#[number two. i went with the idea that he did catch her sleepwalking from that open starter i wrote]

[untilthcyrot]

things you said prompts | 12. things you said when you thought i was asleep asked by @freakarus

Sleep was supposed to be a sacred time for people; a way for the mind to recharge, for the body to relax, and for dreams to whisk you away from the woes of reality and transform you somewhere else. For Winnie, for as long as she could remember, sleep was a time when she could chance sleepwalking and the prospect was just as equally terrifying as the last. She could remember when she was a little girl, her mother would securely tuck her into bed and she would feel so warm and safe underneath that blanket. If she thought hard about it, she could still remember the way it smelled washed in that fabric softener her mother always bought. Once tucked in, her mother would place a kiss on the crown of her golden head and whisper "good night" before disappearing from the room completely. Moonlight slipped through the curtains onto her face. Instead of counting sheep, she counted the twinkles in the night sky as she was lulled to sleep.

But no dreams ever came during those nights. There was only darkness, this void that felt like a daze that she was lost in until slowly she was being pulled out of. It would take a few moments to comprehend but she'd realize that she wasn't in her bed anymore. Sleep blinked out of her eyes and she would find that she was standing in her backyard . . . or the driveway . . . or on those rare and terrifying occasions, somewhere in the woods behind her house. No memory of how she got there, crawling back into her bed shivering and scared. When her mother found out, she tried to get her help, but how do you explain a perfectly normal little girl sleepwalking? You look at her schizophrenic mother and make assumptions apparently.

The Gilded Hand knew why. It took a madman taking her as a child, taking all of the special children like her, and locking them away in an abandoned factory, to tell her that she had a unique ability that went beyond the human scope. Winnie had that ability to connect with the dead who had trouble crossing over. She was a beacon of light to the spirits who were lost and confused. They would be attracted to her like a moth to a flame, trying to reach out to her, to her light, and use it as a means of finally crossing over. The trouble was, that a little girl didn't always realize that her imaginary friends were ghosts, and she didn't know how to help them. And her mother? Well, maybe she worried that these friends she saw were all part of a sickness that she passed down to her, so she was hardly any help to her daughter.

Sometimes the spirits took it too far though, but was it something that they could really help either? After spending time walking the earth alone and unseen by the living, finding someone like Winnie was overwhelming for them and they found themselves desperate. They found that they couldn't just talk to her but possess her for a short amount of time. They felt the warmth of life again in her body - what it felt like to breathe air into their lungs, the warmth of a summer night, the taste of food again. They tried not to let any harm come to her, especially when she was a child, but the stress of being possessed would cause her body to reject the souls and she would end up sleepwalking wherever she was left alone again.

As she grew older, she was able to take back some control again. There were no more imaginary friends but spirits who needed her help and she tried to do just that before it affected her sleeping habits, but it couldn't always be stopped. The world was full of lost souls, unfortunately. Winnie had been terrified that Eddie would find her in the compromising position of wandering outside in a sleeping daze until he finally had. Maybe it scared him too, but...instead of rejecting her...he was there for her. That meant more to him than he would ever know. For a girl who never felt completely safe when she was laying in her bed trying to sleep, just him accepting that part of her made her feel that much better about her ability, about her whole self in general.

Tonight, as it felt like she was having one of those dreamless nights again, her eyes flung open in a panic. She was met with darkness that made her heart race, only imagining in those first few seconds where she could have ended up tonight if Eddie hadn't stopped her from leaving first if he had even been awake to notice. Relief was quick to sink in when she realized her blues were staring up at the ceiling and she turned her head to find Eddie sound asleep next to her. She hadn't realized her hand had clenched the drawstring to her hoodie, quickly releasing her grip as tension died down from the realization that her dreamless sleep was just that . . . a dreamless sleep, nothing more, nothing less.

Winnie turned over on her side, body shifting closer to Eddie so that she could feel the warmth of his body against her own. Something about that feeling . . . it made her feel safe and secure, just like when her mother tucked her underneath that blanket smelling of sweet fabric softener and kissing her on the head. Safe. She leaned her head against his shoulder, shutting her eyes before the tears could escape them.

❝ You're my armor, ❞ she whispered so quietly that she wouldn't have even thought she said them if she knew she hadn't. ❝ You make me feel safe when I shut my eyes and I'm scared about what's going to happen when I fall asleep. I know nothing will happen anymore because of you. ❞

[maddiebuckettebuckley]

leaving home ain’t easy

madney, 2.7k, s5 speculation fic (sorta)

read on ao3

Chimney doesn’t think he’s ever been this tired in his life. Getting used to the whole dad thing has been hard enough, and now on top of it he’s pulling extra shifts to make ends meet, and staying up all night worried about his family. The sleep he does get is frequently interrupted by wordless cries, real or imagined. The only thing getting him from one day to the next is knowing that Maddie is even more tired than him. That he needs to be strong for her, and for Jee-Yun, for the family of his own that he finally managed to build. The thought of losing either of them, in any way, for any reason, is too much to bear. So he gets up in the morning and drinks two cups of coffee and kisses his beautiful daughter and aches to see the love of his life still in so much pain. He smiles as often as he can. Tries to smile enough for both of them until Maddie can again.

And he misses her. Even when she’s right in front of them, he misses her. He would do anything to take away even a fraction of her pain. Every day he tries to, and some days are better but most days are the same. So he just misses her, and loves her, and takes care of her as much as she’ll let him. Which is not as much as he’d like.

He does his best. To keep everything and everyone together and safe. To keep smiling for Jee. And he knows Maddie is doing her best too. More often than not, he feels like he’s spinning too many plates with not enough hands and something is bound to shatter. It won’t be like this forever. Things will get better. She will get better. Sometimes, though, it’s hard to remember that.

And he’s just so goddamn tired.

The day the blackout finally ends, he gets home from one of the longest shifts of his entire life practically sleepwalking through the door. All he wants is to collapse into bed next to Maddie and fall asleep to the sound of her breathing, content with the certainty that she’s safe and within arms reach.

As soon as he walks into their bedroom to see the bed pristinely made with a crisp white sheet of paper resting on the pillowcase, an alarm bell goes off in his head. Jee isn’t in her crib. Maddie is nowhere to be seen. Dread rips through his body like an icy wind.

Chimney snatches up the note. It takes him too long to read. The words seem to spin around on the page, and the pounding of his heart is so loud he can barely hear his own thoughts.

My love,

I’m so sorry. I had to leave. I couldn’t keep hurting you and our daughter by staying. You both deserve so much better than me, and I never deserved anything as good as either of you.

Please don’t try to follow me. I promise you’ll be better off without me. I’ll be safe, just somewhere else. And you can be happy.

Jee is with Anne. Tell her I’m sorry, and I’ll miss her every day. Tell her it’s for the best.

Love forever and always,

Maddie

The paper falls from his hand, and he has Athena’s number dialed before it hits the ground.

“I’m sorry, Chimney, but we can’t file a missing person’s case in this scenario unless there’s evidence of foul play,” Athena says after he breathlessly explains the note. Her voice is strained with exhaustion. With everything she’s been through in the past week, he feels terrible asking her for help. But his chest is twisted up so much he can’t breathe and his mind is twisted up so much he can’t think and he needs to do something.

“She could hurt herself, or…” The words stick in his mouth, coated with tar. Chimney swallows.  “Or worse. Athena, I can’t lose her.”

Athena sighs deeply. As exhausted as Chimney feels, he’s sure Athena is in an even worse state after everything she’s been through in the past week. “Give me a minute,” She says.

He paces around the kitchen for what seems like hours, his thoughts slipping further and further down a spiral. Every time he pulls one back up, another falls even further. He’s just about to bolt out the door and start wandering the streets of LA screaming Maddie’s name when Athena’s voice comes back through the receiver. “Bobby’s going to come pick you up and take you to the airport. You call Buck and tell him to check the train station. I’ll have my people at the station keeping an eye out for any concerning calls with someone matching her description.”

A plan. They have a plan. And he has help. He’s not alone. Chimney takes a shaky breath, “Thank you so much.”

“Well, I know how you’re feeling right now and I wouldn’t wish it upon my worst enemy.” Athena replies.

“How is Harry doing?”

“He’s safe and home. That’s about all we can ask for.”

Chimney nods, even though he knows Athena can’t hear him. “He’ll be alright. He’s a tough kid.”

“And your Maddie is the toughest woman I know. You’ll bring her home, too.”

He thanks her again and hangs up, dialing Buck’s number as soon as the call ends. If he keeps moving forward, keeps steady with this plan, then maybe he’ll get through this. Or at least get through the next few hours.

If he stops to think, he knows he’ll drown.

“Maddie did what? ” Buck cries out.

“She left. I don’t know where she went,” Chimney reiterates, passing his hand over his eyes. “So, listen, I need you to—”

“Is she okay? Is Jee okay? When did this happen?” He hears Buck’s car keys jingling in the background, like he just picked them up.

“Buck, focus. Jee is fine, no idea about Maddie. That’s why we need to go find her. Can you head to the train station?”

“Well, what about the airport? Maybe she went back to Hershey to stay with our parents or an old friend. I could go there and—”

“Just listen for a second,” Chimney snaps, then immediately regrets it. This is Buck’s sister after all. He’s loved her even longer than Chimney has. He softens his voice. “Please. I’m scared too, but we have to work together. Me and Bobby are going to the airport, you head to the train station. Can you think of anywhere else she might go?”

“Uh, I don’t know." Buck sounds a little bit like a chastised puppy. But he stays on track this time. “I’ll call Josh on my way, see if he knows anything. My parents too, I guess.”

“Thank you,” Chimney says. His phone buzzes with a text from Bobby saying he’s outside of his apartment and he rushes out the door. “I gotta go. Let me know if you hear anything at all.”

“Yeah, of course, Chim. You too.” He pauses for a moment. “We’re gonna find her, right? We have to.”

Chimney sighs, already halfway down the stairwell. “I sure fuckin’ hope so, Buck.”

He jumps into Bobby’s car without a word, and they take off towards LAX. The tension in his jaw is starting to hurt, but he can’t relax. Any thoughts of sleep have vanished from his mind, although he knows that beneath the adrenaline the exhaustion is lying in wait.

Mrs. Lee responds to his text asking when Maddie dropped Jee-Yun off. About an hour ago. Poor thing looked dead on her feet. The two of you should let me watch this little angel more often like you used to!

If Mrs. Lee knew anything about Maddie’s plan, she would’ve called. As much as Chimney would love some encouraging words from her right now, he can’t bring himself to worry her until he has to. We’ll keep that in mind. Thanks so much!

He sends a silent prayer to who-the-hell-knows that they’re not too late. If Maddie’s caught a plane or a train, he doesn’t know if he’ll ever be able to find her, let alone get her back.

“I know how much you love her, Chim,” Bobby says, his voice breaking through Chimney’s spiraling thoughts. “And I hope we find her as much as anyone. But if we can’t, it’s not your fault. Sometimes people just don’t want to be found.”

Chimney wishes he knew what to say to that. Wishes he could form a response without the threat of his voice cracking.

Bobby keeps driving and Chimney watches endless monotonous buildings blur past the window. He usually likes LA. People crack jokes about the traffic and the smog and the wannabe-celebrities. Hell, he does too. But he’s lived here for most of his life, through ups and downs, through terrible losses and his wildest dreams coming true. This city has hand-delivered him the greatest family he’s ever known.

In this moment, he’s never hated LA more.

“I can’t lose her, Bobby,” Chimney finally says.  A tear spills down his cheek.

Bobby says nothing, just reaches over and places a hand on Chimney’s shoulder.

The rest of the drive goes by achingly slowly, in comfortable but heavy silence. They’ve almost reached the airport when Chimney’s phone buzzes with a text from Buck.

No sign of her at the train station. Can’t get a hold of our parents. Josh has no idea. Gonna help him call around to hospitals in the area.

The tightness in Chimney’s chest squeezes more with every word, until hospitals hits him like a semi-truck.

He can’t think about that now. He can’t. Maddie is okay. She has to be. And he’ll take her home, and get her the help she needs here, where he’s only ever a traffic-dependent number of minutes away, and he can see her every day and hold her hand and tell her how much he loves her until she finally believes it, even if he has to say it thousands of times a day for the rest of their lives.

The car hasn’t even rolled to a stop outside departures before Chimney is out the door. Bobby calls out after him something about parking but Chimney doesn’t catch it and, right now, he doesn’t really care.

When he gets inside the airport he immediately ambushes the poor, dead-eyed employee at the information desk, cutting the line of twenty protesting patrons. “When’s the next flight to Philadelphia taking off?”

A bewildered expression replacing his dead stare. He blinks at Chimney, then types something on his computer. “Uh. 30 minutes. But it’s booked.”

“Makes no difference to me. Just tell me the gate number and get me any ticket that’ll get me through security. Preferably a cheap one.”

“Sir, you can’t—”

“Listen, man. I promise you I have a good explanation. It’s a real tear-jerker of a story, too. But I really don’t have time to tell it, and it would be much easier to just sell me the ticket now and get me out of your hair.”

Five minutes later, he’s shelled out $400 for a flight to Montana that he’ll never step foot on and is schmoozing his way to the front of the security line. The words fall out of his mouth before he knows what he’s saying. My grandmother has less than a day to live, I just have to make my flight. My wife is in labor, I just have to make my flight. My kid suffered a traumatic brain injury and is finally able to play his first baseball game again, I just have to make my flight. Anything to get people to let him skip through the security line they’ve been waiting in for God knows how long. He would tell the truth, but it feels so mixed up and raw and intimate that lying comes much easier. Somehow he makes it to the front of the line and through security in less time than it usually takes him to find parking here.

And he takes off at a dead sprint through the terminal.

His heart breaks more with each step. He’s not going to make it. He has no idea if this is even the right flight. Or if she’s here at all. He’s going to lose her. Lose the best person and the best life he’s ever had. He should just let her go. It’s selfish to make her stay if it’s not what she wants.

He can’t possibly let her go. Not like this.

He runs past hundreds of people, thousands. But he knows, he knows , that none of them are Maddie. Something in him would stop him dead in his tracks. Would lead him right to her. In the blur of faces and bodies, he knows Maddie will stick out, clearer than HD.

And she does. Sitting at the otherwise empty gate for the flight to Philly with a carry-on suitcase at her feet, staring out the window at the place where the plane must have just been. Looking as beautiful as ever, but so empty and so tired that, despite the relief that floods his body, the pain in his chest remains, sharper than ever. He slows to a stop twenty feet away from the person he loves most in the world, save for the person they made together.

“Maddie.” He breathes her name, too quietly for her to hear. Disbelieving of his luck, he cautiously approaches her, like she’s a mirage that will disappear at the wrong angle.

When she finally turns and sees him, her eyes widen for a moment, her body tensing. And then her shoulders slump in defeat.

Chimney sits down in the chair next to her. What now?

“Hi,” He says simply.

He’s almost surprised when she responds. “Hi.”

“You had us worried there for a minute.” Chimney’s not sure if that’s the right thing to say. He’s not sure if there is a right thing to say.

Maddie takes a deep breath. Her eyes are puffy and red, and a tear rolls down either side of her face. “I couldn’t do it.” Chimney takes her hand in his own and nearly falls apart when she clings tightly to it. “I was trying to do the right thing. I was trying to set you free. Set you both free. But I couldn’t…” She shrugs helplessly. “I couldn’t leave.”

“Well I, for one, am damn grateful for that.” Chimney’s voice cracks halfway through the sentence. And then they’re both sobbing into each other’s shoulder in the middle of the bustling airport, and Chimney doesn’t know how it’s possible to feel so much joy and so much pain at the same time. Like at any moment his chest might burst open from the sheer force of it.

After several long minutes, Maddie’s breathing comes more evenly, and he pulls back to look her in the eye, wipes her tears with his thumb. “Let’s go home, Maddie. And in the morning, we can get you checked into that inpatient program that Dr. Bolsaro recommended. We’ll get you the help you need. Here. We need you here, and I think you need us too. It’s okay to need us.” Maddie stares at him through her tears, her expression still just as hollow. He knows she doesn’t believe him yet. But that doesn’t mean he’ll stop telling her. “We all want to help you. You’re worth every second. All of it. You’re worth everything.”

“I’m not,”  She whispers. Chimney’s already fragmented heart shatters into even smaller pieces.

“I swear to you, you are. You don’t have to believe me. You just have to stay, and let us prove it to you.” He stands, and holds out his hand. He isn’t sure if she’s going to take it. But he hopes, and he hopes, and he tries to believe that the hope will be enough.

She holds his gaze. Then turns to the window, her eyes fixed on the spot on the tarmac where the plane took off to her wretched old life. The life she thinks she still deserves. The plane she didn’t get on anyway.

And then she turns back to Chimney. And she takes his hand.

[rainy-day-gracie]

America’s Sweetheart 1

HELLO !!

This was an idea I had that I couldn’t walk away from, more chapters to come :)

YFN YLN catches the eye of a Dr. Spencer Reid. The only thing is... he has no idea she’s America’s Sweetheart, Oscar winning actress, and a Hollywood phenomenon. Truly a tinsel town tale of love, crime, and gossip.  

MASTERLIST

__

I was on a beach. Just some random beach. The waves lapped against the sand, and no one was there but me. 

A storm rolled over the ocean, sheets of rain beating down on me, giant waves crashing against my body. I tried to run, but my feet were sinking into the sand, and saltwater stung my eyes. 

Just as I was about to drown on the water beating down on me, I wake up in my own bed in Washington DC. 

In the few weeks after I had moved to DC, I would give the city a 7 out of 10. It was a good random place to hide from the flashiness of Hollywood, but it was honestly overrated. That was until I met Dr. Spencer Reid. 

I kept my eyes low as I ordered my coffee, pulling my baseball cap down over my face even though it wasn’t very sunny outside. As I went to pay, the barista shook her head. 

“Someone’s already paid for your drink, ma’am.” She pointed to a tall man slouched over a book in a booth, seemingly not paying very much attention to anything else in the coffee shop. 

“Um, thank you anyway,” I said as she handed me my coffee. My feet carried me hesitantly towards the man in the booth, studying him as I approached.

“Um, excuse me?” The man looked up, and my breath almost caught in my throat. Dark brown eyes peered up at me, and soft brown curls made him look extremely youthful. I cleared my throat, trying not to get distracted by his beautiful high cheekbones. This man was gorgeous even with the elevated standards Hollywood had given me. He could be a movie star if he wanted to. “Thanks... for the coffee.”

He looked confused for a moment, then he smiled. “Oh, of course. Um... anything for a lovely lady.”

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes, waiting for him to ask for a picture. But he didn’t. He just peered at me, trying to read my face as I tried to read his.

“What’s your name?” I asked, surprising even myself. 

“Spencer. Just... Spencer. What’s yours?”

He was being vague, and I wasn’t completely sure he knew who I was, even though that sounded completely vain. “YFN. Just YFN...” I waited for him to put the pieces together, but he didn’t. Instead he just nodded with a small smile on his face. 

“Well YFN, I hope to see you getting coffee around here more often.”

A strange smile came to my face. “Yeah, I think I will be.” I took a napkin lying on the booth, quickly scribbling my personal number down and tucking it into Spencer’s jacket pocket flirtatiously. “Well… call anytime, I guess.”

The BAU 

Spencer didn’t realize leaving his phone unattended at the BAU was such a risky decision. The team had noticed Spencer’s upbeat mood and buzzing phone the past few weeks. One day, when Spencer left his phone on his desk while he got coffee, JJ glanced over to see who was making the good doctor so happy. 

JJ gasped when she saw the contact name come up on Spencer’s phone, and immediately ran to Garcia’s office. “Penelope!”

“Ah! What- what do you want?” She spun towards JJ in her chair. 

“I think... I think Spencer is going out with YFN YLN.”

Garcia’s jaw dropped. “Like... the YFN YLN? The most renowned young actress in Hollywood right now? The Oscar winner?”

“That’s the one.”

Garcia looked around her office, not totally sure on what to do. “Well, we have to tell him right? Reid doesn’t keep up with the modern day Hollywood stuff, there’s no way he knows who she is.”

JJ nodded. “We need to tell him.”

“Tell who what?” Morgan asked, walking in the room with a stack of files. 

JJ and Garcia looked to each other then back at Morgan. “Spence’s dating YFN YLN.”

Morgan dropped the files on the floor in shock. “Reid? As in pretty boy? Dr. Spencer Reid dating Oscar winner YFN YLN?”

The women nodded, and Morgan just stood there, the files on the floor completely forgotten. 

Later that day, the team was lounging around the office, Spencer smiling at a text he received on his phone. “Hey, Spence?” JJ asked from across the desks. 

“Hmhmm?” Spencer said, not looking up from his phone. 

“Who’re you talking to?”

“This girl I met at a coffee shop… she’s amazing. Beautiful, kind, intelligent...” 

JJ took a deep breath. “YFN YLN?”

Spencer furrowed his eyebrows. “How did you know that?”

“She’s… famous. Like really really famous. Movie star, award winner, America’s sweetheart famous.” JJ broke the news softly, not wanting to raise a big scene. 

Spencer just looked more confused then he was before. 

Reader’s POV

We had met for coffee about five times in the last two weeks, and I learned there was much more to Spencer than a lanky handsome exterior. He was definitely a genius, a doctor three times over, and worked for the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit. I thought I was impressive, but he takes the cake.

But today something was wrong with Spencer. I could see it in the way he fidgeted with his hands more than usual or how he couldn’t seem to meet my eyes for more than two seconds. “Alright, Spencer, what’s wrong?”

He was also a minor technophobe, which probably explained how he didn’t recognize me. 

Spencer seemed startled by my question. “Well, my friend… she saw your name come up on my phone yesterday and told me that you were some kind of celebrity. You told me you worked in the film industry, but the way my friend told it… you’re super famous, like a household name famous.”

My heart sank and I subconsciously pulled my baseball cap lower on my head. “Yeah, I guess you could say that.”

“Is that why you always wear a baseball cap? So you won’t be recognized as easily?” He asked, and I nodded softly while keeping my eyes down on my coffee.

Spencer looked downtrodden. “Then why are you interested in me?”

“Are... are you kidding?” I asked incredulously. Spencer shook his head, and I almost laughed. “I’m interested in you because you don’t have this preconceived opinion about me. You don’t want anything from me. We can just be normal people, I can be a normal person. Do you know how rare that is in my line of work?”

“That sounds... lonely. And stressful, not knowing who to trust.”

An image of my dream came back to me, my feet sinking into the sand and drowning in waves of seawater. “It is. But... I think I can trust you.”

He still looked confused, but a glimmer of a smile appeared in his eyes. “Why are you in DC?”

I rolled my eyes. “To disappear a little while from all the cameras and flashiness of Hollywood. I’m staying in a town house until I have to fly out to wherever my next project is, and who knows when that’s going to be.” 

Spencer looked completely mesmerized. “Tell me more… about Hollywood, movies, award shows, everything. I want to know everything.” His hands touched the tips of my fingers, and he grinned ear to ear. Leave it to Dr. Spencer Reid to want to learn about the ins and outs of shallow Hollywood life. 

I laughed, thinking maybe once in the four years I’ve worked in Hollywood, someone was truly honest with me. 

__ 

The rest of the day went by in a blur. Photoshoot across town, meeting with my agent, talking over movie roles I may or may not get. 

My mind kept coming back to Spencer. Spencer with his wild curls and thoughtful brown eyes and astonishing brain. My heart fluttered and I smiled just thinking about him, the impressive doctor with a heart of gold and mind like no other’s. 

My mind and body were completely spent from the long day, and I practically sleepwalked up the steps to my house. I was so tired, I almost missed the gift waiting for me. Flowers were left for me on the front porch, blood red roses with a note tucked inside of the petals.

I wonder if all of your fame and awards will protect you from a knife between the shoulder blades, Miss America's Sweetheart?

__

Part 2 !!

TAG LIST : @squirrellover1967 @yomama-umbridge @tiktokslut @sknnymnne @pinkdiamond1016 @vixengustin88 @lexshead @briannareneea985 @thatsonezesty13 @april-14-blog @baby-i-am-fireproof @mollyann14 @andiebeaword @oldspirit @rottenearly @cyndagoaway @peculiarinsomniac @ithinkilovetruecrimetoomuch @mjloveskids666 @aberrant-annie @stardream14 @radkryptonitepeanut @sercyan  @deni-gonzalez @matthewreid @emilouu

[artificialqueens]

Hot as hell and no A/C, Chapter 2 (Branjie) - Blackhighheels

Read at AO3

Two

”Vanjie, can I have one more hot chocolate?”

”Sure, here, Miss Ballerina,” Jose tells little Rachel and hands her his last couple of coins. It’s probably not the best idea to get her so hyped on sugar so late in the evening, but going to the vending machine, typing in the numbers and getting another hot, sweet drink seems to distract the girl from the madness around her. Maybe that’s also why she’ s been stuck to Jose’s side since they left the dancing studio. For once, he’s the calm one. He kind of wants to call his mama and tell her; she’d be so proud.

Jose looks over to Brock and takes in his hunched over posture. This man’s an absolute mystery and he’d be fascinating to Jose, even if he wasn’t so fucking gorgeous.

In the car Brock was quiet and visibly shaken. Jose wasn’t able to get any information out of him as to what had happened with his brother. Jose had been chatting with Rachel to distract her during the drive, while Brock only spoke to give directions. Once they’d arrived at the hospital, Brock took over,  asked the nurses for  directions to the waiting room and for information on his brother. They’ d still been doing some tests on him and hadn’t been able to say much, so all three of them went to the waiting room, where Brock made calls and paced back and forth, as Jose chatted with Rachel.

After the calls, when Rachel made her first trip to the vending machines, Brock sunk down on a chair and deflated like the air had been let out of him. He’d  ooked so small and defeated that Jose had walked over to him and crouched down in front of him.

”You ok?” he asked him. Brock didn’t answer him with words. Instead, he simply lifted his head and let Jose see his eyes, which were full of tears.

A moment later Brock’s sister-in-law walked in with his mother and some serious transformer shit went on with him. It really was like watching a fucking episode of transformers when they unfold from the small cars into the big-ass transformer heroes. Brock had unfolded himself, got off the chair took over again; He held his mother, calmed his sister-in-law down, talked to the nurses and doctors, prayed with his family after his mother urged him to, and even played a round of ‘I spy with my little eye’ with Rachel.

Finally, after what  felt like for-fucking-ever, but was probably just two hours, Brock’s mother and sister-in-law were asked by the doctors to come with them to see his brother, while Brock was left to take care of the paperwork.

Jose still finds it odd, that Brock would fill out the paperwork, not that it is any of his damn business.

Once the papers had been filled out, Brock sunk down on the chair again, folded in on himself and hasn’t changed his position since.

It’s like seeing two different people: A quiet, depressed and tired one, who is so sad, that Jose can feel the emotion in his own chest squeezing his heart. And then there’s the take-charge kind of guy, who takes care of everyone and everything. Jose just wonders who takes care of Brock.

Jose looks around to make sure they are still alone, then walks over to him and sits down in the chair next to him.

”Hey, Mary, how you holding up?” Jose touches his arm gently to get his attention. He doesn’t really expect an answer nor does he need one. ”How ‘bout we drive back home and you get Rachel into bed. It’s kinda late.”

”Rachel… oh,” Brock seems to have forgotten that she’s still here and looks around the room.

”She went to get more hot chocolate from the vending machine just outside.”

”Oh ok,” Brock nods and finally sits up. ”Uhm, could you take her home? I’ll probably have to spend the night here and see if Daniel needs anything.”

”Sure, whatever you want. But, you know, you look pretty dead on your feet. Sure you wanna stay here?”

”I have to.” A deep sigh follows his words. ”Maybe you could also take my mom and Lily? I’ll just take their car to drive back tomorrow.” Just then the three women come back and Brock transforms again. ”Hey, so, uhm, Jose will take you all back home and I’ll stay here and take care of things.”

”Jose?” his mother asks and looks questioningly at him. She seems to even notice him for the first time.

”He’s Rachel’s new dance teacher and volunteered to drive us here.” Brock justifies him being here, which strikes Jose as odd.

”Dance teacher? One of Jason’s… friends?” The way Lily asks the question says everything he needs to know about what she thinks about Jason. However this isn’t the place to start a fight.

”Yeah,” Brock just nods and doesn’t pay her tone any mind. ”Drive with him, I’ll stay until the morning.”

”You got your I.D with you? They need someone to sign because of all the bills and stuff. I thought, you know,” Lilly speaks again and Jose understands that they expect Brock to takes care of the hospital bills. Brock bites his lip but nods.

”Don’t come back too late, you know you’ll have to help your father with the fence tomorrow or he’ll get upset again.” His mother says as she picks up her purse from the chair. How Brock is supposed to build a fence or some shit after spending the night in one of these fucking hospital chairs is a mystery, but none of Jose’s business, once again.

”Ladies, y’all are ready to go?” Jose asks instead and holds his hand out for Rachel. He stops in the doorway and looks back. ”Let me know if you need anything, k?” he tells him.

”Thank you” Brock replies and Jose even gets a small smile. Only when he sits in the car, halfway back home, does Jose remember that he never gave Brock his number.

***

When he gets back to the house, Brock takes the long way around it, so he can stop by the barn first. He knows his parents will be inside at this time of day, waiting with lunch. He just needs a second before he can face them. As quietly as possible he sneaks inside and is greeted by his favorite kitten, who runs towards him. He picks the small guy up and cuddles him to his chest as he buries his face in the soft fur and lets his tears fall.

”What am I gonna do?” he asks the kitten and sits down on the ground. ”I don’t know what to do. I can’t take on Dan’s business on top of the farm. I just can’t! I’m so fucking tired …I don’t know how to pay his hospital bills. There’s no money left,” he cries and feels a bit comforted when his friend starts purring. ”I don’t wanna do this anymore. I don’t!” For a while he can’t speak anymore as the tears overwhelm him completely.

His head is pounding even worse once he has cried himself out, but overall he feels a bit better. Nothing has changed, nothing is solved, but the soft sounds of the cat help him to calm down. He gives himself another couple of minutes before he washes his face with cold water and makes his way to the main house, that seems bigger and more overwhelming with every step he takes towards it.

”Brock, bring me a beer, will ya?” his father greets him as he walks into the house. He passes the fridge and takes one beer out, grabs a bottle of water for himself and then sits down at the lunch table.

”Did you bring Dan home with you?” his mother asks as she sets the pot down on the table.

”Yes, he’s home now. I dropped him off.” Brock nods and tries to stifle the yawn.

”I’m so relieved. Thank the lord, he is home.” Brock waits until his mother has sat down and said grace before he start to eat.

”Just some bruises and scratches your mother said?” His father asks through his mouth full of bread.

”He has a light concussion and some bruises on his back from the fall. He won’t be able to work for a week or two, but then he’ll be fine,” Brock lets them know.

”You gonna take over now. Shouldn’t be much more work than usual,” his father shrugs unimpressed. ”And he’ll need the money with all the unnecessary hospital bills comin’ in. He shoulda just stayed here. No hospital needed for some damn bruises.”

”It’s a full time job and business. I can’t just take over. Who’s gone do the work around here?” Brock asks and puts his fork down. He is upset by the careless words of his father, both about his brother’s health and his own time and work ethic.

”Don’t raise ya voice to me!” his father barks.

”You can’t let your brother down, Brock! He has three kids, they all need to eat,” His mother speaks at the same time.

”And how are they gonna pay for them bills, if you gonna do nothing?” His father asks. ”How much was that damn hospital visit anyway?”

”About three thousand dollars.”

”How’s Dan supposed to pay for that?  How are we supposed to pay for that?” His mother gets upset. Her voice is shaking and Brock can tell that she is close to tears.

”I don’t know,” Brock shrugs helplessly. He’s too tired to come up with anything and it’s the simple truth. He’s no magician who can just make a solution appear, even if that’s what his family seems to expect from him constantly.

”Then you better come up with something, son. You the one with no obligations, wife or kids. You the one who always wanted that school education. Ya better use it for once!” His father gets his usual dig in at him, but Brock is too tired to even care. He just wants to eat his lunch and then get some sleep. Even though that won’t happen for hours and hours.

***

It’s Sunday and for the third time this week, Brock finds himself sitting in church, listening to yet another sermon that seems endless. He’d rather be in bed at home and catch up on his sleep. Since his brother’s accident he feels like he’s been sleepwalking constantly.

The priest drones on and on and Brock doesn’t really pay attention to what he’s saying. On auto-pilot he says the prayers and sings the songs. Church and religion and belief has lost meaning for him for a long time, but he doesn’t manage to step away from it all completely. What if they’re right? And what if he’s wrong? What if he’s really gonna go to hell? And what if the devil and the modern society has really taken a hold of him and that is why he is… how he is? Flawed and committing sin and … just wrong.

”And therefor we all have to fear a predator, bisexual, cross-dresser or even a homosexual…” he hears and stops listening again. So people should fear him? Or should he fear for himself? He doesn’t want to be what he is, but it’s not like he ever got to choose.

When he had his first crush on a boy as a teenager he didn’t know what to do. He’d prayed, prayed for these feelings to go away. He’d asked his lord what he had done that he was punished this way? Why couldn’t he just like girls and be like everyone else? Then he could have got married young like his brother and sister, had a couple of kids and just be normal. Instead, he was damned to be alone, because he could never live what he was.

Except for this one weekend a year, the weekend of the agricultural show in Houston. He has no interest in the show itself, but that’s the only time when he’s far away from home and in a city big enough that he dares to sneak into one of the gay bars and clubs. For two nights ever year he gives into his forbidden primal urges and follows strangers into the bathrooms or darkrooms where they suck and fuck each other. By morning light of the third day he aways feels horrible and guilty and prays extra hard once he’s back at church. Then he has a whole year to burry what he craves, what sin he wants to live in and what he is.

Gay.

There’ve been days in the past when he wanted to end it all, because he can never be what his family wants him to be. He will never be able to make them happy. And he can never be happy himself, because what would make him happy is a sin in the eyes of god.

Maybe… most likely.

He doesn’t dare to think that everything he was taught to believe, and still doesn’t most days, can all be a lie.

In his early twenties, when he’d been allowed to go to college to become a minister himself - not that he ever wanted to be one - he’d signed himself up for conversation therapy, because he just wanted to be happy and normal. It had been the most horrible six weeks of his life and at the end of it he’d felt more depressed and rotten than ever before; but still gay.

So he’d gone back home where there was less temptation under the watchful eyes of his parents. And they needed his help and the money anyway.

Jason is the only other gay in town and the only one who lives it openly. Sometimes he even comes to church. Brock wishes he had his courage and self-confidence. And another family. He loves his family with all of his heart, but he’s sure the second he’d come out to them, they’d kick him out and he’d be even lonelier than he is now.

God, when was the last time  he hasn’t felt lonely, he wonders and suddenly Vanjie’s face appears crystal clear in his mind. His warm eyes and his smile and the way he’d helped him out and taken care of Rachel. It had been so nice to let someone take over for once and be taken care of, even if it was just for one single car ride to the hospital and a cup of coffee before at the dance studio.

He smiles slightly, remembering the scene. Then he goes back to his careful blank expression, scared that anyone could read his mind. He has to stay away from Vanjie, because the risk is way too high for him. Only a slight rumour is enough to ruin his reputation in the small town.

The intro to another song is played and Brock goes back to thinking nothing and feeling nothing. ”Oh lord my god, when I in awesome wonder, consider all….”

***

”But uncle Brock, Vanjie said that we’re out if we’re late. He’ll kick me off the workshop! All because of your stupid car!” Rachel kicks another small pebble so that it flies onto the street.

”Hey, I’m sorry, Rach’ but I can’t change it. I’ll explain it to Vanjie, I promise,” Brock says and is glad when finally the dance studio shows up on the horizon. Walking for half an hour with a whiny and angry child isn’t really what he needs or wants. He’d tried to get out of the dance studio duty so he could avoid Vanjie. For the last couple days it had worked.  But today he’d run out of luck, because Ada wasn’t feeling well and he had to take Rachel and then his fucking car didn’t start.

”Everybody will laugh about me and I won’t be allowed to dance with them today,” she sniffs. There’s nothing else he can do or say, that he hadn’t said during the last half hour, so he just remains silent.

When they get to the studio Jason takes one look at the both of them and tells Rachel to get changed really quick and then join the class. Through the class window he sees that Vanjie sends her to the back of the class, even though she usually stands front and centre. He really needs to talk to him and explain that it’s his fault. For now he can only watch the class with the rest of the dance moms. Vanjie looks even better today than when he last saw him. He’s wearing black sweats and a tank top that is way to big on him and shows his chest. Brock lets his eyes wander over the caramel skin and wishes he was allowed to touch it and kiss it.

He quickly snaps himself out of it and tries to keep his eyes on Rachel from then on. What if anyone observed him and knew what he was doing? What if it showed on his face what he is thinking about?

When the class is over and the girls go change, Brock sneaks into the otherwise empty classroom, where Vanjie is digging through his large sports bag.

”Hey uhm, can I talk to you for a second?”

”Hey, Brock!” Jose turns around with a wide smile on his face, that leaves Brock tongue tied. For a moment they just look at each other. ”How are you? How is your brother?”

”Good, pretty banged up from the fall and black and blue, but beside the concussion nothing too serious.”

”I’m glad to hear that, mama.” He puts his hands on his hips and cocks his head to the side. ”And how are you?”

”I’m fine,” Brock lies. ”But, like… Rachel was really upset because we were late today and like, I jus wanted to tell ya that it wasn’t her fault.”

”That don’t matter. Late is late,” Jose shrugs.

”Does that mean that she gets kicked off the workshop?”

”Nah, I just say that to scare them little kiddos and get some respect, ya know,” Jose smirks. ”But,” he adds then, ”what’s the excuse?”

”My car broke down again and we had to walk here.”

”Walked? In this fucking wilderness? Aren’t ya scared ‘bout getting attacked by some coyote or some shit?”

Brock laughs. ”There’s no coyotes around here.”

”Rattlesnakes? Spiders? Tigers?” Jose has to laugh about his own bullshit.

”No, not really.”

”Ya gonna make Rachel walk all the way back now? After leg day today? Ya one tough daddy,” Jose snorts.

”Daddy?” Brock cackles. ”She’s my niece.”

”Really? Coulda fooled me. Same sparkly green-blue eyes,” Jose smirks and the way he looks at him makes Brock nervous. If his hot cheeks are any indiction, he even blushes.

”Uncle Brock, I’m ready,” Rachel saves him.

”Hey, Rachel, I heard you had to walk here. How ‘bout I give you two ladies a ride back?” Jose turns to his niece.

”Uh, that’s really not,” Brock tried to decline.

”Yay! Thank you Vanjie!” Rachel yells excitedly and tales the decision out of Brock’s hands. ”But uncle Brock’s no lady!”

”He’s not? An old grandma?”

Rachel screams with laughter. ”He’s not a girl!”

”Reeeeally? Ya Sure, Miss Rachel? But he’s got real pretty eyes… and look at these legs! Dang!” Jose makes Rachel giggle again as they walk out of the room. Jose stops in the door. ”Ya coming, Miss Thing?” he asks Brock. He knows he should stop this and he knows it’s wrong, but Jose’s sassy expression and the way he looks at him just make him chuckle as he hurries after them to the car.

***

”Miss Rachel, slow down. I’m old, ya know,” Jose jokes as they follow the girl to his car. She’s so excited, that she’s run ahead, even after the exhausting training session Jose just puts the kids through.

”Jose, you really don’t have to drive us home again. It’s not necessary.” Brock tells him for the tenth time that night and probably the thirtieth over the last three days.

”But he promised me ice cream, because I won and could do the backwards handspring!” Rachel knows and jumps into the backseat when Jose pushes the button so the car opens.

”She’s right, you know. I owe her. You can pay for ya own damn ice-cream, if you insist,” Jose teases him and gets into the car as well. Brock chuckles and follows, it’s not like he has a choice anyway.

Jose has been driving them home for the last four days  and even though Brock is embarrassed that Jose feels obligated to do that, he still enjoys the time he gets to spend with him. Jose is funny and kind and never boring. Everything feels lighter when he is with him and in his presence he is able to forget about his crappy life and his problems. When he is with him, Brock feels like he can be himself, without having to pretend to be manlier than he is, or less sensitive or more religious. Jose doesn’t care about any of it.

He always asks about his family, he always seems genuinely interested in how his days went. Sometimes he asks for his opinion about random things like food, music or movies; although Brock rarely knows any of the movies he talks about. Sometimes Brock wishes they could talk about other things, deeper things, just the two of them; but Rachel is always in the backseat and joins their conversation as she pleases, not that it really bothers them.

Brock gets his wish sooner than he thought, when Rachel runs off to a set of swings on the playgrounds once she has demolished her ice-cream, while he and Jose sit at a table and watch her, both eating very slowly.

”Have you ever left this town?” Jose asks him suddenly.

”Yeah, every now and then. I went to college in Dallas for a couple of months, but then had to come back, because my family needed me here and I wasn’t really interested in becoming a minister,” he admits out loud, maybe for the first time ever.

”You really religious, huh? Like, your family and all?”

”Yes, I guess we are. I just… it’s normal for me, you know? Like, I’ve never known anything else. You don’t believe in god?”

”I’m catholic, but I’m rarely at church. Only when my mama drags my ass there for Christmas.” Jose seems to think about how to continue. ”Sometimes, when things are shit, I pray. And then I forget again.” Jose chuckles and Brock has to laugh with him. ”In L.A. you get away with shit like that.”

”Why are you here anyway?” Brock stops when he realises how this question sounds. ”I mean, like, this is not the place I’d expect a world famous choreographer to show up in.”

”How do you know I’m a world famous choreographer? I could be shit.” Jose asks him sassily.

”I’m quoting Rachel.” Brock gets slightly nervous under Jose’s sudden scrutiny.

”Jason’s an old friend of mine and I owed him a favour. Couple of years ago, when I wasn’t as rich and famous,” Jose winks at him and Brock’s heart nearly jumps out of his chest and his palms get sweaty, ”and my ex kicked me out, Jason helped me out and took me in and I must’ve said something like ‘I owe you’. Now that he’s here and his back’s all fucked up, he couldn’t do the workshop and so he came to cash his cheque.”

”So you lived together?” Brock doesn’t know where the question is coming from, but now it’s out there.

”Just roomies,” Jose’s laughter is loud and echoes over the nearly empty terrace they are sitting on. ”Jason’s got his man in New York. They been doing the long distance shit for a long time, ‘cause Jason wants to stay here and Chris’ working in New York.”

”I didn’t know that.” Brock has known Jason nearly all of his life, but he’s never really talked to him and knows basically nothing about him.

”People here aren’t too kind to people like Jason…. Or me. We too extra, too girly, too much, too… gay. That why I could never live here. I don’t wanna get stuck in no closet again, ya know? I don’t know how Jason does it.” Suddenly the look on Jose’s eyes changes and becomes probing as he looks directly at Brock. ”Or other people. It’s fucking hard when you can’t be yourself because of your family or religion or some other shit. I get it. I guess we’ve all been there. But….” Brock has to look away and break the eye contact. He feels like Jose can look right into his mind and heart. If Jose suspects…

No, he can’t!

Nobody knows, and surely Jose doesn’t either. It’d ruin everything. But what if…? Brock feels panic rising in his chest as his throat constricts and breathing gets harder.

Jose’s warm hand comes to rest on top of his ice-cold one and when he speaks, his voice is calm and barely above a whisper. ”Calm down, boo… Just… if you ever wanna talk…about anything…”. Jose doesn’t finish his sentence, but it’s clear what he’s just offered. The unspoken words hang between them and feel dangerous and comforting at the same time.  Brock should freak out.

However, Jose’s hand that is resting on his, is calming and so he simply gives Jose a tiny smile in return. They eat the rest of their ice-cream in silence.

TBC

[blueyesandleatherjacket]

The Fallen, 2/17

Volume: 1.

Number of parts: 2/17.

Pairings: Nine x Rose.

A/N: Written for Whumptober. Human Shield (D4), Dragged Away (D6). Tagging @thebookster on her demand.

“We've all fallen, but at the same time we're not broken. There is the hint that we are going to get up again.” - Amy Lee.

CHAPTER 2:

“Who are you?”   It was laughable how this question was always coming back to him in whatever life he was living. Laughable how different the species of the universe could be, and yet how identical they were. They hated the emptiness, the unexplained. They need to name things, to name people. That was an obsession, a necessity. He had given many answers to this question. Many lies and many truths for many reasons. The only reason he had to lie today was for his safety. He didn’t like the place, didn’t like the staff. He was distrustful. There was an atmosphere here that he would qualify of unhealthy though he couldn’t quite identify why it made him so uneasy.   “I’m the Doctor. What about you?” “Doctor who?” “Ding ding ding, we have a winner for the jackpot.”   This joke never got old and never failed to make him laugh. The person in front of him didn’t find him any funny though. He was only worsening his current condition. They already thought he was crazy. He couldn’t deny it. When he had woken up after fainting in that street, he was in a tiny room with cracked white paint. He was laying in an old bed that was grating every time he moved. By his right, there was a small window with bars and a blind partially shut. Under that window, there was a small wonky table. There were two doors. One was facing the window, the other was facing the bed. One was locked, the other was leading to a bathroom barely large enough for a shower booth, a sink and toilets. He was stuck in this room for as long as whoever locked him here would want to keep him. With a sonic screwdriver, he might have been able to get out. But he had nothing. Not even a shoelace. That’s how he had understood where he was. A mental hospital. Not a surprise. Later that day, a nurse had come in and he had followed her obediently. He had been introduced in the office of a certain doctor Nash Grieve. His therapist. He had sat down and listened o her as she explained to him that he had been found babbling incoherent things in the streets. The police had brought him here. He had been so defeated that day, so down to have failed that he accepted to be locked in this building until he was better. The medical staff was coming to him every now and then to check on him. He wouldn’t be out of bed. Sometimes, they would sit down and talk to him for a couple minutes. He would say nothing, just stare at the ceiling as if it was holding the answers to his questions. He would follow the group he was assigned to when it was time to eat. All of this for a full week and now, he was back in this office and playing dumb in front of the doctor Grieve. But the feeling if uneasiness he was feeling in this place gave him the strong urge to run away. Which he couldn’t.   “You looked better than a couple days ago.” “I’m feeling better. Your staff has taken great care of me.” “They are concerned about you.” “Why’s that? I don’t cause troubles.” “Indeed you don’t.”   The doctor Grieve leant back in her chair and crossed her hands on her stomach. She fixed him silently for a moment. It was making him more uncomfortable than he already was. This woman wasn’t impressive though. She maybe was in her fifties with dark brown hair turning to grey on her roots and temples. She was thick-set but not fat. There was something motherly about her. She couldn’t be a bad woman. So why was he detecting something wrong in here?   “They gave me the police report of that night.”   He gave a nod. It had been mentioned already. He remembered facing a police officer and losing it but he didn’t remember what he was saying. Something that had caught their attention. Something that was justifying his presence here. But he was better, so it would be logical to let him go. Which wasn’t gonna happen. If the medical staff had concerns about him, they would keep him in this hospital to be sure he wasn’t a danger for anyone, himself included.   “The blood test they ran on you showed that you were negative to drugs and alcohol. Yet, you were babbling about something being in your head and in someone else’s head. A woman named Rose. You’ve added: ‘I need the Doctor. The Bad Wolf isn’t gone’.” “Oh. I see. That’s embarrassing.”   He had done this dream numerous times these past days. It wasn’t really a dream. It was a memory. He remembered it fully now: he had kissed Rose Tyler on Satellite 5 to take the Bad Wolf out of her head and save her. That was the original plan. And it had gone wrong. Really, really wrong. He hadn’t felt it immediately. That was only when he woke up in the middle of that street in Manchester that things had appeared clearly to him and from that moment, he had known that he had to get to Rose to the new Doctor and tell them about the situation. However, he couldn’t get to Rose – thanks to Jackie who probably hated him more than ever now – and the Doctor hadn’t seemed to catch any of his distress calls. Or he was deliberately ignoring them. For once, he would be following the rules. Wasn’t it ironic? There was an unspoken rule in the Time Lords’ community, an unspoken story. They were keeping these hidden because of the shame these superior beings had toward this part of them. The Doctor was called a thief for stealing a type 40 TARDIS, but the truth was that all Time Lord were thieves. They were born with one face and were stealing the eleven others among people they met in their long lives, and when they were regenerating, the face they had taken was sent back to its previous life without any memories of being a Time Lord or Lady for many years. That was why there were so many missing persons, especially on Earth. Humans shapes were easier to steal, made it easier to fit in in the universe with how far they had spread their territory. And they didn’t suspect anything when they came back on Earth. This face belonged to a man named Maxence Spitz. When the Doctor had come across him, he was a young man going through a hard time. He had just lost his best friend and was falling into a dark circle of depression. He made friends with the teenager and kept him in mind when he left. When he had stolen his face, Maxence was in his thirties and was struggling to find a job. He had done lots of small jobs but couldn’t find a career of his own. The Doctor had given him the stars and a heavy weight to carry on his shoulders. He should have forgotten about all of this when he sacrificed himself for Rose. It was underestimating the Bad Wolf. The entity split in three. A part of it went back to the TARDIS, the two others remained stuck in the two humans’ minds. That was a really problematic. His instincts were warning him that telling his real name to this woman wasn’t a good idea. It would be used against him, against his family. He would never let anything happen to his mother and brother, especially with the power now sleeping in his head. He would stick to the Doctor for now, even if that meant staying here for a little longer. He had to contact his family so they could come and see him, and hopefully free him from this hospital. He wouldn’t get out on his own.   “What’s embarrassing?” “This is a trouble I’ve developed when I was a little boy. I had night terrors and was sleepwalking in time of great anxiety. I was never really diagnosed. Mom and I both knew what was causing them.”   It was a lie though it really could have happened to him. His youth hadn’t been one of the best. He shouldn’t be able to remember because of how young he was back then, but he did. There were the cries, and the yells, and the pain. Sometimes, they were coming back to him. But he hadn’t heard them in years. Not the ones of that night. Instead, he had heard the screams haunting the Doctor’s dream and he was forever stuck with them now. There were more pleasant memories thankfully. He would cherish them.   “Alright.”   The doctor Grieve didn’t seem entirely convinced with his explanation but she was accepting it anyway and adding it to the file. His file. He had a medical record in a psychiatric hospital. He would have laughed if he had been able to. It was useless to worsen the situation even more.   “Who’s Rose?” “My ex-girlfriend. She had just dumped me when the police found me. Her mother kicked me out and I was so stunned that I sat down in a corner and cried. Must have fallen asleep after that.” “What’s your name?” “Why do you want to know my name?” “What don’t you want to give me your name?” “I prefer staying anonymous. Let’s stick to ‘the Doctor’ please.” “You’re not making things easy for yourself, you know.” “Yes, I know.” “Enough with bollocks!”   Both the doctor Grieve and the Doctor jumped in surprise when the voice raised out of nowhere. The door was opened with violence and an angry man came. The therapist held herself back from sighing and rolling her eyes upon seeing him while the Doctor froze and stared. It is impossible… And yet, it was. Jeremy Backfire, his father, was standing there, in the threshold. The Wolf felt the confusion and fear and rage rising in its host and feed on it to get some strength back. It hadn’t been in control in the last few days, hadn’t showed up because it wanted him out of this hospital. That wouldn’t happen if it was being visible. Plus, it had been considerably weakened with the loads of energy it spent with his arrival on Earth and his attempt to get to Rose but its host’s negative emotions and the evil aura coming from this newcomer was giving him new strengths and enabled him to rise again. The Doctor got up so fast that it sent the chair to the floor with a loud noise. His eyes had that bright golden glow again. The Wolf was there but he still had control. It didn’t have enough power. It was still channelling, absorbing. It would come out at the right time hopefully.   “There you are,” exulted Jeremy. He turned to Nash, totally unimpressed by the power his son was spreading in the room. “His real name’s Maxence Spitz. He told you the truth about being the Doctor. What you’re witnessing now is the Doctor teaming up with the powerful entity called Bad Wolf.”   Contrarily to Jeremy, Nash was clearly impressed and pretty scared by what she was seeing. An order was given: The Doctor had to be mastered and taken to an isolated cell. Nurses came in. They obviously had been waiting for this order to come. The doctor Grieve didn’t agree with these methods. Jeremy Backfire was her boss. He owned the place and she certainly had nothing to say to him about his way of ruling the place. But this man, Maxence Spitz or the Doctor… whatever he was called, was her patient. It was her duty to protect him and she couldn’t have him thrown into an isolation cell just because she was asked to. She was about to place herself in front of Maxence to stand in the way of the newcomers when the man she was trying to defend moved. He was so swift that she only saw a trail of golden light and then, he was holding one of the nurses with an armlock in her back and was threatening to kill her if Jeremy wasn’t going away. He was using that poor innocent as a human shield. If it had been Nash, it would have worked. But Jeremy only smirked. The Wolf broke the neck of the poor woman and let her body fall to the ground like a puppet. The other nurses stepped back. So did Nash. She was genuinely terrified now.   “You won’t have him,” growled the Wolf. “I won’t let you.”   Maxence Spitz was his host now and the entity would protect him until his death. Which hopefully wouldn’t happen anytime soon. They needed the Doctor to fix this mistake he had made, but he was turning a deaf ear. So Maxence and the Wolf had to team up to survive and protect themselves.   “Take him away. Now.”   The voice was firm. The order was clear. The Wolf wasn’t strong enough at the moment to deal with four nurses and a mad director. It faded away in the middle of the struggle and Maxence was abandoned to the hands of medical people that were dragging him away. Nash tried to protest but Jeremy wouldn’t change his mind. This patient was his now.

To be continued...

The Fallen © | 2019 | Tous droits réservés.

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[radiodreadzone]

The Witness

WC: 2,930

TW: None

Useless.

How could I have just...

The information was right there and I-

My cell phone was banished to my pocket, out of sight. I refused to acknowledge it, even as I felt the tell-tale buzz of the message from the Club.

But what if it's-

No.

I squashed down the thought mercilessly. That ship sailed. Went right by me in the metaphorical bay. I should have blocked the number for good measure but...for all my frustration, all of my anger, it was directed at myself. Not them.

I'd had questions for Thee-I-Dare, things I'd been content to let sit and maybe find answers for, but...Sometimes more pressing information comes to light. Sometimes you get a weird text from some rando in the middle of the night who knows exactly what you're after.

And sometimes you fuck it up.

In the aftermath, I’d sent the Light to him. My information was terribly limited but still...if they were our witness, if they had something, then I wanted to give him the heads up. I’d left it burning at the ritual table, convincing myself that it was better to just go out and lick my wounds. Let myself diffuse the frustration in a more beneficial way...Beneficial to the Club, at least. An alternative focus. A distraction.

I'd been working my way through the mission, still lost in the frustration of the moment passed. Disabling speed traps, collecting gear, sniffing out bonus evidence...all of this was done on a type of autopilot as my mind played out over and over again how it could have gone.

Wrong answer, kid. I'm sorry. You're already burnt.

Teeth grit, I pulled myself onto 1005's rooftop, angling for the rockets, watching with detachment the dazzle of the fireworks and their answering response from another Club member. I was gathering up the parachuted supplies when I sensed him. The words came, brontide and unobtrusive as ever.

I KNOW ENOUGH LIARS, SPARROW...

My hand came to a halt, hovering over the bandage it’d been seeking as my eyes slid shut and my jaw clenched. I straightened, passing a hand over my face for a moment as I tried to regain my composure. I could feel my eyes burning. Stinging at the memory of my...misstep. I refused to let him see me cry. Hadn't I already sunk far enough, tonight?

"Hi, Thee-I-Dare." I was horrified by the quality my voice had taken on, my throat clogged with the promise of what could be tears if I let it progress any further. A deep breath, a quiet clearing of my throat, and it passed. "I...I could have helped." I admitted bitterly. "I'm kind of kicking myself about it." From my perch on the eaves, I spectated the very interesting view of the grass below, unable to raise my eyes, unable to stop the tension that knotted my hands into fists and set my jaw.

DO NOT BE SORRY FOR THE TRUTH.

I sagged as the tension and fight left me in one deflating breath. I let myself slip off the roof. My eyes were finally able to leave the ground, moving instead, by necessary rote, to take in my surroundings as I moved on. "I guess not." The words were a hushed sigh.

WHAT HAPPENED? I HEARD THE RITUAL

I'd been...terribly vague. Not on purpose. It stung, what happened, and I hadn't been keen on dwelling on that particular...failing. But being vague wouldn't help Thee-I-Dare. Not now.

I pulled out my phone, scrolling through apps until I came back to my messages. I'd been so sorely tempted to just delete the entire conversation, but...Now I was at least somewhat glad that I hadn't in my fit of pique. It all fit neatly on the screen. Three messages apiece, balanced on both sides of the screen.

"I got a text on my phone from the unknown caller while I was running a mission. By myself. Don't know if that makes any difference..." I'd been in the Well, heading into the barracks when my phone had gone off. They'd scared the shit out of me.

Too bad that isn’t hard to do.

"They..." I couldn't swallow back a resigned sigh, scowling as I looked back over the handful of texts. "They knew...Colm was a sleepwalker." I squinted at the words and corrected myself, "a sleep talker? They had an archive of the recording that he made." I paused re-reading that. "Because apparently he made one...?" A pause as I processed that. "And they asked if they could trust me. Asked who I followed." I paused as the daimon stirred forth again.

DID HE...

I blinked, then realized he meant the recording. Right. "I guess so. So whoever they were, they've got information. But I don't know how to get a hold of them or get a hold of what they had." My brows furrowed as I powered off the phone and pushed it back into my pocket, burying it under a bandage and zipping it closed. I turned my attention back up the road to Old Growth. I was mostly wandering now, I tended to take to pacing when a daimon spoke to me. It felt easier to think that way, even if it was just a nervous habit. But as I approached the daycare, I could see posters jutting out of trashcans. My wandering was worthwhile tonight, at least.

"I don't think they like...you guys. Or maybe they just don't like...you?" A grimace. "Because when they asked if I followed anybody and I mentioned you, they called me 'burnt' and cut off communication." That part still puzzled me. What the hell had they meant by 'burnt'? Was it a play on Thee-I-Dare? He'd told me stories of stolen fire, his symbol on the table looked like the flame of a struck match-head.

Or maybe it was little more sinister. Icarus too close to the sun. I'd taken up my lot flying too close to the 'gods'. "So." I continued, the bitterness in my words had their bite leeched back by resignation, "I don't know if that means anything in particular or if they were just being unusually cruel with their words."

THEY HATE ME? THEY CAN GET IN LINE.

It was practically a scoff from him. I couldn't help the soft bark of laughter. "You do seem to have a knack for making enemies...don't you? All that contrariness catches up, I guess."

But his enemies were mine too, now. I wondered if I should worry about that. Nervousness flickered and sparked, deep in my chest. I pushed it away. Tamped it down. Those were for another time.

YOU WERE ALONE. THAT IS OF NOTE.

I had been. But not for long. Halfway through the texts showing up, I'd been told Kyle was coming. And Cass not long after. A part of me briefly wondered if that had been what scared them away.

Maybe. Maybe not. Our words had continued, even after their arrival. I had no one else to blame for this.

"Yeah." I began, realizing I'd been silent a beat. "I dunno they've...they've sent messages, from what I've heard, to others..? But I don't know if they were alone or not." Hard to tell with the rumor mill surrounding all these people getting texts from a blocked number. Offhandedly I also added, "They don't like the Stalkers either. I've heard some of the kids laughing about how they taunted them. They're spying actively, whoever they are." I chewed at a nail a moment, having managed to shove the last of the posters into my pack to begin putting up.

THEY MAY FEAR TO TRUST YOU, YET...

I couldn't help the slight scoff, even as my shoulders shrugged in my too-big jacket. "I mean...I can't blame them..." I muttered. "One...two text messages asking 'Hey can I trust you?' That's not...that's not how you build a rapport." It was trailed off with a sigh.

IF THEY OFFERED SUCH BAIT, I THINK...

THEY NEED FRIENDS, OR SHELTER...

I felt myself bristle a little mentally at the words 'bait'. Had I avoided a trap then? My honesty spared me from something dangerous? "And...I guess they didn't think I was a good option for that." Were they that desperate for those things? "But...I mean..." I turned a thought over, "They've got a whole club at their heels. But they're not afraid of us." No, they were actively reaching out to us instead. So who was threatening them by us drawing attention to them. "More enemies of yours maybe on their tail? I dunno..." I mumble, patting a poster into place against some house siding, Sargent Snuggles' sweatered visage looking apathetically down at me.

MAYBE. BUT YOU CAN USE THIS...

Encouragement. Help thinking it through. A wan smile spread on my face at it all. I knew what he was doing, even as my tired brain tried to process through all the new information.

THEY WILL TRY AGAIN WITH SOMEONE.

That much was clear. They'd been working their way through kids in the Club. No one more than once though, it seemed. "Right. We're not...sure...if there is a right answer to their questions but..." Another pause as I finished putting up the posters in the neighborhood, angling back up to the last few spots marked for Old Growth, eyes still peeled for Lucids, which had been rife about this evening. I was out of Tranq Darts, and I didn't need the additional aggravation. "They've talked to quite a few of us so far. I think they're still looking for someone to trust.

YOU KNOW WHAT NOT TO SAY. IT HELPS

Hundreds of wrong ways. Only one right. Just like Edison. Unfortunately, I wasn't sure if we had the luxury of time like he had. This wasn't a patent so much as it was a race to fix a broken Voice...one I didn't trust as far as I could throw her. And to figure out...everything. 

A slow tired blink. 

What was I even doing at this point...besides just helping Thee-I-Dare? Was that enough? I rubbed tiredly at my eyes, minding the poster glue that spattered one of my palms.

More thoughts for later. There was so much. So much to understand.

"Right. They...don't seem to like any of you guys." Time for more thinking out loud. My brain could process things, but in my state, as the thoughts went into my grey matter, they were absorbed and dispersed into nothingness if I refused to say them out loud. Gone forever. We'd both have to cope with this method, for the moment. I hoped I didn't say anything too stupid. "But...if they're our Witness...wouldn't they be tied to at least one of you? Or are we just dealing with a loose cannon?" Even as the thought came off my lips, I grimaced at the idea.

Not so far-fetched, honestly. We weren't the only untied ends in Redacre, it was looking like. As we pulled at the strings, more and more pieces came unraveled with us. There the whole time, or slowly woven in and well hidden.

WELL. AMONG MY SIBLINGS...

THEY SAID THE WITNESS WAS THERE.

"Right." A gestured phrase for him to continue as I moved quietly behind the fences, heavy-lidded eyes peeled, a Flashbang gripped tight in hand. Just in case. It was excessive it turned out, as I put the last poster up and slunk towards the campgrounds. My careful creeping brought no one's attention to bear on me. Wary skulking turned back into careful upright steps as I let myself relax back into my stride.

THAT NIGHT. THIS PERSON...LATER?

"There's so many...misaligned pieces here." I sighed, feeling the exhaustion tugging at me. Too many late nights. I was having trouble concentrating again. "I dunno, Thee-I-Dare, something here reeks and I don't know what it is. And that's throwing me off."

RITUALS SAID A CAR, EARLY MORNING.

His attempt at a helpful addition, I supposed. But it was also information I already knew. "Afterward. That's after..." I looked for the right word choice, "The event took place...though right? Unless..."

My brain turned over thoughts. Ideas. Possibilities. I felt something clicking into place. Colm had recorded his sleepwalking. It wouldn't matter if someone had been present at all.

YES. THAT IS WHAT I AM TOLD.

His words rumbled quietly across my mind, but I acknowledged them only distantly, too focused on my sudden mental path. 

Not a cop meddling. Not the Voice. Something had doctored the scene. And something had stolen that tape. Someone.

"..if..They took his recording." The words came out of my mouth haltingly, as I stared off the Leap, wide-eyed, realizations crashing down with a bevy of new pieces for the puzzle hailing with it.

Almost in tandem, a similar thought came from Thee-I-Dare.

FROM WHAT YOU IMPLIED, A THIEF.

"Right." The word was a breathy acknowledgement, the idea more or less confirmed in that moment by the daimon's own suspicions. "Fuck." the word shot out of my mouth with venom. Confusion ran in the wake of this discovery. "Oh no...Oh no. That's. New." I ran a slightly sticky hand through my short hair, ruffling the strands. "And a thief on the run...What the-" I paced down the gang-planks towards Dream Therapy, distracted thoroughly, and only barely remembering to monitor my volume. "Why would they-What were they even doing with that? What?! What purpose would they have for stealing Colm's recording?"

Why indeed? I could only hope Thee-I-Dare wouldn't mind my stream of consciousness. Exhaustion would do that to me. Ranting was...not something I'd done in his presence before.

THEY MUST FEEL VERY ALONE, NOW.

"Yeah," I said, realizing my tone sounded very 'well duh', causing me to sober a bit, thinking more. "Yeah, probably. Especially if they're reaching out to a bunch of kids."

AS TO THE REST, I KNOW NOT.

I bit back a sigh. He was in the same sinking ship as I was. Plugging the same holes without an idea as to the source. Asking him the questions wouldn't help. He didn't have any answers, and neither did I for the time being. "I know. At this point...speculating." I shrugged, squinting into the watery green light of Dream Therapy. I was hoping to find just a few more pieces of evidence ensconced in the Maze before I called it a night. "Probably a lot of waiting until they try to reach out to somebody else again. They seem good at spreading a bit of discord themselves but...not finding what they need."

SPECULATION. THE REDACRE DISEASE.

I couldn't tell if he was teasing in that moment or not, but I laughed quietly anyway, unable to help the sarcasm that colored my tones. "Isn't it just, though?" I paused just long enough to sweep my arms wide from the balcony of the high platform, "But...I mean look at this place." I gestured to the strange fog rolling on the floor, the twisted trees, the lurid red of the Door in the distance. "There's barely any answers here. Just a lot of mysteries."

There was a brief pause that lasted only a few heartbeats.

OUR RITUAL TIME ENDS, SPARROW...

I'd known it would. His time was shorter these days. Pressed by the weight of...whatever had done this to him. As the flame dwindled, so too would his presence. Even now if I paid attention I was sure I would feel him fading. "I understand." my arms dropped back to my sides, my hands burying in my pockets.

PLEASE BE CAUTIOUS DOWN HERE.

I couldn't help the soft smile that quirked at my mouth, then. Ever endearing, Thee-I-Dare. Even if he couldn't be there to watch over us all the time. "I will. I'll only pick up a few more things and I'll go." The honest truth. I was a shit liar, after all. "I still appreciate you stopping by. Helping me suss a few more things out." I paused, resisting the urge to scuff my shoes on the planks underfoot, the high-tops less yellow now, and more dirty and grass stained than they'd been when all this began. "Sorry I couldn't have been more help, though."

I THINK YOU WERE, MY SPARROW.

I couldn't tell if the warmth that suffused the wake of the statement came from him or if it was simply my own reaction. It was a comfort, regardless. And the endearments never ceased to help something tensed somewhere in my shoulders loosen just a bit. Ridiculous. I was utterly ridiculous. I smiled anyway, shaking my head. "There you go, being nice again."

SURVIVE.

That presence shifted away. "Goodnight, Thee-I-Dare." I murmured quietly.

Long uncounted moments passed, the silence extending as I simply...took stock of everything. The frustration was gone in the face of speaking to him. Helped by the ability to think through what I'd learned, no matter how small the crumb. Just...having someone there to talk. It'd helped. I didn't feel so ruffled.

He was good at what he did, I'd give him that...a balm to wounded pride and dismay. I was grateful always for that help. Always glad when he came to help me feel better when I seemed dead set on feeling sorry for myself. I hummed thoughtfully, wincing at the realization that I hadn’t told him as much. Always looking out for us. I needed to do more to repay in kind.

I finally turned and shifted deeper into the Maze to continue my search. Caution coded my steps softer.

There was more to do, yet, but I had promised him to take care.

[merigreenleaf]

AU Tuesday - “Stuck With You” Part 9

(For AU Tuesday I’m writing a multi-part story about all five of my main characters using the prompt: “A [platonic] soulmate AU where you have a black stain where your soulmate is supposed to touch you for the first time and it turns to millions of colors once they do.” The events are all [or mostly] canon to the series; the only real change are the soul-marks. These can really be read in any order because each part pretty much stands on its own. Part 1, Part 2, Part 3,Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 10.)

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

Sol shoved the pile of half-finished toothpick sculptures aside until there was a big, empty space on his worktable perfect for his Plan. It was a great plan. He fixed performers’ props all the time and there was no way he could mess this up. There was only one problem: he didn’t have the prop yet. It wouldn’t be a secret anymore if he went and got it because everyone would wonder what he was doing in Blythe’s house. Well, Blythe’s and Dray’s and Adair’s house, since they both lived in her wagon now, too. Every day Sol asked Adair to move in with him because that would be like a sleepover all the time, but Adair kept saying no, saying that Blythe’s wagon had a bigger pantry and space for the easel she’d bought him. It wasn’t fair, Sol should rank above food and art supplies. Maybe if he built a really smarfy thing that was part bed, part studio, part kitchen, Adair would move in.

Adair! That was the perfect way to get the prop! Adair could pretend to grab his paint or something, then sneak out with it when he left. Maybe it wasn’t so bad that he lived over there.

“Hey, buddy? Do you know where Dray keeps their props? Can you get me their staff?”

A few feet away Adair was doing his best oversized magpie impression in the very well-enforced nest that was Sol’s bed. Much like Sol had done to the desk, Adair had pushed Sol’s collection of metallic odds and ends and broken pieces of appliances to the side. Sol craned his neck to see what he was drawing in his sketchbook, but Adair closed it and set it on top of the nest-pile before he could get a good look. “Yeah, I guess. Why?”

Sol tugged the sculpture of Adair’s cat free from his arm and put the lid on the glue jar before grinning at Adair. “I’m gonna fix it up for them. Dray’s gonna love it!”

Adair shrugged and headed out the door while Sol went into planning mode. The staff had looked a little dingy and scratched up when Dray danced with it last night. That would have been almost acceptable for a tinkerer like Sol-- until he saw the struggle Dray had separating the pieces to take it apart. It was then that Sol had his brilliant Plan. He’d take Dray’s beat up old staff and fix it up so that it was like new. Better than new! He wasn’t the carnival troupe’s resident inventor for nothing!

Plus Dray seemed so gloomy and sad that Sol wanted to do something to cheer them up. He’d wanted to meet Blythe’s sibling ever since he learned she had one because Sol’s own sibling was great so that must mean that Blythe’s was, too. And then he met Dray. Maybe Dray was great, somewhere under all the cynicism and frowns, but they kept to themself and didn’t really talk to Sol or anyone. Okay, Etri was like that, too, but that was just because he was shy and Blythe had never said anything about Dray being shy. What Dray needed was something to make them feel welcome and Sol knew he was the one who could do it, especially with Adair here to help.

How had he gotten by before Adair sleepwalked into the carnival? Adair didn’t mind holding down things Sol was hammering or grabbing stuff Sol forgot to have ready or taking emergency midnight trips into the city with him to dive through dumpsters. Sometimes his drawings even gave Sol ideas. And since Adair wasn’t here to use it right now, now would be the perfect time to go through his sketchbook! Sol flopped onto the bed and grabbed the book. For a moment the nest teetered, but when only a few pieces of scrap metal clattered to the floor, Sol made himself comfortable and started flipping through the pages. A sketch of a bullfrog, this one probably won’t be helpful… detailed study of a paintbrush tip, no, not this one either… a rough drawing of Dray dancing? Maybe this one would be…

A red sequined bag dropped into his lap. “Is this the right one? Dray’s got a ton of prop bags and they all look the same.”

Maybe if he combined this drawing of a bullfrog with that old cuckoo clock he found, he could make something that croaked the hour. “Huh?”

Adair took the sketchbook from his hands and replaced it with the strap of the bag. “Remember? You asked me to get the staff so you could fix it. Is this the right one?”

“That’s right! Dray’s surprise!” Sol jumped off the bed too fast and stumbled as he slung the strap over his shoulder. The bag swung around and smacked Adair in the head. No wonder Blythe always said he needed to slow down before he hurt himself. Hurting Adair was worse than hurting himself! Adair was his important. He felt for a bump on Adair’s head and didn’t feel anything. Was that a good sign? Would there be a bump already? Sol hurt himself on a daily basis but he wasn’t really sure how Blythe figured out when he needed to be healed and when he needed to be shooed out the door. “Sorry! Does it hurt? Do you need to go to Blade? She always tells me to watch where I’m going and she’s probably right-”

Adair ducked down and out of his reach. “I’m fine. But are you sure you should do this without asking?”

Sol blinked at him. “Hit you in the head?”

“No. I mean, yeah, don’t do that, but I meant fix Dray’s prop without asking. Dray’s really… enthusiastic about their props. I swear they were baby talking to their fire swords this morning. It was kind of weird.”

Sol peeked inside the bag. Adair had picked right despite his constant confusion about props. He called pretty much everything vaguely rod-shaped a baton. In Adair’s defense, all of his paintbrushes looked the same to Sol, and he had yet to hand Adair the right one he asked for. Maybe if he used Adair’s paint to color-code them all… Right, Adair had said something about carnies being weird. “Weird? Oh, with props. All carnies are like that. Etri’s favorite knife is named Pokey. Well, when I say it’s named, I mean I call it that, he doesn’t, but I bet if I do it long enough he’ll pick up on it. It worked with Blythe’s boots Kicky and Kicko.”

“And you’re sure it’s okay to fix it without asking?”

Adair trailed after him and sat on the step stool while Sol took the three pieces of the staff out of the bag. The stool was there so Adair could reach the table built for Sol’s height, but Adair was iffy about using it. Sometimes it was fine, sometimes his fear of heights was too much and Sol had to work on the floor with him instead. That was okay. Having a friend to help was worth way more than a table that was usually covered in last week’s Big Plan anyway.

“I’m not gonna hurt it, just make it better. Like Blade does when we get hurt.”

“But that’s different.”

Sol eyed the staff before connecting and unconnecting two of the parts. They did drag each time instead of sliding silently together and the catch was funny. It was a wonder Dray had put up with this because Sol would have gotten it fixed a long time ago. If he sanded it down and then soldered on a different connector, it should come together much smoother. “It’s not different. She’s a healer to broken people, I’m a healer to broken things. We both fix things. The difference is, she can’t make broken people shoot spikes or ignite with the push of a button, and I can! I mean things, not people. I can’t make people shoot spikes. But things like this staff – Ooh! Maybe I can make the staff ignite! And shoot spikes! And then ignite the spikes! And then-”

“Okay, yeah, I guess that makes sense. You go do that and I’ll… umm… be over here.” Adair retreated to his nest, which Sol thought was a little silly because it wasn’t like he’d added the spikes yet. Maybe if Adair sat there long enough, though, one of Sol’s piles of scrap would hatch into a little trash vulture or something. Sol could train it to pick through junk heaps, and perch on his shoulder, and say important words like “hello” and “smarfy” and “look out, Blythe’s coming.” 

But first the staff. No sooner had Sol pushed the third piece into place when a voice that wasn’t Adair’s rang across the wagon, “You thief!”

The staff dropped to the table with a clatter. Sol glanced over his shoulder and, not seeing anyone there, lifted his arm to see in the blind spot caused by his biceps. There Dray stood with their hands on their hips, wearing a scowl so much like Blythe’s that Sol wanted to hide despite Dray being half his size. “Wh-where?”

Unlike Blythe, Dray’s furious expression and hands-on-hips didn’t turn into foot-tapping or counting. Sol hated when Blythe counted at him. It make him lose track of his thoughts every time and that meant never knowing what it was she wanted him to stop doing. Dray glared up from the level of Sol’s elbow. “I’m looking at him. You took it.”

Dray wasn’t all that scary, really, not after knowing Blythe for so long. If all they were going to do was stand there and accuse Sol of… something… without even throwing numbers at him, Sol was going to get back to work. He picked up the staff again and ran his thumb over the second connector. “I took what?”

“That! That right there!”

“This?” Sol looked at the staff, then back at Dray. It turned out he didn’t need counting to lose track of what they were arguing about. Huh, you learn something new every day. “What about this?”

“That!” Dray took their hands from their hips so that they could gesture at the staff. “You took that!”

“I took this?”

“Yes! You took my staff!”

Oh! Now Sol remembered why Dray was here. It was Dray’s staff that he was going to make shoot flaming spikes. He grinned at Dray and nodded. “Yeah! Yeah, I took your staff.”

There was a brief pause between them, then Dray cleared their throat. “Well? Can I have it back now?”

“You mean the staff?” Sol pointed at the staff with the hand that wasn’t holding it. He wanted to be clear that Dray wasn’t talking about something else.

“Of course I mean the staff!” Dray gestured wildly toward the ceiling now. “What else have I been asking about since I came in here?”

“But I’m not done with it yet. I have to be a healer to it because it’s a broken thing and I fix broken things.”

“There’s nothing broken about my staff.”

Dray lunged for it and Sol reflexively lifted it up above his head. His knuckles scraped the ceiling and it hurt a little, but he knew Dray wouldn’t be able to reach it. If Dray would stop yelling, Sol could have had this done five minutes ago. Maybe not the spikes yet, that might take a while, but the fixing part would be finished. “Yes there is! I have to sand it down and solder on a new catch so it slides together better--”

“Give. Me. My. Staff.”

“--And it doesn’t shoot spikes or light them on fire yet--”

“It’s not supposed to do that, you goon!” Dray hopped onto the step stool and reached for the staff, their fingertips falling short yet close enough that Sol feared they'd be able to grab it if they jumped.

Sol needed to make Dray understand. It was a present to make them happy and now they were just about the opposite of happy. Or was sad the opposite of happy? Dray wasn't sad anymore, and that was what Sol had been going for, but angry wasn't what he wanted either. “But it was going to! It was going to be a surprise and now I told you and it’s not a surprise anymore.”

“What do you mean ‘surprise’?” Dray planted their foot on Sol’s shin and grabbed onto one of his shoulders. Within seconds they had clambered up Sol’s torso.

“I’m fixing your staff. …Surprise!” Despite Dray’s display of human parkour, Sol was having fun. Hey, maybe Dray would want to start an acrobatic act with him. Now that Etri was going to be Adair’s sentinel, he probably wouldn’t be performing much and Sol was going to need a new partner.

“It. Doesn’t. Need. Fixed.” Dray hoisted their way up past his shoulders until they sat astride the back of his neck. Sol waved the staff around, wondering how well Dray could keep their balance. He was pretty sure they were holding on entirely with their knees.

The door to the wagon swung open followed by a voice Sol knew all too well. “Freeze, you two!”

Sol spun so that both of them were facing the shadows standing in the doorway and he was pleased when Dray didn’t even totter. Maybe this could work! He’d have to ask Etri about his future plans and if he’d mind Sol taking on a new partner. He’d have to ask Dray, too, of course, but maybe they--

That was when he realized Blythe was still addressing them in what Sol thought of her “stop-screwing-around” voice. He had no choice but to hand Dray the staff, which they snatched with a gleeful cackle, so he could pluck them from his shoulders and set them on the floor. Adair stood next to Blythe and it took Sol a worried minute to realize he was turning red because he was trying not to laugh. What was so funny?

“Well, I’d say that’s unexpected, but I should have seen it coming when I heard you two bickering. Dray, do you always activate marks by getting into fights?”

What was she talking about? Sol glanced down at Dray to see if they had any idea. Dray must have taken his attention the wrong way because they glared and swung the staff behind their back to put it out of reach.

Adair had returned to his normal shade of brown when he nudged Blythe’s arm. “Can I tell them both? Please? Pretty please?”

Blythe sighed and covered her eyes with her hand. “This is going to be a bad pun again, isn’t it? Every time you ask, it’s always a bad pun.”

“There’s no such thing as a bad pun.” Adair gestured with both hands at Sol and Dray. “I guess this means they’re sole-mates.”

“I knew it. That’s the same dumb pun you’ve been making since you met Sol.”

“No, it’s not! The other was about Sol. This one’s completely different. I mean, it does make them sole-mate Sol-mate soulmates, but it’s a completely different joke.”

“Oh no,” Dray muttered under their breath.

Sol just stared at Adair. If he waited long enough, maybe Adair would stop saying his name and explain what was going on. To his relief Adair came over and poked him in the side, but his words weren’t any more helpful. “You two must have got off on the wrong foot, huh?”

Blythe and Dray groaned in tandem. Why was Adair talking so much about feet?

“You’re going to be together through thick and shin now, I’ll bet.”

Huh?

Dray held out a hand as though to keep Adair at a distance. “Enough is enough. Sol, he means look at your leg, you doof.”

Finally someone was making sense. Sol did as he was told. The long black soulmark on the front of his leg had changed into the same rainbow of the other marks on his body. He’d always thought the mark looked a little like a footprint and… that was why Adair kept making all the feet comments! Dray’s matching mark to his must be on the bottom of their foot, like Etri and Blythe’s were on their hands and Adair’s was on his back. Maybe Dray would want to share an act with him because they were destined to be important to each other. He let out a whoop and picked Dray up in a bear hug to spin them around. This was great! Now he knew who all of his importants were!

Dray’s only reaction to this was to sigh when Sol put them back on the ground and to tug the wrinkles from their shirt. “I guess it could be worse. Pun-boy over there could be one of my soulmates.”

Adair stuck his tongue out, which Dray ignored.

“Now that I know I’m stuck with you and you weren’t going to steal it, I suppose I can let you have this.” Dray held out the staff only to snatch it back when Sol went to take it. “Under one condition. You only fix it up so it works better. No spikes and absolutely no flaming spikes.”

“Can I at least make the wicks self-ignite when you push the button? I really want to make it have a button that does something smarfy.”

Dray hesitated, but handed it over. “I’m going to regret this. I know I’m going to regret this. Just be careful with it.”

There was no doubt about it. Sol had the best importants! He met Adair’s eyes and didn’t have to say a word. Adair knew exactly what he wanted. “I’ll go move the rest of the toothpicks off the table.”

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

(My husband gets co-writer credit this week because he helped me out with writing that argument and then acted it out for me. He’s a goofball! Anyway, I have two chapters left in this story and next week it’s a Dray POV. :)  As always, if you want to be taken off the list of people I tag when I share stories, let me know. If you want to be added to the list, also let me know. And please definitely do tag me when you share stories and excerpts and things, too! @ageekyreader  @lynnafred @the-gay-hufflepuff @firewritten @joshuaorrizonte @writtenhastily @writerlydays @ava-burton-writing @josephmxa @megan-cutler @dragonscanbeplantstoo @alittle-writer @perringwrites @an-author-in-progress @aceduchessdragoness @madmooninc @thatwriternamedvolk @elliot-orion @wchwriter @lady-redshield-writes @shadow-maker @zachdoesawriting @blogherosix @reeseweston @bluemartlet @pen-for-sword  @writer-on-time )

[itsbenedict]

Two-Faced Jewel: Session 6

A half-elf conwoman (and the moth tasked with keeping her out of trouble) travel the Jewel in search of, uh, whatever a fashionable accessory is pointing them at. [Campaign log]

Last time, the party, after making their way to the torture wizard's evil torture tower, made a sneaky entrance via the window... into the room full of traps. One would think going in through a window and being immediately attacked by torture robots would teach them to, say, not go in through another window again immediately- but Looseleaf had other ideas, and those ideas got her attacked by several flying knives on the fourth floor.

Does she survive?

Barely! She loses over half her health to the initial onslaught, but manages to drop back down and close the window behind her before the knives can give chase, thanks to her racial ability to have two extra arms- she can shimmy down a rope and close a window in the same turn.

They're not out of the woods yet, though- the knives, frustrated in their assault by a pane of glass, turn around and head down the chimney through the fireplace on each floor. The party's ready for them as they emerge, though, and a couple rounds of combat later, the animated knives meet their ends without doing any further damage.

There's still a couple of beefy animated armors up there, though- so the party spends a tense couple turns waiting at the bottom of the stairs for them to make their way downstairs to the trap room. And they do, but... the translucent barrier blocking the stairway seems to block the armor, too, and they just stand menacingly at the bottom of the stairs.

...Hey, where'd Vayen go?

Luckily, Looseleaf had the foresight to soul-link to the medical kit she provided him earlier, meaning she can detect where he is at all times by sensing its spirit. She notes that he's gone upstairs via the window, and Saelhen follows. She finds him... perusing the torture equipment on the tables on the fourth floor, suspiciously. Vayen's surprised to have been followed, but points out, on the table, a strange weapon with a cross-shaped guard and four thin blades spaced wide- almost certainly the murder weapon used to kill the Nicksickles. He rolls a nat 1 on... something, and then just sort of hands it over to Saelhen without making a fuss. Huh.

Meanwhile, downstairs, Looseleaf tries to knock down the barrier with magic, and we end up making the exact same joke:

They've managed to split the attentions of the torturebots, but they don't have any way to keep the remaining bot occupied- so the rest of the party makes the decision to hurry up the rope and rejoin Saelhen and Vayen before the enemy can regroup.

Saelhen, seeing the bot coming, heads up to the fifth floor to get some distance on it, leaving Vayen behind. When Looseleaf and the others come up through the window, Vayen is gone- but Looseleaf can still sense him in the room via the bugged medkit. It seems he's turned invisible...?

On their way up the stairs, the closest armor slashes at Orluthe with a spiky claw, and- while Orluthe smacks it with an opportunity attack- gets through. The attack hurts, moreso than it should, thanks to some sort of magical pain effect, and Orluthe's Concentration-based buffs immediately expire. The party unloads some attacks on it, but it's a sturdy bastard!

Looseleaf: 16 hits? Benedict I. (GM): It does not. This thing... its spirit is pretty resilient. Apparently its creation was a labor of love. Looseleaf: Damn. Everything in this tower is so resilient. Saelhen du Fishercrown: AC 17, maybe? something brutal Benedict I. (GM):It's a big suit of metal! You want to know its Armor Class? Its class is armor! Looseleaf: i mean, spikes are gauche as fuck it can't be that classy

As they're fending this thing off- and it takes a disturbing number of hits- a third painbot inexplicably pops into existence next to the one attacking Orluthe. As it technically just entered Orluthe's range, and he has the Polearm Master feat, it gets smacked with an opportunity attack... and immediately vanishes. Some kind of illusion- which it doesn't take long for the party to blame on the invisible Vayen.

They keep wailing on it, but it's pretty sturdy.

One of them eventually goes down:

Benedict I. (GM): That hits! You catch the thing's helmet and it goes clean off its nonexistent shoulders. The rest of the armor collapses to the floor. Saelhen du Fishercrown: "There, Yamatake-san! The brain." Oyobi Yamatake: "Wh- that wasn't its- don't be a dick!"

The other one keeps chasing, though, and it's joined by the slow lumbering of some giant coffin-like device that's waddling its way over to join the fray. The party opts to make a fighting retreat up the stairs to the fifth floor. Arrows pepper the thing as it pursues them- and Saelhen and Looseleaf have approximately the same idea.

Remember back in town, they purchased, collectively, six thousand ball bearings?

Well, short story shorter, the stairs are now covered in ball bearings, making it very difficult for the automaton to continue its pursuit. It makes its dex saves, though, and it keeps pursuing them- until the party reaches the top of the stairs, and Zero has Orluthe shove the thing as soon as it catches up.

I believe you can predict the outcome of this shove, considering you saw the image at the start of this post.

Benedict I. (GM): so it's sustained 25 damage now Looseleaf: and it's stuck all the way at the bottom of the stairs again. Looseleaf, now, is thinking that- well, Vayen's not invisible anymore, and now Vayen is pincered between a painbot and a deathcoffin. Maybe we should do something to save him. He could very well die otherwise. Saelhen du Fishercrown: "Vayen, how nice to have you back with us, and apparently invisible this entire time without telling anyone!" Vayen: "Gaaaaaagh," he replies. Saelhen du Fishercrown: "We will of course protect you from the results of the decision you made, think nothing of it." Oyobi Yamatake: "Naturally! Because we're a team, right?"

Orluthe- who's a kindhearted soul and has been giving Vayen the benefit of the doubt- rushes downstairs to his aid, and, uh, rolls a natural one on his attempt to not trip on the ball bearings.

After this little snafu, though, the party successfully dispatches the other animated armor- and the coffin thing approaching them is, uh, very slow. It doesn't have legs. And, in fact, it seems incapable of climbing the stairs after them- so they head up to the fifth floor, having more or less won the combat!

The room turns out to be a bedroom, and doesn't seem to feature any sadistic suits of armor or flying knives- so the party stops for a short rest to dress their wounds. During this downtime, they interrogate Vayen regarding his recent behavior. He denies casting the illusion, and claims the invisibility was just a self-defense measure against the torture robots. His sudden disappearance, he claims, was just an attempt to take advantage of the moment the painbots were on the stairs to get around and flank them without being seen- he didn't want to give away his movements by announcing them.

There's no solid proof he was responsible for the illusion, so the party backs off on that- but Saelhen brings up something else. I think I'll paste this whole exchange:

Saelhen du Fishercrown: "And while I would be willing to call this an isolated case of awkwardness..." "...Vayen, a lady's bedroom, in the middle of the night, is a place one should not enter without explicit permission." Vayen: He goes stiff for a second. "...I don't know what you mean." Oyobi Yamatake: "Oh, come on! I heard you in there!" Looseleaf: "Heard him in- what?" Oyobi Yamatake: "You banged your leg on something and went 'Ow'!" Vayen: "...Overactive imagination." "Didn't happen." Saelhen du Fishercrown: "You really weren't very subtle. Oyobi heard you open my door, and close your own. I never left my room that night. And I left a few ball bearings by the door, as insurance. Ball bearings which had moved in the morning." Looseleaf: "...Are you saying that Vayen did something to you overnight, while I was asleep?" Saelhen du Fishercrown: "Would you like to accuse me of sleepwalking?" Looseleaf: "Vayen, is this true?" Vayen: "I never opened your door." Oyobi Yamatake: "Wh- no, I guess not, but-" Vayen: "I never touched her." "Nothing happened that night. I tranced the whole time." Saelhen du Fishercrown: "I'm sure. As for the contents of my bags, and, ah, personal effects... who can say?" Vayen: "I touched nothing of yours. I have no business with you." Oyobi Yamatake: "Oh my god. Seriously?"

Saelhen du Fishercrown: Is he getting worked up at all, or is he maintaining his flat affect? Benedict I. (GM): He's staying calm.

Saelhen du Fishercrown: "And I imagine you wouldn't want any suspicion to fall on you, yes?" Orluthe Chokorov: "I, uh... I don't think Vayen would do something like that, yeah..." Vayen: "What he said."

Oyobi Yamatake: "I can't believe this." Saelhen du Fishercrown: "Having twice acted such that we suspect you, thanks to... let's call it something neutral, for now, like miscommunication?" Looseleaf: "I mean, it could legitimately be miscommunication, possibly," Looseleaf says somewhat lamely. Saelhen du Fishercrown: "Perhaps! We are calling it that for a reason." Vayen: "Yes." Looseleaf: "But... I doubt Oyobi and Noeru would both lie about this. Oyobi's convinced that someone opened your door and opened Noeru's door, and that she heard your voice coming from Noeru's room." Vayen: "So what you have is Oyobi's word?" Looseleaf: "What's the alternative explanation here? An unknown party opened both doors, then went into Noeru's room and made a convincing imitation of your voice?" Vayen: "Or Oyobi is lying to make you distrust me." "Pretty standard elf move." Oyobi Yamatake: "Oh, you are not playing that card!" Vayen: He shrugs. Looseleaf: Looseleaf looks at the two of them. She can already see where this is going. Saelhen du Fishercrown: "Ah, the happy topic of racial politics! Sure to lighten any conversation." Looseleaf: "Okay, yeah, no, we're not playing that card," she says. "If it's deception we're worried about, I invite you to... allow me to perform a soul-read of you. Both of you, that is; you too, Oyobi, just to be fair." Oyobi Yamatake: "What? No, why?" Vayen: "I decline." Looseleaf: "It's not thought reading, but I can read alignment and intentions, if you let me." Vayen: "I decline." Looseleaf: "I mean, the alternative is- it is not fun being in a party cleaved down the middle with two sides that mistrust each other!" "Well... okay, I mean. If you decline, I'm not going to do that on you against your will." Oyobi Yamatake: "But- I mean, we're roommates! Don't you trust me?" "Over him?" Looseleaf:"Yeah, but, like, it's not fair that I only check one side, if I'm checking at all." "Fairness is important." Oyobi Yamatake: "..." Vayen: "Don't you have something else to be doing?"

Saelhen du Fishercrown: "Vayen. I would like to believe that this is a misunderstanding. But you understand that as of yet, you have done nothing, at all, that indicates that you have any interest whatsoever in preserving our lives on this trip?" Vayen : "...Correct." Saelhen du Fishercrown: "Ah." Saelhen blinks... and then chuckles a little. "Ah, ahah, did not think I was going to get that one out of you. That's kind of admirable, honestly." Vayen: He shrugs. "Your well-being is not relevant to my mission statement." "Mine need not be to yours." "Just... pretend I'm not here." Oyobi Yamatake: [I like that, actually. Let's just ditch him in the middle of the night,] Oyobi signs to Saelhen. Looseleaf: "And, what, let you walk into being pinned between spiky magic armor guys again?" "I mean, it's your call, legitimately." Vayen: "I'm fine." Saelhen du Fishercrown: "So you scouted ahead to give us information... despite the fact that you have absolutely no interest in whether we live or die." Vayen: "I scouted ahead to obtain information." "Anything else is your assumption." Saelhen du Fishercrown: "Let's say this, for now. Vayen, if you'd like to scout ahead for information, feel free. If you scout ahead for information without telling anyone, and if you return without any information, I will assume you are up to no good. Does that sound fair? Fair-ish?" Vayen: "...Assume what you like." Looseleaf: "...And, if you want us to assume you're not there- well, then, if someone shows up in our rooms at random, that's going to be assumed as an invasion of personal privacy. If Vayen-the-contributing-member-of-the-party doesn't exist, then there's no good reason for you to be in someone else's rooms at night against their will."

Man, what's with this guy? Might as well be wearing a giant neon "I'M EVIL" sign over his head. What a creep-o!

Anyway, in between the interrogation and the wound-dressing, the party searches the bedroom for loot. And loot they find- Looseleaf locates a pillow in an armoire that seems ridiculously comfy. When she naps on it, she finds that she recovers as if taking a long rest during the span of this short rest. It seems too good to be true- so they make some Arcana rolls to see if they can determine the nature of its magic.

Cool! Great! Probably fine!

Looseleaf: well, in that case, i lavishly describe the powerful effects of the best pillow ever, while being all smug about how i got to use it. and then promise that everyone else will get to take turns because i am a good moth. Orluthe Chokorov: "Wow, that's... could I try that next time?" Saelhen du Fishercrown: "It was adorable, you realize." "You're like a cloud who's gotten attached to another, puffier cloud." Oyobi Yamatake: "I don't sleep, but that sounds great for you!"

Saelhen, meanwhile, finds in a drawer ~5gp worth of jewelry, and... a rug. Which jumps out, unfurls itself on the floor, and beckons with a tassel to stand on it. Saelhen is by no means willing to fall for whatever trap this is, but Looseleaf...

Looseleaf: If you're not stepping on the obvious flying carpet, Looseleaf will.

But... it's not a flying carpet. It seems to just be a normal carpet, which wants to be stood on more than usual. That's... probably fine, right? Yeah. They opt to take it with them as a pet, because why not?

Looseleaf: "I will name my new pillow Cloudberry, and our new carpet friend Tasselhoff," Looseleaf declares.

They also notice that there's a secret door in the room- it's in the central pillar of the tower, and opens up into a hollow chamber that seems to span the height of the tower. From the inside, with Looseleaf's darkvision, they can spot additional secret doors hidden on the landings to each of the other floors, which were simply missed earlier. There's no obvious way to traverse this shaft, but they keep it in mind. They also keep in mind that there appears to be a basement of the tower, which they didn't notice earlier.

That squared away, the party heads up to the sixth and final floor of the tower.

Benedict I. (GM): This room is... It's large and round, like you might expect, with vaulted ceilings held up by wooden beams built into the central pillar. Right by the stairs is what appears to be a large furnace, with multiple compartments for burning different things. Looseleaf: oh, this isn't the roof. for some reason i was imagining this was the roof itself. i guess the roof is just, like, generic wizard tower shingles? Benedict I. (GM): The roof is sloped and shingled- you can tell there wasn't much up there, and that this appears to be all there is to the interior- no undiscovered attic. There is a large table to the left, a work desk of some description. The main thing of note on that desk- besides a bunch of papers you can't read from here- is a collection of colorful glass bottles with little glowing motes of light inside. There is a very comfy-looking chair by the desk, between the two windows, with a humanoid figure slouched in it. Motionless. Looseleaf: looseleaf would immediately be convinced that these glowing jars are some form of soul-jar- ah, that's probably our wizard Saelhen du Fishercrown: does it look like a corpse? Benedict I. (GM): To the south of you, there's a sort of nice living-room-type area with a rug and two large sofas, which seem excited to have guests. Oh, yeah, looks like a corpse, though you can't tell from this distance for sure. Probably, though. Not visibly breathing. To the very south of the room seems to be... Some sort of sloped basin, sloped down towards drains set into the central pillar. The basin is splashed all over with bloodstains of varying sizes. There is, by the basin, a very large section of the wall and windows that has been smashed open, and rubble and glass has been swept to one side in a pile by the stairs.

The body, on closer inspection, is in fact a corpse. It's not hard to identify him as the wizard who owns the tower, by his age and attire- and it's not hard to identify how he died, by the characteristic pattern of stab wounds in his chest.

The papers on the desk, meanwhile, contain extensive notes on different humanoid nervous systems and their pain responses, much of which is kind of indecipherable just because no one in the party is a neurobiologist. Plus some stuff on various magical interventions and diagrams thereof, which are likewise kind of tough to make sense of. And they're all... about a year old, representing about a month's worth of research. Apparently the archived research is kept somewhere else.

The glowy bottles, as far as they can tell, do some sort of magic with colored light, but the party doesn't experiment with them- they conclude pretty quickly that they have something to do with the nightly magical lightshows visible from outside the tower.

Looseleaf: "So, yeah, this guy definitely died a year ago when he got stabbed with his own four-pronged petard, and since then someone else has been going around and using the petard to assassinate people in Barley," Looseleaf concludes.

Before they do anything else... the couches approach, menacingly. Saelhen volunteers Oyobi as a guinea pig for the "is it safe to sit on the couches", theory- and luckily, that does appear to be the case. The couch she sits on squirms in contentment, much like the rug from earlier.

The other couch flies into a jealous rage and charges.

Quickly enough, Saelhen jumps onto the other couch, sating its sitlust for the time being. So, that potential hazard is nipped in the bud.

Looseleaf gets a 20 on her investigation roll to look around the room, meanwhile. With that, she's able to note that the bloodstains in the basin vary in age, some of them as fresh as a couple weeks old. She also notices there's not much splatter- as if the sources of the bloodstains weren't killed here. Her animism, applied to the floor stones, tells her the same- no echoes of death in the basin.

Also...

Next time: clearing out the rest of the tower!

[lubdubsworld]

Sleepwalking to You, it’s out of my control. (Jhope)

 (Author’s Note : These are short flashbacks to give you an idea about what it was like when they first got married and how they fell out with each other.  )

"Did you miss me, Hobi oppa?" The girl is silly, her pretty brown hair tied in a childish pony-tail as she slings the backpack over her shoulders. Her friends are waiting at the end of the street watching the couple with curious stares. it's her first day at college and she's already a mini-celebrity because she's married! Not just to anyone , but a handsome tall dancer who knows idols!! Everyone thinks she's the luckiest girl in the planet.

"Jiah, you were gone for half a day. Hurry up, your friends are waiting. Here, buy yourself dinner." Her husband , looking bored presses a couple of 5000 Won notes into her hand and she grins at him. There's no doubt that the girl has a crush, her eyes starry as she stares at the older man. But there's no doubt also, that the man does not feel the same way about her. There's detached annoyance and maybe a little fondness, but it's obvious to anyone that he isn't thinking of her the way she's thinking of him. And it's funny because everyone seems to notice except her.

Her friends look uncomfortable, feeling sorry for their poor friend. they don't tease her about her husband again because it's obvious he doesn't have feelings for her. But the girl in the ponytail is silly. So silly that she refuses to believe the million glaring signs. The way he never touched her. The way he always left the moment she entered a room. The way he stayed out, on most nights. The way he never asked her how her day went. The way he never even batted an eye when she jokingly told him about a guy in her college asking out.

it isn't until she walks in on her husband, hand in hand with another woman that it hits her. Hobi doesn’t love her the way she loves him. 

Oh yes, he cared for her. But that’s where it ended. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hobi pants against the mirror, every inch of his body screaming in agony. Practise had been ruthless today, him and Jimin pushing each other to their limits and a quick glance at the clock told him he had forgotten to ask Yoongi to pick Jiah up from the daycare she was volunteering at. But Yoongi had texted him and told him he would send someone to pick her up and honestly, he feels like the world's shittiest husband. But the rent is due. So is the electric bill and the groceries need to be restocked and God knows he has to start saving for Jiah's tuition from right this second if he was going to pay in in the  next three months.

His latesxt client was being a pain. Outright rejecting most of his routine without offering any productive critique. There's nothing remotely useful in the man's words, nothing hoseok can use to work on himself or the routine and it drives him insane. But mostly, it's the huge argument he had had with Hyeri.

"Hyung, you okay?" Jimin asks, tossing an ice cold water bottle at him and Hoseok catches it instinctively before groaning.

"Jiah caught me with Hyeri. I fucked up." He mutters, still shuddering with guilt at the memory. He's not particularly sexually active. In fact, after five years, him and Hyeri had an almost boring sex life. Once in two weeks if they were lucky. He'd gone months on end without touching her and honestly it didn't bother him all that much.

But somehow, some cruel twist of fate had let his young wife walk in on him with his girlfriend and Hoseok feels like a worm.

"Shit. Is she okay?"

Is she? Hoseok doesn't know how to ask her that. Doesn't know if he even has the right to ask.

The phone rings, just as he's about to answer Jimin and Hoseok picks it up, nervous. He glances at the watch, it's almost ten in the night.

"Hello?"

"Did you pick Jiah up?" Yoongi's voice is concerned.

His heart skips three consecutive beats.

"No. " He chokes.

"What the hell she isn't here. Her phone's turned off and -"

Hoseok grabs his shoes and runs out of the studio, heart pounding in his rib cage.

He spends the next hour running from one coffee shop to the next, all of her usual hangouts. He calls an embarrassing number of people an embarassing number of times and is a second away from calling her father when his phone rings.

It's his father. He stares at the screen, numb with disbelief.

"Hello?"

"She's with me. She's safe."

"You're a fucking psychopath."

"I didn't kidnap her , son. I saw her waiting in that bus stop and offered her a ride home and some warm dinner. She agreed ." His father's voice is gravely with amusement.

"You stay the fuck away from her." Hoseok's voice is shaking, his fingers trembling a bit , partly from relief that she's fine partly from anger that his father had sunk this low.

"I will if you listen to reason."

"I'm not going to-"

"I told her i'll get her a scholarship to pursue that degree in child studies, she wants.  She wants to work with differently abled children apparently. Her professors tell me she's extremely talented. "

Hoseok shut his eyes in dismay.

"Father-"

"I'll send her home to you. You can look her in the face and tell her she can't be what she wants to be, because you're a stubborn ass."

Hoseok trudges back home in defeat. He doesn't want to be the one breaking yet another one of her dreams.

He finds her sitting on the stairs outside their apartment, looking impossibly tiny and vulnerable in the dim streetlight. She's drowning in one of his jackets, because he couldn't afford to buy her one of her own. Her shoes are scuffed. There's a small tear in her backpack and he makes a mental note to sew that up later that night. She looks up when she notices him and a weak smile makes its way to her face.

"Were you worried , oppa?" She says softly. He sighs and shakes his head before sitting on the step next to her.

"What's this about a course you want to take..."

She blushes and shrugs.

"there was a test. i was the only one who cleared it. I'll have to pay more tuition though..." She mumbles .

"How much more?"

She looks up and gives him the number.

It makes his throat go dry.

"Okay." He says, swallowing. " Okay."

"Really?" Her face lights up with pathetic hope and Hoseok knows he's not going to be the one dousing that fire.

"Yeah. Yeah, sure. Why not? Go fill in the forms and apply for it. I'll try and work something out. But only if you promise to never go anywhere with my father ever again. He's not a nice man. I don't want him using you against me." He says sternly.

She hugs him then, startling him effectively. She smells like sunshine, he thinks stupidly , the warmth seeping into his bones.

She shrieks a little before jumping to her feet and running in. He watches her and finds himself smiling in defeat. He's no longer sure if this forced marriage is the worse thing to happen to him or the best.

He has to work something out for the money.

Something. Something like yet another part time job. He grimaces. Jimin was going to kill him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jiah was sick.

Again.

Hobi dropped his head into his palms, trying to blink back the exhaustion and the sleep that was threatening to take over completely. It was freezing cold in the living room, and his teeth chattered as he tried to burrow deeper into his coat. He had slept for less that eight hours in the past five days and his body was beginning to slowly shut down.

To make matters worse, jiah was in the bedroom ( the only room they could afford heating now) shivering under three blankets and four of his ratty jackets, her temperature hovering at a scary 103 , while he tried to reach Yoongi on the phone so he could borrow some money for the ibuprofen and paracetomol that she needed.

He'd been trying for an hour and his friend hadn't picked up yet. Which was understandable, really. It was three in the morning.

"Op-Oppa?"

He startled badly, gripping the worn out carpet as he looked up , wild with worry.

Jiah stood leaning against the door frame, dressed in a faded baby blue shirt and a threadbare sweatpant, one foot bare and the other wrapped in a white sock. He jumped to his feet and rushed to her side, heart hammering in sudden panic.

"Shit.. Why are you up? You should be resting..." He whispered, reaching for her but she groaned and held a hand up.

"Don't come closer. You'll get sick. We can't afford that..." She coughed.

Hobi froze in his place. Hating how right she was. He really couldn't afford to get sick. Not unless he wanted both of them to starve.

"I've been trying to call Yoongi... You need some medicines and..."

"I'll be fine. The bedroom is too hot for me. i want to sleep here." She whispered.

Hobi blinked.

"What?"

"You heard me... i changed the sheets and turned off the humidifier. Go sleep in there." She whispered.

"Jiah, I..."

"Please. I'm not strong enough to argue right now. You need the heat... i need the cold... let's work together..." She smiled weakly and he sighed.

"Fine. Go lay down in the sofa..." He grabbed his coat and slipped it on, before moving the hallway for his shoes.

"Where are you going?" She called out miserably.

"I'm going to go see if i can get some credit from the 24/7 down the street. Mr. Lee knows us well, he might let me borrow some meds..."

Jiah hesitated and the way her mouth twisted, somehow he knew exactly what she was thinking. it wasn't easy, being a charity case. But Hobi was used to it. He couldn't really hold on to his dreams and his dignity at the same time. He cared about just two things in the world : Jiah and his dance. They were the only ones in his life that he could trust. His dance would never leave him. And deep down he knew, neither would jiah. And he would protect them both his life.  He didn't mind losing his pride for either of those. And if it meant begging strangers for stuff , so be it, really.

But he supposed it must hurt her, seeing him reduced to this.

"I'm sorry... " She was tearing up. From the fever, he told himself firmly.

"It'll be fine, baby. I'll get the stuff and I'll be back before you know it."

"You will?" She bites her lips,.

And somehow he hears the words she isn't saying.

We're so miserable together. We're poor. We're starving. You don't love me. So, Why are you still here?

" Of course , I'll be back. I'll be back soon." He whispered.

i'll always come back to you,  a part of him whispered. Even though he didn't know why.

"Tell him I'll bake him a pie.." She grinned weakly.

Hobi smiled despite himself.

"Get some sleep, baby. I'll come back with the meds. "

He ends up walking three and a half miles to Yoongi's apartment. By the time Yoongi gets him the money and drops him back home, she's deep asleep. He helps her up, makes her swallow the pills and by the end of the night her fever breaks.

Hobi watched her coughing into a tissue as she packed her lunch for college.

"i've made some dukbokki" She said briskly and he nodded.

"I'll be sure to have it for lunch"

"And get some sleep. i already called Jimin and said you were sick." She said suddenly and he startled.

"What ? You don't have to..."

"But you do... You need sleep , Hobi. All humans do. Get rest and trust me you'll get double the work done in half the time... i'm helping you out here." She laughed, grabbing the winter jacket and holding it up for him to wear. He slipped his arms in and found himself grinning.

Hobi, he thought with a grin. She was calling him by his name. It was such a silly thing but it warmed him more than the coat she helped him put on. She came around and lightly ruffled his hair.

"I'll be back soon." She said then, looking up at him.

Hobi smiled.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

" You were pretty hot up there...." The girl in the red bandanna is a stranger, not someone Jiah knows and there's something about the way she looks at Hoseok that makes Jiah's skin crawl. There's just so much blatant sexual interest there and she knows it's irrational to be angry because , come on, the guy was body rolling on stage it would be weird if there  wasn't  any sexual interest but still, this girl is supposed to be a friend's friend and she  knows  that's Jiah's husband so ... it just seems kind of rude and offensive.

"Thank you." Jiah says pointedly, trying to get her attention but the girl ignores her, leaning closer to Hobi who looks surprised but not really annoyed. He smiles, a little wider than necessary in Jiah's opinion.

A few more minutes of meaningless chatter later, they're both on the dance floor, wrapped around each other like ribbons on a Christams gift and jiah is so furious it isn't even funny.

She watches the way the girl grinds up on Hoseok's crotch and the way her husband's entire body bends in a way that is entirely too obscene and her throat goes dry with hurt and humiliation. She's right here, for heaven's sake! They looked like they were just a dance away from truning the grinding from vertical to horizontal and she loses it when the girl's hand stroked it's way down from Hobi's shoulder to the top of his belt buckle.

She strides up to the pair, grabs the girl's arm and wrenches it away from Hobi, shoving her so hard she falters and crashes down.

"What the fuck.. jiah!! what the hell!!"

"I'm your wife!! isn't it bad enough you're fucking another woman? You have to dry hump every whore you meet as well?"

It's the alcohol that makes her yell . It's the alcohol , along with the loneliness and the helplessness of not being what Hobi wants, that makes her sprout those horrible poisonous words. But the damage is done and everyone is staring at them, at Hoseok, who looks like he;s been slapped.

Hoseok who looks like he would have preferred being slapped to what she'd just done.

An apology is on her tongue, ready to come out but he doesn't stay long enough for her to say it.

Before she even knows what's happening, he turns on his heel and leaves.

Jiah groans in self disgust and chases him out of the club. She barely manages to catch up with him at the bus stop. The thankfully deserted bus stop.

"Hobi, wait!"

He stopped but didn't turn around and she rushed around to stand in front of him.

"I didn't mean that. I'm sorry."

He shrugs.

"Okay."

"It's just that... sometimes , it's hard for me to come to terms with you and ..." she stops, not willing to even say the name.

"Me and Hyeri? " Hoseok scoffs. " I don't meet her. i don't have dinner with her. i don't sleep with her. I fucking spend every second of my life with you and you still can't ' come to terms' with it?? aren’t you being unfair to me?"

Jiah bites her lips.

"It's not that... it's just that..."

Just that I'm falling in love with you and I know it's going to break my heart but i can't seem to stop myself.

"Just what? You know what, Jiah? i thought we could make this work . I've been trying my best to not let you suffer in any way. I've been doing everything i fucking can to make you happy but... It's obvious you don't care in the least about me."

Jiah feels her entire existence tilt on it's axis because that was the exact opposite of what she feels for Hobi.

"Hobi, wait, that's not true... I..."

"We should stop. Whatever we've got going on... let's just stop, okay? You should go find a nice guy your age. Someone who actually can understand what's going through your head. I'm running on three hours sleep so I'm not responsible for what I say or do and I really don't want to hurt you. So I'm going to go now, okay? Have fun with your friends. I shouldn't have come here in the first place. Who was i kidding?  "

Jiah stares, helpless. Hoseok looks painfully young and alone as he pulls his jacket close, shivering a bit as he slowly trudged away. Then he stopped, a few feet off , before digging into his pockets. Jiah watches, tears filling her eyes as he carefully pulls out his wallet and empties it. He turns around and heads back to her.

"That's all i have right now, but it should be enough to get you a cab when you decide to come home. Don't take the subway or the bus. it's too late." He doesn't wait for her to reply before turning around and leaving.

She's done something irreversible. She knows.

That night, Hoseok sleeps at yoongi's place. He doesn't return for a week.

Things change after that night. Jiah realizes that whether she likes it or not , she has to grow up. She goes to the dean and quits her course. It takes a little effort but he gives her a partial refund. She hands it over to Yoongi asking him to pass it on to Hoseok. Hobi doesn't mention her quitting her dream course and neither does she. She takes a secretarial course, offered free, instead. At least it would make sure she'd get a job immediately after college.  

As the days bleed into weeks and the weeks into months, she sees less and less of him. She finishes college and he's there at her convocation, looking proud and happy but he's not alone. Hyeri is on his arm and it's a stunning reminder of  why they couldn't really be friends. It didn't work that way. It just didn't.

Yoongi offers her a job , right after her convocation and she accepts it although it's a commute right across the city. Hoseok gets gigs, earns a bit more than usual, manages to save up enough for them to move to a bigger apartment. Jiah cooks for him on the regular and by the time they come home each night, they're too tired to exchange more than a few words. Sometimes, she almost opens her mouth and tries to reach out, but the knowledge that Hobi would rather be with Hyeri , sobers her up so fast, it makes her head spin.

Yoongi takes her out to dinner , a few times but it's just not the same. Yoongi is... Yoongi. Blunt, unapologetic and fiercely caring. There's no gentleness in the way Yoongi cares for her. His grip is hard, his words sharp and his gaze always, steady. Like he knows exactly what he wants and how he wants it.

But Hobi has always been uncertain, doubtful. Always hesitant in the way he approaches jiah, like he isn't sure that she would like his actions or his words and it's that delicious vulnerability that draws her to him.

Yoongi is nice but he's nothing like Hoseok.

Nothing like the fluid warmth, the soft , affectionate glances or the gentle touches that Hobi had offered her. And Jiah wants that, so bad.

They drift apart, a little by little and Jiah knows that this would be the biggest regret of her life.

That somehow, she and Hobi had failed to see the potential of their relationship. Had failed to realize, just how good they could be together.

Just how much they belonged, together. It takes effort but she manages to convinces herself of it.

Hobi wasn't hers. Would never be hers.  Not now, not ever.