#(I was not patient and did not want to watch attack patterns and guess what I needed to do. Guess)

[loregoddess]

damn I knew the Nibelheim section was gonna be kinda sad, but did the devs really, really have to go and make it sadder?

[respectthepetty]

Hello! I'm here because your posts about colors altered my brain chemistry and now I can't watch anything without, like, being aware of them?? I mean, I guess I just kind of notice some stuff, I definitely can't analyze them the way you do and I'm not even sure how you always notice all of those patterns 😂 ANYWAY, what I actually wanted to ask is: Triage colors. I just finished rewatching it and now I need the colors. Pretty please 🙏🏻 How much of that blue can I actually trust? (Maybe it's because the search tag sucks on mobile but I couldn't find anything on your blog.)

The Code Color Blue in Triage

@imlivingformyselfdontmindme, you found nothing for Triage in my tags because my petty ass wrote nothing.

I did not watch it weekly because I knew it was going to stress me out. The entire premise of one of the leads dying each episode seemed like a solid foundation for my blood pressure to rise each week which would cause my heart great distress, so I binged it right before the finale.

Then I was in my feels and refused to write about it. Like the petty person I am.

But I also didn't write about colors in the show because I wasn't sure if what I was seeing as an American was true of the Thai medical system since the purpose of triage in America is to prioritize patients' care based on resources and needs with the help of a color system and . . .

in America, "Code Blue" is used for a person who has gone into cardiac arrest.

Sound familiar?

As in, that was a major theme of the show?

A person having a heart attack?

In a show that was about heartless people finding their heart?

So I thought it was super fascinating how the colors were used in the series, from an American perspective, since the emergency room uniforms were blue (as they would be),

and blue on the triage scale would be needing close observations to monitor the situation.

But also how the other triage colors showed up. Like black is expected death.

Green is stable but still wounded and will need care.

And red is immediate care needed.

But above all else, the blue just really stood out to me because it was constant.

So at first, I thought Tin was a Blue Boy who needed to take care of his wounded.

But then I realized that the colors didn't actually show up on Tin outside of his hospital uniform until he started to care about Tol.

Because when they were kids, the blue was there.

Yet they both became jaded as they grew up and lost the love that colors life, so even though Tol only had his school uniform for most of the show, he still lacked color too.

Well, until they began caring again.

Then the blue came back.

Tin cared first because he had to go through the loop countless times to save Tol.

So even when Tin wasn't aware of the loops, his blue still showed up since it was guiding Tol.

And eventually, Tol got there too.

And once he realized it, he couldn't go back.

Because blue = 💙and both boys needed to take care of each other's. It wasn't just about finding love; it was about taking care of someone else's heart. Tin lost his sister and it broke his heart. Tol's heart would have killed him. Without the other person, neither would have survived.

But the other person saved them, literally, multiple times, and figuratively through love, which is why they both ended up in blue.

However, I'm looking at this Thai show through an American medical lens, so . . . the blue between Tol and Tin could mean nothing.

Sometimes, the curtains heart is just blue.

[kny-stardust]

Chapter 8 — The Masks

Word Count: 3209

Summary: You have met your greatest challenge yet, which surprisingly is a patient and still existence. As you break down from the dripping pressure, you meet a trio of people who would change your path.

Mr. Hantengu has given you one final test, but it was an impossible feat, as much as you were aware of. To split the boulder using the sword you were given to train. Could that even be? Could you really split it open? With a katana? Given all you know about the sword, that you learned through your training, that should be impossible. It would break the moment you tried it. You tried to tell him this, but he turned and walked away, leaving you alone. From that day, you haven’t heard anything from you. Of course, he would still talk to you about other things, but as soon as you managed the test or the boulder, you were met with silence. Since that day, he hasn’t taught you anything, staying true to his words: he couldn’t teach you nothing more, it was all up to you. You were on your own.

This was six months ago, and you’re still as lost as you were that day.

You tried to cut the boulder, but you soon found out it was useless. You couldn’t think of anything useful to train, so you decided to redo your steps. Thankfully, the diaries you wrote for Nezuko and Tanjiro helped you remember what was done. The only training you couldn’t redo was when Mr. Hantengu “hunted” you. Other than that, you remade all of your steps. As you feared, your training was far from enough. You should have tried harder. So you did just that. You gave your heart and soul to redo the training, and even still, it wasn’t enough.

At some point, Mr. Aizetsu came to the house. He was having a mission nearby and decided to pass by to see how the training was going. Mr. Hantengu warned him that you were doing the final test, and that you were to find out what you were doing alone. He seemed to want to help you out, but under the close watch of his father, there was little space for you to actually talk about it. He left the very same day, at night, after you put your siblings to sleep. His last words to you where that you should keep trying that you were going to pass the test.

This was around a month ago. Six months since this test first started, and you were stuck, loosing your hope with each passing day.

“Come on! Do something!” You cry as you punch the boulder.

“Shut up, you bitch!” A voice cries out, coming from behind you.

You turn and you’re surprised to see a masked figure standing a couple meters behind you. By the voice, you can certainly tell it’s a man. He’s tall, taller than you certainly, using a kimono that is half black, half red with lines and flowery patterns in yellow. He also has dark hair, but he wears a deep red mask with an angered expression, with big pointing teeth coming out of its mouth and a pair of horns leaving its forehead. In his hand, was a simple wooden staff.

“What… are you…?” You tried to ask, surprised that there was someone there. Maybe you were so distracted that you didn’t hear him coming closer.

“You’re pathetic, girl.” He said. You could feel his scorn as he spoke. “I thought you were something else, having endured the training and all, but I guess I was wrong.” He continued to speak, and you can’t help the boiling feeling inside of you.

“What do you know!?” You ask him, enraged.

This wasn’t you. You wouldn’t let yourself be overtaken by your feelings this easily, however with all the stress from these last few months, all the failure, you couldn’t take it.

“What do I know? Hmph!” He repeated in a mocking tone. In a blink of an eye, he closes the distance between the two of you and attacks you with his staff. You try to block it with your sword, but the strength with he hit you, made your arm shake. “I know more than you, you little whore!” He screamed at your face right before he kicked you hard in the ribs.

You feel the air leaving your lungs as your brain registers the pain. You feel extremely dizzy for a moment as your body slowly fell to the ground after being thrown a couple meters away, but as if by muscle memory from all your training, you quickly roll on the ground and steady yourself. You hold on to your side, finding difficulty in breathing for the first time in months since you began training there.

“Pathetic...” You heard him say through your heavy breathing. “Pathetic! Pathetic! Pathetic! Pathetic! Pathetic! Pathetic! Pathetic! Pathetic! Pathetic! Pathetic! Pathetic! A thousand times PATHETIC!” He continues to chant as he hits the ground with his staff, the last time being the strongest. “Forget about becoming a Demon Slayer! You won’t even amount to a good snack to the demons with how weak you are!” He tells you in this anger.

“Shut up!” You cry back at him, feeling your anger boil more and more in your heart. You get yourself back up, glaring at him. “You just showed up out of nowhere and started criticizing me and belittling me! What could you possibly know about me!?”

He stares at you in silence before he begins to laugh, first low, then growing louder and louder, until his laughter could be heard in all the forest, as if echoing. You can’t help but stare at him, confused. He calms down after a moment, before looking straight at you.

“I guess you have a point. I haven’t seen your ridiculous training. What could I possibly know about you?” He says, still in the same scoffing tone. Then, he pointed his staff at you. “How about you show me? Come on. Attack me.”

“What?” You gasp as he says that. Could he possibly be insane? “But you’re with a wooden staff and I-”

“So what? That’s not for you to worry!” He said, as he charged towards you. “Unlike you, weakling bitch, I’ve split a boulder myself!”

Those words rang in your mind like a broken record. He split a boulder? Like that one in the clearing? His claims came right against your own believes, shaking you so you couldn’t properly protect from his attack, being send backwards by his aggressive offensive.

“You trained? That sorry excuse you of a work out were doing this whole time? Don’t you fucking dare do call that training!” The masked man said, continuously charging at you to hit you, while you could barely protect yourself. “You haven’t learned shit! You don’t understand his technique! Your body doesn’t understand it! You’re no different from a fucking child who knows how to talk but doesn’t understand stupid letters or how language fucking works!” He keeps screaming at you as he continuously hits you.

How could he talk so much and fight like this without running out of air? You try to attack him, but he easily deflects all your attempts and turns into opportunities to leave more marks in your body.

“Even if you can’t use his technique, you should be able to do the fucking basic! Even if he gave you a half-ass training like that, you should have become the embodiment of his secrets! And, yet, here you are!” He screams at you as he puts you to the ground once again, and you, tiredly and stubbornly, stand up. “Getting beaten up like the lowly bitch you are!”

With this, he delivers one last blow on you, which sends you hard against the boulder, once again knocking the air out of your lungs. You stay on the ground, gasping for air, feeling your whole body aching from all the attacks you suffered and your arms and legs shaking from having to withstand his attacks. He stays a couple feet away from you, looking down on you, with a disappointed sigh.

“If you can’t fight, then just give up. It will spare time for everyone. But if you don’t, then you better take this shit seriously. Nothing else matters here other than making the sword your own.” He tells you, his tone a lot calmer, but it was clear as day, his despite. He turns around and starts to walk away. “I’ll be here tomorrow morning. If you don’t plan on quitting, at the very least put up a fucking fight.”

Then, he disappears into the mist that seemed to take the place. You can just watch as he leaves, unable to say anything. Once he’s gone, your body fails you and you loose conscience.

The first thing you took notice of as your consciousness returned was the warmth and muffled voices that came form somewhere nearby. Next, was a terrible pain that washed all over your body, making you whine softly in pain. As soon as this happened, you hear the sounds mostly stopping. You find it weird and tries to open your eyes, only to find a very familiar mask right over your face, just a few centimeters away from you.

“Oh, great! You’re awake!” The person said happily.

You let out the loudest cry you ever gave in your life. It was so loud that it made the person above you cover their ears, which you took as an opportunity to punch them and crawl away from them. You watch them contorting on the ground, holding their face, groaning in pain.

“Damn! This hurts!” They complain.

As you watch him, you suddenly hear a loud laugh coming from nearby, a very familiar laugh, although with a different tone. You look around and see another person, also with a similar mask, rolling on the ground, holding to their stomach.

“Crap, man! She sent you flying!” The laughing person cried out loud while still cackling.

“Shut up!” The pained person cried back.

You’re shocked at the situation before you, but your shock allows you to notice something that had just skipped your mind as you woke up suddenly. Both of them were male and were using similar masks to the one who beat you up, but his mask was a deep red while the one you punched (and cracked the mask with your strength) was green and the other one laughing was yellow. Long story short, you mistook someone else for that guy and hit him unnecessarily.

“Oh my God! I’m sorry! I’m so sorry! I’m so so sorry!” You keep ask him for forgiveness as you approach him. “Does it hurt to much? Gods, I hit you so hard...” You say softly, trying to see his face, but afraid of touching him. Your stomach twists as you watch him that way.

“I’m good. I’m good. That old man used to hit me harder when training me.” The green one said, massaging his face underneath the mask.

“Old man…?” You ask him, before you connect the dots. “You were trained by Mr. Hantengu?”

“Yeah. He trained us a couple of years ago.” He said, before he adjusted himself. “Also, I’m sorry about Sekido. He really looks up to the old man, and seeing you barely being able to use his technique sets him off.”

“Anything sets that guy off!” Said the yellow one as he finally calmed himself down.

“Yeah, but not as much as this. Although I have to agree that with the way you were using his techniques, it was really unsightly.” The green said, before turning to you. “You gotta put some work on that sword, babe. You’ll never cut that boulder like this, much less survive the Final Selection.”

His words hit you hard, making you lower your head.

“You’re gonna make her cry.” The yellow one said in a teasing tone.

“It’s not like I can let her to keep lying to herself, you know!” The green replied, his tone getting slightly annoyed.

“Did you...” You find your voice after hearing them talking, barely over a whisper, but they still heard you, seeing as they turned their heads to you. “Did you cut that boulder too? One like that?”

“Yeah!” The yellow one said proudly.

“It’s not like you can consider yourself a master of any breathing without cutting one like that.” The green one said, not giving much of a thought to it. “The flesh of stronger onis tend to be much harder, you know?”

“I see...” You say softly at their replies. “Then… I guess I’m really useless...”

“What!?” You heard them both exclaim at the same time.

“I’ve been doing this for over a year, gave my best everyday, tried my hardest, and in the end, it little mattered.” You said, looking down, tears beginning to form in your eyes. “I guess that Sekido guy was right. I really should just give up. Stop wasting everyone’s time.”

The silence took that place as you began to let your tears run down. You lay down your heart at that moment. You didn't know either of them, but you couldn't care less. All the humiliation you endured this year and a half, all the beating, all the sleepless nights, all the pain, when you worked so hard that you nearly fainted, all your blood and sweat, everything that you took in and kept in all this time, now it was coming out in the form of your tears. You can't control all the sobs that make their way out of your mouth. The other two stay silent, but you still can feel their eyes upon you.

After sometime, you feel a sharp pain in your forehead, that made you stop crying. Opening your eyes, you notice the green masked one closer to you, with his hand close to you face. Did he really just gave you a flick?

“So you're giving up. You know that means you're giving up on your siblings, right?” His words made you freeze for a moment. You look up to him, and he was looking straight into your eyes. “As much as I'm aware, no one is trying to find a cure for demons. As a matter of fact, everyone who enters the Demon Corps are either victims of demons who want revenge or children of older slayers, mainly Hashiras, who are following their parents footsteps.”

“That means that if you give up now, no one will search for the cure.” The yellow one said, sitting by your side. “Your brother and sister will live as onis for the rest of their lives, will watch you age and die, and then they'll be alone. That is, if they don't die first, at the hands of some other slayer or something like that. No one will believe that they are good onis.” He said, shrugging as if he remembered of something.

“The Demon Corps exist for nearly as long as the onis. In centuries, it was certain that no good demons existed.” The other continued. “What we're trying to say is... Your siblings can't rely on no one other than you. And if they can't rely on you, well, then they're doomed. So, if you want their sake, giving up is not an option.”

“But, what can do? I can't use Mr. Hantengu's breathing, much less cut this boulder. I can't be a slayer like th-” You begin to say, but the green masked one silenced you, putting his hands on your cheeks and pressing them, making you look like a little fish.

“Don't you dare to continue that. You can, and will become a slayer. We'll make sure of that.” He said confidently as the other one started to laugh at your face.

The green one let go of you and stood up. By then, the other one had calmed down, so he crouched to your height and, despite you being unable to see his face, you could see his eyes. They were golden and smiling. Then, he headpat you, like you were a kid.

“For now, forget the Final Selection, the breathing and that stupid boulder. Just focus on the basics. You can't do anything without them, so let's start by that, 'kay?” He asked you, extending his hand to you, and you can't help but smile at him.

“Yes. I guess you're right.” You say, holding your hand, with which he helped you to stand up. “I'll be in your care then.”

Like this, you renewed your determination and you restarted your training. That man that beat you up, Sekido according to the other two, remained true to his words, waiting for you in the early morning to fight you. He still beated you up, but he seemed calmer than the first time you two met, more controlled, criticizing your moves more than just criticizing you (he still does that though).

The other two were helping you train from the beginning, like they promised to. The one with the green mask was Karaku, mainly responsible for teaching you from the beginning and sparring with you so your body learns what to do (Karaku was actually training move by move with you, while Sekido was just fighting you to see if you got what was needed to be an actual slayer). The one with the yellow mask was Urogi, mainly responsible to point out your mistakes, and cheer you up when you began to look down; it would be best to say that he chased sadness away. Pair funny guys, you had to admit, but they were what made you push forward despite it all.

There were many things that these two said that didn't make sense to you at first, like "Concentrating Breathing" and "heating up through breathing", but as they pointed out where you were lacking and you worked to improve it, you slowly and surely began to understand it, more with your body than with your head. There was a sense of familiarity to it, as if you had already experienced it before, and you knew where from. When you danced the Hinokami Kagura, you felt like nothing in this world could stop you for as long as you continued to dance. It was the same feeling, but applied to fighting instead of dancing. Once you had this epiphany, you quickly rushed through the lessons, however you reached another, bigger wall.

That's when Urogi asked you.

“So, what do you want to do now?”

[asco-bisco]

AIB X ESCAPE ROOM(lol)

idk if the fandom is dead but i woke up trying to make a book idea then BOOM! Alice in Borderland in escape room. I recently watched the 2 movies and fell in love with them so I'm debating if I should make a book about it or not bc i will most likely give up. I was thinking about the waiting room thing and then realizing that GOD DAMMIT they had a pattern. So what would be the pattern here? Lonely. They were all (probably) lonely.

Arisu started to move away from his family but he still had Karube and Chota but nonetheless, he's still lonely. He barely had any friends, his family paid little attention to him, and he was lonely. I don't know what else to say. If the room was based off of him then I would say it would be related to video games in a graveyard or something. Since his mom died I think they would want to hit him there and he likes video games so I guess that makes sense. Or an interview since he never got a job. I don't really know what would fit him or how the escape room would even go but all I know is that I want it to be related to video games. Would he survive? It's like 50/50 for me. I'm thinking about the ending here when (SPOILER ALERT) Zoey saves Ben from the douchebag, Idk, and that's literally the only reason why they both survive so Idk if he would even survive the crazy antidote room or not so there's that.

Usagi had to be the most lonely out of all the lonely, maybe she and chishiya are in a tie of loneliness. We see more of her backstory in the manga where she loses her friends since she likes both kinds of people. She obviously didn't get along with anyone in high school since she was seen sitting alone in the manga. Plus her dad died and we didn't see anything of her mom. There's also the scene where she's in the Shibuya crossing alone in the live-action so she most likely takes care of herself. Her game would either be related to them having to climb a mountain with bombs detonating throughout the way or something news or playground-related. For a playground, I was thinking they would all be drowned in quicksand if they took too long, similar to Escape Room 2, I'm not sure about the news-related thing since she and her father were harrassed by the paparazzi and I was thinking for the park there would be a sign saying "Mt. Everest Park" since her father claimed to have climbed Mt. Everest. Would she survive? It depends on the game honestly, I don't think she would go batshit crazy like Zoey did but I think she would have good survival chances. I think she'd escape the German douchebag guy at the end if she even survives the crazy room, it all depends on who she's against.

Chishiya. We don't see a lot from him only the fact he was a medical student studying to become a pediatrician. However, when he explains everything to Usagi and Arisu(Niragi probably heard it too) we learn a bit more. Observing his personality, he obviously didn't get along with people well as he has no sympathy and empathy and he's quick to cut people off. His escape room would be related to a hospital of such or maybe a surgery room. Maybe something was also related to money since his boss or the higher-ups seemed to take patients who were more important and who would deliver more money. I didn't finish the manga so maybe if I did that I would find out even more things there. He would have good survival chances, I think he would end up like Zoey but not in a batshit crazy way but in a way where he would've realized that they wouldn't know their fate if they can't see them. He probably would've somehow faked his death depending on the room and attacked the guards who came in to clean up the bodies. I don't know if Arisu would do the same thing but I'd say maybe Arisu's more likely to since he's quick to think outside of the box(that's how you say it, right?) but at the same time, Chishiya find things out faster. I think Chishiya could survive and I think he could survive that crazy room with the antidote and stuff.

Kuina was obviously lonely. I don't think she had friends honestly especially when she's trans. Her mom fell ill and her dad was abusive towards her. I think her escape room could be that dojo room and maybe makeup-related stuff in there too. Idk what the game would be like but it would have to be related to her family. The Borderlands brought out her stronger side so I don't think she would survive but she would be near the end point of things. I don't think she'd make it past the crazy antidote room but she'd make it far. She's smart but also not super smart and at the same time, Danny or whatever died not because he was smart or weak but literally because the ice blew up and he fell through it. The same goes for Mike who died because of the black guy whose name I forgot. Maybe she would die from that too because it just makes sense.

Niragi was bullied throughout his high school years and once he changed, which was revealed he changed before the Borderlands happened, I don't think he had many acquaintances. I was thinking his room would look a little bit like how his backstory went in the manga. In the manga, there was a cutoutboard of a body with different points on it including Niragi's glasses. So they hit Niragi to get 'points' for the made-up game. I don't know how the game would go but I thought that as soon as one of them tried to hit the bodyboard with the baseball, the escape room would activate. Would he survive? Absolutely not. He would probably die from either game circumstances or from his recklessness. I think he would die in his own room.

I'm not sure who else should be here. I could do maybe Hayato, Aguni, or Ann. Hayato was lonely in ways, his own friend hooked up with his crush and it seems like Hayato enjoyed the Borderlands? I don't remember. Aguni's backstory was revealed in the manga where he had an abusive dad and they lived in an apartment. He and Hatter would fight gangs together and blah blah blah. We don't see a lot from Ann but she seems pretty lonely ngl. Anyway, I was also thinking of Akane but she was obviously popular in school and she seemed to like that so the only lonely part of her would probably be her home. Her mother seemed abusive when she was experiencing her first game and I hadn't seen that part in the manga yet so idk. All I need is one more person and I might start making the book.

[wakaoujisenhime]

200 event! :D A scenario for Bakugo x reader x Kirishima poly. What if their fem s/o takes a hard hit to save a child jumping in front of a blow from an enemy? The injury nearly kills her but in the end she survives, and fully recovers. How would they react to this? (I actually requested something almost exactly like this once for Hashirama, Tobirama, and Minato awhile back. Now I’d like to see it done for these two.) And congratulations on 200! You are amazing and deserve it! 🥰

A/N: Thank you for trusting me with this, I hope you’ll like it! Also...that’s actually quite the cute scenario for these three Hokages 👀 Enjoy! 

Tags: Bakugou x reader x Kirishima ✅  poly relationship ✅  fluff ✅  slight angst ✅

━━━━☆ ━━━━☆ ━━━━☆

More than you can imagine - Bakugou x reader x Kirishima

What were you thinking when you jumped in front of that small child?

Your team had been sent out to evacuate the area while the present pro heroes handled the threat and everything seemed to go just as you had planned it, but that’s when a giant villain caught your attention. He was towering in front of a small child who tried to save their parental figure from some ruble that had injured their leg. You watched in horror as the adult tried to warn and prompt their child to run away, but seeing how hard that young person continued to struggle motivated you. And before you noticed it, you were already running in their direction, ignoring the two screaming voices of your loved ones behind you, you sprinted for the small child who had finally realized the inescapable situation. Just as the villain was about to hit that small figure in front of him you jumped in between them and tried to reduce the attack’s damage with your own quirk’s impact, but the last thing you remember hearing before everything went black was two familiar voices calling your name.

After what seemed like a couple of minutes you slowly opened your eyes and were greeted by an entirely white room. You wanted to look around some more, but a sudden wave of pain halted any planned movement of yours. A silent groan escaped your mouth and that’s when you felt someone squeeze your left hand.

“(Y/N)...you’re finally awake.“ said a deep and tired voice.

“Katsuki? Is that you?“

As if to answer your question he stood up from his seat beside you and carefully leaned himself down to where your head was resting as he finally responded in his usual and cheeky tone: “Who else would it be dumbass?”

Even if he tried to sound like his usual self, you still managed to hear the slight worry and tremble in his voice, a realization that made you quite sad. You wanted to make sure that he was ok, but that’s when you finally remembered the incident with that small child.

“W-What happened to that child? A-And the parent..? Are t-they safe? Or what about t-the villain? Where is he?“

You were visibly panicking and thanks to the vital sign patient monitor next to your bed Bakugou was also able to see the evident rise in your heart rate, so he did what he always did in order to calm you down. His big hands took a hold of your cheeks, squeezing them lightly as he brought his forehead closer to yours until they eventually bumped into each other as he whispered: “It’s all been taken care of...calm yourself down.”

The familiar gesture of his made you smile and it indeed helped you calm down. He always did that when either you or Kirishima were freaking out, mad, or just upset in general and something about his method always helped you come down from your raging emotions.

Now that I think about it...where is Kirishima?

You once again began looking around, but thanks to the tight bandages on your neck your head only moved a couple of millimeters that really didn’t help much with your plan.

“If you’re looking for Kirishima then you really don’t have to worry...he’s sleeping right next to you.”

To prove his point he gently lifted your head up just enough so that you caught a glimpse of the red-haired young man sleeping on the right side of your bed while his hand had grasped your own right one. The peaceful sight of your normally energetic lover conjured a smile on your face which was then passed onto the blond young man who carefully returned you in your former lying state. Before the two of you continued your talk he quickly left the room to tell a nurse that you’ve regained consciousness.

While he was gone you listened to the light breathing of the sleeping man beside you and smiled to yourself. You gently squeezed his big hand and caressed the back of his palm with your thumb when his head suddenly shot up.

“Oh my god (Y/N), you’re finally awake! Baku-..Bakugou? Where is he? How could he miss this important moment?!”

Seeing him panic like that gave you quite the déjà vu and you couldn’t help but giggle at his reaction. Not wanting to keep him on tenterhooks you subsequently told him that the man in question had left to inform the hospital staff of your awakening. Relief spread across Kirishima’s facial features and he once again took a seat next to you as the both of you waiting for the others’ arrival.

The nurses finally arrived alongside your other boyfriend and after they asked you a couple of routine questions they finally moved on to a physical exam. A couple of minutes later they discussed something amongst each other while the three of you tensely waited for their estimation.

“Alright, then we have some news. Your body seems to have recovered almost completely, but we’d like to keep you here for at least another day or two to see how well you’d do without the bandages.”

You nodded understandably but for some reason, Bakugou seemed rather opposed to that idea, but instead of lashing out at them he, much to your surprise, remained quiet. Only when they had left the room he finally exploded and began screaming something about how they could have the audacity and why Kirishima and he couldn’t just take care of you at home. While you just stared at him in confusion the red-haired young man tried to calm him down so that they could explain everything to you.

“I still can’t believe that you could be that reckless! Just what were you thinking, you airhead?!”

Not even a minute had passed and the blond was already lecturing you and all you could do was remain silent and nod. From a fourth person’s viewpoint, it would seem pretty insensitive of the blond to scream at you like that, but this was simply his way of showing you that he genuinely cared and was worried for you. After he finished he simply stood up and went to your room’s windows, leaving the explanations to Kirishima who only giggled and then sat down on the small stool next to your bed.

“Well you see (Y/N) after that villain’s attack hit you, you immediately lost consciousness and well...your injury didn’t look mild at all so as panicked as the two of us were, one of the pro heroes took it upon themself to bring you to the hospital.” he paused and began to softly play with your fingers before continuing  “Baku-...the two of us were pretty upset that they didn’t allow us to take you to the hospital, but I guess that was their way of trying to distract us and even though it worked for a couple of hours, the moment we set foot here the doctors packed quite the punch with your condition...”

You noticed how his and Katsuki’s facial muscles immediately tensed up, their expressions growing grim at the unpleasant memory. Knowing them and their typical behavior patterns, you refrained from prying or even saying anything and just waited until one of them continued.

Kirishima told you how your entire torso’s bone structure had been literally smashed to pieces by the villain’s blow and that at first, the doctors weren’t that optimistic concerning your recovery. Bakugou didn’t like that attitude at all and had apparently made it clear by doing what he does best: screaming. Neither he nor the red-haired man next to you elaborated what they had said or done, but they had apparently pulled some strings and called Recovery Girl over to take a look at you. She of course agreed to help you, but she said that even with her quirk’s help it would be up to your body to do the rest, and as unsatisfying as that answer was, they had no other choice but to accept it. You had been bedridden for almost an entire month and the doctors had told your two lovers that you might actually be in a coma considering that you weren’t making any signs of waking up anytime soon. They were given an ultimatum until the end of the month. They had to decide whether they’d like to keep you hooked on all the necessary machines or turn them off...and their decision was due today.

“S-So if I hadn’t woken up today...then you two would’ve...?“

Kirishima looked at you with his big and glassy red eyes, nodding silently, but just when he opened his mouth to tell you something, Bakugou beat him to it.

“But you woke up, didn’t you?! That’s it, end of the story.“ he abruptly turned around, facing the two of you as he took a deep breath and continued “I’ll go and grab some apples from those nosy nurses, and by the time I’m back I don’t want to see those mopy expressions on you two, got that?!“

And with that statement he stormed off, leaving Kirishima and you alone.

“You know, just between the two of us...he was really worried about you, like really worried. He refused to go back home and insisted on sleeping here next to you and even though the nurses forbid him to enter your room for the first couple of days, he still came over with a folding chair and sat right outside of your door. They’d call me every night and lecture me about it, but somewhere deep inside of me I understood where he was coming from, so after they finally allowed visitors even I decided to join him and every single night or free day we had we were here...waiting for you to wake up.“

The imagination of the two of them always being beside you, sick with worry made you tear up a little and your lover noticed that. He gently wrapped his arms around you and softly caressed your slightly trembling body.

“The hell is this? I come back, hoping that you’d be grinning like idiots by now and what do I find? More ugly crying faces than before...god, you’re impossible.“

While the two of you cried in each other’s arms, the blond sat down and started cutting the apples he’d brought, listening to your sobby apologies and how you’d think before acting next time. You explain that at that moment it was as if your feet had moved on their own and at that familiar sentence Bakugou finally interrupted you.

“(Y/N), I get what you want to say, but what annoyed me the most was the fact that you didn’t react to our screaming back then. I am a hero who can fight in close combat as well as in a more distanced one and while you were running toward that child I was preparing my AP Shot. Kirishima and I wanted to warn you to get out of the way, but you didn’t listen. And if you think that I was the only one worried sick about your condition, then you better think twice, cause shitty hair over there cried himself to sleep every night, thinking that his stupid excuse of not getting enough sleep would work on me. You wanna know why he avoided visiting you every day? Cause it reminded him of his helpless self back then and the thought that he couldn’t protect you-“

“Ok I think that’s enough...let us stop talking about it, please.“

Both men looked at you, surprised that it was you who interrupted the blond’s line of thought. You wordlessly stretched your arms out and waited for them to wrap their arms around you and embrace you like always. It took a short while and a bit of persuasion until they had finally hugged you and the moment their muscular bodies were wrapped around your in comparison smaller one, you simply ruffled their hair, kissed both of their cheeks, and said: “I’m sorry you two, I know I’ve worried you and I’d like to apologize one last time. Thank you for not giving up on me...I love you.”

We love you too...more than you can imagine

[perriewinklenerdie]

Popcorn (MO, 10/17, Ethan x MC)

Missed Opportunities Series, Chapter 10

Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x Claire Herondale

Word count: 783

Summary: All the times when Ethan could have told Claire he loved her but didn’t, and one time he did. Told through Ethan’s eyes.

Warnings: None for now

A/N: I headcanon that Ethan has this hidden (very hidden, some might say) playful side to him that came out to play when he started dating Claire. This little game of theirs is proof of that.

He’s barely registering the movie they’re watching. In fact, he’s unsure he’d even be able to recall the name of the movie. Since they boarded the private jet, all his troubles faded away. If he had to guess, Claire actively tried to distract him – first with champagne, then with photos and now with a movie. A movie that she now has paused, sitting up.

“Is everything okay?” Ethan asked, rising onto his elbows from the horizontal position they made their seats reach before they began watching the movie. She nodded, touching the side of his face. Her cheeky smile put his mind to rest.

“It’s not movie night without popcorn.” As Claire offered her explanation, she eyed him suspiciously – because he didn’t protest. “… you’re not going to say anything?”

“No point in protesting when I agree.” He casually responded, drawing a surprised reaction from his partner. She leaned down to kiss him, laughing at his wandering hands.

Ethan patiently waited, watching her as she asked flight attendant for snacks. They resumed watching the movie soon after. He sneaked his hand towards hers, wordlessly tracing random patterns on her skin.

The character on the screen tried to eat a grape he threw into the air, which prompted another pause of the movie. Ethan turned towards Claire again, raising an eyebrow. She was already halfway towards the sitting position.

“I wanna do that, hold on.” she picked a piece of popcorn from the bucket and threw it into the air. Before she could try to catch it, Ethan snatched it with his fingers and ate it. She stared at him with mock betrayal in her eyes.

“Let me help you with that.” He offered, then threw another piece into his mouth, catching and eating it with a smirk. She hummed, then mirrored his actions, popcorn landing perfectly in her open mouth.

“Who said I needed any help? We both know I’m better at aiming.”

“What do you say we test that theory? First one to miss loses. And we throw popcorn for one another, for an added level of difficulty.” Ethan offered the rules, watching her with curious eyes. She nodded briefly.

“You’re on.”

They turned towards one another, each grabbing a few pieces of popcorn. He pointed his finger at her in a warning.

“No cheating.”

“I don’t need to cheat to win.”

Claire raised her hand, nodding to signalize her throw. He caught the piece effortlessly, smiling. She didn’t disappoint either – in a true Herondale fashion, she completed the task flawlessly, clapping her hands together in victory.

The game continued for the next seven minutes, both refusing to back down, neither missing a shot. That was when Ethan – definitely intentionally – missed her face entirely while throwing.

“Hey! You did that on purpose!” she protested, throwing a handful at him. He tried to shield himself, a futile attempt to fend off her attack. But Claire wasn’t done. She leaned onto him, trying to grab the bucket of popcorn so she could get more ammunition. He removed it from her reach, laughing at her frustrated huffs and fruitless efforts to achieve her goal. The only thing she managed to accomplish was ending up lying on top of him, their faces suddenly very close together.

Ethan’s eyes dropped to her lips at once and he swallowed heavily. Half-heartedly, he let the bucket fall to the ground, then his movements gained momentum and purpose. He grabbed her head and pulled her closer to kiss her. She responded in kind, adjusting herself slightly.

He forgot about the movie, popcorn, their little competition, or the flight attendant that most definitely could see them. All he could focus on was her. The feel of her body against his, the movement of her lips against his, the way her hands followed the lines of his arms until she reached his shoulders.

His mind got flooded with visions of many nights like this one that they had before. And then many more that he hoped they would have in the future. He definitely loved her – of that, he was sure. He could tell her now, press the words into her lips. Or whisper them into her ear. Or say them as he looked into her eyes. All of those would be better than the misery he’s putting himself through, just because he wants everything to be perfect for her. But he’s Ethan Ramsey, and nothing is ever as easy or simple.

For now, he was ready to settle for holding her tightly and kissing her until they were both breathless. With some luck, he’d get many more nights like this one, to tattoo her whole body with those three little words.

Notes

Ethan is also very much a sore loser and a cheater when he wants to win. And that does extend to the bedroom, if you know what I mean.

In last chapter, the subject of their height difference was discussed - it prompted a fic idea (coming soon to screens near you)

The next chapter is called Cute together

Thank you so much for reading, see you soon!

Perrie <3

[tiny-maus-boots]

Queen of Hearts pt 14

A/N: thank you as always to @chloes-yellow-cup for being my bestie and still doing all the things i hate to do. and a big thanks to @kimmania for your constant encouragement and supply of Legos. i love you awesome nerds. 

14.

“Hit me with your best shot…”

Aubrey’s long arm stretched out along the back of the dark leather of the modern style sofa she was settled on. For the most part she could tune out the dry croak from the desk, but…

“Why don’t you hit me with your best shot.”

This was the sixth time in an hour that she was hearing the song. She was going to have to remind Lilly to remove it from the jukebox after tonight.

“Hit me with your best shot…”

The rough warble across from her died down and she thought for a moment that the singer had finally drifted off asleep. Aubrey’s head turned to the screen that showed a live feed of the cameras around The Dirty Bird. Movement flickered though them as Stacie and the Doc walked between the tables and around the bar toward the back office. She turned her head to check on the figure standing but slumped over her desk only to find dark blue eyes watching and waiting for her attention. The small woman raised herself to her elbows from her slouch and belted out just as the door opened.

“FIRE AWAAAAYYYYY!!! Pew pew pew.”

Aubrey sighed as Detective Mitchell’s finger guns gave out on the click of her tongue and she collapsed back over the desk to cradle a half empty bottle of grappa, ass up where she stood. Stacie’s wide eyes panned slowly toward her, body bouncing lightly with barely restrained glee.

“Oh my God….” Chloe took one look at the Detective and pinned Aubrey with a glare. “How drunk is she?”

The blonde raised a shoulder as she considered. “She’s been worse.”

“Doc. Doooooocccc….I hurt. Right. Here.” Beca raised a hand and brought it back to point at her butt. Her finger wavered as she tried to locate the exact spot which caused the most pain and then pointed for emphasis with a little too much enthusiasm. “Right. OW. Here. OWIE.”

Stacie eased onto the sofa and settled in comfortably in Aubrey’s lap to watch Doc Beale work. The redhead moved behind Beca and settled her bag on the desk. She took a great steadying breath before wrestling away the grappa from the prone detective and snapping on a pair of gloves. Aubrey admired the way Doc Beale efficiently and deftly managed to get Beca’s jeans over her hips and halfway down her legs with practiced ease. Beca seemed to admire it too because she stirred enough to look blearily over her shoulder with a smile.

“If you wanted to check out my assetsssss Doc, you didn’t have to wait til I got stabbeded in it. Right. There. Ow.”

“Yes, I see. Please stop poking the wound in your ass cheek. How even….?”

“I was tailing my guy. My big fish. Fishy fishy fishy. That’s a fun word to say.” Chloe muttered something Aubrey couldn’t hear over Stacie’s soft chuckling. “I heard that! Plenty of people would be DE-FUCKING-lighted to spend their date night starin’ at a little of this action.”

Aubrey bit her lip to keep the laugh from breaking free as the detective wiggled her ass unmindful of the tight skinny jeans trapping her legs and toppled into a slide nearly off the desk before Chloe managed to grab and right her teetering form.

“Head down, ass up. Now tell me again how you managed to get stabbed in the butt cheek with glass?”

“You said that like you’re used to giving that order. I might be down for that, just be gentle with me.”

Beca gave her a leer that the doctor promptly ignored as she prepped her tools.

“Detective, remember that I have some very sharp instruments here that I am excellent with.”

Beca gave her a dubious look but obediently turned and bent over the desk again so the other woman could examine the wound. Chloe was utterly focused on the task of cleaning and debriding the punctures in a circular pattern. Aubrey had been sure it was going to require at least a few stitches from what she saw before she called for real medical help.

“I told you. I was following the big fish.”

“And you followed him into a bar I’m guessing.”

“Right, rule numero dos of detectivering. Don’t stick out like a sore thumb.”

Chloe blinked and looked up from her work to focus on Beca. “What’s numero uno?”

“That’s not a real number, Doc.”

“Solid rebuttal.”

“Did…did you just make pun of my rump? Oh my God I’m in love. I’d get down on one knee right now and propose. Except you’re feeling up my butt right now and that’s kinda nice.”

The doctor’s bright blue eyes narrowed and she jabbed the needle into the hunk of flesh she had just grabbed in preparation for the injection. She depressed the plunger quickly as her patient yelped and attempted to squirm away.

“HEATHEN! Oh God. I’m dying. Help. I’m dying, Dr. Kevorkian is killing me….my vision…I can’t see.”

“Open your eyes, idiot. That was just an antibiotic booster. Have you had a tetanus shot recently?”

“Pretend I said whatever answer will prevent you from being a literal pain in my ass.”

It was too much for Stacie and she turned her head to bury her laughter in Aubrey’s neck. The blonde tightened her grip on her fiancée and enjoyed a satisfying laugh at the detective’s expense. She hadn’t known what she’d find when she had gotten Beca’s distress call. They had all been on high alert since coming back to Los Angeles, trying to close ranks as best they could without being obvious about it. She had been waiting for an attack to come and her first thought when she had gotten the call was that it had finally begun. Each moment waiting in her office while Lilly retrieved the Detective from her hiding place in an abandoned warehouse building down at the port had been like a stone on her chest. She had needed this humor to ease the cold grip of fear on her heart.

Aubrey’s line of business didn’t lend itself to close relationships with members of law enforcement, at least not for long. What she and the Detective had was something altogether different than any of the other criminal-cop business agreements she had formed during her career. Beca was someone she trusted at her side, more…trusted at her back. The idea that someone would try to take her out was sobering and her laughter faded. Stacie sensed the change in her and cupped Aubrey’s face gently to bring their foreheads together. Words weren’t necessary for Stacie to understand what she was thinking and feeling. The blonde took a deep breath and straightened her spine. One hand came up to adjust and smooth her tie. If it had started…she wanted to know who was coming for her people.

“So, who’s the fish?”

Beca lifted her head from the desk and struggled to focus on Aubrey. It took her a few seconds to process the question. She seemed to have forgotten the conversation while Chloe worked silently to finish working on her wound.

“A security guard. He’s got bad taste in bars and also what I would loosely refer to as ladies.”

She couldn’t imagine where a security guard would fit in with Alice’s plans and frowned. Maybe this wasn’t about her. Beca had other cases she was working, maybe this was just another Tuesday night for the cop.

“A security guard? Sounds kind of small time for you.”

Denim blue eyes flashed to hers, some of the haze of alcohol burned away by intensity of her drive. The small brunette’s lips quirked into a smirk. Aubrey was suddenly very sure that nothing Beca did was small time or without a very good reason.

“It only takes a small stone in the right place to make a rockslide.”

Chloe slowed her movements as she finished her work. Something about what Beca said must have been interesting to the doctor because she kept her attention on the detective while she cleaned up the trash and peeled her gloves off to toss in the black plastic trash bag left there for that purpose. Aubrey guessed she was re-evaluating her previous estimations of the foul mouthed, perpetually smug, woman.

“You’re not wrong, Bec. So, what’s this small stone guarding?”

“Not what. Where. Dude works at the port.” She grunted and stood gingerly with a backward glance at her own butt. “Hm. Nice, think chicks will dig the scar?”

If Chloe had been considering there may be more to Beca than outrageous flirtation it was only a brief passing fantasy. She sighed and rolled her eyes then glared at Aubrey.

“18, Aubrey.” It was almost enough to make her face split into a grin and she had to turn her chuckle into a soft cough. Chloe tied up the bag and dropped it in the trashcan sure that it would be disposed of carefully. It wasn’t the first time she’d had to patch one of them up, they knew the drill by now. “You owe me so big.”

“I’m good for it. So, Detective, what about this dock rat?”

Beca stopped checking herself out long enough to pull her pants up and wink at Chloe before answering. Doc pretended not to notice but Aubrey could see her watching Beca from the corner of her eye while she played around with the tools in her bag.

“When I figure how he connects to Richie Rich, I’ll let you know.”

Stacie’s body tensed in her arms and Aubrey glanced at her curiously. Her girl chewed her lower lip in thought, a habit that Aubrey found adorable. “Something on your mind, Stace?”

“It’s probably nothing. Just something Edith said about someone I went to prom with. His dad got him a job down at the docks.” Stacie shrugged it off but Aubrey could tell she was still chewing on it. “Probably just coincidence.”

Aubrey and Beca exchanged a look. After a lifetime of double crosses and plot twists, neither of them believed in coincidences. The detective dug around in her pocket for her phone. She wasn’t quite sober yet but a hell of a lot steadier than a few moments ago. Aubrey snatched the phone easily out of the air when it was tossed her way and glanced at the screen.

It was a video and she angled it so Stacie could see too. Her fiancée pressed play and sighed. Beca could be heard in the background giving a lot of very specific direction to the two women practically fucking on a pool table in a disgusting looking rathole of a bar. Aubrey was pretty sure the women were hookers and the corner of her mouth quirked in amusement. Stacie took the phone out of her hand turned it to face back to the detective.

“Really Beca?”

“I thought it was pretty good for my directorial debut. But your gutter brain is making you miss the real show.”

Aubrey took the phone back and focused on the whole scene. Behind the women in a shadowed booth two men were clearly having an animated discussion. One was further into the shadow than the other but his gestures were strong and decisive. She watched as the other, younger seeming, man’s gestures became conciliatory and submissive the longer the conversation went on. In the foreground a flurry of noise and activity caused the camera to shake and wildly as if it were being swung around. There were glimpses of rough faces and snatches of shouts and curses. At one point there was a good stretch of scuffed flooring where she assumed Beca had been crawling away from the obvious brawl happening around her.

The camera came up again in time to catch the men leaving their booth in a hurry. Each of them caught in the neon blue glow from beer signs on the walls. Stacie snatched the phone out of her hand and hit pause. Long legs dropped down to the floor from the sofa and she stood in shock.

“Bree…this is Senator Grant. The guy he’s with is his son Kodie, we went to high school...Jesus Christ…”

“You know him?”

“Weston stole his money.”

They looked at each other then turned twin green-eyed gazes on Detective Mitchell. The small woman’s brow was furrowed in thought, her lower lip caught between her teeth as she worried it.

“The kid is on the videos.”

Mitchell didn’t have to say which videos, they all knew. Even Doc Beale. Stacie looked away from them, uncomfortable with the knowledge that she had been in some of those videos. Aubrey let out a long settling breath and stood. She gently took the phone from Stacie’s shaking hand and brought it to lips to brush a soft kiss over Stacie’s wrist. It gave her a wan smile but it was something. Stacie would be okay. Aubrey looked down at the phone and watched the video again. And again. And once more. She studied every gesture, every twitch of posture, every unconscious expression she could make out.

“I want the kid. He’s the weak link.”

Beca grunted and limped around the desk to grab her keys and helmet, ready to go back to work with a hole in her ass nearly as big as the one in her pants. It wasn’t going to happen that way and Aubrey reached out to snag both items from the sidebar and hand them to Stacie who easily placed them on a shelf far too high for Detective Mitchell to reach without finding a stand on.

“White she devil.”

“Sorry, Bec. Can’t have you half-assing anything.”

She didn’t like it and Aubrey could tell but Beca sighed and grunted. “Solid burn.”

Aubrey gave her a quick grin then turned to eye the Doctor who was watching them all curiously. Her gaze met Aubrey’s and a brow went up. Honestly, she almost felt a little bad about needing to have the Doc take Beca somewhere safe. She didn’t ask, she didn’t need to. Chloe knew what she was thinking and started to shake her head no until Beca tried to drag a chair over to the get her stuff.

“I really hate you, Aubrey Posen.”

“No, you don’t, Doc.”

“You WILL be making a very large donation to St. Jude’s Children’s Hospital.”

“Absolutely.”

“And vacation for my office girls. Two weeks!”

“I’ll buy the plane tickets myself.”

“And if she pisses me off just once I will trank her and leave her on a park bench.”

The last was a bluff but Aubrey treated the threat seriously. “Understood. Anything else?”

“….I’ll think of something!” Aubrey bit back another grin and nodded seriously. She slipped her hands into her pockets as the doctor steeled herself mentally to take on Beca. “Come one Detective, as much as this pains me to say…you’re coming home with me.”

Beca dropped the helmet she had finally just retrieved on the ground and left it like discarded trash to limp over to Chloe. “Okay.”

“God…you’re so easy.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing, Doc.”

Chloe gave her a final glare and slung the detective’s arms over her shoulder to help her limp out of the office. Stacie settled the length of her body along Aubrey’s back, hands coming up to finger the buttons of her vest.

“How well do you know this Kodie, joker?”

Stacie hmmm thoughtfully. “Not as well as I did in high school. Edith told me he got caught up in some trouble recently. I think I know how we can get to him though.”

“How?”

“He likes cocaine and paying for his um let’s call them dates. I had Happy make some calls for you.”

The smile came to her face easily and she leaned into Stacie’s embrace. This wasn’t anything like what her mom and dad had. Her mother had never been this involved in what her father did for work. She had kept as distant from it as she could, turning her nose up at the family that protected them, running from the darkness of the business. Stacie would never do that to her. She knew it all way down to the bottom of soul. Aubrey turned in her arms and brought their heads together.

“You got more cards up your sleeve than a Vegas croupier, you know that?”

“Hmm. I learned from the best.”

Aubrey closed the distance, her brushing softly over Stacie’s. There were a lot of words she could say about how she felt about the woman in her arms. She could probably write pages on it, but words didn’t matter half as much as action did. She was going to marry this woman and spend her life giving her the best of everything. They were going to be happy and she didn’t care who she had to kill to make it happen.

“Let me take you home?”

“Aubrey…in your arms? I’m already there.”

[spencers-renaissance]

Honeysuckle

Summary: The BAU decide to head out for a picnic one summer afternoon, but they’re soon rudely interrupted by a bee sting and anaphylactic shock. Seeing Spencer carted off in an ambulance is not exactly how they expected the day to go.

Tags: whump, angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, hurt spencer, friendship, medical conditions, severe allergic reactions

Pairing: Derek Morgan x Spencer Reid 

Word Count: 2.3k

Masterlist // Read on AO3 // Bad Things Happen Bingo

Spencer had initially been wary of Penelope’s invitation to picnic in Meridian Hill Park one beautiful summer afternoon — he burned way too easily and didn’t like exposing himself to insects more than absolutely necessary — but as soon as she’d mentioned Derek was going, he’d given in. He wasn’t about to turn down an afternoon spent in the sun with his best friends and boyfriend. It was a rare day off for the team: one not even spent hanging by their phone expecting to be called in any minute, so they were all insistent on making the most of it. 

He’s the last one to arrive, spotting the others sat in the shade of an oak tree, already laughing as they get stuck into their first drinks of the afternoon. Despite his initial hesitations, as soon as he feels the sun on his face and sees his friends he’s immediately glad he turned up and he hurries over to join the rest of the team, his own contributions to the picnic in hand. 

“Pretty boy!” Derek shouts, grinning widely as he jumps up from his lazy position on the blanket to wrap Spencer in a hug, before pulling back slightly to kiss him. He can already tell he’s a little tipsy, and although Spencer doesn’t drink he has nothing against everyone else letting their hair down and having fun; God knows they deserve it. 

His relationship with Derek is only a few months old, and he still relishes every moment he gets to spend wrapped up in his arms.

“Hey guys.” His words are muffled slightly by Derek’s shoulder as his boyfriend is reluctant to let him go, but as soon as he’s released, he turns to match everyone’s wide grins. 

“Did you bring the strawberries?” Emily asks, levelling him with a faux-stern look that she can’t maintain for long, melting back into her relaxed smile soon enough.

“Of course.” He takes a seat on the picnic blanket only to be immediately wrapped into a side hug by Penelope. He hugs back before beginning to unpack his bag.

“What about the icing sugar?” she asks, and her stern glare isn’t fake at all: Spencer knows how seriously Penelope takes a) organisation, and b) sweet treats.

“Who do you take me for?” he laughs, retrieving the fruit and sugar from his bag and taking a swig of the cool lemonade he’d packed in his thermos. 

Sometimes he wishes he could go back in time and show lonely, teenage Spencer pictures of days like these. One day, he’ll be twenty six, working at his dream job, and spending his days off in the warmth of the East Coast sun one Sunday afternoon surrounded by his best friends, kissed by his boyfriend at every opportunity. They’ve never asked him to be anything other than exactly who he is, inviting them into their group and doting on him relentlessly, loving him just as much as he loves them. 

It’s a luxury you only appreciate when you’ve known the loneliness of summer: when the hum of the AC is the only sound in your stuffy, humid dorm room, and you’re researching the effects of methane on winter weather patterns as you long for cold weather again, because then at least then you don’t have to listen to the excited shouts of friends outside anymore, then it’s acceptable to isolate yourself inside with only yourself and books for company.

He shakes himself out of his miserable recollections and reminds himself to be in the present. Emily has her head in Penelope’s lap as they discuss which incarnation of Doctor Who is the best while JJ and Derek discuss the new jogging park opening up across the border in Virginia. He knows which conversation is more suited to his interests and immediately goes up to bat for the Seventh Doctor, which manages to engage him in a spirited debate with both women. 

Soon, though, they find themselves all discussing their workplace embarrassments and recalling the funniest moments from over the last few years, and Spencer loses himself in the heat of the afternoon and the warmth of his friendships. He’s gorged himself on all the strawberries and sandwiches he could stomach, and as the afternoon stretches longer and evening approaches he lies down on the blanket and rests his head in Derek’s lap, mirroring Penelope and Emily. His eyes flutter closed as his full belly and heat of the sun tire him out, and Derek’s fingers thread themselves through Spencer’s long hair, a light and welcome touch. 

The haze of his friends still chatting around him as he dozes comfortably is interrupted, however, when he feels a sharp pinch on his wrist and seconds later, he’s fighting for breath. He launches upright, wheezing as he claws at his chest, trying desperately to fill his lungs with enough air. 

“Spencer? Oh my God, Spencer, what’s wrong?” Penelope cries, immediately by his side as she looks him over frantically, not knowing what’s happening. 

“Derek, call an ambulance,” JJ directs, taking charge as she rushes to Spencer’s side as well. “He’s in anaphylactic shock. Spencer, listen to me, do you have your epi-pen with you?”

Her words manage to get through the panicked haze and light-headedness as he can’t get enough oxygen. He can feel his face swelling and his heart racing, but he’s still coherent enough to point to his bag. 

“He didn’t eat anything, though,” Emily says, panicked and confused as she watches her friend have a medical crisis while she’s powerless to help. 

“He’s allergic to bees,” JJ says, keeping calm as she prepares the epi-pen and administers it to Spencer’s thigh. “One must have stung him for some reason.”

“There!” Penelope points to the bee sting on Spencer’s wrist and JJ lunges for her bag, rummaging until she finds her credit card which she uses to carefully slide under the stinger and remove it, preventing any more venom from flowing into Spencer’s system.

It’s clear after a few minutes that the epi-pen hasn’t worked: Spencer still feels like he can’t catch his breath and the world is fading slowly as his heart beats out of control and his organs can’t get enough oxygen. 

He feels himself be moved gently by various hands as JJ directs the others until he’s leaning up as comfortably as possible against Derek’s chest as Penelope elevates his legs to keep blood flowing to his vital organs. 

“It’s okay, Spencer,” JJ says loudly, right in front of his face. It’s blurry and out of focus and he can feel himself losing consciousness fast. “The ambulance is on its way.” 

It’s the last thing he hears before he collapses completely as he passes out. 

⭐️

It’s dark outside when Spencer finally wakes up. His bed is warm and comfortable and he lets himself listen to the somewhat comfortable steady beeps of the heart monitor and movement of staff and patients around the ward before finally opening his eyes to scan his room. 

Derek’s sitting in an uncomfortable hospital chair right next to his bed, sketching what Spencer can only guess are plans for the property he’s just taken on, an empty jello cup balancing on the armrest of his chair. 

“Sandwiches and strawberries not fill you up?” he asks, voice croaky as he cracks an eye open. He can’t help but smile, too. He has the best boyfriend and the best friends anyone could ever hope for.

Derek’s head snaps up as he hears Spencer’s voice, setting his notebook and jello aside to grab for Spencer’s hand. “You are something else,” he chuckles. “Your first thought when coming round from a medical disaster is an observation of my eating patterns.” He shakes his head fondly. “ But you know I can’t pass up a tub of jello.”

“That’s true. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen you say no when it’s offered.”

“You’re one to talk, pretty boy.” 

They lapse into short silence, accompanied only by the quiet beeps of the machines. “Sorry I scared you,” he whispers eventually, feeling guilt wrap itself around his stomach. 

“Don’t be ridiculous. It’s not your fault.” Derek looks sincere as he holds Spencer’s hand tighter, careful of the IV in his wrist. “The doctors… they said it was a severe attack, which is probably why the first epi-pen didn’t work. They’re monitoring you overnight to make sure there was no damage to your kidneys, I think. I’ll go find a doctor to tell them you’re awake.”

He moves to get out of his seat, but Spencer pulls him back down, as well as he can when he’s still feeling weak. “No, just… don’t leave,” he asks, his voice coming out a little too pleading for his liking. “Stay.”

The idea of being alone right now twists his stomach; the idea of being without Derek so desperately scary. 

“Okay, okay, baby,” Derek relents, sitting back down and running a soothing hand through his tangled hair, Spencer’s eyes fluttering closed at the contact. “I won’t go anywhere if you don’t want me to.” Instead, he presses the button for the nurse. 

“Where are the others?” Spencer dares to ask after a few seconds of quiet. 

“The nurses weren’t too happy with four people in here,” Derek chuckles. “I’ve been updating them by text; I’ll tell them you’re awake in a minute. JJ saved your life, you know. None of us had any clue what was happening but she was the only one who kept calm and the only one who got us through those awful minutes waiting for the ambulance to show up.”

“I know,” he whispers. “I told her I was allergic to bee stings years ago. It was just an off-hand comment, it never feels like that big a deal… this is only the third time this has ever happened. I guess I don’t feel the need to bring it up.”

“Well that off-hand comment saved your life, pretty boy.” Derek squeezes his eyes closed for a second, and when he opens them the emotion written on his face is heart-wrenching. “God, I can’t believe I could’ve lost you. There were a good few minutes there when I didn’t think you were gonna make it and after… Tobias… I was just so scared.”

Spencer’s stomach clenches at that, imagining the roles reversed is terrifying just as a hypothetical. He can’t even begin to imagine how Derek felt. He reaches a hand out to touch Derek’s face gently, squeezing his hand with the other. “But you didn’t lose me,” he murmurs. “I’m here, I’m  okay.” 

“Yeah.” His voice is barely a whisper as his eyes close again. “Is it bad that I kind of want bees to go extinct now?” he asks with a wet chuckle a few moments later.

“Derek!” Spencer laughs weakly, acting scandalised. “Bees are fundamental to the global ecosystem. Civilisation would effectively collapse if bees went extinct, it’s definitely not worth eradicating bees for the sake of me avoiding the rarity of anaphylactic shock, not according to the laws of proportionality. It’s actually frightening how fast the bee population is depleting though… did you know that there are only about 2.5 million honey-producing hives left in the US? That’s down from 4.5 million in 1980 and the loss has largely been attributed to colony collapse disorder—”

“Ah, Doctor Reid, you’re awake.” A smiling nurse bustles through the door and comes to check his vitals, fiddling with one of his IVs before taking a step back. “How’s your breathing? Is the nasal cannula okay or would you prefer a full mask?”

“The cannula’s good,” he says, smiling politely. Really, he just wants to get back to telling Derek all the bee facts he can recall. He has some really good ones itching to be let out. “I’m breathing fine, just feel a little weak still.”

“Good. Your vitals all look stable, so a doctor will be round in the morning to talk you through your treatment and medication. Is that okay?” 

“That’s fine, thank you,” Spencer nods, and she gives them one last smile before leaving the room and sliding the door shut quietly behind her.

“I should bring her back in,” Derek chuckles as the nurse leaves the room. “She missed out on your bee lecture. Fascinating stuff.”

“Shut up,” Spencer huffs, sinking back against the pillows. “You don’t deserve to hear my bee facts.”

“No,” Derek protests, grinning widely. “I’m joking, baby, carry on. You were telling me about colony collapse disorder.”

Spencer knows that, of course — he does have an eidetic memory after all — but it makes him smile that Derek remembers exactly where he was in his spiel. Maybe Penelope’s onto something when she says that Derek is “whipped” for him. (It had taken at least fifteen minutes for Spencer to fully understand what she meant by that, mostly because he kept asking about the etymology, history, and statistical usage of the word and she kept rolling her eyes, which he would then insist was not an answer.)

“Colony collapse disorder is depressing,” Spencer sighs, feeling quite tired all of a sudden. “I don’t feel like explaining it.”

“It doesn’t sound great.” Derek goes back to threading his fingers through Spencer’s hair. “Why don’t you tell me your favourite three bee facts, and then you can go back to sleep”

Spencer hums, giving it a bit of thought before replying. “Scientists trained bees to score goals in bee soccer in return for a sugary treat, which is especially interesting because they have brains the size of a poppy seed. They communicate with one another by wiggling their butts. It’s like their own language, they tell their nestmates where to go to get the best food. Bees also live in loads of different places, not just in the countryside. My favourite place they live is in marshes and wetlands, because I love insects that live in watery areas.”

“I’d pay to watch bees play soccer,” Derek laughs quietly. “You’re so smart, baby, I’m so proud of you.”

Spencer sighs happily. “Love you,” he murmurs, eyes closing against the exhaustion. 

“I love you more.”

Spencer isn’t awake long enough to argue with him.

taglist: @criminalmindsvibez @strippersenseii @hotchgans @suburban--gothic @takeyourleap-of-faith 

[birdship]

Leave It In The Sun: Chapter One (a Disco Elysium fanfic)

Warnings: Full game spoilers, eventual spicy scenes, basically the level of adult content in the game itself.

General summary: A slow(ish) burn exploration of life at Precinct 41 after Harry and Kim wrap up the case and Kim makes the move to Jamrock. Mainly just about how Harry and Kim's relationship might develop, and a sort of character study of some of the employees of Precinct 41 in general.

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

Chapter one summary: Two difficult weeks after leaving Martinaise, Harry finally reaches out to Kim. Chapter length: Approx. 4.3k words

The sun is only just setting over the streets of Jamrock, drenched in rain and neon. The city stops to catch its breath in the intermission between day and night.

PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT: And so do you. You could’ve sworn the nearest payphone was, y’know, nearer than this. Maybe that bone-shattering gunshot wound also isn’t quite as far along in the healing process as you thought either.

PAIN THRESHOLD: Brilliant claws of pain rake down your thigh as you lean against the payphone and try to center yourself.

You glance at the phone resting in its cradle, with some trepidation. Phone calls are always a bit… difficult for you. Especially these days.

SUGGESTION: You can still change your mind.

VOLITION: No. You came here for a reason.

SUGGESTION: Or… you could always just call her instead.

VOLITION: *Focus.*

You take a deep breath. The late spring air is turning chilly in the slowly setting sun. The rain drizzles lazily as it has all day, showing no sign of stopping. A handful of people are still--or already--out wandering downtown Jamrock, laughing and talking and hurrying home and running errands and entirely focused on just about anything in the world *besides* a washed up middle-aged man having a minor anxiety attack and moderate-to-severe hip pain next to a public phone at 6:04pm in the rain.

INLAND EMPIRE: The loneliness knocks the wind out of you. You thought you were used to it by now. It’s worse outside, around people.

DRAMA: The threadbare costume you created for yourself in the privacy of your dark, trash-strewn apartment doesn’t seem quite as convincing with an audience.

VOLITION: Stop the goddamn pity party and pick up the phone already.

The receiver is light in your hand as you fumble for change and the crumpled slip of paper you’ve had in your jeans pocket for the last two weeks or so. You slowly, deliberately dial the phone number written on it, as if some part of you is afraid that your fingers might just automatically fall into the patterns of *her* number instead.

VOLITION: They might. But you’re done hurting yourself.

CONCEPTUALIZATION: Well, maybe not entirely. Yet. But you’re done hurting yourself *with her* for sure.

INLAND EMPIRE: You still feel like you deserve that pain. But it’s wrong to keep using her as the knife you gut yourself with. She deserves better, even if you might not.

LOGIC: In any case, this isn’t about her. It’s about you, and it’s about--

“Hello?” Kim’s voice is muffled and tinny through the old, worn copper wiring. He sounds tired, but you guess that’s not particularly surprising. You’ve been pretty damn tired too.

“Kim, hey, it’s uh, it’s me,” you reply awkwardly.

“Harry? Do you need something?”

ESPRIT DE CORPS: This is the first time you’ve called him since leaving Martinaise, despite carrying that little piece of paper around for the last two weeks. He’s thinking, why now?

“Yeah, no, I just happened to be downtown this evening,” you ramble, “and I thought--”

“You’re drunk,” he says. It is completely without judgment. A stated fact. The sky is blue, the grass is green, and Harry Du Bois is drunk. “Where are you exactly? I’ll--”

“Wait, no!” you exclaim, a little too loudly. A nearby pigeon makes a mad dash in the opposite direction at the sound. “That’s not it! I swear I’m basically sober right now. Mostly.”

A long pause on the other end. “Alright,” he says plainly. “So what can I do for you?”

ESPRIT DE CORPS: Make no mistake, he’s picking his battles here and gingerly stepping *around* that “mostly.”

EMPATHY: He’s just relieved it’s even that much.

COMPOSURE: How embarrassing.

VOLITION: Just start over. Your first sentence was garbage, but you know you’re under no obligation to continue it, right?

You take a deep breath, then try again.

“Well, it’s really more about what *I* can do for *you*,” you say as smoothly as possible. “You know that big motor carriage exhibition in town? It just so happens I’ve got *two tickets* to it.”

Another long pause. “You mean the one that ends today?”

“Yes,” you confirm.

“And are you aware that it is currently around six o’clock in the evening?”

“Is it? I mean, yes. Yes it is,” you say confidently. “I am aware of the passage of time.”

“And you waited until now to do this?” he asks.

EMPATHY: He sounds more amused than annoyed, though you definitely detect a bit of both.

“Uh,” you falter. “Look, it’s open until 8:00, so do you want to fucking go or not?”

ESPRIT DE CORPS: About half a kilometer away, Lieutenant Kim Kitsuragi is sitting in the kitchen of his new apartment, already in his pajamas and winding down for the evening. It’s a bit early for that, but he figures he should take the opportunity to rest before he tackles that mountain of backlogged cases he was promised upon making the move to precinct 41.

Two weeks ago, he said goodbye to the strangest man he’d ever met. A man he found himself inexplicably drawn to in the week they spent together, and whom he thought about every day since. Wondering if he would take the lifeline Kim tried to throw to him, or if that little slip of paper would just end up forgotten at the bottom of a vomit-soaked trash can in some shitty bar. Wondering if the dawning trauma of everything that happened in Martinaise and the restlessness from sitting at home recovering from its aftermath would combine to pull him down into a dark place beyond Kim’s reach for good. Wondering and wondering to fill the silence. And now finally the silence is broken, but whatever this cry for help is, it is not the one Kim ever expected to receive.

But he knows one thing for sure: it *is* a cry for help.

“Alright,” Kim says finally. He takes a sharp breath. “Sounds good.”

The walk to his apartment takes a bit longer than you expected. It’s not that far from the downtown payphone, but you still wasted a good 20 minutes on the journey.

ENDURANCE: You are expecting too much of yourself too soon.

INLAND EMPIRE: It’s always one or the other with you, isn’t it? Too much or not enough.

PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT: Twenty minutes to walk a few blocks? Fucking pathetic. What kind of cop are you? Hell, what kind of *gym teacher* are you? Man up.

ENDURANCE: No. It’s a miracle that you’re still standing at all.

PERCEPTION: Beyond the apartment door, you can hear footsteps and soft humming.

You knock, and the door opens almost immediately.

CONCEPTUALIZATION: Shit. You were hoping you’d have a few spare seconds to think of something really cool to say.

REACTION SPEED: C’mon, say something fun and upbeat to prove you’re not a depressed sack of shit who’s been spending the past two weeks drinking alone in the dark.

DRAMA: Showtime!

“Howdy, pardner,” you hear yourself say.

SAVOIR FAIRE: Finger guns! For god’s sake, don’t forget the finger guns. Without them, you just look like a goddamn lunatic.

You do the finger guns.

Kim does not seem particularly impressed as he slowly looks from your outstretched gun fingers to the twisted grimace that now wracks your face.

“Please, holster those things before coming inside,” he says humorlessly.

You blow the pretend, metaphorical smoke from each of your hot weapons before stuffing your hands in your pockets. As you do this, he watches with an appraising look.

ESPRIT DE CORPS: He’s wondering if this is *regular* weird or *drunken breakdown* weird. However, he is intimately familiar with your brand of stupid bullshit at this point and it doesn’t take long for him to place it in the former category.

“We should hit the road soon,” you comment as you peek curiously into his apartment.

“Hit the road,” Kim repeats with mild amusement, “in what?”

LOGIC: Oh. Right. The Kineema is property of Precinct 57. Not Kim Kitsuragi personally.

“Shit, yeah,” you concede. “But hey, if we call a taxi now--”

LOGIC: You’ll arrive just in time to immediately turn around and go home.

HALF LIGHT: You fucked up. You’re a fuck-up. Great job, idiot.

VOLITION: Try not drinking and blacking out all day next time.

LOGIC: Yes, but then…

“Fuck,” you inhale. “Fuckady-fuck-fuck. Shit. Goddammit.”

Kim waits patiently for you to catch up. You’re almost there.

“I should’ve called earlier, sorry,” you apologize. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

LOGIC: What is wrong with you is that you drank all last night, slept off a hangover most of the day today, and woke up in a daze about 45 minutes ago. But what’s done is done. No point in bringing that up now, right?

“Nor do I,” says the lieutenant with a small smile. “But whatever it is, I am no longer surprised by it, I assure you.”

“Sorry. I’m sorry,” you repeat, leaning on the door frame pathetically, a congealed ooze of mental illness and embarrassment. “Sorry for bothering you in the first place. You’re always so nice to me, even when I’m a pain in the ass.”

CONCEPTUALIZATION: Which is to say *constantly.*

Kim says nothing. Just sighs almost imperceptibly.

EMPATHY: Your self deprecation is frustrating for him, and he does not know how to respond to it constructively and compassionately.

ESPRIT DE CORPS: He *does* think you’re a pain in the ass sometimes, but a pain worth dealing with.

INLAND EMPIRE: For reasons beyond your understanding.

“Why did you agree to go in the first place?” you sigh. “You’ve got a brain that actually works, you knew it wasn’t gonna happen. If you’re trying to make fun of me, then, well…”

You pause.

“That’s just fine, I guess. Good job, carry on.”

He adjusts his glasses and looks away. “I appreciated the intention,” he says finally, in a measured voice. “And since I hadn’t heard from you the past couple weeks…”

ESPRIT DE CORPS: ...He was afraid you wouldn’t bother trying again.

“Sorry,” you mumble. “I’ve been kind of busy. You know how it goes after cases like that.”

“I do,” he says. He hesitates for a moment, then adds, “you’re welcome to come in if you like.”

You hobble into Kim’s sparse kitchen and collapse on a dining room chair. It creaks ominously under the velocity of the assault.

“I’m glad we have an opportunity to catch up,” he says politely, pulling up the other chair and gazing at your pained expression from across the table. “Your injury is healing well, I assume?”

EMPATHY: It is obvious that he does not in fact assume this at all.

You shrug, still trying to get a hold of yourself and push back the ache swirling at the edges of your mind.

He watches you struggle for a moment, then gently says, “it will take time to heal, but it *will* heal.”

ESPRIT DE CORPS: *So please be patient and kind to yourself,* is the silent plea left unsaid. It hangs in the air pitifully. You both know it’s there.

“Time hasn’t exactly been a good salve for me in general,” you mumble.

He’s silent for a while. Opens his mouth to speak, then closes it again.

“Harry,” he says finally. “What happened in Martinaise is not your burden to carry alone.”

“I thought you didn’t like *personal issues*, lieutenant,” you say.

“I don’t,” he says with a frown, “but this…”

ESPRIT DE CORPS: This is about me too, he thinks. As much as he hates to admit it. He doesn’t particularly like his *own* personal issues either. But the past two weeks were hard for him, and you didn’t make them any easier.

EMPATHY: He was worried about you, and--although he will never admit it to himself, let alone you--there’s a part of him that selfishly hoped you were worried about him too. At least a little.

ESPRIT DE CORPS: He’s used to this line of work, and so are you despite the holes in your memory, but it never gets any easier to deal with some things.

EMPATHY: There was so much death that day. It haunts you. And now as you sit in Kim’s kitchen, the alcohol slowly filtering from your blood and leaving behind the dregs of a headache, you realize it still haunts him too. You both added perforations you never wanted to make.

ENDURANCE: It’s too much. Your head swims and your entire body aches in the throes of repressed grief fighting its way to the surface of a sea of quickly evaporating Commodore Red.

INLAND EMPIRE: Warning! Trauma containment center has been breached! Evacuate the area immediately!

HALF LIGHT: You’re going to cry, aren’t you? You’re going to fucking cry. Right here in his kitchen. Why can’t you keep your shit together for more than five minutes straight?

You are entirely unable to keep the tears from rolling silently down your cheeks, unbidden.

INLAND EMPIRE: You don’t have it in you to really cry properly, like a normal fucking person. Not anymore. Something has disconnected the wire from your “press here to begin sobbing during your emotional breakdown” button, and you’re not sure what or when.

ENDURANCE: But human beings *cry.* And despite everything inside you that’s broken and rotting, you *are* a human being. You can’t not be.

Kim’s standing next to you now, his hand resting comfortingly on your shoulder. He doesn’t say anything.

EMPATHY: That’s the point of this whole shoulder-touching business in the first place--your disconcertingly unhinged behavior has left him at a loss for words, yet compelled to offer *something.*

This goes on for the longest five minutes or so the world has ever seen. But finally, you’ve wrung it all out of yourself and the tears stop almost as abruptly as they began. His hand gives your shoulder a squeeze, then he sits back down in the chair opposite you, avoiding your eyes. He rummages in his pocket for something, then hands you a blue handkerchief.

“Where the hell do you keep all these?” you mumble as you reach for it. “Fuckin’... infinite handkerchiefs around here.”

“What can I say? I like to be prepared,” he says.

“For drunk idiots who throw up all over crime scenes and have mental breakdowns in your home?”

“Usually to clean my glasses,” he says flatly. “But at this point, I suppose it *is* fair to say that it’s also for your various crises as well.”

“Well, thank God one of us is prepared,” you say. “What would I do without you, Kim?”

He hesitates, a strange wistful expression tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I don’t know. What *did* you do the past two weeks?”

ESPRIT DE CORPS: As soon as the words leave his mouth, he regrets them.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t… That’s none of my concern,” he says quickly.

AUTHORITY: Who the hell does he think he is? You’re not a child who needs to be minded. You’re a grown-ass man who can sit alone in his apartment and get wasted if he fucking wants to. Assert yourself!

“Honestly? Drink, mostly,” you say with a self-conscious chuckle.

ESPRIT DE CORPS: He just stares at you with the bleakest expression you’ve ever seen cross his face.

EMPATHY: He’s so tired. So frustrated. So disappointed.

INLAND EMPIRE: Oh God! He’s *disappointed* in you? This is terrible. Anything but that, please!

“I thought I was doing better,” you say quietly. “Guess not.”

“You were,” Kim says kindly.

INLAND EMPIRE: Tequila Sunset hasn’t happened yet. Maybe it still will. Maybe it’s inevitable. Maybe when you took up that mantle, it was like some sort of alcoholic event horizon. Tequila Sunset is the only way it was ever going to end. What other force in the universe could begin to exert as much gravitational pull over you?

ELECTROCHEMISTRY: From the void we came, to the void we must return.

“Listen,” Kim tells you, “this is not surprising. It’s got to be harder now that you’re back in Jamrock.”

ELECTROCHEMISTRY: It’s *easy,* baby. All your old favorite haunts are here. You know all the cheapest bars, the sketchiest parts of town with the purest amphetamines… You can’t remember the names of half of them anymore, but the muscles in your legs can trace the steps there perfectly. That shit’s burned into your body forever.

“Yeah.” You swallow hard. “Anyway, what about you? How’s Jamrock treating you?”

EMPATHY: The darkness clouding his expression lightens a bit.

“Good so far,” he says. “I’ve actually only been here for a few days. G.R.I.H. wrap-up took longer than I expected.” He pauses and looks out the window. “But I’m glad to be here now.”

“Really,” you say with a laugh. “In this shithole?”

“It has its perks,” he says. “I’m looking forward to beginning work at Precinct 41.”

“You’re not working solo, are you?”

“For right now, yes I am,” he replies. “I’m fine with that. I’ve done it before.”

INLAND EMPIRE: The idea of sharing a workplace with him and yet not being at his side when he needs you… it makes you feel cold, lonely, somehow.

ESPRIT DE CORPS: You have a duty to Jean. Jean is your partner.

SUGGESTION: Fuck it, just say it. You know what you want to say. Say it and get it over with.

“You should work with me,” you blurt out. “We were such a good team in Martinaise. We could keep those good times rolling!”

“I’m flattered, but,” he says, turning his head. “Satellite-Officer Vicquemare…”

“Doesn’t give a shit about me,” you say. “Fuck him.”

EMPATHY: That’s not exactly true. You know it’s not.

INLAND EMPIRE: But the truth is complicated. It’s easier to just boil it down to *fuck that guy.*

LOGIC: Jean is bad for you, and you’re bad for him. Or, you used to be. And has anything really changed? Are you really any different? Maybe it was just the change of scenery that fooled you into thinking otherwise.

INLAND EMPIRE: Same old Jamrock. Same old coworkers. Same old bad habits. Same old *you.*

“I’m not so sure about that,” Kim says delicately.

“Forget about him,” you push, suddenly more serious about this than you intended to be. “I can arrange this shit with Captain Pryce, and I can deal with Jean.”

“I… uh,” he coughs. “I don’t know what to say.”

DRAMA: You’re in control of this show now. Pull an honest answer out of him.

You point at him and narrow your eyes. “I know what you should say: what you *feel* in your *heart*!” You pound one fist against your chest over your heart to drive home the point, then wince.

PAIN THRESHOLD: Please don’t do that.

You break the dramatic pose and lean back in your chair again with a shrug. “Or just tell me to fuck off. None of this wishy-washy noncommittal shit, though.”

He’s silent for a long time, watching and listening to the rain as it picks up outside. Then finally he gives you an apologetic smile and speaks.

“Harry,” he says kindly. “Fuck off.”

ESPRIT DE CORPS: Translation: maybe. But not now.

EMPATHY: He’s not angry, he’s deflecting. This is by far the nicest way you’ve ever been told to fuck off. Don’t take it too hard.

“Alright, alright,” you say. “Forget I said anything.”

You spend a while just making smalltalk at Kim’s kitchen table. None of it means anything, but it’s nice. It’s a nice, good, human thing to do, sitting and chatting with him. Makes your “regular well-adjusted person” costume fit a little better. The rain begins to let up a little in the fading sunset.

“You know, we could do something else if you like,” he says brightly. “Here in Jamrock, I mean.”

ELECTROCHEMISTRY: Yeah. Lots of stuff to do in Jamrock. Like speed and hard liquor. Or crying in the bathroom of a dive bar because you’re too fucked up on speed and liquor.

SUGGESTION: He probably wouldn’t go for that.

CONCEPTUALIZATION: There’s got to be somewhere else to go. Something else to do with him. Think. What do you want to do with him?

ELECTROCHEMISTRY: Oh buddy, are you sure you’re ready to open that can of worms?

The lieutenant watches you as you rub your temples in an effort to massage the awkward thoughts out of your terrible brain. Then he says, “you know what, don’t worry about it. It’s fine, we can just stay here.”

“Yeah, okay,” you say. “Sounds good.”

“I’m going out on the balcony for a cigarette,” he informs you. “You can--”

“I’ll come with you,” you interrupt.

ESPRIT DE CORPS: He pauses, wondering how many you might’ve had already. Then again cigarettes are, shockingly, by far the *least* detrimental of your *many* vices.

The two of you step out onto the lieutenant’s rather small balcony. It’s still raining very lightly, but this is probably as good as the weather is going to get tonight. Good enough. There’s really not quite enough space for two adult men to comfortably lounge around out here, though. You try to make yourself as small as possible as you fumble in your pockets for a cigarette and lighter.

PERCEPTION: You hear the soft click of a lighter and smell smoke on the gentle evening breeze drifting over from your left.

“Fuck,” you grumble. “I forgot my light--”

You realize Kim is holding out his own lighter wordlessly, still gazing out at the city sprawling out below.

“Thanks,” you say.

He nods. He pockets the lighter again once you’re done with it, then leans on the railing and exhales smoke with a sigh.

ESPRIT DE CORPS: Outwardly, he is silent and pensive. He almost seems anxious in a way. But in truth, he likes this. He’s enjoying standing out here in the rain and the dark and smoking his nightly cigarette by your side once more, just like that first night in Martinaise.

You rest your arms on the railing as well and try to map his sightline. Your arm presses against his in the cramped space, but he does not react.

“Pretty bitchin’ view here,” you comment. “Comparatively.”

“Mhm,” hums the lieutenant. “By Jamrock standards, quite bitchin’.”

PERCEPTION: His hand dangles loosely over the edge of the railing. It’s a bit smaller than yours and much thinner, bonier. Sharp and angled like a marble sculpture.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY: A work of art. Just like the rest of him.

SUGGESTION: Wonder what that hand would feel like in yours…?

“Everything alright, detective?” Kim asks, smoke escaping from his lips as he speaks. You realize that you’ve been staring at his hand for longer than is generally considered acceptable by polite society.

“Just spacing out a little I guess,” you mumble, averting your gaze.

“Par for the course with you,” the lieutenant chuckles.

VOLITION: Don’t make this too weird. Don’t think about that cigarette dangling loosely from his beautiful hands, or how soft his lips must be, or how nice it would be to just give up all pretense and embarrass yourself and hug him tightly right here on the balcony. Whatever you do, don’t think of any of those things.

CONCEPTUALIZATION: Shit.

“Well, it’s getting late,” you say, stubbing out your half-finished cigarette in the nearby ashtray. “I should probably go.”

“Yes, I suppose you’re right. We’ve got work in the morning after all.”

ESPRIT DE CORPS: You do?

VOLITION: Just play it cool.

“Yes,” you say, nodding stoically. “Tomorrow is Monday. I am aware of this, and that is why I said that in the first place, and not for any other reason.”

SAVOIR FAIRE: Nailed it.

“Tomorrow is Tuesday,” Kim says flatly, his face expressionless.

“I know that!” you say defensively. “I was just testing you. Come on, Kim, you don’t think I’m really that stupid, do you?”

He starts to say something, then thinks better of it and instead takes a long drag of his cigarette before trying again. “No, detective. I don’t think that.” Then he puts it out on the bottom of his boot and drops it in the ashtray.

The two of you head back into the apartment as the rain starts up again. You pull on your tarpaulin cloak in preparation for the long walk back home. But as you reach the front door, the lieutenant stops you.

“You know, you could just stay here if that would be easier,” he says abruptly, looking tense. “It’s late, and it’s raining, and…”

ESPRIT DE CORPS: ...And the route from here to your home features at least a dozen bars along the way.

EMPATHY: He’s worried you might not be able to resist the siren song of their garish neon signs and blaring dance music spilling out onto the streets like a red carpet unfurling.

“And your injury,” he adds quickly. “It was causing you some pain earlier, wasn’t it?”

HALF LIGHT: You don’t need his *pity.*

INLAND EMPIRE: Maybe you *do.* He knows you too well already.

EMPATHY: And, for whatever reason, cares about you a little too much. A terrible decision on his part, really.

“Yeah, good point. Plus your place is closer anyway,” you reply. “Thanks. Sorry to impose.”

He gives you a little nod. “It’s no trouble at all.”

Soon, you’re settled in on Kim’s couch under a small pile of blankets that still smell like artificial flowers, cloying and too sweet, freshly laundered.

He says good night and disappears into his bedroom, shutting the door behind him. It’s strange somehow, lying here in his living room alone in the dark. Like you’re somewhere you shouldn’t be. Like sneaking into a museum after it closes.

PERCEPTION: In the hazy twilight of impending sleep, you notice a calendar on the wall across from you. You can just barely make it out in the dim light, and you realize something.

“Son of a bitch,” you shout, “tomorrow *is* Monday!”

Just before you retreat into the blanket nest you could swear you hear a muffled apology from the next room.

[andyet-here-we-are]

I Would Get Into Millions of Accidents Just to See You, Chapter 4 (aka Nurse Geralt AU)

(Check the pinned post for the first three chapters please~)

"Wow. Either we're going to host a pasta eating contest this evening, or they have spread some news about an incoming pasta shortage in the country," Ciri teases as she looks at the mass of pasta boxes on the counter. "Or in the world," she corrects when she realizes he is still not done taking the pasta boxes out of the grocery bags. "Which one is it?"

"Neither."

"Then why?"

"Can't a guy buy pasta as much as he wants simply because he wanted to? Does there need to be a reason for that?"

"So, you're telling me that I cannot buy as much as candy I want, but you can buy a ridiculous amount of pasta. And you can do that because?"

"Because I'm an adult, and you're not. End of the discussion."

"But that's not fair!" Ciri huffs, folding her arms over her chest. "I can't wait to be an adult so I can get whatever I want and be unstoppable."

Geralt reaches over and ruffles her hair before he asks: "What kind of pasta do you think we should make?"

"Can I ask something, too, before I answer to that?" When Geralt nods, she continues, "You've said that you met someone special, but you didn't let me know anything more than that. Is... Is this special person going to join us for dinner today?"

"Yeah, someone's going to join us for dinner, but it's not someone you don't know. Just Mrs. April."

"Oh. Okay. Nothing came out of it, I guess."

Ciri looks so disappointed that Geralt feels like telling her the truth. But no, he won't ruin the surprise and let it go to waste after keeping his mouth shut this whole time.

She picks up the penne one and shakes the box to make her point.

"With chicken, heavy cream, and—"

"And sundried tomatoes."

Geralt doesn't know why he couldn't think of that. It's both his and Ciri's favorite pasta recipe after all. For a second, he feels extremely stupid for buying every kind of pasta he could find. But then he thinks: "This won't be the last time Jaskier comes here," and finds himself imagining them trying to choose what kind of pasta to make together, and shakes his head a little. No need to feel stupid, he will have to deal with not only one, but two pasta monsters soon if he is lucky.

He smiles at the thought.

***

After setting up the table, Geralt takes a shower and starts to get ready. He nearly asks Ciri which button-up shirt he should wear, but then decides against it since he knows that she would put two and two together and ask something like:

"Since when you use your most expensive perfume at home just because our old, lovely neighbour will come over for dinner?"

Nope, he'll pass, thank you very much. He takes a look at his gray and white windowpane shirt, then at the other shirt he is holding in his hands as if making the hardest decision in his whole life. He doesn't want to look like he is trying too hard, but doesn't want to look like he's not trying at all either. It has been so long since the last time he was on a date that he—

"That's a... date," he whispers to himself because it only occurs to him now.

And suddenly he can understand why Jaskier sounded anxious about meeting Ciri.

This is technically their first date, and Geralt simply invited him over like that's something they have been doing for years. Most people don't even mention their kids on the first date— let alone introducing them.

But it's not the same thing, right? Jaskier already knows about Ciri, and the musician loves kids.

Jaskier didn't back away when Geralt talked to him about his daughter for the first time.

No, he didn't back away and didn't give him this "Oh no, he has a kid, that's such a deal-breaker”  look like most people do. What he did was listening to him with interest instead, a warm smile on his face.

Maybe that's why it felt only natural to invite him over for their first date.

Still, even though he knows that everything will go perfectly fine, maybe it wasn't fair to put such pressure on him just yet.

Well, too late for thinking stuff like that now. Geralt doesn't think he will regret this though. He is somehow sure that he won't.

Smiling, he decides that the basic black button-up shirt and beige trousers will do just fine.

A few minutes later he gets a text from Jaskier:

[I'll be there in a few. Don't forget to leave the door open~]

***

Ciri is busy lying on the couch and watching Jaskier's cover again when he finally arrives.

He closes the door behind himself, being careful so as not to make any sound even though he doesn't have to do that since Ciri's watching the video at full volume and wouldn't hear even if he just hit the door shut anyway.

When he sees that Geralt is standing only a few feet away from him in the hallway, his whole face lights up like he has just seen a million fireflies hovering above them.

For a while, they don't even move.

They don't blink or utter anything.

They just simply stare at each other like they cannot believe this is really happening.

Jaskier looks so perfect with his dark jeans and a white button-up shirt with blue small anchors pattern that Geralt swallows—as always, he seems like he doesn't even accept the existence of the first four buttons.

One second later Jaskier mirrors him and swallows, then takes small, silent steps towards him until they're barely one step away from each other.

"It's good to finally see you, Mr. Handsome Nurse," whispers the musician, never taking his eyes off Geralt even for a millisecond.

"You call me 'Mr. Handsome Nurse' so much that I'm this close to thinking that you only talk to me because you have a nurse kink or something," Geralt whispers back, and Jaskier's lips slowly curve into a lopsided, mischievous grin as he slowly tilts his head to the side—the space between them closing.

He isn't sure which one of them is responsible for that, but he nearly feels the man's warm breath against his skin—they are so close that he can see his pupils react, and his heart skips a beat.  

"I mean, I don't not have it," Jaskier lifts one shoulder in a half shrug "You're the one to blame. Oh wait, do I hear my own cover?"

Just like that, they are not standing too close to each other anymore, and it's probably for the best, considering they aren't alone and he doesn't want to give his daughter a heart attack.

"The very same. She watches your video again and again. I stopped counting after the fifth time."

"And yet she doesn't even know that she lives with the 'jabroni' she is mad at. Poor thing." The musician clicks his tongue before he grins again. "Or poor you. We shall see. Anyway, my time has come."

After hanging his paper bag on the hall stand, Jaskier silently steps into the living room and makes a beeline for the back of the couch Ciri is lying on.

"Gosh, what a handsome man," he comments as he leans over the back of the couch. "Eh," he says, scrunching his nose, "his nose doesn't look that great in the left bottom box from this angle, but well, what done is done."

Ciri practically jumps out of her skin when she turns her head to the source of the familiar voice. She screams, yeah, actually screams, and falls from the couch to the floor with a loud thump.

"Well, my fans usually prefer to hug me instead, but that's an option as well."

Ciri doesn't look like she is going to say something anytime soon. She just stares at Jaskier with owl-like wide eyes, and Geralt tries his best not to laugh as he leans against the door frame and watches them. The keyword is "tries" though because he is clearly failing.

"...why Jaskier is standing in our living room?" his daughter asks, eyes still on the musician.

"You can thank my hacker friend for that," looking pretty amused, Jaskier answers before he could and holds out a hand to help her to her feet, "he gave me access to all of my fans' addresses so I could surprise them one by one."

"Did I fall asleep? I'm quite sure that I'm dreaming." Ciri blinks twice like trying to come out of a dream, then frowns as she gets up, "Also, that's the worst idea I've ever heard, what if one of your fans turns out to be a psycho and traps you in their house for the rest of your life? Never lets you leave?"

"Well, I wouldn't have any objection to being trapped in here. Feel free to try. Let me know though if you guys are planning to keep me here forever, so I can grab a few essentials from my home."

"You mean your lute?"

Jaskier turns his head to Geralt before sitting on the couch and saying: "She is really a smart one, Geralt. Just like her dad."

"Even smarter than me, believe me."

If someone would tell Geralt that he would have to say "Ciri, please stop poking our guest,"  to his daughter ever, he wouldn't believe them, but he finds himself warning Ciri with the exact words since she sits next to Jaskier and disbelievingly pokes the man's cheek with her index finger with a determined and curious expression as if she is examining E.T. The musician doesn't seem like he minds it, though.

"You're real. And you're really here," she eventually decides.

"Yeah, as real as that delicious smell coming from the kitchen."

"This doesn't make any sense. I just can't understand why— I mean how is that even— Can someone please explain to me what's really happening here?"

"Why don't we do that while having dinner before it gets cold?" Geralt offers, and Jaskier must be really hungry because he immediately stands up from the couch and pulls Ciri with him before she can resist.

***

"So, basically, my dad was your nurse for nearly a month and I learn about this just now?" Ciri has this 'How could you do this to me?' expression on her face, so Geralt turns to link eyes with Jaskier and mouths the word, 'help' in his direction. Yes, he can deal with even villain-looking, probably dangerous criminal patients without any hesitation, but he can't deal with the way his daughter stares at him right now.

"It's not your dad's fault, Ciri. I told him not to tell you anything about it so we could surprise you."

Geralt loves how he says "we could" like they are a team, to be honest.

Jaskier keeps talking about how Geralt would let her know if it wasn't for him, and Ciri doesn't look that mad anymore until Jaskier adds: "It's not my fault that he is a handsome jabroni who didn't even send me a text and kept me waiting for too long though," while casually stabbing his salad with his fork a few times. "If he didn't call me today, my next cover was going to be 'Call Me Maybe' probably."

Geralt almost chokes on his water. He was so wrong about this whole "team" thing apparently. He knows that some people say "A first date is chaotic by nature", but he wouldn't think it would be this chaotic.

"This salad is pretty good, Geralt." Jaskier completely ignores his reaction, "And the pasta makes me feel like there's a festival in my mouth. It's fantastic. You weren't kidding when you said you could show me how a proper dinner looked like, I see. Kudos to you, gorgeous."

Geralt feels the heat rushing to his whole face, wishing the ground would swallow him up right now and here.

Seriously, someone please bury him.

If someone was told to look mad, surprised, and happy at the same time at an audition they would exactly look like Ciri—or Harrison Ford since he's excellent at that as well—because that's exactly how she looks right now.

"...this song was for my dad? He's the one who kept you waiting? He's the him in 'It Must be Him' ?"

"Uh-huh. That's correct, dear," Jaskier confirms before shoving some pasta into his mouth. "I think he's worth waiting for, though. Still, it was a bit mean of him to do so, don't you think so?"

"Any sane person would agree with you, Jask. Of course, it's mean and inconsiderate."

Jask? Did Ciri just call him Jask?

They are already teaming up against him, oh God.

"Right?! Thank you!" The musician exclaims, flinging his hands in a wild gesture. "I mean, he could just send me a simple text at least, it would take him only a few seconds."

"Don't even mention it. So... Since he finally called you and you're here now, does this mean that you're this special person he—"

"Do you want some more pasta, Jaskier?" Hoping to change the subject, Geralt cuts in, but it's in vain since Jaskier just replies with a quick "Sure, please," and apologizes on behalf of Geralt because he interrupted her, signaling her to continue. The nurse can't help but think that he looks like a fox digging beneath the snow for voles with these curious, hopeful, and focused blue eyes.

"It's okay," thank God his daughter doesn't continue with her question because Geralt really doesn't need to feel more ashamed, "I forgot what I was going to ask anyway."

Ciri gives Geralt her "This isn't over yet," look and asks the man something about one of his original songs instead.

Jaskier looks a bit disappointed at not being able to hear the rest of the question at first, but he answers Ciri's question wholeheartedly all the same.

***

They take their time eating as they have no reason to hurry, talking about whatever Ciri and Jaskier bring up. Geralt is proud of himself that he didn't actually choke in dinner, because with the amount of flirting Jaskier is doing in front of Ciri, he wouldn't be surprised if he did.

Ciri's eyes sparkle whenever Jaskier says something flattering about Geralt and flirts with him, and she looks extremely happy—like she is living in a dream.

As much as Geralt says: "Sit down, you're our guest," Jaskier doesn't listen to him and insists that he helps clear the table after they are done with dinner, because: "We can be done with it faster if I help, I'm a guest with working hands, aren't I?"

So he helps with clearing the table, and also with drying the dishes Geralt washes by hand because they aren't supposed to be washed in the dishwasher. He answers Ciri's questions meanwhile and asks her some questions about her as well— her favorite color, her favorite animals, favorite subject in school. Geralt can feel that he is not asking just for the sake of asking, he asks because he wants to know. Because he actually wonders.

Even though Jaskier is here for the first time, it feels domestic in a way that isn't unwelcome.

When they go back to the living room, Jaskier disappears for a while and returns with that paper bag he had hung on the hall stand.

"Thought I'd surprised my biggest fan not only with my presence but also with a little gift," he explains, handing the big bag to Ciri with a smile. "I hope you like it."

"You shouldn't have," Ciri returns the smile, astonished.

"I wanted to," Jaskier says as he sits on the armrest of the couch, watching her carefully opening the gift. "I think you should just tear off the wrap, dear," he suggests after a while, clearly excited to see her reaction.

"Not gonna lie, I also thought about getting flowers for your dad, but then I thought: 'Nah! Why would I do that after I suffered because of him for fifteen days?' You know?"

Geralt lets out a long sigh, running a hand over his face. Jaskier will never let him live this down, will he? Geralt can picture him going "Remember that time you didn't call me for fifteen days five years ago? When you kept me waiting after I left the hospital? I still think of that time sometimes and it makes my heart bleed," five years later, simply because he refused something Jaskier wanted him to do.

"You did the right thing. He should be grateful that you're even here right now," Ciri agrees. Well, fuck Geralt I guess. It's not like he is Ciri's father who loves her more than anything and who needs her to defend him currently or anything after all.

She immediately goes for a hug as soon as she finally opens the gift, cheerfully declaring how much she likes it and thanking the musician.

"Geralt has mentioned that you love drawing," Jaskier hugs her back gently, happy with her reaction. He had bought her a huge, professional art set. It looks so beautiful that even the nurse feels like taking a shot at drawing again despite knowing too well that he sucks at it.

"I don't get gifts or flowers, okay, no problem, but can't I get a damn hug, too, at least?" Geralt feels like asking, because they look adorable and he wants in, dammit.

As if he is reading his mind, Jaskier motions for him to join them and says: "C'mere you emotional cactus—don't stand up over there like a sad spare tyre."

"I'm not a sad spare tyre," he grumbles a little but joins them in seconds, one arm hugging his daughter, the other hugging the musician.

"Yeah, now you're not," is what Jaskier says as he hugs them tighter.

***

About two hours later Geralt offers to watch a movie together and Ciri is busy setting up a movie—ninety percent "I, Robot" because she is crazy about that movie—before Jaskier can refuse.

Ciri talks about how mad she was when she first watched the movie with Geralt because she thought the movie would be about the short stories in the book, but in reality, the movie had very little to do with the book.

"It's okay though," she adds, "because this movie rocks anyway."

That's how they find themselves watching "I, Robot" with Ciri sitting between them with a big bowl of popcorn in her lap.

"Geralt, can I ask you something?" Jaskier asks before he shoves a handful of popcorn into his mouth.

"You look like a squirrel stuffing his little cheeks with walnuts," Geralt can't help but tease, "sure, ask if you don't get choked before you can."

"That's how you enjoy popcorn, you peasant."

"I don't know much about that since I don't like popcorn."

Jaskier gasps at that as if he said: "I bathe in the blood of the innocent every single day to maintain my health."

"How come someone doesn't like popcorn is behind my comprehension," he huffs like he is personally offended by that. Ciri warns them to keep it quiet with a loud "shhh," since she is fully focused on the movie.

"God, it's the same reaction every time I tell someone this," Geralt complains, "it doesn't even taste good, what there's to like?"

"You can always add some salt so it tastes good."

"It makes me feel thirsty then."

"Everyone loves popcorn! Everyone!"

"Well, not my dad," Ciri rolls her eyes as she pauses the movie. "If you weren't here he wouldn't even let me have popcorn even if I begged. 'It's not healthy, Ciri. And it doesn't even taste good. Let me peel some apples for you, instead.' " she imitates him, causing Jaskier to look at him in horror.

"Can you please stop looking at me like I'm a circle freak? I just don't like popcorn. Even that one pizza with peanut butter and gumball Crazy Eyes orders in 'Mr. Deeds' sounds more delicious than popcorn."

"...ew, just ew. I'm concerned for you if you actually think that. How about caramel popcorn?"

"I feel the same about caramel popcorn."

"You're impossible, Geralt. Totally impossible. Well, what can I say? Your loss, our gain. Right, dear?"

"Right!"

"Give me a high-five then!" The musician says with a grin, raising his hand. They share a high-five proudly as if they have just saved the world together from earth-threatening asteroids.

"What were you going to ask?" Geralt asks curiously, but Jaskier just blankly looks at him instead of answering.

"Let me guess. You forgot? See, you wouldn't forget it if it wasn't for all that popcorn questions of yours."

"Don't talk like that in front of our popcorn, Geralt. Ciri, can you please keep playing the movie?"

"Gladly."

***

"I think she fell asleep," Jaskier informs him with a whisper when there are about twenty minutes left of the movie.

Geralt pauses the movie and smiles when he sees that Ciri had fallen asleep on the musician's shoulder—the sight warming up his heart especially when Jaskier looks at her fondly.

"Figured out so. Usually, this is where she announces her dislike for V.I.K.I and rants about Sonny's wink."

"Can't blame her, V.I.K.I is so diabolic."

"We're all on the same page about that," he agrees. "Hey, it doesn't seem like you made her go 'meh' like you were afraid that you would, huh? I told you that she already adores you. I think she likes you even more now."

"Well, I was afraid that I couldn't prove that I was worthy of her gorgeous dad. And I hope her dad shares his daughter's feelings," Jaskier pokes Geralt's arm with his elbow teasingly.

"Oh, please. If anything, it was me who should have been afraid. You two teamed up against me, 'Jask'."

"It's because she's a defender of truth, not because she was playing favorites or anything."

"I better tuck in this defender of truth," Geralt says as he stands up, and if his eyes aren't fooling him, Jaskier watches him affectionately when he picks up Ciri so he can carry her to her room.

He gently carries her to her room and tucks her in. "Sweet dreams, pumpkin," the nurse plants a soft, small kiss on his daughter's head before heading back to the living room, feeling happy that he has seen her smile and laugh a lot today. And truth be told, he feels a bit excited that he can be alone with Jaskier for a while.

"Wanna finish the movie?" he asks after settling on the couch and plays the movie again when Jaskier nods.

"I've forgotten how cool this scene was." Jaskier says when Spooner screams "Save her! Save the girl!" and Sonny listens to him, trusts Spooner to apply the nanites. "Gosh, I've got goosebumps. Seriously. It's not even just a figure of speech."

When Jaskier holds his arm up to show it, Geralt gently strokes the other man's arm by instinct, feeling goosebumps along his skin. As soon as he does that, he feels that he gets goosebumps himself, but it has nothing to do with the movie, and everything to do with the beautiful man sitting next to him right now—even though, yeah, Jaskier is right, this scene is so cool that no one can claim otherwise.

Without Ciri between them, they sit close to each other now, their thighs touching.

Geralt looks at Jaskier's surprised face; his incredibly blue eyes look so luminous in the reflected light from the TV. So luminous, and intriguing.

A moment later, Jaskier makes himself more comfortable on the couch. He then points at Geralt's right arm: "Is it okay if I— you know."

It amazes Geralt how he shamelessly flirts with him in front of his daughter but gets shy over this. He holds back a chuckle, gladly wrapping his arm around Jaskier.

He wonders if Jaskier can hear his heartbeats quickening when the musician leans his head on his chest.

"You make a comfy pillow."

"Thank you, I guess?"

"No, Geralt. Thank you."

And with that, they focus on what's left of the movie. Or more like Jaskier focuses on it while Geralt is busy focusing on him.

He knows that Jaskier is really focused on the movie because he hears him sniffing lightly when Sonny asks "Does this make us friends?" to Spooner five minutes later.

"Are you seriously crying over a robot right now?" he chuckles.

"He has a name, you heartless man," Jaskier argues, getting rid of Geralt's arm and wiping his tears away. "You don't understand," he holds a hand up in defense, "he made a friend. Sonny made a friend, Geralt. For the first time in his life."

"...so?"

"So? What do you mean 'so'? It's an emotional scene." The musician lets out a frustrated sigh, "You're unbelievable."

"I'll let you know that even Ciri doesn't cry at this part."

Instead of making a comment, Jaskier turns to look at the TV again, so Geralt does the same, but he soon finds himself looking at him again because of his lack of comment when the movie is about to end. And that's how he realizes that the other man is busy trying to blink away the tears that have started to well up in his eyes once more.

As he watches Jaskier wrapping his arms around himself as if he's trying to hold himself together, he feels like this isn't really about Sonny anymore—maybe it never was.

"Jaskier..?" he calls his name, but the musician doesn't reply, looking lost in his thoughts. So Geralt puts his hand on Jaskier's shoulder and calls his name again, concerned.

"Are you okay?" he asks when Jaskier finally snaps out of his own head and confusedly looks at him.

"Yeah, sorry. I'm just— I don't know what came over me."

Not buying Jaskier's answer, Geralt presses his lips together and just stares at him in a way that screams: "We both know that this is not true and I'm gonna keep staring at you until you tell me what's the matter."

"Seriously, it's nothing important," Jaskier gives a dismissive wave of his hand and tries to smile.

It isn't his usual, warmer than the sun on a summer day type of smile. It isn't his spectacular smile that makes Geralt think of everything beautiful in the world; makes him think of the most beautiful, colorful flowers, makes him think of a sweet wind that gently caresses your face just when you need it, making you feel at peace.

No, it isn't Jaskier's kind of smile that makes Geralt feel like watching the waves while listening to calming melodies, and he hates this heartbreakingly apologetic and tight smile the other man gives him.

"Doesn't seem like it," Geralt says softly as he squeezes his shoulder in what he hopes is a reassuring manner, "Why don't you tell me what it is? I've been told I'm a good listener."

"It just—" Jaskier takes a deep breath and keeps his head low as he avoids looking at Geralt, his shoulders slumping as if in defeat. Geralt's mind is already racing with possible things that the musician could say.

"It reminded me of someone I used to know. Of my first real friend," he explains. "She had asked me the exact same question when I saved her ass from his so-called foster parents. 'Does this makes us friends?' I can still remember the look in her eyes when she asked that. I was the first friend she ever had, as well. We didn't get along when we first met, truth be told. But after that, we were simply inseparable.  

"We weren't liked by most adults—and also by the other kids actually, because well," Jaskier chuckles dryly, "we were both pretty handful kids. It didn't really matter though, we could handle everything together. At least we felt like we could, and did so for nearly fourteen years, and then turned out we—"

Jaskier swallows the tight lump that has formed in his throat. He can hardly utter the next words, and when he does, his voice is thick with emotion.

"Turned out we can't handle too well with muggers with knives."

Feeling his own eyes brimming with tears, Geralt can't even react at first as he watches Jaskier crying openly.

After a while, "I'm so sorry," is all he can say before he wraps his arms around Jaskier's slightly shaking frame and pulls him into a hug. The other man welcomes the hug and snuggles up to him as Geralt repeats the same words again: "I'm so sorry, Jaskier."

"She was my best friend, Geralt," he whispers brokenly, burying his face in the nurse's chest. "She was like the sister I never had."

Geralt doesn't know how long they stay like this; with Jaskier quietly crying and holds on to him like he is his lifeline and Geralt resting his chin on top of the musician's head, caressing his soft hair with his left hand, and rubbing small, soothing circles on wherever his right hand can reach—on his arm, his back. It can be half an hour, it can be only fifteen minutes. He doesn't really care.

He just wants him to give Geralt his usual, heart-warming Jaskier Smile; wants Jaskier to feel better. Better and not lonely anymore.

He highly doubts that Jaskier has let anyone in after he lost his friend—let them really know him and get close to him. Anyone besides Geralt. And he can't help but wonder if that was why no one visited Jaskier at the hospital; if that was why he most likely didn't even let anyone know about the accident.

" 'm sorry for ruining our first date," Jaskier eventually mumbles. "I shouldn't have brought this up."

Geralt gently grabs Jaskier's chin and lifts it up a little so their eyes meet. Jaskier has a guilty, ashamed expression on his face, his eyes are red from crying.

"You're not ruining anything, you don't need to apologize," Geralt looks into his eyes and assures him, wiping the tears away from the musician's face.

Frowning, the other man mirrors his action and reaches for Geralt's face to wipe the tears away with his thump. "Making you cry is pretty much considered as ruining our date in my book. And to think that I just broke down because of something a bloody robot said—"

" 'A bloody robot'? He has a name, you know. It's Sonny. You heartless, beautiful musician. Shame on you."

Surprised by Geralt's comeback, Jaskier laughs and hides his face in the nurse's chest once again—but in embarrassment this time— as he complains: "Oh lord. You're the worst."

"Well, you probably shouldn't have dedicated that impressive, amazing video to me if I'm that bad. Seemed like you really spent so much time on it."

That makes him look at Geralt and give him a smile. And Geralt finds himself smiling back, too, thinking: "Here it is. His Jaskier Smile."

"I think you meant to say 'bearable musician', before" Jaskier teases. "That's the second time you've mentioned it, you really like it then I guess."

"That was one of the nicest things someone ever has done for me. And the same thing goes for your drawing, speaking of which," Geralt admits as Jaskier pulls himself away from him a bit. He finds himself missing his warmth already. "I didn't think you would do something like singing a song for me though, so imagine my surprise when I got home and saw that video."

"Wait, for real? Don't tell me that I'm the first patient who tried to serenade you. I mean— you're just so..." he vaguely gestures to him, "So you."

"You're not the first patient who tried to flirt with me, but you're the first one who took it that far. And the first one who went full 'here's my number, so call me, definitely,' on me."

"No regrets. Well, actually, I take that back. One regret. I regret that I didn't ask for your number that day. Uh, Geralt?"

"Yeah?"

"I feel terrible about before. I mean it, I shouldn't have brought it up and I'm really—

"If you say 'sorry' again I'll lock you in a room filled with popcorn without any salt and let you rot there."

"That's your idea of torture?"

"That's my idea of hell."

"I must say that your idea of hell is pretty sweet then, if only it—" Jaskier's eyes suddenly widen when Geralt lets out a tired yawn, "Oh shit, what time is it?" he asks, frantically searching for his phone on the couch, then looking at the coffee table to see if it's on there.

"I think you left your phone in the kitchen," the nurse replies, not understanding why he is panicking. “Maybe he was supposed to call someone, but he forgot about it,” his mind suggests, but then Jaskier asks the same question again with a bonus, "When are you gonna go to work tomorrow?" question.

"You're gonna wake up early tomorrow, right? I'm sorry that I kept you this— I mean, please accept my apologies that I kept you up this late. And please don't let me rot in the Popcorn Room just because I said 'sorry'. It's late, isn't it? It's probably already past 1 a.m, and yet here I am. Good God," the musician shakes his head and stands up, clearly frustrated with himself, "how inconsiderate of me."

Finding his reaction to the situation adorable, Geralt chuckles and reaches out to the other man to pull him back on the couch, but Jaskier resists.

"It's okay, calm down. I'm on the night shift tomorrow," Geralt lets him know. "Also, I thought you had no problem with the Popcorn Room since you love popcorn."

"Oh. Glad to hear that you don't need to wake up that early tomorrow then," Jaskier says, looking like he feels suddenly stupid. "Still though, I'm sure you had a tiring day at work today, so I better get going already. And for the record; I don't have any problem with being locked in a room filled with popcorn, I have a problem with not having you there with me. Anyway, thank you for having me today, Geralt. I'm so happy that I could finally see you again and finally met Ciri. She is such a sweetheart."

Geralt pats the empty space next to him, but Jaskier taps his wrist twice like he's wearing a watch, trying to emphasize the time.

"Wow, you're trying to get rid of me already, I see," the nurse jokes, hoping it would make Jaskier convince to sit down again. "I thought it would take three days at least. Is it because I'm not wearing my work clothes? Am I not attractive enough without them?"

Jaskier rolls his eyes at that before saying: "You could wear a rubbish bag and still look attractive, Geralt."

"Then can you please sit down?" Geralt insists, "For a minute at least?"

The other man finally gives in and sits down next to him with a sigh.

"You're aware of the fact that Ciri will tear me to pieces tomorrow because I didn't wake her up when she fell asleep, right?" Geralt wonders, facing Jaskier and propping his elbow on the back of the couch so he can prop his hand against his cheek as he talks. "Besides, yeah, it's late. Why don't you just stay here tonight?"

Jaskier opens his mouth—probably to kindly refuse, but Geralt doesn't let him speak and continues: "If you're thinking about replying with 'I don't want to bother you,' or something like that, you better get ready to say hi to the hell because it's nonsense."

"Hmm." The other man copies his sitting position on the couch, "By 'hell' you mean the Popcorn Room again, of course."

"Damn right."

"Well, I think I'd like to stay away from hell tonight," Jaskier shrugs one shoulder lazily. "Only if you promise to go to sleep soon, though. Otherwise, lead the way to the hell, Mr. Handsome Nurse."

"I think you missed the part where I said I don't have to wake up that early tomorrow," Geralt snorts. "How about we go to the kitchen now so I can make us hot chocolate?"

"No, I heard it loud and clear," Jaskier stares at him with a neutral expression, "but you still need to rest, love."

Geralt hopes Jaskier cannot see he is blushing because of the way the musician chose to finish his sentence.

He is about the resist when Jaskier holds up a finger in warning, "I mean it. I'm outta here if you decide to argue with me on that."

The nurse can't help but sigh in disbelief and disappointment. It makes his heart flutter in his chest though, because he is sure that Jaskier would love to stay up for another hour at least and just keep talking, too, and yet, he puts Geralt first.

As much as he wants to argue, he knows Jaskier is right—he needs to rest, and if he stays up for another hour he won't feel well-rested tomorrow.

"No wonder why Ciri gets annoyed whenever I tell her to go to sleep," he thinks aloud, causing the other man to grin at him.

"So, what do you say? Have you carefully listened and agreed to the terms and conditions? Shake my hand to check the box," Jaskier holds out his hand.

Geralt picks up Jaskier's hand with grace and lightly kisses the back of it without any hesitation. Not expecting this, the musician gapes at him—looking adorable as ever.

"Yes, Jaskier," the nurse smiles, "I have carefully listened and agreed to the terms and conditions."

They finally met! Yasss! A coin for your thoughts? I seriously wonder what you think about this chapter, dear Witchlings.💛 What part did you like the most? Did any part make you laugh or smile? I'd be SO grateful if you let me know 😅

I had so much fun while writing this chapter, by the way—well except for that one particular part. And the thing is even I had no idea. Jaskier just got emotional suddenly and here I was, wondering what the hell was happening. And it didn't feel natural to cut that part out, because it just happened.

And another thing is, I didn't think this chapter would be this long. I was just thinking "They will meet and have dinner together, then Jaskier will leave. That's it."

And I'm not gonna lie, I kinda wrote most of these two chapters in the same week instead of humaning and at one point I seriously started to wonder if Jaskier was planning to leave Geralt's home at all. I was planning to end the chapter when he leaves, so it was like:

-Okay, you met them, you had dinner, time to leave. Ciri, out of nowhere: Time to watch "I, Robot!" Me: No no no, that wasn't my plan, Jaskier is supposed to le— Jaskier, already eating popcorn and watching the movie: I'm going nowhere yet. *** Jaskier: *finally says he better get going* Geralt: Hell no! Me: 

 Joking aside, it's not up to me what he does and I love my precious, silly Dandelion. He can live there forever for all I care, I'm done with trying 😂

(Oh, if any of you have any ideas, feel free to let me know because I'm not sure what's gonna happen in the next chapter for now ><)

Thank you so much for reading 💛  

[aquaquadrant]

the little things

Kenji’s mouth is dry. “Ben…?” he croaks out.

Ben swallows. “Oh,” he says, in a very small voice. “It’s you.”

~*~

Ben’s been reunited with the other campers, and seems to have come out the other end of his experience stronger than ever before. But as he slowly finds his place back within the group, a bigger picture starts to emerge, piece by piece.

Rated T for: mental illness, mild language, panic attacks, PTSD, anxiety, insomnia, eating disorder (not in a traditional sense, but definitely not a healthy relationship with food)

A/N: Hey Camp Cretaceous fandom, y’all mind if I uhhhh write six-thousand words about Ben’s trauma?? Basically, Netflix kept recommending the show to me so I watched the first ep out of curiosity and then ended up binging the whole thing in like two days, and now here I am.

(Dear sweet, patient, regular readers of mine: I’m so sorry my main fic’s been delayed but I promise it’s getting updated next week, I just had to get some feelings out about Sad Dino Boy)

Hope you enjoy, please reblog and leave a comment if you do! - Aqua

Click here to read on A03 (with more complete tags)

~*~

the little things

~*~ 

Ben Pincus has returned from the dead, and he’s never been better.

The other campers are amazed. What he’s been through must have been horrible. He thought he was the only one left, that there was no one to help him and no hope of rescue because he was presumed dead. It would’ve been enough to drive anyone into despair, or off of the deep end.

But Ben shows no signs of this.

They didn’t find him holed up somewhere, near starvation and waiting to die, like one might’ve expected. They didn’t find him at all, really. He found them, and by coming to their rescue, no less. And when he did, he wasn’t a trembling mess, he wasn’t a half-mad ball of paranoia, and he wasn’t a hollow-eyed skeleton fueled solely by desperation. 

He’s an all new and improved Ben, the best version of himself.

He hasn’t just survived, he’s flourished. He’s brave, he’s confident, he’s capable. He gives his opinions freely and without second-guessing himself, suggesting things the old Ben would’ve recoiled at. He fits seamlessly into the team like he never left. He faces problems head-on with determination and grit and not a trace of fear.

The turnaround is unbelievable. But even more important is that while he’s a new and improved Ben, he’s retained all the best parts of his old self.

Ben is easy smiles and meticulous organization of a leather waist bag and doting affection for a four-ton armored lizard. He’s sensitive and soft-spoken and accepts hugs from his friends gratefully. He still can’t quite pull off coolness, with a voice that sounds as gangly as his limbs look and an awkwardness he hasn’t grown out of.

And it’s perhaps because of this that no one thinks to look closer. This image is an easy thing to accept because it’s what they all want to believe, that Ben is okay- in fact, better than okay. But the truth is not always big and obvious upon first glance.

It’s the little things, as they soon find out.

~*~

That first evening after Ben’s return, after Mitch and Tiff and everything else, they don’t eat dinner.

They all ate their fill at the campsite and, after a month of scarcity, it was more than enough to sate their appetites. It’s Darius who thinks to ask Ben if he’s hungry, remembering that the boy hadn’t had the chance to eat with them. They have a good stockpile of food at the moment and he figures Ben must’ve been struggling.

But Ben shakes his head with an easy smile, and says, “Nah, I ate earlier.”

Darius leaves it at that, because there’s still so much catching up to do. They show Ben around their clubhouse, make plans for where to build a bunk for him (he insists he’d be just fine sleeping on the ground next to Bumpy, but they all veto that immediately). They talk well into the night about the day’s crazy events, filling each other in on their own sides of the story, and everything that’s happened since Ben got separated.

There are some more tears, some more hugs. But ultimately, the mood in the clubhouse is ecstatic. They never thought Ben had survived the fall so to have him back is better than a dream come true, it’s a miracle.

Darius thought he knew what it was to experience a miracle when they first saw that bonfire smoke on the horizon. But if he had to chose between the miracle of them finally leaving the island or the miracle of getting Ben back, it’s not even a competition.

Eventually the exhaustion catches up with everyone, and they turn in for the night. Bumpy parks herself underneath the clubhouse, her presence incredibly reassuring. Ben ends up sharing Kenji’s bunk because it’s bigger than Darius’s even when occupied by two, and the older teen had insisted in a very faux-casual way, to which Ben had rolled his eyes but nonetheless seemed touched by the gesture.

Darius takes the first night watch shift and gets to see all his friends sleeping peacefully. And even though Tiff sailed away with their only means for escaping, he feels a lot more hopeful than he has in a long time.

~*~

It’s canned peaches for breakfast.

A far cry from yesterday’s buffet. But no one’s complaining because the meticulous rationing of their food, courtesy of Darius, means they’re all starving by meal time and couldn’t care less what it tastes like. Darius is in the process of separating the food out into bowls, half a can for each of them, when he realizes Ben has yet to take a seat. He’s lingering at the edge of the room, watching.

“Hey,” Darius calls, “you coming or what?”

Ben shakes his head. “Thanks, but I already got my own breakfast.”

Before Darius can respond, Brooklynn shoots Ben a look. “What? Where?” she demands. “You holding out on us, jungle boy?”

Darius shoots her a look, but Ben just gives an easy smile and unzips the leather pouch that’s reclaimed its spot around his waist. He withdraws a small handful of bright red berries, no bigger than blueberries. It’s not even a fraction of the half-can of peaches the rest of them are settling for, and Darius sees his own unease reflected in the others’ eyes.

Brooklynn glances away. “Oh. Um, sorry. You don’t… you can have some of ours, you know?”

“I’m good.” Ben tosses a couple berries into his mouth. “You guys go ahead, I’m gonna go check on Bumpy.”

“O- oh, okay…” Sammy murmurs, watching Ben go with uncertain eyes. “If you’re sure…”

They’re silent for a moment.

Kenji inhales quietly through his teeth. “So… that’s weird, right?”

Yaz leans forward in her seat. “What do you think, Darius?” she asks lowly.

Darius bites his lip. Even though dinosaurs are his specific topic of interest, he’s gained a lot of second-hand knowledge about general biology and psychology. After all, he has to understand the processes behind behavior in order to identify patterns and deviations.

And right now, he has to admit that Ben is displaying a very concerning behavior.

“I’ll talk to him,” Darius decides.

There’s a collective sigh of relief around the table, and the others start eating. It takes Darius longer than usual to finish his serving.

~*~

“So, uh, bottom line is… you don’t need to feel bad about eating our food. You’re as much a part of this group as anyone else, and we’re happy to share.”

After a couple tense days, Darius is finally talking to Ben about the food situation. Or rather, talking at him. Because Ben’s not looking at Darius- his eyes are tracking the small spider that’s crawling along the railing next to them. Normally, Darius would take it as a sign of boredom and inattentiveness. But there’s an intensity in Ben’s eye that’s a little unsettling-

Quick as a flash, Ben shoots out an arm. He crushes the spider under his thumb and swipes it into his mouth. And then, untroubled as can be, he returns his focus to Darius as if nothing had happened.

Darius has overheard Kenji teasing Ben about eating bugs, and Ben has admitted as much in the stories of his time alone. Berries and grubs were what he lived on. Darius, for one, can’t imagine being hungry and desperate enough to snatch a bug off the ground and eat it.

But it’s even harder to imagine having access to real food, good food, and still choosing to eat bugs.

“Don’t worry so much,” Ben says lightly, patting Darius on the shoulder as he turns to go. “I can take care of myself.”

That does it. “You can’t keep living off berries and grubs!” Darius finally snaps.

Ben whirls around. “Says who?”

“Basic human biology!” Darius retorts.

Ben glares at him, but there’s something shaky behind it. “Darius, I told you it’s fine,” he says evenly, though he doesn’t fully meet Darius’s gaze. “Don’t make a big deal out of it. Please? If I’m hungry, I’ll eat.”

Darius hesitates. “You promise?”

Ben breaks into an easy smile. “I promise.”

Darius sighs. It’ll have to be good enough, for now.

“Okay.”

~*~

Darius knows he isn’t the only one still concerned by Ben’s lack of appetite.

Right from the start, Ben was the scrawniest one among them, and it’s only gotten worse. But surely he’ll have to eat at some point, right? Basic survival instincts will win out over whatever stubborn mindset is holding him back. Plus, it’s clear that he’s got enough energy to run and climb and stuff with no problem.

Maybe it’s not as serious as Darius thinks. Maybe Ben just needs time.

~*~

Ben doesn’t know what’s wrong with him.

He just- he can’t take their food! Why don’t they get that?

And it’s not because he’s stubborn, it’s not- no matter what Darius thinks. There’s nothing wrong with letting others help you (as long as you don’t let it make you soft, of course). After all, he relies on Bumpy. He just… when he looks at the food, and imagines eating it, he just knows it’ll sit in his stomach. Like a rock, weighing him down.

Plus, plus, if he gets used to eating like that, it’ll just- it’ll be harder to cope once it runs out. He’s already gotten used to roughing it and it was hard enough the first time, he can’t let himself slip back into complacency. And- and really, how long do they think it’s going to last? They’ve searched all the previously inhabited areas of the island and there’s no more food for them to scavenge.

Do they think they’ll be rescued before it runs out? No one is coming to save them. They know it as much as Ben does- they wouldn’t be bothering with rafts if they didn’t. Do they think they’ll escape, then? Sure, because their current attempts have been going so well.

No, they just aren’t thinking long term. Ben is.

There’s nothing wrong with that.

~*~

It’s the sixth day in a row where Ben eats nothing but berries.

He wants to search around some more, see if there’s anything more substantial. That would require him to leave Bumpy, though. And he can’t leave Bumpy. But the hunger is excruciating. It gnaws at him every waking moment, keeps him up at night. He’s never felt such hunger in his life, not even close. He can’t keep going like this, can he?

But there’s nothing else.

Except… something’s crawling up his arm. Something small, and leggy. Ben turns his head, squinting to focus his eyes in the dark. It’s some kind of beetle, with a shiny shell that catches stray shafts of moonlight poking through the roof of his lean-to.

Ben stares at it for a moment. Then, before he can think, he snatches it up and pops it into his mouth. He barely registers any taste, mostly just the crunchy texture. And even though it wasn’t any bigger than a quarter, after he swallows, he feels… fuller. Even if it’s purely imagined, it’s a comfort.

Berries and grubs. It’ll have to be enough.

There’s nothing else.

~*~

Ben continues to decline their offers of food.

~*~

A few weeks after the reunion, Kenji is starting to get antsy.

As the self-designated ‘pro-fun police’ (a clever play on ‘no-fun police,’ if Kenji does say so himself), he’s made it his responsibility to make sure none of his friends just keel over and die from stress one day. That means it’s his job- no, his duty- to lighten the mood with copious amounts of joking, goofing off, and, of course, pranking.

Jumping out to scare his friends while they’re trapped on a dino-infested island might, on paper, sound like a bad idea. But it keeps everyone on their toes, and the relief of realizing they aren’t facing a dino attack, just Kenji pulling a prank, helps keep any real anger at bay. It’s typically an exasperated annoyance, which Kenji will gladly take. His main targets are Brooklynn and Darius, because he can’t fathom doing that to Sammy, and Yaz is- while perhaps in the most need of lightening up- super freaking scary.

But now that Ben’s back, Kenji knows what he has to do.

Before, back when they were just campers and not survivors, Ben was easily the most frightened of them. The kid was scared of dirt. And his over-the-top hysterics always managed to, somehow, put everyone else at ease. Because if Ben was scared of something, that didn’t really mean anything. Again; scared of dirt.

(Now, if Yaz is scared of something, that’s a different story).

Since Ben’s, uh… departure, they’ve been sorely lacking that energy in the group. Kenji would wager he’s not the only one who misses it. He used to have so much fun riling Ben up with just a couple words (none of the others are so easily baited). And whenever Ben would freak out and instantly cling to him, like some kind of scrawny spider monkey, it made Kenji feel… capable, in a way.

Like, if Ben was trusting Kenji to protect him, maybe he wasn’t so useless after all (which was becoming an all too frequent feeling as the others continued to adapt and grow, leaving Kenji struggling to keep up).

Problem is, Ben’s really hard to scare now.

It’s not always obvious, like when he’s bragging about taking down Toro or itching to blow things up. Sometimes it’s the little things. Whenever they’re out in a group, foraging or gathering supplies, and there’s a sound in the distance that makes them all freeze, Ben’s frozen in readiness, not fear. He looks more like Yaz, tense and waiting with his fists up and eyes narrowed.

Sometimes, when they aren’t occupied by any particular task or imminent threat, and have the chance to enjoy some downtime, Ben drifts off to the side and just… watches, all tense, silent, and anxious. He’ll watch the tree line, or Bumpy on the ground below, or even just the rest of them as they go about their business. Kenji is sure he’s not the only one who’s noticed but none of them bring it up.

It’s… unsettling, seeing Ben like this. Kenji figured he just needed a couple weeks to fall back into the rhythm of the group, to see that he didn’t have to be this loner Rambo type of guy anymore. But even though he talks with them easy enough, seems to enjoy their company, and has a good handle on teamwork, it’s like there’s a part of him that can’t fully shake that mentality.

At least, not without help.

~*~

 Kenji’s plan is- in his humble opinion- pretty dang brilliant.

He waits for a time when it’s just him and Ben in the main level of the clubhouse (Yaz is running laps around their perimeter, Darius is in his bunk writing in his nerd book, Brooklynn and Sammy are upstairs going over inventory) and then announces he’s going for a shower. His daily showers are common knowledge at this point, so Ben just nods in acknowledgement and goes back to leaning against the railing, watching Bumpy graze down below in that tense-silent-anxious way of his.

Kenji sets up the shower and lets it run (he’ll go down to the river later and get more water to make up for the waste, because even though he tries to avoid manual labor whenever possible, it’s totally worth it in this case). And then, being more careful and silent than he’s ever been (except maybe in cases where he’s being hunted by dinos), he slowly creeps up behind Ben before leaping forward with a shriek, grabbing him by the shoulders.

Ben doesn’t just jump and scream. He jumps, screams, then spins around and swings a fist into Kenji’s jaw in one smooth motion.

Kenji’s laughing even as he staggers back, his jaw stinging (because at the end of the day, even though Ben’s kind of a badass now, he’s still Ben and his arms are pretty much chicken wings so there’s no real harm done, just a bruise at most). Plus that’s a valid reaction, considering everything, and he can’t say he didn’t deserve it.

“Oh man, I totally got you!” Kenji says anyways, to rub it in. “You should see your… face...”

And Kenji trails off because now he’s seeing Ben’s face.

What Kenji expected is this:

Once Ben realized it was just him pulling a prank, he would get mad. In that totally non-threatening dorky Ben way, where he scrunches his nose and puffs out his cheeks, his little fists clenched at his side like an irate toddler. Maybe he’d stomp off but it’d be worth it because being mad is better than being tense-silent-anxious and it’d give him the chance to be annoyed with Kenji. And maybe Ben being annoyed with Kenji would help everything feel a little more normal, a little more like before.

What Kenji gets is this:

Once Ben realizes it was just him pulling a prank, he doesn’t get mad. He starts shaking. Violently, uncontrollably. Like he’s suddenly come down with hypothermia despite being in a tropical jungle, staring at Kenji all the while and not saying a word. His chest rises and falls rapidly in little panicky breaths and the kind of fear in his eyes isn’t the kind that’s funny. It’s glassy-eyed with shrunken pupils that dart around Kenji’s face, frightened and searching, as if he isn’t fully seeing it.

Kenji’s mouth is dry. “Ben…?” he croaks out.

Ben swallows. “Oh,” he says, in a very small voice. “It’s you.”

Kenji hasn’t heard Ben’s voice sound that small since before, and it doesn’t feel like a victory.

By now, of course, the others have noticed the commotion and it doesn’t take more than a second for them to piece together what happened. Yaz rounds on Kenji with a furious snarl and whisper-screams a lecture about how stupid and irresponsible he is. Darius is immediately trying to mediate the situation while Sammy frantically asks Ben if he’s okay, to which he doesn’t respond. Brooklynn steps in, citing an unboxing video about dealing with shock, and when she goes to put a hand on Ben’s shoulder, he lets her.

And now Kenji realizes where he miscalculated. Ben never showed discomfort with physical contact before because he’d never been surprised by it before (because Ben has gotten scary good at being alert, always keeping an eye and an ear out on his surroundings even in the middle of a conversation). And when it came to his friends, it wasn’t unexpected for Sammy to rush in with a hug or Darius to pat his shoulder or Brooklynn to playfully knock elbows.

But Kenji snuck up on him, so Ben’s first thought wasn’t that it was a friend. It was that he was going to have to run for his life, like he has countless times since being stranded on this island.

Kenji apologizes over and over again as Darius gently leads him away by the elbow and Brooklynn talks to Ben in low tones while Sammy squeezes his hand and Yaz takes up a lookout position because they can’t afford for all of them to be distracted even though she occasionally cuts a glare at Kenji out of the corner of her eye so it’s really debatable how vigilant she’s actually being.

Throughout it all, Ben doesn’t get mad, but he doesn’t stop shaking.

 ~*~

 Darius explains it, later.

“The sudden fear reaction signaled a bunch of adrenaline to be released into his bloodstream, to give him the energy needed for running. And then, when he didn’t, there was nowhere for that energy to go. It’s like, even though his mind knew there wasn’t any danger, his body wasn’t convinced.” Then, a sympathetic look. “You didn’t know, man.”

Kenji only nods. But knowing doesn’t make it better because even though Ben’s stopped shaking he doesn’t turn his back on Kenji anymore and somehow that’s a million times worse than if he’d gotten mad.

 ~*~

 There are claws wrapped around Ben’s shoulders and shrieks in his ears.

Wind whips his face and his stomach lurches as he’s carried through the air, weightless, at the mercy of the Pteranodon. He’s never felt so small and utterly helpless before, not once in his life. Even his screams aren’t big enough to carry, snatched away by the wind and deafened by the roars of the terror-birds fighting over the right to tear him limb from limb.

And then he’s falling and has other things to worry about.

 ~*~

 Ben stops sharing Kenji’s bunk.

 ~*~

 In a rare moment of downtime, Yasmina is curled up with Darius’s field guide, adding a few more illustrations, when she feels Ben staring at her.

It’s not the first time she’s felt him staring at her. It is the first time, however, that she decides to stare back.

She means it to be playful, at first. She meets his eyes, one brow quirked as if to say, ‘What, is there something on my face?’ But instead of glancing away in sheepish embarrassment or jolting out of a daze, Ben just stares back. There’s no emotion in his expression at all except intense focus.

The faint smile drops from Yasmina’s face as she stares back in surprise. Then, with ever-growing confusion and a fair amount of alarm, she realizes that Ben’s shoulders are rising, tense and hunched like he’s trying to make himself look bigger.

Like an animal.

Yasmina knows what it is to stare down a wild animal. She’s felt predatory eyes on her before and either bolted or turned to face the challenge. And that’s what it is, for some of the dinos- a challenge. Sometimes they’re testing your mettle, and standing your ground is enough to make them back off.

Ben must’ve learned that, too. And for whatever reason, he’s slipping into that behavior now.

It’s a ridiculous thought. This is Ben, her friend. Her very scrawny friend who can’t weigh more than ninety pounds soaking wet, and prefers a diet of berries and grubs. And yet, here he is, staring her down like she’s a particularly bold pack of Compies that’s decided to threaten him.

Yasmina gives a slow, deliberate blink. “Ben?” she calls. “What’s up?”

Just like that, the spell is broken. Ben gives a violent start, blinking and shaking his head. Yasmina sees confusion flash across his face, and then realization. And now the embarrassment comes, but it’s darkened by something like horror.

Without a word, Ben turns and darts away, scrambling down the ladder to the alcove underneath the house where Bumpy’s napping.

Yasmina lets him go, too baffled and unsettled to form words.

 ~*~

 Eventually, Yasmina tells Darius about it.

His expression is troubled as she runs through the incident. But in the end, there’s nothing more he can tell her than what she’s already worked out on her own. It’s just another side effect of the mindset Ben has adopted throughout his isolation. Those habits were what he relied on to survive, and it’ll take time for him to realize he doesn’t have to constantly be on edge now that he’s got a team to look out for him.

Though privately, Yasmina wonders if maybe the rest of them should take a page out of Ben’s book. Seems like he’s got a better handle on survival than they do.

(And then she thinks how Sammy would react, if Yasmina started acting like a wary animal around her, and she realizes Ben’s methods come with a price.)

 ~*~

 After Ben runs the Compies off for the first time, staring becomes a defense tactic.

It’s not always the Compies, who are slowly but surely learning not to mess with him. Sometimes it’s the Parasaurolophus in the river, or the lone Pteranodon perched in a tree, or the group of Edmontosauruses grazing on the hilltop. As soon as he feels their eyes on him, he knows his best chance is to stare back, to show that he’s willing to put up a fight, that chasing him wouldn’t be worth it.

Obviously, there are some dinosaurs that doesn’t work on. But if Ben can drastically cut down the amount of time spent running for his life by standing his ground, then he’ll take it.

All he has to do is not back down.

 ~*~

 Ben avoids Yasmina for the next few days.

 ~*~

 Brooklynn wakes up in the middle of the night with an unshakeable feeling that something is wrong.

Her bad feeling is confirmed when she gets a look at the moon. Based on its position in the sky, she should’ve been woken up by Ben to take her night watch shift at least an hour ago. This practice, established by Darius months ago who insisted they should always have at least one person awake, has already become routine within the group. Brooklynn couldn’t sleep fully through the night if she tried.

Ben’s only just recently become a part of the routine. Immediately after his return, Darius thought it best just to let Ben settle in and get as much rest as he could, now that he had the security to do so, and everyone agreed. Ben had insisted he didn’t mind, but Darius stood firm, so it’s only been within the last few days that Ben took part.

But this is the first time he hasn’t woken Brooklynn up and her heart is in her throat as she rushes to the lookout point-

Only to find Ben sitting right where he’s supposed to be, looking out over their compound as a small candle burns next to him.

As soon as Brooklynn’s relief passes, it’s replaced with anger. “What are you doing?” she whispers furiously.

Ben, not at all surprised by her presence, gives her a sidelong look. “What does it look like I’m doing?”

“You were supposed to wake me up, so I could do night watch.” Brooklynn struggles to keep her voice low, so as not to alert the others. “What gives?”

Ben shrugs. “I knew I wasn’t gonna sleep tonight, so I figured I’d just take the whole watch myself.”

“That’s not how this works,” Brooklynn hisses, crossing her arms. “Even if you can’t fall asleep- and I’ve totally been there- you have to lay down and close your eyes and rest. You need to rest.”

Ben breaks into an easy smile, but Brooklynn can see the annoyed creases at his eyes. “Hey, it’s fine. I can-”

“Take care of yourself, I know,” Brooklynn interrupts, hating how frustrated she sounds but unable to help it. “But you don’t have to. We’re a team. We can take care of you too, alright?”

Ben stares at her for a moment. “I know that,” he says, sounding uncertain.

Brooklynn softens. When she reaches out to put a hand on his shoulder, he lets her. “Then… why?”

“I don’t know,” Ben admits. The muscles beneath Brooklynn’s hand are so tense, it feels like they’re going to snap. “I don’t know.”

They finish the night watch together.

 ~*~

 Brooklynn almost hates to bring it up to Darius.

Dude’s stressing almost nonstop about everything, all the time. And it really isn’t fair for him to be responsible for the rest of them, including Ben. But Darius is the only one who seems to have the… what’s it called, emotional intelligence, she supposes, to weigh in on the situation.

(Sammy is a close second, but her brand of caring is a little more touchy-feely, and this doesn’t seem like the right time for that.)

Darius is immediately worried, pointing out that Ben might accidentally fall asleep on watch if he keeps this up (something Brooklynn hadn’t even thought about). He promises to talk to Ben about it, and that’s that.

Brooklynn is only slightly relieved because she knows if Darius had a real fix for the problem, he would’ve said so. And if Darius doesn’t have a fix for it, maybe there isn’t one.

 ~*~

 Those first several nights, Ben doesn’t sleep at all.

And it’s not for lack of trying. But how can he sleep, when it’s pitch black and the jungle is full of unfamiliar sounds and he’s got no one but a baby Ankylosaurus by his side? He soon finds it’s even worse without Bumpy, though, because at least he trusted that Bumpy would wake up if there was any danger, as her senses are more powerful than his.

On his own, there’s no one to wake him up. So he has to stay up, and settle for catching short scattered naps throughout the day (if he can find a tree to hide up in).

It’s hard, but he’d rather be tired than dead.

 ~*~

 Ben is taken off night watch, but still ends up awake more often than not.

 ~*~

 Pyromaniac is a word no one ever expected to become synonymous with Ben, and yet here they are.

It’s one of the first things he always suggests as an answer to a problem; blow something up. Darius has a million reasons for them not to do that; they could get hurt, they could start a wildfire and burn the jungle down, they could attract unwanted attention from predators.

But that doesn’t stop Ben from cataloguing everything on the island that can be used as an explosive, memorizing their locations or creating hidden stashes. It doesn’t stop him from using the candles that came with the scavenged emergency kits. He’ll light them for no reason, just to watch the small flame flicker back and forth.

(Someday, months later, they’ll encounter a horrific hybrid dinosaur that is drawn to flames, and they’ll all think about how unsettling it is that Ben shares this trait, but none of them will say it.)

 ~*~

 It’s been one week since Bumpy left, and Ben is starting a fire.

Just a small one. It rained all day and he’s soaked to the bone, which normally wouldn’t be a huge problem considering the jungle climate. But now that it’s nighttime, there’s a chill in the air and he can’t afford to get sick. It’s risky, because at night he knows the light could draw attention to him, but his teeth are starting to chatter so there’s no helping it.

When a Stegosaurus stumbles upon him, baying low and angry at finding another creature in its territory, it’s the fire that makes it balk. Rumbling displeasure, it retreats back into the dark jungle. Ben quickly adds torches to his arsenal, using the rest of his shirt as tinder.

Fire is safety.

 ~*~

 Ben lights his candles in silence.

 ~*~

 “You can’t just run off like that,” Kenji says, deadly serious.

Ben scoffs. “I think you’re forgetting who defeated Toro,” he says with an easy smile.

“You’re not invincible, Ben!” Kenji snaps. The anger churning inside him is deceptively hollow, like it’s masking something else. “And I can’t lose you again.”

Ben isn’t smiling anymore. “You won’t,” he mutters, pushing past Kenji. “I can take care of myself, now. I don’t need you to play the hero and protect me.”

Kenji wants to protest that’s not what this is about, and that’s never been what this is about, but Ben is already gone.

 ~*~

 Ben still lives off berries and grubs.

 ~*~

 “… and so I was thinking, berries have seeds in them, right? So if we plant some, we’ll have our own berry bushes at the clubhouse. It’ll cut down our foraging time in the mornings for sure, and-”

“Uh, who are you talking to, Ben?”

Ben blinks at Yasmina’s voice, the girl having only just entered the room.

“Um, Bumpy?” he says, as if this should be obvious.

Yasmina glances out at the compound, where Bumpy is fast asleep and well out of earshot.

“… right.”

 ~*~

 Ben can’t sleep, even when he’s actually trying.

 ~*~

 “Alright,” Darius says, “so we need to get the T-Rex out of Main Street so we can do another sweep for supplies. Any ideas?”

Ben’s hand goes up.

“For the hundredth time, Ben, we aren’t going to feed the T-Rex to the Mosasaurus.”

Ben’s hand goes down.

 ~*~

 Ben feels more at home with Bumpy than the other campers.

 ~*~

 “You know we didn’t mean to leave you, right? We would’ve come back for you if we’d known…”

 ~*~

 Ben never talks about getting off the island.

 ~*~

 “You have to tell us where you’re going, Ben, you can’t just disappear-”

 ~*~

 Ben keeps slipping away.

 ~*~

“Blowing stuff up isn’t the answer to everything!”

~*~

 Ben keeps saying he’s okay.

 ~*~

 “We’re a team, we have to work together-”

 ~*~

 Ben keeps smiling.

 ~*~

 “Don’t you trust us to protect you?”

 ~*~

 Ben doesn’t know.

 ~*~

 Sammy finds Ben sitting on the roof of the clubhouse one day.

Her footsteps are loud and obvious as she approaches him. No chance of sneaking up. She knows he’s noticed her, from the subtle shift in his body. He doesn’t acknowledge her, though, continuing to stare off over the jungle and into the horizon, his skinny legs slotted through the railing and dangling over the edge.

The sun’s about to set, a few stars already twinkling in the purple edges of the sky. Sammy can remember another night, months ago, where Ben wasn’t here but everyone else was and they spotted bonfire smoke in the distance. She remembers the way her heart raced, the overwhelming joy and relief flooding through her. And yet, there had been undeniable heartache, because the realization that they’d made it out only meant it was more unfair that Ben hadn’t.

Sammy breaks the silence after a few moments.

“Are you okay?”

Ben doesn’t look at her, but she can see the easy smile that slants across his face, dying sunlight reflected in his eyes.

“Yeah.”

Sammy sees the lie for what it is. None of them are okay. No one who’s been through what they have would be. But there’s a certain danger that comes with not being willing to admit it, and an even greater danger that comes with not being able to see it.

“Y’know, it’d be fine if you weren’t.”

Ben doesn’t answer.

Sammy sits with him until the sky turns dark.

 ~*~

 It’s the way he struggles to eat anything he hasn’t obtained by himself.

It’s the way he sometimes goes off on his own without telling anyone.

It’s the way he talks to himself when he thinks no one else is around.

It’s the way he takes any concern for his safety as a personal attack.

It’s the way he leaps at the chance to blow something up.

It’s the way he can stare silently for hours.

It’s the way he smiles a little too easily.

 ~*~

 It’s not jumping at every unexpected movement, or screaming awake from night terrors, or flinching away from the slightest touch. It’s not loud meltdowns or hysterical sobbing or uncontrollable fits of rage.

(Even though those will come, someday, when the island is just a memory.)

It’s the little things, that- once you notice them- keep piling up.

And suddenly, they don’t seem so little anymore.

 ~*~

[darling-i-read-it]

Shiizakana

2x09 

Hannibal Lecter x reader x Will Graham 

Hannibal Re-Write Series Masterlist

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: spoilers for hannibal, murder, dead bodies, manipulation 

Author’s Note: I don’t know? What’s going on? My fingers just go and then I reread it and I’m like ‘oh shit i did that’ and i love it sm

I used some direct quotes from the script so some things may seem familiar 

Official Episode Summary :A truck driver's body appears to have been torn apart by two different species of animals working in tandem; Will meets Hannibal's new patient; Hannibal sends Will a test to determine his true self.

I don’t own these characters. They belong to author/director 

Tag List (is always open!) : @llperfectsymmetryll​ @ericacactus​ @vlightning95​

(not my gif) 

You leaned back against the headboard of the bed. You had woken up and wasn’t able to go back to sleep so you decided just to sit up and stare into the darkness, thinking and hoping that your eyes would get droopy enough to sleep. You didn’t want to have another nightmare if you did go to sleep. You had at least stopped waking up screaming. Will sometimes didn’t even notice now and you would rather him get a good night sleep. He assured you thought you could wake him up whenever you needed to. 

You glanced down at his sleeping face and let out a small sigh. You at least knew that he was something you could trust. Even if he tried to kill your only mutual friend at this point or was sent to jail on murder charges that same friend set him up for. You knew you could trust him to not want to hurt you. 

He woke up with a start. It startled you how quickly he sat up because of how peacefully you thought he had been sleeping before. 

“You okay?” you asked groggily, voice raspy from sleep. He got his bearings and nodded slowly, sitting up beside you against the back of the bed.

“Nightmare,” he muttered.

“What about?” He thought hard and you weren’t sure where his mind had gone.

“Hannibal,” he muttered. “How with love we see potential and through love we allow the loved one to see the potential.” He shook his head. “It probably didn’t mean anything. I think a deer was there.” You laughed a bit and put your head gently against the back of the headboard.

“Dreams can be weird. But they can also be very insightful,” you pointed out. He nodded, mulling over the dream he had just had. He thought about the way Hannibal was tied up and shook the image out of his mind.

“Yeah, I guess.”

-

Will had just gotten out of therapy with Hannibal. It was odd, thinking about that. Will used to tell you every detail of the sessions that he remembered but now you feel odd asking for them. You knew he was trying to get a ploy out of something. You weren’t sure what but you knew it was something. 

“I’ll meet you out there,” you said as you got your papers together. Will nodded and left out of the door. Hannibal stepped outside the office and you glanced up at him. “How was the session? Did you try and manipulate him again?” Hannibal shook his head.

“Not today.” You nodded and put on your scarf, grabbing your bag of paperwork.

“Thank you. I would like to keep him in one piece if I can help anything.” He nodded.

“That I understand.” 

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” Hannibal nodded and you waved at him as you walked out the front door. Margot Verger was outside, talking to Will. You walked up to her and gave her a small smile. 

“Hello Margot,” you said, standing beside Will. She gave you a kind smile.

“Miss. Secretary. I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name.” 

“Y/N,” you said and shook her hand. Will put his hand on the small of your back and Margot gave you a suggestive smile.

“Miss. Secretary dating the guy who didn’t kill all those people. Quite a duo.” She gave you each a nod as you chuckled a bit in acknowledgement. “I’ll see you two around.” You nodded and she walked away, into the building. 

You glanced over at Will who was watching her go inside.

“What do you know about her?” he questioned.

“Nothing. I mean, Hannibal isn’t supposed to tell me anything,” you said which basically meant you knew a bit but weren’t allowed to share. Will nodded and you finished your walk to the car.

-

You sat in the house together. Hannibal let you go home just after Will’s appointment even though you were meant to stay longer and wrap things up. You sat together in front of the fireplace, on the floor surrounded by dogs. Every chance that you got you spent time with him after realizing the value of that time when he went to prison.

“Do you have any regrets?” Will asked. The same question he had asked Hannibal when therapy began that day. He had an arm over your back, leaning against you and the couch where you were both keeping yourselves up. 

“Yes. Doesn’t everyone?” Will looked into the fire that he had built to guard against the cold outside days. 

“I have so many regrets,” he whispered. 

“Regret comes with life.” 

“That’s what Hannibal said,” he whispered. You looked at him. His eyes seemed far away. “I regret what I did in the stables.” 

“You regretted pulling a gun or you regret letting Hannibal stop you from pulling the trigger?” Will let out a small sigh and his eyes finally met yours. 

“You were there,” he said. “You saw a part of me…” 

“That I knew was there,” you said honestly.

“What would you have done if I pulled the trigger? I wanted to. I still want to. Hannibal would have covered for me and I can’t tell what you have done.” You looked away from him. You hadn’t thought about it. You wanted him to kill the social worker. You thought that the man deserved it more than most. You knew how the justice system can fail. But still, would you have covered for Will after?

“I wouldn’t have let you go back to that hospital,” you said honestly. “I don’t know what I would have done to ensure it. Probably anything I needed to.” You looked back at his eyes and he nodded, pleased enough with that answer. 

“Are you out of hot cocoa?” he asked as he looked at your cup. You looked down at it and nodded.

“Yes sir I am.” He moved his hand away from behind you and took the cup out of your hands.

“I’ll put the cup in the sink. Do you want anything?” You shook your head.

“No, thank you. You’re very kind Mr. Graham.”

“Only for you.”

-

You walked beside Will from your car into the crime scene. You noticed Hannibal getting out of his car as well. You were all tucked in heavy coats from the weather. Will and you were both wearing beanies to hide your ears from the air. Hannibal was wearing a fun hat that you thought looked rather silly. 

“Hannibal, I love that hat,” you called as he met up with where you and Will were walking. 

“Thank you very much,” he said and you smiled. You stuck your hands in your pockets and approached where Jack stood. He turned to all three of you and seemed amazed that you were together. He stifled it quickly though.

“It snowed all night. There are no tracks. You sure it was an animal?” Will asked as he came to a halt.

“Severance of the jugular and carotids, esophagus destroyed. The bite almost severed his head,” Zeller said. 

“Evisceration was performed by large, non-retractable claws, so we’re looking at a wolf or a bear,” Price finished. 

“Whatever it was, it wasn’t afraid of humans. Not anymore.” You eye the corpse-icle on the cab of the truck.

“Don't wolves and bears drag away their kills? To eat?” you asked. 

“Unless it went mad. A rabid animal attacks its victims at random and doesn't’ eat any part of them,” Hannibal suggested. 

“There was no eating here. We found just about everything. Viscera was exposed, belly was laid open, but no sign of gnawing or rutting,” Zeller explained. The body's guts were sprayed everywhere but the cold had taken up most of the damage that you could see. Except the things that Price and Zeller hadn’t unearthed already.

“Found the same wound patterns on recent livestock mutilations in the area. Evisceration, dismemberment yet everything accounted for,” Price added.

“Since when does the FBI get involved in animal attacks, Jack?” Will asked the question you were all thinking. 

“When somebodys holding the leash of whatever’s doing the attacking.”

-

You and Will drove together to where they were holding Peter Bernardone. You got out of the car with him but leaned against it, looking over at him.

“I think this might be best handled with just you,” you muttered. Will looked over the front of the car at you.

“Why would you think that?” he questioned. You shrugged.

“You and Peter have the same problem. The same intention, for better or worse. He might open up to you more.” Will nodded and looked up at the large building. 

“Come inside anyway. Wait in the lobby for me.” You nodded.

“Sure, of course.” 

-

The next crime scene seemed just as gruesome than the last. Will was no longer convinced of the animal thing that was being pursued, he was wondering much more about the person behind the supposed animal.

You waited back beside Jack as Will did his thing. You glanced over at the man, surprised to find yourself here. Beside him, with Will in the situation you wanted him out of so much.

Will stepped out of it and turned around to you and Jack.

“It’s not an animal. It’s a man who wants to be an animal,” Will whispered. 

-

Will walked into the office as you sat at your desk. You had your feet up, drinking out of your water bottle.

“You don’t have an appointment,” you said. “What can I do for you?” He walked up to your desk.

“Is Hannibal busy?”

“No sir.” Will nodded and went to open the door before turning to you.

“I’m not here on an appointment. If you wanna come join.” You raised an eyebrow and pretended to think about it.

“Well if you insist handsome.” You got up out of your chair and Will opened the office door. You both walked inside. 

“What do I owe the pleasure to see both of you in my office?” Hannibal questioned.

“I work here,” you answered.

“And I am a patient.” 

“And we are dating,” you finished off. You sat on the desk while Will leaned against it beside you. 

“The murder recently, not a clean one,” Hannibal said. “No beat is more savage than man when possessed with power answerable to his own rage,” he muttered. 

“It’s not rage. Rage is an emotional response to being provoked. This is something else,” Will explained. 

“What is it?” Hannibal asked.

“Instinct. It’s the way he thinks.” 

“The way any animal thinks depends on limitations of the mind and body. If we learn our limitations too soon, we never learn our power,” Hannibal inquired. 

“He tore his victims apart didn’t he? I’d say he learned his power,” you said. 

“He claimed his power. Can you imagine tearing someone apart or would you prefer to use a gun?” 

“Is this a question to just me or also Y/N?” Will asked, a small sly smile on his face. 

“Both of you I suppose.” 

“Guns lack intimacy,” Will stated. 

“And it’s instant. Doesn’t allow to watch eyes drain,” you whispered.

“You set an event in motion with a gun. You don't’ complete it,” Hannibal said. You nodded, fingers wrapped around the desk. What an odd question that seemed so normalized in this room.

-

You were inside doing the dishes when you heard a car pull up. You looked at Will, who was sitting on the couch. He looked at you.

“Were you expecting company?” you questioned. He shook his head.

“I was not.” 

You put the dish down and dried out your hands, following Will to the door. You stepped outside together and the sight of Margot Verger came to your eye. You were surprised, very surprised. You had barely given the woman a second thought and now she was at your doorstep. 

“Sorry for the intrusion. We met outside of Dr. Lecter’s office,” Margot explained. 

“I remember,” you muttered.

“How did you find us?” Will questioned.

“Turns out, you are famous Will.” 

“You’re not exactly anonymous yourself, Margot,” Will said. So he had googled her mostly likely. You had as well.

“It’s cold. You have any whisky?” 

-

You, Margot and Will all held a glass. The two of them sat across from each other in the chairs while you leaned your back against the kitchen counter. 

“What’s the heir to the Verger meat packing dynasty doing at our door?” you asked her. She gave a small annoyed look, not at you but seemingly at existence.

“My brothers the heir, not me. I’ve got the wrong parts and wrong proclivity for parts,” she explained. Will liked her. She was frank, simple. You liked that about her too but you weren’t sure if you exactly liked her.

“Didn’t answer my question,” you retorted. 

“I’m here for a character reference. Patient to patient. To the secretary I suppose. What do you think of Dr. Lecter’s therapy?” That was a question you left entirely up to Will.

“Depends what you’re in therapy for,” he admitted. 

“I’m in therapy for all sorts of reasons. The Vergers slaughter eight-six thousand cattle a day and thirty-six thousand pigs, depending on the season. That’s just the public carnage.” She tapped her foot against the ground in time. 

“What’s your private carnage?” Will questioned. Margot glanced at you, like she had just been expecting Will to be here. Still, she spoke with courage. 

“I tried to murder my brother.” Will and you both studied her.

“I assume he had it coming,” Will suggested.

“Did he ever,” she scoffed. She paused a moment. “What’s your private carnage?” Will thought about answering. He glanced at you and you shrugged, taking a sip of your glass.

“I tried to murder Dr. Lecter.” 

“See now, that’s interesting.” Margot mulled over this. “Did he have it coming?” Will debates answering that and doesn’t.

“What do you think?” 

“I can't’ say that I know.” 

-

You sat patiently in your home. You were flipping through a book, wondering if you had the desire to put brain energy into reading it. You and Will were simply existing as you had been denied so long with the whole prison thing.

You had just decided to grab some food when your phone rang.

“Hello?” you asked, voice distracted as you walked to the kitchen. You walked over to Will and put your cheek against his shirt, kissing it lightly.

“Y/N?” Hannibal spoke. You pulled away from Will slowly but he noticed your hesitation for the phone call.

“Yes?” 

“I need you to do me a favor.” Will looked at you but you didn’t look at him.

“Yeah?” 

“I need you to come into the office and grab a very important thing I forgot. I would go myself but I have dinner boiling and I hate to ruin a good dish.” You nodded and glanced at Will. 

“Alright. I’ll be there as soon as I can. Text me the details.” You hung up the phone. “I have to get something for Hannibal and bring it to him,” you told Will.

“This late?” 

“He said it was important.” You slipped on your shoes. “You wanna come?” He shook his head and gestured to the dogs.

“I’ll hang out with the dogs.” You nodded and grabbed a jacket. 

“Be safe,” you said and he gave you a look. You walked out onto the porch and started toward the car when you stopped. You looked out at the darkness of the woods and came to a slow stop. 

Something was wrong. 

You weren't sure what but something was wrong. You got into the car and forced the feeling out of your mind. It was probably nothing. You pulled out of the driveway and started down the road.

You made it about two minutes before you felt an overwhelming urge of dread. You closed your eyes for just a second before turning around in the dead end street, going back to the house. You saw Will running back into the house as you pulled up, Buster in his hand and the rifle in the other. You parked quickly and ran inside after him. 

“Will?” you called. He met your eyes and you looked down at the Buster who seemed hurt. “What-” Will grabbed your arm and pulled you toward him before pushing him behind the counter.

The window broke.

-

You sat in a chair at the dinner table of Hannibal’s home. Will stood behind the chair of the head of the table. 

Hannibal opened the door and you both looked up at him. Hannibal's eyes landed on the dead body of the man who Will had killed this evening. The man that you had helped him kill. The man who had attacked you in your home.

“I send someone to kill you,” Will started. “You send someone to kill me.” 

The air was tense. You were tense. They were tense.

“Even steven.”

2x10

[senju-sekhmet]

The Leash (Part 10)

Summary: Your rescue was supposed to be as smooth as these missions can be. However very quickly, Tobirama faces off against an enemy that has no form, color or smell - and time is running short, very fast. Unless he figures out what truly holds you hostage, your life will be lost. Warnings (for the finished work): Blood, illness, descriptions of heavy injuries and graphic violence, torture (both depicted and implied), needles, morally grey territory, human experimentation, panic attacks, character death, angst with a happy ending ~8100 words (this chapter, finished work: 80.000) Previous: Part 1; Part 2; Part 3; Part 4; Part 5; Part 6; Part 7; Part 8; Part 9 Read on AO3!   Disclaimer below the cut! again, used for updates too. sue me

DISCLAIMER! PART ONE of the finale! READ THE WARNINGS... especially the last one... Other than that: enjoy my very self indulgent work, filled with my own headcanons and angst galore. Let me know what you think and thank you so much for reading!!!! ________ The next few days became a blur. Tobirama cycled between the laboratory, your room, and the interrogation and information headquarters - just like he had been the last few days. Sleep was scarce, if he allowed himself any at all. 

The pace was dictated by your condition pretty much, which did not fare any better. Quite the opposite. 

Every passing turn, the interval by which they could stretch the administration of what remained of the leash diminished. You, on the other hand were paying a price that was nothing less than your sheer life force, it seemed. The amount of support they had to provide via the seals increased constantly. As time passed, they couldn’t lessen it anymore during your lucid phases, even - rather, only increase it further, step by step. A couple of seals were added when your chakra overload allowed it - as they had not been tending to your injuries from the torture anymore, they gained a little manuverability in that regard. It was not much, but you dearly needed any edge you could get. Both of your legs, arms, your abdomen, your chest were painted with medical seals that each supported your cardiovascular system, retained organs' functions, everything. There was little of your skin left unused. 

It was painful to see. 

“I surmise this is why the Stone did not use the withdrawal as an accessory means to put a victim under more duress,” Tobirama stated utterly caustic tone once. You’d been sedated after they had administered they leash again and both he and his brother were monitoring you while the war inside your body came to a well-known break. “Putting someone under the physical and mental strain of torture while also dealing with the effects of the withdrawal could easily kill a prisoner.” His bluntness hurt him - thinking about how you might be the one dying - but what was the point in sugar-coating anything?

Tobirama's mood was dismal, though his resolve still zealous.

“Indeed,” Hashirama agreed, slightly strained by the focus he’d been keeping up. “Frankly I’m wondering how they managed to not overload the amount of what foreign chakra Y/n could take with how they… injured her and the poor quality at which they kept healing her.” In the end, there was sorrow in his voice.

Tobirama instead felt anger overshadowing his ache. “I don’t think that ever was a concern of theirs, anjia.” In fact, Tobirama could hazard a guess as to what fate would've awaited you had they finished torturing you - had he not found you in time.

They shouldn't call it the Leash - the Noose seemed to be a better fit.

Still, chakra overload was unpleasant - uncomfortable, and to a point medically concerning, too, but lethal? Hardly. That is, if a patient was not in such a grievous state you found yourself in.

Yet the worst was your loss of vitality overall. It manifested in more agonising ways - it wasn’t as though you were becoming more haggard than you had been since the rescue - it was the way your hair lost its shine, the paleness of your skin, the tired gaze of sunken in eyes, the rasp of your voice as wheezing coughs wrecked you. 

Numerous of your organs had begun to show signs of failure more and more rapidly as soon as the withdrawal settled in. Soon, they barely had enough time to recover during the times you weren’t under the effects of the withdrawal - a vicious circle Hashirama monitored closely and one Tobirama dreaded like little else in life. If the balance tilted - if your body couldn’t recuperate enough any more - then your life was all the more on the line. 

Those hours - they felt the longest. He’d pace anxiously in your room, demand updates until Hashirama allowed him to join in his efforts. Or until he did politely tell him to wait. Politely.

Tobirama couldn’t remember when last he had felt so miserable in his life. He was watching you wither away in his hands, in the safest place he could think of in the entire world, due to a decision he had ultimately agreed to. Whenever he was with you the pain in his heart froze his entire being, his breathing was felt as laboured as yours and all of the world was numb besides the plight you were suffering. And he - he had allowed it. And if he hadn’t - if he hadn't… he didn't want to finish the thought, ever.

Worse yet, your consciousness began to wither more and more during the precious phases of lucidity, when the leash spared you from the hellish withdrawal. You simply were too weak to stay awake for long. But you tried. How you tried - and he knew why. For him. Your fierce spirit would keep fighting.

“How… is it going, Tobi?” you’d ask him always, your voice no more but a broken whisper.

He nearly collapsed by your side, the guilt corroding him inside out for not having accomplished his task yet. Every time his hand was under your head to stabilise it some as you looked at him; wanted to look at him - while the other held yours to his chest, stroking it tenderly. “I’m getting there, Y/n. Rest, please,” he implored you brokenly, each time, “I’m here, Y/n. I’m here.”

His heart broke when you didn’t find the strength to quip back at him like you usually would. 

You just smiled bravely.

For all the agony this put him in - all the torment you went through - it only fuelled his resolve to recreate the leash. The extra time you were giving at such great expense he put to good use - and there barely was a time there weren’t some shadow clones working on refining his copy of the leash. The price he paid for this was staggering. Each time he released them, the exhaustion almost floored him. Their experience and memories were invaluable for speeding up the process infinitely - to even give him a sliver of hope to make it in time - but a few days in and Tobirama was forced to sit down before he let go of the very jutsu he devised. Practical, it was. But the toll it took on one’s body was hellish - his vision would blacken, his knees shake and he was sure he fainted a couple of times, too, for the sheer amount of concentration each of his clones had poured into the task at hand. 

Yet every time Tobirama felt he was teetering on the brink of a collapse, he simply reminded himself of what was at stake here.

Hellish became a relative term, then. He paid the small price, he figured. 

And there were ways and means to keep going beyond any physical signs of exhaustion. Tobirama turned to them quickly when the usage of his shadow clone technique became too taxing - various medications starting with simple caffeine to more sinister substances if taken for too long a time. He didn’t care for that risk. Sleep simply was lost time. Needed, surely. He’d catch up, eventually. Because ultimately - ultimately, this whole game would be over very soon, way too soon. Cynically he did wonder sometimes when he’d start to see white mice running up the walls, hear voices whisper or other hallucinations - but his thoughts never strayed from either creating the leash or your current condition. There was no room for anything else. And he was nothing if not focused on his task.

Kimi’s blood samples had been valuable leads in the whole process of making this damned drug. They demonstrated how his alternative had affected her - which wasn’t far off the shot when it came to the muting component of the leash. The disruption only rudimentarily resembled the real leash. Nonetheless, he felt confident with enough shadow clones - he’d continue down this path and start to weave his chakra in better and better to get where it had to be. After all, the result had been promising. Lucky for him, because it did strongly suggest no jutsu was involved in creating the leash as such. It really boiled down to the weaving process and its complexity. He wondered how long it had taken Zenji to master creating the leash.

Weaving - as such it seemed to be a process that couldn’t just create a leash but any other kind of chakra infused drug.

Interesting.

His experiments on the prisoners supported his theory about the weaving further. Progress was exponentially accelerated due to his shadow clones, and as such the intricacy of his own weaving pattern made for better results. More and more, the immediate effects of the leash were becoming comparable to the actual leash - with no small amount of satisfaction, he observed how their chakra became just as muted and sluggish as yours, longer and longer. And with the same satisfaction he meticulously examined every second of their quite painful withdrawal to compare it to your symptoms and sufferings to ensure it’d be exactly the same - the fact the prisoners didn’t just harbor the same dislike for him they did for everyone at the headquarters but rather flat out hated him was entirely beyond him. He didn’t care. They were means to achieving a goal, nothing more. 

Especially Zenji used every opportunity to count down the time to what he believed would be your demise. His perception of such must be entirely broken, as he missed the mark he prophesied would be your end - much to Tobirama’s smug glee. Though he knew better than to let anything on. Bickering with this man - with any of them - was just more waste of time. He simply went in with Ikuro, sometimes one of his subordinates, to brutally administer the leash and start to observe the prisoners and take blood samples. If any of them acted up in whatever ways they could - which wasn’t much, given their restraints - they were punished, harshly. He couldn’t risk spilling these experimental drugs, either. As Tobirama’s patience wore down alongside the remaining supply of the leash - and ultimately, your life force - more jaws were broken.

Naturally, his cold, almost brutal demeanour wasn’t noticed by the prisoners only. More than once Ikuro had to call him off for pushing the limit on what a subject could take - or disagree on continuing interrogation. Things Tobirama mentally rolled his eyes at but never spoke up against save for curt affirmations past his clenched teeth. Ikuro would be well within his rights to stop his proceedings altogether - or worse, report to Hashirama. It was a silent understanding that if the experiments became too dangerous, Tobirama had to stop and provide medical aid to the stone shinobi. As much as he hated it. He had to make better progress. You were paying the worst price.

Unfortunately the leash’s creation proved to be about the best guarded secret of Zenji’s mind - and with how he was biding his time, he was extremely determined to last longer than Tobirama, or rather, you. They gleaned all kinds of information not just from him, but also the other prisoners - the better Tobirama became at replicating the leash, the more effective the interrogation was. He surmised there may be even more complex machinations at work in how this drug worked in a person’s mind, but he had no proof of this, only theories. Not that he cared - it didn’t matter right now. Still, Zenji remained the toughest fortress; he’d die before cracking. Although Ikuro did appear to be more lax when it came to torturing and experimenting on him; Tobirama was not. 

Just like Zenji, Kimi was refusing to surrender what little she knew of the leash, no matter how extreme the pressure. Two of their compatriots had cracked while under the effects of Tobirama’s leash-copy, a victory he did not celebrate at all. It was useless unless Zenji broke or he perfected the recreation of the leash. Anything else would result in your death. Still, it was one of the rare occasions he allowed himself a moment of smugness in front of Zenji.

No more than a sneer did Tobirama give him.

Zenji was fuming. “You think you’re so fucking clever-” he spat.

Tobirama raised an eyebrow and cut him off coolly. “I am. Despite your assertions, I am getting closer to recreating this precious leash of yours every day. And after that, you will be useless, given how your fellow shinobi keep cracking.” The last bit was spoken as darkly as he meant it to be.

Zenji bared his teeth - but not out of anger. He was grinning. “I’m sticking to my word, Senju - I will relish telling you the secret once Y/n died one of the most painful deaths imaginable while you sat by.”

Tobirama knew better than to let the ire that was flooding him show. Zenji’s jaw was barely healing. 

Well, there were other bones to break, though.

“You might get closer to creating the leash, but you won’t succeed, and I’d give my damn life to see the helpless look on your face when Y/n takes her last, tormented breath, whispering your name in sheer agony as life-”

Tobirama’s arm shot forward before he could think. But he knew better than to punch the prisoner again. His vice grip had seized the broken jaw, nails digging into his cheeks to prevent so much as a scream coming out. Only a slow moan of pain. His scarlet gaze was murderous. “Actually, your pathetic life hangs on Y/n’s survival, Zenji. Do you realise that, you very, very clever man?”, Tobirama explained, frightfully calm.

Zenji stilled completely. 

“I care not for something petty like revenge or your fate ultimately,” he continued icily, “but Konoha does not need to feed mouths that are useless to us nor send them back to the enemy to use them against us again. I think you can figure the rest out.” He released him as brutally as he could, turning on his heel. He had to leave before he did more to this man.

Zenji stopped shouting at Tobirama after this.

Even so, Zenji’s words had not rung hollow. As much progress he made when it came to the weaving process, permanence of the effects would not be attained. The more time - really, each passing hour - pressed him, the more desperate he became to solve this riddle - this seemingly last riddle stopping him from creating the perfect copy of the leash.

It was after yet another quite fruitful session of experimentation that he -

“Damn it!”, he shouted, smashing his balled fist on the lab bench after analysing the yield of the day thoroughly. The woven pattern was swirling brightly like it would in the leash, the complexity well fit the real drug and the experiments were showing promising results.

However… “It’s not a damn leash yet-” he breathed through his clenched teeth, swaying back, vision tunneling. He gripped the edge of the table just in time before he lost his foothold. The exhaustion from releasing his clones before had struck viciously again. 

Hitting inanimate objects out of frustration was one thing. Talking to himself another. He dragged both palms over his face. By his current calculations, they had about sixty hours left.

Sixty hours, then they’d be out of leash and your time was cut very short.

Ice flooded his veins and his vision blackened completely briefly.

It couldn’t be helped. He needed a jutsu - or a seal - to perfect the leash. At this point - with this little time left - his previous evaluation of such a technique being an obstacle he'd scale easily compared to what he had done so far seemed quite daring. In fact, how could he have thought anything about this was going to be easy? Even when he had already guessed he’d need this, sooner or later.

Ultimately he started to divide his shadow clone force between perfecting the weaving process and starting to figure a seal out to make the effects last - rather, the disruption. Since the muting component did wear off at a comparable time in his own creations now, it was a fair assumption no technique sealed this effect in. And the way the disruption almost branded itself into a victim’s blood - that was all the more telltale. But how to create a seal that worked in a liquid? Back when he initially assumed such a seal to be of inferior quality due to a lack of external evidence, he automatically assumed it should be simple to create one himself. Now, it almost felt like starting over again - like when he was weaving the second component in. A seal that did not just ensure permanence of the effects but rather only concern a single effect - ridiculous. Somberly he realised actually back then, he simply had not grasped the complexity of all this fully to make such an assumption in the first place. 

More guilt to burden him, ultimately. 

Just as he feared, initial tests proved to be difficult in the way a seal damaged the delicate weave of his chakra in the base liquid. He quickly discarded the approach in favour of starting from scratch - if only the disruption stuck, then it was quite possible a seal was applied before the second component got woven in. That worked better - slightly, if just for the fact the substance was less intricate like this and a seal was simpler to apply like this. Even so, Tobirama could think of a handful of seals to preserve chakra in some capacity. He’d have to take a logical approach: given there had been no outward sign of a seal being used, it must be a simpler one. Furthermore, he knew from your blood samples the way the drug didn’t just cling but nearly branded itself to you; therefore there must be a way for the seal to interact with the victim’s organism as well. That seemed doable; seals followed the rules the user created. Like a string of orders. He felt confident in his skill to pull it off - if it wasn’t for the fact he was trying to place a seal in a liquid substance right now. A seal on a parchment, sure. Medical jutsu that required seals, absolutely. Seals in combat, too - but in a liquid? 

He had no time to dwell on whether or how that was possible. Once more his shadow clones would aid him in trying out different approaches: applying seals to the vial first, weaving the disrupting component in and then trying to seal it off, or even trying to weave in a seal alongside the disruption. The last of the approaches appeared to be more fruitful than the others truth be told, but the more effort he gave it, the less the tender fabric of the drug tore apart for it in either one. The leash really was about patience, a knack for handling very fragile threads of chakra and a lot of concentration. None of which Tobirama could claim he had in great quantity right now. By the end of this session releasing his clones resulted in him losing consciousness for a solid thirty minutes. When he woke, he had a headache as though someone drilled a hole into his skull.

Naturally that didn’t stop him. All three of his experiments were tested right away and despite Ikuro’s concerns to not divide Tobirama’s attention between three prisoners, the man enforced his will by ultimately reminding everyone of the ticking clock. Each passing second made him more desperate and the life of a Stone shinobi less valuable. Even if he lost all three. He still had three more.

“They still hold information we have not yet cracked,” Ikuro warned sternly.

“Testing each of these one after the other is going to cost hours that Y/n doesn’t have,” Tobirama spat back, unfazed. “I’m here, I can use a shadow clone to divide my attention if need be,” he elaborately nonchalantly.

Ikuro crossed his arms. “That’s not the same.”

Tobirama growled exasperatedly. He wasn’t about to explain his own damn jutsu to Ikuro now. “I assure you, it is. Let’s use the broken prisoners, they’ve lost value, if that eases your concern.” The coldness of his tone made clear what he was implying.

Unsurprisingly, Ikuro wasn’t taken aback by his lack of regard for human life. His job demanded a certain detachment from just that, Tobirama figured. “Alright.” Even though Ikuro still didn’t seem quite sold on Tobirama’s plan. The life of a Konoha shinobi still bore greater weight than that of Stone prisoners.

At the end of that day, Tobirama realised his intuition had been right: the test subject with the third method showed a prolonged phase of withdrawal, serious symptoms - serious enough to warrant medical observation that Tobirama left to the unit with clear instructions. He didn’t have time now. Sadly the seal’s permanence was not on par with the leash’s yet - the withdrawal had been fading, too. 

But this - all this, it was the right direction. He knew it. If he gave his all into his and worked with the time he had left, he felt he could reach this insane goal of recreating this drug. 

Following the experiments, he sat by your side that evening while you were allowed a short moment of simple sleep. No withdrawal, no terrors under the effects of the leash. He dared to feel a sliver of hope. No more. Gently, his hand stroked your forearm as his heart ached from watching you. You’d open your eyes briefly and recognition flashed in your gaze - he simply let his chakra coat your network in a warm embrace. Stiffness eased out from his shoulders as his eyes prickled again.

“I’m getting there, Y/n,” he simply whispered, tenderly. 

You gave no reply or notion of having gotten the message. His heart hurt more for it.

Of course he already had a handful of clones working on the approach before he left for your side to join them in the endeavour. 

The final race began after that. Using as many clones as he possibly could, he started to create the leash - really create it, not just parts of it, practicing weaving or trying seals out. This was it - he would need to perfect this procedure until an immaculate result in a prisoner was achieved. Once he tethered one of them to the leash, he knew he had succeeded and could make more for you. The proverbial light at the end of this hellish tunnel kicked his system more into overdrive than any substance he could take to keep himself on track. It was a real high, almost.

Hashirama tried to get him to rest once he caught wind of the fervor with which he worked.

“You’re doing what?!”, his brother near shouted, horrified. 

Tobirama rolled his eyes. He didn’t have time for this. “Get out of here and back to Y/n,” he ordered sternly, not even looking back at his brother, standing in the door of the makeshift laboratory.

Hashirama’s footsteps drew closer, a hand on Tobirama’s shoulder had him whip around with unconcealed fury. “What.” Tobirama’s voice was an infuriated growl through clenched teeth. A warning everyone heeded. Except his brother, of course.

Hashirama didn’t pull his figurative punches now. “You’re using way too many shadow clones, you’re not sleeping and is-” he pointed on the lab bench, eyes wide now as he recognized the substances Tobirama had been taking, “-is that-”

“You worry about your work, and leave me to mine, anija!” Tobirama shouted back with unbridled ire, seizing his brother by the shoulders to start shoving him out. 

Sadly, he was determined to stand his ground, swatting the hands away. “Sure, destroy yourself so the first thing Y/n can do after recovering is mourn you!” His dark eyes were ablaze now. Even for a non-sensor shinobi, the magnificent aura of his riled up chakra was easy to pick up on. For Tobirama’s senses, it was suffocating, like staring into the sun. The overload just fueled his anger more.

“Get. Out.” The heat was gone from his voice. It was a threat now.

Hashirama held Tobirama’s scarlet gaze for far longer than anyone else did. Wordlessly, he summoned a wood clone. “I’ll watch you. You’re not going to kill yourself, brother.” Then, he turned on his heels to leave the laboratory.

Tobirama was floored for a moment. How dare he. Then, he proverbially exploded as the fury burned so bright inside of him, it was painful. “You will do no such thing!” He yelled after his brother, following with swift stomps. “Take your damn babysitter with you, I don’t need one!”

Hashirama all but ignored him and simply kept on walking down the corridor. Tobirama rushed back to the laboratory where his clones were still at work to eye his brother’s wood clone with sheer antipathy. Briefly, he contemplated destroying it - but ultimately decided against that just for the fact that might break anything precious in the laboratory.

That meant he just had to conceal his exhaustion better now. And no more help from additional medication. 

The rush to the finish line of the gruelling race was just as Tobirama had expected it. He didn’t measure time in days anymore but hours you had left. Your condition kept on worsening and ultimately, Hashirama decided they no longer could risk you going into withdrawal at all. That cut back the time slightly, but not much. Enough for Tobirama to not even feel the slightest bit of exhaustion anymore. Frankly during his work he was nothing but sharply focused. It was when he was by your side the emotions boiled up - the ache that teared at his heart, the suffocating sensation of sorrow, guilt. Overburdening protection paired with crushing worry. Your sheer will had bought them necessary time, he’d just make it work now. It was all he could do.

But now, even in what should be your rest - the precious hours in which you may wake - you barely opened your eyes anymore. They were forced to amp the seals up to a maximum of support to deal with the backlash of all the times you had suffered from the withdrawal, and either Hashirama or Tobirama constantly found themselves at your side to ensure your condition didn’t worsen. Every bit of additional chakra your strained system could take went into stabilizing you further from the inside. It was an extremely fragile balance they upheld - but the truth was, in the Stone shinobi’s hands your body had suffered grievous, outward wounds and now your inside was just as impacted by everything it had gone through. 

Your path to recovery would be an arduous one. One Tobirama did not doubt one second you’d walk strongly and gracefully, one on which he’d not leave your side, at all. He still felt tremendous guilt for everything they - he - had been forced to do to you, everything you went through under his watch. Even now, what little time he spent monitoring you, examining your condition, he never let the warm connection fade - hoping you might at least feel that.

That you weren't alone.

Progress on the leash was as exponential as expected. His shadow clones and his own vigour ensured as much. Over and over he perfected the results he produced. Time would not allow for lengthier tests anymore as the better his craft became, the longer a test subject suffered from the effects of his leash. He had to cycle through the prisoners who barely caught a break now, not that he cared, of course. But every experiment needed to start from a fresh slate, otherwise the result might be muddled. What he could do in the laboratory was to compare his own substance with the actual leash - which he did with unmatched diligence. Once a confusing swirl of chakra, intricate and impossible to pick apart easily, he now saw structure in it. With the experience of not just himself but many copies of himself, he now was sure: learning to create the leash might take months, if not years. 

When your hours were down to a single digit, he was unable to find a difference between his version of the leash and the actual drug.

An eerie kind of excitement gripped him. His head spun dizzily from it. Had he done it? Was this it?

Only one way to find out. And no time to waste. They had just a single dose of the leash left to give to you. 

Tobirama turned to what he sarcastically dubbed his babysitter. “Tell my brother with luck, I’m off to the interrogation headquarters for the last time.”

The last time he slept was forty-one hours ago. Involuntarily, at that. Overwhelmed by releasing the shadow clone jutsu, as it was.

The wood clone nodded and turned to leave.

Tobirama used his hiraishin seal to teleport to the interrogation headquarters after slipping the vial into his pocket - he had placed a branded piece of parchment there days ago. Another way to save time.

He headed straight for Ikuro’s office. By now the members of the interrogation unit knew when not to stand in his way - it was the kind of thoughtfulness he appreciated, even though he never uttered a word to that regard. Given the time of the day, early morning, Ikuro was behind the desk. Tobirama didn’t even knock but tore the door open. 

“We need to start another test now.” 

Ikuro glanced up from the document he was reading. By now he knew not to expect ‘good morning’ from him anymore or other pleasantries. Still, this was quite straightforward even for Tobirama’s standards. “You’ve been here last night,” he replied evenly, raising an eyebrow.

“And I’ve made progress since then. I have reason to believe I’ve done it.” Finally.

That elicited a whistle of surprise even from Ikuro, who seldom did more than smile slightly at whatever was tossed in his direction. But a frown followed. “I don’t need to tell you that-”

Tobirama slammed his palm on the table a huffed through clenched teeth. “I know and we don’t have any time left,” he hissed, borderline desperate now. The fact this would be his last shot before you - he refused to finish the thought.

Ikuro’s mien was stony, but he rose to his feet. “Kimi should be most recovered.”

He followed silently down into the holding block. Whatever gazes he might have felt upon him he either was accustomed to or forgotten. Except for Zenji’s stare. The damn, knowing stare. He never looked more than a spare second into his eyes.

Upon unlocking Kimi’s door, the woman’s head raised up slowly to muster her new company with contempt. The last days had left traces on all the prisoners. Like her compatriots, even the mental bulwark of seeming sheer insanity was showing cracks. Kimi had dark rings under her eyes and the proverbial paint was flaking off. “Is Y/n not fucking dead yet?”, she commented lazily, gaze settling on the vial in Tobirama’s grasp. They had long passed the stage of feigned pleasantries, inquiries about your wellbeing, or even Ikuro behaving like a friend towards her.

All of this had become a well practiced ritual the prisoners knew better than to resist. In a way, they had broken them all in that regard.

Ikuro seized the back of her head already and gave Tobirama a nod.

Kimi’s nostrils flared. “Can’t be much longer now. Y’still gonna keep trying to make the leash after she’s dead, by the way?”, she spat, fighting against the vice hold of the interrogation master.

Tobirama walked closer slowly, expression steely. As cold as he felt inside. He always did when he was down here - these people were barely human to him, anymore. Threats like Kimi’s were their favourite to make. He knew better than to react. His hand shot forward to grasp her jaw - her resistance was notably weaker than it had been a few days ago. 

Good.

Easily, his hand could coax her jaw forward to open her mouth and pour only a small portion of the vial in. Ikuro shot him a questioning glance. “I’ll explain later.” Tobirama answered gruffly as he secured her throat to prevent her from spitting anything back at them. She gagged briefly, prompting Tobirama to up the pressure until she swallowed.

“Fuck you,” she spat, but her pupils dilated already. 

Ikuro closed his eyes to get to work. Tobirama monitored the effect of his leash unfolding briefly and with no small amount of satisfaction. The muting component hammered Kimi’s chakra network just like yours had been. His heart beat faster. Swiftly he withdrew to take a first blood sample of the initial effect and continued to monitor Kimi, who had surrendered to the torture silently by now. Unusual. Most of the time, she found ways to spew colorful insults at either him or Ikuro.

Interesting.

The rest of the experiment proceeded just as perfectly. Tobirama felt near dizzy from the nervousness that gripped him and he was surprised to find he wasn’t shaking from excitement when the withdrawal began to hit the stone shinobi as the muting component wore off - sooner than usual, thanks to the smaller dosage, but it still took quite a while. Ikuro wasn’t finished with the mental interrogation yet, but a frown wrinkled his forehead.

“She’s becoming weaker,” he noted.

“I know. Keep on going.” Hell, they might even crack her now with the added pressure. After all, Tobirama was painfully well-versed in dealing with withdrawal effects, and Kimi’s body was not suffering from chakra overloading at all. 

The shift in the dynamic hadn’t escaped Kimi, either. Restlessness was gripping her. “This doesn’t change anything,” she pressed out, breathing laboured. Her forehead was covered in a fine layer of sweat. It wouldn’t be long now until the withdrawal will become painful.

Tobirama ignored her and gripped her throat tighter as he examined more closely. If the disruption didn’t fade he -

“It doesn’t change-,” Kimi choked out again, against the vice grip he held her in. “-fucking anything!” Her voice had become a fine sneer in the end.

Tobirama opened his eyes to find the prisoner grinning, staring at the ceiling with a hollow glance. That didn’t sit well with him. Kimi knew more about the leash - knowledge they hadn’t yet gotten out of her. 

They’d still proceed now. No turning back.

More time passed. She shouted out again a couple times, more slurred than the other before a tremor gripped her body and the words became gargled moans of pain. Inflammation began to kindle inside of her in an awfully familiar way. The disruption was starting to wreak havoc inside of her. Time for the next blood sample, which Tobirama took swiftly.

“Her mind is becoming fragmented, Tobirama,” Ikuro warned, pale eyes opening. That wasn’t good. He wouldn’t continue like this.

“I’ll stabilise her. I need to know if this fades or not,” he answered tersely, blood rushing in his ears. If it didn’t fade - then he’d -

One step after the other. Carefully he let his chakra strengthen each of Kimi’s organs somewhat, only enough to keep her going. The tormented groans subsided if just slightly, and Ikuro closed his eyes again as the haze that surrounded Kimi’s mind became thicker again. So close. They were so close.

Relief did not last long for her. Very soon, the prisoner was deteriorating again.

Tobirama almost shouted from the utter relief he felt. It could only mean one thing. His heart beat so frantically it might as well jump out of his chest at this point.

Ikuro gave him a stern reminder to watch for Kimi again, but Tobirama’s hand had seized the spasming jaw of the prisoner already. Silently, Ikuro watched as he poured the rest of the vial in only to directly continue monitoring her again.

The disruption subsided swiftly as her chakra network became near mute again. Kimi stilled completely, raising her head slowly to let out a drawn-out groan. Her gaze fixated Tobirama, pupils blown wide. There was recognition in it, but in a deranged, wild way - akin to an animal rather than a human person.

Tobirama's scarlet gaze was ablaze, his eyes widened. A low, utterly satisfied growl resounded through the cell - "Yes," he muttered, entirely absorbed in his examination.

Her reply hit like a kick to the gut.

“The leash is tied to a person… and the hand that holds it.”

Right after, her body went limp again as she surrendered to the psychotropic effects of the drug.

Tobirama took a step back, reeling. The blood still rushed in his ears and the elation had cracked like glass that had been put under too much strain. What the hell was that supposed to mean? What was it now? What else did he possibly have to think of? The experiment's result was perfect. 

By all means, this woman was tied to the leash now, the leash Tobirama had created.

He just had to make more of it now - you’d be safe and he could work on a cure. But why was he feeling like his breath had been stolen from him? As though he had run the mile, won the race and yet still had to keep running, or else? His hands trembled slightly as he kept staring down the limp prisoner.

Ikuro cleared his throat. “That’s enough for today. Follow me, Tobirama.” His voice sounded urgent. Startled, Tobirama’s eyes widened slightly, he nodded only.

As they passed Zenji’s cell, the man stirred. “So,” he called out, chains clinking as he threw his body against them. “You made it? Tied Kimi to the leash?” His tone was about as icy as one might get.

Tobirama stopped in front of the cell to give him a lethal glare, all nervousness subsiding in favour of sheer fury. Ikuro stopped as well, giving Tobirama a warning glance.

“I won,” he sneered back, eyes narrow. “As I said, I recreated that little tool of yours.” His voice was dripping with caustic arrogance.

Zenji attempted a grin that looked crooked by how swollen his face still was. “I wonder about that.”

Icy dread was pooling inside of Tobirama faster than he could control it. His mien turned stony as he tried to just not rush in and break Zenji’s jaw again for his insolence. And yet the words were haunting him. Just like Kimi’s had. “You had better start thinking about another way to appear useful to us.”

Without allowing another word from the prisoner, he walked towards Ikuro, heading for the office. Surprisingly, Ikuro shut the door as soon as they were inside.

The burly man cut straight to the chase. “Kimi’s mental defenses were extremely low today,” he began. Tobirama’s heartbeat picked up again. Ikuro frowned. “I was able to glance at her knowledge about the leash. Perhaps she wanted me to, I don’t know.”

“What did you learn?”, Tobirama snapped back before he even realised what words his brain had chosen. His tone wasn’t just stern - it was commanding.

“The Stone’s interrogators use the leash frequently.” Nothing new there, Tobirama figured. With how much effort that went into this drug. He was ready to ask for more information, but Ikuro beat him to it. “However, it seems once the leash is administered to a prisoner, they always receive it from the same creator, or one of his students.” Ikuro’s frown deepened.

The realisation hit Tobirama before he could coherently process the words. The dread that had formed earlier spiralled out into every vein of his body, an ice cold shiver ran down his spine. No, he had not come this far to learn this - all this-

“What does that mean?”, Ikuro inquired when Tobirama gave no answer.

He turned around slowly to put his hands against the doorframe, taking deep breaths now. His head was swimming. This information - all he knew about the leash - it was already pooling into his mind to form a muddied mess that wouldn’t produce a coherent thought.

His breaths were raspy and short. Finally, he swallowed against the lump in his throat. He didn’t want to speak about this. He had to return to the lab. Now.

“It means Zenji might be the only one able to create the leash for Y/n,” he answered, voice dead.

 _______

 He had precious little time left until you needed the last dose of the leash. After that, your lifespan was down to a mere few hours. Tobirama’s heartbeat never slowed down as he arrived in the laboratory, his shaking hands placing Kimi’s recent blood samples in the rack containing a great variety of vials now. His vision was tunneling. 

Only one shot.

Kimi’s statement - Zenji’s following it - and Ikuro’s information pointed towards one thing: the creation of the leash and the following interaction with the victim’s body was such a complex reaction that it didn’t allow for a different torturer’s leash to be administered to the same victim. Why was that? Tobirama could easily guess. With how much time he had spent weaving this damned drug all the little intricacies, the finicky process, it was easy to think there might be different ways to create it. Different patterns. The leash demanded repeated doses of the same drug for the disruption to be muted by the muting component - they were woven together like threads of fabric. A different pattern would not fit. That much his experiments had ascertained, too. 

Lucky for him - for you - he had stuck closely to Zenji’s sample and while primarily trying to imitate the effects of the drug, he had unintentionally copied the weaving pattern of the man himself. That much he was sure of - he had analysed his version and Zenji’s, finding no difference.

Did that mean Kimi and Zenji just thought Tobirama had - somehow - found out how to weave the leash differently? It was a possibility.

He grabbed the blood sample that contained Kimi’s blood right after administration of Tobirama’s leash. Closing his eyes, he began to examine it in great detail. The drug had spread through it hazily, coating it thickly - clogging and fuzzy. Just like it had been in you. No, exactly like it had been in you.

A first wave of relief washed through him. There was no doubt about it - had someone placed a vial of your blood under the initial effect of the leash in front of him and that of a prisoner under his own, he could only tell the difference by the innate chakra signature every body part carried, available to his fine sensor skills only. Otherwise, this was the same.

His body vibrated with tense energy, teetering on the fine edge between nervousness and sheer panic. Things he’d never show to anyone. But in the privacy of this lab - his hand shook, his heart was jumping out of his chest.

Now to the second sample.

He clasped Kimi’s blood sample tightly and shut his eyes again. Examining closer and closer, the disruptive component became obvious - the sharp edges of the chakra that had coated the blood’s cells, scathing as they went, damaging, scratching. Just like in Zenji’s leash. That, also was to be expected - after all, he had tailored the effect as per the example he had been given. 

Then why did he feel on edge? Why was time still running out? Something - something -

He took an even closer look.

And almost dropped the vial when it struck him.

“It’s the seal,” he muttered, shock and frustration fighting inside him as he felt as though he was bursting inside. The way his leash had near branded itself to Kimi’s blood - it was different, in such insignificant and tiny ways, Tobirama would’ve overlooked it. Were it not for the damned comment the lunatic witch had made, the information Ikuro had gleaned - there was no question about it. Zenji must use a slightly different sealing technique in his own version of the leash. 

What would happen if he administered his own leash to you now?

Tobirama groaned painfully, rubbing a palm over his face.

This is a nightmare. It can’t be. You only had little time left until the next - the last dose of the leash. And he had no idea how to even figure out how Zenji sealed the disrupting component of his leash.

His breaths were coming faster now and the tightness in his chest became painful - so painful he clutched the black fabric of his shirt, wheezing. Closing his eyes, his other hand reached for the edge of the laboratory bench for support as his knees shook. Distantly, he realised what the panic attack for what it was, now. Logically, he recognized it. While all the same he figured he did not have time for this.

He had to work now. He had to try - to try and do - do something-

“Damn it,” he panted. His breaths were coming in abruptly, rashly.

His vision tunneled.

He had no time- He had to work- This wasn’t-

Darkness crept from his peripheral reception into the center and Tobirama closed his eyes to force his breaths to slow down. Weakness. This was nothing but temporary weakness he had to overcome swiftly. 

By sheer willforce only quite possibly, he was riding the anguishing sensations out slowly before his body would obey him again.

Then, he grabbed the precious tiny sample of Zenji’s leash and did the only thing that came to mind: to try and dissect it for any clues. Anything at all that might tell him how Zenji sealed off his leash - anything for Tobirama to guess at the process to copy it. He began the procedure much like he’d perform an autopsy on a cadaver: from the outside to the inside. Peeling off layer after layer, removing bits and then cutting them apart into tinier pieces to examine them more closely. Systematically - thanks to his extended knowledge about the leash, there was some of that to his approach here. Of course the leash didn’t have organs like a body did, however since he knew how it was woven, he was able to trace it back this way, sort of.

Zenji’s seal was woven into the disruptive component like Tobirama’s was, intertwined in an intricate fashion he frantically sought to unravel. 

But try as he might - it was impossible. Since there was no ink work - no physical trace of the seal left save for the chakra threads alongside the disruptive component - there just was no telling just how his sealing technique might be working. Tobirama knew this.

He knew - he knew it simply was not possible.

Yet he kept on looking, searching for any clue - until the last bit of the tiny sample was entirely dissected.

And he was left empty handed.

His heart stopped for a moment and ice-cold shock burst in his chest.

Was this it, now? Had he come this far to surrender to this damn detail? He closed his eyes slowly as breaths came in faster and faster again, more ragged each time. The world was frozen. Time stood still for a moment as his mind raced faster into nowhere, while his heart, his heart knew well enough there was nothing left.

Crushing sorrow followed the shock, his lip quivered. Wetness formed under his lids and quelled down his cheeks.

“Fuck!”, he shouted - no, roared as he smashed the vial containing the useless sample of the leash against the wall.

“Fuck, fuck, -” he kept yelling the profanity over and over as if that brought any relief, his hands in his white hair, pulling. He didn’t feel any physical pain - he felt nothing except for overwhelming despair that filled every crack of his mind and emotional pain too great to put into words yet his heart was being torn into two.

He’d lose you - you, the only person he’d ever entrust that silly organ to. 

He had promised you -

After all he’d done -

Limply, he sunk down with his back against a wall of the laboratory, having no idea how he had gotten there. Tears were streaming down his face freely now, he didn’t even make any effort to wipe them off or reign in any feeling anymore. It was all too much. Wheezing and sobbing he sat there for who knows how long - letting desperation and grief crush him like metal between hammer and anvil. Jaw taut as he clenched his teeth, eyes hidden under his palm - he couldn’t move. He didn’t want to.

He had failed you.

And now you’d die. ______ the story isn’t over yet! but i reckon I should be hanged for this cliffhanger. STAY WITH ME THOUGH OKAY!!

[dokidokey]

somehow, the stranger who sat in front of you managed to snag the position your supposed date was supposed to be in after you got stood up.

fluffvember track 02: coffee shop

word count: 1,467

warnings: getting stood up, swearing

notes: you and kams talk shit about monoma (i am so sorry monoma stans (T＿T) pls forgive me) ALSO I HAVE 200 FOLLOWERS? THANK YOU SO MUCH OMFG I DO NOT KNOW WHAT TO DO WITH THAT INFORMATION ALL I CAN SAY IS THANK YOU (no milestone event tho bc ehe fluffvember has me busy ಠ~ಠ)

FLUFFVEMBER MASTERLIST

You’ve been here for fifty minutes, you take note mentally, watching as the quaint coffee shop starts to fill up with more people, all the seats getting occupied. It’s a good thing you came here ten minutes early for your date, but it seems you’re getting stood up as it is now 2 in the afternoon now and they haven’t responded to your messages that are delivered.

So with what’s left of the shame in your system, you stand up and go for the line at the counter, scanning the menu glowing above. It’ll take a whole lot of convincing to have you drink hot coffee, and espresso didn’t get along well with your taste buds that you had it, so you settled for an iced caramel macchiato instead. You look back at your table to check if your things are still there and also to see if your date has arrived.

There is not a shadow of a blond Monoma Neito in sight so you sigh, shoulders slacking and a pout settling on your face. What a shame you wore this cute outfit today only for it to go to waste.

You carefully stated your order when it’s your turn, anxiety bubbling up in your chest, wondering if you pronounced macchiato right. Is it ma-key-yato? Ma-shee-yato? Ma-chi-yato? The girl at the counter didn’t look at you weird so you suppose you said it right. You’re asked to move to the side to wait for your order so you lean patiently beside the counter. You’re quite surprised you still have patience left in you after being here for almost an hour without anything from that embarrassment of a date your friend has set you up with.

Your frown worsens as you take in the interior of the of the café. The warm earth tones make it feel really homey, the strong smell of coffee beans lingering in the air. The ambience is really light and easy with their soft, lofi-like tracks on the speakers. It’s such a cute place, a pretty concept for a first date, but here you are alone with a coffee you weren’t too sure how to pronounce.

When your names gets called, you accept it with a smile, the cold bite of the beverage a welcome feeling to your fingers. You walk idly back to your seat, a tight-lipped smile on your face as you check your phone and it’s still the time that greets you. No message from a Monoma in sight.

You slack against your seat and proceed to fiddle with the plastic straw in your hands. You send him another text asking him where he is － one last attempt to actually try for this god damned date because the other person clearly didn’t want to. When your message doesn’t go through, you’re seconds away from screaming inside the coffee shop.

That is until a body steps into your line of vision and you follow the pattern of the button on their polo until you see a blonde boy standing in front of you.

But he is not Monoma, you note. His hair is a lot brighter than the ones of the boy from the photos your friend had showed you. He even has a black thunder-shaped streak on the left side, which is cute, you guess.

“Hi,” he starts, the coffee in his hold shaking a little. “There aren’t many seats and all are taken and you seem to be alone so I was thinking if I can sit here? If only it’s okay though! Or－ wait, sorry, is this seat taken?”

You gingerly taps the point end of your straw on the table before smiling up at him (or at least you hope it’s a smile and not a grimace.)

“Yeah, uh, sure. It’s all yours.”

“Great, thanks!”

You watch closely as he pulls the chair back and sits down, placing his cup of coffee on the side. It’s better to be cautious of people you interact with rather than ending up on an unfortunate situation later. But this boy seems harmless as he awkwardly pats his thighs loudly with an equally awkward smile to go along.

“I’m－ I’m Kaminari,” he stutters nervously, “Kaminari Denki.”

You purse your lips and nod once. “I’m Y/N,” you reply, not bothering to tell him your full name.

“Nice to meet you!”

You watch him as he unwraps his straw and stabs the lid open, happily taking a sip of his beverage.

“What’s that?” You ask curiously.

He raise his eyebrows in acknowledgment before releasing the straw from his lips and saying, “espresso.”

You immediately scrunch your nose.

“What?” Kaminari laughs. “You don’t like it?” You shake your head no. “Too bad. What’s it you got then?”

“Caramel macchiato.” Then you add, “iced.” You don’t know why you decided to hastily give out that information, but he can do whatever he might with the information.

“You’re like Shouto,” he says suddenly, his chin on his palms. “He’s a classmate from UA; likes his soba cold. His father is Endeavor.”

You hum, but the mention of the Number One hero is not what caught your attention.

“UA, you say?” He nods. “Do you happen to know a Monoma Ne－?”

He almost chokes on his espresso at the mention of your coward of a date. “Monoma Neito, blonde. Yes. He’s an asshole.”

The corners of your lips fly up at his words.

“Yeah, well, I just got stood up by an asshole then. He sure lives up to his nickname, huh?”

Kaminari laughs. “Where do you go and why do you know him? I don’t think I’ve seen you around UA before.”

You lean back on your seat. “Oh, I－ I don’t have a quirk so－ Yeah. My friend just set him and I up.”

Your acquaintance pouts at that.

“Dang,” he says as though he’s disappointed to which you raise your eyebrows at.

“What are you doing here though?” You ask, picking up your straw and removing the wrap.

He shrugs. “Saw someone alone so I thought I’ll keep them company. Didn’t know they got stood up though, so I guess I can proxy as the date,” he grins at you.

You scoff at his bold attempt to imply that this is (lowkey) a date. You throw him the crumpled paper from the straw and chuckle. “Nice try but you’re only here to sit and not replace my date.”

Kaminari shrugs again. “At least I tried.”

You roll your eyes but you didn’t try to hide the smile you’re sporting. He isn’t that bad, you think. He makes it easy to like him. Not intimidating at all. Frankly, out of the two of you, he looks like the easier one to intimidate.

“Anyway,” it’s your turn to put your chin in your palm as you lean on the table. Your attention is stolen for a second when the bell above the glass doors of the café rings. You turn to him again. “Tell me more about Monoma.”

“Like I said, he’s an asshole.”

You snicker. “I know. He proved that true the moment he decided not to show up.”

Kaminari shakes his head and drums his fingers on the wood. He’s got pretty fingers, you notice. “He’s annoying as fuck. I have this friend, Bakugou, and it’s like he makes it his mission to annoy him. Annoying Bakugou is literally the worst thing ever because he gets riled up easily,” he sighs. “And he won’t hesitate to attack you.”

“Tell me he laid one on Monoma at some point,” you pleaded.

He nods enthusiastically, laughter bubbling out of his throat as he picks up his drink again. “He did. Monoma left with chafed clothes. It’s a miracle he wasn’t injured heavily.”

“What do they say?” You muse. “The bad grass never dies.”

Kaminari laughs at that, nodding his head at your statement. “It was a good thing though,” he smirks at you. “If it didn’t end up like that then I wouldn’t have met you because then you wouldn’t be set up with a date with Monoma.”

You gasp at his words, dramatically laying your palm on your chest. “That’s not nice of you to say it was a good thing I got stood up.”

“On my part, yes, ’cause I got to meet you.”

You don’t know how he does it, really. The way he’s just smoothly, you don’t know, trying to get to you is very impressive, you’re not gonna deny that. You’re slowly accepting the fact that you really just got stood up. And the cost?

“You’re a smooth talker, aren’t you?”

“I try my best.”

“Sure. So when’s the next date?”

It was a week later, in the very seat you first met each other.

[justletmeplayminecraft]

five times the hermits reassured xb his reputation doesn’t matter to them & one time they didn’t need to

another fic in @martuzzio‘s space outlaw au! this was a bit of an in-between whilst i prepped for a bigger project. this time: exploring xb and his feelings towards his false accusation.

featuring: xb needs hugs, i promise he gets them, me trying to feel out voices, lots of reassuring hermits, they’re a big family okay, xb is Not Okay with his bounty and the effects it causes, but they’re there to help, some cute kids, when you have problems: lie in a pool, its angst with comfort, the usual.

warnings: people are mean, panic attack, minor violence, less minor off-screen violence (mentioned gun violence, no details), low self image, self worth issues, bad decisions made whilst possibly dissociating, i swear its happy at the end.

1.

XB has never been one for public attention. He'd always been happy at his job. He minded his own business, enjoyed the research and helping people. Sometimes he even socialised with his co-workers, though that rarely extended outside of work. He lived a solitary life, away from the public eye, and he was happy with that. He had his lot. He didn't need anything else.

Then the accident happened and his world turned upside down.

Everything he'd built for himself, the comfortable life he'd made, fell apart at his feet. Suddenly he was to blame for the corruption of an entire planet. And he knew- he knew it wasn't really his fault. It was a complete mismanagement, barely even his department! But maybe if he'd paid more attention, worked faster, spoken out-

He can't change things now.

What followed was the most stressful period of his life. He watched as charges stacked up, already convicted in the public opinion. He went on the run, hiding on the half-dead planet and just trying to survive, really. He stopped keeping track of anything else, feeling sick as people demanded his head. His abilities saved him from two assassination attempts. He ran further, hid better.

Until he met the Hermits.

After all this time, he's not quite sure how he ended up joining them. He thought he was dead when he first caught sight of that emblem. This was it. The outside world had finally caught up. Then they helped him. Then he was on their ship. Then Xisuma was asking in a kind voice if he wanted to become one of them. A Hermit.

To tell the truth, if he knew the reaction it'd cause, he wouldn't have agreed. He would have said no, been dropped on a planet with a new identity, and gone on his way into obscurity. Instead, he said yes. He became a Hermit with a capital H. It felt good, at first. To be part of something like that. They had his back, they knew the situation.

The publicity didn't happen immediately. The Hermits were a smaller group back then. It took a short while until the rest of the universe caught up. Even now, he has no idea who first broke the story. One night, he falls asleep, lounging in the pool. In the morning he wakes up to a slander campaign.

Not against him. Against the Hermits. Because of him.

Hermits protecting planet destroyer, Hermits support massacre, Hermits criminal, Hermits, Hermits, Hermits, Him.

Joe is the one who finds him having a panic attack at the bottom of the pool. He's first aware of light touches against his skin, the water swirling in ways he doesn't expect. He opens his eye in a panic, but Joe is already shielding his face. He gestures a thumbs up and it takes all of XB's effort to remember what that means. He nods in a rush, realises Joe can't see that, and tugs him up instead.

They surface together. XB takes a strangled gasp of air, struggling lungs already unhappy. Joe guides him to the side, speaking firm instructions XB doesn't fully process but obeys all the same. Eventually, they sit at the edge of the pool. He can't feel the water around his legs. He can barely feel Joe's hand on his back, rubbing circles. He loses track of time completely.

Joe doesn't leave him.

He waits, his hand and unintelligible words a companion whilst XB fights for air. When XB can make out his counting, he tries to follow Joe's encouragement and take deep breaths. His heartbeat continues racing. He squeezes Joe's free hand tight.

Once he's finally confident enough, he mumbles, "Sorry." Joe makes an audible noise of disagreement. He places something cool in XB's hand. It takes sliding his finger around to realise it's his eye protection.

"Nothing to apologise for," Joe tells him. With his eye controlled, XB can finally see Joe's face. The Hermit is looking at him with a gentle calmness, water dripping from his skin and hair. Without the pounding in his ears, XB can hear them splash against the tiles. "I'm going to go out on one of Cleo's limbs here, and guess you saw the news." XB rubs at one of his fins with a nod.

"I shouldn't have joined you guys."

"I disagree," Joe replies. XB turns away. He kicks his legs just enough to create gentle ripples in the water.

"I've made a right mess of things. For everyone." Joe bloops, leaning onto his hand.

"Hardly more of a mess than before," he tells him. There's no doubt at all in his voice. No anger. "XB, you have to understand we knew what would happen when we took you on. We care about you. Not the opinions of the faceless masses. If we cared about that then we wouldn't get anything done." XB sighs, a drop of water falling from his fin.

"How can you be so calm about this?" He asks. He can't find anything else to say. Joe pats his back lightly.

"In the same way I was calm when False joined." He kicks his feet. "Things will be dramatic. It might feel like the end of the world. But sometimes you just have to trust Xisuma knows what he's doing. And I certainly think he did when he invited you." Joe pushes onto his feet, offering his hand for XB. XB takes it, trying not to use it too much. Joe is sturdy despite that. "This will pass," Joe encourages, "And you will always have a place here."

"That's a pretty bold statement." Joe doesn't let go of XB's hand. He leads them away from the pool, not caring about the trail of water as they go.

"And yet it's a true one." XB chooses to focus on the ground instead. He's...

He'll get back to Joe on that one.

2.

It's not often XB leaves the ship. He has one of the higher bounties out of all of them. Close to False's, and she actually deserves her's. He was terrified of her until she patiently taught him how to handle weapons, not once becoming frustrated as he struggled. She's still terrifying, but at least she's on his side.

Keralis was the one who pestered him out this time. The promise of buying extra fruit had tempted him into the supply run. He just needed a partner in crime (no leaving the ship without one) and pretty please, XB, pretty please?

So now XB is stood in the middle of a store, scanning the shelves and checking his half of the shopping list. He worries his lip, standing and catching a woman staring at him out of the corner of his eye. He continues searching, but her stare doesn't let up. He finally turns.

"Um, excuse me?" He asks, tilting his head in genuine concern. "Are you-" He doesn't expect her to surge forward, fury written on her face.

"If you weren't with those filthy Hermits I'd have you." The woman shoves his chest, forcing his back against the shelves. He blinks, fins flicking in defence.

"Wha-?"

"You go and you murder an entire planet. Don't show a bit of remorse. Then you run and hide behind them like a coward." XB can feel eyes on him now, the entire store falling silent at the exchange. He thinks he might be trembling. He can't quite tell. The woman is up in his face. His hand itches to take his eye protection off, gently put her to sleep and run. But there's witnesses, there's so many people and- "Maybe I should just do it right now. Consequences be damned." Her fingernails scratch into his armour, and he nearly falls as she pulls him forward.

"Oh, wow wow wow wow wow, ma'am." XB has never been more relieved to see Keralis. He steps in between them, blocking her from taking XB any further. "Could you unhand my friend, please? You're not being very nice." To XB's horror, she doesn't, nearly dragging him into Keralis as she gestures.

"What authority do you have?" She demands. "Defending a murderer like this, you should be ashamed of yourself." Keralis holds his hands up, ears twitching very slightly.

"XB is a perfectly good person. No murderer in him. And we'd like to leave, please." There's a threatening hint to Keralis's usually bright tone. The hand around his arm is finally released.

She storms away with a shout of, "You'll get what's coming to you!" XB's legs jellify beneath him. Keralis is quick to get an arm around his shoulders, holding him up.

"Come on, back to the ship with you. That's enough adventure for today." XB nods, resting briefly on Keralis's shoulders. With a bit of effort, he keeps himself steady enough to follow Keralis out of the store. He tries to ignore the eyes that follow them, the tightness it causes in his chest.

"What about the shopping?" His voice is quiet even to him. Keralis shakes his head.

"It's okay. Shishwamy will send someone else to do it. No worries." XB tries to let that comfort him but it only makes his anxiety worse. Once again, things are messed up because of him. This will put them off schedule, someone else will need to come out, and they'll all know it's because of him.

"Maybe," he starts, hesitating and continuing. "Maybe I shouldn't wear my suit when I come out." Keralis chirps in concern, keeping them at the edge of the busy streets.

"And why do you say that?" XB looks at his arm, at the deep colours and intricate patterns and mechanisms that make up the suit.

"It might be easier if people don't like, associate me with the Hermits when I'm in public." Keralis frowns, a big expression on his face. He squeezes the arm around XB's shoulders.

"XB, sweetiepie-" Keralis nudges his head against XB's. The hair tickles enough to make him gently laugh. "-If you don't want to wear your suit for your own safety, that's okay! But don't you go taking it off because you're afraid of making us look bad. No siree! You're a Hermit, XB, and we love you."

"That doesn't change people's opinions of me." Opinions so strong they're willing to threaten him in daylight, and nobody steps in. Keralis chitters.

"Doesn't change people's opinion of me either! But I know they won't be upset if we have to avoid a planet, or I can't attend a meeting. We care about you. And I'm sure there's lots of people out there who care about you too." XB can't bring himself to respond to that. He knows Keralis is discriminated against for being a banshee. But it's just...

It's not the same as being blamed for destroying an entire planet.

XB doesn't go out in public again for nearly a year.

3.

"I can't believe this," Doc announces as he storms into the room. XB twitches, instinctively listening whilst he tries to focus on his book. He's tucked in the corner of the common room, buried in beanbags and mostly out of sight. He can see the wall of Cleo's hair move as she looks up.

"What's happened this time?" She asks, placing her book on the table. She moves her legs so Doc can sit down. It's been a busy few months for the ship. They've had new additions. Doc is one of them. He's fallen quickly into helping Xisuma with negotiations, managing their various relationships with other groups. XB is kinda terrified of him, actually. But he trusts Xisuma and his judgement. He wouldn't do anything to put them in danger.

"A group has dropped their support of us because of the latest drama." Doc collapses into the seat, leaning into the cushions. "I can't believe it, man." XB presses his mouth together, his fins pressing back. The latest drama being people remembering he exists as a Hermit. Some news came out about the planet he- he didn't destroy. He's been avoiding going online but, apparently it's inescapable.

"Seriously?" Cleo asks. She scowls behind her hair. "That's so stupid." Doc hums his agreement.

"I just don't get it." He throws his robotic hand up as he talks, leaning towards Cleo. "I mean, I've barely seen the guy, but he doesn't seem that bad. Not bad enough to make a campaign like this." XB swallows. He puts his book down in favour of squeezing his hands into his robe. Cleo sighs, nodding.

"He really isn't. I don't know why they keep dragging it up." She grabs one of her legs, pulling it up close to her. She leans on her knee. "You should've seen him when he first joined, Doc. Guy looked ready to accept his death."

"He doesn't even look capable of doing that to a planet-" XB almost chokes, standing and abandoning his book entirely.

"Sorry I'm- I'm just leaving." He wraps his arms around himself, ready to stumble out of the room.

Cleo is faster, jumping up and grabbing his arm, pulling him back with a stern, "XB." She pushes him between them, sitting him down and reclaiming her spot. XB ducks his head, tucking his legs up in front of him.

"XB, sorry man, I didn't realise you were in here." Doc sounds apologetic. He's looking at XB with worry, sat a careful distance away to avoid crowding him in. XB still finds him a frightening sight. The un-moving robotics bore into him.

"It's okay," he murmurs, wrapping his arms around his knees. "I would've found out eventually." Doc frowns.

"I meant talking about you like you weren't here," Doc says. "I'm not usually a gossip. Though I would've preferred to tell you more sensitively."

"If we knew they were gonna drop us over some false allegations, X wouldn't have allied with them to start with," Cleo tells him, crossing her arms as she sinks back.

"They don't really know it's false though," XB points out. "I mean, it's not like this isn't a ship of criminals." He can't help his glance at Doc as he says it. Thankfully, the former mafia leader takes no offence.

"I barely know you, XB, and even I can tell it's stupid." Doc's accented voice portrays his emotions well. "You seem like you've been a big help to the Hermits."

"He has been." Cleo pokes his legs with her foot. “You're a Hermit through and through, XB. No escaping it now."

"Everybody here has only good things to say about you, man. I'm proud to call you a crew mate. Who cares what anyone else thinks?" XB smiles, relaxing more onto his knees. It's nice to hear but-

He cares.

4.

XB sighs as he flicks his fins back, fitting his helmet on snug and letting them pop into place. Keralis had to dip last minute, so XB is going to this meeting instead. He's not particularly intimidating, but hopefully he'll be able to defuse the situation if needs must. Two of the newer Hermits are coming as well. He watches as they suit up, making an odd pair. XB still isn't sure what to think of the group. Python vouched for them, but ex-Convex members? Especially such high ranking ones? And now one of them is going to a negotiation with them? Right.

"Is everybody ready?" Xisuma asks. There's a chorus of affirmatives. Doc stands next to Xisuma, files under his arms. "Let's get moving, then."

They keep as a tight unit, going over the plan once more. Xisuma and Doc will be doing the negotiating. XB and Wels, the other new Hermit, are there for protection. Scar, the ex-Convex, is there for luck. XB doesn't get it, and he's not going to ask.

The meeting falls apart from the moment they arrive, really. The crew they're meeting turn and whisper to each other, too quiet for XB's translator to pick up. Their admin steps forward, slit eyes threatening.

"You insult us," XB's suit translates. He can see Xisuma's suit plating shift as he tenses. He speaks in their language.

"I'm afraid I don't know where you're coming from," he replies, his voice controlled even in translation. Their admin steps closer. Any other person would've stepped away. Xisuma stands firm, Doc coming to his side.

"You bring a Convex member and a planet destroyer to our meeting." XB twitches, wanting nothing more than to sneak out of the room. "It is bad enough you grant them safety, but to have them in our negotiation?"

"Scar has denounced Convex, and the allegations against XB are false." Xisuma's voice is level, his posture not showing a hint of weakness. "Do you wish to negotiate or should we end this meeting here?"

"I recommend you leave with your lives while you can." XB shudders, fighting to stay still. He's thankful the helmet hides his expression.

"I recommend you don't threaten my crew." The temperature in the room drops with Xisuma's voice. The other admin steps back, eyeing them suspiciously. Xisuma turns to the Hermits, keeping an eye on the opposing crew. He nods. "We'll take our leave."

They exit at that, all of them keeping a watch that they aren't followed onto the ship. It's only when the door closes behind them that they relax. Wels darts to Scar's side. The ex-Convex collapses against the wall, trembling in his hold. XB looks away. That feels like something private. Definitely not something he'd expect from ex-Convex.

Apparently he's considered equivalent to the Convex. The thought makes him dizzy. Doc and Xisuma are already talking in low voices, recounting what happened and planning their next steps. XB is incredibly out of place. He glances around the room, trying not to feel jealous when he sees how close Scar and Wels are, how gentle Wels sounds, their helmets pressed together. XB swallows and slips out of the entrance hall before any of them notice.

He ignores anyone he passes until he reaches his room, closing the door behind him. His armour comes off, and he dives into the pool in the adjoining space. He sighs, lying face down in the water, barely feeling the fabric layer he left on. The liquid is a friendly pressure. Something comforting after all of... This. No matter what happens, he'll always have water.

Time passes as he lies there, blocking out the world outside the water. He tries not to think about how he's messed things up again. There isn't much else to think about, though. He doesn't understand why the Hermits keep him around when he causes so many problems. Lost deals, alliances, constant bad publicity. All tied to one person. Wouldn't it be easier to cut him off? XB could manage. Maybe he should do it for them.

"XB?" He jumps at the sound of an opening door, instinctively reaching up to cover his eye.

"Eye!" He calls, hearing the footsteps stop.

"Oh," Hypno's voice calls back. "Hold on, dude." XB follows the movement around his bedroom, until an object is placed in his hands with a pat. "There you go." XB pulls it over his eye, checking it's secure before looking. Hypno's crouched in front of him. He smiles, waving his fingers.

"How'd you know I was here?" XB asks, resting at the edge of the pool. Hypno sits down, not complaining about the wet floor.

"Guessed," he admits with a shrug. "They were worried when they realised you'd vanished." XB sighs, resting his chin on his arms.

"They seemed busy."

"Well, they are." Hypno nods in agreement. He crosses his legs so he can lean towards XB. "Xisuma doesn't want to stick around in case that crew turns hostile. But he was still worried about you."

XB frowns, "There's nothing to worry about."

"Is that why you're hiding in your pool?" Hypno asks. It's clearly not a question. XB slouches back into the water. "XB, it's not your fault, dude. You can't keep blaming yourself."

"Then who do I blame?" XB can't help but sound grouchy. If it weren't for him then that meeting might have worked out. Maybe they would've been fine with just Scar. Hypno leans back as he counts on his hand.

"The company for not taking responsibility, the management that decided to frame you, the other employees who were complicit, the news companies that were likely paid off, the ones that latched onto the story without researching it, the ones that keep bringing it up for quick clicks." Hypno turns to look at him. "Do I need to keep going?" XB shakes his head.

"I think I get the message," he replies. "But I'm not sure if it helps." Hypno nods without judgement.

"Then what do you think will?" He tries, instead. XB partially closes his eye to think about it.

"I'm not really sure." Hypno rubs his shoulder. The texture of dry skin helps ground him.

"That's okay." Hypno’s voice is friendly, reassuring. XB knows he's turned this into an impromptu therapy session. He thinks he needs it. "How about we try to work it out together? You're my friend, XB. I want you to be happy with us. I don't want you to feel guilty over things that aren't your fault." Hypno holds a hand out. "So, are you willing to work with me?" XB smiles, kicking up to meet his hand.

"Yeah. I think I can give it a shot."

5.

They'd been outside, spending some time in the sunshine of the planet, then somebody-

XB squeezes his fins, continuing to pace the corridor outside the infirmary. Stress has closed the windows, needing to focus, and XB doesn't want to make anything worse. This is all his fault. Hypno's lying in there having emergency surgery because somebody wanted to kill XB. He finally falls against one of the walls as his legs give way, sliding to the floor with a quiet noise.

He formulates a plan in his head.

He's already been distant lately. This was the first time he'd hung out with Hypno in weeks, and look at what's happened. He can't be friends with people if he's going to hurt them. They'll understand. He hopes they'll understand.

He takes a deep breath.

His memories of the next hour are faint. He packs essentials into a bag. Leaves his suit and communicator neatly on his bed. He takes the emergency savings he keeps tucked away in his drawer, counting through without really taking it in. Though he writes a note, he doesn't remember what it contains. He thinks he stood in the doorway for a few minutes. Used some time to take in the room he's called home for so many years now. He really can’t remember.

Then he sneaks out, carefully unscrewing panels in the water filtration system, replacing them with care. He knows it like the back of his hand. He installed it, after all. The drop from the ship hurts his leg but nothing in his head registers it. He's lucky this is a big enough planet to park her. Means it'll be so much easier to get lost.

He wraps himself up in a coat, pulling it over his features. Some small part of him can't believe he's doing this. The Hermits are all he's known for years. They're his friends. But that's why it's so important he leaves. He survived on his own before. He can do it again.

He finds a room in a hotel for the night. The robotic receptionist doesn't question who he is, accepting the money and giving him the door key. He collapses onto the bed in a heap, realising he has no idea what he's going to do next. His plan kind of trails off here. Perhaps he'll hide out in this hotel until the ship leaves, but that's wasting money. It's probably better to head out for supplies, and get on a ship as far away as possible.

For today, he's exhausted enough to curl up under the covers and hide from the world. It doesn’t feel like he’s part of it right now, anyway.

There's a knock at the door.

He sighs, burying his face into the pillow. The knock only gets more insistent. Realistically, it's either the Hermits or somebody who's here to kill him. The fact they've not broken down the door yet suggests the Hermits. Well, the more responsible ones. XB keeps a hand on his eye strap either way. He's still in the rumpled coat.

He'll admit, he's surprised to see Xisuma in the doorway. The admin is wearing a cloak, his shadowed eyes nearly glowing in the darkness. He looks tired. When doesn’t he?

"Can I come in?" Xisuma asks, keeping his voice quiet. XB nods, stepping aside. If only because X should not be stood out in the corridor of some hotel in the same town someone tried to kill XB half a day earlier.

"I hope you're not here on your own," XB tells him, sitting on the bed. Xisuma finds a chair by the desk, sitting down tidily.

"Some of the others are nearby," Xisuma replies. "They checked it was safe first. Out of concern for you, as well." XB leans against the wall. "Hypno is okay, by the way. He was asking after you." XB sighs, tucking away into the coat.

"You're trying to make me feel guilty."

Xisuma shakes his head, "I'm letting you know. He was worried. We all were."

"He could have died because of me," XB doesn't try hiding it. Not from himself.

"Were you the one who shot him?" Xisuma asks. There's no change from his gentle tone.

"No, but-"

"Then you weren't the reason." XB knows, logically, that's true. He wasn't the one who fired on him. He didn't frame himself, all those years ago. It's just hard to prove that in his head. Not when the consequences are right in front of him. When he’s spent so long thinking about everything he could’ve done differently.

"It feels like I am," he says, tilting forward on the bed. "I don't want to make the people around me unsafe anymore. Any of the Hermits." Xisuma nods, sitting up in the chair.

"If you want to leave, I won't stop you." XB swallows. He really can just leave. Just... Go. "But I want you to consider if that's what you want to do. Not because you want to protect us. We can protect ourselves. Do you want to leave?" XB digs his fingers into his leg.

"I'm not sure." Does he want to leave? He wants to keep the others safe. He wants to stop giving the Hermits his bad reputation. But they're still his friends. His family. He doesn't want to leave them, but he doesn't see a compromise.

"XB." He automatically looks to Xisuma when he says his name. "I am truly sorry I never addressed this with you before. I'm sorry it's been affecting you for so long."

"It's not your fault," XB replies. Xisuma shakes his head.

"I should have done more for you. And I'm willing to offer that now." XB’s fins twitch in confusion. "What do you say we try and clear your name?"

"You don't need to do that for me."

"I want to. The others want to." Xisuma crosses the room, sitting down in front of XB. "That's what I'm offering. You can stay with us. We want you to stay with us. And we'll help you achieve this. However we can."

"Nothing that would put you in danger," XB corrects.

"Nothing that would put the Hermits in danger," Xisuma agrees. XB shuts his eye, considering what that would mean for him. It's not like everyone would believe it. It's not going to solve all his problems. But it's a start. He can't just- keep feeling guilty forever. He's so tired of it. "You're family, XB. We want you happy." XB nods, leaning forward. His body is heavy with relief. Xisuma welcomes him into his arms.

"Okay," he agrees, "I want the same."

+1

XB pauses at the sound of loud shouting coming from the park. He turns, watching Keralis jump to the fence delighted. Hypno laughs, gently pulling XB to watch.

"You can't get me!" A girl yells, dark cornrows pulled into a bun. She climbs onto the play equipment, standing with confidence at the top. Another girl runs to the ladder, her hand held in mimic of a gun. Her blonde hair is done in a braid.

"You can't run forever!" She follows it up with loud 'pew's, hanging off the ladder as she pretends to shoot.

"Yeah, I can put you to sleep!" Another boy climbs up the slide, his brown hair falling into his eyes. Keralis is chirping in excitement, watching with a wide smile. The chirps attract the attention of the blonde. She gasps, losing her grip on the ladder and falling backwards.

Keralis makes a surprised noise. He jumps the fence, rushing to the girl's side. XB doesn't see any parents around, following with Hypno.

"Hey, little madam, are you okay?" Keralis asks, crouching down by the girl. She sits up, bouncing forward with glee.

"You're Hermits!" She cries, voice high and squeaky. The other two kids are peering at them around the play equipment. Their mouths hang open.

"We are!" Keralis agrees. "And what's your name?" The girl's hands spread out across the spongy playground floor.

"I'm Flora!" She grins. "I like it 'cause it starts with an 'F', like False." Keralis nods, offering his hands to stand the girl up again. She wobbles on her feet, spinning to show off her plait. “And we have the same hair colour! It’s so cool!”

"Yeah, False is really cool, isn't she?" Keralis watches with a carefully controlled smile. It’s cute how he tries not to scare them. She jumps, holding her arms out wide.

"She's so cool! She's my favourite."

"Not as cool as Stress!" The other girl calls, running into her friend's back. She nearly sends them both sprawling over again. "She helps people, no matter what! I want to do that." Hypno joins Keralis, pulling XB over with him.

"A very noble cause," Hypno tells her. "I'm sure you'll be amazing." She puts her hands on her hips with a grin.

"Yeah. I'm gonna be the best doctor you've ever seen."

"Yeah, but Stress doesn't have four arms," Flora points out, mimicking each style of weaponry. "How cool would that be?" Keralis laughs, a series of cheerful chirps escaping with it.

"They're both cool, how about that?" He suggests, before it turns into a full argument.

"What about you?" Hypno encourages, holding an arm out for the boy. "Do you have a favourite?"

"His favourite is XB," the dark haired girl says, pointing at him. XB places a hand on his chest, unable to contain a squeak of surprise.

"Me?" He checks, not quite able to believe that. The three nod their heads. They peer up at him in a semi-circle, with bright eyes and curious faces.

"You can put people to sleep like Hypno-" the boy points at him, "-But you got such a cool backstory!"

"Mm-hm!" Flora nods quickly. "Framed by an evil company, joining the Hermits to do good across the universe!" She poses towards the sky, pumping her fist and bending a leg up. XB laughs softly, finding himself hiding behind his hand.

"Oh, oh, oh!" The boy jumps forward, looking between Hypno and XB. "Can you put us to sleep? That would be so cool!" Hypno laughs at that, joined by Keralis's squeaky giggles.

"I don't think that would be smart." He pats the boy's hair, smiling at XB. "But, if you've got something for us to sign, we could do that?" The girl claps, grabbing Flora's hands excitedly.

"We've got our cards!" She shrieks. She grabs the boy's hand. "Ben, come on, let's get them!" The trio run off across the playground, digging in their bags. XB can see the look Hypno and Keralis are giving him. He smiles, ducking his head in embarrassment.

"Don't you two start," he warns, hiding behind his hands. Keralis leans over, gently wiggling one of XB's fins.

"You're his favourite," he teases, voice sing-song. XB laughs, hiding even further.

"Noooo," he whines. Hypno puts his arm around XB's shoulders, pulling him into a side hug.

"And they're smarter than the press," he tells XB, his voice trying to sound serious, but playful all the same.

"Much, much smarter!" Keralis agrees.

"Only 'cause of you guys," XB reminds them. Keralis takes XB’s other side, pinning him between his friends.

“Nah.” Keralis rubs his fist against XB’s head. “You’re just finally getting the love you deserve.”

“Absolutely.” Hypno tilts around so XB can see his smile. XB ducks his head, embarrassed. But the feeling doesn’t leave him. Not as they talk to the kids, signing their cards and telling them (child friendly) stories of their travels. Or amongst the loudness of the other Hermits. His family. He’s a Hermit. And the people who care about him are the ones who matter.

[fenrys-moonbeam-lochan]

A little fear shared among friends

Summary: Lorcan is a father of five. Rowan is scared of having children.

Ao3

Part of my ToG Comfortember 2020

tw: Rowan has a mild panic attack. I’m not sure it can be called that but I decided to put it here just in case. 

XXX

When Rowan chugged down his third drink of the night, he even had Lorcan giving him worried looks.

"Whitethorn," said his former commander, "You alright over there?"

"I'm drinking," he grumbled at Lorcan

"Leave him alone Lochan," said Fenrys from beside Rowan "He's been pissy all day. I think he had a fight with Aelin,"

"Huh," said Lorcan, eyeing Rowan as he filled his cup again, "Maybe you should go home,"

Rowan glared at him from across the table.

"I can hold more than this, you know,"

"Oh trust me, I know," said Lorcan, still on his first drink, "But usually not this fast and you don't want to go back to the Queen drunk if you did have a fight,"

Rowan slammed down his cup.

"You know," he told Lorcan, "Sometimes I miss the times when you were a brooding asshole that destroyed himself and let others destroy themselves through drinking and wallowing,"

"Well," answered Lorcan, voice filled with sarcasm, "I am so very sorry that my emotional growth is a hindrance to your pity drinking. Truly, Your Majesty, I apologize from the bottom of my cold dead heart,"

Fenrys burst into laughter while Rowan glared at Lorcan. A lesser male would have been cowed. As it was, Lorcan stared right back as he took a long sip from his cup of ale. A cup, that Rowan noticed, was still half full.

"I would like to know," said Fenrys, once he got his laughter under control, "Why aren't you getting drunk? I at least have the excuse of having to leave for Doranelle early in the morning. What's yours?"

Lorcan smiled, "I don't want to go back to my rooms drunk. Elide and the children are here with me,"

Rowan flinched as the older male mentioned children. Fenrys did not seem to notice as he exclaimed about not knowing the other Lochans and Salvaterres were there.

"I'll have to see them before going to sleep," said Fenrys, "I had no idea you brought them with you this time,"

While Lorcan was obviously nodding along to Fenrys, Rowan could also feel his eyes on him. Unlike Fenrys, he had most likely noticed Rowan's movement from where he was sitting. He could only hope Lorcan would leave it alone.

"Well," said Fenrys, as he finished his cup, "I should go now. The travelling party wants to leave as early as possible and I don't want to be tired in the morning,"

After a quick goodbye, Fenrys left and their drinking party of three turned into two.

"So," said Lorcan, "Children, huh?"

Rowan finched again. He couldn't help it.

"What is it about the mention of children that's making you react like that?" asked Lorcan, looking over him quizzically, "If Elide's word is to be believed, you two were merely waiting to have children. You both still want them, don't you?"

"Yes," said Rowan, barely above a whisper.

"What's the problem then?"

Unbidden, the memory of the dark vision came to him. His children and his mate being swept away from him. The darkness swallowing them whole. Not being able to save them, just watching them disappear. They had been so beautiful and he could imagine it happening in reality. One wrong move, one wrong decision and a precious life could-

Leave.

Rowan

Be gone.

Rowan

"Rowan!"

He shook himself out of his reverie to find that Lorcan had moved beside him, his hand hovering just over Rowan's shoulder.

"Are you back with me?" asked Lorcan, looking at him critically

Rowan nodded jerkily.

After another moment, Lorcan gently placed his hand on Rowan's shoulder. Rowan stiffened at first but hen relaxed at the contact, allowing the other male to ground him.

"Rowan?" asked Lorcan, "What in Hel just happened?"

Rowan sighed, "It's complicated,"

How was he supposed to explain it to Lorcan? to anyone?

However, then another set of images flitted through Rowan's mind. Lorcan holding his son Zirrek for the first time, crying in a way Rowan had never seen before. Lorcan holding his daughter Salva a year later, just as enchanted. Lorcan absolutely terrified as his children grew, thinking he would do something wrong. Lorcan coming to him, saying that he was thinking of bringing up adoption to Elide. Specifically, the adoption of three abused demi-fae siblings between the ages of nine and thirteen who would later take the name Salvaterre. Lorcan wondering over and over again, if he was doing right by his children, biological and adopted.

Lorcan just a few months ago during the holidays, three years after the adoption, surrounded by all his children and smiling the brightest smile he was capable of.

If anyone was going to understand his fears it would be Lorcan.

"I'm- well," he tried, "I'm-"

He cut himself off with a shuddering breath but Lorcan only watched him, wearing a patient expression quite like the one Rowan had worn when the older male had gone on a panicked tangent a week before Zirrek's birth. It was odd to be on the receiving end of it.

After a few moments, Rowan tried again.

"I'm- I guess," he said, "I guess I'm afraid,"

"Understandable," murmured Lorcan

Rowan sighed. Lorcan kept watching, hand still in place.

"Do you remember those dark visions we saw?"

Lorcan stiffened and then visibly forced himself to relax.

"Yes," he said roughly

"I've never told anyone," said Rowan, "Not even Aelin,"

Lorcan brow furrowed, "Rowan are you sure-"

"I saw children,"

"Oh," Lorcan said softly, "I see,"

"I saw our children, four of them. They were standing beside their pregnant mother. They were beautiful, Lorcan, so beautiful. I reached for them and they were taken away from me into darkness and dust,"

"Rowan-" whispered Lorcan, voice filled with the anguish Rowan felt

"And I know- I know it was only a vision. But I already lost a family once, Lorcan, and every time Aelin brings it up, I flashback to that. And it's so ridiculous, absolutely stupid that I can't get over it. And I know I'm hurting Aelin because of it but-

Rowan was running out of breath as he spoke, his throat closing around his words.

"Whoa, whoa," said Lorcan, shaking him a little, "Rowan, stop,"

Rowan shut his mouth with a click.

Lorcan was now holding him by both shoulders.

"Come on, Whitethorn, breath for me,"

Rowan took a few shuddering breaths but then forced himself to stop and match Lorcan instead. It took a few minutes, but eventually, Rowan came back to his normal pattern of breathing.

"Rowan. First of all, it's not stupid or ridiculous," said Lorcan, sliding his hands down so he was holding Rowan's wrists, "On the contrary, it's perfectly understandable,"

"Right," sniffed Rowan, trying to get himself under control.

"I don't have to tell you what you need to do now,"

"No," groaned Rowan, "I have to talk to Aelin,"

"Yes,"

Rowan let out a chuckle, sounding a little hysterical to his own ears and making Lorcan look at him nervously.

"I can't believe I just did all that in front of you," he told Lorcan

Lorcan laughed, relieved, "It's alright. Remember me before Zirrek was born?"

"I remember," said Rowan, grinning at the memory, "Both Vaughan and I practically had to hold you down from pacing,"

"Yes," said Lorcan, "And look at me and my children now,"

Rowan smiled as he thought of Lorcan and Elide's children. The oldest, Mara Salvaterre, was sixteen now and quite proficient in taking care of their gardens. They seemed to grow and blossom under her touch as if she was breathing life into them herself. The second child, Shyla Salvaterre, whose magic was the reason Lorcan had discovered them was fourteen and already a great warrior. The middle one, Amin Salavaterre, was now twelve and fluent in eight different languages, all taught to him by his father. Zirrek and Salva Lorcan were only six and five so it was hard to tell their direction in life. However, they had their mothers' wit and kindness and their fathers' strength and stubbornness. All the children were quite adored by the court, and while Lorcan liked to credit Eiide with them, everyone knew Lorcan gave them as much as his wife did.

"Your children are wonderful," said Rowan.

"That they are," said Lorcan, a soft smile on his face, "And I'm still afraid but it passes and I look at them and everything washes away,"

"Hmm," said Rowan, "Maybe talking to Aelin will help,"

Lorcan nodded and then chuckled.

"If only we could have Aedion's confidence,"

"Right," Rowan said with a small laugh, "It would be much easier,"

Two years ago, Aedion and Lysandra's first child had been born and now they were expecting their second one. Both times, Aedion had thrown himself into preparation with gusto, reading from books, learning from healers and talking non-stop about how excited he was. Of course, he had had the normal fatherly nerves that came with becoming guardian to a precious little life but even those had been normal and fleeting. Absolutely nothing like Lorcan and Rowan's panic.

"You should talk to him too," suggested Lorcan.

"Yes. That's probably a good idea," he said and then shook his head a bit as it started to fog, "I think my drinks are hitting me a bit,"

Lorcan smirked.

"I would expect that much," he said, "I will walk back with you,"

His tone left no room for argument and Rowan found himself nodding. They silently walked back to the royal suites. Lorcan kept a hand on his back to steady him for which Rowan was grateful. Once they got to the right door, Lorcan took his hand away and nodded towards the door.

"Don't forget to talk to her,"

Lorcan turned to leave but before he could, Rowan caught him by his sleeve.

"Lorcan?" he said

Lorcan turned and looked at him questioningly.

"Yes?"

Rowan smiled, "I don't miss you being a brooding asshole,"

Lorcan smiled back, moving his hand so their fingers were curled around each other.

"I know, Rowan,"

"Good night," said Rowan, "Give them my love,"

Lorcan nodded and squeezed Rowan's fingers gently before walking away. Rowan turned and took a deep breath, opening the door to find his wife sitting on the settee and reading a book.

"Fireheart," he murmured, "I think I need to talk to you,"

Aelin gave him a gentle smile, one he did not think he deserved but cherished anyway.

"Then let's talk, Buzzard," she said, patting the space beside her.

Smiling, Rowan gently closed the door behind him.

A few suites over, Lorcan slipped inside his rooms quietly to find his children sitting around the fireplace, being read to by their eldest sister. He kissed each of their foreheads and told them that uncle Rowan loved them. Mara wrinkled her nose a bit, but the rest of them smiled sleepily and nodded. Lorcan then went into his room where Elide was already under the overs and asleep. He quickly changed and slipped in beside her.

Even in bed, he kept an ear to his children as they finished their story and were ushered to bed by the eldest girls. He didn't stop listening until all their breathes evened out and they were asleep in their beds, warm and safe from the world.

Lorcan sincerely hoped that one day Rowan would be able to know this kind of love and peace too, the kind that came from watching your children grow and thrive