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winchesters-imagine · 5 years

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Infected - Pt 5

Imagine you and Ellie meeting a strange man called David.

Warnings: swearing, david, violence Word Count: 5.8k Estimated Reading Time: 20 minutes

___________________________________________________ A/N: Wow, I have neglected this series. I think there’ll be one more part to this, before I move on. Maybe do a different game? Maybe we’ll revisit when TLOU part II comes out? Let me know! Feedback is gold!

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A small, abandoned town is what you found with Ellie. You found an empty frozen yogurt store in a mall and with high concerns for Joel, you all rode in. It was cold, and maybe not ideally hygienic, but it had to do. You had fished in your bag for something to keep your wrist in place - it wasn’t a huge injury, just a little sore, and would feel better in a few days.

You hopped off of your horse as soon as you saw what looked like a stretcher tucked away in the corner of the frozen yogurt shop, which you pulled out and set next to Callus. Ellie slides off as you clutch Joel’s jacket, sliding your hands under his arms to help him off, using all the muscles you can as you strain against his weight. Ellie helps his legs gently away from Callus and helps you put him on the stretcher.

There had been a heavy snow storm over the past day, and you were all left cold and desperate. Your fingers are so cold that you can barely grip your gun, and Dean shivering into your shoulder concerns you.

You help Dean into a chair, taking off your jacket and throwing it over his shoulders. He begins to protest, but you put a finger to his lips before he could and rush over to join Ellie in the search for something, anything.

“Shit! C’mon, gimme something...” You hear her as draws open harshly and proceed to slam shut. “Fuck!” You heart beats a million miles a minute as you swing open cupboards and drawers before you find a stash of fabric in the corner of a cupboard, only about the size of your palm.

Both of you rush back at the same time, having found something useful. Your fabric is too small for Joel’s wound, so Ellie pulls out her old shirt from her bag to use with the duct tape that she found.

“Okay, we’re gonna put you on your side,” You say to Joel, nodding to Ellie as you carefully roll Joel over with your good hand. Ellie lifts up his shirt and you both stare at his wound in shock, before snapping out of it. There’s much more blood than you’re used to, and as Ellie seems to be very much in control, you turn to Joel.

His breathing is shallow, he’s shivering, and when you put a hand to his forehead, he seems ice cold. “Now, what do we do?” Ellie breathes out harshly while rolling Joel back over after taping her old shirt over the hole in Joel’s side.

“I’ll go out to find something to stitch him up with - there’s gotta be a first aid kit around somewhere,” You say, passing Ellie the white fabric you found earlier for Dean’s shoulder.

“With a broken wrist?” She shoves it back. “I don’t want you to go! It’s not broken!” You insist.

“This place is abandoned. Probably only a few infected around. Watch Joel. Keep him alive. I’ll find the stuff. Okay?” Ellie offers.

You huff a cloud of breath, not too sure. But then again, she was fine in the game, right?

“Just, come back in one piece, okay?” You say softly as she stands up, swiping a padlock and key from the counter.

“I’ll be back in a flash,” She replies lightly, lifting up the garage-like door and lowering it slowly. You hear her lock it from the outside and sigh.

Feeling a headache coming on, you take your hair out of its ponytail as you peel away Dean’s shirt from his wound.

“Took your time,” He teases. “Sorry, De. Is the bullet still in your shoulder?” You ask. “No, I think I dug it out on the road.” “Oh my god.” You grab the tape and place a strip over the fabric on top of the wound, looking up at Dean afterwards.

“So, what’cha gonna do with a ganked wrist?” He asks playfully. “You’re talkin’, Winchester. How’s the knee?” “I was bein’ dramatic. It feels okay now.” Some light has returned to his eyes, and you feel guilty that the same can’t be said about the man on the floor.

You move to check on Joel, worriedly looking down at him.

“Are you holding up okay?” You ask softly. Joel grunts softly. “Sure,” His voice is barely above a whisper, and tugs at your heart like the moon does the sea.

“Hang in there, Joel,” You pat his shoulder softly before spotting a blanker stashed behind the counter of this store, placing it over him. You move to straddle Dean’s hips, but you don’t put your weight on him. More like a hover.

“Dean?” “Hm?” He looks up, eyes full of - love? Admiration? Happiness? You wish you were better at identifying people’s emotions. But they sparkle. Dean’s eyes always sparkle. You drop your voice and lean forwards so that only he can hear you. “Later in the game, something happens. I don’t think I can tell you, but you and Joel have to find a way around it. Maybe that’s when we can call Gabe. I miss Sam, the Bunker, my bed...” You begin to complain, but cut yourself off. “I’m not gonna let anything happen to you, Y/N. Okay? The next time I see Gabe, I’m gonna kick his ass all the way to Kentucky. Trust me on that.”

I’m not worried about myself...

You smile, heart pounding and losing yourself in his eyes. So much so that you don’t realise you’re going to peck his forehead until you did. Dean Winchester, the man you could always count on as he could on you. You gently pull him in for an embrace, staying there for a few moments.

You spend the next few minutes, hours? Pacing up and down, chewing your lip and almost biting your nails. Your heart dropped when you heard bursts of gunshots, not knowing whether or not Ellie made it out alive. Being trapped in this store with nowhere to go sure gives you a lot of thinking time.

“Y/N, stop worrying. She’ll be back, she’s a tough kid.” Dean offers, cradling his shoulder to keep it as still as possible. You look over at him in worry, absolutely certain that you’ve just heard screeches of Infected in the distance. Obviously, Dean can see the panic on your face every time. “Seriously. She’s small and fast, and you can’t move your wrist more than twenty degrees in any direction.” You aren’t sure whether he’s reassuring you or digging himself a metaphorical hole.

Until you hear something hacking at the metal padlock on the door. Callus is irritated as usual, whinnying loudly. You rush over to him to calm him down, shushing and stroking his nose.

“Hey! I hear the fuckin’ horse over here!”

Shit.

“Help me get this door open!” “Yeah, yeah, we’ll get the door open. You guys keep searchin’. I don’t wanna get ambushed.”

The noise resumes and you can see the metal door shaking as the hunters throw all of their strength at the little lock. You exchange a worried look with Dean, who tries to get up, but you push his good shoulder down gently to keep him there. Ellie will take them out, but in the meantime you tie up your hair and check that your guns are loaded.

“Yeah, I think it’s about it give! Keep at it!”

Your heart drops as you bite your lip, testing your grip on the pistol. You support your bad wrist as you aim your gun on the door, ready for anything. Some muffled grunts are heard, before silence. You hold your breath as you hear some fumbling at the lock. “Ellie?” “Yeah! It’s-”

The wshh of bullets knock against the metal of the door while the hunters yell at each other about Ellie and the door, “Down there! By the door, we got her pinned down! Finish her!” followed by gunshots. Another hunter? How many were around here?

“Fuck you!” You hear Ellie yell back. More bullets are sent flying. You cross your fingers that she’ll make it.

More gunshots and yells ring out, and you stand ready by the door to help her in. Dean seems to sit up straighter in his seat, and you wait for the last shot.

It comes in about ten minutes, followed by, “If anyone’s still alive, don’t even think about surprising me! You’ll end up like your friends, you hear me?”

And a weight was lifted off of your shoulders when you hear the padlock click, and see the door being lifted. You hold it with one hand so that she can get through, before dropping the cold metal to the floor.

You hugged Ellie as soon as she stood up, which she understandably resisted; her thoughts were only of Joel.

“Are you okay? Did they shoot you?” You ask, kneeling down next to Joel with her. “No. Fucking pharmacy had an empty kit lying there,” She pulls off Joel’s blanket with shaky hands, “I jumped into a military helicopter to find this,” She pulls out a full first aid kit from her backpack. “Nice going, Ellie,” You assure her. “Do you know how to stitch a wound?”

She thinks for a moment. “I’ve done this before, so I’m kinda an expert... ish,” She replies. “Good thing we do it for a living, then,” Dean mumbles, having been bleeding like Joel since the university. Though, not the same volume; the adrenaline wearing off now. “I’m going to stitch Dean’s shoulder real fast with this needle - just watch and, I guess, learn,” You say, pulling up a knocked down stool with your good hand.

You pull Dean’s shirt down, revealing the damage again. Working quickly, you show Ellie how to disinfect, and stitch it properly, finishing with a dressing. Dean lends you a hand in place of your injured wrist, holding the thread where it needs to be to tie knots, and things like that. She notes, and you watch her pack, stitch and dress Joel’s wound as you give pointers while she does.

Once that was done, she pulled the blanket back around his shivering figure, tying it securely around him with a piece of rope she picked up on her outing, which she cut with her knife.

Ellie seems relieved, falling back onto her heels as she relaxes a little. “Where do we go from here? Other than just, out of here?” She wonders aloud. “My vote is to find a village or town nearby - the houses are gonna be abandoned, and if we’re lucky we can find supplies. Take one of their basements as shelter,” You suggest.

The thick blanket of snow crunches beneath your feet as you lock another one of your arrows into your bow. “I’m just sayin’ Ellie, Dean will look after him. He’s almost healed anyway - the only reason we’re both out here is for some girl talk,” You say, focused on making sure the bow string is still surviving.

“He’d better. Otherwise he’d have me to answer- holy shit, food!,” Ellie says, leading Callus through the woods. She’s just spotted a rabbit, and you could tell that she was not going to give up this opportunity. “Your move,” You say. Ellie slides an arrow onto her bow, slowly pulling it back. The tip of her tongue peeks out of her mouth as she ever so gently, carefully, increased the tension. And then she released it.

The arrow flew straight through the neck of the rabbit.

“You’re a good shot!” You smile. Ellie gets up and starts running to fetch it. You catch up and see her frown after picking up the result of your hunt. “Oh,” She sighs. “This won't last very long.”

You scan the surrounding area and can barely contain an excited gasp, spotting a deer about ten feet to your left. Ellie follows your gaze and also grins. You leave Callus tied to a tree and follow the deer, taking it in turns to send arrows in its direction. However, time after time, the deer would spook and keep running. It was beginning to get tiring as you both chase it through the woods, trying to be quick but also quiet.

After many curses from both you and Ellie, you turn the corner and see down the bottom of a hill, an old mining camp. The wooden cabin was huge and falling apart - holes in the roof and walls making it look drab and abandoned. The blood stains in the snow go through the cabin, and you exchange looks with Ellie.

“Oh, great,” She rolls her eyes, jumping down to find the deer. You follow, treading cautiously as you gaze around the rotting wood, damp with snow. On the inside, the entire roof has collapsed in, and the winter wind makes the fragile foundations creak. “Everything's cool. This place is not creepy at all,” Ellie says sarcastically. “Trust me, I’ve seen worse,” You joke lightly. Ellie doesn’t acknowledge the joke because she’s spotted the deer, dead on the other side of the cabin. “Oh.” She says, surprised that after all this running, it’s finally dead. She goes to check on it, but you’re put on alert when you hear the soft crunch of leaves beneath somebody’s foot.

You raise your own weapon, hunter mode kicking in.

“Who's there? Come out!” You make your voice as tough as you can, despite straining against all of the tension you’re putting into the bow. Probably not supposed to do that, but with your heartbeat picking up you hardly care.

Two men appear from behind the trees. Well, one man. A boy who looks about nineteen is by his side.

The man looks rough, maybe in his mid-to-late 40′s, with longer hair and a beard. You shiver, realising that if it were a little longer, he’d have the same hair as Sam. The boy just looks ...young. Just following the leader.

“Hello...we just want to talk,” He walks with his hands up, a rifle strapped to his back and gravelly undertones to his voice. “Any sudden moves and I put one right between your eyes,” You threaten. “Ditto for buddy boy over there. What do you want?” You switch between the two of them with your bow, hands flying up whenever it’s pointed at them. You mutter under your breath to Ellie, “Stay behind me.” She does.

“Um, name's David, this here's my friend James.” You’re already disliking his story. “We're from a larger group - women, children. We're all very, very hungry.” You know that this guy is bad. But, you can’t remember why.

“So am I - women and children - all very hungry too,” You lie, breathing deeply to keep your cool. “Well maybe we could, ah, trade you for some of that meat there,” David tries to negotiate. “ What do you need? Weapons, ammo, clothes-” “Medicine! Do you have any antibiotics?” Ellie interrupts. You cringe slightly. “We do. Back at the camp. You're welcome to follow us-”

“We’re not following you anywhere. Buddy boy can go get it. He comes back with what we need, the deer is all yours. Anyone else shows up-” You scowl, raising the bow a little higher, fingers beginning to ache. “-You put one right between my eyes.” “That's right.”

David turns to the boy. “Two bottles of penicillin and a syringe. Make it fast. Go on.” He turns and runs.

“She'll take that rifle,” You say, motioning to Ellie. “Of course.” His easy compliance doesn’t sit well with you. It’s making you nervous. Years of weeding out disguised vamps gave you good practice in identifying the creeps. He steps forward and places it on the ground in front of you.

“Back up,” You let Ellie take the rifle, so that she can hold him at gunpoint as you rest your aching shoulders. There’s an awkward silence. Uneasy glances shared between you and Ellie, hands rubbed together to warm up. “He's probably gonna be awhile.” Of course David is the one to break the silence. “You, ah, mind if we take some shelter from the cold?”

You ponder for a moment, before shivering yourself. “Bring the deer with us,” You say, and you all end up in a smaller cabin that was probably the entrance for the old miners. David lets go of the deer. You gather some sticks and wood lying around before building them up in the middle of the floor. Ellie watches David as he stares at you making the fire. “Yeah, thanks for the help tough guy,” You mumble, searching for a hard rock. You pick one up with a relatively sharp edge in the corner of your cabin. You pull out your knife and drag the rock across the spine several times until you produced sparks. Blowing on the glowing wood ever so slightly, the fire grows.

“You know you two really shouldn't be out here all by yourselves,” David says, a slight edge to his voice as he warms his hands by the fire. Following your lead, Ellie does the same. “Don’t work well with anyone else,” You shrug. David glances over Ellie. “I see. What’s your relationship? Sister, in-law, daughter?” You scoff. “Like that’s any of your business.” “What’s your name?” “Why?” “Look, I understand it's not easy to trust a couple of strangers.” David tries to be empathetic. “Whoever's hurt, you, especially the girl, clearly care about them,” You swallow thickly. “I'm sure it's gonna be just fine.”

“We'll see,” Ellie says.

As always, you hear it before you see it. The ear-grinding squeal, infused with clicks and painful-sounding cries. Everyone is on their feet in seconds, when a clicker enters the house. All of your joints lock up and you stop breathing. It lingers in the doorway for one, two, three seconds before releasing a stomach churning cry and charging. Straight for Ellie.

As if somebody had slapped you, your arm flies for your bow and arrow, successfully pulling out the bow, but the arrow gets caught on the way out of your bag. “No!”

Flashes of light go off in front of you, accompanied by bangs. David shoots it down with a pistol, again and again in the head. You jaw falls open.

“You had another gun?” Ellie asks, face falling. “Sorry,” David shrugs. God, just the sight of him makes you feel sick. He’s a liar, and you can’t trust him.

But more infected are on the way, and the more guns, the better. David peers out of the doorway.

“Okay, I'd really like my rifle back now.” David says. “No, you have your pistol,” Ellie argues. “I hope you know how to use that thing.” Ellie shares a knowing look with you,“I've had some practice.”

You shut the heavy metal door to the house and throw a nearby tarp onto the huge deer. You pull out your bow again and ready an arrow. You frown at the very obvious blood trail to the deer, before remembering that the clickers are blind! Great.

“We have to keep them out,” You say, half to yourself. “Let's hope they don't find him. Cover the windows,” David instructs, and you roll your eyes.

Standing near the half boarded up windows, you peer out, doing the best you can to shoot the incoming clickers with your bow. It clunks against the wood, and you sigh in frustration. At least Ellie’s getting some good shots in, you can see the corpses collapse and slide the rest of the way down the hill.

“You weren't kidding. You're a better shot with that thing than I am,” David comments. You cannot for the life of you control your distaste for this man.

“Gimme a hand with this,” He says to you. Reluctantly, you help him shove some heavy metal cabinet in front of some windows, straining and gritting your teeth due to the weight. You slump against the hard wall of it when you were done, panting heavily.

Until a high pitched squeal rips through the air right next to your ear, and you get pulled into the wall by the window - a clicker leaned in, throwing an arm around your shoulder and chest. You scream, its mangled features too close up. All of the fungus is leaking out of its face, and you’re petrified.

David pushes your head out the way and you hear a loud gunshot. You’re pushed away before you see the lifeless body slump over the wall. You rub the part of your neck that it was so close to biting.

“Holy shit,” You and Ellie say together. “You okay?” She asks. You nod, still slightly dazed before you ready your bow to start shooting again. But you’re almost out of arrows.

Every shot you take goes straight through the head. You’re so focused on your aim, so grateful for everything that Dean has taught you, that you freeze when you feel that you’ve only got three arrows left. Gritting your teeth, you put your bow away and just feel that there’s something in your pocket. You reach in, fingers closing around a slim metal object. You pull out your pocket knife, almost screaming in happiness.

Didn’t you leave that in the Bunker?

“Oh lord, there's a whole lot of 'em comin' at us,” David’s voice pulls you back. Can you trust him after he saved you?

You peer between the wooden planks on one window and view about twenty to thirty clickers approaching. “Screw it. We're gettin' outta this room!” David yells, looking for an exit and settling on an old boarded up door. With almost impressive strength. “Alright, ladies. This way.”

You both follow him through the fragile passages, a couple of infected smashing through the windows that you quickly push Ellie away from. “Fucking infected,” You hear her mutter. You sprint up two flights of stairs and David pauses, grabbing Ellie and then you by the upper arm and pulling you forward. “I'll block their path. Cover the stairs!”

You don’t have any ammo to help, so you rush next to David and push the old metal shelves across the doorway. You exhale sharply. “Follow me. Through here,” David rams his shoulder into another pair of metal doors and they fly open.

“Do you know where you're going?” You ask, knife clutched tightly in your hand. “I've never set foot in this place.” “Oh! Great,” Ellie says sarcastically.

You enter a new room full of metal catwalks and broken machinery. Your breath is still coming out in puffy clouds of smoke. “It's clear. This way.” You run through the maze of machinery and to a huge flight of stairs climbing the wall to get to higher ground. “How you holdin' up?” You hear him say to Ellie. “You don't need to worry about me.” She says. You suppress a smile. A beat. “Alright. Stay close.”

You’re running across the metal catwalk next to Ellie, hopping over a barricade that reaches mid-thigh. But the metal creaks beneath your feet, and you’re falling, arms flailing above you. To your surprise, your fingers catch on the edge of the catwalk.

“Oh shit!” Ellie yells.

You look down and see her on her back on the floor. “Shit,” You mutter, trying to pull yourself up. Seeing your struggle, David grabs your arms and yanks you up with surprising strength.

“Hey, kid - you alright?” David calls. You look behind you with a gasp, seeing two clickers approaching. “I'm fine...” Ellie sits up, shaking the haze from her head.

David pushes you lightly in front of him, trying to get you to run. “More clickers. Get outta there!” He calls down.

You both take off, swerving around corners. You flinch at the sound of David’s gunshots, which surprised you. You haven’t flinched like that since you first started hunting. After a few corners, David grabs your elbow and pulls you to the floor. You gasp in surprise before realising that the clickers up ahead are few and far between. Easy to knife.

You crouch and shuffle forwards, to a clicker leaning forwards and panting heavily. Taking a deep breath, you straighten up and leap onto it, shoving the knife into its face, neck, where the eyes would be, anywhere you could without getting bit. It collapsed underneath you and you fall on your feet, panting heavily and wiping the blood off of your hands.

“Didn’t know you had it in ya, kid,” David claps you on the shoulder as you breathe deeply. First time stabbing a clicker. You scan your hands and wrists for bites and grin to yourself when you find nothing.# “She’s climbing up there, let’s go,” He gives you a tug, spotting Ellie climbing up a yellow ladder tucked away. Upon arriving, you see a clicker turn to a wall, and neither you or David hesitate to shoot. One of your arrows and several of his bullets take it down, and Ellie appears around the corner.

“Oh! There you are,” Ellie says. You pat her shoulder as reassurance, glad you’re here to watch out for her.

“C'mon - door's this way. There, look. That ladder could work.” David says, to himself or you, you aren’t sure.

You climb the ladder second, behind Ellie. David follows. You run through another doorway and jog through a rickety bridge until you come into an open room.

“Alright, let’s see what we’ve got,” You take a look around, up the stairs and onto a ledge, where two corpses lay. “Geez. Looks like someone already fought those things and lost,” Ellie’s voice creeps up behind you. You swallow back a horrible feeling rising in your chest. “Ah, Lord,” David appears. “I've been lookin' for these boys. Doesn't matter. Grab their gear. I'm gonna look for an exit. Keep your eyes open for anything we can use!”

You find more arrows for your bow, as well as a rifle strapped to the back of one of them. Odd. If they were being attacked by these things, why was the weapon still strapped to their back? Maybe they were set up?

Christ, Y/N. That’s so stupid. Focus, you think.

You pick up tin bombs, throw pistol bullets in Ellie’s direction, and find a lighter with some bottles.

“See anything?” You shout. “It's a dead end. How on earth did they use this building?” David responds. “So what do we do?” Ellie asks you, eyes glinting with fear. “We fight them off. Stay put,” You suggest, running a hand down your face. “Is there any other choice?” She asks. “We die. Get ready.” David strides past.

Haunting squeals almost make the building shake. You load the rifle and hold it still, not hearing what David and Ellie are yelling at each other. Sure, you’ve dealt with vampires, shifters, werewolves. Nothing compares to this, seeing the undead crawl from the roof into the room.

Any of them where you can get a clear shot, you take it. Shouts between all of you communicate where you are and how many are around.

“Behind you!” Ellie yells, staring at you with wide eyes. You bring the rifle around without looking, swinging it across your body until it comes into contact with what you identify as a runner. You shove it back with the gun and shoot exactly three bullets into its torso. Thumbs up to Ellie before you continue shooting the rest.

“How many of these things are there?” Ellie shouts, fighting the recoil of the rifle.

“I have no idea. Just keep at it!” David is scoring plenty of headshots, taking infected down in a few bullets. A strangled, deep cry draws your attention to the abandoned elevator.

“It’s a bloater!” You and Ellie yell at each other. “A what?!” David is clearly out of the loop.

“One of those big fucking guys,” Ellie takes aim with her bow as you stuff your bow into your bag, pouring some alcohol into a bottle with a rag, et voilà! A Molotov cocktail.

You light it and quickly throw it at the bloater. It screams and flails, and claws at thin air in pure rage. In your experience, fire was the best weapon you have against these guys. You make two more of them, throwing them with Ellie and David shooting in between. Before long, the big ugly lump fell forwards in a charred heap. You lean forwards on your knees, catching your breath. Dean’s not gonna believe this.

“You know, I think we did it,” You only barely register David’s cheerful comment.

“Like we killed all of 'em?” Ellie’s still recovering, too. When you get out of here you just want to get back to Dean and Joel, forget about the deer. “Don't sound so disappointed.” “More like disbelief.” “I'll check the bridge.”

Ellie tugs at your arm and you follow her to the bridge. “Listen,” You say. “No infected,” Ellie sounds relieved. “What'd I tell ya? Alright. Let's head on back, check on that buck of ours.” David nudges Ellie’s shoulder and sends you a wink. Friendly? Or not? You look away as he returns to your dead fire.

This time, you can relight it with the lighter you found.

“You two handled yourselves pretty nice back there. Ha, whew, I say we make a pretty good team,” David pokes at the fire as you all crouch to get warm.

“Psshh. We got lucky,” You scoff.

“Lucky? No, no...no such thing as luck,” David has a different tone to his voice now, and if you’ve ever been in this situation before with a monster, you know that shit’s about to go down.

Your hand tightens on the rifle by your side.

“No. You see... I believe that everything happens for a reason.” “Sure,” Ellie says.

“I do. And I can prove it to you. Now, this winter has been especially cruel. A few weeks back, I ah...sent a group of men out - nearby town to look for food,” David says, staring wistfully into the fire. You begin to feel sick to your stomach. “Only a few came back. They said that the others had been, ah, slaughtered by two psycho men. And get this; they’re traveling with a little girl, and a young woman.” You knew it. You shouldn’t have trusted him, and you did. Idiot.

Why didn’t you just run?

“You see? Everything happens for a reason.” You stand up and put him at gunpoint, Ellie shoved behind you.

“Now don't get upset. It's not your fault. You're just protecting your girl,” He says to you. Calmly, too calmly. Your breathing threatens to waver. “James, lower the gun.” You turn your head to see buddy boy aiming right at your head. Ellie lifts her rifle up at him.

“No way, David. I'm not gonna let her go-” You swallow thickly, fingers tightening on the trigger. “Lower the gun.” Why is David so calm? “Now give her the medicine.”

James tosses the parcel to the floor, closer to you and Ellie than them, thank god.

“The others won't be happy about this,” James says to David. “Yeah, well, that's not your concern.” David is speaking with a business-like edge to his voice, but you can only feel your fight or flight kicking in. Today, it’s flight. Ellie picks up the parcel of medicine as you both make your way to the door, gun held tightly on your shoulder. “Move the fuck out of the way,” You move around James, anxiety in your voice presenting itself as agitation. You make it to the door before David’s last words as you leave. “You won't survive long out there. I can protect you.”

You almost throw up in your mouth. His voice, it’s just- wrong. Too fake. “No, thanks.”

You leave with Ellie in tow. Retracing your footsteps through the blistering cold, eyes watering as they’re hit with the icy air. You ignore the slips you occasionally get, only concerned with getting the fuck out of there.

You pull yourself onto Callus and then Ellie. Making sure that she’s securely holding on, you ride as fast as you can before making it back to base - which, you figured out weren’t just your average houses. It was a lakeside resort, and you were hiding out in one of the cabins.

You make it back through the garage, closing it behind Callus. Entering the basement, you feel a weight lifted off of your shoulders when you see Dean casually sitting against a wall on a worn mattress, humming to himself. Ellie makes a beeline for Joel as you sit next to him, heart still hammering against your chest.

“Hey. You took a while,” Dean looks over at you with a smile. “Yeah, we ran into some infected. Found this though,” You motion towards the rifle on your back, inhaling deeply as you ignore the concern on Dean’s face as his head jerks up to scan you for any injuries, eyes landing on your hastily wiped bloody hands. You instead watch Ellie talking to Joel and injecting him with some penicillin. “Uh, I’m sorry, what?” You smile. “Relax, tough guy. We’re fine. A bloater even decided to join the party.”

Dean looks as if he’s going to pass out. “Hey. I’m okay. Promise. Fire is a surprisingly good weapon.”

You realise that your hand is tapping your knee uncontrollably in an attempt to shake out your nerves. Dean slowly takes your hand, his warmth calming you slightly even though your breaths come out shaky. “Y/N/N. I know you. What happened? You’re worried.” You turn and see how serious he is as he watches you intently. “De, I just- we saw a guy,” You drop your voice so that Joel and Ellie can’t hear you. Ellie is beginning to lie down, probably to sleep. “A guy?” Dean’s hand tightens around yours. “Yeah. At first I had mixed feelings but now - he’s a bad guy, Dean. I have this awful feeling that I can’t shake, and I think something bad is gonna happen but I don’t know because I can’t remember!” A tear slides down your cheek, a result of your panicked energy. You did know what happened here, you’re sure of it. So, why can’t you remember?

Dean rubs circles around your knuckles as you speak, and when you finish he throws his good arm around your shoulders and pulls you tightly into him. “Listen, I know you’re scared. So am I. But Gabe wouldn’t put us through anything where we couldn’t handle ourselves. As soon as my shoulder’s healed properly, I’ll be right there with you.”

You exhale sharply, slightly calmer although not very much. Gabe’s probably wiped all of your knowledge of this situation, all to ramp up the agitation and suspense. You begin to lie down, taking Dean’s good arm with you until you’re both on your side. You shift closer to him for warmth, but also the feeling of safety that he always gives you as you fall asleep.

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purgatoryandme · 5 years

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Okay but imagine Tony catching Rhodey and Bucky like thos and the sad little noodle wrongly assumes their dating and is heartbroken. Because he might've fought Steve for Bucky but he would never hurt his platypus like that. And the miscommunication continues. He congratulates Rhodey and Rhodey is like ffs he loves you you idiot. And Tony tries to reassure him that no he doesn't honey bear bucky wouldn't do that, he loves you. Rhodey just screams. And then since this is all happening in front of

But he’s happy Tony finally pulled his head out of his ass (Tony hasnt) right up until Tony says so I was right he was dating Steve and Rhodey is just so fucking done. He yells at Bucky ask him out before he becomes a bigger idiot for Fucks Sake barnes. Meanwhile he’s been getting strange gifts from T'Challa and his bf? This ran away from I am sorry. Maybe I should clarify that was in response to your amazing aggressive wingman Rhodey post.

Omg, please!? Tony waltzing in the kitchen only to find Rhodey pinning Bucky against the fridge by the neck. Both of them freeze because oh god this is it - Tony is going to kick both their asses for being childish and fighting (there is spilled milk slowly leaking onto the floor from where it has been crushed in Bucky’s metal fist and Rhodey knocked a bunch of magnets off the fridge with his sudden attack). But instead of looking angry, Tony’s face just kind of crumples and ?!?!?! that’s worse?!?!? So much worse?!?!?! They try talking over each other, but Tony just cracks some weird joke at them (about sexual aggression…?) and leaves. Cue Rhodey spending DAYS trying to get Tony to tell him what’s wrong and not getting a straight answer. Instead, he finds himself set up on a date by FRIDAY in the tower. A date with Bucky. Oh hell no. Rhodey throws Bucky over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry and threatens to toss him down the stairs if he doesn’t man up and ask Tony out. Bucky, not very wisely, responds that he’d probably survive that but he might not survive rejection. Rhodey throws him down the stairs. Tony assumes it’s part of some weird courting ritual and gently tries to show Rhodey some Cosmo magazines with maginally better dating tips. “He’s in love with you, not with me.”Rhodey tries desperately to tell him. Tony’s eyes are somehow even sadder as he reassures Rhodey that that isn’t true, but even if it was he wouldn’t do anything to ruin Rhodey’s romance. He’s reluctantly charmed by this even as he beats his head against a workbench while Tony panics. Pepper interferes, bless her soul, and Tony finally believes that Rhodey and Bucky aren’t a thing. Because Bucky and STEVE are clearly a thing (this misunderstanding happens because Pepper tries saying that Bucky and Rhodey are like Steve and Tony, assuming that he’ll get the whole best friends triangle set-up, but instead Tony reflects on the awkward sexual tension stage of his friendship with Steve that lasted like three days and goes “AHA, I SEE, THEY ARE BONING”). Bucky is somehow even sadder at this development than the prior one and Rhodey drops him from the sky one day in training out of pure outrage at his passivity. Tony saves Bucky’s ass while Rhodey grumbles that he should’ve let Bucky fall and Tony shrieks in horror. The shenanigans escalate until Rhodey and Bucky can’t be in the same room together with sibling-esque squabbling because Rhodey wants Bucky to man tf up already!!! Tell him you love him!!!!!!!!!!! You fool!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! And Steve starts getting in on it. Tony is slowly becoming convinced that the Avengers are all bullying Bucky, so he calls in T’Challa for help. T’Challa winds up taking Rhodey’s side (in an attempt to win him over for a date), and now literally everyone is ganging up on Bucky while Tony despairs about team harassment. Sam loves the entire thing and so, despite being the one person good enough with words to actually help, he doesn’t help at all.

#reply #winteriron

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littlefrostwrites · 5 years

Text

To Be Happy

This is a piece I wrote two years ago for a creative writing class in university. 04.10.18.

She stands in front of the water, far away from the lights of the festival. The lake is dotted with a million stars, but there are few in the sky. She clenches her hands and shutters her eyes, holding in her mind’s eye the solitude, sadness, and desperation of the past months.

She wishes for happiness.

***

The town of Maylight was blessed long ago by a powerful sorcerer who spread the ashes of his lover in a nearby lake, gifting a drop of his magic. Since then, one night every year, the lake fills with millions of stars. On that night, any magical being can make a wish on the bank of the lake and it will be granted the following day.

In celebration of the blessing, the townspeople hold the Star Bright Festival every year. It is a celebration of love, full of dancing, singing, and eating. The youth pair up in hopes of making a connection as strong as the love between the sorcerer and his lover. Only the most desperate descend to the lake to make a wish on Star Bright.

Aubree has taken her daughter to the festival every year since her birth. She remembers the awe in Jessima’s eyes the first time she saw the dancing townsfolk in the fairy lit square. It’s tradition for the mother-daughter pair to share at least one dance in the night.

But Jessima will not be attending this year.

“What do you mean she’s not going?” said Rachelle McMillan, whose residence the neighbourhood mothers were gathered at for their monthly potluck brunch.

“She’s taking her MSAE, Magineer Schools Admissions Exam,” Aubree clarifies for the other mothers, “soon. She needs to work hard, remain focused.”

“She’s okay with not going?” Candice from the house on the corner butts in, chewing on a brownie greedily. Aubree adjusts her crossed legs and rips off a chunk of her croissant.

“Not really,” Aubree admits. “But, I think the festival would be a distraction. She’s gotten into a good studying rhythm and I would hate for her to fall out of it.”

“So strict Aubree! Children need have some fun. It’s good for them,” Candice scolds.

“That mindset is why Jessima is going to be a magineer, while your children are in community college,” Rachelle says coldly. She’s never liked Candice, ever since her son beat Rachelle’s daughter in the 10th grade regional chess competition.

Candice sniffs but doesn’t respond.

“I think you’re doing the right thing. Lazy people cannot be successful and Jessima is at the age where it’s crucial she understands that.” Brenda says. Her children are already in the workforce. Aubree continues to rip her croissant into smaller pieces.

“Rob got promoted!” Rachelle announces, changing the topic swiftly. She beams as the other mothers offer her their congratulations. “With the extra money, we decided to invest in a MAIH!” The mothers widen their eyes appropriately. “I’d like you to meet someone!”

A man steps through the door, dressed smartly. He waves, his movements slightly stilted, the subtle fault giving away his mechanical nature. Aubree looks at his dark features and marvels at the newest magineering invention. He would pass as human, but his ruby red eyes are lifeless.

“Hello, my name is Theodore. I am Rachelle‘s Mechanical Aid In Housework,” he introduces himself. “I am happy to do whatever you wish.” He bows.

“Isn’t he lovely?” Rachelle exclaims. Candice gets up to take a closer look.

“He’s beautiful,” she whispers reverently, reaching a hand out. Rachelle snorts.

“Don’t even think about it! Theo only understands the pleasure of obedience. His brain receives a hit of dopamine every time he completes an order. Ergo the perfect servant!”

“If only my children were wired that way. They never listen!” Brenda complains. Aubree nods to herself, sympathizing, but then accidentally drops her plate. The scraps of croissant scatter on the carpet. Theodore dutifully clears it up, picking up Aubree’s discarded plate too. She falters in her thanks, shivering internally at his unsettling red eyes.

*** When Aubree arrives home, the door recognizes her magical signature and opens automatically. She places her empty brownie pan in the kitchen sink, where the pink sponge immediately jumps up with a flourish to start scrubbing, before heading down the hallway. Her daughter is still sleeping when she opens her door. Aubree growls angrily before snapping her fingers, summoning the sound of an alarm to echo in the room. Jessima immediately jerks awake.

“What are you doing?” Aubree exclaims. “It’s one o’clock, you’re supposed to be studying!” She glares at her daughter, who has her head in her hands.

“I was tired and couldn’t focus,” she mumbles.

“Then drink a pick-me-up potion! You don’t have time for this! Your MSAE is in two weeks and you’ve only been scoring in the 90th percentile on your practice tests. You know that DeGrasse only takes students above the 98th!” She frowns, but the look is lost on her daughter, who still has not moved from her position on the bed. “Come on! Get up!”

“Mom, I really need a break. My head hurts and I feel sick. I can’t study because I’m anxious, I can’t sleep because I’m anxious! I really just need a break.” She’s facing Aubree now, clutching her blanket pitifully. Tears are gathering in her brown eyes.

Aubree clucks her tongue.

“How did you end up so lazy.” Jessima gapes, but Aubree continues, index finger out and waving animatedly. “Do you know how Aunt Kath got to where she is? Every day, she would shut herself in her room to study. She ignored her friends, she didn’t go out, she studied. Even once she was accepted to DeGrasse, she kept going because she understood that while hard work is painful, it’s worth it.” Aubree stalks towards the bed, casting a quick spell with a wave of her hand to push the bedding away. She kneels, brushes Jessima’s messy bangs back and places her hands on her daughter’s shoulders. “You just have to do that too.”

Jessima jerks away, refusing to look at Aubree. She clucks her tongue again.

“You only have two more weeks until your exam.”

“And then five more years of hell at DeGrasse if it goes well.” Jessima’s voice wavers when she responds, but her tone is bitter.

“Five years, and then you’ll be a licensed magineer, in the big city, making lots of money. You’ll be successful and you’ll be happy,” Aubree reframes.

“No, I won’t,” Jessima says, head downcast. The words are defiant, but they come out softly. She lets out a sigh, long, slow and resigned. “Just go, mom. I’ll study.”

“Good.” Aubree beams, stroking Jessima’s hair before taking her chin and lifting it. Salt water is drying on the cheek she leans down to kiss. “I’ll be so proud of you when you get in to DeGrasse!” she calls, strolling out the room.

*** Aubree feels unsettled after their conversation, so she decides to water the plants. This is what is best for Jessima, she reminds herself. There’s something soothing about filling the water tank and watching the water flow smoothly out the spout into each pot. She could use magic, but the repetitive movements quiet her mind. It’s a couple hours later when Jessima comes out of her room. Aubree pauses the podcast she’s listening to and stalks towards her daughter. Jessima explains herself quickly.

“I wanted to ask you something.” She’s still in her pajamas, the bright yellow of her shirt contrasting the dark circles under her eyes. “I just scored in the 95th percentile on my practice test.” Aubree brightens at the news, frown smoothing out.

“That’s great!” Jessima only quirks her lips up slightly before taking a deep breath.

“Yes. So I was hoping, given that I’m making really good progress, that I could go to the festival.” Seeing the frown starting to reappear on Aubrey’s face, she rushes on, “It’s Star Bright. Please mom, I promise I’ll be perfect if you let me go. I won’t complain, I won’t beg to see my friends, I’ll be a studying machine,” she pleads.

A perfect studying machine, Aubree ponders, searching her daughter’s face for deception.

“Alright. You can go.” Jessima immediately perks up. Aubree adds, “But you will stay with me the whole time. You need to be back by 10:30 PM.”

Jessima hesitates, but says, “That’s fine. Thank you.” She gives her mother a shallow hug, barely a brush of her arms around her torso. “I’ll go study now.” Aubree reminds herself that success requires sacrifice. In five years, Jessima will be happy and Aubree will be the mother of a magineer.

***

Aubree’s never made a wish at Star Bright before. Her family has always cautioned her about the trickster nature of such powerful magic. Be careful when wishing for the impossible, her father used to say, for there is a reason it is so. It would be easy though; Aubree has much to wish for.

The festival is beautiful as always, the mouth-watering aroma of food drifting through Aubree’s senses. There are flags with bright white stars everywhere: on the lamp posts, in children’s hands, tied as capes around the fairies. To her right, Jessima has not touched her churro and is staring blankly at the dancers. Aubree puts a hand on her shoulder in concern, but sees Rachelle beckoning her to dance. Her friend tugs at her arm and she’s swept away, almost leaving Jessima by the food stall, but she turns to ask her daughter to participate too. But Jessima’s gone.

Aubree snatches her arm from Rachelle, makes an excuse and hurries away. She looks around frantically, examining the faces of the people around her, some of which are waving, but she ignores them in her panic. Where is Jessima? She finds a quiet spot at the edge of the square, concentrates and casts a tracking spell. It guides her on a long path through the forest, the tug in her navel growing stronger as she nears the lake. The stars are mesmerizing as they wink at her from the water. The leaves rustle, forming a whisper: what is your wish?

Aubree tries to ignore their question. Did Jessima escape to make a wish? What was it? Aubree has no doubt it was reckless and childish. She’s scared suddenly, worried about the repercussions Jessima could have brought upon herself.

The wind pushes the water into ripples, but the image of the stars on the lake somehow remains undistorted. The leaves contribute to the hypnotizing image, repeating, what do you wish? They start to chant, Wish. Wish. Wish!

If Jessima would just listen! If she could understand that I only want what is best for her. Aubree’s wish is full of frustration and anxiety, but it comes from the heart.

She wishes for obedience.

*** Aubree claws her way out of the trees, the grit of the sand from the beach worming into her shoes and between her toes. She’s a mess, so she gives up her search and heads to the nearest transportation point to get home. Tomorrow will be a better day.

When she climbs out of bed in the morning, she eagerly strides down the hall to Jessima’s door. It opens before she arrives, but it is not her daughter that steps out.

Aubree gasps, hand flying to her mouth as the girl turns towards her. She’s dressed professionally, in a full suit, tailored pants, shirt and blazer. Her normally mousy brown hair is brushed, shining, but her movements lack grace, breaking the illusion of perfection.

“Hello mother. What would you like me to do today?” she asks. Her bright red eyes gleam at Aubree, who takes a further step back in horror. “I am happy to do whatever you wish.”

#original fiction #writers on tumblr #my writing #writeblr #original writing #writing blog #tumblr writers #short story #writerscorner #writing community #creative writing #writing #writer #write #readers #writerblr #frostwrites

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asknarashikari · 3 years

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Because of the crossover, do you have any ideas involving Magine and Reika? They seemed really cute together during that hug at the end.

The scene is super cute because Angela Mei (Reika’s actress) is an unabashed Magine fan, to the point where they actually wrote in the hug for her. Even in the Superhero Senki Saber Cast Shenanigans (that’s what I call it lol) videos, whenever the crossover gets brought up in the talk show portion Angela lights up whenever they ask her about Magine.

And honestly, they didn’t have to put in the SFX of bells tolling over the hug... and they definitely didn’t have to make Magine gay panic over it. But they did, and I can’t complain about it lmao

As for my own ideas about Reika/Magine interactions... honestly I can just see Reika loosening up and getting caught up in the Zenkai brand of shenanigans if she spends more time with Magine (and away from her brother). And definitely Magine starts crushing on her something fierce.

#kamen rider saber #shindai reika #kikai sentai zenkaiger #magine #ask #legoboy130

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pipesflowforeverandever · 5 years

Text

The Ink Demonth, Day 15: Time Travel

I borrowed @aceofintuition‘s Joey Drew, “Snowy”, again for this alongside my own, “Gingie”. This drabble is based on an RP we did together some months ago. You can tell by the length how much I enjoyed writing it.

Summary: An old man with blue eyes steps into the page of someone much younger with dreams ahead he still can’t see.

Word Count: 2942

The aging man heard the ring of the café door as he stepped in, the gentle sting of coffee immediate underneath his nose and its faint taste on the edge of his lips. His eyes glanced around at a world seemingly tinged brown like a yellowing photo, the soft, warm hues evident everywhere on this sunny autumn evening. There was a record playing somewhere as the sweeping of a broom scuffed next to the counter that caught the silver fox’s attention, but his light wrinkles crinkled a bit more as interest in the cleaning was brief; he was here for something else.

Someone else, he found as a shade of reddish-orange caught his gaze, and he felt lured closer just like a curious fish in the sea.

The young man had his back to him, a briefcase shadowed by his side as it leaned against the leg of a chair. He was the brightest thing in the room, like he lit it up the same way a candle does the spare, dusty bedroom; everything around him just seemed to follow suit to his cream sleeves and tan-brown pants. His cup of gold-tinted tea rippled as he bumped the table, reaching down for a hardcover book with pages sticking out in much the same way the case did.

The newcomer, still standing, allowed his ice blue stare to cling as he walked past the busy, seemingly ditzy boy. Or…well, “boy” as an accurate term is determinate on how old one is when perceiving it. The redhead certainly wouldn’t consider himself a boy at the ripe old age of 22, but someone without a line of color left in their grey hair would, and the mysterious person letting his black cloak rub past the seats as he made his way to the window was such a someone. It wasn’t until he sat down that the distracted kid had finished lugging up his notebook and felt his expression still at the appearance of someone he didn’t expect to see again.

After all, Joey had lived here for years, and most unusual folks he spied on in the park didn’t show up again somewhere else. Not in the same day.

The stranger was beautiful, with hair styled almost impossibly in a large swoop from the left to the right side of his head; the end of it had a distinct wave, and it all looked dyed as if steeped in moonlight for nights on end. His brown skin shone with the glow from the window, leaves falling from the tree just outside it past a pair of irises that would put the finest crystal glass to shame.

The aspiring artist with already pinkish skin felt it become pinker, heat nibbling at the top of his cheeks and the tips of his fingers and knuckles. The pages laid across his desk were undoubtfully familiar; what were the chances that he had seen them as he strolled past to the booth? In his panic, he calculated it to be high; even if the old man refused to look back at him, he must have known.

He’d find out many, many years later he didn’t, but the wrong assumption made the right thing to do. It was inevitable anyway, in a certain sense, as sketching strangers in the park without them noticing was a practice that can’t eventually go undefeated.

And Joey, even when he was young, was a man proactive in his introductions. Perhaps a bit more on the shy side than he would be running a studio, but still someone that would rather talk than let silence rule the day.

And so he did.

“G-good ev- afternoon! Sir!”

The silver-haired man lazily blinked and glanced to the side at the youngster who was hardly taller than him even when the former was sitting and the latter bouncing to the tips of his scuffed shoes. A grown man, perhaps, but Joey would always be teased for never growing an inch more. The blue-eyed man evaluated him, another set of honey eyes flickering slightly but constantly with nerves that had a shaky smile to match at the corners of his mouth. He noted there was no mustache above his lips, but still sideburns and glasses to accessorize his head.

He played dumb. “Hey.” The newcomer’s voice was deep with two accents coming together, one a southern drawl and the other the unmistakable hint of someone accustomed to speaking Spanish. “…What can I do for ya?”

Yes, of course, he had noticed the ginger staring at him from afar some hours ago. Yes, of course, he was going to enjoy seeing him squirm for a reason to cover it anyway. Truth be told, he was surprised that the kid came up to him in the first place; he figured it would be up to him to initiate a conversation, if one was going to happen.

But that had always just been Gin, it turned out. The old man tried not to smile at the idea of it, so there was just a twitch on the left side of his mouth.

“I- I was just!” Joey held his hands in front of his chest, chin turned down to restless, fiddling fingers. What could he even say?! ‘Oh, I’m so sorry for sketching you without even talking to you first’? No! He wasn’t even sorry! …Just sorry he got caught.

It was only then he supposed maybe he hadn’t been caught, as he assumed. The realization it was far too late to back out felt like a push on his back to keep spitting out words and hope they make sense.

“I…I hope this doesn’t come off in the wrong way, my good man!”

Said good man raised a brow as the other squeaked his way around the situation.

“But- but you made for a lovely inspiration!” Joey kept grinning until it hurt his face, as he looked at the stranger for any sort of reaction.

“…Beg your pardon?”

Oh.

“I! I simply!” Come on now, confidence! Only thing left to save him now! “I’m an artist! And I do life studies! And you simply are just FAR too interesting to ignore!”

And in both excitement and fear, the old man felt himself involuntarily tilting his head back as a book was shoved into his personal space, pages flicking until it fell to the last ones before the rest of the book seemed orderly. And there, indeed, was his own face.

In awkward silence, his wide eyes flicked back to look at the others’, just to see the ginger in the same sort of anxiety inducing panic that he was before- perhaps amplified. He blinked again. Somehow, he still wasn’t used to this kind of attention, even if he knew he should have known better.

Gin was a weird kid.

With the young man waiting, seemingly, for him to react first, the stranger gently gripped the book and pulled it away so it was at a better angle for his eyes.

And although he knew he was avoiding the growing need for a pair of glasses, the old man also understood at a glance this was something special.

“How about…” the older man drawled with as much patience he could muster, trying to begin a proper conversation, “…’Y pull your stuff over here? ‘Magine your back hurts from standing up so straight.”

With that, he had to try not to chuckle as he saw the kid realize his stance and overcorrect, abruptly adjusting where his limbs were in relation to his body before scrambling to bring his things spread across the table in an armful. They were spread once more before the other next to the window, and it didn’t take long for him to try to forget at least a bit of the horrible introduction that just happened.

It almost felt like he was evaluating his portfolio, with a bright-eyed new artist waiting with a bounce in his seat for commentary on the accumulation of his work and skills.

So he was the kind of guy to pour himself out without even knowing if the other person was an artist or not- just someone he…wanted to approval of. The old man supposed there was something there he was supposed to think about in relation to his friend, but didn’t have the attention to word exactly what as he plucked up a random sketch- a seemingly candid one of a rabbit tucked behind a thin bundle of flowers.

“These are nice,” the old man commented with a sharp but approving glance over. “Y’ got a real eye for detail, here, kiddo.”

It still didn’t cross the youngster’s mind that the whole ‘I’ve been drawing you’ thing was pushed aside so easily for a reason. He had been watching him back for even longer; no explanation was needed, and he couldn’t improvise a realistic response anyway as if he was surprised.

“I’m…an artist, sir,” Joey repeated again, somehow steadier this time but calmer. “I just draw what I see. And I quite enjoy it! I just-“

Joey interrupted himself with a hum that trailed off, in some way not wanting to finish that thought. The other man pursed his lips.

“Just what, kid?”

“Oh, nothing.”

“…Can’t really drop all these drawings on my lap and call whatever you want to say about them nothing, you know.” His tone was dry but the meaning was sincere, a tinge of softness in his voice, a kind of understanding a bit too familiar to put aside.

As such, after a few more seconds of fumbling, the shy young man simply nodded in agreement.

“Now…” the older continued, setting the held page down to pick up another, “…What do y’ wanna do?” The question was taken with a bit of shock, but he continued as easygoing as before. “What do you…wanna make with all this? What’s the dream, kid?”

It did feel like a dream, Joey inwardly agreed. He plopped himself onto a total stranger and found himself without hesitation being probed about what it meant to him. And usually Joey had answers! He could go on and on and on without taking a single breath about what it meant to him to create things, about wanting to do things for others to see. But he always said so unprompted; now that it was actually asked of him aloud, he found himself floundering on what to say.

“I…”

The old man tried to pretend he wasn’t staring at him, wasn’t so invested in the answer that he couldn’t hear anything else.

Joey exhaled and folded his hands on the table, thumb smoothing over his own skin in restless ponderance- a good emotion for a matching time in his life.

“I would…love if I could, somehow, use my art to…make people happy.”

Now that was something he had never considered, but there it was- spoken by none other than himself. He briefly bit his lower lip and looked out the window, perhaps avoiding making himself look at his art and the man that was now- unbeknownst to him- clearly staring with intent.

“I…want to do what my mother always believed I could do. You see- see, she told me I had a special kind of magic that matters to other people. That I’m so bright that…I can make others bright too, just by making them smile.”

It was so, so hard for the stranger to withhold his smile for just a second longer.

“But I…don’t quite know how that can be done!”

Joey’s eyes flickered back, and the nervous smile had returned; in spite of his optimism, it was like putting a blanket over the unsure, tumultuous waves of the sea.

“Then you try something out.”

The response, as quiet as it was spoken, was still strong and unexpected, and so Joey felt himself gasp. His honey eyes widened, and his whole head turned to attention.

And now- now he was letting himself smile. The man opposite of Joey knew that he was looking this time, and that it was when it mattered.

“You keep tryin’, no matter what. And piece by piece, something will come together. Just like when you figured out how to draw, right? Assumin’ you were normal and learned things as you went instead of being perfect on the first go.”

With his lips lightly parted, the young man in awe of someone who could- for all he knew- been spouting motivational nonsense without knowing a lick about art…was entirely believable.

It was the right thing at the right time, regardless.

Those brown irises had eyelids fall over one second more, returning to his own creations with a new perspective. The lines seemed more purposeful, the shapes more unique. It was something flawed and yet flawless, just as he had always seen anyone else’s art.

The old man was quickly becoming satisfied with the rare feat of making Gin stunned enough to shut up. He thought about leaving right then and there, as if this was all he had come to see and do, but he was once again the person between them surprised when the redhead stood up first, scooping up the papers in his arms. The young man forced his eyes away but towards the end of the collecting finally met his again, a twinkle there that made the silver haired wanderer feel more at home than he had been this whole time.

“Thank you,” he muttered, words slick and airy with what could only be relief. “Thank you.”

He stood up straight, adjusting his hold on his things until they were more orderly and less likely to fall away. “I…do hope to see you in town again.” His grin was fading in and out with each phrase, but the feeling was so pure, so freed, that an excuse wasn’t needed. “Apologies for…not…asking first!” he chuckled, buckling at the knees briefly.

The other man chuckled back, the sun setting behind the glass. “No problem.”

A wonderful, awkward pause filled the space between them, the conversation ending as it started with one sitting down and the other standing up. Joey didn’t know that the other person would have as much a reason to try to treasure this moment as he did. Eventually, he took a step backward and slowly turned around through the now near empty café, towards the front door and the streetlights beginning to be lit.

“Oh!”

And he spun right back around, much to someone else’s bemusement.

“What…-” the redheaded scamp asked with hesitation, “-Is your name?”

Looking him up and down, having forgotten to introduce himself too, the fellow with moonlit hair and a black coat leaned his arm around the edge of the booth and took a moment till he smirked.

“Mr. Flores.”

The man with sideburns and glasses nodded, mouthing a ‘right’ before abruptly turning back and leaving the room. Mr. Flores watched the brightest splash of color in this world stained like aged paper walk out his life, looking forward when he would walk back in. With he himself looking like he was out of place and dyed with blues- with an indigo tint in his clothes and the cyan like glittering water under his eyelids- decided it was his time to leave, too.

The suitcase Gingie had forgotten was reverently taken by the handle before disappearing in a portal, the rim of which shimmered blue, too.

The old man ducked out and into the room of another person, someone who he had grown old with. Nighttime had fallen and the shadows of unlit halls looks like ink thin and seeping into the wallpaper. What he surely knew was yellow now seemed a bit on the cooler side, and someone he had just seen looking like the fire of the sun in daytime now seemed like wax of a candle extinguished, in his cream shirt in the dark and top hat hung up on the coat rack. Gingie, his red hair looking paler as strands of it turned white, glanced up from a paper held between his fingers. His gaze was soft, mischievous, and made Snowy feel at home.

“Mr. Flores,” the other Joey smirked.

A hand came to hold his back, the two old men together with more winkles and greyer hair than when they first met- for either the first time or the second time. Snowy scoffed, grinning wide.

“You weren’t supposed to remember till I brought it up to ya!” he lamented humorously. “Wasn’t supposed to be that I just…show up after accidentally running into you in the past, then you suddenly know too. More dramatic than that!”

Gingie scoffed right back. “It seems like you and I have exchanged some…traits over the years. And here you were always teasing me for being the one to portal into your life first.”

Snowy sighed through his nose as a rosy hand cupped the side of his face, tilting into it with hooded eyes.

“…Nah.” Then the toothy grin came back, devilish. “You were as much of a chicken with its head cut off as ever.”

And to that, the other pursed his lips, still holding his cheek. “And you were as subtle as ever.”

Basking in the moonlight of the time Snowy was really from, Gingie pulled him closer, their silhouettes seen through the window if one was looking- their faces becoming one shape and the outline of their bodies shining like the glass under the stars, frost around them like a picture frame as snow began to fall. The lost suitcase was set down and very likely forgotten for yet another several decades.

#the ink demonth #bendy and the ink machine #batim au #gingie #snowy #tak writes #batim fanfiction #fluff #time travel

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rosesisupposes · 5 years

Text

The Fear of Falling Apart

Part 6 of Another Goddamn Hero Story

read on ao3

Chapter Pairings: Familial Patmas; pre-Royality

Chapter Warnings: major character death; graphic violence; child abuse; child endangerment; allusion to human experimentation; manslaughter; child death;

Word Count: 6,371

Taglist: @residentanchor @royally-anxious @bewarethegrammarpolice @jemthebookworm @arandompasserby @sparkly-rainbow-salt @astral-eclipse @thelowlysatsuma @monsterinatophat @turtally-pawsome @um-yes-hi-hello @idkaurl @potestessemagishomosexualitatis @hawthornshadow

please read the warnings, y’all

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

If he concentrated particularly hard, Patton could dimly remember his parents. He could remember some amount of warmth, some amount of softness. He was sure they’d loved him and his little brother. But Thomas has been only one year old and Patton three when they died and the brothers Sanders entered the foster care system of Harmony City.

When he was younger, Patton spent hours and days imagining who they could have been. Were they good people? Were they supers? Had they been heroes or villains or just civilians? He would never know. The foster home didn’t release records to children in the system until they aged out, or were adopted. And now, of course, any records were long gone.

Harmony City Foster Home was pretty decent as foster homes went. The bedrooms were all airy with big windows and not too cramped - Patton and little Tommy shared with two other sibling pairs. They each had their own bed and small dresser, and were encouraged to decorate and keep their own small possessions. Pat had a stuffed Pooh Bear that had come with him from their birthplace, and Thomathy had a matching Piglet. The tiny courtyard with its spindly trees became the Hundred-Acre Wood as Pooh and Piglet rambled and ran through, joined by other children their age. Leo, three years younger than Patton but twice as energetic, bounced and leapt around the yard as if he was made of rubber and spring, just like Tigger. Brittney was Rabbit, and she and Thomas shared the bond of being only a few months apart in age. Valerie was Kanga, of an age with Pat and the best at dispersing fights as she caught everyone’s attention with her shouts. And when Dahlia and Derionna joined the home within days of each other, and both latched on immediately to Valerie, they became known through their little community as Roo and RooToo.

Their crew of Hundred Acre Woods friends were only a small fraction of the children who lived at HCFH, though. Patton loved having so many friends his age and younger, but they were part of an unusually high spike in surrendered and orphaned children. Potential parents came in every day, but with such a high volume that some categories of children were adopted more quickly than others. The infants, for families who wanted to be part of a child’s whole life, or as much as possible. The charming but calm toddlers, who weren’t too shy but didn’t overwhelm. The quiet crayon artists who didn’t run away when approached.

The Parsons, the married couple who ran the home, had long since figured out that the Sanders brothers were a package deal. Once, they’d tried to convince the boys to sleep in the dorms with children their own ages.

Once.

After the third time in one night that Patton woke in a panic, convinced that something had happened to his brother, and they realized Tommy had yet to sleep a single wink as he kept checking the room for Patton, they realized it was far wiser to keep them together, and never allow them to be split up. Patton was grateful he’d never have to watch his little Thomathy be adopted without him. He couldn’t bear to think of how scared his brother would be, going off to a strange new home with people who didn’t know his favorite nursery rhymes, or his favorite color, or the best way to hug him when he was scared. But adopting two children at once was more of a burden than many potential parents wanted, particularly when there were so many children in need.

One of Patton’s first and strongest memories of the foster home was when he was five, sitting in the courtyard after a visitation day.

“Pattypattypattypatty!” a tiny voice cried, weaving through the many children outside. Valerie came barreling around a group of glaring ten-year-olds.

“Val! Hi!” Patton yelled back, grabbing her in a hug as she reached him. Roo and RooToo swung their legs over the side of a tiny wall, and Tigger and Piglet were off trying to climb a tree again.

“I got ‘DOPTED!” their Kanga announced, voice ringing and echoing off the walls.

“YOU DID?” Patton couldn’t keep the excitement out of his voice.

“YES! Misser Jenkins! He’s my new papa!”

Patton swung her around, or tried to, but his legs weren’t quite built for carrying. They fell over on the threadbare grass, giggling.

“I’m gonna live with him, an’ Damon!” Val told Pat, her grin showing the gap in her teeth from her first lost tooth. “We’re gonna be brother and sister! And we’re adopted!”

Now the whole crew had come over, covering their friend in a puddle of affection. Dahlia was the first to run to the group of seven-year-olds to pull Damon over.

“‘Dopted?” she asked, evading the lisp that often made her too shy to speak.

The older boy smiled. Damon had never been part of the Hundred-Acre-Wood crowd, but they all knew him as an older brother already. He was tall for his age and constantly stood up for the younger kids when they got in an older kid’s way, but was always able to blend in with whatever group he ended up with.

“Yeah, it’s true,” he said, letting Dahlia tow him by the hand to their group. He smiled almost bashfully as he opened his arms to Valerie. “We’re gonna be sibs!”

She grinned and threw herself at him, wrapping her arms around his waist.

Thomas came up besides Pat and grabbed his hand. “Does that mean you’re leaving?” he asked in a small voice.

“Yes, Tommy,” Patton answered for them. “They’re gonna leave, but they’re going home. They have a papa now. They’re gonna be siblings, just like us.”

Thomas smiled at that. “Oh! Okay. Will you come back an’ see us?”

Damon patted Valerie’s head a little awkwardly, not sure how to respond to the continued hug. “I hope so, if our new papa lets us.”

“Of course he’s gonna, they’re our friends!” Val assured him.

The Parsons eventually came to round them up, and helped Val and Damon pack over the the next two days of further visits and paperwork. At last, Pat held Thomas’ and Leo’s hands as Dahlia and Derionna clung to his legs and Brittney wrapped her arms and legs around him in a piggyback, and they all waved furiously as Val and Damon got into the car to go home. They weren’t the only children leaving that day. The semicircular driveway was filled with cars and bags, surrounded by smiling adults and children and the Parsons everywhere at once, getting papers, hugging toddlers goodbye, kissing infants’ cheeks, shaking parents’ hands, and wiping away happy tears.

It was usually the youngest who left. Parents love the idea of a baby, maybe a little toddler, but the older a child, the less likely they’d be adopted. Two children together was less likely, particularly if they were older. But when parents chose two at once, like Mr. Jenkins, they generally picked a boy and a girl. Nevermind the silliness of a binary, of course.

One of Patton’s second most detailed memories came just four months later.

They haven’t found a new Kanga, but they’d invited other children into their games. Even as they hoped that Val and Damon would get to visit soon, they still needed playmates. Patton missed Val too, but he was a bit busy at the moment.

“Cannot! ”

“Can too!”

“CanNOT!”

“Can TOO!”

“Hey!” Patton interjected, pulling Thomas and Derionna apart. “No yelling!” He imitated Miss Parson’s familiar pose, one hand on his hip and one finger shaking. It never failed to make his kiddos laugh.

“Pattyyy, she says I can’t make a new aminal for the Hundred-Acre Wood!”

“He can’t,” Derionna insisted, her fluffy hair flopping into her face as she shook her head. “You can’t jus’ make new ones! They don’t fit.”

“But I don’t wanna be just Piglet, I wanna be a turtle!”

Patton sighed, putting both hands on his newly-six-year-old hips. “Deri, Tommy wants to ‘magine. You should let him.”

“But then we won’ have a Piglet an’ we’ll have to explain why there’s a turtle an’ Teddy is a silly name for a turtle anyway!” Derionna insisted. The others were too occupied to pay attention - Brittney had discovered how to give piggyback rides and Dahlia was whooping with joy as she flew around the courtyard on his back as Leo watched, giggling.

Thomas pouted. “Why can’t I be both? It’s not like we gotta real Wood. Why can’t I be a turdle?”

“Cause it’s not part of the story,” Derionna scowled, and they were tussling, trying to push the other in the dust.

“Knock it off,” Pat insisted, pulling Thomas away. “Come on, Tommy. Stop it!”

He dragged his brother behind him, pulling him inside and away from the squabble. It was playtime on a nice day, so the halls were quiet as Patton marched Thomas to their room. If it hadn’t been so quiet, they might not have noticed the sounds coming from the Parsons’ sitting room.

The brothers peered in, seeing the flicker of a television. TV alone would have been intriguing, as it was largely forbidden to the children, but Ms. Parson was crying in her wife’s arms. It was the soft sort of cry, with just occasional hiccups, one that Patton could tell meant she’d been at it a while.

“Ms. and Miss?” he asked quietly. “Do you need extra hugs?”

Miss Parson looked up, her eyes also red. “Oh, Patton honey, shouldn’t you be outside?”

Thomas looked guiltily at the floor. “I was arguing so we came in.”

Now Ms. Parson sat up, too. “Oh, boys. I’m… I am so sorry.”

The Sanders brothers stared, confused, as she continued. “Come here. We were going to tell you all but we know you were close. Come on up.”

She muted the TV as the boys scrambled up onto the couch in between them, Thomas settling in Miss’s lap.

“You know we love you, and all the children here,” Ms. Parson started, smoothing Patton’s mess of curls. “We would never put you in harm’s way on purpose. We would never send you home to anyone we thought might even dream of hurting you.” Her fingers shook, though her voice remained even, barely.

“We… were wrong,” her wife continued. “An adopter lied, very well. Enough to get past all our checks. And we weren’t the only home fooled.”

Ms. took a deep breath. “Mr. Jenkins didn’t want to adopt children. He wanted... experiments. They caught him at it today.” She indicated the television screen. Patton turned to stare. There were superheroes on the screen. Normally he was overjoyed to see them, and he and the other children often waved to any who flew overhead. But something seemed off. Their faces were solemn, or pained, and they were outlined in the angry glow of fire. They were carrying what looked like children. But-

“He was trying to change them into supers,” Miss Parson said softly. “They don’t think he succeeded, but he… hurt them.”

Thomas was staring at the screen, transfixed. The banner read ‘Local mad scientist horrifies city with human experiments,’ as supers carried young forms with claws and fur growing at painful angles out of their skin. ‘Calls self Mystic Magician, charged with over 20 counts of child endangerment and murder.’ Other forms were covered in cloth, but oddly-shaped limbs and horns were still visible, backlit by the burning lab behind them.

Thomas spoke up quietly. “But Val and Dam’n went with Mr. Jenkins.”

Ms. Parson’s eyes spilled over again as she pulled Patton close. “Yes, love. I’m so sorry. We don’t know what happened to them yet, but we know that they were… there.”

Thomas struggled out of Miss’s lap, reaching for Patton. “Pat, they can come back now, right? You can make it better, like when I get a boo-boo?”

Patton hugged his brother, still staring at the TV footage. “I dunno, Tommy.”

Miss took a shuddering breath. “Sweeties, I… they won’t be able to come back. I… if they were lucky enough to... they would still be very hurt. They’ll go to a special school for children like them, where even if they’re hurt they might recover. Band-aids and kisses aren’t quite enough for this.”

“It’s a very nice school,” Ms. assured them. “Remember Jamahl, and how he made music out of everything?” Both brothers nodded, still clinging to one another. “He’s a super, and he went to this school for other supers. And they can take care of him in a way we can’t, and help him make even better music.”

“But- Val? Is she okay? Will we see her?” Pat asked.

Ms. Parson wrapped her arms around both of them. “I don’t know, sweetie. I wish I could tell you, but I don’t know.”

~~~~~~~~

D.R.E.A.M. Index #265333

Classification: Z.3.iii [Tertiary Tier Villain, Anomaly]

Name: The Mystic Magician

Status: INACTIVE

/////////Reason: Incarceration

/////////Sentence: Life in E.A.N.S.C.

Civilian Name: [CLEARANCE: CONFIDENTIAL] Andrew Jenkins

Affiliation: Villain

Partners/Sidekicks: N/A

Primary Foes: N/A

Powers: Alchemy/Transmutation

/////////Non-super abilities: PhDs in chemistry and biology and a MS in genetic science

Costume: Labcoat, purple gloves, safety goggles

Age: 36

Height: 5’6”

Pronouns: He/Him

H.E.A.R.T.S. Class of ‘00

Note: Convicted of 14 counts of first-degree murder and 20 counts of non-consensual human experimentation. Within those counts, 10 victims were under the age of 10; His stated intent was to make “everyone” super in some way, but he appears to have had little regard to their lives or personal desire to be super.

~~~~~~~~

After three years, they finally gained a new member of the group. The Hundred-Acre-Wood gang closed ranks and hearts after the news, shying away from new children and prospective adopters alike. Thomas’ nightmares got worse, and the Sanders brothers were moved into their own room in the aftermath, and if Thomas spent nearly every night clinging to his brother so that the shadows didn’t overwhelm them both… Miss and Ms. understood. Patton’s other kiddos knew they, too, could come sleep in his bedroom whenever the shadows were too dark or the nightmares too real.

When Patton was eight and Thomas six, a new boy came to the foster home. He was a cuddly nine-year-old who dealt with the small group’s barriers by grinning at them until they collapsed. Both Dahlia and Derionna were immediately taken with him, and Brittney squished his cheeks and grinned, and Leo proudly showed him how high he could jump, and Kenny was adopted as their Owl. Thomathy liked him too, but still couldn’t bear to have Patton leave his sight, no matter what. He’d learned to be scared of the world, anxious about others’ intentions and nervous about what was or wasn’t as it seemed. If there was one thing that Pat was now determined to do in life, it was to keep him safe, or as safe as he possibly could, and to be there whenever his brother needed him.

“Be careful, Tigger, you’ll hurt them!” Pat called as his tall friend ran by, Roo and RooToo giggling as they both clung to his back at once. “Look where you’re going!”

Leo nearly tripped over the edge of the pavement, but Kenny was there, catching the girls and keeping them all laughing. Thomas, though, had grabbed Patton’s arm, his fingers a vise.

“What is it, Tomma-llama?” Pat asked softly.

“They’re gonna get hurt,” Thomas whispered. “How will we save them, Pat?”

“They’ll be okay, I promise,” Pat whispered back. “It’s just a scratch at most, okay kiddo?”

Thomas nodded, but his brown eyes were huge with worry as he watched his friends, and his grip had hardly loosened. Patton peeled the fingers off his arms one by one and turned, urging Thomas to crawl onto his back. Steady from practice alone, Pat carried his brother to their bedroom, safe and inside, where no one could hurt them.

When Patton was ten, he made two realizations.

The first was about their future at the Harmony City Foster Home. They were now far too old for most of the potential parents. They were practically guaranteed to age out of the foster system here.

But at least they’d be together.

His other realization followed immediately on the heels of the first and threatened the one bit of safety Patton clung to. The whole home was glittering with excitement as Ms. and Miss loaded them all into two buses for a field trip. The words alone had been the source of endless speculation and entertainment for weeks. Maybe the ‘field trip’ was to a museum! Or a farm with ponies! No, they were definitely going to see a movie, or a play. No, a swimming pool. Or maybe they were going to Disneyland!

Despite the high expectations, no one was disappointed to find they were visiting the zoo just outside the city, the one with the huge park next door. Tommy excitedly pointed out all the turtles to Patton, whispering “That’s Teddy’s cousin!” The Hundred-Acre Wood gang had quite a lot of fun finding their namesakes in all the different enclosures, too.

“Patttyyy look it’s you!” Leo yelled, waving. And indeed, he was jumping up and down by the bear cage.

Derionna sniffed, surveying the huge animal with all the dignity a seven-year-old could offer. “That’s not Patton, that’s a brown bear.”

“But Pooh is a bear!”

“Pooh is a honey bear!”

“But look! Brown bears eat honey,” Dahlia pointed out, reading the descriptive sign. “And Pat gives bear hugs!”

Thomas swung his and Patton’s linked hands, grinning up at him. “And my big brother would protect us all, just like the big bear, right Pat?”

Patton grinned, adjusting his still-new glasses to look at his brother more clearly. It was still a shock, how many details there were that he’d been missing before! Trees had individual leaves, he could see single hairs in Thomas’ messy tangle, and he’d been able to pick out the hiding rabbits in the small mammals house. “Of course I will, Tommy. Forever.”

“Forever is a very long time, Pooh.”

Patton grinned and ruffled Thomas’ hair even more, quoting back their favorite movie. “Forever isn't long at all, when I'm with you!”

The friends all swarmed Pat and Tommy in an enormous group hug, singing along.

“One thing you should know No matter where I go We'll always be together Forever and ever!”

Miss and Ms. Parson found them then. Ms. was wiping away tears through a smile, and Miss was badly hiding giggles, but they both gathered them up to join the rest of the group.

All the children were set loose on the park next to the zoo, and the Parsons surprised them with gifts: jump ropes, beach balls, and some kites.

Leo, Kenny, Brittney, Dahlia, and Derionna decided on tag. Thomas, though, appealed to Patton with huge eyes that he really wanted to fly a kite, and Patton was powerless to resist. Even if it meant a lot of false starts as Thomas ran back and forth, trying to lift it high enough to catch the faint breeze.

At least, panting, he sat on the grass. “Patty, why does the kite hate me?”

“It doesn’t! The wind’s just lazy.”

“Can you try?”

Patton was a bit tired from the busy day already, but… this was for Thomathy. So of course he tried.

He ran back and forth, trying to catch a puff of air as Thomas held tight to the string, watching eagerly. Finally, a breeze pulled the rainbow kite just a few feet into the air. Thomas’ face split open into a triumphant grin.

Patton looked back as his little brother, who was twitching the string to try to keep the kite aloft, and a wave of affection crashed over him. He giggled, and laughed, and waved at the kite, cheering it on.

“Come on! Up and away! You’ve got this!”

Thomas’ surprised shout of joy caught Pat’s attention as the breeze suddenly picked up, sending the kite wheeling and soaring so quickly that Thomas nearly dropped the handle. Patton ran over to help him keep a firm hold. Together they sent it swooping through the sky, the brightly-colored tail fluttering behind. Their laughs and shouts of delight caught the Parsons’ attention.

“Great job, boys! You got it flying!”

Dahlia was staring at the not-so-distant trees, frowning. “But the trees are barely movin’ over there, look. Why is it flying?”

“Maybe it’s the hill?” Kenny suggested, scratching his head.

But the breeze had stopped and the kite swooped lower and lower. Thomas watched in disappointment, but Patton felt… odd. He felt like he’d just run the length of the field, but he’d only run back-and-forth with the kite, and had just stood with Thomas for the last bit of time. His hands felt a little jittery. He looked down at them and saw they were shaking just the slightest bit.

“Okay kiddos!” Ms. Parson called. “Time to come back to the bus!”

Patton shook out his hands and helped Thomas gather up the kite, checking his hands every other minute.

That night, Pat waited until Tommy was asleep and sat on the floor of their bedroom. He placed a tissue, a paper crane that Dahlia had made him, and his stuffed Pooh in front of him.

He closed his eyes and tried to think about the moment with the kite. He’d been so happy, seeing Thomathy’s smile and feeling the warm sun, and it had just fizzled around in his insides like a bunch of excited little honeybees and…

A puff of air lifted the tissue to float through the air, and the crane too, but the latter fell faster. Pat started, and the movement of air cut out immediately. But now he knew he hadn’t dreamed it. He could create wind out of nothing. And now that he’d done so deliberately, he was pretty sure he could do it again.

He pointed, and now a swirl of wind lifted his favorite bear off the ground, shakily. After a few airborne seconds, it fell once more, but Patton was grinning all the same.

“Tommy! Psst, Tommy!” he whispered, shaking his brother.

“Go ‘way, ‘m asleep,” the eight-year-old mumbled.

“Noo wake up, I gotta show you something!”

Grumbling, Thomas sat up, hair pointing in all directions. “Wassit, Pat?”

Patton concentrated, and pointed at the paper crane. It was lifted gently into the air on a breeze as a second one came to make its wings flap slowly as it flew over Thomas’ head.

“How are you doin’ that?”

“I dunno, I just can, all I gotta do is focus.”

Thomas stared at Pat with wonder in his eyes, which suddenly changed to fear. “Pat- you’re a super.”

“I guess I am, why do you look so worried?”

Thomas grabbed Patton’s hand and dragged him closer, disrupting the crane out of its flight. “If you’re a super you’re gonna get taken away. Like Jamahl.”

Pat felt ice settle on his spine. “Maybe you’d come with me? Have you noticed anything weird when you feel a lot?”

“Uh-uh. Patty, I don’t want you to go! Please don’t leave me! What if you end up like Val?”

“It’s okay, Tommy, I won’t,” he assured his brother as a resolution came to him. “They won’t send me away if they don’t know what I can do.”

“You’re gonna hide it? What if they find out?”

“They won’t,” Patton said firmly. “I won’t let them split us up. Not ever.”

He kept his promise. Only Thomathy ever knew, entertained by late-night shows of swirling, dancing animals and birds, flying through the air of their bedroom. And when he realized that age might soon separate them, he made his case to the Parsons.

“I know I’m going to age out in a year and a half, but can I stay here until Thomas does too? I can start working, and help out around the building if you need - I just want to make sure I’m here until he’s 18.”

Ms. and Miss made eye contact. “Pat, you understand that the precedent is the real issue, here. If we make an exception for you, why not the next person to ask? And we’d run out of room.”

“It’s only because we’re siblings, though. And it’s at most two years, that’s not terrible, right? We can even move into a smaller room. I just need to save enough to move out. Or I can adopt him before he ages out. I just need some time to get a job and start making my own money.”

The Parsons’ hands were linked, and Ms. subtly squeezed Miss’s, then spoke. “We’re going to have to lay out some ground rules, but I think we can do this. Don’t tell the others, but it’s because you two are our favorites,” she added with a wink.

Patton grinned. “Thank you so much! I’ll make you proud.”

Miss put a hand on Patton’s cheek and kissed the top of his head. “I know you will.”

All things considered, having a job agreed with Patton. He’d been working at Accidentally In Loaf for four months and had learned to make his own bread already. He’d used part of his first ever paycheck to buy Thomas a tiny little figurine of a turtle. He’d made it a tiny name-tag that said “Teddy,” and he now had a place of honor on top of their dresser. Everything else went into savings, an account that Ms. had helped him set up. Everything else went towards the hope of a home that was solely their own, where Pat could live with Tommy and maybe even his other kiddos, if they needed it.

He whistled as he cleaned the counter, daydreaming about the decorations he’d have and the family dinners he’d cook. There’d be a sourdough starter in the pantry, and dough proving on the counter. Thomas would be able to film his fun little videos in the living room, or maybe they’d even have a yard! And when Leo or Derionna or Dahlia or Kenny or Brittney visited, they could all cuddle up in a giant pile on the couch, just like they had when they were little.

His reverie was interrupted by urgent breaking-news music on the TV and a not-so-distant explosion.

“Live from downtown - current reports and footage of a clash of supers. The villain is unidentified as of yet, but the hero is our own Commander Eagle, on patrol with his sidekick, Silver Sparrow.”

Patton glanced over at the TV, where a graphic was showing a map of the fight. He did a double-take, then blanched. The radius of impact was right near the middle of the city, where the Northwest and Southwest quadrants met.

It was right on top of his home.

Without removing his apron, Patton sped out the front door of the bakery, ignoring questions and calls of alarm. He was a 15-minute walk away, but if he went down one block he’d be able to at least see home from here.

On the wide boulevard, there were distant blurs in the air. The Commander and Sparrow were immediately recognizable, up against some dark figure that could fly and rip up huge objects without touching them. As Patton watched, the heroes tried to lead the villain towards an emptier area, but the villain kept dodging and weaving, staying in the same spot directly over Harmony City Foster Home. Debris was in the air as signs and mailboxes were uprooted and used as projectiles against the heroes. No one would be able to safely leave the home, not unless someone got them out.

Patton started to run, eyes glued to the battle above. Passersby jumped out of his way, scattering like leaves in the street as he ran.

No.

Winds picked up around him, pushing oblivious pedestrians aside as he raced towards his home.

Please no.

Were his feet hitting the ground still? Was he speaking aloud? Minor concerns, paling at the feet of his massive, overwhelming need to get home as fast as possible, to be there, to keep his kiddos safe.

No. No. No.

Another boom and thwap of air as villains and heroes collided overhead. A crash as a streak of moving bodies collided with an office building, sending shattered glass into the air, sparkling like deadly snowflakes.

Be careful, you’ll hurt them. Look where you’re going!

He was moving as fast as he could, only minutes away. He would get there. He would keep them safe.

And then he saw the dark form uproot an entire water tower and send it hurtling towards the two blips that were the avian heroes. The Commander swerved and hit it away, protecting himself and his sidekick.

The world slowed. Patton tried to run faster, but his legs felt leaden and dull. The water tower creaked as it fell a new direction, tons and tons of water sloshing as it descended. The shadow grew as Patton screamed in alarm and desperation. A shadow twin of the tower grew on the ground over HCFH, painting the familiar roof tiles a dark crimson, no longer the friendly red of warm brick.

Nononononono...!

Everything snapped back into real time as the impact hit. A massive thud and crash as the tower crunched through the entire foster home. Patton wasn’t sure if he was imagining screams or it was just his heart as he watched in horror, still two blocks away, useless.

He ran until his feet were planted in the debris, surrounded by brick and stone, all demolished and soaked by the fallen tower. His brain helplessly echoed the names of all his kiddos, everyone he knew in the home.

Leo. Brittney. Dahlia. Derionna. Miss Parson. Ms. Parson. Alicia. Kenny. Tammy. Lucy. Claire. Bruce. Amelia. Kenn. Danielle.

Thomas.

He was stumbling through the wreckage, looking for any sign of life, when he spotted him. Hair not just messy, but covered in rock dust. A huge, dark stain on his chest that matched the jagged i-beam beside him.

“Tommy?” Patton said aloud, voice cracking. “Thomathy?”

He was able to pull Thomas out of the mess, holding him in his lap. He’d gotten so much taller, these past few years. He was sixteen now, asking Pat when he’d start liking girls, confused and excited by the answer of “maybe never.” And he wasn’t responding.

Everything was damp from the flood of water of the tower’s contents, but Patton suddenly realized his face was, too.

“Thomas, please, wake up,” Patton pleaded. “Thomma-Llama-Ding-Dong? Thomas the Dank Engine? Please, say something, kiddo!”

Thomas’ face was serene. Shouldn’t he be scared by all these loud noises? The heroes were still clashing with the villain, but it sounded like they were winning now. Patton smoothed his brother’s hair and found his hand came away sticky and red. Had he been playing with hair dye? He should know better.

“Tommy, come on, stop playing. Just say something, okay? Anything!”

He shook Thomas’ prone torso. The teen’s arm fell limply to his side, revealing the tiny figurine clutched in his hand. It was Teddy the Turtle, now cracked through and covered in brick dust.

Patton stared at the little thing. His first gift to his brother. His promise of their future.

And it was ruined now.

He looked up numbly. The heroes were still fighting the villain, working in perfect tandem as they swooped from side to side, circling and landings blows. Why were they still fighting? Hadn’t they done enough? Who did they even fight for?

Patton hadn’t noticed until this moment that the air had gone still. Dust didn’t move, no breezes carried away the coppery smell of blood all around. He saw that trees were moving gently in the distance, but here, all was frozen. He looked down once more and saw the dent in his brother’s head, dark and tacky with blood. He gently kissed Thomas’ forehead and shifted his body off his lap. He arranged the boy’s arms with care, making sure Teddy was still in his grip. And then he stood.

Winds came to his grip without a thought. They swirled around him, racing faster and faster, and lifted him slowly into the air. Had he been scared of heights before? He found he didn’t remember, nor did he care. He rose 10 feet, then 20. Bricks and debris started to rise as well, and with metallic creaks and scrapes, so did the tower. He looked up at the fight above him. Commander Eagle had subdued the villain, it seemed. The two heroes seemed ready to leave.

He rose further, up to their level. “Hey friends! Where y’all going? You just got here!”

“Who the hell are you?” the Commander asked gruffly.

Patton smiled hugely. “My name’s Patton Sanders, thanks for asking! I work at the bakery!” He spoke in his best customer service voice, cheery and bright. “You’re Commander Eagle, and you must be Silver Sparrow!”

The sidekick flew over, silver costume shining in the day’s sun. “Yes, we are. Can we help you?”

“Why yes you can!” Patton continued, still smiling cheerily. “You can bring my fucking brother back to life, you bastards.”

Air rushed around them, carrying the debris from below. In a breath, both heroes were surrounded in floating cages of rock and brick, sides contracting around them. The villain the Commander had captured had their own separate prison as Patton sent all three hurtling towards the ground at terminal velocity. He swooped after them, grinning as they collided with the ground in a rattling crunch. The sound hadn’t just been from the rocks. One shell broke as a silver-clad arm reached out. “Please, we didn’t realize!” Silver Sparrow cried. She was badly bruised, blood trailing down from her temple, but the cut was already healing.

“Oh, you’re okay!” Patton said, floating a foot back. “Sorry, I must have made a mistake. Won’t happen again!”

He gestured, and the waiting water tower dropped.

When he’d heard of the fight, he’d immediately suited up and flown towards downtown. When he saw the huge crater that was now in the middle of the city, he’d almost thrown up. A foster home? They’d managed to let ‘collateral damage’ take out an entire foster home? Was there anyone left? He didn’t see any emergency responders, at least, not yet.

But he did see a mangled water tower that had clearly caused the destruction, but had been moved somehow. And he saw a small, blue-and-grey form in the middle of the wreckage.

He flew down to investigate and found he was suddenly flying through a wall of wind, struggling to make headway. A conjured hand behind him pushed him through to the cylinder of calm inside the column of air.

Now he could hear the sobs. The form he’d seen was bent over a body, ginger curls shaking with every wet, gasping breath. Bodies surrounded them, too, all clearly moved. Roman realized with growing horror that practically all of them were young, far too young. None looked older than teens, except two grown women who were still embracing, even in death. Further out, he saw toddlers, children, all still and grime-covered, all within a crater of destruction that centered at the one live figure.

The sobs stopped as Roman landed and slipped on a brick, causing a small rockslide.

“Who the fuck are you?” the man asked coldly, whirling to face the red-and-black-clad villain.

“I’m the Crimson Marauder. I heard there was a fight with one of my heroes. Are you... alright?”

The man glared through glasses with hairline fractures all through one lens. He seemed unaware of the grime and stains his blue polo and grey cardigan had acquired. “Are you one of them?” he rasped.

“No.”

“Good. Then leave.”

Roman hesitated, then took a step closer. “I… I think I should stay. You shouldn’t be alone.”

The man’s head tilted back in a terrible mockery of a laugh. “Too late.”

Roman suddenly realized this was barely a man before him. He was a teen, an older teen, but definitely no adult. He was a child who’d clearly lost far too much. Roman swallowed the lump in his throat.

“You know, I’ve learned a little something about revenge,” he offered. The boy’s head snapped up at the last word, blue eyes blazing as they met Roman’s.

“And what’s that?”

“No one will do it for you.”

There was a moment of silence, and then the ginger head nodded. “You’re offering?”

“Of course. Just one condition: what’s your name?”

“Patton.”

“Nice to meet you, Patton. I’m Roman. Come with me, and no one will mess with your family ever again.”

~~~~~~~~

D.R.E.A.M. Index #265351

Classification: A.2.i [Secondary Tier Hero, Legacy]

Name: Commander Eagle

Status: DECEASED

/////////Recognition: Honor Roll ‘15

Civilian Name: [CLEARANCE: TOP SECRET] Albert “Al” Hawkins

Affiliation: Hero

///////// H.A.T.C.H. Status: Inactive

Partners/Sidekicks: DI#337236 - Silver Sparrow

Primary Foes: DI#337413 - Crimson Marauder

Powers: Flight (wings), Strength;

Costume: Silver flak jacket, green camo pants, natural wings (feathered)

Age: 33

Height: 6’0”

Pronouns: He/Him

H.E.A.R.T.S. Class of ‘96

Note: [Hall of Fame notes archived]. K.I.A. by DI#337437 - Gale Force;

~~~~~~~~~

D.R.E.A.M. Index #337236

Classification: A.3.iii [Tertiary Tier Hero, Anomaly]

Name: Silver Sparrow

Status: DECEASED

/////////Recognition: Honor Roll ‘15

Civilian Name: [CLEARANCE: TOP SECRET] Tamika Roberts

Affiliation: Hero

///////// H.A.T.C.H. Status: Inactive

Partners/Sidekicks: DI#265351 - Commander Eagle

Primary Foes: DI#337413 - Crimson Marauder

Powers: Flight, Durability;

Costume: Silver and blue jumpsuit, short silver cape in shape of wings, silver mask with beak

Age: 21

Height: 5’5”

Pronouns: She/Her

H.E.A.R.T.S. Class of ‘12

Note: Partnered immediately upon graduation with DI#265351 - Commander Eagle; K.I.A. by DI#337437 - Gale Force;

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter Notes: Hi yes the title is indeed from This is Gospel, as was “Best of Us.” The WiP title, however, was “Hello naughty children it’s murder Thomas time”

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imagine-abyss-blog · 6 years

Text

Imagine being comforted by Ori after having a nightmare during the journey.

A/N: There needs to be more Ori love out there, so here.

WARNINGS: Heavy Blood/Gore, kinda angsty, graphic nightmares.

Imagines/Prompts: Imagine Bofur comforting you after you have a terrible nightmare, Imagine being very protective over Ori.

Words: 2,600+ (shit)

. . .

Your horse nudges you with his snout successfully shaking you back into consciousness, and away from your sleeping state. You groaned and squinted trying to make out the shape of your stallion's nose, he snorted insistently nudging you once again and stamping his front hoof on the ground.

You dragged yourself up from your bedroll and stood in front of your spooked horse, you looked around to see the company was still sound asleep. Even Bofur who was supposed to have been keeping the night watch while the others slept.

You were inclined to wake him, for the sake of the company's safety in such a vulnerable position. But, when you reached out to touch his shoulder you were startled to find it ice-cold and covered in thick frost.

You gasped and quickly retracted your hand, the tips of your fingers beginning to turn blue, you stumbled backward looking all over the company, but everyone else was too frozen.

A dreadful fear began to fill you, heightening your paranoia and panic. You struggled to catch your breath when it became erratic and started to strangle you with every passing second.

You tried to make sense of the situation with rational thought, but the more you strained for answers the more the idea that nothing made sense began to drown you in your terror.

You jolted with a yelp when your horse bumped your shoulder with his muzzle and jerked your body around to face him only to pale at the sight of blue ice beginning to spread from his nose to his face and down his neck.

You tried to cry out, but as you opened your mouth to force the sound from your lips, you realized that nothing came out. You reached up to grasp your shaking hands around your dearest stallion's neck only to realize the blue that had begun to paint your fingertips rapidly increased the process of the frost spreading across the entire body of your horse, from his lowered ears to his trembling hooves.

Hot tears began to pour from your eyes almost like rainwater in a thick, clear, and sticky form reminding that reminded you of blood. A sharp pain struck your head and you collapsed onto the ground at the feet of your motionless horse clutching your head as deafening high-pitched screams of agony filled your ears until they bled. When your eyes opened and you saw that you weren't in the forest among the company anymore, but rather in a large clearing.

Beneath your feet was cracked stone, and your cheek was pressed tightly against the cold rough surface of it. You saw your deep crimson blood paint the stone around the area your head laid heavy and pounding.

You groaned in pain frightening yourself when the sound came out distorted and much louder than it should've been. You pushed yourself up with your shaking hands begrudgingly gulping in a breath of air when you saw that your hands had turned a sickly unnatural shade of azure and black as if they'd died and could fall off at any moment.

You finally pushed yourself onto your unsteady feet, nearly tipping over when you almost failed to maintain your balance. When you looked around to see where you were you instantly regretted it, you fell onto your knees and began choking on your tears and the lump in your throat that prevented oxygen from entering your lungs.

All around you were the hanging, lifeless bodies of the company. They hung from large hooks that were driven through their backs, and the sharpened tips of the hooks poked out of their chests as their wounds gushed with thick blood. Some had their eyes gouged out and others had numerous blades sticking out of their backs and limbs. You felt the bile rise to your throat, the burning acid spilling out as you hunched over emptying your stomach on the stone with your puddle of blood.

The most unsettling part of the carnage was the twisted expressions of pain that donned each of their faces, they were reminders of the agonizing pain and suffering they had been put through before death finally captured them.

You were now much too afraid to turn around because you knew that since each member of the company was placed in a circle around you, and that meant that your closest friends of the company hung just behind you. Balin, Dwalin, Bombur, and Bifur were strung up right in front of you, Dori, Nori more to the left and the tortured bodies of Fili and Kili hung just inside your peripheral vision.

You and your morbidly over-calculative mind knew that meant the only four that could possibly be behind your back were Bilbo, Gandalf, Bofur and... Ori.

You wanted to gag when you saw Thorin's head upon a pole embedded in the hard stone, the expression of a broken king laid so heavily upon his features it made you sick, almost as sick as you were thinking about the three closest to you that would surely break your heart if you were to look upon their bloodied bodies by turning around.

You wanted to die, you would rather hang upon those hooks if it would've saved the lives of your dearest friends. You wished for the ground to open and suck you in beneath it, and be-rid yourself of such a life.

You froze when you heard a moan, a sound of pain so quiet you almost missed it, that meant that... someone lived! You spin around towards the sound and dashed after it, desperate to rid whoever had made the sound of their agony.

You nearly collapsed when you realized the sound had come from Ori who was apparently still alive, but like his friends and family was hanging from a hook littered with injuries and wounds almost too gruesome to fathom.

"ORI!"

You cried out reaching out to him, but as soon as your fingertips brushed against the bloody fabric of his gloved hand the world faded away and you shot up from your real bedroll.

Your eyes gathered your surroundings and to your relief, you were back in the forest, among your real, and very much alive friends. Most were still asleep but you then realized that Kili, Fili, Bofur and Ori hovered close to you all bearing worried faces.

"Y/N! Mahal, what's the matter? You started thrashing about and screamin’ your head off."

Bofur's voice soothes your nerves to a degree, and you knew that what you had experienced was just a dream, a really, really bad dream.

Kili and Fili bombarded you with panicked questions like if you were hurt and what had happened to shake you up so badly.

"I-I'm alright, gods I'm alright don't crowd me!"

You swatted at their grabbing hands sitting up properly and rubbing your eyes, discovering the tears still flowing freely there and hastily wiping them away, trying to rid of the evidence that they were even there. Their worried eyes did not leave you, so you tried to further reassure them that you were fine, forcing a small smile but they saw right through it.

"It was just- a bad dream is all. I'm sorry if I woke you all."

You were sincerely sorry that you had woken them with your pathetic nightmare, especially since nobody really got much sleep as it was. And the last thing you wanted was to keep the others awake just because you were having bad dreams, but Bofur wasn’t having any of that.

"It must've been quite an awful one, you’re shaking, lass.”

You were surprised to find that he was correct in his observation and that you were indeed trembling were you sat. It was uncontrollable and you tugged at the fabric of your coat trying to play it off that you were just cold.

After a while of Thorin’s nephews prying, you continue to reassure them that you are fine, and they finally retired to their bedrolls. Though they kept stealing glances for a while longer before they finally did go back to sleep. Bofur and Ori didn’t leave your side as easily though, Bofur joked around with you trying to cheer you up, or rather calm you down enough to sleep again.

It was working though, you could feel yourself becoming less and less afraid and more light-hearted with every sly joke he slipped into the story he had started telling you. Ori was silent, feeling out of place but didn’t seem to want to leave without knowing you were okay.

He was always such a sweetheart to you, he avoided you completely at first. He was much too shy to talk to you without stuttering or stumbling over his sentences. But now you two had grown rather close, you’ve developed strong urges to protect him and also the hobbit of the company, Bilbo. You didn’t mother him like Dori did, but you were extremely protective over him, always watching over him in battle or when on the run.

Once Bofur was positive you were ready to go back to sleep on your own, he bid you and Ori goodnight before scurrying back over to his post, he was supposed the night-watch for another couple of hours or so.

You looked over to Ori, ready to ensure him he could go back to sleep, and that Dori wouldn’t be pleased to see him tired tomorrow. But you suddenly found those words being swallowed back down into your chest when you turned to see a somber expression on his downcast face. Your eyes widened and you quickly reached out for him, sudden flashes of your nightmare where you had reached out to him covered in blood before waking up startled you. You blinked hot tears away at the memory and took in a shaky breath reminding yourself that none of it had been real, and Ori wasn’t hurt.

Ori must have noticed your strange reaction after you reached for him, and he quickly grabbed your hand bringing you back into reality. You shook your head clearing it from those thoughts, and looked down at him, he gave you a nervous smile avoiding making eye-contact. You smiled adoringly at his timid concern but was caught off guard when he spoke.

“I was scared.”

Your eyes widened and then narrowed trying to analyze what he had meant, but it didn’t matter because he continued soon after.

“I-you were squirming about, and cr-crying- and then-you-you called my name, I remember it...! There was… there was nothing I could do, I didn’t… “

Ori trailed off, avoiding your gaze obviously conflicted. You finally realized that he was talking about your dream, he must’ve been woken by your thrashing and heard you when you had called out his name. Now you really felt bad, he must’ve felt so lost, and confused.

“Ori?”

You heard him let out a ‘hm?’ but when he didn’t look at you, you scooted closer to him holding both of his gloved hands in your own urging him to look at you.

“I’m sorry you had to see that. it must have been difficult to see me like that. It was a very unpleasant dream and I’m flattered that you care so much for me, but It’s no fault of yours that I had it in the first place.”

You squeezed his hand in emphasis smiling a genuine smile receiving a semi-awestruck look from the dwarf. He shook his head as he recovered, the blush beginning to rise to his sheepish face only hidden by the blanket of the dark. You lie back down on your bedroll beneath you trying to get comfortable, Ori quickly did the same but the two of you remained awake. Ori was hyper-aware of the fact that one of your hands still clasped his, he didn’t know what to make of it so he decided not to openly question it because he didn’t want you to stop doing it.

“Y/N…?”

“Yes?”

“May I ask… what your dream was about?”

You were shocked that he would ask you that, especially considering you had said it was bad, but you couldn’t really say no to him. you could never say no to him... but you didn't want to scare him, so maybe avoiding telling him was the better way to go.

“Well… I- I don’t think you wanna know all the details, It was very bloody. I just don’t think you’d be able to handle it.”

This time Ori squeezed your hand and you turned your head to the side to look at him questioningly.

“I can, even if it’s really bad, I’ll listen.”

You smiled half-heartedly at his courage. While it was something you only saw him express so rarely when he did it always reminded you of that heart of gold he possessed. As brave as he was trying to be at that moment you were still hesitant.

“I’m just saying I couldn’t handle it, and If I of all people can’t then I’m sure you can’t either, Ori.”

“But-”

“It was horrifying, and I don’t want to place such a burden upon you If I tell you about it.”

He was silent for a long time, and so you figured that had ended the discussion and that he’d drop the subject. Unfortunately, this wasn’t the case and as much as you loved him you weren’t too cheerful when he spoke up again.

“Was I-um... in it?”

He questioned carefully, sounding a bit nervous like he was afraid of how you might react.

“… yes …“

He turned his head to you only to see you were looking up, or rather you would if our eyes weren’t closed. You were afraid to meet his eyes this time. You like him to know you cared for him, but you didn’t exactly fancy him knowing how much it had affected you to see him hurt, even if it was just in your nightmare.

“You, and all the company actually … you were all-”

You swallowed feeling the dreadful fear being to seep back into your mind, your breathing started to pick up to an erratic pace and you re-lived the events of your nightmare once again.

“Gone?”

“Dead. ”

“Oh … ”

You felt Ori shift uncomfortably, and in the corner of your eye, you saw him bite his lip anxiously.

“I’m sorry.”

“Oh no, don’t be! I just do not wish to speak of it any longer ... ”

You were hesitant to speak further, you needed to sleep so you could function the following dawn when everyone would wake and continue the long journey to the Lonely Mountain.

Ori didn’t respond immediately, and when you peaked over to him you saw he was in a bit of a daze it seemed. Frustrated and exhausted you let your hand slip from his, and rolled onto your belly resting your face on the soft material of your bedroll,

“It doesn’t matter, It was just a dream and It wasn’t real, now go to sleep.”

You didn’t mean to sound as harsh or upset as you did, but it came out sounding that way anyways. You didn’t want to sleep, you were afraid that another bad dream even worse than the first awaited you in the dream-world. It wasn’t a comforting thought that Orcs could ambush at any moment, and the things that happened in your nightmare could really happen if that were the case.

You did not expect Ori to be bold enough to reach for your hand again and squeeze it tightly, you looked at the dwarf questioningly and saw him looking back at you with a nervous smile. You didn’t know if he just wanted to hold your hand or if he simply wanted to comfort you, it could be either or both. You didn’t mind to care at that moment, and simply cherished it. You promised yourself to never allow such atrocities from your dream to happen to little Ori. For the sake of your friendship, and his pure heart of gold.

A/N: yes yes, the cinnamon roll must be protected. I hope this wasn’t too bad, I don’t think I had a particular idea in mind which is why it just kind of trailed off course towards the end, but eh, I tried. I was very unsure of how to even end this stupid thing.

#the hobbit imagine #the hobbit x reader #ori x reader #ori imagine #horrorfic #reader insert #nightmares

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