#i can bet money that my family would say buttercup though

[suashii]

another random poll bc i’m bored and curious

[mcgrillzdumpinc]

At the Crossroads

Summary: There is another world, one filled to the brim with all assortment of spirits, ghosts, and monsters.  Jiang Cheng does not expect to come to know this world after suffering a car crash, but at least he has his siblings and his boyfriend, Nie Huaisang, along for the ride. Written for the SangCheng 2020 Winter Exchange!

Pairing: SangCheng, WangXian

Rating: T

Warnings: Referenced child abuse, physical injuries, referenced severe injuries to a child, car crash

Word count: 7011

It starts, as so many stories do, with a car crash.  Well, to be more accurate, it starts with a fire to the Jiang parents’ house followed by a desperate escape from the city by the Jiang children. They weren’t home when the fire started, so all they have are the personal affects they were carrying that day. No toothbrushes, no suitcases, only the clothes on their backs and whatever happened to be in their pockets and purses.  They withdraw money from ATMs and buy what they need with the cash.  They run desperately, perhaps fruitlessly, in Wei Wuxian’s beat-up van, hoping they can make it to their mother’s side of the family on the other side of the state.

Jiang Cheng crashes the car on the sixth day of the trip.  On barely any sleep and a limitless amount of anxious energy, he fails to see the truck turn into his lane until it rams into his side of the van.

When Jiang Cheng comes to, it’s to the face of his boyfriend’s older brother. “We heard what happened,” Nie Mingjue says.  “We won’t let those Wen-dogs get any closer to you.”

Some time later—Jiang Cheng loses track of the days—he’s discharged from the hospital. He’s given more than enough pamphlets to read—on concussion recovery, what to expect when he starts physical therapy for his broken leg, as well as general information on what to expect with the cracks in his ribs and his broken arm.  Nie Mingjue promises to help Jiang Cheng set everything up back home, including the physical therapist, before shepherding his wheelchair-bound body into a private jet.

“Your brother and sister are already back in our home,” Nie Mingjue explains for the third or fourth time.  “Their injuries weren’t as severe.”  He settles into a seat next to Jiang Cheng and orders them both some water.

“What about the Wens?” Jiang Cheng asks.  “Why the hell did they come after my family?”

Predictably, Nie Mingjue goes silent.  No matter what Jiang Cheng says or does, the man refuses to release any information on the people who razed his home.  If it weren’t for the heavy amount of pain killers coursing through his system, Jiang Cheng would probably have decked him with his good hand.

“Your father is still in the hospital,” Nie Mingjue eventually says, after the plane has set off.  “His chances are looking good for a full recovery.  Your mother—”

“Is dead?”

Nie Mingjue sighs through his nose.  “Is missing.  Where the hell did you get the idea that she’s dead?”

“Because she’s stronger than my dad.  Anyone who would hurt him wouldn’t allow her to live.”

“Have better faith in your parents.  We don’t know where Yu Ziyuan is, but we know for certain she isn’t with the Wens.”

“Because they’d be gone if she was?”

Nie Mingjue snorts at that and orders a small meal for them.  “You’re damn right.”

~~~

Jiang Cheng is rudely awoken by Nie Mingjue when they arrive at the Nie mansion. He doesn’t even remember leaving the plane, but he guesses that should be expected.  He’s been sleeping a lot since the accident.

Wei Wuxian, Yanli, and Huaisang are all there to greet him, waiting in the foyer with party poppers.  Jiang Cheng curses loudly when Wei Wuxian pops his right in his face.

“Happy to have you here with us!” Wei Wuxian cheers, picking pieces of paper out of Jiang Cheng’s hair.

“You couldn’t have found a nicer way to welcome me?” Jiang Cheng growls.

Yanli chuckles as she pulls Wei Wuxian aside to hug her younger brother.  “Welcome back, A-Cheng.  We’re all very happy to see you doing well.”

Jiang Cheng returns her hug with his good arm, burrowing his nose into her long hair.  “Same here.”

From what the doctors told him, Wei Wuxian and Yanli suffered much less than him. The car had rolled off the road and into grassy embankment.  Yanli, in the passenger seat, suffered a herniated disk in her upper back, a sprained wrist, a slight closed fracture to her skull, and various bruises along her right side.  Wei Wuxian, meanwhile, merely bore a concussion and broken leg.  They were all due for physical therapy and a long time on painkillers, but Jiang Cheng would certainly be in recovery much longer than them. Not that he minded, really.  He would rather it be him than either of his siblings.

“A-Cheng,” Huaisang pipes in.  “Are you hungry?”

“We didn’t eat on the trip over,” Nie Mingjue answers, which is a lie.  While Jiang Cheng barely touched his plane meal, he knows Nie Mingjue quickly packed his own away.  Without Jiang Cheng voicing the truth, Nie Mingjue pulls his younger brother into a side hug.  “You gonna cook for us?”

Huaisang scrunches his nose and pushes himself away from his older brother. “Ugh, why would I do that?  I’ll go ask the cooks to start something for all of us.”

With a quick peck to Jiang Cheng’s cheek (followed by a retching sound from Wei Wuxian), Huaisang hurries off towards the kitchen.  Yanli follows him after pressing a kiss to Jiang Cheng’s forehead.

“With all that love, you’ll recover in no time,” Nie Mingjue jokes dryly.

“Oh, would you like to join in on the love pool, da-ge?” Wei Wuxian teases. “Between the four of us, I’m sure Jiang Cheng will be flying in a month!”

“Hey! Who gave you the right to call him da-ge?” Jiang Cheng chastises.  If his brother wasn’t standing on his crutch well out of Jiang Cheng’s reach, he definitely would have slapped him.

“Huaisang did!” Wei Wuxian answers.  “Just last night he said ‘We’re all simply didi and meimei to my da-ge’.” He takes on a peaceful, almost Buddha-like, stance as he recites Huaisang’s words.

“That’s not permission!” Jiang Cheng argues.

“He was right, though,” Nie Mingjue chuckles.  “You’re all around my didi’s age, after all.  You can call me da-ge.”  With that, he takes the handles of Jiang Cheng’s wheelchair and begins pushing him towards the kitchen.  Despite the crutch, Wei Wuxian manages to keep up with Nie Mingjue’s long strides.  “Now, then, let’s get some dinner.”

~~~

The following weeks in the Nie mansion are nice.  Before the house burned, the siblings were spread about, steadily finding their own lives away from the nest.  Wei Wuxian practically lived with Lan Wangji as he built his music career, Yanli was doing well for herself as an art curator, and Jiang Cheng was learning the how to run his family’s ship building company.  They met for weekly family dinners and texted often, but that was the extent of their contact.  So despite the uncertainty that lays outside Nie walls, it is rather nice to have his siblings around and nearby.

Best of all, though, is Huaisang.  Jiang Cheng began dating him after graduating college, so they’ve been together for nearly two years.  Truth be told, before his world went to shit, Jiang Cheng was heavily considering asking Huaisang to move in with him.  And now that he’s here, he’s got the shared-house experience with his boyfriend.  Sure he’s stuck to a wheelchair, and he can barely do anything because of a concussion, and there’s a near-constant dull pain on his entire left side, but—Huaisang.  Huaisang is here and Jiang Cheng’s stupid besotted mind can barely focus on anything past that when it’s just the two of them.

One morning, though, as Jiang Cheng rouses with his head against Huaisang’s back, he hears a sniffing sound.  Turning over, he finds himself face to face with a dog.  A chow chow, specifically, with its large nose shoved in his face.

“…Hello?” Jiang Cheng whispers.  He’s not certain if he’s dreaming, but he can hear Huaisang snoring next to him and can feel that dull pain in his left side.  So he’s betting on being awake.  He reaches out to touch the dog, but it backs away before he can touch it.

With some distance between them, Jiang Cheng can see the dog almost in full. Massive and bulky with long reddish-orange fur blanketing its frame.  It stares back at him with a quiet, knowing look.  The longer Jiang Cheng observes it, though, the more he realizes that the chow chow is…off, somehow.  Its eyes are a bit too big, nose too long, paws larger than its body should allow.  Its tail stands on full alert, unmoving, as it—damn it all—it maintains eye contact with Jiang Cheng.

“Can you hear me?”

The voice invades Jiang Cheng’s brain, echoing and throbbing.  He screams.

“You can!  You can hear me!”

The dog’s tail begins to wag and its maw opens.  A dark blue tongue lolls out over too-sharp teeth.  Jiang Cheng swears there is a void where the back of the dog’s throat should be.

“What the fuck… What the fuck is happening!”

Jiang Cheng’s yelling rouses his bedmate.  He hears Huaisang sit up, mumbling out a, “What the hell are you shouting for?”

“The dog!” Jiang Cheng screeches.  Without taking his eyes off the apparition, he reaches behind him to touch Huaisang’s arm. “There’s a fucking—I don’t know what it is—a ghost dog?  And it’s speaking to me!”

He feels Huaisang’s arm tense.  The air is silent, tense, as Nie Huaisang peaks over his boyfriend’s shoulder.

“He can see you, Buttercup?”

Before Jiang Cheng can process that, the voice echoes in his brain again, splitting his head apart.  “Yeah! Isn’t this exciting?!”  The dog—Buttercup?—bounces on its front paws. “We don’t have to hide from him anymore!”

“Okay, what the fuck, stop doing that!”  Despite his throbbing head, Jiang Cheng still manages to raise his voice. “It hurts, damn it!”

“Okay, don’t worry, A-Cheng.”  Huaisang rests his hands on both of Jiang Cheng’s shoulders and squeezes.  “I’ll explain everything soon.”  A kiss to the temple, a surefire way to make Jiang Cheng relax in his boyfriend’s hold.  “Buttercup, speak only to me for now, okay?  This is still new for him.”

Jiang Cheng would object, but the pain in his head has reached his eyes and it’s hard to focus past that.  He’s worried for a second that the concussion has worsened, but he’d sooner take the chance to rest than figure out if he needs to return to the doctor.  He closes his eyes, desperate for the early morning sunshine to disappear.  Huaisang continues speaking, but Jiang Cheng can’t make out the words.  He hears the bedroom door open, but he doesn’t know if somebody came in or left.  All he can know is the ringing in his ears and the grounding touch of Huaisang.

When Jiang Cheng comes to again, he’s seated at the dining table.  Looking around, he recognizes he’s in the private dining hall.  It’s smaller than the dining hall reserved for entertaining guests.  The walls here, like the rest of the house, are arching and high, painted in a green-grey.  A bull’s head is mounted on the wall opposite of Jiang Cheng, but that is thankfully the most morbid of the decorations.  The rest of the room is covered in framed greyscale pictures of people Jiang Cheng doesn’t know.  Decorative plates are lined up next to the entrance door.  On the wall closest to Jiang Cheng, to his left, is a scroll depicting an artfully painted crane.

The table he’s sitting at is a nice mahogany, dark brown wood shining in its lacquer.  Egg drop soup has been served in front of him.  Looking up from the food, Jiang Cheng realizes that he’s not alone at the table.  Huaisang is sitting with his older brother across from Jiang Cheng.  At the far left side of the table, Yanli is sitting by herself, staring into her bowl with a tight gaze.  At the far right is Wei Wuxian sitting next to Lan Wangji.  They both look guilty as hell—well, as guilty as the stone-faced Lan Wangji can look.  Everyone has a bowl of soup, but it seems nobody has dug in.

“Ah, you finally came to,” Nie Mingjue speaks up.

Four pairs of eyes immediately turn to focus on him.  Huaisang breaks into a bright smile and reaches across the table, taking Jiang Cheng’s right hand.  “We’re starving, A-Cheng.  Let’s eat while we explain what’s going on.”

Jiang Cheng slides his eyes to meet Yanli’s.  She smiles and nods approvingly.

The soup is still passingly warm, thankfully.  While Jiang Cheng sips up the chicken broth and bits of tofu, Huaisang releases his hand to settle in his seat.  He has the audacity to look ashamed, which irks him, because in Jiang Cheng’s very correct opinion, his boyfriend should only be happy.

“Do you want to start?” Huaisang asks his brother.

“You’re better at talking,” Nie Mingjue quips.

Huaisang makes a huge, put-upon sigh.  “Okay, well… let’s start with Buttercup, huh?”

At her name, the dog suddenly appears to Jiang Cheng’s right.  Straight out of thin-air.  Jiang Cheng swears he can see space still settling around her form.

He expects to hear her voice echoing in his head again, but there is only silence in his ears.  Huaisang, though, stares at her and says, “Yes, Buttercup, everything’s fine now.  Please be silent while I start explaining.”  He goes quiet again, snorts seconds later, before starting to talk again.  “Okay, well… There’s a lot, so buckle in.”

“Can I get another serving of soup?” Wei Wuxian suddenly asks.

Before either Nie can answer, or Jiang Cheng can scold his brother for eating so fast, Lan Wangji takes Wei Wuxian’s bowl and walks towards the kitchen. Jiang Cheng rolls his eyes as Lan Wangji passes.

“Anyway,” Huaisang starts.  “Um… A-Cheng, Yanli-jie… This is Buttercup.  She’s a hellhound.”

“There’s nothing hell-like about her,” Jiang Cheng immediately interrupts.  Were it not for the headache-inducing voice and ability to appear out of nowhere and general wrongness, she’d actually be rather cute.

“They’re not actually from Hell, Jiang Cheng,” Wei Wuxian immediately responds.

“What?  You already know about this?!”

Wei Wuxian has the decency to look ashamed.  “Well… yeah… This’ll come up, promise!”

“Yeah, believe it or not, your brother factors into this whole mess,” Nie Mingjue says.

“That’s not surprising at all,” Jiang Cheng deadpans.

“I have to agree…” Yanli mumbles.

“Not fair, jiejie!” Wei Wuxian cries.

“Strange things happen around you, A-Xian,” Yanli responds with her best tired smile.

“Can I continue now?” Huaisang asks, an exhausted edge to his voice.

“Yes” and “Sorry” respond to him in chorus.  Lan Wangji returns to the room with a steaming bowl of soup and silently serves Wei Wuxian, who wastes no time digging in again.

“Great, thank you, as I was saying…” Huaisang flicks out his fan and begins gently fanning himself.  “We just call her type hellhounds.  Really, she’s a spectral dog.   Cadejo, barguests, grave hounds, etcetera.  You’ve heard of them in plenty of myths and folktales.  Buttercup is one of them.”

“I have one, too,” Nie Mingjue says.  With a whistle, another dog appears in the room.  This one is larger and longer than Buttercup. It holds its head high, regal as it stares down the Jiang siblings with too-knowing, too-bright brown eyes. Shadows settle around its form into long, stringy fur, darker than night yet seemingly fluffy.  Its jaw is too large to fit perfectly on its face and its lengthy tail disappears into the wall.  In time, Jiang Cheng realizes that it looks like an Irish wolfhound drawn with near-perfect memory.  “This is Baxia,” Nie Mingjue introduces with a proud smile.  “She’s a quiet one, but she’ll warm up to you all in no time.”

“It is nice to meet everyone,” a deep, rumbling voice echoes in Jiang Cheng’s brain.  There’s much less pain this time, but his head still protests at the intrusion.

“Don’t speak yet, Baxia,” Nie Mingjue softly reprimands. “They’re still new.”

“She was speaking?” Yanli interjects.  The Nie brothers look at her with twin expressions of surprise.

“Huh… That’s interesting,” Huaisang mumbles.

“Maybe damage taken plays a role?” Wei Wuxian asks.

“Maybe,” Lan Wangji replies.  “Her skull wasn’t fractured like Jiang Cheng’s.”

“But there was still head damage,” Nie Mingjue adds.

“Mind cluing us in to your conversation?” Jiang Cheng grumbles.

“Sorry, A-Cheng, I promise this will make sense soon. Yes, Yanli, Baxia was speaking. These spectral dogs… they’re from what we call the Otherworld.  This is a lot to take in, but basically every folk monster you can think of more or less exists and they all come from the Otherworld.  Spectral dogs are some of the most plentiful and usually attach themselves to people like us.”

Jiang Cheng puts his spoon in his empty bowl.  “And who’s you?”

“Sovereigns,” Nie Mingjue answers.  “That’s what the Otherworld folk like to call us.  We…” he clears his throat, “we have a few abilities that allow us to interact with them.”

“It differs from person to person,” Huaisang continues. “Yanli, I think you only have what we call the Sight ability.  You can see Otherworld creatures and talk to them, but you can’t hear them.  You need to having the Hearing.  Which, Chengcheng, you definitely have.”

Frustration builds in Jiang Cheng, pounding against his chest and gripping his throat.  He taps the table, just a distraction, just an attempt to channel the fury inside him. “And why am I just now learning about this?”

“Would you have believe us if we told you?  Oh, Jiang Cheng, by the way, there’s this whole spirit world that is super real and only a select few people know about it!  Wow!  Sucks that you can’t see these spectral dogs!” Wei Wuxian exclaims.

Which reminds him—“Why aren’t you freaking out at the dogs?”

Wei Wuxian grins at him, stupidly smug.  “I’m too cool to worry about ghosts.”

“Wei Ying does not register them as real dogs,” Lan Wangji explains, much to the protests of Wei Wuxian.

“They…certainly don’t look real,” Yanli agrees.  Jiang Cheng reaches out to take her hand.  She accepts, clammy skin sliding over his cast.

“We would have liked to tell you,” Nie Mingjue says as he stands up.  “But there is only so much the human brain can believe without physical proof.”  He lifts his right hand and, in seconds, a spectral human appears in the room.  Space shifts around her, light passing through her body.  Jiang Cheng tries to study her features, but there is a strange barrier, a mist, which obscures her.  As she nears him, the air turns cold, freezing him down to the bones.  She takes his and Yanli’s empty bowls and carries them towards the kitchen.

“Was that a ghost?” Yanli asks, a tremble to her voice.  Jiang Cheng rubs his thumb across her knuckles.

“Yes, and da-ge just exercised what’s called the Control ability.  It allows a Sovereign to manipulate creatures from the Otherworld,” Huaisang explains.

Jiang Cheng nearly snaps at his boyfriend.  But when he looks up, he is met with the expression he hates the most from Huaisang—stone-cold, hidden behind layers of thick skin, only his lips and eyelids moving.  Jiang Cheng can’t read him when he’s like this.  He only has experience to rely upon, and experience tells him that he needs to be kind now.  If he is not, then his boyfriend will likely shutter away, further and further from Jiang Cheng until months of reconciliation attempts finally bring him back to the Huaisang that Jiang Cheng cherishes the most.

The early days of their romance were not kind.  Huaisang’s life has not been kind.  As Jiang Cheng digests this new secret, he believes he may have found another piece to the puzzle of why, exactly, this stone relief of his boyfriend exists.

Swallowing down the anger at his tongue, Jiang Cheng instead says, “So you don’t just have a ghost maid?”

Nie Mingjue snorts.  “No, and she’ll likely be very angry at me later for that.”

Huaisang’s eyes dart to Buttercup.  In a few seconds, he says, “Buttercup would like you to know that all Otherworld creatures have feelings like us.  They do not take kindly to being controlled.  But there are some vicious creatures we have no choice but to fight. That’s why Enchanters like da-ge and Lan Wangji are very vital.  Ah!  Enchanters is what we call people with Control.”

All attention shifts to Lan Wangji, who hums before saying, “I am not as powerful as Mingjue-ge or Xichen-ge.  But I can control low-level spirits, like sprites.”

Yanli lets a shuddering exhale.  “I believe a break would be beneficial.  May I be excused?”

A frown tugs at Nie Mingjue’s lips as he steps around to Yanli’s side of the table. “Of course, Yanli.  Allow me to guide you to the gardens.”

She takes the arm he offers her and stands up, releasing Jiang Cheng’s hand. “Gladly, Mingjue.”  Cradling her forehead, Yanli walks away with Nie Mingjue, Baxia trailing after them, leaving the four boys and Buttercup to themselves.

“Can I speak alone with A-Cheng?” Huaisang asks.  Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji are quick to agree.

With just the two of them, Jiang Cheng finds it easier to hold back the anger still boiling in his gut.  Gripping the edge of the table, he manages to bite out, “I’m not mad at you.”

That brings a spark to Huaisang’s eyes. “Really?”

It’s still hard to talk about his feelings.  But, well, he’s nearing twenty-five and therapy is proving wonders. “I’m mad at the situation, a-and not knowing so much, but, um… I’m not mad at you.”

“That sounded painful for you.”

That’s snark.  Jiang Cheng chuckles, “Believe it or not you could tell me you’re an alien and I’d probably still love you.”

The stone on Huaisang’s face melts into awe and adoration.  Smiling back the tears in his eyes, Huaisang replies, “I love you, too, puppy.  More than anything.  I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you sooner.”

Jiang Cheng sighs and leans back in his wheelchair.  His grip on the table relents.  Huaisang stands so he can come sit beside him.  “Can you at least tell me why you all can see these things?” It’s still new to him and Yanli, and some of the things they said earlier hinted that it is not an in-born ability.

“It varies by person, but the most common catalyst is near-death experiences.” Despite the strain it must put on his back, Huaisang leans out of his chair to rest his head on Jiang Cheng’s shoulder.  “Some people are born with their abilities, like the Lans.  Some of the Wens we know were also born with it, like Wen Ning and Wen Qing.  But… well, you know what happened to Wei Wuxian when he was a child, right?”

There were a few months between Wei Wuxian losing his parents and being found by Jiang Fengmian.  Jiang Cheng gulps before responding, “He doesn’t tell me much about it, but I was there when he was in recovery.  Don’t think I’ll ever forget when I watched the doctors re-do his bandages and I could see his muscles.”

“Yeah.” Huaisang takes Jiang Cheng’s hand and kisses his knuckles.  “Things didn’t look good for you, either.  I’m surprised Yanli-jie gained the Sight ability, but I guess head trauma counts as a near-death experience.”

“…And you?” Jiang Cheng whispers.

Huaisang goes silent.  Thankfully, though, no stone grows on his face.  In time, he answers, “Dad.  When he got really sick.  He got violent towards me and da-ge.  Our moms tried to protect us, but…”

But when it came down to putting him in a mental institution, Huaisang’s extended family refused to endorse his admittance.  And when it came to divorce, to removing the children from their abusive father, the extended family pulled their strings and the mothers—“Strangers,” Huaisang once spat, recounting the words of a cousin—were pushed out of the family without their sons.

It wasn’t until Nie Mingjue was twenty that the mothers were allowed back into the family.  That was twelve years ago.  While they no longer live in the mansion, Jiang Cheng has met them on multiple occasions. He can understand why losing them impacted Huaisang so heavily.

“I’m sorry,” Jiang Cheng says with a kiss to his boyfriend’s forehead.

“Things are better now,” Huaisang swears.  “Plus, I gained a few new friends.”

“Like Buttercup?” Jiang Cheng asks, looking over to the spectral dog.  She is sitting patiently, staring very directly at the couple, but her tail wags with the attention.

Nie Huaisang laughs.  “Yes, exactly like Buttercup.”

~~~

The next few weeks are… a lot, to put it shortly.  Between physical therapy, losing the cast on his arm, finally being cleared of his concussion, moving from wheelchair to crutches, and long nights with Huaisang, Jiang Cheng is being caught up on everything his brother and boyfriend have been hiding from him.

To start, those who can interact with the Otherworld—“Sovereigns and Enchanters,” Huaisang reminds him—are part of the Praeter Society.  The name is different depending on region, but its English name is Praeter.  There are already plans to induct Jiang Cheng and Yanli once they have finished recovering. And, as it turns out, most of their acquaintances are already part of the Praeter society.  It sounds so hilariously convenient that it takes quite a lot of arguing to convince Jiang Cheng that, no, nobody is lying to him about the members.

“My theory is that gaining the abilities has a lot to do with proximity to other members!” Wei Wuxian adds unhelpfully.

“How does that work?” Yanli is the only one who bothers to ask.

“Thank you for asking, jiejie.  You see, I think we all carry energy from the Otherworld—”

“Back to the subject at hand,” Huaisang interrupts.

The worst surprise, though, is who else in Jiang Cheng’s family is a member.

“My mother?!”

“We call her the Queen of the city,” Nie Mingjue informs him with an insufferably amused smirk.

“To be more accurate, she has a role of Leader for this area.  There are only a few others with the distinction,” Huaisang explains as he pinches his brother’s cheek.

“Your father is a member, too, but he never graduated past the Sovereign status,” Nie Mingjue adds, unperturbed by his brother’s pinching.

Then, the actual worst information comes to light.

“Wei Wuxian, you’re responsible for our house getting burnt down?!”

“Hey! Not responsible!” Wei Wuxian defends. Lan Wangji puts his arm around Wei Wuxian’s shoulders and levels a heavy glare Jiang Cheng’s way.

“He really isn’t, A-Cheng,” Huaisang soothes as he rubs the back of Jiang Cheng’s neck.  “We’ve heard the story multiple times by now.  It was an honest accident.”

See, a week before their house was attacked and Jiang Cheng’s entire life changed, Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji had been visiting Wen Ning and Wen Qing at the Wen estate.  Despite their bad relations with Wen Ruohan and his brood, the couple were allowed on the premises with the promise that they would never leave Wen Qing’s sight. They kept the promise, since Wei Wuxian was under the watchful eyes of at least two responsible parties (the Wen siblings).

Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji followed the Wen siblings around the estate, trading stories and enjoying the company.  But as evening approached, Wen Ning excused himself to go to the restroom, only to not return over thirty minutes later.  Worried, Wen Qing went to search for him.  Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji tailed after her.

As it turned out, Wen Ning was simply bait in a trap laid by Wen Chao.  The unscrupulous cousin in question wanted to play a prank on Wei Wuxian in retaliation for years of Wei Wuxian outdoing and mocking him at every turn.  The Wens have a peculiar practice of studying spirits and the like from the Otherworld.  All their many experiments were kept in a section of the estate.  And that sacred place was where Wen Ning was found.

The problem here is that Wen Ning is easily possessed.  And in this section of the estate were countless spirits and beasts, most hostile.  Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji had no choice but to fight back.

And the real problem none of them were aware of until after the fact is that many of these spirits were the ghosts of ancestors.  Moreover, decades of experimentation were lost to indiscriminate exorcism.

“So they decided to burn our house?!”

“It’s the Wens, what the fuck do you expect?”

Jiang Cheng sighs.  It’s a lot to take in.  Honestly, if he were learning all this a year ago, he’s pretty sure he would’ve flown off the handle and probably tried to expel Wei Wuxian from the family.  But that was before therapy and many deep talks with Huaisang about life, death, and family.  So as it stands right now, he’s pissed, but he’s taking it in stride best he can.

“Do we at least know where Mom is, then?” Jiang Cheng asks once he’s managed to calm down.

Wei Wuxian frowns and replies, “We’re pretty sure she’s laying low and digging up dirt on the Wens.  We’ll need irrefutable proof if we’re gonna give them what for.”

“But she’s safe?”

Wei Wuxian grips his brother’s shoulder.  “Of course.  It’s Madame Yu.  We both know a tornado couldn’t bring her down.”

~~~

About two months into recovery, Jiang Cheng and Yanli are given the clear to begin induction.  Jiang Cheng still has to use crutches, but thankfully there’s no grand ceremony that’ll require him to stand or walk much.

In fact, it’s a very informal process.  Fast-food restaurant informal.

“My apologies if you were expecting somewhere nicer,” Jin Guangyao says with his usual placating smile.

“It’s fine.  We love the shakes here,” Yanli replies.  It’s hard to tell how genuine she’s being.

The history between the Jiangs and the Jins isn’t bad, but it isn’t great, either. Yu Ziyuan and Madame Jin get along like sisters, but it’s not the same story for their children.  Jiang Cheng doesn’t know the exact story between Yanli and Jin Guangyao, but he knows that the two don’t tend to stay in the same room together unless Jin Zixuan, the only person they both like, is present. But Jin Zixuan isn’t present. It’s just Jin Guangyao, Jiang Cheng, Yanli, and an exhausted Huaisang.

“Please don’t fight,” Huaisang begs.  “We’re in public and A-Cheng kept me up last night.”

Yanli smiles in the way only a sister can.  “I’m happy to know you two are getting along so well.”

Jiang Cheng sputters.  “Not like that!  We were watching a movie!  Spirited Away!”

“Twice,” Huaisang clarifies.  “The first time through, A-Cheng kept asking if any of the creatures are real, so we had to watch it again.”

As it turns out, the little charcoal helpers are real, but very rare.

“Ah, that’s one of my favorite movies,” Jin Guangyao says.  An employee stops by their table to deliver a truly massive burger to him.  “What was your favorite part, Jiang Cheng?”

Jiang Cheng glances at his sister.  “…We can talk later.  I’ll text you.  Anyway. Praeter induction.”

“Right!”  Jin Guangyao takes a sip of his beverage and begins with a simple run-down of roles in the Praeter.  There are Leaders, like Yu Ziyuan, who are charged with protecting certain areas. Organizers, like Jin Guangyao, who keep tabs on all Sovereigns and Enchanters in an area.  Searchers find possible Sovereigns and Enchanters.  And, finally, the Fighters, who are the main line of defense against Otherworldly dangers.

“Since Miss Yanli is limited to the Sight ability, we would like her to take on a Searcher role,” Jin Guangyao continues after devouring his burger with impressive speed.  “For you, Jiang Cheng, it’s up to you.”

Huaisang’s grip on Jiang Cheng’s hand tightens.  “I think he should be a Fighter.  He and Wuxian would make a good team.”

Jiang Cheng took up sword fighting classes with Wei Wuxian when they were kids. He’d definitely call their teamwork in tournaments pretty impressive.

“Or he could be a Searcher like you, Sang-di,” Jin Guangyao easily replies. There’s a coldness in his voice that sets Jiang Cheng on edge.

Nie Huaisang goes silent.  He glares at Jiang Cheng with the ‘you better agree with me’ look.

“I’ll just be a Fighter.  Wei Wuxian can show me the ropes.”

Jin Guangyao smiles in that annoyingly placating way.  “All right, then.  When you’re completely healed, we’ll send you on your first mission.”  He reaches into his bag and pulls out a manilla folder. “Now, Miss Yanli, would you like to go over your role as a Searcher today?”

“I think I’m fine for now,” Yanli says as she puts a hand on Jiang Cheng’s shoulder. Her grip is tight.  “I’d rather wait until my brothers are healed before I start anything.”

Jin Guangyao nods and replaces the manilla folder.  “Very well.  You have my number, so call me when you’re ready.”

The three of them leave Jin Guangyao in the restaurant.  As they walk back to the car, Yanli and Nie Huaisang’s grips are still tight on Jiang Cheng.  He’d really like to know what has them so on edge, but as he sees their sullen expressions in the reflection of car windows, he decides to ask another time.

~~~

‘Another time’ turns out to be a whole month later, when he’s been deemed back in full health and has returned to regular exercise and swordfights with Wei Wuxian.  Jiang Fengmian has been discharged from the hospital, as well, but he’s deemed it better to focus on re-building the house.  In addition, Yu Ziyuan has resurfaced, armed with testimony and physical evidence of the Wens attacking her home.  There will be some time, however, before mundane courts will bring the Wens to justice. It will be longer still for the Praeter society to differentiate and weed out those in the Wen who still pose a threat to other Praeter members.  So, in the interest of safety, the Jiang children will remain under Nie protection.  Thankfully, Jiang Fengmian and Yu Ziyuan are the type to check in daily, so Jiang Cheng doesn’t miss them as much as he thought he would.

One chilly night, Huaisang crawls into bed next to Jiang Cheng looking like some haunted version of himself.  Before Jiang Cheng can ask what’s going on, Huaisang whispers, “They’ll kill them, you know.”

“What do you mean?” Jiang Cheng asks, hand hovering cautiously next to his boyfriend’s wrist.

“The Wen.  Those who the courts don’t manage to catch, they’ll be under strict scrutiny by the Praeter.  Those who don’t pass the test will die.”  He gulps. “Wen Qing and Wen Ning will be fine, I can promise you that, but if there’s anyone else there you care about, you have to tell me now.”

Jiang Cheng’s hand floats to Huaisang’s cheek and rubs away a tear.  “You say that like you’ll be there.”

“I will,” Huaisang admits through a cracked voice.  “It’s my job as a Searcher.  We find people with the abilities.  We figure out if they are a threat.  We kill those who are.”

Jiang Cheng gazes at his boyfriend.  Moonlight is pouring through the window next to the bed.  Huaisang looks beautiful in it.  He also looks so small and weak.  He’s open, no stone in sight.  Jiang Cheng cups his cheek.  “Have you…?”

“No,” Huaisang immediately replies.  “Not yet.  But—”

“I’ll still be here if you ever do,” Jiang Cheng swears.  “I’ll be here until the end, if you’ll let me.”

Huaisang gasps.  He stares down at Jiang Cheng, mouth as wide open as his eyes.  Soon, disbelief makes way for soft, breathy chuckles, the type that fill Jiang Cheng’s lungs with sunlight.  “Careful, A-Cheng.  I’ll fall further in love with you.”

“What if I want you to?” Jiang Cheng asks, guiding Huaisang down until their lips ghost against each other.  “I love you, A-Sang.  I’ll stay with you if you’ll stay with me.”

“When did you get so eloquent?” Huaisang teases, his eyes crinkling.  “I love you, too, A-Cheng.  I want to stay with you.”

“Good.” With that, he kisses him, deep and meaningful.  Everything about this new world is strange and Jiang Cheng can barely keep up.  But none of that matters, since that he has Huaisang by his side.

~~~

There’s a wraith terrorizing the town.  Because of course there is.

“Those are tricky creatures,” Yu Ziyuan advises over the phone.  “Only very strong Enchanters can control them.”  In the background of the call, Jiang Cheng hears his father grunt in affirmation.  “Make sure you don’t go alone.”

“It’s my first hunt,” Jiang Cheng replies.  From his end of the call, he watches as Huaisang sketches out a map based on reports from Jin Guangyao.  They’ve stationed themselves in a parlor room while the rest of their team prepares for the hunt.  “Nobody will let me out of their sight.”

“I certainly won’t!” Wei Wuxian shouts from another room.

“Was that Wei Wuxian?” Yu Ziyuan asks.  Jiang Cheng confirms.  “Tell him that he can expect a lashing if you so much as get a cut tonight.”

Jiang Cheng relays his mother’s message.

“Nooooo!” Wei Wuxian whines, knowing full well that Yu Ziyuan is not being serious. “I promise, Auntie, I’ll take extra special care of Chengcheng!”

“He says he’ll abandon me at the first sight of the wraith,” Jiang Cheng lies. He hears Huaisang snort.

“It’s not good to lie,” Buttercup reminds him from her position at Huaisang’s feet.

“Don’t lie,” Yu Ziyuan scolds.  The line goes silent for a few moments before Jiang Cheng hears his father’s voice.

“Be careful, A-Cheng.  Stay close to Wei Wuxian, he’ll protect you,” Jiang Fengmian advises.

A familiar jealousy rumbles in Jiang Cheng’s chest.  He squashes it in favor of watching his boyfriend draw.  “I will.  Either me or Wei Wuxian will call you when the wraith is gone.”

“Good,” Jiang Fengmian comments.  “Pass the phone to Wei Wuxian.  I want to talk to him.”

Barely restraining a decades-old frustration, Jiang Cheng calls Wei Wuxian over to take the phone.  When his brother disappears into another room, Jiang Cheng moves to sit next to Huaisang.

“Drawing maps or doing math, which is more boring for you?” Jiang Cheng teases.

“Ugh, don’t remind me of math!” Huaisang complains.  He steals a kiss from Jiang Cheng before saying, “But math. The maps are still kind of fun.”

Jiang Cheng hums and sneaks a hand onto Huaisang’s lower back, rubbing his fingers against the cloth of Huaisang’s shirt.  Huaisang leans into the touch with a happy rumble.  “Will you be coming with us?” Jiang Cheng eventually asks.

“Of course I will!” Nie Huaisang exclaims.  “They try to have a Searcher on hand for most of these exorcisms.  I’ll have to keep my distance when we find the wraith, but I’m not going to abandon my boyfriend.”

Jiang Cheng grips the back of Huaisang’s shirt and lays his head against his shoulder. “Speaking of boyfriends…”

“Oh my god, are you going to propose before your first exorcism?” Huaisang interrupts.

Jiang Cheng does not blush, thank you very much.  “N-no!  I—” his voice drops to a whisper, “I was going to ask you if you wanted to get an apartment together after this all blows over.”

“Oh thank god you only want cohabitation,” Huaisang sighs.

“…Is getting engaged to me so bad?” Jiang Cheng mumbles, eyebrows knitted together.

“N-no…” Huaisang stutters.  Jiang Cheng peers up and catches a splash of red highlighting Huaisang’s freckles.  “It’s just too soon, is all.  But…”  Huaisang twists in his chair so that he’s facing Jiang Cheng, a fiery determination in his eyes.  “If you ever do want to get married, I’m all for it.”

Jiang Cheng smiles and kisses Huaisang.  “I love you.”

“I love you, too, A-Cheng.”

“Break it up, lovebirds!” Nie Mingjue shouts.  He lumbers into the parlor room with a massive and stuffed duffel bag slung over his shoulder.  “You got that map done, didi?”

“Almost,” Huaisang replies, taking pen to paper.  “Just a few more minutes.”

“Good,” Nie Mingjue says with a nod.  He turns his attention to Jiang Cheng and tosses him a sword in a purple sheath.  “That’ll allow you to fight beings from the Otherworld.  Wei Wuxian and Wangji have one, too.”

“You bet we do!” Wei Wuxian exclaims as he and his boyfriend bound into the room. Wei Wuxian holds up two swords, one in a red scabbard and the other in a white scabbard.  Much to Jiang Cheng’s immediate annoyance, the red scabbard has been thoroughly decorated, so it looks like a group art project where nobody could decide on a theme.  “We’re going to have so much fun, Jiang Cheng!”

“Fucking gross,” Jiang Cheng grumbles.  “Hey, A-Sang, can I go on a different mission?  One that doesn’t involve eyesores?”

“A-Xian is not an eyesore,” Lan Wangji instantly objects.

“You’re all eyesores when it comes to fashion,” Huaisang mutters.

“That’s fair,” Wei Wuxian says with a good-natured laugh.  He slips Jiang Cheng’s phone back into its owners hands.  “Hey, you got that map done yet?”

“Just finished!” Huaisang responds as he holds up several large sheets of paper. Each one details a different area with notes on where and when the wraith has appeared.  “I think we should start with the church, since it pops up there the most often.”

“Agreed,” Nie Mingjue pipes in.  “Jiang Cheng, you ready?”

Jiang Cheng looks down at his sword, then over at Huaisang.  All of this is, to a certain degree, still new.  Still scary.  If this happened a year or two ago, he probably would have run into it headfirst, determined to prove himself good at something, anything.  But so much is different now.  There’s a strangeness he has to tackle, but he has the good sense not to tackle it alone.

Jiang Cheng takes Huaisang’s hand, squeezes, and says, “Yeah, I’m ready to go.”

[somethingjustsouthofbrilliance]

I Got You (chapter 5)

I am honestly beyond grateful for everyone’s encouragement on the last chapter.  I’ve been struggling to keep this story going, but your response definitely helped, and I am so thankful to you all 💕💕💕 I best express my gratitude with writing, so here’s another chapter for you, guys. Thank you!

Tagging:  @jamesrhodey @supernaturalyloki @chanderefk @aimeeroot21 @markedplaces @mostly-marvel-stuffs @matre-dee @le-ephemere @lo-anlurui @savedbyholmes @kimmycup @typicalcampbell @natty-ts70 @damnhiatus @pubzie @giulisetta

Links to chapter 1, chapter 4

Chapter 5

 “You know, this is a pretty decent family restaurant,” James points out, watching with a mildly disapproving frown as Stark tears into a plain-looking cheeseburger, all but moaning with pleasure as though he were savoring a most exquisite gourmet meal.  “You could have ordered some real food.”

 “What’s wrong with cheeseburgers?” Starks looks almost offended.

 “Nothing,” James shrugs, shifting his attention back to his own plate with its piece of herb-roasted chicken seasoned to mouth-watering perfection. “I just figured that after getting our breakfast and lunch orders at drive-through windows you’d want something a bit more sophisticated than a meal that usually comes in a greasy paper bag with an optional toy for customers 12 and under.”

 “I like cheeseburgers.” It’s Stark’s turn to shrug as he takes another hungry bite that drips grease and ketchup onto his chin. He reaches for a napkin, dabs it at his chin.  “S’comfort food,” he manages around a mouthful, winking at James over the remainder of his sandwich.

 James shakes his head, goes back to cutting up his food.  “Wouldn’t have pegged you for a junk food kind of guy.  Given where you come from, I figured you’d have a more… sophisticated palate,” he says, snagging a piece of chicken with asparagus onto his fork and sending the combination into his mouth.

It’s good.  It’s so fucking good and so welcome after the questionable-quality fast food Stark had forced on him earlier that he simply closes his eyes for a moment and lets himself enjoy the flavor, the texture and the aroma of actual, human food.  

 It’s why he doesn’t notice right away that something’s amiss.  Not until he opens his eyes again and finds Stark looking back at him, his expression guarded, tense.

 “Where I come from?” There’s an unpleasantly cold challenge in Stark’s tone, and James wonders what particular can of worms he inadvertently opened with this conversation, but the words are out now and it’s too late to take them back.  

 “You’re Howard Stark’s son, aren’t you?” he asks, trying for nonchalant as he goes to cut himself another piece of the chicken.  “Millionaire inventor?  One of the biggest names in weapon manufacturing? I didn’t make the connection right away, but I just haven’t seen any Stark tech around in years.  Our military contract had been picked up by Senator Hammer’s company after your father–”

 “Passed out drunk while working on an arc reactor prototype and blew up the entire mansion?”

 He frowns at the glacial callousness of Stark’s interruption, blinks uncertainly at the man.  “I’m sorry,” he tries.  

 “Don’t be,” Stark waves him off with an ugly grimace of a smile.  “Blowing himself up was the best thing he could have done with his life.  Although,” he drops his unfinished cheeseburger onto the plate, leans back in the chair, dabbing the napkin at his lips, “I heard rumors that he may have had some help leaving this world.”

 It’s so casual the way he says it, so matter-of-fact.   It makes James’ skin crawl.

 “You’re saying someone had him murdered?”

 Stark crumples up the napkin, tosses it onto the plate.  “Don’t know that for a fact,” he admits with a dispassionate shrug.

 “But?” James prompts, intrigued despite himself.

 Stark hums.  “Howard was many things – stupid wasn’t one of them. Being drunk wasn’t new for him, but he knew his limits.  He wouldn’t have gone down to his workshop if he was that hammered.” He chuckles unkindly.  “Hammered.  Now that’s a thought.”

 James feels a cold unpleasant shiver trickle down his spine.  “You’re not suggesting…”

 “The good senator?” Stark’s smile is positively predatory now, and he seems pleased somehow by James’ deduction even if he shakes his head in the negative.  “I’ve had the displeasure of observing Senator Hammer quite closely for ten very long and sadly irretrievable months of my life.  He’s a vulgar little shit with no sense of morals or civility.  But he doesn’t have enough brains or balls to pull off something like this.”  He cocks his head, winks conspiratorially at James. “Now if we assume that he was not acting alone, and we combine his financial means and his unbridled enthusiasm for fattening up his own pockets with, say, Vice President Stane’s formidable ruthlessness and an unhealthy craving for power–”

 “Stop!” James hisses, putting up his hand to shut the man up even as he glances furtively to the sides to make sure their conversation has not attracted any unwarranted attention. “Do you even realize what you’re saying? Accusing a high-ranking senator and the goddamn VP of conspiracy to murder?”

 Stark watches him calmly, seemingly unperturbed by his agitation.  “I’m not accusing them of anything, Sugar Plums,” he deflects easily, the sharp piercing gaze of his amber-brown eyes pinning James in place. “Don’t have enough facts for that. I’m merely pointing out that together those two individuals have both the appetite and the means for any sort of hostile takeover.” Stark’s eyes narrow ever so slightly.  “Such as, for instance, the removal of an undesirable president.”

 For a brief moment James forgets how to breathe.  Just sits there, blinking owlishly at Stark, his heart stuttering like a scared animal inside his chest.  “You...,” he chokes out, fingers tightening convulsively around the handle of his knife. “You’re insane.  Do you even hear yourself?”    

 Stark snorts quietly, picks up his glass of water, leaving a ring of condensation on the wooden surface. “Relax, Platypus,” he responds easily and takes a long drawn out sip before setting the glass back down onto the table. “This is all purely hypothetical at this point.”  The mask of feigned impassivity slips for a moment, his eyes flashing steel like the metal of a drawn sword.  “Believe me,” he says, leaning forward into James’ space, and his voice, though quiet, has that same unmistakable edge of steel as well, “if I had any concrete proof that they had anything to do with that bomb that landed Happy in the hospital, they both would have been dead by now.”  He waits a beat, lets the words sink in.  Then pulls away, settling back in his chair, the already familiar plastic smile firmly in place.  “Now, what was it you were saying about my… palate?”

 James blinks rapidly, thrown completely off balance first by the wild accusations bordering on seditious and now by the dizzying change of topics.  He needs time to think, to process everything that Stark just said. Because it can’t be right what he’s implying.  It’s crazy. It’s the words of a madman.  And yet… and yet…

 “Um…,” he begins inarticulately, looking down at his poor unfinished chicken as though somehow hoping to find inspiration there for something meaningful to say when his mind is drawing a complete stunned blank.

 “Hold that thought, Buttercup,” Stark interrupts him unexpectedly, and the subtle change in his tone, a slight but unmistakable strain of warning, draws James’ attention back to the man.

 Stark’s whole demeanor has changed.  He still sits sprawled against the back of his chair, looking for all the world like he’s relaxing over a meal and a friendly chat, but James can see a kind of battle-ready tension in him now, a cold wariness of a professional on the job.

 “What’s wrong?” he asks, knowing instinctively that he needs to whisper this part.

 Stark flicks a lightning quick glance somewhere past James’ shoulder, reaches once again for his water glass.  “Seems like your secret admirer wasn’t quite happy with you leaving Washington so abruptly,” he murmurs into the glass.  

 “He’s here?” James straightens out in his seat, fighting the urge to look around.  “Who is he?”

 “It’s not the puppet master himself,” Stark shakes his head, setting the glass back down.  “But I will bet good money that the merry little group that just sat down at the table behind us is not overly interested in today’s specials.”  

 James swallows tightly, rubs his suddenly sweaty palms.  “How many?”

 “Five that I can see. Probably more waiting outside.” Stark shifts forward a bit, casually leaning his elbows on the table, bringing him that much closer to where James is sitting.   Smiles a wide artificial smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.  “Listen to me very carefully,” he says, his voice so low that James has to strain to hear him even at this short a distance. “You’re gonna excuse yourself now and get up to go to the restroom – it’s in the back of that hallway behind me.  The moment you step inside that hallway, you take the first door to your left – that’s the kitchen.  You’re gonna go in and you’re gonna keep walking until you reach the back door. Don’t open it, just stay there and wait for me.  Understood?”

 Stark’s gaze bores into his, intense, burning, demanding, and James wants to object, wants to know what exactly is it that Stark plans to do while he makes his escape to the kitchen, wants to insist that he stay and help, but there’s a grim urgency in Stark’s expression that makes him hold his tongue.  He nods once, mutely, and finds himself oddly comforted upon seeing something in Stark’s posture relax slightly at his assent.  Decided now, he puts both hands on the table, takes a deep, steadying breath and pushes up, plastering on a painfully artificial smile of his own.

 “I’ll be right back,” he hears himself say, holding Stark’s gaze for a brief moment before gesturing widely in the direction Stark had indicated to him earlier.  “Just gotta use the little boys’ room.”  

 And he walks off, silently repeating to himself that Stark is a professional, that he can handle himself, that it’s his job…. And tries very hard to stop himself from turning back around when he hears the first telltale crash of splintering wood behind him.

[distant-rose-archive-blog]

What’s in a Name

Note: I had a request awhile back for more on Emma’s pregnancy with Harrison and I’m trying to honor that, but a part of me feels like I cheated a bit. Anyway, this is how Harrison was named and there are a lot of opinions in this. I would like to say that Henry’s opinions don’t necessarily equate to my opinions, though some of them are my opinions. Anyway, lots of thoughts on Star Wars are shared, not all of those thoughts are popular. As always, I thank the lovely @welllpthisishappening for being amazing and reading my word vomit. I’m nothing without her support. Summary: Emma and Killian have been struggling for weeks on what to name their son. They turn to Henry for help in naming his little brother. Rating: T Word Count: 4,100+

“That looks absolutely disgusting,” Henry commented, turning away from the television to give his mother a look of disapproval at her food choices.

Emma quirked an eyebrow as she held up a potato chip covered with chocolate and caramel drizzle, holding her son’s gaze as she popped it in her mouth. A small happy noise emitted from her throat as the combination of sweet and salty burst to life on her taste buds. She couldn’t help but laugh as Henry started making gagging noises.

“It’s not that bad,” Emma defended, rubbing her swollen stomach. “And even if it was, baby gets what baby wants. All I wanted nothing but pickles and cucumbers when I was pregnant with you. At least I’ve moved on from Indian food.”

“Watching you eat constant chicken korma on a daily basis was easier to stomach than watching you put chocolate syrup on potato chips,” Henry said with a shudder.

“Well, suck it up, Buttercup. I’m watching Indiana Jones with you for the millionth time and you don’t hear me complaining. I could probably quote this entire movie in my sleep,” Emma replied, taking one of her potato chips and flicking it at him.

Henry ducked as the chip went flying towards him and it hit the wall with a wet noise as the syrup on the chip made it stick in place. Emma tilted her head to the side as she regarded the potato chip sticking to her wall.

“Huh. I wasn’t expecting that,” she remarked.

“Hook would flip if he saw that. I mean, he is going to flip anyway, we did kinda trash the place, Mom,” Henry said, gesturing to the pile of junk food containers and plastic bags on the floor and coffee table.

“Well, Killian needs to lighten up and live a little. Messes are a part of life,” Emma replied, eating another potato chip.

Henry looked like he wanted to say something but refrained, as if thinking better of it. He returned his attention to the television screen where Indiana Jones was yelling about snakes again.

“I’m not going to even touch that, so let’s switch to a more interesting subject, you know, like what you’re going to name my baby brother…You and Hook come to a decision yet?” Henry asked, raising both eyebrows at Emma.

“We have come to a decision about the name,” Emma said lightly, looking down at her bowl of potato chips. She felt slightly nervous for some reason, though she had no reason to be.

Henry’s eyes lit up and he paused the movie, turning his full attention to his mother. He physically moved his entire body to face her, excitement evident on his face.

“This is major! The whole town has been wondering what you were going to name him! There’s even money down on it. Is it Liam? A lot of money is on Liam or David. Or Liam David or David Liam. What is it?”

“Woah! Woah! Woah! People are betting on what we’re naming our kid? Are you kidding me? Don’t these people have something better to do!?” Emma exclaimed.

“It’s a small town, Mom, and it’s a new baby. It’s exciting. Plus, Granny wants to know what to put on the new baby blanket she’s making,” Henry said with a shrug.

Emma’s eyes went wide.

“Granny is making us a baby blanket?” she asked in a small voice. An unnamable emotion welled up in her throat and it was suddenly hard to swallow. She placed the bowl of chocolate and caramel drizzled potato chips on the floor.

Henry gave her a strange look.

“Yeah…she made one for you and for Neal, why wouldn’t she make one for the new baby? Why? Did you not want one?” he asked, frowning.

“No, no. I just wasn’t expecting her to. I didn’t know. That’s really nice of her. Really, really nice,” Emma mumbled, tucking her hair behind her ear and biting her lip.

She didn’t know why, but she felt overwhelmed by the idea that someone would make something so special for her child without asking. She had a feeling it was because of the hormones though. Lately she seemed to cry over everything and it was quite annoying.

“So…you said you guys came to a decision. You’re going to tell me, right? I mean, I am your favorite first born. Please? With sugar and cherries and all that on top?” Henry asked, bouncing a bit in his place on the couch. He looked more like a little kid than a teenager.

“Of course, I’m going to tell you,” Emma said with a small laugh. “Just calm down okay. It’s not that big of a deal.”

“Mom, it’s a huge deal! You’re naming a person! A new little person!” Henry exclaimed.

“I’m not naming him,” Emma said with a shake of her head.

“So, Killian named him? So, it is Liam then. I thought it might be, you know, since his brother was his hero and all that. I mean, the older one, not the younger one,” Henry said with a laugh. “There’s a lot of Liam Joneses.”

“There is,” Emma agreed. “Which is why his name isn’t going to be Liam. Well, his middle name is going to be Liam, but not his first. It’s just too much. Killian didn’t want that.”

“So, if it’s not Liam, then what is it?” Henry asked, still frowning.

“I don’t know,” Emma replied with a shrug.

Henry blinked. Her answer obviously wasn’t one that he was expecting. His eyebrows knitted together as a look of puzzlement crossed his features.

“You don’t know? How do you not know? Did Killian not tell you what he wanted to name the baby? Because, Mom, that’s kinda weird,” Henry said, leaning forward.

“Killian isn’t naming the baby either,” Emma replied, trying to keep calm. This was the moment of truth.

“Okay…” Henry gave her a weird look. “Then who is naming the baby? Grandma? Grandpa? Because that would be cheating. Grandpa placed down a bet.”

“Neither is naming the baby,” Emma snorted. “But more importantly, did you place down a bet?”

“Nah, though I was tempted to,” Henry replied. “But seriously though. Who is naming this baby? Or is it nobody? You picking it out of a hat? Tossing a dart at a board and hoping it lands on something good? Seriously, I gotta know.”

Emma sucked in a breath before meeting Henry’s eyes. A secret smile grew to life on her lips.

“Well, you’re going to know before anyone else because, well, you’re the one who is going to name him.”

Henry’s eyes looked like they wanted to pop out of their sockets as she said the words. He leaned back against the couch, looking positively stunned.

“For real? You want me to name him?” Henry asked, sounding almost breathless.

“Of course. You’re going to be his big brother. There’s no one that Killian and I would trust more,” Emma said, her smile growing and the corners of her eyes crinkling.

“And Hook is okay with this?”

“Of course, he’s okay with this,” Emma scoffed. “In fact, it was Killian’s idea. We couldn’t agree on anything and, well, we wanted to include you. You’re a big part of this family, Henry, and there’s no better way to honor that than letting you choose Baby Jones’s name so we can stop calling him Baby Jones.”

“It would be kinda of cool to call him Jonas Jones,” Henry mused.

Emma gave him an unimpressed look.

“I’m vetoing that. That’s a horrible name.”

“You said I could name him!” Henry said defensively. “And what if I want to name him Jonas Jones? You’ll just have to deal with it.”

“No way, kid. You can name him but it has to be within reason and we have to like it. I’m not going to be just okay with you giving him something absurd like Jonas Jones or Chevy Van Pickup or something like that. We have veto power,” Emma said, placing her hands protectively on her abdomen.

“Okay. So, no Jonas Jones. What about Jack? I mean, the kid’s dad is a pirate, so why not name him after the most famous pirate of all! Captain Jack Sparrow!” Henry smirked.

“Your stepfather would seriously have an aneurysm if you said that in front of him. No Jack. I don’t want to take the chance of this kid coming out looking like Johnny Depp and being all weird and drunk,” Emma replied, lifting her hands and making strange gestures with them, trying to imitate Jack Sparrow’s strange mannerisms.

Henry laughed, hazel eyes warm and full of delight at her little show. He grinned at her.

“Yeah, yeah. You’re probably right…What about Walton?”

“Walton?” Emma blinked. “Who the hell names a kid Walton?”

“It’s Indiana Jones’s middle name. His first name is Henry and we can’t necessarily name him that, so Walton…” Henry trailed, gesturing to the frozen image of Indiana Jones on the television.

Emma sighed, rubbing her temples.

“Maybe it was a bad idea to let you name the baby,” she muttered.

“Hey! I’m just warming up! Let me get into my craft,” Henry said defensively.

As Emma shook her head at her son, the front door opened and Killian walked into the house with a paper grocery bag. He paused at the doorway, surveying the mess that Emma and Henry had made of their living room. He looked like he wanted to say something, but just shook his head and thought better of it.

“Do you have it?” Emma asked her husband, not even bothering with a greeting as her eyes zeroed in on the bag in his hand.

“Hello husband! It’s so good to see you after I’ve spent the day making a mess of the house. I missed you so much! Thank you for going out and getting me ice cream after spending the day working with my father,” Killian replied in a high voice, trying and failing to sound like his wife.

Henry snorted and Emma gave her husband an unimpressed look.

“I would never say that, babe,” she said, leaning back and rubbing circles over her belly.

“Worth a shot,” Killian replied with a shrug as he stepped into the living room.

He gave Henry’s hair a quick ruffle before walking over to Emma. He gave her a quick peck on the lips before placing the paper bag on the coffee table and bending onto his knees. He gently put his hand on top of Emma’s distended stomach and placed a kiss just above her navel.

“Was the little lad behaving himself today?” he asked, his lips lingering against her shirt.

Without much thought, Emma’s hands began to comb themselves through Killian’s hair as she looked down at him with a small smile. He leaned into her touch, looking up at her with soft eyes.

“Not really. He’s been kicking up a storm today. I think he thinks my kidneys are soccer balls or something, but he always gets like that with you or Henry. I’m surprised he’s not kicking now, he must be tired,” Emma commented lightly.

“You need to stop being so mean to your mum, Baby Jones. You only get one after all,” Killian lightly admonished Emma’s stomach.

“Yeah, we can’t keep calling him that. He really needs a name,” Henry sighed.

“And that is your job, lad,” Killian said lightly, not looking up from Emma’s stomach.

“Yeah. I know. Mom already told me. She keeps vetoing my suggestions,” Henry replied as he began riffling for the remote control for the television.

“That’s because your suggestions have sucked. I almost want to revoke your privileges,” Emma remarked.

Her fingers moved from Killian’s hair to smooth over the pointed tips of his ears. Only privately to herself would Emma admit that she had a slight fascination with them. They looked a bit elvish at times. She wondered if the baby would inherit them as well.

“What are you doing, love?” Killian asked, looking up at her in amusement, resting his chin against her belly.

“Nothing. Just thinking,” Emma mused.

“Good things, I hope,” Killian murmured.

“The best things,” she smiled.

Her fingers traced down behind his ears so that her hands cradled the back of his head, pulling him up so she can give him a kiss. Killian made a soft noise as one of her hands trailed off to trace the shell of his ear again.

“Oh, come on!” Henry groaned. “If you guys are going to be all gross and married, I’m going to back to Mom’s.”

Killian laughed, breaking away from Emma’s lips and smirking at his stepson.

“You have no room to complain, considering the amount of times I’ve caught you on this very couch making moves on young Miss Violet,” Killian remarked, raising his eyebrows.

Henry’s cheeks went bright red as he heard Killian’s words and he ducked his head a bit in embarrassment. Emma’s eyebrows rose to her hairline.

“What’s this? This is the first I’ve heard of this,” Emma said, looking back and forth between her boys.

“That’s because Hook was being real cool about it until now,” Henry scowled.

“Apparently,” Emma replied dryly, giving her husband a look.

“He’s almost sixteen and it wasn’t anything serious,” Killian defended. “He’s a healthy lad enamored with a young lady. Nothing unusual, Swan. If it had been anything really sordid, I would have told you.”

“Right,” Emma snorted, not believing him for a second.

“How about we focus on the actual issue at hand,” Henry said quickly, changing the subject. “I mean, Baby Jones needs a name and we need to finish watching Indy.”

Killian groaned.

“Henry, we’ve watched Indiana Jones almost every night this week. Can we take a break and watch a film we haven’t seen a million times,” Killian said, getting up and stretching out his legs.

“Yeah, I guess we can watch Star Wars,” Henry said with a shrug, getting up from the couch to check out the stack of DVDs piled up next to the television.

Emma and Killian shared a look.

“I’ve seen all the Star Wars films, Henry,” Killian replied in a patient tone.

“Henry, can we put something on that doesn’t have Harrison Ford in it?” Emma asked with a sigh.

“Harrison Ford is the man! And no, Hook, you haven’t seen all the Star Wars movies. I mean you saw the originals and, regrettably, the prequels, but you haven’t seen the latest one and even though I, as a Star Wars fanboy, found a lot wrong with the new one, it’s still pretty enjoyable,” Henry said, holding up a DVD case.

“Harrison Ford?” Killian frowned, confused.

“The actor who plays Indiana Jones and Han Solo in Star Wars,” Emma replied, scooting forward so she could take the paper bag and look through it.

“Ah, I thought they looked similar. I do enjoy Han Solo. He’s quite dashing and he got the princess in the end, much like myself,” Killian grinned.

Emma rolled her eyes and whacked him on the back of the knees before taking out a pint of Ben and Jerry’s New York Super Fudge Chuck and a plastic spoon. She let out a pleased noise that normally reserved for more private moments. At the sound, Killian whipped around and stared at her with wide eyes.

“You alright, love?” he asked in a choked voice.

“Yeah…I just love ice cream,” she replied, almost embarrassed.

“I can tell…”

“Okay, less talk about ice cream, more talk about Star Wars,” Henry said impatiently. “We gotta focus here, people.”

“I didn’t realize how passionate he was about these films,” Killian commented as he sat down next to Emma, slinging an arm casually around her shoulders.

Emma gave him an odd look.

“Where have you been for the last two years, then? That’s all he talks about half the time. It’s either this, Lord of the Rings or Magic the Gathering. Honestly, he has at least three lightsabers in his room.”

“Five actually. A red, yellow, blue, green and a purple one,” Henry corrected her.

“There’s a yellow? I don’t remember there being a yellow one,” Killian frowned.

“There is in Knights of the Old Republic. It’s a video game. Don’t worry yourself about it,” Henry said, as he popped the disc into the Blu-Ray player and settled back on the couch.

“If you say so, lad,” Killian shrugged, placing a kiss on Emma’s head.

They were an hour into the movie when Emma turned into Killian, placing her head more fully against the crook of his shoulder but keeping her eyes trained on the aged Han Solo.

“He’s not bad looking for a 70-year old man. Quite silver fox actually,” Emma commented, digging into her ice cream.

“Going to leave me for Han Solo, love?” Killian questioned teasingly.

“Well, I am Princess Leia,” Emma replied, trying to keep the laughter out of her tone.

“You guys should name the baby after Han Solo,” Henry commented. “I mean, he’s kinda a pirate. Like a space pirate. And he’s awesome. And Mom’s right. She is Princess Leia in the book.”

Emma and Killian looked at each other.

“No.” The word was spoken by both in unison.

Henry at them.

“Why not? It’s perfect! I mean, Han Solo is like the space-version of Hook!”

“Han is not a real name. Han Jones? It doesn’t sound right, mate. But mainly, Han isn’t a real name,” Killian said, raising his eyebrows at his stepson.

“Also, it would be kinda weird to give birth to Han, if I’m Leia. I mean, Killian should be Han. But if we’re going by Star Wars logic, we should be naming the kid Ben or Kylo or whatever,” Emma said dryly.

“We’re not naming our child after the whiny melodramatic child,” Killian muttered with a small scoff.

“Relax, I wouldn’t dream of it,” Emma said, patting his chest.

“And I wouldn’t want you too. I stand by Han and Leia’s kids being Jacen, Jaina and Anakin, not this. I mean I can’t tell you how pissed I was that they went this way instead of going by the books. I mean, Leia and Han really didn’t know Obi-Wan that well or know him as Ben, that’s all on Luke, who got married in the books to a bad ass assassin and named his kid Ben but I digress. Anyway, Han Solo is pretty cool. I mean, seriously, there’s no one cooler than him. Think on it more,” Henry said, gesturing to the screen.

“No,” Emma and Killian said again.

A silence fell between them and Emma cringed as Kylo Ran stabbed his father in the chest with his lightsaber. Killian’s hand tightened into a fist as Chewbacca let out a roar that sounded more like a wail. Though Killian thought Han was an outrageous name and didn’t want to name his son after the character, he quite liked Han Solo and was sad to see him die so horribly.

“What about Harrison?” Henry said quietly after a moment.

“What?” Emma said, looking up from Killian’s chest.

“Harrison. You know for a name. Like Harrison Ford. It sounds kinda cool,” Henry said with a shrug.

Emma paused. It was the first name that Henry had mentioned that she didn’t hate. It was a classic sounding name. It sounded like the name of someone who could be a president, a police officer or a movie star. She kinda liked it.

“What do you think, Killian?” she asked, looking up at him.

He seemed to be mulling it over in his head. Emma watched as he mouthed the name silently, as if he was trying to get a taste of it.

“It’s a strong name,” he said after a moment.

Henry paused the movie, looking at them with something akin to shock on his face.

“You guys are seriously considering Harrison? I actually stumbled on a name that you guys don’t hate?!”

“Yeah…” Emma laughed in disbelief. “I kinda like it. Killian’s right. It’s a strong name. Yeah. I like it.”

“It’s a good name,” Killian agreed. “A pirate could be named that.”

“Or a prince,” Henry teased.

“Hey, none of that talk,” Killian said with a mock glare.

“Well, Mom is a princess, so naturally it can be assumed that the baby is a prince,” Henry said, wiggling his eyebrows.

“That makes you a prince too,” Emma snickered.

Henry wrinkled his nose, looking very much like Emma whenever she found something particularly nasty.

“Yeah. No. That just sounds weird. I mean, no offense to Grandpa, but it’s kinda weird to be considered a prince…it’s too…prissy.”

Killian looked positively delighted by this piece of information and opened his mouth to make a reply, but Emma elbowed him sharply in the ribs.

“Focus,” she scolded him. “What are we thinking, boys? Harrison Jones sounding okay to you?”

“Sounds like an action hero to me,” Henry grinned. “I mean, you can’t go wrong with naming your kid after the greatest action hero of all time.”

“I think Arnold would disagree with you there, but Harrison Ford is better cool,” Emma replied.

“Harrison Jones is better,” Henry stated, nodding his head.

“Harrison Jones,” Emma repeated. It sounded right. It made her feel giddy.

“Harrison Liam Jones,” Killian said softly. “It’s got a good ring.”

“Holy shit, we just named the baby, didn’t we?” Henry whispered, eyes wide.

Emma was too stunned by the revelation to correct her son on his language. She was overwhelmed as her hands left Killian’s chest to rest against her abdomen where her unborn child was now kicking again. She let out a disbelieving laugh.

“I think Harrison likes it,” she said, tears in the corners of her eyes.

“Oh, Mom! Don’t cry! This is good! This is exciting,” Henry said, scooting off the couch and settling on the other side of her. He rested his head on her shoulder, placed on his hands on top of hers.

“I know, I know,” she said, trying to choke back her emotions. “I’m just really happy…these are happy tears. I promise.”

Killian’s arm shifted so he too could bring his hand down on her stomach.  The three of them stared at her belly, feeling the baby’s kicks. Emma swallowed, tears still coming.

“Harrison’s getting rowdy,” Henry chuckled.

“Harrison is just excited he’s now Harrison instead of just being Baby Jones,” Emma chuckled.

“And we just washed the entire bet,” Killian commented.

Emma looked at him in disbelief.

“You knew about the bet and you didn’t tell me?”

“Of course, I knew about the bet. I’m surprised you didn’t. Your mother was telling me about it. She tried to get me to agree on David so your father would win back that two hundred he put down. Why did you think I was so against it?”

“I thought you just didn’t want to name the baby after my father,” Emma said with a shake of her head.

“Your father is my best friend and David is a nice name, but betting on your grandchild is just bad form.”

Emma shook her head, biting her lip for a moment and staring down at all the hands on her stomach.

“Let’s keep this between the three of us until he’s born. I don’t care about anyone else or whatever stupid bet is going on. I just want it to be ours until he gets here…” she said gently.

“What about Granny? She wants to put the baby’s name on the blanket,” Henry frowned.

“She’s biggest gossip in town. The second she knows, everyone is going to know. No. She can wait. Mom can wait. Dad can wait. Harrison Liam Jones is going to be ours for now.”

“Whatever you want, love, whatever you want,” Killian said, kissing her head.

Miraculously, Harrison’s name is kept hushed until his naming day at Granny’s three months later. The entire diner groaned as his name was announced and Granny was all but cackling, refusing to give back all the cash placed on various unpicked names. No money had been put down on ‘Harrison.’

Emma tensed as her father approached her, holding onto her newborn tightly.

“You just lost me two hundred dollars,” he said casually.

“You shouldn’t be betting on your grandson’s name like that,” Emma said, rocking Harrison gently.

“You’re probably right,” David said with a small smile. “You chose a better name though. Harrison suits him.”

Emma smiled.

“I didn’t pick it. Henry did. For Harrison Ford,” she replied with a tiny shrug of her shoulders, careful not to jostle the baby in her arms.

“Ah. Star Wars. I should have known. Maybe I should have him name my next kid.”

Emma’s eyebrows rose at that.

“You’re thinking on having another kid, Dad?”

“Maybe,” David said with a smile. “You never know. Just something to think about. But yeah, I like Harrison. Better than David. I just wanted to let you know. You, well, Henry chose well.”

“So, no hard feelings then?” Emma teased.

“No hard feelings. Harrison Jones is too cute for me to stay mad.”