#herald should walk out. fly out of a window without saying anything in his anger and leave sasja to cry and wallow. unable to do anything

[aro-ortega]

desperately need the option in book 3 for sasja to confess to herald that hes terror, while his legs are still broken and he is staying at daniels apartment.

[erintoknow]

not okay

Spiraling - A Fallen Hero: Rebirth Fan-fiction

You can’t even be in the general proximity of The Rangers without being dragged into their garbage, can you? Tw: past sexual abuse [That Kind Of Girl]

[Read on AO3]

Argent working with vigilantes is a new development. Not an entirely unwelcome one if it makes the Rangers look even more unreliable. But it begs the question as to what the hell is going on in that damn building? Is it worth trying to ask? Ariadne is just Ortega’s retired friend. Nothing suspicious about a friend checking in on another friend. Right?

It’s been a couple of days since the bridge fight, so it’s not like it’s too suspicious. Plenty of time for all kinds of details to filter out into the wild.

Walking down mainstreet you stop to buy a newspaper, flipping through the pages. One article in the celebrity column gives you pause. Herald and Argent have broken up?

Huh.

You might not even need to do anything to get the Rangers to fall apart. Just push at the right moment and they’ll do the work themselves.

Once they're on their own, picking them off one by one will be a lot easier – your stomach twists into a knot at the thought. Do you… really need to do that though? As long as they aren’t a threat to the plan, that’s all that matters, right?

It’s an hour of wandering around before you find yourself standing in front of the Rangers HQ. You haven’t set foot inside since the morning of the Gala. Wonder how small Chen’s frown would get if he knew his advice helped push you down this path. ‘Commit to a choice, and stick with it’ huh?

Well it wasn’t your choice that marked the Rangers as your enemy. You just stopped pretending otherwise. Fuck. Fuck this. What were you thinking? You can’t just… walk in the front door.

Can you?

You don’t belong there.

You turn around, trying to modulate your speed so you aren’t straight up running away. Because you aren’t. There’s nothing to run from. Don’t be stupid.

It’s the change in the crowd that tips you off first, people pointing upwards. What’s the big deal…? Oh. You hunch your shoulders, picking up the pace. Nope. This isn’t happening. Not today. You’ve got places to be.

“Ariadne!”

You groan, freeze midstep.

God fucking hell.

Shading your sunglasses with a hand you turn around and peer upwards against the sun at Herald hovering in the sky like violating the laws of gravity was a completely normal thing to do. Lucky fucking bastard.

He dips down lower. “Sorry, sorry. I saw you from the window, and, well, I thought I’d get a chance to talk to you inside but then you didn’t come inside and well, I’ve been meaning to talk and we haven’t had a chance and–”

“Wonderbread for the love of god, stop babbling.”

His smile is frantic and anxious. “Can we talk?”

Oh this’ll be good. You raise an eyebrow. “No one’s stopping you.” You glance around. Herald is drawing more and more attention. Ugh. It’s only a matter of time before it occurs to someone to ask who he’s talking to. “Actually – Can’t we do this, um, somewhere more private?”

He brightens up. If that was even possible. “Yeah! Yeah of course! I know the perfect place.”

“Gre–fucking shit!” The ground drops away from your feet as Herald scoops you off your feet, soaring into the sky. You might have screamed. You flail your arms and legs trying to get free but Herald’s grip is worryingly tight, pressing you against his chest.

“Put – put me fucking down.” You're up too high now. You’ll fall. You’ll fall and die. And hands on you, holding you tight fuck why is it so bright, the light piercing around your sunglasses and shit shit fucking hell god dying would be better than this let go let go let go let go

Five years later and your feet touch solid ground. You shove him away, swinging your fist straight for his face. The asshole cries out in surprise, falling backwards onto his ass. Scrambling away you fall on your butt as well, pulling your legs to your chest. Breathe short – can’t get enough air. Fingernails digging into your knees.

“Sidestep – uh, Ariadne…?”

You swing a fist at his arm, batting him away. You bury your head in your knees. Try to stifle the sob in your throat. You’re not there. You’re not there. It’s just the sun. There’s no walls. You’re safe. You’re not there. You press your wrists against your eyes, pushing your sunglasses out the way.

Fuck.

Fucking hell.

Crying. Tears. Not like this.

Fuck. Fucking. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.

It takes another two years before you finally have control again. Stagger to your feet. Rub the back of your hand against your face. Don’t care if it ruins the foundation. Herald stands there. Awkward. Worried. Watching. Always fucking watching. You storm over to him, and he takes a step back, raising his arms. He opens that damn mouth of his and before he can say a single goddamn word you slap him across the face, follow it up by slamming your knee between his legs. He wheezes, collapsing to the ground, clutching his privates. “Don’t. Ever. Fucking. TOUCH ME. Again.”

Cold fury fills you as you stand there, hands on your hips watching Herald squirm. Eyes watering. Fucking Asshole. Should have broken his other leg too.

You deepen your frown, and stick a hand down to him. Help him stand back up.

“S–sorry…” He rasps, bleary-eyed.

“What the fuck?”

He winces, stepping backwards from you. “I just… you wanted somewhere private so… I didn’t – I didn’t think.”

“You can’t just–just–just… abduct random women off the streets.” You fold your arms against your chest. Fuck. You did a number on him. That eye is going to bruise.

“Random…?” He frowns. Doesn’t get it. “But – you’re Sidestep.”

“Would Sidestep have just beaten the shit out of you?”

“Uh.” He coughs. “Probably.”

You frown at that. “Just… I don’t know. Warn me. Ask first. Something. You don’t…” What someone has been through. What they still dream about. You hug yourself, suppress a shudder.

Herald looks away from you, face flush. Embarrassed. Contrite? “You’re right. I just… I’ve been wanting to talk to you for a while. And I got excited and…” You can see it in his head, clear as daylight. Never imagined you could have reacted like that. That’d you be vulnerable like this.

Weak.

This isn’t real. You can’t be real.

“Well, y–y–you deserve worse.” You glare at him. Already the panic and anger are slipping out of your fingers, sliding somewhere else. Escaping you the harder you try to cling on. “What’s the big idea?”

“I… just,” Herald groans, a hand massaging his cheek. “Ariadne, are you okay?”

“I’m just fucking fine, asshole.” You spit back. “And don’t – don’t tell anyone about this.”

Herald blinks, alarmed thoughts swirling in his head. “What?”

“Look.” You straighten up, put out your hand to stop whatever is about to come out of his mouth. “Ortega’s already… breathing down my neck. She’s gonna be on – on both our cases if she finds out fucking boy wonder gave me a panic attack.”

Shit you named it out loud.

Herald’s expression looks absolutely wretched. “Sidestep–”

“Ariadne.” Even as you insist on it, it doesn’t feel like yours.

“Ariadne,” He corrects himself, “I’m – so, so sorry.” He’s about to take a step towards you – sees how you tense up and thinks better of it. “This is… not how I wanted this to go.”

“No shit.” You cross your arms. Cling to anger. You have a right to be angry now. Don’t you? That’s what you’re feeling right now. Has to be. Stay in control. “So what’s the big f–f–fucking idea that’s so important you–you–you needed to abduct me like a discount flying saucer.”

“Well… I wanted to, uh, ask why you retired but…” Herald sighs. Can practically feel the clouds storming up his head. Shit. He really does feel bad.

“Is it… really a mystery?” You force yourself to stay standing. To not curl up. Stay in control.

“Heartbreak.”

“Yeah.”

“But…”

“What’s the big fucking idea anyway.” You glare in his direction, avoiding his eyes. “What? Did you think you’d be the big hero? Convenience Sidestep to come back where everyone else had failed?”

“I… no!” Herald grimaces, “Well. Maybe? I mean. I… I know you and Ortega have… uh, history. I thought that maybe I could…” He trails off, at a loss for words. “I just… You were Sidestep. You never gave up.”

“And then Sidestep died.” You turn away from him, frowning. For the first time it occurs to you to take a look around. Where the hell did Herald put you? A roof. High up. A sudden sense of vertigo rocks your legs as you see the distant buildings against the horizon. Tiny roads running up and down the hills.

Oh.

You’re up high.

Little tiny toy cars running over their tiny toy roads. You swallow, mouth suddenly dry. How high up are you? High enough to kill, probably. Would Herald catch you? He’d try. Unless you stopped him.

Save you from one jump just to give you a second. That would fix him.

Herald – he’s standing – floating there. Watching you. “Ariadne?”

“Just – just get me down.” You can’t stop staring at the horizon. “I… I just want to go home. P–please.” Ugh. That sounded pathetic. Hate this. Hate how vulnerable he’s forced you into being.

He hovers closer, keeps his distance as if he’s afraid you might hit him again. Good. Sometimes that’s the only way to learn. You know that from experience.

Herald fidgets with his hands, “Um… Is it okay? If I…?”

You blink.

Oh.

Right.

He… he has to carry you back down.

You watch yourself nod. Obediently lift out your arms so Herald can awkwardly pick you up. The flight down is direct. Almost painfully slow. Like a human elevator. And then there’s cement under your shoes again and metal stretching into the sky hiding the mountains like it’s supposed to and not a single damn motherfucker pays more than a cursory glance to the mockery of the human understanding of flight that is Herald.

You take a breath, rub at the bridge of your nose.

“Again,” Herald’s voice filters in from the next planet. “I’m really sorry. I didn’t think. I…” He falters. “I’d guess it’d be a little insensitive to say I’m not at my best right now.”

You glance over at him. God, you're so tired.

“Look. Side–” He winces,  “–Ariadne. I… I know I really screwed up and you probably hate me now, but…”

Oh god. “Just… spit it out, Wonderbread.”

“Look. I don’t know who else I can ask at this point and–”

You step towards him, and he floats backwards. “Spit it out. Wonderbread.”

“I need help. For training. I mean for training. I need help for training, is what I meant.” He raises his hands defensively. Ready to catch another swing at him. It’s tempting to oblige but you restrain yourself.

“You’d really think… I’d ever help you? After today, Herald?”

He drops his gaze to the ground. “Look, I… I know I messed up. You’ve got every right to be mad at me. But…” He trails off, thoughts linger on the Gala. His fight with you.

Oh.

Oh no.

Herald looks up again, embarrassed. “I really got trashed in that last fight. My…” He puts a hand to his knee, the one you broke. “I can walk on it again, but it, well. It still hurts like hell. Chen’s got me playing spokesman for now, but… what good am I if I can’t fight, Ariadne? I can’t fail everyone like that again. I can’t.”

Herald is your enemy. He’s a self-absorbed asshole who abducted you from the middle of the street and gave you what might be one of the worst panic attacks you’ve had in months. How fucking dare he make you feel bad for breaking his leg.

You should tell him no and punch him again for good measure.

He takes your silence for hesitation. Flares hopeful. “I can still remember, uh, growing up. Watching you fight. How you zipped around the whole place. Made use of whatever you could grab. I… know our uh, our ‘talents’ aren’t the same. But… I think that’s what I need to learn to do.”

No. No you are not seriously considering this. This is stupid as hell. You don’t feel guilty. You don’t feel anything. You’re beyond feeling. “Ortega’s a better fighter than I ever was.”

“I… think trying to learn how to fight like Ortega would probably kill me.” He laughs, runs a hand through his hair in a bid to burn off anxious energy.

You nod. “Yeah. That’s fair.” You don’t know how fighting like Ortega hasn’t killed Ortega.

Fucking hell.

You squint your eyes at him. “I’m not going to go easy on you.”

It takes him a moment. Then his whole face lights up.

You’re…

You’re going to get something useful out of this, right?