#long chapter

[moonshine-nightlight]

Nothing's Wrong with Dale: Part Seventeen

It’s been a week, but you’re fairly certain your fiancé accidentally got himself replaced by an eldritch being from the Depths. Deciding  that he’s certainly not worse than your original fiancé, you endeavor to keep the engagement and his new non-human state to yourself.

However, this might prove harder than you originally thought.

Fantasy, arranged marriage, malemonsterxfemalereader, M/F

AO3: Nothing's Wrong with Dale - Chapter 17 - MoonshineNightlight - Original Work [Archive of Our Own]

[Part One] [Part Two] [Part Three] [Part Four] [Part Five] [Part Six] [Part Seven] [Part Seven.5] [Part Eight] [Part Nine] [Part Ten] [Part Eleven] [Part Twelve] [Part Thirteen] [Part Fourteen] [Part Fifteen] [Part Sixteen] Part Seventeen [Part Eighteen] [Part Nineteen] [Part Twenty] [Part Twenty-One] [Part Twenty-Two] [Part Twenty-Three] [Part Twenty-Four] [Part Twenty-Five] [Part Twenty-Six] [Part Twenty-Seven] [Part Twenty-Eight] [Part Twenty-Nine] [Part Thirty] [Part Thirty-One] [Part Thirty-Two] [Part Thirty-Two] [Part Thirty-Three] [Part Thirty-Four]

“My lady,” you hear Grandfather say from somewhere behind you. Bracing yourself, you resist the urge to turn around and instead prepare for another uncomfortable conversation.

Grandfather has managed to invite—or find those already invited—anyone who has the remotest affiliation with the study of the Depths or herblore or spiritual matters and promptly introduced you. He then pays particularly close attention throughout the conversation to you and them. You think he’s hoping someone more versed in such things might be able to sense or notice something about you or Dale that will prove his theory about some sort of demonic influence affecting you correct. 

Luckily, none have acted odd so far—that you could tell. Instead it just makes for sudden, very nerve-wracking conversations where you feel more than ever like you are on a stage, performing. You dislike galas and balls and such already—these new examinations are not helping, except that occasionally after one, the rest of the event feels far less tense than before in comparison. At least Grandfather doesn’t seem to be preparing these individuals ahead of time with his suspicions.

Also, to be fair, Grandfather seems to have pulled back with his other methods of detection. There have been no more overly spiced meals or suspicious flower arrangements—baring the first ball in Connton which had been covered in white roses. Dale thankfully continues to give no signal he knows either of you are being tested, but he’d managed to smoothly tuck a flower in your hair. Your blush at such an obvious display just to show the flowers lack of effect had hopefully helped sell it. Dale even pricked himself on a thorn to show it had no poisonous effects to himself and demonstrate his blood is still red. You think you’re the only one to notice that his bandage is removed only three days later—and that it was on the wrong finger for the last day.

You’ve gotten this far though. One more conversation won’t be the end of it all, you try to remind yourself. You turn with a polite smile on your face to see Grandfather walking towards you with a sanctif at his side. You hope your face doesn’t give away your sudden apprehension at being confronted with an actual spiritual leader. The white and red robes mark him as likely the High Sanctif for all of Connton. Also, he’s older than Grandfather, which doesn’t bode particularly well either.

While the spiritual colleges in the north in recent years have moved in a more scientific direction—away from philosophy—the more older and southern sanctifs are far more likely to preach anything associated with the Depths as inherently dangerous, rather than something to be understood. 

Which is probably why Grandfather is helping this sanctif into the seat next to you.

“His Illuminance, Ellon of Connton has found the time to join us for the next course,” Grandfather says as he sits down opposite you. This particular feast has many courses, with seating on various tiered daisies each with five or so smaller tables, between which guests are encouraged to switch seats so that all may socialize—within their daisies, of course. You’ve ended up staying primarily where you are as there has been no shortage of companions, as had Dale.

However, as it is nearly time for the next course, it appears he’s staying down with the transportation officials—a pity because you had wished to talk to them as well and there is no longer enough room for all of them. Perhaps it is a good thing because you doubt this sanctif is going to have anything particularly good to say. At least Grandmother has also been pulled away by some magistrates or she would no doubt make matters worse.

You nod politely to the sanctif. “Greetings, your Illuminance. How are you doing this evening?”

“Greetings to you as well,” he replies, his voice is stronger and brisker than you expect given his age and the distracted way he has already begun searching for the wine jug. 

Once his eyes land on the jug, he reaches for it, but is at a bad angle for him to pick up well, so you stand up yourself. “Please, allow me to assist you.”

“My thanks, my thanks,” he says, sitting back as you pour him a glass of wine, then one for Grandfather, since he is also new to the table. A cousin of Dale’s to your left still has half a glass and so does one of his aunts. 

You start to relax when only polite small talk is made while everyone else begins to settle into their seats. You’re happy to discuss the weather and food as many times as you need to because at least you don’t feel like you’re going to say the wrong thing. 

It doesn’t last though.

“So, where do you hail from, my child?” Ellon asks as he butters a roll from the ever-refilling baskets on the table, the knife making a scraping sound against the butter dish which you try not to wince at.

Swallowing down your inappropriate offer to prepare it for him yourself just so the noise will stop, you tell him, “My family fief is Portsmith and with the bay of Glittany.” Glittany is what most have heard of when it comes to your family since it is the name of the bay and the major seaport city. Most barely are aware of the name of the fief it resides in.

Ellon seems to have heard of it, but, given the skeptical huff he lets out at the name, not positively. “Those that live on the seas court death, if you ask me.” You most assuredly had not, but you didn’t think he much cared if you had. “The Depths are most clearly expressed there, below those treacherous waves. Even close to the shore, it can steal the unwary away far too easily.”

You knew there was a certain amount of superstition about the deep waters among some, but while all those who worked on the seas had a healthy respect for the sea, none blamed the Depths. Biting your tongue so you didn’t mention that the places in the world where the border was thinnest were primarily above solid ground, you merely say, “I am certainly no sailor, though I admire the bravery of those who are.”

He wags his finger, looking over his thick spectacles at you. “Mark my words, even living for so long with that salt air is dangerous. Why the great scholar and sanctif, Malarby of Airs said that those along the shore twice as likely to be taken than those who do not.”

You again refrain from saying that the scholar he speaks of had numerous critics during his own time, let alone now. At least, Grandfather seems skeptical of this claim, but it's also obvious he’s watching for your response more than anything. “My understanding is that the Glittany sacred community has procedures and safeguards in place to limit any such influences, however, I admit that I did not grow up in the city. I was not often well as a child and so grew up on our country estate, which is more than a day’s ride inland.”

“Yes,” Ellon agrees loud enough you flinch at his volume. “It is truly heartening to hear that some physicians know the healing air that can only come away from the watery death that surrounds us. Country air is not as fortifying or pure as mountain air, but I am sure that it was the best for you.” He pats your hand in what you assume he believes is a comforting manner and resist the urge to pull away. “We must find balance between keeping our family, our connections, with us in times of struggle and finding a truly blessed location where we can heal—as far from the physical negative influences as possible.”

“I do believe it was a far calmer environment to be in and my physicians were all very skilled,” you reply, not wanting to touch on his spiritual opinions. Were they more than opinions if they were from a sanctif? Regardless, you know the Glittany santifs didn’t talk like this, probably because they actually live and work next to the sea. You would pay money if this man had ever even been on a boat—or that he had and had simply immediately gotten seasick. 

“I was not aware the sea was so treacherous beyond the literal dangers it presents,” Grandfather observes mildly, likely not wanting this topic to die when it is so close to where he likely wants it to go.

Unfortunately, that is all that Ellon needs as encouragement to continue in this vein. “Of course, anywhere the veil between the realms is a danger—whether man-made or natural. And while it is one folly to invite demons in yourself, it is another folly to go where they thrive. The chances of being taken in by such beings, of bringing home those who have stolen away, are far greater on the waters than on the land.”

Ellon is clearly enjoying the captive audience he has and you while you don’t believe any of this nonsense—you’d still rather he talk about the dangers of oceans than anything else related to the Depths. Without him asking, you refill his wine glass for him.

He nods his thanks with a smile and seems to really warm up to the topic, his voice growing a touch more theatrical as he says, “Beyond the threat of death from such supernatural dangers, there is the general threat of death from the natural. With that, there is the metaphysical danger which haunts these vessels. Many bodies are lost at sea, falling below those frigid waves—it is a far harder journey for the soul to ascend after death. Many no doubt, do not reach the light.”

Grandfather blinks at Ellon, clearly taken aback by this turn. “…I see.” From your observations, Grandfather does not have much interest or patience for the philosophical nor the spiritual, to your understanding, until recently. While spiritualists often warn against the Depths, Grandmother’s motivations and grudges seem to primarily come from a literal danger perspective, given the way demons and such influences have been used for violence—not hypothetical dangers to the soul. 

“Are you saying that after death the soul can be held down by water?” a polite but skeptical voice interjects. You turn to see that Francesca, one of Dale’s cousins, has decided to join your conversation.

Ellon looks surprised by her question, but rallies quickly enough. “It is not the material involved but the distance, the fact that one is already below.”

“Then would not miners be similarly endangered?” she asks, raising one eyebrow up quizzically.

You know she hasn’t specifically joined the conversation to help you out, but you can’t help but feel like she has and it warms you to her. You are an adequate debater when prepared and a hesitant one when unprepared.

Ellon frowns at her argument, pursing his lips. “A miner can be brought up by his fellow workers and still cremated.”

Francesca hums, leaning back in her chair consideringly. “Is cremation truly so necessary? I know it is best practice, but I thought it was primarily for those left behind.”

“No, no,” he says, his mouth a grim line. “It is for both, the living and the deceased. The soul can be trapped if the body is not taken care of properly.”

“I see,” she replied, for all it’s very clear to you she’s still skeptical. “I was unaware that the body could become such a cage to the soul after death. I thought it was taught that death itself is what releases the soul from the body.”

That causes the sanctif to bristle. He make a show of frowning thoughtfully and drinking some more wine before grudgingly admitting, “Well, yes, that is the primary mechanism. And if there were no Depths, cremation would likely be unnecessary. However, given that there are forces working to keep a soul from ascending, we must do all we can to aid the deceased on their journey.”

“Pardon me,” you turn to see Francesca’s husband leaning towards you as well. “Are you proposing that denizens of the Depths or perhaps even the realm of the Depths itself can reach out to consume the souls of those born here based on location or method of death alone?”

“Of course not,” Ellon blusters, cheeks turning a bit red, “but the effect such things have on the soul are undeniable, beyond ill deeds weighing a soul down.”

“Actually, a recent paper from the Rokea Institute has called that into question,” Francesca says. “According to the scholars—”

“You trust one scholar over thousands of years of spiritual practice?” Ellon asks, his tone a mix of condescension and offense. “Scholars these days think they can measure and categorize and label each phenomenon they encounter and the second something cannot be so neatly sorted they fit it in where it does not belong, ignoring contradictory evidence. Rokea is among the worst for encouraging this type of thinking. Even the thinkers out of the Ha are more reliable in these modern times.”

Before anyone else could interject, he continues, “They decry hundreds of years of carefully documented experience, only relying on what they and peers they deem worthy have personally seen. They waste time questioning fact and reinventing the parts of the past they personally approve of to claim that knowledge as their own new discovery. 

“Not to mention the poison seeping into the Vaomen universities.” That seems to be more what Grandfather, and you, were expecting rather than a spiritual debate about the nature of souls. “What used to be sole bastions of rational thought against their poor country’s perverse deal with the Depths has fallen to its influence rather than the reverse. They push aside safeguards and time-tested tools to allow demons full citizenship. How many times much a school, a city, a nation fall to those beasts and devils before this world learns its lessons?”

Francesca’s gaze darts to her Grandfather, likely fully aware of his and her grandmother’s opinions. As he does not look particularly upset, she cautiously says, “I’ve heard of no recent incidents at their colleges.”

Ellon scoffs. “Of course you haven’t. They are too arrogant, too proud to let such truths out into the world where they would be recriminated for their folly in front of all other accomplished and rational thinkers. They keep any word of failures and dangers to themselves unless they can be justified sufficiently. The deans of such institutions have fallen to their own pride and hubris—mark my words.”

The only good part of all this talk is that even Grandfather is beginning to look aggrieved, as though—perhaps—he might regret having sought out this specific sanctif, for all he’s certainly anti-demon. Grandfather is no believer in conspiracies, thank the light.

“I have always held that any interaction with the Depths is inherently dangerous to the soul even when my contemporaries disagreed,” Ellon puffs up as he says so, clearly proud of going against popular opinion in this and you resist the urge to roll your eyes. “To see the world move so firmly in the wrong direction is disheartening, even with bastions of true spiritual stalwartness such as Northridge attempting to keep our country secure from incursions from Below.”

Both of Francesca’s eyebrows raise at that particular choice of words and she exchanges a suppressed but amused glance with her husband. 

“Certainly proper precautions must be taken,” you take the time to say, hoping to move the sanctif away from more vehement proclamations. It also can’t hurt Grandfather’s impression of you to say the things you do believe. Just because matters have worked out, does not mean that they could easily not have. “Those who remove safeguards are truly foolish and we can only hope their lapses do not endanger more than themselves.” 

The original Dale put his entire home in danger with whatever plans he had and you have no doubt he ignored safety measures as unnecessarily limiting, just given your assessment of his nature up to that point.

“Precisely,” Ellon nods with a smile for you. “Demonic influences are more common than anyone would like to admit and so one must be persistently wary and alert.” He punctuates this with raps on the table—luckily not nearly hard enough to knock anything over, though your hand automatically goes to your glass all the same. “The number of easy, necessary, precautions the everyman does not bother with is astounding. Of course, I must be even more careful, given my position as a person of faith and a lighthouse to others.

“Oh?” You don’t think he’ll need much more than that to continue. It's clear Francesca and her husband have lost true interest in what he has to say, writing him off as an eccentric. You can only hope their skepticism inspires Grandfather’s own. They’ve turned to talk to the companions on their other sides—unfortunately with two empty seats still on the sanctif’s and Grandfather’s other sides, there is no such easy diversion for you. 

You’ve never been more relieved to see plates of fish being brought out in your life. Unfortunately, that relief is quickly dwarfed by the nerves that spring up to see Dale making his way over to you with a lady—bound for the openings still at your table.

“Yes, yes,” Ellon says, snapping your attention back to him. “Take meals for instance. I shall demonstrate as it is easily one of the times people feel most comfortable and yet are at their most vulnerable.” He begins digging in his pockets while Dale gestures the woman with him to the seat next to Grandfather.

As Dale takes the seat next to Ellon, introductions fly around—the lady is some sort of minister for Connton—and the sanctif’s is primarily distracted, but still polite. Dale gives no hint of nervousness at being introduced to a sanctif which is a good sign and—Ellon gives no indication he knows he’s just been introduced to a demon possessing a lord, so that’s good as well.

“Sanctif Ellon,” Grandfather says to the two latecomers, “would like to show us a device for…what was it again? Detecting poison or demonic influences of some kind?”

“Yes, quite right—both,” he says without looking up from his search. Dale goes a bit still at Grandfather’s words, but you think it is only because you are paying attention that you even notice it. Unfortunately, Grandfather is paying attention too. Still he’s further away from Dale so perhaps he didn’t.

“Here we are,” Ellon finally pulls whatever he has been looking for out of his robes. He seems to be brandishing a small circular glass, not unlike a monocle or other magnifying device, although it looks rather cloudy—or perhaps dirty?

“It took me years to develop and find the right minded people to help me in our research,” he seems to be turning sections of the small handle and the glass gets more opaque. “It’s still a little temperamental, a bit slow, but as I tell young people,” he wags his finger at you in particular as the youngest person near him no doubt, “life is all about patience and the determination to see something through.”

“Now, in addition to showing poisons in food,” he points to the dish of fish now before him. All have you have been served, but those in seats adjacent to Ellon have refrained from eating—even Francesca and her husband on your other side seem to be intrigued with your conversation once more. Likely because the sanctif is no longer moralizing and is instead explaining something practical. “It can also show possession in humans.” 

He turns his head to look over all those around him and you feel your anticipation tighten. He ends up looking directly at you. “Pardon me, my lady, but would you mind helping me with this demonstration?”

While you are nervous at being the focus of some sort of demonstration, you realize it’s an infinitely better option than Dale. “Of course not,” you reply, your voice seemed steady enough, right?

“Now, for the resting state, the glass starts off as murky and gray,” Ellon gestures with the device, moving it around so everyone can see how gray and fogged over it is. Before he pushes some things aside and takes your hand in his free one, laying flat on the table. “But as I hold it over her hand,” he holds the glass steady over your hand. “It fades, leaving only a red-ish tinge over her hand.”

Indeed, before your eyes, the fog grows less and less thick, getting a faint red tint, like clouds lit up by a fading sunset. “This proves her to be human. The lack of color on the other objects in view shows them as non-living. Demonic influences would cause the smoke to darken from the original light gray or even blacken if held over a true demon.” 

Everyone murmurs as they take a look and you make a purposeful effort not to look at Grandfather and see his reaction. Maybe this was a good thing after all, some proof he might believe. After all you truly aren’t influenced by demonic anything—beyond new Dale’s personality, you suppose. 

After a moment when the effect seems to no longer intensify, he pulls away and you take your hand back, feeling more relieved than you have in days. “To reset it, you merely agitate the vapors once more.” He shakes the glass so it fills with fog again. You move to lean back in your seat, rather limp with your relief when he turns to his right, turns to Dale. All that tension is shoots right back up your spine, when he pulls the glass over Dale’s left hand, resting on the table. “After this quick refresh, it is ready to be used once more.”

Unfortunately, unlike with your hand, the fog does not lighten or dissipate. Instead it continues to swirl, perhaps from the sanctif’s motion, but also likely because of Dale himself. You can barely breathe, you refuse to look at Dale’s face, as the sanctif frowns. The fog gradually grows darker “Hm, sometimes it can get stuck so to speak. Nothing a good shake can’t fix.” 

He pulls the glass away and shakes it even more vigorously than before. Your eyes can’t help but dart to Dale, who appears to be staring at his hand, but almost unfocused—like he’s concentrating on something you can’t see. You hope he knows some way to deceive this little device because otherwise…

Ellon moves the glass back over Dale’s hand. This time, the vapors slowly stop spinning and then, over what feels like ages but must only be seconds, slowly start to dissipate. Lightening and turning a mild pink, they outline his hand in an effect similar to, if not much weaker than when it was used on your own hand. 

“Ah! There we are, see! On the slow side but ultimately works like a charm. The more use it sees, the weaker and slower it gets,” Ellon says with a triumphant smile before he pulls the glass away. “It needs a full day in sunlight to properly charge. So many courses means I’ve had to use it far more often this evening than usual. Forgive me for wanting to save its strength for the food yet to come.”

“Of course,” Dale replies, motioning with his right hand—not the one that was just examined. It stays where it is on the table, looking rather limp. “If you do not mind, I am rather hungry for this next course.”

“Yes, it looks delicious,” Ellon replies. “Please, please, do not let me delay our meal any longer with my sidetracks.”

“Nonsense,” Grandfather says and you finally risk a glance at him. He looks a bit shaken, but he also appears relieved. He smiles at the sanctif. “We greatly enjoyed your demonstration.”

“Good, good,” Ellon says with a proud smile as he begins to cut his fish. You shakily take up your own utensils. You hope no one notices Dale is only using his untested hand for his food.

You barely taste the food you put in your mouth, still coming down from the flash of fear from the moment Ellon turned that glass on Dale. You wonder if your heart will ever recover as it continues to spin through what might have happened if Dale hadn’t managed to subvert the device.

A cough from next to your stirs you from your thoughts. The sound loud and wracking enough that you glance over at him out of the corner of your eye. You frown, turning more fully when he drops his fork with a clatter. Ellon’s face is pinking and he starts to take deep breaths, though they don’t appear to be working if the way his breathing speeds up is any indication. 

“Is something wrong, your Illuminance?” Grandfather asks, brow furrowing as the sanctif gulps down some water before pushing his chair back from the table, as if to get more space. Dale tries to help, but he can’t seem to grip Ellon’s chair well with his left hand.

“Yes,” the man's voice is much thinner than it had been, rougher despite the drink. “Need a doctor.” He coughs and then makes an urgent gesture with his hand when everyone just stares. “Now!”

“Yes!”

“Right!”

Francesca and Charles get up at once and head in opposite directions in search of a physician, while the minister tries to flag down an attendant who might find one quicker.

You hastily refill Ellon’s water glass, at a loss for what else you can do for him. What could be happening to him? Abruptly, you realize in all his demonstrating, he never actually ran the detection glass over his own food. 

Grandfather puts the same facts together as you do, “Heights, have you been poisoned?”

Ellon shakes his head though, trying to look at the dish through eyes that are watering up. You don’t know what he sees, but some understanding dawns on him even as his breathing gets rougher. 

“All-” he coughs, trying unsuccessfully to clear his throat, but it appears as though his airway is closing, “Al-lergi-c,” he manages to pant out.

“Oh!,” you hastily rifle through your own pockets. You only carry a handful of tonics at all times, but with your own allergy to keep in mind—this is always one of them. You pull out a small bottle and work to get the cork off hastily and explain, “Tonic of soma?”

Recognition lights up in his watery eyes and Ellon reaches towards you desperately.  “Yes,” he croaks.

Once the cork is free you pass the little bottle over to him and he drinks it down as best he can, swallowing convulsively. Soma tonic is a medicine for allergic reactions, containing ephedra and other balancing herbs for opening up one’s airways. A temporary solution to be taken only when truly needed, it should buy the sanctif enough time for a doctor with proper treatments to arrive.

He drains the dose and drinks another full cup of water, before his breathing eases. “I’m sorry, I only have one dose. But it can be dangerous to take two as it is,” you find yourself saying. “It should be enough to help.” You hope that’s true as you refill his cup, your hand is shaking. You’ve never had to use the medicine more than once and that had been on yourself, not a prominent spiritual official. There’s no reason it won’t work and yet, you are scared that either it will somehow make things worse.

“Thank you,” Ellon manages to say between breaths but you don’t feel like being thanked is appropriate, not when he still seems in too fragile of a condition. Then two doctors descend on your table in a flurry of activity. You manage to communicate what you gave him, handing over the bottle with its neat label you had spent time months ago writing. The large bottle you get had been carefully dosed in several smaller ones so you could more easily have them in your pockets without weighing your skirts down oddly. 

You find yourself explaining this to Dale, who had walked around to your side without you realizing. The doctor you handed it over to doesn’t seem to listen, merely reading the label, which is probably for the best. Instead, he turns to you and asks only, “Can we keep this?”

“Yes, yes, of course,” you answer automatically. 

Two footmen help Ellon into a wheelchair, which they then bodily carry off the dais, with one of the doctors going with them. The other stays behind to say, “He’s going to be fine, truly. We’ll give him some proper medicine and then monitor him overnight. He has his own medication for such attacks—it appears that the sauce has some sort of nut he cannot eat in it.” Sighs of relief come from those around you and you feel your own heart finally start to slow back down.

The doctor talks with Grandfather, who also came around to your side of the table at some point. Before he leaves though, the doctor takes a moment to say to you, “Very pleased you had this on you, my lady. Do you have a similar condition?” You nod ‘yes’ and he nods in reply. “Smart thinking to carry some with you. You’ve made this a far less close call than it could have been. My gratitude.”

He leaves before you can think of a reply. Slowly, you all sit back down, trying to return to some semblance of normalcy. Your table is rather subdued and you keep getting interruptions from others who come to ask what all the fuss was about. When this course concludes, you stand up to leave the table for the first time in the night, wanting to move to another table in the hopes of regaining something of a typical mood.

When the minister Dale brought over, indicates the two of you should accompany her to her table, she asks Grandfather if he would like to come as well.

“No thank you, my lady,” he replies with a kind smile. “I’m certain my grandchildren would prefer some time with others. I have plenty more to catch up with.”

Dale laughs and so does the minister. As you walk away, trying to put your finger on what was different about Grandfather, you realize that for the first time since the hunt, he included you once more in his family.

[Part Eighteen]

[genshingorlsrevengeance]

OC Story: 916

Prologue, Chapter 1, Chapter 2

Prologue - "Sing a Song"

Genre: Scifi (Mecha) Content Warning: General descriptions of violence, long text jumpscare after you press Keep Reading lmao Word Count: 8.9k

A/N: TIME TO WRITE BOOTLEG GUNDAM LETS GOOOOOOO, more in depth author's note at the end. Thanks for taking the time to read this, if you do! Feedback is appreciated!

========

“Doctor Moreau, do you think we go to heaven?” asked the small girl.

Doctor Moreau stopped typing for a moment as her eyes glanced over the terminal, seeing the child laying on the operating table, standing out from the rest of the clean black walls and white tiles. The room was supported with soft lights illuminating the room, complemented by the blue screens and dizzying amount of automated surgical equipment quietly whirring into position.

Moreau pushed her aging white hair away from her eyes, looking at the child, subject designated 403. 403 was about seven, she barely stood up to Moreau’s stomach and had long black hair that stopped at her shoulders. The light blue gown was slightly too big for her, the sleeves extending over most of her hands and just revealing her fingers. Seeing her face again reminded Doctor Moreau of 403's rather inquisitive nature. 

“Why are you asking that, 403?” Moreau replied, her tone indifferent. Her fingers went back to typing as she sighed. “If you’re worried about the procedure, the chips are perfectly safe to implant. There has been no previous record of anyone dying from-”

“-But I’m going to die after.”

“...What?”

“After the chip goes into me. Will the others and I go to heaven?”

The question had caught the doctor completely off guard. Moreau had answered questions such as, “Will this hurt?”, or “Do I have to?”. This question was something she could not answer with her usual dismissive tone. She sat up straight in her seat now and turned to look at the child. 403's eyes were still fixated on the ceiling.

“Why are you so certain you’re going to die, 403?”

“That’s what my brother told me. When the chip goes into our brain, we’re sent off to die.”

The girl’s voice stated it as a matter of fact. There was no confusion in her tone of what was to become of her. Doctor Moreau had no response as she stared at 403 with her mouth slightly open. The child simply turned her head, facing her and expectantly waiting for an answer.

“... I certainly hope there’s a heaven, 403. I’m sure heaven will allow good kids like you and your brother.”

“What about my friends? Will they-”

“We’re about to begin the surgery. Please face up towards the light and close your eyes.” Moreau bluntly cut off the conversation.

403 pouted, but complied. It was clear that the answer did not satisfy her as much as she wanted it to. Doctor Moreau took a second to recover and focus back on the job at hand. Facing back towards the terminal, she began typing once more. With the input of several passwords and confirmations, the surgery to implant the combat data-chip into 403’s brain would commence. Afterwards, she would be sent to her brother’s unit, and be deployed to the battlefield.

Just like all the others.

This room had always been nothing out of the ordinary to Moreau. The same procedure had been repeated more times than she could count and yet why did this one make it so hard to breathe all of a sudden?

“Doctor Moreau?”

“Yes, 403?”

“Can I ask one more thing?”

“You may.”

“Can I listen to that song you always play? The one that goes ‘Lalalalala~’? I want to hear it one more time before I sleep. I really like it.”

Doctor Moreau’s lips suddenly dried up as she once again stopped typing. With a slightly trembling hand, she turned to the radio sitting on her desk and nodded.

“...Of course, 403. No more questions, please.” 

She could see the smile form on 403’s lips as the mask was gently put onto her face, the anesthesia slowly starting to pump into 403’s lungs.

“...Thank you.”

Doctor Moreau swallowed hard as her finger pressed the on switch of her old radio. Despite being in such a high tech surgical room, her radio was comically outdated. It was a small gray oval-like object that only had a speaker and a few buttons. To even put music in it, she had to insert a smaller rectangle that contained the songs in it via tape. It was a gift from her father when she was 403’s age, the thought of their roles being reversed not lost on the doctor.

‘Sing, sing a songLet the world sing alongSing of love there could beSing for you and for me…~’

Doctor Moreau could hear 403 softly hum along to the song as her voice gradually became quieter, and eventually turning into soft breathing. The whirring of the surgical equipment and the radio being the only things in the room left making noise. The only remaining step was for Doctor Moreau to approve the procedure to implant the chip into 403’s brain.

“Is there heaven…” the doctor quietly repeated the question to herself, attempting to ignore 403’s startling self awareness of the situation.

"Authorization confirmed, Implant procedure beginning.” A deep robotic voice rang out across the room as the sound of a drill began drowning out the other equipment. Doctor Moreau sat on her chair as she closed her eyes, waiting for the procedure to be done and turning off the radio in the process.

 “For me, I don’t think so…Heaven was lost to me long ago.”

...

‘Sing, sing a song Make it simple to last Your whole life long~’

The Doctor was snapped out of her melancholy as the music continued playing. Sighing, she moved to turn it off for good.

“Piece of junk is starting to-” She stopped as her finger was about to hit the switch.

The radio was still off.

Listening closely again, Moreau realized the singing was coming outside of the door.

‘Don't worry that it's notGood enough for anyoneElse to hear~’

Creeping towards the door, the doctor put her ears to it and heard what sounded like a chorus singing. The song wasn’t over the intercom, otherwise the voice would be far clearer.

Instead it sounded like- 

A sudden sense of dread hit the doctor as she swung the doors open and ran towards the hangar. Multiple guards and scientists were opening the doors along the long gray hallway, joining Moreau and investigating what the noise was. When they finally got to the railing after the doors slid open, none of them could speak. 

‘Just sing, sing a song(Just sing, sing a song)Just sing, sing a song~’

Inside the massive hangar stood rows of countless Soldats, giant bipedal machines that stood several meters tall, lined up next to each other as if they were statues. Their bulky legs stood firmly in place and the compact yet slender arms did not move an inch.

The only things moving were their horned box-like heads, slowly moving side to side in perfect sync. Each of the voices emerging from the Soldats were different but singing in perfect harmony.

Their normally offline and horizontal segregated visors were suddenly flickering to life with blue lights, illuminating the large dark room with bright blue rays.

‘La la la la la, la la la laLa la la la la la laaaaa~’

Doctor Moreau could hear the voices of security guards rushing down the stairs to halt the singing, shouting orders at the others to back away.

However, the doctor could only hear their cheerful singing along with her breathing becoming noticeably shorter with each second, feeling her chest tighten.

Once again, the question 403 springed up to the forefront of her mind.

“Is there heaven?”

====

ONE YEAR LATER…

====

“Welcome to the Dyson Incorporated headquarters!” A cheery female robotic voice echoed across the entry hall. 

A man and woman in navy blue uniforms stepped into the building, being greeted by a similarly sharp dressed man in a white business suit. His stomach bulged over his pants and the man himself was at shoulder height, but looked relatively healthy. Excluding the large amounts of sweat coming down his forehead.

“Captain Alana, Lieutenant Justeen!” The large man cheerfully said, extending his arms. “I must say, you are here quite earlier than I expected!”

Captain Alana was a tall and dark skinned man, his hair mostly bald but containing some hair towards the back. His posture stood tall and proper. Lieutenant Justeen stood slightly lower than Alana. Her skin was noticeably paler than anyone else present in the room, her dark brown ponytail complementing her slim figure. Of all the details that stood out, it was her unfriendly eyes that came to the front of attention, seemingly glaring daggers at President Sumner.

Captain Alana stepped forward, extending his hand and offering a friendly smile. “President Sumner, we apologize about the sudden arrival. We had finished our duties faster than we expected as well, and simply could not wait to see how your projects were coming along.” 

“The Florence government hopes that your new project has been producing results, President Sumner.” Lieutenant Justeen blankly stated.

“A-ah, of course ma’am! The company has been hard at work to make sure your investment is well rewarded!” The president replied, trying his best to not sound intimidated by the lieutenant. “If you could follow me this way, please! I will direct you two towards our presentation room!” 

The captain raised an eyebrow at the lieutenant, but she only shook her head unapologetically. They followed the president out of the comfortable entrance hall and towards light blue hallways, passing by several office workers who looked startled by the presence of the two soldiers. The security guards they passed by remained in place and only offered a nod, however they seemed to grip tightly onto the rifles they held in place, fingers off the trigger.

“Admittedly, we don’t have everything prepared just yet, since we weren't expecting you for at least another hour. I must apologize greatly that I have to ask for you all to wait in this room while we get situated!” The president gestured towards an open door that had rows of chairs and a large screen on the furthest wall. 

Inside were two security guards and a woman dressed in a blue suit at the opposite end. The captain bowed while the lieutenant continued to stare at the president.

“No apologies needed, President Sumner. In fact, we should be the ones apologizing for the intrusion.” Captain Alana glanced at the Lieutenant before she too finally showed some modicum of decorum.

“Please, excuse us, sir.” Lieutenant Justeen added, her tone remaining unchanged.

“I will be back in about half an hour, please do ask any questions to our lovely guide in the room. Now if you’ll excuse me,” President Sumner bowed towards Captain Alana before quickly darting away and towards the elevator. 

The two of them stepped into the room and took a seat towards the back, having a view of the screen turning on and the guards who were remaining in place.

“If I may ask, what kind of presentation will we be watching?” Captain Alana turned towards the woman in the back, asking with a smile on his face.

“Ah, I’m glad you asked! The short film we’ll be watching is about how Dyson Incorporated is helping the Florence Government with our myriad of technological developments!”

The captain extended his smile to his lieutenant, but the vacant expression on her face told him that she wanted this over with. They turned to the screen while the room darkened and the screen came to life.

“With only the brightest minds that can match the sun, Dyson Incorporated paves the way toward the future with our revolutionary technology!”

It was the same robotic woman’s voice who greeted them at the entrance voicing over the presentation. Both of them had no doubt it was pre recorded and continued to say nothing. 

“We here at Dyson have well over five thousand employees stationed across the globe, but it’s here at our Headquarters where the most talented engineers and scientists perform their work! We are currently the lead developers on electrical household appliances, vehicles for both recreational and military use, lightning fast connections to the internet, and our top of the line Soldat d'aciers are second to none!”

Pictures of giant bipedal machines stood side by side with soldiers, all smiling with the Soldat cutely giving a thumbs up. As the presentation went on, it continued displaying more and more pictures of the Soldat, Dyson Incorporated’s crown product. Both the captain and lieutenant couldn’t deny their effectiveness. The Florence Government had incorporated them well into the military, to the point where entire divisions were based around them. But they knew this already. And the woman behind them knew it too.

“You’re stalling.” Justeen dryly remarked, turning towards the woman.

“I-I beg your pardon?”

The guards tensed up before Alana raised his hand.

“My apologies, Lieutenant Justeen is rather impatient. What she means to say is that this information is already known to our military. Is there a part speaking about the Dyson Soldat pilots?”

“Ah, I see, that’s what you mean! Well, I do not blame you for wanting to know more about them. Our pilots are our most treasured and respected employees of the company!” The woman’s smile was barely held as Justeen continued to stare through her.

The woman typed something on the keyboard as the video began to skip ahead, getting to the section they were truly interested in.

“Hello, my name is Doctor Moreau, one of the lead scientists behind our Soldat program. While our machines are certainly impressive, they are only as effective thanks to the brave volunteers at Dyson! Our pilots are expertly trained by combat instructors to ensure minimum damages caused to their surroundings, while also keeping costs down on repairs on their Soldats!”

On the screen were many pilots standing next to their Soldats, all wearing helmets that obscured their faces while showing camaraderie, some arms over each other’s shoulders while others gave fist bumps. It was nothing too out of the ordinary, especially for military personnel.

“You know, these Soldat pilots have saved the lives of my men on numerous occasions, yet I’ve never actually spoken to any of them outside of their suit. Are any of these pilots currently at headquarters today? I would certainly like to meet  some of the brave men and women who've been representing the best of Dyson.” Alana asked, his inflection not rising above a normal tone.

“Unfortunately, they’re all currently on duty elsewhere as far as I’m aware.” The woman tilted her head at the question. The expression in her eyes seemed like she was telling the truth despite her nervousness.

The guards on the other hand suddenly tensed up at the question, doubly so when Justeen glanced in their direction.

“Your company keeps their state of the art Soldat’s at this building, correct?” Justeen asked, standing up. Even though they were standing several feet away and behind an entire row of chairs and a counter, the woman still backed up, intimidated. 

“Y-Yes, ma’am.”

“Then I presume you're still keeping the same Soldat’s who suddenly went ballistic and attacked our training base here?”

The presentation stopped, with the guards giving each other a quick glance while the Captain’s smile started to fade.

“O-Of course not! As soon as we received word about what happened, we had the Soldat’s dismantled and the pilots responsible punished! That whole ordeal was a terrible incid-”

Justeen slammed her fist on one of the chairs, knocking it over and prompting the guards to reach for their pistols.

“The slaughter we saw that day can't be passed off as just an incident! The screaming, the singing…! Not only are those trainees dead, but so are your precious goddamn products!”

“That’s enough, Justeen.” Alana raised his hand, looking at the guards who still had their guns drawn at the lieutenant. “She isn’t the one responsible for what happened…At least, not directly.”

The guards turned their attention onto Alana.

“Six months ago, we were told that we’d receive further information about what happened that day within due time. Am I to believe that a company as great as Dyson still hasn’t found the answer?”

“Sir,” One of the guards spoke up, pointing his pistol at Alana. “I think it’s time for you two to leave.”

Alana simply sighed and stood up, adjusting his collar.

“I suppose it is. Let’s start wrapping things up.”

One of the vents suddenly swung open as a figure in black dropped down and grabbed the left guard, disarming him and choking him out with an arm tightly wrapped around his neck. The other guard never had time to register what was happening before Justeen knocked the pistol out his hand, and slammed her fist into his face, knocking him out instantly.

The woman let out a yelp before quickly covering her mouth, her eyes growing wide as more figures dressed in black with vests and goggles leapt down from the open vent, carrying SMGs in their hands. The soldiers hand-signaled to each other as they began cuffing the guards.

“Like I said ma’am,” Alana continued as he put his hands behind his back. “We know you’re not directly to blame, but all that being said, we’re going to need you to answer as many questions as you can. What exactly is happening here?”

Justeen and a soldier approached the woman, but gently gestured for her to stand down and allow them to cuff her. Tears welled up in her eyes but she silently nodded as she was forced down, and had her hands behind her back.

“I-I only know that we’ve been getting rid of information and files before you all arrived! I was told by my manager we were supposed to hurry, and I swear to god that’s all I know!”

One of the soldiers approached the captain.

"Sir, security systems are offline. They're completely in the dark."

Alana calmly nodded and turned to Justeen.

“Take a squad and find our inside-man. I’ll find out anything else that I'm able to.”

“Yes, sir. Bravo, with me!”

Justeen grabbed both the security guards’ pistols, one for her, the other to a soldier. Clicking the safety off, her and a group of four departed the room silently. Alana stepped towards the woman and got on one knee as one soldier sat the woman upright.

“Do you know what information you’ve been disposing of, ma’am?”

====

Sweat ran off of Doctor Moreau’s head, but she did not bother wiping it off. She stood inside the surgery room, though this time there was no patient on the operating table. She hurriedly typed several confirmations onto the keyboard as a progress bar appeared on the screen. Another scientist quickly opened the door, scaring her but quickly readjusted herself.

“Moreau, are the files deleted yet? Florence Military reps have already arrived!”

“What?! Why are they- Er, yes I’m deleting them right now.”

“Good, we need to hurry and transfer the generation two EH’s offsite.”

“I’ll be right behind you. I must approve a few more deletions.”

The scientist nodded at her answer and departed. When the door closed again, the doctor sighed in relief. The progress bar showed ‘Data Transfer Complete’ before she unplugged a small flash drive. She opened a screen and confirmed who was on the list of transferring out of headquarters. There were twelve, and only twelve, generation two enhanced humans. Though she recognized every number, there was one that she specifically was looking for. 

“916,” Moreau whispered to herself. He had the generation one chip implanted into him and was to undergo surgery procedures directly after 403, but he was put off the queue due to unforeseen complications with 403. Before she could recall the horror she witnessed that day, she put her mind back to the present. No one would remember any of the atrocities committed here if she failed to act now. Seeing the radio beside her reminded Moreau exactly why she was doing this. Taking the tape out of the radio, she put it in her pocket. Finally clenching the flash drive in her hand, she closed the screen and left the implant surgery room.

Moreau entered the hallway and found where the scientist had gone. Quickly and quietly following after them, she saw the sign of the door. ‘Enhanced Human Testing’. Her breathing shortened as she stepped forth and saw the row of twelve children standing completely still, staring blankly into space even as she walked in front of them. The scientist stood in front of a door, trying to swipe his card through a reader. He turned when he heard Moreau enter, but turned his attention back to the door.

“Ah, there you are. Help me with this door, it’s not accepting my credentials for some reason!”

The doctor checked outside and looked both ways down the hallway. Security personnel were too busy escorting out the higher ups and scientists, and no one would dare interfere with their work. Perfect.

“Here, let me try.” Moreau said as she grabbed a wrench.

The scientist turned around only to be met with a wrench to his head, dropping on the floor and twitching. Moreau turned around and saw the kids did not even budge an inch despite the apparent mutiny. It disgusted her all the more how detached they were, and that she was the cause of it. 

“916, step forward.” She commanded, though she did not need to find out where he was. She could see him already, but it was more to give her some precious few seconds to brace herself for what was coming.

916 did as she commanded, stepping forward without so much as blinking. He was eight, with dark blue hair and even darker violet eyes, standing much shorter than the other children. Everyone in the room wasn’t wearing a shirt and so Moreau could see the wires that protrude from their spines and into their chests. Their number designations were written onto their necks so that in the event they were killed, they could easily be identified and brought back to examine their combat data.

“What’s the status of your behavioral inhibitor chip?” Moreau questioned as she ran over to the terminal behind them, plugging in the same flash drive into a port.

“No anomalies detected.” The child replied emotionlessly. He did not sound that different from the company’s robotic greeting voice. Hearing his voice made Moreau cringe, her fists balling up in frustration. Another reminder of what she’s done.

“Your memories are unaffected?”

“No ma’am.”

“Recite the incident report of EH-403 on August 12, 1164.”

“EH-403 after Implant surgery displayed signs of communicating with other generation one EH’s, despite it being only possible when conscious. This caused a neural degradation of the pilots mind and due to negligence from maintenance, were left unrepaired. This caused her and other generation one EH’s to go rampant on a Florence Government training facility, leading to the recall  and termination of all twenty four generation one pilots and accelerated production of generation two. EH-916 was excluded due to his extensive data for the generation two pilots.”

Moreau was pained to remember what exactly happened, but was relieved that the files she hid away hadn’t been discovered. The accident was supposed to be scrapped and erased from history, but after what she saw in the hangar the day of her surgery, she couldn’t just forget it. 

“That Captain better be good on his word…” She muttered to herself while searching for any other information that could condemn Dyson.

She brought up screens that displayed the status of every generation two Enhanced Humans, their inhibitor chips registering as operating within normal parameters. She moved to put in the command to disable them all before stealing another glance at 916. He remained completely still, not even turning his head to the moaning scientist on the floor. Neither did any of the children next to him.

“If you can still be given a normal life, then I can make up for at least just a little for what I’ve done to you all.” Clenching her fists as the progress bar on the screen began, Moreau wiped away a tear that threatened to fall down her right cheek. Of all the kids she had augmented, only twelve might be saved today. If only she could turn back the clock and save every single generation one child, she thought to herself.

Double checking the files she began to read the report of the termination of all EH’s of generation one. Corporate wanted them taken off site due to the true nature of generation one EH’s and away from the public eyes of the employees. However, during the transport to one of many remote bases, communication was suddenly cut off. When security arrived to investigate, the vehicles in charge of the transfer were completely obliterated, and robotic limbs were strewn everywhere, far more than they could count. Explosion marks and bullet casings littered the scene, though it appeared there was no attack from the outside. Even when they attempted to scan them, they couldn’t properly register whose remains belonged to the correct owner. 

The higher ups attributed it to the machines destroying themselves conveniently, and ultimately were able to save far more money than paying engineers and scientists to break them down. And in a strange way, she was thankful they decided to do no further investigation. That meant 916 could find them. His communication chip that allowed him to contact his fellow EH’s could possibly find the-

…No. That wasn’t 916’s decision. He needed to be free, just like the rest of the kids with him.

Moreau turned to face him again, and still he did not move. Once the behavioral chips were disabled, it was up to them to do whatever they wanted. The progress bar on the screen flashed green, Moreau typing in a password and almost slammed the keyboard when it asked her to disable the chips. The other children in the room blinked several times before they looked around, confused. They turned to each other, then to 916 who remained unaffected, then finally to Moreau.

“...You’re free. All of you, you’re free. Find the Florence government soldiers, they’ll get you out of here safely, and avoid Dyson security!” Moreau sounded as if she were about to break down in tears, seeing the lights in their eyes slowly return as they got a better sense of their surroundings. The tiny patter of their feet was the only sound as they quickly left, one of them pulling on the arm of 916 who only turned his head blankly.

“He’ll join you shortly, go!” Moreau commanded. The child tilted their head in slight confusion before leaving him behind. Since 916 was intended to be a generation one Enhanced Human, his chip was far more primitive than the others. While theirs could be remotely triggered, 916’s had to be manually removed. Making sure no one could take control of their lives again, Moreau entered a kill command on the terminal and deleted all the relevant files, making sure her flash drive only contained the data of their reports and not any of the commands. 

“916, follow me,” she calmly said, going to the implant surgery room as 916 tagged along.

====

The main hangar was bustling with activity, with white Soldats covered in blue and gray stripes detaching a fuel pipe from a plane as the hangar doors opened to reveal a massive runway. The Soldats were Dyson standard issue, their bulky legs stomping around the concrete while the compact and slender arms put the pipe away and reached for large rifles that fit into their hands. Their horned box-like heads were slowly moving left to right, examining their surroundings. The voices emitting from the machines were distinctly adults, shouting to get the plane moving as soon as possible. Their visors shone a bright blue that showed every single one of them was ready for a fight.

President Sumner did not care about the Soldats he had seen hundreds of times before guarding him, and muttered several obscenities underneath his breath as the plane door opened, many security personnel stepping out of his way.

“What the fuck do we pay high security wages for if you can’t even detect a single government vehicle arriving?!” He shouted at the chief of security.

“Sir, we can’t seem to contact our outside teams. I think it’s possible that-”

“I don’t want conjecture, I want definitive answers, god damn it! Have we deleted all the files yet?!”

‘Yes sir, we have.”

“Good, now get us out of here before they suspect something already!”

The security chief was about to ask about the remaining staff inside headquarters, but decided to keep his mouth shut. Instead, he knocked twice on the pilot’s cabin, signaling for them to take off. The president sighed as he sat in one of the chairs as he felt the plane begin to slowly move forward.

“This is just a political shitstorm waiting to happen. Well captain, I’ll be long gone by the time you-”

President Sumner was rocked out of his thoughts as the entire plane shook violently, making many members shout out in terror while security struggled to remain still. The sounds of gunfire erupted around the plane before several of the Soldats were hit by single shots, many of them falling completely onto the ground while some had their arms blown away and remained still, looking as shocked as the others who weren’t in the bipedal machines.

“Put your weapons down!” An unfamiliar yet commanding voice shouted, loud enough for everyone outside and inside headquarters to hear. “Under authority of the Florence Military Police, we hereby place everyone working under Dyson Incorporated under arrest for the crimes of kidnapping, illegal incorporation of government assets, and bribery! Put your weapons down and surrender peacefully, we are authorized to use force!”

Several Soldats came into view with headlamps bright enough to overpower even the runway lights, all colored in a dark brown and seemed far bulkier than Dyson’s machines who were skimpily armored in comparison. They had no such colored stripes to make them stand out, with the only color separation being their joints connecting each armor piece and limb. Everything about the machines were far more compact and looked as if they could take a beating, though they stood a meter shorter than Dyson’s Soldats. Their head visors were all one large piece of red glass, staring down every company employee.

“I am not being caught by a bunch of federal dogs! ORDER THE MEN TO ATTACK BACK!” The president shouted. With a single nod, the chief of security reached for his transceiver and spoke calmly.

“Fire at will.”

With a single command, the Soldats in the room raised their weapons to open fire, before getting completely shredded by concentrated and disciplined shots, each nailing them straight through the cockpit in the chest or exploding limbs apart. Machines fell to the floor as parts of the plane were caught by Dyson Soldat stray fire, and came tumbling down with all the people inside screaming as it did so. The empty field and hills surrounding Dyson headquarters suddenly became a warzone, with the company deploying their Soldats from the hangars and hidden bunkers that emerged from the ground, some of them getting shot as soon as they appeared.

Florence Soldats emerged from hiding on top of the hills as they aimed their shots carefully at the flailing security mechs, some of the company stray fire hitting the headquarter building, shattering glass and steel and sending it tumbling towards the ground floor. Several of the Dyson Soldats emerged with grenade launchers and fired them at the hills, causing dirt and rocks to soar upwards into the air and onto the already stained machines. Though a few of the Florence Soldats were caught by the explosions and gunfire, they were shot wildly and mostly into the heavily armored parts, letting them shrug it off and continue firing.

“Shit, where did they come from?!” One of the Dyson guards shouted over the comms.

“Don’t fire wildly, dumbasses! Shoot carefully, you’re hitting our own damn building!”

“How did our radar not pick them u-?!” Another one was cut off as a well placed shot went straight through the guard’s cockpit. The machine’s finger was still attached to the trigger as it fell down, the bullets hitting and forming a line of damage across the windows of the upper section of the building.

Compared to the Florence Soldats, the guards were panicking as they aimed wildly and spun around, only landing shots on their enemy’s armor or their own building they were supposed to protect. The soldiers slowly closed in the building, making sure each threat was eliminated one at a time, whether it was by a disabling or a lethal shot. The soldats marched rigidly, the heavy thump of their machinery echoing across the battlefield. The Dyson guards attempted to dodge but were taken out easily as their Soldats moved in straight lines firing wildly, or were just standing completely still. One of the soldiers who was examining the battlefield from a distance with a pair of electronic binoculars just clicked his tongue. 

“Aren’t these supposed to be the people who made ‘top of the line’ Soldats or whatever crap they were spouting?”

The soldier next to him just shrugged as he looked back to their own mechs who were kneeling and out of sight. Many more APC’s and Florence Soldats stood behind them, ready to engage if the need arrived.

“They’re a corporation, those guys are probably just paid to tell people they’ll shoot if someone gets too close. Besides, what do you expect when you have Special Forces executing the operation?”

“Heh, explains the bullying I’m seeing…Wait, a sec, the hell are Special Forces doing here, shouldn’t this have been left to us grunts?”

“Apparently it’s got something to do with the nature of the pilots…Hang on, we’re getting the signal to secure the front entrance. Looks like the guards near there are taken care of.”

‘Roger, let’s go.”

====

“Warning! Warning! Facility under attack, evacuate to the nearest shelter immediately. Follow Security personnel and instructions. Warning-”

Moreau’s ears rang as she felt blood rush down her head, brushing aside some of the glass and bits of rubble off her. Inside the surgery room was now a massive hole that revealed the chaos going on outside. She moved to stand up but felt her leg immediately give out. Looking downwards, there was a massive piece of shrapnel that was embedded into the flesh, making her scream in pain as she tried to touch it. Her eyes went wide as she turned to the operating table where 916 was laying. The right part of his head had his scalp visible with the hair surrounding it shaved off, revealing where the behavioral chip was put inside. 

While there were scrapes and minor bleeding around his body, thankfully none of the equipment landed on him and was instead scattered around the floor. He was still knocked out from the anesthesia, but she couldn’t tell how long they were knocked out for. Hopefully the blast hadn’t just killed him, but she had no way to check since the terminal was in pieces on the floor.

“If we stay here any longer, we’re going to die! I’m not waiting around for the Florence soldiers…!” With the adrenaline pumping into her body, she stood up despite the burning pain overwhelming her leg and the rest of the body screaming in agony. She went to pick up 916’s small frame into her arms and rushed towards the hallway and to one of the hangars meant for the Enhanced Humans. 

Limping across the halls for nearly ten minutes and leaving a trail of blood, Moreau was able to carry 916 and almost to the door before another explosion rocked the building and caused parts of the walls to collapse. Almost dropping them and slamming against the wall she yelped in pain as she felt a sharp stinging pain near her abdomen. Looking down and she realized it wasn’t just her leg that had shrapnel, there were more pieces jutting out the sides of her stomach. When she recognized that, she almost dropped to the floor again, but she clenched her teeth with tears of pain flooding down. She couldn’t stop here, not now.

Slamming the door open into one of the backup hangars, inside were multiple Dyson Soldats, specifically meant for the generation two pilots. Feeling her strength slowly sap, she activated the elevator to bring them up to the cockpit and had it opened, putting 916 inside. Looking at their scalp, her fingers slowly reached for the chip’s handle and gave it a gentle tug. This was the last step that required her presence.

916 slowly opened his eyes and blinked repeatedly, looking downward and recognizing that he was in the cockpit of a R1-N0. And in front of him was Doctor Moreau, who was bleeding profusely and coughing up blood. 

“...Doctor, you’re dying,” 916 said, his voice slightly rising above the usual monotone she was used to. She smiled at that. He was able to make his own decisions now.

Cough “I know. Seems a bit too good for me, doesn’t it?” Her bloodied hands first crushed the implant chip, causing even more blood to fall out before it fell limp, Moreau laughing weakly.

“You’ll experience some dizziness after a few days but the symptoms will subside. The rest of your combat chips will remain in you since I wasn’t able to get it out in time.”

“They took longer because I’m an older model.-”

“Don’t…Don’t say that. You’re more than just a product…”

916 did not say anything else as her hand struggled to get up. 916 moved his hand to help her, but she shoved his arm away. Before she fully got up, she reached for something in her pocket and tossed it to 916.

“This is…” 916 looked at the tape with the word ‘Sing’ written on it. “403 showed me this song.”

“It’s yours. If there’s anything positive leaving here, I want it to come with you.”

“What are my orders?”

“Hah…you’re free, why are you asking-”

“I do not know how to act freely. I only know my orders.”

Again she laughed, though this time it was barely audible. She smiled at him, the blood seeping from her head, stomach, and lips. A sight that would startle anyone else, 916 only blinked in mild confusion. They both remained silent as the sounds of gunfire and explosions echoed distantly outside the hangar, soft rumblings occurring every other few moments.

“Death really is too good for me…Your orders are these: get the hell away from here as fast as you can. Don’t trust any Dyson employee. Live your life to the fullest, and don’t waste this chance…”

Moreau fell to her knees as she closed the cockpit, the tactical screens coming to life and 916 felt his spine connect to the chair, the suit suddenly springing upwards. The main camera displayed in front of him, and he could see the doctor on the floor, curled up as the life signs on her began to fade. The hand of his Soldat slowly raised upwards and picked her up, as if to comfort the dying woman. Moreau looked up and saw the horned head staring right at her. She did not even need to see the cockpit open to know what his face was like. She threw her blood soaked lab coat with the flash drive safely tucked into its pocket and threw it away from the Soldat.

“...If you can…Put the tape inside the right console. I’d…like to listen to it, one more time…”

916 grunted in affirmation, though she couldn’t hear that. The right console in the cockpit stored his communications and had a slot that could contain mission data. And at Moreau’s request, it could also fit small tapes in the odd event of classified data needing to be stored more subtly. The very idea of it was quite strange to him, but he decided to go along with it…Did he always think of it that way? He had been inside the R1-N0 on at least twenty different deployments, yet he swore he never had an opinion about it before.

The Soldat began to broadcast a tune that echoed throughout the entire hangar. What 916 did not realize was that he had the song on an open channel, meaning everyone in the vicinity could hear it as clearly as he did.

‘Sing, sing a song Let the world sing along~’

====

Many Florence Soldats stopped their firing and turned to their comms, frowning and trying to find the source of the music.

“The hell is this?” “Is that music?” “I think I know this song.” “Sir, the source is coming from inside the building!” “Didn’t this play at the training site…?!”

‘Sing of love there could be Sing for you and for me~’

The Dyson guards suddenly snapped around towards the direction of an unopened hangar, many of them trembling in their cockpits.

“It’s…It’s that fucking song again!” “Weren’t the EH’s taken care of?!” “G-GUNS READY! FORGET ABOUT THE FEDS!” “Oh god, please no…!”

‘Sing, sing a song Make it simple to last Your whole life long~’

Alana and several soldiers looked at the intercom, listening to the music playing as they secured the main lobby. Many of the employees looked frightened at the song while the kids they were escorting suddenly started humming along, albeit emotionlessly.

“What’s happening…?” Alana thought to himself, a sense of dread suddenly washing over his calm battle instincts.

‘Don't worry that it's not Good enough for anyone Else to hear~’

Justeen and a squad burst through a door with a blood trail coming out of it and found a singular Dyson Soldat blasting music, with a scientist slowly bleeding in its hand. The head seemed to be moving in sync with the music, but did not appear to be hostile despite the fact it saw them.

“Shit, is that our man?” Justeen grumbled, pointing her pistol at the Soldat.

‘Just sing, sing a song

(Just sing, sing a song)

Just sing, sing a song’

916 wasn’t smiling as he listened to the song, but it made him feel at ease. A few years ago, 403, her brother, and several other generation one pilots listened to this song together in the waiting rooms. It made those nights much more bearable, being able to ignore the cold of the facility simply by just having sung together. Pleasant. That was not a word he had used in a while. Cold, feeling at ease, many other feelings 916 did not know the words for, but it made him feel something. All he felt was beginning to overwhelm his senses. 916 called to memory about 403’s brother after listening to the song. He had asked a simple question.

‘La la la la la—’

The song stopped as 916’s battle instincts kicked in and he slammed his right fist against the communications console…Then, a feeling he did know the word for, though it was the tip of his tongue. He remembered the words 403 asked that had caused the incident, what had caused the guards to open fire and hit the trainee center, what had caused all the generation one members to go rampant. What had taken his only friends away. He always knew the feeling, and thanks to Moreau he had remembered. It was thanks to Moreau, those feelings were taken away in the first place.

His facial expression remained unchanged, but his pupils dilated as the hud in front of him showed a rise in heartbeat. He finally remembered the name for the feeling. Anger. 

He finally remembered the question. 

“...Doctor Moreau. Is there heaven?” 916 asked.

“...Isn’t that voice coming from the Soldat?” One of the soldiers next to Justeen asked. The Soldat’s head was looking at the doctor, and finally the squad began connecting the dots.

“...Is…Is that a child?!” Justeen asked, her mind fully comprehending the horror that was unfolding itself.

“All 403 wanted was just an answer…” 916 stated, his heartbeat spiking further up.

“...Isn’t that voice coming from the Soldat?” One of the soldiers next to Justeen asked. The Soldat’s head was looking at the doctor, and finally the squad began connecting the dots.

“...Is…Is that a child?!” Justeen asked, her mind fully comprehending the horror that was unfolding itself.

“All 403 wanted was just an answer…” 916 stated, his heartbeat spiking further up.

“ONE OF THOSE GEN ONE FREAKS IS IN THE SOLDAT!” A Dyson guard shouted in the comms channel. A channel that everyone could hear. 916’s violet eyes quickly turned to red as a deep robotic voice echoed within the machine. 

“CE-DRIVE ACTIVATED.”

Justeen saw the visor of the Soldat turn scarlet as the fist suddenly clenched, making a sickening crushing noise as blood gushed and seeped through the fingers. The head jerked towards the hangar door as the Soldat crouched, then ignited its thrusters to crash through it.

Both sides witnessed the speed of which an unopened hangar suddenly burst with a Dyson Soldat, shrapnel flying through the ground and shattering the silence and door alike. Its visor was completely red and it was unarmed, making it stand out from its fellow machines. The head suddenly jerked again towards one of the Dyson guards and leapt with an unnatural agility.

It landed on top of the Dyson Soldat it singled out, one of its hands quickly reaching through the chest and tearing out its cockpit and stomping on it like a wild beast. The guards began to open fire with their rifles, but not before it quickly used its thrusters to speed away from the gunfire, no one able to land their shots anywhere near it. The Florence Soldats quickly stepped back and watched in horror as this lone Dyson Soldat tore through its own ranks.

“S-Sir what the hell is that?!” One of the horrified Florence soldiers shouted, narrowly dodging one of the stray shots. “No way that’s just a guard!”

“That thing’s way too bulky to be moving around like a human! How the-?!” 

“Pull back, pull back!” The officer commanded, everyone trying their best to get out of the way.

916 felt the electric surge throughout his whole body, his spine connected to the R1-N0 enhanced his awareness, his combat performance, but also his emotions. Though his face did not change,  his rapid breathing, the dilating pupils and the rush of adrenaline told him exactly what to feel. Rage. Rage against the ones who took the lives of his friends. Of his own. 

916’s R1-N0 crashed straight into another of the Dyson guards, using their mech to block incoming bullets, most of the bullets bouncing off the armor as he sped towards another guard. Putting its fist through the cockpit and the other at the waist, 916 tore the machine in half. He threw the upper half aside and used its legs as a bludgeoning weapon, completely caving in the torso of the one shooting and slid past it. From the perspective of everyone else, he had just accomplished that feat within ten seconds.

 He felt blood rushing down his nose, as his breathing became more frantic and rapid. Though there was combat data rushing into his brain, he was not using a single bit of it, instead relying on pure instinct to tear them apart and escape. Grabbing one of the rifles on the ground, the R1-N0 hurtled towards the back of the headquarters and fired single shots at the main cameras of the suits, disabling them and causing them to panic and shoot wildly. The soldiers would deal with them first before getting to him. The part of him that wanted to ask why there were soldiers even present was buried by the one telling him he needed to flee.

Many of the soldiers got out of the way as the R1-N0 destroyed every single Dyson Guard, though many of them realized it was actively ignoring their presence. Or rather, it did not seem to care if they were there at all.

916 hurtled down the open field and towards one of the hangars that was opening and revealed two more Dyson guards. Inside was an emergency tunnel that would lead towards the border of the country and outside of Florence jurisdiction in case of emergencies of being found out. The guards had no chance to even react before 916 slammed into one of them, slamming the finger on the gun’s trigger at the other’s cockpit and making sure to hit the generator inside with its hail of bullets, causing it to create a miniature explosion. 

The way behind him caved in with rocks and metal falling as he grabbed the mech he slammed into, using its body to block the tunnel and used the remaining ammo to detonate the other guard in the same manner. There was a small bus traveling through the middle, which he could only assume were scientists and soldiers, and barrelled right through them, sending the machine toppling and into the railing on its side. 

916’s breathing finally started to stabilize as his consciousness began to fade, his eyes turning back into violet. His eyes struggled to remain open as the autopilot initiated, and kept driving forward.

…

David had just received word about some kind of skirmish happening at the borders of Florence and Cumbria, and was sent alongside his PMC to ensure it would not break out into Cumbria. David’s dark skin glistened in the sun, his muscles almost ripping out of his tank top, brushing back his brushed up black hair. He almost felt insulted that he was hired for such a boring job. He sighed to himself as he and the other mercenaries stood outside their Soldats, standing around doing nothing.

Each of their Soldats was unique, David’s was a glorified tank with arms, standing only a meter taller than an actual tank, but was engineered to have a head, massive battle cannons mounted on the shoulders, and machine guns on the arms. Part of him wondered if some crackhead designed the thing, but he couldn’t deny how effective it was. Meanwhile, the men serving under him were Florence Military Soldats salvaged from black markets and empty battlefields, but with markings and mismatched armor plates to set them apart. Was it the best? Hell no, not by a long shot, but it’d get the job done. Especially an uneventful border patrol like this.

“Boss, think any actions gonna come to us?” One of the younger voices spoke out.

“Psh, if we’re lucky,” David replied. “But you know what happens if some shit does show up. Florence is gonna cry bloody murder it ain’t them who’s breaking the treaty. Probably gonna blame it on people like us.”

“To be fair boss, not exactly untrue.” A female voice chimed in.

“Heh. Didn’t say we weren’t to blame.” David replied, chuckling. 

He sat on the side of his Soldat, his legs hitting the tank tread as he contemplated what to even do with the money they would get from this job. On one hand, it was easy enough to where even the rookies could do it in their sleep. On the other, said rookies would have zero experience in case an actual fight broke out- Something in the distance caught his eye. The ground was slowly starting to move upwards, revealing a large metallic door.

“...What in the-?” David muttered to himself, raising an eyebrow. The other mercenaries saw the same thing, and immediately got into their cockpits and aimed their weapons at it. Getting into his tank Soldat, he aimed the cannons right at the door.

“No one fire until my go!” David shouted into his comms, his finger ready on the trigger.

What the hell was Florence doing? If they launched an actual invasion there’s no way both sides would not resort to firing everything they got in response- His thoughts were cut off as the door had a noticeable clang ring out from behind it. Something very heavy just collided into the door, but it did not seem to have an intention to come out. Two of the mercenaries slowly approached it, moving as tactically as they could as their machines moved to pry the doors open while having their weapons still at the ready.

When they finally opened it, everyone braced themselves for an attack, only to find a single R1-N0 Soldat standing on the opposite side, the white armor completely stained in dirt and blast marks. The notorious blue visor it had was flickering between black and red. It then shut off for good as it collapsed onto its back, causing a small dust cloud to form and stain the white even further.

David scanned the Soldat and saw that its systems had gone completely offline. The two mercenaries by the door checked inside and saw nothing. Nothing on their scanners for miles on end, and with two diverging paths at the end of it. There was no telling where it came from. The female merc got out of her Soldat and investigated the cockpit. Her eyes went wide as she reached for her earpiece.

“Boss there’s a kid in the seat!” She shouted right before going to grab the child out of it. 

The other mercenaries surrounded the area to make sure an ambush wasn’t waiting to happen, while securing the perimeter. David stepped out of his Soldat and got a closer look at the child himself. He had a bloodstain below his nose, and his spine was protruding out in a way that made him feel sick, and that was not even including all the wires connecting it and his chest.

“Is he alive?” David asked.

“Think so. Kid looks like he went through hell…”

“Sure looks like it…Are those numbers on his neck?”

“It says…Nine-One-Six…?”

=======

PROLOGUE: END

A/N: HOLY CRAP, you actually reached down here, thank you SO SO much for reading this! I know that was a lot of words thrown at you, but I hope it was at least an enjoyable read! There's a lot more to come, so if you're at all interested in this story, stay tuned! See ya at Chapter 1! - Chris Side note: Chat GPT is HORRIFYING. I used it as a feedback machine to make sure what I was writing was coming across correctly, and it got every one of my intentions correct. Even my foreshadowing. WHAT HAS TECHNOLOGY DONE

[anteroom-of-death]

Teacher's Pet part 12

Synopsis: Reader meets Missy. It's a mixed bag.

A/n: sorry for another delay. Hope you enjoy. More doctor fuckery and allusions to the doctors current devolution. Yay I hope you enjoy yayyy.

What were these truths the Doctor was talking about? At least he was being honest! A damn shame to your overloaded brain, but you appreciated it nonetheless. Maybe you would bring yourself to honestly about your profession after. Maybe. You’d have to test the waters and go off what tonight’s surprise was.

Your heart slammed itself into it's cage.

The next few hours were hell on Earth. What was this secret he was going to reveal?

You always dealt with waiting so poorly…

You got through your final tutoring via the university without nary a hiccup, but your brain combed through all the possibilities you could scrounge from sci-fi shows. What was that one nearly-sixty years old program that the BBC had?

Too late now…

You did sneak home to change into something that didn’t scream ‘lazy’.

Soon it was nearly nine. As you walked to his office, you felt like you were at a wall, breathing your last free breaths before the firing squad came upon you. You worked on your breathing exercises as you went to knock the door.

He was there, illuminated softy. Grey hair fluffed, in a burgundy shirt and hoodie. He looked utterly (and unfairly!) Breath-taking. You felt both underdressed and overdressed.

“Good evening!” He smiled, it was one of those easy, unnerving, comfortable smiles that framed his eyes so well.

“Hey.” Was the best you could muster. Your vocabulary stolen from your tongue as easily as the breath from your lungs over him…

How could someone who was quite literally older than the rededication of the Second Temple look so good?

Alien magic, must be.

“You remember that Missy character?”

“Yeah, her? Them?” You struggled.

“Her.”

“Ah.”

“She’s been on her best behavior. Stunning, really.”

“And?”

“I think you two need to meet. I’ve cleared the idea with her other…Guardian.”

“Oh?”

“Nardole…he’s an egg. I sent him to Norwich for a packet of crisps.”

“Yeah, that makes sense.” It didn’t.

You rubbed your lip together in a partial move to rip the skin off, but also to provide some sort of outlet for the nervousness that was still coming up from the pit of your stomach.

What was Missy?

He offered the crook of his arm, “Shall we go?”

You took it.

The walk was nice, silent. The weather was warming up nicely. Mild night.

Soon you went to a place obscured in some hardly-looked after corner in the university’s basement. He pressed some hidden point and the wall snapped in two, revealing some contraption. He unhooked himself from you and started entering codes, some little monitor popped up and scanned his eye.

It asked for a verbal confirmation.

He spoke in some language that made your blood run cold and you feel small. Something about it was haunting. Like singing.

It unveiled another wall with a turn-lock, from which he produced a key and unlocked it.

Finally, it seemed safe to part through.

“What did she do?” You asked, voice husky with fear.

“Enough.” He let a little snort escape.

You nodded and went in.

It was a grand room, a couple of old, antique chairs and some meager side tables faced what was a mighty cage! It looked like glass, on the platform. Inside this guided cage was a woman, in simple Victorian clothes.

She played piano very gently.

“Missy.” The Doctor seemingly pleaded.

The woman inside slammed the lid shut and turned around.

She had the most insane, yet oddly lovely smile. Cat-like.

She was thin.

“Oh…you’ve brought me a plaything?” She grinned.

Her accent sounded Scottish. Like the Doctor.

“Do all aliens sound like Scotsmen?” You blurted out before you could monitor your thoughts.

“I’m sorry!” You amended.

She laughed, it sounded like bells.

“One would certainly hope so!” She responded.

“I’m Missy! Short for Mistress!”

“Oh, I’m (y/n).”

She shot the Doctor some look. He shot her another look. It seemed they were having an entire conversation without you. You felt alienated. You looked between them.

“I’ve heard nothing but good. Typical!” She approached you at the edge of her enclosure. You felt caged. Missy stalked you as if she were a lioness and you were some disabled, freshly birthed gazelle. You started sweating, it dewed down your back.

“Oh!”

“My best enemy.” He elaborated.

You nodded more, at a total loss for words. Your breathing became manual.

“So what did you do?”

“Oh, this girlie is rude! I love it!” She shot the Doctor another look.

“Don’t talk behind my back?” You assumed.

Missy nearly fell over! She started laughing, “Rude and clever! He’s certainly taught you well.”

Your eyes could have shot out of their sockets.

“You’re like Jedi, yeah? Can communicate with your brains?” You explained.

“Sure enough? Jedi are the Lego ones?” the Doctor asked.

“Oh, I’m going to enjoy her.” Missy predated you more. Nose pressed against her enclosure.

You got the briefest of synopsis of their entire relationship. You felt yourself blinking from your brain overloading. It felt like someone dumped out your mind and shook the contents up before tossing it all back in, haphazardly.

You swallowed heavily.

“So Time Lords. Do you all have such…intense names? Mistress, Doctor? So is there a Bachelor?” You felt your arms move as if to elaborate this point.

“Different generations have different naming convention. My brother is Irving Braxiatel.”

“Of course. Makes sense. My name’s (y/n) but now all the kids are McKinsleigh or Harley or whatever.”

“Exactly.”

“Oh, my dear Doctor, you have a smart one on your hands. Now how do you like the stars, kiddo?”

You shook your head quickly. “Nope, no stars for me. I’m not going up there. Nope. I know what happens! I’m genre aware. I know what goes down in space. And if you’ve had a lot of dead companions previously…not me. I am not that suicidal!” You felt like a horizontal bobble head of sorts.

“See!” She slapped her thigh. “This one’s got common sense! She’s not going to swan off and get herself killed by a giant bird!”

It seemingly touched a tender point.

“Oh, here you go, bringing up Clara! What’s with you?” He seemed on the verge of spitting. “We’re having such a normal time!”

“Oh, she was my manic pixie dream bitch too!” Missy countered, looking like the cat that swallowed the canary.

You made several notes to bring up later when you were going to bring up some new ground rules for this relationship, if this Missy didn’t tear you to shreds and eat your entrails like a tin of tuna.

The cat metaphors kept coming…

Were Time Lords cats?

No! Cats have barbed penises and that Time Lord you were fond of didn’t…

“May I get a tuba now?” Missy pleaded.

“We’ll see.”

You found yourself fiddling with your necklaces in a very rapid way with one hand. The other twisting the massive gold hoop in your one ear. Nervous habits coming in strong to help you self-soothe in this inopportune moment…

Somewhere the Doctor produced a flask of tea and poured some out, it was herbal. At the moment you couldn’t discern much more than that.

He gave it to all, including Missy, who’s barrier seemed penetrable to him, but not her. As she touched it and it repelled her.

Where did he pull out all these things?

What was the barrier made of? Did it work on genes?

Your mind roared for an explanation.

You reminded yourself to take it in strive. You weren’t working with logic and sanity anymore. You were in some contrived sci-fi story now.

It was the only way that you’d survive this!

Missy asked you something pleasantries involving your studies, and you divulged your grand plans.

“Oh, not overly ambitious. No martyr complex. Doctor this one may survive you.” Her focus splintered.

You felt out of your depth even more. You were taking it in stride, but that felt like it was lacking. Although…an opportunity did arise.

Did you have the guts to take it?

You pondered on. If it did turn nasty, you were outnumbered. Two of these so called ’Time Lords’. One you. One very mortal and squishy you.

Missy seemed to know far more than she probably should. You craved a bit more knowledge.

Shouldn’t you be privy to details about the man you’ve been not only fucking, but falling madly under his spell? And dare you utter it- loved?

“So what’s the deal with you Time Lords?” You asked Missy.

“An ancient race. We’re the pinnacle of evolution. Very few races will or ever will get close. Some have tried, they fail to become as optimized.”

“A bit eugenics-y.” You responded, your brows knitted together.

“Funny collars.” The Doctor chimed in. “That’s the opposite of optimized.”

“Oh, Mister President! How salacious!” She cooed in his general direction.

“President?” Your eyes boggled from their sockets.

“Technically. I’m also the De Facto President of Earth in an emergency. Neither here nor there…”

“And he’s ever so humble! My dear, Doctor. If this were two bodies ago you’d be preening!”

You looked down and blinked hard, as you started to chew on the inside of your cheek.

“Oh, him? Yeah, I was a but more vain. I mean, how could I not? All youth and fire and forged from Rose’s love.”

“And who the hell is Rose?” Your jealousy creeping back in.

“Oh, Doctor! You dog! She was very blonde! Broke many universes trying to find him again!” Missy gaped, as if she had personally sprung this trap.

“She helped me. I was raw from the War. She saw my hearts and that’s all.” The explanation was clearly him trying to not irk any jealousy in you.

“She got a wee clone! They’re in a parallel universe!” Missy simmered up, swinging around on her ankles.

“You are annoying.”

“You could have let Torvic kill me!” She put her hands on her hips and pulled a sour face.

“I’m sorry, who’s Torvic?” You were being bombarded with more information than you could handle.

“I was a soft lad. This kid kept bullying me. He was going to kill me, but here does come ikkle little Doctor with a rock! Bye bye Torvic!” She announced it like she was a wrestling presenter.

“How old were…you all?”

“Ten!” Missy clapped her hands together.

“Death’s champion!” She elaborated with a sick glee, pointing at the Doctor.

“I’m assuming you can…change sexes.” You kept piecing it together. “Were you ever a woman?”

“Maybe next go!” The Doctor said.

You leaned down and rested your fingers on your jaw as if to keep it from falling off onto the ground.

“So…how does that all work?”

“Two hearts, they prevent death and kick in our ancient rights!” Missy flourished.

“It’s a bit more complicated than that.” The Doctor stepped in. “We get a new face, new body. New chances. We keep our core. But everything from our personality to our kidneys.”

You inhaled.

“Anything else I need to know…assuming that you do that in front of me.” You curbed your attention to the Doctor. You wanted answers and you didn’t want him to give up this particular body. You didn’t want to play this particular game of Russian Roulette. His body right now was perfect…from his hair to his toes. Like it was personally designed to drive you mad. A sexy, silver fox with dynamic light eyes and a smile that robbed you of the ability to breathe, plus that voice like was a good motorcycle engine. And, a perfect package that hit right in the right spots…

You were objectifying an immortal alien.

What had your life become?

“That shit’s…crazy.” You gave an exceedingly reductive statement.

“No promises, but I’ll try.” He gave you a small, reassuring smile…

“Before precious Rose, there was his wife, that Scottish lad, that journalist Sarah Jane Smith, me, that ginger twink who’s name escapes me and probably a few I’m forgetting! And after there was-” Missy smiled a positively evil grin.

You put your hand up and stopped her from going into any more detail.

“Sarah Jane Smith? The mega-journo who always had the hottest stories? The one who was always leaking the top bylines?” You instinctively tore off your thumb nail.

You kept putting your hands up and down. Going to point a finger. You felt like a malfunctioning kettle.

“W-w-what? Do you…see in me?” You raised both of your hands up as you shrugged and struggled. “Universe traveling blondes? Award-winning journalists? A ginger twink? This jailbird?” You voice scaling up octaves to those only dogs could hear as you slapped your hands over your thighs and grasped them tightly…

You started those dratted breathing exercises and placed your right hand on your only heart.

The Doctor seemed to be sorting through some sort of dilemma in his mind.

“Yeah, tell her!” Missy cheered.

You shot her a murderous glare.

She scrunched her nose and stuck out her tongue.

“I see you as warmth. You are yourself. I see you as someone who’s good. Despite it all. A good student and a great partner. Someone to enjoy while I can. Nothing to complicate or drag into danger.”

Something about these words and his gaze into you had you fighting these words, but becoming placated by them. They were like a cozy quilt on your worries…

“I’ve put others I loved in danger. Learned those lessons. Never again.”

You felt your mind slowing down from the anger and self-doubt.

It felt like truthfulness. You’d take truthfulness.

The looks that Missy and the Doctor passed between each other has you shiver in fear.

You felt like you needed to vomit.

“Can I go home now?” You squeaked out once you felt a but more emotionally regulated.

“Of course.” He helped you up and turned to Missy, “No tuba.” He told her.

She raged on a bit as you felt yourself being tucked into his side and escorted out.

You leaned against a wall as he locked the Vault up.

He folded you under his arm.

“So what do you think of my best enemy?”

You felt yourself feeling suddenly very sleepy and like you had been dreaming. You were very conflicted and of many minds. You would have to work through all this later. There was just so much information and new thoughts that needed evaluated. Though you felt something holding you back from it. The emotional toll of the past few days, inevitably catching up to you.

What was that something was holding you back?

Probably your love of the Doctor.

You felt yourself crying.

“Why don’t I walk you to your flat? What’s the address?” He wiped your face with some old-fashioned looking hankie.

You gave him your address. It was a longer walk, but maybe it would do you good.

You started to walk. It was going somewhat smoothly.

After a silent walk, you stated as you got closer to the safety of your home. “I think she’s insane. Probably it’s for the best she’s in that…situation. Like sectioning, but worse? She could be fun, if she tried. I feel…yeah. I mean, if you’re a package deal. A bit weird she’s your ex. But yeah.” You answered his previous question.

“Is she a threat? To me?” You asked, jealously.

“No, we’re finished. Ancient news far older than your civilization…”

“Ah, okay.” You felt more satisfied.

“She is quite…pretty.” You remarked.

“Hadn’t noticed.”

You nodded, as you arrived to the front door.

“This is me.” You pointed. “You…want to come up? Get a night cap. I know I’m going to need it.” You joked, as you used your pinky nail to scratch the bridge of your nose.

“Not tonight. How about after you finish exams? I still have to some things done in that regards.”

“Valid.”

He leaned down and pressed hip lips to your forehead.

“Good-night, (y/n).” He smiled as he closed his hand over yours and gave it a squeeze.

“Good-night, Doctor.” It still felt strange to not call him ‘Professor’. You didn’t know how to feel. Calling him ‘Professor’ felt better coming off your tongue.

So much to over-analyze.

You opened the door and went up to your flat. After pouring yourself a large shot of vodka to take, you laid on your favorite chair and zoned out.

So much for a normal, nice time at university!

[ddesguv]

Chapter 7

Waking up from a dreamless sleep is quite nice,  you think as you stretch lazily beneath the covers. You're not sure what time it is, but the sky outside is still dark. A small part of you wonders if you should just roll over and go back to sleep, but then you remember your newfound purpose. With a sigh, you throw off the covers and make your way out of bed, the soft carpet muffling your footsteps. The least you could do for Charlie and the others is a grand breakfast, to show your appreciation, you'll go all out today, after a good cup of coffee, obviously.

You pad through the dimly lit hallway to the kitchen, humming a tune under your breath. The scent of freshly brewed coffee fills the air, and it's enough to make your mouth water. As you pour yourself a steaming mug, you glance out the window, taking in the desolate view of the barren wasteland that passes for nature in this part of the world.

The kitchen is spotless, as always, thanks to your obsessive compulsive tendencies. You crack open a few eggs and carefully whisk them into a large bowl, then chop up some fresh vegetables and fruits.  You'll make some omelettes, pancakes, and some sausage rolls, maybe some muffins too?

At that, the creature disguised as a tattoo on your arm tingles with joy.

" You'd like that wouldn't you?" " Hell yeah"

To say that you are taken aback by the sudden whisper in your mind, is an understatement.

" You can talk? How? Why didn't you say anything until now? Also, do you have a name?"

"When I first got binded to you, I was weak, when you gave me the offerings I craved, it made me stronger. As for a name, not really, but Umbra would be quite fitting, you can call me that if you like."

"Umbra, huh? Well, thank you for the information. Now, about that offerings... do you mean food?"

"Indeed, food does grant me strength. However, I crave something more. I hunger for the souls of the damned, for their flesh and blood. And with them, you can control them, bend them to your will, make them do things that others can't. "

" Ooohkay, that escalated quickly, I don't think I can do that, it would go again what Charlie believes, and what she's trying to do "

" Yes, and you could help her, think about it as sorting out the rotten apples from the good ones, as good as a soul from hell could be."

" I'll think about it, but right now, I need to get back to cooking. I'll make sure there's extra for you too, Umbra. Just don't get any ideas about taking over my body or anything."

With that, you continue preparing breakfast. You're not sure how you feel about having a new voice in your head now, but you suppose it could be useful. You wonder if the others have any inkling of what's going on, or if they're just as oblivious as you were. It's a strange thought, but you file it away for later.

As the food cooks, you clean up the kitchen, humming to yourself. The smell of breakfast fills the air, and you can't help but feel a You make sure to set aside a plate with extra food for Umbra, as promised.

As you carry the plates to the dining room, you notice that the others are still asleep. It's probably for the best, you think. You don't want to have to explain Umbra to them just yet. Instead, you set the food out on the table and pour yourself another cup of coffee.

You spend the next few minutes admiring your handiwork, the aroma of breakfast filling the air. It's almost enough to make you forget about Umbra, if only for a moment. But then you remember her words, about souls and control, and you can't help but feel a shiver down your spine.

The others finally stumble out of bed, yawning and rubbing their eyes. They take one look at the spread before them and let out a chorus of appreciative groans.

Charlie and Vaggie sit beside each other and Angel takes a sit across Charlie, you sit next to Angel.

"Oh this looks delicious, you really outdid yourself this time." Charlie says, giving you a warm smile.

"Thanks, just trying to keep everyone fed and happy." You reply, returning the smile.

As everyone tucks into their breakfast, the conversation slowly begins to flow. Angel talks about her latest run-in with a particularly nasty group of demons, while Vaggie tells a story about a time she accidentally broke a window. You listen intently, half-listening to Umbra's voice in the back of your head, wondering what she would make of their tales.

" Hey Bambi, it's my turn to do the grocery shopping, and you coming with me, I ain't gonna carry all that shit on my own." Angel says while giving you a side eye.

"Sure, no problem. I can go with you," you reply, standing up from the table. The others finish their breakfast and gather their things, ready to face the day.

As you and Angel walk through the city, you can't help but feel a little out of place. The hustle and bustle of the marketplace is overwhelming at first, but you soon find your footing. Angel leads the way, his stride confident and purposeful. You trail behind him, taking in the sights and sounds of the city.

" Aight, since you're the chef and all that, you gonna deal with the vegetables and shit for cooking, I'll grab whateva' else is left."

"Sure, I can do that," you reply, following Angel as he weaves through the crowd. You quickly spot a cart overflowing with fresh produce and make your way over to it. While Angel continues on his search, you start picking out various fruits and vegetables, trying to find the best quality items for your cooking.

As you're selecting some bright red tomatoes, you feel a sudden presence beside you. You turn to find Umbra standing there, observing the scene with interest. "You seem to be quite adept at this," she says, her voice soft and calm. "Do you enjoy shopping for food?"

Startled by her sudden appearance, you quickly reply, "Um, yeah, I mean, it's not bad. I like cooking, so it's sort of a hobby, I guess."

As you continue picking out produce, Umbra remains silent for a moment, studying your actions. You can feel her presence beside you, almost like a gentle breeze. Finally, she speaks again, her voice thoughtful. "You know, it's interesting how much power you could have, if you would do what I told you ."

"I don't know, Umbra," you say, carefully selecting a bunch of carrots. "I've always been pretty good at taking care of myself. I don't think I'd want that kind of responsibility."

Her words hang in the air for a moment, and you feel a shiver run down your spine. You glance over at her, but she seems unperturbed by your reaction. Instead, she studies you with those unsettlingly knowing eyes. "You have no idea what kind of power you're capable of," she whispers. " What's that supposed to mean?"

You force a laugh, trying to play it off." Yeah, whatever ." But as you speak, you can't help but feel a growing unease. There's something about Umbra that makes you want to believe her. And yet, at the same time, you're terrified of what giving up control might mean.

As you continue picking out vegetables, you steal a sideways glance at Umbra. She's watching you intently, unreadable. You can't help but feel as though she knows something you don't, and that unsettles you even more. You turn back to the produce, your hands shaking slightly as you grab a bunch of kale.

"Look," you say, trying to sound more confident than you feel, "I appreciate your offer, I really do. But I've got my life here, and I'm happy with it. I don't need any more power or responsibility."

You pause, searching for the right words. "I'm not saying I don't trust you or anything, but I just... I need to think about this. Okay?"

Umbra nods slowly, her expression unreadable. "Very well," she says, her voice soft. "Take your time. But remember, the offer stands." With that, she turns back into the beautiful tattoo on your arm.

As you finish picking out the rest of the vegetables, you can't help but feel a mixture of relief and unease. On one hand, you're glad that Umbra didn't push you further. On the other, her words continue to echo in your mind, making you wonder if she's right about everything.

As you finally finish your selection and turn back to Angel, you spot him holding a large basket of groceries. "Got everything toots?" he asks.

"Yeah, looks like it," you reply, trying to sound more confident than you feel.

" Good, before we get back to the hotel, I need to make a quick stop, do as I say and all's gonna be good."

Angel leads you through the crowd to a small, dimly lit alleyway. As you walk, you can't shake the feeling that you're being watched. The air is thick with a mix of exhaust fumes and rotting garbage, and the sound of distant sirens echoes through the streets. The alley is lined with abandoned crates and discarded furniture, making it feel even more claustrophobic.

" Stay here, don't move, don't make a sound until I get back, and this stays between us." He says as he hands you his grocery bags.

You nod, trying to keep your nerves in check as he disappears around a corner. You look around, trying to distract yourself from the growing sense of unease. A rat scurries across the ground nearby, and you shudder. Your gaze drifts back to the entrance of the alley, waiting for Angel to return. The silence is deafening, and it feels like every second that passes stretches on for an eternity.

A few minutes pass and you hear Angel shouting from around the corner, he sounds angry.

"Hurry it up, I don't have all day!" he yells.

" Shut it whore, ya don't get to boss me around " another voice, deeper and angrier.

You hear a muffled thud, followed by a pained groan. Your heart races as you jump back, your grip tightening on the groceries. What the hell is going on? You put the bags down and very carefully step towards the corner.

Peering around it, you see Angel on the ground, a large, burly demon towering over him. The man is wearing a dirty leather jacket and has a sinister grin on his face. He's holding a knife, its blade pressed against Angel's throat.

Before anything bad can happen to Angel, you stretch your marked arm, only one thought in mind, kill that fucker. What happens next seems to be in slow motion, you watch as the same appendages that came to your rescue, dart towards the demons figure, spearing him trough his shoulder, stomach and legs, they raise him up a few good feet, only to slam him on the ground, pinning him there .

Only now you realize that you actually missed this, the screaming, the blood,the feeling of power, the fear etched into the person's face, it's all a blissful sight.

The lust for carnage sets deep inside your body as you get closer to the pathetic demon who's screaming in agony at your feet.

You look back at Angel who's still on the ground, gasping for air and clutching his wounds. He glances at you with a mixture of shock and gratitude, his eyes wide with disbelief.

The demon, still pinned to the ground beneath your appendages, spits blood at you. "You little bitch!" he growls. "I'll get you for this!"

As his words leave his mouth, you allow Umbra to materialize besides you, watching as she flows from your arm, dark and twisted smoke of shadows twirls and slithers across the ground as she takes form, a monster of darkness wrapped in ink and abyssal wrath with eyes of glowing stars. A multitude of crude hands with claws of death reach for the pathetic demon on the ground, happy to be allowed to feast on such rotten soul.

You watch as she tears his limbs and flesh, clawing at his guts, an orchestral symphony of agony and mauled flesh that gives you an euphoric pleasure. This is what you truly want.

Angel, still struggling to his feet, looks at you with wide eyes, horror and fascination mixed in equal parts. He doesn't seem to be able to comprehend what's happening, and you can't help but feel a strange sense of satisfaction at his reaction.

As Umbra feeds on the demon, you step back, allowing her to indulge in her meal. You can feel her power coursing through you, filling you with a newfound confidence and strength. You look down at your hands, now tingling with energy, as if they're itching to tear something apart.

Angel seems to have regained some of his composure, though he's still visibly shaken. "Are you...?" he starts, gesturing at Umbra with a trembling hand. "What is that?"

" Apparently she's part of me"

You answer, feeling a strange sense of ownership over the creature. Umbra finishes her meal, licking her claws clean as the last bits of flesh and bone slip from her grasp. She curls back into you, the darkness flowing back into your arm, leaving only a faint trail of smoke behind.

" I'm not quite sure how it works, but I'm learning to control it. I'm still getting used to it all," you admit, looking down at your hand.

Angel nods slowly, seeming to be lost in thought. "Well, ya saved my ass back there. I guess I owe you one."

You shrug modestly. "Don't worry about it. We're in this together, right? Also, this stays between us, I don't really want the girls to know I casually killed a guy" You gesture around at the dark alley you two are in.

Angel chuckles nervously. "Right. Well, let's get out of here."You both emerge from the alley, with the bags of groceries, blinking in the harsh light of the street. Angel looks over his shoulder once more, then turns back to you, a wary expression on his face.

Soon enough, the two of you are back at the hotel, you give the shopping bags to Vaggie and Charlie, letting them to take care of them. Right now, you need a nice relaxing shower . As you walk towards your room, Umbra's voice echoes in your mind.

"You did well." she says, her tone both respectful and playful. "That demon was no match for you. You should let your power flow more often."

You smile to yourself, enjoying the sensation of having Umbra's presence inside your head. It's like having a trusted confidante always by your side. As you reach your room, you hesitate for a moment, debating whether to take a shower first or talk to Angel about what happened earlier. On second thought, maybe you should leave it as it is.

You make your way towards the dresser, picking out a clean change of clothes and some towels, taking them inside the bathroom.

As you strip off your dirty clothes, you can't help but wonder what it would be like to fully embrace Umbra's power. The thought excites you, making your heart race. You step into the shower, letting the hot water wash away the grime and sweat of the day. The steam clouds the room, obscuring your vision, and you close your eyes, letting your senses focus on the feel of the water and the warmth that radiates from your body.

As you lather yourself with soap, you imagine what it would be like to fight alongside Umbra, to feel her power surging through you. A shiver runs down your spine at the thought. You picture her tearing through demons and other hellspawn, her claws leaving a trail of destruction in her wake. The image is intoxicating, and for a moment, you feel as though you could take on the world.

You rinse the soap from your body, letting the water cascade over your shoulders and down your chest. You wonder what else Umbra could teach you, what other abilities she might have. The thought makes you feel both excited and slightly nervous. You hope you'll be able to control her properly, that you won't end up hurting anyone else.

As you towel yourself dry, you catch sight of yourself in the mirror. You look stronger, more confident. It's as if the events of the day have transformed you into someone new.

You put on the clean clothes, feeling their softness against your skin. The pants hug your legs snugly, and the shirt hangs loosely over your chest. It's not quite like your old clothes, but it feels good nonetheless.

As you step out of the bathroom, you notice that Angel is sitting on the bed, staring at the floor. He seems deep in thought, his expression unreadable.

" Uhhh, Hi, what are you doing in my room?"

Angel looks up at you, his expression shifting from contemplative to sheepish. "Sorry, just... wanted to talk. About earlier, I mean."

You nod, sitting down next to him on the bed. "What's on your mind?"

Angel takes a deep breath and exhales slowly. "Well, I just wanted to say thanks again for having my back. Back there, I mean. And... well, about what happened with that demon. It was pretty badass, what you did. You didn't even break a sweat."

He pauses, searching for the right words. "It's just that... I never really knew what you were capable of. I mean, you never talked about it, and... well, I guess I just didn't want to pry." He looks down at his hands, fidgeting nervously.

" Trust me, I only found out today too." You say, looking at him with a small smile on your face.

There's a moment of silence between you, before Angel finally looks up at you. "So... what now? I mean, with you being... you know... Umbra's vessel?" He asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

You hesitate for a moment, considering your answer. "Well, I don't know. I mean, we'll have to see how things go. I'll keep training, keep learning how to control this power. And hopefully, I won't end up hurting anyone else." You say, your tone serious. "But for now, I think we should just... keep living our lives. Be there for each other, you know?"

Angel nods, a small smile playing on his lips. "Yeah, I guess so. You really are something else, you know that?" He reaches out, placing a hand on your shoulder. "Whatever happens, I've got your back."

" The feelings mutual, now If you'll excuse me, I need to go and get started on dinner."

You leave the room, feeling a sense of camaraderie with Angel that you hadn't experienced before. The weight of Umbra's power seems a little lighter now, almost like it's become a part of you rather than something foreign. You head into the kitchen, humming to yourself as you prepare the ingredients for tonight's meal.

The familiar scents of garlic, onions, and spices fill the air as you chop, dice, and sauté. Your movements are practiced and efficient, reflecting the hours you've spent cooking with your mother over the years. You find yourself lost in the rhythm of it all, allowing your thoughts to drift to Umbra and the possibilities of what you might learn from her.

As you cook, you can't help but feel a sense of pride in your abilities. Not only do you know how to create delicious meals, but you also have this newfound power coursing through your veins. It's exhilarating and terrifying all at once.

The kitchen fills with the rich aroma of the stew you're making, a mixture of beef, vegetables, and spices that melt into a beautiful symphony of aromas that dance across your tongue.

With dinner finished, you go get the others, first Charlie and Vaggie, then Angel.

Currently you are all at the dining table, eating in silence, just enjoying the good meal and company.

Angel seems a little more relaxed now, almost like he's found peace with the whole situation. He keeps glancing at you from the corner of his eye, as if he's trying to figure something out, but you don't mind.

Dinner comes and goes, now you are back in your room, trying to sleep, but Umbra's voice keeps you awake.

" Today was fun, don't you think so? All the carnage and the screams of that pathetic man, they sure made you really happy"

You sigh and sit up in bed, rubbing your eyes. "Umbra, I don't enjoy that stuff. It's not like I wanted any of that to happen. I just wanted to help Angel , you know?"

" Foolish, foolish creature you are, you think you are some self-righteous hero? That there's a reason for your killing? Spare me your insolent words and let me spell it out for you. I am you, your deepest desires, deepest darkest secrets, your most unsettling thought, I am the you that you hide, because you are too afraid of the consequences, the only reason I got binded to you, is because we are one and the same, because we both crave violence,carnage and power."

You frown, trying to think of a response to that.

" There's no need to offer me your lies, I'll just wait for you to see what you truly are, now rest."

You close your eyes, trying to block out Umbra's voice, but it's no use. The darkness in your mind seems to swirl and grow, like a storm gathering strength before it breaks. You can feel her presence, her anger, her hunger for destruction.

A restless night follows, filled with fitful sleep and vivid nightmares. You wake up several times, sweaty and disoriented, convinced that you've heard something outside your room. Each time, you force yourself back to sleep, only to be plagued by more dreams of violence and chaos.

As the sun begins to rise, casting its first rays of light through your window, you finally manage to fall into a deep, dreamless slumber. But even in your sleep, you can feel Umbra's presence lurking just beneath the surface, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

[r95irth]

New chapter of Jiaoren is up. Sorry i'm too tired to do an illustration this week. I hope i really am going to recover from moving because BR chapter needs a few adjustment too.

The most i did the past few days had been this doodle, that's all i can offer you uu°

[boundinparchment]

Dream a Little Dream of Me - XXXVI

Celestia has a cruel sense of humor. He’s always known this, ever since his days as a student. But a soulmate? Really? Dottore/Female Reader Soulmate AU. Lore speculation, interpretations, etc. AO3

At this hour, the moon was high, cresting over the edges of the tree that sheltered the port, bright and full.  You could just see it through the foliage when you looked up, pausing before you crossed the bridge outside of the hotel.  Over the edge, the docks and cranes came into view, and beyond them, the vast sea.  

The air was sticky.  It was worse this far south, so close to the sea, and the breeze didn’t so much relieve the humidity as it did remind you of it every time it kissed your cheeks and bare arms.  

You saw the ship due to set out tomorrow morning, ready to be loaded with cargo and your colleagues.  

But not you, not now.

There was no point in boarding a ship to continue on a tour you could not participate in.  

A flood of tears threatened to choke you, the neck of your cello tight in your hand.  Your faithful partner, broken beyond repair, never to tremble beneath your touch again.

All that awaited aboard that ship was another nation and more performances, more lies that the nation of Fontaine was not struggling.  There was no pollution, no poverty, no sickness, no deicide. Your patron had been right back when you gave your notice but anything had been better than being a songbird.  And it was propaganda with people who didn’t think twice about numbing their soulmate bond, who had both feet firmly planted in reality, sure of their existence and their purpose.  

You’d once been sure, too.

“Don’t tell me you used your instrument as a weapon.”

That familiar timber had such a cold edge to it, steel in a winter storm, as metal tapped wood in a rhythm you could recognize anywhere.

You turned, grip on the broken cello neck tightening in hopes to control the tremble through your limbs.  

For a moment, you were thrown back into the House of Daena.  Sharp boots, white coat, ornamentation that seemed impractical for lab work but denoted power no one dared question.  Beak-like mask, an earring with an ethereal glow.  His arms were crossed and a slight frown tugged at his lips, as though inconvenienced by the mere idea of running into you.

The hotel was full of Fatui.

Of course.

After all, Zandik had said Omega was working with the Akademiya and what you saw of the lab reinforced that even further.  What had the Segment said?  A man-made god?  

Fontaine had its faults, certainly, but they never dared try to throw off the yoke of Celestia so blatantly.

It stood to reason, then, that any public appearance of the Harbinger would be the Segment.

Your legs carried you across the distance, fury gripping you as you shoved the broken cello neck into the Segment’s throat above his harness ring. 

“Was this your doing?” you growled.

 Through the wood, you could feel the vibration of his amused chuckle.  Sharp teeth gleamed at you.

“You hate me almost as much as he hates himself.  I am impressed.”

You pushed the wood further into the Segment’s neck, reminding yourself that as much as the resistance felt flesh-like, that he was far from human.

“You’ve given me every reason.”

“I haven’t, actually.  I’m not the one who destroyed your precious instrument.  But I am going to be the one to ensure that everything falls back into place.”

No , you think, you won’t be.

You closed your eyes, the port before you disappearing for a moment as the Cryo-encased flower came to mind instead.  A dream you’d wanted for so long, finally becoming reality, the tangibility of limbs brushing, air between you heavy with both humidity and potential.  For a moment, red eyes widened as your vision went black, and hands traced every single callous in an attempt to memorize your very existence.

“You’ve done more than enough,” you said, jaw tight.

Omega drew in a deep breath, more for effect than need you realized, and let out an impatient huff through his nose.

“The experiment was intended to understand if Zandik’s soulmate extended beyond himself.  Beyond the Prime origin point of us all.  You weren’t supposed to lose the ability to dream.”

The Segment sounded apologetic, guilty even.  A fiery knot tugged at your gut.  He felt guilty over that but nothing else?

“I deserve far more than Zandik does,” Omega drawled.  “And therefore I was the most qualified candidate for the experiment.  That you ended up in Sumeru when I did, when larger plans were falling into place was, truthfully, unexpected.  I couldn’t let the opportunity go to waste.”

“Fuck you.”

You pushed him away with the cello neck, reveling in the irritated mark and small dents you left in his skin.  Omega reached a hand up and rubbed the spot, mouth pulled into a grin that didn’t need words to accompany it.

“Both of you go right for the jugular.  Perhaps you are soulmates after all.”

“He…”

“Self-hatred is a powerful thing, Noor 'eini.”

“Don’t call me that.”

Omega cracked his neck before he took one step, and then another, further away from the hotel doors to circle the perimeter.  To circle you .

“Your precious Zandik fractured himself twenty-four times.  Eleven of them are deceased.  I am the sole survivor of his later adult years.  The closest to his present self.  One does not segment their memories and their very being without wanting to be rid of said memories.  After all, we are the culmination of our experiences, our loved ones, universes unto ourselves.  You should see the hatred Zandik gives me for playing with you.  It’s as much inward as it is outward.  You may not see it but that’s because he thinks he’s hidden it, buried like the machinery he so adores.”

You stepped back when Omega bent a little, his face close to yours.  He cocked his head, locks of hair falling softly to frame his face as the earring pressed against his neck a little.

“Haven’t you ever wondered about the wind in the dreams?”

The wind?

Your face contorted in confusion and you no longer cared if the Segment could read you like a book.  You tried to recall the dreams that felt so far away now, cloudy and intangible.  The first dream after you met in person, you swore you heard multiple voices as the wind howled through mountains and trees, like voices of an audience.  And the leaves, in that final dream as you stroked his head in your lap and listened to him explain the Ruin Golem’s inner workings.  

Leaves didn’t whisper.

Not like that.

“I know what must be done,” Omega whispered, his words ghosting over your nose, your cheeks.  “When the time comes, you too must play your part.”

“I’m not humoring this anymore.”

You turned, adjusting your grip on your belongings as you strode away, determined to put as much distance between you and the Segment as possible.  Your anger was no longer a pot boiling over but instead a dulled blade, having carved off the edge of your grief for the briefest of moments.  By now, you knew better than to trust the Segment at his word, to consider anything longer than necessary.

With the idea in your mind though, the memories were more crisp than what the others, you could only conclude meant they were true moments between you.  That was something, you supposed.

But what were you meant to do with that information?  What good did that do when you…

You had no plan.

No job.  No instrument.

Nothing.

You trekked down spiral after spiral, the stone underfoot comforting in its steadiness.  One foot in front of the other.  

Life was, in a way, like sight-reading.  You knew there were notes ahead of where you were, waiting to be played, but you couldn’t get to them until you focused on the immediate ones.

Leaving without any kind of connection to your soulmate, especially given his position, was dangerous, stupid even.  All it would take was being at the wrong place at the wrong time with the right person.  The Doctor would be none the wiser until it was too late and all the worse because you had no means to contact him.  Not in a way that protected either of you and potentially revealed everything.  You survived on that connection, thrived on it, and then to not have it…

Did that even make you soulmates anymore?

What were you to one another, now, if you could not…

You closed your eyes, the port before you disappearing for a moment as the Cryo flower came to mind again.  A promise, a willingness to fix, but what if there was nothing to fix?   If this was what was destined, in the end?

There must be more, you thought to yourself.  More to the world than passively traveling, being subject to the whims of those around you.  More to working tirelessly on compositions that would never see the light of day or be played by anyone other than yourself.  It was clear to you that the world moved on in your short absence but where did that leave you?

A question for another time when you finally saw him again.  By quitting, you’d made up your mind on some things already.  That sense of relief didn’t extend far, though, and at the idea of what came next, your chest squeezed uncomfortably.  

You continued further into the harbor, dipping underneath a large root and behind the tavern, and out towards the wooden piers to the lighthouse.  Sumeru had no proper beach, at least not out this way, but the shoals would suffice for now.  It was enough to be away from the cacophony of the hotel and the tavern, far from Omega, alone with your thoughts and the rhythmic splash of the tide.  

You’d always felt an odd connection to the ocean and its beaches despite being a Geo user and mostly kept from the coast for most of your formative years.  The reliable rocking of waves and the sheer natural force had been something of an inspiration, a comfort, when all else failed.

There was, however, already someone here.  You paused on the edge of the pier, tense from both Omega’s prodding and your own anxiety, blinking once as though it would clear your vision.

You had been under the impression that you wouldn’t see him properly until the morning you were set to depart.

Once again, Zandik’s coat was absent, but so was his cravat.  The collar of his shirt was open, exposing the full column of his neck and a teasing view of his collarbone.  The harness only served to draw your eye precisely where it pressed against his bare skin before it dipped over his shirt to wrap around him.  His sleeves, too, were carefully folded up to his elbows, exposing well-defined muscle.  Leather gloves still covered his hands, his mask still obscuring his face, barriers between him and the world.

It was still cloyingly humid and you could see that even he wasn’t immune to the weather here.  But part of you couldn’t help but wonder if, perhaps, he was trying to help you visually differentiate between himself and Omega.  Attempting to be the Zandik you knew only in a separate world, dreams away from reality.

You had spent an eternity tracing a collarbone that wasn’t his but your fingers twitched nonetheless, a yearning that came from deep within your bones for late night conversations that held no pretense.  Such moments were stolen from you and as you watched him approach, you let your eyes roam over the shadows that dipped across his arms and the reflection of light on the ring of his harness.  You used to admire him in dreams, when you could; now, you told yourself,you deserved to, and you were determined to not have everything tainted by a shadow of himself.

A shadow that he was, no doubt, keeping an eye on from a distance.

“And here I thought you’d be asleep,” Zandik quipped.  “I might have little use for it but that doesn’t mean…”

His masked face fell to your hand and the broken cello neck.  You saw his shoulders rise and then slowly fall with a breath, one hand reaching up for his mask as the other extended towards you in silent request.  

“Omega stole whatever quip you want to say,” you muttered.  “There’s no fixing it.”

The tears that once felt as if they would flood you were far out of reach now.  Stolen from you just as much as your instrument, as your memories were.  Crying felt like a waste of energy.

Zandik turned the neck over in his hands.  You knew all of the scratches by heart that were glinting in the moonlight, the pegbox still shiny with polish.  

Without ceremony, you cast your bag aside and removed your footwear and accompanying garments to stand calf-deep in the water.  The tide was barely cooler than the air and you sat down, feet in the water, playing with the sand between your toes. 

“Why must I continue to pay a price that I cannot, Zandik?” you asked.  “Is this normal?”

His red eyes were too occupied with the wood in his hands, now held at eye-level and examined like a spyglass.  

“Some pairs endure more trials and tribulations than others, based on the research I’ve done over the years.  How did this happen?  The break is clean, with little signs of stress fractures.”

“Something about the matra looking for…capsules?  I wasn’t really listening, truthfully.”

You shifted your feet in the wet sand.  

If you were less skeptical, less aware of the world, you would have thought it the truth right from the start.  And maybe it was.   By now, however, you knew that some things were, in fact, exactly what they seemed.  Others may have had damaged instruments but somehow, you doubted theirs were as broken.  

An old friend, gone.

“I am tired of everything I own being taken away from me.  My life played with as though it were a toy.  Just when I think I’m carving my own path…”

You tore your gaze away from the glowing harbor and the cleaved tree, Zandik’s attention no longer on the hand-carved peg board but on you.  His lips parted and his tongue brushed his lower lip, as if to speak, before he seemed to think better of it.  He was usually so free with his thoughts, especially on this; he hardly, if ever, hesitated to correct you.

“I can take whatever it is you want to say, Zandik.”

He’d spent many dreams over the years explaining his view of the world, of the Archons and Celestia’s usurpation.  This exact situation is what he would tear apart to demonstrate just how wrong it was for a higher being to exist.  If mortals supposedly had something of free will but the Gods always intervened, be it with a Vision or a soulmate or both, then how was that true free will?  So many thought they were making their own way but in reality, one was only following the path that the stars laid out for them.

But fate, he speculated, could be changed.  The stars were not, in fact, the true stars at all.

Such conversations were so far away, though, that they couldn’t easily come to mind other than vague recollections.  

“The words on my tongue aren’t comforting,” he finally replied.  “You are mourning an old friend.  My thoughts can wait.”

You swallowed as he brought his attention back to the pegs, fingers loosening and tightening the knobs, before he handed it back to you.  

Everyone else assumed you would be fine, that you could pick up right where you left off (yourself included).  Ever since you’d awakened, despite your outbursts, he’d given you the grace to not be okay.  In hindsight, he’d always done that after both of you learned how far boundaries could be pushed until the other shut the conversation down.  The conversations from days earlier came to mind.  If he deemed something not conducive, not helpful , then he would not waste his energy nor time on it. 

 That had to count for something.

“I once stood on a beach one morning after a particularly…bad evening,” you said.  “I couldn’t sit, which means I couldn’t practice, couldn’t play.  I made a promise to myself…what I can only assume the Geo Archon took to be a contract,  to let no one ever stand between me and what I wanted out of life.  No one would hold me back, abuse me, keep me from what I deserved .  I should have included myself in that promise.”

You brushed your hand over your Vision before you held the broken cello neck between your hands and wrung it like a wet cloth.  When you caught Zandik’s eyes flick towards you when you turned your head slightly in his direction, you continued.

“I believe that was one memory untouched,” he said, his hands falling slightly to direct his attention onto you.  “You’d received something from the orchestra?”

“My planning paid off and I’d made a decision without hesitation to leave everything behind.  You were right.  That night in the performance hall.  I have been holding myself back.”

He didn’t speak, instead raising an eyebrow but not daring to revel in hearing you profess that he was correct.  Not yet, at any rate.

“I’ve been complacent, holding myself back for the sake of a group that does not see me as I see myself.  The Segment did that too in the dreams; I never made progress on my compositions, I played but it was as though I did it out of habit, not desire…everything that happened in those dreams was, I’ve come to realize, not a fabrication on his part, but an exaggeration of it.  I thought it was him but I’ve been doing it to myself.”

Omega’s words from earlier echoed in your mind.  If Zandik’s own problems made their way into your shared dreamspace, why wouldn’t yours have been accessible, ripe for the picking?

“The second I saw my cello shattered in its case, I didn’t even have to think about quitting.  I have no plan beyond that.   Without a way to contact you, we are forced to use methods that would be discovered at any time.  Why not just…bypass them entirely and try—”

Zandik’s expression darkened and he turned in full to face you.  

“Do you understand the gravity of such a consideration?”

“You didn’t let me finish.”

“I don’t need to.  Snezhnaya is not Fontaine.  That you know and can learn how to navigate social structures is one matter that never gave me cause for concern.  But it is a nation that is governed by a house of wolves, by an Archon who holds no love for her people and who believes that only those who survive the worst are worthy of such blessing.”

He’s thought this through, you realized.  He’d already entertained this very idea, hadn’t he? Realistically, not only did it make sense to keep what he considered to be a vulnerability close to him, she could learn from him.

Your lack of combat abilities was a sore spot and one he was eager to correct himself.  You both used the same weapon, after all.

Soulmate bonds didn’t have to be romantic, either, you told yourself, a well of panic and thrill rising as your thoughts wandered to his exposed neck and collarbone, the teasing promise of muscle beneath his shirt.  You weren’t sure how to even consider such notions, not now, not after Omega.  

And the world had already moved on without you.  You had just been another body in a chair, who played well and composed exceptional pieces.  

Remaining with him was the only viable option you could think of.

And if he’d already played with all of these possibilities, he knew that as well.

He was testing you, then; he wanted to know if you had been as thorough as he was.

“I have nothing left, Zandik.  Perhaps this idea is just following that stupid adage of ‘Don’t put your eggs in one basket’ but I literally only have one basket.  Am I supposed to go about the rest of my existence knowing that, if we don’t try now, we may never get this chance again?”

“This decision shouldn’t be made in a state of emotional anguish, no matter how correct your decision is.” 

He punctuated the sentence with your name and it stilled you, your legs suddenly no longer swayed by the tide but instead anchored in the sand.  

“We are discussing a choice that cannot be taken back.  You cannot allow your heart to lead you on such matters.  It is how, in the attempt to avoid the truth, one comes face to face with the inevitable.”

“What is that truth?”

“That the world demands a price from us all and that price is nothing but conflict and suffering.  You know nothing of the true nature of the world and the world in which I inhabit.”

Have I not paid my dues? You wanted to cry out.

“Then tell me about it!  You’re the one who has kept the truth from me and I must pull every kernel of information like a dentist pulling teeth, Zandik.  Do you really think you’re protecting me?!  Do you think that not telling me about your Segments and who you are saved me, after what I’ve seen and endured?!”

Your volume scared a nearby crab that scuttled away into the sand, eager to be away from you both. Your soulmate’s boots pierced the tide to stand next to you, his expression as much of a mask as the accessory he held in his hand.

“When a stranger from the far north came to me in the deep reaches of the desert, I too reached a similar point,” Zandik murmured.  “Driven out of my home, out of the Akademiya, I tried to help those suffering from a disease that has been around for centuries, a remnant of a King’s destructive decision.  And even then, despite the progress of my patients, my methods were questionable, unethical for even the strongest of stomachs.  Results didn’t matter if the patients suffered for them.”

Zandik shuffled his mask to his right hand as his left reached up to take your chin between his thumb and forefinger.  His eyes were narrow as they watched you, as he spoke, as his words ghosted over your lips.

“I, too, had nothing left and everything to gain.  I was promised resources, access to machinery and equipment without anyone holding me back to arbitrary rules that stifled progress.  In exchange for my position, I was given the burden of the truth of this world.  Or rather, it was confirmed for me.”

His thumb brushed your lower lip before he let go of your chin to brush stray hair out of your face.  His middle finger lingered on your ear.

“All of my research and hypotheses and speculation…all of it was true .  But I had suffered greatly to get there.  As must we all, in the end, to get what we want.  Choosing to come with me will not be the end of anything, if that is what you expect.”

Zandik pulled away from you, as though he’d touched something painful, his arm falling limply to his side as he turned his head away from you.  

How odd.  Only days ago, he seemed almost eager to solve this connection between you, to correct whatever his Segment had done.  Wouldn’t he want you with him?  Surely that would make everything more manageable?

Or was this part of the self-hatred that Omega brought up, you wondered.  Not that you wanted to put stock in the Segment’s words, of course.  But he was, in part, Zandik.  A grain of truth was still a truth.

You gazed up at the moon as its light kissed the rustling leaves and soaring branches of Port Ormos’ shelter, the water shimmering with a rippled reflection of the land, an imperfect mirror.  Warm light glowed in the distance, like fireflies resting.  Water lapped at your skin, warm and forgiving, every pull of the tide only serving to root you further in place.

Unconsciously, you reached out a hand and took his free one, his fingers curling around yours almost instinctively.

“Who said I wanted anything to end, Zandik?”

His brow twitched and a flicker of doubt crossed his face as he looked at you; he was not a man who believed in anything until he saw it with his own eyes.

You squeezed his hand slightly.

It was not until you’d turned back to look upon Port Ormos one more time that you felt fingers squeeze yours back once, just once, at the same time as your heart skipped a beat.

[godess-of-the-void]

I Have Finally Done It!

Chapter 8 of Secret Life of Luigi the Sequel is OUT and it was 18000 FUCKIN WORDS MAN!

Because the majority of the chapter can be a standalone I also posted a standalone version as a prequel.

But anyways enjoy!

Now I can finally go back to Maid In Whipstaff.

[dont-touch-my-soup]

Trapped

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CW: injured character, blood, references to past trauma

For a moment Kell couldn't move. There was nowhere to go. Nowhere to hide. He spun around, trying to find a way out, but the voices grew louder and more distinct. He still couldn’t make out any words, but they were coming closer. 

He moved before he could think about it. Blindly he stumbled into the study. 

He looked around frantically.

The windows. Maybe he could escape through the windows. 

He moved as fast as he could, one hand gliding over the wall, the other pressed against his chest. His muscles were burning, but he grit his teeth and pushed forward. 

He was already out of breath and sweating all over, but he windows had barely come closer. He would never make it.

Still, he kept on moving. He couldn’t give up. He had to try. 

When he reached the desk, pain shot through his body and he desperately braced himself against the furniture. For a moment he clung to the wooden edge. The room spun around him but he didn’t have time to wait for it to stop. He moved around it as quickly as he could, using it as a crutch. Books and writing tools toppled to the floor as he brushed against them. The sound echoing in his ears louder than it could be. Paper slowly sailed to the floor.

The voices stopped and then came closer faster, accompanied by the sound of footfalls.

Ice-cold terror washed over Kell. He’d never reach the windows in time. Numb with fear he toppled to his knees behind the large furniture. It blocked the view to the entrance. His mind started to form another idea. With the last of his strength he crawled under the desk. 

It was stupid to hide. The General would find him sooner or later. And the longer it would take, the angrier he would be.

But maybe he wouldn’t find him. Maybe he was lucky. Maybe … 

Of course he’d find him. It wasn’t even a smart hiding place.

But it was too late now anyway. 

His head felt too heavy and too light at the same time and it was hard to follow the thoughts chasing through his mind. He had to calm down. He had to get his breathing under control. Pain throbbed through his chest and he pressed a hand against the bandages covering his abdomen.

His limbs were shaking so hard, it was almost impossible to move. His knee bumped against something solid. It glittered in the dim gloom coming from the windows – a letter opener. He blindly reached for it, listening to his instincts that had never failed to get him into trouble.

“He can’t be far,” a baritone voice said from next door. It wasn’t the General’s, but Kell still winced at the sharp sound. “Two days ago, we weren’t even sure he’d survive. How can he even stand on his own feet?”

Two days? How long had he already been here? How long had he been unconscious?

“He’s desperate to get out of here,” a second voice said quietly. “He’s scared. We shouldn’t have left him alone.”

“Well, none of us thought he’d wander off in the middle of the night. He wasn’t supposed to wake up yet,” the first voice answered, getting angrier.

Cold dread filled Kell’s veins. Had they drugged him? It would explain why the doors hadn’t been locked or at least his hands had been tied. 

“Enough,” a female voice chimed in. “He can’t be far. We have to find him.”

Kell ducked his head as if that would protect him from being found.

“I think I know where he went,” the baritone voice said slowly and Kell’s stomach turned into lead.

Someone cursed and Kell flinched so hard his head banged against the desk. He hissed in pain. Then the door squeaked and Kell shut his eyes. Steps slowly came closer. He could feel the vibrations under his finger tips. A floorboard creaked. His heart hammered in his chest. He pressed his back into the wood until it hurt.

A pair of legs came into his view.

Heavy military boots. Kell knew exactly how they felt. He could almost feel the bruises they had left on his skin like they were still there. 

He tightened his grip around the letter opener until his hand was shaking with the effort, still hoping for a miracle, but his hiding spot had become a trap.

The person started to bend down in front of the desk. Kell held his breath. Then a face swam in front of him. For a second Kell saw the hard eyes and the thin mouth of the General, then his lips curled into a cruel smile. “I found him,” he said, so loud Kell flinched.

***

Kell pressed himself further into the corner, but there was no way out. 

The General bent down in front of him, one hand gripping the desk, examining him with a displeased expression. 

Something like a whimper escaped Kell’s throat.

“It’s okay,” the General said but it wasn’t the General’s voice. “You’re safe now. We just want to help you.”

Kell blinked against the veil of fear. 

This wasn’t the General. 

He looked younger, but he was tall and muscular, his hair short and his clothes tidy. 

He was probably working for the General. Of course he wouldn’t search for Kell by himself. He’d let others do the work like he always did. 

In the end it didn’t matter. They’d drag Kell out of his hideout and bring him to the General. 

He knew he should give up, but even if he weren’t shaking like a leaf, he was too exhausted to move his feet. He could barely keep himself up right. 

He wanted to apologise, beg, bargain, but he was trembling so hard it was impossible to get a single syllable out. 

The Varsennan shifted his weight and Kell braced himself for whatever was about to happen. He just hoped he would go easy on him when he didn’t fight back. Tears pooled in his eyes. He couldn’t face the General a second time. He wouldn’t survive him a second time. 

At least he hadn’t gotten his hands on Jinn. At least he’d be safe. He’d made it out. He had to. He would find his family. Live his life. He’d be happy.

Kell clung to that hope with fierce desperation.

“Saron,” the man said and looked somewhere to the other side of the study. The single word floated through the room and for a long moment Kell wondered what it meant. His Varsennan was good but he’d never heard that word before. Then another pair of footfalls came closer. 

Ice burned through Kell’s veins. What was happening? 

He clenched the letter opener so firmly as if it was the only thing holding him up right. His lips were forming words, but no sound came from them. The trembling got worse. 

A second person emerged. She was smaller and thinner and looked less threatening than the man. But Kell had learned a long time ago that looks could be deceiving. 

The tall Varsennan placed his hand on her arm and leaned closer as he said something to her too faint for Kell to catch up. Why would he call her over? Why would he need her help? It didn’t make sense. 

Finally, she nodded and he left. 

She looked down at Kell, her eyes wandering over him like she was searching for something. Then she crouched down to the floor in one smooth motion and Kell flinched back against the wood. He swallowed and lifted the letter opener a little higher, grabbed it a little firmer.

“D-Don’t come any closer,” he stuttered hoarsely and immediately regretted it. “Please,” he added, his voice high and faint.

It had been stupid to even grab the letter opener. It wouldn’t help him anyway. He should just do what he was told. But he couldn’t let go. It was like his muscles were locked in place without him controlling them.

“All right. I won’t,” she said, lifting her hands, surrendering. “I’ll just sit down here, okay?” Slowly she sank to the floor, her legs crossed. She wasn’t wearing any shoes and her hair was hanging in a long braid over her shoulder, the tip of it nearly reached her thigh. It wasn’t how a Varsennan woman would make an appearance in public. “I won’t come any closer.”

It didn’t make any sense. They could just drag him out. A letter opener was hardly a weapon worth their time. Even if Kell weren’t injured, they’d be stronger than him. And they knew it too. 

He couldn’t stop shaking. Couldn’t stop shaking. Couldn’t stop. 

They were toying with him. 

His heart fell. 

It was too late. 

He pressed his eyes closed and let go of the letter opener. It clanked to the floor.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t want to run away …” Tears sprang to Kell’s eyes and his vision turned blurry. He swallowed back more tears. “It was an … an accident … I-I …Please … I’ll do anything you want,” Kell begged. His throat was on fire and his voice barely intelligible. He pressed his hand protectively to his chest and kept talking. “Just don’t tell him. Please … I won’t do it again. I swear. Please don’t tell him I ran …”

A touch silenced him and he jerked his head down. The woman’s hand rested on his knee and for a moment Kell expected to feel pain or some form of magic simmering through his body. 

But nothing happened. He looked up to find her eyes on him. They were brown and if she was using any magic it was definitely no demon magic.

“We won’t tell anyone anything. I promise,” she said. 

She spoke slowly as if to make sure he understood and Kell noticed an odd accent in her voice he couldn’t place. She wasn’t Varsennan. But she wasn’t Tharlian either. Kell blinked against the light. He couldn’t place it. He should know, but it was like his brain was too slow.

“My name is Saron,” she said. “Can you tell me your name?”

It felt like a test. He’d promised to do whatever they wanted from him and even though there was no reason why she’d keep her part of it, Kell clung to that hope. 

“Kell,” he whispered. 

“Kell,” she repeated. Her voice gave it a soft sound. Somehow he wanted to trust her. He looked up to her, searching for her eyes. They were still brown and for the moment that was enough.

***

Kell’s eyes were hefted on her face. He was breathing heavily and Saron wasn’t sure if it was from panic or exhaustion. He was too thin and she didn’t like how he was looking at her. His hands were pressed against his chest and it looked like the blood stain on his bandages was growing steadily. 

She tried not to look too closely at him but it was hard not to see the bruises around his neck and the scars covering too much of his body. 

She didn’t have to be a medic to know how narrowly he’d slipped past death.

According to Julian the owner of the theatre had lost his temper after he’d sung a Tharlian song in the middle of a show. 

Looking at Kell, she knew it wasn’t the full story. He looked too terrified to even breathe wrongly. He didn’t look like a fighter.

But he had survived. And now he was here.

Saron had never planned on getting involved. She was supposed to travel, see the world, not to fight a war that wasn’t even her own. 

But somehow she got stuck here and now these damn blue eyes pierced into her, telling a story of pain she really didn’t want to know.

Mathias had been right. They shouldn’t have left him alone.

She cursed Julian and Mathias and every decision that had led to this moment and took a deep breath. 

Slowly, she pressed her hands together searching for the right words. Julian had sent her to gain his trust. He’d asked her to lure him out of his hide. Because apparently he thought she was most likely not to appear as a threat. 

But Saron wasn’t good with words and she was hardly a patient person. 

“Kell,” she said again, because she didn’t know what else to say and somehow the sound of his own name seemed to calm him down. 

“Do you remember the tall man who left a minute ago?” she asked.

Kell’s eyes twitched, then he nodded carefully. 

”His name is Julian and he’s a medic,” Saron explained slowly. She’d thought about switching to Tharlian but her Tharlian had never been any good. With her luck she’d probably make everything worse by mispronouncing a word. “He took care of you and he wants to check on you because you’re bleeding again.” Her hand moved to her chest mirroring where his injury was.

“But I don’t think he’d fit under the desk. The sofa would probably be more comfortable. And there’s tea too. Do you like tea?” 

He nodded carefully but otherwise he wasn’t moving. 

“We don’t want to hurt you. We just want to help. Do you understand?”

Again, Kell nodded. Saron wasn’t sure if he actually understood or if he was just nodding along to her words. He was probably too scared to really get what she was saying and definitely too scared to trust her anyway. 

She stifled a sigh and stood up. “Let’s get you out of here, okay?” she said in a - what she hoped - gentle enough voice and reached out her hand to him. Hesitantly he placed a hand in hers and she pulled him to his feet. 

He tried hard to suppress the whimper, but Saron heard it anyway. As soon as he was standing next to her, she knew something was wrong. His eyes dropped shut and suddenly he collapsed. She wrapped her hands around his arms, but he started to slip from her grip. Just before he fell to the floor, Julian was next to her, catching him and lifting him up. 

Kell’s eyelids fluttered, then he stared at the ceiling, his eyes so big and so fearful it cut into Saron’s heart. 

“It’s all right,” Julian murmured and Saron could tell how hard he tried to keep his voice soft and unthreatening. Still, it didn’t seem to have the desired effect. Hurriedly he carried him to the sofa. 

Kell wasn’t moving except from the shaking in his limbs. His eyes were still staring into the distance and he was stammering something too faint for her to hear. 

She threw a blanket over him. “It’s all right. You’re safe,” she said and took Kell’s hand. She kept repeating the words over and over, while Julian was doing whatever he was doing. Hopefully he’d take over soon.

She brushed her thumb over the back of Kell’s hand. There were even scars on his hands, shaped too round to be natural. She couldn’t even imagine what kind of thing caused scars like that. 

“It’s all right,” she said again. The words tasted bitter on her tongue. He wasn’t okay and looking at him she wasn’t sure he’d ever be. 

Just as she wanted to ask Julian what the fuck he was busy with, Kell blinked and then finally he seemed to see her again. 

Her hand was shaking a bit as she stroked the hair out of his face. His skin was too hot. She pressed her palm against his forehead and he weakly flinched away from the touch. 

“He’s burning up again,” she murmured. 

Kell stirred at the sound of her voice. “Sabea,” he whispered. Saron’s heart twisted as she recognised the name. “Sabea Minarth” had been written on the slip of paper clutched in his hand, when they’d found him. Maybe she was a family member or maybe a friend. She looked at Julian, but he only pushed a glass in her other hand. “Get him to drink something.”

She swallowed. She wanted to throw the glass back at him and tell him to do it himself but he was already hefting his gaze on the growing red stains on the bandages covering Kell’s chest. 

Saron looked down into the glass. The surface of the liquid rippled softly and the smell of herbs wrapped around her and calmed her. 

How did Julian do this day by day without going insane? 

She took a deep breath. “It’s all right,” she mumbled as she pulled Kell into a somewhat sitting position. “You’ll soon feel better.” Somehow it sounded like a question. She pressed the glass against his lips. She was relieved when he started to drink, slowly, his eyes closed like it was the hardest task in his life.

“Will he be all right?” Saron asked in Severin. She didn’t want him to understand her question and even less the answer. 

Julian didn’t look up right away. “He won’t die,” he answered quietly and it sounded like an oath. He moved around Saron to kneel next to Kell.

Kell had sunken back against the pillows, sweat was pearling on his face. His eyes were closed and his breathing had finally eased. Saron wasn’t sure how much he even understood. 

“I’ll cut through the bandages,” Julian said, moving into Kell’s line of vision. “It shouldn’t hurt, but if you feel any pain or discomfort, please tell me right away, okay?”

Kell didn’t react. The only movement was his hand sliding from the sofa. 

“I didn’t expect him to fall asleep that fast.”

“Maybe that’s for the best,” Saron said. “He was very scared.”

Julian’s hands were moving confidently, but his eyebrows were pinched as he examined the wounds. 

Saron turned her gaze back to Kell. His face was still coated in sweat and she grabbed a clean bandage, soaked it in water and started to dab his forehead. 

A soft humming filled the room and she turned her face back to Julian. 

“He did that yesterday too,” Julian said without looking up. “Maybe he’s trying to calm himself down.”

It probably made sense for a singer. Saron wondered what song he was humming. Or maybe it wasn’t even a song. Maybe it was just a random combination of tones.

When Julian was finally done, the sky was already starting to brighten and her eyes were burning from lack of sleep, her limbs cold and stiff.

“Go to bed.” Julian bowed down and kissed her on top of her head. “I’ll take care of him.”

Saron was too exhausted to argue and also she hadn’t been the one to bring a half-dead Tharlian into their home so looking after him really wasn’t her job.

_________________  

Thank you for reading! @whumpzone @jo-doe-seeking-inspo @whump-cravings @tears-and-lilies @imagination1reality0 @suspicious-whumping-egg @i-can-even-burn-salad @siren-of-agony @villainsvictim (please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed!)  

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[captainkurosolaire]

A Day Before Woe

 Pair of wheels bound to a chair for a maimed, battered gruff pirate, who paraded as a Champion was left critically conditioned. Opposition he conquered over was his idol, once a remarkable sea Goldbrand Captain who once herald many stories that peers would’ve recalled over folktales to docks a type worth inciting gossip. Now that legacy was only a ghostly remnant of what could’ve been, more potential never given proper realization.

Deep-down that victory was a let-down, notwithstanding him being in appendages, neck-brace, or temporarily bound ridden handicap. Like most-idolized, often our minds make them larger than life. Only for future disappointments to discover in truth. Often projecting our desired selves, in another and betrayed by the role-model's failure with it being one mutually felt shared from vicariously living.

Sinbad gained an unbridled, self-ignorance, his ego validated flourished, there was no one left who could oppose him in belief; now or ever. Everything revolted against this rookie. Though he defiled odds standing atop the current pirate food chain, he attained pure success uncontested, even if just a lick, a superiority complex manifested. It made this, youthful-lion, No... A viscous shark; who crunched and ate the elder lion's glory and relished donning the trophy mantle, irrationally dangerous. Consequently, the crosshairs of the misfortune of losing the battle. Kuro's beloved Pride of three-most valued Crewmates of the Goldbrand were contract to a shaken deal for a whole Summer. Former First Crewmate Judas departed after an emotional falling out. Directionless and had given up on any sense of his own freedom and quest, they were now seen as obscured impossibilities. This was visibly atonement for betraying and acting cowardice in his past, a pill to swallow lastly. 

With an unenthusiastic disgruntled pitch the Midlander spoke against his new employing Highlander in mock, “O’ Cap’n well… what will you have of us.” Clearly not wanting to even entertain this, but more keenly he had always had an ill-feeling about this brash pirate and their entire Crew a bunch of immature heathens that took life so carelessly. Regarded being a snake himself, familiarity could be sniffed, traitorous blood floating in neighboring water. This stead was driven by glory, a majority gained chalked into fortunate events, luck. Sinbad, his new Summer Cap’n, held seemingly boundless strength but one-day inevitably would clash with something that’d not bend nor break. Mayhaps betrayal, or something due to inexperience, the wrong pirate won that pit, he was certain. Upon this young upstart Crew was merely limbs, nameless hands and legs. Submissively broken souls that gave their freedom away for momentary lapses of glint. Boisterous laughter left the highlander until his sternum ached and pain struck him to quell-down, “Could you care to least pretend you wanna be here? Three-months, might be an eternity otherwise… I can assure you that. Look where you are now. Taking failure for your pathetic Captain wagered everything into. You told my lass to silence herself in a disrespectful way at our parley long-ago, and now I’ve got the power to silence you as my dog, fitting. What and when I command; you’ll roll over and bark, boy!” Raising his voice in declaration at the end, ensuring who dominantly stood, even… well considering he physically currently, could not. Judas scowled, fellow brow’s frowned but sassed, “Last I checked my Cap’n, had more metal bones than you’ve got. Least he was wobbling on one-leg, and not like you whose is truly left rolling around.” Mocking the condition of the arrogant muscular moron. Unafraid to rebelliously sass, he also made a promise to watch over the other two, Klethera and Casta was also stuck in this arrangement. If angering this tyrant and getting stuck with their share of overloaded work and nonsense, then he’d take it deemed in Repentance. Ensure swiftly and safely, possibly could devise. Strategic webbing planning worked as the wheel-chaired oaf gave out an offended huff, “Bullshite, you’re bluffing no-way little Solaire isn’t still feeling the effects of our battle. I’d wager he threw everything at me, after-which wallowed in his substances and poor-vices in typical fashion, and you know what… I respect and condemn that alcoholic junky for showing up to our hellish bout, coming close, but I won by an inch, so I’ll take my fucking mile victory. It won’t be long, before I’m healed, then I’ll get back to bashing in trunks and skulls. Until then, you’ll have to lap up the taint-end of my business.” Crudely pointed fact.  The Midlander bit his lip to retort further, tension between them. Two volatile elements that weren’t friendly to combine.

Time bellowed forth as the three in Sinbad’s command was left nearly with every responsibility, Casta using her medical knowledge to help get him standing on crutches in physical therapy, roaming around. Klethera was sent often on messenger and hired goon to retrieve debts. While Judas was left with the most life-threatening missions, with no rest in-between. Nothing he wasn't accustomed too, conditioning himself tirelessly towards once before for a noble ambition. Up till their final day appeared, and contract was fulfilled. The Boss highlander sat now in a befitting chair treating it like some grotesque throne luxuriously diamond-encrusted prime shades looking below twiddling his ringed-fingers, dazzled with assortments of bling; high living, “You managed to survive this Summer, somehow providing usefulness despite who you once followed. What remains in task, is a simple gathering between fellow low-life's. I owed them monthly shares of gil alongside my plunder…" Pursing lip's soaring highly with a daring-thought. Lowering his shades, doubling down like some hot-shot movie star. His pirate queen lass behind him caressed his muscular stature only furthering his tyrannical beginning. "...Now I don’t see why I’d ever have to continue paying off them anymore. My infamy is about to shoot-up, I’ll be getting the royal bounty treatments. So YOU my darling rag-tag bunch will convince them, find another sugar daddy. They can find their purse elsewhere, or become creative to eliminate that noise if they dare fuss, give them no quarter.” Judas’s haggard visage wrinkled, sharp-blue orbs were left murky, his eyelids were bagged tirelessly overworked, weight loss, parched lips and complexion didn’t fare well, absolutely deprived of energy and sapped to even refuse, but had peculiar sixth-sense this wasn’t wise, nervous bumps swarmed up his arms, intuition to fuss, but was drowned due to all his other ailments. This deplorable chapter and nightmare; Summer of Sinbad, held closure by mid-day. Underneath relief as his other two-companions weren’t like him in shape, thankfully sighing. While Klethera and Casta shared disbelief of their First Crewmate’s convicted resolve to remain a guardian even outside of their former mutual flag.

Danger within Sinbad’s new attitude intrinsically wasn’t his own danger that held frightening concern. …But what fed on rash thinkers. Above all other forms. In darkness dwelling almost certainly, lurked a set of blood-thirsty behemoth predators, dragons; monsters which consumed the lowly deemed ‘'predators”’ effortlessly.

One-night remaining to rest. Judas couldn’t shake the shivers of the cold brigs forced to lay near a barred window almost like a cell. He was superstitiously forewarned when the tide grew so silent like this dusk. He was kept personally wide-awake. Sharpening his hidden dirks, anxious, most likely there would be blood spilled in ten bells. No way this whole assembly involving cutthroats, pirates, could go smoothly… Didn’t help Sinbad didn’t elaborate which ("band") they were about to cross.

Casta couldn’t escape her routine nightly tears; she confined herself typically to writing but currently held no way to unleash or express her downtrodden emotions. Harm was felt in her healing with guilt, surgically stitching the very person who demolished her revered hero in a Seeker Captain. Casta wasn’t far from Sinbad; they both shared their stories why they looked up to the scoundrel black-cat, but perspective couldn’t be further how they handled it. She saw the contrast of just how vastly different her Seeker was in leadership, treating subordinates like actual-beings and equal, giving freedom catching people from slipping off the teetering sea-vessel wanting to chart the character, and depths of souls, judging actions not faceless covers. Versus Sinbad’s commandment, whose self-serving acting; all means to ends. It brought back familiar trauma that festered in tremors, abundant cold sweats. She couldn’t identify her own anger building, but negativeness, being generally overwhelmed was consuming her most-humane gentleness. Comparable to a flower being watered-down with ever punishing downpour, merely hoping it could-brave and survive another night.

Lastly aboard was Klethera who volunteered working off sentence. Her fault in belief, feeling Sinbad in twisted-way, was grieving despite mouthing otherwise, taking life-careless and acting so righteous in a way. She brought down Sinbad’s brother’s life to end… despite that man having a putrid soul, was unquestionably not hers to take. That’s the issue with deemed heroes; they're often shouted praise for them destroying evil but they enact themselves evil's color, murdering to achieve resolutions of peace. She felt guilt, knowing better, should have captured and let chains, or cells hold nonredeemable. Yet... Hanging around the pirate crowd construed her thinking, she witnessed how many couldn’t be contained by that method. So when then?! If at any, extent should evil be annihilated? Who can reside as judge? Her perceived bloodline was tainted; a pirate father definitely had his share of kills, alongside a grandfather who assassinated countless men for shreds of peace, she didn’t want to partake in that savagery of ending any more lives or one another, the rebellious attitude flowed so beautifully identical to her predecessors. ...However, could she really escape fate standing above a mountain of bodies? Maybe her father was right and couldn’t keep up with this atmosphere. Making her sizzle with heat, an acceptance stubborn to admit… She began dreaming of a new-way to battle, it’d be her own-style to materialize. The three in unison before dawn-break, connected a thought, wondering what became with their Crew having to depart right before this harrowing, learning shortly a traitor was creating chaos among their own flagship. For a brief-moment, they began to feel close; like an actual family forming, now a distant memory from unending chaos.

[Prev:Chapter]: Prelude to Destiny ~ ♪"Warm Shadow"♪

[ponds-of-ink]

Sing The Ghosts A Christmas Carol - Chapter 3 (“The First Spirit”)

This is the part where it veers into official head-canon territory, but this should be pretty insightful for this William.

Also, if it feels rushed at the end, it wasn’t intentional. I honestly had a different thing planned for the second half, but then I realized something that’ll get addressed here.

-

William spent the rest of the hour making preparations. He tidied up the office as best he could, ensuring that this first mystery guest moved around the room with ease. He also adjusted his outfit (patchwork though it was by this point), just in case this specter was royalty of the animatronic realm. An unlikely scenario, yes, but he dared not take any chances. Not after Spring Bonnie’s visit.

By the time the clock sounded, William was sitting in his chair once again. Closely watching one door, then the other. “I almost want to guess that it’s someone like Fredbear, but that would be too obvious,” he thought to himself as he continued to wait. “Perhaps it’s… Ballora?” His face flushed briefly, but he quickly shook it off. “No, it couldn’t be,” he chided himself. “She wouldn’t dare show up in some period piece nightgown. Besides, if our take was anything to go by, she’s now assigned herself to be Nephew Fred or some more minor role. ..That is, if this is all a play more-so than an vision’s intervention.”

So his speculation kept going. He went through the entire roster, crossing off candidates one by one. Couldn’t be any of the ‘93 restaurant models, as they would typically go as a group. The Toys couldn’t be bothered. The one of Phantoms could work, but they were mere illusions with no way to retain something like of the Past’s knowledge. The Nightmares? It was possible, but…

A reddish glow started to shine from the left hallway. William sat up in his seat. He quickly adjusted his mismatched collar one last time, then rolled back to his desk. His undead heart thumped. His Spirit of Christmas Past had arrived.

Dressed in an ever-shifting scarlet dress, a strange variant of Baby peered inside. Her bright green pupils fixed on the man. “I am looking for William Afton,” it said, its echoey voice only straining at his name. “Is that you?”

William cleared his throat. “Yes,” he answered in his best ‘business-like’ manner. “Are you the Spirit of Christmas Past?”

“I am,” Baby smiled, her voice now gaining some warmth.

“And, just so I’m not under any presumptions, why are you here?”

Baby’s head tilted curiously, let her ghostly pigtails float downward. “Didn’t the Yellow Rabbit make it obvious?” she asked in turn.

“Well, yes,” William replied, bobbing his head a little. “But I want to know if you two are on the same page. Are you here for my welfare? My need to recall how horrific my actions were? In your own terms, why do we need to meet?”

Baby glided into the room. “You’re overthinking this,” she retorted calmly, turning to face her listener. “I’m just here to take you to the past. If you want me to say something like the original Ghost of Christmas Past, I’m here for your…” Her voice trailed as her pupils shifted back and forth. She fell silent for a moment, lifting a hand as if to signal him to wait. “Your… reclamation,” she continued, slowly enunciating the second word. “Maybe even your reformation, if it happens.”

“My reformation?” William scoffed, crossing his arms. “Bold of you, out of all of my creations, to think that I have a chance to defy even myself.”

“That’s why I said ‘If’,” Baby corrected, raising her head a little. “I don’t know about what the future holds. I only know about the past. You will have to wait and see.”

“Very well,” William nodded before rising from his seat. “I suppose we must be off. We don’t want to waste the entire hour discussing what you can and can’t do, do we?”

Baby wordlessly stretched out her arm. She waited until William reluctantly held onto it, then started to glide again. “You’ll have to hop onto my back soon,” she instructed as her skates gradually picked up speed.

William raised an eyebrow. “May I ask why?” he questioned, all the while struggling to keep up with his guide.

“Because it’ll be hard for you to hold onto my arm when I reach my top speed,” Baby answered, slowing down her skates just enough. “You might as well jump now. We’re about at the end of the hallway.”

Having no other choice, William clung to Baby’s shoulders for dear life. He readjusted himself as Baby casually barreled towards a dark doorway. His eyes closed shut. He braced himself for whatever surface The Past gave them— Be it a barn door or a tree in the forest.

Darkness fell upon them both. Baby continued to skate along, though the tile floor had completely evaporated into thin air. The journey was now silent and void-like. And William, for the first time in ages, felt his ghostly blood run cold. He clung to Baby for dear life. “Spirit— Baby,” he sputtered out weakly, “have you considered that my past may have been lost to time? I know Scrooge’s past was ages ago for him as well, but he was not eager to completely purge his old life like I have been.”

“If it’s lost to time, then why do I see stars?” Baby inquired softly, peering up into the sky above them.

William’s eyes went wide. He carefully followed Baby’s gaze. There were the stars of a cold winter’s night. Mountains of snow quickly piled up around them, causing Baby to slow down a tad. A cold wind blew across  their faces, only making William smile a little.

Baby quickly glanced back. “Do you know where we are?” she questioned, looking around. “I know it’s around Christmas, but this feels too vague— Even for me.”

“December, 1959,” William answered swiftly, his voice battling the ever-surging gusts of wind. “Either on my birthday or very close to it. It’s a Christmas party at… Bah! The name escapes me.” He paused to get a better look at the ‘road’ ahead. “Just keep heading in that direction and you should see a barn,” he resumed, cautiously pointing towards the snow drifts in front of them. “It should be glowing like a jack o’lantern, even from the outside!”

“Thanks,” Baby responded calmly, now definitely charging towards their destination. “But, now that I think about it, didn’t you just say that you completely buried your old life?”

William’s face burned red. “Well, you know how I am,” he retorted, attempting to mask his sudden embarrassment. “Nothing really stays dead when I’m around— Even if it’s something I want to stay dead.”

Baby only gave a quick look of acknowledgment. She plowed on through the snowy hills, turning an hour or two in a horseback carriage into mere minutes. On and on she went until the barn was a mere minute or two away. Then, with an even stronger burst of energy, she stopped herself with the aid of a towering snowbank. Her wheels turned very sharp and quick, making her entire body turn sideways.

William flew off her back and into the cold ground. However, instead of complaining, he rapidly brushed himself off and hobbled towards the barn. “Thanks for the drop-off, Baby!” he yelled, waving his arm at the surprised girl. “Now, come on! We’ve got a party to catch!”

Baby just shrugged her shoulders and followed along. “He must know that we can’t really attend,” she thought to herself as they approached the barn. “He’s probably just excited to have good fun again.”

And Baby’s guess was absolutely correct. William rushed past each arriving vehicle, eagerly waving to each passenger and mouthing some sort of greeting. Then the music crawled underneath the barn’s two wooden doors. Filled with an even greater excitement, he gave a quick “goodbye” to the newcomers and entered inside.

Thankfully for him, the barn’s interior were just as eager to greet him. Guests both old and new chattered and did their own Christmas traditions. For a few children, it was running along the edges and playing a condensed version of Tag. Several groups of dancers did their best ballroom waltzes in the center, ready to please their ever-changing audience. A small refreshment table stood like a sentinel near the door, which our William stayed close by. He eyed the pleasant cacophony before him, taking in every sense his spirit could rekindle. The smells of candle wax, the scrubbed-down stables, and the nearby fruit punch. That volunteered band performing a more “country-like” rendition of familiar Christmas songs while a couple of attendees sung along. The ever-present warmth both on his skin and in his heart… He sighed heavily, though not even he knew which emotion the sigh came from.

Baby now stood beside him, curiously watching. “So you did like Christmas parties,” she chimed in, her voice absolutely buzzing with fascination. “And pretty crazy Christmas parties, too.”

“Yes,” William answered warmly, as if in a dreamlike daze. “I did.“ A sudden twinge of bitterness kept into his expression. “A shame that it all had to end,” he muttered darkly before leaving the table.

Baby silently trailed behind him. Both dodged and weaved past the chaos that was the main crowd. William stopped in-between a pair of couples chattering amongst themselves. He leaned forward, staring at the dancers now switching out. Baby, meanwhile, stayed close by his side.

A mother and her child soon entered from the southern-most side of the “ballroom’s” audience. They thanked a teenage boy and girl in turn, then carefully joined the rest of the performers. As soon as the band struck up the next song, the pair started to chime in with all their might. While the boy’s voice was soft and shaky at times, the mother’s firm and operatic tone lovingly covered up any imperfections. And, truth be told, the same went for the dancing (though the boy was clearly supposed to be the one leading).

Baby giggled at the sight. “He’s a bit nervous, isn’t he?” she asked, turning to face the still-observing William.

“In m—his—defense,” William cut in, shooting back a stern glare, “this was his first time performing on such a grand scale. Before this was smaller things like school choir performances and at-home ‘concerts’ with the woman you see before you. And she was a very fine singer! Very.. well trained. Regal, even.” His voice caught and his eyes misted, forcing him to look back at the mother and son before him.

Baby wrapped her more unstable arm around his. She continued to observe alongside him.

All seemed to be normal on the duo’s end. The songs came and went. The boy got more confident as time went on, both in dancing and harmonizing with his mother when the time was appropriate. As for the mother, whatever lingered from her own motherly cares seem to melt away. Her movements became more lively and graceful—Almost as if the whole party was restoring her waning youth right before everyone’s eyes.

Of course, such a wondrous scene wasn’t meant to last. A man’s voice bellowed from the east side of the barn. Groups of people were being shoved left and right. The boy and his mother stopped dancing, though the band blissfully played on. The mother quietly glanced away while the boy stepped forward. “Father, wait!” the boy exclaimed, stretching out his arm. “She hasn’t been dancing with anyone except for me! She hasn’t kissed any other man here! I’ve checked!“

But the boy’s plea fell on deaf ears. The mother was quickly seized by the arm and dragged past the crowd of mixed emoters. William followed them with his eyes, looking even more dour than before. He winced in pain as the two wooden doors slammed shut.

Baby gawked. Her eyes bounced from the door to William. “Do you know what that was about?” she asked, genuinely puzzled. “I know I’m the Spirit of Christmas Past, but this feels… beyond me.”

William put a hand to his face. He lowered his head with a groan. “To be honest, I myself am still unsure on what that was about,” he answered stiltedly. “Given later events, I can only guess that it was about parenting or some other heated debate. Could’ve been about my trouble fitting in at school, for all I know. I… w-wasn’t the most confident when it came to.. certain traits…” His voice trailed, then broke completely. He buried his mouth into his other hand, stifling any wretched noises ready to come through.

Meanwhile, Baby glanced at the young William. And, unfortunately for her, he wasn’t much better. His teary eyes were now frantically darting around the room, hoping for any sign of comfort. Mercifully, however, the two teenagers from earlier swooped in and led the boy away from the equally disturbed dancers.

Taking this as a sign on what to do next, Baby moved her more stable arm across the air. The area instantly changed from the bustling barn to a dimly-lit living room. Unlike the scene before, this one had very little going for it. An older chair with some decorative cloth here, a garland draped over a television set hissing and bussing with static there, and a much smaller tree placed in the dingiest corner.

So, really, there was no Christmas cheer in this place.

Baby waited until William practically jolted out of his sorrow, then asked: “Well, how about we rest here?”

William’s heart fell into his stomach. He gently grabbed Baby by the shoulders. “I’m going to assume you are new to your job and have no idea where you’ve taken us,” he addressed gently, gnashing his teeth. “Otherwise, I am going to fight the urge to smack you on the head with a helium hammer from the Local Fair.”

Baby just tilted her head. “But isn’t this your home?” she asked innocently, gesturing to the room before them. “Your old home, I mean. The one you grew up in?”

William rolled his eyes and hung his head. “Yes,” he snarled out, grasping her shoulders ever tighter. “But this is the Christmas the year after ‘59. I have no idea how you’ve done this, but you’ve sent me to the one downward spiral I never wanted to see again.”

Baby felt a shiver run down her robotic spine. Slowly but surely, everything became clear to her. “I would probably have to say, ‘don’t blame me, blame the past’,” she said softly, placing an arm on his shoulder. “But I think you might be right. To make you remember this—whatever mean things your Daddy did—wouldn’t really help your reclamation, would it?”

William looked up at his guide. “In the one sense, it may be a very useful thing to remember for later comparison,” he answered, trying to regain his ‘businessman’ tone. “But, in the other, I think I may just perish from all of the other memories crawling from their dark abysses. So, if we must go through these Christmases together, at least rush through them. They were all essentially the same. The exact ‘decorations’, the annual ‘traditions’,—“

A rough, bellowing “William!!” resounded from another room. William gripped his guide tightly. “And the same rebukes,” he said hurriedly, his voice barely above a whisper. “Please hurry.”

Baby waved an arm. As promised, only a few things changed throughout the years. Pieces of furniture came and went. The father became more and more agitated, but less and less (outwardly) malicious. And the boy, some would say miraculously, grew into a bolder teenager. One that, by the time the visions faded, had slipped out the door right as everything had finished shifting.

Yet again, William took in these renewed surroundings. The pain in his eyes lingered briefly. To Baby’s relief, he heaved a lighter sigh. “We’re free to leave,” he smiled, gently holding her hand in his. “My younger self has just driven off to college.”

Baby’s eyelids raised. “On Christmas?” she asked, failing to hide her surprise.

William chuckled. “Yes, as strange as it sounds,” he answered casually. “Looking back on it, it was probably the best and worst Christmas present I ever got: The chance to finally go out there and defy the odds.”

Baby took one last look at the ever-dingy room before them. “Let’s go to another Christmas,” she said, gliding over to the front door. “Someplace a bit less… dark.”

“Yes, let’s,” was all William muttered before clambering back onto Baby’s shoulders. Baby waited until he was settled, then swung open the door. They flew down the starless suburb before them, following the freshly-created car tracks on the road. The void surrounded them again, but it lasted far less than before.

In an instant, they stumbled into a large room filled with tables. She skidded to a halt on the checkerboard floors, but left no skid marks. William, meanwhile, quickly leapt off as soon as he was able to. Both of them gawked. “I don’t believe it!” William exclaimed, placing a hand to his forehead. “It’s Fredbear’s back in its testing days! Why, if I had to date it, this had to have been the Christmas Show in the late seventies! …Or was it mid-to-late seventies?”

“Maybe that woman can help you,” Baby suggested, motioning to a tall woman entering from a distant side room.

William squeezed past a table or two. His strained eyes turned wide. He muttered some sort of name, but it was so quiet only he could hear it. “Oh, Lizzie,” he muttered offhandly, motioning for Baby to come closer. “I think, perhaps, she could help you better than I.”

Baby carefully rolled up behind him. She peeked over his shoulder. “Is that… her?” she asked gently, keeping her eyes focused on the newcomer.

William’s eyes misted, but his smile only grew wider. “I don’t think y—Elizabeth— ever got the chance to see her,” he mused softly as the unknowing woman took notes on her clipboard. “Well, not since she was born, at least. There were… complications on all fronts. Health troubles.. Unrelated accidents..” His voice trembled on the last word, but tried to pull himself together. “At least we can both see Justine in her prime,” he resumed, feeling his heart race as ‘Justine’ gave a thumbs up to someone behind the stage curtain. “..Though, between you and me, I consider all of the times we’ve spent together her prime. I could even say her entire life was her prime, but that would be too presumptuous for someone I’ve only known since college.”

Baby answered his ramblings with a thoughtful expression. “So, does that mean Ballora was inspired by her?” she asked, tilting her head towards Justine now slipping behind the same side door.

William proudly nodded.

“Hm,” Baby replied darkly. “It’s kind of strange that you don’t feel the same way towards Ballora, then. You know, not accepting her invitation and all that.”

William would have given a lengthy rebuttal, but the sudden flash of stage lights turning on forced him to stay silent. He turned his attention back to the stage itself, where the vibrant purple curtains soon parted. There stood a large golden bear and a slightly narrower yellow rabbit, both dressed in Christmassy attire. “Well, hello there!” boomed a voice from some speaker as the bear waved. “You’re just in time for our Christmas Concert!“

“Now, hang on, Fredbear!” another voice yelped out as the rabbit put a paw to its face. “I’m not ready to sing yet! This Winter weather’s made my voice much sorer than usual.”

“Don’t worry, Springs,” the bear ‘laughed’, putting a hand on the rabbit’s shoulder. “You can get your voice prepped up while we make ourselves acquainted.”

“Thanks, Fred,” Springs said before going into a coughing fit. He lifted his arm as his voice provider practically gave his all into that sound effect.

“While Springs here, uh, gets ready,” Fredbear continued, refocusing on his mostly invisible audience, “feel free to sit down and rest a while. Don’t want your feet to get as sore as my friend’s throat here.”

Realizing that neither of them had actually sat down in a while, both Baby and William pulled out some chairs and settled in. Baby casually watched the rest of the show, but her eyes wandered from time to time. William, on the other hand, leaned forward with his eyes fixed on the two performers. He was mostly quiet.. Save the occasional pained wince at Spring’s hoarser notes. Or his inner child returning for a moment to audibly fill in the intentional dead space in certain parts.

Alas, an hour quickly passed by. It was soon time for Fredbear and Spring-Bonnie to say their goodbyes. Baby and William waved to their newfound friends as the purple curtains closed back. As the stage lights shut off, Baby looked at William. “So, Mr. ‘Too-Evil-to-Enjoy-Things’, how are we feeling?” she asked with a smug grin.

William crossed his arms. “I was fine until you asked me that,” he huffed, shaking his head. “I’m not even mad about the nickname, really. In fact, I’m more upset about the fact that you haven’t shown any of the horrible things I’ve done! What about Charlie and Susie’s little group? What about all the auditory dodging and weaving I had to do to nearly enact my plans with Circus Baby’s? Or Springtrap! All that mucking around as Springtrap would have been a great example! Why, oh why, haven’t you bothered to showcase any of that?”

Baby calmly leaned back in her chair. “There’s only one problem with using all of those memories,” she replied. “None of them really took place at Christmas. I’m the Ghost of Christmas Past, after all.”

William’s face fell. Oh. Right.

“And, besides, you can remember those things pretty well,” Baby explained further, rising from her seat. “Why do I need to remind you when you’ve got them all memorized by heart? At least with the stuff we’ve seen so far, it took a bit of time.”

The frustrated man gnashed his teeth. “Can you please be courteous enough to show me a Christmas that was around any of those times?” he questioned, fighting the urge to rip out his hair. “Something that shows me as the man I became? A cold-hearted, unfeeling monster?”

Baby stared at him blankly. “Only if you think you’re brave enough,” she responded, stretching out her hand.

“I am more than brave enough,” William insisted, grabbing her hand and rising to his feet once more. “I await this memory with open arms. Lead me there, Spirit.”

The Spirit wordlessly twirled her free arm. No dark void greeted them this time. Only the second living room of the journey. To its owner’s credit, however, this one was much more furnished and decorated. A towering, ornament-laden Christmas tree shone in a nearby room. Its colorful glow reflecting off the garlands strung around the archway. Other trinkets surrounded the main room, helplessly watching some dismal soul buried underneath a pile of festival velvet blankets. Though a faint melody played on the television, it did nothing to soothe the sobbing.

William’s whole body shivered.

“Do you remember this?” Baby asked, still watching the grieving wretch before her.

“Yes,” William said, turning away from the sight.

“When was this?”

He steadied his breathing. “December of 1993,” he responded in a frail voice. “Christmas week. I was ‘celebrating’ it alone that year, due to… unforeseen events.”

Baby’s eyes spotted a large box underneath the tree. “Is that present yours?” she questioned, pointing to the gift.

William winced in pain. “No, Spirit,” he choked out, shielding his eyes with his hand. “It was supposed to be for… her. Elizabeth.”

Baby’s faceplates twitched. “What was in it?” she inquired further, her tone becoming strangely intrigued.

“A dollhouse,” William responded before sitting down on the floor in defeat. “A very fine one at that.”

Both fell silent. The second William, finally noticing his mistake with the television, pressed a red button on his remote. The set shut off with a harsh buzz. He was now left in the shadows.

As the clearly-bedraggled man got up from his tear-soaked respite, his older counterpart seethed. “Spirit, I beg,” the latter pleaded bitterly, “why must you make me remember these things? Why must this ‘intervention’ remind me of this beating heart that I am never supposed to have? Even this specter of decades ago had a sliver of grief before the spring-locks took him later that week!” He banged his head against the wall, only feeling a small bit of impact.

“Don’t blame me for these things,” Baby chided gently, lowering down to his eye level. “I’m just here to show you what’s already happened. Blame yourself for this, if you need to— Both in the bad deeds and the… ‘weaker’ times.” She paused to gauge her listener’s expression. “I still stand by what I said at your Daddy’s house, if it helps you to understand,” she added in a slightly kinder tone. “That wasn’t your fault.”

William’s teary eyes shot a steely glare. “The only help I need is a way to get back to the office,” he sneered, repositioning himself to be more ‘stable’. “Take me home, Lizzie.”

The only answer he received was Baby shutting her eyes and lowering her head. In an instant, the final room transformed into his office. The office he started the night with, as a matter of fact.

William instinctively checked his face. One cheek was still wet with blackish tears. His eyebrows raised. “Either this is the most bizarre Christmas Carol that’s ever been performed or it really is an intervention,” he thought as he clambered to his desk. “No matter which it is, I’m starting to think there’s more at play than mere animatronics showing off their more ghostly attributes.”

[hookaroo]

Laden of the Torn (17 of 25)

AO3 link Catch up on tumblr: One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight Nine Ten Eleven Twelve Thirteen Fourteen Fifteen Sixteen Tagging @priscilla9993 @cocohook38 @killian-whump <3

Killian could smell the marsh long before his escorts guided him around the final rock wall that marked one exit to the labyrinthian Stone Forest. Pungent mud tinged with a hint of sulfur would have led him there without the need for a guide, in some far-fetched fantasy where he wasn't the untrustworthy captive being allowed to visit on a mere whim. They all took a left turn into near-tangible stench, and as the ground's ridges began to flatten and slope downwards, Killian caught sight of a pathetic wooden cage suspended from a trio of irregular poles, which were tied at the top to form a pyramid shape. In the distance, a single striated tree jutted out from the reeds and rushes, marking his planned escape route. 

At first, the tiny cage appeared empty, but a few paces into the clearing, Killian detected a faint hint of movement within. Then a miniature head appeared, followed by the smallest hands Killian had ever seen. They gripped the bars as Puzzle peered out at the newcomers. Killian was shocked at how small she was; she couldn't be much bigger than his clenched fist. He had been imagining her to be an older child, but she was little more than an infant. Making Chief Lack's designs on her that much more sickening.

The two guards flanking the cage were armed with long spears, presumably more to defend against the venomous marsh lizards than anything else. They watched Killian warily, and when they judged him to be close enough, they pointed their weapons in his direction.

“Chief Lack has authorized this visit,” said one of Killian's escorts, and the guards relaxed slightly but still kept their weapons at the ready. Killian edged closer to the cage, keeping a wary eye of his own. But his concern was not the spears aimed at his heart, but the nearby marsh's edge. 

“They will come,” Patch had promised. “And the guards will not wait around to see the outcome.” 

He needed to buy time until that happened. 

“Please,” he began in a deferential tone. “Will you allow me to get closer? I'd like to assure myself that she’s all right.” 

He let his arms hang loosely at his sides, projecting as little threat as he could. The guards seemed to confer wordlessly for a moment, then the two bearing spears took a few cautious paces sideways, grudgingly clearing the way for Killian to step forward. Puzzle shrank back at his approach until she cowered against the very back wall of her tiny prison. Killian halted, wincing at her obvious distress, and spoke soothingly. 

“Don't be afraid, Princess. I'm a friend of your father's.”

Killian could not tell whether she even understood him, much less believed his reassurances. He turned to glare at the guard on his left. “How can you live with yourselves, keeping an innocent babe locked up like this? I've seen cooking pots larger than that cage. And that so-called bedding is filthy. It's no wonder the First Clan calls you barbarians.” 

The guards merely stared back at him. They did not seem inclined to drag him away yet, so he continued his tirade. 

“How does she keep warm at night? Are you feeding her enough? Where the hell is her access to clean water? Even Chief bloody Lack can't be foolish enough to think that this swill will keep her alive.” 

He gestured fiercely at the opaque muck all around them, and as he did so, he caught the briefest glimpse of a ripple forming on the murky surface.

Deliberately, he turned his attention back to the silent Less guards nearby. “If you intend to completely destroy a child's life, the least you can do is provide for her basic needs. You’d best be damn sure this is what your gods want, because most theologies I've encountered strongly discourage the torture of innocents.”

“Enough,” spat the mangy guard to his right. She took a step forward, and Killian was forced to retreat as the point of her spear neared his throat. “You will not help your princess with blasphemy.” 

The second guard’s weapon came up to mirror the other, and as Killian took another step back to give himself more breathing room, his hand brushed the top of the bandage around his leg. Had anyone been watching, they may have noticed a fine shower of sand-like particles falling to the trampled shore underfoot. But the Less warriors were too focused on Killian himself.

“Return him to camp,” ordered the spokesguard. “He’s had a longer visit than we are obliged to provide.”

Killian's escorts closed the distance, their own weapons at the ready. Killian carefully avoided looking at the increasing movement at the marsh’s edge. He rotated halfway back toward the exit, but growled a final barb to keep their attention on him for as long as possible. 

“If your intent is to further antagonize your enemies, then you are excelling at it. I can guarantee you that the First Clan will not allow things to remain as they are, regardless of your impression of their character, so if you aren't prepared for open warfare, then I suggest you start--” 

The rest of his fabricated warning was drowned out by a violent splash on the fringes of the swamp. All four Less warriors froze for a single heartbeat, fur standing erect as they were gripped by terror. They shifted their weapons away from Killian and toward the new threat.

“Mire Dragon,” hissed one trembling monkey. 

In the next instant, the marshline exploded into a boiling tide of mud-flecked scales mixed with the frothy spray of algal slime. The Less guards shrieked in alarm. A confusing jumble of clawed limbs and spiked tails hurtled out of the muck, accompanied by a sibilant rumble as multiple reptilian figures fought amongst themselves on dry land. Several more rippling wakes in the distance warned of additional dragons approaching. The smallest Less warrior dropped her spear and bolted toward the safety of high rock walls and the rest of her clan. The remaining three held quivering weapons between themselves and the threat as they moved apprehensively backwards in slow retreat. Killian felt one of them fumble half-heartedly at his shirt sleeve, attempting to pull him along with them, but he easily shrugged them off and began to take his own cautious steps sideways.

Another dragon came lunging up onto the bank, and the sight of its dripping fangs highlighted by the mindless hunger in its eyes sent the remaining monkeys fleeing into the stone maze. Trapped in her cage, the frantic Puzzle leapt from corner to corner, chittering wordless pleas for help. Killian took a calculated step in her direction. None of the lizards were remarkably oversized, the largest being half the length of an average crocodile at most. But according to Patch, they were highly aggressive… and, more worryingly, apparently venomous. Little wonder, then, that both tribes of monkeys avoided them at all costs. 

A new arrival flung itself out of the water, its powerful tail colliding with one of the sticks holding Puzzle’s cage aloft. The wood splintered and the whole setup listed sideways, still upright but appearing uncomfortably close to collapse. Killian grit his teeth and willed it not to fall, all the while edging closer to the writhing frenzy of scales, claws, and fangs nearby.

At least four of the dragons on the periphery of the melee were busy snapping up mouthfuls of what would have appeared to the casual observer to be plain, ordinary soil. If any other creature approached too closely, a warning hiss and growl were the interruption of only a moment, and then it was straight back to the dirt feast. Killian thanked the fates that Patch's advice appeared to be working. 

“Mire Dragons are powerful but extremely stupid,” had been her assessment. “They can smell the nectar seed for miles, but they will not associate it with you, even if they see you scatter it. They will occupy themselves with quarreling or licking the earth until all traces have been consumed.”

As Killian inched closer to the fray, he prayed that her prediction bore out. The nearest reptile cast a menacing look in his direction, tasting the air with the flick of a forked tongue, and Killian would not have put a wager on his chances at defeating the creature in a foot race. Gingerly, he wriggled two fingers into the pouch buried beneath the bandage wrapped around his leg and dug out a small measure of the coveted seeds. Adrenaline masked some of the flames in his hand as he calculated where the precious bait could be placed for best effect. He pivoted stiffly to his right, made an awkward underhand throw back in the direction from which he had just come, and kept his feet moving along the arcing perimeter he’d been following. The nearest dragons charged up the hill toward fresh temptation, provoking terrifying snarls from slower rivals left behind.

The fighting grew more fierce. Whenever fangs found purchase among armored scales, the combatants lunged into a death spiral, kicking up vast clouds of dust as they rolled over and over, ceasing only when additional enemies threatened. The whole marshline teemed with the beasts now, and Killian hastily sidestepped one as it raced toward the desirable seeds. Then he froze, watching in horror as a savage wrestling match bowled two dragons directly into the stilts holding up Puzzle's cage. The wood splintered further and the structure toppled, and suddenly, the nectar seeds had competition for most enticing delicacy. 

Killian staggered forward, heart in his throat, fumbling for more seeds as he dodged the excitable lizards. Puzzle’s cage dangled from the ruined stakes, still elevated but low enough to now be within reach of the gathering predators. Killian spotted Puzzle clinging to the bars at the very top, as far away from the dragons as she could get. To his great relief, the fall did not appear to have caused her any harm.

Nearby jaws snapped at his leg as he passed, close enough to feel the breeze rippling the fabric at his ankle. Cursing softly, Killian tossed a handful of seeds onto the backs of three quarreling lizards a good distance away from the cage. Immediately, most of the attention shifted to the fresh offering raining down from the heavens and away from the defenseless baby monkey. Killian scattered another small handful in the same general direction, mindful of the need to conserve his supply for the trek through the swamp. His path now clearing, he hurried to the splintered remains of the structure and knelt to examine the cage.

The door had no lock; instead, it was tied in two places with thick cords of leather. Under normal circumstances, it would have taken him mere moments to undo the knots, but the limited mobility in his hand presented an unwelcome challenge. He glanced over his shoulder to make sure the Mire Dragons were all still occupied, then reached for the uppermost cord.

"Just hold on a few moments longer, Princess Puzzle. I'll have you out of there soon; I promise."

Whether or not Puzzle understood all of the words, she seemed to at least recognize her name. Her demeanor as she cowered near the ceiling shifted to include a hint of curiosity amidst the fear. Wide eyes watched Killian as he attempted to grasp the knot's looping center. Excruciating heat raced up the length of his arm with each slight movement of his thumb.

Killian gritted his teeth and gripped a little harder, digging his index finger deeper into the center of the knot. The leather hardly budged a fraction, tied so tightly that it almost seemed fused together in some way. His hand already trembled with fatigue, and it felt like he was holding it directly above a brightly burning candle. He would never free Puzzle this way.

The dragons appeared to have determined a general pecking order, with the only scuffles occurring when a subordinate approached its more dominant counterpart too closely. They chomped greedily at the seed-dusted earth, unconcerned about the high dirt-to-delicacy ratio filling their bellies. Grimacing, Killian risked a moment taking his eyes off the predators to make an attempt at loosening the knot with his teeth. A dusty, smoky bitterness flooded his mouth. The cords were relatively thin, but tough, and it would have taken even the most determined set of monkey jaws a considerable length of time to gnaw all the way through.

Killian sat back and studied the cage once again. The knots certainly seemed to be melted together, but if that were truly the case, then how did they ever open the door to let her out? Or feed her, for that matter? It was possible they had a hidden way to open the cage, but he could feel the anxious squeeze of time draining away and knew he did not have enough of it to search for secrets. 

The hairs at the nape of his neck stood on end as restless vibrations from behind him rumbled through his rib cage. Grimacing, he turned to assess the situation with the dragons, and as he did so, his gaze fell upon a discarded spear lying not too far from his current position. Puzzle was small enough that she could almost squeeze through the bars as it was; perhaps with the right leverage, he could wrench one far enough out of place to create a sufficiently large opening for her. Choking back a groan of pain, he pushed himself to his feet and reached for another handful of nectar seeds.

He carefully scattered the seeds in the opposite direction of the spear, waited for the stampede to clear, and hurried to pick up the discarded weapon. Then he returned cautiously to the gently swaying cage. Using his left arm to hold the structure steady, he slid the haft of the spear between two bars, then angled the piercing end away from himself in an attempt to thread the spear butt through the next gap between bars.

Wood thudded frustratingly against wood, jarring his wounded hand. Killian bit his tongue and forced himself to apply more pressure, struggling to guide the haft the extra few centimeters needed to clear the obstruction. 

Two bars would have to suffice. Killian growled and thrust the spear butt through the next available gap. Blood pulsed through his palm like scalding spurts of magma, but he drew a breath and composed his expression into something close to reassurance.

 "Stay back, love," he warned through clenched teeth, unnecessarily, as Puzzle was already as far back out of the way as she could possibly be.

Praying that the spear would not break before loosening one or both of the cage bars, Killian positioned his left arm above the spear-turned-lever, his elbow, forearm, and wrist resting at an angle against the wall of the cage. Then he looped his other arm around the spear haft where it exited between bars. With a sharp intake of air, he braced himself for more pain, then, with all of his strength, he pushed with his left arm and pulled with his right. Short puffs of air hissed through his teeth as muscles bulged in his arms and back. He could feel things tearing, wounds splitting open from the exertion, his hand wracked with spasms that seemed to sprout tendrils reaching all the way up to the tips of his ears and down to his sternum.

Killian dug deep for that last ounce of reserve strength, channeling it into a wild surge of power that pressed the wooden staves into his arms so deeply that he could feel bruises beginning to form. Both the spear and the cage gave off sharp crackling sounds, and the targeted bars appeared to bend slightly, but it would not be enough. His remaining breath left him as a snarl. Panting, he extricated his arms and allowed the spear to fall to the bottom of the cage while he desperately sought inspiration and tried not to dwell on his track record when it came to breaking innocents out of captivity. 

No time for fire, and that would be too dangerous anyway. The spear might be able to cut through the ropes--either the cords holding the door closed, or the thicker ones from which the cage was suspended. If he managed that, he could conceivably carry the whole cage back to the First Clan territory and let them devise a way to get Puzzle out… it would be cumbersome and tiring, and potentially more dangerous for Puzzle should he need to defend them in the middle of the swamp, but it might be their only option.

With renewed purpose, Killian straightened and pulled the spear free. He quickly inspected the blade to determine its sharper edge, then adjusted his grip accordingly, holding much tighter than was comfortable. He could already see that the door straps would require more precision than he was capable of, especially with the lack of stability for the freely swinging cage. So he focused his attention higher, where thicker ropes bound the three damaged sticks together and looped down to dangle Puzzle’s cage like a four-cornered bell.

The coil at the top of the cage was only slightly above eye level. Killian set the spear blade against the outer strand and began to saw, back and forth, aiming for the wooden stake beneath. The friction against his puncture wounds became almost unbearable after only two or three cutting motions, and he did not have to look at his hand to know that blood was seeping through the bandages and staining the haft of the spear. Jaw tight, Killian pressed on, knowing that if he stopped, he may not have the will to resume. 

The first strand started to fray. Killian poured half a year's worth of pent-up, frustrated grief into his task, all the days of worthless leads, every night spent yearning for even one moment in the presence of his little girl, channeled through his wounded hand and along the spear as the ropes were slowly worn away.

“Almost there, Princess.”

The ragged growl did not exactly come across as soothing, but the words were just as much for his benefit as hers. Killian gritted his teeth and attempted to don the jolly father persona that Alice enjoyed so much. Raising an eyebrow, he nodded toward the nearest dragon.

“It’s a shame these empty-headed lizards don’t have a taste for rope, eh, little one? They’d have you out of there in short order.”

As if in response, a noisy argument broke out from somewhere behind Killian, who took a cautious step sideways to bring the combatants into view.

“Oi, scales-for-brains,” he called with forced levity, “where’s your manners? We’re in the presence of royalty here!”

The fight continued, no less intense than before, and he turned back to Puzzle with an exaggerated eye roll. 

“Brains the size of acorns,” he explained. “Probably. If they’re anything like the crocodiles they resemble.”

His hand would not be distracted by the small talk. The spear haft seemed to be wearing a groove into his palm, scraping away the flesh inch by inch and replacing it with splintered wood with excruciating inevitability. Eyes watering, Killian turned a threatening curse into a manic grin. “Bloody hell, your rival clan makes some good rope…”

It was only Puzzle’s shriek of alarm that saved Killian from losing a chunk of his lower leg. Reflex sent him hurtling sideways, just in time to miss a charging dragon’s slavering jaws. Killian staggered, narrowly missed a second beast’s lazy snap, and cursed as the spear slipped from his bloodied grasp.

The attacker hardly noticed that it had failed to connect, and it launched itself against the failing cage supports with berserk power. Killian landed heavily on his knees as he lunged for the spear. The dragon had one of the poles between its teeth and it was shaking its head violently back and forth. Chunks of wood and flecks of venomous slime sprayed from the corners of its mouth as Puzzle’s cage twisted and bucked madly. 

With an aggressive snarl, Killian scrambled to his feet and lashed out with the spear. The tip hardly left the slightest impression on the tough scales at the dragon’s shoulder. Killian tried again, aiming at the nearest bloodshot eyeball. In a flash, the dragon whipped its head around and latched on to the weapon with its punishing teeth. Killian’s weakened fist was no match for the creature’s death grip. The spear slid from his grasp and the dragon began shaking it, much like it had done with Puzzle’s cage. Within seconds, the mighty jaws had severed the tip from the haft. The dragon gave one more scornful snap of its mouth, expelling the remaining wood fragments, then slowly turned back toward the cage.

“One-track mind,” sighed Killian. “All right then, you win. But feel free to take your time fighting it out amongst yourselves.”

Grudgingly, he dug another small portion of seeds from the pouch and flung them several yards away. Or tried to. Enough landed to draw the attention of the intended target, but Killian realized with a jolt of alarm that the majority of the scoop was sticking to his bloodstained fingers, coating them like breadcrumbs. As if he needed to make his injured hand any more enticing to the gathered predators…

Hastily, Killian used his teeth to pull loose the knot securing the bandage around his hand. It wasn’t doing much good in its current state, anyway. But bloody hell, the damn thing was certainly stuck fast, in far too many places…

For the sake of Puzzle’s young ears, it was a good thing Killian’s mouth was occupied and could not give voice to the pained expletives currently running through his head as clot after clot ripped open.

Finally, with one last brutal tug, the long strip of animal hide tore free. He disguised his pain with a tight parody of a smile, gingerly wiped the seeds from his fingers, then folded the bloodstained fabric into a more easily tossable shape. 

“All right then, mate. Don't care to chomp on wood? Try a bit of hide.”

Killian crept toward the discarded spear, noting the positions of both handle and blade. With his boot, he nudged the haft in the direction of Puzzle’s cage, then, as he bent to scoop up the broken-off point, he flung the seed-crusted bandage toward the snuffling hulk nearby. It did not travel very far, but at least it didn’t stick to his fingertips, and the monster would hopefully be tempted by the scent. 

“Careful you don’t eat too fast,” warned Killian as he edged backwards. “It would be a real shame if you were to choke.”

He had barely touched the blade to the rope before he realized just how much the bandage had actually been helping. With a hiss, he pulled his hand back sharply, only for the blade to slip from his fingers. Grimacing, he told Puzzle,

“All part of the plan.”

He must be out of practice: this game of constant reassurance was far more exhausting than he remembered it to be.

Leaving the blade where it had landed, he instead reached for the broken spear handle. After a quick glance over his shoulder to assure himself the dragons were still occupied, he thrust the splintered end between the bars and all the way through the cage until it came to rest against the support poles.

“Sorry about this, love.” Killian reversed his grip and braced the cage as securely as possible. “Try to stay back.”

A few forceful kicks were enough to topple the remaining support poles, allowing Killian to lower the cage carefully to the ground. Tilting the spear tipped the structure onto its side. Then, shifting his stance to bring the closest Mire Dragons into view, Killian drew a breath and prayed that Puzzle would not be injured by collapsing cage bars. He used the spear for balance as he repeatedly stomped down on the skyward wall of the cage with his heel. The wood began to shift. He put more force behind his strikes. Puzzle curled into a quivering ball in the farthest corner, making herself smaller as her prison threatened to buckle in on her. 

Finally, the bars gave way beneath Killian’s heel, splintering inward with a crunch, and he allowed himself a quiet exclamation of triumph as he carefully removed his foot and stepped back.

“It’s okay; it’s over.” He crouched and used the back of his hand to nudge the crumpled bars aside. “You’re free.”

For one chilling instant, he feared Puzzle would bolt in her panic, heedless of the dangers surrounding her. But instead, she immediately scampered up his outstretched arm and settled herself on his shoulder, pressed tightly against his neck as if wishing she could burrow and hide beneath his skin. He could feel her silken fur vibrating in time with her terrified shivers as he retrieved the spear blade, then cautiously stood.

“Let’s get out of here, shall we?”

Killian tucked the blade into the seed pouch, then he pulled the haft from where it rested haphazardly against the broken cage. It would be useful in navigating the marsh ahead, if he could somehow endure holding onto it the whole time. He leaned it against his opposite shoulder for a moment as he fished out a final sprinkling of nectar seeds. Just to keep the nearby mob of dragons busy as he took his leave.

“Make sure you don’t leave any trace behind,” he called to the lizards. “It isn’t worth following us; you’ve got your treasure right here.”

Distraction provided, he turned to face the swamp, expression grim. The pair of escapees were not out of danger yet, not by a long shot. And he was already so ridiculously exhausted. With a grimace, he picked up the spear haft and tucked it beneath his arm. Then he moved down the sloping shore and into the pungent muck at the bottom.

The mud was not as cold as he’d been expecting, though it wasn’t exactly warm, either. The first few steps got progressively deeper, but then the sludgy bottom seemed to even out at a depth just high enough to flood his boots and provide an appropriately miserable experience. Following Patch’s advice, he kept the striped tree directly in front of him, but remained on high alert for the tell-tale ripples of Mire Dragon stragglers. Of course, there was always the possibility of inadvertently stepping on one dozing invisibly beneath the murky water, but apart from testing each step with the broken spear, which would take forever and lengthen the amount of time they were at risk of discovery or predation, there really wasn’t much he could do to avoid that particular misfortune.

Killian’s feet were burning by the time he reached the small hillock upon which the striped tree grew. Of greater importance than the forming blisters, though, was the trail of small blood droplets that had fallen from the tips of his fingers as he waded through the muck. He could not have created a more obvious hunting lane had he been trying. He halted at the base of the tree and took a brief moment to survey the landscape ahead. There were two trees in sight, along with the usual cattails and an impressive blanket of flowering lily pads off to his left, but only the southern tree had the distinctive striped bark which marked his path. He sighed as he stiffly loosened several buttons on his shirt. 

“A true sailor’s quandary,” he mused aloud. “All this water around and not a drop to drink.”

As he worked to unwind the bandage covering his ribs, he glanced down toward Puzzle. She had switched shoulders, seeking shade, and her slender tail curled loosely around his neck to provide additional security as she rode. “You hanging in there, love?”

After he had wrapped his hand in an embarrassingly sloppy fashion, Killian cleaned his fingertips and dropped a few nectar seeds into the mud. Hopefully, any dragons that followed them would now get sidetracked along the way. 

“All right, then,” sighed Killian, turning to line himself up with the next tree landmark. “Onward.”

[genshingorlsrevengeance]

OC Story: 916

Prologue, Chapter 1, Chapter 2

Chapter 1 - "Internal Affairs"

After discovering a child inside the cockpit of a Corporate Soldat, David and his mercenaries retreat back to their base and attempt to identify the mysterious pilot....

Genre: Scifi (Mecha) Content Warning: General descriptions of violence, long text jumpscare after you press Keep Reading lmao Word Count: 8.9k

A/N: For the person who said that the story so far reminded them of Iron-Blooded Orphans, you're gonna be reminded of it a LOT more during this chapter. More in depth author's note at the end. Thanks for taking the time to read this if you do, feedback is always appreciated!

David stood by an open doorframe, looking into the empty hallway of abandoned school before he turned his attention to the room he stood outside of. The room was presumably a nurse's office since there were beds inside. Whether or not they were entirely clean was a luxury he couldn't afford since his mercenaries immediately attended to the child they had found.

After the doctors determined that he would at least wake up soon, they departed to the rest of the convoy outside, leaving David and another mercenary attending the child.

David crossed his arm and examined the child sleeping in the bed closely. He didn’t even have a shirt on and the wires connecting from his chest to the spine was emitting some kind of white noise. The numbers on his neck did not inspire any confidence in the idea that he came from anywhere pleasant, let alone the fact he arrived from a secret tunnel inside a damaged Soldat.

Even his head wasn’t completely intact, with part of his hair shaved off and revealing some kind of slot inside, which was a mixture of flesh and metal bits. David tried his best to ignore looking at it, if he did any longer he might throw up.

His eyes glanced over to his second in command, Chloe, who pushed back her red bangs and put her face closer to the child’s neck. Her fair skin contrasted with the paleness of the child’s skin, giving the impression that he had barely seen the sun. Though given the nature of his appearance, that probably was the case.

Even though Chloe was quite short among the other members of Wolf Company, she towered over the child, whereas a normal child would have at least come up to her chest. Which disturbed David all the more.

Just how young was this kid when he was turned into…whatever the hell this was? 

“Well, he gonna be fine, Chloe?” David asked as his massive shoulders shrugged.

Chloe leaned back as she responded to his question.

“He’s lucky to still be breathing right now, Boss. I can’t make heads or tails of what the crap all over him is specifically meant to do, but all I can tell is that it’s keeping him alive.”

“Hmph.” David grunted as he walked outside the room and into a long hallway, staring out the windows directly in front of him.

Through the broken glass, he saw several of the engineers taking a look at the R1-N0 Soldat, which stood in the middle of a courtyard. Several vehicles surrounded it with loads of equipment and scanners, as two of his men in Soldats stood on guard a fair distance away, one blocking a straight shot on the crew and the other to its right. Their left flank was blocked by the building he was in, which formed an L-shape.  

Wolf Company had taken refuge in an abandoned school on the far right border of Cumbria. It was fairly secure, and they had taken up residence for the past four weeks without incident. It was a nice change of pace without rival PMC’s trying to hunt them down for past aggressions. David frowned at that. He had said it was nothing personal every time they came to blows, yet it always ended up with them getting pursued. Shrugging, he decided to let that thought go for the moment.

“What have you grease monkeys got for me so far?”

“Boss, the equipment this kid’s rocking is insane! Thing’s armed with a 60mm autocannon that could punch through all of our Soldats, barring yours. Pretty sure there’s a heat dagger hidden somewhere too, and that's not to mention its armor! The damage looks bad but it's barely even dented!”

David was taken slightly aback as he stole another glance at the blast marks on the R1-N0. The right shoulder was completely blackened, but now that the engineer mentioned it, he did not see any internal damage. There was not even any sparks of electronics or oil splashes.

“Guess that makes sense considering it’s Dyson tech. Speaking of which, how’s the cockpit?”

“The seat has some kind of connecting point for the pilot’s back. We tried to activate it, but it just didn’t budge. We think it’s some kinda safeguard against hijacking, but not positive on that yet.”

As much as David wanted to examine the Soldat himself, this kid was the far more pressing matter. That being said, he did not feel entirely comfortable just leaving it be. There’s no way it would be so defenseless without a pilot, especially since it reeked of corporate funding.

“At least this time it ain’t trying to kill us.” David muttered to himself. 

David had only seen the R1-N0 once, and that was all it took for him to hope he would never be fighting one again.

One year ago, Wolf Company was tasked by a rival corporation to attack a Dyson outpost in Florence territory. What was supposed to be an easy job ended in complete disaster when his team were ambushed by these R1-N0’s. They responded to no hails, and even when his engineers jammed into their communications, there was absolutely nothing being said.

No orders, tactics, or even trash talk. It was an eerie silence, which was impossible considering how well coordinated they were and how they were always attacking together. Even other reports by other PMC's indicated that they attacked the same way, in a group.

That was the one thing he took away from these Soldats, the Dyson R1-N0’s never fought alone, and they fought like demons. Why was this one by itself, and more importantly, why was there a kid in there?

“Boss, kids waking up!” Chloe shouted from across the hallway.

“Speak of the devil. Only took five hours…Coming!”

David walked into the room right as the child opened his eyes. He slowly sat upright and his face remained unchanged upon seeing two ill-dressed strangers staring back, in a room he probably had no idea where the location was. The child's lack of reaction was not entirely surprising to David. He sat there blinking silently at the two of them.

“...You uh, alright there kid?” Chloe asked, crossing her arms. She eyed him up and down, noting his strange behavior.

“Yes.” The child replied promptly, but emotionlessly.

“No…injuries or anything?” David questioned next.

“Mild dizziness, but it will pass.”

David and Chloe exchanged a glance that indicated neither of them knew how to carry out the conversation.

“Is something the matter? You two look unable to speak.” Now it was the child’s turn to interrogate them.

“Something the ma-” Chloe sounded flabbergasted, the face she made David couldn’t tell if she was insulted, confused, or a mixture of both. “Of course we look unable to speak! You got more metal bits coming out of ya then my goddamn cockpit, and here you are, brushing us off as if it’s normal!”

“...Is it not?”

David cleared his throat as he motioned with his hand towards Chloe for her to ease off. She just shrugged and clicked her tongue, stepping back.

“Name’s David, but just call me Boss. That’s Chloe to my left. How about yours, kid?”

“EH-916.”

“...Your name, not your callsign.”

“EH-916.”

“...God almighty, it’s worse than I thought. People just call you the number they branded onto your neck?”

“Yes.”

Somehow, talking with the kid made him feel even more uneasy. The way he responded so matter of factly to his bizarre circumstances. Actually, the fact he was this proper in speaking was another indicator of what terrible things had been done to him.

“Psh, your eyes may look like you have some life, but there’s nothing going on upstairs evidently!” Chloe snarked, an exhale of mild amusement leaving her nose.

“Last I checked, Chloe, only thing going on up in that dome of yours is blowing stuff up,” David retorted. “Least this kid knows when to keep his mouth shut.”

Chloe was appearing like she was about to scream something vulgar in return, but David shut her up by asking 916 another question. This time, he knelt down so he could get on eye level with him.

“Alright, 916. Tell me, what the hell were you doing in a Soldat?”

“That is my designated R1-N0.”

“Your designated…You’re the main pilot of that thing?”

“Yes.”

Chloe stepped forward shaking her head.

“But you’re just a kid! How can you pilot something that-’

“I am an Enhanced Human. My purpose in life was to fulfill my orders given to me by Dyson Headquarters. I am augmented to efficiently pilot the R1-N0 Soldat and work alongside other Enhanced Humans.”

Finally, the pieces started to click in David’s head. This wasn’t just some one-off freak experiment. He could only fathom the scale of it, but the way 916 was speaking-

“There’s…more of you?”

“The others were ordered to find the Florence Government soldiers who attacked our corporate headquarters. My last directive was not to trust any of the employees of Dyson, escape, and live life to the fullest, and not waste it.”

“Boss, that means the skirmish we were told about-”

“Yeah, kid here must’ve come from that.”

David examined 916 once again, realizing how much of him appeared to be augmented, and that was only what he could see. The wires on his chest connected to the protruding, obviously metallic spine, the slot on his head, god knows what else the kid was hiding.

“You don’t seem to care that you’re exposing some pretty serious stuff, 916.”

“I believe those responsible are already being punished by the Florence government, Boss. If you planned to kill me and salvage my R1-N0, I would not be here, so it is obvious you have questions. I am no longer under orders from Dyson. My creator told me I was…free. I am unsure of what it means to be that.”

David chuckled at that. He doubted there was anyone who did know what it truly meant to be free. Even himself and the rest of Wolf Company. Standing back up, he offered a hand to 916. The size of his palm completely dwarfed 916’s, but he offered it gently, waiting for him to take it.

“Tell ya what. How about we show you around? Long as you promise not to kill us inside that thing, anyway.”

“As long as you do not give me a reason to.”

David laughed heartily at the remark, and gladly took 916’s hand and helped him up. He motioned for Chloe to follow, which she gave a slight smirk at the order.

…

The three of them stood in front of the kneeling R1-N0 as the engineers and other crew began murmuring to themselves. The sight of someone so small with so many augmentations amazed and scared them equally. This kid was the pilot of a corporate mech?

One of the engineers looked back and gave a quick salute.

“Boss. Chloe…That kid our pilot?”

“So he claims to be." David responded as his head turned to 916. "Mind powering it up? My boys seem to have trouble doing so.”

916 made an affirming hum. Before anyone could offer a lift or even a stepladder, he began climbing into the cockpit with relative ease. The way he did so looked like he had jumped into a Soldat without the assistance of any kind of leverage many times.

While 916 made motions to activate his Soldat, David stepped closer to the machine. Now that he was able to look at the R1-N0 properly up close, he began making out many details that he wasn’t able to before.

The head’s visor was segmented into four different smaller visors, two on each side of the face. It shone a bright blue as the sun reflected light off it, and the shape of the head itself was angular, with two yellow bits of jagged armor making it seem like it had tusks. The antenna on the Soldat was a massive solid piece of yellow steel jutting upwards, making it look like a horn.

“Guess that’s why other mercs called it the Rhino…” David commented to himself.

Looking at the torso, it also followed the same design philosophy of the head. Angular, segmented by different plates of armor. Though most of the white paint was chipped or outright black and brown thanks to the damage done.

Well, superficial damage anyway. As far as he could tell, any shot that did hit it bounced right off. The massive hatch in the middle opened upwards and revealed the cockpit, where 916 was still activating his Soldat. He was able to see some kind of latching mechanism attach to the spine, which grossed him out. 

Moving onto the arms, it had stopped being angular and more compact, the shoulders and arms resembling a box-like shape. The hands of the R1-N0 contrasted with its more utilitarian design, and appeared to be closer to claws than anything with its sharp fingers extending past its palm.

And…was that a red stain on the right hand?

Deliberately choosing to ignore that, David then looked at the legs. It was the most massive part of the Soldat, the thighs being somehow even larger pieces of armor, making it hard to separate the it from the rest of the leg at a glance.

The knees plates were facing outwards and almost the size of the leg itself, with the feet being massive claws, two toes in front and back.

He did remember these suits being faster than any Soldat he had seen, able to land from jumping extreme heights and having zero issues speeding around with their thrusters, maybe those claws helped stabilize it?

Finally, 916 was finished and everyone saw his eyes flash red, then back to violet, scaring a couple of the engineers and admittedly even David and Chloe too.

The R1-N0 stood properly upright, catching the attention of the other two Soldats. In comparison, the R1-N0 stood a meter taller. It was seven meters, by his guess. The other two were Florence Soldats, who were far less flashy than the R1-N0. Their colors had been adjusted to Wolf Company’s primary color: gray and black accents instead of the Florence dark brown.

Their chest was essentially a massive blocky square, with the cockpit being right above the waist. The legs were blocky, but more proportionate to the rest of the Soldat.  The arms were not too dissimilar from the R1-N0, but the length of them were shorter, going to the top of the thighs, and the hands were far more human in appearance. 

In fact, everything about the Florence Soldat was far more humanoid than the R1-N0, to the point it could be seen as a scaled up human in heavy armor. Even the head appeared friendlier in comparison. It had one uninterrupted red visor, as if it were a soldier’s helmet, with slightly more armor poking out above the visor. The only complaint David really had with them were the names given to this class of Soldat.

“Hm, everything about the Rhino makes these Guardian-types look like child’s play…”

“Boss.” David heard 916 call out to him.

“I am now in the Soldat. Is there anything you wanted me to do?”

The cockpit still remained open, and everyone looked impressed that he had activated it so easily. The head’s blue segmented visors stared straight at David, alongside 916 himself.

“Uh…I guess give us a damage report? It looked pretty bad but we weren’t able to detect internal damage.”

916’s eyes flickered several different colors, shocking the crew again before reading a report out loud on his right monitor.

“Superficial damage. Electric circuits require a minor tune up, as well as calibrations. With the proper tools I can manage it myself.”

“How the hell can you-?”

“The data for maintenance is installed in my head via a processing chip.” 916 replied, as if having a chip inside your brain was the norm.

“Riiiight, how could I overlook something so obvious?” David sarcastically commented. 

“Do not feel bad, it is not obvious. Apparently.”

“Motherf…” David just sighed as Chloe and some of the other mercenaries laughed.

“Guess your age’s getting to ya, eh boss?” The engineer chuckled.

David shot everyone a glance that quickly shut everyone up.

“Crack a joke about my age again, and I’m crackin’ your neck.” David grumbled. He was only thirty-five, that was way too young to start making jokes about that kind of thing. He looked back up to 916. “Alright, I guess next we can-”

Before he could finish his sentence, the guarding Soldats quickly spun around to the left flank, moving behind cover and turning towards the company.

“Boss!” The closest one shouted from within his Soldat, using the machine’s speakers.

“Our radars are picking up something arriving! We think they’re Soldats! Ten minutes out!”

Everyone suddenly turned to David, awaiting their orders.

“The hell? Chloe, get your and Hayes’ asses into your Soldats, get mine too while you’re at it! Everyone pack your shit and get ready to leave, ASAP! And kid!-”

The R1-N0 adjusted itself to fully look at David as the courtyard’s population quickly scattered towards all directions. The two Soldats nodded at each other and one approached the corner of the wall carefully while the other walked closer to David.

“If you want to get out of here, now’s your chance. This is a problem for Wolf Company, not you.”

“Do you not need any assistance?”

“You don’t owe us anything.”

“But you helped me out of the Soldat. You did not need to do that for me either.”

Now David understood the emotion Chloe felt earlier.

“What? Who wouldn’t help a ki-?! Because I-...Know what, I don’t care. Do what you want.”

“Boss! I’m getting hailed by the Soldats!” One of the Guardian-Soldats knelt down to pick up David with its hand, and brought it close to the cockpit.

The pilot’s right monitor picked up an open channel, and the screen turned on to reveal a dark skinned man dressed in a navy blue uniform.

“B-Boss, isn’t that-?!”

“Florence Military Police…?”

The pilot leaned back as David stepped inside the cockpit.

“Am I currently speaking to the leader of Wolf Company?”

“You are. Whom do I owe the displeasure?”

“Captain Alana of the Florence Military Police. I wish to speak to you regarding someone currently in your vicinity.”

“You’re aware you’re currently breaking a lot of treaties just by coming into the Cumbrian border, ain’tcha?”

“We are dealing with an internal affair, and have already approved it with local Cumbrian forces before entering. As soon as we finish, we will leave, but more importantly, we will be leaving you alone.”

“...This about the kid?”

“So, the R1-N0 is there.”

“What’s it to you?”

“As you can see, the child has undergone cruel and horrific treatment by Dyson. We only wish to make things right by taking him somewhere safe.”

David scoffed, tilting his head.

“Far as I remember, it was Florence who let Dyson balls deep into their country, to the point you all had those exact Soldats serving alongside your soldiers. If you knew they were pulling those kinda stunts, why didn’t you do anything about it?”

Surprisingly, Alana looked ashamed.

“I will freely admit that I could not do anything to touch the corporations sooner. You’re correct in saying that their influence over our government is far larger than it ever should have grown. But we are changing that now. That pilot will join the other children and us to testify against them in court. If you can direct the pilot to us now, you can help us loosen the grip of Dyson everywhere.”

“You mean so you can save your asses for enslaving kids to fight wars for you.”

“I will not ask again.”

“Heh, well it ain’t up to me anyway. Up to the kid.”

“Then I will give you ten minutes to ask him to make up his mind. We are authorized to use deadly force if anyone interferes. I certainly hope you’ll make the right choice.”

The monitor turned off with David sighing. He turned to the pilot.

“You two wait for my order. Chloe and Hayes will be joining us soon.”

The pilot saluted as David went back to the Soldat’s palm and was taken back to the ground. The R1-N0 simply stared at David while he crossed his arms.

“I assume you heard the whole thing.”

“Yes.” The voice came out of the R1-N0’s speaker.

“Why did you not go with them if they came to bust you and your buddies out?”

916 remained silent for a moment. After what seemed like a small eternity, he finally gave David an answer.

“After the massacre at the training site, I do not believe my kind would be welcome in any nation. Additionally, the data I have accumulated about Florence through working with their military and the information compiled by Doctor Moreau, indicates that we would still be used for their own purposes.”

“That Alana guy seemed to be decent…Putting aside the whole condescending tone, anyway.”

“Captain Alana may guarantee my safety during the trial, but he cannot protect us from what may happen after. The political ramifications of our very existence puts their government in a precarious state with Cumbria, given we were created for the sole purpose of waging war during peacetime. Our kind will be disposed of one way or another.”

“...”

David was troubled by 916’s predicament far more than he cared to admit. A kid as young as he was should not be able to have this much foresight about their fate, nor should they be so pragmatic about it. 

“You were wanting to know what it means to be free, right, 916?”

“Yes.”

“Well, that answer can only come to you. I can’t tell you what to do, neither can Florence, or anyone else. If you decide to fight them, or even us, then do it. Or you can run, choice is yours.”

David started to walk towards the courtyard exit, hearing more of his merc's Soldats approaching.

“Which one is the most efficient course of action, Boss?”

David chuckled, turning to face 916. He could see in the cockpit, 916’s face was blank, but his eyes looked at him like an actual child now. At least they had not stripped the kid of all his humanity.

“That’s the thing, kid. No one really knows. Ain’t freedom a bitch?”

…

Lieutenant Justeen sat inside the cockpit of her Soldat as her monitor displayed the squad. It contained herself and five other Guardian Soldats. They had followed the trail of destruction the lone Soldat caused and ended up in Cumbrian territory. After Alana had contacted the local officials, they only had a day to complete their operation, which was not nearly enough time. To make matters worse, they could only bring a small force so as to not escalate tensions between the countries.

“I guess we should be thankful Dyson put tracking chips inside all their Soldats…”

 The area they followed the Soldat into appeared to be the ruins of some kind of city, with broken buildings and streets as far as the eye could see. Her team was currently situated behind what she could only assume used to be a skyscraper, with the top half of the building being gone, it was hard to tell.

Had the R1-N0 been taken deeper into territory and not to the border, they would have had zero chance to recapture the machine. But more importantly, they were here to save the pilot. Thankfully, the R1-N0 appeared to be standing still according to her tracker. But from the sounds of things, it looked like this PMC captured the poor child. He had gone through enough suffering, it was time to put a stop to this.

“This is Lieutenant Justeen, listen up!” Justeen sternly spoke to her squad. “The captain gave us ten minutes before we begin the operation. Wolf Company has seasoned Soldat pilots in their ranks, do not underestimate them! We’ll take them out if they try to stop us, save the child, and return back to Florence territory!”

“For the record, kid ain’t exactly in need of saving.” An unknown voice replied to her.

Justeen turned to her right monitor, almost snarling at the voice. This was an encrypted channel, no one should be able to tune into it. “Who is this?! Identify yourself!”

Over the horizon and emerging from around the corner of a shopping center, she could see a…tank?

No, it was not just a tank, it had arms and two massive cannons on the shoulders. It was as if some maniac ripped the top half of a Guardian Soldat and slapped it on some tank treads and called it a day. The colors were bright gray, with black stripes accenting parts of its shoulder armor. The head had a black visor with two tubes and a vent connecting them directly underneath it, making it appear like it was a gas mask. It was unlike any Soldat she had seen before.

“Name’s Boss. Real nice to meet you Florence boys and girls after you trashed our home."

“How is he speaking to us?!”

“Ma’am, it looks like he knew what frequency our comms were on!” One of her soldiers replied.

“Shit, are they hacking into our channel?”

“Nah, not really.” David answered Justeen, the smirk in his tone apparent. “Let’s just say I had a little bird tell me, and leave it at that.”

…

The R1-N0 had its hand on the shoulder of a Guardian Soldat, still remaining in the courtyard as everyone was quickly gathering their gear for an evacuation.

“I…suppose it does make sense that you know how to tap into Florence communications.” The Guardian Soldat’s head turned to the R1-N0. 916’s grunt of affirmation came through the speaker, and both listened back into the conversation.

…

“Now, I’m not keen on killing people usually, and today’s no exception. We don’t wanna hurt ya, but I am only gonna say this once.” Justeen saw the black visor suddenly gain a singular pink circle, it moved left to right before staring right at her, the twin cannons slowly rising up. “Get the fuck off my lawn.”

“SCATTER!” Justeen screamed into her mic. Her squad used their thrusters to quickly back off as she saw the cannons fire upwards, the explosions rocking the buildings they were behind.

“Take him down, turn off Florence channels and switch to physical comms! Formation B!” Justeen wanted to punch the nearest wall.

They could only speak if their Soldats were in physical contact. Trying to coordinate this attack suddenly became much more difficult. Gripping her controls tightly, she accelerated around the streets, keeping an eye on her motion tracker as one of her squadmates followed behind. She refused to be beaten by some petty mercenary.

...

“Flare, Screw. They’re moving into groups of two, I count six Soldats in total." David leaned back into his seat. "Watch your ass, they’re special forces according to the kid.”

“Flare here, roger that!” Chloe’s voice came through the radio.

“Screw, understood. Remember when I asked if we’d get any action, boss? Looks like I’ll get my wish!” An energetic young voice replied back.

“Tch, don’t get too excited. They’ll cap your ass if you give them a chance. Now, move out!”

The tank Soldat began speeding down the streets, facing forward so his cannons wouldn’t bump into any of the buildings. He was slightly worried about getting flanked due to the low turning speed of his machine, but he was confident the armor could hold up. Guardian Soldats never carried ammunition to pierce through his kind of Soldat.

Just as he predicted, two Soldats quickly emerged behind him and opened fire. The cockpit shook violently from from the impact, which made him smirk. His torso quickly spun 180 degrees, the machine guns mounted onto the lower arms pointing right at them.

Feeling the Soldat’s arms rattle as an overwhelming amount of bullet shells flew out of it made David feel alive. At least until he saw the ammunition costs, but he wanted to enjoy the moment for right now.

The two Soldats weren’t expecting him to turn around so quickly and were hit by his bullets before they hid behind separate buildings. David didn’t expect any serious damage to be inflicted, but it was more to show that if they opened fire, he could quickly retaliate, hopefully making them think twice about their strategy.

Seeing the line of rubble in between him and one of the other Soldats made his smirk grow into a full grown smile. He stopped firing before sliding into cover.

...

“Damn, that was close!” The soldier said, reloading his Soldat’s rifle. Justeen quickly hopped over to his building once the fire stopped and put a hand on the shoulder.

“I’ll draw his attention, and you’ll hop onto his mech and take it out with a heat dagger. That armor is way too strong for our rifles to punch through.”

“Understood.”

“Now, on my mark, I’ll head down the street he esca-”

The two quickly noticed the sounds of something crashing, and it was getting closer. They quickly boosted away from each other as the building they were hiding behind suddenly burst with the tank Soldat, arms stretched outwards and unloading its ammo into them. It was covered in rubble, but looked barely affected as the monoeye swung left to right rapidly.

Their Soldats rattled from the amount of bullets hitting them as warning sirens blared inside their cockpits. They hid behind other buildings, but now they would have to improvise with the tank Soldat right on their heels. Justeen heard the pilot’s voice on an open channel.

“Aw come on now, ya’ll are acting like a buncha bitches! These little bullets ain’t gonna hurt ya! If you come out again, I can show ya how the Juggernaut really punches!”

Clenching her teeth, Justeen examined her routes, refusing to be goaded into aggression. She was going to show these mercs that special forces were not to be underestimated.

…

Two of the Florence soldiers sped down the streets, listening closely for the sounds of explosions and gunfire. One of them slowed down for the other and their shoulders made contact.

“We need to help the LT!”

“If there are other Soldats in the area, we can’t let them get the jump on the rest of us either. We need to-”

"SNIPER!”

A narrowly missed shot straight past them and almost took off one of their heads, forcing the soldiers to dash behind a tall building together. Judging from the angle of the shot, the sniper was extremely close to their location, and not at an angle.

The one on the left put their rifle onto their back and pulled out a pistol. The Soldat aimed it blindly over the side and fired in random directions where he guessed the sniper came from.

Another shot from the sniper took the hand clean off, but the Soldat calmly turned towards its comrade. It motioned with its remaining hand, moving it up and down to the right side twice. Both nodding in affirmation, the right Soldat prepared a grenade as the left one got its rifle back out with its remaining hand.

Hayes reloaded the rifle as he made a fist pump to himself in the cockpit. The Soldat itself was lightly armored and far slimmer than the Guardian-types or the R1-N0. It had the same proportions as the Guardian, but its head was angular and narrow with a single circular lens acting as its eyes.

The armor itself was very light and a first glance would tell someone it was a machine meant for scouting, not direct fights. However, this did not stop him from taking the sniper dangerously close to the area of operations, instead of farther away or inside a building. It lied on its stomach down a busy street, aiming down a relatively large kill zone.

“Hah, got your hand, bitch!” He chuckled. “Now poke your head out so I can take it off!”

Instead of a head, a grenade was thrown out on the left side, exploding into a cloud of smoke. Hayes grunted as he switched to thermal vision on his Soldat's monitor, but found it was being scrambled. The Soldat he had shot the hand off of emerged from the smoke, firing on his exact location, pinning him down with machine gun fire. One of the stray shots caught his arm, making the entire Soldat shake.

"Shit, Flare! I've been compromised!"

He grabbed the sniper and stood up and turned around to make a run for it, before the other Guardian Soldat emerged directly in front of it with a dagger that stabbed into the head. The dagger began glowing, parts of it melting before it detonated into a small explosion.

"THE MAIN CAMERA! S-SOMEONE?!"

Hayes' Soldat fell down onto its back as the two soldiers slowly approached him. The undamaged one put its hand onto their comrades shoulder. The damaged Soldat's pilot reached for their encrypted comms, making sure the enemy could hear it as well.

"Lieutenant, do you copy? This is Mark and Hale. We disabled an enemy sniper. This sector is cl-"

Suddenly, a Guardian Soldat came bursting through the building on their left, tumbling into the standing two and causing them all to fall. Quickly getting up and helping their fellow soldier to stand, they noticed several melted armor plates and slash marks on it.

It had no weapons and the arms were cut down to its elbows. The two soldiers quickly raised their weapons when another Soldat emerged from the hole, carrying a shotgun and a small sword.

Compared to every Soldat present, this one was even less armored than the sniper, however its legs resembled that of an insect, the joints being reversed. The entire design of the Soldat was slim, pointy, and extremely agile. The arms were lanky and thin, as well as the legs. The head was almost indistinguishable from its torso, both designs slimmed back and two lenses acting as the eyes.

As soon as it emerged from the hole, it put the shotgun directly against the head of the right Soldat, blasted it apart with one shot before it quickly leapt out of the way as the other soldier tried to retaliate. The armless Soldat attempted to retreat as their comrade tried to give them cover fire.

"THIS IS MARK, NOT CLEAR! NOT CLEAR!"

Chloe gracefully leapt around the streets and buildings at a rapid speed, getting a good look at the damage done. The Soldat she disabled had its head arms completely obliterated, but the cockpit remained intact, surprisingly. The same went for Hayes' Soldat, sighing when she realized what its position was.

"Screw, what did you think a sniper would do against targets THAT close?! Theres like seven buildings we passed you could've holed up in, and you chose the god damn floor?!" 

“S-Shut up, I could’ve handled them!”

“Oh yeah, I see that! Next time how about we strap a bomb to ya since you’re going to get that close in a SCOUTING SOLDAT?!”

…

916 lifted his Soldat's hand off the merc's shoulder, turning his speakers on.

"How quickly can friendly units assist them?"

"Five minutes! We just finished packing all our gear, 2 more soldats will go to help!"

That was too slow. From the sounds of it, they'd get overwhelmed before any of them could even arrive. The only one who could possibly get there-

The R1-N0's engine and thrusters activated, the visor turning into scarlet.

“CE-DRIVE, ACTIVATED.”

"I will get there in two. Prepare to retrieve your friends."

Without another word, the R1-N0 leapt over the entire school with a combination of the jump and its thrusters kicking into full boost. Unlike before, 916 was completely calm, but he would only be able to keep the mode up for a few minutes before he would either lose consciousness, or the suit lost power. The dizziness from before was still present.

“Inconvenient, but will not affect combat performance.” 916 idly commented as his Soldat dodged the rapidly incoming buildings, skirting left and right and creating a small cloud of dust and debris in his wake.

…

The other Soldat Chloe had been fighting joined the fight, attempting to put her suit down with careful precision shots. She leapt from building to building, trying to get close enough to where she could effectively use her shotgun. But the soldiers kept retreating behind rubble that was too tall for her to jump on, or positions that would leave her far too out in the open.

"Tch, you're making this a real pain for me!"

One of the soldiers' rifles aimed away from her, instead towards the building she was about to land on. And with a single shot, destabilized the floor. Before she could realize what happened, the building collapsed and took out her balance the moment her Soldat landed.

The two soldiers closed in on her as her Soldat struggled to get up, her armor shaking violently from the direct hits. She threw her sword at the one approaching on the left and skewered the head, making it fall to the ground as the weapon fired wildly. The one on its right ducked to dodge friendly fire, and saw Chloe raise her shotgun.

"HAH, I WIN!-"

The armless Soldat emerged from the corner of the ruins she was trapped in and rammed straight into her, making the shotgun fire into the air as her Soldat fell over again. It put its foot on the arm holding the shotgun as his squadmate quickly approached and put the rifle straight on her cockpit.

"...Fuck." Chloe grumbled, her one arm raising into the air, motioning a surrender.

…

Justeen and her other squadmate dodged the falling rubble as it almost collapsed right on top of them, feeling the ground shake from the firing of the tank Soldat's cannons. David kept firing his machine guns every time they tried to poke their head out, and barraged them with the cannons to smoke them out, but he was starting to sweat.

The ammo count for his arms were critically low, and he wouldn't be able to use the shoulder cannons if they got too close. And from what he heard on the comms, they got Chloe and Hayes. He just sighed and sat upright again. His crew and the kid could escape before the rest of Florence could catch up, that's all that really mattered to him.

Suddenly, his motion tracker was picking up a new signature that was approaching. 

"Damn, looks like the others are about to hit me too-" He stopped when he realized just how fast that new signature was approaching. It was far too quick to be any of the Florence Soldats, did that mean it was?-

"Lieutenant Justeen? This is EH-916." A boy's voice calmly called out on the open channel.

"God, they just called you numbers…? Ahem, this is Justeen, we are in the middle of active combat and we will retrieve you-"

"I thank you for saving me and the generation 2 Enhanced Humans. However, I am not coming with you."

Justeen recoiled in her seat with shock. Looking at her motion tracker, it had gone from standing still a few hundred meters away to moments from being upon them in the matter of almost two minutes. Her eyes went wide as she remembered what he had done to other Dyson guards.

"The last directive given to me was 'be free and live life to the fullest'. I am still unsure of what that means-”

Justeen brought her rifle back up as did her squadmate, fully focusing on the signature who was now only seconds away from entering the combat zone.

“-But I know, my freedom does not lie with you.”

…

Chloe and Hayes’ Soldats were put up against the wall as the soldiers still had their weapons pointed at them, before their heads turned to their left.

The R1-N0 suddenly leapt over one of the taller buildings, making everyone look up in shock, the thrusters kicking in at the last second as it landed directly in front of the soldiers. The one without arms charged in first, only to be met by the R1-N0 activating its thrusters straight into it, pushing him, and the soldier behind him out the way.

The force of which it pushed them back was something both of them were unprepared for, skidding past the one Soldat with the sword in its head.

916 quickly grabbed the sword as it slid by before deactivating its thrusters, the soldiers sliding back and only stopping when their backs hit a building. Within a few seconds of crashing, 916 skewered both their heads with the sword, nailing them in place before he grabbed the rifle from their hand, and rushed back to the two mercs.

“M-MY SWORD!” Chloe cried out in anguish. 

When the Soldat’s heads exploded, it destroyed the sword with it, the two collapsing onto each other. As a small fire erupted from the top of their torsos. 916 stopped his thrusters just enough to slide right in front of the two, grabbing a shotgun in one hand and a sniper in the other.

“I’m borrowing this. Sorry.” 916 calmly apologized to Chloe.

“MY SNIPER!” Hayes cried out in anguish.

“MOTHERFUCKER!” Chloe shouted, slamming her terminal. “YOU CAN’T JUST STEAL OUR WEAPONS AND...-” 916 disabled his open channel for the time being so he could focus better on the fight.

Not missing a beat, the R1-N0 activated its thrusters and leapt over the building, getting a view of the Lieutenant’s Soldat and her other squadmate flanking David. They pulled evasive maneuvers, firing precise shots while speeding away from the tank Soldat and landing direct hits on the R1-N0’s front armor.

Each shot shook the Soldat and chipped away parts of the armor, but failed to cause any serious damage. David meanwhile escaped out of line of sight from the others.

When the R1-N0 finally landed on the ground, it rushed into the buildings to avoid any more direct hits, putting the shotgun on its back as it prepared the sniper. Checking the ammo, 916 realized it had none left. 

“Adapting combat functionality.” 916 calmly said, the thrusters beginning to activate again, waiting for the Soldats to come closer.

...

Justeen’s breath was caught in her throat. Earlier, the standard soldiers were blowing apart each Dyson guard and their limbs with a single shot, how was this one so resilient?! Her eyes dilated when she began to realize how quickly this one moved in comparison to the standard guards.

It was likely that the security variants were far weaker in combat capability than the ones Captain Alana served with. Recalling that presentation she watched at Dyson Headquarters, they mentioned the pilot was what made the machine so effective.

Which meant…the children were the real threat?!

Her squadmate went ahead of Justeen, attempting to catch 916 by surprise, only for the head to be swatted off and broken into pieces by a sniper rifle. He dropped the sniper as a heat dagger suddenly emerged from a hatch inside the armor of its left arm, which it used to cut the arms off. And with one kick, 916 sent it sliding backwards onto the street below. Quickly turning to face Justeen he readied the shotgun, barrel aimed for her legs.

“No you don’t!” Justeen gritted her teeth as her Soldat pulled the trigger on her rifle, aiming for his weapon.

The shotgun exploded off the R1-N0’s hand, to which it quickly switched over to its heat dagger and closed the distance. With pinpoint accuracy, she aimed for the joints, the R1-N0 failing to dodge in time as each shot slowed it down, giving her enough time to reach for her own combat dagger. 

Without warning, the visor of the R1-N0 suddenly switched offline into black, and stalled. Justeen did not waste the chance and went for the head with her own dagger. The visor switched back into a blue as it ducked, making her attack miss and stab into the nearby building.

It quickly rose back up, using its horn to knock the torso backwards, making her stumble and unable to catch her balance. Using her rifle, Justeen took more shots at the joints, finally making an arm explode off and forcing the R1-N0 to stagger. 

“It’s over!-”

An explosion suddenly knocked her suit’s feet off the ground, tumbling backwards as debris rained on her main camera, the buckles on her seat barely restraining as she shook violently, the rolling finally stopping after a few seconds.

She struggled to keep her eyes open as consciousness started to fade and the ringing of her ears settled down, but the last thing she saw was the smoke coming out of the tank Soldat’s cannons, the pink monoeye staring her down. Justeen tried to reach for her control before she fell unconscious, her world fading into black.

...

916 sheathed the heat dagger onto his backpack before grabbing the R1-N0's arm on the floor. Once he retrieved his part, 916 slowly walked over to Justeen’s Soldat, stomping on her rifle and crushing it into a miniature explosion of sparks and smoke. 

“Thank you, Lieutenant Justeen and Captain Alana, for your concern. Please give my regards to the men who attempted to rescue me with you, and the children of Generation Two.”

The R1-N0’s head turned back to David’s tank Soldat, giving it a single nod.

“Primary threats eliminated. Awaiting orders, Boss.”

916 could not see it, but David's smile was ear to ear.

“Same plan. Pack our shit, and get out ASAP.”

…

After dragging every Florence Soldat to a safer location and igniting a flare, Wolf Company quickly evacuated the abandoned school and left in a small convoy. The Soldats who were not part of the fight took the role of guards as everyone drove in a scattered formation to prevent devastating losses in case of an ambush.

Towards the middle, the damaged Soldats rode in a massive cargo-truck, the truck being the largest one in the convoy.

David, 916, Chloe, and Hayes were being driven by one of the engineers, the four of them in the back of a salvaged APC. Finally settling down after the skirmish, David chuckled and crossed his arms, sweat dripping off his arms and the tank top that barely fit him. 

“Now that was some serious skill, kid! I heard the cheers from everyone as you rushed in like some kind of hero.”

“My specialization is close combat rush tactics, Boss. That is the only reason why my R1-N0 was so effective against the Florence soldiers. You are the one who saved me, again.”

“Say what?” David asked, genuinely surprised.

“The R1-N0 could not power my CE-Drive for very long, especially since it was used twice in the span of a few hours. The power dying out in the middle of combat was unintentional. The only reason I am riding with you and not them is because your cannon knocked the Lieutenant unconscious.”

“Heh, no shit?” Chloe chuckled, lightly punching his arm. “Still wouldn’t sell yourself too short kid, that was some serious asskicking you did. That being said, I am still VERY pissed at you for blowing up my weapons!”

“A-And my sniper rifle!” Hayes said, his hands trembling. “You used that thing like a baseball bat!”

“What’s baseball?-”

“A SNIPER IS  A LONG RANGED WEAPON, YOU LITTLE-!”

Chloe’s fist slammed the top of Hayes’ head, and putting one hand gently on 916’s head.

“I don’t wanna hear it from the dumbass who thought you could use a sniper rifle within 10 meters of your enemy.”

David simply chuckled watching their banter. He then raised an eyebrow as he looked at the bewildered 916.

“Putting their bitching aside, they got a point, 916. You did technically trash Wolf Company property.”

“Am I expected to pay recompense?”

“As a matter of fact, you are. But, considering our circumstances, I figure I’ll give you a mulligan.”

916 opened his mouth before David cut him off.

“Mulligan is a sport thing. Figure of speech, basically means I’m letting you off the hook.”

916 closed his mouth. Hayes grumbled under his breath while both David and Chloe chuckled, looking at 916.

“Well, I suppose you wanna be getting off at our next stop, 916?” David asked. “I was the one who said you should determine your next course, and not us.”

916 remained silent as he looked at the gray floor, speaking barely above a whisper, so quiet that the APC’s engine almost drowned him out.

“You asked me earlier why I didn’t go with Florence after they saved my friends. They in fact, did not save them in time.”

Everyone sat up on their seats as 916 continued.

“The kids they rescued were part of generation two of the Enhanced Human program. I am generation one, with generation two enhancements. I…am the last GEN-1 alive.”

No one said anything, the three mercenaries exchanging glances.

“Not only would the people despise my continued existence in Florence, there would be nowhere for me to go. My only skills lie in combat, I would either get kidnapped again and used for malicious purposes, or confined to a government building. I am alone.”

David got up from his seat and put an arm on 916’s shoulder.

“You don’t gotta be. If you ask me, you have a place in Wolf Company, 916. You’re just like us. You don’t know what the hell you’re doing in this world, and you wanna find out the reason.”

916’s expression did not change, but David could swear there was a twinkle in his eyes.

“Can’t say that you’ll be danger free with us, or that we’re even a good choice at all. But you got my word, ain’t no one here is gonna take your freedom away.”

“...Then I believe staying with Wolf Company is my best course of action.” 916 nodded confidently.

Chloe cheered loudly as she suddenly wrapped an arm around 916’s neck, catching him by surprise. The Engineer driving joined Chloe in the cheer as Hayes just shrugged.

“ALRIGHT! First step is paying me back for my shotgun and sword you broke!” Chloe said frowning, pointing a finger into his cheek, 916 only blinking in response.

“And my sniper too! Though it’s finally nice not being the rookie now.” Hayes said, putting a finger to his chin as a thoughtful look overcame his annoyance.

“Oh please, the kid’s like what, seven and he knows the basics of combat more than you. You’re still the rookie here.” David said, looking unimpressed at Hayes. “That being said, we can’t just call you 916 the entire time. That’s just depressing.”

“We’re giving him a name, Boss?” The engineer driving asked.

“Yeah, a name, then we make it official to the crew." David leaned back in his seat as he continued to think what was next. "We also gotta make sure we turned off that tracker on his R1-N0 they sniffed us out with, give it paint worthy of Wolf Company, and get us a new job so he can pay back these two crybabies.”

Chloe’s arm did not relinquish 916’s neck as his cheeks squished up against her bicep and chest, pointing an accusing finger at David. 

“You can’t call us crybabies, boss! I’ve seen the look in your eyes whenever you pay for the machine gun ammo for the Juggernaut!”

“Which is why I tell you to shut your asses up about your broken toys! That can be replaced for nearly under half the cost of that junk!”

“Then why the hell do you still use it if it’s that expensive?!”

“Because it has a purpose, girl!”

“What, big man likes big guns, is that the dumbass reason?!”

“YOU’RE GOD DAMN RIGHT IT IS!”

“What was the name you were thinking of, boss?” 916 asked, putting an end to the argument before it could escalate.

David and Chloe cleared their throats while Hayes and the engineer just shrugged.

“Well…Can’t be a number, that’s for sure,” David commented, putting his hand under his chin.

Chloe took a closer look at 916’s eyes, noting that even though they were violet, they could change colors based on what she saw earlier today.

“Oh, I got it! Vi!” Chloe said, finally releasing 916’s neck so he could sit properly. He rubbed his neck slightly while she snapped her fingers. “Vi, like violet!”

“Vi? What kind of name is that? Why not something like…uh…” Hayes trailed off. "...Okay, I got nothing."

“Well, what do you think?” David asked, everyone turning expectantly toward 916.

“...Because my eyes are violet. I see the correlation. The name will suffice.”

“HAHA! YES! My ideas are the best, aren’t they?” Chloe shouted excitedly.

“Psh, what a kissass…” Hayes shook his head.

“Hah, Welcome to Wolf Company then, Vi.” David said, extending his hand towards the child.

“Thank you, boss.” Vi replied, with the slightest elevation in his pitch as his tiny hand shook David’s.

…

CHAPTER 1: END

Author's Note:

And so, the adventure truly begins!

Thanks for reading this far and I hope you enjoyed this a bit more than the prologue. Chapter 2 is where imo the story begins to really pick up the pace, and that should hopefully be out in a few days once this post goes live!

I actually Chapters 2-5 already written, but these tumblr posts go through revision from my google docs, and I also don't want to spam you guys when you're mostly here for anime waifu simping.

Relatedly, besides Chloe, there shall be more waifu material joining the fray in Chapter 2! Granted, that's not why they're there since this is an actual story, but ya'll are smart enough to know that.

...I hope.

I think it's really obvious at this point how much the Gundam influence is in this story, but hey, write what you love, right? But on that note, I will make a song recommendation to close this chapter out, because I am apparently incapable of writing anything that doesn't fit thematically with a song from an anime/game.

Orphans’ tears, love bears the burden of sorrow because it can make it stronger You’re on my mind; can you hear the blues that the sky sings?

Ah… The blue light that rises in the dark night hides your loneliness

The only thing that remains after the battle is sorrow What do soldiers see in the fragments of their dreams?

Orphans, now we send a ship called hope out to the sky You’re on my mind; in this instant, the sky sings the blues

[lariskapargitay]

Chapter Update (a biggen!)

The Master sees the Doctor for the first time since she was hurt, and the mystery of how this all came to be reveals (along with how the Master is responsible for what happened to her dot dot dot)

[ddesguv]

Chapter 2

Finally at home after today's fiasco, you take off your shoes and throw them together with the dirty laundry. Next on the list is a glass of bourbon and a hella hot shower, digging graves is no joke, your poor body deserves a break. You pad over to your bathroom, still wearing your work attire and flip the switch. The dim light flickers on, revealing the chipped paint and water stains that have been there since you moved in. You sigh and grab a towel, hanging it neatly on the rack before opening the medicine cabinet. Inside, you keep a few essential items: toothpaste, toothbrush, some antacids, and a bottle of ibuprofen. You reach for the ibuprofen, popping two pills into your mouth and chasing them down with some tap water. Now, the bourbon. You pour yourself a generous glass and take a long, satisfying sip, letting the warmth spread through your body.

The hot water finally beckons you, and you step into the shower, wincing as the warm water hits your sore muscles. You stand under the stream for a while, letting the water wash away the dirt and grime from the day. You reach for the soap and start scrubbing, taking your time to clean every inch of your skin. As you stand there your thoughts wonder on to poor dead Jim, if only he wasn't such a piece of shit maybe he would still be alive, no use pondering on what could have been now, it is what it is. You finish up quickly, towel drying yourself off and throwing on an old, worn out pair of sweatpants.

With your bathroom business taken care of, you pad over to your bed and collapse onto the soft mattress, staring up at the ceiling. Your mind drifts to the usual, the meaningless banter of human existence, the absurdity of it all. You close your eyes and let out a long, exhausted sigh.

Your tiny apartment is silent save for the faint hum of the refrigerator down the hall. It's comforting in a way, the silence. It's a reminder that even in the midst of all this chaos, there are moments of peace. You reach over and turn off the lamp on your nightstand, plunging the room into darkness. You curl up under the covers, feeling the familiar warmth of your bed envelop you. Thank fuck tomorrow is your day off from work.

You wonder what the hell you're going to do with yourself. Maybe go to the park, read a book, catch up on some much-needed sleep. Or maybe you'll just sleep in and wake up at the crack of noon, watching reruns of your favorite show and eating ice cream straight out of the carton. The thought makes you chuckle softly.

You wake up to the sound of birds chirping outside your window, the warm rays of the sun casting a soft glow across your messy bedroom, and you can't help but feel a strange sense of accomplishment just by existing. You stretch your arms above your head, yawn expansively, and roll out of bed. The floor is cold against your bare feet, but it's a welcome sensation after the oppressive heat of the sheets. You pad over to the window, leaning against the sill as you watch the world outside begin to stir.

The neighborhood looks peaceful, as if everyone's taking the day to catch up on sleep or enjoy their leisure time. You spot a few people out for walks with their dogs, others sitting on their porches drinking coffee or reading the paper. It's a familiar scene, one you've seen a thousand times before, but there's something comforting about it. It's the little moments like these that make you appreciate the simple things in life.

You decide to take advantage of your day off and make yourself a nice, leisurely breakfast. You rummage through your kitchen, searching for something that'll strike your fancy. After much consideration, you settle on some pancakes and a couple of eggs. The smell of cooking fills the air as you carefully flip the pancakes on the stove, making sure not to burn them. You're quite the chef, you think to yourself with a satisfied grin.

Once breakfast is finally done, you sit down at your small kitchen table, enjoying the warmth of the sun on your face. The pancakes are fluffy and the eggs are cooked just right, and you can't help but feel content. You take your time eating, savoring each bite, and letting the world outside continue its slow, steady march towards whatever it is that it does. You know there are things you should probably do today, chores and errands and whatnot, but for now you're in no hurry. The only thing missing is a good coffee and a smoke. After taking care of the dishes you make yourself a nice cup of coffee and walk to the small balcony attached to the kitchen.

The view from the balcony is just as peaceful as the one from your bedroom window. You light up your cigarette, take a long drag, and let the smoke curl out of your nose. The taste of the coffee and the nicotine mix together in your mouth, and for a moment you feel like you're on top of the world. You lean against the railing, looking out over the neighborhood, and let your mind wander.

You think about your job at the coffee shop, how it can be such a grind sometimes, but then again, it pays the bills. You think about your friends, how they're always trying to get you to go out and party, but you prefer quiet nights in. You think about your family, and how you sometimes wonder what it would be like to have someone who really understands you.

The cigarette butt falls from your lips, leaving a small, burning ember on the wooden floor. You stamp it out with the tip of your shoe and take a sip of coffee. The bitterness is almost overwhelming, but you like it that way. It reminds you that life isn't all sweetness and light. It's got its share of bitterness, its share of darkness, but it's up to you how you choose to deal with it. Maybe you should do some scouting today, after cleaning, of course.

You finish your coffee and step back inside, closing the balcony door behind you. The house is still quiet, the only sound the ticking of a clock on the kitchen counter. You look around, taking in your messy, lived-in space, and realize that there's a lot of work to be done. The floor could use a good vacuuming, and the laundry...well, the laundry can wait. For now, you'll focus on cleaning up the mess you've made around your little home.

But first, music. Connecting your phone to a little speaker you select the best songs for today's first activity and start tidying up around the living room occasionally singing a verse or too along the song.

The task done, you move to the bathroom. It's a small space, but it feels strangely therapeutic to clean it. The tub and sink gleam under your careful attention, and the toilet smells fresh and clean. You stand back and admire your handiwork, feeling a sense of accomplishment washing over you.

Next, you tackle the bedroom. The bed is already made, so you focus on straightening up the dresser and picking up any stray socks or articles of clothing that have found their way onto the floor. You take a moment to organize your collection of books on a nearby shelf, lining them up neatly by height and color. It's a small detail, but it brings you a sense of satisfaction.

Finally, you turn your attention to your work space. Your desk is covered in papers, books, and various knickknacks. You begin by clearing off the desktop, stacking everything neatly into neat piles. You dust the shelves above your desk, wiping away the layers of grime that have built up over time. The air feels cleaner already, and the room seems brighter.

After such hard work done you deserve a little pampering, maybe go shopping, you could actually use some more dark clothing, best choice for keeping blood stains hidden.

Before you head out, you take one last look around your apartment. It's not much, but it's home. You're proud of how you've made it your own, how you've managed to create a space that feels warm and inviting despite the limited square footage. You take a deep breath, stretch your arms above your head, and go get dressed.

You grab a pair of black  jeans from your closet, their soft denim scratchy against your fingers. They're one of your favorite pairs, and they make your legs look longer than they actually are. You pull them on, adjusting the waistband until it's just right. Then you grab a burgundy long-sleeved shirt, the fabric soft and smooth against your skin. It's a simple design. You button it up to the top, leaving the collar open, and then put on your favorite black leather jacket. The jacket makes you feel edgy and confident, like you can take on the world. Finally, you slip on your favorite pair of black ankle boots. They lace up tightly around your calves, giving you a bit of an edge. You stand in front of the mirror, admiring your reflection. You look like you could be a character straight out of a gothic novel, and you love it.

Making your way out of your home, you wonder where should you go first? Maybe a quick trip at the mall? But which one of them? There's a smaller one in the downtown area, one north from there and the last one, much bigger then the others, near the main road of the city. Probably the one downtown would be the best choice, after al that's where most of your victims tend to wander around. With your mind made up, you walk to the subway and wait for your ride.

The downtown mall is bustling with activity when you arrive. The air is filled with the sounds of laughter, music, and the murmur of voices. You weave through the crowds, careful not to attract too much attention with your distinctive style. You make your way to one of your favorite stores, where they sell a variety of dark clothing that will be perfect for keeping blood stains hidden.

As you browse the racks, you can't help but feel a sense of satisfaction at your purchases. You pick out a pair of dark wash jeans, a long-sleeved black shirt, and a jacket that's just a shade lighter than your favorite one. You also find a pair of black boots that are slightly more comfortable than your current pair, but with a thicker sole, perfect for crushing bones.

After paying for your new clothes, you decide to take a break and grab a bite to eat. You find a small, cozy café tucked away in a quiet corner of the mall. The atmosphere is warm and inviting, with soft lighting and comfortable chairs. You order a cup of coffee, a sandwich and sit down at a table near the window, watching the world go by outside.

As you eat, you can't help but feel a sense of contentment wash over you. You're well-dressed, well-fed, and your new clothes should make it easier to avoid suspicion. You take a moment to enjoy the taste of your coffee and the sound of the Nice ambiental music . This is the life, you think to yourself.

Finishing your meal, you decide to do a little more shopping. You wander around the mall, browsing through a few bookstores and record shops. You pick up a few new albums, a couple of dark fiction novels, and a small notebook and pen set. Writing is another of your passions, and you find inspiration in the twisted tales you read and the strange events that occur in your life.

As you continue your walk, you notice a small art gallery tucked away in the corner of the mall. You've always been drawn to the macabre and the dark, and the paintings inside are no exception. You spend some time admiring the works of a local artist, whose paintings of eerie landscapes and haunting figures seem to speak directly to your soul. You purchase one of the smaller pieces, a haunting portrait of a woman with empty eyes, as a reminder of the darkness that lives within all of us.

With your final purchase done, you decide to walk around the downtown area for an hour or two, who knows, maybe you'll meet a new victim.

The air is cool and crisp, carrying with it the scent of freshly baked pastries from the nearby bakery. You take a moment to pause and enjoy the sounds of the city; the honking of car horns, the distant laughter of people enjoying their evening strolls. It's almost peaceful, in a twisted sort of way.

As you wander through the streets, you can't help but feel a sense of anticipation building within you. Your eyes dart from person to person, searching for someone who might be your very next victim.

As luck would have it, your little patrol around the area seems unsuccessful, better luck at night maybe, yeah, most definitely.

With a little bit of disappointment you make your way to the secluded parking lot you let your car in, it past enough time to make it seem like the car is broken, and fortunately the paperwork you got states that it was fixed today. Once your shopping bags are in the trunk of your car you go to the front and get in the car, making sure you put your seatbelt on. With a turn of the key, the engine roars to life as you choose a playlist for your ride home.

You decide to take a scenic route, driving past the city center, the old theater where you used to go as a child, the abandoned building where you first killed, the park where you used to go on dates. As you drive, you can't help but reminisce about the past, both the good and the bad. The memories flood back like a wave, washing over you, making you feel both nostalgic and haunted at the same time.

The sun begins to set, painting the sky in shades of red and orange. You find yourself slowing down, taking in the beauty of the twilight. It's as if nature itself is trying to distract you from the darkness that lies within, but you know better. You know that it's not the darkness that's the problem, it's what you choose to do with it.

You pull up in front of your apartment building, parking your car in the same spot you always do. As you step out of the car, you take a deep breath, inhaling the scent of the fading day. The air is cool and crisp, carrying with it the promise of a chilly night ahead.

Once inside your (now) tidy apartment, you go through your shopping bags and put each item in it's distinctive place. Maybe you should change into something more casual if you go out again tonight.

So that's exactly what you do, after grabbing a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie, you grab your new boots and a backpack with a few essentials, rope, a small hunting knife and the likes. Now it's time to go out again.

The night air is crisp and cold, the stars twinkling in the inky black sky above you. You take a deep breath, feeling the adrenaline coursing through your veins as you make your way towards the city center. The streets are deserted, save for the occasional car speeding past or a lone figure hurrying home.

You wander aimlessly for a while, taking in the sights and sounds of the empty city. The neon signs flicker on and off, casting eerie shadows across the sidewalks. The buildings loom tall and ominous, as if they're watching your every move. It's then that you spot something: a young woman walking briskly down the street, headphones in, oblivious to her surroundings, and a sketchy looking man walking quite close to her. Better follow to make sure nothing bad happens to her.

Keeping a discreet distance, you trail behind them, not wanting to make your presence known too soon. The man's hand dips into his pocket, and you can see him fidgeting nervously.

The woman reaches into her own pocket, presumably for her phone, but the man lunges forward, grabbing her wrist and yanking her backwards. She lets out a sharp cry of surprise and pain. You can see the fear in her eyes as she tries to wriggle free, but the man is stronger than her. He covers her mouth with his hand while roughly pulling her hair.

" Listen here doll, you better shut the fuck up and be a good girl, or things are gonna be much worse"

You watch as the man pulls a knife from his pocket, holding it to her throat. The woman's eyes go wide with fear, and she starts to shake her head violently, tears streaming down her face. You can't just stand by and let this happen. You've seen enough of this sort of thing, and you know what needs to be done. Carefully you reach into your backpack and pick a water bottle, and with all the strength you can muster you yeet that shit straight to his head, which lands perfectly , smashing the bottle into his face. He yowls in pain, dropping his knife as he clutches his bloody face.

The woman, in shock and terror, stumbles backwards and trips over her own feet, falling hard onto the pavement. She looks up at you, her eyes filled with relief, gratitude, and maybe even fear. You kneel down next to her, putting a reassuring hand on her shoulder. Before the man recovers from the shock you grab his wallet and the girl and run fast as fuck, as far as possible, thank God he was drunk and stupid.

You lead the girl to a nearby alley and make sure she's okay. She's shaking uncontrollably, her eyes still wide with fear. You hand her some tissues and she dabs at her face, trying to compose herself. She thanks you over and over again, her voice shaking, and you tell her it's no problem, you were just doing the right thing. After a few minutes, she finally seems to calm down. You ask her if she's okay to go home, and she nods, wiping the last tears from her face. You tell her to be careful on her way, and she nods again, taking a deep breath before stepping out of the alley.

As you make your way back home you take that guy's wallet from his pocket and stare at it. You open it , 336 dollars inside, fuck yeah! You're gonna buy yourself something nice with that cash, next, his ID, Samuel Johnson, age 28, address on 183 Main Street. You slip the wallet back inside your pocket, maybe you should go check if that's really his address, without a single thought you pull out your phone and call a taxi.

The taxi arrives a few minutes later, and you hop inside, giving the driver the address. As you ride through the city, you can't help but feel a sense of accomplishment and satisfaction. You saved that girl's life tonight, and you might have a neo target . The city seems different now, somehow brighter and safer.

You arrive at the address in record time, and as you step out of the taxi, you see the building: an old, run-down apartment complex. You decide to hide around a corner and observe the building for a while, maybe you'll see him get inside the building.

After about fifteen minutes, you see him ,Samuel Johnson emerges from a nearby bar, staggering slightly. He stumbles towards the building, fishing in his pocket for keys

Now that you are sure he lives here you make your way back to your house, obviously taking a taxi, ain't no way in hell you'll be walking home. The ride back home is quiet and relaxing, the passing lights of the city lulling you to sleep, if it weren't for the holes in the asphalt you were sure you'd be asleep. You mentally prepare yourself for the shit that's about to come.

When you arrive at your place, you pull out your trusty laptop and start doing some research on the internet. After some digging, you find out that Samuel Johnson is a known drug dealer in the area, and he's been on the police's radar for quite some time. You also find out that he has a history of violence and has been arrested multiple times. This information only makes you more determined to take him down.

The question is : How do you do that?

Do you make it look like drug overdose?

Some type of teritorial gang violence?

A car accident?

A freak accident in his own apartment?

The possibilities are endless, and the choice is yours.

It's best to sleep on it for now, you need to go to work in the morning.

[deanwinchesterswitch]

Run To You ~ Chapter Eleven

Chapter Summary: Lack of sleep, shared insecurities, and emotions in overdrive lead to words and actions that can’t be taken back. 

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Kasey Belmont (OFC)

Warnings: Language-Kasey’s potty mouth makes a vehement appearance(seriously!); Here, there be smut; Angst; Feeeellings; Verbal argument; A little fluff for fun

Rating: Mature 18+ NSFW

Word Count: 13,457

Betas: @princessmisery666 and @wayward-and-worn

Movie Reference/Quote: Gone With the Wind

Author’s Notes: This is an AU. While there are several SPN characters mentioned, basically no one has the same connections as they did in the show, and Dean and Sam are not related.

Series Master Post

Written for: @jay-and-dean -Jay’s 3K Celebration and @spnaubingo. Prompt used: Quote with 3 ~ “I have nothing to offer, 3 dollars and a bad bottle of whiskey, nothing more.”

SPNAUBingo Square Filled: Fugitive AU

SPNQUOTEBingo Square Filled: “You should be kissed—and often—and by someone who knows how.” - Gone with the Wind

**ETA - Updated title card and format 3/14/23**

“Hey, sweetheart, did you miss me?”—the words of endearment Dean had spoken swirl almost reverently around Kasey’s mind as they both pant for breath, and though he was talking to Baby, she wants to answer.

Yes. Yes, I did miss you.

Which is certifiably crazy. How can she miss something she never had? 

She says his name softly, pulling away, but he holds her hands against his chest. Eyes squeezed shut. “Don’t. Please don’t say that we shouldn’t or that it’s… a mistake.”

We shouldn’t? No. We most assuredly shouldn’t. But a mistake? 

Kasey can’t imagine one circumstance where she would ever consider that kiss a mistake. However, there’s too much at stake to start an entanglement they may not be able to pursue. She knows that kiss was mainly brought on by the surge of emotions from the last few days and seeing his beloved car again. 

Dean releases her hands when she flexes her fingers, and she gently slips her arms around his waist, laying her head on his chest. The strong beat of his heart resonates in her ear like a lullaby. If she weren’t so conflicted, she’d remain in his arms and let it quell the burgeoning turmoil inside her, but she needs time to think, weigh the pros and cons, sort through the emotions, and make a level-headed decision.

Spying their reflection in the polished metal of the car, her heart jolts. To an outsider, they would look like a couple entwined in a lovers’ embrace. Pulling away before he can tighten his hold, she whispers, “I’m glad you found her.” His wistful expression prompts her to cup his cheek, and he closes his eyes, leaning into her touch. Her bottom lip quivers with an unexpected rush of emotion, and she drops her hand, clearing her throat as she turns. “Make sure to lock up,” she blurts before walking away.

Once at the porch, she hesitates on the top tread, debating the direction of her next step. It would be so easy to let the remaining threads of logic and common sense drift away on the breeze, race back out there, and throw herself at him.

Lips pressed together to contain the sob rising in her throat, a forced footfall followed by another carries her toward the small lantern. Extinguishing the flame, she grabs the quilt and heads inside, not daring to look over her shoulder. 

Until that kiss, she’d been trying to tamp the feelings back down, re-bury them under the guise of helping someone in need. She could tell herself that what she was feeling was simply a thrilling titillation, something she’d feel seeing a handsome actor or a sexy model, nothing more. Now that she knows what he tastes like, what his lips feel like, it’s not so easy to deny.

She makes it to her bedroom, locking the door behind her before losing control. Dean’s lips had unleashed a hurricane of restrained emotions. Like a levee breaking, guilt, anger, fear, shame, loneliness, and heartbreak surge upward, and the tears rain down. Kasey slumps to the floor, back pressed against the footboard of her bed. Pulling them up close to her chest, she wraps her arms tightly around her legs and rests her forehead on her knees, rocking in place, trying to dispel the ache she already feels at not holding him. 

How did all this happen? One day, she’s blissfully enjoying a lazy afternoon of peaceful seclusion. Two days later, that carefully crafted isolation was shattered with the force of a crowbar smashing a car window. Dean’s touch made her realize how starved for human interaction she truly is, making her feel a desire only depicted in movies and cheesy romance novels.

The pressure of his lips lingers on hers, and her tongue slides over them, tasting the remnants of toasted oak and caramel from the bourbon they’d been drinking earlier. Heat surges through her veins, remembering how rough-skinned hands that nearly encompassed her head tenderly cradled her face while his beard deliciously chafed at her soft flesh. Her breath hitches, reliving the warmth of his skin beneath her fingers, the smooth silkiness of his hair. Goosebumps dance across her skin as she recalls the shiver of his body when her nails scraped across his neck, pulse rapid and strong beneath her thumb. The thud of his heart beating with hers echoes in her ears, sending her pulse racing. If she’d remained pressed against him for two more seconds, she would have been trapped in his embrace—protected, content, and, as insane as it sounded, loved.

Christ fuck! I am a sensible grown-ass woman, not some starry-eyed Disney princess. This, whatever this is, is not love!

The sting accompanying the hard slap of her palms against the solid floor is a welcome jolt back to reality. Angrily pushing herself up, Kasey begins pacing the room. Dean’s presence has shown how utterly foolish she’s been, unarguably naive, lying to herself that she could make it alone. That somehow, she would be perfectly happy living as a recluse. She had made the choice under duress, a spur-of-the-moment decision. The farm had been a safe haven, a place to escape the cruelties of the world and the mistakes of the past, but, as the saying goes, all actions have consequences. Hers had come barreling at her in the form of a tough-skinned, soft-hearted fugitive.

Kasey leans against her window frame, staring out at the night sky. She can’t see the barn’s door from this angle, but the warm glow of the light still shines over the yard. Her lips curl upward as she pictures him sweet-talking his car. His face had lit up like a 5-year-old given free rein in a toy store. Just as she wonders if he’s thought about climbing into his Baby and just taking off, the rev of the engine can be heard. Momentary panic rocks her back on her heels, fingers twisting into the curtains, but the thought disappears as quickly as it came. 

She wouldn’t have left the keys with him if she genuinely thought he would leave—disappear from her life as hastily as he’d materialized in it. Where would he go? The farm is one of the safest places for him to be at the moment, and she’s pretty sure he knows it too.

Besides, if his plea about that kiss is any indication, Dean is wrestling with similar questions regarding their predicament. Well, a predicament for her anyway. After all, sleeping with a client is generally frowned upon in the legal community—conflict of interest and that whole ethics thing. 

It feels like an eternity before the night falls silent again, and moments later, the view outside her window darkens as the light in the yard disappears. Several minutes pass before she hears him moving about in the room below her, and she lets the final bit of fear fade away. Tightening her grip on the curtain, she wills herself to stay put, to not run to him, the consequences be damned.

With a heavy eye roll, Kasey goes back to pacing. She needs to be rational here. She’s already walking a thin line by harboring him. Sex would throw a wrench the size of Thor’s ax into an already complicated situation. But, damn, she desperately wants to feel his solidness against her again, feel those hands caress her bare skin.

Kasey’s fingers trace a path down her neck and across her decolletage, drifting down her body. “Hoooo.” The sigh is long and drawn out as she closes her eyes, envisioning Dean’s hands and thick fingers ghosting over skin that he has yet to see or feel.

Stop it!

Throwing herself onto her bed, she rolls to her back and stares at the ceiling, fingers clenched in the sheets as she desperately tries to banish the images now racing through her mind. 

Affidavits. Burden of proof. Conviction. Depositions. Evidence…

An hour later, she has filtered through an extensive list of legal terms multiple times, trying to squelch the wayward thoughts of what she wants to do to Dean and have him do to her. However, sleep eludes her, and she still hasn’t come to a decision about whether to remain a legal advisor for him or give in to her desires. 

At one point, she’d heard the water pipes rattle, signaling that Dean was taking a shower, which had triggered another round of images that she’d had to quash without much success. Rolling to her side again, she punches her pillow and sits up in a huff.

Sam is going to be furious with her no matter what she decides. She can’t keep her feelings for Dean hidden from him. Sam and Charlie can handle the case without her, but she wants, no, needs to be a part of the process to help secure Dean’s freedom.

Adult enough to admit that she has selfish reasons for getting the charges against him reversed, she prays that Sam won’t follow through on his threat of pulling the plug if it all starts going sideways. She shoves the dread of making that phone call to the back of her mind. Right now, she needs to do something, anything to distract her over-stimulated brain. 

The sky is still dark, the predawn light a couple of hours away, but the rising humidity can already be felt. Kasey takes a leisurely shower, puts her hair up in a loose ponytail, then fishes out one of her mother’s old halter-style dresses from the closet. The less material against her skin during the day’s sticky heat, the better. Once dressed, she quietly makes her way down to the kitchen, starting the first of many rounds of coffee.

Dean tried to sleep. He honestly did, he may have dozed off for an hour or two, but it was fitful. Rubbing the backs of his hands over his eyes, he chuckles. The absurdity that he’s gotten less sleep in this big comfortable bed than he did sleeping on cold hard surfaces the last couple of weeks is not lost on him. Turning his head to the side, the small clock in his room reads a little after six in the morning.

He couldn’t get that kiss or the hug she’d given him afterward out of his mind. When she'd placed her hand on his cheek, a flood of unexplainable emotion surged through him, and he’d had to close his eyes to try and keep himself in check. The loss of her touch had left him feeling bereft, and he’d almost run after her—torn between the desire to see where another kiss might lead and knowing he’s not the type of man Kasey needs. He’s not an idiot, he knows there’s an attraction between them, but it’s clearly just sexual tension, lust, nothing more, so best to leave it alone. 

Each time they open up to one another and share a little more of themselves, there’s an immediate hesitancy, a guarded cautiousness, from her afterward. He gets it; he does. They’re strangers. He’s a convicted felon, a man most people would fear. She’s a woman that’s been pitted against men for the majority of her life and has been hurt to such a degree that she shut herself away. 

Concerned that he had screwed things up with that impromptu kiss, he’d contemplated going after her to make sure things were okay between them, but he also wanted to respect her feelings and apparent need for space. In the end, he’d decided to stay with Baby; she was a known entity. There was no need to fear rejection from her or worry that he would somehow ruin everything good about her, unlike with Kasey.

He’d honestly been surprised that Kasey had left the keys with him and briefly wondered if she had simply forgotten about them. He had a fleeting thought about taking off, not to run away—where would he go anyway? He feels safer here than he has anywhere else in a long time. He doesn’t want to leave the farm… or Kasey. He just wanted to hear the purr of Baby’s engine and feel the thrum of the open road beneath her tires.

As much as he had been jonesing to take the Impala for a drive, he settled for checking her over, ensuring that all her fluid levels were where they should be, that the tire pressure was good, and that there wasn’t any damage on her beautiful body. With everything meeting his satisfaction, he’d started her up, letting the sound and vibrations of the rumbling engine wash over him for a few precious moments while losing himself in memories of more carefree days. 

He’d stood at the bottom of the stairs for several minutes, hand on the railing and one foot resting on the bottom tread, when he came back in, contemplating, debating, churning scenarios over in his mind. Ultimately deciding it was best to let things be until the morning, he made his way to the bedroom. After spotting the streak of grease on his forehead in the dresser’s mirror, he decided to take a shower before crawling into bed. Even though he knew the likelihood of getting any sleep would probably prove futile.

Sitting up, he buries his head in his hands, clearing his mind, listening for any movement from the room above him, but no sound is forthcoming. Well, at least one of them is able to sleep.

The air in the room is thick, heavy with heat already—the fan Kasey had given him, not yielding much relief. He looks over at the plastic-covered window, wishing he could open it to let in some fresh air. Deciding that he will offer to finish painting the room for her, maybe do some other repairs around the place as a form of payment for helping him, he slips from the bed. 

Opting out of wearing a shirt, he pulls on the pajama bottoms he'd discarded on the end of the mattress. Now that the sun is up, it will get even hotter, and it’s not like she hadn’t seen him shirtless before when she’d stitched him up. Of which she’d done an excellent job.

The skin around the wound is a healthy pink and no longer leaking blood now that it’s properly sealed. Although still tender to the touch, a sharp twinge reminding him of the injury if he turns the wrong way, it is no longer a throbbing, angry red, and thankfully, not infected. He hadn’t had time to stitch the wound before almost getting caught at the clinic he’d broken into and had tried to at least keep it clean and minimize the bleeding.

He’s grateful that Kasey was able to take care of it and that he won’t have a gaping scar. Yeah, he definitely needs to do something to show her his appreciation for saving him. That is, if she doesn’t kick him out after last night.

Opening the bedroom door, his senses are engulfed by the combined scent of coffee, bacon, and something cinnamony sweet. Quickening his pace, he is entirely taken off guard by the sight that greets him as he enters the kitchen. Every inch of counter space is covered in a myriad of ingredients, pans, mixing bowls, baking dishes, and what appears to be a mound of dough. Kasey is nowhere in sight, though. The house is silent except for the whir of the ceiling fan above the table.

His eyes land on the coffee press sitting on the far counter, and he makes his way over to pour a cup of the divine nectar. After the first couple of reviving sips, he roams around the space, peering into bowls and lifting the lids of the pots on the stove, trying to discern what she’s making. From the looks of things, she’s been at it for quite a while, meaning she hadn’t slept much either.

Lifting a corner of a towel draped over a bowl, he immediately drops it back in place, startled by her growl. 

“Don’t touch anything.”

Lost in thought about whether they would have slept better if they were in the same bed, he hadn’t heard her come in. “Sorry.” He smiles and raises a hand in mock surrender while taking a step back from the counter, but she isn’t looking at him. Kasey makes her way over to the stove, setting the basket she collected eggs in on the counter next to it.

The dress she’s wearing reminds him of another era, and if he didn’t know better, this would be the second time he would have thought he’d been zapped into some Twilight Zone time warp. The bright turquoise and green print is a stark contrast to the worn, dust-covered boots she just kicked off.

“Hope you like Eggs Benedict,” she says, still not looking at him. “It’ll be ready in about fifteen. I had to go out and get some more eggs.” 

He stares at the sun-kissed skin of her back, imagining the arch and twist of her body, the softness of her flesh beneath his fingertips as he trails them down her spine. He huffs out a breath, expelling the images along with it. He’s caught between the need to say something and waiting for a cue from her. Her tone, while not mean, is definitely on the cool side. 

Son of a bitch! I knew I fucked it up.

“Uhm, can I help?” If she hears the desperation laced in his words, he doesn’t care. He’d do almost anything to get back to the comfortable camaraderie of last night… before the kiss. 

Throwing a glance over her left shoulder, she replies, “You could make more coffee.”

“Awesome.” He nods happily and rubs his hands together, pleased she didn’t shut him out. At least not entirely. Dean sets about emptying and cleaning the press as Kasey gently whisks the hollandaise, moving it to the back burner. By the time she’s done poaching the eggs, the new batch of coffee is ready, and Dean mentally high-fives himself for getting the timing right. 

Seeing Kasey’s mug sitting amongst the array of dishes on the island, he quickly rinses it out and makes her a fresh cup, carefully adding the same ratio of cream to coffee she’d taken yesterday. Humming the Eagles tune that’s been stuck in his head since that first day he woke up in her home, he places her cup and the press on the table, then rocks on his heels, waiting for her to join him.

Dean sips his coffee, silently watching as she removes a tray of Canadian Bacon and English muffins from one of the ovens and assembles all of the food on a large cloth-covered tray along with a single plate and set of silverware.

“Take a seat.” She glances up as she nears the table but quickly looks away, waving a hand over the tray she just set down. “There’s plenty, so eat up.” 

Not waiting for a response, she picks up her coffee cup, “thanks for this,” and turns on her heel, heading for the second stove. After a quick sip, she sets her cup on the island counter, cracks the oven door, and peeks inside. Slipping on an oven mitt, she reaches in, and Dean’s jaw nearly comes unhinged when she pulls out a pie heaping with apple filling. Placing it on a cooling rack, she then pulls out a cake pan. She heads back to the table, grabbing a small metal bowl and butter knife on the way. Sliding her hand out of the oven mitt, she leaves it beneath the hot pan of what he can now see is full of cinnamon rolls and sets the bowl of frosting next to it along with the knife.

Dean closes his eyes and inhales deeply. “Those smell amazing. Did you make them from scratch?”

“Yes,” is her quick, concise reply. It sounds muffled, and Dean opens his eyes to find that she’s already walked away, and he’s again left staring at her back as she enters the pantry. 

Seconds later, she returns with two small jars of what appear to be spices in hand. She lightly drops them on the island and reaches for the rolling pin. 

“Kasey.”

“Hmmm?”

“What are you doing?”

“Baking”

“I can see that,” he chuckles. “Uh, I know I’m a big guy and all,” hearing the self-assurance in his tone, she doesn’t dare to look in his direction for fear of being knocked on her ass by the blue-steel swagger that’s most likely plastered on his face, “but there’s a ton of food here. Are you going to sit down and eat with me?”

“I need to finish this.” The heel of her palm lands heavily on the dough round, denting one side. She quickly turns it and slams her palm into it again.

Dean takes a sip of coffee and hums with pleasure. Hoping to prevent the tense silence from encroaching on them again, he says, “I don’t know about you, but I barely slept last night.”

Kasey whirls around, bits of dough skittering to her feet, brandishing the rolling pin before pointing it at him. “DOES THIS KITCHEN LOOK LIKE IT’S BEING MANNED BY SOMEONE THAT IS WELL-RESTED?!”

Wide-eyed and slightly disconcerted, he mumbles into his coffee cup, “Okaaay. Just tryin’ to make conversation here.” He hesitates momentarily before pressing, “We need to talk.”

Ignoring his comment, she grips the rolling pin with both hands and forces it down into the semi-flattened dough, then flicks some flour over the surface before picking up and turning it. The small, thick disc hits the surface with a loud slap, followed by the thud of the wooden pin as she aggressively thins what he assumes is a second pie crust. Between each slap and thud, she huffs out a breath.

Dean takes a bite of the eggs benedict and grunts in approval. Pulling a cinnamon roll from the pan, he immediately drops the hot bun on his plate, shaking his singed fingers in the air. After slathering the roll in frosting, he sinks his teeth into the warm, fluffy dough and takes a large chunk out of the confection. The spicy-sweet concoction literally melts in his mouth, and he can’t hold back the moan of satisfaction. The thunk of the rolling pin is loud, echoing around the kitchen. Sneaking a glance at her, he frowns, watching her take out whatever emotions she’s working through on the innocent pastry.

When the dough is the size of a large pizza crust, he taunts, “If you were making another pie crust, it’s going to be tough as hell now.”

Kasey stops the forward roll of the pin and looks down, seemingly in shock at seeing the almost paper-thin sheet of dough. “Son of a bitch.” Grabbing a spatula, she scrapes the mess into a small pile near the corner of the countertop.

She still has yet to make any meaningful eye contact with him or say anything other than clipped comments. Worried and frustrated, he blurts out, “Are we going to talk about it, or are you going to continue trying to ignore me?”

“Dean.” She tucks her chin, placing her hands flat on the counter as she leans forward. “We’ve only known each other for a little over two days-“

“Almost three,” he interjects, glad she didn’t try and pretend she doesn’t know what he’s talking about.

Paying no heed to the comment, she shoves off the counter and turns away. “I’m your legal advisor.”

Well, damn, got stiff-armed with that one. It’s all good; I get it. At least she’s still willing to help. She’s settin’ boundaries, and obviously, one of us needs to. Wish I was inside those boundaries, though. Deep inside. I mean, look at those legs, that ass, and those hands. Would love to have those hands… oh, for fuck’s sake.

I’ve already screwed this up enough. I need to keep this professional. Stow the personal crap. Bury it like always. Besides, someone like her deserves so much more than I have to offer, which is nothing but a broken heart and a screwed-up life. It doesn’t matter that it feels like we’re perfect for each other. She deserves someone better—better than me.

She opens a cupboard next to the stove and reaches for a dish on the top shelf. Pressing up on her toes, it looks like she’s about to grasp the base but only succeeds in pushing the glassware further back into the cabinet.

When it looks like she’s going to try climbing up on the counter, he shakes his head at her stubbornness. Reticently pushing away from the table, he makes his way over to her. “Here, let me.” Reaching over her head, he draws out the dish, setting it on the counter in front of her. A rush of dopamine sends his pulse skittering when she rocks back into him, making him realize that ‘stowing his personal crap’ will be much more challenging than he imagined.

Entering the house, Kasey nearly drops the basket of eggs she’s carrying upon seeing a bare-chested Dean standing in her kitchen. He’s about to peer into one of the dough-filled covered bowls, tongue peeking out between his lips like a kid getting ready to steal a cookie from the cookie jar. Except he’s not a kid. He’s an Adonis. DaVinci’s divine proportions incarnate. The backdrop of faded wallpaper on her kitchen walls appears even bleaker compared to his stunning vibrance. 

She takes a step forward, drawn to him like a tide in the moon’s pull. The rush of blood redistributing itself in her body makes her light-headed, and she presses a hand against the wall to steady herself. In a matter of seconds, she shifts her distress into disgruntlement, annoyed that he has such an immediate effect on her. Kicking off her boots, she growls, “Don’t touch anything.” 

How the hell is she supposed to remain professional and rational with him walking around practically naked? To protect her sanity, she decides to avoid looking at him and makes a beeline for the stove to finish preparing breakfast.

Dean tries to engage with her, offering to help. In contrast, she tries to remain unaffected by his presence, offering clipped responses while still trying to sound friendly as she finishes preparing breakfast. Once he’s settled at the table, she returns to her baking tasks, wanting to make one more pie before cleaning up the mess she created.

Baking has always been a soothing pastime, and after her little outburst when he mentioned his lack of sleep, she distinctly needs some soothing. Some of her favorite childhood memories revolve around helping her grandmother bake the multitude of sweet treats they supplied for the harvest festival held at the farm every year. 

While reliving memories of her past in an attempt to ignore her indecent thoughts of the man currently making obscene noises while eating her food, she loses focus on the tender dough in front of her. That is until the molasses laced gravel of his voice cuts into her thoughts, and she finds a thin sheet of dough worthy of a strudel layer beneath the wooden pin. Frustrated, she scrapes it all into the garbage.

He had asked her about the kiss without asking her about the kiss. She’s not ready to talk about it, though. 

Is it too early in the day for whiskey?

Yeah, it probably is, and she feels like she’ll need some whiskey before talking about it, and they do need to talk. A decision needs to be made about whether to push the feelings aside and get on with business or get on with business. 

Ugh. I am so not funny.

Deciding that it’s too early to deal with it, she reminds him that she’s part of his defense team and turns away. Looking for another excuse to continue avoiding him, she decides to pull out her grandmother’s favorite glass-topped cake stand to store the pie on.

Seriously. What the hell does he think he’s doing, walking around looking like that?

Kasey pushes up on her toes to try and reach the dish but only succeeds in pushing it further out of reach. Debating whether to get the step stool or climb onto the counter, she feels the air shift when he steps up behind her.

“Here, let me.” Dean effortlessly reaches above her head to grab the serving dish from the shelf. 

Her entire body feels like it’s been set ablaze. Muscles stretch and harden beneath the slide of his bare skin against hers. He places the dish on the counter, and Kasey sighs, flesh skimming over flesh as she flattens her feet back onto the floor. His sharp intake of breath pushes his chest closer to her.

The small scrap of objective reasoning she has left causes her to tense. When he doesn’t move away, she relaxes into him. The solid strength of him pressed against her is ecstasy and torture at the same time. 

She’s been starving, depriving herself, and the hunger for human touch is no longer bearable. A moment of tense silence stretches between them, and then Dean whispers, “May I?”

Kasey knows that his touch could break her, that she probably won’t be able to come back from it, but right now, at that moment, she doesn’t care. She’s tried to take a logical approach and argue her feelings away, but it’s no use. It’s more than just the feeling of a warm body or needing that quick high of pleasure. She can’t suppress the way every molecule in her body reacts to him any more than she can stop the sun rising and replies with a breathy, “Yes.”

A hand smooths over her abdomen, pulling her flush to his body. He lifts a stray lock of hair from her shoulder and presses it against his nose, “you smell like ginger and honey,” before tucking it behind her ear. A tilt of his head and his tongue traces the shell of her ear, warm breath skimming over her cheek. Deft fingers chart a path through the dip in her clavicle, “your skin’s so soft,” then glide down her arm to intertwine with hers. Lifting their clasped hands, he kisses the tips of her fingers, “delicate fingers,” her palm, “strong hands,” then her wrist, “you taste like crisp green apples,” soft lips lingering on her pulse. 

She closes her eyes and lets her head fall back against his shoulder. He’s trimmed his beard even closer, and the scruff scrapes deliciously against her skin as he lowers their hands, placing a kiss on her temple. She can feel the rapid bassline harmony of his heart, and her pulse picks up the melody, creating a rhythm that will forever be tattooed on her soul. 

Like a lit fuse, quick, fervid kisses down the side of her face and across her collarbone leave a trail of smoldering heat. Slapping her palm over the hand on her stomach, she slips her fingers between his, bringing it up to cup her breast, and murmurs, “Fuck, that feels-”

A burst of heat burns the words away and threatens to send her to her knees when sharp teeth graze the curve of her shoulder and deft fingers knead her flesh through the fabric. Never in her life has she been so turned on by a few kisses and a simple touch. 

Silken strands tickle her fingers as she snags a fistful of hair, tugging his head down. The pressure of his grip tightens, bordering on pain. Her body bows, forcing her breast further into his grasp and her ass against the hard line of him. Her whine meets his growl, captured between the crush of their lips.

She cranes her neck, fingers still clutching the handful of his hair, body squirming, trying to get a better angle and prolong the kiss. Cool fingers brush along her side, sending ripples of pleasure through her. When they slip beneath the material of her dress to pinch her other nipple, the sensation makes her jolt, a tiny squeak sounding in her throat.

Dean immediately releases her and steps away, leaving her gripping the counter to keep from falling. “I’m sorry.” His voice is low and gruff, filled with regret.

“You-” Struggling to catch her breath, she waves a hand behind her in an attempt to assure him it’s alright, “no-” Kasey brings her hand back to fan herself as she turns and leans her ass against the counter, smile fading as soon as she sees him.

He’s further away than expected, leaning on a fisted hand on the corner of the island, the other rubbing along the side of his thigh, a poker face etched on his features. She tries to catch his eye, but he looks over her shoulder. “I was out of line. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

“Hmmm.” She nods, turning to pull a glass from the open shelf. Filling it with water, she faces Dean again, sizing him up over the rim as she slowly quenches her parched throat with the cooling liquid. “Do you want it to?” Her eyes never leave him as she places the empty glass on the counter behind her.

“It doesn’t matter what I want.”

Pursing her lips, she bobs her head. “Huh.” Kasey tugs at the straps of her dress, putting the material back in place. Dean’s eyes flick down, watching as she smooths the fabric over the front of her body, quickly looking away when she arches a brow. “Well, do you think I don’t want it?” She walks her fingers along the countertop and takes a couple of steps toward him. “Because, if that’s what you think, then maybe you’re not as good at this as I imagined you to be.” 

“Y-You imagined this?” His eyes snap to hers, brows shooting up, and the pink tip of his tantalizing tongue presses against the backs of his teeth.

“Uh, huh,” she murmurs, tilting her head and smiling, stopping about a foot from him, flattening her hand on the counter. “I imagined it all night. And this morning. Hell, I can’t NOT imagine it.”

Fingers tapping against his thigh, Dean’s eyes narrow; a few tension-filled moments pass, then he clears his throat. “Listen, Kase,” her mouth quirks at the shortening of her name. She likes the sound of it, though, and remains silent as he continues. “I know I asked you not to say that the kiss last night was a mistake, but maybe it was. I mean, I don’t think it was… but maybe… under the circumstances… it was. It’s like you said, you're part of my legal team. You’ve already put yourself at risk by letting me stay here and helping me. You’re an amazing woman. Smart… so smart… it’s fucking hot how intelligent you are. Funny… kind… beautiful… inside and out… seriously. Sexy… fuck… I mean, look at you.” He waves his hand, indicating her entire body. “Uh… sorry.” 

He drags a hand over his face. “I have nothing to offer you, well, unless you count three dollars and a bad bottle of whiskey that I found in Baby’s secret compartment, nothing more. Hell, I don’t even own her anymore. I just… I don’t want to endanger you or cause you more trouble.”  He opens his fist on the counter, tips of his fingers barely touching hers like he craves the connection but is afraid to make it. “I’m a convicted felon, for christ’s sake. You don’t want or need someone like me around. You deserve better. If I drag you any further into my life… my mess… you'll get hurt…” His shoulders slump, and he slides his hand away from hers.

Well, fuck. How did we get from a steamy make-out session to this? 

Dean takes a step back, his hand almost off the edge of the counter, but she reaches out and grasps his wrist, denting her fingers into his skin in hopes of keeping him from pulling away. “Don’t.” Dean stills, but his face remains blank. “‘Please don’t say we shouldn’t or that it’s a mistake.’” She can’t quite tell if the flicker in his eyes is pain, anger, or fear, maybe all of the above. “That’s what you said to me last night. Why did you say that if you were planning on running away? Because when you said that, it sounded like you enjoyed the kiss and wanted to take whatever is going on between us to the next level.” 

He remains silent, jaw rippling as he clenches it. He takes another step back, and she moves with him keeping her grip tight.

“No.” She digs her nails into his flesh, it has to hurt, but he doesn’t even flinch. “You are not leaving. I’m not letting you run. We agreed, remember? No more talk of running. Besides, it’s not up to you to decide what I want. It’s certainly not your responsibility to protect me.” Throwing her hand up, she exclaims. “The things you said to me a few moments ago, the way you touched me, what was that? You heard and felt the way I responded to you. What happened? I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone freeze up so fast.” Kasey stops, inhaling sharply.

Why am I pushing this? If he wants to leave, then it’s for the best. Let him leave. I didn’t ask for my life to be thrown into this maelstrom. Once he’s gone, I can get back to my normal, peaceful routine. 

Yeah, it might be for the best, but it hurts like hell thinking about it. Fueled by fear, she lets the anger begin to rise. “I call bullshit. You know something is happening. There’s chemistry between us, and you’re scared. You use witty sarcasm and flirty smiles to hide behind and keep everyone at arm’s length so that it’s easier to leave when things get too complicated for you. I’ve seen it before, and I see it in you."

Cocking her head to the side, she sneers, "You think I don’t have the same war going on in my head? You think I don’t know that it’s insane to have these desires that make me question my morality? That I’m not trying to figure out how to deal with your case and my feelings at the same time? It’s fucking overwhelming, but I’m not running.”

The muscles in his arm flex, and he shifts on his feet. Dean’s initial look of shock is quickly overshadowed by what she can only assume to be outrage. The cold intensity of his glare rocks her back a step, and for the first time, she’s afraid of him and what he could do to her, but the controlled composure in his tone takes her completely off guard.

“But you did.”

“What?” Releasing her hold, she crosses her arms over her chest, an instinctive urge to protect herself, taking control. 

“You ran. You shut yourself off in this time capsule hideaway with no cell, no television, no computer,” he advances on her, and she takes a couple of steps back, “cut off from the world. You ran because things got too complicated.”

“It- it’s not the same,” she stammers weakly, eyes going wide when the truth of what he’s saying settles in her mind.

Dean is the mirror. He’s the catalyst, the beginning, the end, and every damn thing in between.

“Oh, yes, it is! You-“ He slams his fist on the counter, making Kasey flinch. Apparently noticing her reaction, he sucks in a breath and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Never mind. I knew this would happen. That somehow, I would screw everything up.” Stepping away from her, he puts the island between them. “I would never physically hurt you, Kasey, but you will get hurt if I stay. I will cause you pain, and I’m not worth it.”

The acute anguish and sorrow swimming in his eyes are gut-wrenching. It pisses her off and breaks her heart in the same breath. What happened to him, beyond what she already knows, to make him feel so inconsequential? Adrenaline still running high, the anger retains its precedence. 

“I’m not a saint, Dean. You,” she points a finger in his direction, “don’t know shit about me, so don’t put me on some goddamn pedestal and then use it as an excuse to justify that somehow I’m better than you. If you genuinely think I am, then fuck you,” she scoffs, “because I’m not. Your life is worth so much more than you evidently believe. You deserve to have a good life, someone to take care of you, love you,” 

Well, he does deserve someone to love him. Honestly, why can’t it be me? Oh, for fuck’s sake, you idiot, because he's your client, well, sort of… It would be unprofessional… wrong.

“and… and you certainly deserve to be free.”

Dean remains silent but shakes his head and backs away when she moves toward him. 

Frustrated with everything that’s transpired, she shouts, “You know what?! Go! I won’t, can’t, force you to stay! If you believe you deserve to spend the rest of your life in a six-by-eight cell or living in the shadows, the door is right behind you. You still have the keys to the Impala. Take her and FUCKING go! I won’t tell anyone about you.”

She turns her back on him, leaning against the kitchen sink and staring out the window, hand clasping into a towel nearby. Tears burn a trail down her cheeks. All she wanted to do was help a man that had been wrongly accused, but she can’t force him to see his own worth. He doesn’t know her, not really. She shouldn’t expect him to have blind faith in her, trust that she can help overturn his conviction, and believe that she can genuinely care about him.

Three days. Three goddamn days and her heart feels like it’s been put through the harvester, reaped and threshed until all that remains is the raw kernel, stripped clean of any defenses. The only person who can sustain it is Dean.

What have I done?

The epiphany wracks her body with sobs. She doesn’t want to go back—can’t go back—to the life she had before he stumbled into it. She doesn’t care that it’s only been three days, the obstacles they’ll have to overcome, or what Sam or anyone else might say. Ready to turn and run after him, beg him to stay, she jumps when a heavy hand rests gently on her arm. Dean offers her a weak smile when she looks over her shoulder. Whimpering, she buries her face in his chest, arms wrapping tightly around him.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he says, stroking her hair and kissing the top of her head, arm snug against her back, holding her close. “I’m sorry I scared you.” His voice wavers with the apology. “We’ll figure it out, okay?”

She sniffs and nods, clinging to him like ivy to a tree, unable to speak yet. He continues to run a gentle hand over her head, cheek resting against her temple. His heart's strong, steady beat is soothing and helps to quell the flurry of residual agitation. 

“I’m sorry I yelled at you,” she whispers after the hiccups pass. 

“It’s alright.” He squeezes her tighter. “I had no right to get so angry.”

“No,” she pulls away, grimacing at the wet slide of her cheek against his chest. Reaching for the towel next to the sink, she wipes away the salty dampness her tears left on him, “it’s not. I had no right to talk to you like that. I don’t know you any better than you know me.”

Dean takes the towel from her. With one arm still loosely wrapped around her waist, he squats to her eye level and gently dries her face and neck. “Well, you’re wrong about that. You seem to know me pretty damn well for someone that just met me. Your grandpa was clearly right about that gift of yours.” 

Tossing the towel onto the counter, his hands frame her face. “You were wrong about something else, though.” He tilts his head to make sure she sees him. “I’m not afraid of the feelings. I’m genuinely afraid you’ll get hurt somehow. Worse than me making you cry, and I never want to do that again. It felt like Baby was sitting on my chest, listening to you break like that.”

He slides a thumb over her lips to silence her when she opens her mouth. “I’m afraid that the crazy, wonderful,” he pauses, “feelings I’ve been feeling will be ripped away if we start something. So, yeah, I understand why you feel like you’re getting mixed messages. ‘Cause I’m having a really hard time wrapping my head around what’s going on.” 

Kasey’s eyes widen. She honestly hadn’t expected him to fully admit his feelings, assuming, correctly, that his first instinct is to shut down, but listening to him openly express his fears and explain why he reacted the way he did, fills her with a sense of relief.

“I feel that, for whatever reason, I don’t understand right now, this—this farm, this house, this time—it’s where I’m supposed to be.” He taps a hand over his heart, and the other drops to cradle her neck. “That I belong here, with you. I have this sense of knowing you forever, yet it’s only been a little over seventy-two hours. And that freaks the hell out of me. What? Why are you grinning at me like that?“

She steps closer to him, wrapping her fingers around his forearm at her shoulder. “That’s exactly how I feel. You know… what you said about being afraid to start something and then having it torn away. But I don’t want to let this slip through my fingers and always wonder… What if? I told you before that I don’t believe in soulmates, fate… or any of that crap, but I don’t know what else to call this. I just know, with absolute certainty, that I’m afraid to lose you, and you're not even mine.”  

Kasey’s not certain if Dean’s eyes have glossed over or if the tears welling in hers are distorting the view, but either way, his soft smile sends hers spilling over her lashes. He pulls her against him, cradling her head against his chest and arm holding her firm. Her heart swells with the awareness that it makes her feel exactly how she imagined it would—protected, content, and loved.

Seconds later, she feels his tears dampen her head as he mumbles, “It’d be really awesome if I could shut off the damn waterworks for a while.”

Chuckling, she kisses his chest just above his heart as he places a kiss on the top of her head. As happy as she could be staying just as they are now, she irrefutably knows what she wants and isn’t going to waste another minute stressing over the repercussions. She turns out of his embrace and takes his hand, pulling him with her. After only a moment’s hesitation, Dean lets her lead him down the hall to his bedroom. 

Dean pushes the door closed behind them with his foot as she walks backward, drawing him along by the hands. Stopping when she reaches the end of the bed, she cradles his neck, fingers massaging at his nape. “I want you, Dean, but more than anything, I want you to take what you need. I’ll give you everything if you will just kiss me again.”

“Shit, Kasey, I-“

“Shh.” She pushes up on her toes, pulling him down toward her.

Resting his hands on her hips, he presses his forehead to hers, a glimmer in his eye. “Well, you should be kissed—and often—and by someone who knows how.”

“Oh, and I suppose, Mr. Butler, you think you’re the proper person?” she teases in her best southern drawl.

“Yes, I do.” Dean slides his hands up to encircle her ribcage and lifts her from the floor.

Maneuvering her legs beneath her to kneel on the edge of the bed, hands on his shoulders, Kasey stares at him in deference, willing to do almost anything to feel those supple lips roaming her flesh again.

Once she’s settled, his fingers lightly graze over her bare skin, thumbs slipping beneath the material of her dress to caress the underside of her breasts. The glimmer of humor in his eyes shifts, and she gasps, captured in their smoldering depths. 

Like a moth drawn to a flame, she tilts forward as Dean sets a hand at her hip, the other cradling the back of her head, thumb caressing her jaw. Kasey sighs against his mouth, eyes drifting closed when their lips finally meet. 

It starts sweet and gentle, soft-lip open-mouthed kisses, almost tentative, like each is expecting the other to pull away. They give in to the kiss when neither does, lips moving in sync like a well-choreographed dance they’ve been practicing for years. He claims her mouth, hungry and demanding, steals her breath only to replace it with his own, fueling the fire blooming deep in her center. Her lips part of their own volition, and the first slide of his tongue against hers is electric and delicious. He tastes like coffee and cinnamon, and she whines into his mouth, begging for more. 

Thick fingers tangle into her hair, loosening more strands. Reaching back, she frees her hair from the elastic band, letting the loose waves cascade down her back. Weaving a few tendrils through his fingers, he closes his hand and gently tugs, breaking the kiss. He doesn’t go far, scruff scratching over her skin as he trails kisses down her neck. “So beautiful,” he whispers, his breath hot and damp, making her body twist and shiver with pleasure.

Kasey’s fingers slip over the silky strands of his hair on the back of his head, holding him in place as he continues the assault on her neck, nipping and sucking marks into her skin. The muscles of his arm twitch beneath the fingers of her other hand as she traces a path along the dip in his forearm and over the ridge of his tricep, coming to rest at his shoulder. When he hits the sweet spot near the back of her neck, they flutter against him before seizing into his skin.

Continuing to play with his hair, she lightly scrapes her nails over his scalp, waiting for his reaction, and is rewarded with a low moan that vibrates over her skin. The sensation shoots straight through her to pool low and warm in her belly. 

Plump lips find hers again, teasing her with quick pecks at the corners of her mouth, a slow slide of his tongue over her top lip, the sharp nip and release of her bottom lip. By the time he presses his full mouth to hers again, she’s wound tight as a guitar string. Ready to snap at the slightest pluck. Ready to fall apart, needy and wet, and all he’s done is kiss her. It’s so not fair. He briefly pulls away, tilting his head in the other direction, rolling a taut nipple between his thumb and index finger with the motion. Blood rushing, heart pounding, she inhales what might be her last breath as his lips seal over hers again.

I’m going to die. I’m going to die from this kiss.

The thought plays on a loop in her head, and just as she’s about to relinquish her soul to whatever entity gifted him with those lips and the knowledge of how to use them, he breaks away. She greedily sucks in a breath along with his bottom lip, roughly grazing her teeth over the sensitive flesh as she slowly releases it. Dean hisses, digging his fingers into her. He looks slightly dazed, eyes stunningly dark, lips swollen and glossy with spit.

His beard is damp with sweat, the short hairs tickling her palm when she cups his jaw. She brushes a thumb over the lush, reddened skin of his mouth, and he grins a cheeky little smirk, tongue slipping between his parted lips to lick the pad before sucking the digit between his lips and gently biting down. 

Nope, not a kiss. His mouth. My death certificate will read, Cause of Death: ‘Dean Winchester’s mouth’.

“What a filthy mouth,” she teases. Dean wiggles his eyebrows at her, still holding her thumb captive between his lips. “No… sinful. You’re a wicked little incubus, aren’t you.” She licks at the corner of his mouth, scraping the nails of her free hand down the skin of his side. His body jerks violently, and he releases her thumb with a grunt. 

She nearly falls off the bed, hands slapping against his chest to steady herself. “Oh. Someone’s ticklish,” she laughs. Wriggling her fingers, she prepares to dig in, but Dean’s quicker. Grabbing her wrists, he pins her arms behind her back, forcing her closer to him, a smug smile and sparkling eyes meeting her startled expression.

“I don’t think s-” Dean chokes on the words when she nips at the base of his throat, then licks up the underside of his chin and across his jaw.

He smells divine, a scent that’s distinctly him rising over body wash and shampoo, and she inhales deeply, nudging her nose behind his earlobe. She kisses the salt off his skin from ear to chin, his pulse skipping when she lingers over the vein in his neck, giving it a quick bite. “You taste yummy,” she purrs, licking her lips as she straightens up. She kisses a corner of his mouth, “So,” a kiss to the other corner, “Winchester,” looking up through her eyelashes, their lips brushing against each other’s like butterfly wings as she whispers, “what else can you do with this mouth?” 

The deep growl rumbles from his chest to echo in hers, making her heart pound faster. Releasing her wrists, large hands encircle her upper arms, and he lifts her from the bed, holding her steady until her feet settle on the floor. She’s always been a sucker for someone big enough to manhandle her yet be gentle too. Her walls clench at the thought of whether he’s big all over. The bulge she felt against her ass earlier seemed pretty impressive, but she’s eager to have a look, feel the weight of him in her hand. Eyes flicking downward, she reaches out to palm him through the loose cotton pants, but Dean stops her once again.

He lightly grips her hand, kissing his way up her arm as he pulls it around the back of his neck. “I want to enjoy this for as long as possible. Besides, you wanted to know what I could do with my mouth, right?”

Kasey brings her other arm up, hands meeting behind his head, twirling a lock of hair through her fingers. “You know, I’ve wanted to tell you since that first day you walked into the kitchen, showered, shaved, hair falling in soft waves, that I thought your hair was the perfect tuggable length.” She snares a handful, “Do you like your hair pulled, Dean?” and yanks his head back. The fingers sliding over her arms dig into her triceps, a gruff croak slipping from his lips as his hips pitch forward. “Oooh, yes… you do,” Angling her hips, she rocks against him, the feeling of how hard he is, inciting a gasp from her.

“Aww, shit,” he hisses through clenched teeth. “I- I can’t wait-”

“Then don’t.”

A hand at the nape of her neck prevents her from stumbling back when his lips crash into hers. Crossing her arms behind his head, pulling him closer, her body arches to meet him. He breaks the kiss all too soon, and just like that, she’s left breathless again. Panting, she presses her forehead against his chest as he unties the knot holding her dress in place. She swirls her tongue over his nipple, alternating between soft kitten licks and sharp flicks of her tongue. The sounds she draws from him make her panties moist with slick. She drops her hands and works the material of his pants down over his ass.

The knot falls loose, and Dean holds her at arm’s length letting the dress slip from her body to pool on the floor. Tilting his head, his mouth falls open as if in awe, eyes raking over her from tip to toe and back again. “Damn, you're gorgeous,” he husks, teeth scraping over his lower lip.

Eyes locked with his, she palms over his hard length before loosely fisting around him. “So thick, just like the rest of you.” Wetting her lips, she slowly strokes him, slipping her thumb over the small V just below the head. Dean sputters and moans, and she kisses the tip of his chin. “Fuck, me.”

Dean tugs the garment down his thighs, and Kasey drops with a heavy bounce as he steps out of the material, pushing her back onto the bed. Keeping him in hand, she strokes the length of him. Pre-cum leaks enticingly from his slit, and the need to taste him, feel that weight of him on her tongue, is overpowering. Pinching her chin between thumb and forefinger, he tilts her head back when she leans forward to lick at him, preventing her from reaching her goal.

Brows pulled together, she flicks her eyes upward and pouts, “I want to show you what I can do with my mouth.” She constricts her grip and tugs. Dean thrusts into her fist, fingers denting into her cheeks, other hand grasping around her wrist to halt any further movement from her.

“I thought you wanted me to fuck you.”

“I want everything, your mouth, your fingers, those hands, that dick.”

He hisses through clenched teeth, looking down at the hand still holding him. “I knew these fingers, this hand,” his thumb strokes over her skin, “would feel good wrapped around me. I didn’t realize just how good it would feel.” He loosens the hold on her face but tightens the one on her wrist. “I need you to stop, or this will be over way too soon.”

She unfurls her fingers and pushes her bottom lip out a little further, whining, “But I’m hungry. I haven’t eaten breakfast yet.”

“Fuuuuucking, hell.” Dean looks like his dick isn’t the only thing about to explode. Releasing her hand, he leans into her, forcing her to lie back. “Are you trying to kill me?”

Kasey smiles as she watches him struggle to regain control, silently reveling in the knowledge that she can rile him up as much as he had done to her. The moment his demeanor shifts, she tries to move up the bed, steeling herself for his next move, but he quickly grips her knee holding her in place as he straightens. “Where do you think you’re going?” His long, lean body is now on full display in all its glory, and she nearly melts into the mattress. The air leaves her lungs in a whoosh, making her dizzy, and she grips the bedding to ground herself. There’s so much to take in that she’s unsure where to look, so she briefly closes her eyes.

No one has a right to look that good. If he were to be arrested for anything, this should have been it. It’s cruel and unusual punishment. Oh! I wonder what kind of punishment he would dish out?

When she finally peels her lids open, her eyes immediately land on his beefy thighs, and an image of her straddling one as large hands guide her over those taut muscles makes her chest heave. The air around her sizzles with heat, or maybe it’s her skin; it could be both. She swallows hard and brushes her tongue over her lips, futilely attempting to slake the thirst of her parched mouth.

“You okay, there?”

The deep bass of his voice is a shock to her already overloaded system, and her shoulders twitch. “Just kill me now.”

“Kase?”

She hadn’t meant to say it aloud. The concern laced in the word brings her frazzled brain into a semi-focused awareness. She manages a smile as she lifts her eyes to his face, all sense of intelligent thought once again fleeing when she’s greeted with a cheeky smile and a knowing gaze. “I, uh, I said, I- I’m fine.”

The arch of a single brow accompanied by the nod of his head ignites a spark of defiance. Dean’s eyes darken and shift, intently watching as she brings a hand up to tweak her nipple. Focused on the hungry glint in his eyes, she’s startled by the feel of her underwear being slipped from beneath her ass and over her ankles.

“Time to let me see.” With a wink and a wicked smile, she brings her knees up and lets her legs fall open. He brings the scrap of fabric to his nose and tugs on his shaft as he inhales deeply. “Who knew you’d be such a tease,” he smirks, tossing the white cotton to the floor.

Kasey gulps, feeling her cunt dripping onto the sheets. She hurriedly scoots up the bed, but Dean moves like a jungle cat, pinning her down before she can reach the pillows, mouth immediately latching onto a breast. She yelps in surprise, the slap of her hands against his shoulder blades echoing through the room. Her back instinctively arches, but she has nowhere to go, his weight hard and heavy on top of her.

“Shit, shit, shit. Give a girl some warning,” she huffs.

He smiles against her skin, tongue flicking across the hardened nub trapped between his teeth before releasing it. “Why? It’s more fun this way.” He turns his attention to the other breast, fingers drifting featherlight down her body, making her leg twitch when he brushes over the crease of her leg and hip. “Huh, seems like someone else might be ticklish,” he murmurs, chuckling softly, the sound vibrating through her body.

Whining his name, she squirms beneath him when he ghosts his fingers over the area again, then gasps as he shifts his body, giving himself room to run a finger through her folds. He sinks his finger in to the first knuckle while his thumb circles her clit. 

“You’re so wet,” he taunts, pushing in further before pulling out. “Is that all for me?” Kissing the valley between her breasts, he adds a second finger and starts a slow slide in and out… in and out...

Kasey’s brain short circuits.

Not a kiss. Not his mouth. Him. I’m going to die from all of him.

“Who- who the h- hell else would it be for, you ass.” she manages to splutter. “Just fuck me already.”

“Whoa, no need to get mean. But I do love the sound of nasty words coming from such a pretty mouth.” He sucks a mark into the top of her breast, his fingers picking up the pace as he continues to pump them into her slick heat. “You gonna talk dirty to me? Make me lick that filthy mouth clean?”

She can’t reach what she wants to grab, so she settles for grabbing a handful of hair and pulling his face up to hers. He looks fucking giddy, a shit-eating grin plastered on his lips. She narrows her eyes and snarls, “I’ll spew every fucking filthy word I know.  Hell, I’ll even swear in fucking Latin if it helps. All the fucking filth you can goddamn fucking STAND from this pretty mouth; talk so motherfucking dirty to you, you’ll need to shower twice to feel clean if you. will. just. fuck. me.” She’d laugh at the unmitigated shock that adorns his face, but the coil is wound so tight it’s almost painful. “Please,” she sweetly begs. 

His eyes hold an ardent enthusiasm, but his smile softens, and he kisses the tip of her nose. “That’s why I need you to come for me, honey. I don’t want to hurt you.”

She keens his name when he scissors his fingers and grinds onto his hand when he adds a third, making her walls convulse. “That’s it,” he whispers in her ear, “I can feel you getting closer.” 

“Shit… feels good.” Curling in on herself, she breathes, “p- please.”

He places a peck on her cheek, “I want you to come hard for me, okay?” presses a kiss to her temple, “I want to feel you dripping down my arm,” taps his thumb over her clit, riling her up, enticing her to the edge. “Can you do that?”

“Y- yes…” Slipping a hand around the back of his neck, she thrusts against his hand, “fuck… feels so good,” as the other grips the arm working her over, “right there… right there.” Each thrust of his hand buries those long thick fingers deep, deeper than she could ever get on her own. She writhes next to him, yearning for release but not wanting it to end.

“Good girl.” Dean nips sharply at her earlobe and curls his fingers, thumb pressing into her clit. 

Hips canting off the bed, back bowed, her body seizes, breath stalled, sound trapped in her throat, and walls clamped firmly around his fingers. 

“That’s my girl,” he coos. “Fuck, that’s tight.” He tries to wiggle his fingers, and she cries out.

It’s all too much—his fingers, his voice, the weight and heat of him, the wave of euphoria that rolls through her. She collapses back onto the bed, her nails digging into his flesh, walls spasming around the fingers still fucking her. “Christ… fuck…” She twists her hips and clenches her thighs together, trying to stop the overstimulation, chest heaving, and heart threatening to burst.

“Nuh, uh.” Dean wedges a leg between hers, keeping them separated, his hand slowing as he eases her down. “Deep breaths.” 

Kasey tries to do as he says, sucking in lungfuls of air, slowly exhaling in time with the rhythm of his fingers… in and out… in and out… she dissolves into the mattress, dazed and blissful.

“There you go.” He kisses her deeply, tongue slipping in as he frees his fingers completely.

Hips jerking, she whines, already missing the feeling of fullness he’d provided. Damn, he was right. He needed to prepare her. If she felt that full with just his fingers, that cock of his will split her open. She can’t wait. 

Dean bites her bottom lip, bringing her focus back to him. Leaning up on his elbow, he brings his hand up from between her legs, “Look at the mess you made.” Kasey looks down her body to find his entire hand glistening as he wiggles his fingers, her juices dripping from his wrist. “Such a good girl, doing exactly as you were told.”

She can’t lie; the praise makes her feel warm and fuzzy, tightening the coil again a notch or two. He swipes his wrist across her thigh, then scoots down to lick it from her skin. “Tastes so good.” He breathes over the wet trail his tongue left behind, laughing as the goosebumps rise on her flesh, making her whine. Flicking his tongue out, he laps at his palm before shoving a finger into his mouth and moans, then proceeds to suck each finger clean in turn, releasing his thumb with a loud pop when he’s finished.

Fuck him. Fuck him and his thick fingers. Fuck his sinful mouth and talented tongue. Fuck his dreamy eyes and sexy voice, broad shoulders, and ripped arms. Fuck his bowed legs and meaty thighs. Fuck him.

And she categorically does want to… fuck him, that is. Dean rolls over the top of her, resting his weight on his forearms on either side of her shoulders, their noses nearly touching. 

“Ever taste yourself?” 

The question sounds obscene, depraved, the rasp of whiskey and smoke-filled barrooms pervading the words. It makes her stomach flip and her toes curl. He could be the devil incarnate, and she’d willingly follow him to hell and back if he promised to talk to her like that every day. She shakes her head. She can smell her arousal on his breath, and it turns her on more than she ever thought it would, making her squirm beneath him, wanting nothing more than to taste the tang of her release. 

“Seriously?” Eyes dark and hungry, he smiles wide and bright. “Do you want to?” 

Nodding eagerly, she unconsciously licks her lips in anticipation.

Dean’s smile is wicked as he breathes, “Go ahead.” 

Tilting her chin up, she gives him a tentative peck on the lips, which reveals little in the way of taste. He patiently watches as she bites her lip, then licks along his top lip.

She scrunches her nose at first, and he chuckles, brushing back the strands of hair sticking to her cheek. “Try again.”

He parts his lips further, letting her sweep her tongue in to explore his mouth with the next kiss. Kasey moans, and he pulls away, kissing the tip of her nose, the corners of his eyes crinkling with his smile. “Exactly.” His cock lies heavy against her thigh, and he ruts into her, mouth capturing hers, letting her lick his mouth clean. She pants when they break apart, “I want to taste you now.”

Wincing, he groans, “Later. I want to fuck you hard. Like you’ll feel me for days hard. I almost blew my load watching you fall apart. I can’t hold back much longer, and I really, really want to feel that tight cunt squeeze around my dick as you come.”

“Well, well, look who’s got the filthy mouth now.” she giggles. “Unfortunately, I think we will have to wait for that.”

“Wait? Why?” He looks terror-stricken. “I can’t wait. I mean… if you need to… don’t want to… then, yeah, we can wait. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to… assume… anything. I just thought… with everything you said… what we just did… “

She lets him ramble on a bit more before kissing him to shut him up. Dean blinks down at her, confusion written into every gorgeous angle of his face. Sliding a hand down his side, she traces the edge of the bandage. “I meant the rough sex, but-”

“Ah, phfft.” He cuts her off, rolling his eyes like she’s a crazy person. “I can barely feel it. It’ll be fine.” 

Pinning him with a stern glare, she huffs, “May I finish?”

“Oh. Sorry.”

“I have an idea that I think will make you just as happy.”

“Does it involve me feeling that sweet pussy around my dick?”

“Jesus.” It’s her turn to roll her eyes. “Yes.”

“Awesome, what’s the idea?”

“Get off me and lie on your back.” 

Dean’s eyes immediately light up, quickly catching on, and he rolls off her, situating himself in a semi-reclining position against the pillows. Kasey sits up on her haunches, then moves to straddle him, only to jerk back when he slaps his palms against the sheets and angrily shouts, “Son of a bitch.”

“What?” Not sure what’s happening, she quickly scans his body paying close attention to the bandage on his injured side. “You okay? What’s wrong?”

Scrubbing a hand down his face, he laments, “Uhm… condoms?”

She blinks rapidly, comprehension taking a moment to set in. “Oh! Well, I’m sure there are a couple around here somewhere, but they won’t be any good.” The forlorn-little-boy look on his face nearly sends her into a fit of laughter, and she bites her lip until she can swallow it back down. “I have an implant,” she tentatively states. Resting her hand, palm up, on his thigh, she taps the skin over the tiny bar. 

Dean tilts his head curiously, eyes narrowing a bit. He wraps his fingers around her arm, thumb resting about an inch from the device, and eyes her quizzically.

“You can touch it,” she nods.

Lightly running his thumb over the area, he grimaces. “That feels weird. Does it hurt?”

“No, I don’t even feel it anymore. I got it right before I moved.” Smiling, she carefully watches his face. “So, we’re covered on that front. We good?”

“I’m good,” he nods eagerly.

Dean continues to hold her arm, helping her to balance as she throws a leg over his thighs, settling her ass just above his knees. “What are you doing so far away?” He holds his other hand up, and she flattens her palm against his, forcing their intertwined fingers onto the pillow above his head, moaning in unison with him when her still wet folds slide over his shaft.

She leans in and gives him a short, sweet kiss, sliding her hips back as she bears down on him. Dean grunts and releases the hold on her arm to cup the side of her face. His gaze is intense, but his eyes are soft and apologetic as he brushes his thumb over the apple of her cheek, and for a second, she worries that he might ask her to stop. Instead, he kisses her, sensual and slow. The rush to get where they are is gone, and now he clearly wants to savor the moment. Fingers slipping into her hair, he lifts his chin and pulls her closer. Nose pressed alongside hers, he hesitates, sharing a breath, looking at her with something akin to wonder. Kasey softly wraps her fingers around his wrist and whispers his name. Eyelids fluttering closed, he tilts his head to slot his lips with hers. The emotions he imparts in the kiss are startling. It’s passionate yet tender, intoxicating and exhilarating, loving and sweet. She swears she could come again just from this kiss.

She swirls her hips, his cock slipping through her folds, and he growls into her mouth. The smile it elicits causes him to pull back, smirking at her. “I want you so bad it hurts. But feeling you raw, I think this might end quicker than either of us would like.” 

The sincerity in his tone warms her heart, and she responds in kind. Squeezing the hand she’s holding, she turns her head and kisses his palm. “We have all day. I’m sure we will have ample opportunity to find ways of enjoying each other.”

He visibly relaxes under her gaze. 

“So let me take care of you.” She rocks her hips, sliding him through her wet heat. After her second pass, he drops his hand to her waist and thrusts against her, and she immediately stills. Lightly smacking his chest, she growls, “You don’t move. I’m in charge now.”

“Yes, ma’am.” 

The smug smirk falls from his lips when her fingers grip his cock and squeeze. “I mean it. You, don’t move.”

“Got it.” She runs her thumb through his slit and strokes him a couple of times to make sure he’s fully covered in her slick. “N-No moving.” Lifting, she notches his tip at her entrance. “I’ll just…” She slowly eases down an inch or so. “lie h- here and take-”

Grunting, he slams his head back into the pillows, fingers denting into the top of her ass cheeks as she drops, impaling herself on his shaft. Falling forward, she presses her hand into his pec and tucks her chin, taking a moment to let the burn of the stretch dissipate. She knew he’d feel good, but damn, this… this is illusory. The stuff fantasies are made of. He’s broad and long, just like the rest of him, and he fills her so completely.

“Kasey?”

“Yeah, one more sec.” She clenches around him, feeling every thick ridge and throbbing vein. 

“Kase, I need you to move.” Voice strained, he begs, “Please.”

Chuckling, she lifts her head to watch him as she slowly rises, then eases back onto him, setting a slow, steady pace. She releases his hand and kisses the tip of his chin as she brushes her knuckles over his cheek. “You’re beautiful.”

Dean scrunches his face at the word, and she smiles sweetly. “You are.” She tucks a section of hair back at his temple, “you’re smart.” Her index finger traces an eyebrow, “your eyes are kind, filled with emotion.” She trails the finger down his nose, tapping the end. “An adorable freckled nose.” Leaning forward, she rubs the tip of her nose against his, continuing to thrust shallow and slow. Her finger slides through the dip of his Cupid’s bow and drags over his bottom lip to his chin. She lets her tongue take over, placing her hand to rest on the bed above his shoulder. Keeping his gaze, she licks along his lower lip and whispers, “This deliciously sinful mouth.” The corners of his eyes crinkle as he smiles, cock twitching inside her, fingers flexing into her flesh. “Such a gorgeous smile.”

Kasey sits back, and he slips in deeper, stretching her snug walls around him. The sense of fullness and the drag over her g-spot makes her tremble in anticipation. Despite his reservations, she has no doubt that he’ll make her come again. 

Dean regards her with rapt attention as she undulates over him, her body slowly twisting and curving, building momentum. “Do you know what I think the sexiest thing is about you?” Perfect white teeth rake over his bottom lip as he shakes his head. She snakes a finger down his chest before tapping two fingers over his heart. “This heart. It’s a good heart.” Her other hand slips between them. “Strong and steady.”

“Fuck… oh… shit…” Dean’s body jerks, and his cock swells when her fingers brush against his shaft as she circles her clit. “Kasey…”  His big hands squeeze the globes of her ass, then drop to grip around her ankles, forcing her knees forward and drawing her legs closer to his body.

Fingers curling into his chest, she pitches forward, her other hand landing on his shoulder as she grinds down onto him. Mouth pressed to his ear, she breathes, “Come for me.” And he does, spurting hot and deep inside her with a strangled shout. 

Dean’s hands encircle her waist, helping her move as she continues to bounce on him while he throbs inside her. Seconds later, she bites into the skin of his collarbone, clenching around him while he holds her flush against his pelvic bone, the wave of pleasure washing over her even stronger than before.  

He wraps her up in his arms when she collapses on top of him, chests heaving against each other and hearts pounding. His skin slips against hers, where the sweat has pooled between them as he flips them over. Brushing damp stray hairs off her forehead, he places quick, tender kisses over her face, then slides down between her legs, laying his head over her heart, using her breasts as a makeshift pillow.

“Damn, that was awesome.” His warm breath tickles her cooling skin.

“It was,” she chuckles, fingers drawing random patterns on his shoulder. “I can’t wait to do it again.” She hooks her heels over his thighs as his laughter shakes the mattress beneath them. 

He dips his head to kiss her skin before replying, “Give me a minute to catch my breath.”

She smiles, looking down at him; the weight of his body grounds her. Dean hums, breaths slowing as she cards her fingers through his hair. He slides his arms closer to her body, hands resting against her sides, not quite cupping her breasts, and relaxes further into her, pressing her deeper into the bedding. It’s hot and sticky, but she doesn’t care and has no intention of moving. She closes her eyes, letting the bliss-filled silence stretch between them. She’s on the edge of sleep when he murmurs against her.

“There was one more thing you were wrong about.”

“Sheesh. Is this going to become a thing now? Are you going to start keeping a list?” 

He chuckles as he lifts his head, resting his chin in the cleft below her breasts, and she peels her lids up just enough to see him. “Earlier when you said that… that I wasn’t yours. You were wrong. I’ve been yours from the moment I stepped onto your porch.”

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@muchamusedaboutnothing

[cupidosaro]

Has it been an entire year since I last posted an update for my fic, Dreaming of Red? Yes. Am I finally (almost) done with the next chapter?

…Also yes.

I hope y’all like it.

(Update should be out within the next day or two)