#and teenage shadow would probably have a Time trying to comprehend this information

[pacifistcowboy]

Silver would be a very different person if he was raised by Shadow. Silver is naive precisely because he wasn't raised by anybody.

yeh you right!

i think the way i imagine dadow is different from how most other people imagine it; where silver still grew up on his own and it was only after he first went back in time he meets shadow in the future n he becomes his dad, basically to explain why the first time silver came across shadow in the past he wasn’t immediately like “dad?”

so i imagine silver comes across old man shadow at fourteen and is like “shadow??? wtf???” and from there the father-son relationship begins, so silver’s naïveté would still make sense ‘cus he wasn’t raised by shadow from day one

[cleanlenins]

He Drives Me Crazy

AO3 FFN

Written for the Minibang

Artwork done by @tumbling-darkling

Mother's Day is today and Danny forgot to buy a present! How did this become Jazz's problem? Danny convinces Jazz to help him pick out a last minute Mother's day gift. He also somehow convinced her to teach him how to drive. Sibling hijinks ensue and Jazz is going to need some advil to get through all of her brother's terrible jokes.

The bird had been singing just outside her window for ten minutes now, but Jazz was well practiced in ignoring Mama Bird's pre-dawn routine. She snuggled further under the blankets, not quite waking as dawn began to break. The soft fingers of early morning light began to brush against her eyelids. She had found that arranging her bed in a way that allowed for natural daylight to wake her was beneficial for her mental health and refreshed her enough to face a new day with an upbeat attitude. Danny said it was proof that she was, in fact, a robot running on solar power. Honestly, he could laugh, but he would benefit from taking a little time to plot out his sleep cycle.

Something suddenly blocked the dawn light, casting a faint shadow that covered her face. She frowned, not quite waking, but some part of her brain was aware of the change.

"Jazz," a cold whisper tickled her ear. She furrowed her brow further, hiding her face from the suddenly cold air. She mumbled incomprehensible nonsense.

"Jazz, I need your help," the voice whispered again, this time breaking from desperation. A finger prodded her shoulder. Poke. Poke. Poke. "Jazz, it's an emergency ."

Jazz bolted upright, startling her little brother enough for him to fall on his butt with an oof . Jazz frantically scanned her brother, her hair a halo of ginger tangles framing her face.

"What's wrong? Are you hurt? Is someone attacking? Did Mom or Dad make something new and horrifying? Are you okay?" She nearly shouted. Her words ran together as she raced to get them out as quickly as possible. Danny flinched from the sudden tirade of information. Jazz searched her brother’s body for any obvious wounds, her eyes as wide as dinner plates. But no, he looked perfectly whole. He was still wearing his pajamas.

“Not that kind of emergency,” Danny said with a pitiful pleading look. “I forgot to get Mom a present!”

It took Jazz a second before she could comprehend Danny’s words. She responded by mercilessly hitting him with her pillow.

“You wake me up for a supposed emergency , and that emergency is you didn’t buy Mom a Mother’s Day present? I don't think you know what emergency means,” She said, not letting up on her pillow assault. Danny tried to protect himself from the feathery flail.

“Jazz, please. This is an emergency! Mother’s Day is today!” Danny pleaded. But Jazz did not let up.

“I know that Mother’s Day is today, you dork. I know how to read a calendar,” She huffed. Jazz dropped the pillow back in place on her bed, slightly out of breath. Danny peeked through his fingers to see if it was truly over. Jazz glared down at her little brother before wrapping herself back in her blanket. “Just fly out and buy her something. Stores will be open in an hour or so.”

“I don’t know what to get her,” Danny pouted. He stood and flopped on top of Jazz, who objected to the movement. “I don’t know what she would like. Jazz, you’ve gotta help me.”

“Why didn’t you do this before now?”

“I meant to do it last weekend, but then there was that weird Simon-Says ghost that made it so you could only do something if you said his name. And the weekend before that I had to study for that big test, remember? And the project Lancer had assigned. And then there was that whole thing with Johnny 13 that ended up with the Mall closing early, so unless I broke in I couldn’t have bought a present anyways.. And then the weekend before that-”

“Okay, okay. I get it. You’ve had a lot on your plate,” Jazz said. She shoved her brother into the floor and unwound herself from the blankets. Danny didn’t bother to move from the contorted position he fell in, but just continued to look up at Jazz with his puppy dog eyes. She sighed. How could she not give in when he looked at her like that? “Did you have any ideas about what you wanted to get her?”

“Well, I had thought I could bake something for her? I also thought to go by that weird academic place and see if they had something she would like,” Danny mused.

“It's just a bookstore, Danny.”

“Weird Academic Place.”

“Whatever. Fine. Call it whatever you want. It sounds like you have it planned out. So what do you need me for?” Jazz rubbed her eyes. Ugh, couldn’t he have waited five more minutes?

“You know her better than I do. You’re actually here most of the time. Not, you know, avoiding...her.” Danny shifted guiltily. He murmured something unintelligible. Jazz ignored it. “I just want to make sure she likes it, you know?”

“I’m sure she will like whatever you pick out.”

“Yeah, but I want her to actually like it, not just ‘Mom-like’ it, you know? I want it to be something she will enjoy because she wants it, not because I gave it to her.”

Jazz sighed.

“Fine, just let me get dressed and then you can fly us over to the mall when it opens.”

Danny shifted on the floor, still looking up at Jazz with his puppy dog eyes. Honestly, those should be criminal.

“Do you think that, maybe, just this once, I can drive your car?” Danny said, increasing the puppy pressure.

“What? No! Why would you want to drive my car anyways? You can fly,” Jazz said. Was Danny’s lower lip trembling?

“I know. I just- I got my learner’s permit now! And I just really want to try. I promise I will be really careful. Just please please please PLEASE. Don’t make me learn using the GAV,” Danny begged. “Do you want Dad teaching me to drive?”

Jazz shuddered at the thought. Imagining a teenage Danny driving like Jack Fenton. Except with no fear of death.

“Well…”

~~~

Jazz was trying very hard to not laugh as Danny was practically bouncing in his seat. The driver’s seat. Of her car. That was a sobering thought. She couldn’t believe that she was actually going to do this. Danny grinned as he fiddled with the seat settings, the seat jittering back and forth with an electric hum.

“Will you quit that?” Jazz snapped.

“What, I need to make sure my toesies reach, don’t I?” Danny grinned, stretching his legs comically.

“So why the heck is the seat all the way back?”

“Well, maybe my toesies need some toe room,” Danny argued, adjusting the seat's backrest all the way forward so his face almost touched his own lap.

“I’m regretting this already,” Jazz muttered, still gripping the keys.

“What? No, wait! I can behave,” Danny said, rushing to return the seat settings back to a normal setup. Not that there was any way to rush the old mechanical chair. The seat slowly moved back, the squeaking of the leather seats the only sound as Danny stared at Jazz, who was really starting to regret this. Neither teen broke eye contact as the chair moved with agonizing slowness. When the seat was finally upright, he grinned at her. “See?”

“Congratulations, you're sitting in the car like a normal person,” Jazz deadpanned. She took a steadying breath. “Okay, so what is the first thing you do now that you’ve figured out how to get your butt in a chair?”

“Uh, plug in the key?”

“Plug in?”

“I don’t know the word! You stick the key in the hole and twist.”

“I thought you got your learner's permit?” Jazz said suspiciously.

“I did, but it's early and I don’t remember words this early. I stick the key in the hole- the ignition! And turn. Right?”

“Wrong,” Jazz said, looking pointedly at her little brother. “First thing: Put on your seatbelt.”

“Why? It’s not like I can die again,” Danny laughed.

“Do you want me to teach you to drive or not?” Jazz snapped.

“I do! I do. Fine, I’ll put on the seatbelt,” Danny pouted. He clicked it into place, then made grabby hands toward his sister. “Keys, please.”

“No, you still haven’t checked your mirrors,” Jazz said.

“They're still attached to the car, I would notice if they weren’t,” Danny furrowed his brow.

“Not if they are still attached, you dork. That you can see with them,” Jazz groaned. Danny blushed.

“Sorry, cars missing mirrors tends to be a more common problem for me,” He said. He sat up and looked at all the mirrors, not having to make very many adjustments. “I think that's good. Now can I please start the car.”

Jazz hesitated, before finally dropping the keys into Danny’s waiting hands. The raven-haired teen looked gleeful at the little clump of jangling metal. He instantly put the car key in the ignition, the engine humming to life.

“Okay, so now you are going to put your foot on the brake. That’s the one on your left. And then you are going to shift the gearshift-”

“PRNDL,” Danny said, already shifting into Reverse.

“You've never even watched that show, it's on the wrong network,” Jazz complained.

“Doesn’t matter. So, do I put on the gas-?”

“No,” Jazz tried not to shout. She took another deep breath. “No, just. Get a feel for how fast it goes before you hit the gas, okay? Cars will go a little bit even without having to press the gas.”

“Sounds like me in English class,” Danny smirked, easing off the brake. The car inched toward the road.

“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that,” Jazz said. She turned backwards to double check that no one was coming down their street. It probably wasn’t necessary. Most people avoided the street that the crazy Fentons lived on. With her Dad's driving? That was probably a good idea. “You should be good. Just turn the wheel to straighten yourself into the lane.”

Danny nodded and did just that. He seemed relieved, as he switched the car into Drive.

“Okay, cool. So now I floor it, right?” Danny said.

“I can’t tell if you are serious or not, but if you want to continue driving my car you will do no such thing,” Jazz's voice wavered. She squeezed the door handle, starting to feel it slide with sweat. “Just gently tap it. Speed limit is 35, so don’t go over that.”

Danny did a...really good job. Jazz relaxed. His turns were a little hair-raising, but nowhere near Jack Fenton levels. And Jazz only had to ask him to slow down twice. He braked a little hard at the lights. It could be worse.

“You’re doing great, Danny,” Jazz said fondly. Danny’s face, which had slowly contorted into a stern look of concentration as he drove, brightened. He shot his sister a look before she gently slapped him on the shoulder. “Eyes on the road!”

“Am I wheely doing a good job?” Danny snickered, tapping his fingers against the wheel. They were approaching an intersection.

“No puns.”

“Even if I am being carful ?”

“Stop it.”

“But I have miles of them. Can’t stop me now that I am on a roll .”

“Stop.”

“You can’t be tired of them yet-”.

“No, STOP!” Jazz cried. Danny slammed on the brake just as the light turned red, sliding slightly further into the intersection. The squeal of the tires against the pavement attracted the attention of the few pedestrians. Luckily, there were no other cars at the traffic light. It was early Sunday morning. Jazz held her hand to her chest for a second before her head jerked to Danny.

“Danny, are you okay,” Jazz asked. Danny gave her a wry grin.

“Yeah, I’m fine. The seatbelt doesn’t hit near as hard as Skulker,” Danny massaged his collarbone. “Sorry.”

Jazz took a deep breath. Danny was avoiding her gaze, his cheeks flushed the same color as the traffic light. He gripped both hands on the steering wheel, elbows rigid.

“Danny, you're okay. It’s fine. Everyone makes mistakes while learning,” Jazz said softly. Danny shook his head, still keeping his eyes forward. “You’re doing a really good job, I promise. Just don’t let yourself get distracted, okay?”

Danny still didn’t look at Jazz, but Jazz didn’t need eye contact to see where his mind was going. He was fast getting over his embarrassment, but it was turning into something she saw far too often on her little brother’s face.

“Danny, you have nothing to feel guilty about. I promise you are doing a good job. This is your first time driving a car, right?”

“Legally, yeah.”

“Legally-?” Jazz cut that thought short. “Nevermind. This is your first real lesson. You’re doing a good job. I promise. When this light turns green, just continue on a little more cautiously. And maybe don’t make anymore driving puns until you get a bit more comfortable. Or ever. That would certainly make me feel more comfortable.”

Danny’s lip twitched, but Jazz wasn’t satisfied.

“I want you to repeat after me,” Jazz said. Danny groaned. “Just do it. Stop complaining. Now, say ‘I am doing my best.’”

“I am doing my best,” Danny recited. The light turned green and Danny slowly pulled through the intersection.

“And my best is enough,” Jazz continued.

“And my best is enough,” Danny said unenthusiastically.

“Good, now say it all together,” Jazz said.

“Good, now say it all together,” Danny repeated.

“Danny, I’m serious,” Jazz admonished.

“And here I thought you were Jazz,” Danny quipped, his tone light. Jazz didn’t believe it. She knew when Danny was trying to pretend he was okay. She knew when he was trying to deflect. Jazz said nothing and continued to look at her little brother. Minutes passed in silence until they stopped at another intersection. Danny sighed deeply, weary.

“I’m doing my best and my best is enough,” Danny mumbled.

“I’m sorry, I don’t think I heard you,” Jazz said.

“I’m doing my best and my best is enough,” Danny said in a normal tone of voice.

“Yes, and I am very proud of you, little brother,” Jazz said fondly. “Really, I am. You do so much. And you work so hard. And you do so much good. I don’t know how I could be any prouder.”

“I thought we were talking about my driving? Why are you getting all mushy?” Danny complained half-heartedly, finally smiling. Genuinely smiling.

“Because I love you. Turn left at this next intersection. It’s faster,” Jazz directed. Danny grumbled something about sisters, but Jazz didn’t let it bother her.

It hadn’t taken long after she found out about Phantom for her to realize her brother always seemed beaten down. And not just literally. But while the scars from the ghost fights healed ridiculously quickly, the mental and emotional scars Danny had been accumulating since The Accident were just getting worse. The constant detentions from teachers who could never understand what he was going through. The bullies that tore at her little brother’s self-esteem. And then their parents. Jazz knew they meant well. She knew they scolded Danny because they thought it would help. She knew they grounded him because they were worried. But the constant negativity was not good for him. When was the last time they had said something positive to him? Something that didn’t bring up their bigotry against ghosts? Something that made him feel safe? Something that made him feel truly loved? No wonder he was stressed about Mom’s gift.

It didn’t help that it seemed like they were always complimenting her. Yes, she did work hard on all her tests. She worked hard for her grades. She had worked hard for her CATs. She had worked hard on her college entrance essays. And she liked the praise. But couldn’t her parents see the damage they were doing by constantly praising one child but not giving the other child the attention they needed? If only they could see all the good Danny did. Because Danny was an amazingly good person who-

“Jazz, this is your short cut. I don’t know where I’m going. So could you stop spacing and tell me when to turn,” Danny cut in, breaking Jazz out of her thoughts.

“Whoops, sorry,” She apologized, taking stock of where they were driving. A store caught her eye. “Oh, they finally opened that new ice cream shop!”

“Really?” Danny said. He glanced around nervously, not wanting to let his eye leave the road.

“Yeah, it opened a few days ago,” Jazz squinted to read the sign, a bright fluorescent green. She groaned.

“What?” Danny asked nervously.

“They called it ‘Scream’. That’s awful . I hate that,” Jazz lamented. And sure enough, as they drove by, the little ice cream shop was taking full advantage of Amity Park’s ghostly reputation. Cute cartoonish green ghosts decorated the windows. A few were curled up on top of ice cream cones, smiling out at the potential customers. Danny snickered.

“Well, I love that. We have to go!” Danny said.

“It’s too early for ice cream.”

“So we get it on the way home.”

“I thought you were going to bake something for Mom?”

“I mean, yeah. But that takes time. And it’s ice cream,” Danny said with longing. “I’m a itty bitty cold core ghosty. I crave the sugary icy treat. It's in my DNA.”

“Danny, you don’t need ice cream.”

“But I do . Ask Frostbite. Complete medical necessity. Don’t be ghostphobic, Jazz,” Danny complained as they passed by the shop. “I need it so bad I could scream .”

“Ugh, turn left for the mall” Jazz groaned, causing Danny to cackle in delight.

“That didn’t sound like a no,” Danny nearly sang.

“You’re paying. If I have to go into a store decorated with ghosts, you’re paying,” Jazz demanded.

“Deal!” Danny crowed in victory. Jazz rolled her eyes. She continued to give directions as Danny drove, interspersed with compliments and tips. By the time they arrived at the mall, Danny was back in high spirits. Was that a pun? Ugh, Danny’s sense of humor better not be rubbing off on her.

Jazz took back the keys when they got out of the car. Danny had turned on the puppy look again to try and keep them, but Jazz put her foot down. Jazz was far less likely to lose the keys than he was. He finally agreed as they headed toward the mall.

The siblings walked through the parking lot, with Danny trailing slightly behind Jazz. It hadn’t been open long, but there were already more people than Jazz had anticipated. Probably other last minute Mother’s Day shoppers. She smiled, knowing the probability that at least one of them was delayed because of ghost reasons as well. Just not her brother’s specific issue. She reached the door and opened it for her brother, turning to comment on that thought, when she paused.

Danny walked past her, not noticing her stalled comment. His eyes scanned the inside of the mall as he took on a tense defensive posture. The baby blue of his eyes didn’t match the sky, as Mom had always said. Not right now. They were cold and hard like ice. The calculated stare of a predator. Walking with purpose, he continued inward, not letting his guard down until some unspoken criteria was met. Jazz wasn’t sure what he saw that made him relax. What did he see that let him know that there was no immediate threat? And wasn’t that just awful that walking into the mall would make her baby brother feel threatened? Jazz watched the tension melt from her little brother’s shoulders as he turned backwards to grin at her. Jazz did her best to grin back at him.

Her brother rushed forward and grabbed Jazz by her wrist. Danny dragged Jazz through the store quickly, not noticing his sister’s lapse in concentration. He weaved in between the shoppers, apologizing quickly when he accidentally bumped into one of them. Jazz worried that he might dislocate her arm. But the pain of that possibility didn’t compare to the emotional roller coaster in her head. It wasn’t the first time she had thought about this. It was wrong. He was just barely fifteen! It shouldn’t be his responsibility. They were just kids. They should just be able to go to the mall and just be kids. Instead, Danny was always on edge. Always ready to throw himself in danger. And Jazz understood because she recognized the Mall as being statistically a likely place for ghost attacks.

Jazz almost tripped over Danny when he suddenly stopped outside the bookstore. He spread his arms wide, gesturing to the facade.

“Here we are! The Weird Academic Place. The WAP,” Danny said, a huge grin across his face. Jazz punched him.

“You are not going to call it that in public. Not if you want my help,” Jazz admonished.

“What do you mean?” Danny asked in feigned innocence. “What is so wrong with WAP?”

“Danny, you know exactly what is wrong with that acronym?” Jazz said.

“No, honest big sister. I am just your tiny baby brother. I don’t know what any word means. Tell me. Does it have a dirty meaning? Why would my perfect sister know something that has a dirty meaning?” Danny tried very hard not to laugh. To keep up the charade. Jazz felt her lip twitch before she couldn’t hold back the giggles any longer. Okay, maybe they still were able to be children. They weren’t actually completely deprived of it.

“Danny, you're ridiculous. Now, did you want to get a present or not?” Jazz asked. Danny winked.

“Yes, a Wonderfully Awesome Present,” Danny said.

“No,” Jazz said, marching forward into the store without him. She smiled when she heard his chuckling get closer, her baby brother following her in.

Looking around, Jazz could see why her brother might label this bookstore Weirdly Academic. Even ignoring his stupid joke. The bookstore was geared toward academic and science books. It was, honestly, a little pretentious. What was wrong with a little light fantasy reading? Nothing. Though, she grudgingly admitted that it was the best store to get peer-reviewed science journals in print.

“Okay, so what kind of book were you thinking?” Jazz asked. Danny shrugged.

“I’m not sure. I don’t think she would want an ectobiology book. I mean, Mom and Dad wrote the most accurate ones. But she is super into science and I am not sure which sciences would be relevant?” Danny frowned in thought.

“Well, why don’t we go look at the ectobiology section and see if anything stands out. Who knows? Maybe we can find something they haven’t read yet. After that, I know Mom was talking about looking into different ways of measuring and predicting atmospheric changes so they can finally go into the Ghost Zone safely. Like a barometer, but for ectoplasm. We might find something about that in the meteorology section. Or the general earth science section. Or possibly even engineering?”

“Sounds like a plan. Let’s go!” Danny said, rushing down an aisle. Jazz waited a few moments before Danny’s head popped back around the shelf. “I’m going the wrong way, aren’t I?”

“Why don’t I lead the way this time?” She said, grinning. She grabbed his hand and steered him in the right direction. He moaned about holding his sister’s hand in public, but both of them could tell his heart wasn’t in it. Just a little brother reflex.

It didn’t take long for her to find the section on meteorology. Granted, she wasn’t super well versed in any of the Earth Sciences. But she had picked up a book here after the Vortex incident. The section wasn’t large. A big portion of it was taken up by a life-sized portrait of Lance Thunder, the local “weatherman” as he used to be known. Now he mostly just got called out to Ghost Fights. He didn’t seem very happy about it.

Danny looked over the books briefly, picking up a very fancy book that seemed promising. It’s title did seem to insinuate that at least one of the articles had something to do with atmospheric changes. But…

“What is it?” Danny said, looking up at Jazz.

“I didn’t say anything,” Jazz replied, a little too quickly.

“You didn’t have to. You don’t think this is a good choice,” Danny sighed, putting the book back into place.

“Well, no. I guess not. I think it might be a bit too broad for what they are looking for. But then again, what they are looking for is very specific. Maybe we should look at the engineering section first. Mom and Dad usually make their own stuff. But maybe there is something in there similar to what they want and they can base their designs on that?” Jazz said hopefully. Danny slumped.

“Fine, lead the way,” Danny said, slightly disappointed. Jazz squeezed his shoulder in sympathy, before they walked over to the engineering section. They passed by the small kids section on the way there.

As with everything else in the store, the kid’s section was education oriented, with science being the predominant field. There weren’t any kids here, probably because of the time. Jazz paused as something caught her eye. There on a display was the book version of Bearburt, Bearburt Knows It All. Jazz looked at the book wistfully.

Back when she was a kid, she was enamoured with that book. She had seen it at the old bookstore when she was five or six years old. She had skimmed it with her tiny fingers, seeing how the book encouraged her to be smart and to study. And to never stop questioning. She read it three times just while they stood in the store. Jazz had begged her Mom to buy it at the time, but she hadn’t gotten it. Mom had been distracted and instead of buying her the book, she had thought Jazz had wanted the stuffed animal that went with it. And Jazz didn’t correct her. Her teachers at school said she wasn’t supposed to correct adults, even when she was right. And so she had taken Bearburt home.

And she loved Bearburt. He had always been there for her. Through the kids that teased her in elementary school. To the crippling self-doubt she hid in middle school. She had thought she had grown out of him when she hit high school, when everything seemed to be working out according to plan. Even though Bearburt had helped her out through all of those hard times, it was the book that had given her the courage to be herself, even when others didn’t approve. To finally speak up for herself when she saw something wrong. And maybe she got a lot of grief over the years for being a know-it-all, but she was happy with who she was.

“Um, Jazz? You okay? I’m supposed to be the space case, not you. Remember?” Danny asked, shaking her gently. Jazz blinked rapidly. “That’s like twice. I didn’t think waking you up early would turn you into a Zombie.”

“I’m not a Zombie. I’m fine. I just remembered something.”

Danny hummed in response, a single eyebrow raised.

“So, the engineering section. This way,” Jazz directed. Danny watched her closely a moment longer, before shrugging off the distraction.

The engineering section was much larger than the section geared towards earth science. Jazz couldn’t be sure, but she imagined it was probably because of the constant destruction in Amity Park. Interest in engineering would likely soar when people wanted to find a way to create city infrastructure that could withstand the force of a giant glowing dragon being suplexed into the road. Or at least that seemed logical.

“That’s a lot of books,” Danny eyed the aisle warily.

“Yeah,” Jazz agreed, scanning the titles. She gestured to one section. “I think those are mostly geared towards Architectural Engineering, so we don’t need to look through those.”

“That still leaves a lot to look through,” Danny sighed. “Oh well, better start.”

The siblings began grabbing books and looking through them. Most of them were collections of articles instead of just being books on one subject, so they couldn’t just read the dust jacket to get a sense of what was inside. Many of the concepts were foreign to Jazz, but she was able to parse out the jargon well enough to get a sense of what was not what they were looking for. The problem was that they didn’t know enough to say if any of the few options they considered would actually be helpful.

“ Status and characteristics of diagnostics on Korea Superconducting Tokamak Research seems like a good option. It details what would work and what wouldn’t work with their design, so that might be a good place for Mom and Dad to start,” Jazz mused, looking at the journal entry.

“Yeah, but wasn’t it published in like 1996. Isn’t that kind of old?” Danny asked.

“Yeah, it’s not ideal . But they mostly just need a starting place. You know that they don’t stick to a blueprint from start to finish very well.”

“But what about this one? Pressure and interaction measure of the gluon plasma came out in 2010, wouldn’t that be better?” Dany said.

“Do you know what gluon plasma is?” Jazz asked.

“No,” Danny admitted.

“Me either,” Jazz sighed. “Who knows if it is similar to ectoplasm or not.”

“Maybe I should just get both?” Danny ventured, before wincing at the price. “Or not.”

“Yeah, academic titles are pricey.” Jazz said apologetically. Danny just hummed in agreement.

“I think I will go with the first one. The one about Korea Superconducting. If it’s the wrong thing, I think she would still enjoy that one more? She said something about superconducting at some point, ” Danny sounded unsure. Jazz hugged her little brother.

“Why touchy?” Danny complained. Jazz just squeezed him tighter.

“Big sister,” Jazz explained.

“Ngh,” Danny wriggled out of her hands. “I'm going to go buy this. You can go look up a book on personal space.”

“Rude,” Jazz called after her brother as he sprinted off towards the checkout. Or she thinks that’s where he was heading. He was going the completely wrong direction. Jazz chuckled. The red-head then put back the small pile of books she and Danny had pulled out, before heading over toward the psychology section. Maybe she could find a book on personal space just to irritate Danny. Actually, that was a good idea. Read a chapter of it here or there out loud until Danny stopped pestering her. Turn his own joke against him.

She noticed the ectobiology section as she made her way through the store. The section was probably bigger in Amity than it was in any other city. Most of the covers sported a massive orange ‘F’ on the front. There was probably twenty years worth of research, countless hours spent by her parents locked in the basement. Researching and inventing and writing papers, day after day. Even now, it wasn’t uncommon for Jazz and Danny to not even see their parents for a few days, their schedules causing the family to be like ships in the night. She wondered if they would ever get tired of that. Did they miss Jazz and Danny? Because Jazz found herself more and more missing them.

Maybe she should pick up a new book on childhood development instead. She passed the ectobiology section and found her way into the psychology section. They had actually restocked since she was last here! She soon found herself lost in a psychology journal article about sibling rivalry and didn’t notice the minutes ticking away from her.

“There you are! Dang it, why is this WAP so complicated to navigate?” Danny said, startling Jazz out of her focus.

“How long is it going to take you to get bored with that joke?” Jazz said, slamming the book closed and replacing it on the shelf.

“Depends. I still say the 'Road Work Ahead' line every time I see one of those signs,” Danny shrugged. He was grinning, and he swung the plastic shopping bag around lazily.

“I know. And there is one on every block,” Jazz bemoaned. She grabbed her brother by the shoulders and marched him toward the exit. “Why do you think I gave you directions the way I did this morning? So much construction.”

“You were trying to deprive me of Road Work signs?” Danny gasped, trying to turn around to stare at his sister. She kept pushing and ignored the false hurt in his voice.

“I was trying to keep you from having to maneuver through a construction zone your first time driving,” Jazz retorted. She was lying, so sue her. He literally said it every. Single. Sign. There are twelve on 4th street alone. “Sometimes I think you let yourself get thrown onto the road just so they put up more of those signs.”

Danny went strangely quiet but Jazz had grown adept at reading the silence.

“You don’t try to destroy the road so they put up more of those signs, right?” Jazz asked.

“I mean, I didn’t before. But you have such good ideas, Jazz.”

“No. Uh-uh. If I get any indication that you are letting yourself get curb stomped for a meme , I will lock you in the thermos for a week and just suck ectodogs in there for you to eat. That has to be the stupidest form of self-harm I have ever heard of,” Jazz chided as she pushed Danny out of the Weird Aca- dang it. Now she was doing it. They now stood in the mall proper. It had grown much busier in the time they had been inside the store.

“Was there anything else you needed here?” Jazz asked, Danny shook his head. “Then let's drive over to the grocery store and you can find something to bake for Mom.”

Danny lit up and held out his hand. Jazz fixed him with a stare.

“I will only let you have the keys if you promise me you will not intentionally get yourself thrown into a road,” Jazz said.

“Jazz,” Danny whined. “Sometimes I have to get thrown into the road. It’s better than getting thrown into the nursing home or doggy daycare or something. Sometimes the road is the best option.”

“Okay,” Jazz said, noting to process that later. “No intentionally getting thrown into the road for a dumb joke.”

A passing couple gave her an odd look, which she ignored. Danny put his hand over his heart, left hand in the air.

“I, Daniel James Fenton, swear not to let myself be thrown into the road for a dumb joke,” Danny said seriously. “Now gimme.”

Jazz sighed, and gave her brother the jangling mass of metal. He tossed it up in the air and caught it once more, a smirk at his sister.

“But you said nothing about a great joke!” Danny smirked, before sprinting through the mall. Jazz took a second to react before she chased down her brother.

“Danny Fenton, get back here with my keys!” She yelled.

~~~

Danny Fenton did not, in fact, get back there with her keys. When she made it to her car, her brother was already inside on the driver’s side. He was buckled with both hands on the wheel and beamed at her when she came into sight. Jazz glared at him and his smile dimmed. She marched over to the passenger side and slammed the door as she got in.

“...You know I am not really going to throw myself into the road for a joke, right?” Danny asked hesitantly, sinking down into the seat. Jazz sighed.

“I hope so. But sometimes you say something as a joke and then you actually mean it. I just want to make sure you’re taking care of yourself. The things you do...they are completely out of my depth, little brother. They don’t sell any books on how to handle this. I know what you do is important, but can you please try not to stress me out so much?” Jazz begged.

“Sorry. I guess I took the joke a little too far,” Danny said, rubbing the back of his neck. “But I promise, Jazz. I’m not going to let myself get hurt for some dumb reason. Jokes aside, I really don’t want to find out if I can die all the way.”

Jazz leaned over to give her little brother an awkward hug. He leaned into her. The moment passed and Danny grinned at her like the chaos gremlin he was.

“So, grocery store?” Danny asked. Jazz just smiled and turned around to make sure he didn’t back into anyone. Her brother eased out of the parking space, the mall in the rearview mirror.

The grocery store wasn’t all that far away from the mall, so it was a pretty short drive. Honestly, Jazz had been considering just walking from the mall to the supermarket. But Danny seemed to be having so much fun driving that she didn’t bring it up. The closer they got to the store, Danny’s smile grew and grew. Jazz thought it was bordering on maniacal.

“What’s with that face?” Jazz asked, suspicious.

“What face?” Danny tried to straighten his grin into one of innocent confusion.

“You know what face. Why are you making that face?”

“I don’t know what you mean. This is just my face. My normal human face. No need to attack me about it,” Danny cackled.

“Okay, you’re making a pun. I hear that in your voice. But I have no clue what joke you are making,” Jazz said as she stared at her giggling brother.

“I’m just getting in the zone ,” Danny snarked. Jazz was about to grill him about his behavior when she saw it.

“Oh no, they didn’t,” She said, horror struck. Danny expertly parked the car so he didn’t crash from laughing.

“They did,” Danny gasped, tears dripping down his cheeks. His face was as bright as a tomato as he continued to laugh. Jazz gaped, torn between being insulted by the misuse of government resources and amused by the absurdity.

On the side of the road was a very new sign. And as Jazz looked around, she could see that they were scattered everywhere. How had she missed them? The sign was a bright yellow equilateral triangle with the vague silhouette of a blob ghost, eyes glaring menacingly. Underneath it said-

“Ghost Attack Zone? What?” Jazz was flabbergasted. Danny clutched his stomach.

“I know!” He choked out between giggles.

“What does that even mean? Ghosts attack everywhere!” Jazz threw her hands in the air while Danny just continued to laugh. Jazz tried to stay strong and be the serious one, as usual. But she couldn’t do it. She caved, snorting and laughing with Danny. The siblings leaned into each other and guffawed until their sides hurt. Whenever they tried to get ahold of themselves, they would make eye contact and suddenly they were both back to clutching their sides and gasping for breath.

“Oh Ancients, do you think you can use this against Walker?” Jazz mused when she was finally able to control her laughter. Danny looked awestruck and grinned.

“Sorry, Walker, this is not a Ghost Attack Zone. Attacking me is against the rules,” Danny mocked the absent ghost. “Oh, I have no clue if it will work but I am absolutely doing that. I can’t wait to see the look on his face.”

“I think you can wait. We don’t need him showing up right now. It’s almost noon,” Jazz chided. Danny smiled.

“Would you say it’s High Noon?” Danny drawled.

“That meme is as dead as you,” Jazz rolled her eyes as Danny once more lost himself in a peel of laughter. “Can you please get a hold of yourself and drive to the store? The parking lot is right there!”

Danny held his breath, trying to contain the laughter as he drifted back onto the street. He pulled into the parking lot and began to look for a spot. Jazz pointed one out to him.

“There is one! It doesn’t have anyone next to it so it is a good place for you to practice.”

“I’m not parking there!”

“Why not?”

“The parking lot seagulls are there, minding their own birdy business. Are you trying to get me to commit birdy genocide?" Danny asked aghast.

“They will move when you get close to them.”

“But then they might not like me anymore and take their poop-fueled revenge. I don’t have the gull to make them my enemy. We’re birds of a feather !”

“How does that even remotely make sense?”

“I mean, they're white, they fly, and most of Amity Park thinks they’re a menace when they mostly just want to eat cheese fries,” Danny listed off, slowly passing the seagull mob. “Oh, and they are from the Ghost Zone.”

“What do you mean they’re from the Ghost Zone?” Jazz said, rubbing her temple.

“How do you think a bunch of seagulls end up in a city in the middle of Minnesota? Random transient portals,” Danny nodded sagely.

“Are you making that up?”

“You’ll never know.”

Jazz did not like not knowing things, but Danny was stubborn. Even though Jazz pestered Danny well after the car was parked, Danny refused to budge on elaborating. He just smiled mischievously. Jazz stewed, but it was fine. Danny may be afraid of bird-related vengeance, but she was an older sister. And she knew how to wait. And he should be more worried about Jazz related vengeance.

The siblings entered the store, Danny quickly grabbing a shopping cart. Jazz held onto his shoulder so he wouldn’t zoom off without her. Even so, she was having to speed walk to keep up with him.

“So, what are you planning to bake for Mom?” Jazz asked.

“Um, that’s a good question,” Danny slowed his pace. He looked at her with big pleading eyes. Jazz sighed.

“Well, I know she likes key lime pie but-”

“Great! Key lime pie, it is!” Danny said, successfully zooming away from his sister toward the produce aisle. Jazz wanted to scream, but she walked at a sensible speed after her little brother.

Jazz didn’t like key lime pie all that much. She had plenty of evidence as to why it was the inferior dessert in the Fenton Household. For one, it was green. Or, green-tinted at least. It made it very difficult to tell if it had been contaminated in the refrigerator by her parents' ectoplasm samples. It was made doubly hard by the citrus sour taste, something that limes and ectoplasm shared. Though limes didn’t usually have that battery-acid aftertaste as well. Not unless they had been left in the Fenton Fridge too long. On top of it, Jazz just didn’t like sour things. But if she were to honestly examine her distaste, she may dislike sour things because she had eaten so many ectoplasm contaminated meals.

Danny was still in the produce aisle. Jazz frowned as she watched him grab different fruits and stick them in the cart. He hadn’t even grabbed any of the limes yet. But he was going along, grabbing item after item at seemingly random.

“What are you doing?” She asked once she caught up to him. He looked at her seriously, before slowly reaching into the cart and solemnly handing her a bright red apple. Jazz just stared at it, before looking at her brother suspiciously. He was leaning over the cart.

“I just wanted to apple-ogize for driving you bananas today,” He pulled out the yellow fruit and put it on top of the apple in her hand. Jazz looked at the fruit expressionlessly. “ You kiwi-ckly agreed to go shopping with me, even though apricot to buy Mom’s gift. I cherry-sh our currant relationship, and think your grape for en-durian my jokes. And I will try to not take you for pomegranate again because we make a great pear. ”

As he spoke, he piled each named fruit into Jazz’s hands, who just stood there looking at the growing mass of food she held. When he had finished talking, she had a small fruity hill precariously balanced in her arms. She looked at her brother.

“Are you done?” She asked. He looked at her sheepishly, before sitting a single avocado on top of the pile.

“I couldn’t think of a pun for it in time,” Danny admitted. Jazz just stared at him. And took a deep, steadying breath.

“Why?” She asked. Danny shrugged.

“Fruit was there,” Danny said, as if it explained everything. Which it didn’t. But Jazz was going to at least pretend to be the bigger person.

“Please just put them back,” Jazz begged. Danny grinned as he pulled each fruit out of Jazz’s hand. “Where did you even find a durian?”

“Sam.”

���...were you just carrying that in your pocket?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Jazz,” Danny scoffed. “It was in my backpack.”

“Right. And you are carrying a durian around with you because-?” Jazz prompted, handing over the last of the fruit to Danny.

“They are smelly,” He said, brows furrowed.

“Danny. Please. Explain it to me. Use your words,” Jazz begged.

“It makes it easier for Cujo to find me. Strong smell. And also he really likes playing fetch with them,” Danny shrugged. “Hey, can you go grab the stuff for a pie crust while I put all of this fruit back? We are in a hurry, you know.”

Jazz really wanted to explore how he had found out that the Ghost Puppy enjoyed durian, especially since she wasn’t sure if living dogs could even eat the fruit safely. Was he just chucking random fruit for the dog to chase? There was a story here. Not to mention it wasn't something usually found in the local stores but-

“What kind of pie crust?”

“Um, I guess a graham cracker crust? I don’t know how to make other kinds,” Danny said, still holding his fruit pile. “I think the graham crackers are in aisle eight.”

Jazz turned to walk away, keeping one eye on her brother and making sure he put the assorted fruit back in their place. He seemed to be doing just that, after sliding the durian back into his backpack. She walked past the baked goods. Danny was getting good at baking, somehow, but she would still prefer any of these store bought goods to key lime pie. She tried not to eye the cute little tiramisu that was placed right at the front, wrapped in a hard plastic box. She really liked the little cake, but never found the time to make it. Wait, she was getting distracted. Jazz blinked away the thought and walked briskly to aisle eight. Danny was right. This did have the graham crackers.

It took some time for Jazz to find Danny again. She had taken a detour to make sure he had actually put all of the fruit back in their correct place before catching up with him by the eggs.

"Don't we have eggs at home?" Jazz asked. Danny shrugged.

"I think so. But they have probably been in the fridge for a week so-"

"Ah. Yeah, better not chance it," Jazz nodded.

"Yeah. I guess I could still take a crack at it, though," Danny snickered.

"Oh my god, Danny-"

"You gotta learn to take a yolk , Jazz," Danny drawled out her name. "Don't be so hard-boiled ."

"I'm getting rid of you. I am going to Vlad's house and giving him your birth certificate," Jazz deadpanned. Danny gasped dramatically. "Danielle can just come and live with us. Upgrade."

"You wound me! Also, Ellie's puns are worse than mine, so not much of an upgrade there," Danny shrugged, grabbing a dozen eggs and putting them in the cart. "All that's left is the sweetened condensed milk. What even is sweetened condensed milk?"

"It's just milk that has been heated to remove some of the water from it, with sugar added," Jazz grabbed the cart from her brother and started pushing it toward the baking aisle. It forced Danny to walk at a normal pace. "You know you could have asked me to grab it while I was getting the graham crackers, right? They are in the same aisle."

"Of course I knew that," Danny said, his tone saying he very much did not know that. Jazz chose to drop it. They grabbed the can of sweetened condensed milk, Jazz physically holding her hand over Danny's mouth to prevent another infernal pun. Danny licked her hand, so she did the mature thing and rubbed his spit on his face. When an adult turned down the aisle, Jazz straightened up. She angled the cart toward the registers, but Danny stopped her.

"Let's do the self checkout," he complained, tugging on her arm. She shook him off.

"Do you see how many items we have in this cart? That would be so annoying! The cashier-run register is better."

"Noooo,"Danny whined. He leaned all of his weight on Jazz, causing her to stumble. "Self checkout, Jazz!"

"Seriously? You're going to knock me over," Jazz complained, trying to push her brother off of her.

"Sounds like a personal problem," Danny said, continuing to hang off of Jazz. Jazz was severely tempted to just let him fall on the floor, but that was probably not the correct response to have.

"If you want to do the self-checkout so badly, I am not going to help you. You can do it yourself," Jazz huffed

"Okay," Danny chirped, standing upright immediately. "Why don't you wait in the car while I check out?”

Jazz was going to argue against it, when inspiration struck. A little bit of pay back for her baby brother. She smiled sweetly at him and gave him a kiss on the head. He sputtered and gagged at the show of affection as she turned on heel to head for the car.

It didn’t take her long to set up her revenge. She had kept it on the backburner for a while, a small plan to be enacted when the time was right. Preparation was key. So she waited primly in the passenger seat of her car, giving occasional glances to the storefront. She saw her brother heading toward the car, half a dozen bags hanging from his arms (with one tiny one clutched in between his teeth). She unlocked the trunk as soon as he got close, letting him put the groceries in before slamming it shut with a thud. Danny slid into the driver’s side, grinning from ear to ear. Jazz did her best to hide her excitement as he buckled his seat belt.

“Why are you making that face?” He asked, suspicious.

“Face? What face?” She asked, knowing she was failing to hide her excitement.

“You are worse at keeping secrets than I am,” Danny said, staring at her.

“If you say so. But we need to get going if you are going to get ice-cream,” Jazz said, deflecting.

“Uh-huh,” Danny said, still suspicious. He shifted the car into reverse, and both he and Jazz turned to make sure he didn’t hit someone as he pulled out. He drove through the parking lot, slowing to wave at the flock of seagulls that were currently tearing apart a deli sandwich. He pulled up to the road, about to turn when Jazz made her move.

“Why don’t we listen to some relaxing music on our way,” She said, all too innocently. She turned the volume up, the unmistakable sound of flute and harp warbled through the speakers.

“No,” Danny cried, horrified. His mouth fell open as he stared at the car’s radio, not moving even though he was clear to drive.

“ Oh Danny Boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling~ ” The car crooned. Danny groaned loudly, trying to drown out the lovely soprano voices of Celtic Women.

“Jazzy, please! Have mercy on your brother!” Danny begged.

“I have know idea what you mean, Baby Brother,” Jazz said, grinning. “You can turn, you know. There isn’t anyone coming.”

“Jazz!” He cried. “Please.”

“Come on, don’t get distracted. Just think of that frosty treat, cold core ghosty. Go on,” Jazz mocked. Danny fake sniffled as he pulled onto the road.

“Jazz, this is torture. I hate this song! You know I hate this song.”

“What? You hate this song? This is brand new information. I guess I was due to learn something new since you refused to tell me about the seagulls,” Jazz said. “Here, I’ll change it for you.”

Jazz pressed the button that would change the song. A soft organ played a delicate melody.

“ Oh Danny boy -” sang Johnny Cash.

“Jazz!” Danny yelled. “Jazz, why?”

“Oh dear, it seems like this entire CD is made of only covers of the world-renowned Irish hit Danny Boy . Who would make such a thing?” Jazz grinned as her brother expertly stopped at the redlight. “Great job, Danny. You’re doing great.”

“Please, just kill me Jazz. This is cruel and unusual punishment,” Danny said, reaching to turn the car radio off. Jazz slapped his hand out of the way.

“Both hands on the steering wheel, Mister,” She admonished.

“Jazz, I’m sorry! Yes, the seagulls came through a portal. But they are just birds. Please just stop this torment,” Danny yelled over Johnny Cash.

“So interesting, little brother. I am really glad you told me,” Jazz said. She clicked the radio. A fiddle introduced the Daniel O’Donnell version of the song. Danny made an inhuman noise of distress, causing goosebumps on Jazz’s arms.

Jazz directed him, sometimes yelling over the Irish tune to make herself heard. Danny moaned and groaned, throwing quite a tantrum over each iteration of the song as they faded into the next. His driving did not reflect his words, though. Jazz only had to correct him slightly, warning him that he was drifting into other lanes here and there. She considered asking him about the “not-legal driving” he had insinuated, as it really was impressive that this was his first time. Instead, Jazz sang along happily as her brother screeched his displeasure. Before they knew it, they were pulling into the ice cream shop. Danny was shrieking nonsense over the blaring music. A few people in the parking lot gave the car an odd look.

Jazz flicked the radio off, but Danny continued to scream until the car was completely parked. She scrunched her face as the blaring noise.

“You good?” She asked, as he stopped for breath. He gave one more inhuman shriek before ceasing. He intangibly reached into the cd player and pulled out the cd, cracking it in half.

“I am now,” He smiled. Jazz rolled her eyes, before opening the car door.

Scream had really pulled out all the stops for their ghostly ice cream theme. She had only caught a glimpse when they had driven by before. Little blob ghost silhouettes were pasted on all of the windows, statues of some of the more well known ghosts were positioned around the building. Fairy lights were strewn around the outside, each one fitted with a little green ghost bulb. The very front had an almost to scale statue of Phantom, though anyone who actually got close to Phantom could see little mistakes in the appearance. They couldn’t stand there examining every decoration, though. They had groceries in the car.

“They just can’t get my nose right,” Danny whispered, causing Jazz to giggle. Jazz opened the door for her brother and followed him in. The walls were papered with articles about the different ghost attacks as well as drawn art of the different ghosts. Streamers hung from the ceiling, wrapped around themselves in such extravagant swirls and twists that the ceiling was completely hidden in the green and purple paper.  The ice cream was set up behind a counter, as any other ice cream shop would have it. But there were also shelves filled with different merchandise. T-shirts, cups, and hats with little ghosts. The logo for Scream clearly in view.

There was not a very long line, only about four people in front of the siblings. This gave them plenty of time to peruse the different flavors and options. It wasn’t a franchise, so they didn’t have as many options as a corporation like Baskin Robbins. Apparently, they even changed their flavors weekly. Jazz thought that was smart for the small time company. But she had to wonder how much money they blew on decorating the place.

Danny was cackling at the flavor names. Jazz just ignored them. More puns. Of course more puns. Did Danny give input for this place or was he just corrupting the entirety of Amity Park? It wouldn’t surprise her if puns became more popular because of a certain Ghost Hero’s penchant for using them in his witty banter. Witty in quotation marks.

“That will be $20.22. Will that be cash or card,” Jazz turned to where a worker was passing a cone to an elderly gentleman and what she assumed was his grandson. The older man whistled.

“That sure is pricey,” He said as he reached for his wallet.

“You get what you pay for. We only use the best ingredients,” The worker said unenthusiastically. The cashier waited for the elderly man to pull out his money, but the grandfather seemed distracted. He started telling the young whippersnapper about how things used to be and how far he could make a dollar go back during the depression. Jazz tuned it out as she continued to look at the options.

“Actually, Jazz. Maybe we shouldn’t do this today,” Jazz turned to Danny. He was looking away from her so she couldn’t read his expression. “This is probably going to take a while, and we do have groceries in the car.”

“It’s fine, Danny. There aren’t that many people waiting. We have time,” Jazz assured him.

“I mean, it is already getting late. And I still have to make that pie without Mom noticing. So maybe we should just leave,” Danny rubbed the back of his neck.

“We’re already here. I thought it was a medical necessity that you get some ice cream?” Jazz was confused. He had been so insistent.

“Yeah, but I think we should just go. We don’t want to be late,” Danny said, turning toward the door.

“Wait, Danny,” Jazz grabbed her brother’s arm. “We came all the way here. And I know you still want some ice cream so why-?”

“It’s nothing, Jazz. I just changed my mind,” Danny refused to make eye contact with her, but glanced over at the man still regaling the tired employee with the value of a dollar. Jazz followed his gaze, before it clicked. Danny was flushed with embarrassment, hand hovering over the pocket that held his wallet. A wallet she would guess was quite a bit lighter after buying gifts. One that was often empty because of ghost related costs.

“You know, I’m feeling really bad about subjecting you to all of those covers of Danny Boy . How about I pay for the ice cream this time instead?” Jazz said.

“Wait, you don’t have to do that,” Danny said, finally meeting her eyes.

“I don’t have to, but I am going to. It wasn’t very ethical of a future psychologist to subject my younger brother to musical torment. Even if it was my right as an older sister. Just don’t get it in my car. Besides, that Coffee Carnage ice cream actually sounds really delicious,” Jazz pulled Danny back over next to the display. Danny made another half-hearted attempt to leave but Jazz ignored him. “What are you going to get?”

“...I guess the Harshmallow Chocolate Chunk,” Danny sighed.

“Even you know that that pun is bad, right?” Jazz asked. Danny snorted.

“No such thing,” He chuckled. The line finally moved.

The siblings got their ice cream and Jazz grabbed so many napkins that the employees had to step in to limit her. The Fenton's walked out of the shop, eating their ice cream and heading for the car. Jazz decided to drive the remainder of the way home, and Danny did not object. It was a little difficult to eat ice cream and drive. And neither Jazz nor Danny felt comfortable with Danny attempting that on his first day. Jazz stuffed the napkins all around Danny to make sure that he didn’t drop the sticky chocolate marshmallow creation on her interior.

“Jazz, I’m fifteen not five. I’m not going to drop it in your car,” He rolled his eyes before fumbling his cone. He had to catch the scoop in his fingers as it threatened to tip off into his lap.

“Right, that makes me feel so much better,” Jazz said as she watched her brother lick his fingers clean. “If my car is chocolate-covered after this, you are going to wish that I still had that CD.”

“Sir, yes, sir!” Danny saluted with his sticky hand. Jazz suppressed a groan and pulled out onto the road. She forgot to take an alternate route and soon Danny was pointing out every Road Work Ahead sign on the road. She felt the muscle in her eye twitching.

After threatening to shove her ice cream in Danny's face if he didn't stop, Danny focused on eating his treat. Jazz kept glancing at him from the corner of her eye. When Danny smirked like that, it usually didn't bode well. Even so, the younger sibling didn't pull anything even after Jazz parked in the Fenton driveway. Suspicious.

Unfortunately, Jazz didn't have time to grill her little brother on the mischief he was planning. As soon as the car was stopped, he shoved the final bit of his cone in his mouth (paper and all, ew Danny) had unbuckled and flung himself out of the car. Jazz watched as her brother scrambled to grab every bag at one time, nearly dropping most of them.

"You're going to drop the eggs," Jazz warned.

"No I'm not," Danny said.

He dropped the egg carton and they would have splattered on the ground if he had reacted even a moment slower. However, precariously balanced on his knee wasn't a super stable place to be. Jazz grabbed it from him, raising an eyebrow. He chuckled nervously, attempting to rub the back of his neck. But the plastic bag on his wrist slapped him in the face. Jazz bent over with laughter, which Danny joined.

Danny and Jazz walked into the house and straight to the kitchen. She started to put the eggs in the refrigerator, but thought better of it. Danny was going to use them soon anyway. She sat them on the counter and turned to the rest of the supplies. She reached out to unpack the groceries, when suddenly Danny was there blocking her way.

"I got this. You don't need to do that," Danny said quickly.

"I know I don't need to, but I want to. It's just a few things," Jazz said.

"Yeah, but you've already done so much! And I've taken up almost all of your Sunday. Didn't you have to do something for-um. You have a penpal, right? Or, er- the kid you tutor in English online. Weren’t you supposed to message them today?" Danny fidgeted. Jazz's eyes widened before she glanced at her watch.

"Oh, Ancients, you're right! I was supposed to message him twenty minutes ago!" Jazz said, she ran out of the kitchen. She called back "Let me know if you need any help!"

It turns out, her tutee was running late as well. So, no harm done. Jazz spent the next hour helping him, keeping a constant ear out for her little brother. Afterwards, she decided to get a little bit of her homework for next week done. She hoped Danny would come ask for help if he needed it. She hoped that he had learned that she was there for him. When she finally shut off her computer and walked down to check on Danny, he was placing the pie cautiously on the table. The whipped cream was a bit lopsided, but it looked cute.

"That looks nice, Danny," Jazz said. Danny beamed.

"Thanks. I had to cull some of the ectodogs in the fridge. They really wanted to take a bite out of me instead of the pie."

"Why don't I run upstairs and get my present? Then we can get Mom out of the lab to wish her a Happy Mothers day."

"Sounds good to me," Danny nodded. Jazz took a quick trip up to her room. She grabbed her perfectly wrapped gift and brought it downstairs. Danny had found a gift bag for the book, and it was sitting next to the pie. Jazz sat her gift next to the pie, as well. Before she could turn to the Lab, the door burst open and the heavily armed Fenton parents rushed out.

"Sorry, kids. You are going to have to find something for dinner tonight. We just got a call about a potentially haunted house over on Northshore. Don't wait up, okay?" Maddie Fenton said, rushing through the kitchen. Jack hot on her heels.

"Wait, but-"Jazz called after.

"No can do, Jazzy! A Fenton waits for nothing! Especially red lights," Jack Fenton called back. The front door slammed shut, and their parents were gone. Jazz just stood there, mouth ajar. Oh, Danny had worked so hard. And they were just going to leave? She turned to her little brother.

He was eating a slice of the key lime pie (how did he already slice it?). He seemed bored.

"Danny, I am so sorry-"

"Jazz, don't worry about it. We can give her our gifts later. It's not a big deal," Danny shrugged and took another bite of pie. "You want a piece?"

"Um, actually Danny, I don't really-"

"-like key lime pie? I know. I may be clueless, but I'm not blind," Danny grinned and pulled something from under the table. Jazz leaned forward to get a better look.

The little tiramisu she had seen at the store was sitting on a colorful platter. Jazz didn't know what to say.

"I just wanted to say thanks. You know, for letting me drag you all over Amity today. And teaching me how to drive. And for just always having my back, you know, in general," Danny rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly as Jazz took the platter, still speechless. "You're a great big sister, and I love you. I guess. But if you tell anyone about this conversation, I will deny everything."

Jazz fingered the platter-no not a platter. The smooth surface was much too light. Gave too much under the weight of the tiny cake. She picked up the plastic box the cake was in and felt a wet prickle in her eye.

Bearburt Knows It All by C.L. Werk. Jazz gently sat the plastic box on the table and ran a finger over the shiny cover. She traced the letters slowly with her finger, just as she did the first time she read it. She looked up at Danny, who was fidgeting in his seat. He stuffed another bite of pie in his mouth. Jazz laughed wetly, and rushed around the table. She folded her brother into a tight hug, ignoring his protests.

“I love you too, Danny,” Jazz sobbed. Danny chuckled before hugging Jazz as well. Both relished the moment of peace their life so desperately needed.

Words are hard. It's hard to express only in words the love between two siblings. Because it wasn’t always tender. It wasn’t always kind. It was chaotic, and loud, and full of energy. Even with all the words Jazz knew, she knew that no word could ever explain the feeling in that moment. So she held her brother tight, and she would always hold him tight. Because he may drive her crazy, but she wouldn’t miss it for the world.

[nev3rfound]

bitter sweet : p.p

brief summary: being tonys daughter and feeling resentful that peter always spent more time with your dad than you did. that resent dies down after his death, as peter begins to comfort you in these difficult times

word count: 2.5k requested: yes, by the lovely @tearsforhan warnings: endgame spoilers 

* masterlistin’ 

* commissions (i’ll keep adding it as i hope someday it might get clicked lmao)

Ever since he showed up alongside your Dad, you could tell things were going to be different. The kid had a bright goofy smile, that glint in his eyes that your Dad couldn’t resist. You knew you were going to be cast into the shadows, let him take the limelight as your Dad focused his time and energy into him, not you. 

Sitting in your Dad’s lab, you worked in the corner with your back turned, headphones on. It was one time you could truly zone out from everything and focus on making something that’ll benefit someone, maybe even yourself. You could work, hum along to songs and not be interrupted. That was until Peter came bounding in behind your Dad, muttering apologies to the inanimate objects he nudged. 

You would roll your eyes, seeing the excitement lighting up in Peter’s face as your Dad would like to him like he was the son he never had. At that point, you would turn back around, not wanting to listen to all the great things your Dad had lined up for Peter, not you. 

When it came down to everything with Thanos, you were with your Mom. Pepper ran into the house, out of breath with wide eyes. She sat you down, held your hands and explained what was going to happen and that you needed to stay safe. For once, you were not allowed to fight, you had to stay hidden and out of harm's way. 

“I might lose your Dad, I can’t lose you too.” You remember your Mom telling you those specific words as tears lined her eyes. She wanted to be strong for you, but you knew she couldn’t, you were a young woman now, not a child. 

Sitting in the compound, you felt it happen. The snap occurs as your Mom gripped your hand tightly. Neither of you knew what it meant, but you could feel it, you felt part of you being pulled away. 

As the Avengers returned, half of the team that is you watched them all. You waited to see your Dad exit the Quinjet, eager to go help him. But as Steve stepped down, no one was walking behind him. He watched as tears filled your eyes as sobs began to escape your lips. Pepper shook her head, not wanting to believe it. “I’m sorry.” Is all Steve could say. 

Later, you learnt he was alive. No one knew where he was, or if he was still alive. But everyone hoped he was, everyone needed Tony to still be alive. You and Pepper needed it more than the world right now, he was your family first and foremost.

The evening you saw a bright flash of light across the sky, you were on the roof with Natasha. She was trying to figure a few things out, track who was lost when it happened. You stood up, hand resting on her shoulder as a woman glowing held a ship above her head. 

You all ran down to see her step forward, pulling the door off as an exhausted Nebula walked out. No one ran to her, but she was never one to expect a warm reception it turns out. But as your Dad took an uneasy step, you ran without thought. He held you close, breathing in the smell of home as you felt him quietly sob. 

With the help of Pepper, Tony made it down the steps of the ship where Steve stepped forward. “I lost the kid.” Is all your Dad managed to make out before he fell to the ground.

*

Five long years had passed by. You stayed in New York whilst your parents moved out of the city. Every weekend, you would go and visit, sit with Morgan and play with her. Everyone needed the time away, you could understand why they picked the place. 

When you were with your family, no one spoke of it. In the house, it was only about your family, you didn’t have to discuss the extended family Morgan had never met. You just knew this was your escape, a getaway whenever you needed it. 

Then everything began to change, and it happened too quickly for you to comprehend. The chance of bringing everyone back was no longer impossible, it became highly possible due to the man you met briefly who drooled over Steve. You watched with Morgan as your Dad began to work in the house, looking at 3D displays as he picked them apart.

And then, the plan worked. 

You were with Morgan, playing with the prototypes of the Iron Man suit. She loved the pieces that fit together like jigsaws. Even at a young age, you knew she was destined to have that inventor gene you had. You could just see it in her big eyes as you explained it with long words she couldn’t say, but she listened with her full attention. 

The sound echoed throughout the world. A quick snap that created a wave of energy to surpass. You glanced out of the garden, seeing the trees all sway in the same direction, a ripple cross over the entire lake and Morgan’s tent fall over. 

“What was that?” Morgan questioned, looking up to you at the time as you smiled, bringing her into a tight hug. 

“That was half the world returning home.” 

*

Despite everyone being brought back, not everyone made it home. 

You couldn’t comprehend it. The fact he was really gone and wasn’t coming back. There wasn’t anything to be done to save him, Strange couldn’t reverse time and stop it. All you could do was accept it, even if the truth weighed down on your heart like a pain you couldn’t fathom. 

The day of Tony’s funeral, everyone turned up at the house. You saw faces you hadn’t seen in years. To them, they remembered you as a younger girl, a teenager. But you were almost eighteen, you weren’t a frightened child who hid from the weird-looking people who wandered the compound. Instead, you embraced them. 

Standing next to Morgan, you could feel their eyes full of sorrow for you as Pepper placed Tony’s heart, still encased in the glass on top of the flowers. You look over your shoulder, seeing the pain in Peter’s eyes as he glanced over to you, his face screaming with apologies. 

Turning around, you wiped the tears in your eyes as Pepper pushed the flowers out. She turned around and held both you and Morgan close, refusing to let either of you go. 

*

You made the decision that you couldn’t stay there. Everything that surrounded the house reminded you too heavily of your Dad. You wanted to help rebuild the compound after it was destroyed by Thanos, that it was the right thing to do to help start a new chapter in your life. 

At no point in doing so were you alone. Sam helped with everything, and he found comfort in talking to you about what is next. Bruce was ideal in the heavy lifting, and Bucky often scared the construction workers with an accidental glare. 

Once the compound was rebuilt, you worked with what was left from the original building. You wandered the corridors on countless nights as sleep was no longer a friend, it became your enemy. 

Every night, you would lie in bed and scream at your body to shut down. No matter how long you had been awake, how tirelessly you worked your body nothing was enough. If by some means you managed to shut your eyes, all you could do was picture the moment you couldn’t be a part of; seeing your Dad die. 

Of late, you keep finding Peter in the compound. It didn’t bother you as such, what did bother you was his attempts at making conversation with you. It wasn’t necessarily his fault that he idolised your Dad, and that he became close with him. But that doesn’t mean the pain still lingers when you see Peter holding your Dads old glasses, or talking to Wanda about the new suit that was left for him. 

He didn’t mean any harm by talking about Tony, it helped him come to terms with it all. But that’s the thing about grief, it affects people differently. For Peter, talking about it to those who understand helps him. For you, keeping quiet and avoiding the subject until you feel as if you’re about to burst is how you cope. So, you avoided him when you heard FRIDAY greet him through the hallways.

Sometimes, you couldn’t avoid him. He would wave to you with a big smile despite the redness in his face from crying whilst you remained stoic. “Hey Y/n, how, how are you doing?” Peter stumble over his words, but you didn’t always respond. “Okay I, I’ll see you around.” He’d call to you as you walked in the opposite direction, clenching your jaw as you picture all the times you felt like you were pushed aside to make room for Peter.  

*

There wasn’t anything unusual about today. You were still sleep deprived as nightmares plagued your mind during your attempt at sleep once again, and you sat on the roof all night talking up at the sky. Part of you felt that maybe he’s out there somewhere, looking down with Natasha tutting away about the choices you’ve all made. He’s probably telling you to go travel, see the rest of the world.

But you weren’t ready to fully move on, not just yet. 

Wandering through the corridors, you grip your coffee tightly in your hand. “FRIDAY, where is Wanda?” You call out, sipping your drink.

“Miss Maxinoff is currently training with Sargent Barnes, Miss Y/l/n. Would you like me to inform her you’re looking for her?” 

A small sigh leaves your lips as you shake your head. “No thanks, FRIDAY. I’ll try her again later.” You speak up to the AI as you look around to find yourself near the only original piece of the compound that was left standing. 

Ever since the work had been done, this was the only area you avoided. Mostly because everything was so raw when it was being mended, but now you knew if you went in, you’d be flooded with emotions.  

Letting out a heavy breath, you step forward and walk toward the lab. As you push the door open, memories return instantly. You look around, your fingertips trailing along the surfaces of the spots your Dad frequently worked at, creating all sorts of new things and figuring out how to better the old. 

Tears began to prick your eyes as you look over at the desk you once worked at. All the papers that covered it are gone, much like anything your Dad left in here. 

“I miss you so much Dad.” You call out into the room as you lean against the main console, pressing a button accidentally and watch as it flashes up.

“This better be on.” You hear your Dad sigh heavily as he looks tired, his face lacking fullness as his eyes bore into the lense. 

You stand still, listening to your Dad. It was recorded when he was trapped in space with Nebula, what he thought would be his last words. “And to Y/n who I hope never has to see this footage.” He pauses as he wipes his eyes heavily, an action you’re copying as you sniff loudly. “You’ll always make me proud, and to have you as my daughter, someone who is smart, witty and has the effortless charm every Stark has is something else.” A small laugh escapes your lips as you lean closer, lifting your hand up only to have it pass through the projection. “You’re going to do good Y/n. Whatever you do in life, you’ll be doing the right thing. I love you, honey, take care of your Mom for me.” 

As the tape comes to an end, you fall to the ground. Sobs wrack your body after all this time of holding them back. You wanted to be strong for your Mom and Morgan, show everyone you could hold it together. But you can’t always be the strongest person in the room, not now anyway.

Bringing your legs close to your chest, you bury your face in your knees. You remain oblivious to the door opening, the sound of a sad sigh sounding from Peter as he spots you curled up in the middle of the room.

Peter remains silent. Instead of speaking up, he walks over and kneels down beside you, hesitantly reaching out and places his hand on top of yours.

The unexpected action causes you to jump and kick whoever is in front of you. With a haltered sob, you look to see Peter lying on the ground. “P,Peter?” You stutter, watching as he easily sits back up in front of you, half a smile on his face.

“Hey, I, are you alright?” He questions, brows furrowed together in concern.

Ever since Tony died and once the compound had been rebuilt, Peter came into the lab frequently. He felt he could talk to Tony in there, as crazy as it seemed. In this space, he felt inspired to better his suit, better himself to become the man he wants to be. What he hadn’t anticipated was finding you in here.

You shake your head. “Does it look like I’m okay?” You scoff lightly, but immediately feel pain burn through you. “Sorry, I, I found a video of my Dad when he was stuck in space.” You speak slowly, feeling your body shaking as Peter reaches out, taking your hand in his and listens to every word. “I, I never got to say goodbye, and that was the closest I’ll ever get.” 

As you finish, the sobs return and you shuffle closer into Peter, letting him hold you close. He hushes you gently, not wanting to let go of you in this fragile state. All this time, he’s admired you. You were Y/n Stark, the girl everyone in his school knew. Most of the guys dreamt of meeting you more than Tony because you were their age. But Peter always saw past your beauty, he could see how alike you were to Tony. You were deeply intelligent, an innovator at heart. 

“He told me to tell you,” Peter slowly speaks up, knowing now is the time to tell you.

Lifting your head up, you look at him closely. “He said something to you?”You whisper, afraid to raise your voice any higher as it might crack.

Peter nods, watching the tears pool in your eyes once again. “He said you’ll be fine, no matter what. He loved you so much, Y/n.” Peter can feel the tears falling from his eyes as he pictures himself in front of Tony, half his body burnt as Pepper held back her sobs. 

You shuffle closer, resting in Peters's arms as you both remain seated in the middle of the lab. “Thank you Peter.” You tell him, not wanting to let go of the boy you once resented for how much time he spent with your Dad. Yet, you thanked him now, as he was able to share your Dad’s last words. 

[crapitskizaru]

Still Alive. (Revenant!‌Trafalgar Law x Reader)

Warning: proof that undead law could still be hot lmao

Word Count: 1,4k

The untold numbers of ghosts, vampires, and zombies casually passing by slowly start to feel overwhelming, but you keep your cool nonetheless; your alcoholic drink lost somewhere among the tables, untouched.

As your gaze dozes off, you start to wonder. How would life be if those weren’t costumes?‌‌‌ If the world was indeed filled with the supernatural and the unearthly, as most of us dream about. If there was something more to the blunt reality we know and are forced to live in.

Naturally, if any of your theories were true, you wouldn’t be standing among the monsters as calmly as you are now. Their teeth, fangs, claws, and hands would be trying to reach you, devour you, kill you. So maybe things aren’t as bad as it may seem in that blunt reality of yours.

You flinch, taken by surprise, as Ace bares his fangs at you. “Those are killing my gums!‌‌”‌ he mewls, mouth opening wide to specifically show you what he’s talking about. “See?‌‌ Are they bleeding already?”‌

“You don’t have to wear them,”‌ you sigh as he leans against the counter beside you. “It’s quite obvious you’re a vampire.”‌

The frills on Ace’s seemingly old-time suit keep on shuffling with each of his enthusiastic movements, a huge jewel on his chest and a top hat being ruffled between his quick fingers - all of the masquerade crowned by dried-up blood smeared on the boy’s face and neck.

He gasps dramatically. “What kind of vampire doesn’t have fangs?‌ I’d rather bleed out than take those off.”‌

“Then suffer.”‌‌ You cut him short and reach for the orange juice he was sipping on. “It’s not like anyone cares about costumes anymore.”

The moaning mass of your friends sprawled on the floor in the living room only confirming your words, the pungent smell of vodka lingering in the air and irritating your nose. The party seems to be coming to an unpleasant end.

“What do you mean?‌‌ They’ll sober up soon,”‌ Ace smirks. “I still have scary video games, horror movies queued on Netflix, eyeballs for the eyeball race, pumpkins and knives, toilet paper-”‌

“Toilet paper?”

“For mummy-making.”‌ He seems surprised that you needed an explanation. “And a whole bunch of balloons to pop.”‌

Before your brain can comprehend this huge amount of confusing information, you decide it’d be far better to catch a quick breath outside - away from the alcoholic stench.

Throwing Ace a short excuse, you storm off into the chilly air of the night, able to take a deep, clean inhale. There is a feeling of excitement as your lungs are filled with the distant smell of rain and damp forest that grows near Ace’s house. The night of Halloween is always the pleasant one in your memories.

The closer you get to the edge of the woods, the more they seem to draw you in, replacing the dizzy state in your mind with calmness.

And yet, something is not right. Something lingers at the back of your head, in the corner of your eye, at the bottom of your stomach, but you cannot place just what it is.

At least until you spot a figure standing not that far away, leaning against a tree. Without seeing their face, you know their eyes are on you.

“Hey?‌”‌ you start, walking closer. “Not a fan of parties?”‌

Ace has a ton of friends, but this one you can’t make out. And you are sure you would have remembered meeting him before - with the tall figure, dark hair and sharp gaze, he’s not the type to be forgotten easily.

“Too loud,”‌ he says without moving his eyes from you. “Too many people.”‌

The moon is not your ally tonight; without its light, you find it difficult to check out the stranger further and possibly nag Ace with questions about him later.

For one thing, the lighting is not needed. The pale shade of his skin strikes your eyes, dividing his figure from the black extent of the forest behind his back. So pale it resembles more a moribund patient just as death is about to take them than a normal teenager.

“Cold.”‌ You shudder in the frigid air. He’s not showing any signs of the cool bothering him, however, despite wearing only a button-up shirt. “How are you not freezing your ass out here?”‌

He sends you a sad smile. “I’m just used to it.”‌

That was it - no more words, no follow-up questions, no interest. You start to think you’d prefer Ace’s company over this guy’s, even if the goon is probably laying in his own vomit at this point.

“Well then, good for you. I‌ guess I’ll go ba-”

“No,”‌ he says sharply, taking a step forward. “No, please. Stay.”‌

There is a harsh tone in his voice, one that doesn’t leave any space for negotiations. With a hint of hunger?‌ You disregard the thought immediately. How can someone sound hungry?

“Uh, okay. Are you alright?”‌

“Yes…Yes. Just…this particular night always gets me.”‌

“Oh, it’s amazing.”‌ You breathe in the cold air.‌ “Out of this world.”

Your words seem to amuse him as he drags his hand along the spruce trunk slowly. Only after a few seconds, you notice he did it to cover the fact that he’s gotten even closer.

“Some believe the night of Halloween is the most dangerous one in the year,”‌ he starts, fixing his gaze on you, taking in your whole frame. “And what do you think?”‌

“What is there to be scared of?‌ What’s the danger?”‌ you ask. “Pumpkins? Plastic decorations?”

He chuckles. “I suppose you’re not one to be scared of monsters under your bed.”‌

“There’s no proof they exist.”

“What if there was one?”

You start to think his sad smile feels unnatural. But, now that he’s definitely closer than before, you can see the smoothness of his skin, the darkness of his irises and the irresistible aura around him, one that tells you to take a step forward.

“I’d want to see it,”‌ you whisper, furrowing your eyebrows while admiring the man. He’s still hidden in the shadow of the woods, his expression curious and fixed on you.

“So…close,” he mutters, reaching up with his hand as if to cup your cheek. But then his eyes flutter, you can see him retreating into the dark. “Ah. My apologies.”‌

You are about to ask just what he was apologizing for, but instead, your thoughts focus on the way the corners of his mouth lift up again, how soft his lips look. You want to know how they would feel on yours.

“I just wanted to feel you.”‌ His voice turns almost inaudible, spoken in a hushed tone, but you don’t blame him.

Shooting your surroundings a quick glance, there’s no one in sight, the party noises somewhat muffled when coming from the direction of the house, as if you are hearing them through thick glass.

And so you are not worried about a thing when your legs push you forward towards the darkness and onto the stranger, your mouth catching his in a shallow manner. It’s not supposed to be passionate or emotional - much rather it is curious, discovering, full of interest.

Instead of surprised, he seems overwhelmed, but he doesn’t break away; you indulge into the sensation, open up your senses to the softness of the affection, the close proximity of another person, the blood rushing in your ears.

“Tell me how it feels then,”‌ you mumble into the kiss and, without waiting for a reply, dive right back into him.

But then you feel his movements turn greedy, hungry, as he reaches forward to claim your lips deeper. Your hands find themselves traveling up his arms and slipping into his hair, noses brushing against each other, tongues touching.

You are not aware of anything other than the way he feels; that is, until his chest presses up to yours and you lose your balance, forced to take a step back and through the border of the forest, straight into the moonlight that seeps through the clouds.

His whole body tenses under your touch and you use it as an opportunity to pull back and catch a quick breath - an action you immediately regret, your gasp ends up muffled by your palm.

It’s like he had been replaced during those few seconds when you kissed. The skin you trailed with your fingers now covered in blisters, its shade turned sickly and ill, the eyes you stared so deeply into bleary and fogged over, the lips you caressed dried up.

This time there’s no question to the way he looks at you - hungry, ravenous, starved.

The moonlight reflects in his white eyes. “Makes me wish I was still alive.”‌

[missnmikaelson-main]

The Forgotten Chapter 24

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5 , Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, Chapter 11, Chapter 12, Chapter 13, Chapter 14, Chapter 15, Chapter 16, Chapter 17, Chapter 18, Chapter 19, Chapter 20, Chapter 21 , Chapter 22, Chapter 23

Her hair hadn't dried yet, choosing instead to soak into Rebekah’s borrowed blouse and transform the material into something uncomfortable and transparent around the shoulders. She despised letting the dark tresses air dry, but she had run from the mansion without a thought to her appearance, barely taking the time to ensure she was decent; somehow that was the image that stuck with him.

The second quake before she reached Elijah had only made her antsier; personally it was the wind that had set him off.

He really wished he had something to do besides dwelling on his thoughts and her words.

He doubted his abilities to help her current task, however with Elijah in charge of the elixir there was nothing else to do aside from watching the witches, a task that Rebekah had taken over, citing his history of blind rage and the importance of Agnes.

So he found himself left to his own devices while his siblings cleaned the mess he made and Elena left to reason with a moody teenager.

He shook the broken crystal from the inside of one of two unharmed glasses, poured two fingers of bourbon, stared at the liquid and then filled the tumbler to the brim.

"Thirsty?"

He glanced over his shoulder as Finn strode into the sitting room.

"Evidently I have looming problems,” he downed the glass, refilling it.

"And the alcohol is helping?" Finn dusted off a chair and sat.

"No," he drank.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"No," he downed a third glass and refilled it. "Yes," he sighed.

He dropped into the seat beside Finn and braced his elbows on his knees, staring at the half filled tumbler.

"Elena..." he inhaled slowly, "... She wanted to put off the conversation."

"Conversation?"

Kol sipped his bourbon, licking his lips.

“She's pregnant,” he sighed. "Impossible, I know, but she is."

"Yours?" Finn cleared his throat.

"No, Nik's," he rolled his eyes, “of course it's mine."

"And that's a problem?" Finn arched a brow.

"She said one problem at a time," he tipped the glass back and forth. "The elixir will be here in a few hours, and then the Harvest."

"And then you'll discuss the ‘problem’,” he nodded, tilting his head. "Elena doesn't seem like the type of woman to view a baby as a problem; she raised one, and from what I understand she was prepared to raise him with you."

"That was different,” his stomach dropped.

"I fail to see how," Finn frowned.

"Because this one is mine,” he snapped. “She loves kids – I know she loves children – but you can't deny that we are all a little touched in the head, Finn.” He shook his head, staring at the tumbler. “Maybe that's the problem."

Finn pulled the glass from his hands. "You need to relax. Elena just received impossible information a century after she gave up on the idea of ever carrying her own child. Perhaps she can't fully comprehend it, so she's focusing her energy on what she can understand."

"What if she doesn't want it?" His voice was so quiet Finn almost missed it. "I can't make her..."

"You want it, don't you?" Finn saw the truth in his baby brother's eyes. "Talk to her before you jump to conclusions. I doubt your legacy is what worries her."

"How can you be so sure of that?" He scoffed, shaking his head.

"You may be a demon, Kol,” he clapped his shoulder, "but Elena – despite her nature - is quite obviously an angel; you'll balance each other out. Besides, there is a chance the child will take completely after her."

Kol couldn't stop the huff of amusement, but he sobered quickly. "There's a chance I'm right."

"Talk to her, brother,” he sighed meeting his eyes, “and try to remember that there are more issues at play than the Mikaelson madness."

++++

“Are you certain she's still here?” Elena stared up at the brick facade of St. Anne's; the surrounding street seemed to have suffered the worst of the earthquake.

"Marcel wouldn't have had time to move her,” Thierry glanced sideways. "Did you have to beat him so hard?"

She spun to stand in front him, reached up and cupped his cheeks.

"He hurt my baby,” her eyes hardened, “and nobody hurts my baby.” She stretched up, kissing his cheek. "This will probably take awhile, so why don't you go over to the Cauldron and check on Katie? Make sure she's not stuck under some shelves."

He lowered his eyes.

"Thierry, what's...oh no,” her heart stuttered. "Oh no... baby. What happened?"

“I uh...” he lifted his chin and found a spot on the bricks to stare at. “I killed a vampire that attacked her, and she...” a tear slipped down his cheek. "She knew what would happen, so she tried to k-kill Marcel."

He shook his head.

"One thing at a time, right?" He stepped back. "I'm gonna check the side streets – make sure nobody's hurt. I can grieve later. She's in the attic."

Elena watched him go for a moment before closing her eyes and inhaling slowly. A gale force wind tore through the street, knocking her sideways. She gripped the railing, using it to guide her inside.

She hurried through the sanctuary aisle passed the sacristy and up the stairs. She followed the clatter of window shutters to a threshold she couldn't cross.

Beyond the open door she saw the young girl shivering and struggling against an invisible force.

"Davina?" She called. “You need to let me in. I can help you."

Tears swam in large blue eyes, tugging at Elena's heart; she ran inside when the girl whispered her invitation and knelt. She pressed the heel of her palm to Davina's sternum and whispered, listening to her heart and breathing slow.

The wind calmed with her.

Once, she had felt the endless stretch of time and had done everything in her power to speed it up, but now that time was no longer on her side and she should have been hurrying along, she couldn't bring herself to do it before Davina was emotionally ready to talk, so Elena smoothed sweat damp hair from Davina's face and hummed a snippet of song concealed in the corner of her mind until that exact moment as her strong arms held the girl to her chest.

She could give her a minute, so she did.

She hummed while Davina drew in ragged breaths and sniffled and when she did look up Elena met her red rimmed eyes.

"What are you?" Confusion swam in her gaze. "I felt you using magic earlier."

"I'm a witch and a vampire," Elena sat back on her knees, brushing some damp earth away. “You threw this up, didn't you?"

Davina looked down and blinked fast, but tears still slipped out. Elena grasped her hands.

"I need you to stay calm, okay? Just stay calm; if you get upset you'll only make it worse,” Elena drew in a slow breath. "You know what's happening?"

"I’m dying?" She swallowed.

"Yes," Elena nodded. "I won't lie to you, Davina. You can ask anyone and they'll tell you that Elena Gilbert is a terrible liar. I suck at it." She tried for a laugh, but it didn't quite come out. "The magic from the other Harvest girls is consuming you, and it's gonna take the city with it; you can save everyone by completing it."

Davina scrambled backwards. "The witches sent you!"

"No,” Elena held up her hands. "I sent myself, and I don't do anything for people who would murder innocent children. If I could undo this mess I would, but I can't. I can't guarantee that the Harvest works and I can't promise to save your friends, but I can try to save you, and you can save everyone in New Orleans."

"How?” Davina searched her eyes as Elena smiled.

"There's this elixir."

++++

"How is she?" Kol cleared his throat, startling Elena from whatever thought had puckered her brow.

Elena glanced back toward the bedroom where she had placed Davina under the effects of a light sleeping spell.

"She was anxious,” her fingers drummed over the table near the door.

"She's still in agreement, though?" Kol lifted her hand and gave her cold fingers a squeeze. His attention was split between her pale features and Davina's erratic heart. “I don't enjoy the idea of dragging a screaming child to her death."

"She'll do it; she's just scared, and her fear makes her deteriorate faster," her breath quickened," and the longer it takes for the elixir to get here..."

He cupped her cheeks and tipped her head up to meet her eyes.

"You need to calm down, my love," he murmured. "There were a few delays because of the weather, but someone from Mystic Falls should be here soon and then this will be over. Why don't you go outside and get some air?"

"I can't,” she shook her head. "I have to watch Davina in case she..."

"I can sit with her," he cut her off, "and if she wakes up I can put her back under. Go and get some air, or blood,” his thumb stroked her pale cheeks, "I'll find you if anything changes. I promise." He pressed a tender kiss to her forehead.

She nodded with her eyes closed and exhaled. In a daze she took the stairs and found the kitchen. The stocked fridge beckoned to her, specifically a bowl of grapes and a bag of B-positive. She took both out onto the porch, placed them on one chair and sat in the other.

She toyed with the bag of blood, but lifted her gaze to the sky.

Grey clouds roiled overhead, blotting out the setting sun and casting ominous shadows over the gravel drive.

Purple and green flashed through the heavens. She didn't even realize she had moved out from the veranda until the sky cracked open and the first droplets of water hit her hair.

No amount of magical sedation could stop what was coming.

Had she really been lying on a beach a few days ago?

She tipped her face upwards and the rain fell down. It soaked through her hair and plastered Rebekah's blouse to her chest, washing away the anxiety of the afternoon. She smoothed the wrinkles from her shirt, hands stopping on her abdomen.

Thunder rumbled.

Lightening flashed.

A million cells multiplied in her forgotten womb, creating a life that should have never existed.

She sucked in a breath and shook her head.

"One problem at a time."

Her eyes opened, flickering to the rental car as it crunched over dark earth and splashed through a puddle; they narrowed when the driver stepped from inside with a large umbrella.

She hurried over and slipped underneath.

“Damon,” her head tilted to the left, “what are you doing?"

"Rebekah called Matt and said you needed the elixir,” he reached into his pocket. "The quarterback called Stefan and I volunteered to bring it down here."

"You brought me something you don't believe in?" Her brows lifted. "Why?"

"Maybe I wanted to see you," his eyes twinkled. "Didn't you miss me?"

She ignored the question and took the familiar bottle with a murmured 'thanks' and moved to run inside.

"Elena?" He grabbed her arm.

She pulled it free and shook her head.

"One problem at a time."

She left him staring after her and raced inside, pausing long enough to show Rebekah the prize and tell her to get the witches.

It was time to finish the Harvest

++++

Truthfully she had feared the wrath of fire most. There was nothing quite as beautiful and destructive as fire. The city had known its rage twice since the arrival of the Mikaelson clan. She had felt that deadly heat on her skin –pulled Marcel from its jaws before he could be consumed by the ravenous hunger.

She had rebuilt the city in the wake of the tragedy with Marcel – her friend. She knew the devastation first hand.

Fire fueled by magic would be a million times worse.

Thankfully Davina had consumed the elixir and allowed Agnes to complete the Harvest. The earth lay still. The wind ceased. The rain tapered off.

For whatever reason, Davina trusted her.

Thousands lived, freed from agonizing death.

Davina trusted her.

She led the girl here.

She brought the calm.

She beckoned the quiet.

Davina trusted her.

Davina trusted her and now she laid with a great slash in her throat, blood soaking into her white dress. She appeared a mess next to the other girls.

The seconds ticked by, testing the convictions of the witches and the strength of Elijah's elixir. A sinking sensation gripped her gut, and she didn't know if she was going to explode, cry or throw up.

She stared at them as her breathing slowed, and then something happened; she swore their features changed into variations of her face and Kol’s.

It was Sophie's broken sobs that ripped her from the macabre sight. Her gaze landed on Agnes, and she knew what she was going to do.

There were no syllables to her scream, just rage. It tore from her throat as she tore the heart from Agnes chest and knocked her head off with a backhanded swing. Blood sprayed.

She shook under the shower of red, keeping her back to the others.

"Elena," Kol reached for her arm.

If it had been just him she would have sunk into his arms, but four innocent girls were dead and tears were prickling her eyes and everyone was watching and she hated people watching her cry.

She knew her voice would break, so she said nothing and pulled away, vanishing from the cemetery.

There was absolutely no chance that she would make it to the governor's mansion, she knew beyond a shadow of doubt halfway down Dauphine; it was too far and Thierry was on the other side of the river. Kol's house had burned in 1919 and the Playhouse lay behind.

A single option dangled in midair; she took it, skidding to a stuttering halt in the empty courtyard.

She fell to her knees, letting her tears fill the fountain.

She cried until she had nothing left to give and then pressed her heated brow to the freezing stone,  barely acknowledging the sudden approach of feet beyond a broken 'go away’.

She was almost in control; all she had to do was refrain from thinking about Davina or it – her fingers twitched toward her belly.

"Elena?"

Oh no, her spine stiffened. "Leave me alone," she whispered.

"How can I leave you alone when you're upset?" He crouched, pulling her up to sit on the fountain's edge.

"I’m...”

"Don't tell me you're not,” Damon rolled his eyes, “you've got misery written all over your face."

Her mouth snapped shut. She looked away; as if that would negate what he had seen.

"It was him, wasn't it?” Damon didn't give her a chance to respond. "I've heard rumors about Kol Mikaelson. They say he's a psychotic maniac."

Elena almost snorted at Kol's affectionate nickname for himself, but she didn't trust her voice to speak, and even if she did she wouldn't have known what to say. Damon had made up his mind a long time ago to hate the Originals.

"Did he hurt you?" He didn't believe her head shake. “You don't have to lie for him."

"I'm not lying, Damon,” she crossed her arms. The show of defiance had the added benefit of halting her trembles.

"You're not telling the truth,” he countered. "What's really bugging you Elena?"

"It's none of your business,” she gritted her teeth. Under her crossed arms butterflies swarmed.

"I'm trying to help-"

"How?” Elena cut him off. "How are you trying to help me? How is bad mouthing my lover supposed to help me? How is turning me into a victim supposed to help me?"

Fresh tears sprang up in her eyes. She stood abruptly when he reached for her.

“You’re not helping me," her voice crackled. "Why did you come here? Where...” she gasped for breath. “.Where’s Caroline? Where's Jeremy and Ric? Where's B-Bonnie? Any one of them would have come instead. Why you?"

"Blondie wanted to come,” he stood, stalking toward her. “She said I shouldn't come, but I told her I wanted to apologize to you."

She sniffed and squared her shoulders. "Go on, then."

"I didn't come here to apologize, Elena,” he scoffed. "Why would I? You and your psychotic boy toy both broke my neck, but I'm looking passed that. I came here to take you home."

"I am home,” she shook her head; a tear slipped free. "New Orleans is my home..." as she said it she knew it wasn't true. Home wasn't a place anymore, and it hadn't been for a while. "He is my home."

"And you've clearly been compelled,” he reached for her arms.

"I'm an original,” she sobbed. "I can't be compelled."

She hated herself for the tears. She wasn't sad. She was angry and frustrated, but someone – and she suspected she knew who – had rearranged the emotional triggers in her head.

"Something's going on,” he succeeded in grabbing her elbows. “Or else you wouldn't be crying. I'll take you home and Bonnie can fix it."

She pulled her arms free, fully prepared to shriek that she was crying because she was pregnant, but before she could open her mouth Damon flew through the air and crashed through the door into the bar.

She quickly realized where all of Marcel's vampires had been when music spilled out of the room she had once soundproofed; it cut off as Damon's body broke a table.

She was still staring when Kol appeared in the room and hoisted Damon by the back of his neck. It wasn't much of a fight, not that she had expected one; a newly turned Original could handle a vampire two centuries their senior with ease. It was after that point when things got messy.

Elena hurried into the bar, ducking out of the way of flying glass. A large hand pressed a small pile of napkins against her palm. She glanced down and followed the dark arm up to Marcel's abnormally pale features – still healing; he said nothing, just met her red eyes for a second then turned back to the fight.

In those precious seconds she somehow missed Kol finding the metal baseball bat that had once been Thierry's in the 1920's.

It swung and met skin with a sickening thud.

Pure rage flared in Kol's eyes. He brought the bat down once... twice... three times.

The aluminum broke.

He drove the sharp end through Damon's back, puncturing organs, severing the spine and pinning him to the floor.

Damon coughed up blood.

Kol kicked his ribs; growling between kicks.

"Did... you... not... learn after last time?"

Elena felt certain she had missed a part of the conversation.

"What would make you think she'd go anywhere with you?"

"I...” Damon wheezed, struggling against the bat, "I figured she w-would have come to her senses; thought she'd be ready to escape the family that ruined her life."

She recognized the mistake before Damon did, and if Kol said anything else it was lost under the blows. She heard nothing until he broke a piece of wood and Damon begged for mercy.

It was pitiful, really; she considered stepping in but her reflexes were slow. It didn't matter though since Kol’s arms were yanked backwards and he was restrained by his oldest brothers.

Elena turned her head to the left when a hand settled on her elbow.

"Are you okay?” Rebekah whispered.

She nodded, looking back to the middle of the room where Kol was reluctantly dropping the wood.

He kicked it away, holding up his palms.

Elijah exchanged a look with Finn; together they let go.

Kol sucked in a slow breath and stepped away. He crouched and lifted Damon's head; his voice held a dark promise.

"The next time you come anywhere near my Elena, or try to take her away from me. I'll make you suffer a more painful death then you could ever imagine. Have I made myself clear?"

When Damon didn't answer Kol stood and gave him a sharp kick in the ribs, repeating himself louder.

"Yes,” Damon choked.

Kol straightened his jacket. He caught Elena's eye and held her gaze for a moment before running from the bar.

Elena used the napkins to wipe at her cheeks, looking between Elijah and Finn who were both staring at her.

"What?" She balled up the napkins. "I didn't do anything."

"I think that's the point, love,” Rebekah rubbed her arm.

Suddenly she felt the stares of everyone. There was no use explaining what had happened. They saw an act she could have prevented, or at the very least lessened.

She lowered her eyes.

"I'm gonna go find Kol,” she murmured.

"I'm going to get a few whacks in,”Rebekah rubbed her hands together. She rolled her eyes when Elijah sighed.

"What? Do you like Damon now?"

"Of course not,” he scoffed, "but it's unsporting to kick a man when he's down. Marcellus," his eyes flickered across the room, "how's the spleen?"

"Regenerating."

That was the last thing Elena heard before running upstairs.

++++

His hands ran backwards through his hair, tugging sharply on the strands. He hadn't been able to stop. Outrage had burned through him the second he saw Damon's hands on her.

What had she told him? What was Bonnie going to ‘fix'? Was Damon right? Had he ruined her life?

He hadn't been able to stop. He was going to kill him. He was going to kill someone she called friend; part of him still wanted to.

He needed to do something, anything but wait out the silence; it was maddening.

He gripped the bedpost, considered breaking it. The bedroom door opened before he could come to a decision.

"That was a little possessive.”

"I'm a possessive man,” he sighed, meeting her bright eyes. "I would have been here sooner; he never would have touched you."

She padded across the bedroom floor, not angry merely curious. "What kept you?"

"The Harvest," he inhaled slowly. "The girls woke up after you left; that's one problem dealt with."

Elena's heart fluttered.

"That means it's time to discuss the next one,” his eyes slid to her stomach; he missed the knot in her brows. “If you don't want the baby, just tell me because I can't deal with this quiet."

“What are you talking about?" She closed the distance to lift his chin. "Of course I want the baby. Why wouldn't I want the baby? It's the perfect blend of you and me."

She took his hand to place on her stomach.

"Hopefully more you than me,” he swallowed.

He had never been one for tears – he couldn't even remember the last time he had cried – but he could feel the pressure behind his eyes. "Why did you call it a problem?"

"I wasn't talking about the baby Kol,” she sighed, pulling him down and sat on the edge of the bed. "I was talking about your aunt. I knew we'd have to deal with her eventually because of Hayley but then everything got really personnel really fast, and there was so much going on, and I just needed to think of something else."

She took a quick breath after the rush of words.

"I'm sorry if I made you think something else."

"I'm sorry for nearly killing your friend."

"It's Damon; odds are he deserved half of it, and he will heal and hopefully finally get the message to leave me alone." She managed a small laugh.

Quiet settled around them, not quite as heavy as before. The moment stretched out until Kol's voice broke it and reminded Elena how easy it was to lose explanations in chaotic situations.

"My aunt?"

@elejah-wonderland @elejahforever @eternityunicorn @morsmornte @fandomrulesall @xanderling @cry-btch @kol-and-elena-fanfiction @geekofmanyfandoms @xxbeckybeexx-blog @danielsharmansear

[varietydisco]

Holy Night

Pairing: Kars/Esidisi Rating: Teen and Up Tags: Silly but not crack, Mild blood & gore, Pillarman PDA, Blasphemy (probably) Word count: 3k

Description: While searching for the Super Aja, Kars and Esidisi indirectly crash the birth of Christ.

“Nice of the humans to invite us to the birth of god’s son, eh, Lord Kars?”

A/N: my @jjba-secret-santa for @the-little-birb-prince !! sorry this is so late, life comes atcha fast lol. happy new years !!! accompanying memes provided by @awfulradio​

Slivers of golden light cut through the holes in the boards and the silk tapestries covering the window. The light shone down across the far end of Kars’ desk; during the height of the day, the light came within inches of Kars’ workspace. As he slowly, carefully, carved away at chunks of stone to procure a mask, he felt the heat from the light against his skin.

It teased him, for it was close enough to touch, but too dangerous to dare.

It fuelled Kars, constantly tormenting himself with sights of what he couldn’t have yet. It made him work quicker, and more passionately.

The home they occupied was modest. It was on the edge of a desert city, close by an oasis. They hadn’t been here long, only a couple years yet— Wham kept himself occupied tending sheep, while Santana worked on his studies, and Esidisi...

Well, Kars liked to think that Esidisi was doing something important. Although, he had the sinking suspicion that gossiping with the local humans like an old hen was his biggest pastime. So long as it didn’t intrude on the work they needed to do, maybe it wasn’t all that bad.

Keeping everyone else occupied during the nights was good for Kars. That meant that he would have complete silence during the days and weeks where he locked himself in his workroom. Desperately, he wanted sleep, but it was too easy to ignore it all and focus on his work. So, when that sliver of light beside him reduced to nothing across his desk, Kars lit his candle and continued to work, expecting everyone else to quietly rise and go about their own activities.

Except today there came a screeching sound from down the hallway, shrill and full of pain, like an animal being mangled viciously. Thunderous footsteps followed it. Kars could feel the stone floor crack under every violent step. To salvage his work, Kars snapped up the mask he was carving and held it close to his chest.

The door crashed open and slammed against the wall with enough force that it almost collapsed said wall. Wham came tumbling in shortly after, wailing and bleeding everywhere.

“LORD KARS,” Wham announced, through the tears and the blood pouring out of his eyes. “SANTVEINTO, HE KEEPS HE KEEPS STEPPING ON MY SHADOW!”

Slightly slower and less powerful footsteps followed the hall. Moments later, Santana appeared towering behind Wham’s shoulder. His hair was matted and tangled, and blood dripped down his hairline. He held his arm at a strange, obviously broken angle at his side.

“I did not...” Santana protested, in his usual quiet monotone. “He is being a baby... And attacked me for no reason...”

Wham whipped his head around, even though he certainly couldn’t see. The teenager scowled, while tears continued to pour.

“YOU DID!” Wham insisted. His voice pitched upwards and broke. “I DO NOT FIGHT UNLESS INITIATED!”

“I didn’t step on his shadow...” Santana said again, more firmly.

Kars watched them both with a sort of uncaring benevolence. He laid the stone mask back down on the table.

“Santana, you know better than to step on Wham’s shadow.” Kars cut in coldly. “Wham, stop that crying. Warriors don’t cry. Go outside and deal with this yourselves.”

When his voice seemingly went unheard over Wham’s sobbing and vague protests, Santana merely curled his lip.

“Okay.” He said. Promptly, Santana stepped around Wham and planted his foot directly in the middle of Wham’s shadow.

Wham screeched. On instinct, he swung his thumbs up into his eye sockets and dug them in. Kars grimaced as he was hit by the spray of blood. Wham then grabbed Santana by the shoulders and threw him.

Santana flew far, despite being taller than Wham, and hit the wall. As the room shook, trinkets on Kars’ table clattered. Still hollering and crying, Wham pounced on Santana.

When Wham landed, the room quaked again. This time, Kars’ table jumped. Scrolls and tools flew everywhere, his burning candle rolled over, and the stone mask...

The stone mask spilled over the edge of the table. Kars tried desperately to grab it, but it slipped past his fingers. It shattered on the ground.

Kars tuned out of the sound of the boys fighting as he stared at the broken pieces laid on the ground. He took a deep, steadying breath to calm himself. He held it for a moment, and then bellowed sharply, “ESIDISI! Come collect your CHILDREN!”

Esidisi came swaggering shortly after he was called with all the hurry of a stubborn mule. He yawned, stretched a little in the doorway, and glanced lazily between Kars and the fighting boys.

“What did you want?”

Kars held in every violent and frustrated emotion that tried to bubble out of his throat.

“Deal with them.” Kars said through gritted teeth. And before Esidisi could protest, Kars added, “If I touch them, I will kill them.”

Esidisi glanced again at Wham and Santana. Wham had Santana in a choke hold, but likewise Santana had half of Wham’s body dissolved against his own. Santana tried to bite Wham’s arm, while Wham’s eyes bled all over Santana, the floors, and wall.

Before any more of their home could be ruined by impossible stains, Esidisi muttered, “As you wish.”

The only thing stronger than Santana’s vice grip was Wham’s choke hold. Instead of trying to separate the boys, Esidisi grabbed them both together and hefted them off the ground as though they weighed nothing.

That made the fighting stop slightly, for soon the shame of being escorted out by Esidisi set in. Kars watched in tense silence as they all left, certainly grateful, but also deeply contemplating now why they had decided to keep two of the children, when really... One would have sufficed.

—30—

Once outside, the boys went in either direction. Sulking and refusing to look at one another, Wham went for his sheep and his horses, while Santana slunk towards the sloping hills to observe the stars. All was well and fine in the end, Esidisi supposed.

The early night air was slightly warm, but clean and crisp. The sun had completely dipped into the valley, and the stars were beginning to dot the sky. It all invigorated Esidisi, almost enough to get him in the mood to train and fight.

Almost. Not quite, though.

Everyone had their hobbies, and their role to play in finding the Super Aja. While Wham was their muscle, Santana the scribe, and Kars the inventor, well... Esidisi liked to think of himself as the information gatherer.

So, when a steady stream of humans walking together came from the city walls, pulling carts and mules and other goods, Esidisi was naturally interested. He sat by the fence of their modest property (something he still found ridiculous, but caves were increasingly hard to come by these days), hands on his hips as he watched. He counted some fifty humans who walked together in clumps. Gathering himself, Esidisi left the fence and approached the humans.

Naturally, he towered over them. Esidisi was the tallest Pillarman still in existence, only seconded by Santana. However, Esidisi’s physical warmth was often mistaken with emotional warmth, so the humans were hardly ever as afraid of him as they were the others.

Esidisi easily picked up the pace and soon strode alongside a collection of three humans. They walked with a mule, who’s bags were hefty and full of goods.

“Good evening,” Esidisi greeted. He nodded his head to the leader.

The leader, with her face hidden behind robes and a veil, nodded back. “Good evening. Are you going to see him, too?”

“I might be,” Esidisi replied. “I haven’t yet decided. Who is ‘he’?”

The leader’s eyes widened behind her veil. “You haven’t heard? Well, it was hard for even some of us to comprehend, you know...”

Esidisi nodded along as the leader spoke.

“They say that a king has been born, in Bethlehem, to a virgin mother. Some say that he’s the son of God, even... So, we’re bringing him gifts, offerings and so forth.” The leader lowered her voice and slowed her walk. Esidisi slowed to match her, and then leaned down to hear her.

Humans were rather stupid, Esidisi thought. They would believe anything told to them if it fit their superstitions; a virgin birth? It wouldn’t take a genius to deduct what happened there. But Esidisi kept his opinions politely to himself.

The leader continued, “...There’s been talk that four wise men are visiting from all corners of the globe. I could be mistaken... But one of them is bringing the world’s most expensive rubies and emeralds...”

All doubts suddenly cast aside, Esidisi’s eyes widened. He turned his head to look to the leader. “A ruby?”

“Yes! The biggest ruby you could ever imagine, the size of a child itself, I’ve heard.”

“No!” Esidisi whispered back. “That’s incredible. And there are four of these wise men, all going to the child...?”

“In Bethlehem,” the leader clarified. “The son of God! Imagine! In our lifetimes!”

Instead of formulating a proper response to the leader, Esidisi turned around and went back for their home. The leader was more confused than she was annoyed, but otherwise made no attempt to call out to Esidisi. She let him go, if nothing else only admiring the swift and desperate hustle he made towards the cottage.

—30—

Cloaked in robes and veils to hide their faces and horns, Kars and Esidisi crossed the desert under the moon’s watchful gaze.

“That woman— she said that one of them has the Super Aja, correct?” Kars asked. His feet sunk into the sand as they walked the beaten path.

“Yes, but no. She said that one of the other humans has the biggest ruby you could ever imagine.”

“But no mention of Aja?”

Esidisi bobbed his head a little. “If there were, I would have mentioned it.” With added emphasis, Esidisi tossed in, “My Lord.”

“I don’t need your sarcasm now.”

“But you make it so easy, and you don’t even realize it...”

Kars suddenly threw his hand out, signalling Esidisi to stop. Esidisi tripped slightly as he grinded to a halt.

Some hundred-feet ahead of them was a trail of camels and caravans, slowly swaggering through the sand. The wagons were covered by bright and beautiful silks. They stood out like beacons in the night.

“...Huh. They aren’t modest,” Esidisi pointed out.

“They’re humans.” Kars said. He took the lead and walked swiftly towards the caravans.

Esidisi hummed. He fell behind Kars, slightly slower.

“Is boastfulness reserved for humans, Lord Kars?”

“Esidisi,” Kars warned. “Not now.”

“As you wish,” Esidisi said, with a cocky smile.

—30—

Neither of them expected the wise man to be a Hamon user. As far as Kars was concerned, “Hamon” and “wise” couldn’t be used in the same sentence. But there they were.

One vicious battle, an intense monologue, and a devoured drummer boy later, Kars and Esidisi were sitting on the back of a loaded caravan. The mangled corpses of humans laid sprawled on the ground; the camels, spooked, had taken off running. There were more chests of gold than either of them knew what to do with, so they divided up the work.

“I like this,” Esidisi mused aloud. He dug his hand through an intricate jewellery box filled with loose coins and gems. “Why do we bother fighting when we could just become thieves?”

“Gold holds no value to me,” Kars mumbled.

Esidisi scoffed. He combed through the loose coins again.

“You’re angry that the humans don’t bring us offerings anymore.”

Kars discarded the first box and took another. “It was nice to feel appreciated.”

“You and I both.”

Esidisi gave a stupid smile. He looked to Kars, expecting a response. Instead, Kars’ eyes were widened. He dug into a case, and from it produced a stunning ruby, so large that it barely fit his palm. He stared at it in awe; once noticing that Kars had found something, Esidisi also gaped.

“Is that the Super Aja?” Esidisi asked.

Kars turned it over in his palm. The light from the low moon caught on all its uneven edges and reflected it back even brighter. Deep inside, Kars felt a supernatural draw towards the gem.

“If I knew, I would have mentioned it,” Kars whispered. He slid off the edge of the caravan and held the gem to the sky. Carefully, he looked it over. Kars waved his free hand towards Esidisi. “Grab whatever you can carry. I need to experiment on them all. One of them— even if it isn’t this one— has to work.”

Kars turned himself in the direction they came and started walking, as if sucked into his own thoughts. As he went, he uttered hypotheses and ideas to himself.

Suddenly left behind with the cart full of valuables, Esidisi glanced around. He eyed the glittering jewels and gold and luxurious silk and shrugged.

“I’ll see you at home,” he called.

Kars didn’t answer.

Taking that in stride, Esidisi plucked a particularly beautiful ring from the pile and then slid it on his finger. He examined it, turned his hand around.

Then with a nod, Esidisi set to work collecting the jewels as instructed.

—30—

The gorgeous, massive red stone didn’t work in the mask. And neither did any of the slightly smaller, definitely-not-the-Super-Aja-but-still-worth-a-try gems.

In his rage, Kars crushed at least half of the gems in his palms and threw all the stone masks across the room to let them shatter. By the end of his tantrum, the floor had about an inch of rubble covering it.

“Goddamn it,” He growled through his gritted teeth. “Goddamn it!”

That ruby was their best chance. Unless somehow, they had missed the Super Aja in Central America, which Kars found unlikely, but at this point he was ready to entertain all options.

Frustrated, Kars folded his arms and put his face down on the table. He drew in a breath, and then held it.

There would be other exotic trade peoples bringing goods to other kings and royal births. But every day that passed felt like a lifetime, and the longer Kars sat around waiting for the Super Aja to find him, the less sanity and patience Kars had. It was almost enough to make Kars, the ultimate being, insecure. Made him wonder if slaughtering their whole race was the best thing to do after all.

Technically, breathing was just a hobby they took up to blend more seamlessly with humans. Holding his breath did nothing for Kars, so he sighed out, deep and defeated. After sitting a moment more, Kars dragged himself out of his seat and wandered the halls instead.

Wham and Santana were nowhere to be found, so the cottage was uncharacteristically quiet. Almost uncomfortably so.

Kars wasn’t sure if he liked it. When he turned a corner into the main area of the cottage, he half expected Wham and Santana to be laying dead in the middle of the floor— likely after mutilating each other.

But the room was empty, aside from Esidisi standing at the door. The furniture looked untouched, meaning that Esidisi had rearranged everything after Wham tore through earlier.

Kars blinked. His eyes burned a bit, as the exhaustion from a week straight of no sleep hit his body. But instead of going towards his and Esidisi’s den, he let himself be drawn in towards Esidisi.

Esidisi looked over his shoulder when he heard Kars’ footsteps.

“Any luck?” Esidisi asked, with a weary smile.

Kars glared quietly. He came over to the door and stood at Esidisi’s side.

The sun was starting to rise on the horizon, just enough that there was a contrasting splash of colour and dark night across the sky. The desert was still cool, the world still dark and asleep. This was as close to the sun that they could ever get.

Kars crossed his arms. Steady heat radiated off Esidisi’s body; it spread across Kars’ skin and seemingly seeped into him. As Kars breathed in, he felt himself relax.

For once, Esidisi was silent. Together, they watched dawn break.

“Esidisi,” Kars said first. His voice was steady as he watched the horizon. “Do you still believe in me?”

“I never stopped.” Esidisi replied immediately. “I’ll always believe you.”

Without realizing it, Kars leaned into Esidisi’s shoulder.

“Why?”

“Because I was fifteen-thousand-years-old and I wanted to impress you, my love,” Esidisi replied. He put his arm around Kars’ shoulder and drew him in. “You were handsome, and I was in love with you from the very start. When you said that Pillarmen were meant to walk during the day and command Earth, I believed every word you said.”

Esidisi smiled. “Now I’m a hundred-thousand, and I have no other choice. If I don’t believe you, I have nothing.”

“I thought you were stupid to follow me.” Kars mumbled.

Esidisi kissed Kars’ unimpressed temple. “I know.”

Secretly, Kars’ heart flipped. He breathed deep.

It was getting hard to keep his eyes open. Despite how warm and comfortable Esidisi felt, Kars tried to force his mind back to his work.

“Where haven’t we looked for the stone?” Kars muttered. As he leaned more heavily into Esidisi.

“Our bedroom?” Esidisi offered. He felt Kars’ brow furrow immediately, so he followed up with, “So you can sleep.”

“Mm-hm.”

Esidisi rubbed Kars’ arm. The sky overhead slowly moved from black to bright; as the warmth of dawn washed over them, the tingling sensation of turning to stone set in.

This was only as close that they could get to walking in the sun, or even just existing during the day. It was both poetic and sad.

As a strip of light came in through the crack in the door, slicing through them like a hot knife, Esidisi drew them both back and closed the door. Sleep had partially taken Kars over, so he clung to Esidisi’s side.

“Should I carry you to bed?” Esidisi joked quietly.

“Don’t you dare,” Kars replied, finally with a soft smile. “...Where are the children?”

“...Does it matter either way? They’re either here or they aren’t, nothing to do about it now.”

Kars snorted softly. “Right.”

“The quiet is nice, at least.”

“It is. Now stop talking.”

“Yes, Lord Kars.”

[angelofrainfrogs]

Serendipity (Part 1/3)

Fandom: Good Omens

Pairing: Aziraphale/Crowley (but not the main focus)

Other Characters: Warlock Dowling

Description: Seven years after Armageddidn't, a boy wanders into A.Z. Fell and Co. and finds something more priceless than a first-edition novel- a reunion he (and his childhood caretakers) never thought possible.

Rating: G

Genre: General/Family/Mild Hurt/Comfort

Read on Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20432192/chapters/48473378

Part 1

Aziraphale raised his head from his book as the bell over the shop door jingled merrily. The angel carefully set the book and his glasses on a nearby table, standing up with a small sigh. Today had been blessedly quiet and he’d hoped that it would remain as such- this was only his third customer and it was already mid-afternoon. Still, he knew that if he let whoever had just walked in wander aimlessly, they might feel the urge to buy something; it was best to check on the visitor and see what their mission was before they tried anything rash.

“Hello!” Aziraphale said warmly, rounding the corner of an overstuffed bookshelf to find a boy examining a section of Italian poetry. The boy was in his late teens, with a lanky build just a smidge taller than Aziraphale. He wore dark jeans and a V-neck t-shirt bearing the logo of some pop band the angel would never understand. His hair, a cross between dirty blonde and light, light brown, was cut short, save for the unruly swathe of bangs that fell in front of his bright blue eyes.

“Hey,” the boy replied, pushing his bangs out of the way to get a better look at Aziraphale.

The angel blinked as he was hit with a wave of strange familiarity. A slight crease between his eyes was the only thing that alluded to this; otherwise, he kept himself composed. Aziraphale had seen so many humans over the years, he got the occasional twinge of feeling that he knew someone passing by in the street, but it always turned out to be a double of someone he’d met long ago. This boy, surely, was no different.

“Is there anything in particular you’re looking for, young man?” Aziraphale asked, clasping his hands behind his back.

“No, I just… kinda wandered in to look around, honestly.” The boy laughed and Aziraphale couldn’t stop his smile from widening. The laugh, coupled with the boy’s American accent, triggered something deep within his memory, though he couldn’t quite reach it. “The Yelp reviews of this place are wild; I wanted to see what it’s like for myself.”

“Yelp reviews?” Aziraphale questioned, tilting his head. He’d heard of this before from some of the other customers. From what he gathered, Yelp was a platform where people could post reviews of places they’ve visited. Based on what Aziraphale had been told, his bookshop would be classified as having a “mixed rating.”

“Yeah, people have said all kinds of shi- er, stuff about this shop,” the boy replied, correcting his near-curse as he guiltily met Aziraphale’s gaze. Something told the boy that the shop owner wouldn’t appreciate that sort of language. Remembering a particularly interesting review, the boy’s face lit up. “Is it true there’s a giant snake in here?!”

“Ah, well… sometimes,” Aziraphale admitted, a bemused light in his eyes. “He tends to wander, though; he’s out at the moment.”

The boy’s face shifted into an expression of mingled confusion and curiosity. Aziraphale’s unneeded breath caught in his throat. The strange sensation pulsed in the back of the angel’s mind, the feeling that he definitely knew this boy. He wanted more information on his origins, but it wouldn’t do to push too hard, lest he scare the boy off- Aziraphale had been told on more than one occasion that he could be rather “ruthless” (according to a certain demon, though the phrase made the angel scrunch his nose up in disgust) when it came to gathering information he desperately wanted to know.

“We don’t usually get many visitors from out of the area; are you on holiday?” Aziraphale asked, busying himself with reorganizing a shelf of books that had been shifted out of alphabetical order. There had to be some connection- he’d probably met the boy’s family or long-distant relative on a trip to America many years ago.

“No, I’m going to college here- university, whatever you want to call it,” the boy replied with a shrug. “Well, I mean, I don’t have class today- I’m not skipping or anything.” Again, there was that guilty look, as if the boy was afraid of disappointing the man in front of him- which was odd, since the boy had certainly never met the elusive Mr. Fell before. “I’ve got a day off, so I figured I’d check out Soho. I never really got to just, like… explore England when I was a kid.”

The angel froze mid-task. His slowly turned, focusing on the boy’s face and really looking. Time seemed to fade before his eyes, the boy’s defined features softening into the lanky face of a pre-teen, then melting further into the chubby visage of a child with a smudge of dirt on his cheek from where he’d rubbed his face while planting flowers-

“You okay, Mr. Fell?” the boy asked, noting the slight tremor in Aziraphale’s hands. The angel blinked, quickly composing himself.

“Yes, I-I’m fine, young W-… dear boy.” Aziraphale caught himself as his voice slipped into an accent he hadn’t used for over seven years. He shook his head; there was absolutely no way this could be the same child whose bruises he’d healed with a loving kiss and a touch of divine miracle.

“…Okay.” The boy didn’t sound convinced but decided to let the matter drop. He’d heard that the owner of the bookshop was eccentric and figured that the hyper-focused attention he was receiving was part of the package. Although, the boy had to admit that, just for a second, the man had sounded terribly familiar.

An awkward silence followed, neither of the two knowing how to continue the conversation. Aziraphale’s mind was racing, trying to figure out if this really was the boy from his memory and, if this was true, why in the world he had chosen to visit the bookshop. Aziraphale and Crowley had a discussion many years ago about whether they should try to reconnect with Warlock Dowling and had concluded that they’d already interfered in the boy’s life enough. His personality had seemed fairly balanced when they’d left, save for a tendency to be extremely blunt when speaking his mind. They had no idea what they'd really done to the poor mortal boy’s psyche and decided it best to leave him be and hope that he grew up as normal as he could from his eleventh birthday onward.

So, Crowley and Aziraphale stayed far away from the Dowlings for nearly a decade. They were so strong in their conviction of never going to see Warlock again that they hadn’t even entertained the possibility that the boy might find them.

No, it’s too much of a coincidence, Aziraphale thought, watching the teenager as he started looking through the poetry books in front of him. The angel glanced towards the ceiling, his lips pursed. Unless this is another part of Your ineffable plan…

“Hey, Mr. Fell?” The boy’s questioning tone brought Aziraphale back to Earth instantly. “I know you don’t, like… actually like to sell stuff, so the internet says, but maybe you could help me find a book for my mom’s birthday? I honestly don’t think she’d notice if I bought her a first edition Shakespeare collection or whatever, but… I dunno.” The boy shrugged. “I thought I could try something different and see what she thinks.”

The look in the boy’s eyes is what ultimately convinced the angel that his instinct was true. Aziraphale had seen that look much too often for his liking- it was a look of sad resignation that Warlock's parents, ever-distant and too wrapped up in the political world to raise their own child, didn’t care about him nearly as much as they should. A twinge of ice shot through the angel’s heart. He’d hated seeing that expression on a child’s face, but he utterly despised it now, knowing that things didn’t seem to have changed nearly a decade later.

“Hey, are you sure you’re okay?” the boy asked, seeing Aziraphale’s face slip into a strange expression. “You look-” He was about to say “weird,” but it was at that exact moment that the nagging familiarity that had also been gnawing away at his own mind came to the surface. He saw the face in front of him sporting a shining collection of bad teeth framed within a cloud of fluffy hair, though the mental image was skewed as if he had to look up from a much shorter height than he was now.

But, as with Aziraphale’s own recognition, it was the eyes that ultimately broke through the fog of childhood memories- the eyes currently gazing at Warlock full of more love than anyone should be able to comprehend. Without warning, Warlock felt tears prick at the edges of his vision.

“…Brother Francis?” he choked out in a small voice. Aziraphale smiled, and if Warlock had any remaining doubts about the man's identity, they were blown away like the shadows of night banished by the rising sun.

“Oh, my dear, dear boy,” Aziraphale said warmly, opening his arms, and Warlock fell into the hug without hesitation. They gripped each other tightly, and the angel realized what a fool he’d been for leaving the boy without a word. He and Crowley should have gone back after the apocalypse was thwarted, or at the very least written a letter explaining why they’d left; judging by the way Warlock held onto Aziraphale as if he were a lifeboat in the midst of a stormy sea, the angel realized that the boy must have missed them just as much as they’d missed him.

Aziraphale and Warlock stayed in the embrace for a while longer, and then the boy gently, almost reluctantly, unwrapped his arms and took a step back to give Aziraphale a proper once-over.

“What happened to you?!” Warlock asked, astonishment dripping from every word. Then, suddenly, a fierce frown twisted his face. “And why the hell did you and Nanny leave without saying anything?! Er, sorry, I mean why the heaven- ugh, you get my point!”

Aziraphale smiled again; this was the boy he used to know, attitude and all. Warlock always had a penchant for speaking his mind, a fact that was encouraged wholeheartedly by his Nanny. While Aziraphale didn’t want Warlock to stop expressing his feelings and asking questions either, he had been bothered by the boy’s increasing vocabulary of unsavory expressions, which the angel had tried to remedy by correcting him with more docile phrasing. Apparently, the instinct to do so still was still present.

“Hellooo?” Warlock said, waving a hand in front of Aziraphale’s face. “Brother Francis- Mr. Fell… whoever you are! This is really weird, and I need you to explain a lot of things!”  

“Oh, I do apologize, my dear; I get a bit lost in my thoughts, sometimes,” Aziraphale admitted with a guilty chuckle. He hesitated for a second and then gestured towards the back of the shop, where a comfortable couch and coffee table resided. “Yes, we… we really should have a little chat. Please, have a seat and I’ll put on a pot of tea and join you.”

Warlock didn’t move, instead narrowing his eyes. Aziraphale blinked at him.

“…Would you prefer coffee instead?” the angel ventured. Warlock rolled his eyes and crossed his arms in front of him, slouching to the side in a pose uncannily similar to someone else Aziraphale knew.

“You literally just up and left me when I was eleven years old,” the boy explained, a scathing bite to his words that made Aziraphale wince. “According to the internet, you’re some weird cryptid- which I can now confirm, knowing who you really are, because you and Nanny were definitely not normal. How do I know you won’t just-”

And here the boy cut himself off, realizing how vulnerable finishing that sentence would make him seem. He knew that Brother Francis had seen all sides of him, weak ones and all, but that was many years ago. He’d still been a kid then; now he was older and much more practiced at hiding his true emotions, since the only people who’d had time for them disappeared after his eleventh birthday. Just because he’d found his beloved gardener and confidant again through some divine- or hellish, he never knew which to believe- turn of events, it didn’t mean that things would instantly go back to the way they were before.

Warlock didn’t think it was possible for Brother Francis’ expression to soften even more, but apparently it could. Slowly, as if afraid of spooking him, the angel reached out and gently brushed Warlock’s bangs out of his face, tucking them behind his ear before cupping the boy’s cheek in his hand.

“I’m not going to leave you again, dear boy, please believe that,” Aziraphale said, injecting as much truth into his words as he possibly could. “It was a rash decision and your Nanny and I should never have disappeared without a word. I’m just going to flip the Closed sign on the door and put the kettle on, and then we can talk, alright?”

Warlock nodded almost imperceptibly, but Aziraphale saw the gesture. He gave the boy’s cheek a light pinch and winked, earning a cry of embarrassment. With a laugh, the angel disappeared around a bookshelf, moving towards the front door. Rubbing his cheek and pouting, Warlock shuffled to the couch in the back of the shop. He’d forgotten how endearingly annoying his old gardener could be.

Aziraphale flipped the “Open” sign to “Closed” and leaned back against the old wooden door, shutting his eyes. He was overjoyed to see Warlock again, certainly, but he was completely unprepared for this situation. What was he supposed to tell the boy? What excuse could he possibly give for Warlock’s closest companions abandoning him without so much as a “goodbye?”

Aziraphale and Crowley always regretted the way they’d handled that situation, but they had bigger concerns at the time- namely, the impending apocalypse and the fact that Warlock was not the antichrist they thought he was. Aziraphale grimaced, running a stressed hand through his hair; what should they tell Warlock about that? Should they expose him to the supernatural world he’d unintentionally been apart of for the first half of his life?

“…Probably best not to bring that part up,” the angel murmured to himself. He adjusted his waistcoat and steeled himself for the afternoon ahead. He would make Warlock a nice cup of tea, call Crowley to give him a warning on who awaited him back at the bookshop, and then bide his time until the demon showed up and they could have a proper conversation about what to do now that the boy was back in their lives. Yes, that seemed like a perfectly reasonable plan.

So, of course, it was guaranteed that things would not turn out the way Aziraphale hoped. As the angel busied himself in the tiny kitchenette area in the back of the shop, the bell over the front door rang again.

“Angel!” a voice called, and Aziraphale let out a strangled yelp. He rushed out of the back room and was greeted with the sight of Warlock, standing by the couch slack-jawed and staring straight ahead. Trapped at the end of Warlock’s gaze stood Crowley, wearing an eerily similar expression of shock. The two of them gazed at each other questioningly for an agonizing few seconds, before Warlock asked, in a trembling voice:

“N… Nanny Ash?”

“…Ah,” Aziraphale said when Crowley turned his helpless expression upon him. Though the demon’s eyes were hidden behind dark sunglasses, Aziraphale knew they were giving him a look of utter confusion. “Crowley, we… we have a very special visitor.”

“Ngk,” the demon replied.

And then, suddenly, Warlock was in Crowley’s arms, holding him tight, and Crowley returned the gesture without a second thought, overwhelmed with a great sense of relief. The boy was shaking, obviously trying very hard not to cry, and the demon instinctively gripped him closer and grinned into his hair.

“Hey, little hellspawn. Good to see you again.”

                                                             ***

Read Part 1. (You are here.)

Read Part 2. 

Read Part 3.

[serendipitous-magic]

⭐️

(For the “Reblog this if you want readers to come into your ask box and ask for the “director’s commentary” on a particular story, section of a story, or set of lines.  Or, send in a ⭐star⭐  to have the author select a section they’ve been dying to talk about!” post)

Okay, okay, okay - so this is in Ch 1 of TRS3, and I’m gonna chatter a tad about a section near the beginning, in Dustin’s POV. 

-_-_-_-

“You’ve been away a whole month, honeybun, maybe they just...” She wiggled her shoulders with a tilt of her head. “Forgot.”

She didn’t mean him. Of course she didn’t mean that they forgot him. She meant the radios; she meant they forgot what channel they’re supposed to be on. Or that they forgot what day he was coming home. She didn’t mean that they forgot about Dustin himself.

It’s just, it’s not exactly reassuring, you know? It’s the middle of summer already. All the roads are lined with tall, dark weeds. In a few days, everything will smell like sparkler smoke and kettle corn from the annual 4th of July fair. When he left it was barely June, and the weeds along the roadside were little more than sprouts. What else has happened since he left? What else has changed?

Okay so this is the first time I’ve written from Dustin’s POV, so this opening scene with him was a bit of a trial run. I had to establish several things, specifically for Dustin’s character in this story and where his arc starts out.

In this story, Dustin is starting out his arc in a place where he’s a little uncertain of his worth. Here, that specifically means within the Party. As we’ve seen, the Party in general has kind of started drifting apart this summer. Oh, they still hang out all the time, but they’re starting to push more towards “teenage” activities, most of them in a hurry to grow up and leave behind what happened to them as kids (except for Will, who’s clinging to the childhood that was stolen from him, but that’s another discussion). This push to “move on,” combined with the fact that Dustin has been away at summer camp for a whole month, leaves him a little worried that they may have moved on without him. 

Lately - probably ever since the Snow Ball, actually - it’s felt like everything has been changing, and not necessarily in a good way. So when Dustin goes away for a month and comes back and it’s like the whole summer has been going on without him (which... it has, really), he’s not feeling great about it.

Secondly: this scene is lifted nearly straight from the trailer we got (since for this fic I’m considering most S3 trailer/promo material “canon,” and then picking and choosing from the show). So, it’s not exactly how the scene in the show went down, but it’s pretty close to how I expected it to go down based on that one trailer we got. So that was fun to kind of re-imagine a little bit (although I think it ended up fairly close to the Netflix version, thus far).

A muffled little tink draws his attention to the vivarium on his left, where Yurtle is bumping against the side, stumpy little legs flailing as he fails to comprehend glass. Dustin grins at him.

“At least someone’s happy to see me.”

Yurtle continues his mission to pass through the solid glass wall, unperturbed by his complete lack of success. Determined little guy. Never gets very far, but he tries.

I love Yurtle. 

Dustin isn’t worried about it - the Party, that is. Honestly, he’s not. It’s not like they’ve all been acting weird for the past few months anyway. It’s not like ever since El reappeared Mike has been MIA more often than not, visiting her at the cabin for as long as Hopper will allow. It’s not like Max and Lucas have developed their own little language and routine together - not just boyfriend and girlfriend, but best friends. It’s not like Will has been a slightly different person since... well, since everything. It’s not like he misses how the Party used to be.

And here’s more of Dustin feeling a little insecure about the Party moving on without him - but more than that, I also needed to establish, in this first chapter, where the Party starts out in this story. Recap style. “Last time on: Hawkins, December through June.” What do we need to know to jump right into the story and have all the information we need? Mike has been hanging with El constantly. The Party is being a little weird (as discussed above). Everyone is kind of paired off except for Will and Dustin (until Suzie). Will is having Struggles (TM). Boom, boom, boom. We know what we need to; now on to the plot.

But Dustin doesn’t like to mope. He slaps his thighs and stands up, reaching into the vivarium to turn Yurtle around. Yurtle lumbers off towards his pool, apparently assured that his ability to move is due to his own success, and Dustin hums along with the radio as he unzips his duffel bag with a flourish. Who is he to complain? He just got back from possibly the most amazing summer camp ever. He’s got the whole rest of the summer ahead of him. He’s got things to do. Places to go. Popsicles to eat. (You know what they don’t have at Camp Know Where? Otter pops. Unbelievable, right? Three hundred acres, over five hundred campers and dozens of counselors, and not a single person could produce even one pack of sugary, brightly colored frozen goodness.)

He’s got plans. Specifically, an invention to get up and running - and he has the perfect place in mind. He bets he can get the gang to help him set it up - if they’d just answer.

Dustin is a fairly optimistic and resourceful person. We’ve seen that in seasons 1 and 2. He’s often underestimated, because he seems a little goofy at first glance - which he is, to be fair. But he’s also a problem-solver. He’s smart, and he doesn’t like to just sit and watch a problem get worse. He takes action. He’ll go to the library before school to check out extra books against the rules so he can identify the creature he found in his garbage. He’ll send his mom out of the house by having a fake one-person conversation on the phone, and then armor up in sports gear and single-handedly lure a baby demogorgon into the cellar. He’s not one to laze around and mope about his problems. 

So this ^ here is an example of me trying to feel out how this character thinks and acts, and portray it accurately (because, again, I’ve never written Dustin’s POV before.)

Okay, maybe he’s a little unsettled. The Party doesn’t just go radio silent on each other, okay? Because when a Party member goes radio-silent, it usually means that something is wrong. Really wrong.

His eyes slide over the stain in his carpet. It’s a barely-perceptible rusty brown, now, blending in with the striped carpet unless you know just where to look. He had to tell his mom it was spaghetti sauce.

Will wasn’t the only member of the Party who was scarred by what happened last fall. Everyone in the Party went through some shit, to varying degrees. Maybe Dustin wasn’t possessed by a shadow monster, but he did witness his cat being disemboweled and eaten by a baby demogorgon, and then he had to face said baby demogorgon, and scrub cat blood out of his carpet, and all the while make sure his mom wasn’t gonna be around to get hurt, and that would be pretty rough to go through for an adult - and Dustin was thirteen. (And that’s not even to mention the whole fighting-demodogs-with-Steve and infiltrating-the-Mind-Flayer’s-tunnels business.) 

His toy robot starts marching out of the corner just as Dustin turns away, chattering unintelligibly in its perpetual-low-battery fizzle, red eyes glowing.

Wait.

What.

Dustin turns back, slowly, and this time the robot is joined by a toy tank and R2D2.

Now, he’s no expert, but in Dustin’s fourteen years of experience on earth, toys don’t come alive.

I just love that little bit. 

Also, I REALLY REALLY WANTED TO FIND A WORD THAT MEANT “TOY EXPERT” BUT I COULDN’T FIND ONE. Like, the same way you might say, “Now, I’m no  podiatrist, but in my experience that’s too many toes for one foot.” That kind of tone. But apparently there’s not a word for “toy expert,” at least not that I could find. Everything google gave me when I typed that in was sex toy related lol. Not what I was going for. 

-_-_-_-

And that’s that little bit! It was fun doing Dustin’s POV, and this fic will be a fun challenge in that I usually write (at least in this fandom) nearly exclusively from Mike or Will’s POV, and in TRS3 we’re gonna get Dustin, Joyce, Nancy, Hop, Billy, the Mind Flayer... So, that’ll be a fresh challenge for me!

Thanks for the ask! I am also working on the others, I just completely forgot what the stars meant because I’m dumb lol

[shortcakemonster]

Go-Away Green pt. 9

Summary: You try to fix everything you messed up, but you get caught up in wondering if you should.

TW: Some dark thoughts in this one, more than usual for this fic.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 10

Peter went back to class in a weird kind of haze. First off, he’d woken up, more or less, in an alley, dressed in his Spider-Man suit. With his mask partially off. And a random man he didn’t recognize webbed to the ground.

He’d had to ask Karen who the man was; Reuben Holt, the leader of a human trafficking ring, the associates of whom Peter had taken out the day before. He vaguely remembered being on the ship, diving into the ocean for some unknown reason...

For the life of him, he couldn’t remember how he’d managed to track this individual criminal down and capture him. Had he seen him on the ship the day before? He’d have to go through Karen’s footage to find out.

Or had Holt merely been trying to abduct someone when Peter found him, and this superhero’s arrest had happened almost out of pure chance? If that was the case, then where was the victim? They were close to Midtown- had Holt tried to abduct a teenager? The thought made Peter shudder.

He wasn’t given much time to contemplate all of this, as soon enough, a black van pulled up to the entrance of the alley and a half dozen people in black suits spilled out. Happy emerged from the passenger’s seat to briefly thank Peter for catching Holt and assure him that they’d have more information soon. After Peter dissolved the web fluid, Happy’s associates made quick work of restraining him and depositing him into the van before speeding away.

After realizing that school was starting soon, Peter went into autopilot and found his regular clothes, changing into them before heading to his first class. Going about this often-exercised routine on this particular day took about twice the time that it normally did, making him late to physics.

He all but lumbered into class, ignoring his teacher’s passive-aggressive remark about punctuality before making his way over to his desk. He couldn’t focus on the lecture at hand, and not because of his preoccupation with Reuben Holt, but because of a strange, indeterminate sensation slowly creeping up on him, spreading over his skin.

A warmth in his hand. Soft skin, fingers clutching his.

He furrowed his eyebrows. When was the last time he’d held somebody’s hand? And who had it been? Peter balled his hand into a fist, trying to remember the feeling.

Whatever it was, it masked over the subconscious suspicion that somebody was watching him. Occasionally, the feeling would bob to the surface, and Peter would look up to locate the source, until an odd forgetfulness drifted over him and he returned to his previous thoughts.

Ned approached him in the hallway between classes. “Are you okay? You seem really out of it.”

How could Peter even explain the feeling? He couldn’t focus, there were strange gaps in his recent memory... Was this the work of one of Holt’s associates? How had they accomplished it? Or was Peter losing his super senses?

He tried to put it into words that Ned (the best friend, not the guy in the chair) could comprehend. “I feel like I’m forgetting something really important.” Hell, that was all that Peter could comprehend, for the time being.

“Homework?” Ned suggested.

“No.”

“Is it May’s birthday, or something?”

“No, it’s not that.”

“The Stark internship?”

Peter shook his head, despite the two matters being partially related. “No. Well... I- I was in an alley before school started, with the suit on, and I can’t remember what I was doing there. There was just this guy lying on the ground, all webbed up. So I had to have taken him out, but I don’t remember doing that at all. On top of that, apparently he’s the leader of a human trafficking ring, which I helped take down yesterday on a freaking cargo ship, but I barely remember any of this! And I can’t- I can’t...” He mad vague gestures with his hands, as if they would help him find the right words. “There’s something else, I think. Something unrelated to all of this, I just... I’m missing something really big, here.” He curled and uncurled his fingers in a claw shape, that weird, empty-yet-full feeling still plaguing his hand.

Ned was, by nature, a very smart person, as well as Peter Parker’s best and most loyal companion in life. Regardless, he couldn’t quite absorb and decipher everything that his best friend had said. “Look, I’m sure if it was anything major, your senses would alert you, wouldn’t they?”

Peter shrugged. That was about a substantial answer as he could expect from anyone, for the time being. He decided he wouldn’t tell Ned about the feeling of being watched, he didn’t want to worry his best friend, especially if there wasn’t really any evidence in relation to the matter.

He had no choice but to continue his school day as usual, trying to look as normal as possible while obsessing over Reuben Holt and that weird feeling in my hand what is it doing.

Come lunch time, Peter got a call from Mr. Stark and excused himself from the table to go answer it. If it was more information on Reuben Holt, or if he could pick the billionaire’s brain for possible reasons as to why he was feeling so strange, then he was all for it.

In typical Stark fashion, Tony didn’t even let Peter get out a polite “hello” before diving into the topic at hand. “Hey, kid. Hate to interrupt you during your education, but I thought you should know that we got that captain guy in our custody, now. Sent the info to your suit, if you wanna look more into it.”

“Reuben Holt?”

“The very one. He was pretty out of it, but I guess that was (Y/N)’s doing. How’s she holding up, by the way?”

(Y/N)!

Peter felt himself light up with recognition. He smacked his forehead at the realization, disbelieving at the idea that he could forget you so easily. Hadn’t you talked, earlier that day?

He let your name fall softly from his lips, and that was his undoing.

An overwhelming mental tidal wave washed over him, making him slightly dizzy. The hand on his forehead was now being used to steady himself, keep himself grounded in reality. He couldn’t even remember what he’d been talking about. He shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut, trying to clear his mind. “Who?”

A pause came from the other end. “(Y/N)?”

Another wave; it was like he forgot the name the very instant that he heard it. Repeating the name to himself didn’t do any good, as it just started to sound like a weird jumbling of letters that didn’t belong on his tongue. 

“Mr. Stark, I’m not sure who you’re talking about.”

“You introduced me to her two days ago,” Tony explained. “Super shy, powers of invisibility? Is this really not ringing a bell?”

And for one second, he had a perfect image of you standing before him. (Y/E/C) eyes. (Y/H/C) hair. A faint, but genuine smile. A soft hand holding his.

But then, a tsunami of mental weakening. And with it, several aftershocks.

Peter felt like he was going to pass out. He collapsed against the lockers, trying to steel himself against the sensation. Was that why this was happening? Was he sick? He hadn’t gotten as much as a cold since the spider bite.

“I don’t know anybody who can turn invisible, Mr. Stark,” he barely managed to gasp out. “I think I’d remember that.”

There was a moment of silence, which Peter used to try and gather his quickly disintegrating thoughts together, then-

“You know, I barely got any sleep, last night. I’m probably mixing some stuff up.”

Peter let out a sigh of relief. He couldn’t even remember half of what Mr. Stark had said during the conversation, he was just glad that it was over, that he wouldn’t have to use his mental energy for anything other than trying to piece his memories back into place.

“Yeah, okay. Feel better, Mr. Stark.”

Another pause. “Thanks, kid. Good job on today. Bye.”

Night fell early over Queens, as was customary for the season. You’d exhausted yourself by trying to make everyone at school forget about you. On the surface, it didn’t seem like too difficult a task, as there was only a handful of people at school who even knew your name, let alone had any substantial memory of you. Sure, everyone at school was very smart, but the challenge was lost due to a lack of attachment to you.

But then there was Peter. Much smarter and much more attached to you than... well, anyone else you’d ever known, at least recently.

You hadn’t expected it to work so well. Factoring in his super senses, you thought that Peter would immediately pick up on your efforts. After all, his senses were what had gotten you in trouble in the first place. In this instance, you supposed that your powers were stronger than his, and for his sake, you would have to use them.

Neither of you were truly safe, anymore. Not with each other. A human trafficker had come after you, and that was indeed terrifying. But even more terrifying than that was what he’d intended to you with you.

Be a good girl, and you won’t get hurt. At least, not yet. We gotta get our information somehow, don’t we?

More likely than not, he would have used any means necessary to get information from you, and you had no doubt that the information in question would have to do with Spider-Man and his identity. And yes, you probably would have been able to get yourself out of the situation, given your powers. If you were desperate enough, your abilities could have worked in your favor.

But, still...

Before all this, your powers had been focused on keeping yourself in the shadows, keeping people away from you, protecting yourself. None of that mattered as much as protecting Peter.

That was what this really came down to. That was how your powers worked. When you really, truly needed to accomplish something, your powers always came into play. The boy at Delmar’s. The woman in the alley. The people in the shipping container.

And now, Peter.

Peter Parker didn’t think things through. He was vastly intelligent, sure, but his heart pretty much always ruled over his head. For his sake, you had to favor your head over your heart.

But boy, did it suck.

You’d only had a few days of friendship and attention before it was stripped away from you. Alright, you’d technically taken it away from yourself, and you had all the power in the world to restore things back to the way they���d been before, but of course, there was the issue of keeping Peter safe.

And besides, this was what you deserved, wasn’t it? He was better off without you, anyway.

Wholly invisible, you slowly opened the door to your apartment, ever careful not to make any noise as you entered. You were startled slightly when you saw your parents standing across from each other in the living room. Your heartbeat spiked when you saw your mom crying, until you saw the small, plastic device in your dad’s hand, and that he was crying, too.

You felt time stand still, all the oxygen leaving your lungs.

Your mother was pregnant.

As a child, you’d occasionally wish for a sibling, dreamed of your parents paying attention to someone other than you. You’d go to sleep at night, imagining your parents sitting you down and giving you the obligatory talk about how Even Though We’ll Have To Give A Lot Of Attention To The New Baby, It Doesn’t Mean We Love You Any Less. You’d seen that conversation on multiple kids’ shows. You’d heard your young classmates discuss it with their friends at school. 

That conversation was your childhood fantasy, and sometimes you would imagine being sandwiched between two other siblings, of being the infamous Middle Child, never getting any attention from your parents because they were too busy with their other children.

But now, in this particular circumstance, the news made your stomach sink.

You don’t matter, anymore. You never did.

For what seemed like the millionth time in only a few days, you felt a lump developing in your throat, the familiar tremble of your lips as tears began to form in your eyes. You covered your mouth with your hand in an attempt to hide a pathetic sob, but the noise prevailed in spite of your effort.

Your parents didn’t notice.

Which was what you wanted, wasn’t it? Wasn’t this your dream come true? 

Your dad hoisted your mom up by the waist and kissed her, then carried her into their bedroom. She laughed the whole way.

You stared wistfully as the bedroom door shut, the noise snapping you out of your daze. Eventually, you willed your legs to move and approached the doorway of your own room. The thought of this room being converted into a nursery briefly passed through your mind as you opened your window. You’d probably have to clear out your stuff to stifle any risk of your parents remembering you. They clearly had bigger things to worry about now, and you couldn’t get in their way.

You climbed out the window and onto the fire escape, noticing how much more difficult it was to accomplish this task when you couldn’t see yourself. The last time you’d done this, you’d merely been flickering.

You made the trek up the stairs to the rooftop, heaving yourself over the side and landing on the concrete. You lay there for a second, staring up at the night sky. The light pollution of the city often made it difficult to observe the moon and the stars in clearer detail, but they weren’t impossible to see. You liked how small the sky made you feel. At least, you used to.

You sat up and crossed your legs, staring at the neighborhood below. The perpetual state of traffic clogging up the streets, the pedestrians knocking into one another, the alleyway where only days ago you’d helped to rescue that woman.

Where Peter rescued that woman. Period.

You sighed, trying to suppress another bout of crying. It wasn’t like anyone would hear you up on the roof, and even if they did, they would be powerless to your ability to make them forget about anything you said or did.

How do you expect to survive the rest of your life without talking to people?

I don’t!

So, this was where you were, now. Your dream scenario. No connections, no relationships, no nothing. You’d perfected your “mind control” abilities, whatever the hell they ever were, and now there was literally nobody on the planet who could even think about you ever again, let alone care about you.

A choked sob emerged from your mouth, accompanied by a brief flicker to your form. You blinked on and off, like a shorting out lightbulb.

God, what’s wrong with me?!

Your conflicted thoughts were answered much sooner and in a much more literal sense that you’d expected, as a sudden sound of whirring machinery- almost like some sort of flying metal suit- suggested that you might have missed a few people in your efforts of self-erasure.

“Hey, there, Invisi-Kid. You got a second to talk?”

Tag list:

@1enchantedfantasy1 @11mb0 @3003st @aubreylovesthegames @bookchic20@catnolannn @embracethemagic @gladerofcabin4 @greenarrowhead   @hawaiiantozier @honestlysasha @ivykinsnake @justapotatonow @lucille-lovely @maybesomeday @meyrapp @myhealingstar @satansladydoor  @soullesstrashcan @southsidejournal  @stone2576 @thekidsofneibolt @timelordy-fangirl2 @uwu-sebastianstan @wicked-wiccan-witch @dat-one-goat @eye-of-the-owl @qandnoablog @millennialpinksimblr  @speckles-s @cartwheelandfaceplant @the-spidey-dork @spider-stud@meashy-moo @boogie-woogie-wooogie @be-more-heidi-hansen @cartwheelandfaceplant @khaleesiclifford @veryhealthyobsessions

[recalcitrantlycaffeinated]

So apparently Reddit noticed me

I don’t know how to verify my identity there, so here’s some comments:

I’m not trans, and I don’t look even mildly androgynous.  I look like the American Girl doll Molly and I was dressed that day like I had come from the prairie.  I was also wearing the backpack I’ve had since college.  I’m also four foot nine.

Those of you cheerfully giving advice on how to look 16 instead of 12: I’ve literally aged three years since this post originally went up, but people continued to think I was 12 until I cut all of my hair off.  People have indeed started thinking I am 16 instead.  I regret everything.

I did in fact hit puberty and in fact have all the appropriate proportions for my height, but the height is just...too much for adults to comprehend sometimes, especially when combined with my questionable fashion choices, which are 90% thrift store and 10% Target clearance racks.

I do also have a very young-looking face.  People have been thinking I was a child for quite some time now.  I filled elderly people at a hospital with consternation when I worked there.  People who came to my various McDonald’s would occasionally question whether I was of legal working age.  Then again, they also questioned whether I was Amish or not, so that should tell you part of why these misunderstandings keep happening.

I once dated a guy with a massive beard who looked way older than me.  People used to give us dirty looks in public.  I don’t miss that.

Sometimes I don’t get carded at all, but my best friends also look like high schoolers so when we all go out together we’re usually all assumed to be 19 or 20.  My husband has Perpetual 5 O’Clock Shadow so he ages us out of middle school at least.  One of these friends was with me in the airport that day, so us both being together probably exacerbated the problem.

The person who said people like me are part-hamster: I love you.  This is the most ridiculous explanation I’ve ever heard.

To the person who said I probably looked like Ariana Grande in a sweatshirt and leggings, I love you.  You can stay.  You’re wrong but you can stay.

I have definitely been given a kids menu on a date before.  It’s...not great.

You don’t understand how much I want blue hair.  I have been working at jobs where blue hair was not allowed since I was 16.  I am now 28.  I am contemplating quitting my job in the next few years to Become a Parent and you can bet your butt I’m going to dye my entire hair blue the second that happens.  Snapchat just came out with a colorful hair lens and I send my husband pictures of me with “blue hair” all the time.

I don’t have any genetic form of dwarfism, just super-small parents.

I’m a white person.  Not so white that the sun burns me whenever I see it, but definitely way more Italian/Sicilian blood than anything else in me.  So you can’t blame the TSA agent’s assumption on my race.

...if y’all were trying to imply that I have at any point conjured this young-looking image in order to gain attention from older men who are into children...y’all are gross.  No one who has talked to me for more than fifteen minutes has thought I was a child.

I was not wearing makeup that day at all

I did not make this up.  How dare you.  I was just trying to share a cute story about a lovely TSA lady and y’all are trying to tell me my life is fake.

Pssst I’m not heterosexual but that has nothing to do with what I look like.

To the person who was sad there wasn’t a picture but then said “hmm maybe that would be a bad idea considering this is the internet”; I love you.  I have gotten enough weird sex messages without there being pictures of me online.  I’m tired of blocking people.

Y’all are saying I’m going to enjoy this more when I’m in my 30′s or 50′s or whatever.  You’re wrong.  I’m going to enjoy this most when I get pregnant and I still look like a teenager and I can offend every single person I see who doesn’t know me just by my existence.

I do buy children’s shoes, and also children’s workout gear, but by and large the current children’s fashions are not for me.

I don’t take advantage of children’s prices at museums, etc. but I was once in Europe on a trip with super religious people.  The only time I have EVER seen them lie to get ahead was repeatedly lying about my age to get cheaper tickets.

Okay y’all who are doubling down on me being a liar: I don’t airport much, but I can tell you that the lady was already giving me instructions about what was coming up as she was holding my information but before looking at it, because apparently I looked like a scared rabbit or something.  Then she looked at it and realized her mistake.  Then I unzipped my shoes (...I’m not helping myself here am I) and went through the whole put your stuff in a bin and walk through a metal detector thing.

Any other questions??  Doubts??  Theories??  I’m here to answer things but I just don’t know how to Reddit.

[patty-writes]

headcanon for Eldarya boys as kids pleaaase

Thank you for the first request, I hope you like those! 🌹

Ezarel:

Ezarel was probably the most grumpy kid you could imagine, always complaining about everything and generally being difficult to be around. He often refused to go somewhere if the place didn’t seem safe and clean enough for him, which could be often understood as the result of being an only child in a noble family. The truth was, however, that he would much more prefer to stay inside and do some puzzles or solve the riddles.

When he was younger, he envied the kids who had siblings, considering his life to get lonely from time to time, but he has soon realized that the constant arguments between them weren’t worth some hours of fun together and therefore resigned from this dream and never came back to it. When the time passed, he has learned that it was even better to be an only child and started teasing the others about it just like they were teasing him before.

He liked to spend time alone and draw, gaining a truly good skill in it, especially when it came to nature and landscapes. He has never wanted to show his drawings to anyone, though, so he kept them private until this passion slowly faded away due to the other occupations.

Nevra:

He was a good, responsible kid who knew many things that the other boys didn’t, since he grew up with his younger sister. It made him more understanding for women and taught him how be more empathetic toward them, despite the fact that sometimes he couldn’t comprehend some behaviours of theirs.

Nevra, like a good older brother he was, had to save Karenn many times, mostly because of her nosy personality and the ability to get into trouble surprisingly quickly. He has lost the count of how many times it was his problem to appease someone after one of her countless incidents, though his natural charm and sweet smile always did their job. He was a truly adorable kid, after all, very sweet with those huge, grey eyes of his and he knew how to use them for his own advantage.

As a kid, he enjoyed spending time outside most of the time, looking for new adventures and wandering around with friends for the whole nights. The others were often naturally attracted to him, so he has never had to complain about the lack of eventual company and that was the main rason for getting grounded a lot. It wasn’t rare for him to lose the track of time and come back home many hours after the promised time.

Valkyon:

Nobody knows how many companions did he brought home and asked if he could keep them all, because it was so cold/rainy/snowy/stormy outside. If he could, he would gladly protect them all, giving them warm shelter and food, even if it meant carrying an adult Sitourche all the way to the home. Valkyon was always loving and caring for all the children of nature, considering even the tiniest ones as important and dear to his heart.

He was also very helpful for everyone in need, never missing an opportunity to help someone carry the groceries and if he would be living on the Earth, he would surely be the type to help an eldery woman cross the street. His room was usually kept in neat order, things having their own places and remaining in them most of the time. One could say that all of this was a desperate attempt to catch up with his older brother but Valkyon has never felt it as such, but more as a positive push and motivation to be the best he could. His good heart was actually making him quite better than his brother, though he still kind of remained in his shadow — not that he minded.

One of his favourite activities was observing his mother cook and at some point he even started considering the career as a chef, although he has never tried it out in practice. The other one, was admiring his brother and aspiring to grow up to be like him one day.

Leiftan:

Leiftan was the perfect example of this one, quiet kid who always has his homework done, gets the best grades, is adored by all the teachers and could participate in many optional classes just to prove everyone that he is the best without even trying too hard. Learning has always been a natural talent for him, new informations remembered quickly and for a long time, especially since he has always had a good memory.

He has never had the rebel phase while being a teenager, not really seeing the point of doing that, since his family was a loving a caring one, and hurting them in such way was completely unnecessary. He has never stolen a single thing from his parents and was usually trying to speak the truth to them, not wanting to lose their trust.

That is why, nobody would easily believe that one of his main hobbies as a child was catching little insects and tearing out their legs or wings just to watch them struggle.

Lance:

Lance was an exemplary older brother. Skilled and handsome was bringing the great pride for his whole family, despite his somehow moody and obnoxious personality which everyone seemed to not pay attention to, due to his other advantages. He was never afraid to speak his mind out loud, not caring about making other kids cry because of his harmful words and considering it funny to bully the weaker ones.

He has believed that his intellect, talents and hard work are enough to make him better than every other child — and he was not necessarily wrong. Every bad thing he did was rarely punished by the adults as they were seeing a lot of potential in him, thinking about his behaviour as something which will pass with the time. Though, it never did and it even got worse.

He was breaking girl’s hearts since kindergarten age, mostly by accidentally breaking their toys and making fun of the hand-drawn cards with love confessions sent by them. Lance was always considering it as childish and took a great pride in showing what does he think about those foolish girly stuff — that is, until one girl of his age threw a wooden block surprisingly accurately at his head and called him a moron for that. It was the first time in his life that his heart started to beat faster in this particular way.

[virmillion]

Some Kind of Magical - Chapter 2

Chapter 1 / Chapter 3 / Masterpost / ao3

Warnings: Past violence, let me know if you have any more

Words: 4449

    Patton splits off from the other three, carefully using the warmth of their words to build a barrier around his heart. No telling how strong it’ll need to be tonight, but he can obliterate that bridge when he gets there—his dad isn’t supposed to be home quite yet. Picking up the pace, Patton pushes his black and blue glasses higher up his nose, trying to quell the rising terror that always accompanies his walks home.

    The number of wild animals crawling out of bushes to greet him is less than reassuring—at this rate, they’ll follow him all the way back and his dad will use them as target practice. Patton shoes them off with handfuls of dried fruits from his bag, regaining his solitude by the time he reaches the front door. Thankfully, the house appears quiet, an unheard of occasion as of late. It’s a rare day when he isn’t greeted by furious yelling or pointedly aggravated silence—if Patton didn’t know better, he’d swear there was some sadistic being testing his resolve in striving toward pacifism.

    “Please be okay, please be okay, please dear Cethyphyirr be okay,” Patton chants to himself, tripping up the stairs on his untied shoelaces. He ignores the gaping frame where his bedroom door had been just that morning and drops his bag to the floor, fooling himself into thinking it would be enough of a barrier to protect him. Without so much as a glance at the sea of garbage and mess at his feet, Patton wades through the clearest path to his closet door—still attached, praise Ceth. Shoving the shelves and weapons to the side, he removes the poster blocking a shallow hole in the wall to reveal a little cove of various babbling critters.

   Tarasques and shedus and jorogumos alike peer out at Patton, each a different age and each recovering from some injury or another. Patton unrolls a cloth bandage, tearing it in the middle with his teeth and turning to the turtle-like tarasque. He patches up a hole in the shell, using his other hand to scoot aside the baying freybug that’s ventured out of the hole. The jorogumo skitters up his arm with several hairy legs, the face-like markings on its back seeming to wink at him.

   “You guys are lucky this cavity came with a size charm, you know that?” Patton sighs, watching his hand shrink each time it enters the gap to escort out another animal. The shedu’s tail puffs up, consuming a majority of the opening and growing into the space. It blocks Patton’s access to the other creatures until he can nudge the creature back to shrink down again. “Yes, Dad, absolutely I should go into Resolute,” he mutters. “Certainly, my one true calling is taking up arms against the creatures that I want nothing more than to protect. How ever do you do it, figuring out exactly what’s best for me? Even teaching me to solve my problems with my fists, to the point that my friends already know they have to restrain me.” Patton grits his teeth, clenching his hands into fists as his jaw begins to ache. He only stops at the whimpering of the freybug, which backs toward the nest with a wary focus on him. Slowly, his fists relax. “Really, Dad, you truly are a wonder to behold. One to rival the Ejnathryk itself.”

   “Patton Thyrrdyn!” A furious voice bellows from downstairs. Patton holds back a groan, quickly and methodically replacing the poster behind the weapons and shelves. The last creatures vanish just in time, as the name is repeated louder and closer than before.

   “Hey, Dad,” Patton says, descending the stairs to look at the man in the front entryway. “What can I do ya for?” He feels his pulse quicken for the ever-present dread that his dad might find the hidden creatures, but this rage doesn’t look like that of a betrayed father.

    “Care to explain why there’s dirt tracked in here?” The panic recedes, leaving only a slight irritation at such a loud yell for such a trivial complaint.

    “Guess I didn’t notice. Sorry.” Patton turns to head upstairs, to escape before the discussion inevitably turns to TryMyts, but nothing can ever be quite so simple.

    “Did they discuss Trytsu selection today?” The edge in his voice alone is enough to make Patton hesitate. “Don’t worry. I know you’ll pick the right one.” He pauses briefly, watching Patton back away with a nod. “I only want what’s best for you, kiddo. I’m just trying to keep you safe.”

    “I know.”

    “So, any ideas for dinner?” A stab at conversation, and a poor one at that.

    “No, but Logan, Roman, and Virgil are supposed to come over later. We were gonna try to get started on planning our TryMyts projects.”

    “Who?” A hollow sigh takes up residence in Patton’s chest, begging to be released in a show of sheer aggravation. His dad has met all three of them several times over, and this is just an act to prolong the dying conversation. This information is the only thing keeping Patton from melting down into a stereotypical heap of groaning teen annoyance.

    “Logan Thylktor, Roman Thyrrak, and Virgil Thriyv. We’ve been to each other’s houses a bunch of times, and you even met Virgil’s mom at orientation for senior year TryMyts stuff, remember?”

    An ugly frown toys with his dad’s mouth. “The adoptive parents that don’t understand their place. Yeah, I remember those two.” It would be so easy for Patton to remark on his own mom’s absence, or how ridiculous it is to be upset that two people would willingly take in someone not related by blood, or how well-functioning the Thriyv household is, but he doesn’t. With thinly pressed lips and a slight dip of his chin, Patton retreats the rest of the way upstairs.

    In his room again, he could easily get a head start on his project, or even on putting a dent in the mess on his floor, but that would be too easy. Instead, he lifts the lid from a glass box of miniature trees and grass, hidden in an unmarked crate beneath a heat lamp in his closet. After a moment, something small and green glides from one of the branches, its mottled red tail streaking behind. Patton allows that same wistful smile to cross his face, twin to the one that always appears when his healing creatures test out their reparations—rehabilitations, as it were. The amphiptere, a little winged serpent, finally comes to a rest at Patton again, concluding its tour of his room by wrapping its tail around his finger. The other hand, resting on the floor at his side, promptly stings with the dull pain of a bite.

    “Hey,” he scolds softly, looking at the little beaked basilisk peeking out from his pile of clothes. In Patton’s defense, sometimes the mess is convenient. The reddish brown scales glow as it makes a muted guttural sound, its eyes barely cracked open. Damaged neurotoxin gland, a difficult fic to be sure, but that doesn’t mean Patton isn’t trying. The eyes, having long since recognized Patton as a protector, rather than a captor, avoid his gaze. Paralyzing its closest acquaintance probably isn’t the best course of action. Patton idly observes the progress of each of his creatures, whiling the time away until his friends can get over and ensure that his dad won’t barge in.

    “Patton? Those Loman and Rogan kids you were talking about are here.”

    He doesn’t bother to correct the names—the flub was probably intentional, anyway. Aimed at getting a rise out of Patton, prompting a reaction, proving he didn’t raise a broken boy that would never belong in Resolute. That what everything’s always been about, is trying to force Patton to stretch the extra three inches to fit in a six-foot mold. “Send them up, please.”

    Of their own volition, the creatures return to their tanks and crates and corners, hiding from the people they don’t know well enough to trust. Only Patton is allowed to be graced with their presence, exclusively due to his persistence in trying to help them.

    “Wish they’d stay out so I could meet them,” Roman comments on his way in, watching the speckled tip of the amphiptere’s tail vanish into the closet.

    “Yeah, well.” Patton shrugs, nudging the door shut with his foot and clearing a path through the rubble of clothes on his floor. “Do we want to wait for Virgil?” Rather than answer, Logan drops his weight in papers to the ground, leaving Roman to carry the conversation on his own. Patton’s eyes track the motions of a few flyaway papers, floating gently like fallen butterflies.

    “His mom said he didn’t come home this afternoon, and his mother was busy with a meeting, so his mom said he might stop by later, thanks for our time, but she really should be getting back to her notes.” Mid-sentence, Roman’s voice shifts up an octave in a remarkable imitation of Virgil’s mom. At least, as remarkable as the imitation of an adult woman can be, given that the imitator is a teenage boy.

    “So basically, we’re on our own without the sarcastically comedic comments?”

    “More or less.” Roman joins Patton and Logan on the floor, bringing his comparably meager supply of books with him. With one last sigh, Patton braces himself for the onslaught of work they have ahead of them. By the time a shadow falls over the small window on the far wall, he’s long since stopped paying attention to the outside world. He blinks, trying to force his hazel eyes to focus on what’s in front of him, to make sense of the endless lists and bullet points.

    “What about this? A battle for glory in a ring of deadly creatures, lit by Cethyphyirr to symbolize your creation of a new existence into the world of an official Trytsu?” A decent suggestion from Logan, which lies in direct conflict with the neat scrawling on the paper he holds up—schematics for a Rehabilitate project. Patton squints at the paper, trying to comprehend Logan’s cramped handwriting—despite his penchant for artistic pursuits, he could certainly stand to improve his legibility. Although the situation might be less than ideal, it’s not the worst idea to circumvent Patton’s dad’s refusal to accept a non-Resolute Trytsu.

    As Logan repeats himself for Roman to scribble the battle idea onto his notepad, Patton copies the written plan down in his own pages. “Hasn’t the whole ‘glory of Cethyphyirr’ thing been done before?” Roman pokes his cheek with an eraser, sticking his tongue out. “Not very original of a TryMyts, no offense.”

    “First off, nothing is original,” Logan says, ticking off the reasons on his fingers. “Second, even if it’s been done, it hasn’t been done by you, which is what would make it stand out. Third, the point of TryMyts is not to be original.” He unfurls his remaining two fingers to gesture with his entire hand at Roman. “Every student might well do the same project, provided the result is worthy of finding a place in their Trytsu, be it that of their parents or a new one. Yours doesn’t have to be special. It just has to be effective.”

    “But originality is what makes people stand out! What would you say if someone told you your work was boring, or had been done before?”

    “In all likelihood, I would embrace the challenge of outdoing a previous accomplishment, though that should hardly be any of your concern.” The sparkle in Logan’s eyes sends a jolt through Patton’s spine, an inevitable debate waiting to ignite. “Suppose, Roman, that you were to do something entirely original. How, precisely, might you intend to pass off such a thing to your parents, if you don’t have the perfect grades to back it up? They will assume you won’t succeed if you haven’t succeeded already. Better yet, if there’s never been a safe trial run of your supposedly ‘original’ TryMyts before, how can you guarantee Pib’s safety when you attempt it?”

    Patton is already on his feet and scurrying out of the room before Roman can come up with a retort, letting Logan’s triumphant debate-mode voice fade behind him. He makes up some excuse about getting snacks, the argument rapidly escalating and drowning out his mumbles. Of course, he already knows there’s no extra food lying around the house, but that’s beside the point. Even some ice to let melt on his tongue would be enough, just something to drown out his racing thoughts over Virgil’s absence. Suffice it to say, Patton was less than thrilled to hear about Virgil not making it home, even more so that he didn’t make it to the study session. He just needs a good distraction, is all.

    Take an injured rabbit for example, on its side mere feet beyond the front door. Patton jumps down the last few stairs, ready to sprint outside and help—until his rescue is interrupted.

    “Hey, kiddo, how’s it goin’?” Eyeing the suspiciously pink glow on his dad’s face, Patton shrugs noncommittally, desperate to keep his gaze off the rabbit. “How can you not know? Any project breakthroughs? Any of your little friends planning to betray their heritage and change Trytsun?”

    “I don’t know, no, I don’t know, gotta go,” Patton says, bouncing between his feet and trying to squeeze past his dad. No dice, as the man has him trapped between the railings at the landing of the stairs.

    “What about that Thriyv kid? Did his parents decide to keep their faux-altruistic ways out of other people’s lives for once?”

    “I really don’t know. He might be over later, but I’m not sure.” For a split second, Patton lets his eyes dart to the door, where the rabbit remains. A pair of eyes gleams back at him in the darkness.

    “Hey, hey, eyes on me, kiddo. Right here.” His dad grabs his shoulder, forcing his attention to snap back. “I just want what’s best for you, you know?”

    “I know.” Ignoring the desire to remark on the peculiar way of showing affection, Patton finally slips under the arm braced against the wall. The eyes outside are closer than before. A dish of water, that’s all he needs, just a few seconds to get to the rabbit and get it hydrated and get it upstairs to safety. An ideal plan, simple enough in its success, if the faucet weren’t so slow, if all the dishes weren’t dirty, if his dad had moved sooner, if the rabbit were still warm. With his dad having disappeared to do Ceth knows what, Patton sinks to his knees beyond the door. The eyes have vanished, leaving only the vague sense of being watched as he carefully cradles the rabbit’s hind leg, snapped beyond a point of reason.

    “I’ll help you, promise,” he murmurs, doing his best not to jostle the poor thing as he takes it to his room. Roman and Logan appear completely unsurprised as he sets about wrapping the rabbit’s leg and dribbling water into its mouth with a straw. The other two carry on with their discussion of possible TryMyts ideas, a relaxing backdrop of sound as he works. For however little it’s worth, the rabbit’s eyes slowly brighten, its body heat returning over the course of far too many minutes.

    “Patton, I think we’re going to head out,” Logan says, jolting him from his concentration. “Our parents will be expecting us soon, and we don’t want to impose.”

    “No problem,” Patton replies, barely taking his eyes off the twitching rabbit. “See you tomorrow.”

    “Tomorrow,” Roman agrees, offering a wave as he follows Logan out through where a door should be and down the stairs. Patton waits for the click of the closing front door, counting the moments that follow. After seven seconds, the inevitable complaints present themselves.

    “Why did they have to stay so long?”

    “Don’t know.”

    “What are you doing?”

    “Homework.”

    “What?”

    “Homework!” An edge of aggravation laces through Patton’s voice. This whole charade is as ridiculous and unnecessary as ever.

    “Okay!” A twin spear of irritation lingers with his father’s response.

    “If you need me to be louder, don’t go off at me for complying,” Patton mutters to himself, wishing he could slam the door shut. Of course, it doesn’t exist anymore, probably burned to high Ceth by now, in the name of his dad’s twisted ideas of what being in Resolute truly means. As the echo of a pitiful excuse for conversation fades, the annoyance on both ends slowly dissipates, the chasm of a closet remaining silent. With a careful parting of the obstacles, Patton places a finger into the charmed gap, watching his fingernail shrink down. The sudden visibility reveals all of his little friends curled up on top of one another, happily dozing away. To the quiet hum of the heat lamp’s whirring, the amphiptere huffs hot air out to match the warmth on its back.

    Patton replaces the mess he’d sifted through earlier to disguise his creatures from sight, pleased at how well the posters and boxes blend in with the whirlwind of clothes and papers and projects. There, on the floor of his closet and slumped against the door, is how the morning sun finds him, an obnoxious beam on his crusted shut eyes. It takes a few slow, exhausted blinks for Patton to gather his bearings, before he jumps to his feet.

    Mutterings of “gonna be late” and “crap crap crap” and “Ceth please lend me your speed” chase Patton around his room as he tugs on the first pair of shoes he can find. The clothes from yesterday will have to do, Patton decides, shouldering his open bag and running out the front door. Granted, the stolen bedroom door is a nuisance as well as an invasion of privacy, but it certainly allows for a conveniently fast exit. Down the sidewalk and onto the pavement, the pale sun overhead offers the smallest modicum of warmth for his shivering arms, coated in goosebumps. Twin birds flock behind him, cawing anxiously for their usual morning treats. Patton obliges, scattering a handful of raisins on the ground behind him as he sprints for the school. The last dregs of students filing into the building that rapidly crowns his horizon forces his legs to beat faster, his heart rate pulsing through every last nerve ending.

    “Ceth, please, just a little faster,” Patton heaves, flinging his body into the building with reckless abandon. He collapses into his usual seat in his classroom—thankfully near the front door—and lets his head loll back as the teacher closes the door behind him.

    “Late start, Thyrrdyn?”

    “You could say that.” He lets himself laugh with the other kids, certain the bright pink burn of exertion is spreading rapidly across his face.

    “Well, you sat down before I could shut the door, so I suppose I’ll let it slide. This time.” The telltale wry grin Patton sees toying with the teacher’s lips is enough to know he’s off the hook, with no bad blood to show for it. As the attention of the class reluctantly drifts back to the front of the room, turning minds toward pretending to learn, Patton tunes it out. He can get it all from Logan or Virgil later, rather than strain his willpower to be engaged now. More important of an issue is considering whether his room and reputation are safe, should his dad decide to snoop around while he’s gone.

    The poster was definitely blocking the size-charmed nook, and he almost certainly knocked over the shelves and weapons in his rush to get out. At the very least, the mess should deter any would-be paternal inspectors of that odd spiderweb crack in the wall. There has to be something more, something else he’s forgetting, or he wouldn’t have this lingering sense of dread that something’s missing. Once more through the checklist, the heat lamp was on, the closet door was shut, the mess looked organic, everything important was contained behind closed doors, so everything should be fine.

    “The rabbit!” Patton hisses, rapping the side of his fist on his desk. He darts his eyes around furtively, thanking Ceth that no one seemed to notice his outburst, but one mercy doesn’t solve another. He was helping the rabbit, Logan and Roman left, the mini-interrogation with his dad, and he passed out on the floor. The rabbit was probably long gone by the time Patton woke up—with any luck, it had at least partially healed. With any luck, it would know to hide itself, or get out while it still could.

    With every moment that the teacher discusses whatever it is the class is supposed to care about, Patton feels his pulse pick up. If he could just run home, double check for any incriminating evidence, he could reassure himself and not have to fear his dad’s wrath. The bouncing of his eyes and the tapping of his feet aren’t exactly comforting ways to fidget, not to mention how they seem to agitate the teacher, but Patton can’t particularly find it in himself to care.

    “Patton Thyrrdyn, do you have something you would like to share with the class?” He jolts, eyes wide as they focus on the imposing adult.

    “Um, no, Myjhyrr. Sorry, I didn’t—Sorry.” Patton pulls his lips between his teeth, biting down until they tingle and the color drains away. Prodding the little teeth-shaped indents with his tongue, he smiles sheepishly at the teacher’s wary look. With a glare of warning, the teacher continues the lesson.

    Maybe he could leave at lunch and be back by the next class, if he just sprints a little faster than his lungs would like to allow—but no, no, that wouldn’t work. The higher ranking people in charge of the school started assigning teachers to block off the exits months ago. Patton is well and truly trapped, and there’s nothing he can do about it. If he could just get to the door—

    “Thyrrdyn! You know as well as I do that your record will tolerate very few further complications, and I don’t suppose you desire to toe that line. If you don’t want to repeat this year, I suggest you sit up, face forward, and pay attention.” It’s a bit difficult to discern what, exactly, is so pointed in the teacher’s words, but something in there makes Patton’s blood boil. The worst he’d ever done was give Than a much deserved nosebleed, and that’s hardly any of the teacher’s business to share in front of the whole class. As if they didn’t already know, didn’t already spread rumors to make him sound even worse, like he planned the attack instead of losing his grip on pacifism. At this rate, someone might well end up with a pencil stuck through their arm. Maybe a pen, just to spice things up from last time—which, in Patton’s defense, was an accident. It wasn’t his fault Than set his arm on Virgil’s homework after being asked repeatedly to stop. And besides, Than’s arm wasn’t the only casualty that day—Patton lost a perfectly good pencil.

    At the teacher’s withering glare, Patton lets his eyes fall to his paper, covered in unintelligible doodles and half-hearted notes. Might as well pretend to pay attention now, if only to perfect his acting for when he’ll have to feign innocence at home. No time like the present to start coming up with an alibi. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time Patton was forced to be dishonest, anyway. He doesn’t necessarily want to hurt anyone, but if the good of the many outweighs the good of himself, of course he’s going to pursue the former.

    By the time Patton reminds himself that yes, little white lies are okay in a few choice circumstances, the desks around him are empty, save for the kid asleep in the back corner. The teacher comes to a halt in front of Patton, an incessant clicking sound coming from beyond the desk. As the teacher begins to once more reprimand Patton for not paying attention, the clicking solidifies into the recognizable sound of a pen being shuttered and reopened far more rapidly than necessary.

    “Thyrrdyn—” click “—you—” click “—need—” click “—to learn—” click “—to pay—” click “—attention!” Click click click. “I’m going to have to write you up if this continues.”

    “Oh, no, there’s really no need for that,” Patton says, eyes trained on the infernal clicking pen. “Just an off day, you know?”

    Click click. “It better be. Go on to your next class, but one” click “—last thing.” Click click click. “You’re aiming to switch into Rehabilitate, yes?” Click click.

    “Yeah, but how did you—”

   “Not—” click “—important. What is important is that I have a very close connection to the TryMyts advisors, including Myjhyrr Ryhanthyrri. It would be a shame if he were to find out about your poor aptitude for a place in the Rehabilitate Trytsu.” Click click click click.

   “There’s really no need for that,” Patton repeats, wincing at his lack of more extensive protests. “I’ll do better, I swear, I just need to get the ball rolling on this year. Diving headfirst back into school and all, yeah?”

   With a heavy sigh, the teacher’s eyes fly to the ceiling. The conversation needs to end soon, if Patton is to get to his next class on time, and they both know it. By some miracle, the clicking stops. His head hurts. “Look, Thyrrdyn, I just need you to pull your act together, alright? I’ve heard great things about you from other teachers, past violence excluded, and ideally I’d hoped you would keep it up for this final year. I don’t want to have to be the one to hold you back and make you redo your TryMyts, but I will, if that’s what it takes. Get it?”

   “Yep.” Patton is already sidling toward the door halfway through the teacher’s hypocritical lecture, swinging his bag over his shoulder. “I will absolutely work on that in—whoops, sorry!” He dodges a student shoving their way into the room, half-wishing he could take back the apology when he realizes it’s just Than. No, nope, none of that, clean record in front of this teacher from here on out. Patton is nice and friendly and pacifistic and will act accordingly.

   “Don’t disappoint me, Thyrrdyn.” The teacher sighs as Patton darts into the hall, out of earshot before the ominous warning can reach him.

Chapter 1 / Chapter 3 / Masterpost / ao3

[salemsoul]

Prophecies and Spiky Cats: Chapter 1

Summary: Sabetha is woken up unexpectedly in the early morning after the election by Patience, a fearsome Bondsmagi, who gives her a choice to make. This leads Sabetha on an adventure facing challenges she never thought she would come across, and developing new friendships in unexpected places.

Chapter 1:

Sabetha woke up to the feeling of someone watching her. She turned to her side, where Locke was sleeping soundly, a large satisfied grin across his face. His arm was outstretched towards her and he let out the occasional soft snore that took her right back to being a teenager again.  

She couldn't believe it had been five years since they'd been together in such a way, and when they had finished she couldn't believe she had put it off so long. It was the best sex she had had in a while. He might not have been well practised, but she had found no one since him that could make her feel the way he did. He thought more about satisfying her, rather than just himself. Which was a lot different than many of the men she had slept with. He always checked in to make sure she was ok and enjoying it, never hesitating to show her just how much he loved her, especially when she reached climax again and again and again.

She was reaching down to give him a soft peck on his check, when a sudden cold chill snaked down her spine. Sabetha quickly looked behind her where a glowering hooded presence stood. Suddenly aware of her nakedness, Sabetha pulled the blanket up over her chest and turned her back to Locke.

"What are you doing here?" Sabetha said, fear lacing every word.

"I guess you could say I have a gift for you, of a sort." Patience stepped out of the shadows, waving a hand and illuminating herself in the silver light of alchemical globes. Sabetha didn't move an inch, frozen by fear or magic she didn't know. "I suggest you dress yourself before we start speaking to make yourself more comfortable." Patience said, pulling the hood from her head. With the silver light in the room, she looked like a ghost.  

Sabetha's body seemed to move on its own. Keeping her chest covered, she reached down to the floor by the bed, where she had tossed her clothes in a lust filled passion, and clumsily pulled them onto herself. She remained seated on the bed, not quite willing to leave Locke's side lest Patience do something to him.

She was highly aware she could still feel the sensation of Locke, of his tongue, of his fingers, of his everything, on her, but tried to pull her thoughts away in case they could impair her in a mental battle with this woman.  

Patience waited, her dark eyes glaring down at Sabetha as if she could read her every thought.

"I thought you might want to see this," Patience gestured to the wall behind her where a large rectangle, about three foot tall was placed, a grey cloth hiding what was underneath. When Sabetha made no motion to move, Patience continued, "I suggest you look it at before I tell you what else I have to say."

Sabetha reluctantly pulled back the covers and made her way towards the wall, keeping her distance from Patience as much as she could, kneeled in front of the object and pulled off the large sheet.

"It's a painting of my dear friend Lamor Acanthus and his wife." A pointed look towards Locke, "I think looking at it will show you the real reason he actually cares for you." Sabetha's eyes flicked over the couple. The man was tall and dark. No similarity to Locke at all, but what caught her eye was the redness of the woman's hair, burning like fire so bright she was almost sure she could touch it; mirror to her own.

No.

It couldn't be true.

Doubt rushed through her, choking the air momentarily from her lungs and she clutched at her heart. Locke had always told her his love for her was more than just a fetish. He wouldn’t have lied to her would he? No. She trusted Locke, and she knew in her heart that wasn’t the case. He was more than those Jeremite Redeemers. She was more than just a fetish to him, and he was more than just a lover to her. They were so much more to each other. So much more that sometimes it scared her to feel for someone so greatly.

Sabetha turned back to Patience who was grinning down at her smugly and rose from the floor, "Why would you show me this?"  

"In case you were having any doubts," Sabetha flinched, "I wanted to tell you, they are all true. And you should leave his side, before you live to regret it."

Sabetha remained silent, and instead looked at Patience with challenge in her eyes.

"Now, I have one last piece of information to share with you. I have the gift of prophecy, and hazy as they might be, there is one about Locke." Patience once again flicked her gaze to Locke's sleeping body, "There are three things he must take up, and three things he must loose. A key, a crown, a child." Patience returned her gaze to burrow into Sabetha who had still not moved from where she stood by the painting, half illuminated by the glow of an alchemical globe. "The last, as you can probably guess, concerns you."

Sabetha wanted to rebuke, but she thought it best to hear her out, lest the women took unkindly to being interrupted. From what little Sabetha knew about Patience, she guessed it would probably be true.

Patience continued, "No matter what decisions you make today, you will leave this house carrying Locke's child." Patience looked down at Sabetha's belly as she spoke and Sabetha covered it with a hand instinctively.

"Don't be ridiculous, I take a contraceptive tea every morning." Sabetha looked toward where she had put the tin on the desk behind Patience, along with a few other of her belongings, "And I have no plan on stopping, no matter what you say. At least not now. Not yet."

Patience followed Sabetha's traitorous eyes and looked behind her where the tin was sat out of Sabetha's reach and picked it up. "Oh, you mean the tea you have yet to take after your rather eventful night in the sheets?" Sabetha's cheeks reddened. It had been a long time since she felt embarrassed like that about someone knowing they had had sex. Patience's look took her back to a time when she was an embarrassed teen girl when Father Chains had found out just how far hers and Locke's relationship had progressed. He hadn't scolded them. Just looked so shocked she was sure he was going to drop dead when he happened to walk in on them one morning when they thought he wasn't yet awake. Calo and Galdo had just walked past, both tapping him on the shoulder muttering "we were shocked too", and "who knew she would stoop so low". Chains wasn't able to look at them right for a week.  

Before Sabetha could blink, the contents of the tin was burning in Patience's hand.

Sabetha's breath hitched and her throat closed up. The strong flowery sent of the herbs filled the room and Sabetha coughed before stumbling over to a window and opening it wider. "Why would you do that?" She hissed, losing her polite restraint from before, still coughing from the scent of herbs in her lungs.

Patience smirked, "Some prophecies require a little interference."

"Why do you even care? Why are you so insistent that I must bare this child? It has nothing to do with you?"

"Revenge. My sweet child. Locke took my child from me. Gave him a fate worse than death so I seek to do the same to him." Sabetha continued to glare, breathing heavily by the window. She hoped that at any second she would wake up with a start in Locke's arms, but as the minutes ticked on, Sabetha lost hope. Stupid Locke. "Now, don’t think me completely unmerciful," Patience continued, "Because you did not harm my son, I do not wish to put unnecessary motherly suffering on you. To lose a child is the greatest grief a woman could experience, and I do not wish to harm you unless I have to. Therefore I give you a choice. Lose in such a loose word, and I am not so uncaring that it has to mean death. The child does not have to die. I just require it to be lost to Locke to be satisfied.

"If you leave Karthain right now, and do not seek Locke out, the child will survive, but if you choose to stay and stick by Locke's side, despite what I have told you that his love is merely residual from his past life, at some point the child will die. And you will have to bare that grief with him. This goes for seeking him out afterwards too. The choice is yours to make."  

The fire stopped burning in the tin, and Patience made a point of tipping the remnant ash out of the window. Sabetha watched it flow off in the breeze, like the image of the new future she had seen for herself. She did not have the words to comprehend what Patience had just said. It was like she had thrown a bucket of ice cold water over her and then left her out in the snow.

The choices were clear, did she stay with Locke and Jean and try and forge a life together, risk the future Patience claimed would come to pass and live in fear the moment a potential child is born, or did she leave? Sabetha didn't even know if this child was real and yet she felt selfish for even thinking of putting them at risk by staying.

A part of Sabetha had always wanted a child. But as the years went by, her focus on her work got in the way. She had met no one who she would want to share a child with, except one.

Before Father Chains had died, Sabetha had imagined her and Locke getting married and settling down. The need for schemes would be less frequent and they could experience something together that they themselves never had. Jean, Calo and Galdo would be great uncles, teaching them all about how to charm purses and where to stick a sword. They would grow their gang together. Raise more than just their children, but other little orphan girls like she had been and give them a better life than they would cradled in the bosom of Camorr.

And they would pull off the greatest scheme they had ever been in. Convincing the world that they were simple thieves with no attachments, while living a life no criminal could. With a family.

Nazca would be Capa, and she'd eventually find out, being far more intelligent than her father and brothers combined, but her and her wife would let it slide as long as she got plenty of babysitting duties.

And then Father Chains had died, and Locke had been so stuck in his ways. Had made himself Garrista without having a conversation with her and refused to move on. To move out of that horrible burrow tainted by death and to finally breath some air.

So she had left. That vision of the future with it. But recently it had crept back in some long forgotten recess of her heart. And having it ripped away again hurt more than the first time.

But if she could have a little piece of it, maybe that would be ok? Maybe she would have a daughter and raise her to be a strong and powerful woman in this world while protecting her from those who would mean to hurt her. Like Father Chains did for her. What her own parents couldn’t do.

If she followed Patience's advice and left, and she wasn't pregnant, she would surely know in a few weeks when her monthly bleed was due, and then she could go back and find them, they wouldn’t have gone far. But if she was, then well, she had a lot of things to do. But there was one thing that wasn't adding up.

"If I leave now, how will Locke ever know what he has lost without me here to tell him? Surely that is not enough revenge for you?"

Patience smiled, "As fate has it Locke will eventually find out. I'll make sure of that. And it will destroy him. He did not have his own parents, and it will kill him to think that he wasn't there for his either."

"And what if I decide to stay and simply be done with the child now, before it even has a chance to be born?"

Patience's chuckle skidded across Sabetha's bones making her shiver. "You will find no physiker or dog leech willing to help you. No apothecary will house what you need either, and if you think about going into the city and buying more tea, you will find that they have gone up in flames too."

Sabetha stood in silence for several moments. She looked over to where Locke still slept, blissfully unaware of the calamity that had just befallen them. Last night she had promised him she was going to stay. That they were going to try again. But he will awaken thinking she's betrayed him.

"Can I write him a letter before I go? Just so he doesn't hate me too much?"

"Go ahead." Patience smiled, and Sabetha was reminded of a shark after they had smelt the first drop of blood from their prey.

Sabetha scrambled to the desk and pulled open one of the heavy oak drawers. Inside was a simple writing set, with gold leaf mounting. Pen in hand, Sabetha dipped it in the ink pot and brought it to the paper. After she had written a simple 'Dear Locke', ink and tears began to mix on the page turning the writing into an unreadable mess. Sabetha discarded the paper and tried again. This time she couldn't even get the pen to the page before tears overwhelmed her. This was useless. She threw the pen down with a tap and ink scattered everywhere.

Patience didn't say a word but Sabetha could feel her smiling behind her. "Locke will be fine," Sabetha said pushing up from the desk and began packing what little belongings she had. When she was done she stood in silence in the room. Patience hadn't moved, stood like a shadow in the corner by the window. Without looking in her direction Sabetha walked over to Locke and sat on the bed. He was still dozing with that stupid grin on his face and she smiled.

"Can you leave us a minute? There are things I want to tell him in private before I leave."

Patience nodded, "of course, but you will not be able to wake him."

"I know." And then Patience was gone.

Sabetha reached to his face and tucked a strand of Locke's hair behind his ear before kissing him again on the cheek. Tears welled in her eyes again and dripped onto Locke's face. Sabetha wiped them away.

Sabetha then stepped away towards the desk and removed another sheet of paper and began writing. It wasn't so much that she was too emotional to write, just the thought of Patience watching her spill out her emotions and no doubt judge her fragile heart overwhelmed her and filled her with rage.

  Dear Locke,

  You are my brother bastard, my friend and my lover. You torment me far more than the Sanza's ever could and you are my equal in brain and wits and frustration. I'm sure if you ask Jean how many times he has wanted to knock our heads together for good measure, the sum would be no number we could possibly comprehend, and I want you to know I love you both so, so much.

When you wake up, you are no doubt going to be angry at me. And I understand that. But the decision that I made in leaving was not made lightly. I did want that future we talked about and one day I hope we can have it.

Locke, I wish I could have stayed. I wish we could have left Karthain after we woke up in each other's arms and forged a future together. All of us.

But I am sorry that that just can't happen. There is something deep in my stomach telling me I must go.

Patience spoke to me in a way only she knows how and she made it very difficult for me to stay. But I want you to know it was my decision to leave. She did not force nor threaten. I went of my own free will for what I think will be best for our future.

Locke, I love you, and I wish you so much happiness. You are so much more to me than a simple lover and I have never met a man like you. You challenge me in a way no other man ever has and no doubt ever will.

I hope our paths cross again one day again and maybe then we will have more people in our lives to greet each other with. New friends, new family, new bonds.

But until then, I wish you well my friends. I love you with all of my heart.

Goodbye,

Sabetha.

When Sabetha was finished, she pocketed the pen and blew on the ink until it was dry. Folding the paper into a neat square, she placed it in one of the inside pockets of Locke's coats and sat back down on the bed.

She picked up his hand in hers and gave it a quick kiss. She bent down and whispered in his ear, "I love you Locke. I always have, I always will." Tears again pricked her eyes, "Our little family might be expanding and I'm so scared but it's going to be ok. Don't hate me too much. Be brave, I will see you soon once again." Sabetha kissed him again, high on his cheekbones and rested her forehead on the side of his, shaking with each shallow breath.

"It's time to go." A dreaded voice sounded from behind her causing shivers to race down her spine. Sabetha sat up quickly and wiped at her face, burning with tears. Sabetha looked behind her and nodded solemnly.

Sabetha picked up the rest of her belongings, bid Locke a last fair well with a kiss to his cheek, and left the room.

The steps creaked under her feet as she descended. She knew she could wake neither Locke nor Jean from their magical sleeps yet cringed anyway with every sound. At the bottom of the stair she noticed Jean slumbering unnaturally on the low couch where they had left him, hatchet in hand. It was clear there had been some kind of confrontation before Patience had taken the stairs to wake her, unless Jean had taken to sleeping with his hatchets. With everything they had both been through, she would not blink if that was the case.

Sabetha walked up to Jean and ungracefully moved him to a more comfortable position, slightly straining at the weight of Jean's unconscious form. She left the hatchet in this hand and kissed him on his forehead.

"Goodbye old friend, I'm sorry I've left you to deal with Locke all alone again but please look after him for me."

With that, she got the rest of her funds from underneath a loose floorboard where she had hidden them and walked to the door. With one last look at her friend, she stepped out onto the street.

[missnmikaelson-main]

The Forgotten - Chapter 7

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5 , Chapter 6

2011

++++

Her teeth sank into her lower lip, biting harder and harder until her pulse slammed beneath her bite. Her finger hooked the chain under her chin, rubbing the length of silver until numbness tickled her flesh. Her heart raced in time with her jiggling foot; all were nervous habits that a century of life had failed to eradicate.

“You’re shaking my car,” Caroline pulled up by the house. She stopped the vehicle and turned to her friend. “What’s got you all worked up?”

Elena held up one hand for silence, closed her eyes and tilted her head. Few sounds broke up the dead of night, but beyond the crickets and distant rock music she heard a thrumming heartbeat too fast to be human. A glance in the side mirror illuminated a flash of yellow eyes.

“We have to get Jeremy,” she twisted until the empty backseat came into her peripheral vision. “I forgot my key,” her brows rose.

Caroline released an exasperated sigh and slumped against the driver’s seat.

“I wish you’d said that before,” she opened her car door, “Bonnie had your spare.”

“I thought you had your copy,” she shrugged as Caroline pocketed the key in question. “He’ll never hear us knocking over the music.”

“How do you know he’s got music on?” Caroline’s eyes narrowed.

“It’s Jer,” she grabbed her bags from the trunk, “he’s made it his mission to ruin his hearing with loud music. Listen,” she smirked, “you can probably hear it.”

Caroline made a show of cocking her head to the right and closing her eyes; she completed the picture by sweeping her hair to the side. Elena wondered if the hybrid was listening too.

The following moments had to be executed perfectly.

“You’re right,” she nodded. Her eyes darted to the house. “His bedroom window is open.”

“I’m pretty sure Klaus would kill me if I tried scaling my house in the middle of the night,” she snickered. Klaus would have to get close first and find the correct weapon.

“Is anyone watching?” Caroline smirked.

Elena shook her head and the blonde vanished.

Caroline jumped, grabbed the window pane and flipped into Jeremy’s room with all the grace of a vampire cheer captain. She straightened up inside and looked around; for a moment Jeremy remained ignorant to her presence, but then she moved closer.

A dark shadow crossed his sketchbook and he looked up, expecting to see Alaric with a semi stern ‘go-to-sleep’, but his eyes landed on Caroline instead.

A short yelp – that he would vehemently deny later – escaped before he could hold it in; his pencil dropped onto the bed as his hand clutched his chest.

“Are you trying to give me a heart attack?” He glared up at her.

Caroline pressed her lips together and plucked his headphones from his ears. She tapped the small buds with her fingers.

“You should really be more aware of your surroundings.” She cocked an eyebrow and jerked her thumb over her shoulder. “You’re the one who left your window open.”

“I wasn’t expecting supernatural company,” he rubbed a hand across his face.

She perched on the edge of his bed, picked up his fallen pencil and snatched the sketchbook from his hand. She flipped to an empty page and wrote as she spoke.

“It’s Mystic Falls, Jeremy,” her hand flew across the page, “you should always expect supernatural company.”

She pressed a finger to her lips and turned the note around.

“I only jumped through your window because Elena forgot her key, so if you want to yell at someone go yell at her,” she nodded to his door. “She’s waiting on the steps to be let in.”

He lowered the book and looked up to Caroline’s bossy expression. It was the one that commanded immediate movement, and fervent prayers for anyone that failed to heed her tone.

His fingers curled around the spiral as he stood and left his room.

He took the stairs two at a time, unlocked the door and yanked it open. His narrow eyes found Elena in an instant and noted something different in her stance.

“How could you forget your key?” He stepped onto the porch.

“It’s an interesting story,” Elena shouldered her purse, the weight of her house key dug into her arm, “which I will be more than happy to relay, but I’d prefer sharing time not be on the porch; it’s a little cold tonight.”

He looked at her for a long moment and then shook his head.

“Just get inside,” he waved her in and picked up her second bag. He was certain she had left with one.

“Are you staying, Care?” Elena took off her jacket. She folded the worn material over her arm rather than hang it in the closet; truthfully she was surprised the seams were still holding after so long in storage.

“Aren’t you two sick of each other yet?” Jeremy put down Elena’s bag and crossed his arms. “You just spent three days together.”

“Best friends never get sick of each other,” Caroline deadpanned, “except for when they do.”

“I’d think Elena would be tired of your pep and neurotic tendencies by now,” he rolled his eyes.

“Oh please,” Elena scoffed, “I love my little neurotic control freak,” she pulled Caroline into a one armed hug.

“Love as in…” Jeremy smirked.

“Get your head out of the gutter,” Caroline snickered.

Elena rolled her eyes.

“Hey, I don’t care,” he held out his hands, “but could you imagine the look on Damon’s face if you started dating Caroline.”

“What’s wrong with Caroline?” Caroline crossed her arms.

“You’re a neurotic control freak on crack,” Elena grinned, “and I would choose you over Damon any day.”

“What about your other boyfriend?” Caroline smirked.

Elena bit her cheek hard enough to draw blood. “I don’t have a boyfriend,” she swallowed.

“Yet…” Caroline sang, wiggling her eyebrows.

“Who are you two talking about?” His eyes shifted between the pair.

Caroline’s smile turned sly as she nudged the brunette; she had said she would tell her brother everything, but it seemed she required a little push.

“Just this totally hot guy she met in New Orleans. I’m sure she’ll tell you all about him,” she gave Elena a pointed look.

“I will,” she pulled her leather bound book from her purse to tap the cover, “but I’d like a chance to rest first. Are you staying?”

“I should get home,” Caroline shook her head, “but we’ll talk tomorrow; love you,” she pressed a kiss to her friend’s cheek and left.

Jeremy turned to his sister when they were alone and cocked an eyebrow. Her shoulders were straighter as if the fear and weight she always carried had been lifted. In the three days she had been gone she had gained confidence, and somehow lost her life.

She cut him a look before he could speak.

“Where’s Ric?”

He floundered for a moment but then pointed upstairs to where he assumed their guardian slept.

“Would you get him please?” She whispered, moving to the living room. “I only want to do this once.”

Silence followed her, but then his feet moved, carrying him to the second floor.

She flipped on the television, cranked the volume and opened the grimoire. Pages crackled as she turned them in search of the right spell; she made a mental note to put some tabs on the book now that they had finally been invented with an adhesive that wouldn’t harm the pages.

Once she found what she was looking for she chanted in Latin and bit into her wrist. Three drops of blood fell from the healing wound onto the bare wooden boards at her knees, melting into the floor and sealing the enchantment.

She stood up, flipped off the television and turned to what remained of her family.

“We can speak freely now.”

“What?” Alaric croaked. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and squinted at her as she slowly came into focus.

Jeremy handed him the page from his sketchbook and waited for him to read the hastily scrawled note.

Alaric squinted at the letters until his foggy brain was able to comprehend the meaning.

Elena’s a vampire. There’s a hybrid watching the house. Invite her in, but don’t let on that she’s not human.

“You’re a vampire?” His voice rose to a shout.

“There’s a hybrid outside,” Jeremy hissed. “Do you want him to get Klaus?”

“There’s an original hybrid in front of you,” Elena licked her lips. Her shoulders lowered half an inch when they both turned to look at her.

“You’re an Original?” Jeremy blinked. He reached blindly for the back of the couch. “You never wanted to be a vampire,” he whispered, “why would you do this?” His eyes wanted to widen and narrow at the same time, resulting in a bulging effect. “How did you do this?”

“At the time I was pressed for options.” She sank into an armchair and watched them slowly lower themselves onto the couch. “Turns out I really didn’t want to die, but I couldn’t stay human either. And I know I can’t hide this from Klaus forever, but I would like to keep it quiet for a short time.”

“We’re going to need a little more information,” Alaric struggled to keep his voice calm. “When did this happen? You seem to have excellent control, but you only left this house three days ago.”

“I’ve been gone a little longer than that,” she curled her legs under her body, suddenly feeling like the insecure teenager who had left. “It’s a really long story, and it starts with why we went to New Orleans in the first place.”

She sensed the burning questions, but they nodded for her to continue.

“Bonnie got this tip that the thing we needed to put Klaus down was in the city, specifically in the cemetery in a locked tomb; the tip came with a grimoire. There was a spell inside that she was certain would reveal what was locked away.” Her eyes took on a distant look.

“Did it?” Jeremy prompted.

“In a way,” she murmured. “The spell required a little blood, and since mine held the most power she used a few drops. The spell propelled me backwards…”

“And you hit your head?” Alaric guessed. Although that didn’t make sense; Caroline would have healed her, but Elena had said she was an Original.

“Backwards in time,” Elena clarified. “I did hit my head though,” her smile was wistful as phantom fingers gently felt along her scalp, “but only because I lost my balance and I happened to be standing on stairs.”

She lifted her eyes to find both of them staring at her with open mouths and disbelief written in the lines of their faces. Her supernatural hearing let her make out the strangled word they both struggled to form.

“Time?”

“Backwards in time,” she repeated, nodding, “to the year 1914.” She met Alaric’s eyes. “I have excellent control because I’ve had 97 years to practice.”

++++

1914

++++

The whisper had been a mistake. The recognition was immediate because despite holding in the words and biting down the name she couldn’t hide her familiarity. She had been cursed with expressive eyes that anyone who bothered to look at could read; every thought was on display. She was an open book.

Rebekah, it appeared, was an avid reader.

It didn’t matter that Elena hadn’t said her name because Rebekah saw the instant recognition in her eyes; with her thumb she felt the cool metal of her ring.

Was the glamour still in place?

“Katerina,” she breathed, cocking her head to the left.

Guess that answers my question, Elena swallowed; a shiver swarmed the back of her legs. Her fingers itched to pick Thierry up and cradle him to her chest protectively, but she worried the action would place the baby boy in more danger.

“I’m not her,” she shook her head; “I’m not Katerina.” Her voice held a strength her body lacked.

Rebekah stepped into the room and Elena instinctively pulled Thierry into her arms. Her eyes searched for somewhere he would be safe and unable to wander off. She couldn’t run with him, but she couldn’t leave him alone.

“I sincerely hope you are not attempting to use that child as a shield,” blue eyes glanced at the boy.

“Actually I was going to put him somewhere safe,” Elena chewed her bottom lip, “but Kol’s house isn’t exactly baby proofed.”

“Safe?” Rebekah scoffed. She circled the young doppelganger with a deliberate slowness. “Do you think I’m planning on attacking him?”

“Not him,” she rubbed Thierry’s back.

“You think I’m going to attack you?” Rebekah’s eyes widened. She inhaled slowly through her nose, confirming the brunette’s mortality.

“Aren’t you?” Elena doubted she would while Thierry was in the way but she was afraid she might act without thinking if she were accidentally provoked and if memory served Rebekah had a predisposition to dislike women with her face. She had been getting along well with Rebekah at one point, but that had been after the animosity and before the dagger in the back incident; none of that had happened yet, but Rebekah still held a fierce loyalty to her brother. It was probably stronger too since in 1914 he hadn’t left her rotting in a box for a near century.

“Aren’t you going to take me to Klaus? I knew escaping his notice once was too good to be true.”

Thierry pitched sideways and reached for the floor; Elena steadied him and met Rebekah’s eyes.

“If you do, please do me one favor and leave Kol’s name out of it,” she shifted Thierry’s weight, “I don’t want him hurt for trying to help me.”

Rebekah’s tongue darted out to lick her lips as a small line appeared between her brows; her eyes examined the sincere set of the brunette’s mouth and her earnest gaze. If it was a manipulation, it was one of the strangest ones she had experienced.

“How long have you been here?” A single pale eyebrow rose.

“A few weeks,” she blinked; lying, like running, would have been pointless.

“Then you must have met Isobel,” Rebekah leaned forward; her eyes fell to Elena’s shifting feet, “unless you are Isobel… but no,” she shook her head, “Nik would have recognized you.”

“Unless I was wearing a glamour,” she muttered, but of course Rebekah caught it.

“So you are Isobel?” Rebekah frowned.

“It’s Elena, actually,” she held her breath. “Isobel was my mother’s name.”

“Elena,” Rebekah tasted the syllables on her tongue, walking around her. “My brother is harbouring a doppelganger and her son.”

“Thierry’s not mine,” Elena held him tighter, “I’ve just… sort of taken him in.”

Thierry grabbed a fistful of Elena’s brown curls and watched Rebekah with giant eyes full of curiosity.

“I see,” Rebekah hummed, “and have you taken my brother in as well?”

Her voice held a note of warning that made the hair prickle along Elena’s neck.

“If you’re using Kol, if you’re leading him on,” she stepped into Elena space, leaving an inch between her and Thierry, “I will take you straight to Nik and find that damned moonstone myself.”

Elena gritted her teeth; her eyes hardened under the accusation.

“I’m not Katherine, or Katerina, or whatever you want to call her.” Fire flashed in her eyes. “I don’t use people. Kol offered me protection because he didn’t want Klaus sacrificing me, and I accepted because I didn’t want to be sacrificed.”

“You’ve adjusted to this new information quickly,” Rebekah’s eyes shifted. “How exactly did you fall into my brother’s life? What did he tell you of the sacrifice Nik wants you for? Why should I keep your presence a secret?”

“Other than protecting Kol, you mean?” Elena arched an eyebrow. “It’s a really long story, Rebekah,” she pulled Thierry’s fingers from her hair; “I doubt you’d believe it.”

Rebekah backed away and dropped to sit in an armchair, crossing her legs. She relaxed, tapping the arms with her slim fingers, but no amount of ease could disguise the truth. Elena was on her feet, but Rebekah was the one in charge.

“Try me,” her blue eyes glinted.

++++

Apples and cinnamon assaulted his senses before his feet crossed the threshold. The spiced fruit created a fragrant aroma that clung to every inch of the house; it tempted him to the source, but first he had packages to deliver.

He rushed upstairs, depositing the myriad of boxes in Elena’s room for the time being. Her room was located directly over the kitchen and the mouth-watering smell was stronger. He was more that familiar with the spiced apple cider – his siblings kept it at the ready in December – but it had never brought a smile to his face before as it had been steeped in foul memories.

His smile grew as he stepped into the kitchen.

Thierry sat on the floor playing with his stuffed bear and happily chattering to the inanimate creature; every few seconds his back would lean against a pleated skirt.

His cheer faded.

Elena’s body sat rigid in her chair. Her muscles were tense and he could read the anxiety in the stiff line of her arm and jerky movement as she raised the mug of cider to her lips.

“Hello, brother,” Rebekah lowered her cup. Her eyes locked on his face and for a moment she knew the great pleasure of watching the blood drain from his face. She stood from the table and straightened her skirt.

She cast a guarded smile to the brunette.

“It was a pleasure to meet you, Elena,” she lifted her chin and strode around her shell shocked brother. The front door closed behind her.

Kol’s head turned back and forth from Rebekah’s calm exit to Elena’s straight shoulders; dread twisted his stomach into a knot.

“How long was she here?” The formerly comforting smells of apple and cinnamon brought on a sudden wave of nausea.

“An hour,” Elena chewed her lip, “maybe two.” She pressed her lips together and glanced at the gold ring he was watching with rising relief. “Kol,” her lip throbbed as she met his eyes, “the glamour wore off.”

The shift from relief to rage was instantaneous and marked by the tick of his jaw.

“Lock the door and open it for nobody,” he spun and was gone.

Elena picked up Thierry and raced into the foyer. She flipped the locks and released a breath that rattled her lungs.

++++

She walked down the street, weaving between the holiday shoppers with their piles of brown wrapped parcels. She slipped around a man and woman that strolled arm in arm down the snow dusted sidewalk; the man’s familiar expression caught her attention; he gazed at the woman as if she were the sole source of light in his world with wonder in his eyes.

They turned the corner and she expelled a long breath before moving onto a nearly deserted Chartres Street; the Ursuline Convent loomed ahead. She could still remember when the nuns had lived and worked the grounds, educating young girls, before moving to a larger building in the 9th Ward; Nik had kept his true name from the plans, but she recognized his hand in the Neoclassical architecture and stucco-covered brick.

It was currently used as offices for the Archdiocese, but at this point in the day the beautiful grounds were deserted. The empty grounds suited her purposes.

She skirted the building and perched on the low hedge maze’s wall.

She counted to forty-three before footsteps crunched over the gravel and frosted grass. She crossed her legs, tilted her head and blew out a white cloud.

“Are you out of you mind?” She glanced at him. “She clearly is,” her lips pursed; Elena’s heart had remained steady after the initial erratic rush.

“I assure you, sister,” Kol took deliberate steps toward her; “I am in full control of my mental faculties, as is she.”

“Because a woman who claims to come from another time is perfectly sane,” she scoffed.

“She’s telling the truth Rebekah,” his brows lowered. He was mildly surprised Elena had told her that, but then again she knew better than to lie to a vampire.

“And you’re protecting her out of the goodness of your cold, dead heart?” A snort broke from her.

“I’m not cold,” he growled.

“You’re hardly warm,” she stood, craning her head back to meet his eyes. “I would ask what you’re getting out of this, but I saw the way you were looking at her.”

“What are you talking about?” A line appeared between his brows as he rocked back on his heels.

She saw his smile in her mind’s eye: soft and gentle, and only for her. In her nine-hundred years she had never witnessed such an expression on his face; that was the sole reason she would keep her newfound knowledge secret.

“You have feelings for her,” she could practically hear his mind working, but he didn’t deny it. “That brings me back to my first question.” Her voice dropped to a hiss. “Are you out of your bloody mind?”

She jabbed his chest and he staggered back.

“She’s a doppelganger,” Rebekah gritted her teeth.

“She’s not like the others,” there was an edge to his voice.

“I caught on to that,” she crossed her arms. “She recognized me instantly, and one of the other two would have used that little boy as a shield, but when I asked her what she was doing she said she wanted a safe spot to put him down.” She searched his face, but ultimately decided to leave out the brunette’s sole request; that would come to light in time. “I think she expected me to drag her off to Nik right then.”

“Why didn’t you?” He searched her eyes.

“Curiosity,” she shrugged. “You can’t keep hiding her, Kol. When Nik finds out…”

“Nik’s not going to find out,” the fury in his voice cut her off, “because if you tell him I swear that I will find a dagger and hide your body where nobody will ever find you.”

Rebekah caught her breath at the quiet rage in his voice, and the dark promise in his eyes. The well ran deeper than she had initially thought for her brother to make such a threat.

She rolled her shoulders back and spoke in a gentle, soothing voice.

“You can’t hide her forever, Kol.”

“I don’t have to hide her forever,” he inhaled slowly, “just until I’ve dealt with Nik.”

“You can’t deal with Nik,” she backed up, “he’ll put a dagger in you for this.”

“That’s the point,” he grabbed her elbows. “I have lived in fear of him for centuries with the constant threat of a dagger to my heart if I step out of line. I have a plan, Bex, and I need you to keep this secret until I can bring it to fruition.”

++++

She adjusted the popcorn and cranberry garland while Thierry rolled around by her feet. The distant sound of the door stiffened her shoulders, but she relaxed when it was unlocked rather than broken down.

She stood on her tiptoes to reach the upper branches. His gaze warmed her spine.

“You’re oddly relaxed for the situation, darling,” he stepped up behind her as she swayed. A hand on her hip steadied her weight.

“I figured Klaus would have kicked the door off its hinges,” she shrugged, and dropped her weight to her feet. She made no move to distance herself from his lingering touch. “I try not to panic until I know there is something to panic about, otherwise I’d be a walking anxiety attack.” She spun around to face him and held her hands at her sides, resisting the urge to press her palms to his chest.

His fingers grazed her waist as she spun. His eyes dropped from her wide eyes to her parted lips, looking back up when she but her lip and spoke.

“Do I have a reason to panic?” She managed a small smile. “Am I going to have any more meetings with your family? I haven’t run into Elijah yet.”

“Fear not, love,” he chuckled, “you’ll not be subjected to my family again anytime soon.”

She smiled and he lowered his eyes, turning his head to attempt hiding his frown.

“That’s…” her smile dropped. She brought her hand up, curling her fingers around his elbow. “What’s wrong? Is it that thing you don’t know how to say?”

His head snapped up and tilted to the right as he scrutinized her features; her cheeks flushed under his gaze.

“How do you do that?” His fingers pressed into her side. “How do you read me so well?”

“I don’t know,” she shrugged, “but can I take that as a yes?” She chewed her bottom lip, lowering her eyes to where she held his elbow. “You know,” her thumb rubbed the inside of his arm, “in my experience, things get harder to say the longer they’re left unsaid. If you want my advice you should just say it and get it over with. What’s the hold up?”

“This will hurt you, Elena,” he sighed. “I’d rather not become the source of your pain.”

“I’ve got a pretty thick skin, Kol,” she blinked, “and, honestly, now that you’ve said that it’s gonna hurt I would rather know sooner than later.”

He glanced down when a small hand pulled on his pant leg. Thierry used him for support to stand and clung to him. He watched the large blue eyes blink and drew in a deep breath.

She held her breath and shifted forward on her toes.

“Kol?” she gave him what she hoped was an encouraging smile.

Kol’s stomach knotted.

“I suspected from the beginning,” he cleared his throat, “and Freya confirmed it…” he heard her heart skip a beat, “… there are dozens of spells to send a person backwards, but none exist to…”

She dropped her hand and stepped back, colliding with the tree. Pine needles rained down over her shoulders and clung to her clothes.

“Elena,” he reached for her, but lowered his hand when she shook her head and closed her eyes.

Moisture clung to her lashes. She swallowed and willed her tears to stay at bay.

“I can’t go home?” Her voice trembled around the words.

“You can’t go back,” he exhaled.

Her bottom lip shook. She closed her mouth, but it didn’t help. She walked around him before the tears could fall and raced up the stairs, ignoring his call.

“Elena,” he called out.

Kol moved to follow her but stopped when he felt the added weight around his leg.

He bent and hoisted Thierry into his arms, keeping one ear on her moving feet. There was a thump followed by muffled sobs.

“Well,” he brushed some needles from the boy’s fine hair, “it looks like you and I have some cheering up to do.” He bounced Thierry gently and poked his belly. “Come on,” he urged, “show me that charming smile, come on,” he started up the stairs, “she can’t stay sad with your bright smile.”

He tickled his toes, smiling when Thierry laughed. It didn’t last beyond the door. Had Kol been presented with any other crying woman he would have raced in the opposite direction, but her shaking shoulders tugged at his heart strings.

“Darling,” he approached the bed, “I hate seeing you cry.”

“What,” she sniffed, poking her head out from the pillow, “re… reaction did you exp… pe… expect when you told me I’d never see my fa… family and friends again?”

“Honestly?” He circled the bed until he could see her vacant eyes. “Joy,” he sat on the mattress. “No…” he placed Thierry between them, “… wait a minute…” he stretched out on his back and turned his head to meet her red rimmed eyes. “That’s how I would react.”

She fought it but a hysterical giggle bubbled up in her throat.

“I got a laugh,” he tousled Thierry’s hair, “now it’s your turn, go on,” he gave him a small nudge toward Elena. “It’s your turn to make her smile, go on…”

Thierry babbled and tilted his head. He crawled up the blanket and flopped down on Kol’s chest to tug at his tie.

“Not me,” Kol clicked his tongue, “her.”

Elena shifted onto her side. She wanted to sob and scream until her voice was gone, but it was impossible in the presence of an infant who was using a nine-hundred year old Original vampire as a body pillow.

“I’m sorry,” he used his right hand to keep Thierry in place.

“It’s not your fault,” she mumbled.

“I thought you might have blamed me when you ran off,” he slipped his free arm under her shoulders.

“I…” she closed her eyes. “I don’t like people watching me cry,” she admitted in a small voice.

He stiffened. “Do you want me to leave?” He held his breath. “I can go and set the crib up in the next room.”

“No,” she moved closed and placed her head on his shoulder; she hated it when people saw her tears, but now that he was there she didn’t want him to leave.

Thierry patted her wet cheek and her brows shot up.

“Crib?”

A small smile lifted the edge of his mouth.

“You’ve been sharing your bed with him for a few days,” his fingers slid into her hair. “It’s time he had his own place to sleep.”

She glanced over her shoulder to where the boxes sat by her door.

“You bought a crib?” She tipped her chin up.

“He couldn’t keep sleeping with you,” he reasoned. She had hardly slept in the days since Thierry had entered their lives.

She looked down to Thierry; fresh tears flooded her eyes.

“What am I going to do?” She rubbed her lips together.

“Well, right now,” he ran his fingers through her hair, “you’re going to grieve for what you’ve lost. Tonight you will sleep undisturbed, and tomorrow we’ll finish decorating the tree. Really, it should have been done long before Christmas Eve.”

“That’s not what I meant,” she blinked; the action burned her eyes. “I can’t keep imposing on you. A doppelganger and a baby…” a tear soaked into his shirt, “… I’ve turned your life upside down.”

“You’ve turned the whole world upside down,” he smirked, “but you’re not an imposition. You’re wonderful company, and that is something I never thought I would say about a doppelganger.”

“And Thierry?” She managed a strangled laugh.

He chuckled, lowering his nose to inhale her shampoo.

“I would say never mention this to my siblings, but the hope is you never see them again so there is little danger,” he glanced down to where the baby was beginning to drift off on his chest. He could feel the resting heart of the boy and Elena as they beat in time with his; contentment settled on him like a warm blanket. “Before I turned I always wanted kids.”

“Really?” She arched an eyebrow.

“Mmhmm,” he smiled. “Sons and daughters I could teach magic. I might have even had one before turning but I couldn’t find a woman capable of keeping up with me.”

“Don’t you mean keeping you in line?” She teased. She knew what he was doing; distracting her from her grief so it wouldn’t encompass her soul.

“There you go again,” he whispered, “reading me like a book.”

“There must have been someone up to the task,” she murmured.

“Not then,” he shook his head, “or once during my years.”

Her breathing leveled out as exhaustion took over; she fought the sleep.

“Nobody?” She struggled to open her eyes.

“Maybe one day,” he smiled as she drifted off, “someone will come out of nowhere and fall into my life.” He left out the part where he thought somebody already had; it wasn’t the time, and she wouldn’t have heard him anyway.

His mouth pressed lightly to the top of her head.

“Get some rest, Elena.”

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