Cherry Red, Crimson Blood
Chapter 35: Threads
Summary: Pack bonds are made up of delicate threads, small fibers webbing together the dynamics and relationships that make up each individual pack. The omega stands in the middle, holding the pieces together, keeping the pack from crumbling by clinging to those threads like a strongman holds pillars up with chains.
Pairings: Poly 141 x reader
Word Count: 11,740 words
Warnings: Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alternate Universe, angst, descriptions of physical pain, brief description of drowning, medical stuff, panic, crying, panic attacks, nightmares, PTSD, very heavy emotions, alcohol and brief mention of alcoholism, language, fighting (not physically), Kyle being the best boy, aftermath of trauma, brief mentions of the events of the previous chapter, guilt and shame, angst, and finally some comfort after the hurt (but not quite what you'd expect)
A/N: So I may have been slightly wrong, the angst isn't over, but it's not quite as intense as it has been. There are little tidbits of comfort in this one, though it's not like "okay it's over, let me wrap you in this blanket and everything is fine and happy now". It's...you'll see. If you're waiting for the fine and happy comfort then...you might want to wait a few chapters still. The comfort will come on slowly, but it has officially started.
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Screaming.
Someone is screaming.
It hurts your ears, high-pitched and ringing. Your hands cover them, but even that can’t block out the sound.
It’s ringing in your own head.
Your body hurts, every joint and muscle aching and throbbing. They’ve been locked in place too long, frozen in one position, a safe position. Safety. That’s what you’re seeking, that’s what you’re trying to find. That’s why you’re here.
This isn’t a safe space anymore.
The walls are crumbling, the darkness is fading. There’s light seeping in, threatening to pull you out, make you face whatever is waiting on the other side. It’s not a comforting light, it’s bright and piercing and threatening. You don’t want to leave the darkness. You don’t want to face the light. You want to stay there, stay frozen, stay safe.
Your throat burns, raw and painful with every breath.
It’s you.
You’re screaming.
Hands are flying, mouth open in a scream. It’s a horrible sound, grating and feral sounding. Your body twists and turns as they try to hold you down. No restraints. You’ll just hurt yourself more.
Blood is flying, splattering on the gurney, the floor, the walls. Yours or someone else’s? It’s hard to tell.
Simon.
“Simon!”
He snaps out of his daze, his eyes darting up to look at Dr. Keller across the gurney. Her hand is around his wrist, your elbow knocking against his forearm as you try to fight whatever it is you think you’re seeing. Maybe you’re seeing nothing at all.
“I know.” Dr. Keller’s voice is soft despite the chaos of the moment. Her gaze is firm but comforting. She knows. “I need you to hold her still. She’s going to hurt herself further if she can’t calm down.”
She’s going to hurt someone else too.
The monitors are beeping and screaming. They managed to get a blood pressure cuff around your arm before you snapped out of the daze he’d put you in and started fighting. You’re like a wild animal, cornered and fighting for your life again with a renewed vigor. Renewed for now. If you don’t calm down again, something will give out.
There won’t be any coming back from that.
“Don’t be afraid if you hurt her.” Dr. Keller says, squeezing his wrist. “Bones can be fixed.”
He catches your wrists in his hand, pinning them down against your chest. He uses his weight to his advantage, pushing his arm into you as he leans down so you’re face to face. You let out another scream, fighting against him but he has you beat. He’s bigger, stronger, calmer.
“Look at me.” He says, his alpha rumbling low in his chest. It has even the beta nurses stopping in their tracks to look at him. The only one unaffected is Dr. Keller as she uses this moment to her advantage.
You stop fighting him, breathing in heavy gasps as you stare right up into his eyes. Wild and untamed, pupils dilated in your aggressive state. Dilated out of aggression or dilated out of fear? Perhaps both. Beads of sweat slide down your face, your body hot under his. It mixes with the blood on your skin, blood from your own injuries and from the Shadows you killed. Your cheek is bruised, discolored from broken blood vessels. Your left eye will swell shut soon. He needs to get you calm before then.
It’s almost cute, the way you bare your teeth up at him. He might have thought it cute in a different setting, if your life wasn’t dangling over a ledge right now. A low growl rumbles in your chest, a warning that has his own hackles raising. He bares his teeth back, an answering growl, deeper and angrier, rumbles in his own chest. The nurses take a step back. Even Dr. Keller pauses at the sound.
Yet, despite the threat in his growl, it doesn’t deter you one bit. Your knee drives into his side, making him grunt from the impact, but he doesn’t let up. You’re fighting him again, trying to wiggle your way out of his hold. If he pushes any harder, he might break a rib. You’re going to break something if you don’t stop.
You’re too far gone to recognize anything but fear and danger. You’re only going to fight, only going to attack anything you perceive as a threat. You won’t even recognise him. He has to get you to calm down before you have a heart attack. He considers getting one of the nurses to bring Johnny in, but there’s no guarantee that will work. You’ll just perceive him as another threat, another danger. More people in the room will only make you more aggressive...make your omega more aggressive.
He’s not dealing with you. He’s dealing with your omega in her raw form, the animal deep underneath forced out of her hiding place. Whoever said omegas are weak never had to face one in this state.
He stares down at you as you fight and scream, battering his side with your knees but he can hardly feel the pain. His arm is still throbbing where you bit him, but he can hardly see the blood streaked on his skin.
He has to save you.
He can’t let all of this go to waste.
They’ll never recover if they lose you now.
He moves almost seamlessly, time seeming to slow as he lets you go. He unclips his vest and rips it over his head in one movement, uncaring as it hits the floor with a heavy thud. You lunge up at him but he’s ready, catching you before your lower body can leave the gurney. It’s a risk. A huge risk, but it’s all he can think of doing. It’s hardly the worst place to be if things go wrong, if this fails. If he does fail, at least he’ll know he tried.
He pushes his mask up to his chin, pressing your face right into his neck.
Your nose pushes against his scent gland as he cups the back of your head, holding you there. He projects his scent as strong as he can, hoping it can reach some deep part of your mind, some glimmer of you that’s left in there.
If this goes wrong, you’ll rip out skin and veins with your teeth. He’ll bleed out on the floor before they can even get him on a gurney.
He wraps his other arm around you, holding you as still as he can. Tears prick his eyes as he holds you, shoving away the beeping machines, the panic still thrumming inside of him. Scruffing you was only round one of this fight. He should have held it longer, should have been brave enough to do it a second time.
He can still feel it, your neck in his hand, the way you gave in so easily. You had no choice, he gave you none. It was necessary, it was vital that he did it. You wouldn’t have made it this far if he hadn’t.
He should do it again. It would be easy, just slip his hand down and squeeze and you’ll be gone, lost in your head again and under his control. Maybe then he’d get you to calm down, get you out of this state and free from the danger looming closer and closer.
Heart attack, stroke, organ failure.
Why couldn’t Price be the one to go after you? Why couldn’t it be Price standing here making this decision.
“I’m sorry.” He whispers before slipping his hand down, wrapping it around the back of your neck again.
Pain.
You’re in pain.
You try to fade away again, try to push yourself back into the darkness to avoid the pain, but you can’t.
There’s no escaping it.
Your body hurts, every joint and muscle throbbing. Fire licks at your very cells, burning hot through your veins, scorching your skin. Safety. You want safety again. You want to retreat back into yourself, back into the comfort only the darkness can offer you.
Nowhere is safe anymore.
Tears are rolling down your cheeks, the light pressing closer and closer. It’s somewhere above you, shining down in offending shades of white. You can see it behind your eyelids no matter how hard you try to squeeze them together. There’s no escaping this light. There’s no retreating back into safety. There’s no safety anymore.
You’re underwater, slowly rising to the surface. There’s sounds around you, muffled and dampened by the water. You need to breathe, you need to inhale precious oxygen but you can’t get to the surface fast enough. Lungs burning, your fingers claw at the water but you can’t reach it, you can’t swim fast enough.
Your hands curl into soft fabric as you cough, choking on imaginary water. There’s warmth surrounding you, pressed in on all sides. You’re leaning against something, something hard and solid and warm. The sounds are louder now, mixing into a convoluted cocktail of constant noise. You hate it.
Pain ripples through your throat as you let out a groan, the sound catching and cracking on the rough edges of your vocal chords. Another choked sound leaves your lips, pain rippling through your very nerves. The skin on your face is burning, simmering ashes being fanned by every tear sliding down your cheeks.
You’re crying.
There’s a deep sound coming from under you. It’s vibrating against your body, your pulsing ears focusing on that sound. It’s familiar. You’ve heard it before, somewhere back in the recesses of your mind.
Your mind.
It’s there. You can feel it beginning to take shape, thoughts beginning to form out of the fractured darkness. You’re not in your mind anymore, your mind is in you. You’re a being inside of a body, a body wracked with pain. The urge to retreat back is strong, but you can’t. That part of you has been closed off, sealed away by the light.
Fingers and toes twitch, tingling and throbbing with the cold despite the fire blazing its way through your veins. It is cold, your hand pulling at the softness you’re clinging to. The low vibration begins again, rumbling through you, igniting something in the back of your mind.
You know it. It’s familiar.
Something tingles in the back of your mind, starting to come to life. Despite the agony there’s something in there, something warm and comforting. There’s no name for it, no thought flashing through the swirling mass of neurons slowly taking shape. It’s soft and warm and whispering to you.
Wake up.
Wake up.
Wake up!
Your eyes open before you can stop them. You’re immediately blinded, eyes throbbing from the bright white light above you, a high pitched whine leaving your lips. It rattles through your throat, broken and squeaking through your shredded trachea. You clench your eyes shut again, wincing away from the intrusive light, the movement sending a bolt of pain through your body like an electric shock. You let out another garbled sound, your fist tugging on the fabric it’s clenching.
“I know, I’m sorry sweetie.” A voice says, the light disappearing before another takes its place, softer and lighter and less painful.
Your eyes crack open again, still throbbing despite the light being removed. Your entire body is throbbing, pulsing like an exposed nerve. You feel like an exposed nerve, weak and vulnerable. It triggers something deep in your brain, the light starting to dim. Something is rising, something is coming. You want to lay back, let it take over, let it take control. You want to sink into the darkness again. The darkness is safe, the darkness is secure.
The beeping is getting louder. Beeping, that’s what that sound is. There’s something beeping. It’s getting faster and faster. You’re starting to go numb, the tingling in your fingers and toes fading away. It’s not so cold anymore, the ache in your limbs fading into oblivion. You’re fading into oblivion.
“Oi! None of that.”
You’re awake. You let out a disgruntled sound as the warmth and comfort leaves you, deserting you in favor of retreating into the recesses of your mind again. A shiver runs down your spine, your very skin tingling with pinpricks of pain as it goes.
“Open your eyes again for me, love.”
Your body moves before you can tell it not to, your eyes fluttering open again. You’re squinting despite the bright light being gone. Any light is too much, your mind seeking out the comforting darkness once more.
Darkness makes you vulnerable.
In the dark, you’re blind to things that may be hiding there.
No.
No more darkness.
You want the light.
Scents flood your brain as your eyes fully open, slamming into you like a wave. It’s too much, nearly choking you again as you try to register everything. The burning scent of sterilizer, the soft scent of clean linens, the harsh scent of chemicals. There’s a soft scent mixing in with the others, something easing the turmoil in your mind just slightly. Above all else, though, is the intense smell of leather and something soft and fresh. It overpowers almost all of them, standing out distinctly. It makes your nose throb, something tickling in the back of your mind. You’re afraid of the scent, yet...there’s something else. Something...familiar.
“Back with us yet?” The sound rumbles under you again.
“Nearly there.” Another voice says. “Heart rate is coming down again. Still feverish, though.”
You’re suddenly aware of your body again, the pains, the aches, the burning, the cold. You’re trembling, your skin prickling from how cold it is. You try to press forward against the warmth in front of you, but the movement has pain slashing through your very cells. Another pathetic whine tears through your throat, every movement sending stabbing pain through your very being.
“C...C-Cold.” You manage to croak out, the word forming clumsily on your tongue. It feels heavy, like you’re relearning how to speak.
“I know.” The softer voice says, something dragging across your skin. “We’re trying our best.”
Something moves against your back, dragging against your skin. Whatever it is, it’s warm, but it’s rough. You push into it, something telling you to get closer, to wrap yourself in it and let it suffocate you. Somehow it’s comforting to you, somehow it’s familiar.
Slowly thoughts and sensations begin to return to you, your mind dragging itself from the depths it had sunk into.
It was purposeful.
You did it to save yourself.
You’re shaking for a different reason now, suddenly aware of the parts of your body that ache the most. Your shoulder, your cheek, your throat, your wrists. There’s a deep chill that has settled in your bones, sinking past the fever and the pain, past the memories beginning to resurface, past the hopelessness and the anger and the fear.
“Simon?” You croak out, the name burning its way through your dry throat. You desperately want something to drink, anything to ease the burning desert in your mouth.
“It’s me, love.” The sound rumbles under you again.
Leather. Eucalyptus. Warmth. Alpha.
You groan, trying to shift closer but the tensing of your muscles has pain screaming through your body. A shuddering breath leaves your lips, your body tensing until it passes.
“Try not to move too much.” The other voice says, a hand coming to rest on your arm. You’re still clutching Simon’s sweatshirt in your hand like it’s the only thing keeping you tethered to this earthly plane.
It might be.
“Dr. Keller?” You croak out, recognizing that voice.
“I’m here too sweetie.” She says somewhere behind you. “Take it easy, you’ve had a rough go of it.”
She’s not wrong.
The memories are coming back slowly, each one playing through your head like an episode of some fucked up television show. Except, it isn’t a television show. It’s your life.
You hate it.
“John?” You ask, trying to get your tongue to work, but you desperately need water.
“Probably yelling at every person who crosses his path.” Simon says. “He was blazing a path to hell and back earlier trying to get ahold of anyone he could yell at involved in this.” He rubs your back. “He’ll be here as soon as he’s calmed down. Kyle and Johnny are working overtime trying to help restrain him.”
You'll always be a second thought.
“You?” You ask, unable to form the whole question you want to ask. Why are you here and not with your pack?
He's quiet for a moment. “We got here before John and Kyle did.” His hand stills against your back, palm pressing below your shoulder blades. “You wouldn't let anyone close to you. The doc said it's normal, coming out of that state. I had to help keep you calm so you could get patched up. Then you wouldn't let me leave.”
Your fingers ache from how hard they're gripping his sweatshirt. He stayed. He's the one here with you, not your alpha.
You let out a groan, the pain starting to intensify. There’s a throbbing in your calf, and a deep ache starting to pulse in your joints. You’re almost glad for it, the turmoil in your mind starting to twist and fog your thoughts pushed aside in favor of the pain screaming at the forefront of your brain.
“Time for more pain medicine.” Dr. Keller says somewhere behind you. “You’ll probably get sleepy, but rest is what you need right now.”
You let out another groan, pressing your face back against Simon’s chest. Despite the pain in your body, there’s an even deeper ache in your chest. It’s not a physical one. Your alpha isn’t here. He’s left you again, abandoned you in favor of something else, something he deems more important.
Tears are brimming in your eyes as they slip closed, the exhaustion and the drowsiness from the pain medicine taking over.
It’s not quite so cold when you wake up next. It’s brighter in the room, the light not quite so artificial as it had been the first time. There’s no body against yours, no warmth seeping into your skin or scent in your nose. Your fingers twitch, almost like they want to seek it out again.
You’re alone.
You let out a quiet breath, your brows furrowing. Your shoulder aches, throbbing in time with the beep of the heart monitor. It hurts less to move as you shift your arm to itch the other. It’s horribly itchy, but your fingers meet gauze instead.
Right. Phil had cut you there. Not very deep, but still deep enough to hurt. Just another injury to add to the list.
You try to lift your arm but burning pain shoots through your shoulder. You wince, letting out a quiet moan of pain as you drop it back into the bed. You breathe as the pain shoots through you, swirling through your veins before it begins to settle.
“You shouldn’t try to move too much.” A voice cuts through the silence.
Your head whips to the side, your arm shooting out to grip the side rail as pain burns through your body like lava. It seeps slowly from your left shoulder down to your toes and into your very hair follicles. You let out another groan of pain, your eyes squeezing closed as you wait for it to pass.
“Sorry.” The voice says softly. “I suppose that didn’t help any.”
You open your eyes, still breathing heavily as the pain begins to fade. Your hand is still wrapped around the side rail as you stare at John. He’s seated next to the bed, his elbows on his knees as he stares at you. He looks tired, eyes puffy with dark circles around them. He’s in a simple green shirt and cargo pants, yet he’s not quite as put together as he normally is. His hair is sticking up in different directions, his beard scruffier than normal. There’s a faint pink line of what was probably once a cut on his cheek.
It’s the first time you’ve seen him in weeks.
You should be happy.
You should be ecstatic.
You should be relieved.
Yet, all you can feel is pain and anger and betrayal.
“There’s nothing I can say that will make this better.” He says, his voice rougher than usual, even after returning from a deployment. His eyes shine with emotion. You hate it. “There’s nothing I can say that will undo what happened.” He runs a hand over his mouth, letting out a breath through his nose. “This shouldn’t have happened in the first place. We should have known better, we should have questioned it.” He shakes his head. “We put too much trust in those above us, and we were all fooled.”
Tears blur your eyes as you stare at him. He’s not just talking about Shepherd and the initiative. He’s talking about you too.
“I regret it more than any decision I’ve ever made. I’ll regret it for the rest of my life,” He continues. “You put your trust in me, and I failed you. I let this happen to you because I got too caught up thinking about the greater good of the pack and I ignored what was right in front of me. You’re here because of me, because of the decisions I made. I had one job, and now you’re paying for my failure.”
He pauses for a moment, tears shining in his own eyes. You should feel surprise, sympathy, something. All you can feel is hatred. He doesn’t deserve to cry over you. He doesn’t deserve this chance to try and explain himself to you, to try and give excuses for his actions. He made his choice. He made it very clear where his loyalties lie, where they’ve always been, where that line was laid before he even claimed you. It was never about you. Nothing was ever about you. It was always the initiative, and then when the initiative turned out to be false, it was about the ‘greater good’. You should have been the greater good. You should have been their focus. Instead they all betrayed you.
They betrayed you in the end.
“I made a bad call.” He continues on. “I shouldn’t have left you there. I shouldn’t have made that decision. It never would have played out how I thought it would in my head at that moment. Now you’re here, like this, because I made a stupid mistake.”
He stares at you for a long moment, as if he’s waiting for you to say something, as if you should have something to say in response. He’s waiting for an acceptance to his half-assed apology, as if his words can somehow undo the pain, the burning in your wrists, the throbbing in your shoulder, the agony every time you simply move a limb. As if his half-assed apology can somehow undo the weeks of depression and anguish and the worry and the fear. As if his half-assed apology can make up for the way they all cut you off, treating you like a traitor before abandoning you. As if his half-assed apology can undo the hours and hours of torment and pain the man you once thought of as a family friend unleashed on you all because of them.
The hatred burns almost as hot as the lava in your veins, so hot you’re surprised the tear that slides down your cheek doesn’t start steaming. Your heart rate is picking up again, the monitor beeping with the sound of the anger simmering inside of you. The blood pressure cuff squeezes around your arm, a grunt of pain cracking in your throat.
“Yeah,” You say, your voice hardly more than a whisper. You turn your head away from him, wincing as an electric shock of pain jolts through you from the motion. You drop your hand from the side rail before he can touch you, tucking your arm back under the rough blanket. “You did.”
You have nothing more to say to him.
John enters the room solemnly, the silence nearly palpable as they all wait in anticipation. They’re all looking at him, waiting patiently for their captain, their alpha, to speak. They always look to him, they always rely on him, they always trust him and now look where he’s led them. So rarely does he make the wrong decision, so rarely does he lead them astray.
What happened this time?
Why did he so easily turn them away from you? Why did he so easily turn his back on you?
What words are there to say? He knew his words would do little to calm the raging storm inside of you, the hurt and the pain and the betrayal they put you through all because of him.
The rejection still hurts, but it should. They all rejected you as soon as they left you behind.
It’s only a fraction of the pain you must be feeling.
“How is she?” Kyle asks, breaking the tense silence.
“Upset.” He sighs, sinking down in a chair.
“Fuckin’ sure she is.” Johnny snaps, anger radiating off of him in steaming waves. He’s been on edge, they all have, since the four of them were reunited. He had been there, stuck in the hall as you screamed and fought. He thought the worst when your screams cut off until he was finally updated by one of the nurses leaving the room. “Of course she doesnae want to see any of us! We just fucking left her, just like that, and it was your fuckin’ fault!”
Simon grabs his beta before he can throw a fist at John, holding him back. Johnny lets out a string of curses none of them understand, fighting against his alpha. Simon holds him tightly, the image of your bloody form fighting against him still at the forefront of his mind. He grips Johnny tightly, muscles straining. Johnny is bigger. Johnny is stronger.
He has half a mind to let him go.
John doesn’t move, doesn’t even flinch as Johnny yells and rages. He’d welcome a good beating right now. He could use some physical pain to distract from the ache in his chest.
“Calm down,” Kyle says, getting in Johnny’s face. “I said calm down!” Kyle yells, Johnny stilling for a moment. It’s not often Kyle raises his voice at one of them. “We’re not doing any good being upset with each other. We all made mistakes over these last few weeks, especially these past few days. None of us are guilt free in this. We all have our omega’s blood on our hands. Fighting amongst ourselves will only fray the bonds more than they already have been.”
Johnny deflates with a sigh, standing there in Simon’s arms for a moment. Kyle is right. They all can feel it, the way their bonds are fraying. Their pack is resting on a dangerous ledge, tipping back and forth with every strong emotion, every argument, every sour feeling. They’re all holding onto that bond, trying to pull it back to keep it from falling into the abyss. As angry as they are with each other, just one of them letting go will be the end of the pack.
“There’s nothing we can do to change what happened.” John says, looking up at the other three. “Kyle’s right. I led us all in the wrong direction, but we can’t go back and change it. We can’t undo what happened to us, we can’t undo what we did, we can’t undo what we...” He lets out a breath. “What I let happen to our omega.”
“She won’t trust us again.” Simon says, his hands still shaking as he releases Johnny. They haven’t stopped shaking since he scruffed you a second time.
“She won’t.” John affirms, no matter how badly it hurts him. “She won’t forgive us either. The best we can do is to give her what she needs, what she wants. Right now that’s space. Dr. Keller will keep us updated as things develop.” He pushes himself up to stand, looking at each member of his team, of his pack. They all share the same guilty look on their faces, they all hold the same anger at themselves deep inside. “This may be the hardest mission we’ve ever had. No matter what we feel...none of that matters anymore. What matters is keeping our pack together. What matters is that we keep those bonds from fraying. We lose ourselves, we lose everything.”
“Still sore?”
You nod, wincing as it sends a bolt of pain through your body.
“I know.” Dr. Keller says, adjusting the ice pack on your shoulder. “Hurts like a bitch, but luckily it won’t cause any lasting damage.”
You blink at Dr. Keller, staring at her for a beat. You don’t think you’ve ever heard her curse before. You’re not sure she was ever capable of it.
“What? I use swear words. Sometimes.” She says, almost like she can read your thoughts. “Sometimes expletives fit the moment better than any flouncy, sophisticated words do. This feels like the proper situation to use some.” She lets out a sigh. “Your shoulder will be the worst of the pain, at least physically. The mental pain...well, that’s not something I can treat with pain medicine. Shouldn’t, would be the proper wording there.”
Some people do use it to numb the pain.
“We all made a lot of bad decisions these last few days. Your support system, those you were supposed to be able to trust, failed you.” She stares down at you, emotion shining in her eyes. It’s a mirror of John’s own stare when he’d looked at you, but this time there’s no anger burning inside of you. Dr. Keller didn’t betray you. Dr. Keller will mean her apology, because you know that’s what’s coming. “I know you’ve probably heard this a lot over the last few hours, but I am sorry too. I shouldn’t have left you alone like that. I shouldn’t have fallen for that phone call...I should have been there.”
You stare up at her, tears pooling in your eyes. If she had stayed, things would have been worse. It was almost better she left you. You can’t lose her. You need her now more than you ever did.
Tears streak a flaming path down your face, a choked sob tearing its way through your trachea up through your lips. It burns your throat, no amount of water you’ve had in the last few hours has been able to ease the ache that’s taken up permanent residence there.
Graves choked you. It’s the bruising from his hand squeezing your windpipe making you ache. Your voice may never recover, may never go back to normal. Crying hurts, hurts more than just your mind, your chest. It hurts your whole body, yet you can’t stop.
“I know, I know.” She says, petting your hair as you sob. “I’m not going anywhere this time. We’ll get through this, okay? It’ll be a long road, but you won’t be walking it alone. You’ve got me, and you’ve got your pack.”
Your gaze hardens at the mention of your pack, the sob in your throat coming out almost as an angry grunt. The thought of them makes your chest ache, the pain of their betrayal burning hot in you. “I don’t want them.” You whisper.
“I don’t blame you.” Dr. Keller says, leaning against the side rail of your bed. “They let you down. The betrayed your trust in a lot of ways. They made you feel abandoned, and then abandoned you when you needed them most, even if they thought they were doing the right thing at the time. You have every right to be angry at them, upset with them. They hurt you in the worst way they could.” She pulls the blanket higher over you, tucking you in. “You’ve gone through a lot these last few days. Some very traumatic events, on top of being injured and your body going through extreme stress. You’re exhausted in every way you can be. Rest first. Worry about everything else later. Doctor’s orders.”
“I did it to myself.” You say before she can walk away.
She turns back to look at you. “What?”
“I made myself distress.” You say. “I made my omega come out.”
“That was very brave of you.” She says, giving you a soft smile. “Sometimes we have to take drastic measures even knowing the risks. You did what you had to in the moment and I think it was the right choice. You didn’t know what was going to happen, what was happening. Things worked out and you’re still here. That’s all that matters.”
You think about her words for a moment. You did make it out. The fact you’re here means someone found you, someone saved you. Someone scruffed you.
“It was Simon, wasn’t it?” You ask, even though you already know the answer to that.
You wouldn’t let him leave.
“You’ll have to ask him for the whole story, but yes. He’s the one that rescued you.” She adjusts the blanket around you again. “Get some rest.” She moves the call button closer. “I’m on the other end of that button if you need me.”
You stare up at the ceiling after she leaves, counting the tiles above you. It looks like every other ceiling you’ve ever seen in a doctor's office or clinic or hospital. It’s not all that different from the ceiling in the med center on base.
Base.
You don’t ever want to see that place again. You don’t want to step foot in the barracks, you don’t even want to think about the clinical sterility of the buildings and the cold comfortless spaces meant for nothing more than to serve their purpose. Just like you. You served your purpose. You proved their point, even if it was never the true point of the initiative. Packs will get stronger with an omega, but it will come at the detriment of that omega.
The job always comes first.
There was a time you thought perhaps it wouldn’t. Maybe they could put it all behind them and put themselves first, put you first. Then they proved they can’t. They won’t even put you first when you’re at the threat of being tortured. You were hurt because they wouldn’t put you first. You are hurt because they wouldn’t put you first.
You don’t care about them. You don’t care about their excuses. You don’t care about the bonds or the claims or the emotions.
You’d be happy if they left you here. Just a few days ago you were panicking about them leaving you, about them deciding you weren’t enough and abandoning you.
Now you wish they would.
“Has she said anything?”
“Not much.” He sighs. “She won’t see any of us. I can hardly blame her.”
“You made a choice, John.” Kate says, hands wrapped around her cup of coffee. “Choices have consequences.”
“You were right. Then again, you usually are.” He sips at his tea. Bitter without milk, but then again, he’d prefer a glass of whiskey right now over tea. “I don’t know how to fix this.”
“I don’t think you can.” Kate takes a sip of her coffee. “She’s going to decide when she wants you to fix this, if she wants you to fix it.”
John lets out a sigh. “We’re her pack, it’s our job-”
“You’ve failed at your job.” Kate says, her gaze hardening as she stares at him. “You’re good at being a soldier, you’re good at being a leader, you’re good at saving the world, but that’s not your only job. You have a responsibility to take care of your omega, and you failed. You made your choice, and you turned your back on her. She’s not a soldier, John. She’s never been tortured, she’s never been left for dead, she’s never taken a life before and here she’s been through all of that in the span of two days. You made a choice, John. You made a choice knowing damn well what the consequences would be.”
He sits in silence, staring at Kate. It’s not often she gets mad at him, the frustration evident on her face. It’s a mirror of the anger and disappointment on the faces of his packmates. They’re all feeling the weight of his decision, of his mistakes. They’re all feeling the weight of their rapidly fraying bonds.
“You have a choice to make now, John.” She stares at him pointedly. “You pick up the pieces from this, you all take the time to recover and heal. Then what? Things aren’t as simple as we thought they were, John. None of us knew what was going to happen. We were all so focused on the potential benefits that we all overlooked just how much of a detriment this would be. Your omega hasn’t had a choice in anything in her entire life. Every decision has been made for her, whether or not she wanted it. She has had no say in any of this. She’s been nothing more than a variable in an experiment, a statistic, a number, a list of pros and cons. She’s been reduced down to nothing more than an object.”
John winces at her words, the weight on his shoulders growing heavier and heavier. He’s treated you as nothing more than an object, even if not directly. Leaving you so easily, yelling at you when you made an innocent mistake, letting you be tortured because he couldn’t get his head out of his own arse.
“We all know she’s more than that. Far more than that. But she will never have any say in anything, unless you let her. Outside of your pack, she has nothing. In your pack? She should have the loudest voice.” Kate leans her arms on the table, shifting closer to him. “Right now she has no voice because you’ve proven where your loyalties lie, and they’re not with her. You have one more decision to make, John. Do you keep standing where you are, put the job first and wear your omega down until she’s nothing but an empty shell? Or, do you take this chance while you have it and finally put her first?”
Kate pushes herself up to stand, grabbing her cup of coffee. John’s not used to feeling small. He’s used to being in charge, being the captain, being in control. People look to him, they listen to him, he’s the one everyone turns to when things go to shit to lead them out.
He’s not even capable of doing that anymore.
“Your life as you knew it ended as soon as she was placed in your pack. It’s up to you to decide how it continues.” Kate leaves with those heavy parting words, the door clicking shut behind her.
John stares down at his cup of tea, the cup half full, or perhaps half empty depending on how one looks at it. It feels more than half empty now, spilling slowly through some microscopic hole in the side. It’ll only be so long before that hole will widen, worn down by the weak paper the cup is made of, the liquid eating away at the cup until there’s nothing but a puddle of tea on the table, slowly rolling towards the edge to dip onto the floor.
That microscopic hole started as soon as they left you alone for the first time, and none of them were aware enough to even notice it.
That hole is a gaping wound now. The contents inside turned acidic as soon as he cut you off in his disappointment, as soon as he started digging into the belly of the initiative. That acid has been eating away slowly at the fragile bonds that were in place. Fragile. They really were. No matter how strong they all thought those bonds were growing to be, they were built with fear and anxiety and uncertainty. Uncertainty of the future and what it may hold, anxiety towards a new pack and an entirely new shift in lifestyle, and fear of one day losing a pack member.
Bonds built upon such frailty can hold no weight should one piece fall.
How strong can bonds really be when you live with that knowledge, that constant fear that someone could die at any time? Someone in the pack, someone you’ve bonded with, someone you’ve grown a relationship with, might leave and never return because of the risks of their job. How strong can those bonds be? Was that the point of the experiments all along, the 141 and the initiative? Testing the limits a pack could be pushed to, testing if bonds could be formed in such a high stress environment and if so, how strong they’d be? What limits would they have gone to, to test that theory? Would they have gone to the point of sacrificing one of them to test those theories, had the truth not come out when it did? One wrong decision, one wrong step in the field and everything can crumble. Would they have gone to that length to test just how a bonded pack would react, if they could still function after everything?
The sacrifice was you.
Kate is right. You’re not part of their world. You’re not a soldier, you haven’t been conditioned to live with that fear, you can’t be conditioned to live with that fear. You shouldn’t have to be conditioned to live with that fear. You had no choice in this. None of it. From the moment you presented, nothing in your life would be yours. From the moment you presented, you would never make a choice for yourself again.
The sacrifice was you.
And he played right into their hands.
The cup is blurring as he stares at it, his eyes blinking rapidly.
They say an omega is the balance that holds a pack together. It’s a delicate bond, a single thread coiled around the structure of the pack. Wear that thread down until it snaps and everything crumbles. How long have you been fraying? How long have you been silently screaming for help, desperately trying to hold the pieces of the pack together like a strongman holds two pillars up by chains? You never had chains, you’ve been holding everything together with sewing thread, fighting desperately to keep the pieces from crumbling at the risk of being torn in half.
How long have you been silently screaming?
It’s all his fault. He’s been wearing you down, he’s been fraying that bond fiber by fiber. He’s been standing there watching you fight to hold the pack together while screaming at him to help, screaming at him to take one of those threads and hold at least half of the weight for you.
That’s what he’s supposed to do.
The threads have snapped. You were torn in half by the weight and those threads are gone. They’re crumbling, the bonds coming undone, unraveling minute by minute, second by second. They’re losing each other because they lost you.
He covers his face with his hands, not even bothering to try and silence his sobs.
Something has pulled you from the sweet arms of sleep.
It’s dark in the room, the only light coming from the one behind the bed. The curtains are drawn over the window, keeping you hidden from the darkness outside the window. It’s late, or at least you think it is. You can’t quite see the clock in the darkness with your one good eye. It’s fuzzy in the darkness, too far away for you to truly find where the hands lie.
Shadows fill the corners of the room, oppressive and claustrophobic. The longer you stare, the bigger they seem to grow as if they might suck the light right out of the room and swallow you in darkness. The longer you stare, the more it seems like there’s something there, something hidden in the darkness.
Something is staring at you from the shadows. There’s eyes on you, your skin prickling from the uncomfortable feeling of being watched. The more you stare into the darkness, the more the shadows begin to take shape, forming monstrous beasts just being held at bay by the light.
“Hi, darlin’.”
No. No, no, no, no.
“Miss me? It’s been a long time.”
You shake your head, your heart monitor starting to beep rapidly as your heart pounds in your chest. “N-No.”
Phil sits forward in the chair in the corner, his face coming into the light. It is him, blonde hair, blue eyes, that disarming grin on his face. He can’t be here...unless he escaped before your pack could catch him. Did they manage to catch him? You don’t know. You hadn’t even thought to ask about Phil or his whereabouts. No one informed you either.
“No? You didn’t miss me?” He tilts his head, his eyes shining with faux hurt and disappointment. “That’s not very nice of you to say. I thought your father taught you your manners. Have you forgotten them in the time you’ve been away.” He tsks, shaking his head. “Those boys have been letting you get lazy.”
Your breathing is picking up, panic starting to fill you as you stare at him. It’s impossible. He shouldn’t be here. He can’t be here. He couldn’t have just walked onto base and walked into the medical center, could he? Corporal McKinney fooled everyone for months and drove right off base with you in his car and no one said anything. How much would the guards at the front entrance of the base take as a bribe to let him in?
Why isn’t your pack outside your door? Why would they let him in?
They had to have put out a warning. Someone should have put Phil’s face everywhere, sent out a message, something.
He lets out a sigh, pushing himself to stand. “I guess I’ll have to teach you some manners myself.”
The glint of metal catches your eye, the icepick catching the light as he steps closer.
“No, no,” You shake your head, your fingers scrambling for the call button.
Not again. Please, not again.
Your fingers close around the call button, your thumb pushing it over and over and over again. Someone has to hear it.
He lifts the ice pick, reaching out for you...
You’re being shaken. A scream tears from your lips as you struggle, trying to get away from whoever is holding you. Your body is alight with pain but you wait for more, for the ice pick to drive into your scent gland again, open the wound and light your body on fire once more. You expect it to come down again and again, filling your body with holes so you bleed out on the floor.
Where is your pack?
“Easy, easy. You’re alright.”
You know that voice.
You’re sobbing, your brain slowly beginning to come back into consciousness. You had been asleep. You were dreaming. The light is on in the room, the harsh fluorescent a welcome presence for once. The shadows are gone, dissipated by the bright light overhead. Phil is gone, wiped away with the rest of the shadows.
He’s nowhere to be seen because he wasn’t there in the first place.
It was just a dream. It was just a nightmare.
There’s a hand on yours, gently easing your fingers from the call button. You’re still trying to press it, your thumb moving almost automatically. You started pressing it in your sleep.
“You’re okay. Breathe for me.”
It’s Dr. Keller’s voice. It’s her arms wrapped around you, trying to stop you from moving as much. Your body is screaming in pain, but the panic flooding your body makes you almost numb to it. The pain in your chest is screaming with every rapid inhale, tightening and tightening the more until your fingers and toes start to go numb.
“Deep breaths.” Dr. Keller says, her own breaths slow as she holds you. “In and out.”
The inhale catches, the air shuddering into your lungs before you hold it, trying to force your body to calm down, just like the two of you practiced so many times. The heart monitor is beeping rapidly, another thing that must have translated in your state between wakefulness and sleep when Phil had shown up. Your heart is beating rapidly, thudding in your chest almost violently. It’s been through a lot these last few days. You wouldn’t be surprised if it just gave out suddenly.
“Phil.” You gasp out, still trying to slow your breathing. “Phil was here.”
“It was just a nightmare.” Dr. Keller says calmly, keeping her arms wrapped around you. “No one has come in or out of this room besides me. The guard outside won’t let anyone else in.”
Guard. There’s someone outside the door. Your pack? No. She would have said so.
Where is your pack?
Phil was never here. It was just a nightmare.
The last two thoughts repeat over and over in your head like a mantra as you start to cry, sobs wracking your body. You hate it, the fear, the terror, the anguish you felt as he lifted that ice pick, ready to stab you with it.
“I hate it.” You croak out, voicing your thoughts for the first time in a few hours.
“I know.” Dr. Keller says. “It’s normal to have nightmares after a traumatic event.” She adjusts her hold on you, tucking you against her chest. “It’s your brain trying to process what happened, trying to work its way through the trauma of the last few days. It’s cruel, but it’s a necessary part of healing.”
Healing.
Are you healing? Can you heal after everything? The pain is intense, not just outside but inside as well. The hurt, the anger, the fear, the anxiety, the panic, the depression, the rage, the betrayal. It’s too much. It’s so much all at once. You hate it. You hate that this happened in the first place. You hate that you have to go through this, have to heal, have to live through more nightmares.
You hate your pack. That’s why they’re not here.
For all you know they’ve left you. For all you know they’re on a plane back to the UK.
Why would they want a broken, angry omega?
“I just want to be okay.” You sob, face pressed against her shoulder.
“I know.” She says, cradling the back of your head, keeping you tight in her arms. “I'm so sorry this happened to you. I know words can't change that it happened, words can't make it all better, but we'll get you to where you're as okay as you can be again. I promise you I’ll do everything I can to get you there.” She leans her chin on the top of your head, squeezing you against her chest. “We'll get there, no matter how long it takes.”
How long will it take? How long will your pain and suffering drag on for? Your body will heal eventually, but will your mind? Are you going to be this way for the rest of your life? Will you ever know peace again? But...have you ever really known peace? Your home growing up certainly wasn’t peaceful. Your presentation wasn’t peaceful, and neither was life at the institute. Being chosen by the FBI for this initiative that never existed in the first place certainly wasn’t peaceful. Despite how happy you became with your pack, even that life wasn’t peaceful. What little peace you thought you had was upended in the blink of an eye.
How easily everything crumbled.
Will it be possible to put it all back together again?
Do you want to put it back together again?
Alcohol is easy to find in a place like this. Soldiers gravitate towards whatever crutch they can find to erase the nightmares they live in. It numbs the pain and the brain and keeps one sane, or at least that’s what his father used to say.
Of course his father would drink himself into a stupor every Friday night, and he’d wake Saturday morning still in his chair with a full breakfast waiting for him.
Much like his father, John has lost track of how many times he’s filled his glass.
It’s been a long time since he’s gotten this drunk. He shook that habit after a shameful morning over ten years ago. He’d just gotten back from a bad deployment, one that gets labeled as a “mission gone wrong.” It failed under his command. He lost a lot of lives, not just his fellow soldiers. He’d drunk himself past a stupor and woke up passed out in a bush covered in vomit outside the gate with a rather angry CO over him.
He shook the habit after that, easing himself to just a glass every so often on those days he needs to take the edge off, on those days he needs to numb the aches.
Then Kyle came along. Kyle, his sweet beta with his ethical moral compass. His sweet beta who deserved a better life than what he was pulled into. Dutiful, loyal, principled. A good soldier, but a better man than John could ever be. He could fall into Kyle, bury himself under those soft touches, the soothing whispers, the comfort Kyle could offer him. The screaming in his head became less and less as he allowed Kyle to do what he was meant to do at his core.
Comfort.
Then you came along.
He found himself turning to the liquid medicine less and less because he could bury himself in you. He had an omega, he had someone he could lean on, someone who understood without having to be told. The bond between alpha and omega is something so sacred and special, something to be cherished.
And he threw it all away.
He downs another glass, staring at the almost empty bottle. It had been sealed when he got it, brand new and fresh. He can feel it, the fogginess of alcohol clouding his brain. The world is swirling, melting together. He can’t feel much of anything anymore, yet that pain lingers deep in his chest.
The bond.
It’s like an open wound, gaping and pulsing. Eventually it’ll slow, eventually it’ll give out. That bond will be cut and everything will crumble.
It’s all his fault.
He ended things, he ended the pack, he ended the bond, he ended you.
Would Graves have killed you? Would Shepherd have given those orders if they pushed onward, if they caught up to him? Graves would have done it slowly, taken his time, reveled in it. They would have gotten a video of it, hours long as you were tortured to death, zoomed in on your face as the life left your eyes.
The thought makes his stomach churn. He wants to vomit at the mental picture of you laying there, covered in blood, those lifeless eyes staring at him. Eyes that once shone with life and happiness. Despite everything you had been happy. Despite everything that spark inside you was never extinguished. A fiery little thing that would give what they gave right back to them.
Now you’re not even smoldering.
You’ve been reduced to ashes, and it’s all his fault. It’s all his doing.
He skips the glass this time, drinking straight from the bottle.
“Have you seen John recently?” Kyle asks, standing in the doorway to their temporary living quarters. It’s a single room with two bunk beds. Far too tight of a space for their quickly souring dynamics.
“No, not recently.” Johnny says, lifting his head up from his pillow. He’s been crying again. “You, LT?”
LT. They argued earlier...more like yelled in each others’ faces until they had to be separated at the risk of things getting physical. Kyle’s not even sure what they had been arguing about in the first place. Probably something miniscule and unimportant. Everything seems to be setting them off like grenades. Pull the pin and watch them explode. They’re all on edge, all of them feeling the distance growing wider and wider despite their best efforts to stop it.
“No.” Simon says simply, staring up at the bottom of the bunk over him. He’s flat on his back, hands folded on his stomach. He looks like a corpse, might have been mistaken for one if it hadn’t been for the slow rise and fall of his chest. He’s still in his mask. He hasn’t taken it off since he arrived in the field.
It’s late, but none of them can sleep. None of them have been able to get much sleep since they arrived nearly two days ago. Weeks without good, decent sleep wears on the brain too.
“If he comes back here, text me.” Kyle says before closing the door, resuming his search for their missing captain.
John has been beating himself up for nearly two days now. Kyle’s never seen his captain quite so distraught and lost. He’s blaming himself, which in all fairness, he should be doing. It is his fault. Kyle will be the first to point blame in this situation, but none of them are truly blameless. None of them questioned it, none of them even argued with him on that decision. They followed blindly as they were supposed to for the first time in a long time. They didn’t question their captain, their alpha, their leader.
He hates himself for it.
Why didn’t he question it? Why didn’t he argue? Why didn’t he voice his opinion, fight back against that decision? He trusted his alpha when he shouldn’t have, and you paid for it.
He’s glad he didn’t have to see you. He’s glad he didn’t have to face down the state Johnny and Simon found you in. He’s glad he didn’t have to see what you looked like even after the blood had been cleaned off and the true horror was revealed.
He hasn’t gone to see you at all.
He’s not sure he could handle it. You won’t care either way from the sound of it. You’ve been reduced to a shell, silent and empty. You’ve barely said a word since this morning, instead just lying there and staring at the ceiling according to the doctor when she’d updated them this afternoon.
Your body will heal slowly, but your mind will remain a battleground.
He leaves the barracks, looking up at the dark sky. It’s clear tonight. He’d probably see the stars if there wasn’t constant light pollution around the base. What do the stars look like here? He’s stared up at the stars constantly in the last few weeks in places there was little light pollution. His only comfort about being away from you so long was the knowledge that you were under the same sky. Be it day or night, the stars were overhead. You wouldn’t be able to see them either way, but they were shining for you too.
Now you’re both under the same stars, but you’re both still so far away.
He lets out a sigh, lowering his gaze. He has a job to do, a captain to find.
“Where are you John?” He breathes, looking in all directions, trying to decide which way to go next. He had stopped in at the med center already, but he wasn’t there. No one had seen him, even the doctor. He’s searched everywhere he could think to search, but his captain is nowhere to be found.
John will kill him if he requests a base-wide search.
He walks around the side of the barracks, hoping maybe he’ll run into John coming back this way. Usually he wouldn’t bother searching for him, but with his mind how it has been, Kyle can’t help but be worried. Even with the bonds fraying between them, he still has that instinctual need to make sure his alpha is okay. Instincts can’t be ignored. No matter how much bonds between packs fray, instincts will always remain the same.
That’s why he still feels that urge to go and see you.
John will kill him if he requests a base-wide search.
He knows how self-destructive John can be despite how composed he makes himself appear. He’s only seen his alpha in that state once, and he has a feeling he’s about to a second time.
He leans against the wall with a sigh when he reaches the other side of the barracks. Nothing. No sign of him. No texts from Johnny or Simon either. He’d asked Dr. Keller to let him know if he shows up in the med center too, but there’s been nothing. No word. No signs.
Maybe he should just give up looking. John will find his way back to the barracks eventually. Or he won’t.
That could be tomorrow’s problem. A distraction, a mission, something to give them purpose and force them to unite again.
Find their missing captain. Find their missing alpha.
He turns back around to follow the sidewalk back to the front of the barracks when he hears shuffling footsteps dragging on the concrete. He turns, squinting into the darkness between lamps as a figure stumbles through the shadows, muttering under its breath. He knows that voice, he knows that figure.
John.
John stumbles forward, nearly falling but Kyle reaches out, catching him. His mind is racing, silently checking for any blood, any sign of injury, but there’s nothing.
Maybe everything is finally getting to him. Maybe his body has finally been pushed to the limit and it’s giving out. He’s having a medical emergency.
“Easy, sir.” He says, trying to calm his panic as he fights to keep John upright despite John’s body wanting to fall the rest of the way onto the ground. Kyle takes a breath in, catching the sour scent of alcohol wafting off his captain.
Not a medical emergency, then.
He sought out some liquid comfort instead.
The thought makes Kyle’s chest twinge still.
“’S all over.” John slurs, his weight getting heavier and heavier. “Everything is over.” He turns his head, blinking slowly. “Kyle?”
“It’s me, sir. I’ve got you.” He slings John’s arm over his shoulders, making his weight easier to hold.
“Kyle.” He slurs again, the two syllables blurring together. “Too good to me, Kyle.” John pulls his arm free, stumbling forward.
Kyle just manages to lessen his fall onto the concrete, making sure John doesn’t smack the back of his head at least. He’ll have some scrapes and bruises tomorrow, though. Right now he probably can’t even feel it. If he was responsible, he’d take John to the med center, let him sleep off the alcohol on the safety of a gurney, but that would probably just cause more problems for everyone.
John would be pissed when he woke up.
He lets out a sigh as he stands there, staring down at his captain. John’s on his back, eyes up and focused on the sky, hiccuping every so often. He’s never seen his captain quite this drunk before, though he has heard stories of when John was younger.
“I’ve killed her.” John mumbles. “I’ve killed all of us.”
Kyle drops to a knee beside John. “You haven’t killed anyone.”
“She’s fading away. Soon she’ll be gone.” He murmurs. “We’ll go too.” John pushes himself up to sit. “It’s all over. Everything is over.”
Kyle grips John’s arms before he can fall back again, holding him in place. “Nothing is over yet, sir. We can still do something. It’ll just take time.”
John turns to look at him, his eyes hazy and far away. “Kyle.” John says his name softly, reaching out to brush his fingers across Kyle’s cheek. “Pretty boy.” He slumps against Kyle’s chest, his weight nearly making both of them topple over. “Too good to me, Kyle.”
“I care about you a lot, sir.” Kyle says, rubbing his back. “More than I think you realize.” He murmurs the last bit more to himself than anything. Not that John will likely remember any of this in the morning. “We should get you in bed. We’ve got a long day tomorrow.”
They do. They have to decide what to do next.
“Come on.” He says, hauling John to his feet carefully. John lets him, letting Kyle wrap his arm around his shoulders.
It’s slow going, Kyle half dragging John back to the barracks. He’s quiet at least, only the occasional scuffle of his footsteps as he stumbles breaking the quiet night. He gets John back to their room fairly easily, easing him into the other bottom bunk across from Simon. The room is still and silent aside from the occasional sniffle from one of the top bunks.
He grabs the blanket from his own bunk, draping it across John instead. Maybe in his drunk state, the scent will bring him some comfort, help ease that ache inside of him.
He’s hoping John’s scent will do the same for him.
“It’ll be alright, sir.” He says, making sure his captain is comfortable. He stands up, staring down at his Captain. “Everything will be fine.”
He’s not sure who he’s trying to convince.
John stares down into his tea as they sit around a table. His head is throbbing, pulsing heavily behind his eyes. It’s his own damn fault, going out and getting drunk like that. He hasn’t done it in years, yet he couldn’t stand the pain gnawing away at his chest. Alcohol hadn’t fixed it. It’s still there, still pulsing away. The alcohol had only numbed it at least for a few hours, and if anything, it made it worse.
“Kate left this morning back to DC.” He says, glancing up at the other three members of his team. “They're still working on cleanup and helping Alex and Farah track Shepherd. I spoke with Dr. Keller this morning. We’ll be able to fly out soon.”
The words hang heavy in the air. He hadn’t mentioned you at all, but he’s not sure he could without breaking down. You are improving slowly, Christine had said, giving him a sympathetic look as he squinted in the harsh fluorescents. She knew. She could tell just by looking at him. She’s that good at her job.
He’s glad they have her. He’s glad you have her.
“Where are we going tae go?” Johnny asks.
“We can’t go back to base.” Simon says.
“You’re right. Going back to base is too risky.” John says. “Shepherd could have eyes there already. And with her mind where it is...” Taking you back would be too much too soon, even without the risk. One of their own had already betrayed them once. They can’t trust anyone anymore. “We need somewhere secluded and quiet. Somewhere no one will know we’re going where we can lay low for a while.” Both out of necessity for their safety, but also for your sake.
It falls silent between them. Shepherd knows all of their possible safehouses, all of the places they mind go to stay hidden. Those only they know off the record are hard to get to, requiring miles of hiking. You wouldn't be up for that even without the physical injuries, and they doubt you'd let one of them carry you. If they had to get out quickly...
“My parents have a place,” Kyle says, glancing up at them from his own cup of tea. “Out in Cornwall. A cottage near the cliffs. It’s quiet, secluded. No one knows about it but us. Tourist season is over too. There won't be many out there poking around this time of year.” Anyone wandering around out there that close would be suspicious.
“It’s a good option.” Johnny shrugs.
“It’s our only option.” Simon says.
“It’s exactly what we need.” Kyle says. “Trying to rent this time of year will only draw attention, and we can't trust we won't be ratted out. Shepherd likely still has allies. We were betrayed by one of our own before.” Kyle says.
“You're sure no one else knows about it?” John asks, looking at his beta.
“Just my parents and my siblings. They wouldn’t ask any questions if I told them it was being used.” Kyle shrugs. “It might be our best option.”
John looks around at them. It is their best option for now. He knows Kyle's family is just like the rest of theirs. They know they can't know and they won't ask questions.
“We had a conversation once, months ago.” John says. “She told me she wanted to live next to the sea someday. She wants to be close enough that she can smell it and see it.”
He pauses thinking back months ago after Simon left, after you were so affected by his absence. That conversation when you asked if he’d ever leave for you, when he told you if your life was ever in danger because of them he’d leave in a heartbeat. He’s made a liar out of himself. He broke his promise, so many promises, made not just to you. Not just to the pack.
He glances at the other three, fighting back the lump in his throat, the endless threat of tears that has been rising like the tide and threatening to drown him at any moment. He’s made his decision, he’s made up his mind.
You have to come first.
His priorities have changed. There’s no initiative to follow, no orders to be given out. Kate was right. This is their moment to change things, this is his moment to change things. His pack will follow. Despite everything, they’ll trust him to make the right decision. They won’t hesitate to challenge him anymore, but there’s still that deeply ingrained trust in their alpha and captain.
The alpha comes first.
No, the omega comes first.
He takes a sip of his tea, bitter without any milk, but it’ll do. “She wanted to be close to the sea.” He looks back up at the other three having made his decision. “Taking her there might just be what she needs.”
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Sharkboy and his Shadow
Percy Jackson x fem! reader
Background: reader is the only child of Nyx, and has grown up with Percy. After being claimed, lots of kids are afraid of her, and reader feels alone. To 'help' Percy see the error of his ways, Luke and Annabeth come up with a plan.
_ _ _
"(Y/N) (L/N), daughter of Nyx, the Personification of Night, and Queen of Tartarus."
Ever since that day, (Y/N) had never felt so alone.
She grew up with Percy, always being by his side, and she felt lucky enough to see him be claimed by Poseidon. She was happy for him, and understood his rage at the same time.
But when she was claimed? There were no kids staring in awe or clapping or congratulations. There were only whispers amongst them, and stares of horror.
Because no one ever thought that Nyx would have a half-blood child.
She's Nyx. She keeps to herself, away from the affairs of Olympus and mortals.
So no one wanted to make friends with the forbidden girl.
Luke was still friendly, but it became obvious that he wasn't interested in being friends like before. Annabeth, however, still stayed by her side. She was the only one to congratulated her, and decided to explain to (Y/N) what this means now.
Not only was being a child of The Big Three forbidden, but being a daughter of Nyx? That meant more danger for everyone, and she'd become the main target for any monster who wanted her dead.
And to top it all off, she thinks Percy is avoiding her.
She hadn't seen him since she'd been claimed. She had seen him briefly during most days, but when she'd look and see him staring, he'd quickly move his gaze to the ground or the sky.
"If I thought that being a half-blood was so lonely, I'd never have come."
Annabeth felt bad for the girl, "it's not a choice, (Y/N). Nyx chose your dad for a reason."
"And yet all she's sent me is a fucking knife!"
(Y/N) yelled as she threw the dagger her mother sent her into the fire. Annabeth gasped, quickly retrieving the dagger with a stick.
The black dagger hadn't been damaged.
Before Annabeth could lecture the girl on damaging gifts from your Godly parent, she saw the tears in her eyes.
(Y/N) was angry. She'd been so angry that she started sobbing, sinking to the floor of her own empty cabin. Annabeth held her.
"I miss my dad," She sobbed, hiccuping, "I'm so alone. . .I miss Percy."
"Seaweed brain," Annabeth cursed.
Annabeth knew why Percy had been avoiding her.
Because he liked her.
Percy confessed this to Annabeth. He said he knew how important being claimed was to her. How she'd be the most sought after half-blood now.
And feared endangering her if he stayed too close.
"Tell you what?" Annabeth pulled away, "tomorrow, we'll have a girls night. I'll take you to Aphrodite cabin, and Silena will do your hair and dress you up."
She sniffled, "I doubt any of those girls want me there."
Oh, Aphrodite girls were secretly cheering (Y/N) on. They knew the consequences of having a powerful female figure in your life, but one that chose to never be present much.
"Silena does, and whatever she wants, the girls will follow."
(Y/N) didn't get much sleep that night, tears coming and going, and she only managed to find sleep when she thought of how Percy used to hold her. When they'd have sleepovers and she'd have a nightmare, Percy would always hold her until they fell asleep.
That's why she thought she was holding herself.
But her eyes deceive her.
With wide eyes, she jumped up but her head banged into the top bunk. The mystery boy awoke, asking if the girl was okay.
"Luke?! When did you-?! How?!"
"You're bleeding, (Y/N)," Luke ignored her sudden panic, helping the daughter of Nyx up. She checked her head and found some blood.
"What the fuck. . ."
Luke quickly dragged her to the infirmary, but not without notice. The few half bloods that were awake gasped, seeing Luke Castellan leaving the Nyx Cabin with (Y/N) in his arms.
And so did Percy.
"Hey, hey! What happened?" Percy called after them, catching up but hearing Percys' sudden urgency made her want to cry. He's been avoiding her for two weeks, but now he's worried?
"Put your hand on my shoulder," Luke whispered to her, and she gave him a look of confusion.
"Just do it, pretty girl," With an awkward blush, she nodded and, as a result, pushed herself closer into his chest.
"She hit her head. She'll be fine, go tell Chiron," Luke dismissed, leaving Percy with more questions than he had answers.
Why was Luke in her cabin? When did he get there? Why were you hurt?
Did he spend the night?
That last thought made the son of poseidon wish he hadn't been avoiding you all this time. It made him angry with himself that he let Luke become interested in you.
"So why were you in my room, Luke?" (Y/N) asked, holding an ice pack on her throbbing head.
"I left early this morning to check on you, and I know that Percy wanted to do that this morning. So, I figured that sharkboy might get a little jealous if he saw me in your bed," He explained with a shrug.
"Jealous?" She questioned with a scoff, "he's been avoiding me like the plague since I've been claimed."
"Did you think that because you've been claimed that he's avoiding you, or that he's avoiding you because he's scared he'll attract more monsters to you?"
"Luke, I don't have time-"
He cut her off, "it's bad enough that Percy got claimed the second day he got here. He's a forbidden child. Now, the girl he's been crushing on since diapers is the number one target of every monster out there."
"He. . .he doesn't like me like that," I said, feeling my face heat up.
Luke quirked his brow, "that's seriously what you got out of that?"
Despite her frustration and anger towards Percy, she could never despise him so much that her feelings would fade. She still cared about him and ultimately feared that her feelings couldn't be reciprocated.
"Look, if he doesn't seem interested or even the slightest bit jealous, I'll let you know," Luke knew Percy well.
In fact, Luke endured countless hours of listening to how Percy adored (Y/N). How Percy first realized that she wasn't just his best friend, or at least that's not what he wanted her to be. He wanted to be the one she sought out each morning - be the one she could lean on. As capable as she was, he still wanted to help her as much as he could.
He'd lift the entire weight of this off her shoulders if she asked.
(Y/N) had the beauty of the stars and Percy could spend the rest of his life happily staring at her.
"Okay," She nodded.
_ _ _
"Wait, I have two different outfits?"
"Of course!" Silena expressed, bringing out the second one, "this one is for our picnic tonight."
It was a gorgeous white dress that sagged off the shoulders, flowy and the top decorated with several types of flowers.
"Oh, okay," (Y/N) nodded, completely unaware that there would be no girls' night.
Just a really good plan to help force these desperate lovebirds together.
"If this doesn't get him staring, then he's blind," Silena concluded before popping on some lip gloss onto the daughter of Nyx. She could admit, she looked very pretty but her stomach became a bundle of nerves when thinking about how Percy may either ignore her and or she'd finally unblind herself to the longing looks of the son of Poseidon.
She walked out of Aphrodite cabin right as lunchtime came, and she received multiple stares as she made her way.
"How's your day been?" Luke came up behind her, swinging his arm around her shoulders.
"Honestly I still think you're crazy," She confessed, "Percy doesn't-"
He pecked her cheek without warning before whispering, "Look ahead".
And she has never seen Percy look so angry.
He clenched his tray with the fury of a God, denting it even as she looked at him. He quickly looked away, retreating back to his cabin.
Oh my God's. . .
"Percy likes me."
"Now, tonight-where are you going?!" Luke shouted as she chased after him.
She flung the door open to see his sea blue eyes filled with tears. "Oh Percy."
"I'm sorry I haven't talked to you," He immediately confessed, walking towards her, "I would never be scared of you. I'm scared of what my presence will bring to us. I'm already a target, and I didn't want to risk your safety. But I let Luke get close enough to. . ." He stared into her eyes, "I've liked you since we were eight, and I'm sorry I let my thoughts get ahead of my feelings."
"It wasn't my idea," She couldn't stand to see her sweet boy cry, "Annabeth wanted to make you jealous, make you regret ignoring me, but I didn't believe that you liked me. I never thought that you saw me as anything more than a friend."
(Y/N) grabbed his hands, "I like you, Percy. Gods, I've liked you since the first time you shared your mom's cookies with me. You're so kind, you're selfish beyond any God, and you're the sweetest. I was scared that my mother being Nyx might have pushed you away."
His hand came up to her face, "not even the Gods above could separate the two of us."
His eyes glanced between her eyes and lips, hesitating.
"Kiss me, Percy Jackson."
And he did.
The kiss was something out of a movie. She could feel the amount of love he had for her, one hand remaining on her cheek while the other held her hand. She leaned into him, and he seemed to chase her lips as she pulled away for air.
"Not everyone can breathe underwater," She reminded him with a smile.
"I think we might lose a friend tonight," Percy said, and (Y/N) frowned.
"What do you mean?"
"Luke put his lips on my girl. I'll provoke single combat," He pulled out riptide, and her eyes widened.
He gave her a quick kiss on her lips, "if you don't see me tonight, I'm drowning him."
"Percy!" He ignored her calls as he ran outside, running straight towards Luke, who laughed before realizing that Percy wasn't stopping and started running too.
"Is that Percy?" Grover asked as she walked outside, hearing the shouts coming from the forest of Luke trying to calm down Percy.
"Yup. Call Chiron, he might water board Luke."
But after Chiron managed to stop Percy, they spent the rest of the night in his cabin exchanging kisses and unexpectedly receiving a gift from her mother.
"What's this?" She questioned as the owl flew off, the small package being addressed to both Percy and her.
"From your mom, it looks like," He opened it up, and a necklace with a Triton pendant fell out. Just as he picked it up, it transformed into a black Triton that was covered in black shadows.
"Holy shit!" Percy breathed out as (Y/N) grabbed the note that fell out.
"Oh Gods," seeing her reaction, he bent down and read the note.
"Oh," He observed the Triton, "well. . .at least we know she cares."
Break my daughters heart and I'll kill you with that very Triton,
From your mother, Nyx.
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Can you write something about Jacaerys velaryon x targaryen wife reader
Where she gives birth to a baby that looks like jace and it bothered alicent but they don't care? :3
Saving Face (Jacaerys Velaryon x Targtower!Reader)
(a/n): i’m sorry this request took over a year but my, what a great idea! i hope you like it
word count: 3.0k
summary: with what was supposed to be a happy moment in the new chapter of your family with jacaerys, only wounds linger when your mother is unhappy with your child's appearance.
warnings: slight angst, family tensions, complicated family relationships, implied incest (the targaryen way), not alicent hightower friendly
request status: OPEN
The joy of his newborn child is nearly eclipsed by the fear that his beloved would be called to face the same humiliation his mother endured upon his birth.
Even in distress, his beautiful wife still looked otherworldly silver hair spun in gold, and with her pale lavender eyes, he would not have that ginger sucker of joy to rob him from this life changing celebration. His relief that his beloved survived the precarious birth, worried about her lithe frame and the prostration it weighed on her during the pregnancy.
His little boy, his beloved son, a fragment of the other half of soul and his own. He is perfect, with his ten little toes and fingers, and he is all his.
Jacaerys is thankful his mother was in the birthing room with him and his wife, breaking protocol (as always) to be with the mother as she went into labour. Without her, he thinks he would’ve been hysterical and lost his mind without her guiding hand and comforting presence in seeing Y/N in distress.
“Where is my mother?” Y/N cradles the babe to her breast, as he suckled in his mother’s warmth and he feels his heart drop to his stomach as her face contorted in disappointment.
The child yearned for nourishment, and the midwives guided the young mother so she could feed the child with her milk.
The Dowager Queen remained unyielding even as her step-daughter arose as Queen, and she was still given some privileges even with her dispute with his mother. The marriage of Jacaerys and Y/N, her youngest daughter, was made as a desperate attempt to patch the two sides together and make peace as his mother sat on the Iron Throne.
Her mother attended the wedding, wearing a dark muted forest green that still appeared obsidian in certain angles, but the flame patterns could not be missed on her gown.
A mockery indeed as if she did not accept his mother’s ascendance to the throne and wanted her small rebellions in forms of cloth, he would not grant her the satisfaction of his reaction, for the sake of the realm and his wife, her daughter. It would be too scandalous to do so.
When his beloved was called abed, all pretense of dignity and calm collapsed underneath him. Whatever confident front he had broke apart as fear consumed him, sweat dripping from his forehead, hands shaking, heart beating wildly as he realized his wife was to cross the barrier between life and death to birth their child.
Seeing Y/N’s clean white robes stained the bed in scarlet as she quickens and the pain increases as the babe nears reminds him of the chills whenever he walks the path from the princess’ chambers to the queen’s, the same path forged in blood when his mother then Princess Rhaenyra, the crown princess and heir to the Throne, had to face the humiliation called upon by her stepmother, now Queen Dowager Alicent.
His blood boils when he sees the auburn former queen walk that path meekly nowadays on her way to see her daughter, as if it was all an act when she had pulled rank and caused so much suffering to his beloved mother. Jacaerys fears his wife, now the Princess of Dragonstone will have to walk those same halls, perform the same walk of shame and mummery with all the courtiers of the Keep to bear witness.
There is no possibility he will allow her to endure the same, he would bring fire and blood to all of Westeros shall she have to face that, yet it brings him relief when he reminds himself that woman is no longer Queen but his mother is, Queen of her own right and first of her name, and yet all the same, that woman is also his mother-in-law, mother to his darling. And grandmother to the child that shares his blood.
Jacaerys never left the side of his wife even when her birth continued onto the hour of the wolf, his hands intertwined with her own, assuring kisses on her temple and cheek and encouraging her when she would cry she wanted to relent. Across from him stood his mother, whose locks resembled her half sister and his wife, an experienced mother who has felt such joy and such sorrow too, with a maternal comfort gained with experience.
He would not allow a woman filled with hate to the brim in her heart to rob him of the joys of fatherhood and the relief of his wife safe and sound after such birth to their babe. Jace felt relief like no other when he began to see the dark haired head of the child crowning, and the guttural, final scream she exerted as the child exited her womb.
Jacaerys comforted and whispered assurances of gratitude and encouragement to his lady wife, that she be reminded how grateful he was of her efforts to grow their family, of her devotion and love for him, and fulfilling her duty with nothing but grace, peppering kisses all over her flushed face.
As he caressed the fine hair of his child much like own while he fed from his mother’s breast, his elated expression dropped as if in a chilling reminder when she asked for her mother. As despicable as that woman was, he could not deny her wishes if it brought her reprieve. Jace smiled and promised her that she would be coming and has been informed of the birth of her new grandchild.
When Y/N was beyond earshot, he approached the young midwife with a hardened gait, grinding through his teeth. “If the Dowager Queen wishes to see the prince, she will make her way here herself. She can walk, can she not?!"
While his wife was preoccupied and in isolation during the last few months of the pregnancy, Jace had made efforts to convince his mother to move the Lady Alicent to the second floor below the palace where the current royal family lived. “To remind her of what she’s done to us and may feel the pain we have endured.” He told Queen Rhaenyra, who was hesitant but accepted afterwards.
Jacaerys marched his way outside the ornate doors where his wife and their babe rested, raising his chin and standing with his chest puffed out, a cold indifferent expression, back straightened and fists clenched white as his wife’s mother made her way up the stairs with difficulty.
In the years since her queenship, the then young queen had begun to develop striking pain all over her body, especially down her spine and legs no matter what the maesters or foreign healers would advise. Jacaerys thought it was fitting for when he would make his mother walk up with him and his newborn siblings, bleeding across the hallways and staircases due to the green queen’s attempt to humiliate them.
Perhaps he is his mother’s son, as diplomatic, gracious, intelligent and cunning as he may be, grudges linger.
He could hear a pin drop as the auburn haired woman nearly stumbled down the final stairs and tripped over her gown, with a few septas rushing over to assist her but he showed no commiseration.
The doors swung open as Alicent limped towards her daughter’s bedside, slightly softening in consolation her daughter was safe in childbirth and the child was kicking like a goat.
“Praise the Mother, my girl.” She brushed her blood-smeared fingers over her silver hair shakily, whispering. He did not miss the glimpse of disappointment when she noticed the dark brown hair of the child, even when the boy had her pale lavender eyes.
Alicent cleared her throat, avoiding the gaze of those around her. “I see that the prince strongly resembles his father.”
Jacaerys’ eyes narrowed in suspicion, instinctively reaching towards the pommel of his Valyrian steel sword. “Is that supposed to be a problem, Dowager?” He stomped forward, hovering above his wife and child.
“Not at all, my prince. He is a handsome boy-”
Queen Rhaenyra noticed the tension beginning to develop and interrupted with a smile. “She means no ill, Jacaerys. Merely an observation.”
“An observation?! She wished to have us named as bastards to replace you as heir with one of her spawns and humiliate you.” He raised his voice, accusatory at his mother’s former adversary, and he could feel Lucerys next to him, pulling him away to calm him.
His wife Y/N, exhausted and delirious from the birth, began to grow pale and overwhelmed from the commotion around her, just as her babe broke out in tears and wailed. The Queen ordered everyone but Jacaerys to exit the room and give the family their space. The door shut with a thunderous thud.
…
Hours later, the midwives finished cleaning up the afterbirth, bathed and cleaned the lady and the child before they both fell asleep in new linen sheets and fed.
Jacaerys never left his young family’s side, despondent he had lost his cool, distressing his family during a vulnerable moment, turning what should have been a celebration into an altercation.
He cringed as he could only imagine what the murmurs and whispers about his behaviour and the events that followed with his wife’s mother would share about him. He had brought this upon himself and his family.
AS Y/N began waking from her first rest since the labours, he turned to her as soon as he could hear her rise from her sheets, reaching for her hands in his.
“I have failed you, wife. I should have protected you but I have only raised in anger over old wounds and created altercations when I should have.” Jacaerys felt his tears brim, cheeks red with ignominy and shame.
Her eyes fluttered awake, still weary from the long delivery but visibly more rested already. She shook her head in understanding with an enervated sigh.
“I understand your relationship with my mother has been tense, for what she had done to Her Grace and your family. But I can assure her she has changed, if she is not with me, she is on the knees at the Sept begging for forgiveness and giving alms-”
“She looked at our son the same way she used to look at me and my brothers as children, when she would use her tongue to call us bastards! I fear she will do the same to you and the boy. What good will alms do if she still wishes to see me and our son six feet under ground for the colour of our hair!?” Jacaerys exclaimed, lips quivering in fear as he felt tears brim in his eyes.
Y/N brought their son closer to her arms, only comforted by the sight of her child and her beloved.
“I will handle her, trust me. She thinks I do not pay attention to these things, but I do.” She reaches her free hand to his, unmoving to not wake the babe and squeezes his larger palms into her own.
Jacaerys sniffles, wiping his tears with his sleeve. “I do not wish to drive you apart from your mother, my love. I only worry about you and our family’s safety, and the throne. That you and our son may not suffer on my behalf.”
Their son had just begun to fall asleep in her arms, and she began bouncing him instinctively, quickly gaining the ropes of what it took to be a good mother. Jacaerys knew she would be nothing like her own mother, eagerly learning from his mother Queen Rhaenyra, speaking with other royal and noble mothers and even listening to wet nurses and nannies on how to rear children best.
“Are you sure you can handle this conversation? Would you like me outside or in the room with you?” He asks with uncertainty, not entirely confident with his wife even with her own mother.
The wife of the heir to the Iron Throne and Princess of Dragonstone nods fiercely. “You forget I am a dragon too. We do not bow to these snakes that suck from their prey.”
…
In the overmorrow on the first day of spring, Y/N had just put her son in his cradle, handcrafted in limestone and marble with seahorses and dragons, lined with sheets of silk with pearls and aquamarines, befitting the future King, and the scion of Houses Targaryen and Velaryon.
She hummed as she watched him sleep, having gone through feeding him herself to the surprise of the wet nurses she had followed through, unlike most royalty. She swore she would leave nursing and care to others if she had no other choice.
Underneath sat the hearth of the magenta and mauve swirled dragon egg surrounded by pieces of coal, emitting whirls of smoke that signified the life alive in those eggs. The egg was special as it was the first from her young ride, a nervous flighty thing who only managed to hatch when she found out she was expecting herself, rarely only having one dragon when most on Dragonstone laid many.
As she hums old Valyrian nursery hymns from the crypts of ancient Valyrian text retrieved from the tombs of the Keep’s libraries, she recognizes the steps of her mother without a glimpse.
In her jade hued robes, Lady Alicent was quaint yet undaunted to remind the court of her former standing as once the queen who ruled these halls. A black veil hid part of her auburn hair that turned to flames in certain lighting.
Her mother grimaces with a smile that does not reach her eyes, but relief is painted all over her being. “You are well, daughter? I presume so is the babe.”
Y/N curtly interrupts her. “The babe is your grandson, my child when I am your flesh and blood, mother. Most importantly, he is the future heir to the throne, second in line to my husband.”
Alicent frantically fidgets with her fingers, tugging at her old emerald rings in consternation.
“Of course, yes. His name, Aemon, is fitting for a future monarch.” She could hear the strain in her mother’s words, laced with lies. All her life she had learned those sealed with malice and deceit.
“You forget yourself, mother. My husband and my children are of the blood of the dragon, as do I. You do not understand the ways of the dragon, in your jealousy of wanting to unseat my sister and put Aegon on the throne. Your attempts to disgrace and dispossess my future husband and his brothers has brought the Stranger hanging over mine and my own son’s head!” Y/N chides in betrayal, voice tinged with disbelief her mother would do such a thing.
“Y/N-”
“I could not believe you, mother, that you still harbour such ill will after many years. My marriage with Jacaerys should have buried whatever disagreements you may have had with Queen Rhaenyra, but you value imbuing hate and division on this house more than choosing the peace and stability of this kingdom!”
“Your husband and your son are unbecoming of what Targaryen princes are supposed to look like-” The Dowager attempted to reason, but was impeded as her daughter held an imposing hand towards her.
“Unbecoming? Have you not glimpsed into a mirror? You are nothing of what a Targaryen queen should be, a mere second son’s daughter who brought nothing of value to the throne, and only sought discord to advance her family. Who replaced the Targaryen tapestries with ones of the Seven in hopes of bringing your radicalism to the rest of the kingdom!”
Guards barge in the doors of the babe’s nursery, their armour and swords clattering loudly in the quiet hall.
“What is the meaning of this?”
Y/N coldly turns away from her mother, even as she frowned the same way she would. “By order of the Princess of Dragonstone with the seal of approval of the Prince of Dragonstone and the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms,
I order your arrest for treason, and insubordination not only for your past grievances but your efforts to call my son a bastard. You will be stripped of your privileges of Queen Dowager, and turned into a septa who will serve the Seven for all her days.”
The former queen is astonished, struggling among the grips of the soldiers who surround her. “Daughter, you are mistaken, please do not do this to me. For all I have sacrificed for this realm and for your father, you must understand why I am the way I am.” She pleaded on her knees, hands clasped as she cried for mercy.
“No, you have served your ambitions and my late grandsire’s treacherous longing for power and the throne, that you would put the Hightower banners and replace Targaryen customs with the Seven and southern ways, that you would tear the kingdom apart for it. I have given you too many chances, forgiving you and turning the cheek in hopes you have accepted it and at least been happy for me, but I am a fool. I am not as forgiving as my father was to your digressions!”
Y/N paced slowly around her mother, sorrow on her face, but no regret or forgiveness.
“You are lucky I will not be putting you in a cell, because for better or for worse, you are still the mother who birthed me. But you would understand, there is nothing a mother would do to grant protection to her children.”
The princess dazed into the window, grasping onto the rails as she heard her mother being dragged out the halls and stripped of her royal ordinances. She could feel herself biting into her nails nervously after years of no longer doing so.
Jacaerys sauntered carefully, approaching his wife with comfort, rubbing her shoulders and bringing her into his arms, looking down at their son as he slept.
“Was I not too cruel, Jace?” She whimpered, weeping into his arms as she was devastated at whether treating her own kin in such a way was a fatal mistake.
He rests his chin on the top of her head before pressing kisses on her temple. “I understand why this troubles you, wife. As abominable and misguided she was, you still are her blood, her daughter.”
She glimpsed at her son, cooing at him as he quietly sleeps. “As a mother, I want to be nothing like her. My son will never be safe while she is around.”
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