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reivenesque · 6 years

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Running in a Serpentine Fashion CH6

Chapter 6: Son

Then Daniel said something that gave Johnny pause. He said; “Can you imagine how different our lives would have turned out if I’d joined Cobra Kai from the beginning and you’d been trained by Mr. Miyagi instead of Kreese?”

It wasn’t a thought Johnny had even considered but now that it was out in the open like that, he couldn’t stop thinking about it.

He couldn’t imagine it at all.

A day and a half ago he was sitting wallowing in his office downing bottle after bottle of orange juice. Never had he regretted giving up drinking until that point in his life but he was adamant about making a life changing decision and actually sticking to it for the first time in his life. The last time that happened, he got married and had a kid and ended up not sticking around like the worthless loser he’d turned into.

Now he was sitting in the dimly lit hospital room at his son’s bedside, listening to the beeping and hissing sounds of the machines keeping him alive.

Robby was still unconscious after the surgery and according to the doctor, would stay that way for at least a few more days.

The blade had caused damage to his colon and small intestines and caused some pretty significant internal bleeding on top of the other injuries he’d sustained in the fight, but thankfully it missed major blood vessels, otherwise he would have bled out even with Aisha’s first aid and before Johnny could have gotten him to the hospital. It was the swift action by Aisha and Miguel and Hawk and Moon coming to get him that saved Robby’s life and Johnny didn’t he’d ever be able to find the words to express his appreciation. He figured he’d start with the truth about his and Robby’s relationship first and foremost, since the revelation had been rather sudden and he didn’t get a chance to properly explain to Miguel before he left with the doctor to go see Robby.

Robby looked almost serene despite being in a drug induced coma. Small favours, thought Johnny. The last thing he wanted was for Robby to be in pain, he’d seen him in pain enough during the tournament to last a lifetime and it was all because of him. He just hoped he get the chance to apologize to his son for everything. For what happened at the tournament. For abandoning him and his mom. For not being there when he needed him the most. For everything.

He didn’t expect to get Robby’s forgiveness; he just wanted the chance to be able to work towards becoming a person who even deserved to earn it.

He reached over to grasp Robby’s hand, bringing it up to rest under his chin and he continued gazing at him. His other stretched out to brush the wayward bangs away from his forehead and lingered for a moment to stroke the side of his face.

He remembered Robby as a kid and all of a sudden he was a grown man standing right before his very eyes. Johnny regretted the years he wasted staying away, hiding like a coward and not being there for his family the way he should have been. Him and Shannon didn’t marry for love – well, they were in love at that moment, drunk off their ass and just happened to be standing in front of a pop up church. A few months later she told him she was pregnant and he stuck around for a while; through the pregnancy and the birth and for a couple of years after that. But then…

Well, the past was the past and Johnny forced himself to shake free from the thoughts. It wouldn’t do him any good. It never did. Instead he forced himself to focus on the present moment. He forced himself to grasp tight onto Robby’s hand and remember that that was the present. That was real. Robby was real and he was right there and he was going to need Johnny now more than ever. And Johnny was going to need him too.

“I’m sorry, Robby,” he said, leaning down to plant a kiss on the back of Robby’s bruised knuckles; his other hand stroking the side of his cheek gently with the back of his fingers. “I love you and I’m so sorry I wasn’t there for you, just… please give me another chance. I promise I’ll never let you down again.”

Robby didn’t answer. His eyes remained closed; the rise and fall of his chest was mechanical with every pump of the ventilator breathing for him. Half his face was black and blue and he had a long scabbed over gash on his forehead just below his hairline.

Johnny just waited. He didn’t let go of Robby’s hand even once. He’d never been the most religious of people but at that moment, he started praying.

Nothing happening outside the walls of Robby’s room meant anything to Johnny, only the seemingly endless visits from the nurses and the doctors and the detectives who stopped by to check if Robby was awake to give a statement. Apparently they’d managed to identify three of the five guys that attacked Robby and were currently in the process of tracking them down.

Johnny couldn’t give two rat’s asses about the process; he just wanted to know when they caught the bastards to did that to his son and enforce some Cobra Kai justice on them himself.

But then he remembered; Cobra Kai was the reason he was stuck in that predicament. Why he was always stuck in that predicament. His life ended when he lost to LaRusso in the tournament, but it wasn’t because of the actual tournament, it was everything that had happened as a direct result of the loss. His relationship with Kreese. His relationship with his stepdad had disintegrated further with his mom no longer able to play the peacemaker. The friendship he had with the rest of the Cobra Kai’s that had slowly burned out and fizzled away. That was one of the biggest regrets he had. That and ending up being to Robby what his own father had been to him: just another scumbag absentee dad.

“Johnny?” He looked up at the call and found LaRusso standing at the door. He didn’t know how long the man had been standing there. “Amanda asked me to see if you needed anything. You haven’t left his side in days.”

At first Johnny had to wrack his brain to remember who Amanda even was but when he did he just shook his head, though he was appreciative of the gesture and the thought. “Nah, I’m good.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah,” he nodded.

LaRusso spared him a look for a moment before he returned the nod and stepped back to leave.

“Daniel?” Johnny surprised himself by calling out to him before he walked away. “You… you wanna stay a while. I guess I could use the company.”

“Sure,” he said with a smile, walking in and taking a seat on the chair opposite of Johnny, on Robby’s left. “They didn’t manage to find his mom?” he asked when he sat down.

“Nah,” said Johnny simply, though his brain was thinking of a few choice words to actually say about the woman but decided against it. “According to the neighbours she apparently went on a cruise with some new boyfriend he picked up in a bar. I don’t know. I don’t even try to keep up with what she’s doing – or who.”

“Poor Robby,” said LaRusso with a sigh.

“Yeah,” Johnny reiterated because there was nothing else left to say. Robby was unfortunately doomed from the start; a useless mom and an even more useless dad. It was a credit to himself that he grew up to be a halfway decent human being. Johnny hated to admit it, but meeting LaRusso was perhaps the best thing to happened to Robby in a long time.

“It isn’t your fault you know... what happened to him. Despite your relationship, you never could have predicted this happening. As bad as Kreese and the Cobra Kais were, this is beyond even their standard of evil,” said Daniel.

Hearing those words coming from his mouth, considering their less than stellar history and Johnny’s own disillusionment regarding the teachings of his own sensei that he once worshipped absolutely, it meant more to him to hear than he expected.

“It doesn’t change the fact that it did happen, and that Robby almost died… and that the last memory he has of me is standing by as he was being brutalized by my own students.”

“Look, Johnny – I won’t pretend to condone the teachings of Cobra Kai and the philosophy of Kreese that you – to be completely frank – stupidly passed onto those naïve impressionable kids. I thought you’d learned something from your own history. But I’m not here to condemn you or even Cobra Kai, I’ve done enough of that to last me a lifetime. But just… you just need to remember that the teaching is only as flawed as the person who teaches it and between you and Kreese… well, I’m not actually sure which one of you is more flawed.”

Johnny understood that the moment was supposed to be deep but he couldn’t help it, he laughed. Then Daniel laughed.

“Damn, LaRusso, that was honestly the worst pep talk I think I’ve heard in my life.”

Daniel didn’t seem at all offended by his words. “Yeah, Mr. Miyagi didn’t manage to pass on that specific skillset,” he said.

“But, I do appreciate it in a weird way.”

“Then I’ve done my job,” said LaRusso proudly. “You know, Mr. Miyagi would have liked Robby a lot.”

“Yeah, I’m sure he would.”

It wasn’t a thought Johnny had even considered but now that it was out in the open like that, he couldn’t stop thinking about it.

He couldn’t imagine it at all.

It was nearly three days after Johnny rushed his son to the hospital before he showed the first signs of waking up.

It was just a small movement at first, so miniscule Johnny almost missed it when it happened.

At first it was just the slight furrowing of his eyebrows as he struggled to surface from the drug induced coma. Johnny stuck close to him, whispering assurances to him that he wasn’t alone. He didn’t know if Robby even heard him or realized he was there.

Then he started stirring, fingers curling weakly and arms moving around heavily; his eyeballs darting around beneath his closed lids. The more aware he became of his surroundings the more anxious Johnny got. He was about a second away from calling Daniel to be there to reassure them both when Robby’s eyes finally opened.

His eyes were glassy and unfocused, barely able to stay open as he gazed around weakly at his surroundings. He didn’t seem aware of Johnny’s presence or the feel of Johnny’s hand grasping onto his. It wasn’t until Johnny called his name softly did his eyes finally turn to focus on the sight of Johnny standing over him.

Everything seemed to happen at once right then. Robby became fully aware of the breathing tube in his throat and the pain that was assaulting his senses at the same time. He began to choke, gagging on the tube, unable to take oxygen into his lungs. His hand reached up weakly to pull the foreign object out but Johnny managed to grab onto his wrist, tugging his hand away.

“Robby, it’s okay. It’s okay, Robby,” he said, reaching up with his other hand to stroke his son’s hair back comfortingly.

Robby had tears trickling down the side of his face and the sight of his broke Johnny’s heart to pieces. He was quickly ushered out the door by the arrival of the nurses and he doctors as they converged on Robby, and he reluctantly let his hand slip out of his grasp before the curtain was pulled and Robby disappeared from his sight.

At some point Daniel joined him in waiting outside Robby’s room but Johnny didn’t notice when he walked up or whether he stayed. His mind was focused completely on Robby, as much as he could with his heart thundering against his ribcage without mercy.

He only noticed when the doctors finally walked out though what they actually said went completely over his head. His only focus was Robby and getting reassurance that he was okay, once he got that, his mind immediately stopped concentrating on the doctor and he rushed back inside the room to be with his son.

He thought Daniel stayed for a while, there was a strange inkling in the back of his mind that someone was around, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from Robby long enough to make sure.

It was at least a few more hours of anxious waiting, not once letting go of Robby’s hand, before Johnny’s heart was given the release it so desired when Robby woke up a second time. But this time in little to no pain though the doctor insisted that he stay on the ventilator for at least about twelve hours for monitoring.

This time Robby’s eyes were quicker to focus on Johnny once they opened and they stayed trained on him almost as if Robby was reluctant to believe that his own father was actually there by his side.

“You really scared the shit out of me kid,” he said, putting forward a stronger façade than he really felt on the inside and forcing a small smile onto his face.

Robby looked between his face and the hand still grasping tight onto his and for a tense heavy moment, Johnny was terrified that Robby would pull his hand away in rejection of the touch. But he didn’t, and Johnny let out an imperceptible sigh of relief. When Robby actually curled his fingers around Johnny’s hand, effectively latching on to him just as desperately, Johnny had to stop himself from tearing up like a little bitch.

“It’s okay, Robby. You’re okay,” he said, “I’m here and I’ll be here for as long as you want me.”

Robby didn’t respond, but his shoulders noticeable relaxed and he leaned slightly onto the hand Johnny had cupping his cheek and that was everything Johnny could have ever wished for. He questioned whether to bring up the subject of Robby’s mom but decided against. His son didn’t need the added stress in his condition. Instead, he patted Robby gently on the shoulder and without letting go of his hand, retook his seat by his side. Robby’s eyes followed his descent and Johnny kept his gaze, squeezing his hand once as reassurance that he was real.

He noticed Robby attempting to speak through the tube in his throat and quickly leaned over to prevent him from hurting himself. “Don’t try to speak. Just… Just try to relax, Robby. I know you’re hurting and I know you’re uncomfortable but just… it’s gonna be okay, son,” he said and he realized that it was the first time he could remember calling Robby son, perhaps even, it was the first time he thought he actually deserved to do so.

He didn’t know whether Robby noticed his uncertainty, part of him hoped that Robby was too hopped up on drugs to even realize he’d said anything, but the other part of him wanted Robby to know, wanted him to believe that it was true. He supposed he wasn’t going to get any answers any time soon but he was totally okay with that too, it’d give him more time to work up a response that was less that of a stuttering fool.

But Robby continued staring at him through half lidded eyes that keep drooping and Johnny tried not to show his insecurity so obviously. Eventually he could tell that Robby was slowly but surely losing his battle against sleep and urged him to stop fighting, reassuring him that he was going to still be there when he woke up. It was as if Robby was waiting for the reassurance because the moment Johnny said it, he finally let go of the weak grasp he had on consciousness and slipped away into the dark.

Johnny let out a deep exhale the moment Robby’s eyes slipped shut and his entire body finally relaxed.

Then he just waited.

Tbc.

#johnny lawrence #the karate kid #cobra kai #robby keene #daniel larusso #billy zabka #tanner buchanan #ralph macchio #whump #reiven fics #reiven cobra kai fics #fics: running in a serpentine fashion #intubated

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abri-chan · 4 years

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One word + character -> one sentence fic

(prompt) lightning + Giorno: A glimpse at the lightning serpentine and Giorno rushed to open his dorm room window; and as he basked in the rumbling of thunders and the wind howling violently against window-panes he felt the storm running through his veins come alive.

(prompt) umbrella + Rohan: Rohan fumbled with the dainty pink umbrella, already hearing Josuke's teasing and his own retort of a fashion statement,-- truth was, he had been browsing through catalogues thinking of Reimi and it was easy to admit to ego than remorse.

(Formaggio + reception prompt):

The bride would open the unsigned envelope to find a ruby bracelet inside, red as the embarrassment of his foolish youth; and if anger or forgiveness arose within her, Formaggio was happier not knowing as he sneaked out of the wedding reception.

#anime manga rambles #jojo #jjba #jojo's bizarre adventure #giorno giovanna #rohan kishibe #formaggio

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snidgetsafan · 5 years

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Good Omens

Rating: T

Summary: It all starts in a garden...In a world where Heaven and Hell play an ineffable game of backgammon with humanity, an Angel and a Demon have been stationed on Earth since the dawn of time. And after 6,000 years, any being, whether they be ethereal or occult, would go at least a little native. And after 6,000 years of being the only two immortal souls on Earth, could you blame these beings for braving angelic and demonic taboos and growing close?

A Good Omens AU (no prior knowledge of the book or mini-series needed) (on AO3)

Notes: Here is my entry for @csseptembersunshine! Good Omens is my favorite book ever, and the mini-series has reawakened my obsession. I haven’t been able to write anything else, this idea wouldn’t leave me. Just so you know: this was supposed to be a bullet point outline. And here we are, 10k later... I wish I could say I was sorry for all the puns and dumbass jokes, but you know I’m not. Last but not least: a HUGE thank you to @shireness-says, who has edited this fic in two days, cheered me while I was writing, and tolerated both my fixation and puns (and even made one of her own! I’m SO PROUD)

Wordcount: 10.7k

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It all starts in a garden. No, not a garden – the garden. You could even say the Garden, since it’s currently the only one in existence.

It’s a gorgeous Garden. You could even call it heaven on Earth, because it is.

It doesn’t actually start in the Garden proper, mind, but rather on top of the wall surrounding it, where an Angel is watching the first two humans walk towards an undetermined future. More determined, however, is the lion slowly prowling towards them. A slight breeze brings the smell of ozone from the coming storm (the first storm – God really casting the humans out in style), as well as the slightest whiff of iron. That last smell is explained a few seconds later by the appearance of a huge snake slithering up the wall before slowly taking human shape as it reaches the parapet, as if unsure how to go about the transition. A Demon, then.

And thus the Demon spake unto the Angel, “Well, I don’t think that could have been any more dramatic.”

“I beg your pardon?” are the first words the Angel spake unto the Demon. The Demon smiles in amusement, their dark hair fluttering in the wind as it steadily blows stronger; the storm is growing nearer. They catch a few strands between their fingers, looking at it in puzzlement before shrugging and turning towards the Angel.

Then their smile turns into a frown. “Didn’t you have a flaming sword?” they ask, tilting their head to look behind the Angel, just in case their lanky frame could somehow hide a huge sword on actual fire. Such a feat would have to be quite the mirac– well.

The Angel averts their blue eyes, pretending to be fascinated by the approaching clouds. When they see the Demon patiently waiting for an answer (and isn’t it odd, seeing a Demon display one of the seven Virtues?), they mumble an answer, turning their head away once again.

(Those clouds really are quite something. They’re the first ones, for starters).

The Demon’s serpentine eyes widen. Surely – “You what ?” And then the Angel says Words, words that will shape the next six thousand years of the world, from its very beginning to its end (and its aftermath, too, but more importantly its end).

“I gave it away,” they repeat defensively, not looking at the Demon, unwilling to see the mockery on their face. The Demon is glad that the Angel’s not looking at them; this way, they have time to hide the absolute awe they’re feeling at the moment. It’s not that the Angel has compassion; angels are made of love, compassion is innate for them. No, it’s that this Angel, without even realizing it, has shown free will, has had the complete and utter balls to find and use a loophole in God’s orders.

They’re so awed, they don’t even acknowledge the envy and wrath this realization awakens in them (why didn’t this angel fall, when what they did was worse than what the Demon did – when they only asked questions? )

It’s the first time of many that the Angel will cause the Demon to ignore their very nature, reminding them of Before (before Eden, before Hell, before the fall, before the doubt).

And with the dawn of human history begins the dance of Emraoth and Kiliel (for they do learn each other’s names eventually). Because while “how many angels can dance on the head of a pin?” is quite an interesting question, it would be more appropriate to wonder what an angel and a demon would dance if left to their own devices (or to be more precise, not an angel and a demon, but rather this Angel and this Demon).

For instance, right now, you could say they’re line dancing; following the steps set by the choreography, occasionally facing each other but each staying in their own space, in sync with their side. They meet in Mesopotamia, Etruria, and what will become Australia. They assume their roles at the foot of the Ararat Mountains, though they’re not very good at it (an angel unenthusiastic about the Flood and a demon raving about the children not deserving this fate – what would their ilk think?)

––-

And then Jerusalem happens. Kiliel watches with sorrow in his eyes as God’s Son is nailed to one of the crosses. He knows God’s Plan is ineffable, and that Jesus’ death is a vital part of it, but his heart still bleeds as he hears the man’s cries and whimpers. He oddly feels relieved to smell the whiff of iron, turning his head to see Emraoth suddenly standing next to him (but not watching him - almost never watching him, not since Eden). She is draped all in black with a veil covering her brown hair in the local fashion, and she looks grim, no sign of amusement on her face.

“Did you meet him?” Kiliel can’t help but ask, both out of curiosity and as a way to cover Jesus’ cries of pain.

“I showed him all the kingdoms of the world,” she murmurs, not looking away from the cross now slowly being raised.

“Why?” Kiliel asks, not understanding what temptation she was trying to accomplish. And just like Emraoth’s whole worldview had tilted on its axis on the Garden’s wall, so does Kiliel’s on top of the Golgotha as Emraoth snorts, although there is no mirth in it.

“He’s the son of a carpenter. How else was he supposed to see them before he died?”

And just like Emraoth hadn’t expected to find free will in an angel before the Garden, Kiliel hadn’t expected to find pity in a demon before

They wait in respectful silence for the end after this, feeling Jesus deserves to not be left alone in his last, most terrible moments. Neither of them says a thing when the spear pierces his side; they’ll later get commendations from their respective sides for the act, and they won’t say a thing. What could they say? Could Kiliel say that out of the two of them, it was the Demon who showed mercy? And what can Emraoth say when Hell rejoices in her worsening the Christ’s agony? That it was the farthest from her mind?

So they continue line dancing. While they imperceptibly move out of sync with their sides, their steps start complementing each other’s instead, though no one notices, them least of all.

(God of course notices, just like She’s noticed everything since the beginning, but keeps Her own counsel on the matter).

––-

For once, Kiliel is the one who first spots Emraoth in Rome. She looks dejected, slumped against the counter with her head leaning on her fist. Kiliel feels quite nervous; he’s known Emraoth since the Garden (as much as one can know a demon, duplicity being second nature to them, he thinks, remembering Liamel’s warnings every time he reports in Heaven), but he doesn’t know how to deal with a demon capable of compassion.

But Kiliel is… curious, and he approaches her (and if Emraoth’s abrasiveness settles him into a relative sense of comfort, well, nobody has to know). They eat oysters, of all things. Emraoth hates them, but seems to like the honey cakes he orders for dessert (if the way she gobbles her plate and steals his last morsel while he is distracted is any indication, anyway). And during their meal, they talk. Not of deep things – they don’t trust each other enough for that - but of what they’ve seen. Kiliel talks about the Library of Alexandria; Emraoth mentions seeing it. Kiliel is suspicious until Emraoth snaps that it wasn’t her that burnt it down; Maleficent, one of the Duchesses of Hell, has pyromaniac tendencies.

They part, but something has changed. Both have enjoyed the other’s company, despite their natural enmity. Both Angel and Demon know that if their sides were to know this, they’d – at best – be called back to Heaven and Hell, never to set foot on Earth again. They tacitly agree to keep their acquaintance a secret.

The line dance stops, rearranges itself; they’ve shifted into a tripudium, right in time for the Dark Ages. The Church considers dancing to be immoral, wanton, but how can you stop humans dancing when there’s music? You can’t, so you compromise: people may dance, but under no circumstances should there be physical contact. Touching is impure, a mark of the Devil.

And isn’t that right on the nose for Kiliel and Emraoth.

They continue to meet from time to time (and if they sometimes investigate stories of miracles or curses wondering if they’ll find the other at the source... well, nobody has to know). Human technology and knowledge takes a step backwards after the fall of Rome. Kiliel misses running water and notions of personal hygiene; Emraoth misses good entertainment and good wine. They complain about it to each other over what passes for a drink at that time in inns, taverns, and on one memorable occasion, during a coronation feast.

They meet again in Ireland in the 5th century, and the discussion becomes quite heated over, ridiculously enough, salmon. Heated enough that Emraoth transforms back into a snake out of a frustration that makes her want to hiss properly. And heated enough for Kiliel to, for the first and only time, discorporate Emraoth where she writhes. They certainly didn’t intend to be seen by the locals, and Kiliel certainly didn’t expect it to gain as much traction as it did. He didn’t chase all the snakes out of the island; he just banished the only snake that ever stepped foot on it, is all. Still, he gets a commendation for smiting a demon and bringing Christianity to Ireland. Above is so happy with him that the medal is directly delivered by the Archangel Blue on a rainy Tuesday morning. The meeting leaves him feeling on edge; while he was outwardly rewarded and praised, this felt more like a trial than anything else. Blue’s parting words certainly didn’t help:

“It’s surprising how well you’ve adapted, Kiliel. Be careful not to go too native, though.”

(Emraoth takes her revenge a decade late when she sees Kiliel on the battlefield of Châlons, making sure at least three arrows are miracled to pierce him when he’s distracted. Why she had to make sure one hit him in the arse, Kiliel wonders before he is sent back to Heaven, he’ll never know).

––-

Kiliel joins King Arthur’s Round Table in the 6th century. Above wants to see how all of this quest for the Grail turns out, and he’s been sent to observe it all; Arthur had seemed like such a good lad at the lake when Kiliel had handed him the sword. (Not just a sword, either, but his sword, the one he hasn’t seen since Eden, though it’s not flaming right now. When it’s delivered to him by Blue he keeps a straight face. Nope, nothing to see here).

When talk of a dark sorceress reaches Camelot, Kiliel volunteers to investigate, centuries of habits making him guess who is behind these tales. And just as he thought, he finds Emraoth in the woods, lounging in a mossy clearing. She does look impressive, if a little… surly. Snakes don’t like the cold and the damp, after all. Neither do angels, for that matter. (Or Kiliel, to be more precise. Heaven, while beautiful and peaceful, is cold . Being posted on Earth had been a blessing in disguise; the warm caress of the sun had felt scorching after the chilly harmony of Paradise).

And in the middle of that mossy clearing, as Kiliel’s neck itches under his chainmail, and as Emraoth keeps having to miracle the bottom of her gown dry as they catch up, that clearing is where the Demon vocalizes an idea she’s had since at least Pompeii.

“If I’m here to wile, and you’re here to thwart, and all we do is cancel each other out all the time… wouldn’t it be more sensible to just… go home?” the Demon asks, her serpentine eyes fixed on Kiliel’s, “What’s the point of staying here in the damp when what we’re doing won’t have any impact anyway?”

Kiliel entertains the idea for a second (that chainmail really is itchy, and the less said about his braies, the better) before he sees through Emraoth’s attempt at sloth.

“No!” he exclaims, “what’s wrong with you?” Emraoth just shrugs, miracling her dress dry once more. She hadn’t even been trying to tempt the Angel; it would have just been more practical for both of them to go home, that’s all.

Oh well.

It only takes a decade for Kiliel to see Emraoth’s point as he takes Arthur to Avalon on his final trip, once again appearing as Viviane, the Lady of the Lake. That mess with Lancelot and Guinevere really soured Kiliel’s time in Camelot, and he feels that Arthur giving back Excalibur and dying marks the end of his time at the Round Table.

(He can’t help but feel a little responsible for Lancelot. He did have a hand in his upbringing, after all, and may have been a little heavy-handed in his lessons about love).

He has half a hope to be able to keep his sword at the end of it all, but it’s whisked away by Blue minutes after Arthur has breathed his last, nattering about how it’s going to be needed later on. He finds Emraoth still in the same mossy clearing, and the Arrangement is born. Instead of fighting fruitlessly against one another, one of them can accomplish both the blessing and the temptation.

And if the other one stays home… well, no one has to know.

––-

And so they now seek each other out, meeting in inconspicuous places: gardens, balls, markets, and isolated clearings. Kiliel is the one who goes up to Iona in the 9th century to inspire some Vikings into attacking the monastery there. He is also the one who helps the monks flee to Ireland. During the trip, he happens upon a gorgeously illuminated book, and is absolutely charmed. He helps the monks settle, and decides to stay for a little while, just to make sure the monastery stays safe (and the books, because there’s a second one ). A little while ends up being five decades. It’s in that time that he decides to adopt the name the locals have given him: Killian. It’s close enough to his real name, and attracts less attention than his foreign-sounding one.

During this time, Emraoth goes to the continent to wreak a little havoc. She has way too much fun nicknaming the successive kings of that period. Kiliel empathizes with Charles: being constantly mocked for your hairiness by being nicknamed King Charles the Bald must have stung something fierce.

When Emraoth comes back, she tells him she now goes by Emma. He guesses he’ll get used to it, even if it’s been almost five millennia of calling her by her demonic name. And if Emma doesn’t meet his eyes when she tells him she just liked the name when she heard it, Kiliel won’t call her out. Just like he won’t mention having read about the angel Immanuel in the Book of Isaiah (although he can’t – he can’t remember ever meeting her before the Fall. So is the curse of the Fallen, that their annihilation from Heaven be so complete that their very existence is banished from Heaven’s memory).

The Arrangement continues and strengthens with time; the dancers get closer and closer, until there is at last, some measure of trust; they touch, even if it is still hesitant. The dance once again changes, the parudium leaving its place to a stately minuet, where the dancers twirl around each other, growing closer then separating in order to come near again. (And if the dancers twirl closer and closer, well, again – no one has to know).

Kiliel learns not to tell Emr– Emma that she is nice, or kind, because she will spend the next decade trying to prove she is not . He spends all of the 10th century protecting the Kells library from different pillaging attempts because the Demon knows he loves those two books and is being spiteful. The monks there comment that it’s a miracle the two manuscripts always seem to survive the attacks on the monastery. Kiliel (or brother Killian, as he’s known there) smiles nervously and changes the subject every time.

Years, then decades, then centuries pass in this fashion. Neither Heaven nor Hell seem to catch onto their ruse. Quite the contrary, in fact; the commendations both from Above and Below become more frequent. The only downside to the Arrangement is that Kiliel sees Blue much more often than before, and every meeting leaves him feeling out of sorts, as if he’s missing something, as if Blue’s hiding something behind her affable smiles and azure garments. Kiliel can’t help but feel guilty after each meeting for doubting his superior; Blue knows what she’s doing, and if she weren’t following God’s Plan, then surely the Almighty would have already taken care of her.

Emma absolutely loathes the 14th century, and she makes sure everyone around her (especially Kiliel) knows it. Her drunken rants about all the evils of the era become legendary in their length, virulence, and irony. The last straw is when the umpteenth bout of plague decimates the village she is staying in; she decides in a fit of pique to sleep the rest of the century away. Kiliel does not miss her. He had just grown unaccustomed to only speaking to mortals, that’s all. Plus it’s nice not to have to protect what has become known as the Book of Kells from constant attacks because someone was annoyed and feeling childish.

(Emma has been a constant in his life since the beginning of human history; truth be told, he sees her more often than those on his own side. Of course he’s grown accustomed to her).

As time goes by, Kiliel grows more and more fond of books in general. Even though the Angel loves illuminated manuscripts and thinks them objects of art, no one is more excited than he about the advent of the printing press. He is quite proud, in fact, of having inspired the first sentence to be typed. “Fiat lux” – let there be light – had, indeed, been quite enlightened of him, he thinks. It helps balance the quite scandalous things that print will be used for. Being able to produce several books a day will certainly help spread not only the Gospel, but also stories and histories to people who didn’t have access to them before. And if more people can read, then more people can write books. That’s a win-win situation for the discerning angel looking for new material to read, after all.

Libraries start popping everywhere around Europe. Kiliel is all in favor of giving people free access to books; it’s just that books deserve respect , deserve to be handled with care, and so many of these humans seem unable to grasp that fact. They are precious, not only because they are rare, but because of the knowledge they hold. Even he will admit that he went a bit far in the Hereford Cathedral’s library. Chaining the shelves was frowned upon both by the Archbishop and by Above; he’s supposed to influence humans to do God’s will, not miracle the chains himself during the night. He had received a strongly worded letter the following week; phrases like “more judicious use of your grace” and “try to deal with less trivial matters in the future” were used, making Kiliel grimace in discomfort. Head office was not happy.

Emma comes back from her jaunt in the Carribbean with a tan and a new accent and laughs herself silly when he tells her what happened. Kiliel didn’t know demons could laugh. They snicker, cackle or chortle ominously, but Kiliel had no idea they could make such delighted (and delightful) sounds. And if he thinks that laughter really suits Emma, much more than her customary smirks... well, no one has to know.

A century later he is more careful in Dublin; chains are too obvious to protect the books. He just makes sure to devise a system that makes it near impossible to find specific volumes. After all, arranging them by weight and size is logical and practical when you think about it. So little space, so many books. And well, if the Book of Kells finds a privileged place in the college’s library, then that’s just a coincidence, isn’t it?

(His classification system serves as inspiration again when he opens his bookshop at the end of that century. Again: so little space, so many books ).

As Kiliel slowly sets up his shop at the end of the 18th century (he finally found the perfect place, a corner shop in the middle of Soho deserted by its previous owners due to the latest plague outbreak), he hears that the revolutionaries in France are requisitioning all the belongings of the nobility and selling them. He thinks of the libraries of the Versailles palace, of Paris, of Brittany. He thinks of all that knowledge being dilapidated and lost and can’t bear the thought. He needs to do something .

So the Angel travels to Paris with his pockets full of écus , and starts making enquiries. Except that the situation is so... peculiar in Paris these days that a rich well-dressed man automatically translates to aristocrat. And nobles aren’t very popular in Paris right now, except on the guillotine platform. And so an Angel finds himself chained in a cell in the Bastille. He’d miracle himself free, but he’s not supposed to be in Paris (he should be blessing away in Norwich, but Emma had drawn the short straw this time) and he doesn’t want to attract Above’s attention. And he’s sure he can explain himself to the court; their Declaration of the Rights of Man and of the Citizen sounded perfectly reasonable when he’d read it the previous month, very progressive and full of good sense. He might even suspect Heavenly influence, if it weren’t for the fact that he’s the only angel in Europe right now.

It turns out the French are not reasonable at all, especially when they see the content of his pockets and decide it would look better in their coffers. Really, he shouldn’t be surprised; they’re a pretty uncouth and smelly bunch and would be unsalvageable if it weren’t for their cuisine and wine. Kiliel finds himself in a new cell, one in which he can hear all the poor souls being decapitated to the cheers of the crowd. Nothing Heavenly about this, he thinks. Hell must be the ones behind this. He hopes Emma was not involved (and doesn’t dither too much on why he doesn’t want her specifically to be responsible).

He barely waits an hour before the executioner arrives, looking decidedly too cheerful for a dealer of death. Under his jolly appearance and upbeat tone, Kiliel can sense a man rotten to the core, who takes pleasure in making heads roll. No reason nor help coming from this side either, then. Getting discorporated is going to be such a bother, Kiliel thinks, disgruntled. At this rate, he should really use a miracle to free himself; he’s going to be reprimanded anyway, but at least he won’t have to fill the paperwork to get a new body.

“I really don’t understand how you can behave like such animals while pretending to fight for freedom,” Killian grumbles while raising his hand to snap his fingers, not realizing Jean-Claude has stopped moving entirely.

“Animals don’t use clever machines to kill each other,” sounds a voice from behind him as he realizes the crowd outside has grown silent. Emma . He turns around, smiling delightedly, never happier to see the Demon. She’s wearing the local garb, Phrygian hat hiding her brown curls, smoked glasses firmly planted on her nose to hide her serpentine eyes. Her hands are also on her hips, and her eyebrow is raised in the universal sign of annoyance.

“What the heavens are you doing here, Angel? Don’t you have a bookshop to open?”

While it might be surprising to see an angel lectured by a demon, it’s important to remember that this is not just any angel, nor any demon. So Kiliel tells her everything, ignoring the way she rolls her eyes so hard her head follows the motion. Explaining to Emma why he hasn’t freed himself is a little trickier, though (a lot more embarrassing, more like). Where he expects Emma’s laughter, or her anger, he’s only met with fond exasperation as she shakes her head, looking at him over her glasses. Emma can’t hold time prisoner for long, though, so she switches Kiliel’s clothes with Jean-Claude the executioner’s just in time for two soldiers to come fetch the “English pig” to take him to his date with Madame Guillotine. Both men ignore Jean-Claude’s protestations that he’s French, which probably has something to do with the fact that he’s suddenly forgotten how to speak French. The Angel doesn’t feel guilty about Jean-Claude’s fate. After all, it’s divine retribution for his crimes; he will die as he lived, on the scaffold – only this time, he’ll be the one with his head on the block.

After getting out of the Bastille and breathing in the relative fresh air (Revolutionary France really was letting itself go in terms of waste disposal and personal hygiene, not that it had been this stellar to begin with), they go to a café and have some crêpes. Between Emma riding on the high of a successful rescue and Kiliel feeling relieved at not having had to resort to any miracles, the tone is jovial. They joke around, Emma telling him about Norwich, Kiliel telling her about his latest purchases. After the first bottle of cider, Emma finally teases him about his coming to Paris, making the Angel smile (he’d been waiting for it; after almost six thousand years, he was starting to know the Demon).

They end up walking in the Tuileries after dark among canoodling couples and groups of friends. It would be hard to guess from this sight alone that the city was in the middle of the Reign of Terror. They stop on a bench overlooking the Louvre. Amusement and the alcohol they’ve drunk make Emma relaxed, and that the flimsy little glasses she wears keep sliding down her nose as she talks animatedly. Kiliel looks at her, finding her positively charming, her flushed cheeks and relaxed brow making her appear younger.

(Than usual, that is, not than her actual age. Any breathing body automatically looks younger than six thousand years. To be honest, any body looks younger than six thousand).

Fresh air and Paris and wine as well as a good time had with a friend make Kiliel unable to keep his thoughts to himself. “You have the most beautiful eyes, love,” he blurts out, emboldened by being able to see them for once, no smoky glasses shielding the serpentine orbs. Ever since she had discovered smoked glasses, she almost always had a pair over her eyes, the most notable exception being when she’d turned into a snake in Ireland (and hadn’t that encounter ended spectacularly badly).

And yet, even as the words escape his mouth, he knows he’s making a mistake; those glasses are an armor for her, one behind which she can hide and upon which she’s based her whole persona, her whole shell. Her face closes off immediately, and in another two minutes she’s gone, pretexting a temptation in Orléans. It’s only after she’s disappeared behind a row of trees that he realizes he’d never asked her how she had known where to find him.

Neither of the dancers notice, but Paris in 1793 marks a significant change in the dance, as the minuet slowly becomes livelier, sharper, more challenging. Both dancers prod at each other, enter each other’s space to see if they’ll take a step back, twirl and walk and collide in a fiery facsimile of a fight. Though it hasn’t been invented yet, the angel and the demon are the first to dance a pasodoble.

Kiliel doesn’t hear from Emma for 10 years. She waltzes back in his life one Tuesday morning in 1803 as he’s trying to convince a gentleman that no, he doesn’t want to purchase that Shakespeare folio, that it’s not for sale even if yes, it is on display in a bookshop. The gentleman is quite insistent until Emma snaps her fingers and he seems in a hurry to get… somewhere else. Kiliel doesn’t want to know. He’s just glad to be rid of the man, as he had quite odd ideas; arguing that bookshops have to sell books, how preposterous. It’s taken him more than three centuries to amass his collection, he’s not going to start squandering it. He didn’t nearly die in Paris for this.

That first meeting is all business, as she has a new pet project in Manchester (or, to be more accurate, the pet project is Manchester). They make a deal: Kiliel will ignore what’s happening in Lancashire, and Emma will steer clear of County Mayo in Ireland. Not that it’s a sacrifice for her; she still hasn’t forgiven him for what happened there in the 5th century. But if Emma plans on influencing a whole city, then Kiliel should definitely do the same, just somewhere else. He remembers popping by Cathair na Mart two decades ago for a blessing, inspiring the lord of the place to rebuild the village he had destroyed to extend his grounds, instead of just turning the inhabitants into the streets. A second blessing on the architect ensured that the new town would be decent; he’s particularly proud of the promenade along the river.

So Kiliel starts spending more time there, dusting off his Killian moniker and encouraging the citizens to do good. His efforts show, as four churches open. More importantly a proliferation of missions and charities begin to operate in and around the city. He hasn’t often concentrated so much on one place, and he finds he quite likes it, even if he misses his bookshop (though his frequent absences help establish him as a particularly difficult merchant, a reputation that he is far, far from resenting, as it keeps most customers away).

What he doesn’t expect, however, is to enjoy sailing so much. Oh, he’s already sailed before in his long existence – after all, you can’t travel from England to the rest of the world without setting foot on a ship (he could fly, but the air currents over the Channel are a nightmare to navigate) – but this, this is different. Sailing directly from London to Cathair na Mart is quicker and more practical than traveling by land, and for the first time since the invention of the caravel, he actually sails on the open sea, and he finds it exhilarating . When the wind is behind them (and it always is, he makes sure of it), it feels like flying, the ride smooth and swift. He loves it so much that he acquires his own ship, a small brigantine named The Ethereal Swan which employs eight sailors (but which he usually sails by himself if he can help it). He makes sure that a dock is always miraculously free for him both in England and Ireland.

He finds he can’t wait to show his ship to Emma. They are… friends, after all, are they not? They’ve been exchanging letters this whole time (even if months or even years could pass between each one), ostentatiously to continue with their Arrangement, less officially to catch up.

(Emma still refuses to step foot in Ireland; considering the utter mess she’s wreaking in Manchester, that’s probably a good thing. Kiliel can’t approach Manchester now without the stench of evil making his eyes water. They’d meet, but they’re afraid that both of them being absent from their cities at the same time would raise some suspicion).

He thinks he might get a chance in 1835, when Emma sends a message to his bookshop (he’s been spending more and more time there, his work in Mayo County slowly coming to an end) asking him to meet her at St James’ Park, not far from Buckingham Palace. It’s become a privileged meeting spot for them since the 1660s, but they haven’t been there since the canal had been transformed into a lake. Kiliel is quite eager to see the changes (and even more to see Emma; it’s been too long, despite the letters). They catch up with each other while walking the new avenues, Emma telling him all about the mischief she has been up to in Manchester and the commendation she’s gotten for it, before Kiliel talks about Cathair na Mart and Emma tries not to roll her eyes at the sentimentality (well, not too much). Kiliel softly smiles whenever she does so; he knows what she looks like when truly annoyed, and this isn’t it – this is just a front. The Demon Emraoth can be quite soft when she wants to be, although Kiliel isn’t stupid enough to voice that thought (not anymore, at least – he doesn’t know where she’d find Vikings to attack Trinity College, but he trusts her to somehow manage it).

It’s while they’re sitting down in front of the new lake, looking at the new facade of Buckingham House (“Palace, Angel, get with the times”) that Kiliel finally broaches the fact he bought a ship. “You what?” Emma laughs, looking delightfully surprised (just as she had on the wall of Eden, at the very beginning, and Kiliel is proud to still be able to surprise her). So he invites her to Rotherhithe where the Ethereal Swan is docked, planning on taking a cab to go there. Emma stops him, bringing him to a black buggy which she drives with… unabashed enthusiasm, a part of Kiliel tries to think diplomatically (though the rest of it is screaming that she’s driving like a madwoman). Between sharp turns and exhortations for Emma to watch the road, Kiliel performs six minor miracles to ensure there are no casualties to Emma’s driving, while the demon snaps that pedestrians know the risks when they venture onto the streets. It’s with the greatest relief that Kiliel finally glimpses the masts in the marina, and directs Emma as close to the Swan ’s dock as possible.

He suddenly feels bashful as he guides Emma onto the gangplank, ridiculously wanting her to approve of the ship. He can’t help but breathe a sigh of relief as soon as he steps on the deck, feeling more at home than anywhere else (even more than his shop, and he’s lived there for the last five decades, longer than anywhere else). Emma has already started exploring, climbing on the upper deck to see the wheel and peer over the railing, before coming back towards him. Kiliel waits patiently for her, watching her walk around his ship, the sight oddly right.

They end up in the captain’s cabin, sharing a bottle of rum Emma miracles. She had brought back some from her time in the Carribean, and Kiliel had developed quite a taste for it. “Plus,” she smirks, ”it’s quite appropriate to toast the ship with some naval rum, wouldn’t you agree, Captain ?” Kiliel just smiles while sipping his drink, letting the alcohol and the company warm his insides.

It’s as she leaves that Emma plants a seed in Kiliel’s mind, looking around her at the books littering the window’s edge and the furniture.

“If you feel so much at home here, why do you even bother with your bookshop?”

(And isn’t that the way of demons, sowing seeds and making sure humans grow them all by themselves? Ironic, when you consider how hopeless Emma is with plants.)

At the time, Kiliel just smiles, but the wheels of fate have already started turning, even if he’s not aware of it yet.

––-

After that, they start meeting more often, always following the same pattern: they meet in the park, and end up either in his bookshop or on his ship (and always, always with Emma’s mad driving in the middle, regrettably). Excepting the infernal rides, Kiliel likes this new development. Even though she is supposedly his mortal enemy, he feels a kinship with Emma born of almost six millenia spent on Earth and of their own alchemy.

This state of harmony comes to an end on a stormy Tuesday morning four years later when Blue herself graces him with her presence, stepping into his bookshop as he waits for Emma’s arrival. They’re planning to go eat at Claridge’s. Apparently, his achievements in Cathair na Mart have earned him a medal, as well as a promotion. A promotion that means he’s being summoned back to Heaven, permanently . Something which he definitely doesn’t want, but can’t really say to Blue, now can he? Kiliel tries to argue that he is an asset here on Earth, that he knows the enemy and manages to thwart them quite effectively, but to no avail. She doesn’t seem to care at all that if he were to go, Hell would be left to roam Earth unchallenged, even enjoying the thought. And this promotion doesn’t feel like one either. What did Petrarch used to say? “Keep your friends close and your enemies closer”? Kiliel somehow doesn’t feel like a friend there. He manages to win a little time before he has to leave, just enough to sort his business here (just enough to say his goodbyes).

But it doesn’t come to that, as Blue comes sulking back two hours later, this time with Gabriel in tow. The head Archangel looks perplexed (which would translate to frantic agitation in any other person or angel). Apparently, Kiliel’s promotion has been postponed, as he is considered far more useful on Earth than Above – but he can keep the medal, thank you and goodbye. Blue doesn’t look perplexed or alarmed; instead, she looks frustrated, her mouth turned down into a subtle frown that Kiliel somehow catches. Her insistence on his being on Earth as merely temporary is also odd; it’s almost as if she wants to get him away from Earth, and not up to Heaven.

He sits at his desk, puzzled, when he realizes that Emma never came. It’s as he’s wondering where she is that she appears, as if summoned by his thoughts. She listens as he recounts his morning before rolling her eyes behind her glasses (she unconsciously rolls her neck at the same time, which Kiliel does not find cute; if Emma knew what he was thinking, he’d be discorporated on the spot) and inviting him to lunch. They don’t talk about it any more, and at the end of their lunch Emma heads off to Camberwell to officiate a blessing for Killian on her way to Croydon.

(Kiliel is not amused by the result of this blessing; young John William Bean was supposed to feel divine inspiration to bring change to his life, but not by shooting at the Queen. Emma is, however, and keeps arguing that the gun was full of coffee, anyway, the worst that could have happened was that Her Majesty’s dress would have sported a suspicious brown stain)

The incident stays in his mind, however, and he realizes with a certain shock that he can’t trust Blue anymore, that she doesn’t seem to have either his or Earth’s best interest at heart. The thought scares him, as an Angel is not supposed to question his superiors (is not supposed to question anything, really), and he knows that several of his former brothers and sisters have fallen for just this reason. He fears this will be his fate, until he realizes that it’s not God he’s questioning (he still has the utmost Faith in Her, doesn’t doubt Her Great Plan), but rather a particular Angel. The thought saddens him, as angels are not supposed to be suspicious of each other, but it is what it is.

And that’s where Kiliel starts to plan. Because whatever Blue’s goal is, it involves him not being on Earth, and he has no intention of being a part of it if it’s not the Almighty’s Plan. So he needs some sort of… deterrent. But what can an angel do against an archangel? There’s only one answer, and it’s a terrible, unthinkable one. Which is why Kiliel chooses to unthink it for a decade, pretending everything is fine as he conducts blessings as usual, interspersed with the occasional temptation for Emma.

But really, the thought keeps nagging him despite his best efforts; Hellfire is the only thing that can kill an angel. And he’s not talking about a simple discorporation, your mortal vessel dies, whoops, Up Above you go, please fill these forms to get a new one and don’t let us see you again. No, death by Hellfire would mean complete annihilation of the body and the soul; you’d be burnt away from existence, with no hope of resurrection whatsoever. It is an abomination, made even more abhorrent by the fact that it’s a weapon kept solely in the hands of their mortal enemies – just like the Heavenly Host has Holy Water. The stakes are balanced, each side having the means to destroy the other.

(While God’s Plan is Ineffable, this part is pretty clear, the balance perfect. They’ll see which side tips the scales when Kingdom comes.)

And yet, it’s the only solution. And as far as he knows, there’s only one way to get some Hellfire, and that’s through a demon.

Good thing he knows one.

Except the meeting doesn’t go as planned. They meet at St. James’ Park, feed the ducks, then head to the bookshop (which he keeps mostly closed these days; he’s getting tired of fending off customers) like usual. He makes his request after a few drinks, but Emma flies off the handle, categorically refusing to even give him an ember.

“I will not give you the meansss of destroying yourself. I need sssome time, Kiliel,” is the last thing she tells him, hissing her s in a rare show of true anger before leaving his shop, not looking back despite Killian calling after her.

He doesn’t hear from her for 64 years.

For the first time since the beginning of the world, the Angel and the Demon dance separately. The Demon has walked away from the paso doble, leaving the Angel alone on the stage.

And so, lonelier than he’s ever been, the Angel dons a mask that hides his face, and performs the steps that ensure he doesn’t stand out from the ensemble. He begins a Kabuki performance that will last until November 14th, 1941.

––-

Kiliel (or Killian Jones, as he’s come to be known by mortals) should really have realized this operation was too good to be true. He’d been contacted the previous week by a Captain Teach, who’d told him some Nazi agents were looking to obtain his collection of books of prophecy, and that the SOE wanted to use this occasion to root out the cell. He had readily acquiesced, always eager to thwart evil coming from demons and humans alike.

The Nazis has indeed contacted him, proposing a substantial sum of money to convince him to part with his precious volumes. He had accepted and called Teach back, giving him the time and place of the meeting. He thought it was quite fitting that they were to be brought to justice by an angel in a church, but he guessed that it made sense to meet in a place that was public but usually deserted, and which wouldn’t be crowded in case of an air raid. However, he didn’t like that Her house would be used for such nefarious purposes, but guessed that the ends justified the means in this case.

Except that it turns out Captain Teach is only a pseudonym, and that he’s really a mercenary who doesn’t care where the money is coming from, as long as it’s hard cash. Kiliel is fuming as he stares down the nozzle of the gun pointed right between his eyes; he can’t believe he got swindled by these half-witted Nazis .

His execution is stopped by colorful swearing and the off-rhythm staccato of heels hitting the church’s stone floor. The men turn as one to see a woman hopping quickly towards them. Kiliel can’t believe his eyes; he hasn’t heard this voice in 64 years (nor seen these calves since Ancient Greece, if he remembers correctly).

“The notorious Emma Swan,” Teach breathes next to him, sounding astounded.

“Swan?” Kiliel asks in confusion, ignoring the humans behind him.

“Yeah, what of it? I had to think of something,” Emma grumbles, coming to a stop near them, sitting on a pew and taking her feet off the ground with a sigh of relief escaping her red lips. Kiliel tries to hide his smile, flabbergasted she’s here, in front of him, after all this time, and that she walked on consecrated ground to come to him. Turns out it’s not the only miraculous thing to happen today, though; she explains to Teach and the Nazis that they’d better run if they want to avoid getting killed by the bomb that’s heading their way. She mentions that only a miracle would allow someone to survive the explosion, looking meaningfully at Kiliel over her glasses, who understands her meaning and prepares to use his Grace at the right moment.

Teach is the only one who heeds Emma’s advice and scampers out, running out of a side door. The Nazis don’t move, thinking that Fraulein Swan is bluffing, even as they can detect the buzz of planes coming nearer. They only realize she’s definitely not when they hear the tell-tale whistle of a bomb heading towards the ground at breakneck speed. Kiliel walks closer to Emma before blinking and making sure their little corner remains untouched by the blast and the debris, allowing only a warm breeze to ruffle their hair. When the dust has settled, Kiliel turns his head towards the Demon. She looks regal, draped over the pew, her black outfit untouched by the dust as flames reflect on her sunglasses, making her appear absolutely diabolic. She’s never looked more beautiful to Kiliel.

And then he realizes he completely forgot about his books. They’d been in the Nazis’ hands before the bomb had fallen, and they must be completely crushed under the rubble, or even burning, he thinks with dismay, sighing noisily. They had been among his most prized possessions, some of them even signed by their authors (he especially loved the dedication by Nostradamus – such a nice man, if somewhat misguided). But then Emma gets up, heading towards the biggest pile of rubble and picking something up before tossing it to him. Caught by surprise, Kiliel fumbles to catch it before looking down and seeing that it’s his satchel, untouched by the destruction around them.

“Little demonic miracle of my own,” Emma says as she passes him, gingerly walking towards the exit, the ground still consecrated even if the church doesn’t exist anymore.

Kiliel doesn’t follow immediately, floored by the thoughtfulness of his friend as his heart soars and his stomach swoops and – oh . How could he have been so oblivious? Angels are beings of love: they are made of it, and they thrive in it. An argument could be made for his love for Emma blending into the love he feels for all creatures, high and low, but that’s not it, is it? He doesn’t merely love Emma, he’s in love with her. He doesn’t just want to see her happy, he wants to make her happy. If he could give her back even a tenth of the bliss she elicits in him just by existing, then he’d be satisfied.

He’s jarred out of his thoughts by Emma calling after him to hurry up. With a soft smile, he follows her to the street, where she heads towards a parked car, clicking her tongue at the gravel and dust covering it. Stepping on the sidewalk, Kiliel blinks once more, and the car is sparkling clean. Kiliel is surprised to see that it’s more yellow than black – a surprising color scheme for a demon but then, when has Emma been remotely conventional? It’s surprisingly her , he thinks fondly. His smile is soon wiped away, however when he sees her get behind the wheel, the passenger door opening on its own in a wordless invitation to get in as he hears sirens in the distance. Surely she’s calmed down on her driving, right? What with the different vehicle and the risk of rubble on the streets she’s going to be more prudent, he’s sure. Kiliel gets in, clutching his satchel.

He was wrong. She’s even worse than before, the maneuverability of the vehicle allowing her to do more daring stunts, like taking turns on two wheels, or slaloming between craters at top speed. Kiliel is glad Soho is not far from the church, as he would surely have discorporated if he’d had to stay in the car for five more minutes, either from an accident or from his heart giving out on him (Emma scoffs when he tells her that, reminding him that he actually doesn’t need a heart, stop being so dramatic, it’s not cute at all ). The only good thing about the ride is that since they’re in the middle of an air raid, there are no pedestrians on the street.

Emma stops when she enters the bookshop, looking at the empty shelves with amazement before turning to Kiliel, silently waiting for an explanation. It’s simple, really; what with the Blitz raging over London, he wanted to make sure that both his ship and his books would be safe. He went with the most practical solution, which was to put the books in his ship, and his ship in Cathair na Mart. He doesn’t understand what’s so funny about it, but Emma is highly amused (and if her mocking allows him to hear her beautiful laugh, then it’s a small price to pay).

They spend the evening drinking, catching up, and not mentioning their last meeting at all. The Angel asks about Emma’s new name, and has the pleasure of seeing a slight embarrassed flush bloom on her cheeks as she mutters that she needed a new name and that was what came to her – it’s not her fault demons have no imagination. Kiliel charitably doesn’t say anything more, as they both know Emma can be quite creative when she wants to be, choosing instead to ask about her car. That launches her into how she got it and the modifications she had done to it.

Kiliel keeps expecting to feel different about Emma, but apart from having identified his feelings, it’s just like any meeting they’ve had before. It’s comfortable, familiar, a breath of fresh air after more than half a century of her absence.

When Emma leaves, it’s with no promise that she’ll be back. And yet, Kiliel somehow knows he won’t have to wait 64 years to see her again.

––-

The Demon comes back to the dance floor, and the pasodoble resumes, even more intense than before. But the dynamics have changed; they don’t push against each other as much, choosing instead to move together. The posturing is just that, now: a facade for the audience.

Another change: they barely look away from each other.

Kiliel’s books never go back on the shelves of the bookshop, despite the ship coming back to its place in Rotherhithe after the war. A seed Emma had planted a century before finally blooms, and he realizes that he is much better on his ship alone with his books rather than trying to fend off rude people not understanding that they’re not for sale (“customers, angel, they’re called customers ”).

Arranging his collection to his satisfaction takes some time (and a miracle or two, both angelic and demonic) until he’s satisfied. The whole cargo hold is transformed into a new library, with only his most prized books in his cabin. With this new organization, Kiliel finds himself with a lot of room below deck empty; he uses it to store bits and bobs, such as nautical maps and instruments, his old clothes (though his toga doesn’t survive the trip, and miracling it whole wouldn’t be the same), and various furniture and decorations (and if the pew on which Emma had lounged in 1941 finds its way to the galley… well, no one has to know).

Once he’s satisfied with his organization, in 1952, he invites Emma aboard to show her. He’s a little miffed by her laughing fit, because he’s not a proper pirate now, whatever she says (though her laugh is still as delightful and precious as ever, even more so now that he knows how much he loves her. For a few minutes he thinks mission accomplished , he’s made her happy).

Emma is so amused that for the next fifteen years, she only refers to him as Captain and asks him every time they see each other how his pirate booty is doing. Kiliel feels like he is the butt of the joke in some way, though he’s yet to find how.

They also see each other more frequently, approximately once every couple of years. They don’t mention it, but Kiliel is glad; he missed Emma before, and in a world that has become so fast changing, it’s reassuring to have a constant, even if she insists on following human fashions, making each meeting a lesson in the zeitgeist of the time.

On a foggy Tuesday morning, Blue comes to visit Kiliel at his old bookshop. Though his collection has been relocated, he keeps the shop to maintain a base of operations in Central London, now filling it with much more recent books that he is willing to part with (though he keeps his hours as erratic as before; he doesn’t mind selling these books, but even he has his limits when it comes to customer service). She wants to ask him what he knows about a heist that took place in Mayfair’s Christ Church. Apparently a door was broken down, but nothing was stolen – except, oddly enough, all the Holy Water vats were emptied, not a single drop remaining. Kiliel hadn’t heard about this, and plays it down as probably a local homeless man wanting a dry place to sleep for the night and who was thirsty. Blue almost seems disappointed by his explanation, asking him to look into it nonetheless; they can’t have Holy Water falling into the wrong hands, after all.

Kiliel diffidently agrees, even though he can feel his anger rising. He knows. A quick visit to the church confirms his suspicions; a slight scent of iron betrays that a Demon has recently come here and burnt her feet on the consecrated ground. Though why would she take such a risk, knowing that even a mere handful of liquid could do her serious harm, even kill her if she were splashed?

How dare she take such a risk, Kiliel thinks angrily, when she could just as easily have asked him to – oh.

Oh, the hypocrisy .

While Kiliel has adapted quite well to the human world, he remains at his core an angel, and while angels are known for their benevolence, they’re also known for their righteous fury when provoked.

And Kiliel? Oh, Kiliel feels provoked alright.

He heads to her new apartment (she wasn’t even subtle, just went to the closest church, that damned serpent) and barely restrains himself from literally knocking down the door, but only because he can feel human eyes on his back and he doesn’t want to cause a scene. So he pretends to have a key and miracles the door open, striding into the living room. The Angel can feel that Emma is absent; there’s no one in the flat, so he sits down, and waits. He waits until the sun has gone down, and until it goes up again, his anger feeding on itself to remain a burning fire in his chest.

When Emma finally shows up, she enters her living room cautiously, already knowing he’s there. Kiliel doesn’t even let her open her mouth to talk, laying into her immediately. Because beyond the anger, he is hurt , hurt that she wouldn’t trust him, hurt that she’d do the exact same thing she had refused him the previous century, and hurt that she would risk herself in such a way. And beyond the anger, beyond the pain, he is afraid, because what could a demon want with Holy Water?

“That’s none of your business!” Emma exclaims, her eyes flashing behind her sunglasses.

“None of my business? Are you kidding me? It is my business when a demon does what no other has ever done and sneaks into a church to steal Holy Water ! It is my business when that stupid, stupid act attracts the attention of the archangels, and they ask me to investigate! And whether you want to admit it or not, it is my business when my friend takes ridiculous risks to obtain something that could obliterate her from existence, and refuses to tell me why!”

“We’re not friendsss ,” Emma hisses, as if the word is the ugliest swear she’s ever uttered, “I don’t even like you.”

Of all that he said, that is the thing she chooses to respond to? Infuriating woman, he doesn’t understand how her animal traits are not those of a bull; she’s the thickest-headed being he has ever had the displeasure to meet.

“Yes you do ,” he snaps back, at the end of his rope. He doesn’t know when he stepped closer to her, but he is now towering over her smaller form, forcing her to raise her head to look him in the eyes (and despite the glasses as a barrier between them, he’s not fooled by her) but for once he will not back down. This is too important. “What’s going on, Emma?”

He can see her wavering, senses it in the way her breathing hitches, how her body shifts as if she wants to slither away, forgetting she’s in human form for a moment. But she rallies (because she wouldn’t be his Demon if she didn’t) and answers his question with another one. “Why did you want Hellfire for anyway? Quite hypocritical of you to rake me over the coals, so to speak, for something you tried yourself barely a century ago.”

Kiliel doesn’t let her barb get to him and instead decides on honesty, knowing that this will catch her off guard. “Because I need… something to defend myself with, just in case,” he says simply.

“Defend yourself? From angels? What the fuck is going on, Kiliel?” Emma almost never uses his name, preferring one of the numerous nicknames she has for him, so he knows she’s rattled.

And so he tells her everything: that while his faith in God has never wavered (quite the contrary; seeing Her hand in the wonders of the world, both big and small, has only strengthened it), he has started to have doubts about Blue, finding her actions and words quite peculiar. He tells her about his fear of Falling for doubting his superior, and that the fact Blue herself hasn’t Fallen means that she is still faithful to God, and the incident that triggered his request for Hellfire. He’s surprised, however, when she snorts as he recounts Blue’s change of mind.

“Yeah, I know, I was there,” Emma says, smirking. “I heard her when she was at the bookshop with you, so I took action.”

What kind of action exactly, she will not say. Kiliel is mystified: not only had she known about Heaven’s plans, but she’d actually thwarted them with no one being the wiser, the clever, clever woman. Doesn’t like him, right .

Emma then opens up to him; demons don’t trust each other by nature, but Hell has been even more tense recently. Something big is brewing, although she doesn’t know what yet. More demons have been making noise about coming to Earth, too, even high-ranking ones, such as two of the Duchesses of Hell, Maleficent and Cruella. Nothing has stirred Hell like this, ever ; even the Great Flood hadn’t excited demons in this way.

Something wicked this way comes , Kiliel can’t help but think. Good old William – he’d heard Kiliel tease Emma back at the Globe, and he’d run with the line. He doesn’t know what’s better: being the inspiration behind Macbeth ’s most famous scene, or Emma’s offended face when she had seen the three witches for the first time.

But they have no idea what it is, so all they can do is prepare as well as they can and agree to keep each other in the loop from now on. Kiliel manages to get a promise from Emma that she’ll get some Hellfire for him, which he hopes she’ll honor.

Neither of them talks about the fact they are actually plotting against their own side, choosing their mortal enemy (though just one in particular) over their own brethren. But they have been here on Earth so long that it has started to feel more like home than Above or Below ever have; they have spent so much time together that they feel more kinship to each other than to their own kind.

The next day, Kiliel finds a lantern glowing with an ever-burning fire on his cabin’s desk. It ends up in his safe, warded against any accidents, whether external or internal. Emma is not the only one who’s paranoid.

––-

Months pass, then years, then decades. The Angel and the Demon see each other more frequently, though not regularly, in order not to arouse suspicion. Short, short, long, go the intervals. Quick, quick, slow, goes their rhythm. They fly across and around and over the world in an otherworldly foxtrot as Earth evolves around them, faster and faster, busier and busier. But the world can’t go on accelerating; it’ll need to either stop turning or rotate right out of its orbit, both outcomes meaning its downfall.

––-

On a perfectly fine Tuesday morning, Blue visits Kiliel in his used bookshop, startling him from his inventory (he had to do something with the space, after all, and filling it with books that have been loved by previous owners creates a warm glow that warms him from inside; he is an Angel, after all, and angels thrive on love). From the start, the Angel knows that something is different. Blue is positively glowing, her eyes sparkling and the corners of her lips seemingly permanently turned into a slight secretive smile.

The secret, for once, is quickly spilled; the Archangel seems delighted to announce that the Antichrist has been delivered to Earth, and by none other than the Demon Emma, as if it’s Kiliel’s personal fault. She doesn’t elaborate on this theme, however, preferring to tell him that he had best put his affairs in order, as eleven years will pass quite quickly. Her parting words - that he should also start training for the War, that he seems to have gotten quite out of practice, if his reflexes are to be believed – hit their mark, despite Kiliel’s best efforts not to let them. He used to be one of the Host’s best soldiers, after all, his exploits earning him a post at one of Eden’s gates.

But six thousand years on Earth have changed him; he doesn’t want to fight anymore, doesn’t see the point in it (and he doesn’t want to face even the slimmest possibility of finding himself opposite Emma on the battlefield). And yet, the arrival of the Antichrist shows that the Ineffable plan is going along, that it is God’s will.

So be it.

On a perfectly fine Tuesday afternoon, Kiliel stands at the prow of the Ethereal Swan , looking unseeingly over the water, when his phone rings. Without pulling his gaze away from whatever it is he is seeing, he answers the phone, already knowing who’s on the other end.

“Emma. I suppose you’re calling about…”

“Armageddon, yes.”

Well.

––-

The music stops, and so do the dancers, their hair and their clothes snapping around them as they lock gazes, lost in their own world. A world that’s coming to an end.

Welcome to the End of Times.

#captain swan #cs ff #cs fic #ouat #septembersunshine #snidget writes #good omens

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wordtotherose · 5 years

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What about a fic where Crowley is actually evil? He doesn't care about his side's plans, although he does find them fun. But the one person he does actually care about, could never hurt, and would defy everyone for is Aziraphale? Of course, once Aziraphale realizes just how bad Crowley is, he's horrified. Maybe he even decides to cut contact with the demon. Only, what horrifies him even more is that he still enjoys running into Crowley. And Crowley knows this.

I’ve got a few things to get down before I copy the fic in here so here we go! First up, thank you ever so much for waiting so very long because I, a soft lesbian, cannot for the life of me figure out how to write Crowley, a dumbass softie at heart, into a Dark figure. It took me a long time and a bit of help. I’d also like to say I have spent about an hour and a half writing this, it took the rest of the time to figure it out. I’m sorry about the wait, basically. Secondly! I really hope you enjoy it! Or that it meets some expectations! Or both! Both preferably but hey ho. Thirdly! This is as dark as I could get Crowley to go and personally I don’t think it’s very dark, sorry about that :D So! Enjoy! Let me know what you thought if you want!

“Goodnight, angel.”

The bookshop door closes behind Crowley with a gentle ring of the bell and Aziraphale keeps smiling, softly to himself, as he sets his empty wine glass down on his desk next to the one Crowley had been drinking out of. It’s almost midnight and if it weren’t for Crowley having to go on assignment up to North Wales then they’d still be drinking and laughing. But as it is, he’s got to get up and lock the doors before picking a book to settle down with. It’s going to be a long week without Crowley to pop by and go out to dinner with.

He’s just pushing himself to his feet, wobbling a little. He should sober up. Which he doesn’t particularly feel like doing, he’s only just edging into drunk instead of tipsy which is an ever so pleasant place to be. That is until a harried looking man barrells through the door with a crash, a small bell in one hand and a lighter in the other. He looks like he’s seen a ghost. Aziraphale sobers up instantly.

“Hello,” Aziraphale says, slightly awkwardly, “is everything alright? It’s just that we’re closed and I don’t really–”

“You’re under attack!”

Aziraphale stops dead, frowning. “I beg your pardon?”

“Attack! I swear to ya’, I saw the witch ‘ere, just now! Outside ya’ shop.”

The man doesn’t look insane, isn’t twitching or switching to talking to himself. He’s blond and wearing a dull coat with strange patches on but other than that doesn’t seem particularly extraordinary.

“I’m afraid I don’t understand still. Oh! Oh, have you been drinking?”

The man splutters and shakes his head before stashing his bell back in a coat pocket. He tries to peer through one of the front windows, leaning over piles of books. Aziraphale reaches out to tug him back then aborts the motion when the man spins back around, looking ever so slightly calmer.

“Did ‘e come in ‘ere?”

“Who?”

“The witch!”

“Uh,” Aziraphale clasps his hands behind his back. “No, no witches here. Who did you say you were, by the way?”

“Shadwell,” the man puffs his chest out, “Sergeant Shadwell, at your service, sir.”

Aziraphale nods and pointedly does not offer his own name in return. “And you’re here because…?”

“To protect ya’, sir. I’ve been trailin’ this particular evil bein’ for some time now. Since I spotted ‘im up to no good in an alley earlier this evenin’.”

Aziraphale nods without actually knowing why because he’s still at a loss. He must mean Crowley, no one else had been near the shop all day, Aziraphale had made sure of it so he could restore one of his prophecy books in peace. Well, it was only Crowley. Worst he ever did was drown a duck.

“Ah, I see. Well, all is well, as you can see.”

Shadwell shakes his head, wagging his finger imperiously at Aziraphale who leans back a little. “No, no, sir. You’ve not seen what ‘e was doin’ before I found ‘im ‘ere again.”

“Oh?” Aziraphale says, grudgingly realising that this man isn’t going to be turned away so easily.

“I saw this all with my own two eyes, no doubt ‘bout it.”

And Aziraphale, to his creeping horror, could do nothing but listen as this man who didn’t even know Crowley’s name recounted act after terrible act that he’d seen the demon (or witch, to Shadwell) have a hand in. From car accidents to separating children from parents on a busy street to slipping a knife to a man following a shadow into an alley. Aziraphale listened and paled and wished for a chair to sit down in. When Shadwell came to a close, clearly pleased with Aziraphale’s rapt attention, he pulled out his lighter again, clicking it on and off absentmindedly.

“You-? You saw him do all this in one evening?”

“Sure as the sky is blue, sir.”

“Red hair? Tall, skinny? Drives a Bentley?”

Shadwell nods.

Aziraphale summons a chair. That couldn’t be right. Crowley wasn’t- he wasn’t truly- he was Crowley. He’d never done such things! Would never. Except…at least…not when Aziraphale was with him. But Crowley spent time apart from Aziraphale, they’d gone centuries without talking so who was to say what he got up to then? Shadwell was blinking at him, jaw slack. The chair. Right. Aziraphale sighs and with a wave of his hand takes Shadwell’s memories of what he’d seen Crowley and Aziraphale do, he replaces them with a long ghost tour of London and sends him out the door with a pat on the back and a ‘please don’t come back’. Shadwell still insists on giving him his card for the ‘Witchfinder army. Aziraphale thinks that that explained rather a lot.

The door now closed again and finally locked, Aziraphale watches his hands start to shake before his eyes. He turns, leaning back on the door. Looking at nothing. He slumps to the ground, pinching at the fabric of his trousers. This couldn’t be true. Not Crowley. Not his Crowley…

His demon Crowley.

The demon Crowley.

The adversary.

***

He drags himself back to his feet hours later. His head feeling like it’s full of wool. He’d tried to deny it, had agonised over it but deep down he knows that Shadwell wasn’t lying. Knows that he’s had an inkling of what Crowley’s been up to for years but has turned a blind eye to keep his own willful ignorance. A bubble of ignorance that has now been shot dead. He takes a deep breath and picks up the phone.

“Crowley?” He asks when the call connects to the answering machine. “I- Crowley, I need you to come to the bookshop as soon as you get this…please? Um…I just, we need to- I’m- I’ve heard from…Just, please? Okay. So. Yes. I’ll be here.”

He sets the phone down on the cradle and collapses into the armchair. At worst he has a week to wait until Crowley comes over. He’s not even entirely sure that he wants Crowley to heed his call, isn’t sure he wants to go through with this. But he also cannot see a way back. There’s no plan for this, no script or routine to dance through. He’s got to make a decision, one that sickens him to his core. Does he stay in their arrangement despite knowing full well the sins Crowley is willfully committing or does he leave? Cut ties? They’ve not been as subtle as they could have been with their feelings. Aziraphale knows without a doubt that Crowley wouldn’t hurt him, wouldn’t turn his dark ways on him because the demon is painfully in love with him. He knows that. Knows it as strongly as he’s known since the Blitz that he’s just as in love with Crowley. Or at least…he was.

He doesn’t have to wait long. As it turns out Crowley hadn’t left for Wales yet, had been in his apartment to hear the call. The demon bursts through the doors in much the same fashion Shadwell had not so long ago. Aziraphale startles but stays in his seat.

“Aziraphale? Where are you? Are you okay? I got your message,” Crowley calls, Aziraphale can hear him moving closer, “you sounded like you were in trouble, where are- Angel?”

Crowley stands in front of him, in his pyjamas and without his sunglasses. Aziraphale forces himself to hold steady and clasps his hands in his lap.

“Crowley, thank you for coming.”

Crowley frowns in confusion and runs a hand through his hair. “Yeah, ‘course I did. Is everything okay?”

“Not exactly,” Aziraphale says, he doesn’t point to the sofa as he normally would and Crowley takes it as a sign to keep standing.

“Well? What is it?”

“I learnt some things tonight, after you left,” Aziraphale hesitates, “About you.”

“Me?”

Aziraphale nods. Crowley sits on the arm of the sofa, a guarded look in his eyes.

“I- Crowley, I know what you’ve done. What you’ve been doing for years behind my back.”

“Angel? What are you–”

“–I realise now that I’ve been, well, silly for thinking you were different. You are a demon and I should have remembered that more.”

“–the hell are you saying?”

Aziraphale drops Crowley’s gaze, drifting to look at the books behind his shoulders. “I know what you do. The temptations that aren’t the simple things like an extra dessert or a bit of gambling. The- the ‘accidents’ you’ve engineered. I can only imagine the worst of it you must’ve had a hand in over the years.” He laughs, mirthless. Self-deprecating.

He glances back to see Crowley’s reaction. The demon has shut down. His jaw clenched tight and his hands on his knees, knuckles white. He’s looking at Aziraphale in a way that the angel cannot recognise nor name.

“How?”

“I’m not going to tell you that, Crowley.”

Crowley nods once. “‘Course you won’t. What you going to do, then? Smite me at last?”

Aziraphale blanches. He hadn’t even thought of that. “No!”

“Really? I’ve been lying to you, angel. Doing things worse than you could imagine and they’ve all been my choice. My decision. So why not? What’s holding you back?” Crowley’s voice has risen to a near shout, a wild glint in his serpentine eyes that is familiar to Aziraphale.

“You know why.”

“Oh! Do I?”

“Yes!”

“That’s news to me, angel!”

“Stop this! Crowley, you’re being- being–”

“Evil? Demonic? Any one will do, Aziraphale. It’s what I am.” Crowley stands and stalks over to him, hands on either arm rest as he leans over the angel. “You know, I’d let you. Smite me, I mean.”

Aziraphale frowns, breaking his composure for the first time. “Don’t say that.”

“It’s true.”

“I wouldn’t.”

“I know.”

Crowley pushes away again. Aziraphale stands too, they’re chest to chest and Aziraphale doesn’t know what he’s doing. He’s an angel. Crowley is right. He should be smiting and having his divine vengeance.

“Why do you do it?” he asks, for lack of any other concrete thoughts to verbalise. “Those things, they’re…I want to know why.”

Crowley shrugs. “Fun? It’s no worse than what they do to each other. I’m just helping them along. Doing some of the work for them. Taking the weight off their shoulders, one might say.”

“Then why do we have the arrangement?”

Crowley tenses, voice deepening in an attempt at threatening but Aziraphale knows this voice. Knows every tone and modulation. Has heard every crack and snap and hiss over the past few millennia. “You know why. The same reason you haven’t sent me into oblivion.”

Aziraphale doesn’t have anything to say to that. Doesn’t have any idea how to progress. Crowley, on the other hand, has imagined this scenario a thousand times over. Has stressed over it and worried and lost sleep over it. It’s gone better than he expected. No need to push. He turns for the door. Aziraphale doesn’t stop him.

“See you in a week, angel.”

And he does.

#Dark #dark!crowley #good omens #prompted fic #fanfic #my writing #this was the most difficult thing I've written in terms of character #poems are still winning in terms of technical difficulty levels

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qwertythepopstarian08 · 5 years

Text

JSAB Superhero AU Fanfic: Shattered Heart

I’m sorry for delaying Grey Area and Feeling Blue again, but I hit a bit of writer’s block with those two fics, so I made this as a gift for @small--crcle instead.

I noticed that the mun of that blog was feeling down, so after days of procrastinating, I finally finished this thing and edited it to a coherent state. I hope this helps...

This is a direct followup to Duality, so I suggest reading that fanfic first.

Warnings for slight horror themes.

Even heroes can be broken. Villains as well.

New Game learns this the hard way one night, facing off against what should have been an easy opponent.

It had been an accident, a classic case of wrong place, wrong time. One minute, King was there, perfectly fine, and then… he wasn’t.

Neither of them could have seen the corruption coming for them. Some new villain had popped up, a tainted beast which spread its infection by touch. It was stained a blood red, coated in shards of its past victims. It wasn’t even much of a shape anymore, twisted beyond recognition.

New Game knew exactly what happened to the poor shape. They’d just gotten unlucky, had stumbled across a power that, much like all the other night-triggered abilities, was twisted and wrong. The powers had nothing to do with morality; some shapes were fortunate enough to keep their minds… others, not so much.

The mutated shape had been a trapezoid, a normal citizen of Treeangle city, just like all the other villains had once been. Blixer had seen the shape around a few times, during the day, of course, just milling about, going about their life like any other law-abiding person. One wrong move, one mere brush with corruption, had turned them into this beast, which was nothing more than a mess of broken horns and claws, fueled by nothing more than pain.

The creature fought blindly, swiping at whatever crossed its path without rhyme or reason. For a while, New Game held his own against the beast, realizing early on that he couldn’t touch it to fight back. So he focused on the defensive angle, hoping that he could buy enough time for the innocents to escape.

This could very well become his last fight, at least as himself. He moved in a cautious, watchful fashion, afraid that one wrong step would end with him corrupted. His smile was strained, his teeth taking on a jagged, fanglike appearance as the being was pushed to his limits. He couldn’t dodge forever, and the moment he slipped up, it would be over for him.

Unfortunately, that moment came much too soon. Perhaps if he’d stepped to the right instead, he’d have avoided crashing into a fleeing passerby. Unaware of the danger their hero was in, the running civilian didn’t stop to help New Game; they kept going, blindly dashing through the streets in hopes of escaping with their own life, careless in regards to the fate that would soon befall their hero.

New Game’s heart rate skyrocketed, his eyes dimming in glow as he stared up at the looming monster, the corruptive demon whose influence would soon bring about his end. He braced himself, unable to move correctly for the stinging pain in his leg. It was too late to flee.

In the next moment, the city would have yet another threat to deal with, its only hero having fallen to the curse...

He shut his eyes tightly, preparing himself for the inevitable, mentally apologizing to Blixer for the pain he put him through… he heard a sharp crack, and then… silence.

A series of sharp, pained gasps broke the stillness, and New Game dared to open his eyes, his entire form shuddering with fear. His heart dropped as he saw a familiar shape standing over the shattered remains of the monster, a shape whose cyan glow cast an aura of both protection and danger, depending on who looked upon it.

The terribly familiar being had a crown of wicked horns. He wore formal clothes, as if he were going to dinner and not a battle. He carried no weapon, for a single blow from his corrupted claws could reduce a shape to shards. New Game knew that confident, cool aura all too well, and he couldn’t stop the tears that welled up in his eyes as the King stood before him, defending him from the beast.

His eyes glistened with a tranquil fury, which faded as he laid his gaze upon the fallen hero. New Game could already hear the series of fearful questions that would surely follow.

“Are you alright?” he expected to hear.

However, all the King could utter was a choked warning, his tone strangely harsh.

“Get out of here,” the cyan villain hissed. His gaze darted from his hands to New Game, yet his eyes were distant, foggy...

He’d reduced the creature to fragments in a single blow, just another testament to his deadly power. Nonetheless, the beast would win, a rash of scarlet already spreading across the King’s hands.

The King of Chaos faltered, then all New Game could see was Kubix, fearful for his life and for once, clueless as to what to do. Kubix dropped to his knees, unable to support himself as the red curse spread, crawling up his arms and tainting his hue.

New Game stammered, “What are you talking about?” He found himself shakily standing, hugging himself, already feeling as Blixer, deep within his soul, began to wake up. His voice quavered with a paranoid fear as he continued, “It’s over, right?”

“Run, Blixer.” King only used that name in emergencies. New Game’s heart rate eye skipped a beat. “Don’t look back… I don’t want you to see me... like this…”

The antihero took a hesitant step back, his horns drooping. He watched, fearful, as the scarlet infection spread, blossoming over what was once a cyan shape. Before his eyes, Kubix’s horns were becoming spikier. His claws sharpened, looking more like deadly talons, sparking with angered power. It was just like what happened to the trapezoid. A single touch was enough to spread the curse. Within moments, a simple shape would be warped into a beast.

Yet… New Game refused to believe it. He voiced his denial, “What are you-”

Kubix cut him off with a strangled scream, “Go!”

Kubix’s hands tensed, his claws crackling with that red energy. New Game couldn’t tear his eyes from the corruption, hoping dearly that the King could fight it off. But the cyan being only drew in on himself, his form seeming to crumple under its own weight, and suddenly he was on his hands and knees, breathing heavily.

Whatever change had taken hold was about to worsen, and soon, the red corruption would take another victim… New Game staggered back, wanting to flee but not quite willing to abandon King.

“I can’t just leave you here!” he screamed. He heard something snap loudly, and he winced, tears stinging his eyes. “I can fix this! Just hold on…”

Kubix interrupted him with a wordless holler, and New Game thought he heard more of a growl than a yell.

His eyes were hidden from view, but New Game could see a threatening red glint overtake his father figure’s gaze as he breathed a last, raspy plea, forcing the snarl out of his words, “Don’t… let me hurt you…”

Eyes wide and teary, New Game broke into a run, already able to feel his control slipping away, his mind becoming inundated with Blixer’s terrified thoughts.

His leg ached in protest, and the alter ego felt a few shards break away, his ankle nearly snapping from the sheer force of his footfalls. Each step sent a wave of hot agony rushing through him, not to mention the pain that burned in his core: the pain of betrayal.

It had only been about half a minute when New Game heard the the terrifying roar behind him, tears now streaming freely from his eyes as he turned a corner, hoping dearly that he’d find somewhere to hide. He couldn’t fight Kubix, he just couldn’t.

New Game’s control finally slipped when his leg gave out, sending him crashing to the ground in a pathetic, sobbing heap. Blixer snapped into consciousness, the physical changes caused by his alter ego slowly receding, leaving the powerless shape without any defense. His once brilliant pink glow went dead, and he was hit with the horrible reminder that it was night, and that he was just a child, lost in the city with a monster tracking him down.

He sat up, trying to find somewhere to hide as he realized he’d hit a dead end. His powers were waning, and soon, he’d be completely helpless once again.

His sight faded into darkness as he lost New Game’s night vision, and he was left, helplessly clinging to his sense of hearing to detect whatever threat might come to him. Shuddering uncontrollably, Blixer felt his heart skip a beat as he heard heavy breathing, knowing that it wasn’t his own, for it was much rougher, deeper…

A faint red light caught his attention, and he snapped his gaze towards the glow, fearful of the source. He heard heavy, approaching footsteps, tensing as the red light drew closer, glinting against the windows of the buildings framing the alleyway.

The breathing suddenly cut off with a sharp growl, the monster giving a frightening snarl as it drew closer.

Anxious, Blixer tried to summon his claws, feeling his heart race, desperate for New Game’s power. He reached deep within his soul, but no matter how he searched, all he could feel of the being’s presence was an intense terror, like a distant, pitiful spirit. Blower could barely summon up the energy to move, let alone something to defend himself, like a cannon arm or some sharp claws.

He internally screamed; of all the times for New Game to falter, now was the time that would get them killed.

The beast didn’t slow its advance, creeping forward until Blixer could see a wicked claw reach forth. Each talon was like a ruby-shaded dagger, leaving gouge marks in the building walls just from the light pressure of leaning against it.

Suddenly, the corruption showed itself fully, revealing itself to be a serpentine beast with a helm of horrible, twisted horns and a sneer full of terrible fangs. Its snakelike form was lined with daggerlike, bristled spines, which each looked sharp enough to impale, to shatter.

Blixer’s breath caught in his throat, but he forced himself to speak. His voice was firm, yet nervous.

“Kubix.”

The beast replied with a snarl, drawing closer, glowing an angry red.

Repeating himself, trying to force the shudder out of his voice, Blixer called, “Kubix!” His pink hue became pallid when there was no response, and he found himself scrambling back, until his back was pressed against the wall of one of the buildings lining the alley. “Kubix, please…”

He wasn’t even sure if this thing was Kubix; for all he knew, another citizen could have been pulled into the chaos, unbeknownst to him, but if the terrifying hunch he had was anything to go by, this had to be the King.

It had no traces of blue on its body, although the young shape could see little scraps of satin fabric- Kubix’s jacket- hanging from the hooked spines along its back. Its eyes were wild and cruel, glowing with a bloody red light, yet as Blixer kept talking, he could see a spark of recognition in its gaze.

“You don’t want to do this… snap out of it…” Blixer’s voice wavered. His entire form was quivering, his horns drooping as tears ran in rivulets down his face.

Much to his horror, the beast raised a deadly talon, preparing to strike. He braced himself, losing hope. Squeezing his eye shut, Blixer murmured a final plea, his hope for survival diminishing. He covered his face, form shaking with quiet sobs, his voice escaping him in a breathy tone, “Dad…”

Abruptly, the monster halted, staggering back. A startled hiss escaped it, its ruby gaze flickering, almost in confusion. Its serpentine body coiled a bit, its spines bristling. It eyed the shape before it with an almost concerned gaze, tilting its head.

A low, yet nonthreatening croon escaped the beast, and Blixer dared to open his eye, his shaking beginning to subside. He looked up, barely able to see past the tears. The beast had faltered, still stumbling back, staring through him with a hollow, haunted gaze.

Blixer took a risk, acting on a tentative hope, then reached out. “King?” His hand was inches from the creature before it drew back, its spikes rising again.

An almost fearful whimper left it, and it, lowering its head in what seemed to be shame, began to retreat, its stare never leaving Blixer.

The young shape watched, ensnared in his own anxiety, as the monster backed away, as if he were the threat. He wanted to reach out again, to see if, by some miracle, his guardian was still in there somewhere. Yet his fear kept him motionless, his frantic breaths being the only thing that told of the fact that he was still alive, that he hadn’t perished from the terror.

It wasn’t until the monster turned, finally breaking into a dash to depart, its glowing eyes fading in the distance, that Blixer’s petrification broke. All at once, the tense aura dropped, an incredulous, almost relieved feeling washing over him. He sat there, absolutely taken aback by his sheer luck, before a few brave tears dared to well up in his eye. They blurred his vision, and when the shape blinked and took a breath, the emotional dam broke.

Shattering stars… that was Kubix. Blixer let out a bitter, broken laugh, a single syllable of, “Heh…”

His voice cracked like his leg had, and he, hugging himself, began to attempt to stand, leaning against the walls for support as he muttered to himself. His leg felt like fire, but it was nothing compared to the ache in his heart, which blossomed from his core, making his entire being hurt.

Even New Game was despaired, and Blixer felt the being’s perpetual grin falter, like what had occured was so wrong that a universal constant had been broken. In a way, it was. King had never harmed him; after revealing his true identity to the pink shape, he’d never threatened him, either. Over time, the two had even come to a truce in their respective work.

Because of the nature of his powers, King couldn’t help but hurt people. It was an uncontrollable factor of his soul; but... he never raised a claw to his son.

The corruption changed that, all from one mistake, one wrong move.

Blixer had no idea how long he’d been walking. He continued blindly, just trying to get away from the city. His leg was aflame with pain, but it was easier to dwell on that than to focus on Kubix. He didn’t look up until he’d reached the little bridge leading to the suburbs, watching as the few cars raced by. There was a little bike trail on one side, and since no one in their right mind would ride bicycles at night, especially in this city, Blixer figured it’d be safe to walk along the edge. He’d done it before, in way worse conditions. The only difference now was that he had nothing to go home to.

The minutes blended together, and Blixer found himself feeling drowsy, his eye fogged over. He mentally checked on New Game, only feeling a slight bitterness when he focused on the being.

The alter ego’s voice huffed, like a whisper on the wind, laced with sadness, “There’s no point. Kubix isn’t coming home.” New Game’s tone dropped, his voice breaking. “He’s dead.”

Blixer snapped back automatically, “He’s not dead!...” He trailed off, shaking his head. He looked at the streets below, trailing his hand against the railing of the bridge. “It’ll… it’ll be fine… We can sort this out in the morning, and maybe Kubix will be okay…”

A moment of tense silence passed, and Blixer sighed, quickening his pace. He began to feel like someone was watching him, so he focused on the road, watching his surroundings with a cautious eye.

Internally, he heard New Game give an apprehensive, “Watch out…. Something’s following us.”

Blixer nodded, looking down at his hands. There was a slight flicker of pinkish light as his fingertips sharpened, filling with a volatile energy. It was just powerful enough to harm, but not to shatter or otherwise get him into any trouble.

Whatever was behind him would just be in for a rude awakening if they thought they could get the drop on him. It was probably some petty thief, either that or some half-witted crook who thought a kid would be an easy target. Blixer didn’t carry much money with him, anyway, and he doubted the competence of any minor criminal who dared act at night, when New Game was on the prowl, ready to skewer any villain in a fifty mile radius.

Of course, Blixer could barley access his powers now, let alone “skewer” anything, but the villains didn’t need to know that. He was sure the monster had scared them all off, anyway.

He sensed that whatever was following him had sped up, tensing. He hoped that it wouldn’t have to come to this…

Suddenly, he swerved, thrusting out his claws to catch whoever was behind him. His hand met red, stinging spikes, and he recoiled, eye going wide as he processed the sight before him.

He’d been followed by a villain, alright; the worst villain of all. The monster that had once been Kubix towered over him, glowering down at him with a hollow stare. Its red eyes shone brightly in the night, although it was too dark for the rest of the creature to be seen, save for when the occasional car passed by, lights flaring.

Blixer had cracked off one of the beast’s spikes, although it didn’t look too inconvenienced, concerned with watching Blixer, almost guarding him.

For a moment, he cradled his injured hand, hoping that the mere brush wouldn’t do the same to him that it had done to Kubix… then he met the eyes of the red creature, and he felt his tension drop, replaced with a feeling much worse.

A bitter realization made the pink shape’s stomach do flips, and he almost backed away, before he laughed again, breaking eye-contact with the beast. He’d seen that intelligence, that thoughtful, cautious gaze, many times before. Never had he ever seen such sapience in the most corrupted of monsters, so only one thing could be possible.

“You… you’re in there, aren’t you?” His voice was soft, barely heard over the sound of distant traffic. The monster lowered itself… himself… to be at eye level with Blixer. The young shape felt tears well up in his eye, and he took a shaky step forward. “Kubix…”

The corrupted beast let out a low, sad croon, unable to speak but desperate to convey his sentience. He was still conscious. He was sorry, he failed to protect his son. Whatever the red corruption was, it had a tight hold on his soul; it had filled him with a mindless rage that was worse than anything his natural corruption could do. He was afraid that his mind would slip once again, an he wanted to warn Blixer to stay away, no matter how much it hurt. He couldn’t say anything, however, so he just reached out, pulling Blixer close in a shaky, tentative embrace.

Blixer limply allowed himself to be hugged, before he returned the embrace, quivering. He buried his face into Kubix’s shoulder, unable to stop the long-awaited sobs from spilling out. His emotions were a mess; he was a mess.

Kubix had suffered, all because he chose to flee. All because he couldn’t just fight back and let himself be corrupted for the greater good. Kubix had jumped in front of him, although it wasn’t his job to be the hero, and it ended with him becoming a monster, powerless to stop the transformation.

The guilt made Blixer’s heart shatter, and he sighed shakily, blinking the tears from his eye.

“I’ll fix this…” he whispered. He didn’t quite believe it himself, but he had to assure Kubix. “We’ll reverse this somehow. We’ll fix you.”

Kubix only whimpered sadly, the red shine in his eyes lessening.

Blixer, wanting to fill the silence, kept talking, desperate. “I’m sorry… I couldn’t save you…” He tightened his hold, afraid that the red beast would lose his mind again if he faltered. He squeezed his eye shut, trying to stop the tears. “I… I promise we can fix this…”

In that moment, Kubix seemed so fragile. Something deep inside Blixer broke at that realization. Suddenly, his whole worldview shifted. Even the seemingly indestructible could be broken. Even the King... could be usurped.

#jsab #Just shapes and beats #kubix #blixer #Other people's OCs #red corruption #Oh Look a Story Thing #fanfic #au #reverse superhero au #gift

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robertjacobsugdens · 7 years

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Hi Anon!!!!

Sorry for replying like this, but you accidentally sent this to my main blog.

First things first, thank you SO much for your praise, you’re lovely. And yes I’m a woman and also absolutely a geek.

And yes!!! I mean, the general plot of the heist itself definitely came from years of watching all the heist movies/shows I could get my hands on (heists are my absolute favorite), but as for the details, I absolutely 100% did my research on this.

My dad used to be the head of security for a hotel so I sat him down and asked him a few thousand questions lmao. Beyond that I also specifically researched casino security. All the stuff in the fic is real. Guards are never more than a 120 seconds running distance from anything while police is very responsive and highly trained (and fun fact: the INTERPOL really does coordinate with the Criminal Identity Department in Monte Carlo), the entire premises are monitored, they have a standardized and very sophisticated security system (not the seL4 mentioned in the fic, but the system does exist and is indeed unhackable unless one is connected to the hardware) that at all time is running facial and license plate recognition and NORA (non-obvious relationship analysis, meaning that beyond running facial recognition it can also spot potential accomplices and relationships), all footage is also contained in independent back-ups (although I don’t think it’s stored in data farms, so that’s def part of the 5% I made up), and also the vaults are very very secure with thick steel walls and doors and also limited access codes (I gave it an old timey safe lock pretty much exclusively for the sake of the plot and also bc Lawrence would, but in reality they have timed locks). The only thing related to the plan that I refused to look up were how explosive works because I don’t want to end up on any governmental watch list please and thank you.

As for cars, I know absolutely nothing about cars, so I asked my friend if I could borrow her boyfriend, who’s an engineer and I asked him how do cars break in a way you can patch up on the road with the right tools? Apparently the shaft seal of the water pump was the answer to my prayers. I researched it a lot, mostly reading about a bajillion articles about cars for dummies and what you read in the fic is actually how you fix it! The only two things I gave myself poetic license over are the fact that if a serpentine belt is wet you should immediately change it, and also I’m pretty sure you shouldn’t fix stuff with duct tape, but oh well.

I actually worked in a menswear store for a few summers during high school/university so I already knew a little bit about it, but I hadn’t really kept up with it so I didn’t really know what was in fashion anymore. So what I did was again dive back on google and read as much as possible on patterns/materials/brands. I also had to work in terms of Robert and Aaron’s body types and what cuts/styles would look better there. Also, my dad buys a few magazines geared towards men, so I looked at the ads and the fashion pages on them to get a sense of what’s currently in fashion. The only poetic license on this topic came from the Fioravanti suit. Fioravanti only does bespoke suits, so Salvi wouldn’t just happen to have one in the back, but eh, it’s fiction.

#ask #anonymous #long post #wefjkbfwefwe SORRY THIS IS SO LONG #I got carried away

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reivenesque · 6 years

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Just because someone asked for it on ao3, here is it as well, a small preview for the next chapter of Running in a Serpentine Fashion

Chapter 7: Dad

He didn’t know how much time passed between him slipping in and out of the darkness; between seeing his dad’s relieved face in front of him and disappearing into the abyss of loneliness that had become like a second home to him. But sometimes, in the dark when he concentrated enough, sometimes he’d be able to sift through the static noise and the sound of the machines to hear human voices. Some of the voices sounded familiar, his like dad’s, others sound less familiar and spoke a lot of words Robby couldn’t even begin to understand. But a few times he heard voices that were both familiar and unfamiliar, but he couldn’t put a finger on it. The sound was soothing in his soul and brought up memories of a calm wooded area and a lake and training on a cliff-side with nothing but greenery in his sight for miles.

His dad was there and this unknown voice that made him feel so much peace on the inside and Robby thought that it trumped all the pain and discomfort he was in.

For the first time in a while, Robby actually felt a little okay on the inside.

And Not the Best Around.

Chapter 4: You’ll Reach The Final Bell

Johnny’s father was deadbeat loser who cared about no one but himself.

Laura married him out of love and he stepped out to buy cigarettes one day and never returned.

The second time she married, she married out of obligation and necessity. She didn’t love Sid but he could provide for them. He had the money to give them a good life with the best opportunities and that was all she wanted for Johnny. She raised him the best she could with what she had but it never felt adequate enough. She never felt adequate enough. But with Sid’s money perhaps Johnny would be able to make a better future for himself, something better than she could ever have given him on her own.

Everything she did was for her son and she could hope that he would turn out to be a better man than his father ever was.

#the karate kid #cobra kai #johnny lawrence #robby keene #reiven fics #fics: running in a serpentine fashion #fics: not the best around

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reivenesque · 6 years

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Running in a Serpentine Fashion CH4

« Previous chapter | ao3

They made it to the hospital in record time. Miguel was barely on the chorus of Welcome to the Jungle in his head when they pulled into the ambulance bay of the hospital and Hawk was out the door yelling for a doctor before the car could come to a complete stop.

Doctors and nurses convened on the car and Keene immediately, pulling him out of Miguel’s hands and onto a gurney, wheeling him into the doors and out sight in a flurry of activity that Miguel couldn’t even begin to keep up with.

He saw sensei rushing in after them but he couldn’t move from the position he was in, still crouched in the small space between the backseat and the passenger seat, his shaking hands dripping fresh, warm blood that smelled so strong of metal that up close.

“Miguel? It’s okay.” Finally he managed to drag his eyes away from where they were staring transfixed on his own two hands to look up into Aisha’s teary, concerned eyes. “He’s going to be okay. We did everything we could,” she said, almost like she could read what was on Miguel’s mind.

“There’s so much blood,” he found himself saying. The sound was weird, almost like he was listening to his own voice from deep underwater. “There’s… there’s too much blood. I’m never going to get this out of my clothes. My mom’s going to be pissed,” he said.

The sensation of tears trickling down his face was weird, mainly because he couldn’t remember even crying. It was stupid. Keene wasn’t his friend. He didn’t even like the guy… but he’d almost died, right there in Miguel’s arms. It was a surreal situation for anyone to find themselves in, especially a teenager and in that moment, Aisha and Miguel finally realized just how close they came to seeing someone die with their own two eyes.

It was Aisha who started sobbing which spurned Miguel to put his own drama on the back burner. Aisha was the one who’d kept Keene alive; the one who had the sense not to act like a complete idiot. If there was one person who needed comforting in that moment, it was Aisha, and Miguel forced himself to step up.

He reached over and circled his arms around her shoulders, pulling her into a hug. Neither of them cared that they were getting blood all over each other. They were drenched in so much of it as it was.

In that moment they were both just teenagers who needed comfort, so they comforted each other.

It wasn’t until a few minutes later that they finally managed to pull themselves together enough to go seek out sensei, Hawk and Moon who’d gone with the gurney carrying Keene towards the emergency room. They were directed towards the waiting room and pushed open the door to find sensei pacing a hole in the floor in the middle of the room and Hawk sitting slumped over in the plastic seat by the wall, his arms around Moon sitting next to him. They were both quiet, unnervingly so.

Sensei wasn’t saying anything but Miguel could tell how terrified he was.

Ever since the tournament, sensei always ended up acting weird whenever the name Keene came up in conversation (it didn’t come up often, or rather it didn’t come up often when sensei was around because sensei was seldom around). At one point Miguel suspected that there was more to the story than he and the rest of the Cobra Kais knew, he thought he even suspected what it was but he forced himself not to dwell on it too long or too much. For one thing, he hated Keene’s guts and he didn’t give a shit.

Sensei didn’t notice them standing by the door. Once Aisha stepped away to approach Moon and Hawk, Miguel decided to see if he could instead go find a bathroom. He didn’t feel like being in that room at that moment.

He underestimated how terrible he really looked until he was faced with his own reflection in the bathroom mirror.

The fist he caught to the side of the face was already starting to bruise, his hair was a mess and he was pretty sure he got cut in the gums by his braces during the fight because he could still feel the bitterness of the coopery tang on his tongue.

He also had blood all over his clothes, staining his hands and smudged on his cheeks and down his neck. He looked like a victim of a wild animal attack and it definitely wasn’t pretty.

The tap water washed off most of the blood but the crusts under his fingernails were tougher to get out.

He wasn’t sure how long he spent in the bathroom, cleaning himself up as best he could, it could have been five minutes or fifty, he wasn’t keeping track and it was like his brain was still stuck on some strange loop that he couldn’t fully shake.

The sight of the waiting room was slightly different when he returned. Instead of pacing the floor, wearing down the shine of linoleum, sensei was instead kneeling in front of Aisha, holding her shaking shoulders tight as she cried into his chest. Once he came within hearing distance, Miguel could hear Aisha’s muffled apology and sensei reassuring her with gentleness in his voice that Miguel didn’t think he was even capable of.

“You saved his life. You have nothing to be sorry for,” sensei repeated more than once.

It wasn’t until Hawk noticed his approach and called out his name that sensei finally turned to look at him.

Aisha sniffled and leaned back, releasing her hold on sensei’s shoulders. “It was Miguel,” she said, “Miguel’s the one who went to help him during the fight.”

Sensei briefly looked at her before glancing back to Miguel standing there, unable to think of anything to say or how to react.

“You both did,” he said, patting her on the shoulder, “All you guys did,” he added, glancing at Hawk and Moon before he got to his feet and approached Miguel. “I heard what you did,” he said when he stopped about a foot away.

Miguel fidgeted with his hands under sensei’s intense gaze. “I just did what you would have done,” he said nervously.

A shadow of a smile ghosted across sensei’s face. “And what’s that?” he asked, as if it were just another class and just another lesson he was teaching Miguel.

“Kicked some ass,” he said as a matter of fact.

The small laugh sensei let out made Miguel’s heart swell with pride. “You’re damn right I would have,” he said. Without another word and without warning, sensei stepped forward and pulled Miguel in for a hug.

Miguel wasn’t expecting the physical contact or the embrace so his entire body froze stupidly.

“Thank you for helping him,” sensei said. “Thank you for saving him,” he added.

Miguel didn’t think he needed any more proof of his suspicions but he didn’t say anything. Instead he returned the hug gladly. It felt nice.

They didn’t say anything more after that as they waited on news about Keene. After sensei pulled himself together, he approached Miguel and asked whether he had Sam’s number. To say Miguel was taken aback by the query was an understatement and the exact moment Miguel was about to voice out his confusion, he occurred to him that sensei wasn’t asking to call Sam.

He was asking to call Mr. LaRusso.

That fact sobered him up quickly. He swallowed the lump in his throat as he fished out his phone and scrolled down to find Sam’s number in his long unused call list which was a sad fact in itself.

It took three unanswered calls before Sam finally picked up on the second ring; her voice dripping annoyance when she barked into the receiver. ‘What, Miguel?’

“Sam… look –”

‘No, you look, Miguel. I can’t do this anymore. I like you a lot – liked you a lot, but you turned out to be –’

“Sam, please, it’s not about that!” Miguel felt bad about raising his voice but as much as it hurt to hear Sam being so angry at him, it wasn’t about him or Sam at that moment. “I need to talk your dad.”

The line was silent for a beat, indicative of the confusion Sam was experiencing. ‘What?’

“Please, Sam. I’m sorry for everything, I’ll apologize every day until the end of time but right now I really need to talk to your dad.”

‘Is everything alright, Miguel?’

“No,” he answered truthfully, “It’s not.”

Once the line went silent, Miguel knew it was his cue to hand the phone to sensei and he stepped back to wallow in his own self-pity on the seat beside Aisha.

Johnny took the phone from Miguel’s hand – he could barely stop picking at the dried blood that was starting to crust on his hands but he forced himself to look away.

He waited on the silent line for a moment before the familiarly indignant and annoyed voice sounded in the receiver.

‘What is your sensei playing at?’ Was the first thing out of his mouth and Johnny would have barked a laugh had the situation not been so grim.

It took just a simple, “LaRusso,” to set him off again.

‘Jesu–What the hell, Johnny? You harassing my kid now? What do you want?’

Johnny opened his mouth to reply but all of a sudden he couldn’t find the words. His mind was flashing back to the sight of his son bleeding out on the pavement just a few feet away from his own dojo. If Miguel and the rest hadn’t stumbled on Robby that night – if Robby had been alone when the guys attacked him – if Miguel hadn’t gone back to help him… Johnny couldn’t imagine what would have happened.

He must have zoned out for quite a bit because he came to with LaRusso’s concerned voice calling his name into his ear.

‘Johnny, what’s the matter?’

Johnny swallowed the lump in his throat and attempted to find his voice before he spoke. He hoped his voice wouldn’t shake the way he knew it wanted to because all of a sudden it occurred to him.

His son almost died.

His son might still die.

And Johnny never got the chance to make it up to him or to say sorry.

The emotions were all of a suddenly almost overwhelming and he let out a sob into the receiver.

“It’s Robby,” he said. “Daniel, it’s Robby.”

Tbc.

We’re headed into Johnny’s POV after this one.

@gleegirl2011 @dream-beyond-the-fantasy (if anyone wants to be tagged or stop being being tagged when I update let me know).

#cobra kai #robby keene #miguel diaz #the karate kid #johnny lawrence #daniel larusso #aisha robinson #hawk #eli moscowitz #reiven fics #reiven cobra kai fics #fics: running in a serpentine fashion #whump

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reivenesque · 6 years

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Running in a Serpentine Fashion CH5

Chapter 5: Daniel

« Previous chapter (also on ao3 and ffet).

Three hours.

That was how long it was since he drove up to the emergency dock of the hospital with his son bleeding all over the leather upholstery of his car and still there had been no update about how he was doing.

His harassment of a nurse for information only resulted in him almost getting kicked off the premises but the woman had taken pity on him and not only let him stay, but came back with what little information she could find about Robby’s condition.

He was in surgery. That was all they knew.

The waiting room was a flurry of activity by that point, faces that Johnny never expected to see. Or rather just one face he didn’t expect and didn’t really want to see.

Daniel LaRusso.

But LaRusso was there for Robby. Johnny had called him because of Robby; for Robby. He knew LaRusso meant a lot to Robby and although the fact caused an ache deep inside his heart, he knew he had to accept the reality. He had no one to blame for his predicament but himself. LaRusso had picked up the slack he’d left behind and he was done letting his vindictive ways and his jealousy get in the way of him and the people he cared about.

It cost him Ali and it cost him Robby and he was done losing people who meant the most to him because he couldn’t let go of his own ego.

LaRusso had brought along his entire brood with him. His lovely wife that Johnny was really quite fond of. She reminded him of Ali, which both answered the question as to why she ended up marrying LaRusso, and brought up the brand new question, which is why did she end up marrying LaRusso? She was way out of his league and he knew that LaRusso knew it too, or maybe he didn’t, he really was insufferable in that sense. Must have been the New Jersey in him.

His progeny was sitting with Miguel off to the side whispering to each other out of ear shot and the annoying little brat mini-me of his was for once not being an annoying brat. He was sitting quietly beside his mom who was talking to Aisha.

Johnny sensed a presence looming over him before a weight dropped down onto the empty seat beside him.

“You okay, Johnny?”

There were times when Johnny wanted to hate LaRusso and it came easy; the feeling and the execution of it.

But there were other times when Johnny couldn’t stop thinking that in another scenario in another lifetime; had their first meeting been different, his life and his hate-hate relationship with LaRusso might also have also turned out completely different.

He scrubbed his face with a little too much vehemence before he sighed, leaving back heavily against the backrest of the seat.

“I should have been there for him,” he said. It wasn’t the answer to the question LaRusso had asked but somehow it was the only thing on his mind. “I should have been there for this… I should have always been there. I never should have turned my back on him,” he said and he didn’t know why the words flowed out so easily to LaRusso. It happened during his confession about Sid and it happened about Kreese and it was happening again.

He couldn’t understand it.

“You can’t change the past, Johnny,” LaRusso said, “You can only change what you do from that point on. Leave the past in the past – we should have done that. I should have done that.” Johnny didn’t reply but LaRusso didn’t seem like he was waiting for one either. “What did the police say?”

The police had been by before LaRusso and his family arrived, having been called by the hospital because of the nature of Robby’s injuries and how he’d gotten them.

Johnny didn’t have much to add but Miguel, Aisha, Hawk and Moon was almost tripping over each other in order to give their statements.

Johnny hadn’t really been listening that closely to whatever it was they were saying, but the officer seemed fluent in teenage babble because he was taking notes and didn’t seem at all blown away by the sheer volume of sound coming at him from all sides.

It wasn’t until Miguel said that the guy who tackled Robby had long hair and some sort of lip dirt mustache on his face and Aisha added that Robby said they were friends of his did all the puzzle pieces finally fall into place.

Johnny’s fist found the broad side of the wall behind him before he could even verbally react, startling the kids and the officer who was standing there. He told the officer about the two losers Robby used to hang out with, he didn’t know their names or where they lived, though he regretted that lack of information because it was hard resisting the urge to march out of that hospital to deliver those guys the ass kicking they were asking for and so deserved. He told the officer to go ask Robby’s mom and proceeded to give them her address. He’d tried calling her many times but the call would immediately go into voicemail, not that he was all that surprised but he was both pissed off and disappointed on Robby’s behalf.

He could feel the heat of the stares on the back of his head as he was talking but he didn’t turn around. It wasn’t that he was scared or anything, least of all of Miguel and his bunch of nerds, but there was the fear of looking back and seeing the look of disappointment and betrayal on their faces. He couldn’t comprehend why that would even bother him, not that he needed their approval for anything, but perhaps it was because he hated to admit how much the kids under his tutelage had come to grow on him, especially Miguel. The thought of disappointing him struck a deep chord inside his heart and he’d hate knowing that he’d manage to disappoint two boys he cared about.

He’d let Robby down too many times already in his life. He wasn’t there for him growing up and he only stood by with his dick in his hand while his own son got the crap beaten out of him by not one, but two of his own students. What kind of shit father was that?

The Johnny Lawrence kind, that’s what. He only had Sid and Kreese as role models growing up so he wasn’t exactly the poster boy for healthy upbringing, but it wasn’t fair to Robby the fact that he couldn’t put his own trauma on the backburner and put someone else’s needs before his for the first time.

It occurred to him then that he almost lost that chance, like… truly occurred to him. His son almost died. He almost died in Johnny’s arms and he realized with great regret that he didn’t know anything about him. He didn’t know what band he liked or what movie he enjoyed. He didn’t know what he liked to do for fun or who his idols were.

The Robby he saw at the tournament, being coached by Daniel LaRusso of all people was different from the Robby he met at the apartment a few months before. He seemed less… burdened and weighed down, like he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. It was as if he found the kind of internal peace and balance that Johnny never managed to. And to think that it came from the teachings of his rival… that was the swift kick to the balls type of wake-up call he didn’t realize he needed.

He found LaRusso still waiting on his answer when he finally turned around.

“The kids gave a good description of the guys that attacked Robby and I know for sure two of them were guys Robby used to hang around with – real bad news, loser types,” he said. “I guess, he did take after his dad in one aspect,” he added as a mutter under his breath.

“You know… a couple of months ago there was an incident. A couple of guys got caught on camera trying to break into the garage at my shop. Robby was actually the one who stopped them and I think we got the footage of their faces saved in the security room,” LaRusso said. “I’ll call the officers and let them know to drop by there.”

“Yeah, thanks,” said Johnny distractedly. “Hey, LaRusso,” he called back when LaRusso got to his feet and was about to walk away to make the call.

“Yeah?”

“Just… thanks. Thanks for being there for him when I wasn’t,” said Johnny. “Thanks for… well, thanks for being a good mentor to him. God knows the kid needs some good role models in his life. He never even stood a chance.”

LaRusso sighed, though a small smile curled at his lips. “You don’t need to thank me, Johnny. I just… I guess I had a good sensei in Mr. Miyagi. You didn’t and it’s not your fault. But it’s obvious these kids have a good sensei in you, judging by what they did and how they handled the situation. So just… don’t count yourself out just yet, I did and that was my mistake. You got a chance to become a better sensei than the one you had and you still have a chance to be a better father than what you had.”

Johnny was genuinely touched by LaRusso’s words but the moment was quickly snuffed out by cough. “You really are a lame-ass optimist, LaRusso.”

LaRusso laughed. “It’s all that bonsai trimming,” he said, “You should try it one day. It’s very relaxing.”

Fortunately for Johnny, the sappy moment was cut short and immediately subdued by the arrival to the doctor pulling off his mask and cap and calling for the family of Robby Keene.

Johnny wasn’t thinking anything when he approached the man; he could sense Miguel and the rest stepping up beside him and in an unexpected turn of event, he found comfort in the presence of LaRusso standing just a few feet away.

“I’m his father,” he said and in that moment he realized that what the doctor was going to say was about to bring him relief or cause his entire world to come crumbling down to his feet.

He steeled himself.

Tbc.

#johnny lawrence #daniel larusso #robby keene #miguel diaz #cobra kai #the karate kid #fics: running in a serpentine fashion #whump #aisha robinson #hawk #eli moscowitz #reiven fics #reiven cobra kai fics

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reivenesque · 6 years

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Running in a Serpentine Fashion CH3

Chapter 3: Aisha

« Previous chapter

“Oh shit – oh shit! That’s a lot of blood, guys. Like a lot of blood! Oh crap, guys, what are we gonna do?”

That was Hawk.

Panicking.

In that single moment, he’d completely reverted back to the stuttering, nervous nerd kid Miguel had met during lunch who got nauseous at the sight of blood on Miguel’s finger that time he accidentally cut himself on the side of a very sharp and very dangerous piece of – ahem – paper.

Unfortunately, panicky, terrified of blood Eli Moskowitz wasn’t the person Miguel needed in that moment. He needed Hawk, the Mohawk hair styled, tattooed badass who laughed in the face of adversity and was really kind of a jackass. Miguel needed him.

“Get a grip, Eli!” yelled Aisha, smacking him hard with the back of her hand. “How about make yourself useful and go call sensei, instead of freaking out like a damn fool!”

By that time, Keene had half collapsed against the person nearest to him – which happened to be Miguel crouched down in front of him. In that moment, all his good senses went flying out the window. Between Hawk’s panicked hyperventilating somewhere within his vicinity and Keene bleeding to death in his arms, his brain went into ultra-shut down mode, which meant that all of a sudden he didn’t know what to do, he didn’t know where to put his hands or what to say, he couldn’t remember his name, who his parents were or how to inhale air into his lungs.

Luckily there were two people there who managed to keep their wits about them. Aisha and Moon both delivered the stinging slap to Miguel and Hawk simultaneously which was the literal wake-up call they needed to stop running around like headless chickens, which was ironically, a literal sense in Hawk’s case.

“Go get sensei!” repeated Aisha.

Hawk didn’t need to be told a third time. He was off running, hollering for ‘sensei’ at the top of his lungs and likely managing to wake up half the neighbourhood with his shrill yelling. Moon following after him just as swiftly but at a slightly less hectic pace.

Aisha had pulled Keene back from where he was slumped over Miguel’s chest, gently lowering him to the ground and speaking slow, calming words to him. Miguel didn’t know how she was even able to stay calm while he could feel his heart thundering inside his throat.

“It’s Robby, right?” she asked without looking at him, instead inspecting the area of his side which was completely soaked in blood.

Keene swallowed hard but managed a forced, “Yeah,” in response to her question. His face was pinched and his brows furrowed, sweat was beading at his forehead and his breathing was slow and thready.

Aisha continued talking to him as she carefully removed his hand from his side and peeled back the material of his shirt, exposing the two very obvious, very deep and very much still bleeding stab wounds in his abdomen, just below his ribs.

Miguel was ninety-nine percent sure the stab wounds didn’t just appear out of thin air somewhere between the convenience store and where they were currently situated, which meant that he must have gotten them during the fight. The fight that he was still very much involved in at every point and the one they’d run away from like their lives depended on it – the keyword being the very physical act of running.

Just the thought made Miguel gag. The very painful papercut he suffered definitely felt inconsequential at that point.

“Miguel!” Judging by the level of annoyance in Aisha’s voice, Miguel realized that she must have been calling his name for quite a while.

“Y-Yeah?” he stuttered out.

“A little help?” she almost growled. “You need to put pressure on this, hard,” she said, reaching out to grab Miguel’s hand. When they limbs came into contact, that was when Miguel realized that Aisha’s hands were slick with blood. She guided the flat palm of his hand to cover the two gaping wounds on Keene’s side before turning away from Miguel to address Keene. “Robby, this is going to hurt but… bear with me, okay? You’re going to be okay.” She turned back to Miguel and covered his hand with her own and without another word, pressed down on the wound with her bodyweight on her hands stacked over Miguel’s.

The scream that was ripped from Keene’s throat was raw and painful and Miguel felt like such a villain for inflicting that kind of pain on another human being, but he knew that was the only way to keep the blood where it needed to be – inside Keene. He watched his fair share of Gangland and the CI channel, he knew the basics of TV taught first aid.

“Keep the pressure on,” Aisha said before she removed her hand. Miguel struggled to keep the needed amount of pressure to prevent more blood from leaking out. Keene’s entire side, his clothes and the sidewalk he was lying on was already soaked in blood.

“Hey, Keene,” Miguel found himself saying, “You’re going to be alright, you hear. You’re definitely going to be okay, okay?” He wasn’t sure whether he was trying to reassure Keene or himself not that it was working for either one of them. He wasn’t sure if Keene was even listening to what he was saying. The guy’s eyes had become unfocused and glassy and he was staring blankly up at the stars twinkling serenely in the sky above their heads. “Keene? H-Hey, Robby, you with us man?”

He looked over at Aisha as she scooted closer to Keene’s head, reaching over to tap him gently on the side of the face, leaving finger shaped smudges of blood on his cheek. “Stay with me, Robby,” she said, leaning down closer to stare him straight in the eyes.

The touch seemed to rouse him because he blinked a few times before his half lidded eyes finally focused on Aisha’s face. “‘M so tired,” he said.

Miguel felt his heart sink into his stomach. That was never a good sign.

“I know. You’ve lost a lot of blood, but you need to stay awake, okay? I didn’t get a chance to fight you in the tournament yet, so you’re definitely not dying today, alright?”

Robby let out an unexpected laugh which quickly turned into a pained moan when it jarred his side. “Cobras,” he muttered, though there was no malice in the word.

The sound of footsteps hitting pavement caught Miguel’s attention and he turned back to find the sight of Hawk, Moon and sensei running towards where they were. In that moment he couldn’t have been more relieved to see sensei if he tried.

“What the hell, guys?” hollered sensei before he was even within hearing range. “Hawk’s making no goddamn sense, coming into the dojo in the middle of the night yelling something – Robby!”

Whatever his sensei had meant to say was completely forgotten when he got closer and his eye found the sight of Keene bleeding out onto the cold pavement across the street from the dojo.

He dropped to his knees beside Keene before his body even came to a stop, reaching over with a shaking hand to grasp the side of his face. “Oh my god – oh my – what the hell happened? Robby! Robby, stay with me, alright?”

Miguel gave a brief summary of what had happened. At least that was what he meant to do. All of a sudden it was like his brain and his mouth refused to cooperate. Hawk was clutching his head and pacing behind him being absolutely no help either. Thank god for Aisha and Moon managing to tell sensei the gist of what happened. How they’d run into Keene at the store and fighting the guys that came up and attacked him.

“Moon, did you call an ambulance?” Aisha asked.

Sensei wasn’t looking at any of them. His eyes were locked onto Keene who didn’t even seem to be completely aware of the person hovering over him worriedly. “We need to get him to a hospital now.”

Without waiting for a response, sensei got up to one knee before reaching out to slip his arm around Keene’s shoulder and his other hooking under his knees. With a pained heave, he got to his feet, cradling a limp Keene in his arms. He rushed back towards the dojo, Hawk and Moon running close behind him. It took Miguel a little bit longer to get his wits about him again. His hands were shaking and his legs felt like jello. It was only Aisha’s arm hooking around his elbow that managed to haul him to his feet and keep him there.

“You okay?” she asked worriedly.

“Y-Yeah,” he felt his lips moving but his brain wasn’t even sure what he was even saying.

Both of them rushed after sensei, catching up to him as he was lowering Keene into the backseat of his car.

Aisha rounded the car and crawled in from the other side, pulling Keene the rest of the way in and laying him down on the seat, placing his head gently in her lap. Miguel stepped in without word, crouching in the tight space between the backseat and the passenger seat, his hands reaching over to reapply pressure on the wound. His brain couldn’t process what was happening, but his body knew what needed to be done. Hawk and Moon filed into the passenger seat as sensei rushed around, starting the car and putting it into gear before he fully closed the door.

The car made a loud squealing noise as it pulled out of the driveway and burned rubber before taking off in the direction of the hospital.

Keene’s eyes were closed by the point and they refused to open again no matter how hard Aisha smacked him on the cheek.

Tbc.

@dream-beyond-the-fantasy and @gleegirl2011

#johnny lawrence #robby keene #miguel diaz #the karate kid #cobra kai #billy zabka #tanner buchanan #xolo mariduena #fics: running in a serpentine fashion #reiven fics #reiven karate kid fics #aisha robinson #hawk #eli moscowitz

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abri-chan · 5 years

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One word + character -> one sentence fic

(@isabelbuccellati's prompt) lightning + Giorno: A glimpse at the lightning serpentine and Giorno rushed to open his dorm room window; and as he basked in the rumbling of thunders and the wind howling violently against window-panes he felt the storm running through his veins come alive.

(@dio-daily's prompt) umbrella + Rohan: Rohan fumbled with the dainty pink umbrella, already hearing Josuke's teasing and his own retort of a fashion statement,-- truth was, he had been browsing through catalogues thinking of Reimi and it was easy to admit to ego than remorse.

#anime manga rambles #giorno giovanna #rohan kishibe #jojo #jjba #jojo's bizarre adventure

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reivenesque · 6 years

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Reading Ch. 7 of "Not the Best Around" on AO3 right now. I continue to love this story. I have to say that I liked Kreese sticking around with Laura, just silently supporting her and Johnny. Could this and the conversation she and Johnny had be leading to Laura divorcing Sid and potentially dating Kreese? He was Johnny's best father figure and since his worst Karate Kid crimes don't happen in this AU. Not saying I want this, but I'm open to it. Also, will we see more of Johnny's friends?

And I definitely continue looking forward to receiving your comments on all my KK/CK my fics (you’re honestly the best and your analysis are always so great and spot on But as for Kreese, I definitely do have an end for him in this story that’s much more favourable than what we got in the movie. Which means that while he doesn’t play such a big part in the story, his presence is definitely a big part of Johnny’s story.And yes you’ll definitely see more of the other Cobra Kais, maybe even two more people whose names rhyme with Mali and Baniel :)

I meant chapter 4 of “Not The Best Around. I think I reread chapter 7 of "Running in a Serpentine Fashion” recently, which messed me up on the numbers. Either way, I love both of your fics and am always ready for your updates.

No worries, I realized the confusion and understood what you meant nonetheless.

#johnny lawrence #john kreese #fics: not the best around #lovely commenters are lovely

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reivenesque · 6 years

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Hey Reivenesque - I was just wondering, you know your fanfic Running in a Serpentine Fashion CH5 - that header image looks a lot like one of my edits. Do you know where you got those images? @elenatria and I are trying to figure out who in our fandom keeps taking images/gifs/edits and not crediting the original source. Let me know, thanks

The header for the fic and all my edits I make myself and any similarities were honestly completely unintentional. I think the pictures are from the official show posters? I think. Those pictures I found on google image.

Anyway, yeah I saw that post. And honestly, stealing graphics is one thing, but how shameless would a person have to be to claim them as their own? Hope you get to the bottom of that. I’ve saw you guys talking about it but since I use my instagram like once ever blue moon to post pictures of cats to my 19 followers, I don’t have anything useful to contribute.

#johnny lawrence #fandom wank #reiven graphics

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reivenesque · 6 years

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A Cobra Kai Post Tournament Fic [H/C. Friendship]

Running in a Serpentine Fashion Chapter 1: Diaz

(AO3)

It had been nearly a week since the tournament – which they won, by the fucking way... not that it really even felt like it – because Sensei Johnny was still moping around over god knows what attempting to drown himself in his office with six-packs of lukewarm Coors light. Miguel didn’t realize when sensei even made the switch. He was the one who always said light drinks were for pussies.

They won in spectacular fashion, like one of those cool underdog sports movies and his sensei’s reaction had been… cold at best, which confused the hell out of Miguel. He taught them to win and they did, and his lack of enthusiasm about it was just frustrating as shit. And strange, even by sensei’s definition of strange.

It didn’t help that stuff was weird at home as well. His Yaya was totally over the moon about his win (something about him finally becoming a man that isn’t such a doormat) and his mom had been happy and proud – at first at least, or that was how it seemed on the surface. Miguel could always tell when his mom had something that she needed to get off her chest. She kept acting all strange about him and saying pointed stuff that he couldn’t really understand. But whatever she really wanted to say she kept pent up – which happened like never, so whatever it was was obviously something huge.

It wasn’t until that evening that she finally out and said it while she was bent over the sink washing the dishes and Miguel had come into the kitchen to get a drink. “You were really quite violent with that kid at the tournament the other day. I almost didn’t recognize you for a minute there, mijo.”

And finally everything seemed to click into place.

“I won didn’t I? Strike first, strike hard; no mercy. That’s the Cobra Kai way!” he said. His mom didn’t respond to what he said and when he looked up at the silence he found her eyes shining with what seemed like sadness as they continued staring him down. “Whatever,” he said. He didn’t want to get into it, least of all with his mom and least of all right then. Sensei Johnny was being a moody dick, his mom was being weird and neither of them were reacting to his win the way he expected them to which was kind of pissing him off. So he shoved the orange juice back in the fridge and with a mumbled, “I’m going out,” he grabbed his jacket and left without another word.

Moon and Hawk were sucking face against the wall outside the convenience store they were at, making really gross sucking sounds that were getting super annoying and attracting too much unwanted looks of disapproval from the old people passing by.

When Miguel left the house to get away from that uncomfortable talk his mom was about to make, he did it not with the intention of becoming the third wheel to Eli of all goddamn people making out with one of the hottest girls in school when they were supposed to be hanging out helping him lick his wounds. Thank god for Aisha.

“Nut?” offered Aisha, offering an opened bag of peanuts to him when he walked over and took a seat beside her on the sidewalk.

“Nah,” he said, waving off the offer. “Thanks. I think I have enough nuts in my life as is.”

“Problem at home?” she asked.

“At home yeah… and at the dojo… and at school… and with sensei and my mom and Sam and just – just when I thought things were finally going right in my life,” he groaned exasperatedly and buried his face in his knees, the very picture of wretched.

He wished badass Miguel from the tournament, the one who kicked ass and got the crowd all pumped up and shit would have stuck around. He was tired of being loser Miguel who didn’t get the girl, made his mom all sad and caused whatever depressive mood his sensei was currently stuck in. He thought he’d finally crawled out of that particular hole.

“Life sucks!” he bellowed suddenly, startling Aisha beside him into dropping the bag of nuts in her hand. She managed to snatch it up out of the air and continued picking at it like nothing happened.

“It does,” she said unhelpfully and completely unconcerned.

Miguel sighed and let his arms drop to the side, resting his forehead on his knees once again.

He didn’t know how long he stayed in that position, probably looking as pathetic as he felt, ironic for someone who just won the All Valley Championship; beating out people with much more experience than him. It was pretty rad for someone who just a year ago would walk around with greens stuck in his braces for hours without realizing it.

“Oh shit, you’re not going to believe this, Diaz.” It was Hawk who made him finally look up. Aisha was busy staring at an indistinct spot across the street and the fact that he’d actually managed to peel himself away from Moon’s lips to notice whatever it was that caught his eye, it must have been something really important. “Check it out, man,” he said what Miguel caught his eye, following in the direction he was indicating with a jutted chin

And up until that point, Miguel didn’t think his night could get any worse. But evidently someone upstairs named Murphy decided that he hadn’t had enough shit flung at him already.

Because down the street, illuminated under the streetlight, strutting without a care in the world and headed towards the convenience store they were convened in front of was none other than Daniel LaRusso’s super special protégé student, Keene.

Just the sight of him made Miguel’s blood boil and all of his other problems all of a sudden seemed almost unimportant.

“Come on, Miguel,” said Aisha, sounding almost concerned. “Let’s not get into this now. It isn’t worth it. Besides, you already won, right?”

Miguel could hear Aisha speaking but none of what she was saying actually registered. He sensed Hawk stepping up behind him, flinging an arm across his shoulder as he leaned in to whisper into his ear. “Round two, man?” He said. Miguel could almost hear the sound of the smirk on his face. “Remember what sensei taught us: strike first, strike hard. No mercy.”

“Don’t listen to him, Miguel,” said Aisha, ever the peacemaker. “Just let it go.”

Miguel was literally standing there with both an angel and the devil whispering into his ear and he didn’t know which advice to take. Instead he asked himself: what would Sensei Johnny do?

The answer it turned out, presented itself before the little sensei in his head could even begin to verbalize of an answer, when Keene got close enough to notice Miguel staring at him like he’d kicked his dog. Miguel didn’t own a dog in any case, he was terribly allergic to fur, but he imagined he would have that exact look if he had a dog and someone decided to kick it.

“Hey, Keene, out so late by yourself? Where’s your precious sensei LaRusso?” he asked. Beside him he could hear Hawk cheering and Aisha sighing exasperatedly.

Keene was about ten feet away before he slowed down to a stop, rolling his eyes and sighing tiredly when Miguel finished his spiel. He thought he sounded pretty damn cool himself.

“Look, I’m not looking for trouble,” he said, raising both arms in front of him. His shoulder must be feeling better since he was without the sling, Miguel thought, not that it mattered anyway.

“Too bad,” he said. “Cause trouble’s my middle name, and you just found him.”

The moment the words left his lips he knew he’d messed up his own cool monologue scene. Beside him he could hear Aisha scoffing and her derisive, “Dude, that was beyond lame. How are we even friends?”

He couldn’t even find it in him to fault her for that one.

“I’m leaving, okay?” said Keene without addressing the utterly lame point of conversation and if Miguel didn’t hate his guts so much, he’d be super appreciative of the guy not rubbing it in.

For a split second right then, he couldn’t even recall why he hated the guy in the first place.

But then his mind went to thoughts of Sam and it rekindled the fire underneath him once again.

“Running like a little mouse, coward?” yelled Hawk at his receding back.

Keene evidently took a much better course on witty comebacks because he said, “Well I can’t wait around all night for you to go fix that lame ass haircut,” which Miguel hated to admit, was a pretty awesome response.

It stirred up Hawk the wrong way unfortunately and Miguel found himself getting between Hawk and Keene instead of being the one leading the charge.

“Don’t be such a pussy, Diaz,” said Hawk, shoving him hard, forcing him to take a step back. “And you,” he continued, looking up at Keene who’d stopped to watch the proceedings interestedly, “We still have unfinished business.”

It was Moon who fortunately swooped in to save the day and the pun was definitely intended; grabbing Hawk by the hand and pulling him back to finish their exploration of each other’s facial cavity by the side of the store. Miguel forced himself to look away disgustedly.

He found Keene staring at him intently when he turned around. “What?”

It took him a moment to think up whatever lie he was about to spin, at least, that’s what Miguel’s brain told him what’s up. “Look man, I know you don’t like me, and I’m really… just… unbothered by any of you. But whatever you think went on with me and Sam… you’re wrong – and pretty stupid for messing up that badly with her.”

Miguel wondered why he stopped Hawk from beating the guy to a pulp at that moment but he reined back his anger. “What did you say?”

Keene seemed to realize his words because he raised a hand as a show of peace. “I mean, Sam was just being a friend, and nothing more. What happened at the beach party – she was talking about you the whole way there. Her mom took her phone and I helped her get out by pretending that I sprained her ankle so her mom would get her to drive home. That’s why she came to find you there and you did… whatever it was you did there.”

Miguel found himself speechless, his mouth opening and closing like a fish on dry land. It was not a good look in general, and it probably looked even worse on him. “What?”

“Yeah, man. You had a great thing going with her and you messed it up by being… well, by being a dumb guy.”

“But I saw you guys, at her house having dinner that night? She wouldn’t even think of introducing me to her family but with you…” the last part came out almost as a whine which he wasn’t proud of.

Keene’s brows narrowed, like he was trying to remember the dinner Miguel had mentioned. When it finally came to him, his eye roll was very obvious and very exasperated. “Christ, you really are an idiot, aren’t you?”

“Don’t call me an idiot!” he said, taking a menacing step forward but was held back by Aisha’s hand on his shoulder.

“Well then stop acting like one,” he said, causing Miguel to grumble. “I wasn’t there with Sam. I was there because her dad was teaching me karate and he invited me to dinner. Nothing more.”

As much as Miguel hated Keene calling him an idiot it was slowly and surely dawning on him that he really was a stupid idiot.

“Oh,” he said dumbly.

“Yeah, oh-exactly,” said Keene, and even though Miguel’s hate for him had simmered down by a lot, it still didn’t stop him feeling like he wanted to punch the guy right in his annoyingly pretty face.

“Have you come back to your senses yet, Miguel?” asked Aisha, “Cause I miss the dorky, nice Miguel who I joined the Cobra Kais with, not this… skinny, Latino terminator wannabe Miguel who’s really kind of a dick if I have to be honest. Sam deserves better than that.”

Miguel deserved all the name calling he was getting – and more. He really did feel like a fool, and a tool. He didn’t regret anything he’d achieved at the tournament, it was all because of his sensei that he managed to even achieve all that and he was forever grateful. But he couldn’t stop thinking that maybe he could have handled everything better.

His mom’s unspoken words the last couple of days suddenly made a hell of a lot more sense right then.

“Sorry,” he muttered to no one in particular.

Keene just exhaled, understanding that the indistinct apology was directed at him without Miguel saying it outright. “It’s fine. Will you all please leave me alone now?”

Miguel tried to stop the sheepish look from creeping up onto his face – he still had a reputation to uphold – but resistance proved futile. “Sorry about your shoulder too.”

“Don’t worry about it. What’s done is done.”

Keene really was the better man of the two of them. Miguel realized that old Miguel would never have had a problem admitting that, but for karate champion Miguel, the taste of it was still a bit bitter on his tongue. He was still going to have to work on that.

All of a sudden Keene’s eyes caught sight of something coming up from the side street and his posture immediately changed. The easy air that had come about him immediately dissipated. His brows narrowed and his shoulders became tense.

“Get out of here, guys,” he said to Miguel and Aisha.

Miguel followed his line of sight and saw a group of guys whose faces he couldn’t make out coming out of the side street, headed towards where they were standing almost in the middle of the empty road.

“Everything okay?” asked Aisha when her eyes too followed where Miguel and Keene’s were looking.

“Yeah,” said Keene in a clipped tone. “Just go home, this doesn’t concern you guys.”

From afar Miguel could hear one of the guys saying the name Robby in a teasing, sing-song voice. He felt Aisha’s grip tighten on his shoulder, gently pulling him back from where they were standing. Keene had turned away from them, facing the direction the group were coming from, his hands balled into a tight fist and his eyes narrowed.

“Come on, Miguel. You heard what he said,” said Aisha.

Miguel let himself be dragged back without taking his eyes away from Keene and glancing over at the menacing group closing in on him.

Keene wasn’t his friend. He didn’t even like the guy all that much – or at all. But looking at his back becoming smaller the further away he got, Miguel couldn’t help the odd clenching feeling in the pit of his stomach, like he knew something bad was about to happen.

Tbc.

#miguel diaz #robby keene #johnny lawrence #daniel larusso #cobra kai #the karate kid #aisha robinson #hawk #reiven fics #reiven cobra kai fics

16 notes · View notes