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warriorofthesky · 3 months

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until we meet again

until we meet again, crow/guardian, ~2.4k words

rated explicit

crow volunteers to be the first to enter the traveler. the guardian is not happy about that. (or: i was going to say in which the guardian has the emotional intelligence of a thirteen year old but isn't the guardian canonically only about ten? anyway. in which the guardian is even less emotionally intelligent because it's crow). a few notes: saffron is my guardian. a hunter and an idiot. sage is his ghost. lion-4 was part of saffron's fireteam and his lover/partner. he died in the red war. saffron and cayde's relationship was 100% platonic. also on ao3.

“No.”

The word is a stone thrown against glass; the silence that follows a fragile, anxious thing that brings the world to a halt. The look on Crow’s face tells Saffron he made a mistake.

He’s about to make a few more.

“We have no idea if following the person who goes in is even possible,” he continues, ignoring the dread rising in the pit of his stomach. “It’s reckless to assume we can send reinforcements. It’s reckless to assume the inside of the Traveler is even inhabitable to humans. All of this is a gamble.” Every word feels like a nail in his coffin. Glint bobs nervously near Crow’s head and even though Sage doesn’t deign to materialize himself, Saffron can feel his disapproval. Well, they don’t call him stubborn - or stupid - for nothing. “It’s up to Zavala and Ikora who to choose for the job.”

Crow is quiet for a moment, but his yellow-orange eyes gleam with intent. “They will choose you, of course. And you will be alone to face the Witness.”

Saffron shrugs. “It’s their choice to make.”

Crow rolls his eyes. “You are good, Saf. The best of us. I know that. But not even you can succeed alone against the Witness. You are not arrogant enough to think that.”

Saffron struggles to repress the urge to shrug again. He is not that arrogant, it’s true. But if someone needs to go, who else but him? Crow is one of the best guardians he knows, of course, but if push comes to shove, he is the best choice. He will do whatever it takes and then return, or not, and Crow will be here, safe.

Not that he will ever say that. He is not, in fact, stupid.

The silence stretches on. The other hunter’s gaze quickly grows heavy. Saffron’s skin prickles under all his armor and he mourns his decision to let Sage transmat away his helmet - the HELM’s lights leave little to the safety of the shadows and the Traveler knows Crow can read him like a book. A children’s book, at that.

The tension becomes unbearable and he finally looks away, defeated, but Crow is the one who sighs. “My plan is sound, Saf. You know that. Osiris and Mara will know how to follow me once I’m inside the Traveler. It’d be foolish to not try.”

Saffron stops himself from shaking his head or tapping his foot like a child. “I don’t think so.”

“Well,” Crow says slowly. “I guess the Vanguard will decide. I will let them know about my plan later today.”

Saffron can’t help it. He scoffs. Crow raises one eyebrow and Saffron can almost feel his hackles raising. Sage materializes with a shimmer of light. He doesn’t need to look to know his Ghost is not on his side. “It’s a good plan, Crow,” the little traitor says. “He just doesn’t like it because you will be in danger.”

“Sage.”

“What?”

Crow smiles. “I know that,” he says. “But you can’t decide the risks I take.”

Saffron tries to relax his hands. His shoulders. The set of his jaw. He can’t look at Crow right now, not with the way his stomach is doing backflips. Some of it is embarrassment, he recognizes, though the very acknowledgement of it sets him on edge. He can almost hear Sage’s reprimand in his head. Or Eris’. Hasn’t he been through this before? He is mature enough to sort out his own feelings. At least he should be.

“I can’t decide anything for you,” is all he manages to say, and the words come out as sharp as a knife. He notices the exact moment Crow tenses up as if ready for a fight, and that is a strange thought. He knows that, in theory, Crow is just as stubborn as he is. It just… never comes up in practice. Not in relation to him, that is. Saffron is used to butting heads with Zavala or Ikora or Osiris or, hell, even Mara. He is even more used to Crow being on his side every single time. This is new and he really, really doesn’t like it.

“You are right. You can’t,” Crow says, a new edge in his voice. “I will not let anyone cage me, Saffron. Not even you.”

The words hit like a punch. “Crow.”

“You deserve that,” Sage murmurs and Saffron lets out a low hiss.

“Sage.”

“You do.”

Glint bobs between them. “Enough!” He glances around, still nervous. “None of you mean it like that. Please.”

A beat of silence, and then some of the tension leaves Crow’s body. He pushes his hair out of his face and lets out a long suffering sigh. Saffron tries not to get offended by that but any injury is quickly forgotten when Crow steps into his personal space. His hand closes around Saffron’s wrist and even under all the armor his touch is warm, familiar. It quiets the storm in his heart, somewhat. “We don’t need to fight.”

“We are not fighting,” Saffron tries but Crow’s flat look shuts him up.

“I know you just want to keep me safe.” Crow’s fingers brush against his jaw almost absently and Saffron leans into the caress like a moth to flame. A small part of his mind bristles at his easy surrender, but the relief for not having ruined things drowns out all of his stupid, impulsive thoughts. “But I have to believe I was reforged in the Light for a purpose.” There is a pause. They are the same height, so Crow dips Saffron’s head down with a single touch on his chin. His lips barely ghost Saffron’s forehead, but the contact is enough to unlock the muscles on his shoulders and, more importantly, to quiet his hasty tongue. “We will talk later,” the other hunter says, and then Crow and Glint are gone.

They will not talk later. Not about this at least. Crow knows Saffron is wrong. Saffron knows he is wrong and worse, Saffron knows Sage knows he knows he is wrong. And there is no escaping the little devil.

But there is a first day for everything and, for once, Sage shows mercy. The hallway remains blissfully silent and Saffron is free to stew in his own mistakes.

Much later, Crow finds him in one of the rooms for guardians in the HELM. That’s not exactly usual for them - they stay away from both the HELM and the Tower most of the time, spending their nights on each other’s ship or, more commonly, out in the field. But this feels like a truce and the HELM like neutral territory. Saffron knows he is due to do some groveling, but the very thought of it feels like grime over his skin, and that sends his mind spinning.

Sitting alone in an undescriptive sofa in the barebones room, he thinks of the Red War, of Lion-4 and Cayde-6. There was a time he wasn’t like this - jaded, defensive, fiercely protective of his own reasoning and opinions, and a miser when sharing his feelings. Sage wasn’t like this either. Saffron has done his worst to dim the Ghost’s light over the years, it feels like. It’s unfair that Crow should be stuck with this Saffron, and not the one Lion-4 once called endearing.

He is lucky - so, so lucky - that Crow is a better person. He barely pauses at seeing him sitting alone in the dark and falls into routine effortlessly, almost as if their earlier fight didn’t happen, helping him out of his armor with practiced ease. Sage could transmat it all away if he asked, of course, but again, routine. Little rituals. They are special in their own right.

Saffron’s only contribution is making away with Crow’s cloak, letting it fall on the floor unceremoniously. The silence is comfortable, if not relaxed, and he takes the time to watch Crow’s face - the curve of his nose, the light dancing right under his skin, the fall of his hair. The bundle of dread returns, sitting uncomfortably in the bottom of his stomach, but it feels lighter now. A bit, at least.

“Mara warned me about it once,” he says suddenly. “That I would become to you what she was to Uldren.”

Crow tenses up just slightly, hands going still. “Did she?”

“I told her she needn’t worry.” And then, proudly but resigned, “I was right.”

Crow stares at him for a moment, then lets out an almost startled laugh. “Of course you were.”

“She knows that by now, too.”

Crow hums in agreement but his eyes are sharp. Saffron doesn’t need to wonder about him not understanding his awkward way of saying sorry. A children’s book still.

The hunter’s gaze softens and he moves to straddle Saffron, who reacts immediately by anchoring his waist. They’ve always been good with touch, even before. Talking has always been the hard part. Saffron is too used to relying on Sage to speak for him, but that doesn’t work with Crow, and he wouldn’t want it to. But this is easy. As is getting all gear off Crow, no Ghost necessary.

They usually go slow when they make love, and this time is no different. Crow rides him with a steady rhythm and Saffron yields under his touch. Out there, no one can wrestle control from him, but here Crow leads, his words both a balm and a low, simmering ember.

There is an edge to it, though, a touch of desperation. Saffron’s hand leaves Crow’s waist to trace the line of his spine, the expanse of his shoulders, the back of his neck. He pulls him down for a kiss; Crow tastes like hunger, an inkling of sugar and the faintest trace of guilt, and Saffron wants more. His body feels like an exposed nerve, angry and uncomfortable, and only the touch of Crow’s skin brings some relief. He pulls the other hunter closer and Crow complies, locking his arms around Saffron’s neck, picking up the pace and rocking his hips against Saffron’s ever so slightly faster. Pleasure builds at the bottom of his stomach, an ever growing wave threatening to topple him over, to burn him to ashes. He shivers.

“Saffron,” Crow says, voice barely a whisper, silk over the steel of a command. “Slower.”

Saffron lets out a noise that is halfway to a grunt before morphing into a whine, and immediately obeys. Crow laughs, pleased, and that sound alone makes the indignity worth it. The wave recedes, waiting, and Crow kisses him again, this time almost lazily. He fucks himself on Saffron’s dick unhurriedly, like they have all the time in the world. Maybe, right now, they do.

Crow’s fingers brush against his cheekbones, following the marks under his eyes. “You will find me,” he says, lips on the corner of his mouth, then lower. “You will always find me.”

Saffron doesn’t argue. He wants to believe his words so badly it almost feels like he can will them into existence. But he can’t. So he matches Crow’s pace, nuzzling his neck as the hunter lets out a sigh, nails digging into Saffron’s shoulders. This is good enough, he thinks. And then, no. This is more than enough. This is more than he thought he would ever have.

Saffron runs his hand through Crow’s hair and kisses him again.

A few days later, Saffron finds himself in the rare position of being on the Awoken Queen’s side when it comes to Crow.

He should have just left before they noticed him, but he wasn’t fast enough. Osiris is here, because of course he is, but it’s between Crow and Mara where the tension pools, taut like a bowstring. He knows their talking points by heart now, both in favor and against; Mara hits all of Saffron’s arguments, Osiris and Crow dismantle them one by one with relentless precision, and for what could possibly be the first time in Saffron’s short life, the queen of the Awoken glances at him in search of an ally. It’s also quite possibly the first time he would, under other circumstances, become her fiercest champion. But alas, Mara will find no ally in him, being throughly fucked into submission as he was. Saffron just shrugs in answer.

To her credit, he notices with no small amount of bitterness, she folds easier than he did, and is quicker to trust her brother than Saffron was. Maybe Sage is right and he does need a mirror.

“You won't be but a step behind him... Will you?” She asks once they are alone. “Take care of him.”

“I will. Always,” Saffron says earnestly. He owes her that much at least.

This one, you shall cherish, O Guardian mine.

Saffron stands in front of the wall of wishes and the bundle of dread in the bottom of his stomach isn’t a bundle anymore. It’s a chasm.

You're sure about this?

I am. It has to be me.

He can’t hear much after that. His skin prickles under his gear, the gear itself chafes, and the wall of wishes seems to stare back at him, mocking his helplessness. He said his goodbye earlier, when the two of them were alone, but he was planning on saying more. A few last words. A good luck, even. But he finds he can’t quite open his mouth.

He almost misses the click of a new channel coming to life in his ear. Saffron, Crow says. I will see you soon. I promise.

“You will.” I love you dearly is what he wants to say, but it doesn’t come out. Not even Sage, who is half his soul, has heard the words. Lion-4 never got the chance, and neither did Cayde. But Sage will one day, and so will Crow. Next time, maybe. He can hope for that. “Be careful.”

I always am.

The channel turns off. The chamber is deadly quiet.

Sage pops up near his head, transmatting away his helmet. “He will be fine,” he says, voice painfully gentle. “And Glint, too. Don’t you worry. We will find them.”

Saffron smiles at the concern in the Ghost’s voice. He opens his palm for him and Sage follows suit. His touch is enough to shed some of the fear brimming under Saffron’s skin. “Yes,” he says. “We will.”

#destiny 2 #destiny 2 fanfiction #here we go to the 213123 crow/guardian tags #guardian x crow #yw x crow #young wolf x crow #guardian/crow #season of the wish #ren.doc #my guardian is an absolute mess sorry yall #saffron #crow #crow destiny

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a-driftamongopenstars · 4 months

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pettiness is a dish always best served hot; guardian x crow and cayde :)

after getting that ask about Cayde being a third-wheel in this situation, I just had to write something for the Wild Card mission :) I hope this is as funny as it is in my mind :D also on ao3

Cayde hates stake outs.

Getting into the fray, guns blazing, is where his true approach lies. A knife here, a bullet there, everyone who should be dead is dead, and he gets to eat ramen right on the dinner clock.

Yet here they are, former Hunter Vanguard, his little Guardian protege and their formerly of the Awoken royalty boyfriend. Slash killer. Slash no, not anymore. Slash, unsure. What a crew!

“Cayde, stop moving!” Crow chastises him, kicking him lightly in the shin.

Cayde narrows his eyes but obliges by sitting down on the ground, watching Crow. Now that one was made for scouting. Patient to a Hunter appropriate degree, wicked with a sniper, if Cayde were to judge. Knows his stuff. And according to the few conversations they shared, not even mildly scared by bureaucracy. Good, Cayde thinks.

A multitude of feelings swarm inside him. Curiosity, jealousy, a little bit of anger for the spice. Resentment, pride, appreciation.

But above all those warm and fuzzy feelings, there is one more. One that Cayde has made sure to nurture over his long long life. One that feeds into his very psyche.

“Guardian?” Crow calls on the comms. “I have you in my sights. There is a swarm of Scorn approaching your location. Wait, what? Uh…”

Whatever the reply is, Cayde doesn’t get to hear as the channel switches to private but for a second. And so he gives in to that feeling instead.

A wave of playful and unyielding pettiness.

And so Cayde-6 forms a plan.

***

They sit around a small fire, celebrating one of the many latest victories of their hunt. Crow reenacts a shoot-out with a horde of war beasts, accidentally sending one of the bottles flying at the wall, covering the rock side with rich red. The Guardian is laughing, while the two Ghosts watch with a mixture of disapproval and parental condescension.

Crow thoughtfully rubs his nape and reaches for another wine bottle, offering it to the Guardian. But before the bottle can make contact, Cayde smiles and swipes it from Crow's hand.

“Oh, that's my favourite!” he exclaims. “Not vintage enough, but that will do.”

He lets the cool liquid pour down his mechanical throat, watching from the corner of the eye as Crow can't find any more wine in their supplies. The Guardian is smiling at Crow's quiet frustration and reassures him that it's fine and they can transmat in some more if need be. Their hands brush against each other as Crow sits next to the Guardian, and Cayde wonders if they don’t see him notice.

“Good wine?” Crow asks with a mocking tone, to which Cayde wipes his mouth and sighs with great content.

“Good enough, kid.”

Crow huffs and turns his attention to stoking the fire.

A warm feeling spreads in Cayde's chest. He oh so loves being up to no good.

***

In-between the many battles within the Pale Heart, they take a moment of respite to take care of their weapons and ammunition. The Guardian is trying to get screeb stuff out of their armour to no avail. Rookie mistake to run straight into the thick of the horde and serves them right.

Crow polishes the feather-etched barrel of his gun. Cayde watches, proud that the kid has already figured out the important business of having a signature gun. Cayde tucks away a thought about a signature cloak, one step a time, but that's a done deal. He's decided, it’s just that no one else needs to know for now.

Cayde looks at his own weapon, the Ace of Spades glowing with Light through cracks. Shabby, but trusty. His thumb runs over the white spade. Even here in this strange version of the afterlife, a memory of something distant and unattainable is haunting him.

When he raises his eyes, he finds that Crow has joined the Guardian in a fruitless attempt to wipe off the Scorn ether, yet the more they both try, the more the stain seems to eat into the armour.

Lovebirds, Cayde thinks. Oh how the tables have turned.

***

The hunt for the ether-thieves goes on for a few more days. In that time Cayde thinks he and Crow have discussed every possible facet of things he would rather never talk about again. Good thing the kid is easily distracted with a healthy bit of competition, which they indulge in by shooting distant targets while the Guardian spots them both.

At night they take turns to meditate and rest, another taking watch.

On one of the nights, Cayde wanders off from the camp. An excuse is easy, a strange noise nearby he wants to investigate, as if there isn't something strange happening every minute anyway. They are inside the Traveler, after all.

Cayde walks down a narrow trodden path and contemplates the ridiculous lip locking happening right around the corner. It doesn’t particularly bother him, but oh, amuse him it does. His favourite Guardian, all tangled up with this Crow. He wonders how it happened. Actually, he doesn’t, the more he thinks about it, the stranger it seems.

When Cayde makes it back to the camp, the kiss is still ongoing, with the two lovebirds none the wiser to his presence. Dangerous, could get shot like this, so they should be happy it’s just him.

Cayde pushes between the Guardian and Crow, plopping himself down on the ground. The Guardian is looking away flushed, while Crow crosses his arms.

“Found anything suspicious?” he asks, moving to make space.

“Nah, false alarm. There was this pair of love birds though…”

The Guardian chokes on a small hidden laugh.

***

“...that’s when Zavala punched him right. In. The. Face!”

As the Guardian laughs, Crow rubs his forehead with tired fingers. Cayde rummages through his memories to grapple onto a new story - and good thing that not all of them have to be true - when the Guardian stretches their arms. After a few pops, a glance at Crow and a ridiculously tired yawn, they begin to rise from the chair.

“Hold on, I’ve got one more!” Cayde exclaims. “Just one more, and off you go to see your sweet dreams. Promise!”

The Guardian sits right back, and Crow watches Cayde with eyes narrowed, only two brightly coloured irises glowing in the dark. He means to say something, and Cayde eggs him on with a prolonged pause, just to talk as Crow’s mouth opens.

“A-”

“Okay, there was this one time I sat in a bar, and in came a titan, a hunter and a warlock…”

One story turns into a couple more. A wine bottle is fished from the supplies, and the Guardian is doing all in their power to not let their eyes closed, when Cayde puts a final flourish on the story.

“And that’s why you don’t play cards with Ikora.”

“Good to know,” Crow says with an amused grin. “I think I’m going to catch some sleep. How… about you, Guardian?”

They rise from the chair and dust off their armour, even though it has now been made pristine.

As the Guardian heads to the tent, Crow turns to Cayde. Their eyes meet, some kind of momentary agreement or understanding. He doesn’t want to talk about it now, but he has learnt the importance of well-timed words. It may always be that you would not get a chance to say them.

“Come on,” Cayde ushers Crow with a flick of his hand. “Go get that sleep.”

Crow crosses his arms and arches his eyebrow.

“What, not another story? Or sleeping right in the middle of the tent like the last time?”

“Nope,” Cayde responds. “Let’s just say, I got my retaliation. Now go, shoo. The Guardian is going to fall asleep if you don’t get all cuddly and snuggly.”

Crow’s lips stretch into a wild grind.

“What in the Light’s name are those words?”

“No idea, hope I don’t get to repeat them ever again. Now go, kid. And… look after them, yeah? They are my favourite.”

Crow looks at the tent where the Guardian is fumbling with a light blanket.

“I will. They are my favourite, too.”

#destiny 2 #destiny 2 spoilers #destiny 2 fanfiction #cayde-6 #guardian x crow #yw x crow #young wolf x crow #fanfiction #driftcreates #:D

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