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luna-nigthshade-wood · 2 years

Text

What they don´t know, will hurt them

Summary: Dean Winchesters attempts suicide on a dirty motel bathtub, ending brain dead on a hospital. A trickster promises John and Sam that he will save him for “free”, as long as they both get through watching a series of Dean´s memories, good and bad. The twist is that they will feel everything Dean did at the time and they can stop it at any time, but then Dean will die. They both accept thinking it cant be that bad. Spoiler: it is worse.

Chapter 19

TW: Relationship abuse, sexual coercion, sexual abuse, rape, alcoholism, infidelity

The screen starts again and Sam is hopeful, he is hopeful that this time a good memory will come out of all this, he doesn’t remember much about Lee, but he remembers that his father let both boys to hunt together so he cant be bad, right? Besides, his brother deserves to be happy, and honestly he can use the break, all Winchester can. Dean´s bisexuality does come as a shock for Sam and at the same time it is kind of obvious, he has seen Dean´s eyes linger once or twice on a hot guy, but honestly he thought Dean was so far in the closet that he might as well be in Narnia, he never thought that Dean would ever act on his feelings towards men, but apparently he is wrong (then again if something he has learned is that he is wrong about of things about his big brother)

John is warier about the situation, he never really liked Lee, he always thought there was something shifty about the guy and he didn’t like how Dean behave around him, that was his oldest reckless´ age, Dean seemed to returned from every hunt with a variety of cuts and bruises while Lee seemed no worse to wear, obviously Dean was picking up the slack of the other hunter, why he kept hunting with him is anyone’s guesses but it might have something to do with Dean´s puppy crush. John shifts awkwardly in his seat, he knows of Dean´s bisexuality, of course he does, there is no way he couldn’t have known, his son wasn’t as discreet as he thought himself to be, but John never said anything about it, whether negative or positive, probably because he wouldn’t have known what to say; not to say he understand Dean´s preferences, but after all the fucked up things he had seen, he knows better than to judge, he just thinks that things would be simpler if his son just dated girls. He is not even sure if Dean and Lee ever were a thing to begin with, maybe he is reading way too much in the situation, better wait and see and then make a judgment.

The scene starts and this time the Winchesters can see Dean, Lee and Caleb sitting in Bobby´s yard drinking. They are in the middle of a lively conversation:

-I am just saying they could have at least take us as backup, a pack of shifters is not something to laugh about- Lee says

-Hear, hear- Caleb and Dean respond

-It kind of sucks that we can only be babysitters- Lee says

-I am kind of sure that my old man doesn’t even trust me to do that- Dean says bitterly

-Oh c´mon dude, you cant keep beating yourself up for that- Caleb responds clapping Dean´s shoulder. If Sam wasn’t feeling guilty before, he certainly is now.

-Why? What happened?- Lee asks

-His brother, the runt upstairs, gave him the slip- Caleb answers

-Man, that sucks, I would be pissed if I were you- Lee tells Dean

-Nah, man, Sammy is a good kid and he is my responsibility, should had paid more attention- Dean responds

-Well, I think you deserved better- Lee responds, getting a mumbled thanks from Dean. The three young men stay silent for a while before Caleb´s says his good nights and enters the house. Dean makes a slight movement as to get up but is intercept by Lee.

-Hey, dude, I meant it, you should have some fun and dropped some of the responsibility, I think you earned it

-I will think about it- Dean says with a fake smile

-Oh c´mon, handsome boy like you, you must be a hit with the ladies- Lee says rising an eyebrow

-I…-Dean stumbles

-Or the boys, perhaps- Lee says somehow seductively- I wouldn’t blame them, with those lips of yours, they asked to be ravish- he finishes with a seductive tone, making Dean blush.

Lee starts to crowed Dean´s and in a matter of seconds his lips meet Dean´s, both of them meeting in a slightly chaste kiss.

-That is what I am talking about- Lee exclaims when they pulled up for air, tracing Dean´s lips with his thumbs- Wow! You certainly are a sight, babe. What do you say if we says fucked it to the old cots and go see what Sioux Falls´ night life has to offer, hmm?- Lee asks

-But, we are supposed to stay here- Dean says when he finally retrieves his voice

-Oh, live a little bit, besides your brother wont be alone, Caleb is there with him- Lee says

-Okay- Dean responds dumbly, before the scene cuts

John´s anger spikes up, how dare Dean leave Sam alone? But just as quickly as it came, it deflates, after all, didn’t Dean deserve a chance to be a teenager if only for a little while? That is not to say he likes how Lee is manipulating his son into going, but they are both barely 18, what is the worst trouble they can get? (Not much later John would curse the day he left his oldest with the other hunter)

Sam is feeling guiltier, every word Lee said felt like a stab in the back, Dean missed so much because he had to take care of him, he gave up so much of himself just so he could have a better life, and he repaid him by treating him like crap.

-Where the fuck did you go?- an angrily Caleb asks Dean on the screen

-Relax, junior- Dean answers slightly tipsy- We just went around town for a little something to drink

-Relax? Are you insane, Dean?- Caleb explodes- What would have happened if our father had returned, huh? What was I supposed to tell them? Shit, you didn’t even tell me you were going out, I was worry out of mind.

-Sorry- Dean says regretfully

-Fuck, kiddo. This isn’t you

-Well, maybe I wanted to feel free, for once- Dean spats- Maybe I wanted to forget about my fuck-ups and be a regular teenager.

-Look, Dean, I get that, but you worried me, man

-And I am sorry, I really am- Dean responds, before asking- Are you… are you going to tell my dad?

-No, of course no. No harm no foul. Just tell me next time, okay?

-Alright- Dean agrees and makes movement to leave before Caleb takes his arm and stops him

-And Dean?- he asks- Please be careful around Lee, there is something that I don’t like with him- Caleb pleads

-Yeah, yeah, yeah, mother hen, I will be careful, I promise- Dean shrugs the oldest boy concerns, before retiring to his room, leaving a worried Caleb on his wake.

The next scene starts, the older Winchesters still wary after Caleb´s warning can’t help but feel a whiplash of emotions, the happiness Dean is feeling in the current scene makes them lose some of their suspicious. The screen shows Dean and Lee inside a motel room, apparently celebrating, both of them drinking and laughing.

-For a hunt well done- Lee says clicking their beers together- You were pretty amazing out there, pal

-Thanks, Lee- Dean says while blushing- You were also pretty awesome back there

-One less monster in the world- Lee responds- This called for a celebration

-Yeah?- Dean asks shyly- What were you thinking to do?

-I can think of a couple of ideas- Lee responds wiggling his eyebrows, while sweeping Dean in a passionate kiss

Both young men start kissing hungrily, barely stopping for breathing, both ending on bed, Lee getting on top off Dean, his hands wandering through Dean´s clothes, they stopped on Dean´s buckle but before he can start undoing it, Dean stops him.

-Wait- he says breathlessly- Please, wait a minute, Lee- and to his credit, Lee does stop rolling off until he is besides Dean

-Sorry, got a little bit carried away- Lee says catching his breath- Hey- he says taking Dean´s face in his hands- we don’t have to do anything you don’t want, okay? We go as far as you want

-No- Dean says shyly- I do want to, is just that, I have never done something like this- he confesses

-Never have sex with a guy before?- Lee asks

-Not by choice- Dean confesses, shame clouding the room

-Oh man- Lee says horrified- I am so sorry

-Its okay. Just, sometimes you have to do somethings you don’t wanna while on the road, right?- Dean says non-committedly

-No, Dean, you really don’t have too- Lee answers- Dude, sometimes I wished I could just socked your father, consequences be damned. But just so we are cleared, you don’t want to do something, you tell me and we stop, alright? Last thing I want to do is hurt you

-I do want to, you know, have sex with you, I just don’t know how- Dean shyly says

-Well then baby be ready for me to rock your world- Lee says giving Dean a tender kiss

The scene speeds up the act itself and for that Sam is grateful, for more that the rapes and the forced sex work was tough to watch, somehow seeing the tender love making feels worse, like he is intruding in an intimate moment, which to be fair they are. Nonetheless, a couple of stray tears leave Sam´s eyes, this is the kind of love and tenderness his brother deserves, someone that love him and take care of him, that cares for him the way he cares for them. He wonders what could have happened to break such a beautiful couple, and he decidedly hopes he doesn’t have to figure it out.

John is conflicted because he knows that things between both of them didn’t end up good but still is hopeful that maybe things just weren’t as bad as they make it out to be

The scene slows down, this time showing both young hunter laying side by side on the bed with only a sheet covering them, Dean´s contentment and happiness filling the whole room, Lee lovingly takes his hand as they stare into each other eyes, before Lee exclaims:

-You are beautiful you know that

-I…- Dean says- You are pretty great yourself

-Hey, I mean it, you are a pretty swell guy- Lee replies- I love you

-I love you too- Dean mumbles before he gives him a shy kiss, ending the scene.

Next scene starts right away and this time both hunters are sitting inside a bar, drinking shots, Dean checks his cellphone worryingly from time to time, before Lee puts a stop to it

-Stop worrying so much- he says, shot still in hand- They can deal without you for a few days

-Yeah, I know- Dean says- is just that this is the longest I have been away from them in a long time

-Oh c´mon, you know your old man will call you when he needs you, they always do and then they leave you stranded- Lee claims bitterly- and then the runt will call you when he needs cash before leaving you dry

-No cool man, my dad aint like that and don’t you dare bring Sammy into this- Dean angrily spats before standing up, ready to leave, only to be stop by Lee´s grip in his arm

-Hey, Dee, I am sorry, come here- he says pulling Dean next to him- It is just that I get so angry knowing how they treat you, knowing what you were forced to do and what you did to yourself- he says tracing a scar in Dean´s arm with his finger- I love you so much and I hate how they hurt you

-Yeah, I know- Dean answers, shrugging his arm off Lee´s grip but still sitting in his lap- But you know I hate when you talk shit about them

-Yes, I know darling- Lee apologizes- Next round on me, got it?

-I will hold you to that- Dean says with a small smile

John doesn’t like the tone Lee is taking when talking about them, perhaps is because the guilt he is feeling, because at the end the younger hunter is right, he only called Dean when he needed his help taking care of Sam or in a hunt, never before and never after, he thoroughly neglected his boy, and he cant bear to hear the truth in a stranger´s mouth.

Sam feels guilty as hell, Lee´s words ranging in his ears, because he is not wrong, he remembers feeling relieved at not having his brother “policing” his every move, he only called him when he needed a buffer between his father and him or wanted some cash, never really caring all that much whether his brother was okay or not, because Dean was always okay, right?, he sarcastically asks himself.

-I am just saying you should stop caring so much- is the first thing they hear as the scene begins. Lee´s angry voice following Dean as he is shoving things inside his duffle bag.

-Lee, we talked about this- Dean says, not stopping- My dad called, he needs my help, you can come if you want to, but right now I have to go back to my family

-That is just what I am saying, why do you have to be at those entitled assholes beck and call? Huh? Cant they solve their problems by themselves?

-I already told you to never insult them in my presence, Webb. So better think your next words carefully if you ever want me to come back- Dean spats still walking, stopping by Lee´s tough grip in his hand.

-You are not going anywhere- he says angrily

-Lee, let go, you are hurting me- Dean says squeamish

-No until you stay put

-You are fucking drunk, man- Dean exclaims trying to get out of Lee´s grip without hurting him- Let go now- he finally yells- Just because you don’t get along with your old man, doesn’t mean that…

But whatever Dean was going to say is abruptly cut by Lee´s fist in his cheek, the force behind the unexpected punch making him loose balance and falling to the floor. Hurt emanates from Dean, barely related to the pain of the punch and more from the action itself, shock being the next emotion he feels. Lee must have been shocked as well, because next thing he does is rush to Dean´s side, apologizing over and over again

-I am so sorry, Dean, so so sorry, I didn’t mean to- he babbles- I just got so angry, I am so sorry

-Its okay- Dean says after a while- I am sorry too I shouldn’t have said that

-Don’t apologize please- Lee begs- I promise I am never doing it again, please don’t leave me

-Okay- Dean accepts- But if you do again I am leaving I am serious

-Of course, babe. I love you

-I love you too- Dean replies with his cheek still pulsating

Sam wants to cry, why cant Dean have nice things for once? John´s mind is running thousand miles per hour, he remembers Dean getting increasingly clumsy the more he hunted with Lee, his excuses ranging from a hunt gone wrong to crashing against a door. John never really paid attention enough to see what was wrong with his boy, but now he wonders how many of those injuries were really hunt or accident related and how many were caused by the son of a bitch in front of him.

The memory shifts once more and this time they are back at Bobby´s kitchen. The man himself has the med kit out and he is stitching a cut in Dean´s forehead. Besides the cut, Dean has a black eye and a bruise blooming on the left side of his face. Both hunters are quiet as Bobby works, Dean barely wincing at the stiches.

-Dean…-Bobby starts

-I already told you, I crashed into a door by accident when I wasn’t paying attention- Dean replies to what appears to be an already started conversation

-Yeah and did the door had fists?- Bobby sarcastically asks

-Jeez, Bobby, for the 8th time this hour I already told you what happened- Dean replies defensively

-Aha, and the bruises on your boy knuckles, those appear magically huh?

-Drop it, Lee didn’t do shit- Dean exclaims- He loves me- Dean whispers, the expression on his face making him look younger.

-Listen to me, and listen carefully son. That aint love- Bobby says tenderly, before Dean pulls away

-Well, thanks for the advice, Oprah, but I already told you, it was just me being a fucked up as always

-Boy, you better not used those words to describe yourself where I can hear you- Bobby exclaims- You know you can tell me if something is wrong, right?- Bobby asks, Sam and John are hopeful that maybe Bobby can get through Dean but before the boy can respond a voice booms from the outside

-DEAN??? GET OUT HERE!- John voice can be heard from the outside

-Well, good thing there is nothing to say- Dean shrugs before directing himself towards where his father is calling him, leaving a concerned Bobby behind

A pack of memories is then show, that leave the Winchesters livid, each one contains injured in a different way, with bruises and cuts in places they shouldn’t be. How long did the asshole keep abusing Dean?

The memories finally stopped at one, where Dean is washing dishes in another non descriptive motel room, Lee hugging him from behind, Dean is clearly standing awkwardly while favoring his left leg

-Hello, handsome- Lee slurs and even if they are not there, the present Winchesters can pick the alcohol in his tone- How about you leave those there and you and I have some adult fun?- he says rocking himself against Dean

-I am not really in the mood, Lee- Dean claims- I am kind of tired, how about we just cuddle and watch a movie?- Dean says with something that is supposed to be a smile but comes out as a grimace

-C´mon, baby I have needs, you wont even have to do anything more than be there and look pretty

-I don’t know- Dean hesitated- I am still sore from the hunt

-Exactly, perfect time for me to make you feel good- Lee says- Besides what good is to have a boyfriend if he is never going to want to be with me?

-I…Okay- Dean finally agrees

-You are the best, babe- Lee says, hungrily kissing him and lifting him by the waist.

Lee doesn’t take long in lowering both of their pants and underwear and taking Dean´s shirt off. If the Winchesters were horrified before, nothing prepares them to be confronted with Dean´s purple torso full of a collection of bruises and cuts, which gets worse by the pain Dean feels (and they as well) with the small movement. On the screen, Lee is manhandling Dean, before Dean says

-Lee, please, slow down, you are going to fast- Dean pleads

-Don’t worry, buddy, you are about to feel great- Lee says before plunging inside Dean´s body, muffling Dean´s scream with a kiss.

Later when the act is finally over Lee wanders off to look for a drink, none of the tenderness of before present as Dean just slides off to the floor, head between his hands as he cries bitter tears.

Did Lee just coerced Dean into…? Did they just watch Dean being raped by someone that supposed to love him? Sam´s mind is going into a spiral, does, oh how badly does the events have turned? What should have been a beautiful relationship, it is now in nothing more than ashes.

A fury is quickly invading John against the bastard and himself, is he so disconnecting from his own son that he failed to see what was happening? He doesn’t even ask himself how Dean can think that this is love, he already has an answer, after all didn’t he also beat his son while drunk and still claim to love him, is it so farfetched that Dean forgive the same thing to Lee? Didn’t John inadvertently teach his son, if on a small scale, that sometimes you have to do things you didn’t want to keep the people that love you close? Because that it what boils down to, Dean accepting the love he thinks he deserves, and that is barely little and will never be enough.

The memory changes and this time Dean enters yet another motel room, this time in a rage, the anger pungent in the room, Lee is sitting watching TV and barely spares him a look, before saying:

-Hi, babe, everything ok?- he asks a way of greeting

-Is everything ok? I don’t know, maybe I should be the one asking you that?- Dean thunders

-Jeez, take a chill pill, what got your panties into a twist?

-I just came back from the clinic- Dean answers

-Oh yeah, you were feeling under the weather- Lee says without worry- What? You got the flue or something?

-No, you asshole- he responds throwing him a bottle of meds- You have to take this too, because apparently eventhough I was clean when I started sleeping with you, I suddenly have the clap, you moron, so what gives?

-Oh crap- Lee responds- Knew that chick wasn’t to be trusted. Damn it! Well, it is a good thing it wasn’t something worse- he says

-That it wasn’t something worse? You cheated on me, you bastard

-What? You thought we were exclusive or something? Man, what gives? I already told you I have needs that have to be fulfilled and you keep running off every time daddy calls and you sometimes get a stick up your butt and say no, what was I supposed to do?- Lee says reproaching Dean, making him feel smaller

-I thought we were. I haven’t slept with anyone else- he whispers, tone confused and broken

-And I appreciate your effort, but I am not you. If you stay here with me, maybe we could talk about being exclusive- Lee “suggests”

-I cant and you know it- Dean whispers

-Then don’t come crying to me asking for you to be my only one, you aint a chick Winchester- he replies, before grabbing his jacket and going for the door

-Where are you going?- Dean´s broken voice asks

-I am going out to look for some fun, don’t want your mood ruining mine- he says before shutting the door off, leaving a crying Dean in his wake.

Yet another memory starts and this time both Dean and Lee stormed inside a motel room, anger and despair filling up the room, as Lee grabs a lamp and shatters it

-Freaking people, dude- he screams- we are supposed to hunt the evil in the world and for what? Just so they go around killing each other

-I know- Dean responds with barely concealed anger- Almost wished we have finished them off for what they did to those children. Monsters I get, but humans are crazy- Dean exclaims

-Damn right they are, should have finished the work ourselves instead of calling the cops- Lee yells- I am freaking done. I am quitting hunting, they can fend for themselves for all I care- he finishes

-You don’t mean that- Dean responds

-Of course I do- Lee replies- And you should come with me, they don’t deserve us saving them

-I cant do that- Dean exclaims

-Right, forgot Daddy´s little girl doesn’t have the balls- he says grabbing Dean roughly- Well this is it for me, either you come with or get lost.

-I, Lee, please, let go off me- Dean pleads

-No, I don’t think so, you want to see how monstrous a human can be, babe? Let me show you- he says quickly lowering Dean´s pants and entering him from behind, Dean lets a strangled scream before he says

-Please, stop, Lee, stop, it hurts- Dean begs

-No, don’t think so- Lee replies- Just stay still and look pretty- Dean can barely get another word before he passes out from the pain

By the time Dean wakes up, it is already morning and his body protests every tiny movement he does, Lee is sitting at the edge of the bed, head between his hands, Dean makes a noise that alerts Lee that he is awake. The other hunter starts saying something but Dean (and by default the viewers) cannot make up what it is. Lee smiles bitterly before saying

-I am sorry that it got this bad, Dean- he says- You deserved something better. I am gonna go now, please take care- he adds and without much fanfare he grabs his things and leave.

Dean groggily stands up, trails of blood running in his thighs and new bruises marking his naked skin, he searches for something, before he pulls out his phone and dials a familiar tone

-Caleb?- he says on the phone- think you can come pick me up?

Sam is angry and he is crying and he is not really sure what he is feeling except that he wants to find the bastard and ripped him apart one organ at the time, how could he have done this to his brother? Wasn’t he supposed to care for him? Why, just why?

John is livid, he wants to rip the throat out of the younger hunter, at the same time he is sad, how he wishes that for once Dean had something good in his life, why cant his son catch a break?

-I am going to grab him and hang him by the balls, just wait until I get my hands into that…-says Caleb, barely concealing anger in his voice as he drives the car, Dean´s beaten form slouch in the passenger seat, his tiny voice interrupting Caleb´s tirade

-Please, Caleb, stop- he says, wincing as big pain travels through his side with every movement he makes- Calm down

-Do not tell me to calm down. After what that, that asshole did to you he deserves to be kick where the sun doesn’t shine, the fucking coward- he says angrily, making Dean flinch

-Please, Caleb- Dean pleads, tears in his eyes- If I wanted to hear all that, I would have called Bobby. Besides, it was my fault to begin with, if only I haven’t…-Dean says before being abruptly interrupted by Caleb searing the car to the sides, before stopping it completely, hitting the steering wheel a couple of times for good measure.

Sam is shocked, he has no memory of ever seeing the older boy that angry. But is Dean really trying to justify Lee´s actions, after he beat him to a pulp, after he rap…, no, Sam´s mind can go there, if he keeps thinking about it he would go insane, didn’t Dean deserved to be happy for once? John for his part is having similar thoughts, knowing there were very little things that could get that reaction of the late hunter, not that he disagrees, he wants to track that stupid little asshole and make him wish he was never born.

-Don’t, just don’t- the older man says- Don’t defend that asshole, please- he tells Dean- You didn’t deserve to be beaten and rape by your boyfriend

-It wasn’t rape, he was my boyfriend- Dean defends

-Yes it was Dean, please tell me you understand that?- he says looking at Dean with pleading eyes

-It wasn’t, I know what rape is, and that wasn’t, he just got a little rougher

-And the beat down he gave you?- Caleb asks angrily

-You know me, I am smart ass, sometimes I deserve to be smacked down- Dean replies whole heartedly

-Damn you Jonny to all hell- Caleb angrily replies, hitting the wheel once more

-You are not going to tell him, are you?- Dean says starting to hyperventilating- You have to promise me you wont tell him, please- Dean pleads- I will do anything, I can make it up to you for the gas and the time you took- Dean begs, small little hand going to the older man zipper, scared expression in his eyes. The movement pulls Caleb out of his own head and he grabs Dean´s hand before he can go any further, horrified expression in his eyes

-Not that, never that, you hear me Dean?- he begs- I wont tell Jonny anything, but please never offered me that again, fuck Dean, just please don’t do that. You should never use tour body as a bargain chip, alright?- Caleb asks with pleading eyes

-Nor like is worth something- Dean mutters with a small voice

-Oh, Dean- Caleb says heartbroken before he pulls the younger man into a hug.

The Winchesters hearts break with him as they are forced to confront how little Dean thinks of himself and how little they did to comfort him.

First chapter <<Previous Next>>> AO3

#supernatural #spn au #supernatural au #supernatural fic #spn fic #dean winchester #sam winchester #john winchester #bad parent john winchester #caleb spn #bobby singer #lee webb #deanlee #suicidal dean winchester

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demetriandelibinaryboyfriends · 3 years

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During the soccer match I literally thought Demetri said "i loved you, you know" and i got so disappointed when i realized he was talking about moon :(. I'd love to read a fic about that

Mannnn, now I’m wishing I’d misheard it as that too--would’ve done anything for those 5 seconds of euphoria, even if they were to be immediately replaced by crushing disappointment. DAMN YOU, NETFLIX SUBTITLES!!! Wouldn’t even let me get that one millisecond of HOPE XD

For REAL though, I’d love to read a fanfiction about this! Demetri laying out his cards on the table so...plainly for Eli would certainly be interesting, like just going right the hell up to him and being like “yeah I was in love with you, you know, before you turned into a giant douche!” On some level it does seem like a very Demetri thing to do--just throwing caution to the wind and saying exactly how he feels, consequences be damned (I mean...I love him dearly, but kid doesn’t know when to shut his damn MOUTH sometimes, if the Kreese assault incident is anything to go by XD). And hey, maybe if Dem figures their relationship is already ruined and he’s really got nothing left to lose anymore, he could well be like “well, might as well be honest about how I used to feel--what’s he gonna do? Not be my friend anymore? Too late for that anyway :/”

But god...I feel like no matter HOW Eli responds to this, it’ll definitely not be in the way Demetri wanted D: Like...Eli’s either just gonna be like “...bro what” or he’s gonna lash out like “ew, get the fuck out, stop it, that’s gay” (because this boy is so far in the goddamn closet, especially at the height of his I Must Prove My Masculinity and Fighting Prowess shtick, that he might as well be the king of Narnia). Buuuut then maybe Eli thinks on it later, and he keeps replaying the words “I loved you, you know” in his head over and over when he’s going to sleep that night, and although he’s still kinda shell-shocked and half-convinced Demetri was just saying it to fuck with him...it might be the first catalyst in unearthing some repressed feelings of Eli’s own, who knows?

Man, I feel like this fic would definitely end in tears (Demetri’s? Eli’s? MINE? ...up to interpretation), BUT it might be a hopeful first step in helping these boys eventually mend fences!!! Nothing like a little love confession to cement that perhaaaaaps your friendship was a little more important to your binary “bro” than you originally thought XD

Thanks for the ask! Working on doing the others when I can!

#hawk x demetri #demetri x eli #binary boyfriends #hawkmeat #eli x demetri #demetri x hawk #elimetri #cobra kai #cobra kai season 3 #my askbox #demetri cobra kai #eli moskowitz #demetri #hawk #eli

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natrogersfics · 3 years

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After All - Chapter 2/5

Cover art by @faith2nyc Read on AO3

Toddlers are an enigma. That much is clear to Natasha. Compared to infants, they’re leaps and bounds more amusing. But they’re terribly difficult to gauge – they long for independence, yet knowing exactly how much to give without under or overwhelming them is anyone's guess. That limbo in particular is one of the more complicated aspects of parenting she’s learning to navigate, both emotionally and logistically. For as much as she’s excited to see what else is to come of Isabel’s burgeoning personality, there are days where she finds herself longing for the little cuddle bug who willingly gave her its complete cooperation without so much as a peep. And right now, as she sits on the play mat in her living room trying to get a sweater over her squirming daughter’s head, she notes that today happens to be one of those days.

“Mama, ‘nuff!” she hears Isabel protest, her voice muffled by the soft cotton.

“Almost done, fig,” she says as she successfully gets Isabel’s head through the collar. “Tada!” Despite her enthusiasm, Isabel does not look the least bit amused, and as she leans forward to try to smooth the curls on her head that got ruffled in the process, the little girl dodges her hand with artful precision to reach for her blocks. With a shake of her head, she feels for her phone behind her, holding it up to point the camera at Isabel. “Okay, what do you think of this one?”

On screen, Pepper can only sigh. “It looks great. As did the first two sweaters you put on her.”

“But this one is cuter,” she reasons, zooming in on the embroidered flowers at the hem. “Look!”

“Nat,” Pepper says, her lips pressing into a line. “She’s spending the day with her father, not going to meet the Queen.”

“Maybe not intentionally,” she says. “This is London, after all. You never know when you’ll run into Her Majesty.”

“Natasha.” Pepper’s stern tone causes her to bite her lip, and when she musters the courage to look back at the screen, she finds her best friend regarding her carefully. “Are you having second thoughts about letting Steve come out to visit?”

“No,” she says, sighing at the way Pepper narrows her eyes. “I’m not, okay? And even if I was, it’s too late anyway. He’s literally on his way. It’s just- It’s not like there’s protocol for spending Christmas with your…” She puts her hand out, as if doing so would make the end of her sentence magically come to mind. But when you ask someone to have a child with you, and you end up falling in love with them, only for them to break your heart into a million little pieces later on when they don’t reciprocate your feelings, knowing what to accurately call them is complicated, to say the least. She rolls her eyes. “Whatever. It’s just unconventional, is what I’m saying.” Pepper’s lips part to speak, no doubt about her ironic choice of adjective, so she holds up a finger before she can. “Not a word.”

“Okay, okay,” Pepper acquiesces. “Just wanted to make sure that weirdness is the only reason you put my goddaughter through three outfit changes and not… other things.”

“Trust me, Pep, those other things have been pushed so far back into the closet they’re in Narnia,” she says quietly. All her worries that night Steve had sent her a text turned out to be for nothing. She’d expected something big and life-altering, maybe news that he’d moved on and he wanted Isabel there for his wedding, but as it turned out, it was only a request to spend Christmas with them. “Anyway, it does not matter how weirded out I am by the circumstances. I got hurt... Maybe he did, too.” She lets her eyes linger to the mat where Isabel is still happily entertaining herself before shaking her head. “But that’s all water under the bridge now, and when possible, our daughter deserves to be with both her parents for Christmas. That’s why I agreed to this.”

“Well, I’m proud of you for being so mature about all this,” Pepper says. “I know it’s not easy.”

“It is what it is,” she says dismissively, giving Pepper a one-shouldered shrug. It’s only when the doorbell rings that her brave façade slips, her eyes widening involuntarily.

“It’ll be fine, Nat,” Pepper says, offering her a reassuring smile. “Talk to you soon.”

With a two-fingered salute, she cuts the video, placing her phone in her back pocket and stealing another glance at Isabel to make sure she’s sufficiently preoccupied. Satisfied, she huffs out a breath and gives her reflection a cursory glance at the mirror, tucking a tendril of hair back as she makes her way to the front door. She reaches for the knob, putting on her best smile as she pulls it open.

“Hey,” Steve greets, smiling brightly as he stands at her front door dressed in dark jeans and a leather jacket.

“You shaved,” she blurts out, inwardly cursing at how quickly the words had fallen out of her mouth.

To her relief, he chuckles. “Oh yeah,” he says, reaching a hand up to his jaw. “I grew it out again for a bit there, but I know Izzie’s not a fan of it, so…”

“She might be a little more amenable now,” she says, though it comes across more like she’s wondering aloud, so she adds, “not that you need a beard or anything.”

“Yeah, no, it would be nice to get to keep it,” he says, gesturing to their surroundings, “especially when it gets cold like this.” His excitement is palpable as he cranes his neck slightly, as if to peek behind her. “Is she awake?”

“Oh, yes! Sorry, please come in.” She steps aside, opening the door wider to let him through. “You got in late last night, right? How was your flight?”

“I did, and it was okay,” he says as he follows her down the foyer. “The customs line at Heathrow, though, a little less so.”

She looks over her shoulder to shoot him a look of sympathy, knowing full well what that headache is like. “She just got up from her morning nap about an hour ago,” she says as they walk into the living room, and she does not have to turn around to know that the faint gasp Steve lets out is in awe of the sight of Isabel pushing her little vacuum cleaner around before them. “Izzie, baby, look who’s here.”

Isabel looks up at the sound of her voice, freezing in place as her eyes go from her and then to Steve, who steps forward and crouches down, opening his arms as he reaches for her. “Hi, fig!”

A smile grazes her lips when Isabel begins to scamper over at Steve’s greeting, but it quickly fades – as does Steve’s elated expression – when their daughter moves past him to hide behind her legs instead. “Hey, it’s okay,” she says automatically, bending down to collect Isabel, who buries her face into her neck, into her arms. She turns to Steve. “I’m so sorry, I don’t know-”

“No,” he says placatingly, and though he tries to blink away the hurt in his eyes, she catches it all the same. “It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have assumed-”

“No, you were fine,” she says in her most reassuring voice. “She’s usually really friendly, but her quirks change every day now, it seems.” Steve nods at her, and she turns towards Isabel, dusting a kiss to the crown of her head and rubbing a hand soothingly up and down her back. “It’s okay, fig. It’s just Daddy.” When Isabel looks up at her, she reaches into her pocket, showing her the phone. “We talk all the time, remember? And we read stories before bedtime…”

Isabel looks at the phone in her hand and then at her, her big blue eyes skeptical. “Dada?”

“Yes, yes,” she says excitedly, eyeing Steve over Isabel’s head as she mouths, “talk to her.”

“Hi, Izzie,” Steve says, prompting Isabel to peek shyly at him. He smiles. “It’s me, Daddy. Remember? On the phone we said in two more sleeps we were gonna go on adventures?”

It’s with bated breath that she waits for Isabel’s reaction. The little girl purses her lips, and it’s almost by instinct that she braces herself for a meltdown, but instead, she finds herself nearly sighing in relief when Isabel leans forward and reaches for Steve. “Dada!”

“Yes, baby girl, Dada!” Steve says as he takes Isabel into his arms, standing and beaming from ear to ear when she wraps her arms around his neck. “Oh, I’ve missed you so much!” He kisses her cheek as he moves to settle her against his hip. “How’s my girl?”

“I play!” Isabel exclaims, her words promptly descending into gibberish as she goes on and on.

She watches as Steve nods along amusedly, barely containing his smile as he listens to Isabel talk. “Yeah, so…” she interjects, prompting Steve to look her way. “You’ll get about two, maybe three actual words from her before you have to use context clues and the Science of Deduction to figure out the rest.”

Steve laughs. “That’s about as much as I get from Tony, so I think I’ll manage.”

“Touché,” she says, chuckling when Isabel demands to be put down and stalks back to her mat. She points a thumb over her shoulder. “Can I get you something to drink before you guys leave? There’s still some coffee in the pot if you want some.”

Steve nods, and as they walk the short distance to her kitchen, she notices how he immediately positions himself by the counter overlooking the living room. “Still not a tea person, huh?”

Her expression sours as she begins to pour him a cup, eliciting a laugh from him. “I don’t think the British government will appreciate me becoming a menace to society.”

He smirks as he accepts the mug from her. “How’s work?”

“It’s… going,” she says, shrugging at the questioning look he sends her. “T’Challa, Nakia, and I finally got the company up and running both on paper and digital, but you know how it is when the truth ruffles some feathers.”

“Hmm,” he says, nodding in acknowledgement. “Same S-H-I-T, different continent, huh?”

“She can’t hear you,” she says with an amused smile as she goes to rinse the pot in the sink. “But basically, yes. We ran a piece about a member of Parliament and some of his unsavory practices. Nothing but the truth there, but it’s not being received well, which is why Izzie and I couldn't make it back in time for Christmas.”

“I kinda figured the article would have them clutching their pearls.”

She turns to him, surprised. “You read The Pioneer?”

“Yeah,” he says, “I-”

The unmistakable clang of metal as it hits the ground interrupts him, followed immediately by Isabel’s proclamation of oh no, and that’s enough to send them both racing out of the kitchen and back into the living room to see Isabel standing over the now scattered tin of cookies that was sitting on the coffee table.

She turns to Steve, crossing her arms over her chest. “By the way, she likes knocking things over for S-H-I-T-S and giggles now, too.”

He cringes. “Any chance her vacuum cleaner actually works?”

It’s after the crumbs in her living room are sorted out and they both manage to convince their daughter to put and keep her shoes on that she stands outside her front door, watching as Steve swings the baby bag over his shoulder and picks Isabel up.

“Anything else about this one that I should know before we go?” Steve asks, jostling Isabel slightly in emphasis.

“Let’s see…” she says, “well, she hates socks with a ferocity. I did you a solid by getting them on, but if for any reason you have to take them off, know that you’re never going to get them on again. Also, nine times out of ten her answer to anything is no, so use your discretion when seeking her opinion.” Steve’s lips part, but before he can speak, she adds, “Oh, and she’s on a hunger strike. I’m told it’s just a phase, but hey, if you can get her to eat, more power to you.”

Steve stands there, blinking once and then twice. “Okay...” he says, turning to Isabel. “Well, don’t you sound delightful.”

“No,” Isabel says with a shake of her head.

“You sure you don’t want to take the stroller?” she asks when Steve’s face falls at their daughter’s swift reply, and she has to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing.

“Nah, I think we’ll be fine,” he says. “I’ll have her back in a few hours.”

“Sounds good,” she says before waving at Isabel. “Bye, Iz! Have fun.”

“Bye!” Isabel says, waving back.

She waits for Steve and Isabel to walk down the block, and once they disappear from her vantage point, she returns inside, letting out a breath and feeling a lot more at ease than she did when she had woken up this morning. With any luck, maybe this didn’t have to be the debacle she thought it might be.

He should have taken the stroller.

The thought loops continuously in Steve’s mind as he lengthens his strides along the cobblestone paths of Kensington Gardens in an attempt to keep up with his daughter. “Izzie, slow down, babe!” he calls out, half in astonishment at seeing Isabel zoom past him with ease and half in anxiousness over the uneven grounds beneath their feet. The plea only spurns her on though, and he finds himself chuckling under his breath when she attempts to run. “Come here, you little daredevil!”

Isabel dissolves into a fit of giggles as he collects her in his arms, lifting her to him to pepper her face with kisses. “Dada, no!”

“You keep this up, you’re gonna scrape your knees,” he tries to explain though he knows it’s an exercise in futility. If there’s anything he’s learned in the last couple of hours since they left Natasha’s flat, it’s that trying to reason with his eighteen-month-old is practically like talking to a wall.

“Walk,” Isabel insists, blinking up at him as if he hadn’t said a word. But then she smiles, the type that spans so wide it reaches her eyes and bares all her milky white teeth that his heart is helpless to do anything but melt in his chest.

“Fine,” he says with a sigh, ignoring the teasing he can hear in his head from everyone in his life about how easily he’s charmed. “But you have to hold Daddy’s hand, okay?”

“‘kay,” Isabel says as he puts her back down on her feet, and he can’t help but grin when she offers up her hand for him to take.

By the time they make it to the Italian Gardens, Isabel tires enough that she does not protest when he picks her up to get a better view of the fountains, and as she points to every little thing that catches her attention and narrates her thoughts to him, he’s relieved by how quickly she’s readjusted to his presence. There was a part of him that had anticipated her skepticism of him this morning – for as much as they FaceTimed three times a week, he knows that it’s still not a substitute for her seeing him every day – though he has to admit that the way she had run to Natasha as if he were some stranger still stinged. Heartbreak is something he knows a little too well, but being rejected by his own daughter is one type he hopes he’ll never have to experience ever again.

Luckily for him, that doesn’t seem to be in the cards any longer. Isabel’s been nothing but receptive to him since they left, and for his part, he’s been all but entranced by every new facet of her personality that he’s discovered. She’s still the same precocious and affectionate little girl he remembers from six months ago, only now she’s more gregarious, and he can’t recall having laughed as much as he has since they’ve set out together this morning.

“Look!” Isabel says, and as he turns his gaze towards the direction her finger is pointed in, he makes out one of the urns of the Tazza fountain.

“Do you know what that is?” he asks, observing Isabel’s reaction. Though it’s been a while since he’s been able to spend this much time with her, he realizes that despite her evolving personality, there’s a familiarity to her mannerisms and proclivities, and that’s because it’s so inherently Natasha – much like the way her nose is scrunched up now as she tries to answer his question. But there are also parts of himself that he’s found in her in the last couple of hours, such as the way her shoulders sag in defeat when she’s being reprimanded, and he finds some comfort in the reminder that regardless of the time they spend apart, they’ll always be intrinsically connected.

Isabel turns back to him, her eyes growing wide with excitement. “Do-phin?”

“Yes, baby girl!” he says, earning a squeal of delight from Isabel when he kisses her cheek. “You’re right, it’s a dolphin. Good job!” He turns away from the fountain, reaching behind him to fish his phone out of his pocket and opening it up to the camera. “Okay, now smile so we can send grandma a picture.”

“No!” Isabel says immediately, turning her face away.

He puts his phone down, chuckling. “You win some, you lose some.”

The next day, he pretends not to notice Natasha’s I-Told-You-So expression when he asks for the stroller before he and Isabel set out on another day of sightseeing. Yesterday had been a real eye opener for him in terms of getting to know his daughter’s quirks, and as he pushes Isabel through St. James Park, he revels in having been better prepared this time around. While he hadn’t succeeded in getting pictures of her facing the camera on their previous outing, he’s certain and feeling a touch triumphant at having taken enough today to satisfy both his family and his friends in their respective group chats. The trick, he learned, lies in phrasing the idea of taking the picture to Isabel in a form of a question instead of a command. It seemed silly, but as he’s learning, such is toddler logic. Plus, in the end, the elaborate charade of it all is worth it if it meant sticking it to Bucky for harping on his photography skills.

It’s when he and Isabel are walking out of a restaurant two days later that he hears his phone ring, and as he looks at the name flashing on the screen, he pushes the stroller to the side, turning it until Isabel is facing him. “It’s momma,” he mouths to Isabel, who looks up at him, before bringing the phone to his ear. “Hey, we’re on our way back.”

“Hey,” Natasha says, and his eyebrows immediately furrow at the exasperated sigh that accompanies her greeting. “That’s actually why I’m calling. I ran into a problem at work and won’t be home for another hour or two and I know it’s almost her bedtime. Do you mind staying with her until I get back?”

“Yeah, of course,” he says. “Everything okay?”

“Yes, just need to sort something out here sooner rather than later,” she says. “But are you sure you don’t mind? Because I can get-”

“Natasha,” he interrupts. “I’ve got her. Do what you have to do.”

“Thank you,” Natasha says, gratitude thick in her voice. “I’ll be home as soon as I can, but make yourself comfortable and help yourself to whatever’s in my kitchen if you want. But also maybe try not to judge what’s in it, yeah?”

“Duly noted,” he says with a chuckle, thankful that such is the rapport they’ve built since he arrived that she’s comfortable enough to joke around with him. “Oh, but before you go.” His eyes fall to Isabel, who’s busying herself with her new Beefeater doll, before he shakes his head. “Do you have a hair dryer I can borrow?”

A sigh slips from Natasha’s lips when she walks into her flat and haphazardly rids herself of her heels, shoving the pair off to the side as she makes her way down the foyer. The living room is empty when she enters, and the first thing she notices is how much neater the space looks – gone are the toys Isabel had scattered around, and for once, the throw pillows on her couch actually align properly. But when her gaze falls to the recliner on the left and then to the black coat draped over the back, all her questions are immediately answered.

“Steve?” she calls out. “You in here?” When she does not get a reply, she steps further into the room, suddenly becoming aware of the whirring sound coming from down the hall. She decides to follow it, and when it leads her to the open doorway of the bathroom, she can only chuckle as she peers inside. “So that’s what you needed the hair dryer for.”

Steve whips around at the sound of her voice, a startled expression on his face as he holds the dryer in one hand and his shirt in the other. “Oh hey,” he says, thumbing the dryer off. “Uh… sorry, I didn’t hear you come in over the noise.”

“Well, if I’m being honest, I’m a little disappointed,” she admits, smirking when his face twists in confusion. “When you asked to borrow my dryer, I was hoping it was because you gave Izzie a bath and decided to give her a fabulous blowout.”

“I did give her a bath,” he says, a tinge of indignance in his voice as he points to the tub. “But I also had to give my shirt a bath on the account of the little rascal throwing her spaghetti at me.” He shoots her a withering look when she throws her head back, cackling. “Ha ha, very funny.”

“Yeah, probably should have warned you about that,” she says, rolling her lips in an attempt to taper her laughter. “She asleep already?”

“Got her down about a half hour ago,” he says.

Though she already knew the answer, his confirmation still evokes disappointment in her. “I’m gonna go kiss her goodnight,” she tells him, turning and making her way towards the end of the hall. Isabel’s room is dimly lit by her night light, and carefully, she tiptoes towards the crib, bending down to press a kiss to her forehead. For a moment, she allows herself to just watch the rise and fall of her daughter’s chest, letting the peaceful image wash away the fatigue from her day. Then with sigh and a final glance at her, she exits the room in search of a much needed nightcap.

The kitchen tiles are cold under her feet as she makes a beeline for the fridge, and as she pulls the door open to inspect its contents, she hears her name being called out. “Kitchen!” she yells back. The sound of footsteps coming her way is the only response, and she looks over her shoulder in time to see Steve appear by the frame, his shirt back on and its sleeves rolled past his elbows. “Want a beer?” she asks, only to silently admonish herself when she sees the way Steve’s brows shoot up in surprise. “I’m sorry, I’ve kept you long enough, haven’t I? You probably have things to do-”

“No,” he interrupts, clearing his throat as he straightens his stance. “A beer would be nice, actually.”

She smiles. “Stella still good with you?” When he nods, she turns back to the fridge, grabbing two bottles before using her foot to shut the door. She twists off the caps before handing the other bottle to him, and when he mutters a thank you, she nods towards her living room.

“So let me get this straight…” she hears him say as she plops down on the couch and he takes a seat on the recliner. “You’re still a coffee addict but no longer a vodka fiend?” He clicks his tongue. “Gotta be honest, I always thought that if one had to go, it would be the coffee.”

“First of all,” she says, propping her feet up on the coffee table. “I would never give up either. But gun to my head, it would be coffee, yes.” She lifts her bottle up as if to inspect it. “Vodka is still my poison of choice. I just haven’t had the time to replenish.”

“Bad day?” he asks as she takes a long swig from her bottle.

“You don’t know the half of it,” she groans, placing her bottle down to dig the heels of her hands into her eyes.

A beat passes before she hears him ask, “Wanna talk about it?”

Her eyes blink open in surprise, and she turns to look at him. “You really want to hear about work stuff?”

“Only if you want to talk about it,” he says with a shrug.

For a second, she can only sit there, blinking as she contemplates his offer. In the last few days since he arrived, they’ve been cordial enough with one another that asking him to stay with Isabel as she sorted out some pressing issues at work tonight didn’t feel like that big of an imposition. Now here she is, commandeering more of his time by inviting him to have a beer with her that, surely, it would be rude of her to unload on him about her harrowing workday, too. But as she turns back to him, the earnestness of his expression convinces her to throw caution to the wind. She sighs, sinking further into her seat. “It’s just a lot of… bullshit,” she says, leaning her elbow on the arm rest as they both laugh at her word choice. “The member of Parliament I was talking about a few days ago? This morning he threatened to sue us for defamation.” Concern paints his features at her words, but she’s quick to wave it off. “We already talked to legal about it. It’s all a power play. With the amount of evidence we have to back up our claims, he does not have a case.”

“Then what’s the problem?” he asks.

“I don’t know,” she says, looking up at the ceiling. “Once upon a time, I would have found intimidation tactics like this a fun challenge... In fact, I lived for these hurdles. I liked knowing my work was keeping people like him up at night, because it meant I was hitting at the truth. But nowadays?” She shrugs, looking back at him. “I guess the exhaustion just sinks down to the bone a little more… and it’s not that I don’t love my job, I do. Becoming editor-in-chief has always been on my career bucket list and I know I’m very fortunate to be where I am today. It’s just that checking every little thing off of that list isn’t everything to me anymore.” She nods towards the hallway. “She is.”

“No, I totally get it,” he says, and for the first time in a while, she feels relief wash over her at the certainty that fills his eyes. “I didn’t know that being a curator was something I wanted to do until Tony and Pepper approached me about it. Discovering all these new artists has been great-”

“And the gift baskets too, I’m sure,” she adds, smirking at the questioning look that crosses his face. “Darcy catches me up on the office gossip. She said you get a lot of loot from people vying to interview you.”

“I leave whatever I get in the breakroom and let them fight over it,” he explains, smiling as she chuckles. “But yeah, the feeling of professional accomplishment I’ve had these last couple of years? Doesn’t even come close to how it felt when Izzie looked up at me tonight as I was putting her to bed and told me, unprompted, that she loved me.”

“I lah you,” she says, making them both chuckle as she mimics Isabel’s voice. “Kinda knocks you off your feet a little, huh?” He nods, to which she smiles. “Anyway, enough talking about work and our lives’ purpose for one night. What did you two get into today?”

“See for yourself,” he says, pulling his phone out of his pocket and handing it to her. “I thought she might like to see horse drawn carriages like in her bedtime stories, so we went to the Royal Mews. I think she really enjoyed it. Well, save for the little meltdown she had when I wouldn’t let her pet the” – he puts out his free hand, making air quotations with his index and middle fingers – “ponies.”

She scoffs, handing him back his phone. “If it was just a little meltdown, consider yourself lucky. She once face-planted on the floor of a Tesco because I wouldn’t let her carry the carton of eggs while we shopped.”

“Toddlers, huh?” he says with a shake of his head.

“They’re cute for a reason,” she concurs. “What about tomorrow?”

“We were going to see Big Ben, but then I learned that it’s boarded up,” he says, his gaze falling to the watch on his wrist. “Oh, wow. Speaking of tomorrow, though, I have to work a little in the morning before I come get her, so I should probably get going.” When she nods in acknowledgement, he stands, reaching for his coat. “But anyway, we might just do the aquarium instead. That place any good?”

She shrugs. “Wouldn’t know. Never been.”

“You’ve never been to the aquarium?” he asks incredulously, his eyes widening when she shakes her head no. “Have you at least gone to other sites? Like the Tower?”

“I’ve seen it. It’s on my bus route to work.”

“Natasha,” he says in equal parts amusement and admonishment.

“I’ve been busy,” she argues. “And taking a not even two-year-old to the Tower of London where they keep all the shiny Crown Jewels that she’s not allowed to touch?” She scoffs. “I’m not a glutton for punishment, Steve.”

“They’re encased in glass boxes,” he reasons, to which she rolls her eyes before turning to straighten the throw pillows on the couch. There’s a pause, and just when she assumes that he’s chosen to let the argument go, he sighs. “You should come with us.”

“What?” she asks, turning to him, pillow still in hand. “Steve, I can’t-”

“You got plans?” he challenges.

“Not for a few days, no, but I do have mounds of laundry to do,” she says, scoffing when he crosses his arms over his chest. “Hey, she might be small, but she goes through a lot of clothes and they’re a pain to fold.”

“You can do laundry when you get back,” he dismisses. “Come on, Nat. You’re the one that made fun of me for not having been to The Met before.”

“That’s not the same. You had been living in Manhattan for years at that point,” she says before gesturing around her flat. “Look, I know you couldn’t help yourself and tidied up this living room, you weirdo. But trust me when I say there’s more to clean!” When his knowing gaze does not let up, she scoffs. And maybe it’s the catharsis from having shared her qualms about work with the only person who truly understands her predicament, or the way they’d seamlessly fallen into conversation as if it hadn’t been ages since they last sat back and had a beer together, but either way, she finds her determination wavering. With a sigh, she puts the pillow back down on the couch. “Fine, okay. Okay. I’ll go.”

“Okay,” he says, suddenly looking triumphant. As he begins to make his way towards the door, she follows him, raising a brow in question when he puts a hand on the knob only to turn back to her. He shrugs. “I know the consequences of your work are exhausting, but for what it’s worth… I think we’re all pretty lucky to have you fighting to get the truth out there.”

Despite how tired she feels, her lips turn up in a smile. “Thank you,” she says with a nod of her head. “Goodnight, Steve.”

“Goodnight, Nat.”

Chapter 1 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5

#Romanogers #After All #A Little Favor #Steve Rogers #Natasha Romanoff #AU #fanfic #natrogers #natrogersfics

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bitletsanddrabbles · 3 years

Text

Thomas Barrow and the Gaydar Myth

One of the really bipolar points in DA fandom is how information spreads in the house. It’s one of many, and this is, of course, because there are millions of people here with our own separate points of view. But it’s rather ironic to go from reading a fan fic about “everyone finds out about Thomas’s suicide and reacts to it because OMG you know they couldn’t keep a secret!” (despite the fact that everyone directly involved has proven throughout the years that they can, if they want to) to people wondering at the fact that all of the straight people in the house apparently have better gaydar than the gay guy, because everyone knows he’s gay, but he can’t get a date.

So I’m going to take a minute to address the whole ‘gaydar’ thing, ‘cause there are (believe it or not!) people who genuinely do not get what it is and how it works.

Now, don’t get me wrong. It’s super fun to act like gaydar is the queer version of the force and some Jedi mind trick allows us to identify each other without so much as a word. It really is! And there are people who absolutely make it seem that way. But that’s not what’s happening. What is commonly called ‘gaydar’ is, simply put, the ability to read behavioral cues and that has nothing to do with your actual sexuality.

Example:

My queer ass has zero gaydar. I’m an introverted shut in. I don’t go out. I fail the ‘if you can count the number of friends you have who aren’t white, you’re racist!” test because, once you get rid of my family and coworkers (who I only see at work), I can count my RL friends on my fingers. I only need one hand and I won’t run out of fingers. Similarly, I don’t watch a lot of TV or movies. What does all of this mean? It means that while I have a decent writer’s grasp on psychology, picking up on real world gender cues is not a skill I’ve developed. At all. Seriously, I first suspected my female supervisor who wears button down shirts, bow ties, and has a short, military hair cut might be gay when she mentioned in conversation that she was gay. Until he mentioned his boyfriend in conversation, I strongly suspected that my supervisor who talked with his hands, had very swishy body movements, and spoke – not with a lisp, exactly, but with a very distinct, sort of flirty speech pattern was quite likely gay. I’ve not even suspected most of my queer coworkers – even the ones who, in retrospect, are advertising pretty hard – until they mention relationships. I am that bad at this!

Meanwhile, you have my Dad and Step-mum. Both straight, both cys, but very social, extroverted people, and an active part of any work or community environment they’re a part of. For years anytime a church in our conference wanted to establish or expand a queer presence in their congregation, Dad was one of the go too pastors. This was even after we had openly queer clergy. He’s got good gaydar. If gaydar really were a Jedi mind trick, my Step-mum would be the ultimate Jedi master. Seriously, she can spot a half way to Narnia closet case at fifty paces. She’s that good.

So how does this relate to Downton and Thomas Barrow? Easy. The most relatable thing about Thomas, for me, is that he fails at reading cues. He tries, but he is not an expert. Now, people point to the amazing underground queer scene in England at the time, but that was underground? And it wasn’t everywhere. Basically to find it you had to know someone or stumble upon something. That doesn’t seem like much to our well connected age, where you can find out anything you want at any time you please, courtesy of the internet, but again, consider: My country passed or upheld two really amazingly progressive bits of legislation in 2020, and the only reason I know about them is because my parents told me. My social media – which is full of progressive liberals who are all for this sort of thing – didn’t say boo about it. So if I can nearly miss History Making political moves when I have access to the ‘net, is it really so hard to believe that a shop boy turned footman isn’t In The Know as far as England’s gay scene, outside of what he reads in the papers, of course, which is would not include the location of the nearest gay bar...unless the police had just raided it. Or it was queer coded to the point that only someone who was really good with the lingo, aka Not Thomas, would recognize it.

There’s a rather good post out there already about how Thomas’s experience with other gay men seems to be entirely upper crust, so I won’t repeat that at length here. Suffice to say any experience he has with the underground gay scene would quite likely involve someone like the Duke of Crowborough taking him to a club where he wouldn’t be at all welcome if he weren’t on the arm of the Duke of Crowborough, and it is also not impossible – or even unlikely – that the Duke is the one who started that relationship. Thomas has clearly picked up an idea of how to figure things out, but it’s clumsy as hell – see his attempts at figuring out Jimmy. People might scream predator at the top of their lungs because ‘OMG INAPPROPRIATE TOUCHING!” but honestly? That’s probably what it would look like if someone told me I had to figure things out without just asking. Only ten times more awkward, because Thomas at least has enough experience with toffs to give him some sort of confidence.

Meanwhile, the older servants of the house are, well, older. Upstairs, Lord Grantham went to Eton. They’ve all traveled, because staying at one house for your entire career wasn’t very typical. There are a good number of people in the house who would actually have far more opportunity to develop a good gaydar than Thomas. Mrs. Hughes had known other queer men. Mr. Carson was in theater, a famously queer heavy occupation, although even there he probably isn’t as good as he thinks he is. Who knows about that absolutely punchable butler from Season 6? And all it takes is one gossip to figure out what’s going on – and I’m not looking at Mrs. Patmore here, but….yes, actually, I am – and there you go! A miracle if the whole village isn’t in on the secret!

So, yeah, it’s not at all unbelievable that there would be people in the house with better gaydar than the gay guy and that they would spread the word. And while that may not make Thomas the ultimate representative for the London gay scene at the time – or even the York gay scene – it makes him a really good rep for people like me, who aren’t connected, in a world where the people with spot on gaydar are becoming the norm in fictional representations, and funny thing, I appreciate that. It’s nice to see someone who is, more or less, the way I’d be if I’d grown up in an unsafe environment rather than my so-supportive-no-one-believes-it’s-real household.

#downton abbey #thomas barrow #character meta #let's see how long it takes me to regret this entire post and delete it #ignorant outlier perspective

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black-streak · 4 years

Text

Waiting for the Worms- Goodbye Cruel World

Part 22

Second to last chapter. The last chapter is almost going to be more like an epilogue, by the way. I fit... A lot into this? It feels like a lot even though it mostly stays all in one room in pretty much one continuous scene. Anyways, it's almost the end, my friends.

CLOSED LIST of wonderful people: @northernbluetongue @thethirdwheelfriend @shizukiryuu @theatreandcomicfreak @michellemagic @karategirl119 @moonlightstar64 @my-name-is-michell @mystery-5-5 @zalladane @queen-of-the-trash-planet-tm @miraculousdisapointment @dorkus-minimus @jardimazul @allthebooksandcrannies @g-arya @worlds-tiniest-spook-pastry @persephonescat @mycupisbroken @luciferge @18-fandoms-unite-08 @dawnwave16 @alwaysreblogneverpost @kris-pines04 @emjrabbitwolf @mysteriouslyswimmingfan-blo-blog @weird-pale-blonde-person @you-will-never-know-how-i-think @kokotaru @naclychilli @slytherinhquinn @clumsy-owl-4178 @ladybug-182 @darkthunder1589 @evil-elf16 @dast218 @lysslovsanime @emilytopaz @naoryllis @iloontjeboontje @thepeacetea @danielslilangel @finallyaniguana @i-like-fairytail-and-stuff @vixen-uchiha @yuulxd @bleeding-heart-romantic @magic-inthe-stars @st0rmy-w1th1n

~---~

"You are no longer permitted to leave the house," Damian huffed, crossing his arms and staring Mari down.

"Oh?"

"Yes. Every time you leave, you come back with even more strangers. You are obviously incapable of going out on your own without collecting strays."

"I don't know, you seem to enjoy all our guests so far," Marinette answered, ruffling the boy's hair before picking him up onto her hip and wondering over to the couch.

Dick dropped into the seat across from them, observing the way she coddled the boy settled onto her chest. Her eyes stayed glued to Damian, tracing fingers through his hair as Jason sat beside her, arm thrown over her shoulders. The rest of the team had dispersed, staying within the city despite the urge to travel, not comfortable leaving the two completely, though respecting their need for privacy in these times.

Tim stood across the room, carefully blank, but everyone in the room could tell he felt unsure which side he belonged on more. Closer to the man who acted as his older brother despite the distance or the two teens who took him in and provided him shelter as though he were their own.

"So. You're the soulmate who toyed with me all those years ago," Dick broke the silence, faulty irritation maring his expression.

"Oh don't act like you were oh so sure of my having one," Jason cut in, smirk inching across his face.

"I told you, you acted off sometimes! I even suggested it wasn't you really in there," he perked up at the easy response.

"Suggested, but never truly caught on enough to say for sure," Mari responded now.

Here, Dick narrowed in on her once more, "You're the one who altered my suit, weren't you?"

"Might have done."

"And adjusted my equipment?"

"Guilty."

"The haircut?!"

"That one was me actually. That mullet was burning my eyes," Jason admitted.

"And… saving Tim?" He asked with heavy, guilt ridden eyes, catching the yet silent teen's attention at the focus lying on him instead of the events surrounding his capture.

"Both," they answered together.

"I can't thank you enough for looking out for him. Preventing his death. I can't say what I would've done had Bruce gotten another Robin killed that way," Dick looked down at his clenched fists, his past fights over his successors with Bruce flashing into all of their minds. There was never meant to be a second Robin. Now one had died and another came close. "I'm sorry, you know. I should've been there for you. For both of you. I probably couldn't have stopped you from helping. From taking the title. But I could've done more, been there for you when you needed it. Been a better brother."

"It wasn't your responsibility to look out for us."

"Excuse me?"

"It would've been nice to be closer, but you had no duty to us. You never adopted us or asked to have your retired position given away. I won't hold it against you for not playing house with some kid who took your place when Bruce kicked you out."

"But I-"

"Act too much like a martyr. Come back apologizing for things you weren't responsible for. Seriously, it's fine. You weren't a thought in my mind when I went after Tim, over there. I just refused to watch someone else follow our fate. You have no place in this mess, beyond having some similar skeletons in your closet."

His fists loosened and his pupils widened, glinting in a watery haze, "No place in this? Jason, you can't think I-" Mari cut him off now.

"That isn't to say we wouldn't want you to stick around and find a place. Just that you shouldn't hold guilt over what happened to us. Your reactions and emotions held no merit in our death. You need to let this go. It wasn't your fault."

A smile lit his face, a perplexed little thing, as though he couldn't quite grasp the concept of not being responsible for the shortcomings of his adoptive father. He opened up his mouth as though to correct them, only for the door to open just then, an older man entering the home.

"Master Jason has become quite wise in his time away, has he not?"

Jason was the first to react, removing himself from the couch and meeting the man halfway to pull Alfred into a much needed hug. As the two embraced, Mari nudged Damian up to stand and led the way over. The two men seperated and turned towards them, Alfred appraising her with warm, knowing eyes.

"Miss Marinette, what a pleasure to see you in your own body."

Letting out a bark of laughter, she lurched forward into a hug of her own before turning to gesture her boy closer, "Alfred, this is Damian. We came to be family before our escape," she picked her words with care, knowing he would understand her meaning without making it too easy for the other two in the room. Likely, the little bird in the room would figure it out without the added help.

The elderly butler introduced himself to Damian, taking the distrustful look and tense posture in stride as the kid took his hand carefully for a small handshake. He, however, did cut his eyes back to Marinette afterwards, a question in his eyes that she offered a shrug to. She couldn't answer with complete certainty, but knew Alfred saw the possibility of the kid's parentage. It helped that he already knew she had spent years in close proximity to Talia, explaining how this could come to fruition.

Damian took the moment to grab onto Jason's hand and tug slightly, letting his grip on Mari fall away as he was brought back towards the living room where the other two still watched, though Dick had stood up and now made his way over to offer his own greeting.

Marinette took this time to speak with Tim, who stayed quiet and still until now, "Tim?" His shoulders tensed in an aborted jump, "Would you like some time alone with Alfred?"

His eyes bore into her, studying her as though for ulterior motives, unsure what to make of the offer. She couldn't help the small smile that tugged at her lips.

"You saw him nearly everyday for two years. Your main caretaker and likely only human contact as a civilian that was consistent. To go from that to zero contact for weeks on end… surely that must be quite the adjustment. I can keep the rest occupied for now if you'd like."

His gaze stayed weary for only a second before gratitude leaked in, nodding once, "If you wouldn't mind."

"Of course. Go ahead, dear, I'll keep Richard from trying to hover and butt in," she smiled, ushering him forward right as Dick joined Jason back in the living room and Alfred made way to the kitchen, ever knowing exactly where he was needed. The layout may be open, but the position of the furniture and distance gave the two some privacy for the time being.

"Damian, was it?" Dick began as they settled into their seats once more.

"Yes."

"How old are you?"

"Why do you ask?" Dami retorted.

Dick's surprised look told them that Barbara had not felt the need to inform him of where the boy came from, if she even bothered to mention the child at all.

"Just curious is all. I would like to know who got so close with Jason and his soulmate."

"Marinette is more than just his soulmate, she's her own person," he growled, tensing up only for Jason to wrap his arms about him in a comforting gesture.

Dick immediately backtracked, "I didn't mean to imply otherwise. You're absolutely right and I'm sorry for implying anything else."

Damian glared before turning to look up at Jason, "Who is he, again?"

"That's Dick, my… older brother. So kind of like your uncle," Jason laughed at the kid's sour expression.

…

Over half an hour passed before Alfred and Tim made their way back into the living room, the four already present taking the time to catch up and get to know each other. Damian took this moment to suggest putting on a movie, which Marinette whole heartedly seconded.

"Alright, anyone spending the night, get ready for bed! I'm not dragging you lot around half asleep and whiny," Jason announced, ushering Dami into his room as Tim headed for the bathroom and Marinette found herself grumbling on her way into the bedroom as Jason set up the movie.

Upon returning, all in pajamas with teeth brushed, Marinette settled into the arm of the couch, Tim sat to her side and Dick remained in the armchair as Damian went into the kitchen for water, The Chronicles of Narnia starting up on the screen. When Jason joined them, he drew Alfred into a hug, the man having already offered his goodnight and well wishes to the group, and showed him out. Having locked up and settled opposite to Mari, he let Damian pull himself up beside him only to drag the kid into his lap where he huffed in indignation, but snuggled closer.

No one fully bothered with the movie, softly speaking over it.

"Everything alright?" Mari whispered to Tim, the boy scooting closer to hear her better.

"Yeah, we just had a lot to talk about."

"Did it help?"

"... Yeah. He helped me work through some things. To make some decisions," he glanced at her, lips quirking up hesitantly.

"Oh? Anything I should know about?" She felt her own face lilt up with mirth and encouragement in equal parts.

Tim seemed to stop breathing for a second, wholy still and silent, before breaking into a slow, steady breath, "Marinette, would it be alright if I stayed here? Permanently?"

She looked over his head to meet Jason's gaze, his eyes soft and warm, nodding in agreement. She saw both Dick and Damian lean forward, eyes fixed on them in rapt attention, awaiting her answer. She felt certain Tim knew of this, but kept his eyes firmly on her. Settling further into her seat, she took his hand gently and nodded.

"Of course you can, Tim. This is your home now too. We'll have to make some adjustments, though," she saw his expression turn wary, "No way are you living on the couch."

At that, his face twisted into a relieved gratitude, shoulders slumping and body falling back into the cushions, "Thank you," he murmured.

She felt her eyes soften as she slowly drew him into a hug, leaving room to escape, "Welcome to the family, Birdy."

…

Within an hour of the movie's start, Tim fell asleep, slumped against Marinette, where she wrapped her arms carefully around him, almost completely out herself.

"I'm glad he has you guys. I would've taken him with me when he first showed up, but let's be honest. I'm hardly equipped to take care of myself. At least there, he had Alfred," Dick spoke in hushed tones, taking in how the two almost cuddled together, how the small child, Damian, curled up against Jason's chest in a sleepy daze of his own. How they made a makeshift family unit. He couldn't help the pained twitch to his smile at their easy love for each other, "He's in good hands here. You make a much better older brother than I did."

"Don't give me that bullshit," Jason half sneered, eyes narrowed, "You did your best. Don't think I haven't noticed what you did for him. Went out of your way quite a few times. For all of us, whether you needed to or not. And this better not be goodbye either. I'm fed up with losing people. You're ugly mug better make a regular appearance around us or I'll never forgive you," Jason gave a cruel smirk, knowing Dick will see the sincerity of it despite this. He couldn't help but enjoy the return of their old antagonistic relationship.

An appreciative little smile spread over Dick's face as he stood up, the movie having ended already. He followed as Jason lifted Dami and made way to deposit the boy into his bed for the night.

"Yeah… I suppose I could visit every now and then."

Stopping in front of the other two on the couch, he stared down at them for a moment, unsure how to move them. Mari took that moment to open her eyes, blinking blearily at them. They carefully maneuvered Tim up into Jason's arms so that she could stand up, only for her to tug them towards the bedroom where she made him place Tim into the bed, following him back out to say goodbye to Dick.

"He sleeps with us tonight? Poor birdy is touch starved," she sleepily asked, receiving a fake sigh of exasperation and agreeance.

They then watched as Damian snuck out of his own room and went into theirs as well.

"They're going to take over our room at this rate," he spoke without an ounce of regret. She only shrugged in acknowledgment.

At the front door, Dick tugged Marinette into an easy hug, wishing her a goodnight and to get some rest. Turning, he froze before dragging Jason into a tight, crushing hug, "I'm so happy you're okay, Jay. I missed you so damn much."

"Yeah. I missed you too," Jason hovered only to hug him back, face ducking into his shoulder. They pulled back and offered each other small, hopeful smiles before offering one last goodbye. And then Dick was gone.

Door locked, the two turned to each other, reaching out for the other's hand simultaneously. Their eyes met and without another word, they headed to bed, where the rest of their little family awaited them.

#maribat #jasonette #ml x dc #WFTW #part 22 #so close

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the-truest-sentence-i-know · 4 years

Text

it is a terrible thing to be alone

Fandom: Chronicles of Narnia

Pairing: Edmund Pevensie x Caspian X (Casmund)

Summary: aka the four times Edmund missed out on love, and the one time he didn't

Word Count: 8.5k

ao3 ||| ff.net ||| wattpad

one

The first time was in his first year at boarding school, age ten. School was hard for him – the social aspect at least. Children can be mean to the point of cruelty and Edmund hardened himself to withstand it all.

But then there was William Massey. Where Edmund was all bristling sharp angles with an even sharper tongue, Will was soft and smiling. He dealt with bullies with a dignity that Edmund – knuckles bruised by previous interactions – could not help but admire.

So they became a team, partially out of need and survival, but also because of a string between them, invisible, but always taut.

And between sneaking out at night and stifled laughs and silent looks and the adrenaline that overcame the fear sometimes when being chased by bullies, Edmund began to understand what the older boys meant about ‘fancying someone.’ And when this realization came to him – as they stood panting in a broom closet as footsteps thundered past, grinning at each other – he was afraid Will could tell. He feared that he would be able to sense the way his chest fluttered a little differently when Will grabbed his hand to pull them out into the hall and sprinting off in the other direction.

He was afraid the other boys or teachers would tell as well – by the way his eyes lingered just a little too long on Will’s shining blond hair or his deep brown eyes.

Because, while he was not entirely sure on the specifics, he knew that this was bad, that he should not feel what he felt.

“Are you alright?” Will asked one day during gym class. “You’ve been acting a bit odd.”

Edmund felt panic rise in his chest but shoved it down with an eye-roll. “What do you mean?”

Will shrugged. “I dunno.” He looked at him with more intensity than Edmund thought he could handle. “You just…” He tipped his head to the side, then shrugged again. “I dunno.”

And Edmund tried to act normal, as not odd as he could. But the more he tried, the more he overanalyzed every action and word and look.

On his bad days, he was irritable.

On his good days, he thought – or, hoped – that Will felt something too.

His good days became few and far between.

One day, after provoking yet another fistfight with another boy, Edmund returned to his dorm from detention, where Will was waiting for him. They sat beside each other on the floor.

“Why’d you hit him?” Will asked finally.

Edmund shrugged. “I was angry.”

“At him?”

“No. Just angry.”

Will nodded and looked over at him. “That’s going to be a marvellous bruise,” he said, lightly touching the skin around Edmund’s left eye.

Edmund flinched at his touch.

“Sorry,” Will said quickly. “Did that hurt?”

“A bit.” It was an understatement. What hurt more than the growing bruise was the ache in his chest that had told him to flinch in the first place – an ache that combined his feelings for Will with the fear, frustration, and, frankly, disgust with himself. Inside him, Will had become associated with so many negative feelings, it was difficult to just see him as he used to, as the blond boy who was determined to not stoop to the bullies’ methods.

Will redirected his gaze to Edmund’s hands, which twiddled nervously in his lap. “Did you bloody your knuckles again?” he asked, reaching out to grab his wrist. “Or are they just bruised?”

Edmund pulled his hand away and quickly shot to his feet, turning away from Will. “Please don’t touch me,” he said, running a hand through his hair. His breathing was shaky and his hands a little sweaty. Every negative word he had heard associated with his feelings screamed in his brain.

“Ed, what –?” Will asked, laying a hand on his shoulder.

Edmund spun around, pushing Will’s hand aside. “I said, don’t touch me!” He pushed Will, but harder than he had intended, sending him sprawling onto the floor.

He expected Will to stay down, to look up at him with betrayal in his deep brown eyes. If he had done that, perhaps Edmund would have felt sorry quicker. Perhaps things would have gone differently.

But he didn’t.

Will, who had avoided every fight all year, clenched his jaw and sprung to his feet. “What is wrong with you?” he snapped, an edge to his voice the Edmund had never heard before. “I’m trying to help.”

“I don’t need your help.”

“Since when? We’ve been friends all year, Ed. What’s changed?”

With the feelings for Will had come the actions – the little excuses to touch him, to be around him. Edmund was terrified he might do something out of line, something observable, something not allowed. So he did something he would get good at – self-sabotage. “Maybe I realized I don’t need you.”

“No wonder you have no other friends, do you chase everyone else away too?”

And then Edmund did the other thing he was good at: he punched Will, square in the jaw. Will stumbled back a few paces. He looked at Edmund, looking angry and betrayed and confused about why Edmund was doing this. “Well, congratulations,” he said, bringing his fingers to his lower lip to see if it was bleeding – it was. “You now officially have no friends.”

After he slammed the door behind him, Edmund sank onto the floor, tears pricking his eyes. He no longer had to worry about doing anything that wasn’t allowed, but at what cost?

two

The second time was in Narnia, a handful of years after the coronation. Edmund was a young man, growing into his position and earning the respect of every person he met.

One of these people was Zuhair el-Tahir, a nobleman from Calormen who often accompanied trade delegations and was close with the Calormene ambassador in Narnia. He had an open, friendly face, an eye for art, and a love of philosophical conversations.

He and Edmund would spend hours walking in the gardens together, discussing a wide range of topics. He was keen in a quiet way, soft words piercing to the core of a topic. Edmund loved the way he spoke, his slight accent curling the familiar sounds into something new.

And, of course, Edmund would practise his Calormene as well. Zuhair was a patient teacher, and when he laughed at an oddly constructed sentence, it was a kind laugh.

One day, Edmund returned from one such walk with Zuhair to the sitting room he and his siblings shared.

“And how is Zuhair today?” Susan asked as he came in.

“He is well,” Edmund said, walking over to where she and Lucy sat on the couch having tea. “He told me the most fascinating thing about –”

“You call everything he says fascinating,” Lucy interrupted. She mimicked Edmund, “You won’t believe what Zuhair told me today. That reminds me of something interesting Zuhair said.”

“He’s an interesting person, Lu,” Edmunds said rolling his eyes.

“I swear, you spend more time with him than with us,” Lucy said.

“Are we talking about Zuhair again?” Peter asked, entering the room. “Has he replaced me as your brother yet?”

Edmund rolled his eyes again. “You guys are the absolute worst. The one time I actually have a friend and you won’t leave me alone about it.”

“Of course, we’re happy you have a friend,” Susan said in a gentler tone.

“It is, however, our prerogative as your siblings to tease you about it,” Peter added with a grin.

Although he knew what his siblings said was all in good fun, it sometimes made him remember that first year at school. It felt like such a long time ago, but some memories were still clear in his mind.

And the more he thought about it, the more he realized that perhaps what he had felt for Will was similar to his friendship with Zuhair. In fact, he was quite certain that his feelings for him were at least a mix of platonic and romantic – if not more.

Edmund had tried to avoid romance; he considered it distracting from his duties, and besides, it was not like he was lonely, he had his siblings. There had been interested parties, either fathers on behalf of their daughters, or women themselves. He had turned them all down – as kindly as he could.

He was sure they were all very nice and may have made good wives and queens but had just not thought that was what he wanted. He had not felt for them the way he thought he should about a prospective wife

But Zuhair was different. His vibrant formal clothes and light makeup that Calormen sometimes wore at important events would make Edmund’s knees weak. He looked forward to every opportunity to spend time together. Every touch gave him a secret thrill, just as they had so many years ago. But there were more touches now.

Calormenes tended to be more affectionate, more comfortable with physical touch, even between men. Edmund had learned the common greetings; embraces and kisses on the cheek were common.

While it was nice to be able to interact like this with Zuhair, it also complicated things for Edmund. Actions that he would have associated with more romantic feelings did not mean the same in Calormen. He was not sure of Zuhair’s feelings and was afraid that he might someday misinterpret something and not only ruin their friendship, but also throw a wrench into Narnia and Calormen’s relationship.

But even with all these fears – and the vague memories of the apple-cheeked blond boy from his past – Edmund began to suspect that his feelings were not one-sided.

One evening, as they walked on the parapets of Cair Paravel, he was feeling particularly confident and asked, “So, is there any young lady back home anxiously awaiting your return? You have been here for a long time.”

“Are you growing tired of me, Edmund, that you ask me this?” Zuhair said with a smile.

“Of course not, I am merely curious.”

“My father expects me to marry the Tisroc’s grandniece.” Edmund tried to hide his disappointment, but Zuhair continued. “But I have no plans to do so, so I am afraid your majesty will have to tolerate my presence a while longer.”

“Good,” Edmund said. “I quite enjoy tolerating your presence.” He searched Zuhair’s smiling eyes hopefully.

“And you?” Zuhair asked. “I heard the Lord of Muil returned home unsuccessful in obtaining your hand for his daughter. How many is that? Thirty-seven?”

Edmund laughed. “That sounds a bit too high to be correct.”

They stopped at a spot that overlooked the countryside surrounding the castle, all forests and fields and farms.

“Did none of the many, many ladies catch your eye then?” Zuhair asked. “Or were your reasons for refusing political?”

Edmund looked over at him, trying to see if he was asking what he hoped he was. “It was not political,” he said, slowly. “I… I was simply not interested.”

Zuhair nodded, looking at him intently. “It was the same for me back home. Here, as well actually. None of the ladies interested me.”

They were dancing right around it now, and Edmund felt like he could not breathe. He did not want to get his hopes up, but, by the Lion, it seemed quite obvious.

He tried to think of something to say, something charming with a hidden meaning. But his mind was blank, so he quickly cleared his throat. “I should be going. Peter – he uh, wanted to talk to me about… something. I’ll, I’ll see you at breakfast tomorrow.”

And he very nearly ran off, leaving Zuhair standing alone, slightly confused.

Edmund closed his bedroom door behind him, leaning against it. He closed his eyes and tried to control his breathing. But all he saw behind his eyelids was Zuhair looking at him intently, waiting for him to confirm something he had never told anyone, something he had never even said out loud.

He certainly was not ready now, since the mere prospect of telling even his closest friend had sent him running.

Edmund arrived at breakfast the next day to find Zuhair’s chair empty.

Lucy noticed his confused expression. “Zuhair left for Calormen late last night, something urgent apparently. I assumed he’d told you.”

He shook his head. “I suppose he must have been in a hurry.”

“Are you alright, Ed?” Lucy regarded him with concern.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he said absently.

“Your Majesty?”

Edmund and Lucy turned to see a pageboy approaching them with an envelope.

“El-Tahir Tarkaan asked me to give this to you at breakfast, King Edmund,” he said.

“Thank you, Leo,” Edmund said, taking the letter. He turned to Lucy. “I had better read this now, my apologies to Peter, Su, and the lords and ladies.”

Lucy nodded and Edmund hurried out of the room. He did not open it until he was safely in his study, with orders to the guards that he remained undisturbed.

Dear Edmund,

I apologize for my hasty departure, but I feared I may have crossed a line with you. I am not normally so frank and straightforward with my feelings. I hope you can forgive me for my lapse in judgment.

I realize that what I implied is not accepted by many, in both of our countries.

If you desire it, we will never see each other again. But I would like to say one last thing: If my assumptions about you were correct, I hope you will be able to someday trust someone with that part of yourself, if not with me then someone else. It is a terrible thing to be alone.

Farewell, my good friend,

Zuhair el-Tahir

Edmund sat back in his chair, tears forming slowly in his eyes. Zuhair’s last sentence had struck him in the core and all that time of hiding, of shame, of loneliness, seemed to suddenly come out into the light. He felt seen in a way he never had before.

He quickly pulled out a piece of paper, a pen, and an inkpot. If he hurried, the letter could catch him before he got to Archenland.

Dear Zuhair,

Please do not apologize for your words. You were correct in your assumption, but I was not quite ready to admit it yet. Perhaps in writing it will be easier.

I want you to be the person I trust this with, so I beg you to please return.

I anxiously await your response, either by letter or in person.

Sincerely yours,

Edmund Pevensie

Letter in hand, he rushed out to find his most trusted messenger. “Go after Zuhair,” he said. “and give him this.” He added, quieter, “I trust your discretion with this message.”

She nodded. “Of course, Your Majesty.” She hurried off toward the stables, nearly running into Peter.

“Ed, there you are!” he exclaimed. “The White Stag has been spotted in Lantern Waste! We’re going out to hunt; the girls are already in the stables!” His eyes shone with excitement.

Edmund nodded. It would probably be good to distract himself from waiting for Zuhair’s response. “Very well, let’s go.”

three

The third time was a crush, really, not a lot more. Edmund had been happy to return to Narnia since it was the place he had started to feel like himself again. But it was a very different Narnia they had come to – a Narnia where Zuhair had been dead for at least two hundred years.

So while he and his siblings all mourned the losses of their old friends and acquaintances and old life, he mourned, for the second time, what could have been. He had often imagined having stayed home from the hunt, Zuhair returning to Cair Paravel, and them living their lives, while likely in secret, at least together. Instead, Zuhair had likely returned to find Edmund and the rest missing. He wondered if he had returned to marry the woman his father had chosen for him or had eventually found another man.

In his time back in England, Edmund had learned to accept who he was and the things he felt. It was a slow, almost imperceptible process, but by the time they were sitting on the train platform before being pulled away by magic, he found that his shame had lessened remarkably.

And then they were thrown into a war – a brutal, bloody one that seemed hopeless – to put Caspian X on the throne.

Caspian reminded him of Zuhair a bit, in appearance at least. He had long black hair and his olive skin was a few shades lighter than Zuhair’s. And, of course, he was younger, but so was Edmund now.

As a person, Caspian was different. He had a quiet fury about him. His royal upbringing made him calm and dignified, but Edmund could see what bubbled beneath the surface: anger at what happened to his father, outrage at the plight of the Old Narnians, and determination to set everything right. He held a lot on his shoulders and Edmund, remembering what it was like to suddenly be king at a young age, felt he understood him.

He thought Peter was too hard on him. Although they were technically the same age, Peter had more experience.

And though Caspian was a natural leader, Peter expected too much of him sometimes, and Edmund could see that it irked Caspian how he sometimes treated him like a child.

Just as he had in the old days, Edmund became the mediator, and thus spent a lot of time talking to Caspian, trying to make peace between him and his brother.

“Your brother can be immensely infuriating,” Caspian said. They were up above ground – Caspian always seemed to gravitate toward open air after an argument with Peter.

“Yes, I know,” Edmund said patiently.

Peter’s words still hung in the air, ringing in both their ears. You invaded Narnia, you have no more right to lead it than Miraz does! You, him, your father; Narnia’s better off without the lot of you!

“But you don’t,” Caspian said. “You’re brothers, it’s different.”

“I ruled under him for fifteen years, Caspian,” Edmund said. “I know.”

The argument had been a variation of the one they had been having for over a week. Peter wanted to attack Miraz’s castle, while Caspian didn’t Edmund thought both of them had a point, but since Caspian knew their enemy and was technically the leader, and Peter had more experience and was well-respected and admired by everybody, they never fully came to an agreement. Today it had turned personal, and Edmund knew they had both taken it too far this time.

Caspian looked at him curiously. “What was Narnia like in your time? I’ve heard stories, but you were actually there.”

“I think we should probably focus on the present,” Edmund said. “If you don’t recall, we are in a war.”

Caspian laughed dryly. “I’m sure Peter and I will make up again, we always do. I want to know about the kingdom I want to restore this country to.”

Edmund sighed and sat down beside him, letting his feet dangle off the edge. “It was… light,” he began. “I don’t think people called it the Golden Age just because that’s what you always call good times, but because there was no real darkness. There were tensions and even battles with other nations, but nothing like this.” He looked at Caspian. “You can’t expect your rule to be like that. The defeated Telmarines may grow restless, they may try to rise against you. There will always be tension there.”

“You’re certain we’ll win?” Caspian said after a moment of quiet between them.

“Lucy is certain will win,” Edmund said with a smile. “And she tends to be right.”

“It must have been difficult to leave,” Caspian said.

Edmund nodded. “It was. Lu and I had lived in Narnia longer than we had in England by the time we left. It was our home.” He thought of Zuhair. “Does Narnia still have contact with Calormen?”

Caspian shook his head. “We know of it, but since Archenland wants nothing to do with us – understandably – no one has been there in a long time.”

“It’s wonderful there,” Edmund said. “Much warmer than Narnia. The language is fascinating, and the clothing and architecture are so different.”

“I must make sure to establish a relationship with Calormen then, as well as Archenland.”

“They are a valuable ally and trade partner.”

They were quiet for a moment. “Very well, you may make peace between Peter and me now,” Caspian said, touching a hand to Edmund’s knee. “Try and convince me that storming my uncle’s castle is a good idea.”

“It isn’t,” Edmund said suddenly.

Caspian stared at him. “What?”

“I think you’re right.”

“But your brother –”

“Is more experienced in battle, I know,” Edmund said. “But you know the castle, you know your uncle. You’ve told us that the castle only has one way in and out, and the gryphons can only carry one person at a time. If something goes wrong, which, let’s face it, is likely, we could lose a lot of people.”

“That’s what I’ve been saying,” Caspian said. “But if that’s what you think, why aren’t you telling Peter that?”

Edmund hesitated. Why did he go to Caspian first? “Peter said some things that were out of line. You were angry. I wanted to make sure that you were alright.”

Caspian looked at him curiously. He exhaled and smiled faintly. His features softened in a way that they hadn’t in weeks, and as Edmund noted how his eyes looked lighter out in the sunlight, he realized why he had come to Caspian first.

“Thank you,” said Caspian, his voice gentle. “But you should really talk to Peter, he’ll listen to you much more than me.”

“Right,” Edmund said, standing up. He started to go back underground but turned back. “For the record, I think you’ll be a great king and deep down, I think Peter does too.”

Caspian nodded and Edmund just managed to pull himself away from his deep brown eyes. This was really, really not the time.

The rest of the war passed in a flash and Edmund tried very hard to not be distracted by Caspian. He tried to ignore how Caspian fought like a thunderstorm, blades flashing like lightning and a roar rumbling at the back of his throat. He tried to quell the surge of pride in his chest when Caspian refused to kill his uncle, thus deliberately showing how he would be a different, better king.

And when they rode victorious to the Caspian Castle, he tried not to think about how they would probably have to leave soon, and he had not had the chance to sort out his feelings, much less say anything to Caspian.

So he didn’t say anything.

The evening was spent dining and dancing, reminding Edmund of their coronation all those years ago. And of course, Caspian was a good dancer. Edmund watched him spin first Susan then Lucy across the dance floor. His graceful movements were so much different from the hacking and slashing swordsman he had grown to know.

Lucy finally dragged him to his feet to dance. “Are you alright, Ed?” she asked, face flushed. “You look like you’re a thousand miles away.”

Edmund smiled. “More like a thousand years.”

She nodded, understanding.

Some time later, Edmund noticed that Caspian was missing from the main party and set out to look for him. He found him in a side hallway, looking out a narrow window. Joining him, Edmund saw that the window was pointed east, toward Cair Paravel.

But instead of looking at the rolling nighttime countryside, Edmund looked over at Caspian. He looked more earnest, more mature now. The fury in his eyes had died a bit and he looked at ease.

“Tired of the party already?” Edmund asked.

“I just needed some air.” He turned to him. “How long will you and your siblings be staying this time?”

Edmund looked out the window, avoiding Caspian’s eyes because if he saw what he hoped to see in them, ignoring the growing warmth in his chest would get a lot more difficult. “I don’t know.” He glanced briefly at Caspian. “Has Peter said something?”

Caspian shook his head. “I know you have your own world, but I wish you would stay and help while everything is settled.” He exhaled a laugh. “That makes me sound selfish, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Edmund said. “I wish we could stay too.”

“We’ll go.”

Edmund felt his stomach plummet at Peter’s words. “We will?” He had thought he would have more than a couple days of peace in Narnia before having to leave.

“Come on,” Peter said, looking solemn and slightly sad. “Our time’s up.”

He glanced over at Caspian, who looked like he was trying to hide how crestfallen he was. Edmund probably was not doing as good of a job of hiding it, because Susan nudged him and said quietly, “Don’t worry Ed, you and Lu will be coming back.”

It was not as heartening as she meant it to be. The last time they had left and come back, Edmund had missed an opportunity he could never get back. And it looked as though history was going to repeat itself.

But there was nothing he could do. So, he shook Caspian’s hand firmly, just like Peter, and wished him all the best.

And he forced himself to not look back, as they walked through the doorway, only forward, toward England, and school. It was just a crush; he’d get over it.

four

The fourth time was when Edmund realized he had not, in fact, gotten over it.

The painting in Lucy’s room felt like a cruel joke. It was a very Narnian ship, as they had both observed upon arrival, and Edmund was not sure whether he would rather sit looking at it all day or avoid it at all costs.

For in addition to its very Narnian-ness, it reminded him of a conversation he had had with Caspian.

“Were the Lone Islands a part of Narnia?” Caspian asked. The challenge to Miraz had just been drafted and Emperor of the Lone Islands had been among Peter’s titles.

“Are they no longer?” They stood in one of the many passageways of Aslan’s Howe as Edmund waited to leave to deliver the challenge.

Caspian shook his head. “Telmarines have always feared the water. That is why the castle is built inland and the forest was allowed to grow wild. No one has gone out to sea in… years.” He looked pensive.

Edmund sensed there was a story there. “Who were they?”

“Seven of my father’s closest friends and allies,” Caspian said. “Miraz sent them out to sea to get them out of his way. None of them ever returned.” He smiled sadly. “Even so, I have always been intrigued by the idea of sailing.”

The look in his eyes after he said that was how Edmund imagined he would look on a ship. Eyes focused on a faraway spot, slight smile on his face.

So when, after being barged in upon by Eustace, the painting began to move, Edmund thought he was imagining things. Until Lucy gasped. Until sea spray hit him int eh face, bringing him farther back in his memories, to sailing on the Splendor Hyaline.

That was when he began to hope. As the bedroom was engulfed in water and slowly transformed into open ocean, he hoped that this time, Narnian time would be kind to him.

Then the ship was bearing down on them and several sailors had dived into the water and Edmund realized, at about the same time as Lucy did, that there was a possibility they did not wish them well. He swam desperately, pulling his arm out of the grip of a man he didn’t recognize. From somewhere to his right, over the splashing of Eustace, he heard Lucy’s surprised voice, “Caspian?”

His heart stopped as he heard Caspian’s response, clear as day. “Lucy?”

“Ed, it’s alright,” Lucy called out, although he had already stopped resisting his rescuer. “It’s Caspian!”

He didn’t get a good look at Caspian until they were on deck. His soaking clothes clung to his skin, his shirt especially leaving nothing to the imagination, so much s that nearly made Edmund look away in modesty. He looked more than a year older than the last time they had seen him. Edmund suspected that more than a year had passed in Narnia. Caspian had never been a particularly shy or overly uncertain person, but he was much more comfortably confident now. As they went through introductions and explanations, he saw how Caspian interacted with the crew and felt that surge of pride again. Caspian had grown into his title, and it fit him perfectly.

In days, it was as though Edmund and Lucy had been on the voyage all along. There was no stiffness or awkwardness with Caspian, Drinian or the rest of the crew.

And Edmund decided that he liked peacetime Caspian. While he had admired Caspian’s strength and determination in wartime, this Caspian laughed more, an utterly joyful sound that sent a nervous stutter through Edmund’s chest.

It was some of the most relaxing time Edmund had spent in Narnia. He and Caspian sparred, bodies close and hearts thumping, and swam in the waves, wrestling and trying to push each other under, and when the sun set, they looked up at the stars. He and Caspian soon found that the Telmarines had created new constellations which were different from the ones he had been taught as a young king. They stayed up into the early hours of the morning, exchanging the legends they saw told in the skies.

And so, they would lay, side by side on the deck of the ship and on various beaches, not touching, but close enough that if either shifted they would briefly brush arms. Edmund would stare very deliberately upwards, and a moment of silence would pass between them before their conversation continued.

When they finally went to bed, hammocks swinging next to each other, Edmund would try not to overanalyze everything that had happened since arriving.

“And have you managed to find a wife in those three years?”

“No, I have not,” A small, maybe coincidental, possibly entirely imagined, glance at Edmund.

Drinian’s knowing looks following them, as though he could see into Edmund’s heart.

Lucy’s ever cryptic observations springing up when Edmund least expected them. “You seem different, Ed.”

“Well, we’re in Narnia,” he said quietly. “We’re always different in Narnia.” She had always been observant, good at reading people.

She nodded. “It’s a good different.”

And every look Caspian gave him, every word they exchanged, was locked in Edmund’s memory, pieces of evidence in the essays he composed to convince himself of the thing he didn’t believe possible. He wished it were like a puzzle or a math problem that if he got all the pieces he needed in the right spots, he would see the answer, the big picture.

“What is the name of your country again?” Caspian asked one evening as he, Edmund, and Lucy sat around the uncompleted map of the Eastern Ocean.

“England,” Edmund said.

“What’s it like?” he asked.

“Boring,” Edmund said at the same time as Lucy said, “Different.”

Lucy smiled. “What Ed means is that there isn’t a lot of sword-fighting or sailing ships.”

“Are there different weapons?” Caspian asked. “Or is there simply no need for them.”

Edmund and Lucy exchanged a look. “Oh, they’re needed,” Edmund said. “We have guns,” he said with some distaste. “They can kill a man from a distance and do more harm than arrows.”

“I’m surprised you speak of them like that, Ed,” Lucy said. “Given that you tried to lie your way into the army.”

Caspian looked at Edmund. “Why would you have to lie your way in?”

“Because our dear Edmund,” Lucy said teasingly. “is not yet eighteen.”

He rolled his eyes. “Shut up, they would’ve let me in had you not busted me.”

She sighed. “Honestly, you’re almost as bad as those boys who only enlist to impress their sweethearts.”

“Well, there’s nothing like a man in uniform,” Edmund said.

“So, no sweetheart to impress then?” Caspian asked, his gaze a bit more intent now.

Edmund realized with a start that it was very important how he answered this question. So, of course, he stammered his way through it. “Well- I am not really, erm, interested in the girls back home.”

Lucy looked at the two of them. “Well, if you two are going to spend the rest of the evening discussing the pros and cons of Narnian versus English girls, I think I’ll take my leave.”

Caspian was still looking at Edmund and panic overtook him as he realized he was – once again – not ready to answer the question in his eyes. So, he rose quickly, with Lucy. “It’s getting late.” As if to mock him, the clock struck seven. “I should get to bed. Goodnight, Caspian, Lu.” He tried to keep his pace reasonable as he exited and hardly breathed until he was lying in his hammock. He groaned and pressed his pillow over his face. Wonderful, he thought.

When Caspian came in, some time later, Edmund pretended to sleep. He heard his footsteps stop at his side and stay there for a long moment. After a long moment of silence, he heard him sigh quietly and then murmured, “Goodnight, Ed.”

It took everything in him not to open his eyes to see Caspian’s expression right then. And as Caspian walked to his hammock, Edmund regretted not having done so. Maybe that had been the final piece of evidence he needed.

Caspian’s boots hit the ground with a thump and his hammock creaked as he lay down on it. Only then did Edmund risk a peek through his eyelashes, and he saw Caspian looking up at the ceiling with his brow slightly furrowed, and an odd mix of sadness and hopefulness in his eyes.

And as Edmund drifted off to the swinging of the ship, he wondered if perhaps his wishes had been right after all.

He and Caspian kind of danced around each other after that, only speaking when in larger groups and never interacting with only the two of them. Edmund hated it, but he wasn’t sure what to do about it. A layer of awkwardness had come between them as they both watched each other carefully.

Lucy noticed, because of course she did, and after a few days, decided she had enough. She dragged Edmund from a conversation with Reepicheep (“Sorry, Reep, important family business”) and Caspian from his daily exercise routine – which Edmund had been both avoiding and finding excuses to witness. Lucy, displaying remarkable strength, pulled them into the captain’s cabin and shut the door.

She turned on them, hands on her hips. “Have you two had an argument or something?”

“No,” Caspian and Edmund said at the same time. Then they glanced at each other and quickly looked away.

Lucy narrowed her eyes at them. “Well, whatever this is, you two need to sort it out, and I will sit outside the door until you do.”

“Lucy, please be reaso-” Caspian said.

“No, Cas,” Lucy interrupted. “I am being reasonable. You two need to be on good terms with each other for this journey to succeed.” She spun on her heel, left the room, and closed the door behind her.

Caspian sighed and sank into a chair. “It’s like she doesn’t even know I’m the king.”

Edmund exhaled a laugh, sitting across the table from him. “You’re basically a part of the family,” he said. “So, you’re Lu’s brother before you’re her king.”

He smiled. “I did not expect that acknowledgement to first come when I’m locked in my room like a naughty child.”

They were quiet for a moment as Edmund stared at the table

“So, should we make up some mundane argument and tell Lu that we’ve worked past it?” Edmund asked, finally meeting Caspian’s gaze.

“I would actually like to know why you’ve been avoiding me,” Caspian said.

Edmund blinked. “Me? You’ve been avoiding me.”

“No, I –” Caspian sighed. “Okay, so we’ve both been avoiding each other.” He looked at Edmund meaningfully. Expectantly.

And that was when the destructive urge reared its ugly head again, after being held in check for so long. “Yes,” Edmund snapped. “I have been avoiding you because I didn’t know how to say this to you.”

Caspian sat back a little at his outburst. “Say what to me?”

“This expedition you’re on.” His mind was racing, trying to piece together an argument. “What’s the point, really? What benefit does Narnia gain?”

“My father’s finds were capable advisors,” Caspian explained calmly. “I know they would help me rule Narnia well.”

“Would they?”

Caspian was so taken aback that he simply stared at Edmund.

“Because as far as I know, every Telmarine ruler before you were not a friend of the Old Narnians, so who is to say your father’s friends would be any different?”

“I could convince them,” Caspian said, trying to regain his hold on the conversation. “They’ll listen to me.”

“Like Miraz did?”

When Caspian’s jaw clenched, Edmund knew he had hit a nerve, and although it was what he intended, he felt the guilt of bringing up such a sensitive topic.

“My uncle was a power-hungry tyrant,” Caspian’s voice was tense, like a clenched fist, only just holding back. “there was no reasoning with him.”

“Or maybe you simply weren’t capable.” Edmund’s tone was straightforward, not overly cruel, one he had perfected in his past years of both spymaster and negotiator for Narnia.

Caspian rose slowly. “Do you think you would be a better ruler, you and your sibling who run off to your own country when things get hard?!”

Edmund was on his feet as well. “That’s not true!” His fist banged on the table.

Caspian was walking around the table to him. “You only ruled for fifteen years, hardly enough time to fully stabilize a country after a hundred years of tyranny.”

“That was an accident,” Edmund nearly snarled. “And we came back to help you.”

“Only when I called,” Caspian was right in front of him now, their height difference glaringly obvious. “And then you left, when I needed you. I had a family again and you left me.” His voice, so deliberate and controlled before, was now on the edge of breaking.

Edmund looked up at his deep brown eyes that now swam with tears and something in him shifted. This argument, meant to hurt Caspian and push him away, had somehow cathartically pushed them closer together than ever.

He gently, cautiously, lifted a hand to cup Caspian’s cheek, thumb brushing away a tear that had escaped. Caspian’s entire body seemed to sigh at his touch. “I didn’t want to go,” Edmund said, the gravel in his voice surprising him.

“I know,” Caspian breathed, ghosting a hand over Edmund’s forehead, pushing his hair out of his face.

And as though they possessed one mind, Edmund stood on his toes a bit and Caspian lent down a bit, and their lips touched just a bit before they pulled away. The tender look in Caspian’s eyes, however, sent Edmund up for more and they kissed for real this time.

Caspian held Edmund’s face in his hands like he was afraid he would break, and Edmund gripped Caspian’s collar like a lifeline, and the kiss was everything they needed it to be: a half-made promise wrapped in a lot of hope, backed by conversations in torchlit tunnels and one to three years of longing.

When they broke apart, they looked at each other, mouths half-parted in wonder and surprise.

“I suppose we can tell her we’ve made up,” Edmund said, breaking the intensity for a moment.

Caspian’s laugh at that sounded like it had been trapped in his chest for too long. He leant down and pressed his smiling lips to Edmund’s again.

“I’m sorry I said all that,” Edmund said, more seriously. “I was just afraid of telling you the truth.”

“What truth?” Caspian asked with a small grin.

“That I’ve been wanting to do that since I saw you tackle a soldier off a horse in battle that one time.”

Caspian shook his head, smiling. “We will need to talk about what this is, but for now, we must tell Lucy we are now on good terms.”

“Very good terms, in fact,” Edmund said, kissing him again.

The next few weeks were some of the happiest of Edmund’s life. Between the battles and new islands to explore, he and Caspian would sneak off together whenever they could. They found spots where no one came, the space behind the food rations, the galley at night when the cook had gone to bed, and – when truly desperate – the lowest levels of the ship.

Except they had never spoken about their relationship which Edmund was secretly grateful for. Any talk about what they were would lead to a talk about the future, which had the looming threat of his return to England.

So instead, they took all of the time they could together, both with the knowledge it would inevitably end, but never acknowledging it.

Edmund was feeling better than ever, more confident, less in his head. “Good morning, Drinian,” he said when he ran into the captain one morning, hair slightly mussed and Caspian’s scent on his skin.

“Might I have a word, Your Majesty?” he asked.

Edmund sobered. “Is everything alright?”

Drinian pulled him aside. “Your Majesty,” he began. “You know I have a lot of respect for you, however, I am concerned that your relationship with Caspian may do more harm than good.”

Edmund blinked, he thought that no one had noticed. “What do you mean?”

“I am not blind,” he said dryly. “I know what happens on my ship. And normally, I would not disapprove, Caspian seems very happy. However, I understand that you and your siblings never stay for long.”

There it was again: the ticking clock that swung above their heads like a hypnotist’s prop.

“I am merely concerned for Caspian’s heart at your departure,” Drinian finished.

Edmund nodded but didn’t know how to respond. “Thank you for being frank with me, Drinian. The problem has been on my mind and I am grateful Caspian has around him those who care about him.” And with his diplomatic phrases at an end, he quickly took his leave with a nod to Drinian.

He had just made his way to the bow when Caspian appeared. “Good morning, darling,” he said quietly, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek.

Edmund looked around the still mostly empty deck. “Someone could have seen that,” he hissed.

Caspian shrugged and smiled at the bright blue horizon.

“You’re in a good mood,” he commented, joining him at the railing.

“So were you, two minutes ago,” Caspian said.

“Yeah.”

He looked at Edmund. “What is it?”

“Nothing.” It really was nothing; if they worried about Edmund’s eventual departure, they would ruin their time together. So Edmund smiled at Caspian, a real, soft smile that he hoped expressed everything he could not say.

Then came Ramandu’s Island. Throughout their conversation with Lillandil, Ramandu’s daughter, Edmund noticed the way Caspian looked at her and felt a slight twinge of jealousy. Once their objective was clear – sail to the end of the world and leave Reepicheep there – and they had cast off again, Caspian pulled Edmund aside.

“I know you’re cross with me,” he began.

“I’m not cross with you,” Edmund said.

“Well, I’d be cross if you looked at Lillandil like I did,” Caspian countered, a little confused.

“I’m not cross,” Edmund repeated. “I quite like her really. I think you should take her up on her offer to go to Narnia with you.”

“What? But she was clearly implying –”

“Yes, I know what she was implying –”

“Do you want me to marry her, Ed?” Caspian’s question was quiet, but that did not take away from its bluntness.

“You could do worse,” Edmund shrugged. “She’s pretty, well-spoken, has friends in high places…”

“I don’t understand.” His eyes were almost too much for Edmund to handle. “I care about you, Ed, and I don’t want to marry a woman I only just met, I –” He sighed. “I lo –”

“I’ll be going back soon,” Edmund exclaimed, panic rising at the almost declaration. “I don’t want you putting all your hopes on me when we both know I’m not going to be here much longer. I’m only suggesting you make plans for the future. You will need to marry and provide heirs and you were clearly attracted to her, so –”

“Is this jealousy then?” Caspian asked, who had looked at Edmund nearly dumbstruck has he spoke.

“No,” Edmund said. “It’s me being realistic and a good advisor. I’m not saying her specifically, but someone. Someone you can get along with, someone you can trust.” He sighed and pressed his palms to his eyes. “I was hoping we could just bask in ignorant bliss until the very end, but…”

Caspian laughed. “That doesn’t sound like us.”

Edmund looked at him and smiled. “No, you’re right. It doesn’t.”

So while the last couple days aboard the Dawn Treader were not quite as filled with secret smiles and sneaking into dark corners, the understanding between them was like a sturdy, but no less soft mattress – not as decadent as a plushy surface but much more practical.

Both set about memorizing every bit of each other, and although it was never acknowledged, both knew what the other was doing. So when Caspian ruffled Edmund’s hair on deck and commented how much it had lightened since his arrival, and Edmund watched how Caspian’s dark eyes flickered in candlelight, it was a reminder of how although they knew their time together would come to an end, a version would always stay. For the rest for their lives, Edmund could see Caspian, the seafaring king looking out at sea, and the lover in dim light, and Caspian could see Edmund, eyes flashing defiantly in a fight or the thoughtful tilt of his head.

Side by side in the rowboat, arms straining with the oars, Caspian and Edmund rowed closer and closer to their goodbye. They walked up the smooth beach towards the towering wave, Aslan’s presence blanketing them comfortingly.

And they did not ask if Edmund could stay, for they knew the answer.

“This is our last time here, isn’t it?” Lucy asked tearfully.

Edmund’s hand grasped Caspian’s without turning his head.

“Yes, child,” Aslan’s sweet, deep voice rumbled. “For you and your brother, it is.”

Too soon, it was time for goodbyes. Edmund threw his arms around Caspian, kissing the corner of his mouth for a split second as he passed. Caspian held him close. “I love you,” he whispered.

The words didn’t scare Edmund this time. “I love you too.” They pulled away, the sturdy understanding in their eyes.

Edmund led Lucy and Eustace toward the opening in the water. Only once they were inside did he turn back. As the water closed over the entrance, he took his last look at Caspian, who stood tall at Aslan’s side.

When they finally left their Aunt and Uncle’s, Lucy and Edmund had one last look at the painting. After having been on the real thing, it seemed to have lost its magic. Or perhaps that was simply because it was no longer a door to Narnia.

Among all the regrets and wishes that piled up in Edmund, a prominent one was that he would never get to see the king Caspian would become. He would have been very happy to know that his favourite Caspian – thriving, happily exploring new islands – became the Caspian known to history: Caspian the Seafarer.

the one time

Although Edmund was younger when he died, Caspian went first. He was an old man, his dark hair turned grey and his skin rippled like the ocean. He had lived a long life, and though it was not without tragedy, its was an overall good one.

Upon his arrival in Aslan’s country, he felt different: stronger, less frail. He felt young again, but in a more idealistic sense. He knew without trying that this body could run faster, swim farther and lift heavier things than he ever could while alive.

He saw his father and mother again, and his wife – who was more his best friend than lover – and those he had known and those he had only ever heard of. But through all this happiness, he kept looking for something. Someone.

“Is Edmund not here yet?” he asked Aslan.

Aslan shook his large head, mane ruffling in the breeze. “Not yet, my child. Recall that time is different in their time and yours. He is still a young man.” His eyes sad and Caspian did not dare ask further.

Edmund was still a young man when he left his world for the last time, and it had only been a few years since he last trip to Narnia. The train ride was already fading in his mind when he arrived.

His siblings were with him, and the other friends of Narnia. Aslan greeted them. “Welcome home, my children,” he said.

They had all gone to explore, but Edmund hung back for a moment, uncertain. “Aslan,” he asked. “In Narnia, how long –?”

“Yes, he is here,” Aslan answered his unasked question. “He has been waiting for you.”

Edmund’s heart leapt and he had run a few steps before turning back. “Thank you.”

Aslan nodded and smiled slightly. “Go on, my child.”

Nearly tripping over his own feet, Edmund ran until he found himself on a beach. The sand was warm under his inexplicably bare feet. Waves rolled gently and the wind carried the salty spray toward land.

And there he was, walking toward him. Caspian, barefoot and bare-headed, not dressed as a king, but a sailor.

All the hurry evaporated from his chest and Edmund walked towards him at a regular pace. There was no need to rush, they had all the time in the world. So when they reached each other, they took a moment to look, seeing the eyes and freckles and hair and smiles that had frequent appearances in their dreams.

“Gotta say, I’m relieved you’re not old,” Edmund said finally.

Caspian laughed and pulled him close, foreheads touching and his hands cupping Edmund’s face.

And when they kissed, it was not desperate or hurried or anything that their previous kisses had been. It was not an end, or even near an end.

It was a beginning.

#casmund #narnia #edmund pevensie #caspian x #edmund x caspian #caspian x edmund #casmund fanfic #narnia fanfic #fanfiction #chronicles of narnia #king edmund the just #my writing #ao3 #ff.net #wattpad #wattpadlife #amwriting

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keelywolfe · 4 years

Text

FIC: There's a Place I Like To Hide

Summary: Pillows, so many pillows, Edge has a few thoughts about those and other things.

Notes: In this chapter there is some violence. Angst! Drama! We got it all!

Tags: Spicyhoney, Brotherly Relationships, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Pregnancy, More Angst

Warnings: Implied underage pregnancy. Implied miscarriages. Past Trauma.

~~*~~

Chapter List

What Will Be, Will Be

Something To Say, But Nothing Comes

Can’t Go On, Thinking Nothing’s Wrong

Seldom All They Seem

Voices Are Heard But Nothing Is Seen

Winter Makes You Laugh a Little Slower

That Place Where You Can’t Remember and You Can’t Forget

Casting Its Shroud Over All We Have Known

~~*~~

Read it on AO3

Read it here!

~~*~~

There was only one chair in Rus’s room, a rolling one that usually sat by his desk in front of the broken-down old computer he used to share terrible puns with the rest of the UnderNet.

Edge was sitting in that chair, but not at the desk. He’d pulled it around the bed into the far corner. It was safer to sit there than anywhere else. Even the bed, stripped of both blankets and pillows, was not out of the line of fire, as demonstrated by the pillow that flew out of the closet, smacking into the wall before falling onto the bare mattress with a sad thump.

The same thing had been going on for the past hour, from nearly the moment Edge arrived to deliver his menagerie of pillows.

Rus had been waiting in the living room, pacing, when Edge arrived. He’d presented his offering of fluffy pillows and most were snatched away, a grateful kiss pressed fervently to his mouth and then gone before Edge could even decide what to do about it. Rus waddled determinedly upstairs with his prize, Edge at his heels with the leftover pillows that were too much for Rus to carry on his own, particularly with his own similarly pillowy physique. He’d watched in silent bemusement as Rus disappeared into the large closet, and there he remained, occasionally crawling out to snag a discarded pillow before diving back in and the sounds of whatever chaos was reigning in that small space echoed through the room.

Despite the occasional thrown pillow, the room was probably as clean as Edge had ever seen it. The floor was barren of its normal litter of socks and trash, vacuumed within an inch of its life. The windows were washed, the baseboards scrubbed. Even the ceiling fan gleamed and the very idea of an ungainly, pregnant Rus tottering on a ladder to wipe it down was nightmare best not considered. Along the far wall were stacks of folded clothes, books, shoes, whatever had been in the closet before its pillow invasion was lined up ruler-neat along the wall.

The amount of clutter the closet held beforehand was evidence that despite a lack of Narnia inside, it was spacious enough for whatever Rus intended, even if Edge still couldn’t fathom what that was.

The loud thumping noises and occasional curses had stopped coming from the closet a few minutes ago, leaving silence in its wake. Edge rallied his courage and took a chance, cautiously approaching to peer through the half-closed door.

The pillows and blankets were arranged into a sort of cozy nest and Rus was burrowed exhaustedly right in the middle of it, his sockets barely open. His sweatshirt crumpled into a discarded ball in one corner and the only thing he was wearing was a pair of pajama pants, the waistband pushed beneath the heavy swell of his belly.

“Are you finished?” Edge asked cautiously.

“think so,” Rus mumbled tiredly. He lifted his head enough to look at Edge, his pale eye lights glowing softly in the dimness. “you coming in?”

The tone made it seem less a question and more a hopeful desire, one that Edge was more than willing to indulge. Carefully, Edge crawled inside, trying not to disturb the cushiony layer. It was not an easy process; the pillows felt as if they were three-deep and they were laid out with almost geometric precision. With some effort, he settled in behind Rus, who sighed and snuggled back against him, slender legs tangling with Edge’s own. Edge settled a hand on Rus’s belly, gently stroking along the sides where the magic was stretched tightest and earning a relieved sigh for his efforts.

Unusual as it was, the closet was hardly the strangest place Edge ever slept, though the question of why still lingered.

“Was there something wrong with the bed?” Edge asked, curiously.

“no, with the room,” Rus said. He sounded sleepily distracted, nearly drowsing, “it’s too open out there, i dunno, i can’t explain.” He shook his head in frustration. “i needed to be someplace better, closer.” Abruptly, Rus squirmed, grumbling, “my back is killing me.”

Edge obediently began to rub the length of Rus’s spine. The cartilage between the joints felt painfully hot and swollen from taking on its extra burden. That explanation made a certain sense; the closet was darker, the only light coming in from the open door and perhaps some instinct made Rus wish to be less exposed, an inherent need to conceal himself when he was at his most vulnerable. “I’ve heard of nesting during pregnancy, I’ve never seen it taken literally.”

“i ain’t questioning the hormones or whatever it is we get,” Rus yawned. It shifted to a grimace as his stomach visibly distorted with the movement of the baby within. “anything to get this ball rolling. this kid can pop anytime she wants. stick a fork in me, i’m done.”

“She’ll come when she’s ready,” Edge said, a truth that he tried to soften by firmly rubbing out the tension in Rus’s lumbar vertebra, which seemed to take the brunt of the abuse.

“yeah, well, she can start packing her bags and head to the station, cause the conductor is about to take off… ow!” Rus yelped.

Edge stopped instantly. “Did I hurt you?”

“nah, daddy’s little angel just smacked me with her halo. easy, skitten,” Rus pushed the heel of his hand against the obvious bulge at the side of his stomach, then yelped again, louder and startled, “ouch! what the fuck, kid—”

Edge settled a hand atop Rus’s. Beneath their combined touch, the roiling movements that were once thumps and kicks were now more full body rolls, the baby struggling to move in her constricted space, “I believe you might be getting your wish soon, she’s very active.”

They both went quiet, waiting, the silence broken only by Rus’s occasional grunt of discomfort. Their disappointment was palpable when the baby settled back into stillness. With an aggravated sigh, Rus pushed restlessly against Edge’s hands and he started dutifully rubbing again.

After a moment, Rus said, thoughtfully, “you know, no one has actually told me yet how she gets out.”

“What?” That was enough for Edge to stop his massage and sit up, appalled. “What do you mean how she gets out?”

“how she is getting out,” Rus repeated, irritably, “it’s not rocket science here, she’s currently in and she’ll need to get out. somehow, i’m thinking it’s not as easy as knocking and calling ‘olly olly oxen free’. and the traditional method probably isn’t in the cards.”

Edge was somewhat familiar with childbirth as it went for other Monsters and the more he considered it, the more he thought Rus was likely correct. Rus’s hips were too narrow for the baby to pass through his pelvic girdle and his ectoflesh hadn’t formed a vaginal canal, either.

“How do you not know this?!” Edge demanded.

“i dunno, it didn’t come up!” Rus snapped defensively. “it’s not like you know, either!”

“I am not currently pregnant!” Edge regretted yelling the moment the words left his mouth. Arguing about this wasn’t going to help and he didn’t miss the sudden well of tears in Rus’s sockets before he turned away, burying his face into the pillows. Edge settled back down, and Rus didn’t resist when Edge pulled him back into his arms, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to shout.”

“i know that,” Rus swiped angrily at his cheekbones, “stupid fucking hormones. i knew how to get pregnant, but that’s about as far as i go. turned out that undyne’s old research books weren’t real useful for skeleton pregnancies and it’s not like i know any pregnant skeletons to ask. looks like we might be figuring it out as we go.”

“I can’t think of another situation where I’d like less to improvise.” They didn’t know any other pregnant skeletons, that much was true. Not pregnant, no, but there was at least one skeleton they both knew who’d endured a pregnancy of his own. Edge swallowed hard and said haltingly, “I could call Red for you, we could ask him.”

“no,” Rus said immediately. He rolled over and caught hold of Edge’s hands as if afraid he’d start reaching for his phone. “no, don’t do that. he’ll be here tonight. i can ask him then.” He nodded, almost to himself, “yeah, that’ll be fine. red will know.” With a sigh, Rus settled back into his pillows, closing his sockets. But there was a certain tension in him that hadn’t been there before, his new contentment in his little nest regretfully lost and there was very little that Edge could do to help bring it back.

“Do you want something to eat?” Edge tried, “I can bring it up.” The refrigerator and freezer were filled with easy to prepare meals, containers whose contents only needed heating. Blue cheerily put up plenty of extras, not only due to his brother’s current needs but anticipating for after the baby’s birth…however that would occur. It would be the work of minutes to heat something up.

Rus only shook his head, mumbling out, “nah, jus’ tired.”

“All right, then.” Edge gently stroked along the curve of Rus’s skull, silently urging him to close his sockets. “Go to sleep.”

“stay?” That single word, nearly a plea, and Edge only nodded, pressing a light kiss to Rus’s temple and listened to his contented sigh.

Stay. Of all things Rus could ask for, that was what he chose and if Edge were honest with himself, he would have been hard-pressed to decline even if Rus weren’t pregnant with their child. Casual and occasional, that was how he’d described their relationship to Blue back when Rus first told him about the baby and now, he couldn’t say the same. How could he, when every evening he wanted to hurry back to Rus, to see his smile, listen to his foolish jokes and laughter, watch over him as he napped, his skull settled comfortably into Edge’s lap and inviting a gentle touch. He wanted that, all of that, to continue, wanted it with a desperation that bordered on necessity.

He didn’t know what they were, what they were doing; all the walls he’d raised between them were rubble, the cautious distance he’d kept between them breached. If the question of how their child was going to come into this world was an important, then this was at least a distant second. What were they to each other and what were they going to do about it?

He wanted to help parent their child, there was no question of that. Edge only wondered if he were going to be allowed to remain close to Rus as part of the bargain.

A part of him boiled with the urge to ask now, now, to shake Rus awake and stupidly demand an answer. But despite what his brother might think, Red hadn’t entirely raised a fool. Asking now would be the height of unfairness when Rus was so close to the end of his pregnancy, at his most needy and overwhelmed. Once Lucy made her appearance and things settled a bit, that would be a better chance, a fairer chance, one that allowed Rus to choose without any fear that he would lose Edge’s support.

Besides, that would give Edge an opportunity to ask Blue if there were any specific customs in Underswap that should be followed, perhaps even to borrow their version of the dating manual…he was really going to do this, Edge realized, and the thought nearly made him giddy. He was going to discuss some sort of commitment with Rus and after that, the choice would be his. If that was something Rus wanted from him.

If.

Rus was sleeping deeply enough that he didn’t stir as Edge pulled him fractionally closer, holding him firmly within the circle his arms. If the baby were coming soon, he might well be losing his chance for this and the thought was a painful one, cramping in his soul, to think that he might lose the opportunity to hold Rus in his arms.

It was Rus’s choice to make, just as the choice to carry their baby had been his. All Edge could do was guiltily indulge in the urge to glut himself on this closeness, anguished with breathing in the sweetness of Rus’s scent, wishing desperately that this would be something he could keep, something he could be allowed for himself, just this once.

He held Rus close and didn’t expect to fall asleep himself, hardly aware of drifting off, one hand pressed loosely against Rus’s sternum and the other gently draped over the swell of his belly. Holding onto what meant most to him, even in sleep.

~~*~~

For the first few moments after Rus woke up, he was disoriented to the point of not even knowing where the fuck he was. That wasn’t so bad, really. Where wasn’t a problem so much as what and what was that he was fucking hot.

There was a thin layer of sweat coating his bones, the bedding beneath him was sodden with it, and as he woke up a little more, Rus figured out that part of that was because Edge was about half on top of him, squashing him into the cushions, what the fuck—

Ah. Pillows. Right.

Earlier, the thought of climbing into the closet for the next month or so seemed like the most brilliant of all ideas. Someplace nice and safe, all enclosed and cozy along with plenty of cushiony pillows to pad the way. Rus’d gotten the closet all cleaned out and ready to go, only to figure out that his single pillow added with the two he stole from Blue’s bed didn’t exactly make for Cloud 9. The cushions from the sofa helped a little but not enough, and in his desperation, he’d thought of Edge.

It was almost embarrassing now to think of how he'd called Edge while he was on patrol to demand a pillow sacrifice but hell, Edge came through in spades, didn’t he. Probably better not to ask where he got ‘em all, although the idea of Edge ransacking Underfell in a pillow heist was enough to make him choke on a laugh.

It was not, however, enough to distract him from how fucking hot he was. Turned out being pregnant turned his internal thermostat up to eleven and sometimes it was all too much. Like now.

There was a choice to be made here. If he woke Edge up, there was no question that he’d go get a towel for Rus so he could dry off. Probably even offer to sponge him off and tempting as that was, if Edge was zonked out, stood to reason that he probably needed some zzz’s, too. Sure, Rus was doing the major lifting, but Edge was going back and forth between their worlds, doing all his regular work before heading back here to hang out, dealing with all of Rus’s bullshit and helping Blue.

So if waking up Edge was out, it was time for Option B to step up to the plate, which involved escaping from Mister Clings-A-Lot here and wandering outside for a minute to bask in the lovely, cold Snowdin air. Preferably before Red showed up ‘cause he’d throw a fit about it and start yowling about keeping mamas safe and that would probably end with Rus stuffed into a blanket and plopped down on the sofa with a bitchy lecture made to order just for him.

Yeah, Rus could do without that tonight, thanks.

Even as Rus considered his options, a ticklish trickle of sweat was winding its uncomfortable way down his sacrum and yeah, okay, enough was enough. Time to get his Mission Impossible on.

Getting away from Edge was the first step and the most dangerous, but as it turned out, once he was out, Edge was down for the count. He didn’t even stir as Rus wriggled his way loose from his duct tape grip, crawling his way across the mounds of pillowy goodness to the door.

Rus was panting by the time he got out of the closet, leaning weakly against the wall as he caught his breath, shit but pregnancy was not for the faint of heart or the weak of will. Not that Rus was gonna win any awards for either, eh, didn’t matter, Lucy wasn’t complaining.

Except how she totally was, already squirming hard in her disapproval of sneaking away from papa. A quick peek showed that Edge was still snoozing away, and Rus patted his belly gently, snagging a fresh sweatshirt from the carefully folded pile against the wall as he slipped out the door.

“easy, kiddo,” Rus whispered. All he got in return was a disagreeable little foot jammed right into his floating rib, hard enough to make him wince. “look, it’s only for a minute, i’m roasting like a pineapple in here.”

Kid was definitely taking after Edge; she reluctantly settled down and Rus could practically feel her sullen, unspoken agreement for just a few minutes.

His slippers were by the front door and Rus slipped them on. Not exactly the best for tromping around outside but his swollen boney piggies didn’t much care for getting crammed into his sneakers. Another preggo joy to add to his growing collection.

“kiddo, at this point, i don’t think i care if you make an exit out of my eye socket, so long as you move out,” Rus sighed as he pulled his sweatshirt over his head. “okay, only kidding, if anyone up there is listening, i didn’t mean that—”

Any concerns about divine retribution vanished as Rus stepped out into the crisp, cold air. He groaned aloud, shuffling further out into the snow. The path that led around to the back of the house was mostly shoveled, only a fine layer of fresh snowflakes scattered across it.

Rus followed it around back to where he used to hang around out of Blue’s sight to sneak a cigarette. He’d quit smoking the moment he’d found out he was pregnant, but that didn’t stop his hands from automatically groping for his cigs. The lighter was a poor compensation, but Rus fiddled with it, anyway.

Getting down to the wire here. Pretty soon their little skitten would be here and Rus was right around a hundred and five percent positive that he wasn’t ready for this. Shame that he didn’t exactly have a choice in the matter.

At least they were set with gear, even if it wasn’t at the house yet. The Buns declared it was bad luck to have baby stuff in the house before the kiddo got here and while Rus privately thought that was a load of bullshit, he’d never say a peep, nope, he owed the Buns big time, not only for their timely rescue from the snowstorm but for what they had waiting to bring to the house the second Lucy came down from the sky with her diamonds in tow and—

Moving was pure instinct, an almost blurred sidestep to the left, away from a huge armored hand that nearly snagged ahold of him.

Rus was usually pretty fucking quick on his feet, at least as long as his stamina lasted. That was before his sense of balance was thrown off by the combined weight of ectoflesh and baby. He staggered and nearly fell as he dodged again, his slippered feet sliding in the fresh layer of snow as panic rose heavy in his throat and who the fuck—

He stared up, his soul frozen in sheer disbelief at the figure towering over him; a Knight Knight, but not one he’d ever seen, not one of the humorless hulks who hung around with Madjick and occasionally stopped at his sentry post to buy a hot cat. This creature was a nightmare, her grotesque armor covered with rusty spikes and one of the horns on her helmet jaggedly broken off. The birdlike face that dominated her torso was a twisted, sneering wreck, its mouth opening to reveal a bloated, bloodshot eye with oozing pus crusted into the corners. Even that didn’t horrify Rus as much as the dust, so much dust, caked into the armor joints and falling in horrifying motes from the clawed gauntlet reaching again for Rus.

He was backed up against the house, there was nowhere for him to go, no escape except one. and the second those vicious claws grazed his sweatshirt, Rus took it.

It’d been weeks, but reaching for the void was as easy as it ever was. Rus grabbed a frantic mental picture of where and pushed through, stepping into a shortcut…and stopped.

Never before had one of his shortcuts stuttered halfway through, never had it dropped him painfully back into the world, whimpering and aching with the aborted backlash of the failed attempt. The ground came up to meet him hard enough to knock the breath out of him, the Knight Knight dangerously close to landing on top of him.

The hard landing at least got him loose and Rus scrambled away, struggling to crawl through icy slush with his heavy belly almost dragging on the ground. Trying desperately to get to his feet and he could hear the clang of armor behind him. Close, too close, he felt the brutal virulence of intent at the same moment as he felt the panicked squirm of his child inside him responding to his fear through their soul link and Rus didn’t think, only reached for his fiercest attack with the last of his strength.

In a split second, he summoned a blaster, its enormous sockets filled with maddened eye lights, its toothy maw gaping open and from it a blazing hot explosion of orange plasma boiled out, directly at the Knight Knight, engulfing it. She made a sound that passed for a scream, a sulfurous, hollow shriek that rang painfully through Rus’s skull.

He watched, dry-eyed, as she fell to her knees, KR burning through her HP. His own strength was fading, black dots starting to hover in his vision and Lucy was still shifting painfully inside him as he stared at the collapsing grotesque.

“night night,” Rus managed to whisper before unconsciousness claimed him.

tbc

#spicyhoney #papcest #keelywolfe #underfell #underswap #underfell papyrus #underswap papyrus #pregnancy fic

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myghostmonument · 4 years

Text

Shadows

Summary: Graham finds something in is closet that the Doctor’s been looking for. He’s not amused; everyone else is REALLY amused. Warnings: None! WC: 3400 Notes: I wrote this for the @thirteenfanzine weekly prompt of, you guessed it, ‘shadows’! I haven’t uploaded writing on here in ages, figured I’d yeet this one out and see how people felt. Do you like reading it here? Would you prefer an ao3 link instead? Let me know if you have a Strong Opinion on this very crucial matter.

“Oi! Where is everyone?”

Yaz looked up from her phone, craning her neck around the couch cushion to peer at Graham as he burst into the library.

“What’s up?” Ryan asked without looking up. He was draped over a chair and scrolling through his own phone of the week (his last one having ended up at the bottom of an astroid crater, something the Doctor still maintained as absolutely not her fault in the slightest).

Graham scowled at them, and Yaz’s brows lifted. He looked out of breath. “I’ve been yelling for you,” he said, jabbing an accusatory finger.

“You could have texted, mate,” Yaz yawned, turning back around on the couch and resettling herself into a more comfortable position. “How’re we supposed to hear you hollering and carrying on from half-way across the TARIDS?”

Graham didn’t respond immediately, but his indignation was a palpable thing. Yaz caught Ryan’s eye, and they shared a grin; downtime on the TARDIS could be boring, especially with the Doctor vanished as she was on some mysterious errand. Needling Graham into outbursts was a favored way for them to liven things up a little.

“What’s so important you had to yell at us?” Ryan asked, taking pity on his grandad.

“You won’t believe what I found in my closet,” Graham said, and Yaz blinked. She didn’t know what she had expected him to say, but details on his closet certainly hadn’t been topping the list. She also couldn’t tell if he was outraged or excited; with Graham it could be the same thing. Especially if he was hungry.

“What?” Ryan asked, after a beat.

“You have to see it to believe - where’s the Doc? This is her doing, I know it is.”

“What’s up fam?”

Yaz sat up at that, swinging her legs to the floor and turning to watch as the Doctor appeared at Graham’s elbow. She had swapped out her coat for her favorite pair of goggles, which sat on top of her head. She’d pushed up her sleeves, and Yaz noticed her arms were spotted and smudged with grease. At least, Yaz hoped it was grease; with the Doctor, you could never take the most likely option for granted.

The Doctor’s curious gaze bounced from Graham to Ryan to Yaz, and Yaz felt the light of it touch her, filling her and brightening the room. She smiled automatically, and the Doctor smiled back, though the expression still held a quizzical air.

“Don’t know, Graham just burst in here and started shouting,” Ryan answered. Yaz noted the way he held his phone closer to his body as he spoke, unconsciously protecting it from the presence of the Doctor as if she might pull misfortunate towards it like some sort of blonde, chaotic blackhole. The thought made Yaz snort, and Graham shook off his torpor.

“I’d like a word with you Doc,” he said, and she turned, eyes brightening with interest.

“Just one?” she asked, tucking a stray hair behind her ear. “That’s a lot of pressure, for a single word. Effervescent, maybe? That’s a good word.” She tilted her head as she considered Graham. He was goggling at her, cut off mid-steam. “Or perhaps voracious? That’s a good one for you Graham!” She beamed, waiting for his word, while he continued to goggle. Yaz stuffed a fist into her mouth, which did nothing much in the way of muffling her giggles. That made Ryan laugh, and the Doctor switched her beam to them, clearly unsure what the joke was but enjoying it regardless. She was just… like that. Genuine. Giving back more than she took.

Graham threw his hands up. “Do you know what I found in my closet?” he asked the Doctor, striving for ominous but ending up somewhere between sulky and indignant.

“That’s a loaded question,” Ryan muttered, and Yaz stuffed her fist farther in her mouth, for all the good it did. The Doctor looked Graham up and down critically, clearly taking the question at face value, something Yaz knew was rarely a good thing.

“A nice jumper?” she guessed, seriously, then considered his current clothing. “Wait, no, a bad jumper?” Graham’s face underwent a series of emotions in rapid succession, but the Doctor wasn’t done. “Couldn’t have been a sandwich, you’d be far less grumpy if it were. A tea set? Oh, did you find my scuba kit?”

“How about a lion or a witch?” Ryan asked, innocent.

“Maybe a wardrobe?” Yaz couldn’t help adding, dissolving into more giggles at the contrast between the looks the Doctor and Graham bestowed upon her and Ryan.

“You’re not so far off, you two,” Graham said darkly, turning and moving out of the doorway. “Come on, come see this.”

The Doctor shrugged cheerfully at Ryan and Yaz, obviously at as much a loss as they were regarding the contents that lurked so offensively in Graham’s closet. They followed in Graham’s wake, the Doctor cataloguing many of the varying things she had found in closets over the years, seemingly oblivious to Ryan’s increasingly pointed metaphorical suggestions. She had no idea why Yaz exploded into laughter at the thought of the Doctor herself emerging dramatically from a closet, and proceeded to regale them with all the times she had done just so. Yaz thought Ryan’s composure might break at that; she could barely breathe.

“A right set of donuts,” Graham complained as they entered his room and he looked back over their hysterical faces. He moved to the wall across from his bed to stand beside a slim, unassuming door. “Now. Doc, explain this to me,” he said, and with a dramatic flourish, threw the door wide. The Doctor gasped dutifully. She then hesitated, and looked back to Graham.

A beat of silence followed.

“Wow, coats,” Ryan deadpanned.

“Behind the coats, you absolute -” muttering, Graham shoved several of the offending clothing articles to the side and, with a last baleful look at them, stepped through. He did not reappear, but his voice floated out, slightly muffled.“Come on! Look at this! Unbelievable -”

“Oh, I love a good trick closet!” the Doctor said brightly, and darted after him. Yaz and Ryan stood alone in Graham’s room for a silent, contemplative moment.

“You don’t er, think it’s actually Narnia in there do you?” Ryan asked, his brow furrowed. From somewhere inside, the Doctor’s voice rose in wordless exclamation. They exchanged a weighted look.

“I hope not, that white witch always gave me the creeps,” Yaz said. She squared her shoulders, and Ryan took a breath. “Here we go,” she muttered, and they stepped inside. They had to push past several old coats of varying and occasionally indeterminable fabric - they certainly didn’t belong to Graham, these coats. One felt like water woven into cloth as it slipped through Yaz’s fingers. She wanted to turn and examine it closer, but Ryan was close on her heel and she was pressed onwards.

Light bloomed just ahead, faint but growing brighter. And then Yaz and Ryan had stepped out of the dark. They were greeted by a blast of humid air and dappled light, and it felt viscerally familiar, almost like -

“A pool?” Ryan said incredulously, moving around Yaz. She was standing with her mouth open, speechless. “An actual pool? Oh my days - “

“You see?” Graham cried, vindicated. “In my closet? An olympic-sized pool? Who does that?”

“You found it!” The Doctor said happily, clapping her hands. “Oh, I was wondering where it had got to. Well done, Graham! I was starting to think she hadn’t given me the pool this go ‘round.”

“You have a pool. On the TARDIS.” Yaz’s voice was faint as it returned to her. She moved up next to the Doctor and they stared out across the still, silvery water.

“Usually do,” the Doctor said, hands on her hips and nose wrinkled in a delighted smile. “She likes to move it around, though, keep me on my toes.”

“Your toes?” Graham repeated. “What have your toes got to do with my closet?” But the Doctor wasn’t listening, instead kneeling and trailing her fingers through the glass-like water. Yaz watched her hands as they moved, pale flashes that sent ripples across the surface. The surface shimmered and fractured as the ripples spread far beyond the Doctor’s touch, shining and winking in the darkness almost as if they were -

Yaz looked up. “Oh,” she said faintly. She knew, in some rational and distant corner of her mind, that she was looking at a ceiling. She had to be, had to still be inside the TARDIS. Indeed, closer inspection later would reveal the delicate filigree and arching supports that lifted the curving, clear dome of glass (or something similar to it, anyway) above her head. But right then, all she could see was the stars. They twinkled down at her, reflected in the water beneath Yaz’s feet and suspending her between them. Between worlds. Her arms tingled, breath catching in her throat.

“Show-off,” the Doctor muttered fondly, standing back up and moving to Yaz’s shoulder as she too craned her head up at the cosmos spanning above them. “She really wants to impress you lot.”

“Wicked,” Ryan said, also staring up into the depths of space.

Graham however was still fixated on the offending pool, and had yet to look above him. “What’s that?” he called, realizing that they were no longer paying attention to the water. “I’d still like to know what this is doing in my closet, Doc. And now you’re not even listening to me -” he broke off, gasped, then continued in a voice that had gone distinctly strangled and, more importantly, distracted. “Is that space? Are we in space? Oh, no, I don’t like -” He was moving towards them, and not watching his feet. It was the first time he had forgotten about the pool, and the pool exacted swift revenge for the lapse.

There was a splash, intersected interestingly with the cessation of his complaints.

It was followed almost immediately by a series of gurgles, curses and exclamations, all of them half-muffled by mouthfuls of water.

Also by choked, howling laughter from Ryan. The lights at the edges of the room pulsed and brightened, the TARDIS reacting to the sounds of laughter bouncing off her walls. Yaz wondered, idly, if she absorbed it somehow, made the shadowed joy a part of her makeup. It was a nice thought, and Yaz wondered then why it made her feel an ache, the shadow of some unknown emotion. She blinked, focused again on the people around her. The Doctor had moved to the edge of the pool to watch Graham.

“Bit keen, aren’t you?” the Doctor observed as Graham kicked his way murderously to the ledge. “Though you might’ve taken some clothes off first, that seems a bit difficult to swim in. Or is that the point?”

Graham spat out a mouthful of water. “I’m done, no, I am, I really mean it this time, I have had it with pools in closets and nonexistent space ceiling and deadly turtle armies and ungrateful grandsons - ”

“You should see the look - on your face -” Ryan wheezed, also moving to the edge and grinning down at Graham who was searching, futilely it seemed, for a way out of the pool. Ryan pulled out his phone and centered it on Graham. “This is so going on my story.”

Yaz found her eyes straying to Ryan’s shoes as he filmed Graham… and the way they poked just the slightest bit over the pool’s ledge. They almost seemed to be daring her to do something about it, those shoes, hanging so precariously over empty air and with Ryan’s laughter echoing around the room.

Yaz glanced up, and met the eyes of the Doctor from Ryan's other side. A silent moment of perfect understanding stretched between them. An inevitable choice was made.

When they moved it was together, as seamlessly as if they had rehearsed. And the teetering, arm-flailing, caterwauling cacophony that was Ryan’s entrance to the pool was a thing of beauty. Unnoticed by all of them, the TARDIS lights pulsed and flared again, as if capturing the sounds and emotions before drawing them back into the shadows.

Even Graham was laughing, leaning back and kicking away from Ryan as he surfaced in a fountain of water and indignation.

“My phone,” Ryan spluttered. “My new phone!” Oh, Yaz thought. Oops. She was still smiling, and knew she ought to feel bad. But it had really been worth it.

“Ah, sorry Ryan,” the Doctor said cheerfully. She pulled the goggles off her head and tossed them aside, not looking sorry in the slightest. “We’ll get you a new one! There’s this planet that makes mobile devices out of semi-sentient crystals, they’re amazing.”

“Sort of like the TARIDS?” Yaz asked, watching the Doctor hop on one foot and then the other, tugging off her boots and socks.

“Sort of,” the Doctor said, then followed it immediately with “a bit. Not really.” Yaz rolled her eyes, still smiling. “Now listen up boys,” the Doctor continued, stepping back to the edge with her hands on her hips. “This is how you make a splash.” She had delivered the words in one long, rapid breath, and thus the boys were caught largely by surprise as the Time Lord proceeded to launch herself into the air with a truly shocking roar of “Cannonball!”

Given her relatively diminutive size, the resulting splash was impressive; it certainly swept over Ryan and Graham in a deluge that left them yelling anew and scrambling away.

The Doctor surfaced with a laugh, the stars that wheeled above flashing in her hazel eyes and reflecting joy and life and something else, something uniquely her. Yaz had no other way to describe it, that light in the Doctor’s eyes. She sometimes saw shadows of it in other places, places like the plunging depths of a rock-face, or the burning of a star, or the sinking sun glittering on an ocean’s horizon. Things that were never quite the same, no matter how many times you looked at them.

Ancient, ephemeral, wild things.

The Doctor and Ryan had reached a sort of truce, and were harassing Graham as he swam towards distant stairs, complaining the whole way. The light shifted on the Doctor for a moment, and it threw Yaz back in time, a visceral memory gripping her and sweeping her away.

She saw the Doctor, not hauling herself laughing and joyful from a star-studded pool with friends, but dragging herself instead from a grim and uncaring lake, the mark of chains still printed on her arms, still lurking in her gaze. A grim, unyielding gaze, something of the lake yet in its depths. A chill bites into Yaz, the memory of an icy wind knifing through her and revealing her a coward as she stands and watches a friend drown. The iron-hard ground is cold, beneath her feet, seeping through her shoes and into her bones.

“Come on Yaz, don’t be spoilsport,” Ryan called, and his voice was a ray of light, pushing away the shadows clinging to Yaz. He launched himself back into the pool in a much more credible cannonball than the Doctor, not that she seemed afraid of the challenge as she stepped back to the edge and swung her arms back and forth, limbering up. Yaz blinked, anchored again in the present, the cold wind and grim lake retreating.

“Yeah, come on then Yaz,” Graham said, backstroking his way across the pool to make room for the Doctor who, despite her size, could jump quite the distance when she put her mind to it. They’d learned that about her the first day they’d met, when she had hurled herself across two cranes into the unknown, just to save a stranger. And, Yaz realized, even earlier, when the Doctor had crashed through the roof of the train. Yaz hadn’t been there, but Graham still talked about it sometimes, about the tiny, mad woman who had splintered her way through metal and glass and untold distances. How she had bounced to her feet without a scratch, and had immediately acted to save complete strangers. She had seemed impossible in those moments, invincible. Was invincible, there, preserved forever in the triumph of memory.

A tightness gripped Yaz as she watched the Doctor let out a whoop and plunge into the pool, surfacing with wild, water-plastered hair in a field of stars and friends and laughter. Yaz tilted her face up, again looked at the stars that wheeled overhead, and felt that tightness increase, draw closer around her. It wasn’t pain, exactly. Perhaps the memory of it. But that wasn't quite right either. Could you remember something that hadn’t happened yet, Yaz wondered? Could you regret it? She watched the Doctor, and she knew the answer.

A sudden weight against her shoulders, gone in a breath and followed immediately by a weightless moment that hovered in the space somewhere between instantaneous and eternal, stars shining above and below, tethered neither to the ground, or the sky, or to time. Her ams spreading, reaching, as if her grasping fingers might gather the ephemera, or else leave trails in it of their passage. A breath, caught between her lungs before it can be born, or die.

It was a moment frozen in time, and space, and possibility; it had not yet happened, might not yet happen, has happened a thousand times, in a thousand universes, was happening now.

Clear water, closing over her head.

Time snapped back into place with not so much a bang as a splash. Yaz surfaced, sputtering and choking. She could see Ryan through her streaming eyes, doubled over on the ledge of the pool and entirely too pleased with himself.

“I’m going to kill you,” Yaz gasped, though the words were somewhat undercut by the smile spreading across her face.

“Oi,” the Doctor scolded from where she was kicking herself leisurely through the water. She was gazing up at the clear ceiling as she moved, perhaps imagining that she swam through the stars. Well, who was to say she didn’t? The TARDIS was drifting through space after all, cradling them all within the infinite void. Yaz watched as the turning of the cosmos painted shadows on the Doctor’s upturned face, panes of shifting light and darkness writing themselves across her skin.

Or maybe it was the opposite, Yaz thought, watching as she treaded water and bobbed up and down. Maybe it was the story of the Doctor, painting itself across the universe. Again, she saw the Doctor diving into a cold grey lake after a stranger, saw her place her body between theirs and a sonic mine, between theirs and a bomb on a plane, between theirs and so many things, over and over. Saw her face down an enemy stripped of the trappings of a friend, betrayed but resolute. Saw her help dozens, hundreds, thousands of people who neither knew nor appreciated her, would never know what she did for them.

Yaz watched the stars play across the Doctor’s face, and saw her hurl herself through the cosmos, a trail of good intentions and bad decisions in her wake, heedless to the ripples that spread behind her but striving, always, to be better.

Heavy thoughts, not best suited to a time-and-space traveling swimming pool. The spray hitting her face as Ryan attempted a flip into the water was a sharp but welcome distraction, and Yaz laughed as Graham shouted at Ryan for nearly squashing him. The Doctor hauled herself out of the pool, ready to best Ryan’s flip, and Yaz cheered her on as she leapt - and bellyflopped - in truly spectacular fashion.

Light and shadows still danced over the surface of the water, but on its turbulent, wild surface they were fleeting and unnoticed, banished to the corners of the room by by laughter and shouting and water, and they were all of them interwoven into something more, not less. Shadows without light were flat, inescapable things, but so too was light without shadow rigid and unyielding, blinding in its arrogance.

The balance between them, Yaz thought, was found best in the stars. Shadow and light, past and future, ancient and new. She looked to the Doctor, whooping her way through a splash-off contest with Ryan, and she smiled.

#thirteenth doctor #13th doctor #thats it thats all the tags i got #no thoughts tags empty #let me be clear: this is a mess #but I had fun with it #writing #mine

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nancywheelxr · 5 years

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The best universe AU where they visit the carnival and Ritchie wants to go in the funhouse/mirror house and Bill remembers his dream and is like “nope. No. Bad idea. No. nononononono” and they manage to calm him down and convince him it’s fine and they all have fun

As always, this is my favorite AU ever and you can find more of it here!

“Okay, run this by me again, why are we doing this?”

See, Richie's asking because he's not sure a carnival is the sort of place he'd like to be right now. Or, you know, ever.

“Exposure therapy?” Bev suggests with a hopeful shrug.

“I mean,” Eddie snorts, frowning at the bright colorful lights, “we all do need therapy, but I'm not sure a licensed professional would approve of this.”

“Man,” Ben commiserates, looking sadly at the Ferris wheel, “can't believe that clown ruined this for us.”

“Let the record show, I still think this is a bad idea,” Stan huffs.

“We could still go back to my place and get wasted?” suggests Mike, and man, that sounds like a way better idea.

“We c-came all this way,” Bill argues, sounding either stubborn or determined, Richie can’t quite tell the difference, “we can't g-go back now.”

“Dude, this is like, two blocks away from the townhouse,” he rolls his eyes, hands stuffed in the pockets of his jacket, “it's really not that far.”

Bill doesn’t dignify that with an answer, not that Richie had expected him to, what with the way he’s staring at those neon signs like Pennywise has personally put them there overnight. And it’s not even like Richie can blame him, really, when this fucking cheerful music is giving him the creeps, reminding him too much of the sewers and that goddamn clown dancing in its own fucking circus.

A shudder runs down his spine and Richie shakes his head, feels Eddie brush his fingers against his, eyebrows raised in a silent are you okay? They don’t hold hands because while it’s not the 80s anymore, a couple got beaten up just two weeks before right here, and honestly, they’ve gotten enough fight last time to last for a lifetime. It sucks and it reminds Richie why he had been so far up in the closet, he’d been living in fucking Narnia, and any other time, any other day, he’d be uncomfortable as shit, but Eddie’s here, close enough he can smell his cologne, hands brushing as they walk, and that’s– well, it’s not okay, but it’s not so bad. Once they’re out of Bumfuck, Nowhere, it’ll be better.

There’ll be better days, an infinite number of them.

“Okay,” he says loudly, clapping his hand in forced excitement, “are we gonna stand here like creeps until someone calls the cops on us or are we gonna freaking do this?”

“Richie’s right,” Bill concedes, then immediately makes a face, “c-can’t believe I’ve just said that.”

“Huh, it happens once in a while,” Eddie shrugs, “even a broken clock is right twice a day, you know.”

“Why do you hurt me so?” He asks dramatically, wiping fake tears from under his glasses and swooning into Bev’s arms. She laughs, looping her arms around his, fondly says, “beep beep, Richie.”

They move as a group like a pack of gazelles or something, and that must be weird as fuck to an outsider view, but hey, they ain’t about to give up the whole safety in numbers shtick, nossir. Around them, the air smells like cotton candy and buttery popcorn, children run past them squealing and giggling, tired parents dragging themselves after, and the bright lights paint everything in red and white and blue.

Technically, it’s pretty.

Theoretically, it’s pretty whimsy.

By all means, there’s nothing particularly off about it.

Still, Richie can’t help feeling uneasy about the entire thing. Eddie’s sticking close to him, fidgety and jumpy, and Ben seems to be about to crush Bev’s fingers. Not even Mike, the one who stayed, who lived his whole life in this place, is looking too happy to be there, sandwiched between Bill and Stan.

Jesus Christ, they must be looking so fucking shady, they’re gonna end up being kicked out soon.

“We should, uh,” Ben clears his throat, eyes glancing around nervously, “check out at least one of the rides. Right?”

“Righty-O, Benny Boy,” Richie slips into one of his Voices not to draw attention to his own anxiety, “how about the funhouse? Some wacky mirror fun?”

And you know, he’s sure, Richie was so sure, oh man, he had been so sure he hadn’t said anything wrong this time, no stuffing his foot in his mouth, just some stupid impression of a bad Australian accent from a dude he saw in Cali once, but he still feels stupidly guilty when Bill chokes on his Coke.

“No,” Bill hisses so vehemently, eyes going wide and furious, like it triggered his flight or fight response and boy, did he choose fight. “No, no one’s g-going in there, absolutely not! Promise me,” he latches onto Richie’s arms, glaring and so goddamn scared at the same time, Richie doesn’t even have to ask to know that this has something to do with Bill’s nightmare, with IT. Nothing causes a reaction like thinking about Pennywise. “Promise me, you’re not g-gonna go there, Richie– guys, we can’t, it’s– just, everyone, p-promise me, alright?”

“Okay, okay,” Stan pries Bill away gently, murmuring assurances in that quiet way of his, and they all trade a determined look. It’s not like anyone was truly interested in some dumb mirrors anyway. “No funhouse, we promise, Bill. Okay? See, we’re all still here.”

“Sorry,” Bill rubs at his eyes, runs a hand through his hair, and damn, he looks tired, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to freak out.”

“It’s cool, man,” Mike rests a comforting hand on his shoulder, warm with understanding, “nothing to be sorry for. How about some food instead?”

“Do you even– food! In this place!” Eddie huffs, someplace between indignant and alarmed, cheeks puffed adorably, “did they even have a healthy inspection? Did you see how many pigeons were here this afternoon? Do you want food poisoning, Mike? Is that it? You know what else you can get from contaminated food? Salmonella. Salmonella, Mike. Do you want all these years of not eating cookie dough go to waste?”

Heart swelling and chest feeling too small to contain all the unbridled affection that bubbles, Richie really is a goner. Look at him, it’s Eddie’s time to shine, and if Richie didn't know any better, he’d say Mike knew exactly what he had been doing.

“The man makes a compelling argument, Mikey,” Richie grins, delighted, and slings an arm over Eddie’s shoulder. It earns him a half-hearted scowl like Eddie wants to be mad, but really can’t. “Think about the cookie dough you have most definitely not been eating!”

“That’s– I really don’t like the way you said that,” Eddie shakes his head, pained, “I know what you’re implying, and it’s distressing.”

Out of the corner of his eyes, Richie sees Bill smile, small and tentative, and thinks Mike just might be a clever bastard after all. Either way, if it means he gets to tease Eddie into looking unfairly adorable ruffled, well– Richie’s more than happy to oblige.

#it chapter 2 #reddie #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #it #the losers club #bill denbrough #beverly marsh #ben hanscom #mike hanlon #stan uris #look an ask #it tag #reddie tag #best timeline au

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breanime · 5 years

Text

Rewrite The Stars (Part Six)

So this is it, guys: the last part of Rewrite the Stars! Thank you so much for reading this, I hope you enjoy the conclusion!

*gif not mine*

Reepicheep, Nip, Kip, and Caspian were all in a fantastic mood as you rowed back to the ship. Caspian was even being friendly towards Nip, laughing with him and promising to help him with his archery when you got back to the castle. Reep kept calling you “your majesty”, and Kip was practically begging Caspian to let him make your wedding cake—apparently he was an aspiring baker. Adeline stayed silent, glaring over at you with tears in her eyes. The others ignored her, but you actually felt bad for her. She started this voyage thinking she would return with a husband, but she would be leaving a failure. Granted—you truly couldn’t be happier that she failed—but you hoped she would perk up.

“May I have the pleasure, my King?” Reep asked as you pulled up to the Dawn Treader.

Caspian looked over at you, his smile bright and infectious. You both knew what Reep was asking—if he could tell the crew about you and Caspian. You shrugged, smiling back at the man you loved. “You may,” Caspian grinned.

Reep whooped and climbed up the ladder. You heard the crew’s boisterous laughter as he scurried up, screaming: “Make way! Make way for King Caspian and his Queen!” Apparently that was code for something, because as soon as he said that, the entire crew started cheering and clapping.

You rolled your eyes, still smiling as you listened to the ruckus above you. “Are we a crew of sailors or a crew of pirates?” You joked.

“Some days it’s hard to tell,” Caspian said, standing and offering his hand to you. He would do that every now and then, act gentlemanly towards you, but now you could tell it was less for the sake of manners and more about being able to touch you, in any way—even if it were small.

Still, you were just a commoner and Adeline was a Lady, so you took a small step back in the little rowboat and gestured to Adeline. He should help her up; you would be fine.

Adeline turned to him before he could even speak. “What am I to tell my mother? And my uncle?”

Caspian put his hand down, and you could tell he was holding in a sigh. “Tell her that you will always be a friend to the crown, but that’s it: a friend.”

“I didn’t come here to be your friend,” she said, voice wavering.

“I’ll just leave you two alone…” You said, reaching for the ladder.

“No—Y/N, my love, stay,” Caspian’s voice was effortlessly commanding, “Lady Adeline,” he turned to her, “I know this is not the outcome you or your family hoped for, but it is what’s happening. I don’t love you.” Adeline’s eyes watered until they overflowed as he spoke. “I have never had any romantic intentions towards you. Never. I have only ever loved Y/N, from the moment I saw her until the day I join my ancestors, I will love her. Y/N and I will be married, and she will be your Queen.”

“But we can still be friends,” you added quickly, “There’s no reason we can’t enjoy the rest of our time together on this voyage.”

Adeline’s mouth twisted in a sneer, and you could almost feel the heat of her hatred towards you in the air. “I spent all my life studying and practicing to become a proper lady, been told I would marry a King—this King,” she specified, green eyes burning, “not to be the friend of some common wench.”

“Don’t you—” Caspian began.

You put a hand up, making him pause. “Could you give us a minute, please?” You asked him, eyes still on Adeline.

He nodded, pressing a quick kiss to the top of your head before climbing up the ladder. There was another joyous uproar as the crew greeted him. You heard “congratulations” and “about time” called out more than once. You turned to Adeline, who’s pretty face was wet with tears. “Sit down,” you told her. She opened her mouth to protest. “Sit. Down. Or I will make you sit down.”

She sat down.

“Listen,” you sat across from her, trying to keep your voice even, “I’m sure this is hard for you, I’m sure this is the first time you haven’t gotten what you wanted, but here’s the thing… You have to get over it.” You watched the indignation flash across her face. “People—common folk like me—we don’t always get what we want, but we move on. What you’re doing now…” You shook your head. “Did you really think you could make him love you in just a few days?”

“You did,” she sniffled, mouth in a pout.

You laughed. “I’ve known Caspian for years,” you said, “I’ve kept my feelings from him hidden, even to myself; this did not just happen in a couple of days. You—do you even like him?”

“He’s the King!”

“Yes, but he’s also a man,” you said, thinking back on all of the conversations you’d had with him, all the times he made that point to you himself, “He has feelings and hopes and fears. He has dreams and aspirations,” you went on, “There are days when he isn’t confident and he needs assurance, times when he is wrong and needs direction. Have you ever thought about that? Have you ever thought about the fact that yes, he is the King, but he is also a man and men are flawed? That you might have to protect him, to aid him, to help bring him up? Are you even capable of that? Because I am,” you said, feeling yourself growing emotional, “I am because I love him; I want the best for him—and for a moment in time, I did think that the best was you,” you confessed, “Because, as you said, I’m just a commoner, but…” You took a breath. “But I love that man more than I’ve ever loved anything in my entire life. I love everything about him, and I want to be with him until the day I die, so…” You shrugged. “…You can either accept that, or stay angry, it’s up to you.”

Adeline’s lower lip trembled, and she let out a sob. She covered her face with her dainty hands and cried. You let her. Finally, shoulders shaking, she looked up at you. “I…” Her voice choked. “I never… I’ve never felt that way towards anyone,” she said, “I didn’t know… Is that what it’s supposed to feel like?” She asked. “Is that love?”

You shrugged. “It is to me.”

She wiped her eyes, looking tired and defeated and much realer than you had ever seen her before. “What am I to do now?” She asked softly. She looked at you with confusion; she was so lost. “My whole life I was told that my only assets were my looks and my name,” she sniffled, “My entire upbringing was dedicated to preparing me to be a suitable wife to a powerful man—to the King—what do I do now? How do I face my family?”

You bit your lip. Her problems were so far from your own experiences, but you could tell she was being earnest—probably for the first time ever—and you wanted to offer her some kind of encouragement. “Be honest with them,” you said, “and yourself. What is it that you want to do? What do you want to accomplish in your life? If they truly love you, your family will understand and support you.”

“And if they don’t?”

“Then you are always welcome to live in the castle. You have my word.” You smiled.

Adeline wiped her eyes, and you took that moment to glance up. Caspian was standing near the ladder, probably waiting for you to come back up. You hoped he hadn’t been listening in; it seemed that the crew had calmed down a bit… “Y/N,” Adeline’s voice brought you back to the present, “I believe I owe you an apology. I… I don’t deserve your kindness, and I don’t know how I can ever repay you for…for this.”

“Well, I imagine I will need some coaching when it comes to behaving like a proper lady…”

Adeline laughed, throwing her head back and showing all of her teeth. In all the days you’d known her, you had never seen her laugh like that. “I will make a proper lady put of you yet,” she giggled.

“Good,” you stood up and offered your hand to her. She took it, and you pulled her to her feet. “Shall we?”

She sighed. “Yes… I must apologize to Caspian as well.”

“Another day,” you said, grabbing onto the ladder, “For today, just smile and enjoy the celebration—because there is sure to be one.”

Caspian was waiting for you when you boarded the Dawn Treader. He gave you and Adeline an inquisitive look, but you shook your head. You would tell him about it later. The crew surrounded you, joining Reepicheep in calling you “your majesty” and “my Queen” and cheering as a grinning Caspian put his arm around your waist. Lord Drinian produced a cask of wine from somewhere and poured drinks for everyone.

“A toast,” he bellowed, more carefree than you’d ever seen him, “to King Caspian and future Queen Y/N! We Narnians have never been more fortunate in our royalty!”

The rest of the crew yelled in agreement, and you laughed. You looked at the faces of all of your smiling friends and felt yourself grow warm with gratitude. Even Adeline gave a small smile as she raised her glass. You looked up at Caspian and melted in the loving heat in his eyes. Truly, there was not another woman luckier than you.

Later that night, you lay in bed with Caspian in his cabin. As the King, his rooms were the most spacious and decorated (not by choice), but you could have been in a closet and still been happy. You snuggled against his naked chest as he held you close, fingers idly running up and down your skin. You had told him about your talk with Adeline, and now you just sat in companionable silence, holding onto each other.

“I asked Lord Drinian to send a letter to my advisors telling them that we are to marry,” Caspian said, voice soft, “And I was thinking… The whole of Narnia will be at the wedding, of course, but I was wondering if, perhaps, you would like to have a private ceremony…just for us?”

You smiled up at him. That was exactly what you wanted. “I would love that.”

He grinned, leaning down to kiss you. “I love you,” he said.

“I love you, too, Caspian,” you spoke, lips against his, “My love…”

He groaned, gripping you tighter against him. “Darling, you can’t know what it does to me to hear you say that…”

You grinned, pressing your chest against his. “What does it do, my love?”

You felt his hands on your hips, and he kissed you again—slower and longer this time. “I can show you better than I can tell you,” he promised.

And he did. As you lay in his arms, engulfed in his love with his lips secured against yours, you envisioned what the rest of your life was going to be and could only see love and happiness in your future. Together, you and Caspian had found love, and together, you would finally rewrite the stars.

*************************************************************************************

Highkey, I am totally down with writing one last blurb for this series, maybe sometime in their future or something. Would anyone want to see that?

Rewrite the Stars Taglist: @luminex3 @ladyblablabla @sithskywalkers @ethereal-heavcns @ashkuuuu @pharahfly @propertyofpoeandbucky @roni-not-tyler@damalseer @drinix @holamor @jeanettexkillian @sithskywalkers

Taglist: @floralpeaceofmind @delicatelilyflower @dylanobrusso @ladyblablabla @banditthewriter @something-tofightfor @starsfragments @blackcoffeeandgreenteaforme @hisgirlwednesdayaddams@fictionwillneverdie @maria-beretta @sadnessxvodka @ymariejp @sunnycolors @moonlightsay @its-all-o-kay @damagelove @keyeluh @itsmylife98 @funerals-with-cake @littlemermaidprobz @teacuplotus @king4thesirens @mrsjaxtellerfan @thebabblingbook @tartelette-aux-fraises @madamrogers @charlylama @iaintnofurry @k-buggz2001 @whitewolfslittlesilverfox @drinix @elanor-of-imladris @blah-blah-fuckit-shit @julliiaaq @holamor @ymariejp@shadowhunterscloset @songtoyou @anabella-baby @sssilverssserpent @heyitslexy @luminex3

#caspian #caspian x reader #caspian x #rewrite the stars

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