#you would not catch me within an inch of save if i were jack

[firelise]

"Beating each other to death won't help you beat Boss" bitch shut UP jack I'm tired of you grandpa where tf are your wife and kid right now hmmm deadbeat dad ass actin like your own ass not freshly beaten

[tesslahey]

flat tire- jj maybank

a/n: I haven’t written in a while so im kinda rusty but enjoy. i need to stop switching lanes. anyway 

xx,

tess<3

warnings: cursing das it

masterlist

While on your way to to pick up Kie, you noticed the infamous excuse of a van that the pogues drove around in. The blonde was driving and it looked like he was alone. You weren't a kook, but you had friends from both sides. You weren't very close with any of the pogues besides Kie, and you tolerated the kooks because you went to “kook academy” or the rich kid private school of Kildare. 

You pulled over to see what JJ was up to, and with that, JJ pulled right behind you car and hopped out to meet you at your window. 

“What can I do for you, officer.” You joked with your hands on the steering wheel. 

“Ma’am, do you know how fast you were going.” he teased, while leaning on your window.

“Ha, very funny maybank. But seriously why are you following me.”

“Wow, and she knows my last name, I'm flattered.” “Okay now you're just wasting my time.” you said while putting your car in drive.

“You might not wanna do that.” he said looking towards the back of your car.

“And why is that?”

“Your back tire is almost completely deflated. You probably ran over a nail or something, just let me get my car jack. How did you not see the tire light?”

“Fuck me I wasn’t even looking” you exhaled while hitting your steering wheel.

“I’m more of a sex on second date kinda guy, but if you wish I guess.” You couldn’t help but laugh at his stupid remark.

“Let me call Kie.” you said while scrolling on your phone to find her contact. 

on the call

“Kie, we have a problem. I got a flat and I have to replace it.”

“Can’t you still drive with a flat.”

“No, JJ said it's almost completely deflated. We have to replace it or get it towed.”

“Wait, JJ?” Kie asked suspiciously. 

“Oh yeah, he pulled me over when he saw it.”

“Okay, just be quick, my parents are driving me crazy.”

“That's what she said.” JJ joked while elevating the tire.

“JJ, why the fuck would she s- y’know what, never mind, just hurry up.” Kie said before hanging up.

JJ worked on your tire while you leaned against the car awkwardly.

“Is there something I can do to help? I feel bad.” 

“A blowjob would be nice.” he shrugged.

“Too bad, I just quit my prostitution gig. It's a shame, it paid well.” you said, sarcastically.

“Yeah it must have, for that mansion on figure eight.”

“You’ve never even seen my house.” you shot back while leaning back onto the sidewalk. 

“Sure have, dropped Kie off a few times.”

“Oh- I didn't kno-” JJ cut you off.

“You know for having a nice ass car handed to you, you should really be changing this yourself.”

“I could change it if I wanted to. And hey, I never asked you to.”

“Touche.”

“Why are you helping me?” You questioned, you hadn't thought about how kind it was of him to help you. And if you were being honest, you had no clue how to change a tire.

“You're friends with Kie. Kie is one of my best friends. So that makes you a friend.” “Well thank you, seriously. And I lied, I have no fucking clue how to change a tire. 

“Yeah, I know.” He said while finishing up. He stood up and got into the driver's seat to check if the tire light went out, and you followed him. You leaned down into the window to look as well, not realizing the inches separating your faces. 

When the light was out, you both sighed in relief, and JJ exited your seat. You searched your pockets for cash you could give to the blonde. 

“Here JJ, take this.” You demanded while motioning for him to take the 20 in your hand. “Put it back Y/n. Just friends helping friends.” He said while opening his car door.

“Yeah, right, I just- can’t thank you enough.”

“Is the blowjob still on the table?” He questioned. He noticed your questioning look, trying to decipher if he was kidding or not.

“I’m kidding, go save Kie.”

You laughed, slightly in relief, but also acknowledging his joke. 

“Yeah whatever, catch you later Maybank.”

“See ya, y/n.”

You got into your car, trying to hide your smile from the encounter you just shared. You drove away and within 10 minutes, arrived at Kie’s. 

“Hey loser.” Kie said while getting into your passenger side.

“Hey shawty, how was your day?” You questioned, pulling out of her driveway.

“Pretty fuckin shitty, but you’re here now, so it’s only going downhill.”

You just flipped her off and turned the radio up.

After about and minute, Kie broke the silence.

“Wait, we never talked about your hero, JJ.”

“Ha, yeah thank god he saw me I wouldn't have made it without him. I offered him money, for ya know, saving my ass, but he didn't even take it. I feel like I should've done something”

Kie didn't say anything in response, she just turned her head and gave a suggesting look.

“What?” You half joked and half wondered why she gave that look.

“The JJ Maybank I know takes money every chance he can get, I think someone might have a crush.”

“Oh my fucking god, you’re too much.”

“What, I'm just saying, he's not like us, he needs cash for food and shit.”

“He said that because me and you are so close, he was just helping one of his best friends. It was not like that.”

“Whatever you say.” She suggested while rolling down the sun roof.

You turned the volume up and thought to yourself if JJ might actually have a crush on you. But it didn't really matter because you didn't have a crush on him. Or at least you thought so.

[reinersbb]

𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐆𝐄𝐓 [𝐉𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐊𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐜𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐢𝐧 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫] Chapter Five- Save A Horse, Ride A Cowboy PT.1

Chapter Five Part One of Forget

Orange, black, and purple plastic solo cups littered the dewy grass along with other miscellaneous speckles of trash- some cups still retaining remnants of alcohol. Only ten o'clock at night and there was already a headache of a cleanup worth of mess outside on the front lawn. There was no telling how much worse it would be on the inside where the heart and soul of the party was. But it's not like after-party cleanup would be your problem to deal with.

Carved jack-o-lanterns that were once originally placed along the long walkway leading up to the front door of the frat house were smashed and overturned. Stringy pumpkin guts and seeds clung to the porous pavement of the walkway, some of the pumpkin innards in the grass. A collection of large oak trees in the front lawn were decorated with ominous purple lights. The flickering light cascaded across the grass, bouncing off the glass of littered alcohol bottles.

As you transitioned onto the property from the bustling street of roaming party-goers from different frat homes all around, the music and shouts from within the home ahead of you seemed almost loud enough to shatter its' windows. The base of your heels clicked against the pavement out of excitement as you trailed up the property.

A gust of wind hit your overly exposed flesh, and a chill of excitement tickled your vertebrae. While you were pulling the silk robe you wore over your body to cover yourself, short wolf-whistles from a group of drunk party-goers who'd barely managed to stand up straight caught your attention. The intoxicated faces that wore skewed face paint waved to you, catcalling you, wanting nothing else but your attention, but, you ignored them and continued onto the covered porch. Anywhere away from the blabbering drunk so-and-so's who were floundering in the lawn is a place where you wanted to be.

The front door that belonged to the home was left completely open, and you couldn't tell if the people passing through were coming or going. But you pushed your way through and sure enough, you were finally inside and one with the chaos that was the Halloween party. You already knew that this party was more hectic than the last one you attended.

Spirits were high, and the energy emitting from the room you now stood in practically zapped you.

One look alone at the hoard of people around you had you wishing that you would've at least asked Ymir to cancel her late-night movie date with Historia so they could follow along with you tonight instead. You weren't sure if you could handle a party like this all by yourself.

Managing to shuffle away from the front door, you stood aside and reached for your phone that you'd been holding in your small purse. Taking a quick look around at all the flashy details of costumes, your eyes dug down at your phone screen.

Today 22:46 Hey Jean, I'm here...

Though it wasn't out of spite or pettiness, a handful of hours is how long you left Jean's messages on seen. You decided earlier in the day to take it upon yourself and show up and surprise him with your arrival instead of messaging beforehand so that way he wouldn't expect a thing.

After your message was sent, all you had to do was find Jean. Or he had to find you. Seemed simple enough, but with one look at the crowd, you knew it wouldn't be such an easy task to tackle. Even if Jean was nearby, how would you be able to pick him out of the crowd?

There were many, and if not all, people wearing costumes. Even if by chance you were to know tons of people, they'd be hardly recognizable to you. So trying to catch a face would be worthless.

A singular buzz from your phone had you checking your lock-screen within an instant. Sure enough, it was a response from Jean.

Jean: Where are you?

Just as you were about to start at your reply, the chat bubble from the receiving end disrupted you. But as you watched and waited, the chat bubbles disappeared without any further sign of reappearing.

Then somehow you heard Jean's voice shouting your name over the crowd.

But where?

You couldn't help but look like a maniac as you scanned your surroundings. You were trying to recall which direction you heard his tenor voice last when suddenly two large hands skewed your vision. Instantaneously your hands went flying upward, dropping your phone mid-process as you felt at his wrists as he stood close behind you.

You yelped a response, "Jean!"

"Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you," Jean's hands lowered from your face, allowing you to see clearly once again. "Let me get that," you watched as his hand reached for your phone that was on the ground.

Jean fell into your line of sight as you turned on your heel to face him. Both of you went wide-eyed as both of you took each other in, examining each other's costume. Your phone that was now dangling at his fingertips was almost dropped for a second time out of Jean's surprise.

"Are you... a cowboy?" You managed to make the first remark.

Covering Jeans' head was a worn chocolate brown cowboy hat, along with a matching colored mid-thigh coat. His hair was tucked under the hat, only the ends of his hair billowing out. Though like always, the black studded earrings were still imprinted in both his earlobes. A red paisley bandana covered up the neck of his button-up shirt. Dark faded blue jeans covered his long legs and a large belt buckle hung at his hips. The cuffs of his jeans swamped worn down brown pointed boots. His cheeks seemed to be more defined while somehow his facial hair seemed to be darkened and unruly.

His ruggedness was hot.

Jean cleared his throat before attempting to speak with his best cowboy impressions, "you betcha', cowgirl." Jean paused for a beat, mainly to gather his words, "now, correct me if I'm wrong, but I'm assuming you're dressed as a playboy bunny?"

"Bingo. How do you like my costume? Historia and Ymir helped me come up with the idea."

Promptly, you corrected your bunny ears that'd been pushed out of place from his surprise attack. Jean silently raked your appearance in from head to toe, his tongue caught on his lip as if he were about to say something but he hesitated, almost like he was nervous. Even if he was nervous, he most certainly wouldn't let you know that.

Eventually, he gulped, and through his parted lips he spoke, "I- I like it, your costume puts mine to shame. Also, I think the colors red and black suit you well."

If it weren't for the off-put lighting of different color hues, you would've been able to notice the radiating peach glow on his cheeks.

"Thanks, your cowboy costume isn't so bad either," you teased, tipping the front of his hat down over his brow line. "That's payback for making me drop my phone."

Jean chuckled, lifting the hat from his head, allowing the locks of his hair to fall across his forehead aimlessly. His long fingers ran through his hair, pushing his amber strands back before setting the cowboy hat back on his head.

After the quick readjustment, Jean's eyes were on you, "by the way, thanks for showing up tonight."

"Oh, it's no big deal," you admitted when in reality you'd spent hours getting ready, regardless of how nonchalant you'd made your previous statement out to be.

In the back of your mind, you wanted to look good tonight since you knew Jean would be at the party. You didn't care about the technicalities or the thoughts and ideas people would make of you from your attire alone.  But you wouldn't admit it.

You were uncertain for how long you had been staring at Jean for, that and you were also uncertain of close the two of you were standing next to each other until you were randomly pushed from behind by a passerby. Jean of course caught ahold of you as you went stumbling forward. Jean helped stabilize your footing by holding onto your arms.

There was a scowl on his face as he stared off into the crowd, searching for the person who carelessly bumped into you. The disgruntled look on his face was hardly noticeable if you weren't paying enough attention, but sure enough, there was a scowl on his face.

"Are you okay?" Jean's eyes were back on you, "they didn't even stop to apologize to you."

"It's alright, Jean, it's not like I got hurt or anything, and they're probably too drunk to function."

"You know you're probably right," even though it seemed like he didn't want to give up that easily, Jean carefully took ahold of your wrist, "will you follow me?"

You attempted to speak over the blaring background noise, "okay, where are we going?"

Jean turned his head back for only a second so he could respond as he began to walk, "you'll see."

The next room the two of you entered wasn't as packed as the entrance of the house, but still as lively. A table with solo cups at either side was folded out and there were two teams tossing ping pong balls back and forth, taking a drink from the orange solo cups when directed. A hoard of people surrounded the table, but you managed to get a vision of the action.

"Beer pong?" You talked over the commotion, taking a glance at Jean before back at the table.

"Have you ever played before?"

"Back in high school, I've played a handful of times but I completely sucked at the game. I haven't won, not even a single time."

"Let's see if your luck has changed any and see if we can break that losing streak of yours," Jean finally released your wrist to go talk to a man who'd been standing near the game table.

The unknown man was dressed in black pants and a white and black striped shirt, like one of those burglars you see in children's cartoons. Under a black beanie, he had blond hair and was built, his well-toned muscles were flexed as his arms wrapped around his chest while talking with Jean. Next to the blond was a much taller man, who was even taller than Jean by at least two to three inches, who wore a similar costume as the blond.

"Hey! Are you a friend of Jean?" An alto-toned voice called out from your right as you felt a knuckle tap on your shoulder.

A tall man with a freckle-kissed face and chocolate brown eyes beamed at you, his expression was laced with a mixture of surprise and curiosity. His hair was parted and styled like a man from the eighties, and he wore a red puffer jacket over a denim jacket. Instantly you thought he was dressed as Marty McFly from Back To The Future.

"I guess you could say that, yes," you said, unsure if a straight yes or no would be correct.

"Okay, cool! I'm Marco, Jean's best friend. I haven't seen you around before, where did you guys meet?"

"I met him through my mutuals at a party last Saturday-" you paused for a beat, remembering the first actual encounter you had with Jean. "Actually, the first time I ever met him is when I quite literally ran into him. It was horrible, I spilled my latte and everything."

You'd have Jean pay you back for that latte one day, even if you were the one that barged into him. And that was a promise.

Just then, those chocolate brown eyes of his flashed for a split second. His thick eyebrows rose and fell and the corners of his lips struggled to keep from lifting into a knowing smirk.

"Before I forget to ask, what is your name?"

Whenever you told Marco your name, his eyes darted over towards Jean's direction then back at you. There was a weird expression on his face that you couldn't put your finger on, it almost seemed like he knew something that you didn't.

Your eyebrow lifted, "what's the matter, Marco?"

"Marco!" Jean finally reappeared from the beer pong table, almost standing in between you and Marco.

Jean glanced at you and back to Marco.

"Wait, what were you two talking about?" Jean shifted towards you slightly, a shadow falling across his brow from the cowboy hat he was wearing.

His defensive side caused suspicion to arise inside of you. Had he been hiding something from you?

"We-"

You'd attempted to speak, but Marco beat you to it, "nothing, Jean, I was just introducing myself to your friend."

Jean stared at Marco for a few seconds, like he was carefully reading the man with chocolate eyes.

Suddenly, there was a loud cheer, almost like an explosion from the table. Then there was a harsh whistle that zipped through the other commotion which caught Jean's attention entirely.

"Jean! Come on, you're up against me and Bert," the same man that Jean was talking to previously informed.

"Come on," Jean motioned for you to follow him, "let's get you that win."

Across from you stood the same two men who Jean had been talking to previously. Apparently, the blond's name was Reiner and the other went by Bert, or Berty, however, the blond cooed. While Marco stood off to the side of both you and Jean, loaning you his friendly support and cheering both of you on.

As the game commenced, Jean stood close beside you the whole time, giving you a few tips and tricks here and there to help sink the ball. You noted how nice it felt when he held onto your wrist one time to imitate a fake swish. Or how nice it felt when you actually sunk a ball into a cup and Jean would congratulate you by pulling your body against him into a side hug.

You felt at the top of the world, soaring all high and mighty. There was a slight buzz kicking in already from the cups of beer you had to drink, and Jean even decided to help you out with most of them by downing the liquid. He'd pluck the cup up from the table, and before dipping his head back, he'd glance at you with a knowing look with his intense eyes over the brim of the cup.

Your fingers accidentally laced with his momentarily as you high-fived one another after Jean scored your team another point. Soon after your mini celebration was cut short, Jean rolled his eyes whenever Reiner's ball bounced into your team's orange cup. Reluctantly his slender fingers grasped the brittle material and downed the beer.

With the back of his wrist, he wiped the corners of his mouth, "we just need to score the last cup," Jean placed a hand on your shoulder, his excited eyes staring into yours.

"What if I mess up?" You kept your eyes only on Jean.

"You won't."

With that, you sucked a breath in through your nose and exhaled steadily. The music was continuously bumping in the background while you rinsed off your ball in the discard cup. Your chest was thumping, and there was a ringing sensation beginning to sound.

The game was currently tied up. One to one. Reiner and Bert stood adjacent to you and Jean. Both men waved their hands in front of the cup as you aimed for the center.

Once the ball was tossed and in mid-air after its' first bounce, their hands ripped away, and almost as if it were playing in slow motion, the ball landed in the cup. The contents sloshing around slightly on impact as your ball sank into the depths of the plastic. Reiner sighed and plucked the ball out and drank the beer from the remaining cup you happened to score.

An eruption of emotions spilled out of you and everyone else around you. To your surprise, you felt Jean ease his arms around you, swiftly lifting you and spinning you in a victory hug. Naturally, you melted into Jean's touch as he held you up from the ground.

"We did it, Jean! Thank you so much for believing in me."

"It's no problem, I knew that you could do it, but I do enjoy the praise."

If it weren't for Eren walking up and interrupting both of you, the moment of celebration with Jean would've lasted much longer.

You would've preferred that outcome.

"Jean, Marco," A slap on Jeans' shoulder came from Eren, "I've been looking for you two and everyone else, Porco wants us downstairs," Eren was practically already shit-faced.

When Eren's shiny emerald eyes caught ahold of yours, he stopped to smile and greet you. He couldn't believe that he'd overlooked you for that short moment.

"You- a playboy bunny? Damn, if I would've known you'd come dressed as that I would've come dressed as Hugh Hefner," Eren held a bottle pointed at you as he took your appearance in, "don't be a stranger, you should join us downstairs."

"Now, you don't have to if you don't want to."

"It's okay, Jean," you reassured the tall figure, "it sounds like it will be fun."

Your heels clapped against the hard flooring after stepping away from Jean who finally let you back onto the ground. Instead of walking with Jean, you stayed behind him as he walked with Marco, and Eren was already way ahead of the two men. You enjoyed watching Jean and Marco converse from behind, and also you noticed how lively they seemed to be when talking to each other.

Much to your Amusement, you immediately noticed out of the crowd of people in the basement that both Connie and Sasha were wearing matching crayon costumes. Connie was the color green and Sasha was yellow.

"Over here, you guys!" Connie practically fell over his own feet as he grabbed your small group's attention.

Though, another face, another painstakingly familiar face caught your attention.

'Why the hell is he here?'

Floch never showed up to parties, so why now of all times?

You stilled in your tracks, unsure of what to do. Do you approach the group and be awkward because of your ex-boyfriend? Or do you stop, turn around, and head back out instantly without another word spoken?

You noticed when Jean turned his head over his shoulder to look back at you, almost like he somehow noticed or felt a shift in the atmosphere around your group. His lips turned from a crooked smirk from talking to Marco into a slight frown as he gazed at you. Jean paused from marching alongside Marco to glide back and meet up with you.

Naturally, Marco turned on his heel to question what was up and why both of you stopped following, and all Jean did was encourage him to carry on and that the two of you would only take a second.

You appreciated Jean's concerns, but you didn't know what to say to him, what could you possibly say to him without making him uncomfortable?

"What's wrong?" Jean asked as he finally approached you.

"He," your eyes found comfort by staring at the ground you were standing on, "he's here."

"What do you mean?" Jean looked around momentarily before looking back at you, "who's here?"

There wasn't much time to waste, not if you wanted to make your conflicting emotions noticeable to the others who were waiting for all four of you to join them. You definitely didn't want Floch to notice how bothered you were by his presence.

What was he doing here anyway? He never was the one to attend parties, he even said so himself.

"My ex-boyfriend," you spoke dryly, almost unable to be heard if Jean weren't listening well enough.

Without another word spoken, you lifted your head, Jean took the cue to follow your eyes where Floch was seated. You watched as the redhead enjoyed a beverage from his orange cup, laughing at something with a man with short brown hair, whom you didn't recognize.

"Who? That guy is your ex?" Jean asked, paying close attention to you while gesturing towards Floch.

"Yeah, the redhead, I didn't think he'd be here tonight," you exhaled an uneasy breath of air, "he was never the one for parties. God, I don't want him to ruin my night, I've been having so much fun and-"

"So then don't let him ruin your night," Jean took ahold of your hand, interlacing your fingers with his, "I have an idea."

Your eyes flashed with excitement at the hand-to-hand contact with Jean, "what's your idea?"

Jean's stern eyes softened for a split second, almost like he were telling you to trust him. Without any debate on the matter, you swallowed your nerves and squeezed Jean's fingers with your own, embracing the comforting heat of his palm on yours. You could only notice how relaxed your hand was in his, the feeling was familiar and soothing, something you could get used to if given the chance.

"Hey guys," Jean spoke to the large friend group, taking a seat beside Marco on the couch.

The group of people was much larger this time around. You recognized some faces from previous encounters at the last party, while some faces you hadn't seen before, and some were completely unrecognizable due to their costumes. More people were standing idly by away from your group talking to one another, some were dancing, and there were others preoccupied at the wet bar. You noticed that there was a small group huddled around a pool table, but decided to_ ignore_ the pool table.

Without anywhere else to sit due to limited space around, you hesitated briefly until Jean pulled you onto his lap. With a squeal, you adjusted yourself, crossing your legs quaintly as you delicately sat on his lap. This whole time from holding hands with Jean till now you've avoided looking towards the direction Floch was sitting in, but you noticed that his lips had gone still, and movement of his had ceased.

Maybe he was jealous by seeing you and Jean together, hand in hand. But that was a good thing, right?

Jean's large palm draped on your hip delicately, no, hesitantly, almost like he was unsure to touch you. His palm hovered across the material of your silk robe, feeling the intricate indentations of the more risqué undergarments underneath. He didn't want to make you feel uncomfortable by the way he was holding onto you, all he could do was hope you wouldn't mind. But, considering your past encounter with Jean, he thought something so simple as having his hand placed on your hip didn't match up to the extremity of the last personal encounter you two shared.

Connie and Sasha struck up a conversation with you as soon as you were comfortably seated. Jean and Marco casually joined in on the conversation and all five of you sat talking amongst yourselves out of the group of well over a dozen.

There were the occasional cut-ins from Eren or the blond whose name was Armin that you'd seen from yesterday, but you didn't mind. There was also a man who was named Niccolo that appeared from upstairs who joined in, he brought two beers with him and wiggled his way to sit in between Sasha and Connie, mostly leaning into Sasha though as he gave her one of the beverages he'd been holding. The more the merrier you thought.

As long as it wasn't Floch joining in, you didn't mind.

The conversation was cut to a halt when a man with dirty blond hair that was slicked back cleared his throat to speak. The blond wore a black leather jacket, with a white t-shirt underneath and faded blue jeans covering his legs. Sitting next to him was another male who wore a similar matching costume, sans jacket and his hair was only a little messier than the blonds, with his hair falling out of place but still kept back. They looked to be dressed like a character out of the book _The Outsiders, _like greasers.

"How about we all play a little game?"

"What kind of game, Pock?" A woman with thick black hair asked, her arm lazily dragged across the man's shoulder as she tipped her head out of curiosity.

"Pieck, I told you to stop calling me that," the blond seemed to be easily frustrated by the single comment.

Which only resulted in a soft laugh from Pieck, "alrighty then, Porco."

The irritate state seemed to blow over quickly, and Porco now was back on track with his original train of thought, "anyways, I was thinking of..." Porco glanced around the vast group for a moment, "a little game of truth or dare?"

"Truth or dare? Don't you think that's a little middle schoolish, baby brother?" The man sitting beside him with brown hair asked playfully, visibly striking a nerve in Porco.

"Shut up," Porco hissed at his brother, "it's my party, so I get the say in what we do, so if _you _don't like it, Marcel, then you can leave. It's as easy as that," Porco pulled a bottle of bud light to his lips before tipping his head back to take a drink. "And that goes for everyone else too, if you don't like it, then leave."

Though, with the invitation to leave if warranted, no one got up from their seat. And you could tell that Jean hadn't even considered the option of leaving since he made no effort to move, and neither did you. But, naturally, you turned your head over your shoulder just to ask him and make sure. What you didn't anticipate was the proximity that both of your faces would be to each other once you turned to look back at him.

You stilled on Jean's lap, the breath you sucked in practically caught in your throat at his closeness, "Jean," you almost asked in a hushed tone, "do you want to play?"

"Of course," his smile disappeared briefly, but not because he was unhappy, "I mean unless you don't then we can go somewhere-"

"No," you smiled, aimlessly turning back to face the crowd as you'd once been, "I'd like to play, all I need is a drink to start the pace," you admitted, eyes falling onto Floch after turning back forward.

————————

"You have to do the dare, Bert," the man from the opposing team you played against earlier, who you now knew as Reiner, spoke out, encouraging his tall friend and the girl he was with.

Currently, Bertholdt was to take a body shot off of the girl's stomach. The poor boy was flustered out of his mind, his tan cheeks were a deep shade of pink as he leaned towards the girl. Bert dipped down to her naval, sucking out the alcohol from her belly button. Whistles and cheers sounded out from the crowd when Bert pulled his face back, downing the shot of booze.

"Atta champ," Reiner slapped Bertholdt on his back, causing Bert to cough up a sputter on the alcohol that lingered in his throat.

Bertholdt shrugged his shoulder over his mouth, eliminating any residual of alcohol on his lips.

Currently, you were a few turns in of a modified version of truth or dare. But instead of truths, there were only dares, or you had to take a drink for bailing. The game and its' rules reminded you of the spin-the-bottle game you played last Saturday.

"Drink or dare," you scanned across the crowd, thinking of a victim to pick, "Sasha."

"Dare, obviously," she elbowed Connie in the rib playfully, waiting to hear the poison you picked for her.

A mischievous grin developed on your eager lips, you had just the dare in mind for Sasha.

"I dare you to go lock yourself in a room with Niccolo for ten minutes," you pointed to a room just a few feet away from your group.

Niccolo sputtered out of embarrassment, he was surprised that you'd dare Sasha to do something like that. But Sasha, she wasn't the one to complain over a dare. So, she hopped up on her feet and waited for Niccolo to follow.

Though you only crafted this dare mostly as a joke, you knew well that this dare would also help the two jump-start their relationship in the right direction. You came to that conclusion solely by observing how the two had been interacting with each other so far.

Niccolo seemed to be interested in Sasha but, of course, was hesitant, while Sasha on the other hand was oblivious to Niccolo's advances.

Before Sasha entered the nearby room, she shot you a glance, a glance that could read 'you'll pay for this later.'

After receiving quick congratulatory praise from Eren and Connie due to daring Sasha and Niccolo to do such a thing, both men signaled to Jean that it was now his turn to dare someone.

"Who's it going to be, Jean?" pulling your chin back over your shoulder, you stopped to look at the man you were sitting on.

His fingers that were slack against you suddenly gripped your body slightly. Jean's index finger vaguely tapped against you where he held onto, before combing all fingertips against your flesh in a soothing manner.

Without a second glance around the room, Jean spoke with his head slightly tilted, his eyes on and only on you, "I dare you to kiss me."

[jackarychaoti]

DWC2021-15 - Memory/Chase

TW: Blood | Body Horror | Disturbing Images

-[ MUSIC ] -

Insanity.

In Azeroth, it was known as The Madness, The Darkening, the Dragon’s Sickness... The Nightmare. In many worlds, in millions of languages, it had endless names but it always meant the same thing. A corruption, often brought on by nightmarish feelings or situations, that ate the being alive, twisting it into something else entirely. Dragons fell particularly hard to such a toxic curse, especially.

This was no exception.

“DO NOT LET HIM GET INTO THE FOREST, WE’LL FUCKING LOSE HIM FOREVER!!”

Lokitan screamed as a mere handful of the Heran army raced upon war-bred Granondo, a clove-hooved type horse with coiled horns, best used to ram incoming enemies. Terrifyingly fast creatures that feared nothing in the heat of battle and yet they could not quite keep up with the terror streaking through the rotting fields of a dying wasteland and seemed even less inclined to get anywhere near it.

The target they hunted was a slithering creature running on all fours, bones twisted and inhuman with long tendrils of muddied hair, making the thing look even more sickly in the way that it hung over the face. Now and then, piercing silver eyes would dart back to see just how much closer its pursuers had come in the wild hunt, noting the way the warriors had begun to flank it. If only it could reach the edge of the forest, the beast would have a far better tactical advantage and a speed increase, let alone an easier time to attack those that hunted it.

“Loki!��� A voice called out and soon a female rider pushed her steed up to the Dread Prince himself, eyes narrowed, glancing over in his direction. Fire blazed all around her, the snowy locks of her hair wild and free as a hellish set of crimson eyes flitted to the dark-haired rogue. “What do we do if it gets to the forest before we can reach him?!”

“You pray to your mother that we take him down before that.”

Chaos.

It was absolute chaos and he had just told her to pray to the deity that created it.

Inch after inch, Lokitan pressed forward, signaling the General’s finest men to continue flanking the beast, heels dug in harder into his skeletal Granondo to push onward and finally close in the distance of the skittering cretin running on all fours. Once close enough, the agile Prince pushed himself to crouch atop the saddle; he lunged, flickering through the very shadows to reappear right on top of the nightmarish beast. He dared not draw a weapon.

Not against this one.

The clashing form was greeted by the muddied, anemic animal twisting itself to bite hard at its would-be attacker, using the momentum to kick Lokitan right off and send him flying. That mere few seconds to protect itself was costing its safety to get into the forest. A loud shrieking cry pierced through the veil of carnage, knowing the chase was quickly coming to an end. Claws grabbed at the deep red mud below, years of war and corpses all around, the thick blood of countless soldiers meshed together with protected soils and painful, bitter rain. The slick surface had the creature try another attempt to break free, slipping the first few steps.

It was so close… The forest was but a hundred yards away.

Lokitan rolled through the slimy fighting ground, catching himself to snag at the beast’s ankle, yanking it back to throw it in the other direction. He was doing all he could to buy the warriors more time to position themselves and close in on the fighting pair.

“It doesn’t have to be this way, Jack.”

Melted silver raised from under the long strands of hair while the beast hunched itself further, a deep snarl and razored fangs revealed themselves in a warning. The aggressive display had Loki push himself to stand and raise his clawed hands, exposing that he was as unarmed as he could possibly be. He stared down at the nightmare-fueled version of his cousin, his best friend who he knew was in so much pain that he had allowed the darkness to consume his heart.

“Look at me, Jackary… I don’t want to hurt you, hn..?”

There was a brief pause and for a moment, the world stood still. Even the droplets of sweat and foul mud froze in place for a fraction of a second while the thing Lokitan referred to as ‘Jackary’ mulled over its choices. Heavy breaths of air pushed out, bellowed in smoke pouring from its twisted jaw that was filled with acidic drool that flopped to the ground in large globs - a clear sign of the beast’s stress.

“Let’s get you home… Let’s get cleaned up…” A leather-clad hand dared to reach for the unholy creation but within a blink of an eye, time sped back up. Teeth snapped at the grasp, claws raised to full-on attack the one being that kept the beast from the forest it was trying to get to.

“FUCKING--!” Loki found himself head to head with the writhing mass of acid-spitting, half-transformed wyrm, a Beast of Insanity that wore a Prince’s crown and who was upsetting the balance of life and death. Without one, there couldn’t truly be another. Every snap of the jowls and swipe of talons was blocked or barely dodged, up until Lokitan lost his footing.

Slipping, he found himself under those wild jaws, hands clasped the wide-open maw above him that threatened to clamp down on his face and bite his skull clean in half. Muscles ached, his posture shook from trying to push what was once his peaceful, loving cousin off him. It wasn’t until another bubbling mixture of acid was seen dripping from under the beast’s tongue that the rogue knew he was in deep trouble… He was going to have to hurt the beast or die.

One hand released the mouth and in a split-second decision, the palm shoved up hard to strike at the creature’s jawline, his intensely sharp claws sliced the beast’s right jaw, stunning and pushing it away, jarred in surprise. It left Lokitan with just the smallest leeway to raise his hand up in the air, giving a hidden signal.

The Insanity-addled creature hissed loudly but before it could turn to lunge the last few steps to disappear into the forest and become a haunting ghost, a slough of chains and ropes fell atop it, blanketing the wild creature. The engineered nets implanted themselves into the dirt below, radiating pulsations of electrical charges to stun the captured beast into a horrifying submission. The haunting screams of agony, half-human, half-dragon rang out in a near ear-shattering volume.

Only when it stopped struggling to even stand did the shocking currents of energy cease their barbaric, but effective, handling.

“Are you hurt?” The woman from earlier charged forward, sliding down from her fiery warsteed to help Lokitan up from the wet earth.

“No,” Lokitan spat out, snagging the hand to be hoisted up, wincing when it indeed hurt to put any sort of weight on one of his legs. Glancing down at it, he was sure there was likely a fracture somewhere... But now wasn’t the time to dawdle.

“Well, you’re not dead, dear brother, so…” Musing, she helped at least support the Dark Prince, glancing down at the wheezing, now bleeding beast. “This isn’t curable, you know. When someone falls to the Insanity, they don’t come back.”

“Untrue,” Loki quipped, hobbling over with his sister’s help until he was able to ease down and sit next to the captured animal. A gloved hand reached forward, pushing the black hair from its face to indeed reveal a half transformed Jackary, the silver spiral of his eyes a dead giveaway at the corruption. “There was a Priest once who fought it and contained it. Rumour has it he wanders around with a single spiral eye, hn? Fucked up shit.”

The woman sighed, almost huffing while a hand motioned down to what remained of Jack. “Look at him, Lokitan. Half transformed, his brain isn’t fucking in there anymore. Put the thing out of its misery and let the avatar of Life be passed down elsewhere. It’ll rebirth by tomorrow, save your own ass.”

“No.” Lokitan took a moment to grip the skull before him, pinning the dragon further as a small crimson glow overtook his eyes. “He was never meant to hurt anyone, it was her that drove him to this.”

“Yeah, well, she’s pretty fucking dead, now isn’t she?”

A hand waved the antsy woman off, freeing Lokitan to simply focus on the inner workings of the beast before him. It was a rare trick the Rogue had up his sleeve and normally it was used to delve into someone’s memories, to unlock what terrifies them the most to use it against them… But what if, he thought, what if he could use it in reverse?

Time ticked by, allowing the dark, shadowy tendrils of his own essence to seep into Jackary’s form, filtering through and plucking every little bit of the corruption to neatly gather it within. A simple box was made at first, deep inside the dragon’s brain. Soon it was locked away and chained relentlessly to his psyche. A personality that he could never escape from, one that in time, would briefly show a fraction of itself and be referred to as…

Naga.

“M’sorry…” Loki whispered while he worked, remolding and melding Jackary’s very essence and memories to pull him from an otherwise impossible return. It was an attempt to do this or be forced to kill him and Lokitan wasn’t sure he inwardly had the power to do that. “You were designed to never forget.. But if you always remember, there is no saving you from the corruption that has been planted within you.”

Lokitan frowned, rubbing his thumb slowly, sweetly along Jackary’s forehead, the beast had long since stopped trying to fight back. It was lethargic.

“I am taking this from you, Jackary. This thing that turned you into something you aren’t.” Lokitan cooed, almost fondly at his twisted cousin as each memory leading up to a certain event was plucked and stolen away and yet what Lokitan hadn’t realized was that in making such a small hole in Jack’s memory, it served as an endless void. A slow-drip leak that would cause him to forever forget things after a while. A blessing and a curse in the future, but at that moment, when Lokitan gazed down and saw the beginnings of Peridot return to those eyes, he knew it was the best decision he could have made.

---

Darnath quietly clamped the journal closed with a small squeeze to the spine, the entry had been written in a far different font and form which made him think that perhaps Lokitan had written it instead. But... Where the memory that had been stolen was placed was beyond the Dragonsworn.

Stormy grey pools glanced at the snoozing blond curled against his side. Jack, in an elven form, had been cozying up for a small nap while his Knight read, blissfully unaware of what haunting stories Darnath had been refamiliarizing himself with once more. The Champion glanced to the spine of the journal, noting the number upon it, and raised his vision upward. The book he was really looking for must have been the one right before this… Maybe that one held the answer he was looking for.

| - @daily-writing-challenge - |

[fitzs-trained-monkey]

Chapter Twenty-Nine: Red Roses, Red Roses

Rated: 16+ For graphic descriptions of violence and gore, brief mentions of rape, mentions of torture, mentions of abuse, and disturbing images.

Masterlist

~All the pretty girls, they find

A way to keep you on my mind

I swear I heard you singing along

Cities pass like candy stores

And you're the one

I'm looking for

And so

I'm just a boy

Who's telling a girl

That when I grow up I'll buy you a rose

When I grow up, I'll buy you a rose~

"Okay, but what is the proper plural form of Nephilim?" I asked from the back seat of the Impala as it drove through the winding roads from the bunker and into town. "See, 'cause ' Nephilims ' sounds weird. So, is it ' Nephili ' like ' octopi ', or could it be ' Nephilice ' like ' mice '? I need to know this, guys."

The car was silent. Sam, Cas, and Jack were all thinking over the answer to my question and Dean was just rolling his eyes in the mirror.

"Maybe-" Sam started slowly "-Maybe it's just 'Nephilim'. You know, like ' moose '?"

"Yeah, that kinda sounds right, I guess." I nodded. Dean laughed and shook his head, glancing at me in the mirror. "What?"

"Oh, nothin'." He waved a hand. "I just don't get ya' is all."

"Yeah, neither do I." I shrugged and Jack must have found something funny because he snickered. "But what is it that you don't get?"

Dean shrugged. "I mean, I know you get rattled; Felix scares you and I get that. But you just take  everything else  in stride! How do you do that? I just- I don't get it."

"I told you this, Dean. I'm good at hiding my reactions to things and if I can't hide them then I use them to gain sympathy from others." I glanced at Jack, catching his eye. "At least, that's what I do until I can really trust somebody."

Jack smiled a little and tugged me closer into his side. He had been acting sorta weird since we'd all piled into the Impala for the drive into town. Jack had wrapped his arm around my waist and held me tight against him, almost as if he was keeping me away from the trench-coated angel on my other side. He kept shooting Cas these weird glances and I couldn't help but wonder what they could be about. If I hadn't known better, I would have thought that Jack was being possessive.

Not that I was complaining about our close proximity or anything! Jack was really warm and winter in Kansas was, shall we say, not. Who was I to turn down free cuddles? Although those cuddles did kinda make me want to sink my teeth into him. He smelled so sweet and his skin looked so frustratingly soft. Maybe one of these nights I could sneak into his room and get a taste. That could make things better, I mean, half the torture of being around him was the curiosity of not knowing.

"And we're here!"

Sam's voice knocked me out of that potentially devastating train of thought and I followed Jack out of the car. Okay, ' followed ' is the wrong word. Jack pretty much just pulled me out of the car with him. He didn't let go of me. Weird.

The town of Lebanon, Kansas reminded me quite a bit of Copper Harbor. The main difference was that Lebanon was bigger... A lot bigger. The buildings were small and friendly, made of red brick and wooden doors and windows with glass that bulged out at the bottom. The streetlamps were iron and curled over the street as they should and there were planter boxes underneath display windows. The whole town just breathed in a way that said ' stay awhile '.

"It's Christmas time," I noted aloud, "I almost forgot."

There were colorful lights wrapped around poles and wreaths hung on doors with bells that jingled when they opened. There were even speakers placed outside that filled the air with all sorts of holiday music and I felt a smile split across my face as I started to sing along.

"Oh, no. Don't tell me you sing too," Dean chuckled as he held open the door of a discount clothing store. I was about to say something witty as a response but Jack beat me to the chance.

"She does! She sang to me last night," He said, smiling down at me. Dean raised an eyebrow, glancing at the acute lack of space between us. Jack noticed and let go of my waist.

"Oh yeah? And how was that?" Dean asked, smirking.

Jack's brow's furrowed and his head tilted as he eyed me like he was trying to remember something.

"It was..."

' Please don't say anything that'll get me dead! ' I pleaded silently.

"It was  magical ."

Sam, Dean, and Cas all shared a strange look, but before anything more could be said, the shopkeeper waltzed in from the back room.

Her silver hair was cut short and straight with the ends tucked around her chin. She was a short, thin woman probably in her late forties or early fifties with a not-a-hair-out-of-place sort of attitude. I would bet twenty bucks that her name was Christie spelled with a 'Ch' that she would be sure to remind us of. Click-clacking her way over to us in a pair of atrociously hot pink six-inch heels, the woman regarded us over the tops of her thick, rectangular glasses which hung on a chain around her neck. She flicked her eyes over each person individually in a way that reeked of silent judgment and when her eyes landed on me I was tempted to flip her off. When she was satisfied that she knew everything there was to know about us, the woman fixed a painfully fake smile onto her face and greeted us, speaking slowly like we were uneducated simpletons.

"Well, hi there all! My name's Christie with a 'Ch', you know, like in 'Christmas'? What are your names?"

Called it.

"Hey, Christie. I'm Dean, this is my brother Sam, standing really creepily behind me is Cas, and this one here is his son Jack." Dean pointed as he introduced everyone, sounding annoyed as if this was his tenth time meeting Christie which it probably was. "We're lookin' to get Marty here some warm clothes. Got anything, ah, petite?"

I shot Dean a pointed look to which he just smirked. It wasn't my fault he and his brother were so freakishly tall. In front of us, Christie ignored his request to do business and kept on chatting.

"Sam and Dean Winchester? I remember you, boys. Why didn't you tell me one of you had a daughter as pretty as this little vision? Is she yours, Sam? She looks a bit like you," She cooed, stroking my hair as if that was a socially acceptable thing to do. I almost bit her hand off but smiled instead. Her question caught Sam off guard.

"No, no. Marty's not my daughter," He chuckled nervously, shaking his head.

"Oh! My mistake. Is she yours, Dean?"

"What? No! O'corse not!"

I nearly smacked my face with my palm. Were these guys  trying  to look like kidnappers? Considering their age and the way I was dressed, oh yeah, this totally looked like a kidnapping.

Christie frowned and wrapped an arm around my shoulders, pulling me closer to her side. Jack reached for me but Christie pulled me further away, glaring at him.

"Oh, dear me. I shouldn't be calling the police on you boys now, should I?"

Sam and Dean glanced at each other, trying to come up with some sort of excuse and Christie was already pulling out her phone. A very Isaac-like idea popped into my brain. I rolled my eyes and huffed, pushing away from Christie.

"Ugh! Why do you guys have to be so weird about it? I mean, if you have to dress like child abductors then you could at least  try  not to act like it!" I turned to Christie, shaking my head. "Yeah, sorry about them, ma'am. It's a really long and scandalous story and you probably don't wanna hear the details, but I'm not being kidnapped, I promise."

Christie perked up at the mention of scandal, she was probably just itching for some juicy gossip to spread around at one of her knitting meetings.

"Well, I should probably hear the whole story just to make sure," She said, almost buzzing with excitement.

"Are you sure?" I baited, "It's pretty bad!"

"Oh, you can tell me, hon! I won't tell anybody."

Liar, liar, pants on fire!

"Alright, so long story short, my mom is Cas's aunt and she's a slut who cheated on my dad, who's a straight-up loser. So, he only found out that I'm not his just last week and filed for divorce within two days because he finally has an excuse to get rid of me now. Except, surprise-surprise, my mom never wanted me either because I'm a useless mistake and so they both threw me to child support which Cas here saved me from because he's a decent human being!" I finished my rant of bull crap and inhaled deeply. Christie had bought every word.

"Aw, you poor baby! You get a discount, sweetheart, and if one of your parents ever comes in here I'm gonna wring their neck!" She continued babbling as she led us through the store while Sam, Dean, Cas, and Jack all stared at me like I had eight heads. I smirked at them and shrugged a little.

Five hours and six oversized bags of clothes later and we were out of that store. We crossed the street and collapsed on some benches outside a diner, remaining silent for a while.

"That was worse than Hell!" Dean complained, tugging his boots off and rubbing his sore feet. "If I had to hear that woman talk for one more minute, I might have slit her throat!"

The rest of us made noises of agreement. Well, all except Jack who just shrugged.

"I thought she was nice," He said, though he too looked worn out.

"That wasn't nice, Jack. That was prying," Cas corrected him.

"Yeah," I agreed, "I wasn't sure how much more crap I could spout about your aunt, Cas!"

"Yeah, um, speaking of," Sam cut in, "You had that whole thing pretty handled, Marty. Where'd all that stuff come from anyway?"

"I've been on my own since I was nine, Sam," I lied, lowering my head and picking at my jeans.

"I get that, but-"

" Since I was  nine ,  Sam ." I glanced up to see Sam's mouth form into an 'O' of understanding. I looked away again, quieting my voice. "I know how to make up excuses that people won't question."

"Ah."

"You are  quite  the liar, Martina," Cas spoke up with a tilt of his head. The way his words curled in on one another made it impossible for me to tell whether his statement was one of praise, suspicion, or both. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Jack eyeing Cas, his lip curled in a scowl that looked unnatural when displayed by his gentle features.

I didn't look up at the angel sitting in front of me. A tight smile tugged at the corner of my lips as I tapped the pads of my fingers against my knees.

"You don't trust me do you, Castiel?" I asked, trying to keep my voice neutral. Cas sighed and shook his head; I watched Jack's hands clench into fists.

"No. No, I don't," He said, eyeing Jack's reactions as well.

"Why not?" I still didn't look up, feeling the angel's gaze shift to me.

"You lie so easily to others, and you do it very well. What's to stop you from doing the same to us?" For once, Castiel's tone didn't seem accusatory. He sounded truly curious and... understanding almost. His words were something close to gentle.

"Nothing, really," I answered honestly, "For five years, it was just  me . I had Isaac but I still felt  so  alone . I felt so small and scared and  purposeless . All I did was run and hide, it was like I was just waiting to die. So, when you guys offered me protection, I couldn't say no. I couldn't say no, even if I didn't actually need it."

"Didn't need it? What's that supposed to mean?" Dean asked, leaning his elbows on his knees. I shrugged.

"You guys saw a small kid getting attacked in that alleyway and you helped her out. You just made the same mistake that everybody does."

"And what mistake is that?" Cas pressed, squinting curiously.

"Thinking that small means the same thing as helpless," I took a deep breath, shaking my head, "It doesn't, and I'm not. I told you I was clever, you just never stopped to think about what that meant. What you guys don't seem to get is that I survived for  five years . I was just scared that if you knew then you would leave me there alone and I- I just couldn't."

"So, you lied to us?" Sam asked with a frown. I nodded.

"I did. I lied to you and I'm sorry."

"We wouldn't have turned you away, Marty," Jack said, softly grasping my hand.

"I think somewhere deep down I knew that. There were just these things I had to do to survive and I was so scared that if you knew about them, then you wouldn't want me. So, I lied. Because the only thing I could think about was how I just couldn't be alone anymore." I laughed in spite of myself.

Jack nodded solemnly before glancing up and getting distracted by something across the street. His face lit up as he let go of my hand and stood, bounding towards whatever had caught his attention. I didn't bother to watch him.

"Look, Marty," Dean sighed and shook his head a bit, "You seem like a pretty sweet kid and I like you, a lot. Now, I may not know everything about your past, but I know from experience that the only thing that can make up for your mistakes is trying your best to do the right thing now. I wanna trust you, Marty. We all do. But if you keep all these secrets, then we can't do that. So, can you promise us just one thing?"

"Name it."

"No more lies?"

"No more lies," I lied.

"Good." Sam smiled. "So, is there anything else we should know about you?"

There were so many things. None of which I could tell.

"Well, there might be one thing."

"What?"

I opened my mouth to speak but I was cut off by a flower being presented before my eyes. The flower was a rose and the rose was white. It was gorgeous and perfect, there wasn't a single flaw on any of the smooth petals and it was just one step short of full bloom.

There was a hand attached to the rose and I plucked the flower from his fingers, twirling it between my own.

"What's this for?" I asked as I looked up at Jack who beamed down at me the way I remember summer sunshine being like.

"It reminds me of you," He said simply.

"Why?" I chuckled.

"Um, because you said that you pretended to be innocent and helpless because you thought that nobody would want you if they knew otherwise. So, um, I-" He gestured to the rose's thorn-covered stem. "Well, t-this one has spiky-things on it."

"So, it does." I nodded, giggling at his strange explanation. Jack flashed me a grin and continued.

"At first, I thought it was just beautiful, like you, and I didn't see the spiky things until I picked it up. When I touched it, it hurt, but I took it anyway. See, it's still beautiful - even with the spikes - I still wanted it. So, I want you to know that even if you have spikes, I still want you."

Around. There was an ' around ' tagged on the end of that sentence, he just forgot to put it there. Right?

"Thank you, puppy. That was very sweet," I said, catching a glimpse of the flower cart across the street where he must have gotten it. The cart was unattended. In fact, the whole street was oddly empty. It was Christmas time, the street shouldn't have been empty, but it was and that gave me a very bad feeling.

Jack smiled so innocently it made me want to cry.

"You're welcome!"

"You paid for this though, right?"

Jack's face immediately told me the answer. "Is it not for free?"

"Nope, you stole it. You're criminal now," I joked.

"Oh." Jack frowned for a moment. Then he shrugged. "Well, when we grow up, I'll buy you one."

I had the chance to say something witty, so naturally, I replied with:

"Cool."

I mentally slapped myself. Of course, he says something cute and all I say back is ' cool '. My brain hates me.

I felt my cheeks heating up, so I ducked my head down. Deciding that we were in a shaded enough spot, I tugged the light-teal-colored baseball cap off my head. (I had been using it to hide my face from the harsh burning of the sunlight that drifted over the town.) The cap had a manatee sewn on the front and was one of the few things I had brought with me from my past life on the sunny shores of Florida. Laying the hat in my lap, I pulled my thick black braid over my shoulder and proceeded to weave the rose's stem into it loosely. Then, I flipped my hair back and smashed the baseball cap back on my head.

Meanwhile, the angel boy just smiled down at me as if he  hadn't  just said some of the kindest words I'd heard in five years. My cheeks felt like they were on fire and suddenly my shoes were extraordinarily interesting.

My attention was drawn away, however, when out of the corner of my eye, I watched Cas's back go ramrod straight. His head tilted to the side like he was listening for something, his eyes narrowing to one-quarter squint power.

"Cas?" Dean called to his friend. More like  their  friend, really, Sam and Jack were his family too. I guess I couldn't bring myself to call the angel my friend while I was lying to his face about everything I was.

"There are monsters somewhere here, I can sense them," Castiel said quietly. Jack stopped and tilted his head like Cas, focusing.

"I sense them too," He reported, glancing at me, "They're vampires." I sat up a little straighter.

"Put your shoes back on, Dean. You cannot rest while enemies are nearby," I said, smiling wryly and letting an edge of nervousness creep into my voice.

"How many are there?" Dean demanded, already taking charge.

Cas squinted harder. "Seven... Wait, no. There are eight."

"Where? C-can you sense that?" Sam asked.

"No-" Cas shook his head before turning to his surrogate son. "-But Jack can."

Cas sent a small nod to Jack who nodded back and directed his gaze upward, stretching out a hand. His eyes flicked into glistening gold and I could feel my hair stand on end as the air became charged with raw power. For a split second, I almost thought I saw the outline of feathered appendages sprouting from the boy's back. Then, Jack's eyes flickered back into their crystalline blue and I shook the after image away. Whatever I had thought I'd seen was gone before I could register it.

"There are two of them hiding in an alley about thirty yards that way-" He pointed to the left "-and there are five more. They're waiting for an ambush? I think? They're over there. In that really suspicious-looking grey van parked four cars down." He jabbed his thumb over his shoulder and I leaned over to glance at the car. Jack had been right, the van totally looked like it belonged to the mafia or something.

"What about the last one?" Dean pressed, his eyes shifting around to examine his environment. Jack shook his head.

"I-I don't know."

"You don't know?"

"I mean, I can sense it - I know it's here somewhere - but it's cloudy. I can't tell exactly where; it's like it's everywhere and nowhere at the same time."

Jack called the vampire an ' It '. Of course, he did.  It  was a vampire.  It  was a monster. What else does one call a monster? What else does one call  a thing  like that? After all, that's all  it  was; that's all  I  was. A  thing . Not a someone, not a person, not a  friend . A  thing . A  pest , a  nuisance , a  parasite  to be eradicated. Skrew all Jack's kind words and endearing actions; they didn't mean anything! He could never really love me back. It was only a matter of time before he realized that. It was only a matter of time before he started calling me ' It '.

' How long will that be, I wonder .'

I was pulled from my thoughts by a scream. It rang, high and sharp, and it echoed off the brick buildings.

"HELP! HELP ME!" A woman's voice cried.

"Max?" Jack whispered, his eyes going wide. I didn't know who that was and apparently, neither did Dean as he flung his strong arm out in front of Jack who began to sprint towards the sound.

"Who?" Dean demanded. Jack struggled to push past him but Dean wouldn't budge.

"That-that's Max! She's my friend! Those things have her! She needs our help!" He explained impatiently. Dean's face scrunched up.

"Wait, wait. Max? Teenage girl? White hair? 'Bout yea high?" The elder Winchester made a height comparison with his hand and Jack rolled his eyes.

"Yes! Now, come on!" Jack huffed.

"Oh ho! So that's why you're not going for abandonment issues over there?" Dean teased. Letting go of Jack, they started towards the sound of screaming. "Does Jack-Jack have a girlfriend?"

Jack stopped and faced Dean, confusion written across his brow. "Max already has a girlfriend."

"Oh."

The two dorks were brought back to reality when that Max girl screamed again.

"SOMEBODY PLEASE HELP!"

Her voice was followed by another, a boy this time.

"HEY! HEY! HELP! ANYBODY! HELP US!"

"That's Eliot!" Jack took off down the street at a full-on sprint. Dean, Sam, and Cas hot on his heels.

"No, no! Please, go on ahead without me," I muttered, sarcastically, "Save the damsel! I'll just... wait here then."

Huh. Max and Eliot. I felt like those names should be switched around, but then again, I go by Marty, so who am I to judge?

Out of nowhere, I felt a stinging pain in my shoulder. A syringe. I knew the feeling well. Before I could react, the pain suddenly doubled, rapidly spreading all throughout my body like a viral infection.

Dead man's blood.

I whipped my head to the left to meet an all too familiar pair of brown eyes.

"What's bouzzin' gousin?" An accented voice jeered.

Then everything was black.

***

The vampires were taken care of rather easily. Jack felt like a Jedi Knight as he suspended them in the air, stringing them up like the murderers they were. They didn't even struggle. Like convicts dangling from a hangman's noose, the vampires knew as soon as they saw Jack's glowing eyes, that their deaths were nigh at hand. Jack thrust out a hand and caught them in the pulsing rings of his grace, a sound like drum beats underwater reverberating off the alley walls. With a grin, the boy clenched his hand into a fist and the monsters splintered into not but dust.

With the threat eradicated, the glow in Jack's eyes flickered out and he turned to the high-schoolers who he considered his friends.

"Hello, Max! Hello, Eliot! It's alright, you're safe now," He chimed, nodding to each kid in turn and lifting his hand in greeting, though he refrained from actually waving it. Upon seeing him raise his hand, the kids shared a look of sheer terror and backed away. Jack frowned at their reactions, lowering his hand. "No, no! Wait, it's okay. I'm not going to hurt you!"

Max and Eliot paused, trying to determine whether or not they believed him.

Unbeknownst to Jack, Max and Eliot didn't actually like him. ( After finding out about the supernatural, the teens were disappointed when the Winchesters refused to tell them more about spirits and monsters. Enter Jack, and his unfortunate lack of talent in terms of keeping his trap shut. ) Max and Eliot had only hung out with Jack once, and that was exclusive because they knew that he lived with the Winchesters. Against his better judgment, Jack had shown them a glimpse of his powers and though they thought his telekinesis was cool, the teens had agreed not to search the boy out again.

There was just something about Jack that unsettled them, frightened them,  terrified  them. Just like every other human who had seen what Jack could do; deep down, they were all afraid of him. Because he wasn't normal, he wasn't right,  he wasn't human .

"What did you just do to those guys?" Eliot asked, staring with eyes as wide as quarters. Jack thought it would be better not to answer that question.

"It's okay! They were monsters," He reassured.

"He disintegrated them," Cas deadpanned. Dean shot the angel a look. "What?"

"YOU DISINTEGRATED THEM?!" Max screeched loud enough to make Jack flinch.

"Yes?"

"You didn't just, like, proof em' away or something?" Eliot added, a little quieter.

"Um, no. No, I didn't."

"COULD YOU DO THAT TO US?!"

"Most likely, yes," Jack answered, thoughtfully, "I've never tried it on humans, though. But I would never hurt you guys, you're my friends!"

"You're really freaky, dude," Elliot said, shaking his head slowly, "And, like, not in a good way."

"I know." Jack hung his head. They were afraid of him. They hated him. He shouldn't have expected otherwise.

"I'm never gonna be able to un-see that," Max muttered, staring at the cement.

That gave Jack an idea, maybe there was a way to undo this.

"I know you're probably freaking out, but I think I know a way to make it better," He said, trying to sound reassuring.

"Nah, man. I don't want any of your freaky Aquaman powers used on me!" Eliot shook his head.

"No powers." Jack smiled despite how badly their words hurt. "I promise."

His stomach twisted with the lie, but they didn't need to know that. Max and Eliot shared another glance.

"Okay..." They agreed, hesitantly.

"I have a friend. Her name is Marty," Jack explained, leading them back to the bench where his family had left the girl. "She's right here!"

Except she wasn't.

That's when the Nephilim's phone rang.

It was a picture message. Marty sat unconscious tied to a chair in some shack. The text read:

"I really would hate to incur the wrath of the Winchesters, so consider this a ransom note. All you have to do is find her in time. Tick-tock. ~ Felix "

Max peered over Jack's shoulder.

"Hey! I know that place!"

***

"Welcomb back to the land of the livinc' where the livinc' are, in fact, dead!"

Okay, so she knew I was awake. I kept my eyes closed anyway and canvassed my new environment. Having grown up blind, I didn't need my eyes to see.

My hands were bound with zip-ties to the arms of the splintering wooden chair I sat in. The space around me was large but not cavernous as there was no echo. This was a shack of some kind judging by how the metal panels making up the roof clanged against one another in the wind. The shack was also dark to protect vampire skin from the sun, and in winter, no sun meant freezing temperatures. There was a weight covering my lap; someone had given me a blanket. I caught the scent of hay among other less pleasurable farm smells. I could hear the shifting of five pairs of feet surrounding me in a circle. This was going to be fun.

Opening my eyes, at last, I was met with the sight of a young woman around the age of twenty-two, lounging on a few hay bails. She was long, lean, and muscular with a round face displaying a crooked smile. I could see the end of a tie-dyed shirt sticking out beneath the fluffy black coat she wore. Her green and purple hair was chopped short in a punk rocker pixie cut that stuck out in at least five different directions. If I wasn't mistaken, a few of the strands appeared to be scorched on the ends. Her cheekbones were low and prominent and plenty rosy. She had full lips and a button nose that was home to two tiny diamond studs. The woman wore her dark green eyeshadow with plum-colored lipstick unapologetically. Her eyes, which were set deeper than most, turned down at the corners and sparkled with mischief. They were accompanied by thick dark eyebrows, the left of which had apparently gotten a third piercing since I had last seen her.

"Ah hah! So she  is  alive!" She said, her thick Dutch accent coating her words, "I was begininc' to worry that you had follen asleep... Again."

I shrugged despite my restraints.

"Yeah, well I can only sleep-in so long."

"You never were a morninc' person, were you?" The woman sighed, shaking her head. I watched her arrow-head pendant as it swung back and forth from her neck.

"Nope."

"And dat's why we're frien'ds!" She chirped.

"We're not friends, Elwyn." Okay, so maybe that was a bit harsh but it was better than pretending like everything was fine and dandy between us. Elwyn faked a gasp.

"You used my fuoll name! You muss be serious. Why so c'old,  mijn lieve ?" She asked, tilting her head.

"Spending five years as a walking corpse will do that to you," I answered, smiling thinly. "Why are you here, Elwyn? What's this act for? We both know that if I wanted to walk out of here right now, I could do so without a scratch on me. What do you want?"

"You might 'ave been able to woltz out of 'ere if you had a full tanc', dat's true." Elwyn nodded, in agreement. Then she tilted her head and frowned at me with pouty lips. "But you're quite weak now. I'm sorry, hones'ly. I t'ought dat you'd be able to 'andle dat much dead man's blood but you still look pale an' shaiky!"

"Well, I've always been pale," I replied, narrowing my eyes. Elwyn sat up, crossing her legs and putting a fist to her chin. Her brows furrowed and she looked at me with what seemed to be genuine concern for my well-being.

"How lon'g has it been since you fed,  liefste ?" She asked in a gentler tone.

"A little over two weeks," I answered honestly.

"Two weeks?! Nothinc'? Not even somethinc' piffy, like a ra'bbit?"

I shook my head and shrugged.

"Oh,  jij arme ding ! I know you ha'te it, but how could you do dis' du yourself?!" She cried, shaking her head in dismay. I looked away. Deep down I knew that Elwyn really did care about me, albeit in her own strange way. I was being harsh with her and that wasn't exactly fair. She was Felix's prisoner too.

"I more than hate it, Ellie," I said, speaking softer now, "But I just couldn't find a good opportunity. Besides, I can take it."

Elwyn rolled her chocolate-brown eyes.

"No you gan't, Mardina! Look at yourself! You're runninc' on foomes and it shows!" Elwyn huffed, her accident becoming more prominent as her emotion shown through. "Be hones'd wit me, dis is because of dose Win-kesters, isn't it?"

"Not exactly," I said, picking at a splinter on the wooden arm-rest. I knew the real reason and it was a stupid one. I mean, of all the ways to try to be better, starving myself to the breaking point probably wasn't the smartest. But I wanted to be good, pure. I wanted to be human. For him.

"Ah, I see." Elwyn smiled softly. "I was told aboud dat Nephilim boy, the rumors were wrong about him. I was watchinc' you two today; he's not a ragink' monster at all."

"No, he's not." I shook my head.

"He's a  zoet wezen , no?" Elwyn chuckled to herself, "Sorry, I don' know de word for it in English."

I nodded. The closest translation of her Dutch was ' sweet creature '. It fit.

"What's his name?" Elwyn asked without the slightest bit of hostility.

I smiled. "His name is Jack."

" Hou je van hem ?"

"I don't know," I said, shrugging. Elwyn smiled knowingly.

"Yes, you do. And if what I saw was any indication, he feels the same."

"No, he doesn't, Ellie," I sighed and gestured to the child body I was trapped in. "He can't. Just look at me! I'm just a sister to him and if he knew what I really am then he'd hate me!"

"So, dat's what dis is about." Elwyn nodded with understanding.

"What do you mean?"

"You t'ink yourself bad, so you want du be good for him. Dat's why you 'aven't been feeding," She explained, sounding matter-of-fact.

"Yeah, I guess so." I looked away.

"Well, das not good!" Elwyn leaned forward and cut the zip-ties that held me to the chair. Then she reached behind her and fished around a bit until she pulled her arm back and held it out to me, a blood bag resting in her palm. "Have a snack now and your  engel jongen  will never know!"

I glanced at it for a moment but it didn't take much to break my willpower. I snatched the bag from her hand and ripped it open, downing it like there was no tomorrow.

"You gan slow down,  geliefde.  I brough't more." Elwyn chuckled.

"You did?" I asked looking up.

"I had a sneakinc' suspission dat dis was goin'c du 'appen." She shrugged, tossing me another bag which I ripped into also. She reached behind her again, this time tugging around a small cooler full of the stuff which she pushed over to me. "I admire your willpower, Mardina. I don t'ink I'd have de kinda strengt for what you're pullinc'. How'd you do it?"

"Do what?" I asked, halfway through my second bag.

"Live with dose 'unters day in an' day out!" She exclaimed, "Esspecialy dat e ngel jongen ! Da kid smells like garamel chocolate! I envy your gontrol. How'd you stan' so close to him? I was eighty-feet away and I gould 'ardly gontrol myself!"

Well, at least I wasn't the only one.

"I gotta keep up apperences, Ellie. You know all about that." I knew I sounded guarded, but this subject made me uncomfortable.

"But you gould still get a taste. I know you gan make pepole forget t'ings."

I sighed, finishing my second bag and grabbing another.

"You know, Elwyn? You almost got me." I smiled, shaking my head.

"What do you mean?" She asked, feigning obliviousness.

"For a second there, I almost thought you were still my friend."

"I  am  your friend," Elwyn insisted, "I defied Felix for you!"

"Then you ran right back to him the second I turned my back."

"I had too," She spoke, her voice regretful.

"No! No you didn't! You  chose  too. You chose  him  over  me !"

" Hij is mijn vader !  Ik moest !" Elwyn cried. Tears brimmed in her eyes.

"I don't care!" I shouted back, "We were free! We both could have been free! But no, you chose to leave me all alone in the middle of the woods!"

"I knew you'd be fine," She whispered. I shook my head, pressing my lips together.

"No, you didn't," I growled. "Do you have  any idea  how long I wandered for?!"

"You made it out."

"Not in one peace. I lost things in there, Elwyn." I shook my head. "You left me there." Then, I let out a harsh, rasping, laugh and spat my next words. "And for what? To run right back into the arms of the father that never even loved you!"

Elwyn hung her head. " Het spijt me zeer.  I'm so sorry."

"You should be," I said, cooly. "Why do you always run back to him? And don't give me any of that ' he's my father ' bull crap."

"I don know. But what I do know is dat I am still your friend."

"Right." I nodded, smiling through tight lips. "Why are you really here, Elwyn?"

She took a deep breath, wiping away the tears that had slipped down her face, and looked up. "I game 'ere to save you," She said.

"Excuse me?"

"From dose 'unters!" She explained, "Felix told me dat you were with de Win-kesters and I begged him to let me c'ome rescue you. An' he said yes! He's so much kinder den he used to be; he promised dat he wouldn' make you do anyt'ing you didn' want to!"

Elwyn smiled at me and took my hand.

"Oh, yeah?" I scoffed, "Then what was that phone call, huh? What? Is killing my friend supposed to win me over?"

"Hey, I said dat Felix is kinder den he was." Elwyn sighed. "He's still Felix though. He was tryinc' to intimidate de Win-kesters into letting you go."

"I'm not being held hostage!" I insisted.

"But you are still in danger!" Her eyes softened, "Dey will kill you if dey find out what you are."

"I know."

"C'ome with me," She pleaded, "C'ome with me, an' Jack will never find out about you. C'ome with me an' he'll never break your heart."

I paused. Was there really any chance?

No. There was no chance. No chance that Felix could ever change. It was one in a million. There was no chance and  no choice .

"If you're really here to save me, then what's with your little posse?" The five other vampires had been unusually quiet for idiots of their caliber.

Elwyn shrugged. "In case t'ings get messy."

"We'll, then you better plan on things getting messy because I'm not coming with you," I said with a smirk.

"Why not?"

"Because Felix wants me dead, Elwyn, and that's not going to change."

The woman's face fell.

"I know you didn' mean to kill Madra," She whispered, gently. I shook my head and frowned.

"I didn't kill her," I hissed, "Felix killed his soulmate, not me."

"And he sees dat now. He knows dat it wasn' your fault, dat you couldn't gontrol it. He realises dat and he forgives you!" She smiled a little.

"And how many times did he have to beat you before he realized that?"

"C'ome on, Mardina!" She sighed, though I could see the pain her eyes hid. "Dis is an olive branch! Jus' take it!"

I shook my head and I laughed. I laughed long and loud and hard. I laughed like a girl gone mad. I had told Elwyn that I had lost something when she had left me in those woods, I wanted her to know what it was.

"No," I said. Then I stretched my bloody lips into a mad, humorless grin, "I don't want your olive branch."

"Why not? Its your best chance! Don you want peace?"

"Peace?  PEACE?! " I spat, "You know what he did to me, what he made me! You think after every thing he took away, that I would want  peace ? You think after what I did, Felix would offer me peace?"

"I don't want peace," I said, beginning the rhyme I'd heard when I was still alive, "I want war and I want my enemy's head hung like a boar. I didn't come for money and I don't want his crown, see, I've come to burn his kingdom down. So, come one, come all, to take a dance with the dead and stain the petals of the white roses red."

"Mardina, please!"

The other vampires in the room shifted, readying for a fight. But I was faster.

Launching myself from that splintering wooden chair, I threw my body forward towards the stack of haybales Elwyn had previously sat on. I had to jump to avoid the vamp that tried to grab my legs and that pushed me forward a little too much but it wasn't something I couldn't compensate for. Landing on my hands, I shoved my body up, and over the hay bales in a vamp strength enhanced backflip. I landed on my feet and flipped my hair back. The shed's door was in front of me. Sure, it was locked but the lock was only one of those slidey metal bars which are super easy to break and if I was going to fight five vamps at once, it would be wise to keep my back to the door that way I might be able to be thrown through the door and land outside instead of pushed into a dead-end wall. Also, if I was going to fight five vamps at once, I was going to need the proper tool for the job. Beside the door, my eyes landed on a tool rack. I spied my weapon of choice. This was going to be fun .

It was one of those weird four-prong rakes that I'm not completely sure is called a rake. A label on the shaft said it was a soil cultivator but I didn't care what it was called because I was fighting for my life. The four prongs were about five inches long and although the shed wasn't new, the equipment in there thankfully wasn't that old, so the four steel prongs were still wicked sharp.

I ducked, dodging the arms of another vamp before rushing for the tool rack. Another vamp sprang in front of me, blocking my way and I paused. This one had bleach-blond chin-length hair. I knew him. I remembered him from when I was in Felix's cage. This one's name was Boyd and he liked to touch things that didn't belong to him. I couldn't fight back then, but I could now.

"How's it goin', Boyd?"

"So, you remember me, do ya?" He jeered, beginning to circle me like a predator circling its prey. Little did he know, he was not the predator here.

"Oh, I remember you alright. See, Boyd, I'm not a good little girl-" He used to call me that, "- not anymore. I don't do what I'm supposed to. See, when it comes to bastards like you, I don't forgive and I most certainly don't forget."

"Well, I guess its a real shame that I forgot your name, then. You were one of my favorites!" He laughed, "Only thing I remember 'bout you now is how loud you used to scream."

I gave him a cold smile and lunged straight for his legs. Grasping his ankle, I twisted and pulled, sending him crashing to the floor. Then I lifted his leg, rolled over, and slammed my arm down on his knee. There was an ear-splitting snap and he screeched like an animal.

"Who's screaming now, Boyd?" I taunted. I sprung up and stomped down on Boyd's throat, crushing his windpipe. As a vampire, that wouldn't kill him which was good because I wasn't done with him yet. I was going to make him hurt. Why would I want peace when I could have revenge? Revenge felt good.

I rolled away when a red-haired vamp took a swing at my head. I bolted for the four-prong rake and brandished it the way you would a staff. The rake was long, about three inches taller than me, but I easily found the balance point. I spun it around in my hand as I circled the other four vamps.

"Mardina, we gan talk aboud dis!" Elwyn tried, grabbing my arm. I threw my head back and laughed.

"No, Ellie. We can't!" I flipped the rake over, using the blunt end to whack Elwyn upside the head with supernatural strength and speed. She was knocked out. "Stay down. You're not like them and I don't want to kill you."

The red-haired vamp ran at me again and I spun out of the way, flipping the shaft again and swinging it down as he passed me. Two of the prongs buried themselves in the base of the vamp's spine, judging by the position, between two vertebrae. He howled and tried to claw at my arm but I easily avoided him. A female vamp shrieked for her friend and lunged at me from the left.

I rolled my eyes. Pushing on the shaft of my rake I distanced myself from the redhead vamp and ducked away from the female's fangs. I reached out and grabbed her shirt, using it to pull her down towards me. I slammed my head into hers once, then twice to daze her. She stumbled as I let go and switched to grabbing the hair at the base of her neck.

"Night-night, cupcake!" I chirped. Then I slammed her face into my knee and tossed my weight over her shoulder, sliding my arm around her neck. I pulled backward.

That blissful crack was the sound of her neck snapping. Jumping up and using the wall to gain some momentum, I twisted the vamp's head all the way around. It was easy with nothing but tissue and tendons in my way. Her body dangled limp from where I held her by the hair, so I opened my mouth, letting my fangs extend, and I bit her head off.

The redhead vamp with my rake still stuck in him cried out and tried in vain to reach me again. It was pathetic, really. Grinning, I wrenched the rake upward, severing the vamp's spinal cord and pulling the prongs along with two of his vertebrae straight through his back. He fell to the ground, paralyzed from the waist down because two of his bones were missing.

Just as I was about to remove his dreadful cranium from his miserable shoulders, one of the other vamps jumped at me, managing to rake his grotesquely long fingernails along my back. I released no cry of pain as he tore through my skin before grabbing me by my shoulders and hurtling my body at the wall. My face slammed against a pole built into the metal siding as the rest of my body just hit the wall. I landed on the ground with a jarring impact that I was sure had broken a few things. But I couldn't feel the pain. I was too focused on my rage. I was seeing red, and for the first time, I welcomed it without fear.

"Not so tough now are ya?" He called out.

My body was broken and yet I stood. I felt invincible.

"I know I'm not tough," I laughed. I wiped away the blood that was dripping from my mouth and nose, looking up to smile pleasantly at the vamp. "But you wanna know what I am?"

"What?"

"I'm insane, and that tends to make up for the rest."

The vamp charged me but I twisted around and Spartan kicked him into the wall. Then, using a few hay bails to step on, I vaulted into the air and brought the rake down on the vamp's head, piercing through his skull and embedding the prongs in his brain. The spray was a little gross but I didn't care. He deserved it.

"You're next, pumpkin," I called to the last vampire left standing in the room.

I crossed over to him and he managed to block my first two blows but then I smashed the blunt end of the rake into his face a few times and he was unconscious. I heard a groan and turned on my heel.

"And that brings us back to you, Boydie-Boo!" I cheered, stepping on the paralyzed vamp's hand as I passed him. I leaned over Boyd who was still on the ground, gasping for air. "Hello, sweetie. How are we today?"

All Boyd did was gasp and choke, he couldn't speak as his vocal cords had been stepped on.

"Aw! Did you get a boo-boo?" I pouted at him.

Then I grabbed Boyd by the throat at lifted him into the air. He struggled against my grasp but could do nothing. He couldn't even beg.

"What's wrong, sweetheart? Can't you scream for me?"

He shook his head and spat at me. So, I threw him into a wall. Boyd fought to stand, using the wall to stagger upright.

"Come on, Boyd! Fight! Are you going to let yourself be beaten by a girl?!" I taunted him and pulled on the fear that was already constricting his mind. Revenge felt so good.

"You-you're not a girl," He panted, "You're a monster!"

I hummed, tapping my chin with my finger.

"I guess history will have to be the judge of that, now won't it, buddy-Boyd?" I dragged my rake along the ground, though all the blood of his friends. There was a wonderful metallic grating noise as the prongs scrapped across the concrete.

"Please don't! Please! I'll do anything!" It felt good to hear him beg.

"Unfortunately," I continued, "I don't think you'll be around to plead your case!" I hefted the rake.

"No! PLEASE!"

"Bye-bye, Boydie-boo!"

I swung the rake upward with all my might and with a sickening crunch I rammed its prongs up through his jaw. I said I wanted him to suffer. Pulling him by the prongs in his face I brought his screaming form over to the tractor sitting at the back of the room. I rammed the shaft of the rake through two spokes of one of the tractor's wheels. All it took was the flip of a leaver to send the wheels spinning.

Turn, turn, turn and scream, scream, scream, then a nice snap, crackle, pop, and then suddenly, Boyd's head and body were two separate objects. I was very happy. Then, the random vamp I'd knocked out woke up and yanked on my hair, throwing me over his shoulder.

I tried to land on my feet but failed, tripping and stumbling backward. I landed on my back and scrambled to get up. As I did, I noticed the perfect white rose that Jack had given to me had fallen out of my hair. It lay on the ground in a pool of blood. Jack said it reminded him of me, of the way he saw me. Well, it wasn't innocent or perfect anymore. But neither was I, so I think it matched me better now.

The vamp rushed me and tackled me to the ground, pinning my arms to my sides as he snapped at me with his fangs out.

Bang... Bang!... CRASH!

The door burst open and light from the setting sun poured in, falling directly on the last vamp's face. He cried out and tried to scamper away, like a rat from a cat.

"It's about time! You guys are late to the party!" I shouted.

"Yeah, sorry!" Dean said from the doorway, "Who would've thought there were so many old sheds in this town!"

I didn't get a chance to reply.

I felt the air prickle and spark, charging with a tambour of power that I recognized but had yet to experience to this degree. I turned my head in time to see Jack, eyes glowing gold, passing by Dean with his hand outstretched. Golden waves of energy shot from his being with a sound like drumbeats from the depths of the sea. The waves caught the fleeing vampire and time around him slowed to a crawl. He was lifted into the air and revolved to face his reckoning. The Nephilim's lips tugged into a cruel grin as he saw the fear in the vampire's eyes.

Suddenly, the pulses of energy stopped and the vampire was flung towards Jack, landing face-first in the dirt at the boy angel's feet. Jack knelt down, his expression seeming to consider the trembling, pathetic thing in front of him.

"P-please!" The monster managed to choke out. "Mercy!"

Jack looked up at me, his eyes soaking in my bloodied face. Apparently, that was all it took. Jack's eyes hardened and he turned back to the vamp.

"You. Hurt. My. Friend."

Jack grabbed the vampire's head in his hands and started to squeeze. The vamp screamed as the pressure increased until his skull just couldn't take it anymore. There was a crunch and a wet sucking noise as the vamp's head collapsed in on itself. I liked that sound.

"That dude's still alive," I said, casually jabbing my thumb at the red-haired vamp I had paralyzed. Jack turned to where I had pointed, ready to squeeze another brain out of its shell.

"Jack!" Cas called from behind him. "No!"

The Nephilim scowled at Castiel and I admired the rage I saw in his eyes. This wasn't my Jack but I liked this version just as much. No, Jack wasn't human, was he? He was more like me than I'd thought. Jack snapped his fingers and the red-haired vamp crumbled into dust. The sight was actually sort of pretty.

When Jack turned to look at me his eyes were completely soft and full of concern. There was my Jack.

"Are you afraid of me now?" He asked in a whisper.

"No," I replied flatly, shrugging my shoulders, "Why would I be?"

"I killed them." Jack hung his head. "Right in front of you."

"Am I supposed to care?" I smirked, hoping my voice didn't sound as harsh as I thought it did. I was just barely beginning to come off my rage-induced high. Jack eyed me with confusion and relief.

"You're hurt," He observed, moving over to me.

"Me? Nah! This is nothing." I gestured at the bodies scattered around the shed. "You should see the other guys!"

"Stay still." Jack placed his soft, gentle, hands on my face to examine my injuries and I felt a warm tingling as he healed them. "There. I fixed you." He whispered. It was more to himself than anything but I still heard it. It made me laugh on the inside.

Yeah, no. Nothing could fix me. I was broken beyond repair. It was my insanity that held me together. Does that sound like the sort of thing that can be fixed?

"Thanks, Jack-Jack!" I chirped, smiling brightly at him.

"You're welcome, Marty," He said quietly. Jack's eyes flicked down, focusing on my lips like he wanted something but wasn't sure how to ask.

"Um, M-Marty?" Sam's voice broke whatever spell the two of us had been under and I glanced over to him.

"Yeah?"

"Did you, uh," Sam pointed to the carnage surrounding us, watching me with weary eyes. "Did you do this?"

I shrugged, jabbing my thumb over my shoulder at the tractor. "Yeah, mostly. But the tractor helped."

"I'm guessing the tractor did that?" Dean pointed to Boyd's head with its jaw still run through with the prongs of the rake. I walked calmly over to the severed head, grasping it by the hair and pulling it off the prongs before returning with it back to the boys. Sam, Dean, and Cas all stared at me with eyes as wide as quarters as held up the head.

"Dean, this is Boyd," I said, keeping my tone as sweet as possible.

"Huh."

"Say hi to Boyd."

"Uh...Hey, Boyd..."

"Good." I grinned as if I was holding a puppy instead of a severed head. "Now let me tell you about Boyd. Boyd liked touching things that didn't belong to him. He worked for Felix and Felix liked hearing little girls scream and cry. So did Boyd. Boyd was very good at making little girls scream and cry, little girls like me. Weren't you Boyd?" I asked the mutilated cranium in my hand. I moved the severed head up and down in an enthusiastic nod, holding it by the hair as if it was a marionet.

"You were very good, yes you were!" I cheered. Then, like the flip of coin, I snapped my focus back to the Winchesters, wiping my face and tone clean of all emotion.

"So, I used a tractor to rip his head off because he deserved it and now he won't ever make another little girl cry ever again. Right, Boyd?" I asked the severed head. I grabbed the head's bloody, splintered jaw and clacked it's teeth together like you would a ventriloquist dummy. "You bet your britches!" I made the head answer, mimicking Boyd's voice.

"D-did he-" Sam stuttered. I flicked my gaze back to him, allowing all three to see the harshness in my eyes.

"Whatever you're thinking, the answer is probably yes."

"Marty?"

I turned to Dean. "What?"

"Put the head down."

I dropped Boyd's severed head.

"Come here." The hunter opened his arms and I faked a sob before accepting the hug. "You weren't gonna tell us about that, were you?" I shook my head. "It's okay, sweetheart. You're safe now."

"Thank you for not throwing me away, Dean," I said softly. The elder Winchester chuckled.

"Don't thank me, Marty. After all, how could we throw away someone so Bad-Ass?"

"Am I awesome now?" I asked.

"You were always awesome."

I laughed and the Winchesters trusted me more than ever. Their mistake.

"Dean, that one's moving," Castiel called our attention over to Elwyn, who was just waking up.

Jack was quick to react, sending a golden blast of power to throw her against the wall where he kept her pinned.

"Wait! Wait!" She cried, "I didn' 'urt Mardina! I swear!"

"Do you work for Felix?" Dean interrogated, pushing me behind him.

"He's my fah'der but I'm not like him! I want du 'elp her! I jus a messenger!"

"Whaddia say, Sammy? Should we shoot the messenger?" Dean asked, keeping his cold eyes on Elwyn.

"No! Please!" Elwyn begged, tears slipping down her face. "I didn' 'urt her!"

"You know, if we shoot the messenger, Dean, it sends one Hell of a message." Like his brother, Sam could turn on the killer inside him like a switch.

"Felix is in Floree'ida, okay? Dat's all I know, I swear!" And it was all she knew because Elwyn had never had a backbone. There was no strength in her.

"Guess its up to you, Marty," Dean said, turning to me. Elwyn looked at me with wide pleading eyes. I regarded her with ice in my own. No second chances. Monsters don't get second chances, I know I never did. I knew I never would.

"I'm your friend, Mardina! Tell dem I'm your friend!" She pleaded. I shook my head.

"You only cared about me when Felix wasn't looking." I was almost shocked by how apathetic and passionless my voice sounded. I watched her without compassion. "You were never my friend."

"No!" Elwyn screeched, "No! I 'elped you! I 'elped you when dey beat you!"

"But you never tried to stop them."

"What?! No!" She sobbed. I smiled at her slightly.

"Go tell Madra I'm sorry."

I sent Jack a nod and with a snap of his fingers, Elwyn was nothing more than flecks of grey drifting to the ground.

Turning around with a sigh, I could feel the eyes of the four others as I bent down and scooped up the rose Jack had given me. I cradled the precious flower in my hands, watching as the blood dripped from its petals in big heavy gobs. It had been perfect once. It wasn't perfect anymore. It would never be perfect again. Or perhaps it could be, just not the right way. Because the blood was oddly beautiful with the way it stained the petals and pooled in the center of the rose.

"I can get you another one," Jack spoke up, "And I'll pay for it this time!"

I turned back to him, smiling down at my little rose.

"No, its okay, Jack. It's a crooked kind of perfect. I think I like it better now."

~All the pretty girls, they find

A way to keep you on my mind

I swear I heard you singing along

Cities pass like candy stores

And you're the one

I'm looking for

And so

I'm just a boy

Who's telling a girl

That when I grow up I'll buy you a rose

When I grow up, I'll buy you a rose~

Lyrics from: Buy You A Rose by AJR

(Author's Note: You may or may not have figured it out by now, but Martina Imogene Linville is insane. MARTY IS NOT THE HERO OF THIS STORY. SHE IS NOT A GOOD PERSON. Marty also had Borderline Personality Disorder before she went insane. So, even at her most stable points in this story, she is not to be trusted. Remember, she manipulates peoples emotions. She makes them feel what she wants them to feel. Any other character's actions may or may not actually be their own. Please keep this in mind going forward.)

[vannahfanfics]

What Heroes Do

Category: Action, Drama

Fandom: My Hero Academia

Characters: Eijirou Kirishima

Hello, everyone! I’m super excited to post my piece for the @kirishimabigbang​! I hope you all enjoy this action-packed piece about how Eijirou adjusts to life as a pro hero!

A low growl rumbled in Eijirou’s throat as sweat beaded on his flushed skin and his muscles ached with exertion. Even with his full body hardened, he could not escape the effects of the strain he was forced to endure at the moment. He struggled to keep his breathing steady, letting out little puffs of air before sucking fresh breaths in. Easy does it, Eijirou. Come on, body! Don’t quit on me now! he encouraged himself, his feet sliding a little across the concrete as he braced himself better. His biceps flexed powerfully as they strained to continue holding up the fire-engine-red automobile he currently had lifted up by its bumper. 

Whatever you do, you can’t drop this car! He thought as he clenched his teeth, his vermillion eyes flickering to the pair of legs sticking out from the underside of the car. Though Eijirou preached “mind over matter” to himself like a mantra, his body had reached its limit after holding up the automobile for a nearly hour-long operation. His arms began to quake, and the car squeaked a little as he dropped it a good six inches. He groaned loudly, hunching down into a squat and pushing his palms into the underside of the bumper so hard that his hardened skin scratched the paint. Just as he was about to warn that his strength was going to give out, the would-be mechanic pushed himself out from underneath the vehicle. 

“Phew! Thank ya, Red Riot. I can’t believe I forgot the jack at home. What a day to get an oil leak, eh?” The civilian laughed as he wiped oil off his brow, smudging the thick brown-black liquid across his forehead. Eijirou released a wheedling breath as he half-dropped, half-set the car back down on the ground. Using the trunk of the vehicle to support his weight, he took a minute to catch his breath, sucking in big gulps of air. He managed to find the strength to give the man a dismissive wave. 

“No… No problem…” he wheezed, deactivating his Quirk. He flinched at the all-too-familiar sensation of sweat sticking to his hot skin. “That’s what heroes are for, after all… No problem’s too small…” He smiled charmingly as he flicked his sweat-soaked bangs out of his face and looked up at the man. When the civilian opened the driver’s side door, ensuring that everything was in proper order, Eijirou muttered several curses under his breath and allowed the pain pulsing through his muscles to show through an agonized scowl. As soon as the man turned back, he painted that cheesy shark-toothed smile on his face. 

“I can’t thank you enough,” the man insisted, his face shining pink with both exertion and gratitude. “Is there anything I can do for you, sir? A coffee, perhaps, or some lunch?” 

Eijirou’s weary smile widened and he gave another nonchalant wave, finally finding the strength to straighten up to his full— and impressive— height. Clearly unnerved by Eijirou’s six-foot-something musclebound figure, the small civilian compulsively straightened as well, though his head probably only just barely brushed the underside of the hero's metal faceplate-bound chin. 

“No, that isn’t necessary. Just get home safe,” Eijirou replied with a laugh, falling into a lunge to work out his aching calf and thigh muscles. After a bit of stretching, the fierce burn in his body dwindled a bit, and he gave the man a jovial wave. “All right, I’m off. Watch that car of yours, okay?” He winked before whirling on his heel to trot down the sidewalk. The man called after him, though Eijirou didn’t hear what he said. 

As soon as he turned the corner into a deserted alleyway, he stopped to heave a sigh and plank against the grimy, damp wall. A muffled scream leaked out between his clenched teeth, and the iron of his face plate banged against the brick as he hit his forehead against the wall a few times. The frustration that had bubbled up inside his body dwindled as soon as it came, leaving him achy and blue. With lidded eyes, he gazed down at the fabric of his pants and his metal-plated shoes. 

“I never imagined I would be using my totally manly Quirk and costume to help guys fix holes in their oil tanks on the side of the road,” he grumbled, and a flush of guilt immediately followed. With another sigh, he flopped around so his back was now to the wall; the brick scraped his skin as he slowly sunk down into a crouch, rubbing at his eyes with the heels of his palms. 

He knew that he shouldn’t be complaining; he’d only graduated a short time ago, after all, so it made sense that he would be sent out to do the grunt work while the higher-ups tackled the big jobs. Nonetheless, Eijirou just couldn’t help but feel unfulfilled. The most exciting thing he’d seen in the several months since he’d joined the agency was a stick-up of a candy store because some thirteen-year-old with a very realistic water gun wanted to nick some chocolate bars without paying. He knew it was wrong of him to wish trouble on anyone, but he craved the adrenaline, the thrill of the chase and the takedown. Groaning, he tipped his head back to look up at the sky. The sun was sinking towards the horizon, meaning his shift would be ending soon. 

“So ends another day in paradise.” He smiled wanly before pushing himself to his feet and trudging down the path back towards the agency. 

His return was just as uneventful as the rest of his hero duty, so he soon found himself showered, changed, and on the bullet train home. He blinked sleepily as he clutched the silver handrail above his head. In his state of exhaustion, the gently rocking of the train car and the hum of conversation lulled him into drowsiness. His eyes drooped and he stifled a yawn with his free hand. I can’t wait to get in bed, he thought, smiling sleepily as he envisioned the embrace of his mattress and comforter. Just as his eyes shut and his body began to sway with the onset of sleep, the train lurched violently. 

“What the—?” His exclamation was drowned out by the startled screams of the other passengers. Eijirou expected to hear the screeching of the brakes echoing through the bullet train tunnel, but instead, he felt the train lurch the other way— it was speeding up? As his mind whirled with confusion, the overhead speaker system buzzed to life. 

“Attention passengers. This is not your captain speaking.” 

A confused and frightened hush descended over the train car. His instincts buzzing, Eijirou gripped the handle as he leaned forward, eyes narrowed as he trained his ears on the voice echoing down from the gray speaker just above the door. 

“You are now our hostages.” 

Another chorus of screams and gasps rippled across the crowd. Children looked to their mothers in fright, tears beading in their eyes as they began to bawl and cling to sleeves and skirts. Many of the stout men paled as nervous sweat appeared on their foreheads, and quite a few of them clasped the hands of their significant others to squeeze them painfully tight. An old woman seemed unbothered by the threat, continuing her sudoku puzzle as if it were just another evening train ride. 

“This train is now hurtling at rising speed. Inevitably, it will derail, causing catastrophic damage and countless casualties. Most, if not all, of you will perish in a maelstrom of steel and fire.” As more of the civilians began to openly weep, Eijirou felt his body flush hot with anger at the trainjacker’s mocking theatrics. The young hero also felt a cold rush of guilt follow, quenching the heat to turn his blood to ice. That selfish, selfish part of him had wished for something like this— and, even worse, he was enjoying it. His body sung with adrenaline, pumping through his veins to send every part of him on high-alert. He twitched incessantly, gripping the handlebar above his head and involuntarily activating his Quirk. Sparks rained down in his hair as his hardened skin scraped the metal. 

Hurry up and finish your speech already, jerk, so I can kick your ass! 

“What can you do? The answer is nothing. We have taken the train engineers hostage, and within each train car are several of my henchmen who are ready to deal with anyone who decides to get… rowdy. I advise you all to simply sit quietly and ponder whether the Japanese government considers your lives worth several hundred million yen.” With a cruel laugh, the villain cut off the speaker feed, leaving the train car deathly quiet. A few broken sobs and petulant whispers echoed in the metal box as the civilians looked around, wondering which of them could be the devils in disguise. 

Eijirou dropped his arms to roll his shoulders, craning his head to the left and right to crack his vertebrae. He bounced on his heels, grinning widely as he allowed the adrenaline to overtake him. There was no time to worry about his selfish wishes and the universe’s dramatic answer… Right now, there were people who needed saving. As he extended his back, groaning in satisfaction as his vertebrae popped, a large man in a beanie, gray sweater, black cargo pants, and combat boots rose from where he was sitting. The fabric of his hat brushed the top of the roof as he squinted at Eijirou, who straightened up with a smirk. 

“And what do you think you’re doing?” the stranger growled.

“Gettin’ rowdy,” the redhead replied cheerfully before socking the villain right in the jaw with a hardened fist. The man spun on his heel, his head snapping to the side with an audible crack. His jaw dangled uselessly as he stumbled in place in a daze before he crumpled to the floor, unconscious. It seemed he was the only villain stationed in this train car because no one rose to avenge him— or they simply were too frightened to bother after Eijirou had cold-cocked the hulking man without flinching. As shocked gasps, sobs of relief, and nervous reproach rippled through the train car, Eijirou rose his hands placatingly.

“It’s all right, everyone! I’m a pro hero!” he assured them with his signature shark-toothed grin. “Everything is going to be all right.” While a few of them sank into their seats in relief, most of them looked at the eighteen-year-old with doubt. Eijirou tried to hide the droop in his smile as he debated on what to do. The hostage negotiators were probably bickering with the villains, but there was no guarantee that they would succeed; worse, it could all be one big farce, and the psychopaths could have no intentions of letting anyone escape the train alive. The only sure-fire way to know what’s going on is to head to the front of the train! he decided. 

“Are you gonna go fight the bad guys?” a little boy piped up as Eijirou began moving toward the door adjoining the next car. Grinning, Eijirou spun around to give the child a thumbs-up. 

“That’s right! That’s what heroes do, after all!” 

The little boy sucked in an awed breath, his eyes blowing wide with admiration. Invigorated by the plucky lad, Eijirou’s chest swelled as he strutted confidently up to the door, pausing to peer through the window. Another lone man stood in the middle of the aisle, with a strange purple gas floating around them. All the passengers were slumped over in their seats or crumpled to the floor, apparently asleep. 

That’s one way to keep people from getting rowdy, Eijirou frowned, ripping off a large chunk of his tee shirt. A couple of high school girls sitting near him could barely suppress their squeals as the action revealed the chiseled planes of his abs, and he tossed them a wink before tying the fabric around the bottom half of his face. It wouldn’t prevent all of the strange mist from entering his system, but would hopefully buy him enough time to subdue the enemy and slip into the next train car. 

He carefully watched the man’s movements until he inevitably turned his back. Sucking in a breath, Eijirou swung the car door open and bum-rushed the man, charging down the aisle like a linebacker. By the time the villain had turned around, Eijirou was driving his hardened elbow right into his solar plexus. The man wheezed, eyes rolling into the back of his head and spittle flying from his mouth as the breath was knocked from his body. He flew backward, slamming into the door with his head colliding with the glass window. As it shattered around the crown of his scalp, he crumpled, bleeding and unconscious. 

The noise attracted the attention of the occupants of the next car, including the villain’s lackeys; Eijirou wasted no time, careening down the aisle and throwing the next door open. He vaulted over the unconscious man to land in the middle of the aisle, grabbing the two startled men by their heads to knock them together. As they reeled, eyes rolling, Eijirou shoved one to the ground to punch the other in the face. The villain howled as blood spurted from his nose— so Eijirou punched him until he stopped howling and flopped back, only held up by Eijirou’s grip on his shirt. 

When Eijirou dropped the villain to look down at the other, who was still lying on the floor, the man slowly raised his arms in surrender. 

“Look, man, they just told me I was gonna get paid.” 

“I advise looking into a new career field,” Eijirou snorted and gave him a stern point. “Don’t make me come back here.” The man nodded vigorously at the warning, so Eijirou decided to let him be, stomping off down the aisle to the next door. He paused as the windows, which had previously shown the dark gray-black walls of the tunnel they were traveling through, suddenly blared with bright light. The picturesque countryside now stretched on before him, but he could barely enjoy it as the scenery was nothing but smudged green. The train was already precariously hurtling, gaining speed with every passing second and inching closer to fiery catastrophe. 

“Damn lunatics,” he grumbled as he opened the door. 

For a group capable of successfully hijacking a bullet train, Eijirou found their manpower sorely lacking. He proceeded from one train car to the next with little difficulty, either dispatching his enemies or frightening them into submission with his raw displays of power. He’d reached the front one-third of the passenger train before the loudspeaker screeched to life again, and he paused in the middle of pummeling another lackey to listen. 

“It has come to my attention that we have a young pro hero on board. My apologies for not addressing you sooner; I don’t know of many pro heroes so poor that they have to take public transportation.” 

Eijirou scowled at the blatant insult, unconsciously wrapping his hand tighter around the villain’s throat. He was oblivious to the man’s squirms and whimpers, too honed in on the calm and sadistic voice bleeding from the speaker above his head. 

“It seems you are hell-bent on making it to the front of this train. I admire your grit, so I have pulled all of my underlings into the engineers’ room in the car attached to the control room. If you manage to fight your way through my entire group of henchmen, then I suppose you’ve earned the right to challenge the final boss, little hero. Good luck.” 

As the speaker cut off, Eijirou released the villain, who sunk to the ground and gulped down greedy breaths. Smirking and tugging down the strip of tee-shirt he still had tied around his slightly sweaty face, the young hero grinned defiantly. 

“All right then, asshole. Challenge accepted.” 

As promised, there were no villains occupying the anterior cars of the train. Eijirou still skulked through them suspiciously, his red eyes searching the sea of passengers in case one of them was a villain in disguise looking to get the jump on him. His keen gaze saw no hostility, only fear, anxiety, and— when they clapped eyes on the unassuming hero— hope. Their expressions of trust and adoration filled Eijirou with vigor, prompting him to increase his stride and head toward the engineer’s car with as much speed as he could manage without exhausting himself. As he reached the final car— at least, what he thought to be as he noticed the lights were off in the next one— he paused as he realized something. 

I’ve seen that expression countless times before. And it wasn’t just in crises like this— he’d seen it on the man’s face when he walked up to his car pulled up on the side of the road today. He’d seen it on a little girl’s face last week when he helped her find her lost cat. He’d seen it on an old woman’s face, too, when he helped her bring her groceries to her car across the entire supermarket parking lot. Hope, relief, trust… These were emotions he saw every single day as humble citizens looked to him to serve all their needs, big or small. 

Smiling ruefully, Eijirou leaned his forehead against the door. I’ve been a big, fat idiot, haven’t I? All this time I’ve been too caught up in the glory that I totally forgot what matters… How unmanly. Taking a moment for the epiphany to sink in, he closed his eyes, feeling the way his muscles were humming and his blood vessels were singing with epinephrine. Sure, the high was nice, but… He also really wished he could be in his bed, enjoying a cup of something warm to drink while he watched the news report on some mundane event from the day. Right now, the populace was probably glued to the screens watching the train hijacking unfold in real-time. 

From this moment on, Eijirou was going to wish that every day was as boring as it possibly could be— because boredom meant peace, and peace meant security for the most vulnerable, the most in need of saving. 

And the only way to restore peace is to give this jerk and his lackeys a good old-fashioned Red Riot walloping! Eijirou grinned devilishly, stepping back and throwing the door open. In the gloom of the engineer’s car, which only housed modest wall-mounted cots, a mini-fridge, and some other odds and ends, about a dozen and a half plainclothes bozos turned their gaze upon him. 

“All right, then. Who’s first?” Eijirou chirped. 

They all sprang at him. 

“Hey, hey, hey, that’s not fair!” the redhead cried, ducking a swing and delivering a blow to an assailant. Eijirou grimaced at the familiar thunk of Kevlar against his fist; so, this lot was a bit more prepared than the goons occupying the latter portion of the train. Grunting, Eijirou danced around another grunt who lashed out at him, her fingernails morphed into wicked-sharp, several-inch-long claws. He hopped up onto a cot and grabbed the curtain railing attached to the ceiling, pulling himself up to kick out both his legs. His boots plowed into the middle of two of the lackey’s faces, sending them stumbling back into the crowd. Another five surged forward to take their place. 

“Man, this is a lot more exhausting than in the action movies!” Eijirou puffed as he dropped down onto the cloth to avoid the onslaught of quills a porcupine-like Quirk user had shot at him. He yanked one out of the wall to jab another in the nose, making him yowl and whip his head around. The lackeys all gave a wide berth to avoid being poked, allowing Eijirou to wrench the minifridge out of the wall and heft it over his head. 

“Snack time!” he grinned before chucking it. It beamed one guy in the chest before bouncing off and crashing on another’s foot. As the first lackey collapsed against one of the beds, holding his likely cracked ribs, the other howled in pain and pushed the minifridge off his foot so he could cradle it, bouncing around in a circle on the other. All it took was an accidental shove for him to trip over his compatriot and bang his head against a pole, knocking him out cold. 

All of the villains looked at him, then at Eijirou, who ran a hand through his sweat-slicked hair and made a “come on” gesture. 

“I ain’t got all day, ya know!” he challenged. 

“Do you think we’re getting paid enough to deal with this?” one of the grunts huffed, making Eijirou rear back in surprise. A ripple of unease traveled through the small group before another, a short blond-haired youth who looked like he wasn’t even out of high school, dropped the crowbar he had been wielding. 

“Come to think of it, did he ever tell you guys how much he was gonna pay us?” The young man frowned. Another ripple of mutters and grumbles went around before a few of them tentatively shook their heads. In utter disbelief, Eijirou couldn’t help but speak up. 

“Wait, wait, wait— you guys hijacked a train for this guy even though you had no idea how much you were getting paid?” he blurted, mouth falling open. 

“We didn’t even know we were hijacking the train until we were on the train! He just told us he needed some grunts for a job!” one of the men complained, kicking the floor with the toe of his boot. “Man, I just wanted some cash to buy my daughter a nice birthday present…” 

“I wanted to buy my lady some flowers,” another sighed wistfully, “and maybe one of those big giant teddy bears that are super squishy and soft…” 

Eijirou reeled in confusion, reeling from the whiplash effect of the sudden development. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he held up his hand as if he could stop time to allow him to process what the hell was happening. 

“Look, you guys… Whatever your motives are, you do realize that, if this train doesn’t stop, as soon as we hit a curve in the tracks it’ll derail, and there won’t be any cash because everyone will be dead or dying?” He sighed, cracking an eye open to see them gaping uncomprehendingly at him. 

“But… The boss won’t let that happen, right? He just wants the ransom.” 

“Are you sure about that? Have any of you seen him on a phone call? Hell, you don’t even know what he’s promising you, so it sounds kind of fishy to me.” 

“The beefcake has a point.” A young woman frowned, rubbing her chin. 

“Are ya telling me we’ve been conned?!” another man growled, stamping his foot with steam blowing out of his nose as his face reddened darkly. Probably, if this guy could talk you simpletons into hijacking a train without promising a solid figure of money, Eijirou thought, but he held his tongue; he was winning the villains over, after all, so he didn’t need to go and piss them off. They were beginning to dissolve into a mutinous uproar, yelling and shouting and fuming. 

“All right, all right,” Eijirou shouted over the din, waving his hands in a placating gesture. “Let’s not get all bent out of shape, now.” He looked nervously to the door leading to the adjacent car, worried their superior heard the outburst. When no one came through, he continued in a quiet voice, “I’m sure none of you really want to be involved in a mass murder— right?” Staring owlishly at him, all of them feverishly shook their heads. Thank goodness, Eijirou thought with an inward groan, keeping the saccharine smile on his face. “So, I’ll cut you all a deal. If you let me pass to deal with this guy, I’ll downplay your involvement to the authorities. We can get you set up real nice— rehab programs, halfway houses, you know, ways to make your life better, yeah? How’s that sound?” 

The crowd of grunts looked at one another uncertainly, then back at Eijirou, who was smiling so hard in his attempt to seem genuine and helpful that his facial muscles ached. He wasn’t lying anyway, but it was critical that he won them over, because he really was wasting time. Out of the corners of his eyes, he watched the landscape shooting by beyond the windows; the gray smudges against the horizon were probably mountains, which meant the tracks were going to begin to curve. Hitting them at this speed would be disastrous, so Eijirou had to stop the runaway train as soon as possible. 

He breathed a small sigh of relief as the lackeys parted, giving him a wide berth to the door. 

“Thank you, guys. You’re doing the right thing,” he encouraged brightly, patting them on the shoulders as he passed. A few of them blushed and shuffled their feet shyly; it made Eijirou burn with anger, the knowledge that someone manipulated downtrodden souls for such nefarious ends. As he got to the door, he rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck, loosening up his body for the final fight. He sucked in a breath, then pulled the door to the control room open. 

He found a man in khaki slacks, a white button-up, polished shoes, and wire-rimmed glasses holding a gun to the train engineer’s head. 

“Well, well,” the man quipped and used his free hand to push his glasses up his nose, “I didn’t realize I was being besieged by an upstart.” 

“Who are you callin’ an upstart?!” 

“My, what a brute you are. There’s no need to yell.” 

“I’m yellin’ ‘cuz you hijacked a train!” Eijirou fumed, a vein bulging in his forehead. The man rolled his eyes as if Eijirou’s ire was completely unwarranted, casually flicking his hand in a dismissive gesture. “Whatever! Slow down this train, right now!” he ordered, taking a step towards him. The man immediately pointed his gun at him, making him freeze in his tracks. He knew his Quirk would reflect the bullet, but in these close quarters, there was no guarantee the ricochet wouldn’t kill the hostage, or the villain, for that matter. 

“No, that won’t do. You see, I absolutely need this train to derail.” 

Eijirou looked at him dumbfoundedly. 

“You mean… You have no intentions of stopping? You want to kill everyone on board?” 

“Yes, precisely,” the man said disinterestedly. Eijirou blinked as his head swam, struggling to process the ludicrous notion. “I can see you’re having difficulty comprehending why someone would want to cold-bloodedly end the lives of hundreds of men, women, and children, so I’ll spell it out for you, so you can have some closure before you perish.” The man smiled like he was doing Eijirou a favor. A chill traveled down the redhead’s spine; even though he’d fought monsters like the League of Villains, he’d never seen such open malice. 

This guy was a true sociopath. 

“You see, I’m just a humble office worker,” the man said, flourishing his arm as he continued to point the pistol at Eijirou; he kept his peripheral vision on the engineer, a silent warning not to tamper with the controls under any circumstances. “I grew up with a loving mother and father, the middle child of three. I went to an average high school, had average grades, went to an average college and graduated with an average degree, and got an average-paying desk job. By all respects, I suppose you could call me more successful than some.” He shrugged, his tone betraying the fact he didn’t believe his words at all. 

“That’s just it. My life is so average that it’s unfulfilling. I have no special talents or interests. I’m too plain for anyone to notice; I’m passed over for promotions, and I don’t catch girls’ attention. Do you realize how infuriating it is to see everyone parading how special and unique they are? Everyone is always talking about the need to fit in, yet, when you fit in too well, you don’t fit in at all.” 

“I won’t be remembered when I die— at least, not living the life I have. But you know what people always remember? Tragedies, catastrophes, major accidents. You know who people remember? Great minds, villains of heinous proportions. So you see, young hero, I will be remembered now. They’re going to remember me as the mastermind who hijacked this train and led its occupants to a fiery death,” he said as a sickeningly elated grin spread across his face and his eyes lit with twisted pride. 

“You’re vile,” Eijirou breathed, shaking his head with a completely amazed expression.

“Perhaps, but they remember vile people, too.” The man shrugged and pulled the trigger. 

Eijirou managed to harden his chest just in time. The bullet bounced off his rock-hard skin, and he dove for the engineer on instinct, smooshing him against the control panel. The small compartment rang with a series of dings as the bullet bounced off the metal walls, and then the gun-wielding man let out pained yelp. Eijirou glanced down to see him curled up on the ground, clutching his thigh as it bled profusely and stained his pressed slacks a dark burgundy.

Eijirou kicked the gun away, sending it skittering to the far side of the room, before planting his foot on the office worker’s back. 

“Stay down, if you know what’s good for you,” he snarled before pulling himself off the engineer. The train worker shook his head, a little dazed, before fluttering his hands over the controls. 

“No! I won’t let you!” the villain screeched. His burst of fury and adrenaline allowed him to temporarily overpower Eijirou. He lunged up and grabbed the lever controlling the train’s speed, bending it at an odd angle and snapping it in half. Eijirou shoved him to the ground and wrenched his hand behind his back, but it was too late. 

“Oh no! It’s jammed!” the train manager wailed, wrenching on the small stub of lever still remaining; in his effort, his hand slipped, and the jagged metal sliced open his palm. Red blood splashed across the controls as he curled in on himself, whimpering. Eijirou stepped off the villain, who was cackling maniacally, to rush to the window; he could see the curve leading into the mountains fast approaching. “We can’t stop the train now… He tore out the wires for the emergency brake system as well!” the train engineer lamented, pointing at a busted panel in the control bench with wires sticking out of it. 

“Can you rewire it?” Eijirou asked as he looked back, eyebrows cinched with concern as his mind whirled. When the man shook his head, his heart plummeted and a sense of doom began to fill his belly. 

“I can.” 

Eijirou whirled around with a gasp to see the young blond-haired villain from earlier sauntering in, crowbar resting on his shoulder. The office worker, now pale from blood loss as it continued to leak out of his leg, looked at his former lackey in betrayal. “I’ve been hotwiring cars since I was eleven.” The youth grinned, thumbing the underside of his nose. “I should be able to get it working again, no problem.” 

“Even if you manage to get it working, if we don’t have enough track between us and the curve and still hit it too fast, we’re doomed! The train is traveling upwards of 250 miles an hour right now!” the engineer cried as the boy squatted down and began fiddling with the wires. 

“We just need to slow it down enough for me to get in front of it!” Eijirou said, watching the young man play with the wires. His deft fingers carefully entwined them back together, sparks jumping near the pads of his fingers. “If we can slow it down, I can use my Quirk and—”

“Got it!” the young boy cried, and the engineer immediately slammed down on a large blue button on the control panel. Eijirou looked up as a digital screen lit up, displaying a green schematic of the train deploying air resistance panels on its roof. The train immediately jerked back as the wind slammed against the large metal panels, and Eijirou saw the speedometer jump down below two hundred miles per hour. 

“It’s working!” the engineer declared in glee. Eijirou planted his foot on the office worker’s back as he began to squirm. 

“My Quirk allows me to harden my body. How slow does the train need to be going to make sure I don’t get squashed trying to push it to a stop?” 

“I-I’m not sure, but, I would say at least under one hundred and fifty miles an hour, but that’s still incredibly fast—” the engineer muttered uncertainly, scratching his head. Eijirou ignored his apprehension, red eyes glued to the speedometer. As soon as the twitching dial reached the “150” marker, Eijirou whipped around to yank open the control car window. 

The wind immediately rushed in, snatching at their clothes and hair. Eijirou stuck out his head, squinting as the fierce gale blasted into his face; through the tears welling up in his stinging eyes, he managed to make out the fast-approaching bend in the tracks as they snaked into the mountain range. Come on, Ei! You can do this! You have to slow the train! He encouraged himself, sucking in a breath and bouncing on his heels to psych himself up. Even with his Quirk, it was still pretty terrifying to be climbing on the front of a speeding bullet train. After a few seconds, he hauled himself up to sit in the window before he could change his mind. 

“All right. Easy does it,” he grunted, kicking off his shoes and socks before hardening his fingers and toes into jagged, sharp edges. He reached up to dig his fingers into the metal side of the train; the smooth steel crunched under his grip, allowing him to get purchase on the otherwise sleek vehicle. After ensuring that both his hands wouldn’t slip with a few vigorous tugs, he swung his legs out the window. He yelped as the wind snatched at them, leaving him desperately kicking against the train until he managed to drive his hardened feet into the metal. He took a minute to collect himself, sweat dripping down his face, before slowly inching around to the front of the train. 

Soon enough he was splayed out on the curved front of the train, with the wind blasting against him as he wondered how things could have possibly turned out this way. He sucked in a few breaths as the anxiety threatened to take over, using the cool wind to slow the nervous sweat blooming on his skin. It’s all good, Ei, he told himself with a weak smile as he hardened his entire body, the ridges of his skin bulging against his clothes. You just gotta drop down and slow the train. It’s fine. It’s cool. It’ll be one of those super-manly action scenes you see in the movies! You can tell everyone all about it! It’ll make a great story! Now, get… down… there!

Before he could stop himself, he slid down the front of the train. He caught himself at the last minute by slamming his hands into the metal, wincing at the heat bleeding out from the overheated engine. His feet slammed down into the wooden slats of the tracks and into the fresh earth beneath; the wood splintered immediately as Eijirou’s legs plowed through them, leaving bits of wood and scours in the earth in his wake. 

A keening groan slipped through his clenched teeth as his entire body jarred, rattling his bones and shaking his brain around in his skull. Still, he held fast, throwing his weight against the train and digging in his feet until bits of earth and wood were flying around his calves. The massive vehicle groaned and whined at the assault, but Eijirou could hear the wheels squealing as they slowed. It’s working! He thought, relief making him almost euphoric— or, perhaps, it was his brain turning to jelly from behind knocked around in his cranium. 

Above the squealing train, the buffeting wind, and the snapping wood, Eijirou thought he heard the whirling of helicopter blades. Sure enough, when he glanced out of the corners of his eyes, he saw the ovoid black form in his peripherals, keeping speed with the front of the train. It then reared up, coming over the top of the train, and Eijirou craned his head back as a lithe, blonde figure hopped down onto the roof. 

“Hey, kiddo! Need a hand?” Mt. Lady winked at him. Eijirou couldn’t manage a response with how violently his body was shaking, but the pro hero wasn’t seeking one. As she grew to her gargantuan size, she slid off the side of the train to plant her feet down on the earth and wrap her arms around the vehicle. As she slid, she uprooted trees and bushes as her feet dug great trenches into the ground. Eijirou cried out as the train gave a mighty jerk backward, slowing ten or twenty miles per hour already. With Mt. Lady’s help, it didn’t take long for the train to smoothly glide to a stop, just a few yards from the bend in the curve leading into the mountains. 

Eijirou slid bonelessly to a heap, trembling as his muscles burned from the strain. After shrinking down to her normal size, Mt. Lady rounded the front of the train to see him lying in a crumpled mess, panting heavily and shining with sweat. “You all right, kid?” she smiled down at him, hands planted on her hips. He gave a half-hearted flop of his hand in answer, making her chuckle. “You did a good job holding your own while we were on our way. The helicopter couldn’t match the speed of the train. If you hadn’t slowed it down for us, who knows what would have happened!” she said as she squatted down beside him. 

Eijirou rolled his head to the side as he heard more helicopter blades and crunching tires. The bullet train was now surrounded by an entire fleet of personnel— military vehicles and soldiers, police officers and pro heroes, government officials. Although his entire body felt like a melted pile of goop, Eijirou forced himself to roll over and half-stumble, half walk around the front of the train. 

“Hey, hey, wait!” he called hoarsely as they were unloading handcuffed villains from the engineer car. “Not those guys. Those guys are good.” 

“What?” the officer asked with a look of bewilderment. Several other higher-ranking officials came to listen while Eijirou explained. Thankfully, there wasn’t too much argument; the Hero Commission representatives agreed to uphold Eijirou’s promise, and led them away uncuffed to hopefully a better future. The blond-haired kid threw him a wink and a thumbs up as he was paraded by. 

“Phew! I’m tired,” Eijirou groaned as he flopped against the train. He cracked an eye open as the mastermind of the entire operation was wheeled out on a stretcher, stoically blank-faced. When he caught Eijirou’s eye, however, he grinned widely. 

“They’ll remember me still, won’t they?” 

Eijirou stared at him a second, then looked down the train, where the rattled passengers were being led to safety by the first responders. They probably would remember, but Eijirou didn’t want to give the sicko the satisfaction. 

“Nope,” he quipped, looking back at him with a stony expression. “In time, all bad things are replaced by good things instead. You’ll be nothing but an afterthought.” 

The man stared at him incredulously for a minute, mouth hanging open. Then, with a screech, he started bucking up against the leather restraints holding him down to the stretcher. The EMTs wordlessly wheeled him to the ambulance, giving no heed to his deranged ramblings. Sighing, Eijirou slumped back against the train, leaning his head and enjoying the way the metal cooled his sweaty, heated skin. He found himself drifting into a light doze, exhausted from all the chaos of the train ride. 

He imagined the embrace of soft sheets, a warm comforter, and a fluffy pillow, making him smile dreamily. There was nothing like crawling into bed after a day like this. But… I’d much rather crawl in bed after a peaceful day, he thought drowsily, peeking at the crowd of civilians who’d had to endure the fruits of his selfish beseech to the heavens. When they crawled into bed tonight, would their sleep be plagued by nightmares? Would they have to hold their loved ones close to feel safe? 

Indeed, Eijirou had been remiss in wishing for something exciting, but that was okay. He’d make up for it by being the best hero he could be. He’d put his all into every task at hand—whether it be rescuing a cat from a tree or preventing catastrophic destruction—because, regardless, that meant saving the day for somebody. He would attend to everyone in need, no matter if that need was big or small, because that’s what heroes do. 

Enjoy this oneshot? Feel free to peruse my Table of Contents!

[timep3tals]

You asked for short iron dad drabbles, so heres an idea for one! During a mission Peter and Tony's suits are wrecked (EMP or something of your choice) before they defeat their opponent. Tony and Peter have to rely solely on Peter's spider strength and senses to survive.

thank you for the ask! sorry it took me a small ETERNITY to write it out, but... it’s finally done! fair warning for LANGUAGE tony has a potty mouth whoops. (also i actually rly like this one so i hope you guys do, too.)

Tony had felt helpless before.

He had felt helpless when Pepper fell to her doom feet away from Tony���s outstretched hand. He had felt helpless when Rhodey came crashing down to Earth, too far to reach. He had felt helpless when he received a call that his plane had crashed and the kid had been on the damn plane when it went down.

Always too far; never fast enough. Tony built suits for speed, but he could never seem to catch up to tragedy.

He had felt helpless when he sent a nuke out into the frozen depths of space and stared at what Tony knew would one day spell their doom.

(It didn’t end up being their doom; they were down a few faces in the compound, but the world survived, and the threat was finally, finally gone. The demons that lingered in his closet had been killed, and he could rest. Tony wasn’t sure he knew how to rest.)

None of that seemed to compare to this moment. Peter was inching ahead of him, silent save for the occasional hiss of air in and out of his lungs that barely reached Tony’s ears. The kid was on high alert, the hair on his arms visibly raised as they snuck through the compound where they were being held.

They’d been hit with a fucking EMP, and a pretty jacked up one at that, because it had managed to fry Tony’s suits. FRIDAY had sputtered out of commission, barely managing to eject his ass out into the open air before the suit cratered the Earth and Peter had launched himself off the ground through sheer fucking force to catch him before he plummeted. 

These morons surrounded him and Tony was seething, teeth grit as they pointed guns at his kid, and he didn’t even get the opportunity to blast their faces in because his damn suit was out of commission. He was stubbornly useless as Peter gave into their demands to back off and wished looks could kill because then at least these assholes would drop dead from his glares.

It wasn’t as though they were entirely left out in the cold, though. Sure, Peter’s suit was also trashed and they couldn’t call for help, but the team knew where they were. Tony had long since sent out a distress signal, but it was just a waiting game until the others arrived, held up by the front lines of the fighters.

And, until then, they could rely on Peter’s spider-ness to remove the enemy’s bargaining chip. Once they’d turned enough eyes (and guns) off them, Peter had launched himself forward, taking down the enemies at a speed that was dizzying to watch.

They didn’t have time to scream before they were unconscious on the cold floor.

Tony would be impressed if he wasn’t too busy fighting back frustrated word-vomits.

Peter had grown so much, but it should be Tony getting them out of this situation. A fucking adult at least, not a seventeen year old who had too much to do with life than worry about getting Tony’s useless ass out of yet another prison.

“Stop,” Peter hissed, suddenly, pressing Tony back against the wall without even looking back. His arm was like steel and Tony grit his teeth so hard his ears rang. “There’s two ahead. I’m gonna take them out.”

“Careful, kid,” he reminded him, though it was pointless. Peter was already moving forward, crawling up onto the ceiling. Tony slammed his head back against the wall when he heard the sound of a muffled fight, relishing in the swirl of his eyes, before Peter reappeared and waved him on.

The cycle repeated and by the time the sun touched their skin, Tony was fighting a scream that was tearing his throat raw. Peter had done fucking fantastic, of course he had, Tony had expected no less, but it was so... so...

“There are the others,” Peter said, pointing towards the horizon where the others were jogging towards them, late, too goddamn late. What was the point of having backup if Peter ended up having to do all the work anyway? “Hey! Over here!”

“About time,” Tony snapped when the others got within range. Natasha smiled, small and wry, and he wanted to rip it off her face. Doesn’t she get it? “Thanks for coming so fast! Really, great help.”

“Mr. Stark,” Peter grumbled at his sharp tone. Tony ignored him. Teenagers didn’t get to be the ones lecturing him on his attitude.

He’ll be angry and bitter and annoyed and useless all he wants, thank you very much.

“Should’ve watched out for an EMP, if you’re gonna be so pissy about our response time when we’re fighting a few hundred guys,” Natasha said. “The hell crawled up your ass and died?”

“God, I fucking wonder. Maybe the fact the kid had to get us out, while I did fuckall.” Tony ran a frustrated, shaking hand through his hair and looked to the sky. One... two... three... counting was fuckin’ boring, and he still wanted to scream. “The Quinjet here already? Great, I’m leaving. Come on, kid, the others will take care of the cleanup.”

Peter hurried to follow when Tony took off, sending worried glances that burned on Tony’s skin.

“Kid, look,” he said, determinedly not looking at said kid, unable to see the damn understanding or pity or whatever the fuck was on Peter’s face. He just couldn’t see it. It would cause the mass of emotions all tangled up in his chest like a wildfire to explode, and he couldn’t.

Not until he was alone and buried in the smell of motor oil, hidden in the recesses of his workshop.

“You did good. Fuckin’ great. I just hated being the one having to rely on you. I’m the one supposed to be taking care of you, not the other way around, and it just. Really pisses me off that I was so useless today.”

Peter was quiet, then, “That’s a bunch of horseshit, Mr. Stark.”

“Excuse me?”

Tony managed a baffled glance at Peter, who shrugged.

“I mean, like, we’re both heroes. You rely on the Avengers. Why is it so bad to rely on me sometimes, too? Don’t you think I’m ever frustrated by how much you help me out? I want to protect people, and that includes you. So just shut up and take my help sometimes. It wasn’t even that dangerous today.”

Fuck, this kid. Tony turned away, biting viciously on his cheek to hide the smile that erupted across his face, unbidden. Damn this little asshole for making him feel better. Why couldn’t he just let Tony sulk?

“Yeah, yeah, rub it in my face kid. You’re so very talented with your sticky hands.”

“Mr. Stark, that sounds disgusting.”

“Jesus, I didn’t mean it like that. Where the hell is your head?”

Peter just laughed.

Tag List @keep-a-bucket-full-of-stars @just-the-daydreamer @serendipity--goddess @tony-wheres-my-supersuit @baloobird @fourdaysofrain @swagfictonreadingnerd  @josywbu @as-clear-as-crystal @an-adventureland @hannah-emily-zhang @spideynamu @spideygirl2003 @fleur-dw @stark-genius @ifyoucanreadmymindthenimsorry @rain-brown @supernoetta @aelinasardothien @jaedray @snazzy-jas-z-is-a-fan-of @drowned-in-books @ditzy-daydreamer1 @emsxworld @starkfridays @avenging-criminal-bones @myyszka @stark-tony @ardenskyedarcy221b @emmaelsa0000 @you-get-killed-walk-it-off @littlemissagrafina @joyful-soul-collector @hold-our-destiny @bringitonvoldie (Lmk if you want to be added/removed! Sorry if yours doesn’t work idk man.)

[badgersprite]

Fic: Desiderata (8/?)

Chapter Title: Reunion

Fandom: Mass Effect

Characters: Miranda, Samara, Oriana, Jacob, Jack

Pairing: Miranda/Samara very slow burn, friends to lovers

Story Rating: R

Warnings: This chapter confirms (and otherwise strongly suspects) some squadmate character deaths. This chapter also makes references to Miranda’s abusive childhood so as per usual that could potentially be triggering to some people.

Chapter Summary: In 2186, Miranda withdraws into herself after confirming what she already feared - that several of her former companions did not survive the battle for Earth. Just as it seems she’s at her lowest point, someone unexpected shows up at her door. In 2185, the Normandy continues its adventures after defeating the Collectors.

Author’s Note: I initially started writing this story right after Mass Effect 3 came out. Originally, it was sort of a channel for my anger towards the ending, although the story has since evolved beyond that into something constructive, positive and healing. But, as was suggested in the warning I put on the very first chapter, yes, this means that some characters did indeed die in the final battle of ME3, and you’re going to get confirmation of that in this chapter, as well as unconfirmed beliefs about the majority of other characters, and Miranda trying to cope with that. So, be warned. This chapter is probably the darkest one.

* * *

“Shepard?”

Miranda was running. Searching for her. Looking for her.

Had to reach her. Had to get to her. Had to find her before it was too late.

Couldn’t see. Could hardly move. The air was thick with clouds of black smoke, burning her lungs.

She was racing, yet moving so slowly. Every step seemed to take ten times longer than it should. Like wading through tar.

“Shepard! Where are you?”

Her own voice echoed in her ears, feet catching on the rubble and debris that littered the streets of London. Entire buildings had been reduced to cinders that still smouldered beneath her.

A hail of gunfire rained down around her from all angles. Body after body fell and faded to dust in every direction. But, somehow, even though it felt like the whole universe was stuck in slow-motion, Miranda kept running forward, persevering through all the death and destruction, even as blood began to pool at her feet.

The shadow of a mass relay loomed overhead, taking up the entire sky, blocking out the Sun. But that wasn’t what she was focused on.

She could see it ahead of her. The Conduit. That crater right beneath the Citadel.

Marauders marched right past her, as if they couldn’t even see her, firing indiscriminately into the crowds of soldiers Miranda left in her wake. A senseless massacre. A slaughter.

All species fought together. All creeds died together. Names Miranda would never even know.

A bellowing voice resonated in the emptiness. “I am krogan! Nothing can hurt me!”

In the black mist, she saw Grunt’s silhouette single-handedly fighting off what had to be a dozen husks with nothing but the strength of his fists. But every time he knocked one back, two more took its place. He fought valiantly, standing atop a pile of no fewer than a hundred enemy corpses, but with no ammunition left, he was quickly overwhelmed. He joined the growing army of shadows following in Miranda’s tracks.

The tide of blood rose to her ankles.

“Had to be me,” Mordin’s disembodied voice echoed in her ear as his ghost turned to ash in the peripheries of her vision, and scattered in the wind. “Someone else would have gotten it wrong.”

There was nothing Miranda could do. Couldn’t stop to save anyone. Couldn’t slow down. The crimson tide was rising, reaching her knees. Every movement became harder. Slower. Fighting the current. With every step she took, the Conduit seemed to be getting further away.

Had to get there.

Had to reach Shepard.

“Is that all you’ve got?” Zaeed emerged from the shadows, firing at the oncoming horde as his position was swiftly surrounded. He pulled the pin on a grenade. “Open wide, you ugly son of a bitch,” he said, charging at the nearest abomination, shoving the grenade in its face. The blast shattered the walls of the building Zaeed had been hiding in. It crumbled on top of him, and buried his enemies with him.

The blood was up to her waist. Miranda could no longer run. Each step she took was heavier than the last, physically dragging her feet through mud and blood. Ghostly fingers nipped at her heels beneath the surface, gradually getting closer, but not quite able to grab hold of her. She was just barely ahead.

“Do we deserve death?” A vision of Legion flashed before her eyes, vanishing into nothing as quickly as it had appeared. “Does this unit have a soul?”

As the thick blood came up to her chest, she had to swim, else risk succumbing to the shadows that threatened to swallow her. She dove forward into the sanguine sea, kicking her feet and powering through with her arms as hard and as fast as she could. But she was moving so slowly. At a glacial pace.

The harder she battled, the less ground she gained.

The shrieks of banshees pierced her ears as they waded past her, like she didn’t even exist.

A voice came over her comms. “What’s happening?” Miranda heard Kasumi say in her earpiece. “There’s something wrong with the mass relays. They’re--”

Her words were rendered silent when the mass relay exploded with devastating force in a blinding flash of light that ignited the atmosphere in a ring of fire. Miranda stopped long enough to shield her eyes.

When the bright light subsided, she glanced up just in time to see a field of debris spreading out from the epicentre, a blackness so thick that every patch of sky was covered in the wreckage.

Within seconds, the whole world was submerged in darkness.

Miranda shook herself from her daze. No. She couldn’t stop. She had to keep going. Had to reach Shepard. She kept swimming, drawn like a moth to that sole source of light that pierced the endless night.

Finally, at long last, the Conduit seemed to be getting closer. Two faint forms stood their ground against the piercing bright white, protecting the path.

“Go, Shepard!” Ashley Williams called out to her Commander, firing back at the army of the dead, whose fingers began to claw and grasp at Miranda’s body as she fought with all her might to elude their clutches. “We’ll cover you!”

Infrasound shook the ground beneath them. Darkness turned to crimson.

“Look out!” Javik tried to push Ashley out of the way, but it was too late.

The cruel eye of the Destroyer guarding the Conduit had seen them. Blinding red surrounded them both. And then they were gone. Vaporised in a flash.

Miranda didn’t stop. Couldn’t stop.

Nearly there.

She kicked harder, doing all she could to outpace the ghastly skeletal hands that threatened to drown her in their sacrifice.

She got closer.

She could see solid ground again.

As she neared her destination at long last, two figures came into view, battling in the black cloud before her, atop a small island in the red sea. Somehow, their actions were not slowed by the mist, but fast and graceful. A violent ballet. 

Kai Leng, and Thane.

Even though Thane was already dying, he was able to get the best of Kai Leng for a time, even throwing him off-balance with his biotics, but it wasn’t enough. Kai Leng cut him down, the blade in his hand slicing through Thane like butter.

Kai Leng turned to face Miranda. And, unlike all the others she’d passed to get here, his eyes locked directly with hers. He didn’t look through her. He saw her.

Before she could even react, those eyes were mere inches from her face. Her breath hitched as pain seared through her abdomen. She looked down, and saw that blade penetrating her stomach, her own blood now melding with the lake of ichor and viscera that surrounded her.

She gritted her teeth and raised her head once more. His cold face stared back, unmoving.

Miranda’s rage boiled over. With both hands, she reached out. Her thumbs covered his cybernetic eyes. And they sank in.

She pushed deeper and deeper. And as she slowly cracked his mask and crushed her fingers into his skull, the skin around her hands began to wither and burn, like her very anger was incinerating Kai Leng beneath her touch.

She squeezed her fists shut, and he evaporated into the aether beneath her.

Miranda clutched at her wounds and battled forward, scarcely able to keep her head above the rising tide.

Miranda didn’t know how she’d made it, but she was so close. There was just one figure left ahead of her. One shadow in the light. Staring into the Conduit.

“Shepard!” she called out again, resisting the whispers of the dead as they grew ever nearer.

The familiar figure raised her head.

“Don’t go in there!” Miranda warned her, a sense of overwhelming dread encompassing every fibre of her being. She knew what would happen. Had to stop it. “You can’t.”

As Miranda reached out, her wounds overcame her. The sanguine sea suddenly vanished without a trace, and she dropped like a stone, no longer suspended. She fell to the ground in pain, her fingers digging into the dirt.

Miranda hesitated as the army of shadows at her heels infringed on her vision, casting an impenetrable darkness upon her. She didn’t dare turn and look behind her. She knew what was there. Couldn’t face it. Couldn’t face them.

“Shepard!” she called again, begging to be heard in the deafening silence.

Shepard slowly turned. Miranda froze in terror as she was met with red eyes.

That wasn’t Shepard. Not anymore.

She heard the sound. That same, bone-rattling sound she had heard in that shuttle. Saw that same red flash as the Reaper’s gaze fixed upon her.

Only, this time, Miranda screamed as the beams incinerated her.

Miranda jolted upright, throwing her sheets off herself in panic, stopping only once she realised that there were no flames to put out. That she wasn’t back in that shuttle again.

Her heavy breathing slowly subsided. It was dark. Her head was throbbing.

She sighed and leaned forward, rubbing her palm against her forehead. Drops of sweat left strands of hair clinging to her scalp. Her sheets were soaked.

‘Just a dream’, right? That was what people would say, if she ever told anyone.

Unfortunately, like with all Miranda’s nightmares since the war ended, she couldn’t say that about them. Couldn’t brush them off as ‘just dreams’. Because they weren’t lies made up by her mind. She wished that they were, but they were the furthest thing from it.

If they weren’t so cuttingly true, they wouldn’t have haunted her so.

Groggily, she checked her clock. 3am. Roughly twelve hours since…

By sheer reflex, Miranda leaned over in time to grab the wastebin near her bed, just before she threw up. Nothing but liquid spilled out. Nothing but claret red.

The contents of her stomach were no mystery. The only reason Miranda had been able to fall asleep that night was because she’d downed an entire bottle of wine to get the images out of her mind. The thoughts. The knowledge. The stark fucking reality of her friends’ last moments. Hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it. Hadn’t been able to eat after...

Miranda gagged as she put the bin down, wiping her mouth. Obviously, it hadn’t helped her forget. What could?

God, her head hurt so fucking much. It felt like death itself had left its mark on her when it visited her in the night.

She didn’t even remember getting up and walking to the bathroom, only realising where she was when she flicked on the light, and saw herself in the mirror. The next thing she knew, the tap was on, and she was rinsing out her mouth, splashing some cool water on her face, to grant some relief from the heat in her cheeks.

She braced herself against the sink, and looked up. She’d almost stopped noticing the scarring on her own face by that point. Burn treatment and synthetic skin grafts had come a hell of a long way, even within the last fifty years. But, that said, Miranda’s treatment had been a wartime one. Not one designed for aesthetics. One applied by necessity, as a matter of urgency, after days without care.

But, in that moment, her visible scars didn’t make her think about herself. They made her think of someone else she knew, who had suffered a similar injury long before she met him. One whose facial scars had healed a lot better than Miranda’s ever would.

Zaeed.

Fuck, Zaeed.

And then the thoughts she’d been avoiding came flooding back. She was there in that room again. And he was lying there motionless in a plastic bag on a table.

She nearly retched again, saved only by the fact she had nothing left to throw up.

Dr. Michel had not understated her call. There were bodies. And pictures. Pictures from when they were found.

Both Grunt and Zaeed, Miranda had identified by sight. She would never repeat to anyone how they looked when she saw them. Couldn’t say it. Wasn’t for anyone else to know. Wasn’t fair that anyone should remember them like that.

At least they left enough behind to bury. None of the others were so lucky.

Well, it was possible Javik had. Miranda never saw Javik personally. Dr. Michel confirmed that he had been identified by a genetic sample. There was only one possible match for Prothean DNA. No visual ID necessary.

Ashley could only be identified by her dog tags. They hadn’t found anything else. Not yet, anyway. That close to the Conduit, chances were they never would.

Miranda had taken those tags with her, sealed in airtight plastic. Given her position, it was her responsibility to deliver them to her family. To be the bearer of the worst news they would ever hear.

Right now, the tags were sitting in a drawer in her desk. Miranda didn’t know how long it would be before she could bring herself to look at them again. To confront the thought of Ashley’s final moments. She knew she would have to. Very soon, much as she dreaded having to write that letter to her family.

The Williams family had already lost people to this war, hadn’t they? And now this.

As for Kasumi, that information had come from Bailey, by way of The Alliance. It turned out that The Alliance had known, or strongly suspected, her fate for a long time. But they had only just broken their silence, over two months later. Bailey had told her and Jacob the news as soon as he found out.

Some of the ships that worked on the Crucible had remained in close proximity to the mass relay, right up until the time it exploded. None of those ships were in one piece anymore. That included the ship Kasumi had been working on.

As far as anyone knew, she was still on that ship when it was lost. While they had spent some time accounting for people who had alighted onto different vessels in the intervening period between completing the Crucible and the destruction of the mass relays, there was no record of her leaving, and certainly no one had made contact with her since. Now that more than two months had passed, her status had officially been moved from MIA to KIA.

Even though Miranda hadn’t been confronted with physical evidence of Kasumi’s death the way she had for all the others, in a way, her fate might have been the worst to discover. Of all the people they hadn’t found, she was the one person that both she and Jacob had been confident would be fine, because she was nowhere near Earth. Nowhere near the Reapers. Literal lightyears away from any of the fighting. And yet…

Yeah. And fucking yet.

The tap kept running while Miranda stared hollowly ahead. Eventually, the noise spurred her from her trance, and she turned it off.

At what point was the grief supposed to set in, she wondered as she gazed blankly at her own reflection. Should she have been more upset than she was? She hadn’t cried for any of her fallen friends. Tears didn’t come naturally to Miranda. Not unless her sister was involved.

One thing that hadn’t left her mind was how...selfish some of her thoughts had been when she learned their fates. When Bailey had told her about Kasumi, Miranda had thought that the day had been bad enough before that, but to add that too, it was like the universe was actively conspiring to make this the worst day of her life.

Hers. The worst day of her life. The one who was alive. As if her friends hadn’t experienced far worse in their last moments than being fucking inconvenienced.

This wasn’t the normal way to react, was it? Wasn’t right. Why couldn’t Miranda just...mourn like other people did. It wasn’t like she didn’t care. She did care. Didn’t she? She would have been lying if she said she felt nothing - no impact whatsoever. If that were the case, those inescapable thoughts and images wouldn’t be permanently seared into her like open, festering wounds.

From the moment she’d seen the first body on that table, and recognised it as Zaeed, it was like the last light of hope inside her - a flame she hadn’t even known she had been holding onto - had been swiftly snuffed out.

Losing Shepard had been one thing, but now? They might as well give up any prospect that anyone actively serving aboard the SR-3 had survived the war.

Not only did they have confirmation that Ashley and Javik were gone, but they also had definitive proof that any ships that were anywhere near a mass relay when the Crucible fired had been obliterated in the subsequent blast, even in other systems far away.

The last time the Normandy had been picked up on any sensors was...approaching the Charon relay.

So, that was it.

They didn’t know that was what happened. But they knew, didn’t they? They had always known. They had just refused to believe it. They had hoped.

But hope was a frail thing, and reality didn’t suffer hope to live long.

The thing was, Miranda hadn’t experienced much that could be considered loss in her life. A person needed to get close to other people in order to lose them. And, until about a year ago, she’d never done that. Until The Normandy. But then she had. And, now, of all the people who had ever served on The Normandy, only five had survived. Miranda. Jacob. Jack. Samara. Wrex.

There was nobody else left to find. They were gone. They were dead.

And, this time, nobody would be coming back.

All told, it was the first time Miranda had been confronted with death in anything more than a purely detached or clinical way. Certainly the first time on this scale. She hadn’t known how she would feel about it - finding out that so many of her friends hadn’t made it. But she would have expected it to be different than this.

It wasn’t that it wasn’t affecting her. It clearly was. But...she didn’t feel hurt. She didn’t feel pain. She didn’t feel upset. She didn’t feel angry. She didn’t really feel anything in particular.

Mostly, she just felt...less. Like everything had been diminished somehow. Like all noise sounded a little quieter. Like all colours had dimmed a few shades duller. Like every sensation had been numbed. Like the tips of her fingers were further away from her body, and like nothing she reached out to grasp could ever really touch her. Like if someone pricked her skin right now, she wasn’t entirely sure she would even bleed.

It was almost like she was nothing more than a machine, and every person she cared about was a little switch inside her. In discovering their fates, Miranda didn’t grieve or mourn or wallow in sorrow. But rather it was like someone had simply gone inside that part of her brain and flipped all those switches from ‘alive’ to ‘dead’, and parts of her had just...powered down as a result.

What did it say about her that this was as strongly as she could feel about them at this moment?

Maybe she really was just as cold and borderline sociopathic as ever.

Maybe friendship hadn’t changed her at all from the person she was a year ago.

With those thoughts swirling through her mind, Miranda didn’t even notice the bathroom door had opened behind her until she heard a voice.

“Hey, Miss. Are you okay in here?” Jason asked. It took Miranda a few seconds to process his sounds as words, and his words as an actual question. “I saw the light on and heard the tap running for a whi--”

“I’m fine,” Miranda answered starkly, albeit on a delay.

“Are you sure?” asked Jason. He knew what had she had gone through earlier. Not in precise details, no. But all the kids knew.

In all honesty, the thing that had prompted Miranda to go out and drink hadn’t been the deaths themselves, nor the sight of Zaeed and Grunt. Not initially. The thing that had driven her over that edge had been after she and Jacob, in loose terms, explained to the kids what had happened. That Jacob, Jack and Miranda had found out that several people close to them had died in the war.

They were shocked and saddened to hear it. They expressed their sympathies. A few of them, in fact every single one of the girls, wept when they found out.

It was at that moment that a sudden realisation had struck her. Jack’s students had been more upset when they heard the news that people Miranda knew had died - people they had never even met themselves - than Miranda had been to see them dead in front of her.

She hadn’t been able to be near them and their tears when that sank in. Couldn’t stand holding that mirror up to herself and confronting her reflection. Seeing how a normal human person should react when something like this happened to people they cared about, and comparing that to the blank void where her own emotional response should have been, but wasn’t.

“Miss?”

“I’m fine,” Miranda repeated herself.

She was always fine. Even when she wasn’t. That was the problem.

“I’m sorry to worry you.” Miranda straightened up (as best she could) and turned back to face him, her hand still on the sink. “None of you should be losing any sleep wondering if I’m okay. That’s not your responsibility. Nor should it be.”

He seemed confused by her response. “But I--”

“Don’t take that as a criticism. I know you mean well. And I appreciate that you care. That’s not me being sarcastic, I actually do. More than I let on. But you never need to waste any time worrying if I’m alright. I always am. And I’m always going to be,” Miranda said quietly.

Jason looked at her for a good, long moment. “...Miss, I’m not stupid. I know how much you drank tonight. I can see, and hear, how drunk you still are. And I know you probably woke up vomiting, and that’s why you’re here right now. And, from the short time I’ve known you, you don’t strike me as someone who makes a habit of this. So, respectfully, I don’t think you’re as ‘okay’ with everything as you seem to think you are,” he pointed out.

Miranda held his gaze for a moment. “...Go to sleep, Jason,” she told him.

“Sure. You probably won’t even remember this conversation in the morning,” Jason remarked, evidencing that he may have had a little too much experience dealing with drunk adults for a man so young.

“I remember most conversations,” Miranda muttered under her breath, looking at her reflection one final time, turning off the light as she left.

* * *

Miranda groaned heavily, the pulsing music of Afterlife doing her head in. The air stank of sex and sweat, like everyone in the club had gone three days without showering.

“I thought shore leave was supposed to be relaxing,” she muttered unhappily, leaning back against the bar.

“Would you prefer to go back to the ship?” Samara asked, needing to project her usually soft voice to be heard above the music.

“Yes!” Miranda answered bluntly, feeling utterly miserable in this place. “But, alas, that choice has been taken out of my hands.”

“It would appear so,” Samara commiserated. While she seemed to have a greater tolerance for the venue than Miranda, the expression on Samara’s face betrayed the fact that Afterlife was not exactly to her taste either. Or at least, it hadn’t been for several centuries.

After defeating the Collectors, the Normandy had limped back to Omega station held together with the engineering equivalent of double-sided tape and popsicle sticks and somehow hadn’t fallen apart in the FTL jump. They had no choice but to dock at Omega for urgent repairs. Since they couldn’t exactly fix the ship with everyone on board getting in the way, and given what they had all just survived, Shepard had seen fit to grant shore leave to anyone who wasn’t currently actively preventing the Normandy from collapsing in on itself.

Miranda had volunteered to stay back on the ship to help out, but Shepard had overruled her, ordering her to “please, for once in your life, take a fucking break”, in those exact words. She was officially banned from re-entering the ship until the repairs were complete. In fact, the only person who had been allowed to stay back on the ship despite a clear absence of engineering and technical skills was Kelly Chambers, for reasons Miranda neither fully grasped nor honestly cared to know.

Unfortunately, there was nowhere on Omega that was to Miranda’s liking. Afterlife was the least awful place by process of elimination given that, if nothing else, anybody who caused problems here would quickly find out what D.F.W.A. stood for, and why it was the one and only rule on Omega that anyone lived by.

Notwithstanding the above, Miranda had still known damn well that she wouldn’t enjoy her forced time off in this place. Accordingly, she had all but begged Samara to come and keep her sane in her misery, and she obliged. So far, even Samara had done little to improve Miranda’s state of mind, though. 

The Normandy crew were already getting too relaxed for Miranda’s liking, and this was evidence of it. Surely Shepard should have realised that, even if Miranda wasn’t holding a soldering iron, there were still a million other things she could have been doing that would have been a productive use of her time. For one thing, she could have been preparing for what to do if Cerberus came knocking, or comparing notes on the organisation with EDI...

“Well, in any event, I appreciate you keeping me company,” Miranda elected to break the silence, preferring not to think about Cerberus in a moment where she was powerless to do anything about them and whatever they had in store for her if and when they caught up to her. “I can't imagine it's easy for you to be here, after...” Miranda trailed off, wondering if perhaps she was erring by bringing Morinth up so directly.

“It is quite alright,” Samara assured her, appreciating her concern. “In truth, it has given me an opportunity to contemplate my own future, and where I am needed. I had not thought of it before, but I would consider returning to this place when Shepard no longer requires my service.”

“Not anytime soon, I hope. You can’t leave me with these people,” Miranda remarked in jest, earning a small smile. “Is there any particular reason why?” she inquired, curious.

“A simple one; I can think of few other places in the galaxy that could benefit more from the presence of a Justicar,” Samara pointed out.

“That's very noble of you,” Miranda commented, though she was sceptical as to the wisdom of that virtuous path. “But don't forget how that turned out for Garrus. Omega's gangs aren't going to let you waltz in and disrupt the way of things. And that includes our friend up there,” she said, nodding her head up towards Aria’s makeshift throne room on the upper floor. Being an asari, Aria wouldn’t be ignorant to precisely how zealous and unyielding Justicars were when it came to the enforcement of their Code.

“I do not fear death,” Samara contentedly replied, undeterred by the prospect of failing in her quest. Miranda frowned, but voiced no further objection.

“Alright, that's it. One of you had better order a drink. You've been standing there long enough,” the turian bartender gruffly grumbled, looking at them both over the bar while polishing a glass. “Since the old lady over here doesn’t strike me as a drinker, I'm guessing it's gotta be you, human.”

“I'd rather not,” Miranda declined.

“It wasn't a request,” said the bartender.

Miranda glanced at Samara and saw a small smirk creeping onto her lips. Miranda sighed, reluctantly conceding. “...Fine,” she acquiesced. “Just one.”

“Coming right up,” said the bartender, pouring her a fresh glass.

At that moment, another song came on. This one was particularly loud and intrusive. The pulsing bass shook the glasses other patrons had on the counter. Several of the other club goers nearby began dragging each out onto the floor to dance. Miranda did not share the sentiment, or the enthusiasm.

“Why does all club music sound exactly the bloody same?” Miranda complained, finding the repetitive droning rhythms and predictable chord progressions beyond irritating by that point. “These people wouldn’t know an interesting interval or a complex time signature if it slapped them in the face.”

“Perhaps we should endeavour to find somewhere more...quiet,” Samara suggested, pointing up towards the speaker that was right above them.

“Quiet? Here?” Miranda remarked, with a sceptical glance at their surroundings. Afterlife was hardly subdued. That being said, though, she would have been lying if she said she didn’t see the appeal of finding a more secluded corner of the nightclub. She sighed as she took her drink. “If we can find a free booth that doesn't have a stripper dancing on the table, that would be a start.”

That was easier said than done.

“I am certain that, if we ask for privacy, we will be granted it. Come, this way.” Despite her doubts, Miranda followed Samara’s lead, trailing her through the club, in search of somewhere to sit.

As they were walking, Miranda recognised a few familiar faces from The Normandy. Garrus, Thane and Zaeed had commandeered a booth, and Thane appeared to be the only one of them who wasn’t already three drinks in. She didn't particularly feel like joining them, though. Everyone else who wasn’t currently working on the ship must have been on a different floor of the club, or somewhere outside.

Much as Miranda had predicted, the only empty table they managed to find had a dancer on it, no doubt hoping to attract customers.

“I beg your pardon,” said Samara, approaching the young asari. “Would it trouble you if my friend and I had this table to ourselves?”

“Get lost, grandma!” the dancer rudely shot back, turning her head to see who had spoken to her. Instantly, she froze in fear, and turned about three shades paler. “Y-Y...J-Justicar...?” she stammered, recognising her armour immediately. “I...I am so sorry. Of course you can...Please. Please forgive me,” she implored her as she hastily climbed down to the floor, bowing her head in respectful deference before running off to get as far away from Samara as possible.

Samara sat down without an issue, gesturing for Miranda to do the same. Miranda arched an eyebrow, impressed. “She thought you were going to kill her.”

“From what I have gathered about Omega, it is not unlikely that she has done something that would warrant my intervention pursuant to The Code. If I confirmed this and took such action, and she did not voluntarily surrender herself to my custody, then yes, my presence here would result in her death,” Samara acknowledged, serene as always. “Fortunately for her, my oath to Commander Shepard compels me to refrain from acting as I normally would.”

“Where does The Code draw the line on what kinds of people it considers criminals?” Miranda asked, sliding into her seat across from Samara. “Drug users? Sex workers?”

Samara shook her head. “The Code does not criminalise addiction – although this does not mean addicts cannot be held accountable for crimes they commit in support of their addiction. As for 'sex workers' as you referred to them, asari cultures are not human cultures. Consorts hold a high status in our society, and it is normal for many if not most young asari to do as these women are doing in their maiden stage,” she reminded her, gesturing broadly at the asari dancers working throughout the club. “Many among my kind still find it perplexing that such things have ever been considered shameful by other species.”

“Do you share those views?” Miranda inquired. Her question earned a slightly confused look from Samara. “I don't mean to sound presumptuous but my own cultural biases mean that, when I think of ancient religious orders, I tend to associate such things with conservatism and chastity. I guess I kind of assumed you might not look too fondly on young asari wasting their youth dancing in bars.”

“Only in the sense that age has granted me the wisdom to look back on my younger years and consider what I could have done differently, and how much more I could have accomplished if my priorities were not so self-centred,” Samara answered sagely. “Were I asked for my advice, I would counsel them from the benefit of my experience to focus on what they find truly fulfilling in their lives. However, this is not a moral judgement, nor do I object to their choice to dance or take lovers freely. To do so would be very hypocritical of me. And it would be folly of me to assume that this is not their calling. If this is their path to inner fulfilment, then I would never seek to turn them from that.”

Miranda's lips quirked against the rim of her glass. “Are you saying this was you once? Giving people lap dances in bars?”

“No. I preferred adventure and violence,” said Samara, being frank about her past indiscretions. “Any time I spent in places such as this, or in the company of women like this, was merely as a customer. But I was not so radically different from those who work here now. My maiden stage was spent such that I cannot righteously criticise how another asari spends hers. The only reason I did not follow this path, aside from the fact that I am not a particularly gifted dancer, is that becoming a mercenary offered far more excitement and more opportunities to travel far and wide. I also found myself...drawn to certain types of people at that age. The same sort of people I found myself fighting beside.”

“Yeah, you mentioned that once before,” Miranda recalled, though it was no less incongruous to picture it now. It was pretty crazy to think that the types of people Samara used to sleep with as a young woman were now the very same people she hunted down without mercy as a matriarch. That raised a thought, and Miranda was never one to not speak her mind, even where it might have been advisable not to. “Don't answer this question if you don't want to, but did you take many lovers when you were younger?”

“That would depend upon what you define as 'many',” Samara replied.

“By your definition?” Miranda asked.

“Yes,” Samara answered plainly. “Have you?”

“Yes,” Miranda responded in kind. Though whether they had the same definition of ‘many’ was anybody’s guess. Probably not, given that Samara’s maiden stage alone could have lasted close to ten times as long as Miranda had been alive. “But I don't think I enjoyed mine as much as you enjoyed yours. Most of them were nothing to write home about. I don't even remember their names, nor do I care to.”

Samara tilted her head thoughtfully. “I remember some vividly, though not all. And of those I have fond memories of, I have not thought of most in a very long time.”

“Do you ever miss it?” Miranda wondered aloud, curious whether Samara would ever even consider one day laying down her armour and living as...well, anything other than a Justicar.

“I miss my innocence,” Samara confessed. “I miss how it felt to live free from any cares or concerns. I miss being able to dance with strangers, never knowing how it felt to bear the burden of responsibility. But if you are asking me if I would choose to walk that path again, the answer is no. I cannot. And I would not.”

“You can still dance with strangers if you want to, though,” Miranda wryly encouraged, taking a sip of her drink. “And, no, I don’t mean that euphemistically. Just dancing. Surely that’s not forbidden by The Code. Is it?”

“No, it is not. But those days are behind me, as are so many others, and I am content with that,” Samara smiled, a mysterious, ethereal smile. “Do you dance?”

“No.”

“Never?” Samara queried, her eyes sparkling under the lights.

“I may have tried it once or twice.” Miranda shifted in her seat, averting her gaze. “...After I ran away from my father, I got a taste of freedom for the first time. So I did things he had never allowed me to do. Or tried to. Admittedly, I wasn’t very successful at it, and any desire to experiment and rebel was quickly outweighed by how much I like being in control of my faculties and how much I didn’t enjoy places like this, but...well, it was a phase nonetheless, I suppose.”

“You were with Cerberus at the time, were you not?” Samara asked, clarifying the time period.

“Yes but, as you may have noticed, they don't particularly care what you do in your personal life, as long as it doesn't interfere with your work,” Miranda explained. Cerberus had never imposed those kinds of rules upon her. They respected her and treated her like an adult. It was why it had been so hard for her to believe the worst about them, and sever her loyalties. “I was sixteen years old, with only a vague, malformed idea of what the world was like, what other girls my age were supposed to be like, and the experiences I was supposed to have had, together with a staunch determination to make up for lost time. And you should know when I set my mind to something, I don’t do it by halves.”

“And yet, in that time, you never danced with strangers?” said Samara.

“Mostly only in the euphemistic way,” Miranda replied. That was one thing that had never really changed, so much as she was simply more experienced, and had gotten more efficient about getting that itch scratched whenever she felt the need. “Let's just say I made some poor decisions in a short space of time, and it's not an aspect of my life I'm particularly proud of.”

“Many years have passed since then. You are older and wiser, but you are still young – too young to deprive yourself of such things. Perhaps this is not the place for you, but I know you enjoy music. You have told me as much. Surely there would be a place where even you would feel comfortable letting go and dancing freely. To do so would not mean you are repeating your past mistakes,” Samara advised.

“I know it wouldn’t,” Miranda acknowledged. She still didn't feel like it though. Plus, the concept of ‘letting go’ was about as antithetical to her entire existence as any concept could possibly be. “Tell you what, I'll dance when you dance. That's a promise.”

“Your promise sounds a great deal like an excuse,” Samara quipped.

Miranda smirked. “Nothing gets past you.”

* * *

Bailey had been surprised when Miranda showed up to work on Monday, less than a day after confirming the deaths of so many of her former comrades.

Before he had even opened his mouth to speak, Miranda had cut him off. “Whatever you’re going to say, don’t. Please, just...I need to be here. Please just let me work right now.”

To his credit, he had honoured her wishes, and that had been the end of any discussion about it.

Focusing on something else, anything else, had always been Miranda’s best and only coping mechanism. Her unyielding need to be productive, and to feel like she was in control of at least one aspect of her life even if everything else was falling apart around her, was a lifelong companion that never failed her.

There was no shortage of work to keep her busy. Some of the Alliance ships that had made the jump only a few lightyears away before the relays exploded had finally made their way back into the Sol system to study the wreckage of the Charon relay, and to begin working on reassembling and repairing it. They were in communication with other teams of varying sizes all over the galaxy.

The dextro races still stranded in the Sol system were starting to reach the point where food was becoming a concern. Several turians and quarians had already gone into cryostasis, and the number joining them was increasing day by day.

Of the levo races, more and more were settling into Earth in the expectation that their stay would be a long one. Many asari and salarians had joined with humans in moving out of cities into smaller towns and villages, working to restore infrastructure and agriculture, getting sorely needed supply lines up and running.

But London remained in tatters, still rebuilding. When any hospital had a shortage of beds or medicine or staff, Miranda knew about it. If there was a building that was possibly safe enough to move people into, Miranda knew about it. If a block didn’t have power or water, Miranda knew about it. If the black market jacked up the prices too much on luxury items, Miranda knew about it.

Bailey may have been the face of the operation, but she was his eyes and ears (well, technically only one of each), and she was the puppet master pulling the strings, making sure all resources and personnel were allocated precisely where they were needed. And if they didn’t have enough of either, she found them.

For as good of a distraction as all that work was, at the end of the day, she still needed to go home. And she still needed to deal with this.

She’d approached Wrex directly on Monday afternoon. They were in the same city, after all. There would have been no way to avoid speaking to him about it that wouldn’t have meant admitting to herself that she was deliberately putting it off. So she didn’t.

Miranda delivered the news to him personally, about everyone who had passed. As the leader of Grunt’s clan, he was the closest thing Grunt had to next of kin. It only seemed appropriate that Clan Urdnot should hear it from her first, and be given the right to decide how to honour their dead.

Miranda didn’t know Wrex well enough to be able to gauge his feelings on Grunt’s passing, or anyone else’s. And, whatever they were, Wrex certainly didn’t know Miranda well enough to show them around her. But he had expressed his brief thanks to her for informing him, respecting that she had taken her duties seriously and had the courtesy of bringing this to him face-to-face.

It was true that, as the highest ranking member of the Normandy left alive, she had big shoes to fill. And her job was far from done.

Unfortunately, Kasumi, Zaeed and Javik didn’t have any next-of-kin to inform. Not that Miranda had been able to track down, anyway.

Javik’s isolation went without saying. He was the sole survivor of a fifty thousand year old genocide. He was the one person who was never exaggerating when he said he was truly alone in the universe. Even if he had survived the war, who knew if Javik ever really intended to go on living? But, then, Miranda knew too little about him to speculate.

Kasumi, for as socially aware as she had been of everyone else aboard the Normandy, was a chronic self-isolator. She never truly got close to anybody, save for the love of her life who lived on only in the form of an implant inside her head. Miranda personally hadn’t even realised just how much of a distance she kept everybody else on the SR-2 at right up until that day when she’d looked around and suddenly realised that they were one head short because Kasumi had disappeared without a trace at the last place they docked.

If Zaeed had any friends or family who were still alive, he certainly hadn’t volunteered that information to anyone else aboard the Normandy. There were probably no shortage of people who he had met over his years, but, similarly to Kasumi, from all appearances it sounded like Zaeed would move on the moment it felt like he might be getting too attached. The terrible things he had seen wouldn’t allow him to settle down and live a normal life. He had probably always known deep down that he would die fighting in a war.

However, there was one among the confirmed dead who definitely did have a family. A family Miranda had already written to once before, to let them know she was searching. A family who it was now her responsibility to ensure those dog tags made it back home to.

Every single day, Miranda had sat down at her laptop with the intention of writing the letter nobody ever wanted to have to write. But the words just wouldn’t come. It was the one task that Miranda simply couldn’t seem to bring herself to start, let alone finish. And the screen would just stay blank until she inevitably convinced herself that tomorrow would be the day.

During the week, Miranda told herself it wasn’t her fault she wasn’t getting it done. She was busy with work. Clearly she wasn’t making progress because she didn’t have enough time to concentrate on doing this properly.

On Saturday, her reason for not getting it done was because she had helped Jack leave the field hospital and move in with Jacob in his apartment. Jack’s students had thrown an impromptu lunch to celebrate their teacher getting out of hospital, and as a courtesy Miranda had stayed for the whole thing.

Perhaps it should have said something about the state they were both in after learning what had become of so many mutual friends, and the extent to which Jack actually felt sorry for Miranda to have to be the one to identify what bodies there were, that, in those entire few hours they spent in each other’s proximity on that day, Jack didn’t insult Miranda even once.

Then Sunday came, a whole week since Ashley’s fate had been discovered, and Miranda didn’t have any excuses to put it off any longer.

Today had to be the day. There was no alternative.

And yet, despite not leaving her room even once that day, despite forcing herself to sit there until she finished this, she still hadn’t typed a single word.

Miranda had done a lot of things in her life that other people would probably class as difficult. Living with an abusive tyrant of a father. Pulling off countless life-threatening missions for Cerberus. Being captured and tortured by batarian slavers. Raising the fucking dead.

All of those things had been a cakewalk compared to writing to Ashley’s sisters.

She’d lost count of how long she’d been staring at that blank screen, or those dog tags, in the hopes that the words would just...come to her if she focused long enough. So far, it hadn’t worked. Any time Miranda thought of something to say, it just felt...wrong. Inadequate. Even if she couldn’t explain why.

At first, she didn’t know why she was finding this so bloody hard. After all, Miranda didn’t know Ashley particularly well. She’d only met her a handful of times, if that. She had no right to pretend otherwise.

But, then, it clicked.

In a way, the fact that she didn’t know Ashley at all was precisely what was making this so much worse. For one thing, if she had known her on a personal level, then no doubt she would have had no shortage of things she could say about her that would resonate with her family, to express understanding and sympathy for their loss. For another, and more significantly, because Miranda knew so little about Ashley, it meant that the only thing that she could focus on when thinking about her was the one thing she did know - that Ashley was a sister to three other sisters. And that they all loved each other dearly.

If there was one actual, honest to god human feeling Miranda knew all too well, it was the love she felt for her own sister. So, suffice it to say, she could relate.

And, although she’d never even seen a picture of Ashley’s sisters, every time the mere thought of them crossed her mind, all she pictured was Oriana.

This was one circumstance where Miranda didn’t have to fake empathy. For this, she had it in spades. It would have been easier to do this if she didn’t.

She knew what it would mean for them all to receive this letter. Because she understood better than anyone exactly how much it would have absolutely fucking destroyed her if she got the same letter. And it felt horribly, gut-wrenchingly cruel to be the one to write that letter, in full awareness of what it would do to those three sisters to receive it.

If that was what it was like for normal people to lose someone, then in a way Miranda felt lucky to be so numb to her own feelings compared to others. Maybe Kelly Chambers had been right when she speculated that becoming emotionally closed-off was as much a form of protection Miranda had developed to survive as it was something imposed upon her by her father whether she wanted it or not. It was certainly easier, and safer, to be cold on the inside, than to expose herself to a pain like Ashley’s sisters would feel when they learned the news.

Miranda wasn’t sure she would even have the emotional capacity to process losing Oriana, if the worst ever came to pass. It either would have broken her completely and caused her to jump off this mortal coil after her, or she would have withdrawn so much further into herself that she ceased to be recognisable as human. Maybe all of the above at once.

But Miranda wasn’t in that position. It seemed so strange to think about it. So many people had lost so much to this war. But not Miranda.

She was perhaps one of the people who least deserved to live, given her past allegiances to Cerberus, and given that she had never at any stage aspired or claimed to be, quote unquote, a ‘good person’. And yet, she was still there. Mostly in one piece. With three out of the grand total of five people she had ever truly cared about confirmed alive.

If anything, the fact that she had survived and others hadn’t was proof that the universe was not a fair place. There was no justice. No balance.

She knew it didn’t make any sense, and that it was impossible to trade her life for someone else’s, but she couldn’t help but think how much collectively happier more people would have been if Miranda had died and Ashley had lived. Or Shepard. Or most other members of the Normandy, really.

Oriana would have been the only person truly hurt by it, but even then she had lived nineteen years of her life perfectly fine, not even knowing Miranda existed. She’d only known about her for a year. She would have recovered eventually.

Speak of the devil, it was at that moment that a message popped up on Miranda’s screen. A message from Oriana.

“Hey, sis. What’s up? We haven’t talked in a few days. This a good time?”

It was true. This wasn’t the first text she had received from Oriana over the last few days, but Miranda hadn’t responded to any since she found out what happened to her comrades. Couldn’t bring herself to. Couldn’t bring herself to think about...precisely the sort of things she was thinking about right now.

It wasn’t that she couldn’t tell Oriana what had happened. What she was feeling. Of course she could have. She could have gone to Oriana about absolutely anything. On some level, that was all Miranda wanted to do. To talk to her. To feel a little less alone in that moment.

The problem was that Oriana would have listened to it all in a heartbeat. Every word. Without judgement. Without hesitation.

That wasn’t fair on her, and it wasn’t what Miranda wanted their relationship to be.

Oriana may have been the most well-adjusted person she knew, but she was still barely more than a kid. Only twenty years old. Still figuring things out. How was it fair for Miranda to burden her with all her problems, as if she could possibly know the answers, or the right things to say?

It was supposed to be the other way around. Miranda was supposed to be Oriana’s shoulder to cry on. Her protector. Her guide. Her big sister. Even if she wasn’t cut out to be any of those things. And she had foisted enough of her problems on Oriana already.

So she texted back.

With that, Miranda closed the messenger window, and switched back to the blank document. She’d been staring at it for so long without typing so much as a single word that she hadn’t even noticed the battery had almost drained down to zero. She reached down and plugged in the charger.

Just as she did that, another alert popped up on her screen. Message from Oriana.

“What do you get when a journalist cooks without reading a recipe?” Oriana asked. “Unconfirmed sauces.”

A small smile tugged at Miranda’s lips. Even if she was pushing Oriana away right now, it was comforting to know that Oriana would never take anything personally, and that she would be there waiting for her when she was ready to talk again.

With one last look at Ashley’s dog tags, Miranda began to type.

* * *

After finishing repairs to the Normandy, Commander Shepard seemed to have taken Miranda’s suggestion to heart. Or perhaps it was what she had always intended to do. They still had numerous leads on file that they never had the opportunity to investigate before the Collectors took them by surprise and attacked the crew. Why leave any of those assignments incomplete?

Miranda kept enough of an eye on things to know that, despite what had happened, The Illusive Man was still sending messages to Shepard (to which Shepard never responded) in an effort to cast himself in a good light. Evidently, Andrea was important enough to his plans that he considered it worth his while to continue trying to persuade her that they were on the same side. And maybe it was true that they were, at least where the Reapers were concerned.

By contrast, he had said nothing to Miranda whatsoever.

She knew what that meant.

Even if she came crawling back to Cerberus with a grovelling apology, which was never going to happen, she wouldn’t have been welcomed back anyway.

Despite now acting on their own, in a lot of ways, it was almost as if nothing had changed after defeating the Collectors. They knew the Reapers were out there, and the mutual intention of all concerned appeared to be that the best thing to do was carry on as usual in the hopes of finding out more about the impending threat, and hopefully to stop it from ever coming to fruition.

In fact, the only person who it seemed wasn’t exactly the same as before the Collector Base was Kelly Chambers. She had stopped making individual appointments with members of the crew (which Miranda knew from no longer getting any reports from her) and had been cut back to only light duties by Shepard. The last time Miranda had seen her, Kelly had jumped at the sound of the elevator doors opening behind her. Maybe that had something to do with it.

In any event, Miranda had concerned herself more with uncovering as much as she could about Cerberus’s true motives. Since Cerberus hadn’t made any effort to stop them from investigating any old leads so far, this certainly seemed like her best opportunity to take advantage of a position of relative safety and protection to arm herself with knowledge.

“Shepard, do you have a moment?” Miranda had begun, approaching Andrea after a meeting in the Briefing Room. Andrea had turned to face her, signalling for her to speak. “Do you remember that message you got from The Illusive Man last week, about the Overlord cell going off the grid without explanation on Aite?”

Shepard had sighed and rubbed her forehead. “You’re just not even hiding the fact that you read my emails anymore, are you?”

“No,” Miranda answered bluntly, but that wasn’t important right now. “I think we should investigate. The Illusive Man mentioned experimenting with highly volatile technology. It must be operationally sensitive, if he wouldn’t tell you anything more than that. Whatever the purpose of Project Overlord is, this is likely our only opportunity to learn about it. Cerberus will clean this up themselves if we don’t, and by then there’ll be nothing left.”

“You don’t think we could be walking into a trap?” Shepard asked.

“Possible, but unlikely. The Illusive Man asked for our assistance on this before we found the Reaper IFF device. Setting a trap for us before we had the intention or the ability to assault the Collector Base would take a level of prescience that nobody is capable of,” Miranda said confidently, folding her arms across her chest. “He’s many things, Shepard, but even he can’t see the future.”

“Fair enough. You’ve convinced me,” Shepard replied. “I’ll bring Tali with us. She’ll make sense of any tech we come across, no matter how ‘experimental’ it is.”

Miranda nodded her head. That was a sound choice.

What they actually found at the heart of Atlas Station, Miranda could not possibly have predicted.

Please make it stop.

Miranda hadn’t even been able to speak when she saw him there. David Archer. A completely innocent, vulnerable man hooked up to machines by his own brother as part of some sick experiment to see if his gifted mind could, what? Control geth? That was the reasoning that justified that level of cruelty and abuse?

This was it, wasn’t it? The true face of Cerberus. What they did to people. So many had said that this was the reality, and yet Miranda hadn’t listened before.

Reading between the lines, there was no doubt The Illusive Man knew exactly what was being done on Aite. While he made sure to say he didn’t condone Dr. Archer’s actions, he seemed to know perfectly well that David’s “unique talents” had “provided a breakthrough”, and he made sure to mention that Shepard’s actions had set back their understanding of the geth several years.

The only good thing that had come out of this was knowing that David Archer would be well looked after at Grissom Academy. Well, that and it was reassuring to know that, whatever Cerberus might have planned to do with an army of geth under their control, those ideas would never come to fruition now.

Evidently, Shepard really had done the right thing by not sending Legion to be studied by Cerberus, if it would have helped them. In retrospect, Miranda had never been more relieved that someone hadn’t listened to her advice.

It just made her wonder what else she didn’t know.

The door to Miranda’s quarters slid open, and she glanced up. “Forgive my intrusion. Am I interrupting anything?” Samara asked, always a sound question to open with when it came to Miranda, especially when she was in her office.

“No,” Miranda answered honestly. Not a damn thing.

Samara was too tactful to say it, but of course she knew that the number of people Miranda reported to had decreased drastically in recent days, and her requirements to Shepard had already been discharged several hours ago.

Since Miranda hadn’t objected to her presence, Samara took that as a cue to step inside. “I have not seen you since you returned from Aite. Is all well?”

Miranda sighed, interlacing her fingers in front of her. “I honestly don’t know.”

The truth was, ever since she’d seen David Archer in that state, there had been this lingering sense of unease that Miranda hadn’t been able to shake. She had never been an expert at being able to put labels to her feelings. But if she had to choose a word to describe this one, it would be ‘unsettled’.

It wasn’t a pleasant feeling at all. It was as if her own skin was no longer sitting properly on her body. Like there was an inherent...discomfort, that was impossible to rectify. Like these unwelcome sensations and thoughts wouldn’t stop wriggling around beneath the surface, disturbing whatever they touched.

Had this been any regular day, Miranda would have just worked and avoided thinking about it until it went away. But that option wasn’t available to her anymore. Besides, something told her this malaise wouldn’t vanish so easily.

Then again, if there was anybody who she felt safe sharing her thoughts with, and who could help her make sense of them, it was the woman in front of her.

Not about to just leave her standing there by the door, Miranda got up from her desk and gestured for Samara to follow her further inside her quarters. “Sorry there’s not a lot of room, here,” Miranda remarked.

“It is quite alright,” Samara assured her.

“By all means, make yourself at home,” Miranda invited her, electing to sit cross-legged near the head of her bed, tacitly giving Samara permission to join her.

Samara followed her lead, perching on the far end of her bed, as if to signal that she was in no hurry to be anywhere else.

“Do you know what happened down there?” Miranda began.

“Yes.” Samara nodded her head. Even though Miranda rarely if ever observed her speaking to anyone else, word always somehow seemed to reach her about what transpired on any mission she wasn’t a part of.

It certainly made things easier not to have to explain it.

Maybe that was why Samara had come here in the first place.

“...I don’t think a single person I’ve met would ever accuse me of being in any way compassionate. Not even you, and you give me the benefit of the doubt far more than anyone else. But…” Miranda trailed off as she reflected on the days’ events, her voice steady despite the grisly subject matter. “Even in the name of science, how could anyone do that to their own brother?”

David Archer had been begging his brother to make it stop. Begging him. And all Gavin cared about was continuing the experiment.

Why? What was the fucking point of taking it that far?

“I do not know,” Samara answered honestly. “I cannot fathom it either.”

“I suppose that’s the thing. I can fathom it,” Miranda pointed out. She knew all too well that people like that did exist.

She’d been raised by one.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” Miranda shook her head, unable to even find the language to describe the uncomfortable twisting in her chest that came from thinking about David Archer, picturing him in that core with all those tubes sticking out of him. “Nothing normally ever...gets to me. Even things that probably should. I’ve always been like that. My whole life,

“Did you know, I don’t even remember crying as a child? At all?” Miranda asked. “Any time I ever came close to shedding a tear, my father made sure to ‘give me something to really cry about’. So perhaps I did do it more than I can recall, and I simply blocked those memories out. But I don’t think that’s the answer. I’ve always assumed that the reason I never cried was because I must have been...so isolated and neglected as a baby that one day I just stopped making any noise, because even then I must have known there was simply no point to it,

“So, if you ever pictured me being an emotional child, that’s not true. I’ve never known myself to be any different than the way I am now,” Miranda somewhat shamefully admitted. She’d never had the chance to be another way, from the moment she was brought into this world. “The one exception, the one thing that I can’t seem to stop from hitting me in whatever small, emotional part of me survived my childhood, is Oriana. Or anything that reminds me of her.”

“I see.” Samara needed no further explanation. Miranda may not have fully understood it herself, but to Samara, it made perfect sense. Why wouldn’t what Miranda saw down there on Aite remind her of her father, and make her think of her sister? “...May I ask, have you seen something like David Archer before?”

“Close enough,” Miranda said, the truth of those words leaving a bitter taste on her tongue. “Do you know, I’ve never told anyone about how I escaped from my father? I suppose you could’ve guessed. I’ve never had anyone to tell.”

Samara shifted, matching Miranda’s cross-legged position as she turned to face her, sitting opposite her. She didn’t even need to say anything. Her body language alone said that she was receptive to whatever Miranda felt comfortable sharing.

Miranda never allowed herself to look weak in front of anyone. To show vulnerability. Whenever she came close, she would brush it off with a deadpan quip or dry understatement, demonstrating that she was in total control.

Samara was the one exception to that. The one person she’d met who she trusted enough to reveal that flawed, softer side of herself around, and who had never judged her even slightly for her imperfections. Why Samara tolerated her at her worst, Miranda still didn’t know. But she always had, from day one.

Plus, Miranda knew better than anyone the grief Samara had somehow survived and how she had come to terms with the most intense sorrow imaginable. It was no wonder she was so understanding, given what she’d endured in her past.

So, for the first time in her life, Miranda began to tell her story.

“I always knew that I was an experiment, but I never really knew what that meant,” Miranda elected to start at the beginning. “My father said things, sure, but if you imagine anybody ever sat me down and explained to me my purpose, or the purpose of anything they put me through, then you’re sorely mistaken.”

“What were you told?” Samara prompted.

“The part about being genetically perfect. That I wasn’t the first he’d made, only the first he’d kept. And that my father wanted to create a dynasty - a great legacy that would ensure his name lived forever,” Miranda explained. “I always assumed that my father saw me as his heir. That he wanted me to be the perfect daughter. Someone he could trust to carry on his work long after he passed. It wasn’t until Niket put the thought in my head that I began to consider that I might be wrong - that maybe my father’s experiment wouldn’t end with me. If he ever did make another daughter, then I didn’t know what that meant for me, except that I knew it wouldn’t be good, and I may not be safe,

“So Niket and I began working on an escape plan. It took us the better part of two years to prepare. We had to get every detail exactly right, and we thought about every possible contingency. Niket already knew my father’s security systems intimately, so we knew what the weaknesses were there. Before he left, Niket gave me software I could use to hack into the camera system and make the monitors replay the feed from twenty-four hours ago. It would look like I was asleep in my bed, and any rooms I was actually in would look empty,

“We knew that most possible routes I could use to escape were patrolled by security at all hours. We actually had to scour the plans for the whole compound to find any potential ways out. The only option that presented any possibility was...well, perhaps I should go back a few steps.”

Not used to speaking this much without interruption, Miranda stopped briefly to make sure Samara wasn’t overwhelmed by the sheer amount of information being dumped on her all at once. But Samara’s position hadn’t changed at all. Her blue eyes had never left Miranda’s face, listening intently to her every word.

Miranda took that as implicit support to keep going.

“My father had a large research facility underground, beneath the estate, but I never saw most of it. Even when I started working in the lab, I was only ever allowed to enter certain rooms, and only under supervision. I assisted on some of my father’s research into gene editing, which is where most of the family money comes from. I was aware that there were some restricted projects that required special lab clearance, but that was the extent of my knowledge,

“Niket and I discovered from reviewing the plans that there were more levels to the lab than I would have expected. And, when you’re that far underground and working with potentially toxic chemicals, you need a very good ventilation system. We could see on the blueprints that there were air ducts that connected to the surface, which I could most likely fit through. Both ends of the air duct wouldn’t be patrolled by security, since they were only watched by cameras, which we already had a means to deal with. It seemed like my best option,

“Once everything was in motion, all I needed to do was steal an ID card from one of my father’s senior lab technicians, and memorise what passcode was used to enter the restricted part of the lab on the day I chose to escape. I don’t think I’m surprising you by saying that neither of those two things were a challenge for me. I even stole a gun to defend myself, just in case,

“It was exactly thirteen minutes past two in the morning when I got up and left my room. I knew that was the perfect time to leave, because there were the fewest people around, and I’d noticed that security tended to get tired and bored around that time and would start slacking off at their posts. I’d seen them sitting back in their chairs with their feet up watching TV to amuse themselves,

“Everything went precisely as I had planned it. I walked right across the entire house without anybody noticing I was there - which, however big you imagine the house I grew up in was, triple it and you’ll be closer. I got to the lab without incident, swiped the stolen card, entered the code for that day, and headed down to the restricted level where my designated escape point was.”

Miranda paused then. It was the first time she’d really, consciously thought about that day in a long time. And, certainly, it was the first time she’d ever spoken about it, beyond referencing it with flippant passing comments.

In the peripheries of her vision, she saw Samara shift closer. “May I?” 

Miranda glanced up at Samara’s voice, and found her making a subtle motion towards Miranda’s left hand, where it rested in her lap. Miranda hadn’t even really been conscious of it until that moment, but in hindsight she had been gesturing more with her right while she spoke.

Admittedly, Miranda was far from fluent when it came to reading unspoken body language. Even though she didn’t fully grasp what Samara meant, she trusted her enough to follow along with whatever she intended. Accordingly, Miranda turned her left hand over, such that her palm faced upwards.

Interpreting that as tacit consent, Samara reached across the small gap between them and clasped Miranda’s hand between both of her own. For as strong as their friendship had become, neither of them were exactly the touchy-feely type. Quite the opposite. So, to feel Samara gently holding her hand with such kindness, well...Miranda imagined this must have been how it felt for other people who weren’t generally so averse to physical contact to be hugged.

“You do not have to give voice to any of the thoughts on your mind if you do not wish to,” Samara reminded her, one of her thumbs softly tracing circles at the centre of Miranda’s palm. “But I am here to listen if you do.”

“I know you are. Thank you,” Miranda said sincerely.

With that, she continued, difficult as it was to revisit this part of her memory.

“I remember the doors to that level sliding open and...I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. This wasn’t just a lab. It was a cloning facility. My cloning facility. The place where I had come from. And I just...froze,

“I completely forgot why I was even there. All I saw were...tanks with embryos in various stages of development. Photographs of dissected failures detailing the mutations and cancerous growths caused by element zero exposure. Pages of speculation as to the errors in their altered genetic sequences which made them...unviable. And then there were images of me. Reports on my behaviour. My progress. With a list of ‘imperfections’ that needed improvement in further cycles.”

Samara was nothing if not masterful at maintaining a neutral expression, but even she could not hide the visibly pained look that crossed her face when she heard that. Words could not describe how much that moment must have not only hurt Miranda, but shattered her entire perception of reality.

“All that time, I truly thought the project had ended with me. But it hadn’t. My whole life, I had been living in that house, while beneath my very feet my father was actively working to ‘improve’ upon my genetic code for god knows how many years. And the only reason he hadn’t replaced me sooner was, ironically, because any time he had a viable embryo, his insistence on exposing them to element zero to replicate my biotic abilities resulted in death and deformity.”

Even though she was silent, hanging on Miranda’s every word, it was evident that Samara was shocked by what she was hearing. Stunned. She’d always believed Miranda when she said her father was a monster, but she’d obviously never suspected it went to this extent. That it was this systematic. This calculated. This callous. What sane person would even comprehend a mind capable of something like this, let alone be complicit in it?

“I don’t know when exactly my father started perceiving me as a failure. In retrospect, I’ve learned things that make me suspect it was probably day one. But that was the first inkling I ever had that I was only ever intended to be a prototype, and nothing more. A test. A proof of concept. A first fucking draft.”

Samara squeezed Miranda’s hand a little tighter, as if to express her sympathy, and her apologies, both for the fact that Miranda had ever had to go through something like this, and that Samara hadn’t understood her history sooner.

Miranda’s eyes drifted out of focus, before she even knew they had. She wasn’t in her quarters anymore. She was there. She was sixteen. She was in that lab. Standing in that door. Discovering the truth. She saw it so clearly, down to even the smallest detail. She could hear the hum of the refrigerator, and the whirring of the fan. She could even smell the exact cleaning agent the staff had used earlier that day to sterilise their hands before they entered the room.

“When that realisation hit me, I just...I just saw red. I thought fuck him. Fuck him. That everything he had put me through, everything I had done for him to meet his arbitrary and changeable standards of perfection, it had all been for nothing. Nothing I ever did could be good enough. He never cared. There was nothing I could possibly have done to live up to the unreachable bar he set for me, because he never truly intended for me to be ‘the one’ no matter how well I did. I had been set up to fail my whole life. And this was the proof. So I paid him back,

“I destroyed it,” Miranda said with cold fury, a mere fraction of the rage she had felt nearly twenty years ago. “Everything he had worked so hard on, everything that mattered to him more than me, I destroyed it. I overloaded every computer. I threw every freezer to the ground. I shot out every one of those tubes. I broke the sprinkler system, grabbed every flammable substance I could find, poured them all over everything, and ejected my thermal clip,

“The alarms went off when the fire started. I didn’t regret anything that I had done, but I had been so angry that I had completely blown any chance I had of a quiet escape. I knew I had to move quickly. So I headed for my exit. But, then, just as I reached the air vent, I heard this sound. And I stopped.”

Miranda swallowed. Perfect memory was a curse as much as a blessing. She hadn’t relived this exact moment in years, yet she could still vividly remember every single detail as clearly as if this had happened ten minutes ago.

“I looked over and I saw this...incubator. I had thought it was empty, but...no. There was a child inside it. A seemingly newborn baby. Left alone in the dark, in this cold, sterile lab. Screaming and crying for attention that would never come.”

Miranda felt a sting in her eyes as she replayed those images in her mind.

“The first thing I felt was betrayal. This was my replacement. They hadn’t been able to improve upon my DNA yet, despite their best efforts, so they just made another one. And this was her. A genetic identical. A ‘do-over’. Well, actually, they made several. Like me, Ori was just the only one lucky enough to survive the element zero exposure - although, unlike me, she didn’t get biotics out of it,

“What did it say about my father that this was how I found her? She and I, we were the culmination of his life’s work. We should have been his most prized possessions. But then look at how he treated me my whole life. And he was already doing the same to her. The only reason she wasn’t dead was because there were machines there to perform the absolute bare minimum functions to keep her alive, so that she could be the next phase of the experiment,

“Neither of us had ever been, or would ever be daughters to him. My father wasn’t, and still isn’t capable of that. There is not a single shred of anything resembling love or kindness in Henry Lawson’s heart. He is devoid of anything right, or good, or redeeming--”

Miranda had to stop herself then, pulling both her hands away to wipe beneath her eyes. This was more raw than she had ever been with another person.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“Please do not apologise,” Samara implored her, beyond moved by everything she had heard so far. She reached out, but stopped just short of touching Miranda’s cheek, as if uncertain whether she would want her to.

“I feel so stupid,” Miranda cursed herself. It didn’t happen very often, but she hated the way it felt when her eyes burned with tears. It was a horrible fucking feeling. An alien sensation. Like she was stricken with some disease. Or like something inside her was broken. How the fuck did anyone find this cathartic?

“You are not,” Samara assured her, holding Miranda’s gaze, letting both hands fall atop her knees, compelling Miranda to look at her, and be with her in that moment. “Need I remind you, I came to you. I have chosen to be here.”

“Why?” Miranda asked, still not understanding why Samara of all people deigned to put up with her when she was at her most useless and pathetic.

At that question, Samara’s stoic expression faltered. “...Do you have to ask this of me? Do you not know?” she said quietly, her voice barely louder than a whisper. It was almost as if it hurt her to think that, after all this time, Miranda still didn’t honestly believe deep down in her heart that Samara cared about her.

Upon hearing that in her voice, Miranda knew that question had been unfair. Samara deserved better than that. And, after all, didn’t Miranda already know the answer to that question? Samara was here for Miranda when she needed her for the exact same reason Miranda had been there for Samara in the past. 

Because she wanted to be.

Miranda took a moment, her thumb and forefinger running across her eyelids, and meeting at the bridge of her nose. “This is hard for me to talk about,” she confessed, her voice breaking, knowing she hadn’t even reached the most difficult part. She didn’t know if she would even be able to get through this.

“I understand,” said Samara, giving her as much time and space as she needed.

Miranda drew a deep breath, and willed herself to keep going, keeping her eyes closed beneath her fingers, unable to even look at Samara as she went on.

“So, as I was standing there, hearing glass explode around me in the flames, having only just discovered this baby even existed...I knew I didn’t have long, but I had to spare her from whatever came next. If I left her, she would die in the fire, or she would be deemed a ‘failure’ and be killed, or she would go through exactly the same thing that I had gone through with my father. None of those outcomes were acceptable. But I hadn’t planned for her. I couldn’t take her with me.”

Miranda hesitated, a single tear escaping and falling down her cheek.

“For a split-second, I thought...well, I have this thing in my hand, and the most merciful thing I could do for her is…quickly and painlessly…” Miranda couldn’t even say the words, “...And I really did think about it. I was going to...”

The fact that it had even crossed her mind, however briefly, was the one thing in Miranda’s life that she had never truly been able to forgive herself for, no matter how many years passed. It made her feel sick to her stomach.

Oriana didn’t even know. But Miranda would never be able to make that up to her.

Never.

“But I couldn’t.” Miranda shook her head, her breaths coming shallower. “I just couldn’t. Something inside of me just...physically wouldn’t let me. And I felt...I felt something I’d never felt before. A compulsion so powerful I’ve never felt it since. It was like my heart exploded in my chest. And I didn’t even have control over myself. The next thing I knew, I just put the gun away. And I took her,

“All I could think was, if I could just get her out of there, then she would have a chance at everything I never had. And the moment I had that thought, it was as if I didn’t have a choice. I had to do everything in my power to make that happen. It became the only thing that mattered to me, even more than my own life,

“So I opened the incubator, and wrapped her in my jacket. And the second I touched her, she just...looked at me, and she stopped crying.”

Miranda went silent for several, long seconds, fixed on the memory of the first time she’d seen her sister’s face. The first moment she felt that connection between them. A moment that changed her forever.

She exhaled, willing her voice to stop shaking. 

“I didn’t read anything into it. I assumed the reason she stopped was because she’d never felt a human touch before, and was just surprised, but...I said to her, ‘I’m going to get you out of here. You’ll be safe with me. I promise,’

“Just as soon as I took her, I heard voices behind me. I didn’t look back. I bashed open the grate and got inside the vent as quick as I could. None of my father’s men could follow me through a space that small. I don’t know how long I was in there. But it felt like an eternity. I don’t know how I didn’t fall,

“When I got to the surface, I remember seeing searchlights in the dark. Either they hadn’t figured out where I was, or they just hadn’t made it out of the lab in time to beat me there. I had a whole route memorised in my brain. You can’t even comprehend how big my father’s compound was. The gardens had an actual, literal maze as one of the features. I tried to hide from them in there,

“Amid all the people searching for me, I carelessly wandered into a trip beam for the outdoor alarm system at one point. Spotlights fixed on me immediately. That’s when I heard my father over the loudspeaker ordering his men to shoot me. And they were live rounds. I could tell. But, if nothing else, all that training made me a lot faster and more agile than any of his men. I shot a few rounds blindly behind me to force them to take cover. That must have worked. And I lost them again,

“The only way I could get outside the walls was through a drain. Believe me, a lot of water went into those gardens. I jumped into the drainage ditch, and the water went up to about here.” Miranda put one hand at the point where her hip became indistinguishable from her abdomen. “Niket had already loosened the grate for me ahead of time. All I had to do was move it. And...I was out,

“I have never in my life run as fast as I ran then. I knew they wouldn’t be far behind me. I could hear them. Including my father. Niket had left a skycar for me in a hidden location nearby, where nobody would ever find it by accident. I got in, and I put my sister down beside me, and I said to her, ‘If we get shot down, I just want you to know, I don’t regret trying to save you. These last few minutes have been more freedom than I’ve ever known in my whole life’,

“I can still hear the bullets bouncing off the hull as we flew away. But that was it. That was my last memory of home, and the last time I saw my father.”

Samara visibly held back her own emotions as Miranda recounted the most pivotal day of her life. Miranda had long intellectually understood that feeling what others felt was something that came naturally to empathetic people, and Samara (as composed as she was) was definitely that. If anything, that response meant more from her precisely because she was usually so stoic.

It seemed clear that her restraint, in this case, was not born out of any desire to hide what she was feeling, or any shame at being seen in such a state, but rather came purely because Miranda was her priority in that moment, and she did not wish to detract, however unintentionally, from her and her feelings.

“I know it cannot have been long before you were separated from your sister,” said Samara, her voice calm, level and soothing. Her unwavering demeanour was oddly comforting. “I am sorry. That must have been very difficult for you.”

“It was,” Miranda confirmed. “She had never been part of the plan. I didn’t even know she existed until I found her. I was supposed to be off world with my fake ID immediately. But, with her, I couldn’t do that. I had a little money, but not much, and everything can be traced with enough effort so I was scared to use what I had. Once that money ran out, I had no plan for how to feed her, or clothe her, or care for her. And I was afraid that asking for help would attract attention.”

For a short while, though, she had really tried. They may have been genetically twins, but Miranda was old enough to be her mother. Teen mothers may have been a rarity in the twenty-second century, but they were certainly not unheard of.

The only problem with that idea was that Miranda barely knew how to take care of herself in light of how she had been raised, let alone a baby.

She shivered as she thought on those days. “I remember, this one night, I had bought us a room in a hotel with these...ludicrous purple walls. We never stayed in the same place twice, but this room, I remember. Because, for whatever reason, that night she just...would not stop crying. And not just crying, she was bloody screaming her head off. And I didn’t know why. I didn’t know what I was doing wrong. Whatever I tried to calm her down...nothing worked. I didn’t know if she was sick and going to die, and I was terrified that people would come and take her away from me if they heard her screaming like that. And I just...for the first time I can remember, I broke down and bawled my fucking eyes out until the sun rose. Because that was the point where I realised I couldn’t do this,

“I knew that, even if I managed to get her off-world with me, my father wouldn’t stop looking for us on Earth. He would follow us. We would always be in danger. And I had no means to care for her. Even if I did, how could I work? Who would I leave her with? I didn’t know anyone I could trust,

“...Until I remembered this man my father had spoken to two years earlier, who was an affiliate of Cerberus. English expat named Alan. He had said The Illusive Man was looking for ‘exceptional individuals’ like me. They knew who I was, and what I was. And, even though my father donated to Cerberus, I knew they had never returned the favour - they never funded his cloning research, probably because he was always so cagey about sharing any data with them,

“I knew it was a risk, but I didn’t have anyone else to turn to. I remembered enough about Alan to know his name and what company he ran. And, because he remembered me too, I was able to get in contact with him. I told him that I wanted to offer my services to Cerberus, in exchange for them helping me get my sister off world. I said I wanted them to make her disappear, and put her safely into the hands of a normal, loving family. So long as they kept their end of that bargain, they would have my undivided loyalty. And that was all it took.”

And that promise was kept, along with everything Cerberus promised. Oriana grew up with some fine, spacer parents, who were coincidentally of Australian origin themselves. Miranda watched over her, and her brilliantly, boringly normal life, seeing her grow from a happy child into a smart, popular teenager, and a well-adjusted adult. It was why Miranda trusted Cerberus so much.

“The woman who took her from me was very nice about it. In truth, other than Niket, she was the first person I ever met who had been kind to me. But that...that was the first time in my life that I remember crying. Really crying. The day that it hit me that I wasn’t fit to take care of her, when I knew that I had to give her up.”

And, nineteen years later, Miranda had tears in her eyes when she finally met her sister again, speaking to her for the first time at Shepard’s urging on Illium. She wasn’t kidding when she said Oriana was the only thing that ever brought that out of her. Such raw, intense emotion. Such...humanity.

Miranda had gone to Oriana that day to let her know she was loved, and she had done exactly that, but she had received something so much greater in return.

For nineteen years, Miranda had known what it meant to love someone. But it wasn't until then, at the age of thirty-five, that she finally knew what it felt like to have someone out there in the galaxy who truly and unconditionally loved her back.

Holding Oriana as a child had given Miranda purpose. But holding her again all those years later as an adult had given Miranda something far greater.

Family.

“You may not have been ready to take care of a child then,” Samara began. “But you were certainly an excellent sister to her, as you have been ever since.”

Miranda’s lips couldn’t find the strength to quirk, not even into the faintest shadow of a smile. “Thank you,” she said. If doing right by Oriana was the one thing that she ever managed to do with her life, then it justified her entire existence.

Giving Oriana up was, unequivocally, the hardest thing Miranda had ever done, before or since. Experiencing unconditional love for the first time, only to be forced by circumstance to give it up a few short days later. And yet, at the same time, it had been the only thing she could do. Because the real, selfless love she felt for Oriana didn’t allow Miranda to do the selfish thing. Not when it came to her.

She sighed and rubbed one eye with the corresponding palm. “Ah, god, how long have I been rambling at you about this?”

“As long as you needed to,” Samara answered with unfeigned warmth and compassion. “I cannot stress how much I appreciate you speaking of this to me. I know it was not easy for you, and that you do not share your burdens with others lightly. Everything you have told me, I treat with the greatest respect.”

“I know you do,” said Miranda. Even on the pane of death, Samara would never divulge anything told to her in confidence. Nobody ever needed to doubt that.

“Do you feel better for having spoken of it?” Samara asked.

Miranda stopped for a moment. “...Strangely, yes,” she acknowledged.

In retrospect, it now made sense why the incident with the Archer brothers had been so...for lack of a better word, ‘triggering’ for those past traumatic events. And, for as much of an emotional rollercoaster as it had been to relive the most mentally scarring day of her life, at least she had gotten to the point in her story where she and Oriana got their happy ending, reunited at long last.

“Then I am glad,” said Samara. That was all she wanted to achieve by coming here as she had, if it had been at all possible to do so.

“You’re not going now, are you?” Miranda asked, audibly disappointed. After all, when Miranda entered a conversation with a specific purpose in mind, she would generally leave immediately after accomplishing that goal.

“No.” Samara shook her head, hoping she had not unintentionally conveyed that impression. “I will stay for as long as you would like me here.”

“Would you stay forever?” Miranda wearily remarked. Samara hesitated, as if caught off guard by that. “I’m joking,” Miranda told her, assuaging Samara’s fears that she had to answer that question seriously.

Samara uttered something that sounded faintly like a chuckle. “My offer remains,” she replied. It was funny how something as simple as that kind twinkle in Samara’s eye was enough to make Miranda feel so much less vulnerable, despite the fact that this was the most she’d ever let her guard down. Ever.

Miranda exhaled heavily, running both hands through her hair as she leaned back, her head hitting the pillow behind her. She had no idea that the simple act of talking could be so exhausting. But, then again, it did feel like she’d just run an obstacle course through every single emotion she’d ever felt in her entire life, so maybe that explained it. No wonder she needed a moment to recover.

She heard movement, and felt Samara shift off of the bed, moving to stand by the window, almost like she was keeping a vigil at her side.

“Miranda?” Samara broke the silence after a minute or two. Miranda moved one hand just enough to allow an eye to open. “I am proud of you.”

Miranda arched an eyebrow in questioning.

“Of the decisions you made then. Of the woman you are now. And that you were courageous enough to be so open with me,” Samara elaborated.

“...You know, I think that’s the first time anyone has ever said that to me,” Miranda commented. And, if anyone else had, then it hit differently coming from someone, firstly, whose opinion she held in such high esteem and, secondly, who she knew wouldn’t have said that unless she damn well meant it.

“Then those people were unworthy of you,” Samara responded with stark honesty, and a terseness to her tone that Miranda had never heard before.

With her half-open eye, Miranda silently studied Samara’s expression. It took a few seconds for her to recognise that unyielding flame she bore. Now that Miranda had finished speaking, Samara no longer simply felt sorry for what she had gone through. No. She was angry about it - angry that people had treated Miranda that way, livid that they had made her even for a second feel as though she were worthless, and furious that they had seen so little value in her that they were prepared to dispose of her like she wasn’t even a living being.

That, she could evidently not abide.

Had she not known the reason for it and so agreed with the sentiment, it would have been a little intimidating to see Samara so righteously pissed off, even if the average person might have only perceived her as her usual, guarded self. 

“That I ever dared compare you to the people in your father’s employ...” Samara trailed off, staring out into the void, her body tense. She hadn’t known Miranda’s full story at the time, but now that she did, she looked like she wanted to tear herself apart for letting those words leave her lips. “I apologise unreservedly.”

“You weren’t wrong, though,” Miranda acknowledged. When it came to Cerberus, she had been on the same path. She could have easily been complicit in the same, if not worse atrocities than were done to her as a child.

“No.” Samara turned to face her, stalwart conviction shining in her eyes. “I have never been more wrong. You are nothing like them. You are so far above them, and they are so far beneath you...the people who hurt you do not even deserve to breathe the same air as you,” Samara stated firmly, staring Miranda dead in her eyes, as if daring her to find a single shred of falsity or exaggeration in her gaze, because she knew that Miranda would find none. “I hope you know that.”

Miranda blinked, taken aback by the severity and seriousness of her response. Not having the strength to fight Samara on the validity of her past criticisms, which Miranda still thought were fair, all she said was, “Apology accepted.”

Satisfied with that answer, Samara folded her arms, and faced the void.

Miranda wouldn’t say it out loud, but it was weirdly kind of validating to see someone else react that way to her story. Whether it was intentional or not, it was almost like a reassuring acknowledgement in the back of her mind, saying, ‘See? You aren’t crazy, and you aren’t overreacting by not being able to let go of what your father did to you so many years ago. You actually are justified.’

Plus, on an entirely selfish level, part of her definitely enjoyed knowing that, in the very unlikely event Samara and Henry Lawson ever happened to cross paths after this day, Samara wouldn’t hesitate to fucking kill him.

* * *

It had been two weeks and a day since she identified the bodies. Writing to Ashley’s family and sending them the dog tags hadn’t been easy, but she’d done it. She’d personally given the letter to some contacts Jacob had within the Alliance from his days as a Corsair, so she knew it would get there.

She didn’t know when a response would come, but she wasn’t looking forward to it when it did.

Monday to Friday had been spent working, as usual. If nothing else, it was a reassuring constant.

Saturday, she had paid a visit to Jack. “What are we, fuckin’ wacky sitcom neighbours now?” Jack had complained when she showed up, signalling that things were back to whatever this new normal was between them.

Despite her initial reaction, Jack hadn’t otherwise objected to her presence. She actually felt up to going outside that day, to the extent that she was able to, so Miranda had walked with her and given her the lay of the land, including where her own apartment was. “If you ever want to stop by while I’m at work, feel free. I know your students usually visit you during that time, anyway, but--”

“Yeah. I get it. Thanks,” Jack brusquely cut her off. Even though they were so far sticking to their word to try and turn over a new leaf with each other, evidently she could still only take so much of Miranda being genuine towards her before it weirded her out.

Miranda didn’t feel the need to point it out but, for her own part, she had yet to be anything other than civil with Jack. It had not been fully reciprocated yet, but that was not unexpected.

Jack’s medical condition was an unusual one. Mainly because no human had ever suffered from it before. They actually had to go to the asari for aid to get insight on similar situations. Apparently it had been recorded within their species before that massive exertions of phenomenal biotic power in life-or-death situations could cause physical damage similar to what Jack had suffered, and it had been noted that such events could also cause a temporary ‘burnout’ of biotic abilities. Certainly, at the moment, Jack couldn’t so much as move a glass with her mind, nor was she to try to as the effort would only lead to migraine.

It was hard to put a timeline on it, but she was expected to be back to normal within a few months. Until then, she would have to take her headaches and fatigue day by day. Some days, she would barely have the strength to walk from one side of the apartment to the other. Other days, she would feel mostly fine.

On Sunday, Miranda had gone off to spend some time on her own. It turned out that her quiet spots where she hid at night when the tinnitus was too much to bear were just as isolated in the day as well. She tried to clear her mind, and not think about anything for a while, with limited success.

On Monday, it was back to work.

Oriana kept sending bad jokes as she thought of them over the course of the week. The latest one was, “How many colony developers does it take to screw in a lightbulb? Three. One to hold a committee meeting to decide whether screwing in a lightbulb is an efficient allocation of resources, one to raise rates on the colonists to fund the lightbulb replacement, and one to hire a private contractor to finally screw in the lightbulb five years after you needed it.” 

Obviously things were going well at her job.

Miranda appreciated every message she got from her, but she still hadn’t had the heart to respond. Not just yet. Oriana would be able to tell something was wrong if she talked to her in her current state, even via text. She would just know. She would sense it, no matter how many lightyears away she was. And it was better not to talk to her than risk burdening her with her current troubles.

Throughout it all, it wasn’t lost on Miranda that the students were, suffice it to say, aware that Miranda hadn’t been acting the same these past two weeks. She couldn’t really tell the difference from her own perspective. She always buried herself in work. And she was always always rather detached, serious and quiet. But, for whatever reason, the students somehow just seemed to know that dark cloud was there, hanging over her head.

Maybe she was acting just different enough that they could tell. Or maybe it was the fact that the deaths of her friends hadn’t changed her behaviour at all that caused them to be concerned about her.

They didn’t openly express any worry. But they weren’t treating her as they normally did. Weren’t teasing her, or prodding at her, or trying to get a rise out of her. They were being...polite and respectful.

Miranda would never have predicted it, nor would she admit it, but she had actually started to miss the former. Just a little bit.

It was pretty late by the time Miranda got home from work that day. It was now November, so it was getting dark early, and it was colder than Miranda preferred. She took off her scarf and put her keys down when she came inside.

“Pardon me, Miss?” Prangley began.

“Yes, Jason?” Miranda inquired, too preoccupied to notice the somewhat awkward manner in which Jack’s students were gathered together in the living area. Why was it so cold in there?

“We're, uh...we're not entirely sure,” he admitted with a shrug, glancing over his shoulder towards the balcony outside. “She wouldn't tell us anything. Just that she wanted to see you. I get the feeling we couldn't have kept her out if we tried.”

At that, Miranda blinked and glanced up, suddenly paying more attention. “She?” Miranda echoed. “Who are you talking about?”

Miranda didn’t know it, but to the kids, that reaction was the first glimpse of the Miranda they knew they'd been able to get out of her in two weeks.

“I don’t know, but it’s not often an asari matriarch drops in unannounced,” Reiley remarked, scratching the side of his head. Miranda’s heart stopped. She couldn’t believe her ears. It couldn’t be. “I hope this isn’t some kind of mix up. It’ll be pretty embarrassing if she's got the wrong address.”

Miranda didn’t even hear the rest of his comment, much less respond to it. She didn’t say so much as another word to her wards, taking hold of her cane and marching straight towards the balcony, needing to see if it was her.

As soon as she got close enough to see outside, there was no mistaking it. Samara stood there beyond the open doorway, hands clasped behind her back, her posture upright and rigid, staring out over the ruined city that lay before her.

The second she saw her, Miranda halted in her tracks, unable to take another step. It was as if time stood still. And yet her pulse was pounding so fast.

Sensing that she was being watched, Samara turned to look over her shoulder.

Their eyes met.

Miranda wasn’t sure whose breath caught first, hers or Samara’s. For a long moment, they both just stared, Miranda frozen by the doorway, Samara motionless on the balcony, both of them scarcely able to believe that this was no illusion.

Micro expressions flitted across pale blue features. The night concealed much, but Miranda could have sworn she saw Samara’s eyes glisten with unshed tears. 

“The last time I saw you...” Samara glanced down, unable to finish the thought. But, before long, a small smile unfolded across her lips. Miranda was there. Her fears had not come to pass. “...Truly, you never cease to amaze me.”

A faint laugh of astonishment and disbelief escaped Miranda as she stepped out onto the balcony, sliding the door shut behind her. “You don't call, you don't write,” she remarked, mostly in jest, moving to stand beside her in the cold night air, resting her arm on the railing. Honestly, Samara had been absent so long that Miranda had begun to suspect she would never return. “I suppose I did get your message, but you could at least have sent flowers.”

“My apologies,” said Samara, politely tilting her head in acknowledgement that the manner of her parting had been...less than ideal. “From what I have gathered, by the time you regained consciousness, I was already far from here. I could not linger when suffering was so widespread. The Code demanded that I go where I could assist. But I would not blame you if you do not forgive me for leaving,” she answered. She never made excuses, but those were her reasons.

“In light of the fact you saved my life, I think we can call it even,” Miranda commented, though her expression soon faltered, her features becoming a little more sombre and sincere. It had hurt for Samara to vanish as suddenly as she had, but it seemed so stupid to say that now that she was finally here.

She’d wanted this so badly for so long. It had almost driven her crazy at times, fixating on Samara’s absence as much as she had. And, now that she was here, she found it impossible to be angry with her, even if she ought to have been.

She was here. She was finally here. Not just in London, but here. With her. Where she should have been. And, even though there was about three feet of space between them, she was close enough that Miranda could have sworn she felt the warmth of Samara’s presence even through her jacket.

“You look well,” said Samara, genuinely glad to see the extent of her progress. Were it anyone other than Miranda she was speaking to, the rate at which she'd bounced back would have been astonishing, if not outright impossible.

Miranda snorted. “I look like I was nearly killed in a shuttle explosion. But I don't mind the scars, or the arm. Could have been a lot worse.” Miranda hesitated then, her fingers tensing around her cane as her tone turned serious. “I know I stopped breathing three times after you rescued me. If you hadn't...” She trailed off, not sure she wanted to reflect on just how close she'd come to death. There had been too much of that lately.

“Yes. I know. Far too well.” Miranda briefly glanced at her, and saw Samara staring ahead into the night, scant city lights reflecting against unfocused eyes. She seemed...preoccupied. Troubled, even. “The first time the medics told me you were not breathing was right as they took you out of my arms after I carried you to them. They revived you in the transport on the way to the hospital.”

“Mmm. Jacob told me about that after I woke up,” Miranda uttered in response. 

Come to think of it, until just now, it had never really occurred to her how Samara must have felt in that moment. For a while, at least, Samara might well have believed she had felt the last of Miranda’s life force slip away in her hands.

A secondary thought tiptoed into Miranda’s mind. Something else Jacob had told her in the same conversation that had never sat right with her.

“Did you really threaten doctors that you would consider it attempted murder if they took me off life support?” Miranda asked, audibly sceptical. She’d long since assumed it must have been some sort of misunderstanding or exaggeration on Jacob’s part. It didn’t strike her as something Samara would do.

Samara didn’t answer, nor did her expression change.

Miranda interpreted her silence. “You know what? Forget I asked,” she said, regretting even bringing it up. Of course Samara wouldn’t threaten doctors. The entire purpose of The Code was to protect innocent people, not harm them.

“They did discuss it with Jacob and myself. Your condition had barely changed for several days. And you were very ill. They had lost faith that there was any prospect that you...” Samara couldn’t seem to bring herself to say it. “It was after that conversation that I...recorded that message you saw. When I left, I did not think...I was not certain you would recover,” Samara confessed, with a heavy heart. There was no mistaking how much that dark thought must have plagued her in the intervening weeks. “Every day I spent elsewhere, I thought...”

“Thought what?” Miranda prompted when Samara trailed off.

Samara blinked out of her daze and shook her head, quickly banishing whatever imaginings had distracted her. “That is not important now. What matters is that you are alright. You survived where most would have perished, and for that I truly cannot express how thankful I am. Though it saddens me to learn the same cannot be said of some of our former comrades.”

“Mmm.” Miranda's gaze dropped to the ground, swallowing as she leaned on the bannister. “I can't say I didn't expect it. Surviving with all of us intact was never going to be an option. I'm not a believer in miracles, by any means, but we're lucky that even the four of us made it,” Miranda explained, sounding more like she was trying to convince herself than anything, unable to help but feel a pang in her chest at the knowledge that she wouldn't even get to bury most of them. They were all just...particles, somewhere in space. “I assume you know about Jack.”

“Jacob told me where I can find her. I intend to visit her later,” Samara confirmed. Miranda secretly hoped Samara didn't know everything - that she'd very nearly gotten Jack killed by not trusting her own judgement. She could never have forgiven herself if she had left her behind, trapped beneath that building. Especially knowing they would never find anyone else. “There are no others?”

“There's Wrex from the original Normandy. He made it out in one piece. You probably already knew that. But from our lot? No. Just you, Jacob, Jack and I,” Miranda answered, silently counting the missing among the fallen. “I, um...I found Zaeed and Grunt. Javik and Ashley Williams from the SR-3 as well,” she broke the news, unable to raise her head, their fates an uncomfortable burden to bear. “...I can take you to where they're buried, if you would like to pay your respects.”

Samara's face fell. It wasn't clear whether that was because she didn't know before Miranda told her, or because she felt a sense of shame and regret for leaving Miranda to shoulder that alone. “I will do that before I go.”

Miranda swallowed, brushing a stray lock of hair out of her eye. “One more thing. The ship where Kasumi was stationed to work on the Crucible...it didn't make it. It was too close to a relay, and...” She didn't finish that sentence, letting the implication speak for itself.

“...I am sorry to hear that,” Samara said honestly. Another life, another friend, confirmed lost. She paused, and glanced back at Miranda. “Are you alright?” 

“Yeah, I'm fine,” Miranda assured her, straightening up a little more.

Samara just stared at her, with silent compassion and understanding. Miranda didn't have to say anything. And Samara would never press her on it, respecting her space, but...she knew damn well that Miranda wasn't coping with this as well as she wanted everyone to think. Or even as well as she had no doubt tried to convince herself she was.

At that unspoken realisation, Miranda slumped forwards and uttered a humourless laugh, barely louder than a whisper, leaning more of her weight against the railing. “What can I say? Everyone's gone, Samara,” Miranda admitted, finally acknowledging it out loud. As much as she wanted to pretend the Normandy SR-3 was still out there somewhere, they would have heard from them by now if it was. Besides, finding Javik and Ashley had all but sealed it. She wasn't an idiot. She couldn't deny it forever. “Everyone's gone.”

“Not everyone,” Samara quietly replied, holding her gaze. “Not you.”

“I came pretty close,” Miranda murmured. The fact that she had lived where others died had been circling through her mind a lot lately, whether she wanted it to or not. Her survival in the war had come down to mere millimetres. If the bullet that hit her in the eye penetrated just a little deeper. If the red glare of the Reaper had moved just one degree counter-clockwise. If she’d landed on her neck when the shuttle crashed. If the infection had spread just a little further. If Samara had found her just a little later.

The truth was, Miranda hadn’t earned the right to be there in that moment anymore than the people who had perished. She didn’t deserve to live anymore than those who died. It had all come down to chance. Well, chance and genetic engineering, neither of which were her own doing. It was hard to feel like anything other than a thief, in a way - like, by avoiding what should have been certain death, she’d stolen time from others that didn’t truly belong to her.

“I keep thinking…” Miranda began, almost unconsciously seeking to give voice to thoughts she had never spoken aloud. She caught herself, hesitating, wondering whether it was too much to worry Samara with her morbid musings.

But, then, this was Samara. The one person she’d always been able to talk to honestly about anything. The person she’d opened up to about things she’d never told anyone else. The person who knew sides of her that nobody else knew, and probably never would. Not even Oriana.

She swallowed, and decided to continue.

“I keep thinking that I should be able to take the way I feel about losing everyone and channel it into...I don’t know, something fucking productive,” Miranda said, audibly frustrated with herself. “But there’s just...nothing. Nothing good is coming from this. There’s nothing I can do. And I can’t even see what it was all for. Did any of their deaths really matter? Did any of them truly die in a way that was ‘worth it’? Or is that just a comforting lie we tell ourselves?”

Samara considered her words for a long moment before breaking the silence.

“May I be honest with you?” Samara asked.

“Have you ever not been?” Miranda remarked in response. Samara didn’t reply to that. Assuming she was still waiting for her permission, Miranda eventually signalled for her to go ahead. After a few more seconds, Samara began to speak.

“In my own experience, the notion that grief can be transformed into something else - something that motivates you and drives you...that is a flagrant lie. It never happens,” Samara stated starkly. “Anger at losing someone, perhaps. A sense of injustice. Your love for that person. Even regret. But not grief. Even if channelled through some outlet, grief is never transformed into anything else. It remains as it is. An emptiness. A heavy hollowness. A missing piece that can never be replaced. A hole that never goes away, and never fully heals,” Samara spoke solemnly, her words carrying the weight of a long and painful life.

When Miranda looked at her then, she lost any semblance of the words she intended to say. In that achingly raw, real and honest moment, it was as if she was seeing Samara for the very first time. The warmth she felt from Samara’s proximity grew so hot that it began to burn. Everywhere that heat touched set Miranda's nerves on fire. Suddenly, it took great effort even to breathe.

Standing there in Samara's striking aura, it was as if that numbing sensation Miranda had carried with her recently - that diminishment - was not only stripped away, but flipped to its inverse. It was as if the world around her had never been so intensely tangible and corporeal as it was in that instant. Like she had never seen the colours and textures around her in such vivid detail. Like she was hearing sound at frequencies beyond the audible human range. Like she could feel the contours of every single atom and molecule beneath her fingertips.

And all because, for seemingly no reason at all, she had looked at Samara in a whole new light. Let her eye fall upon her in a way it had never gazed upon her before. And, now that she had, she was totally and utterly mesmerised by her.

“Forgive me,” Samara broke the silence.

Miranda shook her head, rattled by her thoughts and...whatever the hell it was about Samara in that moment that had left her temporarily spellbound. “What?”

“I know my words were not comforting,” Samara admitted. “For that, I apologise.”

“Oh.” A small smile crossed Miranda’s lips as she tried to hastily forget what had just happened and jump back onto the original train of the conversation, ignoring the flush of heat coursing through her veins. “No, actually. I’m glad you said it,” she quietly confessed. “In a weird way, it’s the first thing anybody’s said that’s made what I’ve been going through lately seem...normal.”

“It is. Whatever you are feeling, it is. There is no correct way to grieve,” Samara assured her. And she would know. “It may be futile to ask this of you, but please be gentler to yourself. Knowing you as I do, I have no doubt that you are doing the best you can given the circumstances. That is all anyone can ask of you.”

“Thank you,” said Miranda, not sure why she felt so on edge all of a sudden. She was never nervous around Samara. Or around anyone, for that matter. “Sorry for rambling at you about this. Ugh. I’m thirty-six years old and I sound like a child experiencing loss for the first time.”

“I did not lose anyone I truly cared about until I was over four hundred years old. When my mother died. So you are far ahead of me, if that is the measure,” Samara responded, putting matters into perspective. “Would that you were not. Inevitable though it may be, I would not wish loss upon anyone.”

Miranda swallowed heavily, keeping her gaze fixed on her fingers for a moment. She wasn’t sure how to respond to that. For a moment, she wasn’t sure if she remembered how to speak like a normal human person at all. What the hell was wrong with her all of a sudden? Why was she acting like this?

This was Samara. Samara. The one person she felt truly comfortable around, even at her very worst. So why did it feel like her skin could just jump clean off her body at any moment? Why did she already feel so naked and exposed?

“Jacob must have pointed you in my direction. He isn't joining us?” asked Miranda, electing to move to a lighter topic of conversation. Whatever was going on, she could at least have the decency to not let it affect her, or how she acted.

“I extended the offer, but he declined. He said he wished to respect our space and give us some time to speak privately, but I believe he finds the prospect of the two of us in each other's company rather disconcerting,” Samara answered. Her expression was always calm, collected and difficult to read, but Miranda interpreted that look as vague amusement.

“Sounds like him,” Miranda replied. Jacob may have been about the closest thing she’d ever had to a conventional best friend, but they were very different people. It made them a good team, but they also frustrated each other to no end at times.

“Whatever his reasons may have been, I am grateful for it,” Samara admitted, a fondness in her tone. So was Miranda. It gave them the chance to be alone, like they used to be. She'd missed that. Evidently, she wasn't the only one. “He also informed me that you contacted Falere on my behalf,” Samara continued, catching Miranda's eye. “I thank you.”

“I wouldn't have had to if you had just contacted her yourself,” Miranda pointed out. Sure, Samara had her Code to explain her actions, but in all seriousness at times it seemed more like a convenient justification for Samara's evasiveness than the definitive cause of it. Unless the Code had some rules against calls, texts and emails that Miranda didn’t know about.

Come to think of it, Samara’s disappearing act reminded Miranda of herself when she'd been on the run from Cerberus more than anything else.

“She’s probably still waiting to hear from you,” said Miranda, quietly searching for cues in Samara's unyielding exterior that would signal her intentions. “If you wanted to write to her, or even call her, I could easily arrange it,” she pointed out, subtly urging her to follow her heart and make contact with Falere, much as Shepard had done for Miranda when she'd rescued Oriana on Illium.

Samara bowed her head slightly, a momentary flash of sorrow creeping into her expression. “In time,” was all she said.

Miranda understood that sentiment. Or at least she thought she did. Their circumstances weren't entirely dissimilar. Both of them had only just reclaimed those relationships once thought lost forever; a chance at a new start with the one person they loved most. And self-deceit was the only thing keeping it from sinking in that it was entirely plausible that they might never be reunited. In spite of everything they'd fought for, in spite of outlasting all the odds, in spite of snatching victory from the jaws of defeat and saving the galaxy from annihilation, the one thing that they had nearly given their lives to protect might still be denied to them.

Their family.

If it weren't for the fact that Miranda refused to accept that possibility, it would have broken her heart. Never holding Oriana again. Never having that life together she'd worked so hard to make possible. Losing her would have drained her of everything she lived for.

So, yes, unless she was missing some important piece of the puzzle, Miranda knew all too well what Samara was feeling, and why talking to Falere was touching on too many raw, tumultuous emotions at that moment in time.

“Oh. I almost forgot,” Samara rather abruptly broke the silence, calling Miranda out of her thoughts. Samara extended her hand, holding out a small keychain shaped like Blasto the Hanar Spectre. “I promised to return this to you when next we met.”

Recognising it, Miranda couldn’t help but laugh. She’d completely forgotten about that before now. It was a cheap trinket she’d won at the arcade the last time she and Samara were on the Citadel together, when Shepard threw that party. That felt like a lifetime ago, even though it had only been three months.

“You do know that was a gift, right?” Miranda said through a chuckle.

Samara blinked, hesitant. “Justicars--”

“Eschew personal possessions. I know,” Miranda finished before Samara could. It was exactly what she’d told Miranda when she had first offered it to her. She thought they had resolved this dilemma the first time they had this conversation. “If your tenets require me to say that it’s still technically mine, then fine. It’s mine. But I insist that you hang onto it for me indefinitely. Does that work?”

“It…” Samara paused, evidently more than a little torn on the matter. Miranda would never understand how something so insignificant could be a breach of her Code. But, on the other hand, Miranda couldn’t fault Samara’s tireless dedication to her discipline. She didn’t cut corners. She didn’t cheat. She was who she was - what she had sworn to be. And that was nothing if not deeply admirable. “...I suppose that would be acceptable,” Samara eventually answered, with some slight hesitation, running her thumb over the keychain.

“I mean, unless you hate carrying that stupid thing around,” Miranda added offhandedly. She hadn’t considered that possibility.

“No,” Samara hastily assured her, not wishing to create that impression. “Of course I do not.”

Miranda couldn’t help but muster a smile at that response. Honestly, it was kind of incredible how a woman who was nearly a thousand years old, and who had experienced so much, could still have the capacity to demonstrate such pure, unfeigned innocence and earnestness. It wasn’t often that it showed, but Miranda had always liked that about Samara whenever it did.

“Then, please, keep it. Do this, in memory of when I still had both halves of my face,” Miranda remarked, mock-crossing herself, as if giving Samara her blessing. Samara stared at her blankly, caught in momentary shock. Miranda didn’t take long to realise why. “...Sorry. I forget you’re not used to seeing me like this. It’s fine. I’m in the ‘joking about it’ stage. Have been for a while, actually. You don’t need to…feel awkward about it.”

“No!” Samara interjected again, a little more urgently than the last time, loath to think that she had inadvertently hurt Miranda’s feelings, or made her self-conscious about her injuries. “That is not what…” Samara trailed off, pressing her hand to her forehead in annoyance at herself. “Forgive me. It appears that in this moment I can neither speak nor stay silent without making a fool of myself.”

“You could never appear foolish to me, Samara,” Miranda reassured her, speaking from the heart, so there could be no doubt she meant it.

Samara softened at that, glancing down at the trinket in her palm once more. “...I should not say it, but...in truth, this came to mean a great deal to me,” Samara quietly admitted, earning a raised eyebrow from Miranda. “Because you gave it to me,” Samara explained at her inquiring look. Miranda felt her pulse quicken at those words, the heat suddenly rushing to her cheeks. “It was all I had to remind me of you, when I did not know whether or not you would…”

Miranda couldn’t speak. Her mouth had gone dry. And her throat felt so tight all of a sudden. She had to turn away and cough to clear it.

Fortunately, Samara spoke again before she had to. “You are right. I will keep it. Even if it belongs to you, there is no reason I cannot carry this, if you wish it,” said Samara, mustering a smile as she closed her fingers around the keychain.

“Great. It’ll be our secret,” Miranda replied in a concerted effort to act normal despite feeling anything but, holding a finger to her lips.

Wait a second. Did her voice have a tremor in it, all of a sudden? God, she hoped not. What if Samara heard that? What on Earth was this? Was she sick or something and didn’t know it? Was that why she felt so off-kilter?

“Before either of us get carried away, I must let you know that my stay here will be short,” Samara rather sombrely confessed, aware it was not something Miranda would want to hear. “I do not wish to mislead you into believing otherwise.”

“You didn't; I suspected as much,” said Miranda. She would have been lying if she said it wasn’t disappointing. But at least she’d gotten to talk to her this time before Samara set off again, resuming her ceaseless quest to bring justice to the galaxy. That brought some amount of closure, if nothing else. “Where will you go? Come to think of it, where have you been?”

“Many places. Forgive me, I am not familiar with Earth's regions,” said Samara, powering up the omni-tool on her hand. “I have, however, found it helpful over my years to maintain a record of all my travels. You may be surprised how often it is necessary to know these things, and how easily one forgets,” she remarked with a small quirk of her lips that almost resembled a smirk, activating a holographic map that documented her travels.

“You're kidding.” Miranda stumbled backwards when the incalculably dense web of destinations formed over the hologram of Earth in front of her, her bad leg nearly giving out under her weight before she remembered to grab the railing to keep herself steady. “I'll be damned. You really did get the grand tour,” she commented, genuinely awed by how she'd managed to go literally all the way around the world in under three months. “How did you get to Dunedin?”

“On a ship, from the North Island of New Zealand,” Samara answered, her literalism containing no traces of irony. Miranda suspected Samara knew what she had meant, but was using that sneaky deadpan delivery of hers to play coy. 

“Keep saving those frequent flier miles and you could get back to Thessia at this rate,” Miranda offhandedly remarked. Samara gave her a slightly odd look.

If the Earth could have opened up and swallowed Miranda whole in that moment, she would have let it.

Miranda shook her head in embarrassment, regretting that stupid comment as soon as she had said it. Why did she try to be funny when she wasn’t? “Please remind me never to attempt to make jokes again. That was horrendous.” 

“It is quite alright,” Samara assured her, appreciating the intention, if nothing else. “It is good that you have maintained a sense of humour in these troubled times.”

“I...don't have one. Never have, never will,” Miranda awkwardly replied, letting go of her cane long enough to rub her neck. “But thank you for your tolerance.”

She couldn’t isolate what it was that was making her so anxious around Samara. This was the exact opposite of what it was ordinarily like - usually it put her so at ease just to be in her vicinity. Now, the mere act of existing in Samara’s proximity made her feel like she was tapdancing on hot coals, and they weren’t even standing that close. Inexplicable waves of heightened energy surged through her nervous system every time it felt like Samara shifted a little nearer. It made her heart race just to hear her voice, and to let each word she spoke wash over her.

Why was she feeling this way? What was she feeling?

Why hadn’t it gone away yet?

“For the most part, I have not found it difficult to acquire travel,” Samara explained. “I have found most people quite accommodating in light of these dark and troubled times. They do say adversity breeds camaraderie. And it would seem that quality is uniquely commonplace among your kind,” she said plainly, having developed a great affinity for the human species as a whole.

“Would it dim your view of humanity if I pointed out the locations where I think the Reapers' invasion actually caused several billion credits of improvement?” Miranda asked, hopeful that her dark quip would land that time. Perhaps she was imagining things, but she was pretty sure Samara cracked a smile at her dry remark, recognising the gallows' humour for what it was. Most of Samara’s facial expressions were extremely subtle at the best of times, though.

“The work you have done here is good,” Samara told her, looking out over the slowly recovering city once more. “Your ability and intellect have always been remarkable. Now that you have applied them to a more worthy cause than Cerberus, what you have accomplished is truly admirable,” she said, approving of Miranda's new direction in life. It pleased her to see she had found a path that seemed unlikely to ever put her in conflict with the Code.

“Yes. That's all true,” Miranda matter-of-factly replied, resting her hand on her cane once again. What could she say? Feigned humility had never suited her. “But I could always use help,” she said sincerely. “I could also use a friend. Are you sure I can't persuade you to stick around longer?”

They both knew the answer to that question already. But every part of Miranda really wanted to deny it.

“You cannot, though it is not for anything you lack. Quite the opposite,” Samara replied, earning a wrinkled brow. “Other cities on Earth do not have the benefit of your leadership and oversight. Any contributions I can provide will be limited here. My Code compels me to look for where aid is most needed.”

“...I see,” said Miranda. That explanation was fair enough, she supposed. So why did the thought of Samara's absence leave her feeling so hollow? Why did the thought of Samara going away again make her heart feel like it was contorting into a knot inside her chest? Why did it hurt so badly?

“We will have many chances to speak again before I depart. That would...” Samara paused, internally dismissing whatever she had been about to say. “For now, I fear I have lingered too long unannounced, and taken enough of your time. I can see you are responsible for many others. I would not keep you from it.”

For a split second, something surged inside Miranda – an intense emotional need she couldn't describe. But that ache in her heart couldn't go unspoken. She reached out to touch Samara's hand, covering it where it rested on the balcony, letting her cane fall from her grasp and clatter to the floor at her feet.

“Stay?” The word was softly spoken, a question that carried with it uncharacteristic vulnerability. “Please?” Miranda implored her.

“For how long?” Samara sought clarification, evidently unsure how to decipher Miranda's odd request. “Are you certain I would not be imposing?”

Miranda uttered something that amounted to a short, heavy-hearted laugh. “You know what I mean,” she said. She wasn’t talking about today. She wasn't asking for a few more hours, or even a few more days.

She didn’t want an end date at all.

Samara gazed at her for a long moment, her reserved expression as always difficult to decipher. Whatever her thoughts were, her features did not readily betray them. Miranda didn't know whether she gave the matter any consideration, or if her answer was already as clear as every rational part of her assumed it was. However, maybe it was just an illusion or a trick of the mind but...for a split-second, Miranda was sure that Samara looked conflicted. Even torn.

Samara withdrew her hand. With scarcely more than a thought, she drew Miranda's cane towards herself using her biotics, and extended it to Miranda.

“We each have a role to play in the aftermath of this war. These duties cannot be forsaken,” Samara spoke calmly, placing the walking stick in Miranda's grasp once more, and enclosing her palm around it. With her other hand, she reached out to cup Miranda's cheek, fingers softly brushing the scarred skin beneath her eye-patch. Miranda's breath caught at the contact. It was all she could do not to tremble beneath her touch as a tingling sensation flooded from Samara’s fingertips out to seemingly every single cell inside her body. “It grieves me that our paths do not align. Perhaps that will change in time.”

“...It's okay.” Miranda averted her gaze, willing her voice not to shake under Samara's gentle caress, unable to meet her stare, scarcely able to breathe. She knew little of what Samara's Code entailed, but still she regretted asking her to do something that would require deviating from it. That had been unworthy of her. Even if the non-Justicar part of Samara may have wanted to stay, what place of it was Miranda’s to put her in that difficult position? To ask her to turn away from her vows? “You don't need to explain. I understand responsibility better than most. However, I would like it if I saw you again sooner this time. Or if we stayed in touch while you were away,” she admitted, allowing herself that much.

Samara let her touch linger, grazing Miranda's damaged skin with such gentleness, never once breaking eye contact with her, even if it wasn’t returned. “As would I.”

Much as Miranda might have wanted to, she didn’t dare lift her head. Wasn’t sure she could handle it if she did. It felt like her entire being was disassembling under Samara’s fingertips. And, if Samara couldn’t feel her quivering, then it was a fucking miracle. Her heart was pounding like a drum, and her palm began to perspire against her cane, where it was covered beneath Samara’s left hand.

It wasn’t lost on Miranda that neither of them were the type of people who were entirely comfortable or natural around others. Even small gestures of physical affection were largely alien. They had never so much as hugged each other. A touch of hands here or there was the most they had ever...but that didn’t explain it either. Miranda hadn’t felt anything close to this the last time Samara gently clasped her hand. She’d never reacted this way around her before, or anyone.

Miranda had never felt anything remotely like this before. Ever.

What did it mean?

Miranda had to recoil from her touch just so she could breathe again. Samara didn't resist, nor seem offended, letting her hand fall from Miranda's cheek. “You take care of yourself out there, okay?” said Miranda, keeping her eye fixed anywhere but Samara, because she knew damn well by that point that she wouldn’t be able to control whatever it elicited in her to look at her in that moment. “And don't leave without saying goodbye this time.”

“I will try, on both accounts,” Samara replied, promising that much. “Farewell, Miranda.” Miranda didn't try to stop her, though she wasn't oblivious to the tension in her body as Samara passed her. The air had never felt so dense.

Miranda could feel from the sudden chill that filled the atmosphere in her absence that Samara had left, and only then did she dare to confirm it with a glance upwards, her gaze met by empty space where once she had stood.

Alone, Miranda finally released a deep exhale, that bizarre energy that had built up inside her at long last finding the space to wane, and subside, and work its way out of her, at least in part. She didn’t know how long she would need to linger out there to compose herself, but she felt no urge to hurry inside, despite the autumn air feeling bitterly cold having lost Samara’s warmth.

She didn’t even know where to start to untangle that messy jumble of unlabelled sensations and ambiguous emotions whose echoes still lingered inside her chest. She held her hand up to eye level and, sure enough, it was shaking. She clenched her fingers into a fist, which made that stop, at least.

She leaned against the railing and let her head fall into her hand. Miranda may have been comparatively unskilled when it came to deciphering even her own emotions, but she also wasn’t completely dimwitted, nor was she naïve. And the longer she stood out there, the more one possible answer for these nameless feelings began to emerge from recesses of her mind as the most obvious fit.

The thing was, she didn’t want that to be the answer. She wasn’t sure it made sense, or if it was even possible for her. And, if it was, then she had even bigger problems than she could have imagined. Because it could ruin everything.

Miranda’s hearing wasn’t quite good enough since the shuttle crash to notice the door sliding open behind her.

“So, Miss,” Seanne was the first of the students to ask, peering around the door to the balcony at the subtle urging of her brother. “Who was that?”

“A friend,” Miranda replied, staring out at the city, unmoving.

“A girlfriend?” Rodriguez said with a smirk.

“A friend,” Miranda repeated without inflection, as if reminding herself to remember that. Convincing herself not to dare begin to think otherwise.

“It's alright if she’s more than that,” Reiley teased. “Or if you've got a thing with Mr. Taylor. You can tell us, you know,” he prompted, grinning.

Miranda turned and arched her brow at them. “Have you got nothing better to do than gossip about my personal life?” she wondered aloud, beginning to understand the meaning of the old adage 'idle hands do the devil's work'.

“No. We really don't, no,” the group cheekily replied, happily falling back into the habit of having fun at the expense of their guardian now that it (hopefully) seemed like things were improving for her. With that, they closed the door and went back to report on her response to the others.

Miranda didn’t join them. Jack’s students were right, in a way, if they thought they’d perceived a sudden change in her mental state. For the first time in two weeks, Miranda wasn't being haunted by the dark spectre of death.

The problem was that now the only thing she could think about was Samara. And, the more she tried to reason herself into denying it, the louder that one increasingly isolated answer grew as it kept circling in her mind.

Somehow, someway, somewhere between all that time they’d spent together on the Normandy, and seeing Samara standing on that balcony again, and she didn’t know exactly when, where, why, or how it could possibly be true, but...

She’d fallen for Samara, hadn’t she?

She’d fallen for a woman she knew damn well could never love her back.

*    *    *

[toloveawarlord]

Ch. 6

Characters: Edgar Bright, Iris Adley, Sean

Pairing: Edgar x Iris

Tagging: @plumpblueberry​

“You can’t blame them for being curious. No one knows what Sir Edgar is having you do as his second,” Sean said, lounging back on the perfectly made bed. He and all the others that were under the Jack of Hearts were hovering around me, asking an infinite amount of questions about the allusive and mysterious Edgar Bright…ever since he appointed me as his second.

I buttoned up my uniform shirt with visible annoyance. “I’m basically a glorified secretary, organizing documents, keeping notes about important dates and meetings, and pretending to be him when penning letters that he finds too boring while he sits on the sofa sipping tea.”

It wasn’t that he didn’t work. Soldiers came and went all day long with reports and documents. When he wasn’t in his quarters, he was in meetings with Jonah and Lancelot or officials in Central Quarter, on top of training his own troop of soldiers with a warm smile and steel fist. And yet, when we were alone, he turned into a candy gobbling child that enjoyed causing me a headache.

“Aren’t you tired? You don’t return from your duties until the early morning hours and then turn around and be up at first call at 7 like the rest of us.” He was just as intrigued by my new position as the others, but for more reasons. Every day he asked if we’d spoken about my predicament and the answer remained a stern no.

“Tired of his ridiculously idiot game? Yes.”

“Aw, that’s no way to speak about your adoring superior.”

The only slightly peaceful part of my day came crashing down at the presence of the Jack of Hearts. He’d let himself into the room without any warning, apparently a recurring trait of his. I can’t exactly complain, outwardly at least.

I rested against the bed to slip on my boots, tugging the laces extra tight while imaging the thin string to be around his neck. The whispers from the hallway not so quiet, nearly bringing a large commotion to the barrack hallway. “I’ll assume you’re here for business, sir.”

“Sean, you will be in Central Quarter today.” Edgar gave the order with a hint of edge to his voice. He received a salute and Sean scuttled off to leave us. One quick glance over his shoulder and the rest of the soldiers scattered before those mischievous jade irises were turned on me. “You will be accompanying to patrol the forest. Won’t that be fun, Iris?”

“Are you going to insist on calling me that when we’re alone?”

“It is your name. Besides, the expressions you make are worth any risk.”

I swiped my hat from the rack, settling it on my blonde locks, adjusting it with stiff movements. I made a silent vow to work on how I outwardly reacted to his taunts, if only to irritate him a fraction of how he irritated him.

Outside of his personal unit, the soldiers continued to treat me like an outsider. They glared when they thought none of the ranking officers were watching. They whispered in ear shot of me, insisting on being petty about my sudden rise in position. Only the ones within Edgar’s unit had begun to accept me, at least enough to not avoid me during meals and free time.

The leaves crunched beneath his boots, the Jack of Hearts strolling with a spring his step. His good mood almost contagious. It was strange, simultaneously keeping up my guard while also lowering it at times around him. He hadn’t broken his word and exposed my secret. “Iris, lost in thought, are we? I do hope it’s me on your mind.” 

Jade irises mischievously reflecting my own clear, blue ones. Edgar’s face mere inches.

I took a step back only to hit a tree. The pain dull but grounded me back in reality.

Quick to close the distance, like a wild cat slinking up to its cornered prey, Edgar’s grin grew wider. “You make a pretty boy, but I prefer the real Iris.” Gloved fingers expertly removing the earring and pocketing it in seconds. “I’ll hold onto this until it’s time to return.”

Without the magic, nothing hid the fact that I was a woman. It would be unlikely for the army to send multiple soldiers on this patrol, but not unheard of. And yet, winning an argument with a rock was more attainable than reasoning with the gentle demon. 

The forest was peaceful. Although not many ventured in due to the rumors surrounding it, bandits tended to gather on occasion. The town was abuzz with talk of some unsavory types moving between Central Quarter and the Forbidden Forest. Edgar had been tasked with uncovering and eliminating them.

“I did some digging, but there’s no record of where your brother disappeared to. Not even your parents have any inkling. I suspect that you have some idea.” He broke the silence as he adjusted his gait to fall in step with me. 

“I don’t. He never told me where he was going. Only that the girl he’d fallen obsessively in love with was the reason he wouldn’t take his position in the army.” The night he’d left still seared freshly in my mind. It made little sense. He had been handed the fourth highest rank in the Red Army and he abandoned it for a woman.

Edgar hummed in response, gaze lifting to the treetops above us. “Peculiar, but I hear that love makes one do crazy things.”

“He’s an absolute fool. Love is an abstract idea that is fleeting. He barely knew her, and yet he threw away his whole life, making a traitor of himself, of our family. For what?” He’d said that he might be gone for a while, years. At that time, it would be much too late. Our family would be ostracized, the position given by birthright erased and passed on to some distant blood relative.

“You’ve never been in love, have you, Iris?”

I gave him a disgusted glare before replying, “No. I’ll wager you haven’t either.”

He snickered from behind his palm, not making any attempts to avoid my slap to his arm. “You’re right. I’ve little time for dalliances with women. I have been approached, but taking a wife is not of importance to me.” For a second, the facade slipped, and I saw the flash of melancholy cross his features. Then it was gone, replaced with that empty smile. “I imagine you’ve had plenty of men throwing themselves at you.”

“You mean at my father.” I shivered in absolute revulsion. None of them had approached me directly. Whispers of how I could be harsh and hard to please were always circling me like rampant sharks. Negotiations went through my father, and I never accepted a single one. “I have no desire to be someone’s wife.”

“You’d rather be a solider?”

There was no judgement or ridicule in his question, as it had been with all the men previous in my life. Any time I trained with a sword or learned hand to hand combat, they all had a similar tone. It’s not for a woman. I would prove them all wrong. “Yes. Only the Red Army has rules against women joining. It seems obvious that after 500 years, perhaps a different perspective might be advantageous.”

“War is not made for the weak.”

“Weak and female are not synonymous.”

Jade eyes crinkled as he smiled at me. “Oh, I’m well aware of your strengths, Iris. And I, for one, have no qualms with you being in the army. It’s not simply a matter of changing laws.”

The politics. It’s always about the politics among the Red elites.

The scent of smoke drifted through the trees, silencing our discussion. The rumors were proving to be true. We both became silent, like ghosts leaving no trace of their existence as we neared the campsite. Only one man guarded the camp.

“We’ll wait until nightfall, and all of them are to be captured.” His whisper carried the weight of his position. The teasing superior vanished without a trace, replaced with the Jack of Hearts giving his soldier an unbreakable order. His gaze only flickered to me long enough to see my nod before returning to our targets.

They came and went, five of them in total. As the sun began to slide beyond the horizon. Once the light faded, the group all gathered around the fire, clinking dirty glasses of stolen booze, and rifling through their treasures. Edgar gave a signal, directing me to circle to the other side.

Blending in with the darkness was easy. The moon cast slivers of silver light between the leaves rustling in the wind. I crouched by a thick bush, waiting patiently for our moment to attack. I hadn’t, however, expected him to announce himself.

“Good evening, gentlemen.” Edgar startled the whole lot of them, hand lightly gripping the hilt of his sword. The fire crackled as one choked on his drink at the sudden appearance of the officer. “You’ve caused quite the ruckus in town. It’s time to answer for your crimes.”

Swords and knives were drawn, all eyes focused solely on the single man in the crisp white uniform. Their bravery coupled with cowardice as they collectively moved the opposite direction with slow steps, save for their so-called leader. He alone faced the gentle demon with a scowl.

He gave a howl and lunged at Edgar, only to grab air and lose his breath as his torso connected with the Jack of Heart’s knee. 

Tension rose through the campsite. Some were frozen in their spot, watching the imminent defeat of their boss. But one... there’s always one, who decides to save themselves and run.

Unlucky for him.

The wheeze that passed his lips when I wrenched my elbow back into his throat divided the attention. He collapsed to the dirt, body curling up as he clutched his neck and struggled to catch his breath. “How pathetic,” I said, drawing my own sword from its sheath.

There’s two of them?

Who cares! Just take them out and let’s get out of here!

They were barely worth any effort. Their form sloppy and no coordination between them. Although it hadn’t been too long since being under Edgar’s guidance, I had picked up on some quirks of his. In the beginning, the soldiers in the unit avoided me, leaving Edgar to spar with me most of the time. I’d learned his movements quite well.

“I’m impressed. You’ve done so well,” Edgar praised with a pat on my shoulder. He chuckled as I brushed it off. 

I finished the knot on the last rope, creating a line of prisoners so they couldn’t try to escape. “I didn’t ask for your evaluation.”

“But that’s my job. Your hand to hand could use a little work. I’d be happy to teach you.” His eager grin disappeared at the voice of the leader of the bandits. I hadn’t witnessed the demon side of him until now.

Since when did the Red Army employ women?

I turned away, remembering that he still had my earring and no magic had shielded my features. Edgar slipped it into my palm without a word before slinking up to the angered prisoner.

“He is quite pretty for a boy, I’ll admit. You’d do well to keep your mouth shut.” The malice laced in his words paired perfectly with the dagger pressed a little too hard against his prey’s throat. His threat received with a silent nod.

I trailed behind, lost deeply in thought. It hadn’t been necessary. There was no reason for him to say anything. No one would have believed the word of a criminal over the Jack. There’s no logical reasoning behind why Edgar had protected me, nor why I can’t simply say thank you and move on.

My cheeks were unbearably hot.

Why did he confuse me so much?

[lynenspray]

wenri 01

prompt: gp yeri getting hard while watching a movie with wendy and she’s really embarrassed and inexperienced but wendy takes care of her problem

---

tonight (let’s test all the borderlines)

(wenri handjob cumplay)

yeri would have found the entire thing hilarious on any other given day. 

if she was feeling herself that night, she would have ripped this stupid film apart. like, how did the bathroom walls suddenly change from red to pink? was there no script supervisor for this? it was like they didn’t even think of trying.

but it wasn’t a regular night. tonight was the first time yeri was over at her lover’s place for a cute little sleepover for two cute little girlfriends. 

so yeri had to take precautions, including jacking herself off right before she came over just so there wouldn’t be any weird hard-ons that might overwhelm wendy or make things awkward for her.

it was just her luck that the video she watched to help herself only hours before had the exact same audio as the one playing on the movie. which, in turn, made yeri have the exact same reaction.

that brought them here, with yeri hiding a boner beneath the throw pillow in her lap as wendy squinted at her and the movie continued.

"are you alright?" 

she was absolutely not alright.

“yeah, just peachy,” yeri squeaked out, lying. “like the bathroom walls.” she laughed nervously as wendy sent her a doubtful stare.

wendy hummed and tilted her head. “you’re peach-coloured, too.”

shit. yeri felt the sweat drip down her neck. “that’s just–um. it’s hot in here.”

“you literally nagged me to turn up the heating.” wendy’s tone was suspicious. “are you sure? is this making you sick?” she asked as the audio in the background continued on, literal pornographic moans ringing throughout the living space.

the younger girl palmed her sweating face, feeling herself flush even more.

“if you’re feeling hot you should take this blanket and pillow off.”

yeri closed her eyes and exhaled very, very slowly. the sounds echoed around them, and she knew that it was now or never. maybe she could save face by coming clean; otherwise she’d just be a mess. okay. okayokayokay here goes–

“I have a boner right now.”

she blanched when she heard wendy’s muffled giggle. 

“hey!”

her girlfriend waved a hand, but the smile on her face was still present. “sorry, sorry, I’m not making fun of you. it’s just funny that you were so excited for this–though you should have told me you could be excited in other ways…” 

yeri groaned at the dumb joke. “look, I’m going to just–I’ll need to take care of this for a bit. we can watch another film,” she said, relieved that the mortifying situation was kind of over, and made a move to stand before wendy held her back with a hand on her arm. 

“maybe I can help?”

the younger girl felt her jaw drop. help…? did she mean she would–? here?

wendy bit her lip, and yeri’s eyes followed the movement. “it’d be more comfy than, I don’t know, doing it alone in the restroom. I don’t mind.” the volume of her voice decreased until yeri barely heard the last statement.

“I–” what was she supposed to say? no? when wendy was the one to offer? even if she wanted to, she didn’t want to make her feel uncomfortable; the most that they’d done was heavy petting, after all. “are you sure you want to do that?”

the older girl furrowed her brow in the cutest way, tilting her head and pouting. "do you not want to? I'm sorry–I thought–" 

"I do! you of all people should know that." yeri admitted, avoiding her gaze. it was embarrassing to say this stuff out loud. 

wendy paused the film before leaning forward to kiss her cheek, sliding a hand beneath the pillow and along yeri's thigh as she moved closer. "then let unnie help. let's make you feel better, hmm?"

yeri stifled a groan as her girlfriend's whisper was accompanied by a hand moving past her crotch and a finger sliding under the waistband of her pajama pants. how–why did wendy sound so sexy? 

within a few moments yeri found herself holding onto wendy's shoulder as the older girl took command and slid the garter of her underwear just past her balls, revealing her aching cock. 

she stared breathlessly as wendy's hand wrapped perfectly around it, as wendy's lips continued to nip and kiss at the junction of her jaw and neck, as wendy's nails on her other hand drew lazy circles along yeri's thigh. 

"oh, god." yeri had never heard herself sound so weak, nor seen herself so hard. 

her swollen cock looked so heavy and ready to burst as wendy's fingers spread her precum carefully. 

"uhn, shit," she hissed, involuntarily jerking her hips as wendy's thumb brushed the inch just past the crown of her dick, the spot where she was most sensitive. 

she didn't notice how her hips started rolling on their own, nor how her nails dug into wendy's arm. all she knew was that it felt so so so good. 

"it's okay, baby, unnie's got you."

yeri grit her teeth, feeling a familiar palpable heat settle in her gut as her body prepared to cum–but no. she was not doing to cum from a fucking twenty-second handjob, no matter how good wendy's hand felt around her. she'd barely even stroked her, more of held and squeezed her pulsating member and kissed her neck. 

"hey, it's okay," wendy moved back and stared at her in concern as yeri looked at her. her pupils were blown wide and dark, and her face was flushed too. "just let go, baby. I know you want to."

oh christ. yeri whimpered something incoherent as wendy shifted until her head was right above yeri's shaft. she watched in amazement as the older girl let drool drip past her lips and drop right onto yeri's dick, lubricating her.

"h-holy shit," yeri whined, rolling her head back as her pace turned frantic. wendy's fingers stroked and slipped along her length, faster, faster, faster. "unnie," she breathlessly groaned, feeling the telltale coil in her gut start to burn as her hands tried to find purchase somewhere, anywhere, fearing that she could burst and fly away. "unnie, unnie, I–oh my god–" 

she could faintly feel wendy's mouth right by her ear, whispering things that made little sense to her groggy lust-filled mind, incomprehensible except for the older girl's sudden growl of "cum for me, baby."

yeri came quietly. her mouth was open without a single sound coming out, but her body spoke for her as wave after wave of liquid fire crashed over her. she jerked silently into wendy's hand, spurting her hot seed over the older girl's fingers and making a mess of them both as her cream stained her night pants and even a little bit of her shirt. 

she heaved a sigh as she tried to catch her breath. holy shit. holy fucking shit was that hot. 

"you're still hard." wendy's voice was laced with a bit of teasing, but also something much darker. "and you ruined your pants."

yeri watched, still speechless, as wendy maneuvered herself to kneel between her legs. 

"can I help you clean up?" she tugged on her pants more, fluttering her eyelashes at her. she placed her other hand on yeri’s tip, spreading the cum, testing how far yeri would let her go. “is this okay?”

the younger girl groaned, out of words, and merely placed a hand on wendy's soft brown hair to encourage the girl to lean forward and enclose yeri's still-hard cock in her warm, wet mouth. 

[enigmatist17]

The Mark of a Bullet (Sir Hammerlock x Wainwright Jakobs)

Y’all Y’all

I cannot wait to play their wedding DLC, I am almost there.

But have this in the meantime, because y e s I love them so m u c h my baby Hammerlock deserves happiness

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

Alistair Hammerlock enjoyed a challenge, of course, he did. Leaving his namesake, which had not been as hard as one would have assumed, freed him of some terrible shackles. The world and its infinite treasures and adventures were his for the taking, and Alistair couldn’t be happier. His renown in the hunting community exploded in such a short time, and within 10 years Hammerlock became synonymous with Alistair and his hunting. Pandora became his home after some time, Alistair happy to study and track until the war came. He was never one for shooting people and dissidents, but hunting fell to the background as he helped the small band of people try and defend their home from Handsome Jack. After the liberation of Pandora, Alistair moved on as he always did, and found himself on Eden-6. For most people, paradise did not involve swamp creatures and other horrors, but for Alistair, it was absolutely perfect. He was settled in a small town for close to a month when the head of Jakobs corporation invited him for a hunting trip. Never one to turn down a hunt, nor the rather delicious free food and exquisite ammunition, Alistair took the invite.

Where he came for Montgomery Jakobs, Alistair instead finds himself falling for Wainwright Jakobs. 

He arrived two days into the hunt, startling Alistair and receiving a bullet to his shoulder. It wasn’t the greatest of meetings, the two bickering as Alistair expertly tends to the wound in record time.

“Do you go ‘round shootin’ every person ta come near you?” Wainwright snarled, watching the hunter roll his eyes as he pulls out the bullet.

“Do you find it acceptable to come around and brazenly confront a hunter amid the hunt?”  Wainwright spluttered at the accusation, ears turning red as his father and associates laughed in the background. 

“Here I thought big game hunters knew everythin’ about their surroundings.”  It was now Hammerlock’s turn to shoot a look, pulling back to burn the now bloodied bandages.

“I was not aware I had to also lookout for a surprise newcomer, mister?”

“Wainwright Jakobs.” Alistair cocked his head slightly, unaware the heir to Jakobs corporation was even aware of the hunting expedition. “You must be the famous Sir Hammerlock then, hmpf.”

“Indeed I am.” Despite the huff, Alistair was more amused now than irritated, offering a hand to the other. “Do you often hunt with a shotgun?” 

“I don’t hunt at all.” Wainwright winced as he carefully stretched out his arm, the injury only letting him about halfway. “I am far more comfortable with a good book by a fire, rather than out in the mud and grog intestines. I am here by request of my father, who is under the impression this is all for business.”

“Oh, dear.”  Wainwright raises an eyebrow at the tone, but the hunter says nothing, merely escorting Wainwright to their makeshift camp. The hunt goes on for three days, Alistair hiding back growing irritation as the head of Jakobs and his business partners operated with reckless abandon. The hunter had heard rumors of avoiding any invitation by the CEO, and now he fully understood. The only saving grace was Wainwright, much to Alistair’s surprise.

Despite not enjoying the heat and swamp, Wainwright was learning tricks of the trade rather quickly. Sure, his aim was nonexistent and his brash footing was leaving a lot to be desired, but for the most part, Wainwright was a fast learner. They were up late each night, speaking about music, philosophies, books, any and every topic they could think of. The two end up staying an extra day, Montgomery bidding a hasty farewell after realizing that Hammerlock had no part with his parents’ company, and therefore was effectively not worth his time. Wainwright seemed to almost transform the moment his fathers’ vehicle was out of sight, shoulder’s loosening as he cracks open some brandy. 

Hammerlock returns to his humble lodge after bidding Wainwright goodbye and finds his research was rather...lonely without the company. Alistair had never been one to seek out company for his work before, but those short days with Wainwright had been rather lovely. Taking a week-long expedition, that most certainly wasn’t extended because he got slightly lost, Hammerlock is glad to see his abode and pauses when he notices the door is ajar. Readying his pistol, Alistair slowly opens the door and points his gun at the figure standing in the living room. 

“Are we going to meet with your gun always between us?” Wainwright sounds amused, but Hammerlock can tell he is nervous after hearing his pistol click.

“Perhaps that would end if you approached me in my sight.” The pistol is holstered, and Wainwright turns with a slightly bashful look. 

“Fair point, fair point.” There is a freshly cooked meal on the table, and Alistair can’t help but be grateful at such a sight. “I heard you would be returnin’ soon, and as such thought ta offer a good meal.”

“How very kind of you.” Alistair doesn’t mind the small amount of grime he sullies the couch with, knowing there will always be later to clean. They both slip into a conversation as if they had never parted ways, the late hour slowly turning to early morning as they continued. It should be silly, men in their late forties and early fifties respectively laughing and regaling each other with stories like teenagers. A night turns into a week, Wainwright taking Alistair around for an in-depth tour of Eden-6. It’s late one night when gazing up at the myriad of stars on the roof of Hammerlock’s cabin, that Jakobs leans over and captures the hunter���s lips in a kiss. For just a moment, Alistair freezes at the contact but is soon moving his flesh and bone hand to caress the side of Wainwright’s jaw. They eventually part and Alistair suddenly thinks that coming to Eden-6 had been his wisest choice throughout his career.

It only hits him a few days later, bidding Wainwright a goodbye after escorting him home, what that feeling of utter peace meant. When Alistair arrives at his own abode, his shirt is quickly yet efficiently removed. Just above his left nipple, a patch of skin that had always been barren was finally alight with a symbol. The design, still in the process of solidifying with dark hues of reds, greens, and blacks, appeared to be forming the most ornate shotgun Alistair had ever seen, crossed over his own infamous sniper rifle.

Coincidentally, it looked suspiciously like the personal gun of one Wainwright Jakobs.

Some grogs were momentarily stirred from their slumber by a loud bout of elated laughter. 

The symbol solidifies the day before Wainwright offers Hammerlock a permanent place in his own estate. The hunter moves in with no hesitation, the housekeeping staff clustering around the study door that evening. They can see Hammerlock shedding his shirt, saying something and pointing to himself before Wainwright lets out a loud bout of laughter. The symbol on Alistair had now grown to fill the entire upper left side of his chest, Wainwright reaching out and touching it with an expression neither of the staff had ever seen before.

It was pure adoration.

Hammerlock says something to other man, who gives a shrug before shedding his own coat and shirt. It was clear he was slightly shy, a bit soft around the middle from his simple gunsmith work, whereas Hammerlock was built and toned from his occupation. The hunter seems not to mind at all, eyes drawn to Wainwright’s back when he turns around. Alistair’s prized journal, one that only Wainwright had been blessed to see, was seemingly tattooed onto his back. Astonishingly the pictures displayed moved, flickering both from what he had drawn over the years, to images of Eden-6. It was rare for one’s soulmate mark to be so vivid, and even rarer to change its shape at will, or in this case, it’s pages and images. The eldest staffer finally shoos everyone away when Alistair kneels down, spindly fingers tracing over Wainwright’s mark as if he was touching gold. 

“This is just astonishing.” Hammerlock can’t help but breathe, the roll of his breath across Wainwright’s back making the shorter man shiver.

“So you’ve said near hundred times I reckon.” Despite feeling a bit inadequate at the moment, the Edenian can’t help but feel his heart flutter. Catching sight of his own mark in the mirror just a day ago had sent a feeling of...peace when he realized just what it was. He had nearly scared some of the staff running to and fro, ordering various rooms to be prepared as if for many guests. Thoughts of personal space and potential unwant had faded the moment Hammerlock had arrived. The hunter and the gunsmith had shared a look that felt like it had lasted years, the world just settling in a way that had never been before.

It felt like they had finally found steady ground, and had taken to privacy almost immediately. 

Alistair and Wainwright end up sitting on his bed, the gunsmith on his stomach as Alistair touches and kisses what seemed every inch of his mark.

“A gentleman might get a right jealous of attention like that.” He chuckles, and Alistair sits up with his own amused look.

“Well, I suppose I shall have to rectify this posthaste, shall I not?” Wainwright all but blinks, and Alistair has settled beside him as if they had done this a thousand times.

“I suppose you should.” Wainwright sits up slightly when he notices Hammerlock shift, clearly becoming uncomfortable in his prosthetics. “Do you need some assistance ?”

“I can manage a few hours longer.” Alistair shrugs, finding the slight frown that crosses his partners’ face almost adoring. Mhm, calling him partner so soon? Hammerlock knew that soulmate bonds could be potent, but never before had he ever thought of such a thing happening to himself. He would have laughed, shaking from his thoughts when he feels his prosthetic arm be worked free with its’ quiet pop. “Winny, a heads up if you don’t mind!”

“Winny?” Alistair can’t help the faint blush that flares up, the nickname having slipped without a thought.

“I...you see.” Any excuses that he could have come up with fade when the other starts shaking, clearly holding back some laughter.

“Ain’t never had a nickname before...I like it.” This man and his endless enthusiasm for all things, were most definitely going to be the end of Alistair, absolutely. 

“Yes, Wainwright is a fair mouthful, and I find that Winny, well it suits you, my dear.” Wainwright is now the one blushing, Alistair removing his leg prosthesis with practiced ease, setting both it and the arm on the bedside table. Hammerlock barely sits back before he is swept up into Wainwright’s arms. They shuffle a little bit, and soon Hammerlock has his head tucked into the crook of Wainwright’s neck, rather appreciating how soft the other was against his scrawny back. He feels soft and slightly calloused hands brushing along the designs of his mark, hearing a soft chuckle as Wainwright traces his own gun. The hunter doesn’t even feel himself falling asleep, having never felt so unguarded and safe to do so. It’s the first time in years he sleeps without nightmares or pain and knew that hopefully, this would be the beginning of something wonderful.

[bellarke-angel]

Run Away With Me.

Thank you @lenacarstairspotterstewart​ for giving me the idea and everyone in the group chat that wanted me to write it! Here it is, enjoy!

The cock of a gun was what caught Clarke’s attention. The blonde had been searching for the culprit that had knocked her out just a few moments ago. Her first instinct was to find Bellamy, but she figured whomever was after them was coming after him too. Funnily enough, she was right, she heard the muffled grumble of a man she knew all too well by now. Bellamy. Clarke found herself moving quickly towards him only to stop in her tracks as her eyes fell on the scene before her. 

One of their own people, Dax, holding a gun aimed perfectly at a defenseless Bellamy scrambling on the floor in a daze. Clarke already knew without even asking that the jobi nuts had affected him too - the poor man losing his grasp on reality, begging for Dax to get it over and done with. Clarke had never seen the brunette so vulnerable, he always sat on his high horse, screaming “Whatever the hell we want!” standing by allowing everyone to become reckless, putting themselves at risk. Yet here he was, walls down, broken and weak. Heart on his sleeve. Clarke raised her gun, praying she had good aim. It was safe to say she was terrified.

“Put the gun down, Dax.” Clarke demanded, trying to make her voice stern. She didn’t want to hurt anyone, but if Dax stepped over the line she’d have no choice...she couldn’t let Bellamy get hurt. Even though the camp would be a lot easier to control if he wasn’t around.

The boy with the scruffy blonde hair chuckled wickedly, as though she’d told a joke. The gun he once held at Bellamy, now pointed at her. Clarke’s fearful eyes flickered to the brunette on the floor, gulping as she saw him looking around in confusion. The man gradually crashing back down to reality. Assessing the situation.

“You should’ve stayed down there, Clarke. I tried not to kill you.” 

Clarke’s eyebrows furrowed, was she supposed to say thank you? She shifted the gun on her shoulder, wincing as she noticed how heavy the weapon actually was. They didn’t have this type of weaponry on the Ark. Dax’s voice pulled her eyes back to him once more, the boy’s eyes wide-eyed and crazed. Clarke hadn’t understood why he’d become like this, not long ago he and Bellamy had been slapping each others back in victory.

“And here you are...Somway said, I can’t have any witnesses.”

His words caused her eyes to widen, she recalled hearing the name before...from the Ark. Clarke’s blue eyes returned to Bellamy, frowning.

“What is he talking about?”

Bellamy’s head fell with shame, she could tell he knew exactly why they were in this position. The boy let out an exasperated sigh, “It was set up...he gave me the gun to shoot the Chancellor.”

Clarke could practically feel her body steam with anger, they’d all been thrown down here like test subjects and yet one of them has already betrayed them. Clarke inched closer, daring Dax to shoot, the gun held tight in her grip.

“Walk away and I won’t kill you.” The blonde boy offered, gesturing to the way she had come. It was obvious he’d only come here to take one life, not two. 

Clarke knew it was a good deal, her life spared, but she refused to leave Bellamy. He may have shot the Chancellor, but she knew somewhere in him was good, he didn’t deserve to be left dying in the woods of a planet that had once thought was dead. Clarke was growing impatient, anger laced in her tone as she spat,

“Put. It. Down.”

“Your choice.”

Both Bellamy and Clarke knew what that meant, the blonde quick to pull the trigger only for it to be a blank, nothing but gunpowder shooting out of the gun. Clarke moved fast, the blonde ducking behind a tree just in time as a bullet rang out throughout the forest. The echo of the gunshot ringing through her ears, the blonde having to cup them for a moment, trying to catch her breath from the shock of almost being shot. Another shot was fired, the sound of the boy heading her way caused her heart to race, only to hear an exclaim from the man she’d been protecting.

“No!” 

Clarke peered around the tree to find Bellamy had tackled the tall boy to the ground, clearly taking Dax by surprise. Bellamy swinging the first few punches as Dax struggled beneath him. The boy quickly gaining leverage and Bellamy took a punch that was bound to leave a mark. Clarke fiddled with the jack of her gun attempting to find a bullet that would actually work, the blonde gave up quickly hearing Bellamy struggle. She knew Dax was winning. 

Sucking in a short breath she ran at him, trying her best to hit him across the head with the butt of a gun. She’d seen it somewhere in a movie she’d watched with Wells once.

“Get off of him!” She screamed, by now Clarke was praying someone heard them, although she knew no-one was around. She and Bellamy had come alone.

Dax reacted fast, seemingly knowing Clarke would come to Bellamy’s defense, the blonde taking a blow to the stomach the force knocking her to the ground. It felt as though he’d sucked the oxygen from her body. The distraction had allowed Bellamy to take a hold of a foreign metal object, swinging it round quickly to sink into Dax’s neck. It startled them all, Bellamy watching as blood poured from the mans neck...the boy fighting to save himself. Clarke watched in horror as the life seeped from the boys eyes...it was his own fault, but the thought of them losing yet another one of their people, it still hit hard.

Bellamy was first to haul himself up, staggering as he struggled to the nearest tree to Clarke. Blood smeared over his face from the hits he’d taken, the wounds stinging but that felt like the least of his problems. The brunette’s muddy brown eyes gazed over to the blonde who had cradled her stomach in agony, pulling herself up to lean against his shoulder. The pair both struggling to breath, if they knew their day would turn out like this, they wouldn’t have come.

“Thank god...you’re okay.” Clarke managed, wishing the pain to go away, but thankful Bellamy came out of the fight alive. But when her blue eyes connected with his brown orbs, all she saw was pain. He didn’t appear to be glad that he was still breathing. 

Bellamy’s eyes averted hers, training on the dirt on the ground, avoiding sight of the lifeless body. “No, I’m not...my mother—the things I’ve done...she wanted me to be better.”

Clarke felt her heart break a little as she watched him crumble, tears burning in his eyes. She wanted to pull him closer, tell him everything would be alright, that they’d do good in the end but none of them knew that for certain. But Bellamy allowing her to see the good guy within him, it gave her hope that from now on, things in the camp would be different. Their leadership would be stronger.

“Bellamy—” Clarke muttered in almost a whisper but he cut her off.

“All I do is hurt people.” Bellamy paused for a moment, all his pain building up and pouring out at once. He sniffed sharply, before murmuring his next words that made Clarke realize how much Bellamy truly hated who he’d become. “I’m a monster. It should’ve been me lying there, dead.”

Silence hung in the air for a moment or two, the blonde saddened by his words. She didn’t want him to die, he had a sister who adored him, people who would follow him into a fire and Clarke...who didn’t want to face the future without him. But if it wasn’t for him taking Dax’s life, she’d have been dead too.

“You saved my life today,” Clarke took a hold of Bellamy’s mud covered hands, ensuring that he looked her in the eye to show she was telling the truth. He needed hope and that’s what she was going to give him. “You may be a total ass half the time, but...” Clarke hesitated on whether to continue, “I need you. If you want forgiveness, fine. I’ll give that to you. You’re forgiven. But we have to head back, we have to face them.”

It seemed as though Bellamy clung to those words, she could see the sadness slowly fading away, her words meaning the world to him. Bellamy shifted, his thumb subconsciously running over the back of her hand. The blonde tried to ignore the flutter that it caused in the pit of her stomach, knowing deep down she had a soft spot for the brown haired boy. A look danced in Bellamy’s eye for a moment, before it dissipated, walls back up once again. 

“Like you faced your mom?” He said harshly, causing Clarke to look away for a moment before he sucked in a breath, pulling Clarke closer so her full attention was on him, “Come with me.”

“What?” 

“Just you and me, Clarke. Screw everyone else, it’s not like they need us.Let’s just...go.” Bellamy’s voice was desperate, hoping she would go along with it. Come with him and spend their days on Earth together, not having to deal with the people of the Ark when they come back down.

For a split moment Clarke wants to say no, to claim it’s a ridiculous idea to say everyone would miss them if they up and left. But even Clarke knew that wasn’t true, they weren’t special, they were simply just two out of ninety-nine other people that had come to this planet. No-one was forcing them to stay, of course Octavia was one of Bellamy’s worries. But right now the girl didn’t appreciate anything he’d done for her. They could go, maybe just for a little while.

“Yes.”

Bellamy’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, he’d been expecting a no and some kind of speech to get him to come back with her. Which he’d have gone along with anyway because after today the idea of Clarke getting hurt without him there to protect her. Terrified him as much as it scared him the idea of him losing Octavia. Bellamy grunted as he pulled himself to his feet, grimacing because of his injuries, before holding a hand out with his signature charming smirk.

“Then let’s start our adventure, princess. Together.”  

Clarke already knew leaving the hundred, her friends...it was a big step. But coming to Earth, she wasn’t going to allow herself to be some test subject reduced to a cell when they come down. She’d allow the wristband to remain active as long as she could, as much as she hated her mother, she would spare her the heartache of thinking her child was dead. Clarke slipped her hand in Bellamy’s which somehow managed to fit perfectly, a pearly smile on her face as she stood before him, excited for what’s to come.

[life-0r-death]

POWER PLAY

(for @ygo5dsmonth2020. Day 8: Further Turbo Dueling King, the Master of Faster, lover of ramen, and one hell of a (jack)ass. Today we’re celebrating the King Himself: Jack Atlas!)

Definitely took this differently as the focus is on Jack, but not from his perspective. This is actually a fic idea I’ve been mulling over in my mind, so maybe this will finally kick me into gear to work on it. But, as always, WARNING: SPOILERS FOR 5DS

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Yusei waited, standing behind the cargo building while the waves crashed against the Satellite docks. Ahead of him, Jack Atlas crouched over a tiny boat that held a struggling boy. Yusei recognized him, Rally’s voice thundering in the empty space.

“Why are you doing this, Jack?” Rally tried to pull away from the blonde, his body twisting and turning as he was bound in ropes. Yusei could not see Jack’s face, but he knew he held a neutral expression. It was the one he always wore when he did something he did not particularly enjoy but knew he had to perform.

“Struggle anymore and I’ll throw you to the sea now.” Jack mumbled, his hands keeping the boy down in the boat. Rally stopped struggling. Yusei also could not see his face, but he heard Rally’s sniffles as Jack continued his ministrations. He made sure the boat was stable before he would push it off.

“Please, Jack. Tell me why.” Rally sniffled.

Jack’s back tightened, Yusei could see it even from behind the building. He wanted to desperately to run out and smooth those lines, to wrap Jack in his arms and tell him it was alright. That everything was going to be alright and that Jack was special and no one would say otherwise.

But any interference would give the enemy exactly what he wanted.

“Just shut up.” Jack mumbled again, his voice strained. Yusei glanced around himself, looking into the shadows. Paradox had yet to show, which meant that Yusei had time to watch events unfold. Ones he had not been present for, had no way of ever knowing what really happened or how Jack felt. In his memory, he had been so angry with Jack. The blonde had betrayed him, throwing their friend out to the sea and making him choose between his life or his cards. Yusei took the obvious choice but lost his duel runner and dragon. At that moment, Jack had been vicious and arrogant, settling to become king no matter what.

But learning of the trials and pain Jack had undergone, following Godwin’s orders and being coaxed and goaded into taking the dragon, Yusei could not help but pity him. He could see it in his shoulders, in that neutral expression that hid his agony, in the way he hesitated before pushing Rally out. Everything Jack did had something else within. He was not doing this simply to gain his royal title: he was doing it to save his friends and family.

Who was to say Godwin would not have come after them? Who was to say that Godwin’s agenda would result in him doing far worse than coaxing Jack to steal and run?

A swirling vortex appeared to Yusei’s left. He pressed himself against the building, hiding in the shadows as a portal opened. The same one Yusei had run into to stop Paradox. Speaking of the Devil, the very man stepped forward, his hair dancing around his mask as he stared at Jack’s back. Yusei could not tell if he was smiling or frowning, but his gaze was locked on Jack. His intention was clear.

A hand came up. Within his palm sat a pistol, black, heavy, and deadly. Yusei’s heart hammered in his chest, his legs tingling as he moved before he even thought. He threw himself at Paradox once more, tackling him back toward the portal. The gun dropped from his hand, falling into the glittering, red space and disappearing into another time.

Everything seemed to slow down. As Yusei fell with his enemy toward the vortex, his head turned to catch one last glimpse of the former Jack Atlas. Unknowing of the danger lurking behind him, the blonde still remained turned away, his arm up as a screen flickered before him. Yusei could see himself talking with Jack. His face was younger with far less stress and anxiety. He was markerless and naive.

It was the moment when Jack had told him where Rally was. Had sent him coordinates to lure him into a deadly choice and to lose his trust in Jack for several years. At the time, Yusei had been angry and upset at Jack’s betrayal. Older and far wiser, Yusei’s heart yearned to fill the emptiness within Jack’s chest. All the pain and all the suffering he had gone through in this moment… Jack had willingly betrayed Yusei to protect him and to gain a new life. One he regretted every single day.

Yusei would eventually learn the truth. It would not be until years later when they would fight amongst themselves with the Crimson Dragon scolding their behavior. It would not be until after Jack bled and Yusei cried that they would reconcile their sufferings. It would be another year before Yusei would be brave enough to press his lips to Jack’s, testing the waters of their friendship. And it would not be until yet another year before Jack would ask Yusei to marry him, his smile and heart and soul so much calmer than it had been in all his life.

The pain they endured at this moment was worth it all. Worth the eventual desired outcome despite how much Paradox tried to change it. Jack’s death would change the whole future for without his regrets, the Signers never would have met. Satellite and Neo Domino City would never have connected. Yusei would have been none the wiser, his Stardust and duel runner still within his possession and Rally saved. Jack would have faded from their existence, thought to have run and never made a name for himself. Yusei would have thought what could have been… and the torture and anguish of the people of Satellite would have continued. Perhaps, the Earthbound Immortals may have even won their game. Yusei would not have obtained his power, and none of the Signers would be there to stop their reign. Jack had been key to starting it all… and his death could be the reason they all fell.

“You fool!” Paradox cried out, both of their bodies passing through the vortex. Jack began to turn but Yusei and Paradox were sucked within, the entrance closing most likely before Jack could have seen. In his hold, Paradox struggled to push Yusei away. Grunting, he clung on, keeping themselves pressed together. Like hell he would be thrown away to a random time!

“Don’t you want to save the future? Why do you fight this?” Another portal opened at the end of a long tunnel, their passage to head back to Yusei’s timeline. Still clinging, Yusei focused on the white opening. He could hear Akiza, Lua, Luka, Crow, and even Jack calling out his name. Their future was still intact… and Yusei had a husband waiting for him on the other side.

“The future isn’t set in stone! And—I won’t let you do it! I won’t let you kill Jack for an outcome you aren’t even sure will happen!”

“It’s one life, Yusei! One life for thousands! Surely you must see the greater good here?”

They drew closer to the opening. Yusei honed in on Jack’s voice, hearing the terror and anguish yet adoration and confidence in his return.

“I will change the future! I will make it so Synchros never destroy us. And I’ll do it with Jack by my side! I won’t ever let you harm him.” Yusei glared, his face inches from Paradox’ mask. He could not tell his expression, but the enemy stopped struggling. He let them fall into the bright white light, back to the future already created because Jack got to live.

Maybe, just maybe, Paradox was starting to believe in Yusei. Believe in him just as his friends did. As his husband did. Believe that he could change the outcome that lay ahead. And Yusei, despite not believing in himself, would do everything he could to make that outcome a reality.

Jack had suffered long enough in this world. He had lost too much, had given up more. Yusei would rather let hell reign over them all before he would let Jack be lost to his own darkness. And that thought pushed him forward—no propelled him forward. He wanted a future where he and Jack could be happy.

“I’ll hold you to it.”

White light made Yusei blind.

[itallstartedwithplayingvet]

Whumptober 2020 Day 6 - Please... + Stop, please

Fandom: Samurai Jack

Characters: Nago (OC), Demongo

Content Warnings: Ambushed, shot with arrows, blood (both human and nonhuman so some of it’s blue lol), field medicine, hunted, hiding, begging, screaming, loss of consciousness

Word Count: 2,402

Nago And The Demon summary:  Seeking revenge for the destruction of her village and murder of her people 15 years ago, a mysterious masked warrior known only as Nago revives a powerful demon who once served under the vile Aku. But to her surprise, she finds that the demon is almost completely powerless! Now in order to carry out her plan, Nago must travel the Earth with this demon, searching for a way to restore him to his former fearsome glory...

The quiet stillness of night was all around them. The sound of the tent’s fabric rustling gently in the breeze, the occasional snorts of Uma the horse, and of course, the crackling of the fire. Well, “fires”. Plural.

It had occurred to Nago in the past that perhaps they didn’t need a campfire, seeing as her demonic companion conveniently always had one of his own. Though, he hadn’t been very willing in the past to sit still and let her warm herself or cook her food over his head. Honestly, a part of her worried that food cooked over demonic flame might...have some unintended side effects if consumed.

Yet as her eyes wandered from orange flame to blue, a thought occurred to Nago. Something she might not have been willing to say some days ago.

“You know, you...actually weren’t so terrible back there.” 

The demon straightened up, and a sort of surprised and somewhat confused expression came over him. “...Was that...a compliment?”

Nago shrugged. “You may take it as one.” She tried in vain to hide the slight smirk that was working its way onto her face. “But really, I think you do have potential. By yourself, that is. And you’re starting to regain the few powers you had to start with.”

The demon’s eyes narrowed to electric blue slits. “What are you getting at, Mortal?” He hissed.

“I’m offering to help you, so don’t get cross with me.” Nago retorted, mirroring his glare. “What I’m getting at is training you to use those powers. So that you won’t need to reclaim the thousands of souls that were liberated from you. It would certainly save us time, and eliminate quite a bit of risk.”

The demon grimaced, clearly more than displeased with her offer. “And why should I rely on myself?”

Nago scoffed. “Why should you rely on yourself?! Because if you don’t, you have to rely on others! And you know just as well as I do that not everyone is reliable. If this alliance is going to work, you need to pull your own weight in battle.” She let out a heavy, exasperated sigh. “I was willing to forgive you for your uselessness when I first revived you. You had spent quite a long time dead, and your body had been reduced to literally nothing else but powder, congealed blood, and a severed hand. That took nearly all of the strength my ritual was able to give you just to piece back together. I didn’t blame you then for being weak, it was to be expected. But now that you’ve had enough time to rest, your powers are beginning to return, and you no longer have that excuse. You don’t have to be content to be powerless without your precious essence.”

Demongo scoffed in return, and turned his head to dismiss her. He stood up and walked away from the fire, his slender shadowy form soon becoming lost in the darkness of the night. Well, save for the bright blue flame atop his head. That was quite easy to follow with one’s eye.

Nago shook her head, content to let him wander for a bit while stewing in his anger. She knew from experience that he never actually went far, and he’d always returned by at most the following morning. He knew he wouldn’t get far without her, and she knew it, too. She smiled to herself as she began to stand up, thinking she might test her stealth by following him. If she were to jump out suddenly and startle him, well, he certainly deserved at least that.

But something distracted her. Above the sounds of the crackling fire, she’d heard the subtle rustling of grass just above her. She froze up on instinct, and slowly glanced towards the cliffs above the camp. Shadow blanketed the rocks, but glistening in the moonlight, Nago could see the pointed tip of an arrow.

Her eyes grew wide. At once, she leapt from her place in the light of the fire and sought shelter in the shadows. An arrow whizzed by her and landed unsettlingly close to her head. She saw her own face reflected in the sharpened arrowhead. She looked just as frightened as she felt. Silently cursing her demonic companion’s decision to wander away from camp, and then praising his convenient light, she spotted him quickly and ran towards him on all fours, keeping low to the ground in the hopes of not being spotted. A few more arrows whizzed past her, embedding themselves in the ground mere inches from where she had been. Hiding was no good. Whatever was hunting them, it had either impressive night vision, or impeccable hearing. Perhaps both.

As Nago cleared the distance between her and Demongo, realization struck her, and she began to curse the convenient light of his that she had only seconds ago praised. He was the most obvious target on the plains now. She was prepared to tackle him to the ground and extinguish his flame if need be.

As she drew closer, he seemed to pick up on the rustling of grass, and turned around to face her. And it was then that an arrow struck him in the center of his chest. He seemed to fall as if in slow motion, his fanged mouth agape in a soundless cry of alarm. However, he didn’t quite fall immediately, instead merely stumbling backward, his hands moving to the arrow as he simply stared at it in utter shock.

“Get down!” Nago cried. Alas, her warning had come too late. Just as the words left her lips, another arrow struck the demon’s abdomen. He stumbled again, and this time turned to look at her. In the next instant, a third arrow struck his side, followed by another, and another...each striking in close proximity to the one before. At last, he fell. With one clawed hand outstretched towards her, he fell onto his chest.

Nago grimaced, knowing that such a fall would only push the arrows deeper into his flesh. With another panicked glance at the cliffs above, Nago leapt onto the demon’s body and frantically began to drag him away towards the opening of a cave at the base of the cliffs beside them. She made haste, but before she could reach the comparative safety of the cave, an arrow embedded itself firmly in her right forearm. She let out a pained cry of alarm, and released the limp body of her demon to clutch at the wound. A second arrow whizzed past and merely grazed her leg due to a quick reaction to pull it towards her. With adrenaline fueling her, she resumed dragging her companion along, and darted into the cave. She didn’t stop moving once inside, and only came to rest after fleeing to a small crevice in the rock wall. She and the demon she was nearly certain must now be dead sought refuge in a small secluded chamber hidden behind the crevice.

Panting heavily, Nago cringed at the sight of an arrow protruding from her arm. She didn’t quite feel it now, thanks to the adrenaline racing through her system, but she was still lucid enough to know she needed to do something about it. She could remember being taught that embedded objects should not be removed in the field, as doing so was likely to cause further blood loss, but she also knew that the wound would not heal if the arrow remained. Gritting her teeth, she took hold of the arrow with her free hand, and tugged firmly. It came out with some committed effort, and she at once cast it aside and got to work on tearing her clothes to create makeshift bandages. Tying the cloth around her wound as tightly as she could manage without completely cutting off circulation, Nago at last leaned back against the wall and took a moment to catch her breath. The graze on her leg was much less severe. She could afford to leave it be for a  moment.

It was only as the adrenaline began to wear off that she noticed a dim blue light within the chamber. Thinking at first that it was some manner of luminescent rock or fungus, as her narrowed vision cleared, she saw that the source of the light was the demon she had begun to think must have perished from his wounds. But that wouldn’t be lit if he were dead or unconscious...then that must mean...

Demongo groaned, and wearily opened his eyes to meet her bewildered gaze. 

“...How...” Nago trailed off, for a moment too shocked to complete her response. “...How in the hell are you still alive?”

“...Does it matter?” He replied, his voice strained. 

Nago had to concede that at the moment, it didn’t. Instead, she rose to her feet and approached him, examining the wounds he’d sustained. She could hardly believe what she saw. “...Every single one of these should have been a kill shot...” She muttered in awe. 

“Nnngh...pocket...dimension...” The demon whined.

Nago thought this at first to be delirium. She braced him against the wall, and turning around, retrieved her arrow from the floor. She pried the weakened demon’s mouth open, and placed the arrow’s wooden body inside. “I need to remove these. Bite down when you feel the need to scream.”

The demon’s eyes widened in fear...but he nodded slowly. Nago firmly gripped the body of the arrow--or what little of it still remained outside of his body--and pulled. At once she was met with the demon’s muffled screams, which only grew higher in pitch until the arrow finally left his body. Nago immediately clamped her hand over the wound, expecting a sudden arterial spray...but paused when she realized that the blue blood leaving the wound merely oozed rather than spurted. Now she was completely baffled. Assuming his internal anatomy was anything like that of a human’s, the arrow should have struck some manner of vital organ...yet it seemed to have only pierced skin and muscle.

“...There’s something very wrong about this.” Nago muttered as she began wrapping cloth around the wound. “What are you made of?”

He spat the arrow out. The wood now bore deep grooves from his fangs. “I...told you...” He wheezed, one slender finger pointing to his chest. “Pocket... dimension...”

“...Is...that were you once kept your captive warriors?” Nago at last began to realize.

The demon nodded.

“And this dimension in your torso, I assume, also shields your fragile innards from damage?”

He nodded again.

“Well...were we not hiding for our lives from what’s probably a very skilled bounty hunter, that would be absolutely fascinating.” She retrieved the arrow she’d extracted from his chest and placed it into his mouth. “But now...it’s just lucky. Brace yourself.” She gave this last bit of warning just before she tugged a second arrow from his flesh. The muffled screams came louder this time, and he thrashed somewhat, nearly causing her to lose her grip. Still, she managed to free the arrow from his flesh. She quickly got to work on bandaging the wound, and then moved to the third arrow. Before she could grab it, however, the dim light began to fade. Panicked, she saw that her ally was beginning to lose consciousness.

Nago slapped the side of his face a few times. “Stay awake, damn you!” She hissed at him. “I can’t see what I’m doing without that flame of yours.”

He grimaced and whined, but at last opened his eyes, and the flame atop his head grew brighter, though Nago noted that it was still a bit dimmer than usual. But it would have to do. 

“Good. Thank you. Now, brace.” She gave the third arrow a firm yank, wrenching it free of its target. In the same instant, she heard the snapping of wood and a short, high-pitched cry.

She frantically placed her hand over his mouth, and listened intently for footsteps upon the rock outside. Thankfully, there was nothing. She gave a quiet sigh of relief. Not wasting any time, she patched the wound and attempted to place the third arrow into his mouth. However, he turned his head away from her, his mouth held shut. She sighed again. “There’s only two left. If I don’t remove them, you won’t heal properly.”

When she reached for the fourth arrow, the demon suddenly began to beg. “No, please...stop...Nago, please don’t--!”

She seized this opportunity to wrench the fourth arrow free, and immediately clamped her hand back over his mouth to muffle his cries.

“Stop it...stop...” He wheezed as she finished bandaging the lastest wound. “Nago...please...”

“Look.” She gestured to her bandaged arm, the cloth tied around it already stained with red. “If I can work on you with a wound like this in my dominant arm, you can stay awake for one more of these.” She took his face in her hand, forcing him to look her in the eye. “After that, you can pass out for as long as you want. Deal?”

He nodded weakly, and reluctantly allowed her to place another arrow into his mouth. “Brace.” His eyes shut tightly as soon as she said it. With one final act of strength, she removed the final arrow. The demon gasped sharply when she’d finished, and slumped forward over her shoulder. Reluctant, yet moved to pity by his reactions, Nago gingerly placed a hand on his back. It wasn’t long before he fell completely limp, and the light from his flame went out as it became mere smoke. At once, it was terribly dark within the chamber.

Nago leaned him back against the wall, and moved to the space next to him...so she could better watch the crevice that lead into their chamber, is what she told herself. But she didn’t watch for long. Her arm ached and burned terribly, and the exhaustion of her mad dash into the cave had begun to catch up with her. She leaned her head back against the wall and closed her eyes. They would find a way out in the morning...if there was one.

Perhaps she had made a grave mistake in reviving this demon. For ever since, the price on her head had been increasing at an alarming rate. She wondered as she drifted off, how many more times they would be attacked by bounty hunters looking to make a quick buck.

[phoebehalliwell]

I loved your cataloguing all of prue’s potential kids!! Like the detail that went into it is *chef kiss* I can’t wait to see what story you come with with Sheridan and Warren! Also, that post got me thinking, what do you think would have happened had Andy become a whitelighter and come back? How do you think that would have effected his and Prue’s hypothetical kids? Like would one of them been the twice-blessed do you think?

it’s 2.2k under the cut bc idk how to shut up

okay so for a whitelighter!andy & prue i think The Move would be like in the s3 finale the source has tempus reverse time but then like idk knocks out leo or whatever because he knows that without him there both prue and piper will die from their injuries what he doesn’t know is that there’s a certain other whitelighter who will watch from the fringes check in but not interfere for risk of being caught going against the rules but when he sees piper and prue inches from death and no way leo can get to them in time, andy has to make a choice. he has to heal them. oh but now we have the elders all pissy because whitelighters are only supposed to work with their own charges their not supposed to run around freelance healing other people’s charges that’d be chaos so clearly there needs to be some consequences and andy’s ready to like gracefully take whatever’s dealt out to him and prue’s like I Think The Fuck Not and like goes to bat for andy talking about how she would have been dead without him how the charmed ones would be gone without him really rains hell down on the elders so they’re like ᵒᵏᵃʸ ᶠᶦⁿᵉ ʷʰᵃᵗᵉᵛᵉʳ ʷᵉ ʷᵒⁿ’ᵗ ᵖᵘⁿᶦˢʰ ʰᶦᵐ ᶦᵍ ʸᵒᵘ ᵈᵒⁿ’ᵗ ʰᵃᵛᵉ ᵗᵒ ᵇᵉ ˢᵒ ʳᵘᵈᵉ blah blah blah so prue and andy talk in the heavens and it’s sorta awkward at first bc prue’s like so. you’re not dead. that’s good. bc you know. you’re not dead. and andy’s like yeah. but like he’s reading the subtext here bc he Knows prue and she’s saying i’m so happy your alive but i’m really hurt that you never told me. that i mourned you and thought you were gone forever but you weren’t you were right there. and andy’s not entirely sure what to say bc like. what was he supposed to do. and he understands how prue feels but he couldn’t have just orbed in like hi i’m a whitelighter and you’ll never see me again it was better for prue to mourn and move on so she that had a shot at happiness but now he’s face to face with her and what i thought it would be better for you? it sounds hollow so instead of trying to explain himself he just says the first thing that comes to mind i never stopped loving you and he’s ready to orb back into the ether or whatever bc while the elders won’t punish him for saving prue & piper they’re still not jazzed and he’s still not allowed to interact with them when prue kisses him and tell him like i lost you once i’m not about to do it again marry me. and like they’re married within the hour bc by now the charmed ones have done this before they can do it on a speed round mode and the elders are like hey we said- and prue’s like sorry i can’t hear you over the sound of holy matrimony suck my balls blah blah blah like end season 3 i’m not sure when prue would have her first child though and if it would predate wyatt bc like. y’know her career’s still very much in its early stages she’s still on the up & up and her and andy haven’t actually like been together in a minute so there’s a lot of catching up to do whereas like piper and leo have consecutively been together longer she’s owned p3 longer than prue’s been a photographer so she’s already p locked in on that & she can do her job sitting down which is a plus. so i think in a whitelighter andy au wyatt will still be born first but patricia will be born within the same year, maybe six months after wyatt and i don’t think wyatt would really be like the twiced blessed bc like patricia would be Right There and he’s just no longer special enough to really warrant a prophecy y’know? i also think in this au it would take longer for prue and andy to move out bc y’know like again they just got andy back but i think she would still be out of the house by the end of season four beginning of season five ish i also think like the thing they really didn’t consider is that their kid’s gonna be half whitelighter so when piper’s like yeah have you vomited orbs yet lmao prue’s like wait. especially bc like andy’s only been a whitelighter for like a year or two and they’re both like oh word what does this mean and like they have leo and sorta piper to answer their questions but it’s sorta like they’ve got this vibe that no matter what happens like we’re in this together we have each other’s back we can do anything real power couple vibe they’re very like sappy like they’re aware they’re sappy & they’re not gonna stop.

& then a bit on sheridan & warren bc in the specific au i’m gonna write them in it still starts the same as it did here but i am keeping prue’s canon death in s3. and so like s4 the twins are still toddlers and i think piper and phoebe would still offer to watch them on like weekdays or whatever bc they still have a bedroom in the manor and jack still sorta lives in a bachelor pad and like the kids do have magic powers and jack definitely is there more and shows up more bc those are his kids and one day he shows up and there’s a demon attack and he like knew prue fought demons but he had never y’know. been in the line of fire so to speak and he’s like does this happen a lot and piper’s like yeah sort of and phoebe’s like there’s no need to worry warren and sheridan are totally safe here and jack’s like really because the scorched wallpaper begs to differ and piper’s like we understand your panic but like we can keep them safe and jack’s like no i don’t think you understand my panic those are my sons they’re my only kids and they’ve already lost prue i’m not. i’m taking them with me. and like the girls get where he’s coming from (paige is also here she just doesn’t really know jack so she’s hanging out with leo in the kitchen like 😐) basically they bind warren & sheridan’s powers and phoebe modifies the dominus trinus (now the dominus dualis ig) and tells jack that when they’re ready this will give them their magic back. and so like he moves them into his place but it’s not built for kids and so he’s on the hunt for a new place but also like a new jobs bc like bucklands blows without prue and almost everything there reminds him of her and he really just needs a fresh start so when he gets a job offer in japan he packs his bags & the three of them are off and then it’s like maybe four years in japan and then we’ll say he goes to new york and that lasts maybe two years and now warren and sheridan are like in elementary school and he knows the hopping from place to place isn’t like good for them and he really needs to settle down for a place that’s gonna be like Home and he knows he has to return to san francisco. so 2007 he’s back in san francisco he does not cross paths with the halliwells again and he sorta feels like he should bc like sheridan & warren Are Witches that’s like part of who they are and like he and prue had agreed before that they would raise them with magic because prue wishes she had known she was a witch she had always thought that had she had come earlier to the craft she could have done more good maybe not lost as many people and jack knows he has to unbind their magic eventually especially bc that was what prue wanted and like prue was always right but like. fuck dude. his kids were wizards. witches, whatever. like how is he supposed to raise kids with magic. like should he just go back to the manor and be like hi raise my magic kids for me he doesn’t want to do that those are his kids he doesn’t want to dump them off somewhere much less the place where their mom died so basically he keeps postponing it he keeps blowing it off and the kids are growing up normal & safe but still it’s gnawing at him bc it’s not what prue wanted and he doesn’t want to send them into the world unprepared and like sheridan & warren are like sixteen now and he’s like fuck. fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. what am i doing what am i gonna do i don’t know a goddamn thing so he’s like fuck it. hi god it’s me jack. i don’t believe in you and i don’t really believe in praying but here i am on my knees bc i’m lost. i think i’ve fucked up but i don’t know how to make it better, i want to do the right thing but i don’t even know what that is, would love some like. guidance. or something. i guess. and he like waits because like magic is real so like. hey god. do something please. and nothing happens and he’s like whatever this is why i never went to church blah blah blah That Night he dreams he’s at p3, which is weird because it’s been closed for like eight years and jack hasn’t thought about it in like twice that long but that’s where he is. and it’s like empty and a bit messy like there’s been a concert but now it’s late and everyone’s gone home. everyone except him, and the raven haired woman at the bar. prue. and listen jack doesn’t cry okay he doesn’t saw marley and me and like didn’t even sniffle (lie, he cried) but he sees prue and well uhh he’s crying a lil bc like fuck. he misses her. and he misses her confidence and the way she always seemed to have the right answer and could always manage to save the day and he misses her. and he’s like i hope you’re here to answer my prayers and she smiles at him bc he’s always so glib and stupid and it drives her up the wall but she still loves it about him and she’s like actually, i am. and idk she talks with him and quells his fears and he’s like how do i even bring that up to them he guys you’re wizards -witches. yeah that. like how do i even broach that. and prue’s like get the spell. and be ready. and she just sorta vanishes and he’s like cool are you gonna save the day like you always do but he can already feel she just isn’t there anymore and he’s like okay :/ and he wakes up and it’s like three am and he wants to go back to bed the whole magic thing is just niggling at the back of his mind so he gets out of bed and hunts down his old briefcase he had from all the way back at bucklands and finds just like a blank unlabelled folder and takes a deep breath and in it are some old photos of prue and him from the 90s and a thick folded up piece of paper with a torn edge and he carefully unfolds it and in like a really nice script is the unbinding spell and then like warren and sheridan are like dad? why are you awake right now and he’s like why are you awake right now? and they twins sorta share a look and warren’s like weird dream and sheridan’s looking over his dad’s shoulder and sees the pictures of prue and is like is this mom? and he takes the pictures and jack’s like yeah those are from. they’re from a long time ago. and sheridan and warren are looking at these pictures and like they wanna ask something but aren’t sure how to say it so jack goes first and he’s like your mom wanted you to have this and hands them the spell and they’re like what. is this? and he’s like its a spell. to unbind your powers. magic powers. i know i should have told you earlier and i’m sorry but i- are ghost real? what? like. can dead people... y’know... and jack breaks into a smile bc he’s so glad that they actually got to like. meet prue. have at least one memory of her. and so sheridan and warren take the spell and are like. so do we read it? and jack’s like idk i’m not a witch yeah i guess so y’know  hear now the words of the witches, the secrets we hid in the night. the oldest of gods are invoked here. the great work of magic is sought. in this night and in this hour, i call upon the ancient power. bring your powers to we brothers two, we want the power, give us the power. and like the apartment shakes and idk the lights flicker and the brothers are like cool. now what. and jack’s like i don’t know. guess we’ll find out.

[eirian-houpe]

Disparate Pathways - Chapter 9

Fandom: Once Upon a Time (TV)

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death

Relationships: Belle/Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold

Characters: Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold, Belle (Once Upon a Time), Maurice | Moe French, Gaston (Once Upon a Time), Spinster(s) (Once Upon a Time: Think Lovely Thoughts), Mad Hatter | Jefferson, Blue Fairy | Mother Superior, Black Fairy (Once Upon a Time), Baelfire | Neal Cassidy, Emma Swan, Prince Charming | David Nolan, Colette (Once Upon a Time), Red Riding Hood | Ruby, Widow Lucas | Granny, Dove (Once Upon a Time), Captain Hook | Killian Jones, Wicked Witch of the West | Zelena

Additional Tags: Abusive Parents, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Violence, Gun Violence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Torture, Dubious Consent, Eventual Smut, UST, First Time, Drama & Romance, Kidnapping, Extortion

Summary: Gold has a past, a past that he has rejected, but it seems one that will not let him go.  Belle, daughter of Governor Maurice French has been kidnapped, along with her mother, and just as the authorities raid the organization that is holding her hostage, decides to make her own bid for freedom, unknowingly derailing an undercover sting, and Agent Milnor has not choice but to take her into 'protective custody,' but is he all that he seems?  As the threads of the story grow more tangled and the threat to Belle, and to Gold, her appointed protector, grow ever more real, a growing, mutual attraction makes everything far more desperate and far too personal for Gold to ignore what he knows to be the truth.

Read Previous chapters on AO3

[Chapter 1]  [Chapter 2]  [Chapter 3]  [Chapter 4]  [Chapter 5]  [Chapter 6] [Chapter 7]  [Chapter 8]

Chapter 9 - On Whose Side

Even with his feet firmly on the ground, Jefferson felt less than confident. They still had a long way to go, and a light flickering on inside the house made his appeal to Belle all the more urgent. He supposed he should thank their good luck that at least the grounds at the rear of the house appeared empty, though he was under no illusion that appearances could be more than deceptive. However, ensured of their safety, at least for a few moments more, he turned his attention back to the diminutive young woman he was trying to save.

“Lower yourself down,” he instructed, his voice barely above an urgent hiss. “Wrap your arms and legs around the supporting post and slide down to me.” He saw the fear in her even before she spoke and added,  “Don’t worry, I’ll catch you.”

“I… I can’t,” she stammered, but he shook his head, becoming aware that he’d been counting in his head, anticipating the moment when whomever it was had turned on the light inside the house would reach them.

“You have to. You’ve done the hardest part. This bit is easy.”

She shook her head again, and he pressed his lips into a flat line, controlling his increasing worry, and as encouragingly as he could, coaxed,, “All you have to do is slip over the edge and find the post with your legs first, then your arms once you have lowered yourself. You can do this.”

He saw the moment that she grabbed her resolve, and moved to position himself by the post where he would be best able to fulfill his promise to catch her, mindful, of course, of her injured hands.

“That’s it,” he crooned as she began to hang off the side of the awning by her elbows. “Just a little further.”

With almost a whimper, she practically dropped onto the pole, and he moved to catch her, thinking she would miss and fall, but somehow she managed to slam into the support and wrap her arms and legs around it so tightly that she didn’t move at all lower from the spot to which she had propelled herself.

“Ease up,” he murmured to her, not quite able to reach. “Let yourself slide lower. I’ve got you, I promise.”

Lips still pursed, he watched as, inch by inch, she slipped closer to the ground; closer to his reach. As soon as he was able he put a hand to her back, as much to assure her of his presence as anything else, and after only a few more, agonizingly slow, downward inches, she twisted her body as she let go with her arms, launching herself at him.

Anyone with lesser reflexes would have been toppled by the way she suddenly slammed into his chest, her arms wrapping tightly around his neck and shoulders, but some part of Jefferson had half expected such a thing. He sensed she was nearing the edge of what she could take in one night, and they still had to get out of the compound. He wrapped his arms around her back and for a moment held her tightly, reassuring, “You did good… great.”

Then, he lowered her to the ground and gently prized her grasp from him, though he kept contact with her.

She surprised him, asking in a shaky voice, “What now?”

“Now we get the hell out of here,” he told her, shooting her as boyish of a grin as he could muster under the circumstances. Then he pointed to the trees that lined the open expanse of the grounds. “We cross to the shadows of those trees, and follow to the wall. Stay low, and stay by me.”

She nodded and moved slightly closer as he hooked one arm through hers, and he saw her cringe as he pulled the gun from where he’d holstered it.

“Just in case,” he pledged, hoping he wasn’t making an empty promise.  “Ready?”

As she nodded, he let go of her arm and slipped his own across her back to guide her as they crossed the back lawn. He tried to shorten his strides and still maintain a good speed, especially when they crossed the less shadowed patch of grass where light from the upstairs windows spilled out into the night. They reached the shelter of the trees without incident, and though he breathed a sigh of relief, he knew they had to keep moving. It wouldn’t take long for the two men who had been shooting at them to find their way down - unless of course they’d run into trouble on the way. The thought should have brought him some measure of comfort, but with the way everything had gone down since he learned of the takedown, he had little faith in gaining help from the authorities.

He led Belle deeper into the darkness beneath the trees, heading for where he knew the house was surrounded by high walls, but where he also knew there was an electronic gate for which - as a member of this ‘criminal elite’ - he had a key.

“Let’s hope they haven’t cut the power,” he muttered under his breath.

Belle turned to frown at him. “To what?” she asked.

He shook his head. “It’s all right,” he said. “Not far to go now.”

He could tell she was tiring fast, and after everything she’d been through that evening he was surprised that she wasn’t an utter wreck. He thought she was probably running on adrenaline, and that once she came down from that, then there would be problems. He had to get her somewhere safe, and fast.

The thought made him look down at his phone as he pulled it from his pocket and flicked to the secure email account. Damn it, Gold! he thought vehemently as his message went unanswered. Fine then, he answered himself. We’ll just have to do this the hard way.

**

Jefferson’s luck held as far as the gate was concerned, but not so much with what lay beyond. He heard the voices even as he pressed the fob against the gate sensor and winced as the whir and click seemed inordinately loud in the surrounding hush. He tugged the gate free, and wedged a nearby stone between the gate and the post to keep it from closing fully as he turned to Belle and tucked her into the dip made between the brick gatepost and the wall.

“Stay here,” he told her urgently. “Stay quiet… I’m not sure which side those guys out there are on, so…” he frowned to himself as he tugged a second gun out of a pocket and pulled back the slide.  He had no clue whether Belle had even handled a weapon before, or whether she’d be able to use it with her hands in their current state, but he wasn’t about to leave her defenseless while he dealt with whatever awaited them outside. “...if anyone other than me comes through that gate… don’t wait, just squeeze the trigger.”

He handed the gun down to her, flicking off the safety as he did, and watched as she looked at it with near revulsion, but she nodded, and cradled it between her trembling hands.

“I’ll be back,” he told her softly, and nodding added, “You’re doing great, Belle.” Then, without another word, he turned, pulled open the gate and slipped through.

The narrow street beyond was poorly lit, but he wasn’t about to let that lull him into a false sense of security, though it did offer him a measure of protection as he took in the scene. There were two men, both wearing vests that identified them as FBI, which was promising, but didn’t actually mean anything worth Jack as far as he was concerned. The FBI were supposed to have had his back; supposed to have given him a thirty minute heads up on the takedown, and it hadn’t happened, so he could only assume that there were two separate factions within the Bureau.

The question was, on whose side were these two agents?

Moving carefully so that he stayed in the shadows, and could circle the car, parked barely six strides away, to approach the men as if he’d come around from another direction entirely, Jefferson took a deep breath and then straightening up, put a jaunty spring in his step as he moved to deliberately catch their attention, keeping the hood of the car between himself and the others.

It wasn’t long before one of them spotted him, and flashed - far too quickly to be seen in the darkness - an open wallet in his direction.

“Move on,” he instructed, gesturing behind him with a thumb to indicate further along the street. “This is none of your concern.”

“You know what the issue is with this world?” Jefferson said, as though answering the agent’s instruction, though the words were the first half of an identification protocol that he and Rab had agreed upon.

“Are you deaf?” the agent answered, “I said move on!”

Jefferson sighed, then muttered under his breath, “Well then, I guess that answers that question.” Then more clearly and with another sigh. “Sorry, fellas… no can d—”

Before he could even finish his insincere apology, one of the two agents rushed at him across the front of the car, but Jefferson was ready for him, and caught his arm as he got close, using the man’s forward momentum to launch him toward a garage wall on the opposite side of the street.  He heard the rush of air burst from the man’s lungs as he hit hard, but Jefferson didn’t wait to see if he were winded enough to stay put. Instead, with a half roll, half slide, he propelled himself across the hood of the car toward the man’s partner, lashing out with a foot as the second agent’s arm began to rise, no doubt holding a weapon.

The kick brought a hiss of pain from the man, and the satisfying clatter of a weapon landing some way in the distance. He didn’t wait, however, for his adversary to recover, but slid off the hood of the Taurus, getting his feet under him to rush the man before he could fully recover.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the other agent gather himself and begin moving away from the wall to head in his direction, even as he ducked a wild swing from the man in front of him. He saw a dark shape in the hands of the first of his assailants, a weapon… a gun? Swearing softly at the necessity of using his nearby opponent as protection, and counting on the man’s vest or his partners fast reflexes, to save the agent from lasting harm, Jefferson grabbed at the mans arm as he took another wild swing, catching it by the wrist, twisting it around behind, as he moved to use the man as a shield.

He heard the too familiar crack of the leads as they were propelled from the tazer, and managed to push the man away from himself and into the trajectory of the leads. He winced as the agent jerked like a man with Saint Vitus’ dance before he toppled to the ground.

“Oops,” he offered, with an almost apologetic shrug before rushing the agent that had just disabled his partner by accident.

The fight was brief; fast and dirty, he didn’t have time for finesse. The downed agent wouldn’t stay down for long and he had to take them both out. He drove his shoulder into the man’s partner, into his stomach and used the force of his rush to carry him back against the wall again, knocking the wind from the agent before straightening up to press his forearm across the the man’s throat and hold him in place as his struggles weakened.  At first Jefferson had to endure a few painful but ineffectual punches, and even to twist aside against a knee raised toward his groin, but as consciousness began to elude the man he held in place the attempts grew less frequent, until the agent finally became a heavy weight as he slumped against Jefferson.

“See…” he said as he pulled both men to sit at the base of the wall, and after searching the pockets of the unconscious agent for the car keys, found some zip ties which he fastened around their wrists even though he hated those thing. “…that issue I was talking about…?” he went on, answering his own question. “Everyone wants an easy solution to their problems, and everyone refuses to make things easy.” The men groaned almost simultaneously beginning to wake. “Tell that to Rab when you next see him, and tell him also that this is where I disappear.”