#this is the first proper time ive gotten sick in a while

[ourtintedworld]

uh oh im getting sick

[the-bleeding-weave]

Im back on my bullshit since yall seem to enjoy it. This time ive got a proper au for you

Tulpar crew cowboy au!!!

Takes place in southern georgia in 1880

The gang is called the McCurly's (after curlys last name)

Curly is a 35 year old scottish immigrant who came from a decently wealthy family, but he hated the lifestyle and wanted to live a freer life. He developed a hatred of the wealthy elite and believes humanity is at its best when they serve each other and not just their own interests. He also has a hatred of the law for uplifting the wealthy while trampling the poor and working person.

Curly is revolted by racism and bigotry in all its forms and vows to kill or "change the minds" of every person who dares to support the harming of minorities. This will become one of his gangs main goals (ie. Kill all kkk members with no remorse, kill bigoted protesters, beat the fuck out of and intimidate politicians until they change laws, etc)

Curly does well at all ranges of combat but he prefers long and medium range, using his favorite lever action rifle for most combat encounters. His sidearm of choice is a classic six shooter revolver which hes gotten very quick with reloading.

He has a silver and black brindle thoroughbred mare named Tulpar

Anya is a 32 year old Cherokee native whose village was devastated by oil barons who stole her people's land and left them to fend for themselves. Her family was massacred in the middle of the night by pinkertons with her being one of the few survivors.

Despite this incredible trauma, she survived on her own for a while before finding curly grievously sick in the wild. Feeling bad for him she used her extensive knowledge of herbs and medicine to heal him back to perfect health, the two forming a tight bond in the process.

Shes the gangs resident healer, they all refer to her as a doctor even though she isnt licensed, though they all agree shes better than a doctor.

She studied germ theory extensively and even learned about viruses several years before modern science did.

She loves hunting along with curly :3

She loves going on raids with the others and does great with all forms of combat.

Because shes a smoker her voice is distinctly raspy and deep, meaning she can put on what she calls her "bandit voice," a uniquely intimidating tone she uses for raids or to intimidate people.

She has a golden dun tiger stripe mustang stallion named Yorkshire that she raised herself, as a result he refuses to let anyone else ride him. The gang jokes that shes unintentionally convinced him hes her human son

Daisuke is the newest and youngest member of the gang at 23 years old. Hes japanese and mexican and speaks fluent English, japanese and spanish. His parents were killed by a dangerous gang and he was left homeless overnight, struggling to survive on his own. He was found by anya who took him in to camp to treat him for an infected injury and he quickly endeared everyone in camp with his infectious positivity. Curly allowed him to stay as a new member to which daisuke was eternally grateful

He LOVES his pistol like its his wife and has modified and decorated the hell out of it. It has engravings on the barrel and handle as well as gold plating. Hes gotten surprisingly good at using it too, able to aim well at decently long ranges especially for a pistol. While he prefers medium range combat he isnt too bad with long range either.

His horse is a reverse dapple roan nokota mare he named Asteroid destroyer. Shes the fastest horse in the whole gang and daisuke is incredibly proud of that fact

Jimmy (34) is an old childhood friend of curly and was the son of american immigrants to scotland. Though his family wasnt wealthy he still hated european life and wanted to join curlys lifestyle so he became curlys first gang member.

In this au he isnt a sexual predator, just abrasive but mostly well meaning. Hes a strategist and bounty hunter as well as the assistant manager for the gangs funds alongside curly. Hes not terrible at it but swansea loves complaining about things he spends on

When doing raids he often serves as supporting fire or lookout, keeping watch for cops and security. Hes a pretty good shot but he cant do very well with more than medium range combat. He relies very heavily on his side arms and almost never uses large arms like rifles.

His horse is a dark bay turkoman stallion named Polle and jimmy treats him like royalty

Last but certainly not least is swansea. Hes 58 years old and he used to work for a steel refinery but he hated every second of it. His true passion was in horses and gunsmithing.

He often takes up sniper positions when they perform raids since his horse is the slowest in the gang. But he also makes for a great tank when theyre in the thick of it, he has the unique ability to take several bullet wounds and not even flinch. He also has two shotguns, one is a pump shotgun and the other is a sawed off double barrel which he uses religiously. He excels at long range and short range combat due to his weapons expertise

He may not be the tallest but his sheer bulk and deep voice is enough to intimidate most people, especially when he presses his shotgun into their belly

He has an iron gray roan Ardennes mare he named after his late wife Andrea. He has the biggest soft spot in his heart for her and regularly has conversations with her when he thinks hes alone.

[kasaneteto]

i need advice on how tf to deal with my crazy ass sister

my sister has big fucking problems. i don’t really know where to begin with them but basically in a nutshell, she is 30 yrs my senior but acts like a teenager. in the past she has harassed me & my friends on Facebook as a way to lash out against my dad, stolen my glasses from me when I preferred to take a nap then go out with her, taken all of the gifts she gave me back for no reason while also taking all of the trash out of the can and placing it around the house (and denying that it was her) and that’s really just scratching the surface. it’s always something with her. ive never had a tight relationship with her and only saw her regularly during the holidays (which is the main reason i really don’t like Christmas lol) but she really wants a relationship with me. she wants a relationship with me so bad that she tries to brute force it, texting me guilt trippy shit to try and get a response out of me (i.e. “Why do you completely ignore me?” “Where’s my little sister?” “HELLO!!!!?????”) and complains to my parents that I don’t talk to her. she doesn’t seem to understand that she fucked up our relationship and that I can’t just… pretend that didn’t happen. not to mention SHE HASNT GOTTEN BETTER she’s still pulling crap like this!!! let’s review this Christmas

she arrived and immediately started complaining that she felt sick (I’m pretty sure she’s a hypochondriac bc she’s always sick with or just almost died from something) and hid in her bedroom. she was in there 90% of the trip. she then TEXTED my mom that she needed fruit flavored popsicles and grape Gatorade. she even texted my mom to get her things like a glass of water… when they were like 10 ft down the hall from each other. my mom makes her dinner the first two nights and she doesn’t eat it. so the third night my mom didn’t cook for her. so she ate my dad’s portion before he could get it. the next day was Christmas and she didn’t come with us to the family outing my parents planned. she came on the family outing the next day but was complaining to herself under her breath the whole time. and on the day my mom was driving me home she decided she was coming with us to see her friend, but she couldn’t (thankfully) since the backseat was all full of my dad’s crap. then after my mom & I left she was apparently acting totally chipper and fine compared to how sick she allegedly felt until her friend came to pick her up, and apparently is having her flight home changed to the airport closer to her friend’s. she also asked if I had her number before we left and I said yeah I have it to which she replied “well then use it” … then started texting me a bunch when we were on the road. I couldn’t reply because I had shitty service and she took personal offense to my lack of reply and texted my mom a rant about how “she tried” and “is done if I don’t want a relationship with her”

well she’s not fucking done. she texted me again today at work saying how great it was to see me and she hopes her texts are going through (my mom called her when she got the text to tell her that I tried to reply but couldn’t bc bad service) and I’m like… how do I respond to this. because I want to be honest and let her know that our relationship is fucked beyond belief and it’s going to take a lot of heavy lifting on her end if she ever wants a proper relationship with me. however I know how vindictive she is and I’m afraid that her reaction to my honesty will be worse than her reaction to me just ignoring her. what do you guys think. should I be honest or just keep ghosting

[multifandumbmeg]

Random update per my fics:

Sorry I haven't updated in the last few days. I usually try to write some every day, but I took a day off to plan Golden Glint and then finished the mini fic (Reckoning of Mike Carrera) I started before it because that's what I wanted to write and I wanted to finish it.

On the topic of all my in-progress fics, my writing just isn't consistent right now. I mentioned a while ago that I'm going through AO3 author's curse and would eventually expand on that, so since I'm extremely frustrated and paralyzed from being productive today I'll do that now.

Starting from winter/late fall of 2022 I got sick and basically never got better. I was having illness after illness that meds weren't solving, and my headaches just got more and more frequent until they were every day for at least three months. By the time I came home from Korea, I was having full-blown debilitating migraines every day and attacks where I would almost pass out and couldn't breathe. It took me a couple months but I got on insurance, started a new job, and managed to convince my parents to let me focus on getting my health together this year.

It's been extremely difficult and frustrating because US healthcare, but I found out I do not in fact have ANY allergies despite doctors telling me I do, literally putting me on allergy shots for a year, and telling me that was the cause of migraines, inability to breathe, and constant illness, none of which were true. I had to prove this to them by fighting to see an actual allergist and getting re-tested which costs me hundreds of dollars out of pocket, but at least the allergist was a good dude who wrote a SCATHING letter to my primary care demanding I be sent to the proper specialists for my symptoms. Several blood tests and medications later, we have whammy number two:

The hypoglycemia I was diagnosed with as a teenager was not in fact random. Instead, I have hyperthyroidism caused by Graves Disease. Except I ALSO have Hashimoto's Disease, because I am just so special like that. Basically, rather than allergies like I was always told, I have been getting every single sickness that rolled by for the past several decades and because I was so used to being sick and so criminally gaslit about it, I didn't even know I was ill and just kept going. Thyroid also has tumors on it. I may also have other autoimmune disorders, or thyroid cancer, but I won't know until I finally see an endocrinologist an hour away later this month.

Though my daily migraines stopped last summer, I still get frequent headaches and now extremely bad ones (or migraines) every time it rains. Generally, there seems to be some kind of inflammation issue where my body over-reacts to literally everything by swelling up and causing more problems.

Possibly tied to that, I was in pain every single day at work. Considering my age, there is no normal reason I should be crippled by joint pain but that is yet to be solved. I now only work two days a week, which has helped significantly, but I am still consistently in a ton of pain two days a week, sometimes three as a rebound.

In January, before I had gotten any diagnoses, my parents gave me an ultimatum that they were kicking me out in May. I had to beg them to go part-time because I simply could not keep up with job applications while I was so constantly tired and pain. After sobbing for two straight days about the inevitability of becoming homeless because I can't afford to or logistically live on my own, my mom convinced my dad to let me go part time on the condition that I continue to pay the same rent Ive been paying to live in one of their empty spare rooms.

In February, I went in for the first appointment toward getting an Autism screening. The therapist suggested I get an ADHD test and recommended me for the official autism screening, saying I have a solid case for suspecting. After a little computer game and another talking appointment, slightly to my own surprise (especially because of how easy it was) I was clinically diagnosed with ADHD. I recently started meds for that and it has made basic tasks and job applications infinitely easier to the extent it's insane, plus my final Autism screening is next week and based on my results every step of the process so far diagnosis seems likely.

All that said, the job search process has been soul-destroyingly frustrating. I have a masters degree in a specialized field, backed up by a Bachelor's in a relevant field, years of study abroad and work abroad (which is relevant to my career path) and a track record of excellent academic achievement. I also speak French and Korean near-fluently and am conversational in Romanian and Russian, as well as knowing a fair few phrases in a number of other languages. Every job I've had has stressed me out to the point of quitting by around a year (hello Autism), but also none were related to what I studied at all, highly customer service oriented, and still every one would tell you I was one of the best employees they ever had and begged me to stay. Even with this track record, after literally HUNDREDS AND HUNDREDS of applications (which in my field almost always require a cover letter, often questionnaires and lengthy short answers, or even writing samples in addition) I have had ONE interview in four years. ONE. And I was so heinously underqualified for that hail-Mary I'm 99% certain they only interviewed me to meet a quota. As you can imagine, for someone with highly probable AuDHD, doing the same thing over and over for 4 years with a 100% failure rate is enough to make me want to dive into a lake with a pile of bricks chained to my back.

I'm still months out from seeing a neurologist about my headaches and general constant pain, I don't have a plan of action for my buck-wild medical anomaly thyroid, and I don't know if my parents are kicking me out next month. They haven't brought it up so maybe with my recent headway on the Peace Corps application (was told I stand a very good chance, but that's another contract job overseas, further pushing back my ability to find a stable, long term career job) and slew of diagnoses and medications, my dad is cooling off a bit. I don't know.

All that to say my body is crumbling out from under me, my job is stressful, and despite being extremely qualified and putting in so much effort, I have zero long-term life prospects. Sometimes, that results in me diving whole-hog into writing for fun and as an outlet, other times I'm too tired or need to bury myself in mindless content consumption or days of spending every spare moment staring at my ceiling in silence until I maybe fall asleep. Did I also mention the crippling lifelong insomnia which my ADHD meds (along with rapid weight loss I'm desperately trying to curb because I'm already borderline underweight due to my thyroid) are exacerbating?

Anywyay. Point is I'm very tired and stressed so my writing is going to be much less consistent than in the past. Hope you understand. Also just an update for my online friends. TMI but I needed to rant and put it out there for those wondering to lower expectations.

[saltressmistress]

Praying to god no one actually sees this and i can just vent into the void that is tumblr maybe *ahem ahem*

GOD LONELINESS SUCK 😭😭😭 im so patheric lmao all i did was eat lunch alone today cuz my one friend is sick and my other friends have a different class later so they had to go

But man i hate- i HATE being alone w/ my own thoughts and feelings <///3 i hate it smmmmm

I just- ugh idk,,,,,,

I've sorta always known that i cant talk to ppl properly, yes im introverted and its nothing bad but i WANT to socialize like properly and rlly badly but i can never say anything on my own accord

I just jump off on what the ppl around me usually say abd its fun but man i can-- i just cry dude idk what im typing

No beta we die like how i should be dead rn cuz whats even the point ;-;

Im the type thats like, i never *felt* like i had the freedom to speak when i wanted and that i was never taught to be social only told to

My mother was a very,,,,, negative person

Her first instinct is to complain and ask and/or answer questions in a very accusatory way as if you were the one doing something wrong like no??? Shut up pls???? Ur making me feel stupid for wanting to learn????

She shot down a lot of opportunities for me to be confident in myself and god do i hate that but yk cant rlly hate her, she is a good person in regards to everything else

She just doesnt have the best personality for being a mother (eldest daughter problems amirite)

But still, i point to her for my lack of social confident u-u </3

And ig general feelings of loneliness cuz even now she is VERY difficult to talk to, i have zero strength or willpower to defend myself in a conversation and she has like 2 modes: talking over you or straight up walking away while im tryna answer her

Ive given up on getting her attention, a day of her not noticing me (unless its completely necessary) is a good day

I wanna cry. I dont like how she is and idk how she can change i just wanna grow up so i can be less dependent on her but i have zero life skills and idk what to do

Havent even gotten to the worst part, that being she drives me to and from school everyday, almost a 2 hour drive each time

And she is an ABSOLUTE BITCH ON THE ROAD T^T

She has INTENSE road rage and its such a bad environment to be in that small cramped space w/ someone that just curses and screams at ppl who wont even hear her, ppl that she quickly passes by but still makes an effort to fucking complain

Its been driving my morality, my mentality, my everything down

Any ounce of positivity and affection i have in my body is being suck out and replaced by learned behaviors from a women who only knows how to react negatively

And she's the only person thats been raising me rlly- im eternally grateful that there were other ppl there also but as the 1st grandchild in that house, the other adults didnt rlly wanna interact w/ the child yk

My mom didnt even plan for me, she hid my existence for 5 months before she couldnt hide it anymore ×_×

The more grandkids that came along the house became more and more child friendly, but man it was rough for me ;-;

And now idk how to act around ppl my age, not really, idk the right things to say I OVERTHINK WAY TOO MUCH AND I JUST WANT THESE DAMN ADHD VOICES TO STAWPPPP

I cant focus,,,,,,, i cant do anything,,,,,,,, fuck shit ive been writing affirmations on sticky notes and its kinda working BUT ITS NOT ENOUGH UGH :[

I want

I want to hear it from someone else

Not from mother. Shes been at least trying to teach me how to be a proper human being but anything that comes out of her mouth feels numbing

It doesnt resonate with me at all

I had to ask someone else to tell me something that my mom said just so i can take it to heart better

Fucken reflexes man i dont like it

I had a proper discussion w/ my aunt and boy it was so productive AND I KNEW FULL WELL IF I TALKED LIKE THAT W/ MY MOTHER SHE'D BE YELLING LIKE CRAZY AS IF I WAS TRYNA PROVE HRR WRONG OR SMTH

My aunt was actually explaining her point and she was still right abt it-- yes i didnt get why she had this claim BUT SHE EXPLAINED IT AND I UNDERSTOOD!! A PRODUCTIVE DISCUSSION!!!

I also just fear that idk how to keep my dignity in conversations, im such a yes-man that i probably dont even have my own opinions anymore

I wanna talk to ppl i dont know and have genuine discussion consistently, learn about things and not feel stupid for not knowing them

I wanna be treated like a child and be told that im doing a good job and be told about simple things bcuz i dont think i understood any of that enough while i was growing up

I dont feel like an individual, im rlly just a side character in everyone else's stories and im just sad abt it

I have no energy for it anymore, no other emotions to feel other than longing and wanting and wishing to be anything other than this.

[sweeeeeeeeeeets]

Thomas falls into a coma (for 2 weeks) and wakes up with temporary memory loss. He gains his memory back and when he does the one thing that sticks to his mind is the fight though, they still love each other deeply and make up. - prompt from a friend (their reasoning : cause they need more.)

Did not follow the prompt right, took more inspiration then anything. This has been in my drafts forever and I finally wrote in the past hour, maybe not as good as the first one, but eh. I enjoy it. Hope you all like it.

Warnings:

- mentions of sucide

- mentions of depression

- pills induced sleep

- excessive drug use / over dose

- wild ride of emotions

- self blame

- lack of hygiene

- insecure

- no editing

- Grammer mistakes

You have been warned.

-By going past this, you have made the decision that you are alright with the warnings and I cannot be held reliable.-

I Missed Him.

I missed him, it's been about 2 weeks later, I was sitting in my room alone, mourning my late boyfriend. He died, he...he died, I hadn't been there to do anything, hands shaky, hair unbrushed....some would say I fell down the rabbit hole of depression. I didn't even care enough to take care of myself and do proper hygiene.

I haven't touched my phone, nor have I gotten up and left my room. My parents have been kind enough to leave food at the door for me when meals came around...how am I meant to handle his death? He...I love him.. no, I loved him...i could barely do anything without being reminded of him.

Being huddled up in his hoodie was far worse, his smell fading into oblivion...the hoodie while his, lost what was left of him... Ive been writing letter after letter, been reading book after book, looking through photo after photo. Trying to calm myself down from this place..

Letters to him, overflowing with all my emotions...I loved him, so why did he have to be taken away? No matter how hard I try to push it away, the thought of joining him are strong...I can't help but think 'What is life without him by my side?'...

That night, I took the pills my mom got me, my lack of sleep the past few nights have been getting to me. They were just meant to make you sleepy...but, take too much and it would be bad like all other drugs... And that intrusive voice... The one that tells me the worst things...Just had to spur up now.

I listened to it, all the mean things it had to say. With less hesitation then I should've had...I took far too many more then I should've. One last time, I looked at the photos, and wrote one last letter...addressed to everyone in my life I thought was important enough to mention.

Heading to bed, I closed my eyes for what I thought would be the last time.

Beep

Beep-beep

The smell of bleach, and that distinct beep of a heart rate monitor was all I heard...the smell of sickness and death mixing with the bleach...the distinct smell of the hospital.

Before I could open my eyes...I realized I felt arms around my waist.. thin, warm, familiar arms...it-it was him...please tell me it was. B-but that can't be.

"Love? I don't know if you can hear me, but, im right here, i promise everything will be ok, i love you" that was his voice, my eyes snapped open and I went to turn around and face him...while my muscles are weak, I still turned to face him, it hurt, and I was slow, but I finally saw him.

"Your alive" I exclaimed, my voice scratchy, and hoarse from lack of use. "I am, and when I woke up, you were here, you've been here a month, I heard all the commotion...they said you had too much of some substance, I dont remember what, in your system, did you...overdose? Why would you do that?" As he spoke, I could hear the softness...but also the slight panic and the self doubt...he was probably thinking I overdosed because of him...and while hes not wrong...i almost wish I didn't now.

"I-ive been here a month? It feels like ive only been in the darkness of my subconscious for a few minutes" I responded, trying to ignore the last half of what he said.

As he grabbed my cheeks, I saw it then, the close to break down of crying look in his eyes... I tried to give him a small smile "Hey...hey, it's ok...im ok, are you ok...I thought you were..dead." I whispered, and he gave a small nod.

Over the course of getting back into tip top shape with him, we both apologized profusely, confessed all our feelings, explained the stories... everything.

A new development I had learnt since waking up though, was...that I felt jealousy, and was so insecure about our relationship that when even the nurse talked to him I would think he would leave me.

Losing him once, left a heavy weight in my heart, and a terrible voice in the back of my head. I love, and trust him...but...who would still want to be with me when I have tried to take the easy way out? When the last thing I said to him before his supposed death wasn't even I love you. We had an argument, and I hadn't said I love you, and he was gone.

Who would want to be with me, when I look sickly and didnt have much strength after a month of sleeping? Why would this amazing boy ever want to stay with me?

Soon, I found myself discharged and cuddled up in bed with him. Whispering sweet murmurs...I had him back, the love of my life, the boy I loved, back in my arms. I lied there, comforted by his embrace, smiling as I fell to sleep...I truly had thought he was gone. All I could of thought during that time was 'I missed him'.

Prompt :

insert title for story

insert very short love story where at the end, the love interest dies a tragic death (like *insert love intrest name* was crushed by a truck taking a turn. {And then its over, like the stories done})

Warning/Facts (?) -> Names/Terms of endearment : babe, honey-boo (jokingly), 'my love' / Swearing (specifically the F word) used in a 'why do this?' type of way. / Sad story. / Short. / Is all in Mc (Sasha) pov.

Main Character (mc) -> Sasha Andrews

Love intrest -> Thomas Smith

Side Character -> Thomas Mother, slight mention of Sasha's parents.

Side note -> please dont be offended if you have those names, I just came up with 'em on the spot. And, the story isn't exactly like the prompt, I wrote that prompt like a month ago, and I decided to write this now. The prompt jas been in my drafts for awhile.

NONE OF THIS IS EDITED!

By continuing, you know what you are getting into.

Why didn't I say I love you?

'Why didn't I say I love you?' I thought, looking at the dozens of photos of me and my boyfriend. We had just gotten into such a big fight, and amist all that rage, I stormed out of the apartment. Im lucky my parents live by and have left my room alone. The anger has finally bubbled down, its been hours anyways. But....all I feel is guilt. Even when me and Thomas fight, we always say 'I love you' before we leave....he had yelled it, so why didn't I yell it back? Ugh, I can feel the lump in my throat, the growing urge to break down crying. Why didn't I just say it? Why was I so angry? He hasn't contacted me since, and I dont feel it is my place to contact him. Its been hours, maybe this is our last fight? No. Dont be silly, you love him, and he loves you. It's going to work itself out in the end. Dont worry.

Heh, dont worry, dont worry? Ive been repeating that silly line too myself for the past week, oh, how I miss the warmth of our sleepy cuddles, the small talks, the silent dinners in each others comforting presences. I miss him, my love, I miss how we would lay in bed, have silly banter, and just, cuddle till we couldn't hold our eyes open anymore, till our brains finally said thats enough. Oh, how I miss Thomas.

I finally broke down crying, its around 2 am, maybe I should text him? But, no. I cant, its not my place....but, he also deserves an apology. I type it up, hoping the paragraph was good, before realizing, a call would be better, Deleting the paragraph, my finger going up to hover over the call button, one second of hesitation, before pressing down and calling him. It rung three times, three rings Ill never forget what happened next.

The call started, I wait for the hello, signifying that he was on the other end....."Hello? Im sorry, but if your calling Thomas, hes busy right now" a female voice, almost shaky replied, I recognized it to be his mother's voice, I quickly responded, hoping she wont hang up before I get the chance to speak. "Is he ok? Are you ok?" I was concerned for both of them, one, my boyfriend has always picked up the phone, and two, his mothers voice was so shaky, almost like she has been or is crying. "No, and no. Thomas- he- he is in the hospital right now, hes.....hes not going to make it." It took me a full minute to comprehend what I was being told, before I knew it, tears were already rushing down my cheeks "w-what happened?" I said, trying not to sound like I was crying, trying to stay strong. The voice on the other end, hesitated for a minute, the silence growing, before it was broken, and she had said "He had been in a car accident, fatal." I couldn't take it anymore, letting out a broken sob, trying to calm down. The phone hangs up, his mother must've decided the conversation wasn't going anywhere with the way things were going.

I drop my phone on the bed, crying as I sink to my knees. Hes gone? Hes gone? That cant be true.....but it is, isn't it? I cant deny the facts....some memories flashing through my vision. We were cuddling, his arms around my waist, we were having a small chat. "My love, we both know I make the better pancakes, you can't deny that." And I had responded with a playful chuckle "uh-huh, well, sorry Honey-boo, your wrong." And it all began. All the memories flooding my brain, tears rolling down my cheeks, soaking the fabric of my top. "Why did you have to take him away? What the Fuck did he do? He didn't do anything to deserve this........" I said angrily, before continuing on, a sadder tone, one that was softer "Why didnt I say I love you?"

Written by me. {April/11/2024}

[kasshole69]

truly, madly, deeply - 2

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Reader, Wanda Maximoff x Natasha Romanoff, (eventual) Natasha Romanoff x Reader, (eventual) Wanda Maximoff x Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Summary: You’d been living a good life, well as good as it could get with how full of lies it was. Why? It was the only way to get by when you were an unmated omega with an uneasy past. That's all flipped on its head when you see a matching soul mark on two certain avenger, leaving your lies to crumble right in front of your face.

A/N: okay so now this is where stuff happens lol. i crossposted this on ao3 under the name kasshole and it felt like it got really big just overnight so ill probably post there first (also im not very good at using tumblr) whoop whoop anyways on to the chapter!

chapter 1 chapter 3 ao3

Your two friends rushed you to the hospital as fast as they possibly could. What the hell happened? Yeah, lately you hadn’t been feeling good, but when did it get so bad that you were passing out? Brooke carried you into the hospital doors, and a couple nurses rushed over to ask what happened.

“We don’t know! She was having trouble walking this morning, and then doubled over in pain and completely passed out.” Lexi explains, and Brooke gently sets you down on a bed that a nurse had gotten ready.

One of the nurses had paged a doctor, who made their way over to ask a few questions. “How long has she been feeling pain?”

Lexi shrugs empathetically. “We aren’t entirely sure, but she’s been missing work every now and again these past 3 month. It just never seemed this bad.”

“Alright. We are going to take her back to do a few tests and see what’s happening. One of the nurses can lead the two of you to the room she’ll be staying in,” the doctor said before taking two nurses with him further into the hospital.

After about 2 hours, a nurse came back to your room for the time being, pushed your unconscious self in your bed, and hooked up an IV and heart monitor to your body. She stated that the doctor would be coming in after he got the test results.

You looked terrible. Lexi and Brooke had seen you sick before but never to this extent. Your skin was as pale as paper with deep purple bags under your eyes. It genuinely looked like you were on death’s doorstep. Little did they know that you were.

The doctor entered the room with a solemn look. It was hard to reach a conclusion with you still being asleep, but all the tests lead to one answer. Touch Deprivation, common in omegas who have unknowingly met their soulmates or have lost their soulmates. Without proper care it will only get worse, eventually turning fatal.

“Seeing as you stated that she has been in pain for about 3 months and hasn’t gotten much physical contact in that time, we don’t have a lot of options. Do you know if she’s come into contact with her soulmate? Looking at her medical records, it doesn’t seem like she has met them yet,” the doctor explained, giving Lexi and Brooke a hopeful look. If you had met them, all they needed to do was find them and they could start the recovery process.

Lexi and Brooke felt a sense of dread overcome them. Was this because you knew who your soulmates were? Did they unknowingly help you nearly kill yourself?

“As far as I know she hasn’t met them, but she does know who they are,” Lexi says in a small voice, feeling like she is betraying your trust.

“She does? Is there a reason she is avoiding them? If they are abusive we will keep a close eye on them while they are here.”

Lexi looks down at her feet. “It’s not that. She just… she didn’t want to meet them. Her reasoning made sense at the time but now…”

The doctor frowns. “Well, do you know who her soulmate is?” —————————— You could feel yourself starting to wake, but moving felt like such a hassle. Honestly, you can’t remember the last time you weren’t woken up by an outside source; whether that be your alarm, your roommates, or like more recently; searing pain. It feels like it’s been ages since you’ve been this comfortable; covered in a warm blanket, laying on a warm pillow with deft hands lightly combing through your hair. Wait, hands?

Before you’ve completely processed that thought, you're instinctively pushing yourself and the assailant off opposite sides of the twin sized bed. You hear them let out a yelp, clearly not expecting to be thrown off, and you hit the ground hard. Sitting up, you take in your surroundings and realize you’re in a… hospital? You follow the cord of the IV in your arm to the connected bag and blaring heart monitor right next to it. You can hear your attacker get up, looking around to find you. You back up, heart racing, before they finally face you, and you see one of the last faces you were wanting to see.

Wanda Maximoff.

She looks at you with a shocked, concerned expression, saying something you don’t pay any attention to because of the fact that one of your godforsaken soulmates is right in front of you, and has been coddling you in this tiny bed for God knows how long. Right as you’re about to say something, the door to the room flies open. Three nurses and a doctor, all with frantic expressions burst into the room, taking in the scene until they see you sitting on the ground. Once they spot you their tension seems to dissipate, and the doctor takes a step towards you.

“Oh, thank goodness. It was just a false alarm,” presumably referring to the still blaring heart monitor. “Glad to see you're finally awake, Kass,” the doctor says, helping you up from the ground while a nurse went around the two of you to turn off the heart monitor.

“What happened?”

“You were brought here by your roommates yesterday morning when you passed out,” the doctor answered.

Passed out? You hardly remembered yesterday morning, it felt more like trying to remember a dream than something that actually happened. And this happened yesterday? If this happened yesterday then-

“I have work! Do they know I’m-“

“From my knowledge, your roommates have contacted your workplace and have been handling everything you might have missed.” Hearing that, you let out a relieved sigh. Lexi and Brooke are handling things for you and you couldn’t be happier. God, you had no idea what you would do if you were alone.

The doctor takes out their clipboard full of important-looking papers. “Now to get on to exactly why you're here. After you were brought here, we ran some tests while you were unconscious. From the results and the testimony from your roommates, we deduced that you are suffering from touch deprivation, which can be fatal in some cases.”

Shit. This was the last thing you expected it to be. You know for a fact you hadn’t accidentally met one of your soulmates before today and seeing as you spent so much time with Lexi and Brooke, this never seemed like a possibility. How did this happen? Was it a mental thing?

The doctor continued saying, “Seeing as the pain got so bad that you had passed out from it, along with the fact that your roommates said this had been going on for at least 3 months, without having gotten any treatment this was becoming fatal rather quickly. If we weren’t able to find one of your soulmates so fast, we wouldn’t have been able to do much for you.”

You had looked at Wanda, who was looking rather timid and was unable to make eye contact with you, not at all looking like the fierce and unforgiving alpha the media painted her to be.

This was all too much, you had nearly died and for what? For your freedom? Look at where that got you, the exact place you didn’t want to be. You put your head in your hands, trying to fight back the tears threatening to spill from your eyes. Everything was going to change now, you would have to move in with the Avengers, probably quit your job with how far the compound was from the city. You hated this, being unable to control the changes that were being thrust upon you.

The doctor must’ve been able to sense your distressed pheromones telling you, “You have been making stellar progress as you’ve been asleep, you certainly aren’t in as much pain as before, correct?” You looked back up and slowly nodded. “Fantastic, the steps to recovery are rather simple, you and Wanda will be staying here for another day or so, or until the pain is completely gone. The two of you will need to make physical contact as much as possible, whatever form that takes is up to the two of you. Also scenting is known to ease the pain as well, or marking, which is known to relieve the pain immediately.”

“Um, I think I’ll just stick to physical contact, thanks. Is there anything else?” you asked, hoping to get a second to process everything.

“Not at the moment, some nurses will come back in shortly to do a check up and bring some food. Is there anything you need from me?”

“Nope,” you quickly stated. God, how you just wanted some peace and quiet, already feeling a headache start to fester but now you questioned whether it came from your annoyance or from your recent diagnosis.

“Alright, I’ll come back later to check and see how things are going. If you need anything let one of the nurses know,” the doctor said before him and the rest of the nurses left the room, leaving just you and Wanda alone once again.

The two of you stared at each other for a long minute, seeing who would break the ice. You were giving the alpha a cold stare, clearly making her uncomfortable seeing as she was giving you the same timid look whilst anxiously shifting her feet. You quickly got bored of the intimidation, turning around in the bed to lay down facing away from her. You hear her move but don’t realize how close she is until you can feel the bed dip from her taking a seat right next to you.

You freeze up, stopping yourself from wanting to move closer since the painful tingling was starting to come back and she was the only thing that would relieve the pain.

Wanda takes a deep breath before softly saying, “I’m sorry this is happening to you.”

Sorry? Why is she sorry? You both know she played no part in this happening to you. She doesn’t even know you, so why the hell should she care?

“Yeah,” you state coldly. You do not want to talk to her, you don’t even want to think about her. There were so many thoughts swirling through your head right now. Thoughts about why Wanda is here. Why did she come and help you? What’s in it for her? Thoughts that just keep contradicting each other. One part of you wants to get as far from Wanda as possible, while the stupid omega part of you wants her to get impossibly close because she just smells so good and having her hold you felt unbelievably nice. You had too much pride to just give in like that though, so even though it hurt you didn’t move.

She speaks again, “I’m glad you're getting better. We were all worried about you.”

“Why?” you say in the same tone as before.

“What?” Wanda asks, clearly confused.

“Why were you worried? Why do you care?” you say as you sit up to face her. You stare at her confused expression with a scowl.

“I- um, because you're my soulmate?” she says, even more confused than you. You knew she was going to say something along those lines and it did nothing but piss you off.

“So? You don’t know me! I could be a criminal! A murderer or, or, something! Why would you save someone you don’t even know?” you nearly yell at her. It pissed you off to no end. Why would she help someone let themselves get to this point? Someone who wouldn’t even take themselves to the doctor so as to not damage their pride.

Wanda’s face scrunches up in anger and comes back at you with the same amount of force, “What difference does any of that make? I would’ve helped you whether you were my soulmate or not, but it’s because you are that I was able to help you! Not only that, but it’s kind of in my biology to want to help you!”

“I don’t want your help!”

That seemed to have struck a nerve in Wanda because her face didn’t hold anymore anger, replaced with sadness as she seemed to shrink in on herself. Looking at you with confusion and grief, “Why?”

“Because I don’t know you! You might be fine with helping whoever, but I’m not fine with whoever helping me, especially not with the kind treatment I need!”

If your first statement didn’t hurt Wanda, this one certainly did. She looked down, fiddling with her hands. She looked like a kicked puppy. Maybe it was the omega side of you that was making you feel this way but, you couldn’t help feeling guilty looking at her. You could understand why she was upset to an extent, not only was it just pure instinct that made her want to care for you, but helping people was what she did for a living.

“Sorry, I just-“

“No, it’s okay. I understand,” she says as she looks up at you with a solemn smile.

Before either of you can say anything else, a nurse comes in with a tray of food. Wanda had moved to a chair near your bed so as to not be in the way of the nurse. She gives you the usual check up, making sure everything looks normal and noting the amount of pain you are in and giving you some medication to help the recovery process go a little bit faster. The nurse asks if you need anything and leaves you to your meal. It’s just a bowl of chicken noodle soup and a chocolate chip cookie, which you are glad for since you weren’t super hungry when you woke up. Although, this was a much more difficult task than it should be. You can hardly pick up a spoonful of the soup without your hand viscously shaking. Just as you're about to give up and just eat your cookie, Wanda moves to get up before sitting right back down.

You look at her with furrowed brows and ask, “What?”

She looks back up at you, “Oh-um, I was wondering if you wanted some help?”

You really don’t want to say yes, you want to be able to feed yourself without anyone's help. But you know you need to eat and that you can’t finish this soup on your own. You look back down at your bowl of soup and let out a small, “Yes.”

It’s easy to tell that she didn’t expect for you to say yes by the way she looks so pleasantly surprised. She comes over and sits on the side of the bed like before but slightly closer. You can tell she is trying to hide her smile but she is failing terribly. She grabs a bowl and leans in close, grabbing a spoonful of soup and guiding it to your mouth. You hadn’t been doted on like this since you were a child. Wanda was clearly enjoying this much more than you were, wiping the sides of your mouth with a napkin each time some soup dribbled out. While you weren’t enjoying this as much as Wanda seemed to have been, it admittedly felt nice. It was hard not to smile back at her when she looked so happy to be doing this and when you did her smile increased tenfold.

As you finished up the last of the soup you could feel yourself become drowsy but you knew you wouldn’t be able to fall asleep with the constant prickling on your skin. You watched Wanda take the bowl and clean up a little whilst you eat your cookie.

A flood of questions you did not know the answer to started coming back. Why was she cleaning up after you? What was in it for her? Why’d she look so happy when she was helping you? Why’d it feel so nice to have her help you? Could someone who felt so much enjoyment from helping you be that bad?

Would it really be that bad to let her help you?

It was so hard to find an answer to that question, feeling like the only reason your mind wants you near her is because of your genetics, not your actual feelings. You did not know Wanda Maximoff and from what the media thinks for her she does not seem like someone you’d want to be around. But if she was going to hurt you wouldn’t she have already? God. You felt like you had an angel on one shoulder and the devil on the other with your conflicting thoughts and questions about Wanda, and you couldn’t tell if the thoughts rooting for Wanda were from the angel or the devil.

Before you can start any more debate with yourself, Wanda turns back to you with a smile on her face and hands on her hips, looking proud to have helped. It took all of your willpower not to match her goofy grin. Wanda is about to say something before you let out a big yawn, closing your eyes and covering your mouth. She lets out a small giggle and you give her the stink eye.

“What’s so funny?”

“Sorry, I just- you're really cute when you yawn,” Wanda says with a giggle and smile.

That makes your face heat up a hundred degrees. As to not cause yourself any more embarrassment, you lay down in bed and face the opposite direction.

Wanda lets out a sigh before saying, “You're probably tired so you should get some rest and I’ll just stay in this chair. If you start feeling any pain again let me know.”

You can hear the chair scrape against the floor as Wanda takes a seat again. You can feel your eyes start to droop and desperately want to go to sleep but know from previous experiences that sleeping when it felt like someone was constantly pinching you all over your body was going to be a difficult task.

You were probably tossing and turning for 20 minutes before Wanda asked, “Are you okay?”

You let out a huff and start to grind your teeth. It’s not like you want to be in pain but how are you supposed to feel comfortable laying with someone you hardly know? Did you feel uncomfortable when you woke up though? She was so gentle when combing through your hair and she just smelt so-

“Kass?”

You look back at Wanda standing over you now looking at you with a soft but concerned expression. It feels as if the longer you look at her the more you want to be close to her, the more you want to be surrounded by her delicious scent. Without saying a word you turn back over and scoot further away from her, leaving enough space for her to slip into the bed behind you. When she doesn’t seem to get the hint, you look back at her and see her still standing there now looking confused with a small pout on her face. It is so hard to not smile at the cute expression she’s making, so you quickly turn back around and say, “Come on.”

Wanda then slips into the bed beside you and wraps her arms around you. You slightly maneuver yourself to get comfortable before stating, “Okay, some ground rules. No unnecessary touching and no scenting. Got it?”

“Got it. Anything else?” Wanda asks.

“Um, can you comb my hair with your fingers again? It, um, it felt nice.”

You can hear the smile in Wanda’s voice when she replies with, “Of course, sweetheart.”

Wanda’s fingers in your hair, her warmth and her scent fill your heart with such a warm sensation you can’t help but smile as you close your eyes and succumb to sleep faster than you’d ever had before.

[poptod]

hello! i'd like to make an ahkmenrah x reader request! maybe present-day reader gets teleported back in time to when ahkmenrah was alive and they eventually get to the palace and stuff happens? maybe they tell him about modern life? and maybe reader is unnaturally beautiful to the ancient egyptians because humans evolve to be more attractive as time goes on so a person from our time would be hot shit 4,000 years ago? this is long lmao. thanks!

Notes: god ive always wanted to do this kind of storyline but i was worried about like,, logic and stuff getting in the way of the storyline. anyway! i was so fucking elated to receive this request. i got a bit carried away so apologies! WC: 3.2k

+

Okay. It isn't that bad.

Would you ever see your family again? Probably not, but you weren't ruling the possibility out.

Would you ever get to have sour patch kids again? Probably not. But even during the time you lived in 2020, you had eaten more concentrated sour patch kids flavor than all of the people around you combined.

This little village on the outskirts of ancient Thebes is hardly L.A.––though that's probably a good thing––and is small enough for you to know every inhabitant. Your shop there is small to suit the town, and well known ever since your arrival in this time.

They found you beside the river, thought you to be a gift from the Gods. You were hazy, though––whatever had so forcefully pushed you back in time had made your head spin, making you sick and unbalanced. So, when they asked if you did in fact come from the Gods, you had no way of defending yourself either way. Generally you've been denying it––they think you are a god, and the only way you've convinced them you're not a god is by saying you're a gift from them. It explains the way you look, unnaturally beautiful and alien amongst the more pure genetics of earlier humans.

Your shop is pretty simple. You make portraits from paint, more realistic than anything else that exists, and it only affirms their belief in your god-like status. Fortunately word seems to not have gotten out––the village has remained small, and no one from Thebes has run into you. Every now and then you get unreasonably anxious that a noble will find you and turn you into a slave. It's a worry most people around you have, so you find comfort in the fact that you're not the only one. Still, you're not quite accustomed to such an atmosphere––the thought of nobles and Kings noticing you still sends terrified aches into your stomach.

It's about two weeks in that it gets bad. People start to pass by the village, more than you would've thought, and they're all looking to trade goods, food, and information. The people of the village talk about you––you're something interesting, you can't deny that, but they don't know just how worried you are. Whenever you see someone you don't recognize outside your home, you refuse to come out.

Five days later and there's soldiers in your home, looking over your paintings on their way back to Memphis from conquering the realm of Kush. You hold a deep contempt for them––you don't know all that much about history, but you know how Egyptian soldiers and Pharaohs reigned power over the people of Kush.

The soldiers aren't all that worrying. What really gets your heart pounding is the final man to enter your hut; a man bearing a crown and a long sword, with golden braces around his wrists and a chest plated in green scales. Your fingers dig into the wood of your counter when he notices you. The crown on his head––it's the crown of both upper and lower Egypt.

This is a Royal.

"Where did you learn this skill?" He asks you, eyes trained on one of your bigger drawings. It's just on papyrus––not for sale––and hung on the wall as a display of your talent.

"I spent a little while travelling the world," you answer. Technically, growing up in the modern world was a bit like travelling the world; you got to see the cultures and practices of many, many people. "The rest of it's practice."

"The peasants here, they... they claim you came from the Nile. Is that true?"

"Well... that is where I was found," you say carefully, but you can already tell you've fucked up. The look on his face is indescribable beyond the fact that he's pleased.

"How would you feel coming back to the capital with me?" He offers to you, setting his hands on the counter and leaning forward. "I think my father would much like to meet you."

"I – I don't think I'm really cut out for -"

"Nonsense," he dismisses with a smile, taking your hand from its' spot on the wood. "We shall teach you proper writing skills, give you a beautiful home, and the salary isn't horrid either."

You can't just say no. If you do, he's going to ask questions––he's going to get confused, and he's going to get suspicious. No one would turn down an opportunity like this; free schooling, free housing, and much more money for something you already do.

"Well... alright," you say quietly, looking to the home around you that you built with the help of the other villagers.

"Wonderful. My name is Kamun."

He's not a very nice person, you come to find. Or perhaps he's just not your tastes––the soldiers seem to like him well enough, at least the ones who aren't completely subordinate to him, but his attitude towards women and poor people is scathing to say the least. Otherwise he's very amusing, with a good sense of humor and quite generous with his food and wine as long as he gets his fill of it first.

The boat back to Memphis, where the royal family currently stays, is a long ride filled with various entertainments. It's clear these are not soldiers accustomed to rough conditions––the dancing women and flowing beer is enough to tell you that. Instead, you surmise these are faux war-heroes; people adored in their hometown for doing nothing but intimidating others in a foreign country. They try to get cushy with you, soften you up to their words and touches. It doesn't work.

He keeps you close to him. You let him do it, sort of––it's better than telling him no. Better than starting a ruckus. Then again, avoiding a ruckus is what got you here in the first place, standing before the doors of the courtroom where a false God on earth rules the Nile.

"Father, I bring you a gift from Thebes," says Kamun, pushing you forward by the small of your back. You can't bring yourself to meet the Pharoah's eye, so you fall to your knees and bow.

Everyone is staring at you. You don't look normal, and they all know it, and you know it. You could cry from the heat of their eyes on your back.

One of Kamun's soldiers steps forwards, handing the Pharaoh and his wife several of the drawings they'd taken from you. Silence passes as the two scan your work.

"How did you achieve such a mirror of the human face?" The Pharaoh asks in a slow, deep voice that sounds as he looks––old, weathered, wise.

"They came from the Nile," Kamun answers for you, and murmurs take the crowd by storm. You, on the other hand, feel your heartbeat increase in massive increments, speeding your already uneven breath. "A gift from the Gods, the locals said."

"I can't – I am not magic," you rush out, hoping your clarification clears you of any responsibility to the Pharaoh. You know he rules everything––if he says you are to stay here, you have no choice, and you don't like it here. Too many people. "I cannot give you anything, my King."

"I think you're lying," says a voice, its' tone soft and a velvet low. It catches you off guard, brings you to raise your head and meet the eyes of someone you don't know; a young man dressed in gold beside the Pharaoh's throne.

You almost lose your breakfast as your eyes bulge, your mind instantly recognizing him and connecting the dots. You were, by far, not a historian, but you knew a fair amount of Egyptian history––namely a family in the Old Kingdom who was headed by the Pharaoh Merenkahre. The remaining statues and busts of the King and his son are astonishingly accurate, and there can be no doubt in your head.

That being said, there also can't be any reaction on your face. You try your best to reign your expression in.

"I..."

Actually, you do have something to offer now. You know the names––memorized the history, committed each event to memory, and now you can pull their lifestory off from the top of your head. Wouldn't that be valuable to a King; a seer of the future, to predict the rise and fall of the economy and the coming armies. Besides, you can't just say he's wrong. That'd be treasonous to them. So you have to agree you're hiding something, come up with an excuse as to why you hid it, and it proves harder than you thought. You're quickwitted, though––it got you away from the villager's wrath, and it will promote you to noble living now.

You hide a smirk beneath a calm expression as you address the younger prince.

"They gifted me foresight," you say quietly, pretending as though it hurts you to tell the truth, "but told me to never inform others."

"You are in the presence of Ra once more," the Pharaoh reminds you.

"And others," you point out. "I would... it would be better to discuss such matters.. in private."

Detailed information about already-past events is enough to sway him to believe you. The Pharaoh is surprisingly easy to convince, and with a few, meaningless predictions of the future, he gives you housing in his own palace. Kamun looks proud of himself––puffs his chest out in front of his father and earns no compliment. Ire laces his glare as it falls upon his brother, Ahkmen, praised for his ability to see through your obvious lie.

The Pharaoh asks his younger son to guide you to your room. Apparently it's closer to his room than it is to Kamun's, and evening is approaching fast. The walk there, while short, is marked by a conversation composed mainly of Ahkmen's questions and your answers. When the two of you reach your room, he doesn't leave––actually, he follows you in and locks the door.

There's nothing more terrifying than a man with unchecked power, and there is no one watching you.

No fail safe.

You gulp.

"I know you're still not telling the truth," he says, and though it dismisses several of your worries it still begs the question; how did he notice? "Just thought I'd spare you the embarrassment in front of my father, but my generosity ends there. Now I won't hurt you, and I won't tell anyone––I'm just curious."

Oh thank fuck. He's not going to rape you.

"I'm not Egyptian," you blurt out.

"Obviously," he interrupts, but you glare him into raising his hands defensively.

"I'm from the future."

He stares at you. For a minute. You know this because you count it––he just pauses right in his stance, doesn't move, and stares at you for a whole minute like you just told him you're made of gold.

"I'm sorry, what?" He says, laughter suddenly wracking his body.

"It's how I know what's going to happen to your family," you say, hoping he'll believe you. Otherwise this handsome, seemingly-nice man is going to think you're insane for the rest of time. "I studied your family for years as a side-hobby, I don't know how to predict the future for anything but you and your father."

His laughing pauses, or lightens at least; enough for him to say, "actually?"

"Yes," you say, completely serious. This seems to gain his interest once more. "You have to help me. I know at some point people are going to ask me questions about other things and I'm not going to have an answer."

"Just do what all our priests do," he says with a chuckle.

"What do they do?"

"Lie," he says. You can't stop the grin that spreads across your face from the stupid joke, and when he sees that a shit-eating grin spreads across his own face, delighted he could make you laugh.

"Yes, well... I guess I could do that," you mumble in a laugh.

"There's no need for you to worry. Now that I know the truth, I can help you," he says, offering you something that takes nearly all the anxiety out of your brain. After two days travel with a prince, it feels like it took 50 pounds off your shoulders.

"Thank you, so much," you chuckle in relief.

"Of course. I do have questions though, and I want you to answer them."

"Anything."

These questions of his, they come at all times––almost at a constant rate when he takes you on long walks, which he does often. He passes it off to his father as an interest in your beauty, and it apparently works. This little lie also helps you enormously in avoiding the romantic advances of many of the people you come into contact with. You're still not quite sure how it works, since Egyptians supposedly had a strong sense of patriotism, but you look rare and they idolize it. Every eye that falls upon you sees something beautiful, and you can't understand it.

At least Ahkmen is normal. He doesn't talk about you being beautiful. Ever.

And it kind of makes you sad.

"Would you say people on the whole are happier in the future or in the past?" He asks you, his words surrounded by the warmth of a summer day in Egypt.

Birds chatter loudly in the trees around you, singing in the humid air that marks the mating season for many of them. The flowers that surround you are already familiar––you thought it would take longer for you to commit the shapes and colors to memory, but here you are. Dressed in gold-laced silk and turquoise necklaces.

"I think the happiness of a population is dependent entirely on the circumstances surrounding it," you say. Sometimes your answers relate more to the human condition than the progress of time on the human race; he likes these answers, too, so you tell him exactly what you think. "Six thousand years from now, there are times of great misery. One is even called the Great Depression, but five years before that were some of the most prosperous times my country had ever seen. The same cycle is evident here."

"So.. great misery and great happiness come in waves?" He asks, pace slowing as he tries to understand what you're saying. You pause along the pathway, allowing him space to think.

"It's a pattern, actually. When the economy goes up, it will always come down. Recessions happen right after economical booms. And yes," you say before he can ask, "a time of unease will follow the prosperity of the current years. But it won't be for a time yet."

"Will it happen in my lifetime?"

He's murdered about three years from now. You think you might be able to stop it, but if you do, it'll alter history quite a lot. Either way, he wouldn't live long enough to see the recession the building of the great pyramids caused.

"No," you say. "But I'd prepare for it anyway, if only to keep your citizens safe."

"Of course. You... you are a great scholar," he tells you, resuming the slow walk down the shore of the Nile.

"Oh. Uh, thank you," you mumble as a blush fills your cheeks.

"What did you do in your time?"

"I was an artist, but I spent a lot of time giving lectures on the role of autistic people in ancient Egypt. Autistic people are often timekeepers," you say, and you know he'll figure out what you mean. Autistic isn't a term here, but many timekeepers of these ancient times were autistic, and considered highly by their societies.

"You might be able to give lectures again, if you'd like," he suggests. "People would come from far and wide to hear you speak. And you've got things to say that I know many scholars will find interesting."

"Mmm," you wince, "I kind of want to stay away from altering history too much."

"Oh, yes. My apologies," he says in a softer voice.

"It's alright," you say. "I'm glad you think I would be a good choice for that kind of thing, though."

He chuckles bashfully as he turns to the ground, scuffing his sandals as he walks.

Ahkmen is sweet––much sweeter than any of his family members, and you find yourself appreciating that every time you pass by his room. You pass his door often, always stopping a second to contemplate the tall, wooden doors. He's on the pathway between your room and the library.

Most of the time he's not in his room. Actually, you can usually find him in the library––there or outside in the markets or near the stalls. Today is different; he's been missing all day, and only when you walk the path back to your room do you hear his voice, talking to himself in his bedroom.

"They're bombarded with just such compliments, though. I can't – I can't stand out!"

"Or maybe you should, because you still haven't said a single thing yet and they probably think you're completely uninterested and that's why they aren't noticing you?"

"You and your... logic," Ahkmen spits.

"Come complaining when you kiss them under my advice."

As you attempt to peek through the crack in the door you stumble, knocking your hand against the wood. You barely hesitate before knocking again––cool and collected, smooth to slip into another lie.

"Oh! Hello, um – hi," he says awkwardly, slipping out of the room when he sees you. He quickly closes the door behind him, careful to keep you from seeing the other person in his room, but you can't bring yourself to care about the stranger.

Think of an excuse, why am I here?

"Oh, that's... I like your flower," he comments softly, eyes flickering between your eyes and the flower tucked into your hair. You'd forgotten about it, but raised your hand to touch the petals as you smiled. The perfect excuse

"Thank you. I thought you might like it, so I," you take it out of your hair and grab his hand, holding his palm upwards, "wanted to show you.. um, here."

Setting the flower in his hand, you curl his fingers around its' stem and push his hands back into his chest. He stares at you for a moment, confused by your strange behavior, but accepting of your gift anyway. You know him well enough now––he'd never decline a gift from you.

"A white iris," he tells you in a lofty tone. "A symbol of the dead. Funny it looks so lively on you."

You need to get out of here before your chest combusts.

"I need to go now, but I'll see you this evening, yes?" You ask, stepping instinctively closer. He doesn't back away.

"Of course. And, um," he takes your hands, keeps you where you stand as he slips the flower back behind your ear, "keep it. I want to see it on you at dinner."

He's close to you––close enough that it gets hard to distinguish his breath from your own, when you started holding his hand. When his other came up to your face. When he leans in and kisses your forehead. It's barely there, just barely, but there's no mistaking the soft plush, the affection clear behind gentle, precise movements.

You rush away the second he lets your hands go.

[sukifans]

PET • RI • CHOR

[n] a pleasant smell that accompanies the first rain after a long period of warm, dry weather

ZUKO X OC SERIES

SUMMARY: a captured waterbender and the fire prince may sound like an unlikely pair, but kena never much cared about others’ expectations and zuko, well… he was just along for the ride

⏎ MASTERLIST // PART II « PART III » PT IV

Zuko was starting to enjoy his life in Ba Sing Se a lot more now that Kena was a part of it. She liked to visit him during his shifts to sit and do her coursework. Even though they didn’t get to talk much while they were both busy, he liked just knowing she was nearby. She radiated a calming energy from her table in the corner that seemed to make difficult customers and broken teacups a thousand times more bearable. In slower moments he found himself studying her — how her brow furrowed in concentration, the way she chewed her bottom lip, when she tapped her pen against the table as she read, and (his favorite) the small smile that her lips quirked into whenever she looked up and caught him staring at her. Uncle teased him mercilessly and almost always wore a knowing smirk, but it was okay because it made Kena laugh. Hearing her laugh after all these years was his favorite sound in the world and he tried to hear it as often as he could.

Kena liked to coax him out of the apartment when he wasn’t working. She claimed he still looked a little worse for wear after his travels and sulking inside certainly wouldn’t help with that. He complied easily, of course — she didn’t know it, but he thought he’d do pretty much anything for her. He was firmly wrapped around her little finger and, honestly, he didn’t mind all that much. That particular day they were both free and she had decided to take him up to the Middle Ring to visit one of the nicer parks. They sat in a large open field, leaning against a tree trunk in the shade of the foliage and relaying their stories from the years apart. She was trying to teach him how to weave a flower crown like she’d learned from a group of singing nomads but he was pretty miserable at it.

“Don’t laugh at me,” he muttered when he caught her grinning at his lopsided attempt that looked nothing like a crown, even by the loosest definition.

“You’re tying them together wrong. Look-“ she said. She leaned over and slowly showed him the proper knot. His brow furrowed as he watched her nimble fingers wrap and pull at the stems, resulting in a perfect two-piece chain amongst his many attempts.

“I don’t think this is salvageable, Kena.” He looked irritated, dropping it in his lap. She picked it up and pulled it over her head, setting it on her shoulders.

“Maybe not as a crown, but it makes a very lovely necklace, I think.” He smiled at her.

“That’s not saying much. You could make a rice sack look good.”

“Oh, uh... thanks, Zuko,” she responded, taken off guard by the compliment. She looked down at her hands as her cheeks warmed. They sat quietly for a bit, enjoying the gentle breeze on the warm day. She was surprised when Zuko shifted to lay down and set his head on her lap. When he noticed her wide eyes, he sat up again.

“Sorry, was that okay?”

She nodded. “Yeah, it just... surprised me, is all. Lay back down.” She put her hand on his shoulder and guided him back down. Grinning, she set the intricate crown of white and yellow flowers she’d made on top of his face. He squinted up at her. “A crown fit for a prince,” she declared. He rolled his eyes.

“I don’t think this is how crowns are meant to be worn,” he said.

“Forgive me, my liege.” She bowed her head dramatically. “Us common folk know not of such things.” She laughed when he groaned and closed his eyes, moving the flowers to sit on his chest instead. He sighed contentedly when she started playing with his hair, twisting the short strands between her fingers. Cautiously and delicately as one would handle a butterfly’s wing, she ghosted her fingertips over his scar, sending a not-unpleasant shiver down his spine. He cracked one eye open to be met with her questioning gaze.

“My father,” he said in response to her unasked question. He closed his eye again as she frowned and moved her hand back to his hair. “Uncle let me sit in on a war meeting and I spoke out of turn. I questioned one of the generals’ tactics and got challenged to an Agni Kai for my disrespect. I thought I’d be fighting the general, but since I had spoken out in the Fire Lord’s war room, it was my father. I refused to fight and begged for his mercy. He... did not forgive so easily, and- ow, Kena.” Zuko opened his eyes fully when she tugged too hard at his hair.

“Sorry,” she mumbled, dropping her hands. “I just- hmph.” She clenched her fists and sucked in a deep breath to calm herself. “I’m fine. Keep going. How did you end up in Ba Sing Se?”

“Well, I was banished after the Agni Kai. Uncle came with me — thank Agni, I think I would’ve been dead ages ago if he hadn’t — and we’ve been... traveling for the last three years. I think Uncle got sick of being on the move all the time, so now we’re here, I guess.” He carefully avoided mentioning his hunt for the Avatar. He didn’t want Kena to know that side of him because it might push her away. He desperately wanted to be the person she thought he was and he was terrified of losing her again. She was the best thing to happen to him in a very long time. Kena could sense wasn’t telling her something, but she knew better than to push him. He’d obviously been through a lot, and she wanted to be a positive force in his life. Positive forces don’t pry. He would tell her when he was ready.

“What about your mother?” She felt him tense up and she slowly began carding her fingers through his hair again, weaving small individual flowers into the inky black.

“What about her?”

“Did she try to stop the Agni Kai?”

He squeezed his eyes shut again and sighed heavily. “She left when I was eleven. I haven’t seen her in years. I don’t know why, or what happened, or even if she’s still alive, but I know she’s gone because of him.”

“And Azula?” She frowned at his scoff. “I know you two never got along, but she’s still your sister.”

“She only got worse as we got older. She was practically jumping for joy when I was banished because she could be Father’s little pet in peace without her failure of a brother around.” His voice was filled with bitterness as he spoke about his sister, mouth twisted into a deep frown.

“You’re not a failure,” Kena said gently.

“Only you and Uncle seem to think so.”

“Well, that’s because we’re smart. I’m quite proud of you, actually.”

He looked at her suspiciously. “For what?”

“For not going back. It’s very brave of you. You grew up sheltered in the palace and then were thrust out into the world with nothing after losing everything you knew. It’s admirable, how you kept going.”

Zuko felt his stomach churn uneasily. She was too confident in him, too ready to believe that he was as good and strong as he pretended to be. He felt sick lying to her but he knew he would feel much worse if she left.

When he was silent, she continued. “It’s difficult to go through all that and still make an effort to be kind.”

“I don’t think that’s how many people would describe me.”

“You’re a bit grumpy and gloomy, sure,” she laughed at his offended look, “but I think you’re very sweet.”

He ignored the warmth flooding his face. “It’s easy to be nice to a person like you.”

She smiled. “Kindness, compassion, empathy — they are all choices you have to make. If they were easy, the world wouldn’t be in a century-long war.”

“I’ve done a lot of bad things in the past.”

“We all have. We are products of our circumstances. Your whole life you’ve suffered and yet you’re still a good person.”

“I don’t think I’m a good person.”

“Well, I do. Good people make bad choices, too. Being good doesn’t mean being perfect.”

He avoided her eyes, focusing on ripping up the blades of grass. “You sound like Uncle.”

“Like I said, we’re smart.” She used the pad of her finger to smooth the lines between his brow, rubbing away his anxious look. They were silent again for a few minutes while he mulled over her words. She could tell he was deep in thought, so she just continued her ministrations on his hair while she waited for him to speak again.

When he did, his voice was soft. “My father used to say that Azula was born lucky, and I was lucky to be born.”

“What an idiotic thing to say,” she said simply. His eyes snapped up to her. He’d forgotten just how blunt she could be.

“Excuse me?”

“I think you’re luckier being you than her.”

“She’s a prodigy. She’s always been his favorite.”

“Yes, and where has that gotten her? Azula is still a child and yet she’s been driven to the brink of insanity trying to be good enough for your father but she never will be.”

“She was loved.”

“She was used. You were loved, Zuko. What about Iroh? Your mother? Me?” When he didn’t answer, she shook her head. “What your father gives her, that’s not love. You have both suffered at his hands, but you have people who love you. Azula doesn’t have love, she has fear. I feel bad for her. I hope one day she finds peace within herself. I hope she learns to love and be loved.” She propped her elbows on her knees and held her head in her hands, leaning over his face as her hair fell around them and shielded them from the rest of the world.

“You loved me?” he asked quietly, staring up into her eyes in amazement. Her heart broke a little at the shock in his expression.

“Of course I did. I’ve always loved you.”

His pulse raced at her words and he leaned up on his elbows to get closer, examining her face for signs of deception. All he saw was the gentle smile that graced her pretty mouth, the raised white scar stark against her brown skin, her soft grey eyes that beckoned him in. He could stare at her until he went crosseyed, memorizing every detail. She’d been cute when they were kids, sure, but now... he thought she might be the most breathtaking person he’d ever seen. His gaze flicked down to her lips and he thought about kissing her.

Before he could move she was shifting to stand, grabbing his hands and pulling him up to his feet as well. She propped the crown she’d made him onto the tangled nest of black hair and tiny wildflowers on top of his head before dragging him out of the shade and into the bright afternoon sun. She sighed happily before flopping down in the grass again to lay on her back, stretching languidly like a cat in the warm rays.

“Come on, fire boy; you need some sun. You still look sickly.” She patted the ground next to her and bent her other arm behind her head.

“That’s just my skin... water girl,” he muttered, rolling his eyes as he laid anyways when Kena laughed at his weak retort. She slid her hand over his and laced their fingers together. His palm radiated warmth into hers. She smiled and closed her eyes, tilting her head into the sunshine. His eyes devoured her, admiring the way the light bounced off her high cheekbones and silhouetted the slope of her nose and the gentle curve of her lips. She felt his stare and opened one eye.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Like what?”

Like you love me, she wanted to say. “Like a weirdo,” she joked instead, poking her tongue out at him playfully. His huff of annoyance was betrayed by the small smile he couldn’t fully hide. They laid there for a while, just staring at each other and basking in the other’s presence with their hands still clasped between them. She scanned his face unabashedly. Anger still bubbled in her core when she saw his scar, only to be assuaged by the way his honey-colored eyes seemed to glitter and glow in the sun. There were no words in any language sufficient to describe how they felt being together again, but they didn’t need words. All that mattered was that it was the best and most content either of them had felt in years. Her heart felt remarkably full when he kept her hand squeezed tightly in his as they made their way back to the Lower Ring in the orange glow of the setting sun.

“Oh, I almost forgot to tell you the news,” he said suddenly, stopping in his tracks. She looked back at him with raised eyebrows, signaling him to continue. “Some men came by the tea house yesterday afternoon and offered Uncle the chance to start his own shop in the Upper Ring.”

She frowned. “What’s the catch?”

“I don’t know,” he shrugged, “but they offered him total creative control and a new apartment for us. He agreed.”

“Oh,” she said hollowly, “that’s nice.” She dropped his hand and turned to keep walking, looking troubled. Surprised at her reaction, Zuko jogged to fall back in step next to her. He hadn’t meant to upset her.

“What’s wrong? I thought you’d be happy to hear that. It’s just like we used to talk about as kids, remember?” She sighed.

“I am happy. It’s just... I won’t be able to see you in the Upper Ring.”

“What? Why not?”

“People down here need a passport and approval to get up there. I don’t have either.”

“Oh,” he echoed her from earlier.

“Yeah.” They stopped outside her apartment and Kena avoided meeting his eyes. “But I am happy for you and Iroh. You both deserve better than this.”

He shook his head. “I don’t want it unless you’re with me. I can’t lose you now. Not again.”

She ignored the way her pulse jumped. “I’ll be okay.”

“I know you will, but I won’t. I- I need you, Kena,” he admitted, voice soft. “Finding you here is the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“Zuko...”

“Come with us,” he said suddenly, standing in front of the entrance to her building and taking both her hands in his. She sent him a sad sort of smile.

“I can’t just up and leave, even though I want to stay with you.”

“Why?”

“What about Fera? She’s been with me since my mom died. I go to school, I have friends, a job... I’ve been here for years. I had to make a life for myself.” She felt bad when the excitement fell from his face, but she couldn’t just give up the little illusion of normalcy and stability she’d built here in the Lower Ring. It was what she’d craved after a life as a political prisoner and on the run with her mother, on her own, or with Fera.

“You’re right,” he finally said. “I’m sorry, that was selfish. I understand.” She stepped forwards and hugged him, burying her face into his neck and soaking in his warmth like she’d done in the sun earlier. Though he’d tensed at first, he slowly wrapped his arms around her in return and held her tight. He’d buried his craving for friendly, loving touch after his mother left and now that she was here again and offering it so freely, so genuinely, he felt the walls he’d built around himself crumbling. It scared — no, it terrified him to sense himself becoming more vulnerable again (something that had for so long felt all too much like weakness). If he had to be weak for someone, though, he was glad it was for Kena. She was one of only two people in his life who had never hurt him or lied to him or left him (she didn’t leave him, he’d rationalized long ago; she’d been taken away).

“You can still come see me down here,” she mumbled into his skin. “People of the Upper Ring can travel as they please.”

“Yeah, I’ll do that. I’ll come see you every day, even if it’s just for a little while.”

“Zuko, you don’t have to-“

“I know, but I want to. I don’t want to go another day without seeing you ever again.”

“So dramatic.” She rolled her eyes as she pulled back but beyond her teasing tone he could sense her gratitude.

“I’ve been told,” he chuckled.

“I’ll miss seeing you at Pao’s, though. You always looked so cute in your apron.”

His face went crimson. “I am not cute,” he muttered as she giggled.

“Are you hungry? You can come up for dinner, if you’d like.”

“I promised Uncle I’d help him make roast duck tonight to celebrate the new shop. Thanks, though. Another night,” he said as he stepped back from her. She smiled.

“Sure. I’ll see you tomorrow, then. I want to come by in the morning to see you and Iroh off before you move up the social ladder.”

He nodded in agreement and started to leave, but not before she grabbed him by the wrist and pulled him close again to kiss his cheek. She giggled when he flushed again, just as red as the day he gave her that fire lily. He opened his mouth, then closed it again, then mumbled something about seeing her tomorrow and hurried away as she laughed. She loved how easy it still was to get him flustered.

A sense of guilt gnawed away at his stomach as he walked back to his apartment. He felt bad about lying to her again, but he couldn’t exactly mention his plan to steal the sky bison as a means to capture the Avatar without admitting what he’d done over the last few years. He felt so conflicted as the two sides of him tore further apart — the side that wanted to be who Kena and Iroh thought him to be, and the side that still wanted to prove everyone wrong by bringing the Avatar back to the Fire Nation. Maybe he could make Kena understand; maybe she’d even go back with him. If he fulfilled his destiny, surely his father would let her stay.

When Kena made her way up to Zuko and Iroh’s apartment early the next morning, she found it already deserted. She frowned as she left, wandering into the street outside. Had she missed them already? Did they leave the night before for some reason? She couldn’t imagine why Zuko would lie to her about something so silly. All she wanted was to say goodbye, whether or not they were actually moving to the Upper Ring.

She walked to Pao’s and asked if he had seen them. At the mention of “Mushi,” the man went into a long-winded spiel about loyalty and betrayal that left her regretting her decision to ask. As politely as she could manage, she excused herself and left the premises. She desperately wished she could talk openly to someone about everything going on. At this point, she’d made up so many fake identities and backstories that it was sometimes hard to keep straight what was real and what was false, and who could know what about her various personas. At one point she’d considered writing it all down somewhere but that would be difficult to explain should anyone stumble across it. Only Fera knew what was happening, and even she was still in the dark about some things. Feeling a familiar sting of loneliness, Kena resigned herself to returning home to wait for Fera to get back from work so she could vent for a while.

Iroh sat by Zuko’s side for the entirety of the day, unable to sleep despite being awake through the night at Lake Logai. He watched his nephew twitch and sweat in his feverish dream state, pressing cloths soaked in cool water to his forehead through the hours. He could hardly even enjoy his tea as he waited for the prince to awaken. Every time his breathing changed, the older man would sit up at attention, watching with baited breath. It now neared sunset, and Zuko had still not opened his eyes.

Watching the sky change color through the window, he thought about rumors he had heard amongst the peoples of the Lower Ring about a benign spirit that visited at night. If one left a white candle burning in the window with a strip of blue cloth hung nearby, she was said to appear and heal the sick and injured. The people called her Tui’s Daughter. The stories reminded him vaguely of the legend of the Painted Lady from the Fire Nation. As he lit the candle, he hoped she would happen through the Upper Ring this night. Perhaps a visit from a spirit is exactly what the prince needed to help along his inner turmoil.

No matter what she did, Kena seemed entirely unable to fall asleep. She tossed and turned in her cot for what seemed like hours to no avail. Something still felt wrong about Zuko’s sudden disappearance, even after talking with Fera about how flaky and dishonest men could be. It was like an itch in the back of her skull that she couldn’t scratch and it her made her antsy and restless. She sighed in resolution and abandoned her attempts at sleep to dress in the bright moonlight pouring in through the window. She had to know he was alright, even if that meant he’d abandoned her.

As she came to the wall that closed off the Upper Ring, she kept to the shadows. The area was crawling with guards and surely Dai Li agents to keep the elite of Ba Sing Se secure and comfortable. She’d snuck into the Upper Ring only once before, and it was the closest she’d ever been to getting caught. She hoped the blind spot that opened during the shift rotation hadn’t been remedied yet, otherwise she’d have to take more drastic measures. Patiently, she waited for the opening.

The spirits must’ve been on her side that night because she was able to slip through into the Upper Ring with relative ease. That, or the Dai Li were occupied elsewhere. Whatever it was she was happy for it because now she was running through the pristine empty streets, searching for some sort of indication of where Zuko and Iroh may be. She didn’t know exactly what it was she was looking for, but her gut told her she’d know when she found it.

A flicker in her peripheral caught her eye and she whipped her head around. A few buildings away, a white candle burned in a window on one of the upper floors. She had to admit she was curious; The people of the Upper Ring rarely called on Tui’s Daughter because they could afford the best doctors Ba Sing Se had to offer. The spirit tended to stay in the poorer areas, especially in the refugee ghettos, because they needed her the most. Despite her desperation to find her friend, she moved towards the apartment with the candle.

Iroh immediately tensed when he heard a creak from the stairs leading up to their apartment. He hoped it was the spirit, but was ready to defend himself if need be. He hid himself from sight when the knob rattled and the front door slowly cracked open. Relief flooded his body when he saw the intruder donned a long, flowing white dress and a black smiling koi mask exactly as the rumors had described.

“Thank you for coming,” Iroh said as he emerged from his hiding spot. “My nephew is very ill, but I’m afraid it is not a natural sickness.”

The spirit had jumped into a defensive position when he spoke. Now that they stood facing each other in full view, she lowered her hands. As he looked on, the realization dawned that this was no spirit at all.

“Iroh?” the woman whispered and the old man hummed thoughtfully.

“I’ll admit I was doubtful about the rumors, but I can say I never expected you to be Tui’s Daughter.” Iroh moved closer and bowed his head in greeting. She ripped her mask off to reveal her face and Iroh smiled when he recognized her. “Hello, Kena.”

A/N: was originally going to end this at crossroads but this is long enough and also seems like a good stopping point for now. thank you all for the lovely response to the last part, yall made my heart uwu and i hope you liked this one just as much!

TAGS: @beifongsss @the-lva-way @lammello @llorom6nnic @idkdude776 @aangsupremacy @royahllty @mamooska8 @bucky-blogs @youneedmemanidonotneedyou @eridanuswave @rosetheshapeshifter @fantasticchaoticwho @bwndito @dancerslovelife @justab-eautifulmess @whalerus

[memoriashell]

first impressions ( are they pointless if fate has already decided? )

Characters /  Pairing: Fukawa Touko/Naegi Komaru, ( implied ) Syo / Komaru

crossposted on ao3

Notes: day 7 of @tokomaruweek​!! soulmate prompt.

sorry if i manage to absolutely fuck up posting this one i'm half awake rn.

i appreciate how unrealistic and improbably soulmate aus are. anyways i knew i wanted to play with this idea as soon as i saw the prompt. i think that bodyswap au has interesting potential. the bodyswap soulmate au in the specific sense that you’d theoretically get to see the kind of hardships your fated might be going through but that’s not really the angle i took on it here but i mean do any of us want komaru to face abuse and bullying? no. i cannot comit to that. someone else can do that i am going to live here angst free anyways in case it isn't obvious the basis premises around this is that once you come of age, you swap bodies with your soulmate. HONESTLY not sure how a body swap au would work w/ a did person but considering that every alter / identity is considered their own person, i figured that it would simply just swap w/ the host, meaning any alters would be left behind. i do think it'd be an interesting concept to play with, maybe?

tw for trauma / abuse ( /ive parents )

Summary:  most circumstances to figure out the identity of your soulmate are pretty unfortunate, but she thinks this one might take the proverbial cake in some regard.

For most people, this would be the kind of momentous occasion that people would count down to. For Touko, it catches her completely off guard because she hardly registers the fact that her birthday is coming up until the day it happens.

‘It’ being the day she comes of age and is supposed to find out who her soulmate is.

She’d be lying if she said she didn’t think about this kind of stuff on occasion. It was kind of a given, with her entire shtick of being a romance author. But quite frankly, she tries to forget it, because really? Soulmates? For someone like her? Not likely.

Who would want to be stuck with someone like her? Best not to get her hopes up too much, and stick to unrequited crushes on people she knows she’s probably not destined for.

The sound of an unfamiliar alarm is what wakes her up— Touko doesn’t really process anything more than trying to turn it off and laying down for a few minutes. And then realizes her body doesn’t quite feel right. Empty. Something’s missing and it’s too quiet and it all feels horribly wrong. And then opening her eyes and realizing she can see perfectly fine without her glasses.

Oh. Oh no. No no no no no.

She hops out of bed and spots a phone ( thank christ ) and confirms her fears. Right. It’s her birthday. Thank god she doesn’t need to know a passcode to figure out that information. Well, nothing she can do about that. Time to sleep off today, so she can go back to living her life normally, soulmate-free.

Or well, that is what she plans to do, until a picture frame catches her attention from the corner of her eye, and— oh. Oh no? Oh no. She absolutely recognizes one of the two people in the picture. She presumes the girl is the one whose body she’s currently inhabits ( nothing particularly special to note there, plain as plain can be ). The boy— she loathes that nonchalant, easygoing expression— the boy she recognizes as her classmate. One Makoto Naegi.

God, it’d be just her luck, huh. Speaking of which—

“Komaru!” Ah, so that’s her name. She hears a shout from downstairs, followed by footsteps. “You’re going to be late!”

Shit. Shit shit shit shit.

In a panic, she sprints to dive back under the covers and pretends to be asleep still. Maybe she’ll get off without much of a punishment that way? Definitely less than the realization that she’d been awake and not getting ready for...school, presumably. She has no clue what this girl is usually like, but hopes that it isn’t painfully obvious what is going on here.

“Komaru?” The voice is closer this time, the sound of the door opening follows close behind. While she panics over the thought of what to do asides from pretending like she’s asleep, Touko misses the sound of footsteps approaching and flinches when the covers are tugged away from her head. She doesn’t mean to let out a whimper of fear when a hand comes down on her forehead, teeth clenched, not that the sound is interpreted as fear. “Are you feeling all right, dear? You’re not feverish, but you are a little sweaty...”

It takes her a moment to recognize the tone of this woman’s voice is one of concern, an incredibly foreign concept for her to expect from any parent ( she’s presuming this is the mother ). It certainly was never one she’d expected to hear from her own mothers, squeezing her eyes shut as if to ignore the truth. “N-No...” It’s not a lie, at least— all of this makes her feel sick to her stomach.

( It leaves an awful taste in her mouth, knowing the love that she is being shown here is just an illusion; not meant for her at all. And yet Touko wants something that she has never had. What an awful child she is )

“Why don’t you take it easy for today, then? If you feel no better later, you can start taking medicine.” She manages to utter a thank you, whatever will get her with no repercussions and left alone again, and there is a hand gently stroking back her hair before she is alone again.

Once ‘her’ mother leaves, she locks the door and buries herself under the blankets, so she can sleep and forget about today ever happening.

In comparison, Komaru Naegi finds herself having a much less than pleasant awakening. In that she doesn’t know what wakes her up, just that she is suddenly, forcibly awakened and in a room she doesn’t recognize.

Weird. Is she dreaming? It kind of feels that way, because she has no control over the body she currently resides in, marching over to the desk and reaches into the draw for...a pair of scissors? Really, really sharp scissors, but a pair of scissors nonetheless.

It’s not a dream. Get out. They hiss at her, scissors pointed at her— themselves? Oh boy. Uh.

“I don’t think I can do that.” She says aloud; wincing. “I don’t— I don’t know what’s going on...?”

Ugh. You think I know any better? ( Yes! Yes she does!! ) It’s totally bullshit that this is my wake-up call after ages, and she’s not even awake and instead I’m stuck with you? Ah. Shit, hold on a second how long has it been. They reach for the calendar, and she feels her face frown. Aw, it hasn’t been that long? She really forgot her own birthday coming up? Some heads up would’ve been nice instead of just waking up to this fucking mess. The voice continues to complain.

“Um...” She hates to interrupt, but she’s still pretty confused. “What do you mean? Who are you?”

You’re expecting me to just give that up without knowing your own name? Or do you not care?

“Sorry!” And she is, given that she’d kind of gotten ahead of herself. “Komaru. Komaru Naegi. But just Komaru is fine!”

Ah— Naegi? What are the odds— Dekomaru it is!

“What? That’s not my name at all!” Komaru completely manages to miss the faint recognition, huffing a pout. “And I told you, so answer my questions!”

Syo. And what I mean is that now I’m stuck explaining this shit— did you seriously not pay attention to any of that or are you that dumb? Geeze, listen to me this time. Okay, so we can have a lesson on proper terms and all that shit another time, long and short of it is that we share this body— miss gloomy and I. It’s technically her coming of age birthday today, which is why you’re here instead of her.

“Oh, okay.” Komaru nods along in agreeably, before her mind catches up and process the implications of what she’s been told. “Wait, you mean I— she— this is my soulmate?!” Her voice cracks as it pitches, hands quick to clasp out of her mouth, a little worriedly.

Yeah, obviously. And don’t worry, the rooms are soundproof. Otherwise, I would’ve already told you to stop replying out loud. People would think that’s weird. They sound amused, reaching back towards the table and fumbles around for a moment before raising something up into the field of their view.

This is a student ID card, which provides her with several helpful bits of information— none of which Komaru chooses to fixate on. “...Hope’s Peak?” What were the chances of that?

Focus, idiot. Do you have any idea of what this means?

Komaru beams, an expression that might have been frightening for anyone else to see on this face. “It means I can be a Hope’s Peak student for today!”

No. Ouch, that’s probably the most cold they’ve sounded so far. Which is saying a lot, considering how they’d greeted her. Well, maybe. I know she really wouldn’t like it if you went around in our body. She doesn’t like it when I force control over our body either, but if it’s you then she probably won’t care. Personally, I don’t give two fucks— I can give you tips on acting more like her if you want.

Komaru makes a face. “I’m bad at acting. Am I really that different?”

Given that you don’t shut up, yes. That’s not a bad thing. They add on when they seem to sense the indignation rising in her. You really want to go around like normal today?

“Please?” She begs in what is sure to not be the last time that Syo enables her in doing something she probably shouldn’t do.

Okay! You’re more fun to have to share with than madam morose. This is way more chaotic. If things go wrong, I’ll help you cover up.

Komaru thinks that’s supposed to be a compliment. Or flattery? Either way, she enthusiastically takes to observing her appearance in the mirror for a good several minutes— more than several, but who’s keeping track? Syo. Syo is— before they point out they’ll be late for class and still haven’t had breakfast. But Komaru really only registers late and class and grabs her bag and rushes out into the hall, only to realize she didn’t really know where she was supposed to be going.

Syo sighs at her and directs her in the right direction of their locker and then their class while Komaru considers what’s the best way to seem cool if she can’t technically be herself. And also try not to nervously overthink things. That is also a thing she tries to avoid.

You know it’s weird that we’re going to class early, right?

“It’s fine...!” She grumbles. I can’t help but be excited, okay? It’s not everyday I get to pretend to be attended one of the most prestigious schools in the country.

Uh huh. Okay. I don’t think it’s really ‘cool’ to be this early to class, but.. Syo snickers at her, and she pouts before opting to ignore them, gathering her nerves before ( with more confidence than the actual Touko Fukawa would ever muster ) pushing the door open and stepping inside the classroom.

And then the whole act cool plan falls apart because while Komaru had registered the, we’re at Hope’s Peak Academy, she had failed to consider the whole, this is the school my brother goes to, I might run into my brother dilemma that she is immediately forced to acknowledge in a very graceful manner.

( And by gracefully she means she very embarrassingly screams at Makoto and Syo cackles at her, and she learns a very important lesson on why she should not trust Syo so easily )

Unfortunately for Touko, her body refuses to sleep much, which means she is wide awake when someone tries to come into the room just after four. Clearly not giving up, a knock soon follows, and, “Fukawa-san? Can you let us in?”

And then the sound of her own voice, way too cheery for her own liking. “No one else is home right now, so you don’t need to worry about it. Please? I really want to meet you! Uhm, properly.” Silence follows, since Touko makes no attempt to acknowledge that- if she pretends to sleep, then they’ve got to give up eventually. Even if she can only run away for so long, given that Makoto will probably just confront her tomorrow if she doesn’t. “Uh, Syo-san says they’ll take matters into their own hands if you don’t...? I’m not really sure what that means, but...” Makoto makes a panicked noise and god damn it Syo. She hadn’t counted on Syo working against her as well. Should she have expected that from them? Eh.

( It might speak more about the other girl, if she’d managed to get something like Syo’s...approval? That doesn’t seem quite right, and feels weird to think about either way )

“Give me a moment.” She calls, just to make sure Syo doesn’t go ahead and try and start picking the lock or break a window or something else that’s drastic and unnecessary. Takes a deep breath as she pulls herself out of bed, doesn’t bother double-checking if she seems too presentable and trudges over to unlock the door.

No sooner than she does so, the door swings open cautiously— Touko manages to sidestep out of the way before she needs to worry about being hit by it. She can feel the other’s gaze focus in on her almost immediately, but she very pointedly decides to not meet her gaze, mostly because it feels weird to be looking at herself, and looks at the same bookcase she has been staring at for the past four hours straight.

( Manga. She hates it. Of course, she would be stuck with someone that loves something that she practically loathes. She also hates the fact that she’d also been so bored that she’d almost considered reading it )

The only thing she chooses to acknowledge is the fact that her hair is down and not braided, really could she not have put forth even that much effort— and that while having her in front of her now is much different from what she might have thought it to be, she really has no idea of what to think of her.

And then the other seems to decide that enough is enough and holds her hands in hers very excitedly. She can only guess what Syo makes of all this. Schadenfreude, probably. She doesn’t actually say anything to her, just giggles to herself ( she’s not sure if she’s trying to be creepy, or if that laughter is directed at something Syo is saying ).

“Stop that...It’s w-w-weird to see my face doing that.” She gnaws on her lip— is this what everyone else saw all day? That’s awful.

As if reading her mind ( and certainly not the atmosphere of room ), Makoto helpfully chimes in, “Give her a break, she’s done a pretty good job trying to not attract any unwanted attention.”

“They made me skip class.” She pouts, crossing her arms. “Syo even said that they’d take the blame for it, but no, I had to skip out.”

“You screamed at me and scared Fujisaki-san? I was more relieved that Ishimaru-kun was willing to get you excused for the day.” Oh good, at least she can count on having reliable notes and not misplaced homework like with some people ( Syo ).

“It wasn’t that bad, Makoto, you’re making it seem worse than it was—”

“Because screaming like that could come off as good somehow?” He butts in.

“— and what’s done is done, so with that said, let’s eat!” She raises a bag that she’d failed t notice earlier. “I know it’s a little weird, but it’s still your birthday, so we can at least celebrate, right? I even asked Syo what you’d prefer the most while we were at the bakery.” That kind of disgustingly desperate face is all too fitting and completely foreign on her face, and Touko scowls at her.

It’s also a very foreign thought to actually be celebrating her birthday for once, and with a practical stranger nonetheless.

“Actually, I have a call I’m supposed to make. So I’ll be waiting downstairs, Komaru— we do have to get back at a reasonable time, so I’ll come back up if you’re staying too long, okay?” Makoto flees in the most inelegant way possible, fittingly.

Traitor, she wants to yell at him. She’s not quite being left alone here, because Syo is clearly present, but it’s not the same. She still feels a sense of betrayal here on all sides nonetheless.

“Touko-chan! Come sit with me!” Not that she gets any say in this, dragged along by her hand into following. She considers telling her off because when did she say that she was allowed to call her that? But bites her tongue for the moment because she’s still a little startled about the ease at which she has accepted all of...this, given the fact that she’s currently got Syo co-fronting. She suspects that they have arbitrarily elected to not acknowledge the elephant in the room which is very annoying to her, but she’s not really given a chance to acknowledge that either since a plate is shoved into her hands.

Fruit tart. So she’s not lying about the fact that Syo has taken a liking to her, apparently.

( No she’s not jealous over her own apparent soulmate. Why on earth would she envy that? )

“Fukawa-san?” Pale lavender eyes peer up at her, lips pursed in a small pout. “I know this isn’t the most ideal situation, and..I don’t expect you to warm up to me right away. But I’d like it if we could meet again sometime, as ourselves.”

Touko gives her a long look, scrutinizing, and then looks away. “I’ll think about it.”

“Okay!” She’s quick to agree like she’d said yes; humming happily with a fork in her mouth ( which would be cuter if she didn't have to look at her own ugly face ).

[edourado]

Together, ch iv

Here’s chapter four, because I need something light and fluffy, to help me stomach the world. I’m sad, I’m angry, sick to my stomach, I am legit losing faith in humanity, I burst out in tears at any given moment. And I don’t want to lose my mind, so here’s me coping. 

This is nothing, its a silly piece of fluffy fanfiction, but it’s for George Floyd, for Ahmaud Arbery, for João Pedro, a 14 year old black boy from Rio who was shot by police while playing inside his home, for every black individual who died because they were black, for their families, for the protesters. This is nothing, nothing, nothing, but it has a little of my heart in it, so it’s for them. 

I hope it makes you smile.

------- 

It wasn’t long until Frank got cabin fever. 

Staying inside all day was not at all like him. How long had he been spending most of his days outside, moving, doing something, or just looking at the people walking around the street?

To Karen’s amusement - and delight - he cleaned the entire apartment, top to bottom, and was even able to remove the touch stains on the light switches. He did something to the fridge, and by the time he was done, the shelves and the door were gleaming as if had just arrived from the store, brand new. 

But the apartment was not big enough to keep him entertained for long, so he started ordering things online to improve on little stuff, like the shelves she needed for her shoes, since she had needed to make room for his, or these fancy magnets to install on bottom of  the doors, so they would stop banging shut whenever it was a little windy. He spent a whole afternoon on the phone with David Lieberman, deciding on the best cameras to install around the place.

Reading only took him so far. He went through four books before he found it hard to keep still, and it was even worse with Netflix. 

Then, one day, the masks they bought from the neighbor from two floors down were ready, and she texted to let them know she had left them at their door. 

“I thought they’d be much worse”, Karen said, after they wired the neighbor the money and collected the neatly packed masks. “These are good, look!”

She put one on and they were, indeed, much better than they both had expected. Not fancy or in any way tech advanced, but a simple cloth mask that covered mouth and nose without leaving gaps. All of them black. 

“I think I’ll order more”, Karen mused, while Frank put one on. As far as masks go, this was not the worst he had ever worn, not by a long shot. 

That night, Frank lied awake in bed, his finger twitching, unable to sleep. They had cooked a big dinner together, looking for something to do to spend the time and use the things they had on the pantry, trying to avoid spoiling food. 

Karen had also stayed awake for longer than usual, but now she breathed slowly, sleeping by his side, and Frank had given up keeping his eyes closed, and now stared at the ceiling. 

After what seemed like forever, he looked at the window and noticed that the sky was starting to become a tad lighter. When he checked his phone, it told him it was 4:34 in the morning. With a glance at Karen, he got up, careful not to wake her. 

After silently dressing, Frank picked up his phone from the bedside table and carried his shoes to the living room, stopping to pick up one of the masks they had washed before starting on dinner. The radiator had dried them all completely, leaving them warm and crisp feeling. 

Closing the apartment door silently behind him, he locked it and then moved quickly down the stairs. 

He couldn’t take a proper breath in, with the mask covering his mouth and nose, but the fresh air that made it through his lungs when he inhaled deeply were enough to make him feel better already. Looking at the empty street before him, Frank set off for the first jog he had in years. 

Ever since he came back from his last tour, he favored other ways of exercising. Jogging was neither possible nor efficient after the whole mess, but it felt good, it felt natural, to run without hurry and from nobody, not chasing anybody. Run for the sake of running. 

He was on a break by the river, almost an hour later, when his phone pinged. 

“Ok”, said Karen’s text, in reply to the one he had sent her before he left the apartment, letting her know he was off for a run. “Have fun”, and then, almost as an afterthought, “Be careful. Don’t touch anything and don’t take off your mask.”

“Yes, ma’am”, he replied. 

Frank ran for a good while. Not counting the time, or the miles, or his heartbeat, he just ran, took breaks, walked and then ran some more, looking as the morning made the city brighter, noticing how strange it the streets looked, so empty, even this early. He ran and he wished he could take off his mask, but he didn’t, happy that at least he was able to breathe some fresh air and not see any walls around him, for a change. 

The sun was up when he turned to make his way back, at 7:15.

There was a bakery one corner away from home, and the smell of fresh bread lured him in. A man in uniform, a mask and gloves told him they just took a fresh batch out of the oven, and Frank bought a few, along with cheese and two cups of coffee (which they had at the apartment, but he figured these people were risking themselves to provide food for the neighborhood and try and keep their business alive, so what’s two cups of extra coffee?)

“Thank you so much for your support” said the guy, handing him the bag and the cup holder through a window. 

“Thank you”, Frank replied, happy for this little slice of normal. “You guys open tomorrow?” 

“From seven to seven.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow, then. Name’s Frank.”

“I’m Ray. See you, Frank. Have a good day.”

He walked the rest of the way, and had to balance his purchases in one hand while taking the key from his shoe, towing said shoes off and unlocking the door, walking in in his socks.”

“Frank?” Karen called from the bedroom.   

“I’m here” he called back, starting the new strange process of cleaning the things he brought home with him. 

After putting the warm bread on the designated bread basket and disposing of the paper bag, he transferred the cheese to a clean container and the coffee to the coffee pot, where Karen had not yet pushed the button to brew. 

After his shower, he walked to the bedroom, feeling much, much better than he felt before getting up this morning. 

Karen was still in bed, phone in hand, and smiled at him when he walked in. 

“Hi”, she greeted, and he walked to her. “Enjoy your run?”

“Hmm”, was his answer, lying down half on top of her, kissing her gently, closing his eyes when her hands caressed his hair. “I brought breakfast.”

“I can smell it”, she said, softly. “That show we wanted to watch is available on Netflix. Wanna eat on the couch and watch it with me?”

He made them egg sandwiches and brought it to the couch while she cued the new show on TV, and when he settled down to watch it, he didn’t feel restless or that itch that made him want to get up every five seconds. 

What a difference, a run made. 

.:.

He came back to the apartment on the fourth day with croissants and the usual coffee, sweating profusely, since he had not made any stops this time, nor did he walk, and the jog was just straight up sprinting.

“Kare?” he called from the kitchen.

“I’m here!” she called back, and he saw her hand waving at him through the window. She was in the fire escape. 

He had to deal with the sanitizing of the shopping and then a shower, so it was a few minutes before he walked to the living room window. 

Before he got to the ledge, she popped her head inside and smiled at him. 

“I got you something.”

When Frank ducked to climb out to the narrow fire escape, he saw what she had gotten: a hammock. 

Cream colored, she had tied it on the iron bars above head, it hung a good few inches above the floor. She had placed two throw pillows in it, plus a heavy blanket. 

“You’ve been feeling so cooped up, I thought this would maybe help a little.

Turning to her, Frank smiled and moved to kiss her. 

“You didn’t have to do that”, he said, a hand caressing her hair. 

“I wanted to. I’m only sorry it took so long to arrive, I ordered it almost a month ago.”

Frank looked at the hammock, swaying lightly in the wind, and thought that this small act, this simple purchase for his benefit made him a little more sure that she meant it, when she said she loved him. 

It was silly, he knew that, but there still was a little part of him that expected her to wake up one day and realize that all she thought she felt for him was nothing but the thrill of the danger, the forbidden, the very ill advised act of rebellion, or even misinterpreted feelings of concern and worry and gratitude.

The fact that she didn’t run away from him after they slept together for the first time, or asked him to stay after the second third fourth and so on, asked him to move in, gave him a key, made room for his things, made room for him, bought him a hammock. It all told him that yeah, she was serious about that love. 

“Maybe we can have breakfast here?” he suggested, and she beamed, nodding. 

“So you like it?”

“I do”, he said against her mouth. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Settle in, I’ll get the food.”

 They ate the croissants and drank the coffee while sharing the hammock, after adjusting the height a little bit. 

“This is so good”, she said around a mouthful of warm croissant, taking a sip of coffee, looking out at the street below them. 

Frank watched as the morning light caught in her hair, how it made her eyes shine just a tad bluer, accentuated the few freckles she had on her nose.

“Yeah, it is”, he agreed, squeezing her foot under the blanket, thankful that, if he had to be stuck inside, at least it was with her.  

[sweetiejunie]

Till we meet again

Pt1

Summary: you had to leave him

Genre: angst, fluff

Yeonjun x reader

Part: Prologue | Pt1

=====================================

The days went by and there wasn’t a single one either of you wasn’t thinking about each other. You were his first love and he was yours. Who could ever forget that?

The day you had to leave each other it broke both of you to the core, you both knew that day had to come, it was inevitable. Before you had gotten together, you already knew what your parents had planned for you, to send off to study at some prestigious overseas school, god knows how many hours away from your home, from him. Neither of you cared though, simply wanting to live in the moment, until that fateful day came and you both realised how painful it was going to be. Chocking back sobs as you walked away from him, feeling guilty for hurting him like this, and him crying his heart out as he watched your silhouette fade away.

For the first year or so, you both tried to keep in contact, messaging to each other, sending selfies, face timing, anything you could imagine and it was more than enough for either of you at the time.

However, as time went on, you got busy with school and he got busy with his debut, eventually, neither of you had the time. Eventually, both of you got used to the pain of not having each other and before you knew it, years had already passed.

——————————————————————————

The present day

It started out as a normal morning for yeonjun. He had awoken to the sounds of his members arguing over god knows what once again. He check his phone: 7.56am, well it was about time for him to wake up anyway.

Before he could lock his screen, he took a minute to appreciate his wallpaper, the most breathtaking sight he’s ever seen, and no, he wasn’t talking about the sunset in the background. He was referring to you.

Though it’s been years, he still admired you too much, his wallpaper hasn’t changed. It was still his favourite picture. It was you and him on a beach, together. The golden colours of the sunset behind you enhancing your already beautiful features. He remembered that day as if the picture was a book, reading him the memory.

~flashback~

The day started off like any other. Well, not really it was 11am and yeonjun decided to surprise you with an impromptu lunch date and went to your place to pick you up. Little did he know you were still asleep. He knew you treasured sleep, maybe even more than him, woops but it was almost noon!

He tried to reach you but you had the habit of turning your phone on to silent mode during the night so no matter how much he called, it wouldn’t go through. This resulted in him throwing small pebbles at your window, romeo and juliet style.

After a bit, you woke up, of course, who wouldn’t have been woken up by that irritating nois-, i mean romantic gesture. You went to the source of the noise that interrupted your slumber, opening your window, ready to throw the rocks back at whatever or whoever was there. However, when you saw your dear blue haired boy, all you could do was glare at him. You loved him, but it was true, you loved sleep just a ‘tiny’ bit more.

“Rapunzel, rapunzel, let down your hair!” He said in the most ‘prince charming’ voice he could, getting down on one knee to sell the act even more.

“Wrong fairy tale romeo!” You replied sarcastically, smirking as you held back your laughter. You rested your elbows at the legde of your window and continued to look down at the boy.

He pouted, “you could have at least played along!”

This caused you to laugh again, shaking your head. “Hold on I’ll be down in a sec!”

And you can probably guess it but the day ended with the both of you, barefoot on the beach, soft sand between you toes, hand in hand, walking in silence, simply appreciating the sound of the crashing waves and of course, each other.

tbh i could write an entire part just on this, should i? I think it’ll be cute ㅋㅋㅋ

~end~

He missed you... so, so much, every single day but that feeling of longing was already something he grew accustom to. He missed you, there hasn’t been a day when he didn’t. But for some reason, he was feeling it a lot more today.

He believed you would come back into his life one day and that was enough for him, for now. He believed you were meant to be and fate, as cruel as it may be sometimes, will bring you back together. No one has ever made him feel the same way you did and that was something he was willing to wait for no matter how long it took.

Eventually, his stomach growled, causing him to drag himself out of a bed for breakfast.

“Hyung, you’re awake!” Soobin greeted him as he walked out of his room.

“Yeah, good morning soobin,” he replied, groggily, rubbing his eyes as the got used to the light.

“Beomgyu and I wanted to head to the practice room early, if you want we could wait for you. Taehyun and Kai just left for school.”

“No it’s alright, thanks, you guys go on ahead. Ill be there around 9,” waving off Soobin’s offer, and headed to the kitchen to make himself some breakfast.

“Alright, we’ll see you later.”

“See you later, hyung!” Beomgyu added before shutting the door behind him and soobin.

He habitually lifted his phone, as it turned on automatically, it read 8.12am. He sighed. What was he expecting? A text from you? It’s been months since you last spoke, but i guess old habits die hard. He stood up, turning on silent and leaving his phone at the counter.

The members all knew what yeonjun went through when you parted ways. He wasn’t himself for a while, he wasn’t eating proper meals, he was messing up at practise, he wasn’t his cheerful, childish self. That faithful day had really taken a toll on him and it wasn’t until recently they starting seeing bits of the old him coming back. But the main thing missing, was the piece of him that he left with you, it was a part that wouldn’t come back until you did, no one knew how long that would be.

It was a quiet morning for yeonjun. With the others having already left, he was left alone with his thoughts. He remembered all the fun times you had together, all the laughs you shared, it made him smile fondely, but maybe remembering was more of a bad thing than good.

He felt as if his head was about to explode, what have you done to him? He decided to abandon his half eaten breakfast, throwing it in the sinj and went to have a quick shower instead. Maybe that could help clear his thoughts.

He let the water run, heating up, while he stripped himself of his clothes and stepped in. As the water hit his bare skin, he remembered the day you two had went to the water park with the other boys. He remembered how shy you were when you admitted to him that you couldn’t swim. How you would cling on to his arm in fears of him leaving you in the middle of the pool. And how he would threaten to let go, just to see you whine, panic and pout, in that order. He let out a frustrated groan, why was it hitting him so hard today?

Supporting himself against the glass panel, he stood there for a while, feeling the steam calm him down the tiniest bit. Looking as if he came straight out of a drama scene. Stepping out, he wrapped himself in a towel.

He cleaned off the condensation that formed on the mirror, seeing his reflection. It shocked him, he looked so out of it. He was out of it. He hardly recognised the person staring back at him, he left the bathroom and went to get dressed for the day, a basic oversized hoodie and sweatpants. Didn’t have to look too nice, nothing special was going to happen anyway.

Leaving the dorm, he grabbed his phone off of the counter, 8.50am, and headed for the practice room. Little did he know, his entire world was about to change in a matter of minutes.

He took his usual route to the building, stopping at the traffic light as he waited for the pixelated man to turn green. He stared at the ground as he bounced on his feet, patiently waiting, mind still racing with thoughts of you. His surrounding disappeared as he sunk in further.

He should have tried harder, he should have did more to convince you to stay, he should have-

*honk, honk*

The sudden obnoxious car honk knocked him out of his thoughts. He had half a mind to swear at the diver for doing that but almost as if by fate, the moment he looked up, he was rendered speechless. Across the street from him was a silhouette he would recognise anywhere.

.

.

.

=====================================

Sry this took me a while to write ㅠㅠ ive been sick for the past few days and generally i just had a hard time thinking of how to start this hah. But its done now and hope you like it!

[whump-tr0pes]

This is a series. Start here. Continued from here. 

First @badthingshappenbingo!!! I wrote Sam as already having pneumonia at this point, so this next bit just kinda...happened. I’m not usually a sicfic gal but laaawd did I enjoy writing this. 

Red X is for written and posted, white X is for requested. Enjoy!!!

AO3

Honor bound - 13

The sound of Sam’s labored breathing woke Finn up. They turned on the lamp beside the bed and rolled over, feeling blearily for Sam. When Finn’s hand touched them, Finn flinched away. Their skin was burning.

“Oh no, no no no, no, Sam…” They sat up and rolled Sam over onto their back. Their skin was slick with sweat, hair plastered to their forehead, clothes soaked beneath the blankets. Sam’s eyes were glazed over and unfocused. In the light of the lamp Finn could see their pulse jumping in their neck. Too fast. They felt Sam’s wrist. Way too fast. “Shit, shit, shit.”

They pulled the blankets off Sam, exposing them to the chilly air in the safehouse. Sam shivered and blindly reached for the covers, eyes lazing over the ceiling, unseeing. Finn dashed to the living room where Ellis and Vera were slumped on the couch asleep and Gray was stretched out on the floor. The team had elected to give Finn and Sam the bed so Sam could be comfortable and Finn could monitor them during the night. I was supposed to watch out for them and I failed. Shit!

“Ellis,” they hissed. Ellis stirred on the couch, slowly lifting their head and looking around. “Ellis,” they whispered. “Get up, I need you.” They didn’t look back as they rushed out the door to the car, grabbing their med kit and dashing back inside. Ellis was still sitting on the couch, groggy and confused. “Come on.” Finn pulled their arm, pulling them up off the couch and into the bedroom, Ellis weakly complaining the whole way. As soon as they saw Sam, they fell silent, frozen. They were shaken out of their reverie by Finn tossing the blood pressure cuff and stethoscope at them. “Get me a blood pressure,” they said without looking up from the bag. Ellis shook themselves and jumped onto the bed beside Sam, pulling their arm out of their sleeve.

Finn pulled out an IV kit and tied the tourniquet around Sam’s arm. Sam stirred, mewling weakly at the touch and at the cold. While the veins filled, Finn passed a thermometer over their forehead. Then again, disbelieving. They shook their head. Again. “104.2. Shit.” They assembled the IV set-up and sanitized the inside of Sam’s elbow. Too quickly for Sam to even flinch, Finn had the needle in, withdrawn, and connected to the extension set. They taped the IV down and turned to Ellis. “What have you got?”

Ellis shook their head, taking the stethoscope out of their ears. “Um…76/48?”

“Take it again.”

Hands shaking, Ellis pumped up the cuff and tried again. Finn’s heartbeat seemed to deafen them as they watched Ellis, holding their breath.

“78/50.”

“Shit.” They felt for a pulse. “132 on the pulse. No no no…” Their hand went to Sam’s forehead, sweeping the hair back from their face. They held out their hand for the stethoscope and listened to Sam’s lungs. The lower part of the right side rumbled with infection.

“What are we gonna do?” whispered Ellis.

“They’re septic,” moaned Finn. “They need antibiotics. And a lot of other things but…antibiotics mostly. And I don’t have any…” Their face fell into their hands. “None of the last four groups we ran into were selling, either. But I…” They looked helplessly at Sam. “If they don’t get them, they’ll die. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe sooner.”

Ellis reached for Finn’s hand. “Let me go find some.”

“No.” Finn’s voice was hard. “It’s too dangerous. Gavin’s people might be out there looking for us right now. No way.”

Ellis squeezed. “Either I risk that, or Sam dies. Right? There’s no way they could survive without antibiotics?”

Finn shook their head. “Well…probably not, but…we could find…we could do something…” They grabbed Ellis’ hand with both of theirs. “You’re my partner.”

Ellis smiled crookedly. “Don’t I know it. I can’t get rid of you.” They got off the bed. “But I’m going. I love Sam, too.” Their eyes swept Sam’s body, hot and flushed and trembling on the bed.

Finn opened their mouth to protest, then let it close with a sigh. “You’re right. Let me follow you out so I can grab my stuff. Take a radio with you. Don’t go far. If you’re gone for longer than a day, it won’t matter.” Their breath caught in their throat, shame chilling their insides. “I mean…”

“I get it.” Ellis took Finn’s chin and made them look at them. “I know you have to be that way with patients. Right now, Sam’s your patient.” They turned to leave the bedroom. Finn followed right behind.

Finn was proud of their cache of equipment. It had taken them a long time to collect and had cost more than all the team’s other needs combined, but it was worth it in times like this. They grabbed the cardiac monitor they had had to trade a car for and their sack of saline bags. Ellis grabbed the oxygen concentrator that was Finn’s prized possession, and the extra batteries for it.

As they carried the equipment inside, Gray stirred. “What’s goin’ on?” they mumbled. Finn walked right past them into the bedroom.

Ellis dropped to one knee and whispered so as not to wake Vera. “Sam got worse. Finn is gonna do what they can here, and I’m gonna go get antibiotics.”

“I’ll go with you.” Gray clumsily got to their feet.

“No.” Finn poked their head into the hall, having dropped their equipment. “Too dangerous. I hate risking Ellis. I can’t risk you, too.”

“I’m of more use helping Ellis than I am here,” Gray whispered back.

Finn hesitated in the doorway for a moment. Then they sighed. “Take the radio, let me know what you find. Don’t be gone longer than 24 hours.” They disappeared back into the room.

Ellis and Gray left silently, trying to let Vera sleep. It had been days since any of them had gotten proper rest. No use in waking her up if it wasn’t necessary.

Finn looked down at Sam and watched their eyes move slowly under the lids. Then they swallowed hard and got to work.

Finn covered Sam back up with only the thinnest blanket on the bed. Sam was already starting to shiver, but it was better to let them cool off a bit than to let them sweat under the covers. They spiked a bag of saline and hung it from a nail in the wall. They assumed it once held a picture, but whatever was there before was gone. They attached the saline to Sam’s IV and let it run wide open.

Finn dug a portable pulse ox out of their bag and clipped in onto Sam’s finger. They waited for the little machine to beep, normalize, get a reading… 89%.

They cursed silently and reached back into their bag for a nasal cannula. They put it on Sam’s face and plugged it into the oxygen concentrator. They turned it on and within minutes the number on the pulse ox was rising. 91%...94%...96%... Finn pulled up some IV Tylenol, checked the dose, and ran it into the IV.

No one on the team had ever been this sick before. They had treated scrapes and cuts, broken bones, even sutured a graze from a bullet that nearly killed Ellis when they first met, but they’d never done anything like this. Finn wasn’t deluded. They knew their team trusted them too much to take care of them. They knew if someone took a bullet to the gut, or got a concussion bad enough, or got an illness that couldn’t be treated with Tylenol and fluids, they would die without a hospital. And hospitals were run, almost without exception, by the syndicates. The only safe hospitals were inordinately expensive. Finn shook their head wearily. They were a stopgap. A glorified band-aid distributor. The pharmacy aisle at a convenience store could help more than they could.

They buried their face in their hands, tears of frustration burning their eyes. They’d signed up to be a combat medic when they were 18, when the governments were still pretending to fight the criminal organizations that now ran the world. They’d gotten through their first three weeks of medical training when their base had been attacked and destroyed. Every person found on the base, military or not, had been shot execution style where they stood. Finn was one of the only ones that escaped. They’d been on the run ever since. They couldn’t remember much of anything they learned in basic training, and most of the medicine they knew was what they had picked up along the way. The only difference between them and anyone else on the team was that three weeks of training. A monkey could do what I can do, and be almost as successful. A tear ran down their cheek.

Snap out of it, idiot. There was no time for self-pity when Sam was dying. They couldn’t do much without antibiotics, but they might be able do enough to keep Sam alive until they arrived.

Content for now, Finn turned to their bag to do a quick inventory. Aside from their regular med kit, they had 12 bags of saline left, 4 lithium ion batteries for the oxygen concentrator, and one extra battery for the monitor. They did some quick math in their head. If Sam is 60 kilos, give or take, they’ll need 1800 mL fluids in the first three hours, or is it 1200 mL, shit, why can’t I remember this right now…this is when I need to know this stuff… They glanced at the liter of fluid hanging from the wall. Half of it was already gone. Screw it. I keep their blood pressure up. If they need similar boluses after that then I’ll have a little less than 24 hours before I run out. They closed their eyes. I guess it won’t matter after that. I told them they have 24 hours. Their hands reached vaguely towards the lithium batteries, thinking. Each battery lasts for four-ish hours, give or take, so including the one already running we’ll have…20 hours of O2, minimum. They ran a tense hand through their hair. That’s more than cutting it damned close.

They pumped up the blood pressure cuff and took another pressure. 80/54. They could pretend it was improvement.

I can’t think of another damned thing I can do for them. Most of their equipment was for trauma, anyway. They wracked their brain for another moment before they slumped, giving in to their worry.

They crawled next to Sam and lay down next to them over the thin blanket, flinching at the heat coming off their skin. They laid their head next to Sam’s and wrapped one arm around their waist, reaching across them and holding their hand.

“You know,” Finn whispered against Sam’s ear, “we’re gonna get through this. You’re gonna get better, we’re gonna get Isaac back, and we’re all gonna run away together somewhere safe. Somewhere Gavin can’t find us. Someday this is all gonna be some terrible memory. Maybe you can go to college, would you like that? I could actually become a medic. Or maybe even do medical school. Who knows. Vera could get that dog she’s always talking about, and we could all go over to mine and Ellis’ house on the weekends to have cookouts and go swimming in our pool and watch movies. Ellis could be safe, they could go to therapy, they could…I don’t know, maybe write their book?” Finn laughed gently. “Isaac can finally relax and figure out what he wants to do. You know, I’ve never once heard him talk about what he would do if we were safe? Anyway, we’d be far away from the crime and the death and the running, we’d be safe, maybe we could have a garden, a cat… What would you go to school for? I don’t think I remember. I know we’ve talked about it. You’ll have to tell me when you get better.” They pressed a kiss against Sam’s temple. “You know I hate it when they leave me behind? Drives me insane. I just want to help, I just want to contribute like they do, and they say it’s because I’m an asset but anyone could do what I do…honestly, not complicated…maybe if I had some actual medicines to work with but…with what I have to work with…” They sighed. “I just want to be in it with you. I want to feel how it feels to raid a compound, pull the trigger and watch some piece-of-shit murderer go down, I want to feel the way you all do when you work together and pull off a mission…” They pressed their lips together and tried to ignore the tears running down their face and into the pillow.

“I’m so sorry we let this happen to you.” Their voice was shaking. “I know Isaac blames himself, but it’s all of our faults. We left you unprotected. We should never have expected you to…” They shook their head. “Once we get you better, I swear to you, we will keep you safe, we’ll never put you in danger again. Just…hold on for us, Sam. Hold on for me. You just have to hold on until they get back with the antibiotics…just for a few hours, I promise…” They soothed their sweat-soaked curls away from their face. “Please, Sam. Please just fight this. Please stay alive.”

As they put their hand back in Sam’s, Finn felt them squeeze weakly. They smiled through their tears and squeezed back.

Continued here.

@untilthepainstarts, @womping-grounds, @blue-flare10, @free-2bmee, @quirkykayleetam, @walkingchemicalfire, @inpainandsuffering, @redwingedwhump, @burtlederp, @castielamigos-whump-side-blog

[tadie1234]

This was an ask from @daisy-like-a-cow

It was for hidden injury, fainting, and I think infected, tumblr ate your ask and it won’t pop up.

First of thank you!! Second I’m so sorry for this taking so long ❤️❤️

Ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25815538

“Good job Parker good job, can’t even go one lousy patrol without getting stabbed.” Peter muttered to himself as he attempted to swing back to the apartment while trying to keep the knife from jostling. He remembered from his field training with Natasha that you aren’t supposed to remove a the weapon from a wound without getting proper medical attention, but he wasn’t going to bother Mr. Stark. He had gotten stabbed enough times to know he could do this by himself. It was also barely a stab, it was more like a really deep cut, a scratch if you will, at least that’s what he kept trying to tell himself. So when he finally had gotten back to his apartment he had a plan. First he had to somehow sneak into May’s room without waking her up to grab a needle and thread. Then he would go to the bathroom and carefully take out the knife and clean it with rubbing alcohol. And finally he would use his very little knowledge of stitching to stitch himself up. The plan commenced.

Instead of going into the apartment from his own window, he decided just going into May’s would be easier. So he slowly eased her window open and crawled inside.

“Peter what are you-“ May sleepily asked from her bed.

“Uh-Nothing! You’re dreaming, this is just a dream, go back to sleep.” Peter whisper shouted, as he rummaged through May’s sewing box until he finally found what he was looking for. He grabbed the needle and thread and quietly left her room and went into the bathroom. He quickly took out the knife and placed it on the counter, next he grabbed the bottle of rubbing alcohol and poured a little on the wound. Then Peter took the needle and thread and quickly pushed the needle through the skin and began to stitch. It took around 20 minutes and he almost passed out but he did it. It was around three am and he still had school the next day, so he climbed into bed and instantly fell asleep.

—-/—/—-/

When he woke up, the first thing he noticed was that his side was itching like crazy. He lifted up his shirt to look at the wound and gasped in surprise. The area around the stitches were red and inflamed and there a watery pus that had started to come from the wound. “Well shit.” Peter thought to himself, he decided the best thing to do was to remove the stitches, so he snipped them and some how doing that the wound looked worse than it did before. But he had to get to school, so quickly got dressed and ran into the kitchen hoping that May had already left. But like most things in his life recently, it wasn’t really going the way he hoped.

“Hey sweetie, how did you sleep? I had the strangest dream last night and-“

“Hey May, love you, gotta go bye” Peter said as he rushed towards the door, snagging a banana on his way out.

Peter ran to the subway station and made it to school. Barely. He almost passed out on the subway because he got so dizzy just from standing. But if he didn’t do anything too strenuous it would be fine right?

Wrong. Peter was so very wrong. Getting through first period was practically torture, his side burning and twinging with every movement. And next he had gym. He changed his clothes in the bathroom instead of out with everyone else because he hadn’t wrapped the it and didn’t want anyone to think he got stabbed or something. Which of course he had but that wasn’t the point. But at least today, all they were doing was the rope climbing test. He could do that. All he had to do was just climb to the top of the rope and ring the bell. He’s climbed higher on patrol, this was going to be no problem at all. Except it turned into a slight problem. When Peter reaches midway on the rope, he got really dizzy all of the sudden and black spots filled his vision as he let go of the rope and passed out.

“Peter!” He heard a voice call out. He let out a loud groan and slowly opened his eyes.

“Wha- happened?” Peter asked as he slowly sat up.

“You took quite the tumble there Parker, I’m sending you to the nurse to go home for the day.” Coach Wilson said as he helped the boy sit up.

“Uh- thank you sir.” Peter said as he stumbled out of the gym to the nurses office.

When he arrived to the nurses office the nurse had him lay down on the cot as she called his emergency contacts.

“I can’t seem to get a hold of your aunt let me try this other number.” The nurse said as she bustled around her small office. Peter zoned out after that knowing Tony would be absolutely livid if he found out why Peter passed out.

—-/—-/-

Peter just have fallen asleep waiting for Tony to arrive because he woke up to someone softly shaking his shoulder.

“Hey buddy, time to go.” Peter stood up slowly and needed to lean on Tony the whole way to his car.

“What’s going on with you bud?” Tony said as he buckled Peter in.

“Nothing I just- it’s nothing Tony.” Peter mumbled as he let his eyes fall shut.

“Wanna try that again? Your lying skills are somehow getting worse and worse every time you open your mouth.” Tony said, running his fingers through Peter’s hair. “Are you sick? Not sleeping good? Are you not eating what’s wrong bud? Just talk to me. Tony said softly. Peter saw his life line and took it.

“I’ve just been not sleeping well recently, it’s nothing, I’m fine.” Peter said, trying to sound as believable as possible.

“Pete, you need to come with me with this kind of stuff, I can help you, I’ve dealt with all of this, I know all the little tricks and tips. I’m going to bring you back to the tower and we are going to have a little slumber party.” Tony said taking his hand from Peter’s hair and starting the car. Peter let out a snort at the slumber party part.

“Seriously Mr. Stark? Slumber Party?” Peter asked with a smirk.

“Yeah kiddo that’s what we’re doing. Seriously Pete, I can help you, you need to tell me when you’re not feeling good or can’t sleep or anything.”

“Yeah okay.” Peter said, feeling oh so guilty. They were quiet for the rest of the ride to the Tower.

—-/—-/-

“Okay bud, here’s the plan, movie first and if that doesn’t work I’ll have to pull out my secret sleeping tactics.” Tony said, leading the boy over to the couch. Peter sat down on the couch and waited as Tony gathered some blankets and pillows. He then put a pillow on his lap and made Peter lay down while he covered both of them in a big fluffy comforter. And to make it even more sleep inducing he put on a nature documentary about jellyfish. He waited until they were about 15 minutes into it before he pulled out his real weapon. He started to slowly run his fingers through Peter’s curly locks. And it almost worked. But Peter’s side was really starting to hurt now and he just couldn’t get comfortable, so he stood up to get a new position when Tony stopped him.

“Is that blood on your shirt?” Tony asked peering at him in the darkness.

“What!? No, no it’s uh- wait, yes actually. Mr. Stark, I am uh- on my period, I’m menstruating? I’m on my menstruation.” Peter said trying to remember what he learned from sex ed.

“Peter.” Mr. Stark said unamused. “Lift up your shirt.”

“No, I uh- can’t, I-.” Peter said backing away from the man.

“Peter, come over here and let me see, I won’t get mad.” Tony said lifting his hands up as a gesture of peace. Peter slowly walked over and lifted up his shirt and Tony gasped. The area around the wound was turning purple and it was leaking pus and blood.

“Friday tell Bruce we need him.” Tony yelled as he took Peter by the arm and helped him to the Medbay.

—-/—-/—

“Septic shock!?” Tony called out as he paced in front of Peter. “Do you know why what you did was so incredibly stupid?”

“Yes Mr. Stark, it won’t happen again. Peter said, looking down at the floor. When they had gotten to the Medbay, Bruce told them that Peter was in the beginning stages of septic shock and it was good that they caught it so early. They got him hooked up to an IV with antibiotics and fluids, and Bruce also cleaned and stitched up his wound. But Tony was still freaked out about the whole thing and finally stopped pacing and sat down next to Peter.

“Don’t ever do that again bud.” Tony said softly grabbing Peter’s hand. “You could’ve died, you know that? Next time please tell me these things, I can help you, I promise I won’t be mad.”

“Yes sir.” Peter said, his eyes full of tears.

“C’mere kid.” Tony said, and Peter curled up into his arms as Tony rocked him back and forth to calm him down.

“I- I didn’t mean- I didn’t think-“ Peter said between sobs.

“Hey, it’s fine buddy, at least we got it under control, next time talk to me, I can’t help you.” Tony said softly running his fingers through Peter’s hair.

“Thank you” Peter whispered into his chest.

“Of course bud.” Tony replied, holding him tighter.

And that’s how Pepper found them the next morning, curled up in each others arms.

[freddiesaysalright]

Catching Up Part VIII

A Joe Mazzello x Reader Story

Summary:  Reader is a writer for an entertainment news network and after Joe comes in to do an interview, they reconnect. Unexpectedly, they’re having a child together.

Word Count: 3K

Tag List: @crazylittlethingcalledobsession @jennyggggrrr @somethinginthewayiam @grandaddy-roger-trash @rogerloveshiscar @hopefully-aesthetically-pleasing @danamaleksworld @mrsmazzello @reedusteinrambles @rexorangecouny @caborhapch @kurt-nightcrawler @7-seas-of-fat-bottomed-girls @queendeakyy @hotttspace If you’d like to be added, let me know!

Part I  Part II  Part III Part IV  Part V  Part VI  Part VII 

Part VIII here we go!!!

Joe was able to stay for the rest of the month. You insisted he didn’t miss all of the promotion tour for Bohemian Rhapsody, but he didn’t want to miss anything regarding the baby. He also wanted to be there in case Nick got any more ideas. You had a restraining order on him now, but Joe felt like you couldn’t be too careful. With Joe there, he was able to go with you to your next appointment with your OB/GYN and he was going to see the baby for the first time.

You could feel Joe’s excitement as you walked into the exam room hand in hand. Your doctor, Dr. Jones, smiled at him and extended her hand.

“So, is this the lucky father?” she asked.

He nodded, shaking her hand. “I am!”

“I’m so glad you could join us today,” she told him. “Come on back, and we’ll check on your baby.”

Joe squeezed your hand and grinned at you. You returned it and followed her in. Slowly, you laid back. She prepared you for the ultrasound and before you knew it, you saw the baby on the screen. It looked more like a baby now. You could just barely make out the outline of a head. Joe gasped beside you and you looked over at him.

You wanted to etch his expression into your memory forever. He gazed at the screen with the wonder of a child on Christmas. His mouth curved upward into the sweetest smile. His eyes shined with tears that he didn’t even try to stop. One rolled down his cheek and your heart just melted. You couldn’t have dreamed a more perfect man to be your baby’s father. It said so much about him that this meant a great deal to him. You knew now that even if you and Joe didn’t last (though you hoped you did), he would love your baby forever.

“Joe,” you sighed, cupping his face and wiping his tears with your thumb.

“Y/N,” he returned, placing his hand on top of yours. Normally, he would have closed his eyes, but he couldn’t tear them away from the sight of the baby. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” you replied.

“Looks like baby…?” Dr. Jones trailed off.

“Mazzello,” you told her.

She smiled. “Of course. Baby Mazzello is right where they should be.”

“That’s amazing,” Joe said. “I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy before.”

“Well, now we can tell people,” you reminded him. “At least, the people who didn’t already know.” His face lit up some more.

“And how is mommy Mazzello doing?” Dr. Jones asked.

“I’m alright,” you told her. “Still have morning sickness pretty frequently, but it’s manageable.”

“That’s good to hear,” she said.

The appointment went on, but Joe’s eyes remained fixed on that screen. When Dr. Jones brought you a print out of the sonogram, she handed it directly to Joe. He held it as tenderly as he might hold the baby itself. He leaned over so you could see it too.

“I can’t believe it,” he cooed. “That’s our baby.”

“That’s our baby,” you repeated warmly, rubbing his arm. “You wanna keep that one?”

He nodded.

“Would you like me to get you another copy?” Dr. Jones offered.

“Please,” you said.

You were pulling your pants back up when she came back and gave you a picture as well. She smiled at you as you helped Joe to his feet.

“Thanks so much,” you said. “If you can’t tell, he’s very excited to be a daddy.”

Joe finally looked up and shook Dr. Jones’s hand again.

“I noticed,” she laughed. “You two will make fine parents. You can make your follow up appointment up front, and I’ll see you guys in a couple weeks.”

You said goodbye, made your next appointment, and left. You drove so that Joe could keep staring at the picture. You thought it was the sweetest thing. When you got back to the apartment, he was talking animatedly about the baby and how excited he was. You could hardly take in a word of it. All you could do was look at Joe and feel the wave of affection wash over you. What originally felt like such a mess was now your greatest blessing.

“Hey, babe, can I put this on Instagram?” he asked as you took a seat on the couch.

“You can put it anywhere you want, honey,” you replied.

“I want you in the picture too,” he said.

Your heart skipped a beat. “Y-you do?”

While Joe was around, he worked with you every day to conquer your fear of cameras. It usually meant taking a selfie, or just him getting a shot of you when you were out somewhere. But he always asked for permission and he never posted them to social media. You trusted Joe, and slowly, you were getting to a place where he could take a photo without you having an anxiety attack.

“Your face won’t be in it,” he said when he saw your expression. “Just you, holding the sonogram over your belly. All you’ll really see is your hands.”

You smirked. “That’s artsy.”

“Please, baby,” he said. “You can say no.”

He looked eagerly at you and you sighed. “How can I say no to that face?”

He beamed. “You’ll do it?”

“Yeah,” you said with a nod. You were too happy to deny him this. And you felt easier about a photo that wasn’t of your face. “Get over here.”

He bounded over. He handed you the sonogram and you held it delicately over your tummy. He squatted in front of you with his phone, coming in close to get the shot. You heard the soft click of the camera and then he stood, turning the phone around to show you. It was exactly what he had described - your fingers on either side of he sonogram, with just your shirt as the background. It was actually a nice photo.

“I like it,” you said. “You can post it, but please don’t tag me.”

“You got it,” he promised.

You watched him post it to Instagram. His caption read, “Baby Mazzello hits planet Earth February 2019.” You approved and he put it up.

Within minutes, there were tons of comments. Gwilym wrote, “Congrats, mate!” Ben wrote, “Can’t wait to meet the little bugger,” with a heart emoji. Lucy just had an emoji with heart eyes. Even Brian May wrote a sweet comment that read, “Congratulations, Joe. The world needs more spirits like yours. Hope he or she is happy and healthy -Bri.” Roger Taylor commented, “Misfire? Hahaha, congrats!”

“You got responses from Brian May and Roger Taylor?” you gasped as Joe read them aloud to you while you cooked dinner. “That’s so cool!”

“You’ll meet them when you come to the premiere with me,” he said.

“You should have led with that,” you joked. “I would have agreed to go a lot sooner.”

He smirked. “Well, you didn’t take a whole lot of convincing anyway.”

“Shut up,” you said, and threw a piece of onion at his face. It hit him square in the cheek since he wasn’t paying attention.

He sputtered when it made contact but then threw it back at you. You squeaked and dodged it before laughing.

“Oh, hey, even Rami commented!” he said, stopping your onion war. “He just said ‘awesome’. God, he’s terrible at social media.”

“Let him live,” you returned. “Will you finish cutting the onions for me, Joey? I’m getting too watery eyed over here and I need to put the tomatoes in.”

You passed him the chopping board and knife, and he got to work, putting his phone on the counter. You put the tomatoes you prepared into the oven to roast. Joe whistled as you bent over. You rolled your eyes as you closed the oven and set the timer.

“I can’t wait till you start showing,” he said.

“I’ve already gained some weight,” you told him. “And my boobs have gotten bigger.”

“Well, I wasn’t gonna say anything,” he teased. “I’m just enjoying the view.”

“I really should be offended by stuff like that, but I love how sexy you make me feel,” you said bluntly.

“I love when you tell me exactly what you’re thinking,” he returned.

“We do communicate well, huh?”

“That’s love, baby!” he cried, holding up his hand for a high five, which you happily gave him. “Whoo!”

He glanced at his phone again. “Oh Dexter and Allen chimed in,” he said. “Dex says, ‘Well done.’ Whatever that means. Allen says congrats.”

“Tell them thank you.”

You continued with dinner. You hummed to yourself as you went, soaking some already dirtied dishes before wiping your hands on your apron. You felt Joe’s eyes following you each way you moved. You smiled at him.

“What is it?” you wondered.

“I just love you so much,” he said. “I don’t want to leave again.”

“I don’t want you to go,” you returned. “But you have to. It’s your job.”

“There’s another thing I wanted to talk about,” he said. “After the movie’s all taken care of.”

“What is it?”

“I want you to move in with me,” he said. “I’m getting a new place in Brooklyn. I want you to move in with me so the baby will have a proper home to come to.”

You blinked. You hadn’t really thought about moving. You had lived with Christy your entire adult life. It felt so normal to have her around. Not to mention all the times she came through for you.

“What about Christy?” you decided to point out.

“What about her?” he replied. “I mean, at some point you two weren’t going to be roommates anymore. When you got married and all that. And she probably doesn’t want to live in a house with a baby.”

“Well, you’re forgetting one thing,” you said.

“What is it?”

“I love her.”

He chuckled. “I know you do, baby. And believe me, I’m glad she was here when everything happened with Nick. But I want to start our lives as a family. In our own place. And she can come and visit any time, I promise.”

You considered it. It was a big step to take in a relationship. But you looked down and thought about your child. What would be best for them? To grow up in a tiny apartment? Or a cozy house a little outside the city.

“We don’t have to go full on suburbia,” he said. “In fact, I’d prefer we didn’t. I’m saying it’s not like I’m asking you to move to Staten Island or anything.”

You giggled. “Joe,” you said, reaching over the counter to take his hand. “I’ll move in with you. Even if you did want to go to Staten Island.”

He brought your hand to his lips and kissed it gratefully. “You’re so good to me, Y/N.”

“Only because I love you,” you said.

You had dinner together and he told you some more about the house he’d found. He showed you the listing on his phone and you adored the pictures. It really was a beautiful home. You told him you couldn’t wait to see it in person. He promised to take you next time he was in town. He’d be leaving in the next week or so. But he’d back sooner, so you weren’t too sad to see him go.

On Joe’s last few days in town, you’d taken time off of work. When you returned, you knew you had to tell Don you were pregnant so you could ensure maternity leave after your delivery. You knocked softly on the door and he called you in.

“What’s up, Y/N?” he asked.

“There’s something I need to disclose to you, since you’re my boss,” you said.

“Very well then,” he said.

“Well, um, this is unexpected, but I’m pregnant,” you told him. “I’m due in February so that’s when I’ll be taking maternity leave. I’d like to go over those benefits with you again when you’ve got some time.”

Don just blinked at you, stunned. “Y-you’re pregnant?”

“That’s what I said.”

“And...Joe’s the father?”

You frowned. “No, actually, it’s Brad Pitt,” you said sarcastically. “Of course it’s Joe. Jesus, Don, what kind of girl do you take me for?”

“I didn’t take you for one to get knocked up,” he said.

“Are you doing that thing where you’re rude to me again?” you wondered. “Because it’s not cool, Don. That’s a pretty offensive thing to say.”

He shook his head. “Yeah, sorry. I’m just shocked is all.” He opened his desk drawer and searched around before grabbing a packet of papers and holding them out to you. “Here’s the benefits package. Look it over and if you’ve got any questions, just ask.”

“Will do,” you said.

“And, Y/N,” he said. “I am actually happy for you.”

“Thanks, Don,” you replied. “Are we becoming friends now?”

“I hope so,” he returned with a smile.

You smiled back and left, heading to your desk a littler happier.

The weeks went by, and your tummy bloated with the baby inside you. It began with a small bump, like you usually only got after Thanksgiving dinner. Joe was gone when you saw it, so, feeling brave, you took a photo in the mirror and sent it to him. He sent back about a thousand hearts.

You also began talking to the baby. According to the book you were reading, it could hear you, so you talked to it all the time. When you were hungry, you’d look down at your tummy and say, “What are you in the mood for, Baby? Chinese? Sounds good to me.” And you’d get yourself some take out.

When Joe and his castmates returned, they gushed over you. It felt more real now that you were showing a little. Joe was consistently rubbing it, even if it was absentmindedly. He just would rest his hand there during dinner or while you were watching a movie. It felt reassuring when he did so. Like a constant reminder of how much he loved and supported you.

“You look so beautiful,” he said one night as you lounged together.

“You certainly make me feel that way,” you told him.

“Good, I’m doing my job then,” he said.

You smiled and relaxed against him. His phone dinged on the coffee table.

“Who is it?” you wondered.

“It’s a text from Gwilym in the group chat,” he said, and you frowned at his expression.

“What did he say?” you asked.

“He told me to check my DMs on Instagram, but for Rami and Ben not to,” he explained, his brow furrowed. “I wonder what’s going on.”

“Do you mind if I look?” you asked.

He lowered the phone so you could both see the screen.

“Is your group chat really called ‘the band’?” you teased.

“Of course!”

You chuckled together as he opened up his Instagram app. When he checked his messages, the top one was from a weirdly anonymous looking account. The name was just random letters and numbers, and they had sent Joe some photos. He opened it and you felt like everything around you froze. There in his messages were the old photos of you that Nick had. They were vulgar and horrifying to see again. Your body went cold with fear and humiliation.

“What the fuck…” Joe muttered.

Your stomach lurched. You wanted to speak but were afraid you’d throw up.

“Oh my God,” you finally managed.

It came on quickly this time. Your heartbeat was so fast it actually pained your chest. Your hands were immediately numb. You couldn’t breathe. Tears came to your eyes, so large your vision was blurry until you blinked and they slid down your cheeks.

Another text popped up and it was from Ben in the chat. He said he’d already opened the message but closed it right away when he saw what they were and deleted it. Rami said he hadn’t opened it, but Lucy had gotten one too, and she told him to delete it without looking.

“Joe - uh - please, please, please,” you said. “Don’t look.” You cleared your throat. “Don’t look. I - ahem - I can’t…” you couldn’t form anymore words.

He promptly got out of the message, swiped it, and hit delete.

“How could this happen?” he wondered.

“I - I don’t know,” you said through deep breaths.

Joe wrapped his arms around you. You were shaking so violently, he had to hold you tight to keep you still. You’d never felt like this. Your chest felt so tight. Like you were having a heart attack or something. You couldn’t believe Joe had seen the pictures. And Ben, Gwilym, and Lucy as well, however briefly. Who else had gotten them? Who had sent them? Nick was supposed to be in jail until the court date next week.

You phone rang, buzzing loudly on the table. Joe picked it up. He showed you it was Christy. He answered and put it on speaker.

“Y/N is having a hard time, but she can hear you,” he said. “Did you get the pictures?”

“Yeah,” she said. “I did some research, too. On Nick’s Facebook. He’s out. His mom paid his bail. I’m willing to bet he created a fake account just to send these.”

You and Joe locked eyes.

“The timing is convenient,” Joe said. “The court date...”

“I know,” Christy agreed. “This is just a tactic to scare you, Y/N. He’s trying to make you back down.”

You had to admit it was working. You never wanted to leave your apartment. You wanted to crawl inside yourself and disappear. You detached yourself from Joe, feeling unworthy of him. He watched you curiously as you trembled on the couch, pulling your knees into your chest. You choked out a sob.

“I want to die,” you whimpered.

[lovelylogans]

where you lead, i will follow

previous chapter / chapter nine / next chapter

start from the beginning!

ao3 | read my other fics | coffee?

warnings: hospitals, needle/ivs, coughing, fever, sick stuff, pneumonia, arguing, classism, pregnancy scare (in a flashback), mentions of dysphoria, death mentions (only mentions, don’t worry!) please let me know if i’ve missed any!

pairings: moxiety, logince

word count: 22,124

notes: hoo boy this chapter was a DOOZY and i’m v curious to know how it’s gonna go over, so, fingers crossed y’all like it!

virgil hates hospitals. well, arguably, patton hates them more, he always hates going to the doctor even if it's just for a check-up, but the fact that patton is alone back there and delirious and in a place he's afraid of without anyone who knows him to comfort him kind of makes virgil want to put his fist through a wall, so he doesn't think about that, and instead he keeps pacing this stupidly tiny waiting room, clutching his hoodie, not even putting it on properly, because he'd given it to patton when he started shivering and shaking and succumbing to his chills and not breathing a word of complaint about the cold he must have been feeling and virgil had given him his hoodie and patton had sniffled and looked at virgil like he'd made everything okay, so he can't put it on until everything's okay again. right? (it makes sense to him.)

he keeps thinking about patton. not even worrying about him, though there's plenty of that, but memories keep flashing through his head, and it's almost unbearable, to think about patton happy and healthy when the memory of patton lying on his face in his dark house is right there and virgil left him, he left him—

("i've figured it out," patton says triumphantly. he's twenty-two, and virgil's twenty-eight, and logan's freshly six, on his way to the diner to meet with patton after school, when he'll decide if he wants to stay and do homework at virgil's or go with patton to the inn.

"figured out what?" virgil asks, amused despite himself, seeing how smug and satisfied with himself patton is right now.

"The Hugging Problem," patton says, and his grin grows wider. "i've figured it out."

ah, yes. The Hugging Problem. it had been discussed between virgil and patton so often that it warranted the capital letters. The Hugging Problem was that logan had decided he was a big boy now, and didn't need hugs or comfort, even when he was upset and clearly really, really needed a hug and some comfort.

"you did?" virgil says, intrigued despite himself. "how?"

patton taps his finger to his lips, grinning. "that'd be telling."

"patton," virgil whines, "you can't just tell me you have a solution to The Hugging Problem and not tell me what it is—"

"well, i can't just tell you the solution to The Hugging Problem," patton says conspiratorially. "i'll show you. when he needs it.")

"virgil!"

virgil pivots, then, to see logan, in an exquisite, bespoke, expensive suit, rushing toward him, face drawn and tight and worried.

"is he—?"

virgil's already shaking his head, crossing his arms tight over his stomach. "no news. they took him back there to run some tests, or get the fever down, or both, but—"

logan's nodding, and then brushing past him, immediately, to the welcome desk, staffed by a nurse or at least a someone in scrubs.

"excuse me," logan says, voice threaded through with a sense of authority that reminds virgil so strongly of the first time he met emily sanders that it sends a chill up his spine, "my father's been admitted here, patton sanders, would you happen to have any information on him, a room number, maybe, or what tests are being run on him?"

the nurse checks something, glances at virgil (who'd filled out patton's paperwork when they'd gotten there, and he knows all of patton's insurance info because virgil helped him set his up back in the day and virgil's been his emergency contact since that time patton thought he had appendicitis but it was really just a terrible stomach ache because he got food poisoning from al's pancake world) and nods.

"i'll have someone check on that for you," she says, in the tone that means maybe, eventually.

"do," logan says tightly, and comes back toward virgil. virgil reaches out and carefully squeezes his shoulder. for some reason, he feels like something is missing. he dismisses that thought, because the something is probably behind the doors he's forbidden to cross into, it’s the something that he just left behind and he can't—

"hey," he says, and squeezes again. "look at me."

logan looks him in the eyes—tormented and worried and anxious in a way a kid never really should have to be, ever.

"your dad's gonna be fine," he says, trying to make his voice sound gentle, but with some kind of authority.

"you can't know—" logan begins, adam's apple bobbing.

"logan," virgil says, holds both his shoulders now. "look at me. i'm saying that. me, who always thinks every worse scenario is one thousand percent guaranteed to happen. i am. and patton's gonna be okay."

logan takes in a shuddering breath. "but—you're panicking."

"i'm always panicking," virgil says softly. "and i'm panicking right now because we don't know what's going on, not because i think there's any chance of something happening to your dad."

logan surveys him for a few seconds, eyes sweeping up and down his face, staring into his eyes, and virgil's expression must present the answer he's looking for because he relaxes, just a little, slumping into virgil's touch, and virgil knows better than to pull him into a hug right now so he just compensates by squeezing his shoulders a little harder before letting go. logan's arms cross in front of his stomach, too.

"not because i think anything's—going to go wrong," logan says, haltingly, "but... dad has a will, doesn't he?"

"yes," virgil says cautiously.

logan licks his lips nervously, before he says, "if something—if dad didn't—look. i'd want my guardian to be you."

virgil's arms drop from where they're wrapped around his stomach, and he turns to face logan more fully, mouth hanging open in awe, just a little.

"it has to be you," logan says. "if something happens."

"nothing's happening."

"i know," logan says, and he sounds like he really does know it, the way he knows nellie bly had her pencil confiscated from her in blackwell's and was told she never brought one, the way he knows anne royall blackmailed president adams into an interview by catching him skinny-dipping, the way he knows the new york times printed, the day after the launch of the apollo 11, a retraction of an article about no rocket conceivably leaving the atmosphere and reaching the moon. just fact. "just... so you know."

virgil swallows past the sudden lump in his throat.

(—dead on his feet, even as patton pushes a mug of (plain) coffee into his hands, leaning against the counter.

"thanks for helping me with him," patton says wearily. "i love him, he's so smart, he just gets so... nervous. you know?"

"i know," virgil says dryly, and patton winces a little. virgil waves it off. "and you don't need to say thank you, anyway, not when it comes to helping logan. i'll always try and help him. i know he's yours but—" barely a pause, and then, a sleepless tumble of a confession—"i always thought he was a little mine, too."

patton doesn't take offense. he just smiles, a secretive little thing, and takes a sip of coffee.

"well," patton says. "of course he's a little yours. you're a little ours too, you know.")

"yeah," virgil croaks, and clears his throat. "yeah, okay."

"good," logan says stiffly.

"right, good," virgil echoes.

they'd probably stand there saying "good" "good" back and forth and back and forth until a nurse finally appeared to wave them back into patton's room if it wasn't for the burst of noise a good way down the hall.

"but why can't i see him?!"

"they're running some tests."

"well, we would like to meet this doctor who's testing him."

"you will."

"some strange man is working on our son, we have a right to meet this person!"

"you will."

"and i want to see the room you're going to put him in."

"you will."

"and stop saying 'you will,' put together a proper sentence, for god's sake!"

"ma'am, sir, please just wait here."

—and a harried nurse leads emily and richard sanders into the waiting room.

oh. great. just what he needs. patton's fucking parents.

(—patton's eighteen, virgil's nearly twenty-four, and logan's nearly two, and patton has given logan over for virgil to babysit for a while with a written list of instructions and a packed bag, and virgil's only a little terrified, partially because logan's never spent the night at virgil's before without patton there and partially because logan is pre-emptively putting the terrible in 'terrible twos' and partially because patton got his top surgery today and he's being looked after by his parents, and virgil certainly has some Opinions after hearing about the way patton was raised and the environment that surrounded him until he ran away to sideshire.

everything's going fine until virgil realizes that logan's favorite jupiter toy isn't in the bag.

he has seen the meltdowns logan has without that thing. he needs to get it. he can only really hope that the room's empty and he can go right in, go right out, and logan will be reunited with his toy and no one will be any the wiser.

fucking alas.

he walks into the room juggling logan and the duffle bag and the spare key maria gave him, because patton had panickedly rented a room rather than let his parents have any idea about him living in the poolhouse, only to walk in to two very finely-dressed people turning from the bed where patton's lying to see the door.

"papapapapapapapapapa," logan babbles happily as soon as he sees patton, reaching out and opening and closing his chubby little fists, as if to say to virgil hand me over immediately! and virgil can't help but smile a little at the sound of it. logan's been doing this thing lately where he adds thirty more syllables to a word than is necessary, if he's excited about it. it's real cute.

"who are you?" demands the woman suspiciously, the woman who must be patton's mother. patton looks nothing like her. or the tall man with the tie on, who must be patton's father.

"virgil danes," virgil bites out. "i'm babysitting logan, just need to grab a toy of his, so. i'll be right out of your hair."

"oh, well, that's not necessary," emily says briskly, walking forward and holding out her arms expectantly. "we can look after him."

without thinking, virgil shifts so that he's more clearly between her and logan, so that she would have to step around him to grab logan. her eyes narrow.

"yeah, well, patton told me to watch him," virgil says. "so i'm gonna watch him."

"papa," logan says, and tugs at virgil's hoodie. "virgil, papa."

virgil winces. "i know, kid, sorry. he's taking a nap right now, okay? we gotta be quiet. shhhh."

logan frowns at him. if there is one thing he doesn't like (the things logan doesn't like are very numerous) it's being told to be quiet. which is fair, really, virgil doesn't like it much either.

virgil spies the jupiter toy, half-hidden under the wardrobe, and goes over to grab it, handing it over to logan, who takes it with a pacified, cheery little babble and immediately sticks it into his mouth. god, virgil dreads the day a toy won't work as a distraction for him anymore.

"don't be ridiculous," emily tells him. "he's our grandson."

"no offense, lady," virgil says, "but you could be the queen of england. patton told me to watch him, so i'm gonna watch him. end of story. besides, patton's going to be a handful medicine-wise and i don't particularly trust you very much anyway."

"i beg your pardon?!" richard says, flabbergasted.

"consider it begged," virgil says. "and to be perfectly honest, knowing you're patton's parents doesn't endear me to you, like, at all, knowing what i know, so."

"how dare you," emily snarls.

"yeah, i'll dare, because your son is one of the best people i've ever met, and you don't seem to understand that whatsoever—")

virgil's violently yanked from his reverie when emily starts up, again.

"my great-uncle founded this hospital! his portrait is hanging in the lobby, go look, it's right above the sign that says 'founder!'"

"holy shit," virgil says, and quickly steps between emily and the nurse that she's harassing. "i'm so sorry about her, seriously, you're doing a great job and any news whatsoever would be appreciated, please ignore her."

the nurse spares a look for emily, gives him a grateful look, and they hurry off.

"ignore me?!" she fumes. "ignore me?!"

"yeah," virgil says, pivoting, "i know you're pretty good at ignoring any of your kid's boundaries, but you also seem to like flooring over them without any regard for his welfare, so i'm sure treating people like they're actual people instead of like they're scum beneath your shoe is gonna be a great big moral dilemma for you. i'd say i live in hope that you'll let people be on their own, but you seem to have a lot of trouble letting people exist on their own terms, so."

oh shit. okay, so, he's started it. fuck. patton's gonna hate that.

"how dare you speak to my wife in that way," richard begins indignantly, puffing himself up like a bullfrog.

"yeah, i got plenty for you too, buddy," virgil begins heatedly, but he sees a flash of a brand new, costly suit, and forces himself to fucking cool it, jesus christ, "but that's not helping right now, none of this is helping, i get that i snapped and i'm a hypocrite, my bad, but can we put aside tearing each other apart the way i know we all want to until we know what's wrong with patton?"

virgil punctuates it with a very significant glance toward logan, who was not old enough to retain and remember the first round of this particular throwdown. emily seethes, richard glowers, but they cluster off together, in their own little corner.

emily reaches to make logan a part of that, make it sanders family vs random diner outsider, but quicker than a flash and slicker than oil, logan slips from her grasp and goes to stand at virgil's side. sideshire vs grandparents.

and suddenly, virgil's brain catches up to where logan's made the logical leap. patton has a will. he must have outlined who logan's guardian or guardians would be in case of his untimely demise. and since patton asks him whenever he involves virgil in anything legal—being made an emergency contact, for example—and he'd definitely ask virgil before penning him down for something so significant without so much as virgil's say-so.

and if virgil wouldn't be logan's guardian...

"and for god's sake, don't harass them for doing their jobs," virgil can't help but tack on, and turns to look away from—them.

("—virgil, did you, um?"

"yeah?" virgil asks, struggling to hand over logan, the duffle bag, and patton's to-go order of hot cocoa/coffee without spilling or dropping anything or anyone. logan's really mostly squirming to get back to his dad, anyway, and patton quickly takes him before he can squirm himself straight to the ground.

"i just," patton says, and frowns, shifting logan so he's on his hip. "i thought you came over when i was recovering. i dunno, it was probably an anesthesia dream, or something."

it wasn't, virgil thinks, but, well. what good would that do? he dressed down patton's parents, they tried to dress him down back, patton had cracked his eyes open enough to, in his drugged haze, coo at logan, who bopped him softly on the nose with a closed, slobbery fist, before virgil booked it before the sanders' shouting could wake patton up permanently. what good would it do to tell him all that? he'd hate that he was being argued over, anyway. so virgil just makes sure that everything's all handed over and doesn't say anything about it.

"you recovered all okay, then?" virgil says.

patton puffs himself up proudly. "yep," he says happily. "all cleared to work and lift logan," he tilts the hip with logan on it, trying not to wince, as logan has started tugging his hair, "as long as i'm careful about it."

virgil smiles. "good."

"it is, isn't it?" patton says, looking down at his own chest, finally flat without any help from a binder, and virgil reaches out to clap his shoulder. logan takes the opportunity to start babbling for attention at virgil, tugging his hoodie sleeve, as if virgil hasn't been waiting on logan's every whim for the past three days.

"lookin' good, man," virgil says, sincere, and patton beams at him. it just solidifies the belief virgil's had since the first night he met him: that patton's parents don't deserve him.)

"patton sanders?" a nurse calls, and, identically, all four of them advance on him.

"we've gotten the fever down to a point where seizures are less of a concern, but he's still pretty out of it," the nurse says, brusque. "he's in a test room right now, but we'll take him to his room shortly. we've run an x-ray and we're waiting on those results and some culture results before we—"

"pneumonia," logan says hollowly. "you think it's pneumonia."

virgil hadn't known what any of it could be, hadn't even remotely thought to prepare himself for it, but it still hits him like a blow to the chest.

("—they could give you some medicine to keep that fever down," virgil says. "make sure it isn't anything worse."

"virgil," patton says patiently, "it isn't anything worse."

"how do you know?"

"because i just feel sick, not like i'm at death's door," patton says, and sneezes into his kleenex. "crummy but not crumbling—")

i am literally never listening to your refusals about going to a doctor to see if it's anything worse ever again, virgil thinks, half furious, half scared-out-of-his-mind. left him, you left him, something in his brain hisses at him, accusatory, he’d left patton and now he’s in the hospital with fucking pneumonia—

"it's the most likely result, but it hasn't been confirmed yet," the nurse says. logan sways a little.

"can we see him?" virgil asks, putting his hand on logan's shoulder again, trying to steady him.

"we're still running a test, but once that's done—"

"well, can we see his room, then?" emily says. 

the nurse gestures them forward, and virgil's about to follow when logan swivels to face him, eyes wild.

"i need to do something," he says.

"do what?" virgil says stupidly.

"i don't know, anything," logan says, clearly about .05 seconds from tearing his hair out. "get coffee or make phone calls or do something that isn't just—standing here."

"okay," virgil says, getting it, a little. logan's not exactly patient, virgil's known this for years, and logan's about as well-suited to fretting as he is to smiling and demurring during a debate (that is, not at all.) "okay, um—you got your phone?" 

logan nods.

"call some people at the inn and let them know that patton's gonna be out sick for a bit. after that, get some—" he nearly says coffee but he takes stock of himself and how fast his heart's racing and also remembers half of patton's favorite drink and can't, "—tea, peppermint, preferably. and then go get a paper."

logan's brow creases in confusion, and virgil tries for a smile.

"every morning at breakfast, your dad's been complaining you're not there to interpret current events for him," virgil explains. "he likes it when you do that. maybe get something with a comic section, he likes those."

logan breathes, shoulders slumping a little with the relief of a series of set tasks. "okay. got it."

"right," virgil says. "i'll text you the room number as soon as i've got it, okay?"

logan nods, and sets off at a brisk pace down the hall, woe betide anyone who gets in his way.

virgil picks up the pace so he can catch up, and spots the nurse, who bustles after him, looking even more harried. 

"where's...?"

"your in-laws are currently seeing to it that your husband gets the room with the good view," she says, and virgil shakes himself.

"oh, he's not my—"

then something catches up to him and he realizes that if they think he's patton's husband, he'll have the same family visiting rights as the rest of them.

"—uh, i mean, sorry. yeah. how long until they bring him back?"

"very soon," she promises. "i can appreciate that this is hard for you, sir."

you have no idea, virgil thinks, catching onto what kind of wrath emily sanders might bring down upon this hospital if she realizes that the nurses think her son's married to someone without the right pedigree or a summer house by the coast or an aspiring career as a senator or something. 

"thanks so much for all your hard work," virgil says instead.

emily sweeps down the hall, nearly bowling over some poor man on a gurney.

"we've secured him the room but those pillows are completely unacceptable," she declares. "i'm going to see if i can find him some down ones and some slippers, richard is ensuring the room stays private—" she frowns, as if realizing he's the sole member of her audience right now. "where's logan?"

"he wanted to be useful, so he's going to get his dad a paper and call some people," virgil says. "is patton in the room yet?"

"they're bringing him back very soon, which is an incredible indefinite timespan," emily says. "i'll be back."

off she goes, and virgil thinks down pillows?! with only a slight amount of hysteria. he turns back to the nurse. "which room?"

"202," she says, and he texts logan the room number on the way there, and—

oh, huh. it does have a nice view, all lit up at night like this. there's no bed in the room, though, which virgil thinks is kinda weird, and richard's standing silently at the window, which virgil thinks is also kinda weird.

virgil coughs awkwardly to announce his presence.

"oh," richard says, "it's you."

"uh, yeah," virgil says.

"emily went to get pillows."

"i ran into her on the way here," virgil says, and offers, "logan went to get some tea and a paper, i can text him if you want coffee, or something."

"oh," richard says. "thank you, but no. that won't be necessary."

("—dad wants to take logan to some kind of take-your-kid-to-work-day thing next week, so i'm guessing we'll probably be in here for an early breakfast before i drop him off."

virgil spins patton's plate so that his untouched pile of leafy greens is now directly in front of him. he hopes that logan's eating whatever balanced meal isadora prince has decided to cook up for her son and his new bestest friend without too much complaint.

"what, seven’s just the right age to be introduced to the thrilling world of the insurance business?"

"i guess," patton says with a shrug. "i dunno, dad's always been very—" he adopts a sterner facial expression. "go to work, come home, read the paper, go to bed kinda guy. whereas i, you know. snuck out the window as soon as he was distracted."

virgil hands patton his fork. patton rolls his eyes and obligingly stabs his salad.

"he lives his life the way he thinks he's supposed to," patton says. "worked hard, bought a nice house, provided for my mom. very by-the-numbers guy and i've never been good at numbers. think it gave him the shock of a lifetime that i ended up, well. the way i am."

"but you get along with him better than your mom?"

"dad's disapproval tends to be a lot less shouty than mom's," patton says, with a little sigh. "but yeah, i guess i get along with him better than i get along with my mom.")

"your meatloaf was quite good."

virgil startles, grabbing for the hoodie he's tied around his waist like it's falling to cover for it.

"oh," virgil says, remembering logan's phone call that feels like a century ago. back when patton was healthy enough to pop by the diner and he was conscious and before virgil left him alone when he was sick. "um. thanks. i guess."

richard peers at him. "i know we've met before all this, but i can't quite recall when."

"uh," virgil says. "i mean, i egged your car."

("—oh. it's you."

virgil's spine stiffens, and he turns from where he's been handing over a coffee at the stall of the town-wide easter festival.

"yep," virgil says to emily and richard fucking sanders, who have parked their very fancy car right over there and have decided to come to his stall. "it's me. is there a particular reason you're here, or...?"

she sniffs. "patton said to meet him and logan by the gazebo." she gestures to the gazebo, just to the right of his stall, where the railings are lined with pastel wicker baskets of fresh-painted eggs are waiting to be hidden for all the kiddos to run after and hunt.

"right," virgil says. "well. i've got work to do, so."

"we can wait," richard says.

they wait for about a minute.

"so, you're still acquaintances with my son," emily says, and virgil scoffs without meaning to.

"if you mean we're best friends, sure," virgil says, stacking cups and wondering if he should send one of the part-timers back to the diner to get some more. "then i'm acquaintances with your son."

"don't you think that logan should have a," richard says, casts a discerning eye over virgil's stall, "a better role model?"

virgil, calmly, sets down his cups, and says, "what do you mean by that?"

"well, it's all well and good he comes by the diner sometimes," richard says. "but don't you think he, well."

"don't i think he what?" virgil asks, interlocking his fingers and calmly, calmly presses outward, cracking his knuckles.

"don't you think you might influence him to a, well," he says, "substandard way of life."

virgil's blood's roaring in his ears. "substandard," he repeats.

"well, patton's has done an all right job with him so far, but logan certainly has enough negative influence on that side of things," richard says.

"what, you think patton is a bad influence?" virgil asks disbelievingly.

"when it comes to certain delinquent behaviors, yes," richard says. "he has a history."

delinquent. virgil wants to grab him by his fancy bowtie and yank him close and and choke him, how could he possibly think that patton, whose idea of a fun past-time is walking rescue dogs at the local shelter, is a bad influence?

"so," virgil says, "let's get one thing straight. you know nothing about me, and you know nothing about the influence that patton has on logan, because logan's a good kid and patton is a good man."

virgil's eyes slide to the nearest pastel basket. almost as an afterthought, he snags the handle, which has a pretty ribbon woven around it.

"but you know what? you think i'm some kind of devil on logan's shoulder, pushing him to become a delinquent? i can show you fucking delinquent."

before he can even think, he has two of the eggs in his hands, and with an aim he didn't know he possessed, he lobs them both straight for their fancy, fancy car.

they smack and shatter against the windshield with a satisfying thwack. they aren't quite as messy as regular eggs, being hardboiled, but the paint smears, and the egg remnants litter the trunk of his car, and virgil can't help but laugh at the looks on their faces, and he grabs another egg and throws, and again, and again—

"cool!" logan shouts, from where he's emerged from the prince studio, roman in tow, and patton stares, slack-jawed, and it startles emily into wailing into action.

"richard—richard, stop him, richard—!")

"oh," richard says. "oh, dear me."

virgil's not sure what richard's going to say—i'll send you an old receipt for the cleaning, how did such a delinquent continue to be friends with my son, what kind of example are you setting for my grandson—when the door opens, and there's a rattle of wheels, and—

and there he is. there's patton.

the absence of a bed makes sense now, because they're wheeling him in on one—he's all tucked into too-white, too-starched sheets, with a feeble little blue fleecey thing tossed over the top. he's wearing one of those hospital shirts with the blue dots, and he has on an oxygen mask and an iv and one of those things that clamps down on his pointer finger, and he's—

"is he okay?"

virgil's somehow right beside the orderly, staring down at patton's face. when had he moved?

"he's out of it, right now," the orderly says patiently, "he'll be groggy when he wakes up."

"when's that going to happen?" virgil asks, voice a bit too high-pitched. "the tests? did the tests end up—?"

"the doctor's going to have to tell you that, i'm just the transport guy," the orderly demurs, parking patton's bed and checking on his iv and god, patton looks so pale, so small, the bags under eyes massive, his skin too pale for comfort with the only exception being the flush of his fever high in his cheeks, sweating, his his curls tousled and somehow flatter than usual.

"when's the doctor coming?" virgil asks, digging his fingernails into the hoodie at his waist to keep himself from reaching out and touching patton, from getting in the orderly's way.

"i'm not sure, but she'll come right to the room when she gets here," the orderly says, and, with one last check of patton's vitals, he's off, and virgil—

"i'm going to go find emily and logan and tell them he's here," richard says, and virgil just barely manages to tear his eyes away from patton's face to look at him.

richard looks—faint, he guesses, would be the right word. pale and unsettled and spooked, generally. virgil guesses he understands—if he had to see logan or roman in a hospital bed, he'd be pretty spooked, too.

and not in the way he likes to be spooked. not in the fun halloween way of spooking. the genuinely really fucking scary kind of spooked.

"right," virgil says, and turns back to patton's bed, staring at him. he wants to push his hair back. he wants to hold his hand. he wants—

"i'll, um, i'll be here."

you weren’t, the voice in his head rumbles, you weren’t here, you weren’t here, now look at him—

(and now we hit rewind to see what logan has been doing in the hospital. in a tv show this would be cut scenes, but this is a fic, so. you're getting it in a big chunk.)

logan, meanwhile, has skulked the halls of the hospital. he has been successful finding various newspapers with a funnies section (six separate editions, actually) and successful in finding virgil's tea, but it's—

well, it's the phone calls that are giving him trouble.

see, first he called michel, who's the... you know what, logan's not fully sure what michel does at the inn, he just knows that he's the one who presents dour disapproval to any troublemaking clients and employees who aren't quite up to snuff. he's the bad cop to patton's good cop. michel, unsurprisingly, does not answer. logan really doesn't know what he expected.

then he calls sookie st. james, who's the chef at the inn, and waits impatiently for her glad tidings of a good holiday and at her "how's it going?" he says "dad's in the hospital with pneumonia," and then he has to try to comfort her, which is... something he's Not Good At.

then he calls drella, the harpist, for most of the reason that drella is the only person at the inn scarier than michel, and somehow michel picks up her phone, which is something he doesn't want to contemplate, so he hangs up immediately.

and then...

"you've reached roman prince. i'm so very sorry that you're going to have to settle for my recorded dulcet tones, but leave a message and you'll get the live rendition soon."

"um, hey," logan says, wincing at the sound of his own voice. "i know that you're—that you're probably at the first show of the nutcracker. i nearly forgot that it's still thanksgiving. good luck on all that, by the way, not that you need it, i'm sure you're doing wonderfully. or, well, by the time you listen to this, i'm sure you did wonderfully, but, um, i—"

he takes in a deep breath, glances around to ensure the hallway behind him is still empty, and presses his forehead against the wall.

"dad's in the hospital," he says, and his voice wobbles, just a bit. "i—my dad's in the hospital, roman. they think it's pneumonia. virgil found him on the floor and he couldn't breathe and i just—" he forces himself to breathe.

"i just—dad's going to be back at the room any minute, but i haven't seen him, and i just. can't. so i'm calling people as an excuse not to. which is—foolish. i'm going to have to see him eventually. he'd be confused and upset if i just refused to see him. and it's foolish that i'm leaving you such a long message at all, but i just... i don't know. i don't know, roman."

i don't know what's happening, he doesn't say. i don't know what happened to him, it was a cold, i don't know what happened when he was unconscious, i don't know how he's going to recover, i didn't know until virgil called me, how could i have possibly not known?!

i need my best friend, he doesn't say. i need you. i want to hear your voice. 

what he does say is, "but, um. call me back, whenever you can? you can tell me all about the performance, and i... i don't know what i'll do."

i don't know what i'm doing right now, he thinks to himself in a kind of hiss. what benefit can come from this?!

"sorry," he blurts out. "i'm—apologies. i know you can't do anything about it. i—i'm going to hang up now. bye."

logan removes his head from the wall, "accidentally" spills virgil's tea, and goes to find him a new cup. as well as a snack. and maybe another newspaper.

just. just to be prepared.

(and now we're back to a hospital room where virgil's dragged a chair by patton's bedside, and sits hunched over and staring and worrying the sleeve of his still unworn hoodie between the fingers of one hand and holding patton's hand in the other, pressed against virgil's chest, and he waits and waits and waits to see if he'll wake up. patton doesn't do much more than wrinkle his nose and make soft snuffling noises in his sleep and try to knock off his oxygen mask.)

there's the sound of footsteps behind him, and virgil doesn't turn to look.

"has the doctor come yet?" richard asks.

"no, not yet," virgil says, squeezing patton's hand. they've never actually held hands before, he doesn't think. he wishes this was happening under a different circumstance. it's kind of funny and kind of terrible, when he thinks about how he's known patton for sixteen goddamn years and has only ever held his hand once. 

"richard, i've gotten joshua on the way," emily says, and then they fall into talking about joshua, who is—god, virgil doesn't know, some kind of family doctor or physician or something, but if this joshua dude is going to be able to help patton virgil is absolutely ten thousand percent for joshua getting here, go joshua, go rich people stuff, as long as patton recovers as quickly and painlessly as possible.

patton has fluid in his lungs right now. or something. virgil's not super clear on what pneumonia actually does, but he's pretty sure fluid in the lungs is part of it, and he does not want that for patton. he doesn’t want patton to be here, in a hospital bed, right now. he wants a time machine to be able to go back and slap himself for leaving patton when he was so clearly sick. 

virgil's fully resigned to whatever rich people nonsense has gotta happen for that to no longer be anything close to what's going on with patton's health. god, virgil should really learn more about this. which—

virgil turns enough to see patton's parents. emily has set two pillows on a counter, but they're standing close next to each other, still in their holiday best, and virgil feels absurdly out of place in his jeans and t-shirt and abandoned hoodie. he asks, "have either of you seen logan?"

they exchange looks—one of those Married Couple looks that is so clearly a conversation that no one else in the room can understand—and richard says, "i believe he was going to find some more newspapers."

something in virgil's brain wars with leaving patton alone with these people, the way it did fourteen years ago, or leaving him at all, when the last time virgil left him it turned out like this, but the same thing wins out that won then. the same someone, really. 

he clears his throat, getting to his feet. he squeezes patton's hand, hard, before carefully lying it back down on the mattress.

"i'll get him," virgil says. "just—let me know if there's any change. text logan or something."

"right," emily says, and virgil walks out of the room, trying his hardest not to glance back at him over his shoulder.

he doesn't succeed.

...

patton's nose. has something. on it. he snuffles experimentally and when that doesn't move it, he reaches to move it himself.

"oh, for heaven's sake," a familiar voice tuts, and a hand closes around his wrist. 

patton blinks, and narrows his eyes. ugh, it's so bright. 

wait. it definitely hadn't been bright the last place he'd been. he'd been... home. hadn't he? he'd been home. he'd been hot and it had hurt and he'd wanted hot chocolate and he'd been home. and he's not now. so where is he? 

he tunes in with the rest of his body, then. head like a bowling ball, chest like a whole rack of bowling balls is resting on it, thoughts... for some reason not really able to keep a thread. or keeping too much of a thread. bowling balls. weird. he's so sweaty and uncomfortable that he figures he'll give himself a bit of a pass on making much sense, though. it's probably the cold medicine. oh, a cold shower sounded wonderful, get him all nice and cooled down and get rid of all this sweat and—

ugh, he's so... icky.

"oh," the voice says, startled, "oh, richard, he's waking up!"

and patton swivels his head a little to squint at where his mother is standing, his father bustling in to stand beside her.

"where?" patton rasps at his parents, and his mother sits on the edge of his bed, wide-eyed.

"you're at st. luke's," his mother says. "joshua's on his way, so is the doctor here, and dr. reynolds, you remember her."

gosh, joshua plus dr. reynolds plus the hospital for a cough? that seems kinda excessive.

"mkay," patton murmurs, and closes his eyes again.

"patton, do you think you can lift your head at all?" his mother asks. "i found you some decent pillows. they're not down, but they at least give a little."

ooh, pillows. patton likes pillows. virgil keeps joking that he collects them. virgil doesn't understand interior design. they give pops of color.

there's a cool, moisturized hand at the nape of his neck, though, urging him up, and ouch that rack of bowling balls on his chest, before he's settled back onto the nice new cool pillow.

"better, yes?" his mother asks, and patton hums sleepily. he's ready to go back to sleep. sleep sounds awesome.

"and one more time."

ouch oh ooh nice.

"now if we could just find you some different sheets," his mom says.

oh. these sheets are kinda nice, though. a bit stiff but not bad. he doesn't wanna move. and if she gets him new sheets he's gonna have to move.

"s'okay, mom," patton murmurs.

"maybe you could get dava to bring some from home," his dad suggests.

"s'really okay," patton says. 

"oh, of course," emily says. "why didn't i think of that?"

"don't need new sheets," patton tries to insist.

"they're completely unacceptable," emily says.

oh, now she's done it, patton's gotta open his eyes now.

"the sheets are fine," patton says, a little louder, or he tries to, because he breaks down into coughs when he says fine, harsh and loud, and patton tries to sit up or curl on his side but that same cool hand's at his shoulder, fluttering nervously, before he sucks in a breath and there's that pain in his chest that's been there for the past—however long?—and patton tries to catch his breath.

"—call button must be broken or something—"

"m'okay," patton wheezes.

"don't be ridiculous," richard says.

"i'm not," patton says. "m'an adult, i can handle it."

"it's the fever talking," emily says. "they really don't have that down, whatever that nurse said, feel how warm he is."

a different but still-cool hand, dry and wrinkled, rests on his forehead.

"i don't have a fever," patton sulks.

"you were at risk for seizures," his father says.

sounds fake, but okay.

"i really am okay," patton murmurs, eyes slipping shut again.

"no," emily tells him. "no, you are not."

"i'm fine," patton says, and yawns. "you can go home, you don't have to deal with me anymore."

there's a silence but it doesn't feel like the end of a conversation. patton doesn't wanna open his eyes again, though. he's so tired. but he can't go to sleep yet. but he really wants to. so he'll just let his eyelids rest. that'll work. right? he'll just keep his eyes nice and closed and explain it and they can get on home. 

"fine?" his mother repeats, strangled.

"it's just a cold," patton mumbles.

she sighs, irritated. "patton—"

"know we fought last week," patton says, trying to talk as loud as he can without risking a cough, or without having to breathe too deep. "and m'sorry i made life so hard on you then, n'm'sorry i'm such a disappointment, an' i'm'sorry i took logan away, an'—"

"oh, patton, hush," his mother says, sounding a little strange. "it's hardly the time for all—"

"and i'm sorry, okay," patton insists, cracking his eyes open, because that's important, "m'sorry i can't fix it. but m'an adult now and i can handle things and stuff. so you don't gotta stay jus' for a cold."

"young man, you have pneumonia," his father says gruffly.

"oh," patton says, startled. "do i?"

"well, we're waiting for the doctor to confirm it."

"oh," patton repeats, quiet. pneumonia. that's not good. that's always the illness that kills people in old timey books. that's the illness that they always look out for when things go bad for old people. that's... that sounds serious. really serious.

that's scary.

"patton?" his mother asks, sounding slightly alarmed, and patton tries to inhale a shaky breath, and then another one. he might be panicking, he thinks. 

"i—" he swallows, hard, and says, "is logan okay?"

"what?" she asks, distracted. "yes, of course. he's getting some newspapers and some tea."

"are you sure?" he asks, because logan has to be okay—logan has to be okay. logan's got to be taken care of, he has to be okay.

"yes, of course i'm sure," she says.

"you have to make sure he's going to be okay," he insists.

"he's fine."

"logan's—logan always acts fine, that's his default state," patton says. "but he always hides his emotions. so he'll always get snappy, and sometimes you just have to let him let off steam, and sometimes you kind of have to poke him into it, but after he rants for a while it helps calm him down enough that he can talk about what's really bothering him and—"

"patton," she says, awkwardly, a little helplessly, and patton swallows hard.

"he always overworks himself," he tells her intently. "so you gotta lure him out with new books, or an opportunity to shred the courant or just a newspaper or a publication in general, or a trip to a planetarium or a museum, preferably a science one but if he goes with roman he likes art ones too, or you gotta sit him down with a crofter's jam sandwich and tell him to take a break, because he always ignores it if he needs a break, because he thinks he's a lean mean study machine who doesn't need to do fun things, but he does, because he's—"

"patton, you don't need to tell us all this—" his father tries to intercede.

he ignores him. they need to know these things about him, in case patton isn't in a place to take care of him, they need to be able to take care of him. 

"—i know that you know logan pretty well, especially over the past couple months, but i think that virgil's the best source on all things logan, especially if he's ever confusing or if he's moping or needs anything, so if you're ever lost, and i know you've had your differences, but virgil knows logan just about better than anyone else, except me, and virgil's always happy to help logan, and sometimes logan just needs to talk to someone who isn't related to him so he'll usually go to virgil or roman and that's a-okay, because they're his best friends, and you have to make sure that he gets to stay in contact with them because i never ever want logan to feel lonely or unloved, never ever ever, and if i die—"

"patton, stop!" she snaps, and patton shuts his mouth, immediate, shrinking into his pillows as she looms over his bed.

"now," she says, "there may be many things happening in this hospital tonight, but your dying is not one of them, am i clear?!"

"i—"

"no!" she snarls. "i did not sign onto your dying when i became your mother, so it is not going to happen. not tonight, not for a very long time. i demand to go first. of all the things you have done to us, you will not put us through burying you first, do i make myself clear?"

patton stares up at his mom, and oh. oh, this isn't just scary for him. this is scary for all of them. and patton freaking out isn't helping things.

"okay," he says, very quiet. "okay, mom. i promise i won't die."

she nods, swallows. "good."

patton reaches over and, hesitantly, takes her hand. her free hand flutters up to her mouth, and his mom looks like she's about to cry, and patton squeezes a little, and closes his eyes. things drop off and go a little dark and blurry around the edges before everything goes dark and blurry and—

...

this hospital is a maze, but it doesn't take him nearly as long as he thought it would to find a mostly-empty hall containing just who he's looking for.

"hey," virgil says, coming to a stop next to him, and logan shudders out of whatever train of thought he'd locked himself into.

"hi," logan says, and passes over a to-go cup. "tea. peppermint, even. i found some newspapers and i called sookie. well, i called michel too, but he didn't answer, and then i called drella, and then michel answered. did you know that was—?"

virgil's already reflexively pulling a face.

"thought not," logan murmurs. not quite as smugly as he might be on a normal day after figuring out some kind of secret.

"okay," virgil says. "well, thanks. they brought your dad back and a doctor's due at any minute."

logan nods. virgil hesitates, before he fiddles with the little heat-protecting cardboard ring on the cup for something to do with his hands.

("—hate doctors, hate them, hate them, hate them," patton says, pulling a face.

"i'm the one going to a doctor," eight-year-old logan eludicates. "and it's just a check-up."

"and i have hated going to all of your check-ups since the time you were born," patton says, ruffling his hair.

"he has," virgil says dryly. "i've heard this series of complaints since your six-week check-up. eat your eggs." 

"tell him he could just wait in the waiting room," logan says, but he spears some eggs on his fork anyway. "i keep telling him to stay in the waiting room."

patton looks aghast. "and miss any health updates?!"

"but you hate the doctor," logan says. "wouldn't it be better if you just... didn't? since all of that scares you?"

"me being scared isn't the point," patton says. "it's about me being there for you."

"you don't need to be," logan says.

"yeah, but i want to be," patton says. "that's what a dad does—")

"you can't avoid going in the room forever," he says gently, and logan rears back.

"i'm not," he says.

"it's okay to be a bit freaked out right now—"

"i'm not."

"logan," virgil says, keeping his voice gentle and soft and calm. 

logan slumps. just a little.

"thank you for getting tea and making those calls and getting all those newspapers," virgil says, making his voice keep the same tone. "but your dad's in the room now and the doctor's due any minute. i know it'll probably make you feel a bit more at ease to hear what's going on. right?"

logan hesitates, before he nods.

"okay," virgil says. "so. if you really really want, you can wait outside the room until the doctor gets here. we just want to know where you are."

logan nods, and then he follows virgil back, where he comes to a stop just by the door.

("—not scared," twelve-year-old logan sulks at the counter of the diner. "honestly. me, scared."

"well," virgil says, leaning forward on his elbows, "it'd be okay if you were scared of snakes, you know."

"roman's not scared of snakes," he says. "it's not about me being scared, anyway, it's about—"

"why are we talking about snakes?" patton asks, sitting back down in his counter chair.

"tell your son it's okay to be afraid of snakes," virgil says.

"it's not about me being scared, which i'm not," logan says. "i just don't want to hold a massive boa constrictor on the field trip."

"and no one can make you do anything you don't want to do," patton says firmly. "if a teacher bugs you about it at the zoo tomorrow, you tell them i said that—")

"you sure?" virgil checks, and logan only holds out a pile of newspapers for virgil to take in.

he sighs but takes them and goes in, to where emily is sitting on the bed and caressing back patton's hair with—

it shouldn't shock virgil that she's doing it with maternal fondness. patton is her son, after all, but after all these years of seeing their fighting and patton falling apart after each of them, it feels like... virgil doesn't know. it feels like she should be just as stern and cold now as virgil knows she can be.

"he woke up," richard says, and virgil's eyes snap to him, and to the now-definitely-unconscious patton. "just for a little while."

"was he—" virgil struggles to find words. of course something happened when virgil left. of course. but at least this one seems to be a good thing.

"not quite lucid," richard says.

"a bit more lucid than we'd like him to be, you mean," emily says archly, and turns to frown at virgil. "where's logan?"

"just outside," virgil says. "keeping an eye out for the—"

"—but he's going to be here for how long?" logan asks a doctor who comes in with a short little man in a suit, and virgil can't help but take a step closer. 

"well," the doctor says to the room at large. "the cultures we took and his chest x-ray came back, and i'm afraid that it is pneumonia. he'll have to stay at the hospital for a couple days to ensure that fever stays down and to get him started on some antibiotics."

"how long?" logan repeats.

"difficult to say at this point," she says. "two or three days, at least, maybe longer if it's necessary. but," she says, and turns to virgil. "i believe you managed to catch him before his condition could have gotten much worse. you certainly brought him in before the fever could do any permanent damage."

virgil does not feel like this is particularly praise-worthy. it had mostly just been a terrifying experience. if virgil hadn’t left patton never would have gotten to this state at all.

"but he'll be just fine," the doctor says. "i'm sure it was a bit of a scare, but once he gets started on antibiotics, he'll be okay."

it's like the whole room breathes a sigh of relief.

"now," the doctor says, "i hear he woke up?"

"a little while ago," emily says, and moves aside a little so the doctor can get a closer look at patton. "he went right back to sleep, though."

"that'll be common," she says. "he'll be in and out of sleep, at varying levels of lucidity—"

virgil sees the flash of a bespoke, expensive suit jacket flutter around the door frame.

("—logan," virgil gasps, and scoops him up into his arms. "oh, my god, we were worried sick about you, you can't just run off like that, buddy—"

logan blinks too-big, watery three-year-old eyes up at him, clutching at virgil's shirt contentedly. "didn't run off."

"yeah, okay, nice try, kid," virgil says, trying to hug him close without looking like he was hugging him close. god, that had been the most terrifying five minutes of his whole life. "when we tell you to stay somewhere and you do not stay in that somewhere, that's running off."

"didn't," logan insists, kicking his bare feet. "i was following—"

"logan!" patton shout-sobs, and rushes over, and before virgil can even make a move to hand him over patton crashes into them both, hugging logan between their bodies, hugging virgil by extension, and—

"oh, my god, honey, you can't do that," patton says, semi-hysterically, pushing logan's hair back from his forehead so he could lean in and kiss him on the forehead. "i was so scared something happened to you, you can't just run away like that!"

"didn't!" logan insists again. "i was following a star bug!"

"star bug?" virgil mouths at patton.

"logan," patton says, high-pitched, "if you want to go follow the fireflies, you gotta tell one of us, okay? something could have happened to you!"

"nothing woulda happened," logan says, and, with all the belief of a three-year-old, "virgil was lookin' after me, i was okay the whole time."

patton lets out a sigh, one of the we're not done talking about this but i'll accept it for now ones, and presses his lips against logan's head again, looking up at virgil as he did, and virgil tries to pretend like logan's absolute faith in him hasn't moved him to the core—)

logan's slumped against a wall, hand over his eyes.

"hey," virgil says, soft, and logan sniffs, standing up straight, trying to pretend like he wasn't five seconds from starting to cry.

"so, um, he's gonna be okay."

"yeah," logan says, and swallows hard, fiddling with his fancy new suit coat.

"they're gonna keep him for a couple days, but he's gonna be fine."

"yeah," logan repeats.

an idea occurs to virgil. a really fucking stupid idea.

("—you might have to see The Hugging Solution put into action today," patton says grimly.

"oh, god," virgil says, freezing and turning from where he's wiping down one of the booth tables. "what happened?!"

"apparently logan found out about the library of alexandria today at school," patton says, "and mrs. donnely called to tell me logan was really upset about it."

"how does a six-year-old even find out about—?!"

"picture book, i guess," patton says with a helpless little shrug. "but, just—play along, okay?"

"uh, okay?" virgil says, but then the door opens and a familiar tiny boy sulks his way to the booth, lip trapped under teeth, probably to keep it from trembling, and eyes watery.

another familiar tiny boy has followed after him, loyally toting two pairs of backpacks.

"hello, mister prince," virgil says, snatching both backpacks and setting them by patton in the booth, where—patton has slumped over, and he lets out an overexaggerated, sad sigh, staring forlornly at the grilled cheese he'd been eagerly eating thirty seconds ago.

"i'm supposta go home," roman says, "but logan was really sad boutta book so i decided to walk him here!"

"well, that's really nice of you," virgil says seriously. 

roman puffs up his small chest. "m'bein—shiv-all—shiv-all-rus!"

"wow," virgil says, trying not to laugh. "that's really cool of you, roman. do you want an after-school snack?"

"please!" roman sings, and patton helps lift him into the booth so he's opposite logan, and then sits back down with another long, sad sigh.

"how about you, logan?" virgil asks.

"no," logan sulks in the corner.

"not even a crofter's sandwich?" virgil cajoles.

logan wavers.

"tell you what," virgil says. "i'll make one for you, and one for roman, and if you decide you don't want it, i can send it home with your dad for later, yeah?"

"...fine," logan says, arms crossed, still staring at the wall. patton, mimicking him, crosses his arms and stares at the wall, too.

"i'll let your mom know you're on the way in a bit, roman," virgil says, and reaches out to ruffle his hair mostly because of the tiny squawk of indignation when he does.

by the time virgil comes out with two plates of crofter's sandwiches, patton has progressed to sniffling with his head down on the table, roman petting his hair, and logan looking grudgingly curious from where he's still sitting with his arms crossed.

"okay, i've got two crofter's sandwiches here," virgil starts, but roman looks up at him.

"leave us alone, can't you see he's having a day," roman scolds.

"where'd you learn that?" virgil says, bemused, and roman grins.

"mrs. torres," he says—one of the old women who frequents the studio for sunrise yoga. "did i do it right?"

"you'd do her proud," virgil says, and remembers patton's play along, and pats patton's hair, too. "i know. he's been very sad since he got here."

logan's arms loosen. just a little. "he has?"

"he has," virgil confirms, somber as the grave. 

"oh," logan says.

"mr. patton," roman says, still petting his hair, "is there anything we can do?"

"oh," patton says, and affects a mopey look on his face when he lifts his head from his arms. "well... mayy-be. but i don't know if you three would want to."

"we'll do it!" roman declares immediately.

patton sighs, and shakes his head.

"i dunno, it might be a little silly."

"well," virgil says, a little louder, conscious of how logan's staring, "i think a little silly's okay, if it makes you not as sad."

patton nods, and slides out of the booth.

"virgil," he says, and spreads his arms. "can i have a hug? to make me feel better?"

all at once, patton's plan coalesces in virgil's head.

"oh, yeah, sure thing," virgil says, when he realizes he hesitated a moment too long. he opens his arms. "get in here."

patton steps forward, and virgil wraps his arms around him, a little awkwardly—but patton's warm and soft and he fits neatly against virgil, and he smells nice, so it's not like it's the worst hug he's ever gotten. pretty far from it, actually.

he steps back, and pats patton on the shoulder, for good measure.

"did that help?" virgil asks.

"i think so," patton says, and turns. "i might need another—"

patton is very nearly tackled to the floor by a pint-sized blur of white and red and gold.

"isthishelpingmisterpatton?!" roman demands, and patton lets out a little "oof, gosh, you're so strong!"

roman squeezes patton harder, as if squeezing hard enough will get rid of all the sadness in the world.

patton pats him on the shoulder, and says, "that was very helpful, thank you. you should eat your crofter's as a reward."

"okay!" roman says brightly, and clambers back up into the booth.

patton crouches in front of the booth where logan's dropped his crossed arms at last, but is biting his lip even more ferociously.

"can i have a hug?" patton asks him gently.

"you've gotten two," logan sniffs.

"yeah, but i haven't gotten any from my favorite son, yet."

"i'm your only son."

"that too," patton says, and spreads his arms. "so? i'm feeling very upset, and i'd really like it if you gave me a hug right now."

logan hesitates, eyes darting to where roman is stuffing his face and to where virgil is standing. "this is a hug for you," he declares imperiously.

"of course it is," patton says, and as soon as he says it, logan squirms off the booth and straight into patton's arms, wrapping his arms tight around patton's neck and burying his face into patton's shoulder.

"hey, there we go," patton murmurs, shifting a little, and when he's sure roman isn't looking, he winks at virgil, who suppresses his smile the best he can and—)

so it's a stupid idea, but it's the only one he has.

virgil heaves a sigh, and resigns himself to looking like an idiot.

"i'm feeling very upset," virgil says stiffly, and lifts his arms a little. "i'd really like it if someone gave me a hug right now."

logan sends him the world's most withering glare. the effect is slightly spoiled by the way he sniffs, smears his hand under his nose, and looks away.

"i'm not six anymore," logan says, and redirects his glare at virgil. "that won't work on me."

"look, kid, this hug isn't for your benefit," virgil says, lying through his goddamn teeth. "i have had a hard day. i had a big family gathering and then i had to drive home for hours and then i found your dad unconscious on the ground and had to bring him to the hospital, plus i've had to deal with your grandparents. so."

he lifts his arms higher. "i am upset. i would like a hug."

"you're way worse at this than dad is," logan says.

"yeah, i know," virgil says, "you know one way to put us both out of this misery?"

"are you seriously trying to embarrass me into hugging you?"

"i can keep going," virgil bluffs immediately, even though logan knows full well about this social anxiety. 

logan sighs, loudly. "fine," he grumbles. "fine, if it'll get you to stop."

so virgil steps forward and wraps his arms around the kid, heart panging—when did he get so big? virgil used to be able to practically hold him in one arm, just the space between his hand and his elbow. and now there's this young man, all gawky and gangly and still growing somehow, it's like he looked down and looked up and there he was, sixteen years flown by, except not really, because time was long, but also kind of really? being a parent person who watches a kid grows up is confusing.

he keeps rubbing a hand up and down logan's back, the way patton does when he hugs people. he's picked up a lot of things from patton, over the years. he couldn't say how many.

"he's going to be fine," logan says, and oh, god, his voice wobbles. 

"i know," virgil whispers, and keeps rubbing a hand up and down his back. "hey, i know. i promised he would be, and now we know for a fact he is, right?"

"right," logan says, and sniffs, loudly, and virgil holds onto him tighter.

"it's okay," virgil murmurs. "it's okay, logan. it's okay."

it's okay, it's okay, it's okay, virgil says, choking up himself, vision blurry and then failing as he gives in to the hectic emotion of this whole day, but he keeps talking to logan, and he keeps saying it’s okay, logan, it’s okay and loses track of the amount of times he says it, it's okay, logan, and logan's shoulders shudder and virgil feels his shirt soak through. 

"it's okay," virgil murmurs, sniffs, and keeps running his hand across logan's back. "there we go, l, it's okay."

"don't tell him," logan sobs into his shirt.

"oh, hey, i'd never," virgil says, as soft and comforting as he can. "patton can't know that we both lost it when he was out of the picture for one second, so it's our secret, yeah?"

"yeah," logan gasps, and draws back, smearing a sleeve under his nose, sniffing one last time. "yeah. our secret."

"okay," virgil says, and reaches forward with both hands to frame logan's ever-sharpening cheekbones in his hands, losing all that baby fat he'd been born with, swiping the tears off his face before starting in on his own face. "you okay?"

"yeah."

"you sure?" virgil checks, dropping his hands to logan's shoulders.

"yeah," logan says, and swallows, following the tracks of virgil's thumbs with his own hands, as if to make sure that virgil hasn't missed any. "yeah, i'm okay, i'm good. do i look like i've been crying?"

"nah," virgil says. “do i?”

"no. i don't want anyone to know i—"

"hey, our secret," virgil says.

(there is an eavesdropped neither logan or virgil notice. emily sanders frowns.)

"right," logan says, and scrubs at his face one last time. "this week has sucked."

if it was any other day, virgil would have laughed. logan hasn't used the phrase 'this sucks' since he was about nine. as it stands, though—

"yeah," virgil says. "i mean, your dad told me something really smart once, wanna hear it?"

"i have a feeling you'll tell me anyway," logan says, a solid attempt at a joke.

"even though today—or this week, i guess, in your case—has sucked, you wanna know the bright side?" virgil says, remembering patton's words from sixteen years ago, on the night they met. "i'll never have to do today again."

logan breathes, and says, "i never want to stay with them for that long ever again."

"i know," virgil says.

"i hated it there," he says.

(emily flinches.)

"i know," virgil says. "hey, we can tell your dad about the will thing once he's up and at 'em again, if it makes you feel better."

"it would," logan says fervently. "i fully understand why dad ran away now. you can't—you can't let me stay there anymore, virgil."

(emily flinches harder.)

"i won't," virgil says. "i promise, i won't. i mean, i know your dad only did it because it was a last resort kind of situation—"

"i know that too," logan says, and then, quieter, more miserably, "i yelled at him about it."

all virgil can say to that is "aw, kid," and tug him back into the hug.

"i yelled at him," logan repeats, voice waterclogged, like he's about to start crying again. 

"hey, i know he's not mad at you," virgil says. "he gets it, you know? he gets that you yelled because you were upset at the situation, not at him. i bet as soon as we walk in there, it's gonna make his day that you're there."

logan snuffles, and virgil draws back so that he can look him in the face. "really?"

"really," virgil promises, and he's been promising logan a lot tonight, but the kid deserves some promises that things would be okay, okay, his dad's in the hospital, because virgil left him alone, it’s the least he can do to help the kid feel better. "you know your dad, he's the softest little puffball we got."

logan snort-laughs, snotty and kind of gross, and wipes under his eyes again. "yeah. yeah, he is."

"you're, like, his whole world."

logan shifts, uncomfortable with so many displays of emotion in such a close time span, but he's saved by his grandfather.

"oh, he's waking up," virgil hears richard say, startled, and virgil claps logan's shoulder.

"you ready?"

logan lets out a shaky breath, straightens his tie, and tilts up his chin—proud, confident, a little arrogant. looking a bit more like himself, then, virgil thinks, relieved. he gestures logan to go ahead of him, and they enter the room to see patton, who turns at the sound of the door opening, and patton—

patton lights up.

his face brightens, his dimples appear in full, he beams—hey, wait, was he supposed to take off the oxygen mask?—and he reaches out both hands for logan, as if logan's still little enough that patton can pick him up.

"hey!" he says. "oh, my gosh, hi!"

"hi, dad," logan says, approaching the bed, and patton's smile doesn't falter as logan takes one of his hands, hovering at his bedside. 

"can i get a hug?" patton asks. "just this once."

logan hesitates. "if i hug you, won't it hurt?"

"what's life without a bit of pain?" patton jokes, and then, more seriously, "as long as you're gentle, it'll be okay, kiddo."

logan hesitates, and then, stiffly, bends so that he gives patton the softest, least-squeezy hug he can possibly execute, before sitting at patton's bedside again. 

"i've missed you," patton says, picking up logan's hand to squeeze it again, "so much."

logan's lip quirks up, just a little, and virgil's heart feels lighter, seeing two of the people he loves most in the world all together again—all that's missing is an obnoxious teenage dance instructor.

"i missed you too, dad," logan says.

patton's smile is blinding, and virgil's knees go a little weak, to the point where he sits in the chair next to logan. 

"okay, so," patton says, and pats logan's hand. "me and virgil have been dying without you to tell us everything that's going on in the world every day, let me tell you, dying."

logan's lips twitch. "don't exaggerate," he scolds.

"we aren't," virgil said. "i told you he'd want to hear you talk about current events, that's why i had you get all those newspapers."

logan rolls his eyes, and patton smiles at him, like logan's done something very charming and sweet instead of just made the quintessential teenage facial expression, and virgil can't help but smile a little, too.

"so," patton says. "tell us all about it. tell us about the news, and about your last couple days at chilton before the break, and how your week's been going, i want to hear everything."

so they listen as logan sticks to the safe and relatively unemotional topic of the news, explaining every headline he can, fishing example articles out of his newspaper pile when he has to, nearly crawling onto the bed in order to fully show the articles to patton. it reminds virgil of when he was little, so eager to investigate the whole world, so eager to show it off to anyone who would listen.

patton, even listening as raptly as he is, is still very sick, so can't help but slip off a little. which means that every time logan will trail off experimentally, staring to see if his dad's falling asleep, patton will start and grumble "m'wake, i'm awake, keep goin', i'm paying attention," and virgil will exchange a look with logan and logan will keep going until patton starts nodding off again.

eventually, logan keeps talking, and talking, and talking, even as he notices patton slip deeper and deeper into sleep until—

"i think he's finally asleep," logan says, hushed.

"i think you're right," virgil says. "good work, kid."

"speaking of sleep," richard says, "perhaps we should consider getting home."

"well, i'm not leaving," emily and virgil say in unison, who both jump and glare at each other.

"me either," logan says.

"you need sleep, you're a teenager, you need more sleep than a baby," virgil says.

"that's actually inaccurate," logan begins.

"okay, well, you still need to sleep," virgil says, frowning. "you should go home, to sideshire."

logan brightens at that, just a little.

what ensues is a solid bickering session: on if logan should go home to sideshire or back to his grandparent's house, on if virgil or emily should stay, on who would take which car and on who would bring logan back to visit if he wanted, and eventually it settled out to—

"bye, virgil," logan says. "thanks for looking after him."

"always do," virgil says. "i texted sarah, she's opening tomorrow, but would you mind swinging by the diner to let people know, just in case?"

"of course," logan says. "i'll even pick up breakfast there before i visit tomorrow."

virgil nods, and gives logan a hug goodnight, just because. 

"you're sure you'll be all right?" richard's asking emily, in the background.

"i'll be fine," she says.

"you can call if you'd like me to come back, or if you need something."

"go," emily says, and kisses her husband on the cheek. "i'll look after patton."

richard smiles, squeezes her shoulder, and then logan and richard are gone.

an incredibly awkward silence descends on the hospital room.

emily sniffs, and drags one of the chairs to the opposite side of patton's bed. virgil settles into his—he notes, with slight relief, that his side does not show patton's iv.

"you don't trust me with my own son," she says, coldly, and virgil crosses his arms, leaning back in his chair.

"was i too subtle, the first time?" he deadpans. 

she sniffs again, and sits up even straighter, looking away from him. for a second, he thinks that might be the end of it, and they'll sit quietly in awkward silence until one of them falls asleep or the sun has risen. 

of course not.

"i don't know what gives you the right—"

virgil sighs, loudly, and pinches the bridge of his nose.

"oh, my god, okay," virgil says, and leans back in his chair again, worrying his hoodie between his fingers. "there are so many goddamn reasons i don't like you. i have a list in my head that's been sixteen years in the making. do you seriously want me to spend the whole night going through it?" 

she arches a brow at him. that is literally all it takes.

"fine," virgil says. "i don't like your smug rich person attitude. i don't like the way you look down at me because i run a diner for a living. i don't like the way you think your privilege is a goddamn god-given right, like you're some kind of medieval king or something—"

"are you quite finished?"

"like i said, sixteen years, don't rush me," virgil says, kicking back in his chair and starting to tick things off his fingers. "i don't like your tacky rich people hair or your tacky rich people outfit. i don't like how you apparently think the bus is for drug dealers. i don't like most of the things you say about people who aren't as rich as you, actually, but that's a whole other thing. i don't like the car that you had that i egged that one time. i don't like how you think having a lot of money automatically makes you better than other people, i don't like the way you treat your son—"

"how dare you," she begins indignantly, loudly, and patton mumbles, shifting in his sleep. they both freeze.

"look," virgil hisses, "i am fully willing to fight with you, we just have to keep the volume low so that we don't wake patton up, clear?"

they both stare at patton for a few seconds. when she's satisfied that patton isn't waking up, she leans forward, and snarls, "how dare you," at a satisfactory volume.

"i dare because you and your husband are shit to him," virgil snarls. back, at a similarly quiet volume. "because you say fucking terrible things to him, and he's sensitive, and soft, and a good man, and he deserves better than you two jumping on him every time you get the chance—"

"you know nothing—"

"i know nothing?!" virgil snaps. "are you fucking kidding me?!"

"no, i most certainly am not!" she declares. "you know nothing about the way our lives have gone, you know nothing about the way our family works, and you have no right to pretend to know."

"oh, i don't?"

"no, you don't!" she says, strident. "it's none of your business how—"

"none of my business?!" 

"it most certainly is not!" 

"it is when patton shows up crying in my diner!" virgil hisses, fingernails digging into his hoodie. "it is when that's what's been happening after family gatherings with you for years! it's my business because sixteen years ago a kid holding a baby showed up and started sobbing in my diner and decided to stick around town, just because the first place he pulled into someone showed him some goddamn kindness for the first time in months, it is when you're messing with the life of my best friend and our fucking kid—"

"you are not logan's father—"

"look, i might not have contributed anything to logan's dna makeup, but that doesn't change that he's our kid," virgil says roughly. "patton's known that for years and logan has too."

there's a flicker of what might be surprise on her face, before she angrily sets her jaw.

"they're the ones whose opinion i care about, so i don't particularly give a fuck what you think about the fact that i've basically adopted your grandson," virgil says. "and i might not be one of logan's biological parents, but jesus christ, i'd never call him a disappointment, not in a million years. so all things considered, i'm pretty sure that makes me a better parent than you."

patton makes a soft snuffling noise in his sleep, and his head tilts a bit in virgil's direction. virgil tries not to feel too victorious about it.

"you have no idea what he did to us," emily says.

"yeah, i do," virgil says. "i was there. i saw how much it tore him apart. still does."

she stares at him, and says, quietly, "i wasn't just talking about him running away."

oh. virgil leans back a little more. right. patton's rebellious teenage years.

("okay, so, you gotta be careful when you try this, right?" virgil says, holding a shot of vodka a bit like it is a nuclear bomb. "drink it all down at once, then you drink this sprite right after or else it'll feel like your throat is burning—"

patton, freshly twenty-one, only stares at him, amused, and downs the shot like a pro, barely pausing to sip his sprite and grin at virgil, to the cheers of the other attendants of patton's fairly sparse birthday party.

"virgil," he says patiently. "this isn't the first drink of alcohol i've ever had."

"oh," he says lamely. "right."

patton snorts and pats him fondly on the cheek. "maybe when i get drunker i'll tell you all about my various teenage shenanigans."

"will it give me a heart attack?"

patton's grin turns a little vicious. "probably," he says. "i mean, it nearly did for my parents. would you say being a teen parent or riding along with chris when he crashed his porsche two hours after his parents got it for his sixteenth birthday is more heart-attack inducing? or the times i shoplifted from department stores? or my five separate fake ids? or maybe my boyfriend who referred to himself as 'the dragon witch' and got me an honorary place in a biker gang? or—"

"patton, oh my god—"

"i'm just warming up, here, we're not even in the good stuff yet," patton chirps teasingly.

"the good stuff? good stuff as in, like, bible study, right?" virgil says, trying to make it a joke to cover that he's about to hyperventilate, but patton laughs and accepts another shot from maria with a nod of thanks before he can get really into it, and then when he surfaces from that shot he demands the music be turned up so he can dance, c'mon, virgil, dance with me dance with me dance with me it's my birthday you gotta dance with me—!)

"okay," virgil says, "as someone who was also pretty stupid when they were a teenager—"

she narrows her eyes at him suspiciously, and he rolls his eyes in return.

"you cannot seriously tell me you haven't done a few dumb things in life you regret," virgil says. "i hung around some kids who weren't the best influences—we called ourselves The Others, i know, it's stupid—and do i regret a lot of the stuff i did with them? yeah, i do. but i've bettered myself, i've moved on, and i've grown. patton has too."

"oh, he has," emily says doubtfully. "of course he has. suddenly, my eyes are open. you've delivered me nirvana. of course patton is no longer a teenager, why, i must have been confused because he insists on continuing to act like one."

"act like one?" virgil repeats cluelessly.

"it clearly isn't news to you that we and patton argue often."

"yeah, no, it isn't," virgil says. "i mean, patton's defending himself, but sure, whatever."

"through asking logan to treat us like lepers?" she snaps. "that doesn't strike you as immature behavior?"

asking logan to treat us like lepers, virgil mouths, and then, "you think patton asked logan to give you a hard time? are we talking about the same patton and logan?"

"well, why else would he—?"

"because logan is a smart, stubborn kid who hates the fact that patton has to sit through you two bullying him in order to secure money for his schooling, holy shit," virgil says. "because logan picks arguments like florists pick flowers, and if someone messes with one of His People it basically means free reign for him to fight back."

"well—"

"logan's literally a debate champion," virgil says. "you're telling me you think it's more likely that patton, your son, the same patton who didn't want to bother anyone when he came down with fucking pneumonia, that patton, you think it's more likely that that patton asked logan, who once got into a full-on argument with a four-year-old who told him that newspapers were stupid when he was fifteen, to be mean to you. you think that patton asked that logan to pick a fight? seriously?"

she crosses her arms and huffs, and suddenly, it clicks.

"oh, my god," virgil says. "you wanna know what your problem is?! you still think that patton's sixteen."

"of course i don't—"

"no, listen," virgil says, warming up to this theory. "patton runs away, and that sucks, i get it, i'm not arguing that. but the only times you see him after that until pretty recently are, what, holidays? so you don't see him on a day-to-day basis anymore. so you didn't see him grow up and grow up fast. and you still refuse to see him grow up, because he's your kid, and on one level i get that because logan becoming an actual adult scares me a lot, but on the other, seriously, lady, patton's thirty-two. he has a house and a good job and he's getting his degree and he has done a great job raising logan, who is, i think we can both agree, while being incredibly infuriating sometimes, is also one of the best teenagers on the face of this planet."

her nod is really more of a jerk of her chin.

"honestly, if anyone would be telling logan to pick a fight with you, it'd be me," virgil muses.

her eyes sharpen. 

"you told logan to—" emily begins, and virgil rolls his eyes.

"no," virgil says, "because when i don't like someone, i don't tell a sixteen-year-old kid to pass on the message for me, god. i'm just saying that if it was between me or patton telling logan to pick a fight, it'd be me."

a pause, a sniff, a "well, that i can believe."

"in the interest of honesty, or whatever, i have been telling patton to not let you into his life anymore for years," virgil says.

the look on her face isn't what virgil's expecting. virgil's expecting her nostrils to flare, her jaw to clench, her eyes to ignite with fury. he's expecting a loud outburst. he's expecting rage. what flickers across her face isn't that. 

virgil thinks it might be fear.

why would she be afraid of—oh. 

oh, that's why patton won't hear about cutting them out whenever virgil brings it up. that's why patton won't hear about leaving them. because he did it once, didn't he? he did it when he ran away to sideshire. 

"he won't listen to me, obviously," virgil says, refusing to acknowledge that he might be saying this to comfort her, but just to establish where they're at, in the fight. because, like, obviously patton wouldn't do that, but she clearly has a skewed idea of who her son is, so. 

"but it's a whole routine. you all fight, you upset patton, patton comes to me, i tell him to cut you two out. he makes excuses. you two... i dunno, god, patton apologizes for whyever you chose to fight him, or he at least smooths things over enough so that you guys get together for the next holiday, the cycle starts again." virgil waves a hand. "he gets irritated if i bring it up too much, so i don't. he's entirely too optimistic about you." 

she's quiet. virgil waits a few seconds, before he continues.

"and you realize that i'm definitely not the one who'd convince patton about cutting you out, but you know the one person he'd do anything for, even if it broke his heart?"

she's gone a little paler. "logan," she says.

"yeah," virgil says. "logan."

"logan wouldn't," she begins, but falters.

"if you keep fighting with patton like this, he might," virgil says. "logan hates it when his dad is upset. he hates it."

"he hates my house," she says, sharp. "he hates me and my husband."

virgil gawks at her.

"what?" she demands. "weren't you going to throw that in my face? weren't you going to lord it over me that he'd rather you be his guardian than us?!"

"i'm not that much of an asshole, jesus," virgil says. "i didn't—i didn't know you'd overheard that."

"yes, well," she scoffs, and fiddles with some of her bracelets. "when patton woke up, then, he kept trying to tell us how we could better take care of logan. even then he said that if we were at a loss, we should contact you."

"i," virgil begins, and shakes himself. "he said all that?"

"when we told him he had pneumonia, he seemed to be under the impression that he was—" her voice cracks. she does not have to say dying out loud—it's written all over her face.

virgil swallows hard, and looks to patton, slumbering peacefully, the beep of his heart monitor, the reassuring rise and fall of his chest. i left him, i left him, and he thought he was dying, he got so sick that he thought he might die because i left him— 

"oh."

"he promised he wouldn't."

"he better not," virgil says hoarsely.

"hmph. yes."

"i—" virgil looks at her, then back at patton. "i mean, he's right. i do know a lot in the whole 'care and keeping of logan' thing."

"oh, i'm sure," she mutters sarcastically.

"i could make it a whole lot clearer, lady," virgil mutters right back. 

she looks away from him, nostrils flaring. 

"i just—look," virgil says. "you realize you have to stop fighting with him, right? all it does it push them both away."

she might be about to say something, but before she can, patton makes a mumbling noise. they both freeze. 

patton's head nods down, sharply, before it tilts back up again. he squints.

"virgil?"

"yeah," virgil says, inching forward in his chair, itching to grab his hand again. "yeah, pat, it's me."

"mkay," patton murmurs, and yawns. "s'logan down for the night?"

oh, gosh, virgil hasn't been asked that question for at least twelve years. virgil figures he may as well play along, let patton get back to sleep faster.

"yeah," virgil whispers back. "yeah, he's out like a light."

well, hopefully true, when logan gets home.

"how many stories did it take?"

"oh, you know logan," virgil sighs, remembering how many storybooks logan would tug from his expansive, second-hand collection and stack them in his arms up to his chin, looking up at virgil expectantly, as if to say we both know you're a softie, you're going to read me all these, let's skip the argument, except virgil would pose a slight argument anyways and convince logan to let go of maybe three of them, because logan had always had virgil pinned on that whole softie thing.

"about a million. i made one up for him, too."

"was it about cecil the space pirate?"

"cecil the space pirate," virgil confirms, lips twitching. wow, the things patton's fever-addled brain thought up. virgil's nearly forgotten about cecil the space pirate, one of the only make-believe stories logan continued to tolerate even as he grew older and older and older. virgil's pretty sure that the second birthday story roman ever wrote for logan was about cecil the space pirate.

"mkay," patton murmurs. "i got work in the morning, don't i?"

"nah," virgil says. "nah, you get to sleep in tomorrow, lucky you."

"you'll be at the diner for breakfast?"

"'course i'll be at the diner for breakfast," virgil says. "i own it."

"want waffles," patton murmurs sleepily.

"if you're nice to me," virgil says.

"m'always nice to you," patton slurs.

"yeah, that's true," virgil concedes. "okay. if you're extra nice to me, how bout that?"

patton lets out what might be a giggle, but he's so close to dropping off again that it's hard to tell.

"get some rest," virgil murmurs, and hesitates, before he reaches over to brush patton's hair back. he promised he wouldn't. i’m not leaving you again. "you just go ahead and go to sleep, patton. i’ll be right here."

patton sighs, head tilting a little further into virgil's touch. he's not nearly as warm as he'd been when virgil found him, which is good, but still too warm for virgil's taste.

he can see emily, out of the corner of his eyes, looking a little more relaxed.

"i'm not finished with you, your days are numbered," virgil hisses in her direction.

patton hums at him quizzically, mumbles, "wha'?"

"i said, do you want some water?" virgil covers quickly, smiling falsely at him. it turns a bit more real as patton squints an eye at him.

"you don't gotta fuss 'bout my hydration all the time, you know."

"ah, but fussing's what i do best," virgil says gently, smiling at patton as he combs his fingers through patton's curls in a slow, repetitive motion. "go on, close your eyes again, there you go. go to sleep."

"you don't gotta fuss about how much sleep i get either," patton sighs, but closes his eyes obediently. his breathing evens out, soon enough. 

she's silent. virgil's thought about this fight—how it might go, where it might happen, who would win—for years. exactly none of it has gone according to how his brain said it might go. virgil has a lot of opinions on emily and richard sanders and the way they treat their son—on days where they've been behaving themselves relatively well, he thinks they're stuck-up, snobbish assholes, and on days where they haven't been behaving well virgil thinks about the things that patton tells him that they say to him and thinks about how they're something that starts with "emotionally" and ends with "abusive," and how patton would be so absolutely in his rights to cut them off, and he has wanted to fight emily or richard sanders for years. and now it's here.

and now it's... off.

"we want the best for him," emily says.

"that's exactly what he says, yeah," virgil says tiredly, and runs his fingers through patton's curls again. "the trouble is, what you think is best for him and what's actually best for him are two entirely different things." 

her lips twitch, with bitter humor. "that's exactly what he says."

and here's the crux of it: "but you don't agree," virgil says.

"no," emily says. her chin tilts up, proud. "no, we don't."

any sympathy virgil has toward her is gone. he kind of wants to reach across patton's bed and throttle her. they're in a hospital, they're in the right place for it.

"why the fuck not," virgil manages to hiss it and not shriek it. she's so close to understanding, so close to actually catching on and getting it and maybe, miracle of miracles, patching up her and her husband's relationship with patton, but now she doesn't get it?!

"because what he thinks is best for him is not the same as what is actually best for him," emily says. 

"okay, then, what do you think is actually best for him?" virgil asks, with a twirl of his free hand he realizes with muted horror he probably picked up from roman.

so she lays it out for him. patton getting his degree is all well and good, but he should get it from a "better" establishment. patton being a manager is all well and good, but not in the inn business—if he adds a bit onto his degree, why, he could go into insurance too, and be a manager there soon enough. and patton having a little country home is all well and good, but he should move into a neighborhood more fitting for him—a house that would be closer to chilton. a house that would be closer to her. and, well, if patton stumbles across a few friends of hers—the sons of members of the dar, the kind of sons who have privilege and strong savings and investments and would be able to take care of him, and  if they just so happened fit emily's bill of approval to a t—well, that certainly wouldn't be too bad for him, either. and with logan going off to an ivy soon, well, he might get lonely, it would be good for him to have someone, and maybe, just maybe, there could be other little perfect grandbabies on the way, and—

"okay, so, what i'm hearing is," virgil cuts in, "basically, you want to redesign his whole life."

"well, not his whole life," emily says. 

"what are you leaving him from the life he's managed to build in this 'donna reed' style daydream, just logan?" virgil says incredulously. "a little small-town summer house he can escape to?"

she blinks at him. "that seems reasonable."

"that seems like patton would be miserable," virgil says. 

she looks at him, blank. "why?"

"well, one," virgil says pointedly, "sure, patton's open to having other kids, but the only way they'd be biologically his is if he'd donate an egg. he never wants to be pregnant again, you do realize that's what messed up his brain to the point it did, back then?"

she looks at him, gobsmacked. "and how would you know that?"

(—patton's nineteen, and starting to go on the occasional date, which is kinda weird but patton's an adult and he can do what we wants, and currently he's going slightly steady with one of the businessmen who swings into town every other week or so, and it's going pretty well, or so virgil's heard and thought until patton careens into the diner one night, eyes huge and watery and gasping, and virgil's out from behind the counter before he can even think.

"hey," he says, and "hey—" and patton's face is crumpling up, and no, patton doesn't want to cry in the middle of the diner in dinner rush, so virgil says, "c'mere, c'mon," and puts an arm around his shoulders, trying to shield him from sight of everyone in the diner, quickly getting him through the back and patton bursts into tears as soon as the door to virgil's apartment shuts behind him.

"patton, patton, patton," he says, hushed, and patton, red-faced and crying, just holds out a shopping bag. virgil blinks, takes it, and takes out one of the three identical things that's in there and—

"oh shit," virgil says before he can really temper his reaction, and patton starts crying harder, and virgil curses, dropping the unopened pregnancy test on the ground, stepping forward and opening his arms in invitation and patton buries his face into virgil's chest, sobbing.

"i don't wanna be pregnant again," he gasps. "i don't wanna be—"

"okay, okay, it's okay," virgil says. "it's okay—do you know if—?"

"not yet, i was too—" patton gulps, and croaks, "i can barely afford logan, and i love him so much, but i can't—i can't do that again, i can't—"

"it's really rare for trans guys on t to get pregnant, right?" virgil says gently, and patton sniffs, louder, and nods.

"okay," virgil says. "okay. here's what we're going to do, okay? we're going to sit down on my couch."

they do.

"we're gonna get you calmed down," virgil says. "next, you're gonna drink some water, and you'll take it."

"and if i—?"

"we can talk about your options if the test's positive," virgil says gently. "but take the test first. okay? then we can cross that bridge if we get to it."

patton snuggles harder into virgil, hiccuping, and virgil runs his hand through patton's hair, over and over, until his shoulders stop shaking as much. 

virgil gets him some water. virgil waits when patton goes into the restroom. virgil waits as patton comes back, buries his face into virgil's lap and curls up hard, hiding from the world.

"why do you think you're—?" virgil begins. 

"i got really bad morning sickness, with logan," patton whispers. "migraines too. and i'm—i just, my period's been irregular since i started t, and it's mostly stopped, but there's been some spotting and i looked it up and that's a symptom too and i—"

"okay," virgil murmurs, trying to mentally sort what each of those might be—summer flu, dehydration, he admittedly doesn't know much about periods so he can't really say much about that—"okay. um. have you guys been, um...?"

"using protection, yeah," patton says miserably. "but apparently that's not very useful when it comes to me, so."

"huh," virgil says. "with logan?"

"condom broke, we think," patton says, and wearily runs a hand over his eyes. "or at least that's the most likely explanation."

"yeah," virgil says, and runs a hand over patton's hair again. he's about to ask patton if he's doing okay, except the timer goes off, and patton lets out a keening, horrible whine.

"i can't look," he whispers. "virgil, could you—?"

"yeah," virgil says, heart in his throat. impulsively, he kisses patton's head. "yeah, of course, i'll look."

he checks the guide. he takes a breath. he looks at all three tests. and then he double-checks them, and double-checks the guide, and he walks out of the bathroom to see patton hugging a pillow to his stomach, hunched over it.

"well?" patton whispers.

"well," virgil says, "i think you have the summer flu, or something, and you should probably make a doctor's appointment to ask about spotting, because you've got three nopes in there."

"oh," patton chokes out, and buries his face in his hands. "oh, thank god."

"yeah," virgil says, and goes over to the couch, hugging patton again. "yeah, buddy, you're okay."

"i just—god," patton manages. "i mean, i want another kid at some point, probably, but i can't—i can't be pregnant again. i can't do that. i mean, i love logan, i love him so much, but being pregnant with him—what it did to my brain, what it did to my mental health, i can't—"

he chokes up, and can't go on, and virgil's heart breaks a little.

"that's totally understandable and you do not have to justify yourself to me, or to anyone else," virgil says firmly. "hey, do you want me to get you a brownie, or something? i think you just put the 'scary' in 'pregnancy scare.'"

patton lets out what might be a giggle, a bit too hysterical to make virgil actually happy, but it's a giggle, nonetheless, and—)

"we talked about it once," virgil says evasively, fingers twitching through patton's hair as if to comfort distress that's thirteen years past. "look, just—none of what you just said would make patton happy, are you serious?"

"i wasn't talking about patton being happy, i was talking about what would be best for him," emily says. 

virgil blinks. "i'm not following."

she lets out a long sigh, as if he is being deliberately obtuse. "it would make patton happy if he were able to eat nothing but waffles and pasta and sweets all day. it would be best for him if he ate fruits and vegetables and maintained a balanced diet."

"that's an entirely different thing," virgil says hotly, withdrawing his hand from patton's hair and starting to pick at a loose thread in his hoodie.

"is it?" she challenges. 

"yeah, it is," virgil says, "because his life isn't as temporary as a meal. what's best for him in his diet is nowhere near the same way you should treat your life."

"that is where we disagree," she says, terse. "i believe what is best for him is not necessarily what makes him happy. there are procedures put in place, proper plans to be followed."

"doesn't what he want matter to you?" virgil says.

"what he wants is immaterial. sacrifices are often necessary in order to what is right."

virgil stares at her for a few moments, lets her words sink in, lets himself reflect on what following that might have been like, and—

"i am really indescribably sorry for you, right now," virgil tells her, and she sniffs.

"you hardly need to be. i was perfectly happy to follow the life i had set out for me."

virgil stares at her for a few more seconds, and she huffs.

"save your emotions," she says. "i've had just about my fill of them tonight." 

virgil snorts. "finally, somewhere we agree," he mutters.

they're quiet for another long stretch of time. 

"you genuinely think you know what's best for him?" she says, and virgil starts.

"i," virgil says. "yeah. better than you do, anyway."

"why?" she says, and then, derisively, "because you're in love with him?"

virgil doesn't quite reel back like she's smacked him, which is kind of how it feels, but he does pinch the fabric of his hoodie between his fingernails.

"no," he says. before he can say anything else, she plows over him.

"you look at him like he's a porterhouse steak!" she says, vindictive. 

"i do not," he says.

"oh, please, you look at him like he's about to give you a lapdance."

virgil just about chokes on air.

"i do not," virgil insists, "and anyway, that's not what i was about to say, i wasn't about to deny being in love with him, of course i'm in love with him."

she falters.

"i was going to say that me being in love with him doesn't change that i know what makes him happy better than you do," virgil says. 

"fine, then," emily says. "please tell me what you think would make him happy."

"his life, now, for the most part," virgil says. "living in sideshire, managing the inn. waiting for logan to get home from chilton, logan telling him about working at the courant, supervising roman and logan sleepovers. i think the biggest change would be if he got along with his parents."

she stares at him for one second. two.

virgil shrugs. "that's what would make him happy," he says simply. "that's what he wants. when he came home from lunch or brunch or whatever it was with you guys and logan and you guys managed not to fight the whole time, he was so happy."

she's silent.

"and i think that's what you want too," virgil says quietly. 

she's silent for a long time—enough time for patton to stir again, and, slightly hilariously and slightly heartbreakingly, seems to be stuck firmly in the headspace of logan still being a baby, and virgil soothes patton's mumbled worries about how logan's colic should be acting up by now before patton drops back off again. and by then, emily seems to have gotten control of her emotions again.

"you haven't put yourself into that little scenario of yours," emily says.

"the way we are now makes him happy," virgil says simply. "and that's enough for me."

she snorts. "idiots. the both of you."

virgil snorts a little, too, ducking his head. he rubs his thumb and forefinger against the worn spot on the cuff of his hoodie.

her eyes zero in on it. "did you," she begins, and then, almost suspiciously, "did you make that?"

"oh," virgil says, and awkwardly, "um, i mean, i bought the hoodie. but all the extra stitching and fabric and stuff, yeah. i did that."

"hm."

"i gave it to patton when we were on the way here," falls out of his mouth before he can stop it.

she looks at him a little closer. "you did?"

virgil coughs, awkward, and redirects his glance back to the sleeve he's worrying between his fingers. "he was, um. he had pretty bad chills, and i kept turning the heat up in the car, but it didn't help. and he wasn't saying anything, but i knew he was cold, so i gave it to him, but the orderlies had to take it off before he could go back in the test room, but i—i haven't been able to put it back on since."

his mouth snaps shut, and he's fully aware of his cheeks burning, fully aware of her eyes on him, and he stares even harder at the little imperfect faded oval he's rubbed into the fabric over the years, rendering that section of cuff a shade lighter than the rest of it.

"stupid, i know," he mutters.

she's quiet, for a moment, before she says, "i haven't been able to bring myself to change any of the decoration or furniture in patton's room since he left home."

he doesn't really know what to say to that. it feels like... he doesn't know. if it was any other person than one of patton's two parents, he'd say it feels like an olive branch. but with them, virgil's so used to hearing about arguments and bickering and favors offered with full knowledge they'd be paid back in full later, so it doesn't. it feels like a business deal. or like one of the faeries in the stories that virgil used to read to logan, before he insisted he outgrew such things—the kinds of sneaky wishes that would come back to bite you, in some way. it feels like a rabbit's foot. it feels like a monkey's paw.

"he has a way," virgil says at last. 

"he does, doesn't he," she says musingly. 

"yeah," virgil says, awkward.

there's another pause, a long stretch of quiet. enough time for a nurse to come and check patton's vitals, update his data, smile benevolently at them both, and leave.

"not that i'm asking your opinion," she says severely. "but your... idea. of how patton would like to lead his life."

virgil looks up, blinking at her. "yeah?"

she lifts an eyebrow at him imperiously. "do you think it's possible?"

"oh," virgil says. "i think—i mean, i don't really believe in you all that much, but patton does, so. if you keep fighting him and don't, like, remove your head from your ass, you're definitely going to push him and logan away, you know that, right?"

she doesn't really respond, and virgil huffs out an exasperated breath.

"look," virgil says. "you know what would patch all this up?"

"what?"

"if you and your husband apologized," for once. "if you and him apologized to patton, he'd forgive you in a heartbeat, you know. because again, he's way too optimistic about you."

"well, i hardly—"

"holy shit, you started it," virgil says. "you always start it. you cannot seriously expect your son, who is bedridden with pneumonia, to put in his usual work of trying to smooth it over between you three, the way he always does. for once, can you please just fucking set aside your pride for five seconds and apologize?"

"what he did—"

"sucked, i know," virgil says impatiently. "it sucks that he ran away, he knows that, he regrets doing that to you the way he did, but jesus christ, it's been sixteen years. he's apologized, hasn't he?"

she barely inclines her head.

"okay, so," virgil says. "can you just see that this is kind of a special circumstance and say the words i'm sorry? just one time. and he'll forgive you basically instantly. even if you don't understand why, just say it, and then you can playact at being a big happy family again."

emily chews at her lip.

...

"you're quite certain you don't want me to stay the night here?" 

"i'll be fine, grandpa," logan says wearily as they turn down the street to home, even as something in him delights at being so, so close to home again. "you should go back to your house, in case they need anything. you're closer to the hospital than i am here."

"well," he begins, about to turn into the drive, but he stops the car as the lights illuminate a familiar figure.

"who the devil," he begins, moving to lock the doors, but logan's flinging the door open before he can, unbuckling and nearly skidding on the icy driveway as he speedwalks to the front stoop, where the familiar figure is standing up, shivering.

"roman," logan says, and roman steps forward and hugs him tight, so tight, and logan closes his eyes, buries his face into roman's shoulder where he still smells like hairspray and the stage makeup he hadn't bothered to wipe off his face and sweat, still wearing the massive button-down he wears to cover his costumes while backstage at a show under his big, puffy winter jacket, and logan's home, he's home, and—

"oh my god, i'm so sorry i didn't call back," roman says, and draws back. he'd barely made a cursory smear of a makeup wipe on his face, so his stage makeup remains on his face, smeared with sweat. he still has purple glitter on his eyelids and sharp cateye eyeliner, and smudged, faded lipstick. "i didn't know what to do, i didn't know where you were, i didn't know if you were coming home for the night or not, so i just—"

"logan?" his grandfather calls, and logan turns, still holding roman in his arms.

"it's okay," logan calls. "it's okay, it's just roman. i'll see you tomorrow?"

richard surveys this, frowns, grunts a little, waves in farewell, and gets back in his car. logan opens the front door to the house, nudging roman in ahead of him and flicking on the light, turning back to lock the door. roman barely waits until he's turned the key until he's tugging at logan's suit jacket, and logan turns to face him again, and god, there he is, that's his best friend. 

"is your dad okay?" roman asks, frantic.

"he'll be fine," logan says. "i—the doctors said it was pneumonia and he'll be at the hospital for a few days, but they said he'd be okay."

"god, logan," roman says, and reaches to hug him again. logan closes his eyes tight, and leans into it, hard. for once, he won't deny that he maybe needs hugs right now.

they draw back, and logan, a little in disbelief, picks at collar of roman's button-up.

"you came," logan says.

"well, yeah," roman says, like it's obvious. "you were upset, of course i came."

i love you, logan thinks.

"i mean, admittedly, it wasn't like, straight to the hospital, or anything," roman says. "i tried, but i wasn't sure which one, and—"

"i'm going back to visit in the morning," logan says, tentative. "if you'd—if you'd join me?"

"yeah, of course," roman says, and takes logan's hand. he tugs logan into the living room, where the detritus of one of his father's blanket nests is in an armchair. they sit on the couch, where a collection of empty mugs sits on the coffee table. there is so much of patton in this house. logan cannot look anywhere without thinking about his dad.

suddenly, he realizes that roman's been talking this whole time.

"—but oh my god, l, that must have been so scary."

logan wants to deny that it was scary. logan wants to lie. logan wants to say objectively, the risks of pneumonia are relatively low, here are the survival rates and here are the usual methods of treatment and here is what will happen, and here is proof that my dad will be okay, and here are all the reasons why it is illogical to be upset, because he will be okay, and i know he will be okay, because virgil promised he would be okay and the doctor said he would be okay and the family physician said he would be okay, so there is no reason why my brain is still stuck at a point where i should think that he wouldn't be okay, because that is not true, because he will be okay.

instead, logan's lip trembles, and he catches it between his teeth with a groan, pressing his elbows against his thighs and bending to meet his hands, sliding off his glasses to press the heels of his hands against his stinging, hot eyes.

there's a body against him, then, a cheek pressed to the back of his neck, arms wrapping around him again, and logan swallows hard.

"i've gotcha," roman whispers. "i've got you, logan. i'm right here." 

and logan buries his face in his best friend's lap, and for the second time that night, he starts to cry.

...

there's a weight on patton's hip.

that's the first thing he's aware of, swimming out of the dark gray sludge of sleep, waking up slowly and not particularly liking it very much. there is a weight against his hip, and when at last he cracks open his eyes, the first thing he does is look to see what it is.

it's a familiar head. the face is mostly obscured by the hair flopping into patton's line of vision, but the hoodie that's been spread out over patton like a blanket and the t-shirt and worn jeans the familiar person is wearing are big enough identifiers that patton doesn't really have to wait for any of his reasoning skills to come back online.

virgil's got a hand close to patton's hand, where it's resting on the mattress, and an arm slung out across patton's stomach, not even pillowing his head. it's as if he'd reached out to make sure that patton would stay put.

patton's heart swells with a nearly unimaginable amount of fondness. he carefully moves the hand that virgil had nearly been touching to virgil's head. his hair, feathery and floppy and soft, is familiar under his hand. the hard curve of his skull is, too. patton doesn't get to touch him very much, but they're familiar anyways. he swipes an admiring thumb slowly down, tracing the line of virgil's jaw.

virgil nuzzles against patton's belly in his sleep. in doing so, a bit of his hair slips, and it reveals a bit of virgil's closed eye, bangs parting like curtains. the ever-present bags look slightly darker than usual. that must be why virgil fell asleep on him. well, patton certainly isn't complaining. as a matter of fact, he smiles, and covers virgil's hand with his own, feeling something in his stomach flutter.

he can go back to sleep, now.

 when he wakes again, it's to the clicking of high heels, and a voice he's known all his life.

"—did you say he'd be here, again?"

another voice—familiar, beloved, feels like he's known him all his life.

"logan's text said 9:30, so they're probably just parking and getting up to the room now."

"hmph. or the traffic's acting up again."

huh. he must be dreaming. there is no actual world where his mother and virgil are being so civil.

"look, they said they'd be here soon. with roman, too."

"the dance boy? patton says logan has a crush on him."

"oh, yeah, logan definitely has a crush on him. but patton really likes him, he's practically another kid. he's my neighbor, plus he's logan's best friend, so. logan probably told him about it and roman wanted to come wish him well."

"he was very well-behaved at logan's birthday get-together," his mother muses.

"yeah, he can be a real little charmer," virgil says darkly.

"he's a prince, it's practically in the name that he's charming," patton mumbles, trying to complete the old joke.

"oh, right on time," his mother says, pleased, and patton cracks open his eyes.

his mother's standing, holding a to-go cup of coffee, and virgil's still sitting at patton's bedside, where he dimly remembers virgil being a few times he'd woken up before. his hand's under patton's, and patton squeezes before he can really help himself. he's never really held virgil's hand before—this isn't exactly holding his hand, just his hand over virgil's, but it's close enough that patton's kind of unreasonably excited

"what were you saying?" patton asks, shifting against the pillows, trying to sit up a bit straighter.

"logan, roman, and your dad are all coming," virgil tells him. "should be here any minute."

patton nods, and makes the mistake of looking down at himself, only to suck in a breath and look up at the ceiling.

"what?" virgil asks, alert.

"needles," patton says, strangled. "i can see it, virge. i can feel it."

ivs! are! the! worst! sure, he's a bit more used to needles now because of his shots of testosterone, but with those he can at least aim and then look away and jab himself, and it's over relatively quickly, but he can feel it now and it is Bad—

"oh," virgil says, scrambling, "um—"

"here," his mother says, and patton turns his head away from the arm that has tubing coming out of it, to see his mother holding out her silk handkerchief. 

"oh!" patton says, and takes it, carefully draping it over the injection site as much as he can without looking at it, and risks a glance. yes, he can still see the tubing, and feel the iv, but as long as he doesn't move his arm and the handkerchief stays there, he should be... okay.

patton offers a tentative smile to his mom—she's been here, patton knows that, his memories are really fuzzy but he knows she's been here, but patton also knows that they've been freezing each other out for the past week, so. "um, thanks, mom."

she nods, once, and virgil says, "you doing okay, pat?"

"i think so," patton says uncertainly. "i mean, i still feel pretty—bleh."

"the doctor said you probably would be feeling pretty bleh for the next couple days, sorry," virgil says sympathetically. "but you're going to be just fine, patton. you're going to be okay."

a wave of relief sweeps through patton. he remembers, distantly, almost like it's a dream, the suddenly more aggressive and more pervasive fear of dying, but—but if a doctor said he'd be okay, and if virgil says he's going to be okay, then patton's going to be okay. 

"okay," patton says, and nods, absorbing this. "okay. um, good."

"uh, so, i think i might go out to the waiting room, wait for logan and roman to get here, if that's... if that's okay."

no that is not okay why are you leaving me alone with her?! patton wants to ask, but virgil's giving him a Look, a it's okay look, so patton lets out a little breath, and trusts him. obviously. it's not even a choice, he just does.

"you can keep an eye on my hoodie for me," virgil adds, flicking one of the sleeves so it folds over patton's lap, and patton looks up at him, blinking.

"you sure?" he says, tentatively running his thumb over a worn little bit of hoodie that he's seen virgil run his fingers over, too. "you never take this off."

"i think i can manage to trust you with it," virgil says, amused. "besides, that way you know i'm gonna be coming back, right?"

patton weighs these options. he fiddles with virgil's hoodie again, runs his fingers over the white stitching, feeling the variance of textures under his fingers.

"okay," patton says. "yeah."

"cool," virgil says.

and then virgil and his mom share their own little Look. patton has literally no hope of unparsing it if he tried—they still aren't fond of each other, obviously, but they look... they look understanding, almost. almost. not quite. but like they've reached some kind of point of agreement, maybe. not necessarily that they entirely agree, but just one point of agreement.

well, that's more than they had, so. patton's all for it.

his mother takes virgil's abandoned seat, and scoots a little closer, crossing her legs primly.

"well," she says, and fiddles with his blanket, pointedly avoiding touching virgil's hoodie, pulling the blanket over him a little more snugly. "how are you feeling?"

okay, so this is... weird. but patton can go with it. at least it's not yelling.

"um," patton says. "not my best?"

her face tightens.

"what?" patton asks in a tiny voice.

"young man," she says. "you were brought into the hospital between having actually collapsed and being on the verge of another one, with a fever so high you could have risked serious brain damage if you continued to refuse to seek treatment, and a case of pneumonia so serious that you have to stay in the hospital for at least three days, and all you have to say is that you don't feel at your best?"

"well, you see," patton says, "i'm really not at my best."

his mother looks five seconds from lovingly smothering him with his own hospital pillow when the door opens, and—

okay, virgil seriously isn't mean enough to leave him to get yelled at while he was bedridden and couldn't escape, right? had he really annoyed virgil recently?

"hello, patton," his father says.

"um, hi, dad," patton says, trying not to fidget, in case it jostled his arm and he had to be reminded about needles again. "are, um. are logan and roman here?"

"virgil took them to get coffee," his dad says. 

(actually, virgil is leaning against the wall just outside the door, out of sight of anyone in the room, monitoring this conversation just in case anything goes wrong, and what he said to roman and logan was "here's ten bucks, scram," and roman had wrinkled his nose at him and said "why?" and virgil said "privacy reasons, there's going to be an emotional moment," and logan had declared "gross" incredibly loudly and grabbed roman by the hand and dragged him in the direction of the hospital cafeteria, roman looking a bit too excited about logan holding his hand to really protest, but sure, the sanders' could all think that virgil took the kids to get coffee.)

richard pulls up a chair to sit beside his mother, and patton—patton is very suddenly reminded of the two other times in his life where he had to stay in the hospital for a period of time, when he gave birth, and when he had top surgery.

they were both there then, too.

neither time, though, had they had a fight quite as bad as the one they'd had last week.

"you don't," patton begins haltingly, and twists virgil's hoodie in his free hand. "you don't have to stay, you know."

they look at each other.

"it was very nice of you to drive roman and logan here," patton says to his dad, quietly, "but i don't—you two don't have to stick around, really. i'm going to be fine, and i can patch things up when—"

"we wanted to apologize," his mother says stiffly, and patton's mouth snaps shut.

"you," patton says, and swallows hard. "you, um. you what?"

"we wanted to apologize," his dad says. patton kind of wants to clean out his ears, and ask them both to repeat themselves one more time, or maybe page a doctor, please, because he thinks he might be hallucinating, but—

"we were out of line," richard continues. "i was out of line. i shouldn't have come down on you as hard as i did—for reopening an argument we've had before."

"oh, dad, that's not—" patton starts.

"will you be quiet and let us finish?" his mother says, snappish, and that almost kind of soothes patton, because if his mother's snappish even if she says she's in the middle of an apology it means his parents probably haven't been bodysnatched, so that's good.

"we are sorry," his mother continues, dignified and refined, and not particularly heartfelt, but that's actually kind of okay, because this was already so weird that if his mom started being the emotional one patton would—well, he doesn't know, really, he just knows it would be very strange. "we are sorry that you were upset, and we are sorry that we upset you further."

"please consider forgiving us," his dad says formally, and patton quashes the urge to giggle. please consider forgiving us in the same way he'd say please consider opening an insurance policy with our company to a client. 

"yes," emily says. "we are sorry for yelling at you, and for aggravating you when you were clearly upset and needed support, and for—"

she hesitates. she adjusts her jacket sleeves.

"and for putting you down," she says, and makes a slight moue of distaste. "for... bullying you."

patton, who is very uncomfortable, cannot help but laugh awkwardly. "i—i mean, i wouldn't say—"

"what else would you call telling you your reasoning wasn't good enough and saying you were a disappointment?" richard asks wearily, and patton shuts his mouth, directing his glance to his lap. he's fisted virgil's hoodie into a bunch he keeps curled in his free hand, with a white-knuckled grip.

"i," patton says, and swallows hard, trying to stop his voice from trembling. he can't say anything at all, and it reminds him unpleasantly of the argument, where he was lost for words, and he couldn't say anything, and he tried so hard to say something and when he did it wasn't good enough, and he swallows again, trying to search for something to say—

"you did nothing to deserve that," his dad says, and patton looks up, then, and oh. oh, his dad's eyes are... suspiciously shiny. "you did nothing to earn that."

"dad," patton barely manages to say around how choked up he is. the only time he ever saw his dad shed a tear was at his grandfather's funeral—and even then, it had only been a few, before he'd wiped off his face and continued stolidly onward.  

"i was being unfair," he says, rigid and unyielding. "i shouldn't have taken out my frustrations on you, much less in such an extreme way. i lost my composure."

"yes," emily says. "so. we are sorry that we were upset, and we made it so that you were upset you, too."

it dawns on patton, then.

they're so bad at this. like, genuinely, they're terrible at apologizing. they've hit almost everything on the stereotypical "what not to do while apologizing list." they apologized that he got upset, not for the things they said that made him upset. they've been snappy and irritable, and sure, a little emotional, but he's pretty sure telling the person you're apologizing to to be quiet is also a thing not to do. they've been uncomfortable, not with their past actions, but with the words they're saying now. 

but honestly? it's the first time they've apologized to him. so no wonder they're bad at it. baby steps, he supposes, and this is a big one. it's the first one. plus, being bad at being humble and nice is kind of quintessential to the way the elder sanders' are. it's comforting, in a really weird way.

"why are you smiling like that?" emily says suspiciously.

patton smiles wider. "nothing," he says reassuringly. 

"well, you're certainly smiling for some reason," she says peevishly. "the least you could do is sit and listen politely without looking like the cat that's gotten the cream, patton, for goodness' sake—oh!"

the reason she's said oh! is because patton's leaned almost all the way off the bed to hug her around the shoulders with his free arm. he sets his chin on her shoulder.

"i love you, mom," he says sincerely.

"oh," she says, and her hand flutters uselessly somewhere along his shoulder blade. "oh, well, that's—how nice."

patton grins even wider, because it's just such a mom thing of her to do, to be so at a loss during an emotional moment. he draws back, and grins at his dad. "i won't hug you, but i hope you know i'm thinking about it."

"it's appreciated," his father says solemnly. 

patton settles back on his pillows, cheeks hurting. "i forgive you, by the way," he adds. "if it needs to be said."

"well, good," emily says, self-satisfied, as if she's succeeded in auctioning for a particularly rare piece of antique furniture. or, well. as if she's the cat that got the cream.

"how was it?" he asks, curious. "having logan spend the week over."

richard and emily exchange a glance. 

"eventful," emily decides, and richard nods in agreement, before he reaches to take one of the abandoned newspapers from the pile logan's compiled for him, and patton almost laughs.

it doesn't take very long for the kid in question to show up at the door, with a diner owner and his best friend in tow, virgil adjusting the chairs in patton's room, before taking a seat himself.

virgil reaches out and takes patton's hand, like it's habit, before he freezes. patton smiles at him, though, and squeezes back, flipping their hands a little so that he can stare at virgil's hand.

he guesses they must have held hands for the first time last night, when he was too feverish to really tune into it. but he takes the time now to marvel quietly at virgil's hands.

logan and roman start talking about roman's opening show of the nutcracker last night, so everyone else is paying attention to that, and patton's absorbing the information, really, but he's a bit preoccupied with virgil's long, bony fingers, his expansive palm, the way he keeps stealing looks at patton out of the corners of his eyes, like he's checking that patton's alright. 

there's dozens of tiny little shiny white burns dotting his fingers, from points where the heat must have leaked through a mitt or he'd forgotten a mitt altogether, or something. there's a longer one, along his wrist. it kind of surprises patton, because he knows how cautious virgil is with heat in the kitchen. he's got calluses and his hand’s a bit sweaty, but warm, and patton squeezes his hand again—an it's okay, an i'm okay, an everything's going to be okay, an i'm really happy you're here right now. a thank you. an i love you.

and virgil squeezes back.