#*claws own face off* this chapter fought me friends but i powered through

[chaoticgoodlawyerwrites]

Sneak Peak for HSY Chapter 10

Hey folks! Longer sneak peak today as it's been a while. That said, I'm almost done with this chapter! Context: LBH is talking to his father alone during the day before SY and LBG come back from PIDW's world.

CW: discussions of suicide

“You decided what you need, right?”

“Qingqiu. He’s… he’s my mate. Even with all this, I don’t regret my choice and would still choose him if I asked. Questioning if he loves me enough is ridiculous, the answer too obvious. But…“

“He loved you too much,” Tianlang-Jun said kindly. “To the point of his own destruction.”

That rang a bell in Luo Binghe’s head and he couldn’t help staring at his father. “Where did you hear that?”

Please say Madam Meiyin.

Tianlang-Jun frowned at him. “Hear? It was plain to see. As far as I am concerned, it would have killed him not to love any version of you when left alone and in such pain. Binghe, you weren’t here but—”

Tianlang-Jun cut himself off and looked away, overwhelmed. Binghe urged, “Please, tell me. No more secrets.”

“…perhaps it would be better if I just showed you,” he said with a sigh. “Many things can lie but blood cannot. May I?” 

Tianlang-Jun lifted his hand before Binghe’s face and he put the dots together. “You can share your memories with me through blood?”

“Yes, a sorry consolation for being the last pureblooded Heavenly Demon,” he answered, expression twisting sardonically. “It is up to you, however. I can show you what I wish, but I cannot lie. This, I swear on my life and thus that of your mother.”

…

Luo Binghe knew the power of blood parasites, but to what extent were the ones in his veins already his father’s? He had already seen what Yingying had shown him. How much worse could it be?

He nodded and Tianlang-Jun said, very seriously, “I will show you the first time I saw Qingqiu after I was freed. If you wish to, afterwards, I will show you what he was like as he fought to not give into your counterpart.”

Then he pierced his fingertip with a claw and pressed it to his lips. Luo Binghe drank from the quickly healed wound and—

He didn’t just see things from his father’s perspective; he felt them.

Tianlang-Jun felt the joy then horrified concern at hugging Shen Qingqiu only to cause the man to collapse in heartrending sobs. He picked him up too easily, feeling his bones even through his robes, and his concern turned into outright fear as the diminished Sect Leader fell apart in his arms. Shen Qingqiu cried like his world had ended and he had lost the strength, no, the will, to carry on. Questioning Shang Qinghua only got Tianlang-Jun so far, the man looking worried but not surprised by his friend’s breakdown.

As Shen Qingqiu broke, Tianlang-Jun’s resolve to protect his family hardened. He would not lose this man to death as he had lost so many others, even if that death was by his own hand. Shen Qingqiu was his son-in-law, and that made his end unacceptable to him, nevermind the toll it would take on his only child.

When Shen Qingqiu calmed and Tianlang-Jun removed his black veil, a thrill of panic, quickly repressed, went through him. It was not the first time he had cursed the sharp vision of a Heavenly Demon as he was able to see the veins in Shen Qingqiu’s face, the prominence of the bones in his face making it seem that death was much closer at hand than he had feared. His salt-and-pepper hair had aged the theoretically immortal man, eyes wet but also dull as he lowered thin eyelids in shame. 

Tianlang-Jun would have done anything, anything to help him at the moment. What was the use of all his power if his family literally wasted away before him?

What caused this change?

The answer came in Shen Qingqiu any remaining color in his face as his pupils shrunk in sudden, immediate panic. He watched as his son-in-law was sick while Tianlang-Jun was hastily shooed away. 

Then he heard it.

Something other than Shen Qingqiu’s grief was causing his decline. Someone with a power he thought lost to time was killing him.

Apparently unintentionally, but how could this be so? How could someone be so obsessed with being near Shen Qingqiu, getting to him, that they would let this go on for so long?

Saving Shen Qingqiu’s life was as simple as getting treated for exhaustion (as long as his energy was not being ripped from him) this time. But what about the next? 

His son-in-law was willing to suffer for so long without seeking his aid, and nearly died for it. How could he make sure he could rely on him? How could he protect him when he wouldn’t protect himself?

Luo Binghe came up for air, coughing around the lingering taste of metal in his mouth. “Dad, that’s supposed to help me be okay with Luo Bingge?!”

“In context, yes,” his father said with a shrug, like it didn’t matter that Luo Binghe all but saw death on his mate’s face. He pricked his finger again. “Here.”

Luo Binghe drank.

Shang Qinghua knelt before Tianlang-Jun and Su Xiyan, telling them of what he knew of Luo Bingge with a protective Mobei-Jun beside him. Accidentally spilling how frantically worried he was for his closest friend. Stating authoritatively that, but for Shen Yuan’s intervention, Luo Binghe would be Luo Bingge.

“We pray he has the strength to break his own heart rather than rip it out of his chest.”

Shang Qinghua again, dressed differently and exhausted. 

“It will get worse.”

“Before it gets better?”

“That’s up to Qingqiu.”

Finally, to a conflicted Su Xiyan.

“For me, it comes down to this: do we wish to lose a son-in-law, or gain a son?”

Luo Binghe surfaced and stared at the serene face of his father. “You think his life depended on it?”

“Yes, in a way Qingqiu would never admit. When has that man ever admitted he needed something that he didn’t see benefiting someone else? Did Bingge make his need for comfort and support much, much worse? Yes, but I honestly think he didn’t mean to. Did he give Shen Qingqiu what he needed to some extent? Yes, but, more importantly, Qingqiu allowed himself to accept the help. And that is part of why he was able to come back to himself, or at least make the attempt.”

“...he’s a mess,” Luo Binghe admitted quietly, remembering all the frankly alarming things Shen Yuan had said and done over the past three days. 

“Yes, well, he’s alive, isn’t he?” Tianlang-Jun stressed before pouring himself more of the long-cold tea. “Would he have needed the extra support if those months of attacks had happened? Who knows; other timelines aren’t particularly my concern. What’s important is that here he did need the support, he needed someone to love him as he only would allow you to do.”

“Bingge isn’t me.”

“Only because Qingqiu made this world easier for you,” he rebutted. “And apparently he was barely holding onto sanity before he found Qingqiu. You weren’t the only one who needed him, it seems.”

“He nearly killed him and watched it happen slowly!” Luo Binghe said, voice going strident. “I would never–”

“Even for the chance to be with your soulmate when there appeared no other option?” Tianlang-Jun interrupted. “Even when the alternative was watching him grieve another version of yourself when you felt you could do something to make it better?”

Luo Binghe stood and stared at his father in horror. “You’re defending him?”

“No, but I understand him,” Tianlang-Jun said. “Qingqiu has made this world softer for you, Binghe, and I will forever be grateful for that. But, for all you are my son and share my power, the way you think will always be more human than demon. Bingge never had the luxury of choice, not to survive and rule his world. 

“He saw what he needed, what fate made his, and did everything he could to take it, to keep it, keep him safe. He’s a demon whose primary language is violence and possession, a demon who has relearned the possibility of freely given love and kindness without motive. I don’t need to defend a demon for acting like a demon.”

Luo Binghe stared at him, speechless.

[glaivenoct]

Heroes Never Die Ch. 3

Chapter 3/3: The Safest Place

Words: 5184

(ao3)

its about damn time. sorry, friends

“Hey Noct, wanna go for a round of King’s Knight when you get your phone charged back up?”

Noctis yawns as he enters the Leville with Prompto. “Could use a nap first.”

“Dude, you were out for half the ride back from the tomb!”

“It wasn’t even a long drive. You think it’s enough for me to sleep off a whole day in that place?”

“Ugh, don’t remind me.” Prompto grimaces. “So many flans… Ooh, I hope Gladio hasn’t beat me to the shower yet!”

Noctis chuckles, bumping shoulders with him as they head up the stairs. “You shouldn’t have let him and Ignis go on without us then.”

But Prompto was so eager to stop by one of the food carts when they got back to Lestallum. Some were offering free samples as it was, and none of them had a proper meal the day before. Noctis was more than happy to grab a sample with Prompto. He just didn’t realize they were in line at the skewer guy’s cart until he got up close.

The sign on the cart advertised Galahdian style skewers, but Noctis knew before a single bite that it wasn’t authentic. The spices he smelled while waiting in line weren’t quite right. They smelled like cheap substitutes that were similar enough to fool anyone who didn’t know better. It wasn’t terrible, but the meat didn’t sit well in his stomach. The kick of heat in his mouth was weak. The sauce was a bit too sweet, not enough sour.

Worst of all, it brought a familiar ache back to his heart.

Noctis could easily imagine arms snaking around his waist from behind. He could imagine being pulled close and smiling while Nyx whispered, “I’ll show you the true Galahdian way,” in his ear. The phrase came up now and again when Noctis started becoming exposed to the culture. It was only fitting when he determined Nyx would never be impressed with these skewers.

Prompto, not realizing the sign until the last second, asked if he was okay when they were halfway to the hotel. He wasn’t, but Noctis liked to believe that he could fool anyone with a front of perpetual drowsiness. Whether Prompto bought into it or not didn’t concern him too much.

For a whole day he managed to ignore everything by cutting down daemons left and right. A whole day he convinced himself everything wasn’t a mess through team work and friendly banter. Now he’s back to square one doing everything in his power not to break under the pressure of his “calling” as Cor called it. He was trying to push past his grief. He was trying not to lose hope like Ignis advised.

So far Noctis is finding it more difficult than ever to heed those words.

“We should go back later to check out the other food carts.” Prompto says when they reach the top of the stairs. “We haven’t tried those ones in the center of town. Maybe they’ll inspire new recipes for Iggy!”

“The market’s close too if he gets excited about it enough.”

“Exactly! Oh hey, speaking of…”

Noctis follow his stare down the hall, slowing in stride. Ignis is emerging from their room at the very end of it. Gladio’s right behind, huddling close to him and crossing his arms. He speaks in a hushed tone and raises one brow in concern. Ignis strokes his chin, contemplating while he replies. Noctis shares a suspicious look with Prompto.

“Is it me or is something up?”

Whatever it is, Noctis is already dreading it. He scowls and proceeds forward. “Better be another Nif base I can blow up.”

“Guys?” Ignis and Gladio jolt at Prompto’s voice and straighten as they approach.

“Took you two long enough.” Gladio’s tone is as teasing as Noct would expect, but he can tell there’s something hiding behind it. Something important.

“Everything alright?” Noctis is sure to make his suspicion clear.

“Yeah, fine. Just…” Gladio looks at Ignis like he’s expecting him to finish the sentence. The advisor stiffens and gives him a subtle, irritated look.

“What’s up, Specs?”

Ignis gives him his full attention but the silence makes Noctis feel the need to brace himself for bad news. The only thing he can take solace in is that the worst has already happened. No matter what it is, it can’t be worse than Insomnia. Ignis relaxes his shoulders and takes a deep breath, keeping his expression as unreadable as possible.

“You have a visitor.”

“A… visitor?”

“Yes, journeyed all the way from the Crown City.”

“Whoa,” Prompto interrupts, eyes wide. “A survivor?”

Ignis nods at Prompto. Noctis means to ask who this survivor is, but he can’t quite spit out the word. There’s a name on his tongue, a name he could think of mere minutes ago, but it’s lost to him as his heart beats faster and faster.

“One hell of a survivor.” Gladio wears a blatant smirk and cocks his head to door. “Guy’s pretty eager to see you, Noct. He’s waiting inside. You should go say hi.”

The thoughts are rushing into Noct’s brain faster than he can process. He blinks and looks to Ignis for reassurance. Ignis would never let him get his hopes up for nothing, right? He gets nothing but another nod. Face still unreadable. Lips pulled together tight in secrecy. It’s an answer in itself… but Noctis isn’t ready to give into his hopes just yet.

He nearly stumbles when he slips past his friends. The door is already cracked open when he reaches it, so he enters inside without a sound. He can’t shake the sudden nausea building in his gut.

The visitor waits ahead, oblivious to his presence and leaning over the balcony to stare out at the plaza. Noctis freezes at the sight of him, nausea turning into something akin to butterflies.

The uniform—it’s not the coat with the distinct fur and purple ribbons, but it’s the uniform. His uniform. His hair. Him. It must be. Noct’s breath catches in his throat, voice failing him. All he can think about is the nightmares that have plagued him recently. He can’t give in to another illusion. He can’t melt into the safety of those arms just to get ripped away from them in another second. He needs this to be real.

Noctis shuts the door behind him and the click of it makes the man whirl around. His heart stops.

The scars on Nyx’s face stagger him before he concludes that his mind isn’t playing tricks on him. They’re eerily reminiscent of one of the nightmares and, for a second, he expects fire to engulf everything around him. Nyx cracks a smile and huffs in relief instead, reviving Noctis’ heart so it can dance in his chest.

“Hey,” he says. His eyes look tired, but his smile stretches enough to reach them. “Kept you waiting there, didn’t I?”

Noctis takes a cautious step forward, lips parting.

“So… should I run to you or do you want the honors? You can warp if you want. I’ll catch you.”

But Noctis’ legs move before he thinks to pull a weapon from his arsenal. He’s almost running the short distance between them and Nyx meets him halfway with open arms. In one swift move, Nyx is stumbling as he lifts him off the floor. Noctis steadies them by wrapping his legs around his waist.

Nyx presses his face into Noct’s neck, laughing and embracing hard enough to bruise. It’s never felt more right. Nothing’s felt this right or real in days and it makes Noctis coil himself around the glaive even more. He locks his arms around the back of his neck, fingers tangling into hair to find familiar braids.

Tears prickle at his eyes and blur his vision as Nyx sways in place, slow and from side to side. Noctis is shaking, but Nyx is the right amount of warm to thaw the tension out of him. If he could hold onto him like this forever, he would. He’d never let go and he’d never feel so hopeless and afraid again.

When he’s eased down to his feet, he cups Nyx’s face to trace over the white scars with his thumbs.

“I thought…” The tears start to fall and the only thing that can stop them is Nyx’s fingers wiping them away. “I thought –”

“I know. I thought I was too for a moment back there.”

“Cor said a lot of glaives were dead… and that Drautos was unaccounted for. I called... When you didn’t answer I thought something might’ve happened to your phone. I didn’t want to think you were- that you…” he shakes his head. “I hated it. I hated not knowing and –”

And Noctis is losing control of his own breath the more he rambles. Nyx leans towards him with a sad smile, resting their foreheads together.

“Hey. It’s okay. I’m here, little prince. I’m right here.”

There was love behind each precious affirmation as they left his mouth. Noctis could feel it as much as he could hear it. He exhales, bowing his head while his teeth clench behind quivering lips. Then Nyx is propping a finger under his chin, tilting his attention back up. He’s smirking this time.

“How ‘bout a kiss to make it all better?”

“Please.”

One tug of a shirt and they’re lost in each other in no time. Noctis presses his lips more insistently with each kiss, urging Nyx not to hold back. He’s longed so much for this for the past week and he has no intentions of being subtle about it. Once Nyx catches on, he’s picking up the pace and Noctis is accepting his fervent kisses with frantic need.

He doesn’t realize he’s backing Nyx towards the bed. Not until the back of his legs hit the edge of it. They’re topple into the mattress, Nyx breaking Noct’s fall for him with a simultaneous yelp.

“Shit,” he laughs. “Missed me that much, huh?”

Noctis eyes fall closed, a single tear trickling down. He trembles with silent laughter as he lays his forehead on Nyx’s shoulder. “I thought you were dead, idiot. Dead. What the hell do you think?”

“I think I missed you too… a lot. And that I need another kiss. Quick, my life depends on it.

“Is that so?”

“Sometimes heroes need saving too, y’know.”

“Well when you put it like that…” Noctis dips down to grant his hero one deep, languid kiss.

“Gods, I missed that. I missed you.”

“Missed you too, hero. More than you know...” When Noctis notices Nyx’s scars again, the questions begin surfacing past the happy fog of their respite. “Nyx… what happened? I know the gist of everything but… what happened to you?”

Nyx remains grimly quiet, avoiding his worried stare. Noctis can see the exhaustion coming back into his eyes, can feel him tensing. He should’ve let the relief last longer because there’s no doubt Nyx went through hell. To survive that and to journey all the way here on his own… He should’ve given it more time. The second Noct’s ready to change the subject, Nyx is propping himself on his shoulders and pushing to sit up with a pained grunt.

“Are you hurt?” Noct asks, rising with him in his lap.

“Nothing I can’t sleep off. As for the city…” he takes Noct’s hand into his. “Almost feels like it happened to someone else.”

“You don’t have to talk about it. I shouldn’t have asked so soon. I –”

“No, no. It’s okay. I want to tell you what happened. I just…”

There’s a haunted look lingering in Nyx’s eyes, something he doesn’t seem ready to say aloud yet. Noctis squeezes his hand for encouragement and tilts his head at him. He’s given a weak smile before those arms wrap around him again. He understands it as soon as he’s brought close and feels fingers digging into his shoulders.

They just need this moment a little longer. After almost losing it, they need to soak in each other’s presence. Ignore everything else outside of them like before. Cherish the opportunity to touch, kiss and hold.

Noctis rests his head on Nyx’s shoulder, closes his eyes and hangs onto him for dear life.

-

Nyx dreamt of a moment like this back Hammerhead, but nothing compares to the real thing. They lie snuggled under the covers, Noctis’ head on his bare chest, ear pressed over his heart to listen to it beat. Here in the quiet of the cozy night, things feel a little more normal.

It was after his shower and during a meal that he was reacquainted with Ignis and Gladio. He was introduced to Prompto, too, and everything was much less awkward than Nyx anticipated. They welcomed him with kindness, hospitality, and some occasional stammering from Prompto. Nyx figured that last part wasn’t out of the ordinary given the stories he’s heard from Noct.

He was mostly relieved he wasn’t the one that had to explain a year of secrecy to the three. Not that it needed much explaining, but Nyx noticed them watching him closely as he spoke about his journey to Hammerhead. It never seemed hostile. Rather, curious, and he was quick to decide that it was fair. He could tell they were sitting on a thousand questions.

There was plenty of time for them to be answered and for them to get to know him better. There were more pressing things on his mind at the time, though. Like telling Noctis about the city.

He waited until they retired to a separate room for the night. Even then it was hard to get past the initial giddiness of crawling under the covers together. They could hardly manage to keep their hands and lips to themselves for five minutes.

When they settled down, Nyx told him everything short of putting the ring on. Even hearing it recounted from his own mouth, some things still made little sense to him. It made talking about the friends he lost hurt more. It made him angrier about the betrayal when he mentioned the reasons Luche and Drautos gave him for it. The only thing that kept him from losing it altogether was how tight Noctis held his hand through it all.

“I’m sorry,” he’d whisper against Nyx’s knuckles. “I’m so sorry…”

Their roles gradually switched when Noctis asked about his father. Once Nyx heard that first shaky exhale, he secured his arms around Noct completely and let him cry. Between snivels and hiccups, it was Nyx’s turn to whisper sympathies to him. With each one, Noctis would only bury himself farther from the world and further into him. All he could do was make sure he felt safe in his mourning.

“It’ll be okay, Noct,” Nyx said when once the sobbing subsided, “but when it’s not, I’ll be right here. I promise.”

They’ve been in a comfortable silence since then. With the hardest parts being over for now, Noctis’ breathing is normal, he isn’t trembling, and there’s no more tears wetting Nyx’s skin.

“So how long before your friends give me The Talk?”

“The what?”

“The Talk. The one where they pull me aside and politely tell me they’ll bury me where no one will find me if I ever do anything to hurt you.”

Noctis chuckles sleepily. “Dunno. I just hope they don’t intimidate you the way my dad did.”

“No one will ever intimidate me like your dad did. In fact, I’m having intense flashbacks as we speak so we should drop this subject immediately.”

Noct’s laughter vibrates against Nyx’s skin and it’s the sweetest sound to his ears. It’s the gracious remedy to his tired soul, keeping him sane and distracting him from the ache of his muscles.

Noctis lifts his head and props his chin on Nyx’s chest, curling closer to him. His eyes are bloodshot and puffy from crying earlier, but they’re searching Nyx’s aimlessly. Tentative fingers reach for the marred skin on his face, touching light as a feather.

“Do these scars make me look hideous or what?”

“No. I think you look like a hero. A rugged, handsome hero.”

“So I don’t need to wear a bag over my head whenever I go out in public with you?” He laughs when Noctis smacks his shoulder. “Ow! Babe, I’m still sore.”

“Shit, sorry! I’m so sorry.”

Nyx chuckles, tugging him closer till their faces are inches apart. “Don’t worry. I’m sure it’s nothing a little kiss couldn’t fix.”

“How long are you going to milk that line?”

“As long as I can. I did almost die, after all.”

Noctis sighs, laying soft kisses to Nyx’s shoulder, neck and cheek. “Don’t remind me. Do remind me to call Cindy tomorrow and thank her for helping you out.”

“Mm, remind me to call Libertus.”

“You think he’s still with Luna?”

“I don’t know. If he’s not, we know where she’ll be waiting.” He frowns. “Ooh… how disrespectful is it to bring your secret boyfriend to your wedding?”

It’s meant to be a joke, but the way those brows crease in deep thought make him regret bringing it up. The word seems to startle Noct, as if he’s forgotten that the wedding’s been the reason for this trip all along.

“This wedding was a political branch for peace, but that treaty never got signed.” His brow remains creased, but a newfound resolve fills those pretty blues. “Nifilheim destroyed my home. They sent their spy to kill my father and they stole the crystal. As far as I’m concerned, that means the wedding’s off.”

There’s no sorrow left in Noctis’ voice. No tears left to build in the corners of his eyes. He was so apologetic that first night they talked about the wedding… so unnerved and torn in his emotions. A significant change to the bitterness in him now.

“Wow… you sound serious.”

“I am serious. They took everything from me, Nyx. Luna too. She and I deserve to choose love on our own… and I choose you.”

“Noct…” Nyx blinks, but Noctis grabs his face before he can say anything else, claiming his lips.

“I love you,” Noct runs his thumbs over the scars again. “I love you and I don’t care what anyone says or expects from me. I love you.”

It’s the first time either of them uttered the phrase today, but the sentiment’s been an unspoken presence since the second Noctis jumped into his arms. Even so, there’s a flutter in Nyx’s chest like it’s the first time he’s heard it all over again.

“Love you too,” he smiles and claims his lips right back. “Love you too…” and again. “Love you too.” And again.

-

For the first time in days, Noctis goes to sleep feeling safe. It’s the sound of Nyx’s steady breathing that helps lull him there. It’s the strong beat of a heart that drives away the irrational doubts. His dreams don’t taunt him with illusions morphing into nightmares. It’s the best rest he’s gotten in a while.

Yet, a couple hours later, he rouses with the distant feeling that something’s wrong. His eyelids flutter, but he can’t even open them halfway. When he’s conscious enough to register the ragged breathing next to him, they open fully. The breathing stops, and Noctis ponders for a moment if he imagined it.

But then it starts again. It’s louder than before and Noct realizes it’s a bit too hot underneath the covers. The memory of fire floods his mind along with the agonizing scream of “Please! Noctis please!”

Noctis is wide awake, sitting up and turning the other way. Nyx is on his back, a sheen of sweat over his neck and forehead as he whimpers between his breaths.

“Nyx?” He grips his shoulder to try and shake him awake. “Nyx, hey! Wake up, hero! Wake up.” The only reactions he gets are groans and the pained twisting of features amid restless writhing. “Nyx –”

“No!” Nyx sits up so fast it’s startling. His chest heaves erratically, eyes expanded in fear, tears streaming down his cheeks. “No… no…”

“Nyx?” He says it softly, but it still makes him flinch. He scoots forward and reaches for his hand. “Hey, breathe. Breathe. It was just a dream, okay? You’re here with me in Lestallum. You travelled a long way to get here, remember? Whatever you saw doesn’t matter because you’re safe. We both are.”

Nyx’s breaths slow with every word. His teary eyes are fixed on Noct like he’s waiting for something to go wrong, but when it doesn’t, he exhales. The distraught look on his face eases away little by little, and soon he’s lowering his head, squeezing Noct’s hand so hard it almost hurts.

Nightmares were a common enemy between them, but it’s been a long time since Noctis has seen Nyx suffer from one this intense. He’s seen it twice, at least, but he doesn’t think he’s ever seen him so terrified before.

Nyx sniffles and covers his face with a hand to rub at his temples. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

“Hey, we have a rule. No apologizing for nightmares.” He moves until he’s flush against Nyx’s side, nudging him with his shoulder. “Wanna talk about it?”

“Just go back to sleep, Noct.”

“I can’t until I hear the word no.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“That’s not a no.”

Nyx’s sighs, revealing red rimmed eyes when he lowers his hand. Noctis gives him all the time he needs to consider the offer. Despite nightmares being a common enemy, they didn’t always talk about them. Sometimes they put on cheesy movies instead or talked about the simplest things until neither of them could keep their eyes open. Sometimes they didn’t talk at all. One time they even slow danced in Nyx’s apartment to the chirp of crickets.

Other times they talked about their fears and daemons until the sun rose. They did it the first time Nyx experienced a nightmare like this, and Noct’s prepared to do it all over again if he must.

“I died.” The raspy confession makes his heart sink.

“What?”

Nyx looks away, down to their locked hands and shakes his head. “I was back in the city. Everything was going to hell all over again and I was helpless. I couldn’t save anyone. Not even Libertus or Lunafreya…” he gives Noct’s hand another squeeze. “And then I heard you. You were calling out to me for help, so I ran all the way to Citadel.”

Noctis can see it in his face when their eyes meet again. The worst part’s coming. Nyx takes a deep breath.

“You were at the top of the steps and you looked hurt. I ran as fast as I could, but you kept getting further away…” his voice grows tight. “And then this voice boomed around me. It said that I needed to pay the price. That I needed to burn…” he almost chokes on the word, “and I did. I was on fire and you were screaming… it was the last thing I heard before I woke up.”

“Nyx…”

“I died.”

“No, you didn’t. That wasn’t real.”

“I could feel it! I could… feel myself dying!”

Meanwhile Noctis is certain he can feel his heart breaking. He moves so he sits directly in front of Nyx, taking both hands into his own, looking deep into those pale blues.

Nyx grits his teeth and lowers his head, huffing through his tears. “I didn’t want to leave you behind…”

Noctis leans forward to press a kiss against his sweaty forehead. “Look at me, babe. You didn’t leave me. You went through hell, but you came back to me.” He cradles Nyx’s cheek with his palm. “Feel this? This is real. You’re here. You’re alive and with me. I’ll say it as many times as you need to hear it.”

This time Noctis is the one wrapping his arms around Nyx, pulling him close and letting a weary head drop on his shoulder. In no time, Nyx is unraveling in his arms, muffling broken noises into his shirt. Noctis guides him to lie back down and cards fingers through mussed strands of hair.

He loves and comforts him till there’s no tears left to shed. Nyx did the same when the subject of his father came up, and now it’s Noctis’ turn to do the same. By the time Nyx is calming down, he appears to be half asleep. His face isn’t hidden away. He’s not sniffling or hyperventilating. He looks peaceful curled up next to him.

Noctis notices a braid tucked behind his ear that should’ve been taken out before bed. He takes great care in undoing it, setting aside the cord entwined in it once he’s done. He then lies flat on his back and checks on Nyx one last time before he tries to sleep.

“Rest, hero. I’ll be right here.”

Nyx makes the softest noise but doesn’t stir.

-

The sun peeks through the balcony’s shutter doors, casting patches of light throughout the room. In the fragile grasp of consciousness, Nyx can hear birds cooing at each other outside and the faint patter of footsteps down the hall. He opens his eyes slowly, blinking through the glare of sunlight in his line of vision.

He takes a deep breath when he’s fully awake. If he wasn’t so lazy, he’d get up and open the balcony doors to see the sky. He’d soak in the beauty of it, clear, crisp and blue opposed to the dreary smog that surrounded him for days. He never did get the chance to appreciate it after he got after the city. He was too busy sweating, and aching, and coping with the aftermath of Insomnia. All that mattered then was getting back to Noct.

Noct.

He turns his head to the warm body next to him. Noctis is sound asleep, facing him with arms tucked under his head. His still features are highlighted under the light of morning, exposing him for all that he is: Captivating. The sweetest tranquility. The safest place no matter how many times that face threatened to make his heart erupt. Nyx smiles. He didn’t need to look at the sky just yet. He had all the beauty to appreciate right here.

He didn’t dream again after his nightmare last night. He doesn’t even remember when he fell back asleep. All he remembers is the tears and a comforting hand playing with his hair. Noctis gave him the exact sense of security Nyx always strived to give him. Gods, he didn’t realize how much he missed it.

Nyx brushes Noctis’ fringe aside for a moment, paying close attention as the shadows near his eyes and the bridge of his nose disappear. He’s picture perfect and Nyx is a little mad he doesn’t have his phone on him.

Right when he considers borrowing the phone on the nightstand, Nyx catches a flicker of those pretty blues. He draws his hands back, fighting a chuckle when Noctis flinches at his own hair tickling his skin. The prince groans his way into consciousness, glaring at Nyx between his rapid blinking. It’s incredibly adorable.

“Aw, you’re usually such a heavy sleeper. What the hell?”

Noctis squints at him. “Is there a reason you’re touching my face?”

“Does there need to be? It’s a nice face. Dare I say gorgeous. Don’t pretend you don’t like it.”

“Shut up.” Noctis hides his face in his arms, concealing what Nyx is sure is a cherry blush and a bashful grin.

“Hey,” he whispers, invading his personal space to nip at his jaw and ear. He persists more when Noctis tries squirming away from him. “Hey, psst!”

“What?!” Noct reveals his face again.

“Morning.” Nyx turns his giggles into happy hums by cupping his face and showering him with sweet, short kisses.

“Morning.” Noctis gives him dreamy smile, eyes still fighting the fuzziness of sleep. “Missed waking up to that.”

“Couldn’t stop thinking about it on the way to Hammerhead. This is all I wanted to come back to.”

“I’m glad you did. Don’t know what I would’ve done if you didn’t…”

“Lucky for us…” Nyx tucks the hair framing his cheek behind his ear, “we don’t have to think about that. This is all that matters, right?”

Noctis is smiling again, grabbing his wrist before he pulls it away. He presses the back of the palm against his chest. “Yeah, it is. Feeling better today?”

“Much. Everything might still be a mess, but…” he nods. “I’ll be okay. Thanks, Noct.” The kiss to his fingers prompts Nyx to use his other arm to hug Noctis against his chest. “So, what are we doing today?”

“Gotta talk to the guys,” he says, tucking his head under Nyx’s chin. “What time is it? I’m used to ignoring Ignis’ alarm at an ungodly hour.”

Nyx reaches for Noctis’ phone on the nightstand. “It’s almost ten.”

“What?” Noctis lifts his head. “No texts or missed calls? No one knocked on the door?”

“Pretty sure I would’ve heard someone knock. Maybe your friends are being considerate in light of me, well, not being dead.”

“Huh… if that’s true, we might have another hour to kill before someone comes to check on us.”

“Oh really?” Nyx smirks playfully and rolls on top of him. “Do you have any idea how many times I could kiss you in an hour?”

Noctis’ eyes light up with glee and desire, stirring something in Nyx when he bites his lower lip. “Why don’t you show me, hero?”

And Nyx does with undying fervor, feeling more alive than ever in recent days. It’s never been clearer to him than in this moment—this is where he’s meant to be. Not buried under the rubble of Insomnia. Not disintegrating under the break of dawn. He’s only meant to be here, kissing Noctis breathless every morning before they faced the world together. He’d never lose sight of that again.

Every content noise out of Noctis’ mouth elates him, makes him feel lighter and lighter until part of him wonders if they’ve drifted off to another universe. He puts his love into each wandering kiss, muttering sweet nothings against Noctis’ skin to make him shiver. When Nyx finds his way back to his lips, he pauses.

“What?” Noctis asks, using the opportunity to catch his breath. His eyes are curious and beautiful.

Nyx takes hold of his wrist, laying it against the pillows, lacing their hands together. “Just thinking about how lucky I am… how much I love this this… how much I love you.”

“Getting sappy on me again, Ulric?”

“You love it.”

“I do…” Noctis smiles, “and I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“Me either, little prince.” Nyx nuzzles the scruff of his beard against Noctis’ neck – just the way he knows he likes it – before meeting his lips again with a tender kiss. “Me either.”

[kaizokuou-ni-naru]

The Voyage So Far: Alabasta (Part Two)

east blue (1 | 2) || alabasta (1 | 2) || skypiea || water 7 || enies lobby || thriller bark || paramount war (1 | 2) || fishman island || punk hazard || dressrosa (1 | 2) || whole cake island || wano (1 | 2)

crocodile is one of my favorite villains in one piece for a number of reasons, and one of them is because he’s such a threat, the first real one faced in the grand line and one of the toughest in all of paradise. the villains from the arcs before this, like wapol or the agents from little garden, could barely even land a hit on luffy in actual combat. so crocodile is introduced here as an absolute force of nature, a complete contrast to recent villains and a very tangible threat. 

it’s an impression he very much lives up to later in the arc by crushing luffy not once but twice, which only makes luffy’s ultimate hard-won triumph feel all the better. luffy closes a huge gap over the course of alabasta in order to be able to beat crocodile, and giving us a sense of just how strong he is from the very start gives luffy clawing his way up to that level a lot more weight. 

the successive reveals of luffy’s family never fail to absolutely delight me, because in any other series they would almost certainly feel contrived, but knowing luffy, it is absolutely unsurprising he just never happened to mention his relatives. nobody asked! luffy’s unique brand of honesty is one of my favorite character quirks, because he’s very straightforward and in fact can’t lie for shit, but his priorities are so completely off the wall that he winds up omitting highly relevant information completely by accident. 

ace’s scene in alabasta really does impress me. oda’s said in an sbs that he knew ace’s fate from his introduction, which i find absolutely unsurprising given the intricacy of his story planning. that means he needed ace’s introduction to make him both likable and memorable enough in the space of just a couple chapters that the audience would be engaged when he became the focus of the story a couple hundred chapters on despite barely appearing at all in the intervening time, and he really succeeded. 

kohza is one of my favorite minor characters in the whole series, and i think he’s a big part of why alabasta’s civil war plotline works so well and feels so real. nobody on either side of the war actually wants to fight, but everyone has been driven to such desperation that they feel they have no other choice in order to save their country; and kohza exemplifies that. he's a good person who loves his country a lot, and who genuinely likes and cares about the royal family and vivi especially, and the only option he can see to save alabasta is terrible, but there’s nothing else he can do. 

it’s just fun for me to think about the fact that if crocodile was literally anything other than a very skilled logia, vivi would have ended the whole entire arc right here. 

i really like civil war storylines when they’re well-done, and i think alabasta is one of the best ones i’ve seen in media. most of it is down to what i mentioned earlier, about how nobody on either side actually wants to fight but feels like they have no choice but to. nobody here is actually in the wrong except for crocodile, and so until crocodile is defeated, nothing can be fixed- which is what luffy, of all people, is the one to realize. 

sanji’s mr. prince gambit is probably my single favorite part of alabasta, and i think one of the reasons i like it so much is because he basically beats crocodile at his own game. crocodile is terrifying in battle, but before anything else he’s a manipulator. he’s always working from the shadows, always deceiving people doing what he wants, and sanji manages to turn the tables on him and do the exact same back to him, twice. 

also sanji looks great in glasses

smoker and tashigi both get kind of unfortunately sidelined after this saga, but they’re both really great characters in alabasta. (tashigi especially; i’ll get to her later.) much like the rebel army, they’re good people trying to do the right thing in the tangled mess of tension and politics and resentment that is alabasta- and when that means working with pirates, they’ll buckle down and do it, despite how much it might contradict their worldviews. 

i love when events align in one piece so that people who don’t particularly like the strawhats wind up working with them for some common goal (as seen most prominently in impel down), and smoker and tashigi in alabasta are the first and still one of the best examples of that. 

the entirety of luffy versus crocodile round one is so well done. we’re a hundred and fifty chapters in, and although luffy has struggled in fights before now and then, we get the sense he hasn’t ever really been pushed to the brink, and he’s certainly never lost.

and then he does, completely and absolutely, without ever even landing a hit on his opponent, and it hits like a punch. 

oda seems to be a fan of characters just barely missing each other- the similar panel of robin and olvia running past each other from robin’s flashback comes to mind.

i’ve always liked that of all the strawhats, it’s usopp who gets the first “luffy is going to be king of the pirates” moment. they’ve all said it by the current chapters in wano (with the sole exception of robin, i believe), but usopp said it first, and that feels significant to me. he’s always been the one who feels the least secure in his place on the crew, but even so, he has so much faith in luffy. 

nami’s fight with miss doublefinger is pretty silly in places and i think it gets frequently (understandably, it must be said) overshadowed by zoro’s fight with mr. 1 directly afterwards, but i really like it nonetheless. it’s nami’s first real solo fight in the whole series, and once she finds her feet she kicks ass, and i really like that. it feels like a very satisfying development for her, to stand up and risk her life in direct combat for vivi’s sake. 

we’re now almost a thousand chapters in and its my firm belief that zoro versus mr. 1 is still one of the best fights in the entire series. i definitely think it’s probably zoro’s best fight- only his match with kaku compares. the narrative build over the course of the fight, from zoro struggling just to match mr. 1 (and getting shredded to pieces in the process) to cutting him down in one final stroke, is incredibly cool and satisfying to watch. it feels like a very tangible step forward for zoro in terms of ability, like a massive obstacle has been surmounted and, as he himself says, he’s now stronger for it. 

its also very cool that this is, i believe, the first appearance of what is probably observation haki, though it isn’t named or recognized as such. i’m always endlessly impressed by all the little moments of internal consistency that oda manages to sprinkle into his story. 

there’s barely any dialogue on these entire two pages, from crocodile dropping vivi to luffy and pell swooping in- the story is briefly told entirely through visuals- and i love that. it gives the impression of a single tense, frozen moment as vivi falls, which is then broken in spectacular fashion when luffy catches her. 

i really, really like the progression that runs through all three of luffy’s fights with crocodile. the gap between them goes from being impossible, with luffy unable to even land a hit and crocodile basically toying with him; to surmountable but still huge, with luffy able to land some hits but still outclassed; to finally putting them on basically even ground. and every inch of that growth on luffy’s part is hard-fought and hard-won and well-deserved. 

crocodile’s confidence in his abilities isn’t misplaced- he genuinely is that powerful. but if there’s anything we know about luffy by now, it’s that he doesn’t ever give up. it’s very fun to watch crocodile’s dismissiveness turn into disbelief turn into rage and frustration when luffy just won’t die. 

luffy is, additionally, pretty clearly a better brawler than crocodile (which makes sense, crocodile is clearly used to devastating long-range attacks with his powers while luffy grew up fighting giant wildlife with his bare hands), which means that by the time of their last fight, where they’re just whaling on each other in the catacombs and crocodile is starting to get sloppy and desperate and lose control, if anything it’s luffy who has the upper hand. 

zoro and sanji’s dynamic is always a favorite of mine, and one of the things i like best about them is how perfectly in sync they always manage to be when it comes to things that actually matter, despite fighting like cats and dogs pretty much every other time. i’ll never understand people who think they genuinely aren’t friends. 

tashigi is really good in alabasta, okay. she essentially has her own entire character growth arc. she goes from her stance in loguetown, where she isn’t even tolerant of (fully legal!) bounty hunters, to here, where she’s forced to confront that the world isn’t nearly as black and white as she’s always believed it to be, that sometimes pirates are good and allies of the government are bad, and ultimately makes the right choice to help the strawhats even though it clearly pains and frustrates her that she can’t do anything more herself. 

i’ll be forever mad that her only really significant appearance after this in punk hazard didn’t really live up to what her character deserved. 

i really like how the countdown sequence is done. the tension is ratcheting up and up and up as the clock ticks down in the final seconds, panels cutting all over the city to show all the different characters, everyone who’s caught up in this conflict and everyone who’ll die if the cannon fires-

and then the clock hits zero, and we get this panel that’s just... quiet, after all the madness, as we see how vivi stopped the detonation. i think oda is very good at setting up his pages so they have a flow to them, so no matter how quickly you actually read sometimes things feel like they’re going very fast and all happening at once and then it slows down and gives the reader a chance to breathe, if only to speed up again later. i think oda is really good at pacing in general, really, both on a micro level like this and on a larger scale. 

luffy’s greatest strength isn’t really his strength. he’s strong, absolutely, but that’s not really why he wins the fights he shouldn’t win. he wins because he just doesn’t fucking stay down. his fight with katakuri is probably the best example of this, because katakuri has him beat in pretty much every category except sheer endurance, and there as here, it’s that endurance that winds up getting luffy the win in the end. 

i do love that it’s the rain that ends the war. not the explosion and pell’s sacrifice, not vivi’s pleading, not even luffy kicking crocodile into the stratosphere, but the rain, the thing alabasta’s been missing for too long, the thing crocodile stole, the only thing all these people are fighting over. 

it’s crocodile’s symbolic defeat- at the same moment his power is broken by luffy, the stranglehold of dehydration he’s been using to foment war and rebellion is all at once gone, and he’s left with nothing at all, and alabasta can finally find peace and start to heal again. 

i always love the little moments that show, usually without words, just how much the strawhats love each other, and all of them unanimously waiting until vivi is out of sight to collapse so that she won’t worry, won’t see how ragged they ran themselves for their sake, is definitely one of them. 

i adore vivi’s sendoff, because while its sad she has to go, the certainty that someday they’ll meet again and that even if not they’ll always be crew manages to make this scene endlessly hopeful instead (which, i think, is also a good summary of one piece’s tone as a whole, at least in its more serious moments). luffy never says goodbye, after all, and nobody ever really leaves the strawhat pirates. 

i’m really looking forward to vivi’s re-entry to the story. i really, really want to see her reunion with the strawhats. 

hey look, it’s the panel my profile picture is from! 

the mystery surrounding robin and her past is built up in little ways long before enies lobby, from her harsh reaction when confronted with by tashigi to her aversion to being called by her given name to this flashback, of her talking to cobra about her dream. of them, the latter is my favorite, because i think it’s probably the most sincere she is until enies lobby- which makes sense, given she thinks she’s about to die. 

like many things about robin in alabasta, this gets cast in a new light by her backstory. if she dies here, so too does the entire legacy of ohara- but she’s so beaten down and hopeless that she really doesn’t see any light ahead to strive for. there’s no hope left, for her, and the whole world against her. 

and then there’s luffy, who creates hope everywhere he goes, who makes her live anyways. 

this is a hell of a spread to hook us very effectively right into the sky island saga. it’s a perfect reminder of just how much we still don’t know about all the endless mysteries of the grand line, and just how many adventures are still yet to be had.

[a-solitary-marshmallow]

Rewind Chapter 9 - A Deal is Made

When Stan ran off, to Ford’s relief – he didn’t think he could handle any more of Bill’s cruelty towards his little brother – the demon didn’t chase after him. After his little display Bill turned to Ford with a wide, unnatural grin and lifted his arms like an actor bowing after a particularly brilliant performance.

“I do a wonderful Stanford impression, don’t I? It’s pretty easy. You’re like a broken record, Sixer, all repetitive and annoying. ‘My science project, my science project!’ But I really think I spiced it up a bit while still staying in character!”

Ford stabbed a finger at the demon wearing his skin. “You – how dare you?”

Bill merely shrugged and rifled through Ford’s pockets, letting out a little ‘ah’ of triumph when he pulled out a pocket knife. “Hah! I didn’t take you for the stabbing type.”

“It’s for self defense!” Ford fumed.

“Sure, sure, don’t wanna get eaten alive by monsters, excuses excuses.” Bill stepped back, sizing up a nearby tree. “I was looking for rope but this will work too.”

“Wait, what are you-”

Bill placed one hand against the tree’s bark and slammed the pocket knife into it, cutting through skin and flesh to bury the knife into hard wood. Ford hissed.

“That should do it!” Bill said cheerfully, watching blood drip down Ford’s wrist. “That looks like it’s gonna be a gusher, Sixer. I wouldn’t take the knife out if I were you. You never know, maybe you’ll bleed to death!”

Ford very deliberately kept his mouth shut about the placement of arteries in the human body. What Bill didn’t know couldn’t hurt him. And getting stabbed through the hand couldn’t hurt that much, could it?

He soon found out, once Bill zipped away and he lunged back into his own body, that it did indeed hurt. Ford bit down a scream and fought to keep his hand still. Every twitch and tremor sent pain racing down his arm and he was very aware of the metal piercing through his hand, sharp edge rubbing up against skin and muscle and nerves.

Ford grabbed the handle of the pocket knife with his free hand (pain pain pain) and wrenched it out. This time he couldn’t smother the scream that bubbled from his lips. He dropped the bloody knife and clutched at his bleeding hand.

Calm. Calm down. He couldn’t help anyone if he was panicking.

Ford fumbled around in his pockets until he found a handkerchief, wrapping it around the seeping wound and tying it tight with his teeth. It wasn’t a long-term solution but it would stop dirt getting under the skin, and hopefully slow the bloodflow. Though the fabric was already getting stained with red.

Move. He didn’t have time to waste, Bill could have caught up to Stan already. Who knew what the demon would do? Ford took off through the trees in the direction he had seen Stan run, every step sending a flash of burning pain up his arm.

By the time he caught up with his brother he was lightheaded, a yellow triangle swimming in his vision – Stan looked so small, so confused in the demon’s shadow. Ford would not fail his brother again.

“STAN!”

 _______________________________________________________________

Ford was here. Stan’s gaze snapped up at his brother’s shout, the traitorous part of him whispering, ‘apologize, make him like you again’. He clenched his fists as Ford staggered into sight, looking kinda pale.

“Stan-” Ford caught a tree and clung to it as he struggled to regain his breath. He looked shaky, and Stan ached to go over and make sure he was alright. He took a few steps past the demon despite himself. “Stanley – listen to me, whatever Bill is telling you, it’s a lie-”

“Well well well well well!”

Stan was treated to the lovely sight of the skin on Bill’s back peeling open to reveal an eyeball, his body contorting and turning inside out until he was staring right at Ford with that neon yellow gaze.

“Just when I thought I’d taken care of you.”

Stan hesitated, the word striking a chord. “…taken care of? What does that mean?”

Bill drifted forward, placing himself in front of Stan but Ford looked right past the triangle, staring at Stan with desperation in his gaze. It made Stan’s stomach twist, made him feel guilty and angry and so very confused. He wrapped his arms around himself and backed away, Ford reaching after him.

“Stanley please. I’m sorry – I was stupid and cruel and I treated you badly because I was angry, but you didn’t deserve it. I saw what Bill said to you in my body and it’s not true, Stan, none of it’s true-”

“Shut up!” Stan stabbed a finger in Ford’s direction, glaring at him through tears. Ford didn’t even look scary anymore – just afraid, and that was the scariest thing. Adult Ford was supposed to be big and determined, he wasn’t supposed to be afraid. “Just – just shut up! I don’t even know what you’re saying!”

“Exactly!” Bill’s cheerful tone reverberated through the trees, making Stan shiver despite himself. “The man’s speaking nonsense, don’t listen to him.”

Stan wasn’t smart, but he wasn’t totally stupid either. He could see the ‘shut up’ glare the demon sent his brother. Bill was trying to be his friend, why was he hiding something from him?

Ford pushed himself off the tree to stand by himself, gaze still fixed on Stan. “The eyes, Stanley! What colour were my eyes, when I was saying those terrible things to you?”

“I dunno!” Stan yelled back.

What kind of stupid question was that? Stan didn’t want to think about that, he didn’t want to think about how he was a dead weight and a nuisance and how Ford was better off without him. But something – something about that encounter seemed off…

“Answer me, Stanley!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

“What colour were my eyes?”

“Yellow!”

Wait.

Yellow?

“Please believe me.” Ford stepped closer, holding his hands out desperately. “Bill took over my body and he made me hurt you, more than I already have. He’s evil, he’s trying to take advantage of you and trick you into doing terrible things. And – I know you have no reason to believe me. I know I’ve treated you badly, since you arrive at Gravity Falls and before that. But please.”

Stan twisted his hands, anxiety swirling in his stomach and making him want to barf. He glanced up at the fuming demon.

“You’re all-powerful, right?”

“Stanley no-”

Bill’s body flashed lemon-yellow, his eye curling into a grin as he spun around to face Stan. “Sure I am kid! I can get you anything you want.”

“…anything I ask for? Anything at all?”

“You bet!”

“Stanley! He’s trying to trick you, he’s evil-”

“Oh shut it, Sixer!” Bill snapped his fingers and Ford’s body lurched sideways, sending him slamming into a tree with a yelp. He slumped to the grass. Stan dug his fingers into his palms. “See, kid? When you open the portal I’ll be even more powerful! Enough to give you anything you want.”

Stan looked between the prone body of his brother and the demon, and he made his decision. His hand reached out to snatch Bill’s.

“It’s a deal.”

Blue flames erupted across their joined hands, flicking over Stan’s skin but not burning, warm and tickly. Bill’s eye creased up in a grin.

“I knew you were the smart one! Now come on, name your price! Anything you want is yours, once you open the portal for me.”

Stan frowned, staring at their joined hands. The fire was the least weird thing about these last few days – it blazed warm and blue, spitting sparks every which way. Hypnotizing, almost. It was so much power – not his, of course – but flaming at his fingertips. He wanted it.

Bill released his hand, letting Stan’s drop down by his side. Stan stuffed them in his pockets, feeling the tingle of residual warmth against his skin.

“Well? I don’t have all day!” Bill heaved a sigh, folding his little stick arms. Stan’s mouth tasted sour. “What’s your price? A galaxy all of your own, right? Or a billion dollars?”

“…I want a hug.”

Silence reined in the clearing.

“Are you kidding me?” Bill’s eye hung open in disbelief. “I’m offering you your own galaxy and all you want is a flipping hug?”

Stan nodded. “Yep. And like you said, you gotta give it to me.” He opened his arms. “I want my hug now.”

Bill sighed in frustration. “I’m incorporeal, kid, I can’t give hugs. Why would I even want to touch a fleshbag like you in the first place?”

Stan put his hands on his hips. “You’re just gonna have to be corp-or-real. I know you can, you can touch and move things around! You gotta do the deal or the whole thing’s off, remember?” He scowled. “If I don’t get my hug you can’t use me to open the portal.”

“Ugh.” Bill’s form shimmered, becoming a little more corporeal – enough, at least, to interact with the physical world. The triangle’s ‘face’ screwed up. “Gross. Let’s get this over with already.”

He extended his stick-arms out with a grimace, and Stan flew in to hug him, wrapping tiny arms around the triangular body and squeezing tight. Bill let out a disgusted noise and patted his back awkwardly.

“There. There’s your hug.”

Stan pulled back enough to grin at him. “You give shit hugs.” Then he jammed the magic capsule into Bill’s huge eye.

 The triangle-

 Screamed.

 There was an explosion of light and colour and searing heat that scorched across his face and Stan was flying back, breath knocked out of his lungs. He slammed into something and that something wrapped its arms around him and swung him away from the blast, shielding him with its body.

 When Stan’s ears stopped ringing and the spots faded from his vision, the sight that met his eyes made him freeze.

 Bill was dripping, fizzling like a dying candle, his eye seeping down his figure and body glitching red in places, showing glimpses of scarlet-colored bricks and bits of muscle and scenes played in sepia like they were being shown on an old TV. The demon lurched towards them, fingers curled into half-melted claws and body pulsing with its deep, distorted voice like an earthquake.

 “STANLEY-”

  There was the pop of a rifle being discharged and a hole blew open Bill’s body. Something crackled like broken glass, and then the demon

shattered.

[thefallennightmare]

Vas Prizrak-Three

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Words: 1617

Warnings: swearing, some smut, fluff, lots of angst.

Summary:  Bucky and Reader’s life in Wakanda had been everything they ever wanted. But when they are told about the fight that was on it’s way to them, they fear that life would be dusted away for good.

A/N: As you can tell from the gif choice for this chapter, it’s the part that we were all NOT looking forward too. I apologize. 

“UGLY! MOTHER! FUCKERS!,” I bellowed as my knife sliced through an alien's throat, three stabs, as they had me pinned to the ground. 

With a swift kick, it fell to the ground in a heap and I was back on my feet in a flash; just in time to send my knife into another alien's head. 

Thanos’ army was fast, strong, and not all that appealing to look at. It seemed that now matter how many we killed, hundreds more appeared. 

“Bucky?!” I yelled while looking around. 

In the midst of everything, I had become lost in the fray. Bucky and Steve were somewhere on the other end of the battle field. My long hair was a mess, blowing in the winds, as I frantically looked around. I was fighting side by side with the many men of the Wakanda army. 

All too quick, my veins filled with fear and my skin tingled with death. 

Bucky. 

My head snapped to the left and this time, my own anger filled me as I saw the sight in front of me. 

Bucky was on the ground, alien on top of him, as he tried to fight it off of him with his small knife. Darkness took over my vision, clouding my judgement, and the all too familiar warmth spread to the tips of my fingers, sparking to life. 

I shot multiple balls of fire at the alien on top of Bucky, who watched in slight horror as it fell to ash around him. 

“SHE’S BACK!” Sam’s voice yelled into the coms. 

Blinking my eyes a view times, the darkness was gone and I was staring at Bucky’s concerned face. 

“Are you alright?” He questioned, cupping my chin. 

Time had stopped for a split second around us. 

“Never better,” I grinned while smacking my hands together. 

They sparked again, flames burning my finger tips. 

We fought for a few moments longer before coming to a halt when lighting struck around us, causing the fighting to stop. 

A few inches from me stood someone I hadn’t seen in a very, very long time. 

“Long time no see, Thor.” I smiled towards him. 

“Y/N? You changed your hair,” He smirked, ruffling my hair. 

I had almost forgotten that my powers changed it to a vibrant red. 

“You made some new friends?” I pointed towards the racoon and the walking tree. 

“This is my new friend Rocket and Tree,” he introduced. 

“I am Groot,” the tree spoke. 

I nodded. “I am Y/N L/N.” 

“Y/N! I could use some back up over here!” Steve’s voice yelled into the coms.

My feet sprinted over towards him, blasting away any aliens that got in the way. Steve stood in front of me, blood pouring from a wound on his lip and I gently wiped it away. 

I went to speak but felt myself getting pounced on from behind, head smacking hard against a rock. 

“Shit,” I groaned. 

Sharp teeth chomped towards my face and the blood pooling from my forehead caused my vision to fade, in and out. The drool from the alien dripped down on me, an indication that he was seconds away from ending it all. 

The alien was off before I could register that Steve had kicked him, sending him flying meters away. 

“Y/N,” he cooed while helping me to sit up.

“I’m alright,” I stated as I smacked his hands away. “I heal fast, remember.” 

Steve sighed, his fingers brushing against the open wound of my forehead. I couldn’t stop the loud hiss that fell from my lips. 

“GUYS! VISION NEEDS BACKUP!” Bruce’s voice rang through the coms. 

Steve hesitated while looking at me, weighing the decision in his mind. 

“Go, I’ll be fine,” I nodded. 

He was still apprehensive but when I set an alien ablaze that had sneaked up behind him, he knew that I was in fact alright. 

Once he left, I willed myself to my knees, trying to gain whatever strength I had left. This fight had taken so much out of me, not having to exert this much energy in such a long time, and I knew that this was it. 

“I’m going to die alone,” I muttered with a sigh. 

“You’re not alone.” 

Natasha helped me to my feet, brushing the dust off my shoulders. 

“Now, I know I didn’t teach you to give up so easily,” She t’sked. 

“Moment of weakness,” I shrugged. 

Suddenly, the wind had picked up, circling around us with a soft breeze, the air shifted with an uneasy feeling. Natasha and I shared a knowing look and we with a quick nod, we both ran towards Steve and Vision. 

“He’s here,” Vision spoke. 

I turned my back to them, speaking into my com. “Bucky, where are you?” 

Silence. 

“Damnit,” I cursed. 

Steve pulled me closer to him before speaking into his com. “Everyone in my position. We have in-coming.” 

A sudden portal opened in front of us, a giant purple titan stepping out of it. I gasped, the fear of knowing that there would be no way we could stop him loomed close. 

“That’s him,” Banner said. 

Steve looked at me, engaging his shield. “Eyes up. Stay sharp.” 

The flames burned with hate as I shot multiple fireballs towards Thanos, who had easily dodge them. His large hand wrapped around my throat, lifting me with ease. 

“Pathetic,” he spat, throwing me to the side. 

I landed against a tree with a loud, painful groan and I could hear Steve scream my name. My body lay defeated in the dirt, eyes watching as my friends tried to fight against Thanos, only to fail. 

Bucky’s screams came from the bushes, gun firing at Thanos. 

“Bucky!” I yelled, watching him getting thrown in front of me. 

Tired hands and feet crawled over towards him, turning his heavy body over so I could look in his eyes. 

“Are you alright?” I pondered, brushing the hair out of his face. 

“You’re bleeding,” he mumbled. 

His vibranium fingers wiped the blood from my head. 

“I’m okay,” I reassured him with a soft kiss. 

Bucky let out a loan groan, the pain of the fight catching up to him. “I’m starting to think we should have stayed in bed.” 

The giggle that fell through my lips was cut short as the screams of Wanda filled the air. My full attention was on her as I watched Thanos bring Vision back to life, only to end it just as quick, pulling the mind stone from him. Vision’s body fell to a heap on the ground, right next to Wanda. 

“No,” I trembled, tears welled in my eyes.

Thanos stood tall, all six stones in hand. Thor, however, had arrived out of nowhere, laying his axe in Thanos’ chest. But it didn’t matter, no matter how deep Thor dug his axe into Thanos. 

“You should have gone for the head,” Thanos said. 

Before anyone could register what happened, he raised his hand with a quick snap. 

“NO!” I bellowed. 

Thanos’ hand burned, his gauntlet almost to ash, as the aftermath of what he did started to lay around us. 

“What did you do?!” Thor demanded. 

As fast as he arrived, Thanos was gone. 

Steve stumbled his way over to Bucky and I, helping us to our feet. After giving us a quick once over, he turned his attention to Thor. 

“Where did he go?” He questioned. 

“Thor, where did he go?!” I fumed. 

“Y/N?” 

Bucky’s voice was filled with fear and worry as he spoke my name; it came off so quiet from his lips that I almost hadn’t heard.

Steve and I both turned our attention towards Bucky, who suddenly was dusting away with the wind, body disappearing. 

“BUCKY!” I yelled running towards him. 

My knees fell to the ground, hands spreading through the ashes of where Bucky once lay. 

“NO, BUCKY!” 

My scream echoed throughout the forest, the high pitch banshee like yell causing whatever birds there were left to flock away from me. Fire shot from my hands, setting the grass and trees around us a blaze in a warm fire. Everyone winced at the sound of my yells, cries for my lost love, as I buried myself deeper into the ground, hoping that this was a bad dream. Bucky was still here, he hadn’t left me. 

A loud, painful scream had clawed its way through the tough confines of my throat as I doubled over in pain to clutch my stomach. It felt like my insides were being ripped out and with a choking sob, I spit piles of dusty ash to the ground. My fingers shook as I dug into the ground, the realization of what happened coming to light. 

I had now lost every single part of Bucky in the snap. Not only was he gone but what I was growing inside of me had vanished before I even knew it was there.

I was so engrossed in my own pain that I hadn't noticed others had disappeared as well. Until Steve pulled me from the ground, into his chest. 

My cries came out muffled against his suit as I screamed and kicked against him. “He’s not gone. He can’t be!” 

Steve cupped my cheeks, forcing my broken gaze to his. “It’s okay. I’m here.” 

Knuckles turned white as I clutched onto him with whatever strength I had left, fearing that he would leave me too. 

“What do we do now?” Natasha asked. 

“I don’t know,” Steve admitted before hushing my cries with a soft kiss to the top of my head. 

For once in his entire life, Steve didn’t have a plan and that absolutely terrified him.

[theemptyskies]

Ok I'm posting this first chapter a little late haha. It was for @azulaweek for Day 2 Rare Pairs and Day 4 AU.

It's going to be a Buffy the Vampire Slayer and AtLA crossover.

Hope y'all enjoy! Shout out to @juniperhillpatient for motivating me to give this a shot. You're awesome 🙂

Any feedback is appreciated ❤

Displacement - A New Beginning

Content Warning: Major Character Death, Graphic Depictions of Violence, Blood and Gore

Summary

The rise of Vaatu leads to unprecedented darkness falling upon the world. Unexpected events lead to Azula learning to live in an unknown world, preparing for an uncertain future.

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

A spell to close the Hellmouth in "The Zeppo" has unexpected consequences. With no way of sending the newcomer home, Buffy, Faith and the Scoobies do their best to help the young girl adapt to her new home.

Or

While facing the possible end of the world, Azula finds herself transported through the newly created hellmouth, ending up in Sunnydale. Watch as she grows and adapts in this new world, learning to overcome the pain of losing loved ones, finding a family, and starting to see this as a new opportunity at life.

Anyone who thought the Fire Nation was evil was a fool. At least they should feel they are, given the darkness that has enveloped the world in the four years since the war has ended. It all began last year when Avatar Roku warned Avatar Aang that there was a risk of a dark spirit breaking free. He called it Vatu. It was the spirit of chaos and darkness, the antithesis to the Avatar spirit. 

The spirit had a sort of cult worshipping it. Avatar Aang tried to stop them himself, not wanting to involve their friends and risk our safety. That was his first mistake. It left Katara and myself woefully unprepared for the cult's ambush. We fought them off as best as we could, but there were far too many. In the end, our cottage was left in ruins, dead waterless foliage caked in our enemy's blood, I was nearly beaten unconscious, and Katara was taken. 

They times the kidnapping perfectly, just a day before their planned ritual to free Vaatu from his imprisonment. Avatar Aang, the foolish child that he is, refused to leave Katara's rescue to Sokka, Toph, and myself. His inability to let go of the infatuation he holds for Katara gave the cult enough time to break Vaatu's bindings. It was then the darkest days came.

Upon its release, Vaatu, with the help of its cult, performed a ritual. Black tendrils erupted from its body, tearing across the skies and burrowing into the earth, its physical dorm dissolving in the process. Agni's light was blocked by shadows stripping bending from Firebenders across the glow. From the five largest points, great beasts emerged. Enormous, otherworldly, monstrosities that the worst of nightmares couldn't compare to. Following their emergence, a diverse horde of smaller, equally horrid, creatures poured from the openings. 

There was no time to prepare. Within hours the largest cities were reduced to unrecognizable ruins. Formerly bustling streets were transformed into rivers of red. Body parts left strewn across the rubble. Images of beast feasting on children still haunt my mind. Even our own friends weren't able to escape the carnage. We managed to find Ty Lee the last of the living Kyoshi Warriors, just as she was impaled on the claws of a bald, gaunt humanoid-looking monster. It managed to rip an arm from her body by the time we closed the distance enough for Katara to decapitate it with a disk of ice. Her last words will forever be seared in my mind.

"I'm happy you're ok 'Zula."

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

Over the two weeks, since The Emergence began, Aang was almost non-stop searching for and rescuing survivors. We established a temporary refugee camp at the unoccupied Southern Air Temple. Like an endlessly erupting volcano, the creature continued rising from the pits Vatu created. Isolated locations like the Air Temples and Water Tribes were the only places still safe, for now at least.

Knowing that allowing events to continue unimpeded, Aang turned to the spirits for guidance. The Air Temple's sacred grounds made the transition from the mortal world to the spiritual plane much easier. Sitting in the temple powerless as Katara held me, waiting for Aang to return from the spirit world, listening to the distant roars of monsters below the clouds, I don't think I ever felt so terrified. 

Almost like she could sense my fear, Katara held me tighter, softly kissed the top of my head while gently running her fingers through my now unkempt hair. It's strange how the moment I felt the most fear was followed by one where I felt incredibly safe. As her gentle caresses lulled me to sleep, I heard a whisper from my lover. A hope a clung to until the very end.

"Everything will be ok Zula. We'll make it through this."

Two days later, Aang returned from the spirit world. With the help of Avatar Roku, he had managed to make contact with Rava, the spirit of light and the source of the Avatar's power. With the information she gave us, we were able to come up with a plan. Vaatu's ritual tore open portals that were connected to another dimension. They were directly connected to the five largest beasts that first erupted from them. While the portals themselves couldn't be closed, the pits that housed them would be sealed, finally stopping the endless stream of monsters from pouring into our world. All they had to do was kill the five great beasts.

Admittedly, it wasn't much of a plan. As Sokka had put it "So all we have to do is take out monsters the size of small palaces? Great! You know, for once, why couldn't the world-saving plan be easy." I rolled my eyes at his remark at the time but didn't make a retort. The small smiles that our friends held were worth dealing with his rather poor sense of humor. Besides, he was family after all, and if he said something too stupid I'm sure Katara would've happily frozen him to the ceiling.

Rava's power, being the opposite of Vaatu's, would lure the massive beasts to Aang, acting as a sort of beacon. The general plan was that Aang would activate the Avatar State, he would kill the beasts near the pits, we would keep the army of smaller monsters away from Aang while he fights the bigger ones, don't die. Said like that, the plan sounded risky but simple. Unfortunately, it was anything but simple.

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

There were a few Earthbenders among the rescued survivors that volunteered to help. We knew we couldn't hold back a never-ending army. After talking with Sokka, rapidly formulating and dismissing plans, the best we came up with was having the Earthbenders create a dome over the pit. This would grab the attention of the surrounding creatures. While they focused on not letting the army break through the barrier, the rest of us would protect the Earthbenders until the beast was slain. 

Naturally, it wasn't that simple. Rava failed to mention that as each beast died, only some of Vaatu's energy returned to the pit, sealing it. The rest dispersed to the remaining beasts, making them stronger. The first there battles went relatively smoothly, the growing strength of the beasts was more and more apparent with each successive fight. We experienced a handful of losses but nothing unexpected. Merely some inexperienced volunteers. It was the fourth battle that hit our group the hardest. 

The battle started just like every other, sealing the pit and fighting the surrounding beasts. However, due to the strength of this beast, this fight lasted far longer than the last. With our growing exhaustion, it was only a matter of time before someone made a mistake. As Sokka slew one of them, another managed to catch him off guard from behind. Faster than anyone could react, the hairless humanoid snatched his wolf-tail, yanking him back, and sunk its fangs into the side of his neck. Within seconds his skin lost all color and he was left hanging limp in the thing's arms, his sword slipping from his hands and his vacant eyes forever left wide in horror.

That fight ended soon after, with the Avatar finally defeating the creature. I had to nearly rip Katara away from her fallen brother, the last of her biological family. I held her as she cried during the entire flight back to the Southern Air Temple. Upon our arrival, Aang approached us after climbing off of Appa.

"I'm sorry for what happened to Sokka, Katara." He began. At the sound of his voice, I felt Katara stiffen in my arms. 

"You're sorry..." It was a whisper I barely heard as she pulled away, her face displaying a hatred I didn't know she was capable of. He began to speak again but she cut him off.

"How dare you come to me and say that!" She growled at him. "Like I'm sorry will make it all better! You could've stopped all of this! You could have prevented Vaatu from breaking free and none of this would've happened! Now SOKKA IS DEAD!" A loud slap echoed across the now silent temple as she struck Aang across the face. 

Her voice lowered to a whisper as she continued, tears freely falling from her eyes. "S-s-sokka is d-dead and it's all your fault... Just stay away from me..." Finishing her quiet statement, Katara ran inside the temple, away from the sympathetic stares of the gathered survivors. 

Aang watched her go, holding his own tears back before turning to me. He unfastened the strap holding Sokka's blade across his back. With both hands, he held it out to me. "Will you please give this to her. He would want her to have it."

I accepted the blade and he turned, beginning to walk away. "She didn't mean that you know. Katara's hurt and angry."

I don't know why I felt the need to offer him that small comfort. Maybe it was because Aang had taken the time, despite his exhaustion, to do this for her fiance. Regardless of the reason, he paused, shaking his head.

"Doesn't matter Azula. Even if she apologizes, we both know she's right." With that statement, he walked away. Turning, I walked in the direction Katara had run. I knew I wasn't the best at providing comfort, but that's all I could do for her now. I don't remember ever seeing her so broken, and I don't think there's anything I could've said to help.

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

Katara squeezing my hand pulled me from my memories. "Are you ok?"

I turned to look at her, seeing the concern reflected in her eyes.  I looked over the edge of the Bison's saddle, noting that the sea was replaced by land below us, before responding "Ya, I'm fine. Was just thinking about everything that happened. What brought us here."

Katara stilled, appearing to look at something that wasn't there. She was probably lost within the same memories I was moments ago. I squeezed her hand softly, wondering for a moment how her hands remained so soft after the countless battles they've been through. She jerked slightly, her eyes regaining focus before giving me a small smile. It was a rare sight in recent months but still as beautiful as the day she proposed.

"Despite everything that's happened, I'm glad you've been here with me Zula."  Katara said softly before leaning in and giving me a soft kiss that left my heart stuttering. It's amazing that, after all this time, she still has the same effect on me. It faintly reminds me of how nervous I was when I admitted out loud to Ty Lee and Zuko that I wanted to marry her. Though the nervousness I felt that day grew to be far greater when she walked around the corner in the palace hallway, clearly having heard what I said. 

I couldn't stop the small smile from forming on my face as the memory washed over me. Leaning my forehead against hers, I recalled her walking up to me, her wide-eyed, surprised, expression shifting to one of pure happiness. 

"Ya know, I've been nervous all week about giving this to you, but suddenly I feel a lot more confident." She had said jokingly, a smirk plastered on her face as she pulled a small rectangle box from her robe. She opened the box, standing barely a foot away, revealing a blue necklace, simple in design. The pendant had the symbol of the Fire Nation in the center. Only, instead of black over a red background, it was ivory over a pale blue. It was simple but perfect. 

"In the Watertribes, we use necklaces to propose. I wasn't so sure before, but something tells me I can guess your answer. Will you marry me?" Her eyes twinkled in amusement as I nodded dumbly, too shocked over what had just happened. It certainly wasn't my most elegant moment. It had taken me a few moments to process what had happened before I launched myself at her, pulling her into a searing kiss which she smiled into. Pulling away from me, with eyes full of joy and a smile lighting up her face, Katara asked "Can I put it on you?"

I nodded again, not trusting my voice. Katara pulled the necklace from its case and walked around me as it looked over at Zuko and Ty Lee both wearing equally large smiles. As soon as it was fastened, Zuko pulled us both into a large hug, quickly followed by Ty Lee, who couldn't contain her excitement. "Oh my gosh Azula! Congratulations! You're getting married! There is so much planning we have to do! The decorations, oh you know there has to be music..."

I looked into Katara's eyes, not pulling away from her, returning the smile. "There's nowhere else I'd rather be." I said softly so only she could hear, before closing the distance for another kiss.

We were pulled from our moment by Appa beginning his descent, and Aang jumping off, unfurling his glider and flying away, creating distance for his battle. Looking back towards the rapidly approaching ground of the western Earth Kingdom, I could see the sea of black dots below us start to become more defined, revealing the mass of creatures we'll soon be fighting. Appa landed with a massive gust of wind sending monsters flying, giving us a few moments to disembark and fall into formation.

As soon as Toph landed, she quickly entombed the pit in a think earthen dome, soon backed by two other Earthbenders, preventing the swarm of monsters from continuing to grow. Katara, myself and the other volunteer survivors formed a protective perimeter around them. I quickly unsheathed Sokka's black blade instead of using my dual tanto. Katara handed me the sword before we left the temple, saying Sokka would want to be here fighting with us. Looking at the gleaming dark metal, I knew she was right. 

The luminous light of the Avatar state in the distance, shortly followed by a deafening roar and rumbling earth signified the start of the battle. The monstrosities surrounding us, the same kind that butchered Ty lee, righted themselves before charging. There was a vindictive pleasure in cutting them down, watching their bodies crumble into dust as their heads rolled. The creatures were stronger and faster than normal people, that was unquestionable. However, for a veteran of the 100-year war, their attacks were laughably easy to read and counter.

As the battle drew on, the quakes from Aang's battle with the giant, snake-like beast continued, and exhaustion slowly began to seep in. There was a yell to my left followed by a sickening snap that drew my attention. The limp body of a survivor was held by one of our enemies, head twisted to an unnatural degree. It carelessly threw the body into another ally that was attempting to flank it before running towards the earthbenders.

"Katara!" I yelled, directing her to the monster. She quickly launched a disk of ice, decapitating the beast.

"Fall in!" I yelled, causing our allies to move closer to the earthbenders, closing the gap in our defense.

I risked a glance towards Aang's fight to see the serpent falling from a newly formed mountain, who's shadow covered our battlefield. The end of its tail was coiled around the light of the Avatar State. Not a moment later, a massive quake tore across the Earth, the impact echoing in its wake. Chaotic black and red energy tore through the air, washing over us, blasting through the cover of the pit, and, for the first time in ages, I felt my Firebending return as Agni's light shined once again.

Unlike before, when the energy entered the hole it pulsed. Before I could react, some of the energy solidified, wrapping around my waist, before it began to drag me with it. 

"Azula!" I heard Katara yelled as she raced towards me, skating across her ice. Using it, Katara launched herself off the ramp, rapidly closing the distance between us. Her left hand gripped mine as she used the last of her water to freeze her feet to the ground, stopping the energy from pulling me further.

I smirked at the display. "Very impressive Master Katara." I said causing her to roll her eyes.

"Only you could brush off nearly dying so easily." She said, her light tone trying to hide the strain of fighting the pulling tendril of energy. Her expression softened before she looked me in the eyes and said "I told you we would make it through this remember. I'm not gonna let you make a list out of..." Her words abruptly stopped as warm blood splattered across my face. "Zula... Your face..." Her voice was weak, words barely audible. My mind shut down, a sinking emptiness filled me as I started at the now crimson fist sticking through my fiance's chest. I couldn't help but look into her wide, horrified, blue eyes as the first extracted itself. Her grip on my hand didn't lessen as the bloodied hand gripped her hair, pulling her head to the side.

Gaunt, bald, fanged monsters peered at me from over her shoulder, giving me a sickening, malicious, grin before sinking its teeth into the side of Katara's neck. Her mouth opened in a silent scream, the grip on my hand weakening. The slick blood coating her front caused my hand to slide out of hers within a moment, my grip causing her ring to slide off with it. I watched, unable to speak, as the tendril of energy pulled me into to pit. The last thing I saw being the light leaving Katara's beautiful eyes as it tore its fangs from her throat.

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

"For untold eons, demons walked the Earth. They made it their home, their, uh... their hell. But in time, they lost their purchase on this reality, and the way was made for mortal animals, for-for man. All that remains of the old ones are vestiges, certain magicks, certain creatures." -- Rupert Giles

[teshamerkel]

Pokemon Mystery Dungeon: Seekers of Soul

[Chapter 9] (16 Pages)

<< First | < Previous | Next >

Nia and Tobias have their combat capabilities tested and meet their assigned trainers. Meanwhile, Nia’s new friends have some doubts about the riolu’s hot-tempered partner.

-

Nia trails nervously behind Tobias as they climb the tree’s staircase, desperately trying to think of the moves she’d read about in her books. There were lots of punches, she thinks. Does she even know how to punch? What if she can’t bring herself to actually hit someone? Her thoughts cut off when they finally enter what is presumably the training floor, and she stops in her tracks.

The open space is busy despite the early hour, Pokémon sparring and practicing moves either against each other or on cloth dummies. Nia watches with wide eyes as a giant bee with drills for hands (What on God’s green Earth?) dances gracefully around their fighting partner before lunging and managing to slam the other Pokémon in the chest with the blunt of their drill.

Yikes.

“Tobias!” A feminine, oddly delighted voice calls.

Nia turns to see a humanoid, flower-like Pokemon walking—no, strutting—over to them. Long green petals flow behind her like hair, and what looks like thigh-high pink boots stretch up her long legs. The Pokemon is beautiful and carries an air of confidence, and Nia tries not to feel too intimidated.

“You really sent Archer into a tizzy the other day, destroying another dummy,” she says, and Nia can hear the grin in her voice despite not being able to see a mouth past the Pokemon’s petal collar.

Tobias snorts. “He should just be glad I didn’t use him as my training dummy. He fits the bill.”

The flower Pokemon laughs loudly, then seems to finally notice Nia. “Oh! Well, hey there! You must be Nia, right? Maggie’s little charge?”

Nia offers a shaky smile. “Y-Yeah, that’s me.”

“Nice to finally meet you, honey! I’m Azami. A tsareena, if that helps at all. I’m one of the trainers here at the guild. Speaking of—” She looks to Tobias again. “What’re you here for today? It’s not one of your usual days to train.”

“We’re here for assessment,” Tobias says, straightening up. “We’re a Seeker team now.”

Azami lights up. “Finally! Virizion knows you’ve been itching for battle for years now.” The tsareena turns an appraising look on Nia next. “So you’re Spitfire’s partner?”

Nia stiffens, glancing at Tobias, but the charmander doesn’t even react to the nickname. Nia hesitantly nods.

“Have to say, I’m curious to see what a human brings to the battlefield!”

Nia tries not to look too terrified at the mention of actually fighting. Even worse, of being graded on her fighting.

Azami giggles and turns, beckoning them along. “C’mon! I’ll get Val to help us out.”

They follow her to the back of the open gym, where a large, wooden mat area is marked off by a white rectangle of paint. A Pokemon is on their hands and knees knocking at one corner of the mat, checking for breaks if Nia had to guess.

“Val!” Azami presents Nia and Tobias with an overdramatic flourish. “New Seekers needing assessment.”

The Pokémon, Val, looks up, standing to her full height and towering over Nia and Tobias. She certainly looks like she belongs in the training area. She has gray skin, but what almost looks like rounded yoga pants and head adornments in a dark shade of pink that perfectly matches her lips. Yellow marks accent her “pants” and bead her forehead. Nia’s surprised by how humanoid she looks.

“New recruits?” The new Pokemon asks, voice dusky. Dark, serious eyes peer down at the two of them. “Names and team title.”

“You know my name,” Tobias grumbles with a roll of his eyes. “Team Scarlet.”

Val narrows her eyes at him, but doesn’t push, looking to Nia instead.

Nia jumps. “U-Uh, Nia! Team Scarlet.”

Val nods, motioning for them both to follow her to the middle of the training area. They do, Nia casting Azami a nervous glance over her shoulder. The tsareena gives her a wink and settles on the sidelines to watch.

“Charmander first,” Val says.

Huh. Is there a reason she’s calling him by his species and not his actual name? Tobias steps forward without comment, so Nia retreats, scurrying back to Azami’s side.

“Attack me as if I were an outlaw,” Val instructs. “Do not hold back.”

Tobias frowns, looking insulted. “I’m not weak.”

“I did not say you were. Attack.” She settles into a loose stance, arms up and at the ready, feet placed wide. 

Tobias growls. “Fine.”

The charmander launches at her, claws gleaming with a metallic shine. Val ducks under his attack and rolls the charmander over her back to land on the ground with a heavy thud. She returns to her stance, looking unbothered.

Tobias snarls and goes straight at her again, swiping and snapping his jaws in a frenzy, occasionally trying to spin and slam Val with his tail. She moves around him like water in a stream, dodging and stepping aside with inhuman grace to avoid every move. She doesn’t even have to touch the charmander to trip him up. It doesn’t help that she’s so much taller than him, with longer limbs, but Nia has a feeling that Tobias would be losing regardless.

“She’s amazing,” Nia breathes.

“Isn’t she?” Azami says, a gleam in her eyes. “Val’s one of the best fighters in the guild!”

Tobias steps back for a moment to recover. Val simply waits, staring emotionlessly at the charmander’s heavy breathing.

Tobias snarls and darts forward again, feinting right before rolling left, popping back up and spewing a huge plume of embers at Val. Nia tenses up, but the pink Pokémon simply seems to shift through space, to glitch, easily moving through the fiery attack without getting hit by it. When she steps around behind Tobias again, Nia notices her eyes glowing orange.

Azami must notice her confusion. “Val’s a medicham—half fighting type, half psychic. That move was detect. It basically lets her dodge moves easier.”

Nia nods, leaning forward eagerly. She’d read about that move, actually! It’s so much cooler seeing it in person. Tobias takes a few more swipes at Val, attacks slowing as he tires out. Then, almost too fast for Nia to follow, Val slides behind the charmander. She grabs his arms, yanks them behind his back, and uses a foot to sweep his legs out from under him. In one smooth movement, Tobias is pinned on his belly, teeth bared as his face is smashed into the ground.

Wow.

Val nods to herself, as if making some sort of decision, then releases the charmander to stand up. “Riolu.”

Tobias snarls and pushes himself up, spinning to swipe at the medicham again. Val simply smacks his hand to the side. 

“You are done. Sit down.”

Tobias stops, huffing, before stalking over to Nia and Azami.

“Uh, good job!” Nia says, giving the charmander a shaky smile.

Tobias glares at her, face red from the workout. Or embarrassment. “Shut up.”

He plops down beside her, pointedly looking ahead of him. Nia cringes but doesn’t push, nervously following Val’s beckoning and moving forward into the training area. The wood feels almost springy underfoot.

“I-I haven’t really fought before,” Nia says, voice high with nerves.

Val‘s lips purse, face unreadable. “You are the former human, yes?”

“Yes.”

“Did you fight as a human?”

“I-I don’t think so?”

Val makes a quiet, unreadable noise, and then falls into the same stance. “If you want to be a Seeker, you must fight. Try.”

Nia swallows, heart pounding. Frantically, she tries to remember the bit of reading she’d done yesterday on fighting types. Punches and kicks, right? Just start with a punch! Apparently it’s supposed to come naturally, but that’s if you grow up as a riolu, not become one suddenly as an adult. There was a move called bone rush too, she thinks? Or aura sphere? She—

“C’mon, Nia! Kick her butt!” Azami whoops.

Val is still waiting for Nia to make the first move. Holding her breath, Nia balls up a fist and throws it forward, stumbling. Val immediately catches her fist.

“If you punch like this, you will injure yourself,” Val says. She uncurls Nia’s fist, moving her thumb out from inside her other fingers. She helps Nia close her fist again, thumb lined up on the outside now.

“Hit with these two knuckles,” she continues, tapping the top knuckles of Nia’s pointer and middle finger. “Not the flat of your fingers.”

Nia tries to pay close attention to Val’s words, nodding.

“Keep your fist lined up with your arm. Tilting leads to broken wrists.” Val lines up Nia’s arm, stepping behind her to turn her shoulders, twisting her torso. “Stance wider.”

Nia follows her instructions, feeling incredibly awkward and unnatural. But she definitely trusts the medicham’s knowledge over her own.

“Try a punch. Use your legs and torso, not just your arm.”

Nia focuses and tries it, punching at the air. Oh. It’s kind of like how she used her momentum and the twist of her torso when she was swinging her branch. Like batting. She casts Val a nervous glance.

Val says nothing, expression unchanged, but nods. “It will become more natural with practice and repetition. Now kick.”

Nia nods and tries not to look too stupid as she kicks at the air, just managing to not fall over. She hears Tobias snort, and when she looks at him he’s not even bothering to hide his grin. Jerk.

Val moves to correct her form once again, and then has her repeat a few punches and kicks in the air. Then, she teaches her a basic block with her arms, showing her how to properly use the mounds of bone on her forearms as a defense without damaging them and having them crack.

After a minute or so of crash-course training, Val steps back and nods. “That will do for now. Do you know how to use your aura powers?”

Nia’s ears flatten. “N-No. Sorry.”

“Do not apologize. We must all learn.”

Nia offers her a thankful smile. Val doesn’t smile back, but oddly enough Nia doesn’t feel unnerved by the Pokemon’s stoic expression. Maybe it’s because she doesn’t sound angry, just…calm. Patient. The medicham turns to Azami and Tobias. The charmander stops looking bored, straightening up.

“Azami. I will train these two myself, if you would be willing to assist with Charmander.”

Azami laughs, throwing an arm around Tobias’ shoulders. Nia is still shocked that he doesn’t look upset by her casual, friendly attitude. “Sounds great! I’d love to show Spitfire the ropes. You’re sure you won’t be too overworked, Val?”

The medicham shakes her head, resolute. “I will handle their primary fighting technique, and Riolu’s aura training.”

Nia blinks up at the medicham, a bit awed by the Pokémon. “Y-You can help me with my aura?”

“My psychic abilities are similar. I can teach you the basics.”

Azami drags Tobias over to the two of them, and the charmander steps into line beside Nia while the two older Pokémon face them.

“Have you taken the knowledge assessment?” Val asks.

“Not yet,” Tobias says.

“As long as you pass that test, you should be cleared to go on E-rank missions!” Azami says, hands on her hips.

Nia’s surprised. After she clearly showed she doesn’t know a single move?

Val must be able to see what she’s thinking, because she explains, “You are inexperienced, but expectedly so. You are strong, and you listen. You will learn fast. As long as you have your partner to cover your back—“ She gives Tobias a pointed look. “You will be fine. Learning in the field is the best method.”

“But you two will need to stop in for training at least two times a week, for Val to check your progress and correct any faulty form or techniques. And for Nia to practice her aura abilities, too! Sound good?” Azami asks.

Nia nods, grateful to hear that she’s not being completely thrown to the wolves to learn on her own. Tobias grunts.

“You should probably go take the knowledge assessment next,” Azami says thoughtfully. “As long as you pass, you’re free to spend the rest of the day however you like before your first mission tomorrow!”

“I recommend coming back here to train,” Val says. “Riolu, you are far behind a regular Pokémon in knowing your own body and abilities. Charmander, you are strong and have good instincts, but your temper and your reliance on straightforward tactics will only hold you back.”

Nia nods, glancing at Tobias when he huffs and crosses his arms. Oh boy. Why does she already get the feeling that Tobias isn’t fond of the medicham?

In the end, they leave the training area and return to the floor they met Riley on earlier that morning. An adorable ladybug Pokémon gives them each a separate test (Nia’s verbally, due to her sloppy handwriting) regarding their knowledge of crucial Pokémon info. Typings, abilities, identification of different kinds of Pokémon and items...Nia’s surprised by how much she remembers from her many hours of reading over the last week. She’s still a nervous wreck, though, and she winces every time she knows she gets one wrong.

And yet, at the end of the test the cheery ladybug Pokémon happily announces that they both passed. Nia just scraped by, she’s sure, but it was enough. She gives Tobias a relieved smile, and even he looks like he’s holding back excitement at the news.

They’ve officially made it. They’re a Seeker team. Team Scarlet.

Tobias immediately heads towards the training hall to return to practicing, but Nia suggests they get something to eat instead. Her stomach has been growling for an hour now.

Tobias looks tempted by the thought, but then shakes his head. “I’m gonna train. I’ve gotta get a hit on that stupid medicham or it’ll drive me crazy.”

Nia can’t help feeling a little hurt by the rejection, but tries to smile as he turns to go. “O-Okay. Catch you later, then?”

The charmander doesn’t answer, turning a bend in the hall, and Nia’s smile drops. She didn’t expect him to soften up to her overnight, but they are a team now, right? She thought that would mean something!

Sighing, the riolu turns and hopes she can find her way to the cafeteria. It’s nearing noon, so by time she does track it down, the place is packed. Nia squeezes through all of the Pokémon, glad for her species’ smaller size, and finally steps into a random line. The next problem is where to sit. She has her tray of food, but the tables are all more or less full of Pokémon she doesn’t know. She’s considering taking her food down to one of the tunnels on the base floor, but then she hears someone calling her name.

“Nia! Nia, over here! Hey!”

It’s the green deer Pokémon she’d met here the other day! Andyn, she thinks? Andyn is hopping up and down on one of the table’s benches to catch Nia’s attention, so she hurries over to the deer Pokemon’s side. There are two other Pokémon clustered around her with their own trays, chatting as the riolu approaches.

“Hey! Good to see you! You should sit with us if you don’t have a place to eat,” Andyn says. Nia’s eyes flick nervously to the other Pokémon, but they’re both looking at her with open curiosity.

“Oh! Is this the human you told us about?” A black weasel (or cat?) Pokémon asks. He has one black ear and one ear a striking, feathery red, a golden charm on his forehead, and when he points excitedly at Nia, she sees that his hands are basically just long, curved claws. “She looks just like a regular riolu!”

“I told you that, dummy,” Andyn says, rolling her eyes.

The weasel-cat sticks his tongue out at the deer before turning back to Nia. “I’m Ezra. A sneasel! Ice and dark type. Incredibly fast, and incredibly cool. Literally!”

Andyn groans as Nia laughs, charmed by the cheeky sneasel’s attitude.

“I’m Jaz,” the pink Pokémon across from Andyn offers. She’s smaller than her teammates, and Nia doesn’t know how else to describe her other than saying she looks like an adorable stuffed animal version of a red panda, with soft fur and blunt paws. Something about her demeanor feels calmer than Andyn and Ezra. “I’m a stufful. Fighting and normal type.”

“Oh, right! And I’m a deerling. Grass type.” Andyn adds.

“Take a seat,” Jaz says, patting the spot beside her. “We don’t bite. Well, most of us don’t.”

“That was one time!” Ezra protests.

Nia smiles and sits down by Jaz, picking up a berry and watching the friendly banter unfold between the group.

“I had no choice!” The sneasel adds, in a tone that says they’ve argued about this before. “You were confused, Jaz! I had to snap you out of it somehow!”

The stufful shoots Ezra a dry look, pointing a paw at her ear where a sizable piece of it is missing. “By taking a chunk of my fur?”

“Cannibal!” Andyn jeers, giggling madly when Ezra starts yelling at her about how he didn’t even eat Jaz so it didn’t count.

“You guys seem close,” Nia says quietly to Jaz.

Jaz huffs a laugh as Andyn nearly knocks her tray of food off the table mid-argument. “Team Evergreen, at our best. These two are always like this.”

Nia nibbles at her food—a pecha berry, she thinks?—and basks in the friendly ribbing. Even if she feels slightly out of place, it’s nice to be included in such a friendly group.

“So what have you been up to since coming to the guild?” Andyn eventually chirps, finished with teasing Ezra. “Still helping Maggie out?”

“O-Oh! Um. I’m actually part of a Seeker team, now. We just registered today.”

Andyn and Ezra perk up at that.

“That’s so cool!” Andyn says, beaming. “I never would’ve pegged you as the Seeker type! Who’s your partner?”

“Tobias.”

Immediately, the jubilant mood of the group takes a nosedive. Jaz and Ezra exchange a confused, concerned look, and Andyn looks outright upset.

“What? Why in Celebi’s name are you partnering up with him?”

Nia just blinks at her, unsure how to answer.

“He’s so rude and mean, a-and—he’s just a jerk! For no reason! He’s always been like that.”

“I actually agree with Andyn,” Jaz adds, tone careful. “Tobias is...aggressive, at best. And you seem sweet. A little shy, even. I have to say I’m wondering how you two even get along.”

Nia winces. They kind of just…don’t. “W-Well, we sort of ended up deciding to try this out together?” No one at the table looks reassured, and Nia adds, “P-Partnering up was actually, uh, my idea. He just accepted.”

Jaz’s expression smooths out at that, and she goes back to her meal. Ezra is still staring at Nia with a frown. It looks out of place on the mischievous Pokémon’s face.

“So you aren’t worried he’ll like...ditch you in the middle of a dungeon or something? Or that he won’t have your back? It’s super important that you trust your partners in the Seeker business. It can be a matter of life or death.”

At that, Nia hunches down a bit more over her tray, trying not to let her doubts surface. She certainly doesn’t trust Tobias with her life, but he’d never just…leave her behind, right? He didn’t the first time they met, but…

“I certainly wouldn’t trust him,” Andyn huffs, poking at a berry on her tray and nearly mashing it with her hoof. “There’s a reason he has no friends our age. He’s not a good Pokémon. Some of the older Pokemon are nice to him, but they have to be.”

Nia feels like she should defend her partner. He isn’t that bad! He seems to really care about Maggie, at least. Still, when Nia opens her mouth to protest, nothing comes out. She knows she should defend the charmander, but...she doesn’t want to make her potential new friends upset, either. And he is still pretty mean to her. Nia finally settles on shrugging, looking down at her food to push it around. She’s not so hungry, all of a sudden.

There’s a beat of awkward silence. Then, Ezra says, “Well, maybe he doesn’t suck as much as we all think he does?”

Jaz sighs. “Just be careful, Nia. What’s your team name?”

From there, the conversation slowly rises back to normal spirits, and Andyn and Ezra even get into another lighthearted squabble. Soon enough they’re all finished eating and returning their trays, Nia hesitating at one of the food lines.

“What is it?” Andyn asks, holding still while Jaz ties the bow around her neck for her. It’s a dark reddish-pink tone, kind of like Ezra’s ear.

“I was thinking maybe I should grab something for Tobias. I don’t think he ate yet.”

Andyn groans. “I can already tell that you’re gonna be way too nice to him. Don’t let him step all over you, okay?“

Nia smiles at Andyn’s concern. “I won’t. Thanks.”

The team heads out on a mission, waving goodbye and telling Nia that she needs to join them for lunch again. By time she gets a sack lunch of food to take back to Tobias, her chest feels happy and filled to burst. She’s making friends! She had Maggie before, of course, and maybe Xander, and everyone else has been really nice to her, but...something about talking and eating with a group of Pokémon her age makes her happy.

She practically skips back to the training hall. When she finds Tobias, training with Val and still stubbornly trying the same charge-and-slash tactic as before, she sits down on the sidelines to watch. He really just needs to mix up his approach and he’d probably do much better.

It’s another few minutes before Tobias finally slows down, falling to a knee and literally steaming with exertion.

“Enough. Take a break,” Val commands, stepping back. There’s not a scratch on her. In fact, she doesn’t even look winded. Her gaze flicks over to Nia. “Come here.”

The riolu jumps, scrabbling to her feet.

“I can still fight!” Tobias huffs between breaths. He’s shaking.

“Go rest,” Val repeats, voice hard.

Tobias growls under his breath, looking like he wants to argue, but then he staggers over to Nia’s side, collapsing onto his back. Nia debates on bothering him, but then gingerly picks up the sack lunch and sets it near the charmander’s head. “I-I brought you some lunch. If you want it.”

She hurries off before he can respond, squaring up with Val. The medicham tells her they’ll wait a couple of days before beginning Nia’s aura training, so she is more settled in and her emotions are in order. Instead, they return to practicing her physical movements. In addition to simple kicks, punches and blocks, Val teaches her how to roll, sidestep, and dodge.

After a particularly sloppy roll ends up with Nia sprawled on the ground, she looks over to see Tobias watching them train as he munches on a berry. Nia smiles as she moves to try the maneuver again. At least the charmander is eating!

Soon enough Tobias wants to join back in, so Val switches to discussing a few basic forms of tactics to use when fighting. In addition to full frontal assault, there are sneak attacks, defensive maneuvers, bottlenecking using tight areas, distraction techniques...Nia never dreamed there would be so much to learn about fighting!

In no time at all, the sun is setting, and Nia is more tired than she has been in her entire life. Probably. Definitely more tired than she has been since becoming a riolu. She falls back onto the training mat, breathing hard. Her muscles are screaming, she’s hot as heck, and her brain is tripping over itself trying to remember and repeat all of the new basic techniques she’d learned today. It’s no surprise to Nia that as soon as her and Tobias trudge their way upstairs to Maggie’s quarters without even a bite to eat for supper, they both immediately head to bed.

“Hard day?” Maggie asks, laughter in her voice.

Tobias grunts, flopping face-down into his nest. He grew to accept Val’s expertise and superior strength throughout the day, but Nia would bet anything he was still grumpy that he couldn’t land a single hit on the medicham.

Nia leans against the wall and tries to keep her eyes open to talk to the meganium. “I could fall asleep right here.”

Maggie chuckles, reaching out a vine to smooth back the fur on Nia’s head. Oh, that feels nice. “You do look wiped, my dear. One more question, and then I’ll leave you be so you can rest. What did you two name your team?”

Tobias snores from his nest, and Nia gives the meganium a tired smile. “Team Scarlet.”

“Lovely choice,” Maggie says, expression warm. Nia wonders if she has an idea of where the name came from. “Why don’t you get some sleep? You have your first mission tomorrow, from what I hear.”

Nia nods, yawning, and carefully steps around Tobias to lie down in her own soft nest. She’ll be sore tomorrow for sure. Still, she feels...good. Accomplished.

Excited.

[wu-sisyphus-gang]

Motion Sickness Chapter 54

pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq

Things somehow weren't exactly awkward between Ruby and I now that she knew how I felt and I knew she felt something back. Somehow we were still able to work closely together. I suppose that was what she meant by just needing more time. She was just worried and confused about Jaune. Which I understood.

I was still laying awake at night confused about my feelings for Jaune myself. So I wasn't exactly casting stones at her about it. Plus she promised she'd be ready to return my feelings eventually. So it was not like she'd rejected my emotions. She just needed a moment to breath.

I could deliver her that. I would deliver her that. She deserved that from me. I could be as patient as she needed me to be. I also just needed her to know. I wasn't going to be able to hide it from her forever.

Maybe things would be different if what had happened with Jaune was different. If whatever happened at Haven hadn't happened. It hurt that Ruby and I still didn't know for sure what I felt about it. My upbringing wasn’t one that led me to be in touch with my emotions.

I knew where Blake and Yang and Qrow still stood on the issue. They saw him as a traitor who turned on us. Blake in particular likened him to Adam, her own ex who eventually turned on her ideals of what the White Fang should be.

And it wasn't like Jaune wasn't a killer. He was. But had he crossed the line into being addicted to murder to solve his problems was the key question. Because Yang was a killer too and nobody doubted her. Blake, too, had killed during her stint in the White Fang and she was above suspicion. It was then just a question of whether he killed when the situation called for it or if he killed because he felt like it.

It was a scary thought and the image of him kicking one of Don Corneo's men in the head replayed in my mind over and over again.

It depended on what had happened to him at Haven, didn't it? Ruby, I knew, was still holding out for the best, whatever that may be. And in my heart I coveted the same thing. I wanted Jaune to be innocent. Even if it meant something horrible had happened to him. Perhaps that was cruel of me. Perhaps it was hopeful of me. Perhaps it was a lot of things of me.

"You mentioned you were attacked in Argus, right Ruby?" I asked her as she reclined on her bed and read from her comics.

Her hair looked good in the early morning light of Atlas as she kicked her feet up like a schoolgirl. She was adorable to watch.

"These blonde, blue eyed girls," she nodded. She looked over at me, her eyes were little silver mirrors. The light of dawn rebounded around and off of them.

"Did you catch any of their semblances?" I asked.

"The one I fought had this blue and red being that fought with her. It made her attacks stronger. Oscar and Qrow fought one which had a violet lightning semblance that made her faster, I think."

"That sounds a lot like Jaune's Limit Breaker. Doesn't it?"

"Maybe…"

"Is it possible that they are his sisters."

"Maybe. They might be the right age for it. But…"

"But then they should have known we didn't have the relic, if they were working for Salem, that is."

Who were those girls that attacked my friends in Argus? We'd talked about it a little before now and their powers were not dissimilar to Jaune's but they were after the relic. Something they should have known we didn't have. We'd talked about it as a group a little. I was curious about it a little more.

And they were young, young enough to fit into that category of how old he'd told Ruby his sisters were. If they were in league with Salem and looking for the relic didn't that mean Jaune had to be too?

But then they should have known that we didn't have it. It made no sense unless Jaune wasn't in league with Salem.

"How could Jaune simultaneously be working with her and not?" Ruby asked. She was reaching a similar conclusion as I was. She was always a little clever.

She also understood people preternaturally. She had a sixth sense about it. I wouldn't be surprised if she was able to pick people out of a line up based on their semblances. She was a powerful empath. Not as strong as Ren had been who's semblance had been tied to emotions, but she was good.

The power of aura gave her a supernatural sense of the emotions of those around her. It was why I'd abandoned trying to hide what I felt for her. She'd have been able to feel it eventually.

Something was afoot when it came to Jaune, something worrying. I knew she was thinking it too.

"You're thinking about Jaune, aren't you Weiss."

"A little," I confessed. "I don't understand what happened."

"You and me both." She put her comics down. She walked over and traced her hands through my hair. It felt nice so I leaned into her touch and let out a contented hum. "Blake doesn't believe us about him."

"She never got to meet him in Mistral," I defended. "She may know Adam but she never saw the new Jaune."

"Their semblances are concerning to me. If they're similar then they are similar," Ruby murmured. "They have to be, that scares me."

"That doesn't have to be a bad thing like she thinks. There were things about Adam that she herself used to like and souls are complicated business," I tried to refute. "Semblances are confusing and Jaune's is hardly the only one I've seen where the user has to stand still. I stand nearly still while I’m doing summonings."

She rubbed her face in my hair and laid on top of me in the bed. I turned around and put an arm around her and squeezed her close to me. She sighed as I did and we laid together on my bed.

I stroked her pretty red and black hair and she burrowed into the crook of my arm. Her little hourglass shape fit snuggly next to mine and I kissed her forehead. I just lay there stroking her and staring at her. It was a comforting moment, unbroken by interruptions and I had the pleasure of just staring at her as she rested with her eyes closed.

In that moment it didn't much feel like she was leading me on. It felt like that promise that she would be ready to return my feelings. One day, soon, she would be ready to give back to me what I wanted from her. She gave me a light blush and returned me a sigh.

I would miss this. If anything happened, losing moments like this would break my cold lonely heart.

pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq

We met up in the briefing room and I saw Winter again. She was working on a data pad with a rough sketch of Atlas's newest hostile person of interest. Cloud Strife. I thought the sketch looked roughly familiar. Around the eyes and the bridge of the nose, maybe. The spiky hair and diamond piercings looked like no one I had ever met, however. He had a Mistrali look to him in the sketch as well.

"Still working on Cloud Strife, I see."

"Indeed. He burned down a building recently and killed thirty people. They were all gang members but still, murder is murder." Winter sighed. "He's working with Neapolitan and getting involved with the local gangs. It breathes of Roman Torchwick which is more than a touch concerning. The last thing Atlas needs is someone stirring the gangs up and mixing the pot."

"We've killed gang members too, " I muttered. "We got involved in the local mafia infighting in Mistral."

"Yeah, ever heard of Don Corneo. We killed some of his men," Yang followed me up.

"Killing in the line of duty isn't the same as murder." Winter shot us down. "What you went through is a tragedy in the course of securing the maidens and the relics. It isn't the same as gang warfare over drugs and prostitution."

Yang just shrugged like she couldn't really bring herself to believe it. I hadn't killed anyone and couldn't really speak to it.

"Perhaps you require counseling. You are young," Winter murmured softly.

"I don't need to see a shrink," Yang said.

"It's hardly anything to be ashamed of. I had to attend counseling when I was younger and killed for the first time," Winter confessed. "It's part of what we do. We all go through it. There are trained professionals to help us handle it. It's part of military life, at least in the Atlas military. Though perhaps you are handling it better than most. This is the first I'm hearing about it." She gave me an interested look.

"I've never killed. It was my job to torture the Don for information," I told her. "It was Jaune's operation."

"Perhaps more concerning than I thought. Torture and the turncoat. Perhaps I should prescribe you therapy. Torture is often as traumatic for the torturer as for the victim."

"I'm doing just fine, thank you," I instead insisted. "Don Corneo was a disgusting waste and I have no regrets."

"I see…" I could tell she was still worried in her distant way. I embraced the feeling of my older sibling's worry. It was oddly nice to bask in. I wasn't sure what Ruby was always complaining about. I was just glad she wasn't offering me therapy for Jaune.

I wasn't sure how to handle that odd ball of feelings and I didn't want to talk about them with some stranger. Plus I was sure that almost no matter what the topic was our problem child would probably come up. Even if it was just discussing torturing the Don.

Winter flickered over some other images on her data pad. It was two way so I couldn't help but see.

"Is that… Tyrian?" I asked.

"You know this person?" Winter asked. "He was a known mass murderer."

She reversed the image on the data pad for me.

I nodded. "He was in Mistral. He's the Scorpion faunus I told you about. The agent of Salem."

"I see." Winter scrolled through her report. "I was only just beginning to look at this statement regarding him. It appears he is a prospect for the description you provided. Scorpion faunus, claw like weapons, a metallic prosthesis for a tail. He's a match."

I stared at the photograph of Tyrian with blood at the corner of his lips. He was still smiling with a faint grin on his mouth and in his eyes.

"He's dead?" I asked, I examined the image. I'd fought him in Mistral. He was incredibly fast. And he fought with all of his five limbs in play. It made for a difficult opponent. He was easily the most dangerous enemy I had ever faced in real combat.

"He is. He was killed by Cloud Strife. Or someone with a similar weapon. Most likely him, however. A broadsword, to the chest. A mass murderer like Tyrian Callows would have been bad for Strife's business and that of his allies. He intervened and cut off Salem's influence at the knees."

"Strife is that dangerous?" Yang asked. "Who would have thought?"

"Indeed, Strife is making quite the name for himself and he's proving near impossible to catch with Neapolitan working for him. She's an illusionist and talented at that." Winter replied. "We don't even have a good image of him."

"A broadsword…" I murmured. I tried to connect it with the familiar portrait of Cloud Strife. It was possible, however unlikely, that Jaune did this. Tall, blonde hair, and blue eyes. If nothing else Jaune was similar to Strife. Winter had my description of Jaune, though. I was sure that if it was him, then she'd be closing the noose on him already. For good or for ill.

"What's the mission today?" Ruby asked. Maybe she was thinking the same thing I was and wanted the conversation to move along. Or maybe she was just genuinely asking.

"Grimm in a dust mine near where Amity is being repaired. You're being teamed up with the Ace Ops to clear them out."

"Anything special or just an infestation in general," Blake took the mission dossier from Winter and began to read. I got my own copy and started to leaf through it.

"There's been reports of a rather old giest. It is something to be wary of when you go in," Winter answered. "The classified nature of this mission is what calls for you all. It could be relatively minor and not worth all your skills. Or it could prove necessary."

I read through and looked at the map of the dust mines. It was entirely possible things could get rough in there with no means of supplying one another with quick aid.

"And this is close to where Amity is being worked on," I asked.

"It's nearby. As you can see we'll be dropping you all in. So have a landing strategy prepared."

"This dust mine… it belongs to the Schnee corporation." Blake murmured. She met my eye.

I looked through the dossier and found what she was looking at.

"It used to. It was seized by Atlas under imminent domain," my sister returned. "And it was promptly closed. We couldn't afford leaks about what's going on with Amity and we needed the space."

"And all that untouched dust will be needed for the first phase of the tower's launch," Clover continued for Winter. "Atlas huntsmen are already at work clearing out the surrounding tundra but that Giest evaded destruction and took refuge in the mines; it also took several lives. It's smart. It's old. It's dangerous. The works."

"The mines are an absolute maze from all the excavation they did back in the day. There's all kinds of tunnels it can move between. So, if we're going to kill this thing, we're going to have to split up and corner it. Pin it down, then drop the hammer on it," Clover continued.

I nodded at him while he projected a map of the mines for us. It had one enormous chamber and a series of off-shooting tunnels.  

"We need to get this done before any of the other workers or soldiers get hurt. Any questions?" He finished crisply.

I closed the dossier. We had none.

pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq

With the help of Ace Ops destroying the giest was easy enough. They cornered it in the largest chamber and picked away at its body. To tell the truth it didn't seem like Ace Ops needed much of our help. They were all fast and strong and they operated well as a team. It made me a little jealous. Sure we worked well together, but that well? Perhaps not.

We exited the mine all together and soldiers rushed in behind us to start to secure the place and start getting dust unloaded and ready for the launch.

"Ruby, Qrow? May I speak to you both for a moment?" It was Ironwood standing by a bunch of military trucks. He'd been talking to Clover. That just left Yang, Blake, and I on an airstrip. A plane bearing the SDC logo came descending down on the strip we were on.

"So let me get this straight James." My father came striding out of the airship. His face was red with rage. I hated that look. I was it's target more than once. "In addition to this nonsensical embargo of yours crippling my business, you've also decided you have the authority to commandeer private property. When the council hears about this you will never-"

"Actually I've already informed them. As this is now the site of a classified military operation. It didn't even require a vote." Ironwood ran my father over easily.

"Didn't require a vote?!"

"You might want to brush up on council law before you lose this upcoming election, Jacques; now, I've allowed you to land here once as a courtesy. The next time won't be a friendly reception."

"Lately you seem to forget who your friends really are. I'm going to get that council seat, James and maybe then you'll…" he noticed me standing there in my new blue outfit.  "You… you roped my missing daughter into these schemes of yours too? How long has she been back in Atlas? Does Winter know about this-"

"It was my decision to leave you. It was my decision to come back. Or have you forgotten all about that?"

"If you think I'm one to forget anything, girl,  then you've misjudged the man your father is."

"Believe me, I know exactly the kind of man you are." I folded my arms over my chest and I stared my father down. He was abusive, emotionally and physically. He was a coward who ran from his own name. He had no right to talk to me that way. I wasn't his doll. Never again.

"How dare you speak to me that way, I have half a mind to-"

"Half a mind to what, Jacques?" Ironwood interrupted my father again.

My father growled and did up his sleeve. "You know, your mother was devastated when you left." I glowered up at him.  "Didn't leave her room for days. You know how she gets when she's upset."

My mother… she knew the sort of man she was marrying. On one level I felt pity for her, on the next I couldn't help but feel that she was getting what she deserved. She knew who my father was. She had to have. And she married him anyway. Still… still I couldn't help but feel sorry for her. Which was what I knew my father wanted.

I felt some disgust at myself and at his emotional manipulation. He was always like this. I should have known I could never take the high road with him stooping so low.

He turned away from me and back to Ironwood. "I knew one day you would overextend your reach. I didn't come here to beg for an abandoned mine. I came here to thank you. For personally handing me the noose to hang you. You'll regret this." He turned back to me. Ruby had come up and was holding my hand. Rubbing little circles of comfort into it.

I squeezed her fingers back and she threaded hers between mine. It was small, but it was ours. No one else could take that from me.

"So these are the little friends you threw everything away for." He always reached for the low blow. He was predictable like that. Knowing that didn't make it any easier to deal with, however.

"Not friends. Family." I returned.

He stalked back to his ship past Ironwood with a growl.

I let a sigh escape me as his ship departed.  

A military vehicle pulled up in his spot and Winter popped her head out. Glaring up at father's ship.

"Winter, oh now you show up. You just missed father."

"Oh I wouldn't say I missed him," she returned. She felt rather the same about father as I did. That was healthy to know.

I was not alone.

pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq

-WG

[illyrian-lover-flower]

The chosen forest keeper 5

                                       I never deserved you

So just a little note, thank you guys so much for being patient with me❤❤ and please enjoy the chapter😊 

Though I must warn you, there is a moment in this one where I questioned myself - it’s propably going to be pretty easy to point it out😅

_____________________________________

Fear clawed at her back, like a cold trail of water, that slowly climbed up her spine, millimetre for millimetre, as she stood shaking, like the leaves around her, in the middle of a small clearing, inside a forest which she never wandered upon.  

And though it was fear, that set her heart shaking and her blood running, and held an icy reign over her body, so did the dagger, which she held with such intensity, that her knuckles turned as white as the jade beneath her trembling fingers, while the tip of it glittered happily under the moonlight as it pointed towards the rustling bush to her right.  

Elain had always dreaded such a moment. A moment in which her body would over throw her own power of will again, and claim her. The wish of shedding blood, attached to the very root of her heart as she stood still as death, waiting for her prey. Elain didn’t know from where this lust for blood hailed from, but what she knew was the fear, that always flooded her heart in crashing waves whenever her mind ran wild on blood red fantasies. Leaving her trembling each night, when she awoke sweating from such a dream.  

And now her fantasy was reality.  

Control having long slipped from her grasp as her feet started to move slowly towards the rustling leafage, the grass below her not even daring to bow in the wind as her feet padded softly over the green grass - the dagger held protectively out in front of her as she moved closer and closer, her stance ducked and ready to sprint forward and stab, if she had to.  

Elain would hate herself if this blade would dive into the depths of a fae body, an animal body even, she did not wish to shed blood, but her body was against it. A primal part, which she wasn’t too familiar with, inside of her kept on shouting to just let blood splutter, to get herself dirty.  

But there was no such need for it. The glittering pearl white, of a sharp talon, making her sigh in relieve as she put, Fate seeker hurriedly away, back into the delicate sheath that was dangling carefree off of her thin leather belt. There was no need to draw Fate seeker, it was only an Illyrian, that probably searched, just like her, some peace and semblance among the endless greenery of the mother and the dancing moonlight of the gods.  

There was no need for fear, no reason for bloodshed - everything was fine.  

“Hello.” greeted her cheery voice the male, that came stumbling out of the bush. Leaves ripping and rustling, twigs cracking and breaking under his heavy weight, as he fought his way free.  

Some of the greenery was still tangled in the mass of his chestnut-brown hair, as his eyes found Elain’s, shock washing through them as he stood, stiff as a stone, in the middle of the bush. One strong foot standing proudly on the mushy floor, while the other was tangled in a mass of twigs and leaves, fighting for freedom - all the while his shocked gaze never looked away from Elain, that shifted uncomfortably from one foot on the other.  

Only for a brief moment when his foot in the bush started to shake, in the hopes of finally gaining freedom, did his gaze turn away from her and that only because he stumbled forward and crashed, face first, into the mushy green earth below them.  

It took Elain a lot of willpower to not burst out laughing, but even though her hand flew quickly up her mouth, trying to hold in the laughter, a giggle still escaped her while the male to her feet, only one step away, grumbled into the dirty earth.  

“Here, let me help you.” was all Elain could muster saying, as she calmed her giggling self again and bent down to help the bulky Illyrian up. He still continued to grumble on as he slowly stood up to his full hight again. Fresh mud glimmering under the soft silver hues of the moon light, while it stuck to his chest and face, slowly falling down in flakes too after he once ruffled through his fluffy hair.  

Elain couldn’t contain the giggle as she eyed the male, his way of acting somehow reminded her a lot of Cassian. A clumsy male that was easy to fall into a stream of better never spoken curses. And the male - that stood with his back towards her, as he still tried desperately to get rid of all of the mud on his body - was just as tall and bulky as her kind hearted warrior friend. In general, all Illyrians seemed tall and bulky, she thought. After all, Fersia was just as tall as Azriel and Cassian, just a bit less of muscle mass, but Elain was sure they were around the same hight.

Just like the male, that stood in the middle of the clearing and still didn’t acknowledge Elain's presence at all, only when the Seer approached him, stopping three proper steps away from him did she catch his words.  

“I go for once, only once, in the forest and then this happens! Mother above, why don’t you have a little mercy with me!?” with a sigh, on his now mud free lips, did he turn abruptly towards Elain.  

Ghostly hues of moonlight seemingly dancing around his talons, while he slowly waded through the shaded sea of silver glimmers towards her. His whole being seemed to glow as he took each step silent and swift, approaching his prey ever so slowly. Slightly scared by him, did Elain subtly put a hand on the shaft of Fate Seeker, trying to gain calm and comfort from the cold Jade but neither came. Only the males hunting blue eyes peered down at her petite form.  

“Can I help you?”  

The male did not speak, all he did was taking a predatory step closer towards her and another one and another one, making Elain slowly back away from his intimidating stature and claw tightly at the hilt of Fate seeker.  

Only when he was a breath away, the seers back pressed to the rough bark of an oak, who's leaves stretched far above their heads into a crown –protecting them from any prying eye- not even the moon beams able to dive through the sea of thick leaves, did the stranger speak. His eyes, who were filled with distaste and apologies, were locked on hers as he positioned his arm next to Elain’s head.  

If he goes any further, I’ll draw Fate seeker. Was all Elain could think, not even his honey voice able to calm her nerves “I am very sorry.”  

She didn’t even had time to process his words, before his lips pushed roughly down on hers, his hand, that was not positioned next to her head, moving to her waist and pulling her wide-eyed figure closer towards him.  

Her whole body seemed to screech at the feeling of his lips, seemed to buckle in disgust as his lips kept on moving, as if he would guzzle her alive. Elain did not know why she stood tense for so long, why she had let his hand grip tighter around her waist as his lips continued on moving, but all she knew was the sting.

The sting that tickled along her palm, like an army of ants.  

And then he was gone, his weight was off of her, her lips were freed of his, as his body stumbled back. This disgusting large hand of his, that had grabbed her so roughly, flying up to hold his red check while his eyes were wide as plates, capturing softly the hues of the silver moonlight as they seemed to glitter like a pile of glass shards. “What in the mothers name?!” hissed his voice through the air.  

Elain still tried, with a heaving chest and shaking hands, to process what just happened, of what she just did – she had raised her hand against him, an Illyrian who was born and crafted for battle. Her heart raced, her lips hurt from his rough movement on them and all her mind could do was to yell back at him, her puzzled brain not even able to form the words properly.  

“That I could ask you too!”

His head snapped to her, something like amusement mixed with a bit of anger was displayed in these ghostly light blue eyes of his; “You could ask me that?! You were just the one the broke the rules of the forest?!”  

“What rule are you even talking about!?”

“Don’t act so sanctimonious! You know just as well as I of the rules around here!”  

“Do I look like I do!?” was all she could manage. Her breath was still uneven as she started to yell at the male. Never in her life would she have thought to ever yell at a person, such as the male in front of her, who argued, with wildly gesturing hands, about his point of right.

The male didn’t even answer her question as he continued to grumble on, his chest rising and his lungs fighting for air, as he took deeper and heavier breathes throughout his telling-off. He did not even notice how Elain herself shook from uprising anger, hot searing anger that arose inside of her and protected her of the cold air around her.  

Who does this male think he is?!  

He was in luck that Elain only lifted her hand against him and not drove Fate Seeker into his sculpted cheek!  

“You females of the Angisciri-tribe know just as much of the rules around here as we males!”

Now that had caught Elain’s attention. Fersia had mentioned the word Angisciri a few times on the flight towards her village, as well as when they marched through the thick woods, that protected Fersia’s home for already such a long time. It already had wondered Elain a few times what it meant, but she could not be bothered to ask this question. Not when her mind was preoccupied with her cruel train of thoughts and the whispers around her.  

Just like now, as an abradant hissed laugh echoed through the woods, making her flinch and draw Fate Seeker once again, who’s blade was pointed once again towards her surroundings. But there was nothing, nothing but thick darkness as she scanned the bushes, the stems, the leaves, anything –she didn’t know what- for any trace of an enemy.

And just like that did her disgust vanish, like a cold drop of water on the hot surface of a stone. A bit of it still lingered on her tight skin, but it was forgettable, just like the male that stood puzzled behind her and eyed her stiff body with furrowed eyebrows.  

“May I help you?”  

Elain didn’t answer it, she only turned towards him again – ever so slowly- Fate Seeker clutched tightly in her hands and resting calmy against her chest. “I just thought I heard something.” The tall male, who bathed once again in the silver sea of moonlight, lifted his gaze. Slowly searching every surface behind her, with a trained eye, for any danger and as he found none of that did his blue eyes focus on her doe ones again.  

“You do know, we still have to follow the rules of the forest. Even though you and I, both, might not like it we still have to follow the rules, which were only set up for our own good.”  

His voice was stern as he spoke after a while of silence, his gaze unweathering on Elain as he lectured her about a rule, she had no clue existed. Voicing out this thought, quiet like a church mouse, he had laughed at her.  

“Did your mother not teach you the rules of the forest?”  

“My mother was not from here, neither am I, so it is only natural that I do not know of this rule.”

“You are not from here?” was all he asked, repeating her words with such a hopeful beam in his eyes, that he reminded her of Feyre when they had celebrated her birthday last year. Struk by this memory did her strength to speak slowly evaporate from her, fleeing as if it never belonged to her, as if she was always meant to stay silent – a nod everything that was deemed as right for her.  

Oh, and how this nod of hers set the male running towards her. Twirling and lifting her in an overwhelming hug, similar to those Cassian always gave her –whenever he came back from Illyria. Why did she have to remember all of this now? Was all she could ask herself as guilt slowly wrapped itself around her throat and heart, slowly suffocating her as she thought of her family in the arms of a stranger, who practically bounced off happiness.  

“Oh, thank the mother!” were the words he first spoke to her as he set her back down on her feet, with a spinning head and a nervous laugh on her lips. She still didn’t know of his reason to be this happy, nor could she explain herself why he had forced this kiss upon her only minutes before.  

Elain would normally not pry, but she had a right to know why he did what he did – after all, her time of silence was over, she would no longer accept others to just talk around her, ignore her. Those were the reasons why she ran away in the first place, why she had abandoned her family and now preferred to life with this sting in her heart – slowly healing, even with such a sharp thorn. While in Velaris she would have withered away, would have never spoken up and would have never really questioned the moves of anyone, after all, she had the least right to question Rhys and Feyre’s motives of why they had sent Nesta away so cruelly. Elain was, from any point of view, the weakest of her family, so it was most likely to think that she was the one who had the least right to decide on the doing of the strong ones. Always used to being the one that was protected – not even a say in the slightest.

That was how she had always accepted –thought- of such things, but here she was free to grasp this strong thread of deserved knowledge.  

“May I ask what the kiss was for?” though she asked politely, Elain could not hide the edge of distaste, that lined her words and set the male to shift uncomfortably from one foot on the other, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly while his gaze looked everywhere but her; “Right, you might want to sit down for this one.” 

Elain was puzzled by his act of behaviour but still let him guid her back onto the open clearing, sitting down with her on her white cloak, which she had spread out without hesitancy.  It were long moments of silence and whispered hushes of the wind through the shaking leaves until he spoke again, more to himself than to her “Mother, this is hard to explain to a female.” But Elain was patient and waited till the flustered male opposite her was ready to speak freely. With a final huff and the seers waiting eyes fixed on him, did he meet her gaze. Determination was written inside his ghostly blue orbs, while confusion was displayed in her doe eyes. 

 “So, I did mention a rule to you.” Elain nodded.  

“What I did not tell you, was that this rule is the most important one between the males and females of the forest, or rather it’s one of the three most important rules around here. They are that important that you could consider them as law.” his uneasiness was bright as day, but still Elain could not help but to wish that he finally got to the point, which he tried to dance around so gracefully.

 Another huff followed as he rung once again for words; “All right, to give a bit of insight I’ll tell you all three.”

 Elain only nodded and bit her tongue, it would be rude to interrupt him now, when he tried to give her more information than she asked for. The male only laughed nervously “Mother, I had never thought I’d have such a talk someday …. anyhow the first law of the forest is that no male of the Skirin-tribe is allowed to life together with a female of the Angisciri-tribe, neither is a female of the said Angisciri-tribe allowed to life with a male of the Skirin-tribe. “  

His gaze looked deeper into Elain's once he finished the first rule, looking for questions in her eyes. Questions which she simply voiced out; “You say ‘Angisciri-tribe’ and ‘Skirin-tribe' does that mean there are other tribes around here?”  

The male shock his head, his fluffy chestnut hair ruffling in the wind as he did so “No, here in the Night Court and the forest do not reside other tribes. The Angisciri-tribe is the only female tribe, just as the Skirin-tribe is the only male tribe.” Elain eyebrows furrowed together as she heard that “Does that mean in the one tribe are only females allowed and in the other only males?” An approving nod was all she got. 

 And as she thought about it, it all made clear sense. She might not know how it looked in the male tribe, but in Fersia’s home, the Angisciri-tribe, it was clear that only females resided on those grounds. No male warrior protected the Village, or the Mother that sat so proudly on her black throne, no male was seen training or doing house chores, like getting the wood for a fire inside. It all made sense, but something still wondered her.  

There were children giggling and running around through the Village, fighting each other with little sticks, that they pretended were great swords, while their Mothers did their assigned task in the Village. 

 “But if you all life separately, how do you provide offspring?” it was a rare question for her to ask aloud, but if she wouldn’t have it would have not let her go for the rest of the month and asking Fersia, who was a great friend and knew that such questions were unusual for her, would have been much more difficult than to ask a male –a stranger- who shifted uncomfortably in front of her and did not know her. 

 “Well, about that, it’s the second law of the forest – ones a male and a female, of the tribes, cross paths inside of the forest, it is expected of them to perform the act of reproducing.”  For a moment his words did not struck her, only made her nod as if she understood his words, but in truth all they left behind was a puzzled net of thoughts in her brain that was not fully able to understand the weight of them, but once she did – heat rushed to her cheeks and cloaked them with the same dust of pink as his. 

They were supposed to … .

 Mother above she did not even want to think about this!  

Was that the reason why Fersia had warned her that it was dangerous in the forest, because of this law? Elain was full out puzzled as she sat there, her head bright red as a tomato, while her skin seemed to melt off of her body due to the heat it radiated off. 

 “Thank the Mother I am not part of the Angisciri-tribe.” she clarified again. 

The male only nodded at her. 

“Anyway,” did the male start, trying to change the subject as soon as possible “...the third law is something pretty common – no member of the tribes is allowed to kill a member of the other tribe.”

 “That is something pretty comprehensible.” she stated matter of factly. 

 The male, once again, only nodded and let silence spread under the hues of moonlight.  

Granting Elain some semblance to collect her thoughts, while she processed his words with a cautious mind. 

He was a kind male so it seemed, as she looked closer at him. His whole being did not whisper of a bad intention with her, nor did he look like as if he would do with her what was wanted of them, if she would have been a member of Fersia’s tribe.  

All in all, he did not radiate off the aura of a typical Illyrian Warrior – brash, self-constituted paired with a heart cold as ice while they were trained to harden it even more. What she had seen, of the Illyrians in Windhaven when she once visited Nesta, was horrifying. 

They mistreated those of them who had strength and a gentle heart, laughed about the females and talked about them as if they were a useless accessory, they kept around for fun. It still tore her heart to shreds when she thought about it, when she remembered how some of the male's bragged that they were only hours away from having the Commanders little toy under them.  

Her blood went boiling as she remembered these barked laughs, how they echoed through her hollow body as she walked past them together with Azriel, who had openly fought an inner battle. It was open to her at least, the grinding of his jaw was indication enough that he fought the urge to punch them, weather it was for Nesta or Cassian was beyond her, but she somehow had the feeling that if he would have lunged forward and placed a punch on their nose – then it would have been for Nesta and her alone.  

It warmed Elain’s heart, in the cold of night as she sat here on the forest floor, her memories taking her to thoughts she long didn’t allow herself to have. The warm thoughts of his care, that Azriel had truly cared. 

The seer was not in the picture how deep the friendship with her steeled sister ran, but no matter the depth he always helped her as best as he could. He had shared so much pain and laughter with Nesta that it occasionally made Elain feel weird, as if a strep wrapped tightly around her heart and did not want to stop bothering her until the Shadowsinger was in sight again.  

It often made Elain feel guilty, possessive, of this male who deserved to have his own freedom and friendships and if Azriel would want to labour such a deep friendship with Nesta – then so would it be. It would have been alone their decision and the fact that Nesta even wanted, allowed, a friend – then Elain would have to be fine with it. 

 And she was. 

The thought alone that Nesta had healed enough to allow someone close in her life, made the rubbing strap on her heart disappear and replace it with warmth instead.  

Nesta was healing.  

Hopefully she still would after all of this, would still let this kind hearted male, that cloaked himself in silence and shadows as well as a dry sense of humour, close to her.  

A faint whisper of a smile ghosted her lips,as she thought of his dry jokes, while the moon beams wanted to caress those plush lips of hers, but something made them shy away, made them dance around her, like her thoughts danced around the Shadowsinger, covering her in a veil of silver that draped around her shoulders like the finest silk.  

It was weird how light seemed to shy away from her pale skin, as if even the slightest ray was afraid of hurting this delicate skin of hers, while it hugged tight to the male who still sat opposite her. 

Covering his hair, his face, his body, his wings and soul in a second skin of silver, it was as if light was drawn to him. 

No shadow danced to his feet, not even behind him, while those around Elain seemed to creep closer and closer.  As if they still carried the protective thought of their master, who was thousands of miles away, inside of them. Clinging to the seer as if it were their destiny – to stay with her.  

Let go of me. was all she could whisper in her mind; Please leave me behind. 

Begged her broken voice in silence, while she eyed the small twirls of black that danced and caressed the forest earth next to her. 

Small tendrils lashed out towards her, while others wrapped around a delicate hilt of grass, as if they were hurt by her words and sought comfort in the softness of the greenery.  

But softness never came, neither for her heart nor for them. Cold stings of guilt were all that bore tight in her heart, set it bleeding, as she looked with teary eyes at the soft veil of blackness, she so wished to feel whispering across her skin again, but never would it caress her in such gentleness again.  

After all, she had hurt him – rammed a dagger through the already broken heart of their master- and yet they still clung to her, as if they were not ready, not able to let her go.  

“Please ..." she whispered at them, a broken word that was barely audible over the strong gusts of wind, that picked up pace somewhere in between her thoughts. Yet the stranger seemed to have heard her, his blue eyes looking her way, puzzled, while he slowly got up. 

��Each of his careful few steps seemed to echo through the forest earth below them, the beams of moonlight which followed him, able to shoo away the broken shadows around her.  

It is better like this. He deserves to be happy; the clinging of his shadows would have only made it worse – for both of us. It is better like this.  

Was all she could think as the male stretched out a hand to help her up, she gladly took it, but still – her skin felt weird where he touched her, seemed to freeze and sear at the same time while needles picked at her flesh. It felt weird, this rough hand on hers felt so different, so wrong, compared to the one her skin already seemed to have memorized.  

Yet she still did not intend to be rude “Thank you.”  The Illyrian only nodded, while he tucked his wings in tight and stepped off of the cloak. “Ah, I am very sorry about your …" he did not come to finish that sentence as Elain already picked up the cloth and wrapped the clean fabric around her shoulders once again. 

“What?” giggled she at him – he was even more baffled than Fersia.  “Nothing.” and with that did his chestnut- hair fluff up in the wind a last time, before he was gone. 

Swallowed up in the woods once again as he left Elain behind.  

Smiling did she shake her head at the male, who's figure grew darker and darker in the covert of the summer greenery of the forest. 

He probably went home, just like she should – Fersia might already be worried, though the female was not one of her sisters and preferred that the seer had her own life and freedom, she still tended to worry a lot at times and Elain did not want to make her worry more than she already did today. 

 Her break down from forenoon most likely still lingering in the Illyrians head, just like Elain’s as it still pounded harshly at her. But perhaps it was only her trail of thoughts that led her up to that headache, her remorse long taking over her still weakened body.  

The walk home would perhaps turn out longer than she thought.  

With a sigh did she already want to set out south towards the Village, but there was something nagging her, clawing at her mind like the wind at her cloak and gown. 

Don’t go there! Come to me! Come to me! Visit me!  

Hissed the same voice over the wind at her, from yesterday. And against any better judgement, against any up roaring worry in her body, did she turn and went north.  

Closer and closer towards that hissed voice that continued on beckoning her closer. 

_______________previous chapter | next chapter __________________

Taglist (please contact me if you want to be added or removed from the tags):

@tanaquilpriscilla​

@generousfanfan​

@hail-doodles​

@courtofjurdan​

@classywastelandpirate​

@heirofthrnightcourt004​

@autophobiaxx​

[ufuckingpastry]

Amongst Feathers and Emeralds

AO3 Link

Hi, this ended up with a lot of words, so I've split this fic into 2 chapters. This fic takes place after the events of These Bonds We Keep and Stalking Nightmares.

Content Warning: Trauma/Dealing with Trauma, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Hallucinations, Derealization, PTSD, Referenced Suicide Attempt, Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm

This fic is based on the characters in the DreamSMP, not the content creators. Any views expressed in this fic are not a reflection of the content creators in any shape or form.

Note: I do use terms in this that are meant replace terms used in the Homestuck quadrant system with words that would fit in the Dream SMP universe. See the relationship note below.

Relationships: Dream/Technoblade - Soulbleeder/Kismesistude/Rival Shipping Technoblade/Philza - Starfated/Moirallegiance/Platonic Relationship

Chapter 1: Like a Ghost, You’re Haunting Me

Philza bounced the tea ball in the mug, watching the tea steep into the water with dead eyes. His eyes closed slowly before he shook himself awake. No, no, he had to be awake. He had to. Technoblade still hadn't woken from the events with the egg. Philza had slowly fed him slices of the god apple Dream left, hoping to see his eyes open not with bloodlust and snarls, but just… something else. Philza cupped his face with a groan. The only time he slept was when Ranboo visited, but those moments were few and far in between. He didn't want to bother him with this, even as he grew more sleep deprived.

"I brought him home. To you."

Dream's voice remained ever present in his head. To you. Because Philza knew how to take care of Techno. More than anyone, he knew. And somehow Dream knew that too. He had analyzed their conversation, there in the snow. He had to know what Dream meant.

"He never told you."

Told him what? Philza couldn't figure it out. He couldn't go talk to Dream because that would mean leaving Technoblade. And also, Sam had put the prison into total lockdown as he fixed the break Dream managed to worm his way through. Puffy was there. She could help him.

Philza rubbed at his eyes and pulled the tea ball out. He set it aside and took the tray of food up to Technoblade's room. He laid still, his breathing more like pants as he fought off whatever demons plagued him. Philza stepped close, set the tray aside, and sat next to the bed. His own bed rested off to the side, close enough to touch and share warmth. He cupped Techno's cheek, his tension and stress fading as he watched Techno soften under his touch and his breathing slow.

“Techno, please,” he begged, his voice soft. “Please wake up. I need you back.” He rubbed his thumb on his cheek, blinking when a drop of water fell next to his thumb. His breath hitched and he wiped away his tears. It had been days, days, since he had last seen his friend awake. Days since he had last seen his friend not suffering. A sob slipped out before he could stop it. He covered his face, another sob wracking him. His wings flared out and wrapped around his form, as if to hide his sorrow from the rest of the world.

Like the days before, he wondered if Techno would ever wake up. He had been with the egg for three days. Alone. Isolated from everyone except those who wished harm upon him. An ugly sound broke out of Philza and his wings closed tighter. The corruption that burrowed into Techno had faded under Philza’s care, but he wondered about the corruption within. Would he ever see his friend again, the way he was before?

He cried for what felt like hours, unable to help his sobs. The food and his tea had gone cold, but Philza didn’t want to crack open his wings yet. Just… just a little longer. He just wanted a little longer before he had to face the world again.

“Phil?”

Philza’s breath caught. He didn’t dare to breathe, even as he felt Technoblade shift next to him. When his friend called his name again, Philza peeked through the shredded feathers. Technoblade’s head turned towards him, infinitely tired, but awake. Infinitely weary, but whole and not a snarl in sight. Seeing that Philza was looking at him, Techno rested a hand on Philza’s thigh, worry creasing his brow.

“Phil? Why are you crying?”

Philza dove for Techno, dragging him into a tight embrace and heaved another sob. Techno groaned in pain, but he hugged Philza back.

“Phil?” Techno called again as Phil sobbed into his shoulder. He groaned as he tried to sit up in bed. His hand pet over Phil’s splayed wings, his fingers finding the vanes and stroking them softly. His friend shivered under his touch, but rather than move away, he pressed closer, squeezed him harder. They stayed like this for a long while, holding their silence together. When Technoblade broke the silence, he spoke quietly. “Phil, what—what happened?”

“You,” he started with a shaky exhale. He sat back, wiping at his eyes as he settled in next to his friend. “BadBoyHalo and Antfrost trapped you above the egg. Puffy and I went looking for you and—” Phil closed his mouth, biting off the rest of that sentence. Techno’s hand stroked his feathers again and he breathed out. Forgive him, but he still needed time to understand, “And we brought you home,” he lied.

Technoblade pressed a hand to his face, his breath still slow and deep, but… His eyes fell shut as he tried to think, tried to remember all that had happened. He… There was the dark, the blood, the lava popping in the distance, the whispers, the shape of the ghost in the corners of his vision, the laughter and victory in Bad’s voice as Technoblade dropped into the hole. His fingers closed and he could feel the scar on his palm from holding onto the shard of obsidian, the goal of slamming it into his—

His fingers found the scars in his face, the lines of where the egg’s vines had burrowed into his flesh, taking hold of him, taking him into darker and darker places where even the voices couldn’t reach. Places where the ghost put weapons into his hands to put weapons into his/its enemies’ eyes, into their flesh, into into into into—

Philza’s brow furrowed as he watched Techno hands curl into fists, the shaking returning, the snarls cracking across his face, his eyes darkening in rage and fury. His friend’s breaths were coming quicker now. His gaze focused on something in middle distance and. And Phil went cold. No… No, no, not again! No!

“I’ll kill them!” Technoblade lurched from the bed with a roar. “I’ll slaughter them all!” Philza scrambled off the bed, reaching for Techno, reaching for his friend. “I’ll stain the earth with their BLOOD!” Technoblade snarled, his rage propelling him forward towards the ladder. He’d go back, he’d fill that cave with TNT, and he’d—

His legs crumpled beneath him and he dropped to the ground. Technoblade clawed at the floor, his breaths panicked and gasping, pain shooting through his leg and his lungs and he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t—!

Arms wrapped around Technoblade, black wings encircling them and hiding them from the world. Technoblade’s breath caught in his throat as Philza squeezed him.

“Please,” he begged. “Please, Techno, stop. You’re safe. You’re home. You’re not there anymore!” Phil closed his eyes and he let some old power seep through the fabric of the universe. Just enough that soothing darkness, the darkness like the space between the stars on a moonless night, enveloped them. Technoblade’s breathing slowed in the space where even time begged for stillness.

And it was in this darkness that Technoblade cried.

---

Philza set aside the tea ball and picked up the steaming mug of peppermint tea. He turned to see Technoblade resting face down in Steve’s fur, his back rising and falling gently as if he were sleeping. Philza knew better though. He still stepped quietly towards his friend and knelt down. Techno turned his face towards the angel and took the mug with soft thanks when it was offered to him. Philza glanced at the almost untouched plate of food. He pushed the plate towards Techno with a pointed look.

“Techno, eat.”

“When was the last time you slept, Phil?”

“Techno,” Philza said.

“Phil,” Techno echoed. They stared at each other for a while, then Technoblade sighed. “If I eat, will you sleep?”

“The bed is too far away.” Philza scooted in close, folding his wings up as he sat up against the wall of Steve. Technoblade grabbed the plate and shifted his position. He tapped the floor next to him and Philza settled at his side. “No feeding Steve your plate, either,” he warned.

“When have I ever?”

“That night I fried salmon?”

“Bruh, you set the plate too close to his face. I did not feed him!”

“I saw you sneaking him bites.”

“He was skin and bones!”

“Well, he’s not anymore!”

The two frowned at each other, challenging looks on their faces. Technoblade broke first, his frown cracking into a smile before ducking in a hearty laugh. Philza joined in with his own airy laugh, falling over into Technoblade’s lap. Philza gazed up at his best friend and smiled. Technoblade smiled back at him, then had to look away from the softness in Phil’s expression. His cheeks warmed and he coughed to break the growing silence.

“Go to sleep, Phil. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

“Promise?” Phil asked, his voice cracking on the word. Technoblade stiffened underneath him, feeling the weight of his answer before he responded. He exhaled softly, then lifted Phil up enough so they could press their foreheads together.

“I promise.”

Technoblade finished his plate as Phil settled in his lap. Technoblade leaned over, grabbed a nearby blanket, and settled it over Phil's form, being careful not to pinch the wings as he did so. Phil fell asleep quickly, belying how tired he really was. Technoblade pet his hair as he slept, his thoughts drifting. He tried to remember what happened after… After he got away from the egg. He found he couldn’t remember much. He… he barely even remembered leaving that dark room. He tried to kill himself, to trick the egg into letting him go. He remembered it shrieking in his skull. And he remembered it all going dark. He remembered nightmares plaguing him, of stumbling in the dark and snarling threats at those who led him away. He remembered a dark shape, familiar in the form, familiar in how it rumbled at him, but his head ached when he tried to put a name or a face to the feeling.

The nightmares continued. He’d wake to Phil and. And he didn’t know if it was a trick and he would fade like he had every time before, or if it was a trick come to hurt him. And then he remembered waking to feathers brushing his face, feathers curling around a body that hitched with sobs and shuddered with breaths that felt like they ripped his soul from his body. It was Phil crying and Technoblade didn’t understand why.

Except, he did… sort of. How he got from the community area, from the dark room, to his home, Technoblade didn’t know. He would have remembered the nether, wouldn’t he? But no, Phil said he had been passed out, asleep in bed. But how else would Phil have taken him home? It was too long of a trip across the overworld to drag an unconscious body. Technoblade’s fingers found the feathers in his best friend’s hair and stroked them idly. He continued to think and think and overthink until the thoughts felt worn against his skull. At one point, he tucked himself under the blanket, the night air seeping in through cracks in the walls. He made a note to fix those as soon as possible as he dozed off into darkness.

Technoblade blinked awake. Morning light streamed in through the windows, warm on his face. He felt around under the blanket and froze when he couldn’t find Phil. He scrambled to his feet, panic welling under his ribs. Steve grumbled as he shoved at him in his haste. A clattering from the kitchen startled Technoblade.

“Techno?” Phil’s voice called. He appeared in the doorway, a towel in his hands. His face softened when he saw Technoblade’s panic slipping across his uncovered face. “Oh, come here,” he said, ordering gently. And Technoblade went to him. He wrapped his arms around Phil in an embrace more desperate than he meant it to be. “Hey, hey, I’ve got you. I’m sorry I left, but you looked so peaceful sleeping there.” Phil’s feathers ruffled under his fingertips as he carded through them. He relaxed piece by piece, holding onto Phil until he reluctantly let him go.

“Thanks,” he sighed. Phil cupped his cheek and smiled gently.

“All good?”

“Yeah.”

“Good,” Phil smiled and dropped his hand onto his shoulder. “Now, I need you to undress.”

“Uh,” Technoblade’s cheeks warmed. “What?”

“Techno, you’ve been bedridden for nearly a week. I am going to give you a bath,” he said with an unimpressed look. His gaze dropped to his arm, then to Technoblade’s leg where he had to reset it. “And check your injuries,” he added thoughtfully. Phil’s lip pressed together and his gaze flicked up to his friend. Technoblade’s face warmed even more at that look.

“You’ll take care of me?” he asked.

“Oh, I am going to take such good care of you,” Phil replied, his voice dropping low and gentle. “Now go ahead.” Phil leaned back against the wall, his arms crossing over his midsection as he waited.

“Right here?” Technoblade asked.

“Yeah. Undress for me, Techno.”

Technoblade chewed his lip, then purposely looked away as he started to undress for Phil. He took his time because he knew Phil liked to watch, liked to see his skin flush and warm from the attention. His ears twitched as Phil pushed up from the wall. He walked around Technoblade as he finished, his fingertips brushing along the multitude of scars that crisscrossed his flesh. Phil’s fingers lingered on one on his back, where the anvil hit first. Phil frowned at the scar and rubbed his thumb over the faded mark. His hand pressed fully on his back, radiating warmth on Technoblade’s cooling skin. Technoblade exhaled, not surprised by how shaky his breath sounded already.

"There you go," Phil crooned. "Let's go." The hand on his back applied just enough pressure that had Technoblade following immediately. Phil must have planned this because the bath was already warm by the time they got to it. Steam drifted up from the surface and Technoblade eyed the flowers and other herbs drifting on the surface. He climbed in with Phil's encouragement, a low groan escaping between his teeth as the warm water settled into his bones. He tilted his head back and found a pillow resting beneath him.

"Going all out, huh?" He asked as Phil moved around the washroom, gathering wash cloths and small brushes and more oils to help clean him. Phil simply hummed and settled down beside the bath. His jacket hung by the door, the sleeves of his kimono rolled up to keep from getting wet, and his wings hung relaxed on his back.

"It's you, of course I am."

"Keep me away from the bees. I'm gonna smell like flowers by the time you're done with me. They'll be all over me."

Phil laughed, loud and bright. He picked one of the sprigs of lavender out and dropped it on Technoblade's nose. He snorted out air in an attempt to dislodge it. Phil snickered again and went to work. He scrubbed down where the grime was caked on the most, though Technoblade noted that he wasn't as dirty as he probably should have been. Maybe Phil cleaned him when he first came, passed out and bleeding. The bandages were off his arm, the flesh half healed and scarred over. Phil saw him looking and rested a hand next to the wound. He rubbed his thumb over his skin and gently pushed it back under the water.

Phil was gentle with him as he cleaned Technoblade. He blamed the flush spreading across his skin on the warmth of the bath and not on the soft touches of his friend’s fingers. Phil took his time, murmuring praise when Technoblade obeyed whatever order he gave out. It was nice, to relinquish control to someone he knew he could trust. He couldn't remember much after being trapped with the egg, but Phil was here.

Phil was here and touching him and whispering praises as he cleaned nearly every inch of him. Technoblade couldn't remember a time he was so relaxed. He almost started dozing in the water, his eyes lidded and his mouth cracked in a lazy grin. Wings fluttered above him as Phil bent down. His eyes flickered open just in time for their foreheads to press together. When Phil parted and started gathering up his supplies, Technoblade caught sight of his wings. 

They looked… worn. Weary. Relaxed for now, but the feathers weren't straight and many spots looked dirty. A wing fluttered near him and Technoblade reached out and brushed his fingertips along the feathers. Phil stiffened with a soft gasp. He stroked the feathers gently, smiling as Phil breathed all shaky and wanting.

“I should preen you soon,” he said casually. Phil pulled his wing back and spun on his heel.

“Not until I’m done with you first!” he said with a huff. Technoblade grinned at him. A towel hit him square in the face and he burst out in a loud laugh. “Get dried up. I need to look at your injuries.”

“Am I staying naked for this too?” He asked, pushing out of the water with a groan. He leaned heavy on the leg he hadn’t broken, bracing himself on the wall as he made his way out. He leaned too far one way and Phil caught him with a grunt before he fell.

“Careful, mate.” Water dripped all over Phil’s clothes, but it didn’t look like he much cared, more worried for his friend than for himself. Technoblade thanked him softly. Phil helped him dry off, more focused on keeping him upright rather than doing any actual drying. He thanked him again as they limped to the table Phil set up. Phil helped him lay across it, the towel over his lap for modesty.

Phil checked over him for a moment, to make sure he was comfortable, then left to go change. Still warm from his bath and definitely smelling like lavender and berries, Technoblade dozed off. A touch to his shoulder woke him. He glanced up to Phil’s apologetic face. He was in his undershirt, his arms free of fabric so they wouldn’t get in the way as he worked on Technoblade. In one of his hands was a simple black strip of cloth. Technoblade’s breath hitched at the sight of it.

“Hey,” Phil greeted, lifting up the blindfold. “Thought you might want this.” Technoblade nodded once and Phil tied it over his eyes. Darkness fell and he relaxed immediately. Fake darkness, it might be, but darkness all the same. He could hear Phil walking around the table, gathering supplies. A match struck and the hiss of something catching fire echoed in his ears. The faint smell of incense filled the room and Technoblade sighed.

“What? Don’t I smell good enough after that bath?” he teased. A hand pressed firmly on his chest, pushing him back down to the table.

“Hush,” Phil whispered, dragging out the word. Technoblade went down without a word. His eyes closed behind the blindfold and his ears twitched to listen for his friend. Philza made noise, of course. He knew Technoblade would want to hear something, especially after being alone for so long. But he didn’t really go out of his way to do it. He trailed his fingers along his friend’s skin, watching almost idly as the muscles twitched under his caress. Each breath, each gasp sent another spark of… something down the length of his spine. Something fierce, protective, loving, wanting, and just. Something. He never really understood it, why caring for his friend in this manner felt. Well, it felt so intimate. Just shy of romantic, like a step removed. Something lovers might partake in, or, perhaps, what it felt like to worship a god. Philza snickered to himself; a god, indeed.

Technoblade made a questioning noise beneath his hand and he hushed him again. Philza exhaled slowly, focusing his thoughts again. He started first on the wound on Technoblade’s arm. The bath helped to clean it out, to soften the flesh so he could poke at it some to check the healing progress. It looked fine, but Philza wrapped it in a bandage again. More to protect it from outside filth from infecting it than to stop any bleeding. Next, he checked the small wounds crossing over his body where the corruption burrowed in. Those looked like they would remain as scars, but the corruption had faded for sure. He worried the corruption would return should they get close to the egg before Technoblade finished recovering.

Finally, he moved to Technoblade’s leg, to where he had set it himself. Philza didn’t know what happened to cause that; Techno hadn’t offered that information yet. That was alright. Philza was a patient man. He could wait forever if he needed to. He just hoped it wouldn’t take that long. The bone was set well, nearly perfect, plus it had already started to heal. Philza straightened out the leg, then attached the splint. He let his hands explore his friend, feeling for other hurts, others pains, other injuries that his tired eyes missed. A sniffle caught his attention. He pulled his hands a breath away, worried that he had hurt Techno.

Then, he noticed the tight lines of Technoblade’s body, the way he shook minutely, the tense shoulders, the gritted teeth. Philza felt his old heart melt. He stepped close to Techno’s face, his hand coming down to cup his friend’s cheek.

“It’s okay,” he whispered, stroking the cheek under his thumb. “You’re safe, my friend.” Technoblade sniffled again. Phil cupped his face with both hands, pressing their foreheads together. Slowly, like water eroding away stones, Technoblade let himself go. Piece by shaking piece, the tears came, and Techno cried. Unlike earlier, where he buried himself in Philza’s feathers and squeezed him until his bones creaked under the force, this time he cried in little bursts. Gentle would be the wrong word to use, but he cried gently. The blindfold helped, Philza knew. Technoblade wouldn’t allow himself to cry in anything other than darkness. He hated to let people see him cry, not because he expected others to think lesser of him or because his childhood taught him that he wasn’t manly enough if he cried. It was the vulnerability. The same vulnerability that made him scream hatred upon friends turned enemies. The vulnerability that made each betrayal hurt worse and worse. The same vulnerability that left Philza shaking for days after he plunged his son’s sword through his belly.

Philza sat with him, sat with their hurts together, for what felt like eons. He continued to touch Technoblade, to let him know he was still there, still taking care of him. He waited until Technoblade cried his last tear, then patted his shoulder.

“I’m going to get some water. You’re going to drink it all.” He stood up, but a hand grabbed his wrist. He turned back to see Technoblade with his head turned towards him. The blindfold still covered his eyes, but Philza could feel his friend looking straight at him.

“I’m preening you next.”

They took a break afterwards. Of course, they did. Philza had to make sure Techno was okay, but every time, he was still surprised when Technoblade took care of him back. While the angel cleaned up the table and the bath, Technoblade cooked them lunch. It was mushroom stew, Techno’s favorite. A comfort food for when the comforting became too intense. They ate, then joked with each other, and enjoyed each other’s company. Philza talked about building a house next to his, talked about moving his stuff over sometime so he didn’t have to always be in Techno’s space.

“But I like you in my space,” Technoblade replied, his arms tugging Philza close.

“Yeah, but, mate,” he started. Technoblade’s smile fell a degree and he nodded. He understood what Philza meant. It had been nearly a century that he wandered the overworld alone before he met Technoblade. Solitude was a close friend to Philza, almost like a lover itself. But, that he wanted to make a permanent base here, close to his friend… Well, that meant something. Philza didn’t quite know what kind of something, but he was a patient man. He could wait to find out, even if he hoped he wouldn’t have to wait long.

Once lunch was cleaned up, Technoblade and Phil settled together on a mat on the floor. The piglin would have preferred the bed, but Phil worried about the mess they would make. At least the mat was soft on the stone floor. At least the fire crackled warmth nearby. Phil still hadn’t put his jacket back on. His bare arms showed goosebumps and Technoblade ran his hands down his skin, trying to help warm him back up.

“Relax for me, my friend,” he said as he carded his fingers through Phil's hair, earning him a nervous little laugh. Phil peered back at him through the feathers of the raised wing, checking that it was him at his back. Technoblade smiled reassuringly. He gently pulled Phil’s hair, guiding his head back towards him.

“You’re going to be good for me now, won’t you?” he asked.

“Yeah, mate,” Phil breathed. When Technoblade let go of his hair, he bent forward, splaying his wings for his friend. Technoblade reached into the bag of tools at his side, pulling out the little tool to help with picking out dirt and parasites. He wouldn’t need it yet, but he liked to look at it before starting. Phil huffed out a laugh when Technoblade set the bone tool aside.

“You still have that old thing?” he asked, stalling. Technoblade ran his fingers down the leading edge of Phil’s wing, savoring the gasp that touch got him.

“Of course,” he said, his fingers light as air as he felt over the feathers. He started with straightening the feathers, able to talk while he worked at this point. “You gave it to me the first time I did this.” He glanced at the tool and leaned forward, enough that Phil could feel his weight. It always made him shiver when he did that and Technoblade couldn’t help but laugh. “You were still teaching me words, still some of this language I didn’t know. Covenant, you said when I asked. My covenant.” Technoblade’s words faded in the silence, focusing on his work. Where Technoblade was quiet during care, Phil wasn’t. Sure, he tried to hide the noises, bite down on groans and soft gasps as Technoblade preened him. It was after a particularly sharp hitch his breath that Technoblade tugged his hair back.

“Philza,” he crooned. Phil’s face was flushed, warm and soft and open. “You know I like hearing you.”

“It’s embarrassing, though,” he said with a huff.

“Bruh, it’s just you and me.”

“And Steve.”

“Steve is a polar bear. He has no concept of embarrassment.”

“Oh, you’re an expert on polar bears now?”

“Of course, I am. Have you seen how many polar bears we have?”

Phil laughed and Technoblade let his hair go, let him get comfortable again before he picked up the bone tool. As he worked over Phil’s wings, his friend let him hear all the soft little noises he knew Technoblade liked to hear. Most were real, he knew. There were some Phil just made because Technoblade asked him to be louder. He didn’t mind hearing the fake ones. It gave him something to listen to, something to help stimulate his brain while he worked. It wasn’t that Phil was boring or that he despised the task of preening. The noise helped him focus. Sometimes Phil would talk, or tell stories, but he really only did that when he had regular preening.

This time, though, it was obvious Phil hadn’t preened in a while. A week? Two? He told him once that he preferred Technoblade doing it over his own hands. When he asked why, Phil admitted he didn’t know.

“It’s… more intimate, I guess, when it’s you. No one else, either,” he had said.

“You let others near your wings?” Technoblade teased. Phil had flicked him in the face with the free wing and the piglin burst out laughing.

“Not often, and not just anyone,” Phil said when the laughter died down. Technoblade remembered him pulling his legs up to his chest, a far away look in his eyes. “Before she left, I’d let my wife do it. She liked to do it, in her own way. But it doesn’t feel the same, not like how it feels with you.”

“What happened to her, anyway? It’s been decades since I last saw her.” Phil was quiet for a long time, before he eventually answered his friend’s question.

“Her work keeps her busy. It’s been decades for me too. The last time was when…”

“Wilbur showed up?”

“Yeah.”

Technoblade’s ear twitched when Phil’s breath hitched. He focused back on Phil, turning the memory away. He was straightening a few feathers, the tool catching on one. He whispered an apology and refocused on his task. It felt good to take care of Phil, to take care of someone other than himself. He knew why he felt like this, of course. The word on his tongue so many times, too afraid to ask Phil if he would agree. Technoblade remembered the first night Phil let him preen him. It was a starry night and Technoblade remembered gazing up at the stars and realizing why.

Fated amongst the stars, they were. Technoblade was sure of it. He was sure.

But he wasn’t sure Phil felt the same. They were close, they acted like it, but Technoblade was afraid. Afraid that the second he spoke it into existence, it would vanish before his eyes. As he finished up taking care of his friend, he dropped his head in between Phil’s shoulders. They moved under his skull as Phil turned to look at him.

“Hey, are you alright?”

“Yeah,” Technoblade answered as he sat back. Phil turned around to face him fully, pulling him into an embrace. “I’ll be alright. I’ll be alright.”

And he hoped, against whatever the universe told him, that if he spoke that into existence, it wouldn’t vanish before his eyes. 

---

Ranboo strolled down the main path, keeping his ears open for more ghasts or the magma cubes that always jumped to their deaths. His ear twitched, picking up the sound of hoofsteps. He turned, scanning the area, when he saw a familiar piglin. He started to raise his hand in a wave, but something in Techno’s stance, in the way he held himself as he crossed over the netherrack made Ranboo pause. The piglin was tense, meandering, and the other piglins bolted from him even though he limped heavily. Ranboo glanced back to where he was going, back towards the path, and made a quick decision. He turned on his heel and hurried to catch up with Technoblade.

“Techno!” he called. “Technoblade!” He wasn’t too far back that he couldn’t see Techno’s ears, but they didn’t even twitch at the sound. Oh, oh that was NOT a good sign. He picked up his pace until he finally caught up. Techno still didn’t acknowledge his presence, not even when Ranboo did the wrong thing and came up from behind him in his blind spot. Ranboo caught sight of the glassy look in his eyes and felt his stomach drop out from under him. He readied a potion of weakness he carried on hand, in case Technoblade reacted badly (which he probably would). Ranboo grabbed Techno’s shoulder and pushed him back with all his strength. To his credit, Technoblade stumbled. In that moment, Ranboo put himself between Technoblade and his path, his shield ready to defend against any lashing out.

But instead of the normal response—uh oh—Technoblade blinked a couple times and shook his head. When he lifted his head, the glassy look was still there, but…

“Technoblade?” Ranboo ventured, lowering his shield. This time, the piglin’s ears flicked forward. Ranboo didn’t let himself relax, not yet. “Where are you going, Techno?”

“Home,” he replied softly. He shook his head again, a hand coming up to touch the scars in his cheek. Ranboo’s anxiety spiked with that answer. He couldn’t stop and message Phil and—why didn’t Phil know Techno was gone???

“Home? Techno, do you mean, uh, in the arctic biome?”

“Yeah,” he answered, though he sounded a little far away still. He took a step forward and Ranboo squared up, his shield back in front of his body. “Home.”

“You’re going the wrong way, Techno,” he said. Technoblade tried to take another step forward, but Ranboo pushed him back with the shield. “Techno,” he started again. “You’re going the wrong way. You’re going towards the community portal.” Horror slid into his veins like teardrops into his scars. “Back to L’Manberg. Back to the Egg.”

Of all things, that seemed to wake Technoblade up. The piglin tensed, another blink, and he looked up at Ranboo. There was, oh boy! There was now red twining around in the black sclera of his eyes. OH BOY. Ranboo exchanged his shield for an empty hand, hoping they could stop this peacefully. 

“Let’s get you back, okay? Phil’s probably worried sick about you, Techno.” Ranboo offered. Technoblade eyed the hand. The hesitation before he took Ranboo’s hand had the half-enderman steeling himself. He was not the strongest one here and, if Technoblade decided that he’d much rather bolt the other direction, Ranboo wasn’t sure if he could stop him on his own. But Technoblade took the offer, his own hand grabbing onto Ranboo’s forearm. He returned the gesture and guided Technoblade away from the community portal.

Technoblade released Ranboo’s arm in time, his gaze dropped to the path beneath their feet. He walked just a little behind Ranboo, but Ranboo kept an eye on him, in case he did decide to run back. The red in his eyes eventually faded and Ranboo wondered if it was because of how close he got to the egg. Or because of whatever lingering effects still sat rooted in his mind. Ranboo could relate to that, to being unable to trust your own mind, your own thoughts. Ranboo was so focused on his own thoughts, jotting down notes in his memory book, that he almost missed Technoblade speaking. No, wait. He did actually miss that.

“Uh, sorry. Could you repeat that?” he asked with a sheepish smile, stuffing the memory book back into his inventory. Technoblade was always patient with his memory issues and never griped about him when he ‘spaced out’.

“I said,” he started again, soft and considering. “This must remind you of when you guys brought me back home.”

Ranboo stopped so quickly that Technoblade actually ran into him. Technoblade started to ask if he was okay, but Ranboo’s brain was already gone. The half-enderman whipped out his memory book again, flipping back to the night they found out where Technoblade had gone. He, he remembered that pretty well, right? Right???

And yeah, no, there it was right in front of him.

Techno taken by Ant and Bad? To the Egg

Gone for 3 days

Went with Phil and Puffy to get him back, but Phil sent me home to wait for Techno

Black shape in the sky???? Dream brought Techno home

“Uh,” he said, the memory book lowering. Technoblade was looking at him intently. Ranboo faltered in the face of such an intense expression. Technoblade's demeanor had changed like the wind and Ranboo did not like what that meant for him. Ranboo continued, since he was obviously waiting for him to finish. “We… we didn’t bring you home, though.” Technoblade’s mouth curved down into a frown. But then it brightened back into a smile. Ranboo didn’t know what was going on.

“Right, right. Not including you. Puffy and Phil did.”

Oh, Ranboo did NOT know what was going on.

“No?” That stopped Technoblade in his tracks. He leaned back, speaking very, very carefully. 

“What do you mean ‘no’?”

“Techno,” Ranboo said, glancing around for a moment to make sure no one else was around them. He shuffled closer, eyeing the tusks and the way his hands rested on his belt too casually to not be dangerous. He forged on. “Puffy didn’t come back with Phil. She stayed with Sam at the prison. Phil didn’t bring you home. Dream did.”

Technoblade stiffened. Then, as silent as the moon, he rose to his full height. Ranboo, still taller than him by a head, shrank in response. He chirped in Ender, his anxiety spiking even MORE now. Who told Techno that Phil and Puffy brought him back? Plus, hadn’t he been unconscious??? What was happening???

Ranboo didn’t get a chance to ponder that for long. Technoblade turned on his heel and strode towards the arctic portal, his cloak billowing out behind. If it could storm in the nether, Ranboo was sure he would have heard lightning cracking with each footstep. He followed him at a distance, afraid of what had made him so angry.

Ranboo watched Technoblade hurry to the house, his own steps in the gently drifting snow silent. At the door, Technoblade stopped, breathed in, and forced his shoulders to relax. He stepped into the house. Ranboo considered hovering outside the door, or watching from the windows, but he stopped himself. Phil was in there. He was going to talk to Phil. Ranboo scurried away into his own house, deciding it best to give the two some space. He pulled Enderchest into his lap and started petting her, the fur feeling nice under his shaking fingers.

“Phil?”

Philza turned to see Technoblade leaning in his doorway, arms crossed across his chest. The tension in his shoulders, the piercing gaze holding steady and unblinking, and the firm press of his lips caused Philza’s feathers to instinctually puff up to make him larger and scarier against the threat before him. Technoblade was not wearing the boar mask and Philza felt his gaze pin him in place. He breathed in and shuffled his wings, folded them back down, and held them tight against his back. This was Techno, his friend. He wouldn’t hurt him, no matter how angry he was.

“Yeah, mate?”

Technoblade clicked his tongue and pushed up out of the door. His hooves click-clicked across Philza’s floor until he stopped before him. Philza lifted his head, reminded how tall his friend was now that he was just… there. A voice in his head noted how he was basically baring his throat now and Philza took that thought and hid it away.

“You said,” Technoblade started casually and Philza felt his blood turn to ice by the tone. “That you and Puffy brought me home?”

So. He knew.

Philza held his friend's gaze. If he turned away now, if he didn't stand his ground, if he gave Techno any reason to doubt… then this all would fall apart. He saw it with Tommy. He saw it with Wilbur. He would not see it with himself. Philza pressed his lips together. Techno didn’t offer any more than just that question, but there was no need. Even now, even though he was caught in his lie, there would be no brushing this off. It was his mistake for waiting this long. It was his mistake for lying in the first place.

“Yes, I did,” he replied with a swallow that made his throat click.

“Why?”

Philza couldn’t help the shiver from the deep octave Technoblade’s voice dropped to. It spoke of danger, dripping venomous and deadly. It was not a tone Techno used with him, not since… Philza stowed away the thought. Techno tilted his head, waiting for a response. When Philza took too long, he growled and stalked back.

“Phil, you know I trust you to tell me the truth, right? You know I need you to tell me the truth! So why? Why did you lie?!” Technoblade roared. Philza heard the pain in that roar, the betrayal. And he couldn’t keep calm, because if he let Technoblade keep going like this, he wouldn’t get the chance to defend himself.

“Because I didn’t understand why!” His wings snapped open as he shouted back. “Because I still don’t understand why! Techno, do you think I wanted to? That I wanted to hurt you? I wanted to give myself time to think because—!” Philza’s voice stuttered, breathing quick between his words and his frustration. He paused, hunching his shoulders as he tried to keep his thoughts in line. “You hate him, but then he breaks out of prison to save you? D-do—How else do you expect me to process that!” Technoblade growled and stepped forward again, his gaze glaring down at him.

“That’s your reason? That’s your excuse? That you don't understand?” His exhale was a snarl. “Phil, why didn't you just talk to me instead of lying to my face?”

Philza's feathers now flared out, the full black wingspan like a night sky behind him. He was still shorter than Technoblade, but like hell he was backing down!

"Talk to you? Just talk to you?” Philza almost laughed. Instead, he straightened to his full height, and he felt the edges of the universe shimmer in his anger. “Like how you talk to me about everything? Like how you don’t hide shit from me? Technoblade, Dream told me you were hiding something. That there was something you never told me. Don't rag on me for lying if you're going to hide shit from me too!"

For the first time that night, Technoblade seemed to be at a loss for words. He pressed his lips together and looked away. The fact he didn't have an answer for that, that Philza had caught him in his own mistake sent the angel two steps forward, forcing Technoblade to either back up of his own accord or be pushed back.

"What exactly is your relationship with Dream?" Philza hissed.

"You-you wouldn't understand," Technoblade said as he took a step back. Philza’s eyes narrowed. The irony of that response was not lost on him.

"That's your reason?" He echoed coldly. "That's your excuse?" Philza took another step forward, folding his wings. Though he was smaller now, Technoblade backed up further. When he saw that Technoblade’s gaze was still looking away from him, Philza closed his eyes and breathed in. The darkness that had begun to seep forth faded back into nothingness as he forced himself to calm. When he opened his eyes again, he reached up to touch Techno’s cheek. He hesitated and that hurt Philza more than all the rage and pain. Then, finally, he leaned into the touch and Philza sighed.

“What am I going to do with you?” he asked the universe. Neither it nor Technoblade answered, but that was alright. “I won’t lie to you, Techno, as long as you don’t hide things from me. And I refuse to let this be the thing that drives a wedge between us. Not a petty fight like this.” Technoblade was quiet, but Philza knew his friend enough that a big release of emotion was draining for him. He still held him there, turned his head to look at him. “Techno, I swear. I swear on my wings I won’t lie to you, but I still need you to talk to me. You know I do.” Technoblade shivered and Philza knew that look. He knew that expression deep in his old bones. He coaxed Techno back towards his house, so they could rest up against Steve. Once they were settled up against the bear, Philza tapped Techno.

“Techno, please. Help me understand. What is your relationship with Dream?” Philza watched his friend’s face, watched the worry and hesitation as they passed by until he gave in.

“He’s my… soulbleeder.”

“He’s—” Of all the things he expected Technoblade to say, that. That was. His confusion must have been plain on his face because Technoblade gestured pointedly with his hands. Philza focused again.

"See? I was right!" Techno said. He flopped back onto Steve, who growled softly in acknowledgement.

"Bruh, that's still not a reason to hide things!” He shoved Techno, not enough to harm, but enough to show his frustration. He huffed out a breath and asked, “What even is a soulbleeder?"

"Uh, it’s… This is going to be really hard to explain,” he said. Philza waited and Technoblade muttered, “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” He took a moment to compose himself, compose the words in his head. Philza was ever patient. He would wait as long as his friend needed.

“Soulbleeders are rivals. Arch-rivals. Your soulmate if they were your rival. Hating each other is the point, but, uh, like if Dream died, there’d-there’d be no point to the relationship. So, if one side is in trouble, then, if you’re trying to be a good soulbleeder, you’re going to go help them. Uh,” Techno glanced at Philza to see if he was still following, to which he nodded.

“So, it’s, it’s about being competitive. It’s about fighting each other, but not in a way that would actually screw them over.”

“So, like your duel with Dream?” Philza asked. He didn’t understand, fully, but. The way Techno was describing it, it… He could see it.

“Yeah, exactly. Sure, there was a reward at stake, but—you saw it. You watched it.”

And Philza did. He reviewed the memory of the duel in his head, what he remembered of their faces and their body language as they fought. It reminded him of the way Techno and him sparred: almost playful, but knowing their partner’s limits. But where Techno and Philza tended not to push those limits, those boundaries, not past what they knew they could handle, that duel… As it progressed, the playfulness gave way to true competition, pushing, pushing, pushing further and further. Pushing past the limits, past the boundaries, pushing and not accepting defeat until they were forced to. And even then, when Technoblade won, he offered his hand, offered a smile. No hard feelings, no sore losers. They were joking with each other afterwards, poking fun and grinning, and Philza remembered it as… strange.

He refocused on Technoblade, now that he was apparently done explaining. And… Philza exhaled and took his time to process. Techno had described it as a relationship. It had a term even. It was not something he could fathom experiencing himself, but. He could see it. And so, Dream was a good soulbleeder, coming to help Technoblade.

“I could hear him screaming.”

Dream’s voice came back to him then. Technoblade rarely screamed. Shouted, yelled, roared, but never screamed. So, if Dream was hearing that… Philza put himself in Dream’s place. Imagined himself trapped in prison and hearing a significant other screaming and—

Philza swallowed the sudden rage, the sudden need to do what he could to save Techno from such a fate—and he understood. He understood. His gaze flicked up to Techno and he huffed out a breath.

“Alright.”

“Alright?”

“Yeah, mate.”

“So, we’re… we’re good?”

“Yeah. We’re good.” Philza cupped Technoblade’s cheek and leaned in. They pressed their foreheads together and Philza finally allowed himself to relax. Like many things with Technoblade, this peace did not last long. About an hour into the chilling against Steve, Techno stiffened. Woken from his dozing, Philza nudged Techno instead of speaking.

“Phil,” Technoblade started. “Did—Dream broke out of prison that night?”

“Yeah, mate,” Philza yawned. He shifted so that he was laying on his stomach, his elbows in Techno’s lap.

“Did… do you know if anyone helped him?”

“All Puffy got from Sam was that Dream was gone. I don’t know if anyone helped him, though I’m gonna go with no.” Philza remembered how Dream looked: half human with wings still dark with netherite. A nightmare from the deepest pits of the Void.

“Phil. Phil, we gotta call Sam.” Techno said, bringing Philza’s focus back to his friend. He moved around in a way that was not trying to dislodge Phil, but still trying to get up. Philza leaned a bit more in his lap, trying to pin Technoblade before he worked himself up.

“Why? What’s going on, Techno?” Sleep still clung to his brain and he couldn’t follow why Techno was acting this way.

“No one visits Dream, not every day. If I was the last person to see him… Phil, Ph—I signed waivers that stated that if something happened after my visit—” Technoblade was still stumbling over his words, but Philza’s brain had finally caught up. Like Tommy, like anyone who visited the prison, Technoblade had signed his lives away if it was found that Dream escaped because of him. Phil scrambled to his feet, panic moving his limbs into motion. He grabbed his communicator, his ears tracking Technoblade as he hurried down the ladder, already going into preparation mode. Philza felt a sense of déjà vu, of breaths held as he watched Quackity and Tubbo and the rest of the Butcher Army hunting down his friend. Philza’s feathers flared on instinct and he swallowed down the urge to run. As the communicator connected to Sam, Technoblade appeared in Philza’s line of vision, Hiasobi Benihime in his hand as he offered the blade.

“Hello, Sam?” Philza greeted as he took the sword and hooked it back in his belt, where it belonged.

“Philza,” Sam greeted back. A bark could be heard over the communicator, followed by a soft shushing from Sam. Philza was thrown off for a moment, but he managed to compose himself before Sam grew suspicious.

“Sam, I know what happened with Dream,” he started. Sam went quiet on the other line, then exhaled in a sigh. Philza took that as a sign to continue. “How did he get out?”

“That is confidential information, Philza,” Sam replied after a moment of silence.

“Do you know who helped him escape?”

“Also, confidential.”

“Did he go back?” Sam didn’t respond and Philza couldn’t bite back the growl of frustration. “Sam, is there anything you can tell me?” The silence stretched until Philza’s impatience neared its peak. He opened his mouth to snarl at Sam, but a hand came down on his shoulder. He stiffened and glanced behind him. Technoblade stood steady, donned in full netherite and the skull mask covering his expression. But Philza knew what would be under there, knew that when Technoblade’s hand squeezed his shoulder, it was in comfort and reassurance. Philza breathed out slowly and his wings smoothed down and folded against his back. Sam’s voice crackled in his ear when he responded finally.

“Puffy and I completed our investigation into Dream’s escape. We confirmed our conclusions and—” Sam cut off momentarily, before continuing with “We are not coming for Technoblade.”

Philza blinked, stunned into silence from Sam’s response. His eyes fell shut and his shoulders relaxed. Of course, Sam would know what he was really asking. Sam was smart. He had to be smart, for the things he did.

“We had suspicions, of course,” Sam said. “But after we completed our investigation, we dropped our charges against Technoblade. We know he did not help Dream escape.”

“Thank you,” Philza replied. The line cut out and he pressed his hands to his face in a sigh. Technoblade put gentle pressure on Philza’s shoulder and he went. Techno guided him into his arms and hugged him. The armor, while hard and an uncomfortable line against his body, was grounding and comforting. He tucked himself in, his stress melting away like iron in lava. Techno’s hand brushed through his feathers and Philza couldn’t help the shiver that ran through his body.

“Phil?” Techno asked softly. “Can I preen you?”

And Philza.

Philza nodded.

They would be okay. If it was the last thing Philza was ever able to do, he would make sure they were okay.

---

Being okay was going to be a lot harder than Philza expected.

Ranboo’s shield shattered under the force of Technoblade’s sword. His mouth opened in a snarl, his tusks flashing as he launched forward. Ranboo tried to block with his own sword, but the angle was wrong and he screamed in pain as the sword broke through his armor as well. The smoke from the splashed potions blew away, giving Philza a clear shot. An Angel of Death, he might be, but not today. Not when his arrow was aimed at his friend. The arrow whizzed through the air, struck Technoblade in the arm. He barely even winced, even as the weakness arrow took effect.

“Ranboo, run!” Philza shouted, dropping from his perch on the half-finished house. He darted forward, his own shield and sword at the ready. Ranboo glanced between Technoblade and Philza and bolted.

“I’ll kill you, Quackity!” Technoblade roared, lurching after him. Philza was faster. He slammed his shield into his friend, throwing him off balance. Technoblade spun on his heel, kicking up loose snow, turned on Philza. Red pulsed in his eyes, the scars glowing brightly. Philza didn’t know what triggered it, what triggered the episode. A few minutes ago, Technoblade and Ranboo were sparring while Philza worked on his house. It sounded like Ranboo got a hit on him; by the cut across Technoblade’s mouth, just under the mask, it was definitely a hit. Technoblade had stumbled back, his hand pressed to his skull. Philza couldn’t hear what he said, but when he heard the snarl, he hurried to the edge of the roof. The shout of “I choose blood!” sent a chill up Philza’s spine.

He had heard that line before, had seen the potions splash on the ground and the smoke rise up before Technoblade had launched himself at Quackity and the rest of the Butcher Army. Now, Philza saw nothing in Technoblade’s eyes but hatred and bloodthirst. He didn’t even look at Philza, didn’t even recognize that he was holding him back.

“They’ve got Carl!” he yelled. Philza shoved him back with the shield again.

“Technoblade! It’s not them! Carl’s here! Wake up!”

Technoblade snarled and Philza put all his weight into the shield again. The piglin stumbled back and Philza readied himself for a fight against his friend. But Technoblade dropped his sword, his hands pressing to his skull. He dropped to a knee, panting and muttering too fast for Philza to follow. Philza waited, waited for his friend to wake up, to see that he wasn’t in danger. To see it was just them. He didn’t want to hurt him. What they had to do already felt like he was stabbing a knife into his chest.

“Technoblade!” Philza cried out, his voice cracking on the name. Technoblade stopped muttering, curling in on himself. Then

Then he dragged himself to his feet, his hand coming up to brush the hair out of his face. He laughed and Philza felt dread take hold of his heart. The vines were growing again, burrowing into his flesh. Philza’s gaze flickered down when Technoblade pulled out his pickaxe. No…

“Did you really think, Quackity, that you could kill me that easily?”

Philza felt the world drop out from under his feet. That Technoblade didn’t recognize him, it—it was too much to handle. Technoblade snarled and lurched towards him.

“I’ve got a pickaxe and I’ll put it through your TEETH!”

Philza jumped back, barely missing the pickaxe strike. Fuck, fuck, no, he couldn’t—!

“Philza! Get back!” Ranboo’s voice cut through the air. The angel jumped back and a potion crashed down on Technoblade. A pearl hit the ground and Ranboo teleported between him and Technoblade. Double weakened, Technoblade snarled at them. Philza stumbled forward, reaching to grab Ranboo and pull him away, but—

Ranboo stood his ground, staring at Technoblade, an axe in his hand, his trident in the other. The two of them stood staring at each other for what felt like an eternity before Ranboo tossed aside his axe. He held out his hand and waited. Technoblade blinked, shook his head, and looked down at the hand. Philza held his breath, hoping against hope that whatever Ranboo was trying to do here would work.

Within the time it took Philza to blink, two things happened. Technoblade lurched forward with a roar and knocked Ranboo aside. The kid skidded in the snow out of Philza’s view. Then Techno’s hand grabbed the front of Philza's coat and slammed him back against the wall of the house. He growled at Philza, not a hint of recognition in his eyes as he readied his pickaxe. Philza's wings flared against the stone, beating up snow between them as if to blind Technoblade. It wasn't working. He eyed the pickaxe, panting as he quickly got over his shock. With a glance at Techno, he muttered a small apology. 

Philza's legs kicked out. One hit Techno square in the stomach and the other swung up over the arm. With the help of his wings, he twisted out of the grip, his shirt tearing. Technoblade cried out in pain, his arm bending wrong and the pickaxe dropped from his hand. The arm didn't snap, but the lapse allowed Philza to dart behind and pin the piglin's arm behind him. A beat of his wings and Philza slammed him into the snow. He pinned Techno by the arms. With how his legs were kicking, he would flip their position soon. He kicked away the pickaxe too, then struggled to hold his friend down as Technoblade kicked. Fuck, fuck! Phil pressed down as he risked moving one of his hands. Down the spine, where, where! Once he found the pressure point, he hit it and Techno's legs stilled. Technoblade still tried to buck him off. Philza used a powerful beat of his wings, forcing his friend down into the snow.

"Ranboo!" he shouted, swinging his head towards the kid. He scrambled to his feet, looking no worse for wear. "Fourth chest down, bottom left, sleeping potion, now!" He ordered. Ranboo jumped, then bolted into the house to find the potion. Technoblade was still struggling underneath Philza, but it was easier to hold him down. Ranboo stumbled out the door in his haste, holding the potion and staring down at the pair.

Philza shifted his position, letting Techno’s head up from where he pushed it into the snow. He snarled and Philza took that chance to stick his arm into Techno’s mouth. The thick leather bracer would protect his arm from the tear cutting through, but if Technoblade tried to bite with all his strength… He wedged his arm in, forcing Techno’s mouth open too wide to bite. His head snapped up to Ranboo, who was still just standing there.

“Well, what are you waiting for?! Pour it in!”

Ranboo startled, nearly dropping the potion. But he dropped to his knees and fumbled with the cork. Half the potion splashed on the ground, but he managed to get some into Techno’s mouth. Reflexively, he swallowed the remaining potion. Slowly, ever so slowly, Technoblade’s body ceased its struggling and he went limp. Finally, Philza relaxed, heaving a heavy sigh. He slid off Techno’s back, then rolled him over so he wouldn’t suffocate, and then turned his head so he wouldn’t choke. Philza gazed down at his friend and caressed his cheek.

“Is. Is he going to be okay?” Ranboo asked, still kneeling.

“Yeah. That potion should last for an hour or so. We should get him into the house.” He tapped his knee, frowning. “I think. It would be a good idea to remove his armor too. And his weapons. And keep him away from any potions. He’s. Right now, he’s a danger to himself and to others.” His gaze flicked up to Ranboo, who was writing in his journal.

“I agree,” Ranboo said as he slowly closed his journal. “We could hide them in my basement? I, uh,” he hugged the journal to the front of his coat. “I’ve been working on a—“

“That’s not necessary,” Philza dismissed with a wave of his hand. “I have a vault of my own we can keep them in. Plus, I mean to move all of that stuff over. I don’t want to take up all your space with ours.” Philza stood to his feet, checking over the brace on his arm. It had some holes where Techno’s teeth tore into it, but not through. He started to take it off, then flinched. Ranboo stood up, hands held out to help or hold or… something.

“It’s nothing,” he lied. “See?” He wiggled his fingers and picked up the axe from the snow. Ranboo didn’t look convinced, especially with the badly hidden wince at the weight of the axe on his arm. But Ranboo kept quiet. “Help me move stuff into my vault?”

It took them two hours to move everything over. Philza threatened Ranboo with a canon life if he ever showed anyone his vault, to which he completely agreed. Philza didn’t want to freak the kid out, but he’d had enough with people rummaging through his stuff. He refused to let anyone do that again. Techno was awake on the couch when he finally turned in, rubbing gently at his arm. Philza startled, his wings flaring, to see his friend wide awake and staring at him. But the feathers smoothed down. The man before him was awake and whole, not a hint of the egg’s taint on him. Exhaustion hit Philza like a roof of gravel knocked loose. He was tired. He was so tired.

Technoblade stood from the couch and stepped over. Silently, he reached out for Phil’s arm. Philza hesitated, but eventually offered it over. Phil’s arm, where the brace had protected it from piercing, did not protect it from the weight of Technoblade’s jaws struggling against him. Bruises covered the flesh like oil on a painting, deep purple like the fading sun at dusk. Pain seeped through Technoblade’s chest, squeezing his heart. How could he have done this to Phil? To his… To his friend? How could he let this happen???

In a move akin to worship, or to accepting execution, Technoblade knelt before Philza. He held Philza’s arm gently in his hands and pressed a line of kisses down from the crook of his elbow to his palm. Phil’s other hand came to his hair, carding through. He guided Techno’s head up to looking at him, the softest melancholy Technoblade had ever seen on his face.

“It wasn’t your fault, Techno,” he said, quiet enough to be a whisper. Technoblade pressed his forehead to the palm of Phil’s hand. The angel above him sighed, then resumed petting him. “I forgive you.”

After the Butcher Army incident, as he started calling it, Philza limited what Technoblade could do. He explained it to his friend, explained that he didn’t want to limit his free will like this, should he get the wrong idea, but he didn’t want to risk anyone else’s safety. If it had gone any other way, Techno could have killed Ranboo. He was certainly fighting like he wanted to kill him. And Philza knew what kind of regret would cling to his bones, to his soul if he had taken a life undeserved. Philza knew intimately what that felt like. He would not wish it on his best friend.

And so Technoblade agreed. Philza took away his armor and his weapons. They had already moved the potions. Philza didn’t tell Techno where he put them. It hurt him to hide things from Technoblade, but it was necessary. They couldn’t have another incident. They could not.

Philza felt hyperaware, always paying attention to Techno and how he reacted to things. He didn’t know what triggers Technoblade had now, what would set him off and what didn’t matter. The worst of it was that Techno refused to talk to him about it. Philza asked, Philza pressed and pried and he tried, but Techno snapped his jaw shut so fast his teeth clicked together and refused.

His nerves felt stretched, tense like tripwire, and exhaustion quickly lined his shoulders. Several nights now he found himself at his table, staring into middle distance, thinking and not thinking until eventually he dragged himself to bed.

---

The axe came down, splintering the log in half. Technoblade straightened with a groan, looking down at his work. Phil just recently trusted him with the axe. Not his armor though, and he had to return to the house the second he saw the sun begin to set. But it was nice, nice to be outside for once. The air was cold, crisp, and barely a hint of wind blowing that would cut through his coat. He leaned back until his spine cracked, then reached down to pick up another log. The sight of two legs in his vision nearby startled him. He straightened, his gaze traveling up to see, of all people, Tommy standing before him. The second Technoblade’s gaze fell on him, Tommy looked away. He hugged his coat close to him, the same one Technoblade had stitched for him when he finally accepted Tommy would be staying with him. He still had the turtle helmet resting on his head and Technoblade felt something sharp and longing break inside his chest.

“What are you doing here, Tommy?” Technoblade asked, hefting the axe onto his shoulder. He glanced at the sky, checking the time, then back to the kid. When Tommy hesitated, he narrowed his eyes. This was a side of Tommy no one had seen. Well, maybe Tubbo. And him, back before his betrayal pierced through his ribs. The seconds stretched into minutes as Tommy searched for words. Finally, he straightened and turned his gaze back to Technoblade. He found himself strangely pinned by the gaze.

“I heard about what happened with you and the egg,” he said. His gaze dropped again to look at some snow, kicking it around. Technoblade shifted his stance and Tommy glanced up immediately at the movement. Good; the kid still knew to be wary even against an unarmored foe. As long as he held an axe, he could be the most dangerous thing in the world. When it was clear no threat was coming, Tommy continued, picking at the fuzz on his coat. “The first time Tubbo met it, he started crying. I joked around and said it was saying slurs, you know, as I do.” He cracked a smile at Technoblade, who returned it with a truly unimpressed stare. He pressed his lips together as his shoulders hunched.

“I don’t know what it told you, but… I…” he trailed off. Technoblade closed his eyes, allowing himself a moment to relive exactly what the egg showed him. Visions of it dragging him down, of handing his weapons, of his friends bleeding out and feeding them to the Egg. He inhaled, his breath shaking against his will.

“If you need someone, Techno, I’m here,” Tommy said, promised. The words made Techno’s heart ache and the betrayal in his ribs pierced deeper. He bared his teeth as his fury ignited and he stomped forward with a snarl.

“You’re here? Now? What about back at the community house? Were you there for me then?” Tommy opened his mouth to speak, to protest, but Technoblade overruled him. “I was there for you! I would have fought them all for you, Tommy!” His eyes stung and he blinked back tears. Not here, not now. Not while light still fell upon them. His tusks flashed in the light as he snarled, “Why did you betray me?!”

“Betray you?” Tommy spat. “Why? You sided with Dream! You and him blew up L’Manberg! If anyone betrayed anyone, you betrayed me! You betrayed us!” Technoblade’s fury quieted, burned inside him as he leveled his glare with the kid. His voice dropped low when he spoke next, barely steady as the axe shook in his hands.

“Tommy. I was always planning to blow up L’Manberg. For what it did to me, to what its people did to me. That injustice was not going to go unpunished, Tommy. I didn’t betray you. Do-do you remember how many withers I have? Tommy, I showed you the vault!” He stepped forward, brandishing the axe. “How many withers did I spawn, Tommy?” Tommy looked away, holding his answer tight behind his lips.

“How many!” Technoblade roared. “I showed you mercy! Dream wanted to blow it to bedrock. I just wanted it to be enough that my message came across. Dream laid the TNT. I spawned the withers. Do you know how many more I can spawn, Tommy? I could wipe out everyone if I wanted to! And I showed you mercy!”

"Mercy?" Tommy's voice was cold, not unlike the ice that encased the landscape when the temperature plummeted. It sounded just as deadly. "Is that what you call it? Mercy? I can’t… You're more lost than I realized, Techno, if you believe what you did was merciful." Technoblade's axe lowered. This… this was not how Tommy behaved. Not…

"I tried to save you!" Tommy yelled, snapping Technoblade from his thoughts. "Big man, walking into hell thinking that you'll just walk out again! I saw Wilbur do that! I watched Wilbur walk into hell and when he came back, he wasn't the same!" 

Memories sparked through Technoblade's head, like flint striking before his eyes. When Wilbur was young, his flair for dramatics, his desire to explore. The day when Wilbur met Tommy and he joined their little group. The tournament they won together. The smiles on their faces. And he saw Wilbur's smile as he slowly descended into madness. Technoblade breathed and dragged himself out of those thoughts before he relived the betrayals that followed after like shadows.

"I tried to save you from that fate!" Tommy shouted, his voice hoarse from the pitch of his screams. Tears rolled down freely as he squeezed his hands into fists and shook.

"I didn't need saving!" Technoblade snarled. "Unlike Wilbur, I know where I stand. I know what I can handle. There's nothing I can't survive!"

"You're not invincible, Techno! What about the Egg, huh? Was that surviving?"

"I'm here right now, aren't I?"

"Are you?"

Technoblade blinked, the mood suddenly shifting. Words were hard to force out, with how it felt like something was wrapping around his throat. "W-what?"

"Are you? Here. Right now. Technoblade."

Technoblade reached up to his throat, but he found no vines curling, nothing choking him, yet he still felt its presence pressing into his mind. He squeezed the handle of the axe, the wood biting into his palm. It was enough to ground him. Just barely. He straightened to his full height, his eyes burning at Tommy.

"Leave," he ordered through bared teeth. When Tommy didn't move, he stepped forward and raised the axe at him. "Now. Before I take your life for trespassing, LEAVE!"

Tommy glared up at Technoblade and didn't budge. Technoblade lifted the axe to make due on his word. He wasn't going back on it now, not even for Tommy, not even if the kid didn't deserve it. Not for the pain squeezing his heart, burying itself into his soul. He would stand true to his word, even if that word would kill him. A sharp gust of winter wind slammed into him. Technoblade slid back with the force of it, squeezing his eyes shut. He felt ice slice through his will, through his strength, through his flesh. When the wind finally died down, he opened his eyes.

Tommy was gone.

Technoblade huffed and picked up the next log to chop down. A soft landing in the snow alerted him, the whisper of wings folding telling him it was Phil. Technoblade swung the axe down, the chop and breaking of wood soothing to the thunder still roaring in his ears.

“Hey mate? You okay?” Phil asked, resting his hand on Technoblade’s shoulder.

“Yeah,” Technoblade grunted. “Tommy showed up.” explained, not looking at his friend. Phil’s grip tightened on his shoulder. He assumed it was reassurance. “We had an argument and, er, I threatened him with an axe?”

“Techno…” Phil started. Technoblade frowned at his tone. It was the one he used when he came home too late in the day, the sunset still warming his back. Or the nights he woke up and just. Didn’t go back to sleep. He rolled his shoulders and Phil’s hand fell off it with the motion.

“Nothing happened, don’t worry. I wouldn’t kill the kid. I promise.”

“Techno,” Phil said again. His hand came up on his shoulder again, but this time he pulled, forcing him to turn. Technoblade lifted his gaze to Phil’s face, startling at the open concern. “Techno, I was watching from the window. There was no one here.” Silence followed after; all save for an icy wind chasing after a crow made of void.

[dragonrajafanfiction]

Shipwreck

@hectab

Heaving clouds poured an unrelenting sheet rain down on the deck of the pitching and rolling Aido-Hwedo. The horrifying waves tossed the ship back and forth. This aircraft carrier, weighing hundreds of tons, was at its limit of integrity and the people on top of it were like nothing in comparison to the raw power of the ocean. Men and women were locked in battle with fierce beasts that crawled over the ship, swarming like fire ants. They held them off but their circle of safety was growing smaller and smaller and the casualties mounted higher and higher. 

Even if they could maintain some semblance of a frontline, the crashing waves sweeping over the deck made a mockery of any attempt at strategy. The battle had turned into a mad scramble to kill whatever was standing in front of them.

Brian opened his eyes to this wet and cold mayhem. He felt sore all over and sighed with the pain burning through him. 

Voices were shouting. “He’s up, he’s up!” As he was pulled  to his feet.  The last thing he remembered was being struck by a bolt of lightning that shot out from the weapon of a deadpool and passing out. His training made him grasp the nearest arm and ask, “How long was I out?”

“About 15 minutes.”

Brian gritted his teeth. That was an eternity in a battle especially with dragons. 

Strong arms ushered him towards the aircraft that was supposed to be used to kill this monster that hid itself in the sky. Its long swordlike muzzle gleamed in the flash of lightning, dripping with constant running water. It was shaped like a cross between a rocket and fighter jet, built for both speed and firepower. It’s needle-like nose was also a weapon. If all the weapon systems failed, the plane itself could be a knife to stab through the dragon’s armor.

Ru’Yi wasn’t aware of this contingency. It wasn’t written in any of the documents. But it had come into Brian’s mind as a logical conclusion to the fight. 

“Is anyone else with me?” He asked. “No, the co-pilot was killed.” 

Brian stopped. “Aaron… Aaron’s dead?” For a moment, his breath was taken away but then he recovered and nodded. “Okay… Okay… It’s okay…” He told himself as he was hauled up the ladder that would take him to the cockpit. His heart quivered with sorrow. He was sorry. Aaron had always been by his side and now he was sleeping while Aaron died. Probably protecting him.

He sat in front of the controls forcing his mind to remember his training. Despite the war raging outside, he put on the helmet and started to check the equipment systems one by one.

From within the ship’s captain’s quarters, Lieutenant Summer Hart saw the communication device come online. 

“Running system diagnostics…”

“We don’t have time for that.” Summer Hart said. “The ship is rapidly taking on water…”

“Make time.” Brian said hoarsely. “We only have one chance at this.”

Summer looked down at her screen. Every one of the people in the ship could be tracked by infrared. The people who had gathered at the order of the Captain were still fighting below decks.

“All personnel, report to the decks. Protect Cassell’s plane!” She ordered. 

She ran her hand over the Aido-Hwedo’s console, silently saying goodbye to the ship.

Brian numbly followed the checklist, one by one, flipping switches, checking wind speed and direction. As soon as he was in the air, he would be blown sideways by the gale. He would need to pull a sharp hair pin turn and fire all thrusters as soon as he got off the aircraft carrier. 

He looked out the window. Reinforcements had arrived and were pushing the monsters back. In the light of the intense lightning strikes, the waves were perilously close.

Aido-Hwedo was sitting disastrously low in the water.

Brian started the ship’s engines, his heart racing. “Ready to push.”

He looked up through the cockpit and his heart stilled. He couldn’t see the horizon any more. All that was in front of him was a solid wall of water.

Below decks, Captain Foli and Tom Allman fought against the hordes of monsters that were now entering the ship from the bottom. Foli’s aim was precise as they waded through the flooded hull, downing the beasts with single shots. Tom was a monster, a snarling predator that held Ru’Yi aloft with his soul skill while using his sharp wingtips like a scythe.

“We’re not going to make it up to the decks.” Foli said, “I have another way. Follow me.”

“Where are we going?” Tom asked, 

“To Ra’s chambers. The ship is lost. We have to kill the dragon and escape.” He came to a sealed door and pushed hard. It was stuck fast. No matter how Foli strained against it, it wouldn’t budge.

“Allow me.” Tom folded his wing arms, the scythe-like bones resting on his shoulders and lifted one claw. The metal screeched and sparked as he ran his claws through the thick vault door, all around the frame. Then the door collapsed with the force of the water behind it.

Ra’s chapter was completely sealed, so it was still dry. The dragon was awake, its flaming eyes lighting the place like twin suns. At the sight of the two men it strained against its shackle, letting out a muffled roar.

“You have a dragon down here?” Tom’s eyes widened in horror.

Foli pulled what appeared to be a golden crown from his vest and pressed it against his head. The dragon’s struggles became even more frantic. “He’s captive.  Under my control.” Foli said. 

“Are you sure?” Tom whispered.

Foli reached for the medallion that Grant Baldwin had returned to him. He kissed it gently and then leaped on the dragon's muzzle.

The dragon’s nostrils flared and hot breath sucked in and out. The Dragon was clearly panicking. Its armored scales rattled, slamming shut in a reaction Tom understood as fear.

But Foli was fearless. He placed the medallion against the dragon’s head.

Immediately the Dragon’s shackles burned with blue script, ancient words that lit up the space like water. The blue script heated the shackles and they started to change form and expand outward. The dragon rose to its feet and the shackles started to spin, like some sort of engine. 

There were rings on every joint of the dragon, and they were held there by a blue energy, like electricity. That blue energy now colored the Dragon’s eyes. Foli was like an ant on the back of a crocodile as he walked up to sit behind the dragon’s massive head. When he looked at Tom, his eyes burned blue and blue veins crawled up his neck.

The ring around the muzzle of the dragon finally expanded to free it completely and the dragon let out a long scream of intense agony.

Ru’Yi opened her eyes and gasped. “Tom!”

Tom let her down. “You’re alright.”

“What’s happening?” Ru’Yi looked in terror at the massive beast that was howling in pain.

“I think he’s controlling it and he doesn't like it.”

She looked into his eyes in confusion, but there was simply no time to do or say anything.

The Dragon’s claws had pierced the hull of the ship and torn a great gap in it.

“Fill your lungs with air! Ru’Yi! Get on my back! We’re going to have to ride it out from the bottom of the ship!”

Ru’Yi complied, wrapping her skinny arms around Tom’s thick neck. Tom leaped forward, snapping open his wings and landing like a fly on the dragon’s back, gripping hard with his toe claws. “Lie flat! Lie flat!”

The dragon had carved a hole deep enough to swim through. Hordes of beasts swam up from below and turned Ra’s Chamber into an aquarium of horrors.

The Aido-Hwedo Aircraft carrier began to sink rapidly now that that final chamber was breached. The bow tipped upward.

Brian was out of time. He kicked the thrusters into full gear and the airship took off with the speed and force of a space shuttle. There was no way to dodge that wave. The only solution was to rise above it!

Brian tilted the airship’s nose up and the rocket thrusters scorched the surface of the runaway as well as a few unlucky ones who had gotten caught in that obliterating fire. The wave suddenly approached at speed. The rocket’s nose pierced the crest of the wave and bounced pointed straight at the clouds. He looked down as that wave swallowed the Aido-Hwedo. 

Tears ran down his face. All his friends. Mr. Baldwin. “Ru’Yi…” he sobbed. He turned back to the cockpit. An eye had appeared in the storm and despite the darkness below, the bright light of day was seen above, like he entered heaven from hell. There in this sea of torment, was a human shaped figure, with four feathered wings. Like an angel.

Brian’s chest heaved with pain. “I’m going to kill you!”

His roar of rage was swallowed by another roar hundreds of times more powerful than his own A dragon, three times the length of his own plane, burst like a bullet from the water, its wings beating mightily, its eyes flaming blue. 

Riding the head, exposed to the wind, was Captain Foli. The Dragon’s mouth opened and a voice like a thunderclap came from it.

“You will pay… for my brother.”

[kenzieam]

Want to Waste - Chapter One

Rating: M

Warnings: Drama, angst, language, smut and bad language

Word Count: 1768

Tags: @jewels2876​​  @moonbeambucky​​  @jeremyrennerfanxxxx123​​  @iammarylastar​​ @captstefanbrandt​​  @badassbaker​​  @pinknerdpanda​​  @oliviastan17​​ @mizzzpink​​​

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

Lev and Bucky don’t get along but always seemed to get tossed together when their respective fiance’s, Steve and Nat, have to work on another project together. The last straw comes when Steve and Nat have to bail on a long anticipated vacation and Lev and Bucky decide to go anyway. What could possibly happen between two wounded people in paradise?

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

“Oh, its only you.” Lev remarked, dropping into the booth.

“Yup,” Bucky drawled, leaning back insolently and resting his arm across the back.

“Nat late again?”

“You know it. Steve too?”

“You see him stuck to my ass?”

“Touché, Red.”

“Sorry.”

“Have a drink, maybe you’ll actually loosen up and sound sorry.”

Lev stuck her tongue out at him, rolling her eyes and he curled his lips in a wolf smile back.

The server appeared, having already brought Bucky his first drink a couple minutes ago.

“And for the lady?”

Lev considered something snarky, the guy was eying them like they were together or something equally outlandish. “Sea Breeze.”

“Ooh, doesn’t that, like, have sugar in it?” Bucky quipped, affecting a surprisingly accurate ‘Cali from the Valley’ accent as the server left.

“Thought I needed that.”

“Take more than sugar to sweeten your salty ass up.”

“Fuck off.”

“You fuck off.”

“Aaannnndddd I see they’re getting along just perfectly without us!” Nat announced, dropping in beside Bucky with a smirk.

Bucky forgot his glower across the table for a minute and leaned over, pressing a kiss to his girlfriend’s cheek. “Work?”

Nat gave him a side-eye. “Of course, baby.”

“Sorry, sorry!” Steve sing-songed, bouncing Lev slightly when he fell beside her. He pressed a loud kiss to Lev’s cheek while Bucky made a face at her, which she returned with a curled lip. “Patterson keeps dropping these new projects on us.”

Lev swallowed her irritation and forced a smile. “That’s alright, we only had to share the same table for a few minutes.”

“Yeah, Lev didn’t even have time to really unsheathe her claws.” Bucky added helpfully.

Nat and Steve traded a look before dropping it, this argument had gone so far past old it was almost new again.

“So? What did the old man unload this time?” Bucky asked, pulling his attention away from Lev and looking again at his girlfriend.

Nat shared a look with Steve. “Another realignment of assets.”

Bucky growled, sounding displeased. “Like what… that one a few months back? You didn’t get home any time before ten for like two weeks!”

Lev felt her heart sinking, the same displeasure Bucky was showing heating her skin. That was the trouble with dating someone high up in their profession, one Steve Rogers, compounded by the fact that they worked with your best friend, Nat Romanoff, and so you were always getting left with their asshat boytoy, James Barnes, Nat’s long-time plaything, whenever they got held up at their office.

“It won’t be like that.” Nat replied, flicking a glance at Steve, who replied by dropping his head to Lev’s and nuzzling into her hair, trying to tease out a smile.

Lev bit back a reluctant giggle, still feeling irritated. Bucky was right, Steve had been AWOL too, and always tired when he finally did come home. “Can’t you pass it on to someone else?”

“Not if you want that fancy wedding.” Steve murmured, his voice tender, lips tickling her ear, making her shiver.

Lev leaned back, pushing at Steve’s chest. “That’s not me, I told you I wanted small, you keep adding people to the list.”

“You too?” Bucky chuckled, glancing across the table before looking fondly at Nat. “Every time I think we have the guest list settled; this little minx thinks of five more people to add.”

Nat flicked him a mild glower before rolling her eyes at Steve.

“What are you all having?” Steve changed the subject, lifting the menu to peruse it.

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

Three Weeks Later

Lev raised a brow as Bucky approached, looking past him with an increasingly disbelieving scowl. “No, not this time.”

Bucky shrugged as he reached her side, drawing his compact aluminum wheeled suitcase to a stop beside him. “She said she’d meet us here directly from the office.” The overhead announcements continued above them, announcing incoming and outgoing flights in a brisk monotone.

“That’s what Steve said! Dammit, they better not be late, this is the first vacation we’ve had in forever.”

Bucky lifted his shoulder again. “They cancelled on us last time.” He reminded her.

“Yeah, with two days notice, not when we were standing right in the damn terminal!”

“Easy, Red.”

“Stop calling me that!”

Bucky smirked, looking past her and gesturing with his chin. “Go have a drink, calm down.”

Lev fixed him with a glare. “You talk like that’s all I do, throw fits and drink.”

For the briefest second, something besides a smirk hovered on his face. “Sorry, I just like teasing you. You’re cute when you get pissed, like a wet kitten.” At Lev’s surprised look he hurried on. “I mean, I have to entertain myself somehow, sometimes it seems like I spend more time with you waiting for my fiancé than I do with her.”

Lev looked away, too weary to continue the spat. It was true, it seemed like lately she and Bucky were always getting dumped together when their significant others had to bail, but that didn’t mean Lev was going to just accept it happening again.

“Not this time.” Lev growled, wondering vaguely if the sheer power of her thought vibes would be enough to hurry Steve along and get his ass here in time.

Glancing at her, Bucky strode past, his case trundling behind to sit near a large wall of windows, various jets visible on the tarmac beyond and, sighing, Lev turned to follow.

******************************************************************                               Lev glanced at her phone screen, knee bouncing agitatedly. She stopped in surprise when Bucky’s hand appeared and rested briefly on her leg, pulling away before she could slap it.

He glanced mildly at her and Lev swallowed her angry retort. It wasn’t Bucky she was pissed at anyway.

“Want a bottle of water or something?” He asked casually.

In answer, Lev’s cell began to ring, and Lev focused on it, holding her breath; then, as Bucky’s began to chime as well, she fought not to moan.

With a quick glance at each other, both answered their respective phones, a mix of frustration, anger, resignation and sadness growing on both their faces for anyone watching to plainly see.

“Whatever, Steve.” Lev mumbled, hitting the end button. She glanced over at Bucky, staring down at his phone, having already hung up with a similar goodbye.

“Nat?”

“Who else?”

“Gotta work?”

“Yep.”

“Dammit.” Lev snarled, taking several long, deep breaths to calm back down.

“Well,” Bucky declared, struggling to sound airy, “this was fun, see you around, Lev.” He stood, straightening his shirt and glancing back towards the terminal.

“Wait, you’re just leaving?” Lev asked, a kernel of an idea forming in her mind.

“Yeah,” Bucky answered, frowning down at her. “Nat’s not coming, the vacation’s off.” He spoke slowly, as if Lev was somehow mentally deficient. Anger tightened his jaw, he wasn’t letting on to the same degree as she was, but Bucky was just as disappointed and pissed off as Lev.

“No.” Lev replied, mind racing. “No.” She looked up into Bucky’s wary eyes. “I paid for a vacation, I took the time off work, I’m going on my goddamn vacation.”

Bucky’s frown deepened. “But Steve’s not coming.”

“So? I hardly see him anymore, anyway, how is this any different?” Lev began to speak faster, warming to the idea. “I’m going.” She announced simply, standing, Bucky’s startled gaze lifting to follow. “Steve can waste his ticket, but I’m not. I’ve been looking forward to laying on that beach for months.” She started to march towards the gate then turned to eye Bucky. “What about you?”

Bucky shook his head, confused. “What, go on this vacation with you instead?”

Lev shrugged airily, feeling strangely free. “No, not with me. It’s a big beach, we have separate hotel rooms; we don’t even have to see each other after we land, but are you going to let Nat wreck another trip for you?”

A shadow passed over his face and he looked out through the windows, watching the planes for few beats. “No.” He replied, almost curtly. “No, I’m not. Let’s fucking go.” His face was all hard determination when he looked back at Lev. “You’re right, not again.”

Lev faltered, suddenly rethinking her previous conviction. What was she saying? Go to a tropical resort with someone not Steve? As quickly as the hesitation hit, it melted away. She wasn’t going with Bucky, she was simply flying in the same plane, staying in the same hotel, beyond that they would be entirely separate. “Not again.” She replied firmly.

A surprisingly attractive grin flashed across his face, stunning Lev for a moment then he grabbed his phone, a trace of annoyance bleeding back into his eyes. “Gonna tell Nat.”

Lev grabbed her own phone, tapping Steve’s icon. “Yep.”

******************************************************************************              Lev relaxed back into her seat, grateful that she’d paid the extra for the upgrade. In the row in front of her, Bucky rummaged for something in his carry-on.

“What?” Steve asked, sounding supremely confused. “You’re going?”

“Yeah,” Lev grinned at the flippant tone in her voice. “It’s non-refundable, maybe you’re fine losing your money, but I’m not.”

There was a beat of silence on the other end and Lev could imagine the thoughts running through Steve’s head, all being rapidly dismissed for sounding too selfish or privileged. Finally, he replied. “Well, if you’re sure.”

“I am. I have Bucky for company anyway.” Lev blinked, where had that come from?

Steve huffed faintly.

“C’mon, Steve. You leave him with me all the time. Besides, we’re not going to do anything.”

“No, I know.” There was something in his voice, the beginnings of guilt. “Lev, I’m sorry.” He sounded genuinely remorseful. “I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

She’d heard that before. “I’ll call you when we land, okay?”

“Okay, and Lev? I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Bucky’s head appeared over the seat. “Do you have any gum?”

Lev smirked, pulling out a pack and tossing it his way.

Later she drowsed, lulled by the sound of the engines, the comfortable seat, the warmth of the sun through her window. She didn’t regret leaving, not yet anyway but she did genuinely miss Steve beside her.

A body thudded into the aisle seat, Steve’s seat, startling her. Bucky grinned merrily back at her bleary glower.

“C’mon, Red. Don’t be like that. It’s weird sitting by yourself, besides, my screen’s not working.” He reached up, flicking on the viewing screen in the headrest of the seat he was just moments ago sitting in.

Lev grumbled and rolled partially away, her eyelids growing heavy again.

[wistfulcynic]

The Eternal and Unseen (2 of 3)

(there is additional chapter art from the amazing @carpedzem​ further down, I just wanted to use this one again because I love it so ❤️❤️❤️❤️)

SUMMARY: Misthaven University is an ancient place, and as all ancient places do it guards some secrets. Secrets such as Emma Swan and Killian Jones, a fae princess and her royal guardian, whose true identities are well concealed behind the guise of average college students—if not quite well enough to foil the plot their enemies have hatched against them. Now their friends will have to come together, putting their own differences aside to battle an enemy that threatens them all—fae and vampire and werewolf together… plus one very baffled human named David.

For @cssns​

a/n: This chapter fought me every step of the way, and it’s a beast at nearly 9k. Settle in, and I hope it doesn’t disappoint. All manner of love and adulation to @thisonesatellite​ for being the rock she is, and to @ohmightydevviepuu​ and @katie-dub​ for their brilliance and encouragement. And @spartanguard​ and @optomisticgirl​ for the prompts that this monster of a fic now barely resembles, but hey what can you do? 

Finally, please everyone flail like mad at @carpedzem​ and her perfect eye for detail and characterisation in the art for this chapter: 

(WHAT’S IN THE BEAKER, YOU ASK? LET’S FIND OUT)

AO3 | Tumblr part one 

-

CHAPTER TWO: 

The sunlight shone through the window and right on his face, bright and warm, though not enough of either to wake him up. It was Harriet who managed to rouse him, finally, after several minutes spent stroking his forehead with her fronds and patting his cheek with her leaf. When this produced no effect aside from some incoherent muttering and limp attempts to push her leaf away, the plant rustled with a botanical sigh and gave him a sharp smack upside the head. With her thorns out. 

“Ow!” cried Killian, jerking into abrupt and painful consciousness. “What the bloody hell—Harriet! Lass, I thought we were friends.” 

Harriet smacked him again. 

“Oi, seriously! What—” He broke off as Harriet unfolded her larger leaves from where they had been wrapped around him, cradling his body protectively, and Killian realised he was lying sprawled on the floor of Emma’s dorm room and that his head ached like a son of a bitch. 

“What happened?” he groaned. Harriet’s leaf brushed his face again and then caressed the back of his head and Killian followed its path tentatively with his fingers. They encountered a tender, painful lump at the base of his skull and a nasty gash in his scalp, coated in a springy, jelly-like substance that he recognised by its texture and aroma as Harriet’s sap. 

“Harriet... did you heal me?” he asked her. She inclined her leaf in a gracious nod, and Killian felt a lump rise in his throat that could almost rival the one on his head. “Thank you, lass,” he said, stroking the edge of her frond with his fingertip as Emma had taught him. “I’m very grateful. But why did you need to? What happened here?” 

Harriet tapped him on his temple, gently but with a clear rebuke. “Aye, I’m trying to remember,” he replied wryly. “But cut a man a bit of slack, would you, when he’s been thoroughly coshed and spent the night on a cold stone floor.” 

Harriet shrugged and Killian pressed his fingers to his eyes, willing his brain to kick into some kind of gear. “I remember going to the pub last night with Emma,” he said slowly. “We had a few drinks and we wanted food, but the pub kitchen had closed so we came back here... we were going to order pizza but then there was a knock on the door... I went to answer it, and she joked that maybe the pizza place had read our minds… I turned to look at her as I opened the door, and then… then… oh, bloody hell.” 

His eyes had been scanning the room as he spoke, taking in the upended chair and the books fallen from their shelves, the overturned plant pots and shattered glass vials. But this chaos, though alarming, was not what caught his attention. 

Beside the door, half-buried beneath spilled soil and shards of glass, lay an object. A small, purple object, roughly round and attached to a long and slender strip of leather. An object that Killian had last seen glowing faintly against Emma’s pale skin as he’d trailed kisses down her belly. 

With a choking cry he scrambled on his hands and knees across the room and picked it up. The power within it hummed through him, and agonising terror sank its claws deep into his chest. 

“Bloody hell, Emma,” he whispered. 

~

David was lingering over his coffee with a gentle smile on his face, listening to the bright sound of Snow and Ruby’s voices as they chatted over breakfast. Snow’s voice in particular with its sweet tones soothed him as much as it did her birds. If he could start every day like this, David thought, watching as the bird on her shoulder hopped down her arm to peck at the pile of seeds she’d left next to her plate—with good coffee and Snow’s voice and the occasional trill of birdsong... well, he wouldn’t hate it.  

That thought had barely even crept into his mind when the door to the dining hall burst open and Killian appeared, one hand pressed against his head and the other clenched in a tight fist. He took two steps forward then stumbled, groaning, swaying precariously on feet that seemed reluctant to hold him up. Coffee sloshed over David’s hand as he moved to stand but Ruby and Graham were far quicker, darting forward with inhuman speed and managing, barely, to catch Killian before he collapsed to the floor. 

“What happened to you?” cried Ruby, as she and Graham took Killian by the arms and helped him into a chair. 

“Emma,” Killian gasped. “Emma.”

“She’s not here—” Ruby began, but Killian shook his head. 

“Gone,” he whispered. 

“What?” 

Killian closed his eyes and appeared to marshal his strength, and when he opened them again they were frantic. “Emma’s gone,” he said, in a far stronger voice. “Taken.” 

The room went utterly still and utterly, utterly silent.

That vague sense of unease, of foreboding, that had been simmering in David’s gut for weeks flared now into a full and rolling boil. He set his coffee cup down on the table with a thunk and glared at Killian. “What do you mean she’s been taken?” he demanded. 

“More importantly,” said Snow, her voice barely audible and her eyes wide with fear. “Who took her?”

Killian’s expression darkened and his closed fist clenched tighter. “I don’t know,” he said. “I never saw their face.” 

The eerie silence shattered as everyone began to talk at once. 

“But that’s impossi—” 

“No one could just—” 

“—even with magic!”

“How could someone just take her?” Graham’s voice rose over the din. “How did they get past you?” 

As quickly as they rose up the voices fell silent again, awaiting Killian’s reply. 

Killian’s expression went, impossibly thought David, darker still. “They coshed me,” he snarled. 

“They what?” David demanded.

“Hit me on the head with something hard, a stick or a bat or—hell, it could have been a frying pan, I don’t bloody know.” 

The silence in the room took on a baffled quality as Killian’s glare was met with a wall of blank and uncomprehending stares. 

“And that… worked?” ventured Ruby. 

“Of course it worked!” Killian snapped. “I’m immune to magic, not blunt objects.”

Victor’s face wore an expression that David recognised as one he often had himself, whenever he tried to do math in his head. “But they just—” he gave his hand a vague wave. “Hit you?” 

Killian shot him a mocking look. “Yes, they ‘just hit me,’” he sneered. “It was a more than adequate measure, I assure you.” 

Snow placed a steaming cup of tea in front of him and Killian’s sneer faded to pained gratitude. “Thanks, love,” he murmured, and took a long sip before turning back to Victor. “It’s a human strategy, yes, but you have to admit an elegantly simple one. You lot would have tied yourselves in knots trying to work out a way to defeat me by magic, they just whacked me upside the head. I’d admire it if it weren’t so bloody painful.” 

“Emma gave me a jar of headache powder a while back, let me go get you some,” said Ruby sympathetically and Killian once again nodded his gratitude. 

“Thank you, lass, I’d appreciate it.” 

As Ruby hurried out the door Graham looked at David, his brow furrowed. David was by this point mightily confused and so full of questions they tumbled over each other in his brain. Before he could even begin to sort through them, Graham spoke.

“So whoever took Emma was human,” he mused. David frowned, surprised to hear his friend wasting time with such a remark. Of course they were human. What else would they be?

He fully expected to hear another mocking reply, but Killian simply nodded. “Aye,” he said. “One of them, at least.” 

Graham’s expression sharpened. “There were more than one?” 

“There had to have been.” Killian’s clenched fist trembled as he pressed it against the tabletop, his knuckles stark white. “No single human could have taken Emma, not alone. Not from her own bloody room. There are distinct signs of a struggle—it’s pretty clear both she and the plants fought back.” His mouth pressed into a grim line. “I don’t know what we’re dealing with here but it’s big,” he said hoarsely. “And what’s more, Emma knew it was big.” 

“How do you know that?” asked Graham.

“She left this.” 

Killian wrenched his fist open to reveal a stone, a deep purple stone with a shimmering glow that seemed to hover over his palm. It was roughly round, as though carved hastily by hand, with a small hole hewn through it slightly off-centre, threaded with a leather cord. It looked to David’s eyes thoroughly unremarkable aside from that unsettling glow, the sort of pendant you find on a three-for-one sale in a shop that also sells patchouli candles and things woven out of hemp.  

“What is it?” he asked, but his words were drowned out by the collective gasp from the others.

“Is that what I think it is?” Victor’s voice held genuine fear. 

“So Emma has it,” Snow breathed in awe. 

“She did,” Killian replied grimly. “She wore it around her neck. She never took it off, and I mean never, not for anything. Until now.” 

“But what does that mean?” Victor’s whispered question was drowned out by the sound of the door opening. Ruby strode through it, trailed by a rumpled and sleepy August. 

“Hey guys. I woke August up and filled him in,” Ruby said casually, as though August wasn’t the one person in the dorm she actively avoided and never spoke to except in anger. She strolled over to Killian and held out a small paper packet. “Here’s your powde—fuck me sideways.” Her eyes went wide and the packet fell from her nerveless fingers. “Is that—” 

“Aye,” said Killian, “it is.” He picked up the packet and tore it open, tipped the contents onto his tongue and chased it with a swallow of tea. 

It’s what, damn it? David’s brain screamed, but his mouth refused to form the words. 

“So Emma has it,” August echoed Snow’s words but in a very different tone of voice, his expression now sharp and alert. “I should have guessed. Sky tribe, of fucking course.” 

“And just what is that supposed to mean?” Ruby snapped, rounding on August with her teeth bared. 

“Ruby, now is not the time,” said Snow sharply, as Graham leapt to his feet and took Ruby’s arm. 

“It’s not the time,” Killian agreed. He stood as well and fixed them all with a steady gaze. The haze of pain had cleared from his eyes, David noted, and he seemed much steadier on his feet.

“You all know what this is,” he said, holding up the purple stone. “You know its significance and the vital importance of keeping it safe. And yet Emma, the woman tasked by her birthright with its protection, deliberately left it behind.” He paused to let his words sink in. Even David could feel the solemn weight of them settling into his bones. “She would not do such a thing,” Killian continued, “unless she thought that leaving it behind was safer than risking it falling into the hands of whoever took her. She would not do such a thing unless she trusted us to keep it safe. She did it because she knew it was the one thing guaranteed to make us understand that the danger she’s in is serious.” 

The air in the room felt heavy as lead, holding them still and silent within the moment. It pressed on David’s shoulders on his chest, holding him frozen until after an interminable moment Snow spoke. “So… what are we going to do?”

A smile spread across Killian’s face, a sharp and dangerous one. His eyebrow quirked. “We’re going to rescue her, of course.”

“Oh, well,” mocked Victor, “of course.” 

Killian’s smile faded. “Listen to me, all of you,” he said firmly. “I know that we have our differences and I know how deep they run. But you all understand the enormity of this and how it affects every single one of us. We have have no choice but to act, and act now. Fast and united, before it’s too late.”  

He scanned their faces, making eye contact with each in turn. “Are you with me?” he asked.  

His answer came from the last source any of them expected. “You can,” said August, and I think I speak for all of us when I say that.” Snow, Ruby, and Graham all nodded in agreement then turned expectantly to Victor, who rolled his eyes and heaved a sigh. 

“Fine,” he said. “What do you need us to do?”

~

“They’ll take her to the forest,” said Snow.

“Do you think so?” Ruby frowned. “That’s seriously risky.” 

“So is hauling her across the campus,” Graham pointed out. “Even if they managed to restrain her, there’s no way to move a body without looking suspicious.” 

Graham sounded like he was speaking from experience, which was surely impossible—or so David would have said half an hour ago. His definition of ‘impossible’ had shifted pretty dramatically since then and he was no longer certain anything could be ruled out.

“I agree with Snow, they’d go to the forest,” Graham continued. “Remember we’re dealing with at least one human, they might not know what the forest is to Emma.” 

“Hmm, that’s a point,” Ruby agreed. She looked turned to Killian. “Okay, we three will go to the forest and see what we can find there. Can you give us an hour?” 

Killian nodded. “That should be enough. Keep your phones on. And be careful.” 

Ruby’s smile flashed. “Always am.” 

“Killian,” David croaked, finding his voice with effort as he watched Snow follow the Ruby and Graham from the room, bluebirds hovering worriedly around her head. His mind was still churning and he stumbled over his words. “What—what exactly is—what are they—why are you—why are you all talking about humans like you aren’t… one?”

Killian regarded him with a curious blend of exasperation and empathy. “Because we’re not,” he said bluntly. “Well, they’re not.” He waved his hand at Victor and at August, who gave David a small bow. “I am, more or less.” 

“Is this some kind of joke?” David asked faintly. Victor snorted and Killian sighed, running a hand over his face. 

“David, look, mate, we tried our best to ease you into this and let you figure things out on your own,” he said, “but honestly I’ve never seen anyone fail to pick up on hints as comprehensively as you can.” 

“What—” David rubbed his throbbing temples. “What does that mean?” 

Killian turned to Victor. “We’re going to need something to open his mind,” he said. “There must be some magic that’s keeping it closed, I have a hard time believing even he can be this clueless. Have you got some sort of potion or something that might work to soften him up a bit?”

Victor scowled. “I don’t do potions.” 

“What the bloody hell do you always have on those damned burners, then, or are you just making the whole floor smell terrible for your own entertainment?” 

“Those are experiments.”

“And you can’t experiment with potion making?”

“I do sometimes, but Emma’s really the potion expert. If I need one I usually just get it from her.” 

“Well, Emma’s not bloody here, is she?” Killian hissed through gritted teeth. “What have you got?” 

“Um, well, I mean, not much for opening minds,” stuttered Victor, recoiling from Killian’s glare. “Heads I can open. Minds are trickier.” 

“I’ll open your head in a minute—”

“I can do it.” 

Killian and Victor turned in unison to stare at August, who was lounging against the door frame, casual and nonchalant. “Influence him, I mean,” he drawled, in a careless tone that sent a shiver up David’s spine, like tiny spiders dancing down the back of his neck.

“Um,” said Victor, with a frantic glance at Killian.

“Not too much, of course,” continued August, soothingly. “Just crack him open a bit, you know, make him… receptive to your input.” 

Killian looked at David, with a look that sent the spiders scattering all across his skin. “That…that could work, actually.”

“Seriously, Jones?” cried Victor.

“Look, we can only use the resources we’ve got and if you can’t produce a potion we have to come up with something else,” Killian snapped. “Can you produce a potion?” 

“I already said no!” 

“Well then. These are the resources we’ve got.” 

“And just how are you going to give him this ‘input’ once he is ‘made receptive’ to it?” Victor sneered. 

“If I’m right about him I won’t need to,” said Killian. “It’s already there. All I need to do is trigger it.” His expression turned calculating and David's skin-spiders grew claws. 

“Do I get a say in—” he began, but Killian cut him off. 

“No you don’t,” he said shortly. “We haven’t got the time. Victor, do you suppose you might be able to locate a basic solvent, one able to emulsify plant sap and willow powder? Can you do that, at least?” 

Victor nodded. “That I can do.” 

“Do it, then. And August, you make whatever preparations you need. I’m going to go grab some things from Emma’s room, we’ll meet back here in ten.” 

“Killian,” David tried again, “I’m really not comfortable—”

Killian rounded on him with a glare, dark and intent and terrifying. “Emma is in danger,” he said, spitting every syllable. “Serious, life threatening danger. I know you can understand that, David, if you understand nothing else, and I know you can’t ignore it. I know you’ve come to care about her.” 

“Of course I have—” 

“Then help me save her.” Killian’s voice broke. “Please.” 

The look in his eyes—raw vulnerability and soul-deep terror bolstered by a core of iron David would never have dreamed he possessed—struck a chord somewhere deep within him and resonated there. For the first time he felt that he was seeing Killian as he truly was, and there in that brief flash of kinship David understood, as surely as he’d ever understood anything, that Killian loved Emma, that he would do anything for her, and that he was deathly afraid his anything would not be enough. 

“All right,” said David, clasping Killian’s shoulder and giving it a squeeze. “Just tell me what you need me to do.” 

~

Ten minutes later David was waiting anxiously in the common room with August sitting in the chair across from him, legs crossed, watching him with a cool stare that did nothing to calm the energetic gyrations of the skin-spiders. When the door opened to admit Killian and Victor he leapt to his feet, desperate for any excuse to escape that unwavering gaze.

“Did you get what you needed?” he asked, struggling to keep his voice steady and disguise his nerves. “I’m ready for... er, whatever.” 

Killian was carrying another paper packet similar to the one Ruby had given him and a small, grey-green leaf. These he set on a table as Victor produced a beaker half-full of a milky substance. Killian tore open the paper packet and tipped its contents—a few ounces of dusty grey powder—into the beaker. He then took the leaf and squeezed it until it began to express thick, clear sap, then dropped that in as well. The liquid in the beaker began to make a faint popping noise and Killian looked satisfied as he picked it up by its narrow neck and held it up to the light. He swirled the liquid in a deliberate manner, first clockwise then counter, then clockwise again, counting under his breath, until it turned a dark, swirling purple and began to smoke—rather ominously, David thought. 

Killian turned to him with a slight smirk and a raised eyebrow. “I hope you mean that whatever,” he said, holding out the beaker. “Because the first thing I’m going to need you to do is drink this.” 

“Er—” said David. 

“Then look deep into August’s eyes.” 

“Um—” 

David jumped as he realised August was now standing directly behind him, grinning widely, the tip of his fang catching a shaft of bright morning sunlight with a distinctly mocking gleam. He ran the tip of his tongue along it as his eyes flashed red and at least three impossible ideas began to coalesce in David’s brain, coming together to form a conclusion that within his new definition of ‘impossible’ was in fact anything but. 

“How—” David cleared his throat, still unable to quite believe he was entertaining any of this. “How are you out in the sunlight?” he asked. “Aren’t you—doesn’t it—burn you?”

Killian and Victor chuckled and August’s grin widened. “That’s a myth, I’m afraid,” he drawled. “Sunlight doesn’t harm us, we’re just not morning people.” 

“It might be best if you operate from the assumption that everything you think you know is wrong,” said Killian. “Start with a clean slate, so to speak.” 

“My mind is a clean slate,” David echoed faintly.

“Exactly.” Killian smirked at him. “So are you ready?” 

David hesitated. “You’re sure this is necessary to help Emma?” 

“It’s the only way.” 

“All right,” David sighed. “Give me the damned potion.” 

~

The purple of the potion rises up, engulfs him, dark as smoke, only the red of August’s eyes as shining beacons to guide him. He follows them through the swirls and eddies of the smoke until abruptly it is gone and he is standing in a forest of tall trees reaching straight up to a cloudless sky. 

He hears a noise behind him and turns to see a woman, beautiful and terrifying, wreathed in smiles and swathed in darkness. As he watches she waves a wand of blackened wood and a substance, viscous and dark as tar, begins to bubble up from the ground and ooze from the trees, to drip from the very air itself. It twines around her in glistening ropes, hissing its displeasure, a slave to her whims, and she throws back her head in peals of triumphant laughter. 

“The Black Fairy,” says Killian’s voice in his ear. David spins around but no one is there, and the dark woman takes no notice of him. “I’m not actually there,” says Killian, an edge of impatience now in his tone. “And neither are you. Remember that. What you’re seeing is long in the past, shadows of your history. You can’t touch or change it. Just watch.”  

As the dark substance swirls about her the woman draws it, slowly, into herself, absorbs it. Her eyes turn black, and her hair and her gown; the colour drains from her skin until she is pale as a moonbeam in the night. Her lips curve into a satisfied smile and David, though he is not within his body, shivers. 

The image fades away, replaced by another. A village in flames, the agonised shrieks of  people—yes, people, David sees and knows them to be humans like himself—as they try in vain to flee. The cackle of the Black Fairy, appearing in their midst. 

“Surrender,” she hisses. “And your lives will be spared.” 

“At what cost?” spits a woman, glaring contempt as her children huddle in her skirts. “Our freedom?” 

“You will give your lives in service to the fae,” says the Black Fairy. “Or you will give them to the flames.” 

“Burn us then,” says the woman, her chin raised in defiance. “For we will never serve you.” 

The scene blurs again and resolves into another forest, lush and green. Tall trees surround a large, flat rock in the shape of a circle, around which many beings are gathered. Some have the appearance of humans, others anything but, and still others combine human-like forms with horns or feathers or fur or leathery skin. Some have wings, others tails, all are angry. And scared. 

“We must act!” cries one, slapping the rock with his tail to punctuate his point. “The humans no longer believe she does not speak for all of us! If we do nothing she will wipe them from existence in our names!”  

“Perhaps we should let her,” retorts another. “These humans breed quickly and their numbers are ever growing. Their settlements already threaten our lands.” 

“Not threaten,” says a third. “We can live peacefully alongside them, as we have done for centuries.” 

“Oh yes indeed, when they were but few.”

“Their numbers are beside the point!”  

“Enough!” shouts the first, banging his tail on the rock again. “The qualities of the humans as a species are not germane. We simply cannot allow her to wipe out an entire race of beings. It is unconscionable and a breach of the ancient covenants!” 

A chorus of agreement rustles through the assembled crowd. The second speaker observes her fellows in silence for a moment, then gives a shrug. “I will stand with you, Elisedd, in accordance with the covenants and for the moral strength of your argument,” she says. “But I wish for my warning to be noted: The human race will be the end of us, if we allow it.” 

“Your objection is so noted, Eigyr,” says Elisedd with a nod. “Now let it hereby be known that we the Fae Council stand in agreement, and shall act with due haste and taking all necessary measures to stop the Black Fairy in her slaughter of the humans...” 

The image blurs again and David finds himself in the midst of a raging battlefield. Human warriors stand shoulder-to-shoulder with fae, against the Black Fairy and the army of demons her dark magic called into being. He feels a hum of energy in the air to his left and turns to see a woman who he thinks at first is Emma—the same golden hair with a life of its own, the same deep green eyes. But this woman’s nose and chin are pointed, as are her ears, and her fingernails when she raises her hand in the air are long and sharp as talons. She holds up her hands to the sky and sings out, a haunting tune and words in the language Emma uses when she sings to her plants. She stands at the centre of a circle of her kind, blonde and green eyed, pale-skinned and sharp-featured, themselves encircled by the battling warriors. They chant a rhythmic beat as she sings, and though the Black Fairy is far away David can see her face clearly as alarm flares in her eyes, as slowly the thick, black substance begins to ooze from her, hissing as it goes, swirling and twisting into a single thick and oily strand. 

“No,” she whispers, then her voice rises to a shriek.“No, it can’t be! It’s impossible! Nooooooo!” 

She clutches frantically at the magic but it slips from her grasp and when she gropes at her belt for her wand she finds it gone.

“I don’t imagine you’ll have much further use for this, milady,” says a voice, and both David and the Black Fairy turn to see a human warrior with bright blue eyes brandishing the wand in a mocking salute. 

“Insolent cur!” she snarls, and the human laughs. 

“Would you believe that’s not even the worst thing I’ve been called?” he asks, and darts away into the heaving battlefield. 

The Black Fairy lets out a scream of rage, turning back to look up at the sky and the coiling rope of magic as it sails over the heads of the warriors and towards the circle where Emma’s ancestor stands, calling it to her with her song. It heeds her call with typical ill humour, hovering malevolently and obediently above the circle as the fae woman holds up a small, purple stone. 

The darkness shrieks as it is pulled into the stone, writhing and twisting in concert with the impotent howls of the Black Fairy, but Emma’s ancestor neither flinches nor wavers. She pulls in every particle of the darkness and when the last traces have been absorbed she waves her hand over the stone with a few final, whispered words and then collapses, stumbling forward into the arms of her kin. 

“It is done,” she breathes. “It is done.” 

The scene fades once more and when it resolves David is back at the circular stone in the forest, this time surrounded by humans and fae alike. 

“Then we have an accord,” says the human man who captured the Black Fairy’s wand, placing his prize upon the circle. 

“Yes,” replies Elisedd. “The human race agrees to relinquish all claim to magic. The fae peoples agree to keep the Black Fairy’s darkness bound for eternity, held in the tywyll stone and guarded by the Awyr people. Fae magic and cures shall remain available to any humans who seek them and no human shall encroach on lands the fae hold sacred. We are in agreement on these points?” 

The human nods. “We are.” 

“Then let it be done.” 

“Not yet, Elisedd, if you please,” says a third voice. “There is one more thing.” 

These words are spoken by another blond and green-eyed fae, this one male. “My people, the llwyth awyr, agree to guard the tywyll stone” he says, “but this task is a heavy burden upon us. My wi—” his voice breaks as pain flashes across his delicate features. “My wife, Arianrhod, chosen by the moon herself to lead our people, has given her life to contain the darkness,” he continues gruffly. “And now my daughter Morcanta must carry the weight both of her legacy and the stone. Though we accept to bear these burdens gladly, we respectfully request not to bear them alone. We would ask that a human representative agree to take up at least a part of the weight alongside us, for the sake of our people and of the covenants, and for the sake of all our descendants.” 

“That seems fair,” says Elisedd. “Cynbel oCymric? What say ye?”

The human man nods. “We agree,” he says. “A similar thought had occurred to us as well. But humans are far more vulnerable to magic than the fae, and so in shouldering this burden we will require some protection.” 

“Nynniaw? Is this condition acceptable to the Awyr people?” 

Emma’s ancestor nods. “We can place a shielding spell upon you,” he replies. “One that shall fuse with your blood and pass on to your descendants, removing your susceptibility to any magic. And in order that the location of the tywyll stone not be made too plain to see, we propose that such shielded human guardians should be paired with each fae tribe, to further protect the stone and ensure the covenants are kept.” 

The crowd hums with murmurs of agreement. “These are fair terms,” says Cynbel, “which we gladly accept.”

Smoke swirls up again and David is yanked from the vision. He gasped and stumbled and nearly fell, reaching out blindly for something to hold on to. 

“Steady on, there, mate,” said Killian, catching him by his arm, but David’s head throbbed and the room begin to spin around him, and the sound of Killian’s voice grew fainter as his eyes rolled back in his head and he tumbled into unconsciousness. 

~

When he opened his eyes again the first sight to meet them was Killian, dressed as usual in his black leather jacket and black t-shirt bearing the faded image of a skull, belting a long sword around his waist.

“That’s—” David gasped, blinking hard and giving his head a firm shake. The images from his vision were still swirling in his mind, and though he did feel he now had a firmer understanding of just what, precisely, the fuck, some things he suspected would still require some getting used to. “That’s a sword,” he sputtered.  

“Naturally,” said Killian, pulling the blade from its scabbard with a flourish and examining its edge. “You didn’t think I’d be going in armed with nothing but my good looks?” 

“Well, no, but—” 

“Speaking of which, you’ll be needing one too. Belle!” 

The air next to him shimmered and Belle resolved into it, a large, leather-bound book in her hand and a bright smile on her face. “Hey, David,” she said. “Killian tells me you’ve been having a bit of an adventure.” 

“Uh, yeah, I guess that’s one way to put it.” 

“Oh I’d love to go back and see the ancient times,” said Belle dreamily. “I don’t suppose you’d let me have a sip of that potion?”

“I’m pretty sure it only works on the living, love,” said Killian, and David barely resisted the urge to smack himself in the forehead. She haunts the library. Duh. 

“Typical,” pouted Belle. “I haven’t had any fun in nearly five hundred years. But I have” —she held out the book, open to a brightly illustrated page— “acquired some serious research skills in that time, and I’m pretty sure I’ve found it.” 

Killian peered at the book. “Where the devil is that supposed to be?” 

“It’s one of the old classroom towers. When I was alive we used to learn magical defence there.” 

“Well that would at least make some sense. Victor, mate, do you suppose you might rustle up something capable of dissolving a mystical lock or two? I mean, I know it’s a potion and all, but this one does seem to be rather more in your wheelhouse.” 

Victor ignored the sarcasm. “On it,” he said.

Killian turned back to David. “Ready then, mate?” 

“I—” David wished mightily that he could say yes, of course he was. “I genuinely have no idea.” 

Killian laughed. “That seems reasonable, given what you’ve just been through.” 

“It might help if I actually knew what we were doing now.” 

“Oh that’s quite simple.” Killian gave him a wide grin and the worst wink David had ever seen. “We’re going to fetch your sword.” 

~

Emma regained consciousness then promptly wished she hadn’t, as nausea roiled in her stomach and some unseen force attempted to drive an ice pick through her skull.

Instinctively, she knew not to move or groan or do anything that might alert her abductors that she was no longer unconscious. Anyone powerful enough to incapacitate her in this way was an enemy to be reckoned with, and despite feeling like how she’d always heard hangovers described Emma was determined to find out who the hell these people were and what they thought they were going to do with her.

She could feel the forest around her, the soft, peaty ground beneath her cheek and the rustling of the leaves in the wind, the power of her connection to the land and all the things that grew from it. She sank her fingers deep into the dirt and prepared.

“Mother, we don’t even know what we’re looking for!” a voice exclaimed, with a note of petulance and an underlying quaver of fear that caught Emma’s attention.

“We’ll find it,” replied a second voice, flat and coldly confident.

“How?” pressed the first one. “How will we find something we have only the vaguest ideas about?”

“She’ll tell us what we need to know.”

“Mother, you don’t understand! We only managed to capture her because we took her by surprise! We have no means of getting her to talk, and her Guardian—”

“I took care of him.”

“You hit him on the head, he’ll survive,” the first voice retorted. “If you had actually read the tribal histories you’d know that it takes more than a big stick to eliminate a fae Guardian!”

“She’s right, Mother,” said a third voice, dry and wicked. “You should have killed him.”

“Perhaps,” drawled the second, “but there wasn’t time. If he is as and what you say he is, Regina, he’ll come for her. And we will be ready for him.”

“Ready for...” The first voice, Regina, trailed off in exasperation. “How will we be ready? In case you forgot, we don’t even know what we’re looking for!”

Emma knew, though. She knew exactly what the histories of the fae tribes hinted at, just enough hints to catch the attention of the clever and the ambitious, not nearly enough to give them what they would need to know. These three were hardly the first to come in search of it and they would not be the last. She’d recognised them last night for what they were and though she doubted they would actually recognise the thing they sought, Emma hadn’t hesitated for a moment to leave the tywyll stone behind, trusting that Killian would find it and understand the message that she sent by leaving it in his care. 

He would be on his way now, she knew that too. Her Guardian would die to protect her as he was duty bound by the covenants and his heritage to do, but even beyond that Emma knew that Killian Jones would never not fight for her. 

She cracked her eyelid open just far enough that she could see the women attached to the voices. Only the three, she was relieved to note, and apparently without backup. Two younger and one older, a mother and her daughters, the mother with a haughty expression and brown hair beginning to show streaks of grey. Her daughters did not much resemble each other; one had a tawny complexion and dark hair falling in soft waves around her shoulders, while the other’s hair was red and wildly curling around her pale, sharp face. Half-sisters, at a guess, thought Emma, and unless she was gravely mistaken both half-fae. A human woman with two half-fae daughters whose fathers were of different tribes. That was very interesting.

Also interesting were the piles of scrolls she could see poking out of an old trunk behind them, scrolls she recognised as library copies of the more well-known tribal histories. A little knowledge is a dangerous thing, she’d once read, and it appeared these women had a very little knowledge indeed. And were all the more dangerous for it.

She closed her eyes again then pretended to wake, letting out a long groan as she sank her fingers further still into the soft soil and felt the forest stir around her.

“Ah,” said the mother. “She’s awake.”

“Where—where am I?” groaned Emma. “What happened?”

“What happened is that you are now our prisoner princess,” cooed the mother’s voice, and despite herself Emma felt icy fear twist around her heart. “And you are going to tell us where the Black Fairy’s magic is kept.”

“I—” Emma groaned, cracking open her eyes again to see all three women watching her expectantly. Regina’s expression was apprehensive, her red-haired sister’s triumphant. And their mother… her face wore an expression of naked greed that made Emma’s skin crawl. This human woman had no magic but her daughters did, and she, oh, she wanted what they had.

“I—” she said again, and the women leaned forward, their attention so captivated by Emma that they failed to notice the tree branches bending and closing in around them, or the grey-green roots of the forest plants breaking through the ground, rising up and curling around their trunk full of scrolls and crumbling the fragile parchment into dust.

“I don’t think I will,” said Emma.

~

The old classroom towers, David had been firmly informed by the assistant director of the university’s Office of Residency Affairs, were closed. Had been closed, she told him, for some centuries now, at least since the Hall had been renamed. Andersen students were to attend their classes in the academic buildings and that was all there was to it. David had shrugged and agreed and signed the form she gave him, not entirely clear on what made her so extraordinarily adamant on the point. 

Now, as he trailed up a spiral staircase made of stone, with dips worn into the centre of each step by the feet of many generations of students long past, he thought he might have some inkling as to why. This place was dangerous, and not just because the steps were worn. There were whispers in its very walls, centuries of magic infused into each minute mote of dust, and that dust and those walls and every other thing in and around them was not best pleased by the appearance of interlopers. 

Despite this he pressed on, for Emma and because he doubted that Killian, his hand gripping the pommel of his sword and his jaw set, would allow anything to deter him from his goal. Victor followed at Killian’s heels, carrying another steaming beaker, with August behind David bringing up the rear and Belle, glowing with an otherworldly light, serving as their beacon through the shifting shadows. 

Around and around they climbed, through the darkness and the whispers until David’s head was spinning and he’d lost all sense of time, then quite suddenly a door appeared in front of them. Belle pushed it open and led the way into the room beyond, and David followed eagerly, glad to be out of that interminable stairwell. 

The room was large and circular, quite as you would expect a tower room to be. It had four tall and pointed windows with four columns spaced evenly between them. There were no desks, but smallish wooden tables arranged in a circle and one larger one in front of the largest window, upon a raised dais. 

Killian began to move around the room in what David could only describe as a prowl, muttering to himself as he went. He appeared to be measuring the size of the stones in the floor, the distance from window to window, and the position of the stairs they had just ascended. 

“If this is what I think it is,” he said to Belle, “it’ll be aligned to the eastern point.” 

Belle nodded. “That seems likely. But how will we know where to look? None of us has the right kind of magic to detect it.” 

“That might not be entirely true.” Killian looked at David and Belle followed his gaze. 

David had to suppress a flinch. What now?  

“How are you holding up, mate?” Killian asked kindly. 

“Fine,” replied David. “So far, at least.” 

Killian grinned. “I’m glad you’re catching on.”   

David sighed. “So what do I have to do?”

“Just be yourself.” 

“And what is that supposed to mean?

“Close your eyes,” Killian instructed, “and tell me what you feel.”

David let his eyes fall shut, shivering as the spiders tangoed across the nape of his neck. “Like something’s watching me,” he said frankly. 

“Like it’s calling to you?” Killian’s voice was sharp. 

The whispers in the walls grew louder. “Yeah,” said David. “I can hear... something.”  

“Can you tell where it’s coming from?” 

“From all around.” 

“Are you sure? Concentrate.” 

David focused on the loudest whispers. “From… below us? Somehow?” 

“Good.” Killian sounded satisfied. “Can you follow it?” 

David frowned, concentrating hard. He felt an odd tug just behind his bellybutton, urging him to move, which he did, opening his eyes to see that he was being led towards the largest window and the raised table. He followed the pull until it stopped, abruptly, replaced by an overwhelming urge to go down. “There,” he said, pointing at the large, square stone beneath his feet. “It’s coming from there.” 

Everyone gathered around, peering at the stone he indicated. 

“Victor,” said Killian. “Do your thing.” 

David stepped back to make way as Victor took his steaming beaker and dripped its contents carefully onto the mortar that held the stone in place. Nothing happened, to David’s eyes, but the others waited tensely and with bated breath until all the mortar was covered. When the last drop dripped from the beaker a faint click sounded in the air and they all exhaled.

Killian unsheathed his sword and placed the tip just in the centre of the stone. Closing his eyes, he murmured a few words David couldn’t quite make out, then gave the sword a sharp 90-degree twist. The stone made a groaning noise and shifted, shimmered, then faded away to reveal a set of steep stone stairs leading downwards to—

“Where do they go?” David demanded. 

Killian caught his eye. “Below,” he replied. 

~

The stairs were pitch black and endless. David kept his eyes trained as best he could on Belle, but even her glow began to fade the deeper they descended into… wherever this was. He wished he knew where they were going, if only so that this strange and powerful pull he felt would have some destination, some explanation of just what the hell it was.

After a small eternity the stairs ended, so abruptly that Killian stumbled, and David had to grab at the wall to avoid crashing into him. “Ugh,” Killian groaned, leaning his own hand against the wall to get his balance and bearings. “I guess this is it.” 

As he spoke a faint glow appeared, a small flicker in a vague distance, and with his jaw set grimly Killian began to walk towards it, the others on his heels. The glow grew stronger the closer they came, and then with a flare as bright as daylight it encompassed them. They blinked for a moment and when their eyes adjusted they found themselves in what was by all appearances a forest clearing. A very familiar forest clearing, David realised, with tall trees that reached up to the sky and a large, round stone at its centre. 

Belle gasped. “Is this…”

“Aye,” said Killian. “The chamber of the Fae Council. If the sword is anywhere, it’s here.” He turned to David. “Mate?”

David nodded. He had no idea how he knew what to do, only that he did. The knowledge came from somewhere deep within him, the same place as the images he’d seen after drinking the purple potion. He knew that if he laid his hand on the stone just so, if he then pressed against it gently, that the shielding spell would fall away and his sword would appear. He knew this, and yet he still couldn’t quite believe his eyes. 

The sword was breathtaking. Longer than he would have imagined and viciously sharp, with an ornate hilt and symbols carved into the blade… symbols his brain wanted to understand, insisted that it should understand, but which hovered stubbornly just beyond his comprehension. 

“Take it,” said Killian, nodding at the sword. “It’s yours.” 

How is it mine, David wanted to ask. How is this, any of this, even possible? 

The moment his fingers gripped its hilt, the symbols on the sword began to glow, as though molten metal were flowing through them. As David lifted it from the table he felt a weight around his waist, and looked down to see a sword belt much like Killian’s appear around his hips. 

He turned to meet Killian’s eyes. “How?” he whispered. “I know we don’t have time for explanations, but please, just tell me—how?”

“You’re a Guardian,” said Killian, with a small smile. “Like me.”

~

The trip back from the council chamber to the classroom tower and then out of the Hall and into the forest felt as though it took no time at all. Or more likely, David thought, he was just too preoccupied to take notice of it passing.

Killian’s words kept echoing in his ears. You’re a Guardian.

David had no idea what that meant, but he couldn’t deny how deeply he knew that it was true.

They entered the forest just as Snow, Graham, and Ruby were leaving it, looking shaken and anxious.

“What did you find?” Killian asked them.

“There are very clear tracks,” Snow replied. “Clumsy ones. Whoever took Emma doesn’t know this forest at all. They must just have chosen it thinking it would make a good hideout.”

"We followed them as far as we could, but there was no sign of them ending," Graham added.

"All right,” said Killian, removing the purple amulet from his pocket and holding it up. “Lead the way.”

David wasn't sure whether he was addressing Snow or the amulet, or possibly both, but it didn’t seem to matter as they pressed deeper and deeper into the forest, further than he had ever dared venture before. With each step Killian’s face grew more grim. He gripped the amulet tightly by its leather strap as it began to glow and hum, an endless, atonal hum. It hung from Killian’s hand at a sharp and unnatural angle, seeming to pull him along behind it as they grew closer to wherever Emma was.

Snow shivered and wrapped her arms around herself. “Where did they take her?” she whispered. “How did they even get so deep into the forest?”

“I don’t know,” said Killian. “Everyone, stay on your toes.”

Without warning the ground beneath their feet began to rumble and shift, the thick, damp soil cracking open as the roots beneath it moved, slithering like snakes beneath the surface and heading in the very direction they themselves were following.

“Emma,” muttered Killian, as he broke into a run. “Bloody hell, woman!”

The others ran after him, leaping over the roots and the shifting soil with a nimble speed that David was hopeless to match. He tripped and stumbled and barely managed to keep his feet under him until Graham and Ruby appeared at his sides, each catching one of his arms and propping him between them as they ran.

The forest before them was a blur of movement, twisting roots and waving branches, magic spitting and hissing through the air, and David was just about to cry out in protest—there was no way they could enter that melee and come out alive—when a figure emerged from the chaos, golden hair whipped to a frenzy by the wind and red cloak swirling around her.

Killian raced to her and caught her in his arms, lifting her feet off the ground and burying his face in her hair. “Bloody hell, Swan,” he whispered. Emma clung to him, her fists tight in the back of his jacket, as the rest of the group gathered around them.

Killian set Emma on her feet and loosened his hold on her, stepping back just enough to give her a glare that even David could see held no heat. “What the devil do you think you’re doing, love?” he grumbled. “Depriving me of a dashing rescue.”

“I told you,” retorted Emma. “The only one who saves me is me.” She smiled softly and caressed his face, fingertips brushing his cheekbone. “But I’m glad you came, Killian.”

“I’ll always come for you, darling,” he said with a smirk. “In all senses of the word.”

She snorted and gave the back of his head a feeble smack, but didn’t protest when his arms tightened around her again and his hand tangled in her hair.  

“Well this is adorable,” said Victor. “If a bit sickening. But would you mind telling us just what exactly you've been up to here?”

The movement in the forest had ceased the moment Emma and Killian embraced but the space behind them was still in chaos, with unearthed roots and tree branches bent at unnatural angles, forming a very effective-looking cage.

“I’ve bound them,” said Emma. “In magic it will take them some time to break.”

“They?” demanded Killian.

“Yeah, three of them. A human woman and her half-fae daughters. I can’t keep them trapped forever but we should have enough time to figure out what to do with them.”

“You can’t just kill them?” asked August.

“No!” said Emma and Killian in unison, as Graham punched August’s shoulder.

“Hey, just putting it on the table,” August protested.

“We’re not going to kill them,” said Emma firmly. “There’s something about them... something that I can't quite put my finger on, but honestly it troubles me. I need to know more before we decide how to act. Let’s get back to the dorm.”

“The dorm?” asked David. Emma turned to him and her eyes lit with amusement.

“Well, you must have had a rough few hours,” she said, nodding at the sword he held.

David grinned a bit sheepishly. “You could say that.”

“Welcome to the team,” said Emma, smiling warmly. “And yes, back to the dorm. I need my plants, my books, a scrying mirror, and a cup of tea, not necessarily in that order. Let’s go.”

___

[laur-rants]

Fic Update: Blood Wolf

Chapter 5

Fandom: Dishonored Ship: Daud and the Whalers, some Daud/Outsider on the side

Rated: Mature to Explicit, Strong Violence and Gore Ahead!!

Synopsis: Werewolf!AU :: Daud-Centric Prequel to Wolfbann. Origin Story, pre-canon. Centers on how Daud turned, and his subsequent marking by the Outsider and his formulation of the Whalers.

Notes: Keep your friends close, but your enemies closer. Daud goes back to where it began, spurred to action by the Outsider’s words.

AO3 link

Previous :: First :: Next

____________________________________

Dunwall

Month of Songs, 1820

He was running. He was running, throwing his surging body forward, every step pounding into the ground with the force of a full stampede. The scent of blood, of fear, was heavy in his nose; it drove his senses to a pinpoint, beckoning him onward. Weariness fled from him as his skin was shed, scars blazing and teeth shining with a manic light. He breathed and his body breathed with him, contracting and expanding, growing with every filled lung. He gulped air like a whale before the plunge; muscles rippled, launching, claws ready to rend, to tear, to savor.

He was a killer; he was born for this. His prey was fully unaware; fur flew and bone crushed and his jaws longed for the warmth of blood, the tender tear of flesh rending between his teeth. A limb was shorn from its body easily and his long nose plunged into the cavity left behind, rooting for soft, vulnerable organs. He closed his eyes and worshiped the entrails he found within. He was drunk on it, drowning in the life-giving red water, offering reverence to both god and devoured flesh. Somewhere far away, a whale keened; he bellowed his own song, body rippling with the sound as it morphed into a roar, then a scream. His voice dripped with Void but still the whales cried and burned; he could feel their dying songs reverberating in his ears, his whole body resonating with the call.

------

Daud lurched forward, gasping for air, returning to the surface of his dreams. His body was slick with sweat and smoke and his nose burned with the smell of burning oil. Whalesong mixed in his ears with another unearthly sound, a keening note that he realized, belatedly, was a sundering howl ripped from his own throat. He fell from the bed, all too aware of his teeth clashing, his claws ripping, his body shaking from an exertion he didn't know it was experiencing until now.

He tried to still his panicking mind but his body spasmed of its own accord, as if trying desperately to break free of it's human-shaped prison. He fought for lucidity against the instinctive desire to shift into something else. He bit down on his tongue, rolling it through too-long teeth, and clenched his left hand so painfully it bled. He tasted iron on his lips and gasped out, trying not to fall apart at the literal seams.

Human, human, you're still human , he reminded himself, trying desperately to convince whatever shift was happening to reverse itself. A dark part of his mind snarled back, telling him he was only lying to himself, that humanity was now beyond him--but he snuffed it out, shaking his head as the world swam with void and smoke. He clenched his fist even tighter; he snarled and his scars smoldered like they would sear his face right off, but he finally got his body to settle. Claws melted away, fur and ears and snout left on a non-existent breeze. His chest exhaled; with it, the beast succumbed, returning to rest in the coil of his ribcage. His limbs shook, his body was slick with sweat. He wanted to be sick.

When he pounded his fist into the flooring, the wood creaked, splinters biting into his skin.

A week. He'd had this Mark for a bloody week and still, everyday was a fight. A fight against a body that didn't want to be confined to skin, with claws that itched to grow, with teeth that begged to be bared. The Mark on his hand and the whispers of the Void that were supposed to help him maintain this mess seemed only to encourage the beast of him. His dreams were vivid bloodbaths coaxing the monster to burst from his skin. The Outsider had wondered how long Daud could control the beast; Daud wondered if he even had control to begin with.

His hand seized and he shook it, flexed it, then concentrated. His breathing returned to normal, his shivering stopped. He willed those claws to grow long and deadly before whispering them away again. He watched as the inky black fur broke apart and turned to ash, as if the fur wasn't made of hair, but actual voidstone, muttering secrets even as it dissipated away. Daud frowned, sat back on his legs, and closed his eyes.

This time, he felt for the Void. He searched for it with purpose, his hand the part of him that was allowed to plunge across the barrier. The chill was bone deep, the pain of it followed by a tingling pressure that begged him to stop-- but he found it. The tendril of magic he was searching for. He tugged on it like a spider testing its web, following the vibrations towards its intended goal.

Daud kept his eyes closed until he felt the cold burn up his arm, filling him with magic. When he opened his eyes, the world's colors were muted but her secrets lay bare; people far below him either still slept or paced paths around their beds. Scent trails wafted in front of him, the smells of whales, of oil, of burnt skin traveling through his apartment. When he blinked again his normal color vision returned, the murmur in his ear fled from him, and his mark faded from a bright screaming white back down to a faded black.

He drew breath and heavy air filled his lungs; a cold hand materialized on his scarred cheek and he stilled, blinking, until a smirking figure appeared before him fully. He swallowed, still very aware of his position on the floor, and lifted his gaze to meet endless black.

"My, learning something new today?" the Outsider asked calmly, stroking a thumb across Daud's cheek. The sensation of the touch across his scars sent a shivering jolt all the way down to his feet and he gasped at the sensation. He tried to regain composure, tried to scowl at the god.

"It's not like I've been given many instructions," Daud complained. "So I've had to learn to take what I can get when I find it."

"You have been quite busy seeking out my shrines," the Outsider noted. "But they are easier to listen for than to see. This new power will help you hear their songs. Once your ears hear it, you will know. And you will be drawn to them."

Thin fingers moved from his face to his hair, carding through the loose black strands and Daud's eyes slid closed, his body entranced under the touch. It was soothing and suffocating; he let himself be set adrift, the current pulling him where it wished. The Outsider smiled.

"A mother from Pandyssia, and the bastard father she murdered on her way to Serkonos. She was called a witch, people thought she worshipped me. But she didn't; you knew it was all slander. You didn't even believe I really existed." He drew his hand away and Daud whined, unbidden. Free of the trance, he stood up; the Outsider floated above the flooring, his shadow immeasurable.

"Why believe in a god that didn't pay attention to us, or the suffering of others? It was pointless."

"And yet, here I am. In truth, I'm glad you weren't devout. Would have made it so much less interesting to approach you." The Outsider turned away, though Daud felt as if his hungry dead eyes were still watching his every move.

"Tell me, Daud, did you ever hear the fables of whale-wolves in your youth?"

Daud blinked. "My mother mentioned them under a different name. Wolfbanner, those cursed as wolves. It was fanciful, like anything from Pandyssia. I didn't pay it much mind as I aged, when I had other things to worry about."

"Like murdering your abusive captors," the Outsider supplied. He turned back to Daud, studying him. "Not your first kill, and not your last." He disappeared, reappearing at Daud's side, facing the opposite direction. A hand hovered over Daud's arm, the sensation of promised contact prickling against his skin.

"You are by far the most bloodthirsty of my Marked, the first in a long time."

There was a sadness there, but also an interest, a hunger. Daud leaned away a little, trying to meet the Outsider's eye.

"How many have you Marked?"

"There are a few in every age. You are one of six, all scattered in the Isles. The last time I marked someone, you were still a babe in Serkonos. The last time one of my Marked died, it was here, under this very city, just over a year ago." His face fell serious, a terrible gaze that chilled Daud to the bone.

"The one Fink found," Daud surmised, and the Outsider's form flickered dangerously. He chose to dissipate, forming again to sit on Daud's bed, a foot resting over the opposite knee.

"My whale-wolves are not the playthings of men. They are individuals who make their own lives, their own paths, their own choices. According to legend, the original were whales that left the water to walk on land; they possessed humans, and their form changed to suit their bodies and their environment. It was not so easy on the humans; they eventually lost their minds to the whale's overwhelming presence, ravaging their villages and infecting their others, and were ultimately killed." The Outsider looked away, his gaze far off.

"But that was thousands of years ago, when whales were more powerful. My Mark gives humans a fighting chance, but it also changes them forever. You are now more than you ever were before, Daud."

"I was quite fine being human, you know," Daud snarled. "I didn't want to become some furred whale that walks on land." The Outsider gave him a sad look.

"Unfortunately, few get to choose this path. Those who have the option of choice are rarer and more powerful than you could ever imagine. You could have been one but…" the Outsider flicked over to him again, his hands and eyes fixated on the scars marring his face. Daud inhaled sharply, not expecting the touch.

"But you were attacked before that choice could be offered to you. I'm sorry. So please, do not take what I've given you to waste."

The god's voice was barely a whisper, but so loud within his ears, like rushing water. He turned toward the Outsider, unbidden. That slender face smiled.

"What would you see me do, then?" He asked, eyes dark and entranced again.

"Return to where you started," the Outsider offered. "And keep your friends close. You will need them, soon."

And then, just like that, Daud was alone again. He shivered, his body alight in a very different sense, limbs tingling with phantom pain. He breathed, trying to ease his mind, but it was no use. He settled instead for a cold shower but all it did was remind him of those icy hands, the rush of water in the Void, and the whales that kept crying from their death row in the slaughterhouses.

------

Rulfio was early to his meeting with Daud by approximately ten minutes and 45 seconds.

Apparently, so was Daud.

This wasn't completely unlike the other assassin, if Rulfio was being honest. What was unlike Daud, however, was his vulnerable position-- sitting against the chimney, his arms resting on his knees, his mouth nervously rolling a new cig. Daud didn't even look at Rulfio as he cleared the roof, swinging his legs over the edge before straightening up.

There was no mask, this time. A welcome return to normalcy -- until, of course, Daud turned his head towards Rulfio. Without thinking, Rulfio's eyes shot over to Daud's scars and he stilled. His beard pulled into a frown and he crossed his arms; Daud sighed. The younger assassin didn't stand up, just kept sitting there, too open and languid.

"Do I even want to know the trouble you've been into since the last time I saw you?" The words were rough but held no venom; Daud responded by looking down and away, the shadow of a smile twitching on his lips as he pulled at his cigarette. The smoke billowed up as he breathed out.

"Maybe not. If I had the option of not knowing, I would take it, to be honest."

There was something ruined there in those words that gave Rulfio a pause. He unfolded his arms, instead opting to set his hands into pockets.

"Well, did you get it done, then? It's been near two weeks."

Daud nodded. He then dug into the bandolier at his chest and pulled out a small pouch. He tossed it to Rulfio, who caught it easily. He noted the red velvet of the purse's fabric, opened it to gold coins, and laughed.

"Steal everything but the bathtub?"

"I burned the house. The whole family is dead. Except, well…"

Rulfio tossed the bag up, catching it easily as it fell. "Well?"

Daud sighed. He shot Rulfio a look. "There was a kid."

Of course there was. "And where's the kid now?"

"In the hands of a physician. She was hurt, but she'll live."

"Have you been stalking her?"

Daud's expression went deadly sharp. Rulfio blinked; a dark emotion hung in those edges that he had never seen on Daud's face before. But then it passed and Daud just grimaced, puffing on the cigarette in his mouth.

"I've been trying not to. I don't need to interfere with a kid who's life I ruined."

"And yet you pulled her from a burning building after killing her parents."

"I wasn't gonna let her die, Rulf."

Fair enough. He tossed the coin purse again, finding the clinking pleasant in his ear. "Did that physician fix your face up too?"

"No, that was…" his hand clenched, as if his wrist hurt. "It healed on its own."

Rulfio knew a lie when he heard one. He laughed, waving at a bug hovering too near his ear. "Daud you're a better liar than that. If you have a secret, you can just keep it, you know." Interestingly, Daud's jaw worked; the fly in his ear grew more insistent. Rulfio wasn't the twitchy type --having a steady hand and low jumpiness made him great at his job-- but when he swatted and nothing flew from his hand, he turned his head, looking around. The air was empty, but the sensation tickling at his nerves remained. He scowled, and then caught Daud watching him curiously.

"What is it?" He asked.

"Dunno," Rulfio confessed. "Thought it was a fly, or a mosquito. But there's nothing there."

Immediately the twinge on his nerves receded, but Daud remained far too impassive. Rulfio squinted at him, folding his arms in again.

It took a few ticks, but Daud finally twitched, his fingers moving back to his cigarette.

"What did you do?" Rulfio asked, like he was talking to a petulant child. Daud exhaled, the sound roughened with smoke.

"I need your help," he said, skirting the question. "It's not a contract, it's a… personal favor." His head tilted, his eyes softened. "I don't really have anyone else I can ask to come with me on this one."

Rulfio considered. If you asked him, he wasn't the superstitious type, but something wasn't right. Daud was acting strange. Void, how long did Rulfio think him dead? Long enough to come to terms with the fact that his partner was well and truly gone. Then he just reappeared, with that haunting face and those seeping, infected wounds, and things changed. To be honest, Rulfio isn't even sure if Daud was still real, or some phantom sent to haunt him.

"Sure, I'll help you out, Daud. I've owed you for a while, anyway." He settled down on the roof next to the scarred man, nudging his boot amicably. "What do you need to see to?"

Daud sighed, weary. He ran a hand over his hair.

"It's the Hound Pits. I have to go back there, look around. Something doesn't add up, like I missed something the first time around. I don't want to get my information crossed, but some of the papers I found in Fink's place allude to... unpleasant practices. " Daud pulled the papers he recovered and easily handed them to Rulfio. He took the proffered articles, smoothing his beard as he read. That insistence itched at the back of his skull, ringing like tinnitus.

Eyebrows up, Rulfio simply said aloud "do you mind?" while his eyes skimmed over the words, and was mildly surprised when the sensation obliged, backing off. The ache it left behind was dull, and Ruflio gave Daud a very pointed look.

Daud, to his credit, tried to remain neutral. Rulfio sniffed. Daud blinked innocently.

"Are you using some kind of magic on me, Daud?"

"Don't start with me, Rulf."

"Look I know you said your mom was from Pandyssia but--"

"Just read the damn articles," Daud growled out, "and maybe then I'll tell you."

Rulfio went back to the papers, smirking, but the smile fled as something dark settled into his chest. He read it, then read it again. He swallowed heavily and when he handed the papers back, he found his steady hand shaking.

"Jerome," he managed, "it says he changed? And that they were looking for assassins to…" he cast a nervous glance at Daud, who was watching him very carefully. Rulfio's gaze flicked to those gastly scars, the lines dragging over his face and across his jugular, and he could feel the sweat beading on his own forehead.

"What the fuck happened under the Hound Pits, Daud?"

Daud didn't blink, his expression dark.

"It's easier to show than tell on this one, Rulf."

------

The trip to the Hound Pits Pub took longer than Daud wanted it to. After a week, he was used to these powers taking him farther and faster than his own legs could, to the point where walking was an overt annoyance. However, he couldn't trust to show his powers to Rulfio, not yet, not until his fellow assassin fully understood why. So, by simple flesh and steel they both traversed the rooftops, knowing the routes through Dunwall better than anyone. Blessedly, Rulfio asked no questions on the way, letting Daud take the lead and direct Rulfio where they needed to go.

As they neared the establishment they settled down, carefully perching on a nearby apartment roof and simply observing. It was late afternoon, which meant the pub was getting ready for dinner and a long night of pleasantries. Someone in an upstairs apartment aired out some dirty laundry, getting spooked when she caught them lounging out of the corner of her eye. Daud grimaced, motioning to Rulfio; they hopped down after that, mingling with the streetside crowd.

"Go on inside," Daud suggested, as they eyeballed the front door of the Pub. "See if you can't distract the staff for a while. I'm going to scout around for where we need to go."

"And how will I know you're ready for me?"

Daud worried his cheek and resisted the urge to push his thoughts towards Rulfio. It was an addictive side effect, one he didn't totally understand or have control over, but he knew Rulfio's mind now, had a bead on it, and it would be so easy to…

"I'll come in and grab a drink myself," he supplied, pushing down the ache to reconnect to Rulfio's mind. "I'll grab a whiskey if I'm ready to go, a wine if not. How does that sound?"

Rulfio nodded, good with the plan, and Daud relaxed. He nodded, then eased back against the wall, pulling out a cigarette to light. He lounged casually, wearing a loose shirt over his bandolier to conceal the majority of his weapons and equipment. He waited until Rulfio disappeared, nursing his cigarette between his lips.

Then, he pulled the spent butt from his mouth, flicked it to the floor, and disappeared.

He transversed through the Void, his body leaping to a new location, again and again, effortlessly. He had been practicing with the power, honing the feel of it over the last week, his confidence growing with each successful jump. He allowed the power to flow through him now, breathing in the ash it left behind, feeling his chest swell with unspoken exhalation. He circled the Pub, gathered a loose key from an upper room, and disappeared briefly into the sewers connected to the establishment.

There, he let himself take a breath. His hand itched with long claws, his black gloves melting into oily fur. Daud looked around and sniffed; the sewers still stank, but not of death. Perhaps the rats or the hagfish got to last month's massacre, tearing apart any remains. He carefully traversed the tunnels, found the door he had used when he was first here, and unlocked it with the stolen key.

Then, as silently as a spectre, he slipped into the main body of the Hound Pits Pub.

The place was bustling, the smell and sounds of the brewery and its customers hitting him full force. He staggered for a moment, nose curling, before making his way to the broad chested Tyvian. He knocked on the counter and Rulfio glanced at him, but said nothing else.

"Can I get a whiskey?" Daud asked gruffly. "Dunwall's finest." The barkeep nodded, sauntering off to get the drink. Next to him, Rulfio shifted.

"There is a door to the sewers in the--" he whispered, but just then, the rabble rose up, drowning his words. He glanced at Rulfio, who shook his head. Of course, he hadn't heard him.

Daud huffed. And, without thinking, he shut his mouth tight and reached his mind out to Rulfio's.

"Adjacent brewery has a door to the sewers in the back. It's unlocked. No guards. I'll meet you there."

Daud could feel Rulfio's mind flickering through confusion, realization, shock, and-- the emotions flashed by so fast Daud's head felt heavy but he drummed on the counter and cleared his throat. As the barkeep brought his drink and he dropped his pay, he chanced a glance at Rulfio.

His partner's face was a wall. He was looking at Daud, his eyes unblinking, and Daud could sense the disbelief. He frowned; he needed to get Rulfio moving, damnit.

"Is there a problem, sir?" Daud growled, lifting a dangerous lip. Across the weak connection he felt confusion, then understanding. Rulfio cleared his throat, then shook his head.

"No sir, just thought I recognized you from somewhere."

"With these scars? I doubt it. Now back off."

Rulfio nodded and behind them, someone laughed. Daud turned away and nursed the whiskey; when he looked back, Rulfio was gone.

He dropped a tip, downed the rest of his glass, then exited the way he entered.

When Daud next met up with his fellow assassin in the sewers, Rulfio was livid. He grabbed Daud by his too-loose shirt, shaking him roughly, and snarled in Daud's face.

"What black magic was that? Where is the bone charm? Who gave it to you? Damn it all, Daud!"

Daud let himself be handled before carefully prying Rulfio's fingers off his shirt. He then pulled the shirt off, storing it near the door, and then checked his equipment and adjusted his hood.

"It's not a bone charm, Rulfio," Daud said, hating how strained his voice sounded. It was easier to count his bolts and darts than look at the dark, angry eyes of his partner in crime. "It's just how I am now, Rulf."

"And what is that supposed to mean?" There was the sound of a blade unsheathing, and Daud started, not expecting the weapon now pointed on him. Not Rulfio. His stomach dropped with the realization that somewhere along the way, he'd made a deadly mistake. He whirled towards his partner, putting his hands up.

"Rulfio, wait--"

The tip of Rulfio's dao blade pressed into his stomach, silencing him. Daud's mouth snapped shut and he shook his head, unmoving.

"What were you doing in my head then? Are you like Jerome? In the note, how it said he could invade thoughts… is that what you're like now? Are you even Daud anymore?"

Daud licked his lips. He chose his words carefully; he really didn't think Rulfio wanted to see what would happen if he tried to spill his guts here and now. Daud didn't really want to see what would happen, either.

"Rulfio, I swear to you, I have not been body snatched, I'm not some weird animated corpse. I just need you to trust me--"

"Trust you, when you were coming in my head and talking to me? I didn't give you permission for that, Daud!"

"I'm sorry, I couldn't help it," he whispered lowly, his voice echoing against the water and the walls. Rulfio had no response to that, but the blade didn't move. Carefully Daud moved to take off his left glove. "I just want to show you, so that you don't make a terrible mistake, right here, right now."

"And why's that? You some witch now?" The sword pushed into his stomach.

"No, Rulfio-- fuck! I'm a Wolfbanner, I'm a cursed fucking whale-wolf!"

The silence at the declaration hung heavy between them. Rulfio then laughed, singular, in disbelief.

"Yeah, right. Those are just old wive's tales, Daud. There's…" but he trailed off, the look on Daud's face stony. Rulfio's eyes flicked to the scars. His hand shook.

"Let me show you, Rulfio." He tugged at his glove. Rulfio shook his head, but didn't take his eyes off the motion. "Just please, don't gut me, that's all I ask."

The glove slid off. The Outsider's Mark gleamed. In a swarm of ash, black claws grew.

The sword clattered loudly to the floor.

Daud's jaw clenched tight, working as Rulfio stared, fascinated at the action. Worry crept in, and Daud took a step back for distance.

"I didn't want this, Rulf, but I'm not lying, and by some god-given power, I haven't gone completely insane. I didn't think--I'm not here to-- I thought I could trust you with this because I hate lying to you, Rulf."

"And the mind tricks? What is that?"

"I…" Daud clammed up, and had the audacity to feel ashamed. "I don't know. I just realized that I could reach out to someone else's head, read their emotions, talk to them. I'm still learning this shit and I'm sorry, Rulfio. You couldn't hear me and I just acted without--"

The thwip was near silent. Daud didn't catch it soon enough; the punch in his leg caused him to buckle and grunt. He looked down; the bolt stuck from his thigh at an odd angle, but the blood poured from it all the same. He groaned again as the pain burned down his leg and up his spine.

"Rulfio, what the fuck--"

But it wasn't Rulfio. Daud's second stood, watching agape as a second bolt hit his right arm, in the bicep. Daud growled in annoyance, the sound guttural in his ears. He could feel his teeth growing heavy and he gnashed them together as he pulled the first bolt out of his leg with his free hand.

"Rulfio," Daud rasped, feeling his mark burning and begging to be used. He dodged; another bolt whizzed past his head. "I swear, if you're in on this--" He didn't mean to sound so rough and angry but someone was shooting at him and he'd been too distracted to notice. But Rulfio just shook his head, his face pale. He reached for his sword but another bolt nearly struck his hand and he pulled back, cursing.

It was enough to make Daud's blood boil over. His fist clenched; with a snarl he was rushing forward, ignoring the pain in his limbs. There was an exclamation, but he was already too far to make out the words. Ugly claws sprouted as the world greyed; a body to his left lit up and he sneered, teeth sharp. The individual was slim, hooded; they realized how close Daud suddenly was and they stumbled back, surprised. Or perhaps, terrified.

It didn't matter. Daud's fist clenched and he pounced; another bolt whizzed past him, the shot going wide as Daud collided with his assailant. He pulled his blade out immediately, pulling it to the throat of--

Daud cursed and the person under him shuddered from where his hand lay clasped around her throat. Because now he knew it was a she; the long brown hair tied back in her hood and those sharp blue eyes were sign enough. He sighed out a growl, keeping his blade on her neck.

"Jordan. You better have a good explanation for this." He heard a yelp from Rulfio in the distance, the call of his name. Jordan sneered and Daud was suddenly very aware of the steady drip of blood from the bolt still in his arm.

"Daud, what the shit was all that-- Jordan?!" Rulfio finally moved over to them, wet from the sewers, and he looked at her, equally baffled. He looked at Daud, then Jordan, and his face went severe. "Oh, you didn't… Seriously , Jordan?" He sounded like he was chiding a child which, to be honest, wouldn't be far off the mark. Jordan was even younger than Daud, fresh into her second decade, and sometimes her recklessness preceded her.

Jordan, for her part, at least knew better than to struggle against Daud's grip. Her eyes darted to Rulfio, then back to Daud; she put her hands up, swearing.

"Okay, okay, shit, you caught me. Now let me up you assholes."

"Not until you explain what you were thinking, shooting me in the fucking sewer," Daud growled out, his teeth grinding together in anger.

"There's… there's a hit on you, Daud."

It was Rulfio who responded. He sounded defeated, almost ashamed. Daud swore, nearly dropping his blade as he turned to Rulfio, livid.

"There's a hit on me and you didn't tell me? Since when?"

"It's that prick, Brimsley," Jordan supplied. "Said he was threatened by you, that you killed someone else and he wanted you gone. It's good pay, you know," she twitched, her eyes darting between the other two assassins. "15,000 coin, Daud. I thought it'd be easy enough, but he didn't say you were a heretic too."

"I'm not a heret--" he cut his own words off with a groan, finally pushing Jordan away in anger. His claws left no marks, for which he was grateful. She rubbed at her neck anyway, trying to ease the pain away, checking for blood. "Whatever. Fuck Brimsley. I'll kill him myself and collect my own bounty." With an annoyed grunt, he pulled the bolt from his arm, letting it clatter to the floor, unphased by the blood weeping from the wound.

"Does that even hurt?" Jordan asked, stupefied.

"Like a bloodfly sting," he responded. Jordan blanched.

"Yeah okay, fuck Brimsley, you're a scary man, Daud. 15,000 isn't even close enough to be worth it. 20,000 maybe. But Outsider's ass, you really ate two bolts like it was nothing."

"Yeah, well, at least you didn't try to kill me," he said, and his mind remembered that grey wolf's-- Jerome, his name was Jerome, he reminded himself, sickened--split neck, stitching itself back together. "There's a good chance it wouldn't have worked."

"I wager not," she said, her wide, nervous eyes trailing the scars on his face. "So what, you a fuckin' witch now? Give your soul to the Void so you can't ever die?"

"He's a whale-wolf now, Jordan." Rulfio said gruffly. Daud spared him a glance; Rulfio was watching him carefully, but there was no skepticism in his gaze. Daud savored the small amount of vindication that brought him, before turning towards Jordan's laughter.

"Yeah, right. Those are just fiction, Rulf. I know you love your conspiracy theories, but seriously? A whale-wolf? I'm supposed to just believe that?"

Rulfio flushed, the grip on his blade tightening with the creak of leather. "Did you not see what Daud just did? He disappeared and then reappeared like it was nothing. He's even Marked--or tattoo'd, depending on how you see it."

"Don't need to be a giant beast to use magic, Rulfio."

"Oh? You think those witches you see at night aren't also beasts too? You think Granny Rags isn't more than just an old crone?"

"You ever see Granny look like a giant monster? No? I didn't think so! But she still brews those concoctions and talks to rats and leaves carved bones lying about!"

"Just because you ain't seen it doesn't mean it's not true," Rulfio defended.

"Shut the fuck up, both of you," Daud finally snarled, his whole body bristling. Jordan and Rulfio both stilled, acquiesced, though Jordan's eyes still darted skeptically between them. "Rulfio isn't wrong, Jordan… I got attacked. In these very sewers, even. It's not something I really enjoy, but--

"Show me, then," Jordan bit out, stubbornness taking over as she steadied her crossbow at Daud, "or I'll turn you over to the Overseers. I bet they'll give me more coin for a marked heretic than Brimsley will for your head."

Daud sighed, aggravated. "You can't be serious."

"And if I am?" She tilted her head. "What, you suddenly shy or something, Daud?"

He snarled, the sound rumbling out from deep in his chest. Jordan faltered and Rulfio stepped back; around them, the air grew heavy. He stuck out his left hand; still gloveless, he clenched it and it burned, the smoke and ash giving away to fur and muscle. Jordan's eyes went wide and she lowered the crossbow as Daud's scars glowed hot, the smoke revealing fur and ears. His teeth clashed together as they lengthened in his jaws and became something other than human. Rulfio cursed, Jordan held a silent scream. His bones cracked unpleasantly but he willed the rest of his body to stay put, despite the heaving of his chest and creeping fur down his back. He felt his wounds steam away, the flesh knitting back together with his partial transformation.

Jordan gaped like a fish. Clearly, neither of them had expected -- this . Daud could hardly blame them. He sneered, his lip curling up, hating the looks on their faces. He let go of his magic; immediately, the fur dissipated, melting away like fog over water.

Nobody said anything. Daud could feel the anger rising in his chest and his left hand itched.

"Any other stupid questions?" He rasped out, his voice ruined after the transformation. Jordan just shook her head, the crossbow falling from her hands.

She ran.

Daud caught her before she took more than two steps. Rulfio's hand flew to his blade, anticipating a fight.

"And where do you think you're going?"

"I'm not sticking around so you can kill me like that!"

"Daud frowned. "I'm not going to kill you." His mouth twisted up into a nasty smile. "Unless you're off to snitch, that is. Then I might reconsider."

"Like anyone would believe me anyway!" She shrieked, her voice cracking up an octave. Then, she relaxed, though the sweat on her brow lingered. "What are you going to do with me then?"

Daud blinked, then looked at Rulfio, who shrugged.

"I think you'll just have to come along for the ride, now," he sneered, putting his blade back on his hip. "You followed us down here, after all. Aren't you curious as to why we're here under a dirty old dog fighting pub?"

Jordan looked skeptical, but Daud knew her curiosity would win out in the end. Her fingers twitched, and she licked her lips.

"It got to do with that hit you took for Brimsley?"

"The very one that fucked me up and almost killed me? Yes."

"Fine. Just don't kill me and leave me a mummy for someone to find in 200 years, alright? I got a lotta living still to do."

"We aren't going to kill you, girl," Rulfio sighed out, exasperated. That seemed to convince her; she wiggled out of Daud's limp grip and wiped herself off.

"Alright then. Where to, wolfman?"

Daud sighed and rolled his eyes; he was already regretting the decision to bring anyone along. But the Outsider had told him to keep his friends close, and maybe this was why.

"Give me a moment," he muttered, then waved his left hand again, burning through more magic. The Void laid bare the secrets of the world and in his ears, a faint ringing began. He frowned; the sound was like a tuning fork, resonating in his chest and limbs. It tugged him down, deeper under the tunnels, to where the dog fighting amphitheatre was. As his vision returned to normal, he started moving, motioning to the others.

"It's this way. Come on."

[badgersprite]

Fic: Desiderata (8/?)

Chapter Title: Reunion

Fandom: Mass Effect

Characters: Miranda, Samara, Oriana, Jacob, Jack

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

Story Rating: R

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

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

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

* * *

“Shepard?”

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

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

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

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

“Shepard! Where are you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The tide of blood rose to her ankles.

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

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

Had to get there.

Had to reach Shepard.

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

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

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

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

The harder she battled, the less ground she gained.

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

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

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

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

Within seconds, the whole world was submerged in darkness.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Miranda didn’t stop. Couldn’t stop.

Nearly there.

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

She got closer.

She could see solid ground again.

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

Kai Leng, and Thane.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The familiar figure raised her head.

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

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

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

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

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

That wasn’t Shepard. Not anymore.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Zaeed.

Fuck, Zaeed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yeah. And fucking yet.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So, that was it.

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

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

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

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

And, this time, nobody would be coming back.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Miss?”

“I’m fine,” Miranda repeated herself.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * *

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

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

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

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

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

After defeating the Collectors, the Normandy had limped back to Omega station held together with the engineering equivalent of double-sided tape and popsicle sticks and somehow hadn’t fallen apart in the FTL jump. They had no choice but to dock at Omega for urgent repairs. Since they couldn’t exactly fix the ship with everyone on board getting in the way, and given what they had all just survived, Shepard had seen fit to grant shore leave to anyone who wasn’t currently actively preventing the Normandy from collapsing in on itself.

Miranda had volunteered to stay back on the ship to help out, but Shepard had overruled her, ordering her to “please, for once in your life, take a fucking break”, in those exact words. She was officially banned from re-entering the ship until the repairs were complete. In fact, the only person who had been allowed to stay back on the ship despite a clear absence of engineering and technical skills was Kelly Chambers, for reasons Miranda neither fully grasped nor honestly cared to know.

Unfortunately, there was nowhere on Omega that was to Miranda’s liking. Afterlife was the least awful place by process of elimination given that, if nothing else, anybody who caused problems here would quickly find out what D.F.W.A. stood for, and why it was the one and only rule on Omega that anyone lived by.

Notwithstanding the above, Miranda had still known damn well that she wouldn’t enjoy her forced time off in this place. Accordingly, she had all but begged Samara to come and keep her sane in her misery, and she obliged. So far, even Samara had done little to improve Miranda’s state of mind, though. 

The Normandy crew were already getting too relaxed for Miranda’s liking, and this was evidence of it. Surely Shepard should have realised that, even if Miranda wasn’t holding a soldering iron, there were still a million other things she could have been doing that would have been a productive use of her time. For one thing, she could have been preparing for what to do if Cerberus came knocking, or comparing notes on the organisation with EDI...

“Well, in any event, I appreciate you keeping me company,” Miranda elected to break the silence, preferring not to think about Cerberus in a moment where she was powerless to do anything about them and whatever they had in store for her if and when they caught up to her. “I can't imagine it's easy for you to be here, after...” Miranda trailed off, wondering if perhaps she was erring by bringing Morinth up so directly.

“It is quite alright,” Samara assured her, appreciating her concern. “In truth, it has given me an opportunity to contemplate my own future, and where I am needed. I had not thought of it before, but I would consider returning to this place when Shepard no longer requires my service.”

“Not anytime soon, I hope. You can’t leave me with these people,” Miranda remarked in jest, earning a small smile. “Is there any particular reason why?” she inquired, curious.

“A simple one; I can think of few other places in the galaxy that could benefit more from the presence of a Justicar,” Samara pointed out.

“That's very noble of you,” Miranda commented, though she was sceptical as to the wisdom of that virtuous path. “But don't forget how that turned out for Garrus. Omega's gangs aren't going to let you waltz in and disrupt the way of things. And that includes our friend up there,” she said, nodding her head up towards Aria’s makeshift throne room on the upper floor. Being an asari, Aria wouldn’t be ignorant to precisely how zealous and unyielding Justicars were when it came to the enforcement of their Code.

“I do not fear death,” Samara contentedly replied, undeterred by the prospect of failing in her quest. Miranda frowned, but voiced no further objection.

“Alright, that's it. One of you had better order a drink. You've been standing there long enough,” the turian bartender gruffly grumbled, looking at them both over the bar while polishing a glass. “Since the old lady over here doesn’t strike me as a drinker, I'm guessing it's gotta be you, human.”

“I'd rather not,” Miranda declined.

“It wasn't a request,” said the bartender.

Miranda glanced at Samara and saw a small smirk creeping onto her lips. Miranda sighed, reluctantly conceding. “...Fine,” she acquiesced. “Just one.”

“Coming right up,” said the bartender, pouring her a fresh glass.

At that moment, another song came on. This one was particularly loud and intrusive. The pulsing bass shook the glasses other patrons had on the counter. Several of the other club goers nearby began dragging each out onto the floor to dance. Miranda did not share the sentiment, or the enthusiasm.

“Why does all club music sound exactly the bloody same?” Miranda complained, finding the repetitive droning rhythms and predictable chord progressions beyond irritating by that point. “These people wouldn’t know an interesting interval or a complex time signature if it slapped them in the face.”

“Perhaps we should endeavour to find somewhere more...quiet,” Samara suggested, pointing up towards the speaker that was right above them.

“Quiet? Here?” Miranda remarked, with a sceptical glance at their surroundings. Afterlife was hardly subdued. That being said, though, she would have been lying if she said she didn’t see the appeal of finding a more secluded corner of the nightclub. She sighed as she took her drink. “If we can find a free booth that doesn't have a stripper dancing on the table, that would be a start.”

That was easier said than done.

“I am certain that, if we ask for privacy, we will be granted it. Come, this way.” Despite her doubts, Miranda followed Samara’s lead, trailing her through the club, in search of somewhere to sit.

As they were walking, Miranda recognised a few familiar faces from The Normandy. Garrus, Thane and Zaeed had commandeered a booth, and Thane appeared to be the only one of them who wasn’t already three drinks in. She didn't particularly feel like joining them, though. Everyone else who wasn’t currently working on the ship must have been on a different floor of the club, or somewhere outside.

Much as Miranda had predicted, the only empty table they managed to find had a dancer on it, no doubt hoping to attract customers.

“I beg your pardon,” said Samara, approaching the young asari. “Would it trouble you if my friend and I had this table to ourselves?”

“Get lost, grandma!” the dancer rudely shot back, turning her head to see who had spoken to her. Instantly, she froze in fear, and turned about three shades paler. “Y-Y...J-Justicar...?” she stammered, recognising her armour immediately. “I...I am so sorry. Of course you can...Please. Please forgive me,” she implored her as she hastily climbed down to the floor, bowing her head in respectful deference before running off to get as far away from Samara as possible.

Samara sat down without an issue, gesturing for Miranda to do the same. Miranda arched an eyebrow, impressed. “She thought you were going to kill her.”

“From what I have gathered about Omega, it is not unlikely that she has done something that would warrant my intervention pursuant to The Code. If I confirmed this and took such action, and she did not voluntarily surrender herself to my custody, then yes, my presence here would result in her death,” Samara acknowledged, serene as always. “Fortunately for her, my oath to Commander Shepard compels me to refrain from acting as I normally would.”

“Where does The Code draw the line on what kinds of people it considers criminals?” Miranda asked, sliding into her seat across from Samara. “Drug users? Sex workers?”

Samara shook her head. “The Code does not criminalise addiction – although this does not mean addicts cannot be held accountable for crimes they commit in support of their addiction. As for 'sex workers' as you referred to them, asari cultures are not human cultures. Consorts hold a high status in our society, and it is normal for many if not most young asari to do as these women are doing in their maiden stage,” she reminded her, gesturing broadly at the asari dancers working throughout the club. “Many among my kind still find it perplexing that such things have ever been considered shameful by other species.”

“Do you share those views?” Miranda inquired. Her question earned a slightly confused look from Samara. “I don't mean to sound presumptuous but my own cultural biases mean that, when I think of ancient religious orders, I tend to associate such things with conservatism and chastity. I guess I kind of assumed you might not look too fondly on young asari wasting their youth dancing in bars.”

“Only in the sense that age has granted me the wisdom to look back on my younger years and consider what I could have done differently, and how much more I could have accomplished if my priorities were not so self-centred,” Samara answered sagely. “Were I asked for my advice, I would counsel them from the benefit of my experience to focus on what they find truly fulfilling in their lives. However, this is not a moral judgement, nor do I object to their choice to dance or take lovers freely. To do so would be very hypocritical of me. And it would be folly of me to assume that this is not their calling. If this is their path to inner fulfilment, then I would never seek to turn them from that.”

Miranda's lips quirked against the rim of her glass. “Are you saying this was you once? Giving people lap dances in bars?”

“No. I preferred adventure and violence,” said Samara, being frank about her past indiscretions. “Any time I spent in places such as this, or in the company of women like this, was merely as a customer. But I was not so radically different from those who work here now. My maiden stage was spent such that I cannot righteously criticise how another asari spends hers. The only reason I did not follow this path, aside from the fact that I am not a particularly gifted dancer, is that becoming a mercenary offered far more excitement and more opportunities to travel far and wide. I also found myself...drawn to certain types of people at that age. The same sort of people I found myself fighting beside.”

“Yeah, you mentioned that once before,” Miranda recalled, though it was no less incongruous to picture it now. It was pretty crazy to think that the types of people Samara used to sleep with as a young woman were now the very same people she hunted down without mercy as a matriarch. That raised a thought, and Miranda was never one to not speak her mind, even where it might have been advisable not to. “Don't answer this question if you don't want to, but did you take many lovers when you were younger?”

“That would depend upon what you define as 'many',” Samara replied.

“By your definition?” Miranda asked.

“Yes,” Samara answered plainly. “Have you?”

“Yes,” Miranda responded in kind. Though whether they had the same definition of ‘many’ was anybody’s guess. Probably not, given that Samara’s maiden stage alone could have lasted close to ten times as long as Miranda had been alive. “But I don't think I enjoyed mine as much as you enjoyed yours. Most of them were nothing to write home about. I don't even remember their names, nor do I care to.”

Samara tilted her head thoughtfully. “I remember some vividly, though not all. And of those I have fond memories of, I have not thought of most in a very long time.”

“Do you ever miss it?” Miranda wondered aloud, curious whether Samara would ever even consider one day laying down her armour and living as...well, anything other than a Justicar.

“I miss my innocence,” Samara confessed. “I miss how it felt to live free from any cares or concerns. I miss being able to dance with strangers, never knowing how it felt to bear the burden of responsibility. But if you are asking me if I would choose to walk that path again, the answer is no. I cannot. And I would not.”

“You can still dance with strangers if you want to, though,” Miranda wryly encouraged, taking a sip of her drink. “And, no, I don’t mean that euphemistically. Just dancing. Surely that’s not forbidden by The Code. Is it?”

“No, it is not. But those days are behind me, as are so many others, and I am content with that,” Samara smiled, a mysterious, ethereal smile. “Do you dance?”

“No.”

“Never?” Samara queried, her eyes sparkling under the lights.

“I may have tried it once or twice.” Miranda shifted in her seat, averting her gaze. “...After I ran away from my father, I got a taste of freedom for the first time. So I did things he had never allowed me to do. Or tried to. Admittedly, I wasn’t very successful at it, and any desire to experiment and rebel was quickly outweighed by how much I like being in control of my faculties and how much I didn’t enjoy places like this, but...well, it was a phase nonetheless, I suppose.”

“You were with Cerberus at the time, were you not?” Samara asked, clarifying the time period.

“Yes but, as you may have noticed, they don't particularly care what you do in your personal life, as long as it doesn't interfere with your work,” Miranda explained. Cerberus had never imposed those kinds of rules upon her. They respected her and treated her like an adult. It was why it had been so hard for her to believe the worst about them, and sever her loyalties. “I was sixteen years old, with only a vague, malformed idea of what the world was like, what other girls my age were supposed to be like, and the experiences I was supposed to have had, together with a staunch determination to make up for lost time. And you should know when I set my mind to something, I don’t do it by halves.”

“And yet, in that time, you never danced with strangers?” said Samara.

“Mostly only in the euphemistic way,” Miranda replied. That was one thing that had never really changed, so much as she was simply more experienced, and had gotten more efficient about getting that itch scratched whenever she felt the need. “Let's just say I made some poor decisions in a short space of time, and it's not an aspect of my life I'm particularly proud of.”

“Many years have passed since then. You are older and wiser, but you are still young – too young to deprive yourself of such things. Perhaps this is not the place for you, but I know you enjoy music. You have told me as much. Surely there would be a place where even you would feel comfortable letting go and dancing freely. To do so would not mean you are repeating your past mistakes,” Samara advised.

“I know it wouldn’t,” Miranda acknowledged. She still didn't feel like it though. Plus, the concept of ‘letting go’ was about as antithetical to her entire existence as any concept could possibly be. “Tell you what, I'll dance when you dance. That's a promise.”

“Your promise sounds a great deal like an excuse,” Samara quipped.

Miranda smirked. “Nothing gets past you.”

* * *

Bailey had been surprised when Miranda showed up to work on Monday, less than a day after confirming the deaths of so many of her former comrades.

Before he had even opened his mouth to speak, Miranda had cut him off. “Whatever you’re going to say, don’t. Please, just...I need to be here. Please just let me work right now.”

To his credit, he had honoured her wishes, and that had been the end of any discussion about it.

Focusing on something else, anything else, had always been Miranda’s best and only coping mechanism. Her unyielding need to be productive, and to feel like she was in control of at least one aspect of her life even if everything else was falling apart around her, was a lifelong companion that never failed her.

There was no shortage of work to keep her busy. Some of the Alliance ships that had made the jump only a few lightyears away before the relays exploded had finally made their way back into the Sol system to study the wreckage of the Charon relay, and to begin working on reassembling and repairing it. They were in communication with other teams of varying sizes all over the galaxy.

The dextro races still stranded in the Sol system were starting to reach the point where food was becoming a concern. Several turians and quarians had already gone into cryostasis, and the number joining them was increasing day by day.

Of the levo races, more and more were settling into Earth in the expectation that their stay would be a long one. Many asari and salarians had joined with humans in moving out of cities into smaller towns and villages, working to restore infrastructure and agriculture, getting sorely needed supply lines up and running.

But London remained in tatters, still rebuilding. When any hospital had a shortage of beds or medicine or staff, Miranda knew about it. If there was a building that was possibly safe enough to move people into, Miranda knew about it. If a block didn’t have power or water, Miranda knew about it. If the black market jacked up the prices too much on luxury items, Miranda knew about it.

Bailey may have been the face of the operation, but she was his eyes and ears (well, technically only one of each), and she was the puppet master pulling the strings, making sure all resources and personnel were allocated precisely where they were needed. And if they didn’t have enough of either, she found them.

For as good of a distraction as all that work was, at the end of the day, she still needed to go home. And she still needed to deal with this.

She’d approached Wrex directly on Monday afternoon. They were in the same city, after all. There would have been no way to avoid speaking to him about it that wouldn’t have meant admitting to herself that she was deliberately putting it off. So she didn’t.

Miranda delivered the news to him personally, about everyone who had passed. As the leader of Grunt’s clan, he was the closest thing Grunt had to next of kin. It only seemed appropriate that Clan Urdnot should hear it from her first, and be given the right to decide how to honour their dead.

Miranda didn’t know Wrex well enough to be able to gauge his feelings on Grunt’s passing, or anyone else’s. And, whatever they were, Wrex certainly didn’t know Miranda well enough to show them around her. But he had expressed his brief thanks to her for informing him, respecting that she had taken her duties seriously and had the courtesy of bringing this to him face-to-face.

It was true that, as the highest ranking member of the Normandy left alive, she had big shoes to fill. And her job was far from done.

Unfortunately, Kasumi, Zaeed and Javik didn’t have any next-of-kin to inform. Not that Miranda had been able to track down, anyway.

Javik’s isolation went without saying. He was the sole survivor of a fifty thousand year old genocide. He was the one person who was never exaggerating when he said he was truly alone in the universe. Even if he had survived the war, who knew if Javik ever really intended to go on living? But, then, Miranda knew too little about him to speculate.

Kasumi, for as socially aware as she had been of everyone else aboard the Normandy, was a chronic self-isolator. She never truly got close to anybody, save for the love of her life who lived on only in the form of an implant inside her head. Miranda personally hadn’t even realised just how much of a distance she kept everybody else on the SR-2 at right up until that day when she’d looked around and suddenly realised that they were one head short because Kasumi had disappeared without a trace at the last place they docked.

If Zaeed had any friends or family who were still alive, he certainly hadn’t volunteered that information to anyone else aboard the Normandy. There were probably no shortage of people who he had met over his years, but, similarly to Kasumi, from all appearances it sounded like Zaeed would move on the moment it felt like he might be getting too attached. The terrible things he had seen wouldn’t allow him to settle down and live a normal life. He had probably always known deep down that he would die fighting in a war.

However, there was one among the confirmed dead who definitely did have a family. A family Miranda had already written to once before, to let them know she was searching. A family who it was now her responsibility to ensure those dog tags made it back home to.

Every single day, Miranda had sat down at her laptop with the intention of writing the letter nobody ever wanted to have to write. But the words just wouldn’t come. It was the one task that Miranda simply couldn’t seem to bring herself to start, let alone finish. And the screen would just stay blank until she inevitably convinced herself that tomorrow would be the day.

During the week, Miranda told herself it wasn’t her fault she wasn’t getting it done. She was busy with work. Clearly she wasn’t making progress because she didn’t have enough time to concentrate on doing this properly.

On Saturday, her reason for not getting it done was because she had helped Jack leave the field hospital and move in with Jacob in his apartment. Jack’s students had thrown an impromptu lunch to celebrate their teacher getting out of hospital, and as a courtesy Miranda had stayed for the whole thing.

Perhaps it should have said something about the state they were both in after learning what had become of so many mutual friends, and the extent to which Jack actually felt sorry for Miranda to have to be the one to identify what bodies there were, that, in those entire few hours they spent in each other’s proximity on that day, Jack didn’t insult Miranda even once.

Then Sunday came, a whole week since Ashley’s fate had been discovered, and Miranda didn’t have any excuses to put it off any longer.

Today had to be the day. There was no alternative.

And yet, despite not leaving her room even once that day, despite forcing herself to sit there until she finished this, she still hadn’t typed a single word.

Miranda had done a lot of things in her life that other people would probably class as difficult. Living with an abusive tyrant of a father. Pulling off countless life-threatening missions for Cerberus. Being captured and tortured by batarian slavers. Raising the fucking dead.

All of those things had been a cakewalk compared to writing to Ashley’s sisters.

She’d lost count of how long she’d been staring at that blank screen, or those dog tags, in the hopes that the words would just...come to her if she focused long enough. So far, it hadn’t worked. Any time Miranda thought of something to say, it just felt...wrong. Inadequate. Even if she couldn’t explain why.

At first, she didn’t know why she was finding this so bloody hard. After all, Miranda didn’t know Ashley particularly well. She’d only met her a handful of times, if that. She had no right to pretend otherwise.

But, then, it clicked.

In a way, the fact that she didn’t know Ashley at all was precisely what was making this so much worse. For one thing, if she had known her on a personal level, then no doubt she would have had no shortage of things she could say about her that would resonate with her family, to express understanding and sympathy for their loss. For another, and more significantly, because Miranda knew so little about Ashley, it meant that the only thing that she could focus on when thinking about her was the one thing she did know - that Ashley was a sister to three other sisters. And that they all loved each other dearly.

If there was one actual, honest to god human feeling Miranda knew all too well, it was the love she felt for her own sister. So, suffice it to say, she could relate.

And, although she’d never even seen a picture of Ashley’s sisters, every time the mere thought of them crossed her mind, all she pictured was Oriana.

This was one circumstance where Miranda didn’t have to fake empathy. For this, she had it in spades. It would have been easier to do this if she didn’t.

She knew what it would mean for them all to receive this letter. Because she understood better than anyone exactly how much it would have absolutely fucking destroyed her if she got the same letter. And it felt horribly, gut-wrenchingly cruel to be the one to write that letter, in full awareness of what it would do to those three sisters to receive it.

If that was what it was like for normal people to lose someone, then in a way Miranda felt lucky to be so numb to her own feelings compared to others. Maybe Kelly Chambers had been right when she speculated that becoming emotionally closed-off was as much a form of protection Miranda had developed to survive as it was something imposed upon her by her father whether she wanted it or not. It was certainly easier, and safer, to be cold on the inside, than to expose herself to a pain like Ashley’s sisters would feel when they learned the news.

Miranda wasn’t sure she would even have the emotional capacity to process losing Oriana, if the worst ever came to pass. It either would have broken her completely and caused her to jump off this mortal coil after her, or she would have withdrawn so much further into herself that she ceased to be recognisable as human. Maybe all of the above at once.

But Miranda wasn’t in that position. It seemed so strange to think about it. So many people had lost so much to this war. But not Miranda.

She was perhaps one of the people who least deserved to live, given her past allegiances to Cerberus, and given that she had never at any stage aspired or claimed to be, quote unquote, a ‘good person’. And yet, she was still there. Mostly in one piece. With three out of the grand total of five people she had ever truly cared about confirmed alive.

If anything, the fact that she had survived and others hadn’t was proof that the universe was not a fair place. There was no justice. No balance.

She knew it didn’t make any sense, and that it was impossible to trade her life for someone else’s, but she couldn’t help but think how much collectively happier more people would have been if Miranda had died and Ashley had lived. Or Shepard. Or most other members of the Normandy, really.

Oriana would have been the only person truly hurt by it, but even then she had lived nineteen years of her life perfectly fine, not even knowing Miranda existed. She’d only known about her for a year. She would have recovered eventually.

Speak of the devil, it was at that moment that a message popped up on Miranda’s screen. A message from Oriana.

“Hey, sis. What’s up? We haven’t talked in a few days. This a good time?”

It was true. This wasn’t the first text she had received from Oriana over the last few days, but Miranda hadn’t responded to any since she found out what happened to her comrades. Couldn’t bring herself to. Couldn’t bring herself to think about...precisely the sort of things she was thinking about right now.

It wasn’t that she couldn’t tell Oriana what had happened. What she was feeling. Of course she could have. She could have gone to Oriana about absolutely anything. On some level, that was all Miranda wanted to do. To talk to her. To feel a little less alone in that moment.

The problem was that Oriana would have listened to it all in a heartbeat. Every word. Without judgement. Without hesitation.

That wasn’t fair on her, and it wasn’t what Miranda wanted their relationship to be.

Oriana may have been the most well-adjusted person she knew, but she was still barely more than a kid. Only twenty years old. Still figuring things out. How was it fair for Miranda to burden her with all her problems, as if she could possibly know the answers, or the right things to say?

It was supposed to be the other way around. Miranda was supposed to be Oriana’s shoulder to cry on. Her protector. Her guide. Her big sister. Even if she wasn’t cut out to be any of those things. And she had foisted enough of her problems on Oriana already.

So she texted back.

With that, Miranda closed the messenger window, and switched back to the blank document. She’d been staring at it for so long without typing so much as a single word that she hadn’t even noticed the battery had almost drained down to zero. She reached down and plugged in the charger.

Just as she did that, another alert popped up on her screen. Message from Oriana.

“What do you get when a journalist cooks without reading a recipe?” Oriana asked. “Unconfirmed sauces.”

A small smile tugged at Miranda’s lips. Even if she was pushing Oriana away right now, it was comforting to know that Oriana would never take anything personally, and that she would be there waiting for her when she was ready to talk again.

With one last look at Ashley’s dog tags, Miranda began to type.

* * *

After finishing repairs to the Normandy, Commander Shepard seemed to have taken Miranda’s suggestion to heart. Or perhaps it was what she had always intended to do. They still had numerous leads on file that they never had the opportunity to investigate before the Collectors took them by surprise and attacked the crew. Why leave any of those assignments incomplete?

Miranda kept enough of an eye on things to know that, despite what had happened, The Illusive Man was still sending messages to Shepard (to which Shepard never responded) in an effort to cast himself in a good light. Evidently, Andrea was important enough to his plans that he considered it worth his while to continue trying to persuade her that they were on the same side. And maybe it was true that they were, at least where the Reapers were concerned.

By contrast, he had said nothing to Miranda whatsoever.

She knew what that meant.

Even if she came crawling back to Cerberus with a grovelling apology, which was never going to happen, she wouldn’t have been welcomed back anyway.

Despite now acting on their own, in a lot of ways, it was almost as if nothing had changed after defeating the Collectors. They knew the Reapers were out there, and the mutual intention of all concerned appeared to be that the best thing to do was carry on as usual in the hopes of finding out more about the impending threat, and hopefully to stop it from ever coming to fruition.

In fact, the only person who it seemed wasn’t exactly the same as before the Collector Base was Kelly Chambers. She had stopped making individual appointments with members of the crew (which Miranda knew from no longer getting any reports from her) and had been cut back to only light duties by Shepard. The last time Miranda had seen her, Kelly had jumped at the sound of the elevator doors opening behind her. Maybe that had something to do with it.

In any event, Miranda had concerned herself more with uncovering as much as she could about Cerberus’s true motives. Since Cerberus hadn’t made any effort to stop them from investigating any old leads so far, this certainly seemed like her best opportunity to take advantage of a position of relative safety and protection to arm herself with knowledge.

“Shepard, do you have a moment?” Miranda had begun, approaching Andrea after a meeting in the Briefing Room. Andrea had turned to face her, signalling for her to speak. “Do you remember that message you got from The Illusive Man last week, about the Overlord cell going off the grid without explanation on Aite?”

Shepard had sighed and rubbed her forehead. “You’re just not even hiding the fact that you read my emails anymore, are you?”

“No,” Miranda answered bluntly, but that wasn’t important right now. “I think we should investigate. The Illusive Man mentioned experimenting with highly volatile technology. It must be operationally sensitive, if he wouldn’t tell you anything more than that. Whatever the purpose of Project Overlord is, this is likely our only opportunity to learn about it. Cerberus will clean this up themselves if we don’t, and by then there’ll be nothing left.”

“You don’t think we could be walking into a trap?” Shepard asked.

“Possible, but unlikely. The Illusive Man asked for our assistance on this before we found the Reaper IFF device. Setting a trap for us before we had the intention or the ability to assault the Collector Base would take a level of prescience that nobody is capable of,” Miranda said confidently, folding her arms across her chest. “He’s many things, Shepard, but even he can’t see the future.”

“Fair enough. You’ve convinced me,” Shepard replied. “I’ll bring Tali with us. She’ll make sense of any tech we come across, no matter how ‘experimental’ it is.”

Miranda nodded her head. That was a sound choice.

What they actually found at the heart of Atlas Station, Miranda could not possibly have predicted.

Please make it stop.

Miranda hadn’t even been able to speak when she saw him there. David Archer. A completely innocent, vulnerable man hooked up to machines by his own brother as part of some sick experiment to see if his gifted mind could, what? Control geth? That was the reasoning that justified that level of cruelty and abuse?

This was it, wasn’t it? The true face of Cerberus. What they did to people. So many had said that this was the reality, and yet Miranda hadn’t listened before.

Reading between the lines, there was no doubt The Illusive Man knew exactly what was being done on Aite. While he made sure to say he didn’t condone Dr. Archer’s actions, he seemed to know perfectly well that David’s “unique talents” had “provided a breakthrough”, and he made sure to mention that Shepard’s actions had set back their understanding of the geth several years.

The only good thing that had come out of this was knowing that David Archer would be well looked after at Grissom Academy. Well, that and it was reassuring to know that, whatever Cerberus might have planned to do with an army of geth under their control, those ideas would never come to fruition now.

Evidently, Shepard really had done the right thing by not sending Legion to be studied by Cerberus, if it would have helped them. In retrospect, Miranda had never been more relieved that someone hadn’t listened to her advice.

It just made her wonder what else she didn’t know.

The door to Miranda’s quarters slid open, and she glanced up. “Forgive my intrusion. Am I interrupting anything?” Samara asked, always a sound question to open with when it came to Miranda, especially when she was in her office.

“No,” Miranda answered honestly. Not a damn thing.

Samara was too tactful to say it, but of course she knew that the number of people Miranda reported to had decreased drastically in recent days, and her requirements to Shepard had already been discharged several hours ago.

Since Miranda hadn’t objected to her presence, Samara took that as a cue to step inside. “I have not seen you since you returned from Aite. Is all well?”

Miranda sighed, interlacing her fingers in front of her. “I honestly don’t know.”

The truth was, ever since she’d seen David Archer in that state, there had been this lingering sense of unease that Miranda hadn’t been able to shake. She had never been an expert at being able to put labels to her feelings. But if she had to choose a word to describe this one, it would be ‘unsettled’.

It wasn’t a pleasant feeling at all. It was as if her own skin was no longer sitting properly on her body. Like there was an inherent...discomfort, that was impossible to rectify. Like these unwelcome sensations and thoughts wouldn’t stop wriggling around beneath the surface, disturbing whatever they touched.

Had this been any regular day, Miranda would have just worked and avoided thinking about it until it went away. But that option wasn’t available to her anymore. Besides, something told her this malaise wouldn’t vanish so easily.

Then again, if there was anybody who she felt safe sharing her thoughts with, and who could help her make sense of them, it was the woman in front of her.

Not about to just leave her standing there by the door, Miranda got up from her desk and gestured for Samara to follow her further inside her quarters. “Sorry there’s not a lot of room, here,” Miranda remarked.

“It is quite alright,” Samara assured her.

“By all means, make yourself at home,” Miranda invited her, electing to sit cross-legged near the head of her bed, tacitly giving Samara permission to join her.

Samara followed her lead, perching on the far end of her bed, as if to signal that she was in no hurry to be anywhere else.

“Do you know what happened down there?” Miranda began.

“Yes.” Samara nodded her head. Even though Miranda rarely if ever observed her speaking to anyone else, word always somehow seemed to reach her about what transpired on any mission she wasn’t a part of.

It certainly made things easier not to have to explain it.

Maybe that was why Samara had come here in the first place.

“...I don’t think a single person I’ve met would ever accuse me of being in any way compassionate. Not even you, and you give me the benefit of the doubt far more than anyone else. But…” Miranda trailed off as she reflected on the days’ events, her voice steady despite the grisly subject matter. “Even in the name of science, how could anyone do that to their own brother?”

David Archer had been begging his brother to make it stop. Begging him. And all Gavin cared about was continuing the experiment.

Why? What was the fucking point of taking it that far?

“I do not know,” Samara answered honestly. “I cannot fathom it either.”

“I suppose that’s the thing. I can fathom it,” Miranda pointed out. She knew all too well that people like that did exist.

She’d been raised by one.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” Miranda shook her head, unable to even find the language to describe the uncomfortable twisting in her chest that came from thinking about David Archer, picturing him in that core with all those tubes sticking out of him. “Nothing normally ever...gets to me. Even things that probably should. I’ve always been like that. My whole life,

“Did you know, I don’t even remember crying as a child? At all?” Miranda asked. “Any time I ever came close to shedding a tear, my father made sure to ‘give me something to really cry about’. So perhaps I did do it more than I can recall, and I simply blocked those memories out. But I don’t think that’s the answer. I’ve always assumed that the reason I never cried was because I must have been...so isolated and neglected as a baby that one day I just stopped making any noise, because even then I must have known there was simply no point to it,

“So, if you ever pictured me being an emotional child, that’s not true. I’ve never known myself to be any different than the way I am now,” Miranda somewhat shamefully admitted. She’d never had the chance to be another way, from the moment she was brought into this world. “The one exception, the one thing that I can’t seem to stop from hitting me in whatever small, emotional part of me survived my childhood, is Oriana. Or anything that reminds me of her.”

“I see.” Samara needed no further explanation. Miranda may not have fully understood it herself, but to Samara, it made perfect sense. Why wouldn’t what Miranda saw down there on Aite remind her of her father, and make her think of her sister? “...May I ask, have you seen something like David Archer before?”

“Close enough,” Miranda said, the truth of those words leaving a bitter taste on her tongue. “Do you know, I’ve never told anyone about how I escaped from my father? I suppose you could’ve guessed. I’ve never had anyone to tell.”

Samara shifted, matching Miranda’s cross-legged position as she turned to face her, sitting opposite her. She didn’t even need to say anything. Her body language alone said that she was receptive to whatever Miranda felt comfortable sharing.

Miranda never allowed herself to look weak in front of anyone. To show vulnerability. Whenever she came close, she would brush it off with a deadpan quip or dry understatement, demonstrating that she was in total control.

Samara was the one exception to that. The one person she’d met who she trusted enough to reveal that flawed, softer side of herself around, and who had never judged her even slightly for her imperfections. Why Samara tolerated her at her worst, Miranda still didn’t know. But she always had, from day one.

Plus, Miranda knew better than anyone the grief Samara had somehow survived and how she had come to terms with the most intense sorrow imaginable. It was no wonder she was so understanding, given what she’d endured in her past.

So, for the first time in her life, Miranda began to tell her story.

“I always knew that I was an experiment, but I never really knew what that meant,” Miranda elected to start at the beginning. “My father said things, sure, but if you imagine anybody ever sat me down and explained to me my purpose, or the purpose of anything they put me through, then you’re sorely mistaken.”

“What were you told?” Samara prompted.

“The part about being genetically perfect. That I wasn’t the first he’d made, only the first he’d kept. And that my father wanted to create a dynasty - a great legacy that would ensure his name lived forever,” Miranda explained. “I always assumed that my father saw me as his heir. That he wanted me to be the perfect daughter. Someone he could trust to carry on his work long after he passed. It wasn’t until Niket put the thought in my head that I began to consider that I might be wrong - that maybe my father’s experiment wouldn’t end with me. If he ever did make another daughter, then I didn’t know what that meant for me, except that I knew it wouldn’t be good, and I may not be safe,

“So Niket and I began working on an escape plan. It took us the better part of two years to prepare. We had to get every detail exactly right, and we thought about every possible contingency. Niket already knew my father’s security systems intimately, so we knew what the weaknesses were there. Before he left, Niket gave me software I could use to hack into the camera system and make the monitors replay the feed from twenty-four hours ago. It would look like I was asleep in my bed, and any rooms I was actually in would look empty,

“We knew that most possible routes I could use to escape were patrolled by security at all hours. We actually had to scour the plans for the whole compound to find any potential ways out. The only option that presented any possibility was...well, perhaps I should go back a few steps.”

Not used to speaking this much without interruption, Miranda stopped briefly to make sure Samara wasn’t overwhelmed by the sheer amount of information being dumped on her all at once. But Samara’s position hadn’t changed at all. Her blue eyes had never left Miranda’s face, listening intently to her every word.

Miranda took that as implicit support to keep going.

“My father had a large research facility underground, beneath the estate, but I never saw most of it. Even when I started working in the lab, I was only ever allowed to enter certain rooms, and only under supervision. I assisted on some of my father’s research into gene editing, which is where most of the family money comes from. I was aware that there were some restricted projects that required special lab clearance, but that was the extent of my knowledge,

“Niket and I discovered from reviewing the plans that there were more levels to the lab than I would have expected. And, when you’re that far underground and working with potentially toxic chemicals, you need a very good ventilation system. We could see on the blueprints that there were air ducts that connected to the surface, which I could most likely fit through. Both ends of the air duct wouldn’t be patrolled by security, since they were only watched by cameras, which we already had a means to deal with. It seemed like my best option,

“Once everything was in motion, all I needed to do was steal an ID card from one of my father’s senior lab technicians, and memorise what passcode was used to enter the restricted part of the lab on the day I chose to escape. I don’t think I’m surprising you by saying that neither of those two things were a challenge for me. I even stole a gun to defend myself, just in case,

“It was exactly thirteen minutes past two in the morning when I got up and left my room. I knew that was the perfect time to leave, because there were the fewest people around, and I’d noticed that security tended to get tired and bored around that time and would start slacking off at their posts. I’d seen them sitting back in their chairs with their feet up watching TV to amuse themselves,

“Everything went precisely as I had planned it. I walked right across the entire house without anybody noticing I was there - which, however big you imagine the house I grew up in was, triple it and you’ll be closer. I got to the lab without incident, swiped the stolen card, entered the code for that day, and headed down to the restricted level where my designated escape point was.”

Miranda paused then. It was the first time she’d really, consciously thought about that day in a long time. And, certainly, it was the first time she’d ever spoken about it, beyond referencing it with flippant passing comments.

In the peripheries of her vision, she saw Samara shift closer. “May I?” 

Miranda glanced up at Samara’s voice, and found her making a subtle motion towards Miranda’s left hand, where it rested in her lap. Miranda hadn’t even really been conscious of it until that moment, but in hindsight she had been gesturing more with her right while she spoke.

Admittedly, Miranda was far from fluent when it came to reading unspoken body language. Even though she didn’t fully grasp what Samara meant, she trusted her enough to follow along with whatever she intended. Accordingly, Miranda turned her left hand over, such that her palm faced upwards.

Interpreting that as tacit consent, Samara reached across the small gap between them and clasped Miranda’s hand between both of her own. For as strong as their friendship had become, neither of them were exactly the touchy-feely type. Quite the opposite. So, to feel Samara gently holding her hand with such kindness, well...Miranda imagined this must have been how it felt for other people who weren’t generally so averse to physical contact to be hugged.

“You do not have to give voice to any of the thoughts on your mind if you do not wish to,” Samara reminded her, one of her thumbs softly tracing circles at the centre of Miranda’s palm. “But I am here to listen if you do.”

“I know you are. Thank you,” Miranda said sincerely.

With that, she continued, difficult as it was to revisit this part of her memory.

“I remember the doors to that level sliding open and...I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. This wasn’t just a lab. It was a cloning facility. My cloning facility. The place where I had come from. And I just...froze,

“I completely forgot why I was even there. All I saw were...tanks with embryos in various stages of development. Photographs of dissected failures detailing the mutations and cancerous growths caused by element zero exposure. Pages of speculation as to the errors in their altered genetic sequences which made them...unviable. And then there were images of me. Reports on my behaviour. My progress. With a list of ‘imperfections’ that needed improvement in further cycles.”

Samara was nothing if not masterful at maintaining a neutral expression, but even she could not hide the visibly pained look that crossed her face when she heard that. Words could not describe how much that moment must have not only hurt Miranda, but shattered her entire perception of reality.

“All that time, I truly thought the project had ended with me. But it hadn’t. My whole life, I had been living in that house, while beneath my very feet my father was actively working to ‘improve’ upon my genetic code for god knows how many years. And the only reason he hadn’t replaced me sooner was, ironically, because any time he had a viable embryo, his insistence on exposing them to element zero to replicate my biotic abilities resulted in death and deformity.”

Even though she was silent, hanging on Miranda’s every word, it was evident that Samara was shocked by what she was hearing. Stunned. She’d always believed Miranda when she said her father was a monster, but she’d obviously never suspected it went to this extent. That it was this systematic. This calculated. This callous. What sane person would even comprehend a mind capable of something like this, let alone be complicit in it?

“I don’t know when exactly my father started perceiving me as a failure. In retrospect, I’ve learned things that make me suspect it was probably day one. But that was the first inkling I ever had that I was only ever intended to be a prototype, and nothing more. A test. A proof of concept. A first fucking draft.”

Samara squeezed Miranda’s hand a little tighter, as if to express her sympathy, and her apologies, both for the fact that Miranda had ever had to go through something like this, and that Samara hadn’t understood her history sooner.

Miranda’s eyes drifted out of focus, before she even knew they had. She wasn’t in her quarters anymore. She was there. She was sixteen. She was in that lab. Standing in that door. Discovering the truth. She saw it so clearly, down to even the smallest detail. She could hear the hum of the refrigerator, and the whirring of the fan. She could even smell the exact cleaning agent the staff had used earlier that day to sterilise their hands before they entered the room.

“When that realisation hit me, I just...I just saw red. I thought fuck him. Fuck him. That everything he had put me through, everything I had done for him to meet his arbitrary and changeable standards of perfection, it had all been for nothing. Nothing I ever did could be good enough. He never cared. There was nothing I could possibly have done to live up to the unreachable bar he set for me, because he never truly intended for me to be ‘the one’ no matter how well I did. I had been set up to fail my whole life. And this was the proof. So I paid him back,

“I destroyed it,” Miranda said with cold fury, a mere fraction of the rage she had felt nearly twenty years ago. “Everything he had worked so hard on, everything that mattered to him more than me, I destroyed it. I overloaded every computer. I threw every freezer to the ground. I shot out every one of those tubes. I broke the sprinkler system, grabbed every flammable substance I could find, poured them all over everything, and ejected my thermal clip,

“The alarms went off when the fire started. I didn’t regret anything that I had done, but I had been so angry that I had completely blown any chance I had of a quiet escape. I knew I had to move quickly. So I headed for my exit. But, then, just as I reached the air vent, I heard this sound. And I stopped.”

Miranda swallowed. Perfect memory was a curse as much as a blessing. She hadn’t relived this exact moment in years, yet she could still vividly remember every single detail as clearly as if this had happened ten minutes ago.

“I looked over and I saw this...incubator. I had thought it was empty, but...no. There was a child inside it. A seemingly newborn baby. Left alone in the dark, in this cold, sterile lab. Screaming and crying for attention that would never come.”

Miranda felt a sting in her eyes as she replayed those images in her mind.

“The first thing I felt was betrayal. This was my replacement. They hadn’t been able to improve upon my DNA yet, despite their best efforts, so they just made another one. And this was her. A genetic identical. A ‘do-over’. Well, actually, they made several. Like me, Ori was just the only one lucky enough to survive the element zero exposure - although, unlike me, she didn’t get biotics out of it,

“What did it say about my father that this was how I found her? She and I, we were the culmination of his life’s work. We should have been his most prized possessions. But then look at how he treated me my whole life. And he was already doing the same to her. The only reason she wasn’t dead was because there were machines there to perform the absolute bare minimum functions to keep her alive, so that she could be the next phase of the experiment,

“Neither of us had ever been, or would ever be daughters to him. My father wasn’t, and still isn’t capable of that. There is not a single shred of anything resembling love or kindness in Henry Lawson’s heart. He is devoid of anything right, or good, or redeeming--”

Miranda had to stop herself then, pulling both her hands away to wipe beneath her eyes. This was more raw than she had ever been with another person.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“Please do not apologise,” Samara implored her, beyond moved by everything she had heard so far. She reached out, but stopped just short of touching Miranda’s cheek, as if uncertain whether she would want her to.

“I feel so stupid,” Miranda cursed herself. It didn’t happen very often, but she hated the way it felt when her eyes burned with tears. It was a horrible fucking feeling. An alien sensation. Like she was stricken with some disease. Or like something inside her was broken. How the fuck did anyone find this cathartic?

“You are not,” Samara assured her, holding Miranda’s gaze, letting both hands fall atop her knees, compelling Miranda to look at her, and be with her in that moment. “Need I remind you, I came to you. I have chosen to be here.”

“Why?” Miranda asked, still not understanding why Samara of all people deigned to put up with her when she was at her most useless and pathetic.

At that question, Samara’s stoic expression faltered. “...Do you have to ask this of me? Do you not know?” she said quietly, her voice barely louder than a whisper. It was almost as if it hurt her to think that, after all this time, Miranda still didn’t honestly believe deep down in her heart that Samara cared about her.

Upon hearing that in her voice, Miranda knew that question had been unfair. Samara deserved better than that. And, after all, didn’t Miranda already know the answer to that question? Samara was here for Miranda when she needed her for the exact same reason Miranda had been there for Samara in the past. 

Because she wanted to be.

Miranda took a moment, her thumb and forefinger running across her eyelids, and meeting at the bridge of her nose. “This is hard for me to talk about,” she confessed, her voice breaking, knowing she hadn’t even reached the most difficult part. She didn’t know if she would even be able to get through this.

“I understand,” said Samara, giving her as much time and space as she needed.

Miranda drew a deep breath, and willed herself to keep going, keeping her eyes closed beneath her fingers, unable to even look at Samara as she went on.

“So, as I was standing there, hearing glass explode around me in the flames, having only just discovered this baby even existed...I knew I didn’t have long, but I had to spare her from whatever came next. If I left her, she would die in the fire, or she would be deemed a ‘failure’ and be killed, or she would go through exactly the same thing that I had gone through with my father. None of those outcomes were acceptable. But I hadn’t planned for her. I couldn’t take her with me.”

Miranda hesitated, a single tear escaping and falling down her cheek.

“For a split-second, I thought...well, I have this thing in my hand, and the most merciful thing I could do for her is…quickly and painlessly…” Miranda couldn’t even say the words, “...And I really did think about it. I was going to...”

The fact that it had even crossed her mind, however briefly, was the one thing in Miranda’s life that she had never truly been able to forgive herself for, no matter how many years passed. It made her feel sick to her stomach.

Oriana didn’t even know. But Miranda would never be able to make that up to her.

Never.

“But I couldn’t.” Miranda shook her head, her breaths coming shallower. “I just couldn’t. Something inside of me just...physically wouldn’t let me. And I felt...I felt something I’d never felt before. A compulsion so powerful I’ve never felt it since. It was like my heart exploded in my chest. And I didn’t even have control over myself. The next thing I knew, I just put the gun away. And I took her,

“All I could think was, if I could just get her out of there, then she would have a chance at everything I never had. And the moment I had that thought, it was as if I didn’t have a choice. I had to do everything in my power to make that happen. It became the only thing that mattered to me, even more than my own life,

“So I opened the incubator, and wrapped her in my jacket. And the second I touched her, she just...looked at me, and she stopped crying.”

Miranda went silent for several, long seconds, fixed on the memory of the first time she’d seen her sister’s face. The first moment she felt that connection between them. A moment that changed her forever.

She exhaled, willing her voice to stop shaking. 

“I didn’t read anything into it. I assumed the reason she stopped was because she’d never felt a human touch before, and was just surprised, but...I said to her, ‘I’m going to get you out of here. You’ll be safe with me. I promise,’

“Just as soon as I took her, I heard voices behind me. I didn’t look back. I bashed open the grate and got inside the vent as quick as I could. None of my father’s men could follow me through a space that small. I don’t know how long I was in there. But it felt like an eternity. I don’t know how I didn’t fall,

“When I got to the surface, I remember seeing searchlights in the dark. Either they hadn’t figured out where I was, or they just hadn’t made it out of the lab in time to beat me there. I had a whole route memorised in my brain. You can’t even comprehend how big my father’s compound was. The gardens had an actual, literal maze as one of the features. I tried to hide from them in there,

“Amid all the people searching for me, I carelessly wandered into a trip beam for the outdoor alarm system at one point. Spotlights fixed on me immediately. That’s when I heard my father over the loudspeaker ordering his men to shoot me. And they were live rounds. I could tell. But, if nothing else, all that training made me a lot faster and more agile than any of his men. I shot a few rounds blindly behind me to force them to take cover. That must have worked. And I lost them again,

“The only way I could get outside the walls was through a drain. Believe me, a lot of water went into those gardens. I jumped into the drainage ditch, and the water went up to about here.” Miranda put one hand at the point where her hip became indistinguishable from her abdomen. “Niket had already loosened the grate for me ahead of time. All I had to do was move it. And...I was out,

“I have never in my life run as fast as I ran then. I knew they wouldn’t be far behind me. I could hear them. Including my father. Niket had left a skycar for me in a hidden location nearby, where nobody would ever find it by accident. I got in, and I put my sister down beside me, and I said to her, ‘If we get shot down, I just want you to know, I don’t regret trying to save you. These last few minutes have been more freedom than I’ve ever known in my whole life’,

“I can still hear the bullets bouncing off the hull as we flew away. But that was it. That was my last memory of home, and the last time I saw my father.”

Samara visibly held back her own emotions as Miranda recounted the most pivotal day of her life. Miranda had long intellectually understood that feeling what others felt was something that came naturally to empathetic people, and Samara (as composed as she was) was definitely that. If anything, that response meant more from her precisely because she was usually so stoic.

It seemed clear that her restraint, in this case, was not born out of any desire to hide what she was feeling, or any shame at being seen in such a state, but rather came purely because Miranda was her priority in that moment, and she did not wish to detract, however unintentionally, from her and her feelings.

“I know it cannot have been long before you were separated from your sister,” said Samara, her voice calm, level and soothing. Her unwavering demeanour was oddly comforting. “I am sorry. That must have been very difficult for you.”

“It was,” Miranda confirmed. “She had never been part of the plan. I didn’t even know she existed until I found her. I was supposed to be off world with my fake ID immediately. But, with her, I couldn’t do that. I had a little money, but not much, and everything can be traced with enough effort so I was scared to use what I had. Once that money ran out, I had no plan for how to feed her, or clothe her, or care for her. And I was afraid that asking for help would attract attention.”

For a short while, though, she had really tried. They may have been genetically twins, but Miranda was old enough to be her mother. Teen mothers may have been a rarity in the twenty-second century, but they were certainly not unheard of.

The only problem with that idea was that Miranda barely knew how to take care of herself in light of how she had been raised, let alone a baby.

She shivered as she thought on those days. “I remember, this one night, I had bought us a room in a hotel with these...ludicrous purple walls. We never stayed in the same place twice, but this room, I remember. Because, for whatever reason, that night she just...would not stop crying. And not just crying, she was bloody screaming her head off. And I didn’t know why. I didn’t know what I was doing wrong. Whatever I tried to calm her down...nothing worked. I didn’t know if she was sick and going to die, and I was terrified that people would come and take her away from me if they heard her screaming like that. And I just...for the first time I can remember, I broke down and bawled my fucking eyes out until the sun rose. Because that was the point where I realised I couldn’t do this,

“I knew that, even if I managed to get her off-world with me, my father wouldn’t stop looking for us on Earth. He would follow us. We would always be in danger. And I had no means to care for her. Even if I did, how could I work? Who would I leave her with? I didn’t know anyone I could trust,

“...Until I remembered this man my father had spoken to two years earlier, who was an affiliate of Cerberus. English expat named Alan. He had said The Illusive Man was looking for ‘exceptional individuals’ like me. They knew who I was, and what I was. And, even though my father donated to Cerberus, I knew they had never returned the favour - they never funded his cloning research, probably because he was always so cagey about sharing any data with them,

“I knew it was a risk, but I didn’t have anyone else to turn to. I remembered enough about Alan to know his name and what company he ran. And, because he remembered me too, I was able to get in contact with him. I told him that I wanted to offer my services to Cerberus, in exchange for them helping me get my sister off world. I said I wanted them to make her disappear, and put her safely into the hands of a normal, loving family. So long as they kept their end of that bargain, they would have my undivided loyalty. And that was all it took.”

And that promise was kept, along with everything Cerberus promised. Oriana grew up with some fine, spacer parents, who were coincidentally of Australian origin themselves. Miranda watched over her, and her brilliantly, boringly normal life, seeing her grow from a happy child into a smart, popular teenager, and a well-adjusted adult. It was why Miranda trusted Cerberus so much.

“The woman who took her from me was very nice about it. In truth, other than Niket, she was the first person I ever met who had been kind to me. But that...that was the first time in my life that I remember crying. Really crying. The day that it hit me that I wasn’t fit to take care of her, when I knew that I had to give her up.”

And, nineteen years later, Miranda had tears in her eyes when she finally met her sister again, speaking to her for the first time at Shepard’s urging on Illium. She wasn’t kidding when she said Oriana was the only thing that ever brought that out of her. Such raw, intense emotion. Such...humanity.

Miranda had gone to Oriana that day to let her know she was loved, and she had done exactly that, but she had received something so much greater in return.

For nineteen years, Miranda had known what it meant to love someone. But it wasn't until then, at the age of thirty-five, that she finally knew what it felt like to have someone out there in the galaxy who truly and unconditionally loved her back.

Holding Oriana as a child had given Miranda purpose. But holding her again all those years later as an adult had given Miranda something far greater.

Family.

“You may not have been ready to take care of a child then,” Samara began. “But you were certainly an excellent sister to her, as you have been ever since.”

Miranda’s lips couldn’t find the strength to quirk, not even into the faintest shadow of a smile. “Thank you,” she said. If doing right by Oriana was the one thing that she ever managed to do with her life, then it justified her entire existence.

Giving Oriana up was, unequivocally, the hardest thing Miranda had ever done, before or since. Experiencing unconditional love for the first time, only to be forced by circumstance to give it up a few short days later. And yet, at the same time, it had been the only thing she could do. Because the real, selfless love she felt for Oriana didn’t allow Miranda to do the selfish thing. Not when it came to her.

She sighed and rubbed one eye with the corresponding palm. “Ah, god, how long have I been rambling at you about this?”

“As long as you needed to,” Samara answered with unfeigned warmth and compassion. “I cannot stress how much I appreciate you speaking of this to me. I know it was not easy for you, and that you do not share your burdens with others lightly. Everything you have told me, I treat with the greatest respect.”

“I know you do,” said Miranda. Even on the pane of death, Samara would never divulge anything told to her in confidence. Nobody ever needed to doubt that.

“Do you feel better for having spoken of it?” Samara asked.

Miranda stopped for a moment. “...Strangely, yes,” she acknowledged.

In retrospect, it now made sense why the incident with the Archer brothers had been so...for lack of a better word, ‘triggering’ for those past traumatic events. And, for as much of an emotional rollercoaster as it had been to relive the most mentally scarring day of her life, at least she had gotten to the point in her story where she and Oriana got their happy ending, reunited at long last.

“Then I am glad,” said Samara. That was all she wanted to achieve by coming here as she had, if it had been at all possible to do so.

“You’re not going now, are you?” Miranda asked, audibly disappointed. After all, when Miranda entered a conversation with a specific purpose in mind, she would generally leave immediately after accomplishing that goal.

“No.” Samara shook her head, hoping she had not unintentionally conveyed that impression. “I will stay for as long as you would like me here.”

“Would you stay forever?” Miranda wearily remarked. Samara hesitated, as if caught off guard by that. “I’m joking,” Miranda told her, assuaging Samara’s fears that she had to answer that question seriously.

Samara uttered something that sounded faintly like a chuckle. “My offer remains,” she replied. It was funny how something as simple as that kind twinkle in Samara’s eye was enough to make Miranda feel so much less vulnerable, despite the fact that this was the most she’d ever let her guard down. Ever.

Miranda exhaled heavily, running both hands through her hair as she leaned back, her head hitting the pillow behind her. She had no idea that the simple act of talking could be so exhausting. But, then again, it did feel like she’d just run an obstacle course through every single emotion she’d ever felt in her entire life, so maybe that explained it. No wonder she needed a moment to recover.

She heard movement, and felt Samara shift off of the bed, moving to stand by the window, almost like she was keeping a vigil at her side.

“Miranda?” Samara broke the silence after a minute or two. Miranda moved one hand just enough to allow an eye to open. “I am proud of you.”

Miranda arched an eyebrow in questioning.

“Of the decisions you made then. Of the woman you are now. And that you were courageous enough to be so open with me,” Samara elaborated.

“...You know, I think that’s the first time anyone has ever said that to me,” Miranda commented. And, if anyone else had, then it hit differently coming from someone, firstly, whose opinion she held in such high esteem and, secondly, who she knew wouldn’t have said that unless she damn well meant it.

“Then those people were unworthy of you,” Samara responded with stark honesty, and a terseness to her tone that Miranda had never heard before.

With her half-open eye, Miranda silently studied Samara’s expression. It took a few seconds for her to recognise that unyielding flame she bore. Now that Miranda had finished speaking, Samara no longer simply felt sorry for what she had gone through. No. She was angry about it - angry that people had treated Miranda that way, livid that they had made her even for a second feel as though she were worthless, and furious that they had seen so little value in her that they were prepared to dispose of her like she wasn’t even a living being.

That, she could evidently not abide.

Had she not known the reason for it and so agreed with the sentiment, it would have been a little intimidating to see Samara so righteously pissed off, even if the average person might have only perceived her as her usual, guarded self. 

“That I ever dared compare you to the people in your father’s employ...” Samara trailed off, staring out into the void, her body tense. She hadn’t known Miranda’s full story at the time, but now that she did, she looked like she wanted to tear herself apart for letting those words leave her lips. “I apologise unreservedly.”

“You weren’t wrong, though,” Miranda acknowledged. When it came to Cerberus, she had been on the same path. She could have easily been complicit in the same, if not worse atrocities than were done to her as a child.

“No.” Samara turned to face her, stalwart conviction shining in her eyes. “I have never been more wrong. You are nothing like them. You are so far above them, and they are so far beneath you...the people who hurt you do not even deserve to breathe the same air as you,” Samara stated firmly, staring Miranda dead in her eyes, as if daring her to find a single shred of falsity or exaggeration in her gaze, because she knew that Miranda would find none. “I hope you know that.”

Miranda blinked, taken aback by the severity and seriousness of her response. Not having the strength to fight Samara on the validity of her past criticisms, which Miranda still thought were fair, all she said was, “Apology accepted.”

Satisfied with that answer, Samara folded her arms, and faced the void.

Miranda wouldn’t say it out loud, but it was weirdly kind of validating to see someone else react that way to her story. Whether it was intentional or not, it was almost like a reassuring acknowledgement in the back of her mind, saying, ‘See? You aren’t crazy, and you aren’t overreacting by not being able to let go of what your father did to you so many years ago. You actually are justified.’

Plus, on an entirely selfish level, part of her definitely enjoyed knowing that, in the very unlikely event Samara and Henry Lawson ever happened to cross paths after this day, Samara wouldn’t hesitate to fucking kill him.

* * *

It had been two weeks and a day since she identified the bodies. Writing to Ashley’s family and sending them the dog tags hadn’t been easy, but she’d done it. She’d personally given the letter to some contacts Jacob had within the Alliance from his days as a Corsair, so she knew it would get there.

She didn’t know when a response would come, but she wasn’t looking forward to it when it did.

Monday to Friday had been spent working, as usual. If nothing else, it was a reassuring constant.

Saturday, she had paid a visit to Jack. “What are we, fuckin’ wacky sitcom neighbours now?” Jack had complained when she showed up, signalling that things were back to whatever this new normal was between them.

Despite her initial reaction, Jack hadn’t otherwise objected to her presence. She actually felt up to going outside that day, to the extent that she was able to, so Miranda had walked with her and given her the lay of the land, including where her own apartment was. “If you ever want to stop by while I’m at work, feel free. I know your students usually visit you during that time, anyway, but--”

“Yeah. I get it. Thanks,” Jack brusquely cut her off. Even though they were so far sticking to their word to try and turn over a new leaf with each other, evidently she could still only take so much of Miranda being genuine towards her before it weirded her out.

Miranda didn’t feel the need to point it out but, for her own part, she had yet to be anything other than civil with Jack. It had not been fully reciprocated yet, but that was not unexpected.

Jack’s medical condition was an unusual one. Mainly because no human had ever suffered from it before. They actually had to go to the asari for aid to get insight on similar situations. Apparently it had been recorded within their species before that massive exertions of phenomenal biotic power in life-or-death situations could cause physical damage similar to what Jack had suffered, and it had been noted that such events could also cause a temporary ‘burnout’ of biotic abilities. Certainly, at the moment, Jack couldn’t so much as move a glass with her mind, nor was she to try to as the effort would only lead to migraine.

It was hard to put a timeline on it, but she was expected to be back to normal within a few months. Until then, she would have to take her headaches and fatigue day by day. Some days, she would barely have the strength to walk from one side of the apartment to the other. Other days, she would feel mostly fine.

On Sunday, Miranda had gone off to spend some time on her own. It turned out that her quiet spots where she hid at night when the tinnitus was too much to bear were just as isolated in the day as well. She tried to clear her mind, and not think about anything for a while, with limited success.

On Monday, it was back to work.

Oriana kept sending bad jokes as she thought of them over the course of the week. The latest one was, “How many colony developers does it take to screw in a lightbulb? Three. One to hold a committee meeting to decide whether screwing in a lightbulb is an efficient allocation of resources, one to raise rates on the colonists to fund the lightbulb replacement, and one to hire a private contractor to finally screw in the lightbulb five years after you needed it.” 

Obviously things were going well at her job.

Miranda appreciated every message she got from her, but she still hadn’t had the heart to respond. Not just yet. Oriana would be able to tell something was wrong if she talked to her in her current state, even via text. She would just know. She would sense it, no matter how many lightyears away she was. And it was better not to talk to her than risk burdening her with her current troubles.

Throughout it all, it wasn’t lost on Miranda that the students were, suffice it to say, aware that Miranda hadn’t been acting the same these past two weeks. She couldn’t really tell the difference from her own perspective. She always buried herself in work. And she was always always rather detached, serious and quiet. But, for whatever reason, the students somehow just seemed to know that dark cloud was there, hanging over her head.

Maybe she was acting just different enough that they could tell. Or maybe it was the fact that the deaths of her friends hadn’t changed her behaviour at all that caused them to be concerned about her.

They didn’t openly express any worry. But they weren’t treating her as they normally did. Weren’t teasing her, or prodding at her, or trying to get a rise out of her. They were being...polite and respectful.

Miranda would never have predicted it, nor would she admit it, but she had actually started to miss the former. Just a little bit.

It was pretty late by the time Miranda got home from work that day. It was now November, so it was getting dark early, and it was colder than Miranda preferred. She took off her scarf and put her keys down when she came inside.

“Pardon me, Miss?” Prangley began.

“Yes, Jason?” Miranda inquired, too preoccupied to notice the somewhat awkward manner in which Jack’s students were gathered together in the living area. Why was it so cold in there?

“We're, uh...we're not entirely sure,” he admitted with a shrug, glancing over his shoulder towards the balcony outside. “She wouldn't tell us anything. Just that she wanted to see you. I get the feeling we couldn't have kept her out if we tried.”

At that, Miranda blinked and glanced up, suddenly paying more attention. “She?” Miranda echoed. “Who are you talking about?”

Miranda didn’t know it, but to the kids, that reaction was the first glimpse of the Miranda they knew they'd been able to get out of her in two weeks.

“I don’t know, but it’s not often an asari matriarch drops in unannounced,” Reiley remarked, scratching the side of his head. Miranda’s heart stopped. She couldn’t believe her ears. It couldn’t be. “I hope this isn’t some kind of mix up. It’ll be pretty embarrassing if she's got the wrong address.”

Miranda didn’t even hear the rest of his comment, much less respond to it. She didn’t say so much as another word to her wards, taking hold of her cane and marching straight towards the balcony, needing to see if it was her.

As soon as she got close enough to see outside, there was no mistaking it. Samara stood there beyond the open doorway, hands clasped behind her back, her posture upright and rigid, staring out over the ruined city that lay before her.

The second she saw her, Miranda halted in her tracks, unable to take another step. It was as if time stood still. And yet her pulse was pounding so fast.

Sensing that she was being watched, Samara turned to look over her shoulder.

Their eyes met.

Miranda wasn’t sure whose breath caught first, hers or Samara’s. For a long moment, they both just stared, Miranda frozen by the doorway, Samara motionless on the balcony, both of them scarcely able to believe that this was no illusion.

Micro expressions flitted across pale blue features. The night concealed much, but Miranda could have sworn she saw Samara’s eyes glisten with unshed tears. 

“The last time I saw you...” Samara glanced down, unable to finish the thought. But, before long, a small smile unfolded across her lips. Miranda was there. Her fears had not come to pass. “...Truly, you never cease to amaze me.”

A faint laugh of astonishment and disbelief escaped Miranda as she stepped out onto the balcony, sliding the door shut behind her. “You don't call, you don't write,” she remarked, mostly in jest, moving to stand beside her in the cold night air, resting her arm on the railing. Honestly, Samara had been absent so long that Miranda had begun to suspect she would never return. “I suppose I did get your message, but you could at least have sent flowers.”

“My apologies,” said Samara, politely tilting her head in acknowledgement that the manner of her parting had been...less than ideal. “From what I have gathered, by the time you regained consciousness, I was already far from here. I could not linger when suffering was so widespread. The Code demanded that I go where I could assist. But I would not blame you if you do not forgive me for leaving,” she answered. She never made excuses, but those were her reasons.

“In light of the fact you saved my life, I think we can call it even,” Miranda commented, though her expression soon faltered, her features becoming a little more sombre and sincere. It had hurt for Samara to vanish as suddenly as she had, but it seemed so stupid to say that now that she was finally here.

She’d wanted this so badly for so long. It had almost driven her crazy at times, fixating on Samara’s absence as much as she had. And, now that she was here, she found it impossible to be angry with her, even if she ought to have been.

She was here. She was finally here. Not just in London, but here. With her. Where she should have been. And, even though there was about three feet of space between them, she was close enough that Miranda could have sworn she felt the warmth of Samara’s presence even through her jacket.

“You look well,” said Samara, genuinely glad to see the extent of her progress. Were it anyone other than Miranda she was speaking to, the rate at which she'd bounced back would have been astonishing, if not outright impossible.

Miranda snorted. “I look like I was nearly killed in a shuttle explosion. But I don't mind the scars, or the arm. Could have been a lot worse.” Miranda hesitated then, her fingers tensing around her cane as her tone turned serious. “I know I stopped breathing three times after you rescued me. If you hadn't...” She trailed off, not sure she wanted to reflect on just how close she'd come to death. There had been too much of that lately.

“Yes. I know. Far too well.” Miranda briefly glanced at her, and saw Samara staring ahead into the night, scant city lights reflecting against unfocused eyes. She seemed...preoccupied. Troubled, even. “The first time the medics told me you were not breathing was right as they took you out of my arms after I carried you to them. They revived you in the transport on the way to the hospital.”

“Mmm. Jacob told me about that after I woke up,” Miranda uttered in response. 

Come to think of it, until just now, it had never really occurred to her how Samara must have felt in that moment. For a while, at least, Samara might well have believed she had felt the last of Miranda’s life force slip away in her hands.

A secondary thought tiptoed into Miranda’s mind. Something else Jacob had told her in the same conversation that had never sat right with her.

“Did you really threaten doctors that you would consider it attempted murder if they took me off life support?” Miranda asked, audibly sceptical. She’d long since assumed it must have been some sort of misunderstanding or exaggeration on Jacob’s part. It didn’t strike her as something Samara would do.

Samara didn’t answer, nor did her expression change.

Miranda interpreted her silence. “You know what? Forget I asked,” she said, regretting even bringing it up. Of course Samara wouldn’t threaten doctors. The entire purpose of The Code was to protect innocent people, not harm them.

“They did discuss it with Jacob and myself. Your condition had barely changed for several days. And you were very ill. They had lost faith that there was any prospect that you...” Samara couldn’t seem to bring herself to say it. “It was after that conversation that I...recorded that message you saw. When I left, I did not think...I was not certain you would recover,” Samara confessed, with a heavy heart. There was no mistaking how much that dark thought must have plagued her in the intervening weeks. “Every day I spent elsewhere, I thought...”

“Thought what?” Miranda prompted when Samara trailed off.

Samara blinked out of her daze and shook her head, quickly banishing whatever imaginings had distracted her. “That is not important now. What matters is that you are alright. You survived where most would have perished, and for that I truly cannot express how thankful I am. Though it saddens me to learn the same cannot be said of some of our former comrades.”

“Mmm.” Miranda's gaze dropped to the ground, swallowing as she leaned on the bannister. “I can't say I didn't expect it. Surviving with all of us intact was never going to be an option. I'm not a believer in miracles, by any means, but we're lucky that even the four of us made it,” Miranda explained, sounding more like she was trying to convince herself than anything, unable to help but feel a pang in her chest at the knowledge that she wouldn't even get to bury most of them. They were all just...particles, somewhere in space. “I assume you know about Jack.”

“Jacob told me where I can find her. I intend to visit her later,” Samara confirmed. Miranda secretly hoped Samara didn't know everything - that she'd very nearly gotten Jack killed by not trusting her own judgement. She could never have forgiven herself if she had left her behind, trapped beneath that building. Especially knowing they would never find anyone else. “There are no others?”

“There's Wrex from the original Normandy. He made it out in one piece. You probably already knew that. But from our lot? No. Just you, Jacob, Jack and I,” Miranda answered, silently counting the missing among the fallen. “I, um...I found Zaeed and Grunt. Javik and Ashley Williams from the SR-3 as well,” she broke the news, unable to raise her head, their fates an uncomfortable burden to bear. “...I can take you to where they're buried, if you would like to pay your respects.”

Samara's face fell. It wasn't clear whether that was because she didn't know before Miranda told her, or because she felt a sense of shame and regret for leaving Miranda to shoulder that alone. “I will do that before I go.”

Miranda swallowed, brushing a stray lock of hair out of her eye. “One more thing. The ship where Kasumi was stationed to work on the Crucible...it didn't make it. It was too close to a relay, and...” She didn't finish that sentence, letting the implication speak for itself.

“...I am sorry to hear that,” Samara said honestly. Another life, another friend, confirmed lost. She paused, and glanced back at Miranda. “Are you alright?” 

“Yeah, I'm fine,” Miranda assured her, straightening up a little more.

Samara just stared at her, with silent compassion and understanding. Miranda didn't have to say anything. And Samara would never press her on it, respecting her space, but...she knew damn well that Miranda wasn't coping with this as well as she wanted everyone to think. Or even as well as she had no doubt tried to convince herself she was.

At that unspoken realisation, Miranda slumped forwards and uttered a humourless laugh, barely louder than a whisper, leaning more of her weight against the railing. “What can I say? Everyone's gone, Samara,” Miranda admitted, finally acknowledging it out loud. As much as she wanted to pretend the Normandy SR-3 was still out there somewhere, they would have heard from them by now if it was. Besides, finding Javik and Ashley had all but sealed it. She wasn't an idiot. She couldn't deny it forever. “Everyone's gone.”

“Not everyone,” Samara quietly replied, holding her gaze. “Not you.”

“I came pretty close,” Miranda murmured. The fact that she had lived where others died had been circling through her mind a lot lately, whether she wanted it to or not. Her survival in the war had come down to mere millimetres. If the bullet that hit her in the eye penetrated just a little deeper. If the red glare of the Reaper had moved just one degree counter-clockwise. If she’d landed on her neck when the shuttle crashed. If the infection had spread just a little further. If Samara had found her just a little later.

The truth was, Miranda hadn’t earned the right to be there in that moment anymore than the people who had perished. She didn’t deserve to live anymore than those who died. It had all come down to chance. Well, chance and genetic engineering, neither of which were her own doing. It was hard to feel like anything other than a thief, in a way - like, by avoiding what should have been certain death, she’d stolen time from others that didn’t truly belong to her.

“I keep thinking…” Miranda began, almost unconsciously seeking to give voice to thoughts she had never spoken aloud. She caught herself, hesitating, wondering whether it was too much to worry Samara with her morbid musings.

But, then, this was Samara. The one person she’d always been able to talk to honestly about anything. The person she’d opened up to about things she’d never told anyone else. The person who knew sides of her that nobody else knew, and probably never would. Not even Oriana.

She swallowed, and decided to continue.

“I keep thinking that I should be able to take the way I feel about losing everyone and channel it into...I don’t know, something fucking productive,” Miranda said, audibly frustrated with herself. “But there’s just...nothing. Nothing good is coming from this. There’s nothing I can do. And I can’t even see what it was all for. Did any of their deaths really matter? Did any of them truly die in a way that was ‘worth it’? Or is that just a comforting lie we tell ourselves?”

Samara considered her words for a long moment before breaking the silence.

“May I be honest with you?” Samara asked.

“Have you ever not been?” Miranda remarked in response. Samara didn’t reply to that. Assuming she was still waiting for her permission, Miranda eventually signalled for her to go ahead. After a few more seconds, Samara began to speak.

“In my own experience, the notion that grief can be transformed into something else - something that motivates you and drives you...that is a flagrant lie. It never happens,” Samara stated starkly. “Anger at losing someone, perhaps. A sense of injustice. Your love for that person. Even regret. But not grief. Even if channelled through some outlet, grief is never transformed into anything else. It remains as it is. An emptiness. A heavy hollowness. A missing piece that can never be replaced. A hole that never goes away, and never fully heals,” Samara spoke solemnly, her words carrying the weight of a long and painful life.

When Miranda looked at her then, she lost any semblance of the words she intended to say. In that achingly raw, real and honest moment, it was as if she was seeing Samara for the very first time. The warmth she felt from Samara’s proximity grew so hot that it began to burn. Everywhere that heat touched set Miranda's nerves on fire. Suddenly, it took great effort even to breathe.

Standing there in Samara's striking aura, it was as if that numbing sensation Miranda had carried with her recently - that diminishment - was not only stripped away, but flipped to its inverse. It was as if the world around her had never been so intensely tangible and corporeal as it was in that instant. Like she had never seen the colours and textures around her in such vivid detail. Like she was hearing sound at frequencies beyond the audible human range. Like she could feel the contours of every single atom and molecule beneath her fingertips.

And all because, for seemingly no reason at all, she had looked at Samara in a whole new light. Let her eye fall upon her in a way it had never gazed upon her before. And, now that she had, she was totally and utterly mesmerised by her.

“Forgive me,” Samara broke the silence.

Miranda shook her head, rattled by her thoughts and...whatever the hell it was about Samara in that moment that had left her temporarily spellbound. “What?”

“I know my words were not comforting,” Samara admitted. “For that, I apologise.”

“Oh.” A small smile crossed Miranda’s lips as she tried to hastily forget what had just happened and jump back onto the original train of the conversation, ignoring the flush of heat coursing through her veins. “No, actually. I’m glad you said it,” she quietly confessed. “In a weird way, it’s the first thing anybody’s said that’s made what I’ve been going through lately seem...normal.”

“It is. Whatever you are feeling, it is. There is no correct way to grieve,” Samara assured her. And she would know. “It may be futile to ask this of you, but please be gentler to yourself. Knowing you as I do, I have no doubt that you are doing the best you can given the circumstances. That is all anyone can ask of you.”

“Thank you,” said Miranda, not sure why she felt so on edge all of a sudden. She was never nervous around Samara. Or around anyone, for that matter. “Sorry for rambling at you about this. Ugh. I’m thirty-six years old and I sound like a child experiencing loss for the first time.”

“I did not lose anyone I truly cared about until I was over four hundred years old. When my mother died. So you are far ahead of me, if that is the measure,” Samara responded, putting matters into perspective. “Would that you were not. Inevitable though it may be, I would not wish loss upon anyone.”

Miranda swallowed heavily, keeping her gaze fixed on her fingers for a moment. She wasn’t sure how to respond to that. For a moment, she wasn’t sure if she remembered how to speak like a normal human person at all. What the hell was wrong with her all of a sudden? Why was she acting like this?

This was Samara. Samara. The one person she felt truly comfortable around, even at her very worst. So why did it feel like her skin could just jump clean off her body at any moment? Why did she already feel so naked and exposed?

“Jacob must have pointed you in my direction. He isn't joining us?” asked Miranda, electing to move to a lighter topic of conversation. Whatever was going on, she could at least have the decency to not let it affect her, or how she acted.

“I extended the offer, but he declined. He said he wished to respect our space and give us some time to speak privately, but I believe he finds the prospect of the two of us in each other's company rather disconcerting,” Samara answered. Her expression was always calm, collected and difficult to read, but Miranda interpreted that look as vague amusement.

“Sounds like him,” Miranda replied. Jacob may have been about the closest thing she’d ever had to a conventional best friend, but they were very different people. It made them a good team, but they also frustrated each other to no end at times.

“Whatever his reasons may have been, I am grateful for it,” Samara admitted, a fondness in her tone. So was Miranda. It gave them the chance to be alone, like they used to be. She'd missed that. Evidently, she wasn't the only one. “He also informed me that you contacted Falere on my behalf,” Samara continued, catching Miranda's eye. “I thank you.”

“I wouldn't have had to if you had just contacted her yourself,” Miranda pointed out. Sure, Samara had her Code to explain her actions, but in all seriousness at times it seemed more like a convenient justification for Samara's evasiveness than the definitive cause of it. Unless the Code had some rules against calls, texts and emails that Miranda didn’t know about.

Come to think of it, Samara’s disappearing act reminded Miranda of herself when she'd been on the run from Cerberus more than anything else.

“She’s probably still waiting to hear from you,” said Miranda, quietly searching for cues in Samara's unyielding exterior that would signal her intentions. “If you wanted to write to her, or even call her, I could easily arrange it,” she pointed out, subtly urging her to follow her heart and make contact with Falere, much as Shepard had done for Miranda when she'd rescued Oriana on Illium.

Samara bowed her head slightly, a momentary flash of sorrow creeping into her expression. “In time,” was all she said.

Miranda understood that sentiment. Or at least she thought she did. Their circumstances weren't entirely dissimilar. Both of them had only just reclaimed those relationships once thought lost forever; a chance at a new start with the one person they loved most. And self-deceit was the only thing keeping it from sinking in that it was entirely plausible that they might never be reunited. In spite of everything they'd fought for, in spite of outlasting all the odds, in spite of snatching victory from the jaws of defeat and saving the galaxy from annihilation, the one thing that they had nearly given their lives to protect might still be denied to them.

Their family.

If it weren't for the fact that Miranda refused to accept that possibility, it would have broken her heart. Never holding Oriana again. Never having that life together she'd worked so hard to make possible. Losing her would have drained her of everything she lived for.

So, yes, unless she was missing some important piece of the puzzle, Miranda knew all too well what Samara was feeling, and why talking to Falere was touching on too many raw, tumultuous emotions at that moment in time.

“Oh. I almost forgot,” Samara rather abruptly broke the silence, calling Miranda out of her thoughts. Samara extended her hand, holding out a small keychain shaped like Blasto the Hanar Spectre. “I promised to return this to you when next we met.”

Recognising it, Miranda couldn’t help but laugh. She’d completely forgotten about that before now. It was a cheap trinket she’d won at the arcade the last time she and Samara were on the Citadel together, when Shepard threw that party. That felt like a lifetime ago, even though it had only been three months.

“You do know that was a gift, right?” Miranda said through a chuckle.

Samara blinked, hesitant. “Justicars--”

“Eschew personal possessions. I know,” Miranda finished before Samara could. It was exactly what she’d told Miranda when she had first offered it to her. She thought they had resolved this dilemma the first time they had this conversation. “If your tenets require me to say that it’s still technically mine, then fine. It’s mine. But I insist that you hang onto it for me indefinitely. Does that work?”

“It…” Samara paused, evidently more than a little torn on the matter. Miranda would never understand how something so insignificant could be a breach of her Code. But, on the other hand, Miranda couldn’t fault Samara’s tireless dedication to her discipline. She didn’t cut corners. She didn’t cheat. She was who she was - what she had sworn to be. And that was nothing if not deeply admirable. “...I suppose that would be acceptable,” Samara eventually answered, with some slight hesitation, running her thumb over the keychain.

“I mean, unless you hate carrying that stupid thing around,” Miranda added offhandedly. She hadn’t considered that possibility.

“No,” Samara hastily assured her, not wishing to create that impression. “Of course I do not.”

Miranda couldn’t help but muster a smile at that response. Honestly, it was kind of incredible how a woman who was nearly a thousand years old, and who had experienced so much, could still have the capacity to demonstrate such pure, unfeigned innocence and earnestness. It wasn’t often that it showed, but Miranda had always liked that about Samara whenever it did.

“Then, please, keep it. Do this, in memory of when I still had both halves of my face,” Miranda remarked, mock-crossing herself, as if giving Samara her blessing. Samara stared at her blankly, caught in momentary shock. Miranda didn’t take long to realise why. “...Sorry. I forget you’re not used to seeing me like this. It’s fine. I’m in the ‘joking about it’ stage. Have been for a while, actually. You don’t need to…feel awkward about it.”

“No!” Samara interjected again, a little more urgently than the last time, loath to think that she had inadvertently hurt Miranda’s feelings, or made her self-conscious about her injuries. “That is not what…” Samara trailed off, pressing her hand to her forehead in annoyance at herself. “Forgive me. It appears that in this moment I can neither speak nor stay silent without making a fool of myself.”

“You could never appear foolish to me, Samara,” Miranda reassured her, speaking from the heart, so there could be no doubt she meant it.

Samara softened at that, glancing down at the trinket in her palm once more. “...I should not say it, but...in truth, this came to mean a great deal to me,” Samara quietly admitted, earning a raised eyebrow from Miranda. “Because you gave it to me,” Samara explained at her inquiring look. Miranda felt her pulse quicken at those words, the heat suddenly rushing to her cheeks. “It was all I had to remind me of you, when I did not know whether or not you would…”

Miranda couldn’t speak. Her mouth had gone dry. And her throat felt so tight all of a sudden. She had to turn away and cough to clear it.

Fortunately, Samara spoke again before she had to. “You are right. I will keep it. Even if it belongs to you, there is no reason I cannot carry this, if you wish it,” said Samara, mustering a smile as she closed her fingers around the keychain.

“Great. It’ll be our secret,” Miranda replied in a concerted effort to act normal despite feeling anything but, holding a finger to her lips.

Wait a second. Did her voice have a tremor in it, all of a sudden? God, she hoped not. What if Samara heard that? What on Earth was this? Was she sick or something and didn’t know it? Was that why she felt so off-kilter?

“Before either of us get carried away, I must let you know that my stay here will be short,” Samara rather sombrely confessed, aware it was not something Miranda would want to hear. “I do not wish to mislead you into believing otherwise.”

“You didn't; I suspected as much,” said Miranda. She would have been lying if she said it wasn’t disappointing. But at least she’d gotten to talk to her this time before Samara set off again, resuming her ceaseless quest to bring justice to the galaxy. That brought some amount of closure, if nothing else. “Where will you go? Come to think of it, where have you been?”

“Many places. Forgive me, I am not familiar with Earth's regions,” said Samara, powering up the omni-tool on her hand. “I have, however, found it helpful over my years to maintain a record of all my travels. You may be surprised how often it is necessary to know these things, and how easily one forgets,” she remarked with a small quirk of her lips that almost resembled a smirk, activating a holographic map that documented her travels.

“You're kidding.” Miranda stumbled backwards when the incalculably dense web of destinations formed over the hologram of Earth in front of her, her bad leg nearly giving out under her weight before she remembered to grab the railing to keep herself steady. “I'll be damned. You really did get the grand tour,” she commented, genuinely awed by how she'd managed to go literally all the way around the world in under three months. “How did you get to Dunedin?”

“On a ship, from the North Island of New Zealand,” Samara answered, her literalism containing no traces of irony. Miranda suspected Samara knew what she had meant, but was using that sneaky deadpan delivery of hers to play coy. 

“Keep saving those frequent flier miles and you could get back to Thessia at this rate,” Miranda offhandedly remarked. Samara gave her a slightly odd look.

If the Earth could have opened up and swallowed Miranda whole in that moment, she would have let it.

Miranda shook her head in embarrassment, regretting that stupid comment as soon as she had said it. Why did she try to be funny when she wasn’t? “Please remind me never to attempt to make jokes again. That was horrendous.” 

“It is quite alright,” Samara assured her, appreciating the intention, if nothing else. “It is good that you have maintained a sense of humour in these troubled times.”

“I...don't have one. Never have, never will,” Miranda awkwardly replied, letting go of her cane long enough to rub her neck. “But thank you for your tolerance.”

She couldn’t isolate what it was that was making her so anxious around Samara. This was the exact opposite of what it was ordinarily like - usually it put her so at ease just to be in her vicinity. Now, the mere act of existing in Samara’s proximity made her feel like she was tapdancing on hot coals, and they weren’t even standing that close. Inexplicable waves of heightened energy surged through her nervous system every time it felt like Samara shifted a little nearer. It made her heart race just to hear her voice, and to let each word she spoke wash over her.

Why was she feeling this way? What was she feeling?

Why hadn’t it gone away yet?

“For the most part, I have not found it difficult to acquire travel,” Samara explained. “I have found most people quite accommodating in light of these dark and troubled times. They do say adversity breeds camaraderie. And it would seem that quality is uniquely commonplace among your kind,” she said plainly, having developed a great affinity for the human species as a whole.

“Would it dim your view of humanity if I pointed out the locations where I think the Reapers' invasion actually caused several billion credits of improvement?” Miranda asked, hopeful that her dark quip would land that time. Perhaps she was imagining things, but she was pretty sure Samara cracked a smile at her dry remark, recognising the gallows' humour for what it was. Most of Samara’s facial expressions were extremely subtle at the best of times, though.

“The work you have done here is good,” Samara told her, looking out over the slowly recovering city once more. “Your ability and intellect have always been remarkable. Now that you have applied them to a more worthy cause than Cerberus, what you have accomplished is truly admirable,” she said, approving of Miranda's new direction in life. It pleased her to see she had found a path that seemed unlikely to ever put her in conflict with the Code.

“Yes. That's all true,” Miranda matter-of-factly replied, resting her hand on her cane once again. What could she say? Feigned humility had never suited her. “But I could always use help,” she said sincerely. “I could also use a friend. Are you sure I can't persuade you to stick around longer?”

They both knew the answer to that question already. But every part of Miranda really wanted to deny it.

“You cannot, though it is not for anything you lack. Quite the opposite,” Samara replied, earning a wrinkled brow. “Other cities on Earth do not have the benefit of your leadership and oversight. Any contributions I can provide will be limited here. My Code compels me to look for where aid is most needed.”

“...I see,” said Miranda. That explanation was fair enough, she supposed. So why did the thought of Samara's absence leave her feeling so hollow? Why did the thought of Samara going away again make her heart feel like it was contorting into a knot inside her chest? Why did it hurt so badly?

“We will have many chances to speak again before I depart. That would...” Samara paused, internally dismissing whatever she had been about to say. “For now, I fear I have lingered too long unannounced, and taken enough of your time. I can see you are responsible for many others. I would not keep you from it.”

For a split second, something surged inside Miranda – an intense emotional need she couldn't describe. But that ache in her heart couldn't go unspoken. She reached out to touch Samara's hand, covering it where it rested on the balcony, letting her cane fall from her grasp and clatter to the floor at her feet.

“Stay?” The word was softly spoken, a question that carried with it uncharacteristic vulnerability. “Please?” Miranda implored her.

“For how long?” Samara sought clarification, evidently unsure how to decipher Miranda's odd request. “Are you certain I would not be imposing?”

Miranda uttered something that amounted to a short, heavy-hearted laugh. “You know what I mean,” she said. She wasn’t talking about today. She wasn't asking for a few more hours, or even a few more days.

She didn’t want an end date at all.

Samara gazed at her for a long moment, her reserved expression as always difficult to decipher. Whatever her thoughts were, her features did not readily betray them. Miranda didn't know whether she gave the matter any consideration, or if her answer was already as clear as every rational part of her assumed it was. However, maybe it was just an illusion or a trick of the mind but...for a split-second, Miranda was sure that Samara looked conflicted. Even torn.

Samara withdrew her hand. With scarcely more than a thought, she drew Miranda's cane towards herself using her biotics, and extended it to Miranda.

“We each have a role to play in the aftermath of this war. These duties cannot be forsaken,” Samara spoke calmly, placing the walking stick in Miranda's grasp once more, and enclosing her palm around it. With her other hand, she reached out to cup Miranda's cheek, fingers softly brushing the scarred skin beneath her eye-patch. Miranda's breath caught at the contact. It was all she could do not to tremble beneath her touch as a tingling sensation flooded from Samara’s fingertips out to seemingly every single cell inside her body. “It grieves me that our paths do not align. Perhaps that will change in time.”

“...It's okay.” Miranda averted her gaze, willing her voice not to shake under Samara's gentle caress, unable to meet her stare, scarcely able to breathe. She knew little of what Samara's Code entailed, but still she regretted asking her to do something that would require deviating from it. That had been unworthy of her. Even if the non-Justicar part of Samara may have wanted to stay, what place of it was Miranda’s to put her in that difficult position? To ask her to turn away from her vows? “You don't need to explain. I understand responsibility better than most. However, I would like it if I saw you again sooner this time. Or if we stayed in touch while you were away,” she admitted, allowing herself that much.

Samara let her touch linger, grazing Miranda's damaged skin with such gentleness, never once breaking eye contact with her, even if it wasn’t returned. “As would I.”

Much as Miranda might have wanted to, she didn’t dare lift her head. Wasn’t sure she could handle it if she did. It felt like her entire being was disassembling under Samara’s fingertips. And, if Samara couldn’t feel her quivering, then it was a fucking miracle. Her heart was pounding like a drum, and her palm began to perspire against her cane, where it was covered beneath Samara’s left hand.

It wasn’t lost on Miranda that neither of them were the type of people who were entirely comfortable or natural around others. Even small gestures of physical affection were largely alien. They had never so much as hugged each other. A touch of hands here or there was the most they had ever...but that didn’t explain it either. Miranda hadn’t felt anything close to this the last time Samara gently clasped her hand. She’d never reacted this way around her before, or anyone.

Miranda had never felt anything remotely like this before. Ever.

What did it mean?

Miranda had to recoil from her touch just so she could breathe again. Samara didn't resist, nor seem offended, letting her hand fall from Miranda's cheek. “You take care of yourself out there, okay?” said Miranda, keeping her eye fixed anywhere but Samara, because she knew damn well by that point that she wouldn’t be able to control whatever it elicited in her to look at her in that moment. “And don't leave without saying goodbye this time.”

“I will try, on both accounts,” Samara replied, promising that much. “Farewell, Miranda.” Miranda didn't try to stop her, though she wasn't oblivious to the tension in her body as Samara passed her. The air had never felt so dense.

Miranda could feel from the sudden chill that filled the atmosphere in her absence that Samara had left, and only then did she dare to confirm it with a glance upwards, her gaze met by empty space where once she had stood.

Alone, Miranda finally released a deep exhale, that bizarre energy that had built up inside her at long last finding the space to wane, and subside, and work its way out of her, at least in part. She didn’t know how long she would need to linger out there to compose herself, but she felt no urge to hurry inside, despite the autumn air feeling bitterly cold having lost Samara’s warmth.

She didn’t even know where to start to untangle that messy jumble of unlabelled sensations and ambiguous emotions whose echoes still lingered inside her chest. She held her hand up to eye level and, sure enough, it was shaking. She clenched her fingers into a fist, which made that stop, at least.

She leaned against the railing and let her head fall into her hand. Miranda may have been comparatively unskilled when it came to deciphering even her own emotions, but she also wasn’t completely dimwitted, nor was she naïve. And the longer she stood out there, the more one possible answer for these nameless feelings began to emerge from recesses of her mind as the most obvious fit.

The thing was, she didn’t want that to be the answer. She wasn’t sure it made sense, or if it was even possible for her. And, if it was, then she had even bigger problems than she could have imagined. Because it could ruin everything.

Miranda’s hearing wasn’t quite good enough since the shuttle crash to notice the door sliding open behind her.

“So, Miss,” Seanne was the first of the students to ask, peering around the door to the balcony at the subtle urging of her brother. “Who was that?”

“A friend,” Miranda replied, staring out at the city, unmoving.

“A girlfriend?” Rodriguez said with a smirk.

“A friend,” Miranda repeated without inflection, as if reminding herself to remember that. Convincing herself not to dare begin to think otherwise.

“It's alright if she’s more than that,” Reiley teased. “Or if you've got a thing with Mr. Taylor. You can tell us, you know,” he prompted, grinning.

Miranda turned and arched her brow at them. “Have you got nothing better to do than gossip about my personal life?” she wondered aloud, beginning to understand the meaning of the old adage 'idle hands do the devil's work'.

“No. We really don't, no,” the group cheekily replied, happily falling back into the habit of having fun at the expense of their guardian now that it (hopefully) seemed like things were improving for her. With that, they closed the door and went back to report on her response to the others.

Miranda didn’t join them. Jack’s students were right, in a way, if they thought they’d perceived a sudden change in her mental state. For the first time in two weeks, Miranda wasn't being haunted by the dark spectre of death.

The problem was that now the only thing she could think about was Samara. And, the more she tried to reason herself into denying it, the louder that one increasingly isolated answer grew as it kept circling in her mind.

Somehow, someway, somewhere between all that time they’d spent together on the Normandy, and seeing Samara standing on that balcony again, and she didn’t know exactly when, where, why, or how it could possibly be true, but...

She’d fallen for Samara, hadn’t she?

She’d fallen for a woman she knew damn well could never love her back.

*    *    *

[calitraditionalism]

Arc Three: Chapter Twelve

(AO3 counterpart here.)

The sun was almost at its highest point, pale clouds mottling the sky white and blue, when Fernstar’s patrol came to a grove of trees.

“This’ll be a restin’ place for them,” Boarpaw said, chest puffed out with pride. He and his mentor, Glorypelt, had come back from their far-ahead scouting with the news that the scents of Redheart and a ‘mess of folk’ were clogging their noses in a place with drying ground and bent grass. The patrol had just reached it – they had walked slowly to allow the scouts to ensure their path was the right one, since the wind was starting to blow away the trail.

Now Fernstar nodded gratefully to Boarpaw and Glorypelt, smiling. “You’ve done good work. Thank you. Take a moment to rest while we investigate.”

Scouts, of course, never liked to rest, but Glorypelt guided his apprentice away from the main cluster of scents and let the rest of the Fleet cats sniff around, taking pathways this way and that, following what still remained in the soft, drying earth.

It was a little frustrating, Fernstar had to admit; the grass had not been bent severely enough to give a concrete trail, meaning they had to go on what the wind and sun hadn’t blown away or baked out of the ground. What was more frustrating was the knowledge that Viceroyclaw had brought up, now scratching at Fernstar’s head.

She couldn’t be gone from the leaders’ den forever. It had been several days now, and it would be several days more before she’d return. She would have to give up this hunt and leave it to the Fleet.

But there were questions she wanted answers to, questions that grew in number with every passing hour. Most of them were about Redheart, of course, but there was something Greyleaf had said when the story was reported to Fernstar that was intensely troubling her.

“Because I’ve seen it too,” he’d said.

What did that mean? Why did he believe in this story about StarClan that Redheart had started to tell when it was so transparently untrue?

Unless…

No. Fernstar shook her head. This was clearly something wrong with the two of them. She had seen StarClan’s power herself, during her leadership ceremony.

Cats circled around her, sniffing, as her mind wandered back to the days when she was younger and stronger. Back when she had fought hard for her position as deputy, had been appointed as high deputy, and waited only two or three years before the previous Clast leader had died and she was taken to the Lighthouse by a seer. She had fallen asleep to the crashes of the ocean’s waves just past the cliff the Lighthouse was set on, and when she’d opened her eyes a trail of stars was in front of her. She’d walked on it, too awed to say anything, coming up to a fawn-colored tom who represented the Clast leaders’ ceremony – Mulleinberry, he’d said his name was. He had gifted her with lives of ambition to serve the Clan and a drive to keep everyone safe and happy.

She’d like to think she'd kept good on the promise those gifts implied.

“Fernstar?”

She refocused. Fogpetal and Viceroyclaw were standing in front of her, looking at the little leader with concern and a bit of nervousness.

Fernstar slanted her head a little, indicating that she was listening, and Fogpetal spoke first.

“Viceroyclaw spoke to you earlier about you perhaps going back north,” she said carefully. “I understand that you being absent from the leaders can cause some trouble.”

Fernstar blinked slowly and stayed silent.

“If you like,” Fogpetal continued, undeterred, “we can continue the tracking from here, and you can return home.”

“I’ll stay with them,” Viceroyclaw offered, certainly more nervous than Fogpetal. “And I can send reports back to you. If- if that’s what you think is best.”

Fernstar knew very well that Viceroyclaw had made that suggestion because the alternative – acting as leader on Fernstar’s behalf – terrified her. A smaller, quieter group with a set mission that she didn’t have to invent and improvise on all the time was easier on her.

Fernstar took a moment to think. Not more than a moment. She could decide things quickly.

“Very well,” she said. “That may be best. I trust that you’ll do your duty to the best of your abilities, you two.”

The mollies bowed their heads respectfully.

“I can travel alone,” Fernstar continued. “Keep everyone you can with you. If you meet with any strangers, let them know who you’re searching for. The word will spread on its own after that.”

“Yes, ma’am,” they said together.

Fernstar didn’t waste time. The clouds were thickening on the horizon, and she didn’t care to be caught in the rain if she could help it. With a wave goodbye and a thanks to everyone, she set off as if she hadn’t a thought in the world beyond her duties. But one did pick at her.

“Because I’ve seen it too.”

What did they see?

 ---

 Watching what little of the sky he could see, sitting alone, Greyleaf hated.

It would surprise many cats, if not everyone, to take a look into his mind and see how much hate coursed through his veins. How it soaked into his muscles and the very, very little fat he had on him. How every hair on his body wanted to be bristled at all times, how he wanted to bite and claw and scream to get it out. Fear had been his foremost thought the second he was born into a cold world, wet and blind and deaf. But ever since that fateful meeting with the Runagate, since his first sight of Redheart… slowly but surely, that fear started to burn instead of freeze him. It strained at his eyes, coloring everything with the knowledge he had now with red. It grew teeth that cried to tear apart StarClan and everyone who saw him with pity and contempt, who had no idea of the truth.

Mistface wouldn’t believe him if he said all this, probably. Mama certainly wouldn’t. Maybe no one would. Greyleaf had quickly become very good at containing himself starting from apprenticeship.

It was just a survival instinct at this point. Redheart had responded to StarClan’s truth with grief and determination. A plan that kept her alive. Greyleaf had no plan. He just had hate to protect him. And it’d done a good job so far.

But it couldn’t protect everyone else.

It couldn’t protect Nettlecloud.

“Hey.”

Greyleaf jolted and turned sharply to his right. Flyfang, standing behind him, jumped a little herself in alarm. Far behind her, Mistface and Redheart were whispering with Darkpelt, like conspirers. Laurelclaw, Littlepaw and Beetlefoot sat together, with Laurelclaw huddling like he wasn’t far outsizing the two of them no matter how he was postured. The air was tense, but it wasn’t frightened. It wasn’t hateful.

Greyleaf realized belatedly that he hadn’t said anything to Flyfang, so he cleared his throat. “Hi.”

Flyfang relaxed a little and tilted her head. “You doing alright?”

Greyleaf didn’t know how to answer that. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. His jaw twitched and he looked down, away.

“You’ve just been by yourself for quite a while, is all.” Flyfang stepped closer with great caution. “Mistface was going to check on you, but Darkpelt wanted him and Redheart for some conversation or another. I don’t know why she didn’t ask for you, you and Redheart work together and all, but…”

Something must have shown on his face, because Flyfang trailed off. She instead closed the distance and sat down next to him, tail tapping nervously. Greyleaf returned his gaze to the thin sunlight, grateful for the shadows of the forest.

“I thought you looked a little stressed,” Flyfang said after a moment. “I know that’s normal for you, but…”

Greyleaf did not care to tell her what he had been stewing over the past few minutes. He just went with what was always on his mind, even just in the back. “I’m worried about my Mama.”

Flyfang’s face softened. Saddened a little, too. “Beetlefoot mentioned she wasn’t doing well the last time he saw her.”

Greyleaf saw no reason to be gentle. “She’s about to die. Cancer.” He squeezed his eyes shut, pain and grief and helpless rage in his chest. “She might be dead now, for all I know.”

Flyfang didn’t say it, but they thought the same thing.

And StarClan might have her.

“I shouldn’t talk,” Greyleaf said suddenly. “Your mother’s been there for a while.”

Flyfang nodded, her voice strained. “She has. Unless she was quick enough to run.”

“We rarely are,” Greyleaf muttered.

The two were quiet for a moment, before Flyfang fully turned to him.

“I have a request,” she said.

Greyleaf looked at her sidelong.

“If you and Redheart and everyone decide to leave…” She shifted a little, anxious. “I’d like to get my sisters before we go. They’re not far from here.”

Greyleaf blinked. “You’d travel with us?”

“I mean, yeah.” Flyfang gave him a mildly humorous look. “You all know the truth and I’ve made friends with a couple of you. And I trust you and Redheart. You’re both smart.”

At this, Greyleaf did half-smile. “Against all odds.”

“And you’re tough,” Flyfang added. “Like, just knowing about this, having no idea what to do, it almost makes me crazy. I have no idea how you two are sane knowing this your whole lives.”

Greyleaf’s smile faded just a little, but it didn’t go away. “I’m barely hanging on at this point, honestly. It’s been a lot of edging along a narrow cliffside, hoping not to fall, for my whole life.”

“Especially with your nightmares.” Flyfang shook her head, voice admiring. “I didn’t think anything of you at all when I first met you at the Clast. Healer, weak, nervous, all that. Did not expect you to be as hardcore as you are. Redheart, I could get, but not you.”

The idea of being ‘hardcore’ made an amused huff escape from Greyleaf. “I don’t know about that.”

“Dude, if any of us had suffered this for so long, I think we’d all go nuts.” Flyfang smiled broadly at him, oddly looking impressed. “And you’ve been at this since you were a kit. I think that qualifies as hardcore.”

Greyleaf’s eyes lowered to the ground, but his smile felt more genuine. “…Thanks, then.”

“No problem.” Flyfang leaned her head forward a little to look him in the eyes. “Are you a little happier?”

“A little, yeah.”

“Then my work is done.” Flyfang gave a self-satisfactory nod. “I just got worried about where your head was, and I thought you might need a bit of cheering up.”

Greyleaf looked at her, eyes narrowed in a more friendly way than anything else. “You’re not bad at it. Do you cheer up your sisters a lot?”

“Plenty enough.” Flyfang puffed out a sigh. “The Marish are terrible for a kit’s mental health, I’ll tell you. Mosquitopaw and Gnatpaw must be desperate to get out by now.” Her voice quieted a little. “And they have no idea of the real reason why they should.”

Greyleaf wanted to return the favor of positivity, but just as he opened his mouth, Redheart called, “If everyone can gather around!”

The two grey cats looked at each other in surprise, but stood up and joined the others, where they all sat down, watching the conspirators curiously. Mistface had a calmly pleased and, oddly, almost eager look on his face, and Redheart’s eyes were no longer exhausted. Darkpelt’s usual wide eyes and big smile were present where they should be, but there was a sparkle in them that Greyleaf couldn’t define.

“We have a proposition,” Darkpelt said. “And we’d like to share it with you.”