#there was a death on my partners side of the family last week- his grandpa- and we’ve spent so much time with family due to that | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ronoken · 4 years

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Captain Cowgirl Rides Again

So...

I had an idea this week. And I ran with it. And I may have devoted more time to this than I should have, but this is what two days of frantic writing without any prereading or combing through looks like.

For readers of my work, you’ll be able to peg when this takes place pretty quickly.

Also... I’m open to changing the title. Maybe something with the words What To Do at the start...

Enjoy. Also, let me know what you think.

***

In the far future…

Caline M. Bourgeois, age 10, frantically ran down a fourth-floor hallway in the Grand Pairs hotel. She breezed passed a frozen housekeeper and scooted around a stuffy old man in a hat that was stuck mid-step before she skidded to a stop in front of a door at the end of the hall.

“Okay,” Caline said to herself as she huffed from exhaustion. She put her hands on her knees to catch her breath. She was dressed for the Fall, wearing jeans, sneakers, and a fluffy green sweater. Her sandy blonde hair was hanging loose to her shoulders.

Steel blue eyes looked to the room number on the door, 409. She reached into the pocket in her skirt and took out a key ring. With slightly trembling hands, she flipped through her keys as her mother’s voice echoed in her head.

‘Remember,’ her mother had warned her. Caline remembered the conversation vividly. ‘This key is only to be used in the event of an emergency. I’m serious, Callie-bear. You never, ever use this unless you have no other option.’

Caline swallowed down her nerves as she held up an unassuming silver key.

“Am I gonna get in trouble for this, Ziggs?” Caline asked, nervously.

Ziggy, the black and white goat kwami, floated out of her pocket to stare at the key with her. “Whelp, I reckon things can’t get any worse right now. If I were you, I’d go for it.”

“…And you don’t think she’ll be mad?” Caline asked.

Ziggy chuckled. “Yer mom used to use time travel to hook up with her boyfriend. Kiddo, she ain’t got a freakin’ leg to stand on in this instance. You go for it.”

Caline blushed and nodded. “Right then.” She slid the key into the lock. It was the only door in the entire hotel that didn’t have a keycard pad, instead offering a keyhole that none of the cleaning staff had any access to. Most of them thought it was used for money laundering or drug running, or that it was possibly haunted. Regardless, no one had access.

There was a good reason for that.

“Here we go,” Caline said as she opened the door and stepped forward into a white, glowing rectangle.

Behind her. The door swung shut with a click.

***

Caline blinked.

She was back in the hall.

“Huh,” she said as she looked around. “This doesn’t feel any different.”

Ziggy looked around and shrugged. “Maybe yer gramma don’t like to redecorate. Why don’t we head outside and get a move on? Can’t hurt anythin’.”

Caline frowned at the lazy kwami. “You know we have to be careful. We don’t…” She leaned in and whispered. “We don’t want to mess up the timeline.”

Ziggy shrugged. “Callie, you could march through that there door with a flame thrower and not do half the damage yer ma’s done. Trust me.”

Caline snickered, but only a little. After all, she was there on official hero business. And official heroes did not snicker.

It was true, her best friend Daisy had said so. Granted, she had been transformed into Lord Death Tiger at the time, and they had been playing Pirate Queens, but still.

“Focus, Ziggy. We need help, and mom always said that if I needed help, then this is where I’d find it.”

Ziggy looked around. “It looks like a hotel hallway,” he said.

“Well, like, not here-here. You know what mom meant. Come on,” Caline said as she headed to the stairwell. She’d played here enough to know the quickest way to the service entrance out back. And from there…

A few minutes later, Caline stood outside on the service dock and steadied herself. “Okay,” she said. “I can do this. I can totally do this.”

“Hey now,” Ziggy said. He put a hoof on her arm and looked up at her. “Don’t get all bent outta shape. Just focus, take some deep breaths, and believe in yourself. Y’all got this, partner.”

Caline looked down at him. “And I won’t get in trouble for using you?”

“Well, didja get in trouble when ya tried me out at home?”

Caline shook her head. “But that was the only time we ever transformed. And that was in my bedroom.” She looked up at the buildings around her. “This is real.”

“Hey now,” Ziggy said, his voice soft. “Y’all been getting’ ready fer this since you were seven years old. I’ve been watchin’ over you, squirt, so I know. Yer every bit a member o’ yer family, and I am plumb honored to be assigned to another Caline.”

“For real?” Caline asked.

“You know it, partner.”

“But what if I mess up?” Caline asked. “Or, or what if something happens! What should I do, Ziggy?”

“Well,” Ziggy said as he rubbed his chin. “If something happens, you should handle it. Just remember all the times we played pretend. You’ll know what to do.”

“Well, okay, yeah. But what?”

Ziggy looked her in the eye. “The right thing, of course. Yer a hero, girlie. An’ today’s the day you discover it.”

“Really?” Caline asked.

“Really,” Ziggy said. “Like I said, y’all got this.”

“Yeah,” Caline said. She wiped her nose with the back of her sleeve and looked at the buildings around her again. “I got this.”

***

To her credit, Caline only crashed into a building once.

She was rotating between screaming in terror as she flew through the air with every launch of her Shepherd’s Staff and cringing as she effortlessly touched down on the rooftops of Paris. It took her roughly ten minutes to get her bearings, what with the combination of leaping and falling, and the pure adrenaline coursing through her veins, but she eventually got the hang of things. At last somewhat confident in her new abilities, she checked the GPS on her staff and turned towards her destination.

The Dupain-Cheng Bakery.

She landed right at the front door and quickly retracted her staff. Around her, people stopped and stared. With a nervous laugh, Caline tipped her hat at them and headed inside.

You read that right.

Her plan was simple. Talk to/meet her great grandparents, casually ask if their daughter was around, deftly avoid any hero-related questions, and then beg for help.

It was only after she wandered through the front door that she realized how difficult that would be while still transformed, but hey, cut her some slack. It’s her first day.

Caline froze, wide-eyed as she realized her goof. She was about to come up with some frantic excuse/backstory as to why a hero was in the bakery, but then she realized she didn’t need to.

In front of her were who she assumed were her grandparents, however they were currently ensnared in a sea of vines. The bakery looked like it had been taken over by an angry rainforest, and in the middle of it stood a green-skinned man in overalls and a straw hat. He was surrounded by vines that pulsed lazily with his movements, and he was yelling at the helpless couple.

“Foolish bakers!” The green man screamed. “I am Gar-Doom! If you don’t have any quality veggie-based treats for me, I’ve got a veggie-based doom for you!”

The man, whom Caline assumed was her great grandpa Tom, frantically mumbled something and tried to point to a display case, but he was too covered in vines to really do much. Also, his mouth was a bit covered with foliage.

Caline quickly turned around and left the bakery as fast as she could. She bolted around the corner and slumped against a brick wall to hyperventilate.

“That’s an akuma!” She gasped. “Oh my God, that’s an actual akuma!” She was shaking so bad she started crying. “I’m not ready for this! I don’t know what to do! I don’t know what to do!”

The front doors of the bakery burst open as Gar-Doom was carried outside by a squirming mass of gigantic green vines. All around, people were running and screaming as the akuma flipped a car over and started laughing maniacally.

“Yes, YES! Run, you foolish meat bags! Flee in fear from Gar-Doom!”

Caline watched, petrified. The akuma looked so big. He was right there, loud and violent and very real, and…

“I shouldn’t even be here,” Caline whimpered. “I want my mom. This isn’t right! I just…”

A steel pole shot down and slammed into Gar-Doom’s back, knocking the akuma to the ground.

“Forgive me for saying so, but I find it hard to believe you had a bad dining experience at that particular bakery,” a light-hearted voice called out.

Caline watched, wide-eyed, as a sleek black superhero descended in front of the screaming and writhing monster.

“Oh holy cow. That’s… That’s Chat Noir! The first one! Oh wow.” Caline was transfixed by the sight before her. She had heard stories about her grandpa, sat through endless debates between him and her Aunt Emmy about who wore it better, and of course she’d met Plagg before, but to actually see the legendary superhero in his prime?

Chat Noir retracted his staff and gave it a twirl. “It looks like someone needs a pruning.”

Chat Noir dodged a vine that swiped at his head. A second later, a yoyo cut through the air and sliced through the offending growth like a knife through butter.

“Let’s trim the gardening jokes back a bit, kitty. We’ve got work to do.”

If Caline was star-struck before, now she was positively reeling. Ladybug gracefully landed right next to her black-clad partner. She was smirking at the akuma and casually twirling her yoyo like it was a Tuesday at the park.

“Oh holy cow, she’s so confident!” Caline murmured. “Oh man.” Caline stared in amazement. “My grandparents were badass.”

Off to the side, safely tucked behind a parked car, Alya was busy recording the action and narrating on her phone.

“If you’re just joining us, a new akumatized villain has decided to attack the lunch hour crowd. This time, he’s targeted the Dupain-Cheng bakery! Renown for their macaroons and quality service, it’s anybody’s guess what caused this customer to flip. But that’s okay, as Paris’s heroes are on the scene!” Alya looked up from her phone at Ladybug for a moment, her eyes shining.

“So cool,” the reporter murmured.

And of course she’d seen Ladybug dozens, if not hundreds of times. And yes she’s a hero herself, but there’s just something magical about seeing your idol out and about and kicking ass. So, forgive her if she was taking a sideline approach for the afternoon.

Also, Alya couldn’t film and fight at the same time, so there was that.

And there was the other thing.

Honestly, once Nino figures out what she’s up to, he’s gonna flip his lid and probably hover near her for, like, a week. I mean, seriously? Who charges toward a giant tentacle monster to get some footage when they’re nine weeks pregna…

Oh snap. Getting ahead of myself. Sorry, not supposed to blab yet, but don’t worry. They’ll tell everyone at the barbecue this weekend.

Ladybug gave Gar-Doom a quick once over before nodding. “Right. I’m guessing the akuma is in his lunch sack.”

Chat Noir blinked and looked to his partner. “Seriously? You figured that out in five seconds. That’s… Wow.”

“It’s one of the many reasons you love me,” Ladybug shrugged and rolled out of the way as a vine slammed into the street where she had been standing. “He just burst out of a bakery. I’m guessing he didn’t like his order.”

Chat swatted a vine away and frowned. “Who wouldn’t like something from there? That’s the best bakery in town!”

Ladybug blushed as she dodged. “I think you’re biased.”

“So what if I am?” Chat bantered back. “The owner’s daughter is cute.”

Ladybug backflipped away from a series of vine spikes that peppered the road where she’d been standing. “Careful there. I hear she’s married.”

“If they’re so great, then where are the veggie snacks?” Gar-Doom hollered. “I mean, come on! It’s not that hard to offer a variety!”

Ladybug threw her yoyo at the demonic gardener. “It’s a bakery, you moron! Everything in there is vegetarian!” She yelled at him.

“They serve buttercream!” Gar-Doom shrieked. “I’m vegan!”

Ladybug groaned. “Then ask for the veggie brownies or the vegan macaroons! Mr. Dupain always makes a batch! They’re right freaking there!”

“I wanted strawberry!” Gar-Doom whined. “All he’s got today is chocolate!”

“Oh, for God’s sake,” Ladybug took aim and cracked Gar-Doom in the face with her yoyo. “Well, too bad!” She snapped.

Both heroes advanced on the crumpled akuma as he rubbed his face.

“Huh,” Chat Noir said with a smile. “This one was pretty easy.”

“I know, right?” Ladybug said as she reached for the bag at Gar-Doom’s side. “I don’t even think I broke a sweat. Say, are you free for the day?”

“I just got done early with work,” Chat said, smiling. “Where’s…?”

“With their Aunts,” Ladybug replied. “I needed the day to get some work done. Also, Cammy wanted a playdate with the girls, and since you were out goofing off…”

“Hey now,” Chat said, mock hurt in his voice. “I was out putting food on the table!”

“Really? Because last I checked, you were doing a charity shoot,” Ladybug reminded him. “To advertise for the local food pantry? For free? Remember?”

Chat blushed and rubbed the back of his head. “Oh yeah. Um, sorry?”

Ladybug rolled her eyes. “Don’t sweat it, kitty. It was really sweet of you. Now, let’s…”

Gar-doom suddenly blew a yellow cloud of pollen in both heroes faces.

“Ha!” The villain snickered. “Seriously? I can’t believe I was able to lure you in that easily! Enjoy my neurotoxin pollen, chumps!”

“LB?” Chat asked, his voice bordering on panic. “I, um, I can’t move!”

“Ne… Neither can I!” Ladybug said. She tried, but her body was completely locked up. They were both frozen on the spot.

“Don’t worry about it,” Gar-Doom said through a toothy grin. “Once I have your miraculous, you can get back to being the weak, worthless, squirming bags of meat you were when you got here. Of course, you won’t have your powers anymore…”

Caline blanched as she saw what was happening.

“NonononoNO! They’re not supposed to lose! They… They’re gonna…” Her eyes went wide. “They’re frozen.”

‘It’s happening again,’ she thought.

She was shaking with fear. Her mind raced with images of her family, her friends, all of Paris frozen in place. The horror on their faces, the look of panic. The look on her mother’s face…

Almost without thinking, she grabbed the retracted staff at her belt and gave it a squeeze.

“No.”

She suddenly felt calm, as if a cold bucket of water had just washed away her shakes. She could practically feel her heartbeat in her ears.

“This isn’t happening again.”

Caline took a deep breath.

‘The right thing, of course. Yer a hero, girlie. An’ today’s the day you discover it.’

Caline felt Ziggy’s words wash over her. She clenched her fists and felt strong. She suddenly felt confident. More confident than she had ever felt in her life.

“This is just like when we’d play in my room,” she said, her voice even. “I can do this.”

She looked to the monster attacking her family.

“No one hurts my grandparents.”

Gar-Doom was reaching for Ladybug’s ears and leering at the shiny red jewelry. Ladybug could only watch in a cold panic as she begged him to stop.

“Not happening,” Gar-Doom muttered. “I can’t believe it was this easy! I…”

A pole rocketed through the air and slammed into the akuma’s face.

Ladybug, still frozen, watched as the villain was launched off his feet and sent hurtling into the Dupain-Cheng’s glass storefront. The windowpanes shattered in an explosion of glittering shards as the akuma actually bounced off a cake display and crumpled on the tile floor beyond.

“What?” Ladybug asked, confused.

Chat Noir tried to shrug. “It wasn’t me,” he called out.

Gar-Doom scrambled to his feet and wearily stumbled out through the broken storefront. “Who did that? WHO DARES STRIKE GAR-DOOM?”

A breeze blew down the street. A plastic bag lazily tumbled by.

“That’d be me.”

Alya, shocked at this surprising turn of events, swung around to film the newest arrival. Standing in the middle of the street was a young girl, not even Ladybug’s height. She was sporting a pair of patterned leather boots, a white skintight suit, a lopsided belt, a black and white splotched vest, and atop her head, covering a pair of small horns, was a black and white Cattleman hat. Her bright, emerald eyes were slitted vertically, and her blonde hair moved with the breeze. Her thumbs were resting in her belt, and she had a piece of what looked like long grass in her mouth.

Upon closer inspection, it was a plastic straw.

‘Presentation matters!’ Her Aunt Alix’s words echoed in her head.

“Yer gonna stop harassin’ these heroes, Mister,” the young girl said. Her voice was shaking, which didn’t help her forced drawl. “If ya don’t, I reckon I’m gonna have ta get rough. I reckon.”

“Who the Hell are you?” the akumatized menace sneered.

The hero spit out the straw and reached for the staff at her hip. She extended it and gave it a twirl. The sun glinted off the steel rod as she slammed it into the pavement in front of her.

“I’m Captain Cowgirl.”

Alya nearly dropped her phone. “Oh, my God! A new cow themed hero has joined the battle!”

***

At that moment across town, Caline Bourgeois (senior) spit out her iced coffee as she watched the livestream footage on her phone.

“CHLOÉ!” She cried out.

“I’m busy babysitting,” the blonde replied from the next room.

“Someone new has Ziggy!”

Chloé was at her side in an instant. She was holding a squirming one year old in her arms as a little girl of no more than five years old drifted into the room behind her, a Ladybug figurine in her hands. Following right behind her was a slightly taller girl with light red hair and blue eyes. A Queen Bee figurine was in her hands. The two had been playing heroes vs dinosaurs. The heroes were winning.

“Huh,” Chloé said as she looked at the phone in her mom’s hands. She then looked to the baby she was holding. “Well, that doesn’t look like you, does it?”

She looked back at the livestream. “Can you turn it up?”

Caline fumbled for the volume.

“…A new hero has appeared, and she’s… Yes! She just called herself Captain Cowgirl! The Captain appears to…”

Caline tried to listen to the rest of Alya’s broadcast, but she couldn’t hear anything over Chloé’s hysterical laughter.

***

Gar-Doom stared down the diminutive hero in front of him. Grinning, he let out a low chuckle. “You’re just a kid. Why don’t you run home to mommy and daddy before I go and do something permanent?”

Caline turned her head towards the frozen heroes and nodded slightly. “You mess with them,” she turned to glare at the akuma. “Ya answer to me, varmint.”

Side note. Caline had no clue what the heck a varmint was, but she’d heard Ziggy say the phrase enough during playtime that she felt confident she was using it correctly.

“Is that so?” Gar-Doom asked. A mass of green tentacles started to swirl around him as he was lifted off the street. Caline had to look up to keep eye contact. “Well, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, flesh bag, but if you don’t clear out of here right now, Hawkmoth is going to get three miraculous today.”

Caline felt herself start to shake from nerves, but she swallowed back her fear.

“Hawkmoth isn’t getting anything but a punch in the kisser if she, erm, he bothers to show his yellow face around here,” Caline snapped. “Now, ya’d better hand over that there pouch on your belt before I have to get rough with ya!”

“Man, she’s really leaning into the cowgirl thing,” Chat Noir, still frozen, said from the sidelines.

“It’s like seeing Ziggy as a human,” Ladybug agreed. “Hey, I think I can wiggle my fingers. Chat! The toxin is wearing off!”

“I know,” Chat said, grinning. “I can move my hand. I’ve been trying to flex and get my body to loosen up, and I think I can get to my staff.”

“Who would have thought all that flexing in front of the bathroom mirror would have paid off?” Ladybug quipped.

“It’s not my fault I’m so pleasant to look at,” Chat replied with a wink.

“Foolish child!” Gar-Doom said as he brought his arms up. Around him was a virtual forest of vines, all protruding from his back like the tentacles of some nightmarish octopus. “I gave you a chance to run, but you’re apparently too stupid to save your own hide! You think you can stop me? I am the gardening menace of Paris! I just took down the two mightiest heroes in town! I’m twice your size and have giant tentacles! And what do you have? A pretty staff and some dress up clothes? You think I’m scared of some little kid playing cowgirl?”

Caline lifted her staff slightly as she looked down at the street beneath her. She remembered a trick she’d seen her mother try once and how unbelievably cool it had been.

‘Please work,’ she prayed.

“It’s Captain Cowgirl, you overgrown weed!” Caline yelled back. “And my staff can be pretty if I want it to be!”

With that, she slammed her staff down as hard as she could on the manhole cover at her feet.

“What?” Gar-Doom asked as the world went into slow motion.

The manhole cover flipped up like a coin from the impact. Caline spun with lightning speed and brought her staff around like a baseball bat. She cracked the manhole cover with all her might and sent if flying at the surprised akuma with the force of a cruise missile.

Thankfully, akumatizations provide superhuman strength and durability, otherwise young Caline would have accidentally performed her first decapitation. The manhole cover hit Gar-Doom in the face and sent him crashing through the brick façade of the bakery behind him, vines and all.

Caline stared, slack-jawed at the hole she’d made.

“Did I just do that?” She mumbled.

She nearly jumped when she felt a hand on her shoulder. She looked up to see Ladybug standing beside her, smiling.

“You sure did, partner. Mind if we take it from here?”

Caline gave her head a small shake, her eyes the size of dinner plates. “You can do things,” she said.

“That I can,” Ladybug said as Chat Noir jumped through the hole. A moment later, he emerged with a bag in his hand.

“Hay, LB? You might wanna do the cure thing quick. This guy is looking a little, um, bad.”

He tossed the bag down to Ladybug, who ripped it apart. A quick swipe of her yoyo at the purple butterfly that emerged and one swarm later, and things were as good as new.

“So cool,” Caline muttered as the two older, taller heroes stood in front of her. She blinked as they extended their fists to her.

“Really?” Caline asked. She was nearly hopping up and down.

“Sure,” Ladybug said, smiling. “You totally saved our butts back there, newcomer.”

“You sure did,” Chat Noir said with a grin. “That was some fine shootin’, partner.”

Caline grinned and put her fist out with theirs.

“Pound it!”

***

Ten minutes later, the three heroes sat on the balcony of the Dupain-Cheng bakery, each with a complementary sweet and drink. Ladybug and Chat Noir had been hugged quite excessively by the owners, and then Caline felt the full force of the baker’s gratitude as they took turns complimenting her on her outfit and thanking her for freeing them.

“You were wonderful out there, dear,” Sabine said as she hugged Ladybug. “Are you okay? Did anyone get hurt?”

“We’re fine,” Ladybug said through a smile. She hugged Sabine back. “I’m just glad you two are okay.”

“You did great out there, son.” Tom was hugging Chat Noir and patting him on the back. “I’m so proud of you.”

“I, um, I really didn’t do that much,” Chat Noir said. He was blushing and hugging the gigantic man back.

“And who is this little hero?” Sabine asked. She turned to Caline and bent down to get a better look at her. Caline retreated a little to Ladybug’s side. “You really saved the day, didn’t you?”

Caline slipped her hand into Ladybug’s. Surprised, the red and black hero took it and gave her a gentle squeeze. “She’s new, apparently. This cowgirl just showed up out of the blue and got to work.”

Sabine stared at her for several seconds. “These silly magic masks always mess up the eyes, you know that? I’m sure she doesn’t have goat eyes in real life.” She glanced up at Ladybug. “Who’s her mother?”

Ladybug shrugged. “I honestly have never seen this one before.”

Tom leaned over to get a good look at her. “Well, she’s got our jaw, son.”

And such pretty blonde hair!” Sabine offered. She glanced up at Marinette and mouthed, “Camille?”

Ladybug shrugged. “We were, um, we’re going to head up to the roof to debrief, if, um, that’s okay with you?”

“Of course!” Sabine said. “Here, take these with you!” She frantically handed Ladybug a bag of sweets.

“And some drinks!” Tom offered. He handed Chat Noir two steaming cups. “What would you like, Miss Cowgirl? Apple juice? Grape?”

Ladybug cleared her throat. “It’s Captain Cowgirl, actually.”

The small hand she was holding gave her a squeeze as if to say thank you.

“I like apple,” the tiny hero said in a small voice.

“Here you go, then. One apple juice,” Tom said, smiling. He pulled a juice box out of a cooler from behind the counter and handed it to Caline.

“Thank you very much,” Caline said. “It’s, um, it’s really nice to meet you both.”

Sabine and Tom smiled at her. “Well,” Sabine said as Tom put an arm around her. “It was lovely to meet you, too. Thank you for saving my favorite heroes.”

Caline stared at the two of them for a moment. “You’re both so nice. This, um, thank you. This was, I wasn’t expecting you to… Thank you. This is really great.”

“Hey,” Ladybug said in a soft voice. “You wanna come up to the roof with us? Maybe see what snacks they put in that bag before Chat Noir eats them all?”

They glanced over at Chat Noir, who had already taken a pastry from the counter and shoved it in his mouth. “What?” He mumbled through the food. “I don’t eat enough.”

“You eat as many as you want, dear,” Sabine said. “You need to put some meat on you.”

“That’s not meat,” Ladybug said. “But you’re right, he could stand to gain a pound or two.”

“Mmmffmm.” Chat responded as he continued to chew.

***

“So,” Ladybug said as she took a bite from a cheese danish. She was sitting in her favorite pink and white patio chair and sipping a mocha. She’d insisted on leaving them behind when she moved out, as she still loved stopping by the balcony on patrols. “Forgive me for saying so, but you don’t look like the last person I gave Ziggy to. Is she okay?”

Caline blushed and took a bite of her dessert. She had picked a huge cherry danish and was devouring it with gusto. “Uh, yeah. She’s got another one, now. This is so good! Like, I’d heard stories, but… This is incredible!” She took another bite and looked to Ladybug. “This is so much better than mom makes! She never uses this much sugar. Thank you for this. And, um, yeah. Thank you.”

The two older heroes watched Caline with a look that the younger hero couldn’t quite place. It was somewhere between amusement, curiosity, pride, and love. It was something she was admittedly used to from these two.

“Captain Cowgirl, was it?” Chat Noir asked.

Caline nodded. “Yep.” She sipped her juice box.

Ladybug smiled at her. “You were really brave out there today. You handled yourself like a hero.”

Caline blushed and smiled. “Thanks. That, um, that was my first time, actually.”

Ladybug’s eyebrows went up at that. “Seriously? Well, you did a bang-up job. Our first time was a complete disaster.”

“It wasn’t that bad,” Chat started. He saw the look on Ladybug’s face and deflated a bit. ‘Okay, yeah. It was pretty bad.”

“You’re first time, you say?” Ladybug asked, a smile playing on her lips. “You’re not from around here, are you?”

Caline shook her head no. She didn’t like to lie, and she honestly thought secret identities were kind of dumb. Especially when it came to family.

“No, ma’am. I’m from, um, later.”

“Thought so,” Chat said. He and Ladybug looked to each other and smiled. Chat crossed his arms and said, “So, how did you get Ziggy, Camille?”

Caline nearly choked on her danish. She coughed for a second and then said, “Camille? Excuse me?”

Chat nodded. “It’s okay. You’re not the first time traveler to pop up with Ziggy.”

“Oh,” Caline said as she put two and two together. “Oh! You think… No, I’m not… Aunt Camille doesn’t use Ziggy, she has Barkk.”

Ladybug looked the younger hero over again. “Wait. Aunt Camille?”

Caline nodded and wiped her hands on her tights.

Ladybug got up and approached Caline. She knelt down to look the tiny hero in the eyes.

“You know who we are, don’t you?” Ladybug asked.

Caline nodded again and bit her lip. “I, um, yes?” She looked from Ladybug to Chat Noir. “Is that okay?”

Ladybug thought about what Caline had said. “You weren’t expecting to get into a fight, were you?”

Caline shook her head no.

“But you came to the bakery looking for us?”

Caline nodded. “For you.”

Ladybug put a hand on the small hero’s shoulder. “What happened, sweetie?”

It had been a very big, very stressful day, and there was something about having your grandmother look you in the eye and speak in a kind voice that had an almost magical quality to it. Caline dropped her transformation and started to cry. She threw herself into Ladybug’s arms.

“Hey now, it’s okay,” Ladybug said, slightly surprised. The girl in her arms was shaking like a leaf.

Chat Noir knelt beside them and put a gentle hand on the young girl’s back. “You’re safe, love,” he said. “Whatever is the matter, we’ll help put it right. We promise.”

“They… They’re all frozen! All of them!” Caline blubbered. “Mom, dad, all, all the heroes… Everyone in Pa, Paris! I was, I was the only one who wa, who wasn’t…”

“Shhh,” Ladybug said. “Spots off.”

There was a warm flash of light, and Caline pulled back to look into the concerned, wide eyes of her grandmother. But it was wrong. Her face wasn’t wrinkled, and her hair was a rich, navy blue… She looked so young, but her smile was the same, and she smelled the same, and she was warm, and for a moment, Caline felt like she was home.

Caline let out a small, surprised laugh through her hiccupped tears. “Oh, wow. You, you look so pretty, Gramma.”

Marinette froze.

“Oh, my God,” Chat nearly whispered. “Claws in.”

Caline looked over at the young man kneeling beside her. “You both look so good!” She looked at Adrien for a second. “You don’t have your beard, Grandpa. This is so weird. I… I’m so sorry! I really didn’t know what else to do, but… But I was told if there was an emergency to come here, and, and I know I’m not supposed to use the door, but there wasn’t anyone left and…” She wiped her eyes. “Am I in trouble?”

Marinette pulled the young girl into a hug. “Of course you’re not, sweetheart.” She looked to Adrien, who was doing his best not to panic. He was also rubbing at his chin.

“Hey,” Marinette said as she pulled back to look Caline in the eyes. “Do you know the rules about time travel?”

Caline shook her head. “Only that I’m not supposed to do it, or Aunt Alix gets really mad.”

Marinette snickered. “Well, one of the big ones is to not reveal too much about the future, okay? I need you to tell us what happened, but when you do, try not to spill to much future stuff. Don’t tell us anything other than what we need to know. Can you do that for us?”

Caline nodded. “I can do that. Um, so, uh, I was playing in my room, and there was an akuma alert, and mom and dad said they’d be right back. I was watching the fight on my phone, and then there was this huge flash of light, and everyone froze.” Caline shuddered. “Everyone. Like, the whole city.”

Adrien frowned. “How come you didn’t get frozen?”

“Mom and dad said my room has magic shields that protect it from akumas and magic and stuff,” Caline said. “They said it was just built like that.”

“Don’t tell anymore than that,” Marinette said. “Okay, so you were in a shelter of some kind. That was clever thinking on your parents’ part to make your bedroom so safe.”

“It was mom’s bedroom,” Caline offered.

Marinette looked to Adrien. “Wanna tell me something about the apartment?”

Adrien shrugged. “Look, Chloé did a ton of stuff when we moved in. Maybe she shielded it?”

Marinette turned to Caline. “Sweetie, do you remember anything about the akuma they were facing? Anything that might help figure out what happened?”

Caline nodded. “He called himself Stopwatch. I think when mom broke this clock thing on his chest, it, um, exploded? And that caused, um, everything. I think.”

Marinette glanced to Ziggy, who was floating beside Caline. “Anything you want to add, Ziggy?”

“Mistress,” Ziggy said with a mid-air bow. “Might I say you are lookin’ plumb lovely.”

“Thank you,” Marinette sighed. “Ziggy, the akuma?”

Ziggy nodded. “Right. So, from what I could see on the magic talky glass, he was all defeated and such, but then he said somethin’ ta honk off yer daughter, and she landed a good hit right on his chest and from what I could gather, that’s when things went south.”

Caline looked to Marinette, her face a picture of worry. “Can you help?”

Marinette bit her lip as she thought. “I think so. Had… Was I… Huh. Was Ladybug there?”

Caline blinked. “Well, um, yeah. I just said… Yeah, she was there.”

“Had she thrown her lucky charm?”

Caline nodded. “I think so. I something on the live feed. I think it was a pair of scissors?”

Marinette allowed herself a small smile. “Right. How did you get here, sweetie?”

“The door at the hotel.” Caline leaned in. She cupped her hand to the side of her mouth and whispered, “the secret one.”

Marinette looked to Adrien. “Do you know anything about a secret door?”

Adrien shrugged. “Chloé never mentioned anything to me about one.”

“Huh,” Marinette said. “Would you mind showing me the door?”

Caline nodded. “I can do that.”

***

When they arrived at the Grand Paris, they were met with a flurry of questions. Caline Jr. was stunned as she looked around at everyone, and everyone in turn kept eyeing her.

It didn’t help that all three of them were transformed.

“Can I play with your staff?” Emmy asked, wide-eyed.

“How come you’re a cowboy?” Camille asked.

“She’s a cowgirl,” Emmy said.

“Wanna see my room?” Camille asked. “We’ve got dinosaurs.”

“You are so adorable!” Sabrina gushed. She had taken off work early to come up and mee the new hero.

“Ziggy, huh?” Chloé asked, smirking. She handed a fussy baby Gina to Chat Noir. “Here you go. This one needs changing.”

Chat frowned. “Ugh. You’re right.” He held his daughter on his hip. “Girls, give the Captain a little space, would you? She just got here.”

“Hey, kiddo.” Caline (senior) knelt in front of the shy hero. “You really leaned into the role, didn’t you?”

Captain Cowgirl looked at the redheaded woman with wide eyes. “Are you Ms. Bourgeois?”

Caline smiled. “That I am. Pleased to meet you, Captain.”

Caline junior swallowed. “I, um, Ziggy told me about you and how cool you were. I, um, I made this from the stories he told.” She looked to the older redhead. “Is that okay?”

Caline smiled and felt herself tearing up. “I think it’s perfect, sweetheart. You wear the suit well. Do… Am I allowed to ask if I know you?”

Caline junior shuffled her feet. “We, um, I…”

Caline, while not the instant connect-the-dots master Marinette was, had been exposed to enough awkward time travel nonsense that she was starting to put things together. “Are we, um, are we related?”

“Caline,” Ladybug said. “You shouldn’t ask that.”

Caline senior sighed. “Fine, fine.” She looked to the small hero again and thought about it, but didn’t say anything more.

Chloé leaned towards Ladybug and whispered, “I take back everything I ever said about Ziggy. This is comedy gold.” She spoke up. “Can I get a shot of the two of you? I’d like to have a picture of both Captains.”

Caline senior shot her daughter a withering look before sighing and dropping to one knee. “Come here, partner,” Caline said as she patted her leg.

Caline junior looked to Ladybug, who smiled and nodded. “If you want to, it’s fine.”

Caline junior shuffled over and sat on the older woman’s knee as Chloé took out her phone and snapped a quick picture. “Perfect,” the blonde said, still smirking.

“So,” Ladybug said in her business voice. “We actually came by for work reasons. The Captain here needed my help with something and said the hotel had a, um, secret door?”

Caline junior nodded.

“What secret door?” Chloé asked, confused.

“NOPE,” A voice yelled from behind them. The group jumped and turned to see the adult Bunnyx standing there. She had a frown on her face and her arms were crossed. Marinette noted that her hair had some gray in it, and her mask looked like it was covering some lines.

“I was wondering when you’d show up,” Ladybug said.

“It took me a bit, what with the timeline turning itself inside out,” Bunnyx said with a chuff. She glanced down at Caline junior. “Captain. Care to tell me what you’re doing here?”

The small hero shuffled back to Marinette’s side. “I didn’t know what else to do.”

“She really came through for us today,” Ladybug said. “And from the sound of it, something big happened where she came from. Where were you?”

Bunnyx let out a small sigh. “Trying to fix things, but then someone did a hopscotch back in time and I’ve been trying to track her instead of cleaning up what happened.”

“I’m sorry,” Caline junior said. “I didn’t mean to do anything bad.”

Bunnyx rolled her eyes and messed up the young girl’s hair. “I get it. You’re not in trouble, kiddo. I just wish you’d waited, like, five more minutes.”

“So, is everything fixed?” Ladybug asked. “Can she go home?”

Bunnyx looked to Ladybug. “What, back in her time? Hell no. That era is stuck.” She eyed Ladybug. “We need a Ladybug to fix things.”

Ladybug smiled. “Well then, I think you’re in luck.”

“Can I come?” Chat Noir asked.

Bunnyx answered before Ladybug could. “You need to get your kids home before five.”

“Why before five?” Chat Noir asked.

“Because, um, I’m coming by with an offer to babysit so you two can go out to dinner?”

“You are?” Ladybug asked, confused.

“You are?” Chat Noir asked, a small smile growing on his face.

“Yep,” Bunnyx said with a nod. “One sec.” She slid out her pocket watch and opened it. The group watched as she frantically typed something on a holoscreen.”

“Yep!” Bunnyx said as she quickly closed the watch. “This time’s me will be there by five, so, um, go freshen up. Please. Now.”

Chat Noir sighed and nodded. “I get it. Come one, you two. Let’s get you home.” He looked to Chloé. “Were they good?”

Chloé nodded. “They were fine. They’re always fine.”

Chat Noir glanced at Chloé’s very round belly. “You good?”

“I’m here,” Chloé said. “Another two weeks, and I can lay down again.”

Bunnyx snorted.

“What?” Chloé asked. The annoyance in her voice was clear.

“Try three and a half,” Bunnyx said.

“WHAT?” Chloé snapped. A grinning Sabrina took her hand as Chloé fumed. “He’s going to be late? That’s…”

“Ridiculous,” Bunnyx finished. “Come on, you two.” She looked to the two waiting heroes as she opened a portal. “We’ve got a city to save.”

***

When the three heroes arrived in the future, Ladybug was a bit unsettled. Everything was quiet. More than that, it was still.

She shuddered. “This is slightly familiar.”

“Sorry,” Bunnyx said. “It’s why I didn’t want Adrien to come. I figured you’d associate this with the whole Chat Blanc thing. I didn’t think you’d be comfortable with, well…”

Ladybug put her hand on Bunnyx’s shoulder. “Thanks, Alix. I appreciate it.”

They walked a short distance to the Louvre, Caline’s hand firmly planted in Ladybug’s. When they got there, all three heroes took a moment to register the sight in front of them.

The heroes of Paris were stuck, some of them in midair, and all were pointed towards what looked like a green and purple man. He was tired up in a thin, black cord that was being held by what looked like Ladybug, who was stuck, mid-punch, with her fist shattering what looked like a giant clock on the colorful man’s chest.

Marinette drifted past the heroes that were present. Some of them looked extremely familiar, while others were brand new to her. She did her best to block them out, as the less she knew about it, the better. Instead, she focused on Ladybug.

Marinette put her hand to the young woman’s cheek. This ladybug’s uniform was inverted from hers, black with red spots. Also, she was wearing a red jacket, complete with metal shoulder clasps.

Marinette looked into a set of familiar green eyes that were peeking through a mask that was slightly covered by a mop of short, brown hair.

“Can you help her?” Caline asked. “Can you help my mom?”

Marinette leaned forward and kissed the frozen, angry-looking young woman on the forehead. “I’m going to, sweetie. I promise.” She looked down and saw a pair of scissors on the woman’s hip.

“I’m guessing you understood the charm?” Bunnyx asked.

Ladybug nodded. “Sewing scissors. I figured.” She looked to Bunnyx. “I was supposed to get a visitor today, wasn’t I?”

“Not saying one way or the other,” Bunnyx replied.

Ladybug just smirked as she threw the scissors into the air. A massive wave of Ladybugs washed over the city, and suddenly, everything was moving again.

The groups faltered, a flurry of “what just happened?” “Did we just die?” And “Don’t do that!” screams all echoed around the courtyard.

Gina blinked as she stood in front of a restored security guard. “Um, did… Did I just cure you?”

“MOM!”

Gina, still surprised, barely caught the black and white blur that was her daughter as she was nearly tackled. “I thought I’d never see you again!” Caline sobbed.

“Ca, er, um, hey. What are you talking about?” Gina asked, bewildered. She piked up her daughter and hugged her. “What do you mean you…”

Gina glanced past the group for one second as a white light caught her eye. It was only for a moment, but she saw a familiar red and black hero smile and wave at her just before disappearing into a white portal.

“Was that…?” Gina half-whispered as Caline hugged her tighter. She glanced at her little girl. “What did you do today, sweetie?”

Caline looked to her mother and smiled. “I got to meet a whole bunch of people, and I saw Gramma and Grandpa, and, and I had my first fight. And I won! And… And I used the key. I’m sorry.”

Gina smiled and kissed her daughter on the forehead. “Well, if what I think happened just happened, you’ve got nothing to apologize about.”

Beside them, a yellow and black bee-themed hero stepped up and gave them a hug. “What’s this little one doing out here?”

“I think,” Gina said as she glanced to where the portal had been. “She just saved Paris. And us.”

“Well now,” Yellowjacket said, smiling. “What do we call you, Miss hero?”

Caline looked at her parents and smiled. “Y’all can call me Captain Cowgirl.” She tipped her hat.

André sputtered and buried his face in his wife’s shoulder. Gina started elbowing him while doing her best not to bust up. “Stop it. Stop it! You’re gonna make me drop her!”

“We, um, we need to call Gramma Chloé tonight,” André said. “Better yet, let’s swing by and visit. This is just perfect.”

“You’re terrible,” Gina scolded him. “And I agree.”

Caline laughed and hugged her parents as they did their best not to break down in laughter.

***

That night, after dinner, a visit to the Grand Paris, and so, so many pictures, Caline nestled in her bed as her parents kissed her goodnight and quietly shut the door to her room.

“Hey Ziggy,” Caline whispered.

“Ma’am,” Ziggy said from his small pillow.

“Thanks for today,” Caline said.

“Aw, shucks. I didn’t do anything. Y’all were the one who took out that varmint. I just provided the wardrobe.”

“You told me I could do it,” Caline said.

“Yeah, well, you did do it,” Ziggy said. “I ain’t never had a holder as young as you are, but I’ll tell you what; I ain’t never had one as brave as you, either. It took real courage to make that call and go back in time, and it took even more to face down that dumb ole’ plant guy. Yer every bit yer parent’s kid, and every bit yer namesake in courage.”

Caline smiled at that. “Thanks Ziggy.” She scooted to the small goat creature and smiled. “You did good.”

Ziggy started to tear up. “I… I did?” In a small voice, he asked. “Y’all think I’m good?”

“You’re the best kwami in the whole wide world,” Caline said. She leaned forward and kissed him on the forehead.

Ziggy blushed and made a small circle with his foot in the sheets. “Aw, shucks, ma’am.” He choked a bit on his words. T’weren’t nothin’.”

Caline settled in, her eyes on Ziggy. “Hey, can you tell me a story about her?”

“Shucks,” Ziggy said. “Which one do you want ta hear?”

“You pick,” Caline said as she yawned.

Ziggy leaned back and rubbed his chin. “Okay then. Well, there was this one time? A huge apartment buildin’ had caught fire. Anyway, yer Gramma Chloé had already charged over, but ole’ Caline, she just knew that yer Gramma needed help. So, she goes ta get me from restroom dungeon, and then like lightnin’ she charged right over and into the fire.”

Ziggy glanced over at Caline, who was already asleep. Smiling, he leaned back against his pillow and stared up at the ceiling.

“Anyway, ole’ Caline bursts in like a tornado and gets straight ta work. She just scooped up that Gramma o’ yours and this little gal that was hidin’, and like a comet, she just burst outta the building right as it was comin’ down. She plumb saved both their lives that night, as she was set ta do. On a count of her bein’ a hero.”

Ziggy glanced over and heard soft snores coming from his charge. He floated over and made sure her covers were pulled up to her chin.

“She was a right fine hero, just like you.” He floated up and kissed her on the forehead. He then glanced to the careworn reading chair beside Caline’s bedside.

For a moment he paused. He then smiled at the seemingly empty space.

“Sweet dreams, Miss Caline.” Ziggy said in the quiet darkness of the room. “You rest easy. I’ll keep watch.” He settled against Caline. “I promise. I’ll keep her safe.”

While the future is never set, Ziggy knew that come what may, he would do his very best for the young girl sleeping beside him. He knew there was nothing he wouldn’t do to keep her safe, and that he would never stop working to earn her trust.

She was his holder, and she had said he was good. She said he was the best.

And coming from Captain Cowgirl, that meant the world.

#fanfiction #captain cowgirl #miraculous ladybug #mamabug

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ariestaurus21 · 3 years

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You know, in S9 when Grace almost dies in a car crash? This one isn’t fiction. It’s our living nightmare. WARNING. GRUESOME FACTS ABOUT A FATAL CAR CRASH INVOLVING A DUI

Well, on Thursday, in the early evening, a drunk driver plowed into the back of a stopped small SUV at a speed of about 140kph, without ever attempting to slow down. In the back seat of that SUV were Emma, 10, and her big (half) brother Jackson, who’s mom Shellie and Grandpa James had just picked up from football practice. Jack turned 14 last week and Labour Day weekend was supposed to be Football camp.

Instead, when that car hit them, Jack’s and Emma’s mom and grandpa were killed almost instantly, as their car was the last in a line of three. It was crushed between the speeding vehicle driven by a drunk Eric Legaré, a repeat offender, and the preceding vehicle. Both of the front occupants had their front legs sectionned off by the dashboard and bled out in seconds, and also suffered likely fatal cranial trauma due to severe whiplash. Both were pronounced dead at the scene.

Emma and Jack both had heartbeats but were in bad shape, in critical condition with severe cranial trauma.

Jack’s father, my friend and colleague Daniel, Dan to all of us, tells us how he got a call from Emma’s dad, Jack’s stepdad, saying there had been an accident and to come to the hospital. There’s ONE major trauma centre in the city, but it’s coincidentally the closest hospital to where the crash happened, and Dan was sure Jax had had a football related accident, even took the time to swing home from the restaurant he’d just driven to to have dinner with his best friend, as a break to redoing his home’s floors, to pick up his son’s tablet, so he wouldn’t get bored.

He didn’t understand why the nurse blanched, when he asked to see his son. He didn’t understand when they took him to a small lounge and left him to wait . He didn’t undesrstand when the first ER doctor asked if he knew about the accident. He didn’t understand when FOUR neurosurgeons walked in, in tears, all of them, to explain to him that despite their best efforts, there was nothing they could do to save Jax, that his brain had suffered irreparable damage from the collision, the extreme speed of the collision causing a whiplash so severe it tore the brain tissue at the base of the skull, filling Jax’s brain with blood, crushing it to death.

Emma, his 10-year-old half-sister suffered the same fate.

The collision was so brutal it injured the passenger of the 2nd car in the line of three.

Jackson was pronounced dead on Friday, September 3, at 16:33, after a 15-minute apnea test, confirming brain death.

Like his sister Emma, Jax is, at the moment I am writing these words, being artificially maintained alive in a vegetative state so the CHUL transplant team can proceed with organ donation surgeries. Later today, at 8:00AM EST, Jackson will be taken to surgery to donate his organs.

His father has lost his son, and the mother of his son, his ex. Jack’s stepdad lost his whole family; his wife, his two kids (he considered Jax a son) and his Father-in-Law.

So my friend Dan was alone in making all the decisions in regards to Jax’s end of life care, including this brutally inhumane one; choosing to be by his son’s side as he drew his last breath, or let him go, and doante his organs, but draw his last breath in a room filled with strangers.

THAT, my friends who drive drunk, is what you impose on us. I say us, because tonight, despite having had close loved ones pass, I have never had to do something as HARD and HEARTWRENCHING as sitting with Jax, singing lullabies to him, holding his hand, while his father took a 20-minute break to grab some air, as he prepared to spend a very last night with his son, who’s already been declared dead, over two days ago.

When we finally left... I told my partner I never want to set foot inside a PICU ever again. But I just might. Because tomorrow morning, as Jax leaves it to go up to OR, there will be a honor row. Because he deserves it. Because no 14 year old child deserves to be snuffed out like that. He deserves better.

I’ll pass on how his dad has lost all will to live, talks openly about how once the trial is done and when he’ll have made sure the bastard who took his son is dead, by his hand or anothers’ he’ll follow and go join his son.

Our job is to hold him here till he heals somewhat. To help if and when we can.

But there is one thing I can ask you.

Never. Ever

EVER

NEVER Drink and drive.

Please donate to MADD HERE in honor of Jackson, Emma, Shellie and James.

#dui #death #fatal crash #drunk driving #grief #anger #MADD #gofundme

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theotherackerman · 3 years

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My Mind Turns Your Life Into Folklore

Summary: Historia Reiss could not have approached Mikasa Ackerman with the idea of joining a band at a better time. After a falling out with Armin Arlert and Eren Jaeger, Mikasa decides to take her up on her offer joining alongside Ymir Langnar (bassist), Sasha Blouse (drummer), and Annie Leonhart (guitarist). With their new keyboard player and lyricist, they set off on a journey that takes them away from their hometown. After winning battle of the bands, they score a record deal. As they set to record their first album, their past begins to catch up to them.

RATING: MATURE

Ships: Mikasa/Eren, Historia/Ymir, Levi/Hange, Armin/Annie, Pieck/Jean

Other Tags: Minor Character Death, Past Character Death, girls supporting girls, Alternate Universe, music inspired, their friendship is super important

NOTES: December 26th

PROLOGUE: TIS THE DAMN SEASON

Somehow watching Star Wars the day after Christmas had become a tradition for Eren, Armin, and Mikasa.Maybe it was because Christmas was rough for all of them. So they had made their own little tradition.

It had started in high school when Armin and Eren were in complete disbelief that Mikasa had n ever seen Star Wars. They had just exchanged gifts including a book Armin received from Eren about the special effects in Star Wars.

“How can you have never seen Star Wars? Didn’t we watch it with you when we were younger?” Eren asked her as he picked up wrapping paper from the floor.

Mikasa simply shook her head.

“Well we’ve got to change that. Armin, you still have the dvds?”

“Of course, I do. I’m not going to get rid of Star Wars.”

“Right, right. You think grandpa would care if we came over tomorrow?”

“Hey, what if I have plans tomorrow?” Mikasa asked.

“Do you have plans tomorrow?” Armin turned his head to the side.

“Well no...but..”

“Okay, great. So tomorrow at Armin’s place.”

And that’s how it had started. Mikasa wasn’t sure if she actually liked Star Wars or if she just loved her two best friend’s reactions to it. Armin and Eren performed their favorite lines as they watched. One time they had bought shitty cheap lightsabers to have a battle one year which resulted in both Eren and Armin getting a black eye.

The venue changed frequently, a different person hosting each year. No matter how bad things got, how many family members died, none of that matter.

Because every December 26th, it was time for them to settle in front of the tv and watch Star Wars.

Until this year.

This year, there was no settling in front of a tv.

There was no exchanging of gifts.

This year, there was radio silence between the three of them.

All because of what had happened last year. It was New Year’s Eve. Armin, Eren, and Mikasa had gathered together. Mikasa had her father’s ring. She was going to ask Eren to marry her.

She was kneeling in the kitchen but Eren’s eyes were numb.

"I'm just going to be honest with you, Mikasa. I just dated you so I could know what it was like to fuck you. And I have to say, you're as good as I'd thought you'd be. But now I'm done with this. You're just a slave who does what everyone else wants them to do. A people pleaser. I can't be with someone like that."

"Eren…" her voice cracked.

"I've always hated you, Mikasa."

BAM!

There was a connection of a fist to Eren's jaw. He stumbled back.

"How dare you say those things to her!" Armin yelled at him. Eren swung at Armin, hitting him. Armin punched Eren again.

Mikasa pulled Armin off of Eren and shoved him to the other side of the kitchen.

"I don't need you defending me!" She screamed.

And then Mikasa ran from the house.

And Eren spat blood.

And Armin disappeared from the house

But the box holding Mikasa's dad's ring sat on the table all the same.

Mikasa sat in her room, watching the steam rising off of her cup of tea. Her book of lyrics sat in front of her.

She wondered about Armin and Eren. How were they doing? Were they coping okay with Eren’s father dying last year…..No.

She took a deep breath as she looked at the blank page in front of her.

She and Historia had written thirty six songs as options for the new album but that didn’t matter.

She had to keep writing. It was a way out of her head while still coping with everything.

If she wrote, she didn’t have to think about her dead parents, Armin’s dead parents, or Eren’s dead parents. She didn’t have to think about Armin’s grandfather dying earlier this year and how Armin had to be alone this year. She didn’t have to think about Ymir and Historia still fighting and what that meant for the band. What did that mean for the band?

Write.

Just write.

She took a deep breath.

Just as she was about to write, there was a knock on the front door.

She could hear Levi talking to someone.

Was it his partner?

She wasn’t sure.

She was stalling.

She needed to focus on writing.

The door to her room opened. Only one person didn’t knock when they came over so she didn’t bother to look behind her. The thud sound of someone falling onto her bed and the smell of whiskey only confirmed what she already knew.

“Things didn’t go well?” Mikasa asked, now she was really stalling.

“Oh no, things went fucking great. Can’t you tell?” Ymir’s voice was dripping with sarcasm. “I went to get drinks with her sister and her. Her sister hates me. She thinks Historia can do better.”

“Did she say that?”

“No. She just...I don’t know. I think Historia told Frieda what happened last week. Maybe, maybe she’s right. Maybe Historia is better off with someone like Reiner or that farm boy…”

Mikasa put her pen down before turning around.

“You and I both know you don’t mean that. Stop feeling sorry for yourself. I’ve never seen you feel sorry for yourself before. What did you say to me when all that happened? Pull yourself together. Fuck her sister. It doesn’t matter. All that matters is your feelings and Historia’s. Fuck everyone else.”

“I think I said fuck a few more times in there.”

Mikasa nodded before she turned back around.

It was a strange friendship they had.

It had started due to the fact that Historia and Eren were normally nominated for king and queen of the high school dances. Since they could not dance with who they wanted to, they ended up dancing with one another.

Then Historia had come up with this idea for a band. An idea that would cement Ymir and Mikasa’s friendship.

A knock came from the front door again.

“Mikasa!” Levi yelled from downstairs.

She looked over at Ymir. The other girl was currently wrapping herself up in Mikasa’s blankets. No one outside the band and Levi knew that Mikasa was back in town for the holidays.

“Mikasa!” She heard him yell again.

She took a deep breath before she left her room. Eren couldn’t be here. He didn’t know. Not to mention he probably never wanted to talk to her again just like she didn’t want to face him again. If he was here, she’d….

She’d do something.

“Sign the delivery paper so this man can do away,” Levi gestured to the man holding a box and a scanner.

“I told you, sir, it can only be signed by..”

“I don’t care.”

Mikasa signed the paper, the man handed over the package, and Mikasa closed the door. She pulled the tab to open the cardboard box. Inside she found a smaller box. She dropped the cardboard box. She didn’t open the smaller box.

She already knew what was inside and who had sent it.

“What is that?”

“My father’s ring. He returned it.” She held the box out to Levi who stared at her for a moment. “Keep it safe for me, will you?”

The older Ackerman just nodded. Mikasa picked up the cardboard box off of the floor and threw it into the trash. She didn’t notice the letter inside that had floated to the floor. Levi would find it hours later.

#mmtylif #my writing

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groovycatcollector · 4 years

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The Wonderfully Right, And The Horribly Wrong (Daryl Dixon Love story)

Summery: After losing her brother and his wife, one young woman is left on her own, caring for a new born and trying to survive. After being taken in to a community after years of mistrust, how will she adapt, and what effect will a certain archer have on her. Starts the last episode of season 5

Warnings: slow-burn, angst, eventual fluff, violence, strong language. ptsd, age gape

Pairings: Daryl Dixon x OFC

AU:I am so sorry this is so long I’ve been in quarantine for seven weeks

Chapter 10

My ass was damp agent the wet garden chair while I brought the beer bottle back up to my lips, must have been an odd site, me sitting in a satin blue bridesmaid dress with a cheap bottle in my hand. The wedding was still merry and loud long after night fell. It was a lovely wedding, and now three of the seven Price children were gone and married. I gulped down the bitter drink (given to me by the eldest Mae, who now can’t drink thanks to getting knocked up) hearing Baba walking stick before I heard her call my name

“Natasha” only she called me that “you hardly tired now solnyshkuh” She sat next to me on the damp bench, ruining her purple dress.

She reached a hand out for me to hold once she was settled and I held it “No Baba, just taking a break” She hummed, shaking my hand affectionately. “Sonya found a boy” She remarked, her accent still thick, she only moved to America in her twenties. She didn’t sound pleased about the prospects of Sonya finding a dance partner “He’s too ugly for her”

He wasn’t ugly in truth, even I was a bit weak at the knees for him. He was Sherry’s mysterious cousin from upstate. He was tall with high cheekbones, and short black hair. He was partnered to lead Sonya down the aisle and took great joy in seeing identical twins. We chatting for a while before dinner all three of us, but I quickly excused myself to after Sonya gave me a side-glance meaning: “Please fuck off I want to sit on his face”. So I excused myself to go play with Florence’s new-born Daisy.

I chuckled and handed her the bottle, offering her a sip. I was closest to her, she choice mine and Sonya’s name, which of course it had to be from a Russian old book. Irena Katina Nikolaevna Lebedev was probably the proudest person I know, even prouder to still to be Russian. But Irena Katina Nikolaevna Lebedev didn’t like pretty boys, she didn’t trust them, and my twin had just found one to dance with at our brothers wedding.

“You” She took a swig, still holding my hand. “You find a strong man, with nice arms” I looked at her, her head covered in her shawl, and underneath I knew was a jungle of curls that travelled through the family. “No soft’s like Ray, a good man, perhaps rich man would be nice” Thin lips that often spat out scaving remarks curled into a smile. “Now come” Baba bent forward and allowed her walking stick to prop her up.

Despite the hair, the name and the honesty I have inherited from her, it was the eyes that I and Sonya got. Big dark eyes, but hers like looked at the world like she knew its secrets “I get you real drink, we are Russian, no Americans” I laughed before linking arms with her and proceeded to get hammered.

Last time I was in a church I was in blue satin, now I stood in a white shirt, holding a small child in an onesie. Maggie, Glenn and Father Gabriel stood around to the holy water. I felt kind of awkward being back in a church for some reason, well more than awkward, I was kinda panicking if I’m being honest. I had barley decided on a name, why the fuck did I always zone out when they got mushy.

“What do you think?” Beau asked, leaning agents the fireplace looking fondly at his girlfriend chatting to our Grandpa. My curly head barley reached the mantel only being thirteen. “She’s real pretty” I said, and he, still not taking his eyes off of her, smiled. My no nonsense older brother finally got bit with the love bug. Florence and Mary-Grace already knew Noelle from school, but it was her first time meeting the rest of us; Dwight, the parents, grandparents and the kid sisters (that’s were me and Sonya came in)

Her dark hair stood out in the room like a sore thumb in a family of blondes and redheads. Mary-Grace and her bright flames of hair took Mae’s place next to Baba by the fire now she had moved out and gotten married. Beau, being the third oldest in the house at nineteen, stood a good foot and a half taller than me, with curls brighter than mine and Sonya’s, and blue eyes like my daddy.

Our house was really only one room that wasn’t used for sleeping, were we all were now. It acted as kitchen, sitting room and dining room all on top of each other since Baba and grandpa had to move in.

“How in the name of Moses did you get a girl like that Beau?” Sonya came sneaking up behind us “Seriously man she’s a ten and you are an ugly motherfucker” My image remarked crossing her arms over her chest. Beau simply rolled his eyes “language” he muttered before pushing her in the shoulder.

Everything was all a blur as Gabriel was mumbling Latin from a book, which in fairness is pretty hard to read considering it’s a dead language. “Name of guardian?” He asked finally looking up at me after taking the boy from my hands. None of this felt real for some reason, I felt like I was in a dream. I shuffled my feet and licked my lips, my body getting nervous, deep breath Nina.

Pulling my shoulders back I announced myself “Natasha Ilyinichna Irena Lebedev Price” I heard a faint “Oh yeah I forgot she was Russian” from Maggie, forcing myself to smile at her.

Still not looking at my nephew or the priest. I focused on the cross behind his head, I was anxious to get this done with, to make sure he had sort of protection. My eyes darted around the room as Maggie and Glenn were called to pour the holy water over the baby’s head, both giving me an odd look and asking if I was alright.

“What do you think of it all?” Sonya whispered in a hush as we lay in the dark, both of us trying to ignore the sound of our parents shouting. Parents shouting at the decision Sonya had made. “Think of what?” I asked, tucking the bedsheet up to my chin. She sat up in the double bed we shared. “Don’t fucking play me Nina” Her voice was harsh and bolder then usual, for a girl so reserved and gentile, she was pissed.

She sat up and turned the lamp on, making Mary-Grace groan and tousle from the other side of the room. She sat up and crossed her arms, her mouth twitching “Well?”

Groaning I sat up too, not wanting to have this conversation. “What do you want me to say?” She was looking for a fight and I knew it. Her sporadic hand gestures gave her away “What you think? What do you think I should do?” Sonya’s eyes welled up with tears. I sighed “I don’t know Sonya, it’s a big decision”

She wanted to move to New York and live with Florence, who had a townhouse with her husband and two kids. Sonya had won a scholarship in the last pageant, and wanted to be an architect… and leave. New York sounded good, fun. Just far away. “Why do you even want to leave?” I asked with a sight, not understanding her longing to leave the safety of trees that surrounded the town.

“What do you mean why do I want to leave?” She looked at me dumbfounded, and a heavy air set between us. “If you were given the opportunity to get out you would too, I don’t want to be sewn to your hip for the rest of my life”. I raised my eyebrow at that, “You’re stuck to my hip?” I scoffed “Fuck off Sonya don’t be such a cunt” My arms got a chill looking at her face contort trying to control her rage.

“I think you’re jealous” She scaved, leaning forward into my face “I think you’re freaking out that you just realized you don’t know what the fuck you’re doing with your life” I leaned over her, not breaking eye contact, and turned off the lamp. My heart racing at her words, wanting to shout and kick and bite for what she said. But I didn’t. “I think you’re freaking out because you don’t know you who are without me” I whispered.

She stared dumbfounded, knowing I was right. Neither of us really knew who we were without the other. Didn’t matter if he had different interests, who liked pageants or cross country. Who was closer to Baba or Grandpa. We didn’t know who we were without each other.

I turned away from her pulling the bedsheet around me “Night Sonya”

“I aint going with you guys tomorrow, I don’t want to listen to you all the way to Roanoke”

“Do you have a name ?” Maggie asked, just as they were about to pour the water on his head. Snapping back into reality, looking at the kid for the first time since we got into the church. “Uhh” oh shit yeah a name “Cain” I said, suddenly remembering “Cain Lyova Price” I forced a smile, not really listening.

Feeling a pang of grief for my brother that I hadn’t allowed myself to feel. I watched them together drunk his head into the water, whispering prayers of protection. And finally he would be protected, not in this world but in death. I closed my eyes feeling a shudder down my spine, God don’t let him die.

My brothers child, that stupid bastard should be here not me. He could have given him a good name. I mean Cain? What kind of stupid name was that?

I felt all the anger and grief bubble up, making my chest break into silent sobs. No. Not now. I can’t feel it now. I smiled, whipping the tear that had risen in my eye, trying to pass it off as tears of joy before hugging the tree.

I take the kid- Cain, back into my arms, before smiling and saying quickly a thanks and how I had to get to the infirmary.

The infirmary was as it usually was, quiet. Today we had the riveting excitement of Eugene asking if a mole was cancerous, which it wasn’t as he’d had it for a few years and had not grown, moved or changed colour or shape.

“You okay?” Denise asked me just as our ‘patient’ left. I smiled picking up the bab-Cain and shaking a bottle of formula. “Yeah fine” I lied with a smile, not wanting to acknowledge the tightness I felt in my throat for my brother. The doctor narrowed her eyes, before sitting down in front of her cheat sheet. She was just about to open her mouth to argue when I interrupted “Yah know what I haven’t had in a while?” She knew she didn’t have to answer, my nerves giving me the gift of small talk.

“A good piss up” I stated, nudging the bottle into Cain’s mouth. I laughed to myself while Denise just looked at me confused. “Remember the boxes of moonshine we found? Do you think they’d miss just one?” My colleague stood frowning “Nine we can’t steal, we need them to disinfect wounds” Her scolding me, though not sounding entirely too agents the idea. I rolled my eyes as she came closer, putting a hand on the baby’s foot.

“So what did you name him?” She changed the subject, looking up at me and pushing her glasses back up her nose. “Cain” I whispered looking down at him. “Or Lyova, havn’t decided wich one I want to call him” Denise hummed looking back at him, whos hands were grasped to the bottle, gulping like it was his last ever feed.

“Lyova, havn’t heard that one before” She looked up at me “Russian, for Lion” I explained. She nodded before moving back to study her cheat sheet. “Makes sense if he has hair like yours”. I faked laughed, looking back down, his daddy had lighter hair, more white then mine.

A few hours passed, the normal routine had taken over when Carol walked in with her usual chirpy smile. “Hey girls” she sang, placing a basket on the operating table. I still didn’t trust her, felt like she wasn’t being honest for some reason, no one survives out there and still comes there smiling and cheerful. I figured she was a bit like me in that way, full of shit.

Carol turned to look at me, one hand on her hip “So, what did you call him?” jeeze everyone wants to know this kids name. “Cain Lyova” I smiled back, a smile equally full of shit of the one I was reciprocating. “Oh Lyova, that’s beautiful” She cooed, leaning down to look at him sitting on the floor shaking a toy. “It was my great-uncles” I noted, not too keen on mention that he was fighting for the soviets in Word War II.

I smiled at her, the colour on her neat jumper suited her, a pale blue. “I was thinking” She straightened up and faced me “Why don’t we celebrate?” She gave a little hmmp after indicating it was more of a request then a question. I raised an eyebrow, maybe she was listening in before smiling. “It’s not every day we’ve something to celebrate, could invite one or two people over and have a drink tonight” shaking my head I let out a sigh. Well I can’t believe it my dreams just came true. “Ma’am I think you read my mind”

I woke up to the sound of the creaks of heavy footsteps followed by the door squeaking open. It was cold, and Sonya was snuggled up agents by back protecting herself agents the snow that fell softly on the window. My first speculation was that it was some sick murderer dressed up as Santa to kill us, it being Christmas Eve but soon decided that it was just Daddy going for a cigarette.

Just wanting to calm my nerves I pulled myself free of my sister, and immediately regretting leaving the warmth of the bed once the sting of the December air. Pulling my shoulders up close to my neck to try keep the warmth from leaving my body, I opened the door of our bedroom into the sitting room to see the front door wide open letting the snow in. Rushing to see what is was I ran to the door and peeped out, scared shitless and freezing my tits off.

What I saw gave me an icy shock of what I would never get out of my head. Baba stood, bare foot in her white nightgown in the snow. Her curly hair down, reaching past her waist as she fell to her knees and let out a shriek. I turned and grabbed a blanket from the couch and ran out to get her.

“Baba” I called stepping down from the porch “Come back inside its freezing”. She didn’t turn to look at me. Just sat in the snow looking up at the pine trees.

“Baba” I called again, a little softer, I was only a few feet away from her now. Baba sat motionless, her knees now either side of her. I could hear her muttering in Russian, something about a sister

She was rocking back and forth, not breaking her eyes from the trees“Net net ne ona, ne snova ne moya sestra, pozhaluysta, ne moya sestra”. I placed a hand on her shoulder, making her stop rocking.

I cupped my hand under her armpits pulling her up before wrapping the blanket around her shoulders “C’mon Baba, let’s get you inside”.

Oh yeah I was drunk. Glenn, Daryl, Aaron, Spencer and I may have ended up playing a drinking game. Turns out I’ve done a lot of things and slept with a lot of people because I lost pretty hard. Also turns out, I speak a bit of Russian when I’m drunk, didn’t even know I knew Russian that well, the more you know I suppose.

One or two people according to Carol turned out to be most of Alexandria, not that I minded, it gave me a break from the baby because so many people wanted to hold him. I liked Carol, even if she was full of shit, I liked her, and I respect people who do what they can to survive. Though, seeing her be all flirty with Tobin was a bit gross. Then all of a sudden I looked around the room and everyone was flirting with everyone.

Anyways, now someone has Cain or Lyova or whatever to fuck I named him, and I was lying on the grass, pretty shitfaced. I liked looking at the stars, one good thing about this godforsaken shithole with dead sons’o’bitches walking around is that we have more stars.

I liked stars. I put my palms down flat to the ground to try steady myself from feeling so dizzy. The other hand rested carefully on my bottle, quiet comfortable on my own. Not wanting to be in a room with so many people. Last time I was in a room celebrating something was with my family, and now they’re all dead.

I heard a whistle behind me and I craned my head back to see, still not knowing who it was I raised a hand waving hi. “Hey kid” ahh the familiar grumblings of Mr. Dixon. “Mr. Dixon how nice of you to join me” I said politely as he stood above my head, he looked confused, but his cheeks were pink.

“Whacha doin’ out here?” Jeeze straight to the point. He was standing pretty close, his feet barley a centimetre from my head. I thought for a moment before answer “I went for a stroll, thought it could sober me up a bit” I was being honest. “Didn’t think I’d screwed so many people” I laughed to myself, sitting up a bit to bring the bottle to my lips.

Daryl sat down with a sigh “I think you’d had enough” he went to take the bottle out of my hand but I pulled it away, cradling it like a baby “Heyyyyyy hold on a minute Mr. Dixon” He rolled his eyes, before looking away and looking back again. I liked his eyes, even if he acted like he was all tough his eyes were soft, and sweet.

“So, why Cain?” He lay next to me, our shoulders barley brushing and my stomach suddenly did a summer sault “Well I thought I was being kinda clever” I slurred, my mouth not willing to articulate. “You know the story of Cain and Able?” One hand was rested on the bottle that hung loosely by my side, while the other was thrown up in the air, flopping like crazy.

“Nah, I don’t believe in that bible stuff” He said, moving his hands to rest on his abdomen, I glanced over at him “So who was Cain and Able” He inquired looking at me. I smiled to myself, feeling a sudden purpose in the years my Mama spent telling us the stories.

“They were brothers” I said simply “But when Cain killed Able God cursed him with immortality, no one could hurt him; he would forever be in divine protection” I trailed off, my arm still upright stilled.

“And I was hoping, with me killing my brother God would grant my Cain protection in this fuckin’ curse of the world” I sighed, feeling the guilt and remorse I had been keeping busy to ignore swung up. I dropped my hand.

“’m sorry” He said and I turned to meet his face. “I had to kill my brother too” I’m not sure if it was the liquor or the grief, but I swear I could feel the ground pulsing beneath me. I looked at the archers’ face, all the lines and scares that told his story presented so plainly but all upstaged by the soul in his eyes. I suddenly felt like I knew him, or wanted to know him at.

For as much as we talked about our home lives it was only pre-apocalypse, never after. “I went out looking for him and found him as a walker, it really fucked with me for a while” he explained “He cut his own hand off right at the start, so he had this” it was his turn to lift his forearm “Badass knife put on in it’s place” He smiled, I like his smile, it made me smile too.

Daryl dropped his arm, and his smile. He turned his head back up to the sky but I didn’t look away, not yet. I decided to share my tale “I was on a run when he was born, and something must have gone wrong” Now I turned my face away, feeling my throat welling up, I barley thought about what happened, let alone talked about it.

“He-Cain must have then been quiet, because when I came in Beau was cradling Noel” I took a deep breath “Who was covered in her own blood, and I had just opened the door when he’d slit his own throat” My voice broke, and the corner of my eyes were stinging with tears. “But the fool didn’t go deep enough so he was just sitting there bleeding out with his wife” I let the bottle drop, not caring anymore.

I felt Daryl grab my hand, and I squeezed it tight. I let out a laugh, trying to brush off the sudden outburst of realizing that was the first time I’ve said his name in six months “Sorry, guess I’m just a sap” Jesus this is embarrassing, at least I didn’t vomit on his, yet.

I felt him squeeze my hand and I looked at him “You ain’t a sap, he was your brother” I smiled at him, grateful. I turned my head back up to look at the glimmers of the night sky. Feeling my throat well up again, I coughed, trying to keep it down.

I listened to the crickets, and the songbirds, and the thumping of my chest before remembering I was still holding Daryl’s hand.

“Yah know” I said, looking at him again “This is real romantic” My chest, previously stifling sobs was now bursting with laugher. “You and me” He said, smiling “Looking at the stars, holding hands, swappin’ stories about how we killed our brothers”

The stupidity and seriousness of the situation spurred my laughter on more

For the first time in nearly four years it was completely safe, I didn’t feel like I had to be ready to attack, or run or suddenly become a mom of a kid I didn’t make.

It was just him and me, lying in the dry grass, looking at the starry sky.

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Part one Part two Part three Part four Part five Part six Part seven

Part eight Part nine Part eleven

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cassraven · 4 years

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Last Week was the worst week in October ever.

2020 Fall/Autumn Season has had it’s first week of just broken hearts last week for my family, relatives, and loved ones relationship wise in my family/family close friends. Within two to three days apart from another last week, I ended up losing two people on my Mom’s and Dad’s side of the families to death, death that wasn’t caused by Covid-19. Within the last week, days apart, I had lost one of my younger adult cousins and my “Papa” Grandfather, who was the only one left of my two sets of Grandparents I had who were still alive.

Last week, I with my family learned from my “Aunt” Lisa and “Uncle Bob who with their adult kids, some relatives live in Texas, the worst news we never expected. (They are my older cousins, My “Aunt” Lisa’s who’re my Uncle Mondo’s adult daughter, he’s one of my Dad’s brothers. Growing up Lisa and her husband Bob always felt like my Aunt/Uncle than older cousins, while their kids were my closest cousins as we were children.) Their oldest daughter, my Cousin Nicole who’s closest with me had to be the one to mostly tell us all the bad news while my Uncle, her Grandfather had called with my cousin/”uncle” his son to inform my parents directly about the news. Nicole and her brothers little sister my youngest cousin Samantha “Sammy” had died without warning. She was just 29, Sammy had just been getting her life back together after a final stay in Drug Rehab and Counseling which she had finished all steps, completing. Sammy was starting to look for a job for herself part time as well as doing online community college to plan a career for herself as well as to help support her kids and to make a 100% effort to be back in their lives sincerely much to her kids and her family, my family’s, and everyone else’s moral support cheering her on. I had kept in touch with Sammy over the years online on FB, occasional phone calls or texts with her or her sister Nicole. I was happy that she had “finally gotten her shit together”, had finished her 5-6 months in cleaning up and sticking with the rehab programs, wanting to better herself and life for not only herself but her kids finally.

Sammy was involved in a bad car crash accident when she had been driving in her car somewhere in Texas. Something or another driver had hit her car, causing her to lose control of her car, making her merging into another lane where she ended up crashing into another car...she to our horror, had died on impact and there was nothing the EMT and fire department rescue crew could do Nicole and other relatives shared with us. She was a Mother of two kids, her two little ones are now going to be continued to be raised by Sammy’s ex-husband/partner and by my Aunt and Uncle between houses. I feel devastated by Sammy’s death because she and I grew up together. Back when her family used to live out here in Southern California, they would always visit our house in the Summer for random visits, go swimming with my younger siblings and I, we’d all be there for family gatherings like BBQ, holidays, birthdays, backyard get together. Her Grandma who was my Aunt “Tina” was very close best friends with my Mom. (My Mom’s still dealing with Sammy and Nicole’s side of the family concerning my Aunt Tina’s death that had happened 3 to 4 years ago from a sudden heart attack she had suffered before Mother’s Day without warning.) Nicole told me online privately they raised a Go Fund Me to help with all the funeral costs for Sammy’s funeral to be a small private family funeral burial social distanced with Covid-19 rules/restrictions, and to help raise some money to have concerning helping her parents and her sister’s ex to help financially for Sammy’s children, her son and daughter who are so young and now without their Mother. Thankfully, they had reached the Go Fund Me goals and now have enough money to go towards funeral costs, and to help put in savings/trust funds for the kids.

The second loss we suffered was my Mom’s Father/Stepfather, Carlos, who was my Grandpa, or as we all loving called him Papa Carlos. He had suddenly taken to becoming ill in the last year, with his age and health issues taking a turn for the worst. He had been in the hospital hospice care at the hospital in the city a few hours from us away, in the city living with one of my Aunt’s and her family in my late Grandma “Granny’s” home my Mom and Aunts and Uncles were all raised in. The last I had heard from my parents concerning how he was doing, they had said my Aunts and the Doctors said it was very bad. He was 87, and already he was getting sick from many issues of failing health for his age, kidney and liver problems with kidney failure he’s had in the last two to three years. They said despite all of that, he hadn’t caught COVID-19 thankfully, but it still was bad with everything else happening. Sadly, after a week in a medical coma due to his poor health, his kidneys and breathing issues, not being able to respond to anything, my Papa had passed away last Thursday night into the early morning hours around midnight. No one had been allowed to be with him during his time in the hospital, on his floor or in his hospital room due to COVID-19 concerns, none of my relatives nor my parents or myself and my siblings couldn’t even be allowed in with masks or gloves on to be with him in his final moments to say goodbye or just be with him so he wasn’t alone in the end. It broke my heart when I got the news from my Mom about Papa’s passing, and just hurt seeing her cry when she video face timed me. Papa’s funeral will be small, our family only allowed to attend the church and burial social distance wise, us all wearing masks etc, I’ll be attending with my boyfriend and any of my siblings who are willing to go with my parents to be there for our final time to say goodbye.

#death sucks #death #worst week in autumn fall 2020 #losing loved ones is never easy #life

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kneel-begyourpardon · 5 years

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Best in this awful world.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader. Platonic!Avengers x reader

Summary: Bucky gets to meet you through the screen. Stunned, he wishes to get to know you, only for his dreams to be shattered.

Word count: 1,904

Warnings: FLUFF, angst, endgame did happen, mention of the character death

A/n: This is not as good as I wanted it to be, but I still love it and hope you will too. Enjoy! Feedback is always welcome!

“Oh come on Stevie, Don’t be a grandpa.”

Bucky furrows his eyebrows in confusion, following the voice, leading to the leaving room. Wanda is sitting on the couch watching a videotape. The screen shows a girl with Y/h/c hair. Her back to the camera, chasing Steve around the room, balloon in her hand.

“Come on we all did it. It’s your turn!” Steve finally stops, looking down at her with an unamused expression, until she gives him a puppy dog eyes.

“Fine, I’ll do it.” Steve sighs defeated, fighting back a smile. The girl laughs, handing him a balloon. He grabs it, bringing it up to his lips, sucking the air out of it.

“Well, say something.” She encourages.

“What do you want me to say?” Steve’s voice comes out high-pitched, making everybody laugh, including himself. His laughter being childlike, makes everyone laugh harder. The girl turns around, facing the camera, gorgeous smile on her face.

“Hey,” Bucky says quietly, trying not to startle Wanda. Redhead turns around facing him. “What are you doing?”

“Oh.. Just watching some old videos.” Her voice is small. Even though she tries to cover it, Bucky easily recognizes sadness in her voice. “Come, join me if you want.” Wanda smiles, earning a small one back.

The soldier steps forward, sitting a little bit far away from Wanda, eyes fixing on the screen again.

There she is, sitting on the couch. Tony on the floor, back towards her, sitting between her legs. He’s wearing a face mask, a glass of champagne in his hand, while the girl is putting something in his hair. There’s a chuckle behind the camera. Natasha and Sam standing in front of them.

“Sorry to interrupt your Girls night but we need to discuss something.” The redhead smirks, waiving the files in her hands.

Tony glares at her. Turning around, he looks at Y/e/c eyed girl with the questioning look.

“Nope. He’s having a relaxing day.” She says calmly.

“But it is important, Y/n. We need to…”

“Don’t care. This man deserves a break.” She cut off Sam. “Now either join us or leave.”

They grumble and leave. Tony looks up at her. “I love you.”

She giggles. “I know, but your future wife is standing right there. I don’t think she’ll like what you’re saying.” She teases.

Pepper laughs behind the camera, while tony sips his champagne whispering “Nevermind.” a little bit louder than he attended, making both of the girls laugh.

Bucky hears shuffling behind him. Turning his head around, he sees Clint in the room. Eyes glued to the screen, a sad smile on his lips.

These past two days have been rather odd. Sam has been strangely quiet, not making any witty comments, only speaking when necessary. Bruce also was very silent. In the lab, only coming out when the whole team dines together. Clint even stayed at the compound for the entire week. Everyone was acting differently, but Bucky didn’t dare to question it.

His eyes went back to the television, where another clip was playing.

Y/n and Steve are standing Twelve feet apart, facing each other. Next to her is standing Natasha, next to Steve, Clint. She and Natasha have bowls in their hands, throwing popcorn at their teammates. Y/n throws popcorn, missing Steve’s mouth. She lightly cusses, while captain encourages her to continue. Suddenly there’s a ringing sound.

“Time!” Yes Tony, making both of the girls freeze. “Scores are 19 to 25.” He dramatically pauses. “Team America wins.”

Y/n jumps up and down, throwing her hands around Steve’s neck, who picks her up, twirling her in the air before setting her down.

“Pay me, bitches,” Sam yells, having faith in y/n and Steve.

“You’re supposed to be super spies. However, you got your ass kicked by hundred years old man and a child.” Tony whines handing Sam a Twenty.

“Hey!” Y/n yells upset about being called a child. “I am an adult. And it’s your fault for not believing in us.”

"Is she an avenger?“ Asks Bucky, aware he doesn’t know the full team. Hoping he would get a chance to meet her.

"No,” Bruce answers before Wanda can even form a word. He nears the couch. The green giant sits down on the floor, propping his elbow on his knees. “She’s family.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Bucky can see Hawkeye nodding. The soldier looks back at Wanda who’s staring at the screen, adoration in her eyes. He follows her gaze to Y/n sleeping form.

This seems to be the much older video than the others. It only features first avengers, sitting in the leaving room.

Some on the floor, some on the couches watching a movie. Y/n is sleeping on Clint’s lap, curled up from being cold. Bruce seems to notice her discomfort, bringing out a fluffy red blanket, placing it over her body. Soon the movie ends. Clint starts to get her in his arms, only Steve to stop him. He easily picks her up bride style, carrying her out of the room.

The video ends and cuts to the other one where Y/n is dancing with Sam. In the background, Natasha is dragging Steve on the dance floor, while Tony is dancing with Pepper, Head threw back laughing. All of them well dressed, looking amazing. Sam wearing a white button-up, with few of the top buttons left open, sleeves rolled up, coat dismissed, while his partner’s rose gold dress flows around her as he spins her. Her hair falling on her back as his hand slide down her waist, pushing her up, in the air. Her hands leave his shoulders as he twirls her, making her giggle until he sets her down, continuing to dance.

Suddenly she’s in front of the camera. Talking to the person behind the screen with a huge grin on her face,

“Put the phone away and come dance with us.” She tugs at stranger’s hand. “Come on!”

“No, I’m fine.” Comes Wanda’s voice behind the camera.

“Oh, come on.” She tugs at her hand harder. “It will be fun. Anyways Vision needs to learn how to dance, Maybe you can teach him.” She wiggles her eyebrow, giving the redhead a cheeky grin.

“Okay, I’ll do it.” There’s excitement in Wanda’s voice before the screen goes black.

Bucky slowly turns his head to the woman next to him. She’s still watching the screen featuring the next video that just started playing. There’s a big smile on her face, but her eyes are filled with tears, her eyebrows furrowed together. The soldier turns his head back to the screen, focusing on the new footage.

This seems to be one of the old videos again. Y/n is sitting on the chair next to Pepper, in the middle of the living room. Behind her, Steve is lying on his stomach, while Bruce is sitting with legs crossed.

Out of nowhere, voice booms and seductive music starts to play.

“Ladies and Gentleman.” Tony’s voice fills the room. “One and only Naughty Queens.”

There are clapping and whistling. Y/n is shouting until Tony and Clint walk in the living room. Everyone stops, staring at them for a second until they burst into laughter. Natasha whistles as Tony starts walking in Peppers direction. He’s twirling his blonde hair between his fingers, taking forever to reach her in his black tight dress and six-inch heels. However, Clint is by Y/n’s side in a matter of seconds, only wearing socks on his feet. The new redhead is dancing in front of Y/n seductively, bending over, making his too short of a dress go even higher, causing Y/n to laugh so hard that tears stream down her face, clutching her stomach, laughter making impossible for her to breath. At some point, she starts falling off her chair, Clint catches her by her waist, sitting her down.

"I know I’m hot and you want to fall for me but Honey, don’t waste your time, you ain’t getting nowhere near to this body.” He flips his ‘hair’ behind his shoulder, shooting her a smirk making her giggle.

In the end, Bruce had to escort Y/n out before she had a seizure. Her laughter was still audible as they left the room.

Bucky caught himself laughing at the scenario. Too caught up to notice Sam enter the room, leaning on the wall, His eyes tear up as he sees Y/n lying on the floor next to Natasha.

“Can you feed me?” She asks looking up at the women sitting next to her, eating chips.

“Why, don’t you have arms?” Nat looks down at her, nibbling on her chips.

“Yes, but I’m lazy.” She smiles. Redhead shakes her head, fighting back a smile.

“Fine. Just don’t choke.”

Assassin starts giving her chips one by one while talking about the film they are going to watch. Steve enters the room, Y/n gets one of the peanuts in her hand.

“Rogers catch!” She throws it, Steve swiftly catches in his mouth.

As he walks by Y/n pulls up a hand giving him a high five.

Bucky smiles. Seeing his best pal, thinking he would love to meet all of them back in those times.

Next clips are just short random ones. First, is where Y/n is sitting on Thor’s shoulders, begging him not to jump in the water. Thor only laughs, stepping closer to the pool for only Natasha to yell. “Don’t hurt my baby!” Making everyone laugh.

Then her and Tony in the lab. She’s in one of the Iron man suits, imitating Tony, making Pepper laugh.

Her in the air giggling, while Wanda’s looking up at her with a soft smile.

There’s another one of her and Sam sitting on the trees throwing branches at Steve.

The last one is her and Tony Staring at the computer. Y/n has her head resting on the palms of her hands. She looks up at Tony.

“Can we meet him?” She asks with excitement.

“Why?” Tony looks down at her with a questioning gaze.

“He seems like a cool kid.” She looks at the screen where familiar brown eyes are staring back at her. “I want to meet him.”

“You’ll meet him when I say so.”

“Why not now?” She pouts.

Stark looks at her then he shifts his gaze towards the screen.

“He’s not ready.”

The screen goes black but no one moves. Bucky wants to ask questions about her but is too afraid of the answers he might get. After a long minute, he finally gathers some courage to face Wanda.

“She seems great.” He awkwardly starts with a small smile.

“Yes, she was a brilliant person.” Wanda doesn’t even look at him, tears visible on her cheeks.

Bucky’s face falls.

“Was?” He questions, eyes filled with sadness, thinking that this person who he just saw for the first time, the girl filled with nothing but happiness and joy, who reflects the best part of this awful life, can easily be gone.

Wanda turns her head in the opposite direction, sob wracking her body. Bucky’s still looking at her, feeling bad for asking about it, when it clearly was a painful subject. No one is saying anything. Clint has his head down, while Bruce is looking at his huge hands, frowning. Not getting any reply, he doesn’t question it anymore until he hears Sam’s voice behind him.

“She’s dead.” He says, repressing growing lump in his throat.“Died in the crossfire nine years ago.”

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yshtal · 4 years

Text

This will be a long one, with a lot of tw for death.

[[READ MORE]]

I have.... an interesting relationship with death.

On one hand, god, what an absolute gut punch - that this is someone I’ll never see again, that I’ll never know better, that I’ll never have the chance, given current circumstances to say goodbye to. I’ll never know if there were connections to be made - she was never interested, particularly, nor was I, in spending the time to get to know each other better. By the time I realized that we barely knew each other, she was already clamoring for the other side. I don’t know if I would’ve ever had the time.

Given current circumstances, I will not see her again. I will never see her again, even know, even as close as she is, and so, I remember her as she has always been.

My grandmother on my father’s side is...... unapologetic. She is stubborn and incorrigible, and, as the youngest of 9 grandkids and one of her only son’s daughters, I’ve known her, distantly, for that - for being the proud mother of one singular son, the youngest of her kids, the one she waited for, the one she doted upon. It was never discussed among the family, his having two daughters, but I felt it, sometimes, along the edges. The last dredges of our last name. The end of the era. There would be no Donn Kenneth III. I don’t think “resent” is the right word for how she felt about my sister and I, but there was always disappointment.

(My husband, on his side - among the last of his last name. His father had given time that same talk - my expectations from the family, the claim that “only a firstborn son can matter”, the duty to give another male heir to a family tree that can be traced back some 2,000 years. I don’t plan for children of our own, given my discomfort with them. I’ve never wanted kids before, and a lineage won’t shoehorn me into anything rash. I’m already polluting the bloodline, I might as well not alter it further.)

She wanted more sons. That, I know. She wanted more grandsons to carry the last name, and I, the last child of the only son, was her final hope. When I was born, not quite living up to my parents’ plan for a “Matthew”, I shattered that. I don’t think it mattered to her, in the end, but I was, at my conception, a disappointment. She grew to love me, though, and I loved her - my grandma that fed me strawberries and cool whip, who used swear words I hadn’t even heard before, who had a box of Polly Pockets and an SNES with Donkey Kong Country that she kept at home in case we stopped by. She was the one who rolled her eyes while telling me about how much she hated her first kiss with a boy, who smiled and went starry-eyed talking about receiving my grandpa’s proposal over the phone while she sat on the toilet, who took no shit, who backed me up - the only two democrats - at the thanksgiving table every year. She has been, to me, a friend: someone distant and disinterested, at times, but someone whom I’ve understood, in our own, distant ways, since birth.

On the other hand....she fought for so long, with so much misery. She was the first person in my family who, whether she ever admitted it or not, taught me about mental illness.

Her depression was.... immense. When her husband died, the grief swallowed her. It’s been taking bites out of her ever since. I’ve only ever consciously known a grandma who missed him deeply, daily - her soulmate, her partner, the man she’d been married to for 25 years when he passed, the man she’d spend another 25 missing. As the youngest in the family, I’ve never known her on her own, without that immense loss fermenting inside her. My earliest memory is from his funeral, of holding a pretty balloon as a 4-year-old, of not wanting to let go.

I think, in a lot of ways, we were similar. Here, at the end of her life, here she is - a woman who has spent too long not letting go. She has wanted, for so long, to just go gentle into that good night. She has wanted it so, so much, and she has grasped for it, on multiple occasions, never quite finding purchase. She loves her children - particularly my dad and my aunt, her Donn and Donna, always so close with their mother. They’ve spent years trying to come to these terms. Neither of them are ready to let go, but I don’t think you ever can be. I don’t think there’s ever an easy way to say goodbye.

My grandma, for all these years, I think, has been ready. She’s been waiting for the day that she won’t have to wake up to an empty bed, for the day that she can sit in her recliner, unencumbered, next to her husband, and smile down at the beautiful children they raised together, remarking upon the last 24 years that he’s missed.

I think he’d say, “What took you so long?”.

I think she’d say, “Well, I’m here now, aren’t I?”

I think they’d laugh, finally together again. I think, at last, at least, she’d be happy - here with her husband, her soulmate, her best friend. I hope he’s at her bedside, a mist gathering form, a figure she’s missed desperately for over a decade that is finally materializing on the edges of her vision.

I hope she’s heading towards happiness, for the first time in decades, here in her last few weeks on earth.

I hope she’s finally happy.

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monsters-demons-and-ai-oh-my · 5 years

Text

What We Lost and What We Have

Chapter 9: Wookies, warnings and homophobic grandpas

In which Jack’s sneak stat is a 2, Sam has a weird story about a wookie encounter, and everybody needs a pep talk.

TW’s for this chapter: Talk about past sibling death (not of a main character)

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AU somewhat inspired by Episode 2x20 - What Is and What Should Never Be, and the season 14 storyline concerning Jack’s illness.

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AO3 Link

Previous Chapter

First Chapter

Complete Tumblr Chapter List

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Jack spent almost the whole two hours or so Castiel was gone on his phone and part of Sam was elated.

He’d drafted the same email about corporate responsibility (for the proliferation of inaccurate information on rechargeable batteries) six times now. It was incredibly dull technical writing and he hadn’t been able to focus at all.

Every line of legal jargon he managed to type was interspersed with his mind screaming.

“Say something!”

Sam had come back to the hospital with a purpose, to be helpful to hold out the olive branch to Castiel and BE there for Jack.

But ‘there’ was all he was…

He had no idea what to say to Jack. The day before had been easy enough, everything had been one long train wreck fed by the intrinsic emotions that came with serious illness. But now that things had calmed down and everyone especially Jack was not on the verge of emotional collapse? He had no idea what Jack needed from him.

And outside of what Jack explicitly needed or wanted it wasn’t like Sam had a deep well of topics to draw upon for small talk..

‘What the hell did Sam have in common with a kid literally half his age?’

“What do you say to your estranged baby brother when at his age one of your main goals was keeping the hell away from him?”

It didn’t help that Jack himself seemed to suddenly become incredibly shy, only occasionally peeking at Sam sheepishly when he thought the man wasn’t looking…

“So you like… Star Wars?” Sam finally blurted after twenty long minutes of silence.

Jack blinked at Sam in confusion at the out of the blue question before glancing at the back of his themed phone case and flushing slightly.

“I… Yes?” Jack looked a little unsure.

Sam grabbed onto the subject, “Who’s your favorite character?”

Jack’s phone buzzed in his hand and the kid glanced between Sam and the screen nervously before setting it gingerly aside.

“I think… I think Finn is pretty cool?”

Sam suddenly realized his mistake, he knew absolutely nothing about the new movies, he’d been too busy to get around to watching any of them

“Oh that’s… cool… I used to have a Chewbacca plush when I was a little kid,” Sam tried instead.

There was a long moment with no noise but the passive whirring of one of the machines and a soft cough from Jack.

“Oh?” the teenager said politely.

“Yeah it was pretty cool, original too, apparently those things are worth a few hundred dollars now…”

‘What are you babbling about now Sam?’

Jack smiled and that made it seem worth it though.

“So do you collect stuff like that or something?” he asked curiously.

“Well no, it was kind of… destroyed?” Sam huffed a little sheepish.

“Destroyed?”

“Yeah… Like I said, I got it when I was a little kid, I chewed on the fabric weapons belt until it tore off and one day I left it outside and it rained so it got all mildew-y,“ Sam quickly explained fumbling for purchase with the Jack’s interest.

Jack pulled a face, "that’s too bad…”

“The final straw though was when Dean called it a moldy sloth and I hit him with it, he tried to take it away from me and it tore raining the carpet with mildew-y stuffing…” Sam chuckled to himself.

“That’s pretty destroyed,” Jack looked mildly grossed out.

Sam missed his cue to let it go.

“Thing was though even after all that I still didn’t want to throw the thing out, I was too attached, So at six I thought it was a great idea to put this damp mildewed furry thing in a pillowcase, tie the pillowcase shut and hide it in my bed’s box spring…”

Jack’s only response was to stifle another cough in his elbow.

“We didn’t find it again until my bed started smelling like mildew, somehow it spread into the wood of the box spring and the bottom of my mattress, and the wookie… well it was some other kind of furry when my dad finally pulled it out.”

Things were dead quiet and when Sam glanced back up at Jack, he looked uncomfortable, “O-oh?” Jack said diplomatically.

‘You… really overshare Sam, for fu-…’

“Yeah… it was… nasty, sorry, that was a long time ago.”

Jack’s eyebrows drew down a little and he looked rejected for a moment. Sam wondered if it was something that he’d said.

There was another few minutes of awkward silence before Jack’s phone buzzed again and he glanced nervously between it and Sam.

“Just… go ahead I’ll… “ Sam awkwardly tapped the side of his laptop and just like that they both went back to their designated devices as if nothing had been said.

Sam didn’t know how to talk to Jack, every happy childhood memory he had was from before Jack was born and didn’t include him, and even outside of that, he didn’t really know Jack’s personality, what made him smile, what bothered him… what he loved.

Jack seemed to be cautiously trying to connect too and somehow that made things worse, like they were both going for a high five and Sam kept awkwardly missing.

‘Trying to meet in a middle that might not even exist…’

Sam quickly went back to his emails and stayed with his head buried there until Castiel got back a while later.

———————————-

“I’m so, so sorry I fell asleep in the parking lot, Where’s Jack?” Castiel asked anxiously before the door even swung closed behind him..

He looked a lot better, his hair still damp but neatly combed and finally dressed down a little bit in a fresh shirt and no jacket.

“He’s fine,” Sam quickly placated, “the nurse just… took him for an X-ray of his arm. I think they wanted to put on a cast or something.”

The man relaxed a little and sighed going back to his spot beside the bed, “right… yes, they… mentioned they might do that today if the swelling was down… I…” He brushed back his hair wearily, “was everything alright while I was gone?”

Sam shrugged, “it was just like I said, nothing bad happened because you stepped away for a few minutes…”

Castiel shot him a look and for a moment Sam worried if he’d crossed a line but the man quickly relaxed again.

“I know you probably think I’m being… paranoid, and I don’t know, maybe I am, or maybe you just can’t understand this, but Jack…” Castiel’s eyes were far away, “I don’t want to take any chances with him…”

Sam felt the same mild discomfort he had for days now, seeing Castiel vulnerable just… felt wrong. The time away had done him good but for every bit less manic he looked now he looked ten times more exhausted.

“You’re right I really don’t get it…” Sam huffed. “I mean the way I see it he’s already in the safest place he could be.”

Castiel snorted sounding unconvinced.

“I but then again I’ve never been a parent so, guess I wouldn’t…” Sam paused, he was coming off all wrong, “I don’t know… what this is like for you.”

Castiel eyed him a little amused, “I didn’t know you even thought of me that way… I… I don’t want you to think I’m some nut but who doesn’t trust modern medicine…”

“I don’t, I’m sure your not…” Sam said quickly.

“It’s just…” Castiel rubbed at his face. “The doctors were doing the best they could when my sister died, sometimes it feels like “the best” still doesn’t mean much …”

Sam paused trying to figure out whether his next words would be welcome or get him another dirty look.

“I mean, I don’t really think things are that bad…”

‘Dirty look, it definitely got him a dirty look.’

Sam quickly switched gears, “what I mean is, Jack seems better today so maybe the doctors are on the right track. Or better yet this thing, whatever it is, is just sorting itself out…”

“You didn’t hear what the doctor said last night, you don't…” Castiel sighed and rubbed at his forehead.

“Don’t you have a job to get back to… in California?” Castiel muttered wearily.

For a moment, Sam felt affronted and maybe a little hurt, but there was no real malice in Castiel’s words and the message became clear.

'Change the subject…’

“I asked for some time off…” Sam shrugged, “most of our case prep work is done over the internet nowadays anyway…”

Some of the senior partners hadn’t been too happy about it if Mr. Roman’s rather passive aggressive “I hope your family matter clears up soon,” was anything to go by.

But none of the other junior partners seemed to mind at all…

'Probably glad to have a chance to get ahead and prove themselves…’

'Part of Sam wished he still cared, but lately…’

Castiel just nodded noncommittally.

“What about you… the high school?” Sam tried, “you’re a teacher right?, how’s that going without you?”

“There’s a substitute…” Cas said simply.

“Oh…” Sam screamed internally, he thought the man wanted a distraction but now it just felt like trying to keep up a conversation with a brick wall.

“I… already had the last few weeks of lessons planned out and review worksheets written up, so while I can’t be there right now, my classes should be… prepared.” Castiel muttered suddenly, seeming lost in thought, “That’s… one thing I’ve always prided myself on… being prepared…”

Sam caught the implication but decided not to feed into it.

“it’ll be okay…” Sam said simply.

Castiel blinked at him in confusion, “I know they will, Mr. Wyatt is an excellent substitute teacher.”

‘Okay maybe Sam was lost…’

He snorted further confusing Castiel.

“What?”

“Nothing…” Sam shook his head, “Jack… he… he told me he misses school.

Castiel blinked in surprise, he opened his mouth to ask something but before he could get the words out there was a knock at the door.

"Delivery,” a voice called.

Jack appeared in the doorway being wheeled in by the nurse Meg with a new violently blue cast on his arm and a sheepish look on his face.

“Jack,” Castiel smiled relieved earning him a nervous smile back from Jack.

He seemed much more stable on his feet than the day before when he climbed gingerly out of the wheelchair as the nurse re-hung the IV bags.

“They’re taking him off the oxygen for now,” the nurse said, her tone seemed considerably nicer now that Jack was awake.

'She probably had infinitely more patience for sick kids, than antagonistic asshole family members who just act like children…’

“It’s getting easier to breathe now,” Jack said brightly, even though his pronouncement was almost immediately broken up by wheezy coughing.

“That’s um… that’s great Jack,” Castiel said gently eyes still distracted back on the nurse.

'With a pang of amusement, Sam caught Jack carefully peeking at his phone beneath his blanket when he thought his uncle wasn’t watching.’

“So um… was everything alright?” Castiel asked the nurse, trying to keep his voice chipper and upbeat.

She blinked at him sardonically, “Nope, his wrist is definitely fractured.”

Castiel’s eyebrows furrowed, “That’s not what I…”

She interrupted, “I know, but that’s all I really have to tell you, everything else is above my pay grade, you’ll have to wait on the doctor for any more papa bear.”

Castiel gave a frustrated huff glancing back at Jack who quickly dropped the covers back down over his phone and glanced around sheepishly.

'If Castiel noticed he didn’t say anything.’

“You wanna know my professional opinion on this?” the nurse quickly re-drew both men’s attention.

“I don’t know but I feel like you’re going to give it to me either way…” Castiel sighed.

“I can’t guess at what’s going on with your kid, or whether he’ll keep getting better or worse, I could get the hospital sued and lose my job and all that,” Meg shrugged, glancing back over at Jack who was sitting up in bed and playing with his phone “sneakily” under the covers again.

“But…” her voice softened, “he seems to be having a good day… so I’d say try to take today for what it is… and enjoy it.”

Sam wished her saying that did anything to calm the ripples of anxiousness in his stomach, a feeling that must be like waves breaking on the beach in Castiel…

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Dean wished he could say he changed his mind as soon as Sam walked out of the shop, but it took another day and a half…

He’d finished rebuilding the Cuevas’s Jeep’s engine block, changed a fuel filter on some Uni Kid’s car and an engine coil on another’s before he even looked back at his phone again.

No missed calls, no texts. Either everything was fine or Sam also didn’t want to talk to him.

'What else was new.’

Either way Dean refused to be the first one to call back. He’d meant what he said and if Sam wanted to act all pissy about it that was his business.

But by the next morning his familiar routine tasted like a Kahlua hangover in the back of his throat.

He was already in a bad mood at eight am when Jesse came to pick up his Jeep from the shop.

“I thought you were going to pick up this hunk of junk yesterday…” Dean scowled hands tucked in his pockets a little defensively.

“Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed…” Jesse sounded bemused waving briefly over his shoulder at his husband waiting with the truck running.

“It would have been nice not to be in a time crunch, yeah…” Dean snorted, pulling out a beer from the mini fridge in the garage’s work area.

“Sorry man,” Jesse shrugged guiltily, “I got a call I couldn’t miss. I thought you said you weren’t busy anyway. Something come up?”

“Brother’s in town,” Dean could feel the man eyeing him concerned as he sipped his morning beer.

“You want one?” Dean offered half sarcastically.

“It’s eight Winchester,” Jesse said flatly.

Dean shrugged.

Jesse sighed pulling out his wallet and fishing out an envelope of cash to pay for the repair, “seriously man what’s eating you, 'cause I’ve met Sam and he doesn’t normally get under your skin like this.”

Dean said nothing just took the money and headed towards the office..

Jesse shook his head looking half amused half irritated following him, “look, me and Cesar are meeting with a few friends at Gabe’s to celebrate tonight, maybe come by if you’re feeling less pissy past nine…”

Dean snorted handing over the cash to the teenager behind the desk, “what are you a fourteen-year-old girl? I’m not 'pissy’.”

“You’re one of the pissiest person I’ve ever met Dean Winchester,” Jesse said with a good-natured smile.

“He’s right, you’re like, super pissy…” Claire remarked flatly counting the cash out into the drawer and not meeting her boss’s glare.

Dean snorted tossing Jesse the Jeep keys, “just try the damn engine already…”

Jesse laughed and Dean followed him out to the car, wanting to remain annoyed but significantly distracted.

“What are you celebrating anyway?” Dean finally asked unable to suppress his admittedly childish curiosity.

“Retirement,” Jesse said simply.

Dean blinked in mild confusion, “dude you’re like 36…”

Jesse grinned infuriatingly and climbed into the Jeep cab, “I know right?”

He let the curiosity eat away at Dean as he revved the engine.

It purred like it was fresh off the line and Dean couldn’t help but feel a swell of pride at the pleased look on the other man’s face.

“Beautiful, man,” Jesse said patting the side of the door.

Before Dean could ask Jesse if he’d won the lottery or something he pointed to Dean and said simply.

“Nine-Thirty, Gabe’s.”

Dean shook his head, “fine, fine.”

The man smiled, gave a brief thumbs up to his husband in the other vehicle and they both drove off leaving Dean to sit with his extremely mild curiosity and confusion.

Dean rolled his eyes and tried to get back to work.

“Pissy my ass…”

He hated feeling like this.

He had his mother who was doing better then she had been in years teaching mythology at the University and his standoffish little brother who came for Christmas. That was his family.

A house that was payed off in full and the shop he inherited from John that he kept running like a well oiled machine. That was his life.

Dean had made mistakes in the past, lost people in the past

Who hadn’t?

He’d made his peace with that and moved on.

He’d decided long ago that Jack and Castiel had their own sad chapter in the Winchester’s life but it was long over. Their lives were two completely separate stories now…

'Dean was sure the kid couldn’t want the fact he was born because some guy made a mistake, got drunk, and cheated on his wife following him around his whole life… Or at least… he’d get that was a bad thing when he was older.’

As far as Dean was concerned they were better off forgetting that shitty night ever happened, and he knew forgetting was the right thing to do but people constantly questioning his every decision wasn’t helping.

Sam’s self-righteous huffing and puffing.

Jesse’s… amusement.

Castiel’s confusion over the phone.

'Don’t act like you care all of a sudden…’

Things were so much simpler when there was just vague dislike and mistrust between the two of them…

Why was he even worried about this? Castiel said the kid was doing better, that should be the end of it.

If Dean saw someone hit by a car he’d try to help, call 911, stay by their side and keep them calm until the ambulance came.

'He was a decent man, despite what Sam might think.’

What Dean wouldn’t do was follow them around the accident victim for the next six months and bludgeon and prod their family for information and acknowledgment.

Jack and Castiel weren’t family.

Not really.

Jack was blood sure, but he was blood like a great aunt who lived six states away who nobody talked to for some stupid reason no one remembered, why bring up old shit?

There was too much baggage and bitterness.

Better to leave the great dam of 2000’s infidelity up between Kansas and Indiana as a monument to the shitty past rather than go picking at it and have all the crap pour out.

‘Dean felt dangerously close to drowning in that bitterness already.’

If Sam wanted to swing an ax at that himself (like the lumberjack in business casual he looked like) Sam could deal with the resulting flood himself.

He repeated the last thought to himself until he finished up for the day, leaving Claire to lock up the building.

He was of half a mind to ignore Jesse’s offer and just head home, but…

He didn’t think the empty house would do anything to calm his mind and drinking alone was just sad.

“Screw it,” He turned at the first red light and headed towards Gabe’s.

He set his phone to silent and decided to act as if that corner of his life didn’t exist for the evening.

He was spotted as soon as he entered the Gabe’s, Cesar grinning at him and gesturing him over to the little group at the bar.

“Hey Dean, sit, first round’s on us,” Jesse called from around his husband.

It was a little bit to Cheers-y for comfort but Dean didn’t fight it sighing and sidling up to the bar.

“Whiskey, neat…” Dean ordered gruffly.

Gabe poured the whiskey one eyebrow slightly raised, “well you’re awful chipper today Deano.”

“Yeah well I don’t even know what we’re supposed to be celebrating yet so…” Dean toasted in Jesse’s general direction smile not reaching his eyes “What’s the party for?”

“New beginnings,” Jesse smiled lifting up his own glass. “Finally bought the property of our dreams.”

Dean blinked, “yeah? How’d you swing that?”

“Finally sold the old shop…” Cesar said smiling at Jesse proudly.

Dean blinked, feeling a slightly bitter pang of nostalgia. He could remember long summers going out with friends and dates to rent kayaks and buy ice cream from Jesse’s family’s old rental shack by Clinton lake.

“Business finally get that bad?” Dean felt how rude the words were in his mouth and cringed internally, but Jesse just snorted and smiled.

“Just the opposite actually, it’s shaping up to be one of the biggest tourist seasons yet…”

“So… going out on a high then?” Dean took another swig of his whiskey.

“Something like that,” Jesse shrugged.

“The Gallager kid turned 25 and he’s been working there since he was 16, we figured he was probably ready to take over,” Cesar explained.

“Wait time out,“ Gabe cut into the conversation brandishing his bar rag. "Dude hasn’t your family been running that place since most of the people in the old folks home were in diapers the first time?”

“That’s the thing though, it’s always been my family’s thing,” Jesse said diplomatically, “I only actually took over because my brother was gone, my grandpa in fact had some strong opinions on ‘people like me’.” Jesse snorted, “honestly I think I only stayed so long out of spite, that and I promised mom… I always meant to let the place go when I found someone to take care of it. It was never what I dreamed about doing…”

“Sam was the same way, never wanted to work at the shop…" Dean huffed a laugh, “He never could get along with dad… so it would have been fucking weird if he stayed.”

John had been angry; not so much at Sam wanting to go his own way but just… how vehemently against staying Sam had been. “You just can’t wait to leave your family behind can you?”

“Don’t you dare, you don’t get to say that to me, not you!” Sam spat back.

“Why wallow in the shitty past when you can just move on…” Dean muttered coming back to himself in the bar.

Jesse turned his glass in his hands looking pensive, “Sometimes it felt like that… but no that’s not really it.”

Dean’s eyebrows rose.

Jesse quickly explained, “I mean yeah there was a lot of shit there, but I grew up around that old shack, me and my brother worked there pretty much every summer after we were old enough to see over the counter…”

Dean whiskey tasted ashy in his mouth, he remembered Jesse’s big brother, he’d always been the cool older teen who’d give you an extra half scoop of ice cream when “the boss” wasn’t looking.

He’d drowned on a fishing trip with his younger brother when Dean was in junior high…

Jesse shrugged continuing where he left off, “why would I let one shithead ruin all of that?”

Dean hummed vaguely still feeling a little lost, “but you’re still giving it up now?”

Jesse nodded glancing toward Cesar, “Don’t get me wrong, if my brother was still alive… if I still had family interested in running the place maybe I wouldn’t've… For a long time I thought that was going to be my whole life.”

Cesar gently squeezed his husband’s hand and Dean felt a pang of emotion he pushed away before he could identify it.

Jesse continued, “But I have a family now and I… I just… can’t live in the past anymore.”

Dean felt more lost than ever, “Makes sense I guess, why literally live in all the painful bullshit when you have something better…”

Cesar blinked at Dean, “seriously dude why so dark?”

Dean bit back the need to find a smarmy way to tell his friends it was none of their damn business, “Just shitty family stuff…”

“Your brother?” Jesse asked.

Dean snorted, “you could say that…” he knocked back the rest of his glass. “I just don’t get that kid anymore…”

“He do something stupid?” Jesse asked.

“He’s an adult, he can do what he wants,” Dean snorted and tried to get Gabe’s attention for a second whiskey, “It’s not like we really even talk much anymore, who am I to keep him from shoving his foot up his own ass…”

“Yeah, that’s real convincing…” Jesse shook his head bemused.

Dean hurumphed and muttered a thanks to Gabe who finally came over.

“Are you two still on the same crap from a few days ago?” Gabe asked pouring the second glass.

Jesse and Cesar’s ears perked up and even Gabe’s weird brother Gadreel was watching him from across the room. Dean wondered darkly if there was any privacy left in this town.

“Yeah my own, personal, crap,” Dean said pointedly.

Gabe held up his hands in mock surrender, “okay, okay, fine, don’t talk about it, it’s just seems like whatever "it” is seems to be eating you an awful lot…"

“Yeah well Sam has that effect, he does dumb shit and you worry about him, over and over until it’s just too much and…” Dean wrapped his knuckles on the table, “maybe you have it right and it’s time to cut him loose, move on…”

Jesse pulled a face, “that’s not what I meant at all…”

“Yeah well then what do you mean, because I’m getting tired of guessing,” Dean barked.

Jesse had the courtesy not to smirk at him.

“My point is… I don’t really know Sammy haven’t seen him since he was sixteen but… make sure shutting him out is what you really want, and not just some petty shit.”

It dug like a knife in Dean’s gut, “You’re right you don’t know shit…” Dean muttered taking a swig from his glass…

Jesse smiled more than a little forlornly, “all I do know is, having lost him, if I had a second chance with my brother…” he trailed off, “Make absolutely sure you’re ready to give up your chances at this future, when you’re planning on leaving behind your past…”

-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-

Oof, sorry it took me so long to get back, it’s been a crazy few months and it’s been a struggle to get back to my usual writing routine with everything going on. Hopefully, things will be better now.

#SPN #Supernatural #Castiel #Sam Winchester #Jack Kline #Dean Winchester #fanfiction #whump #humor #Jesse Cuevas #Cesar Cuevas #Claire Novak #kylermalloy #flightoftheseraph #family drama

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jax-writes · 5 years

Text

P.S., I Love You

I’m actually fairly happy with how this chapter turned out. Reminder that this won’t follow the movie P.S., I Love You exactly, for a variety of reasons, and that there’s gonna be a mix of MCU and comics in this. I did in fact, ignore that Pietro ever died because his death was pointless to me. Also, don’t worry, there’s no Endgame spoilers coming in this fic. Well, kiddos, hope you enjoy!

Side note: I’m gonna try to update this once or twice a week. I don’t know how many chapters this will have for certain. Not many, as it’s based on the movie and there were only so many letters. But if you all enjoy this enough and do want a tag list, I will make one, just sent me an ask and I’ll add you!

Chapter 1

There wasn’t a single dry eye in the room as the minister spoke, least of all, Y/N. Her hand was held gently by Natasha, while Wanda sat on her other side, rubbing her back. She was still in a daze, refusing to believe that her husband was gone. Yet there he laid in front of her, eyes closed as if he were merely sleeping. She knew better though. He never looked that angelic asleep. Mouth usually open, letting out a snore. She almost laughed at the image now, before choking on more tears. Before she realized, Bucky was getting up to speak.

“The world just knew him as Captain America. Yeah, they know he’s-know he was a hero. But they didn’t see him as that scrappy little thing back in Brooklyn fighting with guys he had no business fighting with,” he smiled gently. “See, he’s always been a hero. He stuck up for the little guy even when he was the little guy himself. I saw him get into it once with this kid on our block because the kid just pushed a girl. We were twelve.” Bucky chuckled. “Steve was a brother to me. He was always there when I needed him, and,” he swallowed, meeting Y/N’s eyes. “Frankly, I don’t know what I’m gonna do without the punk here to kick my ass when I need it. I went through hell and back and Steve was waiting for me every time. But I experienced a world without him once, and I don’t like the idea of having to do it again. I know none of you do, either. The world’s a little darker today, but you know, Steve would want us all to keep doing what’s right. So I’m gonna fight and take care of as many bad guys as I can, stick up for the little guy. Steve’s waiting for me, and I gotta bring him a good story when I get there.” He looked at his friend in the casket. “To the end of the line, Pal.” The brunet walked over and kissed his friend’s widow on the forehead. “We have your back, Doll.”

She nodded, not quite meeting his eyes as Sam walked up to the podium to speak. “Okay, obviously I haven’t known the Cap as long as grandpa has.” Chuckles rang through the room as Sam paused. “But Steve was my friend. He was an ear when I needed to talk. He had advice when I needed it. When I needed the nerve to ask Wanda out, he encouraged me. He held our team together. Yeah, he led us. But he also held us together. He stitched us back together after the Accords fell through and was the first to help plan a better way. Like Barnes said, I don’t like the idea of a world without Captain America. But he wouldn’t want us moping,” he shook his head. “Nah. Bucky’s right. He’d want us to shake the dust off and get back up. Keep fightin’ because they sure as hell aren’t gonna stop. So we keep on going. If not for ourselves, let’s do it for him. Honor his memory by making the world safer.” As Bucky did, Sam also came over to her, kissing her cheek and muttering soft words of encouragement before moving to stand next to Wanda. Y/N watched through watery eyes as Tony now stood to speak, a deep sigh escaping him as he shook his head. “I don’t know about you all, but I could use a drink.” He paced across the platform, eyes on Steve’s body before he turned to sit on a step, microphone in hand. “This is team is a family, you see. And we just lost who is arguably the most important member of the family. But you know, my heart isn’t just breaking for me or for the world. No, the world will bounce back. It’ll take time. But we’ll all be okay. A darker world, certainly, but we will heal.” Tony stood now and began a slow pace around the platform. “Because Steve may have left us behind, but he did leave us behind with his own special superglue. Y/N, I’m so sorry for your loss. You’re gonna hear that a lot, and you’re gonna be so sick of it you’ll want to scream. There are no words to convey properly our sympathy. We all mourn for you and with you and when you’re ready to yell, we’ll be here for you. If you just need to blow off some steam, I’m sure we can find some bad guys for you to beat up. We love you, kid. I wish more than anything I could bring him back and take away this pain you’re feeling. If you need anything at all, you know where to find me. Until then, Terminator and Birdman said it all best. We fight in his memory and live because he wouldn’t want wallowing. So when we think of Steve Rogers, we should smile. Because he smiled even when hope seemed gone, because he knew there is always good in the world.”

As Tony moved to hug Y/N, the minister walked back to the podium. “If you’ll all please take a moment to listen to Steve’s favorite song, thinking on your favorite memories of or with him, now. Remember the words of his friends. We are not left without hope. He and everyone who loved us are waiting for us. Celebrate their lives so that you may now begin to heal.”

The tune to I’ll Be Seeing You began playing through the speakers, and her tears fell in a steady stream now. She heard the sniffles around her, but her focus was only on her husband lying in the casket. I’ll be looking at the moon, but I’ll be seeing you. She remembered the day she first danced to the song with him. “It was worth the wait,” he’d said.

“What was?” she asked, looking up as him.

“Waiting for the right dance partner,” he smiled.

She’d laid her head on his shoulder as they swayed together, wishing to stay like that forever. She only wished she could go back and relive that now, instead of being here, having to say goodbye to the man who held her heart. She wiped away the tears as it was time to bury her husband. She let Nat and Wanda lead her to the car as Bucky, Sam, Tony, Clint, Bruce, and Peter walked the casket to the hearse. At the cemetery, the minister said more words, and she felt herself go numb as Bucky and Sam folded the American flag, and nearby soldiers began the three volley salute, and Taps played as they saluted when the shots were done, grief hanging in the air as Bucky handed her the now folded flag. The casket was lowered into the ground and her body shook with more grief.Condolences were given at the wake, but Y/N barely came out of her sorrow to speak, let alone blink. Someone had gotten her a plate of food and a drink, but it sat in front her, untouched.

(Three Weeks Later)

She was sitting on the bed, cross legged, wearing a pair of his boxers-the joke Captain America ones she’d bought him for his birthday last year-and one of his shirts, an old movie in front of her, hairbrush in hand as she got up and sang into it. Judy Garland had a better voice than she did, but she was giving her a run for her money with the dramatics. As the song came to a close, she finished with a dramatic pose by the couch and applause rang through the room.

“Encore!” the cheerful voice of Wanda shouted.

“W-what are you all doing here?” Y/N was a deer in the headlights, glancing at Wanda, Nat, Sam, and Bucky, who were standing just inside the doorway, gift bags and balloons in hand.

“Happy Birthday!” they cheered.

Bucky scrunched his nose and everyone began talking over each other at once. “What is that smell?”

“Have you gone outside?”

“What’d you do to your head?”

“I-it’s a pimple.” Y/N stuttered.

“You always pop it too hard,” Natasha tutted, glancing at the bandage.

“What is that smell?” Bucky muttered once more.

“It’s me, alright!” Y/N snapped, throwing her hands up in the air before tossing the hairbrush to the couch. “I didn’t expect company,” she sighed, sinking to the couch.

“Alright, we’ll leave if you want. But at some point, you have to stop wallowing and get back to living,” Wanda sighed, setting down her gift bag.

“I-okay, just give me a minute,” Y/N nodded and went to the bathroom to shower.

“Alright troops. Spread out,” Sam spoke, nodding at the garbage littering the quarters. The men took care of that while Wanda went to take care of dishes and Nat went to pick out an outfit for her friend for the night.

Soon, she was dressed in a little black dress and a pair of flats, hair and makeup done perfectly. No sign she’d be holed in her room for days at all. Her friends all gathered around her as she finished opening up the presents from them. A knock sounded at the door before it opened and Pietro held up a box. “Y/N, this just arrived for you. Happy Birthday!”

She tilted her head as Pietro came in a set it on the coffee table. When she opened the box, she saw a birthday cake, ‘Happy Birthday, Y/N! Love, Steve’ was written in blue icing on top of white. “Who-Bucky did you do this?”

Bucky shook his head. “No, I-look-” he pulled something from the lid of the box-a tape recorder, and handed it to her.

She glanced around at her friends, nervous before pressing ‘play’.

“Doll, I wish I could be there to see you celebrating your birthday. But it’s good to know you’re surrounded by our family. I figured I’d hold off on these til your birthday, not that I really knew when these would be delivered. I don’t even know if I’m doing this for a good reason. Our line of work is just so dangerous. And there’s no guarantees we’ll walk away from every mission. I don’t want to leave you alone and hurting. So I assume if you’re hearing this, something happened,” there was a pause in the recording as Steve seemed to be collecting himself. “Sweetheart, words cannot express how much I love you. I figured there’d be some time of you ignoring the world and since I’m no psychic, I don’t know if my timing is right. But here’s hoping it’s good enough. It’s your birthday, Baby. So I want you to go out. Get dolled up. Nat, make a plan-”

“On it!” the red head jumped up, pulling Bucky with her.

“Go celebrate. Bucky, take care of my girl. Go have fun. You all deserve it. Take a break from life, and enjoy a night. Now, Doll, I’ve arranged some more letters for you. They’ll come to you different ways and at different times. I have an inside man, and though I know you can easily figure out who it is, I don’t want you to think about it. I want you to just go with it. Lord knows I always did the overthinking for us. So just take them as they come. They first will arrive in the morning but you can deal with that then. Now go have fun. P.S., I love you.” She met Bucky’s gaze, tears in her eyes.

“He’s an ass. How could he plan all this if he didn’t even know he was going to die?”

The assassin shrugged. “You know Steve. He was always overly prepared. Always careful. But hey, let’s listen to him. Let’s go celebrate your birthday.”

She nodded and followed him as he went in search of his wife. Before she knew it, they were blocks away at a bar, drinking to celebrate her birthday. Strangers in the bar were coming up to them all, wanting pictures, and coming to her to offer condolences. Some were coming to thank them for saving the world. It was all a little overwhelming to her in the moment, but alcohol was her friend. And then she made friends with a few bar patrons, drunkenly rambling about Steve to them.

“Honey, I lost my Phil fifteen years ago. It hurts, and it don’t really stop hurting. But you take it day by day, and you’ll be fine. And God willing, you find love again. And that’s okay too. You don’t even have to stop loving your husband. That won’t happen, But you do accept that it’s okay to love another and he wouldn’t want you alone forever,” an older woman patted her hand. “You’ll be okay, hon. You’ll be okay.”

She accepted the comfort and tried to enjoy the rest of the night out with her friends when Wanda and Nat came over and whisked her to the dancefloor. They group ended the night back at the compound, with more drinking. Y/N sneaked away to the closet by the kitchen as the rest of the group played pool or just mingled.

Pietro wandered over to the closet, intent on grabbing a towel to wipe up the soda he’d knocked over. “Oh shit!”

“Sorry,” She chuckled awkwardly, looking up at him.

“What are you doing in here, Y/N?”

“Trying to figure out why fate decided it was my husband who had to die and not me.”

“Well,” Pietro scratched his face. “If you need any help with that let me know, I’ll just-” he nodded once and closed the door before starting to walk away.

“Wait!” she opened the door and pulled him roughy into the closet with her. “Why do you think-?”

“It was him and not you?” she nodded, prompting him to answer. “Well, I don’t know. Maybe you were too happy and karma got petty? Maybe. Maybe the universe just sucks. Sorry I don’t actually have answers.” He shrugged. “I mean you’re really pretty. Some gods are jealous.”

“Believe me, I don’t think someone can be too happy and I most certainly am not too pretty,” she slurred, still nursing a drink that she pulled off a shelf by her shoulder.

“I think you’re hot!” he grimaced at his word vomit. “Sorry, you know I don’t have much of a filter.”

She nodded. “Yeah it’s fine. I think-I’m goin’ to bed, Piet.” She blinked slowly, handing him her drink before turning and leaving. Pietro blinked down at the drink now in his hand, looked up at the door that had just clicked shut, and shook his head. He looked up at the ceiling before speaking. “Cap, you left her too soon.”

#marvel imagine #Captain America x reader #steve rogers x reader #reader insert #marvel reader insert #P.S. I Love You

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trifrost17 · 6 years

Text

YGO Advent Day 10: Return

Summary: Coming back to life had some strings attached. It turns out that one of them is that Atem couldn't be separated from Yugi for too long or he would literally die. On the plus side, at least that meant he had to stay at Yugi's side for the rest of his life.

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16811635/chapters/39851328

10: Return

Osiris was an interesting god. Nothing what Atem had really expected; being raised his entire life to revere and worship him, it was a little unnerving to actually meet him face-to-face. He was... surprisingly down to earth. He had done the whole godly "I'm so majestic, bow down to me" thing when Atem first arrived in the Field of Reeds, but that seemed more like an act he put on around other people, like he was obligated to do it. The few times they had seen each other after that, Osiris was just... nothing what Atem thought the god of the underworld would be like. He was shockingly kind and gentle and even a little playful. He was always checking up on Atem, ever so quietly seeing how he was doing and making sure life was relatively good. Atem, meanwhile, returned to being a pharaoh and living out the life he never got to live.

Well, sorta.

He was missing some very, very key parts of his life that made him feel half-fulfilled; not that he ever said this to Osiris or anyone else. But there was a lot missing. No Yugi. No Duel Monsters. No Joey, Tristan, Téa, Kaiba, Ryou, or Duke. No Grandpa. No modern games. No Yugi. No electricity or showers or toilets or air conditioning or computers. No one to understand his references to pop culture or games. No Yugi.

The no Yugi part was probably the most important.

Atem tried not to watch over Yugi that much. When he first crossed over, he had watched almost obsessively and was dismayed. There had been a lot of tears and sobbing from his partner right after his departure and Atem couldn’t stand it. Mahad had been the one to tell him that it was better not to watch—so both of them could move forward with their lives. And for a while, it was… okay.

Then the Millennium Puzzle was put back together and Atem suddenly had a direct connection back to the world. And the moment Yugi put it on, he could feel him again and it was the best, most comforting feeling in the entire world. When he felt Yugi fainting, Atem was filled with that instinctive blind rage that someone would dare to hurt his partner He jumped at the chance to rush down there and save Yugi.

And that was when the downward spiral began. He took the Puzzle with him and severed his connection with Yugi. It was horrible, giving him the feeling like he had willingly chopped off both his limbs. For days after that, when Atem had returned to the afterlife, he was just... existing without much of a will. It was like half of his heart was missing. His friends and family did their best to comfort him and try to cheer him up but Atem couldn't shake off the sense of loss and disconnect.

Then Kaiba suddenly appeared one day to duel him—and finally beat him—and it was like life had been breathed back into his body. It was a connection back to the ones he loved so dearly. But then, Atem could see that his rival was finally ready move on. They were all going to move on without him and Atem knew he should be relieved. Yugi would be happy. They were moving on with their lives.

Instead, he was filled with unbelievable panic and crushing loneliness.

“He misses you,” Kaiba had said right before he left, seemingly sensing Atem's mood shift.

“Yes, but he doesn’t need me anymore.” Kaiba had rolled his eyes.

“He doesn’t need you anymore than you need him. That doesn’t mean he wouldn’t do anything to see you again. I may see if I can bring him over. I owe him that much.” It gave him hope. Atem felt himself perk back up after Kaiba left because there was a chance that maybe, just maybe, he could see his partner again.

Atem had waited eagerly for Yugi to appear but he never did. With each passing day, he felt more and more listless. At some point, the desire to see Yugi turned into crippling regret. He wished he would have stayed down there and lived out his life with Yugi. Even if he would have been forced to return to the Puzzle for another 3000 years, it would have been worth it. Yugi was worth it.

He was moping on his throne when the god of the Duat appeared. Osiris didn’t look particularly majestic compared to anyone else there—well, the crown with the ostrich feathers was pretty grand—but the way he carried himself commanded attention. Atem had scrambled to bow and prostrate himself before the god, only to get an amused chuckle and tugged back up on his feet.

“You’re not happy here,” Osiris had started with the slightest bit of a pout. His voice was so soft—funnily enough, it reminded Atem of Yugi. “This is supposed to be the ultimate paradise but I've been watching you fall further and further into despair. What troubles you so?”

Atem had tried to come up with an excuse but Osiris had simply waved away his words, seeing through his lies. Finally, with a sigh, he had said, “I suppose I, too, would be unhappy if I could not see Isis. I always did think you were much too young to come back here. You never got a chance to experience life. It was not my will for you to cross over.”

“What?” Osiris had gestured to himself.

“I know what it’s like to die young. You were even younger than me. Sixteen is not a long life and you sacrificed it to save your people. Such actions... “ He had tilted his head and gave a mysterious smile. “I’m sure I can make an exception or two. I do want you to be happy, Atem.”

And that was how Osiris had decided to bend the rules of life and death and bring Atem back to life.

It had taken a little bit of time to hammer out of the details and get it arranged. Atem still wasn't sure exactly how Osiris did what he did, though he knew the god of the underworld had roped some other gods to assist him in the project. Nonetheless, Osiris appeared in front of Atem again several weeks—months? years? time worked strangely in the Field of Reeds—later with a smile playing on his lips as he told Atem that it was done. He would be heading back to the living world. However, there were a few stipulations to his revival. Some of which Atem wasn’t privy to until after he had been revived (which he knew Osiris had done intentionally because if he had told Atem the truth, Atem wouldn’t have crossed back over).

The main one was that Atem was tied to Yugi permanently. Osiris had explained that Atem’s life spark was now linked to Yugi’s—he had to feed off of Yugi’s living soul to stay alive. It only worked because their souls were so deeply entwined. Atem and Yugi truly were soulmates; Yugi was literally the other half of his soul. Osiris had used Yugi as a base of sorts, taking the living part of him and tying it to Atem’s body in order to give Atem life again. He described Yugi as an anchor, like a rope that tied Atem to the living world. If he didn't have that, Atem's soul would, essentially, try to float back off to the underworld. Apparently dead souls didn't do well coming back to life.

Making Yugi his tether had consequences. The only two Osiris had told him was that he needed to remain relatively close to Yugi to restore his lifeforce—separation of great distances for long periods of time could theoretically cause Atem to get a one-way ticket back to the Field of Reeds. The other consequence was that if Yugi died, well, so did Atem. Yugi was the only thing keeping Atem in the other realm alive so when he kicked the bucket, Atem was going to follow.

What Atem found out later, after the deal had already been struck and he was in his own body, was that it worked vice-versa, too. It was the final bit Osiris had told him before practically fleeing before Atem could get angry with him. If Atem were to die, he would drag Yugi with him to the Field of Reeds. Needless to say, Atem had been less than pleased at the withheld information. He never wanted his revival to endanger Yugi's life.

But what was done was done and Atem was unceremoniously shoved into his new-old body with all his memories and name intact. Osiris credited Isis with restoring his body to pristine condition (a miracle in itself after it had been so thoroughly evaporated with the spell to seal Zorc; but Isis had experience putting together dead bodies, so it was all good).

His return, however, was not quite so nice. He materialized in the living world literally on top of Yugi. His only saving grace was that Yugi was manning the counter in the game shop and it was a slow day, so there wasn’t a customer in sight to see Atem fall out of the air.

Yugi had screeched when Atem landed on his lap, falling backwards with him in a heap of limbs. When he had processed what had happened, looking up to see Atem hovering over him with a large grin, he had started to cry. “I’m back, partner.” And the cries turned to sobs and backbreaking hugs.

Yugi’s grandfather had been thrilled to see Atem and Yugi’s mother took everything in stride, hardly blinking when Yugi told her Atem was going to live with them. Apparently she had been told the story behind the Millennium Puzzle during Atem’s time away. Her only response to Yugi’s words were, “I figured as much. Do you want your own bed, Atem, or should I just save the money and you two share one?” They opted to share.

Being back brought another slew of problems, though. Atem wasn't a real person legally and he was in a body that was theoretically from 3000 years in the past. Yugi's mother was horrified at that and had scheduled appointments for Atem for every imaginable thing: doctors, dentists, vaccinations, hell, even an eye exam! While Yugi’s mother made sure he had a clean bill of health and wasn't going to bring about the plague, Kaiba and Mokuba created his identity. He was the same age as Yugi, born in Egypt but was a Japanese legal citizen.

Atem's last name had been something of a debate—Yugi's mother had offered her maiden name, Mokuba was willing to name Atem a Kaiba (Seto, on the other hand, was not willing to adopt Atem into his family), Yugi had suggested the Mutou last name for ease, and even Ishizu had contacted them and gave them permission to use the Ishtar last name.

Atem wasn't too keen on any of the options, though. He didn't want to be thought of as one of Yugi's cousins if he took Yugi's mother's maiden name, Atem didn't really want to be a Kaiba just as much as Seto didn't want him to be one, he despised the idea of someone thinking he might be Yugi's cousin or, worse, his brother (because Atem was definitely very romantically in love with Yugi at that point), and adopting the Ishtar last name unsettled him.

He finally decided on something simple. Sennen. After all, the Millennium Puzzle was what gave him the chance to meet Yugi and live his life in the modern century in the first place. It seemed fitting.

The first two months back had been a lot to handle as he adjusted. He and Yugi talked frequently after the first month about moving out together, mostly to get a new sense of normal established. It took them another month to finally find an apartment but the change definitely helped ground Atem. He finally felt like he was settling into his new life and really becoming his own person. Soon enough, he started college, being about a year behind Yugi. He and Yugi got jobs at KaibaCorp. Atem rose quickly through the dueling ranks, participating in various tournaments with Joey and Yugi.

It was during this time that they found out exactly what Osiris had meant by distance, though. The first time Yugi had flown to America for a conference and Atem stayed behind, he fell ill rapidly. Yugi was scheduled to be gone a week; by the fifth day, Joey was calling him in a panic, telling him Atem was barely conscious.

Yugi had abandoned everything and Kaiba personally arranged for him to get home on one of his private jets that same day. The effect on Atem was nearly instantaneous when Yugi walked in the door. He perked up, sitting up and talking for the first time in a day. Yugi refused to leave his side for two weeks straight.

They experimented after that. The farther away Yugi was, the more it strained Atem. The longer away Yugi was, the more it taxed both of them. It turned out Yugi was also adversely affected by their parting, but it just took longer for the effects to kick in. As the months turned into years, though, they both learned how to deal with it. They learned what was too far or too long and would either cut their travel plans short or demand the other come with them.

A week away was about their limit assuming they were still in Japan. Two to three days max was all they could handle when one was in another country or continent.

This time around, Yugi was the one that was gone. Atem was restless, tossing back and forth in their shared bed, uncomfortable and unable to sleep. It was going on day three and Atem knew Yugi was due home tomorrow morning but he had been away at one of the KaibaCorp branch offices again in America and that always made it harder. They were pushing it to their max limit of being away. Atem's chest hurt. His head ached. He always felt utterly miserable and drained when Yugi was away.

Hell, he had already called off work tomorrow. Luckily, Kaiba and Mokuba had both expected as much and had left his schedule free of any meetings or photoshoots. With the new Dungeon Dice Monsters promotion going on, Atem had been made a chief model along with Duke and had been spending a lot of time shooting commercials and photo ads. But if he looked anything like how he felt, he would be useless as a model.

Atem groaned, finally sitting up and deciding it was pointless to try and sleep. He was hot and sticky with sweat—his body always went through hot and cold spells when Yugi was away—and he knew it would only be a matter of time before the vomiting started. There was a pattern to these things, after all. Tired at first with headaches and chest pains. The second day brought fever-like symptoms with increasing pressure on his chest and limbs, like he was dragging himself through water.

Day three was the hot and cold spells, crippling headaches, anxiety attacks, insomnia, lethargy, more chest pain, and body aches. He usually stopped eating around day three, too. Day four was when it got bad. He would vomit most of the day, his headaches becoming blinding migraines, while his body became so heavy he could barely walk or talk. Day four was usually when he needed someone to stay with him.

Day five was slipping in and out of consciousness. Atem had never made it past day five to day six to see what happens when Yugi was in another country. To be fair, usually by day five, Yugi was feeling the equivalent day two or three symptoms that Atem had experienced.

Atem padded down to the kitchen, pouring himself a cup of water. He sipped at it, knowing from past experience that even though he felt so thirsty, if he chugged it, he would just end up spewing it out instantly. After taking a few sips, he laid his head miserably on the kitchen table, staring listlessly at the cup of water. He was starting to freeze now.

It probably wasn’t the smartest thing to wear short-shorts and a tank top but he had been so hot when he went to bed. He’d have to find a blanket to curl up in for a few hours. Maybe he’d watch TV and if he was lucky, he’d pass out on the couch.

There was a sudden rattling at the apartment door. Atem sat up straight, wondering who the hell would be walking in at—Atem glanced at the clock on the stove—3:34 in the morning? Joey had keys and so did Yugi’s mother, but Atem couldn’t imagine either of them coming over this late at night.

The door opened and shut quietly behind the person. Atem heard shuffling and something heavy drop on the floor.

His chest felt lighter than it had in days. Atem took a deep breath and knew who was there. He bounded up and over to the entryway, meeting Yugi in the doorway. Atem nearly bowled him over, jumping into his arms and kissing him without warning. His limbs felt light as a feather suddenly, his body easing the aches and pains that had plagued him for so many days.

“You’re still up,” Yugi responded with a smile, twirling him around. “How are you feeling?”

“So much better now that you’re here.” Yugi kissed his forehead, before swinging his legs up to hold him closer to his chest. Atem wrapped his arms around Yugi's neck, nuzzling into the hold as he was carried into the kitchen. They both knew that the first day back after being parted from one another would make both of them clingy. Besides, the more they touched, the better they felt. It was like their souls had to re-energize each other.

It still made Atem grin thinking about the first time he had left Yugi alone for three days. While he was feeling pretty miserable by his return, he was shocked when he arrived home to see how awful Yugi looked, too. They had just started dating then and when Atem had walked in that evening, Yugi had dropped what he was doing to greet Atem.

And by greet, he had opted to run and jump into Atem’s arms, his legs wrapping around his waist, his arms winding around his neck, and Yugi simply clung to Atem. It was like he was a koala bear. Yugi refused to climb off of him for the rest of the night, too—not that Atem really complained. If he had to carry around his boyfriend all night because said boyfriend missed him that much, well that was a sacrifice Atem was happy to make.

“Are you up to drinking tea? Or do you want to go to bed?”

“Tea sounds nice,” Atem murmured into the crook of Yugi’s neck as he readjusted to make it easier for Yugi to hold him. His legs wrapped around Yugi's waist to help support some of his own weight and he settled more on Yugi's hip, wrapping his arms around his shoulders. He was beginning to feel a little sleepy. “Then can we curl up and watch TV together?”

“Of course, my love.” They had done this hold enough times to know how to maneuver comfortably with each other. Yugi worked smoothly with Atem in his arms, deftly making the tea and handing the cups to Atem to carry while he continued to hold Atem. He settled on the living room couch, letting Atem snuggle into his side.

“You’ve got to be freezing,” Yugi finally murmured. He tossed the Marshmallon blanket around their shoulders but it was Yugi's body heat that warmed Atem more than anything.

“A little," Atem finally said. "Not as much with you here. I’m feeling better, too.” Yugi smiled and kissed Atem’s forehead in response. He turned on the TV and both of them settled in, relaxing in the other’s embrace.

It was these moments, after one of them had returned, that made living with the side effects of Atem's revival not nearly as bad as they seemed. They had learned and adapted to the conditions and Atem always appreciated how gracefully and easily Yugi accepted these challenges in their life. He just simply readjusted his plans and worked with whatever he got, never complaining. His adaptability was one of the reasons Atem had fallen so head-over-heels for Yugi. Of course, Yugi had always smiled so breathtakingly whenever Atem apologized for his difficult conditions that came from coming back to life.

"You're here with me," he always said. "I'll live with any side effects if it means you're always going to be here with me. Besides, it just means we'll always return to one another. And for that, I wouldn't change a single thing. I'm just infinitely grateful that you came back to me. That's what matters the most."

The side effects of Atem’s return would never go away. It was something both he and Yugi had to learn to live with and adapt to. Yet, even with all the inconvenience and worry it caused, Atem had to admit, if he was given the opportunity to go back to the Field of Reeds, he wouldn't take it. No, he wouldn’t change any of it so long as he got to remain at Yugi's side. To be in Yugi’s arms was far better than what the afterlife could offer anyways.

#yugioh advent #puzzleshipping #yugioh

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captainfile · 3 years

Text

Oh What It Is

Words: 19037

Ao3 link

Peter Pan/OC, warnings for major character death, not-super-graphic torture, and Pan being as fucked up as he is in OUAT.

Summary: Owen Flynn doesn't operate alone. He's got a teenager in tow when he hits Captain Hook with his car outside Storybrooke; his daughter. Both Owen and his daughter think they have an idea of what's going on, but many others are pulling the strings on their lives. Pan's grab for the Heart of The Truest Believer has grander consequences than the family that'll be left behind if he succeeds- the Home Office is very real, and very dangerous.

“Dare to explain what you’re leaving for this time?”

I look up from my phone and frown at the school’s receptionist. She’s frowning, too, the kind of frown that says she thinks I’m the one orchestrating these absences. Fuck, I wish. Skipping school is way better than being dragged off to who knows where and missing it. So I don’t answer, to her annoyance; instead I look pointedly at the note in her hand stating clearly that there’s a family emergency and I’ll be back by tomorrow.

I’m never back by tomorrow. Something always happens. In China, stalking one guy ended up including a couple train rides and a typhoon- not to mention the plane there and back. In Mexico, we were trapped in the rubble of an ancient temple for thirty hours. And don’t get me started on Manhattan. No matter the excuse, something always seems to go wrong- I don’t expect to be back for any of my quizzes this week, but I always end up studying anyways, because what else am I supposed to do on a six hour stakeout? When Dad interrogates someone for three days because there was more intel than he thought he’d find?

“Hey,” Dad greets me when I find him waiting in front of the school. The car’s already packed, but I don't ask where we’re going. He drums his fingers on the steering wheel and I dig through my book of riddles and the road just keeps going. “Tamara, do you copy?” He turns the radio on after hours of silence, switching it to one of his secure channels. We never listen to music. Sometimes I wonder why he brings me.

“Hey, Knight’s in the bathroom, make it quick.”

“You have him, then?” Knight is a familiar term. Tamara made it up as a code. He's one of Dad’s biggest targets, also known as Neal Cassidy, Baelfire, Benjamin Darling. There's little traces of him dating back two hundred years, and when Dad’s partner Tamara seduced him, he admitted to knowledge of magic. When is a mind like a fairytale? When it’s made up. Following my dad around all the time in search of it, I’ve seen some pretty strange things, and I know that my grandpa somehow died from it, but I’m not sure I fully get it. “We’re four hours away.” Oh, no. I groan at this update, and get a sharp look, but Tamara's laugh crackles over the radio.

“I think you’ll enjoy this one finally, Robin, we’re meeting the son.”

“Okay, I’m cutting you off there, how close are you?” Dad interrupts. I roll my eyes and go back to my book. What can’t talk but will reply when spoken to? “Any other updates?”

He isn't a cop. He's like a vigilante or something, working for an organization called the Home Office, trying to seek and destroy magic. He wants me to follow in his footsteps, too, but. He doesn’t know the numbers I’ve memorized.

That would change things a bit. “Storybrooke?” I read off a sign when four hours have passed and the sun has set. Dad hands me his wallet, and I swap his driver’s license. Owen Flynn becomes Greg Mendell, the cheesiest name I could think of when he asked my opinion. My name changes to Robin Mendell, though I did campaign for keeping my real name to make the pun louder and clearer. Dad said it would make his disguise too easily broken through. Our real licenses, I tuck into an old envelope from Sears. Even if our car was searched, it would probably be ignored, treated as trash. Our car has never been searched. We continue driving along the road when suddenly there’s a figure in the headlights-

“Nine-one-one, what’s your emergency?”

“My dad just crashed his car, oh fuck,” I gasp, blinking against the darkness and finding smoke in front of me. the hood is crumpled, a branch has gone through the window. “We’re um- we just passed this sign, for Storybrooke?”

“I’m sending responders your way, there’s a hospital in Storybrooke; can you describe the scene for me?”

“I don’t know,” I sob, and then turn to my dad and sob again at the sight of him. “He’s unconscious, and bleeding everywhere, and the airbags-”

“Ma’am, please breathe; what does the car look like?”

“Like it’s about to catch fire,” I decide, and try to wrench my door open. There's broken glass everywhere, and I start to hear sirens as I fight with my seatbelt. My phone, dropped in my lap, makes some noise, but I stay focused on escaping. Is Dad even breathing? There’s too much smoke to really tell. Next thing I know, I’m wrapped in a shock blanket in the back of an ambulance and Dad is still bleeding. They make me sit in a curtained off area of the emergency room, alone.

“Hi,” a blonde woman quietly greets me after nearly an hour. “I’m Emma Swan, the sheriff,” she continues, “what’s your name?”

I go to answer honestly, but isn’t Tamara going to be here soon? “Robin.” The only way I know how to contact her is with the radio in the car.

“Robin, you and your dad were pretty hurt,” she tells me. Like I don’t already know. “Is there anything you can tell me about what happened, or about your health insurance, or anything?” I tell her we don’t have health insurance, and that I saw a figure and a bright light before we crashed. The headlights, obviously, reflecting off whoever we hit. Wait- we hit someone, didn’t we? “He’ll be okay, and your dad will, too.” How? we must have been going over forty. I don’t ask, but there’s no way someone could have survived being hit by a car at that speed. The sheriff thanks me and leaves me to sit for another eternity. I wish I had even my books, or homework. I sleep in the emergency room, and when I wake up, I’m allowed to visit Dad while he sleeps before I’m escorted to an inn and diner. The car is wrecked, but I’m allowed to dig through it and bag up all our belongings, which sit in my hotel room with me, and while I’m still alone and scared, I’m not bored anymore.

“Robin, you said?” A waitress at the diner smiles at me. She can’t be much older than I am, still filling her features in young adulthood. “I’m Ruby.”

I just nod, avoiding conversation for a list full of reasons. Thankfully, Tamara calls my dad’s phone before the waitress can continue trying to talk to me. Her name in his phone is just “Her” for maximum strangeness. “Finally, what’s going on?” she asks.

“It’s Robin,” I tell her, keeping my voice low. “He’s in the hospital.”

“What?” she shrills, “I’ll be there in a couple hours-”

“He’s fine, I know you two have a plan with the Knight,” I tell her, though it crushes my heart to say. I’m allowed to complain, allowed to moan and groan and gripe until the day’s out- but I can’t mess with their business. I did, once, when I was younger, and, well. It didn’t end too nicely. Not that many things do, of course. “We got into a car accident, and they’re keeping him for a couple weeks,” I report.

“This wasn’t part of the plan,” Tamara admits, which sends my heart right into my throat. “They won’t be happy.”

“I-” I gasp. I don’t know what to say, really. “Wait, maybe-”

“You shouldn’t have told me,” she deadpans, and hangs up. I stand quickly, too quickly, and rush towards the exit. Ruby asks me what the hell I’m doing, I still have my computer open on the counter, but it’s the last of my worries. The air bags did some damage, as did the crash in the first place, but I go as quick as I can to the hospital and collapse at Dad’s beside, apologising profusely.

“Hey, hey, hey, talk to me,” Dad suddenly whispers, awake but clearly drugged to hell. I hand him his phone and just cry. Everything in the last twenty four hours, I just let out. It’s horrible. The fear, the pain, the dread of what I know will come next. Dad said, when he sent me, that he only spoke with the Home Office through code, and Tamara was one of the only two members he’d ever met in person at that point. The other didn’t have a name, his recruiter and boss. He never got to know the mysterious man like I did, and insisted as he took me away that I’d be fine once they briefed me on the importance of the mission. I was briefed, yes, but I don’t want Dad to be briefed. Because it isn’t some meeting with a man in sunglasses explaining how horrible magic is. I was young, strong. What if they kill him?

Dad doesn’t listen to me, and I stay by his side as much as he tolerates in his recovery. Weeks pass- my school moves me to online classes, finally tired of all the odd absences and now this. Ruby hovers and asks about what I'm learning like she’s never taken calculus before.

It seems like forever before they let Dad come to the diner and stay with me. He seems fine, though, like the Home Office didn’t actually care about his slip up. I check often and annoyingly about how he’s doing. Finally, Tamara arrives and sneaks into our room to talk and give me a hug. It’s weird, I’ll admit, to be close with my insane dad’s insane girlfriend. Still, she’s nice. Nicer than the rest of the Home Office. I’m often lookout on their missions, so I place myself around town to do homework, making it normal for me to be somewhere strange and alone. They talk business and magic and overanalyze photos and videos and the car crash, finally asking me to camp outside a building near the bay. I'm fine with that, sitting on a dock and filling out sudokus, trying to pretend like I don't hear someone screaming inside, or gunshots. Tamara runs up to me and drags me away with Dad to a clearing in the forest before excusing herself.

“What’s this?” I try, unnerved by her behavior. Dad frowns, head tipped down, and kneels on the ground. “Dad?”

“Your grandfather,” he finally says. “My father, he’s buried here.”

I swallow nervously, and hazard, “why?”

He gestures, so I sit on the ground next to him. “When I was really young, we used to camp, my dad and I; we had so much fun, seeing all these beautiful forests and mountains everywhere we went.

“One trip up here in Maine, a storm comes through and our truck is damaged, so we try and hike to find help, and suddenly there’s this town that we both swore wasn’t there before, Storybrooke. We were welcomed, but it was a strange town, it seemed like the same thing happened every day we stayed there. We were in Granny’s Diner, the same one we’re in now, and one evening the mayor had us over for dinner. I had just lost my mom, your grandma, and the mayor for some reason- she wanted to adopt me. Dad said we should leave, that it was the last straw of how strange the town was, but suddenly we were stopped, and he was arrested. He told me to run, and I never saw him again.

“I ran from the mayor telling me to stay and be her son, and was able to contact the police. They escorted me back here to search for my father; strangely enough, though, the whole town was gone, as quickly as it had appeared. Coming back here now, I was sure of the magic; Regina, Granny, they haven’t aged a day. But Regina insisted that he left.” He rests a hand on the ground under his knees. “But here he is: she killed him.” Why? How? Who could be so desperate for a son that they would abduct him and kill his father? I swipe at my tears, and noticing them, Dad pulls me into a hug.

“I’m sorry about your father,” Tamara speaks into the quiet, and my dad looks up at her but I don't.

“Me too,” he replies with voice lower than usual. It rumbles through my shoulders and calms me, so I duck my head lower into his chest. “Did the folks back at the Home Office know anything about that thing?”

“Yeah, they did,” Tamara whispers, “and you’re never gonna believe what it does.”

Storybrooke’s mines are dark from my perspective, keeping watch from a bush while my dad, Tamara, and a man who doesn’t introduce himself step in. Something explodes, shaking the ground and my head, but they step out intact before I can panic and run in. The stranger splits, but the rest of us keep watch over the mines for a while longer.

“That’s Regina, with the dark hair,” Dad mutters when Sheriff Swan and another woman duck into the mines. The sheriff leaves and comes back with a group, trailed by Knight’s prepubescent son. “Okay; stay with Tamara, I'll be right back,” Dad tells me, though Tamara is the one who nods in understanding. They seem more tense than usual, and her gaze is a little unfocused while we wait behind a building. Another explosion sounds, but she seems unworried about it, so I just keep waiting until Dad comes around the corner with Knight’s son in tow. Tamara stands but I balk- this isn’t right-

Tamara grasps my arm tightly and helps my dad drag the kid towards the dock while I stutter, “Dad, what the fuck are you doing?” When I should have asked that question a long time ago. We approach the water with shouts for Henry, the kid, coming up behind us, but then Dad throws something in the water and a vortex appears out of thin air and threatens to swallow the dock. The water takes on a greenish glow, spinning dangerously, and I’m tugged by my arm into it, and huge alarms are ringing in my head; my dad has kidnapped a child, and now physics is breaking, and stupid Tamara pulled me into it, and I can’t see, and we are going to die.

I was fourteen. and tired. For so many years, I had followed my dad blindly around the world, telling him when there was someone walking towards him on the street, approaching strangers and pointing them towards my disguised father asking for help. In that time my interest in what he swore could never be a coincidence had waned. His only grew, and it wasn’t contagious. it was my birthday, and I was supposed to bring candy to school for my friends to celebrate, but Dad was called in the morning, and we had to go. Only a short flight later, we were in San Diego. I swapped my dad’s license- since I didn’t have one yet- and sat in the blistering heat all day with him, watching a back road from the roof of a warehouse. We were nowhere near the beach, and though there was a view, all the roofs around reflected the sun too well. Instead I kept my head down and tried to nap to conserve energy. But I was so tired in every way that I couldn’t sleep; I was dehydrated, hungry, frustrated that I had to celebrate my birthday with my dad on an ugly old roof away from my friends. The sun continued to beat down on us, but Dad didn’t say anything. He could be so patient with the outings. Missions. Sometimes I could too, but it was my birthday- goodie bags assembled with care sat in the back of my mind and at home on the kitchen counter. My stomach growled for the millionth time and I decided that was the last straw, that I at least had to do something. Move. So I called a bathroom break, slipped out a broken window on the first floor, and ran in the opposite direction of his lookout.

There weren’t many houses nearby- I had to run quite some distance, hoping my dad wouldn’t notice, before I spotted a group of kids playing with some adults watching on. Gasping for air in the dry heat, I went up to the adults and begged for some water. It was beyond exhilarating- I felt free, in control, for the first time in my life. They called the police, of course, who came and brought me to a dim station. They asked me so many questions, and I was finally able to voice some of my anger. My dad kept travelling, I told them, pulling me out of school to sit in places for hours at a time. They asked me about my mom, but I didn't know anything. That phone call changed my view of the world more than magic ever could, I think.

“Penelope?” The voice on the other end asked. I said yes, wary but excited- everyone I knew always had two parents, even if they were divorced. Some of my classmates had fathers in jail, but at least they could visit. “Oh, sweetheart, I shouldn’t have let him keep you, but you can’t stay with me.” Crying, because what if it really was my mom and she didn’t want me, I asked her what she meant. “I’m in jail, Penelope, or I would run to you with open arms; I'll be released in about five years, earlier if I work extra hard, and I’ll come get you, I sweat.” I told her no, I couldn’t keep running around with Dad for another second. “You don’t have to, Sweet Pea,” she insisted, “and I’ll be here for you whenever I can.” It wasn’t fun but I sobbed on a bench until Dad arrived, shouting at the officers for dragging me off. In the end I went back with him. Always the same.

We went home, my dad and I. Just a little place with a good enough school nearby. Dad told me again about the Home Office, about magic, to convince me to care about his missions as much as he did. The damage was done, though: I had already taken control, even though I had no clue what the woman who called me Sweet Pea was in jail for. It was so relieving and exciting to see a chance at another life, different from how boring and unpredictable mine was. He got a call from the Home Office that night and led me to the front door despite my protests.

The Boss was a tall man from my perspective then, imposing, and dressed smartly. He wore sunglasses despite the time of day and easily forced me into the back of his dark car. A scratchy bundle of fabric fell across my face, and there was a sharp pain in my thigh, just as I passed out.

The water breaks, and I can breathe again. There’s salt where it shouldn't be that blinds and chokes me. Dad helps me to a beach- the dock is gone, so I don't know where we are- and then pulls away to stop the boy from running off.

“Slow down, pal, you got nowhere to go.”

Tamara sighs and stands beside me, smiling at Dad. “Mission accomplished,” she declares. I look around and take everything in to keep myself from doing something rash like before. For one, it’s nighttime. For another, we’re on a beach with a jungle in front of us. For yet another, what the hell is the mission? Henry’s a kid, and we just almost died. I turn to ask my dad when Henry pipes up.

“Are you sure about that? Because soon, my mom’s coming to get me; both of them.”

Dad steps forward and crouches to his level. “You might want to take a look around, kid; you see any clock towers?” The smile on his face is tense, unfamiliar to me. “We’re a long way from Storybrooke.”

“It doesn’t matter!” Henry quickly yelps, “my family’s been to the Enchanted Forest before, and they can get here again.” Enchanted Forest? I open my mouth to start making some long overdue demands, but a howl cuts through the night, chilling my bones. Pins and needles spread from my sandy palms to the back of my neck. It reminds me of something, I just don’t know-

“Well, we’re not in the Enchanted Forest, either.”

“Passing along the favor, then?”

Tamara whirls on me for speaking. Dad catches my drift and his smile turns to a cold scowl before he snaps, “this is different.”

“This is mimicry,” I snarl and Tamara grabs my arm again.

“This is Neverland.” Henry asks if she’s certain of that, too, and she continues, “it’s the mother lode of magic, of course we’re here to destroy it.” How could my dad do this? What happened in Storybrooke? Why isn’t this just stalk somebody and then report them to the Home Office? Dad’s not a fighter. I’m sure of it. “Owen, the communicator, to contact the Home Office?”

Dad doesn’t flinch at either name drop the way I do. He just reaches into his pocket and hands her a large phone. He doesn’t look at me. “An office, in a jungle, huh?” Henry remarks. “Who works there?”

“Who we work for is not your concern, kid,” Dad tells him, “just know that they take care of us.” Henry asks how we’re getting home after they destroy magic, and Dad just says, “we don’t ask questions; we just believe in our cause,” and hysteria begins to invade my steely anger. Finally, Dad looks at me, dread in his frown. He opens his mouth to reprimand me.

“I should have told them everything,” I bite out, “back in San Diego, I covered for you, did you know that? Even though I ran, I couldn’t go through with it when they really started asking?” Tamara punches the phone next to me, unconcerned. “And you,” I laugh at my memory of the Boss, freely, terrified and lost and so tired of this way of life, “You never apologized, and now you’ve kidnapped this kid for no reason!” I don’t realize I'm yelling until Henry flinches. “Dad, they’re going to kill him.” I don’t say how I know, don’t expressly reference the Boss, but Dad rushes towards me and grips my shoulder roughly. I lose sight of Henry and when all I find is my dad’s grimace I remember who wrapped those bags of candy for my friends. I remember who raised me; quietly, enthusiastically, as he does anything else.

“Fix the communicator,” he snaps and turns me to his partner. Silently, I take the phone and open the battery compartment.

Sand falls out.

“Good thing you don’t ask any questions,” Henry says, his voice trembling a bit; he glances between the three of us with sudden nerves. He’s justified, I know, for a million reasons, the most recent of which being my naming of his death sentence. Or maybe he’s scared we’ll be stranded. Dad turns and shoves him towards the jungle.

They had me tied down to a metal table, one light in the room hanging right over my head and blinding me. I tried to call for help, but the man that came in was armed and stood by the door. The Boss entered next; when he was done, I swore I'd never leave my father’s side again. I swore on life and limb and only stretched my promise once in the time since, when he was in the hospital.

Dad lights a fire while Henry reminds me of myself- piping up with shaky insults every once in a while because it’s all he has. Defeated, terrified, and guilty from my outburst and the memories, I sit on a log with my head in my hands and don’t look up when there’s rustling leaves and footsteps.

“Who are you?”

“Oh, we’re the Home Office,” says a moderately young voice. My head jerks up and I find a group of boys in cloaks with sticks and messy hair gathered at the edge of the clearing. “Welcome to Neverland,” the boy at the front, tall and carrying not just a branch but a club, continues. his teeth bare in a smirk.

“The Home Office is a bunch of teenagers?” Tamara asks, and Dad frowns at her and shakes his head, Because we both know it isn’t. I mutter so but thankfully, no one seems to hear- especially the impostors.

“They’re not teenagers,” Henry disagrees, though it isn’t the most important thing. “They’re the Lost Boys.”

“Look at that,” the leader pronounces, tilting his head so his ratty blonde hair falls over his eyes. Henry asks why they want to destroy magic. “Who said we’re going to destroy magic?” Tamara argues that it was the mission, but the leader doesn’t react visibly except to look at her through his lashes. “So you were told, yes, now; the boy, hand him over.”

I’d be lying if I pretended to expect her reaction. Whatever I know about her, it’s mostly that she’s insane and tolerable. Tamara steps in front of Henry and declares, “Not until you tell us the plan- for magic, for getting home.” The leader’s lips twitch whlie I watch him, tense and confused.

“You’re not getting home.”

Fuck.

“Then you’re not getting the boy.”

“Of course we are.”

The leader chuckles, and suddenly the wind picks up and a- a dark- shadow? A cloud? It engulfs my father, and he screams, suddenly collapsing, right in front of me. My feet rush towards him of their own shocked accord as Tamara tells Henry to run, but sound goes a bit far away. It's like I’m underwater again, apologizing for everything I've ever done, but Dad doesn’t answer me. He just lays there, and when I set my shaking hand on his neck, I find no pulse. He's pale, cold, stiff. dead. I blink, but my vision narrows, and all I can do is cry over my father’s corpse.

Tamara’s gasps wake me. She's across the clearing, slapping the ground for my attention, but I don't go to her, shocked by the cold still under my hands and the arrow sticking out of her shoulder. A figure approaches her, one I saw only briefly around Storybrooke, but he’s dressed in leather now.

“So where is he?” Mr. Gold asks her, either ignoring or not noticing me. She gasps. “There, there, I'll help you speak,” he whispers, and waves his hand, and then the arrow disappears into thin air. She thanks him, again acting against what goals she’s voiced before. Magic. It’s real, and it just saved her life, and selfishly, suddenly, she doesn’t seem to mind it anymore. Even if Dad is my only point of reference for such a subject- and I trust him far too much- I still find my fingers curling with old anger. “Where is Henry?” Mr. Gold asks. “They killed him?”

Tamara looks around, at me again, and answers, “I don't know; I told him to run, and he did.” He asks where. “The jungle. Pan wants him, he’s behind all of this; look, Mr. Gold, I didn't know who I was working for, I'm sorry about Neal, I'm so sorry.” she sobs as the man kneels in front of her and mutters something I can’t overhear. “Can you forgive me?” She asks, but he shakes his head and then- and then just as quickly as he saved her life, he ends it, reaches into her chest like she’s made of nothing but mist and pulls out something glowing and red and crushes it to dust in his hands as she collapses. Tamara is dead. My dad- my dad is dead, still under my tense grip. I know I'm next.

Mr. Gold steps over to me and I close my eyes, continue to hold onto my dad’s sleeve. “Did you- love him?”

Surprised, I answer quickly, honestly, “yes, yes.”

“He did horrible things, hurt people, and you loved him?”

I tried to ignore it, the gunshots and screaming. When it did happen. Dad’s not- he wasn’t a fighter. “He’s my dad,” I say, throat tight, and let out a sob, bending over him farther, burying my tears in his cold back. Mr. Gold seems satisfied to listen for now. “I just wanted everything to be normal, no magic, no Home Office,” the words come out with a bite, like a curse. With a shiver, I continue, “I just wanted to go to school and go home and be with my mom and dad, not run around and get trapped underground and-” he crouches, and I stop myself from running as I want to. “Are you going to kill me?” I ask. He shakes his head. “You killed Tamara.”

“And she killed my son,” he mutters. “Death is contagious.” slowly he reaches out, and I lean away, afraid that he lied and is going to kill me like he very obviously can. But instead, he reaches past me and lays his hand on Dad’s shoulder and then stands. “You can come with me and survive, or be taken by Pan.”

“I don’t want to leave him yet, he should- they should be buried.”

“Taken by Pan, then,” Mr. Gold nods, and walks into the forest. Before he’s fully past the treeline, though, he calls back, “would you have left him, given the chance?” I pick up a stick and start digging.

“I was given the chance. I couldn’t, not in a way that stuck.”

The sun doesn’t rise. I work for what must be hours, hacking at the earth and hoping I'm really in Neverland where there probably aren’t any gas lines, and occasionally feed the fire for warmth and light. I don’t know who Pan is other than Peter Pan, but it doesn’t seem too farfetched based on what I’ve seen today. or, tonight. In Neverland. Besides, I am my father’s daughter, despite my misgivings about it. Finally there’s enough room for two in the grave, so I lay them down facing each other because she wasn’t my mom, wasn’t maternal at all, but they loved each other. Dad always loved talking to her. As I cover them with dirt, I sob, and as I mark out the grave, I lay down next to it and cry with dirt on my face and in my clothes and under my nails. For long hours I just cry. If I get back to Storybrooke, or to America at all, I’ll be put in a group home for the next few months, and then tossed out on the street. Even when Mom is released from prison, she has nothing. At least I have her. Again- if I get back.

“What’s your real name?” The voice comes from above, sharp and low and accented, and when I look up at the trees, there sits a figure that I can't see because the fire has died in my anguish. I don't answer. “The Home Office, they had records of you under Robin Mendell, but your father’s name wasn’t his, so I can’t imagine that’s yours.”

“Who are you?” I ask with a voice much more raw and weak and it usually is. The figure shuffles a bit and then falls, and I scoot away but the young man suddenly visible in the moonlight lands on his feet.

“I asked you first,” he says, putting his hands on his hips. He's dressed strangely like the boys earlier, loose, torn clothing and moccasins. A leather belt hangs from his shoulder. For the life of me I don’t know how he got into the tree above me and I won’t begin to parse how he landed so easily in the dirt. The very air around him seems thin. Off.

“That is my name.”

In a way. “Pretty.” I bristle, and he cuts a dangerous smile like the curl of a knife. Whether or not he meant it as an insult is entirely too vague. “But that isn’t what I asked.”

“It’s Penelope,” I yield in the face of the threat. “Penelope Flynn.”

He sways a bit from foot to foot before leaning forward and telling me, “I’m Peter Pan.” Right. Fucking knew it. Barely, I don't let out any more sobs or run or really do anything as he stalks towards me, Looking over the dirt on my face with a gaze I can feel more than watch. The closer he gets, the clearer his features are; shadowed eyes, harsh brows, smart and bony all around but with the stance of someone like the Boss. Someone who might shove me in the back of a car and not take an extra breath. “Do like games, Penelope?” I try to keep my own shoulders straight and don’t answer. Taken by Pan, then?

“What happened to the Home Office?”

Pan- and I suppose I’ve never noticed that my name is similar to that of a book character without a pig nose- shrugs and steps away. “That doesn’t matter,” he says, “unless, of course...” frustratingly enough he trails off. As he walks out of the clearing, he calls, “come on, Penelope, there’s food waiting.” I swore I would never leave my dad, but my vow has likely expired with him. Nothing more can be done. So I crouch and draw a flower in the dirt beside my other basic grave markings before following the strange young man into the jungle.

Food is meat off a spit. There's a pile of knives, and I’ve eaten stranger things in arguably less strange places, so I carve a bite for myself and stare at the fire for a while. My hands long for a pen and paper. If this were a riddle, maybe I might have solved it by now. Peter Pan either is or isn’t working with the Home Office; I can’t discern which is worse. Without knowing what he wants and why, I remember Henry. If Pan is working for the Home Office then Henry is dead. If he isn’t, then what? Without that piece of information I can’t move forward. It’s why I asked him such a thing. The Home Office to me begs caution, and I won’t offend my own experience by ignoring it.

“Girls are kind of rare here.” Someone sits beside me. “I’m Bee.”

“Robin,” I answer without thinking. A code name is useless here. Bee, ten at the oldest, grins with crooked teeth and cuts himself some meat. “It’s kind of in the name, Lost Boys.”

“Oh, there’s been girls, just not many.” I narrow my eyes at the fire- that doesn’t make any sense, for one thing to follow the stories if nothing else does. Neverland is dark, Peter Pan a murderer, Lost Boys not so limited. “Adults are kind of rare, too.” At least that still applies. Trix are for kids, I know. “But now there’s like, six?” He laughs. “Seven, I don’t know.” This catches my attention even more. Mr. Gold- how could I be so stupid?

“I’ve only seen one, a man named Mr. Gold.” The grave flashes behind my eyes and the log beneath me seems to roll forward, the very ground stolen away.

“Rumplestiltskin,” I’m brought back quickly enough and look away from the fire. Bee nods, and takes a large bite, but continues to speak through it, pieces of meat flying everywhere. “Yeah, he’s here with all those other adults, trying to get Pan, but they don’t know.” He laughs again. “Pan never fails!”

“Be quiet,” snaps the boy from earlier, the tall one. He stands from his log on the other side of the spit and bares his teeth at Bee, who yelps and scrambles up and away. I watch him clamber up a tree and hear laughter, and something in the back of my mind connects the command with his name. “Hey,” the boy continues, and I turn to find him much closer and bearing a wooden cup. “Take this,” he orders, handing it to me. Water. He sits where Bee did and rests his club over his knees. “You’ll get a name soon enough.”

“I already have a small collection,” I remark, but frown once the water is gone. Some webcomic about proliferating standards comes to mind. “Penelope, Robin, thank goodness I don’t have a middle name. What a mess.” The boy chuckles, but it’s lighter than before. Fuck, my heart goes to my throat at the memory, and I nearly vomit.

“I also have two names: Felix and Slightly,” he admits. I just watch the fire and try to breathe as his voice returns to focus. I ask which I’m supposed to use; he answers Slightly, and I nod. Slightly it is. Fuck. I close my eyes and rub at my brow with dirty, meaty fingertips, my head pounding with grief and terror. What does taken by Pan even mean? I still have a living mother to return to, even if I can’t go to her yet. As far as I know, she’s nice. Yeah, she abandoned me as a child, and yeah, she did something awful enough to end up in prison, but I do need something to hold on to.

Pan makes his presence known somehow, catching everyone’s attention by the fire. Slightly only watches the spit while almost everyone else’s head turns, but his lips twitch visibly. The paradoxically silent and obvious footsteps pause for a second directly behind the two of us. “Making a friend?”

“No,” Slightly answers, nearly interrupting him. Pan huffs and sits on my other side. “Don’t you-“

“Maybe I want to know what’s so interesting about Penelope here.” He knocks his knuckle against the wooden cup and it fills with water before my eyes. “You might be clever, but that could have just as easily been a misstep.”

“It’s very difficult to interest Pan,” Slightly murmurs. They speak so strangely, like they’re jumping between narration and dialogue instead of really just talking. “Like a goldfish.”

Pan grips the log next to my hip and leans over me to bare his teeth at Slightly, who bares his teeth right back which only prompts Pan forward, so I’m caught under the pressure of Pan’s shoulder dragging against my collarbone. He doesn’t lean back until Slightly does, but he doesn’t lean back entirely, remaining damn near. “I'm waiting, then,” he declares, face only inches from my own. I gulp, and his gaze flies to my throat, or what he can see of it from his perspective. If he’s speaking to me, it isn’t immediately obvious, his expression trancelike for a minute.

“Okay,” I say, which doesn’t make any sense but his eyes clear and his slow frown says he has no clue what I’m talking about but I don’t, either. Up close, with the fire, his eyes are still dark and his brows are still sharp, face so defined. He quirks a brow, and then nods. As if that was answer enough. I suppose it could be. Something must call his attention away because he stands and leaves an eerie vacuum beside me when he disappears into the night without a step taken. In the wake of him I struggle to breathe and Slightly, the asshole, seems to be holding in another laugh.

I settle into the deep hollow of a tree and don’t sleep, but it feels safer than out in the open. My body shouts at me in exhaustion. Something’s missing, though, my heart just healed enough from losing my dad that I’m between passing out and settling down. He never told me outright that his line of work could be dangerous. The only threat I witnessed was the Home Office, though I doubt he saw it that way. It hurts even to remember the things that frustrated me about my dad; surrounded by sniffling from around the camp, I feel trapped. Like I’ll never get to see my mother. Slightly, Pan, and Bee all made it seem normal. Like it’s just the way of things. But Pan is clearly the one who got us here, and I'm certain he can get me back. If he so wishes.

The sun still doesn’t rise.

I step out of the tree when someone restarts the fire and begins to cook. It’s as good an opportunity as any to warm my own frozen joints to the tune of fat spitting in the licks of flame. The ghostly pale boy cooking introduces himself tersely as Nibs and lets me try turning the spit. I'm not very good at it, and my arms waver more with physical weakness than with grief and nerves and chill. Nibs laughs with the right hush of early morning and then stops, expression carefully blank, looking behind me even with his just-unfocused eyes.

“This looks brilliant,” Pan says, coming up next to me and nodding to the spit. His voice is almost as identifiable as his atmosphere; my hands begin to twitch with shivers even though I’ve already warmed them up. “Where’d you get it?”

“The eastern lake,” Nibs answers, his buck-toothed smile returning. Pan congratulates him and flicks his hands; suddenly a length of fabric appears in his grip, billowing dangerously close to the flames. If he offers, I take too long to respond, so he tosses it over my shoulder and the ties of the evident cloak twist together on their own. Okay. At the very least, I won't freeze to death. It’s yet to be determined if he’ll kill me some other way or if I’ll simply suffocate in the odd space around him. Nibs and I watch as he disappears into the jungle. “You alright?”

“I-“ what a question! My dad died in front of me, on this island, because of Peter Pan and his Lost Boys, yesterday, or a couple hours ago, or when is the sun gonna rise? I sit and bury my head in my hands, rubbing at my eyes. Nibs continues to turn the spit. “I have no way to tell if anyone’s about to kill me. Are you?” It’s a dumb question. Nibs doesn’t answer, and Slightly appears as I sigh and open my eyes. Or swaggers, more than appears, between two trees and bearing his club.

“He likes you,” he says vaguely, and sets the club down to help with the fire.

“Who?” I ask even though it couldn’t be anyone but Pan; Slightly just looks at me for a moment, so I shake my head. “I’m going to die, aren’t I.”

“Pan isn’t going to hurt you.”

“Because I have a cloak.” Both lost boys nod. Great.

“Robin?” My head spins so quick I pull a muscle; there Henry stands half out of a tent, and I hurry over to him. “What’s going on? Did Pan trick you, too?”

“I don’t know yet.” When he shivers, guilt and hot shame wash over me- my own father is responsible for this. Maybe it’s better I’m still here, and I should try to make up for his mistakes. “Are you okay?”

Henry shivers again, “I’m fine.” He looks around at the tents, the fire with Slightly and Nibs staring at us, the jungle, my new cloak. “Have you really been working for Peter Pan this whole time, while Tamara manipulated my dad?”

My face runs suddenly warm but given the Lost Boys’ careful gazes, it’s probably best that I didn’t immediately hand over Pan’s gift. Who knows what kind of consequences that would’ve had. We walk to the other side of the fire. “The Home Office is real,” I tell him quietly, “it’s an organization that tries to find and destroy magic whenever possible.” He frowns, and points out what Slightly said when we first met him, but I shake my head. “I don’t know anything about Peter Pan, but I know the Home Office all too well. I’ve been to their headquarters.”

“Are they- would they do what you said, if they took me there instead of here?”

“Probably, but I also don’t know if this is any better,” I answer honestly. “Peter Pan arranged for us to come here, not the Home Office.” Henry nods. “They do have their eye on Storybrooke, though, especially after the last few weeks.”

“My moms can take ‘em,” Henry decides, and because he’s eleven or something, I agree quietly and leave it there. Slightly gives me a look I can’t read through the flames; Nibs just makes Henry help with the spit.

“Did you not like my gift, Penelope?” A vacuum that’s beginning to get familiar forms when I lean in to the flames to rub my hands together. “Poor Henry’s shivering and you didn’t think it was good enough to give him.” Pan stands with his moccasins almost buried in old ash from past fires, the light turning his bare ankles brown and red.

“I didn’t think,” I excuse, and go to unfasten the ties when they bind further under my hands, nearly swallowing my fingers. My mouth goes dry and I worry it’ll keep going, grip my throat, so I jam my hands above the collar. Pan doesn’t laugh when the ties stop, but his eyes do when I look up in panic and shame. Like he would have kept going if I hadn’t reacted.

“No, Henry, you need a cloak of your own, yes?” He suggests, stepping between us and sending a bolt of fear down my spine. It’s an innocent enough idea but my heart pounds. “We can make you a new one.” I nod and decide to never make such a mistake again. Or at least try. It seemed wise- but maybe that’s the problem. Didn’t he ask if I like games? He leads me and Henry into another clearing with tools laid around in the dirt. “In fact,” he continues, “why don’t you make it together, so Penelope can approve of it.”

I feel the obligation to apologize, but don’t say anything. Henry is quiet when Pan leaves. “I thought your name was Robin.”

“It is.”

“Oh.” Neither of us know how to sew, but we begin to figure something out among the fabric scraps and sticks and twisted stems. The other Lost Boys begin to wake for breakfast but neither of us move to get any. “How much does the Home Office know about magic?” He asks after a while.

“I was the lookout,” I admit, and take a deep breath to stop the tears. “My dad never told me anything except that stuff like this exists. I was gonna get out.” Since that doesn’t seem possible anymore, if it ever did with how powerful the Home Office seems to be, I try to imagine what could have been. “My mom’s in prison. He didn’t know I knew her, but I kept track of her, wrote stuff down so I wouldn't forget.”

“My mom went to prison too. I was born there.” I'm starting to think Henry's family is incredibly strange. “What did they do to you?” Henry surprises me, but thankfully we’re interrupted by the Lost Boys rushing out of the camp with whoops and hollers. The kid runs after them, but it becomes quickly evident that the Lost Boys know where they’re going and Henry doesn’t. I make sure to keep both the kid and the camp in sight so he can’t get turned around. “What do you think’s going on?”

“Pirates, aliens,” I throw out weakly. Best to pretend he didn’t ask the other question. “Maybe they act on a hive mind, and Peter Pan just called them all to look at a cool rock.”

“Maybe my family’s here.”

This I already figured out. Slightly didn’t seem happy about Bee telling me, but Henry seems overjoyed at the idea, so I don't reject it. Don’t remind him what happened yesterday when adults came to visit. We walk back to the camp and Henry happily occupies himself with the cloak, but I lose focus. Only a Lost Boy jumping down from his half-finished hammock snaps me back to attention. “So, you’re the kid Pan’s been looking for all this time,” he directs at Henry.

“Ask him,” Henry grumbles, and a few other Lost Boys approach to poke and prod at him. They get my best glare when I try to step into the middle of it. “Robin, it’s fine.”

The first boy scoffs. “If you can’t take some teasing without your big sister, how are you going to handle what Pan has in store for you?” He picks up a stick and encourages Henry to pick up his own while I'm overpowered by Nibs and another child. I shake them off, but stay put while the pair dance around the tools on the ground and fight.

“Not bad,” Pan decides, from behind me; immediately, as is apparently usual, the crowd falls silent and stops moving like the vacuum around Pan is greedy for time itself. Henry flushes and looks down at the stick in his hand. “But wouldn’t it be more fun if you had real swords?”

“I’ve never used a real sword,” Henry says, and Pan steps past me to whisper something in his ear. Henry's branch becomes metal within a shallow breath, and he suddenly charges at the Lost Boy while I struggle against Nibs and the other kid’s renewed grips. He’s a child, for fucks sake, and not a feral one like the Lost Boys all seem to be- but that very nature of the ones holding on to me puts me at a disadvantage. The Lost Boys cheer and yell and whoop and holler and bang sticks together with renewed vigor as Henry sets a series of blows upon the other boy. The one defending himself still only has a stick, and Henry ends up drawing blood. As if he’s the one hurt, he freezes and blurts, “I'm so sorry, it was an accident!”

Pan laughs, though, and asks him, “don’t you know the best part about being a Lost Boy?” He rests a hand on Henry's shoulder. “You never apologize.” Then he raises Henry's hand, and the Lost Boys continue to shout and cheer, and the kid smiles.

I’m feeding the fire when Nibs comes up and tells me I'm relieved. “You did this earlier,” I point out, and he shakes his head.

“I earned my name. Just go.”

He doesn’t say where, but with such a dismissal, it must be at least twenty feet away. I haven’t gone much farther than that from the fire except when Henry chased the Lost Boys out of the camp, but in all honesty it’s all I can do to feel safe. If I can’t extend the favor to Henry with his newfound comraderie, I’ll keep it for myself. So I wander the edge of my self-imposed border until the damp woodsy air shifts and the hair on the back of my neck prickles. No one else around the camp reacts. I pick up my feet and duck against a thick tree, hoping to ground myself with the bark. It feels like I’m being misted- drowned, really- and my hands don’t find any purchase. My gaze wanders and I find someone looking back at me from the far side of the camp, amidst the tents and, deeper in the jungle, a couple of hammocks.

Slightly doesn’t move from where he’s in a similar position to me, an unbothered mirror image. I can barely identify him from so far away. And yet. My mind registers when the eye contact breaks and he looks at something beside me.

A shiver runs down my spine even though I’m overheating. Slightly doesn’t look back at me; instead, he glides smoothly from view without breaking his own line of sight until he’s entirely gone. And he doesn’t appear on the other side of the trunk, either. I look frantically around the camp for Slightly, or Henry, or Nibs or even Pan but I can’t find anything or anyone that I can really label. The breaths I yank in are unfulfilling and wet.

The light burned at my eyes and the cold metal table bit at my thighs and shoulders even through my clothes. My bindings were some kind of fabric or leather that scratched the thin insides of my wrists and my neck, made my calves itch. Every detail demanded attention, even the pressure inside my shoes where they perched at the edge of the table. There were no movies or puzzles or memories I could call upon; everything was new, everything was threatening. I pushed against the restraints and they gave only enough to itch further. The Boss checked each one and seemed satisfied enough to keep me where I was. He turned away to speak, or it sounded like he did, because my eyes wouldn’t adjust to the stark difference between the lighting on the table and the lighting in the room. He said something about carbon and a mask was pushed around my nose and mouth that almost seemed to push air into my lungs. Metallic, plastic, pure air. My eyes began to flutter and I couldn’t hold my squint. Everything was so cold.

It didn’t hurt then. The pain came much later, but I couldn’t tell my dad, so I went to school and blocked out nearly three weeks of material. No, during, it was like coming in from the cold and wrapping my stuff fingers around a steaming mug of cocoa. Some kind of assistant moved my shirt away from my stomach and stuffed other fabric in its place beneath my back. It was cold and hot, and I had goosebumps that didn’t fade. Like an icicle beneath my skin, where it shouldn’t be, finding all the warmth of my blood and scaring it away. The roof was hot and I ran from it; the room was cold and I could do nothing. My lungs and throat dried with that steady flow of air but I didn’t scream once.

“No matter how your heart is grieving, if you keep on believing, the dream that you wish will come true…”

A murmured lullaby wakes me to the rhythm of fingers carding through my hair. I blink and there’s Peter Pan kneeling over me, something plush at my back and soft words falling from his mouth. He keeps singing as I try to relax. His ministrations are nice; beyond neat, I feel clean. Again I wonder what carries from the snippets of fairytales I heard at school.

“What-“ I croak and my throat seizes in a cough. Pan bends further and guides me upright with little difficulty.

“The mermaids bathed you,” he mutters and continues to comb my hair. I’ve never known it to be all that silken, especially when wet- even more especially when wet with salt water- but his hand glides through. “You might taste salt for a while; Henry chewed their ears off when he saw them mistake your gasping for that of a fish on land.” I roll my tongue against my teeth and find what he means as he stops to hum more of the lullaby. “I won’t pretend it wasn’t funny. He could be so much more powerful, you know, if he wasn’t so tense.”

There’s nothing for me to say, so I don’t speak. Fortunately this doesn’t seem to be a problem.

“A dream is a wish your heart makes...”

Henry ignores Pan entirely when we return to the camp through winding paths that I couldn’t recount given a lifetime. Instead he damn near tackles me in a hug, made heavier by his loosely finished cloak. He only reaches my shoulders but makes up for it with enthusiasm. All I’m left to do is watch Pan walk away; he turns just before entering the largest tent and I swear delicate fingertips kiss my eyelids until they close. He’s gone with them.

“Tootles brought you to the mermaids, and I told them to keep your clothes on, but then they started drowning you-“

“Henry.” It’s true, my clothes are starchy with dried seawater. Henry looks up from where he’s been practically shoving his face into my armpit. I’m honestly not sure what to say, but I thank him for his help and he nods.

Then says, “I have a therapist. You can go see him when we get back.”

Oh. Wow.

Something of my dread and offense must show on my face because he scrambles to insist that therapy is an important thing for everyone no matter how supposedly healthy, but I worried him when I was hyperventilating and unresponsive. A nearby Lost Boy snorts. Blah blah, I think, do I look like some kind of orphan with PTSD or something?

“Whatever,” I grumble and remove the kid from my person. A dry ache invades as if I was actually in that room again, but it fades when I stand nearer to the bonfire. Bee claims Henry’s attention.

Nibs claims mine. “Music’s starting soon.” If that means anything, I don’t know, but it doesn’t seem important. “Slightly and me are gonna hunt early tomorrow. You should sleep through the festivities and come with us.” He isn’t cooking, but his hands weave between licks of flame and I wonder if the roughness to his skin is a consequence.

“I don’t know how.”

“You know some.”

My stomach turns over again, but Nibs even doesn’t look at me, let alone apologize. Our conversation is cut short by an earthquake, or what feels like one, though, so I leave him and look around for somewhere safe when it dawns on me that I’m the only thing shaking. It’s a pleasant hum, though, after a moment. One I can and do settle into. Like drumming. Like a heart. Low tones filter through the air around me like fog and birdsong and crowded school hallways. I yearn for the idea as suddenly as it clears further into a melody, then further into Peter Pan and his flute at the center of everyone’s attention. Nibs mentioned festivities- they begin as Pan shifts the song without a break and the Lost Boys begin to chant, dance, sing along. They gather instruments and not-instruments alike to join the performance. Henry, eyes closed, cloak tangling with the buttons of his shirt, moves from Pan’s side and the attention moves with him.

Peter Pan transforms from ringleader to puppet master before my eyes; neither is likely true, but I don’t much care. Instead I retreat towards the tents and the jungle until my head pounds a little quieter. The music- Pan’s heartbeat, if he has one- lulls me to sleep soon after I find another hollow tangle of roots.

Slightly and Nibs are having a silent conversation above me when I wake up. There’s no noise in the entire camp, in fact; even the jungle sleeps. My stomach alerts them I’ve woken up and Nibs hands me a waterskin to tide me over. Slightly offers me a spear that I’m not sure I can refuse. My socks and shoes were lost to the mermaids, so we set out as quiet as can be through the trees with Nibs’ skin the only thing I can really see. When he ducks and his cloak falls over him, I’m as good as blind, simply trusting that he hasn’t taken any sudden turns and left me to wander. We’ve been up and about for a while when Slightly’s hand lands on my shoulder and the wind picks up.

“This way,” he whispers, before darting between broad leaves. I follow the subtle sounds of greenery shifting, spear as ready as I can make it; I’m not a fighter, I tell myself, my dad wasn’t a fighter, and I’m not a fighter. The wind picks up further and Slightly moves too far ahead for me to listen to his trail, but the trees above sway and a sliver of moonlight catches on Nibs’ hand against a tree trunk ahead of me. We regroup in a tunnel between bare trees and salted rock, sea air soaring through, and Slightly motions for me to wait where the trees thicken again and the gusts are filtered by ferns and thorns. “We don’t have time right now for you to prick yourself with Nightshade, so resist the temptation,” he mutters right against the shell of my ear with a chilly puff of air and such a deep-baked stench to him that I hold my own breath. Finally, he adjusts my grip on the spear and disappears almost as quickly as Pan. I lean away from the thorns. I’m not left waiting for too long, but the moments stretch with how my eyes burn.

A harsh gust of wind carries something my body is aware of but can’t identify- something in the sky. It drops, then soars away, leaving its load to fall into the branches and then to the rock. I step forward with the spear out- this must be what we’re hunting- and then the Knight lifts his head and looks directly at me where I’ve placed myself in a moonbeam.

“What-”

Slightly and Nibs sneak up on him from behind. “Welcome home, Baelfire,” Slightly greets him. “Pan will be so happy to see you.” They knock him dizzy and bind his arms while I sputter.

“I- he-” it makes sense that Henry’s father would come to rescue him, but Henry didn’t mention it. Only his mothers, the sheriff and the mayor. “How many of them are here now?”

“Seven now. Bee can’t count.” Or keep a secret. Without Mr. Gold or Knight, there are five adults on the island. I figure Slightly isn’t factoring my dad or Tamara, so I assume the sheriff and the mayor are two, leaving three that I don’t know. Nibs directs me to help him lift Knight to his feet and we start along the path of salt-poisoned trees.

Nibs turns his head to me, eyes still lazily wandering ahead of us, and murmurs, “you lied.” This doesn’t bode well for my safety or sanity. “And I was wrong. You don’t just know some; could’a done this on your own.” Does he know that’s worse? I stare down at the spear, visibility better with fewer trees around. Not good enough, however, for me to catch through my horror that Knight has worked himself free and knocked Slightly out cold. It only comes to my attention when Nibs starts running and gets a half-rotted branch thrown at him.

“Slightly,” I gasp, and rush over to the limp Lost Boy as Nibs soldiers on. “Hey, wake up, asshole,” I tell him without really thinking. He blinks and groans, then jumps up with my help and we follow the bootprint trail until we find Nibs standing over three Lost Boys.

“Fast for such an old man,” Nibs huffs.

“He had help.” Slightly decides and limps forward, cradling his head, to examine one of the kids. “Magic. Let’s get them back to camp.”

Pan notices us immediately as we shuffle into view of the camp. In a blink he goes from forty to two feet away, eyes blazing even in the dark. “What happened.”

“Baelfire got away.”

He takes a glance at the kids slumbering on despite how rocky the trip back was and grins. “The Dark One. So father and son have been reunited.”

“We should move the boy.”

“Now, Felix, where’s your sense of adventure? The fun’s about to begin.” My exhausted lungs empty when Pan’s attention shifts to me. “Tamsin and the twins can go to the healing tent.” He steps forward until we’re face to face in the dark and those dancing fingertips brush some of my hair away from my neck. “Looks like you picked up more from the Home Office than you think you did.”

Indignant, I sniff. His nearness isn’t as offending as Slightly’s- he might even be freshly washed- but his words cut much deeper. “I’m not-“

“-your father, yes, note the glaring difference between you now.”

My stomach twists and I taste bile, all of my body straining under Tootles’ weight and my own grief and disgust. This- this asshole- “Pan,” I growl, and his grin is visible in shadow.

“You really are fun,” he muses, and pinches the side of my neck, his fingernails digging in like teeth. “Penelope.”

In a moment he’s gone, so I don’t wonder why he said my name so quietly. I just take Tootles to the tent that Slightly and Nibs reach a few minutes before me given their established lifestyles. With food in my hands and the spear put away I notice all the splinters and scrapes building up from wandering the jungle barefoot and bare-handed. Scabs from dry vines and the several tree trunks I’ve cling to litter my arms where my sleeves dried shorter than they’re meant to. Dirt piles up beneath all my nails and in the shallow lines of my knuckles. My feet are caked with mud and debris. The food is ashy and it’s validating to see Nibs drop his serving into the fire with a scowl.

“You need to clean up, and the vernal pool has a patch of berries,” he says, and nothing else, so I follow him out of the camp again. Tootles and the twins join us with only slight breaks to their steps, but they make it a little less awkward to strip down to my underwear and get to washing. Nibs reclines half-submerged at one edge of the water and picks the berries he can reach, tossing them to each of us in turn.

“Robin,” Tootles starts after a splash war with the twins dies down and she wades over to join Nibs in gathering fruit. “Why did you dig that hole?”

For a moment I don’t understand. And then I remember throwing myself to the earth. “It’s what people do when they- when,” I tell her, but don’t really finish my sentence, the word choking itself out of my throat. “They return to the earth, and you can sit with them.”

“You haven’t gone back.”

“An opportunity, not a commitment. It’s tradition.”

Tootles hums around a berry. “No one’s ever done that, here. They get dragged into the water sooner or later, either by their traveling companions or by the mermaids.”

The thought disgusts me. I scrub harshly at my knuckles until the scabs open. “Well, I did it.” Nibs throws me a berry and it begins to sink a bit in the muddied, bloodied water, but I catch it and eat it anyways. “My mom might make us headstones, but I doubt she’ll be able to afford it for a while.”

“Headstones?”

“She can’t afford rocks?”

“They’re carved,” I specify, “and she’s in prison, so she can’t afford anything.”

“What did she do?”

I make a face. I still don’t know, and I’ll never find out. Nibs throws another berry. I sit on a mossy rock so the water reaches my shoulders and I can rinse my hair of sweat. When I don’t answer, they move on. We wash and eat for a while waiting for our clothes to dry by a small fire the twins set up. We only head back when Tootles gets bored and starts smearing mud on her face; it’s all in all a nice afternoon, or evening, or whatever time it is. No sun is starting to fuck with my head. Only the first and slowest mind game of Pan’s, I’m sure, and he provides another when we reach the camp.

“Took you long enough,” he calls, posed as if checking a watch. But he doesn’t move, and after a moment the twins rush over to him and ask what’s wrong. “It’s our move. See who you can wake up with some of the reserve water,” he tells them lowly and then turns his head just barely when they scurry off. “Tamsin, if you don’t mind, I’ve got ink on my hand. Be careful, or you won’t move for days.”

The camp is back in motion, dozing Lost Boys rejuvenated, within minutes. Or, a few of them are. Whatever the twins are using is a limited resource. Weapons are amassed and limp bodies are dragged into their tents to recover. I’m just tucking in Curly- nicknamed aptly- when I notice.

“Where’s Henry?”

Pan doesn’t tell me, which is as good an answer as any, though I’m not entirely sure who I’m rooting for. “There is a thing that nothing is, and yet it has a name. It's sometimes tall and sometimes short, joins our talks, joins our sport, and plays at every game.” But he leaves before I can begin to guess. The tie of my cloak that I only just managed to loosen back at the pool binds itself in his wake.

Does it even matter who came for Henry? I doubt it makes a difference. Mr. Gold destroyed Tamara without losing any breath himself. Whoever is here, they can’t be more powerful than that, and if they are? Pan’s fucked. His theatrics and manipulation pale in comparison. Yes, of course, any old human like Tamara or my dad could die anytime to a blown tire or a sinkhole or a particularly determined Canadian goose. But to be murdered- I shiver- and so easily means that any skill my father may have passed on to me is useless. My chances are slim. Curly stumbles out of his tent and throws me a salute.

“Do you know the fairytale?”

How Bee manages to sneak up on anyone given his talkative nature is beyond me. “Which fairytale?” I ask.

“The one with Peter Pan, Captain Hook, the Lost Boys, and Never Never Land.”

“I thought I did.”

“Not the truth, Robin, the story.” When is a mind like a fairytale? When it’s made up. I prompt him to tell me. “There once was a boy who lived in a land of dreams, and he didn’t want to grow up, so he didn’t. One day he lost his shadow. You need a shadow, right, to walk in the sun and dance around a fire! So he left his home in search of it. Wendy Darling, who had imagined him up and taken him on so many adventures in Never Never Land and told of his duels against the pirate Captain Hook, found his shadow and caught it. When the boy showed up, she sewed his shadow back onto his feet and he brought her and her brothers to Never Never Land with him. They wanted to stay, and the Lost Boys there were ever grateful that she gave them life and a home, but to stay, she would have to never grow up. That was the rule, you know, but she wasn’t so sure about it. They asked her to stay, to be their mother, and they asked her to tell them all the stories she had told her brothers. But she gathered her brothers and, in exchange for a thimble and a promise, Peter Pan returned them to their house. She grew up and couldn’t return, but she passed the story on.”

“I don’t think I’ve heard that version,” I admit. “It’s usually just a kiss.”

“What’s usually a kiss?”

“The thimble and the promise.” Thinking back, though, they may have called it a thimble. “There was something about a bird, too, but,” Bee quiets as I think. “We watched Fantasia when I was in fourth grade, and then my teacher found out I’d never seen any Disney movies. I didn’t understand Fantasia at all, I mean, no Disney in my household.” That teacher tried so hard to fill me in on what I had missed. The TV cart is a clearer memory than any math I learned that year.

“I don’t know what knees or a fan have anything to do with it, but the story will always be different. It isn’t true, so there’s no one version.”

The Lost Boys march into camp and deposit Henry on a rotten log as I nudge Bee in thanks. “I think I can see that.” He laughs loudly, as he is still Bee, and nudges me back.

“I just wanted to help with your riddle.”

Oh. I tilt my head at Bee, stiff and surprised, but he gets up and scampers off to bother someone else. Of course Pan’s riddle has something to do with him. One way or another, it has to. Sometimes tall and sometimes short- maybe the Lost Boys? Joining every game? I run through the riddle a few times in my mind.

Pan crouches over Henry as soon as I do. We watch him slumber on as the other Lost Boys around the camp start to drag themselves awake. On a whim, and on the subject, I decide to recite a riddle of my own.

“It goes through the door without pinching. It sits on the stove without burning. It rests on the table, unashamed.”

He’s utterly still. “You could answer mine just as easily.”

“How about we trade hints?” It’s a gamble that doesn’t feel even remotely necessary, but he nods, so I say, “I miss it.”

“I don’t.”

Henry shifts and groans a bit as I take in the new information. It can’t be the Lost Boys, then, or I suppose it could- he doesn’t have to miss them, since he’s always with them.

“What happened?” Henry brings my attention back to him. Pan’s brow twitches.

“You fell asleep.” When Henry stiffens, he continues, “oh, don’t worry, it was just a little catnap. Night’s still young.”

Something about the sentence makes me hold back nervous laughter while I settle in the dirt. “Wait, I- I remember something. My dad, when I was asleep, I-“ he looks at me with more pity than a ten year old should have. “I could’ve sworn I heard him calling for me.”

“Really?” Pan says quickly, just stretched out enough that it seems like the flick of his eyes to me is anything but a warning. I suppose that settles where Henry was when the Lost Boys all fell asleep. Father and son reunited, indeed.

“It must’ve been a dream.”

“Well, how can you be sure?”

“Because.” Henry throws me another pitying frown. A guilty frown. A pained- I can’t read the kid, really, but he says, “cause my dad’s dead.”

I blurt “no” before my head catches up and starts piecing things together that I don’t want to make sense of. “He was with… Tamara…” shit. Didn’t Mr. Gold already tell me this? That Tamara killed Neal Cassidy, that death is contagious? Oh, shitting hell… Henry sets a light hand on my shoulder as if I’m the one in need to comfort here. As if! “Henry, I’m so sorry,” I beg of the kid, guilt building upon guilt; it was expressly my job to make sure they could do theirs, and while I didn’t do it enthusiastically, being an accomplice to murder is a new line to me. Or whatever it is that makes Henry and Tamara and Mr. Gold so sure Knight is dead when I just saw him a few hours ago.

Pan shifts in the dirt. I bite my tongue. “I’m sorry too, Henry; it makes sense for us to dream about the things we’ve lost and the things we hoped for, like your father being alive and your mother coming to find you. But eventually, you’ll find new things to dream about- and when you do, they’ll start to come true.”

“How do you know?”

“Because that’s what I did,” Pan answers easily, mirth lighting his expression, “and now you’re here. Neverland used to be a place where new dreams were born. You can bring that magic back, Henry, and we can be your family.” As if moving through mud, he reaches between us and combs his fingers through my hair, smooth as anything. He says something more to Henry that I don’t catch, lost to a thumping in my stomach when the only thing of Pan’s attention that remains on me is his wrist, limp on my shoulder. The vacuum is starting to take my flesh the way black holes eat anything they can reach. Greedy. Hungry. If it’s intentional, I can’t tell. I’m not even sure I care. “Penelope.”

Henry is long gone when I blink and find Pan. A tension has appeared in his expression, but it clears when I shake my head in a shudder. “What?”

“It’s sunlight, isn’t it?” He surprises me by saying; it is. When I don’t answer quickly enough, he pulls my elbow until we’re both standing and mutters directly into my ear, breath cold, “close your eyes.” I do. “Neverland is a place where time stands still. The night suits me for now, but it doesn’t always. Magic, of course, always comes with a price.”

My father hated it. “What really happened?”

“That’s for another time. I’ve brought you to the day, Penelope, open your eyes and step into it.”

And he’s right, I discover, wincing at the adjustment before rushing out from the treeline towards a rocky cliff over the water. Salt and sun dig into my skin and breathe life into me in a way I didn’t think necessary until it left me- at fourteen, I had enough of the sun. Now, I’m starved for it. Birds sing behind me and squawk before me, and creatures dance in the water that I can’t identify. Probably because of the distance. Mostly. Content absorbing energy and warmth from the light, I settle on my back despite the stone underfoot. It feels good. Pan’s words don’t escape me so soon, though.

“What did the cloak cost?”

Pan doesn’t answer for a moment, and I squint against the daylight to check if he’s done something awful or left. Instead he merely watches from the treeline. “Isn’t it obvious?” He wonders, as if that’s ever gotten anyone anywhere. I hold back a scowl despite how pinched my features probably already are. “You’re a Lost Boy.”

I’m not a boy, I don’t say, though Tootles doesn’t seem to be, either. Hardly stops her. Instead I sit up and face the treeline so my face falls into shadow and I don’t have to squint. He doesn’t step forward. I’m still not sure who I’m really rooting for- Pan has taken over the Home Office in some capacity, which appeals to me, but with that power he organized all this, which doesn’t appeal to me at all. “What does this cost?” He waves his hand broadly, still keeping to the shade, and a wall of vines that I thought were covering a boulder brush themselves away from a natural looking archway. I stand and look past it to find a spring clearer than any water I’ve ever seen.

“Have a drink, and enjoy yourself. Stay however long you like,” Pan murmurs, appearing behind my shoulder as soon as I move through the arch. I jump, but the vines have settled again. Hang on- why isn’t he stepping into the sunlight? Why does the night suit him right now? He looks like he’s about to turn and go when I speak.

“Your shadow.” You need one to walk in the sun and dance around a fire, Bee said! Of course- he doesn’t miss it probably because he gave it up, tore it from his body the same way Dad had his stolen as he died. A predictable accompaniment for most creatures, but not Peter Pan. It works.

We’re at an odd angle, looking at each other but too close. “What’s been around for eons, but is no more than a month old?”

“The moon,” I answer easily, though it comes from one of my books. At least when I first read it, I worked for however long it took to come up with it myself. But now it’s just familiar. A beat passes with just the echo of running water in the not-quite-cave. “A man’s title, bread, a motion, cookware.” One of my friends- in those times when I was at school enough to gather any- came up with such a riddle after I tricked them with Einstein’s impossible one. But I cut out the item that would reveal the answer immediately to my audience: one boy. I never solved the riddle myself, though I intended to. My friend took pity on my hair pulling within just an hour.

The one boy seems to read me, his gaze dancing from detail to detail that I couldn’t follow if I tried, even at this distance. Then he’s gone, and with his absence air rushes into the space he took up beside me and in my lungs.

There seem to be few choices, with Peter Pan. No room for argument or suggestion. My cloak, which unwinds itself and floats delicately off my shoulders and onto the spring’s rocky edge, was a gift. I didn’t ask for it; Pan himself even called it a gift, from him to me, when I didn’t pass it on to Henry. In speaking about price he implied that I paid for the cloak by joining the Lost Boys. Maybe, though, he paid for a gift by letting me into the Lost Boys. Or maybe Dad paid for the cloak and Lost Boy title by dying. What does the sun cost, then? It cuts through the rock above as if the spring is in a stone vase and lights up the water until everything sparkles. The far wall bears the source of sound, a rapid spout. Again I only have implications- is drinking the spring water paying for the light? Again this wasn’t something I asked for, though. I’m not certain I’ve asked for a single thing since coming to Neverland. That doesn’t seem to matter with Peter Pan.

He returns after I drink and don my cloak, though it doesn’t tie itself until he’s near. “Is that really all the sun you can take?” My mouth dries of words. Is that really all he’ll give me? It’s been all of an hour!

“Humans are typically diurnal,” I say, but it comes out quiet and clumsy, “the body has- cycles-“

“Do you think I’m not human?”

“You’re-“ I don’t know. Pan said- Pan said- “time stands still in Neverland, and yet it passes. There’s a past here, for me; not everything is happening together as I observe it. I walked, I spoke, I drank, and now I speak again. It would all be indistinguishable and full of paradoxes if time were truly still.”

“Say what you mean.”

Rich, coming from him. But I don’t know what I mean. “Time doesn’t really stand still here, does it? The Lost Boys sleep, the fire dies down, my stomach growls. It’s- it’s-“ I don’t fucking know! The front of my cloak is suddenly yanked forward and I stumble towards where Pan has settled in the available shade. I jerk my head up, keep an eye on him, in close quarters once again but this time the ties don’t loosen because he has one hand twisted in my collar. Even without his vacuum I would be choking. “It’s you.”

“Seems we’re good at solving two riddles in one, Penelope.” My face heats even with my lungs working with the bare minimum. And his- his face- he’s murderous, gleeful, focused. His dark eyes sparkle but his frown is stiff. “For our next pair, remember what you said about the story of Never Never Land. If you break me I do not stop working; if you touch me I may be snared; if you lose me nothing will matter.” Pan looks below my eyes, then meets me again. “I claim the space beside you.”

Mentally I divide his words into pieces like a puzzle: what’s usually a kiss, the new riddle, the matching pair. “Promise?” I ask, and he provides the thimble. I’ve never kissed anyone before, nor been kissed, not in ways that matter. But the delicate slant of Pan’s mouth to my cheek is significant enough to forget any similar experience. I find my breath again.

What does this mean? Is it a good idea? Do I have a choice, can I reject whatever deal Pan has set on my soul? All questions not worth asking.

“It’s been a long day for you,” he decides. “Go rest in the sun outside, and I’ll send Felix to wake you.”

I dream of two brothers: the older a Captain, the younger a Lieutenant. They sail together on a Pegasus to a land of dreams. The sun is bright and soft, the sky bluer, water clearer than either of them could fathom. Perfect waves rock their boat as they release the anchor and paddle to shore with their best scouts. All through the journey they grin, honored to be given their mission and awestruck at the magic they’ve witnessed. The older walks just ahead, and they split from the scouts, all with scrolls stowed in their coats. By order of the King they’ll find their bounty. A medicinal plant. They begin their search, trusting the scouts to find and report or neutralize any threats, or to gather the plant themselves should they come upon it, when a boy makes himself known; he’s odd, doesn’t understand their mission, turns them against each other. The boy insists that the plant will decimate populations with a mere nick. That it is a poison without an antidote, even for those gifted with unusually long lives. His eyes sparkle oddly with youth that doesn’t match his words. Nervous, the younger brother turns to the Captain and wonders if he’s correct. They argue, pushing each other to be noble and compassionate in turn, when the older brother marches up to the bush they were led to and drags a thorn across his arm. He falls. The younger brother pays with currency he can’t comprehend just for a few more hours- and then he’s alone. He curses the King’s lie.

Slightly nudges my arm with a mud-caked foot. “Don’t tell me you’re comfortable. What were you thinking?” Through pained grunts as I unstick my body from the rock, I tell him about the sunlight. He snorts. “I didn’t know you had it in you.”

“What?”

No answer. He just shrugs and we make our way back to the camp without too many more words.

In what is probably a good sign for me, Pan isn’t there when we arrive. Henry is, off to the side with the Lost Boy he fought. Slightly follows my steps when I make my way over and I hold back any protests. Henry jumps when he notices us and sends the boy away. I’m not about to make any assumptions based on his demeanor- I barely know the kid, and Pan is no doubt reserving his most intense psychological games for him.

“Robin,” he greets me, and adds quieter, “Felix.”

“What was that about?” I watch the Lost Boy wander off.

“He was just congratulating me.” Huh? I look back at Henry, and he continues, “on becoming a Lost Boy, I mean.” His gaze keeps flicking between me and Slightly, but Slightly takes the opposite of the hint and grins slow, stepping up and leaning an elbow on my shoulder.

“That mean you’ll come hunting with us?”

“Not yet.” Pan interrupts by materializing at Henry’s shoulder, mirroring Slightly’s pose but with his elbow on Henry’s head, given their height difference. They stare at each other for a moment and then break off, prompting Henry to deflate.

“Henry?” I ask him, herding him behind a tree so we can sit in relative solitude. But I don’t think for a moment that we have any privacy. “Are you alright?”

Henry sighs. I’m surprised again by how much he seems to pack into his little head. “My family’s here,” he admits. It’s almost too quiet for me to hear. “They said they’re coming to get me, but, I just get the feeling that Pan’s in control of every little thing.”

I would assume so, myself, but I don’t tell him that. He deserves comfort; I won’t change my mind after a few unsolicited gifts. I won’t even think about the thimble. “Remember what you said, before? When we first got here?” Before. It’s odd, that I can’t really say it, even though Dad’s absence rings incessantly in the space around me whenever I have half a mind to think. Even when I’ve grieved him and grieved who I wanted him to be and grieved Mom and the chance I could have gotten with her and grieved Tamara when she wasn’t Mom and grieved my friends and grieved my life and grieved and grieved and- I wonder if I’ll ever do anything else, suddenly. Pan’s advice for Henry was to forget the things he couldn’t have, and in close proximity to whatever Pan is it seems easy enough. Maybe the trick is he knows it, knows his presence is the only reprieve from the shit he himself is responsible for.

“I said,” Henry hiccups with shining eyes, “I said they’d come for me.” Yes, he snarked Dad and Tamara, and I did, too; I wouldn’t take that back. But Henry seems to be drowning in guilt. “But-“

“Henry.”

“No, I-“

“What changed?”

“Everything,” he sighs. “Everything’s different, I don’t know. If they manage it, will you come, too?”

My teeth grind together as I try not to grimace. “I was intending to meet up with my mom outside of prison, but sure, I’ll join her.” My eighteenth birthday is too soon for this. The sheriff and the mayor’s son kidnapped, I’m the only surviving perpetrator, Henry’s been gaslit to hell? When Henry starts arguing that he’d vouch for me, I shut him down. “Henry, I helped them. On purpose. That was my role, I wasn’t just tagging along for the road trip songs, okay?” It feels awful, but I explain. “Even if your mom doesn’t arrest me, I’m headed nowhere fast. I have to stay here for any shot at leading a fulfilling life.”

“I don’t want to leave without you.”

I won’t pretend I haven’t been manipulated. Like a marble on a plate, or clouds in a storm system: Pan is the point of lowest pressure, and he’s lifted the plate with his own hands, plucked me out of my general misery to entertain him. The tree we’re hiding behind scrapes my shoulder through the cloak when I start in a direction I can’t see the end of. I don’t know what to say, so I just let my feet go where they will and stop at Pan’s side.

“I haven’t read much fantasy in my life,” I admit under my breath, “but magic rules are usually more specific than a price, right?”

“You want to know what I can do and how?”

Not really. Fire dances in his eyes even though Nibs and the spit he’s always turning are yards away. Fire, and stars. And the cold, stifling vacuum of being spun in Pan’s orbit. “Just tell me what I’m paying for shit I didn’t order,” I say, more than a little breathless.

Peter Pan turns more fully towards me and tilts his head it what isn’t a nod. Then he steps forward, just off center so our temples knock together when I gasp; when I try to lean back, it’s with resistance from my cloak. My vision tunnels and the air only gets thinner when I dare look at him, so I close my eyes. It’s almost worse. Almost. Blood pounds in my ears loud enough to drown the camp out, but I can hear quiet puffs of air and the creak of every fine hair bent by our heads. An inch to one side and we’d be kissing, an inch forward and we’d be hugging. Or some undoubtably elusive version of such things. Pan moves in neither direction; he turns his head, knocking his jaw against mine until his cold breath draws between the top of my ear and my hairline again. Everything I thought before about him being the one comfort to all his horrors was wrong! Peter Pan is just so fucking overwhelming that it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters. I haven’t breathed in minutes, I don’t care to think, by the time he chooses to speak again.

He says, “no.”

In my mind the storm cloud has already broken, but when I open my eyes, it seems I have, too. There’s barely any sensation coming from my knuckles when I can clearly see myself trading hits with Peter Pan. My body has decided, for me, to break formation and leap from the plate. There’s other information to take in, I’m sure- I’ve only seen Pan breathe without an audience twice- but the glare of each point of contact is more powerful than anything. I don’t even feel it, not really, but seeing it happen is intoxicating. Is this torture? More mind games? It certainly feels like I’m being puppeted. I could very well just be going insane, which wouldn’t be all Pan’s fault. But for hours I rain and he enjoys it. The head rush takes forever to quiet down.

When I wake, I feel more rested than I probably ever have in my life. I’m flat on my back, warm, my head supported, no biological needs calling for me yet. The ache in my muscles is comforting, in a way. Grounds me to the moment and helps me think of nothing. When I release my hands from the fists they seem stuck in, I find them bruised and cracked; my body and mind feel rejuvenated, but at the same time, I can’t really go lax. Something draws close to my brow, drifts from lash to lash until I turn away. A puff of air crosses my face.

My first suspicion is a bug. Dad has never woken me up so slowly, preferring to nudge my arm until I shake him off. Most of the time, he just yells from the kitchen-

A canvas roof greets my eyes. Dad is dead.

“Fuck,” I hiss to myself, and “shit,” for good measure. My throat swells, my eyes burn, my ears shift with pressure.

“Did you know,” Bee starts as he marches into the tent. I look around and find where we deposited the twins and Tootles, but no one is around. “Two brothers came to Neverland once, long ago. They sought Dreamshade, and believed it was a medicine. Pan thought it was funny. To prove him wrong, one brother cut himself with a thorn of Dreamshade and collapsed immediately.” Bee sits. “We Lost Boys watched the remaining brother beg Pan for help; it really was hilarious. Captain Hook, crying like a baby. Pan opened Neverland’s spring to him, which ties all who drink to the island, and Hook’s brother lived long enough to sail away and die.”

“I think I did know,” I mutter, mostly to myself. But time is irrelevant, so I suppose it’s hardly surprising. That I drank water that has tied me to Neverland on pain of death is unsurprising, as well.

The tent flap swings on a phantom wind. Any hope of gathering my composure disappears with the air, and I’m left crying without a sound, without reserve. Then he appears. “It’s time,” Pan says, and Bee pulls me to my feet. “The Dark One will die and be trapped in his vault, destroying Storybrooke in the process. I’ve looked forward to this since it was prophesized, as it’s so rare that I get to witness time.” An uncertain quip rises in my mind- he can witness time all he wants, where I’m from- but he seems to see it and flashes a grin. Equally unspoken: gutsy and clever, you lost one. If you lose me, nothing will matter.

“Pan never fails!” Bee cheers, and shoves me forward, stumbling to avoid the figure in front of me at all costs.

“That’s right,” Pan answers, and lifts one hand into view just to hold his fingertips a breath away from my mouth. He lowers it and pinches the column of my throat, hard. “Let’s go, then.”

It’s becoming clear that Henry is woefully virtuous. His optimism knows no bounds, even if his mood isn’t always cheery; there’s a quality to him that says he’s seen the darkness life has to offer and chosen to deny it the satisfaction of breaking him. Can’t relate, but, I respect it. He’s still a kid, though. It grates on me but I am, too. Pan, in his ageless boyhood, has long since dug his hands into those qualities of Henry’s and convinced him there’s an evil afoot that pales in comparison to Tamara supposedly killing Knight. Henry would give anything to help resolve it. Pan all but guides my limbs to pose as if we’re the closest of friends. Did Henry see me, in my moment of fury? Somehow I doubt it: Pan has only encouraged a found family between me and Henry.

As it is, Pan makes to appear caught up in a conversation with me and Latch when Henry storms up to us and says, “I know about your secret, I followed Felix.”

Pan also makes to appear surprised by this, and subsequently guilty. “I didn’t want-“

“Were you ever gonna tell me?” Henry turns to me for support. “The island’s magic is dying, and it’s taking Wendy Darling with it.”

“It’s not your fault, Henry,” Pan interrupts, before my grimace is too obvious.

“Wendy said I can help, you- you said I can help, with the heart of the truest believer, right?”

Almost sounding hesitant, leaving just enough of a breath to send Henry careening for a goal that- by my calculations, at least, which could be equally brainwashed- doesn’t exist, “yes.”

“Take me to Skull Rock,” Henry says. Neither of them look at me or Latch but I follow and Latch stays behind.

The island does look like it’s dying as we walk. If I hadn’t just witnessed mind-breaking horrors, if I wasn’t so keenly aware of the moon peeking between those wilted treetops, I might question it. But I don’t, my feet catching as many stones and twigs as they do on every walk through the jungle. My cloak frays on low vegetation that I can’t quite see, but seems starved for attention nonetheless. We walk a messy path through dry undergrowth, sodden dirt and decay below that, until the trees go from upright to just tilted. Skull Rock- named so for good reason, but only just associating itself with a VHS-quality memory- is across only a lagoon, though. We don’t hit any sand approaching the little canoe that will evidently take us to whatever glows in the house-sized boulder standing untouched by the sea’s erosion. As if it were carved, but it couldn’t be, it looks entirely natural and anatomically correct. It looks to be both stone and bone at the same time.

“You don’t have to do this,” Pan tells Henry lowly even as the canoe drifts unnaturally towards us. And Henry rises to the bait.

“Yes, I do.”

We leave the trees behind and the moon glares down at the boat, at Skull Rock when we reach it and it’s even larger than a house. Close to where the ear would be is an opening with stairs, and Henry and I forge ahead with Pan bringing up the rear after a moment. I don’t even try to guess why.

“Your arrival here was foretold,” Pan murmurs as we climb. “You would have showed up sooner or later. Still, I’m glad you’re here.”

“What exactly do I need to do?”

The staircase curves and opens up, flattening to the open skull with stars and the moon faintly daring to crawl through the eye sockets. Seafaring paraphernalia clutters up the space, an overturned table here and a torn sail there. “This is where Neverland’s magic is weakest,” Pan explains. He doesn’t answer Henry’s question, but then begins giving him simple instruction. “Sit here,” he says, and we settle in a circle where the brain might be, knees locked like magnets.

“I’m scared,” Henry admits, after a heavy few seconds. I grab his hand; whatever Pan’s making him do, I can’t let him endure it alone, and Pan has allowed me such a role. I’ll take full advantage of it. “Thank you, Robin,” he whispers.

“Close your eyes,” Pan instructs, reaching for Henry’s other hand. And mine, useless as the idea seems to me. He guides Henry’s to the boy’s own shoulder, then down, pressing over his ribs. “Can you feel it? Your heart?”

My own eyes have begun to drift shut when footsteps scratch and echo around the room, and then a voice, “stop.”

Henry flinches. Pan lets go of his hand, but not entirely, as if willing to let them talk but only for a moment. They both twist to face Mr. Gold: like Pan, he has no shadow. It’s only obvious because of Skull Rock’s eerie untraceable light source. Weak magic, my ass. “Mr. Gold, I-“

“I know, laddie,” Mr. Gold tells Henry, “you just want to help. You’re a good kid.” His grimace is sour, his hair thin, his posture uneven, but he reaches out placatingly to the three of us. “It doesn’t have to be this way.”

“I’m the only one who can do this.”

“It’s his choice,” Pan shrugs, though his arms are spread to hold both our hands. Mr. Gold looks at him and something in his presence reminds me of the moment he tore Tamara’s heart out and crushed it in his hand. Or her lung, or whatever it was. Given the heart talk, I’m inclined to believe the former…

What can be broken, touched, snared, lost? What can go through all manners of torture and, like Henry, swell again with love? It feels silly to think of the riddles in the middle of what is surely a battle between powerful magic users. But I do it anyways; putting all the answers together, each piece of this exact setting that Pan has been spelling out since I met him and probably for centuries and no time at all beforehand, still provides nothing but the small victory of sorting out a puzzle. I can’t help. I squeeze Henry’s hand a bit tighter. “Your heart,” I say, dumb. He nods.

“Stop,” Mr. Gold says again, “Henry, this is between me and him. Whatever he’s told you, it’s a trick. I simply owe a debt.”

“A life debt, that Wendy is supposed to pay.” The tale twists further, whatever it is. “Henry, it’s up to you.”

“I can’t let that happen.” Mr. Gold decides to demonstrate by conjuring a small brown and red item in his hand, and he waves his other hand over it, but nothing happens. I assume that something is supposed to happen.

“Pandora’s Box,” Pan names the item. “It can trap anything one wants it to, forever. Or it could, if it were real. See, I have to real one,” he says, and laughs a little. His hands linger but he approaches Mr. Gold with an identical conjured item of his own. In his absence, I’m unmoored, but in the way that I usually am when he’s near, which is all the more disorienting. “I’m hurt that you’d do such a thing, Rumple, I really am, so I won’t hurt you by trying the same.” Both boxes disappear.

“I can do it,” Henry insists, standing as well and pulling me along. He reaches up again to his ribcage, where his heart must be. I wrench it away without thinking and he gasps, “Robin, I can do it-“

“Why, Henry?” I snap. My thoughts are almost as much of a fog as when I fought Pan. Why give up his actual heart? To prove he has one? Pan’s game is above him, and I don’t think he has to die for things to play out. “You said your moms are here, you said you heard your dad, you see Mr. Gold; why should everything rest on your shoulders?” He shouldn’t be here at all.

“If I can do it, I should, Robin, it would be selfish not to.”

“It would be selfish to make yourself a hero and a martyr.”

The room darkens. More footsteps rush up the stairs, eventually revealing the sheriff and the mayor. But Henry seems unconvinced, or even annoyed, by my words, and drives his hand impossibly into his own torso in front of everyone. What he reveals is nothing like the thing Tamara died looking at. It’s a small sun, golden and gleaming, reflecting Skull Rock’s light and overpowering it. I’d be hard pressed to call it a heart. The new arrivals shout in alarm, scrambling forwards only to be stopped by something I don’t care to inspect. All I watch is Henry, and then Pan when he steps up beside me and holds out his hand. All of a sudden I stand on my own two feet again and an inkling of dread plants itself in the back of my mind. Henry surrenders the light.

“What’ll it be, then, Rumple? His or yours?” Pan asks as Henry begins to wheeze. In a flash, though, wind bursts through the room and Mr. Gold is on Pan, capturing him from behind.

“Yours,” Mr. Gold snarls, and in the inertia of his attack drives some dagger I just barely see into Pan’s chest. Between his ribs. Through, to his own heart, if the choked-off gasp is anything to go off. “Take-“ he breathes heavily, his final words directed behind him- “take my shadow.” When they collapse, I don’t move. The tangle of corpses by my feet seems hardly real, like the heart still in Pan’s lax grip. The mayor picks the latter up with care and surprising speed to return it. I feel like I know something I shouldn’t, watching Mr. Gold’s body turn to mist. Like Pan allowed his mouth to run the way Bee allows his. After only a moment of hugging and apologizing do the moms turn to me.

“Gold’s shadow will get us back to Storybrooke,” Sheriff Swan tells me in the same light tone she used when we first met. I nod.

“I’m fine,” Henry is scowling, brushing his mothers off. “You don’t know that this’ll solve anything.”

“Honey, he was keeping the island captive. Without him, we can bring everyone to safety,” The mayor argues. The sheriff watches me closely for a few lingering moments.

She has questions, obviously. I expected that much. Actually, I expected more, but she probably imagines me a grieving daughter more than an accomplice. Even if I did assist with her son’s kidnapping, she treats me the same as when Dad was in the hospital. But the facts catch up when the moment is over. “Gold said they didn’t know who they were working for.”

“It’s not that simple,” I grimace. Henry will be able to warn them all of the Home Office once they return to Storybrooke. Or whatever remains. The idea of going with them rings through me like a tuning fork to my bones, chilling me; I very well can go, and finish high school in a group home, and find Mom in a few more years. My feet don’t move, however, and that pit of dread tells me I’ve already agreed to something else entirely.

Neither mother suspects it, or if they do, they don’t say, and Henry says, “what about the Lost Boys?”

“I’ve been in the system,” the sheriff admits suddenly. “I’ll make sure it’s a smooth ride for them.” With nothing keeping us in Skull Rock, they turn to go, giving me odd looks when I drag Pan’s body with an old hammock crusted with dead algae and left draped across an empty chest. His literal dead weight is almost too heavy to roll into the hammock, and I cringe each time he thumps down another step towards the boat, but I can’t leave him behind. It works.

I don’t dare look at him as we make our way through the jungle back to camp. Given the beating my feet take on the journey, I don’t want to think about Pan. Carrying his extra weight makes my heels dig further into the mud and definitely gets me a cut or two on rocks that would have done nothing but pinch, before. Nobody helps me; I’m almost glad, I think, it’s better this way. When we arrive in sight of all the Lost Boys tied up and guarded by four adults I don’t know and Knight, however, the mayor uses magic to lift Pan’s body in the air and gloat.

“What is it you kids like to say?” She waves her hand and grins. “Pan never fails?” Slightly shouts, getting to his feet with a fierce snarl, but he’s quickly shoved back down. The mayor only preens. “Yes, I think that’s it.”

“Henry,” I murmur, “you should go.” But he glares at me. I remember what he said- that he doesn’t want to leave without me- but the beauty of the idea is intangible.

“The shadow will fade soon,” the sheriff tells the other adults and Knight after explaining what happened. Knight brings Henry into a tight hug and they both seem to blink away tears after. “We need to go, and quickly.” Meanwhile, the mayor has grown tired of playing with Pan’s body. Slightly begs something with his eyes that I can’t decipher, but I get the sense that we’re on the same page, anyways. I’ll need a weapon: Henry created a sword from a stick, but somehow I doubt the same will happen for me, so I look around at Henry’s family for opportunity. Slightly jerks until I look back at him and follow his own emphatic glare to a man holding a hook. The same man who went with Dad and Tamara into the mines. Captain Hook, I assume, to whom the clutter in Skull Rock likely belonged. Beyond the hook, he’s littered with small shiny things that I can sort through mentally as I try to edge my way towards him without seeming too focused. His face becomes familiar as I get nearer.

“You’re the younger brother,” I say, quiet enough that no other conversations are interrupted but loud enough for him to face me head on.

Under the new beard, and the new lines set in his face, and under the wind-burn on his cheekbones and the scrutiny in his eyes, he is undeniably the younger brother. “What did you just say?” He asks me, reaching for one of his weapons himself as I pick the one I’ll take. But the question asks itself.

“What happened? With the king?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Did he win his war?” I edge closer. “He didn’t get any nightshade, I assume.” Horror fills his expression.

“Who told you of this?”

The next words chill me. “Neverland is a place where time stands still.” Spoken with Slightly’s intonation, it catches me off guard, Pan’s voice echoing in my mind, but the chance is there and I can’t pass it up. Hook only flinches when I take the first knife, so I take another and leap away, out of range when he lunges with his namesake. My feet burn but I get the knife to Slightly, then run as fast as my body will allow past the other Lost Boys and back to Pan. They turn so I can cut them free as I go, and the last in line is Tootles. She takes the knife when I hand it to her. The Lost Boys won’t surrender, not twice. And it seems the magicians are out of juice or surprised enough to freeze. Maybe Pan- limp and definitely dead as he looks- is doing something. I don’t know two things about fairytales and this whole experience has only disproved whatever I thought I did know, but surely Peter Pan can’t die. And in Neverland, too? No.

“Robin?” Henry yelps, dragged away by one of the people I don’t know. “Robin, come with us!”

But I don’t move. Of all the ways this could end, I guess. The Lost Boys seem to be conjuring magic of their own, forcing the group back, away from the camp, and as soon as the sheriff is past the mermaids she releases Mr. Gold’s shadow so it can possess the sail of their pirate ship. The Lost Boys whoop and holler, sending magic over water that I swear wasn’t so close to camp before. They don’t have the time but Henry takes it anyways, sticking his hand out from the side of the ship as if to reach for me. I see it in the returned moonlight, small and frail and dirty.

I slump over in the dirt. Pan doesn’t so much as twitch, let alone breathe, even after Henry’s family is gone. Wondering if I put my proverbial eggs on the wrong basket altogether leads me to wonder about that school receptionist. Will she hear that I’ve died? Will we be marked missing, Dad and I, or is this usual enough behavior for him that Mom will have to investigate on her own once she’s out?

One question, though, I hope I can get an answer for. “Slightly,” I call, as he’s perched at the edge of the impromptu celebration. He crouches over Pan a moment before regarding me. “What happened to the Home Office?”

Predictably, his smirk sharpens. He brushes some firelit honey hair from Pan’s cheek.

#peter pan #Peter Pan/oc #oh what it is #captainfile

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