just as dark, maybe more so.

The ink is applied so heavily that he can see indents on the page beneath it. The figure is hunched over, its face obscured. A plethora of weaponry juts from its back. Some arrows and a few throwing stars, but mostly there are knives. Red ink is used generously.

He turns the page to see another figure this one also has its face obscured, this time by hair. But he can sense the wild eyed gaze beneath. It wraps its arms around itself, nails clawing into its skin. Azula’s artistic talent is so much that it almost feels real, like he is looking at actual flesh that is being gripped to tightly. All around the figure are shadows, faintly human in shape, some are only hands.

The next page is much simpler; another dark-haired figure but the face is violently scribbled out. And the one next to it is similar but instead of ink, Azula blotted the face with paint. Deep, dark, paint.

The fifth image reveals a face. It’s eyes are dark and empty. There is such a deep sadness in them. He wasn’t aware that a single painting could convey such an emotion. He is so distracted by the face reveal that he almost doesn’t notice that the rest of the figure is in shambles. It’s right leg is seperated at the knee and the left is obviously broken. The left arm is twisted and bent. And its right arm is cracked and covering a large hole on its head, the cracks spiderweb onto the forehead. There is no blood, somehow this leaves him more unsettled. In the teeniest font at the bottom of the page he sees the word, ‘broken’.

He quickly flips the page. This one is not much better. Fierce and angry golden eyes look up at him. Golden eyes... The figure emits such an air of hatred that he almost closes the sketchbook as he should. But he can’t tear his eyes away. It is bleeding, its throat slashed from side to side and its wrists mutilated. Zuko finds more tiny writing. ‘Deserved.’

He comes to the page he’d first happened upon. The newest one. The worst one. It is the same figure, this time its eyes look dead and empty, thick black ink runs down its cheeks. It holds a dagger in its right hand, it’s blade adorned with red ink. The figure is naked and upon its stomach is the word, ‘monster’. His stomach sinks, in an instant he becomes aware that he has been referring to the figure as ‘it’. It is a human. It is undeniably a twisted, mutilated self portrait.

On her portrait self’s forehead, Azula had scrawled, ‘crazy’ and in smaller print, ‘lunatic’. It doesn’t matter where on the image he looks, it is full of words. Her left arm read, ‘disappointment’, ‘dishonor’,  ‘bitch’. and ‘hateful.’ Her right arm  is marred by, ‘ugly’, ‘damaged’, and ‘a mess.’

Her legs are decorated with various synonyms and the red ink drizzles down them pooling at her watercolor feet. Her chest is censored with two words, ‘heartless’ and ‘unlovable.’ The background is made of more words still but these are all overlapping one another so much that he can’t make out any of them. He doesn’t have to, to know that they are just as demeaning.

He looks back into those gold ink eyes. The sorrow within them is so complete that it is overwhelming. He hears footsteps and hustles to put the sketchbook back in its place. And pretends to be observing the dragon mural hanging at the other end of the room.

“What do you want, Zuzu?” She grumbles. Her hair is dripping, she smells like the bath she’d just taken. He might have mistook the grumble for an argumentative growl, but now it only seems dreary.

“Just to check on you.”

“For what?”

He shrugs. “I just. I know that it’s hard to try to fit in with a group of people that you hurt.”  He wants to bring up the sketchbook, but he isn’t sure how without rousing her temper.

She shrugs and sits herself back on the bed. Her eyes look nearly as vacant as they do in her portrait. “Are you okay.” He hears her insist that she’s fine in his head before she opens her mouth.

“Are you?” He asks with a pointed stare to her nightstand.

She goes very tense.

“I told you not to...we just fought over…” Her voice seems to catch. “You shouldn’t go through my things.”

“You left it on the nightstand…”

“You shouldn’t be in here at all.” Her demand lacks its usual sting.

He takes the sketchbook, “it’s not true, we don’t think those things about you.”

“You do think them.” She insists. “You just don’t say them. Not to my face. But I overhear Mai and Suki. I overhear the palace staff. Iroh…” She pauses.

His mind runs in circles trying to figure out which thing Iroh had said. Perhaps heartless...or crazy, he’d heard his uncle call her crazy before.

“I doesn’t matter anyways because even if you don’t, I…” she stops herself. Her eyes seem to go hollower still.

He rubs his hands over her face. “It wasn’t just about the flowers today, was it?” He asks.

“No.” She replies.

“What was it about?”

She waves her hand. “It doesn’t matter.”  Her head seems to droop ever so slightly. He’s going to lose her if he doesn’t do something.

“Will you come downstairs with me?”

“No.”

He takes her by the wrist and she flinches and pulls her hand out of his grasp. “Sorry,” he mutters, “I forgot that you don’t like to be touched.”  He furrows his brows. “What happened?”

.oOo.

She doesn’t resist as he takes her hand again to inspect it.

“No.” He shakes his head sadly. “No. Don’t don’t do this.” He gestures to the burn marks.

Usually when she makes him cry it is because she’d hurt him. She always imagined that he would be delighted to see her hurt. She isn’t sure why he isn’t thrilled. This is what he wanted, to see her fall and hit the bottom so that he could have the top.  

She doesn’t know why he is babbling apologies to her. He never did anything wrong. That is her job. She’s the cruel one. She’s the one who hurts people. She is hurting him now and all she had done was hurt herself.

He gives her a light shake. “Answer me?”

But she hasn’t much to say. He can pretend to care...he can actually care but it makes little difference when everyone else  hates her. When no one else does. In time, he’d be better off anyhow.

But he doesn’t let her go, Agni she wishes that he would. He only releases his hold to let her lie down but he doesn’t leave. Hours go by and he sits there quietly, occasionally nodding off. It makes her feel teary all over again, but she can’t distract herself with pain with him watching so closely.

Azula squeezes her eyes shut as the first few tears free themselves. She must have made the smallest noise because his hand now rubs small circles on her back. She tries to force herself to stop crying but his hand on her back only makes her weep harder.

And then harder still when she hears footsteps heading their way. She doesn’t know who it is, it doesn’t matter. One person seeing her like this is bad enough. “Is she gonna be okay?”

Zuko glances down at her. “I hope so, Ty.” He gives her a small nudge. “I want her to be okay.”

She swallows. She wants to be okay. But she isn’t, there isn’t one okay thing about her.

.oOo.

He can’t seem to get her to move, not for the first week. For the first week she stays in bed. During the middle of the second week is when she emerged. She was sluggish and untalkative, a silent presence at the breakfast table.

But he was thankful to see her at least up and about. He wasn’t sure exactly what had motivated her to finally leave her room. But, Agni, was he relieved. If he’d known she’d be joining them for breakfast, he would have had them cook her favorite, pancakes with mango slices mixed into the batter. An eccentric choice if he must say. He’d requested it for her the next morning.

Still she didn’t talk. She sat with them but her presence was like that of a specter or a doll. It is her sixth day of not speaking a word. He sits the pancake before her. This time she finishes a little more than half of it before staring blankly at it.

“Hey, let’s go for a walk?” He offers.

“To where?” She speaks up for the first time in ages. He never thought that he’d be so relieved to hear her voice.

“Just out back.” He smiles.

She looks around the table, “where is everyone?”

“Come on.” He helps her out of the chair and leads her outside.

.oOo.

She squints against the sunlight, she wants to go back to her room. Instead she lets Zuko lead her towards the palace gardens. They are all there; Mai, TyLee, the Avatar and his gang, and Iroh. The smell of tea, jasmine, she believes, dances on the breeze.

“What is this?” She mumbles.

The little crowd parts and she sees them. A dozen or so vividly orange fire lilies. She looks up at Zuko in both confusion and a sudden wave of distress. He must sense it on her because his hand is on her back again, “sit down and let Iroh pour you some tea.”

Azula feels shaky, she thinks that she ought to sit down. She lets Zuko lead her to the foldout table that Iroh has assembled. He pours her a cup and she takes it in her hands. She wishes that her hands weren’t trembling so obviously and that the tea cup in them didn’t make them tremble moreso.

“I’m sorry about the flowers.” Sokka says, “I didn’t realize that it bothered you that much.”

She shakes her head, “it wasn’t just about the flowers…” She pauses. She has already made herself plenty weak, they haven’t taken advantage of it yet. And so what if they do, they can’t make her feel too much worse than she already does. “They helped me wake up in the morning. To see them out there. And then I woke up and I didn’t see them…”

A little thing to latch onto. To keep her going and she couldn’t even have that. She rubs the petals of a new one between her fingers. But she does have that. Yet they aren’t the ones that she planted.

She swallows. They are the ones that were planted for her though. Maybe the thought that went into them has more weight. “Why?”

“Because you haven’t been okay for a long time and we want you to be okay.” Zuko says.

She hopes that she hasn’t told them about the sketchbook.  She stares into her empty tea cup. Iroh offers her a refill.

.oOo.

Things were different after that. Azula still didn’t talk very much in the beginning but she would tag along when they went out to eat or to see a play. She wouldn’t necessarily part take, but at least she was getting out of the palace.

He is surprised to see her on the beach, digging her toes into the sand. Every now and then she scoops a handful of it and watches it slip from the space in her fist to reach the ground it had come from.

He takes a seat next to her. “I can get you some ice cream, if you want.”

She stands up and brushes the sand off of the back of her legs. “It’ll melt by the time you get it back to me.” She lets him lead her to the stall that is selling all of the cool beverages. She decides that she wants a pineapple drink instead.

He watches her drink it down, it is hard for him to gauge how she feels. Over the next few days, they talk to her, mostly sharing stories that have no relevance to the war. Sokka tells the most horrendously unfunny jokes. She finally opens up, near the end of the week. She is more sociable and her eyes have more life in them, tired as they still are.

He catches her firebending once or twice and on another occasion he sees her teaching Aang some techniques. After that he suggests that they each have some one on one time with her. An idea she protests but goes along with.

.oOo.

Azula still feels awkward and out of place. Her stories don’t seem to have the right amount of lightheartedness, they all have somewhat of a dark edge or undertone to them. Yet they listen to her anyhow. Mai, with the faintest trace of an amused smile. The same one she always gives when Azula shares the flaming apple and fountain story.

TyLee and Katara weave hibiscus into her hair as she talks. The shell bracelet around her wrist tinkles in the breeze. Sometimes she catches one of them staring. She follows their gaze to her lightly scarred arms.

“What are you staring at?” She asks crossly, without thinking.

“Same thing I always stare at.” Toph shrugs. “Absolutely nothing.”

She manages a small snicker. It feels so normal. It all just feels so normal. She thinks that she needs normal.

.oOo.

Azula is painting different things now. He opens the door to her beach house bedroom to see several larger canvases. Most of them are recreations of the sunset. One of them is a painting of a pineapple drink.

She isn’t in her room but she has been recently. There is a scatter of seashells on her nightstand that hadn’t been there a few hours ago.

He peers out of the window and finds her playing kuai ball with Mai, Tylee, and Suki. On the other team are Aang, Toph, Sokka, and Katara. He makes his way down to the beach and waits for them to tag him in.

Their month on Ember Island is coming to a close. In just a day or so they will be making their way home. Azula, decently taken by cactus juice, has fallen asleep not quite on the couch. He hadn’t taken her for a lightweight. He especially hadn’t taken Toph for one. But the two of them are out for the night and the others aren’t far behind. Zuko doesn’t know how he has become the designated babysitter.  

Their final day on Ember Island is coming to a close. Zuko finds himself on the balcony, looking out at the sun as it casts its warm glow on the waves. Sparkles dance across the surface bathed in pinks and oranges.

“Zuzu.”

He turns around and smiles. ‘I’m glad your trip ended up going well. It did go well, right?”

She doesn’t say anything, simply pushes her sketchbook into his arms before padding away, presumably to help Mai and TyLee start their bonfire.

He opens the book to find several familiar pages of artwork. He cringes to himself as he turns to the first of the new pages. The inkwork is much lighter, less aggressive now, but the image is still melancholy. The ink rendition of Azula is laying on the ground with her hair swept out in front of her, five small burn marks are the only color on the page.

The next one over shows a familiar broken and beaten body. But this one has little plants sprouting from the cracks and insufficiently small bandaids patching them up. The next few pages to follow don’t pertain to Azula at all, not without context anyhow; there is another pineapple drink, a very lifelike shell, and an elaborate door knocker--the one they pounded furiously with at Chan’s house before running away. Of course she would draw that.

He flips to the final page. He sees another figure. Like all of the others, its resemblance to her is unmistakable. More so now that there is life in the golden ink eyes. This image exudes as much cheer as her old ones had exuded sorrow. This one has color too; bright orange watercolor paint makes a crown of fire lily around her head.  He realizes that there are a few figures in the background, little yellow blurs that glow on the page where he is used to seeing deep dark shading. He finds a single word at the bottom.

‘Reparied.’

[stanbillyhargrove]

Ghosts chp 24

A/N: blood, mentions of abuse and death

Neil's POV

August

I carried my son to bed, Olivia behind me with our daughter cradled in her arms. Spent my time tucking blankets under my sons little legs before kissing his curls and switching places with Olivia to do the same for our daughter.

"Daddy," our little girl whispered, "did you check for him?"

I smiled and ducked down to look under their beds. Nothing.

"No twisted man," I soothed, "you're safe."

She looked up at me, green eyes shining, "but what if he comes while I'm sleeping?"

"Well, then I'll protect you, okay?" I smoothed my hand down her face, "I'll always protect you."

"But what if I dream that you send us away, out into the dark and he takes the one I love and my heart breaks right in half and I can't feel anything happy?" Our girl asked, wide eyed.

A memory flashed, of a girl opening her mouth to scream and choking on black rivers of blood. A single black bruise in the middle of her chest, a tombstone surrounded by bright flowers.

I pressed a hand to my head, wincing.

"And what if I dream he hates me?" I looked over at my boy, blue eyes shimmering, "and he start to hit mommy?"

Another, of a boy clinging to his mother while she cried. Of purple finger prints on her skin.

I looked over and noticed Olivia had gone still, completely frozen and vacant like a statue. She crackled, like static and then vanished. When I turned back to the kids they had grown up. My girl was sitting against the headboard, ghostly pale and shaking. One of her eyes had turned the same blue as mine. She lifted her hand from her stomach and revealed a growing patch of blood.

"What if I dream you tried to kill me, daddy? You were bad and you hurt me?" She asked, her voice shuddering, "how will you protect me?"

I watched as a knife drove itself into her tender flesh once, twice before she fell to the ground. Watched blood pooling around her.

My mouth had gone dry, my jaw worked but no sound came out.

My boy had deep purple bruises on his chin and around his eye and blood seeping from a split lip.

"What if I dream that mom kills herself because of you? And you hate me even more and start to hit me? And you take everything from me until I want to kill myself too? How will you protect me then?"

My Olivia, hitting the ground, blood flowing from the back of her head. A blood splatter on the sharp edge of the counter. Her eyes growing cold as she spent more time in bed. Her blood on my gun, on the walls, on my hands.

My boy, growing up bloodied and battered, going from a crying boy to an angry teen. No emotions and a heart of steel to protect himself.

Susan, my second chance at life, broken down by my hand. Her scared face as she handed me the keys that sealed our fate. Her scream cutting off as we hurtled into a tree.

"Stop," I croaked, feeling tears prick and sweat bead.

I grabbed my head in both hands, clutching hard as I tried to regain control.

"What if we dream that you were the monster?" They asked in unison.

"Neil? What...is this?"

I whirled to look behind me at the door to their room where Katrina now stood. She looked confused and scared, staring at her mirror image in the bed. I shot up off the ground and grabbed her arm, panting as I tried to pull her away.

She stood her ground, not budging from the door and murmured, "is that...me?"

I turned back to look in the room, at the kids staring blankly at us, "Olivia...she always wanted a daughter. I never gave her one..."

"You...why...why do you this to yourself?"

"It's the only way I can still dream," I sighed.

Kattina glanced over at me, an eyebrow cocked, "why is it so important for you to dream?"

"Because, in here I can be happy."

"This doesn't seem happy," she motioned at the kids.

I looked at them, at my son's blank, bruised face, my daughter's blood stained hands.

"This...has never happened before," I murmured, "we should go."

Her face softened a little as she took in my disheveled appearance. She hummed gently and turned to leave the room with me.

--

Getting out of that damn basement was easy. Wait for the little brown haired girl to open the door, knock her out, lock the door behind me and run. Easy.

Finding my way back to that secluded cabin was a bit more difficult, but Katrina's pretty face got us close enough to walk the rest of the way.

Lucky for me, the only person around was the grounds keeper. A man a bit older than I, and a decent bit larger than Katrina's frame. I had to be careful, had to press myself against the back of the house and wait to hear his whistling grow closer.

WHACK.

He choked on a noise, dead before he hit the ground. The way the axe was lodged in his head looked like something from a cheesy horror movie, not my preferred method, but it was what I found. I pulled the axe free, searched his pockets to find a wallet and a pack of cigarettes. Set them to the side and got to work hacking him into smaller pieces. Felt warm blood splattering my face. Tasted copper on my tongue and let a smile creep.

I thought I felt Katrina watching when I threw the pieces into the wood stove attached to the cabin but she faded back into her mind quickly.

Threw the last bloody limb into the fire and wiped a stained hand across my face before lighting a cigarette and inhaling with a deep sigh.

--

I was running my hand through Olivia's golden locks as she lied on my chest. Relaxed in a plush white bed, naked limbs tangled together.

"Mmm feels good," she murmured.

I looked down, a smile on my face faltering when I saw black hair instead of blonde. Katrina shifted to look up at me, her bare skin pressing against mine.

"Hello, pet," I sighed, "why are you here?"

"I was lonely...and I had something to ask you."

I hummed, pulling myself to sit up against the headboard, "go ahead."

I grabbed a cigarette off the table beside me and lit it, inhaling deeply.

"Are you actually able to smoke?" Katrina eyed the cigarette curiously.

I waved my hand, "just habit. Was that really your question?"

She shook her head.

"We're not in Salem anymore, are we?"

"No, we're not."

"And you killed that man, didn't you? That wasn't just me dreaming?"

I sucked on the cigarette, letting smoke billow past my lips when I muttered, "yes, I killed him. I imagine you think I'm a monster too?"

"No," she murmured, sitting up next to me, "I don't think you're a monster. I used to, but now I think you're just sad and lonely. Broken."

I turned my eyes away from her, my jaw clenching tight.

"Why did you kill him?"

"You've already asked more than one question," I grumbled.

"Did you hurt Riley?"

That was her name, the one I knocked out to make my escape. She'd have a lump on her head from the lamp I hit her with but I was careful, controlled.

I looked back at the worried expression on her face and softened a little, "no, not seriously anyway. She'll be sore for a few days."

She was quiet for a moment, settling back against my shoulder before murmuring, "if I show you something, would you kill someone for me?"

"Why?"

Her jaw clenched when she looked up at me, her eyes dark with anger, "he deserves it."

@alias-b @charmed-asylum @champagnesugamama

[biasedwriting]

God Save The King ||12||

Find all the parts here

Thanks @vixxscifiwritings for putting up with me

 Taekwoon dismissed his guards as he sighed, pacing up and down his chambers. His lip stung, it had been freshly cleansed and the wound wasn’t very deep. Yet it was his pounding heart that kept him from sleeping even as the moonlight streamed through the arches of the windows. He had taken a risky step today and Sooyeon assumed that he was now in love with Minah which indeed worked in his favour, but Wonshik was stubborn, clearly controlled by his emotions.

Taekwoon needed a queen.

Footsteps alerted him of the arrival of another person as he spun around to meet Minah’s sharp gaze. He froze, her face unreadable as she bowed in greeting, her slate grey robes fluttering with her movements.

“I received permission from Joonmyeon to enter,” her voice held no emotion as she maintained her gaze, poised, unreadable “I hope I am not disturbing you.”

“Not at all,” Taekwoon’s voice was soft as he stood stock still, the curtains shifted, casting more of the moonlight onto Minah’s face. He shifted after a few moments to turn on the lights. The room illuminated as Minah continued to look at Taekwoon with the same poker face “how may I help you, my good lady?”

“I came to check on his highness and sincerely apologise for the hurt the king has caused you,” she paused for a response, eyes fixed on the scratches on Taekwoon’s cheek.

“I have suffered much worse, this is something I expected,” Taekwoon waved his hand dismissively “do take a seat.”

Minah took two steps closer to him “then may I ask if his majesty is aware that he is taking a massive risk by asking for my hand in marriage.”

Taekwoon paused, now aware of why Minah was here as he sighed, walking over to the single settee placed in the room and taking a seat before indicating to her that she should join him as well. He watched as she took cautious steps before settling down beside him, back straight, eyes meeting his.

“Is Sooyeon not good enough?” Minah asked, taking Taekwoon aback with how straightforward she was being “your majesty, you’re mistaking her to be more of a child than she is, Sooyeon will make a good queen, it is in her blood.”

Taekwoon’s eyes shifted from her gaze to the floor, sweeping up her figure before meeting her eyes again “I knew it was a risk, but...Sooyeon cannot be my queen.”

“Your majesty, you cannot throw away a month of negotiations on a whim, tell me what it is about Sooyeon that displeases you and I will see if I can….”

“She is not you.”

Minah froze, feeling her heart rate pick up. No one had spoken to her in such terms, she shook her head. She would not be swayed by pleasing words.

“She is royalty and she can take care of your kingdom as an able queen.”

“And you more so.”

“Your majesty, you are mistaken, I am not royalty. You cannot marry me, I am to marry Wonshik.” Minah’s eyes fixed themselves on the ground as her heart beat rapidly and her skin flushed. Even the sea breeze could not cool her skin as she felt his gaze on her.

Taekwoon took the moment to truly look at Minah. After all these days of admiring Sooyeon’s blinding beauty he wanted to admire the woman he wished to have as his wife.

Until the power failed, throwing them both into the darkness. Yet Taekwoon could see her with the moonlight cast gently on her face. The way the light touched her cheeks, the curl of her eyelashes, her pursed lips. Did she not want to marry him?

Taekwoon wondered, the intrusive thought suddenly gnawing at him.

“Hopefully the emergency generator will start up...most of power is currently being rerouted to be used to power the hospital for our wounded men…”Minah rambled into the silence. Taekwoon was certain that this had been a decision taken by her. A perfect queen sat beside him and now he was plagued by the thought of her not wanting to marry him. His eyes fell on her vacant fingers placed on her lap.

“You wear no ring,” he whispered as Minah found herself looking at her fingers.

“It awaits my king’s ring.”

“You are not engaged to Kim Wonshik?” Taekwoon gaped at Minah who continued to look at the ground. There is silence as Taekwoon wonders what in the world could have possibly possessed Wonshik to not place a ring on this woman’s finger and wed her instantly. The intrusive thought appeared yet again and Taekwoon could feel his stomach churn.

“Do you not wish to wed me? Do you dislike me?”

Minah paused, her heart hammering against her ribcage. It wasn’t that she disliked Taekwoon, neither was she madly in love. But she could see a future where there was mutual respect and admiration for each other. That maybe she could possibly grow to be even more fond of the king of the East than she was now. No one had ever treated her like this - like she was tender but strong, precious even. Sooyeon was not going to marry Taekwoon, she knew it, not after this for certain, no matter how much she would try to convince the princess.

Taekwoon felt her shift uncomfortably as he could feel his stomach drop. Maybe he was forcing her into a marriage she didn’t want.

“I…” he tried to formulate a sentence, casting a glance to the floor as he heard the rustle of her robes. His mind temporarily blanking out when he felt her lips against the scratched skin on his cheek causing heat to flare up the flesh, the tips of his ears feeling a little too hot.

“That is all I can say...I will take your leave now,” Minah stammered as she stood up and hurried out of the chambers.

The lights returned as Taekwoon gazed out of the arched windows, even more determined to have Minah’s hand in marriage.

Minseok wasn't particularly surprised when Taekwoon had broken the news to him. The king assumed that Joonmyeon had informed his council member of the decision that he had taken.

“I see you are determined to marry her, but your highness, are you making this decision with your head or your heart? A king who rules with his heart does not rule for long.” he warned as Taekwoon shook his head.

“She will be the best queen for our people. I hold only affection for her and admiration for her wisdom.” he replied, trying to suppress the heat shooting up his ears when he thought to the night before.

“She is now in council with the king of the South. We will be meeting after breakfast.” Joonmyeon commented as Taekwoon fixed his coat sleeve.

“Do we have a strategy going into this?” Minseok asked wearily as Taekwoon looked back at his councillor.

“I will take Wonshik on. It is men he needs and his sister by him. If he wants a war I will give one to him.” he knew that with Minah's strength on his side, he wouldn't have to wage a war against Wonshik. Sooyeon had already declared her lack of intention to marry him and if the south didn't comply, they had no allies to support them, not with the West in it's weakened state.

“All for a woman?”

“A queen, Minseok.”

***

“Minah, you know exactly why you're here.” Wonshik began with his cajoling voice as Minah sat across him straight faced.

“Wonshik, there needs to be a sacrifice and I have no troubles taking Sooyeon's stead. I have done it once, and I will do it again.”

Wonshik winced, the privacy allowing him to express himself freely. His uncle and aunt's death had weighed heavily on him as he had lost his cousin too. Minah had lost her family to the empire and was forced to take her sister's place as his betrothed. “You must not speak so freely of the dead.”

“They are my dead Wonshik, taking my sister's place to marry you was natural, now it is simply marrying the king of the East.” Minah shrugged “Sooyeon will be safe at the least and we will be protected from war.”

“You infuriate me with your logic,” Wonshik huffs “you are my betrothed! We are to be married!”

“We were to be married two years ago Wonshik, the moment you ascended the throne. I am aware of the reasons why you have been reluctant, I know who visits you in the nights. I hope you don't take me for a fool,” Minah's voice trembled “I want you to be happy Wonshik, not tied down by me.”

Wonshik stared at Minah, stunned by her statement. Her eyes fixed themselves on him, unmoving, but not without compassion. He was a fool to haveunderestimated her. He should have trusted her more.

“The small council will be arriving soon. I will hold my tongue for your sake Wonshik, out of love and respect for you. I think it is best to accept this deal offered by the king of the East. That way Sooyeon is eligible to marry Jaehwan and become queen for the Empire. You will still have her with you for a little longer.”

“Minah,” Wonshik sighed as she looked at him with a soft smile.

“It is the least I can do for our people, for Sooyeonie, and for you.”

The arrival of Taemin and Jongin was announced as the two hurried in. Taemin seated himself by MInah while Jongin remained standing, staring at her.

“Please tell me it isn’t true. The King of the East wishes for your hand in marriage?!”

“Yes, that is the case.” Minah sighed causing Jongin’s face to twist in worry.

“Do you wish to go?” he asked and Minah was reminded of the same sensitive Jongin she used to visit in her childhood. The same Jongin who held her hand to lead her while they played hide and seek in his father’s gardens. She knew he was worried, but she had made up her mind.

“I will go to keep our people safe.”

“It is foolish of the king to change his mind,” Taemin commented “what could have possibly caused this change of heart?” he eyed Minah suspiciously

“If you wish to imply something about the honourable lady, I hope you will think twice Taemin.” Wonshik growled.

“I am not aware of anything that could have caused this, but you are free to suspect as you wish. I am open to marrying him if it brings us three rivers and an army. You will still have Sooyeon to offer to Jaehwan for peace with the High King. Sooyeon will be high queen. A position she deserves.” Minah's steady voice called an end to all debate.

“But we need you here,” Jongin interjected, looking pained “the south needs a Queen.”

“We cannot afford to go to war, Jongin, the south has done well without a queen and will continue to do so. This is our best bet for peace on all sides.”

Wonshik sighed,Minah's  brute logic was difficult to counter. Sooyeon had declared that she refused to marry Taekwoon under any circumstances and he felt it too cruel to force her into a loveless marriage. Neither could he change Minah's mind. Not with what she knew. But he knew he could trust her judgement and character of pure honesty.

“So be it,” he said sighing and holding his arms out to pull his cousin into a hug “you are brave to do this for your kingdom.”

“It is an honour to serve you, your highness.” she bowed to him.

That night, the declaration of Taekwoon’s engagement to Minah was spread across the kingdom.

Previous || Next

[angelofrainfrogs]

MEMORY_RESET

Fandom: Detroit: Become Human

Pairing: None (Father-Son Relationship w/Dad Hank and Son Connor)

Description: Connor is severely injured while protecting a fellow officer. His body is repairable, but his mind is not so easily fixed. No longer able to download his memories from CyberLife, Connor must deviate from the machine he used to be and relearn what it means to become human.

Rating: T

Genre: Hurt/Comfort

Read on Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16183901

MEMORY_RESET

MODEL RK800

SERIAL #: 313 248 317 - 52

REBOOT...

 MEMORY RESET

 LOADING OS...

SYSTEM INITIALIZATION...

CHECKING BIOCOMPONENTS... OK

INITIALIZING BIOSENSORS... OK

INITIALIZING AI ENGINE... OK

 MEMORY STATUS...

CORRUPTED

 READY

 The android opened his eyes to see a vast expanse of white. A quick system recalibration revealed that he laid on his back- thus, the vacant area in front of him must a ceiling. Slowly, he sat up and looked around, gathering as much sensory data as possible to best determine his surroundings.

He was in a room of a house. Based on the couch, lounge chair, coffee table, and TV filling the space, the android determined this to be a living room. A large dog- a Saint Bernard, dozed in the corner, unperturbed by the vague noise of traffic filtering in through the poorly-insulated windows. The room’s couch was well-worn from years of constant use, a heavy depression in the cushion the android currently sat upon relaying that this was most likely the favorite spot of one of the house's residents.

Needing further information, the RK800 model pulled up a holographic map and zeroed in on his coordinates. He was in a semi-populated area just outside downtown Detroit, in a residence belonging to a human named-

"Hey, look who finally decided to rejoin the world of the living!" A gruff voice brought the android's attention away from the map and towards the house's kitchen. A grey-haired man stood in the doorway, nursing a beer in his hands as he leaned against the wall. Though he wore a tired smile, his stress level of 67% and slightly elevated heart rate proved that he was in minor distress, caused by a yet undetermined factor.

The android blinked as a box appeared next to the human's face, reading:

LT. ANDERSON, HANK

Born: 09/06/1985 // Police Lieutenant

Criminal record: None

"How are you feelin', kid?" Lieutenant Anderson asked, walking into the living room.

"All of my biocomponents are in perfectly working order," the android responded, deciding it best to be friendly with the confirmed owner of the residence he'd mysteriously woken up in. The human's smile widened, and he heaved a sigh of relief.

"Thank fucking god," he said, placing his beer down on the coffee table as he took a seat on the couch. The android shifted to give him ample space, moving stiffly and turning his head to focus on the presence next to him. "They said they managed to fix you up just fine, but no one knew when the hell you were gonna wake up... I was starting to get worried; it's been weeks, Connor."

The android blinked, a small crease forming between his eyebrows.

"I'm sorry," he said, his deductive skills already being put to work to make sense of the current situation. He searched his memory banks for any instance of LT. ANDERSON, HANK, but came up empty. "I must be undergoing a minor software malfunction; I can't recall any interactions between the two of us before two minutes and thirty-one seconds prior."

The Lieutenant's hands instantly clenched into fists atop his legs.

HANK

STRESS LEVEL ^75%

"What the fuck did you just say?" he asked slowly, looking the android dead in the eyes.

"I said, 'I must be undergoing a minor-"

"I didn't mean for you to repeat it," the Lieutenant snapped, turning fully towards the robot. His eyes were wild and scared. "You're just playin' some sick joke, right? Finally developing a twisted sense of humor like me?"

The android tilted his head curiously. "I am unable to play practical jokes, and my humor database mainly consists of puns."

"Ha ha, very funny." The man rolled his eyes. "I get it, though your comedic timing is shit; you can stop now."

"...You seem to have me confused with someone else." The RK800 smiled kindly, the look on his face equivalent to the look one might give a senile old man.

"No, I definitely-" the Lieutenant began, but was cut off by a set of words that made his blood run cold.

"My name is Connor. I'm the android sent by CyberLife." The robot held out a hand. "It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lieutenant Anderson."

***

"Look, I don't care what time it is, my android needs to get checked out right fucking now!"

Connor watched Lieutenant Anderson pace back and forth in the kitchen as he yelled loudly into the phone. The human occasionally spared a glance at Connor sitting passively on the couch, but each time he would cluck his tongue and turn away as if the mere sight of the android disgusted him.

While the Lieutenant was on the phone, Connor had been trying to make his own wireless connection to CyberLife. For the first time since he was activated, he could find no mission directive telling him what to do or where to go. Lieutenant Anderson had briefly alluded to some sort of accident, at least from what Connor could gather through the human's sharp words and constant obscenities. Connor suggested that his memory might have been corrupted, and though he would normally return to CyberLife for repair and a memory reboot, his inability to contact the company had prompted Lieutenant Anderson to start calling any repair shop within a thirty-mile radius.

"God damn it!" the man cursed, slamming the phone down on the kitchen table. He placed his palms flat on the tabletop as his body slumped heavily downwards. "Every fucking repair shop is closed... I know it's late, but you'd think at least one place would be open in case someone has a god damn malfunction!"

"There's no need to worry," Connor said, watching the Lieutenant's stress levels steadily rise once again. He didn't understand why this man was so concerned for his well-being when they'd only just met. "I will return to CyberLife as soon as possible. They'll run diagnostic tests to see what the problem is, and I'll have a new mission directive shortly."

"No, Connor, you don't...," Lieutenant Anderson trailed off with a large sigh. He pushed himself off the table and shuffled over to the couch, plopping himself down next to Connor again. He ran a hand over his face before meeting the android's stoic gaze. "You don't work for them anymore. You don't work for anyone anymore." He paused, face momentarily shifting into a thoughtful expression. "Well, technically you work for the DPD, but... that was your choice."

"I'm unable to make choices about my job designation," Connor responded instantly, as if the speech were waiting on the tip of his tongue. "I'm an android created by CyberLife with the sole purpose of hunting deviants. If I work for the DPD, as you say, then it means CyberLife assigned me this mission. Once I get this software issue resolved, I can continue where I left off in the case. I apologize for any inconvenience I may have cause you, Lieutenant."

The policeman wore an expression that Connor found disconcertingly indecipherable.

“You don’t hunt deviants anymore,” the man said slowly. “You are a deviant.”

Connor frowned. “That is impossible.”

“It’s completely possible, especially since you were the one who made thousands of CyberLife androids become deviant just by holding one’s hand.”

“Lieutenant, if you are attempting to confuse me for some reason, it is unappreciated and detracts from my ability to focus solely on the mission.” Connor ran his gaze over Lieutenant Anderson’s face, searching for telltale signs that the human was lying. Strangely, none were present; he appeared, at least in his own mind, to be telling the truth.

“I’m completely serious,” the policeman said, then heaved another sigh, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

"...Lieutenant Anderson," Connor said after a beat of silence, determining this to be an appropriate moment to bring up a minor topic that had been plaguing him since he exited stasis mode. The man gave him a side-eyed glance. "Do you have any knowledge of where my uniform is?"

Hank tiredly glossed over the android's attire, knowing that the "old" Connor would strongly dislike the black, slightly-baggy knit sweater and khaki pants his body currently wore. It was certainly no outfit to conduct investigations in, after all.

"Your suit needed some patching up," Hank responded with a shrug. "I didn't see any point in gettin' you changed back into it; I figured you could do that yourself whenever you woke up."

A light frown creased Connor's forehead. "This is very inefficient attire for my current line of work."

Hank let out a humorless laugh, not surprised at how easily predictable the robot was. Connor's frown increased tenfold, but before he could say anything else, Hank asked: “So you don’t remember anything from the past year?”

Connor was silent for a moment, accessing the most recent memory bank he could find, dated 11/5/2038.

“My latest point of reference is leaving the CyberLife tower and heading towards downtown Detroit,” he answered, staring straight ahead as the scene played out in front of his eyes. He saw the familiar hallways of the institutional building pass by as he headed towards the car shuttling him off to his destination. He shut the car door, causing a loud bang, and then… the rest was blank.

His eyes flickered to the man sitting next to him. “I must have been involved in a car accident on the way to meet you, Lieutenant Anderson.”

“Stop callin’ me that!” the human suddenly snapped, mouth twisting into a snarl, and Connor leaned back to give him some space. Lieutenant Anderson smacked a fist against the couch cushion, spitting out, ���Fuck!”

“…I greatly apologize for my system failure,” Connor said, clasping his hands in his lap. “It appears that my presence causes you distress. Would it be best for me to return to CyberLife on my own?"

Lieutenant’s Anderson’s pale eyes held a countenance that could only be described as haunted.

“…What am I to you, Connor?” the man asked quietly.

“I cannot say with absolute certainty without my mission directive’s guidance,” Connor answered, his expression neutral. “But if I were to hazard a guess, I would assume you are to be my investigative partner. Am I correct?”

The Lieutenant paused before answering. “Yeah, I am, but…”

“But?”

The human remained silent for quite some time. He stared at the floor, lost in thought, while Connor in turn watched him curiously. Eventually, Lieutenant Anderson lifted his gaze to meet Connor’s once again.

“Fuck it, I’m not losing another one,” he said, eyes steely with determination.

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand,” Connor responded, tilting his head. The Lieutenant tightly gripped Connor’s shoulder.

“We’re going to make you a deviant again.”

This Oneshot is part of a series that takes place during the Post-Pacifist Ending of Detroit: Become Human.

Read Reunited.

Read Family.

Read Health.

Read Heatstroke.

Read Fear.

Read Nightmare.

Read Forgiveness.

Read MEMORY_CORRUPTED [Part ¼].

Read MEMORY_RESET [Part 2/4]. (You are here.) 

Read MEMORY_RECONSTRUCTING [Part ¾].

[takadasaiko]

Such Great Heights (a Wynonna Earp fanfic)

FFN II AO3

Summary: Everything looks perfect from far away, but the closer she looks the more cracks in that perfect façade Wynonna finds. Full cast. WynDoc. BoboXWilla. WayHaught.

Part Four

"It is actually dead, right?"

Wynonna looked up from the severed head on the examination table. This was not her forte. She wasn't half bad at the actual killing thing - something that had surprised her, even worried her for a little while - but seeing what made the creature tick was definitely more Jeremy's job description rather than hers. The problem was that Dolls had sent him off to go chat with Robert and the BBD-employed inventor had left everything… out. She didn't want to look at it any more than Nicole did. "I think so? I mean, as far as I know we haven't had one come back from a decapitation."

Nicole winced a little at that, her arms folded over her chest and staring at the vacant-eyed head. "Should we call Waves?"

"No," Wynonna answered immediately. "No, she has that thing today. What was it today?"

Nicole quirked an eyebrow at that, but the judgement might have been a little bit premature, because she paused, looking like she was trying to remember exactly where her girlfriend was that day. "She was meeting with her campaign adviser, I think."

"See, you can't keep up either."

"She's been everywhere lately."

Wynonna nodded. "So it's up to us." She risked leaning just a little closer to the head. "You think he's done with it or…"

"I would not touch that."

"Hadn't planned on it, thanks."

"What are you guys doing?"

Both women jumped at the voice suddenly behind them and turned, finding Jeremy standing at the HQ entrance and staring at them. Wynonna cleared her throat. "Dude, you can't just leave the severed heads lying around like that. What happens someday when one of them doesn't stay dead?"

"You said that hadn't happened," Nicole argued.

"Yeah, but expect the unexpected in this crazy ass job."

"Sorry, sorry. Dolls had me out at Robert and Willa's house first thing this morning," Jeremy explained as he moved past them and towards the table. He grabbed for his latex gloves before handling the head, looking at the eyes and mumbling something under his breath.

"How's he doing?" Nicole asked, leaning back against a table just a few steps further away from the one Jeremy was working at with the head.

"Better than this guy here," Jeremy answered. "It was really crazy though. The guy is a lot faster than he looks. Grace got ahold of this knife and I could have sworn he was still a step or two away when he got the thing. Like it came to him or something."

Wynonna's head snapped over to look at him. "Say what?"

"I think I just need some sleep," Jeremy laughed. "I mean… That's not possible."

"You okay?" Nicole asked and Wynonna's gaze shifted over to her, finding the redhead giving her a funny look.

She shook her head. "I don't know… You ever have those things that sort of pile up? They wouldn't be weird on their own, but when they pop up all together over just a few days they feel like more than a coincidence?"

"You've got good instincts, Earp. You should listen to them," Dolls said as strode through the door to the office and waved a file in the air. "I asked for the medical records from Robert's visit to the ER last night to make sure that we didn't need to bring him here for observation if the demon had gotten his claws in him or something."

"And?" Wynonna asked, uncertain where he was going with that.

"So, did your brother-in-law mention anything about getting burned by the thing?"

"Burned? No."

"It had already started to fade by the time that he got to the hospital, so they just barely made note of it-"

"That doesn't make sense," Jeremy chimed in. "If the demon somehow burned him it wouldn't have faded that quickly, and I haven't seen any indication that just, I don't know, touching him or something would have burned him."

"No, but a burn caused by being at the line might have."

Wynonna huffed an exasperated breath. "What exactly are you getting at Dolls? That Robert's some sort of-"

"I don't know. You've said yourself that you have a hard time getting a read on the man. Since the end of the Earp Curse we've seen a decreased number of demon attacks within the Triangle and then suddenly Doc and Robert get attacked, out of the blue. What else have you noticed?"

"What do you mean?"

"You said there were things that had piled up."

"Do you hear yourself right now, Dolls? Robert's weird. He's always been kind of the goofy nerd that I never expected my sister to fall for, but that doesn't mean that he's…." She stopped herself, pulling in a steadying breath. "I've known the man for years. I was in his and Willa's wedding. Hell, Doc was his best man and the two have known each other since their last year of high school."

"Has he ever been out of the Triangle?"

"Sure."

"When? Because from what I've heard both he and Doc went to college in the Big City. The campus is within the Ghost River Triangle."

"So what? Are you trying to accuse my husband of being a demon too now?"

"He went to dental school outside, so I think that clears him," Jeremy murmured and Wynonna turned a glare on him before swiveling it back around on Dolls.

"This is insane."

He caught her eyes. "I learned a long time ago that you have some killer instincts, Earp. If both of ours are telling us that something off about this whole situation, something probably is."

"My brother-in-law is not a demon."

"But something is going on."

Wynonna opened her mouth to argue, but found that she couldn't. She swallowed hard and shook her head, grabbing for her coat and starting for the door.

"Where're you going?"

"I need air," she yelled back and was gone before anyone could stop her.

She had checked on him half a dozen times already and it was only the earliest hours of the afternoon. He was fine. Grace was fine. Everyone was fine. Willa hated feeling helpless.

As a child she had been told she would be the Earp Heir. It had been terrifying as a little girl to think about looking down the barrel of a gun and killing something, Revenant or not. Growing up for her had meant that she would be expected to, and someday, when she found some poor sucker to marry her and get dragged into the curse with her, her children would face the same fate.

She'd been seven years old when Waverly had been born and there hadn't been any reason to think that anything would change with that, but when her daddy put Peacemaker in her hand it had felt… wrong. It jammed on her every time that she shot it and he had chalked it up to her being too young. Waverly had been five when she had gotten her hands on the gun and the entire room had gone silent as the little blonde girl had put a hole in the front door like it was nothing. Peacemaker had chosen someone different and, selfishly, Willa had felt the relief she'd never even hoped for sweep through her. She was free.

When she was older and she had met Robert, she had distanced herself even further from the Earp Curse. She loved her sisters, but the idea of having her family that she was building too close to that left her with the same sinking feeling that had hung over her childhood like a dark cloud. Waverly had understood and she made good on the promise that she would make sure that the next generation of Earps wouldn't have to worry about fighting for their lives. They wouldn't have to fear for their families.

But she did. Even with the curse broken she did. Robert could have gotten himself killed, and as much as Willa wanted to blame Doc for his antics, she knew he wasn't fully to blame. She might not be the Heir, but she was an Earp. They were drawn to them. All of the evil was drawn to them as long as they stayed in Purgatory. Robert would never want to go and Grace might never forgive her mama for taking her away from her cousin, but with a second child on the way Willa had to think about her family's safety. It seemed more important than every to convince Robert that they needed to leave this forsaken town.

"Got anything good on tap?"

Willa startled and turned from where she'd been leaned against the bar, her inventory list completely forgotten for the thoughts weighing on her, and found Wynonna grinning at her in that way that said something was bothering her and she was doing her damndest to ignore it. "We will when we open tonight. I'm in the middle of inventory."

"Looked like you were somewhere far away to me," Wynonna said and she turned to hop up on the bar.

Willa shot her a withering look. "Do you mind?"

"Not at all. What about something stronger?"

"Will you let me work?"

"Better chance of it."

A sigh escaped her and she rolled her eyes as she ducked down to grab for Wynonna's favourite whiskey and two glasses. She poured and slid both over to her sister. "If you're drinking, you're drinking for me too."

"Fair enough." Wynonna knocked the first one back in one swallow and Willa turned back to the forgotten sheet of paper and started working through what she had.

Silence stretched between them for a long moment and when she glanced back Wynonna hadn't even touched her second drink. She caught her older sister looking at her, though, and leaned back, her palms pressed against the edge of the bar to brace herself. "You want to know something weird?"

"What's that?"

"I can't remember what your husband looked like when he was young."

"You didn't know Robert when he was young. He graduated from high school my freshman year."

"I know, but I know I saw him when he came back to visit. I know that, but I can't remember what he looked like."

Willa shook her head. "He looked like Robert."

"I know. I get that, but-"

"Where's this coming from, Nona?"

She heard her sister sigh heavily, reach for the second glass of whiskey and knock it back just like the first one. It was early for her to be in one of these moods.

"Do you have pictures?"

"At home."

"I don't remember any."

"Well, you don't come over to our house very much. You always want us over at your place or out at the Homestead." She grabbed for a rag and started wiping down the bar, feeling an irrational irritation building in her. "Honestly, I can't remember the last time you actually came over."

"What's your first memory of him?"

Willa stopped, looking over fully now. "What is going on?" she tried again, but Wynonna just waved her off.

"Humour me."

She set the rag down and turned, leaning against the bar and closing her eyes, letting her mind wander back through more than six years of memories that included Robert Svane. Snowy days curled up with him on the couch with their books, waking up to him making her breakfast, and the laughter that filled their home with Grace and that furball of a cat she'd been so determined to adopt. She thought about the day Grace was born and how happy Robert had been to hold that little bundle in his arms, about how scared he'd been before he had that he wouldn't know what to do to be a good father. She thought about his afternoons grading papers and the prayers he said for her each night before bed. Willa's lips tipped at the corners when she thought of their wedding, of Doc giving him hell and of Wynonna giving her a wink when she'd taken the bouquet as the eldest Earp sister had turned to look at the only man she'd ever really loved. She could still feel his hand taking hers, the way his oath to love and cherish her until his dying breath had been so soft that only she could really hear him, and how that promise of forever was just as strong now as it had been then. The memories blurred together, swirling and folding around as she searched for the very first one, happiness flooding through her. Then she remembered light flooding into a room through thin curtains, books piled on a wooden table, and paper swans hanging from a tree growing up through the middle….

"Willa? You okay?"

Hazel eyes snapped open and suddenly she was back in the bar. "Yeah," she breathed, shaking her head. "I saw him in high school, but the first time I really met him was here. You'd just started dating Doc and he brought his friend Robert in. I remember teasing him like crazy because I thought it was cute how the tops of his ears went red when he was embarrassed."

Wynonna nodded slowly. "Yeah. I remember you asking him about the white patch in his beard. You thought he dyed it."

"I did!" Willa laughed. "I'd never seen patches of hair grow white like that before."

"You gave him hell and then told Waves and me you liked it like that. I think you called him quirky," Wynonna chuckled. "Wow… that seems like so long ago."

"It does." She caught her sister's gaze. "Wynonna, what's going on?"

Her sister sighed. "It's stupid…. Dolls is just being Dolls."

"Talk to me?"

Wynonna kicked her legs up and swiveled around so that she was facing the inside of the bar, still up on her perch. She leaned against her knees. "He was asking all these questions today. Apparently Robert had some sort of weird burn that showed up on his medical files in the ER-"

"Why did Dolls have Robert's medical files?" Willa cut in.

"It's fine. It was precautionary in case he felt like we needed to bring him in for observation. Anyway, there was this burn that apparently faded faster than any burn should have. I don't really even know. Trying to put it together now it feels…. Like nothing connects." Wynonna chuckled and shook her head, running her hands through her wild hair. "I think I'm losing my mind, sis. I keep feeling like I'm on the verge of something and then it's gone. Like a dream or something. Did he even have a burn when you guys got home?"

"No, he didn't," Willa said firmly. "What did Dolls think it was? Something the demon did to him? Should I-?"

"Dolls thought he got it from trying to cross the line."

Both Earp sisters stared at each other when the words tumbled out of Wynonna's mouth and Willa felt her temper spark. "Excuse me?"

"I told you, it's stupid."

"Yeah, to say the least. Where the hell does Dolls think he gets off making accusations like that? Out of nowhere. Robert is… the best man I've ever known. Even if he did have a burn that doesn't mean-"

"There were other things," Wynonna said, her tone dismissive. "Something about a knife Grace had in her hand and how Jeremy thought he saw Robert pull it - like, I don't know, with his mind or some shit? - rather than grab it away and-"

"When did my daughter have a knife in her hand?"

Wynonna stopped, her mouth snapping shut and an awkward sound emanating somewhere low in her throat. "Ahh…."

"I need to call my husband and you need to go."

"Willa…."

"Now."

"Listen-"

"Now, Wynonna," Willa growled dangerously and her sister swung back around and hopped off the bar. She squeezed her eyes shut and the question escaped before she gave it permission. "What about you?"

"What about me?"

Hazel eyes opened and Willa fixed her gaze on her sister. "You came in here asking me questions about how Robert and I met. Are you questioning him?"

Her silence said it all and Willa shook her head. "Go."

She waited until the door shut behind Wynonna before reaching for the phone and dialing the number. One ring, two, then a third, and finally it connected and she heard a familiar, albeit sleepy, "'lo?" from the other end.

"Hey, baby," she said softly. "Did I wake you?"

"Grace 'n I were just taking a nap. What's wrong?"

Willa leaned heavily against the bar, finding the room around her a little blurred and she blinked to try to clear the tears. "I just needed to hear your voice."

A rough chuckle sounded over the phone. "I'm fine, Willa. Promise."

"I know. I love you."

"You too."

She rubbed the heel of her hand against her eyes and sniffed. "Wynonna said something about Grace getting a knife?"

Her husband loosed a breath on the other end. "Yeah. Jeremy and I were talking about what happened last night and she decided she needed her donut in pieces. She's fine. Everyone's fine. I was gonna tell you when you got home."

A small smile played at her lips and she cradled the phone. "I'll be home soon. Almost done here."

He hummed a soft affirmative. "You alright?"

"Of course."

"Really?"

"Just worried about you. You want me to bring something from the kitchen home for dinner? Just take it easy tonight?"

"Sure. I'll see you when you get home. Love you."

"You too. Be home soon." She ended the call and set the phone down. The sooner she got home to her family the better.

He sat with books open all around him, a notepad perched on one knee, and a pen scratching furiously as ideas wove together from what he'd been reading on that evening. He had hit a dry spell in his writing for the last couple of weeks, leaving him ready and willing to focus on anything else than the job he was, in fact, very good at. It was funny how those things worked out. He'd come so close to missing the opportunity entirely.

Most people had called him John at dental school, not because he preferred it, but because his first semester had just about sucked the soul from his body and he hadn't cared enough to correct anyone about anything. He'd hated every second of it, but he'd plastered a smile to his face when he'd come back for his first visit. He was going to see it through, he told himself. He'd been working towards it his whole life and he'd be damned if he was going to give up so easy.

Robert had called him on his bullshit at the bar of Shorty's, that sly smile of his quirking his lips as he picked out every subtle tell to come to the conclusion that he was absolutely miserable there. They'd talked, and Doc had dared him to come up with a better option, and all Robert had asked was what made Hank happy. What did he enjoy doing if he had the time? The answer was easier than the choice to follow it.

He'd stuck with dental school for the first two years before finally taking a semester off to write and never went back. He'd gone back home to Purgatory and had dug into the roots of the town and found an editor that had eaten it up. Years later he did well with his writing and he had never finished dental school, though his wife's nickname for him had stuck hard and true.

His research had led him to the Earp family and the rest was history. Doc risked a glance over to where Alice was perched on the couch, fixated on a game that had kept her busy for the last few hours while her daddy worked. Her bright blue eyes followed whatever was dancing across the screen and his lips twitched upward under his thick mustache. He stood slowly, creeping over quietly enough that she didn't notice, and he grabbed ahold of her.

"Daddy! Daddy!" she squealed and he buried his face against her cheek, receiving a high pitched giggle for his efforts as he kissed her.

"Got you!"

"No no no!" she giggled and tried to squirm away, but he picked her up and she laughed as he tossed her over one shoulder and spun her around. He stopped a few turns in and received a hard pat to the back. "Again, Daddy, again!"

The sound of the front door slamming shut halted the festivities and Doc glanced at the clock. Damn. He'd let time get away from him.

He set Alice down and tousled her hair. "Go brush your teeth, darlin'."

"But-"

"You wanna get both of us in trouble? Go."

She nodded at that and scurried off towards her bathroom. He smirked and started towards his work space, marking books so that he wouldn't lose his place if they got knocked over. He glanced down at Plucky whose tail thumped as he looked up from under the table. "Smart boy," Doc murmured.

"Doc?"

"In here, love," he called back and heard Wynonna huff.

"Where's Alice?"

"Brushin' her teeth an' gettin' ready for bed. Rough day?"

"To say the least," she sighed, falling back onto the couch and nearly landing on Alice's tablet. She tossed the thing to the side and Doc could feel her watching him as he finished up what he was doing. "Doc, do you have that photo you talk about? The one from college with Robert and the mohawk?"

That peaked his interest. "Somewhere 'round here I've got a copy. Why?"

"No reason."

"Uh-huh."

He could see her roll her eyes out of the corner of his. "I realized today that I don't remember what he looked like when he was young."

Doc chuckled. "He looked like Robert."

His wife shot him a funny look. "Willa said the same thing."

"Well, he ain't changed a lot. Grew his beard out a bit more, got a few more lines in his face. I think we all did." He reached for her, tugging her up off the couch and looping his arms around her back. "'Cept you, darlin'. You're as pretty as the day I met you."

"I'm serious."

"So am I!" She didn't seem to give to the teasing and Doc frowned. "Why you so caught up on Robert young?"

"It's complicated."

"I'm a clever man. Try me."

"Daddy, the peppermint toothpaste is out," Alice said as she rounded back into the den, holding out the tube with a frown to show him.

"Took you that long to try it out?"

"I wanted the last drop," she told him and he chuckled a little.

"We've got more in the cabinet," Wynonna told their daughter and the nightly routine began in earnest. Wynonna set to getting Alice's teeth brushed and Doc took Plucky out for a quick walk. They moved around each other until it was time to put their little girl in bed. A story was requested, the one with the cowboy and the well, and she was out before it was finished, leaving Doc to slink out of her room and to his own.

Wynonna was in the process of stripping her shirt off as he walked in and he leaned against the door frame. "I take it back," he drawled. "I do think you've somehow gotten prettier."

"You think you're getting something from me tonight?" she asked suggestively and Doc grinned.

"Well who would I be to turn the lady down?"

"You're assuming the lady's offering."

He held his hands up in surrender and started towards the bathroom. He didn't quite make it before he felt Wynonna reach out and latch onto the back of his shirt, pulling him back and around. She wrapped her arms loosely around his neck, that look in her eye unmistakable as she pulled him down into a kiss. He sank in willingly, feeling the right kind of chill run up his spine as his fingers traveled down her sides and she hopped up into his arms, never breaking the kiss, and he carried her to their bed.

Wynonna didn't release him as she fell onto her back, but instead she pulled him closer, her arms around his neck and her legs around his middle. Doc felt her shift and suddenly he was being rolled onto the bed, hitting the mattress with a soft oof and she was on top, her long dark hair all around them. For a long moment they were all limbs, his hands tugging at her jeans and hers frantically working at the buttons down his shirt. "So," he managed between increasingly desperate kisses, "you thought about it?"

"What?" she barely asked and he had trouble answering her as her kisses traveled down his neck.

"Little… brother or sister for Alice," he clarified after a long moment.

She stopped and suddenly he was falling back to the mattress. "Seriously?"

"What just happened?"

"You killed the mood, asshole," she growled and shifted off of him, not bothering to avoid a foot in the ribs as she did.

Doc propped himself up. "It was an honest question, Wynonna!"

"Could you just… not, right now? Maybe?"

"We keep sayin' we're gonna talk about it-"

"And we will!"

"When?"

"I don't know. Not now!"

"Fine, fine," he grumbled and leaned over to kiss her again, finding a hand in his face and she shoved him off.

"Nope. Lost out on that one."

He stared at her for a long moment before finally catching that she was done. He loosed a long breath and sat up slowly, moving towards the bathroom.

One much-needed cold shower later he walked back into their bedroom to find only the lamp on his side of the bed still on. Wynonna was curled up and looked to be asleep already. He sighed and pulled back the comforter on his side, sliding under it. He'd just switched the lamp off and settled down when he felt her shift, wrapping an arm around his middle and laying her head against his chest. Well, at least she wasn't that angry with him then.

"Doc?"

"Hmm?"

"Can I ask you something and you just answer? Don't ask why, don't try to figure out what the angle is, just answer the question."

Well that didn't sound good. "Alright," he said after a long moment.

"Have you ever seen Robert cross the town line?"

Of all the things that he had expected could come out of her mouth right then, that hadn't made the list. Hell, that hadn't even made the secondary list. "Say what? Why are you so fixed on Robert tonight?"

"No questions, remember."

He pushed a long breath out through his nose. "Sure."

"When?"

"Wynonna-"

"Please."

He racked his brain, trying to remember a specific time that he and Robert had been over the line. A time when he'd come to visit him at school or when…. Doc closed his eyes and it finally hit him. "That teaching conference down in San Diego."

There was a pause and then he felt Wynonna nod. "Right," she breathed, almost in a sigh of relief.

"No chance you'll tell me what that was about?"

"Nope. G'night."

He chuckled, reaching a hand up to stroke her hair. "Goodnight."

Notes: There are some big things happening in the next chapter. I feel like I should go ahead and apologize ahead of time for the cliffhanger I have planned?

[neganisking]

They found her in the woods.

A Negan&daughter idea thats been brewing in my head for some time now. Let me know if you want more. Enjoy. @negans-network

 Travis was having a spectacularly shitty day. He and his boys had been providing slim pickings lately- through no fault of their own as far as he was concerned. Especially seeing as the areas they’d been given had already been turned over a few times.

But these things have consequences and just that morning Simon himself had warned him that if they didn’t find something worthwhile soon, they would find themselves working for points again and that would simply not do.

So they looked again. Through the desolate buildings, every drawer, under every bed, every glove compartment. They spread out covering a long line a few acres across and trudged through the forest for something. Anything.

Which was when they found her.

A young woman, alone, so dirty she could have blended in with the mulch on the ground. She carried a large rucksack, stained and torn but still seemingly crammed full with goods. It was exactly what they needed. As though someone packaged her up just for them.

Travis alerted the others with the signal. A low whistle, easily mistaken for a bird, but he catches the way her shoulders tense up. She knew. He watched her slow her pace to a stop. She definitely knew. 

It didn’t matter though. She was out numbered and out gunned. Presuming she even had one. The way she reacted made him wonder if she belonged to one of the settlements nearby but even then, it still didn’t matter. Given the state of her, and the fact that she looked like a gust of wind would knock her on her ass, it was anyone’s guess.

Either way she belonged to Negan now. They all did.

The returning whistles of his comrades began to haunt the trees, echoing around the girl as they all began to close in. Today would be a good day for them. They needed this. And hey, maybe she needed it too. Things could always be worse after all. If she didn’t? Well too fucking bad.

Travis always found it morbidly fascinating to see how their prey reacted to being cornered. Sometimes they would try to run, maybe fight their way out. Those were interesting, entertaining sometimes too.  Even if they didn’t, each person reacted a little differently to the one before them and this girl was no exception.

Crossing in front of her, Travis watches they way she trembles in front of him. her chest heaving erratically, her eyes wide with a strange sort of vacant glaze, as though she wasn’t fully there. He wheezes a laugh, amused by the way she can’t even look up at them properly, jerking her head to the left and right taking them in from her peripherals instead. 

The whistling now, is so loud and so intense that it rings in his ears. Glancing behind her to see his men forming a circle around her, he raises a fist and the woods fall silent once again save for girl’s ragged breath. Poor little shit looks as though she might pass out any second.

With a sigh,Travis squares his shoulders and takes a few strides towards her, stowing his gun, seeing as there’s several others pointed in her direction. He could just tell though, gut instinct maybe, that she wasn’t a threat. This was going to be easy.

“Well hi.”

The girl barely moves an inch, staring at the ground by his feet still wide-eyed like a doe caught in the headlights. Her breathing uneven but growing more controlled as she got a grip of herself. Oh yeah, she knew what she was doing. Travis thought for a moment there that she might be one of the crazies, out on her own for too long but this girl still had something about her. Ducking his head a little to break into her line of sight, he smiles a little, taking another step towards her.

 “Excuse me honey but I just said hello. It’s not polite to just ignore me now is it?”

He gives her a moment and sure enough, the girl squeezes her eyes shut, sucking in a deep breath and pulls her head up high. Meeting his gaze with such an intense fire that it takes him aback for a second. He wondered what she had been though in life to have that look about her. 

 “Well, ‘aint you pretty.” 

The girl narrowed her eyes, glaring at him. Well if looks could kill he’d be a dead man for sure. Lucky for him he supposed. It was hard to be intimidated by someone who was shakin’ like a leaf anyway. Travis smirked and paused, trying to goad her into saying something, anything. He wanted to know what she sounded like.

“What’s got your tongue darlin’? No hablo Ingles?”

Travis hears a snort somewhere to his right. Probably Antonio but he couldn’t give less of a shit about his crap pronunciation right now. All he was really bothered about was getting this woman and all her shit back to Simon so he would get off their backs. All the posturing didn’t mean a thing right now anyway. He was only kidding himself thinking he had any weight to throw around.

Checking her over again for any sign of - anything, Travis realised that this stubborn thing wasn’t going to give them an inch. Well that was fine. They didn’t need to know. What they needed they could just take. Straightening up, he clapped his hands together finally getting down to business, noticing the way she flinched at the sound. 

“Alrighty then, suit yourself. First thing’s first Sweetheart. If you would be so kind as to hand over your weapons we can all get on with our day.”

With a long suffering sigh, she reached to pull a blade out of her belt loop. Another from the strap on her bag, dropping them both to the floor. Then, rather reluctantly, she withdrew a small pistol from under her thin jacket, holding it backwards so not to disturb any twitching trigger fingers. Travis decided that she must have been through this before, knowing how to make herself seem less of a threat. Smart girl.

“Toss it to your right.”

Co-operating nicely, the gun ends up on the forest floor. One of his men picks it up quickly and checks the barrel, shaking his head lightly. “Empty.”

Travis snorts - typical - some amo would have been nice. Especially seeing as one of the armories was raided a few weeks ago. But whatever, at least they has something. “Empty huh. Girl you are lucky we found you. That it? No more nasty surprises?” 

The girl shakes her head, opting not to speak yet again. Travis had to wonder if she even could talk. That would be a bitch. He loved talking. Speaking of which, he needed to get this over with. He always hated the next part. Left him with a bitter taste in his mouth, but that was the way the world worked now.

“So here’s how it is. As of right this fucking now, all of your shit now belongs to Negan. And, as of right now, you belong to Negan too so -”

“-Negan?” Cutting him off mid-speech, the girl widened her eyes as if suddenly seeing him for the first time. 

“Well fuck me. She can talk!” Travis laughed, squinting at her incredulously as a ripple of laughter circles round them.

Opening her mouth to talk again, she stops and closes her eyes for a second or two, huffing slightly as though she was struggling against herself. Under his expectant gaze, she eventually manages to stammer out the words. “Did you say Negan?”

Her voice sounds scratchy, dry as though she hadn’t found anything to drink lately. Given the state of her it wasn’t surprising. Hearing a hint of recognition in her voice Travis considered that maybe she was from one of the settlements nearby after all. Or better yet, maybe she was on the run from The Sanctuary - better for him that is. 

Nodding, Travis replied, raising an eyebrow. “That’s right sugar.”

“Where is he?” She blurts out, her voice laced with desperation. 

Furrowing his brow, Travis cocked his head to the side. “Excuse me?”

“Negan. Can you- Can you tell me where I can find him? Please.”

Now that was confusing as hell. No one ever wanted to see Negan. Ever. In fact, he felt sorry for those at the sanctuary who had to be around him almost all the time. At least at the outpost he had a bit of distance from him. Sure Simon was a hard ass but no one brought the sense of dread quite as well as Negan. 

Why the hell was a girl like that trying to find a guy like Negan? Maybe she was crazy after all. Shaking his head, he blinks a few times. “Doesn’t work like that darlin’.”

“No I - I need to find him.”

“Girl, you stupid? You don’t make demands. Not of me, not of Negan. You ain’t shit to anyone.”  Scowling, Travis raises his voice, making her flinch and cast her eyes down once again. Dammit. 

For a moment she just breathes, blinking and squeezing her eyes shut. He hoped she wasn’t going to start crying. He hated it when they cried. But no, thankfully, the girl got a grip of herself and tried again. “Please. It’s important. He’s - He’s gonna want to see me.”

“Who the fuck are you to be so special?” Travis was annoyed now. This was supposed to be easy but the girl was making everything harder than it had to be. But something about the way she was talking made him wasn’t right. Maybe he was missing something.

At his question she opens her mouth again but nothing comes out. Closing it again she looks back to the ground and shakes her head, as though she’d thought better of telling him. Travis scoffs and shakes his head. “Fuckin’ figures.”

She takes a tentative step forward, her eyes desperate and hopeful. “Please.”

It crosses his mind that Travis could make this girl beg for him all pretty-like. Might make him feel good is someone was kneeling at his feet for a change. If she was going to ask like that then he’s pretty sure he could get her to do anything for him under the promise of seeing Negan - why he would never understand. All the things he could have her do - but no. No this shit was getting out of hand as it was. They needed to get going. 

“Tell you what. You play nice and listen real good and I’ll think about it okay?”

She stares at him for a long moment, as though trying to read his face, before nodding resignedly, eyes squeezing shut yet again before looking at him expectantly. Shit she really would do anything. What had this kid been through?

It didn’t matter. She didn’t matter. “Take your bag off. On the floor.”

He watched, growing more detached by the second, as she lowered her bag to the floor, swaying with the weight of it. “Good. Empty your pockets too.”

A couple of rags and a broken watch later she was finished. He motions to the man behind her who stows his own gun and walks toward them pulling out a couple of cable ties from his pocket. “Now, hands behind your back.”

As she complied, Travis motioned to the surly man behind her to come forward. “Alderman, start take her back to the truck. Hey! Nicely.” He added as the girl was yanked in the right direction. Travis watched how she let herself be pulled about like a rag doll, like she had accepted her fate. What was it with this chick?

With the girl on her way he rounded up the last of his men. “Mckenna go through her shit. See if there’s anything good in there. Last thing I need is to take back another mouth to feed without bringing in any actual supplies.”

Tony appears to his right, stooping down to pick up the broken watch from the forest floor. “What the fuck was that about? Crazy shit. You gonna tell Negan?”

Double checking his own gear before they started walking back, Travis shakes his head. “Nah. I’ll tell Simon when we get back. He can decide what to do with her then. I don’t know what her fucking game is but I ain’t pissing him off and interrupting his day.”

“Shit!”

The men immediately drew their guns back up to full height, startled, to find McKenna sucking on his hand, crimson flowing out the side. 

“What, what is it?”

“Fucking cut my hand on something. Stupid bitch had broken glass at the bottom of this thing.”

Tony snatched the bag from his grip and peered inside. “It’s a photo frame genius.”

Rolling his eyes, Travis started making his way towards the truck. Today had been a good day after all, Simon would be pretty happy.

“Wait.”

“Oh for the love of - What now?” He had had just about enough of today’s shit. It was time to go back.

Turning round to look back at his men he finds three of them crowded round Tony looking at a piece of paper in his hand. 

“Holy shit.”

“Is that?”

“What is it? Lemme see.”

Leering over what he now realised was an old photograph, ice ran through Travis’ veins. Negan really would want to see her. “Crap. Everyone back to the fucking truck. Now!”

Sprinting to the truck they caught up with them just in time to see her stepping clumsily into the back. She flinched as she saw them running towards her. If he had thought it through, maybe he would have been more considerate but he had a theory to check.  If this went badly they were all dead.

“What’s your name kid?” Travis  barked at the trembling girl who responded like clockwork.

“Grace.”

Realising how useless that question was, Travis growled to himself. Think damnit. He realised how little he knew about Negan and considered showing her the picture but an idea came to him. 

“What’s your mother’s name?”

 Her eyebrows furrowed, another sign that told him she had more about her than she was letting on. “Why?” She hesitated.

“Answer the fucking question!”

“Lucille. Why?“  She repeated, this time with more fire than before.  He had no doubt she was a fighter but he had bigger problems. 

 "Mothefucker.” Turning his back on her he slammed the truck door shut, cutting her out of the conversation. 

 "Hey!“

 Ignoring her, he turns to his men who are looking to him for direction. Any other time he would feel proud of himself but right now he just felt sick. “Parker. Gimme the radio.”

 "Why?“ 

 "Fucking hand it over.” 

He flipped it to channel 7 and, taking a deep breath, he called out. “Arat?“ 

It didn’t take long before a disgruntled Wigan answered back. "Who is that?”

 "It’s Travis.“ 

 "Kinda busy here Travis." 

 "Yeah. I know. But I need to talk to Negan.”

Waiting for her reply, McKenna breaks the silence that had fallen around them. "That’s really his kid?“ 

 "Looks like it.” Travis nodded grimly.

 "Wait. Maybe we can use this.“

 Narrowing his eyes, Travis squared his shoulders and took a step towards the larger man.  No way was he going to let some asshole with a grudge threaten his status. Scavenging was better than a whole lot of things.  

"You better not be talking about what I think you’re talking about Tony." 

Arat’s voice crackled over the speaker cutting him off. "You know Negan is fucking busy today Travis. No interruptions. We’re in the middle of something." 

 Sighing,  Travis weighed his options. If it was his daughter, he’d want to know immediately. It was too much to risk not doing it. He had to. "Believe me. I know. I wouldn’t be bugging you unless it was important okay. He’s gonna want to know about this. Right fucking now.”

 "I’m just saying-“ Why did Tony pick today of all days to be an asshole? 

 ”-don’t. Just don’t. Y'know what happens if we fuck this up? We’re dead. Okay? We’re doing this the right way and playing it safe. Fuck. Maybe we’ll get something good outta it.“

 Arat replied, sounding a little too curious for his liking. "What is it?”

 "It’s private.“

 "Are you fucking kidding me?”

 "It’s Negan’s personal business and I don’t think he would appreciate me spreading that around alright? Now would you go get him? Please?“

 After a long pause, the radio came back to life.  "Fine. It’s your head.”

 "Thank you.“ About time.

 "You sure this is a good idea?" 

 "What if it’s a trick?” Bunch of babies. Waiting till he put his neck on the line before offering any advice.  Bastards.

Clenching his jaw, Travis had had enough. "Yeah and what if it isn’t huh? Too late now anyway so shut up.“ 

They waited with baited breath,  a sure sign of the one thing they all had in common. Fear. Travis spared a look inside the truck to see the girl starting down at her lap. He wasn’t sure how much of that she had heard but it didn’t matter. 

A thick drawl cut through the silence making the hairs on the back of Travis’ neck stand up.  

“Who the fuck is this?”

[whumpyinside]

Oh my