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lizzyverydizzyyo · 8 months

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D.E.A.N | Chapter 30 - Peak

Masterlist and overall summary of the whole novel is here. | Prompt on trope-appreciation-tuesdays that inspired this is here. | @whumptober-archive

Fandom : Original Work

(I) (II) (III) (IV) (V) (VI) (VII) (VIII) (IX) (X) (XI) (XII) (XIII) (XIV) (XV) (XVI) (XVII) (XVIII) (XIX) (XX) (XXI) (XXII) (XXIII) (XXIV) (XXV) (XXVI) (XXVII) (XXVIII) (XXIX) (XXX) (XXXI - END)

AO3

Wordcount: ± 8086 [Also very action-heavy, so I can’t cut it into two chapters]

TW: Suicide Pact, Suicidal Ideation, Depression, Dread, Minor Character Deaths (antagonist), Blood, Injury, Weapon, Gun, Firearms, Shooting, Drugs, Graphic Depiction of Violence, Gore, Explosion, Medical Instruments and Treatments

He can sense it’s nearly over, although he doesn’t know on whose favor fate will fall into: his side or the enemies’. All who remain are now left to lick their wounds pitifully, wondering if they’ll ever get back to the way it was. Mark tells himself that, at least, ones dear to his heart are still breathing on this God’s green earth.

Whumptober 2023 Themes (last 4 and Alt. Bonus only):

Day Alt. bonus — Aftermath of Failure

Day 28 — “You'll have to go through me.”

Day 29 — Troubled Past Resurfacing

Day 30 — Bridal Carry | “Not much longer...”

Day 31 — Emptiness | Setbacks

Whumptober 2022 Themes (post-event, not completionist):

Day 11 Alt. — Ambushed

Day 24 — Fight, Flight or Freeze | Blood Covered Hands

Day 26 — No One Left Behind | Separated

This story is set in the last half of 2016.

——

Once they’re in the open, they whip their heads left and right, trying to figure out which vehicle Angie and Doctor Lowe are near to. There are two vans: one on the far side of the left, and the other on their right but close. It’s probably not helping that everything is dark.

He didn’t realize how late it is. No wonder many sections of the headquarter looked dark before. What time is it anyway?

Suddenly, they see Angie’s head poking from behind the van on their right. Her arm follows, showing up from the other side of the van to wave to them.

“Angie!” Mark calls out happily, although he still makes sure he keeps quiet.

Anna and Mark sprint to close the distance.

He doesn’t know about Anna, but he feels warmth washing over him with his heart feeling a little lighter. Like giant boulders are lifted off his shoulders. Like hope.

“How did you get here? How did the bomb go?” Anna blurts out quickly.

“Long story. I survived. That’s all that matters.”

“Okay. True,” Anna replies.

Mark gives himself a few seconds to scan Angie and Doctor Lowe quickly, seeing some cuts and bruises here and there, and scratches on their clothes, but they’re alive and well and standing firmly. They’re all okay. Mostly.

Across him, Angie throws a slight look towards Nick in Mark’s arms, one arm lolling on the side and dangling weakly. Nick is quiet and not moving, his head laid against Mark’s chest, but his own chest still rises and falls. Angie stares at the bloody palm of Nick that’s hanging down. She doesn’t point it out.

Which is probably for the best because they can’t afford to panic and spread the anxiety towards each other. They need to be steady and quick now.

“Get in,” Doctor Lowe tersely instructs Mark while Angie walks towards the back of the van to open the doors. It’s not locked.

Mark frowns while looking at the van, pausing a few steps away. He scans their surroundings and sees no one else beside 5 of them.

“What?” the surgeon turns around to him exasperatedly.

“Is this safe?” he asks. “Did any Helga people get to it?”

“It’s fine. I’ve been here all the time we were separated,” Angie says urgently to Mark. “The agents in charge of guarding the backyard just left for the inside not too long ago, so the vehicles were still protected from any sabotaging.”

Mark contemplates for a few seconds, but ends up closing his eyes and sighing as he accepts Angie’s explanation, so he steps forwards to approach the van.

“The keys?” Angie asks him.

Mark faces her fully to give her better access to Nick’s pockets on his utility belt. Nick stays still, eerily silent. He doesn’t react at all to Angie rummaging her hand through his many pockets until she gets to the one with the handful of metal keys.

“Okay, good, lay him down there,” Doctor Lowe instructs him once Angie has the keys in her palm. The surgeon points to the far side of the van’s interior.

Mark bends down his body a little so that he can fit into the back of the van as he steps into it. He climbs into the van’s inside while crouching, still with Nick in his arms, but when both of his feet are firmly on the floor of the van and he is pretty much squatting, he starts shifting his legs one knee at a time to kneel. He shuffles that way a bit until he reaches the divider between the back of the van and the driver section so that he can deposit Nikolai on the floor.

Nick is still unmoving with face leaning against Mark’s chest and one arm lolling around, even until he gently lays Nick down.

“No, no. Sit him up a bit. His legs can’t be higher than the rest of his body,” the surgeon interjects, pulling on Mark’s arm a bit to stop his movement.

Nick finally makes a sound by groaning weakly when Mark tries to pull his body up into sitting position, while Doctor Lowe pulls his legs straight from slightly bent position. It seems to be very important that Nick’s legs are lower than his torso as he is bleeding like this, as said by Angie too before the first surgery.

Once they’re settled inside, Doctor Lowe turns back to pull the doors in and slam them closed. Only then does Mark take off his helmet and put it away. He takes off Nick’s helmet next to see his face and gauge how he is doing.

Nick’s eyes are half-lidded, blinking sluggishly once in a while. He looks extremely pale with cold sweat drenching his body and wetting his hair. Even his skin is cold to touch.

“Kid, just last a little bit more, okay?” Doctor Lowe now says as he crouches to sit next to Nick across from Mark, both facing the weakened boy. The old face uncharacteristically shows strong emotions and non-clinical concern, for once.

Nick’s thin hands are on top of his own abdomen, but they’re not really pushing on his wound strongly, probably because his energy is completely depleted. Mark kneels on one knee in front of him as he puts his own palm on top of Nick’s to push at it firmly.

Nick winces and weakly shifts his head to the side.

“Sorry, I’m sorry. We need to put pressure on your bleeding,” he tells Nick softly.

Nick turns his head forward again to look at him, face seemingly half-conscious. His breathing is labored and dragging, and when Mark takes Nick’s left wrist to feel his pulse, it’s faint but abnormally rapid.

“Why the fuck are we not driving yet?”

He sees Doctor Lowe raising his head to look over Nick’s head towards the divider, his face urgent with a somewhat angry look. He has never been a patient man in all the time Mark has known him, after all.

“Hey,” the doctor calls out again, “what are you waiting for?!”

He bangs on the divider, making Nick wince and moan in pain again. Mark glares slightly at the surgeon, but the man doesn’t seem to care.

“We’re looking for the key!” they both hear Angie’s muffled voice.

“Do it fucking faster!”

Even with the divider, Mark can hear Angie and Anna frantically mumbling with each other, “Where the fuck is the key? Is it this? No, that doesn’t fit, fuck! I don’t know which one? Did they not say which key is for which car! Oh my god…” with metal jiggling.

“Jesus fucking Christ, are you serious, you dumb bitches? Go now!” Doctor Lowe yells out incredulously.

“We’re trying, okay?!” follows with more metal clanking from both women in the front.

“For fuck’s sake, just cut the cord and start with it!” Mark now screams in turn in frustration.

“Are you fucking serious? No! It’ll just destroy the car!” Angie responds from the front.

Nick shifts his head to the side again, weakly gasping with eyes barely open.

“Angie! Anna! Come on!” Mark yells again after looking at that.

He hears more metal jiggling and hissed arguments from the front, and he is about ready to get out and sort the problem out himself, but then he hears the van sputtering then humming to life.

“Gotcha!” he finally hears from Angie.

Mark and Doctor Lowe unconsciously exhale in relief and sag their bodies at the same time. He can even hear Nick exhaling weakly too.

He turns to Nick again with a tight smile, trying to be calming and reassuring.

“This is it. We just have to reach backup team and it’ll be over. You’ll be okay there,” he says softly.

Nick simply looks back at him, seemingly fighting against his exhaustion so that he can keep his eyes open. He winces a bit before blinking weakly, then his eyes stay half-lidded until they all can feel the motion of the car starting to be driven away.

Of course, in ideal situation, it’s better to drive slowly and carefully so that Nick isn’t jolted around while bleeding like this, but there are still dozens of Helga people they’re trying to run from in here, and possibly even more who are still trying to reach this headquarter. They don’t have any other choice but to accept Angie hitting the gas and speeding up along their path until they reach Central Hub’s backup team.

Doctor Lowe and Mark have just taken off their guns and put them on the floor when they simultaneously push at Nick’s shoulders instinctively. He is whipped from side to side at a sharp turn Angie is taking, so they’re making sure Nick isn’t knocked around—especially on the head—and injured more.

“Argh…” Nick immediately yelps in pain at the sudden movement.

“Sorry! Sorry! I’m sorry,” he soothes Nick.

He can see tears flowing from the corners of Nick’s swirly blue-brown eyes as they’re squeezed shut. In turn, Mark squeezes Nick’s shoulder a little to calm him down. Eventually, the van is going at a more even pace with less bouncing as it seemingly settles on an established road.

“You keep pushing on his wound. I’ll try to connect to backup,” Doctor Lowe eventually instructs him.

He simply nods and sits down with crossed legs so that he is in a more comfortable position to hold Nick. His own right shoulder is leaning against the divider as he keeps his left palm’s pressure at Nick’s abdomen. Mark sees Doctor Lowe sit on his heels while clicking on his watch for a while.

The old surgeon tsks.

“The reach is too short with this,” he comments.

“Well, yeah. It’s for a contained network. It’s not meant to be far,” he responds.

“It would be nice if it can. I was hoping its reach is far enough considering we don’t have any of our heavy-duty laptops.”

“There is our satellite map on the dashboard, isn’t there?” he inquires.

“For them,” the surgeon nods his chin to the front to refer to Angie and Anna, “but not us. We can’t see where we are from here. Can’t prepare.”

Oh, that makes sense.

“I guess we should just keep our comms open to connect to backup’s network.”

“I’d rather not do that for too long. We can be intercepted. There are only 5 of us here,” the old man informs him, finally clicking the button on the earpiece itself, seemingly disconnecting from 1034’s headquarter’s network.

Mark too ends up clicking on his earpiece to disconnect it.

There is no point in connecting to 1034’s headquarter anymore since they’re leaving that place and won’t need to communicate with any of them. He knows they’re not going to send more chaperone agents for Nick because there simply are just not enough agents to fight Helga in the headquarter itself.

It’s better to make sure their connection isn’t intruded on by any non-authorized party by turning it off completely.

He almost falls asleep due to his extreme exhaustion and lulling silence for a while when Doctor Lowe suddenly talks to him.

“Shift him a little,” Doctor Lowe instructs Mark.

He furrows his eyebrows.

“I need to see behind us,” the doctor explains, pointing at the screen on the divider that’s supposed to show the back of the van through the small camera on the door.

“Oh.”

Mark gently slips his right arm between Nick’s back and the divider to circle Nick’s body from behind, pulling him closer almost to an embrace until Nick’s head is lying on Mark’s right shoulder instead of covering the screen.

He doesn’t realize the intimacy of the gesture until Doctor Lowe stares at him for a few seconds.

He is about to push Nick away a little bit to minimize the too-personal sense of their position, but when he sees Nick’s closed eyes on the pale exhausted face, he just doesn’t have the heart to do it. Who’s going to have a problem with it anyway?

Doctor Lowe ends up shaking his head and rising to kneel so that he can get closer to the screen and turns it on.

It crackles a bit before he sees the screen coming to life. Not that it’s going to help in telling them where they are, especially since it’s dark outside, except just to see if their environment is safe.

For quite a while, all they do is just glance at the screen every so often while mostly ignoring it in favor of laying back and closing their eyes to get a little bit of rest. They’re not really expecting anything noteworthy to happen, but he hears a bang on the divider from the front.

He and Doctor Lowe furrow their eyebrows and look at each other.

“Look at your watch! What colors are they?” he hears Anna inquire.

“What? What color? What are you talking about?” he shouts back with a perplexed expression.

“There are incomings shown in our satellite map. Are they our guys?”

He immediately straightens up his back with an alert look, just as Doctor Lowe does. They whip their heads to look at the screen.

It’s not obvious in the beginning, but he can see some dots following them from behind that are getting closer and closer and eventually appearing like several vehicles that are not D.E.A.N issued.

Oh, fuck.

He looks at his watch over Nick’s head and shoulder who is still leaning against his chest, clicking a button on the side to turn it on again.

They’re all brown pulsating dots following from behind.

“Oh, shit,” Doctor Lowe whispers horrifically.

“Nick, Nicky, get off, I need to move,” he says to Nikolai, trying to be gentle even if he is about to lose his shit.

Nick flutters his eyes open and winces, seemingly having fallen asleep before.

He hates being rough with Nick, but he has to quickly shift Nick’s body away from him so that he can move to grab his rifle again.

Doctor Lowe is kneeling while slamming the seat covers up, seeing what’s inside their under-seat storage. He frantically grabs all manners of firearm cartridges, from long rifle ammo clips to boxes of handgun bullets from the inside. Mark can see that besides those, there are explosives too like grenades and some smoke bombs.

There are also different kinds of rifles there, seemingly more of a sniper rifle type, along with some rifle tripod mounts.

Sniper rifle be damned. He’ll use them when he has to. Bullet is a bullet once it’s in someone’s skull.

“Wha…” Nick mumbles with half-lidded eyes.

“Don’t worry about it,” he says distractedly as he starts reloading several magazines worth of bullets for his pistols, then inserting a long ammo clip into the chamber of his rifle along with Doctor Lowe.

Not long after, they immediately hear shots hitting the back of their van.

Shit. He thought they’re out of the woods already.

Doctor Lowe frantically rummages through the storages again, muttering furiously to himself.

“Doc, you got bullets. What are you looking for?” Mark asks in frustration.

“I need sticky tapes for the rifle mounts.”

“What?!”

Doctor Lowe sits on his heels again while turning towards him.

“I’m not Addrianne or Mary who can probably shoot the fucking moon without rifle mount, all right? I need a steady mount.”

“Just shoot with your machine guns!”

“You do it! I’ll find some tape.”

Mark tsks incredulously, but he does grab his helmet to put it back on before pushing open the hatch on top of their van. He takes a slight look at the screen to get a feel of what kind of enemies they’re dealing with before popping his head up with his machine gun pointed to the back.

There are 5 jeeps following them.

“How the fuck did they know about us?!”

Mark ignores Doctor Lowe’s question to start pressing his rifle trigger, followed by resounding shots and strong recoils that hit him much harder than usual with his current shooting position. He mostly hits the windows and non-vital parts of the enemies he can see.

When he pauses a bit, he observes them and finds that they all look fresh and battle ready, maybe even more combat-trained than the ones swarming 1034 before. There are women there too, ones who look as military-trained as the rest.

He absently thinks about Doctor Lowe’s question.

He doesn’t like the thought that maybe there was a planned breach of information about their strategy. These enemies look especially prepared for this kind of battle, while the ones in 1034 look more like low level thugs of the syndicate who just happen to be given firearms.

He bows down his head under the hatch when the other side returns the shots, waiting until they stop so that he can shoot again. On his left a little bit behind him, he hears shotgun shots and cocking from Anna who is poking her head out of the window to shoot with him.

He feels their van swerving to the left sharply, feeling himself knocked to the side and hit hard on the chest by the metal opening of the hatch.

“Fucking hell, Angie!”

“I’m avoiding their shots!”

He breathes hard as he steadies himself, pointing his machine gun again to shoot mostly at the driver of the jeep closest to them.

They seem to know his plan, so that jeep also swerves to the side to avoid his shots.

“Move!” Doctor Lowe yells at him from under.

Mark looks down to the inside of the van and sees Doctor Lowe holding a short rifle tripod mount, presumably with sticky tape on the bottom of the feet.

He pulls himself down to allow Doctor Lowe to stick the mount to the top of their van, using the opportunity to pull another long ammo clip to be slung over his shoulder as preparation before the current one runs out.

“I don’t think that’s how you’re supposed to install that!” he half-shouts.

“Shut the fuck up. I told you I’m not a sniper. I’m just doing what I can,” Doctor Lowe shouts with voice half-muffled by the windy surrounding. “Now give me that rifle!”

Mark looks down on the ground to see the different kind of rifle usually used for precision shooting. He simply grabs that and follows the surgeon’s instruction.

Unlike their automatic machine guns which can shoot endlessly as long as they keep pressing the trigger and have ammo clips attached, the rifle Doctor Lowe is using right now is semi-automatic. It requires him to pull the trigger each time he wants to take a shot, although he doesn’t have to keep reloading each time.

Mark kneels on one knee with his own rifle strap slung over his shoulder again, both of his arms holding the gun itself, while he faces Nick.

The younger man’s face is alert and scared, no longer has any trace of sleepiness as before. Mark’s heart clenches at the deep fear shown on that bony and pale face, undoubtedly in pain too at the sudden movements Angie keeps making.

Nick is holding the sides of the opened seats for dear life.

“What’s going on, Mark?” he asks shakily as he starts crying again.

“It’s fine. We’ll deal with it,” he softly says, once again saying it both for Nick and himself.

Eventually, Doctor Lowe removes his rifle from the mount and pops back down to gather more ammos and fill the chamber with them once again. Mark uses this opportunity to pop back out, and he starts shooting again.

He aims lower this time, trying to point at the wheels.

Their van swerves to the side once again, so he groans as the corners of the opened hatch hit him on the chest again.

“Argh!”

“Sorry!” Angie simply shouts.

He starts shooting again once he is sure Angie is done with her swerving. He hits one person, and he can see the man’s body flopping to the side and bowing forward. The driver next to him doesn’t flinch or look away from the road despite having her comrade shot to death next to her.

Mark starts pointing his gun at another jeep now, going for the passenger shooter again. He only manages to shoot the person’s shoulder, but that’s good enough. She’s not going to be able to shoot properly like that.

He pulls back, going down into the van again to take a break from the harsh recoils and avoid the shots from the other side, so Doctor Lowe rises again with his semi-automatic rifle after reloading it.

Doctor Lowe focuses on the scope, taking a shot more carefully and slowly. Mark can only guess what’s happening. The only way the people in the back of the van can see what’s behind is by looking at the screen, but that has a limited view.

He hears another shot from Doctor Lowe, followed by loud crashing, but before he can catch what’s happening, there is another bang to the back of the van, so now the screen crackles then goes black.

Oh, great. Fantastic. As if they weren’t already stuck and cornered before.

Even so, Doctor Lowe lowers himself again, gathering ammos to be inserted into the rifle chamber again.

“Your turn,” he tightly says as he keeps focusing on inserting some ammo clips.

“What happened?” he asks.

“Got one of their drivers.”

He furrows his eyebrows as he thinks about what Doctor Lowe means until he raises his eyebrows in surprise.

The driver shot by Doctor Lowe either got injured enough that they can’t steer the vehicle well anymore, or killed so the jeep swerved around uncontrollably until it hit another one.

Basically, taking two enemies’ vehicles at once.

Not like Addrianne, my ass, Mark thinks.

“Your turn, Hayden!” Doctor Lowe yells at him.

He immediately jumps up over the hatch to point his gun again.

As he guessed before, there are now only three jeeps still following them, while the other two are falling behind so far in the back. Still, that doesn’t mean they can’t change drivers and start chasing his team again. He doesn’t know if their jeeps’ engines are damaged enough to stop them completely.

He squints his eyes at the recoil of his rifles, still not used to how harsh and painful it is while being shot this way, but he keeps going. He quickly pulls the end of the other long ammo clip to start inserting it into his machine gun’s chamber. He cocks it after it’s inserted and starts shooting again.

He got two, but only some back passenger shooters, not any driver like what he aimed for.

“Here,” Mark hears Doctor Lowe call to him.

He pops in a little only to see the surgeon handing him a smoke bomb. He would prefer the grenade, but they’re still too close to throw it safely, so he accepts the smoke bomb anyway.

He pulls away the pin with his teeth and throws it far into one of the jeeps’ open roof. There is clanking and harsh hissing before smoke quickly seeps out of the can and fills the jeep. The jeep swerves wildly to the side after that and gets left behind.

Two more to go.

He starts shooting again for a while until his ammo runs out.

He only manages to simply graze the remaining chasers instead of causing substantial damage to his enemies. Behind the two jeeps, he starts to see the jeep left behind after the smoke bomb, and it’s gaining on them. He also sees another one, which is one of the two crashing jeeps that Doctor Lowe shot before.

Oh, fuck. It’s going up to four again, then.

Doctor Lowe and Mark keep taking turn shooting either with machine guns or sniping rifles, or even a shotgun they find after rummaging through the under-seat storage more carefully. Once the ammos for those run out, they take out their pistols, which are not ideal because they’re not as strong as machine guns or as precise as sniping rifles, but better than not fighting back at all.

He can feel his worry and panic starting to rise again each time he pops back down and sees more and more empty bullet boxes and used clips.

“Hey kid, you need to hold on really tight on this seat, okay?” Doctor Lowe cryptically tells Nick as he points at the jutting metal under the opened seat.

He doesn’t understand why Doctor Lowe is saying that considering Nick is already holding onto the seat so tightly.

Nick is no longer pushing down on his abdomen and seemingly hasn't been for a while, which means he’s been bleeding more than they would have liked compared to if he’d been pushing at his wound. He’s getting even paler, grimacing more often after every swerving and jolting from the speed of Angie’s driving.

He faces where Doctor Lowe is pointing.

“Wha… about—”

“It’s okay. Mark is gonna help you with your bleeding,” the surgeon cuts him off, instantly knowing what Nick means.

Doctor Lowe cocks his head to the side to point at Nick. Mark gives a questioning stare for a bit, but obeys the surgeon’s command.

“You hold on tight too,” the old man says cryptically again, but doesn’t wait for Mark to comply before popping out of the hatch.

Mark simply kneels down facing Nick with one hand pushing at the wounded abdomen and another gripping a handgrip tightly as the doctor tells him to.

He’s not sure what the surgeon is planning until he hears loud boom and a sense of this van almost being flipped over, roughly knocking him over to the floor. Thankfully, he pulls his left arm from Nick’s stomach quickly enough to throw it above his head so that it’s cushioned against the metal body of the under-seat storages.

Still, the force of it brings sharp pain to his forearm that can’t help screaming in pain. He feels like he has broken the bone in his forearm, or at least given it some deep musculature damage.

Nick thankfully gets thrown into his arm too, so his head isn’t knocked around too at the harsh bump the van was put through.

“What the fuck is wrong with you, Doc?” he cries out angrily.

The doctor simply pops back down to bend down and grabs an item.

“We have no bullets,” he tightly says without a care towards Mark’s offense.

“And you didn’t think to warn us before throwing a fucking grenade?”

“I did.”

The surgeon knocks at the divider twice before popping his head back out while gripping another grenade.

This time, Mark is more ready.

He elongates his legs to tightly push against the under-seat storages on both sides. He pushes feet against the left under-seat while his lower back is pushed against the right one. Being tall has its perks, it seems.

One of his hands is holding onto a handgrip attached to the divider while his other hand is putting Nick almost in an embrace again. Nick too is holding on to a handgrip on the other side of the divider, while his other hand is pushing at his stomach.

He hears another kaboom and feels the van jolts around roughly, but without throwing his body around since he has good enough grip on his surroundings. It happens three more times, each time adding more and more aches onto his body due to the rough jolting, on top of his muscles being forcibly and endlessly taut.

Nick too keeps keening in pain, fisting Mark’s shirt desperately while leaning over and sobbing.

After the third explosion, Doctor Lowe bends down to frantically crawl all over the floor, repeatedly slamming the seat covering of the storage loudly. He keeps mumbling to himself like he is possessed, until he eventually reaches the one closest to Mark and Nick near the divider.

“Move over,” the surgeon tightly orders him.

Mark has to bodily carry Nick in his arms to move him away so that Doctor Lowe can turn that storage upside down too.

They wince when they feel harsh shots at the back of their van, now being dented by the repeated firings of strong firearms.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

Nick’s half-lidded eyes land on the surgeon’s back.

“Wha… what’s—what’s going… on?” Nick stutters weakly.

Doctor Lowe’s shoulders slump again, giving Mark another jolt of fear. It’s never good when the surgeon slumps like that. The beer-bellied man then weakly sits on his heels with his head leaned back while exhaling shudderingly.

They hear more shots, and the dents get deeper.

The doctor still doesn’t face Nick or Mark, and instead bangs on the divider.

“Anna! Why aren’t you shooting?!”

Mark can feel his heart thumping on his chest painfully, faster and faster the longer it takes for Anna to reply.

“There is no more bullet,” they all hear Anna shout with her own resigned voice.

“Try to find more! Under Angie’s seat or something!” Doctor Lowe tries again.

“We tried, Doc. We can’t find more!”

Just as she is done talking, they hear more bullets shot in their way with clanging sound. Mark realizes that one manages to lodge itself into the door of the van.

He feels cold washing over him.

Nick shudders in his arms, and Doctor Low stares helplessly at that bullet.

Everything feels like slow-motion, or being submerged into a pool with a sense of detachment the more bullets shot in their way. There are now several bullets being lodged into the van’s backdoor. One of them is even pushed out into the inside of the van by another bullet shot to that hole.

“No…” Nick whispers horrifyingly with tears starting to flow from his eyes again, “…no, I don’t—I don’t wanna… go back…”

He whimpers again.

Mark hopelessly stares at the closed doors with many bullets lodged into them, as does the old surgeon in front of him. He feels a sense of cold dread in his chest. In his arms, Nick turns away from the door and pushes his face into Mark's shoulder instead.

“No… I don’t want them to take me again… please, I don’t want to…”

Mark squeezes his eyes closed at Nick's muffled and desperate mumbling and tightens his arms around the fragile body, accompanied by more shots towards their van.

“It’s okay, everything’s gonna be okay. You’re not going back. You’ll be okay,” he whispers gently to Nick as the boy keeps crying in his hold.

He moves his hands to rub Nick’s back up and down, tucking Nick’s head into the space between his neck and shoulder, cradling Nick like a child.

“It’s okay, it’s gonna be okay, don’t worry, yeah?”

He knows it’s a lie, of course.

There are four jeeps worth of highly trained Helga members on their tail. Maybe more, considering their screen is broken and they can’t see outside if there are more jeeps coming. They’re cornered. They have no weapon—no bullets, no protection, no means of fighting back.

God knows how long they still need to go to get to Central’s backup.

They…

They lost.

But he keeps rubbing Nick’s back up and down, continuously telling Nick that everything’s going to be fine.

Eventually, Nick whimpers, “Just… just kill me… please… I don’t want them to take me back…”

“No, don’t say that, come on,” he whispers gently to Nick’s ear, hating that Nick is trying to shatter his self-made illusion.

Across from him, Doctor Lowe stares with just as much emptiness on his face. The man even looks scared with glistening eyes.

Nick pulls back to face him fully.

“Just kill me…”

“Nicky, don’t—”

“I know we’re stuck, Mark.”

He stares back at Nick’s sure face, even if it’s wet with tears and pale.

“Don’t let me go back to them, please…”

Mark breathes out shakily, wincing once in a while when he feels more shot at their van.

“Just kill me…”

Nick chokes on a sob after that, face terrified but resigned at the same time.

Behind Nick, he sees Doctor Lowe digging into his pants then pulls out four glass vials.

Mark stares at them, catching a glimpse of ‘morphine’ and ‘100ml’ on the labels.

“No,” he firmly says to Doctor Lowe.

“You know we’re done, kid,” he tells Mark gently.

“No, we’re not. We’ll be fine.”

Doctor Lowe gives him a heartbroken and pitying look, but…

They’ll be fine. They have to be fine. He doesn’t have to kill Nick to prevent him from being taken back. They don’t have to kill themselves so that Helga can’t torture them back. They’ll be okay.

They’ll be fine. They’ll be fine.

Even if there are more bullets lodged on their door, they’ll be fine.

They’ll be fine, they’ll be fine, they’ll be—

“I’m too old for this shit, son,” Doctor Lowe says with palpably heavy sense of exhaustion as he takes one bottle from his palm and keeps it in his own vest pocket.

Four bottles and one taken by Doctor Lowe already.

He gulps painfully.

Nick… Nick has to have one. He deserves that, at least.

It’s either Mark, Angie, or Anna whose fate in Helga’s hands will be uncertain.

Mark bites his lip, feeling terrified too with cold realization seeping into him. He feels his eyes getting wet, suddenly thinking about his mom and how he never got to say a proper goodbye to her, or Jackson. Or the others in his team.

How Nick will never get to taste freedom, except by taking one of those bottles.

It’s so unfair. Why is it all so unfair?

He hugs Nick tighter with his own closed eyes and tears flowing down his cheek.

“It’s okay,” he continues softly again to Nick’s ear, “you’ll be okay. They’ll never take you again. I promise. You’ll be okay.”

He keeps doing that, delaying the inevitable, trying to find it in his heart to help Doctor Lowe injects the content of that bottle to Nick’s vein when push comes to shove. And it will come to shove.

There are more shots to the van, and he feels deep plunging in his chest again.

Maybe he has never been cut out for this. For being a D.E.A.N agent. He doesn’t think a true D.E.A.N agent should be this shaky and terrified at the face of danger they supposedly signed up for.

“Wait.”

He opens his eyes and stare back at the surgeon.

The old man’s face is confused with furrowed eyebrows.

“Do you hear that?”

“Hear what?” Mark asks back.

“There are shots fired,” the surgeon replies with widened eyes.

Mark glares, feeling angry at the fact that he’s emotionally being yanked around. The surgeon is the one forcing Mark to come to terms with what they’re going to face, but he is now the one being obtuse and playing around.

“I can fucking see that, Doc,” he harshly replies.

“No, look,” the surgeon says, curiously with a smile blooming on his face, “there are shots outside.”

Mark glares even more at the surgeon’s demented game.

“I’m aware. I have ears and eyes.”

“No, listen,” the old man emphasizes.

He stays glaring with Nick crying in his arms while refusing to look at the door with bullets lodged all over it. He doesn’t understand the point of Doctor Lowe saying all of these stupid shits.

But then he furrows his own eyebrows. There is something strange about the gunshot sounds.

Obviously, he can sense some bullets being shot in their way, be it through sound or the vibrations once they hit their van, but he still turns his head towards the doors along with the surgeon.

“These are not shot towards us,” he concludes.

On top of that, he finally hears some really loud whooshing above them, enough to penetrate the metal body of the van and into their hearing.

Mark quickly clicks on his earpiece comm, almost missing it in his haste. Immediately, there is a crackling sound of it connecting to a network.

Mark clicks on his round button.

“This is CC75 reporting in. Are you 1056? Over.”

“Oh, god,” he immediately whispers out.

“I repeat. This is CC75 reporting in. Are you 1056? Over.”

Mark shakily clicks on his square button while looking at his watch, seeing light blue dots all around them.

“We copy. Confirming this is 1056. Over,” he shakily replies.

“What’s your code? And is the informant with you? Over.”

“This is MT56. And yes, the informant is with us. Over.”

At that, Doctor Lowe jumps up and slams open the hatch again.

Mark immediately looks up, now realizing that the whooshing sound are from several helicopter blades.

“YOU’RE LATE YOU FUCKING BASTARDS!” Doctor Lowe screams with his hand thrown upwards while cackling like a maniac. “WHOO HOOO!”

Mark chokes out a half-laugh half-cry at the surgeon’s excited yell.

They still hear more shots, but it’s clear that it’s more between backup’s heli and the Helga members chasing them, rather than between those members and their van. He can even hear slight booming while their van is jolted around a little. He can only guess that it might be from backup’s grenade launchers.

Doctor Lowe pops back in and basically lets himself drop to his ass while leaning back on his arms, still laughing once in a while. He has tears too on his face despite the weirdly soothing chuckles.

Mark closes his eyes and lets more of his own tears drop to his cheeks, but out of relief. He hugs Nick even tighter while burying his face into the black hair.

“I told you we’ll be fine, right?” he whispers to Nick’s ear, now being honest.

Nick wraps his own arms around Mark too and pushes his face deeper into Mark’s neck, sobbing too out of relief.

Mark hears more crackling, so he clicks his square button again. He hears a different person talking this time, with a voice he is more acquainted to even before going into D.E.A.N.

“Agent Hayden, I have informed Agent Kingston and Agent Basset that you should drive forward for 20 more miles with two of our helis and three other backup’s vehicles, totalling 40 protection agents until you reach our rescue station. There are Medic agents ready to treat the informant’s puncture wound on his abdomen and other injuries all of you might have sustained. Do you copy? Over?”

“Yes, we copy, Agent Callahan. We’ll meet rescue teams in 20 miles. Over.”

“Good. Unfortunately, we can’t send all of our backup with you because we’ll need to assist 1034, but I think 40 agents are plenty enough to protect 5 of you. Do you copy? Over.”

“Yes, we copy. Of course, Sir. We’ll manage with that. Over.”

He is about to click circle to turn off his comm, but he hears another crackling signifying another request to connect to him.

“Good to hear you, son. Would love to hear Jackson too, but I bet he’d be proud of you anyway.”

Mark chuckles.

“Thank you, Sir. I’m trying my best.”

“Oh, I’m sure you are.”

He waits for a bit, but eventually the familiar senior agent says, “CN94 over and out.”

The van continues to go for a while, with the shooting sounds eventually ceasing to the point that the bumping motions have become calming and lulling them all into a state of half-asleep. Mark makes sure to continue staying awake for the most part so that he can help Nick put pressure on his wounded stomach.

He doesn’t have the energy to think about what it means that Nick is leaning slightly to the side so that he can keep lying on Mark’s chest. Nick’s black-haired head is tucked so deeply under Mark’s chin that he can feel his lips slightly touching the dark sweaty strands. Mark’s arm is also still circling around Nick’s back and putting pressure on the wound that way.

He doesn’t even realize it when the van starts to slow down until it comes to a stop.

Suddenly, the doors to the back of the van are slammed open with lights flooding the space. He has to squint and put a palm over his eyebrows to adjust to it.

He sees several people wearing D.E.A.N’s standard uniforms with bulletproof vests on top who are pushing a gurney towards them, rolling it until it touches the back bumper of the van. Some step into the van itself to help Mark and Doctor Lowe shift Nick around until they can deposit Nick onto the mattress.

The bed is adjusted into a position where it bends upwards in the middle so that Nick isn’t completely lying down. An oxygen mask is quickly fitted onto his face with his head raised a bit so that the elastic band can be pulled behind his head. They put his head back to the bed again after that.

He doesn’t really notice Doctor Lowe walking away to be treated himself.

They immediately start wheeling Nick away, but before they can move far, Mark already steps forward quickly to approach the gurney without thinking. Nick too suddenly lifts his head with a desperate whimpering while reaching out to Mark. When Mark is close enough, Nick quickly holds his hand and grips it tight.

“Sir, we need to insert IV in him for the transfusion and other medications.”

“Let me go with him,” he insists, ignoring the other Medic agents who are trying to get him to sit down and be treated too.

He can’t be bothered to think about himself until he can see Nick safe.

“We’ll need to get him to a medic facility and into a Central Hub HQ. He is a critical informant.”

“He is a 21-year-old human trafficking survivor with PTSD. He is not just an informant,” he replies firmly with a little bit of offense and anger on Nick’s behalf at how they just reduce him to another mission object.

“Yes, sir, we’re aware,” the agent firmly responds to him without reacting to his impassioned words, “but he is still our critical informant, and we need to transport him to a safe confidential location as soon as possible.”

“Let me be with him until then,” he insists.

The Medic agents stare at him then at Nick who is still gripping Mark’s hand, no inhibition in his exhaustion and severe blood-loss. One of them sighs.

“Just until he is ready for transport to a medic facility.”

“Thank you,” he responds with deep relief and gratitude.

“And you’ll need to be treated too in one of the tents.”

“Yeah. With him.”

They give him an unreadable look, but he is too exhausted to think about what that means. They end up simply wheeling Nick into one of the medical tents with Mark on the side still continuously holding Nick’s hand.

Mark can see other agents being wheeled into some tents too, some arriving with helicopters. He assumes those are agents from 1034 and their backup after they decided Nick had plenty of backup agents protecting him already. Some of those arriving agents are able to stand and walk by themselves, but some have to be helped to move around. Some don’t move at all.

He doesn’t know what’s their exact status, and he is too afraid to think more about it, so he focuses on Nick again.

The Medic agents start pulling at Nick’s clothes to unzip his bulletproof vest and outright cuts up his shirt to get to his wound. Nick whimpers a bit at the sudden touches from strangers around him, so Mark squeezes his hand and whispers, “It’s okay, they’re not hurting you, they’re taking care of you, don’t worry”. Nick seems to calm down at that, and the Medic agents give him another unreadable stare that he is starting to get irritated with.

Is it so strange that he wants to calm Nick down and make sure that he is okay?

Nick reaches out shakily to move his hand out of Mark's grip and closer to the lower side of his bulletproof vest. He furrows his eyebrows seeing Nick's movement until the pale frail hand eventually hovers while the boy mumbles half-consciously, "Hmm... you... your bleeding..."

Mark feels warmth in his chest, relieved that Nick is safe enough to be able to feel concerned for someone else. And touched that in his muddled sense, Nick still cares about his condition.

"It's fine. Just lightly grazed. I'll be okay," he says as he bends closer to Nick's ear and squeezes Nick's palm lightly.

One of the Medic agents frowns with a disapproving look, seeing as the blood is copious enough to warrant a guess that it's slightly more than a superficial wound. Whether it's because he is minimizing his injury or because he keeps refusing to be treated until Nick is done, he doesn't know.

Nick shifts his head again to stare more directly at his right waist.

"Hurts? Doesn't... hurt?"

"I'll be fine," he chuckles, "don't worry about me."

"Hmm..."

Nick continues looking like he hardly has wits about him, unfocused despite trying his hardest to cling to consciousness.

The Medic agents keep treating Nick regardless, cleaning up his wound and entire front torso with disinfectant. He is guessing it also contains anaesthetic so that Nick isn’t too in pain when they cauterize his wound with the cauterizer. One of them lifts Nick’s palm that’s not gripping Mark’s palm and starts palpitating the skin to find a vein until she settles at one spot. Another Medic agent brings her a plastic pan with IV attachment instruments and materials in it.

After that, it’s pretty straight forward until the saline and blood bags are attached to Nick.

There are agents firmly walking out of a newly arriving helicopter, and the Medic agents who are caring for Nick turn to look at those agents slightly before looking back at Mark.

“He is going to be transported now.”

A firm dismissal.

But Mark doesn’t really care. He still walks to follow Nick’s gurney even when Nick has let go of his hand, maybe because the mask also disperses sedative so that he doesn’t feel afraid anymore being bounced around between strangers without Mark.

Eventually, they lift the bed to raise it and insert it to the heli with Nick being shifted around a bit. Mark sees that those swirly blue-brown eyes are closed, and his breathing is steady. Nick might have fallen asleep or unconscious, but he seems okay overall.

The helicopter’s blades are spinning again, creating strong gush of wind around. Mark has to put an arm over his face to soften the blow, then it takes off.

Mark would have liked to follow Nick all the way to the medic facility, and maybe beyond, but he does understand the need for the separation and confidentiality, so when some Medic agents clear their throats, Mark turns to them to dutifully follow them into a tent and sits on one of the beds as instructed.

Mark closes his eyes and leans his head back while they fuss over him. He takes a deep breath, finally letting himself feel the entirety of his shaky body, along with his exhaustion and the pain of the last many hours—and maybe even days or weeks—washing over him, but also deep relief.

When he opens his eyes again, he fittingly sees the dawn breaking with the sun starting to peek out of the sandy landscape.

A new day. A symbol of everything horrific happening before, now over.

Not everything is well and good, of course, considering there is still the question of Nick’s condition—which he doesn’t know whether he is allowed to be told or not after this.

There is also deep grief when he sees agents being wheeled on gurneys into several medical vans and helicopters, some of them fully covered by white sheets as their bodies and the fabrics are smeared with deep red, while the others are in varying degrees of being injured.

Even after this, there will most certainly be many more missions to deal with the rest of Helga. Undoubtedly going to be much more difficult than this.

But the yesterday of chaos is over. It’s really over.

It’s all okay now.

He can finally breathe easy, until the next mission.

***

(I) (II) (III) (IV) (V) (VI) (VII) (VIII) (IX) (X) (XI) (XII) (XIII) (XIV) (XV) (XVI) (XVII) (XVIII) (XIX) (XX) (XXI) (XXII) (XXIII) (XXIV) (XXV) (XXVI) (XXVII) (XXVIII) (XXIX) (XXX) (XXXI - END)

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chocoholicannanymous · 3 years

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If the Spit Hits the Fan (Glee) Pt XVIII

This is the last part of this. Of a story that I was pretty certain I wouldn’t finish and just posted the bit I had in my scraps and snippets tag for a lark. You read that, and you liked it, and your response made me want to try and finish it. And so here we are, ~29k finished fic.

Thank you for the support.

Follows pt I, pt II, pt III, pt IV, pt V, pt VI, pt VII, pt VIII, pt IX, pt X, pt XI, pt XII, pt XIII, pt XIV, pt XV, pt XVI and pt XVII.

New York is big and loud and filthy and expensive.

Kurt's first apartment had been an absolute rathole. He'd shared it with four others, and his “room” had been a repurposed coatroom. There had been just enough place for a bed and a tiny table instead of a desk. He'd only brought the most necessary in way of clothing, and with the exception of two shirts hanging from a nail in the wall he'd been forced to keep everything in a suitcase under the bed.

He'd moved out after a month, tired of never being able to keep food in the kitchen, weary of the nicks surrounding the lock on his door – he'd replaced the old one day 1, but even the best of locks only went so far – and fed up with having to carry all his valuables with him at all times.

Luckily the Warbler network had activated and Trent's older brother had offered up his guest room (and if that wasn't a sign of wealth, a student in New York with a guest room, then Kurt didn't know what was) for the rest of the year provided Kurt find someplace else to spend the night on those occasions it was needed. During the fall it'd mostly been solved by Sebastian coming to visit and the two sharing a cheap hotel room, and during the fall by Kurt spending the night at Sebastian's apartment. It had been tempting to move in with Sebastian then, but Kurt had resisted and they both agreed they'd become stronger for it.

Living together had been tough, especially since Sebastian had a lot more money available than Kurt. They'd managed to find a balance though and looking back Kurt feels proud of the work they'd put in to make it work. Three years (and counting) together and these days Kurt is willing to proclaim that Sebastian is as much of a perfect boyfriend as it's possible to be.

Yes, New York is still loud and filthy and big, but it's also full of light and laughter and love. Kurt's learned to find his way around both city and school, and he's on track for graduation with excellent prospects. Life is good.

Of course, that kind of means he's overdue for a cold shower and unfortunately it comes as cold and icy as is possible.

“Blaine. I guess I should have known you'd turn up.”

Like a bad penny, Kurt thinks. His ex-boyfriend just smiles wider at the words, clearly not picking up on the undertones.

“Yes! I'll always come back to you, Kurt. We're meant to be – you're my soulmate.”

Kurt shudders. All these years, and he still haven't gotten over his negative reaction to those words.

“Yeah, I'm pretty sure you and I have different interpretations of what those things mean. Personally I can't see how someone who walked out of my life without a word years ago could be considered my 'soulmate', but that's me.”

“That's not fair! I never wanted to leave you, but my parents made me.”

Blaine does this thing with his face that resembles what Kurt remembers of Blaine's “I've apologized, sort of, and you should forgive me now” expression and Kurt thinks that if Blaine could see himself he'd never ever do it again. It's not pretty. It kind of looks like he's about to shit his pants, frankly.

“Right. Your parents. And why, exactly, were they so determined to get you out of Lima without saying goodbye?”

Blaine flinches, and Kurt can see the realization hit him. Strange. It's as if he never even thought about the possibility that Kurt would know about the lies Blaine had told. Emotions run across Blaine's eyes and face, one after the other, and Kurt just waits without even trying to figure out what's going through his ex's mind. He's beyond caring.

“Kurt, I... I, I have a confession to make. When I got home that last night, my parents, they were waiting up for me. They made assumptions, and I, I let them.”

Blaine's face twists, and a couple of tears start falling. Kurt would be touched, really he would, except he happens to know that Blaine can cry on command.

“I know I shouldn't have, I know it was wrong, I was just so afraid! I thought they'd throw me out, and so I kept quiet and did what they wanted. I'm so sorry I did that to you.

“I love you, Kurt!”

The thing is, he can remember when those words from Blaine's lips would make him melt. That's no longer true. Now he listens to them like he would a performance, and he finds them lacking. He should have gone for soft instead of intense, a hint of tears maybe, not volume and anger.

This isn't school though, even though it very much is a performance, nor is it worth critiquing. It's not worth anything, really. Kurt sighs a little, just wanting all of it to be over and Blaine to be gone.

“Here's the thing. I understand, I guess. In your shoes I would have been worried to tell my dad the truth too. I think just about every teenager out there would be at least a little afraid to tell their parents they got drunk and stupid.

“But I also think that just about every teenager out there knows that there's some kind of middle-ground between 'I got drunk and tried to rape my boyfriend' and 'my boyfriend drugged me and tried to rape me'. Except apparently you didn't. You just went with what would get you of the hook the fastest and easiest.”

“Hey! That's not fair!”

“Oh, it isn't? You doing what you did is okay, but me calling it what it was is unfair? Now, why am I not the least bit surprised that that's how you feel?

“You know, at first I didn't understand how you could do it. How you could say you loved me and then not just leave me, but let your parents believe that I would do something like that to you. Well, that you could let anyone think I'd do that to anyone.

“But as I said, I understand why you did it.”

A triumphant look flash up in Blaine's eyes. Oh, he's doing a pretty good job at hiding it – much better than he would have been able to as a teenager – but Kurt knows him, and he's looking for it.

“You threw me under the bus because you knew it'd be an easy out. You could have told your parents something else, anything else, but you chose the worst possible lie – one you had to have known would get me in trouble. You did it because it was easy, and it would get you of the hook – maybe even get you some sympathy instead of the punishment you deserved – and you did it because that was all you cared about. You.

“I always knew you were a bit self-involved, but I told myself it was just part of you being a performer. A healthy ego's pretty much a must, and I used to think that was it. Except it turned out you were so focused on you, and your needs and wants, that nothing else mattered. Certainly not me.

“It took me a while to accept, but I know now that regardless of what you said you didn't love me. Not really. You might have thought you did, but Blaine? Love means that the other person's just as important to you as you yourself are. And I never was that to you.”

He ignores Blaine's protests and just continues, projecting his voice to be heard over the barely restrained excuses and lies.

“The truth is that your lack of empathy and care for other people borders on Narcissistic Personality Disorder, and quite frankly I am better off for not having you remain in my life. Just don't expect me to thank you for it though.

“No one else will either. Do you realize how many people you worried with your little disappearing act? There was quite a few at Dalton who were convinced that your parents had shipped you off to conversion camp. They were counting down until your 18th birthday and from what I heard there was even the beginning of a fund to pay your way at Dalton if you escaped and were disowned.”

There's a triumphant gleam in Blaine's eyes. Clearly he's pleased about his friends being so worried about him and so ready to help him out. Kurt just wants to stomp that light out. Violently.

“Then when you didn't resurface after your birthday a few started worrying that your parents had you in a mental hospital, and there was talk of trying to stage some kind of rescue. That only lasted so long, of course.

“You see, somehow it's hard to convince anyone that their friend is practically jailed and in need of a rescue when they're seen out and about clubbing in L.A.. After all, these days everyone carries a phone, so the idea that you were unable to contact someone – anyone – and ask for help went up in flames pretty quick after that.”

Thad had been so angry that he'd made sure every single Dalton student that had ever know Blaine found out, and even the boy's most die-hard supporters had given up then and there.

They'd all understood not wanting to getting into a conflict with your family, especially when said family usually paid for college and any possible trust funds tended to be under the family's control for a while longer. What they hadn't understood was Blaine's total lack of communication. Email telling them that Blaine was okay but under orders not to contact anyone from Ohio would have gone a long way to ease worries, and was, they felt, the very least he owed them.

“Funny thing about you showing up here now? I can't help but remember that you turned 21 a couple of weeks ago. You didn't happen to get access to a trust fund then did you? Not that I actually care, but there are some old bets to settle.”

There wasn't, not really, but enough Warbler had warned Kurt about this very scenario with an added “I bet he shows up afterwards, thinking you'll take him back” for it to not quite be a lie.

Blaine splutters before launching into a long row of “explanations”, one more shitty than the other. It's obvious that he didn't expect Kurt to be angry with him, but instead to be welcomed with open arms. It's even sounding as if Blaine expected Kurt to take him back and just let him slide back into his life as if nothing had happened. Kurt isn't quite sure if Blaine intended for him to move in with Kurt and start a new life in New York, or if the idea was for Kurt to give up everything and follow Blaine back to L.A., but both options are equally ridiculous.

“Stop. Just, stop. I told you, I don't care. If you want to get in touch with any of your old friends from Dalton and McKinley and explain all of it to them, do so. But you don't need to explain anything to me. I don't want to hear it. Your window for explaining yourself to me closed years ago. It closed after you let your parents walk into a police station ready to have me charged with rape.

“Nothing you can say will ever make that okay. Nothing you say can make me forgive you.”

Kurt stops himself and takes a deep breath. There's so much he could say, so many accusations that could be made, so much hatred to be poured out.

Blaine's actions had gotten Kurt into trouble, and could have landed him in jails. They'd been what had stopped Burt Hummel from running from reelection after being asked – while nothing had come from the Andersons' accusations there had still been enough people who had known about it for it to leak and ruin a political career. After all, who cared if it was true when it made for a good weapon? And “local congressman buries son's rape charge” made for a great weapon.

Kurt had been willing to risk it, but his dad hadn't wanted to. Had it leaked the only way to prove Kurt's innocence would have been to make the video of Blaine trying to assault Kurt public. No good parent does that to their kid had been Burt's position, and Kurt had been grateful.

That didn't mean he wasn't aware of exactly how much that had cost not just his dad but the whole state. The man who'd replaced his dad had been the kind of bigot that wasn't good for anyone, not even his followers.

Kurt still blames Blaine for that, and even if he'd been insane enough to consider forgiving everything else he's never forgiving that. The chance of making Blaine understand any of that is minuscule though. The chance of him caring is even less.

There is, simply put, no point in spending even another second on trying to get through to him.

“You're not welcome here. Please leave. Goodbye Blaine.”

Once the door is closed and locked behind Blaine Kurt finally relaxes. He's closing the door on Blaine in more than one way, finally able to truly do that – because regardless of what he's hoped he's always known that one day his former boyfriend would pop up again.

“If he comes back you're filing for a restraining order.”

“He won't come back, Sebastian.”

“You don't know that. He did today, didn't he?”

It's obvious that Sebastian is coming from a place of care and worry, and Kurt feels himself soften. Blaine hasn't just been the monster under Kurt's bed during all of these years.

“Yes, he did, and no, I guess I can't really know. But honey, I really don't think he will. Blaine was reminded today that actions have consequences, and he found out I have the means to ensure said consequences. Coming after me and trying to change my mind is more work than he's ever shown himself willing to put in.

“After all, he's not the kind to stick around when the spit hits the fan.”

Luckily Sebastian is.

~ The end ~

#chocoholic fics #kurt fic #kurt hummel #sebastian smythe #kurtbastian #itshtf

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a-blue-secret · 3 years

Text

CHAPTER XVI

BACK TO THE MASTERLIST

Chapter XV | Chapter XVI | Chapter XVII

GENRES: royal au; fantasy au; magic au; friends-to-enemies-to-lovers; king!beomgyu, vizier!taehyun

PAIRING: taegyu

WARNINGS: swearing, slight suggestive content (it’s like 3 words)

WORD COUNT: 4.8k+

AN: This is kinda like a filler chapter, but not really a filler chapter because it explains Taehyun's ability and also gives an insight into Hueningkai's and Yeonjun's jobs so.. yeah. Enjoy!

SUMMARY: Best friends turned enemies, Kang Taehyun has managed to trick Choi Beomgyu into his service, and to rule for a year and a day, until his youngest brother would be old enough to take the throne. Choi Beomgyu has no intention of being obedient however, and tries to thwart Taehyun’s orders at every turn. With a growing amount of distrust and lies within the court, will Taehyun manage to keep the kingdom of Gojongja from falling apart?

“Oh, that’s right,” Hueningkai said, getting out of his chair to sit next to Taehyun. “I said I’d help you with your ability, right?”

Taehyun sat up. “Oh yeah! Yeah, I remember.”

“Tell me, what was your ability again?”

“Foreign exchange,” Taehyun said. “I’m from the Jeo clan, and their ability is foreign exchange.”

“Hmm… foreign exchange…” Hueningkai pressed his fingers into his temples, and scrunched up his forehead, tongue slightly poking out of the corner of his mouth. Taehyun blinked at him.

“That’s his thinking face,” Yeonjun explained. “Kai here has the most incredible memorisation skills. Anything he memorises gets stored in his brain. Forever.”

“Queen Erajin always made me memorise all the books in the palace for this exact reason,” Hueningkai said, face still scrunched in concentration.

“ All the books?” Taehyun repeated, surprised. “Surely there must be thousands and thousands of books, if it’s a palace?”

Hueningkai hummed in confirmation, pressing his fingers further against the sides of his head. Taehyun let out a disbelieving gasp, sitting back.

“But it’s okay. It only took around five years.”

“Five years?” Taehyun said. “Wow, I guess you guys really did want to become spies.”

Hueningkai opened his eyes, and gave a smile. “It was our only option,” he said softly. He clapped his hands together. “But anyway! I think I’ve read something about the Jeo clan before, but I can’t remember exactly. That’s odd.” He tapped his chin thoughtfully. “It must be a pure Gojongja clan, because we don’t have many records of them in Aruyeo.” He nodded resolutely. “Yeah, that must be it. Otherwise I would have known about them. Taehyun, you guys have records of all the clans that ever existed, right?”

Taehyun nodded. “Yeah. In our Archive. Why?”

“I think if I saw the document about the Jeo clan, it would jog my memory,” Hueningkai said.

“Oh, would you like me to get it for you?” Taehyun asked.

“No, I’ll need to come with you,” Hueningkai said, rising from the bed. Yeonjun started in alarm, and grabbed Hueningkai’s wrist.

“Kai, that’s not safe! Are you sure?” Yeonjun said urgently.

“I’m a spy,” Hueningkai reminded Yeonjun. “I’ll be fine. Besides, it’ll be more cumbersome for Taehyun to carry a large, old document back to our room. Trust me, it’ll be okay.”

Yeonjun pursed his lips, and held tighter onto Hueningkai. “I’ll come with you, then.” When Hueningkai tried to protest, Yeonjun held up a hand. “If anything happens, I’ll put all the blame on me. I don't want you getting hurt.”

Hueningkai looked like he wanted to argue, but sighed, giving a small smile.He patted Yeonjun’s hand, which was still wrapped around his wrist. “Fine, if you insist.” He turned to Taehyun, giving a fake sigh of exasperation. “Older brothers, so overprotective,” he said.

Yeonjun flicked his forehead annoyedly. “Shush. I just don’t want you getting hurt.”

“See what I mean? Ow! Okay, okay– I’ll stop! Come on Taehyun, lead the way.”

“How are you going to get around without being seen?” Taehyun asked curiously.

“I’m not,” Hueningkai said. “I’ll be walking around, plain as day, but I’ll blend in so invisibly you won’t be able to see me.”

Taehyun blinked, confused, but shrugged. “Okay.”

.・゜-: ✧ :-

“Here, the Archive,” Taehyun announced, stopping in front of a metal door protected by five guards. “With a titanium door 11 inches thick and multiple invisible lasers inside, it’s one of the most protected places in our palace.” He glanced at the guards. “Not to mention its excess of guards.”

“How do we get in, then? If it’s that guarded?” Yeonjun asked.

Taehyun gave a grin. “You forget. I’m the Grand Vizier. I’m allowed practically everywhere.” He nodded at one of the guards, and the guard produced a small key. “Thank you.” Taehyun walked up to the door and inserted the key into an almost invisible keyhole in the metal.

“Hang on, hang on,” Yeonjun said, as the door swung open. Taehyun turned to look at him. “You have all these guards and security, but it can be opened with a single key?”

Taehyun turned back to the door, and pushed the key more forcefully into the lock. The small key seemed to bend, and melted into the metal of the door. There was a green flickering from inside the room: an indication the lasers had been turned off.

“Every time a key is used, it is immediately replaced with a different one,” Taehyun said. “It has a different look, different lock combination, everything. So if someone tries to steal the key, it won’t work on the door because the lock will have already changed.”

Yeonjun raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Wow. That’s… wow. Really?”

Taehyun turned to the guard who had given him the key. The guard showed him a new key, this time rusted and red in colour.

“I don’t know how it works, but it just does,” Taehyun said, shrugging. “Anyway, come on. We don’t have all day.”

.・゜-: ✧ :-

“These cabinets on this wall are all full of the records of clans,” Taehyun said, opening one of the many cabinets inside the Archive.

“J will be in the middle,” Hueningkai said. “Come on.”

Taehyun flinched heavily, almost dropping the document he was holding. “Holy– where did you come from?”

Hueningkai quirked a grin. “I was with you the whole time. Did you forget?”

Taehyun clutched his chest, trying to slow his heartbeat. “No, I– I knew you were here, definitely–”

“I told you I could move invisibly,” Hueningkai said, still smiling at Taehyun’s shocked expression. “I didn’t even need to do anything, but I was still invisible. Cool, right?” He walked along the rows of cabinets, and opened one. “Ah, J! So the Jeo clan should be here somewhere…” Rustling of paper filled the room, but when Hueningkai’s head emerged from the drawer he just looked confused.

“What’s wrong?” Yeonjun asked, going over to where Hueningkai was.

“That’s odd,” Hueningkai said, stepping back to let Yeonjun search. “There’s no Jeo clan.”

“Really?” Taehyun said, confused. “I did my own research, and a Jeo clan definitely did exist.”

“The records suggest otherwise,” Yeonjun said, looking through the papers. He looked up. “Is there anywhere else that Gojongja may keep records of clans?”

“All I can think of is the Palace Library, but I know that library inside out–” Taehyun paused, remembering something Scholar Min had told him.

Back when Taehyun had first tried to find out about the explosive, Yoongi had told him that information about them wouldn’t be in a place he’d been to.

"You were looking in the wrong place. Spheres like these-" He rolled the marble in his palm- "aren't something you can access information on easily. They're in the section of the library I doubt you've been to."

"Which part? I assure you, I have been to every section of that library at least twice. I'm sure I know."

Yoongi chuckled. "Well, I assure you , that you have most certainly never been to the place which would hold information about these."

“Wait, Yoongi said something to me before,” Taehyun said. “Do you guys know how to access secret rooms you’ve never been into before?”

Hueningkai patted Yeonjun’s shoulder. “That’s this guy’s speciality.”

“Good. Yeonjun, I think there might be a secret room in the library which holds information about things people don’t look for. Do you think you could find it?”

Yeonjun raised his eyebrow. “Oh really?” He stretched his arms, cracking his knuckles. “I suppose I could give it a try. Let’s get going to the Palace Library.”

.・゜-: ✧ :-

Yeonjun carefully ran his fingers along the bookshelves, pausing every now and then to peer into the cracks of the wall. Taehyun and Hueningkai followed behind.

“Uh…” Taehyun looked behind him, and almost bumped into Hueningkai. “Does it always take him this long?”

“Shut up,” Yeonjun said. “It’s been a while, okay? Plus, this library is huge.” He straightened up, brushing the dust from his fingertips. “Okay, this isn’t going to work. It’ll take me five years if I do it like this. Though I may have the entire floor plan of Gojongja Palace memorised, I certainly cannot remember all the details of the library. Do you have the blueprints?”

A few short minutes later, Taehyun and Hueningkai were peering over Yeonjun’s shoulder as he eyed the map carefully.

“So? See anything useful?”

“Shh, I need to focus.” Yeonjun brought a finger to his lips, stopping Taehyun from pestering him anymore. “Plus, this is a library. We need to be quiet.”

Suddenly, Yeonjun slammed the map down on the table, yelling triumphantly. “Aha! Here!��

He was quickly shushed by Taehyun. “We’re in a library, we need to be quiet.”

Yeonjun glared at the smirking vizier, taking Taehyun’s hand away from his mouth. “Oh ha ha, very funny. Anyway, how did you not know there was a basement?”

“Huh?” Taehyun looked at the map, scrunching his eyebrows. “Basement?”

Yeonjun traced his finger along the lines, and circled a small indentation in one of the wall drawings. “See here? That means there must be a door. And, since it doesn’t lead to any hallways, there must be a lower layer of the library.”

“I did not know about that,” Taehyun said. “Come on, then! Lead the way!”

.・゜-: ✧ :-

Yeonjun rolled his shoulder uncomfortably, massaging his arm. “That door… it was so stiff. Ugh, I’m going to have arm pains now.”

Hueningkai gave a small laugh. “That’s what you get for shoving open the door. I’m pretty sure Taehyun would have had some key to open it.”

“Oh right. Why didn’t you say anything Taehyun?” Yeonjun complained, walking down. “Watch your step, guys. The last stair is really far from the ground.”

After reaching the door, the three of them descended down the stairs into the library basement. Yeonjun turned around in circles.

“Huh. There’s no light. Where are you guys?”

“Pfft– ow, what are you doing?” Taehyun held Yeonjun’s grabby hands away from him to prevent the Aruyeonan from manhandling his face again. “And duh, there’s no light. We’re underground, and we closed the door.”

Suddenly, there was a bright orange glow, and a ball of fire rolled into the center of the room, illuminating their faces. Yeonjun yelped, clinging onto Taehyun.

“Don’t worry, the fire is in the marble,” Hueningkai said. “This is a slow burner. It won’t last forever, but it’ll last long enough for us to find the document.” He pulled some more out of his pockets, and handed them to Taehyun and Yeonjun. “Let’s hurry.”

“These aren’t marbles, they’re footballs,” Taehyun murmured, struggling to hold the glass ball in one hand. “But yeah, let’s get going.”

The three of them separated, looking through the large underground library on their own. While searching for any important documents, Taehyun tutted.

“All I’ve found are erotic novels! What about you guys?” he called.

“Oh good, I’m not the only one! Hueningkai, have you found anything useful?” Yeonjun’s voice sounded to his left.

There was a yelp and the sound of paper dropping. Hueningkai didn’t answer. Taehyun waited, but there was silence. He cursed and hurried toward where the sound had come from.

Coming up to the bright light of Hueningkai’s fire, he saw Yeonjun already there, holding onto a shaken Hueningkai.

“Hyuka, are you okay? Answer me! Hueningkai!” Yeonjun shook Hueningkai, trying to get a response out of him.

“He- I saw him,” Hueningkai whispered, eyes wild. “Him. The lavender blue eyes… It was him Yeonjun, it was him!”

“Who? Who is it?” Taehyun asked.

“Hueningkai, listen, listen to me,” Yeonjun said urgently. “Listen. There’s no way he’s here, he’s just a myth, it’s okay. Why would he be here? It’s okay, it’s okay. See? He’s not here anymore. It’s just you, me and Taehyun. It’s okay. Breathe with me. Come on, Hueningkai. Breathe.”

Hueningkai was still breathing heavily, face pale. But eventually, accompanied by Yeonjun’s patient breathing exercises, he calmed down, and the colour returned to his face. He spotted Taehyun standing there awkwardly, and gave an apologetic smile.

“Sorry, Taehyun, for having a panic attack and scaring you there.”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Taehyun assured him. “As long as you’re okay.” He paused. “By the way, who is ‘he’?”

“No one,” Yeonjun responded quickly. “Just… a spy myth. That’s all.” He hesitated, still looking concernedly down at Hueningkai. “Taehyun? Why don’t you continue searching for the papers?”

Taehyun frowned. He wanted to stay with Hueningkai and make sure he was okay, but one look at Yeonjun’s pleading face and he reluctantly nodded his head. “Alright.”

As he walked away, he heard Yeonjun whisper urgently to Hueningkai.

“Please tell me you were hallucinating, Kai. Because about a week ago, I also thought I saw him in the palace halls…”

Their voices faded away, and Taehyun tilted his head in confusion. Though he and the spies were now more than just acquaintances, it still seemed there were a lot of things he was yet to understand about their spy world.

.・゜-: ✧ :-

“Hey, I found them,” Taehyun called. “I found the documents. But… it’s embarrassingly just a single piece of parchment.”

“Oh, let’s see.” Yeonjun walked over and looked at it. He frowned. “Oh, you’re right. It’s literally just one sheet.” He looked up at Hueningkai. “How will this help you?”

Hueningkai just shrugged, holding his hand out for the document. “It’ll jog my memory, I’m hoping.” He scanned the document up and down, and his eyes lit up. “Ah, that’s right. Foreign exchange, right?” He waved the paper in front of Taehyun’s face excitedly. “I remember! The reason the Jeo clan died out was because they were systematically killed one by one since their ability was so powerful! Wow, it’s all coming back to me now! The Jeo clan ability was a closely hidden secret in the beginning, so not many people came and took the surname Jeo, because they thought it was weak. That’s the reason why there aren’t any clan branches now. Anyway, the Jeos kept their ability so secret that people thought they had no ability. And that was so, so deadly for the people. Because the Jeos would come out of nowhere and suddenly start dominating and taking over things.

“Foreign exchange is a broad term. And yes, while a name doesn’t necessarily determine an ability, there really is not a more fitting description for the Jeo clan ability. If we were to speak technically, though, it’d be intercommunication between all things. They can speak using anything. Ah, it’s hard to explain, but they can speak any language, be it that of humans, animals, trees… heck, even charms. They could manipulate their voices to speak charms. It’s really quite fascinating, if you think about it.

“Soon, the Jeos spread like wildfire, killing and charming and taking over places. That is, until they grew too strong and the other clans of that era had to unite and ‘exterminate’ the Jeos. I remember, I read about this one famous incident that happened in the First Era, regarding the Yeosan Song clan and the Jeo clan. It was one man against the whole of the Yeosan Songs, and–”

“Okay, that’s enough with the info dump,” Yeonjun interrupted, holding up a hand to stop Hueningkai from rambling on any longer. “I think we get the idea.”

“Right, right.” Hueningkai rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly.

“Wow, I see why knowledge on clans is useful to Queen Erajin,” Yeonjun said, staring at Hueningkai. “You’re like an information bank. If we give you any sort of reference, you start spewing out all the information you know which is even remotely related to the subject. How do you remember all this stuff?”

“I absorb information like a sponge. That’s what all my tutors told me.”

“Wait, why does Queen Erajin want information about our clans though?” Taehyun interjected. “That’s part of the alliance, isn’t it? She wants our knowledge on clans, and also our forests. Do you know why?”

“Nope,” Yeonjun said, popping the ‘p’. “She just told me to say that it was something confidential within our court. I don’t actually know what it is. She does weird stuff, I tell you. One of the missions I went on for her was to go steal some flowers from this Lord, and burn the rest of the flowers so they couldn’t grow again.” He shrugged. “I never questioned it. It was never my place to question it. But it was always clear that these missions would be of the utmost benefit to Aruyeo. So I just went along with it.”

Taehyun tutted disapprovingly. “You’re like an obedient dog, aren’t you?”

Yeonjun glared, drawing himself up to his full height. “Shush. I’m more of a wild fox, you squirrel.”

Taehyun gasped. “Squirrel? How dare you!”

“Both of you, shut it,” Hueningkai called. He ruffled Yeonjun’s hair affectionately. “As for you, tiny big bro, don’t make fun of anyone’s height while I’m around. It doesn’t look good.”

Yeonjun pushed Hueningkai’s hand away, glaring at him with little menace. “You’re lucky you’re cute. Otherwise I’d have smashed all the bones in your hand.”

Hueningkai gave a grin. “I would have broken your fingers before you’d be able to do it.”

“Okay so anyway,” Taehyun interjected. “What about the ability, then? Foreign exchange? How do I like… activate it?”

“Ah. That.” Hueningkai scratched his neck. “I’m not actually too sure. It’s not exactly heard of for someone not to be able to use their ability.” At Taehyun’s frowny face, he reached out and patted the vizier’s shoulder. “Hey, I’m sure there will be some logic to figuring it out though. But first, shall we get out of here?”

.・゜-: ✧ :-

“So why do you want to figure it out anyway? You already have the Jinju Kang ability, right? You’re literally famous for how well you can use it. Why do you need to know about the Jeo clan ability?” Hueningkai asked.

The three of them were sitting on the bed inside Yeonjun’s room, in a mini circle. Hueningkai had his hands clasped together, with a frown on his face.

“Well, it’s because it’s my true ability I suppose,” Taehyun responded. “I want to know what I can actually do myself.”

Hueningkai nodded thoughtfully. “That makes sense. But what doesn’t is the fact you don’t know how to use this ability.”

He placed his hands down on the mattress, waving them around for emphasis as he talked. “It should be an ability ingrained into you from birth,” he said. “I’m not sure how Gojongja works, but in Aruyeo they held tuition classes to help the kids learn how to control their abilities. Do you have something like that here?”

“All learning on abilities is done independently, I think,” Taehyun responded. “Like you said, knowledge on how to use your ability is ingrained into you from birth, so all the learning we needed to do was just to make it stronger.”

“How do you mean?” Yeonjun asked.

“Like, when I was five, I could only make the grass move. I couldn’t make anything grow. But as I grew older, and my ability grew stronger, I’d practice and practice to get to the stage I am right now.” He held up his hand and conjured a small daisy to prove his point. Letting it bloom for a moment, he folded his hand and crushed the flower. “Like that.”

Yeonjun nodded thoughtfully. “Seeing as Hueningkai couldn’t remember much about the Jeo clan in the beginning, it must be a pure Gojongja clan, meaning the ability works the same way most Gojongja abilities do.”

“Right, right,” Hueningkai agreed. “So that means, since you haven’t used it before, it’s weak.”

“Like that of a newborn baby’s,” Taehyun said.

Hueningkai nodded. “Exactly. But even babies have knowledge of how to use their ability, so I’m just thinking…” He reached out for Taehyun’s hand, the hand in which the vizier had conjured a flower. “Is your Jinju Kang ability interfering with your capability to perform the Jeo ability?” Gently, he traced the lines along Taehyun’s palm, leaving a glowing path where his fingers had been.

“What are you doing?” Taehyun asked, trying to take his hand out of Hueningkai’s grip.

“No, stay there,” Yeonjun said, holding Taehyun’s arm in place. “Matter manipulation, remember? He’s trying to see something.”

“Okay but it’s kind of stressing me,” Taehyun said, watching as more of his palm started to glow.

“It’s okay. Trust me, and relax,” Hueningkai said, not looking up from Taehyun’s hand. “You won’t feel a thing.”

Taehyun hummed, still a little sceptical, but kept his arm steady to allow Hueningkai to do whatever he needed to do. The young Aruyeonan continued to stare at Taehyun’s palm, tracing more glowing patterns across the skin. After a few minutes, Taehyun spoke again.

“Are you trying to see through my skin into my bones?”

“No,” Hueningkai responded. “I’m trying to see through your bones into your ability.” At Taehyun’s confused silence, he began to explain. “There’s no scientific way to explain this as such, but there are other types of matter. Other than the ones we all know about: solids, liquids, and gases, there seem to be others. I don’t know, maybe it’s just because of my ability that I can see them. They’ve never been found out before, so I’m not sure if they’re truly accessible. But anyway, I’m trying to make your skin transparent, and turn the rest of you into another type of matter, which is linked to the magic of our abilities.”

Yeonjun frowned. “So there’s this type of matter which takes the form of abilities?”

“Technically, yeah,” Hueningkai said. “So I’m trying to turn the solid and liquid of your hand into that state of matter.”

“How will that help?” Taehyun asked.

“I’ll be able to see your ability, and identify how you can use the Jeo ability.”

Taehyun gave a soft gasp as his hand unexpectedly turned warm, as if put above the steam of a pot of boiling water. His skin turned translucent, showing all his flesh and bones, before it melted into a strange, sparkly substance. He stared curiously at the substance which appeared to be within his own hand.

“Wow,” was all he was able to say. “That’s pretty.”

Hueningkai gave an amused chuckle, watching the sparkly stuff swirl lazily in Taehyun’s hand. “We are but beings carved from moonshine and stardust,” he said. “That’s what Sir Yoongi always said.” He looked up at Taehyun, and the vizier’s hand stopped glowing, gradually turning back to normal. “He was probably just joking, though.”

“So did you find out what’s wrong with Taehyun’s ability?” Yeonjun asked. “I mean, why he couldn’t use it?”

“Yeah, I have,” Hueningkai said, chuckling slightly. “Ah, I’m so dumb! It’s obvious! It’s because Taehyun’s never attempted to speak in a foreign language before!”

Taehyun blinked, before smiling. “Oh, you’re right. I’ve never had to, so I guess that’s why.”

“They never made you learn a foreign language?” Yeonjun asked curiously.

“They didn’t need to,” Hueningkai said. “They didn’t need to, since Taehyun is already a master at all languages, right? It’s any form of communication, as well! You could probably go talk to a dog now, and it’d understand you.”

“Does that mean I’ll be able to understand dogs too?” Taehyun asked.

“Yeah, but it’ll probably take practice. Remember, your ability is weak, so you need to gradually build it up. Though actually, that might not be the case,” Hueningkai said musingly. “You said your ability grows with your age, right?”

Taehyun nodded. “But it’ll still be weak, because it hasn’t been used before.”

“Ah right, okay.”

Just then, there was a knock at the door, and Hueningkai messily scrambled under the bed. Yeonjun chuckled, and stood up to see who was at the door.

“Um, hello? I heard that Sir Taehyun was meant to be here.” A nervous-looking young boy stood at the door, clutching lots of loose pieces of parchment.

“Yes, I am,” Taehyun said, getting up and walking over to the door. “Ah, these must be information about the Lords, correct?”

“Y– yes, sir. They are.”

“Thank you. I’ll take these, then.”

The boy handed the papers to Taehyun and bowed several times, before shooting off down the hallway. Yeonjun watched him scurry away, chuckling, before closing the door.

“The nervous ones are the most adorable. They act as if you’re going to bite their head off with one wrong move.” He peered over Taehyun’s shoulder as the vizier leafed through the papers. “You’re doing work already? Taehyun, you’ve only just recovered from being sick! Kai, tell him! Since you were literally practically technically almost poisoned , there really is no need for you to go back to work so soon, Taehyun. See here, concentrating for so long will hurt your head, and you might fall over like you did last time! And we don’t know if you’re fully recovered yet, ‘cause you might have relapses or something, which will definitely not be good for you–”

“These papers are long overdue,” Taehyun said, ignoring Yeonjun’s scoldings. “I asked for them about a week ago. Oh well. Better late than never, I suppose.”

“–and it’s not good for your eyes looking at that tiny writing! Hey, Taehyun. Are you listening to me?”

Taehyun walked past Yeonjun, sitting down cross-legged on the carpeted floor. “Hueningkai, you can get up now. The runner boy has gone now.” Hueningkai poked his head out from under the bed, and crawled out to sit next to Taehyun.

“Ooh. Why are you looking at the background info of various Lords?” he asked.

“I’m replacing council members,” Taehyun replied. “These are all potential candidates.”

“Wait, let me see,” Yeonjun said, reaching for a paper. “I might know some of them.”

“Me too,” Hueningkai added, taking another parchment from Taehyun’s pile. “I may not get out of Aruyeo much, but people do come to our court.”

The three of them silently looked through the papers, the two spies occasionally speaking up to let Taehyun know anything additional they knew about certain people.

“This guy was in our military for six years,” Hueningkai said. “I remember him! He’s so handsome as well.”

“Don’t date a soldier,” Yeonjun reprimanded. “They make bad boyfriends.”

“Like spies are any better,” Hueningkai said. “Anyway, I’m just saying. He used to be in the military, so he’s probably good.”

“Speaking of the military, how is everything going with the riot? How has employing the military fared?” Yeonjun asked.

“Oh, didn’t I tell you?” Taehyun smiled, putting down the parchment he’d been looking at. “It was successful! The soldiers retreated the day Beomgyu left, and no one was hurt.”

“That’s good.” A thought struck Hueningkai. “But if it would be that easy, why would they have rebelled?”

“Right? I didn’t understand that. But apparently loads of the soldiers overheard the citizens talking, and it sounded like they had been under a spell,” Taehyun said. He shrugged. “I dunno. There aren't any Lords who are spell-casters, at least according to my knowledge, so I’m not sure. They could have been threatened, but even that is unlikely.”

Yeonjun frowned. "When did you have time to hear that? You were still bedridden the day Beomgyu left!”

“It must have been when you went to your chambers to change clothes,” Hueningkai said, narrowing his eyes playfully. “That’s why you took three hours!”

Taehyun held his hands up in mock surrender. “Fine, fine. You caught me! But I can’t stay away from work for too long. So starting tomorrow, I’ll be resuming my duties as a vizier again. Full-time.”

Yeonjun sighed. “So that means tonight is your last night sleeping here, isn’t it?”

“Yep.”

Hueningkai gasped, clapping his hands excitedly. “Then why don’t we all sleep in the bed?”

“What, together?” Taehyun said. “I don’t think–”

“Yes! Hueningkai, you’re a genius!” Yeonjun cheered. When Taehyun tried to protest, he picked up the vizier by the legs and flung him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, before plopping him onto the bed, promptly diving onto the mattress next to him. “Come on, Kai!”

“Hey!” Taehyun flailed around for a pillow, and began hitting Yeonjun fervently. In retaliation, Yeonjun also picked up a cushion, hitting Taehyun with equal vigor. Suddenly, a huge bolster pillow hit both of their heads, almost knocking them over. They both paused, turning to slowly look at the offender. Hueningkai blinked, giggling nervously. Within a matter of seconds, Hueningkai was getting beaten up by two pillows, feathers flying everywhere.

The three of them ended up passed out on the bed, surrounded by destroyed pillows and piles of feathers, a tangled mess of limbs. In the morning, they’d have to deal with the white, fluffy mess they’d made, but for now, they were calm and content, far away in dreamland.

#court of lies #txt #txt taegyu #taegyu #txt taehyun #taehyun #txt beomgyu #beomgyu #txt fanfic #txt imagines #txt imagine #txt fluff #txt angst #tomorrow by together #tomorrow x together

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mementomori-demimonde · 3 years

Text

Hidden Scars

I - II - III - IV - V - VI - VII - VIII - IX - X - XI.1 / XI.2 XII - XIII - XIV - XV - XVI - XVII - XVIII

Chapter 19

Draped over her knees with your arms bent under your head as a pillow, you genuinely wish the reason for that position would be another entirely.

Not that you’d thought you were the type of person to like impact play before meeting Miranda, but a lot changed since she decided to kidnap you and turn your life upside down: you didn’t think you had so much strength in you, you didn’t think you were too smart with electronics and computer softwares, you didn’t think you weren’t made to fight, you didn’t think you would fall in love with a psychotic killer who liked to push your limits, teach you things, even how to fight, who fucked you and let you fuck her… and there you were, enjoying all those things because Miranda was there.

You’re trying to imagine that this is one of her weird scenarios back in her bedroom, roleplaying god-knows-what, putting a little fun in the punishments she oughta give you for not doing something right. Yet, this is not a game. You won’t enjoy any of this and you know it already.

The pain is excruciating already as it is and it’s only about to get worse.

She tried to be incredibly gentle when she removed the tatters of the shirt you were wearing from your back, but that too sent your skin burning aflame, the welts screaming and making you tear up.

The cool air did little good on your bare skin, the gentle scrape at the base of your neck as Miranda helped you lay across her thighs, close to her lap only a sad consolation. She praised you, but you just hiccupped through a sob and stood silent.

You wish you could reassure her, tell her to not feel guilty because what else could she do there, if not obeying? It was that or bullets in your brains.

At least wounds could heal, and you’re not new to wounds either. You can do it. You can bear anything, she’s made you strong, but you can’t bring yourself to speak to her: there are too many thoughts in your mind.

Victor’s words, for instance.

You know it’s only a bunch of lies, but there’s something telling you that it’s not just a bunch of lies.

Victor is an asshole and he likes to tease and to provoke and you bet he’s only said those things to get a rise from Miranda and awaken something within you that could possibly turn you against her, in the end.

Improbable, but not impossible. There’s still too much to uncover.

You swallow down, fidgeting as you try to find the most comfortable position, but already aware that nothing will lessen your discomfort.

Hidden from your eyes, Miranda unfolds the foil that she’s stuck in the wall a few days ago. She opens up a new bottle and drinks from it - you can hear her swallow in long, rhythmical gulps - the foil rustles in her hand for a moment, then she caps the bottle again and shakes it vigorously.

Your first reaction is to grow tense, you can’t even help it.

“It’s going to sting.” Miranda warns with a low, apologetic voice.

You’d tell her that it’s not her fault, except that it is, in a certain sense. Besides, you can’t bring yourself to actually talk, already so invested with bracing yourself for pain.

Water and salt: she’s going to clean the welts on your back to the best of her possibilities. It won’t be pleasant at all. “Try not to fight it, it’ll only be worse.” She suggests. You don’t really know if you’ll be able to do it.

When she starts to pour, it hurts like hell. She tuts at you, shushes you when the clatter of your teeth becomes louder, but it doesn’t help the searing pain that radiates in your body.

“I’ll kill him,” Miranda mumbles behind clenched teeth, “I’ll fucking run him over with a car and kill him.” She says.

It’s nice to know that she’s unhinged toward Victor because of you, that she would kill him for you, but somehow, it’s not enough to distract you from the pain. It’s the only disinfectant you have access to, it’s supposed to burn, but there’s something terribly wrong in the way it steals your breath away.

You feel like dying, and, at some point, you know you’re unconsciously wiggling, thrashing your limbs in the grasp of a maddening pain, caused by something that it’s supposed to help but that seems only to make things worse. You feel your skin tearing, the salty water seeping inside, overwhelming your body - it’s too much.

You’ve been through a lot in the past few months, and yet, somehow, nothing was as bad as this. Maybe it’s the situation, maybe it’s the fear, maybe it’s the realization that something terrible has happened that involves the person you’ve grown to love, but you can’t bear it.

You let go. You allow yourself to cry. For the pain, and also for something else.

Maybe you’ve passed out. You clearly don’t remember falling asleep, honestly, how could you have fallen asleep?

You’re still draped over her legs, you feel one of her hands carding mindlessly through your hair and on the nape of your hair.

Miranda seems to notice the change in your breathing, or maybe you’ve just moved unconsciously, but your body falls limp over hers, every muscle turned to liquid under her hand and soothing murmurs.

To her eyes, you even might look relaxed. In reality, you don’t have enough strength to push yourself up and put some distance between the two of you.

“It’s done.” She says, pressing her fingertips between your shoulder blades, the other on your tailbone as if to keep you still. “Don’t move yet, the rash is fading, but the welts look rather sore.”

You’re barely listening to her.

You don’t feel exactly fine, but better, besides, it’s not your back that hurts most, but your head. The thoughts swirling in there are screaming louder than anything else.

You don’t care about the welts, you don’t care about the rash nor the soreness. You don’t even care about Victor for putting you in this situation. You don’t care about Victor for putting Miranda in that situation. You care about him because he put those thoughts in your head and now you don’t care about anything else: what is it that you don’t know? What important secret has Miranda kept from you?

“I wasn’t the only one?” You ask without small talks, eager to get it out of you and sorted out before it drives you insane.

Her breath falters. She doesn’t move, but you feel something shifting in the air, in the way she rests her fingertips across your skin.

There’s silence for a long time.

You don’t know if she’s finally given up, or maybe it’s because she feels trapped, with nowhere to go, yet she heaves a sigh, hopefully readying herself to face you, your questions, and possibly the future that lies ahead.

“Nobody ever made it that far.” She says in the smallest voice you’ve ever heard coming from her.

There were others. There have been others before you. The information doesn’t shock you, what does it’s the complete lack of emotion on her part.

“You killed them?” You inquire. The words haven’t even left your mouth yet and you already fear the answer. She doesn’t speak, which already is enough, or very close to the reply you were anticipating and, still, you need to hear it; you need to hear it from her. “You killed other girls? Miranda!”

She flinches at the way you shout her name: demanding, enraged, not allowing room for lies or more silence. It’s new, it would’ve earned you a punishment. Now, it doesn’t.

You feel her muscles tense under you, above, all over.

“It’s my job.” She says, again, emotionless. “You don’t have to be shocked. You know how it started, you listened to my tales, you’ve seen this place and known Victor.” She swallows. “It was my job.” She corrects.

“So, you would’ve killed me.”

“No-”

“Yes. You would.”

Miranda doesn’t reply to that. She can’t reply to that with anything that could make you feel slightly better. You both know that, and you’re grateful she’s not telling lies, nor shying away with some witty comment, or distracting you with anything else.

“I didn’t.” She says at one point. “The point is that I didn’t.”

“Yes.” You agree, slightly confused.

You know there have been others in the same cell, maybe others had managed to get out and endure some of her training, but nobody has made it, in the end.

What makes you different? You’d want to know the answer so badly, but it’s probably too cheesy and close to the nonsense that it’s impossible. It had to do something with a peculiar feature in you, or how fast you learn, or something that you can’t think of right now. But what? “Why? Why didn’t you?”

“Listen,” She lets out a frustrated sigh. You know what she’s about to do: you’ve reached the breaking point, she has no escape and now she’s shying away, “this is not the place, nor the time to-”

“We could die.” You cut her off, virtually grabbing her before she can go and hide somewhere you can’t reach. “Am I right? We could die.”

“Aye.”

“Then talk to me!” Your breath hitches. “Please.”

Hidden from your inquiring glare, Miranda heaves a long sigh. One of her hand hovers on the small of your back, the other trails through the fine hair on your nape, but it’s hardly for your pleasure: she’s using you as a sort of stress relief and you’d gladly let her without complaints. You’d do that in normal circumstances, now you’re more than happy to indulge her to know the truth, finally.

“You know why I chose you.” Miranda says. You nod: she’s told the story already: no bonds, no real purpose in your life; simply the preferable candidate to kidnap and train. “But I never told you why I needed someone like you.” She pauses, clears her throat, her voice is getting hoarse. “You’ve seen this place, you must’ve realized, by now, that I work for Victor. Worked that is. We- we are criminals. Ruthless, cold-hearted, murderous criminals who obey orders for money, no matter what.”

“I know.” You croak out, even just to give her courage. Of course you know she’s not a saint, you’ve known it since the beginning. You have to admit that hearing it from her, the plain truth, is strange and upsetting, but you’ve been preparing for the revelation for weeks.

“I was supposed to collect some information about a very important family. Drug dealers, weapon treaders- the worst kind. I was supposed to get close to them and inside their corporation and get out when the work was done, but to do that, I needed bait. I needed somebody to blame so I could get out clean and alive.” She says in a thin voice. Her fingers get caught in your hair, she doesn’t pull. “I was supposed to train someone and feed them to the lions, but- I couldn’t do it. In the end, I couldn’t do it.”

“Because of me?” You ask hesitantly, fearing that your voice might break the spell. Luckily, it doesn’t. If anything, it seems to comfort her, in some way.

“Because it was you.” She corrects with a small huff. You can feel all the frustration trapped in her words. “I thought I was simply having fun while doing my job, I thought there was nothing wrong with taking the best out of the situation... but things got out of hand. I- I didn’t know what I was doing, at some point, I knew you were getting attached, but I tried to ignore the signals, I tried to dismiss the issue until it was too late. Until there was no space left to back up, and the only way was going forward.” She inhales deeply, resumes the slow caress on the small of your back. Inadvertently, she catches a welt and you do your best not to flinch away at the pain. “I convinced myself it was just fun, just sex, just casual cohabitation with benefits, and then you talked about love... and the bubble burst.”

“I’m sorry-” You murmur, she doesn’t hear you.

“I got- I got scared and I fucked it all up.”

She moves up your back without warning, and your abused skin sets on fire. Your mind was racing already, now, spurred by the blazing pain, is in literal delirium. You push yourself up, ignoring the tightness in your muscles, the ache of your welts, and sit back on your haunches, wincing at the position that has you dizzy, eyes boring into her.

Miranda stares, her gaze a mixture of concern and shyness, and guilt that flashes oh-so-clear in the blue of her eyes, like nothing ever before. Miranda has always been tough to read, but right now, she’s so vulnerable, so exposed that your heart almost aches.

“So?” You blurt out. “I’m scared all the time! I fuck things up all the time, what’s the big deal?”

Miranda chuffs out a chuckle. Her smile is bittersweet when she shakes her head.

“You don’t understand.” She whispers. “There’s no room for being scared in this world, nor to fuck things up. You do that, you’re dead!” She growls, jaw clenched and voice vibrating with the effort. “I can only be cold-hearted and confident and ruthless and strong-”

“No, you don’t understand!” You cut her off, heart in your throat. “You can be all of that at the same time and also allow yourself to be scared. Being scared it’s what makes you different from them, can’t you see it?” You lean forward, panting hard through the soreness in your back, and rest a palm on the floor.

“It’s what got us caught.” She insists. Miranda tries to reach for you, but you flinch back.

“You’re more than just black and white.” You whisper softly, voice so low you even wonder if she can actually hear you. Eyes fixed on the sticky linoleum, you don’t feel brave enough to bear her gaze. You’ve been willing to tell her something similar for ages, and now that it’s time, now that you’ve finally decided to seize the opportunity - because, frankly, there might not be a lot of chances in the future - you feel extremely agitated. It’s now or never. Literally. Besides, what is she going to do about it? Run off? Choke you to death? You’ll be dead anyway. “You’re more than that, Miranda, in fact... you have a whole spectrum of colors within you and you don’t even know it because you’ve been too busy suffocating it for years.”

You find the courage to lift your head, and look at her. She looks beautiful as always, her puzzled face all angles and sharp edges, blue eyes boring into your very soul. You feel exposed, and yet, for some reason, you’ve never felt braver.

“I can see through you.” You sigh, your hands shake. “You let me in, Miranda. It’s too late to push me out.”

There’s a long pause. Or is it a quick one, you don’t really know. The whole room is spinning, your tired brain struggling between processing the pain and the situation at the same time.

“I did, didn’t I?” Miranda snorts, chuffing out a disbelieving giggle as she probably laughs at herself. She breathes hard behind her palms, covering her face, and when she peels her hands away, she cocks her head to the side, her face a mixture of concern and condescending curiosity as she studies you. “I got your point, no lay back down. I don’t have salts if you faint on me.”

You gape at her, but you’re too tired to protest further, so you simply give in and settle on your stomach by her side.

“Do you really think this is the best time to pull out a joke about salt?”

“Why not?” She shrugs.

She’s right. Neither of you knows how much it’s left, and the timing, you have to admit it, was quite perfect.

“I think it’s the first time I’ve heard you joking.” You confess. Surprisingly, even and especially to yourself, you’ve managed to keep your voice even and emotionless. You were simply stating the fact, but you’ve managed to conceal everything that was behind it: even in those horrible times and even more disgusting place, Miranda is still uncovering new little bits of her.

“I’m sorry.” She mumbles, out of the blue. “You didn’t deserve this.”

“Nobody does.” You reply, a little shrug of your shoulders.

Even if you might have a distorted vision of reality, you know she doesn’t deserve it. Despite what Miranda thinks of herself, no matter how guilty she feels, she does not deserve this.

The woman scoffs, you see her carding her hand through her hair angrily with the corner of your eyes.

“You shouldn’t be here in the first place.” She growls. “You shouldn’t love-”

“Miranda, stop it.” You exhale sharply and her precarious rambling stops immediately. “It’s not like I can help it.”

“Pity.” She mutters, almost automatically.

You can’t pretend it doesn’t hurt, but you manage to mask the rejection quite well. You turn your head to the other side, so you’re now facing the wall.

You know you’ve been a fool, you know you’ve just self-deceived for months about the nature of your relationship, you know you’ve hoped and waited for something to finally shift, and it did, but only on your side. Hope… was just a weapon as dangerous as a gun, maybe even worse.

It’s so perfectly clear, right now, so close to actually dying, that things will not change. Miranda will never love you when she barely cares.

After all, why would she? Why would somebody like her love a dull girl kidnapped in a dark alley, drunk, that was supposed to serve as bait?

Of course, it changed a bit. Maybe she’s taking a liking of you, but that’s it. That’s as far as it’ll ever go.

You stiffen when you feel her fingertips crawling up your back, dragging her pads along your spine, minding not to touch any welt or sore point.

You don’t know if she knows what you’re thinking, yet you’re sure she’s sensed your melancholy. She always does.

“It’ll take a while, but it’ll heal eventually.” She whispers soothingly.

“Those are not the scars I’m worried about.” You murmur back.

You’d wear those scars proudly just as you wear hers, if only to remind yourself of those times, of those things you’ve endured and survived together. You know those will heal, one day, leaving simple marks behind, but you’re not sure the hidden ones will too. Anyway, what’s the point, now? Everything seems so meaningless so close to possibly dying while being stuck: impossible to go back to feel nothing, impossible to claim more.

“Everything heals, eventually.” Miranda says, she seems lost in her thoughts and you don’t even know if she’s talking to you or to herself. You’re in no mood to mind looking, right now. “With time.”

“We might not have that, though.” You exhale, let your eyes close. “We might die before anything can actually heal, right?”

Miranda pauses for a moment. She stops her movements, settles her hand on your bruised hip, making you shiver under that hesitant touch. She sighs.

“Right.”

#miranda croft #miranda croft x reader #tfa #the flight attendant #ao3 #archive of our own #fanfiction #femslash

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theheartsmistakes · 4 years

Text

The Last Night: Part XIX

A/N’s at the end:

Parts I-XVIII:

Here is Part I

Here is Part II

Here is Part III

Here is Part IV

Here is Part V

Here is Part VI

Here is Part VII

Here is Part VIII

Here is Part IX

Here is Part X

Here is Part XI

Here is Part XII

Part XIII

Part XIV

Part XV

Part XVI

Part XVII

Part XVIII

.XIX.

Earlier that evening…

After seeing his mother to her room for her afternoon nap, Alastair retired for the remainder of the evening in the Institute library. It was the one room in the house, other than the unbearably small closet sized guest bedroom that the Herondales so graciously gave to him, where he could be alone.

After the past week of excruciating pain while the runes and Silent Brother’s magic repaired the bones in his leg, the damage to his head, waiting for Cordelia to wake up, and answering the barrage of questions from anyone with a tongue to speak, he craved the precious minutes he could find of peace. Charles, unfortunately, conducted most of the questioning, which often left Alastair with a headache worse than the one he’d woken up with after being thrown by the demon and cracking his head on stone. Even when it was just the two of them alone, Charles remained callous and professional, only bothering to ask how Alastair was fairing, but he directed most of the questions to the Brother Zachariah rather than Alastair himself. It felt as if their relationship had been nothing more than a figment of Alastair’s feverish imagination. Alastair began to question if it all had, in fact, all been a dream.

Most moments of quiet were spent beside Cordelia. When his mother retired for the night, Alastair would take up her position beside his sister and watch her chest rise and fall like he’d done when his parents brought her home as a baby. She was so tiny then. As delicate, round, and soft as a baby bird with tufts of red hair that already curled around her ears. Only a year and a few months older than his baby sister, he’d sit next to her crib and watch her sleep. He’d listen to the small shushing noise her breathing made, until he’d fall asleep. At some point in the night, he would be placed back in his bedroom, tucked under the blankets, and left under the glowing stars his bedside witchlight made across his ceiling. It wasn’t until Cordelia was a year old, and he was nearly three, that he stopped falling asleep on her floor, but only because his parents made him.

When Cordelia was awake, he wasn’t much different. The first few months weren’t terrible. She slept most of the time except when she was hungry or needed a change. It wasn’t until she was four months that Alastair thought he’d keel over from anxiety. His irresponsible mother would just place her on a blanket on the floor where anything and everything could fall or step on her. Not only that, but as time went on she’d begun to put everything in her mouth from leaves that had fallen off the giant fern in the corner, to splotches of mud from boots, and pieces off of the rug. Alastair was always there to fish out the foreign object from her gummy mouth before she could choke. He’d give her a proper scolding and she’d respond with a toothless laugh and gurgle that made Alastair’s insides feel like mush.

Cordelia was the first word out of his mouth when he woke up from his injuries. He wasn’t certain, but he felt he’d dreamed about her. The remnants of nightmares lingered underneath his skin like he’d been submerged in ice cold water for too long and couldn’t shake the chill. When he woke up and found Cordelia being held in an induced coma while her body healed from injuries inflicted while he’d been unconscious, unable to rescue her, made it difficult for him to breathe or to think. He’d felt like that little boy again sitting beside her crib afraid that the moment he looked away, she’d stop breathing.

When she’d finally woken up, he’d felt a rush of relief. He needed a moment to compose himself in the hallway before he went through her door to find her sitting up in bed, smiling at him with her own relief. But she’d forgotten everything that happened to her since the moment they left the institute, since she broke her engagement with James after he’d properly humiliated her.

He’d meant to warn James against ever speaking to his sister again, but the boy was like a shadow. He slipped in and out of the Institute before Alastair ever had the chance. He visited Cordelia when Alastair was asleep or bathing or being interrogated. And now, she was off galavanting with him and there was nothing Alastair could do to stop it. He wasn’t about to upset his mother by demanding that Cordelia not go with James.

On his way to the library, he practiced the speech he’d give James when they returned. He may be able to worm his way into the good graces of his sister, but not Alastair. It would take a lot more than his pathetic sallow looks and natural wind blown curls to win Alastair over. After everything James has done, he didn’t deserve Cordelia and Alastair made it his mission to make sure that James knew it.

By the time he reached the library, his leg throbbed under his weight. He’d been trying to use his crutch less despite Brother Zachariah’s advice to keep off of it. The sound of his grunt echoed mockingly through the library as he pushed open the door with his shoulder and stumbled inside with a curse.

A fire burned behind the elaborate grate and already had a decent bed of coals forming underneath it as though it had been burning for some time. A stack of books sat on the coffee table that stood in-between the fireplace and the two wingback chairs.

“Christopher,” said a familiar voice. “Is that you?”

Alastair seized and turned for the door. He was nearly there when the library occupant emerged from the middle isle and stopped when Alastair came into his view.

“Oh,” said Thomas, closing the book in his hands. “It’s you. What are you doing here?”

“I thought the room was empty,” said Alastair, adjusting his weight to his good leg. “I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

“How is your leg?” asked Thomas and tucked the book under his arm.

Alastair patted it with his hand. “It’s still there.”

“And your head?”

“Also there,” said Alastair. “The bandages itch something awful and I fear I’ll always have a slight pain in my knee when it’s about to rain, but otherwise, I am nearly mended.”

Thomas slid his hand into his trouser pocket. “Good. That’s good.”

“I never did thank you properly for coming to our aid,” said Alastair, braving a small chance at having a conversation with Thomas after not speaking with him since…well, since the night Matthew revealed Alastair’s deepest regrets. “I’m afraid of what would have happened if you had not come.”

“We did it for Cordelia,” said Thomas, without a note of sympathy in his tone.

“Right.” Alastair nodded. “Of course. Still, I offer you my thanks—“

“I don’t want your thanks,” said Thomas, turning his back to Alastair to return the book to the empty spot on the shelf. “I don’t want anything from you.”

“Thomas,” started Alastair as he braved a step closer. He felt as fragile as the thin ice that blooms on a lake at the start of winter. One wrong step and he’d break through. “I know what I’ve done to your family is unforgivable and if there is ever anything I can do to unravel the mess that I’ve created—“

“You can’t.”

“I understand but if there is—“

“My mother cried herself to sleep for months because of the lies you told,” said Thomas, calmly. “She locked herself in her bedroom and wouldn’t let my father in no matter how desperately he begged or how strongly he claimed the rumors were false. She made herself sick to the point where father left only so that she would come out of her room or let someone in to bring her food and water.” Warmth bloomed across Alastair’s face. He wanted to hang his head in shame and fall to his knees, broken or otherwise, and beg for Thomas’s forgiveness, but he did no such thing. Instead, he lifted his chin and continued to listen to the consequences of his actions. “She looked so frail when she finally emerged. Barbara was the first one she spoke to; the only one she spoke to. It took several more weeks before she’d even acknowledge my father. I think she had to convince herself that it wasn’t true before she could believe anyone else. I’m ashamed to admit that even I questioned the validity of it.”

Thomas took a deep breath, his eyes were rimmed with tears, and his mouth set in a hard line. “I just want to know why? Can you tell me at least that? Why attack me— my family?”

The truth dangled on Alastair’s tongue. The truth that would uncover every secret that Alastair buried deep inside and fought his whole life to remain unknown, to everyone, including his own beloved sister.

Because my father is a drunk.

Because I was afraid of anyone finding out the shame he’d caused my family for years.

Because the four of you: Matthew, James, Christopher, and you had something that I never had and would never have because I cannot allow people to get close enough to me in fear that they will be able to see the shame of my family; and they would see what I am. So I took the attention off of my family—off of me— and put it on yours and Matthew’s.

And I can never take it back.

“Tell me!” Alastair shuttered at the pain in Thomas’s voice. He’d never heard him shout, not once, even after Barbara died.

Maybe it was better if Thomas hated him. It meant his secrets were safe. In doing so, he’d keep Thomas from more ridicule and his family as well. Even if Thomas didn’t know it, he’d be doing him a favor. A small one that might cause more pain than redemption or forgiveness which they both seemed to be after.

So he’d let him hate him in hope that maybe one day the truth would be enough.

“I should go,” said Alastair, turning towards the door. “Cordelia should be arriving soon for supper.”

“You’re really going to walk away?” Thomas scoffed. “Are you such a coward that you can’t just tell me the truth?”

“What good would it do?” spat Alastair, the defense he’d carefully been building all of his life built up with even more strength. “You think there is some deep meaning behind my actions? Some explanation that will make me less of a monster. You were an easy target, the four of you. You were defenseless and weird and Matthew was the most irritating of you all. And I heard a rumor and I wanted to humiliate him, because I was bored, and because I could.”

Alastair’s chest ached as the tears spilled from Thomas’s eyes. He quickly wiped at them with his sleeve and when he looked at Alastair again, he recognized the hate that boiled behind his eyes. It was the same hate in his own eyes whenever he looked in a mirror.

“Get out,” whispered Thomas, his voice so low, Alastair almost didn’t hear him.

“Gladly,” said Alastair and pulled open the door. As he turned down the hall towards the staircase, he heard a loud bang hit the wall. He didn’t stop or hesitate, the tapping sound of his crutch hitting the wood flooring echoed through the hallway.

____

The door to the staff hall groaned open just as Alastair walked down the last step. Lucie Herondale, shaking the rain from her hands and muttering something to herself, looked up in surprise to find Alastair standing at the end of the staircase. Her elegant blue dress was stained black at the hem and discolored with rain. Droplets glistened on her skin as she came to a stop underneath a glowing witchlight orb hovering above her. He waited a moment for Cordelia to come in behind her, as she so often does, but when she didn’t his eyes narrowed on Lucie.

“Where is Cordelia?” he asked, subtly gone from his tone as he was far too tired to pretend any longer.

“She was just behind—“

He didn’t wait for her to finish. He had an idea that he already knew.

He moved around Lucie, still muttering her excuses, and pushed open the staff hall door. A few of the maids gossiping in the hallway quickly moved out of his way. Teeth clenched, Alastair followed the trail of rain droplets that Lucie brought in with her until they came to an end at the staff exit. Before he could stop to think for a moment, he grabbed the door handle and yanked it open.

A blind rage consumed him at the vision standing on the little porch. James Herondale with his hands around Cordelia’s waist and mouth consuming hers while her own hands were tangled in his hair.

They broke apart like two dropped links at the sudden intrusion of light.

A high pitched whistle filled his ears. With hands trembling, he reached out and grabbed Cordelia’s arm, wrenching her inside. When James attempted to pursue, he pressed the end of his crutch into his chest and pushed. “Haven’t you done enough to ruin my sister’s reputation?”

“Alastair,” said Cordelia, gripping the arm that kept her behind him.

After a few steps backward, James regained his balance, and smiled a malicious grin that was void of any kindness. “Haven’t you grown tired of causing other people pain?”

“Pain?” Alastair seized with disdain. “What do you know of it in your privileged little life? I’ve taken responsibility for what I’ve done. Have you?” He took a limp step out onto the small brick laid porch. The witchlight lantern flickered with the energy crackling between the two of them. “You may have beguiled her into forgetting what you’ve done, but I certainly have not.”

“Alastair,” cried Cordelia as a crack of thunder rumbled through the sky. He heard the pain and desperation in her voice and he ignored it.

“You’re toxic and dangerous,” continued Alastair as he stepped out into the rain, advancing toward James. “Everything you touch becomes ruin. Trouble pursues you. You use people for your own selfish gain. I may have turned a blind eye before when I knew the engagement was a farce to repair my sister’s reputation, but I will not allow my sister to come into an honest romantic entanglement with the likes of a half-demon sycophant who is only using her for his own selfish gain.”

James’s hands clenched into fists at his sides as he glared down at Alastair as though at any moment he would hit Alastair square in the jaw. Alastair wondered how much farther he’d need to push. What other buttons he’d need to press. “Walk away, Alastair.” James growled so low it was difficult to hear him.

“Or what?” Alastair met his glare. “Are you going to hit me? Go on then, do it.”

“I’m not like you,” said James as rain dripped down his face. “I won’t let you drag me down to whatever miserable level of hell you currently reside. I care about your sister and I’m trying to right my wrongs; I’ve made a lot of them I’ll admit, but I am trying. Can you say the same?”

The question shook through Alastair. The rain dripped down James’s face reminding him of the tears that spilled from Thomas’s face only moments ago because of Alastair’s words. It seemed the people he cared about were evaporating from his life, he wasn’t about to lose his sister too.

“Stay away from my sister,” said Alastair. “I won’t ask you again.”

“Alastair,” Cordelia hissed as he pushed her back into the house and closed the door before James could stop him. He clicked the lock into place as James jiggled the knob. With his crutch securely tucked under his arm, he grabbed Cordelia’s hand with the other. But before he could drag her along, she ripped free from him and pressed her back against the door.

“Don’t be stupid, Cordelia,” hissed Alastair. “You have to be smarter than this. Can’t you see what he’s doing? He’s trying to get back at me for what I did to him at the academy by hurting you!”

“I’m not stupid,” she spat back. Her hair hung in limp curls around her face. Her cheeks had more color in them than he’s seen in months. It irritated him further. “And he’s not. Unlike you he’s trying to move past all of that. You’re not children at the academy anymore, grow up! He cares about me and I care about him and neither of those things have anything to do with you.”

Alastair felt his chest explode, but only laughter burst from his lips. “He doesn’t care about you, Cordelia. He doesn’t. You don’t matter to him. You have to see that.”

“I do matter to him!”

“You don’t,” demanded Alastair. “I’ve seen the way he looks at Grace Blackthorn and it’s not the same way he looks at you. Have you forgotten what he’s done?”

“That was a misunderstanding,” said Cordelia, her eyes brimming. “He explained everything to me.”

“Did he?” asked Alastair. He pointed his finger at the door where James last stood. “How convenient that when he can’t have the girl that he’s actually in love with, he comes groveling back to the girl that gives her love so freely.” Cordelia’s cheeks bloomed red as she tore her eyes away from him. “He’s a liar and he’s trouble and you’re not to see him ever again, do you understand me?”

“You cannot forbid me to see him.”

“Yes, I can.” Alastair glared. “Because if I find out that you are seeing him, I will tell everyone that he was the one that burned down Blackthorn manor and the night we left it was he who was in Grace Blackthorn’s bedroom when you walked in.”

Cordelia looked at him as if he had struck her. “Why are you doing this? Why are you being this way?”

Alastair shook. “I am trying to stop you from making a horrible decision.”

“Stop trying to protect me!” Cordelia demanded. “I don’t criticize you for your choices on who to involve yourself with and I do not appreciate being told who I can or cannot love anymore than you do.” She smoothed the wet hair away from her face. “You promised. You promised you wouldn’t say a word of those secrets. How dare you throw them in my face to accomplish your own vindications. I will not be your pawn in this long standing war you have with him. If you say a word of those secrets to anyone, I will never speak to you again. Then you will truly be alone.”

She shouldered around Alastair, her skirts dripped water as she passed him, and this time Alastair didn’t reach out to stop her.

A/N: Good evening! I hope your October is going splendidly so far. I am experiencing some moderate to extreme anxiety due to work related issues. My job before quarantine has not asked me to return yet, so I found and started a freelance writing job, which in theory should be really exciting, but I have ZERO self-confidence in myself or my writing. So, I’m working through that. This chapter was a fun escape for me. I hope you guys enjoy it! Please hit that cute little heart, drop a lovely comment, and reblog if you feel so inclined. As always, be safe, take care of yourself, and stay healthy out there. Next update will be in two weeks, Nov 1.

#chain of gold fanfic #chain of gold #james x cordelia #james and Cordelia #james herondale #Cordelia Carstairs #alastair carstairs #the last night fanfiction #cassandra clare #the last hours #the shadowhunter chronicles #shadowhunters #lucie herondale #thomas lightwood #thomas x alastair #thomastair #thomas and alastair

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bisexualklausmikaelson · 3 years

Text

maybe you were the ocean, when i was just a stone (6/?)

a/n: I can't believe I'm revamping this fic but I'm revamping this fic - it will be uploaded on ao3 as well, I will not be updating it on ffn.

xvi: we could open windows -

Klaus isn't one for love triangles - he's not even one for love.

He's counted less than a handful of times where he has allowed himself to feel close enough to someone outside of his siblings to even call it that.

At most, this was just an infatuation of sorts, it must be.

Because he just couldn't fathom liking the same girl as his younger brother.

"Nik," Kol releases, as soon as he sees him. "Where have you been?" He wonders, realizing how he hadn't seen his brother for quite a few hours.

Klaus stammers, being uncomfortable with the memory of his biological father and his offer to stay with him. "I had a few errands to run," he nervously says.

Errands? Kol thinks, unable to remember the last time Klaus had been this responsible about his chores.

He observes them both carefully - how well Kol is dressed and how pretty Hayley's dress is. "I take it you both just came back from dinner with mother and father," Klaus concludes.

Kol and Hayley share a look, feeling a bit awkward about the whole situation.

"Yes," Kol nods. "I was just about to ask Hayley how she was feeling about everything," he says, shyly.

Klaus places a finger on his chin, pondering. "That's strangely considerate of you," he realizes just how much his brother is changing in the short amount of time that he's known Hayley.

It's unexpected, but he feels a smidge of jealousy.

"Hayley," Kol goes on, interrupting Klaus' thoughts. The girl looks at him while playing with a strand of her hair. "Did our parents say or do anything to make you uncomfortable?" he asks.

She thinks back to Esther's kindness, how close she felt to her just in the short time she had known her. Hayley shakes her head.

"Really?" Klaus notes, wide-eyed. "That's...surprising," he sighs, turning to his younger brother.

Kol senses an even bigger change, one deep inside himself. "Perhaps," he shrugs. "They've actually taken a liking to her?" he wonders, meeting Klaus' gaze.

The other brother focuses his vision on Hayley - how close she stands next to Kol, how comfortable she seems around him. "Maybe so," Klaus notes. "I suppose stranger things have happened," he softly says, thinking of how easily these two seem to fit together.

And how quickly their charade seemed to have become reality.

The beach calls her name - like a love song.

Hayley is restless that night, rolling around in her bed, staring at the ceiling, sweating.

Being human is still strange - it's nice not being alone or exiled by her own kind, being accepted by a lively family, having siblings - sort of anyway. But it's still all so new.

"You're awake," Henrik pops out from under her bed and scares her.

She was so busy being stressed out by her thoughts, she didn't even notice him sneaking in.

"What's wrong? Have a nightmare?" Henrik asks again, as Hayley offers him a nod of the head. He hops into bed with her, looking a little sad. "I have trouble sleeping too, bad dreams are all too common in this house, I'm afraid," he sounds so broken, all of a sudden.

Hayley knows the Mikaelson household is a lot colder than people think - despite their riches, their fame, how close the siblings seem to be, there is still so much loneliness in everyone's eyes.

She appreciates how easily Henrik bonds with her though - she's never had a younger sibling before, though she's always wanted one.

"Henrik," Cami bursts through the open door. "There you are, why are you out of bed?" she sings, joining the two.

Hayley motions for Cami to hop in but patting her hand on the sheets. She slips in beside Henrik, wrapping an arm around him.

"Cami," he whispers, "I didn't know you were still here," he adds.

"Rebekah asked me to spend the night - I'm just staying in her room," she continues. "I came out because I heard all the ruckus this little one was making," she smiles, teasing Henrik.

Hayley appreciates both their warmth - it can be quite scary sleeping in this big room, all by herself.

"I've always found this house so eerily quiet at night, you know?" Cami suddenly says.

Henrik looks at Hayley who also looks a bit scared. "We agree," he grins.

And that's the thing about the Mikaelson mansion, from the outside, it looks like this perfect palace - and once you're inside, you realize it's just feels so haunting.

(The three of them hold hands, walking together towards the balcony. They sit there for a bit, just looking out towards the beach.

"The water looks so calm tonight," Henrik comments.

"It's so strange isn't it?" Cami tells them. "Just the other day, it was raging on like a storm, now it's like a summer sea," she realizes.

Hayley looks there too, remembers her old home - the deep blue ocean, the fishes, the coral and seaweed.

Sometimes, she feels like it never really existed.

"I wonder what it's like," Henrik quips. "Way out there," he exhales, thinking more and more about the vast waters before them.

"I do too," Cami agrees - noticing how disconnected Hayley seems.

Almost as if she's been there before).

xvii: fix the fridge light and replace the phone

The sun invades Rebekah's room like an invited guest.

She finds a note on her bed, carefully written.

Such pretty hand-writing, she knows it's Cami's - so delicate and careful. Somehow, it almost makes her angrier about her early departure.

The fact that it's just so beautiful.

(Hey Rebekah, I know I know - you hate me right now but, before you send me an angry text I'll never get, just hear me out. I left something for you under your pillow, it's something I brought back from my last research trip, I hope you think of me when you wear it.

Rebekah holds back her tongue - she knows how important Cami's research is and how much value it has.

She shoves her hand under her pillow and finds a gorgeous piece of seaglass strung across a chain. It's green mixed with a bit of yellow - like Cami's eyes).

"Sister," Klaus walks in to her room with a shiny tray of freshly made pancakes, syrup, whip cream, strawberries and a warm cup of coffee. "I've brought you breakfast," he says, taking weird looks around her room.

Rebekah raises a brow as she takes the hot drink in hand. "What brings about such kindness, dear brother?" she laments.

Klaus keeps avoiding her eyes. "Can't you just thank me?" he offers.

She notices how disappointed he looks and connect the dots quite easily. This food wasn't intentionally made for her, after all. "If you're looking for Hayley," she concludes. "She woke up quite early and already had breakfast with Henrik and Kol," Rebekah tells him, recalling hearing their voices while she was half asleep, shortly after Cami had already left.

"Kol? Waking up early?" Klaus retorts. "I never thought I'd see the day," he huffs, with his hands on his hips.

His sister smiles as she starts digging in to the pancakes. "He's a changed man," she comments."Hmm, these pancakes are to die for, Nik!" She cheers, smiling.

Klaus feels that tinge of jealousy he felt earlier suddenly grow bigger. "Glad you like them," he quietly says, attempting to hide his real emotions.

Kol spends more and more time with Hayley.

He doesn't like to think that he's gotten close to her or that, somehow, she gets under his skin - it's just that, he needs to make this whole she's his girlfriend act convincing, you know? Whether that means having meals together, standing a bit closer to her than he usually does, even maybe looking deep into her eyes -

The truth is, he just really likes being around her.

She waves to Henrik as he runs off to play with some other kids he spots by the beach.

"He's very fond of you," Kol observes. "My little brother, I mean, he's usually quite shy around anyone but our family. I suppose you're part of ours now," he babbles on and he almost bites his tongue.

God, what the hell was he saying right now? He sounded like a fool - calling her his family, really? He's only known her for a little over a month!

What was wrong with him?

"Would you like to go for a swim with me?" Kol requests instead, trying to change the subject and how flustered he felt at the moment.

She offers him a bright smile, running head first into the water.

He feels a continuing flutter in his heart as he watches her shiver from the coldness of the water. Right, it was November after all - maybe not the best time for a swim but, she almost seemed like she was weirdly used to it.

Hayley warms up quickly and swishes around the water almost as if it's part of her.

"You're quite the talented swimmer, my darling," Kol compliments, joining her.

The water pushes them closer and closer to each other and his hand instinctively grazes against her cheek - her hair is wet and covering her eyes but, she can see just enough to understand that he's going for it.

He wants to kiss her.

"KOLLLL!!!"

Just then, they hear Henrik's scream.

He's afraid of water, Kol whispers, as he and Hayley swim towards him. "I'm such an idiot," he curses himself, swimming quicker. "I should've kept a better eye on him," he shouts, seeing the top of his brother's head peeking out of the waves.

Hayley swims faster than him, getting to Henrik first and lifting him up from his waist. She gives him a look, indicating that he was safe now, she was here, after all.

"Henrik!" Kol scolds, when he catches up to them. "What were you thinking? You know you could've drowned!" he shakes him back and forth, worriedly.

Hayley takes him back to the shore, covering him in a dry towel.

"I'm sorry brother," Henrik replies to Kol. "I just thought I could finally face my fear, ever since the incident that happened to Nik I -"

Kol furrows his brow - he remembers that day too, when Klaus almost drowned to death, how he was saved by some miracle. Or a mermaid, which is what Henrik claims.

He hates how his little brother still blames himself for that incident.

"Do you know how much you scared me?" Kol responds, still with a stressed out tone. Hayley is taken aback, she's never seen Kol like this. "Promise me you'll never go to the water alone, ever again?" He tells him

"But Kol -"

"Promise me!"

Henrik bites his lip, he looks at Hayley who also seemed worried about his well-being. "I-" he starts. "I promise," he finally agrees as a sense of relief washes over Kol's face.

Hayley is touched by how close both the youngest Mikaelson brothers seem to be.

xviii: maybe it will fix us if we spend our lives on country roads

Klaus' balcony is filled with his old paintings. He barely uses the space there for anything else but, it does offer him a good view of the beach. He pushes the painting aside, making his way towards the edge. He notices Hayley, Kol and Henrik right away. He keeps an eye on them.

He shouldn't feel this way, he shouldn't be so angry at the fact that they're friends. At the fact that their parents accept them.

At the fact that Mikael would never scold Kol for having a girl but Klaus, he's not even allowed to smile around him.

He feels frightened - Mikael's abuse scares him. He thinks of their fight, of the scar on his cheek, where Hayley had last touched him.

Mikael had mentioned how the scar had disappeared, he wonders how it happened so quickly.

Then.

Klaus' ringtone interrupts his thoughts.

Ansel.

He thinks about his offer once again.

Is leaving truly the best option for him? His family was his everything, he can't imagine living without Elijah's laugh, or Finn's smile, Kol's shenanigans, Rebekah's kindness, Henrik's clinginess, and now, Hayley's warmth -

He puts the idea to rest for now.

He goes back to staring at the beach.

#klayley #klaus mikaelson #hayley marshall #to #tvd #kol mikaelson #koley #munea writes

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starwarsimagines1105 · 4 years

Text

It’s Killing Me O-WK

A/N General rule of thumb for me, if you don’t recognize something from the Star Wars universe, I made it up

Walking with your longtime Jedi guard, Obi-Wan, you were discussing your upbringings. Obi-Wan being a Jedi was raised within the order and you, being a princess, were raised similarly by way of discipline. Where you differed was learning how to fight and use the force.

Obi-Wan was assigned to protect you a few months ago from some unknown assassins who had made an attempt on your life. Over the few months that you had 24/7 guards, including a Jedi, you had managed to discover their planet of origin. They came from the neighboring planet of Neotoria which was actually diplomatically friendly to your planet, Muvin. You had no clue why they wanted you dead but tonight they would announce a plan to hopefully end these attempts and ease whatever tension was brewing.

You didn’t know what the plan was though, nor did any of your guards know. As you and Obi-Wan were walking down a hallway lined with large pillars, you glanced around seeing that the coast was clear. You then quickly grabbed his arm, dragging him behind one of the pillars. “Wha-” he managed to get out before your lips were pressed against his which he quickly returned.

Despite the fact that you spent most of your time together, you so rarely got to be intimate with the man you love. Your affair had begun about a month after he was first assigned to protect you and despite the Jedi code, he didn’t want to hold back any longer.

When you pulled away for air, he looked down at you. “I think you’re getting bolder,” he chuckled.

You laughed in response, gently stroking your fingers through his beard. “It has been so long since we touched.” He connected his lips to yours again before his head pulled back.

“Someone’s coming,” he whispered. Stepping apart, you walked out of the shadows into the main hall. You saw a servant walking down the hall, when he caught sight of you and Obi-Wan trailing behind you, he wore a confused look on his face. “Might I ask what you were doing behind the pillar?”

“I thought I saw some shadows moving and insisted Obi-Wan inspect if there was anyone there,” you quickly lied. You could feel Obi-Wan’s presence flanking your right shoulder, seemingly willing the servant to believe it.

“Alright,” he conceded, “Princess Y/N, your father wanted me to inform you about tonight’s dinner and the announcement of his solution to end the attempts on your life.”

“Thank you,” you said as the servant scurried back where he came from. Looking over your shoulder you saw Ob-Wan, “You wouldn’t know about the plan, would you?”

“No my love,” he said, placing a hand on your shoulder.

That evening you stepped out of your bathroom, fully ready for tonight’s dinner. Obi-Wan was stood in your bedroom, waiting for you. Placing your arms around his neck, he placed his around your waist. “I wish we didn’t have to go to this dinner. I’d rather spend my night with just you.”

He kissed your forehead, “I know my love but you, as a Princess, have a duty to uphold. And as your loyal guard, I will be with you the entire time.”

Agreeing, you both finally went to the dining hall. Obi-Wan led you to your seat on the right hand side of your father. He pulled your chair out before stepping back so he’d stand behind you throughout the dinner. You wished he’d eat with you but he was on duty, so he wasn’t supposed to be distracted by food and conversation.

You spent the first two courses in silence as your father chatted happily with his friends and advisers around him. Just before the main course, he stood up, addressing the room. “People of Muvin, I’m sure you’re all anxious to hear the plan I have come up with to protect my daughter and your princess, Y/N. As many of you know, some rogue people from Neotoria have made attempts on my daughter’s life so King Neotoria XVI and I have decided that my daughter and his son, Prince Qi-Fin Neotoria XVII will be married.”

Everyone around you applauded while you froze. ‘No, no this couldn’t be happening.’

Behind you, Obi-Wan was also frozen, similar thoughts running through his mind about the woman he loves marrying someone else. But he applauded anyways, giving the appearance of approval and pretending his heart wasn’t breaking inside.

The rest of the meal commenced with excited chatter. Your father told you you’d be meeting your fiancé tomorrow and that you’d be married in a week. You couldn’t eat, you felt so sick to your stomach. Excusing yourself you stood, slipping out as subtly as possible. You could hear Obi-Wan following you but you couldn’t face him so you kept walking. Making it to your chambers, you finally stopped, allowing Obi-Wan to finally catch up.

“I’m so sorry,” you cried.

“Why are you sorry?” he asked, wrapping you in his arms, “You didn’t choose this.”

“Can we just be together right now?” you asked. He kissed your forehead, nodding. Picking you up, he carried you to your bed and kissed you deeply.

Obi-Wan’s POV

It was 1 am and I still couldn’t sleep. Looking at the beautiful woman lying in bed with me I couldn’t help but think about everything I’m about to lose. I laid my head back down, looking at her peaceful face. She doesn’t think I notice that she’s always stressed and the only time I see her relax is when she’s asleep or when we’re alone together.

King Neotoria XVI and his son are here, I could sense it. Y/N looked incredibly depressed as we walked to the throne room. “I love you,” I whispered to her just outside of the grand entrance. She took my hand, squeezing it in return. I saw her force her ‘Princess face,’ as I called it, on as I used the force to open the heavy doors. We walked in to see Y/N’s father, the King and Prince of Neotoria, as well as a dozen guards from each kingdom.

“Ah, you must be Princess Y/N L/N,” the older man greeted. “This is my son, Prince Qi-Fin Neotoria XVII.” The younger man stepped towards her, taking her hand and kissing it in greeting.

“Hello Your Majesty and Royal Highness, it’s a pleasure to meet you both,” she greeted with a perfect curtsey. “This is Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi, he has been assigned my 24/7 guard over the past few months.”

I bowed slightly in greeting, despite the fact that I wanted to force choke the life out of the Prince for the way he was looking at Y/N. Then the Prince spoke up, “You’re with her all the time? Even in her room as she sleeps?”

“Yes, your Royal Highness,” I answered.

“No, I don’t want this man in my fiancé’s bedroom anymore. Riverse,” he called a guard over, “you will now accompany my fiancé 24/7. And you, Jedi, can go back to your council.”

“I’m afraid that’s not how it works,” Y/N’s father cut in. “He is a Jedi, he is better suited to protect her. He will continue to guard her for a week succeeding your wedding. However, if more attempts on her life occur, he will stay longer. Your guard can also accompany Y/N and Obi-Wan but he will stay with her until then.”

The prick pursed his lips before nodding in agreement. “Fine, but he will no longer stay in her bedroom.”

For the next week, Y/N and I had no time to ourselves. I just wanted to hold her and kiss her but the guard Qi-Fin had assigned never left us alone. Finally, on the day we had been dreading, we had a moment alone. Taking the first opportunity, I crashed my lips to hers. She eagerly reciprocated before pulling away, “I don’t want to marry that awful man,” she practically cried.

“I know, but neither of us can run from this. I still have a duty I must uphold.” I felt her nod understandingly, still clinging to my chest. As she stepped back I was able to fully see her in her wedding dress. “You look so beautiful, my love.”

She blushed, “I wish this dress were for you.”

I stood in the back of the throne room where Y/N was stood at the front with Qi-Fin. I wanted to kill him, I was so angry. I wanted to object and whisk her away to somewhere far, far away where we could be together and not have to worry about the Jedi code or people trying to kill her. But it was too late, I averted my gaze when Qi-Fin kissed her, it was too painful to watch.

At the reception, I did my job except instead of hovering over her shoulder to shield her from any attacks. I clung to the walls of the room, keeping my eyes peeled for any suspicious people.

Afterward was the worst. Riverse and I were forced to stand outside their bedchamber’s door. Each sound, whether it be a soft cry of pain from Y/N, or a groan of pleasure from Qi-Fin felt like a stab in the gut.

#star wars #star wars imagines #obi-wan kenobi x reader

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maraudererasmut · 4 years

Text

Black and White (Part XXXIII)

Remus followed his friends into Chez Bijou as James’ car was driven off by the valet out front. The restaurant was still a culture shock for the artist, but he was significantly more comfortable than the last time he was there. As they were escorted to their table, Sirius kept his hand protectively on Remus’ back, guiding him towards his seat.

Sirius pulled out Remus’ chair for him, the same way James pulled out his wife’s. Remus glanced over to Lily with a questioning look, but she simply smiled in return.

“Uh… thanks…” he mumbled to Sirius as he sat down. Sirius took the seat beside him, his eyes remaining focused on the artist. Remus felt like he was on display and he wasn’t sure if he loved the sensation or hated it.

“So!” James began, drawing the table’s attention to himself. “Sirius tells me you guys might have some news to share?”

Remus felt Sirius’ gaze on him, but he purposefully ignored it, glancing at Lily instead. Lily gave Remus an understanding nod before she answered her husband.

“Yeah! Dorcas and Marlene represent a film studio who’s looking for some paintings for a shoot. They asked Remus and I to produce three pieces each within the next two weeks!”

“That’s amazing!” James’ smile was so wide, it was almost as if he were the artist in question. “I’m so happy for you guys!”

Sirius was beaming proudly down at Remus, who couldn’t shake the sense of guilt that had settled in the pit of his stomach. The artist looked up at his boyfriend, trying to keep his face calm.

“You didn’t have anything to do with this, did you?”

Sirius raised an eyebrow at Remus.

“Would it be a problem if I did?”

Remus’ stomach churned and he felt a lump forming in the back of his throat.

“Sirius…” He began quietly, trying to keep his voice steady. “I don’t want you doing things for me just because we’re… you know…”

“Remus,” Sirius responded, loud enough for the entire table to hear. “You’re showing in my gallery. For the duration of this exhibition, I am representing you. You are one of my artists. When Dorcas and Marlene approached me and asked if I knew of any artists who fit their criteria, I recommended both you and Lily, because I felt that you were best suited for the job.”

“So… it wasn’t because of… anything else?” Remus asked, fiddling with the napkin that had been placed in his lap by a server.

“I did my job as your gallerist, Remus. It’s mutually beneficial. When you succeed in the art world, so do I. I would have done the same for any artist who I represent.”

Sirius’ statement gave Remus pause for a moment.

“How many artists do you represent?” He asked cautiously. It wasn’t a question he had thought to ask before.

Sirius responded with a shrug.

“Five or six. Why do you ask?”

“I just… it never crossed my mind that there were other artists. I just… didn’t think of that…”

Sirius let out a deep chuckle and reached for the bowl of bread in the center of the table. He casually took a bite out of a piece of focaccia before grinning at his boyfriend.

“You know, I wouldn’t be a very good gallery owner if I only ever showed two artists, Remus.”

He made a valid point. Remus glanced down at the empty plate in front of him. There was still so much he didn’t know about his boyfriend and the gallery business.

“Speaking of which…” Lily’s voice carried across the table, catching Remus’ attention. He looked up at his friend, who had her eyebrows raised. When Remus didn’t respond, she continued. “Dorcas had asked Remus and I if you were representing us, Sirius. Of course, I know that I’m signed on with you indefinitely, but as far as I know, Remus is only working with Black and White until the end of this show, right?”

“That’s true,” Sirius remarked, raising a brow. He turned to Remus, an expectant smile on his face. “What do you say, Remus? Interested in coming on as a permanent artist with us?”

Remus hesitated for a moment, remembering their conversation from the previous evening and the card that was slipped into his jacket pocket. He hadn’t mentioned his exchange with Caradoc to anyone yet. He also distinctly remembered one of Sirius’ ground rules explicitly stated that they would not let their personal lives get in the way of professional decisions.

“Well,” Remus admitted guiltily. “I was approached by someone at the show yesterday… He mentioned that his gallery would be interested in displaying some of my work, and I know Black and White requires exclusive ri—“

Remus cut himself off when he noticed the colour drain from every single face at the table. He kept his mouth shut for a moment, waiting for somebody to explain what he had done wrong, before three voices suddenly started shouting at him at once.

"Someone approached you at the show, Rem—"

"-- plan to sign on with another gallery?"

"--was their name? Was it Na— "

"--can't possibly think they're better than Si— "

"--fter everything we've been through you sti—"

"--bably another Black from the sounds of—"

"Stop!"

Remus thumped his fist on the table, directing everyone's attention towards himself. He glared firmly at his group of friends, making sure to make eye contact with each of them.

"For Christ's sake, I can't understand you when you all talk at once! One at a time! Jesus!" Remus turned to his left and looked at Lily. "You first."

Lily looked taken-aback. She blinked in surprise before gathering herself and starting.

"As one of Sirius' artists, I can honestly say, I don't think you'll find better representation in the city. I really mean that, Remus…"

Remus nodded at his friend.

"Understood. James? What were you saying?" Remus turned to look expectantly at the man across the table from him.

"Oh… uh… just that…" In all the time that Remus had known the man, he had never seen James at a loss for words before. "Who was it who approached you? Because if it was another member of the Black family—"

"His name was Caradoc Dearborn."

James furrowed his brow in confusion.

"Who's that?"

"Tall, dark and handsome? He has blonde hair? Anyway, this is his card."

Remus pulled the card out of his pants pocket and handed it to James, who was studying it so hard, he seemed to be trying to memorize it.

"You… brought it with you?"

Remus heard Sirius' voice to the right of him, but refused to look at the gallery owner. Why did he feel so guilty? Wasn't this something that he and Sirius had discussed?

Remus shrugged, trying to pretend he couldn't hear the hurt in Sirius' voice.

"I figured it would be easier to ask about him if I had the card with me," Remus lied. The artist was never particularly good at lying, but he was afraid the truth would make Sirius feel worse; Remus had brought the card with him because he was considering checking out the other gallery that day, just to see what it was like.

"...Do I get to voice my objections now?"

Remus closed his eyes and took a deep breath before opening them and turning to Sirius.

"Yes. Go ahead, Sirius."

"After everything that's happened… after these past few weeks, you accept the business card of a stranger at the gallery show that I put on for you?"

Sirius' eyes were clouded with anger, but Remus could tell that he was trying to keep it at bay.

"I didn't accept his card. He put it into my pocket. I just… I figured there was no harm in bringing it up with you guys." Remus glanced around the table at the faces of his friends. "Clearly I was wrong."

Remus watched as Sirius' face darkened, his jaw hardening. He noticed Sirius tilt his chin up, the thin line of his mouth tightening. Remus knew what was coming before the words even left the gallery owner's mouth.

"If you want to switch to another gallery, go ahead." Sirius said, a tinge of malice in his voice. "It's fine by me."

Remus rolled his eyes and let out a sigh.

"That's not what I said, Sirius, and you know it." The artist was beginning to tire of Sirius' games and the way he resorted to juvenile passive aggression. On the bright side, at least Sirius' behaviour was predictable.

"You're sitting here, the day after your opening night, with someone else's business card in our hand," Sirius growled, his fists tightening. "Is there another way that I should be interpreting this?"

"Sirius…" James began in a warning voice, but he was met with a glare from the gallery owner.

"Fuck off, James," he spat, before turning on Remus again. "I can't believe this, Remus. I thought you were better than that."

Remus straightened his posture and steeled his expression.

"Sirius, you said not to make any business decisions based on personal feelings. But more importantly, I haven't done anything yet. I told you about someone who gave me a card. Stop being a jealous prick."

Sirius was about to retort when the waiter came by to take their orders. Sirius closed his mouth and glued a fake smile to his face while he told the server what kind of steak he would like. Remus hated the way Sirius could turn his charm on and off; not only was it frustrating, but it made reading his boyfriend nearly impossible at times.

After the table had ordered their food and wine was poured, the conversation recommenced, albeit in hushed voices.

"Sirius," Lily chimed in after James and Sirius had a whispered row. "I think Remus just wanted to be open and honest with you, letting you know exactly what happened. You shouldn't fault him for that."

Sirius turned on Lily.

"Really? Is that why he brought up the fact that business decisions were separate from personal matters?"

"Stop it, Sirius!" Remus' voice was louder than he intended, but the desired effect was achieved. All three friends looked at the artist with mild surprise. "You said you would work on handling things more maturely! You're acting like a spoiled brat, Sirius. This is a terrible way to start a relationship."

Sirius' face went through several changes upon hearing Remus' words. He looked shocked, upset, dismayed, until he finally settled on a dejected pout. Remus felt a slight twinge of remorse for being so careless with his phrasing, but he knew Sirius needed to hear it.

The food arrived just in time to help ease the tension, but conversation was few and far between as the four friends sat and ate their meals. By the time everyone was finished, the heaviness that hung in the air was stifling, the tension palpable.

All four of them filed into James' car in silence, and Remus and Sirius faced opposite windows in the back seat, purposefully keeping their knees from touching. The ride back to Black and White was the most uncomfortable car ride that Remus had ever endured.

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fragmentedink-archived · 4 years

Text

Hell to Pay: Part Forty

I, II, III, IV, V, VI, VII, VIII, IX, X, XI, XII, XIII, XIV, XV, XVI, IX, IX, XX, XXI, XXII, XXIII, XIV, XV, XVI, XVII, XVIII, XVIIII, XXX, XXXI, XXXII, XXXIII, XXXIV, XXXV, XXXVI, XXXVII, XXXVIII, XXXIX

cowritten by @lux-scriptum

A/N: hey how about that! there’s no trigger warnings to look out for in this chapter :’)

Amara leaned against the bedroom doorway where Nik was staying. “Good afternoon, sleeping beauty.”

Nik rolled over, squinting at her. “You’re still alive.”

“What, a few days of nothing but Cameron supposed to kill me?” Amara snorted, and flopped down on the bed beside him.

“The fact he hasn’t killed you in your sleep says something.”

“Says he needs someone to take care of before he turns into a literal skeleton, is all. But if I said that to him, he wouldn’t let me stay, now would he?” She plopped a bag beside Nik. “I brought you a gift, and it wasn’t a conversation about your alpha’s issues.”

“And what’s in the bag?”

Amara opened it. “All the supplies we’d need to cut and dye your hair back to it’s former glory. I even brought you plenty of colors to choose from if you want something new and funky.” Amara patted his head.

Nik wrinkled his nose at her. “Have you ever cut hair?”

“Yeah, sure I have.” Amara grinned. “Or I wouldn’t offer to cut yours, you peacock. This is how I know you’re related to Nate, you know.”

“If you’re suggesting Nate would let you cut his hair, he’d break your fingers,” Nik said.

“Oh, no.” Amara gave a laugh. “I’m saying you’re both vain.”

Nik had the balls to look offended at that. “Pot meet kettle,” he said.

“Yeah, yeah, we’re all pretty little birds. Now get pick some colors so we can go make you look presentable again.”

Nik glared at her, but sat up and started to rifle through the bag. “Were you expecting to dye my hair rainbow? I’m not Nate.” He eventually settled on a deep emerald green. “Here. This.”

“Good choice.” Amara pushed at him. “Now to the bathroom we go. It’s time for aggressive bonding to make up for the not being friends for months.”

Nik grumbled at her as she bullied him into the bathroom. She fully expected it when he went for the window, pushing it open. Amara set up on the clippers and dye while he got settled, and then turned to Nik.

“Put your pretty butt on the toilet so I can get to clipping,” She said.

“Make me,” Nik said petulantly.

“I will shave your head,” she threatened, waving the clippers in his direction. Her threats were empty, and she was sure he’d know it, but what was friendship if not a little bit of consensual bullying?

“Shave my head, and I’ll drink all your booze,” Nik retorted.

“Don’t have any. Reneé dumped it before she moved out, and I didn’t buy any more. Find a scarier threat or sit down so I can make you pretty again.”

Nik squinted at her, but eventually plopped down on the toilet. She hummed, pleased, and went to work. It was nice, being close to Nik again, and she knew, while he was here at Nate’s, someone was keeping an eye on him. Not that Cameron wasn’t, but Cameron was grieving too, in his own way. That might be impossible for Cameron to admit, but Amara knew it was true.

Nik sat through the trimming and the bleaching and the dyeing silently. She was gentle, and let him have his silence, even though the whole process took hours. Once or twice Nate popped in, but Amara didn’t call him out on his fretting. Nate had every right to be worried, even if Nik was in very good hands.

Nate poked his head in as Amara was finishing up. She turned off the dryer, and turned Nik around. “Well?” Amara asked. “What do you think? I do good?”

Nate looked Nik over, and then said with a smile, “He looks great.”

“I always look great,” Nik muttered.

“Yeah,” Amara said, running her hands through Nik’s hair carefully. “You do.”

Nik pursed his lips. “Don’t flirt with me.”

“Oh, Nate can compliment you, but when I do, it’s flirting?” Amara scoffed. “You of all people should know the difference between my flirting and my flirting.” She thought about ruffling his hair, messing it up, but instead she stood and started cleaning up her mess. “I should probably go. Cameron’s probably not gonna be happy if I miss dinner.”

Nik shot her an amused look. “Are you going to start calling him daddy too?”

“No,” Amara said. “But someone needs to keep him on his schedule, or he’s useless to me.”

Nik looked down at the floor. She squeezed his shoulder.

“Hey. He’s doing fine. But i’m also not gonna risk getting kicked out tonight.” She turned to Nate. “Get him in some sun. I don’t wanna see a day where I’m more tan than he is.” As if that were possible, but she really did worry about him cooping up in bed too long.

---

It had been several days now that Ash couldn't keep anything in his stomach. The dark magic cast that had clearly been a failure, had been soaked into the earth and he had spent the entire time in a cold sweat and vomiting his guts up regularly. It was only now that his body gave him a break.

He went to find Nate, who was holed up in his art studio. "So, I'm not currently dying," he said, leaning against the doorframe. "Wanna see if Lev's soul got shredded in that shitshow of a spell?"

Nate looked at him with a tired, irritated look, putting down his barely used paintbrush. “Tactful as always, Ash,” he sighed. “But, yes. If you’re up for it. I don’t want you dying on me. I’d rather not have another ghost haunting me. Especially you. Then I’d never get any sleep.”

Ash ignored that particular dig. “Then let’s get moving. The sooner we get any kind of confirmation, the sooner this ludacris business will be over with and I can move on with my pain-free life.”

Nate got up from his stool and moved to the center of the room to a paint splattered rug and sat cross legged. Ash watched from the doorway and he could taste the dark magic in the air- dark magic, but not… dark magic. Death was a shadowy world and Nate’s magic had the ability to snuff out life, even after death- to leave a soul nothing more than a forgotten memory.

Nate sucked in a sharp breath, eyes snapping open when he felt… something, a spirit ripped into space, nearly crashing into the floor.

“Well,” Ash said, “I’m guessing that answers that question.”

Nate reached over, taking ahold of the spirit, bringing it to a physical form. “Are you alright?” Nate asked, tiredly.

“What- happened?” Lev asked.

“Tried to bring you back to life,” Ash said. “It failed, dark magic made me sick for a week. Nik got his hair dyed, Cameron fainted because he didn’t eat for over a month. You know, normal things.”

Lev looked to Nate. “Is it supposed to hurt? Like this?”

Nate lifted his shoulder in a helpless shrug. “I don’t know,” he said, quietly. “Your soul just- disappeared. I was worried it got shredded.”

“How long was I gone?” Lev asked.

“A week,” Nate said.

“Spent the whole time vomiting, but you know. Like I just said. Besides, is your soul intact? Do you feel… something missing at all?”

“I feel whole… it just hurts. But it doesn’t.” Lev stopped, and gave a hysterical laugh. “Phantom pain.”

That got an unexpected snort out of Ash. “Okay, puns are my thing,” he said, feeling an uptick of a smile on his face. “But as long as your soul is intact, I see no reason why Amara would stop trying to bring you back.”

“She probably won’t,” Lev said, sounding very, very tired.

“Do you want to come back at all?” Nate asked, quietly. “If you don’t, I will make her stop.”

“What I want and what i should do are two different subjects,” Lev said, after a pause.

“Well,” Nate said, with that legendary patience. “I didn’t ask you what you should do. I asked you what you wanted to do.”

Stars, he could really tell Nate was Bay’s mate. They were both annoyingly similar sometimes.

Lev looked to him, looking very guilty. “I want it.”

“Well,” Ash said, rubbing his temples. “Don’t let me stop you.”

“I wish it didn’t hurt you,” Lev said. “It would make my decision a lot easier.”

“Don’t stop on my behalf,” Ash said, tiredly. “The others haven’t. You might as well join the majority.”

“What- Lev?”

Ash froze at that voice, cursing himself for not being able to hear Nik. He was too damned good at being able to move around like a shadow. Nik was staring at Lev, wide eyed. “What’s going on? And why am I never told a single fucking thing about it.”

Lev looked at Nate, a little stricken. “I’m not supposed to talk to him,” he said, almost a plea to not tell Bay; to not get in trouble with him.

“Yeah well,” Nik said, “Fuck what Bay says. He can get in line after you talk to me because everyone seems to get to talk to you except for me.”

“That would be because you’ve been a wasted train wreck who has been suicidal and nonstop drunk for the last four months while also taking heavy drugs, and oh yeah, overdosing on said drugs. So forgive me for not wanting to watch you have yet another emotional breakdown when your boyfriend must once again disappear into Ghost Land.”

“Ash,” Nate chastised.

Ash ignored him and kept his attention on Nik. “Be pissed all you want, but you know you would have gone even further off the deep end if we told you and you fucking know it.” When Nik looked moments from snapping back, Ash said, coolly, “Do not forget, I know when you’re lying.”

Lev gave such a quiet, “Ash please” that even he could barely hear.

Ash cut Lev a look. “Am I wrong?”

“No, but yelling isn’t going to make anything better.” Lev said. “It’s just hurting people.”

“Yes, hello,” Nik snapped. “You all seemed to have forgotten I am in this damned room and I am tired of everyone ignoring me and my wants. But hey, at least we’re all treading around me like I’m some delicate flower who needs their hand held. Lev. Talk to me.”

Lev slowly looked at him. “They didn’t tell me you dyed your hair green. It looks nice.”

“It’s queer coding for Nik is a train wreck,” Ash replied. “However, yes. It does look nice.”

Nik smiled just a little bit. “Four months and the first thing you tell me is my hair looks nice? I always look nice.”

Well, that was a lie, but whatever.

“Yeah but it’s a new nice. I haven’t seen green streaks in your hair before,” Lev said, to Nik.

“Looks good, doesn’t it?” Nik said. “Almost went for orange but… i don’t want that clashing with my skin… and my aesthetic… can’t ruin it. Won’t do it.”

“I think you would look very nice with orange streaks,” Lev said, loyally.

“Oh I’m sure you would,” Nik said, his smile growing just a little bit more. “Cameron, however, would not think your opinions on the matter are valid, considering you wear jorts. So.”

Nate had winced at that. Clearly Nate was on the same fashion spectrum as Ash and Cameron seemed to be.

“You’re bullying me again,” Lev said, petulantly, returning Nik’s small smile.

“Mmm. Am I?” Lev laughed a lil at that. He looked happy. Nik looked a shadow of it, not quite, but not the void he was. Somewhere in the middle. Somewhere between dead and alive. “Did- are you alone? Just watching us?”

“I have company,” he said. “Nate talks to me. I’ve been trying to not hover so much. It seemed to make you agitated.”

Nik’s face fell, seeming to fold in on itself. His scent changed, soured almost. “I’m sorry,” he said, voice more echo than true words.

Lev looked so guilty. “It’s not your fault,” he said. “I needed the space to think anyway.” When Nik didn’t say anything, Lev added, “Coming back is… complicated.”

Nik began picking at his bracelets and seemed to struggle with what to say. Nate looked to Ash meaningfully, and Ash chose this particular time to once again paint himself as the bad guy. “Alright,” he said, pushing off the doorframe. “I think visitation time is over. Lev tell your boyfriend goodbye.”

“Are you okay with that?” Lev asked Nik.

Nik’s breath was too shallow, and Ash didn’t think Nik was going to answer at all. Especially when he was still picking at his bracelets. He could tell Nik’s blood pressure was rising and he was going to damn well fight an anxiety attack to keep himself in this room with Lev. “No,” Nik said, tightly.

“Lev,” Ash said, sharply.

Lev looked from him back to Nik. “If you need me, Nate can get me.”

Nik didn’t say anything, Ash wasn’t sure he was capable of saying anything. The only response Nik had was blinking hard, tears slipping down his cheeks. He wiped them away harshly and turned on his heel, pushing past Ash and disappearing down the hall.

“I fucked up again, didn’t I?” Lev said.

“No,” Ash said. “Nik. Is grieving. You didn’t do anything.”

He didn’t wait for anything else from either Nate or Lev before disappearing after Nik. He found Nik in the kitchen and grabbed his arm before he tried looking for what he always did. “You. Cannot. Drink.”

Nik whipped around and glared at him. “And why not?”

“Because I said so?” When Nik tried arguing with him, Ash said, “Alright. How about because your alpha said so and one step out of line means you don’t get to go home. Nik. Please. Let’s go outside. Beach, maybe?”

Nik’s face fell faintly, but it was enough Nik stopped fighting him on it. He wiped at his face again. “Fine. But you’re buying me lunch.”

“Fine,” Ash said, relieved.

“Wherever I want.”

“Deal.”

----

Sorin poked his head in Cyrus’ study. It was even more a wreck than before. Where it’s chaos had been confined to the desk, now books lay scattered on the floor, and Cyrus was sprawled over piles of notes.

For days Cyrus had been cooped up, going over his notes repeatedly. Sorin had barely been able to drag him to bed. He was about ready to do so again, now, but watching Cyrus work, brow furrowed in thought as he chewed on a ring absently, made Sorin pause.

“I’ve stayed up too late again, haven’t I?” Cyrus finally said, looking up.

“A bit.”

Cyrus hummed, and then went back to staring at his notes.

“I’ll make you a deal,” Sorin offered with a wheedling tone. “I’ll make you breakfast tomorrow if you go to bed soon. Like, now soon.”

“That seems rather unfair. I get up earlier, and I cook the oatmeal better.” Cyrus smiled down at his books. “You’re going to have to offer better if you want a deal.”

Sorin snorted, but before he could figure out what to offer, Cyrus snapped his head up. Before he could process it, Cyris jumped up and kissed Sorin, hard. “You angry ginger genius,” Cyrus said, ruffling Sorin’s curls.

“I’m confused,” Sorin said. “What did I do?”

“Well,” Cyrus corrected. “I’m the genus, but you brought the inspiration.” He wandered to the desk, and pulled out a piece of paper. He scribbled a quick, ‘I have the solution. Bring Amara, either tonight or tomorrow’, and sent the paper away with a flutter of magic. “We need a better deal.”

---

Cameron had allowed AMara access to the front seat, provided she keep her mouth shut. He had the windows up for once, faint music playing, but that didn’t seem to stop her from sitting ramrod stiff like Nik did, except she was holding onto the safety bar.

“Would you like me to roll down the windows?” he finally asked, mildly.

“Won’t do anything, it’ll be fine,” she said. “I trust you to not crash the car.”

He did not want to sit next to this halfway panicked omega while he drove. “If you trusted that, then you wouldn’t be holding on for dear life,” he said. “What do you normally do to stop acting neurotic?”

“My instincts don’t always line up with logic,” she said. “Normally I drink, but I can’t do that right now. This is why I drive a motorcycle.”

“You have been in this car several times,” Cameron said. “And against my will at that. What do you do then?”

“Talk to Nik.”

“Then call him,” Cameron said, in a bored tone, digging out his phone, unlocking it, and dropping it in her lap. “I trust you to know his number by now.”

Amara did as told and called Nik. “What are you doing?”

“Amara?” he heard Nik, say a little bewildered. “...Why do you have Cameron’s phone. Oh stars, tell me you didn’t actually kill him.”

Cameron rolled his eyes.

“I didn’t tell Cameron I didn’t like riding in cars in silence,” Amara said, “And he doesn’t like talking to me.”

“Don’t like your voice, either,” Cameron said. “We must all make sacrifices.”

“Okay, but Cameron doesn’t like anyone,” Nik pointed out, not able to hear Cameron’s response.

“Just tell me what you’re doing,” Amara told Nik. “Distract me.”

Nik was quiet on the other line, just for a few seconds before, “Ash promised me the ocean. And food. I’m fucking hungry and apparently I’ve barely eaten in the last few days.”

Cameron sighed irritably. Maybe he should have nailed it into Nate’s head to make sure he fed his idiot brother as well. This is what he got for assuming Nate had common sense.

“I’d say I’d come and join you after we’re done, but you know how much I hate the ocean.”

“Well I didn’t say you had to swim, Mar,” Nik said, sounding petulant. “And just Ash keeping me company is going to make me drown myself. He’s trying to mom me.”

“You need to be momed,” Amara said. “You’ve been a wreck.”

“Okay, then come play the role of mami if you’re going to be like that,” Nik said, with the smallest hint of a smile in his tone. “Otherwise I’m going to slip the leash again.”

“I need you to hang in there,” Amara said. “I’ll be around more soon, I promise. I’m sure there’s something fun we can do that doesn’t involve alcohol.”

He heard Nik groan loudly at the other end of the line. “How soon,” he asked. “I’m all twitchy and you’re the only person i fucking know who doesn’t bother lying to me.”

“After I’m done with my field trip with Cameron, I’ll come over,” Amara said. She paused before adding, “Unless something dramatic comes up. Everything seems drama lately.”

“Fine,” Nik said. “We’ll be at the beach. Don’t forget sunscreen for your delicate skin. If you forget, we already brought some for Ash.”

“I’m offended,” Amara said. “My side of the family doesn’t burn. Well. Reneé does, but that’s because she’s a ginger.”

He could hear Ash scoff in the background.

“Mhmm,” Nik said. “I’m sure.”

They came up to the house settled in the woods. “We’re here. Tell Nikolas goodbye, Amara.”

“I gotta go Saint Nikolas,” Amara said. “Stay out of trouble and I’ll let you punch me for calling you that.”

Nik retorted something, but it was cut off as Cameron took the phone from her. “Behave,” Cameron said. “I’ll stop by later.” And with that he hung up and got out of the car.

He didn’t bother waiting for Amara to catch up with him before walking into the house and going straight to the study where Cyrus was waiting. “You summoned me?” Cameron asked, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“We didn’t offer anything in exchange.”

“Consider me shocked,” Cameron said. “Did you have something in mind? I’m sure Death doesn’t take monetary payment.”

“I figure it’s fair to give Death a life for a life,” Cyrus said. “Kill the man who killed him.”

“That would be my brother,” Cameron said.

“Well it’s not like Cameron’s going to do it,” Amara said. “When do you need him?”

When Cameron didn’t offer any input, Cyrus said, “I need to come with you. So I’d rather we wait until tomorrow, at the very least. I need to contain his soul so we can use it in the spell.”

“Anything else?” Cameron asked, mildly.

“Are you feeling up to helping me cast the spell?”

“I said I would,” Cameron clipped out.

“I didn’t ask if you would, I asked if you could.” Cyrus said. “I won’t do it unless you’re healthy enough to.”

“Well here I am,” Cameron said. “The picture of health. Anything else?”

“Is there anything we need to change about the spell? Setting wise? Process wise? Is there anyone else that needs to be present?”

“It will be done at my house,” Cameron said. “Nik will not be there. Neither will Nate or Amara, They’re both going to keep Nik away from here. Ash will be there to make sure his body is functioning, as neither you nor Sorin are healers, and Sazra is a demonic healer and Lev’s body will likely be too delicate to withstand demonic healing. Anything else you need to know?”

Cyrus shook his head. “Let me know when you guys plan on killing Destris so I can join you.”

Cameron picked at a nail, but nodded and turned on his heel and went to the car. He heard Amara behind him, and before she could start on her tirade, he said, “Backseat.”

“You’re not even going to discuss what I, a full grown adult, am going to do? I don’t mind keeping an eye on Nik, but you didn’t even ask.”

“No, I am not,” Cameron said, stopping at his car and looking her squarely in the eye. “As you keep reminding me, I am Lev’s alpha. You are not. Cyrus contacted me, and not you, making this my problem, and not yours. And since this will be done at my house, with my omega, you are going to listen to me, and if you do not, I will physically restrain you and keep you from stepping foot near me, Nik or Lev until everything is well done and finished. Understand?”

When she did not respond to him, Cameron got into the driver's seat and waited for her to obey him and get in the back. Only when she did, did he hear her mutter under her breath about this being her idea. Might have been her idea, but as soon as she opened her mouth, and her idea fai9led the first round, Cameron was taking it into his hands and not leaving this in the hands of an impulsive child who can babysit Nik for him while he made sure this went smoothly. “I will not be with you when you kill Destris,” Cameron said, pulling the car out onto the road. “And when you watch Nik, do not let him drink. Ash is very insistent on it.”

“I know.”

“You will call me when it is done,” Cameron said, flicking her a look through the mirror. “And I will make the necessary arrangements. I trust you can kill a demon without someone holding your hand.”

“Destris would be dead within twenty-four hours,” she said. “Do you want proof?”

Cameron thought about that for a few minutes, quiet and not saying anything. “No,” he said, “I do not.”

---

Nik laid out on the sand, eyes closed while he took in the sun, the sounds of the ocean and the people around him. Even with the beach swarmed, and with Ash next to him, he still felt eerily alone. And almost like the perfect timing did his phone buzz with a text from Amara.

Mar: Hey, a job came up, but if you still need me, I’ll come

Nik thought about it. However, he had the feeling if she did show up, her brain would be elsewhere and it wouldn’t even be like she was there to begin with. Might as well let her get on her way so she could pretend like she was actually there.

Nik: It’s fine. Do your thing

He put his phone back down and folded his hands over his stomach, closing his eyes. He felt Ash sit down next to him. “Do you want to swim?”

Nik was silent for a few moments. “No, I don’t think I want to. Just sit here and not think for a while.”

Ash settled in the sand next to him and Nik looked over, raking his eyes over Ash’s frame. “You going to put on that sunscreen so your pale ass doesn’t fry?”

Ash cut him a glare, and made a point about how he settled with his eyes closed. “I’ll heal. Still want to get something to eat afterwards?”

“Yeah,” Nik said. “Withdrawal has been a pain in my ass so I’m trying to get something in my stomach.”

“Probably wise,” Ash hummed, slipping his fingers in Nik’s hair, pulling it out of his closed eyes. “Anywhere you’re wanting to go in particular?”

“Guelaguetza, I think,” Nik said. “Miss being able to taste my food.”

“Whatever you want,” Ash said.

“You’re being suspiciously accommodating,” Nik observed, sneaking a peek at him.

Ash twitched his mouth to the side, looking a little amused. “Well, I did say you could choose. And since you’re not being a pain in my ass at this particular moment of time, I thought I would give you a treat for behaving.”

“Hmmm. Fine.”

“Mhmm,” Ash said, settling back down in the sand with a heavy sigh. “Fine indeed.”

----

The restaurant was full of color and food and sounds. Nik seemed pleased to be here, even if they did have a rather long wait. Nik seemed happy enough and that was worth the time spent waiting for a table. The happy chatter around them was filled with laughter and the lovely waitress brought menus for both Nik and Ash.

He had Nik order his food for him since Ash had no idea what to get, but Nik seemed to know exactly what he would want. Nik traced lines into the brightly colored floral print decorating the tables, humming a song Ash didn’t know under his breath. It had been- quite some time since he heard anything like that from Nik.

Their food was brought out to them and Nik happily started digging into his food. Ash started on his own, and he was surprised there was only a faint burn in his mouth. Nik gave him an amused, dry look. “I got the mild. Just for you.”

“I’m touched,” Ash deadpanned.

“Anything for you, vato,” Nik said, with a sickening sweetness.

Ash rolled his eyes, but watched him carefully while Nik ate. After a few minutes, Nik closed his eyes, looking away from his food. “You alright?” Ash asked, mildly, taking a bite from his food.

“I think I ate too much, too fast,” Nik said, pushing his plate back just a bit. He seemed to wait, to see if his stomach would settle, but then abruptly got up and disappeared to the back.

A waitress seemed concerned and asked Ash if his friend was okay; if there was something wrong with the food.

“No,” Ash said. “It’s perfect. He’s just not feeling himself.”

She smiled at him, tan face bright and dark eyes sparkling. “I hope he feels well soon.”

Ash had the feeling Nik would not be feeling well any time soon, but he still offered her the same smile in return. “I hope so, too.”

Tagging: @incandescent-creativity @idreamonpaper @solangelo3088 @halstudies @alittleyellowdinosaur @caelisis

#writeblr #writers on tumblr #hell to pay #ch: cameron #ch: ash #ch: nik #ch: Nate

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twinfoxtails · 4 years

Text

Touhou Arcana write-up

((So... my internet was out for a few days, and I have been playing Persona 4 Golden for a while, so I decided to do a write up for all the major arcana.

Everyone’s list is very different, SO THERE’S DEFINITELY GOING TO BE DISAGREEMENTS, but if you have any, let me know what you think!

Note: This is strictly going through Arcana descriptions and meanings!

---

0: Fool - Cirno, The Three Fairies The Fool represents innocence, divine inspiration, madness, freedom, spontaneity, inexperience, chaos and creativity.

Aside from the memes of Cirno being an idiot, I couldn’t think of a better tie than these two. (four?) All of them are leaders of their own right, they’re pretty much free to do what they please, and most importantly, creative and inexperienced.

I: Magician - Marisa Kirisame The Magician Arcana is commonly associated with action, initiative, self-confidence, immaturity, manipulation, and power.

THE STAPLE GIRL OF THE MAGICIAN ARCANA, MARISA HERSELF-... She’s the self confident one, immature to a fault, and her whole stick is ‘DANMAKU IS POWER’. So yep, this fits her extremely well!

II: Priestess - Rinnosuke Morichika The Priestess Arcana is a symbol of hidden knowledge or other untapped power, wisdom, mystery and patience when it appears in tarot readings.

Can’t get better than Rinnosuke himself, IMO. Father figure of both Reimu and Marisa, people approach him for wisdom at times and he’s also shrouded in mystery, and not to mention a really patient person.

III: Empress - Hong Meiling, Shinki The Empress represents mothers, prosperity, creativity, sexuality, abundance, fertility, protection, and comfort.

I really don’t have to explaint his one! Meiling is the bind which ties everyone together, as well as Shinki does, not to mention the bit about protection and comfort. There’s no better arcana for a motherly figure.

IV: Emperor - Remilia Scarlet, Toyosatomimi no Miko The Emperor symbolizes the desire to control one's surroundings, and its appearance could suggest that one is trying too hard to achieve this, possibly causing trouble for others; some elements in life are just not controllable.

‘BUT REMILIA IS BEST FIT FOR DEVIL’ you say! Devil’s more of temptation, and Remilia’s more controlling than being the symbol of temptation, and not to mention that she isn’t entirely selfish, actually caring for the residents of the Scarlet Devil Mansion.

Either way, both Miko and Remilia do sometimes cause trouble around them (Remilia especially), and not to mention really ambitous.

V: Hierophant - Keine Kamishirasawa, Byakuren Hijiri The Hierophant is a symbol of education, authority, conservatism, obedience to rules and relationship with the divine.

Keine and Byakuren being both teachers in their own right, and also quite lawful as well. Byakuren also gets the extra point of being in a relationship with the divine, being head monk and all.

VI: Lovers - Alice Margatroid, Sakuya Izayoi The Lovers Arcana initially represented two paths life could lead to, and thus a symbol of standing at a crossroad and needing to make a decision.

Between Alice being in Hell with Shinki and choosing her life to be in the forest, as well as Sakuya either being a vampire killer and serving one, I think this fits pretty well!

VII: Chariot - Chen, Yuugi Hoshiguma The Chariot Arcana is a symbol of victory, conquest, self-assertion, self-confidence, control, war, and command.

Ah yes, the arcana usually tied with war gods. Both are self-confident, and these usually have a goal they wish to attain at any cost. In this case, I’d put Chen and Yuugi!

VIII: Justice - Shiki Eiki The Justice Arcana symbolizes a strict allegory of justice, objectivity, rationality and analysis. In tarot readings, it means that one will have to face a trial of their justice.

OKAY I’M SURE PEOPLE ARE GOING TO DISAGREE WITH ME ON THIS BECAUSE SHE’S NOT JUDGEMENT-... But Justice is very different from Judgement, which I’ll explain below. But I feel Justice fits Eiki more, as she is the pinacle of rationality and objectivity.

IX: Hermit - Satori Komeiji, Patchouli Knowledge The Hermit is associated with wisdom, introspection, solitude, retreat and philosophical searches.

With Satori being the philosophical mind reader she is, along with Patchouli being the moving library, this is pretty much a big given.

X: Fortune - Tewi, Joon Yorigami The Fortune Arcana is portrayed by the Wheel of Fortune and symbolizes fate, luck, fortune and opportunity.

Can’t get any better than these two, for self-explained reasons!

XI: Strength - Momiji Inubashiri The Strength Arcana is associated with the morality about the stronger power of self-control, gentleness, courage and virtue over brute force. It can also represent creative or physical energy that needs to be or is about to be unleashed, sometimes out of desire to be recognized.

This is not physical strength, but inner strength, and IMO, Momiji is the most self-controlled yet also desires to be recognized by the higher ups for PUTTING UP WITH TENGUS-

XII: Hanged Man - Hina Kagiyama, Medicine Melancholy The Hanged Man Arcana is associated with self-sacrifice for the sake of enlightenment, the bindings that makes one free, paradoxes and hanging between heaven and earth.

Can’t think of anyone else but these two in this category. People in this Arcana are really self-sacrificial, and both of them fit the bill .

XIII: Death - Yuyuko Saigyouji The Death Arcana symbolizes metamorphosis and deep change, regeneration and cycles.

Do I need to explain this :D

XIV: Temperance - Reimu Hakurei, Konpaku Youmu The Temperance Arcana is a symbol of synthesis, prudence, harmony, and the merging of opposites.

No better person than Reimu herself. She’s the Hakurei Shrine maiden, mediator of both humans and youkai, going out to restore order after every incident and to keep the balance in check. Depressing job 10/10.

XV: Devil - Seiga Kaku, Kanako Yasaka The Devil Arcana represents the urge to do selfish, impulsive, violent things, and being a slave to ones' own impulse and feelings. Occasionally, it is also portrayed as a symbol of temptation.

I don’t think I need to explain Seiga, but Kanako literally tempted Okuu with the power of the Yatagarasu so SHE FITS HERE VERY WELL. MORIYA SHRINE CONSPIRACY.

XVI: Tower - Junko, Tenshi Hinanawi The Tower Arcana is commonly associated to overly arrogant, prejudiced and authoritarian organizations, which walk to their own ironic demise. Furthermore, it is also more generically used as an omen of doom and disaster.

The worst card in the deck. This card barely means anything good at all. Both are somewhat prejudiced, and Tenshi fits this arcana like A SHOE.

XVII: Star - Sanae Kochiya The Star Arcana is also commonly associated with hope, self-confidence, faith, altruism, luck, generosity, peace and joy.

Miracles. Faith. Joy. I don’t think I need to explain much about this one!

XVIII: Moon - Reisen Udongein Inaba, Flandre Scarlet, Koishi Komeiji The Moon Arcana is associated with creativity, inspiration, dreams, madness, illusions, fear, fantasy, the subconscious and trickery.

Three of them are quite creative people, with Flandre leaning quite alot into the ‘madness’ part of it. They can also sense things around them without being told, and these three are usually quite in touch with their senses.

XIX: Sun - Utsuho Reiuji, Aya Shameimaru The Sun symbolizes happiness, joy, energy, optimism, and accomplishment. Occasionally, it is also associated with one's initial happiness.

Both of them are just the biggest optimistic and energetic ball of fun you’ll ever meet, and Okuu does her job quite well! Aya... not so much, since her newspaper isn’t very popular-

XX: Judgement - Kasen Ibaraki, Hata no Kokoro The Judgement Arcana is associated with realizing one's calling, gaining a deep understanding of life and a feeling of acceptance and absolution.

You’d expect Eiki here, but Judgement is the reflection of one-self, and accepting who you are. They view the world with infinite possibilities, and I believe Kasen and Kokoro fits this out to the letter.

XXI: The World - Yakumo Yukari, Okina Matara The World Arcana is a representation of the world's totality, the symbol of fulfillment, wholeness and harmony.

Don’t need to explain this, really! Gensokyo is primarily their creation, after all!

---

Anyways, if you made it this far, thank you very much!))

#OOC #My charcters aren't here and only canon Touhous SO GO AHEAD AND SPECULATE WHAT ARE THEY IF YOU WANT #*BRICKED*#BUT YEAH THANKS FOR THE INTEREST IF YOU READ THROUGH IT #I can't do all the Touhous or we'll be in here all day :'D #*FLOP*

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lizzyverydizzyyo · 8 months

Text

D.E.A.N | Chapter 27 - Descent

Masterlist and overall summary of the whole novel is here. | Prompt on trope-appreciation-tuesdays that inspired this is here. | @whumptober-archive

Fandom : Original Work

(I) (II) (III) (IV) (V) (VI) (VII) (VIII) (IX) (X) (XI) (XII) (XIII) (XIV) (XV) (XVI) (XVII) (XVIII) (XIX) (XX) (XXI) (XXII) (XXIII) (XXIV) (XXV) (XXVI) (XXVII) (XXVIII) (XXIX) (XXX) (XXXI - END)

AO3

Wordcount: ± 5232

TW: Threat of Kidnapping, Slutshaming, Allusion to Sexual Abuse/Slavery, Weapon, Firearms, Guns, Light Claustrophobia, Gore

Little by little, their area of safety is getting encroached. They have nowhere else to hide. They have to run. Their charge has to survive.

Whumptober 2023 Themes (last 4 only):

Day 28 — Sacrifice | “You’ll have to go through me.”

Day 29 — Troubled Past Resurfacing

Day 30 — Borrowed Clothing

Day 31 — Setbacks

This story is set in the last half of 2016.

——

Mark automatically pulls down his own visor with one hand and grabs Nick’s wrist quickly with the other, pulling the half-Russian to the far side of the wall. Mark is basically putting himself between Nick and the portion of the wall nearer to Helga people. Some agents follow suit by planting their backs on the wall facing away from Helga people.

Anna and Agent Maxwell also pull down their visors quickly, but they stay put, not seeking shelter behind the wall like the rest of them. They instinctively point their guns up to start shooting.

The two sides exchange bullets for a while before Anna and Imani scurry behind the wall too. Mark is guessing those Helga bastards are also seeking cover as he doesn’t hear any shot toward the wall they’re standing behind.

“How the fuck did we forget to put our visors down?” Anna hisses. “They saw him and some of us now.”

The silence doesn’t last, of course. Someone from Helga's side yells at them.

“Give him back to us and we might consider letting some of you live!”

Nick pulls down his visor and shakes even more while inhaling deeply in fear.

“The fuck we will,” Don hisses.

As they stay quiet and do not give any response to Helga’s ‘offer’, they immediately hear another barrage of shootings. Mark can tangibly feel the machine gun ammos hitting the wall quite hard beside the loud sounds. He also hears the concrete starting to get chipped away bit by bit.

Something as strong as machine guns like Helga’s, and theirs too (although he doesn’t know if they have the same exact ones; they only had split second to see those Helga members before hiding), will eventually wear down even the strongest concrete after a while. On top of that, if they get hit on the body repeatedly once the wall gets broken down enough, their bullet-proof vests and helmets won’t do shit because they’ll be too battered.

Machine gun ammos are nothing like pistol bullets.

They can’t keep staying on the defensive like this in this spot, so Lena and Horace take turns now swiveling around the wall to shoot back.

The firings of the ammos still sound extremely loud despite their helmets’ visors being put down again and covering their heads. Nick is visibly more affected compared to the rest of them, whimpering endlessly while trying to put his hands on his ears. His mind is probably too panicked and muddled to remember that he has the bag handle around his wrist weighing his arms down, and that he has helmet on so his hands can’t touch his head regardless.

Lena and Horace step back again behind the wall.

“Fuck, what do we do? We can’t get past them,” Lena hisses urgently, “It’s too exposed and dangerous.”

Mark hears loud muffled breathing from the four of them who were just done shooting as they look at each other.

“Come oooon, you communist slut! Come with us nicely like a good boy you are… and we’re not gonna be too mean to you back in the port!”

At the disgusting sing-song voice of a different Helga member, Nick now shifts his arms to hug his own body tightly, muttering ‘no, no, no, no’. He is trembling so badly that Mark can palpably feel the shaking against his own arm that touches Nick. Mark can see those thin fingers looking pale as they squeeze his own upper arms in a death grip.

The others look at Nick, then to their right where they know that if they turn around the corner, they’ll face those Helga people again.

“We can’t let them get away either,” Horace states urgently and hurriedly as he looks back to the others, “They’re gonna tell the rest of their members that the real Bel is here.”

Mark looks at Nick, sure that the boy is crying despite not being able to see through the visor clearly. He then firmly stares at Horace.

“We gotta turn around.”

They all visibly look confused and even dumbfounded by his suggestion.

“We clearly can’t get past them here, because they’ll know he’s with us and will chase him even if we manage to get to our escape van,” Mark explains tensely, “but look,” he raises his wrist to show his watch the drags the screen to the left, seeing many pulsating dots concentrated in the center area, “if we bring them around their other members while we also mix up with our other agents, we might be able to confuse them again.”

“That’s too far, Mark!” Lena argues incredulously, “You’re just putting Bel in danger too by bringing him to the center of the battle.”

“Well, how are we going to get past them?” he retorts back, “and how are we going to keep them from snitching to the other members?”

They all immediately turn to their right again, instinctively flinching and bowing their heads down when the shooting from the other side starts. Imani and Anna swivel around to shoot back for a few seconds then return to behind the wall.

“Listen,” Mark tries again as the shooting is paused, “there are 12 of us here. Enough to protect him while we mix up in the center.”

They bow down again when the shooting starts, now with Agent Smith and Doctor Lowe attacking back. Mark doesn’t have too much time to ponder how adept the surgeon surprisingly is with his weapon before they return to their hiding position.

After that, Mark looks to his left shortly from where they came before trying to reach the back door. He then turns back to the rest of Claws.

“We can even contact Eclipse in the meantime to start being loud and making a ruckus again, so that those Helga handlers don’t know which members have the right info on Bel’s whereabouts.”

Horace tsks, conflicted and distressed. He looks back and forth between their right side where they’ll see Helga people as they turn around the corner, and their left side to go deeper into the center of the headquarter.

Unexpectedly, Doctor Lowe hisses out, “Fuck it.”

He immediately crouches-walk to their left side, basically making the choice on behalf of everybody else in Claws. They are too dumfounded and anxious to argue, so they start following the surgeon. While doing that, Doctor Lowe’s hand goes up to his shoulder to click several times on his upper vest, speaking quietly but repeatedly, “MA56 to Eclipse. Over. MA56 to Eclipse. Over.”

The physician hisses out ‘fuck’ again, clearly upset and a little bit more panicked that he can’t connect to the decoy team. Mark is sure that the surgeon and everybody else share the same concern that something might have happened to the decoy team, judging by their tense and worried body language.

Even as they crouch-walk back towards the direction they came from, they still feel and hear bullets from Helga people they faced before, seemingly starting to shoot again. It almost feels like those people know where Claws is going and are following them with their bullets.

He is unfortunately correct about that because even when they’re leaving the wall before they saw the backdoor, they feel the shots following them to their left side now.

It’s a good thing that Marcus and Agent Van Hoven are quick and well-trained enough that they can quickly pull back and push at Nick. They abruptly and effectively stop the rest of Claws—who are now behind them both—from continuing to walk. They will be going to the uncovered and unprotected area beside the wall, exposing themselves to Helga’s people’s relentless ammos, otherwise.

“We know you’re going that way, assholes! We’re not leaving until we get that bitch back!”

“Fuck,” Mark curses quietly after the yell from that Helga man.

He realizes now Claws is basically stuck behind this particular wall because those Helga members are going to shoot them anyway, whether they’re going to the right or left. It’s not helping that they might have noted how Nick is dressed and therefore can easily track him down no matter what happens.

“How do we get away now?”

The rest of Claws turn urgently to Agent Maxwell, who is now taking the rear after the turn-around. Then they look away again. They’re really all stuck here.

Helga people start shooting things again, so Mark looks towards Agent Van Hoven beside him. They both nod to each other before swiveling to the other side of the wall, now that they’re the closest to the edge this time. They start shooting back continuously until they see that Helga people are crouching again and hiding for cover.

“We need to make a break for it,” Agent Van Hoven immediately tells the rest of them with rapid breathing after he and Mark go back to hiding behind the wall, “We need to immediately go to the center now.”

Mark can tell from their body language that they don’t like the sound of that, but they dejectedly nod anyway when they realize they really have no choice. They need to confuse Helga people and get the help of other agents to protect Nick, and also to shake off Helga members from their backs who have seen Nick to make sure Nick’s delivery is safe.

“Okay, three of us—” Mark informs the rest of them while pointing at himself, Agent Van Hoven, and Don, “—will cover you all while you go there.” Mark now cocks his head to the side where there is another wall they can go to that is more closed-off. That way, they’re not exposed to Helga people anymore.

The other 8 agents nod gravely at him, and that’s all he needs to see to swivel around the wall with the other two agents. He, Agent Van Hoven, and Don are walking sideways to keep facing and shooting those Helga members, providing cover for the crouching Claws agents and Nick so that they can cross to the other side.

“Aghr,” he cries out, staggering backward slightly as he feels several bullets hitting his lower abdomen. The power of Helga’s machine gun ammos feels quite strong and painful even despite his bullet-proof vest.

He senses them pausing slightly behind him, especially Nick who is trying to stand up and touch him.

“GO!” he shouts instead, pushing them to keep moving until they’re safe on the other side.

While still walking sideways and continuing to cover the rest of Claws, he hears swearing from those Helga people, shouting at each other to fall back—accompanied by several thudding sounds of bodies hitting the ground. He doesn’t know whether they’re his bullets, Agent Van Hoven’s, or Don’s, but he feels relief and somewhat sickening satisfaction anyway knowing that some of those people are now dead.

Good. Fewer degenerate Helga members to worry about.

Once they’re close enough to the other wall they’re trying to cross, three of them follow the rest to crouch-walk behind the wall for cover. All 12 of them then continue walking further inward to the headquarter’s center, away from the Helga people they were just attacking.

It’s only now that he allows himself to feel the pain from the bullets before. He is sure that he is badly bruised under his shirt and vest, but no bleeding yet.

Which is good because there is no identifying condition or signs on his body to tell the rest of Helga's people which agent he is. Those Helga members will hopefully not be able to tell if Mark is one of Nick’s chaperone agents, so they won’t suspect the person escaping with Mark is Nick, if he has to go solo.

They start running again once safe from the group of Helga members they were in a standoff before, trying to find a roundabout way to go to the backyard again while mixing up with the other agents. They are thinking that this is going to work, but they see some Helga members again halfway through their run, although those members can’t see them.

“Listen,” Mark hears a static voice from one of the members’ radios, “we saw the kid there. We’re trying to follow him. There are two tall guys with a short woman and another woman who is black. If you see those people, the whore is with them.”

Uh oh. That’s not good. They’re snitching to this group now.

“Goddammit,” Horace growls, keeping his voice low still. He then instructs hurriedly, “Go faster! Don’t let them see us!”

Obviously, they do go faster, knowing that it’s impertinent that they mix with the other agents as quickly as possible.

But Lena suddenly pushes a hand at Nick again with Anna and Imani stopping abruptly. These new people happen to be turning in their direction. If Claws walked too fast and didn’t stop in time, those men would have seen them.

“You sure this lot are the ones who have our kid? We can’t see them yet,” Mark hears one of the men says to the HT he puts close to his mouth.

“Yes, I think there is also an old fat guy with a rifle attacking us before,” a person on the other side of the radio says to the Helga person using the HT, “and another really muscular guy, but not too tall.”

The static familiar voice belongs unmistakably to the man they were attacking before. Mark is guessing that man is talking about Doctor Lowe and Don respectively.

“That ain’t shit,” one man of the new enemy group spits out almost irritably, “There are other tall muscular guys and some fat ones too we saw before. These elite SWAT guys are all wearing similar clothes. We can’t tell them apart.”

Mark can palpably feel Nick sagging beside him in relief, as do the others who also sigh in relief surreptitiously.

Trying to mix up with the other agents and using the decoy team still seem to be viable options right now.

“That whore isn’t. He is wearing a deep red jacket under his vest. I saw the hood on his upper back. You can’t miss him.”

Oh shit. That’s bad. They recognize Nick specifically.

Beside him, Nick whimpers weakly, whispering ‘Oh god’.

“You need to get the rest of those pieces of shit too. They got 4 of our guys here.”

That’s really not good. They’re going to be vengeful and out for blood now.

Lena turns to lean back against the wall, breathing deeply and audibly anxious.

“We need to create distraction,” they say to the rest.

Lena waits for a while, but no one responds. They end up tsking in annoyance and frustration.

“Listen,” they start again, “See that?”

Mark and the rest of Claws look towards where Lena is pointing with their chin nod.

“Probably only few dozen meters away from the middle of this headquarter. We can all hear them, right?”

They all visibly strain their ears at Lena’s words.

Even covered by several layers of walls, they do hear other agents shooting, shouting, and running around. Mark also hears the crackling of his earpiece with so many agents trying to communicate one after another, audio relentless.

He is sure the rest of the people with him right now also hear them.

Once in a while, they also hear a booming and some screams, knowing that some explosive traps have been set off.

“You all need to keep forward there with Bel, while me and Don will go right there to the back again.”

Lena now cocks their head to the left where the unassuming Helga people are standing. Don immediately spins his head to the left almost in shock.

“What?!” he asks incredulously.

“We’re supposed to guard the backyard anyway. Might as well distract these men by going there together.”

Don, despite his head still covered by his helmet, visibly appears confused and conflicted.

Lena decides to take matters into their own hands.

They reach out a hand before the rest of Claws can process it, taking a block of chipped concrete and holding it tightly. Without warning, they throw it powerfully to the side so that it flies far out away from where they’re all hiding.

“Shit, those SWAT guys are here!”

They hear people from Helga now cocking their guns and running to where the concrete block landed.

“Come on!” Lena rushes Don.

Don falters a bit, but he finally relents and crouches to the left to follow Lena.

“Listen, you’re Bel. Remember that,” Lena says to Nick while pausing shortly with a palm firmly on his shoulder.

Nikolai frantically nods, so Lena crouch-runs again, followed by Don.

Just like with team Eclipse, Lena yells out, “Nick, come on!” although more strained and whispery, probably to make it believable that they’re really trying to secretly run with Nick.

“I hear them! There!”

The team waits for a bit until they hear shootings, presumably from both Don and Lena versus those Helga members. Mark can only hope they’re careful enough not to get hit or injured.

After that, team Claws crouch-run deeper into the middle of the headquarter.

They keep looking down to their watches once in a while, following the structure of the building with its many zigzagging walls, basically retracing their steps before they got ambushed by the first Helga group they faced previously.

Mark hears clanging of bullets hitting some concrete and metals, and he sees the people in front of him ducking even deeper with hands over their heads. Once in a while, they abruptly pause and plant their backs on a wall—noticing some Helga people near them—so that they don’t get caught. Sometimes, they have no choice but to show themselves and return the bullets.

Mark gets grazed slightly, and so do several agents in Claws, but Nick is still unscathed. Even so, their injuries can be noted, and the more they’re injured, the less effective they are in protecting Nick.

Along the route they are using, they get more and more mixed up with the other agents outside of Claws, just as they planned before, and they hiss some short information quietly to each other while they pass those agents. Some Helga people see them, and Mark notices with heart pumping even harder and faster that there are way more Helga people than they anticipated.

Before Claws started running to the backyard for their escape vehicle, the briefing agents did say that there are more Helga people coming in than what they predicted, but Mark didn’t think it’s this numerous. He tries to hold on to the fact that the chaos does seem to successfully confuse Helga people, apparent from those members they occasionally pass by and attack.

Until a group calls out, “That’s the kid! Red jumper!”

Imani pulls Nick’s wrist to drag him away, crouching fast to hide behind some desks turned over to their sides. The rest of Claws follow suit.

“I just fucking saw the kid there before! Where did they go?” they hear again from different man this time.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Doctor Lowe hisses out.

Fuck, indeed, Mark thinks.

Even if they manage to hide at the last second, he knows it’s only time before they’re discovered again.

He has no doubt now that many—if not all—Helga people know what Nick is wearing, and there is no way their plan to mix up is going to work as well anymore.

Or at all.

“What do we do?” Agent Leonard says now.

Horace slightly looks over the desk only to duck quickly as he narrowly misses a bullet shot in their way. Mark doesn’t know whether that bullet is shot by a D.E.A.N agent, or Helga person. Whether it’s a stray bullet that just happens to be shot this way, or if it’s intentionally directed here.

Horace tsks and pulls up his visor, and some follow suit. It seems that the claustrophobic space inside the helmet is making them all more panicked and not think straight.

“There is no other way now. We have to run to the back again to get to the van. We don’t have time to go round and round,” Horace says firmly to them all. “We need to get to the backup as soon as possible. Otherwise, Bel is gonna get stuck here.”

“They saw us! They know that Bel is here!”

“Yes, Doctor, but we’re already in the middle of this headquarter and we’ve mixed up again, but clearly they know which one is Bel, so it doesn’t mean shit,” Horace explains.

They all look towards each other again then at Nick who is audibly breathing and trembling even harder while gripping the medical bag so tight. He is currently keeping quiet under his closed visor, at least.

On the other side, they hear more yelling of Helga people informing their own lot about the possible whereabouts of Nick. The voices, shootings, and hitting sounds get closer and closer to where they’re hiding, as shown by their watches too with brown pulsating dots approaching their spot.

“Give me your jacket,” Robert suddenly says to Nick with an arm put out.

The others, including Nick, look at him in puzzlement.

“Give me your jacket,” he repeats more firmly, “I need to distract them so that you can go.”

“What? How?” Agent Maxwell asks, still as confused as the rest of them.

“I can pretend to be him and go with some of you to be the new decoy team.”

He can see understanding and agreement dawning on the faces around him.

“No,” Nick says firmly while slamming up his visor, now aware of what Agent Van Hoven is planning. Nick looks furious.

“Bel… that might work. We can safely deliver you to the backup team that way,” Mark now responds, more comfortable and at ease now with calling Nick something else.

“No, absolutely not. I’m not about to throw someone under the bus,” Nick states again, even more adamant. “If I’m gonna go, I’m going together with all of you.”

"Look, they already saw you. They know what clothes you're wearing," Agent Van Hoven continues hurriedly. "We can't use the original decoy plan to just send random agents to a vehicle and drive away. Helga guys aren't gonna take the bait."

Robert peeks over the desk for a bit.

“God knows where Eclipse even is at this point.”

Nick has a petulant face. He is not budging.

"I'm the only one here with body shape similar enough to become your decoy. No one else is. Right now, we need to distract them so you can get out of here," Robert tells him again, probably hoping that technical explanation will sway Nick.

Robert's head turns around a bit to see behind him again. They're still not spotted yet, but the clash is getting closer.

"But they're gonna kill you if they find out you’re false me!" Nick hisses to be quiet, although his face looks somewhat angry and aghast by the idea.

"We can take care of ourselves, all right?" Robert tries to encourage him again.

"I made that server to save my own ass and that got a lot more people hurt," Nick argues again with a determined voice, "I'm not gonna sacrifice someone else to save myself again."

Some agents—like 1082's commanding officer Agent Imani Maxwell, Doctor Lowe, and Agent Barbara Smith from 1023—hiss in frustration, while Anna massages the bridge of her nose, whispering "god fucking dammit". Angie, Horace, and Agent Harry Leonard message their temples instead. Even Mark feels irritated and impatient by Nick's idealist steadfastness while in a dire and time-sensitive moment like this.

Unexpectedly, Robert's face softens, and he talks gently.

"Listen, bud."

His expression is without a trace of the impersonal professionalism that he had before, which the other agents still sport on their own faces. Robert doesn’t seem to prefer the same approach of being forceful and unfeeling towards Nick.

"We all signed up for this. We were given an offer to join D.E.A.N, and we took it. We're trained and paid for this."

He chuckles softly then.

"And by god, we're paid a shit load of money."

Robert's dark eyes search for Nick's heterochromatic ones, serious again.

"But you didn't. You never signed up for any of this. Not even creating that server. Did you?"

Nick still seems unsure and reluctant.

"If you need to know," Robert now has one hand on Nick's shoulder with an earnest look, "this is legit the first time in my D.E.A.N career—no, in my life—that I feel like I'm doing something useful and meaningful. Something bigger than myself."

Even with the chaos of screaming and shooting and all kinds of ruckus in the background, Mark doesn't expect to feel the same softness displayed by 1034's deputy's face, and the same hope that all of his training—his informal training with Jackson his whole life, and then his formal ones with D.E.A.N—will bear fruit. That he is doing something right, for once.

"You're the key to bringing down Helga, doesn't matter with D.E.A.N or whoever else. You want that, right?" Robert asks with conviction on his face now, "destroying Helga so no one is getting hurt by them again and they can be held accountable?"

After a while, Nick gives the smallest nod, almost imperceptible to Mark.

"You're more important than any individual agent here," Robert continues, "than me."

He waits a little until Nick looks more receptive to his sentiment and words.

"So give me your jacket, and let us do our job, okay?"

They all wait with bated breaths for a while, seeing whether or not Nick is going to be convinced, so they can't help sighing deeply in relief when Nick starts to take off his helmet, unzips his bullet-proof vest, and pulls up his jacket. He hands it to Agent Van Hoven before putting on his vest and zipping it up again while putting on his helmet.

Everyone here is already wearing similar fitted cargo pants, so that's not a concern.

"Good," the 1034's deputy says again, his professionalism back on his face.

The light-brunet haired man immediately lifts his rifle strap from his shoulder and puts it down. He then takes off his helmet too before unzipping and shedding his own vest to quickly pull Nick's jacket over his head and his body. Right after, he wears his helmet and his vest properly again, then he pulls the hood of the jacket completely out from under the vest to make sure it is visible from afar.

"This is gonna hide my light hair so they will believe I'm you," Agent Van Hoven now explains while pointing at the helmet covering his head.

“Who’s coming with me?”

Agent Maxwell crouches just ever so slightly to Agent Van Hoven, as does Horace and Agent Maxwell’s own deputy.

Angie is about to join, but Horace pushes his hand on her shoulder.

“You’re our best driver and paramedic. You need to go with him.”

Angie then nods and crouches closer to Nick instead.

“As planned before, Doctor Lowe will go with Bel no matter what,” now 1082’s commanding officer is the one instructing, “for medical protection and…” she looks slightly at the rifle slung over the surgeon’s shoulder, “… other forms of protection.”

She then turns to Horace and Anna.

“And at least either 1056’s commanding officer or the deputy too. So that will be you, Agent Basset.”

Anna nods too and follows Angie.

All of them turn to Mark without saying anything. They know automatically that he won’t leave Nick even if he is dragged kicking and screaming.

So Agent Smith crouches to Robert instead.

Since Robert's rifle is already taken off when he was wearing Nick's jacket, he now shoves it towards the dark-skinned woman.

"Imani, hold this for me. Those bastards aren’t gonna be convinced if I'm suddenly good at shooting them," he explains again to 1082's commanding officer.

She simply nods, but Nick doesn't seem to like the idea.

"How are you gonna protect yourself?!" he cries out quite loudly, earning a glare from the rest of them.

"Don't worry about it. They’re not gonna injure me as long as they’re still convinced I am you,” Robert says hurriedly, pulling out the sleeves and the hem of the jacket too, making it even more of an obvious metaphorical beacon. “Besides, Agent Maxwell, Agent Leonard, and Agent Smith are more than enough to make up for my skill. As I’m sure Agent Fernandez is too."

Agent Van Hoven turns to Nick shortly to lightly say with a wink, "And I'm pretty crafty, believe me."

Nick still looks disapproving, but the deputy pulls down the visor of his helmet, effectively cutting short the conversation.

"Pull down your own now and go."

Agent Van Hoven instructs with muffled voice to several of the agents who have their visors up. They all follow Robert’s command, then lift themselves to half-crouch. The team for second decoy is turning to the left where they’ll leave the safety of the desks’ cover and out into the open, now preparing to commence their plan and basically jump into the headquarter’s battle area, while Nick's chaperone team turns the other way.

Unexpectedly, Robert turns around again and holds Nick's shoulder quickly.

"I'm really sorry about this," he says with regretful voice.

Before anyone can process it, he turns around again, saying "Come on" to the rest of the second decoy team. It's not until that team is far enough into the actual battle area that the chaperone team realizes what Robert means.

As the chaperone team starts to crouch away slowly, Mark sees Agent Van Hoven's right arm going to his front to pull out a rectangular device, which he assumes is from 1034’s deputy’s front pocket under his vest and Nick’s jacket. Mark doesn’t think he saw the deputy holding it before.

He then sees Robert raising his arm as high as possible, and suddenly, there is a recording of Nick's voice being played really loudly for several loops before he lowers his arm again.

"Please don’t touch me, don’t hurt me, please!”

Mark is in too much adrenaline rush and urgency to get Nick to safety that he doesn't have the time to feel pissed. He doesn't have enough space in his brain to fully process that Agent Van Hoven—or anyone at all—has decided to record some of the audio from Nick's molestation footage.

"Hey, that's his voice!" he hears someone yelling with a voice that Mark knows doesn't belong to one of the D.E.A.N agents here.

"That fucking whore!"

"He is going there, I see him!"

That's his cue to push Nick and crouch-run faster with the remaining chaperone agents.

“Go, go, go!” he rushes them from behind them.

He’s desperately hoping the second decoy team is effective enough to basically draw out most of Helga people to the middle area and away from the back, because he doesn’t know how else they will survive with only 5 people here.

He might have seriously fucked up previously by suggesting going back to the middle of the headquarter and converging with the other agents, so now this is their very last plan in their arsenal.

It has to work.

***

(I) (II) (III) (IV) (V) (VI) (VII) (VIII) (IX) (X) (XI) (XII) (XIII) (XIV) (XV) (XVI) (XVII) (XVIII) (XIX) (XX) (XXI) (XXII) (XXIII) (XXIV) (XXV) (XXVI) (XXVII) (XXVIII) (XXIX) (XXX) (XXXI - END)

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