#this chapter felt like five hundred slaps to the face

[onhoude]

[dottores]

HELIOTROPES

pairing: dottore x fem!reader & segments

summary: the gods were sick and twisted. for five hundred years, he believed he was fated to be alone. he had long accepted it—embraced it, even. that is, until a midwinter night when that elusive red thread finally appeared on his finger. but as much as he wants to ignore it, the pull of a soulmate simply cannot be ignored.

genre: soulmate au, canon compliant for the most part.

warnings: fem!reader, worldbuilding for snezhnaya & fatui & fontaine.

notes: GUYS THIS IS MY FAV CHAPTER IVE WRITTEN SO FAR HDFISHDFSUAFDSDF

THE TIES THAT BIND

It was him. Distantly, his words resounded through your head but no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t understand what he had asked you—his words sounded garbled and clear at the same time, as if he was speaking in an ancient language you couldn’t decipher. 

It was him, your soulmate, the man you had been waiting your whole life to finally meet, the man that the gods had tied you with.

The man that ignored you all of these years no matter how hard you tried. 

The man that attacked you at the inn. 

Any elation you might have felt whittled away the longer you stared at him, anger and anxiety beginning to take hold instead. What had he said? The Second Harbinger? You felt unnerved, you had a feeling that you would somehow run into your soulmate while trying to find the evidence to condemn your stepfather but you had no idea he would be… this. 

This is good, the more logical part of you tried to push through the turmoil of emotions you felt, you can use his position, this is your in. 

But nothing about you was logical right now—part of you wanted to pull away, part of you wanted to slap him, and part of you wanted to throw yourself in his arms and grant yourself the warmth you’d been denied for so long. The divide in what you wanted to do had you frozen in place, unable to do anything. 

Dance with me, he had said—phrased as a question but somehow you knew it wasn’t one. 

Thin fingers wrapped around your other arm, Artem forcing your attention back to him, a worried expression directed toward you. “You don’t have to,” he said, and you swore the temperature in the room dropped at his words—maybe it was just a figment of your imagination due to the eerily cold feeling that swept through you, something that was clearly his and not yours, but from the way Artem and his cousins tensed, you thought it might not be. 

He was angry, you couldn’t see it on his face—you could barely see his face, his mask hiding it from view, but you could feel it in your gut, an emotion that wasn’t yours pushing to the surface and threatening to break through. But it was more than just anger: if you didn’t know any better, you might’ve thought it was jealousy… a part of you wanted to feed into it to test the theory but you had a distinct feeling that would end with Artem being killed and he had been nothing but kind and helpful to you and you didn’t want to risk him like that. 

“It’s okay,” you said tightly, a thin and unkind smile edging at your lips as you pulled your arm from his grasp and let Dottore lead you out to the large, empty floor in the center of the room, all eyes on the two of you. 

Your chest constricted as the Doctor pulled you just a bit closer than the acceptable dancing distance as the two of you found a place on the tiled floor—one hand sliding behind you, fingers dipping low to the small of your back, while the fingers of his other hand intertwined with yours, a more intimate version of the palm-to-palm expected in the Snezhnayan Waltz. 

You thought you should feel different. You thought that your chest should be light and you thought your heart should be skipping beats, adoring and enthralled, lost in the moment of finally meeting him… but all you could muster was a sense of dread. This man had never cared for you before—not to meet you, not to get to know you, not even to give into your childish desire to play the tugging game with him. In his eyes, you had probably forced his hand by coming here, even if it hadn’t been your intention.

“What game are you playing?” he asked, voice cold and unfriendly, but you were barely paying attention to him now, gaze wandering as other pairs began to make their way to the floor at the sight of you and Dottore, the necessary signal they needed to know it was now acceptable to dance. “Dance with me.”

“I am,” you replied, your surroundings blurring again as you focused back on him. “I’m not playing games.”

You were sure that the smile on his lips would not have met his eyes were they visible. “Yet you are here,” Dottore replied, the ensemble getting louder and the chatter across the floor masking your conversation from unwanted ears. “Somehow managing to track me down so you can force me into acknowledging you.”

You couldn’t bite back the scoff that rose to your chest. “How self important,” you said coolly. “Do you really think I have any interest in meeting you after all the years you spent ignoring me?”

You did, you corrected yourself silently, but he didn’t have to know that. It was humiliating enough to admit to yourself that even after all of the blatant neglect and lack of interest, you still had longed for meeting him, no matter how far down you might’ve pushed that desire. 

His lip twitched—the only physical reaction you managed to draw from him thus far but even then, you couldn’t tell if he was irritated or surprised. “Then why are you here?” he asked and for a moment, you regretted your quick tongue. You should have gone along with the lovesick soulmate act so that you would have an excuse as to why you had come to Snezhnaya but you were more focused on your pride than your mission. 

Now, you fumbled—a damning mistake—as you said: “None of your business.”

“Ah, but alas it is my business,” Dottore did not fumble like you did, an empty smile painted on his lips as he watched you from beneath the mask. You felt uncomfortable, you didn’t like not being able to see people’s eyes when you spoke to them. “You see, I was sent to figure out why you are here and if your answer is not to my liking, I am meant to… dispose of you. Now, if you would like me to help you, I suggest you answer my question.”

You took in a sharp breath—one that you couldn’t quite hide from him as you realized that you had been wrong. You had hoped that the eyes you had felt on you earlier were just him, that he had been the one to recognize you, but this confirmed that was not the case. The other Harbingers knew who you were and suddenly, the room felt all the more suffocating. 

Dottore leaned down, lips brushing your ear and breath warm against your skin. “Don’t you feel their eyes on you?” he murmured. “They’re waiting for my decision, I do implore you to start speaking.”

He leaned back just a bit but now you couldn’t keep your eyes trained on his face, too aware of all of the gazes set on you. You could feel Artem’s eyes heavy on you from the other side of the room, they hadn’t left your body once since Dottore had led you to the dancefloor, following the two of you as you spun across the floor in step with the other partners, but he wasn’t the only one. 

Your eyes flickered behind Dottore to where the dark haired girl dressed in white was sitting at the piano, fingers flying across the keys as she played an eerie tune that didn’t quite match the tempo or energy of the Snezhnayan Waltz—the lace over her eyes blocked them from sight but her head was turned in the direction of the two of you. A taller woman with silvery hair leaned on the instrument next to her, blatantly watching the two of you. 

There were too many eyes on you—even who you could assume were newly promoted Fatui captains were glancing your way, the other pairs on the dancefloor kept sparing looks in your direction, giving you a wide berth. You thought you were used to the feeling of being watched, after all in Fontaine, you couldn’t even step outside your quarters without the eyes of justice bearing down on you.

Dottore suddenly cleared his throat, forcing your attention back to him. “Is it not common courtesy to give your dancing partner your full attention?” he drawled. 

“Clearly you’re undeserving of my attention considering you can’t even hold it,” your tongue lashed before you could think. Instead of regretting your words, you doubled down. “It appears you’re not fond of being ignored, how fascinating.” 

How hypocritical, you didn’t have to speak what you meant for him to understand. Dottore let out a huff of amusement but you knew very well that he was not amused if the way his hand tensed on the small of your back had anything to say about it. 

“How ungrateful,” Dottore said quietly, the empty smile on his lips not faltering for even a second, “even when I’m going out of my way to try to make sure you stay alive.”

“We both know that you only want me alive for your own sake,” you countered, taking a small leap in speculation. You knew he didn’t care for you but the consequences of losing a soulmate could range from dire to lethal, if you knew anything about him, you knew that was not something he would want to risk. 

“Clearly I did not ignore you well enough.” 

The smile finally fell—he didn’t like that you could read him the way that you were, although you would argue that you weren’t reading him at all, just placing together the few puzzle pieces he had left for you to complete a small section, the majority of the puzzle was still empty. 

“You-” you began, but you were forced to cut yourself off, eyes darting down as you realized that Dottore had purposefully taken a wrong step in the waltz—subtle enough so that others wouldn’t notice his fault, but just enough so that if you took the correct step, you would twist your ankle over his foot. 

He’s trying to make a fool out of you, fury flooded you at the realization, shifting your foot just to the right so that you could avoid his. The next step of the dance, a half-spin of a turn, was jerky and sharp because of it, veering off track and into the path of a nearby woman and her partner, who were forced to scramble out of your way or risk drawing the Doctor’s ire.

Dottore’s lip twitched up when he realized that you hadn’t fallen for his trick and the waltz continued smoothly, returning to the graceful spins and turns and steps that the two of you had been dancing in tune with before his attempt at making you humiliate yourself. 

“I’ve been patient enough,” he said. “It’s time for you to answer my question.”

Your lip curled in annoyance, searching for an answer to give him before your silence became prolonged and suspicious.

“I’m looking for something,” you said simply. This time, you didn’t have to look down to know he had taken another false step—instead of having to shift at the last second and fall into another jarring turn, you altered the direction of the turn, spinning out just a bit further than was expected of the dance and forcing him to follow. 

“For what?” Dottore didn’t give you a second to recuperate or think and you forced yourself not to bite the inside of your cheek, irritated at the game he was playing no matter how much he might deny playing one should you ask. He was forcing you to focus more on the dance with his purposefully wrong steps so you couldn’t concentrate on coming up with coherent lies. 

For what? That was the question. What should you tell him? The truth? What would he do with it? Could you trust him? You doubted it, but you could trust in his self-preservation at least—you didn’t think he would do anything to damn you because that would mean damning himself. But would he get in your way? Maybe, if only to see you stumble. 

Finally, you spoke, and the words felt weighted on your tongue, mouth dry: “The Fatui killed my father.”

“And you’ve come for evidence. How noble,” Dottore mocked you—if he hated how you could deduce that he didn’t care for your survival beyond for his own sake, you hated even more that he had put together your whole reason for being in Snezhnaya just from the one sentence. “The Hydro Archon is so arrogant that she fails to see foreign threats within her own walls, forcing you to venture into a den of wolves to acquire the proof yourself. What a magnificent god.”

Again, you found sharp words leaving your lips in defense of your nation and Archon: “Perhaps the Hydro Archon is not the only god blind to threats,” you noted off-handedly at the hypocrisy, dancing around another targeted step and forcing another pair of dancers to dodge the two of you—the Hydro Archon might be blind the Snezhnayan spy that was your stepfather, but at least there wasn’t an entire organization working beneath her nose and in her court. 

“What exactly does that mean?” Dottore asked—was that confirmation that the Harbingers were unaware of the masked group that had approached you and the aristocrats? Or was it just Dottore trying to figure out how much you knew? Or maybe it was both. 

“Take it as you will,” you answered, eyes narrowing as instead of continuing the dance, he came to a stop in the middle of the floor.

His hand was still pressed to your lower back, holding your body close to his even as you tried to step away. You hated how you had to turn your head up to look at him and you hated the smirk that spread across his face as he looked down at you. Distantly, you noticed that the music had come to an end as the ensemble prepared for another dance. 

“You’re not what I expected,” he said after a moment of silence, releasing your hand only to bring his to your face when you looked away. He used two fingers beneath your chin to tilt your head up in his direction, forcing you to look at him. “I’ll find you again.”

A promise or a threat? You couldn’t tell, throat thick and swollen as he stood straight again, stepping away from you and looking behind you. You looked over your shoulder, eyes falling upon Artem as he walked up to the two of you. 

“Your second dance?” he asked quietly, holding his hand out toward you. You took the escape gratefully and yet somehow, a part of you felt empty as soon as you stepped away from Dottore, a primal and fundamental part of you knew you were meant to be with him and was unhappy with your decision.

You wondered if he felt it too. 

“Are you okay?” Artem questioned as soon as your hand was in his and you stood in position for the next dance—an acceptable distance, unlike how close Dottore had drawn you in. 

You glanced back to look at him as you murmured out a ‘yes’ to Artem, but he was already gone.

His hands were tingling. 

This wasn't right, he wanted to spit out in protest of the way his body was reacting to you—itching to walk back over and rip you away from the Snezhnayan aristocrat who had the audacity to lay hands on what was his. 

His. The word echoed through his head, condemning—he was already beginning thinking like them, like a mortal, an irrational beast that cared for naught but personal pleasure, latching onto someone with the barest interaction. But no matter how much he tried to deny the attachment, his body was betraying him, begging him to turn back for another dance so he could feel your skin against his again.

He thought it might be different, he had abandoned his original body for an artificial one. He thought it could lessen the effects of the bond but he should’ve known better—having an artificial body did not change the fact that his mark had appeared on him, it didn’t change the fact that there was a thread connecting him to you. 

He should’ve known this would only make it worse. 

Dottore didn’t dare look back, no matter how much his body ached for one last look, he needed to retain some semblance of control over himself and he knew that if he looked back now, he would not like what he saw. His teeth ground together at the thought, scraping against his tongue. He imagined the aristocrat’s hand inching down your back, his fingers intertwined with yours. He imagined your body pressed close to his—a slower song was playing, a more intimate one, one that he should be dancing with you to.

As soon as the final thought crossed his mind, he nearly rolled his eyes, shaking his head as he made his way toward the other Harbingers.

“You looked like you enjoyed yourself,” one said, voice cold and mocking, Dottore’s eyes lifted to Arlecchino.

“Thoroughly,” Dottore replied, dry and sarcastic to mask the fact that yes, he had enjoyed his dance with you.

You were not what he expected. Your tongue was sharp and violent whereas he had thought you to be a docile noble girl, sheltered in the palace of Fontaine City. He could still see that part of you, thinly veiled behind the anger in your eyes; the part of you that longed for the sanctity of the bond between a fated pair, the part of you that still had hope things could work out. He wondered if that was the part of you that you showed to everyone else, the gentleness and the kindness. He thought so, if the way you looked at Artem Melnyk had anything to say about it. 

Then, he wondered if your violence was reserved only for him—for some reason, the thought left him pleased, smothering the way the corner of his lips twitched up. 

“Well?” Sandrone said sharply, garnering the attention of the Harbingers in the area. To Dottore’s absolute displeasure, he noticed that both the Balladeer and the Friar had come closer to listen in, two wolves drawn in by the scent of blood. 

You could keep up with him too, every attempt he had made to make you stumble, you caught and readjusted. He had never met anyone that could keep up with him the way you were able to—most didn’t even dare to try, backing down at the mere sight of him, and those that did tended to not be able to hold their bravado for long—even if it was just boldness because you knew that as your soulmate, it’d be unlikely he would do anything to put you at risk.

“A fawn,” Dottore told her coolly, “just as I said. You wasted my time, and my patience. You can explain to the Jester why I decided to leave the event early.”

Dottore thought you were closer to a wolf pup than a fawn, bearing your teeth against greater predators instead of fleeing because you thought yourself more dangerous than you really were—he wasn’t going to tell them that though.

Sandrone did not look convinced at his words. “Perhaps I should go talk to her,” she said doubtfully. 

Unamused, Dottore turned his full attention onto her. “You doubt me?” he asked, an edge to his tone that he dared her to push further. Sandrone looked at him but didn’t respond, he continued: “All she cared for was her first dance with her fiancé being interrupted. Air-headed and dimwitted—whatever you think that girl is, she is not.”

Dottore studied Sandrone from beneath his mask, wondering if she would push even further, but she only shook her head and walked away in the direction of the Captain, clearly unhappy but dropping it, for now at least. 

Perhaps the Hydro Archon is not the only god blind to threats, your words ran through his head again as Sandrone pushed past him. What did you mean? It was a dig at the Tsaritsa, that much was certain but what threat was the Fatui missing that was within their own walls? Could it be the aristocrats? If so, you were a fool to think that they weren’t addressing the more hostile families already… but somehow, Dottore knew that you were talking about something else, something far more worrisome. 

… and that begged the question of how you even knew of it when they, clearly, did not.  

Finally, Dottore’s gaze drew back to the dance floor where you were dancing slowly with the dark-haired aristocrat, arms draped around his shoulders as you swayed to the slow music. You were talking quietly to him, hushed, heads leaned into each other so no one could overhear the two of you. You looked far more at ease with him than you had been with Dottore, your shoulders lax instead of tense, your body loose instead of stiff. That feeling from before—ugly and green—resurfaced. 

“Sandrone,” Dottore finally said, stopping the lower-ranked Harbinger in her tracks, “if you’re so suspicious of her, then why don’t we keep her in the palace for a few days under observation? That way, we can figure out whether or not Fontaine is declaring war or not and handle it duly.”

A risk, Dottore noted, they’re going to wonder why he cares so much, but he thought it was a worthy one. He could knock two birds with one stone: separate his soulmate from her apparent fiancé and try to figure out what the cryptic comment meant. He couldn’t help but notice the long look exchanged by Arlecchino and Brighella, as if they knew something that he did not.

Sandrone hesitated, eyes narrowing for a moment before she nodded, “I think that’s a good idea.”

“And who, exactly, is going to care for this girl?” Brighella, voice high and reedy, interjected himself into the conversation. “Heh… if you’d like-”

“I’ll do it,” another voice interrupted as fury knotted Dottore’s insides so intensely that he thought he might lash out at the vulture. Pantalone was the one to step forward, eyes turned upward and a thin smile pulled tight across his lips, “I’d like to pick at her brains for her thoughts on the aristocrats anyway. I’m sure she’ll have some sort of insight.”

Dottore watched Pantalone carefully, trying to figure out what sort of game he was playing. He made sure that she wasn’t killed on the spot before—not that Dottore would have let that happen, but he would’ve been forced to reveal who exactly you were to him and he didn’t want to open up that weakness. He wanted something and from the way his smile fell and his violet eyes went cold, looking at Dottore as the Harbingers began talking amongst each other, he knew it was nothing good. 

Irritated, Dottore cast a cold look in your direction—one way or another, he was constantly being backed into a corner because of you. But looking at you was a mistake, evidently, because the annoyance swelled as he watched the aristocrat smile at you as you swooped under his arm in a dramatic spin.

Dottore shook his head as he looked away, rolling his eyes beneath his mask as he stifled the vile emotions rearing their head at the sight. As he turned his attention back to the discussion at hand, listening to them talk about the approaching missions, Dottore wondered if he should try to make his exit now, leave Pantalone to deal with her now that he had kindly offered to—the less interaction with her, the better, he thought, even though his body shrieked in protest—and he wanted to get back to the lab anyway. The Theta segment was down there alone and quite frankly, he didn’t trust him around his stuff. 

Alas, he did not get the chance to slip away. As he moved to turn, he noticed that Pantalone was nodding for him to follow.

Dottore bit back a sigh—you, Pantalone, the other Harbingers—this was all going to cut into his research, he had a feeling that he wasn’t going to get anything done for quite a bit. 

“What was that all about?” Artem asked you quietly as the music began to pick up again, masking your voices—it was a slower dance, one that was far less demanding than the waltz with the Doctor, who had you struggling to keep up mentally and physically. 

You were lucky that Miss Elyna had been so strict with your dancing lessons, not only did she prepare you by teaching you all of the popular dances amongst aristocrats across the seven nations but she also forced you to know how to dance with an incompetent partner so that the you were not made to look like a fool in public. 

Dottore was not an incompetent partner by any means, but he surely was a malicious one. 

“They’re suspicious of me,” you said softly, watching his expression twist into one that bordered between shocked and horrified, confirming what you already knew—you were not in a good place. 

But he didn’t know that you weren’t in the worst place, you couldn’t tell him about your relationship to Dottore. You didn’t know how he would react and you needed him on your side for the duration of this event. You figured that Dottore wouldn’t let them kill you, at least for his own sake, but there were fates worse than death and the thought of that made your skin crawl.

“After this song, we’ll head over to my father, I’ll ask him what to do,” Artem said, nodding to himself. “They can’t do anything, not without risking our support and our support is the only support they have amongst all of the Snezhnayan nobles. So unless they want every single aristocratic family against them…”

Your eyes drew across the room briefly, at the captains and the elite members of the Fatui lingering around the floor and dancing with their partners, at the Harbingers still lurking on the outskirts of the room, some still looking in your direction. There were so many of them and you didn’t have to face them in combat to know that they were all strong, the Harbingers alone reeked of power.

“... if you tell your father, he’ll be upset,” you finally said, voice low—you hadn’t phrased it as a question but you supposed it was one.

“He’ll be livid,” Artem confirmed, jaw tightening. “They… they all think that I’m going to propose to you soon—they were upset that I hadn’t introduced you sooner but they’ve been waiting for me to get married for three years now. If the Fatui try to do something to you…”

Maybe you shouldn’t say anything then, you wanted to say, but the words were stuck in your mouth. The Fatui were strong, you thought again. Artem had claimed that they host these events as a show of power, to force the aristocrats to understand just who they were dealing with, and even from this glimpse you knew that the threat the Fatui posed was beyond anything that the elites of the Fontaine court and the Hydro Archon imagined. 

You wondered, then, why did they not take control of Snezhnaya through sheer force alone? They could do it, surely, the Harbingers themselves could probably handle it on their own. You figured that the aristocrats held a lot of sway amongst the common people—if it was anything like the structure of the Fontaine countryside where each town was centered around one of the aristocrats' estates—and from there, you could assume that the Fatui did not want to rule their own people through fear. 

But you feared that if push came to shove, the Fatui would have no issue slamming their iron fist down upon the people of Snezhnaya and if that was the case, you didn’t want that blood on your hands because Artem had rushed to the defense of a girl he barely knows… especially because you thought if he knew who exactly your soulmate was, he wouldn’t be so quick to help you. 

“Don’t tell them,” you finally said, mouth dry, glancing away as you continued, “whatever happens, I’ll deal with it. Don’t risk pissing the Fatui off even more.”

Artem’s brows knit together. “What?” he asked, voice hushed. “You have no idea what they’re capable of, what they’ll do to you and if the Doctor of all Harbingers is interested in you then-”

“I’m not a helpless girl, Artem,” you said sharply, careful to keep your voice low. “I will do what I must to survive, you need to focus on…”

Your family, the other nobles, this organization that’s pulling all of the strings. Let me deal with this, it’s my mission.

Artem didn’t look happy, shaking his head again. “I didn’t say you were helpless,” he said, lowering his voice even more as he leaned his head down to you. To all others, you thought it probably looked romantic, but you could feel his arms tense around you, “but you can’t do this alone. They’ll find you out and-and you don’t want to know what they’ll do when they do.”

There was a haunted expression on his face, as if he had personal experience with the Fatui and what they would do to the people that actively worked against them. There was a pit in your stomach as you looked away—guilt, anxiety, maybe something else or a combination of both, knowing who your soulmate was and how even though Artem was terrified of him, he still was trying to defend you against him. 

“I need to use the restroom to freshen up,” you said, changing the subject abruptly—you didn’t want to talk about this anymore, if the Fatui were already onto you, you were running out of time to do what you needed to do. 

You didn’t want to rely on Dottore, not if you didn’t have to. 

Artem stared at you for a long moment before sighing, arm slipping around your waist as he guided you back to the front of the room toward the wide double doors that led to the entrance hall, “There’s only two ways in and out of here, the only other way…”

You glanced backward to another door on the opposite side of the room—the only way to get to it would be to walk past several Harbingers and that was simply not going to happen, not when a few of them were clearly suspicious of you already. You could only hope that they missed you slipping out of the hall but somehow, you doubted they would. 

Reaching the doors, you raised your eyebrows when neither of the Fatui subordinates moved out of your way. Artem stepped forward, slightly in front of you.

“Is there an issue?” Artem asked coldly, motioning to the door. “Are the hinges not working properly? They seemed just fine before. My lady needs to freshen up.”

The two men exchanged a long look with one another before shifting out of the way, albeit a bit reluctantly. You looked back at Artem, squeezing his arm, “I’ll be right back.”

And if I’m not, don’t come looking. 

“They’re a lovely couple, hm?” Pantalone smiled as the two of them walked the length of the ballroom. Dottore’s jaw clenched, irritation skyrocketing when he continued, “They look very happy together, don’t they?”

“Very,” Dottore agreed dryly, not letting the man get a rise out of him like he wanted, but unlike Pantalone, he did not look in your direction. 

Instead, he kept his gaze trained forward, mind-racing as he tried to figure out what Pantalone might want from him. If he had to guess, it was going to be something with the residue research and creating a stronger delusion for him but the man was as unpredictable as the wind—there was no telling what demands would spew from his mouth. 

“Do you think that’s why she was ignoring you?” Pantalone asked, trying to gossip like a pair of old wives as if they weren’t talking about his soulmate. “She finally found someone better and doesn’t want anything to do with you?” 

Dottore didn’t think that was the case. He finally looked back over to where you were dancing with the aristocrat. You looked comfortable with him, but not happy, and you looked safe with him, but not hopeful—not the way you had been with him, at least. You had been tense and stressed but there was no denying that lingering hope that swam behind your eyes, as much as you tried to hide it with your sharp tongue and harsh jabs. 

Dottore had never been able to read people well—he compensated with intimidation—but it came naturally when looking at you, probably because of the bond. He didn’t know whether or not to be appreciative of it or to resent it because you could clearly read him as well as he could read you and the thought of that left him uncomfortable.

“No,” Dottore finally said after a few moments of silence. “I think she was ignoring me to be petty.”

It appears you’re not fond of being ignored. How fascinating. 

He had recognized the underlying message, calling him a hypocrite—he wouldn’t put it past you to have spent the past two weeks ignoring him after he finally reached out to you just to be spiteful.

“Not quite the air-headed and dimwitted fawn you described to the others then,” Pantalone drawled, smile widening as he finally looked at Dottore. “Oh, don’t worry. I won’t say anything… but there’s no way the others will fall for the facade once they realize who she is to you. Anyone fated to you is bound to be closer to monster than man.”

That was unacceptable. His chest tightened at his words, a foul feeling swirling his insides. It was not about the implied insult to him, nor was it about the subtle threat of the other Harbingers finding out who you were to him—it was the insult to you, the mocking comment Pantalone made calling you closer to monster than man. That was not acceptable.

And then he realized what he was doing, getting defensive over you for no reason at all. Careful, he told himself, this was what he hadn’t wanted. 

He pushed it away, again, focusing on the issue at hand. 

“Was she everything you hoped?” Pantalone pressed, a sardonic smile twisting his lips as he watched you.

More, Dottore answered silently. You were beyond anything he had imagined, but he kept his answer to himself, “What do you want, Regrator?”

“Fair exchange,” Pantalone spoke of the policy he had lived by since the day Dottore met him and Dottore knew that he wasn’t going to like this. Pantalone’s eyes gleamed at the prospect of it, that thin thread of control waning as it always did when he got the upperhand on someone. “I am owed. Our previous exchange has been fulfilled—you brought me into the Fatui and helped me obtain my position, I gave you better funding and support in meetings. This is the start of a new exchange. Twice now, I’ve protected her and now, I’ve brought her in so that you weren’t exposed. I am owed.”

“What do you want?” Dottore repeated again, unperturbed by Pantalone’s demeanor, wanting to get this conversation over with. “The residue research? One of my segments to help with your missions?”

“The prototype for the new delusion,” Pantalone said. Dottore raised his eyebrows—it’s a prototype for a reason, on his lips but he decided against it. If the Regrator wanted to use the prototype, all the better for Dottore: he would be able to study how he reacts to it, and how it reacts to him. “And a branch of the Northland Bank in Fontaine City.”

Dottore tilted his head, “How exactly do you expect me to help with that? Just take one of the segments and tell them what to do.”

Pantalone smiled again but this time, it was colder—the same smile he directed at the other Harbingers when they pissed him off. His head turned in the direction of where you were dancing with the aristocrat and then he asked, voice amused: “You didn’t think I was helping her for your sake, did you?”

There it is. 

Dottore stared at Pantalone emptily from beneath his mask. He had expected this from the moment he had initially offered his help in finding you, he knew there would be a catch but he did not think it would have to do with you. 

A branch of the Northland Bank set up in Fontaine City. What would that entail from you? Information on the court that only the upper echelon of aristocrats would know? Weaknesses and holes in their defenses? Either way, it would entail betraying your nation and he had a feeling you wouldn’t do that… which meant he would somehow have to get the information from you to pass it on to Pantalone, which meant he would have to betray you. For some reason, the thought left him feeling uneasy. 

“Very well,” he agreed. “Consider it done.”

Pleased, Pantalone looked back out to the ballroom floor.

“Oh?” he noted. “She’s on the move.”

Dottore’s head snapped to the side, eyes searching the floor until they landed on where the aristocrat was leading you through the hall and to the entrance of the room.

What were you doing? He had a bad feeling, exhaling as he waited. Were you really going to go out and try to find the evidence you wanted now? Right after he had told you that the Harbingers have their eye on you? You couldn’t be that stupid… unless you were trying to rush to do it before he could get involved but that would be ridiculous.

Dottore’s eyes followed you until the doors of the ballroom shut behind you and you were gone from sight. He didn’t bother explaining to Pantalone where he was going, turning on his heel and made his way to the door on the opposite side of the room, closer to where he and Pantalone were standing.

The Fatui subordinates scattered at his approach, allowing an easy exit for him. Pantalone followed, much to his distaste, but he supposed this way it didn’t look as suspicious. As soon as he pushed the door open, a rush of cold air met him—a welcome escape from the stuffiness of the ballroom and the endless chatter of the aristocrats and the music and all of the overwhelming noise.

The hall was dimly lit by candles mounted on the walls, there was no one in the hall besides them—Dottore assumed that you had turned down the hall on the right instead, heading to the washroom. 

Was that what you were doing? Faking going to the washroom so you could slip away and search? Why weren’t their subordinates lining the halls to make sure people couldn’t do that? 

“Are you going after her?” Pantalone asked, amused, slinking up beside him. Dottore gave him a cold look from the corner of his eye. “Relax, I won’t interfere.”

Dottore wasn’t sure how much he believed that but he didn’t have time to call him out for it. He wanted to get to you before you did something stupid. He gave Pantalone one last look before making his way down the hall in the direction of the washroom, turning left down two different halls until he was on the opposite side of the ballroom—just as he came to a stop outside of the door, it opened.

“There you are.”

REBLOGS APPRECIATED

[defensivelee]

Dona Dona: There’s a Calf With a Mournful Eye

William knows he was born for one purpose: to receive his six lives and bring about the rule of the Devils of Orange-Nassau. But it takes a lot to make someone believe that, and much more to make them want it. So, how did William get to that point? What brought him to where he is now, in the main story? What was his first life like and what led up to its untimely end? I hope to answer these questions here ◉‿◉

The title comes from the old song "Dona Dona," about a calf being led to slaughter. There are many good covers out there, but the English one where I drew inspiration from is here, by Joan Baez.

The first chapter is just a story about a boy and his destiny. Please enjoy! Here is the AO3 link.

CW: domestic violence, abuse of a disabled child, cult-like setting, religious indoctrination, child forced to commit crimes, implied/referenced genocide, implied/referenced child murder, child soldiers, torture, murder, terrorism, pedophilia, father/son incest, explicit child sexual abuse.

The Devils of Orange-Nassau were very old. That was the first thing William learned about his destiny— that it was intertwined with the history of the ancients, that the Overlifers had always been there to oppose the Allies, that one day the world would be ruled by the six-lived heroes and everything would go the way William wanted it to.

That was what his father said. His mother equally believed in it, but whereas her husband was sure that this reign would come about in his lifetime, she was adamant that William would be the one to fulfill the destiny of the Devils. He was sure of it, too; he was young, but it had been all he heard about in the time he’d spent on this earth.

You’re going to kill a lot of people, William. What a thing to say to a four-year-old. Upon reflection, it was supposed to disturb him, but how could it disturb him when his mother seemed so proud of him? And five extra lives— now that was something to think about. Someone like him would need it.

He had no idea how they worked, though. Would he run through a life first and then move on to the next one? Did that mean he’d live for maybe four hundred years? Five hundred? He thought that maybe that was the case, because apparently having six lives meant your aging would slow dramatically.

His father was old too, like the Devils of Orange-Nassau. He didn’t look like it, but he was almost eighty. And yet his aim was as sharp as ever, his horns sharper still, and his reflexes swifter than a dwaallicht’s.

“I wish you could get your six lives already,” his mother would say. “That way you would never grow up. You’d stay my fierce little William forever.”

No! He’d shake his head indignantly. Need to get big.

Seeing the expression on his face, she’d squeeze him and laugh. It was a laugh still so youthful and light, and he only learned much later that she had been twenty-one at the time. Twenty-one and already tied to the Devils, just like he was. There were whispers that she’d been an enemy once, what with her Eastern tail and horns, but she was here now.

Someone so destined to rule the world like he was had to learn how to end lives. So he was only five when his father drove him to an empty warehouse. He didn’t know much about this whole murdery business yet, but he knew he was terrified as his father first led him, and then had to push him, inside the building.

“What are you crying about?” his father asked, slamming the door shut behind them. Now they were standing in total darkness, and William began to wail, clinging on to his father’s tail.

“Enough, William!” It wasn’t the first time his father had hit him, and it wasn’t that hard; still, William only cried louder when his father slapped him away. “How do you expect to kill anyone when you can’t even let go of me?” There was a sharp clicking sound, and then the lights turned on, and William slowly stopped crying as he took in the sight.

Empty was an understatement. This place felt as if the devils themselves had reached up from the ground and swallowed up all life here. He didn’t need the light to realize it was also incredibly dusty in here; when he started to cough, he couldn’t stop.

“What? It’s not that bad.” His father nudged him forward with his tail. “Come on, they’re waiting for us.”

William followed him to another, smaller room, where there were indeed people waiting for them. They bowed their heads when they saw them enter, but William noticed a strange look in their eyes as they glanced at him. He pinpointed it later on as pity.

Before them sat what appeared to be a man at first glance, but William could tell that this wasn’t any ordinary human, nor even a human at all. His eyes, well, he had five of them, with four horns, and when he opened his mouth to hiss at them, William caught sight of his teeth like knives. He was reassured by seeing the creature’s neck chained back to a pole, but he still looked as if he could spring at them at any moment.

“Well? Aren’t you going to ask what it is?” his father said.

William cleared his throat, trying to stifle his coughs. He didn’t know why his father asked him questions as if he could answer them. He only stared helplessly at the creature.

“Dwaallicht spirit, little one,” said the stranger. He turned to William’s father. “What are you doing, bringing a child here?”

“He is my son,” the Overlifer answered simply. “He is here to watch you die.”

“I don’t mind dying,” the spirit said, “but that boy shouldn’t be here.”

He lifted his head loftily. Like being here! His lungs were telling him otherwise, though, and he turned away, coughing into the fluffy tip of his tail.

“Insolent spirit,” his father said. “One day this boy will rule the world. And creatures like you will cower before him. It’s all you know how to do.”

William stood up taller. There was never pride in his father’s voice when he said that, it was more of just a simple fact he would state, but it still made William feel like he could take on all the Allies in the world.

“He shouldn’t be seeing things like this.”

“Enough talk. William, watch carefully.” And then his father took out a knife and cut the spirit’s tongue out.

It wasn’t that quick, of course, but later on, that was the only detail William could remember. He was glad he managed to forget it with time, but in the moment, he watched the spirit writhe and screech in defiance and pain, blood spilling from its mouth, and his father didn’t flinch. He didn’t even jeer at the way the remnant was now crying, when before he had been so defiant. He only stared.

“You spirits will learn to respect us,” he said. He glanced back at William, who felt dizzy. He was wheezing, the breaths long and slow and painful. “Do you want to finish it, William?”

He shook his head rapidly.

His father shrugged. “Very well. Once you’re done with them, you want to finish it off quick. That’s when you use the gun.” He took out his gun and blew on the tip, rubbing his finger over it in a strange, elaborate motion. “Normal guns don’t work on the dwaallicht remnants, so you have to give it the touch of an Overlifer. We are more powerful than even the Allies themselves, remember that.”

Don’t shoot him. William was shaking. He’d never quite registered the idea of death in his head; it was mentioned often, how he would have to learn to kill, but he didn’t understand what that meant, considering his father had evaded it so often. He didn’t know it meant causing pain to living humans. Or spirits, he supposed.

Will it hurt? he wanted to ask. His father was good at making things hurt.

The gunshot was the loudest thing he’d ever heard. He swore he’d never forget that. The dwaallicht spirit vanished with an odd, hollow shriek, and William covered his ears, coughing and crying with the agonized screams still replaying in his head. There was so much blood here, he’d never clear the smell out of his nose.

“Hey.” His father flicked his horn. “Calm down. It’s like this for everyone at first.”

The image of the spirit with blood streaming from its mouth came to William’s head again, and this time he vomited on the ground. He retched and wheezed and realized he seriously couldn’t breathe, he needed to get out of here. He looked up at his father, who only rolled his eyes and took his hand.

“Come on. You’ll get used to it.”

From then on his father took him to every meeting, every torture session, every execution, despite his wife’s protests. She said that he was too young, that he didn’t need to know this yet, that other boys went to school and played games and this wasn’t normal. William had privately agreed with her at first, but when his father began to get agitated, his mother would quiet down, and she ordered him to do so as well. That didn’t stop him from crying when his father shot someone, or when his hostages screamed.

But he did get used to it. He learned not to cry soon enough, because his father would slap him and tell him not to cry in front of his future subordinates. He learned to swallow down his tears and tolerate the smell of blood in a shaky silence.

He finally realized what being an Overlifer meant. It meant hurting people to get what you want. His mother told him that it wasn’t normal for him to take part in this violence, that no other child did.

“You couldn’t have waited until he was fifteen?” he heard his mother say to his father one night. “I know that he has to get used to it, but he’s so small! We have to send him to school, at least. He needs friends, he needs to grow up first. Give him time.”

“He has all the time in the world,” his father hissed back. “Six lives, to be exact!”

“He doesn’t have them yet.”

“And he never will if we spoil him.”

“Letting him go to school is not—”

“Mary.” William tensed as he heard his father stand, heard the warning in his voice, and he rushed out of his room, halting in between his parents. He shuddered as his father’s fiery eyes raked over him.

“Go to your room, William.”

Say something. William looked around wildly, letting out a small cry, and his father sighed.

“Write it down here.”

Thank you. He blinked gratefully up at him, then hopped onto his lap, writing down in a messy scrawl the words he hoped would save his mother, at least for tonight.

Like helping you. Sir, he quickly added.

“William,” his mother said. “You don’t understand. This isn’t normal. You don’t know what normal looks like.”

He turned, narrowing his eyes at her. Then what did it look like?

“He shouldn’t know what it looks like.” His father knelt beside him, tapping William’s shoulder with his tail. “A future Overlifer isn’t supposed to live a normal life. You’re very special, William, don’t let anyone —including your mother— tell you otherwise.”

His mother only stared at him, and he figured out later that she had looked at him with sadness.

Being an Overlifer means you hurt people to get what you want. Now that statement filled him with pride, with the knowledge that only the Devils of Orange-Nassau were ruthless and smart enough to twist the world’s destiny in their fingers, whatever the cost.

It was hard to remember that sometimes, though, when his father was driving a knife over and over again into someone’s face, and William was being splashed with the blood. So he devised a method that he thought was quite clever— he stopped thinking of them as humans, or even dwaallicht spirits. He thought of them as tools, as means to an end, and astonishingly, it worked. The blood became artificial to him, the begging automated.

It’s okay, they’re supposed to do that. Happens when you stab them. All the same and not real. When they die they help us.

He was seven when his father first gave him a gun. “You’ve seen me shoot plenty. Kill this guy.”

It was true. His father had slowly been teaching him how to use a gun, how to load it, how not to spook at the sound. Truth be told, it still scared him, but he knew better than to cover his ears now. Otherwise his father would walk by him and tug at those very ears. William was afraid he’d rip his gold earring right off.

So the first time he fired a gun was the first time he also killed someone. His father wasn’t proud; he never was, said it’d only teach his son to do everything for the approval of others, and an Overlifer shouldn’t bend over backwards for other people. But William’s heart still jumped and twisted in his chest when his father nodded at him once.

“Good.”

The news spread quickly among the Devils of Orange-Nassau, that the seven-year-old heir had killed someone. William would have felt worse about it if his father’s vassals didn’t look at him in a new way, not with pity and mockery but with a newfound respect. No other boy in the world had that. He would have felt worse if he hadn’t already learned his new strategy, to forget the humanity in everyone else.

He noticed his mother wasn’t as present anymore. She wouldn’t speak to him as she had when he was younger, encouraging his little fantasies about ruling the world. Now all she told him were warnings.

“Treat every gun like it’s loaded.”

“Make sure you wash the blood off your horns before you go outside again.”

“Don’t speak to anyone who isn’t a Devil of Orange-Nassau. No one at all.”

“Listen to your father.”

“Obey your father.”

“Keep him happy.”

That last piece of advice was the only thing he was starting to hear from her. And truly, he wished he could keep his father happy for the both of them, but there was nothing he could ever do to satisfy the older William. Nothing he could even say.

His father came into his room once, with an expression unusually gleeful and his actions just the same. He asked William what he was doing, asked him to explain what he was playing with.

Horses. William held up the little figures of horses his mother had gotten him for his birthday.

“Ah, horses.” Smoke poured out of his mouth as he spoke. “Can you say that, William?”

William hesitated before shaking his head.

“Go on. How will you ever put the fear of Ferocity into the hearts of your enemies? It begins with words.”

Not with eyes? William had always been unnerved by his father’s stare. He was sure everyone else was too.

“What do you have a tongue for, then?” His father’s voice lowered as he stood back up, and William’s heart stopped. He knew what was coming. He braced himself for it, shutting his eyes, but when the blow never came, he tentatively looked up, coughing at the cigarette smoke that seemed to stick itself in his throat.

“Open.”

William tilted his head to the side, and his father slapped him. William staggered to the side, shaking his head dazedly.

“I said open. Let me see your mouth.”

William opened his mouth, his tail shivering. He watched his father look curiously down at his cigarette, and then he pressed it down on William’s tongue.

He screamed, falling back and coughing so hard that his whole body was trembling when he was done. Even so, he kept wheezing for breath, trying to catch it, and faintly he realized that there was a disgusting taste on his tongue. He turned away and spat on the ground, trying to clear it away.

“Your tongue okay?” His father shoved him in his shoulder.

“A-Ah—” It had burned initially, but he realized it was no worse than when he burned his tongue with hot tea. He looked up and nodded.

“Then why are you crying?”

He was crying. He wiped at his tears and shook his head.

“I’ll get some use out of your tongue,” his father said, “even if you won’t.”

Things like that. William never worried about it— he was afraid, of course, of what his father could do to him and his mother if they angered him, but that was the way things were supposed to be. An Overlifer had to command fear, and respect. He hated being afraid, he hated being hit, and that was alright because that was the point. His father was allowed to hurt people, that was just who he was.

He was stupid enough, though, to forget that he was afraid, and sometimes he watched his father’s frustration with him with satisfaction. Maybe it was because he knew he would be an Overlifer too. Maybe it was because his father was starting to annoy him.

His mother knew this. “It doesn’t matter what you think of him. You have to listen to him, you have to be safe. Remember what you were born for.”

He doesn’t remember it!

But his father seemed as content as ever to lead him into danger, to treat William as this indestructible little weapon he could pull out whenever he wished. It wasn’t that William was threatening, though he liked to think that he was. It was just that most of his father’s enemies blanched at the thought of hurting a young boy, even if that young boy in question was going to grow up and kill them all. So his father would bring him along for negotiations, so when they pulled a gun on him, he would have William protest by running up and tugging at his father’s sleeve.

And then, most of the time, they’d remember that they couldn’t fight William yet, they had to wait until he was older. So they calmed down, but he noticed their glares from across the table. He wished he knew what that meant.

Unfortunately, the man who had first taught him to read words had never taught him to read faces. That was Johan de Witt, a stern man with long, upright horns that bent back at the ends and a tail like a deer’s. William didn’t like him— he was too familiar, too sure of where his position lay amongst the Devils of Orange-Nassau. When he spoke to William, it was as if he forgot he was speaking to his future leader. And when he spoke about William’s father, it was as if he forgot just how dangerous that man was.

“I hate what he does, little prince. To everyone, I mean, but it’s with you he seems to cross the line.”

What line? William lifted his head. No one was supposed to hate his father! That meant they were traitors and deserved to die. Maybe he should tell his mother.

“Your mother’s right, you know. You shouldn’t be seeing all this.”

That was the first instance of treachery. William knew he was only saying it because he couldn’t tell anyone, but he swore that if he should ever speak, it was the first thing he would say to his father. And then, finally, his father would smile at him. Genuinely.

One night after he’d recently turned eight, there was another instance, when de Witt knocked on his door after his mother had left. William thought she’d come back to hold him; she’d stopped doing that when he was five, but he missed it. But no, it was only de Witt, holding a few books and ordering him to sit at his desk. That part was just absurd, no one ordered the heir of Orange-Nassau to do anything, but de Witt’s horns were big and his promises were bigger.

“No one wants you to learn this. Do you know why, William? Because it’ll make you better than them. It’ll make you smarter. That’s what your father is so afraid of. That’s why you don’t go to school.”

William’s eyes widened. An advantage over everyone...even his father...that sounded tempting.

“Do you want to make your father fear you?”

He nodded rapidly, and so de Witt had sat next to him and had shown him the history of the universe, starting with the Nine Honors that the original dwaallichten, not the spirits, had used to create everything William had ever known.

“That is why we worship them, William. The dwaallichten, and their remnants, are not some meaningless ghosts. They’re why we’re all here.”

Then there was the history of the devils, how they were, in reality, remnants that grew strong enough from those very first beginnings to call themselves more than spirits; they were devils.

“You know, most people don’t know that, William. The devils did that on purpose. To create a separation between themselves and the remnants. But really, they’re not so different. A spirit is just one step away from becoming a devil...unfortunately, it takes power to reach that step.”

The first devil was named Ferocity, and she had four children. Three daughters and a son. When those children grew strong enough, they had killed her with the help of the humans, and that was how the Four Kingdoms of the devils’ realm came to be.

“What do you think, William?” De Witt’s eyes glinted. “Can a child kill their parent? Should the child kill their parent?”

William stared down at the page they were on. It showed a simplified version of one of the most famous paintings in the world, five hundred years old, showing the four children spearing their mother in the heart. She was roaring furiously at the skies, and at her feet stood the humans, their heads bowed before their new rulers.

“That was how it all began, William,” de Witt told him. “When we used to have monarchs, the heirs didn’t wait for their parents to die. They had to kill them themselves. It was the only way. This is where the tradition came from, the Law of Honorable Succession.”

Tradition. Old tale. Old as time. William brushed a finger over the single male devil portrayed there, the only son, his gaze steady as he looked at his dying mother. Triumphant, but only in silence.

“That’s the ruler of the Western Kingdom,” de Witt said. “In our language, his name is William, too.”

Really? William turned his head sharply towards him.

De Witt chuckled. “Yes. Why do you think it’s such a common name?” He checked his watch and raised his eyebrows. “Well, little prince, I’ll leave you alone now. I’ve kept you up for long enough.” He started gathering the books, but William sprung on the one with the painting in it, growling.

“Oh, you want to keep that one? Can you read it by yourself?”

William nodded, and de Witt laughed, reaching down to pat him in between his horns. “Very well. Just make sure your father doesn’t see it.”

He watched de Witt leave, and then he turned back, staring down at William the devil. For a moment, he suddenly understood how a whole world could worship him for thousands and thousands of years, how any common person would look at him and be driven to hope and love. He thought he was almost tempted to do the same.

Why not? Nothing wrong. Can do anything I want. He closed the book, kicked it under his bed, and then sat on his knees over his pillow. He realized then he had no idea how to pray to the devils like everyone else did. It was his father that was the supreme being here.

Make up, then. He took a breath and wondered if the devil would be able to hear him if he couldn’t speak out loud.

Hello, William. Same name, right? That’s cool. You and me, I mean. Read about you. You killed your mother? Were you sad? Couldn’t do that. I mean, me. Couldn’t do that. Please protect her. My mother. She’s scared. Would do it, I mean me, would do it, but too small. No lives yet. Only one. Never said that before. True, though, no? Maybe scared too. Not supposed to be but yes, scared. People love you. Want to see if reason for it is real. Okay, good night.

He knew it was wrong as soon as he was done. The Overlifers had no reason to bow and pray to a lowly devil! His father —and by extension, probably his mother, too— would kill him if he ever found out. Some Overlifer he would make.

Still, maybe William wasn’t alone here. Maybe Ferocity had burned her son’s tongue, too. Maybe she made sure to remind him everyday that he was too weak, too stupid to rule the world like she did. Maybe she slapped him and kicked him scornfully to the side when he fell. Maybe she didn’t come for him when he cried. Maybe William the devil was scared too, and exhausted, so he did something about it.

No feeling bad for devils! My enemies. He sighed and adjusted the pillows under his head. You die first, William. Would never kill my mother.

🝰🝰🝰

“Maybe he just needs to go to school. Maybe that’s why he’s not talking.”

“Mary, that’s enough. We’ve been over this.”

“He needs to hear children his age speak! He doesn’t know half of what you’re saying.”

“Mary.”

William heard his father stand, but this time he didn’t intervene. He knew better than that now. He shut off the TV and ran downstairs instead, so he wouldn’t have to hear his mother crying out. Hissing back defiantly and only making things worse.

He shut the door behind him. At least when his parents were arguing, they’d leave him alone for a while. He never used to wish his mother would leave him alone as well, but now she only seemed to fuss over his safety, as if he wasn’t the son of the most powerful man in the world. Her nervous manner, the way her hands shook when she held him and told him to be quiet, keep your voice down, don’t you hear him down the hall; it only made him nervous, too. And he didn’t like being nervous.

He quickly flicked on the light switch with his tail. He always came down here now whenever they fought, because he could still hear them from his room. He couldn’t hear them here.

Besides, no one used this room. It was to summon minor devils, like dwaallicht spirits, but his father had all the power he needed from them as of now. So no one could come in here and find him reading one of the many books his father had left strewn about.

He had recently started reading one about all the legends passed down through generations about the dwaallicht spirits. William knew they were inferior to him, but he still felt a little bad whenever his father would catch one that had been bothering him all week and destroy it. It looked painful, the way they wiggled around and squealed like pigs. De Witt said it did hurt.

Poor little things, he thought as he stared at the cover. But he couldn’t waste time here feeling sorry for the creatures, so he opened the book and read about them instead.

He was about two more chapters through when he heard footsteps outside the door, and he hurriedly slammed his book shut and kicked it under the table, rolling under it as well. He reached his long tail out and turned off the light, then curled it around him. The motion stressed the sharp bend at the base of his tail, and he clenched his teeth, trying not to let a whimper out.

Someone coming in? He looked up, but the door didn’t open. The darkness in front of him looked infinite.

Hurry and get out. He bit his tongue as the footsteps moved past. Please please please.

To his relief, no one did come in. He uncoiled his tail and crawled out of the table, and when he turned around to pick up his book, he saw something glowing in front of him, where he’d been sitting. Some kind of overly detailed circle.

What? He crawled forward, tapping the circle curiously, and before he could blink something knocked him back with the same force his father used when he slapped him.

He landed hard on the floor behind him, and he lay there, a little stunned for a second. Was that his father? But no...there was no way he was in here, the door hadn’t opened—

He sat up quickly, trying to figure out how to word an apology. Sorry, sorry, just got scared. No, that wouldn’t do. Even so, he tried to say something, but all that would come out were hurried cries.

“Who dared summon me?” a small voice called out. “And how?”

“Hah?” William blinked, falling silent at once. That certainly wasn’t his father.

“A human child!” He heard the flick of the switch, and he looked up at the person who had done so. Except that this was no person.

She would have been a young girl, maybe about his age, but she had huge talons and three eyes and wide rings circling her head, like thousands of infinitely thin halos. Her fluffy, fox-like tail was almost as long as his own, but in place of the usual tip, there were deadly, slavering jaws there, snapping at the air. The mouth she did have on her face appeared to be stitched shut.

William immediately ducked when her eyes scanned the room and caught sight of him. “Ah, there you are,” her tail said, and that was when he opened his mouth to scream.

“Shhh!” she hissed, leaping forward and wrapping her tail around his mouth. It leaned forward as if to sniff him, and he stared at the jaws in horror, wiggling in her grip. Was she about to kill him? What even was she? Was she a dwaallicht spirit?

“How did you do that?” the tail went on. “You just dredged me up from the realm of the devils!”

Did I? He tilted his head to the side.

“You look too small to be an Ally or anything like that,” she murmured. “Alright, don’t make a sound.” She unwrapped her tail from around him, and he shuddered, shaking her fur off of him. “So weird! Do you know what you’ve just done?”

He shrugged.

“I’m a devil,” she said, her tongue sticking out of her tail maw. “Well, okay, maybe not really a super powerful one yet, but I will be. I’m from the Southern Kingdom, nice to meet you.” She held out one of her talons, but William backed away. It looked much too rough to touch.

A devil! He had no idea how that had happened, but he realized she wasn’t acting as reverent as she should have been. The devils had to bow before the Overlifers, had to respect them. A simple handshake was no greeting!

Maybe doesn’t know me. He lifted his head, then ran to get his book again, flipping it open to one of the illustrated pages. This one had an ancient Overlifer holding up his sword triumphantly over the body of one of the former devil rulers, the spirits at his side. He pointed at it, then back at himself.

“What? You are?” She narrowed her eyes. “But you don’t have any markings. Wait, hold on a second.” She looked around. “Is this where the Devils of Orange-Nassau live? Are you one of them?”

William nodded once.

“Oh, my Ferocity,” she breathed. “I’ve found the base of our worst enemies. Oh, everyone back home is gonna be so pleased with me. I mean, they would be, but right now we’re at peace, so...” She huffed. “Bow down to me, boy! You’ve just summoned a future general of King Louis’ armies! What insolence!”

William shook his head and glowered at her. His father had told him thousands of times that he had to bow to no one. No one except the real Overlifer here.

But his father wasn’t here, so he merely lifted his head and raised his tail to look as regal as possible.

“Ohhh, that’s right, they weren’t kidding, huh,” the devil girl said. “You guys think you’re all that. Funny ‘cause you looked so scared of me first.” She snapped her tail maws at him, and he yelped and fell back. “See? You Overlifers have nothing on us!”

William stood again, dusting himself off with as much dignity as he could muster. Why wasn’t she scared of him? Was it because he still didn’t have his six lives?

“What? Can’t you talk?” The tail curled its lip back as if in a snarl, and he hesitated.

What was he going to say? That he could? He merely shook his head again, his face flushing. Now it was a devil who knew just how useless he’d be as an Overlifer if he couldn’t even figure out how to hold a conversation.

“Oh, my Ferocity, what happened?” she gasped, her hands flying to her stitched mouth. “I mean, sorry, maybe I’m not supposed to ask that. No, actually, you know what, I’m gonna ask. As a devil, all humans are required to answer my questions!” She puffed out her chest, and he laughed a little at seeing the noble expression on her face.

“Well?” She prodded him with a talon, and he jolted back with a displeased expression. No touching!

She kept staring at him, and he sighed and looked away. He didn’t know how to say he’d never spoken, even in his head. It was just one word. Never.

“Alright, fine, sorry, maybe it’s a touchy subject,” she said. She pointed at her stitched mouth. “I’ll have these off soon! And then I’ll be able to speak to you through my tail and my face. Isn’t that cool? I guess we’re kind of the same, then, right?”

Not the same. William shook his head rapidly. He was better than her and all of her kind!

“Maybe you’ll have your fake metaphorical stitches pulled out soon, too,” she said, hopping around him. “Or maybe you won’t, I don’t know. Guess it depends on why. I think they’ll be out, though.”

You think so? His eyes widened. He’d heard that some devils could see the future.

“Get your hopes up!” She paused beside him and nudged him with her shoulder, and he stumbled to the side. “‘Cause you know, one day I’ll be all grown up, and I’m gonna be the King’s best general, and I’ll lead his armies against you Devils of Orange-Nassau.” She gasped then. “That means we’ll be fighting each other!”

Oh? He didn’t know why he suddenly regretted that so much.

“Yeah, it’s a real shame, ‘cause I kinda like you,” she said. “You’re kinda cute. And so scared, too. I don’t wanna fight you if you’re scared.”

No dying for you, either. How could this creature be his enemy— she was already kind of fun, even though she had scared him at first. And he had no idea that there were such things as devil children, like him.

“I mean, I guess I wouldn’t mind you being my mortal enemy,” she went on. “You’d be pretty easy to beat, I’m thinking. Hey, actually, we should shake on it.” She held out her talon again, and William stepped back. “Promise you won’t go easy on me?”

William stared at her claws. He supposed that talking to her wouldn’t be a bad thing as long as they both agreed that they were going to fight as well as they would have if they didn’t know each other. So he took a breath, bracing himself before reaching out and shaking her talon. It was rough, and he pulled back immediately, but it was enough for her eyes to light up.

“Alright, let’s make it a good fight, then!” she cheered. “But that’s like, fifty years from now or something, unless your daddy decides to attack like right now. So what do you wanna talk about?” She sat back on the table, and he held his book out towards her.

“Oh, wow,” she said, taking it. “You’re reading legends about the dwaallicht spirits? That’s so funny. Everyone hates them, for some reason. I think they’re really sweet, though. I have a few spirit pets, maybe you can come meet them some time?” She shook her head as soon as the words were out. “No, the King wouldn’t like it if I brought an Overlifer to our world, even if he is really tiny and not actually an Overlifer yet. He’s not above killing kids, did you know that?”

William nodded, although he actually really didn’t know that. There was still a part of him that shied away from really studying the current rulers of the Four Kingdoms, or really, any of the rulers at all, since he might have to fight them later on. However, from de Witt, he knew the reputation of the ruler of the Southern Kingdom, and it wasn’t so surprising to hear that Louis would kill a child if he perceived it to be a future threat.

“Guess I’ll be the one to come to you, then,” the devil girl said thoughtfully. “But you gotta summon me, okay? Devils haven’t been able to walk the earth like this—” She waved her hand around the area. “—in literal ages without someone calling for them, and like, no one is that strong. Except you, apparently! Isn’t that cool?” Her eyes shone. “I feel so special! Even Louis hasn’t been up here in over six hundred years!”

William nodded rapidly. Did this mean she wanted to come again? Did she want to stay with him, after all?

Was this his first friend?

She stayed for a little while longer, lecturing him about which of the legends actually happened and which ones were mostly made up. She did stress on that mostly, saying that there was a bit of truth to every legend.

“Why do you think humans wrote about it at all, silly?”

He wished he didn’t have to leave when the time came, but he knew that his parents probably would have stopped fighting by now, and his mother would be looking for him. Just as the strange girl was about to jump back through the circle, he realized that he hadn’t yet learned the name of his new friend.

He ran back to her and grabbed her arm, eliciting a startled yelp from her. “What is it?”

William jumped back on the table, taking another book and flipping through the pages to find the word he was looking for. It didn’t take long, as it was a book about the classifications of devils and their ranks, so the word was practically in every chapter. He held it up, pointing at the word he found.

Name.

“Oh, my name?” She laughed. “Give me yours first!”

He nodded. That wouldn’t be too hard to find either. He rather quickly found a mention of the ruler of the Western Kingdom, and pointed at his name: William.

“William,” she breathed, leaning on the table. “Like your daddy. Oh, that’s gonna make it awfully hard for King Louis to look at you.”

Don’t care. Not afraid. He fixed a stern expression on his face, and she giggled.

“Alright, alright, you’ve earned it,” she said. “Elizabeth Charlotte!” She seemed to tilt her head down as if she were about to bow, but quickly straightened herself back up. “But back home they just call me Liselotte, I guess you can do that too.”

What? William blinked. He knew he was never going to learn how to say that name.

“What, you wanted it.” She laughed and turned away. “Alright, I’ll see you around, William! Call for me soon, or don’t, whatever you want to do.”

He waved as she jumped back into her realm. He had already decided that he would call for her again, if he could figure out how he did it the first time. He had also decided that he wouldn’t tell anyone about her. De Witt would make a face, wave a finger, give him another lecture on his safety here. His mother would casually bring it up to everyone else who didn’t know, thinking it was something to be proud of when in fact, de Witt was right, this was so dangerous.

His father would kill him, of that William had no doubt. Traitors, even if they were heirs, weren’t tolerated here.

But William knew how to be safe.

The first thing Liselotte taught him was that maybe his parents fighting all the time wasn’t so bad. He still hated to see his father with his hands around Mary’s throat, his expression gone from bitter apathy to a terrifying, unguarded anger, but at least now there was something good about it. Besides, his father never went as far as to actually kill her. No, he would never do that; William knew a part of him still cared deeply for his mother.

Maybe. He didn’t say it anymore, but William had seen him kill for her before, bring home these extravagant gifts for her, and de Witt always said that actions spoke louder than words.

So the next time William heard his father say her name in that way, he ran off before he could hear the beginning of it and shut himself up in the room where he’d first found Liselotte. He touched the circle and— nothing. It glowed slightly, but that was it.

He lifted his hand and stared at it. What had he done the first time?

Was scared...thinking things...

Oh, of course! He’d been hiding because he thought someone was coming, and he was begging in his mind for the intruder to hurry and leave. He pressed his hand down again. Hurry up...Liselotte. He didn’t really sound out the last word, her name, but he imagined her voice saying it.

Still, nothing. He growled and slapped the circle. Hurry, I say!

The circle began to glow brightly. William shuffled back, nearly shaking with excitement. He tapped it one more time, and this time Liselotte jumped out, her tail wagging furiously as she leaped on top of him, slamming him back on the ground. It hurt, especially at the base of his own tail, but he was too happy to care, at least for now.

“William!” Her tail jaws hung over his face, grinning, but he was no longer afraid.

At first they only met while William’s parents were fighting, even though Liselotte had no way of knowing that. Then too long went by without a fight, so the next time his father went out, and his mother was done yelling at him for it and instead took to entertaining all of her husband’s guests by herself (which, William had to admit, she wasn’t too great at), he snuck off back into the room and called for Liselotte again.

“My Ferocity, William, it’s been so long!” She was no less delighted that time.

His father was often absent at least three times a week, whenever he didn’t take his son and wife along, so William and Liselotte began to meet much more frequently when he realized he wouldn’t get caught much during those times, either. Sometimes his mother would be searching for him, and Liselotte would scurry under the table, and William would run back out— he thought it was pretty clever of them.

When they weren’t being cautious, they were having fun. Liselotte would look through the book he was reading that week and tell him the same legends the way she had been taught them, many of which her king was a subject of. William thought she spoke of him in a strange way, but he couldn’t figure it out.

Other times, she’d bring him things from her world to show him. Once she brought some of her traditional armor that she used while training and let him butt his head against her chest, trying to pierce the armor with his horns. But it wouldn’t budge, which was impressive and also terrifying.

“Some weapons from our realm can actually go through it,” she explained. “But it’s rare, it’d have to be the weapon of a devil lord. We’re still working on that, actually.”

That was another thing she liked to talk about, her life as a devil one realm below. It was fascinating to hear of someone actually growing up there, a reminder that the devils weren’t ancient history— they were still there. One thing she liked to do was pass all her notes from the day’s lessons onto William, so he could get a taste of what the devils did now. He found them particularly interesting when the notes were about the Southern Kingdom’s military.

“King Louis says we’re going to war with the Eastern Kingdom,” she told him one day. “It’s the first time in centuries! We haven’t gone to war with them since, like, his mama ruled.”

Who do you fight all the time? he wrote down. He was starting to get better at forming sentences in his head and on paper. Which was good, because sometimes even Liselotte found him hard to understand.

“Usually we fight the Western Kingdom,” she said. “King Louis hates them. Like, seriously hates them. Wants to wipe them all out. It’s kinda scary.”

It wasn’t so scary to William, the idea of killing all the people of an entire kingdom. That was kind of what his father wanted to do when they took over. But it was a little concerning that the Western Kingdom was the one that Louis hated, since that seemed to be the only one his father was going to allow to live, though in subservience to the Devils of Orange-Nassau and all the other descendants of that very kingdom.

The war seemed to be taking its toll on Liselotte. Now, whenever she came to answer William’s call, it was all she would talk about. She seemed especially affected when the Southern Kingdom suffered a defeat. William tried to understand, but her long talks about the advancements of the army would turn incoherent to him. It wasn’t her fault, it just happened sometimes— if someone spoke for too long, his mind would jumble it up and he’d feel as if he were listening to someone speak in Infernal.

He knew one of her visits was different when she merely sat down beside William instead of pacing around him while she spoke. William leaned onto her shoulder and twined his tail around hers.

“William,” she said. “I cannot come see you as often. I have to train, I have to get better, I- I have to help King Louis win the war.”

William nodded ruefully. He’d been wondering when the King would order Liselotte to join the fight. She’d told him that she knew how to kill someone, she’d just never done so, which he thought was strange for someone of her age. But he didn’t want her to go; he couldn’t stand being alone again, with the intense adults as his only company.

“But don’t worry, I have a way so that we can still speak!” she said quickly, taking his arm and shaking it. He scowled, but his eyes narrowed with interest.

“So, see, the King has all this magical treasure bound to the forces of the dwaallicht spirits that he killed,” she explained. “He’s obviously killed a lot of them from other kingdoms, so he has a lot, and one of the things he has is this pair of earrings.” She pointed to the ones she was wearing, dark and curling inward like a ram’s horns. She started unclipping one of them. “He basically never uses these, so like, he’ll never notice I took them.”

What do they do? William took the one she held out to him, examining it curiously.

“What these do,” Liselotte began, guessing, as she usually did, what he was thinking, “is link two living beings together, whether that be devil, spirit, or human. Or even your dog, ha!” She stepped forward to tug out the tiny hoop earring that William’s mother made him wear, to match with his father. “Anyway, it’s so that every time we fall asleep, we’ll share the same dream. So now we can just meet every night, forever!”

William blinked, flinching away when Liselotte took the new earring from his hand and held it up to his ear. His hoop earring had bothered him every time he had lifted a hand to pull back his hair, and he hated feeling it dangle against his cheek. Now that it was gone, he didn’t want a replacement.

“Come on, William! Do you wanna see me again or not?” Liselotte nudged him.

William hesitated as he looked at the earring again. Well, it’s not so big...and I have to keep her.

He lifted his head, letting her talons carefully clip it in. The tip of it dug slightly into his skin, but at least now nothing moved when he turned his head.

“Good?” she asked.

He nodded. He only hoped he would get used to it.

Only his mother noticed it the next day. “Did your father give you this?”

William neither nodded nor shook his head. He’d known since he was very young that if he didn’t look at her for long enough and acted disinterested, she’d drop the subject. And, as always, she did.

The good thing about this new system was that now they didn’t have to be quiet when they met, and sleep was always guaranteed at the end of the day. What didn’t occur to him was that in dreams, anything was possible, so Liselotte found something new to do every night.

“Hey, William! Let’s go flying!”

“Let’s go fight angels, William!”

“William! Look at me! I can breathe fire!”

Truth be told, William had never been happier. He found himself smiling more often during the night, even giggling to himself in the day when he thought of something funny that Liselotte had said the night before. He sometimes wished, though, that he never had to wake up, so he could stay forever with Liselotte, and his father couldn’t bother him.

He was doing that a lot more often, now that he was teaching William how to fight rather than just torture defenseless enemies. “That was the easy part,” he said, “now you must learn that I won’t always be there to protect you.”

You never protected me, William thought. But he lifted his head and nodded. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his mother duck out of the room, muttering something to herself.

Doesn’t she want to see me learn this? He watched her go for a moment, and his father stepped forward, taking William’s chin in his hand and turning his head sharply to the side.

“Pay attention, William. The first thing you need to know is that you’ll probably forget everything I’ve taught you when you’re scared.”

William shook his head. He’d never be scared!

“Oh, yes, you will be,” his father went on. “You get over it with time. But until you know better—” He pulled the gun out of his belt and pointed it at William. “—there is no better strategy than your instincts.” His finger hovered over the trigger, and William scurried to the side and under the desk as the bang! rang out behind him. He covered his ears, shaking, hearing nothing but his own shallow breaths, so he didn’t realize his tail was bleeding until he curled it in.

“Very good, William,” his father said, looking under the desk. “You’re fast...but not fast enough. And you can’t always run away in a fight, come out here.” He reached under and took William’s tail, making him cry out as his father’s hand squeezed the wound on it. He saw his own blood cover his father’s hands.

He stifled his breaths under his hand. He was scared.

But fear wasn’t going to be tolerated, either. He learned quickly that if he hesitated at all before taking on his father during training, if he dared cry out for his mother, if he ran away, the punishment would come quickly and harshly. It wasn’t just slapping and shoving anymore. When he fell, his father wouldn’t just kick him and leave him alone after it.

His father, the most serious and dignified person William knew, was someone else when he took off his belt and pinned William back to his desk, or a chair, or the wall. He was furious, he was screaming and hissing at him, and all the while William was crying and gasping with every blow, trying to push him off. His father, always so chillingly calm in his rage, seemed to lose himself here, the same way he did when he attacked Mary.

“What have I told you about showing your fear, William? What have I told you? That’s how you get hurt, that’s how people know it’s okay to fuck with you! But it isn’t! You have to show them!”

On the last sentence he’d usually slam his son’s head down on whatever surface it happened to be lying on, and William could only blink up at him, dazed.

“You are not my son. You are not my son.”

I wish I wasn’t.

“Tell me you are!” His father shook him. “Say something! Defend yourself!”

William would open his mouth, but no words ever came out.

He’d always find his mother after, and sometimes she’d be crying. She held him tight, rubbed his head where it’d hit the wall, and told him she was sorry. Sorry that his existence was so painful. He should have never been born, she’d say. He wasn’t sure if she meant it to hurt him, but it did.

Other times she only pushed him away. Wouldn’t even look at him. That was when William would stumble to his room and fall asleep. He was always so tired afterwards, his head hurt so bad.

If it was already night, Liselotte would be there. He listened to her attentively, always urging her to speak. He didn’t want her to ask how his day was. And she was always happy to oblige. In his dreams, there was no pain to be felt.

When she ran out of things to say, they would lie together under a shining sky. The wind was nice.

“William,” she said on one of those nights. “Do you think we’re gonna kill each other?”

He shook his head. His father could punish him in any way he liked; nothing could ever make William hurt his friend.

“Even if you were afraid enough?”

He turned his head sharply towards her. Did she know—?

“I mean, if you’re the heir of the Devils of Orange-Nassau, I imagine you have a lot of things to do when you grow up,” she said. “Aren’t you afraid of messing up in front of all of them?”

Maybe.

He only shrugged. Everyone else seemed to be afraid of messing up in front of his father, not the other way around. He hoped it’d be the same with him, and no one would question his decision to spare Liselotte.

Throughout all of this, de Witt was keeping up with the lessons. Some of them were about speaking, which mostly involved de Witt repeating certain words until William tried to copy it. He didn’t really want to, though. It only confused him.

He enjoyed the lessons about the world he’d inherit when he grew up, though. That was fun. At nine years old he memorized all two hundred and eighty three Allies that ran the world. De Witt knew this, but acted like he didn’t. For every thing William did correctly, he pointed out five things that he did wrong.

“No, William, don’t you know how to make the r sound?”

“I don’t think threatening murder is the best option here.”

“No, you can’t just walk in like that to an interrogation.”

“The war started two years after, not immediately.”

“Your tail can’t be dragging on the floor, lift it up.”

His father had taught him not to expect praise, but...seriously?

You’re so annoying, William wrote him one day. De Witt leaned in to read the note and burst out laughing. It was so sudden that William jumped.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” de Witt said quickly, patting his shoulder. William tensed. “I just like to see when you have thoughts of your own. Is your father annoying too?”

That’s treason! William narrowed his eyes. He wasn’t going to justify that with an answer.

“Alright, maybe not,” de Witt said. “Maybe someday.”

He’d ask William’s father sometimes if it was okay to take him outside. More often than not his father would say no, they were already going out later that day to torture someone, thank you, but on lazy Sundays he’d get the call during breakfast.

“De Witt wants to take you to see a Hoerenkast.” His father looked highly displeased as he put the phone down. “You can go, William, but remember that you are there to learn. Nothing else. You know what to do if something happens. I’ve taught you how to use a gun, de Witt’s got plenty of those.”

William nodded.

“And while you’re there, take some mental notes on this place,” his father went on, “so you can tell us what the best way to kill the Allies there is.”

William nodded again. He thought he was doing a remarkable job hiding his excitement. He didn’t much like going anywhere with de Witt, fussing over him constantly, but he couldn’t bear to stay in the house these days.

And the Allies! This would be the first time he met one of his enemies.

One reason he hardly ever went deep into the city except to help his father was that William would never stay where his parents wanted him to stay. It was the same here— William didn’t keep an eye on the traffic lights, and to wait for them felt too tedious, so he ran to the side to see what the rest of this street was like, with all its looming skyscrapers. De Witt chased after him every time.

“You have to stay with me, William! You know how many people recognize you as the son of one of the richest men in the world? You know what they would do to get even a fraction of his wealth?”

At one point de Witt refused to chase after him and just held his hand firmly. William hated it.

Another reason William was never brought here was because of the air quality. He didn’t know what all the numbers meant, but he knew all the foggy-looking air around here was trying to kill him at all times. Even though he wore his mask, he’d fall into coughing fits every two minutes or so.

De Witt would squeeze his hand every time, so he had enough pretty soon. He pulled down his mask and sunk his teeth into de Witt’s wrist.

“Ow! William!” De Witt glared down at him, swiping his hand away, and William flinched back. He knew what it meant when his name was said that way.

De Witt’s gaze seemed to soften. “It could be dangerous here, William. I know you don’t like it, but I want you to stay with me. Besides, we’re here.” He pointed at the building in front of them, huge and colorful and twisted. William’s eyes widened.

Unfortunately, that meant more waiting, this time in a line. William hated lines. His father usually said some magic words to the people running these lines and they’d let him go in front. If only he could remember what those words were. They sounded dangerous.

He stepped away from de Witt, and this time, de Witt didn’t follow him. “Just come back when I call you, and don’t go past any curtains,” he said simply.

William went immediately to the walls of art past the line he’d been waiting in. There were centuries of history painted here, starting with the huge, snake-like devil coiled around her children, all the way to an Ally general triumphantly holding up the flag of Altos Diablos, his sword buried deep into the chest of what looked to be...an Overlifer.

He clenched his fists. Propaganda, that was all this really was! What was de Witt doing, taking him here?

The whole mural was really beautiful, though. He almost felt bad about having to destroy it when he grew up.

“William!” he heard de Witt call, but he wasn’t done looking. He didn’t realize how long he was taking until de Witt walked in, taking his hand and muttering something under his breath. William rolled his eyes.

They walked through the red curtains they had been waiting in front of, and the room hidden behind them was even more beautiful. There were plants everywhere, hanging from the walls, covering huge tapestries and bordering the streams running all along the floor. It all looked quite tropical to William, and certainly felt that way too; by the stars, it was hot in here.

It was here that he met his first Ally. De Witt knelt before her, but William kept himself upright. What sort of treason was this? De Witt didn’t seriously believe in the authority of the Allies, did he? His father would have him beheaded for this if he found out!

“My lady, this is William,” de Witt said once he stood up again. “It’s his first time meeting an Ally. William, this is Ally Andrena.”

She was a woman, of course, covered in black and gold like a bee and hardly wearing anything at all, which William couldn’t fault her for in this heat. But he wasn’t about to show any reverence to this Ally when he was destined to be more powerful than her.

“Is this the Overlifer’s child?” she asked, her insect-like gaze drifting over him in a way that made his skin crawl.

William stiffened. No one was supposed to know that!

“My lady,” de Witt said, clearing his throat. “Those are only rumors. The devils know this boy will outgrow the legacy of his predecessors, as his father did.”

“Ah.” Andrena smiled. “We cannot know that. Come here, darling.” She held her hand out to him, but William only shuffled behind de Witt, shoving him forward.

“Go on, William, it’s a great honor,” de Witt said, stepping to the side. William glared up at him, but obeyed, walking towards Andrena and stopping before the stream in front of her magnificent throne.

She stood, then knelt to shake his hand. “Hello, William. I hope that your life turns out as you want it to. If you keep me and all the Allies in your head, I can help guide you so it can be so.” She leaned forward to whisper into his ear. “But know this, little monster. If you think anyone can match our power, if you think you can challenge it— you better change your mind right now.”

William stepped back, glaring at her. Andrena blinked slowly and sat back down. “I don’t usually do this, but please, you are dismissed,” she said, waving her hand at de Witt and William.

“Of course,” de Witt said. He glanced down at William, then back up at her. “There is no human without vice.”

“And without vice there are no devils,” she replied.

All that walking around in this miserable city that made his lungs feel as if they were freezing up, just for that! All that waiting! William had absolutely no doubt in his head now, the Overlifers were superior and always would be.

And that stupid Ally knows it. That’s why she’s so scared.

Perhaps de Witt sensed his disappointment and anger, because even though they were here strictly to learn, he took William to eat at this weirdly fox-themed restaurant. Despite all the white fox decorations there, the actual animals walking around were bushy white cats.

William had one purring on his lap as he ate his side of peas more than he bothered to look at the main course of fish. He sensed de Witt staring at him.

“You’re going to eat all that, right?” he asked.

William nodded firmly. He wasn’t really, but whatever made de Witt sleep better at night. He giggled when he felt another cat come up under his legs, and he reached down to stroke its head.

“You still want to kill all the Allies?” de Witt prodded.

What do you think? William glowered at him.

“It wasn’t my intention to radicalize you further,” he said apologetically. “Maybe I should have chosen a better Ally. She’s known for her shrewdness.”

His father asked him what he learned later that night. William first wrote down a description of the art he had seen and was startled to see just how much it enraged his father.

“You see, William,” he growled. “You see how much they hate us. You see how superior they think they are! What did the Ally say to you?”

William wrote down all the details.

His father’s tail lashed as he read through William’s scrawl. “What an insolent beast!” he spat. “How dare she speak to my son like that? The son of an Overlifer, her only chance to get in our good graces, and she throws it to the mud!”

This was the good kind of anger, William realized. In their hatred and spite for all the Allies and their followers, William and his father were united.

He could hardly wait to fall asleep that night. When he opened his eyes and saw the devil waiting for him, he leaped at her, crying out, “Liselotte!”

“Woah, woah, woah!” She stumbled back in shock as he fell into her arms. “William!”

“Liselotte!”

“William!”

He’d said her name. That was his first word. He didn’t know why she looked so shocked to hear it, though, she probably heard it everyday.

He clung to that name, though, even just in his head. He only told de Witt that he knew it, which made him shake his head and laugh.

“That’s not a real word, William.”

Bullshit! William resolved to learn that word next and tell it to de Witt’s face.

He’d run through the name in his head during his training, in which his father was trying to teach him not to scream no matter the pain. Teaching him not to break should he ever be tortured.

That was kind of a horrible reality, de Witt told him. That a child had to worry about being tortured either now or as an adult.

William didn’t agree with him most of the time. He only agreed with him when his father beat his face bloody with the belt, or twisted his tail around the base, where the painful bend was. William would scream and his father would only make it worse.

“Shut up. I’ll only stop if you shut up.”

It took a while, but eventually William was proud to say that he could take it all without even so much as a whimper. He was trembling violently by the end of it, swallowing his own blood, in the worst pain he’d ever been in, but he would die before his captors heard him scream.

He’d stare straight ahead as his father jerked his long tail around and kicked him in the side over and over again— the only thing forced out of him were tears, so many of them. He didn’t know he could cry so much.

Once his father dragged his tired, smarting body into the bathroom, lifting him up so he could look at himself in the mirror. William lifted his head with as much dignity as possible, though he hated how his father was pulling his hair up, how the blood was running down his bruised face, how he was still crying and gritting his teeth to stifle his gasps.

“Don’t ever stop fighting, William,” his father said. He sounded bored. “Don’t ever let them see you beg for your life. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.” That was the second thing William had learned how to say.

It went unsaid between them, but he knew that the only person he could never fight against, the only person his mother ever warned him of, was his father.

That was when de Witt told him that this was wrong, that no father should treat his child this way. William didn’t understand that at all, though he supposed de Witt wouldn’t know. His children weren’t destined to rule the world. 

He concluded that de Witt was just jealous. And treasonous. William was already figuring out what to say to his father when he learned to pronounce the words.

De Witt is a traitor, he wants to destroy us from within. His mother had taught him to be wary of his father’s vassals and their influence; he was pleased that he recognized treason when he saw it. The only things that saved de Witt’s skin were the Sunday trips and the private lessons.

He was starting to feel as tired as his mother looked. He told himself he wasn’t afraid of anything, but he knew, when he really reflected, that he was scared. All the time. The dread when his father called him into his office was dizzying, almost as if he were about to faint. He knew it was good for him, he knew it was important, but everything hurt.

“He’s nine years old, William, have you seen him?” he overheard his mother saying to his father. “Nine years old and he is so- so tired of everything you put him through. I’m tired too, William, you know that? I’m sick of you and your bullshit destiny.”

“This war has been going on for centuries,” William’s father said patiently. “We are going to finish it. Isn’t that what you want?”

“Not with genocide!”

“I prefer the term strategic extermination.”

“You’re insane, you’re fucking insane,” she said. “The wolves are circling, William, everyone knows what you are. You’re not going to last long like this. You kill whoever you want, you get arrested and institutionalized, but you keep my son away from all this.”

“He’s my only heir.”

“I don’t want him to be! He’s only a boy, you were only—”

There was a low warning growl, a lash of a tail. “You know what I’m tired of, Mary?’

“Get- get away from me.”

“Shut up. Come here.”

“Get away—!” The way she said it made the fur on William’s tail stand on edge.

He didn’t hear the rest of it. He didn’t run to the circles-and-books room this time, only shut himself in his room and went to sleep. There was no Liselotte for a while, until he felt something nudge him in the shoulder and he opened his eyes. There she was, standing over him.

“King Louis,” she said, which was sort of a funny exclamation she started using. It was like if William used his father’s name as a swear. “What happened to you? You look like death.”

William sat up and looked down at himself. None of his bruises showed. Did he seriously look so exhausted?

He blinked rapidly, sniffling, and Liselotte sat back. “William...”

“Liselotte.” He burst into tears, his tail curling protectively around himself. “Liselotte—!”

“I’m here, William, I’m here,” she said, her own tail coiling around him, although William heard her voice break too. “What happened? Do you wanna write it down?”

He shook his head. He just wanted her. He had already vowed from the moment he had met her that he would not let her come anywhere near his life outside of her visit; he would never let his father’s cruelty taint the way he saw his dear little devil friend.

And he made sure never to ask about her family life, either— he was terrified of what he would find there. For all her talk about the war and her training she never seemed too eager to bring up the adults in her life other than the king.

This was why he liked the night. For all the darkness outside there was none here, when de Witt showed him the books that his father kept hidden away from him and when Liselotte showed him the play his father had denied him.

It was after another one of de Witt’s lessons, that William was reading a book under his bed and he heard the door begin to click open. He slammed the book shut and scurried out just as his father opened the door, his eyes darting around the room.

“William.”

William kept his gaze on the ground, his tail twitching. Has his father seen?

“Look up here.” He heard the door close, and he looked up at his father, forcing himself to meet the dark, apathetic gaze. He swore there had never been any joy in those eyes.

That was when his father stepped forward and held him. Really knelt down and held him.

William was so startled that his first instinct was to pull away, but his father held him tighter like he never had before. Maybe the last time he had done so was when William was two. But there was nothing he remembered from those days.

Though he’d always been instructed to address his father with sir, this time he shakily tried another word he knew he could say.

“Papa...” At that moment he forgot all the pain he and his mother had been forced through because of this man.

“William.” That was a warning. He felt his father’s fists clench up in his hair.

“S-Sir,” he hurried to correct himself. “Sir.” He shut his eyes before his father had to see the tears in them. He was trembling now, stepping away.

What had come over him? He knew better than to believe his father had a sliver of love in his heart for anyone in this world. Now he would pay; he already heard the belt being unbuckled.

But the seconds ticked by and he did not even hear a crack in the air. Was his father waiting for him to open his eyes? He did so, nervously, and what he saw sent a wave of strange nausea all throughout his body.

“What- what’s this?” he asked. In reality he wanted to ask why in the world his father had his pants slightly pulled down, showing off the parts that his mother had told him to protect. To not let anyone touch. He knew what that was, actually, he knew what his father was showing him— the question was why.

“I’m going to teach you something new, William. Give me your hand.”

William hesitated before holding out his hand, and his father took it.

“You are going to move it like this, right over here. Can you do that?”

It was a strange motion, but William learned quickly. When he got the hang of it his father sat back on the bed. “Come here and do it,” he said. “You’ll know when you’re done.”

Apparently William was done in maybe a few minutes, when things got messy.

Seeing it all over his hands oddly made him feel even sicker, but his father wiped it off. “That’s all,” he said. “I’ll be back here tomorrow night and we can do it all again. This is a skill, William, and you must train it.” He leaned forward and placed his lips on William’s.

His mother had kissed him before, but never like this. He only ever saw this type of kissing when he saw his parents fighting, and his father would end it quickly with a kiss just like this, while she thrashed around like a scared calf. It had always made him feel all sick and shaky inside.

But he knew better than pulling away. He waited until his father stood, and then looked up at him, his tail twitching at the tip.

“Good night, William.”

He was with Liselotte a little later than usual, and she told him so. Her tail twitched anxiously, leaning forward to ask him questions.

“What happened, William? Are you alright?”

He nodded, a little uncertainly. He truly didn’t know what to think of what his father had shown him. All he knew was that it made him feel as if he wanted to throw up.

“Good.” Her gaze drifted to the side, as if she were distracted.

You okay? William reached a hand out and placed it on hers.

“I’m fine, William.” She shook him off. “What do you wanna do tonight?”

He would never admit it out loud, but he hoped that that was the first and last time his father would come into his room for that. He felt strange in the morning, and he wondered if he should tell his mother.

What would he say, though? For some reason even the description of the act itself was embarrassing. He didn’t want to have to write that all down.

Why does she need to know? I’m not getting hurt.

It happened again that night. This time he was told to be more strategic with his movements, which made no sense to William. But he tried his best to obey, as he saw that his father kept a hand on the belt he’d removed.

And then it was every night.

The only thing that really annoyed him was that he had to wash his hands, and sometimes his face, immediately after. Even so, he swore the next day that he could feel his hands more slicker than usual, as if they could never be clean now. It also bothered him that he was later to see Liselotte now, but his father couldn’t know about that.

He couldn’t say that he hated it. He sure didn’t like it, but at night, when he was still shaking from the beatings his father had given him that day, when his nose dripped blood onto the books de Witt gave him, he was just relieved that there was some semblance of a break. Just like Liselotte. Except this Liselotte was his father, and the games were no fun, especially when he had to take off his clothes now.

“Where are all these bruises from?” his father asked once. He was smoothing a hand over William’s chest, causing him to shudder. “You need to be more careful.”

William tilted his head to the side. Had he forgotten? “You, sir.”

“Me?” His father looked genuinely surprised. “By the stars, William, I know it’s hard being so clumsy, but that doesn’t give you the right to blame me for it.”

“I’m- I’m sorry.”

“You can make yourself useful now.” His father shoved him to his knees, his hands gripping William’s horns. “We’re trying something else tonight.”

This time it did hurt. This time it brought tears to his eyes, this time it made him sick and his stomach couldn’t hold it anymore when they were finished. It tasted so much worse than it felt! He couldn’t even remember what else had happened that night when he woke up in the morning. All he knew was that he had been sobbing and retching, all out of breath, and his father had scooped him up in his arms and told him to shut the fuck up, look at the mess he’d made.

All he did when he met up with Liselotte was lie on the grass, staring listlessly up at the sky. She tried to ask him questions, but he didn’t know how to even answer.

So he came to the conclusion that maybe this wasn’t any better after all. The sickness he felt at night started to pass over into the morning, and he didn’t want to get up, but his father pulled him out of bed anyway. William had always recoiled at his touch; it felt different now. Now he wanted to scream, to bite into the hand that tugged him around as if he were a doll.

I’m not a doll. I’m not. I’m William Henry Nassau. I’m gonna rule the world.

And with what dignity? What honor? Of course, all the vassals of his father knelt before him when they were commanded to, they showed how much they worshipped their beloved little prince, but not one knew of his agonies every day and every night! Yes, it was the night now as well! He who had so protected the dark now saw every defense crumble before his eyes!

He could never escape his father’s hands. They were forever on him.

It is unacceptable that a prince has to be so afraid all the time. He wrote that to de Witt once.

“You’re right, it is unacceptable,” de Witt said. “For any child, really, not even just you.” He hesitated and then flung an arm over William. “It’s good that you’re admitting it. It’s okay to be scared. I am, too, for you.”

William didn’t pull away this time. He just wondered why he was telling de Witt this.

Don’t ever tell your mother. His father had started saying that to him. Don’t tell anyone. He said it was their secret, didn’t he want something to share with his old man after all this time?

“You and I, we’re the loneliest men on this planet. Nobody knows what it’s like to have the whole destiny of the world in our hands. But we do. Just me and you. I, the king, and you, my...heir. So you will serve me in all ways.”

One day this monster who had so ruined William’s life as well as that of his mother would lose his sixth life, and William would be the one in control then. He would command the universe, and there would be no one left who could hurt him. He’d kill them all first.

But for now, he could only cry right beneath his father, whether it was the kisses on his body that drove him to tears or the kicks to his side when he lay on the floor.

[kazoosandfannypacks]

"Open to Interpretation" by kazoosandfannypacks

Chapter 8/16: Change in Plans Pairing: CaptainSwan Rating: General Word Count: (1.6K/24K) Summary: Emma Swan is appalled at works by modern artist Killian Jones- until a handsome stranger convinces her otherwise- and after introducing himself as the artist in question, he invites her out on a date. As their relationship develops, they find that they might not be as different from each other as originally thought. Chapter Summary: After a phone call with his dad reveals he can't skip out on his younger brother's graduation, Killian calls Emma to see if they can reschedule their date. Tags: au, fluff, captain swan, modern au Author's notes: n/a Taglist: @zahara @kmomof4 @jonesfandomfanatic @booksteaandtoomuchtv @jrob64 @tiganasummertree @anmylica @teamhook @undercaffinatednightmare @gingerchangeling @lonelyspectator @caught-in-the-filter @ultraluckycatnd @cs-rylie @pirateprincessofpizza @lfh1226-linda @pawshapedheart [if you'd like to be added to or removed from this list, hmu in my dms or askbox!]

Also on Ao3!

 Killian felt like driving ninety miles an hour, windows open, music cranked up to a hundred (when in reality, he only went five miles over the speed limit, only cracked the window open a little, and played the music only barely above a recommended level.) The benefit dinner had been a success, his date with Emma had gone better than he'd expected, and he'd even scored a second date with her, next week.

 Next week. Liam's graduation.

 Killian tried as best as he could not to resent his step brother. Liam was just a teenager; it wasn't his fault their dad gave him all the attention.

 Still, it was hard to see how much his dad cared about Liam's high school graduation of all things, especially after he'd taken a vacation with his shiny new family the week of Killian's art school graduation and neglected to attend. Since then, his father had also declined invitations to all of his gallery showings and even the grand opening of his wing at the Nolan Blanchard Art Museum last month, coming up with another excuse every time. So now to require Killian to come to Liam's graduation, after blowing off every invitation Killian had sent them- it felt like a punch in the gut and a slap in the face all at once.

 But maybe if Killian could come up with a good enough excuse he could get out of attending. His dad was always complaining about, among other things, Killian needing to "get back out there" and "find someone new," so he couldn't object to Killian having a date that weekend, right? Sure, things with Emma weren't serious enough to warrant missing his step brother's graduation, but it was as good an excuse as he was gonna get.

 Killian tried to think about something less stressful, and naturally found himself thinking about Emma instead.

 He didn't need an artist's appreciation for beauty to be enraptured by the very thought of the wave of her hair or the brush of her hand- or the tantalizing taste her lips left on his. As quickly as it'd come and gone, her kiss had been the first stroke in a masterpiece, one he'd envisioned in his mind for years, one that was now coming to reality right before his eyes. Maybe he and Emma would really hit it off, and maybe before too long the night wouldn't end with just a quick kiss. He could already feel something starten to awaken, some dream, some hope, some vision.

 Emma had been right when they first met- a lot of his more recent paintings had been rubbish, a poor attempt at remembering emotions long forgotten. But every time he thought of Emma, some new idea came into his mind, a new painting, a new creation that would drive him insane until he got it out of his mind and onto the canvas, a new feeling he wanted to portray for all the world to see. He wanted to capture her sharp wit whose genuinity was a comfort, her red dress standing starkly against the night, her smile like a beacon when he'd stood onstage that evening, the fireworks he felt every time any part of them touched, the magic she had about her.

 He couldn't wait to get back to his apartment and start painting.

 The first rule of being an artist is to never paint a portrait of someone you're romantically involved with. The last thing you want is to run the risk that your most famous work is a painting of your ex.

 That didn't stop Killian from a painting inspired by Emma though. Surely, even if things did go sour, he wouldn't object to one of his beloved masterpieces being a painting of a lighthouse in a stormy sea, colors based on her green eyes, light yellow hair, and the muted blue shirt she'd worn when they first met. 

 Whenever Killian was painting, he lost himself in his work. It had become a form of escapism for him- whenever the world got too hard for him, he could leave it all behind for a few hours, get lost and found all over again along each brushstroke's path, leave all his pain behind for a few hours.

 But he was quickly brought back to earth as his phone started ringing. He'd tried to call his dad that morning before he started his project, but had to leave a voicemail instead asking for him to call back when he got the chance.

 "Looks like dad's finally made time in his busy schedule for his own son." Killian thought, rolling his eyes as he answered the phone.

 "Killian?"

 "Hey, dad." Killian said.

 "Will you be able to make it to the graduation?" his dad asked.

 "Ah," Killian paused, then thought of Emma, knowing if he couldn't get out of this graduation, he wouldn't be able to take her out next week, "unfortunately, something else did come up."

 "What could be more important than your brother's graduation?"

 "My step brother's graduation." Killian corrected in his mind.

 "I've a date this weekend."

 "Really?" his dad asked, "you couldn't've picked a different weekend to finally get your life together?"

 "She's a really sweet girl," Killian defended, "I'd hate to let her down."

 "Then why not bring her up here with you?" his dad said, "The more the merrier."

 "There's no way I'm bringing Emma to meet my disaster of a 'family,'" Killian thought, "for heaven's sake, I want her to like me."

 "I'd hardly say Emma and I are serious enough…."

 "Then you're not serious enough to miss Liam's graduation for her," his dad interrupted, "you can come without her, or you can come with her."

 "But…."

 "Let me know what you decide," his dad said, "and don't forget the potato salad."

 With that, his dad hung up, leaving Killian in a major funk.

 He'd hate to have to cancel on Emma- things seemed to be going pretty well last night, and he didn't want to throw a wrench in things already. But there was also no way he'd bring her to meet his family. Sure, his step mom and Liam were alright, except for the fact he hardly knew them at all, but his dad had his own way of making him feel so small.

Maybe there was a chance Emma could reschedule- his schedule was clear Thursday night; maybe hers would be too.

 He decided it couldn't hurt to call her up and ask, so he did, smiling as he saw their picture together on her contact photo, his heart skipping a beat as he heard her answer the call with a simple and beautiful "hey."

 "Hey," Killain smiled a little, "how are you?"

 "Pretty good," Emma said, "just getting ready for work. What're you up to?"

 "Oh, you know," he chuckled to himself as he thought of his next phrase, "just painting one masterpiece while calling up another."

 He thought he heard her giggle over the phone, and if that didn't make his heart skip, nothing would.

 "So, uh," he said, "about next week."

 "Yeah?"

 "Uh, is there a chance we can do Thursday instead?"

 "Thursday?" Emma asked, "can't. I've got an evening shift that night. Why?"

 He hung his head back a little, forgetting that not everyone had as flexible a work schedule as him, "I can't do Friday. My little step brother's graduation is that weekend."

 "It's alright; I get it." Emma said. Even over the phone speaker, he could hear the barely masked disappointment in her voice.

 "I really did try to get out of it," Killian said, wishing he didn't have to let her down, "I told my dad I had a date that night with a really sweet girl who I'd hate to let down."

 "Sure."

 "And he said if she's all that important, I could bring her home for the weekend with me."

 "Am I that important?" Emma asked.

 She didn't know the can of worms she was opening.

 "Of course you're important to me, Emma," he said, "I just didn't want to drag you into all this drama."

 "Drama?"

 Killian shook his head, "If my options were going home for the weekend or seventeen more charity benefit dinners, I'd choose the latter."

 "Really?" Emma asked.

 He didn't know what Emma's stance on family was, but if she held parental relationships in any regard, he'd've just blown any chance he had with her.

 "Yeah."

 "Then I guess it's my duty to join you." Emma said.

 "I- what?"

 "Didn't you say your weekend would be eighty times better if I'm there with you?" Emma asked.

 "Well, yeah," he shook his head.

 "Then maybe your weekend will be at least mostly bearable if I join you."

 "I can't ask you do that." Killian said.

 "Do you want me to come?" Emma asked.

 "Of course," he said, "I want to spend every moment possible with you, love."

 "Then I'm coming." Emma said.

 "Alright."

 "Just promise me this."

 "Anything."

 "If it's worse than last night, you're making up for it big time."

 "I'm sure I could come up with something," Killian smiled at the possibilities of a date with Emma so perfect that it'd make up for a weekend with his parents.

 "I'll see you Friday then?" Emma asked.

 "Aye," he said, "I can't wait."

 And as nervous as he was about how downhill it'd go, as Killian thought about spending a whole weekend with Emma, he realized he was telling the truth when he said he couldn't wait for it. Once again, Friday couldn't come again fast enough.

[cryptidwritings]

Dark Water

Chapter 14 : A Barrel Deep and None the Wiser

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a/n: hey look! A chapter! *owen wilson impression* Wow.

CW: a bit of backstory, not-so-surprised imprisonment, light beating, restraining, chains and shackles, solicitation and borderline harassment of whumpee, carewhumper, emotional whump, indentured servitude.... I think that's it.

The last time Isidro had a warm bath was the night before he was set to board the Cathal. His brother built the fire, and his mother set her homemade soap beside the basin. It was carefully wrapped in a cloth, twisted and tied with string, and smelled of flowers he couldn’t remember the name of though she had surely told him a million and a half times. 

Then he was left alone.��

Winter air bit his exposed skin, but he leaned back in the warm water and stared at the sky - watching the clouds pass over bright stars that blinked, as if with a dubious wink; telling him that this was all a big joke, and that in the morning he would wake up and everything up until then would have been a dream.

But when the sun rose he was already dressed and out the door with his hand-me-down leather boots on his feet and a meal wrapped in a similar cloth as the previous night’s soap - spun from the cotton a farm over and spread over with beeswax to keep in the moisture.

He waved goodbye to three silhouettes on the porch, grateful that the rising sun prevented him from seeing their faces as he tried, and most likely failed, to put on a brave one. 

If he could have woken up from a dream, he imagined it would be the morning he turned seven. It was a cold day, and the sky looked similar, but mostly because, at that moment, walking down the dock where hundreds of sailors and dock hands ran around with cigars in their mouths and curses on their tongues, Isidro felt no different than a child.

He wandered through the crowd, meeting the sailor's eyes; feeling like a fraud because he didn’t have a matching glint of anger or apathetic blanket of exhaustion.

The mighty merchant ship was one of two in port - the other a smaller but similarly outfitted one. Sailors bustled back and forth across the ramps, carrying crates and leading livestock aboard.

One crate in particular caught his eye - small but mighty with the burned brand of a hammer striking a stone. His family's insignia, proudly making its way across the ocean.

"Oy!"

Isidro's attention was turned upward, over the Cathal's starboard rail where a short man leaned over with ravened hair and earthen eyes.

"You the Pulver lad?"

Isidro adjusted his bag and nodded, "aye, sir."

"Pick up your boots, then! We shove off in five!"

He hustled up the ramp, and his boots hit the deck with a thunderous thump that joined with the others that bustled about, carrying bags and readying ropes.

A hand slapped down on his shoulder.

"I'll show you to your quarters," the same voice said, turning towards the bow.

Isidro followed, keeping an eye out though no one paid him any mind. They walked into the Galley, weaving around tables and other sailors who respectfully avoided the wide-shouldered man leading.

"I'm Jacobsen. The boatswain here on the Cathal. Ya answer to me."

"Aye, sir," Isidro side-stepped two sailors carrying an armful of large lumber pieces that they set down beside a splintered hole in the hull of the Galley. It was large enough for two men to crawl through comfortably, and looked eerily similar to how Isidro imagined a monster's maw.

Jacobsen noticed the questioning look on the boy's face, and shrugged.

"Pirates," he stated.

Isidro couldn't tear his eyes away as the sailors lifted the boards and began to hammer them into the side, "Do you confront them often?"

"Often enough," Jacobsen continued walking, "But we're well prepared. The other ship is with Davy Jones, as they say. Come on, then."

Isidro followed, and they passed the kitchen where Jacobsen turned around at the door in the back.

"Your room," he said with a smile that somehow shaded his eyes instead of making them glint.

The boatswain opened the door, and where Isidro expected a hammock or set of cots, there was nothing but a chain on the floor.

"I'm... confused..."

"What? You expected to share quarters with the crew?"

Jacobsen's tone lowered, and Isidro finally realized that his smile wasn't one of hospitality, but of mockery.

"I thought- well, I'm not sure I understand..." Isidro took a step back, running into the chests of two other sailors that had somehow followed them.

They grabbed his arms and shoved him inside the room. One ripped his bag from his shoulder and tossed it into the corner as the other kicked out his knees and shoved his face into the floor.

"The Captain has a special assignment for you," Jacobsen said as the hard sole of a boot pressed into the back of Isidro's neck.

He grunted and felt the shackles clasp around his wrists.

When the boot lifted, he immediately sat up and turned, dragging the chain with him as he pressed himself against the farthest wall and watched the other sailors leave.

Jacobsen shut the door, then turned to Isidro, who looked particularly pathetic. Confused, scared.

Trapped.

"W-what are you doing?"

Jacobsen shrugged, "what I was ordered to," he hopped forward and swung his leg. The point of his boot slammed into the prisoner's stomach.

Isidro collapsed to his side and coughed as his diaphragm spasmed and his eyes hazed over with involuntary tears.

"Like I said, the Captain has something special planned for you," he swung again, making contact with the soft flesh of the lads side, then continued talking over his pained gasps for air, "but he needs you to be ready."

He kicked again, and Isidro gasped as something cracked, and he curled in on himself and coughed as his wrists pulled at the cuffs that weighed down his arms and the chain scraped against the ground.

Jacobsen grabbed his wrists and pulled him back to the center of the room, dropping him to the ground again. Isidro gulped for air, wincing at the stabbing pain in his ribs as his entire body shivered.

The boatswain made his way to Isidro's pack and rifled through it as the sailor slowly recovered. Isidro saw his things fall to the ground. Clothes, a hat for the colder weather-

He coughed, and muttered, "Wh-why..?"

The answer was barely audible over his shuddered breathing and the distracting sight of an empty, crumpled, beeswax cloth falling to the ground.

"Because your father didn't have the stones."

…

The pub’s barrel top was a bit wider than Isidro and rose to just above his belly button on top of a metal stand that propped it over the remains of an unkempt fire pit. Sparking one would take a while, but the thought of a warm bath was too good to pass up, so he attempted it - grabbing the sticks and stacking tinder with filthy fingers.

The wood smoked but snuffed quickly even with a quiet breath on the infant sparks. His brother could light a fire in a thunderstorm - a talent useful everywhere, not just on a farm where livestock often wandered off.

Isidro sat on his heels and rubbed the back of his neck, feeling the scratch of the filthy cloth around his palm. He brought it forward and flexed his hand, then unwrapped and tossed the bindings next to the socket, powering through the gritting pain as the small cut on his palm rubbed against the sides of the drill stick.

A small spark leaped onto the bandage and came to life, and Isidro sprang to his feet, lifting his arms in the air as held back a small cheer and tossed the tools to the side.

He kicked off his boots and began to untie the string of his pants, when his hands froze. No. No he couldn't - but his clothes were filthy.

Isidro looked around, and remembered the well. Maybe he had enough time... the water wouldn't warm quickly with his small fire. He ran and fell to his knees at the edge of the well, lifting the water-sodden rope and a full bucket out of it which he then dumped over his head.

Surprisingly cold water gripped his skin. He shivered violently, feeling sick from the shock of it and breathing out with a huff to calm it as he watched the ground around him soak and fill with filthy liquid from the remaining clumps sloughing off of his back.

He kept an ear out for the pub door.

With no disturbance, he continued twice more with shaking, aching fingers, glancing back to check on the small orange glow. With a much less steady hand than before, he lowered the bucket and stood, and promptly returned to the barrel with something akin to excitement welling up in his chest.

He settled into the bath, letting out a groan of relief as the warmth crawled up his body. He sat with his knees bent against him, and scrubbed his clothes and skin.

He scratched underneath his fingernails with a stick and flexed his fingers, glancing at his tattoos that branched up his arms from his knuckles  - scarred from work and faded from the unforgiving sun. He gently rubbed the cut on his palm to clean it. Jacobsen had made the wound only deep enough to bleed, and it was already on the mend, but sore and aggravated from his stupidly desperate decisions.

He settled back and closed his eyes, feeling the warm water caress his entire body and bleed into his stained clothes. He imagined it pulling every ache out of him, and he listened to the small plops of it dripping from his hair until the fire snuffed, and the water grew cold.

The filthy water would be good for the plants, he decided, and got back to work on the garden. His clothes stuck to his skin, drying slowly in the humid air. He felt a bit better, though, and glanced to the horizon; measuring four fingers.

He got his work done in three, then entered the pub - reeking less, and dry though his white shirt was permanently stained a dubious yellow. The riotous laughter and singing was louder than before, explained quickly by the sheer amount of bodies in the room. Another ship might have rolled in when he was too busy to notice.

Isidro squeezed himself through the crowd around the door and walked toward the bar where Theodora was neck-deep in pints, pouring and pushing then moving on with such efficiency and focus that she barely noticed Isidro until he rounded the open side. As if on reflex, her eye darted to him with a flick of her arm to keep him out.

"Oh," she sighed and tightened the leather straps on her wrists, "help me with these."

She pushed four pints across the bar.

"Table three."

Isidro nodded once and grabbed the handles.

"Coming through!" He yelled out before disappearing into the crowd.

It was hot and humid, and as he made his way further in, he became acutely aware of how many shoulders and arms were rubbing against him.

"Out the way!" He called again, but it only got a few less inebriated pirates’ attention. He passed table six where a few familiar faces drank and paid him no mind. A few from Yulis' ship that could stay behind? 

"Is that Duncan?"

The voice boomed through the crowd, and Isidro froze. Don't turn around.

Isidro hustled forward, "Excuse me. Move please."

He set the pints down, spilling a few drops onto the tabletop in his hurry before he gathered the empty ones.

The crowd parted to allow two large bodies through. Isidro took a deep breath and rolled up his sleeves, then turned around with the empty pints and a serving smile.

"What can I do for you both?" He grinned, "food? Drink?"

The brothers glanced at each other, and crossed their arms - creating a barrier with their wide shoulders.

"We're fine for now,” the eldest replied.

Isidro nodded quickly, moving towards the small gap between them, "I'll get a couple pints to tide you over. No such thing as too much-"

"-not so fast," the youngest grabbed Isidro's shoulder, "I think ye know what we want. Don't ye? 

Isidro's mouth dried, "I'm afraid that's not something I can do."

"Oh really?" the hand squeezed, and Isidro again felt hot air on his cheek.

 "I get a very different impression."

Isidro's grip tightened around the pints in his fists, and his eyes looked to the younger, who was so deathly close that he could smell the putridity coming off his skin. 

The crowd was indifferent; having not heard the exchange or too good at minding their own to admit it, but Isidro imagined the pint finding purchase on the bastard's skull - leaving something cavernous and red in its wake… but he didn't move. Instead he stared into dark orbs that foretold his misery.

"Hands off!" Theodora appeared beside Isidro, swatting the younger pirate's hand off of his shoulder. Their attention switched to her as they turned around with Isidro still sandwiched between them.

"Ye came 'ere for ye money, didn't ye?"

A brown purse flew and hit the eldest in the chest, and Isidro felt the light touches of fingertips at the small of his back

"This ain't everythin',” the eldest shook the contents.

"It's thirty gold. All I got. Now leave 'im alone so he can get back to work."

The hand flitted around Isidro's waist. 

"I'll forgo fifty if ye give 'im ta me."

Isidro could hear lips curl into a smile.

The pub's chaos continued around them, but Isidro felt like he had somehow become untethered - staring at and through the pub keeper. He had given the brothers a false name out of impulse, but maybe he could be Duncan - and maybe Duncan didn’t care. Hell, maybe Duncan could enjoy it. 

“No.”

Isidro came back a moment.

“Ye in no position ‘ta refuse, Theodora.”

“As I see it,” she stepped forward and grabbed Isidro by the arm, pulling him behind her, “this is still my property. Our agreement was for rights to the harbor, nothin’ else. Take the gold and be on ye way unless ye can be civil.”

The silence stole a beat as they stared each other down, with two pairs of arms crossed over their chests and their feet planted in stubbornness. Isidro gripped the pints as he worked at calming his shaking hands.

“I believe we’ve had our fill, for now,” the eldest finally replied.

“Aye,” the youngest nodded, “see ye next time.”

The brothers passed, shoving some other pirates on their way out the front door. Theodora’s sigh came as a low growl of frustration before she turned around.

“Let’s get ye back,” she pushed Isidro lightly. He followed the direction of her shoves until they ended up back at the room. She grabbed the empty pints from his clenched fists, and his eyes snapped to hers.

“Th-thank you. I'll make back the money…” He pushed his shaking hands into his pockets, “I promise.”

Theodora’s shoulders tensed, and she stepped forward, looking into his eyes as she placed the pints in the crook of one arm.

“Let’s get one thing straight,” she took another step forward, “before ye go gettin’ those stars in ye eyes about how I might care or some other pathetic lie ye can tell yeself to sleep at night,” she shoved her finger into Isidro’s chest, “ye work for me. So, aye, ye will make that money back, because the next time those brothers come for ye, they’ll be offering me double and I might not have it in me to say no. Savvy?”

Isidro’s eyes fell to the floor, “yes, Miss.”

He could feel her eyes baring down on him, and he felt incredibly small.

When she finally left, he released the breath he had been holding the entire time as his eyes adjusted to the dark. The knot in his stomach unfurled, releasing a tide of stray tears that dripped silently from his eyes, and he walked towards Moss and felt the compress, now steaming hot. 

 He carefully lifted it from Moss' head and dunked it into the room-temperature water, placing it back before scooting on to his own bed. He rested his elbows on his knees as the brief stream dried, leaving his cheeks feeling cold and rough - like any moment his skin would crack. 

Isidro lay down on his bed and curled in on himself, using his arm for a pillow. He thought of the vial, and how its contents might feel splashing into his stomach. Would it hurt like he imagined?

"P… lease… I'm…" Moss' head tossed and he rolled onto his side, facing Isidro. The compress fell with a small slap to the ground, and for a second, Isidro could have sworn the swabbies' blue orbs were staring at him; as if peering deep into his mind.

He reached over and put the compress back on the boy’s head, and in the light of the setting sun he caught the tattoo on his right hand. He curled his fingers and brought his fist into his chest, closing his eyes tight as he remembered the first terrifying night on the Cathal where he lie on the floor with every muscle in his body begging for relief, knowing that he would have to wake up the next morning, and the next, and the next… 

And he was alone.

taglist: @sparrowsage @kixngiggles @honey-is-mesi @annablogsposts

(let me know if you would like on or off this list)

[prophecy-of-the-black-sun]

Alright, so is I FINNALY finished chapter Inez so here it is with some updated character art 👍🫂

Chapter 1:

A New Life

______________________________________________________________________

David rushed down the hall. As he ran through the school hallways, he pulled on the backs of his shoes and fixed his hair, hoping he wouldn’t get written up by teachers nearby. He knew he was late but hoped only to be a few minutes behind. He ran to the door at the end of the hall and pushed it open.

"You're late... again." Mrs. Lemmings checked his name off her attendance list.

"Sorry, my alarm’s broken," David explained, sitting down quietly.

"Still?" She side-eyed him but continued taking names. David looked up at the ceiling, sighing. His last week of senior year. He had dreamed about this day since

"Your alarm again?" Aldric joked, nudging David’s arm.

“Oh jeez, not you too." David rolled his eyes. His best friend since 2nd grade, Aldric, per usual, sat beside him.

“I think that's a new record—only five minutes late this time,” Aldric remarked as David shook his head. Looking away from his friend, Aldric ran his fingers through his thick black hair.

“Will you ever cut that? You're gonna look like a girl!” David joked. Aldric felt his hair again, guiltily. It was decently long, but not to the point where it was girlish.

“you quiet! I’ve had it like this since freshman year; you’re the one who even suggested I grow it out anyways!” he reminded, smirking.

“I’m aware…” David replied, a bit annoyed. They both laughed, soon to be silenced by the teacher. Not a thing could separate them—not a thing in the world.

Before they knew it, the school day was almost over, but for the last time. The next day, they’d say goodbye and be on their merry way. They'd seem like boys who had no idea what to do with the rest of their lives, but people would be wrong to think that. Little did the rest of the world know that they had found property in Alaska, not a hundred miles south of the Arctic Circle, completely secluded from the rest of society. It was cheap—only about $5,000—and inhabited by a small yet sturdy cabin, so it was relatively worthless. But not to these boys. Where others saw bare land surrounded by mountains, they saw an opportunity and a new life for the two of them. These boys had always had the unusual dream of living in the cold, uncharted wilderness. So, at only nineteen years old, these boys had their whole lives nearly figured out.

Graduation came and went. About a day later, Aldric packed up his belongings and waved goodbye to his mother and sister.

“This isn't going to work out, and I know it! Know what? When this dream of yours goes south, don't come crying to me, OK!?” His mother scolded him, holding his little sister's shaking hand.

“You don't know that,” Aldric told her calmly, reaching out his hand. His mother, instead of shaking his hand, slapped him across the face with the back of her palm.

“Save it!” she sneered, pulling his 6-year-old sister inside as she retreated back to the house. His sister waved a frightened goodbye as she was forced back inside, wiping the corners of her eyes and glancing back at him apologetically. Aldric looked back at his mother through the window as he climbed into his car, shaking his head almost in disbelief. As he drove off, his mother screamed out of the open window,

“Don’t come back! You see? This is why-" she continued to scream, but Aldric rolled up his window to drown her out.

“Every time…” He sighed, his eyes squinting in disappointment. He let out a short, shaky breath, holding back tears. His face stung from where she had hit him, and he couldn’t bear to think of what she would have said next.

As he arrived at his friend's house, David also waved goodbye to his parents. However, they waved back instead. His mother wept but smiled and cheered a loving farewell alongside his father. David climbed in, smiling wildly.

“Goodbye, honey! We love you!” His mother called, still waving with tears in her eyes. David smiled, waving back.

"Are you ready?“ he asked, laughing a bit. Aldric stared sadly off into nothingness momentarily, suddenly snapping back to reality to face his friend.

“Oh, yeah!“ he smiled, trying his best to forget his mother's hurtful comment. David looked over at him, confused but still noticing something wrong.

"Was it your mom again? You know what? Don't answer that; I know it was. Well, at least you don't have to see her again. Well, not for a long while at that.“ David reassured him. Aldric looked over to his friend, smiling.

"Thanks," he nodded. He put his hands on the wheel and put his car in drive.

They stopped at a gas station, using some extra money to buy snacks, drinks, a cooler, and ice. After that, they began their long drive from Nevada to Alaska. They took turns driving, a couple hours apart, so the other could sleep, relax, eat, or whatever else. Aldric enjoyed crocheting and got to work on some new socks for the two of them. David, on the other hand, liked to listen to audiobooks. He wasn’t a great reader, so he could sit back and relax without struggling to do the work himself. After about 15 hours of driving, they stopped at a rest area. Moonlight swept the pavement as the car came to a halt.

"oh jeez… We're almost out of gas."Aldric sighed as he put a hand to his forehead. David leaned over to look at the fuel level.

"Oooh," he groaned. “We need to fill up then, huh?“ he replied. David got out of the car and walked over to the rest stop building.

"What are you doing?" Aldric looked over, yawning.

"What do you think I’m doing, mister?” He asked sarcastically, turning back to him, smiling, and shaking his head as he walked in.

About 5 minutes later, Aldric had fueled up his car.

"What in the world is he doing in there?” he asked himself. Just as he said this, David appeared from the building. He appeared to be holding something small in his arms.

"oooh no… What've you got now?” Aldric asked, tilting his head to one side. David giggled, holding up a kitten. The small cat had a white coat littered with striped orange spots.

"c'mon! He’s really healthy!” David exclaimed, a hint of sympathy for the abandoned cat in his tone.

"Oh, come on, David! It probably has fleas; put it down!” Aldric groaned.

"Well, so do you!“ David yelled, trying to convince him. Aldric gasped, taken aback by his friend's statement.

"I do not have fleas!” he yelled back, his face turning a bit red with embarrassment. “That's incredibly rude, you know!?"

"That was the point!” David explained, getting annoyed. He held the kitten close to his chest. “Plus, we can’t leave him completely alone! He might get run over, starve, or—" he stopped himself, getting overwhelmed. Aldric sighed, putting a hand to his temple.

'' Ok…fine,” he admitted. “Don't make me regret this, though!“

" YES! Did you hear that little guy? You’re staying with us!” David smiled, holding the kitten to face him. He jumped up and down in excitement. Aldric let out a sigh. The moon began to retreat to the horizon, and the sun blazed in the distance.

"OK, ok… We better get going." Aldric announced. "I guess I'll drive.”

After driving for a bit, Aldric drove into the pet store parking lot. He looked over at David, handing him a hundred-dollar bill. David's eyes lit up as he grabbed it.

"Really?Thanks, man!" he smiled, laughing a bit. He twisted his hoodie around, putting the kitten in the now-backward hood. He stepped out of the car but stopped as he shut the door. "By the way,” he cleared his throat and gestured to the kitten. "His name is Jasper. You know, because of his orange spots?” He laughed as he finally shut the door.

After about an hour, David emerged from the store with a cart filled with goodies for their new friend. This included a bed, food, bowls, litter, toys, a collar, a leash, treats, and some little sweaters.

"I think I got enough for him. Oh! And I got him tested by one of their professionals. By testing, I mean checking for disease. He’s all clear! Not a single flea, worm, or nothing!” he smiled as he held the cat to Aldric’s sleepy face.

“I take it; I should drive?” he asked, still laughing. Aldric nodded, yawning. They swapped places, with Aldric grabbing a blanket and neck pillow as he climbed into the passenger seat. Jasper stumbled over the center console and into Aldric's lap. The two lay there, both sleeping. David smiled, looking over at them.

"This is a wonderful start. Three boys against the world, huh?" He chuckled as he began the second long day of their drive to Alaska. Finally, these boys could escape from the harsh world that never accepted them. For David, this meant getting away from people. However, for Aldric, it meant spending his life somewhere away from his family. Each was going to spend life with their favorite person on earth. One another.

At about noon, they came to a stop. David shook Aldric's shoulder.

"Hey, wake up,” he whispered, trying not to scare him. Aldric opened his eyes slowly, blinking tiredly.

"Hmmm…?" Aldric looked around, confused. "Oh, yeah, what’s up?” he asked, yawning.

"I found this park; I think we can get some lunch here,” David explained. Jasper stretched, rubbing against Aldric.

"Oh yeah, I saw an ad for this place once," Aldric responded, nodding as he unbuckled. They got out and made their way over to the building nearby. Inside, they found a small cafe.

They sat down at an open booth, picking up the menus on the table.

“I’m getting a sandwich, are you?" David asked, setting down his menu for a moment.

"I think I’m going to get a salad,” Aldric told him, folding up his menu and looking around to see if the waiter was coming. A nice-looking lady wearing a black apron walked around the corner, looking around to see who needed assistance. She spotted the two and quickly made her way over to them.

"Hello, my name is June, and I’ll be your server today. How can I start you guys off?" She asked, pulling out a small notepad and pen.

" oh! Um… I’ll have the Caesar salad,” Aldric told her, smiling politely. June nodded, writing something down.

"And what about you, dear?” She asked, turning to David. David’s face lit up a bit, turning pink.

"I'll have a sandwich." He pulled up his menu, stuttering as he looked at it again. "Ham is fine!” he said, looking back at her. She smiled, giggling a bit as she walked off. As soon as she was out of earshot, Aldric burst out laughing.

" ‘Ooh, I'll have a ham sandwich, my lady~’ “ He teased in a girlish tone, smiling and laughing uncontrollably. David looked at him, his face bright red as he frowned.

"I do not sound like that!” he whispered loudly. Aldric continued to laugh, a broad smile on his face.

"Oh, sure, you sound nothing like that. Whatever, either way, you were totally gushing over her!” Aldric pointed a finger at him, still laughing. David still sat there but covered his face in his palms, attempting to hide his embarrassment. He kicked Aldric from under the table.

"OW!“ he gasped. “dude, ok! Jeez…” He rubbed his leg, biting his lip. “I'm sorry! I didn't mean it. Aldric reasoned, trying to sound genuine. David nodded.

"You better be!“ he scoffed, turning his head. Aldric sighed and looked around for the waitress. Finally, she came around the corner again, holding two plates.

"Cezar salad and ham sandwich,” she said as she approached their table. Aldric quickly grabbed his food, trying to finish. David sat there for a moment, just looking at him.

"Dude, I'm sorry... I wasn't trying to be that mean. Can you forgive me?“ David pleaded. Aldric nodded, trying his best to smile again.

When they had finished, the waitress came back with the check. David snatched it before Aldic could. He looked down and saw a series of numbers at the bottom. He quickly cupped his hand in his mouth.

"What? What is it? Is it really expensive?“ Aldric asked, looking concerned and straining over the table to look at the bill. David shook his head, showing him the phone number she left for him. Aldric gasped, beginning to laugh and stare at David.

"oh gosh… I mean, you’re not going to call her, though... are you?“ He asked, looking a bit worried.

"What? No… I could never! It wouldn't work; we won’t even have cell service where we're going,” David shook his head. Aldric let out a little sigh, nodding. David looked over at him, raising an eyebrow.

"what?Jealous?“ He asked, taunting his friend.

"WHAT!?NO-“ He began turning red. “I mean, of course not! That's silly, David."Aldric told him, trying to act like he didn't care about the situation.

"suuuuuuuure…" David looked Aldric up and down, clearly not convinced. He shook his head, trying to think nothing of it. Aldric looked away from David, not entirely wanting to face him. He sat up, grabbed his phone, and looked back at David, waiting for his friend to follow. David noticed this, got out of the booth, and walked outside. On the bill, David left a note. June picked up the check, smiling. But quickly, her grin vanished as she saw what was written.

" ‘On my way to Alaska. Sorry, it wouldn’t work out,’ " She read aloud, her face contorted with confusion. She crumpled up the paper and threw it in the trash.

When they got back into the car, David fell asleep almost immediately. Aldric continued to drive down the highway, watching the cars speed past him on the other side. A song came on the radio, one he was quite familiar with. Aldric turned up the volume, nodding his head and drumming his hands on the steering wheel. He hummed along, trying to forget what happened between him and David. He sighed, his smile fading slowly.

"Meeeeow!"Jasper mewed to Aldric as he stumbled over to the seat and into his lap.

"Oh, hey little guy..." he smiled as the small cat snuggled up to him. He scratched Jasper with one hand and steered with the other. Jasper leaned into Aldric's hand, his soft orange spots glowing in the sun. Aldric let out a sigh of relief, feeling a bit better with the kitten lying on his lap.

After about a day and a half, they were halfway to their destination. Arriving in Canada's Nemaiah Valley, they decided to take a break for a walk.

“Seriously, I couldn't pass this up! Look at all this, Aldric!” David remarked, cupping his hand above his eyes so he could see through the blinding sunlight as his eyes swept over the valley.

Aldric seemed a bit preoccupied with his phone but nodded dismissively in reply. He squinted at the screen, seeming confused and annoyed.

“What's up?" David asked, tilting his head to one side.

"Uugh. Nothing, nothing." Aldric waved his hand at his friend, shooing him off. “It's my mom... I’m trying to figure out how to get her to quit messaging me.” He scratched his head, sighing in frustration. Giving up, he threw his phone back in the car through the open window. David laughed, shaking his head. He picked up a backpack, emptied it, and began to line it with blankets on the bottom, making a small cushion.

"Now, what’s that for?" Aldric asked, looking extremely confused.

“This!” David replied as he hoisted Jasper off the seat and into the backpack, leaving the top open for him to breathe and look around. He looked back at Aldric with a cheeky smile.

“Dude, that's stupid! C’mon, he’s going to jump out and lose him," he said sarcastically, giving David a sympathetic look. David shook his head.

"No, he won't! And so what if he does? I’ll just go find him.” He explained, returning an insightful look.

They began their hike through the valley, witnessing nature's beauty like never before. As they walked, they sang songs as the sun beamed onto the open grass. Happily, Jasper mewed along, although he was singing as well. Just as David reassured Aldric, the little cat didn't, in fact, try to escape and settled in nicely. As the sun approached noon, they decided to head back to their car. However, just as they began to walk back, dark clouds began to emerge overhead. Thunder rolled in the distance, and lighting flickered behind them, illuminating the sky with an unwelcoming glow.

"I don't think we’re making it back in time." Aldric hastily remarked as the storm drew near.

"It's fine. We’ll be ok, Aldric,” David reassured, walking a bit faster now. They could almost hear the rain; all the while, booms of thunder and flashes of lightning drew closer. Jasper let out a cautious mew, tucking himself away in the bag. Suddenly, a large strike of lightning hit the ground behind them. It was far away from where they stood, still making an impact on its touchdown. The earth beneath them shook, and a loud crack rang out through the valley. The three exchanged complex glances of fear and realization. Aldric bolted forward, trying to get as far as he could away from the area and back to the safety of their car. On the other hand, David looked behind him to see the damage done by the massive lighting strike. His eyes widened in horror upon seeing a large, flaming tree hit the ground. He also ran much faster than Aldric, in a state of panic. Aldric looked confused, turning back as well. As soon as he saw the damage, he shared the same adrenaline and followed. As the two ran, David tripped on a rock in his panic, falling to the ground and slamming his ribs into the ground's rocky surface. David let out a stifled scream. Aldric looked back, hearing a cry of pain. Seeing that it was his friend, he rushed over to help him. David was on his hands and knees, clutching his ribs with one arm.

"David!" Aldric gasped, kneeling down at his side with wide eyes. David's bleeding nose streamed down his front and a look of intense pain registered on his bruised face.

"These rocks, I swear," he remarked, his lips pressed tightly. He grasped his ribcage, the left side looking damaged. Aldric felt the spot, and David winced as he did so. Jasper, still in the bag on David's back, jumped out, panicking. He launched himself up Aldric's leg and onto his neck, shaking in fear. Aldric helped David up, holding Jasper in one hand.

When they finally returned to their car, they were drenched and dripping from rain. David collapsed into the backseat, hyperventilating. His head swung back, and his eyes were tightly shut to keep tears from forming. His hand stayed on his side, and his shirt was stained red from the wound.

Aldric grabbed his first-aid kit from the trunk, rushing to his friend.

"It's ok… It’s all ok, dude,” he reassured David, looking panicked.

"You look more worried than me." David joked, wincing in pain. Aldric shot him an attempted serious look, opening up the tin box full of medical supplies. He pulled out antibiotic ointment, gauze, disinfectant wipes, and pain relief medications. He shook a couple pills from the bottle into his shaking hand, holding them out to David.

"Here, take these,” he ordered, rummaging through the box all the while. David nodded, swallowing them without hesitation. Aldric wiped down David’s nose, not knowing what to do otherwise. He ripped open the package of gauze, sighing.

“I’m honestly scared to see this," he said, lifting David's shirt slightly. He looked at the bruise, a large cut amongst the sea of black and blue. He wrapped David’s chest in an attempt to stop the bleeding and possibly displaced ribs.

"Well, wasn't that just the greatest hike ever?” David chuckled sarcastically, wincing again in pain. Aldric gave a quick, forced smile, his hands still fumbling with the first aid box.

They both sighed, sitting tiredly in the back of the car. Jasper darted out of the front seat, his fur soaked. The kitten sat between the two, giving a welcoming meow. David smiled at the cat, looking and feeling much better. He looked out the window to see the rain. Somehow, from here, it managed to look beautiful. As the sun set and the moon rose into the sky, they both decided to just rest for the night after the day they had instead of driving through the night as they had previously done. As they both sat there, Aldric placed a blanket over David. As he looked around for another, he sighed in frustration.

"You know what? I think I left the other blankets in the back. He rubbed a hand over his face, clearly too tired to care. He reached behind him, grabbed hold of an old blanket, and settled against the side door. Jasper leaped onto David's lap, purring as he kneaded his paws into the blanket. The two boys gave the kitten a tired laugh as they drifted off to sleep.

Sunlight drifted through the car windows, falling onto Aldric's dark hair. He yawned, sitting up with a stretch. Blinking his eyes open, he looked around. He stepped outside the car, ruffling his still-damp hair. He sighed, climbing back into the front seat and starting the car. Shaken awake by the rumbling engine, Jasper opened a curious eye. Aldric started the second half of their long drive, adjusting the mirror to see David. A soft smile crept up his face, happy to see his friend.

After an hour, Aldric checked the time on his watch.

“Yo, David. It’s 10:00; get up." He announced, reaching one hand back to shake David’s shoulder.

“Huh…?” David yawned, opening his eyes hesitantly. He looked at Aldric, grabbing his hand as he shut his eyes again. Aldric looked at David, confused.

“Five more minutes,” David finally said, shaking Aldric's hand tiredly. Aldric let out a sigh, the questioning look leaving his face.

“No! Get up, sleepy head!” He laughed, shaking David again.

“Aaaaghhh…” David groaned as he pulled himself up, rubbing his eyes. He looks at Jasper, petting him softly. He pulled a can of food from the back, opened it, and set it on the floor for him. The fluffy cat jumped off David’s lap, purring as he munched his breakfast.

“I’ll pull over so you can sit in the front." Aldric started, cutting himself off as David climbed over the center console and into the passenger seat.

“No need,” David smirked, buckling himself in. “So, while he eats, what are we going to have?“ He asked, pulling his phone off the charger. Aldric shrugged.

“Good question," he replied, looking around. “There’s not much around here," Aldric replied. David sighed, reaching under his seat and grabbing their bag of snacks. He handed Aldric a protein bar, grabbing a muffin for himself.

“Here,” he directs, already opening his muffin. The two followed the beaten road for hours, becoming bored quickly.

“How long till we get to Beaver again?" David asked, looking at the car roof for the millionth time.

“We still have 14 hours until we stop again," Aldric explained, sighing with annoyance. He pulled over at a gas station and stepped out.

“I'm getting us lunch. Do you want anything specific?" specific?" He asked, looking over his shoulder at David. David shook his head.

“Nah, I'm good with anything." He answered, laying his head on the car door. David opened the bag by his feet, finding it’s full of clothes. He shivered, pulling out a faded red hoodie.

“I don’t remember having this hoodie…” David remarked as he pulled it over his head. As Aldric returned to the car, opening the door with a squeak, he looked shocked at David.

“Is that my hoodie…?” He asks, squinting. David’s eyes went wide, his face flush with embarrassment.

“This is yours!?” he jumps, cupping his hands over his mouth. Aldric chuckled, handing David a bag from the gas station.

“Mmmhm… I don't mind though, it’s fine,” He reassured his friend, sighing.

“Can you drive? I need to take a nap, I’m not exactly planning on falling asleep at the wheel.” Aldric asked, tilting his head. David nodded, looking confused.

“Of course! How could I refuse,” He smiled, climbing out and stretching his legs. As he sat down in the driver's seat, he looked outside.

“I think we’re almost there, it’s so much colder here than I’m used to…” David remarked, rubbing his arms.

“Yeah, we’ve got about another day…” Aldric said, checking how much longer they had on his phone.

“Yep, 20 hours!” He smiled, showing David.

“Then let’s finish strong!” David urged, putting the car back in drive.

After about five hours, David had become quite bored with the plain, flat scenery surrounding them. All that seemed of interest was the occasional snow-covered dead tree, the gleam of the full moon shining down on them, and the snowy road they drove on. reaching over, he turned on the ratio, but only static rang out, to his discomfort.

“C’mon!” he slammed a hand on the dashboard, accidentally opening the glove box. As it flew open, a small piece of paper slipped out onto the floor. David tilted his head, confused. He slowed the car, reaching by Aldric’s feet to grab it.

“What on earth-” He started, opening the paper. His face fell as he looked down at it, and disappointment filled his eyes. Slamming on the breaks, he turned to Aldric.

“Wha-” Aldric jumped up, still half asleep as he woke up. He blinked slowly, looking around the dark car.

“What’s going on…?” He asked, looking at his friend. He saw the paper, his eyes going wide.

“What’s this!?” David asked, a timid look flooding his face. He forced the billing paper into Aldric's hands, his tone bitter.

“Your mother was making you pay bills? You didn't think you should have told me!? She has plenty of money!” He sneered, taking in a shaky breath. Aldric glared at the paper in his hands, looking away from David.

“I didn’t want you to see this…” He explained, trying to explain himself.

“It’s c-”

“COMPLICATED!? You could have told me!” David slammed his hand on the seat. As he did so, Aldric flinched.

“I'm sorry….” Aldric apologized, his voice hushed. David, realizing what he was saying, stopped.

“Oh my god… what am I saying..?” He hugged Aldric, stifling a sigh. The two sat there, both extremely confused and ashamed.

“I don't know why I'm getting upset, I just think that your mom is… idiotic…” David explained.

As the car was put back in motion, they both tried to loosen back up. Aldric finally turned to his friend, his eyes apologetic.

“You’re right. I should have told you, I just didn’t know how,” He sighed, shoving the paper back into the glove box.

“That was old. She stopped making me pay for things when she finally got that raise.” He smiled, trying to seem genuine.

“I know…I know. You don’t need to apologize, Aldric.” David nodded, brushing his umber hair out of his eyes. His heterochromatic eyes stayed on the road, moonlight shining onto his face.

“How do you look so nice…?” Aldric asked, tilting his head in awe as he looked at David. David looked at Aldric, surprised.

“Who, me?” He asked, laughing to himself.

“Yeah…” Aldric nodded, squinting at his friend. David smirked, glancing at Aldric.

“You flatter me,” He thanked, his tone joking. Aldric, realizing what he had said, looks embarrassed at his words.

“No! I- what I meant was- I-” He threw his hands up, trying to explain.

“Dude, I’m kidding. You're fine,” David laughed, smiling at Aldric. As they continued driving, David rolled down the windows and let the cool night air in. As the two enjoyed the breeze briefly, the car hit a bump. The two jolted up in their seats, caught off guard by the bump in the old road. Aldric laughed nervously, trying to regain his composure. David shook his head, chuckling at the sudden interruption.

They drove in comfortable silence for a few more minutes, enjoying each other's company. The night air was cool against their faces again, and the stars twinkled in the sky above. Finally, David spoke up.

"You know, Aldric, I've been thinking about what you said earlier. About your mom and the bills." Aldric tensed up, unsure of where his friend was going with his words.

"But I want you to know that if you ever need help with anything, you can always talk to me… I'm here for you, man." David looked over at Aldric, sincerity shining in his eyes. Aldric felt reassurance wash over him

"Thanks, man. I really appreciate it." He nodded, a smile creeping onto his face.

They drove on, finally seeing lights up ahead. As they approached the small town of Beaver Alsaka, David slowed the car and stopped in the middle of the road. Having the same idea, they both jumped out of the car in front of a sign that read,’ WELCOME TO BEAVER ’. They jumped up and down, hugging each other.

“AH!” David yelled in excitement, smiling wildly. Aldric chuckled, weakly hugging his friend back.

The two finally got back into the car, speeding down the road and past the small town to their destination. David pulled out his phone.

“It says we at 1109… do you see anything?” He asked, looking in front of them.

“Um…. oh!” Aldric points to a beaten path off the side of the road, surrounded by trees, “there?” He suggested, raising an eyebrow. David shrugged.

“Worth a shot,” He smiled, pulling into the nearly unused path. As they did, they saw a beautifully built, sturdy cabin. They both turned to each other, eyes wide. David pulled the car to a halt, jumping out.

“OH MY GOSH! ALDRIC, YOU SEE THIS!? THIS IS INCREDIBLE!” David shrieked in joy. Aldric calmly stepped out, smiling up at their new home.

“Yes, I do. It’s wonderful…” He laughed, admiring David’s enthusiasm. They stepped inside, breathing in the crisp wooden air that filled the room.

“I can certainly live with this,” Aldric remarked, looking around with joyful eyes at the relatively empty space. He grabbed the oil lamp left on a small table, illuminating the dark room using it.

“This is it, David, my friend. This is our new life…”

[gazrgaley]

C.R.O.W (chapter 4)

"Are you feeling okay?" Milo inquired as Richard tinkered with the intravenous line inserted into his arm.

Richard looked up at Milo, who was perched on the bed's edge. His face sunken, looking like the living dead. The irony, not lost on him. "What makes you think I'm not OK?" Richard asked, void of all emotion as he concentrated on what he was doing.

When Milo woke after being in a per-mo sleep he was unable to absorb blood the normal way. Richard had supplied him with red gel capsules that worked very well for younger vampires. A substitute for human blood. But it didn't seem to work as well for Milo.

As a short-term and experimental measure, they had been drawing blood from him every month or so and then re-infusing it. Dr. Constantine conceived this idea and expected to be the one to implement it.

After the first time, when Milo realized how exposed he felt, he wouldn't let him do it again. Grendel was unable to do so because of his aversion to blood. This forced Richard to take up the mantle. Something he didn't want to do, but knew there was no other option.

The idea wasn't exactly groundbreaking. It was a method used on the dormant Kaw-Sekhmu in their family's catacombs. This process would only need to be carried out once a year because well in a per-mo sleep they used very little energy. And only the most reliable Kaw-Sekhmu were tasked with this responsibility.

In his two hundred years of working with the family, Richard was allotted this assignment five times. It was the equivalent of being called to jury service. Yet it was also a sign that you had climbed through the ranks, and it irritated all the appropriate people to see someone as young as him wielding such authority. Because of this, he was more than willing to contribute whenever the occasion arose.

Richard was requested for this reason. As well as the fact that Milo trusted him. He regretted that anybody except himself had been willing or able to do it. The procedure virtually emptied the person's blood before replenishing it with new blood. And halfway through, before the blood was replaced. The individual appeared to be a corpse.

He'd seen it many times before. But having Milo sit there awake was a very different story. He was always the quiet kind. Until he had anything essential to say, he kept his ideas to himself. This, however, was not the same. He appeared to be old and dead on the inside. Yet the silence came across as rotting rather than refined.

Throughout this moment, Richard avoided making eye contact with him. He had no idea what was wrong with Milo, but his paranoia that Milo knew what he was doing, made him feel guilty. "You know, Molly and Olive were discussing inviting the two of you around this week. Grendel has taken a shine to Olive. She even refers to him as her uncle."

Milo's eyes flashed, like coming out of a trance. "What?" Richard was about to repeat himself when Milo responded, there was some alarm in his voice. "Why would she refer to him as that?"

Richard shook his head. "I believe he told her to, and she's five."

Milo observed Richard as he rose from the floor and took a seat next to him on the bed. There was nothing more to do at this time but wait until the blood bag was empty and all of its contents were in Milo. "That shouldn't be too much longer." He attempted to disguise how uncomfortable he was, but he was certain he was failing miserably.

This was confirmed when Milo assured him, he didn't need to stay in the room.

"Don't be absurd, You shouldn't have to be alone during this," Richard answered, gently slapping Milo's knee. "Not that it has any bearing on my comfort level. If you recall, I was a sin eater at one point." Immediately regretting saying this.

Milo glanced over at him. "not to say," he shifted his position. "It's not like you're dying or something, it's obviously different. I simply meant that." He went quiet. He couldn't take back what he said, and trying to explain it would only make it worse.

Inside, he was ashamed of himself. He had a reputation for being able to talk his way out of any problem, yet here he sat unable to get any of his words straight. But it was more than that. Milo was family. True, honest to god family. And not in the same way the Ka-sakemu used the phrase, an empty sentiment for emotional manipulation.

Milo's mouth curled up in a wry grin. Even when he was completely content and in a good mood, his smile didn't go much wider. "No, it's just how it feels. Yet, I frequently ponder whether this is the start of the end," Milo stated in a monotone. As though he were only stating the obvious--like an apple is red.

Richard shifted without realizing it. Hearing Milo speak in this manner disturbed him. He had always had this idealized version of Milo in his head. He always had the upper hand and was in charge. He had an uncanny knack for rescuing people from their own depressive musings.

The man he knew, though, wasn't this one. It's possible that whatever was occurring to him wasn't physically killing him. But, the psychological harm was almost too great.

"You need to take care of yourself, Richard," Milo said, his concern concentrated more on Richard than himself. Richard wondered for a second if he knew what he was doing. Yet that was impossible, and he shook the idea out of his head. But it didn't take away his sense of guilt. He didn't mind endangering the other Kaw-Sekhmu.

These were things he thought about before all of this started. He knew there would be some that got hurt from all of this. Molly and Olive would be safe. And Isabel, a very old family friend, shouldn't have been too affected by his new alliance as she had no official ties with the Kaw-Sekhmu.

Yet he'd forgotten how much he loved both Milo and Grendel. That was something he couldn't put into words, but it gave him a sense of belonging.

Aligning himself with Malachi would put a stop to it, no matter how much he wanted to back out. He realized that wasn't an option. In the long term, he realized what he was doing was correct. Even if it felt like his insides were being ripped out.

The television was on but Grendel had a hard time paying attention to it. He lay on the sofa, his gaze fixed to the screen, but none of it was getting threw to him. He hated change in general. Once he cared for someone that was it. He wanted them in his life forever.

Every day, he worried about Milo. He was able to shift it to the back of his head, though. Milo's absence was as likely as a shark attack in the middle of Africa. But days like this made him feel as though he had been mistaken the entire time. He didn't reside in Africa, but in southern Florida, and he was currently in the middle of the ocean.

Milo was still affected by whatever Ma'at had done to him. Killing her would be as difficult as finding her and putting her down. But what she was doing was beyond her, and he got the awful sensation she was the only one who could assist Milo now, and her death may take that knowledge with her.

He wanted her gone. He wanted to stop thinking about what horrific thing she was going to do to him next, who she was going to injure just to get back at him. He couldn't even offer himself a good diversion without it turning into a huge issue.

Grendel sprang from the couch, grinning widely, as Richard and Milo emerged from the bedroom. The same grin he used to make others feel at ease. Milo certainly would have seen what he was doing. But he hoped it had benefited Richard in some tiny way.

Richard had been trying everything he could to aid Milo, but it was having a negative impact on him. Richard had several distinct faces, according to Grendel and Molly.

'Business Richard' was the one he used when he needed to disguise his genuine emotions. A tougher, more calculated version of himself. He would come off as more callous and uncaring.

'Family Richard' came next. Someone you could chat to about anything. The loving husband and father. The one who took his wife out to swing dance on the weekends.

Grendel hadn't seen 'family Richard' in a while, and he worried that he was to blame for this. More than anything he wanted to make things right.

"Did everything go well?" Grendel asked, as he followed the two into the kitchen.

Milo sighed and glanced at the counter where a sad cup of tea sat. "I told you to stop trying to help. Your tea is awful. And I'm not completely useless." He poured it out without so much as a drink and turned on the kettle.

Richard attempted to escape during this time. As Grendel snatched his arm from under him. "Stay, Milo's going to brew us some tea." He pulled Richard aside despite Richard's protests that he was already running late. "Oh, don't be so rude. It shouldn't take more than five minutes."

"What's going on, Grendel?" Richard asked. "Is everything okay?"

"Well, I guess it depends on what you mean by okay." Milo replied as he began to pour a cup of tea for both of them. "Grendel has mixed us up with a group of vampire hunters that call themself Crows."

Richard lifted an eyebrow in astonishment. "Vampire hunters? Crows? What have you gotten yourself into?"

Grendel shuffled uneasily. "I...I just thought they might be able to assist us. And if they die, it won't be a loss."

But before either of them could add more, Richard's demeanor shifted. A smile began to grow on his face as he went into full Business mode. "You claim they go after vampires. Vampires such as the Netopuri?"

Grendel and Milo exchanged curious glances before returning their attention to Richard. "Yes, and why do you ask?" Milo inquired, a look of mistrust on his face.

Richard made various hand gestures before thoughtfully laying his hand on his face. "Oh, nothing in particular. It's only." He waved his own thoughts away. "Oh , no. That would be foolish."

Despite both of them knowing better they took the bait. Curiosity getting the better of them both. "What is it?" Both Grendel and Milo spoke at once.

"As you can see. For the most part, this entire accord with the Netopuri is functioning quite well." Richard began. For a long time, the Netopuri, or cold-blooded vampire, had control over the U.S. They had just recently let the Kaw-Sekhmu in because they were gradually losing control of what the cold-blooded vampires were doing. For the most part anyone could turn and make as many vampires as they wanted.

The Kaw-Sekhmu, on the other hand, were exceedingly particular about who and how many of their type were created. The Kaw-Sekhmu was present to assist in keeping order, but they had no control in how many Netopuri were produced. And attempting to manage it alone would result in either the abolition of the peace treaty or, worse, a war between the two factions.

Many of the cold-blooded vampires were alarmed by the Kaw-Sehumu's capabilities. Concerned that they might try to take over fully, they began to increase their numbers quicker than previously. With no order or care on the Netopure in command, there was nothing that could be done.

Richard's grin broadened as he described this. "As you can see, my hands are tied, despite the fact that this is a major issue. C.R.O.W., on the other hand, is under no duty to any side. And that they discovered a nest that was causing difficulties. It couldn't really be our fault, would it?"

"And how would we know which Netopuri are causing the most issues, Richard?" Milo inquired, playing stupid.

"Oh, please. It's a win-win situation. I have a few less things on my plate, and you have C.R.O.W's. trust." Richard reasoned, attempting to persuade Milo of this concept. "I mean, what if they don't trust you and figure out who you are? Giving them a handful of undesirables will go a long way in your defense."

"I'll have to think about it," Milo replied, his gaze fixed on him as he sipped his drink. His voice emphasized his lack of excitement.

Grendel, tired with the conversation's focus on C.R.O.W., finally raised his voice. "We need to do something fun together." Knowing just what to say to derail this conversation. "The five of us need to get out. Like in the good ol' days"

Milo and Richard glanced over at him as he pretended to be oblivious to the implications of his words. "I thought she said she didn't want anyone to know she would be coming yet." Richard said, but all Grendel did was grin at him knowingly.

Milo's gaze swept across the two of them. Getting a better grasp, although a hazy one, on what they were saying.

[k-s-morgan]

Those Gentle Slopes: Snippet 7

This is the last (and the longest) snippet! I plan to post the chapter on Wednesday. The snippet features a scene after the confrontation with Madam Red and Grell, when Ciel has fever and accuses Sebastian of everything he can think of.

-----------------------------------------------

The fever began to climb up through the night, and when the boy woke up in the morning with a hoarse scream, he looked wild and flushed.

“Stay away from me,” he hissed. Sebastian realised he had extended his hand to touch his forehead only after his lord jerked away.

Unpleasant. A stark contrast to how he’d spent five hours and fifteen seconds sleeping on Sebastian’s hand, wrapped around it like some sea creature. It took an impossible amount of manoeuvring to make certain that the claws didn’t hurt him.

What could have possibly angered him so much in his unconsciousness?

“You!” the boy’s hiss was so vehement, Sebastian could feel its bite almost physically. “You’re a shell. An empty shell. I don’t want to see you.”

This was… he didn’t even know what this was.  

“My lord?” he asked carefully. Fever had intensified, he could sense it from here, yet it wasn’t enough to explain what was happening. How did Ciel Phantomhive manage to find reasons to be furious with him even when Sebastian wasn’t around? There was absolutely no pleasing this Master of his.

“You are pathetic,” the boy spat. His voice shook with emotion, and something restricting wrapped around Sebastian’s lungs. “You may try to pretend to be human for as long as you want but it will never work. You don’t simply lack emotions, you don’t even understand them. How old are you, five hundred? A thousand? More? And the most dramatic thing that has ever happened to you was kitchen troubles at our house?”

Realisation sparked, bringing a wave of something uncomfortable with it. Sebastian cringed before he could stop himself, and Young Master, as if sensing his turbulent thoughts, scowled.  

“That’s embarrassing,” he said in disgust. “You’re like… like…” he frowned for a moment before his face lightened in triumph. “Like an oven!” he exclaimed, the dark accusation in his voice making this ridiculous comparison sound like the worst of insults. “You serve your functions well enough, but when you aren’t needed, you turn dumb, empty, and useless. Just a thing that takes up space.”

This wasn’t supposed to affect him. These were simple words, simple accusations of a human too sick to be coherent. However, Sebastian’s lungs continued to compress, and a dark feeling grew stronger.

To him, that moment with Grell had been disappointing but irrelevant. He expected more from a Scythe and he was uncertain which moments from his life he should recall. The need to determine those images by himself had thrown him off, but he believed he handled the situation appropriately.

Now, this certainly evaporated. All of a sudden, he felt unsure and self-conscious, as if he’d done something wrong.

This made no sense.

“You don’t understand regret,” Ciel Phantomhive said. Each word felt like a slap. Each word tasted like a final judgement, and it rooted Sebastian to his spot. “You don’t understand attachment. You don’t understand beauty. You don’t understand anything but mindless killing, and I’m sick of you. I might just as well turn you on and off, depending on when I need some violence!”

For some time, Sabastian stood motionlessly. His head was carefully blank. The emotions were there — they all huddled together, pressing against his ribcage and threatening to break it, but he couldn’t begin to identify them. He had no idea what expression to arrange his facial features into.

It wasn’t… like that. What had taken place didn’t mean what his Master was implying. Of course he understood what dramatic was — he was alive for longer than this little creature could even comprehend with his human mind! He’d been through formidable battles, he’d seen the rise and fall of several civilizations. The trivial nonsense that had come to his mind in that unfortunate moment didn’t define him.

Regret? Attachment? Beauty? Why would he need to understand these in the first place? These were profoundly human concepts. He had no reason to feel like he’d fallen short of his Master’s expectations for being what he was.

But the dismay was still breathing in him, rebuking him in the language Sebastian didn’t know. Predictably, this provoked a bout of frustration, and he clenched his jaw tightly.

What right did the boy have to make him feel this wrong-footed? He wasn’t the one who’d made a mistake. It was his lord who had shown weakness. His lord, with his silly ideas of familial bonds, who had flinched away from the necessity to murder his aunt when faced directly with it.

He was the mindless, useless thing. An oven.

Ciel Phantomhive suddenly burst into derisive laughter, and Sebastian stiffened further. Another shameful sensation squeezed his chest, and this made him angry. 

Anger was a dangerous emotion. In this situation, it could have the worst consequences, so he had to calm himself.

One breath. Holding it for three and a half seconds. Another breath.

The boy was delirious. He didn’t know what he was talking about. His words were meaningless.

“You need to rest, Young Master,” Sebastian said, carefully pushing him back onto his pillows. His voice came out sufficiently convincing to fool his own mind. “You don’t make any sense.”  

“I don’t make any sense?” the boy snorted, his eyes narrowing to angry slits. “You’re the one who doesn’t make any sense. Who even understands you?”

“With all respect, I could say the same thing to you. An oven? Really?” That was the strangest insult Sebastian had ever received. He still wasn’t certain if he should take offense.

A frown creased his lord’s forehead.

“Well, you are,” he grumbled.

“I suppose humans succumb to the influence of pain medication with ease that would seem surprising to anyone with a stronger build. You have a fever, Master.”

“Fever, no fever, doesn’t matter. You disgust me. Go away.”

Annoyance stirred anew, but Sebastian pushed it down forcibly. Not now. His anger would have to wait.

And yet he couldn’t hide maliciousness from his voice when he said, “Madam Red’s funeral is the day after tomorrow. The Midfords don’t expect you to attend, they think you’re struggling with a flu and are too weak to recover. Do you intend to prove them right?”

Pleasure swelled inside him when the look of impotent fury blossomed on his lord’s face.

“I’m not weak!” he shouted, his cheeks flushing even brighter. “And you aren’t the one to talk about weakness! If the need to clean up the mess after the servants is the most tragic event in your life, how can you even tell you’re strong? Or are you so dumb that you think your physical powers are everything? The thing that experiences nothing cannot judge others. I think you are weak. That’s why I don’t want to have anything to do with you.”

Whatever patience he had painstakingly collected shattered. Fury engulfed him with renewed vengeance, and the deadly certainty set in.

Ciel Phantomhive had just spoken the words that meant the dissolution of the contract. He might be too sick to understand the implications, too inattentive to watch his tongue, yet he said it. The words were out.

Sebastian had every right to claim his soul and leave this manor. To never look back. He wouldn’t break any laws — on the contrary, staying and continuing to serve would cause more questions if other demons were to find out.

Fierce hunger and even fiercer protectiveness clashed inside him. Sebastian trembled, the darkness in him extinguishing every human thought and feeling.

He could kill him. He should kill him. Correct the mistake he had made with Grell when he tried to silence him out of the senseless urge to prolong the contract. This was his chance to redeem himself in his own eyes.

Ciel Phantomhive had to die.

His instincts hissed at him furiously for even daring to entertain the possibility, yet Sebastian ignored them.

There were objectively more reasons to justify the boy’s murder. He was ungrateful. Intolerable. Maddening. His words stung worse than any weapons Sebastian had ever tested on himself, and he had an inkling that if he continued to serve him, his mind would plunge into the sea of even worse confusion with the depths he couldn’t begin to imagine.

It was better to end it right here, at this moment.

He reached forwards, every cell in his body vibrating with tension. His head was a dark, chaotic space, and he wasn’t certain what he was about to do when his hands began to clean his lord’s wound. He didn’t know what his next movement would be when he applied salve to it. He had no idea how he’d act in the seconds after he bandaged it, offered the boy his medicine, and watched him drink it.      

The yearning was there. It was hissing, coiling, begging him to act, imploring him to sink his teeth into the soul that he had worked so hard for. But every time his fingers twitched, ready to grow into claws and tear into the boy, another part intervened.

It was softer. Stranger. More distant. It didn’t speak, yet it thrust image after image into his mind. The image of the boy sleeping, so beautiful in his fevered pain; the image of him giving orders to kill, ruthless and confident of Sebastian’s devotion; the image of him studying, riding his horse, calming himself after his nightmares, smiling…  

 It was the last image that sent a pang of another kind of longing through him. Awareness touched his mind again, and Sebastian shook his head briefly.

No. He wouldn’t do it.

As soon as the hesitant thought crossed his mind, it was strengthened by a surge of determination. The demonic energy dimmed, retreating, and the temptation faded away — never entirely, but enough for its influence to diminish.

He didn’t care what anyone thought. He didn’t care how he himself justified this, he just knew he wouldn’t be killing this human. Not today.

Turning away, Sebastian left the room, shutting the door with more force than he’d intended, but his lord’s gleeful voice followed him even there.

“Add this moment into your collection of the most ‘dramatic’ events,” he called contemptuously. Sebastian stopped, breathing through his nose. The emotions raged, closing in on him from all sides at once, and he felt like he was drowning in them. He would have loved to run and leave them behind, but he knew this wasn’t a possibility. Wherever he stepped, they would follow.

The bloodthirsty itch to throttle the boy swallowed him again, and Sebastian growled, upset and frustrated. Not giving himself time to change his mind and pounce, he slipped out of his human skin and seeped through the floors, then through the door, darkening the sunlit path with his presence.

[yelena-bellova]

Safe Haven: tfatws!Bucky Barnes x fem!reader - Chapter One

Chapter One: The Other Wilson Sister - chapter two

Series Masterlist

Plot: Y/n grew up with Sam and Sarah Wilson in the bayou of Delacroix. During the Blip she stayed with Sarah to help run the family business. With Sam back and trying to save the day, Y/n’s perfect opportunity to confess her long-kept secret to her best friend presents itself.

Warnings: tfatws ep.1 spoilers, language, suicide mention, undertones of racism, lots of Wilson sibling arguments, tragic backstory

Word Count: 5.9k

A/N: As I wrote this first chapter out I realized it’s most definitely also a Sam Wilson x platonic fic. Bucky doesn’t come in till next chapter but rest assured, it’s gonna be a wild ride...Also I didn’t know till now how difficult it is to plan out a series in its entirety when the show isn’t completed lol. Hope you enjoy! (I may or may not change the title depending on how I feel about it later today lol)

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Delacroix, LA 2024

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One of the only things I was certain of in life was that blood didn’t make a family.

I had no official tie to Wilson family, I wasn’t a daughter or some distant cousin sent to live with them. We shared no DNA and they had no reason to love me as much as they did. But throughout my life I had known no kinder people than them and I doubted that would change. As I stood on the family boat helping to unload the catch of the day, I thought of how our corner of the Louisiana bayou felt more like home than any place I’d ever been.

“Hey,” Sarah said from the dock, “Head out of the clouds and down here helping me.” “Sorry,” I shook myself out of my thoughts and hopped off the boat, “Not a bad catch if you ask me.”

Sarah sighed as she bent over a large bucket of fish, “It could’ve been better.” I came to stand in front of her and held my hands out for a bucket, “Take the wins where you can get ‘em, Sar. Lord knows we don’t get enough of them.” Sarah Wilson was the only superhero I’d ever aspire to be like. She was a widow who had raised two kids and run a business all by herself with no family for support. The past five years had been challenging with so many people gone and while I had moved in with her to help however I could, I could take no credit. She was one of the strongest women I’d ever known.

“You had that look on your face again,” she said as we worked.

“What look?”

“That look that lets me know you were thinking real hard about something,” Sarah imitated the expression in question by thinning her eyes slightly and furrowing her brows, “Like this.” I laughed heartily at her impression, “So what was it?” I gazed out at the bayou waters before turning to the boat and finally Sarah, “Family.”

She nudged me with her hip, something we’d done when we were young and an affectionate gesture we’d carried into adulthood. A half hour went by with us and the boys unloading and sorting the fish we’d caught. I was too wrapped up in the task to notice the sound of a vehicle approaching until AJ and Cass announced the arrival. 

“Blue for the snapper, orange for the whitefish.”

“Uncle Sam!”

My head shot up upon hearing his name, as did Sarah’s. I used my hand as a visor against to sun to spot the familiar rusted truck parked a few hundred feet away, with my best friend standing outside it hugging his nephews.

“That’s right, Uncle Sam,” Sarah called, “You’re back early.”

I grinned as I shucked my gloves off and made a beeline for him, slamming my body into his for a tight embrace. It had been a few weeks since I’d seen him, having spent the only weekend he was off away, and I’d naturally been worried sick about him. My best friend and un-biological brother may have been an Avenger for years, but after losing him in the Blip I didn’t think I’d ever stop worrying about him.

“Every time I come home, you act like I’ve been gone for five years,” he joked over my shoulder, resulting in me pulling away and slapping his bicep.

“Not even a little funny,” I pointed a finger in his smug face, he slung an arm around my neck as we walked over to Sarah.

“What’s goin’ on? You got Mom’s sneaky look on your face.” “How you gonna try to read me when you know I’m the one that reads you?” Sam smiled, passing by and greeting a long time customer of ours. “That look is permanently glued to his face, Sar,” I chuckled, “I learned that in grade school.” Sam shook his head at me and laughed before making his way up the dock to the Wilson family boat. “You gotta marvel at it, baby’s being held together by duct tape and prayers.” I leaned into Sarah, “Are you telling him or am I?” She took the initiative, “It just needs to float long enough for me to sell it.” “I thought we were gonna discuss if we were selling it,” Sam replied as he helped unload another bucket of fish. “We did, and then you were off fighting Doctor Space Cape or whatever while we,” Sarah gestured between us, “Were holdin’ it together for five long years. Now that the world is going back to normal, this thing’s gotta go.”

Sam looked to me with a look of displeasure, “Were you in on this?” “Don’t drag me into this,” I waved my hands as if wiping my involvement away, “This is a Wilson sibling discussion.” “Uh-uh,” Sam called me out, wagging his finger, “Don’t do that. Dad said every chance he got that you were one of his own, you’ve got a say in this too. What is it?” I scrunched my face up, dreading the argument that was knocking on our door, “It’s dead weight, Sam. The money we could get for it would be enough to keep us comfortable for a little longer without having to worry.” “We grew up on this thing. It’s not just Mom and Dad’s name on it. This thing is a part of our family.”

I sighed as Sarah stepped forward, “You know the situation we’re in. This is why I prefer not to dwell on it in front of everybody.” “Well what if we don’t need to sell it?” Sam said. “Can we talk about this in private?” I suggested, tiring of having to convince Sam that we were in the right when he hadn’t been around to witness our struggles. A long time friend of ours called out to Sam and he willingly took the distraction, opting out of having the inevitable difficult conversation. Sarah and I trudged back, totes of fish in hand and tried to get through the rest of the work day without worrying if we were approaching our last.

————

During golden hour, when the clock had struck five and we’d started packing it up for the day was the only time to get Sam to actually listen. I knew how much the boat meant to him, it meant something to us all, but he wasn’t living in the reality that Sarah and I were.

“Sam, the boat’s gotta go,” Sarah finally said, breaking the silence we were working in on the vessel. “Wait-“ “No, let me finish,” she said, “Y/n and I are doin’ everything I can to keep this business afloat and every day we’re making $5 and spending $10.” Sam looked between the two of us, “So why won’t you let me help?” 

“Sam, don’t…” I winced, knowing Sarah’s reaction would be strong.

“No, don’t start with that. We made a deal before Daddy died,” Sarah carried a few buckets to the center of the deck, “You’re out there, I do things my way here. Y/n agreed to it too when she went off to school.” “Right, but you tangled the house into this when you took those loans,” Sam finished tying off one of the ropes, turning around and giving Sarah the perfect opportunity to punch his chest, “Forgot how hard you hit.” I sighed as I passed him by to follow Sarah, “Low blow, you deserved it.” 

“Sarah, Y/n, c’mon,” he chased after us, “Look, and don’t hit me again…What if you had money to fix it up? Make it nice so you can charter it when you’re not out working the waters?” “Sam, do you think this was an easy decision for us?” I faced him, leaning against the doorway next to him, “I tried every tactic I learned in business school and got nowhere. Anything I thought up, we needed more money to do. This is our only option.” As he always did with the things he cared about, he fought. “We can take a loan and consolidate everything, it’ll take down your monthly,” he looked confused as he watched Sarah laugh, “What?” “You think I didn’t try the banks? They’re in with all that big business now.” I followed them like the little sister I’d always been as they moved their fight towards the cockpit of the boat. Sam blocked another doorway, “Yeah, but now you have me.”

“Don’t, Sam,” Sarah shook her head, “I just got good with this.”

“All right…”

“Maybe it is time for us to move on,” Sarah sighed. “Either way, just let me help,” Sam offered, “I’ll set the appointment. Look, I won’t let you guys down. We can turn this shit around. Trust me.” I peered over at Sarah, wishing I could see the calculations going on in her brain. It seemed pointless, but any shot at changing our luck was an avenue worth pursuing.

“It can’t hurt to try,” I shrugged.

Sarah finally relented, “To the rescue, huh?”

“Always,” Sam smiled, “Now, let’s get some dinner. I’m hungry.” ————

Sarah was taking AJ and Cass back home while Sam and I took his truck to go pick up food.

“So how was Tunisia?” I asked, sticking my hand out the window and letting it rise and fall with the wind.

“Hot, but the mission went well,” he answered, looking out of the corner of his eyes at me, “And that’s all you need to know.”

I snickered, “C’mon, it’s our thing. I ask you detailed questions about your confidential missions, you tell me you can’t reveal anything, I keep asking…You’ve gotta honor tradition.” “I flew, I fought, I rescued. Boom, mission explained.” “Ugh, you’re impossible, Wilson,” I waved him off, “How was the museum dedication?” The atmosphere changed as the subject of conversation changed from easy to complicated. “It was nice to see Steve’s accomplishments celebrated. Got to see Rhodes which was nice…” “You’re avoiding a red white and blue topic,” I said, trying to coax his true feelings out of their shells, “Seriously, are you really okay with this? Giving up the shield?” Sam inhaled deeply and exhaled, gathering his thoughts. “I don’t think it was ever meant to end up in my hands. I did the right thing, it belongs with Steve and the museum is the closest to Steve I can get.” I respected my friend’s choice but I knew there was so much more to his decision and I wished he would just say it. He had an enormous amount of respect for Steve Rogers and what the shield represented, but Steve Rogers never had to face the issues that Sam Wilson did. Steve Rogers could follow a government and be respected in return with no problems whatsoever. Sam Wilson couldn’t, not always. There was an elephant in the room and if neither of us wanted to talk about it, I wouldn’t push it.

“You’d have looked good in that uniform though,” I smiled as we turned into the take out place’s parking lot.

“Damn right,” Sam waggled his eyebrows and unbuckled his seatbelt. Laughter rang out in the truck sending me on waves of nostalgia. The memories that me and him had in this truck still were infamous between us. As proud as I was of the Falcon’s heroics, I was prouder to call Sam Wilson my best friend.

————

Just as he’d promised, Sam made the appointment with the banker. He and Sarah were already on their way as I made the hour long drive in the opposite direction to New Orleans. I’d told them I’d be back in the evening to discuss how it went, but I had my own appointment to keep.

Sam and I had met back when we were just a couple of first graders. I’d always struggled with making friends as a kid, but Sam never had an issue when it came to connecting with others. It was one of his strongest qualities. And so he used his gift on his desk neighbor, the loneliest kid in class, and pulled her out of herself. We were inseparable until college and adulthood forced us apart, but we’d never lost our bond. Even when he was a pararescue, he wrote to me as often as his work allowed him.

All the Wilsons had taken a liking to me after Sam brought me home one day after school to watch cartoons. Darlene had told me I was welcome to come over any time I wanted, an offer Sam and I accepted till I became a permanent fixture in their house. Paul and his wife had frequently tried to get the rest of my family over for a crawfish boil or a barbecue. They’d send me every few weeks with a verbal invitation to my parents and the next day I’d always come back with a polite decline and excuse as to why we couldn’t make it. Mom was busy with spring cleaning, Melanie had a recital, Dad was feeling under the weather…

The only one that had ever been true was about my dad not feeling well. He was never well. But as a child, how do you explain that your father is a ghost around his own home who drinks himself to sleep and wakes up each night screaming from nightmares? There was no polite way to phrase circumstances that dark. Sometimes I felt like my dad had never returned from the military and though there hadn’t been a war at the time of his service, he still came back with his share of trauma. Mom did everything she could to try and help him. She found support groups for veterans, she took him to the best psychiatrists, she created a safe space for him within our home to retreat to. There was no amount of help that could kill my father’s demons and that was proven the night he’d said we were out of milk and he was going to the store. A few hours later, with my sister and I fast asleep upstairs, my worried mother answered the door and was informed by the police that my father had crashed his car and was dead. After speaking to Mom about what his mood had been like before he’d left and if he suffered from any mental illnesses, it was ruled as an undoubtable suicide.

My mother didn’t get much time to mourn after the funeral, she had two children to provide for. She took three jobs just to earn enough to move us from our house in New Orleans to a dingy apartment in Delacroix by the bayou. When the Wilsons heard that Mom needed to scrape enough money in the budget to hire a baby-sitter for me and Melanie, they put a stop to her efforts immediately. The insisted that Mel and I would be happier spending the time my mom was working with them and their kids rather than a stranger. That was how the Wilsons and the Y/l/ns had ended up so tightly knit. While Sarah and Melanie had bonded as the older sisters and were often off doing their own thing, Sam and I caused havoc of our own in classic younger sibling fashion. By the time we were in high school, both parents called the other’s children their own.

When Paul and Darlene passed away, it was incredibly hard on all of us and it was equal when Mom had a fall and the doctors suggested she move into a facility. Sam, Sarah and I had worked hard to get her into one of the best nursing homes in the city and she hadn’t stopped raving about how much she loved it. Pulling into the parking lot was like muscle memory now, I never missed a weekend visit with her. This one was special because Melanie, her husband and brood of children had come too. I grabbed my visitor’s sticker at the front desk and made my way down the familiar hallways. The sound of laughter and cooing echoed out of my mom’s room, bringing a smile to my face.

I knocked on the door and heads turned, my nieces and nephews being the quickest. “Aunt Y/n!” I embraced Sophia and Max tightly, “The twin tornados! I missed you guys,” separating from them was difficult as they clung to me but I made it to Stephan, giving him a kiss on the cheek and doing the same to Mel, “You look hot, mama.” “I certainly don’t feel it,” she remarked as she cradled their newest addition, baby Alexandra, close to her chest, “I spend more hours of the day covered in glitter glue and spit up than you could imagine.” “You wear it all well,” I patted her shoulder before coming to my mother’s bedside and hugging her, “Hi, Mom.”

“Hi, sweetheart,” she kissed both of my cheeks and looked to the door, “Sarah and Sam couldn’t come?” “No, but they send their love. They had an appointment at the bank,” I set down my purse and pulled up a chair, “We’re trying to get approved for a small business loan.”

Glen took Alexandra from Mel so she could tend to the twins, “I wish we could help out, Y/n. I’ve looked at the budget over and-“ It warmed my heart that my brother-in-law cared so much about a problem that wasn’t his to bear. “Glen,” I held up a hand, “You guys are stretched thin enough. This isn’t me asking for charity, it’s our problem and Sam’s confidant we’ll find a fix.” “How does he have enough time to be a member of the Air Force, an Avenger and save the family business?” Mel asked.

“Well, the Avengers are kind of off doing their own thing right now from what I understand and he’s home for a little while from the Air Force,” I explained, “So his main job at the moment is to get us our funding and annoy the snot out of me while doing it.” After earning some giggles from Sophia and Max at the expression, Glen announced that they were going to go and grab lunch for everybody. My mom took my hand once it was just the two of us and I settled into my seat, “How are you, sweetheart?”

“Hanging in there,” I sighed, running a hand through my hair, “Tired, stressed, I smell like fish most of the time…We need this loan or else we’re going to have to sell the boat. You should’ve seen Sam’s face when Sarah told him…”

“I’m sorry, I know how much that boat means to you kids. I could’ve offered you the moon and stars and it still wouldn’t have been enough to get you off it.” I smiled at the memories of summer nights spent laying on the deck stargazing, dance parties on the stern and early mornings spent with Mr. Wilson teaching us how to fish. A childhood with so much sadness had also contained so many joys. To part with a tangible one killed me more than I’d let on to Sam.

Sensing that the topic was making me emotional, my mother was kind enough to change it. “How are things otherwise? Have you been getting out there?” I dropped my head back dramatically and groaned, “Mom…” “I’m just saying,” she dropped my hand and held up hers in surrender, “You should get out there, meet someone. There’s no shame in trying those online dating services. What’s the one…the…Tinder?” “Oh my gosh, Mom,” I buried my face in my hands and moved my fingers so she could only see my eyes, “Please stop talking.” “You know who I ran into the other day? Jack’s mom, from high school. She lives just down the next hallway, she says that he’s still single. You could get in touch with him.” “Y’know, for a woman who advocated for her daughters to lead such independent lives, you’re sure quick to try and marry us off,” I chuckled, “The second Mel started dating Glen you were practically booking the church.” “And I’m very proud of both my girls for being such strong young women,” she smiled proudly, “But finding love doesn’t mean losing your independence so long as you’re with the right man. I love that you’ve been helping out Sarah these last few years but honey…I see how lonely you are. In those big y/e/c eyes you think I still can’t read after all these years.” The y/e/c eyes in question started to fill with sadness at hearing my pain verbalized. It was true, I was lonely. More so than I would ever let on to anybody. I was a shy enough kid who only withdrew further after Dad passed away, that kind of introversion wasn’t one that you outgrew. But I’d given up the idea of finding someone to spend my life with a long time ago for a bevy of reasons.

“Sometimes it’s better to be alone, Mama,” I nodded as if to force myself to agree with my statement, “No chances of getting hurt…or hurting somebody.” “You couldn’t hurt somebody even if you tried,” my mom argued sweetly, “You couldn’t even kill spiders when you were a kid.” “And now there’s a Spiderman out there so I’m glad I didn’t,” I shot back with a laugh.

“I’m serious, honey,” she took my hand once again, “Don’t let your heart’s wounds keep you from finding someone who could help soothe them.” 

I was convinced my mother was both a poet and a therapist at some point in her life, she gave advice in the most beautifully phrased way. And while I’d loved to have taken her words to heart, tell Mel to fix me up with one of Glen’s friends and put an end to my loneliness, I feared that I was just too broken to give love to someone.

————

I arrived back home late, shedding my boots and bag at the doors. I’d expected to hear a triumphant chorus of Sam shouting ‘WHO DA MAN?’ as he typically would when heroically proving me and Sarah wrong, but there was only silence. When I walked into the kitchen and saw their glum faces, it wasn’t hard to guess the outcome of the meeting. “You’re kidding me…” “Said that things had tightened up,” Sam said, leaning against one side of the island and taking a swig of his beer, “Had the balls to ask me for a picture afterwards.” I groaned and grabbed the beer bottle Sarah had extended to me, “Okay, we’re out of options. It’s time to move forward-“ “Don’t say it…” Sam tiredly warned.

“Someone has to, Sam. We can’t keep searching for solutions when the right one is sitting out on our dock,” I gestured to the window that looked out on the road we took each day to work.

Sarah set her beer down and held her hands up in surrender, “I’m not having this argument again tonight, I’m going to bed. If you’re gonna kill each other, do it quietly.” She left as me and Sam silently stared each other down, waiting for the other to speak. I was too frustrated to play the game, “What’s this really about?” “It’s about the damn boat and that you and Sarah are throwing in the towel too-“ “What,” I elongated the single syllable word, “Is this really about?” Sam set his drink down and rubbed his hands over his head before looking back up at me helplessly, “You guys were on your own for five years and you’ve done an amazing job. But now nothing’s working and I just…I just want to help because I couldn’t for so long.” It all clicked as to why Sam was being so insistent on trying to eliminate the whole matter. He was used to saving the day and finally meeting one that he couldn’t save was a wall he thought he could still find a way to run through. He’d been like that ever since we were kids, always trying to help the people he loved even when it was impossible. He had the biggest heart of anyone I’d ever met.

“I love you,” I set down my bottle and crossed the island to come next to him and wrap my arms around his shoulders, “But this may be one problem that the Falcon can’t swoop in and fix. The Avengers work hard, but a business graduate helping to run a struggling seafood business works harder,” I succeeded in getting him to crack a smile, “Believe me, I’ve run all the numbers and consulted with anyone who would listen. The boat’s gotta go.”

“Yeah, well, humor me and give me a little while longer.”

“Fine, a couple more days,” I grabbed my beer once again and clinked it against his, “But it’s not my fault if Sarah smacks you again.” Sam laughed, slung an arm around my neck and kissed my temple. “You coming up soon?”

“Yeah, I’ll be up in a few minutes,” I answered, watching as he finished his drink before leaving the kitchen and heading upstairs. Once I’d heard his bedroom door open and close, I exited out to the back porch. I took in the late night sounds of the bayou, the crickets chirping and the wind rustling trees had always soothed me. I wished they could touch what I was feeling right now, but the noise didn’t do a thing to drown out my worry. For the business I feared we may lose, for Sam as he ran himself ragged trying to help and for myself and what him and Sarah would think of me once I confessed the secret I’d kept from them for so long.

I held out my hand and watched as the blue energy flowed from my fingertips. Would Sam ever forgive me for not telling him I had powers? They had manifested when I was young, my parents said. I couldn’t remember a day where my body hadn’t produced a magical energy that when harnessed incorrectly could be destructive. It had been a sad day for my mother’s garden when I’d discovered that bit…According to her, she’d wanted to take me to a school for people like me run by a man named Charles Xavier but my father had said no immediately. He’d been so insistent on keeping my powers a secret that my mother said she’d only seen that type of fear in his eyes when he had a war flashback. So I was instructed to never show my powers to anyone under any circumstances and I’d done just that. I’d thought about revealing them in 2012 after the Battle of New York, but my dad’s fear rang in my ears. Three years later when Sam became an Avenger was when I began to feel guilty that I was keeping a secret from him. I’d wanted to join him and find somewhere where I didn’t feel so out of place, but I’d decided against it again. Now with their team so broken and Sam off with the Air Force, I’d finally gathered the courage to confide in him and Sarah. I should have done it six months ago, but I’d chickened out too many times. Tomorrow, I decided. Tomorrow was the day. But would they still see me the same way once I showed them? ————

The next morning, after dressing and running over what I wanted to say three times, I hesitantly headed downstairs to face the music. With there being nobody in the kitchen, I followed the sounds of the television to find Sarah and Sam staring at the screen intently. I stood to the side of the room and watched a suited man give a speech out front of a government building. “We need someone to inspire us again, someone who can be a symbol for all of us. So, on behalf of the Department of Defense and our Commander-in-Chief, it is with great honor that we announce here today that the United States of America has a new hero. Join me in welcoming your new Captain America.”

My jaw slackened as a man marched out in front of the gathered press, dressed in a variation of Steve Rogers’ patriotic uniform and carrying the iconic shield. The shield that had only weeks ago sat upstairs in Sam’s bedroom in a case. I dragged my gaze away from the screen to look at my best friend, hunched over in his seat with his eyes shut in sorrow. Sarah looked just as distraught, her eyes trained on her brother as well. We waited in silence until the breaking news broadcast switch back to regularly scheduled programming before Sarah switched the box off.

“I thought you said it was going to stay in the museum,” I finally spoke, my voice choked with emotion.

“It was supposed to,” Sam ground out, his grip on his own hands tightening. Without any warning, he rose from his seat and left the room. My instinct was to follow him and try to comfort him, but there was nothing I could say to ease the deep pain he was feeling. I wasn’t even sure I could form words that weren’t doused in raw shock. The two things I was sure of were that a) the government had fucked up royally and b) now was definitely not the time to tell Sam about my powers.

————

It was a few days later and Sam still hadn’t spoken much to Sarah and I about the situation. It was unnatural for Sam to suffer in silence especially around us, but we both gave him the space he needed. 

I was taking laundry to AJ and Cass’ room and had to pass by Sam’s, surprised to see him packing a bag. “Thought you were sticking around.” “Something big came up,” he replied as he set a stack of t-shirts in his duffle bag, “I need to go check it out.” I leaned against his doorway, “Air Force big or Avengers big?” “The second one.” “And you’re going by yourself?” I asked with raised eyebrows.

Sam looked over his shoulder at me finally, “Don’t have anybody to else to call. Besides, I can handle myself.” I hummed in response before setting down the stack of laundry, an idea forming in my head that could solve both of our problems. I folded my hands together and dug my feet into the carpet, “What if you didn’t have to go by yourself?” He looked confused, “What are you talking about?” My folded hands began to make circles in the air as I struggled for the right words, “What if I came with you?” “What, like take your family to work day something?” Sam scoffed, “That’d be fun.” “I’m serious.” “Are you crazy? Of course you can’t come.” “Hear me out,” I looked to his bag and the pair of jeans he had next to fold, “Actually watch.” He folded his arms and waited for my demonstration. I took a deep breath and extended my hand, forcing my energy outwards to levitate the jeans. “Whoa!” Sam exclaimed as he watched me maneuver the clothing inside his duffle, “W-w-what…What was that?” I shrugged and pulled my hand back to my side, “The reason why you should take me.”

“How long have you been able to do that?” “Since I was a kid,” I moved out of the doorway and closed the door, the last thing I needed was AJ and Cass knowing their aunt could move things with her mind, “My parents told me never to tell anybody. I’ve thought about telling you for years since you’re used to this kind of thing but I was scared…Then you were gone and when you came back, life was moving non-stop and I lost my courage. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.” Sam stood with his jaw hung for a few seconds before shaking his head back into reality, “Why are you apologizing? You never had to tell me, but I’m glad you did,” he pointed a finger towards me, “But you’re still not going.” “What are you talking about? I’d be an asset to whatever it is you’re fighting! And I love you but c’mon bird boy, you may be able to fly but I can do it without any tech.” “Oh, so that’s how you wanna play?” Sam gestured between the two of us, “You think insulting me is the way to get me to let you come?” “Come on,” I moved to sit on his bed, “Tell me what the problem is and I’ll prove that I can help.” “Alright, alright,” Sam took a stance in front of me, “You wanted to hear the tea on my missions, I’ll spill it. There’s an online group called the Flag Smashers, their MO is to get the world back to the way it was during the last five years. My military contact, Torres, went undercover in Switzerland when they robbed a bank. Knocked him unconscious when he tried to fight back.” I balanced my elbows on my knees and tapped a finger against my lip, “So kind of a Robin Hood deal, right? Stealing things from the rich and giving it to the poor. In this case, the poor being those who never disappeared.” “Exactly, except the guy that knocked Torres out was strong. Too strong. I’m thinking they could be a part of-“ “The big three.” Sam’s neck snapped back, “How do you know about the big three?” I shrugged nonchalantly, “The little you do tell me about your avenging always ties back to either androids, aliens or wizards. Though I think you’re being a little dramatic with the term ‘wizard.’”

“Are you seriously gonna correct the guy who’s actually there doing the fighting?” “Are you seriously gonna deny yourself valuable help against either an alien or an android?”

Sam sighed, I was successfully backing him into a corner. “Can you even fight?”

Extending one hand, I levitated Sam and gently slammed his back into the ceiling before reversing course and lowering him onto the carpet. He moaned as he rolled over to face me, “Could’ve given me a concussion.” “Maybe that would knock some sense into your head,” I stood and gave him my hand to pull him up, “Sam, I know that I don’t have any experience but I am more than capable of defending myself. I want to actually do something with these powers instead of sitting on my ass. I’d rather do it with you than on my own. Please?” I watched the cogs in his mind turn through his eyes, I knew he was only fighting this hard because he wanted to keep me safe. But he was in way over his head if he thought it wasn’t worth taking me with. He accepted my hand and stood to his full height, “Pack a bag, we’re leaving for the air base in an hour.” I smiled and threw my arms around him, “Thank you, you won’t regret this.” “I’d better not,” he warned, his arms stayed straightened in displeasure of my enthusiasm, “If you take some stupid risk and put yourself in jeopardy, I’m putting your ass on a plane home.” Quick footsteps could be heard coming down the hallway until the door opened to reveal Sarah, “What was all that noise? It sounded like you were throwing each other into walls.” “Busy,” I quickly dismissed her, using my energy to shut the door in Sarah’s face from a distance.

“Um,” her muffled voice rang through, “What the hell was that?!”

--------

Taglist: (open)

[dynamoe]

Prologue | Ch 1 | Ch 2 | Ch 3 | Ch 4 | Ch 5 | Ch 6 ← You Are Here | Ch 7

In the height of Network TV days, popular sitcoms would do a special "sweeps week" double-length episode filmed in an exotic, trendy location. Consider this chapter one of those. (It's skookum long, man.) ** read it on A03, it's easier on your eyes

THE STORY SO FAR: It's the mid 1990s. To get discounted "Boy Genius" admission to a prestigious Super Science conference, Billy shaves 10 years off his age, gets a bad haircut and wears very short pants. Now, they've finally landed in Jet City.

“How can they lose our luggage? That thing was the size of a frickin’ planet,” Billy spat, incandescent with rage, while storming out of the door from baggage claim of SEA-TAC airport.

“Our bag is not lost, it’s in St. Louis,” White said slowly and calmly, a practiced master in the art of Billy-whispering.

“A direct flight. Point A to Point B. No stopovers. HOW do they lose a bag?!” Billy muttered, still furious.

“They have our number at the hotel and they will contact us when they can get it back to us.”

“All our clothes were in there and all the ConjectTech merch and— ,” Billy suddenly remembered, “Our invention for our presentation was in that bag! Fuck!”

“It’s fine, Billy,” Pete rested his hand on Billy’s head with gentle pressure, “Do you want to ride around on the baggage carousel for a while until you can calm down?”

“Oh no! I have to keep wearing THIS,” Billy furiously indicated the hated and now extra-rumpled short pants suit he had spent an uncomfortable three hour flight pulling out of self-administered wedgies.

“Seriously, don’t worry,” Pete said with more force, tipping down his sunglasses, “All of the essential paperwork I have on my person and I always take the liberty of putting five-large in unmarked bills up where no security’s gonna look for it, if you get my meaning.”

Billy processed. “You put… five-thousand dollars in cash… up your ass?”

↓ continues under the fold ↓

“Yeah, while you were in the x-ray line,” White said casually, looking through his shoulder bag for the plastic raincoat, “I do it before I fly anywhere as extra insurance in case something goes down.”

Billy still processed. “Why would you… I mean, it’s not illegal to have $5000 in your wallet.”

“It’s a habit I picked up when I was flying down to Mexico every week when I was doing a lot of… recreational traveling,” White said, squeezing way too much sunblock onto his palm, “Just puts my mind at ease knowing it’s there.”

Billy stopped struggling with the ‘why’ and shifted to the mechanics “How big around is five thousand dollars? I mean, even if it’s only 50 hundred-dollar-bills coiled really tightly it’s gotta be a diameter of–”

“Let’s get a cab into town,” Pete slapped the oozing sunblock roughly onto his face, “Airports are depressing.” --

Bagless, they grabbed the first free taxi at the stand.“Take us to the SPACE NEEDLE!” demanded Pete.

“Can’t do it, man. It came over the radio–- bomb threat,” the cabby said, “They evacuated and closed the ‘Sneedle down for the rest of the day.”

Pete and Billy looked at each other. That was unexpected.

The driver continued, “People are always trying to blow up the Space Needle. Like, pick somewhere else to blow up for once, y’know? They never actually do it either. Just... lame...”

Is there somewhere else you could take us? We’re never been to Seattle before,” Billy asked, almost apologetically.

“Yea, sure. The Fremont Troll. The Fremont Rocket. The Fremont Lenin statue,” the driver suggested, “I live in Fremont so I kinda know it best.”

“How about where they throw fish?”

“Pike Place Market? Laaaaaame,” the driver dismissed.

They both felt very small and uncool. Schooled by a local.

“Actually though, you should go to the Gum Wall. It’s under the market,” the driver concluded, pulling onto the highway, “It’s a wall... covered in gum.”

“Oh,” said Billy, confused, “Sounds... irreverent?”

“It fucks the paradigm of what an ‘attraction’ is, dude. The semiotics of tourism, like, blown to shit.”

“Lemme guess, you’re a grad student,” Pete leaned forward.

“Naw, man. I got my Masters in Philosophy two years ago.”

“And he’s driving a cab,” Pete emphasized to Billy with heavy ‘I told you college doesn’t matter’ overtones. Billy was more interested in where this philosopher-driver was taking them. Pete leaned back and looked out the windows as they drove. Overcast. Misting. Dark.

“Hey Billy, what time is it?”

Billy checked his watch, “Bit after four. Three hour flight. One hour of BULLSHIT!” Pete rested his calming hand on Billy’s head to stave off another rage attack.

“Jeez. Looks like it’s already, like, dusk out there,” Pete said, admiring the haze.

“We changed latitudes. Higher on the globe, the sunlight is at a more oblique angle,” Billy shrugged, unimpressed by planetary tilt’s effect on climate.

"Nah, It’s more than that,” Pete turned to the cabbie, “Is the sky supposed to be that color?”

The cabby stuck his head out the window, “Yeah, seems normal. The weather’s pretty much always like this, y’know. Consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds, yeah?”

“I thought it was supposed to rain a lot in Seattle,” asked Billy casually, as if he hadn’t memorized the annual rainfall of every American city.

“It rains, yeah, but mostly it does this,” the cabby gestured to the sky, “It’s just sort of blah, y’know. No sun. Just gray all day.”

Pete looked like he was about to cry, “It’s so freakin' beautiful.”

“It’s a wall. Covered in gum,” Billy stated the obvious, “This is disgusting. Why is this an attraction?”

“Not every city has Carnegie Hall, “ Pete shrugged with his back to the wall, looking up at the sky. They were in a sunken alley, outdoors but lower than street level as the lay of the land sloped down towards the waterfront.

“We should have gone to see the Fremont Troll,” Billy complained, studying a particularly grody chunk of spearmint smeared into the form of a smiley face, “People put all this gum here waiting to go see an improv show, can you believe it?”

“Believe the gum or believe anyone would wait in a line to see improv comedy?” asked Pete, yawning.

Billy looked down all 50 feet of gum-covered brick and shuddered. He pointed back up at the stairwell to the street above, “The market’s just over there. We could buy some clothes to wear until we get our luggage back,” Billy suggested,

He turned to where Pete stood a minute ago but nobody was there. Billy looked down the alley and caught just the sight of Pete disappearing around the corner, onto the Pike Place Hillclimb down to the piers.

Pete pulled off the plastic rain poncho. It wasn’t even misting anymore. Didn’t need it. He dropped on the stairs without stopping. Actually, he didn’t need his hat either. Dropped. He had a better view of the sky here, walking down the terraced stairs.

The sky was half-lit and overcast, the air was clammy, and he was just walking outside unprotected like it was normal. He kept going down these stairs under an overpass, passing quaint shops full of old tourists just disembarked from an Alaskan cruise ship, stretching their sea legs for a stopover and buying casually-racist native-themed knick-knacks for their friends back home.

No sunblock. No hood. No face cover. No umbrella. No nothing. Don’t need my arms covered. (Jacket dropped, too.) He got a strange look from a retired couple in matching windbreakers he passed going the other way. Fuck ‘em. They don’t know how great this feels. He defiantly stripped off his fuzzy cardigan, balled it up and lobbed it behind him.

“Hey! Mmmphh!” shouted a stranger who just got served a faceful of thrifted angora.

“Sorry, man,” Pete whiffed casually, but he was already on the move down the steps.

I can just... walk around with no real destination in mind, just being freed to go wherever I feel like. It’s like being in an open-world video game but real life, Pete theorized. Like King’s Quest VI but you don’t actually do any rescue-the-princess missions but go out and feed the ducks instead, maybe get a coffee. NPC, solve your own problems, I’m gonna sit on a bench and chill.

He could just make out the edge of the waterfront another flight of stairs below him– a street, the pier, a cruise ship in the bay and the far shore of Bainbridge Island. He bet they’d look even better without his sunglasses. Yeah, he didn’t need these either. He pitched them over his shoulder

“Hey, those are prescription. You need those to see, idiot,” Billy shouted from 3 staircases behind/above him, hopping down two and three steps at a time to catch up. His arms already full of Pete’s cast off laundry, he strained to pick up his glasses with his foot.

“It’s not sunny, Billy,” Pete shouted back, smiling like he was three-glasses-in wine-drunk, “Why would I wear sunglasses when it’s not sunny?”

“Because you’re mostly blind from lack of pigment in your retinas, bonehead,” Billy dropped boring reality like a hammer, cranky at being forced to be Pete’s clothing mule for whatever this disrobing euphoria was.

“This city is the true homeland of the Albino Nation,” Pete declared.

Billy looked behind him at a clump of tourists congregating at a beaded necklace kiosk. “Those weren’t albinos, they’re just Norwegian,” Billy dismissed.

Pete’s pupils were pinholes as he unbuttoned his 1970s cabana shirt with the pink squiggles on it.

“No, like, I’m home. THIS was where I was always meant to be.”

“The Aquarium?” Billy pointed dumbly. The Hillclimb ended at Pier 59, the Seattle Aquarium.

“Not specifically.” Pete mumbled as shrugged off the vintage shirt and pitched it into the bay. Billy watched it fall. Down to one layer.

“I’m not going in after that,” Billy said flatly.

Pete ignored him and kept walking along the waterfront.

“Whatever this is a demonstration of is counterproductive to us not having our luggage. We don’t need to lose MORE clothes when we only have what we’re wearing,” Billy punctured.

“I’m free. I never want to leave here. I don’t need any cover,” Pete whipped off his t-shirt and waved it over his head, “YEAAAAAH!” A ferry in the bay tooted at him.

“Aw, c’mon,” Billy whined, “after I just said—”

Pete pitched the shirt into the bay and darted for a bench in front of the Ivar’s Seafood Bar. He stood on it and threw his arms wide to the sky. His putty-colored rubbery torso stark against the purpley-gray clouds above him.

“C’mon, White. Put your clothes on,” Billy tutted, “People are trying to eat and your nipples are putting them off.”

“SEATTLE WEATHER IS THE GREATEST!” Pete screamed to the ocean.

“People are staring,” Billy said, embarrassed. He suspected Pete was suffering from some kind of lack-of-sun-stroke; he couldn’t cope without being boxed in by oppressive sunlight.

Some dick in the crowd pitched a full cup of Ivar’s Famous Clam Chowder at Pete, splattering him from neck to navel. At least it was the cream-base chowder with bacon bits not the tomatoey one so it matched his aesthetic.

“I AM NOT DETERRED! STILL INTO SEATTLE!” Pete continued screaming while dripping.

The dozen-odd pier seagulls caught the scent and stopped picking french fries off discarded trays and rummaging in garbage cans.

"It’s kinda damp here," Billy noted, feeling the air.

"You’re just too used to the desert," Pete muttered out of the side of his mouth, nearly drowned out by the beating of wings and a chorus of shrieking.

The gulls started swarming around him, dive-bombing to nip clammy nubs clinging to his skin and pants.

"You made your point, whatever it was. Can we please go to the hotel now?" Billy begged, protecting remaining eye from gull-strike.

"NO!" Pete screamed into the ocean over the bird riot clawing at his chowder-speckled carcass.

As if on cue, the drizzle started, growing quickly to a full-on pissing rainstorm. The pier cleared. People ran for cover. The gulls dissipated.

Billy pulled the rain poncho out of the pile of Pete’s discards and draped it over himself.

Rainy clam chowder residue ran down his torso onto his jeans. Angry red beak gouges and bleeding scrapes peppered his pallid skin. His waterlogged stringy hair stuck to his face.

"Ok, fine. Let’s go to the hotel."

The hotel was mid-level at best but to Billy who had spent every night sleeping on a brick of disintegrating upholstery foam claiming to be a cabin-bed, the standard room was filled with inconceivable luxury.

As he bounced on one of two (two!) king sized beds in the room he screamed, “This is so sweeeeeet!”

“You know you don’t have to be 11 once I close the door, pally,” Pete said wearily, slipping a ‘a do not disturb’ door hanger over the knob.

He sniffed at the T-shirt he was wearing, hastily bought from a tourist shop on the pier. Day-glo salmon or orcas or something leaping in front of the Space Needle and mountains, already dotted with dark patches where he had bled through. He couldn’t tell if he could still actually smell clam chowder or it was just traumatic sense-memories.

Billy rolled side to side and then front to back over the mattress, calculating, “You literally could fit nine of me on this.”

“Great, I’ll collar whatever cloning lab guys are at the science conference and tell ‘em to lay off the sheep and get busy on those Quizboy nonuplets.” White deadpanned.

He sat on the edge of one of the beds, “I can’t get that excited about a bed unless it’s got a breakfast tray of Eggs Benedict or a passed-out teenage girl on top of it.”

Billy stopped bouncing on the mattress, and looked stern, “Ew, White. No!”

“I didn’t really mean it. I was just trying to get a rise out of you,” White waved off, “Poached eggs are nasty.”

“We have about an hour before the Conference Cocktail Reception,” White unpacked his carry-on of the essentials: blow dryer, hairspray, curling wand, surge-protector, “We should get cleaned up.”

“I call the shower first,” Billy yelped, running for the bathroom.

“Certainly, you get the first shower. Gotta get all that clam chowder some yutz throw on you washed off, right?” White called after him, “Oh wait, that happened to me, you selfish little pick.”

“Oh my god, feel these towels, White.” Billy’s eyes grew even wider, “This is luxuriously PLUSH. Like... the pelt of a mythical animal made of absorbency.”

“Shave your legs again. You’re showing,” Pete demanded, Billy scowled.

“I oughta get a shirt printed -- ‘My mother shot me up with $20,000 worth of hormone therapy and all I got out of it was extremely aggressive leg hair,’” Billy muttered.

“I’ll do your hair and make-up after. Throw me the suit, I can steam it while you’re in there.”

“Only if you promise me you won’t throw it in the bay.”

--

“I feel like one of those inbred dogs at the Westminster Kennel Club show,” Billy griped as White hovered around him with a blowdryer and curling wand.

“Toy breed or non-sporting?”

“This is humiliating.”

“Nah. It’s just like school picture day. Remember? Didn’t your ma brush your hair hard to get all the knots out, even though it hurt your scalp real bad, bad enough for you to cry and even a whole bottle of No More Tears didn’t make a difference? And she said she’d burn you with her cigarette again if you didn’t stop simpering like a little girl?”

Billy stared blankly for slightly too long. “… No?”

Pete shrugged and curled the edge of Billy’s bangs under. He was going for the complete mushroom cap effect. Sleek, symmetrical and very “I swear I’m genuinely an actual child” chic.

“I hated School Picture Day,” Billy remembered, “The photographer was always pissy because he had to reframe his shot when I showed up even after finding two phone books for me to sit on.

“But now you have those precious memories forevah.”

“I managed to get a picture of me flipping the bird into the group photo of the Varsity Quiz Bowl team,” Billy perked up, “They printed that in the yearbook!”

“Little victories matter the most,” Pete nodded.

--

“Remember, you’re eleven,” Pete muttered under his breath as a final director’s note as they entered the Conference Welcome Cocktail Reception.

Billy picked out their name badges from a tray near the entrance, handing one to Pete and attaching one to his lapel.

“I know!” Billy snarled, “I’m in character. Get off my back. Why aren’t you ‘in character?’ You’re supposed to be my loyal sidekick.”

Pete turned icy, “I’m not you freakin’ sidekick”

“Uh-huh.”

“I’m a ‘parent and/or guardian.’ That’s what the application said.”

“Check your con badge, numbnuts.”

Pete looked at the laminated card on his lapel for the first time:

MR. WHITE (Sidekick to Master Billy Quizboy, B.G.)

“You little shit.”

“I put the name you wanted, Harvey,” Billy burbled in a stomach-churning sweetie voice.

Pete hissed through gritted teeth, “If it wouldn’t put my back out I’d come down there and slice your friggin’ ear off.”

“But you can’t so you won’t,” Billy teased with a cruel smile, “Get your master a drink.”

Pete walked off and stood sourly in the bar line. “But you can’t shssccho you won’t. Meh!” he mimicked to himself, making sure his Billy impression was extra slushy and dumb-sounding.

“Oh, hello,” said an elderly scientist standing next to him in line. Great, now he had to make small talk, too. The duffer leaned in to read White’s badge.

“With what do you assist Master Billy?” an elderly scientist asked, benignly.

“Oh, whatever he demands. I owe my existence to him," Pete rattled off in a high nasal whine, letting his pupils drift in opposite directions, "If I displease him he shows me the others he made. He keeps them stacked like cordwood in the walk-in freezer, waiting for activation to remind me I can be replaced. He took away our pigment so we can not escape into the ‘brightworld’ to mix with the real humans.”

The elderly scientist looked confused.

“I would kill for Master Billy,” White said blankly, his colorless eyes staring into infinity.

The scientist wandered off, waiting for a drink didn’t seem worth it.

Billy found Pete in the crowd, holding two drinks, “What the fuck are you telling the other people about me? I just got the stink eye from the world’s foremost expert on microbial biodegradation”

“Just how I dress you and change your bedsheets whenever you have ‘a rough night’ and ‘piss the bed,’” Pete air-quoted unnecessarily.

“Jesus, White! What the hell's wrong with you?”

“Ooh, canapes,” Pete made a bee-line for the cater-waiter.

Sticking close to the hotel bar, the two looked over the half-full welcome reception. Billy nursed a rocks glass full of apple juice as Pete gave him the breakdown of the room

“The scrum of buzz-cuts and clip-on ties in the corner-- Aerospace. Probably locals. That table of the Eddie Deezens – software executives. Reassuring success hasn’t changed them since they look the same as when they recruited at my college ten years ago. Except now they all have Rolexes.”

White pointed around the room “Academic. Academic. Government. Private Sector. Don’t Know. Private Sector. Military.”

Billy followed his finger “Everyone here is, like, super old.”

“Welcome to Super Science,” White said through a mouthful of bacon-wrapped dates, his eyes never leaving the cater-station by the kitchen door, “Ooh, stuffed mushrooms are coming.”

Billy climbed on a banquet chair to get a better view, “There’s probably more green people than black people in this room.”

“Not a lot of girls either,” White glumly observed, spraying canape crumbs out of his mouth.“Weird that no other ‘boy geniuses’ took up the half-price deal, huh? ”

Billy shook his head, “There are five other Boy Geniuses registered for the Conference. Two are flying in from Asia and haven’t arrived yet. One is missing the first day of the conference to compete in a robotics tournament that overlaps. One is an extreme fundamentalist and refused to enter a facility where alcohol is being imbibed— that’s his mother saying that, not him. He’s up in his hotel room. Can’t speak for the last one. Total mystery.”

“Fun bunch,” White muttered sarcastically, “Aren’t there any Girl Geniuses? We could breed more of you.”

“Geniusing is a Boy’s Club. Maybe in a couple decades they can get out of the Girl Detectives ghetto but the infrastructure seems just as sexist as when I was coming up the ranks.”

Billy sipped his drink and looked across the room, “That old creep in the wheelchair keeps staring at me.”

“I wouldn’t worry about it. He probably just wants to fuck you.”

“WHAT!?”

“It’s a room full of old weird scientists,” White shrugged, popping another mini-taco in his mouth, “Swing a cat, hit a pedophile,”

“Master Quizboy? A pleasure to meet you,” a suave gentleman extended a hand, startling Billy who now was imagining kid-touchers with tenure slinking around every corner.

“Dr. Alonzo Superwash, chair of the Conference Board. This is my graduate associate, Ms. Krutzburg, who will be assisting me for the conference.”

An unsmiling dark-haired young woman nodded in acknowledgment.

“Um, hello. May I introduce my associate, Mr. White,” mirrored Billy, not wanting to open the “sidekick” can of worms in front of strangers. Pete was tunnel-focused onto the cater-waiters. Billy nudged him to bring him back.

“Oh. Right. How are ya?” Pete inelegantly got in on the hand-shaking. He finally clocked there was a woman in their midst and his eyes lit up.

“Master Quizboy, could I trouble you for a minute of your time?” Dr. Alonzo gestured into the crowd, indicating he wanted to break away from the scrum.

Billy hopped off the chair, internally cursing his luck that he wasn’t going to witness the epic foot-in-mouth embarrassment sure to follow when leaving White alone with the doctor’s young female assistant to deploy his charm offensive.

Billy knew he should feel guilty about the glee he felt watching Pete fail with women but made him feel better about never making an effort himself. Billy had literally never spoken to a woman who wasn’t his mother, a quizbowl judge, child prodigy pageant administrator or working in the service industry while he interacted with them. He was too self-conscious of his limitations to even try.

Pete White was a fascinating case study -- with his mouth shut, he was tall, cool and handsome (after the initial color shock wore off) but within thirty seconds of Pete talking, most people-- regardless of gender-- developed an instinctive revulsion. The harder he tried to be charming the faster the dislike took hold. Billy witnessed total strangers take a swing at White, or denounce him for crimes he had nothing to do with. He was the universal recipient of “How Dare You, Sir” speeches, whether they were applicable or not.

The Germans had a word for someone with a punchable face (“Backpfeifengesicht”), but Pete White was the only man alive with a punchable personality. And his accent certainly didn’t help.

Billy made a note to study the phenomenon. Was it micro-expressions triggering a universal, inborn behavioral reaction? Maybe it was chemical, like a kind of reverse pheromone? Could they synthetically recreate and bottle it? Were there industrial applications?

Dr. Superwash had walked them just a dozen feet into the crowd, talking the whole time, which Billy only caught half of, so lost in his analysis of his best friend’s repulsiveness. Billy could still see the back of White’s head and the grad student’s face from where they were standing. He could tell just from White’s hand gestures he was name-dropping celebrities as the polite attention strained, wavered, and then fully drained from Ms. Krutzburg. She was transitioning to the ‘outright hostility’ phase right on schedule.

“Going going gone,” Billy sighed, before realizing Dr. Superwash was still talking.

“—our residency program in Geneva. Would you say?” Dr. Superwash paused for response.

“Sorry. I missed part of what you were saying. It’s noisy down at floor-level.”

Superwash chuckled benignly, and leaned in, “Of course. I should have considered that.”

“I was inviting you, Master Quizboy, to join our international pilot program for the up and coming generation of Super Scientists. I believe I’m not overstating it to predict we’re on the cusp of some big discoveries in fields as varied as subatomic particles to human genetics.

“That’s what I’m planning on getting into after I finish medical school,” Billy jumped in, neglecting to mention he was attending the esteemed University of the Breakfast Nook, daily lectures by Professor Library Card, “I mean, genetic research and neurology. Both, y’know, for personal reasons.”

“The Human Genome Project has only just begun but it’s doing wonderful things. And I’m sure you could take some time off from your studies to get some hands-on experience.”

“That program sounds incredible. I don’t know what to say.”

“Our foundation has partnerships with several campuses doing research in Germany, Japan and here in the States: locally at the University of Washington, a few sites in Texas and of course, at MIT.”

Billy stifled a squeal of delight. He could actually go to MIT! Better late than never.

“It can’t have escaped your notice that the entire field is at a crossroads. Super Science is ‘graying’ and losing focus in a post-Cold War environment. We need to support and highlight promising young talent.”

“Young, right.” Billy repeated. He forgot this was a scam. He was a liar. He was at the conference under false pretenses and these were not real offers he could actually accept. He turned away to not have to look Dr. Superwash in the eye, only to catch the glance of that old creep in the wheelchair across the room, staring at him intensely.

“We’re having a panel tomorrow on youth outreach, I’d encourage you to attend.”

“Dr. Superwash, do you know who that man is?” Billy asked, pointing at the wheelchair across the room..

“Considering your background I would have assumed you had met Prof. Putnam already.”

Billy’s good eye nearly popped out of his skull. Shit.

“I would be more than happy to introduce you, if you like.”

“No. Please don’t. I mean, don’t trouble yourself. That’s ok. I have to go. I’ll consider the offer but, yeah, I have to leave quite suddenly right... now,” Billy stumbled backwards before he bolted.

Shit shit shit shit shit shit.

–

“Of course, no one had checked the server connection so I said…”

Billy clipped alongside Pete in his best this-isn’t-running-just-walking-casually-as-quickly-as-possible scramble and stage-whispered, “We gotta go. We gotta go. We gotta get out of here. Like, now.”

“Where’s the fire?” White jovially, throwing in a fake laugh. He threw an arm around Ms. Krutzburg's shoulder who visibly shuddered with revulsion at the liberty taken, “We’re all just getting acquainted.”

Billy pointed accusingly at Ms. Krutzburg and bellowed, “You’re off the hook. Scram!”

She let out a sigh of relief, shrugged White's arm off of her and disappeared back into the crowd.

“D’aw, Billy!” White groaned, “I was really getting somewhere with her.”

“Halfway to another black eye,” Billy leapt onto a chair to get into his face, “I’m serious, White. We gotta GET OUT.” Billy was foaming with panic as he jerked his metal thumb behind him.

White looked back where Billy came from and saw the palsy-faced wheelchair geezer inching their direction, dragging an oxygen tank and a net of breathing tubes. Pete didn’t wait for the whole story – there’s no way this ends well – he just bounced. Skidding in the entryway, Pete whipped his centrifugal momentum into a slide through the door with Billy hot on his heels.

They ran but the old man in the wheelchair followed. Slowly. Steadily. With seething hatred pouring out of every inch of his desiccated 90-year-old face.

“We need distance. We need higher ground. We need camouflage,” Billy strategized.

Just jogging the distance between the hotel bar and the front door had totally spent White, left bent over and wheezing asthmatically on the sidewalk 10 feet behind him, “What are we running from?” he shouted.

“Long story, just don’t let him catch up,” Billy shouted back without breaking pace.

“Why am I running away? He doesn’t even know me.”

“Because if Prof. Peebo Putnam catches me, he’s going to murder me with his bare hands and you don’t know how to work the coffeemaker back home.”

Whatever advantage youth gave them was undercut by Quizboy’s piddling stride length and White’s near-religious devotion to the art of laziness and, of course, the old man having wheels and a battery-powered motor.

All of downtown Seattle was built on an incline. It's practically as hilly as San Francisco but they didn’t make a whole “thing” out of it. The slope probably was worse for the wheelchair but it wasn’t doing Pete any favors.Despite having a head start and years of practice of running away from threats, Pete was barely keeping up with Billy’s hustle.

“Go for the Tsutakawa!” Billy yelped.

“The what?”

“That Jetsons-looking sculpture fountain thing” Billy pointed at a mid century modern piece of public art in front of the Central Library.

Billy leapt into the fountain’s pool and clambered up the base, grabbing for the central stalk to pull himself up higher into the bronze sculpture like monkey bars.

“Aw, I’m gonna get wet again!”

“Do I have to cover you in clam chowder to motivate you?” Billy’s head popped out of a hole in the side of a blobby modernistic bronze form punctured with oval openings to whisper-shout, “ MOVE!”

Pete stepped reluctantly into the pool and onto the first level of the fountain. He grabbed Billy’s extended hand. Billy pulled and Pete kicked off, climbing higher into the sculpture – off the fork-tines of the lower crown shape into the open-sided egg spheroid and out over the lilypad platform on top.

“George Tsutakawa's fusion of Asian, Native American, and Abstract Expressionist forms is deeply evocative of the Pacific Northwest,” Billy tensely whispered as the whine of Putnam’s electric motor grew closer and louder before zooming past the fountain entirely. He had overshot by five blocks at least when Pete lost his balance and fell backward into the reflecting pool with a splash.

Putnam’s chair spun around, searching for the cause of the noise but saw nothing. He started rolling away slowly.

Pete couldn’t hold his breath underwater any longer and exploded from under the water’s surface in a white arc. Peebo’s wheelchair whipped around again to face him but only saw a drenched albino he didn't know gasping for air, sitting up to his elbows in a pool.

Peebo’s chair rotated away from the fountain again, Billy took the window of opportunity to slide off the lip of the fountain and into the pool. Finding his feet, he shook off as much water as he could and then darted up a side street.

“Jesus, Billy, don’t leave me, “ White whined.

Being over 90 hadn’t dampened Putnam’s hearing and he revolved again back to see the wet albino stagger up a side street, presumably also in pursuit of Billy Quizboy (née Whalen). Facing a sleep incline, Peebo shifted gears on the electric wheelchair and started to climb.

Pete padded up behind Billy at a wavering pace, alternately surging and falling behind. Pete wasn’t much of a “running” guy. Or a “physical activity” guy, if he was truly honest.

“Billy!” he shouted, breathing ragged and hard.

“What?” Billy shouted back

“You know I respect you as (pant) a full human being and would never (wheeze) consider you “less-than” based on your (gasp) size or disabilities?”

“I never assumed you would,” Billy shouted, confused, “Why bring that up now?”

“I wanted to establish that ON RECORD,” Pete wheezed and panted harder, “In advance of what I am about to do.”

He took a bracing breath. He scooped up Billy by the knees, threw him over his shoulder like a bag of laundry and leapt on top of a dumpster.

“What the fuck?” Billy screamed, dangling upside down over White’s shoulder, “Don’t drop me! Don’t drop me!

“I’m being heroic over here and your screaming is really putting me off, fella.”

Pete looked at the nearest building – a 19th century wreck, probably abandoned and condemned. A distant sound of a jackhammer echoed from within. He shimmied up a sturdy drain pipe for a few feet before he could just reach the bottom-most rung of an ancient rust-pitted fire ladder. He gripped the ladder and used the last of his panic-strength to heave both of them onto the fire escape. From there they rolled into the building through a half-open window.

They could hear the grinding gears of the motorized wheelchair from their point of departure below before it was drowned out by a repetitive pounding and feedback whine from above them. Pete collapsed to the floor, dropping Billy on his head.

The pounding was even louder now. “We go up through the interior stairs, out onto the roof. Jump to the next building over, go down those stairs and come out…” Pete mapped out their next steps, still collapsed on the floor with eyes closed. Pound pound pound.

Billy shook White's shoulder. White sat up. Billy pointed. A pause in the pounding.

A group of stoned-looking, long-haired dudes in flannel with guitars were staring back at them. The building wasn’t condemned. It was a rehearsal.

“Sorry,” Billy murmured apologetically, “We were just in the neighborhood.”

“Don’t mind us. Just passing through,” White staggered to his feet, “Don’t want to impose on your hospitality.”

They hustled out the door as quickly as they could. The band looked at each other and just shrugged.

The drummer counted them in to start the song over but White leaned his head back in the door,“The bassist’s E is flat. Give that peg a little twist there, pally.”

Billy grabbed him and yanked him back out into the hall.

It was getting late and Prof. Peebo Putnam had probably rolled back to the hotel to wait for them. They still had a room and they were still attending the conference, but going back to the hotel was a risk. They walked a dozen blocks south, just to be sure they were out of Putnam’s orbit. Billy had a destination in mind and consulting his hand drawn-on-graph-paper map, he led Pete to an unmarked door in an industrial district.

“Are you sure we should be here? Doesn’t look too ‘tourist friendly,” Pete asked over the sound of his shoes crunching on broken glass. Broken car windows or spent syringes were equally likely.

“Sorry grandma. I don’t go to a new city just to see if the Olive Garden here has the salad bar in the same place as the one back home,” Billy mocked, throwing his whole body weight into attempting to wrench the steel fire door open.

Pete resigned himself and opened the door for him.

“I got this tip off ALT.CITY.SEATTLE.REAL_SEATTLE. It’s not some Disneyfied rip-off for boring suburbanites. This is the genuine authentic stuff,” Billy declared snobbishly, as if Americanized chop suey was the greatest problem facing them today, not homicidal-minded old geezers with wheels.

A dark, windowless room. It smelled vaguely like formaldehyde. There was a pile of shrink-wrapped counterfeit (maybe?) designer purses stacked in the corner of the room for some reason. A huge aquarium in the back of the room seemed to be filled with more slime than fish but was wired some kind of color-shifting neon that cast green, blue then purple light around the room.

The two approached a sour-faced eight-year-old-girl sitting at a cash register. She looked up briefly from her math homework and then nodded in the vague direction of a table. “Ba! Người da trắng!” she shouted.

Billy and Pete grabbed a plastic covered table decorated with a jar full of chopsticks, an ashtray and a bottle of murky sauce with no label.

“Anh ơi!” Billy shouted aimlessly towards the back of the restaurant.

A man in a shiny silk shirt rose from the only other occupied table. He and the other men appeared to playing some kind of card game that also involved mahjong tiles and huge wads of cash thrown on the table. The others looked over to glare at Billy for interrupting them. The card-player, now acting as waiter, approached the table-- a tough wearing sunglasses despite the darkness of the room with recently inflicted knife-scars on his cheek-- and made a face that dared them to ask for anything.

“Great, now we’re going to be murdered by a Triad gangster” Pete panic-whispered, “We shoulda just gone back to Ivar’s Acres of Clams!”

Billy shushed him.

“Anh ơi, cho con hai chai bia một tô phở” Billy said rapidly before turning to Pete, “How hungry are you?”

“I could eat,” he shrugged, his panic dissipated by confusion.

“Một tô bún thịt nướng.” Billy said, pointing at Pete.

“Phát âm của bạn thật tệ,” the waiter grunted, looking slightly amused as he wandered off in no real hurry.

“You speak Vietnamese?” Pete asked, baffled.

“Not really. I picked up a couple phrases. Enough to get by,” Billy shrugged, “You know like ‘Good morning,’ ‘How are you,’ ‘My father is the British ambassador and will not pay the ransom if I am bodily harmed.’ “

“‘I did not conspire with the Cần Lao Party to rig the 1955 referendum for Ngô Dinh Diêm.’”

“Sure, phrases like that. Basic stuff.”

“Cậu bé xấu xí điếm và ma cô của anh ta muốn một ít bia!” Billy heard the waiter yell at the kitchen staff.

He didn't bother to translate that one for Pete as he pulled a cigarette from his pocket, still soggy from the dip in the fountain but smokable. Billy pulled the ashtray towards him.

“I can’t believe you’re smoking,” Pete shook his head.

“I’m under a lot of stress,” Billy defended himself, “I think you’d understand that after today. Actually, I can’t believe you’re NOT smoking.”

“You’re studying to be a doctor. You gotta know better.”

“All doctors smoke and the ones that don’t are alcoholics,” Billy stated flatly.

“Smoking is so dumb.”

“I’d take that more seriously from a man who didn’t spend a decade shoveling 70% of the output of Columbia up his nose.”

“What do you want me to say? It was the ‘80s. I worked in TV and I was a radio DJ in LA before that. I was paid in cocaine. It was just part of the culture,” White waved him off and threw to profile, “It would be an insult to GOD not to use this for blow. This is a gorgeous coke nose. I was made for snorting rails.”

Billy rolled his good eye.

“God, I wish we had some cocaine right now. You’d really love it. It’s so… great,” Pete got misty, “Ask your scary gangster friend if he has any hookups for blow. What’s Vietnamese for an eight ball? I’ll ask myself.”

Billy folded his arms. Pete got defensive.

“I have been stone-cold sober since the day you moved into the trailer,” White protested, counting on his fingers, “No blow. No smokes. No hash. No go-pills. No dust. No rock. No H. No booze.”

Billy raised an eyebrow as the waiter dropped a couple of sweating bottles of Tsingtao on the table

White reneged and grabbed one, “Within the rage of standard deviation it rounds down to ZERO.”

“The only time I got to leave my desk at work was for ‘smoke breaks’ so I just picked it up.” Billy explained, stubbing out his cigarette and slamming the bottle on the edge of the table to pop the bottle cap, “To be sociable.”

“You’re not twenty-one yet. You shouldn’t be drinking that,” Pete noted. Billy really wasn’t 21 but at this point what age he was or wasn’t seemed just academic. And confusing.

“I know, I know. I’m eleven,” Billy said hoarsely. He had sweated off all the make-up in the chase. His worry-lines, eye-circles, stubble and acne re-emerged, making him the most haggard-faced 5th grader who ever lived, “But I’m also smoking, swearing and talking about scoring you an eight of a phiện trăng, so a beer with dinner is a drop in the bucket.”

The waiter breezed by and indifferently dropped a bowl of phở and a grilled pork chop over rice noodles on the table with a clank.

“At what point do you want to tell me why some old fart on a hoveround chased you 20 blocks with murderous intent?”

Billy grimaced as he slurped a seemingly endless mass of noodles out of the broth.

“Holy shit, this is really fucking good,” Billy lit up-- the happiest he’d been all day, “Nice one, USENET.”

“You’re stalling.”

“No, try it. This is fucking incredible.”

“I will, but I still want an answer,” Pete warned, scooping up some of Billy’s phở.

Billy sighed, “I’ve told you before I was kind of a shit when I was a kid.”

“Yeah, I know. I was there, remember?”

“No, before that. When I was a kid kid. When I really was a boy genius, not whatever this is,” Billy waved his chopsticks over his soggy conference disguise.

“And I absolutely was not a shit when you met me, by the way,” Billy added defensively. White just shrugged.

“The old man in the wheelchair was my agent. Or maybe was he a manager? He was the guy my mother had hired to make me famous.”

White didn’t like the acid Billy spiked the word ‘mother’ with. White had never met Billy’s mother. She wasn’t chaperoning him at any taping of Quizboys, which seemed odd but he wasn’t paid to care about that and he had better things to snort at the time.

“That guy Putnam stuck to us for years,” Billy fumed, “I blamed him for making me do all the stupid contests and publicity stunts. I thought if he went away... if it went back to just my mom and me our lives could be normal again.”

Billy sucked down another tangle of noodles and swallowed hard. It was hard to “eat angry.”

“He absolutely was banging my mom, too,” Billy seethed, “So I got rid of him.”

“You got rid of him?” Pete tilted his head, his mouth stuffed with rice vermicelli.

“I blew up his car,” Billy said.

Pete choked, “You blew up his car?!”

“And I burned down his house,” Billy scratched his head, straining to remember the details, “One of his houses. I flooded his other one with raw sewage.”

Pete looked perversely proud of his junior partner, “You did all that?”

“I was trying to kill him,” Billy said icily, “I didn’t, obviously.”

“No kid likes mom’s new boyfriend but that’s… intense.”

“After that he just left without saying goodbye,” Billy said, staring into his phở, “Mom was pretty upset but I assumed she’d get over it.”

“People tryin’ to murder us is, like, almost routine now,” White considered, “But, y’know, this is the first time I think the guy actually has a real justification.”

Billy sighed, “But Putnam wasn’t the real problem. With him gone I found out Mom was calling the shots the whole time. It just got worse. I finally figured out what she was doing. Doing to me, I mean.”

Pete looked worried and asked cautiously, “What was she doing?”

Billy looked up, “Are you sure you want to hear this? It gets pretty fucked up.”

AO3 | Prologue | Ch 1 | Ch 2 | Ch 3 | Ch 4 | Ch 5 | Ch 6 ← You Are Here | Ch 7

Author Notes

Uploaded this chapter to A03 for easier reading

The Tsutakawa fountain in front of the Central Library is way too small to for two people be able to hide in it. In reality, it's like the size of a large birdbath.

I like the idea Billy learns dozens of languages, enthusiastically tries them out and speaks all of them near-unintelligibly. (I have him speaking slushy Spanish in another story.)

Seattle today has as many pho shops as coffee bars. My historical consultant said, unlike other cities with big Vietnamese communities, Seattle had no Vietnamese restaurants in the '90s. (The details of wandering into a restaurant that's clearly not meant for you {with self-appointed Anthony-Bourdain-Jr. foodie dudes insisting on going into them} is based more on New York Chinatown experiences.)

[onechicago-upsteadrhekker]

the trouble with wanting (is i want you) - upstead two-shot

Hey guys! Back with something I started back in April when the season was cut short and Hailey was last seen in NYC. I just now got around to finishing it (finally!) and it has turned into two parts so be on the lookout for chapter two in the near future!

It’s no ‘Heartbeat on the Highline’ by @fromiftowhen (which you should read if you haven’t), but it’s a juicy little New York scenario that I have had a lot of fun with! 

I also have to give a huge huge shoutout to @mashleighh​ for always being there to scream over upstead and fanfiction! Thanks for all the help and being a great listener, friend!

I hope you enjoy and let me know what you think!

Read on AO3

Five weeks. That’s how long Hailey has been gone.

It’s been five weeks since she’d shown up at his door at midnight to stiffly tell him she was going to New York to help out the FBI for a couple of weeks.

It was only for a couple of weeks. That’s what she’d told him.

He would be lying if he said that when Hailey told him she was leaving that his heart didn’t stop in his chest. And that when two weeks turned into three then four and then five, he didn’t feel like he’d been punched in the stomach? Well, he’d be lying then too.

Because the truth is, he feels like he’s been holding his breath ever since she’d stepped out of his house that night.

And despite her assurances that she’d be back as soon as the FBI would let her, he still couldn’t shake the nagging thoughts of maybe she would like it better in New York. That she did, in fact, like how the feds did things. That she did like the extra pay and the nice suits after all.

But when she’d called him a few nights ago and told him she was absolutely sure that she was on her last case with the FBI and would be home as soon as she was finished, he couldn’t seem to wipe the permanent grin off his face and the feeling of utter relief.

He isn’t going acknowledge how much longer the past few days have seemed; even longer than they did before, or the little voice in the back of his mind telling him that she still had time to decide to stay in New York because he knew she was good police—the best, and he knew Platt was right.

The feds did have a way of holding onto good people.

He doesn’t know what he would do if he lost Hailey to New York.

In the few weeks that Hailey’s been gone, he has come to realize exactly how much he relies on her, how much he craves for her presence and not only at work, when he’s off duty too. It took her being gone for him to understand how much she filled his every day.

His heart aches when he walks into the bullpen to see her chair empty, pushed under her desk with no coat hanging from the back. He feels strange only ordering one coffee instead of two and he doesn’t like how lonely it is in his truck without her in the passenger seat.

When he’s doing his paperwork, he looks up and expects to find blue eyes that aren’t there, and he feels cold sitting on her desk without her comforting presence beside him.

And he doesn’t much like the way Rojas keeps looking at him with knowing eyes ever since Hailey left and the officer filled her spot as his temporary partner. She’s quick on her feet and she provides him with sufficient backup, but it just isn’t the same. It isn’t Hailey.

He feels like a piece of him is missing. The piece that knows what he’s thinking without words. The piece that understands him with a single look. The solid feel of her right there next to him, watching his back literally and figuratively.

A few times he’d found himself driving towards her house to see if she wanted a drink or to watch some TV only to remember she wasn’t there.

She’s in New York. With the FBI.

And God, did he miss her.

*

When Jay woke that morning, something just hadn’t felt right. Things just felt off. It was the same feeling he’d gotten hundreds of times before; in Afghanistan, in Chicago, before shootouts and raids that didn’t go exactly according to plan.

He had that feeling that something bad had happened or was about to and he just couldn’t seem to shake it even though everything seemed normal.

But his skin still felt prickly and the hairs were still standing up on the back of neck and he still heard that little voice in the back of his head whispering that something wasn’t quite right.

He pushed it to the back of his mind as he went through his morning routine of running, working out and showering, hoping that it would go away before he got to work.

When he got to the district, nothing seemed amiss. Trudy was there to greet him with her usual no-nonsense attitude and a stack of paperwork, and his friends called out cheery ‘good morning’s’ as he walked into the bullpen. Adam had just gotten there too, slapping Jay on the back as a way to say ‘hello’ before they each joined the others at their respective desks to fill out paperwork from the case they’d finished the day before and Voight was holed away in his office as usual.

The only thing that was out of place was the empty chair across from him, missing the bright smile and sparkling blue eyes.

Sighing, Jay pulled out his chair, dropping the stack of paperwork on his desk as he sat down, reaching for one of Hailey’s pens because his were always missing. He was about half a page through his report when that bad feeling flared up again, Voight coming out of his office with a hint of worry on his face.

He wouldn’t have been able to tell that something was off if he didn’t know Voight so well or if he hadn’t been hyper-aware of everything this morning. That and the fact Voight stood at the head of the room, silently waiting till everyone’s attention was on him with his hands in his pockets and that look on his face. The one that said something was wrong.

Everyone pretty much immediately picked up on the change of atmosphere; the once comfortable silence turning into a tense one with alarmed looks quickly being shared.

Jay was about to say something when Kim beat him to it, “What’s wrong, sarge?”

“I just got a call from New York.”

Jay’s stomach dropped and his heart felt like it was going to beat out of his chest. He couldn’t breathe.

No. This couldn’t be happening.

Voight glanced at him before addressing Intelligence as a whole, “It’s Hailey. She got hurt last night during an undercover assignment. She’s in the hospital.”

Blood was rushing through his ears and Jay felt like he was about to pass out.

Hailey was hurt. She was in the hospital. And he wasn’t there.

When Jay remembered to breathe, he felt like he was on the verge of hyperventilating.

He’d known something like this was going to happen. It was his job to protect her and he wasn’t there. He never should have let her go without him because if he had been there, he would’ve never let her get hurt.

She was his partner.

He clenched his fists, anger filling him alongside the worry and panic. Anger at whoever the hell was supposed to be looking out for her because they obviously hadn’t done a very good job.

How could anyone be so careless with her safety?

In the back of his mind, Jay knew that it probably wasn’t anyone’s fault. He knew better than most that getting injured on the job was just par the course, but he still couldn’t help the icy fear that gripped him and the need to blame someone and the feeling that she wouldn’t be hurt if he had been there.

Because if anything ever happened to her… He would never forgive himself.

“Hurt? What does that mean?” It was Vanessa’s slightly distressed voice speaking up that broke him out of the trance he’d been in.

Jay’s eyes quickly snapped to Voight’s face. His boss shook his head in uncharacteristic concern, “I don’t know. I didn’t get the details. Whoever called didn’t know, just that she was in the hospital, but I’ve got calls in with the Special Agent in Charge of the field team Hailey’s with. I’ll find out.”

He met all their worried gazes, “But in the meantime,” Voight turned to Jay, pausing, “I want you on the next plane out of here going to New York.”

He didn’t have to tell him twice. Jay was already standing up and grabbing his coat, fully intending to go straight to the airport when Voight caught his gaze again, a slightly strange expression on his face.

A protective look that Jay didn’t entirely understand passed between them.

“Go get our girl. Bring her home.”

*

“Jay?” Vanessa hesitantly poked her head around the corner of the row of lockers.

He looked up from where he was shoveling random clothes he happened to have in his locker into a duffel bag. He had no intentions of going back to his apartment because Platt was working on getting him on the next flight into JFK and he didn’t want to risk missing the plane.

“She’s gonna be okay. You know that, right?” Vanessa’s voice was small and vulnerable in a way that reminded Jay just how new she was to the life of being a cop. Especially a cop in Chicago; in Intelligence.

But this didn’t happen in Chicago. And it didn’t happen while she was working in Intelligence. Hailey got hurt in New York working with the FBI; Without them. Without him.

She was alone and that thought by itself was enough to make Jay panic because as tough as he knew Hailey was, he knew she didn’t like being vulnerable in front of others. Especially people she didn’t know.

“Yeah, of course. I know that.” It was more clipped than he’d wanted to sound. His voice was strained even to his own ears and he knew he wasn’t convincing either of them.

Because the truth was, they didn’t know if it was going to be okay. They had no idea exactly how injured she was. Who knew? Jay might be in New York for quite a while depending on her injuries.

Or very little time. Long enough for arrangements to be made.

Jay blinked, shaking that thought out of his head as quick as he could. He forced himself to control his breathing and he could feel Vanessa’s eyes on him. That same gaze she’d had ever since Hailey left.

He refrained from snapping at her because she knew he was just as worried as he was. Hailey was her friend, and he wagered the closest thing she had to a sister so he went about his business, shoving random things he might need into his bag.

“You love her, don’t you?” Her words stopped him in his tracks.

He worked his throat; his heart picking up speed. He looked at her, “Of course I love her. She’s my partner.”

An odd little grin sprung onto Vanessa’s face and if Jay hadn’t been so panicked about Hailey, he might have asked why she was looking at him like that. That, and the fact that Trudy just appeared in the doorway behind Rojas.

“You’re on the 10:15 flight out of O’Hare so you’d better get a move on,” Her face was set in her usual stoic mask, but Jay could detect just a hint of worry hiding behind the older woman’s eyes as she held out his printed plane ticket.

Jay reached for it before grabbing a few more things to shove in his duffel, zipping it up and throwing it over his shoulder. Platt and Vanessa moved out of the doorway so he could get by.

Platt grabbed his hand, catching his eyes in a steadfast gaze, “Jay.”

Jay swallowed hard at the rare emotions swimming in the older woman’s gaze, “Call us, okay.”

Giving a firm nod, Jay squeezed Trudy’s hand before quickly turning to practically sprint down the hallway, disappearing around the corner.

Vanessa and Trudy stood there for a few long seconds looking in the direction Jay had gone. There was a quiet sniff and Platt glanced over to the young officer standing beside her with tears in her eyes.

The Sargent placed an arm around the girl’s shoulders for a quick second, “Hailey’s strong. She’ll get through it, whatever it is. And she has Jay. She’ll be fine.”

*

The plane ride was torturous.

Gut-wrenching fear consumed him, his thoughts running through every scenario he could think of.

Had she been shot? Or was it another on-the-job related injury?

If she had been shot, then where?

Did she need surgery? Was she in surgery now?

Was she scared? Was she in pain? Was she lonely?

Did she need him? Did she want him?

Vanessa’s words took over his thoughts, echoing over and over in his head.

You love her, don’t you?

You love her…

You love her.

He loves her.

Of course, he loves her. All he cares about is her.

And somewhere along the line, he’s fallen in love with her. Somewhere between longing glances, tugging heartstrings and flying bullets.

He’s been in love with her for over a year now, but he hadn’t truly realized it until now.

Not until she’d left him. Not until she’d gotten hurt and he was eight hundred miles away. Not until Vanessa Rojas looked him straight into the eyes and voiced an irrevocable truth he had been scared of.

And now, he might be too late.

What if she dies? What if she’d already died?

He muffled a sob and his leg bounced even harder much to the consternation of the lady beside him, but he didn’t care. He didn’t even notice the strange look that she sent his way.

Because all he cared about was Hailey, and the very real possibility that he could lose her before he even had a chance to have her consumed his thoughts.

How could he have been so stupid? Why had he let his fears get in the way of him telling her how he felt when it was clear that she reciprocated the feelings at least to a point.

He’d noticed the way she had become clingier after he’d gotten shot. And when he’d gotten better, how brightly she beamed at him.

He hadn’t wanted to read too much into it or get his hopes up, but those fears seemed silly now when death was on the line.

When life was so fragile, especially in their line of work.

His heart pounded in his chest and he literally felt sick with worry as he hung his head, clenched his sweaty fists and prayed as hard as he could.

Please let her be okay.

I love her.

I need her.

I can’t live without her.

*

As soon as the plane touched down, Jay was practically jumping out of his seat and squeezing by the person sitting next to him before grabbing his duffle that he’d shoved in the overhead storage. He used his badge to bypass the deboarding procedure, practically running down the gangway as soon as it was connected to the plane.

Voight had texted him the name of the hospital Hailey was at right before he’d boarded, but that was the only thing he had managed to find out so far.

And that was what was so agonizing. The not knowing.

Part of him wanted to know exactly what he was walking into, but the other part of him was scared to find out because then he wouldn’t be able to pretend it wasn’t that bad if he found out otherwise.

But then his brain would manifest all of these terrifying scenarios and images and he thinks nothing could be worse than what he was imagining.

It was a never-ending cycle of panic that wouldn’t end until he knew Hailey’s condition. And even then, it might not be ending for a while.

Jay pushed a few bills at the taxi driver, sliding out of the backseat with an urgency that could rival most New Yorkers. Shouldering his duffle, he forced himself to walk calmly into the hospital and up to the front desk.

“What room is Hailey Upton in?” He didn’t mean to sound so abrupt, but he couldn’t waste a single second. Not when he was so close to seeing her.

The lady at the desk didn’t seem to be bothered by it though, probably used to worried family members demanding to know where their loved ones were.

In fact, she smiled at him kindly if not a little sympathetically and he briefly wondered if he looked as harried as he felt.

“Let me see here,” She trailed off, her fingers clacking at the keyboard as she focused her attention on the screen in front of her.

Jay refrained from tapping his fingers on the desk even though he desperately wanted too, his fingers twitching for something to do.

A rifle in his hands or Hailey by his side; the two things that calmed him down the most effectively.

“She’s in room 308,” The words were barely out of her mouth before Jay tossed a breathy ‘thank you’ over his shoulder, following the signs pointing him in the direction of the stairs. He slammed into the push-door, bounding up the stairs three at a time.

The erratic beating of his heart had nothing to do with exerting himself, but with the thought of what he might find when he got to room 308. He was running now, passing a couple of nurse’s stations till he found the hospital rooms. His eyes scanned the room numbers, finding 308 and his breath was knocked right out of his chest.

Because there she was. And it was the most beautiful sight in the world.

The curtain was pushed to the side so he could clearly see into her room. She was sitting up in the bed, her face was a little pale and her hair looked a little disheveled, but none of that mattered.

All that mattered was that she was alive. Awake. Talking. And it didn’t matter that she was in a hospital bed, hooked up to various machines. She was still the most gorgeous thing he’s ever seen.

There were a few people in standing in the room, talking to her and Jay assumed they were part of the FBI team she’d been working with, but the only person he had eyes for was Hailey.

After letting the initial relief course through his body at the sight of Hailey sitting up, Jay snapped out of it, taking long strides towards her room.

He was in the sliding glass door frame before anyone noticed him. Hailey turned her head and they locked gazes. Jay felt tears spring into his eyes at the sight of her sparkling blue irises. He dropped his duffle, taking a few short steps to be at her bedside, “God, Hailey,” Was the only thing he managed to whisper.

He desperately wanted to scoop her up in his embrace, or maybe even kiss her, but he didn’t know the extent of her injuries and the last thing he wanted to do was hurt her, so he settled for rubbing a hand over his eyes.

Hailey blinked hard, wondering if she’d maybe hit her head last night or if the anesthesia was possibly making her hallucinate, but when she opened her eyes again, her partner who she hadn’t seen in over a month was still standing beside her, his face drawn with worry and relief.

She opened her mouth to say something, but the words got stuck in her throat when Jay met her gaze again, tears clearly swimming in his green eyes, “What happened, Hailey? When we got the word, we called and texted, but we didn’t know anything other than you got hurt last night.”

Hailey was still trying to wrap her head around the fact that Jay was here, in the flesh and standing beside her, his familiar presence comforting. She didn’t know how many times she’d craved for his warm, solid form beside her over her time in New York and even more so since last night and he was here.

Tears started pooling in her own eyes and she didn’t know if it was the fact that she’d just had a brush with death or if she’d just missed him so much or if it was all the drugs pumping through her veins, but she reached out to grab his elbow and tugged him closer to her as hard as she could even though OA, Emily and Kristen were watching.

Jay was clearly not expecting it, his arm automatically reaching out to brace himself on the bed so he didn’t fall on top of her, but Hailey didn’t care. She threw her arms around him, clutching onto his well-worn, black jacket desperately.

She hated hospitals as much as he did. The only difference was that she wasn’t a pain about it (or at least she tried very hard not to be).

But more than that, it had been five weeks. And she had missed him.

While that hadn’t been too surprising given her growing feelings towards him, she wasn’t entirely prepared for the unexpected shift in their relationship. Being gone had almost drawn them closer in a way with sleepy facetime calls and frequent texts that walked the very thin line of partners to something more.

The closer she got to being sent home the more she had been anticipating a warm reunion and a long overdue talk with Jay. A talk that she could sense Jay wanted to have in the subtle ways he let her know how much her being gone from him meant.

Hailey supposed it was true. Distance really does make the heart grow fonder.

But then she’d gotten hurt and she’d seen the scary possibility that she may never get to tell him how she feels flash before her eyes. That they may never have more than what they had been cultivating over her five week-long absence.

And then she’d woken up in a strange hospital with strange doctors and nurses and the wrong person at her side.

She didn’t think she’d ever wanted Jay as much as she had in those hazy drugged up moments and it wasn’t a lusty want. It wasn’t that at all. She wanted—no, she needed his comforting, sure presence beside her. It was like she didn’t know how to function, how to breathe, how to live without him and she’d almost had a panic attack as her foggy mind registered what had happened.

Promptly, she’d been given something to help her calm down that had put her to sleep before she’d had the chance to demand to see her phone so she could call Jay. She just needed to hear his voice, that was all.

When she’d woken back up for the second time, she felt much more in control of her facilities. She didn’t freak out at being in a hospital—one that was just as unfamiliar as the FBI office she’d been sent to. She forced herself to stay calm when she opened her eyes to find a team that she’d only met five weeks ago. And she forced herself not to show how desperately she needed her partner who was 800 miles away.

So, she’d smiled wanly as she pushed herself to sit up on the bed; OA, Kristen and Emily rushing to help her as she tried to hide a wince at the pain searing her torso. She’d even made a few jokes, playing off the fact that she felt like she was drowning because she was injured in a strange city, confined to a strange hospital and away from the people she loved.

But before she had a chance to ask if anyone had contacted her team or ask for her phone so she could call Jay—at least so she could feel like he was close to her, she’d looked up and he was there.

She’d never seen anything more beautiful.

And then she was hugging him, and she couldn’t care less that she was clutching onto him for dear life in front of OA, Kristen and Emily.

It was a shorter hug then either one of them really wanted but Hailey could feel her stitches pulling and she was having to breathe shallowly in order to avoid too much pain, so she pulled back. Her eyes instantly met green, overflowing with a number of emotions that made her already shallow breathing speed up.

Jay seemed to realize that there were other people in the hospital room at about the same time Hailey remembered a few members of her NYC team were still there.

He glanced between their slightly confused expressions and her a few times before he finally broke the awkward silence that was starting to descend upon the group, “What happened?”

Hailey could tell by the way he glanced in the direction of Emily, Kristen and OA (or more specifically OA) that he wasn’t too sure about their involvement and why they had let her land in the hospital. She gave him a look that told him it wasn’t their fault and after a brief battle of the eyes, he accepted it, but she could still detect a suspicious glint in his gaze.

“Nothing, really,” Hailey tried to smile convincingly enough to make Jay’s concerned expression disappear but when it didn’t, she added, “I’m fine. I promise.”

He was still staring her down when OA cleared his throat and Jay turned to him, slowly grasping OA’s outstretched hand in a firm handshake.

OA glanced at her before raising his eyebrows and addressing Jay as he withdrew his hand, “Uh, yeah. I wouldn’t say that she’s fine. She got shot last night and she literally just got out of surgery like an hour ago.”

Hailey frowned, shooting her temporary partner a look before meeting her actual partner’s openly distressed expression, “But I’m fine,” She stressed.

Jay shook his head, running a hand over his face, “Hailey, you scared the crap out of me.”

Not that she’d ever admit it, but her heart skipped a couple of beats at hearing that.

Recovering quickly, she fired back, “Well, now you know how it feels.”

Jay’s eyebrow furrowed as he frowned, “That’s not funny.”

“Maybe you’ll remember that the next time you go and get yourself shot,” Hailey responded smartly with a raised eyebrow.

Their eyes locked again, silently communicating as if they were the only two people in the world.

A throat clearing drew them out of the trance they’d fallen into, Hailey glancing over to a sheepish looking OA while Kristen and Emily traded a raised eyebrow.

“I’m OA and this,” He gestured to the girls standing beside him, “is Kristen and Emily.”

Hailey supposed that was her cue to introduce Jay so before he could do it himself, Hailey looked at her FBI team, nodding to the man that flew all the way from Chicago to be there, “This is Jay. My partner.”

Wow. She let that thought sink in. He flew all the way from Chicago just to see her. She felt tears prick her eyes and she wanted to just chalk it up to being overly tired and doped up on pain killers, but she knew it was more than that.

Turning her head so no one would notice her slightly wet eyes, she heard OA give Jay a warm greeting and he responded mostly in kind if not a little icy. She blinked a few times, returning her gaze to the people in her slightly crowded hospital room.

After a brief conversation of friendly banter, Kristen made a show of looking at her phone, “Looks like we’re needed back at HQ.”

OA nodded before looking between Hailey and Jay then settling his gaze on Hailey, “You get some rest, okay? We’ll talk later.”

She gave him a nod as Emily and Kristen made their way out of the small room, OA behind them and then suddenly, it was just her and Jay.

The room seemed even smaller somehow and had it always been this warm?

Slowly, she slid her gaze to the man standing beside her bed, not surprised to find his green eyes already trained on her. Green met blue and, in that moment, it felt like everything was right in the world again.

Because that ache for home, the longing in their souls; it’s funny how they were eight-hundred miles from their houses and yet it felt like they were finally coming home. That they were where they belonged.

Once again, unexpected tears pricked Hailey’s eyes and it hit her that she could have never seen him ever again. She could have died, and she would have never seen him looking at her with something that looked a lot like love.

She opened her mouth to say something. What, she didn’t know; how much she missed him while she was here, how when she’d gotten shot all she wanted was him, maybe even an ‘I love you’, but before any of that could leave her mouth, an enthusiastic nurse bustled through the door.

“Hi there, dear! My name’s Jeanie and I’ll be your nurse for the next little while,” The older lady chirped to Hailey in greeting, totally oblivious that she’d just interrupted a charged moment between the two detectives.

“How’s the pain level?” She continued brightly, messing with the computer in the corner of the room before turning her attention towards Hailey and that’s when she noticed Jay.

A mega-watt smile broke out on Jeanie’s face, “You must be the husband!” She declared cheerfully.

Hailey’s eyes went wide, and she tried not to choak on her own spit, expecting to hear Jay quickly correcting her, but he didn’t say anything. Before she could splutter out an interjection of her own, Jeanie turned her attention back to her.

The nurse gave her a wink and in a not so quiet whisper, she said, “What a hunk! If I weren’t so old, I’d jump his bones! What fun you two must have!”

She felt her cheeks flush at that, and she didn’t have to look to know that Jay’s ears were probably turning pink.

Jeanie opened her mouth to continue and Hailey wished that Jay would open his mouth to refute the claim he was her husband before the nurse had the chance to keep talking, but she wasn’t that lucky.

Giving her an impressed look, Jeanie nodded conspiratorially the grin still plastered on her face, “Well done for landing such a hottie.”

Hailey was starting to hope that a hole would open up and swallow her whole when there was a knock on the doorframe. Hailey’s head snapped towards the sound and was relieved to see a doctor entering the room, a tablet in hand.

“Detective Upton,” The man in surgical scrubs greeted her warmly. He noticed Jay and extended an arm to shake his hand before turning to address them both, “I’m Doctor Nunez.”

He looked at Jay, clearly waiting for an introduction. Hailey glanced over at him for the first time since Jeanie interrupted them.

She watched as he seemed to realize what Doctor Nunez was asking for, rubbing his hands on his jeans before answering, “My name’s Jay,” He paused, giving his head a little jerk in her direction, “I’m, uh…I’m her husband.”

Hailey blinked in shock. That was the last thing she thought he’d say.

She caught his gaze, giving him a ‘what the hell’ expression. He gave her a little shrug and looked almost as confused as she was as to why he went along with Jeanie’s assumption.

Dr. Nunez continued on, not noticing their silent exchange, “I performed your wife’s surgery, and I was hoping that we could discuss the extent of Detective Upton’s injuries with both of you and go over what I did to repair them.”

For the next half hour, Hailey and Jay listened to the doctor’s recount of removing the bullet that had lodged itself in Hailey’s side last night. The good news was that she would be discharged from the hospital in a couple of days, the bad news was that she was recommended not to fly for at least 8-10.

But for some reason, Hailey didn’t really mind the delay in getting back.

Yesterday, she was anxious and counting down the days till she could hop on a plane bound for Chicago. Today, sitting in a hospital bed, sore and tired from being shot, looking over at her partner who was hanging onto every word Dr. Nunez was saying about her recovery, she suddenly couldn’t care less about getting home.

Sure, she missed Chicago. She missed her apartment. And she missed her team, but that wasn’t what she’d been craving ever since landing in New York five weeks ago.

She’d been homesick, but not for a place because when she looked at Jay, she knew she was home even if she was still eight-hundred miles away from the only city she’d known.

Part two coming soon! Comment if you’d like a tag!

[batarella]

3 birds 1 stone - chapter 3

‘Dick, Jason, and Tim. Supposed brothers 'till the end, until all three fall in love with you. Who wins your heart?

The man who earned it, the man who stole it, or the man who always had it?’

A/N: New readers, I’d like to welcome you to my blog by showing you exactly why when I wrote IDHY, a virtual angry mob was ready to burn me at the stake. Do enjoy.

WORDS: 8670  WARNINGS: PTSD

MASTERLIST | 3 BIRDS 1 STONE MASTERLIST

-----

You were so happy then.

Before everything happened, when things went for the worst, when your life was so much more than having to settle with the mounds of shit some cruel deity decided to throw at your face. Before your life was just some settlement, which was what it probably was going to be for so long, for as long as you could foresee what was in store for you.

Back then, you were in this blissful bubble of obliviousness, having plans of your own for the next years without much thought on circumstance. You had this kind of illusive mirage that somehow, this was how it was always going to be. You knew, deeply, that it probably won't be. You knew something might happen, something bad that could put an end to this freedom. But you were ignorant, enough to still go through with these plans and thoughts, let them have their place in your head as if they were permanent. You knew they’d have to change, maybe to some extent. Just not to the extent of what actually happened.

Though you couldn’t say you wasted those oblivious moments not living each day as if you were going to suddenly drop dead on the next, especially since you actually did live those days so near to death each time without regret. You were, in the closest sense, a bird taking advantage of its large wingspan, taking advantage of its flight. You were happy, and even when you couldn’t exactly tell how those happy, oblivious days were about to be stripped away, you never let the sun set and the darkness rise when you weren’t fighting for others, fighting beside your loved ones, providing a kind of service that was needed but wasn’t so deserved, so they hadn’t gone to waste, not in your eyes. You didn’t look back and think you should have done more. You did enough. You did what you could.

One of these included what was probably one of the most stupid decisions for even a sixteen-year-old could possibly make.

The winds weren’t so strong, and it wasn’t so freezing that your limbs would occasionally stiffen after five seconds of immobility. Not many birds. No helicopters. No drones up in the air to catch you in the act. The city was practically inviting you to soar, let your wings take flight and feel exactly what it was like to be a feather so light, falling from such heights in the most delicate, mesmerizing drop, or perhaps an eagle with its wings closed, diving from thousands of feet up in the clouds, let the mist run through its feathers until it reaches so closely to the ocean’s surface, then it extends its impressive wings, gliding and hovering over the water.

It shouldn’t be any reason to do this, though. You weren’t a feather and you weren’t a literal bird. Its feasibility shouldn’t be reason enough to just set all other logical thought aside.

But, again, you don’t like wasting time. You didn’t like letting the days go without flying, falling, living.

Robin, on the other hand, clearly had more practical senses than you were, because he was shivering with his knees by then just from the sight of being a hundred stories above ground, on the highest tower in Gotham. You were right at the base of its antenna and the air was so light that if you weren’t going to get out of there any time soon, both you and your partner would drop lightheaded.

But your head wasn’t spinning. You weren’t trembling. You weren’t at all bothered by the heights and you held yourself up as if you hadn’t a fear in the world. You were the free-spirit, the bird that just couldn’t stay stagnant on a tree’s branch. Laughing at Robin, whose eyebrows were almost sticking up his forehead, you grabbed his hand.

“Tim. Seriously. You don’t have to do this with me-“

“No. No. No. I’m not letting you do this alone. It’s stupid enough as it is.”

“Then stop shaking!” you put your arm around his shoulders, then both of you turned at the ground that was much too small and blurry for you to make out anything other than the thick road. The thick, cement road that certainly was going to break you like shattered glass if things go wrong. Robin wasn’t like you, obviously. He liked to go through things after calculating every possibility, go through the safest, smartest manner and he certainly didn’t like putting his life at risk just because he wanted to.

But, then again, this had you involved.

You held his hand, squeezed it hard, then Robin let the thinning air fill his lungs to a bulk he’d probably never reached until then. He stopped shaking, or at least forced himself to stop shaking, then you turned his chin to look at you.

That’s when he smiled.

“Ready?”

“Wait, now?!”

“If we stay here, we’ll pass out!”

“Wait!” he bounced on his feet, breathing in, breathing out. You wished he wasn’t awake this time just from the rush of caffeine, but it was too late to back out now. If anything happens, you’ll be there. You’ll save him.

Do you trust yourself enough? Yes. Should you? Probably not. No one would.

“Okay, okay. Let’s do this.”

Hand in hand, you bent your knees, eyes on the ground. You ignored the thinning air. You ignored the strengthening winds. No noise. Just you and the height.

Like eagles soaring to the ocean, or a feather dropping from the clouds, you and Robin jumped from a hundred stories above and let the winds speed violently past the frozen muscles on your cheeks, the mist that was running up your suits, only to be suspended in the air when you continued to drop. Heads first, hands firm on your sides, you were alive. You were living.

“WOOOO!” you screamed until your throat burned, probably not a good idea when there were bugs all around, but it couldn’t be helped. Then your arms were up, enjoying the thrill, enjoying the fall. Robin was more focused, serious. He kept his hands strong and firm, watching as the ground grew nearer and nearer.

You dove through the air. Everything else was still, unmoving. Time was practically stopping all around you. You and Robin were in this own secluded space of a blurry, messy little figment of ecstasy, a moment when you shouldn’t care about the world, nor could you. Further and further down, you forgot you were human.

Just a few stories up from the ground, you both shot your capes up to break the fall, suspend yourselves in the air whilst ignoring the slapping impact. Arms were starting to hurt, but you held on. You were gliding down, and it was slowing.

Then you shot your grapples up to the building right across, Queen Industries, and suddenly rising back up towards the sky from whence you were sinking from. The shift of the winds wasn’t so kind to your skin, but it was all the more uplifting, invigorating. Every nerve ending in your body was buzzing and your blood was going rampant.

When your feet landed on the rooftops and your bodies rolled about the floor, there was an inescapable grin on your face, cheeks numb from either the rush, the air, or from your smiles. And your laughter was everywhere. With your trembling arms circling your own stomach, you rolled about, chuckling on the ground. The high was there. You didn’t want it to go away.

“That was amazing!” you screamed. Robin, who was also on the ground near you, wasn’t as ecstatic. He looked scared out of his wits, lips were almost as white as his skin, and the poor thing was visibly shaking. You started to crawl after him, but you just couldn’t stop laughing.

A few more moments to get yourselves together, Robin catching his breath, reminding himself that he wasn’t about to die, and you with your high slowly subsiding but your chuckles still there, he finally pulled himself up.

“Fucking come here, you.”

“Tim, no!”

He slammed his body against you on the ground. You were both numb and buzzing, and you laughed and tried so hard to push him off of you, but his back was against your chest, and he certainly wasn’t very light. Both of you smiling, laughing, Robin grabbed both your hands and pinned it against the floor so you couldn’t budge.

“Not so fun, now is it?”

“Get off me!”

“We could have died!” he laughed.

“Yet, here we are!”

He was so pretty, even with the mask. His nose was sniffling from the cold, and still his skin was warm felt through his suit that was against you. His masked face was starting to get closer, and you kept laughing, still in a buzz. It was his choice to come with you, and you wouldn’t have let him if you didn’t know your dangerous endeavors most often left Tim just as high up in the clouds as you were. A break from his work.

He stayed on top of you, no longer laughing. He was watching you with your cheeks so high up and your smile so contagious. Robin’s one hand was now on your face, gently holding it. He was your high. He was the happiness you thought would never go away. The happiness that was permanent. You swore you could feel bells and keys playing in the distance, because everything around you suddenly felt so soft and delicate, like the air was afraid to topple you over.

This attitude you had of being a wild bird, so unafraid of falling yet so afraid of not being able to fly, it probably wasn’t a good idea with you not exactly being the best fighter in the family. Close calls, you had them too many times. Sometimes, it was to no other’s fault than yours. They worried you in the aftermath. They made you train for hours on end, but that was only because pulling your muscles with training just seems like a better option than being more cautious, to clip your arms back, or worse, your wings. You liked flying too much. You weren’t about to give it up.

You lived, and when you did, so did Tim.

You stopped by then, silent. The high from the fall had subsided, but it was then overtaken by Robin’s breath so cool against your mouth, your noses touching so playfully and delicately. You grinned from ear to ear, and when you felt his forehead starting to lean right against yours, your communicators started up.

You threw your head back against the ground, and Robin frustratingly groaned, pushing on his ear. “Batman?”

Though his arms were still around you and he just let your fingers continue to lightly trace the R on his chest.

“Trouble at Drescher. Sending you coordinates right now. You two get over here ASAP.”

Eyes shut close, he turned his communicator off, then took another minute to look at you in the eyes. You drew his hair back on his head, letting the strands breeze through your cool fingers. A peck to your nose, then Robin sat up and pulled you with him.

“Wanna do that again, soon?”

“No. Not in my life. And neither will you.”

You pouted, but he just pinched your cheek. “Race you.”

“Wait-“

He started running down the ledge, and before you knew it, he was jumping towards another rooftop, shooting his grappling gun in the air. You knew you wouldn’t win this, yet you ran after him, faster than your legs could bear.

Everyday, it was like this. You loved the thrill. You loved that high. You craved it every time. You went through training like a madman just so your life wouldn’t be put in as much of a risk. You did everything to enjoy what you had, never letting anything go without being cherished, without being put to its use. And that included your wings. You did enough when you could. You did everything.

You just wished you could continue to do it now.

-----

A yellow bow, perfectly tied and fixed on the top. The wrapping could have gone a bit better, but you guessed it looked decent enough. It had to be seamless, perfect, just as he’d wrapped all those other Valentine’s day gifts he never failed to send to you each year. At this point, it was unfair how Tim’s gift had the most attention, the cleanest, most delicate wrapping that hoarded most of your efforts than all your other gifts, and it wasn’t without a smile when you tied that perfect bow and smoothed out the wrapper with your palms. And on the tag, beautiful calligraphy that spelled out his name with a heart on the side. All the while, you had soft, soothing tunes playing from the phone plugged beside your bed and the window slightly open to let the cool in. Snow was falling so delicately, onto the ledge outside your room and some on the window sill.  

Wiping that bit of sweat on your hairline despite the cold, you piled Tim’s gift with everyone else’s in a large bag and stood from your desk. It was well into the noon. Everyone should be on their way to the manor by now.

And only at Wayne Manor could you get away with having a Christmas pool party in the middle of a stormy winter. At the indoor pool, of course, where everything was heated and warm. It was Steph’s idea. As much as you’d prefer to do other things, you couldn’t exactly vote your way out of this.

With your bag full of gifts on your shoulder, you stepped out into the falling snow, hands deep into your coat, then you hailed a taxi.

Tim would probably like what you got him, though it wasn’t exactly a gift you’d normally give to just any casual friend. Not that Tim was a casual friend in the slightest. A watch. An expensive one that you bought with the money he paid with for the last painting he bought from you. You had no idea it would eventually add up to such an amount, but it got you to buy him a decent gift. And to add to the sentimentality, you added a small painting the size of your hand sitting with the watch in the box. It was of you and him, in your old suits, overlooking the City of Gotham from the highest tower. You also made the box yourself, then you wrapped it so well you couldn’t help but feel proud.

Yeah. It would probably be too much. But this was Tim. It’s always different when it’s Tim.

Though, doing all this would escalate what you have with him. Your friend. Your best friend.

Are you ready to be more than that?

Still no answer. Not since you first asked yourself the moment you woke up that morning. Not even in the back of your mind.

It wasn’t because of your lingering feelings for Dick. You weren’t going to pursue Dick, and with that it was probably a bad idea to gift him an entire painting he was supposed to pay you for. The one of Bludhaven he asked for weeks ago that you said would be done by tomorrow and not today. Other than that, no more pining. You established that. Written it in stone for years now.

So it wasn’t because of Dick that you had doubts for Tim, someone you loved. Probably still do.

There was just that tiny little detail holding you back, something you couldn’t forget no matter how much you tried to. Something that you wanted to let go, so you could move forward and actually make beautiful something that was already so precious to you.

No. You probably weren’t ready now. Maybe someday.

It’s ridiculous how your decisions can be so unclear and clouded, decisions you didn’t even have proper ground to build from.

But this was Christmas. You were giving him a gift, not pouring your heart out to him. You’ll be fine. For now.

You reached the manor and you fought your way through the snow, head buried into your scarf. Alfred greeted you inside and took your coat, telling you everyone else had already gone to the indoor pool area. Setting your gifts under the tree, you got your clothes and made your way down to the basement.

The room had been warmed up, of course. Like a private tropical getaway in the middle of winter. The heater was practically blowing against your face and it thawed down the icicles forming under your nose the moment you stepped in. Plants against the walls, a small waterfall coming from the ceiling from high above. There were three marble pool chairs seated at the sides of the oval-shaped pool that had changing color lights from underneath the floor. Music was blaring through the speakers, as well, along with laughter, people talking over one another. Almost instantly, you were sweating, so you took your sweater off.

It was totally because of the new-found heat.

Totally.

Totally.

Tim was first to come up to you, shirtless and drenched from the sweet strands of his black hair down to his toes. Drips of the chlorinated water were so delicately sticking to his skin and so slowly tracing the lines of his lean muscled pecs.

His gorgeous, gorgeous body that looked all too inviting. Tim had been working out, because he was definitely bigger than the last time you saw him with his shirt off. His abs were more defined. His pecs just looked so lean and perfectly molded. His biceps looked a lot bigger, stronger, strong enough to snap a neck in one move.

There was a table at the side that served water from a pitcher and you never reached for something so quickly in your life.  

“You’re here!” he ruffled his damp hair and smiled at you so handsomely you wanted to scream. You nodded, keeping the glass of water between your lips. Then you swallowed hard in an attempt to not accidentally drop your jaw. “Merry Christmas!”

“Merry Christmas,” you gulped. “You guys sure are acting like there’s not a blizzard happening outside.”

“What’s a pool party for a change? Come swim with us!”

Tim took the glass of water from your hands, and hearts were practically floating around your head when he craned his head up, drank from the glass with his throat doing little jumps as he swallowed, with the water slightly leaking from the corners of his mouth all the way down his collarbone and chest. The water from his hair also dripped down to the floor, and his pale skin looked so cool to touch. It was glistening, like gold and silver mixed in a pot, melted together in the form of such gorgeousness you couldn’t take your eyes away from. Your lips were between your teeth and you looked away before he could see you staring for far too long.

“Have fun, Tim!” you said, then he was already running back to the pool, jumping in the air to land a cannonball.

You had to take a long minute to stretch out your neck, which you hadn’t noticed was so tense and stiff you could have died right then. Setting the glass back on the table, you went over to one of the pool chairs to set your duffel bag down, pulling out your towel to place at the back of the chair.

“That chair’s taken, Y/N.”

“Oh,” you looked up for a split second and there was someone standing right in front of you on the other side of the chair. Grabbing your stuff back, you hurriedly fumbled with your bag. “Sorry, I just saw it was empt-“

You squealed. You actually let out a light, high-pitched squeal like some kind of hamster spinning around its wheel the same way your brain was spinning in circles around your skull. Dick was in front of you, in nothing else but a pair of blue swim shorts, and his taller, more built, yet still lean frame was staring back at you, an acrobat’s body.

Which you could describe as the most perfect, beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. Not a flaw in sight. Bright, tanned skin looking back at you to make your knees shiver. And every move he made, some muscle would flex. It was just way too perfect.

“I’m kidding,” he said. Then he grabbed his own bag that he’d slung on the back, where you hadn’t seen it. “We’ll share this one.”

Damp skin. Black hair slicked back and clean. A drip of water was, as if nature was making it happen herself, falling down on his skin right in between his defined pecs and abs. Dick turned his head to the side, then started jumping with his hand slapping the side of his head. “I think I got water in my ear.”

“Mhm,” was all you said, because it took every bit of might in you just to keep yourself from squawking like a bird when his shoulders started to flex and the water from his body started splashing against you.

Get yourself together, you complete asshat.

Placing the towel back on the chair, you tried so hard not to look at his swim shorts that were starting to drop further and further down his hips the more he shook his head. His arms looked so strong. You want to be encased in them, carry you around so you’ll never have to walk a day in your life.

And his face was impossibly beautiful, like something out the runway or a romantic comedy with the most unrealistic expectations. A stray hair had fallen on his forehead, and you just wanted to reach over to place it to the back of his head so his eyes wouldn’t be covered.

“Fuck,” he groaned, then he looked relieved. “Finally got it out. You gonna swim?”

“I, uh-“ you said. “I’m not sure. I wasn’t planning to.”

“Come on. You're missing out!”

Dick winked at you, then he hopped back into the water with Cass and Duke, who also looked insanely pretty with his shirt off-

You couldn’t even look anywhere around the room and not see something that made you want to drown yourself in the pool from the red creeping up the veins on your neck.

Steph was there, talking to Tim as they floated on the water in bright yellow bikini. Cass was sitting on the edge, legs tossing about while Dick and Duke were wrestling it out in the water like twelve-year-old boys. Bruce, who Alfred finally convinced to enjoy Christmas like a normal person and take a load off, was sleeping peacefully on the pool chair at the farthest end, not looking like he wanted to be bothered by even the slightest bit with his arm covering his eyes.

And Damian was on the lounge chair right beside him doing the exact same thing, with a book over his head.

Babs wasn’t here. Probably with her own family. Which you probably should be, too, since you were technically the only one in the room who wasn’t an adopted child and more of a really close companion just like Babs who went with these group of beautiful crackheads wherever they go.

You sat on the lounge chair, weight on your hands, and you were thoroughly enjoying the sight of these kids, and that was basically all you were planning to do for the whole day.

No, you didn’t plan on swimming.

No, you haven’t been to the beach or another pool party in more than a year.

Yes, you were keeping your long pants on.

Then, of course, as is the world just couldn’t help but continue to pick on your poor, withered soul like a puppy with a stick, another flush surged up to your cheeks and you tried way too hard to focus on the ground.

Even through the rippling water, you could see every bit of Jason’s muscles flexing and stretching and moving so perfectly. The largest, tallest, most built man in the room, completely jacked up to any human being’s possible capacity. And of course, there were the scars that made you want to internally grunt and scream like a lunatic in a full moon. Eyes on him, and your cheeks no longer coloring but every nerve ending beneath your flesh buzzing in a cold chill, you locked eyes when he came over to the pool side right in front of you, placed his arms on the ledge and folded them to rest his chin on top.

Oh fuck. The veins. They were practically popping out of his skin.

Swallowing, you turned to the wall.

Why couldn’t you just be closer to your real parents, to your brothers and sisters you barely contact anymore so you could spend today with them? Why couldn’t you have just reached out and called so you could spend Christmas there and not in a multi-million-dollar mansion filled with the hottest men alive who are also your dear, dear friends just so you could keep some part of your sanity and dignity intact? Why couldn’t the world just be a little bit crueler at the same time kinder to you?

“Happy holidays, pretty bird,” Jason said. His hair was completely wet, and you tried not to look at the really long, painful looking scar that was stretching all the way from his wrist up to his absolutely phenomenal bicep that was bigger than your head.

Okay. You really had to stop gawking at every shirtless, black haired male that came up to you.

Especially not the incredibly pretty, incredibly flirty one that had the thighs you often found yourself trailing your wandering mind about. Could you see his thighs if you just moved your head enough to peak under water? Surely, they had enough substance to be visible but if you just moved a little bit-

Enough.

Sighing, filling your lungs with the warming air when you felt like you needed a swim in the four feet of snow that was piling up outside the building, you turned to Jason. “Merry Christmas.”

“You won't swim?”

You swallowed. “I don’t think I should…”

“Don’t worry. You don’t have to. Don’t let Tim and Dick get to you.”

Jason pulled himself up the surface, moving his ass so he could sit at the edge of the pool and oh my god his back looked so perfect and muscled and huge and a waterfall was draining down his rock-hard chest and back and his hair was so perfectly messy and roughed up and again with his back and the curves of his shoulders and fuck you could finally see his thighs and they looked even bigger than usual when he sits like that FUCK his arms his chest his beautiful, beautiful abs-

You had to get out of this fucking place.

Coughing, swallowing, panicking, getting whatever was stuck in your throat out of your system, Jason looked back at you and you rushed to look as completely normal and non-flustered as you could.

“I’m not letting them get to me.”

He shot his eyebrows up, and you inched about so you were both facing the same way. He rocked his legs in the water, and you watched as everyone else laughed and gathered in the center for a chicken fight, with Cass on Dick’s shoulders and Tim on Steph’s shoulders.

“Won't you join them?”

He snorted. “I’m fine. Besides, if you’re just gonna sit there all alone, might as well keep you company.”

“I’m fine, Jason. Seriously. I’ll swim if it means you don’t have to.”

“Are you sure you’re ready?”

Your hands were gripping on the chair’s edges too tight; your knuckles went white and you kept your head down.

“It took me two years just to take my shirt off when I train in a private gym, Y/N. An autopsy scar’s not exactly something you want to flaunt about.”

You stared at your knees, at the metal that stuck out of your jeans.

“And even now, I only work out in the cave or in my apartment. I can't show myself in public. Probably not ever.”

Your nerves stopped buzzing. Your face started to cool. But something in your gut had started to hallow out and dig through the depths. A feeling you never liked but were forced to go through much too often.

“How do you know I just don’t like being in the water?”

The look on his face looked more like an annoyed scowl than a comforting frown. He rolled his eyes, then turned back facing forward, at Duke who’d sunk to the water when he went against Steph in a fight.

“I’m fine. But thank you for opening up to me.”

He shrugged, without giving you a glance.

“Don’t take it the wrong way though. They’re not asking you to swim to tell you ‘Oh, we don’t care that you only have one leg. We promise we think of you the same way as any two-legged mammal.’ They’re not exactly pretending it isn’t there, which I first thought they did, and I hated it when that happened to me. I sure as hell know you do to.”

Yeah. You did. You hated it especially when they try to tell you nothing was wrong or nothing was going to change. Because pretending it isn’t there, or that the accident didn’t happen, is just as bad as telling you that having one leg was something you should definitely overlook just to live normally.

“They’re asking you to swim because they genuinely think there’s nothing wrong with you and that there’s nothing to be ashamed with taking your prosthetic off. They mean well.”

“I know they do.” You swung your legs about, looking at the skin on your left one and the steel on the other. “But it’s a lot easier for them to say. I get it. I’m not mad.”

Jason roughed up his hair, bicep glistening, then he turned to you and smirked. “You’re holding up better than I ever did, though.”

“Losing a leg is considerably better than dying and coming back to life.”

Snorting and laughing, Jason leaned over his knees. “Have you ever taken it off in front of anyone so far?”

You shook your head. “Just with Tim.”

“Ah,” he nodded.

“I don’t even like to let it show. I haven’t worn shorts in years and the summer heat absolutely kills me.”

“Tell me about it,” he laughed. “I’m not gonna tell you to start showing it in public because it looks cool and all. Having a cybernetic limb. Which it is. But that’s like telling me I shouldn’t be afraid to show my scars ‘cuz the look hot.”

They do. They really fucking do.

“Yeah. It sucks when people do that.”

“It does.”

Silence when Steph’s screams filled the room. She was pushed onto the water, a large splash that drenched everyone all around her. You and Jason smiled and watched.

He understood you. And everything he said sounded straight out of the back of your head.

He never babied you. He never treated you any differently.

Because if there was anyone else in this family who knew trauma, it’s him.

Jason would have hated the kind of spoils and treatment you got from Dick, Tim, and Bruce after you lost your leg. Back when you used to fight alongside them, you went home alone to your apartment you’d shared with an unknowing roommate. But then the incident happened. You couldn’t exactly work anymore. You couldn’t pay the bills. So they let you stay in the manor for so many bed-ridden weeks. That was the only time you lived here, and you didn’t exactly have much of a choice but to accept everything Bruce had spent for you. Like a state-of-the-art bionic leg.

And you hated that.

When you finally could, you moved back out. And everyone has been asking you to come back to the manor ever since.

Everyone except Jason.

“Take that robot leg off when you're ready. Don’t swim if it isn’t to save your life.”

“I won't. Thank you. Now go join them. Please. I’ll be fine.”

You nudged his shoulder with your leg, and he grinned at you with his hair fallen to his eyes.

Thankfully, none of them gathered around the pool side near you just to force themselves to make you feel included. None of them gave you concerned looks or whispered to the other asking if they should come over and ask if you wanted to join in. Just as you wanted. So you just laid on the lounge chair, settled yourself as comfortably as you could, and let their cheers and laughter lull you to sleep.

-----

After everyone had dried up and changed, you went on with their rightfully anticipated Christmas dinner, with Bruce and Damian sitting on opposite ends of the long table, everyone else in between, and Alfred serving the best turkeys, yams, and pies enough for a whole table of starving vigilantes.

Tim was right in front of you, and you couldn’t help the smiles when you’d so often catch him looking up at you and flash that grin.

When you’d all finished, everyone went to the parlor and settled. Damian played the piano, and Bruce was on the sofa chair relaxing while everybody else sat in a circle. Talking. Laughing. Being normal for a change.

The parlor looked divine. Decorated so beautifully all by the hands of a hard-working butler. The cold and the snow, falling outside the three glass windows between the bookshelves that littered the walls. Then there were lights on the pillars, on the ceiling and the ledges that looked like heaven’s gates and fences being lit up in bright yellow. There were wreaths on the otherwise empty walls, and the carpets and drapes were switched from the usual boring dark red into a more festive print with greens and yellows.

Then there was the tree, high enough to almost reach the already tall ceiling. And it was undoubtably magnificent, with bright, starry lights, expensive looking flowers and balls hanging on its branches. A gold star was on top, of course. It sat right by the side near the gorgeously decorated fireplace that burned and cozied up the place to smell like roasted chestnuts and firewood.

You took your mug of hot chocolate and sat back against the couch. Tim was beside you. He had been for the whole time almost never leaving you out of his sight. And you placed your head on his shoulder, listening to the fire crackling, the snow falling, the piano so wonderfully playing right before it abruptly stopped just as the grandfather clocked started to chime.

“It’s midnight, Father,” Damian stood up and went straight for the tree. “You said we can open the presents.”

“Go ahead.”

A bright smirk from the adorable little brat, then he was then racing to the tree with Steph to open their presents under the tree.

You and Tim took your time. You didn’t want to leave his shoulder. Eventually you both moved to sit right in front of the warming fire for your presents.

You both started with other people’s gifts. Steph gave you a really pretty dress. Cass and Duke gave you art materials, really nice ones that you’d use almost everyday. Bruce, of course, gave you a cheque, just like he’d given everyone else in that room that was enough to pay a common man’s rent for half a year. Jason gave you paint brushes that he hadn’t taken off of its original packaging from Amazon. You laughed.

Then you saw a blue box with your name written in perfect cursive. It was well-wrapped, and it was heavy. The bow looked seamlessly fixed as well.

Tim was busy with his own gift, so he wasn’t watching you as you slowly opened the wrapper.

When you opened the box, there was a black, square-shaped device sitting alone in the bottom. The box itself was wonderfully decorated, with brown confetti on the bottom to cushion the floor.

You picked up the device and saw that it was a hard drive. A terabyte’s capacity. When you flipped it over, there was a note taped to the back.

‘Every movie we ever watched together, about fifty of your favorite classic ones, twelve you’ve been so excited to see but never could, and a hundred we’re yet to go over. Thanks for welcoming me back. Merry Christmas, Y/N.

From Dick’

There were other things as well sitting with the hard drive.

A polaroid photo of you, leaping up a vault in a perfect position.

A fountain pen, with your name engraved on the center.

A packet of hot sauce from that one Mexican restaurant when you ate the whole thing thinking it was ketchup.

A small box of your favorite chocolate chip cookies that Bruce once brought from Switzerland, ones that could never be found in America.

A pair of sharp, cat eye sunglasses you always made fun of every time you saw someone wear them around the city.

A piece of tissue that had your handwriting scribbled on it, from when you and Dick tried to write a song in the middle of a fundraising gala because you were so bored.

And a drawing you made years ago, back when you could barely sketch out an apple. Dick caught you trying to draw a tree outside the manor and ripped the page out of the sketchbook. You never knew he kept it.

You never knew he kept any of this.

Dick was on the other side of the Christmas tree, helping Damian out with his presents. You caught his eye, and when his beautiful blue eyes made you jump, you smiled at him.

He smiled back.

Then when Tim inched behind you, tapping on your shoulder, you saw Dick lose his smile, slowly facing the ground and cover his mouth with his palm.

You snapped back to where you were sitting and laughed when you saw Tim was wearing a little elf’s hat on his head. You reached over, toyed with its bell, and he playfully scowled at you.

“Here,” you handed over your gift for him. “Merry Christmas.”

“This isn’t another coffee mug, is it?” he joked.

“No, and you're insane if you think I’m enabling your addiction any more.”

Tim sat cross-legged, and you had your legs set to the side as you watched him smile so heart-warmingly beautiful that it could possibly hurt you and your eyes if you even dare to look away for even a second. Probably not hurt, but it would make you miss out on one of those scenes you just wouldn’t want to miss. A brightly-lit fire, lighting up his face in an orange glow, the sweet smell of candy that had just been served on the coffee table nearby. And of course, the sight of him, eyes glimmering and shining with its blue hue.

Tim took the gift from you. Maybe you did take this a step too far, a step you weren’t sure you were ready to take. A step that needed you to forget what had happened years ago and move on.

But you could set that aside for now. You just wanted to enjoy this.

“Wow…” he breathed. You saw his chest heave, his cheeks looking like it hurt from the smiling he was doing. He took the watch and already had it around his wrist. It looked so good on him.

Then he stared too long at the painting you made for him.

“Y/N, I don’t know what to say…”

You let the beauty in front of you sink into your skin, into your flesh, into your head. Him, looking so happy and content, just as you used to be years ago. You’d left those years of yearning to fly and leaned to love what was so mesmerizing when you just took the time to sit down, marvel over the world flashing right in front of you. Your world. Your best friend.

Not even the fire was as warm as him, even when he was sitting almost a foot in front of you, but as he inched forward, close enough to let your knees touch, you looked up and met his eyes. Everything was so elusively delicate, that even with so much brightness and colors, looking at him softened everything else. Softened you. Grounded you.

You couldn’t imagine being without Tim. Not even for a minute.

“Merry Christmas, Y/N.”

He was blushing, handing you an equally small box that was also considerably heavy. Your face started to hurt at this point from the amount of smiling you were doing.

But when you had it in your hands, you lost your smile. It didn’t have a wrapper. It didn’t have a bow.

It was a velvet jewelry box.

So soft to touch beneath your fingers, you ran your hand over your initials engraved on the top and felt every bit in you melt just as it would have being so close to the fire. You didn’t know if your palms were sweating from the heat, from the excitement of getting to find out what was inside, or the nerves that were rabidly going insane from the look on Tim’s eyes staring at you like you were the world.

Trying so hard not to shake, you opened the box.

Then you actually stopped shaking. In fact, you stopped moving at all.

You’ve never seen anything so beautiful in your life.

So greatly contrasting the dark velvet, a radiantly glimmering necklace with a light silver chain stole every bit of your breath until your chest could no longer heave, no matter how much you felt the need to. You ran your hand down, brushing your fingers down until you reached the pendant.

Your initials, stylized so gorgeously and encrusted with the brightest little diamonds.

It caught your eyes and all of your attention that no longer could you hear much of everything else that went on, with Tim still staring at you, nervous at your reaction. Your mouth was parted. Your breath started up after a while but only to keep you alive.

You never could say you had your breath taken away so many times in your life. But if you could, this moment was definitely one you were going to remember for the rest of your life.

“Here.” Tim took the necklace back from you, then asked you to turn around.

You swallowed at the buzzing warmth when his hands went around you, locking the necklace behind your hair. You still couldn’t move. Everything was a blur and at the same time nothing moved so clear, steady, and slow, like a movie on slow motion. Your skin felt cool but everything within you was as scorching as the fire.

When you turned back around, Tim was so dangerously close to you that you just knew there was no going back from this, no pretending that you were just going to be best friends.

You hugged him, pulled him so closely in your arms. And he did the same.

And you stayed that way all through the night. That wonderful, normal, beautiful Christmas night that was that taste of normality you often craved as much as you missed not being normal.

You decided to stay in the manor. Just for that night. It was snowing too hard for you to go home to your apartment anyway and by the time you and the family had finished with the festivities, it was a few hours away before the sun would eventually come up.

Tim walked you to your room while it was still dark.

“I had a great night,” you said, and he went with you into your room and closed the door behind him.

“I did, too.”

“Thank you for having me.”

You sat on the edge of the bed, and Tim stood in front of you with his hands in his pockets. “You know you’re family, Y/N.”

Smiling, tossing your feet about as it hovered over the ground, you inched back to the center of the bed, bringing your feet closer, then you started pulling the ends of your jeans up to your knees. Tim walked towards you and sat on the edge, then you watched him take off your prosthetic leg for you.

Then he squeezed your knee. He didn’t even turn on the lights. Everything was dark, save for the light coming from outside the window. The snow pouncing against the glass were the only sound there was, and with the chill that came with it, you wrapped your arms around yourself.

Tim’s hand still on your knee, the warmest thing there was to aid you, you could make out his eyes, his sharp nose, his pale skin that looked so soft to touch, his lips so soft you could see even with so little light.

He moved closer. Closer.

You moved closer as well.

Then his hand was on your cheek.

It wasn’t sudden. It had been building up since you saw him in the pool.

But it was nevertheless a burning fire being thrown with a bottle of gasoline, bursting out into the air at the instant that tension finally came with its climactic collision.

You both leaned in at the same time, and you could have sworn the ice that had frozen over your chest, from the years of trauma, cynicism, of wanting vengeance, it all melted at the instant his lips grazed so delicately against your own, how gentle he was, like he was terrified you could possibly break. They were wet, and soft, and you made them even more so when you pressed yourself even closer against him. His hand on your knee went up to hold the other side of your face, and your hands were on his wrists, holding them, squeezing them, feeling how firm he was making sure you wouldn’t pull away.

He was everything. He was always everything. To you. And supposedly to everyone else.

With the light outside so slowly starting to dim, leaving the room in such blackness you couldn’t see past, you relied on your hands, your lips, your every other sense to know what he was doing.

And what he was doing was pushing you to lie back on the bed.

Yes.

Yes.

Yes-

No.

A sharp jab of an icicle, or a knife, or a bullet that went straight to your chest, tugging so violently that you instantly jumped at the hot flashes of images, pictures, memories that so painfully played in front of your eyes.

The pain. It was still there. You were so, so terribly afraid that it was. That it never left. Because you wished it could just go away and leave you be. So you could have him, again.

But it was all still there. Every word he’d said that day. The look on his face. Everything that led up to it. Everything that happened after. Everything that raced in your whirlwind of thought.

It was disgusting how cruel you were to yourself, to let it all suddenly come back to you at the worst moments.

Because you couldn’t help it. As much as you prayed you could. As much as you believed you finally forgave him, you hadn’t.

You pushed Tim away.

At first, confusion, with what so little you could see plastered on his face.

Then that confusion turned to realization.

Then it was hurt. Pain.

Because he knew, too. He understood.

“Y/N…”

“I’m sorry…” you buried your face into your palms. “I’m so sorry…”

He pulled on your chin, tried to kiss you again.

But you stopped his wrists and pried them away from you.

“Please…”

“I can't…”

“Please… I thought we had this… I thought we were gonna-“

“I can't forget it didn’t happen, Tim…”

“I love you.”

“I know…” you whispered so softly as if saying it any louder would only heighten the pain. But it was, inescapably, equally painful if you’d screamed it out the window.

“Why?” Tim licked his lips, holding your face. “I’ve waited so long…”

Waited. Waited for you.

All those years. He was waiting for you.

“Is it because of Dick?”

You closed your eyes, shook your head. “Not even a little bit.”

“Then why?”

Whatever the pain that came with that, it couldn’t possibly have been as worse as what you had to go through.

That tug on your chest went on, and when you could see his eyes, with so little light, you held his face.

“You broke up with me, Tim…” you choked.

Everything in his face, every bit of hope you could see in his eyes, it all went away in an instant.

“Y/N, that relationship… We were kids…”

“That’s the problem,” you swallowed. “It didn’t mean anything to you. It meant everything to me…”

“That’s not true…”

“No one has ever hurt me the way you did.” You tried taking your hands away from him but he wouldn’t let you. You just closed your eyes.

“I-I was…” he swallowed. “I was a kid. I had no idea. But then… You were still so kind to me and you never treated me any different… You’re everything …”

“I was a mess…” you gulped. “And the worst part was… you weren’t. You were okay.”

“Y/N, I swear, that isn’t true…”

Tears, even when you’ve cried enough of them over the years now.

“Did you love me then?” you asked.

Tim was crying. “Of course, I did-“

“But not as much as I loved you…”

He didn’t have to answer that.

Because you knew you loved him more. At least back then. You could see it. Everyone could see it.

Otherwise it wouldn’t have been too much for him. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have left you so broken when he was more than okay.

It hurt just thinking about it.

“B-but, I…” he took your hands. “But I love you so much now… More than I ever did… It can't be too late… Please.”

No, it probably wasn’t too late.

Tim didn’t start loving you too late, because you never stopped yourself.

But it hurt you so much, that it forever made you believe that the people you loved endlessly were going to love you less, leave you when things get too much.

“I’m sorry…”

“If this is because of-“

“You can blame Dick all you want.” Your voice was stern, firm, no longer shaking. “But we both know what really happened.”

“Y/N,” he cried.

“I loved you first,” you said. “And you know that. I fell in love with you. I chose you. Over Dick. Over everyone else. I was hurt… and so vulnerable. Dick was there. He helped me through it…”

Tim cried, and you felt his tears fall to your legs when he bent over to cover his face. You reached over to him.

“I’m so sorry…” he sobbed.

You pulled back.

Then you took the necklace off your neck, taking his hand, stuffing it into his palm.

“No, please.” He placed it back into your hand. “Please keep it.”

Your hand didn’t flinch away. You didn’t push back.

Everything was in a raging blizzard around you, even with the snow outside falling so soft. The only thing you thought of doing was closing your eyes to block it all off.

Tim backed away, and never have you felt so cold.

“I’m sorry…” he said.

He stood from the bed, wiping the tears with his sleeve.

“No,” you said, just before he went for the door. “I am.”

-----

A/N: 

-----

MASTERLIST | 3 BIRDS 1 STONE MASTERLIST

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[wesimpforxiao]

Say My Name and I’ll Be There:  5.1

Author’s Note:  How’s everyone liking the story so far?  Kinda getting into my head about how stiff the writing is.  Maybe it just feels stiff to me, idk.  Anyways, here’s an early chapter!

"So, why are your eyes different colors?"  Childe caught you alone while you gathered firewood a few yards away from the camp.  The sun had long set, leaving you to rely on a lantern and the dim light of the distant fire.  He was limping from your sparring session earlier.

You had beat him.

And man, did it feel good.

"We crossed paths with a merchant that was traveling from Fontaine.  He said they're 'contacts.'  Basically little objects a person can put across their pupils and change their color," you repeated the rehearsed words a little too perfectly for Childe to believe.

"Oh?  I've never heard of that invention before," he tested.

"I guess it's new?  Like the kamera devices they recently developed? Aether has one of those."  You watched as he kept his hands idle at his sides.

"Interesting.  And Aether was the one who told you to say this to me?"  He blocked your path to the fire by placing a hand against the tree that stood behind you.  What a terrible liar you make, ojou-chan.  His friendly smile never left his lips, but it never reached his eyes.  They were cold and demeaning as they examined yours.

"I-I," you stumbled over your words.  "Why are you acting so weird, Childe?" You tried to laugh him off and attempted to duck under his arm.  What to say, what to say! Oh, maybe this'll work?  "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you're acting like a schoolboy crushing on one of his friends."

It might have been a wrong move.

He pinned your shoulders to the tree and made sure no one had their eyes on the two of you.  "On the contrary, you began acting strangely the minute I found you today."  Something in his gaze faltered as he replayed your words in his head. Perhaps I am acting like a schoolboy. But I can't help it if I'm infatuated with my target.  His eyes fell to the shimmering necklace resting against your collarbone, and he gently touched it.  "This is new."

"Don't touch that," you slapped his hand away.

"I don't recall you wearing such a genuine cor lapis charm before.  Where'd you get this from?"

"It was my Granny's."

Childe scrunched his nose at the answer, a brief look of internal conflict passing over his face like a cloud.  'Was?' The woman passed? I made sure she wouldn't get hurt by my men.  So then how did she--  He wanted to ask until the realization struck him.  They went to Quince Village after my leaving.  She saw the Fatui there--

You were too enraged to notice him visually fight himself and approached the campsite with an armful of branches.  You made a point to sit next to Xiao and glared at the Harbinger as he returned.

He maintained eye contact with you, even after sitting across the fire from you and the yaksha.  Your pupils seemed to glow from his perspective.  The fire licked the air in between you until all he could make out was the anger in your eyes.  She knows.  He mentally kicked himself, but only partially because of the possible complications this could pose for Signora and her grand plan.  If you were this angry, there was a chance you had told the yaksha.  And if the yaksha saw the Fatui, or at least heard of what you thought happened, then there's a chance he told Mr. Zhongli.  While he could not break the contract with the Tsaritsa, he'd find a way around the stated rules.  He made a fool of Childe once; he could do it again.

Childe didn't care in the slightest about fighting the entire group--though he was a bit afraid of facing the yaksha despite his urge to fight every living thing on Teyvat.  The only thing that mattered to him was you.  And if you were angry enough to fight, vision or not, he'd have to take you by force.  You may hold a special place in his heart, but his feelings for you meant nothing compared to his loyalty for the Tsaritsa.

One chance, the harbinger strengthened his resolve. I'll give her one chance to prove herself.  If she fails, I won't hesitate to take that which will secure Snezhnaya's future.

...................................................................

Several days passed by without incident--

--Is what I'd like to say, but unfortunately, that didn't hold true for you.

Childe and his unrelenting pleas for battles continued to reach your ears day in and day out.  He was the one that was attached to your hip, not Xiao.  You had only realized today that Childe was around you more often than the yaksha ever since he greeted you with a jumpscare at Luhua Pool.  To make matters worse, Xiao neglected to make a move towards him.

She can handle herself, he thought after witnessing the stunts you pulled on Childe.  Xiao recognized that the movements you were using as his own; perhaps there was an upside to you unconsciously peeking in on his memories.  He put himself on standby when he came to the realization.  But make no mistake, he would and will protect you if things got out of hand with the harbinger.  He just figured he'd take a step back and quietly observe his weak points, just like the old days.  The days in which Childe did not pose a serious threat to the group; when all that was between you and the harbinger was harmless bickering.

It would seem like those old days were still fresh to an outsider, but as the days passed by, you were growing increasingly frustrated with Childe's behavior.  After all, how could he continue to play the part of an oblivious comrade, when it was clear as day that the tensions within the group were growing?  How could he even call you a comrade with a straight face? How was it that he felt no remorse for his actions toward Granny when he looked you in the eye?

How was it that he could be so carefree?

Maybe part of you envied him for it.  Your inner grumblings did you no favor in the present moment though; the team had stepped into the western side of Dragonspine.  Your four coats made almost no difference against the sheer cold, and your body shivered uncontrollably even though warmer weather was only a hundred yards behind you.

Everyone except Xiao and Aether wore warm clothes, and it looked like the poor outlander regretted his decision to forego the garments.  Xiao appeared to be unbothered and more energetic than usual.  Childe looked like he was right at home with the weather, his shirt still sloppily unbuttoned to reveal his toned body underneath.  Bennet walked alongside you and was replacing Zhongli for the time being.

Snowflakes lazily floated their way down to earth, but they did nothing to grab your attention when the wind continued to howl against the team's direction.  You caught Xiao letting snow collect in his hand with an almost childlike wonder, but he glared at you when he found you staring.

"I want to find some dragon teeth for a sword and since you haven't been here before I thought it'd be a good idea to show you around," Aether called out to you over his shoulder, his arms crossing over his bare stomach for an ounce of warmth.

"You're insane!"

Aether's laugh mixed with the clattering of his teeth.  "You only live once, right?"  You removed two of your coats and threw them over his head.  "T-t-thanks."

You rolled your eyes despite the fact that you were smiling at him, only for your gaze to lock with Xiao's look of disapproval.  'Mortals are fragile,' you interpreted his frown and giggled.  

"Here we go!" Bennet lit the firepit with his flaming sword and knelt down in front of it.  Everyone joined him;  Aether was especially close to the flames.

"It's kind of annoying to find fire every five minutes," you shivered violently.  "And you practically go up here for fun?"  

"It gets easier the more we do it," Paimon giggled with a nervous smile.  "Besides, we get to mine starsilver and find cool dragon stuff that we can sell--"

"Don't lump me in with you," Aether piped up without moving away from the fire.

The distant sound of a conversation was carried over by a bone-chilling breeze.  "Huh?  Should we go check it out?"  Paimon stared in the direction the vague voices were coming from.

"U-uh-huh," nodded Aether.

The group stumbled over a hill only to find the body cavity of Durin.  While it threw you off, the sight around the remains was what chilled you to the bone.  Of course there's Fatui here, you scoffed.

"I see a tooth over there too,"  Aether whined.

"What's everyone looking at me for?"  Childe let out a nervous chuckle and awkwardly scratched the back of his head.  "These aren't my guys."

"We know," Paimon cooed.

"That's why we want you to go talk to them and let us pass," Aether held the smuggest expression you've ever seen him pull off.

"Uh...I'm not under any jurisdiction to--"

"Do it," you ordered with cold eyes.  When he locked eyes with you, you stood on your tip-toes and spoke in his ear.  "Prove your loyalty to the group."

"My loyalty, ojou-chan," his eyes narrowed significantly, "lies with Her Majesty, the Tsaritsa."

"Uh-oh," Paimon poofed out of existence.

"Uh, guys?  Those Fatui agents are approaching us reeeaal fast," Bennett warned.  

The two of you broke eye contact to find that he was right.  One electro and two geo skirmishers were walking towards the group.  Poofing would be a more accurate description.  Childe gave you a final look before he hopped over a log to greet them.

"Greetings!"  He didn't smile, and the skirmishers stopped in their tracks.

"Master Childe?  We didn't realize you'd be joining us on the mountain."  The three of them knelt out of respect.

"It's a surprise visit, really.  I came to check on your progress--"  The group made their way around the Fatui and Aether yanked the large tooth out of the ground while Childe chattered away with his subordinates.

[gazrgaley]

C.R.O.W (Chapter 4)

"Are you feeling okay?" Milo inquired as Richard tinkered with the intravenous line inserted into his arm.

Richard looked up at Milo, who was perched on the bed's edge. His face sunken, looking like the living dead. The irony, not lost on him. "What makes you think I'm not OK?" Richard asked, void of all emotion as he concentrated on what he was doing.

When Milo woke after being in a per-mo sleep he was unable to absorb blood the normal way. Richard had supplied him with red gel capsules that worked very well for younger vampires. A substitute for human blood. But it didn't seem to work as well for Milo.

As a short-term and experimental measure, they had been drawing blood from him every month or so and then re-infusing it. Dr. Constantine conceived this idea and expected to be the one to implement it.

After the first time, when Milo realized how exposed he felt, he wouldn't let him do it again. Grendel was unable to do so because of his aversion to blood. This forced Richard to take up the mantle. Something he didn't want to do, but knew there was no other option.

The idea wasn't exactly groundbreaking. It was a method used on the dormant Kaw-Sekhmu in their family's catacombs. This process would only need to be carried out once a year because well in a per-mo sleep they used very little energy. And only the most reliable Kaw-Sekhmu were tasked with this responsibility.

In his two hundred years of working with the family, Richard was allotted this assignment five times. It was the equivalent of being called to jury service. Yet it was also a sign that you had climbed through the ranks, and it irritated all the appropriate people to see someone as young as him wielding such authority. Because of this, he was more than willing to contribute whenever the occasion arose.

Richard was requested for this reason. As well as the fact that Milo trusted him. He regretted that anybody except himself had been willing or able to do it. The procedure virtually emptied the person's blood before replenishing it with new blood. And halfway through, before the blood was replaced. The individual appeared to be a corpse.

He'd seen it many times before. But having Milo sit there awake was a very different story. He was always the quiet kind. Until he had anything essential to say, he kept his ideas to himself. This, however, was not the same. He appeared to be old and dead on the inside. Yet the silence came across as rotting rather than refined.

Throughout this moment, Richard avoided making eye contact with him. He had no idea what was wrong with Milo, but his paranoia that Milo knew what he was doing, made him feel guilty. "You know, Molly and Olive were discussing inviting the two of you around this week. Grendel has taken a shine to Olive. She even refers to him as her uncle."

Milo's eyes flashed, like coming out of a trance. "What?" Richard was about to repeat himself when Milo responded, there was some alarm in his voice. "Why would she refer to him as that?"

Richard shook his head. "I believe he told her to, and she's five."

Milo observed Richard as he rose from the floor and took a seat next to him on the bed. There was nothing more to do at this time but wait until the blood bag was empty and all of its contents were in Milo. "That shouldn't be too much longer." He attempted to disguise how uncomfortable he was, but he was certain he was failing miserably.

This was confirmed when Milo assured him, he didn't need to stay in the room.

"Don't be absurd, You shouldn't have to be alone during this," Richard answered, gently slapping Milo's knee. "Not that it has any bearing on my comfort level. If you recall, I was a sin eater at one point." Immediately regretting saying this.

Milo glanced over at him. "not to say," he shifted his position. "It's not like you're dying or something, it's obviously different. I simply meant that." He went quiet. He couldn't take back what he said, and trying to explain it would only make it worse.

Inside, he was ashamed of himself. He had a reputation for being able to talk his way out of any problem, yet here he sat unable to get any of his words straight. But it was more than that. Milo was family. True, honest to god family. And not in the same way the Ka-sakemu used the phrase, an empty sentiment for emotional manipulation.

Milo's mouth curled up in a wry grin. Even when he was completely content and in a good mood, his smile didn't go much wider. "No, it's just how it feels. Yet, I frequently ponder whether this is the start of the end," Milo stated in a monotone. As though he were only stating the obvious--like an apple is red.

Richard shifted without realizing it. Hearing Milo speak in this manner disturbed him. He had always had this idealized version of Milo in his head. He always had the upper hand and was in charge. He had an uncanny knack for rescuing people from their own depressive musings.

The man he knew, though, wasn't this one. It's possible that whatever was occurring to him wasn't physically killing him. But, the psychological harm was almost too great.

"You need to take care of yourself, Richard," Milo said, his concern concentrated more on Richard than himself. Richard wondered for a second if he knew what he was doing. Yet that was impossible, and he shook the idea out of his head. But it didn't take away his sense of guilt. He didn't mind endangering the other Kaw-Sekhmu.

These were things he thought about before all of this started. He knew there would be some that got hurt from all of this. Molly and Olive would be safe. And Isabel, a very old family friend, shouldn't have been too affected by his new alliance as she had no official ties with the Kaw-Sekhmu.

Yet he'd forgotten how much he loved both Milo and Grendel. That was something he couldn't put into words, but it gave him a sense of belonging.

Aligning himself with Malachi would put a stop to it, no matter how much he wanted to back out. He realized that wasn't an option. In the long term, he realized what he was doing was correct. Even if it felt like his insides were being ripped out.

The television was on but Grendel had a hard time paying attention to it. He lay on the sofa, his gaze fixed to the screen, but none of it was getting threw to him. He hated change in general. Once he cared for someone that was it. He wanted them in his life forever.

Every day, he worried about Milo. He was able to shift it to the back of his head, though. Milo's absence was as likely as a shark attack in the middle of Africa. But days like this made him feel as though he had been mistaken the entire time. He didn't reside in Africa, but in southern Florida, and he was currently in the middle of the ocean.

Milo was still affected by whatever Ma'at had done to him. Killing her would be as difficult as finding her and putting her down. But what she was doing was beyond her, and he got the awful sensation she was the only one who could assist Milo now, and her death may take that knowledge with her.

He wanted her gone. He wanted to stop thinking about what horrific thing she was going to do to him next, who she was going to injure just to get back at him. He couldn't even offer himself a good diversion without it turning into a huge issue.

Grendel sprang from the couch, grinning widely, as Richard and Milo emerged from the bedroom. The same grin he used to make others feel at ease. Milo certainly would have seen what he was doing. But he hoped it had benefited Richard in some tiny way.

Richard had been trying everything he could to aid Milo, but it was having a negative impact on him. Richard had several distinct faces, according to Grendel and Molly.

'Business Richard' was the one he used when he needed to disguise his genuine emotions. A tougher, more calculated version of himself. He would come off as more callous and uncaring.

'Family Richard' came next. Someone you could chat to about anything. The loving husband and father. The one who took his wife out to swing dance on the weekends.

Grendel hadn't seen 'family Richard' in a while, and he worried that he was to blame for this. More than anything he wanted to make things right.

"Did everything go well?" Grendel asked, as he followed the two into the kitchen.

Milo sighed and glanced at the counter where a sad cup of tea sat. "I told you to stop trying to help. Your tea is awful. And I'm not completely useless." He poured it out without so much as a drink and turned on the kettle.

Richard attempted to escape during this time. As Grendel snatched his arm from under him. "Stay, Milo's going to brew us some tea." He pulled Richard aside despite Richard's protests that he was already running late. "Oh, don't be so rude. It shouldn't take more than five minutes."

"What's going on, Grendel?" Richard asked. "Is everything okay?"

"Well, I guess it depends on what you mean by okay." Milo replied as he began to pour a cup of tea for both of them. "Grendel has mixed us up with a group of vampire hunters that call themself Crows."

Richard lifted an eyebrow in astonishment. "Vampire hunters? Crows? What have you gotten yourself into?"

Grendel shuffled uneasily. "I...I just thought they might be able to assist us. And if they die, it won't be a loss."

But before either of them could add more, Richard's demeanor shifted. A smile began to grow on his face as he went into full Business mode. "You claim they go after vampires. Vampires such as the Netopuri?"

Grendel and Milo exchanged curious glances before returning their attention to Richard. "Yes, and why do you ask?" Milo inquired, a look of mistrust on his face.

Richard made various hand gestures before thoughtfully laying his hand on his face. "Oh, nothing in particular. It's only." He waved his own thoughts away. "Oh , no. That would be foolish."

Despite both of them knowing better they took the bait. Curiosity getting the better of them both. "What is it?" Both Grendel and Milo spoke at once.

"As you can see. For the most part, this entire accord with the Netopuri is functioning quite well." Richard began. For a long time, the Netopuri, or cold-blooded vampire, had control over the U.S. They had just recently let the Kaw-Sekhmu in because they were gradually losing control of what the cold-blooded vampires were doing. For the most part anyone could turn and make as many vampires as they wanted.

The Kaw-Sekhmu, on the other hand, were exceedingly particular about who and how many of their type were created. The Kaw-Sekhmu was present to assist in keeping order, but they had no control in how many Netopuri were produced. And attempting to manage it alone would result in either the abolition of the peace treaty or, worse, a war between the two factions.

Many of the cold-blooded vampires were alarmed by the Kaw-Sehumu's capabilities. Concerned that they might try to take over fully, they began to increase their numbers quicker than previously. With no order or care on the Netopure in command, there was nothing that could be done.

Richard's grin broadened as he described this. "As you can see, my hands are tied, despite the fact that this is a major issue. C.R.O.W., on the other hand, is under no duty to any side. And that they discovered a nest that was causing difficulties. It couldn't really be our fault, would it?"

"And how would we know which Netopuri are causing the most issues, Richard?" Milo inquired, playing stupid.

"Oh, please. It's a win-win situation. I have a few less things on my plate, and you have C.R.O.W's. trust." Richard reasoned, attempting to persuade Milo of this concept. "I mean, what if they don't trust you and figure out who you are? Giving them a handful of undesirables will go a long way in your defense."

"I'll have to think about it," Milo replied, his gaze fixed on him as he sipped his drink. His voice emphasized his lack of excitement.

Grendel, tired with the conversation's focus on C.R.O.W., finally raised his voice. "We need to do something fun together." Knowing just what to say to derail this conversation. "The five of us need to get out. Like in the good ol' days"

Milo and Richard glanced over at him as he pretended to be oblivious to the implications of his words. "I thought she said she didn't want anyone to know she would be coming yet." Richard said, but all Grendel did was grin at him knowingly.

Milo's gaze swept across the two of them. Getting a better grasp, although a hazy one, on what they were saying.

[kaiparker-avengerssmut]

Their Doll 17

He loves you

B.Barnes x Stark!Reader, S.Rogers x Stark!Reader

series synopsis:  y/n Stark, all records of her non existent, and yet Hydra still find her. When she is kidnapped by a certain super-soldier and no one believes her, she finds herself searching for unexpected familiarity in her not-so-distant past.

Series Warnings: smut, violence, torture, swearing

Chapter Summary: you and Bucky stay in bed for a while. Y/n meets Sam

Warnings: fluff, kissing, implied smut, there’s probably some swearing somewhere

A/n: The timeline in this has been altered, as there I things I wanted to include but I also wanted this fic to follow the storyline/timeline of Winter Soldier and Civil war.So for purposes of this fanfic, Peter Parker was discovered by Tony at a much younger age - when he was bitten - and has been an intern with him since, almost like a protégée.(For the purposes of this story Peter was bitten much younger too - more like when he was 9 or ten rather than 14/15)

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Layers of pale sunlight streaked through the thin, flimsy white curtains, forming a rich sheen of dull yellow light across the room. The encroaching stream of gold cast over y/n's face blinked her awake, her heavy eyelids fluttering and her mouth opening in a sinfully beautiful yawn. Or at least Bucky thought so, but he thought everything about y/n was beautiful.

Bucky had been laying there for a near hour now, blue eyes gazing over his girl's features as she looked blissfully peaceful immersed in a deep sleep. Last night's events must've really fired her out. Y/n's small hand was splayed against his bare chest, chin tucked into the crook of his neck and body embraced by his warm, flesh arm. His fingers danced in small swirls against her back, drawing small figurines ever-so-lightly against she sunlit-skin.

A soft smile had found his lips, tugging them upwards into almost a grin at the sight of y/n in his arms. Her leg was still thrown over his waist haphazardly, his shirt ridden up to around her ribs, panties doing little to conceal what the shirt had revealed.

Y/n's head lifted slowly, his soft smile contagious in the way it curled upon her lips, too.

"Morning, soldier." She mumbled, raspy and broken with a mixture of the strain and sleep. He pulled the girl into him further, his small smile growing when he felt her nuzzle into his warmth. Her disjointed voice was cute, Bucky thought, a reminder to him that he wasn't the only one still struggling to fit in.

He'd spent nearly five months in Bruce's lab, on ice once again as the man and Tony both tried to figure out how to rid him of his winter soldier side. They'd recovered him the first mission they'd gone on, the one without Steve. And not even Steve new Bucky was back until a week ago, although the soldier was only released from the lab yesterday.

Bruce had offered to take Bucky to the party with him, but the super soldier had politely - albeit quickly - declined his offer, knowing almost off instinct that the party scene wasn't one for him. Instead, he'd asked for directions to y/n's room, where he had waited for probably close to an hour before y/n had come storming in.

"You sound like you've been gargling glass." Bucky teased, unable to keep a deadpan expression as the words formed on his lips. Y/n's mouth opened in shock, and she used one arm to prop herself up whilst smacking Bucky's chest with the other. He chuckled, grabbing the hand she'd used to hit him before lifting it to his lips. Bucky kissed each of her fingertips in-turn, before bringing it to cup his face and holding her warmth against his skin. He turned his mouth towards her palm, plump lips fluttering against it as y/n looked in with pure...adoration in her eyes.

"I love you." The words tumbled from her lips like a simple thank you before she could think it through, Bucky's lips stilled against the palm of her hand, his eyes searching hers as if he was trying to find a hint as to why she just said that. It took her a moment to realise that he could be confused, after all, she blurted the words rather quickly and even she wasn't sure that she would've heard them had they come from someone else's mouth. "I love you." She said slower, as if she was hand picking each word before she said it. "I'm totally and completely in love with you." She murmured, eyes captured by the awe struck across Bucky's face.

"W-why?" He finally mustered the courage to say, dropping her hand back to his chest. Y/n took a deep breath, closing her eyes as she did so as if to prepare herself for what she was about to say.

"Because, you were my calm after the storm. Everything bad that seemed to happen, you were there to pick up the pieces after." She explained, moving the hand that'd been dropped to his chest to rest over Bucky's heart. It was racing.

"But all I did was...look at you. Sometimes I was the problem." Bucky argued, almost with himself. It was like he didn't believe what y/n he said, like he thought she was trickling him.

"But your eyes...they quelled the anger, the frustration, the hurt and the pain," y/n continued on, "it's like the real you - not the winter soldier - was always waiting, like you were simply hiding in the sidelines." She confessed, a slither of a tear making its way across her waterline. She opened her mouth to say more, but she found her lips already pressed against his.

Bucky rolled them over, his frame hovering above y/n's as he covered her face in small, affectionate kisses.

"I love you too." He whispered against her ear, giving the lobe a playful nip that made y/n squeal and giggle, a sound that had Bucky grinning boyishly and tickling her sides with his slender fingers, relishing in the cute sound she made.

"Please!" She gasped, face red and tears of laughter streaking her face, "please, h-have mercy!" She pleaded with him.

"Only if you say it again." Bucky smirked, straddling her hips and tickling his fingers against her sides.

"Say what?" Y/n breathed, her small form writhing beneath his as he kept up him ministrations.

"You know exactly what." Bucky mumbled as he leant over y/n, beginning to kiss and suck her neck too.

"I love you." She said softly, voice not as crackly now that she'd spoken a little bit more. Bucky's fingers halted for a moment, his nose brushing against hers and their breaths mingled as his stared deeply into her eyes.

"I know." He whispered, pecking the tip of her nose before beginning to tickle the poor girl again, a wolfish grin playing against his lips.

"You promised!" Y/n gasped, trying desperately to get out his grip.

"Oops." Bucky mumbled against her lips, connecting them once again.

...

We had stayed in bed most of the morning, desperate to avoid Steve and my dad for as long as we possibly could. But at noon Bucky ushered me out of bed, claiming he was to meet with a friend and that it was bad for us to spend all day in bed.

I had sighed, getting out of bed with a huff before he was pulling me into his lap, back against his chest and his lips kissing my neck softly. His warm skin against mine made me relax, his hand on my cheek tilting my head back to meet his in a sweet kiss all the convincing I needed.

Sweaty, hot, and flustered, I panted as I climbed the stairs to the floor my apartment was on in the tower. I swiped my forehead, grimacing at the sticky feel of my sweat covering the back of my hand.

To blow off some steam and the manifesting stress of yesterday, I'd decided to go on a short run. That had turned into five bloody miles. So naturally, I was a knackered, panting mess with hair clinging to my face and sweat forming dark patches under my armpits.

I conquered the last flight of stairs - too stubborn to take the elevator as I was more likely to bump into Steve or Tony that way - and dragged my feet the whole way to my room.

I pushed the door open, a hundred-percent ready to flop onto either my bed or my sofa and die. But when I walked in, I was greeted by the sight of Bucky and some guy I'd never met sat at the small breakfast bar in the kitchen of my apartment, two coffee mugs resting in front of them.

The sound of the door opening had caught both mens' attention, both facing me. I offered a weak smile, shoulder slumped with her tiredness. I was mentally cursing, embarrassed that Bucky's friend was seeing me like this the first time we's met.

"Hey, doll." Bucky smiled, clearing his throat when I looked at him questioningly. "This is Sam. I hope you're okay with us using your room." Bucky said sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck and giving me an apologetic smile, "Steve was meant to show me to mine last night. Obviously that's not going to happen now." He said, met with a chuckle from Sam.

"You must be y/n. It's great to finally meet you." Sam smiled kindly, his face soft and he seemed to not be affected by my state, or if he was he didn't show it. I smiled back, slightly wider this time.

"Yeah. It's nice to meet you to, although Bucky's never mentioned you before." I commented, trying to keep my tone civil, the ache in me to just collapse to the floor growing. He chuckled, so did Bucky.

"I, uh, I met him a while back. Six months ago maybe? Of course, he was trying to kill me at the time." Sam said comically, slapping a hand onto Bucky's shoulder a Bucky looked down at his drink, pearly whites shown as he laughed.

"Oh." Was all I said, instantly connecting the dots. That's when I was with HYDRA, I realised. The second time. Sam stood slowly, grabbing his jacket from the back of the barstool before turning to me.

"Well, it was wonderful meeting you."

"You too." I smiled.

"And thank you for the coffee." He finished, directing it at Bucky this time. The soldier smiled and waved at Sam as he left, standing from his own seat to deposit the used mugs in the little sink. Sam's exit was announced bu the thud of the door as it swung shut.

"At least give a girl some warning, next time." I instantly chided, shoulder slumping at Bucky sauntered over to me. He was amusedly smiling, teeth on show as her hooked arm arm around my shoulders and pulled me into his chest.

"Sorry." He mumbled, placing a chaste kiss into my hair. "Now go have a shower, you need it." He said, pushing me away and turning me towards the bathroom.

"Hey!" I complained, yelping as I felt his hand connect with my ass as I began to walk away.

[wiypt-writes]

Stark Spangled Rebirth

Chapter 5: Rescue And Requisition

Summary: Steve, aided by Peggy and the Stark siblings, heads to the HYDRA base on a rescue mission, but little does he know Katie has a mission of her own.

Warnings: Bad Language words.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x OFC Katie Stark

Word Count: 8.2k

A/N:  This series is my contribution of sorts to the CATF 10 Year Anniversary Challenge.  As always, some creative liberties taken. And for anyone who is interested, Katie uses the term Midnight Requisition which is a military term- “To steal, scrounge. To acquire supplies for a unit from another without their approval or knowledge, usually after business hours/dark.” 

This is the LAST catch up post, Chapter 6 onwards is NEW CONTENT!!! And continues the story, I’m so PLEASED finally to be able to share it!

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar Katie Stark and the other OCs. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

SSR Masterlist // Main Masterlist

Chapter 4

As soon as Howard Stark saw Steve, the Inventor’s face split into a huge grin and he shook his hand with vigour. Katie then explained that they needed his help to go rogue and bust the men out from behind enemy lines, causing her brother’s face to split into a huge grin and nod. The three agents quickly bustled around Howard’s tent, Peggy and Katie talking in low, hushed voices as they hurriedly grabbed various pieces of equipment before the four of them quietly and efficiently left the base, Howard slipping the guards on the perimeter gate a decent wad of cash for their silence.

It took them a little over an hour and was just starting to go dark when they reached the private airfield where Howard had stationed his plane. The waning light suited them, as Katie pointed out, it would be easier for them to operate under the cover of darkness, less chance of being detected. More money exchanged hands, something Steve had always hated, the fact that money seemed to be able to buy you anything you needed no matter how morally corrupt, but at that moment he couldn’t have given less of a shit if he tried. Before long they were in the air, Howard informing them that the trip of just over a hundred and fifty miles would take them roughly an hour and a half, which was far less than the four hours or so he anticipated it would have taken Steve in the jeep.

“You’d have run out of gas after about fifty clicks.” He had teased the soldier who had inwardly groaned as Howard pointed out the flaws in his plan. But then again Steve hadn’t been thinking all that much had he? He never did when it came to the people he cared about. He was a jump first, think later kind of guy, and the serum hadn’t done anything to change that part of his personality.

“So we’re here…” Peggy spoke, leaning forward slightly in her seat opposite Steve, pointing to the map in her hands as he checked the straps on his chute. “The HYDRA camp is in Kreischberg, tucked between these two mountain ranges.” She moved her finger a little right and from the distance it travelled and the scale on the map, Steve estimated they were no more than five miles out.

“Looks like a factory of some kind.” Katie mused, glancing at the map where she sat next to Peggy, flicking her braid back over her shoulder.

“We should be able to drop you right on the doorstep.” Howard called from the front of the aircraft, which was now shaking slightly with a mild bout of turbulence.

“Just get me as close as you can.” Steve called, before he looked back at Katie and Peggy, his voice dropping slightly. “You know you three are gonna be in a lot of trouble at the lab.”

“What else is new?” Katie shrugged, and Steve heard Howard chuckle.

“I’m surprised Old Chester ain’t sent you packing yet, Kiddo.”

“Well like you’re his best mechanical engineer, I’m his best front line agent.” She shrugged, “no offence, Peg.”

“None taken.” Peggy said somewhat sardonically, before she snorted. “We all know I’m the brains behind this operation.”

“Don’t hear me arguing.” Katie shrugged before she looked at Steve. “And you’re gonna be in just as much trouble.”

“Well, where I’m goin’, if anybody yells at me I can just shoot ‘em.” Steve replied, grinning a little. His spirits had been lifted exponentially now he was actually about to do something worthwhile, despite the fact he knew he was going to literally leap feet first into danger.

“They will undoubtedly shoot back.” Peggy fixed him with a look.

“Well,” Steve looked round at his stage prop shield that he had brought with him, which was leaning against the wall of the aircraft, “let’s hope it’s good for somethin’.” His knuckles rapped on the metal as Katie gave a little shake of her head and a side smirk, bending over to check the laces on her boots.

“Agent Carter, if we’re not in too much of a hurry I thought we could stop off in Lucerne for a late night fondue.” Howard called over his shoulder from the front of the plane and there was a moment’s silence as Peggy shifted a little awkwardly on the seat.

“Jesus, Howie, really? You’re doing this now?” Katie groaned as her brother chuckled.

“Hey, you asked me to come on this kamikaze mission.” He shot back. “I was just trying to lighten the mood a little.”

As the two siblings began to bicker Steve glanced at Peggy as he tugged on his gloves and the Agent rolled her eyes slightly. “Stark is the best civilian pilot I’ve ever seen. He’s mad enough to brave this airspace, we’re lucky to have him.”

“So are you two…do you…” Steve waved his arm between Peggy and Howard “…fondue?”

Peggy looked at him, completely ignoring his question and Steve supposed he couldn’t blame her, it was a personal question after all.  His eyes then flicked to Katie who had stood up and was making her way towards the cockpit, swaying a little with the motion of the aircraft. With a swift flick of her hand she slapped Howard round the back of the head.

“Ouch, Kiddo! Do you want me to crash this thing or what?”

“Stop being a schmuck.” She shot at him before Peggy extended her arm towards Steve, a device held in her hand.

“This is your transponder. Activate it when you’re ready and the signal will lead us straight to you.”

Steve took it from her. “Are you sure this thing works?” he looked at it a little sceptically, turning it over in his hand, his attention flicking to the cockpit.

“It’s been tested more than you, pal.” Howard shot over his shoulder and Steve looked at him before his eyes flicked to Kate who was looking out of the cockpit window straight ahead of them. She raised her arm and pointed at something, her eyes narrowing in concentration.

“Howie…” she began to speak but before she could finish her sentence the plane lurched violently sideways and Steve gripped onto the side as the sky was suddenly filled with flashes and bangs from anti-aircraft shells which exploded all around them. Realising that it was now far too dangerous for them to take him any further, Steve shot to his feet and made his way to the door, grabbing his shield as he went.

“Get back here! We’re taking you all the way in!” Peggy’s voice rose but for the first time since he’d known her, Steve completely ignored the agent, exhaling loudly before he dropped and shuffled to the edge of the plan.

“As soon as I’m free, you turn this thing around and get the hell outta here!” he turned and looked up at Katie and Peggy.

“You can’t give us orders!” Katie scoffed, her hands on her hips.

“The hell I can’t!” Steve looked up at her, unable to stop the cheeky little smirk playing on his face, “I’m a Captain!” and with that he pulled his goggles down and flung himself out into the starry sky. The noise was deafening as he plummeted through the air, the sheer force of falling whipped his body with such ferocity he was sure his hair was going to fly clean off his head. With a sharp tug of the rip cord he deployed his chute and with a sharp jolt he was pulled upwards slightly before he began to fall at a much more civilized pace.

After what seemed like an age, Steve’s sharp eyes spotted the ground rising towards him and he landed heavily in a thud. With an easy, fluid motion he yanked his parachute down to the ground and then untangled himself from the harness. Once he was free, he glanced around and realised he’d landed on the outskirts of a thick, wooded area, the earthy smells of pine, dirt and damp filled his nostrils. He took a moment to get his bearings, pulling out the compass he had in his pants. He knew that from the direction the aircraft had been travelling in he needed to head due north. As the needle settled on the point, he realised he was currently facing East so he spun to his left and was just about to set off at a run when he heard something flying in heavily from above.

He spun round, just in time to see another chute sailing towards him and in a flash he whipped out his pistol as whoever it was landed with a thud some hundred yards or so behind him..

“At ease, Soldier,” a familiar voice, soft and quiet in the cover of night, spoke and Steve felt a cold feeling of utter shock and horror fill his chest.

“What the hell are you doing here?” He hissed as he strode towards Katie who was now untangling herself from her harness.

“Same thing as you.” She replied flippantly as she took a look around and began to take a few steps away from him.

“Are you insane?” He glared at her, his hand wrapping around her arm to stop her. He could have sworn she felt the tremble in his finger tips if it weren't evident in his voice.

“Not last time I checked, no.” She wrenched free of his uncharacteristically brash grip and spun to face him, her eyes blazing at him in the dim moonlight.

“You could get yourself killed!” He pressed, his voice carrying a little more than he'd liked. He failed to keep the element of concern out of it.

“Keep your voice down!”

“Damned it Katie, this wasn’t part of the plan!”

“No, it wasn’t part of YOUR plan.” She shot back. “It was, however, always part of mine and Peg’s.”

“Peggy knows about this?”

“Of course she does.”

“And Howard?”

“No way,” Katie snorted. “I'd guess Peggy is currently getting the full force of one of his verbal bashings.” At that she pulled out her compass. “We need to go North.”

“I know.” Steve said a little sullenly, a growl in his chest.

“So let’s move. Sooner we can fulfil our missions, the better.”

The plural of the word didn’t pass him by and through the downright anger and frustration, and dare he say it, fear he was feeling at the current situation, his logical side started to kick in and he knew there was nothing he could do about any of this now, bar keep her safe. So with a sigh, he shook his head and turned to follow her as she’d begun to walk away, his brain registering her last words.

“Missions?” he asked, stressing the word. “We have more than one?”

“One each.” Katie shot over her shoulder. “You’re on a rescue mission. Mine’s more of a midnight requisition.”

“Midnight requisition? For what?”

“Intel, tech, anything we can get our hands on.” She picked up her pace, scrambling up a slight incline. “I told you in the plane, I’m a damned good field agent and this isn’t my first raid. We’ve done a few over the past couple of months. But they’ve all been bust, well almost all anyway.”

“Bust?” Steve frowned “How?”

“They were smaller Nazi controlled labs.” She continued to speak as she weaved through the forest “The more we raided and the more intel we gathered, the more it became apparent we were right, Schmidt is marching to his own tune.” She paused and looked around. “The fight at Azzano wasn’t his first move, he advanced a load of troops into Norway a month or so ago of his own accord. Then, at Azzano, he opened fire on both Allied and Nazi troops alike.  My guess is, and Peggy agrees, that this base will likely be under his control alone. And probably house more information about where his other ones are hidden.”

“Others?”

“This won’t be the only one.” Katie shrugged as she looked at her compass and turned right. “And without that information, Steve, we’re fighting blind. We can’t defeat HYDRA if we don’t know where they are.”

“You should have told me.” He replied, his tone still a little sullen. He didn’t like being in the dark.

“What, so you could blow the plan in front of my brother?” She scoffed. “He’d have refused to take us had he known what I was planning, he was bad enough when I had a full troop behind me.”

“You led a troop?”

“Don’t sound so surprised.” She chuckled. “You know I’m actually an ‘honorary’ Lieutenant, thanks to Colonel Phillips. Didn’t go down well at first, most of the men weren’t keen on taking orders from a woman.”

“So that’s what you meant when you called them all jerks earlier by the stage.” Despite himself Steve felt a smile curl across his face.

“Yup. They soon fell in line when a few of them ended up with my fist in their mouth. Not to mention a good number also found themselves on the end of a Phillips’ Special.”

“A Phillips Special?”

“Yeah, the term coined for when they’re stripped naked and made to run ten miles round camp by the Colonel.” She shrugged. “For all his bluster, Chester’s actually been really supportive of both me and Peggy. That, and he doesn’t like subordination in any form.”

“You don’t say.” Steve muttered as Katie continued, her foot-falls light and quiet as she weaved her way through the thicket of the trees.

They continued for about an hour, alternating their pace between a jog and a fast walk. Had Steve been on his own he no doubt could have run the entire distance a lot faster but he didn’t raise that issue, and there was no point being frustrated about it either. Firstly, there was nothing he could do about it, secondly, to be fair, Katie kept up a decent enough pace and thirdly, had he been running as fast as he could have he would no doubt have run straight into one of the various HYRDRA patrols they encountered within the woods. As it happened, the pace they were going at was perfect for his sharp senses to alert him whenever a passing patrol was near, enabling them to duck out of sight.

Eventually, the trees began to thin out and through the gloomy mist that had descended, which he had to admit was incredibly useful to keep their presence as covert as possible, Steve saw the perimeter fence and gate to the camp. He stopped dead, his arm out causing Katie to also pause and as he studied the gate, trying to figure out the best way in, he heard the rumble of trucks coming from his side. He spun just in time to see them approaching down the road which led through the wooded area and he crouched down, pulling Katie down with him.  

“Reckon you can make the last one?” He asked, turning to face her.

“Yeah.” She nodded. “They’re not going too fast.”

Steve took another look around before he nodded and the two of them ran for the last truck, Katie springing up first and he heard her give a little sigh as he pulled himself up over the tail gate. “Crap.”

The reason for her curse soon became apparent as Steve landed in the back of the truck and came face to face with two HYDRA guards.

"Fellas." He nodded. There was a split second and they both lunged at him at the same time. He pushed Katie a little harshly to the right as he hit one with straight punch to the face, the other dropping with a groan as Katie had connected a well-aimed boot to his stomach. As both guards tried to scramble to their feet, Steve grabbed both their heads, smashing them together like a pair of cymbals before he tossed them straight out of the back.

“Impressive.” Katie looked at him, smirking and Steve rolled his eyes as she turned and looked carefully through a small tear in the side of the canvas of the truck. “They’re taking us straight in.”

“And then what?”

“I dunno, you tell me, you’re the Star Spangled Man with a Plan after all.”

“Oh for the love of…this isn’t some kind of fucking day’s outing!” He practically exploded and Katie groaned.

“Lighten up, Steve.” She turned away, looking back through the hole in the side of the truck. “It was a joke.”

“Well I see nothing funny about any of this, at all.”

“And you think I do?” Katie turned, her eyes once more full of an angry fire. “Let me tell you, Captain, my unit has seen things these last four months that no one should ever have to see. And you know how we dealt with it? By NOT dealing with it.” She brushed a piece of hair off her face. “We joked, made light of the situations we found ourselves in because they were downright fear inducing, and if we didn’t none of us would have lasted five minutes. So take that stick out of your ass and stop being so goddamned self-righteous.”

Steve blinked, but before he could respond to her angry outburst the truck slowed and then began to reverse. Eventually it came to a stop and Steve could hear someone at the tail of the truck so he gestured for Katie to get behind him, which she did. He simply raised his shield in front of his body and waited. The flap to the back of the truck opened and without hesitation Steve smashed the shield straight into the guard’s face, sending him flying backwards. Quickly and quietly, shield on his arm, he jumped out of the truck, turning to help Katie down and the pair of them turned left, jumping off the raised loading platforms and jogging, all the time keeping their bodies stooped and low.

There were lines and lines of tanks emblazoned with the HYDRA symbol and the two of them shared a glance at one another. It was clear to Steve that Katie and Peggy were right, Schmidt had been gearing HYDRA up to be far more than a science division for some time if this equipment was anything to go by. Together, they weaved their way through the lines of armoured vehicles, taking care to keep to the shadows and out of sight as they made their way towards a smaller outbuilding that looked like it led into the main base.

“Come on.” Steve gently nudged Katie and the pair of them ran across the ground. Steve hopped up onto a tank that was conveniently parked by the annex, offering his hand to Katie to pull her up. They both scrambled onto the flat roof and ran, hopping up onto a slightly higher roof before they reached a set of metal steps which led up the side of the huge base. Katie went first, scrambling as fast as she could up them where she paused on a platform approximately halfway up. She nodded to a thick, iron door which led inside the building and Steve moved to try it, shaking his head.

“It’s locked.”

“Yeah, and you have the strength of like thirty men or whatever.” She rolled her eyes “Open it.”

He looked at her, narrowing his eyes at the fact she was bossing him around but he didn’t argue. He moved towards the door, shaking his head “This isn’t gonna-“ he gave a sharp tug and with a squeal the door pulled straight off the hinges “-work.” He finished lamely, looking from the door to Katie who stood there, arms folded, smirking.

“If only you had as much faith in you as I have.” She said a little sardonically and once more he glared at her. Pulling out her pistol Katie made to go in the door and Steve put his arm out.

“No, I’ll go first.” He stopped her.

“That’s not gonna work because you need to prop the door back up, so when that guard patrol comes back it doesn’t look like someone broke in.” She shook her head. Steve let out an exasperated sigh, more frustrated that she’d pointed out yet another potential issue he hadn’t considered in his haste and she smiled at him, “This is what I’m trained in, stealth.” She shrugged

She stepped inside, keeping herself flattened to the wall as Steve followed, leaning the door back up before he paused as they both looked around, finding themselves in a corridor of sorts.

“Any ideas on which way?” He asked and Katie pondered for a moment.

“Well, the front of the camp is left.” She frowned and Steve nodded his agreement.

“So we go right.”

“Yup.”

“Keep behind me, stay in the shadows.” He couldn’t help himself but instruct her, but to her credit she didn’t argue, merely gave him a little salute as the two of them set off through the factory.

A short while later they reached another door, only this one was guarded, they could see through the etched glass window embedded within it. Steve signalled to Katie to keep back before he knocked. The guard turned and came towards them, and as soon as the door opened Steve punched him hard in the face before smashing his head between the door and the wall. As the guard went down he caught him, pulling him silently out before the two of them headed inside, taking care to shut the door behind them. They appeared now to be in the main munitions storage area of the factory, and it was busy. Guards swarming all over, people driving pickups laden with crates, and each soldier seemed to be carrying guns powered by some form of liquid that was glowing a bright, cobalt blue.  

They dodged between aisles, using whatever they could to keep out of sight and as they snuck between a collection of huge metal containers of some kind, they both paused as they spotted what appeared to be racks of small, rectangular shaped metal items all containing the mysterious blue liquid. It was eerie, like nothing Steve had ever seen before and he gently moved to a closer look, picking one up.

“What the hell is that?” Katie whispered as he turned it over in his hand.

“I have absolutely no idea.” He shrugged “Except, to state the obvious, it looks like some kind of grenade. But, I’ve never seen anything like it before.”

“We should take them back to the lab.” She stated and Steve nodded his agreement, sticking the item into the pocket of his fatigues before they set off to continue their search heading even deeper into the base.

After another fifteen minutes or so of dodging as many HYDRA agents as they could, and subduing the ones they couldn’t, they reached a large room deep in the belly of the base and Steve took a deep breath as he looked around the room at the huge metal cages that contained easily over a hundred soldiers, if not two. He felt Katie still besides him as she also glanced around, her eyes flashing as she scanned the room, her attention instantly shooting upwards when they saw a warden walking above the cages on some kind of gangway, in which the large, circular tops of the cages were embedded. Steve also spotted another guard weaving his way amongst the large cells on the floor and took a deep breath.

“Right,” he turned to Katie. “I’ll take the one up top first, then I’ll drop down and-“

Katie took an exasperated breath, “don’t you trust me or something?” She hissed.

“Of course I do, but-“

“Then you go up high, I’ll take the one down below. I can do this, I’m not some fairy-tale princess that needs protecting. And whilst I appreciate your chivalry, as well you know, now is not the time, Soldier.”

Steve inhaled deeply and looked at her, her green eyes bored into his and he gave her a sharp nod deciding to go along with her, despite every part of his brain screaming at him not to.  Without looking back, he ran around the side of the large room and found a set of metal steps which led up the side. He took them two at a time and then continued along the raised platform that ran round the side of the room, crouching as he went to keep out of the dim light that the small, barred windows let in. He spotted the guard coming his way and ducked even more, waiting, and once the man was within reach he grabbed his shield from his back and swung it with a huge arm straight at his face. The guard topped backwards and landed heavily on top of one of the cages out cold.

As Steve moved and began to search the guard for his keys, all the prisoners stood up, their eyes wide with shock and surprise.

“And who the hell are you supposed to be?" One of them spoke as the rest continued to simply stare at him in stunned silence and he didn’t miss the way a few of them eyed him up and down, taking in his helmet and shield painted in the stars and stripes of the American Flag.

“I’m…” Steve answered a little breathlessly as he hesitated for a moment as he began to look around for Katie, but he found no sign of her, “Captain America." He finished a little lamely, glancing back down.

"I beg your pardon?" Another man spoke, this one in a British accent as Steve grabbed the keys from the guard’s belt and ran back the way he had come. As heard he ran across the floor to the first cage, he heard the hisses and rumbles of excited murmurs he glanced up to see Katie jogging towards him.

"Merde," one of the prisoners uttered as all heads turned in her direction.

“Language!” Katie turned her eyes to the soldier who had spoken, giving a slight smirk which the man returned as Steve unlocked the cage he was in.

“You okay?” He asked Katie as they moved to the next cage and she nodded.

“Yeah, took him down with a choke hold then kicked him in the face for good measure,” she shrugged as they moved down to the next cage, then the next.

“Well, well, well, Lady Lieutenant!” A tall, wide man spoke and Steve saw Katie’s head snap in his direction, her smirk turning into a huge smile. “What took you so long?”

“Got here as fast as I could. I'll be outta here just as fast when Phillips finds out where I am.” Katie grinned, before she shook her head and sighed, her voice cracking. “Damned it Dum Dum, we thought you were all dead!”

“Take more than that to get rid of us.”

Systematically, they moved through the room, unlocking each cage as they went until they reached the last one, all the time Steve scanning the faces of the prisoners all as they all emerged, shaking hands and hugging one another. But the face he had been hoping to see wasn’t amongst any of them.

"Are there any others?" Steve whispered, pushing his way between the man he knew only as Dum Dum and an Asian man who was holding his dog tags up, looking slightly affronted.  “I'm looking for a Sergeant James Barnes." He asked, turning to the British soldier who began walking alongside him and Katie.

"There's an isolation ward in the factory, but no one has ever come back from it." The British Man spoke.

“Alright,” Steve spoke, considering his options as he continued walking towards the door through which they had entered. "The tree line's northwest, about eighty yards past the gate. Agent Stark knows where it is.” He stopped and turned, nodding towards Katie, his eyes returning back to the group of men “You follow and take your instructions from her, you got it?”

The British man and a few others began to nod, the excitement and anticipation of a fight was easily sensed and Katie stepped forward, shaking her head.

“Steve,” she began to protest but this was one order he was not going to let her ignore.

“You said your mission was requisition.” His eyes locked on hers “So use these guys and do it. Get out fast and give ‘em hell. I'll meet you in the clearing with anybody I find inside."

For a moment he thought she was going to argue but she didn’t. Instead, she took a deep breath and nodded, her eyes still locked onto his. In that split second, Steve hesitated. There was so much he wanted to say, but, he couldn’t find the words to express what he was feeling. He wanted to tell her to stay safe, to keep herself out of danger, make sure she got out alive…but instead he looked at her, swallowing and she gave him a soft smile.

“I know.” She said gently, “you too.”

Steve gave her another curt nod, his chest tightening a little as he turned to go.

"Wait, you know what you're doing?" A soldier shouted after him, and Steve looked back over his shoulder about to answer before he heard Katie quip.

“He’s knocked out Adolf Hitler over two hundred times."

The prisoners furrowed their brows, before glancing around at each other with confused expressions on their faces and despite himself Steve gave a little chuckle, looking at Katie’s grinning face once more before he turned around and jogged out of the door, her voice ringing in his ears as she issued instructions to the troops.

“You heard the Captain. Now the base is heavily armed so we’re absolutely going to have to fight our way out. On the way, we grab as much tech and weapons as we can. Not only to use but also for further analysis by my unit….”

Her voice died down as Steve picked up a jog, shield on his back and headed off back the way they had come.  It wasn’t long before a loud siren rang out and Steve took a deep breath, trying to push his worry away as shouts and loud explosions boomed in his ears, signalling the fight had begun. He continued making his way into the factory, fighting his way through a number of guards easily as gunfire sounded all around him, the angry yells and screams of fighting filled his ears as the freed prisoners began to engage with the HYDRA soldiers.

He fought his way up onto the gangway that circled the main factory floor, dispatching another guard with a swift, hard boot to the abdomen that sent him flying over the railing and he took a look around, the sheer size of the factory floor catching him off guard for a moment before he remembered what he was here to do. Pulling out his pistol he turned right, jogging round the gangway until he hit a dimly lit corridor. He continued round and, as he quickly made his way through in search of the isolation ward, he saw a short man in thick glasses, carrying a briefcase and a number of files in his arms emerge from a room. The man stopped dead, looked at Steve and then turned and sprinted away from him, heading round the corner. Steve began to run after him, but as he passed the room the man had emerged from, he slowed when he heard what sounded like someone talking, mumbling even.

Taking a deep breath, he entered the room, following the sound as it became clearer and then his heart stopped and he grew hot, his breathing deep as he knew that voice. It was weak but still so familiar, even if it had been months since he had heard it.

"Sergeant. 32557…"

He hurried through another door, glancing towards the end of the room and saw the man he’d come to this very place for, strapped to a reclined medical chair.

"Bucky?" Steve shot over, pausing at the side of the chair and looking down at his best friend. Bucky’s eyes didn’t move, instead he kept chanting his rank and number as he stared blankly up at the ceiling. "Oh my God." Steve swallowed was his eyes travelled over Bucky’s body, taking in the restraints that kept him strapped to the chair. He looked tired, weak, sick even, and it hurt Steve to see him in such a state. Bucky had always been the strong one out of the pair of them, normally looking after him. But, well, now it was time to return the favour.  He swallowed and began ripping the straps around him with ease.

"Is that…?"

"It's me. It’s Steve.”

"Steve?" Bucky murmured, his face breaking into a smile as recognition flooded his features.

"Come on." Steve helped Bucky to his feet, holding onto his arms as he steadied himself before he gently reached out and patted the side of his friends face.

"I thought you were dead," Steve sighed as Bucky frowned, his eyes fixed on where Steve’s face would normally have been, and when he instead found himself looking at Steve’s chest, he raised his eyes up wards, puzzlement etched across his face.

"I thought you were smaller.” Bucky swallowed and Steve kept hold of him, helping him to stand upright as he became more coherent. Whilst Bucky was gaining his senses, Steve took a quick glance around and his eyes focussed on a map pinned to the wall, various positions highlighted upon it across Europe. Committing it to memory he then slung Bucky's arm over his shoulder, for the first time ever bearing his friend’s weight.

"Come on," he urged as he began to lead him out of the lab.

"What happened to you?" Bucky asked as Steve pretty much hauled him out of the room, keeping him upright as he stumbled, his feet struggling for traction.

"I joined the Army." Steve replied simply.

As they made their way back down the corridor, Steve felt Bucky becoming able to bear some of his own weight, and then gently nudge at Steve to let him go so he did. Bucky followed behind a pace or two his arm clutched over his ribs.

"Did it hurt?" He suddenly asked.

"A little," Steve replied, his head still looking around.

"Is it permanent?"

"So far."  Steve nodded as they continued.

Suddenly, there was a loud explosion which rocked the factory and the two men paused for a second before they picked up the pace. Eventually they emerged onto the gangway Steve had walked round before and immediately recoiled back as another explosion sent a huge ball of fire up into the air. Steve held his shield up to protect his face as Bucky ducked slightly, his hand gripping one of the railings, other hiding his face.  Turning away from the railings, Steve started to head up a set of stairs immediately behind him, Bucky following. The heat was stifling and it made Steve feel like he was stuck in a furnace as they quickly sprinted up the metal steps and emerged onto another gangway. Taking a right, they began to sprint down it, explosions and flames roaring below them. Steve’s brow beaded with sweat and he wiped it with the back of his hand, taking another look down.  He had no idea whether the fire had been started by the men led by Katie or some self-destruction ploy by HYDRA to prevent any of their plans or weapons getting into their hands, either way he found it hard to care. One less base to deal with he supposed.

“Captain America!”

Steve stopped dead, turning to his left to see two men on the other side of the factory by an elevator door. One was the shorter bespectacled man Steve had seen before, and the other he recognised also, but only from photos. Johann Schmidt, HYDRA leader. He was dressed in a long black trench-coat of sorts, a large silver buckle bearing the HYDRA symbol spanned his waist and he turned towards Steve as he handed the other man a silver briefcase.

“How exciting! I'm a great fan of your films.” Schmidt’s thick German accent carried across the factory as he began to walk over the gangway towards Steve. Steve took a deep breath, his jaw setting as he strode towards the man, the anger surging through his body.  “So, Dr. Erskine managed it after all. Not exactly an improvement, but still impressive."

At that Steve swung his right arm back and bridged the two or so feet in between him and Schmidt with a punch straight to the man’s face, the impact forcing the HYDRA leader back a few steps.

"You've got no idea," Steve snarled.

Schmidt merely smirked, before standing up, cracking his jaw slightly and Steve frowned at the way the right hand side of his face appeared to have sagged away from his eye socket.  "Haven't I?"

Quickly, the man’s fist flew towards Steve, but equally as quickly he raised his shield to block it. The metal vibrated in his hands and to his utter shock the item dented with the force of Schmidt’s blow. It was then that Steve recalled Erskine telling him how the man had taken the serum, and that it had enhanced him too. In a flash he reached for his pistol but Schmidt was too quick and laded a punch straight to the left hand side of Steve’s jaw. He was knocked completely off his feet, falling backwards onto the metal of the gangway, the pistol he had been holding slid straight out of his hand and over the edge. Schmidt advanced towards Steve but he threw all his weight into a huge double kick, which sent the man sprawling backwards.

As Steve got to his feet, the gangway he was on suddenly began to move backwards, separating him from Schmidt who stood up, the two men not moving a muscle as the metal walkway drew them both back to their respective sides.

"No matter what lies Erskine told you, you see I was his greatest success!" Schmidt yelled as Steve stood still, his chest heaving, as Schmidt reached up for his face, grabbing at the skin at the left hand side of his jaw. As Steve watched, to his horror, he began to peel back the skin revealing that it was a mask, and underneath was a grotesque, featureless red skull.

Steve swallowed, his face wrinkling up as he tried to understand what the hell he had just seen. What he was still seeing, for that matter.

"You don't have one of those, do you?" Bucky mumbled, his attention also on the man in front of them.

"You are deluded, Captain. You pretend to be a simple soldier, but in reality,” Schmidt tossed the mask down into the flames, Steve following it with his eyes before he glanced back across the factory room “,you are just afraid to admit that we have left humanity behind.” At that Schmidt turned to his right and walked towards the now open elevator “Unlike you, I embrace it proudly. Without fear!" he gestured with his hand as he made his way into the elevator.

"Then how come you're running?" Steve yelled back. It was a pathetic shot really, all things considered, but it was all Steve could think about saying given what had happened. As expected, Schmidt completely ignored him and merely smirked as he pressed a button to his right and the doors closed.

Steve paused, still not completely sure what the hell had gone on when a large explosion rocked the platform they were stood on, causing both him and Bucky to duck once more from debris that shot up all around them.

They needed a way out. Steve’s eyes fell back on the elevator and he followed the shaft upwards spotting a set of doors right at the top which led, he assumed, to the roof. He followed the line of the ceiling, noticing there was a thin gantry that led over to the side they were on, and he spun round to spot another set of steps which led upwards.

That was it, their only way out.

"Come on," Steve turned around, grabbing Bucky’s arm and leading him to the stairs. "Let's go. Up."

Together they hurriedly climbed and reached the highest walkway that stretched across the factory floor that was now burning, Steve felt, hotter than hell itself. Explosions rocked the catwalks causing everything to shake and Steve glanced at the flimsy gantry that led over to the side they needed to be on, then back to Bucky.

“Let’s go. One at a time.” He moved to help Bucky climb over the railings to allow him to cross first. Bucky made his way tentatively across the thin beam of metal and as he was roughly at the halfway point, it began to give way. Bucky picked up his pace and threw himself off the edge grabbing the railings at the other side, but the gantry collapsed behind him leaving Steve stranded.

Steve watched as Bucky hauled himself over and then tuned to face him, the realisation that Steve was stuck evident on his face as he looked back at him.

"Gotta be a rope or something!" Bucky shouted hopefully. At that point another part of the factory below them fell with a loud crash into the fire below and Steve swallowed, shaking his head.

"Just go! Get out of here!" he bellowed, waving Bucky away. Bucky shook his head, his hands gripping the railing around the walkway.

"No! Not without you!" He screamed back, desperation lacing his tone.

Steve looked over at him, then peered down at the fire, before taking another look up. If he stayed where he was, he was a dead man. If he jumped and didn’t make it, he was a dead man. But if he didn’t jump, well he had no chance of making it at all.

Decision made, he pushed the now broken bars of the railings in front of him, bending it out of the way to create a gap large enough to jump through. He took a few steps back, once more gaging the distance before he sighed and grimaced a little at what he was about to do. His thoughts flashed to Katie, his only comfort out of all of this was that she wasn’t stuck with him now and had a good chance of having made it out. With a deep breath he set off at a sprint before he launched himself off the side, over the huge chasm below. His arms flailed, as did his legs as he spun them to try and maintain momentum, the flames and explosions licking at his boots and with a loud grunt he landed, his arms gripping tightly onto the remainder of the railing beside Bucky. Bucky was quick to grab him, hauling him over, the pair of them falling to the metal walkway. Steve landed with a grunt on his back and took a huge breath, turning to look at Bucky who was led besides him, his chest heaving.  

“Thanks.” Steve panted as Bucky looked at him, incredulously.

“You’re thanking me? Whatever, punk.”

Another large explosion rocked the gangway they were on and they both rolled over, before pushing themselves up, stumbling a little as they made their way hastily through the door, bursting out into the cold night air. Steve took a split second to gather his bearings, his eyes flicking to the front gate of the camp before he located a set of the metal railing type rungs the same as the ones he and Katie had used to gain entry at the side of the building.

“This way.” Steve instructed as he led Bucky towards it, and started to descend, all the time keeping one eye on his friend in case he lost his grip and Steve needed to catch him. When Steve’s feet finally touched down on solid ground he felt like yelling in utter relief, but they weren’t clear yet. Once Bucky landed besides him, they both set off at a sprint across the outside area of the camp. There were still a fair number of soldiers running around but they were too busy trying to escape the burning building to pay him and Bucky any attention. Nevertheless, they kept to the shadows and made their way out of the gate, Steve taking a sharp right following the way he had come with Katie before.

As they walked towards the clearing they were aiming for, the hushed sound of voices and chatter hit their ears and he heard Bucky take a sharp breath.

“Steve?” Bucky asked as Steve continued walking, his feet crunching over the frosty ground under his boots. “Is that…”

“No, it’s not HYDRA.” Steve assured him. “We found a bunch of other prisoners before you, got them out first.”

“We?” Bucky asked, “there was someone else with you?”

“Yeah, it was….” Steve trailed off as they emerged into the clearing and a number of men wheeled round, guns raised. As they spotted who it was, their weapons dropped but before Steve could say anything, Katie pushed through the middle and stopped dead, her chest heaving. She looked a little roughed up- some of her uniform was torn, there was a cut to her right temple, a trickle of blood having seeped down her cheek and the same side of her face looked a little red and bruised, but other than that, she seemed fine.

Steve felt relief flood his system at the sight of her, and without a word he strode quickly towards her and she threw herself at him, wrapping her legs round his waist as he held her tight, one hand supporting her lower back, the other gripping at the back of her head, fisting softly in her untidy hair.

“Thank God.” he mumbled, closing his eyes as he held her close, pressing his face into her hair.

“You’re late.” She stuttered and he let out a splutter of a laugh as he pulled back to look at her. “I thought you were gonna stand me up.”

“Never,” he shook his head, his eyes locking onto hers. They stood still, no attention being paid to anyone around them at all and Steve swallowed, his eyes flicking down to her mouth. His face dropped towards hers, and then a voice spoke from behind them, completely interrupting him and reminding him that firstly he was in the middle of a still heavily occupied with enemy troops forest and secondly, that they were most certainly not alone.

“Well, this is nice.”

Steve closed his eyes and let out a sigh as he set Katie onto her feet, stepping back out of her space, blushing furiously. She peered round him, as he turned and saw Bucky smirking at the pair of them. He jerked his face towards Katie, arching an eyebrow.

“Hey, Doll face.”

“Barnes.” She scanned him up and down, taking in his appearance before she smiled. “Good to see you in one piece.”

“Yeah, I hate to break this little reunion up,” Dum Dum spoke and they all turned to face him, “but I suggest we get moving and tie up with the rest.”

“The rest?” Steve frowned, looking around, and for the first time he noticed that there were a lot less men than he had anticipated “Where…”

“We split into three main groups. We took a few losses but most of us made it. My group managed to take a few vehicles.” Katie explained. “Some kind of tank, two trucks. We also found a huge storehouse too and loaded both trucks with as much as we could take, weapons, ammo, and equipment, what ration packs we could find.” She took a deep breath. “There’s an old abandoned allied base some ten miles South East which someone suggested would be easier for us to hold up in whilst we waited for help. I sent a group ahead with the seriously wounded along with support. Said we would meet them there.”

Steve blinked, astounded at her planning, although he knew he really shouldn’t be. He nodded and then looked around, before a huge explosion made them all jump and Steve turned to see an enormous fireball erupt into the sky signalling that the HYDRA base had finally gone up completely.

“Okay, let’s move.” He instructed, as Katie began to bark out instructions again, before she hurried forward and fell into step alongside Dugan, who pulled out his compass before he pointed and began to bellow out for everyone to make tracks.

“So,” Bucky fell into step alongside Steve, and Steve kept his eyes focussed ahead as they began to walk “Somethin’ going on between you two or…”

“Don’t know what you mean.” Steve replied, but couldn’t help the smirk that spread across his face as he continued to avoid Bucky’s searching glance.

“You’re a punk.” Bucky snorted, nudging him.

“Jerk.” Steve replied simply, the smile on his face growing bigger by the second.

***** Chapter 6