#cw nightmares

[void-bitten-ghost]

On the reverse of that one sleep deprived Lucanis post... Rook being dead on their feet, night terrors of that day in the ritual grounds keeping them on the edge of something. A breakdown? A panic attack? Maybe accidentally accepting the next spirit's deal just to get it to leave them the fuck alone in the fade--

Good job Spite doesn't let anything near them. Just like Lucanis, Spite has chosen Rook as one of his, and his are off limits.

Anyway. They're struggling, scavenging in the kitchen for something to chew on, Lucanis oddly nowhere to be seen. Usually he'd hear them scuttling around and jump at the chance to offer something. Food, or drink, or even just his company. But the pantry door remains still, slightly ajar.

They take a peek inside. Empty. No one. Not a soul amongst the hanging herbs and onion sacks. Was it groceries day? Probably. Rook isn't too sure what day it is, but looking at the pantry they deduced that they could all use a few things. He's so good like that. He just, takes care of them all, makes sure theyre all fed...

Counting hurts. Light hurts. Sound hurts. Even the idea of the bright wall of water in their supposed 'room' makes their head throb. So they close the pantry door from the inside, snuffing out any candles or lanterns on the way to sit gently on the cot. The stillness helps. The dark, closed space soaked in the smell of blade oil and well worn leather feels safe.

They lean back against the wall, cool and grounding, and just breathe, eventually listing to the side and curling up around the threadbare blanket. The oil smell is stronger there, and so is some sort of floral spice. Hot, but also light, like a good meal in the summer.

They don't even remember deciding to lay down, let alone falling asleep there.

But that's how Lucanis finds them, hand fisted in his sheets and shaking from what he can only discern is a terrible nightmare.

'Not how you wanted that to happen...' Spite is a fly in his peripheral. A nuisance. Not now, he wants to shout, but then Rook is crying and nope. Not on his watch. Not if he can stop it.

His hands hover over them, not knowing what to do.

"Rook...?" He calls, but there's no answer. Only hears them groan and flushes in embarrassment.

"Rook? I'm here," he says, sitting delicately on the edge. He drums up the nerve to place a hand on their shoulder, hoping it somehow grounds them in reality. "I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."

Now, when Rook wakes to an arm around them... that's a little unexpected by both parties

[the-sweetest-slytherin]

Hyperfixated on Sanji right now, and I need all my other mentally unwell folks to lock in for this, because it's time for a very specific set of thoughts about some blond guy who does high kicks.

Sanji Has Nightmares

Kay so I'm of the opinion that Sanji has always had ✨crippling nightmares✨ because of what happened to him at the hands of his biological family. Having picked up on this, Zeff got into the habit of reading recipes and oceanography textbooks to Sanji to calm him down afterwards. Either because story books weren't available/Sanji insisted he didn't want any fairytales, or because Sanji just really is soothed by the recipes and facts about sea life.

They become less frequent as he ages, but never go away completely. As he gets older, more and more of these nights result in him pulling out his hair in his sleep or kicking Zeff by accident when the old man tries to rouse him. Nevertheless, after bonking the little eggplant once for good measure, Zeff never fails to read Sanji to sleep.

Sanji tells his crew mates about one of these times, wholeheartedly thinking it's just a funny little anecdote, meanwhile 2/3's of the crew look on in abject horror.

I think he probably manages to keep his nightmares under wraps for a good while, maybe even until just after Chopper joins up. He manages not to scream or cry in the night, and each time it happens, the chef simply makes his bed and sets to work on the kitchen. No matter what time it is, if he wakes up from a nightmare he is doing breakfast prep and inventory until dawn.

However after Nami almost dying, and being subjected to a lot of poking and prodding and needles and pills and- many other things that remind him of his unsatisfactory childhood, Sanji has a doozy of a dream, during which he wakes the whole ship.

I feel like the first time he wakes everyone up, it's straight to the kitchen with him, he is mortified. He brushes off everyone trying to ask if he's okay, locks the doors, and generally buries his head in the sand until daybreak. Whichever character suits your fancy (I pick Zoro) notices with a sinking feeling that breakfast has only looked this good a few times. Sure, it always looks and tastes great, but today's breakfast looks so intricate and decedent. Aesthetic bento box shit customized for each crew member on a Wednesday morning, completely unnecessarily. The dots are easily connected.

The next time it happens, having previously heard about Zeff's methods of calming Sanji, whichever character suits your fancy (I pick Zoro again) hastily grabs a cookbook from the chef's locker, and starts reading. Sanji calms down, maybe doesn't even wake up, perhaps there are cuddles involved?

I like to think it becomes a regular thing. Eventually Sanji comes around to the idea that his nightmares don't make him weak or flawed. Maybe the inciting incident for that acceptance being that whichever character suits your fancy (I pick, no surprises here, Zoro) has a nightmare and Sanji happens to wake up. Immediately, the first thing he does is grab his book and start reciting a strawberry shortcake recipe or something. One very sleepy marimo later, Sanji feels a little less self conscious.

Everyone on the crew has nightmares, and every once in a while, if someone wakes up in a cold sweat, a nearby crew mate who was woken up by their stirring will just go, "Cookbook?" And they'll sit there listening to the other drone on about whisking eggs and blanching greens until they fall to a peaceful sleep. (Note: Luffy has to have a snack if he is reading or being read the cookbook, otherwise no one gets any sleep.)

[tangledinink]

What events occurred that led to Leo's encounter with the Fae?

oh. you know. the usual. this and that. encounters with hostile invading aliens, near-death experiences...

... and portal magick gone awry, leaving one hopelessly stranded far from home in the feywilds. nothing y'all haven't watched before (...mostly.)

[ ⚘ clover crown ⚘ ]

[howlsofbloodhounds]

I think color should get to hug killer from behind and rest his forehead on killers back between his shoulder blades after a nightmare

[estrellami-1]

Keep Me (And I’ll Keep You)

Ao3 Link

Eddie hums contentedly as he sits on the couch, beer in hand. The couch is cotton, a soft brown that matches the rest of the living room. It’s one of those fancy sectionals that, up until knowing Steve, Eddie had only seen in catalogs. It’s a comfy couch, and he hums again as he settles in, wiggling his butt and shoulders, doing his best to let the couch envelop him.

Steve, to his left, snorts as he sits down. “Looks like you’re trying to become one with the couch.”

“Hey, it’s comfortable,” Eddie says, giving an aborted shrug and leaning his head back.

Steve chuckles, then sobers. “Y’know, sometimes I think when I move out, what’s the one thing I’m gonna miss the most? What’s the one thing I want to bring with me? And nine times out of ten, it’s this couch.”

“What’s the other one?”

“The microwave.” Eddie snickers. “Hey, you laugh, but those things are expensive!” Steve defends himself, also laughing. He’s got one knee up on the couch, turned to face Eddie, leaning sideways against the back of the couch.

A shout startles them both, and Eddie whips his head around to the dining room, where the Party is gathered. Will is DM today, after a long brainstorming session with Eddie. He’d brought the kids here and is available in case Will gets stuck, but Eddie silently thinks Will downplays his abilities. He’s a damn good DM, especially for his age, and Eddie was actively considering joining in.

Ultimately he decided to let the kids have this one. Erica, no doubt, would’ve joked (at least, he thinks it’s a joke) about Eddie cramping their style.

So here he is, relaxing on the couch with the man of the house, who’s relaxing now that he knows there’s no actual danger, only imagined.

Steve sighs, leaning forward to put his beer on the coffee table. “One of these days I’m gonna wake up and find a grey hair, and I’m gonna know it came from them.”

Eddie snorts. “Oh, man, you think that’s bad,” he jokes, and continues on to tell a story about something the kids had done involving Dustin’s second cat, a balloon, and a car tire. He leans forward to put his beer down, too, and when he leans back again Steve slides forward, head coming to rest on Eddie’s shoulder.

And here’s the deal, right? They don’t do that. They don’t casual touch like that. Eddie does, with most anybody, but Steve is in a class of his own, one that Eddie knows not to mess with for his own heart’s sake.

Said heart rabbits in his chest as he freezes, words drying up. He slowly looks over at Steve and sees closed eyes and open mouth. “Oh,” he whispers, cataloging the soft wisp of eyelashes resting on cheeks, the crinkle on his nose, scrunching up his moles, the lips slightly parted, driving damp puffs of breath to land on Eddie’s arm.

The next thing Eddie notices is Steve’s neck is at a weird angle. If he were to guess, he’d say Steve hadn’t been sleeping very well, and waking him is the last thing he wants to do. He tries to shimmy down the couch a little, to relax Steve’s neck some, but Steve’s upper body moves with his head, and now Eddie thinks the crick in his neck is more severe. “Fuck,” he mutters, shimmying down more, because surely it’ll work this time.

Something happens. He doesn’t know what, exactly, just knows that as he shimmies down Steve’s head slides down his shoulder, down his chest, to land on his stomach.

Steve murmurs something and shifts, turning his face into Eddie’s stomach as he stretches out, still asleep.

Butterflies awaken with a vengeance.

Shifting down his body means Eddie’s arm is free. He lifts it up nonsensically, as if not touching Steve of his own will is better than whatever the fuck is happening, but he can only hold his arm up for so long, so he eventually, gently rests it over Steve’s back and side. “What the fuck,” he mouths to himself.

It’s quiet and comfortable, though, the low murmur of voices in the other room doing nothing to keep Eddie awake, so it’s not long before he begins to drift off, too.

Sue him, he hasn’t been sleeping all that well, either.

He opens his eyes to Will walking into the room before seeing them and freezing. Eddie forces himself more awake, blinking rapidly until some of the fog lifts. He gestures Will closer with the hand not on Steve, and Will shakes his head, smiling. “We’re done,” he whispers. “I’ll call Jonathan.”

The words take a minute to make sense in Eddie’s brain. When they do, he shoots Will a thumbs up.

Will leaves, and Eddie succumbs to the siren call of sleep once more.

When he wakes up, he’s alone.

It’s morning, he can tell by the light in the room, natural now instead of artificial. His back is screaming at him, and his neck isn’t too happy either, so he takes his time sitting up and stretching, imagining the jokes Wayne would throw his way.

“Oh,” someone says, and Eddie looks over to see Steve, pink-cheeked, holding two mugs of coffee.

He seems to make a decision and crosses over to the couch, handing Eddie one of the mugs. It’s blue-and-white checkered, like Dorothy’s dress in The Wizard of Oz, and something about it makes Eddie smile even before Steve says, “Here. Enough sugar to give a bull a heart attack.”

Eddie takes a sip and hums gratefully. “Thanks, man.”

“I, uh. Think that’s my line.” Steve’s cheeks are even pinker now, and he’s studiously not looking at Eddie. “And sorry. For falling asleep on you.”

There’s about a million things Eddie wants to say that he bites his tongue on. Ends up with, “Actually, I slept really well last night.”

Steve’s cheeks are still pink, but he at least glances at Eddie when he says, “Yeah. Me too.”

In for a penny, in for a pound, Eddie thinks. “I haven’t been sleeping super well, actually. You know how it is.”

“Yeah,” Steve agrees. “I do.”

It’s silent for a second, long enough that Eddie begins to inanely suggest, “Maybe we could-”

At the same time, Steve starts, “What if we-”

They break off at the same time, blinking at each other before laughing. “You first,” Eddie says.

Steve’s cheeks burn again. “What if we did it again?”

Eddie grins. “I was gonna say maybe we could do it again,” he admits.

Steve giggles, and Eddie has to work to not stare at him with actual hearts in his eyes.

“Not every night,” Eddie hazards. God knows he wants to do it every night. God also knows it’s the fastest way to break his own heart.

“No, of course not. Just- when it gets bad?”

It’s bad every night, Eddie swallows, chokes on. “Yeah,” he says quietly.

“And- we’ll just call each other, I guess.” Steve runs a hand through his hair. “You- you’re welcome to call whenever. Day or night. Doesn’t matter.”

“Same for you.”

“What about Wayne?”

“Works nights. And I’m home during the day. If I’m not, I’m with you guys. No chance of waking him up.”

Steve snickers. “Unless you sleep through the phone ringing.”

Eddie snorts. “Fat chance. Every little sound wakes me up, now.”

Steve really looks at him. “Yeah,” he finally murmurs. “I know how that is.”

They finish their coffee, Eddie leaves, and Steve heads into work.

That night, four seconds before Eddie gets up to call Steve, the phone rings.

He bolts down the hall, grabs it so hard he hears the plastic casing creak. “Hello?”

“Eddie.” Steve sounds… small. Relieved, like he wasn’t sure Eddie would answer. “Thought-” Eddie can hear the crease between his brows. “Dream, I guess.” He sniffs, clears his throat. “Sorry.”

“No, hey,” Eddie tells him, “that’s why we’re doing this, you don’t need to say sorry. D’you wanna stay on the phone for a few more minutes? Or can I go for, like, ten minutes?” Usually the drive to Steve’s house is more like fifteen, he knows, but like hell is he following the speed limits when they’re both feeling like this.

“No,” Steve murmurs. “I can- I can go, sorry, you should- you were asleep, I bet-”

“Nope,” Eddie tells him cheerfully. “I wasn’t asleep and I actually was about to call you. I’m gonna hang up so I can drive over, Steve. Are you at a place where you’ll be okay if I hang up?”

Steve hums. “Think so.”

“I’m not getting off until that’s a yes.”

Steve huffs out a breath. “No, it’s- ‘m fine, sorry, you can- if you wanna go-”

“Steve. You’re kinda proving that you’re not okay right now.”

“Oh.”

Eddie huffs out an approximation of a laugh. “Yeah. Think you can take some deep breaths for me?”

Steve takes a shaky breath. “Yeah.”

“Okay. I’ll do it with you, ready?” He coaches Steve through a breath, then through three more, until Steve’s able to inhale without it sticking. “Good. How’re you feeling?”

“Better,” Steve admits. “You don’t have to come over if you don’t want to.”

“Stevie, baby, I don’t have to do anything.”

He’s grinning, hamming it up for Steve, and can hear the smile in return, the little huff that means a laugh. “But you’re coming over? Because you want to?”

“Ding ding ding, that is correct!” Steve giggles. When it dies down, Eddie quietly says, “I’ll see you in ten, okay?”

“Fifteen,” Steve counters, “don’t speed.”

“Five,” Eddie says nonsensically.

Steve giggles as he says, “You’re already here?”

“I’m already in your bed, are you kiddin’ me? I got there half an hour ago.”

Steve laughs again. When he sobers, he says, “Fifteen. I’ll unlock the door in thirteen, not a minute sooner.”

“You drive a hard bargain,” Eddie says, “seven,” and hangs up to Steve’s laughter.

He’s smiling as he pulls shoes on and grabs his keys and wallet. He’s out the door in two minutes, locking it behind him and hopping into his van.

He makes it to Steve’s in twelve minutes, hoping the door’s unlocked so he can walk in.

Steve opens it before he can even get there. “What happened to fifteen?”

Eddie shrugs, smiles. “You know me.”

Steve rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling as he moves to let Eddie in. “Unfortunately I do.”

“Hey,” Eddie says, affronted, “what’s that mean,” and pulls Steve into a hug before he can say anything.

Steve stiffens for a second, not expecting the hug, but then relaxes into it so quickly Eddie’s almost sure he imagines the stiffness. “Thanks for coming,” he whispers.

“Thanks for calling,” Eddie whispers back, pulling away with a smile. “Bed? Or not yet?”

“Bed,” Steve agrees, leading him upstairs before stopping halfway. “Or- would you prefer the couch?”

“Why the hell would I prefer a couch over a bed,” Eddie demands, nudging Steve to keep him moving. His words are soft, though, as he says, “Wherever you want.”

“Bed,” Steve agrees, just as softly.

They climb in then stare at each other. “How do you wanna do this?” Steve asks him.

“However you want.”

Steve shakes his head. “I’ll take too much,” he whispers.

Eddie thinks, privately, Steve’s more fucked up than anyone knows. “Not if I’m willing to give you everything,” Eddie swears, heart in his throat and on the line. “C’mon. You called me. Help me learn how to help you.”

“You’ll tell me if it’s too much?”

“It won’t be,” Eddie swears, “but yeah. I’ll tell you.”

Steve looks at him for a long moment. Eddie does his best to keep his expression open and willing. He’s not sure how he’s doing, but it must be good enough for Steve, because he burrows in, tucking his face into Eddie’s chest, throwing an arm over Eddie’s waist and relaxing.

Eddie responds in kind, laying an arm over Steve’s, around his back, and pulling him in that little bit closer. “Sleep,” he whispers, even as he succumbs and his eyes close.

When he awakens in the morning, it’s still dark, but Steve’s getting up. He makes a questioning noise, reaching out for him.

Steve squeezes his hand before placing it down again. “Just going to the bathroom,” he whispers. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

He falls back asleep.

When he wakes up again, Steve’s back in bed, curled up against him, breath whiffling across Eddie’s chest.

Something in his chest cracks open as he lets himself study Steve. There’s a slight furrow in his brow, like even in sleep he’s still holding onto stress. Eddie wants to hold him by the ankles and shake him until all the bad thoughts come out and only the good remain. A sigh escapes his mouth at the thought, wisping over Steve’s face, and it’s apparently enough to wake him. Eddie watches as Steve’s face scrunches and his feet kick out in a stretch. He rolls over closer to Eddie, putting his face in Eddie’s chest, then freezes and pulls back, looking up at Eddie with a confused frown that quickly turns into a shy smile. “Morning,” he murmurs.

“Morning,” Eddie responds.

“Y’wake?” Steve asks nonsensically, but Eddie understands: is he really up, or is he going back to sleep.

Eddie shrugs in response. Steve nods, rolling back over into Eddie’s chest and sighing.

The thing in Eddie’s chest cracks more.

He wraps his arm around Steve again. He feels it, the moment Steve falls asleep, all tension leeching from his body.

He’s warm and solid, breathing evenly, and Eddie’s eyes don’t want to open, go longer and longer between blinks.

He falls asleep.

When he wakes up again—the third and final time—Steve’s out of bed, and the sheets are cool to the touch. “What,” he mutters, brows furrowed, palm on the sheets next to him. The area is slowly warming up, from his body heat, but they were definitely cold.

He sits up, stretches, scratches his head, and makes his way downstairs to look for Steve.

He can smell coffee and pancakes halfway down. The thing in his chest is wide open, hungry, hurting.

Hunting.

He thinks, stuck halfway down the stairs, he needs to stay away from Steve.

He has no idea how he’s going to do that.

He finishes his walk and finds himself in the kitchen doorway, leaning against the wall, watching Steve cook.

He flips a pancake, shimmies his hips when the pancake is perfectly brown, and slides it off onto a stack next to him. He pours more batter in and turns to get some coffee, freezing for a second when he sees Eddie. “Hey, you’re up! How’d you sleep?”

Eddie nods, watching Steve walk over to the coffee pot and grab two mugs. “Pancakes are almost done, coffee’s here, sugar’s here-” he points, “-and milk’s in the fridge. Help yourself.”

“Um,” Eddie says, and heads toward the coffee.

Steve grins. “Not a morning person? I can tone it down if you need me to.”

Eddie waves him off, doctors his coffee, and takes a long sip, humming at the taste and warmth. “You’re fine,” he finally says. “I just need, like, five minutes for my brain to go oh, we’re awake, I should work.” He adopts a funny voice for his brain, smirking when Steve laughs.

“Fair enough. Any plans for the day?”

Eddie hums as he thinks through his schedule. “Band practice with the guys tonight, and…” he doesn’t have any plans with Wayne, but he knows he needs to talk this through, so, “Wayne wants my help with… something. I dunno.”

Steve snorts. “Sounds exciting.”

“Oh, yeah, the height of excitement, I’m just gonna expire from anticipation.” He sends Steve a flat look, and Steve cackles as he flips another pancake.

“Well let me know if this super-exciting thing you’re doing needs another set of hands.”

“Will do,” Eddie says. “Thanks for breakfast, by the way.”

Steve shrugs. “I like cooking. Not much reason to when it’s just me, so I don’t usually do pancakes, but I do enjoy it.”

“Well,” Eddie says, leaning on the counter, “isn’t that reason enough?”

Steve stills for a moment, tilting his head. “Huh. I never thought of it that way.”

The thing in Eddie’s chest grumbles.

His stomach also grumbles, and Steve hears that, laughing as he retrieves a plate. “Here, take some, syrup is in the pantry and jelly is in the fridge.” He stacks a plate with four pancakes, thrusting it Eddie’s direction.

Eddie notices there’s only two on his plate, takes one from his pile and puts it on Steve’s. “Only if you eat too.”

Steve smiles at him, a small, real thing that makes the thing, the monster in his chest ache. “Okay.”

Eddie leaves soon after, quoting his thing with Wayne, makes sure Steve knows he can call if he needs someone.

Steve makes sure he knows the same.

The monster claws at his chest.

He covers the wince with a grin, waves on his way out, jumps into his van.

Turns the tape up until the drumbeat drowns out his thoughts.

He’s back to the trailer in fifteen. Wayne’s there, awake, facing the door when Eddie comes through. “Thought so,” he says, first thing. “You needta talk.”

Eddie collapses into a ball on the couch.

Wayne joins him, pulls him in, like he’s two instead of twenty, like a heart in danger of breaking is the same as a skinned knee. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Talk to me. That’s what you do.”

“I really like him, Wayne.”

“Yeah.”

“He’s- he’s so nice, but he-”

He sniffles. Only realizes then that he’s crying. “Wayne,” he asks, “am I a good person?”

“You are.”

“Why’s the worst shit always happen to good people?”

Wayne sighs. “I wish I knew.”

“He’s better than me. And he’s had so much shit thrown his way. And I just- I wanna help but I dunno how when I see him like this.”

“You wanna take care of him.”

“Yeah.” Another sniffle. “But he doesn’t want that.”

“Did he tell you that?”

“Didn’t need to. I can see it.”

Wayne hums. “Y’know when you first got here, you were scared of me? Not ‘cause I’m Al’s brother. Because of me. ‘Cause my face scared you. You thought I was always mad. Sometimes what you see isn’t how it is.”

“But how do I know?”

“You don’t. Not unless you talk to him.” He rubs a hand down Eddie’s spine. “How ‘bout that Birdie girl? She’s his best friend. She might be able to tell you more.”

“She won’t tell me anything.”

“My momma had a saying. Honesty begets honesty. Talk to her. Tell her the truth. She’ll tell you a truth right back.”

“…Today?”

“Better sooner ‘n later, but I guess it don’t gotta be today.”

Eddie sighs. “Today.” He picks at the knee of his sleep pants, worn with age. “How?”

“How do you talk to her?”

“Mhm.”

“Honesty, boy. ‘S about all y’got.”

Eddie sighs, leans into Wayne. Lets himself be held for a moment longer.

Wayne sighs, too. “Wanna watch that animal documentary?”

Eddie immediately perks up. “Really? You’ll watch it with me?”

Wayne smiles, nudges him off his lap. “Go put it in.”

Eddie grins as he races to do so, and the next two hours is lost to polar bears and orcas.

After it’s over, Wayne stands with a sigh and ruffles Eddie’s hair as he walks past. “Got work tonight. Y’mind bein’ quiet today?”

Eddie hums. “Imma go find Robin. Talk to her. Wish me luck.”

“Y’dont need it,” Wayne says, “but luck anyways.” He waves as he passes into his room.

Eddie grabs his car keys, looks down, and sets the keys back down before trudging to his room to change.

Soon enough he’s walking into Family Video. “Buckley!” He greets happily.

“Munson!” She parrots before her voice flattens. “The fuck you want.” Her eyes are sparkling, though, and the corners of her mouth are twitching up, so he pays no mind to her words. He drapes himself over the counter with a dramatic sigh. “You ‘lone?”

“Yeah.”

“Can we… talk?”

“This is starting to feel like a visit to the principal’s office.”

He pops his head up, eyes wide. “No, no, no! It’s not that at all! It’s me.” He lays his head back down with another sigh. “It’s… okay, so, let’s say, hypothetically, I… liked someone.”

“Steve, got it, go on.”

He puts an arm over his face. “And let’s say—still hypothetically—I did something, said something, that means we’re gonna be in close contact a lot more than before.”

“Okay. I’m following so far.”

He shrugs. “What do I do?”

“What’s the thing?”

“Y’know how he hosted Hellfire last time?”

“Sure.”

“Well I wasn’t playing, Will was DM and I was just there for guidance if he needed it, which he didn’t, kid’s a natural, but. Anyways. I was sitting with Steve in the living room, and we were talking, and I start telling him this story and… he falls asleep on my shoulder.” He groans. “And he looked so peaceful, I couldn’t disturb that, y’know?”

“Okay, I’m following so far.”

“Well turns out when there’s nothing to do but sit there, you end up falling asleep, too.” He clenches a hand in his hair. “We cuddled, Birdie. And then we told each other that we slept well, so I, like the absolute fool I am, said he can call me. If he wants. If he needs someone.”

“He called you last night.”

“He did. I dunno what to do, Robbie.”

“I’m not in the business of telling you what to do. But I can tell you if you told him, he wouldn’t react badly.”

“You’re sure?”

She lays her head down next to his, meeting his eyes. “I’d bet my life on it.”

“So… you think I should tell him?”

“I can’t tell you what to do, Eddie.”

He groans and shuts his eyes. “This sucks.”

“Feelings usually do,” she nods, standing up and ruffling his hair. “But if I were you, I’d talk to him.”

Eddie makes a face. “Today?”

Robin shrugs. “Is there a better time?”

Eddie thinks it through. “Tomorrow,” he decides. He looks up at Robin. “If I don’t tell him tomorrow, can you tell him the day after?”

Robin raises her brows. “You want me to?”

“Yeah. Like… like incentive. Because if I know it’s gonna happen anyways, it’s better if I do it, right?”

Robin smiles. “I’ll tell him the day after tomorrow if you don’t.”

“Thanks.” He squeezes her hand, straightens up. Smiles. “I’ve gotta run. You’re a good friend, Buckley.”

She smiles, rolls her eyes. “Get outta here, Munson.”

His grin grows wider. “You’re a good friend, Buckley, I don’t know what I do without you!”

“Die, probably,” she deadpans, also grinning. She makes a shooing motion. “You said you’ve gotta run, so go!”

He laughs and runs out, waving over his shoulder.

He makes it to practice just as Gareth does, and not much practice happens that day, but is it really his fault that Jeff’s mom made lemonade and cookies for them?

He gets home that night, tired but happy, and watches a little TV before going to bed.

It’s a scary movie, not one he’s seen before, with a girl with long, dark hair, obscuring her face. She seems to grin right at Eddie and walks toward the camera. He laughs, because it doesn’t even look real.

Except suddenly it is. Suddenly she’s climbing through the screen, doing things he’s never seen a contortionist do, and heading straight for him. He scrambles over the couch and runs for his room, the girl close behind. He closes and locks the door, searching for his walkie. When he finds it, he depresses the button and yells, “Code red! I repeat, code red! Can anyone hear me?”

Only static greets him when he lets go of the button. His hand begins to shake.

“Code red,” he says again, quieter this time. “Please help, someone, please- it’s a code red, I’m serious!”

She rattles his doorknob, long fingers sneaking under his door, reaching and growing until they can almost reach the lock.

“Hello?” Someone calls out from inside the trailer.

Steve.

“Oh, holy shit-” he can hear Steve scramble back. “Eddie? Are you okay?”

“Uh,” Eddie says, “I’m alive?”

The fingers stop growing. In the blink of an eye, they’re gone. The girl hisses, and Steve whispers out another curse.

Eddie tiptoes to his door amid the sound of fighting. When everything goes quiet, he opens his door.

He can’t see anything at first. He silently walks out of his room, looking around, freezing at the sight of Steve on the ground, eyes open, mouth agape, and the girl crouching over him.

She’s hissing at Eddie, but he can’t even care about that right now, because Steve is looking directly at him, and he knows what it looks like when someone’s dead, and he-

Steve-

Eddie swallows bile, drops to his knees. “Steve?”

He never got the chance to say anything.

Only had one day to enjoy holding him.

He could’ve had longer, if he’d said something before now, if he’d made a move-

Or if not, at least Steve wouldn’t be here, dead-

He swallows a sob. The girl turns to him, still hissing, and slowly advances.

He closes his eyes. Waits for the inevitable. Sends a silent apology to his uncle.

Except… nothing happens.

He blinks his eyes open carefully, confused when he’s in his dark room. He sits up, looking around, grateful the moon is bright enough to light up his room enough for him to see.

He creeps out of bed, carefully opens his door, and looks around.

His eyes catch on the place he’d seen Steve dead, and it’s a dream, he knows it was, but he still feels-

He dials. Tries to keep breathing as the phone rings. “‘Lo?”

“Steve?”

“Eddie.” A yawn. “You alright, man?”

“Uh,” Eddie says, looking for the right words, but apparently Steve speaks Eddie.

“Am I going over there or are you coming over here?”

“N-no, you- you don’t have to-”

“Eddie. I don’t have to do anything. I’m doing this because I want to. Are you gonna be okay for fifteen minutes?”

“Define okay,” Eddie says, still unsure what words mean. What he’s saying.

“Okay, that’s a no. Eddie, I need you to take a couple of deep breaths for me, okay? I’ll do it too. Ready? We’re gonna breathe in… in… in… now hold it, two, three, four, now out… slowly… out… and hold. Two, three, four. Twice more, okay?”

He guides Eddie through the exercise, pausing when they finish. “How’re you feeling now?”

“Better,” Eddie agrees, sighing. “I’m sorry, man, you really don’t have to come over.”

Steve scoffs. “Unlock the door, Eddie, I’ll be there in fifteen, alright?”

“M’kay,” Eddie murmurs.

“Okay. I’ll see you.”

“Yeah. See you.”

Steve ends the call, and Eddie blinks as he puts the phone back on the hook. He moves to unlock the door then sits on the couch. He doesn’t look at the TV, doesn’t look at the spot on the floor where Steve-

He flinches, a full-body shudder, when the door opens. “Eddie?” Steve asks, locking eyes with him. “Hey, man, everything okay?”

He’s alive. He’s breathing, he’s moving, he’s-

Eddie reaches out for him, face shuddering, and Steve’s quick to respond, crossing the room in three long steps and throwing himself onto the couch next to Eddie, pulling him into a hug, and Eddie can breathe again.

“Fuck,” he mutters into Steve’s neck.

“Bad one, huh?”

He holds Steve tighter. “Dreamed… code red. No one answered. You- you came.” He swallows. “I saw-” he shakes his head, buries his face into Steve’s neck. “I know what it looks like when someone dies,” he whispers.

Steve stiffens, then relaxes and pulls Eddie even closer. “I’m so sorry.”

“I keep- seeing, you-”

“Hey.” Steve grabs his neck, makes him look at his face. “I’m right here, okay? Im right here. I’m okay. You’re okay. We’re both here, and we’re both alive.” He grabs Eddie’s hand, puts it on his chest, over his heart. “Feel that? Feel my heartbeat?”

Eddie looks down at his hand. Feels the rising and falling of his chest from breathing. Feels the steady thump-thump of his heart. “Yeah,” he whispers.

“I’m right here,” Steve promises, also whispering.

Eddie lets out a shaky sigh and rests his forehead on Steve’s shoulder. “Yeah.”

Steve rubs his back for a few minutes, then pulls back a little to ask, “Wanna try and go back to bed?”

Eddie shakes his head.

“Okay. How about TV?”

“No.” His fingers clench, digging into Steve’s chest, and Steve’s hand comes up to cover his, to smooth it back out, to calm him down.

“That’s okay. How about we get something to drink?”

Eddie sighs, takes one deep breath, lets it out. “I’m a shit host,” he jokes. “You want somethin’?”

“I was thinking tea for you,” Steve replies, smile evident in his voice. “How about it? A nice cuppa?”

Eddie snorts and pulls away. “Alright then, mate,” he jokes, affecting a British accent, then back to his normal voice. “Long as you’ll join me.”

“Always,” Steve promises, and the monster growls.

Steve makes the tea. He won’t let Eddie help, but doesn’t oppose to him sitting on the counter and watching.

After they’re finished, Eddie dumps the mugs in the sink with a mental promise to get to them tomorrow. “Okay,” he says around a yawn, “your tea worked. I’m tired.”

Steve smiles. “Bed?”

“Bed,” Eddie agrees, pushing the monster in his chest down and taping its mouth shut. He only hesitates a little when he sees his bed, but climbs in anyways, holding the covers up for Steve.

They get settled, and before he knows it, Eddie’s drifting off.

He wakes up to sunlight on his face. He groans and rolls over, snorting and pushing back when he runs into Steve, who had already been awake. “Morning,” Steve offers.

Eddie plops his head back down and resolutely shuts his eyes.

“Or not,” Steve agrees, amused.

He’s about to speak, to wake up more, when Steve shifts and puts a hand in his hair.

He melts.

He thinks his brain might be melting out of his ears, all his thoughts leaking with it, because suddenly his head is blissfully blank.

He falls asleep again.

He wakes up as Steve settles back in bed next to him, glancing up with bleary eyes. He’s got a steaming mug in one hand, glancing down at Eddie with a smile. “Morning?”

Eddie hums out something that isn’t a word in any language. He blinks, long and slow, but he’s up. He tilts his head away from the pillow to speak. “Wha’s-” he squints at the mug. “Coffee?”

Steve smiles, grabs a second mug from the nightstand, hands it over. “Enough sugar to knock out the Duracell bunny,” he teases, and Eddie’s hard pressed not to blurt out a love confession right here and now.

Except… why not, he thinks. He promised Robin he would. And sure, it doesn’t have to be right this second, but… when else would he do it? He knows himself, he’d just chicken out.

He sits up, accepts the mug. Hums at the sweet taste. Gulps down half of it in the hopes of it waking him up faster.

Steve snorts. “You’re not gonna run out, Eds, there’s more in the pot and we can always make more.”

Eddie smiles sheepishly at Steve. “‘M tryin’a wake up faster.”

Steve rolls his eyes fondly. “You don’t have to be up just because I am, dude.”

Eddie shakes his head, leans against the wall. Can’t look at Steve when he says, “No, I, uh. Actually wanted to talk to you?”

He can see, in his periphery, Steve turning to look at him. “About what?”

He works his lip, takes another sip. “About…” he sighs. “About what we’re doing. About how I don’t think we should.” He ducks his head. “I- I know you don’t feel the same, and it’s fine, I swear, I can get over myself. But I can’t if we keep doing this. ‘Cause I’m, like… stupidly gone on you, man. And I can’t- I can’t keep doing this.” He shuts his eyes. “I could, I could make myself, I could try to tune it out, I could- I could break my own heart. Which is exactly why I can’t.” He doesn’t know when his voice lowered into a whisper, but it did, and the last word comes out scared and breathy.

Steve takes a shaky breath. “You… like me?”

Eddie breathes in. Breathes out. Nods.

Steve swallows audibly, turns to face him. “How?”

He’s whispering, too, and Eddie looks up at him. Looks into honey-brown eyes, full of muted hope. “How do I like you?” Steve nods, and Eddie blows out a breath. “I like you… in the way I always want to make you laugh. In the way I want to always be there for you when you’re sad, or scared, or need help. In the way I want to know every piece of you so well I know how you’re feeling before you do. I want to make you dinner, and pull you close on the couch when we’re watching a movie, and wake up every morning to your face. I want to take you to Enzo’s and play footsie under the table with you until we’re both laughing way too hard and the waitress is staring at us because she just wants us to order. I want to scream it from the rooftops, even though I know I can’t. I want to hold your hand and run my fingers through your hair.”

“You want to keep me,” Steve whispers.

Eddie nods slowly. “Yeah. I want to keep you. I want you to be mine the way I’ve been yours.”

“I am yours,” Steve murmurs. “I want you to keep me.” He watches Eddie for a second. “You want to kiss me?”

Edie looks up at him. Slowly nods.

“Then do it,” Steve whispers in a hiss, and Eddie does.

And he does thoroughly.

“Mine,” he whispers against Steve’s lips.

Steve pulls back, takes his mug, puts it on the nightstand with his own. Turns back to Eddie, grabs his hand, lays his head on Eddie’s chest. “Yours,” he whispers, smiling when Eddie puts his other hand in his hair.

They don’t fall asleep. It’s a close thing, but they don’t have time before Steve has to get up for work.

He hesitates in the doorway. “Tonight,” he murmurs, then falls silent.

Eddie smiles at him. “Come over?”

Steve brightens, nods. The monster in Eddie’s chest purrs, satisfied.

[truths33k3r4]

(Warnings for this chapter are at the bottom of the page to keep from giving away spoilers.)

CHAPTER 9 - Dreams of the Haunted

Raphael watched as Lotus finally stilled in Leo’s arms, her stuttered breaths and sniffles slowly descending into silence. Her panicked words twisted and pulled at his mind, deepening his growing concern for her. Frustration began building in his heart as he watched someone so frail and scared fight a horrific, inner battle.

And all he could do was watch.

It brought him no comfort that he was the one that possibly sparked such awful memories in the frightened girl. How she looked at him… It was as if he was the ghost inhabiting all of her nightmares. As if it were him that caused her to flail out of bed in sporadic jolts, wearing beads of sweat on her trembling brow.

 The familiar, sticky tentacles of guilt quickly slithered around his heart, constricting the limited air in his lungs, and filling his mind with useless reprimands.

You shoulda just left her to Leo.

It’s your fault she’s afraid all the time.

She’s scared of you.

Raph shook his head in an attempt to focus back to the matter at hand.

The “matter” that now laid limp in his oldest brother’s arms, softly sighing and nestling into his plastron. The fiery brother watched in silent adoration as Leo stroked the young girl’s shell, successfully calming her enough to make her fall back to sleep. Raph remembered seeing Leo do the same calming motion when they were kids, using it to settle a frightened youngest brother surrounded by darkness, or steady a stressed nerd with too much homework, or simmer down a heated temper with nowhere to go but out.

Raph had used it once or twice as well. The faint memory passed through his mind like a soft breeze as he remembered Leo’s shuttering body hidden fully in his shell after another nightmare. However awkward that night had begun, Raph still recalled it with a warm endearment, remembering all of his brothers combining forces to bring comfort to their newly titled “leader”. Yeah, it was cramped and full of mushy feelings and tears; Three things Raph himself normally hated more than Math homework, but it was all worth it to be there for Leo. 

It was all worth it to bring comfort to their comforter.

As Lotus let out one final, heavy exhale, Leo skillfully weaved out of her embrace, laying her down gently onto the pillow and carefully draping the blanket over her. She didn’t stir the slightest, seemingly sinking deeper and deeper into the cushion of the mattress and the grounding weight of the blanket. Leo sighed as he looked down at her, his shoulders and body falling as if another weight had landed atop them. Tenderly, he reached out and wiped away the last of her tears speckling her cheeks. 

And he wonders why he was the best pick for Team Medic. Stinkin’ show off.

As Leo pushed himself off the floor with a winced grunt, he patted the dirt and grime off his knees and legs. Raph’s eyes involuntarily widened at the dark patches of dirt littering his oldest brother’s body. Normally the brothers kept their room a bit more tidy than that, but…

…a lot had happened. And some things carried more priority than household chores. 

“Raph, come on!” Leo shout-whispered, knocking the fiery brother’s train of thought clean off its tracks. “She’s asleep. Let’s go.” 

Raph gave a slight nod and followed his brother into the hallway, the two siblings being as silent and swift as wind sweeping across snow.

 They walked side by side in the hall, remaining quiet even after they were far past the brothers’ bedroom. Raph couldn’t help but subtly peer his eyes across to Leo, gauging what was going through the leader’s head. It wasn’t abnormal for the eldest to go silent, far from it in fact. Especially after something big happening, Leo would normally not speak as he contemplated the next best course of action. This had actually formed into a problem when they were younger, with Raph and Don’s impatience being stretched to their limits as they had to just wait for their leader to find a solution without a single conversation being had. That had sparked many unneeded forest fires of fury between the twins and their leader. 

Raph couldn’t help but snicker to himself as he remembered how ticked off Don had gotten, spouting off facts and insults in tandem when he wasn’t kept in the know-how. 

“Raph- What was that?” Leo asked suspiciously as he turned his gaze towards the fiery brother. “... Why… are you laughing??” He asked with a slight tint of incredulous confusion in his tone.

With Leo’s frosty irises now locked onto him, Raph found it a little hard to open his mouth and make words come out. 

“Uh… I was…”

Just speak, it ain’t that hard!!

“...Um…”

Leo’s Mom Glare™ suddenly shot up to a “should I be worried??” expression.

JUST. FRIGGIN. TALK.

Raph forcefully rolled his shoulders to release some of the energy building in his body.

“Heheh I was… rememberin’ how ticked off Don got when you went quiet on our missions. You remember the crazy insults he called you?”

Leo’s interrogative gaze flickered and dissipated as he turned his face to the ceiling and sighed with a smile.

“Ahhh yes…” The eldest huffed as his grin grew in nostalgic amusement. “Dad caught him swearing so many times so he just decided to make up new insults…Ah man, which one had you and me cracking up that one time?”

“Ooof, dude. How could ya pick? There’s too many good ones HA!”

“... Was it “Lint Licker”? Or maybe “Shiitake Mushroom head”, HAHA!!!”

Hearing the past substituted insults ignited a warm, soothing flame to ignite in Raph’s heart, leaving him clutching his stomach with how hard he was now laughing alongside his brother.

“WAIT WAIT- HAHAHEEE- Do you remember the time he called you a “Mother Clucker”?! BROOO I couldn’t even breathe I was laughin’ so hard!!!”

“OH DANG- HAHA!!! I can’t believe I forgot that one!!!” Leo was now clutching at his side too, leaning his shell against the wall of the hallway for support as he cackled and sniffed away tears from his eyes. “Don was so mad his face was as red as your mask!!!”

Now Raph could barely breathe with how hard he was laughing.

“Heee… He just sat there- HAHA- With his arms crossed holdin’ his breath- HAHAHA!!! You were afraid he was gonna pass out!!”

“He almost did!!! You had to catch him!!!” Leo’s voice cracked and broke with the laughter erupting out of his throat. Without meaning to, some of his words shot to an extremely high pitch, only worsening Raph’s guffaws to the point where he collapsed to the floor, splayed out and pressing down onto his torso.

There the two brothers were, one propped against a wall, the other laying flat on the ground, laughing.

Despite all that they had been through.

Here they were.

Laughing.

As their chuckles petered out to sniffs and snickers, Leo pushed himself off the wall and walked up to Raph’s prone body. The eldest reached out his hand with a big, real smile gracing every inch of his face. Raph couldn’t help but return Leo’s kindness with his own grin, gratefully accepting his big brother’s hand and allowing himself to be helped off the floor.

“Come on…” Leo laughed again, gasping for air, “Let’s go check on the Clean Up Crew.”

Raph nodded with a knowing smile as the two continued down to the living room.

“MIKEY!!! DON!!” Raph called out with his hand cupping the side of his face. “WHERE YOU GUYS AT??” 

After being answered with silence, Leo and Raph ventured into the kitchen. Walking past the doorway, the first thing Raph noticed was the “used” trash bin propped near the sink. The second thing he noticed, or rather was SMACKED ACROSS THE FACE WITH, was the pungent smell of lavender fumes filling up the entire room. Both his and Leo’s eyes immediately sprung up with more tears as they began to flap their arms to wave out some of the potent aroma. It didn’t do much, and unfortunately, living in the sewers, there were no windows to open and let out the powerful scent. So they just stood there for a bit, waving their arms, until finally both of them gave up in between hacks and coughs and simply retreated to the couch instead.

Comparatively, hacking and choking on fumes was apparently a much more effective way to beckon for their little brother instead of just casually calling to him. 

“What the shell happened to you guys??” Mikey yelled as he ran through the lair’s entrance into the living room. He was out of breath and wearing far-too-big gloves on his hands.

“Us?? *COUGH COUGH*- What- a-about you?? WHY were you *HACK* up top?!” Leo sputtered indignantly as he turned his head to look at his thirteen year old brother that was apparently alone in the big, scary world that towered above them.

Raph chuckled as he watched Mikey roll his eyes and tsk at the eldest’s obvious concern.

“Leooo I’m fineeee. I literally just took out the trash, CHILL.” Mikey grumbled as he pulled off the oversized gloves from his fingers.

“I will NOT CHILL.” Leo retorted right back, now wearing his patented Mom Glare™ and speaking as if he were Mikey’s parent rather than his oldest sibling, “You, young mutant, are thirteen. You aren’t allowed up top by yourself, you know that.”

“Yeah~ I’m fully aware, Mom-o-nardo. But Don was busy trying to hold in his lunch, so I took care of it.” Mikey sluggishly declared, his words dripping with nonchalance. “You’re welcome~.” He flicked his hands with the dramatic flair of a magician, tossing the gloves onto a nearby side table, effectively making them ‘disappear’ from his person. 

Raph let out a silent “Ooooh~” as he turned to see how Leo would react. And as always, the eldest did not disappoint.

“Do I need to tell Master Splinter of your little solo errand?” Leo asked in a tone that was as cold and sharp as an icicle’s tip. 

The youngest’s face fell immediately as Leo played his highest card:

“I’M GONNA TELL DAD.”

Classic oldest sib move, Raph thought to himself. Game set match.

With an offended pout only a youngest sibling could pull off, Mikey growled and stomped his way into the kitchen.

 He quickly regretted his decision.

Raph and Leo couldn’t help the satisfied grins crawling up their faces as they heard Mikey begin to cough violently, clapping his hands over his snout and hightailing it back into the living room. He unceremoniously crumpled to the floor in a hacking heap.

Raph leaned further into the couch cushions and rested his head over his crossed arms, while he watched his little brother writhe dramatically on the floor. With a quick glance, he saw that Leo was subtly checking if Mikey was actually okay or if he was just being dramatic. He obviously came to the same conclusion Raph did as the two oldest siblings sat back and watched, the smiles on their faces never leaving for a second.

“Yeah… seems Don did one shell of a job “decontaminating” the trash bin, huh lil bro?”

Mikey’s head lifted from the ground long enough for him to spit out, “I BET ASTRONAUTS COULD SMELL THAT.”

Leo shook his head as he rolled his eyes, allowing a faint smile to grow on his face. Raph couldn’t help but ask himself how long it had been since so much laughter and smiles had graced the rooms of his home. 

In order to keep the bright composure he was carrying on his face, he pushed aside that thought and just sat as he watched his brothers just be kids again.

. . .

Images flashed past Raphael’s eyes as his body was forcefully shoved through a long, grey hallway. Echoes of horrified and pained screams blared into his skull. Shadows peeled from the walls and engulfed him, slithering their arms into tight bands around his biceps and ankles. Despite the fear penetrating every cell of his body, his mind remained completely hollow, as if he didn’t carry enough strength to create a simple thought. 

The only voice that could be heard in his mind wasn’t his own.

It promised safety and warmth; an easy way out of this trap. Its gravely whispers poked and scratched inside his head, trying to tangle and pull apart any chords of willpower he had left. He could sense the bristling flame of his determination and spirit continue to flicker into nothing. With each seductive, hushed word, a vital part of his identity was extinguished, replaced with an empty husk of compliance.

He wanted to scream, to run, to fight. He longed to beat the shell out of the siren that continued to whisper and enchant his body to bend to its will. 

His mouth stayed shut. 

His legs remained still.

His hands hung limp at his sides, bristling the tipped edges of his sais.

Now watching as if a spectator in his own body, Raph’s legs began to move. They pressed forward with an unnatural uniformity, pulling him closer to a pair of doors leading into a frighteningly familiar room. Raph watched as a pair of crimson-tipped fingers unlocked the door, beckoning him to continue on his way inside. No matter how much Raph’s spirit bit and snarled and yanked, his body complied with the voice’s wishes.

His form climbed into a cushioned chair surrounded by heavy machinery littering every surface. The haunting shine of scalpels and saws glistened on trays set up near his head. His wrists and ankles were slid into metal cuffs as his body unnaturally relaxed into the reclining chair. Lights began flashing as the machinery around him began to glow in a sickly neon green.

“LET ME GO!!!”

Raph’s spirit froze at the sound of the new voice screeching at the doorway. It was a voice he could never forget; A voice of someone who drove him crazy, and pushed him to always do his best in everything he ever did. A scratchy tone that would sometimes pop into a high-pitched crack, leaving him dying laughing on the floor and dodging random office supplies being hurled at him.

His best friend.

“I SAID LET ME GO!!! WHERE’S MY BROTHER?” Don snarled as he was dragged into the room by two hulking jerks, twisting and yanking at the freckled mutant’s chains. He winced as they threw him into the similar chair positioned beside Raph.

NO!! PLEASE NO!!!

Raph’s pleads and screams never left his body’s lips. He could only watch as his twin was forced down into the chair, the two men not being gentle in the slightest as they tugged Don’s limbs through the cuffs with a loud *CLANG*.

“RAPH!!” Don yelled to the hollow husk of his twin in both concern and relief at the same time,”RAPH WAKE UP!! WE NEED TO GET OUT OF HERE!!!”

The fiery brother couldn’t look away as Don’s face fell when his twin didn’t even acknowledge his existence, nevermind his words.

“...R-Raph?... What did they do to you?!- WHAT DID YOU DO TO HIM!!!” Don ignited in a furious explosion of raw, protective instincts as masked doctors began filling the room.

Even with Don’s kicking and screaming, clawing and biting, and choice vocabulary that would send his father into a coma, the doctors still swiftly worked around him, preparing the machine that menacingly hovered above the two twins. Nurses began attaching small, metal nodes onto the sides of the brothers’ temples; Don’s on the left, and Raph’s on the right. The freckled brother didn’t stop squirming and fighting for one second, using all his energy to somehow escape his binds. But Raph remained still, his mind fully possessed by the siren that dwelled inside.

With a small *click* the machine began to operate. Raph watched as his twin began to scream, not in protest, but in pain. His body twisted and jolted as if he were being impaled by a lightning bolt. 

NO! 

Raphael’s spirit began to burn. 

NO…

His anger blazed in an uncontrollable pyre.

I… WILL NOT… 

His body’s hand twitched.

..LET…

His placid face began to sneer and snarl.

YOU…

His eyes burst open.

HURT HIM!!!!!

His spirit lunged through its prison, disintegrating the coils of control the siren once possessed. The chords of his identity and soul found their purchase in the core of his mind, planting themselves deeply, and never allowing such intrusion again. With the fury of a lion and the love of a protector he screamed,

“GET AWAY FROM HIM!”

Electricity sparked and stuttered through him in an instant, coursing through every muscle and fiber. It pulled his limbs taut, causing a deep ache to ignite in his bones. His skull rang with loud static, and his body twitched uncontrollably.

His body.

He fought against his binds, shattering the metal into pieces.

The lights on the machine flashed and popped, spraying the surrounding doctors with shards of glass. The panels of the contraption began to shake, as the device rapidly began to overload. 

The room was swallowed by the following explosion, bathed in an iridescent, blinding white.

Raphael and Donatello gasped simultaneously as they shot up, flinging their blankets off their chests.

Sweat beads trickled down Raph’s face as he shuddered and snatched onto his blanket. His fingers pressed deeply into the fibers, cushioning his nails instead of allowing them to penetrate skin. The thick, warm feel of the fabric pulled him back from fantasy, and planted him firmly in reality.

I’m home…

I’m safe…

I’m okay…

He chanted these words over and over in his mind until a cool, slurring voice broke his concentration.

“Raph?... You a’right, man?” Leo groggily whispered from his place on the spare mattress in the middle of the room. In the darkness the eldest’s frosty irises glowed as they locked onto Raph. 

Before the fiery brother could turn away from his sibling’s concerned gaze, Leo was already pulling away his sheets and blanket, tidily folding them over the edge of his bed, before silently crossing the room to Raph’s bedside.

CRUD CRUD CRUD-

NO- SHOO- GO AWAY- NOT NOW-

Raph immediately turned over, flopping to face the wall of his nook away from Leo.

“-I-I’m fine, Leo. Go back ta bed.” He subtly hissed through his fangs, hoping and praying that he was not about to get a big ol’ talk about feelings from the oldest. 

“Yeahhh, I’m not gonna buy that.” Leo yawned as he sat down on the floor beside Raph’s mattress. “A fighter you are. An actor you’re not. Now what’s going on?”

“I said I’m fine.” Raph curtly mumbled into his blanket.

“Still don’t believe you, try again.” Leo sighed as he rubbed at his eyes.

“I SAID I’M FINE.” Raph finally snapped a little too loudly, twisting his body to face his oldest brother. 

Leo winced at the volume of his brother’s expected outburst, then simply shook his head with an unimpressed frown. But before he could say another word, his expression changed as he noticed something about his fiery brother’s face. His mouth parted minisculely as he reached out his hand. 

Raph’s temper and pride demanded he swat it away, but his curiosity and love for his brother won out against his stubbornness. He remained still as Leo’s hand softly landed on the side of Raphael’s face, rubbing something wet off it.

Oh crap I’m crying.

DANG IT NOW HE’S NEVER GONNA LEAVE…

The concern over Leo’s face softened slightly, as he asked again, in a firmer “I am the oldest but I’m also your leader” tone, 

“What’s going on?”

Once again, Raph was completely trapped. Not by a psycho scientist, or by some evil, government organization, but by his perfectionistic, calm, and deeply concerned oldest brother.

There was no way he was going to get out of this one…

And that's it for this chapter! :) You all have been begging to see more of what happened to Don and Raph at the labs, so I present to you a nightmare~. This chapter was certainly tricky to figure out at first- with so many different scenes compiled together, it was hard to keep a steady flow for my reader, but I'm really happy with how it turned out! :) AAAAnd yes, I did say that I would only draw one panel for each chapter, but I COULDN'T HELP ITTTTTT!!!

Feel free to reblog and share this!

BIG THANK YOU to @poetique823 for helping me and encouraging me through this chapter!

@writer-in-wonder, @allyheart707, @oddartistl3, @risebabyx2, @joyjoygorl, @carrots-bear, @howtotrainyourdragonprince, @jasminegazer, @indieyuugure

If you want to be tagged in the next chapter, please comment down below! :)

To God be the glory!

~ Melissa

(CW- Nightmares, past medical trauma, being held down, and mind control!!)

MASTERPOST <- PRIOR CHAPTER NEXT CHAPTER ->

[lay-z]

I had such a strange fucking nightmare omfg

It involved Simon and Johnny, who somehow got stranded in some cabin and then three 17 tear old girls showed up and became obsessed with Simon (which he hated) and then Johnny got jealous of the attention Simon was getting from them (freak) and everyone died at the end.

I wasn't even fucking part of the dream??? It felt like watching the most fucked up movie I've ever watched and now I'm nauseous and sad 😭

Limbs, lives, and sanities were lost in that one, holy shit.

[hymemena]

Send ｡゜(｀Д´)゜｡ To Wake My Muse From A Nightmare!

Remember to specify muse for multimuse blogs!

[diary-of-a-loser-boy]

if I have more nightmares I’m shooting myself

[c-u-c-koo-4-40k]

Warped Dreaming

TW: Nightmare, Brief Suggestive Description, Panic Attack, A Heart gets Ripped out, Self Hatred, Paranoia, PTSD, Nonbinary/Gender Neutral Reader

Tags: @kit-williams @sleepyfan-blog @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan (Thanks for lettin me borrow Karlsor) @bispecsual

@bleedingichorhearts @egrets-not-regrets @moodymisty

Summary: Another brief interlude. Even though Lullaby's body rests their mind remains frazzled. Even sleep offers minimal relief, and in this case, torment. But are their nightmares just that? Or is something more than just trauma lingering on their soul.

Edit: Changed a line near the end to connect it back to a previous chapter.

This is the Next Chapter of a Story that Starts with this Drabble Here:

The Previous Chapter can be found Here:

Next Chapter Up Now Here!

Plip…

…Drip…

Drip…

Drip…

It's dark…so dark…

Your footsteps echo as you walk.

…drip…

…drip…

The walls are slick, beige brown sodden stone dampened by the atmosphere.

Yet you persist, walking on.

…drip…

…drip…

You're alone…just you and the jagged cave walls…

…drip…

… … drip …

Yet something…someone…must be here right?

…drip…drip…drip,drip,drip

You come to a large shear wall, the dampness has gotten worst. It seems to seep into your bones, weighing you down.

Down…down…down…

Your hand spreads plaintively against the wet cold rock, not desperation, but like resignation.

Your heart feels too heavy to fear.

-But this is what you deserve isn't it?-

Drip…Drip…Splash…Splash-GUSHHHHHHHHHHH!

You whip around, and as if in slow motion, you see your fate.

A swarming, roaring flood of water breaks through the cavern wall.

The heaviness doesn't leave, but panic pushes it aside.

No, NoNoNo NO!

You jump at the wall, scramble to climb, desperate, clinging.

If you can get up this wall…maybe…

Maybe you can save your worthless life…

Cheat the Grim Reaper a second time…

With each motion, each stone feeling as if it's biting into your hands.

The flood waters slam into the wall seeming to grasp upward like deadly claws.

You hazard a glance down.

The waters swirl and churn, as if with anger.

And your gut drops with horror as you see a face in the maelstrom.

Soulless hollow long black eyes, and an equally anguished stretched mouth, amidst a body contorted but armored.

Armored in heraldry of some great ruler you'll never live to know.

The water rises, no…not water. The beast with swirled gnarled twisted form lunges from the base of the wall.

Trying to snatch you from your perch against the slippery rock.

SLAM!!! It's leap is shy the distance, but the impact rattles the stone.

But you Hold.

Why do you hold?

Because despite everything you Want to live.

You climb, you climb as your heart pounds and your hands bleed, but you see the cliff. The top! Your salvation!

Your undoing, your next grab or perhaps it was your foot hold. Too quick, too impatient.

You feel yourself slip and begin to free fall.

"-!"

You stop falling. You're suspended, not in the cave, but in pure darkness. But it doesn't feel frightening, it feels…safe, like being wrapped in a velvet blanket.

Sheltered…warm… The dampness and cold can't find you here.

You try to move, just a little, and the dark velvet around you shifts. There's a fluffier downy texture that rubs against your face. It feels so wonderful, and you nuzzle back without hesitation

"Prrrrrrrrrrr…"

You know that sound. "Khopesh?" Your voice comes out hollow and small, but it doesn't matter. A familiar pale face seems to morph into being from the dark.

Framed with long dark hair you want to run your fingers through.

Set with mirthful twinkling dark eyes, and a jaunty crooked nose.

With pale ashen scarred lips you desperately want to kiss.

So you do. "Khopesh," You breathe his name as your hands come to the sides of his face, and draw him into a kiss. One he eagerly returns…

"Lullaby…" He coos letting his scarred lips press to yours, gentle but insistent. "My Lullaby…"

His…you'd love that to be so. To be his, and for him to be…

"Yours," You groan, now feeling needy. You couldn't even recall if you had clothes on. Not that it mattered. Feeling his touch, his body laid over and around you sent shivers and trembles of pleasure through you.

"Mine…to cherish." Kiss. You arced you neck as he trailed down.

"Mine…to possess" kiss… Something in his tone made you nervous,

but you focused on the feeling of his tongue lapping your throat.

He…he wouldn't hurt you. He adores you. His hand settled warm and steady on your chest.

He- SQUELCH!

You look down in horror. He'd dug his hand straight Into your chest.

No..nononononononoNO! In trembling desperation you gripped his wrist. He seemed to find your panic amusing.

Dread filled your veins, leeching from the place where he literally held your heart in an icy grip. It felt like your head was starting to fill with static. You felt cold bubbling to the surface of the wound and pooling over your sides.

"Khopesh…" You gasped, pleading. The static was getting worst, and beneath it you swore you could hear words. "Please…" You felt the cold water filling in beneath you. You can hear the waves and wails of the monster return with increasing volume.

"Un-Worthy! UnWorThy! uNWORTHY!" Beating against you with every sound, like pounding freezing rain, your fight grows weaker and weaker.

You hadn't even been worth a backwards glance.

"Shhhhhhh…." He hushed with sickening sweetness. "I have no Intention of letting you slip Away, my sweet Lullaby…"

The icy downpour and the fuzzy static drives down upon you ever stronger. You have no fight left to give. Yet still you plead to your Khopesh, begging in a voice with no sound Please.

Please…

"please…I-" I want to Live!

He looks at you, pale face becoming bathed in shadow, and all you see are vicious red, bloodshot eyes and a huge grinning maw of bloody gnashing teeth. Yet his sweet voice still croons to you.

"Mine…to Break…" He whispered,

He ripped your heart from your chest.

…

Your awakening this time wasn't quite as violent, physically at least.

You were sweating and your heart was racing, but the only sound that escaped you was a sudden choked gasp.

This time it was your bed that served to comfort, and smother you. Midday sunlight filtered through your curtains, turning the room a pale blue. Normally, the combination was soothing, but now…

You curled into your side, into the fetal position.

Too weak… Too small… To alone…

You wanted to be held.

And at the same time wanted No One to see you like this. Too weak.Too small.Too alone. Notevenworthabackwardsglance.

You buried your face into your stuffed rabbit, and your special blanket you'd had since childhood. Even as an adult you held them close and slept with them. Normally, they kept you calm. But your reliance on them also made you feel a bit pathetic immature.

Nothing immature about loving things genuinely. But that bit of logical comfort did little to break you from your dry sobbing.

You didn't feel like you had the energy to cry fully. Pathetic. Maybe you were dehydrated.

I can't just wallow here, you thought. You forced yourself to sit up. You grabbed the water from your night table and chugged

it till you couldn't push down your need to breathe.

"What the fuck??" You groaned under your breath. You'd had nightmares before. Weird dreams weren't uncommon. But the two you had recently…they felt different somehow.

"Still doesn't feel right." You mumbled rubbing your chest, it felt like there was a dull hum or a barely perceivable. Pressure on your mind and body. Dammit, you went to therapy and got medicated to Deal with this bullshit.

You can't intercept Every mental break down.

"Yeah well…wish I could." You mumbled.

Vrr Vrr! Vrr Vrr!

Your phone? You picked it up curiously, there was a new message from a number you didn't recognize.

'Vox Hail! I have concluded my business within the city, and am ready to meet you so we may share a meal together!' Khopesh?

The next message came in. 'This is (bat emoji + sword emoji) by the way. Here is visual verification.' He sent a picture of himself, in a semi-dark hallway grinning and a bit blurry, and…wearing sunglasses?

Vr!Vr! Another image came in. Still blurry but you could make out the same dim hallway from before, and the shape of…well it looked like a different Nightlord. Shorter hair, a scar that curved down the right side of his face, and a couple piercings above his very very Very angry looking eyes.

Which was clearly running Towards the camera. The text read. 'My brother is displeased that I've swiped his sun glasses. But then he should not have left them unattended.'

Yep…that's him.

A wave of warm fondness overcame you. You texted back. 'He looks pretty mad, better run fast!'

'No one is faster than meeeeeee! But I Am getting hungry…I am looking forward to sharing a meal with you.'

'Pfft, nothing like runnin for your life to get the appetite goin. Text me your location, I'll drive out to meet you.'

'Excellent! Karlsor is catching up to me so I have to run. But I will see you soon My Lullaby!' The next message came through…it was actual coordinates.

Well you're hoping your GPS will be able to guide you well. If you have trouble you can text or call him and hope his brother hasn't gutted him for his impudence. You shook your head fondly, before making sure to save Khopesh's number. You couldn't forget the funny title, as you did with all personal numbers.

'Khopesh Thing That Goes Prank in The Night'

You smiled at your work, feeling actually…giddy? It was then you realized, the pressure and the dull hum you felt in your mind and body had calmed. You placed a hand to your chest.

"Is…Is this a sign?" His silly antics were enough to pull you (mostly) out of the pain you'd felt after your…nightmare.

A tremble of anxiety came over you-No! You stood up striding off to get ready.

It was Just a nightmare.

The other one was Also, Just a nightmare. You wouldn't let this Horseshit take up anymore of your time or enjoyment. You stated with finality, firmly ignoring the stress that had tried to seep into your chest.

You had a first date to finally enjoy.

[cynicalrosebud]

Lacuna (3) - Chasing Shadows

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Summary: K9 Angel fulfills her duty, protecting her boys from their own demons.

Warnings: Mentions of PTSD and nightmares, you are responsible for your own media consumption

Notes: I love writing K9 Hybrid AU shit too much to stop!

Ghost

The barracks were unusually quiet that night, with most of the team either asleep or winding down. The usual banter was absent, replaced by the soft hum of the night. Price had long gone to bed, and Angel lay curled at his feet, dozing lightly, her ears twitching now and then as she remained alert for any sign of distress.

In the adjacent room, however, Simon was anything but calm.

His breaths came in short, rapid gasps, his body locked in tension as cold sweat beaded on his skin. The room felt smaller, darker, and every shadow seemed to morph into the face of him—Roba. The chains, the smell, the suffocating feeling of helplessness, it all came rushing back like a flood he couldn’t stop.

Simon’s hands clenched the sheets, knuckles turning white as he fought to control the surge of memories. His heart raced, hammering against his ribcage like it was trying to escape. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to will it all away, but it was no use. The memories had him trapped.

Angel’s ears perked up at the sudden sound of Simon’s strained breathing. She lifted her head, eyes scanning the room, and instantly, she knew. Her instincts kicked in, and she quietly stood, leaving Price’s side to pad softly across the barracks to where Simon was.

The door was slightly ajar, and she nudged it open with her nose. The room was dimly lit by a single lamp, casting long shadows that danced across the walls. Simon sat on the edge of his bed, head in his hands, his breathing ragged, trapped in the middle of a silent battle.

Angel approached slowly, carefully, as if sensing the fragility of the moment. She stepped closer, stopping just a foot away from him, her head tilted as she observed him, waiting for the right moment.

Simon’s hands gripped his head tighter, a low growl escaping his throat as he tried to fight the onslaught of terror. It was as if he couldn’t escape the chains that once bound him, the agony that had been seared into his mind.

Then, a soft nudge.

He felt it—gentle, warm, a presence that wasn’t a threat. His breath hitched, and he blinked, momentarily pulled from the storm in his mind. His eyes met Angel’s, wide and soft, filled with concern. She was standing in front of him, her body close but not overbearing, her presence grounding.

Simon’s breath caught in his throat as she nudged his hand again, this time a little more insistently, her nose pressing against his skin. The warmth of her touch anchored him, pulling him out of the dark abyss of his memories.

“Angel?” His voice was a rough whisper, his throat tight, barely recognizing the sound of his own voice.

Angel gave a small whine, stepping closer to kneel until her head rested on his knee. She stayed still, her breathing calm and steady, guiding him to match her rhythm. Simon’s hand slowly unclenched from the sheets, shaking as he lowered it to rest on her fur. He buried his fingers in the softness, the sensation grounding him further.

He focused on her—on the warmth of her body, the gentle rise and fall of her chest, the way she was so present and unflinching in her support. Gradually, the terror receded, the ghosts of his past dissolving into the background, leaving him with the steady, calming presence of the Hybrid who hadn’t left his side.

Simon closed his eyes and exhaled a long, shaky breath, the tension easing from his muscles. Angel didn’t move. She stayed right there, her weight a comforting presence against him.

After what felt like an eternity, he finally found his voice again. “Thank you,” he murmured, his tone soft and raw, filled with an emotion he rarely let surface.

Angel’s tail gave a small wag, her response a simple nuzzle against his knee as if to say, I’ve got you.

For the first time in a long time, Simon felt like maybe—just maybe—he didn’t have to fight all of his demons alone. Angel’s silent support had given him something no one else could: peace, even if just for tonight.

Soap

The base was unusually quiet as the night shifted into early morning. Ghost and Soap had both returned from a grueling mission the day before, their bodies exhausted but their minds still restless. Ghost sat in the common area, idly cleaning his gear, while Soap, who had been more withdrawn than usual, sat slumped on the couch, staring blankly at the wall.

Angel lay curled up by the door, watching both men with her usual quiet vigilance. Everything seemed calm enough, but her ears twitched, catching something Ghost hadn’t noticed yet.

A soft, almost imperceptible sound—a change in Soap’s breathing.

She lifted her head, watching Soap more closely now. His chest was rising and falling erratically, his fists clenching tightly against his thighs. His eyes, normally sharp and focused, were wide, unseeing, as if he wasn’t in the room anymore.

Angel sensed it—the tension in the air, the shift in his body language. Something was wrong. She stood and padded over to him, her tail low and cautious as she gently nudged his leg.

Soap didn’t react. His eyes were locked in a distant gaze, breath coming in shallow gasps. He was trapped in the memory, stuck in the past, in the moment where he had been shot in the head by Makarov. The burning pain, the sudden cold that had taken over his body. The sound of the gunshot echoed in his mind, louder and louder, until it was deafening.

Angel whined softly, nuzzling him again, but still, he didn’t respond. She backed away, her ears lowering as she turned toward Ghost, who was still focused on his gear, unaware of the turmoil building beside him.

Angel moved quickly, padding over to Ghost and nudging his leg with urgency. She gave a low whine, pulling his attention away from his task. Ghost glanced down at her, frowning under his mask.

“Wot’s wrong, pup?” he muttered, but when she nudged him again, more insistently this time, Ghost’s gaze shifted to Soap.

That’s when he noticed it. Soap’s eyes were wide, glassy, his breathing shallow, his body stiff and shaking as if he was bracing for an impact that would never come.

Ghost stood up immediately, cursing under his breath as he crossed the room to Soap’s side. Angel followed closely, staying at Ghost’s side, her anxious eyes flicking between the two men.

“Johnny,” Ghost said firmly, crouching down beside Soap. “Oi, MacTavish. You’re not there anymore, you hear me? You’re safe.”

Soap didn’t respond. His mind was still stuck in that moment—trapped in the feeling of blood pouring down his face, the shock and the certainty that he was going to die.

Ghost’s hand gripped Soap’s shoulder tightly, shaking him gently, trying to pull him back to the present. “Johnny, focus. You’re here with me. You’re not back there. Makarov’s gone.”

Angel whined softly, pressing herself against Soap’s leg, adding her calming presence to Ghost’s words.

Slowly, Soap’s breathing started to change, becoming less erratic, though his eyes still held that far-off look. Ghost’s voice softened, his tone low and steady, anchoring Soap to reality. “That’s it. You’re alright, mate. You’re here with us. With me and Angel.”

Soap blinked rapidly, his gaze finally beginning to clear. He looked down at Angel, who was pressing her nose against his leg, her eyes filled with worry and concern. Then, his eyes drifted to Ghost, who was still gripping his shoulder, his hold firm but comforting.

“Lt…” Soap rasped, his voice hoarse, like he hadn’t spoken in hours.

“You’re alright, Johnny,” Ghost reassured, his grip not loosening. “It’s over. He didn’t win.”

Soap took a shaky breath, his hand coming up to run over the back of his head where the scar remained—an ugly reminder of how close he had come to death. He exhaled, his body finally starting to relax, though the tension still lingered in his muscles.

Angel gave a soft bark, wagging her tail lightly as she nudged Soap’s leg again, this time with more energy, as if sensing that he was back with them.

“Thanks, girl,” Soap muttered, running a hand through Angel’s fur as she pressed against him. The warmth of her body helped pull him fully back into the present, grounding him in the reality that he was safe, here, with his team.

Ghost stood, releasing Soap’s shoulder but staying close. “You solid?”

Soap nodded, though his voice wavered. “Aye… I’m good now.” He scratched Angel behind the ears, giving her a faint, grateful smile. “She’s a good one, isn’t she?”

Ghost grunted. “She’s saved your arse now. Blood debt.” Angel huffed at his flat joke.

“Better get used to it,” Soap replied, his voice regaining some of its usual strength.

Angel sat between them, her tail wagging slowly, sensing that the worst had passed. But she remained alert, just in case. Soap leaned back, finally able to breathe freely again, his hand never leaving her fur as if needing the comfort of her steady presence.

And though Ghost didn’t say it aloud, he knew what Angel had done tonight had made all the difference. The nightmares wouldn’t stop coming, but at least they had someone—something—helping them fight through it.

Gaz

The sun had barely set, casting long shadows across the barracks, and the air was thick with the stillness that came after a busy day. The 141 was scattered across the base, each member finding their own way to unwind after a long day of training and paperwork. Angel was lying beside Price, her head resting on his foot, while he went through some old mission reports, a cigar lazily dangling from his lips.

As the quiet of the evening settled in, Angel’s ears suddenly perked up. She lifted her head, her body going stiff as her eyes darted toward the door. There was something in the air, a tension she hadn’t noticed before. It was faint, but enough to make her uneasy.

Price, noticing the sudden shift in Angel’s demeanor, raised an eyebrow. “What’s got you riled up, love?” he asked, his voice low.

Angel stood, her nose twitching as she sniffed the air. Her body language became more insistent as she padded toward the door, looking back at Price with an urgency in her eyes.

“What is it?” Price asked, setting his papers aside as he stood. He could see that something wasn’t right. Angel never reacted like this unless someone needed help. “Alright, show me.”

Angel led the way, her pace quick but cautious, her ears flicking as she moved down the hallway toward Gaz’s quarters. Price followed closely, the unease settling in his gut. He had noticed Gaz had been on edge lately, more short-tempered, more withdrawn, but he hadn’t pressed him on it. Now, it seemed that might have been a mistake.

As they reached the door to Gaz’s room, Price could hear it—low muttering, almost growling. He stepped closer, pressing his ear to the door. Gaz’s voice was muffled, but the anger in it was unmistakable. There was a faint clatter of something being knocked over and shattering, followed by a harsh, frustrated shout.

“Damn it,” Price cursed under his breath.

Angel pawed at the door softly, looking up at Price with pleading eyes, as if urging him to act quickly.

Without another second of hesitation, he pushed the door open.

Inside, Gaz was pacing, his movements sharp and agitated. His fists were clenched, and his face was twisted in frustration. His breathing was ragged, shallow, as though he was trying to keep control but losing the battle. There was a broken glass on the floor, a testament to the moment he’d snapped.

“Gaz,” Price called, his voice firm but calm.

Gaz froze, his back to Price. His shoulders were heaving as he stood there, fists still clenched at his sides. He didn’t turn around, didn’t acknowledge Price’s presence, as if he were lost in his own storm.

Angel padded into the room, approaching Gaz cautiously. She whined softly, sitting just behind him, her presence quiet but grounding. She didn’t touch him yet, just let him feel her there, a steadying force in the chaos.

Price took a step closer, his voice gentle but commanding. “Kyle, talk to me.”

Gaz’s head dropped, his hands going to his hair as he gripped it tightly, the frustration spilling over. “I can’t… I can’t stop seeing it,” he muttered, his voice raw, filled with barely contained rage. “Piccadilly. The bombing. The people—Cap, I couldn’t stop it.”

The tension in his voice snapped something inside Price. He understood. The weight of that day, the guilt that clung to Gaz’s every step since then, had been eating away at him. He should have seen it sooner.

“You couldn’t have stopped it, son,” Price said, stepping closer, his voice low. “No one could have. You did everything you could.”

Gaz’s fists tightened. “It’s not enough. I keep seeing them—dying, right there. And I couldn’t do anything.”

Angel, sensing Gaz’s rising anxiety, finally moved closer. She pressed her body against his leg, her head nudging his hand softly, urging him to feel her presence. Her eyes were filled with understanding, silent but reassuring. She was there for him, ready to help him come back from the brink.

Gaz’s hand fell from his hair to rest on Angel’s head. The warmth of her fur, the steady beat of her breath—it was enough to pull him from the edge. He let out a shaky breath, his eyes squeezing shut as he tried to push back the memories clawing at him.

Price placed a hand on Gaz’s shoulder, his grip firm but steady. “Look at me, Kyle.”

Gaz hesitated, his body still shaking, but he turned, finally meeting Price’s eyes. The anger was still there, but now, there was a vulnerability beneath it—a deep wound that hadn’t healed.

“You’ve been carrying this alone for too long, son,” Price said quietly, his voice softening. “You don’t have to. Not anymore.”

Gaz swallowed hard, his jaw clenched as he struggled to find his words. “I… I thought I could handle it,” he admitted, his voice cracking. “But every time I close my eyes, it’s there. The screams, the explosions… I can’t shut it out.”

Angel pressed herself closer to Gaz, her body warm and grounding. She nudged his hand again, her quiet presence reminding him that he wasn’t alone.

Price knelt down beside him, his tone soft but filled with authority. “Listen to me, Kyle. We all carry our scars. But that doesn’t mean we have to carry them alone.”

Gaz let out a shaky breath, his grip tightening on Angel’s fur. He didn’t say anything for a long moment, just stood there, feeling the weight of Price’s words sink in. Finally, he nodded, the tension in his body slowly easing as he allowed himself to lean into Angel’s support.

“Thanks,” Gaz muttered, his voice barely above a whisper, as he scratched behind Angel’s ears. “I don’t know what I’d do without her.”

Price gave a small nod, his gaze softening as he looked between Gaz and Angel. “She’s good at what she does. And so are you.”

Gaz didn’t reply, but the unspoken understanding passed between them, the weight of that night still heavy but just a little easier to bear with Angel by his side.

Price

It was late, far past the time when most of the base had turned in for the night. The dim glow of the lamp on Price’s desk cast long shadows across the walls of his office, the silence thick and heavy. Stacks of mission reports and after-action reviews were scattered around him, some marked with red pen, others left untouched. Price sat hunched over his desk, a half-finished cigar resting in the ashtray beside him, the smoke curling lazily into the air.

Angel lay quietly at his feet, her head resting on her paws. She had been there for hours now, watching him, sensing the storm brewing inside him. His silence wasn’t unusual, not when he was working. But tonight, there was a tension in the air she couldn’t ignore, a weight pressing down on him that she could feel in the way he moved, in the heaviness of his breathing.

Her ears flicked as she glanced up at him, her tail swishing lightly against the floor. Price hadn’t spoken much since the last mission, but Angel knew better than anyone that something was wrong. The small tells—the way his hands clenched just a bit too tightly around his pen, the crease between his brows, the faraway look in his eyes when he thought no one was looking—they all spoke of a man carrying too much on his shoulders.

Angel shifted, sitting up between his knees, her nose nudging his leg gently. She looked up at him, her soft eyes searching his face, as if urging him to let her in.

Price glanced down at her, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “What’s this, then?” he muttered, his voice gravelly from the cigar smoke.

Angel whined softly, nudging his leg again, this time with more insistence. She rested her head on his knee, her eyes never leaving his. She knew he needed to let go, to release some of the weight he carried. 

But she also knew Price was a man who held everything close, always keeping his pain hidden behind the mask of a leader.

“I’m fine, love,” Price said quietly, reaching down to scratch behind her ears. “Don’t worry ‘bout me. You’ve got enough on your plate.”

But Angel didn’t move. She stayed there, her head on his knee, her eyes locked on his. She knew better. She could feel the strain in his muscles, the exhaustion in his body. She could feel the guilt that gnawed at him, the unspoken burden of every life he believed was lost because of him.

Price sighed, leaning back in his chair, his hand still resting on Angel’s head. “You know, I’ve been doin’ this a long time,” he said, his voice softer now, more reflective. “Seen a lot of good men die. Some because of the choices I made. That’s just the way it is. You can’t save everyone.”

Angel’s ears flattened slightly, as if she could sense the pain behind his words. She pressed herself closer to him, trying to offer the comfort he needed but wasn’t willing to take.

Price chuckled, though there was no humor in it. “You’re a stubborn one, aren’t ya? But I’m alright, love. I’ve made my peace with it. It’s just the cost of doing the job.”

But Angel wasn’t convinced. She could feel the weight in his heart, the way his words contradicted the pain he carried deep inside. He might have made his peace on the surface, but beneath it all, there was still a wound that hadn’t healed. The lives lost—the men who’d trusted him and never made it back—haunted him, whether he admitted it or not.

She nudged his hand again, this time a little harder, and let out a soft whimper. Her eyes, filled with quiet understanding, were pleading with him to let her help, to let her share the burden he carried.

Price’s smile faded, his gaze drifting away from her as he stared at the mission reports on his desk. He picked up a folder, flipping through the pages, his jaw tightening as he scanned the names on the casualty list. For a long moment, he said nothing, the silence stretching between them, heavy and oppressive.

“They trusted me,” he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. “And they didn’t come home.”

The admission hung in the air, raw and unfiltered. It wasn’t something he would ever say to anyone else, not even his team. But with Angel, the words slipped out, as if her quiet presence had unlocked something deep inside him.

Angel whined softly again, pressing her body closer to his leg, her warmth grounding him. She didn’t need to say anything—her presence was enough. She was there to remind him that he wasn’t alone in his grief, that someone was there to shoulder the weight with him, if only he would let them.

But Price shook his head, pushing the folder aside. “It’s on me,” he muttered. “Always has been. Part of the job.”

Angel wasn’t satisfied. She climbed up onto his lap, something she’d never done before, and curled into him. She pushed her head under his chin, resting her body across his chest, refusing to leave until he understood what she was trying to say.

Price froze for a moment, taken aback by the sudden affection. He stared down at her, his hands hovering in the air, unsure of what to do. But then, something inside him broke. The tightness in his chest, the weight he’d been carrying for so long—it began to ease, just a little.

Slowly, Price’s arms came down, wrapping around Angel as he rested his chin on her head. He let out a long, shuddering breath, the tension in his body finally starting to melt away. He didn’t say anything, but in that moment, he didn’t need to. Angel’s presence spoke louder than any words.

For the first time in a long time, John Price allowed himself to just be. To let go of the guilt, if only for a moment, and accept that maybe, just maybe, he didn’t have to carry it all alone.

[cheerycherrycandy-resurrected]

What You've Done, You Cannot Undo (Medieval AU)

Chapter 13

Rain and the others are exhausted, but the ghouls have finally reached the Abbey. Will his recovery continue to go smoothly? Also: the ghouls meet the ghoulettes.

Longer chapter this week, because I couldn't find a better split! Please don't hate me for this one...

Rating: M Content: hospitals, sickness, quintosis for medical reasons, panic attacks, nightmares Words: 7576

Links to full fic: Tumblr | AO3

Hi tag gang! @everybodyshusband @rainsbasspick @revengeghoulette

Read below, or on AO3!

Dew took a deep breath and raised his hand to the bell pull. As his fingers hung poised to curl around it, the large doors suddenly swung inwards.

“Dewdrop!” Shrieked a high voice, echoing Dew’s arrival the week before. “I saw you coming, I’m so happy you came back!”

She threw her arms around him in a hug, almost suffocating him with her mass of white hair. Looking up, she spotted the four ghouls stood awkwardly behind Dew watching the reunion.

“This must be your pack!” She exclaimed in delight, releasing him. “I hope you’ve been taking care of our Dewy.”

Dewy hid his head in his hands in exaggerated embarrassment.

“Everyone, this is Cumulus. She's more like a hurricane than a ghoul, but don't let her scare you.”

“Pshhh, come in, come in,” grabbing Dew by the hand she pulled him through the open doors, beckoning the others to follow, “Riri’s rounding up the others, we can do introductions then!”

“Lus wait,” Dew pulled back, hesitant, “we’ve had a hard journey, and I think half my pack are about to fall asleep standing up. Could it wait until the morning?”

She stopped in her tracks, looking back at them all.

“Why didn’t I see that?” She looked appalled that she had overlooked this. “Of course you’re tired after that long journey.”

Dew didn’t like to see her look so crestfallen, but with his packmates already being anxious about the new environment, he couldn’t foist several exuberant ghoulettes on them all at once.

“Give your horse to Bell, then let’s get you some supper.”

Dew looked behind him to check the pack were following and led them behind Cumulus into the courtyard. Sidling up on unnaturally silent hooved feet, Cowbell materialised next to them to take her reins.

Turning to look at Rain, Dew reached up a hand to help him down. He seemed to struggle to swing his leg over the saddle, and as his feet eventually landed on the ground, his knees buckled beneath him.

"Rain!” he gasped, struggling to support him as he went limp in a dead faint. Swiss was beside him in a second, helping take the weight of his tall body before he could collapse to the ground.

“What's wrong with him?” Fretted Aether, also swooping in to press his fingers to his temples and bring him round with his quintessence.

“I don't know, he's in a bad way again like before!” Dew cried in a panic. “We need to get him to the infirmary; they'll know what to do.”

“He was fine this morning, better than he's been all week, how has he gone downhill so fast?” said Mountain worriedly, taking Rain's weight from Dew and Swiss and scooping him up in his arms as though he weighed little more than the rucksack still on his back. Rain's eyelids flickered open as the quintessence took hold, but his eyes remained unfocussed and glassy.

Watching in alarm, Cumulus quickly ushered the ghouls into the building and towards the infirmary wing. Dew chased alongside Mountain as he strode down the corridor, his eyes never leaving Rain for a second. They burst through the doors, alarming a young quintessence ghoul stood on the other side of them. He swiftly regained his composure and directed Mountain to an empty bed he could lay Rain on, calling out for backup from the other ghouls stood around.

“What happened to him?” he asked, leaping into action without even questioning who this gaggle of unfamiliar ghouls were.

“We don't know, he was sleepy this afternoon and then fainted out of nowhere!” Dew said, frantic. “He's been weak, but he seemed to be getting better!”

“He looks like he's taken quite a beating,” hummed an older ghoulette, “but these are healing bruises not fresh.”

“Two weeks ago,” interjected Swiss, “he was attacked two weeks ago, then locked in a human jail for a week and beaten again. He's been on the mend but started getting tired again in the last few hours.”

The ghouls nodded, looking confused as they pressed fingers to him checking his vitals, both those of his vessel and his soul.

“His heart rate is slow, but not especially slow for a water ghoul.”

“His energy feels very weak, like it's been strained.”

“He'd dreadfully malnourished,” the ghoulette looked up at the panicked travellers, “you said he was locked up for a week?” She was answered by an assortment of nods. “If you hadn't said, I'd have thought it was closer to a month. One week of imprisonment, no matter how poor the conditions, shouldn't have sapped him of this much strength.”

“Will he be okay?” Dew could hear his voice come out uncomfortably high, a note of hysteria modulating his words.

“He should be, but I’d like to keep a close eye on him,” The senior ghoulette looked at them sagely, “we need to make sure there's no underlying problem making him weaker.”

She turned to look at Aether, “You’re quintessence.”

He bowed his head slightly in acknowledgement. “Aether.”

“Astra. Have you noticed any change in his energy over the last few weeks? Anything that could indicate this was brewing?”

“His elemental connection only fully clicked two weeks ago,” Aether explained, “he could wield water powers before but never that strongly. They came in rather unexpectedly and a bit too strong, that’s what landed him in trouble with the humans we lived alongside.”

Well that was putting it mildly, thought Dew.

“Is there anything else that could have affected him?”

They all thought for a moment. In the lead-up to Rain’s catastrophic actions, everything had seemed normal.

“Your Calamus leaf potions couldn’t have done this?” Asked Swiss, clutching at straws.

“They should have strengthened his magic, not weakened it,” Aether mused, “they’ve never had any adverse effects before.”

“Oh!” Burst out a much younger ghoulette with cropped, indigo hair. “Are you the ghouls who wrote that incredible book Copia keeps raving about? I'd never heard of Calamus until I read that!”

Aether and Mountain stared at her, open mouthed, before turning their gaze on Dew.

“Would you happen to know anything about that, Dewdrop?” growled Mountain. Dew had the grace to look sheepish at that, but tried to defend himself regardless,

“I had to! You don’t understand how it works here, I had to bring something with a large value of knowledge so they’d help us!”

“I don’t care; you should’ve asked us, and explained yourself! You don’t just steal.”

“If I’d asked,” snarled Dew, “you wouldn’t have let me come here and then Rain would be–”

“Enough,” Aether bellowed directly into their minds. The pair clutched at their heads in pain. “We will talk about this later,” he continued, out loud now, “Dew, you will explain yourself. For now though, Rain is our priority.”

“Yes Aether.” Dew muttered, chastised. “I am sorry, I shouldn’t have stolen it without asking, but I promise I had a reason. You’ll get it back, I swear.”

With a harumph, Aether turned back to the quintessence ghouls as though nothing had happened.

“Rain’s recovery hasn’t been linear. From what I understand, after his power came in he was beaten unconscious. A few hours later he was conscious but unresponsive, but by the next day with some food and medicinal herbs he seemed to be doing better?”

Swiss nodded in assent.

“He wasn’t talking but he was communicating,” the multi ghoul added, “he had his magic still then, I saw it.”

Astra nodded, frantically scribbling notes.

“Then he was attacked again, and totally unresponsive for days. He only started reacting and talking again a few days after we pulled him out of there.”

“He was doing so well this morning though,” said Dew, stood clutching Rain's hand after grabbing it instinctively once he was on the bed, “his magic was the strongest it's ever been!”

“He was exhausted by midday though,” pointed out Aether, “I thought he was just sleepy.”

Dew shook his head thoughtfully. “He's been sleeping really well, since that awful nightmare a few days ago.” Leaning over the water ghoul, he saw his eyes flicker sightly in recognition, but remain unfocused and unseeing. His normally bright blue irises were so pale they were almost grey.

“What's wrong, Rainy?” He whispered, so low only Rain could have heard him. “How do I help you get better?”

The four ghouls continued watching their sick packmate in concern as the quintessence ghouls began bustling around, making sure he was comfortable and making various notes on him.

“You should get some rest,” Astra advised them, laying a reassuring hand on Dew's shoulder, “we can take care of your mate from here. You all look exhausted yourselves, and you'll be no help if you pass out on my floor. I'm sure we'll have him right-as-rain in no time!”

Dew was too stunned by her assumption that they were mates to notice her terrible joke.

“We're not– I'm not –” by the time he had finished spluttering indignantly, face cherry-red, she had already walked off with a serene smile.

Cumulus materialised next to them.

“I can take you to our wing, where Dew's old room is, for tonight? There're some spare rooms made up already in case you came. I can bring you some food and make sure you're not overwhelmed with new faces if you'd like?”

Dew was so relieved by the suggestion of quiet that he could have hugged her, regardless of the suffocation risk her hair posed. He looked at his pack for confirmation, getting a mixture of nods and shrugs, before accepting her offer.

“Thanks Lus, that sounds perfect.”

With a final concerned look back at Rain's prone form on the bed, they solemnly followed Cumulus down the corridor and up a small flight of stone stairs.

“We're very close to the infirmary here,” she remarked, leading them through a large door into a corridor unlike the rest of the building so far. The walls were covered with small pictures and decorations, the doors each engraved with elemental symbols, names, and more. It felt homely.

“The room at the end is our common room, there's snacks and water in there so feel free to explore, but I can't promise it will be empty. This is mine and Cirrus’ room if you need me,” she gestured to a door, painted sky-blue with small engravings of clouds lining the panelling, “and this is Dew's room.” The door was plainer, impersonal, with no real sign that Dew had ever lived behind it.

Entering, they found their saddlebags in a neat pile in the corner of the room. The bag containing Swiss’ beat-up guitar was carefully laid on its side next to them, presumably by a careful Cowbell. No one had been in the mood for it during their trip, and none of them felt so now either. They were all still wearing their own knapsacks, Dew realised as he suddenly felt the weight of the straps pressing heavily on his shoulders. He tossed his into a corner, the others following suit. In the centre of the room was Dew's large bed, a towering pile of blankets for a proper nest stacked high on top. A fire roared in the grate, making the room pleasantly warm.

“I can show you to the spare rooms?” Cumulus hovered in the doorway. That was a force of habit, Dew thought: he had always been wary of others entering his space uninvited. The other ghouls looked uneasy at the suggestion, and Swiss spoke for them all,

“I think we'd prefer to stay together for now, with one of our own sick.”

His competing visions all agreed on one thing: regardless of where they started the night, their sleeping positions would all converge into one pile. Camping together over the last week they had gotten used to each other's proximity and being apart right now, especially with Rain being unwell, felt scary. Besides, the bed was easily bigger than the combined bedrolls they had been sleeping on for the past two weeks.

Cumulus nodded. “I'll run to the kitchens and find you some supper.” Spinning on her heel, she darted away. She was an enthusiastic host, Dew thought, and clearly felt awkward given the strange situation they had found themselves in.

The pack kicked off their shoes and silently slumped to the floor, loath to make the clean bed dirty with their dusty traveling clothes.

“He'll be alright,” Swiss said after a while, “with all those quintessence ghouls looking after him, they're bound to work out what's wrong.”

The mood was sober, all of them trying not to think about what could happen if they didn't figure it out.

“Right Dew, tell us what the situation is with the book,” sighed Aether, “then we can put it behind us.”

Dew looked guiltily into his lap where he was sat with his legs crossed as he explained the situation.

“I mentioned it before, but the way things work here help isn't completely free. They don't ask for payment in gold though, it's in knowledge or time.” The others nodded, remembering vaguely.

“Well, when I was leaving to come and ask if they had any ideas about rescuing Rain, I wasn't sure they'd help for free. It's been a long time since I left, and I did so without telling anyone. I wasn't even here that long, but I got close with the ghoulettes very fast, only to abandon everyone.”

The similarity to his flight northward a few weeks prior wasn't lost on any of them.

“So I grabbed your encyclopaedia before I left, thinking that if they demanded payment, I would have something to give them and could get back to Rain sooner. Then I left it here for them to transcribe, because I figured we were likely to all come back here, but I knew you might not want to stay for long enough to pay it back. Now our debts are cleared, and they can help Rain and we're free to leave as soon as he's better and I'm sorry I didn't ask first but I didn't have time to explain all this, I'm sorry!”

Dew was rambling now; he could tell as he caught his breath. He looked imploringly at his packmates, hoping they would at least understand, if not forgive him. Aether's face softened.

“Oh Dew,” he gave him a small and encouraging smile, “I'm not mad at you, I can see why you took it. You should have told us though! If not at the time, you could have mentioned it sooner, okay?”

Hanging his head, Dew nodded.

“We forgive you, right Mount?”

“Yeah, I get it,” he grumbled, “we'll get it back soon, right?”

“I’ll ask Mist when we see her, she's the head ghoul in the library here, she'll know.” promised Dew.

“Great!” Swiss chirped with forced cheerfulness, glad that conversation was over. The alternative of worrying about Rain was still worse though. “We're all good now, right? No more secrets?”

Dew thought for a second. His whole life was full of secrets, but he thought that was the last of the ones he owed his pack.

“That's everything.” he confirmed.

With that, there was a knock on the door,

“Room service!” came the musical voice from the other side.

“Come in!” Answered Dew, scrambling to his feet.

Cumulus opened the door, and pushed a small cart laden with trays of food through.

“I didn’t know what you wanted, so I grabbed a bit of everything!”

Their mouths watered at the smell; a jumbled mix of cooked meats, melted cheese, a thousand competing spices, and “fresh bread!” Swiss cried in delight.

“I won’t keep you waiting,” laughed Cumulus, seeing the wide eyes of the hungry ghouls, “Riri sends her love, she was wondering if you’d be up for some introductions tomorrow?”

Dew glanced back at the others and saw no objections.

“That sounds good, I’d like to visit Rain first though. See how he’s doing.”

“Of course!” She smiled, her warm breezy smile bringing Dew the same comfort it had all those years ago. “Good night, boys!”

A chorus of “g’night” came from the others, and Cumulus fluttered her perfectly manicured claws in a wave before disappearing back down the hall to the common room.

Dew pushed the cart to the middle of the room, and began unloading covered trays onto the floor between them. They could eat one more meal like this, before returning to the land of tables and chairs. No one spoke as they filled their plates, the only sounds for a while were the quiet moas of appreciation they made, sinking their fangs into proper, varied food. By coincidence, there was not a fish in sight, and none of them were able to feel too sorry about that.

Once they had taken the edge of their hunger, conversation began to flow again. Chiefly of interest were the myriad new faces they had either met, or were soon to meet.

“Cumulus seems nice,” started Swiss, ripping the meat of a steak from the bone as juices ran down his chin, “a lot, but nice.”

“She is,” Dew smiled, “she’s a total sweetheart, but I’m certain she’d delight in tearing any of us limb from limb if we hurt her, or her mate Cirrus.”

“Another air ghoulette?” asked Aether through a mouthful of potato.

“Same clan even. They arrived here together, apparently. Cirrus was the first ghoulette I met, she took me in when I was starving on their doorstep.” Dew paused to shovel more bread into his mouth. “I’m sure you can trade stories of my general incompetence at looking after myself.”

That got a snicker from Aether and Mountain, to Dew’s delight.

“We’re you really that bad?” Swiss asked incredulously.

“Rain with almost no magic was better at surviving in the woods than me,” Dew rolled his eyes good-humouredly at his ineptitude, “at least he could catch his own food. I could start a fire and make myself sick by eating the wrong plants.”

There was another lull while Dew set about stripping every morsel of flesh from a chicken leg; the warm spices nourishing his soul as much as his stomach.

“The ghoul we briefly met earlier, who took our horse to the stables, was Cowbell. No one really knows what element they are, and they don’t talk much, but they've been here forever and they’re loyal to a fault. I like them.”

“You mentioned another multi ghoul before?” Swiss had never met any ghouls of his kind outside of his birth clan before. Multi ghouls were rare and unique, their clans few and far between. The thought of meeting another filled him with excitement.

“Yeah, she’s joined since I left,” Dew smiled at the brief memory of her, a whirlwind of positive energy, “you’ll like her, I’m sure. She’s probably going to become Mist’s mate sooner or later.”

“The librarian?” asked Mountain.

Dew nodded. “You can ask her how the transcription is going tomorrow.”

“And the human?” Aether was curious to meet the mysterious man, who seemed vastly outnumbered in this house of ghouls.

“Papa Emeritus the Fourth, Copia, he’s in charge officially,” Dew confirmed, “he mostly leaves the ghouls to their own devices providing they pull their weight, and he manages the few humans who work and worship here. He’s a busy man, but he’ll want to see you, he always makes time for us ghouls.”

“It’s going to be a busy day for us too,” Aether yawned widely. The food was almost gone, and their exhaustion was starting to hit, “time for bed soon?”

A rumble of harmonising purrs declared that a good idea.

With the plates and trays stashed on the trolley and rolled back into the corridor, the ghouls took turns washing the grime of the road from their bodies. The magically heated water was blissful, but none of them wanted to waste too much time in the bathroom when a plush nest awaited them. There would be ample time to bathe properly tomorrow. Drying off with cloud-soft towels, they grabbed – rather tight for most of them – shirts and underwear from the pile Dew had found still in the dresser and crawled onto the soft mattress. It seemed his room had remained untouched since he left. That was strange given the short time he had lived here; had Cumulus always seen him returning one day?

Dew was the last to leave the bathroom, having changed inside into a shirt and a pair of sleep trousers that could only fit him. He emerged to find Aether and Swiss beckoning him to squeeze in-between them, trapping him in the centre of his old nest. Mountain was behind Swiss, the multi ghoul wearing him like a backpack as they pretended they weren’t clearly cuddling in the flickering firelight.

Before long, he could hear their relaxed snores echoing around the room. Despite his own tiredness, Dew could not sleep. He was worried about Rain: worried about the sudden deterioration of his health; worried that the quintessence ghouls might not work out what had caused it; worried that he may have another nightmare all alone in the infirmary. Aether’s arms felt too firm around his shoulders; Swiss’ too warm. Rain should be here, Rain should be the one he was cuddled with. Even after only a few nights in each other’s arms, Dew felt addicted. What if Rain felt the same? What if he wasn’t able to sleep – he needed to sleep to get better! What if he had another nightmare and Dew wasn’t there to comfort him.

Mind made up, Dew wriggled free of the heavy arms around him and padded for the door. He opened it as quietly as he could, ears pricked for any stray ghoulettes wandering the halls. Judging from the quiet murmur of noise and the light coming from under the common room door, they were still up and talking. On socked feet, he tiptoed out of the dormitory wing and down to the infirmary.

‘I’m coming, Rain.’

Dew rounded the final corner of the stone corridor, slinking into the welcoming, dim glow of the infirmary. Almost everyone was asleep, but the large ghoul stationed at the desk on night duty shot him a smile. Dew thought he recognised him from his time before. He tried to return the greeting, but feared it came out as more of a grimace.

Sneaking behind the curtain around Rain’s bed, Dew was at first hopeful that he was sleeping. He was lying quiet and still, but on closer inspection Dew saw that his eyes were open, staring at the ceiling. Only his extra set of cat-like inner eyelids were closed, keeping his eyes moist but giving him a creepy blank gaze.

The curtain drew back again.

“He’s tired, but not sleeping.” Said the ghoul, entering and pressing two fingers to Rain’s forehead to check on him. He made a note on a chart at the foot of Rain’s bed. “We still don’t know what’s wrong, if anything he seems to be getting less and less responsive.”

Omega, that was his name remembered Dew, pressed a damp flannel to Rain’s dry and chapped lips. He returned it to a bowl on the table beside the bed.

“He shouldn’t get too dehydrated, it’s not good for water ghouls, but he isn’t lucid enough to drink.” Omega explained. “I’ll be popping in periodically to check on him, but feel free to stay as long as you want.”

Dew nodded, hovering awkwardly with the tall ghoul still watching him. Once the curtain closed and he drifted off to his next patient, Dew was able to take a proper look at Rain. His normally pale skin was translucent, almost waxy, and his usually shiny hair fell in limp tendrils around his face. He picked up the flannel, wringing out the excess water and did as Omega had done, carefully wetting Rain’s lips. They twitched slightly, grateful for the hydration, but still Rain made no move to either respond, or drift any closer towards sleep.

With no one around to see, Dew did what his instincts had been screaming at him to do since he was in the ghoul pile in his bedroom: he carefully scrambled up into Rain’s bed, slotting himself behind the icy water ghoul and propping him up against his chest. Dew wrapped his arms around him to begin warming him up, combing his fingers through the ends of Rain’s hair and teasing out the tangles. The water ghoul stirred, leaning softly into his touch, and Dew took that as a signal to continue. He glamoured his claws away and reached up to rake his blunt nails across his scalp and through his hair. Rain's eyes slipped closed and he sank further into his embrace, until Dew had to shift his position to keep supporting the weight of him.

Once his hair was smooth again, although still dry and dull, Dew began braiding it with nimble fingers as Cirrus had once done for him. He revelled in the silky feel of the dark strands passing through his hands; Rain's hair was so pretty, even in its current state. Dew hoped Rain would let him play with it again when he was better, so he could experience the ebony waves in their full beauty. All too soon, Dew had finished weaving Rain's dark strands into two perfect braids that curled from his temples to behind his ears. He hoped it would be enough to protect it from tangling further against the cotton of the infirmary pillowcases.

Dew helped Rain settle back down into the bed, manoeuvring his long limbs into a comfortable sleeping position. He was no quintessence ghoul, but he seemed calmer now and Dew hoped that he would be able to get some much-needed rest. With Rain back under the blankets, Dew wriggled down until he could press his warm nose in-between Rain's shoulder blades and hold him tightly. He waited until Rain's breathing slowed as he fell soundly asleep, before allowing himself to follow.

That was where the others found him the next morning. Swiss had woken first, the sunlight streaming through a crack in the curtains hitting him square in the face. He twisted his head away from it, and let himself luxuriate in the warmth he had awoken to a little longer. Ghoul piles like this were sacred affairs; shared between only the closest of packs. He could probably count on one hand the number he’d had with his pack, never the most affectionate ghouls even at the best of times. They had mostly been on cold winter nights, when no amount of coaxing could make the fire burn hot enough and Dew’s intrinsic warmth was their only respite.

Their piles had never been this close before, however. Swiss found himself almost entirely trapped in the cage of Mountain’s arms, the earth ghoul clinging to him like a lifeline. They were so close, Swiss could feel his heartbeat thudding against his back.  It had been so long since he’d woken up like this; so long since he’d been held. He wished he could freeze the moment and stay here forever, safe in Mountain’s arms, in this limbo where he could dream that the giant ghoul was his.

Dew had seemed so certain Mountain felt the same way about him, yet Swiss couldn’t help but think that was too good to be true. He’d never heard Mountain express any desire to find a mate, but then again, Swiss hadn’t exactly talked about such things either. It wasn’t until the traumatic events of the last few weeks that he’d realised his own feelings even. Lying here feeling loved and wanted, Swiss was scared that by voicing his desires, they could risk losing what friendship they did have.

After his conversation with Dew, Swiss had given in to the temptation to see if any of his visions would outline a change in their relationship: be it good or bad. He hadn’t seen anything however; the Void stubbornly refusing to offer him even a hint. Swiss had wondered if he was subconsciously blocking it out again like he had done with Dew during the week he was away, too afraid of a negative outcome. Maybe he’d skirt around the topic and see what Mountain’s reaction was, rather than jumping straight into the big question? This was all a matter for later-Swiss however. For now, he was content to lay where he was and simply imagine.

Eventually, Swiss had to come back to reality. The warm breath on the back of his neck stuttered as Mountain woke, releasing him to stretch strong arms above his head, warm and bare legs pressing against his own. Swiss tried to avoid thinking about that, given their proximity. He feigned sleep for a bit longer, to see what Mountain’s reaction to him world be. To his delight, the earth ghoul recaptured him and snuffled his face into the back of Swiss’ hair.

“You awake, Snapdragon?” he murmured quietly. Swiss pretended to wake, stretching out before pressing back against Mountain’s chest.

“Mm-hmm,” he hummed back, as nonchalantly as he could manage, “g’ mornin’.”

Swiss grinned to himself as Mountain showed no signs of releasing him. Even when Aether yawned and muttered his own sleepy good mornings, the earth ghoul kept him in his grip. He was so comfy, and the bed was warm but not too warm… wait.

“Where’s Dew?” asked Swiss, opening his eyes fully to check for signs of the fire ghoul. He made no move to leave the nest however.

“Wha–” Aether struggled upright, looking around, “he was here last night?”

“He’ll be with Rain,” Mountain spoke as thought it was obvious, his voice muffled by Swiss’s pile of dreadlocks that he refused to move his face from, “they’ll be fine.”

“Should we go and find him?” Aether stumbled out of bed, bare legs almost buckling as he stood up too fast.

The answering groans from the comfortable ghouls still under the blankets rumbled in perfect harmony.

Eventually, the fully-dressed ghouls slumped sleepily into the infirmary, once Aether had successfully guilt-tripped Swiss and Mountain into getting out of bed. They found Dew as he had fallen asleep last night; curled protectively around Rain. A tall quintessence ghoul, clearly on his way out after a shift, nodded at them in greeting as he passed.

Approaching the bed, they saw Rain looking even rougher than he had the night before. They shared a concerned glance, and as they did Dew finally noticed them.

“He’s really cold,” whispered Dew as though to explain their position, while making no move to change it, “but he’s sleeping, which is apparently a good sign.” He didn’t look so sure.

The ghouls kept their silent vigil by Rain's bedside until Cumulus came looking for them.

“I thought I’d find you here,” she smiled warmly, “we’re in the Den having breakfast, if you’d like to join us and make some introductions? Mist is already back in the library with Copia but we can go and bother them afterwards!”

The pack exchanged glances, and Aether spoke for them all,

“That sounds nice. It’s not like we can help Rain by just sitting here.”

“Great!” Cumulus chirped, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “Cirrus and Sunny can’t wait to meet you!”

Dew was reluctant to leave Rain, but knew he had to be there too. Carefully, he released Rain and wriggled free of the bed.

“I still need to get dressed.” He muttered, but followed them back to the dormitories with only one glance back to check Rain was still asleep. Dew hated the thought of leaving him alone in a strange new place; he would be terrified to wake up in such a situation and he imagined Rain would feel the same, so he hoped they could be back before Rain awoke.

Cumulus almost skipped down the hallway ahead of them, the pack travelling with more trepidation. She flung open the door to the common room in their wing, and the ghouls almost didn’t notice the two ghoulettes inside past the loud contents of the room. The walls were the same grey stone as the hallway, only it was barely visible behind the swathes of colourful fabric that had been draped across them. The furniture was a mismatch of colours and fabrics, yet all looked delightfully soft. Trinkets covered every available surface, reminding Dew of Rain’s bedroom back at their farmhouse, with all its pretty rocks and shells. The room lead towards two large windows on the back wall, inset with a myriad colours of stained glass that cast rainbows  around the room. One was half-open, leading to a balcony beyond. It screamed home, often a faraway concept to ghouls not living with their birth clans.

Swiss was immediately enraptured; a joyful energy radiated from every corner of the room, fed by the love and thought that went into every part of its contents. He dreamed of living somewhere like this, somewhere he could make his own and fill with happiness and devotion. Their attention landed finally on the two ghoulettes, half-buried in their respective seats. They waved at the newcomers; one restrained and cautious in her actions, the other fizzing with exuberance. On a coffee table in front of them rested mugs of hot tea and piles of more baked goods than they could possibly manage to eat.

Cumulus flopped down into the loveseat next to the ash blonde ghoulette, who reached an arm out around her.

“Welcome back Dew,” she smiled warmly, “and welcome to your pack, too!”

“Hi Cir.” Dew offered her a small smile, before curling into the corner of the old and battered sofa and gesturing for his pack to find seats of their own. Swiss sank into the centre of the sofa, with Mountain beside him while Aether perched on the edge of a deceptively soft armchair that threatened to swallow him whole.

“This is Cirrus,” he figured he should do the introductions, “she’s the first ghoulette I met here.”

“Sunshine,” Dew gestured to the redheaded ghoulette sat cross-legged in a hideous orange velvet rocking chair, “is who you can thank for the plan to get Rain out.”

Sunshine mimed taking a bow, setting the chair oscillating back and forth wildly.

“Everyone, these are my packmates,” Dew looked at them; the ragtag band still slightly dishevelled from their journey, and looking awkwardly out of place in the ghoulettes’ colourful sitting room. He couldn’t have been prouder to call them his pack, “Aether, Mountain and Swiss.”

Conversation flowed slowly but smoothly, as the still-ravenous ghouls devoured the mountain of food in front of them. If they had thought Cumulus was a lot to handle, Sunshine was even more outgoing. Aether found himself warming quickly to Cirrus; two kind and steady personalities drawn together. Dew watched in wonder as his packmates seamlessly interacted with the ghoulettes; even Mountain seemed interested in Sunshine and her work at the Abbey, adapting the greenhouse to grow plants from warmer climates.

“Do you want to meet Mist and Copia too?” asked Cirrus, during a lull in the conversation. After a brief pause for Swiss to snaffle the last fruit bun, they followed her and the other ghoulettes down yet more stone hallways all the way to the other end of the Abbey.

“Dew’s probably told you, but the library is one of the most important rooms here after the Chapel,” Cirrus explained as they walked, “we have the largest collection of books detailing His work here on Earth and in the pit, as well as all manner of literature on the natural world.”

“That’s why Mist is so busy right now,” Sunshine interjected, “she’s leading the transcription of that book the two of you wrote. I haven’t seen Copia so excited by anything in years!”

Aether and Mountain exchanged glances that could only be read as ‘who is this guy?’

Turning another corner, Cirrus stopped in front of a pair of ornately carved oak doors.

“The library.”

She threw open the doors, revealing a large, high-ceilinged room lined with shelves upon shelves of books. In the centre were a cluster of desks, and cosy armchairs seemed to have been dotted wherever there was space. Long and narrow windows tossed columns of morning light across the room, supplemented by many candles that burned with an enchanted, heatless flame. Sat at the desks were half a dozen ghouls, all studiously scribbling on sheets of linen paper. None of them looked up at the disturbance, too engrossed in their work.

Sunshine wriggled past the ghouls blocking the door and skipped over to a ghoulette with cropped white hair, throwing her arms around her from behind while her quill was raised in contemplation.

“Hello Baby,” she cooed in her ear, “we brought you some guests.”

Even from the door, Dew could see the indigo blush reach the tips of Mist's ears. It was funny, he thought, seeing the normally unflappable ghoulette taken down like this. When she looked to the door, Dew wiggled his fingers in a small wave.

“Dew!” she cried, leaping to her feet and accidentally dislodging Sunshine, “I heard you’d come back!”

She swept to the door and pulled Dew, not a tall ghoul by anyone's standards, down to her height in a bone-crushing hug.

“With your pack, too,” she eyed them appraisingly, “your water ghoul is in the infirmary I heard. I’m not surprised, given what those humans put him through.”

Dew nodded, and chose not to explore why hearing Rain described as his water ghoul made his stomach feel strange and fluttery.

“Now,” Mist continued, pointing an accusatory finger at the others, “which of you is responsible for this absolute monster of a text we’ve been holed up in here copying for the last week?”

Swiss immediately pointed towards Mountain and Aether, intimidated by the small but fierce ghoulette. She turned her gaze on them; having to crane her neck to properly look Mountain in the eye.

“Who did the drawings?”

Mountain raised a cautious hand.

“Beautiful,” she stated, “ours aren’t half as good.”

She swivelled to face Aether.

“You.” Narrowing her eyes, she seemed almost ready to square up for a fight. “You wrote the text.”

Aether looked like he wanted to run away. He didn’t see what he could’ve done wrong.

“Why in Satan’s name is your handwriting so damn small!” Mist practically growled at him, throwing her hands in the air in frustration. “It’s incredible work, but we can barely read it without a magnifying glass!”

Lost for words, Aether stumbled back slightly and looked to Dew for backup. Luckily, he was saved from Mist’s exaggerated wrath by Copia emerging from the far doors that led to his office.

“Good morning, dear ghouls!” he called, swishing towards them in his long cassock. “Dewdrop, I am delighted to have you back with us, I trust your young packmate is here safely too, no?”

“Hello Papa,” Dew bowed his head politely, “he is sick in the infirmary, but yes Rain is here. The plan worked perfectly.”

“Ah, I am sorry to hear he is unwell,” the warmth in his eyes was genuine, all the ghouls could see that, “but this must be the rest of your pack!”

The others watched him cautiously, wary of the human stood before them. Swiss was the first to step forward, extending a hand in the human greeting he was most familiar with. Copia clasped it graciously, shaking it twice before raising it and dipping his head to press his lips to Swiss’ dry and cracked knuckles.

“It is a pleasure to meet you…” he paused, waiting for Swiss to supply a name.

“Swiss.” If he was amused by the strange man’s behaviour, he didn’t show it. “Multi ghoul.”

“Then it is a pleasure to meet you, Swiss.” He turned to face the more wary Aether and Mountain,

“You must be the pair responsible for this incredible anthology of regional fauna we are all hard at work on!” He lifted his arms, as though praising them, like the dark Priest they figured he was. “My goodness, it has been many a moon since I saw a work this spectacular, this comprehensive.”

He looked like he was about to embrace them, before thinking better of it and instead going in for more handshakes and kisses.

 “Aether,” the quintessence ghoul spoke clearly and professionally, “we thank you for your hospitality.”

"Mountain.” Quieter, hesitant, he accepted the deferent greeting of the Abbey's leader.

“You must meet some of our Earth ghouls! Your knowledge of the southern environment especially will be of tremendous interest to them.”

“How many ghouls live here?” asked Aether, curious.

“It fluctuates, but several dozen ghouls at least call this place home. A few of my own kind too, although we are in the minority.”

“You say the number of ghouls changes,” Mountain spoke with caution in his tone, “does this mean if we chose to stay, we would be free to leave again as we choose?”

“Of course, of course! I would never want to hold any ghoul against their will.” Copia seemed appalled by the suggestion.

“And what payment would you expect if we do stay?”

“For now, nothing. The knowledge in your book that Dewdrop brought to us is more than valuable enough for you to stay here while your youngest recovers. However, if you choose to remain here long term you would be expected to help out in some small way, in the infirmary or the gardens or wherever you feel best suited.”

Dew couldn't blame them for confirming what he had told them. He hoped it would build their trust in the leader to have him acknowledge how life worked here.

“Sunshine here for example,” he patted her on her curly head as she vibrated nearby like an excited puppy, “is helping our Earth ghouls build a tropical climate greenhouse. It is a rare treat, to have a multi ghoul in our midst.” Copia looked at Swiss with a marvelling smile as he spoke.

“Also, I hear you have much experience in dealing with humankind. I understand you may not want to, given recent events,” he winced on their behalf, “but it is one of my goals to spread His message even further with the help of ghouls, His most magnificent creations. That is also a possibility for you to assist me with, if you choose.”

The ghouls shared a glance – none of them especially enamoured with humanity right now.

“Anyway! Come, come. Let me show you how our work is going. We are almost done!”

Copia bustled back over towards the cluster of desks.

“Why did he greet us like we're royalty?” muttered Swiss in Dew's ear as they followed, loud enough for Mountain and Aether to hear, but no one else.

“It's just his way,” Dew murmured back, “he thinks ghouls are the physical manifestation of His Unholiness, and it means we can get away with murder here, sometimes literally.”

They stopped behind an earth ghoul at one of the desks, carefully inking a leafy plant. It was a near-perfect copy of Mountain's own drawing but the lines lacked the organic fluidity and familiarity of the shape Mountain had so easily rendered. Two more ghouls had the book itself open between them, squinting at the tiny text, roughly scribbling it down onto separate sheets for yet other ghouls, Mist included, to write up neatly onto pages to be bound later.

“As you see, we have a very efficient system to ensure we can return original texts that fall into our hands to their rightful owners as soon as possible.” Copia explained. “I am creating the cover to bind it, imbuing it with prayers for longevity in the hope that it may last many generations beyond me.”

As Aether leaned forward over the vacant seat to see the page Mist had been working on, the library doors burst open again with a slam. The young quintessence ghoul they had seen the day before came running in, panting with exertion.

“It's Rain,” he gasped.

Dew took off running without waiting to hear more. Pushing past the quintessence ghoul, he paid no heed to if his packmates were following him or not. He tore along the corridor, the footfalls echoing in his ears blending with the pounding of his heartbeat. In front of the doors to the infirmary he skidded to a stop before throwing himself through them.

Rain was sat hunched over in bed, shaking and hyperventilating with eyes as wide as saucers. The acrid scent of panic filled the air as Dew raced to his side, recognising the signs of another nightmare instantly.

“Rain!” he cried, ignoring the hands that tried to stop him clambering onto the bed to hold the water ghoul. “Please wake up, none of it's real!”

Around him, the ghouls called instructions, Dew ignoring them all in favour of rocking Rain back and forth as his gasps turned into sobs when he woke. He pressed Rain's head to his chest, smothering him in comforting touches. Hands pulled at Dew, dragging him away from Rain so one of the attending ghouls could press their fingers to Rain's forehead, sedating him with a burst of quintosis.

[ofthreechords]

So usually when I find a video game romance that I really like, I end up putting them into a The Secret World AU. Not sure why, but here we are.

The latest couple that's fallen victim to this is Henry and Hans from the Kingdom Come: Deliverance series. This is a short fic of them in the Secret World setting, being chosen by Gaia.

- Dawning of a New Age -

Fandoms: Kingdom Come: Deliverance, The Secret World

Setting: The Secret World

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Relationships: Hans Capon/Henry (Kingdom Come: Deliverance)

Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, Established Relationship

Warnings: Occasional Horror Vibes, Nightmares, Insects (Bees)

~~~

Hans startled awake, coughing, choking. Beside him, Henry awoke from the noise and motion, clearing his eyes to see him sitting up on the bed and hacking up a lung. His back arched forwards, and he pounded at his chest, coughing and wheezing and hacking. Ultimately, though, he expelled nothing.

Propping himself up on an elbow, Henry reached to place his hand on Hans's arm. He offered a look of concern, "Are you alright?"

Hans looked back at Henry, and his breathing slowed. The alarm on his face softened to a mild discomfort, and he swallowed, giving a sigh. "Just a nightmare."

His hand still on the other's arm, Henry nodded slightly, "Do you want to talk about it?"

There was a pause, the two holding each other's gaze before Hans laid back down. Henry pulled the covers over them, before draping his arm over the other's torso, looking at him expectantly. He waited for his boyfriend to speak at his own pace, letting him ramble.

"It wasn't much, honestly," Hans gazed idly at the ceiling, "I was on some sort of island. There were planets and stars in the sky, and there was a voice coming from them. Said something about the end of the world."

He turned to look at Henry, giving a look of confusion, or maybe scepticism. "Then these two people started talking to me. A woman and a man, telling me about whispering voices in my sleep. And then..." Hans gulped, before raising his hands, as if in imitation. "Insects came from their hands. Bees, they looked like. They swarmed around me, then flew into my mouth, down my throat. Then that was it."

Henry's own face mirrored the other's confusion. "Were you watching horror films without me?"

Hans furrowed his brow, "Of course not. I hate those, you know this."

"So where'd you get all this, then?"

"Hell if I know." Hans shrugged, sighing. "Just forget about it." With that, Hans rested his head, gazing up at the ceiling again.

Henry's eyes remained on his boyfriend, concerned but also unsure. There was no use prying any further, though, so he gently squeezed the other's torso before resting his own head. Hans turned his face to Henry's, his expression softening, offering a hint of gratitude. His eyes closed, and Henry did the same, going back to sleep.

They had nothing planned the next day, which was a welcome respite from the long week they'd had. As Henry prepared breakfast, he swept his gaze around their flat -- it wasn't the largest, but it was theirs. To Hans, it was part of him "finding his own path" in life, instead of just inheriting his family's businesses -- it took some convincing, but thankfully, here they were. Henry was happy to support Hans as his career in theatre started to take off.

Sitting at the breakfast table, Henry noticed a far-off, unfocused look in his boyfriend's eyes. Hans idly shovelled pieces of mushrooms, bacon, and fried eggs into his mouth. Henry raised a brow, "Is it still bothering you?"

"Hm?" Hans looked back at the other, before shaking his head. "Oh, no. Still a little tired."

"Want to go for a run? Help wake you up."

Hans shook his head again, "No, it's fine. Think I'll head back to sleep."

Henry gazed at Hans, once more with the look of concern. "If that's what you want."

He decided to go for a run by himself, and along his usual route, he ran into Katherine. The two jogged along the Thames, sharing a pleasant conversation about her recent misadventures and the upcoming Medieval Festival, which Hans was also planning to attend. Eventually, they parted ways, and Henry returned to the flat.

Upon reentering the flat, Henry looked around. "Hans?" He called, while peeking into the bedroom. The bed was empty. From the living room, he heard a groan -- he found Hans sprawled on the sofa, covering his eyes with the back of his wrist. There were no signs of injury, but his skin was pale, and he seemed to be in pain.

"Hans?" Henry repeated, clear worry on his face.

Hans removed his hand, looking up at Henry. "Henry?" He groaned again, "I don't feel good."

"What's going on? Fever? Stomach ache?" Henry stepped towards their medicine cabinet.

"It's like something's going to claw its way out of me," Hans propped himself up, gazing after Henry. "Henry, I'm--" And he lurched forward, covering his mouth, cheeks puffing as if he were about to vomit.

Alarm flashed on Henry's face, rushing back to Hans. He wrapped an arm around the other, supporting him, "Toilet. Now."

Then Henry saw it. A sheen, a lustre radiating off of Hans's skin, and his eyes were sparkling -- literally. It was blue, then gold, flickering between the two. Flecks of light seemed to course over his skin's surface, leaking from behind the hand over his mouth. Henry's eyes widened, and he slowly backed away from Hans, looking at him in disbelief. "H-Hans?" He stammered, "You're glowing!"

Hans looked at his boyfriend with confusion for a brief moment, before he lurched again. Eyes wide with panic, he stumbled past Henry, making his way to the toilet and doubling over the bowl. He opened his mouth...

Blinking himself out of his stupor, Henry started after Hans. He neared the doorway, when suddenly, a brilliant force exploded from it. A blinding light, a howling wind, a rumble of something beyond Henry's comprehension. It threw him onto his back, the deafening noise blowing into his ears and through the flat. He scrambled halfway to his feet, gazing with shock and fear at what was before him, the golden light pouring from the doorway and the halls shaking with the force. All Henry could do was stare in horror, jaw hanging open.

The light, the wind ceased, followed by the sound of something, someone collapsing. A feeling of dread came over Henry, and he called out, "Hans!"

Hans slumped onto the floor, and Henry hurried over to him, cradling his head. Alarm, distress flashed across Henry's face, gazing into the other's half-lidded, half-conscious eyes. "Hans. Come on." He snapped his fingers in front of the other's face, his tone begging, pleading. "Look at me. Look at me, my love."

A groan, a slow blink, and Hans stirred. His vision cleared to Henry looming over him. "Henry?"

Relief flashed over Henry's face, and he let out a shaky sigh. "Thank goodness." He brought his hand up to stroke the other's cheek, before his expression shifted to one of worry again. "What happened? What did you just do?"

Hans shook his head, giving a light scoff. "You tell me, Henry. I just..." He sat up, gazing at the toilet. There were small cracks in the bowl, and the plastic seat had melted. His eyes widened, staring for a moment, "Did I do that?" A pause, before he grimaced, "Christ. I'd like to wake up now."

Seeing the melted seat, Henry frowned. "So would I." He shook his own head, unsure how to process what had happened -- but other things took priority right now. He looked to his boyfriend again, "How do you feel?"

Hans sighed lightly, gazing down at himself, placing his hand over his chest. A brief moment in thought, before looking to Henry again. "I'm... fine, actually. I feel better."

Henry raised a brow. "Suppose that's a good thing."

"Still, though -- I don't want to be vomiting fire. I don't know what the hell is going on with me, nor what I'm going to do about it."

"I don't know, either." Henry stood, pulling what remained of the seat from the toilet. "There's no use sitting around, though. We should start by getting a new one of these." He offered his hand to his boyfriend.

Hans took it, his face softening, "Alright." He pulled himself up, "Thank you."

The rest of their day went smoothly. They bought a new seat for the toilet, then went out for dinner, and spent the sunset strolling along the Thames. Throughout the day, Henry remained on constant watch over his boyfriend's condition, for any sign that Hans may start vomiting again. The incident echoed in his head -- the light, the rumbling, then Hans collapsing. He frequently asked Hans how he was feeling, to which the other would respond reassuringly. Thankfully, nothing out of the ordinary happened, and the two retired to bed after their nightly routines.

After settling under the covers, Henry draped his arm over Hans, pulling him closer with a smile. His hand moved up to the other's cheek once again, stroking it affectionately with his thumb. "Are you alright?"

Hans smirked. "That's, what, the tenth time you've asked? I'm fine, love. Really."

Henry sighed, still the same smile. "Alright. Well, you let me know if you feel anything."

"Tenth time you've said that, too."

A lighthearted smile, giving a squeeze, "I can't help it, darling. I worry for you." Henry leaned in, nuzzling the other softly.

Hans chuckled, his own hand moving up to cradle Henry's face. "Fine. I appreciate it." With that, he leaned in for a short, affectionate kiss. He pulled back with a soft smack, regarding his boyfriend fondly. "Good night, Henry."

Offering one more smile, Henry murmured, "Night, Hans." He closed his eyes and went to sleep, Hans following soon after.

Henry awoke on a rocky beach, rain falling onto his face. Despite this, the dark skies were clear -- filled with stars, even planets. He rose to his feet, gazing up at the sky, not knowing where in the world he was.

Then a voice, booming from beyond the stars.

YOU WILL SEE THE END OF DAYS.

YOU WILL SEE THE DAWNING OF A NEW AGE.

He found himself gaping with horror, and he looked around. The water was black as tar, seeming to bubble as it lapped up on the shore. Behind him, jagged rock formations seemed to point towards a central nexus of sorts, the inside of which he could not see. Asteroids swept along the sky, along with beams of an eerie green light.

Then a woman, clad in white, appeared beside Henry. "Be mindful of the voices. They will whisper-"

"Listen to the voices that whisper in your sleep." A man, clad in black, appeared opposite the woman.

Henry flicked his gaze between the two, stepping back, terror on his face. "What?!"

"You are cursed with free will," they said in unison, "Make the right choices."

"What are you talking about?!"

The woman extended her hand, from which golden bees swarmed. "The voices. They corrupt."

The man extended his hand, from which crimson flies swarmed. "They speak the truth."

The bees surrounded Henry, and he flailed, swatted at them to no avail. "No! Get away!" And then they were all upon him, descending into his mouth, down his throat.

Henry awoke again, coughing, choking, sitting up in the bed. He hacked, wheezed, pressed a hand against his chest. For several seconds, he was so sure, so certain that he had swallowed something like a bug, a bee in his sleep. As he coughed and hacked, though, nothing came. Whatever crawled down his throat was long gone.

He sighed, the tension settling, though a discomfort still remained inside him. He turned to look at Hans, who was awake, gazing at him with confusion and worry.

"Nightmare?" Hans asked.

Henry nodded slowly.

In response, Hans reached for Henry's arm. "Want to talk about it?"

[howlsofbloodhounds]

Idk if anyone asked this before but: how do you think each member of the chromatic crew would react after learning about Epic's nightmares and him (possibly) avoiding sleep altogether?

I've been craving Epic angst for the last few days! Specifically those regarding his nightmares and I wanted to know what you think

I think I might’ve answered something like this with the epic sanses specifically, but I suppose this all depends on what exactly Epic feels comfortable sharing with the crew, and how much they might’ve already noticed or pieced together themselves.

Especially those who’ve known Epic for awhile, like Cross, or those who might’ve lived with him for awhile or seen and interacted with him regularly, like Color and Delta.

Killer may be the least familiar with Epic starting off when compared to the other three, but he is observant, curious, intelligent and on high alert in a new environment.

Also maybe exploring the house when others are asleep (or supposed to be asleep), and frequently encountering Epic up and about at late hours. Knowing the way these two tend to be, like pulling teeth to get them to talk about things like this, i wouldn’t be surprised if they fall into some type of quiet, unspoken routine at night.

Even if it’s just as simple as Epic will continue doing whatever he is doing to avoid sleep and stay awake, and Killer will stare at him from the corner like a creep.

Similar to Epic, I think Color tends to try and avoid sleep as well.

Of course, I do think all of the Chromatic Crew tends to have issues with sleep—there’s no way they don’t all have PTSD/CPTSD, which often tends to mean frequent nightmares and inability to fall or stay asleep.

But Color, similar to Epic, has an issue with sleep in that he feels like he’s wasting time doing it. Back in the Void, all he could do was sleep. Sleep, and walk and pace around, and talk to himself and the souls and Gaster and no one at all, count the cracks in the floor and the pillars and imagine what would happen if Papyrus were to somehow appear in front of him—there to save him and take him back home—and try to ignore the hunger eating at his bones.

Of course, though, if you HC Color to have something like narcolepsy, actually successfully staying awake would be an issue for him. So as opposed to Killer’s solution of also not sleeping, or Delta’s ‘here’s a productive distraction for you’ approach, perhaps Color leans more into other areas.

As in: i think he and Epic cuddle a lot. Color will hold Epic in his arms, and stroke his skull. Sometimes Color will talk, utilize those creative storytelling skills he had to develop with Gaster in the Void to survive.

Sometimes he will sing, sometimes he reads Epic a book, sometimes he doesn’t speak at all and just provides physical comfort and presence or will get up to make Epic something comforting to drink or eat. Sometimes it helps Epic fall asleep, although it’s unfortunately never a peaceful sleep and he never stays asleep for long.

Sometimes Epic starts to fall asleep, lured into relaxation and safety, but then startles back awake suddenly and isn’t able or willing to try for a few more moments of sleep.

In those moments, I like to think that Color just lets Epic lay his head on his lap, and he will go back to petting Epic’s skull. Or sometimes they just lay facing each other and talk, about the past or the future, or dreams.

Sometimes Color will talk about the Void—about the worlds and stories he and Gaster made together, the rules and games they made and how at some point it stopped being games, or stories, and just became real in a way. Or maybe they—or he—wanted them to be, because at least they were better than their actual reality.

Maybe Color even sometimes opens up during these moments about how, despite how much used to long to escape—almost killed himself attempting to—now that he’s actually out, he just sometimes finds himself wanting to go back more than anything.

They talk. I doubt Color ever actually talks much about himself, preferring the stories and worlds and characters, but Color opening up so casually can sometimes make Epic comfortable enough to attempt to do the same.

I think Epic can feel comfortable waking up screaming, confused, afraid and in pain when lying next to Color because he knows that not only has Color been in that position before himself—but because if Epic wants to be comforted, almost like a scared child, Color is able and willing to happily do so.

He’s happy to wrap his friends up in his arms, and hold them as much as they need—and I like to think that whenever Color is filled with Kindness, he tends to run a lot warmer—like a heater.

To me, when filled with Kindness especially, Color is the type who isn’t afraid to just immediately crawl into bed with a sick friend and hold them while they cry—even if he ends up getting sick too. Like a teddy bear.

I don’t know, I just like to think that Color is who the Crew tend to go to when they age regress to a younger version of themselves — even if they don’t have the words to describe that experience, or in Delta’s case, whenever Beta is out and is a child— and sometimes they can feel so safe with him, that they just do.

Then, of course, Cross. Epic’s bruh. Ironically, despite being Epic’s longest friend, i wouldn’t be surprised if opening up with Cross is harder than it should be for Epic. Not because he doesn’t trust Cross, not because he thinks anything bad of Cross, but simply because it’s hard to let down that outer shell of him. Maybe here, Epic’s fear of what Cross would think of him after is immense.

I don’t think Epic would have a detailed conversation about this with Beta, because Beta is the child and shouldn’t have to handle things like that. Beta isn’t oblivious—they know what nightmares and being unable to sleep are like, unfortunately, even if their nightmares are different from Epic’s—and he will definitely have questions and concerns.

I don’t think Epic’s the type to lie to the kid just because he’s a kid—he’s a kid who’s been through and seen too much already.

I do think Epic will tell Beta that he’s having some trouble with sleep, even if he doesn’t go into all the details, but he’ll probably just say he doesn’t want Beta to worry about it and reassure the kid that he’ll be okay. The others are taking care of him, before he changes the subject back to whatever activity the two of them were doing.

[bunnywabbet]

bad dreams wan cuddle :(((

[akechis-special-case]

Nothing Will Us Part

With: Henry

Given my latest Henry yaps I thought that this would be very fitting. I love writing more with others but I also start writing stuff with Goro (not for my fic but short stuff) ... Maybe I will do that later. I haven't slept yet I need a nap.

Words: 862

Warnings ahead!

Angst (& Comfort)

Blood

Nightmares

If any of these make you uncomfortable, skip this one! Story below cut!

He was in front of them, body cold and whitering. Their stomach twisted at the mere sight, a shudder going down their spine. This sight… It was unbelievable, cruel even. In fact they wanted to throw up from the amount of blood they were seeing in front of themself. Right in the middle of the battlefield, the loud groaning of the Risen echoing in their ears as the forest around was burning down into crisps.

It was pouring out, all from the body beneath. They couldn't do anything but watch. Their body trembled, fingers twitching. They slowly leaned down and poked it. The arm had dyed itself red by now, the blood freshly dripping down. And when they wanted to feel fir a pulse, there was none. 

They would have pulled away yet in this case they couldn't believe it. He was lying there, on his front, on the burning ground, head tilted to the side to only showcase his smile… The usual smile he always wore on his face. Even in his last moments he had this eerie smile on his lips.

It was cold. His body was all cold. Even though it slowly melted with his clothes burning down. The cape was almost gone after all. They wanted to grab for it, hold it in their arms, one last time. It was a bad idea, they would probably perish if they did so as well. But they didn't care. They had to feel him, one last time. Before it all perishes, before he turns into ashes… Before he's completely gone.

Henry…

'Henry…’

“Henry!”

A loud scream echoed through the small hut. Ann's body shot up before even processing what had happened. They noticed their heavy breath and shortly after how their throat was burning. It was hard to swallow, let alone get out a word. And as their consciousness slowly came back to them and they felt their body more and more. It only then occurred that they were all wet, from head to toe, yet their body was also just set ablaze. To say that they felt uncomfortable was an understatement… After all, they were shivering like crazy.

Sweat was dripping down and they were probably smelly, smellier than they'd like to admit. Yet they ignored it, playing the scene over and over in their head. This… Was not real… Right? And yet it felt as if it had just happened.

Their gaze ran around the hut itself, eyeing it from every possible angle. Though it would come to a halt when meeting face to face with him. Though in contrast to the smile he had his eyes open, looking at them softly yet with concern. Maybe that was because he was half asleep, judging from his messy hair, obvious bed hair. And yet instead of complaining all he asked was: “What happened?"

Their hands were clutching onto the sheets, gripping them tightly. They were trying to hold their breath, keep their tears to themself. Yet doing this hurt, a lot, more than imaginable. And before knowing it they let loose all of a sudden, throwing themself on him and their arms grabbing him tightly while burying themself into his chest. They couldn't risk him disappearing, not again.

They felt him flinch in place, letting out a short yet sharp gasp of surprise. He did not say a word, at least not for that short moment. He eventually would say something, slightly confused. “Ann?”

Yet even that didn't get them to respond. They were sulking, though quietly. It was long over… Almost a decade. And yet they were still having recurring nightmares like these. The battle is a distant memory. And yet it was also a haunting one. They just couldn't speak whenever they saw it.

Though it put them a little at ease when he chuckled, one of his arms pulled them closer while the other rested on their back, making slow yet soothing motions. It either went up and down or in circles. It was a little lazily yet it was in the middle of the night. “Ssh, it's fine. I'm here.” He assured them with a whisper. “Everything is fine.”

They nodded slowly. They could feel his touch, hear his heartbeat clearly… He was here, alive, right next to them. “Sorry Henry, I just–”

“Don't apologize. I'm not mad.” He interrupted them, his own embrace tightening. “Take your time. I won't go anywhere.”

Those words felt like an odd punch in the gut. I knew it and yet the fear was still lingering. And each time it would hit like a sack of bricks. Their mind was a mess every time afterwards. They weren't doubting their husband's words of course. They never were. It was just unbearable. The idea to lose him was one they just couldn't endure, no matter what. “Do you promise?”

“Of course I do! Nothing will do us part, not even death.”

“Isn't it until death do us part?”

“No. Not this time. I know what I said.” He said as if correcting them with a small laugh. “I will be with you, dead or alive. Nothing will do us part, ever.”