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phantomphangphucker · 5 months

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Phic Phight - Goo, Sleep, Repeat, Or Please Don’t

@everystarstorm @ LumianaKatenke

Danny had really bad luck with G.I.W. and Nocturne has precisely zero tolerance for their foolishness.

Nocturne grins maliciously, pouncing down on Phantom, the little prince in the making, a young god would didn’t get enough sleep. There are spectators, Phantom’s citizens, cheering the battle on, giving reverence to their master. As they should. His little Fraid and Makers hovering around, unable to get involved since they’re so far above such mortals. The human government fools still try, pathetic things; as if they could truly do anything either.

Nocturne swirls, twisting and bending around blasts; there’s not too much power behind it, expected, Phantom was still so young and had no interest in truly damaging most ghosts. Phantom smirking up at them, “you’re not a very good nighttime comforter! Because no one finds this assault comforting! And getting clawed in the face isn’t comfortable!”. That child and his way with words. He was so very fond of them much to the annoyance and groans of everyone in earshot.

Nocturne smacks him with their ghostly tail into a wall, grinning more, “one of these days I will knock you out!”, knock him out to stay asleep for awhile. But Phantom pops back out of the indent while sticking out his tongue, “and I’ll knock you back to sleep with the fishes!”. Ah the death jokes, no ghost made them quite like Phantom did.

Nocturne gets blasted past a couple buildings, going past one to see those human government fools setting up some large launcher. They have no interest with dealing with that, but perhaps they should not lead the child king over here. This was for play, to spar and tire the boy, a good nights rest after stretching out protective powerful muscles. So they zip up, into the sky, and fire a quick blast to send Phantom back a little. Only for those makers of his to hit him square in the back as a result, right over to where Nocturne was trying to not have Phantom go. Those fools, snarling quickly at the male maker, “insolent mortals!”, before moving to follow after Phantom.

They’re not quite fast enough. They don’t stop Phantom from getting hit by the large gooey rocket. It seemingly liquifies most everything from the shoulders down; sending the boy splattering into the pavement. They wanted Phantom asleep but this was Unacceptable! Roaring and tackling the human government worms, “how dare you dare harm a young one! Young zone’s hand and head! Little dignity! Sweet dear child!”.

It was pure chaos, immediate chaos, Jazz screaming as the ghosts ghostly tail wraps around her, Sam, and Tucker, basically flinging them at and in Danny. Sam muttering, “shit, shit, shit, shit”, while trying to push the bits of Danny soup back into a more coagulated pile.

Tucker ripping through his pockets, “thermos, fuck I should have a thermos right? Zone is that even a good idea?”.

Jazz snapping, “I don’t know Tucker, but you’re a better shot than I am and we have an issue!”. Tucker jerking his head up and wincing around, more G.I.W. agents had seemingly popped up out of nowhere… at least they were forcefully keeping the Fenton’s back. Small mercies. At least he managed to find two thermoses, passing them off to her and taking her pistol.

Tucker half kneeling, using a knee to help him aim, shooting two who shout back, “WE ARE THE GOVERNMENT! YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED TO REIST! CEASE YOUR DEFENCE OF A MONSTER AND MENACE!”.

Maddie shouting in the background, “WE HAVE MORE RIGHT TO IT THAN YOU!”.

“Silence or you will be placed under arrest for interfering with a government seizure!”.

Tucker wincing, “Sam!”.

“I’m busy helping Jazz! Tucker! Figure it out!”.

For the first time in a long time all three of them seriously wishing Val/Red or, heck, even Vlad, to show up. Tucker having to flatten himself, grabbing the back of Jazz’s shirt to get her on the ground too; a blast whizzing right over their heads. Him wincing at seeing a bit of Danny’s ‘goo’ spill out.

Jazz and Sam were honestly just stuffing what they could of half liquid Danny into the thermoses, not daring to actually suck him into the thing. And then there’s suddenly a bunch of Nocturne’s pillow shade ghosts around them, almost like a barricade, some throwing hands with and occasionally being destroyed by the G.I.W. agents.

G.I.W. agents scowling, struggling more than they’d like, “great, the monsters summoned minions”. Nocturne impales an agent with their elbow spikes, crushes the machine/vehicle completely underhand, and snarls again, form growing to cover the sky, “I HAVE NO TOLERANCE FOR THIS FOOLISH BEHAVIOUR!”.

Sam, Tucker, and Jazz all wincing; at this rate Nocturne was going to knock out the whole town again or start breaking buildings. Sam and Tucker exchanging looks before both sigh and shout, “EVERYONE LAY DOWN! THIS ONE’S A FLOATING KNOCK OUT GAS!”. And… surprisingly a few people actually listened, not the G.I.W. obviously, though people might also be hitting the ground to avoid getting caught in cross fire since it was well known that the G.I.W. did not give a single flying fuck about bystander casualties. At least the Pillow Shades give all three of them the time to focus on getting Danny into thermoses. Tucker ripping off his hoodie and passing it to Jazz to get the not soup shoulder, arms, and head wrapped up somewhat securely; Danny groans.

The three all stilling at Nocturne’s black starry arm slamming down over Danny with a harsh yet soft, “sleep child”. Danny doesn’t groan again and his face relaxes. Jazz is the only one that can manage to give a small, “thank you”.

Maddie has no clue what’s going on. The fight was mostly normal, her and Jack hoping to maybe get in a good shot or get some new samples, when suddenly the place was swarmed with G.I.W. agents. It’s been a long time since her or Jack have actually liked the G.I.W., them firing live rocket rounds at an observatory full of children was the last straw for her, and right now they’ve fully pissed her off. Her husband, Jack, was the one to hit the ghost first, they might have taken It down but It was still their hit first! They had more claim! But fighting this many agents was out of the question, especially with the ‘villain’ ghost summoning shades, it would do her kids no good for either of them to get arrested.

But at least she understands the G.I.W.’s actions, she can even rationalise what sounds like some teens actions to protect Phantom. The G.I.W. were hated by the teen populace, Phantom was disturbingly belove-d. She didn’t approve of some teens putting themselves in danger like this but at least it made sense. Now this ‘Nocturne’s’ actions? Those did not make a lick of sense. Why was It defending not only Phantom but seemingly also the teens that were defending Phantom? Why had It called Phantom a ‘sweet child’? It made no sense. Ghosts had no understanding of age, nonetheless childhood versus adulthood. Perhaps ghosts could tell when a ghost was a newer ghost, but sightings of Phantom have been recorded since ancient Egypt and It had been haunting Amity for multiple years now. It wasn’t a fresh ghost. The other terms It used seemed like merely other ways to say the same thing, linguistic complexity were not supposed to be truly possible with ghosts; Phantom was abnormal with Its use of puns and that was it, and Its heightened exposure to humans increasing Its vocabulary.

She watches, using the G.I.W.’s distraction to slip behind a different building, as part of this Nocturne ghost physically throws a G.I.W. agent through the air as Its form finally full blocks out all the light from the sky and sun. This ghost… was incredibly dangerous, far more than It had been while Phantom was fighting It. Do the ghosts ‘pull their punches’ when fighting Phantom? Why? How would any ghost have the self awareness to do such a thing? It didn’t make sense.

“MAD’S!”.

Maddie snapping her head to the side, seeing five of the pillow-like shades slamming Jack into a wall. “You let him go! You ectoplasmic fiends!”, raising her weapon only for a black starry portion of the ghost to push her down onto the ground. Jack slumping, unconscious, surrounded by grinning pillow shades that… lower him slowly? to the ground with happy? grins. The things even lay his head down gently? And now she’s getting lightheaded, foggy? Right those teens said It was a ‘knock out gas’ or something? Right?

G.I.W. agents are screaming in the background, the ghost lowers Its masked head to glower over her, “you, behave, your foolish words and thoughts bother the young one’s sleep far too much. You will be no bother to him now”. She glares, expecting the ghost to simply crush her, instead drifting off to sleep, eyes slowly closing.

Nocturne was not happy. Nocturne was not impressed. Nocturne was not willing to tolerate this foolishness. Phantom could act foolishly if the child so chose, as could his fraid, it could even be tolerated from those makers; but from human mortals who were not even his possessions or loyal servants? Hmph, absolutely not. They press their mass down on the buildings, through their own might or their Sleeper shades they send all inside to sleep. The ones outside put down gently, as the little prince would hate for harm to be done; the ones that listened to his little fraid will be promised lovely sweet dreams as their reward. The mortals who fight them however, they will be knock out by blows and impacts, only fitful nightmares awaiting them for their disrespect and foolishness.

Their Sleepers communicating that the prince’s fraid had gathered up what of him they could, good indeed, he was hurt, foolish mortals having dared to have done such to the Infinite Realms most precious one; to do so to any child ghost would be unacceptable.

They push portions of themselves through the veil between worlds, tearing opening a portal between the land of the living and the land of the dead. The young prince’s fraid and nest-mate could cart him off to where is best. Whether that be another ancient more familiar with his physique than them or one of the many clans that worshiped the child, or his Infinite Realm bound lair perhaps? The FrightKnight even? They wouldn’t object too much to them taking the little one to their own lair, but that would hardly do him much good beyond further gentle restorative sleep.

Phantom’s mortals scooping him and the cylindrical devices Phantom loved to use that they’d put the more liquified portions in, all three moving through the portal and Nocturne letting it snap shut right after. They had hardly any interest in spending energy maintaining a portal, when they had punishments to dole out.

These men, why so many of them feared being dirty they did not get, but they will make everything dirty then. Every inch of their machinery and weapons they have their Sleeper shades stuff them full with dirt, mud, animal manure. Every red liquid Nocturne could locate in the young one’s lair gets dumped on their suits, scratching their glasses up and imbedding them with rocks.

Those makers of his get their weapons destroyed but nothing more… besides unpleasant dreams of exactly what would befall this simple town without its lair master and protector.

Nocturne settles themselves over the city, content to keep everything inside trapped in slumber till the sweet little prince returned. Any outsider attempts to get in will be crushed, be they helicopter, tank, or other vehicle; all life forms residing inside said machines sent to slumber, bodies scattered around the parameter like dead flies surrounding a carcass.

FrostBite was having a good day, SwiftSnout had her baby perfectly fine, ColdStep’s aim had gotten noticeably better, and IceHorn’s sweetsuckle had finally produced berries. So, FrostBite was having a good day, was. He was until the Great One and his fraid and nest-mate showed up; he’d been so distracted by the Great One’s state that he hardly noticed that they somehow arrived in the middle of the foxdew den while he’d been feeding the little mongrels. The smell of sandalwood, rose, and patchouli that accompanied their arrival telling him that Ancient ClockWork had some hand in the peculiar sudden arrival, even if the portal was clearly one of Ancient Nocturne’s.

FrostBite rushing over to the children, The Great One smelled strongly of lavender and chamomile so he doubts the young god was unconscious of his own will. However… that appeared to be something of a kindness, considering his state. He had a minor cut on his head and a small burn on his shoulder, just beneath his shoulders he cut off jaggedly into goo, the goo half dripping and half floating vaguely attached and seeping into a worrying collection of thermoses. “What happened? Come, we’ll get you to the infirmary immediately”.

Lady Sam scowling, “G.I.W. happened, those jackasses”.

Miss Jazz, giving him a better explanation as he scoops up the Great One and the thermoses in his arms. Lady Sam, Pharaoh Tuck, and Miss Jazz all climbing on his shoulders as the young adult speaks, “he was sparring with Nocturne, he’s been skipping sleep again. Jack got a shot in on him and the G.I.W. took advantage of that”.

FrostBite nodding respectfully as they get into the infirmary, “ShardHeart, get the lay down capsule out, he’s mostly goo so we need to keep that all contained together”. She nods at him immediately and gets to work with professional ease.

Sam and Tucker grimace, dumping their thermoses into the capsule, trying to not splash it on Danny’s face. Tucker grimacing, “we’re not really sure what he got hit with, only that is was very big and rocket shaped”.

FrostBite nodding, “and this-”, nodding his head down at Danny, “-happened immediately?”. Both teens nodding immediately. “Alright, we’ll assume there’s some form of contaminating substance mixed in with him, since he’s not reforming and healing on his own”. ShardHeart hooking up a filtration mixture, effectively just dumping the resulting powder in with the Danny goo; his ectoplasm was basically already exposed so there wasn’t any need to ‘feed’ it into him. FrostBite pushing all three back away from the capsule as mist starts steaming out of it, impurities leaving Danny’s ectoplasm. LeftSnow sticking some kind of detector type tool into the mist, sucking it up, and frowning, “yeah this is a high corrosive, could have ended a weaker ghost”.

Sam crossing her arms, “so if they’d hit Danny with this when he was fourteen he’d probably have been ended”. LeftSnow nodding seriously, “that would be very likely, yes”. Sam just scowls and continues watching Danny from a safe distance. LeftSnow continuing to suck up the substance to make sure it doesn’t have the potential to mix in with the Zone’s free-floating ectoplasm.

After about ten minutes Danny just snaps back together as he’s supposed to, making a face and groaning a little, doesn’t wake up though. Jazz shaking her head, “Nocturne can be a bit of a pain”.

FrostBite chuckling, “it doesn’t help that the Great One ignores his need for sleep so often and readily”. Jazz shaking her head, “and I keep telling him how bad that is but somethings are more important to him than sleep”.

Sam scoffing, “not much different from you and your studying”.

“That will advance my career and it’s educational”.

“And Danny has needs and he’s helping people”, Sam nodding to herself, “that’s a better reason”.

Tucker shaking his head at the two girls, looking to ShardHeart, “is he good for us to take back home? I’m pretty sure Nocturne has basically just taken the whole place over and isn’t going to leave till the ‘little dignity’ is back”. FrostBite chuckles to himself but doesn’t comment.

ShardHeart hums and eyes the sleeping boy, “I would prefer to keep him here for observation, but he’s going to wreck things if he wakes up and realises anyone kept him here longer than absolutely necessary”. Sam, Tucker, and Jazz all laughing or smirking at that, because it was very true. Danny was a shit like that. Either way ShardHeart and LeftSnow waving them to go ahead, Sam and Tucker picking him up by his wrists and ankles. Jazz nodding, “now, how? Are we supposed to get back?”. Earning owlish blinks in response.

FrostBite sighs internally, he really had been having a nice largely relaxing day.

The G.I.W. were pissed their newest corrosion rocket -which may or may not have qualified as a war crime and possibly a violation of the Geneva convention- was supposed to completely dissolve any ecto-filth instantaneously, nothing more needed. Just reduce Phantom to goop, do crowd control, keep the Fenton’s from getting involved or claiming ownership, and collect the remains for further study. Phantom maxed out their ecto-scanners, It was a powerful monster, if they could eliminate It then the ghost issue would be solved and they could move on to that disgusting false afterlife where the creatures resided. But no, not only did it not fully work, but the other ghost that they had been banking on as a suitable distraction had been far stronger than they had been prepared for.

While one agent had managed to fire another round at the Nocturne ghost before passing out, however the ghost merely tore off the part of It that corrosively liquefied and threw it at them like feces.

The cleanliness violations were piling up rapidly. Head office would not be pleased.

A bunch of teenagers even managed to not only stop them from getting so much as a single sample but also were able to flee with the ghost. A complete failure and waste of their (the taxpayers) money… well not entirely. They’ve learned that at least this other strange ghost that maxes out their scanner would ‘protect’ Phantom, it confirmed their theories, Phantom was very much one of the monsters just toying with humans, except far more sinister. Phantom was trying to fool the American people, break down their distrust, and then like all other ectoplasmic filth attack the American people. It was far more a threat to national security and the American people than any other abomination. The fact that every agent that went near that town now became unresponsive was further proof; they were being blocked by a clear aggressor ghost from talking to, giving aid to, or reprogramming anyone while Phantom was mia. Clearly a plot. Clearly an attempt to stop humanity, America, from reclaiming her town from the clutches of Its kind. Vile monsters.

Then the large ghost swirls in on itself, funnelling down into the town, Agent F squinting, “go, get in there. The thing must have run out of steam. Get something of a foothold in there before Phantom returns or It regains its strength”, grumbling, “probably by eating someone, foul creatures. Those indoctrinated townsfolk would probably view the sacrifice as a blessing”. Multiple G.I.W. armoured vehicles that had been on stand by start moving to converge on the small town.

Nocturne grins, hunched over and coiled around the little prince, so much power and healed already. The Infinite Realm would bloom under him, they’re pleased not only for that but also that a child ghost hadn’t been ended on their watch. No child ghost, especially not this one, should be ended and especially not by living mortal hands. Pathetic living creatures, acting as if they’d earned their existence the way the dead have. They were only alive by the random chance hands of the reincarnation and creation cycle, ghosts had earned their place to exist by necessity and by suffering.

That darkly dressed fraid-mate puts her hands on her hips and glares, “you better wake him and everyone up or so help me I will find a way to fell an Ancient”. So headstrong, so commanding; as if she had any place to order them around truly. But, they’d… respect this ghost child’s fraid, the High Ghost Prince’s fraid.

So with an eye roll, they release their mental hold on the little one and his little lair-folk. The roar of those silly mortal vehicles approaching from the distance, they’re tempted to do something about it but well….

FrostBite huffs, cracking a set of knuckles, “this”, smirking wolfishly, “will be fun”.

The little prince grumbling a, “that’s nice, Frostypa”; while the young ones fraid basically yanks him out of Nocturne’s grasp, as if Nocturne wasn’t actively allowing them to do so. The boy is hardly worth sparring with now and he’s quite well rested as well, they’re content to take their leave entirely. Let those FarFrozen yetis deal with the silly government mortals that dare threaten a child ghost; and let all Phantom’s little lair-folk wake up to an interesting show.

By the time Jack woke up, he could hear chanting, the kind he’d expect to hear at a sports game actually!

“Woo! Go get ‘em yeti guy!”.

“That’s right! Sock him in the jaw! Go for the crotch!”.

“Burn! Baby! BURN!”.

“Who’s the ghost with the most!?! Not you! But still kick his ass!”.

Jack shaking his head and sitting up on the side of the street, right he’d got a shot in on Phantom and then all Hell broke loose and he got? knocked out? by a pillow ghost. At least it didn’t feel like he’d bumped his head!

It takes him a bit to get to where all the noise is coming from, expecting Mad’s to already be there (she is), and staring a bit. There was a yeti, a ghost yeti but still a yeti, snarling and throwing both G.I.W. vehicles and G.I.W. agents around like toys! The ghost even reminded him of himself even! The ghost laughing boisterously and grinning, all sharp teeth, happily.

But also! He’s never seen a ghost yeti before! Did It form based on common human myth and lore? People’s superstitions perhaps? So many possibilities! And clearly Mad’s had the same idea, since she’s hiding around a building taking notes. Heck, even Phantom is just observing somehow looking no worse for the wear!

A G.I.W. agent grumbles, “damn freaks, this town is completely insane”. Jack couldn’t even disagree with that! But also, the G.I.W. tried to buy away all his life’s work and he’s not about to actually side with them.

Phantom shouting, “tell him to suck on deez nuts!”. And for some absurd hilarious reason the yeti ghost actually does it. Jack can’t help but laugh, even if he didn’t get the darn ghost boy this time there was always more chances and he’d rather lose Phantom today than let the G.I.W. have his prize. Phantom was so strange, the things they could learn! That privilege belonged to proper ghost hunters! Not some silly government group!

Was Danny a fan of his random bullshit day? Obviously not! Nocturne went and rode his ass about his sleeping habits again, then his dad decided to shoot him one in the back like that wasn’t totally a cheap shot, and then G.I.W. decided to liquify his ass… and legs and stomach and feet. Sure he got to catch up on his sleep but he also probably gave his Frostypa a minor core attack or at least made the guy shake his head at Danny’s general bullshit; even if FrostBite made some comments after about it ‘having been a while’ since he ‘terrorised some humans’, good to know at least one or two ‘yeti’ sightings was probably ol’ Frosty messing with some poor idiot.

At least Danny didn’t really remember being half goo, even if Jazz told him it was very disgusting and Tuck said he was the consistency of syrup, Sam just smacked him and told him to pay more attention to his surroundings. Hey! It wasn’t like he really needed to, he was a tough cookie these days.

But the G.I.W. were chased out of town again, his sister and friends were disappointed in his dumbassery yet again, and his folks were so focused in on their new findings (ghosts can possibly be formed from myths and legends! Is this amazing! Apparent Phantom is still a child somehow! It’s my that weird! We should write another biased and bigoted paper based near entirely of our half baked assumptions! Aren’t you proud!?! Don’t you want to run FentonWorks some day!?! Do you want to help write a paper even though you’ll have to leave out all the actual facts you know!?!) that they couldn’t be bothered to chase Phantom him around for a while.

So everything’s an even win in his opinion. Even if even Val/Red called Phantom an idiot for thinking everything was a net positive. She shot him, he made a joke about their relationship being a little too sadomasochist for his liking, she shot him again; then he went home for some only one third burnt pasta and aunt Alicia’s pie (Danny did not have a slice. Danny could smell that someone peed in it. Jazz followed his lead. They both cringed at their dad having a slice merrily).

End.

Prompts: When the GIW/Fentons get a lucky shot on Danny during a ghost fight, severely hurting him, the ghost he'd been fighting suddenly gets very protective and attacks the ghost hunters. Something about them hurting a baby? GIW encounter leaves Danny down for the count, forcing his friends and Jazz to step in to defend him until he can get taken away to the Far Frozen.

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shu-box-puns · 1 year

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Shell-Shocked

(Neteyam x Reader)

Previous Chapter <- Part 2 -> Next Chapter

If you prefer to read on Ao3, you can find the fic here!

Summary: When you try to clear up a misunderstanding but things are getting worse before they’re getting better.

Word Count: 11,719

Metkayina Reader uses they/them pronouns.

The Cove of the Ancestors was always prettiest at night.

Honestly, it was gorgeous at all times of day. With its arching stone limbs framing the sun and the ethereal glowing fan-like leaves of the Spirit Tree underfoot. Without the sun to dim its splendour, the Tree shone brighter than even the closest star, rivalling the soft glow of the colossal moon that sat lazily upon its throne of curved rock overshadowing the cove.

And at the centre of it all, was Ronal, the bridge between Eywa and Her children.

Backlit by the moon, the Tsahik sat tall upon her tsurak, oozing power despite her silence as she commanded the small procession of young hunters with but a wave of her hand.

She was draped in a flowing cloak of blue sea grass, whilst shells that represented every symbol of her people were weaved between the locks of her hair. You recognised the bright pink conch of her courting gift from Tonowari, to the bright white of blooming friendship no doubt collected after a successful alliance with another sea clan. Your gaze absently caught on the jade of a smaller shell which represented the camaraderie of warriors, before catching on a fist sized black shell set at the centre of the tapestry of her intricate hairstyle. As death was the path in which every na’vi returned to Eywa, and Eywa was at the centre of everything a Tsahik did for their people, it was only common sense that this was the symbol Ronal had chosen to place most obviously within her hair. Ominous but beautiful in the most morbid of ways.

You had a vague memory of the morning that particular black shell had washed ashore upon the beaches of Awa’altu. The way Ronal had paled and reached for it with shaking hands as an unsettled murmur had started up from the onlooking villagers. How Tonowari’s expression had grown pinched and distant, his grasp on his spear turning unforgiving. The new stars had appeared in the sky that night. Spearing across the inky heavens like lost fragments of stars. Falling towards Eywa’eveng at frightening speeds. Scouts carrying the news that the Sky People had returned reached the sea clans within the following few days.

The elegant turn of Ronal’s tsurak in the water, drew your attention back to the present. Despite its impressive size, the powerful mount barely stirred the waves with its movements as its rider looked upon the four young hunters that she had led from the village at the beginning of eclipse. Her gaze briefly flickered over you and the two others brought along to supervise the visit whilst Ronal oversaw the ceremony itself.

With the season of the tsurak migration on the horizon, Ronal had gathered a select handful for an unprompted communion with Eywa. Whilst the others had no doubt been hand selected by Ronal for the journey, she had all but stormed into your hut with little to no warning and ordered you help her escort the less experienced hunters. She had demanded you cease your stupid pitying and be useful, to which you could do little besides grabbing your hunting spear and call your ilu.

Her judgemental gaze had glared daggers into the side of your head throughout the entire journey to the cove. Having ridden side by side, Ronal had had no shortage of opportunities to shoot probing questions your way, swiftly followed up with annoyed um’s and ah’s when your answers were clipped and short.

You hadn’t breathed a word of what had happened a couple days ago. The embarrassment would have killed you if you had had to look Ronal in the eye and tell her honestly what had gotten under your thick skin. Like Aonung, her response would be unpredictable and you would much rather avoid addressing anything.

Naturally, you doubted that she was unaware of what had happened. She was Tsahik afterall, and there had been plenty of eyes and ears around to witness the entire mortifying situation.

But for now, you were spared by Ronal’s duty to recite her greetings to Eywa. You joined the others in bowing your heads in respect, before taking up a post near the rear of the small group. Spear in hand, you set your mind to surveying the waters as Ronal called each young hunter forward one by one. You heard the deep inhales and the lap of unsettled waves as she guided each beneath the surface to connect to the Spirit Tree.

On the off chance you would glance back when they resurfaced, the young hunter would always be smiling with some new sense of determination. Their resolve to pass their iknimaya refreshed by whichever lost loved one had appeared to them through Eywa.

Soon, you would be among them.

But not yet. Clearly, you were nowhere near ready.

Neteyam’s betrayal still sat heavy above your ribs, sometimes growing unbearably suffocating. You would be continuing with your duties, only for the action of another clan mate to bring him fluttering into your mind. Something as simple as teens messing around in the surf by the beach, made you recall all those times Neteyam had tried to trip or drag you down into the waves with him after some quick retort you’d fired at him. Even now, looking at the young hunters, you could see a watery reflection of his joy at a successful dive rippling across their beaming faces.

You could practically see the cute scrunch of his nose. Could imagine the disarray of his braids, how a couple would get stuck on his ears even after he tried to brush them back. You could practically feel the neat links between your fingers as you fixed them for him-

A flash of pink in your peripheral abruptly soured the fond memory.

Gaze narrowed, you glared down your spear shaft to the obnoxiously bright shell currently clinging to the blade like a limpet. It felt like an act of defiance as you pulled the weapon in and mercilessly scrapped the offending object off with your thumb. Certain that no one else had seen it, you wound back your hand and pointedly threw the blasted thing as far away as you could. Your ilu straightened at the sudden motion, but watched with you as the pink landed with a plop and was swiftly swallowed by the calm silver of the dancing moonlight on the waves.

An authoritative tut had your spine instinctively straightening.

Even without turning, you knew Ronal was behind you, and she was greatly displeased.

<”Never so rudely discard a gift from Eywa.”> She said coldly, with the authority of her station, even as she tread water at a level that forced you to look down to meet her gaze. <”It’s fine.”> You found yourself blurting out stupidly, despite the fact you’d grown up alongside this woman’s children and knew your excuses would fall on deaf ears. <”She’ll just send me more. Bet I’ll find another before we even get back to the village.”>

Ronal was already shaking her head in displeasure, the shells woven into her hair gently clicking together. <”You do not think clearly.”> She finally stated, as sharply and quickly as a slap on the wrist. <”Now come. It is your turn to go see Her.”>

Your nose scrunched at the order, eyes briefly glancing to the young hunters, who were now mucking around in the waves whilst Ronal’s back was turned. Even the escorts were glistening in the light of the moon, their hair sticking to their scalps, having clearly already descended to the Tree for a reunion with Eywa.

Before you could unstick your tongue from the roof of your mouth, Ronal was taking your spear from your lax grasp and tossing it to the nearest escort with barely a word of warning. Luckily, he caught it easily and rested it across his knees.

With that, Ronal sharply dragged you off your ilu and urged you to follow her under. You went easily enough, ducking under the waves to find yourself briefly soothed by the sudden silence that came with the embrace of the water and the underlying humm of life that always inhabited the space between the waving limbs of the Spirit Tree.

Ronal swam down in front of you, the lilac light reflecting off the shells in her hair as she led the way. You kept pace easily, eyes adjusting to the dim lighting as Ronal approached a certain branch with purpose and urged you to forge the connection.

Stopping at her elbow, you pulled your kuru forward over your shoulder. The braid was a familiar weight in your hand as you reached forward, the tendrils at the end eagerly emerging to fuse to the Spirit Tree’s offered limb.

You expected to be greeted by a distant relative, maybe some faceless Goddess, but instead, you opened your eyes to a beach. To sand between your toes and the lull of the waves at your side. The smell of meat cooking over fires and the sounds of the village accompanied the calm crash of the waves.

There was someone standing beside you, drawing your attention from your surroundings with a soft touch to your shoulder. You tore your gaze from the village to find Neteyam at your side. He stood tall, the vision of confidence, but you could tell from the anxious sway of his tail that nerves were threatening to overwhelm him. The smile that pulled at his lips looked strained. A thought which made your stomach twist uncomfortably.

Why him? Why had Eywa sent him to greet you?

Before your eyes, this phantom version of Neteyam seemed to pull himself together. You watched an odd expression seep into his gaze. And although it was different, you could somehow tell it was the echoes of something soft hidden within the depths of his eyes.

If you were still a lovesick fool, you might have mistaken it for affection.

But you knew better now. You knew that Eywa had made a mistake. You knew that Neteyam did not want you. That he did not even wish to be your friend.

You had reminded yourself of this in the days that had followed the fight on the walkway. The truth had turned you bitter. Prompting Ronal to drag you from your hut with some half-assed excuse of being a scout for her visit.

You knew and yet this version of Neteyam looked at you as if you’d hung the stars. What was even more unsettling, was that he wore your courting necklace. The bright pinks of the shells gorgeously contrasted his complexion as they cruelly supplied you with the image of what he would have looked like wearing them. If he had given you a chance to prove yourself.

<”What are you looking at?”> He asked you now, a bright laugh lacing its way between his words. He shifted, appearing suddenly at ease.

In contrast, you felt yourself subconsciously stiffening.

<”Nothing.”> You said simply, and he hummed.

Unexpectedly, one of his hands strayed from his side to reach for your hand. His fingers were long and warm as they easily wrapped around your wrist, as if to anchor you in place. Holding you in place with a gentleness that was foreign to you. <”You’re a bad liar.”> He said, his words barely registering in your mind as the warmth of his hand pressed into your skin.

He pulled away suddenly, and you immediately cursed yourself for feeling disappointed by his withdrawal. You’d think you were used to it by now.

Neteyam didn’t notice. His expression had brightened as he spotted something at your feet. Quicker than your eyes could follow, he stooped to pluck something from the sand.

His fingers closed around the object, his grin bright as he carefully opened his hands and showed you what he was holding. It was a shell. A very large and very, VERY pink one at that.

You knew your tail was wagging at an unnatural pace, but couldn’t find it in yourself to be embarrassed. Or stop for that matter. Your heart was pounding and doing happy flips at the sheer size of the shell presented to you now. You were grinning despite yourself. Eagerly reaching for the beautiful shell under Neteyam’s bright eyed watch, your heart swelling in your chest with the amount of affection you harboured for this sweet boy and his cute smile.

Alarmed shouts sounded from the village, stilling your hand. The smell of the cooking fires turned acidic, like the burning of metal. You glanced away from Neteyam for half a second to find that the beach was suddenly awash with screaming na’vi. Hunters were grabbing their spears and skimwings were being called, whilst Metkayina villagers ran for the sea. Some were on fire, screaming the whole way. Whilst others shepherd children out of the pods, and friends dragged each other across the sand. The drums for war were sounding, thunderous and ominous in their volume, making your heart race and your happiness evaporate.

In contrast, when you turned back to him, Neteyam was the vision of calm. <”Y/n?”> He asked lightly, acting as if you had been rendered speechless by the shell, when you could in reality see the burning of your home reflecting in his eyes.

You managed to unstick your tongue from the roof of your mouth, hands coming up to grip his bicep, ready to haul him towards the sea, only for your actions to freeze. Your eyes bugged at the sight of his necklace. At the shells that once resembled the forest, and now shone black in the burning light of the out of control fires.

He was still smiling. Still grinning without a care in the world like a love-drunk fool. Comically, he tipped his head towards the shell caught between your outstretched hands.

Again, you followed his unspoken prompt, breath stuttering at the once pink shell that had crumbled to a black husk between his hands. Everywhere his skin touched it, it shone a dirty black, whilst the part that your fingers brushed had softened into a milky white. It was a sickeningly beautiful contrast. Riddled with signs and messages that only a Tsahik could successfully interpret.

<”Do you not like it?”>

You looked up at him once more. Heart clenching painfully as you realised that his freckles were no longer glowing, despite the darkness and the illuminated dots adorning your own skin. You didn’t need a Tsahik to know what that meant. <”No, it is beautiful.”> You promised him, and he laughed with such ignorance that you knew in your gut that he couldn’t possibly know the meaning.

The snap of woven fibres breaking apart startled your gaze from him. Your gaze darted to the village, your home, currently being consumed by hungry tongues of flame. Pods were collapsing in on themselves as the fire spread. Their strong structures weakened as the ribs of the trees they were secured against began to blacken and buckle. A few collapsed under their own weight, tipping the People running along them into the raging waves.

Neteyam was unnaturally still at your back, the flames dancing in the gold of his eyes as he stared blankly at the ruins of your home. He did not appear surprised by the destruction, as if he had seen it all before.

The world shifted on its axes, and you stumbled back a step, only for your foot to hit something lukewarm and solid as the unsettled waves sucked at your heels.

Unsteady, your gaze lowered to the object, only for the breath to still in your throat at the site of a body in the water. Eyes frozen in death, the na’vi stared blankly at the ruined village, his throat slit.

More bodies littered the sand. Turning the white beaches into a bloodbath of gore and red.

Your breathing picked up, even as you realised that these were not the bodies of sea na’vi. Their clothes were alien. Their features were wrong. Their noses were too sharp and strips of hair hugged their brow bones. They were forest na’vi, but not.

Not that it seemed to matter much, because someone had taken the time to kill them all. Bloody gashes stained the sand and tainted the waves. Ugly, unclean swipes of a blade that did not reflect the ways of the People. These were not clean kills.

A hand grasped your shoulder.

You lurched, hand swinging up to smack the person away.

Neteyam was still there. Still wearing that foolish necklace. Still watching the destruction of the village. He caught your wrist easily, eyes not once moving from where they were fixed. And not a moment too soon, as you realised you were clutching your bloodied blade in that hand.

Red was smeared from the knife to your forearm, covering the ripples of your aqua stripes. Tainting the fine leather of your blade. It was only now, you could feel the stickiness of the substance splattered across your torso. Along your arms, dripping from your chin. You could feel something stuck between your teeth, and you feared it wasn’t fish judging by the sizable bite marks carved into some of the dead na’vi’s bodies.

Your disconnection from the Spirit Tree with a lurch, as if Eywa had severed your connection personally and shoved you backwards and out of her realm. It was disorienting to go from the screaming destruction of the village, to the muffled silence beneath the waves. For a few heart pounding seconds, you couldn’t tell up from down.

A light touch to your shoulder made you jump. Your body wanted to fight, but you managed to keep from reaching for your knife long enough to recognise Ronal’s concerned expression at your elbow.

/Who did She show you?/ The Tsahik signed, her expression pinched.

Your mind was spinning too fast to answer. You could still taste the copper on your tongue and feel the stickiness of the blood splattered across your skin. Your lungs burned as if you’d inhaled acidic smoke, and you desperately wanted to breathe it all out. You needed to surface. To inhale the seaweed and salt of the cove and allow the watery moonlight to wash away the harsh orange of the fire. Anything to get the taste of ash off your tongue and the feeling of flesh between your teeth to dissipate.

You noticed the underbellies of the other’s ilus mucking around on the surface without Ronal’s guidance. The lazy circles of the warriors helped to orient you, to give you a direction.

Panic was still clawing up the back of your throat. Shaking your hands as that black shell flashed in the back of your mind once again, making your ears instinctively pin back. The inky blackness of their colour. The crumbling edges.

You were kicking for the surface before you realised you’d never given Ronal an answer. Your burning need for the sound of the waves tugged you higher and higher as you clumsily moved away from the Spirit Tree. With powerful kicks of your legs and the rhythmic sway of your tail, you started rising to the surface. In your haste, everything you’d learnt about swimming since infancy went out the window. Your tail worked out of sync with your legs, as your hands clawed uselessly at the water despite knowing that having your fingers apart would only slow your ascent.

In contrast, Ronal was a calming presence at your back, easily keeping pace before she seemed to lose patience and swept you up into her arms. Despite the addition of your weight, she ascended smoothly to the surface, pressing you into her side, mindful of her swollen belly as she gracefully left the Spirit Tree behind.

You broke the surface with a gasp, something you had NEVER done before. Coming up for breath was normally a calm procedure. Now, you greedily sucked down lungfuls of air.

<”Suvio, guide the young hunters back to the village.”> Ronal’s voice was calm and clear as she broke the surface with the same elegance as usual. Her grip was firm around your waist as you struggled to calm yourself.

The hunter Ronal had addressed dutifully nodded as the young hunters immediately scrambled to fall back into the formation. She yipped to them before leading the way out of the cove, the other scout bringing up the rear.

Ronal watched them go until the soft glow of their freckles disappeared against the stars of the night, offering you some desperately needed privacy. Your cheeks were warm from the torrent of your frightened tears, more obvious now that the ocean didn’t whisk them away the moment they slipped from between your eyelids.

<”What did you see?”> Ronal asked, her voice startlingly loud against the stillness of the cove.

You sucked in a sharp breath, as you struggled to set the events of the vision into order. Ronal soothed you with a firm hand running up and down your back, easing the tension from your shoulders as she waited.

Instead of looking at her narrowed gaze, you focused on the pool of her hair floating around her shoulders. The shells woven within the strands glowed softly, their contrasting shades of bioluminescence standing out against the raven black strands.

It was hard to speak, but you pushed yourself to anyway. Your hands were too busy clinging tightly to Ronal to be any use in signing to her. <”She, she sent me an omen.”>

Ronal stilled. <”More shells?”> She pressed, her tone probing. There was no amusement in her question, her demeanour completely typical of the Tsahik instead of a concerned parent.

<”A warning.”> You confirmed, voice wobbly. <”A Black shell.”> You continued, <”big enough to fill both my palms. It was ancient. Crumbling.”>

Ronal’s ears flattened. And then after a moment of contemplation, she yipped for her tsurak. <”We must return to the village.”> You grabbed her arm before she could pull away, feeling uncomfortably raw for the blatant vulnerable action, but needing to ask anyway. <”What does it mean?”>

<”You know what it means.”> Ronal replied simply, and you did.

You recalled that morning on the beach, eavesdropping on Ronal and Tonowari as they hastily discussed the meaning of the black shell that had just washed up. <”Someone is going to die.”> Ronal had said then, and Tonowari had been powerless to shake his head at her accusation. She had been right, afterall.

>_<

Neteyam looked down at his freshly woven token.

He was sat in his hammock, swarmed by the copious amount of pink shells that somehow managed to invade his sleeping quarters regardless of how many times he cleared them out, and trapped deep in thought.

Absently, he ran a thumb over his weaving, gaze critical as he compared the pattern to a necklace Tsireya had gifted him to take inspiration from the day before. He was so used to weaving the Omaticaya way, that it had taken an embarrassing amount of time to learn the Metkayina way of knot working, but he thought the necklace was just about ready now.

Forcing himself not to spiral or think too hard about it, Neteyam glanced at the contents of his hammock in search of the perfect pair of shells to attach to the centre of the piece. Ideally, he wanted two halves of the same shell, so he could accent them to sit above each collar bone instead of hanging too heavy in the centre of the throat. A design choice he’d stolen from one of his mother’s old necklaces where two jade river stones took the place of the shells.

Whilst he busied himself, Neteyam tried to put together an action plan.

He had no idea where Y/n was right now. They hadn’t shown up to lessons for the last few days, nor had he stumbled across them in the village. None of his siblings had in fact. Even Tuk hadn’t been able to track them down.

<”What’s with the long face?”> His Dad asked from the doorway of the pod, still dripping from hauling himself out of the water only moments before.

Neteyam felt his cheeks heat, the courting necklace at his throat suddenly too tight. He hadn’t talked about mates or courting with his Dad before, certainly not since the Sky People had returned. It was simply not something they’d ever discussed.

But his Dad was more relaxed now. A thought Neteyam confirmed with himself as his Father crossed the pod, a net full of fish in hand. He sat himself down beside the cooking pot, focused on his catch so he wouldn’t pressure Neteyam into talking before he was ready. Which he appreciated.

Talking it out would be nice though. Especially to someone who wasn’t part of the entire mess.

“It’s complicated.” Neteyam finally replied with, responding in English to help himself say it. It felt safer somehow. His Dad gummed quietly, somehow knowing there was more, and that Neteyam would give it up eventually.

”How did you know Mum was the one for you?” Neteyam found himself asking, eyes glued to his token instead of his Dad who had ceased his rustling to look at him. There was a mement of stillness in which Neteyam knew he was being assessed. Luckily, Dad let it drop, responding in English. ”She tried to kill me.” Neteyam could hear the amusement in his tone, could picture the adoration glinting in his Father’s eyes like it always did when he thought of Mum. Honestly, it was sickening sometimes how infatuated they still were with each other. ”What’s this about?”

Neteyam swallowed, still hiding behind his braids. “The Metkayina have a concept of their mates being chosen by Eywa.” “Ah. Mo’at told me something similar. Something to do with shells if I’m not mistaken.” Dad confirmed, the hiss of his knife leaving its sheath indicating he was continuing with his task. “I take it from that look that someone’s taken a fancy to you.”

“Dad!” He hissed through his teeth, ears burning.

His Dad barked a laugh. “What can I say? Sully men got game-”

”DAD!”

”Fine! Fine. I’ll stop.” He was grinning, so Neteyam feared he wouldn’t. But to his relief, or horror, Dad swung the conversation back on track. ”So, who is this mysterious soulmate?” “It doesn’t matter.” Neteyam hurriedly dismissed. “They won’t even look at me anymore.”

”Come on, you’re kids. It can’t be that serious.”

”You can’t compare every situation, to you betraying the clan for the demons.” ”I said no such thing.” ”You ALWAYS imply it.”

“There you go.” Dad mused, to which Neteyam suddenly realised he’d finally come out of hiding during the heat of the conversation and was now glaring down at his Father on the floor. Seemingly satisfied, his Dad continued to speak, his attention drifting down to the fish he was gutting. ”It’s Y/n, right? Friend of Tonowari’s kids?” Dad pried, glancing up long enough to confirm his suspicion with a weak nod from Neteyam. He chuckled in amusement. “Tough cookie that one. Very serious.”

“You don’t say.” Neteyam replied dryly. “I’m worried I’ve messed it up before it could even begin.” “Well.” Dad began, “you’re a smart kid. I’m sure you’ll figure it out.” “That’s it? You’re not going to give me any real advice?” “I doubt you want advice from me.” Dad reassured him, “Even in my old age, I don’t have the best head on my shoulders.” “That’s bullshit and you know it.”

His Dad laughed. “Fine, if you want my advice, I’d recommend-”

The curtain across the mouth of the pod was promptly swept aside before Dad would offer up anything decent to help Neteyam along. “Do not give our son any of your stupid ideas.” His mother ordered, striding into the pod with her visor sat low on her brow bone. “You will get him a black eye.”

“What can I do?” Dad mused, “he insisted.”

Mum scoffed at him, playfully swatting his cheek with her tail as she passed. She did not take off her visor, nor did she stride for her own hammock.

In a matter of seconds, Neteyam found himself sat in his hammock with his Mother’s shadow casting over him. “Do you wish to court this na’vi?” She asked him bluntly.

Neteyam spluttered.

His mother smiled knowingly, but did not wait for his excuse as she ploughed on. “You do.” She told him. “And I will tell you what I told Lo’ak. You are going to grab them by the ear and make them notice you. You are going to present them with the best woven token and refuse to leave until you get a straight answer. And afterwards, you will stop this moping. You are a Sully. We do not mope, we thrive.” “Yes Mother!” Neteyam replied quickly, feeling both encouraged and chastised.

His Dad chuckled again from the floor. “You’ll be surprised how effective your mother’s methods are.” Miraculously, he did not want to know what he meant by that.

>_<

Upon returning to the village, Ronal had ordered you to return to your pod, to which you had been too exhausted to argue.

There had been a flurry of movement beyond your woven walls as the message of your vision had spread and the adults had begun preparing. You had focused on cooking yourself something to eat.

Tonowari had turned up at your door not long after you’d finished descaling your fish, having apparently been banned from his own pod because Ronal and Tsireya needed complete concentration to look further into the issue using their herbs or whatever methods Tsahik’s favoured when searching for answers. Which led to now, sitting beside Tonowari in companionable silence. The Olo’eyktan had propped his spear up against the wall and immediately sat on the opposite side of the cooking pot. For a long while, he was quiet as he assisted you in cooking, and in return, you were sure to make enough for him to take back to his family for their own dinner.

Your time spent with the Olo’eyktan was always calm like this. A gentle silence that was both soothing and comforting. Unlike your time spent with Ronal, which often left you feeling chastised or tired, her mate was a pleasant opposite. Not that you disliked spending time with the Tsahik, it was merely because she could be rather intense at times.

Of course, Tonowari was the gossip of the two, so he often had his moments.

<”I was surprised by your decision to stop teaching the Sully kids.”> He said casually, eyes never straying from the simmer of the cooking pot. You, in contrast, felt yourself wind tight with tension. Your gaze flickered up to his tattooed face, only to find him pretending to be the picture of ease as he focused on his task. He had taken up the stirring stick and had begun to mix the pot with slow, calculated strokes.

And then, just when you thought he was done and you could get away with not responding, he continued. <“Little Tuk looked awfully upset this morning when Tsireya told her you were attending to other duties.”>

The sneaky bastard.

You forced your shoulders to loosen before you responded. <“Aonung needs to start pulling his weight. You cannot baby him forever.”> <“We both know this is not about Aonung.”> Tonowari returned calmly, and promptly steered the conversation back to where it was. <“So tell me, what is wrong?”>

You bit your lip to keep yourself from responding. So Aonung hadn’t been lying when he said Tonowari had noticed.

When you did not respond, Tonowari took it as an invitation to continue to pry.

<“You have ceased teaching a class that you were otherwise eager to help out with.”> He pointed out plainly. <”Tsireya tells me that you rarely go out anymore unless it is to complete your duties. Whereas your pod is now completely devoid of shells, when only last week you were tracking them all over the place. Ronal was tearing her hair out with how many she kept finding around the village.”> He chuckled softly to himself at the fond memory, probably having gotten a kick out of seeing his otherwise composed mate losing her composure because of something so small.

<”The other hunters and I have never seen so many of the same kind. Not since my grandfather’s time as Olo’eyktan, which very few of the older clan members recall.”> He continued almost nostalgically, <”so whoever this person is, Eywa must be incredibly insistent on this match.”>

You tucked your chin to your chest to avoid looking at his cocky expression and to ensure you didn’t give anything away.

<”Aonung told me of a disagreement that occurred on the walkways a few nights back.”> Tonowari probed, <”he spoke of a misunderstanding that is yet to be resolved-”>

<“Can we talk about something else?”> You interjected before startling as you realised you’d just cut him off. Your ears flattened as you glanced sheepishly at the Olo’eyktan who simply smiled back. There was a note of victory glittering in his eye, and you knew you’d just unintentionally revealed your hand. And like an akula with fresh prey in its jaws, there would be little chance of distracting Tonowari with a subject change.

<”Please.”> You found yourself trying anyway, even if it would be a useless attempt. <”Anything but bloody shells and signs from Eywa?”>

That seemed to unsteady Tonowari for a heartbeat. <”Shells are part of our People.”> Tonowari lectured, the same story you’d heard since before you could walk. Since you’d shown interest in the pretty coloured shells that the People wore or adorned their homes with. <”They speak of good and bad times. Foretell our relationships and our losses, you will do well not to disregard them.”> <”I know.”> You implore him, and it’s true. You do know. You might even know better than anyone. The statement slips from between your lips like a forgotten prayer. Quiet and small like the words of the child you’re always pretending you’ve grown out of being. <”I’m sorry. It’s been a difficult few days.”>

He nodded. <”Care to share?”>

You swallow. <”Eywa made a mistake with the shells.”> You told him bluntly.

Tonowari chuckled softly to himself, making your stomach twist. <”Eywa does not make mistakes on such a matter.”>

<”But she has!”> You insist more passionately than you’ve been this entire conversation. <”He-”> you swallowed loudly. <”He can’t be my fated, Olo’eyktan-”> <”Tonowari.”> Tonowari quickly corrected, helping to lighten the mood.

You scowl playfully at him and continue to address him with his title just because you know it makes him feel old. <”Clearly, Eywa has made a mistake, Olo’eyktan, because he’s terrified of me. Your mate is not supposed to be scared of you!”>

Tonowari hummed thoughtfully over this statement for a moment or two before an amused smile tugged at the right corner of his lips. <”You know, I was fearful of Ronal.”>

Your eyes widened at the blatant admission. <”Really? But you’re so comfortable around one another.”> <”Oh, we are now.”> Tonowari said simply. <”But before I knew her, and before we received any pink shells for one another, she scared me worse than any akula. I’d avoid her in the village and if she ever struck up a conversation with me, I’d desperately think up the first ridiculous excuse I could to get away.”>

He smiled fondly at the memory, not a hint of embarrassment on his expression. You watched his tail sway lazily, the picture of a doting mate thinking about the woman he had taken as his Tsahik.

<”And, how did that change?”>

<”My brother, Totxa, tricked me into going on a two day hunting trip with her.”> Tonowari mused, grinning now. <”The ass only told me when I was packed and astride my tsurak that he was planning to woo his own fated and sent me on my way. Ronal had already saddled up and ordered me to follow so I was essentially trapped.”>

He chuckled, nostalgic of a time long past. <”It was on that trip that Eywa sent the pink shells, and Ronal of course figured it out first. And she confronted me about it. Demanded to know why I was so spineless. Of course, calling me a coward immediately hurt my pride and she was rather amused by my sudden courage. We started courting on our return to the village.”> Somehow, you could see it. Tonowari and Ronal, much younger than you know them now, lost in the sea and the islands beyond the village, navigating the way and each other. You knew that the pair must have bounced off of each other well once they began to see eye to eye. And judging by the strong mated pair that watched over the village now, you knew that Eywa had not been mistaken in her decision for this match.

Even now, the pair wore tokens of their bond upon their person like ever fated couple. Ronal usually had a pink shell woven into her skirts, whilst in the low light of the fire, you could see the shine of Tonowari’s courting shell woven into the braided hide of his hunters band. The shell was located near the top of the special garment, above his heart.

<"Where are you going with this?">

Tonowari studied you for a moment, head tilted in understanding. <”You are uncertain.”> He told you simply, <”you believe Eywa has made a mistake and you’re unsettled. But from where I stand, it seeming you’re truly the one scared, not whoever your fated is.”> He stated with wisdom that was usually bestowed by Ronal. <”Give it time. A village is not built in a day.”>

It was then that the curtain across the entrance of your pod was abruptly swept back and a figure stormed in.

Tonowari’s head snapped up from the cooking pot, as you turned sharply to find Neteyam stood awkwardly in the doorway of your home. His expression swiftly melted from that familiar determined scowl, to an ear lowered face of surprise and regret.

You hadn’t seen him in days, having taken the time to purposefully avoid him whenever you could, and despite yourself, you found something in you soothed to see him back in your home like he had been so many times before. Looking all bashful as he seemed to shrink in the doorway.

<”Olo’eyktan.”> He greeted smoothly, touching his hand to his forehead.

Tonowari reflexively returned the gesture but made no move to stand from his spot by the fire. <”Neteyam.”> He greeted pleasantly, <”I assume you’re here to take Y/n off my hands?”> Neteyam spluttered, going unnaturally still as he stared unblinkingly down at the older man whilst you glared at him yourself. Tonowari, always the picture of control and calm, simply raised his gaze to meet the younger man. His voice was unfaltering in his next statement.

<“They’ve been awfully upset as of late.”> He continued to your mortification. <“Very prickly. You wouldn’t happen to know why, would you Neteyam? They’re more secretive than the Great Mother sometimes.”> He chuckled to himself as if the joke was hilarious.

You could feel your face burning as you continued to glare daggers into the side of Tonowari’s face.

Neteyam didn’t seem much better as he struggled to string together enough words for a response.

Not that you were paying attention now, as the world seemed to still when your gaze fell upon the necklace at his throat. Your mouth went dry, as if you’d eaten handfuls of sand, as your gaze locked on the sloppy knotwork and pink shells of your courting necklace. The very same necklace that should have been swept away from the current and lost to the depths of the sea. <“Where did you get that?”> You blurted accusingly, finding yourself rising to your feet with your teeth bared. The thrash of your tail and the scowl on your face could have rivalled Ronal’s fury. To his credit, Neteyam did not shrink away from you. If anything, he seemed to grow more confident in the face of your rage.

<”We need to talk.”> He told you, but you brushed his demand aside to step closer, to draw yourself up and glare with all your might. <”Where. Did you get it?”> You repeated, slowly. Threateningly.

His chin rose in defiance, Tonowari completely forgotten as his attention turned solely to you. <“My ilu returned it to me.”>

You scoffed at his choice of words. <“Returned?”> You repeated. <“You don’t-”>

Your words faltered as Neteyam broke eye contact and briefly returned his gaze to Tonowari. You followed his attention, catching sight of Tonowari nodding before you were startled by hands grabbing your knees and the wind getting knocked out of you as you were swung up and over Neteyam’s shoulder. Stunned by his forwardness, you stared dumbly down Neteyam’s back as he gave Tonowari a polite goodbye and began carrying you out of the pod.

Tonowari, the bastard, smiled encouragingly at you and waved. You stared back at him, jaw slack in shock.

It was only when Neteyam didn’t put you down and started carrying you down the walkways that your senses returned to you.

<”Put me down.”> You snarled.

He ignored you.

So you began wiggling. Neteyam simply held you tighter, quiet and focused on his task. You made sure to complain the entire time, tugging at his braids, obscuring his view with your tail and trying to kick him in the stomach. All of which he either ignored or simply grabbed to make you stop wiggling.

Deciding to conserve your energy for a master escape attempt once he let his guard down, you pretended to accept your fate as he approached the outer rim of the village that attached everything to the island. You could feel the amused gazes of the People on you as Neteyam confidently paraded you in front of their homes. It was when a hunter whistled at you that you found yourself losing your cool all over again, and you instead occupied your time in captivity by spitting every curse under the sun at anyone who looked at you funny.

Eventually, the bounce of the walkway ceased to give way to the crunch of sand underfoot, but Neteyam did not pause once he reached the beach. He did not so much as glance around as he strode for the treeline. You could do nothing but watch Awa’atlu grow smaller and more obscured by leaves as the man carried you into the forest and out of sight.

Perhaps he’d find somewhere secluded and murder you to get out of having to be your mate. Or maybe he was finally going to blow up at you and make it official that he didn’t want anything to do with you. It would be a rather dramatic touch if he suddenly ripped off the courting necklace and threw it at you. Even you would respect the time and planning that would have been put into such an act.

Before long, you began to recognise where he was taking you. You could hear the babble of a brook and knew that he was approaching the pond that sat at the centre of your secret place. You recognised the orange glow of the flowers that had begun to bloom along the banks and noticed the arched limbs of the tree Neteyam tried to teach you to climb up once. It had left you with a limp for several days when you had inevitably fallen out of it.

Neteyam was gentle as he paused by the pond and carefully lowered you down to your feet. You tore away the moment your toes touched dirt. Expression venomous as you glared at him.

<”If you ever humiliate me like that in front of my people again, I will-”> <”Of course.”> Neteyam cut in, hands raised in a calming gesture. Your gaze caught on the bob of his throat making the necklace jump before his words drew your attention back up to his face. <”I understand, but hear me out first. There has been a huge misunderstanding.”>

You were both impressed by his sudden backbone and annoyed by his pleading look. In the soft glow of the plants, his glowing freckles looked more intricate than any galaxies you knew. They drew your attention from the determined line of his mouth, up the sweeping arches of his nose to his eyes, which were open and honest as he waited for your response.

He did not smile at you. And you did not scowl at him in return.

Instead, you struggled to inhale a much needed breath in an attempt to dissipate some of your annoyance. You had wanted to talk, and now you were being given a chance for an explanation.

<”Speak.”> You instructed simply, turning briefly to find your usual rock that overlooked the small pond. Glowing insects swirled along the surface of the shallow water, weaving between the stems of plants and dancing along arching leaves. Despite their presence, the spot was quiet in a way the village was not. Willing to offer the illusion of privacy.

You sat on the rock with your attention still on Neteyam. He remained standing, fiddling with his hands as his tail swayed in his attempt to gather his words.

It seemed he was fumbling to continue. Perhaps having believed he wouldn’t make it this far. Which you found privately reassuring, in that he wasn’t aware of how easily you would bend to him. How willing you were to listen to his every word. How desperate you were for his attention. Even now, it was pathetic how utterly gone you were for him.

With a deep breath, Neteyam spoke. <“I don’t want to be friends.”> He said plainly, and you found you would have preferred a punch to the gut instead. He paused, eyes expectant, and you realised he wanted your input.

<”You don’t want to be friends?”> Your parroted back, expression twisting in confusion when he eyes blew comically wide in alarm.

<”NO!”> He practically yelled at you, taking half a step closer, only to freeze when you jerked at the sudden outburst. He apologised before continuing. <”That’s not what I meant.”>

<”So you do want to be friends?”> <”No! Yes! Wait!”> In his growing panic, he was tripping over himself and cursing in his father’s tongue. If your heart wasn’t pounding so painfully, you would have found his struggle amusing. Finally, he sighed and muttered to himself, <”Eywa why is this so bloody hard!”>

You tried to prod him along. Your meal would be finished soon, and if you were away too long, Aonung was bound to eat your portion behind Tonowari’s back. <”So you find it difficult to be open with me?”> <”No!”> He declared for the third confusing time. <”That is not at all what I’m saying. What I’m trying to get at is-”> He faltered before, slumping in defeat. He dragged a tired hand down the side of his face, before closing the distance between you and dropping heavily down onto the rock beside you - his usual spot. Curling in on himself, he ground the heels of his hands into his eye sockets, as he groaned to himself. <”How have I already managed to royally fuck this up so quickly?”>

You didn’t bother responding, knowing that he was berating himself instead of looking for a proper explanation.

With a deep breath, he pulled his hands away and turned to you with refound resolve. <”That is not at all how I intended for that to come out. I meant I don’t want us to be just friends. I want to be more than friends. Like we were. Before everything went to shit.”> You blinked, having not expected that response.

<”What are you saying?”> <”I’m saying-”>

He paused, eyes catching on something. You went still as his hand slowly rose from his lap, ghosting over your ear and pulling something from your hair. It was so familiar of a gesture, that you couldn’t help but be soothed by the familiarity in which he did it. His ears were fanned out now, curious. You expected him to offer the shell to you. You expected the pink to be bright and glowing with newfound love and understanding.

Instead, Neteyam held out a black shell.

You felt the colour drain from your face.

<”What does this one mean?”>

Someone is going to die.

Ronal’s words from that distant day on the beach rang in your ears as you stared blankly down at the aged shell in Neteyam’s hands. There was no doubt it was the same one from your vision. Staring down at it now, you could see the similarities of the situation. From Neteyam’s confused question, to the courting necklace at his throat.

You swallowed dryly. <”We must return to the village.”> You told him quickly, rising from your feet and grabbing at his wrists to drag him up after you. His curiosity morphed into confusion.

<”What? But we just got here? We’ve barely said anything.”> <”It must wait. This shell, its appearance does not foretell something good. It is a bad omen. A warning. We must go!”>

<”Wait. Wait. Slow down, you’re not making any sense.”>

<”There is not time!”>

His brows furrowed as he pulled back on your arms, trying to keep you in place, but you were stronger. Just barely, and managed to drag him forward a step or two. Neteyam’s tail snapped, his confusion morphing into frustration, but you didn’t care. You had to get him somewhere safe. You had to warn Ronal. Something wasn’t right.

As if on cue, something rustled in the bushes on the opposite side of the pond. Neteyam went still in your grasp, which was the opposite of what you needed him to do. Both of your ears pricked as you heard panicked footsteps charging through the undergrowth, headed straight for you.

Neteyam was still clutching that blasted shell in his hands.

The footsteps were drawing closer. Small and fast. You felt your heartbeat picking up and drew your knife at the same time that Neteyam reached for his.

The bushes were shaking harder now as someone or something pushed through, before stumbling to a halt before the riverbank. It did not glow like the rest of Eywa’s children, which immediately turned your instincts alert and defensive. It was breathing hard, shiny from sweat and smelt of smoke and salt.

Neteyam drew in close to your side, stiff as the pair of you stared down the unnaturally small creature. Even at a distance, you knew it would only come up to your bicep, whereas it was dirty and skinny, with a shock of dead grass coloured dreads matted at its scalp. You caught sight of faded blue stripes against unnaturally pale skin, but knew this was not any kind of forest na’vi.

With that part of your vision not matching up, you found yourself calming slightly. Across the pond, the creature spotted you with wide, brown ears. Its face was sealed away behind some sort of see-through contraption, not that you had time to focus on it for long, because Neteyam seemed to recognise it.

He called out to the little creature, using that odd language that all of his family spoke. He even went as far as to wave it over. You grabbed his hand again, growling lowly to quiet him from encouraging it, but Neteyam paid you no mind.

Across the pond, the creature had stiffened at the use of that odd language. It took an unsteady step closer, and you found yourself snarling a warning, which startled it back a step or two.

Neteyam touched your shoulder, drawing your attention away from it. <”Be calm.”> He soothed, with the voice he used to his ilu. You scowled back, feeling anything but calm. <”He is my brother.”>

Your face scrunched in confusion as you allowed your knife hand to drop a little. Studying the hesitant creature again, you found no similarities between Neteyam and it. <”He is your brother?”> <”I am?”> The creature questioned, sounding just as confused as you. Your attention snapped back to it, mildly distracted by its fluent na’vi.

Neteyam huffed. <”Of course you are. Where the hell have you been? You’re supposed to be kidnapped.”> <”I escaped.”> The creature returned, finally finding the courage to round the pond and approach. It kept a wary eye on you, and walked closer to Neteyam than your scowling form. <”Did a hell of a lot of running and swimming to get here. Quaritch was investigating one of the nearby sea clans and I made a break for it when the bastard had his back turned.”> It looked quite pleased for itself for a moment before a realisation crept into its expression and its eyes widened comically as it remembered something. <”But Quaritch is after me! We have to go!”>

Neteyam’s posture immediately changed. <”You led him to us?”> <”There’s a tracker in my mask.”> The boy pleaded. <”I didn’t have a spare.”>

As if on cue, more thunderous footsteps disturbed the undergrowth. Your ears pricked, picking up on the heaviness of the tread and the snap of twigs underfoot. There was a metallic click from deeper in the trees. Your eyes narrowed, as the moonlight glinted off of something unnaturally shiny. The reflection was long and narrow, whilst the plant life of Pandora usually omitted a gentle and rounded glow. The shine shifted, and a face appeared near the back of it. You stiffened as you recognised the unnatural features of a forest na’vi.

The first bang startled the birds from the trees.

By the second, Neteyam had tackled you from the side and sent you sprawling into the dirt. The air was punched from you as you landed hard on your back, only managing to suck in a breath when Neteyam lifted off you to grab the creature by the wrist and drag him down with you.

<”Hide!”> The little thing hissed, rising onto its knees to crawl through the undergrowth away from where the sound had come from. Rattled by the loud noise, you numbly followed. Neteyam lurked close to your side, a hand on your back to keep you low, whilst he clutched his knife tightly in the other. You don’t know when he dropped the shell, but you were thankful it was gone anyway.

“What is it Mansk?” An alien voice hissed from the shadows.

“Thought I saw a couple of na’vi with the kid.”

There was a thoughtful hum in response.

The three of you kept crawling, making sure to keep to the thicker cover and to disturb as little undergrowth as was possible. You found yourself leading the way. You’d grown up foraging these woods, you knew of the cave system tucked away on the east side, should your pursuers get between you and the village.

“Tracker says he’s this way.”

A moment of stillness.

“Got ‘em.”

The forest was lit up by the orange of a fire before a second bang made your ears ring. You dart to the left, biting down hard on your knife handle so that you had both hands free.

Neteyam and Spider disappeared briefly between the leaves.

You heard your pursuers approaching loudly and pressed your back into a tree. Sliding up the bark so you were back on your feet, you slowly rounded the tree, ears keeping track of where exactly each were.

“There he is.” You were behind the pair of them now, knife back in hand as you took in the weird armour of the na’vi in your vision. The unnatural weapons and the arrogance of a race that had been the apex predator of their ecosystem. These people had clearly not grown up alongside the rules of Eywa. You noted the line of destruction in their wake. How the grass they had trampled no longer glowed with life and how they had bent branches and bushes out of place to force their way forward instead of finding natural breaks and openings.

<”We have to go!”> Neteyam’s brother yelled from somewhere in the darkness, and the pair of alien’s snapped to attention. Both raising their destructive weapons that harnessed fire.

<”This way.”> Neteyam replied, and you saw the grass wave as someone passed through it.

The aliens saw it too, tensing as they aimed, so you did something Ronal would punish you for later. You allowed your foot to drop on a twig, feeling the bark crunch and snap under your weight. Both soldiers went unnaturally still. You twirled your knife into a more secure grip before charging.

The duo spun, one firing as he turned. Whilst the other let out a scream as you descended upon him. He backpedalled desperately at your swift approach, clearly terrified that something of your stature could move so quickly on dry land. His companion kept firing. Landing hits to your abdomen. Leaving wounds in your legs. Your arms. Trying and failing to slow you down as you tackled the first demon.

<”GO FOR THE NECK!”> Neteyam’s brother yelled from the bushes, guiding your hands as you slammed the demon down flat on its back so that its head connected with the earth hard. Its weapon slipped from its grasp, disappearing between the glowing trees as the visor protecting its eyes from you slipped down its nose. Too small, terrified, golden eyes stared up at your snarling face as you brought your knife down hard.

Its neck split open easily on your sharpened blade, allowing red to stick to your fingers. It gargled, choking on its lifeforce before it let out a last wet sound and promptly died.

Its companion barely gave you a moment to rise from the body before it was slamming the butt of its weapon into your temple. The weapon crumbled in on itself from the force as a weak pain shot through the side of your head. Slowly, menacingly, you turned to glare up into the face of another demon, who stared frozen down at its ruined weapon. A weapon which had been no match for the reinforced bone of your skull.

You heard the demon audibly swallow and felt its fear stroke your ego as you effortlessly shifted your weight from your knees to the balls of your toes so that you were crouched over the fresh corpse. And with a precise swipe of your blade, you forced the soldier to deflect your knife with its battered gun. Reeling from the force it took to keep your weapon from slicing into its abdomen, you pushed down hard on the weapon to force them back a step before snatching the knife back. The demon struggled to keep its footing, arms windmilling, which gave you just large enough of an opening to dart forward and sink your knife up through its ribs.

The breath was punched from the alien as you hit a lung.

Yanking your knife free, you rose to your feet as the body collapsed with a wet thump. The glowing freckles dotted across its cheeks flickered as the demon tried sucking in another breath before going still. The light produced by the body followed suit as it died and went dark.

Adrenaline kept your guilt at bay. It had not been a clean kill. A clean kill would have been an instant death without the wasted spilling of blood which could be used.

“Holy shit.”

Your head snapped up to find Neteyam’s brother emerging from between the leaves, staring down at the corpses with mild awe. <”How did you make that look easy?”> He demanded with a pinched smile. There was something unknown plaguing his face when you looked down at him, something that made your stomach pinch uncomfortably.

Not that Neteyam gave you any time to analyse the boy, because he came charging out of the undergrowth with little to no warning. His eyes flickered from the bodies to your bleeding form, knuckles tight on his knife.

<”Are you both okay?”> You found yourself asking, although you couldn’t see blood on either of them.

<”Us?”> Neteyam bit back, sounding more hysterical than furious. “What the hell was that? Do you know how dangerous they are? You almost gave me a heart attack! They could’ve killed you at least twice!” That alien language was back now, making his brother smile as Neteyam grabbed your head between his hands and shook you.

<”I don’t understand.”> You asked uncertainly.

<”Never do that again!”> He yelled at you, and somehow you knew the simple sentence didn’t match up to the abundance of words that had just split out of him. <”Eywa, you scared me.”>

His hands slid back into your hair, grabbing at the back of your head and pulling your head down into his chest where he held you for a moment. You found yourself soothed by the frantic pace of his heart, and how he was willing to touch you despite the blood that was no doubt being transferred to his skin.

“As cute as this is Neteyam, and as much as I want the full story, there’s still recoms after us.”

“Right.” Neteyam replied before switching back to na’vi. <”We need to go.”>

<”You should have gone earlier. What were you still doing lurking in the bushes?”> You argued as you pulled back far enough to shoot him a displeased look. <”I wasn’t going to leave you!”>

<”You should’ve gotten Tonowari!”>

<”It doesn’t matter now. We’ll go together.”> He made quick work of his suggestion, grabbing your hand in his and encouraging his brother to stick close.

It didn’t take long to clear the forest. The three of you emerge onto the beach out of sight of the village due to the curve of the island. But if you remained hugging the treeline, you’d reach it within no time.

No one spoke. The brother had taken to picking up rocks as he walked, which you assumed he’d use if you came across anything else lurking in the undergrowth. Whilst Neteyam kept a firm hold on your hand as he walked closest to the treeline.

<"How are your injuries?"> He asked quietly, gaze still flickering between his brother and the trees. You were warmed by how protective of the boy he seemed to be. Clearly, there was a complex history here.

<"I can’t feel them yet."> You said honestly, even though you knew that the minute you stopped to breathe, you’d be able to do nothing BUT feel them.

Neteyam squeezed your hand knowingly. <"Once we get you looked at by the Tsahik, why don’t we go for an ilu ride? I’ve missed it.">

You glanced up at him, caught off guard by the sweet comment. He was already looking at you, all bright eyed and open faced, warm despite the situation.

A genuine smile emerged onto your face at the suggestion as something in you loosened. <"I would like tha-">

A bang had all three of you instinctively flinching.

You pulled at Neteyam’s hand, trying to drag him to cover, only for him to grunt and trip over his own feet. A pained wheeze escaping his lungs as if all the breath had been knocked out of him. His brother let out a wounded sound, and despite the danger, raced back to his side as Neteyam didn’t move. His grip remained strong on your hand for a heartbeat before he abruptly crumbled.

Between you, you managed to keep him from splitting his head open on some concealed rock hidden beneath the sand.

Within heartbeats, there was blood everywhere. Slipping out of the gaping wound in his shoulder, spilling down his chest and over his stomach, running over his shoulder and wetting the sand. His brother was quick to press his little hands down against the entry wound, but there was so much blood. It dirtied the courting necklace at his throat which jumped and shivered at each desperate, sharp breath he dragged into his weak lungs.

<"Neteyam?"> His brother begged, but the sound was distant, as if you were back underwater suppressing a panic attack. Neteyam was grabbing at him weakly, trying to find words, but struggling to breathe more. <”Oh no. Neytiri is going to kill me!”>

Another click of that stupid weapon from the undergrowth.

Your head snapped up.

There was something white hot and writhing collecting in your belly. Something deranged and unnerving. It clouded your vision and coaxed you into pulling back your lips and barring your fangs into a ferocious hiss at the alien hiding between the trees. Neteyam was grabbing weakly for your arm, trying to keep you close, but you only had eyes for the threat.

You knew you were thinking clearly as you rose to your feet. You knew that the stress and fear had finally made you snap. You also knew that you wanted them to suffer. You wanted to see them bleed. You wanted them dead.

Neteyam was still grabbing at your arms. His eyes wide and panicked, his every breath punched out of him with a painful, twisting wheeze. You couldn’t leave him like this.

<”We need to go!”> Neteyam’s brother insisted, and you found yourself nodding. The instinctual fog that had fallen over you made it hard to form words, so you followed his instructions instead.

With your bloody knife clutched tightly between your teeth, you stooped to grab at Neteyam’s armpits. He squirmed and screamed in pain as you hoisted him up. His voice hitching up in octaves, his pained wails chasing after the waves as you began frantically dragging him away from the trees, towards the village.

His brother kept pace. Speaking hurriedly in his alien language. Frantically glancing from Neteyam to the trees and back again. You could feel yourself growing more frantic, your pupils narrowing into slits at the smear of red Neteyam’s limp body dragged down the white sand beaches.

It was because you were staring blankly at the bloodstain that you noticed the token slipping out of Neteyam’s belt and flopping uselessly to the sand. The pink shells were streaked with red, which the sand quickly clung to.

Neteyam started squirming anew. Struggling against you and making aborted reaches for it. <”S-st-op.”> He begged, his syllables slurring together.

<”Don’t worry Neteyam.”> Spider assured him, darting back up the beach to retrieve it. You kept dragging, and Spider ran to catch up with you. <”I’ve got it.”> He promised, showing Neteyam the bloodied necklace. The body in your arms lost some of its tension at the sight of it.

<”Th-ank yo-u.”> He whispered repeatedly, soft as a prayer. <”Tha-ank yo-ou. Thank y-ou.”>

Movement from the trees drew your attention from the pair. Your head snapped up, to find yet another demon stepping out into the moonlight. A companion was seconds behind, its weapon already raised and aimed.

<”Go away.”> You snarled around your knife hilt, panic making you pull Neteyam along harder. His brother went rigid, a single stone clutched in his tiny hand which he tightened around it. Preparing to hurl it.

The demons did not do as you warned.

Your fury was resurfacing. Faster and faster. Higher and higher. Hotter and hotter until you could hardly contain it.

Slowing your pace, you spat your knife into your hand as you began lowering Neteyam’s wounded body to the sand. <”Stay with him.”> You hissed at Neteyam's brother, who’s breath faltered. He met your gaze, and you found that he looked terrified. After a moment of hesitation, he nodded.

The demons were jogging towards you now. Yelling in a language you did not speak. And advancing with microexpressions that screamed aggression. That practically invited you to lose your shit.

<”Go away!”> You repeated, a hiss slipping into the words.

They kept coming closer.

You made to pull away from the pair, but Neteyam grabbed at you. His grip was weak but his expression screamed panic. He was hurting badly. But he still clung to you. Making sad, frantic sounds. His brother helped you pry his fingers off, just in time for you to deflect the first strike of one of the demons.

From there, pure, unfiltered instinct took over. You bit and clawed like a na’vi possessed. Every blow you struck was fueled by all your pent up stress and frustration of the past few days. You moved with precision. Whilst the strikes of the demons flowed into one another, your only beat was the pounding of your own hear. Where the demons struck with finesse and practice, you moved like a restless tempest. Relentless and unforgiving.

It was over before it truly began.

The demons were dead at your feet. Their blood staining the sand, and your skin. There was skin stuck between your teeth and sticky blood beneath your nails. But you did not care.

As the last one lay dying, you turned back to your friend. To his brother, who had thrown himself over his much larger sibling in some pathetic attempt to protect him.

Blood dripped from your chin as you approached, weaving scarlet rivers down your chest towards your feet. What a sight you must have made.

And yet, somehow, Neteyam was bloodier. His body collapsed at an uncomfortable angle against the sand, a hand clenched around his bloodied token. His face was pale, but his eyes still saw you. Still looked into you with more knowledge than anyone had the right to.

He did not look afraid, despite the state of him. Despite witnessing what you had just done with only a knife and your teeth. In fact, he almost looked proud. But that was clearly just wishful thinking on your part.

<”Don’t just stand there!”> His brother abruptly screamed, tearing you out of your head. You blinked back the fog, struggling to find autonomy over your limbs again as you realised that the kid had tears streaming down his face behind his mask. <”Help him! He’s dying!”>

Previous Chapter <- Part 2 -> Next Chapter

#Neteyam x Reader #Part 2 of 3 #character injury #Neteyam gets shot #he's fine #just needs to walk it off #violence #further misunderstandings #did I mention shells?#yeah #because there's a fuck tonne of them #bad omens #Jake should never EVER be giving his kids dating advice #we all saw how that went down in avatar #avatar #avatar the way of water #neteyam sully #Neteyam lives

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thiawen · 8 months

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Febuwhump Day 5

Prompt: Rope Burns

Fandom: Star Trek AOS

Warning: Violence; Character Injury

@febuwhump

“I’m alright.”

Spock remained silent at the obviously false statement. It was an illogical human habit to lie about one’s condition in an attempt to lessen the worries of others.

Spock was not reassured.

“Spock.”

He finished wrapping Jim’s wrists with gentle hands, pretending not to notice the way his fingers trembled.

“It’s just rope burn.”

“It is not.” He told his captain firmly, eyes dark. “The rope cut into your skin. You bled quite heavily. Additionally, I fear you may be allergic to whichever plant they use to make the fibers. The swelling is extensive.”

“I’m not allergic,” Jim assured. “The natives use a particularly vicious plant for their ritual ropes. Seems to have corrosive sap. And it stings,” Jim grimaced, “Like nettle.”

Spock was appalled.

“It hurts.” Jim admitted. “But you got me out of there before they could do worse. And once we get back to the ship, Bones will have me fixed up in no time.”

Spock held Jim close, careful not to cause him more discomfort. His body was stiff with pain.

Jim leaned in and pressed his forehead to Spock’s. “I will be alright. Because of you.”

#febuwhumpday5 #febuwhump 2024 #febuwhump2024 #febuwhump #my writing #my fanfiction #prompt fill #Star Trek #Star Trek aos #star trek fic #Spock #james t kirk #james kirk #jim kirk #kirk/spock #k/s #Spirk #Character injury

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whump-supplies · 26 days

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Husk's Whump Wheel!

Awhile back I found a whump prompt wheel someone made & decided to make my own! It has only grown over the past few months & thought people here might enjoy 161 alphabetized whump prompts

This will be updated as I go about my days but here! Now you have your very own whump wheel! (also feel free to copy the list & add/remove things for ur personal use! make one all of your own & tag me! i wanna see 👀)

also the entire list :3 Just cus

#Whump #whump prompt #character injury #picker wheel #uhhhhhhhhh #i made this #prompts #I dont post here often but have spent actual hours curating this thing #have spent even more time using it to make fully fleged stories with friends #I just pull this up sometimes & ask people on call if they “want a go on the whump wheel”#its so fun

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rookieoneil · 7 months

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HOWLING HEARTS

chapter seven

Preview

“So,” Angela started, Tim was preparing his and Lucy’s dinner. He was going to take her out to the woods tonight to begin helping her with her transition, but he wanted to make sure she was well-fed first. “How’s Lucy?”

“Good, she’s settling in well,” Tim answered.

“Right,” Angela nodded. “Are you gonna tell me what that whole macho man thing was?” She has known Tim for a very long time, perhaps longer than anyone else in the pack, and she can't help but notice the subtle changes in his demeanor. From the moment she spoke with Tim that night in the woods, Angela sensed a shift in his demeanor, a quiet fascination that seemed to grow with each passing day.

She remembered that night the way Tim's eyes had lit up when he spoke of Lucy, his voice betraying a depth of feeling that he had kept hidden from the rest of the pack. In that moment, Angela had known that Tim's feelings for Lucy were more than just fleeting, that there was something more profound at play.

Now, as she watches Tim interact with Lucy, Angela can't help but feel a sense of warmth and admiration for her friend. She sees the way Tim's eyes light up whenever Lucy is near, the subtle glances and gestures that betray his growing fondness for the newest member of the pack. And though Tim may not yet realize the full extent of his feelings, Angela knows it's only a matter of time before he admits the truth.

#the rookie #fanfiction update #fanfic #fanfiction #lucy chen #tim bradford #chenford #eric winter #melissa oneil #angela lopez #tim x lucy #nyla harper #caleb wright #character injury

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mildlykurious · 14 days

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Okay serious question. Which response do you find funnier?

#poll #polls #writing #imaginary scenario #stab #stabbing #stab me #final words #character death #character injury #confrontation #random poll #tumblr poll #bee noises

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treetrunk737464 · 4 months

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Last but not least, this is Fluorite’s Pearl, aka Blue!

Blue is an Era 2 gem, and she belongs to Fluorite, another oc gem of mine. Blue is a little troubled. Her story is under the cut!

Content Warning for systemic murder, depersonalization, dystopian themes, character injury, body horror? Think Frankenstein.

| Basic Information

Blue is an era 2 gem, manufactured for her Fluorite as a gift after she fought in the gem war. She’s made of nice materials, but she’s certainly not up to the standards of a Diamond’s pearl or even Amethyst’s pearl. It’s fine, though. A pearl is a pearl.

Blue hasn’t got very much experience with the Crystal Gems or any rebellion of any sorts, but Fluorite often confides in her about the horrors she encountered during the war, and those stories certainly don’t inspire a positive viewpoint. Fluorite doesn’t like rebellion, so Blue doesn’t like rebellion.

| Background Information

Blue was made specifically for Fluorite, so she was tailored to Fluorite’s wants and desires and based around her appearance and stuff. While being oriented in the Reef, some of the older pearls overseeing the orientation made a point of trying to warn Blue about the home she was going to. A lot of war veterans are troubled individuals, meaning they could be aggressive and strict.

But when Blue got to her new owner, she didn’t really see what they were worried about. Fluorite wasn’t often home; she worked as a chief police officer, and she wouldn’t dare take a brand new pearl into the station so Blue stayed by herself the majority of the time. She spent her days doing housework, and if she wasn’t doing that, she was mostly sitting in wait with her thoughts. It was an awfully boring existence.

Perhaps a lot of the aggression and energy Fluorite had was used on the Amethyst soldiers during the day, because when she got home she was often exhausted. Fluorite would talk at Blue, clearly not expecting an answer but needing to ramble. Fluorite would tell Blue about her job, about criminals, but mostly about the Amethyst soldiers under her command.

They sounded horrid. Blue couldn’t imagine all of the chaos; having been inside her whole life, she’d only ever known quiet and order. The Amethysts sounded like a nightmare, and one day, she told Fluorite as such. Fluorite seemed surprised at the comment, but was surprisingly fully into it. They grew close, chatting away every afternoon. They get SUPER close, actually- they start having a bit of a romance. Eventually, Fluorite decided that it could be worth it to take Blue out to work with her, for extra help.

| Breaching Containment

Wah-hoo, out of the house for the first time since the Reef. And, y’know, she meets the Amethysts. She spends time in the Amethysts’ presence. And guess what? She hates the Amethysts. As predicted, they’re loud, they’re annoying, they’re way too touchy, and worst of all they all abuse their position of power as police officers.

Sometimes, Fluorite has to go to out with a group of the Amethysts or she has a meeting or something and she leaves Blue in charge of the Amethysts, and that’s her absolute favourite part of the day.

Blue finds out from this that she LOVES being in control. She loves bossing people around, she loves lecturing people when they’ve done something wrong; she develops a bit of an ego problem. She gets short and snappy, she’s sassy and crude- she’s headstrong, way more headstrong than any pearl should be.

Fluorite loves it, fully supports the monster she has created. She loves to feel like she’s got more of a roommate than a decorative servant that lives in her house. It’s a good system for the both of them.

| Present-ish

Everything was great for a while, until Fluorite began to become obsessed with the idea that one of her Amethyst soldiers was secretly in an illegal business. Blue, while she wasn’t completely convinced at first, helped Fluorite find evidence, track and eventually stalk Amethyst until they followed her and her Pearl into a harvesting plant.

Now, Blue had never been into a harvesting plant before. It never even really occurred to her that they really existed. But, here they were, following this Amethyst and her Pearl into one.

When Fluorite accidentally made their presence known, Amethyst and Pearl jumped behind this big crushing plate stationed right up against a wall, narrowly avoiding the plate as it crushed downward.

Fluorite and Blue chased after the two, but stopped in front of the plate. Blue had never seen one of these before, and she didn’t really understand why they couldn’t just grab Amethyst and Pearl right here right now- the only obstacle in their way was the crushing plate. A big, metal contraption that smashed down into a small podium where gems would sit to get shattered. Why, Pearl and Amethyst jumped through it with no trouble at all. And pearls, they’re naturally quick. So, Blue decides to take one for the team and jump through the crushing plate to try grab the criminals.

Unfortunately for Blue, she didn’t think that perhaps Pearl and Amethyst had done this a thousand times before, and were practically experts at their timing. Blue wasn’t very much, and she didn’t quite anticipate the height of the podium- she was caught under the plate and everything went dark when she poofed.

To Blue’s absolute surprise, she woke up at home. She was alive. She was fine. But she felt… she felt off. She felt like her body was off. Her memories were off. She’s got memories she hadn’t had before, of gems she doesn’t know. Her skin, in some patches, doesn’t feel like her skin. It’s not the right texture. It’s not until she gets a look at her gem in a mirror that she realises what happened- someone- the Amethyst?- patched her gem. With another Pearl’s.

When she sees the relieved Fluorite when she comes back from work, Blue pretends that she feels fine and normal, but she’ll never be the same again.

Body horror? I wouldn’t know her. Anyway. That was dumb.

#steven universe #steven universe fanart #my art #ocs #pearl oc #steven universe oc #su oc #homeworld #homeworld su #homeworld pearls #murder #depersonalisation #dystopian themes #dystopian society #character injury

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highcaliberstupidity · 1 year

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CW - Character Injury | Descriptions of Wounds | Minor operation in the middle of no where on said bullet wound | Blood | The usual CoD violence to be expected

So, looking at Soap during 'Alone', i'm fairly certain that the bullet wound in his arm is a through and through.

HOWEVER. It's a good thing I don't care and will bend the narrative to explore little things. So strap in.

I really, really love the idea of Soap fighting his way through Las Almas with a bullet lodged in his arm and a graze on his ribs (someone dug up his Alone model and found he had a wound on his flank). By the time he makes it out, the wounds are throbbing. He is in agony, and he knows infection will set in if he doesn't get them cared for soon. But they have to escape first, so he bites his tongue and sweats through the pain while still shaking with the frigid cold of rain-soaked clothing in a truck with no heater.

Finally, between blood loss, frantic shivering, and general fucking exhaustion, he starts to pass out, and Ghost finds a secluded place to pull off as he realizes just how bad his Sergeant is.

He's surprisingly gentle as he maneuvers him around until he can stand between his legs in the passenger door, stripping his shirt off and slapping his med kit down in his lap. All the while he's cussing him up, down, and sideways for not saying something sooner as he shoves a small, cracked, and ruined piece of leather into his hand.

He takes off his gloves, soaks his hands in alcohol, and gets to work. Soap will blame it on the heat of the moment, but as Ghost works on his flank, he falls into him, pressing his head into his shoulder as he bites down on that piece of leather and tries not to scream aloud, hot tears of shame burning down his cheeks.

He nearly passes out when Ghost has to dig the bullet from the edge of his bicep, fisting his hand into the side of his rain-soaked hoodie.

Soap's too out of it to see Ghost slip the malformed lump of lead into his tac vest when he pulls it out, dripping crimson. Ghost sews him up, shoves meds down his throat, and lets him catch as much rest as possible while he drives, heading for Alejandro's safe house.

Ghost forgets about the bullet he kept until they return to England following the shitshow in Chicago.

He finds it on accident when cleaning out his tac vest before sending it off to be properly cleaned up and the armor plate replaced. For a long moment, he contemplates throwing it away, because why should he keep it?

Why did he keep it in the first place?

For some reason, he dumps it out of the pouch and into his hand, noting the dark stains around where it'd settled. He tries not to think about how red Johnny's blood had been on his hands when he'd dug the damn thinged loose.

He takes it back to his room and leaves it in his bedside drawer.

Every once and a while he sees it, remembers it exists, and contemplates throwing it away again. The memories it holds aren't good ones, lumpy metal covered in rusty stains.

But it's a piece of Johnny, in a fucked up and morbid way, and he can't bring himself to get rid of it.

It's a long time, before Johhny finds it.

Ghost had forgotten about it again, lost it in the limbo of his thoughts between missions and protecting him.

He asks where something else, and Ghost, not really paying attention, answers on autopilot from where he sits at his desk, filling out paperwork from their last mission.

"Bed side table."

He hears it open, hears some shifting. He'd never really kept that damn thing clean, one of his few bad habits. The sounds stop, and Ghost, pays it no mind for a moment.

But then it drags, and drags.

When he turns around to ask if he'd found it, he sees him cupping his hands, staring down at a small, malformed lump of lead with confusion. He's pretty sure his heart tries to leap from his ribs, climbing halfway up his throat in a matter of moments.

Soap lifts his head, and it must be the expression on Ghost's face that gives him away.

"You kept it...?"

"Honestly, kinda forgot about it."

"But why?" And wasn't that a fucking question? It wasn't big enough to be a paperweight, it was covered in long-dried blood, and useless.

Why had he kept it?

"I, don't know. Just, felt important." They'd been together for years now, he'd figured this wouldn't make so many nerves dance.

"Can't believe you had a piece of me that entire time and I never knew about it." Ghost blinks, remembering when he'd thought of it like that, how he still thought of it. A smile curls across his face under his mask.

"Yeah, suppose I did Sergeant. Suppose I did."

#soapghost #ghoap #ghost x soap #soap x ghost #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #ghost #cod soap #cod ghost #character injury #somewhat possessive behavior #look man #he just #wants a piece of his mans #even whenn he wasn't his mans yet #idk where this came from but i've just been #kinda thinkin' about it a lot today.#calibers writing

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silvfyre-writings · 27 days

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Calm in the wake of the storm (BSD Fanfic)

Crossposted from AO3

Ranpo can count on one hand the amount of times that he’s gotten seriously injured on a case; one, because he remembers each time vividly since it hurt, and two, because it doesn’t actually happen all that often. Some would say that he’s lucky to have not sustained many injuries in his line of work, but he knows better to think that, knows that it’s partially Fukuzawa accompanying him to crime scenes to play bodyguard, and partially him outwitting the criminal before serious harm can be done. Which is a good thing because Ranpo doesn’t like pain, and very much thinks it shouldn’t exist.

The first time he’d gotten injured was a criminal getting a lucky shot in before being taken down by Fukuzawa—who’d regrettably been distracted by said criminals hidden companion. The wound had gone straight through his side and hurt tremendously, but after a few weeks of boring bedrest, he’d been fine to work again. But god, had the pain been excruciating. Every breath felt impossible, like there was a hand around his lungs preventing them from inflating properly, and every movement brought sharp, shooting pain throughout his entire body. Never again, did Ranpo want to be shot; being stabbed is much less painful in his opinion.

The second time had been a concussion, the blow to his head so bad that he’d immediately lost consciousness, and according to the poor officer that had been with him, started seizing. A terrifying time for all involved, not that Ranpo really remembered much of that incident, only recalling the moment he’d woken up in the hospital with Fukuzawa sitting by his bedside. In his opinion, that was the worst injury he’d ever received, because he hadn’t been able to work for months. It’d taken him ages to just sit up in the hospital bed without the world taking him on a rollercoaster ride, and even longer for him to get up and walk about. And even after being discharged, random bouts of vertigo plagued him for some time afterward.

He was fine now, but it certainly hadn’t been the greatest of times.

The third and fourth times were pretty simple; just some stabbings that required a trip to the hospital instead of being patched up by Yosano at the Agency’s office. Ranpo hadn’t been particularly bothered by those injuries—one had sliced open his arm, and the other had punctured his thigh, but neither hit anything major, so all it took was some anaesthetic and some stitches and he’d been right as rain. If anything, the lectures he received from both Fukuzawa and Yosano about him needing to take better care of him were much worse than the injuries themselves.

There is only so many times that he can take the you need to value your own life more speech that his mentor seems keen to give him.

At least these ones aren’t accompanied by slaps to the face, so that’s something.

But since then, Ranpo’s been out on many a case, not returning completely unscathed sometimes—scraped palms and twisted ankles are quite frequent when shoved to the ground by someone—but managing to avoid any serious injury, much to the joy of those around him. He swears that Fukuzawa’s said something to the police about him being troublesome or something, because the amount of times he’s ventured out to help them, only to be watched like a hawk, is starting to get a little ridiculous. It’s getting to the point where the officers are starting to encroach on his personal space, which he very much dislikes, because he can’t think with them breathing down his neck, and they’ve started to second guess his deductions, which he also hates, so he’s started rejecting the cases that are brought to him, which is upsetting Fukuzawa, which in turn makes Yosano worry, and yeah—

It's a problem.

“The police are requesting your assistance, Ranpo.” Fukuzawa approaches him the moment that he’s gotten settled at his desk, folder in hand that gets placed right in front of him before he gets the chance to kick his feet up and get comfortable.

Ranpo huffs, shoving the case away. “No.”

Fukuzawa lets out a sigh. “Ranpo—”

“I said no!” He snaps before spinning his chair around so that his back is to Fukuzawa. It doesn’t matter how much candy or praise Fukuzawa offers him, he’s on strike for the foreseeable future; an officer had had the gall to insult Ranpo’s abilities on the last case, and he’s still in a foul mood from that day—it doesn’t matter if it was a week ago, he’ll hold onto that grudge like it’s the last candy on earth. Besides, maybe it’ll teach the police to respect him as he deserves.

There’s another sigh, but the lack of footsteps tells him that Fukuzawa is still standing there, either thinking or waiting for him to turn back around. And as much as Ranpo would love to say that he could be more stubborn than the older man, he cannot. Fukuzawa has the patience of a tree, and is not afraid to utilise it to try and convince Ranpo to do something he doesn’t want to do.

One minute passes. Then two, then five…

And on the ninth minute, Fukuzawa speaks. “You don’t have to look at me, but will you at least hear me out?”

“Maybe.” Ranpo grumbles out. He doesn’t particularly want to listen, but he doesn’t have much of a choice in the matter. He can pretend that he does though.

“It’s a new detective requesting your assistance, one that we haven’t worked with before—”

“What’s his name?”

For once, Fukuzawa doesn’t scold him for interrupting, and Ranpo listens to the sound of papers being flicked through. “Detective Yasui.”

Ranpo doesn’t recognise the name, which means it actually is a new detective that he hasn’t worked with, and not some alias that one of the others has cooked up to try and get him to come out—which has happened before. Several times. He has to admit that he’s curious about this new person that’s trying to get his attention, and what kind of case that they might’ve brought to him.

He spins around leans on his desk, gazing up at Fukuzawa. “What’s the case.”

Fukuzawa raises an eyebrow at him and simply slides the case across his desk again. “Read it yourself, I do have my own work to do—which, just so you know, is soothing the ruffled feathers of the officers that you’ve insulted this past week.”

“That’s their fault for being stupid and doubting me.”

“I know, but I ask that you tone it down just a little at least. Complaints will only hinder our workload.” Ranpo opens his mouth to argue, only to slam it shut when Fukuzawa narrows his eyes at him. “Please, Ranpo.”

“… Fine, but just because you said please. I expect the most expensive cake from the bakery as payment though!”

“We shall see.” Fukuzawa turns on his heel and begins to leave the main office, but not before calling over his shoulder. “You might want to hurry, Ranpo, the detective is waiting outside for you.”

Ranpo’s eye twitches in annoyance, and he just knows that Fukuzawa is smirking to himself as he shuts the door behind him. He waits another minute to make sure that the older man is gone before he drags the case file towards him, opening it up to read the contents within. It’s a simple case, really; a group of criminals deciding to be the latest in a recent trend of blowing up random buildings—usually abandoned because they were too scared to actually take human lives—but getting a bit too close to civilian households to be left alone.

Not that bombers were usually left alone by the police, but most explosions within Yokohama were caused by the Port Mafia, who usually gave some hint that it was them—not wanting to let others take the credit and all that.

Still, it is an interesting case, and it’s with someone that he’s never worked with before, which is a bonus—someone for him to tease and torment to see if they’re worth his time—so he’s curious enough to take it on. He is starting to get bored after a week of no work, so it’s totally reasonable for him to take the case. It’s totally not because he’s genuinely curious about this new face that he’s about to meet, and it’s totally not to get Fukuzawa off his back about his lack of work recently. Not at all.

Ranpo rises from his seat, making sure to shove a few candies into his pocket for the trip to the crime scene, and grabs the case file off his desk before making his way downstairs. He uses the stairs instead of the elevator just to delay his meeting of this Yasui person. Most of the other officers that he works with get annoyed whenever he arrives late or causes a delay by demanding sweets, so this is his way of finding out if this new one is like the others. It’s best to find out sooner rather than later in Ranpo’s opinion, because that way you don’t set your expectations too high and wind up disappointed.

Not that he’s ever set his expectations high in the first place.

In fact, they’re quite low—maybe medium if he’s being generous.

Like Fukuzawa said, the detective is waiting for him outside, hands shoved into the pocket of the coat he’s wearing, and staring into sky with a half-burnt cigarette dangling from his lips. From this distance, he can’t make out the man’s features, but he does notice the stubble and the ponytail—both do well to make him look insanely attractive, and Ranpo can’t stop himself from staring. As far as Yokohama’s limited amount of detectives go, at first glance, Yasui seems alright. He doesn’t look young enough to mock Ranpo, but he also doesn’t look old enough to look down at him. He’s definitely older, which isn’t hard to do when Ranpo’s in the final year of his teens still, but age has never been something he focused on.

There were the young geniuses and the old experiences, but then there were the people that did both, and something told Ranpo that Yasui was one of these people.

Only one way to find out though.

He strides over to the detective, and in a single motion, snatches the cigarette from the older man’s lips, holding it carefully between his own. He’s never been one for smoking, not liking the taste or smell of it, but in that moment, he’s tempted to bring it to his lips. He doesn’t though, just stares up at Yasui—who is regrettably taller than him; the one and only thing Ranpo curses his parents for is for not blessing him with height. It would make life so much easier, but Ranpo digresses; he’s supposed to be figuring out this new detective in front of him, and he’s not going to accomplish that by standing here staring at him. “I don’t know you.”

Yasui raises his brows and pulls the hands out of his pockets, but he doesn’t offer one to Ranpo. “Ryousuke Yasui. Transferred to Yokohama two weeks ago. You must be Edogawa Ranpo.”

“I am! World’s Greatest Detective at your service!” Ranpo grins and waves Yasui’s cigarette right in his face. “You’re quite lucky to be graced with my presence, even though it’s just ‘cause I was bored. The police keep trying to palm off all their easy cases to me instead of using the brains in their heads—it’s annoying. I have a feeling that you won’t do that though!”

Yasui continues to stare at him, looking like he’s filing away whatever information he’s gleaming from their interaction. “I’ve heard all about you Edogawa-san—”

“Ranpo.” Ranpo interrupts, grin gone and replaced with a solemn look. He’s not quite sure why he corrected Yasui, considering he’s never bothered to correct any of the other officers that call him Edogawa, but for some reason, it bothers him that Yasui is calling him that, which is odd. He doesn’t understand it. Maybe it’s because the other man is also a detective? Whatever, it’s not something that he needs—or wants—to focus on right now. “So, Yasui-san, tell me what you need my help with!”

Yasui’s brows rise even higher, threatening to disappear into his hairline. He reaches over to pluck the cigarette from Ranpo’s fingers—taking a drag and breathing it out before he speaks. Ranpo has to swallow from how hot that makes the man look. “I passed on the case file like your Agency requests we do. You should’ve read it by now—it’s not the biggest of files.”

“Ugh, reading case files is so boring though. That’s a job for minor detectives, not great ones!” Ranpo complains.

“And good detectives take the time to know the case they are getting involved in.” Yasui fires back without missing a beat. “Or are you not the genius detective that I’ve heard so much about?”

Ranpo huffs, crosses his arms, and turns away, obviously pouting. “Of course I know the case.”

There’s a breath of a laugh, and he hears Yasui push off from the building. A second later he hears the sound of a bag being pulled from a pocket with something clinking about inside, a sound so familiar that Ranpo can’t help but turn hack to see—

A bag of candies from one of his favourite shops being held out towards him, a small smile on the face of the detective that’s offering it to him.

“I’m told you have a fondness for sweets. Although fond wasn’t exactly the word they used.”

Ranpo stares at the bag a moment before reaching out to take it. He stares at it for a moment longer before shoving it into his pocket alongside the other candies. This is the first time that someone’s come prepared with sweets for him and… he’s a little stunned admittingly. But he’s quick to recover, standing up straight and striding right past Yasui to head towards the train station. “What else did they say about me?”

Yasui falls into step beside him. “Do you really want to know?”

Dangerous words considering his current relationship with the police force is rocky at the moment, but Ranpo has to admit that he’s curious what they say behind his back. But then again… “Can’t be worse than what they say to my face.”

“Do the words: egotistical, troublesome and childish ring any bells?”

Ranpo throws a grin over his shoulder. All words that he’s heard before. “It’s nice to know that your co-workers are always thinking of me, even when I’m not there.”

“I believe they were attempting to warn me, considering once I mentioned I’d asked for your assistance, they all acted as if I just signed away my life. And then proceeded to try and give me advice on how to ‘handle’ you as if my career hasn’t had me interacting with geniuses before.” Yasui says, sounding just a little annoyed at his fellow officers.

“So you think all geniuses like candy?” Ranpo asks.

“No, the candy is specifically for you. Someone let slip as I was leaving that you’d been rejecting our requests for assistance. I figured you’d be more inclined to agree to my request if I brought something that pleases you.”

“My, my, Yasui-san, are you bribing me? That’s illegal you know.”

Yasui rolls his eyes. “And yet you took it, so that makes you complicit, Ranpo-kun.”

Ranpo laughs this time, something he doesn’t often do with the officers he works with. Sure, there are quips and barbs thrown about, but there’s never any banter like what he’s doing with Yasui right now, and he’s quite enjoying it. It’s lighthearted fun and Yasui is easily giving back as good as he gets, another thing that gives Ranpo hope for how this case will play out. Maybe if it goes well, he’ll ask that Yasui be the one that brings him work—and make sure to emphasise that it’s because the detective is superior to the rest of his co-workers.

And much more attractive.

“By the way, if we’re going to the train station, you’re taking us the wrong way.”

“I knew that.”

If there’s one thing that people quickly learn about Ranpo, it’s that he absolute hates the trains and the stations that accompany them with his entire building. The trains themselves are fine, it’s just everything else; the noise, the crowds, the smells, everything that threatens to overwhelm a person. Usually, whenever he has to catch a train to a crime scene, either Fukuzawa or Yosano will come with him, making sure that he survives the harrowing ordeal with minimal fuss. Eight times out of ten, it works, but the other two times usually result in them needing to either find a different route—usually a taxi—or going home entirely depending on the severity of it.

There’s a rumour floating around that he doesn’t know how to catch the train—which is partially true, because no one ever showed him how to, but the main reason is just that it’s so overwhelming in the station no matter the time of day, that he can’t help but lose his focus and miss the vital steps. It’s not his fault, not really, it’s just the way he was wired, and it’s something he’ll have to live and learn how to cope with.

Of course, that means that the moment the station crawls into sight and they begin to approach it, Ranpo grows tenser with each passing step. He’s not even aware that he’s doing it, his body acting on its own accord because it knows that as much as his mind does, how much train stations suck.

What he doesn’t expect though, is for Yasui to glance at him and slow his pace, forcing Ranpo to slow his own if he doesn’t want to leave the man behind, until he eventually comes to a stop.

Ranpo stops as well, and looks at the man quizzically. Seems this new detective is full of surprises.

“It’s pretty close to rush hour.” Yasui says after a moment. “You going to be able to handle it?”

He scowls. “Who told you?”

“No one did. Worked with an officer at my previous station that was petrified of the trains. Acted similar to how you are right now.” Yasui huffs fondly. “Couldn’t get him to go near a station no matter how much you tried to bribe him to.”

The scowl on Ranpo’s face fades, and he blinks. This isn’t what he was expecting Yasui to say, but he has to admit that it’s a relief to know that he’s not the only person out there that has a problem with them. “So what did he do?”

Yasui turns to look at him. “He usually drove, or if there wasn’t a car available for him to use, he would very rarely take a taxi. If the trains are too much, I can call for a car to be dropped off and we drive. But if you want to brave the trains, I’ll help ya.”

Taking a car would be much more preferable, and he wishes the Agency had their own personal vehicle, but it’s a luxury that the Agency can’t afford while it’s still building up its client base, so usually he’s stuck taking a taxi, but he’s reluctant to spend the money—if there’s one lesson that Fukuzawa managed to drum into him, it was that you had to treat money with respect, so the trains it is.

He thinks that was mostly to get him to stop spending his entire paycheck on sweets, but it’s come in handy for other things as well.

After thinking for a moment, Ranpo sets off again, towards the station. “Great detective’s don’t let Yokohama’s train system get the better of them! We’ll take the train. It’s only a short trip anyway, so the money we save here, can be used to by me snacks later on!”

He swears he can hear the eyeroll behind him as Yasui starts to follow him again. “Alright then. Stick close though, alright?”

Ranpo does just that, reaching out to snag Yasui’s jacket sleeve with a finger at the same time that the train arrives and unleashes the crowd upon them. He places his trust in the detective, squeezing his eyes shut and letting the older man lead him through the station. There’s a weight on his back, comfortable, firm, and warm to boot, that guides him through the crowds. It doesn’t take long for him to lose his bearings, but before he knows it, the two of them are on the train, and the doors are shutting behind them, the world falling silent as they do.

Yasui leads him through the carriages until the detective finds one that has seats, and he gently pushes Ranpo to sit, and sits beside him, creating a barrier between Ranpo and the rest of the passengers. Ranpo doesn’t hesitate to push himself against the wall of the train, lifting his feet onto the seat even though it’s frowned upon. He rests his head on his knees. Whatever, he doesn’t care. If it matters that much, he’ll just—well, he doesn’t know exactly what he’d do, but he’d do something. It’s a short train ride anyway, so it’s just until they arrive.

No words are said as they travel. Ranpo pulls out the bag of sweets and nibbles away at them; they’re ones that you suck on, so Ranpo rolls them over his tongue, wondering if the choice in candy was deliberate or coincidence. Meanwhile, Yasui pulls out his phone and taps away at the screen; it’s a fancy new model, probably a gift from the station or someone else, since in the short time he’s known the detective, Yasui doesn’t seem like the type to buy himself extravagant things. The cigarettes he smokes are the cheapest kind, and his current clothes are the ones that people who’d rather not have attention drawn to themselves wear. In a way, Yasui’s like a side character of a game, important, but sometimes fading into the background when the focus was on something else.

It was interesting, considering that the co-workers that Ranpo has worked alongside, have all been loud and desperate for attention—especially his.

Nothing screams status after all like having the acknowledgement of the World’s Greatest Detective.

“Why did you come to Yokohama?” Ranpo asks, curious, and although he could simply whip out his glasses and deduce the reason why, he feels like asking for a change.

Fukuzawa would be proud of him.

Yasui lifts his head and opens his mouth to respond—

BANG!

The train shudders violently before jerking to the side in a way that it very much shouldn’t be, and it takes Ranpo a split second to realise that the bang was an explosion, and that the train’s been derailed.

Derailed.

It takes another second for him to be thrown from his spot, only to have Yasui grab onto his arm and pull him close. Before he can even appreciate the gesture, the train jerks again, and this time, they both get thrown across the carriage, colliding with something—another seat, he thinks, maybe even the other wall of the carriage. Ranpo can hear screaming around him from the other passengers, screeching as momentum carries the train in a way it is not supposed to move, and pained cries that he’s pretty sure are coming from him. After all, he’s never been one for pain. It’s not something he enjoys, but right now it’s all around him, along with a pressure he can’t identify. His mind has gone into survival mode, processing the bare minimum as disaster continues to wreak havoc around them. He can’t remember where on the route they were exactly, his mind going much too fast for him to recall anything, but he does know that they just left a tunnel.

Ranpo thinks that it’s one of the tunnels that opens up into the business side of Yokohama, with tall skyscrapers and lots of people, but it could also be the tunnel that opens up to the industrial side—he really doesn’t know.

He doesn’t know.

The words cross his mind, but before he can acknowledge them and stress himself out from not knowing something, they stop.

With a final jerk that sends them all flying again, they stop.

It’s silent.

Too silent.

Well, not completely silent because Ranpo’s ears are ringing, and the world around him is fuzzy, like there’s mist obscuring his vision. He’s pretty sure that he’s on the ground—it’s hard to tell—but then he registers that there’s something soft underneath him. Something that is distinctly not the floor of a train. It takes him a moment to realise that he’s spread across another person, and the groan that comes from that person tells him that it’s Yasui underneath him.

Ranpo can’t even summon the brainpower to make the joke that he wants to.

“You alright?” Yasui asks, eyes flicking open momentarily. His face is scrunched in pain, but considering they just got thrown about a train like ragdolls, it’d be more of a surprise if he wasn’t hurting.

Aside from his aching body, and ringing ears that muffle Yasui’s voice, Ranpo thinks he’s managed to escape unscathed. He still feels off, but he isn’t able to pinpoint why, so he doesn’t bother thinking about it. It hurts to think right now. Instead, he slides off Yasui, wincing at the sound of glass crunching underneath his shoes. The shards prick at his hands, so he lifts them to rest on his knees, and his head soon follows. “Yeah… are you?”

“I’m pinned by something I think, I can’t really tell. I can’t move though. And everything aches right now, but I’m sure you already know that.”

Ranpo raises his head to study their surroundings, and—

It’s not good.

The carriage they’d been sitting in is crumpled around them, metal torn and crushed together like a scrap piece of paper. It’s completely flattened in some places, with building debris joining twisted metal. They must’ve hit a building, which also explains why the world is fuzzy—concrete dust, floating about the air, making it hard to see and breathe. He can’t see anyone else, although he sees pools of blood, recognises the tang of it in the air, and knows that there are other people trapped as well.

Ranpo lowers his head back to his knees. It feels heavy, like there’s a weight around his neck threatening to drag him to the ground. He tilts it in a way, though, that he can take in Yasui’s situation. Like the man had said, he’s pinned, his lower half hidden underneath a broken rail and some metal. Ranpo must’ve been almost suffocating him before. Considering that Yasui is awake and talking to him with minimal pain, Ranpo’s of the mind to believe that the detective has only suffered mild injuries. Which is good. Because if he were injured enough where death was an option, Ranpo would be a lot more stressed.

Accidents of this scale tended to take a while when it came to rescuing people who were trapped.

He knows that from experience.

A hand pokes him in the shin and he blinks, not realising that Yasui had been trying to get his attention. Ranpo turns his head that little further and winces when a stab of pain shoots through the back of his head, racing down his spine, and spreading across shoulders.

Yasui frowns at him. “Ranpo, are you sure you’re alright?”

The lack of honorific tells him that the man is worried, so Ranpo just grins at him. “I’m fine! Just a little sore from being thrown around.”

When Yasui’s frown deepens, Ranpo decides to prove him wrong by jumping to his feet, an action that he only regrets a lot when the world dips around him and he struggles to stay upright. But he forces himself to, if only to keep Yasui from worrying even further. Once he’s steady, he looks down at Yasui. “See? Fine.”

“Okay…” Yasui hums. “Can you see if there’s a way out?”

Ranpo would rather not look around the broken carriage, because standing is starting to hurt, but considering he’s the only one that can move about, it’s the least he can do. Yasui did try to protect him when they derailed after all. “Okay.”

He slowly moves around the carriage, body stiff, feeling much like a coiled spring waiting to snap, watching where he puts his feet yet always stepping on something. It gets to the point where he’ll put his foot down slowly to see if what he’s about to stand on is going to hurt him before he puts his whole weight into it, that’s how much debris is on the floor. It’s not just glass either, it’s stray bits of metal and chunks of flesh, and—

There’s a corpse to the right of him.

Ranpo stares at the corpse, eyes widening as he takes in the little old lady staring at him with lifeless eyes, her body sheared in half by the crash. She’s stuck in the wall of the train, arms dangling, neck on an angle that only death can provide. He swallows the bile rising in his throat, and forces himself to walk on. There’s nothing he can do to help, all he can do is move on and ignore the corpse, but as he walks away, all he can see is her face, staring at him. He’s not one to be affected by the deaths of strangers, he’s seen more than enough of that in the past five years, but this is the first time he’s been involved in what’s caused the deaths and that is… that makes it different.

That face continues to follow him, lingering in the back of his mind as he moved about the wreckage of the train. Ranpo looks for any sign that there’s a way out, but wherever there’s a gap in the metal, building debris blocks the path; there’s no way out, and space is limited. He’s forced to backtrack when there’s nothing but a wall of metal and concrete blocking him, but the other way isn’t much better. Where Yasui lays trapped, the wall of the carriage is pressed against something that Ranpo can’t identify—his head is starting to hurt a lot more now, and each step becomes harder than the last.

But Yasui is still trapped, so he needs to work hard, not that he really can when they can’t get out, so Ranpo slinks back over to the man and falls to his knees beside him, wincing when pain shoots through him again. He ignores it. “There’s no way out.”

Yasui lets out a sigh and turns his head to stare at the roof. “That’s not ideal. Anyone else trapped with us?”

“No.” Ranpo says, not telling the detective about the little old lady he’d found at the other end of the carriage. There’s no need to, it won’t help the situation. He tightens his grip on his legs; never before has he felt so helpless. Some detective he’s turned out to be when he couldn’t even deduce the accident happening. “All we can do is sit and wait.”

There’s a moment of silence, and then, “Ranpo, look at me.”

He does, although it takes a moment for his vision to actually focus. He doesn’t say anything.

“World’s Greatest Detective, you may be, but not even you could’ve predicted this happening. So try not to blame yourself for it—”

“I’m not.”

Yasui raises an eyebrow, not believing him, but also not repeating himself either. “Well, we’ll be fine, anyway. An accident of this calibre will have people working hard to rescue people. Like you said, all we need to do is sit and wait.”

Hours pass by, and the pain in Ranpo’s head has finally gone from a sharp pain to a dull ache. Sure, the ache is still everywhere, but it’s better than before—provided he doesn’t move suddenly. But as time moves on, he finds himself becoming restless, tapping his fingers on his knees, and bringing out the candy in his pocket to both roll between his fingers and snack on. He doesn’t speak, because at some point, Yasui had dozed off, and well, if the man could manage to sleep through his predicament, who was Ranpo to disturb him. He’s an adult now as people like to constantly remind him, he’s supposed to be able to keep himself busy.

At some point, he gets up and wanders the carriage again, hoping to find something that he missed, but he’s not entirely sure he succeeds, starting with this end of the carriage if only to avoid seeing the old lady’s face again. But he finds that he can’t focus on anything. The moment he stands, he loses his balance, bracing his arms against the wall of the carriage, and cutting the palm of his hand open on a sharp piece of metal. Ranpo winces, and watches the blood well from the cut, pooling in his hand before he tilts it so the blood runs off his fingers.

The pain is back again, sharp as it was earlier, and with every step he takes, it increases. But he pushes on, keeps walking, determined to find a way out. The second time round, it feels like the carriage has grown small, and he’s worried that he and Yasui might still be crushed before they can be rescued. He stops, and looks around the carriage before shaking his head—an action he quickly regrets. But as irrational as the thought is, he can’t shake it. It’s like there’s two sides to his brain right now; the one that understands the irrationality of the thought, and the other that has embraced it. He hates it.

Ranpo continues to walk around the edge of the carriage, tripping over debris that he hadn’t noticed the first time around, bumping into railings that he definitely didn’t—he stops, confused. What was he doing again?

Oh right, he’s trying to find a way out.

He starts moving again, making his way towards the other end of the carriage slowly, but surely, to try and find a way out of the wreckage, but there’s nothing. Every gap that he finds in the torn metal that could prove to be an exit, is blocked by concrete on the outside. They’d probably crashed into a building of some sort when the train had derailed, which means that they’ll be rescued quickly. Derailed trains always bring out the rescuers quickly.

Ranpo stops suddenly, and freezes, his eyes focused on the other side of the carriage. There’s something else with them, but…

She’s dead.

Ranpo’s eyes grow wide, and before he can stop it, his stomach turns violently, and he throws up onto the floor of the train. It’s awful, and it makes his head ache something fierce, but that’s nothing compared to the state of the girl that’s been caught in the wreckage, her lower half gone, and the rest of her stuck in the wall of the train; dead. In a way he’s glad she died, because to survive that… would be truly horrible. The thought brings another wave of nausea and he heaves once again, but not much comes up this time, leaving him gagging and coughing.

“Ranpo?” Yasui calls from the other of the train, concern easily heard in his tone. “Ranpo, what’s wrong?”

He doesn’t answer, because the words don’t come to him. He can’t think properly; any thought that comes to him leaves before it can be remembered and he’s left confused, and if he dares to admit it, a little frightened. He’s not sure what’s happening right now. All he knows is that he hurts and that he doesn’t want it to hurt anymore.

Yasui calls out again. “Ranpo! Come back!”

It takes another minute for Ranpo to get his legs to obey him, but he listens to Yasui, and stumbles back over to the detective, falling to his knees beside him. It hurts, everything hurts, and he’s shivering for some reason, and he’s just seen someone sheared in half, so he slumps until his head is resting on something soft because he’s just so tired now. It’s too much, it’s overwhelming, and he just wants to get out of here and go home. He swears to never take another train as long as he lives; they’re death traps, enclosed spaces with too many people, destined to be a problem.

A heartbeat echoes underneath his ear, strong and constant, and Ranpo focuses on that sound to drown out his swirling mind, squeezing his eyes shut, even as calloused hands begin to touch him. One comes to rest on his back, rubbing soothing circles into it. The other presses against his forehead—and the skin is so cool he lets out a sigh, relaxing. His mind slows enough to recognise that it’s Yasui touching him, and that he’s pressing his wrist against his head to check his temperature, which reminds him that the man hasn’t seen what he’s seen, and that he probably thinks that Ranpo’s just fallen ill.

“I’m okay.” He tries to say, but the words are quiet, weak, with no energy behind them.

“You aren’t.” Comes the response. Yasui sounds worried now, which just makes Ranpo feel worse. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

“Nothing.” Ranpo’s fine, he has to be. He’s hurting a little, and he saw something horrible, but he’ll be fine. He just needs a moment to collect himself, and then he’ll be able to go and look for a way out like Yasui asked him to.

But even though his eyes are closed, he can tell that Yasui doesn’t believe him. The hand on his back shifts to his shoulder and stays there, the touch warm; it’s an awkward half-hug, considering Ranpo’s lying splayed awkwardly across one side of Yasui’s chest, but he doesn’t mind it. It’s comforting in the wake of things.

It doesn’t last long however, because Yasui chooses that moment to run his hand through Ranpo’s hair.

The pain that follows is excruciating, and Ranpo jerks away with a cry of pain, which just upsets the rest of his body, and he doesn’t know what to do other than curl up, so he does. The ones that were touching him before pulled away the moment he cried out, but he misses them, so he crawls closer in search of that warmth before. The shivers from before have returned, even worse than before, and so does the nausea.

“Here.” The hands from before return, gently, and Ranpo opens one eye to see Yasui sitting up as much as he can, reaching out towards him, and Ranpo doesn’t hesitate to follow, allowing Yasui to guide him until he was pretty much in the same position as before, his head on Yasui’s chest, listening to the older man’s heartbeat. The only difference is that now he’s curled up against the other now. “You’re alright… you’re alright.”

Ranpo nods once, unable to do much more than that, too focused on calming himself down.

It doesn’t take long thankfully, and the shivers soon subside, as does the pain, and Ranpo can feel himself relaxing.

“I’m just gonna feel the back of your head, okay?” Yasui says after a moment. “I’ll try to be gentle, but it might hurt.

“Okay.” Ranpo croaks out, and closes his eyes in preparation. He doesn’t want to know when the pain will come.

True to his word, Yasui is gentle, his fingers nothing but a featherlight touch as they dance across his head, searching for something—Ranpo doesn’t know what, but the pensive look on Yasui’s face tells him that somethings happened that he’s missing.

A sharp bolt of pain shoots through the back of his head as Yasui reaches it, but he forces himself not to pull away, bunching his hands into the man’s shirt instead and clutching tightly. He can’t prevent himself from crying out again however.

Yasui frowns, smooths the area he just touched with his palm, and then pulls his hand away before Ranpo can snap that it hurts.

Ranpo catches red on the detective’s palm. Oh.

“You’ve taken quite the blow.” Yasui says, as calm as ever. Ranpo’s honestly impressed that he’s managed to remain calm throughout this entire situation. Unlike him. “Why didn’t you tell me you were hurt?”

“Because you need me to go search for an exit.” Is Ranpo’s response, and he frowns, because that doesn’t sound right. Hasn’t he already done that?

Yasui frowns as well. “Tell me what you found?”

“I found…” Ranpo starts and then trails off. What did he find again? “I found… no exit?”

That’s not right, he hasn’t gone to search for an exit yet. He needs to do that, he remembers Yasui asking him to.

“I’ll go take another look.”

Just as he starts to rise, he finds an arm around him, preventing him from moving. Yasui gives him a look. “No, you stay here. I don’t want you moving about.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’re concussed, Ranpo.”

Ranpo pouts. He’s had a concussion before, he’d know if he had one now. “No I’m not.”

“You’re bleeding from the back of your head—”

“Head wounds bleed a lot.”

“Your head is also hurting you a lot.”

“I’ve cracked my head against something, of course it hurts.” Ranpo sulks. He’s not concussed, he refuses to believe that he is. He remembers how annoying the last one he had was; he doesn’t want to go through that again.

Yasui lets out a sigh. “Okay… if you aren’t concussed, then explain the memory loss.”

Ranpo stares at Yasui for a moment, letting the silence stretch on for a couple of minutes. “What memory loss?”

“The memory loss that wants you to go check for an exit again, even though you’ve already done it twice—and before you try to argue, I woke up when you got up the second time.”

Ranpo opens his mouth to say something, anything, to try and convince Yasui that he’s wrong, but he’s got nothing. Because there’s nothing but truth in Yasui’s voice, and a distinct gap in Ranpo’s memory of the previous times he checked out the carriage. Even now, his mind is telling him that he needs to go check, but he’s already done that. Fear fills him. His last concussion wasn’t like this, not in the slightest, and he doesn’t like it. He turns his face into Yasui’s chest, pressing as close as he can to hear that heartbeat, doing his best to drown out the world around him.

“Just keep your eyes open, stay here, and you’ll be fine, Ranpo.”

“I don’t understand what’s happening.”

Yasui drags his hand down Ranpo’s back. “You don’t need to right now. Once we get out, you’ll get fixed up, and I’ll sit down and help you to understand.”

“Okay.” Ranpo says, and decides to place his trust in Yasui. He’s not even known the detective for a day, yet already, he’s so different from the other officer’s that Ranpo works with, and he finds that he would much rather work with this man than any of them ever again. So, he says as such. “I like you. You’re good looking. And interesting.”

That wasn’t quite what Ranpo had in mind, but then Yasui’s lips twitch into an amused smile, so he thinks it was okay to say.

“I appreciate the compliment. Must be a rare thing to experience, coming from you.”

Ranpo rolls his eyes. “Of course. Not everyone is worthy of being praised by me.”

“Ah, so you don’t flirt with all the pretty officers then?” Yasui’s smile turns into the smallest of smirks, and Ranpo feels himself blush.

It’s not his fault that he has needs and desires, and that some of the officers that he does find nice to look at, are willing to put themselves out for him. He may not get along with the police force at times, but he’s not going to say no to a good time.

“Say, Yasui-san, what’s your type.”

“My job.” Yasui deadpans.

Ranpo returns the look, unimpressed, which makes Yasui laugh.

“Sorry, Mr Worlds Greatest Detective, this is one person you’re flirting isn’t going to work against.”

“That’s just rude. I’m a great flirt. And I’m even better in bed.”

“Oh, I believe it, Ranpo-kun, I’m just not interested.”

Ranpo lets out a dramatic sigh, and drags himself upright. “Well, there’s nothing I can do—oh the world’s spinning.”

His body tilts forward, but then there’s a hand against his chest that prevents him from falling. “Steady, idiot. Whatever possessed you to sit up?”

“I have to go search for an exit like you asked me to.” Ranpo says, and frowns when Yasui’s face scrunches up in concern. “What?”

“You’ve already done that, Ranpo-kun.” Yasui says slowly, shifting to wrap his arm around Ranpo’s side and gently coax him back to lying down. “You didn’t find an exit, so we just have to sit and wait.”

“Oh.” Ranpo feels like a fool. “Sorry.”

Yasui pats his shoulder a few times. “You got nothing to be sorry for. Your heads just a little messed up is all right now.”

Ranpo hums and lets his eyes fall shut, feeling tired now. It’s been a day and he just wants to crawl into bed and wrap himself in every blanket he owns. But since he can’t do that right now, he’ll settle for resting his head on Yasui’s chest. “I want to sleep.”

Apparently, Yasui is very much against letting him sleep, because the moment he shuts his eyes there’s a hand pinching at his cheek. He grumbles and slaps the hand away, but it just returns a moment later. “Open your eyes Ranpo, you can’t sleep yet.”

“But I’m tired.”

“Just a little longer, I can hear something happening outside.”

Now that Yasui mentions it, there is something happening outside, and the noise grates on his ears. It sounds like the grinding of metal and the movement of heavy machinery, which, as concussed as he is, Ranpo figures is people coming to rescue them. Finally.

He lets out a sigh. “Okay… I’ll try.”

Silence breaks out between them, but only for around half an hour this time. Throughout that time, Ranpo fights to keep his eyes open, often failing, and needing Yasui to pinch and nudge at him until he opens them again. Each time takes longer, Ranpo’s head feeling heavier, but also light, and it should worry him that he feels like this, but he doesn’t have the energy to spare. Besides, Yasui keeps looking at him with a worried look on his face every now and again, occasionally shifting to check on the wound on the back of his head, so the man can worry enough for the both of them.

After it’s been quiet for a while, Yasui speaks up. “Do you know how to braid hair?”

Ranpo blinks at the unexpected question, but he nods his head. He learnt how to braid not long after he and Fukuzawa had gone to rescue Yosano all those years ago. Her hair had been long and tangled, and she hadn’t wanted to cut it at the time, but also struggled to maintain it, so he’d taken it upon himself to learn how to braid her hair so that it wouldn’t end up in such a state again. And even now, in the present day, sometimes Yosano would badger him into braiding her hair again, and she would return the favour whilst they swapped gossip. Sometimes they even managed to sneak up on a sleeping Fukuzawa and braid his hair, which was always fun to do considering their boss was one of the lightest sleepers and sneaking up and managing to touch his hair long enough to make a braid was not the easiest of tasks.

He has a very strong feeling that Fukuzawa fakes being asleep whenever they try, but there is always the chance that he isn’t.

“Maybe you’ll have an easier time staying awake if you keep your hands moving.” Yasui suggests, running his own hands through Ranpo’s hair, separating it into the three strands needed for a simple braid.

It’s not like he has anything better to do, so Ranpo adjusts himself a little so he can reach up and take some of Yasui’s own hair into his hands to do the same. Yasui’s hair had fallen out of the ponytail it’d been put up in at some point, so it mostly hangs just above his shoulders, framing his face. Ranpo takes a small amount into his grip and begins the methodical process of braiding.

Cross, pull, cross, pull.

The motions are repetitive, which Ranpo has always liked, and they do the job in making him focus enough to stay awake, so he keeps at it. And when he reaches the end, he simply undo’s the braid and starts again. He can feel Yasui doing the same to his own hair, following at the pace Ranpo sets, which is slow, because sometimes the world blurs around him and he loses his grip on the hair.

The sound of machinery draws closer, and Ranpo swears he can hear people shouting, and he has to take a moment to press his face into Yasui’s chest in order to block out the world. The noise is making his head ache even worse now, and it feels like his entire body is just throbbing from the pain. “It hurts.”

“I know.” Yasui soothes, his voice calm and quiet. “Just a little longer and we’ll be out of here.”

Ranpo doesn’t have a little longer though, and he knows it. Aside from the pain, his vision is turning foggy at the edges, and it’s starting to spread, bringing with it exhaustion. “I need… to sleep…”

“Ranpo, don’t.”

“Don’t be mad, Yasui-san, I tried.”

“RAN—”

He passes out.

The world comes back into focus slowly for Ranpo.

First it’s his hearing, allowing him to hear quiet snores, and the sound of a heart monitor close by—most likely his since he swears he’s the only one of the Agency to ever end up here. Which isn’t fair, because he works with a former assassin and a doctor, who should both end up in the hospital more frequently than himself.

Next it’s his sight, and with a lot of effort, he manages to force his eyes open. It takes a few minutes for him to be able to keep them open; the room is thankfully dark, but even the limited amount of light makes his head throb. And while his memory is still foggy, he does remember Yasui telling him he had a concussion, which checks out, because waking up in the hospital like this definitely reminds him of the first time it happened.

Speaking of Yasui…

Ranpo slowly turns his head to look about the room. On his left, Fukuzawa and Yosano are sitting in chairs, both of them with their eyes closed, dozing. There’s a furrow born from worry between Yosano’s brows, and he feels a little pang of guilt for being the one to put it there. She’s always had a big heart, so even though Ranpo will absolutely be fine, she’ll still worry until he is. Fukuzawa on the other hand will keep his distance, only stepping in to help if it’s needed, but he too, will worry a little.

To his right however—

He’s surprised to see Yasui sitting there, snoring away in a chair of his own, one hand gripping Ranpo’s wrist loosely; the detective must’ve fallen asleep feeling his pulse—which is stupid because the heart monitor is right there, but he won’t say anything. It’s a relief though, to see Yasui sitting and not in a bed of his own. It means that the man must’ve escaped serious injury when he’d been pinned beneath the wreckage, although Ranpo can see the bruises peeking out from under his shirt, so he can only imagine that underneath is much worse. There’s also a pair of crutches resting on the floor, and a quick look shows that one of Yasui’s legs is wrapped in bandages. A sprain perhaps—or even a fracture?

Only one way to find out.

Besides, he’s curious why Yasui is still here.

Ranpo pulls his hand free of Yasui’s grip, which apparently, is enough to wake the man, because he jerks in his seat, and his eyes fly open. Two seconds pass before those eyes fall to him, and there’s utter relief on Yasui’s face.

“Finally woke up, I see.” The man says.

That has Ranpo frowning. “How long…?”

“Four days, almost five. Skull fracture and a severe concussion.” Yasui explains. “We were rescued maybe ten—fifteen minutes after you passed out. Once they realised that we were alive, they were pretty quick to get us free.”

“Are you hurt?” Ranpo asks, not so subtly looking at Yasui’s leg.

Yasui sighs, looking annoyed with his injury. “Broken ankle. I’ll be stuck at my desk for the next few weeks.”

That explains it, most officers and detectives hate deskwork.

Ranpo knows; he hates it too.

“I’ll just have to come harass you for cases at your desk then.”

“I don’t think your friends will be letting you go anywhere for a while.” Yasui smirks at him. “From what they’ve told me, it sounds like you need to be wrapped in bubble wrap.”

Ranpo huffs, rolling his eyes. “It’s not that bad—”

“It is.”

“Fine, maybe it is, sometimes.” Ranpo acquiesces. “It’s been years since I last ended up in the hospital though, so you have to give me credit for that.”

“I will, so long as the next case we work on together doesn’t wind up ending the same way.”

“No promises.” Ranpo grins. He has to admit that he’s looking forward to working with Yasui again. The older man is interesting, and he doesn’t treat Ranpo like a child as some of the other officers seem to do, which he appreciates greatly. And throughout the entire accident, he was always calm—worried, but calm. That’s also something that Ranpo appreciates.

Speaking of the accident, there’s a distinct hole in Ranpo’s memory that he needs to be filled in on.

“I… don’t remember a lot.”

The smile on Yasui’s own face fades a little. “I’m not surprised, you were quite out of it. You never told me about the woman though. The one that died.”

Ranpo frowns. He doesn’t remember. “The woman…?”

Oh.

That woman.

Ranpo turns away. “I don’t want to talk about her.”

“Alright. We can talk about it later.” Yasui says, and then Ranpo hears something rustling, like a small bag being handled, and Ranpo looks back over at him. Yasui looks up at him with a smile on his face, and he deposits the bag of candy that he’d bought for Ranpo beside his arm on the bed. “I’m glad you’re alright, Ranpo.”

Ranpo eyes the bag of candy, and picks it up. He pulls out a piece of candy for himself, and then offers the bag out to Yasui.

The man’s eyes widen in surprise, which is fair, because it’s common knowledge that Ranpo doesn’t share his sweets with anyone, but he reaches out and takes one. Ranpo shakes the bag to encourage him to take a few more.

Once he does, Ranpo pops a piece into his own mouth, just letting the candy sit there. “I don’t remember a lot of the accident, I’m not sure I will, But I do remember you being calm and keeping me calm, so thanks. Let’s not do it again.”

Yasui snorts. “Agreed.”

A moment of silence and then—

“Did we catch the guy at least.”

“You bet we did.”

#bsd #bungo stray dogs #bsd fanfic #edogawa ranpo #yasui #angst #hurt/comfort #character injury #writing #fanfic

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