#they kept collapsing or I made the walls too thin and punched holes in them

[justalitlecreacher]

Graphic design major takes ceramics class

Is in pain after day one

[blitzturtles]

Title: Guilt

Rating: Teen and Up

Fandom: JoJo's Bizarre Adventure: Stardust Crusaders (set after Golden Wind, given Jolyne's age.)

Pairing(s): JotaKak, JoKa, (Platonic) Jotaro & Jolyne, (Platonic) Kakyoin & Jolyne

Summary: Kakyoin is in the middle of answering one of Jolyne's many questions when he feels something twist violently inside his abdomen. He tastes what he thinks might be bile at rist, but the metallic tinge registers, and,

Oh god, no. Not here. Please not here.

Notes: Involves emergency surgery, chronic pain, preteen!Jolyne, PTSD, disabled Kakyoin, and near death experiences.

-

Here's the thing: Jolyne hates him. It's not a secret, and it's definitely not something that she bothers to hide from him. Jotaro keeps swearing that she'll come around. Says she's just stubborn (like her father is, Kakyoin sometimes thinks with far too much affection for a man that regularly drives him up the wall). There's also the fact that she's a preteen, and kids are apparently just like that at her age.

Here's the thing: Kakyoin would hate him, too. If he were in her situation. He's petty on a good day, and a right bastard on any other. He can't imagine being in her situation. With divorced parents who, while amicable, are both ridiculously successful and constantly busy. And then waltzed in Kakyoin, right in the middle of it. Though 'waltz' is a bit of a stretch. He doesn't do anything like that with his plated spine and braced legs, but none of that matters. The real point is that he gets it.

He does his best to never push more than he has to. For the most part, he lets Jolyne do her own thing, because she's a Kujo and a Joestar. She's going to do what she wants anyways. His opinion be damned, though he does try to reason with her. Hell, he's given into bribing every once in a while. (Sometimes the means don't matter when father and daughter are both happy at the end of the day.)

In short: Jolyne hates him, and Kakyoin understands.

______

Here's the thing: Jolyne finds Kakyoin to be a nuisance. An interference. One more complication to an already complicated life, and she's only eleven. She wants her parents to get over their bullshit (language!) and figure out how to make things work. She wants Kakyoin to go away, but that doesn't mean she wants him dead. Or injured. Even if she did wish him off the end of a pier that one time. Still.

They've admittedly grown to be more friendly over time. She talks to him now, which is an improvement to the chronic cold shoulder she gave him before. Sometimes she even asks him for help, because her dad can be surprisingly useless when it comes to school work (weren't you in school when I was little?) He always seems happy to help, and he never gets as frustrated as her dad.

So maybe she doesn't hate him, but she definitely wants him to go away.

______

Kakyoin is in the middle of answering one of Jolyne's many questions when he feels something twist violently inside his abdomen. He tastes what he thinks might be bile at rist, but the metallic tinge registers, and,

Oh god, no. Not here. Please not here.

He doesn't need to know-- specifically-- what went wrong to know that he's dying. The moment the pain goes from barely tolerable to utterly agonizing is about when his brain lets him know that he's operating on borrowed time.

Kakyoin could have used that warning approximately five minutes ago. Before the pain. Before he found himself in front of Jolyne.

"I'm sorry," he tries to say, hopes the words come out audible enough for her to understand.

There are tears welling up in her eyes, and they fall soon enough. God, he's made Jolyne cry. She's so young. So unprepared. And she looks so much like Jotaro. With panic stricken eyes and fingers that grasp for something to do. Some way to fix this. It makes his chest ache beyond the twisting and shearing that his insides are already doing.

(She looks exactly like Jotaro, in the hospital after the Foundation managed to retrieve them. The way her hands fumble in the air is so much like how Jotaro had reached out desperately, trying to hold onto Kakyoin, in case those had been his last moments. Like father, like daughter, Kakyoin thinks without humor.)

His knees hit the ground first, and that shoots pain up his legs and along his hips. The rest of it ricochets and dies somewhere midway up his spine. It's a momentary distraction away from the agony that is his middle. He reaches with his fingers to press against his stomach, half expecting them to sink inward (into nothingness. There's nothing. Dio punched a hole right through him, and he's going to die.)

Jolyne is yelling. His name at first, then for her father. Again, he's reminded of the day he died. Maybe it's all been a dream. He's waking up now and the end is pressing down on him. The light will follow soon. He knows; he's seen it before.

"Please!" Jolyne begs him, "I'm sorry!"

He is, too. It's the last thing he thinks before his eyes slide shut and the darkness grabs at him greedily.

______

There's shouting and bright lights and something covering his face. He can't make out anything with his vision so blurry, but he thinks he hears Jotaro's angry voice booming what could be an entire room away.

"If you fucking put a finger on him that isn't necessary to keep him alive. I'll fuck-"

"Dad!"

Jotaro inhales sharply but nods to the surgeon one, final time, "His team is on their way. Not a goddamn finger."

______

The Speedwagon Foundation has several doctors that Kakyoin sees on a semi-regular basis. Each is a specialist in their own right, and they're the only reason Kakyoin ever made it home from Egypt. They're also the only ones that regularly work on updating all the augmented parts and maintaining the damaged remains of Kakyoin's organs. They know him inside and out. Quite literally.

The team makes it to the hospital long before Kakyoin comes out of emergency surgery, which means the whole process is extended significantly. The upside (if it could be called that) is that Kakyoin doesn't have to be put under again. The downside is that it means they'll be waiting awhile.

Jotaro does his best to be strong for Jolyne. It's his job as a parent to keep a calm façade and push his emotions to the side. She needs someone to be her reassurance.

He fails miserably.

______

The head of the Foundation team emerges some hours later, looking a little worse for wear. The stoicism past that does little for Jotaro's nerves. It tells him nothing of what to expect.

"Well?"

"He's stable," the doctor answers. "We had to take out several inches of colon this time. If I had to guess, he probably believed himself to be having a flare. He adjusted to the pain until he became necrotic." His expression shifts into an unpleased frown, "He also has two ulcers. Has he changed his diet? Or experienced any new stressors?"

Jolyne's lip quivered as she processed the doctor's words. She thought over every time she and Kakyoin had fought in recent history. Most of it being her yelling at him.

Jotaro's focus remains fixated on the doctor, "What the hell kind of pain is he still having?"

The doctor-- one Jotaro recognizes from previous visits but can't recall the name of-- sighs, "Kakyoin will only allow us to do so much to help manage his pain. I'm not his specialist in that regard, but it's at his request that he's kept on very little in terms of medication."

Jotaro knows that. He knows that Kakyoin doesn't like what stronger pain meds do to his head, but how out of control is his pain that he didn't notice that he was dying? That his body has been rotting from the inside out for an unknown amount of time?

Jolyne shifts further behind him, drawing his attention to her. It's the only thing that spares the doctor whatever response Jotaro might have otherwise formed. He turns to look at Jolyne and is startled by the tears already trailing down her round cheeks. Realization hits him then.

She's eleven, and he's an idiot.

"Hey, hey. Enough with that. He's going to be okay," Jotaro says quickly. He should have- called her mother or his mother or literally anyone. This isn't a conversation she needed to be privy to.

"It's me," Jolyne chokes the words out. Her thin arms wrap tight around her middle, and she looks close to collapsing on the ground.

Jotaro, admittedly, has no idea what she's talking about, "What's you?"

"The stress!" She practically wails.

Jotaro sighs and moves to wrap his arms around Jolyne. He tugs her in against his chest. "That- that's not the kind of stress the doctor is talking about," he glances over his shoulder to see that the man had already dismissed himself. Smart guy.

"I'm always mean to him!"

Jotaro wants to laugh. Not at all because he thinks her words-- or her suffering-- are funny, but because the whole situation feels unreal. He cards his fingers through her hair instead. It's all the comfort he feels like he can offer in a situation like this. With his own resolve teetering on the edge.

"Takes a lot more than that to take out Noriaki," he's lying through his teeth. The whole new family thing might damn well be enough stress, but he's never going to let Jolyne think this is her fault. It's not. Kakyoin is capable of making his own decisions, and being part of their family is one of them.

Jolyne crumbles against him despite the gentle words, so he scoops her up and holds her against his chest. Even at eleven, she's nothing compared to his size. He finds a nearby seat to settle into and lets her cry while he whispers promises he can't be sure he'll be able to keep. Eventually he tries distracting her with facts about dolphins, and that either has some effect, or she passes out from exhaustion. Either way, he's relieved when she snores against his neck.

______

Kakyoin comes to the waking world in a haze. His head aches and his middle feels a lot like it might have been ripped open again. He hopes that whatever happened had been a little more civil than that.

It doesn't take him long to place himself in the hospital. That's good. He isn't dead, and he's not immediately at risk of falling into enemy hands. The beeping to his left is annoying, and he can't see well enough to make anything out on the monitors around him. His vision tends to be the last thing to recover when he's been knocked out for a while. Still, he turns his head to continue to take in what he can make out.

He stops short when he sees two people in chairs on his right side, closer to the door. The familiar hat catches his attention immediately, not that he needs to be able to see at one hundred percent (or his version of it) to know that the man is none other than Jotaro. His size will always give him away before anything else.

Jotaro's head is bowed in a way that indicates he's likely asleep. He's undoubtedly been here awhile. Jolyne sits beside him with her head pressed against her father's bicep. Star Platinum is out and wrapped around both of them. He lifts his hand from Jotaro a moment to wave at him brightly, which is enough to disturb his user's sleep.

"Mm?" Jotaro grunts. He opens his eyes and sucks in a breath. He takes a moment to compose himself, which is fine. Kakyoin thinks he probably looks worse than he feels, thanks to the drugs. He would make a joke about it, but moving still hurts.

"Good to see you awake. How're you feeling?" Jotaro asks. He doesn't move from his spot, if only to avoid waking up Jolyne, but that intense gaze is evaluating all the same.

Kakyoin gives a noncommittal answer, and Jotaro snorts, "That's what I thought you'd say. Good thing we have this." He reaches for the little controller on the side of Kakyoin's bed. He presses the red button before Kakyoin can protest.

The glare he shoots Jotaro is relatively short-lived, and it's hard to be mad when Jotaro looks so damn triumphant, even if it's about something that Kakyoin has complicated feelings about. He decides to let him have this one, considering the fact that he's pretty sure he gave them all one nightmarish scare.

"I'm sorry," he says after a while, head lulling back against the pillows. His red hair spreads out all around. It's longer now than it ever has been, but he hasn't felt the need to cut it beyond a simple trim in years. It doesn't matter, but it gives himself something to focus on rather than the gnawing guilt.

"Don't be."

"I- god, I never meant-"

"Kakyoin."

"If I had known, I would have left the room or-"

"Kak-"

"She was so afraid. And she-"

"Noriaki," Jotaro snaps more than says the name, but his eyes are soft. "You aren't the only one that made her cry in the last few hours, so you're not special." That's not true. Kakyoin is incredibly special, but he needs to make some kind of light-hearted comment before he starts crying. Nobody needs to see that.

"Still," Kakyoin mumbles, but he doesn't continue.

Jotaro reaches out with Star, who clasps his large hand over one of Kakyoin's. He wants to lean forward himself, but he doesn't want to wake Jolyne up. Not yet.

Kakyoin turns his palm up to tangle his fingers together with Star's. He brushes his thumb over the stand's, knowing Jotaro can feel it reflected on his skin.

"I really thought it was a flare," he says after a while, because he feels like he owes some sort of explanation after everything.

"Nori, I really can't tell you how much I don't give a damn about that," Jotaro frowns at his own words, "No, I mean- I care, but- fuck." He scrubs his hand over his face a few times before trying again, "You don't have to feel guilty for this shit, okay? I should have noticed you were in pain."

Kakyoin shakes his head. He squeezes Star's hand to make sure Jotaro's listening when he speaks, "It's not your fault. I deal with this pain all the time. It just- at first it felt like a flare, but I guess I got used to it." And every time the pain worsened, he acclimated until it had nearly killed him.

Jotaro doesn’t get a chance to respond before Jolyne is rustling against him. She opens her eyes a crack and reaches up to wipe at them with her fists. “Dad?”

“Right here,” Jotaro grunts in response. He squeezes her shoulder gently, then retracts his arm to give her space to stretch out. “Kakyoin is awake.”

He watches the fog clear from her eyes. They widen as she processes his words, and her attention immediately turns to the redhead, who waves meekly at her.

“Jolyne, I’m- oof!”

Star quickly gets his hands around Jolyne’s waist, suspending her in the air enough to keep her weight from falling too heavily onto Kakyoin. He lets her down carefully, and the youngest Kujo looks sheepish for her overreaction.

“Sorry.”

“No, it’s alright,” Kakyoin says, curling an arm around her loosely in return. He hadn’t expected to be nearly tackled upon awakening. That went doubly so when considering Jolyne as a factor. She’s never hugged him before. Trauma is funny in that way; something he knows from first hand experience.

Jotaro steps up behind her and offers a small smile to Kakyoin, “We’re glad you’re alright.”

“Yeah!” Jolyne echoes, “You scared the shit out of us!”

“Jolyne,” Jotaro’s voice is gruff. An attempt at a warning that falls short. The way his lips pull further upward is a dead giveaway that he isn’t particularly upset by her language usage.

“It’s true!”

“Good grief.”

Kakyoin snorts at the father-daughter duo, relieved to see the two smiling again. Already bickering as per usual. There’s too much snark trapped in the Joestar bloodline, and it always amplifies whenever there’s more than one of them in a room. He’d know, having been on the road with Joseph and Jotaro in the past.

Somehow the back and forth settles into Jolyne rambling about dolphins. She regurgitates facts that-- for the most part-- Kakyoin already knows, but he feigns shock and awe at all the right places to keep her spirit up. It’s more healing to watch her babble emphatically than it is lying around in a hospital bed, staring at the ceiling. It eases some of the guilt, makes him feel lighter.

Eventually, Jotaro whiskers her out the door. Kakyoin catches sight of Holly, which must mean that Marina is tied up. Holly doesn’t come in, likely at her son’s behest. The woman is a mother through and through, and she can be a bit overwhelming at times. Better to focus all that maternal energy on Jolyne for now.

“You look tired,” Jotaro says when the door clicks shut behind the two. He takes his spot back next to Kakyoin’s bed, pulling his chair as close as he can. His knees grind against the railing of the bed a bit, but the distance allows him to lean forward and get a good look at his partner.

“I could say the same about you,” Kakyoin points out with a raised brow. He still can’t pick up his head for more than a few seconds at a time, and his vision remains fuzzy around the edges; a likely side effect of being drugged to the gills, but he isn’t blind. He can see the bags collecting under Jotaro’s eyes. Exhaustion-- emotional as much as it is physical-- already weighing his shoulders down.

Jotaro snorts an unamused sound, “I’m not the one that just had emergency surgery.”

Kakyoin winces at the reminder. “I’m-”

“If you finish that statement, I’m going to give you a reason to be sorry,” he isn’t. Jotaro won’t hurt him, but the words make Kakyoin close his mouth anyways. For a second.

“Oh, and how are you going to do that?”

Jotaro stares him down for a solid thirty seconds, expecting him to back down. When he doesn’t, the man pushes himself to his feet with an exasperated sigh. “Good grief, c’mere,” his fingers hook under Kakyoin’s chin, and he leans down to press their lips together.

As far as life affirming kisses go, it’s one of Jotaro’s more gentle ones, but Kakyoin feels the thrill of it chasing down his spine anyways.

“I love you,” Kakyoin murmurs as they break apart. He wants to add an apology to the end, but he bites his lip and keeps it to himself for now. He’ll find a way to make it up to Jotaro and Jolyne later.

“Love you, too, Tenmei.”

[pjo-whore]

Percy In Tartarus

Chapter 1: The Fall, And Gone

ao3 link. if anyone wants to be tagged for future updates please comment!

Annabeth had seen some strange things before, having been privy to the mythological world since she was only seven years old.

Several things she could name off the top of her head was her first time at Camp Half-Blood when she witnessed her best friend die in cold blood, then proceed to be turned into a pine tree; witnessing the Stoll brothers pull of pranks that increasingly defied the laws of physics; and when she had even seen her boyfriend turned into a guinea pig by a vengeful sorceress.

And that wasn’t even half of the craziest stuff she had to deal with on the daily.

But if there was one thing she had never witnessed before, it was cars raining from the sky. If she was being honest, it wasn’t as cool as it sounded.

Like, three out of ten.

Would not recommend.

As the roof of the cavern collapsed, beams of sunlight came through from above, blinding Annabeth. Briefly, she caught a glimpse of the Argo II.

It had used its ballistae to blast a hole straight through the ground.

Giants chunks of asphalt tumbled down, along with six or seven Italian cars. One would have crushed the Athena Parthenos, but luckily the statue’s glowing aura acted as a force field, and the car bounced off.

Unfortunately, that car fell toward Annabeth.

Annabeth launched herself to the side to avoid it and accidentally rolled her bad ankle. Pain washed through her, making her lightheaded. She was only just able to flip onto her back in time to see a bright red Fiat 500 slam straight into Arachne’s silk trap, punching through the cavern floor and disappearing with the Chinese spider-cuffs.

As Arachne fell, she screamed like a freight train on collision course.

More chunks of debris slammed through the floor, riddling it with holes.

The Athena Parthenos remained undamaged, thankfully, but the marble under its pedestal was a starburst of fractures.

When everything settled and debris stopped falling, Annabeth was finally able to calm down and take stock. She was covered with cobwebs. She trailed the strands of leftover spider silk from her arms and legs like the strings of a marionette, but somehow none of the debris had hit her.

Annabeth wanted to believe that it had been the statue of her mother that had protected her, but bitterly, she suspected it may have been nothing but luck.

Around her, the army of spiders had disappeared.

Either they had fled back into the shadows, or they had fallen into the chasm along with Arachne, and there was no lost love from Annabeth for either option.

As natural light flooded the cavern, Arachne’s silk tapestries along the wall crumbled to dust. Annabeth could hardly bear to watch it, especially when the tapestry depicting Percy and her kissing underwater turned to nothing.

But none of it mattered the moment Annabeth heard her boyfriend calling from above.

“Annabeth!”

“Here!” She sobbed. It hurt to yell. “Over here!”

Her terror left her in one massive wave of relief. As the Argo II descended, she could see Percy leaning over the railing, waving to her. Black hair whipping in the wind, smile crooked, he appeared like a god sent from Elysium. His smile was better than any tapestry Annabeth had ever seen.

The room kept shaking, and with no lack of difficulty, Annabeth pulled herself to her feet. Her backpack was missing, along with Daedalus’ laptop.

Her celestial bronze knife, which she’d had since she was seven, was also gone.

Annabeth wanted to cry. It felt like she had lost a part of herself.

Above her, the Argo II came to a stop about forty feet from the floor. A rope ladder was lowered, but Annabeth ignored it as she stood in a daze, head still heavy.

Percy appeared at her side, lacing his fingers with hers.

He gently turned Annabeth away from the pit and wrapped his arms around her in a tight embrace. Annabeth buried her face in his chest and finally broke down in tears.

“It’s okay,” he said. “We’re together.”

Percy didn’t say “you’re okay” or “we’re alive.” After all the two had been through, he knew the most important thing was that they were together. Annabeth felt fit to bursting for the love she held for him, and she hugged him tighter.

Around them their friends gathered. Nico was there, but Annabeth’s head felt so fuzzy that it didn’t even surprise her. It only seemed right for him to be there.

“Your leg!” Piper exclaimed. She kneeled next to Annabeth and examined the Bubble Wrap cast, fretting over her friend’s injury. “Oh, Annabeth, what happened?”

Annabeth wanted to explain, but when she opened her mouth to speak, nothing came out. She felt so light-headed, and her tongue felt swollen. Her throat was parched. Percy seemed to know what she needed and called for a water bottle, which Leo grabbed from his utility bet and quickly handed over to her.

As she started, it became easier.

Percy didn’t let go of her hand either, which helped to motivate her.

When she finished, everyone was staring at her in disbelief.

“Gods of Olympus,” Jason said. “You did all that alone – and with a broken ankle!”

“Well, some of it with a broken ankle,” Annabeth said weakly.

Percy broke out in a grin. “But you made Arachne weave her own trap? I knew you were good, but by the gods – generations of Athena kids tried and failed, but you did it! You found the Athena Parthenos!”

Attention switched to the statue.

“So … what do we do with her?” Frank asked. “She’s huge.”

“We have to take her with us to Greece,” Annabeth said. “She’s powerful. Something about her will help us stop the giants’ rise.”

“The giants’ bane stands gold and pale, won with pain from a woven jail,” Hazel said, quoting the prophecy. Her expression gained a hint of admiration. “It was Arachne’s jail. You tricked her into weaving it.”

With a lot of pain, Annabeth thought humorlessly.

Leo raised his hands in a mock framing, trying to measure the Athena Parthenos. “Well, it might take some rearranging, but I think we can fit her through the bay doors in the stables. If she sticks out at the end, I might have to wrap a flag around her feet … or something.”

Annabeth shuddered at the image. She imagined the Athena Parthenos jutting out from the trireme with a sign across its pedestal that read “WIDE LOAD.”

Then she remembered the other lines the prophecy: “the twins snuff out the angel’s breath, who holds the key to endless death.”

“What … what about you guys?” Annabeth said. “What happened with the giants?”

Percy told her about rescuing Nico and the surprise appearance of Bacchus, along with the fight with the twin giants in the Colosseum.

Nico didn’t say much. He didn’t say anything at all. The poor guy looked like he had been wandering through a frozen wasteland for a week. Percy shared what Nico had learned about the Doors of Death, and that to properly close them, they had to be shut on both sides.

Overworld and Underworld.

Even with the sunlight from above, Percy’s news made the cavern seem dark again.

“So, the mortal side is in Epirus.” The gears in Annabeth’s head begun to turn. “I mean … at least that’s somewhere we can reach.”

Nico grimaced. “But it’s the other side that’s the problem – Tartarus.”

The word seemed to echo eerily through the chamber.

The pit behind the group of demigods exhaled a cold blast of air, causing Annabeth to shiver. The shadows got darker, the pit echoed, and an icy feeling crept up Annabeth’s spine. Annabeth knew with certainty that the chasm went straight to the Underworld.

Percy must have felt it too because he guided Annabeth away from the edge.

Slowly and carefully, the group migrated back to the Argo II.

Annabeth’s arms and legs trailed spider silk like a bridal train, and she wished that she had something to cut the silk off. She almost asked Percy to do the honours, but he leaned in and began talking. He frowned. “You know, Bacchus mentioned something about my voyage being harder than I expected. Not sure why he –”

Suddenly, the chamber groaned, making the Athena Parthenos tilt violently to the side. Its head caught on one of Arachne’s support cables, but the marble foundation beneath the pedestal was crumbling quickly.

For a horrible moment, Annabeth thought the statue was going to fall.

Her stomach dropped.

“Secure it!” She cried out.

Thankfully, her friends understood what she meant almost immediately.

“Zhang!” Leo called, already running. “Get me to the helm, quick! The coach is up there alone!”

Frank shifted into a giant eagle, pausing only for a moment to allow Leo to jump onto his back, and the two of them soared toward the Argo II.

“Don’t worry about running, I’ll be back for you guys in just a second. Just don’t reinjure Annabeth’s ankle,” Jason said to Percy and Annabeth. Then he turned and wrapped his arms around Piper, and he summoned the winds and shot into the air.

“There’s no time, this floor won’t last!” Hazel warned, but Jason didn’t hear her. She turned to the others. “The rest of us need to get to the ladder as quick as possible!”

The group started making their way to the Argo II less carefully, speed the only thing on their minds.

Plumes of dust and cobwebs blasted from the holes in the floor, causing the demigods to inhale the dust and choke. The spider’s silk support cables trembled like massive guitar strings and began to snap. The floor lurched and crumbled.

When they reached the ship, Annabeth watched anxiously as Hazel lunged for the bottom of the rope ladder, which was swaying wildly with the shaking of the cavern. Hazel gestured for her brother to follow. Nico was in no condition to pull himself up, still sickly pale and thin and limping. Hazel had to grab him from beneath the armpits to hoist him up.

Percy held onto Annabeth tighter, shifting on his feet worriedly.

“It’ll be fine,” he muttered. “It has to be fine – we’re so close.”

Annabeth wasn’t sure who he was trying to convince.

Above, grappling lines shot from the Argo II and wrapped around the Athena Parthenos. One lassoed Athena’s neck like a noose. Leo was shouting orders from the helm as Jason and Frank flew frantically from line to line, trying to secure them.

Nico had managed to climb a quarter the way up when a sudden sharp pain shot up Annabeth’s bad leg, causing her to cry out and stumble.

“What is it?” Percy asked.

Annabeth didn’t have an answer.

Everything was in a haze and her head felt heavy. Confused, she staggered toward the ladder again, only to find that she could not. Instead, she was moving backward. And then her legs were swept out from beneath her in one pull, and she fell on her hands and knees. There was a hollow sound as her head bounced off the ground, and Annabeth saw stars.

“Her ankle!” Hazel screamed from the ladder. “Guys, quickly! Cut it! Cut it!”

Annabeth didn’t understand. Cut her ankle?

Apparently, Percy didn’t understand what Hazel meant, either. He grabbed Annabeth’s hands and tried to pull her back to her feet, but it caused more pain and he stopped when Annabeth began to cry. Then, suddenly, an invisible force yanked Annabeth backward and dragged her toward the pit with the force of Heracles.

Percy yelled out in fear. He lunged for Annabeth, grabbing her arms, digging his heels into the ground. Unfortunately, the momentum still carried him along with her.

“Help them!” Hazel yelled.

Nico jumped down from the ladder, headless of his injured state, and began hobbling in the direction of the pit as Hazel tried to disentangle her cavalry sword from the rope. The others were still focused on the Athena Parthenos and Hazel’s cry was lost in the general chaos.

Annabeth’s stomach dropped when she was yanked back another few feet.

She was terrified.

Now that Annabeth realized what was happening, it was too late. She was tangled in Arachne’s spider silk. She had assumed it was all loose lines, but with the entire floor covered in cobwebs, she hadn’t noticed that one of the strands was wrapped around her foot – and the other end went straight into the pit. It was attached to something heavy down in the darkness. Something was pulling her in.

Percy continued to pull uselessly on her, until something popped in her right shoulder, making her scream in pain. Startled, Percy slipped and fell past Annabeth. A large chunk of marble was upended behind them, granting them momentary pause from falling.

Percy finally seemed to get his wits about him and pulled out Riptide.

Annabeth couldn’t see it from where she was scrabbling for purchase against the marble floor, but she heard the blade hiss as it cut through the air.

With a snap, a wave of relief crashed through Annabeth once the pressure was released on her ankle. She tried pulling herself up, but the ground trembled as the marble cracked further, and the chunk behind them dropped into the looming chasm. Percy, who was behind her, tumbled down the sudden incline and, in a panic, reached out for something to grab – which happened to be Annabeth’s good ankle.

Together, they slipped further from the pull of Percy’s weight.

Terrified, Annabeth screamed and kicked him away. “Let go of me!”

“Fuck!”

Percy disappeared over the edge.

She scrambled backward as Nico hobbled past her and leaned over the edge, eyes wet.

“Annabeth help!” Percy cried. Annabeth crawled back in fear as the floor cracked further. Nico either didn’t notice or didn’t care.

Percy was partway into the pit and dangling over the void. He had managed to catch a ledge almost fifteen feet below, but that wasn’t going to help him. He was holding on with one hand, struggling to get a drip with his other, which was bleeding profusely from a large gash across his palm. Several feet away from the hole sat Riptide, blood staining its blade.

No escape.

Annabeth jerked back.

She could have sworn a voice echoed from the pit, mocking her. Bile rose in her throat.

I go to Tartarus, and your loved one will come, too.

The pit shook violently, as if it were eagerly anticipating its next meal – its next victim.

Nico leaned over the edge of the chasm, hopelessly thrusting out his hand to help. But he was too far away. Nico knew it, Annabeth knew it – and Percy knew it, too.

“Percy,” Nico said, “grab my hand!”

Percy’s face was almost white with effort.

Hazel was still yelling for help from the others.

Even if they did hear her over the chaos, they would never make it in time.

Annabeth felt like her whole world was crashing down around her. She couldn’t comprehend that Percy was going to die. Even from a few feet away, she could feel the pull of the pit. She could see the darkness slowly rising, trying to claim Percy.

Percy gasped when the ledge shuddered and shifted. He looked up at Nico fifteen feet above, hand still extended. Percy’s face twisted as something final crossed his expression.

“The other side, Nico.”

Annabeth didn’t understand right away, but Nico did. He shook his head violently. “No, Percy –”

“The other side! I’ll see you there. Understand?”

Nico’s expression turned pained. “But –”

“Lead them there!” Percy said. “Promise me! Please!”

It suddenly struck Annabeth that Percy couldn’t see her. He had his eyes locked on Nico. Beside her, Nico looked lost. He stuttered. “I – I will.”

Below Percy, somewhere from the endless void, a voice laughed in the darkness.

Ice crawled up Annabeth’s spine.

A sacrifice. Such a beautiful sacrifice to wake the goddess.

It finally clicked in Annabeth’s mind.

A one-way trip.

A very hard fall.

And Percy looked scared.

Annabeth couldn’t bring herself to watch anymore.

She looked away, and Percy was gone.

*

[powerwordsleep]

Sasuke Retsuden (Unofficial English Translation)

Here’s the next installment! Enjoy~

DISCLAIMER: This is not an official translation and was not made for profit or distribution. This translation was fan-made and done for purely enjoyment and translation practice purposes. I do not own the rights to NARUTO or any of the related materials.

Translation note: There was a section in here (Shikamaru’s letter) that was very difficult for me to translate. It’s supposed to be an excerpt from ancient texts, so the Japanese was written in a older style. I tried my best to get the meaning, but it was confusing for me as well. I believe that is intentional and that it’s supposed to be cryptic. Thanks for your understanding! 

Prologue | Chapter 1 

Chapter 2

The next day, Sasuke was punished for the first time.

The reason was that he hadn’t bothered to “make proper eye contact” during roll call. The guards took much joy in smashing their batons on his hips, his chest, and his back in turn. Of course, the strength of their punches were that of civilians, so to Sasuke it was nothing. Still, it hurt, and that made Sasuke angry. Unconsciously he let a “tch,” slip out, and the guards took that as him being disrespectful. The situation quickly devolved into a mess, and they slapped him across the face in their excess. 

“What’s with those guys? Just yesterday they were scared shitless of you, and now all of sudden they act like they’re tough guys?” Jiji complained loudly during their work shift, not noticing the guards present behind him. He was hit in the stomach with their batons as a result. 

Immediately after, Sasuke was beaten three times the amount of Jiji, for “not censoring Jiji’s words,” which made no sense. 

Clearly, they were operating under the Director’s orders: go for Sasuke. 

He hadn’t been chained up or thrown into solitary confinement, so he doesn’t think his being a shinobi from Konoha had been revealed. He shouldn’t be mixing so leisurely with the other prisoners, lest they interfere with this plan. 

There were rarely shinobis within the prisoner population here, therefore he had tried to interfere with the all-important Menō. He was in good condition and felt that he should give Menō a taste of his Sharingan—that was probably the Director’s perception of Sasuke.

By the end of the day, Sasuke had been beaten by all eight of the patrols a number of times. He was late to his work shift, no matter how many times they called on him he didn’t reply, he was giving them dirty looks—any number of excuses. No matter how much he was hit, it didn’t do much damage to Sasuke, but it added up over time and pissed him off. When the day ended and the guards came around for their pre-bedtime patrol, they used the excuse of “your hair is too long,” like he was a student breaking school rules to beat him, and Sasuke thought it was about time to pay them back tenfold. If this infiltration wasn’t for Naruto, he would’ve broken one or two ribs already. 

“Man, Sasuke, today was a disaster.” 

“I wonder why the guards started targeting Sasuke suddenly.” 

Both Penzira and Ganno felt bad for Sasuke. In the past it’s been common for the guards to pick on prisoners, though usually their targets were the timid and weak ones, the type who wouldn’t retaliate even when struck. Sasuke was the exact opposite of that. 

"I don't care about this much," he said. Though he looked indifferent, his tone was overtly frustrated. "I'm just being stupid." His words came out in a rush. 

“Did you do something to make the Director hold a grudge against you?”

“He just hates your existence, huh? Doesn’t like people who are smarter than him.” 

“Ah, yeah, he’s the type to think too much of himself.” 

It was time for lights out. No one ever knew when exactly the lights would go out, and they would not be turned back on for anything until the morning. Even when the man in the cell three doors over had a heart attack, they did not turn the lights on. Jiji and the others groped around blindly for their futons and slipped inside them. After a few minutes the sound of their breathing evened out as they fell into slumber. They were exhausted from the day’s work and had grown used to their daily schedule here in prison. Sasuke confirmed that they were all were asleep, then he pulled out one of the iron bars from the door and left the cell. 

*************

Sasuke wore a strip of red cloth around his wrist as he walked the cells. It served as proof that he had permission to be out at this time of night. The guards provide one when a prisoner has to work after hours or when they have to go to the nurse’s office during their free time. If Sasuke was wearing this, he wouldn’t be considered as violating the rules and wouldn’t be attacked by Menō. In the daytime, it was a boon from the guards who swung around their batons. 

As he disappeared down the freezing hallway, sobbing could be heard. It came from where a steel cleaning tool was placed against the wall. Sasuke could guess what was going on inside there, and yet he couldn’t just pass by. When he opened the door there was a thin man with curly hair, his limbs tied up with hempen rope, crammed inside. 

The man stiffened and gasped when he saw Sasuke. The wrist tied up in front of his chest was dripping wet with saliva and had indents the shape of teeth on it. If he raised his voice, Menō would find him in the next instant, so he’d probably been biting his hand in an effort to stifle his cries. 

“What are you doing here?” 

“U-uh… on my way back from the bathroom I was caught by some of the old timers and... they locked me up in here…”

Bullying. 

Sasuke cut the rope tied around the man’s wrist. If you kept such bloodthirsty guys locked up for days in an environment like this, they'd eventually go looking for someone to take out their stress on. Their typical targets were the weak guys. The ones without any friends to come help them. Or the ones who looked weak and like they were about to bite the dust. 

“Do you have a red cloth?” 

“No… it was taken…” Sasuke clicked his tongue and took off his cloth, thrusting it at the man. If this guy were to go out into the halls without the cloth, he would eventually be caught by Menō and eaten alive. 

He felt true sympathy for the man as he watched his back disappear, running down the hallway. For Sasuke, this was merely a place he temporarily infiltrated. But for the man, this was his graveyard. At the rate construction was going, there was no telling when the telescope would be completed. He did not like seeing those who were weak and had a high probability of dying before construction finished. 

Pat.

Behind him came the sound of hard nails hitting the floor.

A rush of air touched the back of his neck as claws raked down Sasuke’s spine, cutting him in two—but the illusion faded. Menō snorted and noticed Sasuke perched on the ceiling, and his long tail flew up at him.

Crash!

The tip of his tail shattered the ceiling. Sasuke landed on the ground, pieces of wood falling around him, and from a close distance he inspected Menō’s stomach. As expected there was no wound. He was certain he had cut him clean in the middle of his belly the night before. 

“A miraculous recovery. Or were you replaced by another lizard?” 

Menō gave no response and his nails lashed out at Sasuke. They cut through mere air as Sasuke had already dove beneath his body, and the momentum caused the lizard to fall forward. Sasuke kicked at his hard, scale-covered jaw and delivered two more kicks to his stomach. 

As he wound up for a third strike, the tail came flying at him from the side. Sasuke stopped the attack with his right hand and pulled, causing Menō to lose balance and fall onto his back. Grasping his neck, Sasuke tried his Sharingan on Menō again. The result was the same—the genjutsu did not take. 

Menō’s eyes narrowed, probably feeling humiliated to be looked down on like this. He twisted his body and stretched his neck out, trying to bite Sasuke’s head off his body. Sasuke flinched and dodged to the side, and the claws on Menō’s right foot scratched his cheek. The skin was torn through, and the drops of blood that slipped out melted when they made contact with the air. 

Sasuke unsheathed his hidden sword, awaiting Menō’s next attack. Unexpectedly, however, Menō jumped away and fled. 

What’s he planning?

He was deliberating on what kind of attack he could do from this mid-range distance, when all at once he was overwhelmed. His body staggered, and for a brief moment, his attention left Menō. By the time he realized this and came to, Menō had already appeared in front of him, fangs bared. Four claws flew at him from the side, grabbing at his hair. Sasuke threw himself to the side, managing to dodge the attack, but he was dizzy as he landed. 

His body staggered a few steps, his vision shaking, and he desperately tried to focus. Menō jumped and attacked Sasuke, smashing his hand against the wall. 

Ba-dum.

His heart slammed against his chest and his legs gave out on him. His chest burned. 

The sharp claws of Menō shone bright through his white, cloudy haze of vision. Sasuke pulled out his sword with his other hand and sliced it in front of him. The floorboards collapsed and wooden debris fell down below. Menō immediately jumped down into the hole to follow after Sasuke. He landed one floor below and looked around, searching for him. 

However, there were no traces of Sasuke to be found. 

*************

Sasuke was breathing rapidly. He was practically leaning against the wall, slinking down the dark hallway. Although he had managed to lose Menō, the numbness in his body had spread. Menō’s claws scratching his cheek came to mind. That was probably when he had been poisoned, but he had never heard of any lizards being poisonous. Zansur had likely laced his claws with poison. 

His body began to convulse in small fits. A tremendous chill crawled up Sasuke’s back like a tsunami, his vision going white. His skin was burning hot. Yet his back was cold, so cold, and he couldn’t stop shaking. 

Sasuke gathered chakra into the palm of his hand and used a jutsu to create water, bringing it to his mouth to drink. However, before he could create an amount thicker than a sheet of paper, his fingers began to quiver, and soon he couldn’t summon his chakra at all. The water spilled out of his hands and down his chest. 

His vision wavered. His ears rang painfully as if fireworks were going off inside his head. He was in a terrible state. He had enough tolerance built up to common poisons that even lethal amounts did not work on him. Was this a powerful enough substance that it could affect Sasuke, or some kind of rare poison exclusive to this region? 

His breathing grew shallow and it felt as if his throat was closing up. Sasuke breathed out harshly, dragging his body along the wall, ignoring its condition. His chest was now making a terrible noise and his breath was obstructed. It seemed that he was hyperventilating and having a heart attack at the same time. He sipped at the remaining drops of water in his palm but it brought him no reprieve. 

In the same moment he leaned against the wall and thought he would just wait for the symptoms to subside, he heard something. Sasuke froze as the sound of footsteps could be made out between the incessant ringing in his ears. 

This is bad… someone’s coming.

If a hostile enemy crossed his path while he was in this condition, he would be done for. The footsteps were growing closer. Sasuke’s vision flickered and wavered, and he desperately tried to focus. His body was no longer cooperating. He had no choice but to use genjutsu on whoever came. He held his breath and waited for the approaching footsteps. 

The footsteps hitting against the cobblestone hallway suddenly disappeared, and in the next moment, Sasuke felt someone appear behind him. His mind reacted, but his body did not. A hand reached out from behind and covered his eyes, hiding his Sharingan. 

Softly. 

Sasuke sucked in a breath. He recognized the feel of this hand. 

No, you idiot, there’s no way she’s here. 

Sasuke tried to turn around and look, but his body was weak. He fell back and was accepted into the warm embrace behind him. 

“Relax, Sasuke.”

It was Sakura’s voice. 

*************

Sasuke breathed lightly, lying on a bed in the nurse’s office. The ringing and terrible pounding in his ears seemed to have calmed down. He timidly tested out his body’s strength and was able to move his arms and legs normally. 

“How are you feeling?” The curtain surrounding the bed on all four sides opened, and the face of his wife popped in. 

“Hm.. relatively okay.” Moving slowly, Sasuke rose off the bed. It felt like he still needed to not move around too much and to do so slowly, but he would recover before long. 

The more pressing issue at hand is how this happened to Sasuke in the first place. 

“Based on your symptoms, this was probably a type of poison that acts on action potential. It inhibits your chakra pathways and causes depolarization in your networks, leading to overexcitement of the nervous system. I wonder if this is a substance native to this land that your body isn’t resistant to.” 

Sakura rolled up the sleeve on his right arm. She wiped down the crook of his elbow with an alcoholic swap, said, “This will sting,” as if to a child and pierced his skin with a needle. 

“...Sakura,” watching his own blood fill up the syringe, Sasuke suddenly asked, “Why are you here? What of Sarada?” 

“Iruka-sensei is looking after her. I came to inform you of a change in your mission.” 

“A change in my mission?”

Currently, Naruto and the Nine Tails were suffering from an illness of unknown cause. According to the Nine Tails, the Rokudō Sennin once had the same illness. He apparently recovered from it while in Redaku. How he recovered and what methods were used was unclear. To that end, first Kakashi had infiltrated the capital of Redaku in order to find clues. 

However, it took several days to reach the outskirts of Redaku. Without contact from Kakashi, Naruto’s condition had worsened by the minute. Most of the relevant literature in Konoha was written in ancient languages, and even with a team of specialists assembled, deciphering the contents was slow going. Apparently the Rokudō Sennin had a long stay at the “Astronomy Research Institute” with someone called “Jean Tartar” but they had not yet been able to glean more information than that. 

If things continued at this rate, it would become too late to save Naruto. Without needing to hear anything else, Sasuke had dropped everything and headed to the Tartar Astronomy Research Institute alone. He wanted to find additional clues related to the Rokudō Sennin’s illness. And then soon after Sasuke departed, Sakura had followed him and also headed from the research institute. 

“On my way here I got a hawk from Shikamaru. In the literature that Kakashi-sensei found in the capital, there was a description of the Rokudō Sennin’s illness. Here’s a copy of the relevant passages.” On the folded paper were the familiar characters of Shikamaru’s handwriting. 

The Rokudō Sennin, after contracting a strange illness and traveling around the country of Redaku, met an astronomer named Tartar. Though he underwent heavy treatment with Tartar, he did not get sick. That night, Tartar found a meteorite fall to the ground in the heavens. The Rokudō Sennin caught the meteorite in his right hand and split it in two. The sparkle of the meteorite spilled onto the Rokudō Sennin. Suddenly, the Rokudō Sennin had a long-standing illness. 

The meteorite that fell from the heavens has the power to open chakra endlessly. Tartar named the substance “Polar Particles” and it is the source of his power. In addition, because there was conflict between people over his power, he hid half of the polar particles in “the sky descending to the ground” and the other half in “the start that travels without leaving”. In this world, the polar particles sleep lined and protected by the stars. 

If the Rokudō Sennin is sick, and there is someone who wants his power, it will come to his land. A person who doesn’t know the whereabouts can use an astronomical illustration of the land of Redaku. 

“If there’s someone with the same illness as the Rokudō Sennin, huh…” Sasuke whispered as he reread the last three lines. 

The key to curing the illness were these “polar particles”. According to this literature, the  Rokudō Sennin split the polar particles in two and hid half in “the sky descending to the ground” and the other half in “the star that travels without leaving”. 

“The consensus between me and Shikamaru is that Naruto’s illness is a kind of chakra dysfunction caused by having a Jūbi in his body. And if this substance from the meteorite, what Tartar calls “polar particles,” has the power to cure the illness…”

“We have to get it.” Sasuke said quietly and Sakura nodded in response.

“So, the new mission is to search for this astronomical illustration and obtain the polar particles. First, we need to figure out what it is we’re searching for. A book, a picture, or perhaps something else entirely.”

“I accept this change in mission. But that’s not the reason you’re here.”

Sakura’s eyebrows wrinkled in dissatisfaction. “...Because I’m a shinobi. When necessary I leave the village.” 

“It’s not worth the risk. Sending a message via hawk would’ve been fine.” 

“I did, but the message wasn’t delivered. The hawk came back with the letter.”

“What?” This time it was Sasuke’s turn to frown. Such a thing might occur if it was a species of wild bird from somewhere random, but it was rare for this to happen to a hawk trained in the village from the time it was a chick. 

“I’m not sure of the cause, but… I didn’t know how much time was left, so I decided to infiltrate this place as a doctor because I wanted to tell you this directly. And I can support you if I’m here.”

“That’s not necessary. Go back immediately. This place is dangerous.”

“Dangerous?” Sakura’s face grew serious. “Are you doubting me?”

“I don’t doubt your abilities. But I’m telling you that just having me here is enough. And… there’s something going on at this research institute. Dōjutsu is ineffective on both the Director and Menō.”

“Even more reason for me to be here. If you can’t solve a mission with your power alone, then you need a partner, don’t you?”

She had a point. When it came to battle prowess, there was no one stronger than Sasuke, other than the 7th Hokage himself, but this infiltration mission was closer to intelligence gathering. When you wanted to get information from someone who was resistant to dōjutsu, or when you wanted to get things done without hurting anyone or drawing attention—having friends was a great advantage in situations where you can’t get anything done by yourself. 

“Also… the state of things here is terrible. People are collapsing from malnutrition and overexertion and no one thinks it’s a problem. I proposed an improvement plan to Direction Zansur, but no one listened to me. “No matter how many people die, you can quickly resuscitate them,” he said… the Director and the guards, they think of everyone like a workforce that can be replaced.” 

“I said not to do anything dangerous. What will you do if you draw unwanted attention from the Director?”

“I’m a doctor. I’m obliged to look after the health of everyone here.” When it came to work, Sakura was resolute. It was Sasuke who gave in, letting out a sigh of resignation. 

“...Okay. Do as you please. But don’t overdo it.” 

“Of course.” Sakura smiled then looked back at her desk. “Alright then, for now I will send your blood sample to Konoha. And then, just in case, I’ll send a status update to Kakashi-sensei.”

“Aren’t hawks unable to contact people?”

“Look.” Sakura whistled, and then a small hawk flew into the center of the room. A red cloth, much like the ones prisoners wore when out after curfew, was tied around its neck. “I think the reason the hawks were returning to Konoha was because Menō was driving them away. It’s a strict rule to keep outsiders away. But with this cloth, they might not be considered intruders.” 

Sasuke nodded in understanding. At that moment, someone knocked on the door. Consultation hours were already over. The two of them looked at each other, wondering what someone could want at this hour. 

“Doc, you still awake?” came Jiji’s voice. His tone was softer than usual. Sakura nudged Sasuke’s shoulder to direct him back to the bed. The curtain closed around him, and he heard the sound of Jiji approaching. 

“Hey, doc, are you here?” Realizing that his legs were visible from beneath the curtain, Sasuke raised them on top of the bed. At the same moment, Jiji’s silhouette appeared on the curtain. 

“...Ah, hey, you’re here.” 

“Jiji. What’s wrong? At this time of night.” Sakura pretended to be calm and listened. 

“Look at this. I hurt myself yesterday during work. It hurt so much that I couldn’t sleep, so I got permission from the guards to come here.” 

“Sit here. What is your prisoner number?”

“544.”

The sound of a pen scratching against paper, likely Sakura writing up a medical report for Jiji. A medical examination would probably take a while, so Sasuke made himself comfortable on the bed and prepared to wait until Jiji left. 

“Doc, do you smoke? That’s the number one painkiller, you know.”

“That is not true. What kind of doctor’s office do you think this is?”

“If you gave me a smoke, I’d be able to do anything. You really don’t have any? It’s totally okay if you do smoke.” 

“I’m going to disinfect you then prick you with a syringe.” Sakura grabbed Jiji’s arm and rolled up his sleeve past his elbow. Sasuke could not see them, but was able to make things out based on the shadows on the curtain. Listening to Jiji’s word and seeing the way he was acting, it was obvious that “he was hurting so much he couldn’t sleep” was just an excuse. In reality, Jiji came here with ulterior motives. 

From the other side of the curtain, Jiji continued on about wanting painkillers and feeling feverish, while Sakura danced around this in stride and continued on with the medical treatment. 

“Hey, you’re not like other people here.”

“What makes you say so?”

“Your name, and your hair color. This is the first time I’ve seen pink hair. It’s pretty.” Sasuke watched as Jiji’s hand reached out for Sakura’s hair, and unable to hold himself back, seized his wrist from behind and stopped him. Sakura made a face of resignation. 

“...Huh?” Seeing his roommate suddenly appear, Jiji’s eyes widened in surprise. “Sasuke, you’re here? What’re you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same. Why did you come here?”

“I came to get treatment for my injury. When I got hit it hurt. The bleeding stopped, but it still tingles.” 

He’s lying. 

“If the wound festers it’ll be painful, so drink this.” Sakura handed a small cup filled with green liquid to Jiji. 

“What’s this?”

“A medicinal herb soup. It has good antibacterial properties.” 

“Ugh, it smells horrible. If you want me to drink something that kills bacteria, alcohol is fine…”

“This is in answer to your earlier question, Jiji, but this doctor here is my wife.” 

Jiji had just brought the cup up to his mouth to drink and started to cough it up. While wiping up the spilled soup, his eyes flicked back and forth between Sasuke and Sakura’s faces. “Really? You said wife, so that means you’re married to this doctor? Really? What? You—Sasuke, you’re married?”

“I never said I was single.”

“Yeah, but a guy like you? Probably single.”

What kind of prejudice is this…

“Eh, but why is your wife working as a doctor in this place?”

“I came to see Sasuke-kun.” Sakura lied. “Unlike a prison, there is no visitation system in place here. But I wanted to see Sasuke-kun no matter what, so I got hired as a doctor.”

“Huh, is that so.”

“Don’t be so surprised.” Sasuke turned his gaze to Jiji, who looked convinced. 

“Why would I be surprised?” Jiji looked at Sasuke mysteriously. “It’s normal behavior. Married couples are always together.”

*************

“Jiji. Keep the fact that Sakura is my wife secret from the other prisoners.” 

Departing from the doctor’s office, the two of them walked down a long corridor. Sasuke seized Jiji’s wrist in his. Wrapped around his wrist was a red cloth he had received from Sakura. 

“I know. If people find out that she’s your family, she won’t be able to stay here… still, I can’t believe you’re actually married. You should say that kind of thing sooner.”

“You didn’t ask.”

“The subject was brought up, surely.” He interacted with his cellmates on a daily basis, so the subject was brought up more than once. Of course lovers and marriage was the topic of conversation a few times, but since he was undercover on an infiltration mission, he had always excused himself from the conversation. 

“Jiji. You’re engaged to someone, aren’t you?”

At Sasuke’s words Jiji smirked in delight. “Yeah. Right now they’re working in Redaku’s capital. When that’s finished, we’re going to get married.” 

Sasuke’s gaze fell to his feet. The carpet was dyed white from the bright moonlight shining through from the windows. 

Married couples are always together.

Jiji’s words rang through his head. For Sasuke, someone who was often away from the village on long term missions, they were not words that came easily. 

“Jiji. Do you think that married couples should be together?”

“Yeah, that’s right.” An immediate answer. “The doc, she came all the way here, to such a godforsaken place, because she wanted to be with you, right?”

“No… I don’t know. It’s because I’m usually away from home.” 

“How long are you away from home for?” 

“For long periods. There are times when I don’t return home for many years.”

“Really?!” Jiji’s voice was raised in shock. “Many years, at that point you can’t complain if your partner up and leaves, huh?”

“...Why would that happen?”

“Why wouldn’t it?”

Sasuke turned to level Jiji with a serious look, but his cellmate met his gaze with an equally serious one, not backing down. 

“It wasn’t a one-sided decision. Sakura is needed within our hometown, and I was requested to work outside the country, so there was nothing that could be done. That’s it. We exchange letters.” 

“Yeah, but, even with that… don’t you think that when you’re gone, there are bad guys like me who will do unsavory things? In your country, do you wear rings?” Jiji continued staring at Sasuke, a worried look on his face. “Married couples should always be together.”

Sasuke really didn’t understand what Jiji was saying. 

Sakura was family. No matter where they were, that wouldn’t change, he thought. He’d never heard anyone say that if you separated over a certain number of kilometers, you were no longer family. Even when he’d held a deep hatred for Itachi, he was still his older brother. To Sasuke, Sakura is family and his life partner. Even if they don’t share blood, even if they couldn’t see each other every day, that would never change. 

That’s how Sasuke felt, but it was troublesome to translate that into language and explain it to Jiji, and it wasn’t in his nature to do so anyway. Instead he said, “I see,” and changed the subject.

“Have you heard anything about an ‘astronomical illustration’?”

“Astronomical illustration?” Jiji repeated and leaned over. “I don’t know. Based on the name it sounds like an astronomy resource of some kind? You should try asking Penzira.” 

“Why should I ask him?” 

Jiji blinked in surprise. “Um, because it’s Penzira. He’s in charge of the archives.” 

[anthropwashere]

deadfic: our indestructible days ch 1

More deadfic for the Good Intentions WIP Fest, though since the event’s over I’ll spare the poor mod yet more of my horseshit. 

This was, in fact, the first fic I really tackled post 2017 BH watch! And boy does it show. I’m doing y’all a favor by editing it to hell and back before posting any of it, honest. Due to that however, I don’t know how many chapters there will be. At least 4, since that’s as far as I’ve gotten in the editing process. We shall see!

All you need to know for this one is: What if Kimblee didn’t stop Pride from possessing Ed on the Promised Day? :)

Title comes from Puscifer’s “Dear Brother.”

=

The air burns against his flaking skin, molten stone growing dark yet still radiating a dangerous heat. Everyone else has gone after Father, the rattle and scrape of transmuted stone fading. It's just the two of them now, the alchemist and the homunculus, and Pride has the upper hand.

“This container won’t last much longer,” he says matter-of-factly, leaping down to stand before the boy. In the dusty sunlight filtering in from above Edward Elric’s eyes shine, catlike and calculating. His breathing is ragged, spit between clenched teeth. He’s pinned by cords of unyielding shadow. If he struggles much harder, Pride might break something.

That thought demands brief consideration. It would be satisfying to take Edward apart bone by brittle bone, to take his pound of flesh for the damage incurred to his Philosopher’s Stone. The left arm would sever easily, if he but sharpened his shadows. Tempting, yes, but ultimately pointless.

“But still,” he continues thoughtfully, a new plan already fallen into place. “Like my father is, you are of Hohenheim's bloodline. We’re virtually brothers. Which means, Edward Elric, I can use your container. Your body belongs to me!”

It is an easy thing to invade the bloodstream, entering through a thin cut on the boy’s cheek. Pride fills every vein and artery with shadows until Edward’s heart is smothered, his blood sludge. He ignores the screams, the uptick in thrashing. This is tricky work, something only achieved twice before, and he hadn't seen either success firsthand. His Stone is too big for such a little cut. He spares a tendril of himself to stab the boy's chest, wrenching open a wound big enough to deposit his core directly against the thrashing heart within. Connective tissue regrows at a breakneck pace, sewing him irrevocably into a body a thousand times more complex than his original container.

With that taken care of Pride lashes out with a snap of white teeth, unfettering the strangled soul. The body still writhes, pain a thing of the flesh rather than the spirit, but there is less resistance after that. If it's lucky, the boy's soul will be absorbed into his Stone, its energy and knowledge assimilated, made useful. Then again it could simply burn up in the transference, an ember caught in a cold wind.

Either way, that which was called Edward Elric will no longer be a concern.

What a big fuss Wrath made of it, with his story of the man who became a homunculus who became King. A little pain suffered is nothing, when the alternative is death.

Edward’s screaming makes this all the sweeter.

Without its contents, his old container collapses to so much dust and an empty pile of clothing, and— 

—ah. 

There are memories, kept just beneath the surface of Edward’s dying panic. The mind is easy to parse when the soul is absent. Old night terrors, old horrors. Loneliness. What a childish thing to fear.

A heartbeat. 

Another. 

Waiting— dreading— the body’s rejection of him. 

But it never comes. Barely a shudder of resistance, the only lash of alchemical reaction his Stone instinctively healing injuries the boy had incurred.

The silence after that's finished is a breathless, giddy surprise.

Pride tests his new container carefully, casting an unhappy glance at the automail arm he’s now saddled with. It’s an unpleasant weight, cold and heavy; the leg much the same. It'll take time he doesn't have to adjust to them. How pathetic, that humans must rely on machinery to recover from serious injury. Once he’s regained some of his strength he’ll have to do something about them.

Something shifts within him, a sensation not unlike vertigo stealing his breath. Pride hesitates, wobbling on unfamiliar limbs, but the feeling passes. He smiles. A strong bloodline indeed.

“Fight all you wish,” he says aloud. “I've won.”

Even his voice has changed. His true voice is marred, pitched deeper. Weighed down. He is weighed down by this new container. It's strange. This is all very strange. But he must adjust quickly, for the battle isn’t won yet.

He shakes unfamiliar blond hair from his new container’s eyes, looking up through the hole punched through the many underground floors beneath Central Command. Four thin stone pillars ascend through it, stretching all the way up to the parade grounds. Such a distance. Even the sacrifices shouldn't have been capable of stretching so much material so high without it collapsing. What did they do? What was that array they activated that allowed them to perform alchemy again?

The fight has shifted. He must return to the fray, now that he’s been renewed. Father would—

Father expects him to—

No. 

Not yet. He’s not strong enough to rejoin that fight, yet. His Stone was damaged even more than they’d anticipated when he forced Mustang through the Gate. 

Pride sniffs, tasting the air. There are humans nearby; more souls to consume. He licks his lips and sends his grinning shadows upward.

He is hungry.

=

Major General Armstrong kneels beside the body of Führer King Bradley, hating that she's been sideline for what is surely the most decisive battle Amestris has ever seen. Her men are up there, where that pale creature had ascended only minutes ago atop a pillar of molten stone. Bullets and mortars were near useless against the lesser homunculi; what could their Father be capable of?

Her pulse is still racing, a sour taste settled in her mouth. She knows acutely what it feels like to die, and the experience has left her feeling hollowed out in a way she's unsure of how to voice. She remembers a maelstrom of suffering, countless voices begging for release. It's not something she'd wish on a Drachman, let alone endure again. If not for the Elric brothers' father she'd still be trapped in that hell. They all would be.

Is it fear that still makes her heart pound, or cowardice?

Her lip curls. Fear is justified. Fear is the intelligent reaction. To fear something means you're paying attention. Cowardice, however....

She shakes her head. Four of the human sacrifices—Izumi Curtis, Alphonse Elric, Van Hohenheim, and Mustang—had been afraid, and yet still determined to stop that monster. Even blinded Mustang hadn't hesitated to fight on, utilizing the famed Hawk's Eye to direct his flame attacks. It's both begrudging and gratifying, to realize the man has a stronger spine than she'd thought. 

The fifth, Fullmetal, is still below fighting Pride. There'd been sounds of combat, and then screaming, but it's gone quiet now. The distance and echo distorting the sounds had made it impossible to determine who had been doing the screaming. The lot of them on this level have been keeping a wary eye on the hole in the floor since then. They don't know what that particular homunculus is capable of and the only alchemist left here is the serial killer Scar, and he's in no shape to assist. The idiot boy had better not die while the battle's still on.

She eases to her feet, hissing pain despite her best efforts, and cats her sight on the blue sky above. A single blast of power had punched a hole in this underground labyrinth clear through to the surface. How can they defend against something like that?

Bah. Defeatist's talk. The alchemists will do all they can to do just that, and her men will support them. They're Briggs men. They'll do whatever it—

"What the hell?!"

"What is that?!"

She turns sharply toward where the few soldiers who'd insisted on staying behind as a protection detail are gathered. They've all drawn their weapons, aiming at the hole in the floor. Ribbons of—shadows—stretch up from below, splitting open to reveal red eyes and white jaws.

Damn! And here she'd thought Fullmetal had been left behind to fight the homunculus alone for good reason! Was the boy really so useless as to die now?

"PREPARE YOURSELVES!" She bellows, striding toward the lashing shadows. A glance is all she needs to know it would be futile to try and keep distance in a room as small as this. Better to be with her men. She may have lost the use of her sword arm but this is a fight she will not—cannot—leave for her men to fight alone. "Fire at Selim Bradley the moment he shows himself!"

The red eyes narrow. The white jaws grin. Grating laughter echoes off of the stone walls. "That container has been discarded, Major General," the mouths all say in the same mocking voice. "But are you really going to risk injuring this body?"

From out of the depths a figure rises, lifted up on tendrils of shadow to step lightly onto the rubble-strewn floor. Her men curse, guns dipping. Somewhere behind her Mr. Curtis and the frog chimera inhale sharply. She can't blame any of them.

The grinning boy with living shadows curling at his boots is Fullmetal.

"Edward," Izumi's husband says, hushed. The boy pays him no mind, eyes flat and cold as coins.

"It was wise of you to stay behind," Fullmetal—no, Pride—says, still smiling. The shadows stretch and curl, painting the room in streaks of black. "Your contributions to the war effort are greatly appreciated."

Too late, she understands what he means to do. "No! Don't you dare—!"

The shadows strike, and her men begin to scream.

=

"Edward Elric."

His name whispered out of the murk. A voice calling him awake. He can't pinpoint where it's coming from. Everything else is so loud. There are so many people nearby, all of them screaming, all of them begging to die. Everything is so red.

"Fullmetal."

He tries to put a name to the voice. He knows it. Doesn't he know it?

Fraying. He's being... stretched. Pulled apart. Losing his sense of self.

He's losing himself.

"Surely you're not going to roll over as easily as that, are you?"

He... he knows this voice.

A pinpoint of white, searing amongst all this writhing red. The shape of a man comes into focus. White clothes, long dark hair, the wide eyes of a madman, tattoos on his outstretched palms.

"K...Kim...blee...?"

The man smiles. "Ah, so you are still in there. Good, very good."

"Where... what is... this...?"

"We've both become a part of Pride's Philosopher's Stone now. Two souls clinging to our individuality amidst a howling mob of anguish." Kimblee rocks back on his heels, throwing out his hands. His face is a picture of bliss. "Isn't it exquisite?"

He looks away, out at the writhing, the screaming. Nothing but gaping mouths and dark eye sockets everywhere he looks, the barest suggestions of human shapes. Souls. How many died to make this Stone? "It's—loud. No. No, this. This isn't. This isn't what I...."

It's getting so hard to think.

Kimblee looks almost disappointed now. "Tell me, Edward Elric. Are you truly so weak as this? Unraveling at the first glimpse of something beyond your control?"

He looks down at himself. Two arms, two legs. No automail pulling insistently at his bones. Of course not. He's only a soul, nearly as red as the others twisting all around him. He's inside a Philosopher's Stone, which makes him only one more lost soul. Wisps of red peel from his limbs, chafed and scraped away by the chaos pushing and pulling at him from all sides. He's falling apart. Losing himself. Soon he'll be nothing but babbling energy, regenerative power for the homunculus he's become a part of. For... for....

"Pride."

Kimblee raises one curious eyebrow. "That's right."

"Where—Where is he?"

"A bit preoccupied eating to overhear this conversation, if that's your concern."

He—Edward, he's Ed, gotta stay focused, he can't slip again, his name is Edward—strains, struggling to remember what happened. How he came to be like this. He was.... There had been.... Pride. Selim had been badly—injured? damaged?—after forcing the Colonel through the Gate. His container was failing. He'd pinned Ed down—pain, it had hurt—and declared that Ed would be... that Ed's body would be....

Ed's just a soul now. He doesn't have a body, no skin to prickle and no breath to catch, but a chill runs through him all the same. "He. He took my body. He made me his new container. Didn't he?"

"That's right."

No matter where Ed looks it's all souls, no glimpse of what's going on outside this Stone. Ling—and Greed, for that matter—have always had a good idea of what was going on when the other one had been in control of Ling's body. How did they—

Hold on.

Ed looks back at Kimblee, who just smiles pleasantly back. Eating. Pride can't hear them right now because he's eating. The hell does that mean?

"I can't see," Ed snaps, shoving at a soul that's drifted uncomfortably close. His hand is paler, more defined than it was before. He's got a good grip on himself again. He really should've paid more attention when Ling talked about the meditation shit he did while Greed was refusing to share. "Ugh. Where is he? What's he doing, Kimblee?"

Kimblee chuckles and waves his hand. The tempest of screaming parts like a theater curtain; bright light spills in that leaves Ed blinking and shading his eyes. He goes to it anyway. He has to know what Kimblee meant—

His sight adjusts, and he's looking at a bloodbath.

There's red sprayed across the near wall, splashed along the floor, drips and splatters and scraps of tattered uniforms everywhere he looks. A single soldier is in view, firing wildly right at Ed only to have the bullets deflected by a shadow pitted with familiar eyes and bloodstained fangs. The gun in the soldier's hands clicks, the clip emptied, and the shadow cuts him down. Ed can hear the brutal crunch of bone, the muted spurt of spilled blood, the ragged tearing of meat. He hears someone laughing. His voice. His stolen voice multiplied weirdly through the shadow mouths as Selim's had been. 

Ed hollers, twisting away, but Kimblee's white hands hold him fast. The man's voice roars out, ragged with terrible glee. "Don't avert your eyes! Don't look away! That's your body out there, cutting those men down. Take credit for the destruction your hands have wrought!"

"NO! NO! That's not—it's not me—get the fuck off—I don't want this!"

"Then what are you going to do about it?!"

"—no, no, I don't—I—w-what?"

Once Ed's stopped struggling Kimblee all but drops him, still grinning from ear to ear. "I thought about interfering, when Pride first tried to take your body for himself."

"What?"

"I'm perfectly content in here, but he decided to throw away his honor as a homunculus. So proud to be what he is, that very quality he was named for, but the moment he found himself in grave danger he sought to escape into the body of a human." Kimblee snarls. "He's pathetic. A disgrace."

Ed watches his body's left hand rise, pointing at—Major General Armstrong? Her face is a mask of blood, and the rest of her isn't much better. Sig's beside her, one arm slick and hanging heavily, the other supporting Scar who looks like he narrowly escaped a meat grinder. Behind them he can just glimpse Jerso in his frog form, lying so still it's impossible to tell if he's still breathing. The window or whatever out into the real world flickers as—fuck—as Pride looks at another soldier spring out from behind cover. He empties his clip in record time, unerringly aimed at Ed's chest. Do any of the bullets hit? Do they hurt? The soldier's cradling his rifle strangely, one hand clumsily wrapped in bloodstained cloth. 

"Why?" Ed asks, weary. A shadow arcs out, bristling with teeth, and bites through the man. He goes down with a bizarrely muted scream and another spray of blood. "Why didn't you stop him? This—this wouldn't be happening if you'd stopped him!"

Kimblee regards him, eyes narrowed, face unreadable. "Führer Bradley is a homunculus," he says conversationally. "And Greed. His vessel is human as well, isn't it?"

Outside, sounds of crunching, splattering, chewing. Ed watches a clean white uniform stain almost black with gore. "Yeah? So what?"

"I started to think a little, that's what." Another little chuckle. Fuck, this guy really is crazy. He's enjoying this. "The homunculi make such a fuss out of being better than humans. More evolved, above our petty fears and desires. They're so proud to be the puppeteers of this country, the hands on our yokes as they've guided us to this Promised day."

Ed watches the shadows finish off the soldier, nothing but a smear of blood and a couple glistening pieces of meat left behind. The window flickers again as Pride turns his head to regard the last of the survivors.

"It's funny," Kimblee says. "For how much they talk, they so rarely deliver on their promises. So I ask you, Edward Elric. What are you going to do now?"

The General. Sig. Jerso. Scar. They're going to die. Pride's going to kill them. For all Ed knows they might think he agreed to let Pride take his body.

He looks at his hands. He's nearly himself again, or at least as nearly like himself as he can be without his body. He's got two arms here. Two legs too. An arm and a leg, and a body, and the whole damn country on top of it now. He's made way too many promises to fail here.

Ed sets his jaw and leaps out into the light.

[thenameisel]

Origin Stories Part Four: Dangers in the Dark

A black garbed Hunter stood out against the off-white wall of the warehouse, pacing and judging the best way to scale it, as it was unfortunately much too high to jump. There was a rusted out fire escape that just might hold Boop's weight.

"Heard anything from them?"

"Nope!" Pip chirped.

"I'll admit I'm a little concerned. Caush usually doesn't go radio silent."

"Oh the two of them are probably busy inside. How long do you figure till we start hearing explosions?"

Boop laughed and started carefully climbing upwards. The fire escape thankfully held. Mostly. It helped that the Hunter didn't weigh very much. Pip kept pace, scanning rungs as they went, pointing out the ones that should be avoided. Even still there were a couple close calls as the old metal cracked unter the weight.

Halfway up Boop paused and turned to admire the buildings of the old world. Eyes narrowed momentarily at a disturbingly uniform set of potholes leading away from the warehouse. Pip noticed what his Hunter was looking at, and made a singular, slightly worried sounding beep.

“The pattern of those tracks seem to be headed away. Let’s be glad for that.” The Ghost said, and the two continued their climb.

Eventually they made it to the rooftop, which was a wide gravel covered expanse, warm from the day's sun. There was a large hole in the center where the roof had collapsed some point in the past.

"Oh that's… not good. Nope. Nope." Pip exclaimed as he vanished in a flurry of sparks. Boop shared a few choice curses. Running like some giant web across the surface of the roof was lines of ash and green fire.

“Boop. Caush still isn’t answering me. Now I’m worried.”

“C’mon.” Boop said, carefully picking a route across to the hole and staying well away from the lines of Hive magic. “Any idea what this does?”

“No, sorry. But I bet nothing good.”

The hundred meters or so to the gap was made painfully long with worry about Elliott. But eventually, Boop made it to the edge. Crouching down to reduce the chances of being seen, the last few meters were taken at a crouch, each step careful to not disturb any pebbles, least any drop over the edge. Readying the sniper, Boop peeked over into the warehouse below.

Surprisingly, the space was clear of debris, and a wood floor made it much more home like. At the edge of the sunlit area the wood gave way to a concrete floor and the maze of cubicle-like living spaces favored by the Eliksni. Carpets and fabric hangings softened the ramshackle walls.

“Oh.” Pip said excitedly. “So there is Fallen here! Or was! I was starting to worry that informat was lying. But why the Hive magic?”

“No idea." Boop scanned both light and dark areas, but couldn’t see anything moving. "Any sign of Elliott and Caush?”

“No. Nothing.” a pause. Boop could feel Pip thinking. “Wait. That’s it! The magic! It must be blocking my sensors!"

"Ok. So we're blind right now. Let's wait a bit. Elliott can take care of himself. We haven't heard any noises so it's likely he hasn't come across anything. He might be working his way through that maze down there."

And so they waited. Eyes scanning shadows for any sign of movement. Something about the whole thing didn't sit right with Boop though. And the longer they waited, the stronger the feeling got. Why was the Hive here? Why was the roof criss crossed in their weird magic fire? The whole thing didn't sit right.

"I think it's a trap."

"You do?" Pip said excitedly. "Oh we haven't encountered a good trap for years! Oh! Oh! What do you think this one does? Cave the roof in? Summon a Tomb Ship?"

"Seriously?" Boop shifted the sniper rifle anxiously, really wishing Pip was visible. That Ghost needed a good poke for that comment. "It's one thing when it's us! It's not right when it's Elliott in danger!"

"Oh he's fiiiiiine. Betcha Caush already figured it out. Besides, when was the last time Elliott went up against something he couldn't punch his way out of?"

"Quiet. I think I see movement. Ten o'clock."

"Oh you're right! I think that's them. Weird. It's like they aren't there."

Boop's shoulders stiffened in concern. The Titan was walking nonchalantly down the corridor towards the open space.

"Wait. More movement. Two, four, and nine." Pip's voice went up an octave. "Also not on sensors! But I think I see Hive eyes!"

Boop didn't hesitate. Cover didn't matter at this point. Standing up with a pebble in hand, the Hunter tossed it with the aim of years of marksmanship practice. Watched as it pinged off Elliott's helmet. His response was slow. Too slow. Waving madly Boop finally managed to catch his attention. Tried so hard with a chopping motion to encourage him to back away. But it was too late. The Titan was surrounded.

Below, Elliott engaged the hive with that ridiculous auto rifle, the paff paff paff-ing noise cutting through the chaotic screeching of the Hive. Anything that got too close for comfort got punched with an Arc covered fist.

Aiming the sniper rifle expertly, Boop started felling targets, Pip calling out locations of the most pressing ones. Hive Knights getting behind Elliott. Corrupted Thralls creeping too close. It almost looked like they could turn the tide.

Then the Ogre stepped out of the gloom.

For a split second Boop considered jumping down, but something about the way the Hive as a whole kept pushing Elliott back towards the center of the open space was concerning. The Knights never stepped more than a couple feet onto the wood floor. The Ogre did, but started backpedaling when Elliott gave ground. That sealed it. There was definitely a trap.

Boop watched in horror as the Titan jumped into the air, Arc energy flowing around him violently. Watched him plummet towards a knot of Thralls that looked like they had been herded out into the open as bait.

Boop screamed his name knowing full well it was too late as Elliott punched through the floor into the hidden pit below.

A wave of green fire erupted upwards before the depths sunk back into darkness.

"Oh no no no." Pip exclaimed "Now what? NOW WHAT?"

"Now we improvise. Keep trying to contact Caush."

"You can't be serious. I know what you're thinking! What if you fall too?"

"I'm a whole lot lighter than a hurtling Titan." Fire erupted along Boop's arm as a flaming gun appeared out of nowhere. "We'll be fine."

With that the Hunter hopped into the building, firing the flaming gun on the way down. Spent, it dissipated into ash and embers, but each shot had hit it's mark. The Ogre was dead, and so were a handful more Knights.

Using Light to break the fall, Boop landed gracefully at the edge of the open area, footsteps making a distinct hollow sound. Quickly slipping into the shadows the Hunter became a whirling dance of hidden death. Knives were thrown, shotgun was fired, and Hive fell not knowing where the onslaught came from. Boop kept moving, kept them guessing.

"I'VE GOT CAUSH!" Pip all but screamed in excitement.

"Thank the Light. Are they ok?" Another dodge, the Hive Thrall that had gotten to close lunging through the smoke like trail of Boop's passing. A shotgun blast dispatched it.

"Enough." Pip said relieved, between Boop's blasts. "But Caush says there isn't much Light down there. They have some time but…"

"So we better move faster." Boop said, resuming the dance.

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

"...hear me? Hello? Elliott?" Caush's voice cut through the ringing and fog. "Look, I need you to wake up. Or specifically, you need you to wake up and get out of here so I can heal you."

"What happened?" Elliott groaned. Everything hurt. He tried to roll onto his back and failed. His legs were pinned under something heavy. He did manage to twist around enough to see a jagged outline above them. "How far did we fall?"

"It was a trap. False floor. Walls covered in Hive magic to conceal it. We are so far out of my calculations that for once, I've scraped my analysis entirely. We are now, officially, winging it."

"Ok. Let's have some light to see."

"No. Not happening. There is so much magic here I can't tell what it does. I can't justify that risk. But I can tell you that there is so little Light here that unless we move, and you die, I won't be able to do anything about it."

"So. You need me to free myself, and climb out, injured and blind."

"Yes."

The Titan groaned in frustration and tried to shift the mass again. Part of the floor no doubt. It moved slightly.

"You got this." Caush said encouragingly. "You're the strongest…"

Caush fell silent mid sentence. Elliott could feel excitement building through their connection to each other. He held his breath and listened. He could still hear the Hive shrieking above, no doubt in joy for him falling for their trap. Then he heard something different between the screams. Shotgun blasts. The shrieking was in frustration! Boop!

“Connection reestablished!” Caush proclaimed proudly. “Your fall must have disrupted enough magic to get a signal out. I’ve updated them on the situation, Pip says they will come as fast as they can.”

“Ok. I guess I better keep trying.”

Again Elliott tried to move the mass. But being pinned face down was not helping. Somehow he did manage to get enough leverage to extract himself down to his knees and flip mostly over. Elliott grit his teeth as fresh pain in his left leg assaulted him and he suddenly felt very faint. He knew immediately what was wrong. Being a Guardian let you experience death in so many ways.

"How bad is it, Caush?"

"Unless you can stop the flow, I figure you have about three minutes." This time there was concern in his Ghost's voice.

"Great." Elliott said, and tried again to free himself. He had a sliver of hope though, the time between shotgun blasts above was starting lengthen.

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

Unfortunately Boop was quickly running out of ammo. Fortunately targets to shoot were starting to run thin too. A pull of the trigger took out one of the three remaining Knights, the second Knight got a knife in its head buying precious time to reload. Sliding through the last knot of Thralls, and firing at a choice few, Boop managed to get near enough to blow a hole through the last Knight. When it fell the remaining Thralls bunched up almost nervously. A single grenade finished them off.

Panting heavily Boop lifted a hand. Pip appeared, gave his Hunter a quick one over, patched up a few cuts and a nasty acid burn, and vanished again quick as can be.

“All right. Down?” Boop asked, carefully picking a path to the hole in the floor. Lighter by far than a Titan, the damaged floor held the Hunter’s weight. Mostly. But one misstep could cause another collapse risking Boop being in the same state as Elliott.

“Little more to your left, near that jumble of cables. Wow that hole is deeper than you’d think. Oh! Oh! Oh! I bet the Hive were digging a new nest right under the Fallen! Perhaps they thought it would be an easy food source?”

“Maybe. Can you patch me through to Elliott?”

“Done!” Pip said after a short pause.

“Elliott?”

“Hey.” His voice was weak but there.

“You ok?” Boop kept moving, listening to the creek of the floor.

“Nope.” a grunt of pain, and sharp intake of breath. “Look. Caush is gonna need your help with this one. Not enough... Light.”

Boop understood. They were playing a dangerous game. If Elliott died down there, Caush wouldn't be able to bring him back alone. Boop and Pip’s own Light could help, but if they got there after Elliott’s faded away completely… there would be no bringing him back.

Boop was getting close to the edge.

“Talk to me, Elliott.”

“About… what?” His voice was strained.

“Well. It’s your turn.”

“Now… is not... the time.”

“I heard McKay made the whole thing up. For the attention.” Boop said mischievously. Felt Pip’s amusement at the taunting.

“You take… you take that back!”

“Well.” Boop said, having reached a beam that jutted out over the hole. Carefully walking the length, the hunter peered over the edge, judging the distance. Pip helpfully highlighted Elliott’s form in the gloom and shifting dust below. “I guess you better survive to set me straight!”

Boop stepped off the edge casually, dropping feet first. At the last moment a burst of Light propelled Boop upwards, breaking the fall. Landing gracefully, the Hunter quickly headed over to the Titans form. Elliott lay there limply amongst the debris of the false floor. Blood seeped from a poorly wrapped rent in the armor on his left leg, ran down the rubble, collecting in pools on the dirt floor. Way too much blood.

“Damned Hunters...” He managed faintly. “Always showing off… with that jump. Worried you’ll… miss… one day. Break… something.”

“Well I’m here an’t I? Besides, I’ve done that enough times to learn my lesson.”

Elliott didn't reply.

A chill ran down Boop's spine as the realization hit that the Titan was no longer breathing.

“Where you at Caush?” Boop lifted a palm for Pip in a bout of sudden panic. They had precious moments before Elliott's light would be gone forever.

“NO! Too much Hive magic! It’s not safe!”

Boop’s hand dropped instinctively.

"You serious?” Pip exclaimed, Boop was getting the distinct impression Pip thought Caush was being ridiculous. “Sure, it's a gamble, but we don't have time to find another solution!”

Caush was quiet at that.

Boop raised a hand again.

A flurry of sparks filled the air above it as Pip entered material space, his light illuminating the area.

There was utter silence for a few moments, as Pip’s facets rotated back and forth anxiously.

But nothing happened.

After a moment Pip made an angry sounding burble, his shell twitching in rage.

Caush appeared directly above his Titan, his eye shifting between various sickly hues of embarrassment. His shell span, splitting open, facets glittering pale gold in the low light. His own stores of Light were pitifully low. Certainly not enough to bring Elliott back.

Wordlessly Boop reached out towards the glow, eyes closed, shutting out Elliott's broken form and trying to focus on the flow of Light within and quickly found it. A sensation like a warm bubble, Pip's emotion filled consciousness pressing on the barriers of Boop's. The connection made, Light poured out from Pip, through Boop, and into Caush.

Boop's eyes opened just in time to see Caush, now glowing brightly with plenty of Light, start spinning faster and faster. Suddenly with a blinding flash his Light enveloped Elliott, settling on him like a mist. Boop watched breathless as Light mended the rent armor, the unneeded bandage dissolving into motes of light which reformed in their correct place as an unflawed Mark at Elliott’s waist.

With an audible snap Caush’s facets pulled back into place. The Ghost gave a little shake, and with sharp nervous movements floated over the Titan’s face.

A heartbeat stretched into an eternity.

Boop jumped as Elliott inhaled violently. With his fist exhalation he rolled and stumbled upright, instincts telling him to move. He took a few staggering steps, his breathing heavily and swaying like a drunk. Boop ducked under an arm to help Elliott stay upright as he got his balance back. He shook his head trying to clear the fog of resurrection.

“Thank you.” He said, his voice coming back to its usual room filling quality. “Now if you ever talk smack about McKay again...”

Boop laughed. “How about we get out of here, hmm?”

“Sounds good.” Elliott looked up wearily. “Better start climbing."

"You better be careful about it. Neither of us have enough Light left if you fall again."

"No promises" Elliott chuckled, then grew somber. "Too bad this place was overrun by Hive. No Fallen Captain in sight.”

“Not a total loss there. Pip? Caush?”

Both Ghosts did a deep bob in the air in acknowledgement.

“Oh! Yes! Caush and myself compared some notes, and we believe the Fallen vacated only a couple days ago, and it looks like they had a Spider Tank with them. Should be easy to track!”

“So?” Boop asked, elbowing Elliott in the ribs. “Wanna check it out? Take the sparrows and follow the tracks? You can tell me about your first day on the way!”

“Yea. Sounds good to me!”

[mor-beck-more-problems]

Secrets & Fury || Morgan & Blanche Feat. Agnes Bachman

TIMING: Current

LOCATION: Bachman House Ruins

PARTIES: @harlowhaunted & @mor-beck-more-problems

SUMMARY: Morgan and Blanche make contact with the past. The truth is not meant to soothe.

CONTENT: brief mentions of suicide

The only thing left of what had once been the Bachman House was a few outer support beams and a wall, sticking out of the ground in a way that wouldn’t have been possible unless the ground swallowed the house whole. Which, in fairness, it did. Blanche remembered Morgan, Cassie, and herself throwing themselves out of the home and into the adjacent garden as the ground trembled and swallowed the cursed house… Blanche had never asked Morgan where the house went. Was the house still lingering below the soil or had it disappeared somewhere else entirely? Blanche stared at the dirt, grimacing at the patches of weeds that had feebly tried to break through to no avail, and decided that she would ask ahat at different time. There were no spirits here, not this time. The cool chill that ran up Blanche’s spine from time to time was the cold December air… And the dark, leafless trees that loomed around the area as if they were watching her. As Blanche painstakingly drew the circle in the dirt, she couldn’t help but feel as if she was doing this in front of an audience. Like this was a final test to see if it was worth it -- if she was worth it.

The silver, jeweled barrette kept her blonde hair out of her face, and every once in a while, she would reach up to run her fingers along the smooth, teal gemstones encrusted on the trinket. It made her feel better. Blanche remembered what Jasmine said about Focal Points, and even if it was false, at least it gave her peace of mind. At least it brought her closer to the one she missed most of all. Even that made her feel more powerful than before.

This was what she was doing when Morgan arrived. Blanche glanced at her, her hand falling back to her side as she gave her a strained smile. “Hey,” she said softly, and she grabbed her pink lighter from her pocket. Time to light the candles. “You can put it in the middle of the circle. What you brought of Agnes’, I mean.”

Morgan had tried to come early. She hadn’t been to the old Bachman house for even a drive-by hello since it had tried to collapse with her, Blanche, and Cassie in it. She couldn’t see the place as a benign victim of circumstance after having to face off against Hannah Bachman, hearing the ways she mimicked her own mother in her brand of cruelty. Pulling alongside the street now made her feel as though the wood and nails had been as complicit as Constance in the horrible things that had happened here. What she had expected to find, to get used to, she wasn’t sure. All she knew now was that Blanche had beaten her to the punch and settled into a circle inside the ruins. That’s what happened when you got too anxiously punctual people together, she guessed. “Fancy seeing you here,” she said wryly. “Our appointment isn’t for another ten minutes, Blanche.” She reached into her bag and took out the arm bone she had stolen from Agnes’ grave, wrapped in fabric. Deirdre had been able to identify her with just a touch: thick dark hair like Morgan’s, large eyes that were brown instead of blue, and an anguished look as she laid down in a rickety bed and worked a pillow around half her face, a pistol in her hand. She had been crying, Deirdre said. Morgan couldn’t think of any other way she might have gone, not with what she’d been made to live with. “Genuine, banshee-identified great great grandma Agnes,” she said softly. Agnes’ family title sounded strange, knowing that she had died only a few years older than Morgan. They felt more like equals now, women who had been ground up and bent into the wrong shape, who were tired, who just needed to catch a break for once. Morgan sat down just outside the circle, careful not to disrupt any of the markings. “You um...when you bring them here, you don’t have to see how they died, right Blanche? I mean, she’ll look…” Like there’s a massive exit wound on the side of her skull. “How she did when it happened. But that’s not something you have to carry, is it?” Morgan asked.

“I’m nothing if not efficient,” Blanche replied. The grin on her face didn’t quite reach her eyes, though she was pleased to see that Morgan looked alright. Blanche had been here for forty-five minutes already, but she wasn't’ about to tell Morgan that - she sought out the flattest part of the ruins and spent an absurdly long time drawing the circle. She looked sharply at Morgan, the question burning in her throat. How did great, great Grandma Agnes die? Not that it mattered, because she would do the seance no matter what, but she couldn’t help but think of the bullet wound inside Sammy’s skull and Winn’s chest, and how Bea’s head never sat quite right on her shoulders… But Blanche shook her head. “I’ve seen some pretty gruesome deaths,” she said. Blanche didn’t know Agnes, so she hoped her appearance wouldn’t stay burned into her memory like her friends. There was some part of her that knew this wasn’t true, she remembered spirits maimed in all sorts of ways… But as Blanche finished lighting her candles, she stood, brushing the dirt off her jeans. “She’ll look how she chooses too,” Blanche said, “If she’s been around since she died… Then she’ll probably have learned to change her appearance by now. But if she hasn’t or she doesn’t want too…” Blanche reached to fiddle with the hair clip in her hair again, chewing on her lip in thought. “That’s her choice. It won’t prevent us from doing what we’re here to do.” She examined her circle for the upteenth time, looking for imperfections. She could find none. With a small breath, she looked back to Morgan. “Are you ready, Morgan?” She waited for Morgan to nod, before going to settle into the dirt.

Blanche took a few deep breaths, glancing over at Morgan to really make sure she was ready, before she began reciting the sanskrit. The power Blanche felt flowing through her and the circle was almost on par with the deep seeded resentment in her soul. It was strange and exciting and somehow different than when they had been in her apartment. It was a mistake, Blanche decided, to not have come here the first time. Wind howled around them, the flickering of the candles erratic but never going out as it circled them. She was clear headed, drawing her energy from the back of her mind - rather, the back of her head, she supposed, where her great grandmother’s clip lay. She focused on that as she opened the portal of communication, the chilling wind whining in protest as she pushed forward. It was tiring, but slowly, a woman flickered into sight. Slowly, her transparent form grew stronger, and Blanche could make out her features and the frumpy old clothes she wore. With a push forward, Blanche ended the opening of the ritual.

“Are you Agnes Bachman?” Blanche asked, glanced at Morgan for confirmation before anything else.

Morgan kept her eyes trained on the center of the circle, like letting her hair blow the wrong way might turn everything around for the worse. She heard the wind in her ears, saw the small candle flames surge on their wicks. Doubt gnawed in her stomach, she’s not coming, she’s not here and she’s not coming and I’m never gonna know what really happened. Shit, was she awful for trying to reach out with her will and pull her toward them? For wanting her to be stuck here all this time, just to have someone she could talk to? Morgan didn’t have time to find an answer inside herself. A silhouette formed in a circle, then a face.

“Oh, shit…”

Agnes Bachman didn’t have a hole in her head. Her wavy hair hung just below her jaw, styled in waves Morgan had seen in fashion panels from the 1910’s. She had loose housecoat, or maybe it was just a regular day coat that had been retired after getting too big and patchy, hung heavy on her frame. (Morgan couldn’t figure out how that worked, the woman before her didn’t have a body, so how could anything be loose or tight or anything in between? And yet just from looking at her, Morgan could imagine the pointy ends of her joints and the ridges on her stomach from going hungry on and off for years.) She had a bemused half smile, one that was way past surprise, and a face that looked hauntingly like the one Cece had pulled out of the magic trunk. “It’s you,” Morgan whispered. “This whole time, I’ve been looking at… Agnes.”

“Is there someone else I would be?” Agnes asked. She had a high, tired kind of voice, not unlike the wind that had swelled around them only a minute ago. It was a reedy voice, torn up from too many cigarettes. Smoking was unladylike in Agnes’ time, but maybe she’d stolen her husband’s cigarettes, or bummed some off people with more money. Maybe after a certain point she had decided not to care. She looked around, taking in what was left of the house, the hole in its core, the stars above and the jagged, splintered ruins reaching through it like so many broken fingers. “I remember this place.” She scoffed, smirking. “It feels a shame I’m not more surprised to see it in pieces. You’re supposed to bond with the place you grow up. It’s how you maintain your ties with the earth.” She turned back to them, gesturing self consciously around her temples. “Is anyone gonna tell me what this party’s about...?” The smile she gave each of them was thin, like she was afraid something bad was going to happen. How often had she been blamed or yelled at for Constance’s mess? “One of you has to know something, if you’re pulling me cross-country to my old house.”

“Y-yes. I mean...we...uh…” Morgan fumbled for words and gaped at Blanche, silently asking for help.

Awestruck by her success, Blanche stared at Agnes in a sort of wonder. The wind grew calm around them, still lightly tugging at loose hairs and flame to let them know it was still there. She had done it. She pulled Agnes Bachman back here. Blanche gaped right back at Morgan, suddenly speechless herself. All coherent thoughts flew out of her head and suddenly she forgot how to speak any language whatsoever.

“Wha-” Blanche stuttered, and then realized she was the one supposed to be running this ‘party’. She almost leapt to her feet, but stayed rooted to the spot so she wouldn’t jostle the circle. “Agnes,” Blanche tried again. “My name is Blanche Harlow. I’m a local medium in White Crest. This is Morgan Beck, she’s your great, great Granddaughter. I’ve… We, rather… We’ve contacted you because we want to ask you about the past, specifically relating to Constance Cunningham.” Her words were formal, but they were at least confident.

“Is it alright if we ask you a few questions?”

Agnes hadn’t stopped looking at Morgan since she’d appeared. Morgan straightened her shoulders under her gaze and angled her head this way and that, trying to find the angle that would give her the most ‘respectable impressive descendant’ look, not that she knew what that was. Agnes smirked at Blanche’s fumbling and Morgan noticed an array of little smile wrinkles that gave her some comfort. She must have been happy, or something like it, for a little while.

“I should tell you,” Agnes said, leaning in with a conspiratorial look, “I told my kids not to settle down, so they maybe wouldn’t have any of their own. But I’m not surprised they didn’t listen to me. Kids never do, so don’t get any ideas.” She squinted taking in more of Morgan. “But that’s not going to be a problem for you, is it, sweetie?”

“No,” Morgan whispered. “I mean, I have a...I haven’t really discussed it with my girlfriend, we’re gonna wait fifty, maybe a hundred years first. That’s the kind of family planning you get with a zombie and a banshee!” She laughed, shrill and pained. Was this how you were supposed to talk to your grandmother? Did it matter when she only looked five years older than you? “I died. Because of the family curse. Seven months and change, so I’m still adjusting. But it’s fine! I mean, it’s not, but it will be.” She gripped her wool skirt, fighting the urge to crawl closer to Agnes.

“Girlfriend, you say? I’ve seen things get better for some girls like that in the last hundred years. I should’ve figured it ran in the family. Mama was right about something after all.” The smirk she gave was bitter, scratching an old scab on her heart, and if Morgan hadn’t already heard about Hannah Bachman’s dismay from Leah, she would’ve seen the cut her response had left in Agnes’ face. “Your death, sweetie, does that mean the magic doesn’t touch you anymore? Whatever you and your girl do, are you safe from it?”

Morgan nodded, eyes beginning to well. “Yeah, we are. The curse didn’t follow me after. We’re good. It’s just uh…” She looked sidelong at Blanche. “It’s Constance? She’s here and she is…” Evil. Cruel. A walking nightmare. “Really, really determined to make up for what her curse can’t do anymore. And I...we were wondering...if you could tell us what really happened. I read Lucrecia’s diary, but I want the truth from you. And before you say anything, I don’t blame you. I don’t know where it started in the family, but I know you didn’t deserve to carry this like it was all your fault, and I don’t blame you for what she did.”

Agnes straightened up. “I can’t talk about Constance,” she said flatly. “And the person who started that story was me, because it was true.” She turned to Blanche. “Can you put me back somewhere? It doesn’t have to be home, I don’t much like my new grave. But somewhere else, please.”

Blanche thanked every God that may or may not have existed that she had excellent memory recall. She backed off of Agnes, ready to do what she, as a private investigator trainee, did best: listened. The true extent of the Bachman curse had been made apparent to her when Morgan died violently in the middle of town and became a zombie, but Constance never put into thought that there could be life after death… Funnily enough, Blanche hadn’t put that much thought into it either, before she met Remmy. Blanche rested her hands in her lap, leaning forward on her knees as she concentrated on keeping the line of connection open.

“You can’t talk about Constance? Or you won’t talk about Constance?” Perhaps Blanche’s voice was a little sharper than it needed to be, but she wasn’t here to pull punches. She was here for the truth. After the truth was known… Well, then she could deal with Agnes. Agnes, from what she felt, would need to move on. But one ghost problem at a time. This seance wasn’t for Agnes, it was for Morgan. And, to an extent, though Morgan could never find this out, it was for Constance too. Constance deserved closure and peace - the last thing Blanche wanted for her was to Cordelia or Lauren Langley.

Blanche leaned back, her head tilting to the side slightly as she examined the ghost. “Don’t you want to make sure the right one is known?” Maybe she didn’t, though. Blanche pressed her lips together for a moment. “I won’t be sending you anywhere,” she said, “Until we get some answers. And I’ll have you know… I’m very persistent.”

“Is there much of a difference as far as you’re concerned?” Agnes asked. Her squinting gaze turned on Blanche, running up and down to appraise her. Morgan’s mother had a similar look when she was trying to worm out of a conversation she didn’t want to have, but Morgan didn’t get the sense that Agnes was looking for points of weakness or ways to hurt Blanche. It looked more like she was working a puzzle. “If people think badly of me, it’s because I got the ball rolling. I don’t have any right to be sore about any tall tales that have gotten rolled into the truth.” She looked at Morgan again, smiling in a sad way that made the zombie’s heart lurch. “You should blame me. And I am sorry, I will always be sorry, for my part in your death. Even if it means you get to wait a hundred years to have a family with a woman you love--” she paused, staring off somewhere Morgan couldn’t follow. “It shouldn’t cost you what it has. Death is too high a price, especially after what you must have suffered. It’s not much of a life to begin with.”

“Don’t say that,” Morgan whispered. “I know you’re...yes, I was miserable and I didn’t get to do anything I set out to, but you didn’t cast the spell. You didn’t take one falling out and turn it into a hundred plus years of--”

“No.” Agnes’ voice turned to rock while somehow never rising above her quiet. “No, Morgan. I’m not going to discuss it in those terms. Or at all.” Agnes looked over at Blanche, checking to see if her point had been effectively made, but Agnes had never gone up against Blanche ‘I do what I want’ Harlow. She withered under the young woman’s look and pursed her lips as her position sank in.

“Listen,” Morgan said gently. “I’m going to get her back for what she did to you, to all of us. However hurtful, however awful or complicated, it didn’t merrit what she did for retribution. I’m going to make sure she…” Morgan winced, not wanting to throw her position in Blanche’s face. Of all her friends, she had been the most honest, and the most kind, about her position. “I’m going to make us even.”

Agnes’ face dropped with horror. “You what? You can’t. Sweetie, whatever you’re up to, you can’t do that to her. You have no idea what she--It was my idea to run away! I made her take all the risks. Crafting the glamours that would make us look older, hiding the money I’d stolen in her tree, hiding travel clothes, securing our transport. My mother watched me at all times, I was afraid we wouldn’t stand a chance if I slipped away somewhere I couldn’t explain. I was selfish and I was scared and I made her do everything for me, and then I--” She looked helplessly at Blanche again, her wish transparent in her eyes: please, please. “I let her fall for me too,” she said. “We were caught, the morning we were set to leave. Constance told the truth and I--I didn’t. She had given a story and I knew we were sunk and I wouldn’t see the light of day for weeks unless I did something different. I--”

Agnes’ reedy voice seemed to snap. Her silent appeals to Blanche were going nowhere; the medium only stared her down harder than before. And every, “hey,” and “you don’t have to be afraid,” that Morgan gave only seemed to make her more desperate.

“I said she was kidnapping me. That she’d hurt me.” Agnes said at last. “We had stolen pistols from the Logan’s house to protect ourselves. I told my mother to check her reticule, where I’d told her to put them and she thought it was proof. I didn’t know they were going to tell everyone or turn her into a pariah. I thought she would be run out of town, dropped on the nearest cart, never to return. I had no illusion of being forgiven, but gods help me, I did not know my mother would leave her with nothing and make her live like some poor animal. When I realized, it was too late.” Agnes clenched her airy fists, fighting the impulse to cry. “I would like to go back now. Send me back now and have done with it.”

Morgan tried to reach for her, forgetting everything except how badly she wanted to know the woman in front of her. “No, you can stay, Agnes. It doesn’t matter what happened before—”

“Now. I want to be gone now. Please. I will not answer anything else. I won’t.”

Anger was an emotion Blanche was used to, and the more Agnes said, the more angry she got. Fury and disgust twisted into her stone faced expression as she sat there, her arms crossed as Morgan and Agnes conversed. Finally, with a wail, Agnes turned to her, begging to be set free. “Coward,” Blanche said unkindly. “You’re a coward.” Blanche pushed herself up to her knees, as if she was going to move to stand. She didn’t, however, because her energy was being spent in keeping the connection open. Still, Blanche’s eyes flashed angrily.

“I’m not naive enough to say Constance is blameless. Constance is to blame for a lot of things -- Morgan’s death and the subsequent death of others in her path for revenge - but you…” Blanche shook her head, “You chose wrong and you lied. You lied to save yourself and threw the one you loved under the bus.” Blanche scoffed in disgust. Never before had she felt such anger towards another ghost. The closest that came was Lauren Langley, but even that held a different sort of anger than the rage that bubbled in the pit of her stomach now. If she could, she’d throw a fist in Agnes’ face.

“You are not to blame for Constance’s actions,” Blanche said, folding her arms over her chest. “She is able to make her own decisions and do what she will but… You are to blame for hurting her. You are to blame for lying. You are to blame for the misery that was thrust upon her as punishment for a crime she did not commit. You lied because you were a coward. And that -” Blanche jabbed a finger at Agnes. “- Is what you should feel remorse for. That is what you need to reflect on. And then you’ll be able to move on.” While Constance was on a warpath for vengeance that would end up destroying her. It was hard not to blame Agnes for everything.

With a sweep of her hand, the wind howled around them, growing louder as Blanche recited the end of the ritual that would close the communication with Agnes. She didn’t want to hear what Agnes had to say, even as her pain stricken face was seared into Blanche’s mind even as she disappeared from the circle. The wind quieted and the candles surrounding them extinguished. The ritual was over. Blanche slumped back into the dirt, exhausted, but too angry to give in to sleep.

“All of this…” Blanche said, sneering at the place Agnes once stood. “Because of a cruel lie…”

Morgan flinched at Blanche’s words as if they had cracked against her skin. She called out her name, trying to interrupt, “That can’t be the whole story, there has to be something else…” But Blanche’s fury had found its target, and though Morgan couldn’t fathom why, she understood that it would not let go. “Don’t be cruel. Blanche, please!” But please only got Blanche to say the words that would send Agnes back to wherever she had been before. Morgan grasped at the air as Agnes vanished, her face shut and clenched with shame. Something in the air lifted, like heat diffusing a cold room. Morgan continued to stare into the circle. There had to be something else. Maybe Hannah Bachman was the real culprit, for making her daughter so afraid that she wanted to run away in the first place. Maybe Agnes had sensed something unstable, even dangerous in Constance and took her change to back out rather than run away with someone who was willing to sign off on the misery of generations of people. There had to be something, because if Morgan’s family had been right about Agnes, then how was she supposed to split her vengeance between them? Who was she destroying Constance for besides herself if Agnes had tried so hard to beg her not to? Morgan’s gaze dropped from the air where Agnes had just sat and down to her own hands: discolored around the nails because she was between meals, protected by gold cuff bracelets on her wrist, so no one would see the bite that made her what she was. Ruth Beck hadn’t cared a wit that she was going to be avenged, Morgan wasn’t even sure if she believed it. Morgan’s father had lost his last tie to the earth when he saw her happy with Deirdre. Deirdre herself insisted the choice was hers to determine. And now the memory of Agnes’ horrified face stood frozen in Morgan’s memory. Was it still fair, and still enough, if this was for her satisfaction and hers alone?

“She was just…” Young? Stars above, could Morgan really say that without it getting thrown back in her face two seconds later? “She was scared. She didn’t know what was going to happen and we don’t know why she really…” Threw someone she supposedly loved under the bus. If Hannah was so dangerous, enough to run away from, why wouldn’t Anges have figured out that Constance was going to suffer without her protection? Wouldn’t that have been obvious? Was her ignorance to the consequences just another lie too? Morgan shivered, frowning into the ground. She was long used to disappointment, but she hadn’t thought that meeting Agnes would leave her more confused than when she’d started. “I don’t know,” Morgan sighed. Nothing she put together in her mind fit the way she wanted it to. “Whatever, why-ever she really did anything, she paid for it with her life and a hundred years of being hated.” Slowly, she lifted her gaze to Blanche, scrutinizing her expression. She had seemed more invested in Morgan’s family drama than she had before. Morgan had taken great care to keep her out of it as much as possible. “What was that all about, just a minute ago?” She asked gently. “I’ve never seen you like that with a ghost before. Is everything okay…?”

She was just - Blanche almost snarled the word ‘young’ right back at Morgan. Constance was just as young. She was nineteen. Blanche could remember, back in high school, where her only long term boyfriend broke up with her and how devastated she had been. If that situation had been anything like Agnes’, which it hadn’t, and Logan had wronged her in some type of way, Blanche would have wanted to curse him and his entire family too. The thought was snide, and filled with anger. She realized, with a start, that she was two seconds away from defending Constance’s honor, and that wasn’t right either. Constance had done wrong, Blanche reminded herself, her palms suddenly sweaty. She hadn’t meant to, mostly, of course. Maxine had been an unfortunate accident, and the incident with Nell… Blanche wanted to believe that she really didn’t know that Nell had been in the car until it was too late. And Morgan had said intentions matter. Blanche wanted to believe that, and she wanted Constance to give up this calling of vengeance on Morgan’s family because at the end of the day, Morgan hadn’t done anything wrong. Morgan hadn’t done this to Constance. Agnes, she thought the name with disgust, started this.

But that didn’t make Morgan’s target goal right either. She had the cold reminder that Morgan’s end goal was to torture and erase Constance from existence. The thought of her being in pain made Blanche… Well, it made her sick to her stomach. Constance didn’t deserve that. She needed to be at peace while she was still able. At least, then, she would be happy. She would be able to move past what Agnes had done, and it wouldn’t have to lock her into a toxic storm of resentment and fury.  At Morgan’s question, though, Blanche’s palms frew more sweaty, and she wiped them on her jeans. “I wasn’t wrong,” Blanche mumbled to her shoes, shaking her head. She refused to look at Morgan, instead turning to start gathering her things in her back. Her face had flushed, but it had been a little pink already from the anger she burst out with during the seance and from the exhaustion the clung to her. “In order to move on, Agnes needs to come to term with her choices she made while she was living. She can’t do anything to change them, not now,” Blanche’s lip curled in disgust as she carefully stuck the candles in her bag, straightening to sling it over her shoulder. She went to the magic circle she had so carefully carved into the dirt with a sharp stick and some chalk and destroyed it. While Blanche hadn’t listened to Granny’s teachings, she did remember that Granny said to never leave a circle unattended, just in case. Finally, she reached up and pulled the jeweled, silver hairpin from her hair, letting her blonde hair tumble down. Carefully, she put that in a separate pocket of her backpack. Her shoulders slumped tiredly and looked at Morgan, “I’ll talk to her again soon,” Blanche said, decidingly. “I’ll call upon her again and speak her more closely, once… this is all over.”

Silence froze and bristled around them; Morgan held her tongue. Blanche’s ire was hot and sharp as a needle fresh out of the fire. She didn’t have to say a word for Morgan to know she was angry at her too. For Constance. For being “unfair.” Maybe if she wasn’t the one crushed over her whole life and promptly murdered, Morgan could understand these good for nothing principles, or whatever strange projection was going on from Blanche’s angle. She’d confounded people on moral questions before. Only the stars above knew how many passes she gave Deirdre, and that was just for starters.

“No,” Morgan admitted quietly. “But I never said you were. That wasn’t my point.” The point was that Agnes’ mistake should have only destroyed two people, at most. Tragic, but contained. Constance had driven Agnes to the kind of misery that made her want to end her life. And then proceeded to do the same to every other Bachman descendant, those who weren’t horribly killed by her meddling out right. It was unbalanced to the point of grotesque. What pity, what understanding was there left when Constance’s last stand was with someone she’d never met, except to try and destroy? At least Morgan was taking a stand for her own family.

“If there’s another way to get Agnes to White Crest, some way she can be around without a circle, I’ll look after her so you don’t have to keep your hotel for ghosts open longer than you already have to. She’s my family, I should at least try to help her. I want to.” And she wanted to understand why Agnes was so opposed to her finishing this ugly game Constance had turned their lives into. Seeing Ruth’s total apathy at the news had been one thing, but Agnes’ horrified face sat heavy and sick in Morgan’s stomach. She shouldered her bag and dusted herself off, looking down at Blanche with guarded concern. “I still don’t know why you’re so determined to help me, but thank you, Blanche.” She reached out a hand to pull her up. “You need anything right now?” She asked quietly. The differences between them felt as strong as the similarities in this moment, certainly nothing that could be solved with a trip to a diner or a few twenties stuffed into Blanche’s bag. But Morgan was tired of losing people, and she had a sick, prickly feeling in her stomach, almost like guilt, and she was desperate to be rid of it.

It was a strange fury that had settled in Blanche’s stomach, and she didn’t understand it. Blanche knew Morgan held different opinions on the whole subject and that their end goals were different, so she wasn’t understanding why she was so upset at Morgan’s insistence that Constance was the only one in the wrong here. It wasn’t fair - none of this was fair. Perhaps Constance had been right in that the Bachmans - that Agnes Bachman and whatever that thing Cassie, Morgan, and Blanche had confronted in the house so many months ago - were the evil ones. Whatever that meant made Blanche’s head spin because she also knew that no matter what, killing Morgan was inexcusable. How was it possible to care so much for a ghost that did something so horrible to a friend? And was she so determined to help Morgan, or was she determined to help Constance? Couldn’t there be a way for her to help both? Why was the answer one or the other? Blanche was sick of having to choose and she was sick of having to ask herself hard questions and she was sick of having to think.

Not for the first time, Blanche felt that fuzzy, static feeling in her head.

“You could summon her, or she could travel herself,” Blanche finally said, her tone devoid of any true emotion. “What I just did isn’t anything other than opening a line of communication. If I don’t close the line, she could get stuck in the circle. That’s why, even after you dissipated wrong Agnes, I had to close the ritual. But it’s not a permanent means of keeping them here.” She swallowed, wrapping her arms around herself as she shook her head. Blanche was quiet a moment as she hoisted her bag over her shoulder, and looked at Morgan. There were words on the tip of her tongue, but she couldn’t quite find them. Confusion and anger melded together, and Blanche realized that it might be better to not say anything at all. “I don’t need anything, no.” Blanche said. “I’m going to go home though, I’m… I’m tired.” It wasn’t a lie, she realized. She was exhausted, and Blanche wondered if she hadn’t overdone it. There was supposed to be a balance so she didn’t feel like complete shit afterwards. But as she turned on her heel, giving a quiet goodbye to Morgan as she trudged back to her jeep, she started to think that maybe the energy she spent on the seance wasn’t the only reason why she didn’t feel well.

[yandere-daydreams]

My first extended Promare piece, written for a lovely anonymous commissioner. I love Lio so much, it’s nice to let him have the focus. Especially if it means letting his more... *loving* side show. 

TW: Physical Violence, Injury (Bruises and Cuts), Mentions of Fire, Emotional Abuse and Delusional Mindsets. 

Word Count: 3.1k

~

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. 

It was a mantra Lio found himself repeating, muttering over and over again, regardless of what he was doing. Galo had caught him mumbling it while waiting for his to brew coffee that morning, he’d been interrupted in the middle of an inhale when the Burning Rescue Headquarters got the call, and it was the method he’d used to distract himself as he sorted through rubble, the work too delicate for the mechs to be used. But, it became much harder to maintain when he found a familiar face among the cement and rebar. 

Lio thought you were dead, for a moment, your body limp and still and paler than he could ever remember you being. Then, something above you shifted, you screamed, and he decided he’d never be so thankful for someone else’s pain. 

“Deep breaths,” He repeated, now, as much for himself as for you. There was a small nod, dirty hands coming up to cup the oxygen mask pressed into your lower face, and you obeyed without question, doing your best to fight off the panic that had you clinging to him less than a minute ago. He couldn’t blame you, the fire had been terrible, the force could hardly keep it from spreading to the rest of the city. Luckily, your building was the only one to collapse, a thought Lio couldn’t help but linger on as he signaled for you to remove the silicone. It bothered him, how uncontrolled the whole thing was, burning wildly, aimlessly, without reason or direction or anyone to restrain it. The whole thing was beautiful, in a way, something more powerful than what Lio would’ve been able to summon in that time frame. But, the ugliness of the tragedy far outweighed his admiration. 

You seemed to mirror the sentiment, shifting just enough to face the destruction and leaning into his side. He was thankful most of your injuries were minor, mostly bruises and shallow cuts, all of which had been bandaged and iced as soon as he got you back to the ambulances positioned just off the site. Even with the people rushing around you, crying and yelling, you seemed totally at ease. He couldn’t help but admire that about you, really. You’d always been calm, even when Lio had to fight to simply keep his temper in-check. 

“We could’ve done better, right?” Your voice shook, but the tease audible, the gentle edge he’d always found to endearing to ridicule. Lio could only be thankful you’d kept it sharp, this long. “It got to the support beams too quickly, didn’t even give us time to make it to the fire exits. I would’ve started in the center and worked my way outwards.” You paused, pursing your lips, glancing at him wearily. “If I’d started it, I mean. Do I need to tell you that I’m joking, Mr. Firefighter?”

“If you’d started it, your flames would’ve died out while you decided what kind of kindling to use.” It was an awful thing to joke about, but Lio couldn’t help himself. There was something cathartic about it, something distancing. A break to pretend that he wouldn’t have to run back into the wreckage in a few minutes, and you wouldn’t be left to faceless, nameless medical personal. “I’m a Rescue Member, not some Freeze Force rookie. I’ll arrest you when I see you starting fires with my own eyes.” He considered punching you in the arm, giving you another scrape to complain about, but decided against it. Your shoulder was barely in its socket, and he wasn’t going to be the one to ruin that minor victory. “What are you doing in a place like this, anyway?” He asked instead, seeing fit to change the topic when a few passing citizens began to stare. “I didn’t think you’d been ignoring me to hole yourself up on the bad side of town.”

“Hey, this hole is my home,” You retorted, weakly jabbing at your elbow into his ribs. Still, he let you rest your head on his shoulder, your form slotting comfortably against his. It wasn’t the first time you’d been so casually affectionate, and he doubted it would be the last. You’d been that way since the two of you were kids, always the one to be louder, closer, more open. 

He envied that part of you, even if Lio liked to think he wasn’t the hesitant type. 

He was jealous of the way you didn’t shy away from anything. 

Lio hardly noticed when you continued, his thoughts already wandering. “Not a lot of places take Ex-Burnish. It was homey, though, I could’ve made it cozy if I wanted to. I think I would’ve, if…” You fixed onto the debris, more mournfully than anything. “I was supposed to move in with Meis, so I guess it doesn’t matter. I’ll see what I can do to his place.”

Inhale, he reminded himself, but it didn’t seem to help anymore. He was still going tense, even as he let the breath out with a ragged sigh. You were homeless, now, something he hadn’t thought to process. You were homeless, and whatever you’d built for yourself was crushed under boulders and rocks and ashes, because the Burning Rescue hadn’t gotten there fast enough and buildings were made to withstand non-Burnish flames and Lio hadn’t been there for you. He should’ve been. He could’ve been. 

But he wasn’t. And you were hurt. 

Another glance at you didn’t ease his nerves. If he was still strong, if he was still powerful, he could’ve made a fire hot enough to warm you up in an instant. But, he couldn’t, and you were left to cling to the thin blanket a paramedic had draped over your body and shake, pressing yourself into Lio like your goal was to melt under his skin. You were injured, hurt, vulnerable, just as defenseless and as helpless as anyone else. 

As he was.

Forcing himself to look away, Lio focused on the ground, hoping you didn’t notice the change in his demeanor. “You could stay with me,” He offered, masking how desperate he was for you to accept. “The apartment I have now is too big, I’ve got an extra bedroom and everything. You’ll have as much space as you want.”

You shook your head, like you’d already thought about this. “I don’t need your help, Lio. You don’t have to be nice just because I look pathetic.” There was a pause, a shift, a movement that was just enough to separate you from him. “If I don’t pull myself up now, I’m never going to. You’re not my leader, anymore, I can’t just dump my problems on you and act like everything’s fine.” 

There was a pang of hurt, offense, something painful that Lio couldn’t quite put his finger on. The honesty hit him just as suddenly. “I never minded, your problems are my problems, too.” He was the one to move forward, this time, resting a hand on your knee. “Just trust me, like you used to. I’ll be here as soon as things get overwhelming, you know that.” 

“I’m not going to rely on you.” The growl was quiet, spat out through gritted teeth, but its message was conveyed nonetheless. Lio pulled away out of shock alone, staring wide-eyed and stunned for a second before he could think to tell you how stupid you were being, but you broke the tension before he could escalate it, quickly forcing a smile and laughing so naturally, Lio almost believed it was genuine. Almost. “Besides, since when are you so sweet? Is the big, bad Lio suddenly getting soft? C’mon, call me an idiot before I start to get scared.”

He tried to go on, clenching his fists and baring his teeth, but Galo’s voice rang out before he could. A gloved hand and blue hair emerged from the crowd, and you instinctively sunk into yourself, attempting to seem as small as possible at the hint of an overpowering presence. Lio didn’t say anything, only pushing himself to his feet and shoving his way through the wall of people, intent on finding Galo before Galo could find him. 

Still, your last words played back in his mind, regardless of how much he tried to force them out. You didn’t think you needed him, you didn’t want his help. He’d been your Boss through thick-and-thin, and he had never let you down. You should trust him, you should be content in his arms, you should adore him. You were just too blind to see it. You didn’t know how much you needed someone stronger to protect you.

You didn’t know how much you needed him. 

But, it was fine. Lio repeated that one more time, the reassurance accompanied by the exhale he’d been holding in for far too long. It was fine. 

He would just have to open your eyes.

~

Trying to call on the Promare was your first instinct. 

You’d gotten used to pretending to be unconscious in the worst of situations, keeping your eyes shut and your breathing deep, listening to what was going on around you until the route of least resistance made itself apparent. You were laying on something soft, your shoes gone but all of your clothing in-tact, and your wrists were cuffed with light-weight shackles, padded on the inside, connected to the headboard by a long, slack chain. There was one more person in your room, at your side and sitting up, but you had no way of telling whether they were an enemy or an ally. Just to be safe, you called the flames forward, preparing yourself for the feeling of warm faux-metal against your skin, of magma and fire and strength surrounding you, but your pleas for aid went unanswered. 

You remembered a second later, cursing yourself for forgetting. Things weren’t that easy, anymore. They were never that easy.

The frustration must’ve been noticeable, because your captor was quick to reach down, a delicate hand resting softly on your shoulder and beginning to rub slow, deep circles into your skin. “I know you're awake, I taught you that trick myself,” Lio started, his voice catching you off-guard. You recognized it, of course you recognized it, shooting up as soon as that cold, indifferent tone hit your ears. You felt lots of things, shock and disappointment and fear, but the utter confusion rose above it all, your words coming out in incoherent stutters as your tongue tripped over itself. Lio only frowned, pushing you back down, encouraging you to rest against the stack of pillows separating you from the wooden frame. 

“Don’t move too quickly, and don’t try to get up.” If he was anything aside from annoyed, you couldn’t tell, your panic as unimportant to him as a child’s phobia of the dark. “The sedatives are still in your system. I don’t need you choking yourself, you’re here so you won’t do something dense and fatal.”

You could get a better view of the cell, now, or… the room, rather. It was a standard bedroom, save for the lack of windows and the door bolted shut on the far wall, enough dead-bolts blocking the entrance to keep an army contained. It all absolutely reeked of Lio, too, the decorations sparse and the furniture minimalistic, every surface painted a truely harsh blank, only made more violent by artificial lighting. It hurt your eyes, forcing you to look away, but that only brought your attention to the bed you’d been restrained to. You didn’t know what could’ve made you feel better, but seeing the spare coils of rope by the bed’s lower posts didn’t manage to ease your nerves.

It was a problem for another time, you decided, turning towards Lio. He was still sitting on his knees, his eyes never having left your face. You wanted to say something clever, something disarming, but the first thing that came to mind slipped out bedore you could stop it. “You said you wouldn’t arrest me.” 

“And I’m not going to,” He reassured, lowering himself a bit more. He was more touchy than he’d ever been before, making a point of letting his hand trail a little closer to your own. You had to keep your fists clenched just to stop him from doing something disgustingly uncharacteristic. “And no one else is, either, you don’t have to worry about that! As long as you’re here, you’ll be safe. I’ll keep you safe.”

You scowled, fighting not to snap at him. He wasn’t making sense. “And where is ‘here’?”

Lio deflated slightly at your skepticism, his resolution weakening and allowing you to sit up. It was uncomfortable, every little movement reminding you of how heavy the tether was, but you didn’t stop until you were pressed against the headboard, as much distance between you and Lio as you could manage. Still, it took edging dangerously close to the bed’s side before Lio realized what you were doing, the boy hardly trying to hide the hurt as he held himself back. “That… that doesn’t matter,” He insisted, voice breaking despite his best attempts to hold himself steady. “I’ll tell you once I know you’re thinking straight. Right now, you’ll freak out and make me have to hurt you. Neither of us want that.”

“So I’m tied to a bed, stuck in your basement, and I don’t even know if I’m in the same city I was, this morning.” You couldn’t help but sigh, shaking your head and biting your cheek, muffling your terror into something duller, something less risky. A faded anxiety, one just strong enough to have your pulse beating in your ears. Akin to walking down a dark street at night, rather than being held hostage. “This isn’t funny, Lio, I’m supposed to be at Meis’ in an hour. You can’t just avoid me for months then expect to get away with pretending to fucking kidnap me.” You shot him a glare, attempting to hide your venom with grit teeth. “Give me a phone and let me out, now. You’re just lucky I’m too nice to tell all those goody-goody friends of yours about this.”

“I’m not joking, you’re the only one not taking this seriously,” He huffed, crossing his arms and averting his eyes, like a teenager having a fight with his partner. “You can’t take care of yourself, (Y/n), you’ve proved that! I know this is confusing, but you’ve got to understand where I’m coming from, you need someone to keep you safe. I’ve been watching you since the accident, and you don’t even notice how much danger you--”

“You’ve been ‘watching’ me?” This time, you couldn’t help but snap at him, angrier than you were disturbed. “Stalking, you were stalking me! What happened to you? We worked together for years and you never worried about me.”

He leaned forward, and you moved away, only for Lio to catch the chains connecting your wrists. You jerked it out of his hold quickly, but he just bared his teeth, letting out something a little too close to a growl. “It’s for your protection. We were Burnish, now we’re just… you need me. Look at what happened when you tried to fare for yourself, you ended up in some shitty apartment that collapsed at the tiniest bit of damage.” He paused, making another grab for you, this one more narrowly avoided. “This’ll keep you safe, and I want to keep you happy, too.”

“You’re the weak one, I never relied on the Promare.” You turned away from him, planting your feet on the ground like it was an act of resistance. Pulling at the bonds hadn’t seemed worthwhile before, but you pulled and stood up and screamed, if only to make the clashing a little louder, a little harder for Lio to stand. “Let me go. I’m not going to ask again.”

You watched as he went rigid, cringing and balling the sheets in his fists. “Take it back.”

“No!” You didn’t know what he meant, you didn’t care, leaning back on your heels and thrashing against your restraints wildly. “Stop acting crazy, and--”

Before you could finish, you were on the floor, the back of your head hitting the ground unimpeded as you collided with it. Your vision went black for a moment, your eyes clenching shut reflexively before you opened them, the world around you spinning as you tried to push yourself up again. You only realized what’d happened when your arms failed to move, drawing attention to the man now straddling your waist. You hadn’t seen him attack, but he’d always been faster than you, stronger than you, better than you. It only took him one hand to keep yours in place, when he tried, and a single kick had been enough to disorient you. You weren’t sure why you ever thought your friendship would keep him at bay. 

Lio broke the silence, in the end, snarling as he spoke. “Take it back. I’m not weak. You’re helpless without me, and you want someone to take care of you. You’ve been asking me to, even if you haven’t realized it.” 

You glared, ready to spit something hateful in his direction, but thin fingers were wrapped around your neck before you could act. Even as you moved to open your mouth, his grip tightened, not choking you to but preparing to, a threat Lio wouldn’t hesitate to carry out. You knew Lio enough to recognize that. Still, you weren’t going to bargain with him, you weren’t going to beg. If he wanted you on your knees, he was going to have to put you there himself. 

Lio knew you enough to recognize that. 

He scoffed, letting his nails dig into your skin and playing with the idea of breaking through, but he pulled away before his self-discipline could waver. Still, he didn’t get off of you, continuing to stare as a smile, wider than you’d ever seen him wear, formed on his lips. You didn’t like it, and the way his fingers trailed downward, following your neckline a little too closely didn’t do much to comfort you, either. 

“It’s fine, it’ll be fine,” He said, speaking slowly, like he was talking to himself as much as you. “I don’t know why I expected you to make this simple.”

There was a pause, a dry chuckle, his grin having taken a turn towards hostile by the time his eyes met yours. 

“I’ll just have to show you all the bad things that can happen when you’re stubborn, won’t I?”

[talkfastromance4]

I Can’t Stop Drinking About You (a.i) one-shot

Author’s note: So this is hella angsty. No idea where this even came from but Ashton brings out the angst in me I dunno. Could possibly be a two parter? Let me know. 

Warnings: drinking, heartbreak

Masterlist

Ashton watches the liquid slip and roll effortlessly at the bottom of the bottle as he teeters it from side to side. Through his cloudy and glazed eyes he finds the humor in his actions, the bottle is tipping just as he is. Tipping to insanity and tipping away from the surface, tipping away from her.

His head hurt and his heart felt heavier as he was hypnotized by the amber liquid moving from side to side before he brought the mouth of the bottle to his own and kissed it. The alcohol slid easily down his throat, he welcomed the burn like an old friend. He wanted the small flames to lick away his pain, numb the sadness in his heart but it only blazed the pain further.

Her face flashed across his closed eyes and he opened them with a start slamming the bottle a little too harshly on his black lacquered tabletop. Everything was blurry around him but her face was so clear and he couldn’t quite comprehend how that could be.

It’s been two weeks. Fourteen days since they both called it quits, their emotions were high but the white flags of surrender were flung higher. It wasn’t the distance, no, it was never that. Instead it was the depths of his standoffishness and drawing within himself that caused the strife between them. He’d get that way sometimes where he just shut down and wouldn’t open up to anyone but especially with her.

Early on in their relationship nicknames formed, he was her sunshine and she was his moonlight, she was the yin to his yang and he was the light to her dark illumination. They complemented each other perfectly but when those roles switched . . . it was damn near apocalyptic.

His sun would be eclipsed into the darkest parts of him and the light from within her tried and tried to bring his sunshine back.

“Why won’t you just talk to me?” she asked following him into his music room where his kit was set up.

“I don’t want to talk,” he responded in monotone.

“Why? Something is bothering you, I could help—“

“I don’t always need your help, you don’t always have to be the little optimist that you are. Sometimes I get in these moods and I want to be left alone,” he snapped harshly.

She saw venom in his eyes and as he clenched his drumsticks in his hands it made the snake tattoo flex in a way that looked like it were about to strike her.

“It’s been three days that you’ve been in this mood,” she crossed her arms and planted her feet preparing for battle. “You need to get out of it.”

“I don’t need to do anything. Leave me alone,” he shook his head.

Something in her snapped.

“You really want to be left alone?” she questioned just as he began to hit the black pads and he nodded. “And you really don’t need my help?”

“Yep.” His eyes were trained on the pieces of wood hitting the circles before him, he nodded his head along to the beat he was creating.

She muttered a fine and left the room. He was only playing for a few minutes when he saw her walk by with her duffel bag over her shoulder. Ashton stopped playing immediately and stalked out of the room to find her slipping on her boots.

“What the hell are you doing?” he demanded watching her actions. His eyes slid to how full her duffel bag was and the way she shoved her tangled phone charger in her purse.

“You want to be alone and you don’t need me so I’m leaving you alone,” she huffed but her voice shook as she slipped her arms through the sleeves of her jacket.

“Don’t be dramatic—“ he sighed and she whipped around so fast with her eyes blazing and filling with tears.

“I’m being dramatic? That’s rich coming from you who’s been walking around this house like a massive black hole. You don’t talk to me, you don’t want to talk to me so I’m taking myself out of the equation.”

She shouldered her bag and strode past him to the front door but Ashton grabbed her by the elbow stopping her. The air between them was static, charged with heightened emotions yet prominent to fizzle out.

“You’re just going to give up and walk away?”

“You gave up first,” she responded quietly and pulled out of his grasp.

He counted her steps as she walked to the door, it was five and on the sixth when her hand was on the knob she turned to him but kept her eyes on the floor.

“I’ll be back Sunday to get the rest of my things,” she told him quietly then slipped through the door into the night.

Seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven. . . .

 Ashton pushed away from the table and tossed his empty bottle—which mirrored his empty heart a little too closely—into the sink. It shattered into a million broken pieces, the sound rung in his ears and made the pain even worse.

The images in his mind blurred together, it felt like he was on a carousel that never stopped spinning. Her eyes, her laugh, her hands, everything about her swirled in his vision and he couldn’t latch on one thing to ground him. Their fight was tossed in as well and the emptiness grew and grew but that’s impossible, how can nothing grow?

He tried closing his eyes but it only made things worse. So many memories swam across his mind and he couldn’t take any more of it so he tried to push it away then he heard a hard bang as his fist collided with something.

He opened his eyes to see he punched a massive hole in the wall. He pulled his hand out to see drywall on his rings and bright red blood on his knuckles.

“What the hell are you doing, man?” Calum’s voice swirled through his ears, each word swimming along until he understood what they meant.

He turned his head slowly to see Calum, his best friend, his brotherly soulmate standing in front of him with a pizza box in his hand.

“Nothin’,” Ashton mumbled trying to step towards him but he swayed hard to the left. He caught himself on the edge of the countertop. How was he still on this damn carousel?

“Woah,” Calum moved quickly to plant his hand on Ashton’s shoulder, “how hammered are you?”

“Not enough,” Ashton giggled at the absolute comical commodity of it all. “Is that pizza? I’m starved.”

“You’re out of your mind,” Calum corrected but let Ashton take the box from him. He watched in silent yet cautious amazement as Ashton devoured half the pizza in five minutes. “You’re a wreck.”

“That I am,” Ashton raised a finger and wiggled it in Calum’s face. “I’m a shipwreck with no lighthouse and it’s all my fault.”

“Have you talked to her?”

“She won’t want to talk to me,” Ashton sniggered then staggered over to his couch and collapsed onto the cushion. He felt the weight of Calum sit next to him.

“She’s a mess, too,” Calum said quietly.

Ashton rolled his head on the back of the couch and had to blink a few times before Calum’s head stopped darting so quickly from left to right.

“You’re lying.”

“I’m not. She hasn’t slept in three weeks and barely eats.”

“Three weeks? It’s only been two. . .” Ashton purses his lips trying to sort the numbers in his head.

“This all started before two weeks ago, Ash. You’re both miserable and you both need each other. Call her.”

Because Ashton is in a fragile state and wants the carousel to stop spinning, he heeds his brother’s advice and pulls out his phone. She’s still the number one favorite on his contact list and doesn’t hear Calum mumble, “I didn’t mean right now” as he presses ‘audio call.’

“No time like the present, Cally-boy,” Ashton grins as he listens to her voicemail and it distracts him.

‘Hey! It’s y/n! Sorry I missed your call, I’m probably sleeping or ignoring you cause I don’t know who you are. If it’s important leave a message and I’ll TRY to get back to you. Maybe. Make it count and I just might.’

“Damn, I forgot how cute you sound on the phone,” Ashton mumbles breathlessly, “You probably are sleeping. Yeh’re a very sleepy girl, babe. And cuddly. I miss you. I’m spinning and Cal won’t make it stop but you can . . . you always make it stop spinning. I’m sorry. That’s why I called. I’m sorry I’m such a dick and I . . . I’m sorry. Everything is heavy and the bottle broke and I am too and I . . . I want you here. I need you. Please come home. Please,” he finished in a desperate whisper and the phone fell from his hand.

Tears stung his eyes and everything kept spinning. Spinning, spinning, and spinning until he fell into the despair of his darkness.

 When his eyes open again he’s met with a striking bright light and a pounding in his head. His mouth is dry and sandpapery, his body feels like a thousand pounds and he swears the pounding of his heart is echoing throughout his house.

He sits up and still hears a loud pounding only to realize it’s coming from the front door. Who the hell is here this early? Is it even early? Time is irrelevant at this point and he drags his body from the couch shuffling to the door.

He rubs his eyes then opens the door and chokes on his breath. His eyes zero in on her before him, the rest of the world is blurred, she shifts into focus and the carousel has finally stopped. The ache in his chest has lessened, the darkness surrounding him has lifted.

“Hi Ashton,” she greets quietly. He doesn’t miss how her voice is paper thin, like a small origami crane not wanting to be crushed.

For the first time in two weeks, he feels harbored and safe, his lighthouse is in front of him again. He’ll do anything to fix this shipwreck.

[elijahxwilliams]

Out of the Dark || Self

Elijah had decided to let loose once the power cut out. In a different way than what he usually did. He wasn’t necessarily adding to mass hysteria, since what he was doing wasn’t a part of the masses, but he definitely wasn’t sitting idly by when there was so much opportunity out there.

Mischief was practically Elijah’s middle name, all he needed was Shiloh to be his Mayhem but the middle Sinclair child was otherwise preoccupied, so Elijah found himself out on the streets of Chicago at dusk waiting for the sun to go down.

He’d been walking around the streets, his hands stuffed in his pockets as he observed everyone who was rushing to get home before the sun went down. They didn’t like the danger of not knowing what was to come. Elijah thrived off of it. His adrenaline was pumping with the thought of what could happen, all the possibilities too innumerable and vast to all take in.

The streets had finally begun to look deserted, and he contemplated where he wanted to head first. Looting was too obvious, that’s what most people were doing. They all were going after stupid things, too. Elijah wasn’t a materialistic person, all he needed to know was that he was provided for and that was enough. Shelter, food, bathroom, bed.

Finally he decided he would head towards the market, his fingers idly playing with the lighter he always kept on hand. What was a little fire here and there? It wasn’t like he intended to burn down entire establishments, but causing a little panic just to step in and help put it out might be entertaining enough.

Arriving at a small block where a few shops lined the street, he began seeking out the perfect spot to start his little bonfire. It needed to be somewhere not too out in the open where someone could see him doing it, but still in view enough that it wouldn’t go unnoticed to the point of getting out of hand.

There. He spotted a tight alleyway that had a dumpster at the end of it, a perfect cover as well as ignition for getting things underway.

As he was heading over to it, however, a voice rang out his name and he stopped dead in his tracks.

He knew that voice.

He’d heard that voice every day for 18 years of his life. Sometimes it still haunted him in his sleep. The image that usually accompanied it being them sprawled out on the floor grasping at their broken arm. The broken arm that Elijah had caused them.

Turning towards the direction the voice had come from, part of him hoped that it had been the wind. Once his eyes settled on the two figures not too far from him, however, he knew there was no escaping the reality that this was.

His little brother.

Elijah stood frozen in place as his younger brother Robert, though he’d always known him as Bobby, came closer. A smaller person walked beside him but Elijah didn’t recognize them.

As the pair of them came closer, he could see the bags that were in their arms, full of survival items that were already beginning to run thin after all these days of chaos.

“Bobby.” Elijah said, discomfort clearly in his voice. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d spoken to his younger brother, let alone seen him. Seen any of his younger siblings if he was going to be honest. He’d called Mary on her birthday, but that had been back in May, though now he was beginning to question if that had even been May of this year.

Guilt slowly began to creep into his subconscious though he attempted to hold it together until the two were directly in front of him.

“It’s been a long time, Eli.” Bobby stated, gripping the bag of supplies in one hand, the hand of the little girl in the other. Elijah wondered if that was his daughter. Would his brother have had a kid and not told him? The child looked to be a grade school age, definitely no older than 10. Eli had only left home about 9 years ago and Bobby was two years younger than him. His math skills were weak, but he knew that his brother hadn’t had any kids within the short span after he left. They were still on good speaking terms at that point. Sort of.

“Yeah, I guess it has.” It was a lame response, but what else was there to say to someone you had out right abandoned after being the only parent figure they’d known their whole life. The rest of the siblings were easier to talk to, they hadn’t quite understood as much as Elijah and Bobby had. They were the two eldest, and even though Elijah took on the majority of the responsibility, Bobby tried to pick up any slack that he could. He probably still was to this day. He was a better man than Eli ever could say he was these days.

Elijah finally returned his attention to the little girl, taking in the fact that she looked a lot like his sister Celia. She would’ve been about 20 by now, though he would have to look on a calendar to be sure.

He looked back to his brother and even though it had been years, the two were able to communicate without words. “She’s not mine.” He stated plainly, almost sounding as though he didn’t want to discuss it. A look crossed Elijah’s face that Robert could immediately read as further confusion. “She’s our sister.”

She’s our sister.

They had another sister? He had another sister? But how could he possibly not...

“You realize it’s been six years, right?” His brother finally blurted out in accusation. Six years. The phone call he’d thought he’d made had been six years ago. Mary had only just turned 13. And now this little girl... Was his youngest sister that he hadn’t been unaware of for six years.

“What’s her name?” Was all Elijah could muster out, as his eyes rested on the young stranger before him. He wondered if she even knew who he was, if she’d heard his name at all in the past six years or if Bobby was the oldest of the family as far as she knew.

“It’s Carter. They wanted something gender neutral this time or something...” 

Their parents. From the time they were 16 and originally had Elijah to apparently even when they’d been nearing their 40′s, they were a reckless couple. Elijah had vowed not to be like them when he was younger, and yet here he was on his way to set a fire simply for the entertainment of it.

“I like it.”

It was all he could say in response to his brother. After all these years, Elijah wasn’t even sure he’d know what to comment on that still rang true. The family he’d known had moved on without him, and it was all his fault for letting them.

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

Even hours after the encounter, Elijah still found himself greatly effected. His stomach was knotted and his chest burned as he thought about his family and how they no longer knew each other. They had once been the world to him, the ones he would die to protect. Now he didn’t even know when his family had expanded. Didn’t even know when her birthday was, what her favorite color was, how she was liking school...

Elijah paced his apartment angrily, having already thrown several items about the place in frustration. He had gone into this lifestyle with the intent of saving money to bring his siblings out from the dark cloud of his parents, but had ended up shutting them out completely instead. If they suffered any more after he left, it was his fault. If they went without a meal it was because he hadn’t supplied it. And now there was another sister that he hadn’t even been able to meet that could never have known what it was like to have somebody look after her other than her neglectful parents.

Except that she did. Bobby had been there. Mary and Celia had been there. Even Jack had been there. They all had stuck around and helped each other out. They didn’t get scared off by one accident; didn’t get drawn towards a dark future. In fact, Elijah wouldn’t be surprised if every single one of them had managed to go to college for something.

The thought made him scream in frustration, his fist drawing back and punching a hole into one of the walls. He should have been there, he should have stuck around. Now it was clear that he was all but forgotten and he had nobody but himself to blame.

Elijah collapsed against the wall he’d just punched looking down at the hand that had done it, unfazed by the blood that was beginning to prickle through the small scrapes that were a result of the action. He could feel the distant sting and eventual bruising that would occur, but the ache he felt in his chest was much stronger. 

[raendown]

Chapter: 2/9 Pairing: MadaraTobirama Word count: 3280 Rated: M Summary: Walking patrol around a university for mages probably sounded like a wild time but Tobirama has never found it all that exciting. He’s not even technically supposed to be here. When responding to a tripped alarm becomes a desperate attempt to stay alive, however, excitement is the last thing on his mind. All he’s ever wanted is a quiet life alone with his books until he finds himself bound to Uchiha Madara in the most impossible way and finally learns to think about more than just himself - in a way.

Follow the link or read it under the cut!

KO-FI and commission info in the header!

Chapter 2

“I can feel their energies here.”

Hashirama paused in his fight against the snow currently trying to suck him under and looked up to see where they had stopped. It didn’t look like much. Everything around them was covered in snow nearly two feet thick and so pristine it was almost hard to distinguish the shapes of the hills around them. The one they had stopped at wasn’t different in any way from the others except perhaps being slightly smaller.

“You’re sure?” he asked. Hinata tilted her head and smiled at him, veins bulging out around her strange eyes. Several of the others with them took a subtle step backwards.

“Absolutely, Headmaster. Their energies are somewhere inside, underneath the earth. They’ve changed.”

“What do you mean ‘they’ve changed’? Changed how?”

Hinata smiled again and turned to look at him. “I cannot say,” was all she said.

Muttering about the irritating vagueness of seers, Hashirama shook his head and closed his eyes. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for but he absolutely knew when he found it. A cave; the entrance to an entire system of caves, actually. From the echoes in the ground he wasn’t sure whether to feel triumphant or even more put off at the thought of searching through all that open space. All he wanted was his brother and his best friend. Was that too much to ask?

“You will find them.” Hinata nodded once, sightless eyes locked on to his, and he wondered for the hundredth time how seers always managed to do that when they were all blind, their worldly vision exchanged for inner sight. “Good afternoon, Headmaster.”

“Are you–? She’s leaving. One of you go with her, please, and make sure she gets back the school alright.” One of their group broke off to escort the young woman wherever she ended up while Hashirama kept his eyes on the prize before him. So much ground to cover – literally – but as vague and difficult as they were on the whole, seers were also known for being irritatingly accurate.

With several of his strongest faculty members behind him, backup in case whoever took Tobirama and Madara away from the school was still around, he walked forward to punch a hole in what looked like a completely solid wall. It caved immediately. Perfectly piled snow collapsed inwards and rained down until finally the cave entrance was revealed to them. An ingenious hiding place, he had to admit, something that a random passerby would never have detected until the winter season passed.

A smile of triumph flitted across his features as he waded his way in to the tunnel and kicked open a path for the rest to follow until finally they made it far enough inside where the snow thinned. Looking around as he made his way carefully forward didn’t tell him much. It was a natural cave, no signs of any tool markings non-magical or otherwise.  He made a cursory glance around for footprints but the storm that had kicked up around midnight had done a good job erasing the possibility of that. There was a hum of sorts in the air, however, and that was as much warning as he got before walking headlong in to a barrier spell.

Which, luckily, had already been weakened enough that instead of deadly force he was met with only a brief shower of fire sparks that came out more like electricity, leaving his hair standing out from his head like the chia pets he used to see on non-magical television.

While his teachers fussed and flocked and made sure he was alright Hashirama narrowed his eyes at the barrier.

“That felt like my brother’s magic,” he said. “Except not. Not entirely, anyway. Kurenai, my dear, could you come have a look at this please?”

The head of his wards and perception department, Yuhi Kurenai was the best one to check out the barrier he so unwittingly walked right in to. She was also the most qualified out of all of them to check for any other illusions that might be tangled up in it and confirm that whatever they found beyond the barrier was not an illusion.

Stepping back a few paces, Hashirama allowed the woman a little space to shuffle around him and get to work. Her red eyes reminded him a little of his brother’s when she narrowed them in concentration, fingers reaching out to pause just before the barrier, close enough to draw out a faint hissing sound and a warning flash of light gold an inch or so from her fingers. No one spoke as she stood there motionless. It took a couple of minutes but eventually she turned around with a curious slant to her brows and a frown on her lips.

“Your brother fiddled with it first, Headmaster. He added a few proverbial bombs. I’m afraid his magic is too bright for me to get a proper read on the other person underneath but I can tell you that there’s something tantalizingly familiar about it.”

“Not good news,” Hashirama muttered.

“But his little trick has weakened the spell enough that I can crack it like glass and get us in.”

“Good news!” Clapping his hands together once, he then gestured her back to the seemingly innocuous way forward. “Shall we, then?”

Kurenai nodded and got to work without making him wait. As she predicted, the spell shattered under one sharp blow to exactly the right spot and Hashirama was stepping past it almost before she gave him the all clear to do so.

Just beyond where the barrier had been the tunnel curved and Hashirama slowed his footsteps, signaling for the others to tread carefully behind him as he peeked around the bend ahead with every step. Slowly a larger open space opened up before him. It appeared completely empty until he finally moved far enough in that he was able to see the eastern wall.

Of all the things he expected to find, seeing Madara and Tobirama cuddled up together was not one of them. It actually took a full second of blank shock for his reason to kick in and remind him that last night there had been a blizzard, that neither of the men across the way were dressed for extended periods of time outdoors, and conclude that they had most likely huddled together for warmth. That didn’t make it any stranger to see the two of them getting along in any context.

Hashirama’s entourage scurried after him as he rushed across the snowy floor and dropped to his knees to look for a pulse, entirely casting aside the idea that he should have allowed Kurenai to check for illusions or other traps first. Strangely, neither of the men before him felt cold. In a cave so thickly coated with ice he would have expected to find their skin chilled – or at least Tobirama’s since Madara had his magic to warm him. They were both, in fact, the exact same temperature under his touch.

Skin temperature was hardly the most important thing on his mind, however. More urgent was seeing whether he could get them to wake up. Neither of their skin looked discolored so the chances that they had escaped hypothermia seemed pretty good but he was hardly a medical expert. Suddenly he felt stupid for not bringing one of his medi-mages along just in case; his own daughter would have been an excellent choice. Gently shaking Tobirama’s shoulder got no response when he tried and neither did shaking Madara’s. Slapping their cheeks did nothing but loll their heads to either side. With great concern he decided that doing this here was wasting time. It would be better for them to get out of the cold first and try to wake them later.

Pulling Tobirama towards himself, he gestured for Kurenai to help him break the death grip they had on each other’s hands. One or both of them seemed determined to cling, probably unconsciously worried about losing their digits to the cold, and it was making the efforts to help them quite difficult. Finally he managed to pry them loose and pull Tobirama away from Madara’s embrace.

He wasn’t prepared for his brother’s reaction.

 -

 Time might have passed. It was hard to think of the world outside, hard to concentrate on anything. Together they existed in a state of peace where nothing was wrong and nothing could ever go wrong. One being, one core of flowing magic, liquid fire that flowed through every vein in their two bodies to bring warmth and harmony. It felt as if they had always been this way and always would be. Surely they had always been one being, thoughts and sensations and memories shared, nothing to hide and no desire for anything else in the world but this perfect state of being to go on forever.

Something brushed against one of their four wrists but it was okay, they knew it would always be okay. Together they felt something touching their bodies but that was fine too. Nothing mattered but the euphoria of togetherness. Then that something began to pick at the places where their river converged, the weakest points in the connection that made them them and finally they understood that something bad was happening. By then it was simply too late.

Tobirama came up screaming. Something was wrong but he didn’t know what; all he knew was that one moment he had been whole and the next he was torn from himself, lesser, a name is his head that he couldn’t remember forgetting. Where he should have felt the other half of himself there in his mind he found only echoing silence, only water where he should have also had the compliment of fire. Only two hands where he should have had four, only one heartbeat where he should have had two. Lonely in a way he could not identify. Everything about him was wrong, wrong, so very wrong.

And it hurt.

It took a while to even notice the voice trying to soothe him but even then it was a fight to recognize it past the haze of pain. Tobirama opened his eyes to see Madara’s body cradled in someone else’s arms – Hikaku, he recognized faintly in the back of his mind, though his identity was none of Tobirama’s concern at the moment. With one arm his reached out, desperate to reach Madara and unable to articulate why. Hands on his shoulders held him back.

“Shush, Tobi, it’s okay. I’ve got you. Big brother is here. We’ll take you back home now, okay?”

Tobirama whined low in the back of his throat and reached harder. He watched as Madara’s body was lifted and with every step away the pain in his soul grew and grew until it came echoing up his throat again, a garbled scream of protest.

“Whoa, hey, Tobi! What’s wrong? What is it?” Hands stroked his face but he shook them away.

“He’s in pain,” he gasped, unsure of how he knew but very sure it was the most important thing in the world that he stop it, more important even than his own pain. He felt almost as though his very essence had been pulled out of his body and yet to know that his other half…that Madara was in pain, it couldn’t be borne.

“Someone tell Hikaku to get back here.” At last he recognized the voice next to him as Hashirama. Having his brother there with him should have been a comfort. Tobirama had eyes only for the approaching body, limp where he hung in the strong arms of his distant cousin.

Weakly struggling against his own limbs, Tobirama reached out as best as he could. It quickly became clear that he didn’t have the strength to move himself and eventually Hashirama jumped in to help him sit up properly, nonplussed expression on his face just barely hiding the rabid curiosity underneath. He helped Tobirama lift one arm and instructed Hikaku to bring Madara close enough for them to touch.

A wave of relief and belonging washed over Tobirama the moment their hands connected. He was whole again. Sinking in to blissful completion, they welcomed the darkness that rose up to take them away from that wretched cave.

The next time Tobirama became aware of the world he was in the infirmary with no memory of how he came to be there. His last coherent memories were of being cold, of Madara’s reluctant offer to warm him. After that there was some sort of hazy dream about not being whole, being torn apart at the very center of his existence, and for some reason Hashirama’s voice hovering over him with fruitless words of comfort. The whole thing was strange.

What was stranger was sitting upright to find his infirmary bed pushed up against the one next to it, his fingers woven in to Madara’s, and their hands tied together with what looked like a string of magic. If the exhaustion wasn’t messing with his senses too badly then the magic felt as though it originated from Tsunade, his precocious little niece, barely a century of years under her belt and already world-renowned in the magical communities for her advancements in the healing arts. He really hoped she had a good reason for tying him to…actually, once he stopped to think about it he found that he wasn’t nearly as upset as he should be.

Getting tied to Uchiha Madara should be his worst nightmare yet here he was feeling oddly relieved. Clearly something had gone terribly wrong.

Luckily he wasn’t left to stew in his own panic for long, the doors to the hall opening a moment later and several familiar faces waltzing in without so much as a single knock to make sure he was decent. One look at the shocked relief on his brother’s face when their eyes met and he decided that – just this once! – he could forgive such rudeness.

“You’re awake!” Hashirama threw himself across the room to pull Tobirama into a hug. In return he patted the man’s back with his one free hand.

“It would seem so. Also confused. If someone would kindly tell us what we’re doing strapped to Madara?”

“Uh…” Hashirama stared at him strangely and Tobirama couldn’t for the life of him understand why but he was distracted by Tsunade stomping up to him on those too-high heels of hers and bending down to look deeply in to his eyes.

“So I was right,” was all she said.

Falling back on one elbow to get some space between them, he asked, “Right about what?”

His niece straightened up to make room for Hashirama to lunge forward and dither around his brother as she spoke, the news she delivered just heavy enough that Tobirama didn’t even bother to protest Hashirama’s overbearing tendencies.

“Your condition is something I’ve only come across twice in my studies and the idea was entirely theoretical in both texts. Every time we tried to separate you from Professor Uchiha you both showed signs of extreme distress; a couple times it was so bad you would both seize or your vitals would drop. An examination of your bodies showed nothing suspicious but when we had some examine the flow of your magics…” She trailed off with a hesitant expression and Tobirama felt his heart beating in his throat.

“What? Spit it out, what did you find?”

“The two of you aren’t ‘the two of you’ anymore. Your magic and his have exactly the same signature now. I don’t know what you guys were up to in that cave but your core magics have merged in to one and from what we can tell, the pain of separation stems from both of you searching for the parts of yourself that are actually in someone else’s body now.”

Explanation finished, Tsunade propped both hands on her hips and let him have a minute to absorb everything she’d just said. The others followed suit. Even Hashirama stopped flapping around trying to make sure he really was okay and instead gently pet his hair to help keep him calm.

“That is the craziest bullshit we’ve ever heard,” he finally muttered.

“Brother.” Hashirama kept his tone low and soothing. “We had to tie your hands together so you’d stop rolling away from each other because every time you did…Tobi, the sounds you were making…” It was as horrifying as it was fascinating to watch him choke on his own words and turn away because elaborating on that was too difficult. Him. Hashirama, the man with so many emotions he’d cried during every speech he gave in his entire life, could not handle describing the screams of his own brother.

Tobirama turned his head to look at the man in the bed beside him. “We’re sorry.”

He wasn’t entirely sure what he was sorry about but he knew that Hashirama’s discomfort was his own fault and that had never sat well. At least, not when he hadn’t deliberately caused that discomfort himself with a prank or something of the like.

“Yeah, that’s another symptom,” Tsunade drawled. Tobirama looked up again with a questioning eyebrow.

“What is?”

“That thing you’re doing where you speak in the royal we.”

“We have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Crying out in triumph, Tsunade pointed at him. “That! Right there! You said ‘we’ but it should have been ‘I’!”

Opening his mouth to refute her, Tobirama stopped dead. He had indeed just been about to say ‘No we didn’t’. Just because he had to admit that she was right didn’t mean he needed to prove her point for her.

His eyes were drawn back to Madara like a magnet to a lode stone while the others in the room began to chatter amongst themselves, speculations about why his subconscious speech had changed. All things considered he really should be more upset. For as long as they had known each other he and Madara had been like oil and water, unable to mix, forever clashing. He could easily admit that in most of those clashes he had taken shameless amusement from stoking the fire, both literal and proverbial.

Now here he was being told that the very core of his being had somehow melded with Madara’s and he found himself taking the news in a suspiciously calm manner, almost like his unconscious mind had already accepted it. It baffled him that they were even capable of merging and yet when he thought of being one with Madara his entire being was suffused with such a feeling of rightness that his mind fairly skittered away from the idea of being any other way. The logical part of his brain told him that this probably had something to do with one of those non-magical science principles, something about an object at rest wanting to stay there, and he decided that accepting that theory was probably safer than probing for deeper meanings.

More important was thinking about how they were going to deal with this situation. His mind absolutely refused to consider anything in regards to separation; would Madara feel the same? Something in his gut told him yes with such finality that he immediately moved on to the next issue. How were they supposed to live like this? Going through each day tethered to another body would impede quite a lot of things, from bathroom needs to the battle of his studies versus Madara’s classroom.

“This is going to get very interesting,” he muttered under the sounds of everyone else’s conversations.

[ben-j-man]

Secret War: Chapter 17

Link to chapter 1- http://ben-j-man.tumblr.com/post/180097372453/secret-war-chapter-1

Despite my new found determination, I found I couldn't run much farther. Making it only five or six metres down the corridor, before stopping to catch my breath again.

+Attelus,+ said Karmen. +Attelus you've got to keep moving.+

I nodded and forced my body onward, ambling while using my forearm to pull myself along the corridor. Glancing around at every crash and roar that echoed through the building from Darrance's and the daemons' struggle. There were, without doubt, more daemons, I had to be careful.

I made it to the end of the corridor, finding another window. With battered, bloody and pained hands I clumsily slid it open and leaned to look outside. The next building over was another long, six-story hab unit. It was nearly a three-metre gap, and the nearest fire escape was a few windows on my left. I quickly recalled that there was a fork in the corridor a while back.

What caught my attention most of all was the light, the blood red light had grown in intensity. It was like my eyes had blown their blood vessels.

I sighed, about to push back into the building but stopped as I felt slight droplets of rain on my head. I blanched in bemusement and looked up at the thick, crimson clouds above.

It never rained in the underhive; it couldn't rain in the underhive, the ceiling of the over hive forever prevented that.

The few droplets quickly escalated into a full-on downpour, but I couldn't see the rain, I could hear it, feel it, but couldn't see it. I reeled inside, abruptly shut the window and backed away in disgust and horror.

It was raining blood, frigging blood.

Another great crash down the hall made me jump and brought me back to reality.

I turned and ran to the intersection, turning right. As much I didn't want to go outside, I had to get to the roof, it was the best way to go. Making it to the next turn, I ran to the fire escape door and without looking back, opened it and stepped outside.

The force of the blood rain hit me like a punch to the jaw, and I raised my arm to protect my face. With a growl of anger and fighting the urge to vomit. I started up the metal staircase. Edracian wasn't just throwing daemons at me but the very elements.

I couldn't help but take some pride in that.

Clenching my teeth, I trod carefully, all the while clutching hard at the handrail to keep my feet on the treacherous, slick surface.

Finally, I made it to the top and looked about, trying to find this church.

I saw it through the blood red, a large, two-story monastic and overly grandiose thing; it's two towers which stuck out like a sore thumb compared to the simplistic hab buildings around it. It would've been gaudy if it wasn't in such disrepair.

My brow furrowed involuntarily, the Ecclesiarchy; always having the thrones to build such monstrosities, but never really helping those in need. Ohh they did but only "spiritually" which meant nothing to me and not just that they'd charge for it too.

I shook away such thoughts and walked to the other side of the roof. After wiping my sticky, blood-slicked hair from my eyes, I spun on my heels, fell into a sprint and lunged over the three-metre gap.

Landing well, I finished into a crouch and ran to the next edge, stopping to look along the side. Trying to find another way down. The tallest building was only four stories high and was a good one hundred metres away, which would've made me curse, but I froze in fear as I saw daemons, frigging dozens of the bastards. They stood perfectly still throughout the streets and the buildings below. As I noticed them, suddenly all their snouts simultaneously snapped upward, somehow looking straight at me.

Desperate with utter terror I threw myself to the floor although I suspected it was fruitless.

"Karmen! Karmen! You could've frigging warned me of this!" I hissed through clenched teeth.

It took a good few seconds before Karmen finally replied, when she did her voice was pained and distant.

+Warn you of what Attelus? I am sorry, I am, busy. I cannot see everything.+

Slowly, I climbed up and peered over the buttress, but what I saw scared me even more.

All the daemons were all gone.

+Attelus? What's wrong?+

"I-"

My reply was interrupted by a massive crash, which was followed by another then another all of them sounding like they were coming from below me.

I furrowed my brow in bemusement, climbed to my feet; then the realisation hit me, it hit me hard.

+Attelus!+

"They're collapsing the frigging building!" I roared, more to myself than to her, and as if on cue the roof under my feet began to sway and tilt, making me stumble to keep my feet.

Panic gripped me so hard I couldn't think straight, and I sprinted straight for one of the rooftop doors. Then found much to my distress; it locked.

Without thinking I kicked at the door, the first did nothing, the second not much more. It was only after the fifth that my panicked mind finally remembered, I was carrying a frigging powersword. I activated it, sliced through the thick lock and with one more kick it flung open.

Breathing hard, I then began to descend the stairs into the darkness. The walls and floors juddered around and underneath me.

I was glad to get out of that cursed rain, but now I was in immense danger, the daemons could be anywhere just waiting to jump out and tear me to shreds.

That was their plan. To get me down here and ambush me or failing at that collapsing the entire building on me. Smart frigging, things.

Clenching my jaw in anger at my idiocy, I made it to the bottom of the stairway, seeing that the large rockcrete staircase continued down, circling to the ground floor. I hissed through clenched teeth, clutching at the handrail while moving as quickly and carefully as I could. My footfalls echoed through the stairwell, and my heart lodged in my throat.

When I reached the bottom of the first flight, I realised something that caused me to pause, what was stopping them from just taking out the stairs? With a curse I turned and kicked in the nearest door, slipping through with my sword ready.

Immediately the building abruptly swayed as more crashes echoed, and I was suddenly sent careening off my feet, slamming side-ward against the rotting carpet on the floor.

I cried out as pain coursed through me, and I rolled over, clutching at my side while gasping in agony.

It was then when two daemons burst straight through the floor, showering everything with shards and slivers of rockcrete.

I clambered quickly to my feet as they came at me from both sides. Even though my pulse pounded a mile a second and my hands shook like leaves, I didn't hesitate and with four slashes of my activated powersword; I created a hole, a hole in the floor around my feet that collapsed a millisecond before they were on me.

The fall was for a good two metres, and I tried my hardest to land well, but to no avail, as my legs gave way with the impact and I barely kept my face from smashing into the floor. I didn't have any time to writhe in pain again as the daemons' claws were immediately smashing through the ceiling straight at me.

I rolled along the floor, feeling their attacks brush past me a mere millimetre away, leapt to my feet and ran on, trying not to limp from the pain in my knees. Their arms kept smashing down in my wake, following me through the thin corridor.

I was rapidly running out of space as the window at the end of the corridor was coming closer and closer. So I stopped and spun into a sidekick that smashed open the door of a hab unit with such force it almost bounced back into me.

Sprinting into the small space, I barely made it before being crushed under their attacks but for a scant second I was free, and it was enough for me, as I cut into the floor and jumped through the gap. I landed into a roll and was back up. Quickly, an idea came to me and Immediately I was slashing a long line through the length of the hab's floor, cut another hole. Dropped down into the next level below and repeated the process there.

I could hear the daemons as they bashed through the ceiling above, followed by a creaking then crashing as my weakened floor collapsed underneath them and watched as they fell through the debris, down two stories.

There was no time for me to celebrate the success of my ploy, not even a smile before the building began to suddenly shudder, taking me off balance, almost making me fall through the hole with the daemons.

The juddering didn't stop this time it just kept going, and I could barely keep my feet. The entire thing was finally in full collapse.

Cursing, I opened the hab's, scrambled into the corridor and toward the window,

I was only on the third floor and didn't know how tall the next building was, but I had no choice. Once I stumbled to the end of the corridor, I smashed out the window and glanced outside, finding to my dismay that the next building was only one story high. Another crash made me flinch in fright and look over my shoulder to see the daemons had already recovered. They were cramped in the corridor and coming at me.

Swallowing my fear I didn't hesitate, I dived out the small window, into the crimson-lit cityscape and the raining blood outside.

It felt like I flew and the roof of the next building rapidly approached. What happened next is still a complete blank or black. I'm pretty sure I didn't close my eyes, I don't think I lost consciousness, I don't even know how long I was like that, but when my vision finally came back, I was sprawled on my side facing back toward the building I'd jumped out. I was a good four metres across the rooftop, and I could feel a new pain in my hands and legs.

Slowly I looked and found both my hands had been skinned, ripped open. The gloves I wore now torn to shreds.

As I lay getting soaked in the blood rain, I hissed air through my teeth and tried to move, but my body refused, all my injuries protesting with more pain. But as far as I could tell, nothing was broken, and I began to laugh. A laugh which was very short lived as the two daemons landed on the roof with great huge thuds! The rockcrete almost entirely giving away underneath them.

With a bone-jarringly deafening, groaning roar, the building began to fall, not collapse but fall, tipping straight toward us. The pain was gone, replaced by terror and adrenaline. I was abruptly up and sprinting.

I didn't dare look back but could hear and feel it fall. The hideous grinding and screaming like the roar of some dying monster. I could see its shadow grow and grow as it loomed over me. I jumped over a dividing wall and risked a glance back. The two daemons were barely keeping up with me. I was running with reckless abandon, not holding back, even though I knew I could slip over on the blood-soaked ground in any second and the building was now frigging horizontal.

Clenching my teeth, I turned forward, trying to sprint even faster despite struggling for every breath, despite my legs wanting to fold up underneath me, my sickened stomach and lightheadedness. I jumped over another gap but slipped on the landing; my heart sank as I slid on my heel, crying out as I barely found my feet before smashing my face on the roof.

I stopped and stooped over trying to regain my breath. The grinding and screaming of the falling building spurred me on again, stumbling like a drunken idiot to the edge of the building and finding a four-metre gap much to my despair.

Then the deafening, grinding screaming disappeared, taken over by just complete silence, it was like time had stopped, and I turned.

I'd made it, I'd made it out the way of the falling building much to my relief, but barely, then it hit me what was going to happen when it landed.

I leapt over the buttress into free fall, my arms waving ineffectually as the rockcrete street came closer. I was in mid-air when the building hit the ground, the sound was like nothing I'd never heard before, the crash as the building crushed others under its weight was beyond deafening the entire world seemed to rock and quake, even the very air. How my eardrums weren't destroyed, I had no idea.

I hit the ground, trying to roll with the horrific force of the fall, agony tore through my knees making me scream and botch the roll, and I slid across the street through the blood. If it weren't for that, I would've come out a whole lot worse.

Barely in time, I managed to gasp in some air and close my eyes before the wall of thick dust hit me.

I waited for a few seconds before finally exhaling and opening my eyes. I was covered head to toe in thick grey, the blood that soaked me acting like glue for the dust. Around the walls and streets were the same, but the blood rain was already wearing it away. I could see grey intermingling with the pools of blood.

Coughing and groaning I began to get to my feet, my body protesting with more pain. Eventually, I found my feet and stumbled on down the main street, leaning against the wall with my arm for support. I could see the church through the rain at the end of the road, but it was still a good four hundred metres away.

"Karmen!" I croaked. "Karmen!"

I got nothing.

"Karmen!" I roared.

+Yes, Attelus! What's wrong?+

"What will I find in there?"

+I don't know, Attelus. All that I can figure is that the daemons aren't directly coming from the Church but are materialising in the general vicinity. I'm sorry, sorry I can't be more helpful. Be careful.+

I smiled, "Karmen, I'm always careful, you should...know...that..."

I trailed off as I glanced over my shoulder and saw the full devastation, the huge hab block had crushed dozens of others under it, completely and utterly It was like those buildings never existed. The roof I'd only stood on a minute or so ago loomed over me like a wall.

"By the Emperor," I stammered and slowed to a halt.

As if summoned by my words the daemons suddenly burst from the ruined building, crashing onto the street and sprinting straight at me.

I still couldn't comprehend how they could move so damn fast with such short legs. Clenching my teeth with the pain, I began to half run, half limp away as they bared down on me. I couldn't go any faster I was beyond exhausted, in agony. They'd got me; I was done. They'd won.

I stopped, stumbling to keep myself from collapsing and bent over. Gasping like I'd never gasped before and fought back the urge to puke.

I closed my eyes and waited for the death blow.

So this is it? said my voice in my mind. After all this struggle and you're just giving up?

"I can't go any further, I can't," I gasped out loud. "It's too hard, too hard."

Really? Emperor, you're frigging pathetic! Everyone is counting on you, hell this whole planet is counting on you if those things aren't stopped! Just four hundred meters to go! You've come this far; you can go a little further.

"But-!"

But nothing! Go now! Or you will die and then everyone else with you! Karmen! Castella! Torris! Garrakson! Everyone, they'd all go that extra mile for you, Attelus, hell all you have to go is just another four hundred metres for them! People like you and care for you Attelus, show them that you care for them too!

Slowly, shakily I forced myself to stand straight and opened my eyes, looking up at the crimson clouds, feeling the blood rain hit my face and soak my hair.

"This is for you Karmen, for everyone," I said, then suddenly fell into a sprint and I could feel the rush of air as what was to be the killing attack missed me by less than a hair's breadth.

I roared, as I ran with wild abandon, I knew that one slight misstep, one slight slip, would send me smashing against the rockcrete and to my death, but I kept going, the entrance to the church coming closer and closer. I could feel the daemons behind me but never looked back. I didn't dare.

Many thoughts flew through my mind as I sprinted down that long street, wondering what exactly was behind those doors? What was this conduit? How was I going to destroy it? So much I didn't know, so many questions, yet here I was blindly running into this with no plan, nothing. Even if I made it into the church, I still had a long way to go.

Never had I done this before, I'd always have some plan, some knowledge. The idiom "knowledge is power", is a cliche for a reason, and I'd always adhere to it. Not just because of Glaitis' teachings but my father also drilled it into me as a boy. Wars were won and lost because of which side had better knowledge. But that was it! I was used to working for the one who knew the most, the one that could out plan and outmanoeuvre everyone, yet here we were; caught on the back foot by someone with not just the better knowledge and planning but the better army, the better everything.

Edracian had outmanoeuvred us, played us like Regicide pieces. He'd driven us to desperation and beyond. We were no longer fighting for any kind of victory anymore, but for our very survival. There was only one thing we could do, improvise, and it was all up to me, little, exhausted beaten and battered me.

I'd never had to bear such a burden, such a responsibility before; I'd killed, sure. But I had never I made the big decisions. Decisions that truly affected the lives of thousands or hundreds or even dozens of others.

Taking that pict, perhaps, but I was yet to see the consequences of that.

I was going into this now without prior knowledge, without prior planning, without Glaitis' guidance. I doubted that Karmen could help me either. But this is reality; the big decisions are usually made when one has nothing to prepare them for it. Now I finally, truly understood what it was to be a Glaitis, a Taryst or even an Edracian.

A leader.

Finally, after what felt like forever I made it to the steps to the church and began to bound up them, two at a time.

I risked a glance over my shoulder; the daemons were close, no more than six metres behind, but I'd gained ground much to my surprise.

One jumped, leaping with inhuman strength and flew at me like a bullet. I dived to the side as it smashed into the rockcrete sending bits of rubble showering everywhere and grey dust into the air.

The first came up the stairs punching at me, forcing me to kneel and duck underneath.

I clenched my teeth; I was so close only to be caught and killed now?

They were like a wall as they bounded after me, a wall of snarling, snapping jaws, of countless claws, flying, sweeping and uppercutting at me. I slowed to a crawl as I desperately swayed, ducked and sidestepped, stumbling through attack after attack, my heart in my throat as even the slightest misstep on those slippery, bloody steps would cause my instantaneous death.

After Emperor only knows how long of utter desperation and fear I found the top of the steps, flat ground.

I didn't hesitate I spun and started to run, straight toward the doors.

My heart lunging in my throat I sprinted across the long expanse, expecting in any second the death blow to hit me in the back. But it never came.

I barely managed to slow enough to keep myself from running full tilt into the ornate doors.

Without daring to look back, I grabbed hold of the door and hoping beyond hope it wasn't locked, pulled with all my remaining strength. Much to my pleasant surprise, it opened without resistance but what I found made me hesitate.

I faced another wall of pitch black, exactly like the one that'd surrounded Brutis's building. I looked over my shoulder, seeing one of the daemons bearing down on me as it drew back its arm.

With a sigh, I drew my sword, turned and plunged straight into the black.

At first, I ran through the blackness, I ran and ran, but it went on and on. Soon I couldn't go any further. I had to come to a halt and look back. Much to my surprise, there was nothing, just more black behind me.

I activated my powersword and readied it weakly while trying to stop my insistent gasping. Just because I couldn't see them didn't mean they weren't there; silently stalking me through the darkness.

For a long time, I stood, glancing around like a madman to find some trace, any trace of them, their absence was just more terrifying than if they were there.

Stop standing around, my mind said. There isn't enough time for you to indulge your rampant paranoia!

I clenched my teeth, knowing it was the truth, but I seemed unable to make myself move, I was barely able even to stand.

Think about this, you idiot; if they were there they'd have killed you by now, keep moving, frig it!

"What, what if they're out there and just toying with me?" I stammered.

Really? I don't think they have the intellect to do that, do you?

"Who knows, perhaps they do. Perhaps they actually do have the intellect and have been pretending to be like mindless beasts to trick me into that assumption so it'd lull me into a false sense of security. Perhaps..."

Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps, interrupted the voice. The daemons. Aren't. There! Right now all your friends are fighting for their lives! They may be dying out there or even already dead! The more time you waste standing around perhapsing like an idiot the more likely that Karmen will be dead, or Castella! Or everyone! Get moving!

I closed my eyes and gripped my sword.

"But!-"

But nothing! Go!

I sighed and turned forward, anyone else may've became lost there and then but my instinct carried me innately on.

The voice was right; again I'd hesitated, allowed myself give in, put my friend's lives at risk. The darkness was doing this, the first played on my fear, this on my paranoia.

Fear? Paranoia? Were they really that different?

I furrowed my brow and limped on, but then a thought suddenly hit me.

Friends, I'd just called them friends, by the Emperor how long has it been since I've called anyone a friend?

How long? I didn't know I couldn't recall and even if I had was it as genuine as just then? Castella, Torris, Garrakson, Tresch, perhaps even Darrance and Vex. Friends.

And here I was; standing around of my pathetic insecurities when all their lives were on the line. I clenched my teeth and furrowed my brow then burst into a sprint.

I emerged into the church, the abruptness of it causing me to stumble and almost lose my balance.

I was standing at the entrance, looking down the main aisle leading to the altar, the many rows of pews were empty, and the blood red light was in here too. The same crimson clouds covered the ceiling as the underhive outside. Strangely, despite the outward appearance of disrepair, everything here seemed in pristine condition. Statues of various saints lined the walls, some in the attire of warriors wearing armour of multiple makes, their weapons slung and sheathed. Some in the garments of civilians, some women, some men, but all kneeled in prayer.

Standing behind the altar was what I guessed to be the "conduit." A thick, half a metre tall black pillar that seemed made of marble. From its tip, it spewed a swirling whirling mass of black and red that intertwined into the air, like a hurricane.

"You, you must be the conduit," I gasped and began to limp my way toward it, but the slow, mocking clapping made me stop in my tracks.

"Well done, well done. He did say you would make it," said a figure as he stepped out of the shadows still clapping slowly, mockingly.

He was tall, thin and lean and wore a flak jacket. His head was shaven, and he smiled at me through sickeningly sharpened teeth. "I'm impressed you managed to make it this far, young, Mr, Kaltos. I didn't believe him. I guess I'll never question anything he says ever again,"

"Feuilt?"

The man grinned widely and bowed deeply "why the one and only."

Sudden rage overtook me, and with a roar I found myself charging down the long aisle with reckless abandon.

He smiled, swayed under my slash and spun sideward, out of reach of my blade.

"Ohh Mr Kaltos is that the way to greet the one who saved you?"

"Where is she you bastard!" I snarled.

"Who? Ohh you mean your little girlfriend, right? The Elandria girl? Why do you care? She's now a corpse."

Bellowing out, I slid the distance and struck down my sword, but Feuilt backpedalled easily out the way.

"Tsk, tsk so touchy."

"You bastard, tell me where the hell she is, now!" I roared.

"Or what?" sneered Feuilt. "You're going to continue waving your little sword about like a little girl? If you really want to know, Mr Kaltos. I don't actually know, the corpse was taken off world, into the warp, she's gone, long gone. Deal with it."

I looked at him, gaping like an idiot, "taken off world? But, but why?"

"I don't know!" He exclaimed. "And if I did, do you seriously think I'd tell you? My master wanted the corpse frozen and somewhere other than Omnartus. That's all I know, and that's all you're going to get."

I clenched my jaw and glared at him balefully. Everything is all your fault you smug son of a bitch, I thought.

"Oh that's right," said Feuilt. "I almost forgot."

He suddenly moved and punched me hard in the face. I reeled back in pain then his kick smashed into my guts, causing me to bend double forward and briefly off my feet then collapsing to my knees, coughing and winded.

"That's right, I'm here to stop you from destroying the Conduit, aren't I?" he said, "and I'm sorry Mr Kaltos, you have fulfilled your purpose, now you're expendable. You can die."

From under his jacket, Feuilt drew a powerblade and activated it.

I slowly climbed to my feet and smiled, pointing my sword at him.

"I still have a purpose, Feuilt, and that's why I won't die. Not here, not now" then I turned and ran for the pillar.

My eyes widened and my teeth clenched as he was suddenly in front of me and slashing his power sword. Desperately I leapt away, the crackling blade, missing by me less than a millimetre. Feuilt followed on with a stab at my chest that I just managed to sidestep but was forced to block his third, a vertical, downward cut.

He didn't pull back but applied pressure, and quickly I found my arms buckling under his superior strength and weight. I knew I couldn't hold out so kicked at his groin, forcing him to bound back.

"Uh uh uh," he said. "You already forgot what I said, didn't you? I said; 'I'm here to stop you from destroying the Conduit,' and that, 'you can die.' I used the wrong word there I meant, 'you will die.' So why can't you just give up and make this more comfortable for the both of us?"

With a growl, I lunged, cutting at his skull. Feuilt ducked then slid suddenly onto my side, and scarcely I managed to parry his thrust. With a laugh Feuilt slashed, causing me to stumble clumsily out the way.

I stabbed back, but Feuilt parried it with ease and roundhouse kicked me in the back.

Staggering, gasping with the pain; I turned just in time to block his low horizontal slash then sway just out the way of his following thrust.

Clenching my teeth and swallowing back the bile rising in my mouth, I countered and sliced diagonally at his legs. Feuilt only laughed and danced over it, then smashed away my next cut. Undeterred, I carried on my offence, next slashing vertically upward which Feuilt back stepped. I followed with a stab that he sidestepped, then a horizontal blow he ducked.

Feuilt slipped out the way of my front kick and spun into a lightning fast slash that forced me to lean back like mad; luckily he was wielding a short blade, if it were just a few centimetres longer, I would've lost my head.

He stabbed next, and I parried, countering by cutting over his arms, toward his skull. Like water, Feuilt weaved away, but my blade barely missed. I'd almost got the bastard.

"I see you have some fight left, Attelus," said Feuilt, standing out of range, sounding almost genuinely impressed.

"I, I have fight as long I as still need to fight," I gasped.

Feuilt smirked, "of course you do."

I readied my sword as all of a sudden, Feuilt charged but was utterly unprepared as he abruptly kicked my feet out from under me.

My back slammed hard against the stone floor, causing me to gasp in pain and the world to spin.

But yet I still brought up my blade to stop Feuilt's descending sword before it cleaved my head in half.

"Sorry but It will take more than just 'fight' to win, Mr Kaltos," snarled Feuilt in my face as my shaking arms rapidly began buckle and give.

'Yes," I agreed, then spat bloody phlegm straight into his eye. "But fight isn't all that I have left."

Feuilt screamed in agony and reeled off me, clutching at his face while I slowly clambered to my feet.

"You bastard!" he screamed. "You frigging little bastard!"

Just as I was up Feuilt was on me, attacking like a madman. My heart thundering I managed to back peddle just out the way.

Roaring like a crazed animal he rallied and sliced down at my skull which I barely sidestepped and his sword cut into the stone floor.

Sudden terror overtook me, and from my sidestep, I stumbled into a run, running for the right side aisle.

"Come back here you little frig stain!" screamed Feuilt and he started after me. "Come back so I can gut you like a fish!"

I made it to the aisle, turning right, the praying statues of the saints towering over me as I ran past them.

Laughing insanely while simply walking after me, Feuilt began to slash his power sword into each statue as he came to them, decapitating or slicing their torsos.

"You keep running you little idiot," he snarled. "Keep on running! You'll just make it easier for me! I can do this all day! Keep running like the pathetic coward you are!"

I slid to a stop and turned to face him, my jaw clenched, and I gripped my sword's hilt harder.

"Oh! The boy has some balls after-"

Feuilt was interrupted as I charged, stabbing my sword toward his face. He ducked and slashed out wildly at my chest, a blow I back stepped and which wound up slicing straight through one of the pews. Sending large shards of burnt wood in every direction. Laughing like a maniac, he parried my counter thrust and punched me in the face, sending me writhing back, dazed and hurting.

Desperately I hurled myself to the floor in a bid to dodge Feuilt's inevitable follow-on and clumsily clambered toward the middle aisle.

I turned and watched as he approached me, grinning insanely from ear to ear and cutting chaotically into the pews on his sides.

"What the hell has come over you," I murmured as I climbed to my feet.

"Nothing has come over me!" he screamed, stopping his advance, throwing back his head and cackling maniacally. "This is me! The true me that I've kept hidden for years! Oh, how liberating to finally release myself from that prison. To be able to show the world who I truly am!"

"You're insane," I growled, I couldn't keep this up for much longer. I could barely keep my feet as my knees constantly wanted to buckle from under me, every inch of me hurt like a bastard. I had to continually fight my churning stomach and the horrid need to vomit.

"Am I?" he exclaimed. "Or am I the one who is truly sane? Master Edracian is going to change this world Attelus. This universe, for the better! He's going to destroy the primitive stupidity of the Imperium of man and replace it with a far greater one! One that knows its place! One that will worship the almighty gods of chaos as it should! As humanity truly needs!"

I spat on the floor, "I don't know what the hell humanity truly needs, but it sure as hell doesn't need to worship chaos."

Feuilt somehow grinned wider and pivoted his head to an almost unnatural angle, "then the master is right, you truly are a fool who deserves to die."

The next millisecond he was sprinting and slashing. I weakly parried then stabbed back, but he merely weaved out the way.

Feuilt struck, cutting down, a blow which I drunkenly stumbled away from.

He grinned, "you're pathetic," he said then kicked me straight in the chest.

I flew for Emperor only knows how long, but it felt like forever. When I finally hit the ground I rolled, head over heels, finished on my front then my face smashed hard against the stone. Horrendous agony speared through my head, and I saw stars. But despite being dazed and woozy, I was able to realise I no longer held my sword quickly.

Fighting my weak, flimsy limbs, I began to crawl to my feet as quickly as I could, glancing around in search of my sword. All the while the laughing Feuilt slowly approached.

I finally found my sword, deactivated and lay amongst the bits of destroyed statues down the left side pew.

Finding I didn't have even enough strength to stand. I began to slowly crawl toward it, blood running thickly down my face from my forehead into my eyes.

"Still not giving up!" Feuilt yelled. "I swear by the ruinous powers, you're the most stubborn little worm I've ever met!"

I made it to the end of the pew, and with numbed fingers grasped my sword. Using it as a lean-to to climb onto my knees.

Feuilt stood at the other end of the pew, shaking his head with contempt.

"My master, the great Edracian, he knew you would make it here," he said as he started to walk. "He knew you would somehow scarper through all the daemons and yet he ordered me, and only me to guard the Conduit. Now, the only reason and the only I can think of was that he knew, he knew without a shadow of a doubt that I'd protect it, that I would win! That I was superior to you in every conceivable way!"

I really wanted to say, 'perhaps he thought you were expendable', but wisely refrained.

"If only you could see yourself!" he roared. "Battered, beaten, exhausted! Pathetic! You wouldn't stand a chance against me even at full strength! You're nothing! Nothing! Give up! What can you possibly, do!"

"Improvise," I hissed and desperately threw the piece of a statue I'd been holding behind my back.

It hit him right between the eyes with a sickening, crack! Immediately I was running, all the while Feuilt was screaming, rocking back in pain, I impaled him through the chest.

Feuilt gasped, his eyes widened with shock and surprise.

With one tug, I tore out my sword, and Feuilt collapsed limply to his knees. His sword fell from his grasp and clattered onto the floor.

I picked up his sword and started to stagger toward the Conduit.

"You really are your father's son," coughed Feuilt, which caused me to stop in my tracks, my eyes wide with surprise.

"What?" I stammered, "you know my father?"

Feuilt gurgled out what sounded like laughter, "of course, everyone in our line of work knows Serghar Kaltos. But most only know of Serghar Kaltos. I knew him, he, he."

Feuilt was interrupted by a coughing fit, and I could see blood splattering onto the floor in front of him.

"Your father, Serghar Kaltos he taught me everything I know."

I stood shocked, unable come up with a coherent reply.

"Now I understand why Edracian made me guard the Conduit alone. I now see, why. Attelus you must see Inquisitor Edracian isn't what he seems to be, he's, not what you think, he's, he's..."

Feuilt never got to finish his sentence as suddenly he went completely limp and fell onto his face.

I stood for a few seconds, trying to process Feuilt's words. Was he lying? Perhaps, but something in me just knew he was telling the truth.

While shaking away the confusion, I turned and approached the conduit I knew that in any second I'd collapse and lose consciousness.

I activated Feuilt's powersword and with all my remaining strength, struck the stone. Feuilt's blade cut through it with surprising ease. The black and red hurricane flickered a few times then disappeared and the blood light with it.

I dropped to my knees and smiled, then fell onto my side while my tired eyes flickered open and shut repeatedly.

"You owe me you bastards," I said, then everything went black.

My eyes almost immediately opened and a blinding light met me in my eyes which caused me to squint and raise my forearm to cover my face. Warmth suddenly flooded my limbs, and the pain of my injuries was gone. Then I heard the sound of singing birds the very familiar sound of a particular bird that I haven't heard in a long time.

I suddenly sat up straight as the realisation hit me, finding myself in the familiar backyard of a very familiar house. On my left was a small, one-story building made of plasterboards which were painted a welcome white and the roof; corrugated, grey painted metal. A trench was dug into the bank which weaved around the house like a pathway. The yard sloped slightly with the hill and was about a good seven or eight metres wide before it finished into the thick bush that covered the valley all around.

It was my old home, the place I lived in northern Velrosia as a child before moving south to Varander. By the Emperor, I missed this place sometimes, back when life was simpler. For me anyway, now I knew that my father was struggling, barely scraping enough money to pay the rent, to survive. My father had very few skills outside of killing but one, he worked as a house painter, an excellent painter but was underpaid, that was one of the many reasons why he'd left me with my mother when I was a toddler, so he could support us with his far better income from his "assassinations."

Until he came back when I was four and found...

I shuddered, I didn't ever want to remember that. There was a good reason why my mother and I didn't get along, and it wasn't just because of our opposing ideologies.

The sound of soft footsteps approaching my back made me suddenly straighten, turn, reach for my sheathed sword and stand.

The Eldar, Faleaseen towered over me, still in her esoteric form-fitting armour but her helmet was off now, showing her attractive, thin face, her large eyes gazing down at me with amusement, her thin lips curled in a contemptuous, slight smile.

"Oh," I said, but not moving out of my combat stance and keeping my hand on my sword. "It's you."

Faleaseen frowned, "I searched your memories for a place you held dear and thought I would reward your efforts with it. You do not sound terribly appreciative."

I frowned back, the way she said it was like an owner giving a small treat to their pet canine.

"Uhh, thanks," I sighed and sat back down. Strangely feeling the need to meditate, even though I'd never meditated in my life. This place made me feel extraordinarily at peace. It wasn't my backyard but an extremely idealised version, I knew. I'd remembered it almost always was overcast or a cold wind blowing, very rarely would there be a perfect day like this.

"I don't need a reward," I said as I reached into my jacket for my Lhos. "What I need, is to know whether my friends have survived."

Quickly, I found my Lhos were still gone and grinned guiltily up at the Farseer. "Uhh maybe one, reward would be good."

The Farseer groaned, and with a wave, a packet of Lhos was abruptly in my grasp.

"And uhh a light too would be good."

With another groan and wave of her hand, I had a lighter.

"Thanks," I said genuinely, then with finger and thumb, slipped a Lho between my teeth, lit it and took a very long inhale then exhaled with great relish.

"What is the saying that you Mon'keigh have?" said Faleaseen. "Simple things..."

"For simple minds yes, yes, I know, I know," I said, blowing out more smoke and enjoying the warmth in my lungs. "You got any idea what happened to my friends?"

"Yes I do but not as of right now," replied Faleaseen and I could detect an undercurrent of anger in her tone. Or was it frustration? Which was interesting.

"I am limited at this point in time," she said and I waited for her to continue her sentence, but she didn't.

"Limited?"

"Yes, limited, human, you do not need to know more."

"Of course I don't," I sighed, inhaled again then exhaled and shrugged to myself, well I was "human" now. I guessed that was better than "Mon'keigh," which now I thought about it, sounded somewhat similar to "monkey."

Faleaseen ignored my sarcasm or didn't seem to notice it and began to pace in front of me, her hands clasped behind her back.

"You are aware this is far from over, Mon'keigh?" she said.

I sighed out smoke again, well I was back to being "Mon'keigh" now.

"I never thought it wasn't, Edracian is still out there, somewhere, Feuilt was only a lackey. Which interested me."

"Why? Because Inquisitor Edracian did not have more forces to guard the conduit?" Said Faleaseen.

"Hmm, yess," I said my finger and thumb stroking my thin chin. "You'd think something so important would be more guarded, wouldn't you?"

"Unless it was not actually that important," said Faleaseen. "What if it was not that important to the larger scheme?"

"Or perhaps, perhaps he just underestimated us?" I suggested. "Let his ego get the better of him?"

The farseer's face scrunched in contempt, and she shook her head.

"I am utterly sure that is not the case. A useless suggestion."

"What? Why?"

"It is no matter; it just is, Mon'keigh."

I sighed heavily and rubbed my closed eyes. Remembering the conversation I'd heard between the Farseer and Glaitis while asleep. Glaitis' frustration was incredibly uncharacteristic, and now I understood why.

"Okay, I'm sorry, I just thought it'd be a potentially plausible explanation."

"Well, it is not, now move on, Mon'keigh."

"Okay, okay, can I ask you a question?"

"It depends upon the question."

I waited for her to tell me to ask it, but Faleaseen just stared down at me.

I sighed yet again and asked anyway; "what exactly did you do to my body?

"I replaced your pathetic, broken bone structure with a material my people call, Wraithbone. Many, many cycles ago I was once quite the Bonesinger. I had travelled a long way through the webway to save your insignificant little life. You should appreciate what I did more."

Exhaling more smoke, I glared at her.

"But why?"

"Why? I would rather risk you and your entire race, than me and any one of my fellow Eldar. That's what you Mon'keigh are, simple tools, tools for us to exploit. Let us say that your enemy, Inquisitor Edracian is my enemy also."

I clenched my jaw and shook my head, so I'm again, just a tool, a slave of this, Farseer. I've just traded one master for another? Faleaseen, she must've placed something in me that'd make sure I'd be completely obedient to her. The old axiom "the enemy of my enemy is my friend," was true until that original enemy was defeated and then what?

"I have foreseen what may happen if the Inquisitor's plans come into fruition, my Craftworld will be affected by it, but if my people directly intervened, it would cause worse destruction beyond your furthest imagination. That is why I am using you and Glaitis as my agents."

"So, if you can foresee so far forward, why did you let us get caught off guard?" I growled.

Faleaseen sneered with disgust, "because my sight is blocked, I have followed your fates countless times, and I can only see yours up to your confrontation with the Elandria girl, everything else is a blank."

I barely held back a smile; I could see her frustration and anger as clear as day. She'd been outmanoeuvred by Edracian as well. Being outdone by a simple "Mon'keigh" must've hit her ego hard.

Faleaseen studied me with a furrowed brow, and I wondered if she was reading my every thought.

Shrugging I said, "do you know exactly what Edracian's plans are?"

The Farseer closed her large eyes and breathed deeply through her nose.

"Again, I do not know. All that I can ascertain is that he is collecting souls. Billions of Mon'keigh souls from the planets he has destroyed, to a place that I cannot find. For a purpose that could be countless in potential."

My eyes widened; "souls?"

"Indeed, that is yet another reason why I am keeping my warriors from direct intervention as I fear the consequences if he got hold of any Eldar soul stones."

I frowned, I didn't really believe in 'souls' I'd always figured when we died, there'd be nothing but blackness. Despite what the church taught us.

"For you Mon'Keigh, it is most certainly 'blackness'," said Faleaseen, making me blink. "Your souls are too weak to endure long in the warp before losing conscious thought entirely. Us Eldar can endure, but, for, but for."

Faleaseen trailed off and glanced around almost guilty, "but I will not say anything more on that subject."

Well, this was different, the secret of life after death, a mystery that mankind has been searching for, for countless upon countless generations revealed to me by this Farseer as simply as a scholar-teacher stating how to pronounce the vowels of low gothic to five-year-olds. Of course, she could be lying.

Faleaseen just smirked.

"Do you know what's happening?" I asked. "I mean to me, in the real world?"

She rolled her eyes and sighed, "of course I do, you are being transported via vehicle back to that puppet Taryst's tower. I am speeding up your metabolism to make your body heal faster. Soon the main conflict will arise, and I will need you amongst it."

"Y-you can do that?"

She smiled, "I can do much to you. Wraithbone is a psycho conductive material, you are, effectively, a conduit for my psychic power and only my psychic power which I can use on you when even thousands of light years away. This is why I am able to talk with you now."

"Can you tell me who's alive? What about Karmen? Is she okay?"

"The Karmen woman is fine if that gives you any solace. She is searching for the source of the psyker she battled. That may be where Inquisitor Edracian located."

I sighed, then my suspicious attention shot back to her.

"How do you know all this?"

Faleaseen sighed, "I guess I should tell you this, as you may need to know, Karmen Kons is also one of my agents."

I gaped, my eyes widened, and my heart sank, but quickly everything began to make sense, the how and why Karmen knew what she knew. But why didn't she tell me? Why did she lie to me?

"Does-does Glaitis know that Karmen works for you?"

"No, she does not the reason why Glaitis did not kill Karmen Kons when she had the chance was because I ordered her not to. I foresaw the one called Estella Erith's involvement in the events leading to this and made sure she was here at the right time. She was once a member of an Inquisitor's retinue, but my warriors and I ambushed them during one of their missions. Killed her comrades and I took her in. Taught her the true strengths of her psychic potential, then placed her under Taryst's employee. If only I foresaw the Feuilt's betrayal or your kidnapping then this would not have come to pass."

"There, there really is no such thing as coincidence," I gasped, wondering just how much of my life the Farseer had influenced behind the scenes.

"Wise words, I will concede," said Faleaseen.

"A wise Axiom, I'd say," I said while sighing out more smoke. "Especially for me."

Faleaseen smiled, "indeed so."

Quickly I climbed to my feet, flicked away the stub of my Lho stick, slipped my hands into their pockets then walked passed Faleaseen and looked around.

"Well, I've gotta say you did a bloody good job of recreating my old home," I said.

"Of course I did," said Faleaseen. "Would you expect anything less from me?"

"I don't pretend to ever know what to expect from you," I said and clutched my hands behind my back.

To my complete surprise, Faleaseen suddenly burst out in laughter.

"Perhaps, perhaps there is hope for you yet, Attelus Kaltos."

I wasn't sure what to make of that comment.

"You wouldn't know who else made it?" I said.

"Despite everything, everyone you know survived," said Faleaseen. "The main casualties were the criminals under Brutis Bones and the Magistratum agents under Arlathan Karkin, only a very few survived, less than a fourth of their original numbers."

As much as I was glad to hear that my friends were all okay; those Hammers, Magistratum enforcers were innocent, they didn't deserve the fates dealt too them.

"Do not feel sorry for them, they are mere insects, nothing more."

I glared over my shoulder at her, disgusted, yet unsurprised.

Faleaseen sighed, "there are billions of Mon'keigh infesting the galaxy, losing another thousand or a million more is not going to make any difference. They are dead there is nothing left you can do for them, move on. You have much more to go through before this is finished."

"Do you have any compassion?" I asked earnestly. "Don't you feel a little bit sorry for those people?"

"No I do not," stated Faleaseen coldly. "All things die eventually, without exception. Those killed by the daemons would have died later under some other circumstance at a later date no matter what you do. They were destined to die and be pointless in the larger scheme of fate. Be grateful you are not one of them."

I sighed yet again and placed the palm of my hand on my face.

"Yeah, well now I'm exceptionally grateful," I said. "I couldn't be any more grateful; in fact, I'm so grateful if I was anymore grateful I'd explode. That's how truly, greatly grateful I am."

"I am not unaware of sarcasm, Mon'keigh."

"I never thought you were, Farseer," I snapped.

Faleaseen shook her head and folded her arms across her chest.

"You should be grateful because you lived over them, you survived to be able to stop more of your kind from dying. Not one of them were as capable as you for stopping Edracian's plans," said Faleaseen.

"What?" I said with a shrug. "You stroking my ego now?"

"No, Attelus Kaltos," said Faleaseen. "I am stating the truth, an irrefutable fact."

"What makes me so special? I'm not any better than any of them, any human is capable of doing great things and who knows? Perhaps if I died and someone had taken my place, any one of those Hammers they may've done a far better job? Perhaps Edracian would be dead and this whole debacle over months ago?"

"Now you are just speaking rubbish, I have foreseen..."

"But you haven't foreseen crap!" I interrupted. "You admitted something is blocking your farsight any further! So how do you know!"

"It is because I am here to guide you and without my direct guidance no one would have a chance."

"Direct guidance, bull shit!" I snapped. "You haven't guided me through crap!"

Faleaseen just smiled.

Then it hit me, "wait, that wasn't Karmen helping me, it was you wasn't it?"

"Yes, it was me, I thought at the time; you would be more willing to co-operate if it was her."

I clenched my jaw and bawled my hands into fists as anger raged through me.

"Yes, I deceived you, you should be used to that by now, but if I had not you wouldn't be alive now, dead along with those pathetic beings you care so much for, what is that saying? 'The ends justifies the means'. I would certainly say it did in this case."

"I bet you'd say it would in every case," I replied.

Faleaseen laughed again and smiled, "you are truly an entertaining little Mon'keigh, are you not?"

'So what now?" I sighed.

"Karmen will return, soon with the information needed,"

"You think she'll succeed?"

"She will, her skills are beyond that of a normal human psyker," said Faleaseen. "I have taught her everything she knows."

I frowned, and my attention fell to the ground hoping like hell that the Farseer was right.

"Any other questions?"

"No," I said and shook my head. "Just please, please don't pretend to be Karmen like that ever again. I will do whatever you tell me, just don't deceive me like that. I've already been tricked and manipulated in my life enough."

Faleaseen smiled, "I understand, Attelus Kaltos. I will from henceforth refrain from such manipulations. I will just resort to psychic torture to get you to do what I want."

I looked at her with wide, terrified eyes.

Faleaseen bellowed out laughter, "I am joking! I am joking! Do not look so scared! Anyway, I think it is time for your awakening!"

Almost immediately the bush, the valley around me began to phase away into white.

Her "joking" didn't give me any comfort, no comfort at all.

With a sharp gasp of air; I awoke and glanced about, finding myself strapped down to a gurney in a medicae vehicle. Karmen lay on another gurney next to me, her face still bandaged and to my relief, her chest was rising and falling as she breathed.

"You're awake," came a voice behind me and I craned my neck to up to see the medicae who worked for Brutis Bones. The old man stood near the door to the driver's area, holding onto the side table to keep his feet. I'd already forgotten his name.

"Well, yes. I am aware of that," I said while moving in my bonds as best as I could. Finding there was no aches or pains, or anything, I was fine.

I cannot do this often, Mon'keigh, Faleaseen's voice cut through my thoughts. Healing you and directly communicating with you. It takes too much of my energy. I'm afraid I must leave you, for now.

I sniffed loudly and frowned, not at all upset about her departure. Assuming, of course, she wasn't lying and was now just watching me, to see what I'd do when thinking she wasn't. There were many, many questions left unanswered with the meeting I had with her. I'd say it'd caused more than before. Much, much more.

The medicae smiled and shook his head, "yes, yes I'm sure you are." Please, please don't struggle so much, your injuries..."

"Are fine," I interrupted. "I'm fine, can you tell me what's going on?"

"I'm not sure, from what I know it seems Brutis Bones and one of your colleagues have brokered an alliance and as we speak we are travelling to Taryst's tower," said the medicaes. "I was told that you have a proper medical facility where I could treat you and the woman properly."

"There is, but I'm fine, I swear," I said. "Now can you let free?"

Without any word, the medicae suddenly approached, pulled out a small medical auspex and scanned me over.

"Hmm," then he looked at my hands. I still wore the torn, destroyed gloves but the blood had dried and the wounds closed.

"I-I don't quite understand, how did you heal so quickly?"

"I don't know," I whined, I was starting to feel anxious now. "Can you let me free, please?"

"I have never seen anything like this before," said the medicae, seemingly ignoring me. "Maybe I should run a few tests."

"Let me out!" I roared, struggling harder against the restraints and began to hyperventilate with panic. "Let me out now you son of a bitch!" I roared.

"You must understand, young Mr Kaltos that I've never seen this before. It's unnatural, you're unnatural."

A cold shiver of fear crept up my spine as his use of "Mr Kaltos" reminded me unnervingly of Feuilt.

"I am a medicae, and as a medicae, it is my duty to decipher and understand human anatomy. It is also my duty to find any mutation, any deviance in our genetic structure and to find out in great detail, the how and why. And then whether this deviation is potentially a threat to the Imperium of mankind and believe me, according to the teachings, it almost always is."

I looked up at him, wide-eyed, "so? What? You're just going to cut me open now!"

The medicae frowned shook his head then much to my surprise, suddenly opened my restraints.

"No, no I am not," he sighed. "I was told about what you did, what you went through to stop the daemons. I could also tell after examining your injuries. I owe you, we all owe you, I will spare you in exchange for that. I will also not inform Inquisitor Tybalt of your unnatural healing. I'm sorry I lead you on like that, but I needed you to know how hard this is for me."

I sat up on the gurney, "th-thank you."

The relief I felt was beyond belief, this medicae was putting his life on the line to protect me, and I couldn't even remember his name, but yet I still had these thoughts in the back of my mind; he was going to tell someone eventually anyway, whether it was through interrogation or some other circumstance. Perhaps the best thing I could do was to arrange for him to have 'an accident,' make sure he'd never tell.

I clenched my teeth and shook away the thought.

"There is no need to thank me, it is the very least I owe you," said the medicae. "Just please, do not make me regret it."

"I won't," I stammered, trying to keep the guilt from my voice and quickly changed the subject. "How is she?"

The medicae frowned, "she is stabilised, she will live."

I sighed and looked down at Karmen, "do you, do you think she'll be able to use false flesh to cover the scars?"

"Yes I think she can," he said. "She is a lovely woman; it is a complete tragedy to see such beauty destroyed."

I couldn't contend a reply, as the horrific image of Karmen tearing her face apart flashed through my mind. I closed my eyes to hold back the sudden tears and clenched my jaw. By the Emperor, I wished I could forget that. I wished I could've stopped her sooner.

"Are you alright, Mr Kaltos?"

"Yeah, I'm okay." I sighed and rubbed away the tears. I was tired, damned tired. I needed a good, hot cup of recaff. "Just, really tired is all."

The Medicae smiled and nodded, "of course, after all, you went through. I'm not surprised."

I rubbed my eyes again, then my stomach suddenly growled, violently and the pain of extreme hunger ripped through me.

"And hungry," I added. I'd eaten just before we'd left for Brutis Bone's base, but that was hours ago. I'd already had a freakishly fast metabolism, even after the most substantial meals I was hungry within an hour or two, but after Faleaseen had sped it up even more. I must be on the brink of starvation.

"Any food in here?" I stammered desperately.

The medicae's eyes widened briefly, "hmm I'm not sure, I will look for you, but I doubt it" he said then started to search through the draws.

"Thanks."

Just then I felt the medicae vehicle slow then swerve to a stop and I gazed through the small back window, seeing Arlathan's Magistratum van following us, and after that one of the black limousines, we'd travelled to Brutis' base inside.

Two faces abruptly appeared in the windows, and both back doors opened. The two orderlies jumped into the vehicle. Without sparing me a glance, they picked up Karmen's gurney and carried her out.

Immediately I was up and running after them, into the parking lot, ignoring the Medicae yelling my name and pushing through two of Taryst's mercenaries as they approached the vehicle.

In the under covered parking lot I saw six more medicae vehicles and around a dozen other patients wheeled toward the doors.

At the doors two more mercs stood holding them open, waving us through.

I was jogging alongside Karmen's gurney, and I looked at her, she was still as limp as a corpse, but still breathing.

It was then I noticed that the two orderlies were looking at me with shocked expressions.

I grinned, realising how strange it must've been.

"I-I'm alright," I said. "I'll take you to the medicae area, follow me."

They only nodded dumbly, then picking up my pace I ran through the doors and into the white, brightly lit corridor.

As I led them, my mind began to wander, allowing my instinct to take me to the medical area.

So many questions, so so many, why did Edracian want to take poor Elandria's corpse off world? And where? What would Edracian want with all those souls? Why were they going somewhere else and not to him? And again where? Why was Feuilt sent to guard the conduit alone? Why did Karmen not tell me she also was working for Faleaseen? Did she know that Glaitis was also working for the farseer? Also, why didn't Faleaseen communicate properly with me earlier? How was her view 'limited?' Did my father really teach Feuilt "everything he knew?" So was Serghar Kaltos involved in this? I knew my father worked under an Inquisitor but not the Inquisitor's name; perhaps he did work under Edracian. But why wasn't I ever told this? Seems like a pretty important piece of information for me to know. If my father was here, on Omnartus that might mean, that might mean.

At that thought, I felt my chest tighten. My father, I haven't seen him in seven years. Seven frigging years. Was my dream going to come true? So much was foreshadowed by that dream, my fight against Elandria and the meeting of Karmen both came true. So my battle against Serghar was entirely possible, but to be able to fight on such even terms against someone lauded as one of the greatest assassins of the sector? And not just that come out victorious? Was I already that good? I doubted that, highly.

Still, on instinct, I turned left as we came to a T junction.

Just then another thought hit me and hit me frigging hard, making me actually stop in my tracks. If Faleaseen could pretend to be Karmen's voice in my mind, what was stopping her pretending to be me? To make me think things I wasn't actually thinking? Like that voice which forced me to move when I almost gave up with exhaustion. Was that her? What if I was no longer me, what if I was Faleaseen just pretending to be me?

"Uhh, you okay?" called one of the orderlies, knocking me from of my train of thought. "We have to keep moving."

Slowly, I looked over my shoulder at them, my mind a mess of fear.

"I'm sorry," I stammered and began to make myself to move, forcing the fear away. Now wasn't the time for that line of thought, not with so many lives in the balance. I couldn't continue to think like that at all. In fact, or else my sanity would undoubtedly be destroyed, I'd have to have faith that my thoughts were mine.

I started to run again while grimacing and sticking out my tongue in disgust, "faith," as much as I hated that word it was the only one I could aptly apply to it.

As much as it was dull, repetitive and hard I was missing the earlier months of this job; I missed the simplicity of it. I'd wished for something to happen, for it to change and advance besides moving from Hammer hideout to Hammer hideout, killing and killing. I should've been careful what I wished for.

In silence I led them through the building, struggling to keep my mind clear and concise from any thought.

According to my wrist chron, It took about a minute to arrive, but it felt like a frig load longer.

As they gave me nods and thanks, the orderlies wheeled the injured through the doors, with them were a dozen armed mercs I'd never noticed were following us. Watching Karmen constantly before she disappeared from view.

With a tired sigh, I approached the nearest seat and dumped myself onto it.

My stomach groaned with hunger, and I had to fight the fatigue as it instantly threatened to overwhelm me.

Placing my face into the palm of my hand and wondered, how did all this happen? How did Edracian manipulate us all so frigging well? The only plausible explanation I could think of was he could also see into the future, perhaps even better than Faleaseen. He was a psyker even though, apparently not being one before. Perhaps, he's using those souls he's collecting to make himself a psyker? That along with what Feuilt claimed, making pacts with the ruinous powers?

Either that or he was just an amazing planner, but that I genuinely doubted, to outmanoeuvre an Eldar Farseer, to be able to pull through such a convoluted scheme would need some farsight. It'd be impossible otherwise.

My stomach growled again making me groan. I needed food and caffeine, badly but I couldn't bring myself to leave Karmen.

"Attelus?" came a small voice down the corridor, causing my attention to suddenly snap to its source, a young, pretty and freckled redhead girl stood looking at me curiously. She carried under her arm a folder of letters. I recognised her as one of the many, many mail delivery attendants who regularly worked throughout the building. I'd talked to her a few times before but couldn't recall her name now.

She began to approach her large, blue eyes full with concern, "are you okay, Attelus?" she stammered. "What's going on? I saw all the gurneys being wheeled here. I don't understand."

I stared at her, unsure how the hell to respond my mind reeling through many different potential answers, whether to lie or tell the truth. In the end, I decided on saying. Something I'd rarely admitted to many.

"I uh I'm sorry, but I uh have forgotten your name, I'm sorry."

She smiled with her full lips, "my name is Adelana."

"I'm sorry, Adelana," I stammered while shaking away the tiredness. "I just have a terrible memory for names, never been good at, that."

Adelana shrugged, "it's okay, I forget things all the time too."

"Well, you remembered my name," I pointed out.

She smiled again and tapped her head, "well, it's my job to remember names."

I frowned and eyed her suspiciously, that may be true, but I knew I'd never got any mail before, she wouldn't have had to learn my name, not ever.

"Mind if I sit?" she asked.

"No! No, of course, I don't!" I said.

She sat down next to me; it was then I realised she was gorgeous, why hadn't I remembered her? Well with all the attractive girls working here it seemed hard to tell one from another.

"You look terrible," she said bluntly.

It was my turn to smile, and I rubbed my eyes, "yeah, I could imagine. I'm tired, really, really frigging tired."

"I can see, and I see you've been through some rough times."

I sniggered, "yeah, you could say that. I've been through a lot. You alright? You sure you should be sitting here talking like this?"

She grinned, "let's just say I'm on my break, an unofficial break, so no and yes."

Sniggering again I shook my head, I was really beginning to like her.

"Hey, Adelana, can I. Can I ask you a personal question?"

A look of bemusement crossed her face, "uhh sure, okay."

"You don't smoke, do you? I could really use a smoke of Lho right now."

"No, no I don't," she said, smiling slightly and shaking her head. "I didn't know you smoked, Attelus."

"I do," I said. "I really do, like a frigging chimney. Adelana, do you...Do you know what I do for a living?"

"No," she said, "but I can guess, you always walk around with that armoured jacket on and have that sword, you're some type of mercenary? Like others here hired by Taryst. Am I correct?"

"Yeah, yeah you are," I said and I couldn't help wonder what she'd think of me if she knew the truth. Of all the people I've killed, of all my manipulations and...

I raised my eyebrow as a thought hit me. Adelana must've known about what I did to Vex, yet here she was still sitting here talking to me utterly unafraid.

"Well, I've better get going," said Adelana as she suddenly got to her feet. "My 'break' is about to end soon."

Without thinking my hand suddenly shot out and grabbed her by the sleeve.

"Attelus?" She stammered.

"Thank you," I said, "and I'm sorry."

"Sorry? Sorry for what?"

"I'm sorry I can't tell you more and thank you, thank you, for sitting here and talking to me despite what I did."

She shrugged, "it's okay, I thought you looked like you needed someone to talk to, everyone needs that, despite everything."

I smiled, "can I walk with you?"

"Yeah sure, just please don't get angry and strangle me."

My heart sank, as a sudden shock of pain shivered through me and I snatched back my hand.

"I-I wouldn't..."

"That's a joke, let's go I've got to get back soon."

I dumbly nodded and slowly pulled myself to my feet.

She was only half joking; she must've said it to gauge my reaction. She must've.

We began to walk, our footsteps echoing down the corridor.

"Where do you want to go?" she asked.

"Uhh to the cafeteria, I need, food," I slurred.

"Well I'll take you there, it's a bit of a delay, but I don't mind."

"You're sure?"

"Yeah, don't worry about me."

"I won't strangle you. I swear, I wouldn't."

"I know."

I looked back at the doors, whatever happens to Karmen will happen with or without me waiting in the corridor. I just hoped she'd be okay.

"Whatever happens, happens," I said.

[lolainblue]

Thunderbirds -- Chapter 40

T/W: Impllied abuse

   @msroxyblog @nikkitasevoli @maliciousalishious@meghan12151977@mustlove6277 @fyeahproudglambert @little-poptart @lady-grinning-soul-k @snewsome756

  As I held Roger and waited for him to calm down, a thousand memories flooded through my head in bits and pieces, like flashes from a movie.

  In the first one, it's 1985, I'm ten and back at Sugarbush Elementary. I'm hiding in the girls bathroom, the one by the art room in the basement; the one with no windows and the fluorescent light that is about to burn out that keeps buzzing and flickering. I've been crying and I'm hiding in the last stall, my feet drawn up on the toilet seat so no one can see by my shoes that I'm there. I've listened while Abby Norris has said more mean things about me in two minutes than I have ever even thought about anyone else altogether in my entire life, listened while she called me horrible things and her friends laughed and I wished I could become invisible, or die, or at least move back to Greenwood where I didn't have a lot of friends but at least no one called me names or pushed me down on the pea gravel by the swings and tore a hole in my favorite pair of jeans, the Zena ones that didn't come from the Sears catalog or have stupid rainbows or teddy bears on the pockets.  I wait until after the bell has rung before I finally get up enough courage to come out, and as soon as I am back in the hallway, there he is, one of the popular boys, the one who eats lunch at Abby's table and is always staring out the window, probably the cutest boy in the entire school. I'm ten but I already learned long ago that the prettier they are the meaner they are. I freeze as he takes in my swollen eyes and blotchy red face and I wait for him to say something ugly, or sneer and run away and tell everyone the new girl was crying in the downstairs bathroom but he just smiles and tosses his sandy bangs back out of his eyes. Hey you're that new girl from Greenwood, right? Your name is Jane isn't it? he is saying, blue eyes crinkling up as he grins at me, and I don't understand why he is being nice, everyone here has been so awful, but he reaches into the pocket of his neatly pressed khakis and pulls out a pack of Juicy Fruit gum and offers me a piece. I take it like a feral deer accepting corn from someone's hand, and as I unwrap it – I can still smell it, that distinctive tutti-frutti scent that still makes me smile eighteen years later – he is talking to me like we have been best friends from birth I'm Roger Harrington, I'm in Miss Kovacs's class too, No one new ever moves here, this town is so boring, bet you didn't want to come here and I have no idea how much my life has just changed but it's the most important thing that has ever happened to me and I want to live in that moment just for a bit but too soon the memory has slipped away, and I am back to rocking Roger in his bedroom in our oh-so modern NYC apartment but I might as well be back in that green institutional bathroom as helpless his tears have made me feel.

   “What happened, Roger?” I asked him once he stopped crying enough that I thought he could form words again. “Before your mom, I mean. We both know that's not where this started.”

   “It started with Daphne,” Roger admitted. “She wanted us to move in together, wanted a ring. I told her I wasn't ready, that I didn't even know what the hell I was doing with the rest of my life. She started in on wanting kids again, I told her I didn't. I reminded her that I had been clear about that from the beginning. She said she didn't think I was serious, didn't everyone say they didn't want kids when they were younger. But she knew, Jane, I told her how I grew up, that I didn't want that...”

   It's still 1985 in the background movie in my memory but it's a few weeks later, and Roger is coming over to my house after school for the first time. My mother greets us in her apron, offering fruit punch and bologna sandwiches cut into little triangles, and I am waiting for Roger to comment on in it all. My mother was 44 when I was born and she is an anachronism, proud to be June Cleaver in a world of career minded Maggie Seavers and Claire Huxtables. People ask if she is my grandmother sometimes and I know it bothers her, but it makes me furious because I adore her, she is the best mom I can possibly imagine, but Roger, of course, makes no such gaffe, he is charming as always. He sits politely with me at the kitchen table while we are supposed to be doing homework, making small talk with my mother while she offers him cookies Harrington? Are you related to Alderman John Harrington? she asks him and of course he tells her he is, yes, John Harrington's son, the Alderman, the Deacon over at the Sacred Day church, those Harringtons, and I see how his voice clips a bit and his eyes change even though he keeps right on smiling. I don't know anything about Aldermen, or that church, we're Presbyterians, but Roger and my mom exchange a look and I realize an entire conversation has been had that I probably wouldn't understand if they explained it to me. They get on famously, Roger Harrington and Marybeth Sewell, and Roger comes home with me after school from that day forward almost every day until we finally walk through the door in our caps and gowns, to a fancier punch and finger sandwiches that all of my family and none of Roger's shows up for.

   “It doesn't have to be like that, you know,” I said, taking his hands in mine. “It's okay to want whatever you want but it doesn't have to be like it was in your family. You would never be like that, Roger.”

   He shook his head, jaws tight, and I could see another tear escape and roll down his cheek. It made me so angry even all these years later, the things he went through, the things we were powerless to stop because of who his father was, the things I tried to so hard to protect him from. He always seemed so strong then, like he was made of Teflon, like none of it ever stuck. I never even understood that he needed me at all, I thought it could have been any friend who would have taken him in. I was so naive. It took me years and a lot of life experience to really understand how much damage was done, and the more I sat here and looked at him the more the memories kept flooding in.

   It's 1990 and we're in high school finally, underclassmen but we don't care, we're happy to have left middle school behind. The spring dance is coming up but Roger won't be going, he isn't allowed to go to school dances, he isn't allowed to dance at all or listen to popular music even though we dance in my family's den to New Kids On The Block and he has a secret collection of mixtapes in a box underneath my bed. I know I won't get asked. I'm skinny and awkward and I've gone back to being invisible, which isn't great but at least Abby Norris doesn't bother me much anymore. We are our own private club anyway, we plan the parties we will have when we are grown andoff to film school and living in LA, with all the fabulous connections we will make, and that's what we're doing now, gigging over imaginary menus and star-studded guests lists as we help my mother make meatloaf in the warm kitchen on Calavera Street. My father comes home from work early, he will retire in a few years from the accounting position at the supply company he loves so much, but for now, he is still working, shuffling through the door at the end of his day with a Where's my Janey? and I am still enough of a daddy's girl to throw myself into his arms and take his hat from him. He starts telling jokes, those terrible ubiquitous dad jokes, while he looks over our shoulders, Roger peeling potatoes while I chop them What do you get when you cross a snowman and a vampire? Frostbite! and when he chortles out the punchline he claps Roger on the back. Roger is already taller than my dad but still thin from the growth spurt, and though I expect him to collapse a bit under the force of the blow I am not prepared when he bleats like a frightened lamb, dropping the potato peeler and falling forward onto the counter, covering his head. Everything stops and I swear I can hear the big Westminster clock on the dining room wall ticking away the seconds before my father moves carefully, oh so carefully to Roger, placing his hand reassuringly on his shoulder as they make weighty eye contact. Roger's hand is shaking as he moves my father's aside and turns around, shoulders hunched forward, gripping the counter as he gives my father permission to do something he cannot do himself. They are both facing me, and I can see Roger's eyes, wet and gray, staring straight into my own, unwavering, and behind him my father's eyes as he lifts Roger's neat plaid shirt, eyes that go round as his face pales. He never says a word, just takes his jacket and hat off the hook by the door and walks out, not returning again until eleven o'clock that night, after my mother has made us Rice Krispie treats and let us watch TV while she did all the washing up and made up the trundle bed before sending us upstairs for the night. It's not the first time that this has happened, but it is the worst. I don't know what is said when he comes back, we can hear my parents speaking in hushed tones in the kitchen while Roger and I lie awake in my room, staring at the glow in the dark plastic stars on my ceiling. I know that my father has made many phone calls about Roger by this point in our lives, but it never changes anything. After this night, however, Roger is with us more than ever, and even though he only stays over a few nights a week at first my mother converts Mitch's old room into one for Roger, and he decorates it with all the things he isn't allowed to like at home.

   “It's okay, Jane. She wasn't the one for me, she was never going to be. But the things she said... I know she was angry. But she said I was exhausting. That all I did was take from the people around me.”

   “That's not true at all!” I protested. Roger was one the kindest and most generous people I had ever known. If Daphne had said that to him it had to have been done purposely just to upset him. “You know she was just saying that, right?”

   Roger shook his head. “I am too dependent on other people for my happiness, Jane. She's right.”

   “Fuck that heinous cow, she was not right. We're not meant to be islands, Roger. It's okay to need people.”

   “I'm too dependent on you. In eighteen years I don't think I've made a move without you, certainly not any important one. It doesn't matter what is going on, in the back of my mind it's always “Wait and see what Jane thinks” or “You should ask Jane first” before I can do anything. And I am not sure anymore if that's the best thing for us but the biggest part of me doesn't care. I don't want to do anything if it's not with you.”

   “I understand, Roger. I have these thoughts too sometimes, but I'm with you. I don't care. You're my person.”

   “How are we ever going to find someone else then? If I'm devoted to you and you're devoted to me, where does that leave room in our lives for anyone else?”

   “The right person will fit in, Roger. You're like a sibling I'm close to. No one would demand I ditch you if you were my brother. Shannon doesn't expect me to ditch you. Someone will come along for you that understands our bond too.”

   Roger got a look on his face like I had tried to feed him broccoli sauteed in earwax. “Fuck you and Shannon. That is not the relationship you think it is Jane.”

   “What the hell, Roger? Again? Could you maybe give it a chance?”

   Roger let out a loud growl before picking up one of his pillows and hurling it to the floor. “That's not what the fuck I mean! Shannon isn't the problem, Janey. You are!”

   “What are you talking about?” I demanded.

   “You planned it all out. You were the one that gave us direction, you were the one with the goals that knew how to get there. I just wanted out. So I held on to you as tight as I could and off we went. And we did it, Jane. You've been published, I've made my career. So now what? We didn't plan past this. We're just 28. We can't be done.”

   “We aren't done, Rog.”

   “Then what? Because all you've done since you got that book contract is the same thing you've done in your love life. You just ricochet around like a pinball, bouncing off whatever you bump into, whatever guy you bump into. You're with Shannon because you bumped into him again. You keep typing on the laptop but you don't know what you're writing anymore. You don't have a plan. I don't have a plan. I don't even know what I want. I never expected to get this far.”

   “It's not like that. I've been going full speed since I was a kid. I'm just catching my breath.”

   “And what happens to me when your next plan doesn't include me?”

   “I would never not include you.”

   “It's funny. I never worried about us when you were with Angus. I knew he would never be there for you like I was. But with Shannon, I don't know Jane. You're all over the place with him but you get so obsessed. He's the only guy that's ever made me scared you'd leave me.”

   “Roger I could never leave you.”

   “Of course you could. You could throw me aside the same as anyone. My family did. You're not even related to me.”

   “Fuck them, every last fucking one of them. They are horrible excuses for human beings and I am so sorry you had to be born into that family but FUCK THEM. You're a Sewell, Roger. Ask my mom. Ask my dad. Hell, ask Mitch. I will never ever ever let you go. There is nothing I wouldn't do for you. If it means I never find another boyfriend then so be it. I choose you.”

   We didn't say anything else. I had more questions, I wanted to know what he had done the previous night, but instead I held Roger until he cried himself out and finally fell asleep out of exhaustion. I got Shannon to come help me tuck him into bed and then afterward I poured us both a drink and sat up until three in the morning alternating between explaining to Shannon what was going on, what Roger's childhood had been like, and checking on Roger. Shannon seemed to understand, but I knew he'd had a rough childhood as well, with troubled relationships with the various father figures in his life, so I figured if anyone was going to get it was going to be Shannon.

   If he minded that his visit had been filled with dealing with Roger and his issues Shannon never said so. I apologized about not getting to go out but he just shushed me and took me to bed, holding me tightly as our bodies moved together, letting me grip him like an anchor in a rough sea. Maybe I didn't have a plan, maybe I had bounced into Shannon and lost what little focus I had left. That didn't mean I couldn't get a new one. Being without a plan for a while didn't sound like the worst thing in the world. I had always been wound a little too tightly anyway. Maybe it was time to take a step back, relax, go with the flow. As long as I could hold onto Shannon and Roger I thought everything would be fine.

   When I got up late the next morning Roger was already up,  hunched over a mug of coffee at the kitchen island. I poured myself a mug and sat down next to him, feeling as exhausted and hungover as if I had partied all night. We didn't talk, just periodically leaned into each other for a nuzzle, and when he got up for a refill he topped me off too. Shannon eventually joined us, pouring a mug and sitting down on the other side of me, sensing the mood enough to leave the silence unbroken. Eventually we began discussing food, and we were halfway through our late breakfast when the doorbell rang.

   Jared was supposed to be picking up Shannon on his way through the city to their next stop. He wasn't supposed to be showing up until that afternoon, however. We had planned to have Shannon packed and ready to go, to minimize any contact between Jared and Roger if necessary but when the person on the other side of the door turned out to be Jared hours ahead of schedule that plan went out the window. Hoping for the best I gave him a big hug and invited him in.

   “Nice place,” Jared said as he peeked around, avoiding looking directly at Roger. Roger scooped up his plate and mug and put them in the sink before heading back to his bedroom without a word.

   “Sorry man, I'm not ready to go. Wasn't expecting you til later,” Shannon apologized as he wolfed down the rest of his eggs. “Give me just a minute and I'll gather things up.”

   “No hurry,” Jared said, turning over a small pewter sculpture that sat on the long shelf by the door and glancing in the direction Roger had disappeared to. “Finished up early and thought I'd come by and see how everyone was.”

   Shannon nodded and walked back toward the bedroom and I led Jared over to the newly vacated kitchen island, offering him some tea. As I put the kettle on I kept catching him looking down the hallway, biting at his cuticles and generally paying no attention to the small talk I was trying to make. I sat his mug and the tea bags down in front of him with a sigh. “You came here early on purpose, didn't you,” I accused. Jared shrugged. “It's really not the best time,” I explained.

   “Look, I know he's pissed at me. I kind of made an ass of myself the last time I saw him. I just want to apologize, that's all.”

   “No offense, Jared, but he has bigger problems right now.”

   “Do you think he'll talk to me? Would you ask him? I swear I just want to make sure we're good.”

   I sighed again. I wanted to protect Roger, but honestly, I didn't know what was going on between the two of them, and if Shannon had a rough enough childhood to understand where Roger was coming from, well I figured Jared shared that childhood too. Maybe they could do each other some good. “I'll ask,” I agreed, but then Roger came back out of his room, fully dressed, and he grabbed Jared by the hand and led him back with him. With one more sigh, I poured the hot water down the sink and went to help Shannon pack.  

[bnhascenariosheadcannonsimagines]

Hi! Could I request a nsfw scenario where Bakugou and his gf fight and Bakugou says something very mean to her and she storms out, but later she goes to her dorm and they make up? Ohh!! And BTW! I'm so happy that I found your blog, I love it so much! You're so good!

Admin Speaks: Glad you found me too! Always happy to have new kids to care about followers!

Sitting in his dorm room you could feel the tension. He had something to say, that was clear enough by the way he kept glaring at you and growling incoherent words under his breath. You could feel his eyes burning into the back of your uniform as you tried to focus on your schoolwork and couldn’t take it any more. “Bakugou, do you have something you want to say?” You turn towards him and he growls out a no before turning back to his schoolwork. Sighing, you turn back around to continue working.

The awkward silence filling the room was unnatural. Usually he would be boasting about how great he is and how he will become number one hero, but today it was silent. “Bakugou, I want to know what your thinking.” you state and turn back towards him again. “Fuck off.” he flicked an eraser at you before turning around again. You huffed and activated your quirk, slowly pulling his chair towards where you were sitting on the bed. “For fucks sake (Y/n) stop using your shitty quirk and get your school shit done!” he raged and stood up from the chair, tipping it backwards as it fell to the floor. “Shitty quirk?” you whispered to yourself, hurt from his choice of words. “Yes! That shitty useless quirk on yours! All you can do is pull and push objects to you! Do you know how fucking lame that is?! Shitty Deku’s mom has the same fucking quirk! I don’t even know how you think you’ll become a hero with that stupid ass quirk!” he seethed at you and watched your face as your eyes slowly began to water. You bit your bottom lip, trying to compose yourself and failing. You stood up and wiped your eyes, “Well at least I don’t destroy everything I touch.” you shot back at him before walking out of his dorm room.

You couldn’t be here any longer. Not in his dorm, not in your dorm, you had to get out. You wandered out of the dorm building and started walking around campus, tears still leaking down your face, trying to wipe them away as they trailed downwards to the ground. “Stupid Bakugou. H-He doesn’t know what he’s talking about. My quirk isn’t useless. The more I use it the heavier the objects I can bring or push away. Just because it isn’t flashy or obnoxious doesn’t mean its bad.” you slid down the side of the building and curled up with your knees to your chest. “H-He didn’t mean it.” you curled into yourself tighter, gripping your legs with your hands rather harshly and nearly tearing your socks. “S-Sometimes he says stupid things. He n-never means them.” you hiccuped out and gave up trying to wipe away your tears.

You pushed yourself up off of the ground, still leaning against the building behind you. You stayed slouched against it, trying to control your breathing until you sounded almost okay. You nodded a little to yourself and pushed off the wall, walking quickly across the grounds and back into the dormitory. You avoided all invites to join others, politely declining as you walked to get to the elevator. You hit the button to take you up to your dorm, hearing the ding as the doors opened. You stepped inside when you heard your name being called. You turned to the voice and hit the button to close the door, hoping it would close before he reached you. “I’ve been looking for you! At least fucking talk to me! I didn’t-” the doors closed and you were on the way to your dorm.

“DAMN IT!”  Bakugou punched the door of the elevator. He shouldn’t have insulted you. He should have run faster to get to you. You had been crying, he could tell. You always wore a pleasant smile and a calm tone of voice but if anyone actually looked closely at you anyone could tell your eyes were puffy from crying. He had fucked up. He knew he had. He needed to talk to you. But you had made is pretty clear you didn’t want to talk right now. He hit his head slightly on the elevator door before hitting the button. The door opened and his fingers hovered over your floor number. He sucked in a breath and hit his floor before he did something else stupid

You had collapsed onto your bed, not crying anymore, when you got to your dorm. You blankly stared at the ceiling, wondering if you could pull it closer to you or not. You shook the idea from your head, knowing that the room above you would fall through if you tried that. You rolled onto your side and saw a picture on your desk. You were smiling in the photo and Bakugou had an arrogant smirk that only he could pull off. You were smiling at the camera, but his eyes were on you. His arm slung around your shoulder, pulling you closer to him in a comforting embrace. You gulped, willing your tears away as you used you quirk to tip it down facing the desk and out of your line of sight.

You buried yourself in your blankets, deciding the best way to get rid of the empty feeling in the pit of your stomach was to sleep. Then you heard a loud bang on your door. “(Y/n) open this fucking door!” You let out a whine, “No.” “(Y/n) if you don’t open it I’m breaking the damn door down myself.” “Go ahead.” you called weakly to him. It wasn’t long until you heard a forced ticking and the door flew open. “You need a new lock.” he grumbled and closed the door behind him. “I don’t want to talk to you.” you whispered under your blankets, still not looking at him. “Then don’t talk and just listen.” you felt the mattress dip down as he sat down on the edge of it. “Look, I said some shitty things to you earlier. And I didn’t fucking mean any of it.” He turned his head to look at you to see if you had moved from your blanket cocoon. “I just got worried today. You’re quirk is getting stronger. Hell! I remember when we were kids and you could barely pull a pencil to you and now you’re moving slabs of fucking concrete! You’re quirk isn’t useless I’m just…..scared. Scared you’ll get hurt one day and I won’t be able to do a fucking thing about it.” He checked again, the cocoon still unmoving. He furrowed his brows and reached out, pulling the cocoon down and grabbing your cheeks before you could take cover again, “I really fucking love you (Y/n). I didn’t mean what I said earlier! Now can you please either tell me to get the fuck out or let me stay?!” he stared intensely into your eyes, waiting for you to eject him out of your room. “Even if I threw you out, my lock is broken.” you smile weakly and pull him towards you with your quirk

He had never wrapped you in a hug so quickly. “Let me stay here tonight… Please.” he grumbled into your hair and you nodded slightly, wanting to accept his full apology but still slightly hurt. “I fucking love you (Y/n). I’m so fucking stupid to say those awful things to you. Next time just fucking punch me. I was… Afraid…. When I couldn’t find you. I don’t want you to leave me.” He hadn’t let go of you and grumbled all of this into your skin, pulling your body closer to his and pressing kisses to it every now and then. “I’m so fucking sorry.” he squeezed you one last time and you nodded once, “I forgive you Bakugou.” you pulled back a little to see his face and kissed him. His lips lingering on yours as he poured his apology into you, no words were needed. Silence took over, a comfortable one. The kind of silence that two hearts have a conversation in, no words needed.

He laid on top of you for a long while, nuzzling and kissing your neck. You let him get his feelings all out before he closed up again. His lips pressed down your neck until he reached your uniform blazer, “Can I take this fucking thing off?” he growled at the fabric, wanting to rip it off but knowing he was on thin ice right now. When you nodded he unbuttoned it and threw it from your body, starting to unbutton your shirt and working on removing his blazer and shirt as well. You reached up to try and help him but hie grabbed your hand tightly, kissed it, and put it back down onto the bed. “Don’t move alright....I want to... make you understand me.....Alright?” he continued unbuttoning himself as he finished yours. You nodded and laid under him, watching his eyes scan your body and watching the tent in his pants getting bigger.

“Tell me to stop now if you don’t want this.” he grumbled out and waited for you to look back up at him, quietly begging for him to take you. His smirk was back as he reached down to rub your clit with his fingers over your panties, “Of course you want this, otherwise you wouldn’t be this wet.” you slid your panties down your legs and dove between them, licking your clit and plunging his tongue into you. You let out a quiet moan and he smirked against you. He continued licking you until he couldn’t stand it. Your thighs around his head, your dripping sex exposed to him, the smell of your arousal filling the air around him. He fucking needed you.He pulled away from you and shoved a finger into you, searching around your room for any sign of condoms. “I know I left some in here.” he grumbled and you whined, pointing to a small silver box up high on your bookshelf. “Hm, tricky.” he said and he reached up and over and took one from the box, “You ready princess?” he asked as he pulled down his boxer and pants, causing his member to spring free and stand tall. He smirked down at you and flipped you over, making you shove your ass in the air as he rubbed small circles with his fingers onto your soft skin. He smirked as he tapped a finger against one cheek and set off a small crackling explosion. You whined as arched, showing him your dripping hole and he growled, leaning in to suck your clit before the rolled on the condom. He groaned into you and you moaned, waiting for him to fill you.

“I’m not going easy on you babe. Not tonight.” he growled and thrust himself completely into you, making you let out a small scream as he rammed himself into you without warning. “I want you hard and fast, right now. So I’m not letting up.” he groaned and ground his hips into yours. He reached around you to play with your nipples and pinch at the sensitive skin, watching goosebumps arise on your skin as you moaned and arched into his hands and dick. His thrusts getting sloppy and fast as he neared his climax, “H-Holy fuck (Y/n).” he growled and you moaned his name. “Say my name babe.” he panted as he thrusts hit deep inside of you making you moan his name louder, “Come on babe I know you can be louder than that.” he smiled as you tipped over the edge and came, screaming his name. He felt you tighten around him, his limit being reached as he arched and came into the condom, tipping his head back with a loud groan. He stayed inside of you as he caught his breath, not moving from his arched position and slowing pulling out of you.

He pulled out of you completely and went to throw away the condom in the trash bin. “(Y/n)...” he spoke quietly, surprising you.” “Yes Kastu?” you tilt your head as he comes back to bed, laying down next to you and bringing you into his chest. “I love you....” he grumbled and buried his face into your shoulders before you could see his blush. You smiled and brought one of his hands up to kiss it, “I love you too.” As the two of you laid there he kept you cuddled into his chest, falling in and out of sleep Bakugou decided to stop fighting the urge and go to bed, placing one last kiss on you head. He had finally nuzzled in and gotten comfortable when he heard the door creak, “What the fuck?” he grumbled and picked up his head to find Mina and Denki at the door. They both blushed brightly before stuttering they only wanted to know if you wanted to play Rock Band before booking it down the hallway. He growled after them and then turned back to you, pulling you further into his embrace and falling asleep with you pressed to him.

[claraxbarton]

Good Things

For @amberlyinviolet, thank you for the prompt and for dragging me to a happy place. The prompt: Duo and Trowa introduce their daughter to the kitten that Quatre has given her.

A/N: Always, always thank you to Ro for the beta reading and support.

Pairings: 2x3, past 3x4

 Good Things

 Duo had just finished drying off the last of the breakfast dishes when the doorbell rang.

It was just after nine in the morning on a Saturday, and Duo couldn’t think of anyone who would be venturing out that early or venturing anywhere near his house.

With a frown, Duo set down the dish towel and looked towards the back porch. His family was still there, where he had exiled them after his request to help clean the dishes had once again turned into ‘let’s see how miserably wet we can make Duo.’

They were still there, the closed door meaning they likely hadn’t heard the doorbell ring.

Cautiously, Duo stood on his toes and reached up to grab the gun they kept on the top of the highest row of cabinets. He slid the bullet clip into place but left the safety on and held the gun behind his back as he approached the front door.

They had only lived in the house for three months, had suffered through the overwhelming parade of disturbingly polite neighbors and scared off even the most determined without meaning to. It had been weeks since a well-meaning, too-wide smiling neighbor had rung their doorbell.

Duo hugged the walls as he made his way through the living room and down the entry hall and then pressed himself against the side of the door to look through the keyhole.

A familiar head of blond hair, looking a little tousled, filled up most of his view.

Duo opened the door.

“Quatre?”

The man turned around, a bright smile on his face and a cardboard box in his hands.

Duo looked from the smile to the box, wondering why there were holes punched into the top of the sides.

“Why do you have a gun?”

Feeling like an idiot, Duo struggled to shove the gun into the back of his sweatpants, having to shove the barrel under the band of his underwear to keep it in place.

Please don’t let me shoot my own ass off, he prayed.

“Just, you know… habit. What, uh, what are you doing here? I didn’t think you were dirtside until June.”

Quatre’s grin, if possible, grew even more blinding.

A smile that had legendary abilities to set people at ease and get him exactly what he wanted in even the trickiest business negotiations. He had such perfect teeth, and a face that seemed to be genetically engineered to smile.

A smile that Duo had always envied.

“Well,” Quatre held the box a little higher, “after your call on Tuesday, I went to see Michaela and one of her shelter cats had had a litter three months ago, and there were still two kittens who hadn’t found homes yet and-”

“Wait, wait.” Duo held up one hand as he tried to process what Quatre was saying. “You… what, woke up on Wednesday morning, hopped a shuttle to the moon and got a kitten from your sister and then… flew down to Earth? What about- wait. What about customs?”

Quatre gave him a look.

“You want to lecture me about customs? Duo Maxwell, the man who smuggled an entire family off of the moon?”

“Well, that was for-”

“Look, I might not have your finesse, but I can manage to get a cat through customs.”

Duo arched an eyebrow and Quatre huffed out a sigh.

“Yeah, I bribed a few people.”

“Is, uh, is anyone going to come looking for this thing?” Duo had to ask, imagining how that conversation would go down, imagining Wufei’s glee in spreading the story of Duo getting busted by Terran customs by being in possession of a lunar cat.

Quatre looked as if he was giving the question serious thought for a moment.

“Probably not,” he concluded and Duo had to wonder if Quatre was fucking with him or genuinely thought there might be a possibility of customs hunting down this cat.

“Anyway,” Quatre continued with a bright smile, “you mentioned a kitten and Michaela was more than happy to offer up one of hers. She’s had a round of vaccines and things, and we gave her a mild tranquilizer for the trip. It should be wearing off very soon.”

“I, uh… thank you.”

Duo finally thought to take the box from Quatre.

It had just been a passing comment during their weekly video chat with Quatre. Trowa had stepped away and Duo, always a little awkward when he was left in any one on one situation with Quatre, even with millions of miles between them, had muttered something about kids and pets and Quatre’s face had lit up immediately. Duo had figured it would only be a matter of time - had guessed that come Christmas or the next birthday, Quatre would deliver a cat.

But this was a lot sooner than he had counted on.

“We, uh… doesn’t it need food and… litter?”

The box was both heavier and lighter than he had anticipated. Duo could sense exactly where the tiny body was curled into a corner.

“Yes, but I’ve got all of those things for her in the car!” Quatre made a vague gesture towards the street and the shiny black car parked beside the beat up truck that Duo insisted ran fine and Trowa kept hinting about driving to a scrap yard.

“Oh. Uh. Wow. That’s… you really thought of everything.”

Quatre was still smiling, and Duo saw the blond man’s eyes look past him, into the house.

“Oh, right. Come in - we uh, I’ll get them and you can - you can give her the cat and -” Duo started to hand the box back to Quatre, but the other man pushed it back against his chest.

“No, no. She’s yours - it was your idea, Duo. You give her the cat.”

“Yeah, but, I was just talking and you - you did everything and -”

“Duo.” Quatre’s smile had slipped, concern in his eyes and weighing down the corners of his expressive lips.

And Duo immediately felt like an asshole.

“Duo, you had the idea. They’re your family, Duo. I… I got overzealous,” Quatre realized with an increasing frown. “I shouldn’t have presumed to -”

“No, no, no!” Duo rushed to stop him, the feelings of being an asshole going into overdrive. “You weren’t, you aren’t! You just - you’re just doing your perfect Quatre thing and it’s great. Seriously. It’s awesome. We - I - it’s great.” Duo drew in a deep breath and forced all of his feelings of insecurity down. “Come in. Come say hi and give her the cat. She’s going to be crazy excited.

Quatre shook his head and reached out to squeeze Duo’s shoulder.

“No, really, Duo. I didn’t do this to - I’d rather just wait here, while you do it.”

They could, Duo was pretty sure, stand here and argue about it until Trowa found them and forced the issue. Which Duo absolutely didn’t want.

So he sighed, adjusted the box, and opened the door wider.

“At least, here, if you want to come in and… they’re out on the back porch right now.”

Quatre nodded. He knew the layout of the house, had, in fact, been the one to send the listing to Trowa in the first place and suggest it as a perfect home for them to move to once Duo and Trowa had agreed that raising a fearless child on the sixth floor of a two century old apartment building wasn’t the best possible thing to do.

“I’ll wait in the kitchen, then?” Quatre suggested.

“Sure, sure. I… yeah.”

Duo stepped aside and allowed Quatre into the house.

He closed the door and followed the other man back to the kitchen, watching as Quatre’s gaze swept over every surface.

“I like it,” he said with a soft smile. “I hoped it would be a good fit for you.”

He turned to Duo, still smiling, and there was so much warmth in his eyes that Duo had to look away.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s perfect. You were right. Plenty of room, close to work but not too close and the schools are great for - yeah. You, uh, you were right. You were perfect, as always.”

He always was, but even after fifteen years Duo still struggled to figure out how Quatre just seemed to know and understand everything.

“Duo, it’s not a competition, you know.”

The words had Duo looking over at the other man again.

“I - I know that.”

Quatre arched one eyebrow.

“He made his choice, Duo. And it was the right one. All I want is for him to be happy, and he is, with you. And I want you to be happy, Duo. You’re one of my oldest and closest friends and - and Trowa chose you because you are perfect.”

They had had a version of this conversation a few times, over the years. And each time Duo felt like more of a jerk for all of his insecurities.

“Go on,” Quatre nodded towards the back porch. “Introduce them.”

Duo felt like he should say something but, as usual, he really couldn’t think of what to say to Quatre that would properly express what he was thinking and feeling.

He just nodded, though, and followed Quatre’s direction.

“Wait!” Quatre suddenly called out and before Duo could turn, he felt the man’s nimble fingers pluck the gun from his waistband.

“Thanks. It goes up above the cabinets.”

When he opened the door to the back porch he had to smirk as he looked down at the chaos.

Trowa had been the one to suggest adopting, had been the one to talk Duo down from all of his sleepless night musings about how thoroughly inept and awful he would be at parenting. When the agency had called, three years ago, and told them that their child, their daughter, was waiting for them, Duo had never felt more terrified or hopeful in his life.

Helen was almost five, now, and even after three years Duo had a hard time looking at her and wrapping his head around the idea that she loved him, that just seeing him made her smile and laugh and the feel of her thin, strong arms wrapping around him and the sound of her laugh gave him more pleasure than he had imagined was possible.

Currently, she and Trowa looked to be in the process of building a space elevator, or maybe it was just a very, very tall tower of blocks that looked more precarious with every second.

It was tall enough that Trowa had to pick Helen up so she could add the next block.

She did and the tower wobbled, held, and then collapsed.

Helen shrieked in delight and Trowa smirked down at her, kissing her head before kneeling down to start collecting the blocks.

“Well, if the engineers want to take a break, I’ve got something special for a certain someone.”

They both looked up at his voice, Trowa’s gaze immediately going to the box. He raised an eyebrow but remained silent.

Helen’s gaze also zeroed in on the box and her brown eyes grew wide.

“What is it?” she asked, not reaching for the box but instead waiting, her hands clasped together as she rocked on her feet eagerly.

A few too many curious explorations of sensitive packages and materials that Duo and Trowa brought home from work had taught her to wait before touching things in boxes.

“I dunno. Why don’t you find out?” Duo suggested and set the box down.

Helen approached it cautiously, lifting the folded flaps slowly and then -

“LOOK!”

She reached into the box and pulled out a ball of fluff with huge ears and sleepy gray eyes.

Trowa now raised both eyebrows at Duo, who jerked his head towards the kitchen.

He watched Trowa look through the window, watched the curve of his lips as he spotted Quatre, and he tried very, very hard to tamp down on his jealousy.

“Dad, look!” She practically shoved the kitten into Trowa’s face and he chuckled.

“I see. It looks like you’ve got a little friend to take care of.”

Helen’s eyes grew even wider and she turned back to Duo, cuddling the kitten against her chest and Duo hoped she wasn’t crushing the thing.

“Does - is she mine? Daddy, Daddy she’s mine?”

Duo had to roll his eyes.

“Yeah, little bean, she’s all yours. And Tro’s right - she’s yours to take care of. Do you think you can handle that responsibility?”

Helen’s face grew solemn and she held the kitten out, staring into its eyes.

“Yes,” she decided. “I promise to take care of her, just like you and Dad take care of me.”

She grinned up at him and Duo felt his heart constrict a little.

“Good,” he said and then cleared his throat. “Why don’t we go inside and you can give her a tour?”

Helen practically skipped into the house.

“This is where we live!” She announced and Trowa chuckled again.

“A kitten?” he asked just as Helen spotted Quatre in the kitchen.

“Uncle Quatre! Look what my Daddy got for me!”

Duo winced at that but he allowed Trowa to wrap him into a hug.

“Yeah, I mentioned it to Quatre the other night because some kids at storytime were talking about their pets and Helen did that thing where she bites her lip and looks like she’s about to ask for the world but doesn’t want to so…Plus there’s this guy who keeps saying that a cat would be great to have around the house...”

Trowa nudged Duo’s face upwards and kissed him gently.

“Thank you.”

“It was Quatre who got the thing. All I did was -”

Trowa kissed him again, a lot less gently, and by the time Duo pulled back to draw in an unsteady breath, he wasn’t thinking about Quatre anymore.

Trowa smirked and Duo rolled his eyes.

“Smirk all you want now, just wait until tonight Mr. Hey, Helen, The Faucet is Totally a Toy and Duo is Totally a Target. We’ll see who’s smirking after you handle bathtime.”

It was Trowa’s turn to roll his eyes, but before he could say anything, Helen came running back, kitten still in hand, Quatre trailing behind her.

“Uncle Quatre asked me what her name is! Daddy, what’s her name?”

Duo looked over at Trowa, who shrugged.

“Well, kiddo, I think that’s up to you. What do you think her name should be?”

“Hmm.” Helen considered the kitten very seriously, stroking over her fur with one hand while she gave the question thought.

“Solo,” she announced with a grin.

“Solo?” Duo echoed.

Helen nodded earnestly.

“Dad said he was your brother, but he died a long time ago, and you miss him.”

Duo looked over at Trowa, wondering how the hell Solo had come up and knowing with certainty that he did not want to know.

Trowa gave him an apologetic look.

“Solo sounds like a wonderful name,” Quatre spoke up.

“Yeah,” Duo cleared his throat. “That’s… that’s perfect, little bean.”

Helen gave him a bright smile and then turned her attention back to the kitten.

“Come on, Solo. I’ll show you our room. That’s where we sleep at night. And where we nap. And where we keep our books. And our toys. And it’s where Daddy tells us bedtime stories. And Dad helps us build a spaceship. And -”

She was out of earshot and out of sight in no time, trooping up the stairs with the kitten in hand while the three adults watched with bemused expressions.

“Well,” Quatre said with a sigh, “I should probably be going. I’ve got a few meetings to get to this afternoon. I’ll just run out to the car and get the supplies and -”

“You should come back, tonight. For dinner. It’s Trowa’s turn to cook so I can’t promise it’ll be edible but, you should come back.”

Trowa looked like he was trying to decide between kicking and hugging Duo.

Quatre, however, clearly had no trouble deciding on his reaction.

He smiled, that million volt grin again.

“I would love that.”

 -o-

  Okay so there was SOME angst but like… mostly fluff.

[ballbustedego-blog]

Secret Agent Man - Chapter 4

Chapter Four: Memories

As Kin was traveling to France, she started daydreaming about the past. Growing up as an orphan is never easy. For Kin, it was the dread reality of every day. After World War II, her family had moved from Japan to settle in England. A freak accident took her parents from her. Her grandmother was too old to care for young Kin and the rest of her family was living on the other side of the globe. Since the age of three, Kin grew up in a coven for girls only.

At the age of twelve, the coven sent her to a special wing of the coven for gifted girls. Only the smartest and healthiest girls were transferred to the South Wing. She remembered how odd the transition appeared. She kept having regular classes, but the extra ones were quite peculiar. The first time she entered Room 409, Kin and the few other girls had no idea what kind of class awaited them. Their new teacher, a gorgeous woman, entered the room with a cuffed man. The man was naked, except for a bag covering his head and a pair of white skintight spandex shorts which outlined his package. The teacher lifted the hands of the man and locked them to a hook on the back wall.

''Good evening ladies. I know this is rather new for you, but today you will be learning about the means of defense that work best on men,'' the teacher explained.

''Men have several pressure points, most pressure points are shared with women at the exception of one. The testicles,'' she carried on.

''A swift hit to the genitals can provide you with temporary safety or dominance during a fight,'' she said before grabbing the man by the shoulders and sending her knee flying at full speed into his balls.

The man moaned painfully and twisted his body without having a chance to cover his jewels. The girls looked in awe as the man breathed heavily after the hit. The teacher seemed proud of their reaction as a faint smile appeared on her face.

''Today, you will each take turns and knee this man in the testicles. Do not hesitate to give it your all, this training is crucial for your future survival,'' she instructed.

Kin and the rest of the girls practiced the entire period on proper ways of kneeing the poor helpless man. Some girls felt sorry, but most of them, along with Kin, seemed to take a malicious pleasure in aiming for the lower parts.

In room 409, the girls learned a wide variety of ways to attack a man's testicles as the year went by. Some classes were focused on only one way of busting, while other classes mixed things up. The girls learned how to knee, kick, stomp, punch, squeeze and even elbow men in the genitals.

At 18, during the end of her education, Kin had demonstrated above average skills in busting testicles. Her grades were also among the highest in the South Wing. After the final exams, the head mistress came to Kin's dormitory and demanded she follow her to her office. On their way, the head mistress also stopped by Megan's dormitory to tell her the same thing. The two girls followed their superior to her office, where they took seats and listened to the head mistress.

''I know you girls must be quite excited at the idea of leaving the coven after so many years but there is something that you do not know. Every year, the coven sends one recruit to a secret agency. As you may understand, only the best of our bests can be selected. You two have proven to be our finest students. Unfortunately, only one can become a secret agent for the agency. So here's the situation: You will both take the coven's exam to confirm your entrance at the agency, but only the winner will move on to become a secret agent. I know that rupturing the testicles of dummies is strictly forbidden, but that will be the condition to win. And don't worry, we didn't take regular prisoners for this, we took rapists,'' she finished.

Kin and Megan were brought to a room in the basement with a wrestling ring in the middle. A tall muscular guy was waiting in the ring with his arms crossed, wearing a black speedo.

''Megan, you're first,'' the head mistress commanded.

Megan took a step in the ring and started limbering up.

''That's my opponent?!'' the jock said.

''Nobody told me I was going to fight a girl. It makes things a lot more interesting. I think I'll rape you when I'm done, sweet thing,'' he continued.

Before he could taunt Megan any further, the bell rang and Megan dashed toward the man. The jock widened his stance, and raised his arms like a bear. Megan made a small jump and slid between the jock's legs. Before he had time to turn around, she got up behind him and launched a devastating kick to his testicles. The rapist took his nuts in his hands and fell to his knees. Megan, still behind him, wrapped her arms around his neck in a sleeper hold. The man was too muscular for her tiny arms though. With one hand still on his nuts, he used the other to pull Megan's arms away from his neck. Megan let go at once and slapped his ears with each hand. The man let go of his nuts and grabbed his head. Megan went around him, dropped to her knees and grabbed his balls with both hands. She started squeezing as hard as she could, as the jock started to scream from the agony. He grabbed her wrists and tried to pull them away, only making Megan squeeze even harder as she started twisting.

''SOMEONE HELP! SHE'S ABOUT TO POP MY FUCKING NUTS!'' he shouted.

Not a single woman moved; all fixing the grip Megan had on his testicles. The man tried to close his legs together but Megan had pulled his nuts too far from his legs for them to cover his balls. Still holding on to her forearms, the man started shaking. Megan squeezed and twisted the rapist's gonads beyond their limit as a loud pop echoed across the ring. The jock passed out instantly and collapsed.

''Two minutes and twelve seconds,'' a woman behind the ring claimed.

''Kin, you're next,'' the head mistress directed.

Kin made her way into the ring as Megan got out. Two women came and took the first man away. A door opened on the side and a second man came out. He was as tall as the first one but not as muscular, and was also wearing a black speedo. He entered the ring.

''So I earn my freedom if I win by submission right?'' he asked one of the women standing behind the ring.

One of them nodded. Another rang the bell. Kin walked toward the man and extended her hand. He slapped her hand away and grabbed her by the waist. He lifted her up, turned her sideways and slammed her against the mat. Kin did not resist and let the man grope her as he shifted her body in a hold. He went on top of her and felt her breasts. As if playing along, Kin reached inside his speedo and took out his penis. He let the girl stroke his dick but quickly moved forward and pressed it against her cheek. Kin let the man slide his member in her mouth as she started sucking. With one hand, she massaged his balls and with the other, she reached around and stuck a finger in his asshole. She found his prostate and started rubbing it.

The rapist started breathing heavily.

''I'm about to shoot,'' he inhaled.

Kin kept sucking, polishing his dick hole with her tongue.

''I'M CUMMING! I'M CUMMING!'' he yelled as his shaft sent shots of thick semen in Kin's mouth.

Kin swallowed the whole as her feet locked around the man's neck. She pulled him down using her legs, his head still imprisoned by her feet. His knees were on each side of her waist. She raised her chest to get a look at her target, and with tremendous accuracy, she punched the male in the balls. Her fist made contact with both orbs, as the man was unable to move, trying to protect his nuts.

Kin got on her feet, kicked the man in the ribs to flip him on his stomach and removed his hands from under him. Flat on the mat were his two round testicles peeking between his legs. Kin kicked his legs open and started trampling on her opponent's nuts.

''AAARRGGGHHHHHHh!! STOP, DON'T STEP ON THOSE, GIRL. I'LL DO WHATEVER YOU WANT,'' the male pleaded.

With thin fabric as sole protection, Kin unleashed a ferocious stomp right on the rapist's balls, popping both eggs in the process as the male passed out.  

''Two minutes and eight seconds,'' a woman called.

''You should know better Megan; balls are easier to pop when the sack is empty. But I don't know whether to be proud about the fact that I popped his nuts in two minutes, or that I made him cum in even less,'' Kin teased.

Megan seemed upset. The head mistress called for Kin to get out of the ring and left with the girls. She escorted Megan back to her dormitory and went back to her office with Kin.

After some congratulations, some time off and a short vacation, Kin was admitted to the agency, where she met The Boss, Francis, Nigel and many others.

One day, during a hand-to-hand training, Kin was matched with Francis. She was quite nervous since it was her first time training in combat at the agency and did not know how strong agents could be.

Francis limbered up; Kin did the same. As the training started, Kin did what she knew best and lunched a terrible kick to Francis' package. Not expecting a frontal kick to the nuts, Francis was taken by surprise. He froze for a moment, trying to cope with the pain. Kin thought he withstood the blow pretty well and sent another one right on target. This time Francis went down instantly. While on the floor, he was still trying to cope with the pain. For a man not to scream or moan after a hit in the balls, this guy must be quite the fighter, Kin thought. Francis was glad nobody was there to see him like this. Before he could say anything, Kin grabbed him by the knees, spread them open and let her knee drop hard in his gonads. Her full weight flattened his testicles against his own body. Francis, at a loss for words, just tapped against the floor, signaling Kin to stop.

''You give up? Already?'' Kin asked.

''Please, no more,'' Francis begged.

After this session, Francis always went to training with a cup. Kin quickly grew a reputation for being rough and aiming low.

''Madam, we have arrived,'' the attendant said, making Kin snap out of the past.