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five-rivers · 4 years

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Long Night in the Valley chapter 10

“So,” said Ochako. “Do we open the door, or…?”

The door was unassuming and bland. Very… doorlike. It was also the only way forward unless they wanted to backtrack several hundred feet.

Incidentally, no one was standing directly in front of the door. Ochako wondered if that was a coincidence, or if they were all just that wary of things after these past few hours.

Aizawa sighed heavily and hauled open the door. It was dark inside, with a single spotlight illuminating a small sign that said, ‘This way to 5.’

“That’s suspicious!” said Iida.

“So it is,” agreed Aizawa, squinting into the dark. “I’ll go.”

Walked to the sign, and the rest of them tensed, ready to jump in to help at any sign of danger. The lights suddenly turned on, and music began to blare. A large television screen played a video of a dancing man.

“A rickroll,” said Todoroki, reverently.

If Aizawa’s sigh had been any heavier, it would have had its own gravitational pull.

“Yeah,” said Six, voice as emotionless as ever. “Great job, everyone, you got here.”

“Was that really necessary?”

“What?” asked Six.

“The music,” said Aizawa.

“Consider it a practical demonstration,” said Six. “The farther in you go, the older we are, and the more experience we have with this kind of landscape.” He ran his hand over the sign, and Ochako gasped as patterns and colors followed his fingers.

“You’re younger than Skyrunner or All Might, though,” said Ochako. “You’re the same age as Aizawa-sensei.”

“Well, yes, but actually no,” said Six. “I was here before they were. I’m older.”

Ochako’s senses, honed by months living in a building with nineteen other teenagers, detected an opportunity for teasing. She pressed her hand to her lips and put on her slyest smile. “Are you? Reaaaally?”

“Memes,” said Todoroki, nodding gravely.

“I can see why Nine likes you so much.”

Six grabbed Aizawa’s sleeve preventing him from moving on with the others.

“If you’re trying to keep me away from my kids, I suggest you don’t.”

Six raised an eyebrow. “Your kids, huh? You know, we had a bet running about that.”

“Excuse me?”

“Anyway, I wanted you to hear this, first. You can decide if you want to tell them, after, but they are Nine’s friends. I don’t want to be responsible for them running off on their own without your knowledge.”

“I suppose you’re going to tell me something that could help Midoriya but will be incredibly dangerous.”

“Are you sure your secondary quirk isn’t precognition?”

“I am saving my crisis about that until we get out of here. This waste of time is illogical.”

“Right. So. Remember when I said that Nine didn’t get to choose who we were?” He gestured at himself.

“Yes,” said Aizawa, already hating where this was going.

“There’s someone who we don’t count as one of our number.”

Now Aizawa really didn’t like where this was going. “You mean, you’ll count terrorists, but not… this person.”

“Yeah. Usually, we keep him locked away, but with all this disruption…”

“He’s gotten out.”

“Not yet. What I’m telling you now may not be relevant at all. But if that door does open, I want you to have this option. Not all the others agree the risk is worth it, but I think that should be up to you, since you’d be the one taking it.”

“What option?”

“That person, he took something from Nine, back when his quirk first manifested. You know all the guys you ran into back when you were in his mind space? He took one of those. I think, and most of the others agree, that it would be beneficial if he got it back.”

“He took part of Midoriya’s personality.”

“Yes, you can think about it that way.”

“That part wouldn’t happen to be something like self-preservation, common sense, or grudge-holding, would it?”

“No.”

“Pity.”

“When you reach One, if you want to try to get it back for Nine, ask One if the vault it open.”

“Exactly how dangerous would this be.”

“Horribly. But you probably wouldn’t die. This quirk comes with a time limit. Otherwise, we wouldn’t ask at all.” Six let go of Aizawa’s sleeve. “Your students are waiting for you. You should go.”

Aizawa stepped into the dark. A battle strobed against the darkness. No, two. One with Six and a man who must be Five, and another with Six and Shimura Nana. Both battles were against a darkness whose silhouette resembled the monster of Kamino Ward far too much for Aizawa’s comfort.

“You’re next!” shouted two overlapping voices.

Aizawa blinked. He was in a well-lit street, looking at what could only be the so-called Five.

Izuku woke up slowly. Being asleep had kept some of the pain at arm’s length, but now it returned with a vengeance, along with an oddly comforting pressure.

Oh, Toshinori had fallen asleep wrapped around him. That was nice. They really should start moving again, though.

The ground rumbled, and Izuku realized what had woken him up.

“Toshinori,” he said, shaking him the best he could from his position. “Wake up. There’s an earthquake.”

Toshinori blinked awake. “Did you call me Dad?”

“No?”

“Back in the city?”

“Um. Earthquake. What do we… uh, do?” He didn’t know what the earthquake drill for the middle of the forest was. Four had, but Izuku was having trouble understanding him over the pounding in his head.

“It isn’t shaking anymore,” observed Toshinori. “We should probably still go.” He rubbed his eyes. “Let’s get you patched up first. I can’t believe I fell asleep without making sure you were alright…”

“I’m fine,” protested Izuku, trying to stand up. He could just keep using Blackwhip to stabilize—

The space behind his eyes turned white. When it became clear again, he found himself pressed against Toshinori’s shirt.

“Toshinori,” he whined, because he couldn’t help it, and, oh, no, he was such a burden he shouldn’t be making Toshinori hold his weight, he was a lot heavier than he looked, but his head was pounding and his eyes felt like they were bleeding and his skin felt like sandpaper, “it hurts.”

“I know, I know,” said Toshinori. “Let me take care of you, please?”

Toshinori lowered him back to the log and started to remove medical supplies from the pockets of his coat.

“What are we going to do after this?” asked Izuku, voice as quiet as he could make it without whispering.

“That is an excellent question, my boy,” said Toshinori in an imitation of his usual heartiness. “As you might imagine, I’ve acquired a number of contacts over the years. Some of them are comfortable with, ah, less than legal escapades.”

“I didn’t think you had any friends other than Detective Tsukauchi and Mr. Shield. And maybe Gran.”

Toshinori hunched his shoulders. Izuku immediately felt bad.

“Well, you aren’t wrong. Contacts and friends are in two different categories, I’m afraid. In any case, I’m hoping to eventually reach one of them, and then…” He trailed off, and Izuku got the sense that Toshinori was bracing himself for Izuku being upset. “I am hoping to arrange passage to I-Island.”

“We’re leaving Japan?”

“Just until we get this cleared up,” said Toshinori.

Izuku rubbed his eyes. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. “What about Shigaraki and All for One?”

“Not your responsibility,” said Toshinori.

“It kind of is.”

“It really isn’t.”

“It’s our family.”

“I know. At least, I know now. Goodness. I don’t think I’ve wrapped my head around it, yet.” Toshinori rubbed his temples with his wrists, keeping his dirty fingers well away from his eyes.

“What about before that?” asked Izuku, guiltily changing his line of questioning.

“I have a few other safe houses around here. Funny story about one of them. Completely abandoned building on public land. Was being used by some anti-mutant cult. No one ever came to check it out after the initial arrest. So. Finders keepers.”

“You didn’t.”

“I did.”

“All Might,” said Izuku, suppressing a giggle despite the seriousness of the situation, “that’s illegal.”

“I have done a surprisingly large number of illegal things in my life. Comes from fighting with a centuries-old monster the government doesn’t want to acknowledge as existing.”

“They’ve acknowledged him now,” observed Izuku.

“Hasn’t seemed to help much, has it? Anyway, that one shouldn’t be too far from here. Probably. It will still be quite a walk. We’ll stay there, for a while. Until I can reach one of my contacts.” Toshinori sighed. “I think the one in Deika will be out best bet. He works in the shipping industry. I’ll have to introduce you, just in case we end up separated.”

Izuku pretended the last sentence didn’t send him into a spiral of panic.

Of course, this spiral of panic was interrupted by an entirely different panic, because the ground started to shake again.

“I can Float us—”

“Don’t, you’ll hurt yourself,” said Toshinori, keeping a tight grip around Izuku’s bicep.

Toshinori’s hands were extremely large. A tree crashed to the ground in the distance. Accompanying that sound was a roar too loud and animal to be completely human, but too coherent to not be human.

Toshinori went pale.

“Someone you know?” asked Izuku, covering his ears to keep the sound from battering his brain any further.

“We need to go,” said Toshinori, bundling up all the supplies he’d taken out. “We need to go right now.”

“All for One?” whispered Izuku, getting to his feet. “A gigantification quirk?”

“One of his subordinates,” said Toshinori. “One I never managed to find. I’d hoped—Of all the luck—” He started cursing under his breath in English.

Maybe Izuku really did have a villain-attracting quirk.

The shaking of the ground grew stronger. “Run,” said Toshinori. “Don’t look back for me.” Toshinori had to know that wouldn’t fly (or float) with Izuku, because a second later his face twisted up in something like resignation.

Izuku grabbed Toshinori’s wrist. He could Float them both out of here.

Blinding pain lanced through his brain again.

Okay, maybe he couldn’t.

The ground in front of them erupted. A craggy giant burst up from below.

“Little Lord!” the giant shouted, voice more than loud enough to hurt. A massive hand picked Izuku up, holding him gently but extremely firmly. “I’m SO HAPPY to see you again!”

Something clicked in the back of Izuku’s head. A memory he didn’t know he had resurfaced.

“H-Hi, Machia,” he said.

“Did this bald man kidnap you?! He smells like All Might! But All Might is yellow. Should I kill him?”

“No,” said Izuku. “He’s definitely not All Might. He’s, uh, a friend.”

“HELLO LITTLE LORD’S FRIEND.”

“Hello,” said Toshinori, waving a little, clearly in shock.

Machia shifted to wave at Toshinori and Izuku hissed as the movement jostled his injuries. His minor injuries. His very minor injuries that weren’t bothering him at all.

Who do you think you’re kidding, kiddo?

Not helping, Grandma.

“Little Lord! Are you hurt?” Machia sniffed him. “You smell like blood! I have to bring you to the doctor!”

“The what?” asked Izuku, alarmed.

“Don’t worry, Little Lord! He is a very good doctor! We must go!”

“Wait, wait, wait,” said Izuku, before Machia could get more than three humongous steps away from Toshinori. “It isn’t my blood, it’s the blood of my enemies!”

“Lord tried that one, too, Little Lord!”

“But—”

“Oh! I forgot your friend!” Machia turned around. “Sorry, Little Lord’s friend!” He picked up an increasingly distressed Toshinori and continued stomping through the forest.

Izuku realized that Machia was headed back towards town.

“Wait!” he shouted, despite not having a plan for what to do next.

“Wait?” repeated Machia, balancing on one foot.

Thankfully, Izuku’s brain churned out a plan. “My friend here,” said Izuku, gesturing at Toshinori, “has a house nearby. It would be better if we went there, and then the doctor can come to us.”

Machia grinned, which was honestly an unsettling sight. “You’re just like Lord, Little Lord! Always making plans.” He brought Izuku up to his face, close enough that Izuku could feel his (oddly minty-fresh) breath and bonked the top of his head with his nose.

“Do you brush your teeth, or do you have a quirk for that?” asked Izuku before he could think better of it.

“Lord gave me a tooth-brushing quirk! He said he was tired of smelling my morning breath. I do not know why he said that, because it was night. But he gave this quirk to me! It was very generous of Lord.” said Machia, delighted. “How did you know?”

Izuku decided not to go down the rabbit-hole of his reasoning and shrugged. “Lucky guess?”

Machia laughed. “Lord says that, too, sometimes! I am very glad to see you, Little Lord. I have missed my Lord very much, and you are just like him!”

Seven vaguely annoyed and insulted ghosts buzzed in the back of Izuku’s head.

“I am also glad that you did not grow up to be as big as me! You would be much harder to carry if you did.”

Apparently Izuku was not the only one with a propensity for rabbit-hole thoughts, because he could not imagine a scenario where it would be reasonable to expect him to grow to be as big as Machia.

“So,” he said, “you’ll take us to my friend’s house?”

“Yes, Little Lord! And then we can call the doctor, and he will take care of you!”

Izuku didn’t think Machia meant to be ominous, and yet.

“So,” said Aizawa, surveying the man up and down. “You’re the one that decided the best place for my student to develop an unstable, highly dangerous, and painful quirk was the middle of a high-adrenaline training exercise full of other students.”

“Hey,” said the man, scratching the back of his head, “no one got hurt, and when you’ve been dead as long as I have, you start looking for entertainment wherever you can get it. Besides, you’re the one that let the training exercise keep going.”

“According to your compatriot back there,” Aizawa said, hooking a finger over his shoulder, “you haven’t been dead at all.”

Five jolted and ran his knuckles over his bandoleer. “Yeah, it’s easy to forget.”

It was great to know that Five was trash at lying. True, he’d been told up front that Six’s explanation would be at least partially false, but still.

Aizawa sighed.

Five, who’d also introduced himself as Lariat and Banjo Daigoro, appeared to be a fairly typical hero for his era. Minimal hero costume repurposed from military gear, worn with just a bit of flair, indicating that the celebrity status of heroes probably hadn’t fully set in yet. Ammunition for a sidearm, although the sidearm itself was well hidden. The gun was probably bulky, but if Aizawa didn’t miss his mark, those were stun rounds. Eye protection, but not head protection. Not that Aizawa could complain about that, considering.

“Anyhow, if you’re all here, let’s go.” The man clapped his hands together, activated his quirk, and proceeded to fling Aizawa and his students through the air, without warning.

“Sorry ‘bout this!” said Five. “But we don’t have time for the whole history lesson! Just the highlights!”

Brief battles flared to life around them as Five dashed sideways along skyscraper walls and swung from building to building.

“I always thought of myself as a sort of Spider Man, y’know?”

“I don’t know that hero, sir!” shouted Iida over the whistling wind.

“Pre-quirk comic book character,” explained Five. “Most of ‘em got censored after the first quirk boom. Didn’t want to give anyone ideas. But by my time, with the pro hero scene starting up, they came back in a big way!” Five landed in front of a large convention center. “This’s where they held the first Modern Comic Convention in Japan. Or ModiComiCon for short.”

“And we couldn’t walk here, because?” asked Aizawa, suppressing an increasing urge to commit murder.

“I thought my way was more fun,” said Five. “Haven’t you always wanted to travel like that?”

Aizawa tugged on his scarf. “I do. Frequently. Under my own power.”

“Another Aizawa-sensei,” decided Todoroki, quiet but decisive. “Aizawa-sensei, but… funkier.”

That did it. Once this was over, he was expelling all the problem children and taking a vacation. The Rat God could find a sub.

“This is where I met Four the first time,” said Five, pushing the doors open. The auditorium was filled with rows upon rows of booths. All empty of people of course.

Aizawa, grudgingly, followed.

First contact.

Those voices… Something about them… The number.

“Those are your voices,” said Aizawa.

“Yep!” said Five. “It’s a special moment, you know?”

Aizawa frowned. At this point, he highly doubted that these ‘vestiges’ were simply based on real people. The vestiges themselves had to have reason to suspect that they were at least remnants of real people to give themselves a name like that, and with All Might thrown into the mix…

Add to that the repeated themes, the oddly ritualistic components (First contact and you’re next), Midoriya’s closeness with All Might, and Aizawa got—

Honestly, he had no idea. The fact that All Might was still alive tended to rule out the ‘Midoriya’s quirk is that he’s haunted’ theory, which, admittedly, was rather flimsy to begin with. Perhaps it was a legacy-dependent quirk, reaching back from student to teacher? He would be skeptical—Most quirks had some kind of logic to them, and there was no way to extrapolate entire people from contact with their successor—but Vlad King had a student whose head was a manga speech bubble and other abstract quirks existed. So.

It still didn’t feel right. Surely, Midoriya would have figured out his quirk before he was fourteen in that case. Unless All Might had to be involved for some reason.

Also, the fact that they called Midoriya Nine. Six’s explanation for that didn’t even make a little bit of sense.

Not to even mention the hints that All for One actually was involved in this somehow.

“Banjo-san,” said Aizawa, “there’s no truth in the commission’s accusations, is there?” He could have asked Six, but logically, Six would be the best liar, if he was the one chosen to relay the lie. Banjo Daigoro seemed rather less adept at deception.

The world seemed to gray out a bit. “Are you kidding me? What part?” asked Five, his eyebrows disappearing under his goggles.

“Yeah, sensei, there’s no way Izuku-k—”

“I’m not asking about Midoriya. I’m asking about you. How are you connected to All for One?”

Five opened his mouth, lips drawing back to reveal his teeth. He looked unspeakably offended. “You don’t think we actually work for that bastard—”

“Excuse me, sir!” interrupted Iida after Five had tacked on several rather fouler epithets. “There are minors present!”

“Oops,” said Five. “Anyway, we do not work for All for One,” he continued, failing to answer the question Aizawa had asked.

“That isn’t what he asked,” said Todoroki.

Alright. Maybe Todoroki wasn’t all bad. He was still on thin ice.

“Excuse me, is this a bad time?”

Aizawa nearly jumped out of his skin as a terrifyingly tall man in a hero costume appeared at the edge of his peripheral vision. He was taller than Yagi.

Actually, wait. Aizawa’s expert eyes roamed over the man’s hero costume. That was cosplay, not professionally done. The man was standing there, in Midoriya’s head, in front of two professional heroes, wearing cosplay. It looked like it had been hand-sewn.

It also looked like it had been used. And inexpertly reinforced. Even for a vigilante.

Somehow, in retrospect, this made Midoriya’s choice to wear a costume his mother had made for him for his first training session make much more sense.

Of course, Midoriya would have someone as ridiculous as he was in his head. Of course, he would have several people as ridiculous as he was in his head.

“Four, I presume.”

“I prefer Shimura, actually.”

“Oh!” said Uraraka. “Are you related to Skyrunner?”

“She’s my adopted sister’s descendant,” said Shimura/Four.

“Hey, hey, I thought we weren’t telling them this stuff,” said Five.

Shimura blinked. “My apologies.” He paused. “However, considering the structure of my mental domain, it is likely that they would have discovered my chosen name in short order.”

“Who do you think he’s based on?” asked Iida, leaning towards Todoroki.

“I can’t put my finger on it,” said Todoroki, “but he does feel familiar.”

“And why is that?” asked Aizawa, pretending he couldn’t hear his students.

“I have a lot of unresolved trauma relating to my biological parents and also my quirk.”

“Ohhhh,” said Todoroki. “He’s based on me.”

Wow. Another horrible thing Aizawa would have to deal with when he woke up.

“Isn’t your quirk Danger Sense?”

“That’s what Five-chan calls it.”

There was something extremely disturbing about this tall, intimidating, eyebrowless man calling another muscular intimidating adult man chan.

“But I call it—”

“Please don’t—” interjected Five.

“—super anxiety.”

“Why?” cried Five. “Danger Sense is a much better name! It’s like Spidey Sense! Like Spider Man! You like Spider Man.”

“Yes,” said Shimura, “but I am not Spider Man. However, that reminds me.” He turned his unblinking gaze towards Todoroki. “Nine-chan has several plans for removing your father. I believe only about half of them are workable, but it’s the thought that counts. At least, that’s what Yagi-chan says.”

“You mean All Might?” asked Aizawa. If his soul hadn’t already left his body, it would now be preparing to do so.

“No, my wife.”

“Yeah, don’t think about it too hard,” said Five. “He’s always been like this. I mean, he came up to me in the middle of this convention to tell me about a bunch of underworld deals going on out of town. I thought he was, like, some especially serious cosplayer, but then he showed up at my apartment, too.” The surroundings briefly shimmered into something that might have been the mentioned apartment before resolving themselves back into the comic convention.

“I apologize, I did not realize that was inappropriate.”

“I’m this little baby hero, just a couple years out of training, no name for myself, and this guy shows up like he’s in the middle of one of those old video games. Like, ‘here, take this old legend and defeat the demon king, you level one peasant.’”

“I didn’t expect you to fight him right away,” said Four, looking both vaguely offended and confused, and now, yeah, okay, Aizawa could see a vague resemblance to Todoroki.

“I’m still not entirely sure why you picked me, of all people. There had to be a dozen others with the right, uh, requirements.”

“Requirements, huh?” asked Aizawa, having finally managed to shove the part of his brain screaming about the ‘wife’ comment into a tiny, locked box in the back of his brain.

“Yes. As my other adoptive sister said, one must possess a strong will, an indomitable spirit, a sharp mind, a pure heart, and a ceaseless drive to save others, both body and soul.” He paused for a moment. “She also said something about being ‘just enough of a bastard to be worth knowing,’ but I believe that was a reference to the book she was reading at the time. Her parentage was certainly known at that point.”

“Y’see? I can never tell if this guy is serious or just pulling my leg.”

“Why would I pull your leg? Do you need to pop it?”

“I’m beggin’ you, man, learn some idioms.”

“WAIT!” shouted Todoroki. “Are you related to All Might? Is he your secret love child?”

The silence stretched between them.

“I don’t know what that is,” said Four. “You keep asking Nine if he’s one of those. What does it mean? Is it a good thing?”

“ANYWAY,” said Five, loudly. He attempted to prop his elbow on Four’s shoulder, but the height difference defeated him. “Four and I had lots of semi-legal adventures—”

“No, we didn’t,” said Four.

“Became best friends—”

“My wife is my best friend.”

“Let me have this.”

“Have what?”

Five sighed. “Okay, whatever. Fine. Can you cross them over here?”

“I think I’ll need the other one, unfortunately.”

“Why are you different, by the way?” asked Uraraka. “The ones before stayed in their own mindscapes, it seemed.”

“Oh,” said Four. “I’m having flashbacks. Because of…” He trailed off, then sighed. “Flashbacks.”

Right. Wonderful. “We’re going to have to deal with your flashbacks, aren’t we?” Aizawa asked.

“Unfortunately, yes,” Four said. “I apologize for my habit of oversharing.”

“This and that are two completely different things.”

“They seem like the same thing to me,” said Todoroki.

“I am inclined to agree. I also apologize for the things you may see. I will attempt to keep you away from the more disturbing sections.”

“Great,” said Aizawa. “Can we stop wasting time?”

“We aren’t really wasting time,” said Four. “At the moment, dream time is compressed. We’ve only been talking for…” He tilted his head to the side. “Perhaps a second, in terms of real-world time.”

“He’s right,” said Five, crossing his arms and nodding.

“Seconds are still time,” said Aizawa, hoping they’d get the hint.

“I suppose—Oh. You’re frustrated. Apologies. Neither of us have interacted with anyone but the others in… Quite some time. I fear our sense of hurry has been damaged. Especially with how distracted we all are.”

“Why are you distracted, if you don’t mind us asking?” asked Iida.

“Another unwanted guest is trying to get in and Nine and Ei—Nine managed to run into someone extremely dangerous.”

Eight. These people had a ‘live’ connection to All Might, too, damn it, and the blond idiot was wherever Midoriya was. Maybe that should have reassured him, somewhat, because even if All Might was retired, he was still All Might, but, by some dark magic, when All Might and Midoriya were placed in proximity to one another, they gained the ability to spawn problems that Aizawa had never even heard of before.

Like this one.

“Our final meeting, then?”

“I believe that would be appropriate.”

Black tentacles exploded from Five, covering the space around them. When they receded, they were in a different place. Underground, if Aizawa didn’t miss his guess. A safe house of some kind?

Flickering doppelgangers of Four and Five occupied the space.

“Why didn’t you transport us like that before?” asked Todoroki.

“Had to take the long way the first time,” said Five. “That lady’s quirk changed some of the rules. You ready, Four?”

“Let it play out,” said Four, gazing at the static figures.

“Your choice,” said Five, shrugging.

The ‘real’ Five and Four abruptly vanished, and the doubles started moving.

“I suspect this is the last time we will meet,” said an older Four to a younger Five.

“Huh? Why’s that?” said Five, twisting in his chair so that his arms rested on the top of the back.

Four stared blankly at a wall. “Everything is coming to a head, now. I’ve chosen to put my faith in you and the new laws.”

“Huh?”

“The last push of the old era… My big sister would scold me for trusting you.”

“Dude, you’re not making any sense.”

“My apologies.” Four turned to look more directly at Five. “The new quirk laws and the establishment of the Hero Commission are steps in the right direction, as evidenced by your existence.”

“Yeaaah, sure,” said Five. “But what does that have to do with not seeing each other again?”

“They’re not enough,” said Four. “Even now, certain existences cannot cry out for help. What do you do, when you can’t turn off your quirk?”

“You’re not going to go terrorist on me here, are you?” asked Five, nervously.

“No. I just want you to be aware,” said Four. He tilted his head to the side. “Whenever I go home, now, there’s danger on the horizon, and I can’t tell where it’s coming from.”

“Is it him?”

“No. I don’t believe so.” He sighed. “I suspect it’s the Special Task Force, to be honest.”

“They were disbanded,” said Five. “Any one of ‘em that didn’t get absorbed by the Hero Commission got let go. Or, er, what’s the term? Discharged.”

“Perhaps you’re right,” said Four. “Perhaps this is simply paranoia. I would certainly like it to be.”

“Look,” said Five. “Maybe I can help. You’ve never told me where y’all live, and—”

“Absolutely not. I am quite certain that he is still monitoring me to some extent. You do not want to be on his radar, Daigoro-chan.”

“Dude. Why do you keep calling me that?”

“You haven’t told me to stop.”

Five sighed. “I get it, I get it. Just… let me know if there’s anything I can do. I’m a hero for a reason.”

Four smiled faintly. “I know,” he said. “After all, I chose you. Good luck, Daigoro-chan. I think you’ll be able to do it.” He started walking away, towards the door.

“You, too, old man. Souma.”

Four stopped with his hand on the door.

“I believe we will see each other again,” continued Five. “Count on it!”

“In this life or the next,” agreed Four. He opened the door.

As they crossed over from Five’s domain into Four’s, the dream around them did not shift seamlessly, staying in the same general location with only the details changing like it had for the others, but dissolved into something not quite like static and then blank whiteness before fading back in.

They were standing in the middle of a battlefield, a ruined landscape.

Not the ruins of a city, though, which made this only more jarring. For all that Shouto was only a teen, he’d seen his fill of city battles. He was used to villain fights.

The only time he’d seen this kind of devastation in a place like this had been at the forest training camp last summer. He swallowed, eyes rolling over uprooted and burning trees, huge craters and ruts in the soil, and the rare bit of roofing and wall. He realized, belatedly, that this must be the remains of a small, rural village.

He stiffened at the sound of someone crying.

“Over there,” said Uraraka, pointing.

Shouto turned to see a tall, broad-shouldered man in a suit hunched over one of corpses. His face was shrouded in smoke.

As he watched, he realized he wasn’t crying over a corpse. The other man was still breathing, his eyes were still open.

(It was hard to recognize Four’s face under all those injuries.)

He stepped forward, wondering if he should help, if he even could help. His hand passed through the man’s shoulder with no resistance.

“Shigaraki…” said the uninjured man. “Shigaraki Hibiki, you foolish child…”

Shouto wasn’t the only one to gasp.

“’S not my name an’more,” rasped the injured man, Four, Shouto realized now. “’N they gottaway, din’ they? ‘Sworth it…”

“What do you mean, it’s not your name? Of course it’s your name. It’s the one I gave you. The one you should have been born with. It’s your name.”

“M’name’s…” The man on the ground panted.

“Shh, shh, don’t talk, don’t talk Hibiki, I’m sorry I snapped. Don’t worry, Daddy’s going to make it all better, son. A healing quirk…”

“Name’s…” slurred the man. “Shimura… Souma… You…” He took a deep, rattling breath. “You don’t… own… me. I’m…” He made a sound that might have been a laugh. “Free.”

The scene began to go dark. Before the last of the light was gone, the uninjured man spoke again. “Shimura,” he hissed, voice promising violence, “was it?”

Yagi Toshinori was having the most surreal experience of his entire life. Considering his life included that awful college party in America, the one where he learned that One for All did not mesh well with psilocybin, that was saying a lot.

Here he was, riding on the shoulders of a man who had tried to kill him on the behalf of his worst enemy multiple times, alongside his student and successor, who was being called ‘Little Lord’ by the man carrying them. They were having an admittedly fascinating conversation about the man’s quirks, multiple, one that Toshinori was only barely keeping up with. Two of them were being actively hunted by the government.

That is, Toshinori, the retired professional hero, and Izuku, the licensed hero student, were on the run from the government. Not Gigantomachia, the mass-murdering minion of All for One, who was quite possibly the evilest man alive.

(And also, possibly Izuku’s father. But no one wanted to think about that.)

(Not to mention all the things going on in their heads.)

(This level of connection to One for All was thrilling, but also incredibly strange.)

Oh. And they were going to one of Toshinori’s safehouses. With Gigantomachia. True, Toshinori hadn’t been to this one in a while, but it was still a place that was supposed to be safe, hence safehouse, and Gigantomachia was decidedly not safe.

He was also going to be difficult to get rid of, because he had a sense enhancement quirk that let him track down individuals he was familiar with from miles away. Toshinori knew this, because Gigantomachia was currently happily telling Izuku all about it.

Surreal.

Izuku reached over and patted him on the shoulder.

Ah, yes, this was only made more surreal by the fact that Toshinori could feel how much pain Izuku was in, but the boy hardly showed any of it. It made him wonder. How often was Izuku in pain and Toshinori did not see?

Izuku patted his shoulder again, this time in a way that suggested he really wanted a hug but couldn’t give him one because he was holding onto Gigantomachia and the logistics didn’t work out.

Oh, and there was the safehouse.

Gigantomachia let them down a short distance from the building (he claimed not to want to get to close, because he’d accidentally knocked down buildings in the past, which Toshinori could easily believe).

The building was in better repair than Toshinori had expected after his long absence. He fished the spare key from its hiding spot and opened the door.

The back entry was full of people wearing black robes and skull masks, all of whom were scrubbing at bloodstains on the floors and walls.

Izuku fixed him with a disappointed stare. “I thought you got rid of the cultists.”

Yes, he had thought so, too. He had, in fact, worked quite hard at getting rid of them.

“You!” shouted a cultist, pointing. “You’re with that filthy League of Villains!”

“You killed our brothers!”

“Mutant-lovers!”

“Run?” suggested Izuku.

“Run,” agreed Toshinori.

#bnha #boku no hero academia #long night in the valley #fic #fanfiction #my writing

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unmaskedagain · 5 years

Text

Marinette Vs Santa: The Final Round

Okay, so it’s 11:38 on Christmas. I promised I would post this today. So I am. Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays to everyone. Enjoy your present.

The jolly fat man would get his, Marinette swore. She wore a lovely gold, snowflake-embroidered cocktail dress. Her hair was done in a French side braid with voluminous Curls; more than she ever had in her entire life. Honestly, she looked like a princess.

And it would’ve been a win for her if it wasn’t for the circumstances that made it yet another Tie against Santa.

Roy has his hand on the small of her back since they step out of the limo. The forced sweet smile on her face was for the paparazzi that had waited outside the restaurant. When they got inside, and as they were shone to their table, Roy's hand slipped south.

Marinette stiffened and leaned close to Roy and whispered in his ear, “If you don’t get your hand off my butt, I’m going to take off one of my five-inch heels and slit your throat with it.”

Roy’s hand was gone in a flash, “Aww babe,” He said, a little loudly, nodding to the table where his parents’ Oliver and Dinah waited; their eyes watching the young couple’s every move. “You know I can’t keep my hands off you.”

Marinette giggled, as she fought the urge to slam his against a nearby table, “Not in front of your parents. It’s called manners.”

Your lucky homicide is still technically illegal, Marinette thought viciously, and a sure-fire way to get on fat bastard’s naughty list.

He wouldn’t win. No, Marinette had gone too far; been through too much to lose now.

“Thank you, Marinette,” Dinah stood once the two approached. She pulled Marinette into a hug. “I’ve tried to instill etiquette into Roy for years. His last girlfriends and he nearly in trouble for public indecency. Maybe you’ll do a better job than I did.”

Marinette laughed, “I will even if I have to cut off his hand.”

Oliver chuckled, “You’re definitely Bruce’s girl.” The resemblance was uncanny.

After that the fell into an easy conversation.

“That dress is beautiful,” Dinah said. “Who’s the designer?”

Marinette beamed, “I am. I love fashion. It’s my dream,” She explained. “I plan on launching my own company. While there’s always room to learn and enhance my designing skills, I feel as if I have that side at least somewhat covered. However, the business angle is something I need to learn. Which is why I plan on getting my MBA at an Ivy League. I was considering Yale or Princeton.”

“Princeton,” Oliver grinned. “Did you hear that Roy?” Roy rolled his eyes, and once again, regretted being born. “Marinette’s considering Princeton. That’s the top school on his list. Queens have gone there for generations.” He pulled his wife into a hug. “It’s where I knew Dinah was the one.”

Dinah gave Marinette a blank stare, “I couldn’t get rid of him. It was like having bedbugs.” (“Hey!” Oliver cried in protest.) “No matter what I did, he just coming back. The only solution was to burn the entire place down and vanish without a trace. But apparently, that’s illegal or whatever. Stupid.”

“I know, right,” Marinette nodded earnestly. “What’s up with that?”

They had a wonderful dinner. They watched a paparazzi pretending to be a waiter be escorted out of the restaurant. It was great, amazing even. Oliver and Dinah had been perfectly lovely. Roy had acted like a perfect gentleman. Marinette could’ve almost pretended she was actually meeting her boyfriend’s family. She was about to count the entire night as a win until…

“So how many grandkids should I expect in the future,” Oliver asked, a sincere look on his face, though he was snickering inside.

Marinette chocked on her chocolate mousse and ended up in a coughing fit that Dinah helped her with. Roy had met his father’s gaze and gave him his most charming smile, “Seven,” He answered.

“Seven!” Marinette barked out and she looked around frantically as if Ashton Kutcher had revived his hit show and was about to pop out.

Oh, gods; please let me be getting punked, Marinette prayed.

Oliver’s eyebrows went up, “Seven, huh, big family.”

Roy hummed, “the Wayne-Queens certainly will be.”

“You mean the Queen-Waynes,” Oliver corrected, his hackles rising.

“Well, I figured since we’d be living in Gotham,” Roy didn’t even bother to hide his smirk. “We’d go by the Wayne-Queen family. I actually found this great place not too far from Wayne Manor. Plenty of room for the kids, maybe a dog or two; a rose garden. You know how Waynes are about their roses. You can visit whenever.”

Marinette might have momentarily blacked out during this. It was how Marinette knew she had officially lost that round to Santa.

Oliver and Dinah just looked at Roy; their entire bodies stiff.

Dinah took a long drink from her wine glass, “Gotham has such a high crime rate. Have you considered Star City, Marinette?”

“I’ve never been,” Marinette said sweetly. “But I could live anywhere really. I’m pretty open.”

Roy wrapped an arm around her shoulders, “Yes, but I figured you’d want to spend as much time with your family as possible. Jason’s my best friend. I love Gotham. It just works. Besides Bruce Wayne would make an amazing grandpa.”

The grip Oliver had on his dessert fork made Marinette fear for Roy’s life. It was time to step in. “I suppose Robb or Thea would love a big backyard to play in.”

That got the other three’s attention.

“Robb? Thea?” Oliver whispered. His throat was dry. His brain tried to process what was said.

“I wasn’t supposed to say anything. But Roy and I started talking one day and well,” Marinette trailed off. A soft pink blush appeared on Marinette’s face, enhancing her overall innocent aura. She had done background on the Queen family. “Our firstborn; if it’s a boy Robb as in Robert Thomas; for your father and my grandfather. If it’s a girl, Thea Sabine; for your sister and my mother. It was Roy’s idea. He knows how much you loved them.”

It was then that Marinette got to check off one more wish off her list. It had been made as a joke in passing to Chloe and Kagami months ago. They had been having a girls’ night. When Chloe, ever prepared, asked what they wanted for Christmas. They had been watching a Justice League fight on the news. Marinette had laughed and said she wanted to show them up one day; make a superhero cry.

However, watching The Green Arrow tear up while the Black Canary comforted himself, made her think that Santa took her to wish out of context.

Roy was pulled into a big hug by his parents, and he sent her a vicious glare, and mouthed, “What did you do?”

Oliver pulled back, wiped his eyes, and said, “You know; there’s nothing like a spring wedding in Star City.”

Marinette threw down her napkin.

Fuck Santa.

The news had a field day. The picture of Marinette in her dress and Roy in his designer suit was what everyone was talking about. The women of the view talked about her outfit. Wendy Williams talked about her outfit. It was as if Marinette was living in another universe.

Nothing could bring her down.

“What the hell?” Jason asked as he picked her up for school. “Why the fuck is Roy spamming me with hate texts. Why the fuck is Oliver arguing with B over visitation rights to his grandchildren? Who the Fuck are Robb and Thea? And why the fuck is Dad asking Aquaman if Atlantis really sunk on its own, or if it had a little help?”

Marinette tiled her head, “Is Papa planning on sinking Star City? And that’s forty dollars for the swear jar.” Her parents had implements after one too many curse words were thrown around.

“Worth it!” Jason said. “And yes, I’ve positive that’s what’s going to happen. It’s gonna be amazing. Also, he’s gonna kill Roy!”

“He deserves it,” Marinette crossed her arms.

“Hey!”

“He put his hand on my butt!”

Jason paused and narrowed his eyes. “Correction. I’m gonna kill Roy.”

Marinette rolled her eyes, but then she realized something. “Aren’t they’re usually two of you? Where’s the other one?” It was the routine. She was always escorted into school by two members of the Wayne family.

Jason smirked, “You’ll see.”

The paparazzi mostly screamed the usual things at her. At that point, she was used to it. It was the few changes at school that she was used to.

Damocles had been fired for bribes and severe negligence. He was replaced by Mendeleev. Bustier had been fired for her role in Marinette’s expulsion without proper procedure and basically catering to bullies while blaming the victim. She replaced by a sterner teacher name Miss Reed. She was by the book and not afraid to call in the higher-ups if something smelled fishy.

The first was any and all forms of bullying in class was no longer tolerated. The school had issued a zero-tolerance policy that the kids in Bustier’s class had felt immediately.

The second was Lila’s supposed medical history. No doctor’s note, no special treatment. It was also required that Lila present a note from her mother regarding any future absences.

The third was Adrien’s being pulled randomly out of class. CPS got involved real fast regarding child labor laws.

The days of her classmates getting away with bloody murder were over. Reed saw everything. Everything.

Alya, who had returned to class always avoided Marinette at all times. Her parents had given her the biggest talking to about respecting others’ right to privacy. Marinette had agreed to drop any legal charges against her former friend provided she adhere to the cease and desist order. The girl knew too much about Marinette. And Marinette needed to make it clear that she would bury the girl in lawsuits before she’d allowed even one-fourth of it to be made public.

Jason had walked her to class. But he didn’t leave. Instead, he went directly to the back of the class and took a seat next to Chloe. He pulled out his phone and proceeded to ignore the curious looks from the students.

The blond eyed the ripped jeans, the overly sized red flannel shirt, and the beat-up leather jacket, “Grunge died in the 90s. Like it deserved.”

Jason, not bothering to look up from his phone, “Paris Hilton said it’s cool that you plagiarized her look.”

Chloe gasped.

Marinette just looked up at the ceiling, knowing exactly how this was going to go. Chloe would not forgive this. Jason was an asshole. It would be war.

Miss Reed walked in and didn’t look twice at Jason.

Marinette narrowed her eyes; something was up.

The class went on without a hitch though until just about the end of the first period…

When Tim and a pretty, brown-haired, tanned skin, an older woman walked in the door. They looked to be having a pleasant conversation.

“Mama,” Lila gasped, her eyes wide. “What are you doing here?” She looked around frantically.

“Ooohhhh,” Marinette nodded. “Yeah, that makes sense.” That was what was happening. Operation: Get That Bitch.

“Oh!” Tim feigned surprised. “I didn’t know your daughter was in my sister’s class, Naomi.”

Naomi had been pleasantly surprised when Tim Drake, the CEO of Wayne Industries reached out to speak to her about potential business ventures in Italy. He was in Paris visiting his sister and wanted an insider perspective on Italy’s economy and tourist information. Her bosses were thrilled. Wayne opening up a site in Italy would do wonders for the overall economic and industrial growth. Then they got to talking about a potential student exchange program that Wayne Industries were willing to fund.

What Tim hadn’t told the Ambassador was that Wayne Industries had been scouting locations in Italy for their new plant for the last ten months. All the research was done. Everything was primed to go. Still, Tim was kind enough to ensure that Naomi Rossi received the credit for getting Wayne Industries on board.

Mrs. Rossi blinked in surprise, “I had no idea either. Lila, we’re here to discuss a potential international exchange program for kids all over the world. Tim wanted to say hello to his sister. Why didn’t you tell me you were friends with Marinette Wayne?”

Marinette leaned forward in her seat. A slow smile spread across her face.

“I, well, I,” Lila struggled to say.

“We’re not the closest, Mrs. Rossi,” Marinette offered. “She’s always so busy, we haven’t had the time.”

“Ahh,” Tim snapped his fingers. “That Lila Rossi. Marinette told me all about her.” He crossed his arms. “Naomi, how was Achu? I haven’t gone yet. But from what Marinette’s told of Lila’s stories, you two go all the time. You become close to the royal family, yes?”

Coldness went down to Naomi Rossi’s spine. She stiffened. Her eyes went to her daughter who had a look of dread on her face. Not this again, she nearly groaned. “There’s been some… confusion,” Mrs. Rossi said, gearing up every ounce of diplomacy she learned in her twenty-year career. Lila was so grounded after this. “A miscommunication, I suppose. My ambassadorship has taken my family to England, Spain, and Japan for a little while, and here in France, of course. However, nowhere else. We have never been to Achu. That is a bit above my paygrade, I’m afraid,” She laughed nervously.

The class was as silent as a library. If Bustier was still there, a few students would’ve started yelling their complaints and cries for explanations. One or two would’ve started screaming at Lila for lying. But Bustier was gone. And the look Reed was giving her class, dared them to try.

Tim chuckled, “Kids. When I was seven I swore I spent the summer in Greece with my parents. I didn’t find out until I was eleven that I was actually in Rome. What can you do?” He gave her his most charming smile. “England, was that where Lila met Jagged Stone? I think he’s from there.”

“Jagged who now?” Naomi asked. “The Rock Star? No, Lila’s never met him. She’s a huge fan though.”

“But he wrote a song about her!” Alya cried out. “She saved his cat from getting hit by a plane!”

Miss Reed, “Alya, please raise your hand and keep to a reasonable level while inside. It will be detention if I have to tell you again.”

Miss Reed and Mendeleiev had agreed to The Wayne's suggestion of revealing Lila’s lies to the class. It was the only way they would believe it and that she could lie her way out of. It was unnatural the way the students trailed after the girl, simpering over grand stories and promises of famous connections. They needed to learn to rely on hard work and their own talent, not on how many famous people they might get to the chance to meet.

“A plane?” Mrs. Rossi asked, an affronted look on her face. “You think I would ever allow my child to be in such danger?” She looked at her daughter. “Your grandmother always said you would be a grand writer with all the stories you tell. You could’ve at least come with a sensible lie.”

“I can explain,” Lila said but whether she was talking to her mother or class was anyone’s guess.

Rose raised her hand, “Lie? Lila can’t be lying. What about all the trips she takes with you? The charity organizations she runs? The famous people she knows like Clara Nightingale who always ask her for help. She’s close friends with Prince Ali. That’s why she’s always away from school. One time she was gone for weeks.”

Naomi Rossi looked at her daughter, who did everything she could to avoid eye contact with her mother. “You told me that the school was closed due to the Akumas. It was a lie.” She looked at the teacher. “If the school wasn’t closed, Lila should have only missed three days of school this semester due to her being ill with the flu. She should have only missed seven to ten days in total last year. I do apologize, my daughter…” She gave Lila a dark look. “Seems to have a talent for tall tales.”

Miss Reed stood up, “It’s a matter for the Principle. Her last teacher overlooked many things and wrote off what she couldn’t. Her schoolwork was done the year before; her grades were good enough to pass. She has not missed too many days so far; a few more than the average student but it happens. Any homework missed can still be made up. She is welcome in my class. However, when you get the chance, I would like make an appointment to discuss with you any medical accommodations she has that need to be addressed.”

Mrs. Rossi crossed her arms, “She never wears her glasses. She has sensitive eyes that prevent her from wearing contacts. Without them, she can’t see more than a few feet ahead of her.” She looked straight at her daughter. “And she knows this.”

Marinette wanted to bang her head against the desk. Why couldn’t Lila just say that? She’d have understood.

Mrs. Rossi looked at the class, “I am so sorry for any trouble my daughter may have caused.” She looked at Tim. “I hope this doesn’t cast a negative light on any prospective business relations.”

Tim shook his head, “Kids will be kids. Let’s continue to speak over lunch.”

“I’ll see you at home, Lila,” Mrs. Rossi said.

Tim grinned, “Marinette, I’ll see you after school. Jason.”

Jason got to leave only to stumble nearly down the stairs. He cast a quick glare at Chloe.

The blond gave him a vicious smirk, “Walk much?”

“Oh it’s on,” Jason hissed.

Marinette rolled her eyes. Last year, she had wished with all her might that her friends would see Lila for who she really was. Now the truth was out. Lila had been exposed.

Regrettably, Marinette had already lost all her friends. And those who were still her friends, already knew the truth. So it wouldn’t change much. She’d had already forgiven her ex-friends a long time ago. Marinette just had to intention of being friends with them again. Still, it was a victory.

Fuck Santa; this round went Marinette.

The Justice League had been stunned when they learned that the masked hero Ladybug who was protecting Paris in an adorable bright red suit, who seemed to be made of sunshine, rainbows, and happiness was Batman’s daughter. Like so stunned that as soon as they saw her secret Identity of Marinette Dupain-Cheng, and her takedown of monsters twelve times her size; one or two (or twelve) asked Superman to take a DNA test too. Because Bruce Wayne wasn’t the only black-haired Superhero around, and you know things happen.

…Batman hadn’t been happy when Oracle alerted him that someone in the Watch Tower was running his daughter’s DNA against Superman’s.

“How sure are we?” Hal Jordan asked. “The DNA results never came back. How do we know she’s not Big S’s?”

The main members of the Justice League were waiting for Batman and his family to arrive. Then they were would officially be introduced to the hero Ladybug.

Superman glared, “Stop it. Batman already brought out the kryptonite the last time you mentioned it.”

Wonder man nodded, “Her civilian self is the spitting image of Bruce.”

“All of his kids have dark hair and light eyes,” The Flash reminded them. “One of like seven or twelve, or however many he has now, we know for sure is his.”

“They are all his,” Black Canary stated with a growl. She and Oliver had adopted Roy when he was young but that didn’t make the boy any less hers.

Just then the light of the zeta beam sounded and Batman and Ladybug appeared in the room. The clear contrast between the two was startling.

The Dark, brooding, Knight of Gotham dressed in all black with a look on his face that could’ve made Superman wince in fear. Ladybug, dressed in bright red, with a big, cheerful, smile on her face and large blue eyes that looked positively mesmerized by the heroes.

“I brought cookies,” The small girl chirped as she motioned to the goodies in her hands. “And apple pie! It’s a family recipe. I made them myself. I really hope you like them.”

Batman glared worsen to the point where a few Justice League members feared for their lives. The message was clear; they’d like them. Or else.

“I’m sure they’re wonderful,” Diana smiled. “Come on, let me show you where we’ll be meeting.

Marinette tried not to stare in awe at her favorite superhero. “I also brought Vegan. And gluten-free cookies. I wanted to make sure everyone could get some.” She said as she was led away.

The world-renowned heroes visibly cooed at the young hero. She was the most adorable thing they’d ever laid eyes on.

The Flash laughed, “What did you bring, Bats?”

“Death,” Batman growled as stalked after his daughter.

Cyborg swallowed hard. “I’m not saying you’re right,” He told Hal and Barry. “I’m saying for this type of situation; Maury is classier than Jerry Springer.”

Superman groaned. They were going to get him killed.

“Apple pie!” The flash said. “She brought Apple, Clark; it’s a sign from the gods.”

Ladybug briefing them on her hero journey had been riveting. The Justice League had always been aware of Ladybug's existence. Once aware of her, Diana had told them all the history of the Miraculous and how her own mother used to be one of the users. Ladybug, with Chat Noir for a time, handled herself and protected the city well. They saw no reason to interfere. The Justice League had strict rules of interfering with another’s heroes’ turf. They figured if Ladybug needs help, the hero would call on them. They never knew she was a child.

Her age bothered them.

“She can’t protect the city,” Aquaman said. “We’ll need to step in.”

“Excuse me,” Marinette said.

The Flash nodded, “We’ll need to run Intel. I’ll have Vibe take a look at things.”

“Wait! I don’t think you-” Marinette started but was cut off.

“The magic is ancient and powerful,” Hawkman interrupted. “We should call Constantine. Or Doctor Fate perhaps.”

Ladybug shook her head, “That wouldn’t be a good idea!”

Green Lantern waved her off, “It’s fine, kid. We’ll handle it. While we’re at it; consider joining Young Justice or Teen Titans. Get you some training before you call yourself a real hero. Until then stick with the little league team.”

Marinette froze. What did he just say? White-hot anger coursed through her veins.

And to think she always dreamed of meeting the Justice League; of standing face to face with the heroes after having proven herself; proven that she was just as much of a superhero as they. However, Marinette knew she was already a hero. And no one would tell her otherwise.

The round went to Santa. But Marinette would have her due.

Fuck Santa!

Superman said, “We’ll start having unplaced league members scouting the area. They’ll notify us at the first sign of Hawkmoth.”

“ENOUGH!” Marinette yelled. She growled at the heroes. “Who the hell do you think you are?” The silence that followed that question was deafening. “You know nothing of Hawkmoth; saw nothing of what I’ve been through. There is a reason I never called in the league. Superpowered individuals still have emotions; still anger. He can turn any of you into akumas. Get inside your heads; learn who you really are. You’ll be a toy for him. Batman brought me here to meet you; not for you to pretend you know how to do my job.”

She glared at the room and then zeroed in on the Green Lantern. Within seconds, Ladybug had yanked him out of his seat, pulled the ring off his finger, and held by his collar as the man detransformed. “Real Hero? You think I’m not a real hero? I’ve fought monsters nightmares couldn’t even begin to fathom. You want to see what I’m capable of, Glow Stick? How about I take you to the nearest training room and see if you bleed green?”

Batman stood up, “My team will be running point on the Paris situation; following Ladybug lead. You’ll refrain from entering the city of Paris until further notice. That is all.” He looked at his daughter and had to fight to keep the smile off his face. “Ladybug let Green Lantern go, and give him back his ring.”

Ladybug huffed, “I’ll give him back his ring. And then I want ten minutes alone with him.”

Hal gulped.

“No,” Batman said. “We must leave. You have to get ready for Winter break. Next time.”

Ladybug glared and then dropped the hero on the ground. “Next time,” She promised.

Then swiftly the father and daughter duo departed.

Once the two were gone, Wonder Woman chuckled, “Anyone else want to question Ladybug’s Paternity. Anyone?”

Barry had to fight the shivers that went through him. Ladybug had Batman’s glare and knew how to use it. “Nope. Never again.”

Marinette’s first night in Gotham was memorable. The entire bat family had been waiting for Marinette when she arrived; Bruce, Alfred, Kate, Dick, Barbara, Jason, Cassandra, Tim, Stephanie, Luke, and Damian. Alfred, the man her brothers had deemed their grandfather, had welcomed her with open arms and a dinner that was more like a feast than a simple meal.

On the outside, Wayne manor looked like any home in the neighborhood; quiet, idealistic, and seemingly perfect.

On the inside, as soon as Bruce and Alfred stepped away for a moment, her siblings took her to the Batcave. It was as grand as she always imagined. Then someone (Tim) brought out lightsabers.

Marinette thought it was a fancy version of the toy she used to love so much as a kid; her only complaint was that the plastic swords only came in green, red and the occasional blue. She really wanted a pink one and had put it on her Christmas list for two years straight.

She pressed the button, only for the sword handle to heat up, and a pink laser rises out of it. “Tim?”

“Yeah?”

“…This is a real lightsaber,” The heat from the sword threated to burn or hand a little. Or worse. She’d seen all the movies. She knew how this usually ended up.

“Yep.”

Marinette nodded slowly. Because what the heck.

“Just go with it,” Luke shrugged. “Just-just go with it.” He sounded like a defeated man. A tired one at that.

“Don’t be like that!” Dick smiled, “Family bond time is the best time.”

“Jedi versus Sith?” Marinette just asked.

Tim pointed a bright gold lightsaber at her, “Jedi versus Sith.”

Marinette looked around at the different colored and very, very dangerous lightsabers. There was no way this could possibly go well. And with the way her Kate, aka Batwoman, was smirking there was no way Alfred would consider her proper adult supervision. Someone was going to lose a hand. Or die. Most likely both.

But she wouldn’t back down. This was more or less her eight-year-old self’s dream. It was also likely to get her killed.

…Marinette would take those odds.

“What team am I on?” She asked.

Cassandra shook her head, “Up to you. Good versus is a chose; just a game though,” She cast Stern looks at Jason, Tim, and Damian, who now sported black robes, clearly, by the Darth Maul make up that had somehow appeared on Damian’s face, were clearly Sith Lords.

Santa thought this would scare her. That she would be cowed into submission. Finally admit defeat. Well, Marinette only had one thing to say to that. Two things actually.

“Give in to the dark side, sister,” Damian ordered her. His lightsaber was red and had two sides to it much like the character he matched.

Marinette got into a fighting stance, “Not today.”

And Fuck Santa.

…

Alfred and Bruce were not happy when they finally located the children.

Or the fact that someone had to get their hand reattached.

It was two to two. Christmas day had arrived. Marinette had expected the worst; had geared up for the worst.

Nothing happened.

Marinette spent the day with her family.

Her parents had even arrived from Paris on the day before Christmas eve.

They shared presents. They sang songs. The entire family was together. It snowed outside. She and all of her siblings had a snowball fight while her parents and Alfred watched from the porch.

It was a perfect Christmas day.

Except for one thing…

Marinette knew the truth.

The perfect day was the result of one thing…

Santa was preparing too. He didn’t back down. The fight wasn’t over yet. He was too busy to mess with her on Christmas Eve or Christmas. Nevertheless, that didn’t mean anything.

Everyone knew the Holiday season didn’t officially end until January 1st.

After New Year’s eve.

That was the final round.

The match to end all matches.

On New Years’ Eve, it would be war.

Roy wore a tailored tux as he walked her down the carpet, passed the flashing lights of the paparazzi.

Marinette never thought she’d fight the most battle of her life in a ballgown. It was a jaw-dropping, off the shoulder, floor length silver dress with lacy unique floral accents. Her hair was in a side-braid with small forget-me-nots on top of her hair like a crown.

It was her battle armor, and she was ready for anything.

It was a promise, she made to herself.

…

Okay so it turns out, Marinette lied to herself.

She wasn’t ready for anything. She did not stand a chance against Santa. He was a jerk. And she was six-second from throwing in the towel and running off crying.

Marinette had known exactly who was attending the ball. She had memorized every guest on the list. Trying to figure out exactly what the fat guy who throws out her. As soon as she saw exactly which celebrities were coming. She knew.

The first punch had been the man ten-year-old Marinette swore she was going marry. Harry freaking Styles.

But Marinette had prepared herself. It would be a quick conversation and then she wouldn’t speak to him for the rest of the night.

When she met the superstar, Marinette had smiled and laughed; had a good conversation, wasn’t even awkward at all. She wasn’t the overly One Direction obsessed 10-year-old anymore.

It was a hard hit, and the best conversation of her life, but Marinette didn’t go down.

Santa’s next move was a cheap shot, and she stumbled.

Marinette had been trying to find a quiet place to think for herself so could get strengthen up a bit but, to avoid one of her brothers (Dick), she collided straight into Nick Jonas and fell on her butt.

She hadn’t even realized it at first as he helped her up.

“Thank you,” Marinette said kindly, as she brushed off her dress. When she looked up and saw exactly who had collided with, her face turned a bright red. “You’re Nick Jonas,” She squeaked; literally squeaked. She wanted to die.

Nick Jonas. She loved Nick Jonas. She listen to all his songs; even his old Jonas Brothers ones. She had always wanted to meet the singer; she had dreamed about it.

“Yeah,” Nick smiled. “You alright.”

No. Marinette was not alright.

Still, she chirped a quick, “I’m fine.” And introduced herself.

Then he said, “Love your dress.”

“I made it! I can make you one!” Slipped out before she could stop it.

He just laughed though, “How about a suit instead?”

Yeah, so that happened.

And the night just got worse from there.

…

Santa gave her a combo hit; worthy of a champion.

Not many knew but Marinette was a huge Harry Potter fangirl. Hermione Granger was her all-time favorite. She was a hardcore Harmony shipper; Harry/Hermione forever.

Tim knew it though. He was a big-time fan as well. And he thought it would be a great idea to introduce Marinette to the actress who played her favorite character; Emma Watson.

It was not a good idea. At all.

The first words out of Marinette’s mouth upon seeing Emma Watson were literally, “It's leviOsa, not levioSA!”

And it was at the point that Marinette just wanted to call it a night.

Emma had laughed it off, promising she got it all the time.

…

Marinette met Chris Hemsworth and just wouldn’t stop giggling.

Stephanie had to pull her away.

It was then that she knew Santa had her on the ropes.

…

She met Big Time Rush.

The boy band had become internally famous over the last few years. Not as big as One Direction but they still had their dedicated fans. Marinette was one of them

Kendall Knight, James Diamond, Carlos Garcia, and Logan Mitchell. They were all eighteen

It should’ve have been easy. She liked their band but not nearly as much as she liked Harry Styles, or Emma Watson, Or Chris Hemsworth.

Still, she hadn’t seen James asking her to dance coming.

However, Marinette had remained calm and cool.

It’s a pity, she was still such a klutz.

Suffice to say, Marinette wouldn’t be listening to Big Time Rush for a while. And James Diamond wouldn’t be asking strange girls to dance any time soon.

Santa gave her a punch right in the face.

…

She ran into Tom Holland the exact moment she got the hiccups. He did his best to help her get rid of them

…

Marinette had just stuffed an entire cupcake in her mouth when she realized Jennifer Lawrence was standing next to her. It wasn’t too bad. As the blond did the same thing a second later.

…

She pointed at Johnny Depp and said, “Jack Sparrow. You’re Jack Sparrow. Oh my god!!!”

To which he replied, “Captain Jack Sparrow.”

…

Suffice to say, Santa didn’t have Marinette on the robes anymore.

No, Marinette was on the floor; waiting for the referee to call it.

…

It was an hour until the official New Year. Fifteen minutes until Marinette was supposed to perform. She was backstage. Everyone was waiting for her. She promised Tim.

And she found that she just couldn’t do it.

The entire night was too much.

It was all too much.

It was over.

She had lost.

“Rough night?” Roy, her date and pretend boyfriend asked.

Marinette was sitting on a chair, her face in her hands, “You have no idea.”

Roy sat next to her, “Pretty exciting though right?” He didn’t get an answer. “Tim said you met Emma Watson, that had to be awesome.”

“It was embarrassing.”

Roy frowned, “Sabine told me you used to dress up as Hermione Granger all time. You’re saying meeting the Queen herself wasn’t even a little cool?”

Yeah, it had been amazing to meet her in person. “A little cool.”

Roy chuckled, “You met Harry Styles,” He reminded. “And from your blond bestie told me; my only real competition.”

Marinette giggled. “That had been… awesome.” And everything.

“You met Chris Hemsworth,” He added. “Tom Holland, Big Time Rush, and a bunch of other celebs that I’ve been told you were huge fans of. Yeah, you were a little embarrassed.” He shook his head. “But I don’t get it; I’d be so psyched right now if I were you. So why aren’t you.”

Marinette paused.

Why wasn’t she?

Marinette had met people she never even dared to really hope she’d ever meet one day. She wore the most beautiful dress in her entire life; danced with Roy Queen and James Diamond. Joked with Harry Styles. Talked Emma Watson the actress who played the character she loved most out of all the books, tv shows, and movies she’d ever loved.

It was all a matter of perspective really. Marinette was so focused on the bad, she never even realized just how great it was. Santa had thrown the worst at her but was still there. She hadn’t run back to Wayne Manor no matter how much she had wanted to. She stayed strong.

At one point, she knew for certain that she wouldn’t just surrender; after the Chris Hemsworth incident. If Santa wanted to win, he was going to have to knock her out.

“Thanks, Roy,” She said. “I couldn’t wish for a better date.”

It was the most amazing night of her life.

And no one was going to make her feel otherwise.

Marinette stood up, determination on her face.

She had a song to sing.

…

Marinette stood on stage. The crowd looked up at her. Her hands were shaking. Her mouth felt dry. The lights were near blinding. She had changed the song at the last minute. The music was coming from her phone anyway.

Marinette knew the lyrics to the song by heart; had sung it a thousand times in her room to herself.

She could do this.

I will do this, Marinette swore.

The music started. It was her favorite song. And Marinette was going to sing it so loudly, so proudly; they could hear her in the North Pole.

“What if I told you

It was all meant to be

Would you believe me

Would you agree

It's almost that feelin'

That we've met before

So tell me that you don't think I'm crazy

When I tell you love has come and now.”

She was doing it. Marinette was really doing it. She always had a good voice. She had taken singing lessons for a long time. And her teachers always praised her talent. But after one terrible incident, she never thought she’d ever get on stage and sing in front of anyone again.

But there she was.

“A moment like this

Some people wait a lifetime

For a moment like this

Some people search forever…

Honestly, Marinette could fall right on her face and it would stop the euphoric feeling coursing through. This was her victory song.

Jolly Saint Nick had thrown at her more than she ever thought she could take. But she was still standing.

And as long as she was, the big red guy would never win.

For that one special kiss

Oh, I can't believe it's happening to me

Some people wait a lifetime

For a moment like this…”

The music faded. The applause from the audience roared.

…

Marinette and Roy slow danced to something my Celine Dion neither could recognize. The New Year was less than two minutes away.

“You’re looking a lot better,” Roy smirked. He knew he was good at Pep talks to matter what Artemis said.

“I feel better,” Marinette admitted. “It’s been an awesome few weeks.”

“Yeah?” Roy asked as he twirled her around.

Marinette nodded, “Nearly Every. One. Of. My. Christmas wishes came true.” She tried not to growl. Positive outlook after.

“Santa must be out to get you.”

Marinette looked up at Roy with appreciation, “You have no idea.”

“Anything he didn’t get to?” The redhead asked. “Something you can do for yourself first?”

“Countdown to New Years in 10!”

Marinette thought about it for a second but she realized there was. There was one more thing on her list, that she added at the very beginning of Christmas.

“Yeah, there is.” She said. “Do you want to kiss me.”

Roy nodded earnestly.

The crowd counted down. “7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1” And then Marinette kissed Roy.

Balloons came from above. Everyone cheered. But Marinette kept kissing Roy.

She always wanted a New Year’s kiss.

Take that and stick it up your chimney, Santa.

Marinette was officially the winner.

Nevertheless, there was always next year.

But for now, fuck Santa!

#ml salt #ml fic #marinette dupen chang #Marinette deserves better #batfamily

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selenityshiroiml · 3 years

Text

So...I’ve seen somewhere that, at some point, Chat Noir will not be a part of the show for a bit. And I started to think of a scenario where it would work, but I’m not a massive fic writer and all my ideas are building up into a huge plot but with no major desire to write it. So...massive post-Gabriel/Hawkmoth story idea under the cut

So, I had the idea that the miraculous crew (all reunited for the big event) would find out Gabriel was Hawkmoth and quickly work to take him out. And, yeah, Chat Noir was a bit off during the take down but at least they all stopped Gabriel and got him and Nathalie arrested and they got back the Peacock Miraculous (but the Butterfly got knocked off and is still missing because Butterfly User Lila).

And the crew are all ‘oh shit...what about poor Adrien (who none of us know personally of course) he wasn’t here at the mansion when we ruined his life so we should all split up and go look for him’

(Nino finds him crying on his doorstep)

But then the next day Adrien kind of closes off and goes off radar for a bit because comatose Emilie was found and he’s now splitting time between the hospital and trying to make sure Agreste Fashion doesn’t tank and take all it’s innocent employees with it and a hotel because he is not going back to that mansion. And all his friends are giving him space because they love him and know he’s gone through a lot with his dad and psudo-stepmom being magical terrorists. And maybe they also don’t want to push because they also feel a little guilty for slapping the cuffs on.

In the meantime Chat Noir and Ladybug are still looking for the missing Butterfly but Chat is still off and he asks Ladybug if he can take some time for personal reasons. And Ladybug is all ‘what??? is something wrong?’ and he tells her that a family member is has been ill for a long time and they might need to be transferred for specialist medical treatment. But he’s being sufficiently vague enough that Ladybug assumes he’s been taking care of a family member with cancer or something and ‘OMG how long has he been struggling, was this happening before Hawkmoth??? Did he put off telling her or asking to take time off because he was worried about leaving her alone to deal with the akumas and everything???’

So she’s all ‘of course you can take some time you are my friend and partner and I care about you and I know you’ll be back as soon as you can and I hope everything goes well in your real life’

But what’s really happening is that the Guardian Temple has been in contact with Adrien and are all ‘we can help heal your mother...come to Tibet’ and Adrien is all ‘well...I can’t take the Black Cat Miraculous to Tibet with me because Ladybug might need it to protect her’ so he sends Plagg off with the ring and tells him to take it back to the Guardian (he isn’t truly renouncing it, he’s just being a selfless moron).

Of course, Marinette gets home from school and finds Plagg hissing and spitting at all the Kwami in her room and she realises Plagg is there with the ring and they are both so angry and upset at Chat Noir because ‘how fucking dare he’ and she refuses to put the ring away and no way in HELL is anyone else wearing it. She puts it on a cord around her neck and keeps it under her shirt at all times.

And then a few days later Adrien (who has slowly started messaging his friends back and thanking them for their support) shows up at school to say goodbye for a bit because he’s taking his mother to a specialist in China and everyone is all sad face but hopes everything goes well. (and obviously no one thinks twice about the fact that Adrien is leaving Paris not long after Chat Noir stopped appearing) And Tikki is shoving cheese scones into Plagg’s mouth whilst they hide in Marinette’s bag because she’s afraid he’s gonna shout out for his kitten before he drives off.

But then he’s gone and Marinette misses Chat Noir like anything and she misses Adrien and Alya is all ‘sooooo...can we borrow the ring?’ and Marinette and Plagg are both ‘OVER MY DEAD BODY’.

And then at some point a weird Miraculous user turns up with another strange user acting as a Mandarin-French interpreter and they ask Ladybug for the Peacock to heal Emilie Agreste. And she is all ‘wt actual fuck???’ and is all ‘let me think about it’ because Plagg is hidden in her hair whispering ‘you can trust them...especially the young one’ and she says to come back the next night and she’ll give her answer.

So she does the only thing she can think of to get answers as to why the Peacock might help Emilie. She sneaks into jail and asks Gabriel. And Gabriel, who has had time to think about his defeat and add 2 and 2 together to make 4 has realised that she is Marinette (he’s also worked out that Chat Noir is his son but he’s keeping quiet) and is open with her about how Emilie fell into a coma because of the Peacock and that, yes, it might be used to help her recover but he has no idea how. He also asks pointed questions about Sentimonsters and how she treated the Ladybug Sentimonster as a living being because maybe there might be a repercussion you aren’t willing to be responsible for.

Ladybug agrees to give the Peacock Miraculous to the Guardian Temple representatives on the promise that it is returned to her via Adrien and Emilie Agreste when they return, safe and well, to Paris.

In the meantime the Adrien-less plot ticks away with new Akuma victims showing up (showing that some asshole really DOES have the butterfly) but the motives seem to be less ‘bring me their miraculous’ and more ‘fuck everyone in Paris because i’m angry and upset because no one believes in me or gives me the attention i want’ because fucking Lila.

And at one point Nino, Alya and Marinette go and check out apartments on behalf of Adrien who has shortlisted places from China but wants his friends to check them out physically for him because he trusts them (and they are all ‘oh shit...this is an apartment but it’s like three times the size of all our places combined why is our friend so rich...) because I think that would be cute.

Until one day the news breaks out that Nathalie has disappeared in jail and all that is left is a feather, mostly white but with tints of blue at the edges. Marinette is all ‘shit...that’s an amok thing’ and manages to convince the police to give Ladybug the feather. She purifies the feather and on the otherside of the planet Emilie Agreste wakes up.

(Because Nathalie was a sentimonster that critically ill Emilie made and was filled with her desire to look after her husband and son and the reason why Gabriel didn’t try to destroy Nathalie to help Emilie is because by the time he realised what Nathalie was she was already a real person in his eyes, like the Ladybug Sentimonster, and also she was a part of Emilie and he didn’t want to risk destroying her if it wouldn’t help because she was all he had of his wife and he’s actually sad that Nathalie might be gone, even if it means Emilie wakes)

And then Adrien comes home and Emilie is still weak but hey at least she is there and she pays attention to her son which is more than Gabriel ever did (and it’s kind of weird that she seems to know things that only Nathalie knew...it’s like she saw her son grow up as if watching a movie).

And then Adrien sneaks up on Ladybug whilst she’s out and about (because he knows all her normal patrol spots) in order to return the Peacock. And Ladybug has spent the last while swearing to Plagg that when Chat comes back she is going to say fuck it to the hidden identities because she is going to shove the ring back on his damned finger herself and never let him take it off again. So Plagg has no qualms about zooming out of Ladybug’s hair and smooshing straight into Adrien’s face screaming ‘IF YOU EVER LEAVE ME AGAIN I WILL COUGH UP A CAMEMBERT FLAVOURED HAIRBALL DIRECTLY INTO YOUR MOUTH YOU RAT BASTARD’

And that isn’t how Marinette or Adrien expected the reveal to go but whatever.

(alternatively they could hold out on the reveal and just have a cute Ladrien scene of Adrien thanking Ladybug for helping his mother heal whilst she is all awkwardly all ‘sorry I got your father arrested’ and then when Marinette gets home Plagg is all ‘wow...will you look at the time, I think Chat Noir might be mysteriously ready for me to take my ring back to him’ and then he flies off and two days later Ladybug finds Chat Noir on top of the Montparnasse Tower and she tackle hugs him off the side of the building and they have to quickly stop each other from falling to their deaths via yoyo and staff and they end up tangled together whilst ugly crying because they missed each other SOOOOOO MUCH)

#ml speculation #ladynoir #i have actually written certain scenes of this #but i know it would take me so long to write the whole thing that the show would joss it before i completed it #but i genuinely believe something must be up with emilie and nathalie #and also that there was a reason we saw a sentimonster being treated like a real person worth having their own existance #mostly i want marinette and plagg mourning adrien being gone together #marinette alternating between 'i miss the love of my life' and 'i miss my kitty' and in a sadness spiral #sobbing into their icecream whilst tikki and alya are all 'there there'#and no one (other than tikki plagg and gabriel) realising that chat and adrien are the SAME PERSON #even though they mysteriously left at the same time

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sup-hoes-its-me · 4 years

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That’s What Friends Do (Bakugo x Reader)

A/N: It took me quite a long time for me to like bakugo, but here we go. Friends to lovers. Ur all mights daughter too (bc i love him so much i want him to be my dad tbh)

word count: 5413

“You know, Y/N? You’re kinda an airhead,” Bakugo said bluntly, flicking the girl directly on the top of her head to make her hair fly in all directions. She sighed and brushed down her hair, glaring over at the boy who walked home with her everyday. They lived on the same street so it only made sense to follow each other. Not that she particularly enjoyed it. He wasn’t always rude to her, saying offhanded things once in a while. Honestly, she didn’t even know if he meant the rude things he said, it was almost natural for him to say that kind of stuff.

She went to protest, defend herself, but Bakugo just had to have more to say.

“I mean like, you’re always dropping things and making mistakes. No doubt the only reason you’re in class a is because of your dad. And you almost never use your powers.”

She bit back her arguments, knowing she would never win. He always had a counter, and was better than her at it. She twisted her bracelets around her wrists, feeling heat starting to emit from her wrists. They had similar powers, Bakugo and her. He would turn his sweat into explosives. She could convert her negative emotions into intense body heat. They could definitely be good friends if they tried; she was so kind and open to everyone much like her father. Yet, it didn’t seem like he had friendship in mind most of the time.

“You know it’s because I have to feel bad before using it.”

“Well then you just need to be angry all the time like me maybe. It won’t do you any good to be happy all the time if you want to be a hero.”

“But I don’t want to be like that. I-I have so many friends because of my personality,” she said nervously, not really thinking about the repercussions of what she would say next. “People like me, but they don’t really like you…”

He froze where he was, his head turning swiftly to glare down at her. “Is it really better to have people like you if you’re just a useless idiot?”

He was right, she was useless. In fact, just him saying that had searing hot tears springing up in the corners of her eyes. She bit her lip, trying to keep the crying at bay. He always did make fun of her for being a crybaby.

“This is why you don’t have friends, Bakugo,” she whispered, even though she knew she was crossing another line, only to make him angrier with her.

“”Oh yeah, well then why do you follow me around? You hate me so much yet you try to act like friends? Pathetic. Stick up for yourself once in a while.”

Her body heat was intense, and he had to take a step back when it started to hit him hard. He knew he’d made her upset, it was obvious when anyone did. He felt a bit bad about it. She really was a nice girl. He shouldn’t make fun of her, only it was so unfair that she was All Might’s daughter. She was weak, and never wanted to use her powers. Someone else would make a better hero, would benefit more from the praise and privilege that came with being in that family.

Maybe he was just jealous, but he hated that thought. He was jealous of her for having powers strong enough that if she used them right could rival the level of All Might. He was jealous of Midoriya, who he suspected had somehow inherited All Might’s powers. Bakugo was strong, stronger than any of them. Why did he have the short end of the stick?

“Fine. If that’s how you want it to be-”

Just as she was about to say her final goodbye and run back to her home, they failed to notice the cracking of a tree branch right above them. At the last second, she turned her head up to the sky, gasped, and lifted her hands to shield them from the branch. Surely, she couldn’t catch it, and they wouldn’t be able to run in time.

Her hands glowed a bright red, and upon contact with the huge tree branch, the wood burnt to a crisp and shrunk to the size of burnt and ashy twig. She fell down to her knees, exhausted afterwards.

“Owie.” Y/N stared down at her burnt hands, blisters already starting to show up on her palms. Her knees stung, and after inspecting them, they were torn up and bloodied, dripping onto the sidewalk.

“Shit, Y/N. I-I...let’s get you home, alright?” Bakugo tentatively said, placing his hands under her armpits and lifting her gently from the ground. She forgot about their fight just a couple seconds ago, the pain in her hands being nearly unbearable. The blisters would go away throughout the night as part of her quirk but god, it would hurt like hell until the morning.

“Okay.”

It wasn’t that far away, thankfully, only a couple streets further. He held her around her waist, making sure she didn’t fall. He felt bad though, since the blood had dripped down to her uniform socks and stained them crimson with blood. He was surprised that, despite the pain, she didn’t cry.

Carefully, he helped her walk up each of the steps to her front door and rang the doorbell. All Might answered the door, in his hero form, and just as quickly as his smile showed, it sunk deep into a frown.

“My goodness, what happened, sweetheart?” he asked, taking his daughter in his own arms from the boy who carried her home.

“I, uh, there was a really big branch…” she struggled to say, too embarrassed to say she used a huge chunk of her power just to burn up a tree branch. “Burned my hands and fell down and yeah,” she added, looking down at her burns and cuts.

All Might turned to Bakugo and nodded his head firmly. “Thank you for helping her home, young Bakugo. You’re not hurt are you?”

“No- Y/N, she saved me.” He said softly, actually really impressed with what she had done, whether she hurt herself or not. “Y/N? Thank you. You really came through back there.”

The girl tilted her head to look at her schoolmate and smiled weakly. “It’s all good. That’s what friends do, I guess.”

“Well, you better head home for the night, Bakugo. Y/N needs rest to heal her burns,” her father said calmly, waving the boy off with his free hand. They shut the door and left the boy standing on the front porch of their home.

That weak little girl saved the both of them in a moment. He felt terrible for letting her get burned like that, but he was amazed at how much raw power she possessed. He turned on his heel and walked back down the steps, heading down the street to his own home. Maybe she wasn’t so useless after all.

_________________________________

The second Y/N learned her father was back at UA, in the infirmary being taken care of by Recovery Girl, she ran to see him. Tears had been running down her face as she watched the news, seeing the horrible things All for One had done, hearing her father struggle and seeing him lose his form in front of the public. Her friends all looked to her with wide eyes, as if they were questioning why she kept it a secret that her father was injured all this time.

Why would she tell a nation of united people that the one person keeping them together was just about to run out of power? If she felt judged, she couldn’t even imagine what her father was going through, having every single person in the world know how weak he was. Endeavor would take over his role as number one hero, and the people would lose their symbol of peace.

It was heart wrenching.

She opened the door to the infirmary, seeing All Might laying in the bed with bandages wrapped around most of his body. He looked tired and sore after all the work he had done.

“Oh, Y/N, I’ve been waiting for you to show up,” Recovery Girl announced, walking right by her with a bottle of pills to give to the hurt man. “He’s going to be just fine; no longer a pro-hero, but relatively healthy.”

A breath of relief left the girl as she walked to her father’s bedside. “Dad, I-I saw what happened...I-I never thought that you would have to fight him again. I’m sorry,” that was all she knew what to say. When she found out her father was going to fight his one true nemesis much like years before, her heart sank. She remembered how terrible it was the first time he fought All for One, and this time felt even worse.

“Y/N, sweetheart, I thought the same thing-more like I prayed it would never happen. But you heard Recovery Girl: I’m going to be fine. You should rest. It’s been a long day for everyone.”

Her ears turned red out of pure frustration, and he quirked a brow. “Calm down. I’m still the same ol’ dad.”

“One for All...is it really gone this time?”

“Just about. That’s the last of it. I told you that my next battle would be my last.”

“How can you just accept that? You’re our hero, no one else means as much to the people as you do? We can’t lose you,” she pleaded, grabbing her dad’s beaten hand and squeezing for dear life. “If it’s really gone, what are we going to do? Who will fight?”

“For now, whoever can do it. Later on, you and your classmates will most likely surpass me. If Midoriya can-”

She sighed, shaking her head. “Midoriya is trying, but I can’t believe he will be better than you.”

He smiled softly, shaking his head. “He will. You know.”

With a drop of his hand, she tightened her fists at her sides. “I know, I don’t want to believe it though,” she paused, biting her lip angrily. “I have to go check up on the others who are just getting back. Midoriya and Momo-chan and all…”

“I’m genuinely surprised you didn’t go with them.”

“I’m not heroic like them. I’m just an assist.” It saddened her, saying those words. “Besides, no one would be happy if All Might’s daughter was breaking the hero laws again.”

The girl said goodbye to her dad and the others in the medic bay shortly after that, but her heart was beating a million miles a minute, and she felt like all the air had been sucked from her lungs. She could only remain composed until she left the room and the door shut behind her loudly, echoing through the near empty hallway.

She clutched at her uniform, right over her heart. She could feel her skin heating up under her finger tips, the air drying up around her. Angrily, she bit at her lip and squeezed her eyes shut, tears threatening to burst down her face.

Seeing her dad in that state once again, this time in his weak form, it was heartbreaking. In times like this, she was truly reminded of her father's mortality just like everyone else. He wouldn't always be there for her.

"Y/N?"

Her eyes snapped open and she lifted her head swiftly. Tears started to run down her reddening cheeks. Hurriedly she tried to hide that she was crying, desperately wanting to avoid the boy's teasing. He always said she acted like a baby…

"Bakugo? I-I...shit," she choked on her words, sobs crawling up her throat.

He took a hesitant step forward, reaching his hand out to touch her shoulder. Before she had the chance to yank it out of his reach, he burned himself on her scorching hot skin. "Ah fuck!" The blond hissed, blowing on his hand to cool it off. "Forgot you did that when you're crying."

"I-I know. I'm sorry, I can't help it."

He shook his head, brushing off her apology. It was his fault for not noticing, and also not respecting personal space. He wasn't exactly sure why he reached out for her, but he did know that his heart was currently consumed with heavy guilt. It plagued over his heart. That's why he was going toward the infirmary: to peek into the window, just see how All Might was doing.

"Y/N, is it Al- I mean, you dad? He's gonna be okay, right?"

"He's alive, I guess that's something to be happy about. I just can't be positive right now about anything."

"Listen, Toshinori, it's gonna be okay-"

"Why are you being so calm? Shouldn't you be yelling at me by now for something? Crying? Burning you? Being in your way?" Y/N asked bitterly. The streams of tears on her cheeks were beginning to sizzle up against her skin, steam floating off.

He was taken aback, but really, should he be surprised? He was always rude to her in one way or another, whether he wanted to be or not? He mocked her on more than one occasion for being a crybaby. She was rightfully a bit scared of him, and it buried into his guilt further. He grimaced, his eyes trailing to the floor and his hand going to rub his other arm. He never meant to be malicious though. He supposed that was just the way he was.

Damn, he felt kinda bad. He really didn’t think he’d ever been that mean to her. Genuinely, he liked Y/N. She was not only a cute and sweet girl (despite being a bit of a “hot” head), but also the only child of his greatest hero. All Might was probably everyone’s favorite hero, to be real.

"This isn't really the time,” he muttered awkwardly.

"I should be going," she mumbled, moving to walk past him down the hall to the classroom where most of her friends were still waiting for updates on if it was safe to go home yet. Not that she would go home anytime soon. She would wait until her dad was ready to go home, and then they would leave together, her pushing him in a wheelchair no doubt.

He stopped her though, reaching out to grab her hand. It burned, but not as badly as he thought. She stopped mid stride, turning to peer at him in shock. He never touched her so gently, yet he was serious. His eyes were pained, she could see it written plainly for her eyes only.

"Bakugo?"

"Y/N, I'm sorry for how I've treated you recently, alright? I'm sorry all of this happened, and now your dad is hurt, and fuck, everything is so shitty right now. I'm sorry, Y/N."

"Why are you saying this?"

"Can't you just accept an apology?" He hadn't realized, but her skin was slowly cooling down to normal. "This is all because of me."

"No, it's not your fault."

"Listen, I gotta make a promise to you, okay? Just take it and don't say nothing, got it?" She nodded, genuinely curious as to what he was doing to say. He was a crazy guy, unpredictable to a certain point. He squeezed her hand tightly in his warm, clammy one. "I'm gonna watch out for you from now on. When no one else is there, even that damn Midoriya, I will be there to protect you."

He refused to meet her eyes for longer than a second. Her beautiful eyes made him remember just how flustered and awkward she made him feel. He glared at the ground and grunted. "It's nothing personal. I just owe you."

"For wha-"

"Didn't I tell you not to say anything? Ugh, so stupid as usual," he grumbled.

He dropped her hand roughly, eyes trained on the floor tiles again. "Just get out of here, Y/N."

The only thing she knew to do was nod silently and rush off back to the classroom. It was strange, the fuzzy feeling in her chest when he held her hand and told her he would watch over her. Maybe it was just the words, but something about Bakugo made her feel dizzy.

__________________________

"You know what's kinda scary, Y/N?" Jirou asked in between bites of her rice. The girl peered up from her lunch to her friend, raising a brow in question. She continued to slurp up her warm noodles as the girl continued. "Hot head Bakugo's been eyeing you down a lot lately. He's actually looking at you right now-"

She choked on her soup, turning her head roughly to find Bakugo in the swarm of tables and students.

"Way to be subtle, dude."

Almost immediately she met eyes with Bakugo, who was staring directly at the back of her head. Her cheeks turned a bright shade of pink, embarrassment sending shivers through her body. Just as quickly as before, she swung her head back to the table in front her, wanting to bury her head in her hands and whine.

"That's so weird. Did something happen between you two recently?" Momo asked offhandedly, waving her empty chopsticks through the air.

"N-no, nothing happened." Way to be smooth, Y/N.

Aoyama, who was sitting with the girls that day smirked as he munched on his cheese. Cheerfully, he piped up, "Aaaaanddd now he's heading over here. Mentally prepare yourself." Jirou laughed a bit under her breath and Momo smiled. They never liked Bakugo, he was annoying and rude, but it was fun to see Y/N red in the face and socially awkward.

Her friends loved to torture her. That's what she gets for being such a pushover, after all.

"Toshinori! You were looking at me?" He said quite loudly as he approached her. Ears turned red and she felt her hands growing quite warm, not burning but heated. She turned in her chair to peer up at him. His eyes were carrying his normal fury, but he seemed mildly calm. "Did you need something?"

"I...uh, no! It was an accident."

He noticed her red cheeks and her tinted ears, and out of pure frustration, he grabbed her soft hand in his rough one. Heat flared up inside her, embarrassment stabbing into her from almost every angle. She could feel her friend's eyes widen and staring at the two of them.

"Why are you hot? Am I making you feel bad?"

"No. I'm just embarrassed."

He dropped her hand back on the table and crossed his arms. "No need to be. That’s what friends do, yeah? Friends talk to each other, right?" She nodded. "We should hang out tomorrow. After classes, come to my room."

"That's pervy, don't you think?" Aoyama purred. “Plan on making a move on our innocent little heat lamp.” God, she hated the nicknames Aoyama had for her.

"Of course not, you stupid French idiot! You're the only one with a pervy mind if you think that, fucking asshole! I-I'll kill you-"

Y/N placed a gentle hand on his arm and nodded, successfully quieting him. "We can hang out. I have to study a bit so can I bring my books?"

"Yeah, that's cool or whatever." He shifted awkwardly, shoving his hand in his pants pockets. "See you later."

As he stalked off, Momo let out a loud scoff, pushing her friend on the shoulder jokingly. "You said nothing happened between you two! Lies," the girl exclaimed, laughing loudly with the rest of them.

“You gotta tell us the scoop, Toshi,” Jirou added, leaning her face in one of her palms, staring intently at the girl in question.

Y/n blushed, but tried her best to explain what had happened recently. “So about two weeks ago when Bakugo and I were walking home, we were fighting and he was yelling at me and stuff like usually, but then there was this super massive tree branch that was gonna fall on us and I burned it up with my quirk. But in the process I fell and hurt myself pretty bad so he walked me home and stuff and then I said something like, “That’s what friends do” or whatever.”

“Interesting. Maybe he respects you more since you potentially saved his life,” Momo pondered.

“But that’s not the weirdest part, guys.Then, about a week later after that incident with All for One and my dad, i was leaving the infirmary and he ran into me. And he apologized for ever being mean to me, and then said- well, this is kinda embarrassing actually…” she laughed nervously, wringing her fingers together as her face turned even darker red. “He said that he would protect me no matter what because he owes me.”

Three mouths formed ‘o’ shapes, just staring at her as she told the unexpected story. How could you expect something like that to come from someone like Bakugo? It was just crazy.

“Wow, okay, so that’s crazy as hell,” Jirou chuckled. “Maybe he has a little crush on you, Y/N.”

“What!? No way! He’s just being nice!”

Momo casts another glance back at Bakugo, noticing that he was once again peeking up at Y/N every once in a while. Bakugo caught Momo’s eyes and quickly lowered his gaze, having been caught doing something so unlike him. “Mhmm, looks like your right, Jirou. He was looking at her again.”

Y/n squealed, dropping her head to the table so no one could see how embarrassed she was. Just what was Bakugo feeling? There was no way he liked her. He never acted like it or showed her any affection since they met at the beginning of the school year. She would just have to wait until they hung out to see what was up with him. She would ask him how he felt about her and that would be the end of it.

______________________________________

Maybe this was gonna be harder than she thought. Classes had ended and she was walking very slowly back to the dorms. It’s easy in theory to just go to a boy’s dorm room to hang out and study but when it actually happens, so many feelings pour into you.

It was just Bakugo, it wasn’t like she didn’t know the guy. Plus, they were just friends, but that didn’t make him any less cute-what the hell? Y/N brought her book up to her and whacked her forehead, expelling the thought from her mind. Bakugo Katsuki was not cute, not in a million years. More like a demon.

She shifted her bag on her shoulder as she walked through the dorms, walking past hers and down the hall to Bakugo’s. He said right after class, right? Hopefully he was already home. It would be so embarrassing if she showed up too early and he saw her being eager to see him. Not that she was excited for this hangout, definitely not. It was just studying while he did whatever Bakugo does.

As she stood in front of his dorm, she pulled down her skirt just a bit to cover her as much as possible, and adjusted the collar on her button up. She felt so exposed, even with no one looking at her. Must just be the nerves. It’s fine, she thought, everything is going to go smoothly and then she can head to her bed later than night.

She knocked on the door and within a few seconds, the door opened.

He was undressed from his uniform, instead wearing a black shirt and cargo shorts. Typical Bakugo clothes. Still, this made her anxious; maybe she should have gotten into casual clothes before heading over. Does it really matter though? She didn’t know, and as the anxiety grew she felt herself getting hot.

“You good, Y/N?”

“Yeah, haha, of course. Just ready to get studying.” He nodded, moving to the side to let her in the room. When she saw the inside, she was quite surprised. It was nearly spotless, not a single thing seemed out of place, no clothes on the floor, perfect dorm. She scanned the bookshelves on the walls, and noticed a particular manga immediately, one she also had in her own library.

As she walked over to the bookcase and swiped the volume off the shelf, he quickly shut the door and rushed to her side. “Uh, lets just put that back-”

“You like Maid-sama too?”

“Uh…”

She turned the book in her hands, a smile growing on her lips. “I have all the volumes in my dorm, too. I’ve got to be honest, Bakugo, I did not expect you to read the same manga as me.” He grabbed the manga from her and put it back in it’s organized place on the shelf. “No need to be embarrassed. Just between you and me, my dad sometimes reads my manga without telling me.”

The boy could only gawk. “No fucking way. All Might reads shoujo manga?” he asked, eyes wide with surprise.

“Maybe, but you didn’t hear it from me.”

She placed her bag down on his desk and took a seat at his swivel chair, sinking into the comfy leather. Then, she pulled out her textbook, opened to the page she was working on before she left class, and started to highlight what was needed. He watched her for a couple minutes before sitting on his bed and taking out his phone, leaning back and playing a game on his phone to pass the time.

He expected her to be a bit quiet, but completely ignoring him for her work was really disappointing. He invited her over so they could talk about themselves maybe, and he could learn more about her. They used to talk every day on their way home from school, and he sorta missed that now that they had dorms.

After about twenty minutes, he took a peek to see what she was up to, only to notice her eyebrows furrowed and her fist clenched around her pen. “What’s up?”

“It’s nothing. I just can’t focus on my work,” she sighed. “Jirou and Yaomomo said something to me the other day at lunch and um, I just can’t stop thinking about it.”

“Wanna talk about it?”

“No, not really. I just wanna hang out now. No use studying if I’m not focused.”

He shrugged, but internally he was happy. She would finally spend time with him in his own room all alone. He wouldn’t have to worry about other people looking at him like he was a softy either for being so nice to the girl. He waved her over to his bed and pulled out his laptop. “Wanna watch anime with me?”

“Yeah, sure.”

After she hesitantly took a seat beside him in his bed, she felt herself getting a bit warm again. Their thighs were close enough to touch, same with their shoulders. She crossed her arms over her chest to hide some of her awkwardness, surprised that he seemed completely unphased being pressed to her side like that.

Little did she know, he was going insane. He could feel the heat from her body and it was making it go crazy. He had to hide it though. The last thing he wanted was to scare her away. It wasn’t like he was obsessed with her, and he definitely did not like her in a romantic way, even if she was adorable and kind and super selfless having saved him a couple weeks ago from near death.

He turned on some show she had never heard of, and they sat silently watching it. Y/N wasn’t really into mechas so she couldn’t get into the show. Her mind just kept circling all those Bakugo thoughts. He was cute and definitely attractive. Their thighs and arms were touching and if she wanted she could lean her head over and rest it on his shoulder easily. Not to mention her friends had planted in her mind that the boy had a massive crush on her, making the situation ten times more stressful.

Finally, during a scene where the lame main character was talking to one of the sides, she turned to him and blurted out before she could stop herself, “Bakugo, do you have a crush on me?”

He jumped a bit at her sudden question, turning his whole body to see her. “Y/N-”

“Jirou and Yaomomo told me that everything you’ve been doing for me lately means you’ve got a crush on me, and um, I want to know if they are right.”

He paused for a second, trying to think of an escape plan, yet his mind was blank. He grimaced, looking down at the bed. “I don’t know. Maybe, probably. What does it matter?”

Y/n fiddled with her hands in her lap and confessed, “I-I don’t know. Maybe I might like you too, I guess…” when he didn’t say anything she added before things got too much more awkward, “But we can totally still be friends if that’s what you want.”

He nodded in agreement, but his mind was on other things. This sweet girl, someone powerful and brave and kind, liked him back. He hadn’t expected this when he started to talk to her and be nice to her for the past couple weeks. He maybe assumed that she wouldn’t hate him anymore, but this was on another level.

He also had no experience with girls. They never got along with him and he never gave them the time of day. Y/N was the first girl he ever really liked. He was right to be hella nervous.

"So, um, do you wanna keep watching or uh-"

He nodded trying not to let how he felt show through. He placed the laptop back on their legs in front of them and played the next episode.

But he kept feeling her eyes glancing over at him. Each time he would look to see if what he felt was true, she would turn away and pretend she had been watching the show.

"I think maybe I should go." She started to shift off the bed, her legs dangling off the side when he grabbed her wrist. She looked back at him only for his other hand to grab her cheek, forcing her to look at him.

"I don't want you to go. I think you should stay. Just for a little longer."

"But, things feel awkward now. I feel kinda weird about confessing and all." She rubbed her arm, lowering her eyes to the bed. "I really like you and all, you seem like such a fun guy…You've been one of my good friends since school started. I don't want it to be weird."

"It won't be weird," he argued, pulling her closer to him. "Y/N, I'm going to kiss you now."

She nodded, hopelessly giving in to the boy. He leaned forward just enough to press his lips to hers which were warm and soft. He pulled her face closer to his, running his thumbs over her cheekbones and his tongue across her lips. He'd never kissed, but he'd read enough manga to know what women liked.

She moved without breaking their kiss so she could kneel in front of him, her hands going to wrap around his neck. The kiss was intense, lips moving against each other smoothly for so long. He moved his hands from her face and opted for placing them up her thighs pulling her legs around his waist so her chest was pressed to his, as close as they could be.

Y/N pulled away, ducking her head down against his shoulder. "My dad won't like this."

"Oh shut up. He doesn't have to know."

And then he kissed her again. Over and over again.

#bakugo x reader #bakugou fluff #katsuki bakugo imagine #katsuki bakugo x reader #one shot #bnha oneshot #mha one shot #bnha #mha #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #katsuki bakugo #boku no hero academia x reader #bnha x reader #mha x reader #my hero academia x reader

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casey-v · 4 years

Text

Trauma

Ethan x Casey

Here’s a one shot of chapter 13. The scene in the on call room didn’t feel like fluff, so this is mostly drama. This time it’s only Casey’s POV because for me it was too difficult to find out what was going on in Ethan’s head.

Disclaimer: characters owned by PB

Words: 2,3K

Casey stared at the door of the on call room that had just been slammed in her face. Hoping Ethan would come back, she just sat there and waited, not really able to capture what had just happened. But, of course, he didn't reappear. So, she left frustrated and wandered through the halls of Edenbrook, deeply immersed in her thoughts.

Why was fate messing with her like this? They had just started a wonderful relationship in which Ethan had finally opened up to her. Since Danny’s funeral, she had spent three nights at his apartment and every second of it was pure bliss. Being alone, outside the hospital, he was so relaxed and happy, it made her heart melt. Sometimes they had a wordless understanding that was amazing. When he was relaxed it was so easy to talk to him about nearly everything and they laughed together endlessly. And of course, they had......mmmmmh…..God, he felt so great.

And now a few minutes with his mother seemed to have ruined everything. That man in the on call room was a stranger to her. No, in fact, it reminded her of the Dr. Ramsey in the days of her early internship, when he was sometimes acting like a jerk and being rude and moody. She had thought that this man was long gone. But unfortunately, the encounter today brought him back and all the walls around him were back up again.

Her feet had brought her to a certain office door. She didn’t know that this was, what she needed, until she was there. She hesitated and knocked. “Come in,” a friendly voice was heard from inside the office. When Casey opened the door, she saw Naveen’s face brighten up. Instantly she felt a little better. There was just something about him, that lifted your spirits. He was always good humored and positive, even last year, on his supposed deathbed. Ever since, they had a special bond and although they didn’t meet a lot, they were very fond of each other.

“Casey! So, rumors are true. You didn’t stay at home like I told you. But it’s good to see you.” He came over and hugged her.

“Good to see you too, Naveen. My landlord needed medical help this morning, so I brought him here and then I just stayed. It’s so boring at home and I like to keep myself distracted.” She smiled at him, trying to hide her current state. But he knew her to well.

“Well, if I may say it, you don’t look too good. Are you sure, this isn’t too soon?” He took her gently by her arm and led her to the couch to sit down. “Oh, it’s not work that is bothering me right now” She couldn’t keep her eyes from getting wet. Naveen sighed and rolled his eyes. “What has he done now?”

Through her tears she laughed. “Why do you think this is about Ethan?” Naveen had a sparkle in his eyes. “I know you and, most importantly, I know him, so this was easy to figure out. What happened?”

Casey’s expression darkened. “How much has he told you about his family background?” “A lot, I guess. Are you referring to his mom leaving?” She nodded and just spilled the whole story.

“She’s here. Came in this morning as a patient, unconscious on an opioid overdose. Ethan and I were in the ER at that moment. He was shocked. We gave her naloxone, then he just said something like ‘Nurse, take care of her’ and ran off. I found him later in an on call room, yelling angrily. He wouldn’t let me talk to him, just slammed the door in my face and left.” Naveen had listened closely, his gaze concerned. “I’m so sorry, Casey. I know he can be difficult at times. Ethan has this anger buried deep down inside of him, ever since his mother left him. Growing up with his father he never learnt to express his feelings or even worse, he never allowed himself feelings. He thinks he needs to be tough all the time. And then, when all those bad memories come rolling over him, he can’t deal with it.”

Casey thought a long moment about these words. Of course, it was perfectly clear, that Ethan had trouble talking about his feelings. But the last days had proven that he damn well was able to show his affection for her. “The thing is: Since my night in isolation a lot has changed between us.”

Casey blushed and didn’t dare to say more, but Naveen smiled and put his warm hand on hers. “You don’t have to be afraid to tell me anything. Even if I’m chief of medicine I’m also your friend and you know that I always wanted to see the two of you together. Ethan has changed so much since you came here and I’m really happy for you. He almost lost his mind that night of the assault.”

“It was terrible for all of us, but for what it’s worth it also brought us even closer together. Despite all the aftermath of the attack the past days have been great. Today though, it feels that all of this has vanished.”

“It’s a lot to ask from you in your current condition, Casey, but he needs you right now. He probably hasn’t said it yet, but I can see that he loves you with all his heart. Please don’t give up on him.” Naveen squeezed Casey’s hand tightly.

“I won’t, I couldn’t. But the question is: will he let me help him?””

***

Later Casey went to check on Louise. She was stable but not yet in a good condition. Talking to her felt odd, so she kept the conversation short. “Mrs. Ramsey, do you want me to call anybody?” It took Louise some time to answer. “I suppose you could call my ex-husband, Alan Ramsey. He lives in Providence, though.” “Sure, I’ll try to reach him. Ahm, a psychologist will stop by later. And if there is anything else you need, just tell the nurses.”

***

The rest of the day Casey tried to avoid meeting Ethan, but talking to Naveen had given her confidence, that everything would work out for the best. She didn’t want to confront the attending during working hours, so she planned to talk to him at night. The more she thought about it, the more she realized, that she may have overreacted after his outburst and that he probably would be much better by now anyway. How wrong she was became obvious the moment she stepped out of the elevator and saw Ethan and Alan standing in the hallway, involved in a heated discussion. “That’s all there is to say, dad. And now I have work to do.” Ethan’s face was red with rage. As he turned around to enter his office, he directly looked at Casey. “Dr. Valentine, in my office now.”

At first Casey was too shocked to move. Alan took some steps backwards, deeply embarrassed by his son’s behavior. “Hello Mr. Ramsey,” was all Casey could muster before she followed Ethan.

The door wasn’t even closed behind her when he was at her. “How dare you call my dad!”

“Excuse me! How dare you talk to me like this. This has nothing to do with you. Louise asked me to call him and that’s what I did. That’s how we take care of our patients. You taught me, that every patient is worth any treatment. How can you deny her visitors?” Ethan was silenced for a moment and rubbed his neck. He seemed to calm down a little. “You could have asked me to call him or at least warn me.” In contrast to him, Casey was just getting heated up. “Really? After your outburst this morning? You said, you had more important patients and didn’t want to deal with her. Get a grip, Ethan, you’re being totally unreasonable. You say she’s nothing but a stranger to you, but never on earth would a stranger affect you the way she does. You tell me not to run away from my PTSD while you've been carrying around your own trauma for 26 years. This has to stop now!”

Ethan was pacing up and down, yelling back at her. “Don’t you think I know that. Do you think I like what she’s doing to me? But I will never forgive that she left, just like that, without a word, not caring about me anymore.”

Casey inhaled deeply to get her voice under control. “You don’t have to forgive her; you just have to understand what happened. Now is the chance for closure. Talk to her. Not for her sake but for your own. Hear her story. You need to hear the reason for her leaving. It's not your fault that she left and probably also not your father’s fault either. Maybe she already had mental health problems back then, who knows. Everybody is a victim here. Maybe she just couldn't stand herself, couldn’t handle her life. That doesn't mean that she didn't love you. If you don't talk to her now, you'll maybe never get another chance.”

Ethan was sitting on the couch now, his face in his hands and mumbled. “Ok, I’ll think about it.” Then he glanced back at Casey, forcing a smile. “Do you want me to cook dinner tonight?”

She shook her head frustrated, her arms dangling loose by her sides. “That`s it? You just change the subject? I don’t believe it. No, I don’t want to be with you tonight. This day has been exhausting enough, I need to relax, watch a senseless movie, go to bed early, whatever.” She turned around and opened the door to leave when she heard his tight voice. “Only tonight?”

As she glimpsed back at him over her shoulder, she felt so sorry for him how he sat there, slumped down, observing her insecurely. In the past they had argued a lot about work related issues and she always stood her ground, but so far, she had never stood up for herself when it came to their personal relationship. Being patient and accepting his wishes was all she had ever done. But for once, she knew, she had to put herself first, although the urge to take him in her arms was almost unbearable.

“For someone so intelligent you can be so stupid sometimes. Of course, only tonight. Do you really think I’ve been waiting all this time only to run away after the first argument? I couldn’t, even if I wanted to, because the problem is, I love you, however bad you treat me. But that doesn’t mean I have to like it. You're not the only one who is able to slam some doors. “

With that she turned and slammed the door as predicted. She knew this was a bit ridiculous, but it felt really good. Only then did she realize what she had just said to him. Her hand flew over her mouth. That's not at all how she imagined saying those three words for the first time. She lingered a while in front of his door, unsure what to do, before she went home.

***

Instead of watching a movie Casey ended up playing video games with Elijah. Killing dark creatures helped her let off some steam and she enjoyed spending time with Elijah. They had just freed themselves out of a dungeon when her phone rang. There was only one person who would call her at that hour.

“Sorry Elijah, I have to take this.” She grabbed her phone and went into her room.

“Hey!” – “Casey!?” Ethan’s desperate voice made her cringe. “Can I come up?” – “Where are you?” – “Right outside.” A few seconds there was silence. Casey had told him, that she wanted to be alone, but it meant so much to her, that he came to her.

“What do you want?”

“To be with you.”

A single tear rolled down her cheek. “Ok, I’ll open the door for you.”

As he entered the apartment, she quickly pulled him past the grinning Elijah into her room and immediately found herself tightly wrapped in Ethan’s embrace. She smelled a mixture of his cologne and scotch. They clung to each other as if they had to shield themselves against a heavy storm. Casey felt his tears running down her neck. Soothingly her hand travelled up and down his spine. An eternity later he loosened his grip and touched her forehead with his.

“I’m so sorry, Casey. What kind of asshole pushes away the one person, that is always there no matter what?”

She lifted her hand and touched his cheek very softly. “Come on, let’s just go to bed.” Quietly they got undressed and crawled into the covers, her back against his chest, arms wrapped, fingers laced. Words weren’t necessary right now, the only thing they needed was to feel the presence of the other one.

As Casey was half asleep already, she felt Ethan’s whisper against her ear. “If I …, I don’t know yet, but just in case, …I mean …if I talk to her, would you come with me?”

“Is this a rhetorical question or are you really unsure of my answer?” She turned to look at him, their noses almost touching, and waited. He seemed to weigh his answer before he spoke again. “You know I’d hate to presume anything.”

Casey moved closer to put a sweet kiss on his lips. Then she sent him a warm smile and lost herself in his blue eyes, only lit by the moonlight.

“Regarding me and you, Ethan, you always can presume.”

------------------

Thanks for reading. Please comment and share if you liked it.

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#open heart #playchoices #ethan ramsey #ethan x mc #casey valentine #ethan jonah ramsey #open heart 2 #2.13 #my writing

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tarlosprompts · 4 years

Note

Can I prompt a Judd helping calm Tk down after a rough call, and just having that brotherly fluff vibe?

Days Like These

Claimed by Red💋

Paramedic TK, Firefighter Carlos

Warnings: cursing, violence, minor character death, trauma, bombs, blood, past addiction, mention of guns, anxiety, beginnings of a panic attack

Notes: Let me know if I missed any warnings! (I think I got them all). Sorry for this taking so long and sorry if it’s not what you wanted. If you want me to rewrite it, just let me know!

Most days, TK loved walking into work. Being a paramedic made him happier than he’d been in a while. Being pushed by his father to take the exam was his best decision. Sure, he enjoyed the Adrenalin of the fires, but he had always wanted to help others more than just handing them off the medics. Now, he got the best of both worlds. If his dad needed his help on a fire, he would help but he also got to treat others. It was a win win for not only TK, but his father and the medics.

TK tended to spend more time with the paramedics than the firemen on calls, so his father had to take on another firefighter. That’s how TK met the most beautiful man in the world...Carlos Reyes. Carlos transferred in and, had TK not been reeling from Alex, TK would have asked the man out. Sadly, TK was apprehensive about starting another relationship, though that didn’t mean that TK didn’t take time to admire the lovely view Carlos Reyes gave.

Something about Reyes drew TK in. They became good friends and amazing partners when needed. Carlos knew an awful lot about treating patients meaning that he could help out when the medics were swamped and TK would be paired with Carlos when Owen needed his help on calls. Through that, they became best friends. They shared everything with one another...well, almost everything. TK most definitely wasn’t going to tell the man of his Texas sized crush on him...nor was he going to mention his past drug addiction...how would he even bring that up? Just as they’re talking about their last call, ‘yeah, by the way, I have a drug problem and I overdosed before the move down here.’ That was absolutely not happening.

TK was roused from his thoughts as the ambulance stopped. He followed Michelle and Gillian out of the vehicle, turning around in confusion. “Are we sure this is the right place,” he asked.

“This is what dispatch said. Gillain, call them and ask again,” Michelle stated. Gillian stopped walking, holding the radio between her hands as she spoke.

As TK and Michelle moved farther towards the abandoned warehouse, something felt off. “Michelle, we should wait in the ambo. This doesn’t feel right,” TK whispered.

“We still need to check it out, make sure that no one needs help.”

Gillian caught up, voice shaking slightly, “I can’t contact dispatch.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean no one is answering. I even tried calling, but we’re out of range. I have no signal.”

“‘Chelle, we should-”

Three red dots focused on the three paramedics’ chests. “Don’t move and you won’t be shot.”

_____________

TK was having a hard time reframing his situation. His therapist had suggested the idea of changing the way he looked at a situation in order to find the silver lining...he really couldn’t find the silver lining in having a bomb strapped to his chest. Nor could he find the silver lining in not being to help Gillian as she bled out in front of him. He couldn’t find the silver lining in not being able to help Michelle as the last of the bomb vest was strapped into place.

Being ushered towards the ambulance sent another wave of panic over him. They were probably going to transport them somewhere more public to have them take out more people. They wanted to make a statement. TK could feel himself shaking as the ambulance started moving. He could only watch as Michelle tried to check on Gillian before her head was thrown to the side by the butt of a gun one of the men held.

It wasn’t long before the ambulance stopped and the doors opened. Gillian was unceremoniously pulled from the ambulance and thrown to the ground, pulling shouts from bystanders. TK and Michelle were roughly pushed out of the ambulance and pulled into a building. It took a couple of minutes to realize they were at the dispatch center. While TK wasn’t one to hope for bad will on specific people, he certainly hoped Grace wasn’t working and that the men who were forcing their way through the center would suffer the most painful of deaths.

The gunshots shocked TK. It brought him back to the day he used the battering ram to get to a cardiac failure and a little boy pulled the trigger, hitting him. He flinched as the gunshots went off. He was placed directly across from Michelle, in the center of the dispatch hub. “Here’s how this is going to go,” the head of the group called. “Everyone does as I say, everyone goes home...even these two lovely paramedics. Anyone tries to be the hero...well, we’ll see if someone pulls the trigger faster than I press the button on one of these paramedic’s vests.”

The room was silent as they watched the man in the center of the room. “You, you, and you,” he called out, pointing to a couple of dispatchers, “on the phones. Follow what the three men behind you say and everyone stays alive.”

Hours passed and TK could do nothing but watch as the group got more anxious. Whatever they were planning wasn’t going to plan and that was going to end up in someone getting hurt. The head man cursed before walking towards TK, “you’re coming with me. Seems like your friends came looking for you,” he growled.

TK dug his feet into the ground. There was no way in hell he was going to let this man take him out for his father to see him strapped to a suicide vest. The punch that slammed his head to the right, split his lip and had him stumbling. He was practically dragged out of the dispatch center. The light assaulted his eyes and it took him a minute to adjust.

When his eyes adjusted, TK grimaced. His crew was there along with multiple APD members and front and center was his dad. Shit.

TK wanted to be anywhere but there in the moment. He wished that the men’s plan had all worked out and they had left...though if he was being honest, he knew that once their plan concluded, they would have killed all of them anyway. He’d heard them talking about ‘no witnesses’ and what not earlier. He paid no attention to the man talking to the officers and firemen standing around. He didn’t want to look at his father and crew, didn’t want to be in this situation at all.

“...and if I don’t get what I want or if anyone tries to breach the building, Pretty Boy and his friend are going to blow up the dispatch center,” the man called.

“You don’t actually think that they’re going to listen to you, do you,” TK heard himself ask. He’d always had a big mouth, didn’t really like bullies. “You’re all the same. You think you’ll place some demands and maybe some of them get met, but really you’re just buying yourself time. They know you’re buying time and are preparing to move in. No one believes that once you’re done with your plan that you’ll let any of us live. You probably already plan to set these vests off once you’re through with whatever it is you’re doing.” TK expected the backlash. He definitely knew how to piss people off.

He could hear yelling from multiple people. He couldn’t make out the words as he was pulled back into the center. He was shoved to the floor in the middle of the dispatch work floor. His head bounced off the tile and TK barely bit back a groan of displeasure. Hands found his neck and TK jerked to try to move them. “You think you’re so smart? Before they even know what hit them, they’ll be going up in smoke because of you and your partner. You think that by talking like that, you gave them some insight to our plan? Because of you, we had more time to finish what needed to be done!”

TK coughed as the man let his throat go. “I think you’re bluffing,” TK gasped.

Michelle made a noise of protest as the man rounded and hit TK’s face. “You’re lucky I need you alive to keep your crew out from here. I hear that you’re that Captain’s son. He won’t let you come to any harm.”

_____________

It feels like forever before there’s more movement in the center. The men were wrapping up their plan. TK met Michelle’s eyes, they both nodded. They weren’t going down without a fight. Before they could get up, four doors busted open and flash bombs were going off.

TK covered his ears, eyes shutting to protect him from the bright flashes. Everything was muffled sounding. Opening his eyes and uncovering his ears, TK had to blink multiple times before he could make out what was going on in the room. S.W.A.T. had taken out the men and were escorting them out. The leader of the team was making his way towards Michelle and TK.

“I’m Captain Pack, I need you both to stay still while the bomb squad gets in here to get these vests off of you.”

TK nodded, his ears picking up a scuffle near one of the entrances, “that’s my son in there! Let me see my son!”

TK licked his lips. “Can you tell my dad that I’m fine? Tell him to let the bomb squad do their job and I’ll be out in a bit?”

“You’ve got it, Strand.”

_____________

TK hated hospitals. They reminded him of when he overdosed, having woken up in a hospital room with his dad crying and telling him that it was going to be okay. TK hated hospitals. He would tell the hospitals that he didn’t want narcotics when he was hurt and the workers would just give him looks like they could judge someone they don’t even know. TK fucking hated hospitals.

After the bomb squad had gotten rid of the vests, another team of paramedics had checked them out. He had seen his crew in the background as he had been loaded into an ambulance. He knew it was only a matter of time before they showed up. He was allowed to head home and had already texted his dad to let him know.

A soft knock on the door frame brought TK’s attention to it. Judd stood in the doorway , arms crossed, an unreadable look on his face. “Owen wanted to come get you, but we got a call out right after your text. Seemed like a big one. I offered to come get ya.”

TK nodded, slowly getting off the bed and grabbing his uniform shirt. It was silent as they walked to Judd’s truck. Gingerly, TK pulled himself into the truck and Judd shut the door behind him. TK knew that Judd wanted to talk as the man started the truck and pulled out of the parking lot. TK, on the other hand, wanted nothing more than to be dropped at home so that he could burrow under the covers of his bed and never come out again.

“You had a shit day,” Judd stated as he pulled up to a red light.

Not expecting the remark, a laugh bumbled out of TK’s mouth. “No shit,” he responded.

“Reyes was really worried about you.” Before TK could respond, Judd continued. “We all were. We knew Michelle would be fine, but you have a tendency to get yourself hurt and generally run your mouth off at people. And, let’s be honest, even when you’re not actively trying to piss someone off, you tend to get hurt anyway.”

TK glanced at Judd as he rolled forward as the light turned green. He could see the set in Judd’s jaw which told him how Judd was trying to keep his emotions in check. “To be fair, I don’t look for trouble...I just sometimes invoke the wrath of the trouble that has found me.”

A small chuckle passed Judd’s lips. “That’s a nice way of saying that you couldn’t shut your big mouth long enough to get out of there without your pretty face getting bruised and cut up.”

TK rolled his eyes, “it was like I couldn’t stop myself. He always turned so red when I talked back to him. I think part of me wanted to see how red I could get him, if he’d turn purple or something.” TK could feel the heaviness that had been on his chest starting to lift as he and Judd fell into their regular banter for the rest of the ride home. By the time they reached his house, TK didn’t feel jittery.

Spotting a familiar Camero in the driveway, TK felt a small smile grace his face. “Looks like Lover Boy wants to make sure you’re alright for himself,” Judd smirked.

TK could feel his face heat up. “We’re friends, Judd. Just like you and me. You wanted to make sure I was alright and he wants to do the same.”

Parking the truck, Judd turned to him. “We both know that’s some bullshit. I don’t see why you don’t make a move on him. I’ve seen the way he looks at you. He looked like a kicked puppy today when everything happened. He wanted nothing more than to storm into the dispatch center and get you the hell out of there. That man cares about you, TK. You deserve someone that good, someone who thinks of you as the man who hung the moon.”

TK shook his head. “Carlos doesn’t like me like that, Judd. Why would he? He doesn’t even know how fucked up I am,” he mumbled.

TK wasn’t expecting the light slap to the back of his head. His eyes shot up to Judd’s, a frown firmly on his face. “You’re not fucked up. You’ve had some fucked up situations in your life that have shaped you into a strong, capable man, TK. Your past addiction doesn’t make you weaker, it makes you so fucking strong. You’re allowed to have reservations, but Carlos is gone for you, Brother. You love him, he loves you...take the chance and jump. He’ll catch you.”

TK studied Judd’s face, seeing nothing but the truth. He wiped his palms on his pants, licking his lips. “I’m blaming you when he laughs in my face.”

Before TK could exit the truck, Judd placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. “I wouldn’t lie to you about something like this, TK. Feel better soon, okay? Grace wants to have you over in a few days for dinner.”

TK nodded his head, letting himself out of the truck and waving Judd off. Turning towards his driveway, TK could see Carlos leaning against his vehicle. He walked slowly over to the man, feeling some of the heaviness from before return. He could feel the tears building up behind his eyelids and his throat closing from the stresses of the day.

As he got closer to Carlos, the man pushed himself off his car. TK didn’t give Carlos time to talk, he just dived in, burying his head in Carlos’ chest and winding his arms around the man’s middle. Immediately Carlos wrapped his arms around TK tightly but not tight enough to hurt the slightly smaller man. That’s when the floodgates opened and TK let himself cry knowing Carlos was going to catch him.

TK doesn’t know how long they stay in their embrace, but he almost instantly feels embarrassed. He backed out of the embrace, motioning towards the house and walking away from the man. Shakily, he unlocks the door, leaving it open for Carlos as he makes his way to the couch. “If you need to talk-”

“I-I don’t want,” TK blew out a breath, “I don’t want to talk...about it...I-there’s nothing to say. We were sent there by chance, we didn’t know it wasn’t an emergency. We were blindsided. We had to make sure there was no one that actually needed our help and even though I told Michelle that it didn’t feel right and we should leave, we had to check. There’s nothing to talk about, okay? They shot-they shot Gillian and wouldn’t let us help her and they strapped bombs to our chest and put us back in our ambulance. They threw Gillian on the street without letting us help her and they took us into the dispatch center and they threatened to use us to kill everyone in the center. They were brutish and I fucking hate bullies so I just had to tell him off like the little twat I am. I know it was stupid, okay?” TK took a shuddering breath in. All the anxiety from the day came rushing back. “And-and he dragged me out there and I saw you guys and I just kept thinking that I couldn’t put my dad through losing his son. I couldn’t make him watch me get blown up but I just kept antagonizing the man because I hated the idea of him. And I just-I kept thinking about you and my dad. I wanted to get back to you both because I love you both so much and the thought of hurting you kills me,” TK was breathing raggedly at this point. He’d just admitted to Carlos that he was in love with him.

Tears fogged TK’s vision as his breathing worsened. Hands were on his face soon after, words muffled in his ears. TK was spiraling. Lips touched his and TK caught his breath, tensing before quickly relaxing at the calm hands stroking his face. As the lips separated from his, he opened his eyes to see Carlos already looking at him. “I hope that was okay. It was the only way I could think to keep you from going into a panic attack. Our first kiss shouldn’t have been that, but I didn’t know what to do and-”

“Carlos,” TK’s voice was soft and ragged. “The only reason that wouldn’t be alright is if you didn’t mean it.”

Carlos rested his forehead against TK’s. “I meant it and so much more, Amore.”

“Promise?”

“Forever.”

#Anonymous #by red #writings by red #days like these #judson ryder #judd ryder #tk strand #tyler kennedy strand #tk strand x carlos reyes #tyler kennedy strand x carlos reyes #carlos reyes #carlos reyes x tk strand #carlos reyes x tyler kennedy strand #owen strand #michelle blake

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katehuntington · 4 years

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Title: In Bad Waters - part eight Word count: ±2900 words Episode summary: Still in possession of the Winchesters’ belongings, Zoë meets up with the hunters on her next case. When it turns out to be a little more complicated than anticipated, she accepts their help in order to make an important deadline. Part eight summary: Zoë might have accepted the boys help, that doesn’t mean they get along. If the hostility between them isn’t enough, Sam and Dean have some unresolved issues of their own. Episode warnings: Dark! NSFW, 18+ only! Descriptions of domestic violence/child abuse. Drug use/addiction. Angst, gore, violence, character death. Description of blood, injury and medical procedures/resuscitation. Swearing, alcoholism. Supernatural creatures/entities, mentions of demon possession. Descriptions of torture and murder, drowning. Illegal/criminal practices. Mentions of nightmares and flashbacks. Author’s note: Beta’d by @winchest09 and @deanwanddamons. Thanks, girls! Gif isn’t mine. If you are the creator or know who made it, please tell me so I can credit you.

Supernatural: The Sullivan Series Masterlist

S1E02 “In Bad Waters” Masterlist

A little less than an hour later, Sam, Dean and Zoë are sharing a table in In-N-Out. All three scheduled in some time to trade their business suits for their everyday clothes. The boys are comfortable in plaid shirts, worn jeans, and dusty old shoes, while Zoë looks like a totally different person now that she left her black pumps, blazer and dress pants in her hotel room. She’s wearing her hair down, her blown locks playfully curled up after last night’s shower. Her grey shirt has the famous Pink Floyd logo on it; a ray entering a triangle and breaks off into a rainbow when it exits. The brand new biker jacket hangs over the back of the bench while she plays with the loose tie of her All Stars shoe, wiggling her foot rhythmically.

U2’s Beautiful Day is playing in the background. It fits, considering the clear blue sky and warm sun outside. Satisfied, Dean and Zoë devour their burgers while Sam has settled for a milkshake, since they don’t have salads at this restaurant. Stunned and a little disgusted, he watches how Zoë intends to break the world record, tailed by Dean. The younger Winchester stares at them both, as the huntress swallows the last bite of the massive Animal Burger and starts on an additional cheeseburger she ordered. Apparently, Zoë doesn’t feel the need to hold back, despite having company, but then again, she wouldn’t change her demeanor for anyone.

Dean doesn’t even notice her manners as he shares her appetite. He’s more annoyed that she finished her burger before he did. He looks up for a moment as she licks the sauce from her fingers after finishing, then continues eating even faster than he did a moment ago.

“Dude! Seriously, a food race?” Sam chuckles. “Wholth?” Dean says with his mouth full. He swallows his bite, which apparently was a little bigger than he anticipated. He coughs and hits his chest with his fist, Zoë can’t help to laugh when she sees tears appear in his eyes. “What are you? Fuckin’ five years old?” she grins. “I wasn’t racing you,” he mutters hoarse. “Oh, you so were.” She sniggers, dipping one of Dean’s fries in mayonnaise. “Are you gonna eat that?” Obviously enjoying herself, she waits for his reaction. He watches her move the fry to her mouth with a look of shock and repugnance on his features. How dare she? Zoë chews on the snack provokingly. as expected he goes for the counter attack. “Don’t touch my fucking food,” he warns, pulling his portion of fries to his side of the table, clearly annoyed with his colleague stealing. “And I wasn’t racing you, ‘cause if I did, you would be many burger lengths behind, woman.” “That’s what’s bugging you the most, isn’t it? Dean Winchester just got defeated by a girl,” she nags. “I can take you with ease,” he claims, confidently. She laughs in return.“You wouldn’t stand a chance.” “Wanna bet?” “Knock it off, you two.” Sam breaks it up and looks from one to the other. “Now, could we concentrate on the case? We all got better things to do.” “I have better things to do. You on the other hand just have an unhealthy obsession with helping me,” she corrects, as she drinks from her milkshake through the straw. “Whatever,” Sam counters with a huff. “Let’s focus here. We’re dealing with a frustrated child spirit most likely on a killing spree.” “Yeah, but how the hell is she still here? I already burned her bones,” Zoë brings to mind. “She must be connected to some kind of object then, are you sure you burned everything?” Dean checks.

Zoë slightly tilts her head and glares at him with an attitude. Is he fucking kidding? “We’re sure, I was there with her,” Sam confirms, jumping in before the huntress can snap at his brother. “Nothing more romantic than a night at the graveyard,” Dean comments with a little grin, earning a death stare from Sam, and so he continues seriously. “We need to figure out what’s keeping her here before she goes all Mike Tyson again.” “She probably targets the people who are directly or indirectly responsible for her death. I don’t think she’ll rest until she kills every single one of them unless we do something about it,” Zoë speaks up. “So, who could be her next target?” Sam wonders. “It could be anyone, but the biggest candidates for a one way ticket to the land of the dead are probably Mrs. Shire and her son, maybe even Mrs. Dawlson,” Zoë realizes. “Who?” Sam and Dean question at the same time. “Her teacher at Elementary School. She knew about the abuse,” she informs, sipping her shake.

Dean seems confused. After all, he knows Zoë only arrived here last night. “How do you even know that?” “Because I had a fucking chat with her, asshat,” she claims, snappy. Dean bites his tongue and shakes his head slightly, letting a silent sigh slip from his lips. This woman is unbelievable. If it wasn’t for Sammy being so dead set on helping the bitch, he would get the hell out of dodge. Ignoring her comment, he picks up a few fries and stuffs his mouth full, not noticing the exchange of looks between Zoë and Sam. As soon as the youngest Winchester makes eye contact, he knows she didn’t talk to Mrs. Dawlson; she saw something in one of her flashbacks. “There could be a dozen more possible victims we don’t know about,” Sam states, quickly filling the void before it becomes noticeable. “True, but to figure out who might be next, we need to find more info on what happened to Laura,” she declares. “We already know what happened to her. Her dad abused her till death followed, nothing to add to that,” Sam says. “No, I mean after that.” Zoë leans forward, snitching another fry from the hunter across from her, who snaps his head up to her, staring her down and wondering where she got the nerve to steal his food twice. “Don’t you think it’s a little strange that no one found out about this murder yet? Because that what it was; murder. Her father killed her. Child services should have been all over this, especially with another minor in the household. Laura was buried without a conviction, while she obviously did not die of natural causes,” the smart woman brings to mind. “Why is that?” “I mean, the system is flawed. Maybe they missed it?” Sam suggests. “No, I don’t believe that. She must have been a mess, considering what her victims look like,” she ponders. Both boys nod as a sign of agreement; she has a point. Dean rubs his chin as he thinks. Then his facial expression changes, the metaphorical light bulb switching on in his brain. He glances up at the woman opposite of him, who watches him questioning.

“Dr. Hughes”, he says out of the blue. “I know that name,” Zoë realizes, trying to remember where she has heard it before. “It’s the doc from the morgue that we talked to,” he fills in. “He did the slicing on Shire’s dead body and also mentioned Ronald was a friend of his. I thought he responded weird when Sam mentioned the Hobbit dude.” “Is the Methodist Medical Center the only dead men’s storage in town?” Zoë asks the whizkid on Dean’s right. “Not sure. Let me check.” Sam takes out his laptop and sets it up on the table. As he works the computer, Zoë continues their brainstorming session.

“One way or the other, we need to get our hands on Laura’s death report and we need to figure out who wrote it. I’m guessing someone covered for Shire,” she speaks up. “How is that even possible these days, with all the paperwork and the forensics?” Sam rubs his temple, taking in Zoë for a second, but then returns his gaze to the laptop screen in front of him. “You think we’re the only ones who lie and deceive?” Zoë returns, smartly.

“We need to talk to more people. Someone who was there and experienced the abuse first hand and might know more about the cover-up. The Shire dude’s wife maybe?” Dean suggests. “We can’t turn up on her doorstep and confront her. If she doesn’t know her husband possibly erased evidence, it’s just gonna bring a shit ton of drama and a hell of alot explaining to do when she starts asking questions,” Zoë makes clear.

She forks her fingers through her hair and checks her phone for the time; shit. It’s almost 1 PM. Frustrated about the many blank pages of this case, she sighs, pulling at the corner of her bottom lip with her teeth. There’s so much about this job that doesn’t add up. “I don’t get how she could still be here. There was nothing left of her remains,” she sighs. “There has to be an explanation for that,” Sam ponders, as he stares at the address on display. “Anyway, there are no other morgues in town besides the one at the hospital on W. Kingshighway.”

“I tell you what.” With a neat throw Zoë tosses her empty plastic cup into the garbage can across the aisle. “Sam, you keep an eye on the Shire family. Dean’s gonna have a chat with Dr. Hughes, see if you can get some info on the death report. I’m gonna tail the teacher for a while,” she decides. Sam nods approvingly before his brother can object. He folds down the laptop screen and gets up. “Sounds good to me.” “Make sure you keep your eyes open, that little pain in the ass manages to beat up grown ups without the people next door noticing,” Zoë warns as she picks up her helmet from the bench. “You think this is our first rodeo?” Dean responds with a scoff. “You didn’t see me coming the other night in Rochester,” she counters sassy.

As she passes him she pets his shoulder, the one she put a bullet in only two nights ago. Dean flinches when a dim pain shoots through his arm again. That fucking b-- Before he can call her names, she exits the fast food restaurant, probably expecting the Winchesters to follow like obedient dogs. Stunned, he watches her walk over to her motorcycle, huffing in disbelief. First she doesn’t want their help, and now she’s giving out orders like she rules the fucking world. He didn’t think it could be possible, but his detest for her just grew to an all time high.

“Mark my words, one of these days I’m gonna shoot her down,” he announces frustrated. “Ahuh,” Sam responds, cynicism on his tongue as he puts the laptop in his backpack. “Just make sure you don’t pull a gun on her in public, will you?” “Can’t make any promises.” His brother huffs. “Anyway, you can have the car if you drop me off at the hospital. Let’s get this over with so that we can put some distance between us and the Wicked Witch of the West.”

Sam’s lips form a constricted smile, luckily his brother doesn’t notice. He has to admit that he’s enjoying the fact that his big brother is being told what to do by a girl, while normally he only takes orders from one person and one person only; their dad. What he finds interesting, however, is that despite a few muttered objections, Dean actually follows through with it.

“And you know what’s the fun part about all this?” Sam nags as they exit In-N-Out. “What?” Dean responds, annoyed, scanning the parking lot in order to spot Zoë’s Road King. “You have to dress like a penguin again.” The younger Winchester grins as he opens the door to the passenger’s seat.

His brother stares at him over the top of the car, realizing he’s going undercover as the FBI Agent Young once more. “Ah, come on! Can’t we trade?” he asks desperately. Sam laughs and sits down. “No way, dude.” Dean does the same and closes the door, complaining. “Man, I hate suits.” “You think I’m comfortable in one during these temperatures?” Sam returns. “Sam, even if I’d be freezing my ass off, I will never be at ease in that ridiculous outfit,” Dean states while turning the ignition, allowing Gimme Three Steps by Lynyrd Skynyrd to play on the cassette deck.

“I’m not trading places. I can work some stuff out while I’m guarding the house,” Sam explains, looking outside the window, squinting his eyes to protect them from the sun. “What stuff?” Dean questions, making sure it’s not just some lame excuse. Sam looks aside and hesitates for a moment, but then tells him anyway. “I want to call some friends of Dad,” he admits.

He feels Dean’s piercing gaze, but doesn’t look up. It’s only a matter of seconds before Dean pops the first question. “Why?” Dean asks sternly. “Why?! I don’t know about you, Dean, but I wanna find him,” Sam returns defensive. Dean grips the wheel a little tighter; as if he doesn’t want to find Dad. Seriously? “So do I, but I don’t think it’s wise to start calling random hunters to ask where he is, Sam.” “I won’t call ‘random’ hunters. I’ll call a few old friends, and why the hell not?” his brother questions. “Because Dad doesn’t want to be found,” the oldest of the two claims. “How could you possibly know that, Dean?! Seriously, do you have some kind of telepathic connection with the guy or what?” Sam reacts. “Hey, you’re the psychic one, not me,” Dean counters. “If Dad wants us involved in his hunt, he will contact us one way or the other. You know that.” “No, I don’t! I haven’t heard a word from him since I left for Stanford. I don’t understand the blind faith you have in the man,” the younger brother argues. “You were the one who fucking left, Sam. And let me tell you somethin’,” Dean pauses to enforce his words. “I trust him because he’s a damn good hunter.” “He’s human! He makes mistakes just like anyone else, only this time you won’t be around to back him up. It’s not some monster that he’s hunting, this is the monster! The one that killed Mom, that killed Jess!” Sam adds up. “You think I don’t realize that?” The car stops at a traffic light and Dean turns to him, his piercing green eyes judging his brother, the same way John so often has. “Of course I’d rather be backing him up right now, but he decided to do this alone and I accept that.” “Why the hell, though? Just because he says so?” Sam huffs, shaking his head disappointed. “Hell yes, because he says so!” his brother snaps. “He leads this mission, and we stick to the orders he gives us. It’s about fucking time you show him the respect he deserves.” “He has to earn that first,” the younger Winchester responds. “He earned that a long time ago. Every time he protected you, protected us. Everything that we were taught, all the skills that we’ve learned. You were so caught up in the illusion that school was gonna work out, that when he objected because he didn’t want you to be on your own, you cut all ties,” Dean barks at him as he accelerates faster than necessary. “Why the hell do you want to find him so bad if you hate his guts, huh?” “I don’t hate his guts,” Sam says, his voice a lot less hostile than a moment ago.

Dean takes his eyes off the road again and glances at the passenger, noticing the defeated expression on Sammy’s face. Annoyed with himself he looks ahead again, shutting his eyes for a second when a pang of guilt distinguishes the anger in a matter of seconds. He meant to give his little brother a reality check, but all he did was hurt him. “Sam, I get you want answers. But calling his friends isn’t the way to do it. We just gotta be patient.”

His brother's jaw clenches and he looks away, not denying nor confirming that Dean is right and that he himself will listen. It doesn’t matter anyway; there’s no way he can turn his brother’s mind around. And Dean claims Sam is the one who is like their old man? Just now he was sure to sit next to a younger version of Dad.

He can't agree with the reasoning behind Dean’s actions, though. His older brother dragged him out of school to find Dad and now that it’s coming down to that, he doesn’t want to go out on a search. Sam on the other hand, he has to find him. Not only does he have some unresolved issues with his father, John is also the only hunter who has been tracking the thing that ruined their lives. He is the key to finding answers. It’s all he can think of; hunting down the bastard that killed Mom and Jessica.

Without saying another word, Dean drives his Impala to their motel, convinced he made his point, even though he hurt his brother’s feelings to get the message across. But Sam isn’t going to let go, neither will he trade places with Dean on their jobs. During his hours of watching the Shire family, he’s gonna make those calls and he is going to find their father. Whether Dean likes it, or not.

Thank you for reading. I appreciate every single one of you, but if you do want to give me some extra love, you are free to like or reblog my work, shoot me a message or buy me coffee (Link to Kofi in bio at the top of the page).

Read chapter nine here

#Supernatural: the Sullivan Series #Supernatural OFC series #Supernatural fanfiction #Dean Winchester fanfiction #Sam Winchester fanfiction #Dean fanfiction #Sam fanfiction #Dean angst #Sam angst #Dark!Supernatural #supernatur #spn #stss #1x02 in bad waters #Zoë Sullivan #Kate Huntington

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alarawriting · 4 years

Text

52 Project #27: The Pale Bro

Five friends drove up the mountain into the forest, where the vacation cabin waited for them. It was their senior year of college, so it wouldn’t be long before they’d be graduating and going their separate ways, and who knew when they’d all be able to hang out together again? So they’d decided that this year, instead of going on spring break someplace where there were a ton of other people, they’d spend break together in a cabin in the woods, because there was no possible way that that could go wrong.

They were just five totally ordinary college guys. Steve, a white dude with brown hair who loved video games and playing guitar; Trevor, a black dude with short hair who was on track to graduate magna cum laude and had already been accepted at a top medical school; Harrison, an outgoing, short, red-haired white dude who played soccer, but not, like, at career athlete level or anything; Evan, an Asian dude who kept his hair in a long ponytail, and whose family owned the cabin, who was planning on taking a year off after graduation to backpack around Asia and had sold it to his parents as an exploration of his heritage; and the Pale Bro, a twelve-foot tall dude with paper-white skin whose fingernails were like long razor blades and who was completely covered with eyes and mouths, wearing a Hawaiian shirt, cut-off shorts that would have been nearly pants on any other guy, and a pair of Vans on his feet. Just five ordinary young fellows, like anyone you might know.

Steve was driving the minivan, kinda wishing it was his dad’s SUV because of the effort of getting a minivan up the slope, but his dad’s SUV was in a different state and besides, it wouldn’t have had room for the Pale Bro. The minivan was the kind where you could put down the back row of seats to expand the cargo capacity, and the Pale Bro had laid out a thick sleeping-bag style blanket on top of their suitcases and was laying on them now, curled sideways because there was no dimension where he could stretch out in the van. Must be rough for him, Steve imagined, always having to bend down or curl up to fit into buildings and vehicles with his bros. He never complained about it, though. He was a great friend.

“How much farther is this place?” Harrison asked. “I gotta piss like you wouldn’t believe.”

“I’ve been unfortunately next to you at the urinals,” Trevor said. “I’d believe it.”

Steve checked the GPS. “Shit. The GPS has just decided to get the vapors because it’s up too high. It’s telling me I’m literally in the middle of nowhere. Like, look at this.” He showed the screen to Evan. “We’re in the middle of nowhere. It isn’t even drawing the road.”

“Don’t worry about it, I can guide you in from here,” Evan said. “Just stay on the road another 20 minutes or so.”

With a voice that rumbled like the sound of tectonic plates grinding together and the hiss of static from the birth of the universe behind it, the Pale Bro conveyed that there had better be some fucking food at the cabin, because he was starving.

“You and me both, buddy,” Trevor said.

“We all just got Burger King like, two hours ago,” Steve complained.

“Yeah, well, me and Pale are tall dudes. We need more food than you.” Trevor smirked.

“There should be food, I had a grocery delivery scheduled for earlier today and one of my parents’ employees was supposed to swing by the place, pick it up and put it in the fridge.”

“There’s a fridge at this cabin?” Harrison asked.

Evan looked at him. “Yeah, dumbass, you think I’d have suggested coming here if there was no fridge? There’s running water, too. It even gets hot if you run it long enough.”

“Well, excuse me for not being so rich I can afford to go to a cabin in the woods, ever, before now.”

“What else has it got?” Trevor asked.

“Well, there’s three bedrooms, one of which has a king-sized bed and the other two have bunk beds. I figure, Pale Bro gets the big bed and we break up into two’s and do the roommate thing. There’s a sofa bed too, in case someone really can’t stand having a roommate. We don’t have a washer or dryer, but if you only brought one pair of underpants and it’s getting really rank, we’ve got detergent and a clothesline so you can wash them in the sink. There’s a dishwasher.”

“I would have put in a washer and dryer before I put in a dishwasher, personally,” Steve said.

“Yeah, well, my mom had a different opinion. Anyway, it’s camping in the woods. It’s not supposed to be just like if we were at home.”

“I call top bunk!” Harrison said.

“There’s two top bunks. Both rooms have bunk beds.”

The Pale Bro expressed in a voice like a Gregorian chant of nightmares that he wanted to know if there was a bathroom in the master bedroom, because that shit would be sweet.

“Naah, man, sorry,” Evan said. “But there is one of those really deep claw-foot bathtubs that you like.”

Like the rumbling of an oncoming avalanche, the Pale Bro opined that that was excellent.

***

“I don’t believe this shit.”

They had just disembarked, the Pale Bro in the rear bringing his own suitcase and the beer cooler, which was the size of a mini-fridge, and everyone else dragging their suitcases in… except for Evan, who had gone directly to the kitchen without bringing in his own stuff yet. He came stomping out. “Joe never showed up, the bastard! I’m totally having my dad fire his ass.”

“What do you mean?” Steve asked.

“I mean that food order never showed up. So we have canned food, and boxed food, but we don’t have anything perishable. No bread, no lunchmeat, no eggs, no bacon, no orange juice, none of that shit.” He sighed. “I’m gonna have to drive down into town myself to get food, and we just got here.”

“Hey, man, I can still drive the car,” Steve said. “You just need to tell me where to go.”

“Steve, you’ve been driving for 6 hours, you’re probably wiped. I can drive,” Trevor said. “It’s the least I could do with Evan buying our food.”

“Yeah, but you bought the beer, man,” Evan said. “So maybe Harrison needs to drive.”

“Uh, hey, before anyone drives anywhere, maybe you should call and find out if your parents even know where that Joe guy who never showed up is, and if he’s all right?” Harrison called from outside.

“Why?”

“Just… everyone come take a look at this!”

Everyone went outside and congregated around Harrison’s find, which was a roughly humanoid, but clawed, tread that was at least three times the size of a normal footprint. Experimentally the Pale Bro put his own massive foot into the tread. Harrison whistled. The footprint was about 25% bigger than the Pale Bro’s.

“Dude. What is that? Is that a bear?” Harrison asked.

Trevor shook his head. “Those are sneaker treads, Har. Bears don’t wear sneakers.”

In a voice that was the perfect auditory personification of the Zalgo font, the Pale Bro suggested that it looked like one of his cousins was back on its bullshit again.

“Goddamn,” Evan said. “That’s a big fellow.”

“I think maybe if we go into town we should all go,” Steve said.

“We’ve just been driving all this time, though,” Evan said. “I wanted to relax, crack a cold one, put on some MP3s. We don’t get Internet worth shit out here but I’ve got a huge music library on the stereo’s hard drive.”

The Pale Bro opined that before anyone drove anywhere, maybe he had better find his cousin and make it clear that if his cousin touched any of his friends he would shove its head so far up its ass it would be blinking shit out of its 27 eyes for a month.

“That… sounds reasonable,” Trevor said. “Since we don’t know what happened to Joe. We can hunker down here and wait for you to get back.”

“I’m pretty sure I got instant just add water pancake mix,” Evan said. “And my mom stocked this place with crappy dehydrated chicken pieces like the kind doomsday preppers buy. I could make a shitty chicken soup, we’ve got bouillon and noodles. Oh, and there’s a few cans of chili. Canned stuff is shit but I could maybe perk it up with some spices, some extra beans… put some rice in the cooker, I bet my mom left rice here, she buys like 100 pound bags of rice.”

Like the sound of Jupiter hovering in orbit above, rotating ponderously, the Pale Bro agreed that some canned chili with extra spices sounded pretty good considering how fucking hungry he was, and as soon as he found his asshole cousin he’d be back to eat with the rest of his bros. He also reminded them to save him some beer.

“Dude!” Steve laughed. “We’ve got three keggers’ worth in that cooler! There will be plenty of beer for you.”

Evan called his parents as the Pale Bro left the house, and reported back, somewhat gray-faced. “They said Joe never called in to say he got to the house. He reported picking up the groceries, he was headed up here, and then nada.”

“Oh, well, then, you work on the chili,” Trevor said, “and me and the rest of the guys are gonna lock up all the windows and doors and put someone on watch for when the Pale Bro gets back. You don’t have any guns up here, by any chance, do you?”

“Nope, my parents aren’t really hunters,” Evan said.

“Well, I’ve seen your kitchen at home, I know what kind of equipment your mom likes to stock. We’ll have plenty of sharp knives, I’m betting.”

“Yeah.”

And so as Evan attempted to turn six cans of canned chili into something his bros would find edible, and the Pale Bro stalked through the forest on the mountaintop looking for his asshole cousin, the other three made sure everything was locked up, that the car keys were secure, and that there were wicked cooking knives within easy reach, but not line of sight from the outside, of every door. Just like ordinary bros do, every day.

***

The Pale Bro stalked through the woods. Now, you’d think that being twelve feet tall and having a foot easily the size of a car tire’s diameter would make it hard to walk through a thickly wooded forest with plenty of underbrush, but the Bro’s long, skinny arms and legs could easily step over bushes and shrubs, and could pivot in directions that didn’t seem to quite exist within three-dimensional space. So he had very little difficulty making his way through the dense forest.

In the beginning, he was tracking the large treads that may or may not have been left by his asshole cousin, but the trail disappeared as it crossed a small creek. In a tone that sounded like the anthropomorphic personification of the trumpets of Jericho, the Pale Bro groaned, recognizing that he’d lost the trail and would have to search for it.

And so he went up the creek, and down the creek, and out from the creek, and up the trees around the creek, looking for any sign of his cousin… until he heard, in the distance, human voices.

Human female voices.

He stumbled through the woods, suddenly much clumsier than he’d been, following the sound of girls, until he half-fell out of the treeline and ended up in a clearing around another cabin, like Evan’s but bigger. The sounds were coming from around the corner of the cabin. The Pale Bro slid forward, long long legs making long long strides through the yard around the cabin, until a hot tub with a wooden deck came into view. The hot tub was on, and populated by five smokin’ hot girls.

There was a fair-skinned blonde girl, in a skimpy blue bikini that showed off all her curves, whose wavy hair floated angel-like around her head, improbably given that she was in a hot tub. There was a short, delicate black girl with hair in very wet braids and a soft, beautiful face, wearing a candy pink bikini. There was an Indian girl with long hair and an athletic build, with a red bindi mark on her forehead and a pale turquoise one-piece bathing suit with a little skirt, sitting on the deck and kicking her feet slowly in the water. A red-haired white girl with tan Mediterranean skin, tight curls, and a bright white bikini that stood out against her tan, had turned away from the tub and was looking directly at the Pale Bro, a slight smile on her face. The fifth girl was green and scaly, with webbed hands and golden eyes with nictating membranes; she didn’t have hair, but she had betta-like, beautifully colored fins on her head that looked hair-like.

All of them were absolutely gorgeous.

The blonde girl shrieked and ducked into the tub; the black girl bounced and climbed out of the tub, a big grin on her face. “Hi there, stranger!” she yelled from the rail around the deck. “Why don’t you come over and have a beer with us?”

The Pale Bro admitted in a tone like the creaking of an ancient rusted machine at the base of an abandoned windmill that that sounded awesome.

The green girl rolled her eyes. The Indian girl gave the black girl a questioning look. “Are you sure, Kayla?”

“Come on, Nandi,” the red-haired girl said. “I think he’s cute.”

The blonde girl came back up. “Are you inviting him over?” she asked, sounding horrified. “What if he’s a psycho killer?”

“Oh, right,” the green girl said. “He’s pale and tall and has eyes all over his body so he must be a psycho killer. Racist much?”

“No! He’s just a strange dude, that’s all! You have to watch out for strange dudes!”

The Pale Bro explained in the voice of a broken subwoofer booming at outdoor concert sound levels underwater that he didn’t really want to scare any of the girls and he’d go if they didn’t want him here.

The green girl leaned her elbows on the edge of the hot tub. “Forget Ashlee, she’s just paranoid.”

“You didn’t want him coming over either, Y’lehna,” Nandi said quietly.

“I just knew that if Kayla invited him over, we’re gonna lose Rhiannon for the rest of the night,” Y’lehna muttered.

The red-haired girl, presumably Rhiannon, was smiling broadly at the Pale Bro now. “Hey there,” she said. “We’ve got hard cider and hard lemonade, Bud, Corona and a couple of local microbrews. What’s your pleasure?”

In a voice that was actually surprisingly normal-sounding for once, the Pale Bro said he’d have whatever Rhiannon was having, which turned out to be hard cider.

He clambered up onto the hot tub deck, pulled off his sneakers, and soaked his feet in the hot tub, which barely came up to his knees.

“So what are you doing around here? You don’t live near here, do you?” Kayla asked.

And so the Pale Bro explained that he and his bros had decided to spend their last spring break of college together, in a cabin in the woods, because once graduation came they might never see each other again, and certainly even if they made excuses to get together on occasion, they’d see each other a lot less.

“That’s so sweet!” Kayla said.

“We’re juniors,” Rhiannon said. “Except Ashlee, she’s a sophomore, and Y’lehna’s technically a senior but she’s planning on doing a fifth year. But we decided to hang out here because Ashlee’s parents just put in a hot tub.”

“Hot tub!” Kayla sang out, and slid back into the tub. She was maybe just a little bit drunk.

As it turned out, they all went to the same university, and Y’lehna and the Pale Bro chatted for a bit about sports. “I tried out for the swim team,” Y’lehna said, “but when they found out I had gills, they disqualified me because apparently part of the point of the sport is that you are only allowed to breathe gaseous oxygen?”

The Pale Bro commiserated, as he hadn’t even tried trying out for the basketball team like he had once dreamed of, realizing that they would never allow someone who was taller than the hoop to play.

***

“I don’t know, though,” Ashlee, who had warmed up to the Pale Bro once another hard lemonade was in her hand, said. She was lying in a deck chair rather than in the tub. “Normally I love this place, and the tub’s great, but something just feels really creepy today.”

“You’ve been on edge since we got here,” Nandi – whose full name turned out to be Nandini, but she insisted that the Pale Bro should use her nickname – agreed.

The Pale Bro was thus reminded that his bros were expecting him to track down what might be a killer who may or may not have murdered Joe, the guy who was supposed to bring in the groceries, and also that he was very hungry and the hard cider wasn’t doing him any favors on an empty stomach. He pulled his feet out of the tub and confessed, in a voice like the grinding of the gears of the machinery that runs the universe, that his bros had sent him out to find a monster – he didn’t mention that the monster was probably his cousin – who might have killed someone, and also that dinner was waiting for him back at the cabin.

“Oh, you should bring them over!” Kayla said cheerfully.

“Are they all like you?” Rhiannon asked in a tone that might be considered “sultry” by anyone not as oblivious as the Pale Bro.

The Pale Bro shook his head and admitted that his bros were all much shorter than he was.

Rhiannon put a hand on his arm. “Well, that’s too bad, but I guess one handsome, tall fellow in a group is all I can expect, right?”

The Pale Bro looked at Rhiannon’s hand like it was an inexplicable glob that might be ice cream and possibly should be washed off, but equally possibly should be licked up.

Y’lehna said, “Why don’t you bring them over? They might be cute.”

“Yeah,” Nandi said, “we can’t all fit in the hot tub at once, but didn’t you say you had four friends back at your cabin?”

“That makes five,” Ashlee said, “and there’s five of us!”

“Also,” Nandi said, “we’ve still got, like, five pizzas in the house.”

This made the decision for the Pale Bro. He took the girls up on their offer of a couple of slices of pizza – they were cold, but he didn’t mind – and then headed back to the cabin to let his bros know about the girls’ offer.

***

The Pale Bro knocked on the window of the cabin, which apparently gave everyone inside heart attacks, even though he’d just meant to warn them to open the door for him. “Jesus, Pale,” Evan complained. “There’s a door.”

Within a few minutes – and after dropping his hard cider bottle in the recycling bin, because Evan’s family were big on recycling and the Pale Bro wanted to be polite – he had explained the situation to his bros.

“Let me get this straight,” Evan said. “You didn’t find any sign of Joe, you didn’t find your cousin or any other kind of monster or killer, and you want us to leave and go hiking through the woods to go hang out at a cabin full of strangers?”

When Evan phrased it that way, the Pale Bro admitted that it didn’t sound like a great idea, but on the other hand, there were five incredibly hot girls, plus a hot tub, plus pizza.

“Now let’s talk about this,” Trevor said. “Has anyone considered that if there’s really a psycho killer or a monster loose in the woods, those five girls might be in a lot more danger than we are? Maybe we should go over there to help protect them.”

“Yeah! And we could bring some of our beers, and Evan’s chili and rice—” Harrison suggested.

“Fuck no, I’m not making anybody else have to eat this chili,” Evan said. “It’s shit. It’s just the best I could do with the supplies I’ve got.” He sighed. “Too bad I can’t bring my tunes.”

“We need to be careful about locking everything up,” Steve said. “We really don’t want to come home tomorrow morning and find the psycho killer waiting for us here.”

“Or a gaggle of rabid raccoons,” Evan said. “That’s a thing around here.”

“Did any of you guys bring condoms?” Harrison asked. “Because I didn’t think we’d be seeing any action this weekend, so I didn’t bring any…”

Trevor chuckled. “We haven’t even met these girls, Har. Aren’t you jumping the gun a little?”

“Hey, I like to be prepared.”

“I’ve got a handful in my wallet, but I don’t think I’ve got five of them,” Steve said.

The Pale Bro pointed out with laughter like the rolling of thunder in a distant cavern that probably none of Steve’s condoms would fit him anyhow, so it would be fine.

“You don’t have to eat that chili, man,” Evan said, observing that the Pale Bro had dumped half a rice cooker’s worth of rice onto a plate and then all the rest of the chili that the other bros hadn’t eaten on top of that, and was currently chowing down. “It’s shit. I admit it. And you said you had some pizza.”

The Pale Bro declared that he was too hungry to care what it tasted like, that two slices of pizza weren’t nearly enough, and besides, it tasted fine to him.

So the five bros armed themselves with the sharp knives from Evan’s mom’s kitchen just in case they ran into a psycho killer along the way, locked all the doors and windows to the cabin and the doors to the car, and the Pale Bro carried the beer cooler as he led the way back to the house with the five hot girls.

***

It wasn’t particularly easy for the Pale Bro to retrace his steps through the woods; it’d been just short of sunset when he’d found the girls, and now it was full dark. His myriad eyes could see well in the dark, of course, but his bros couldn’t, so he had to watch out for them, and they were also a lot less flexible, and tall, than he was. Also, he hadn’t been toting a beer cooler the last time he came through here.

It didn’t help that his bros were very jumpy, freaking every time a night bird called or a twig broke loudly. The Pale Bro got it, he did – there might be a psycho killer in the woods, or a monster, or his cousin who was also a monster, and they couldn’t see as well as he could, or defend themselves. But this was just ridiculous. In a voice that was an auditory personification of the concept of dread, he suggested that they stop being such big pussies and concentrate on not tripping before they accidentally stabbed each other trying to brandish knives at random bushes.

“Yo, man, we can’t all be twelve feet tall,” Harrison said, sounding pissed but also still really anxious.

In a voice that was best described by some kind of metaphor implying a deep and scary sound that hopefully hasn’t been used already in this story, the Pale Bro offered to give Harrison a piggyback ride.

Trevor said, “Not in the middle of trees, man, you’d brain him. Walk right into a tree branch and knock him off.”

“Yeah, I gotta turn that down,” Harrison said.

“You smell that?” Steve said. “Smells like someone’s firing up a grill somewhere. I can smell the charcoal.”

“Did the girls have a grill?” Trevor asked.

The Pale Bro admitted that to the best of his knowledge, they did not, but on the other hand they had Hawaiian pizza. This, of course, triggered the old argument, where Steve and Harrison insisted that pineapple did not belong on pizza, and Evan and the Pale Bro insisted that pineapple on pizza was quite valid. The argument continued, with Trevor’s exhortations to show some common sense and save the argument until they were not walking through a dark forest that might contain a psycho killer going unheeded, until Steve accidentally fell in the creek because he couldn’t see it, and in the process lost one of Evan’s mom’s good cooking knives.

However, the Pale Bro mused, this was a potentially good sign because he’d found the girls while walking alongside the creek. So the bros walked alongside the creek, Steve muttering that these girls had better be hot after all this, until they heard the sound of female human voices, exactly like the Pale Bro had had before.

They entered the clearing, observed the very large cabin, Evan making comments like “I bet it’s a bitch to keep clean, ten to one that thing’s not sanitary” because he was jealous that the cabin was bigger than his family’s, and then around the corner to observe the very hot girls, who were all still very hot even though some of them had pizza sauce smeared around their lips.

“Well, hell-o, ladies!” Harrison said, trying to be suave and cool, and failing miserably.

The Pale Bro wondered, in the voice like the echoes of a rockslide in a canyon, if there was any of the pineapple pizza left, because unfortunately he was still hungry. He gestured at his very large body somewhat self-deprecatingly.

“Hi, guys!” Kayla, who was obviously the group’s ambassador to guests, said, with possibly more bubbliness in her voice than was currently in the hot tub. “I’m Kayla, and this is Nandini, and over there in the blue bikini is Ashlee, whose cabin this is – I mean, really it’s her family’s cabin—”

“I get it,” Evan said. “My family’s got a cabin too, that’s where we’ve been hanging. We just got in today. My name’s Evan.”

“Cool!” Kayla said. “That’s Y’lehna in the lawn chair with the wine cooler, and Rhiannon went to the bathroom but I’m sure—”

“I’m back!” Rhiannon announced. Trevor’s eyes widened and then turned heart-shaped. Metaphorically.

“And I’m Trevor. Hello, ladies,” he said, sounding much cooler when he said it than Harrison had.

“I’m Harrison, and this is Steve, and he’s kinda shy!” Harrison punctuated this by shoving his kinda shy friend forward.

“Uh, hi,” Steve said. “I kind of fell in the creek on my way here?”

Kayla’s eyes went wide. “Oh, wow! Hey, Ashlee, do you mind if I bring him inside and show him the shower?”

“Long as he takes his shoes off,” Ashlee said, coming to the deck railing. Steve saw her angelic hair, beautiful skin, and ample charms shown off by the rather small bikini, and fell in love.

“Oh, definitely. I’ll definitely do that. I – yeah. Thanks a lot for letting me use the shower, I’m all covered in mud. Which you can see. Because you’re standing there, looking at me covered in mud.”

Kayla laughed. “Oh, yeah, let’s get you cleaned up!” She took Steve’s hand with surprising alacrity and lack of reluctance, given that he was covered in mud.

Evan said, “The guy who was supposed to bring over the groceries never showed, and I made some chili and rice out of canned stuff for my friends, but it was kinda shitty. Pale asked if there was any more of the pineapple pizza? I could definitely go for a slice if you’re offering.”

Ashlee lit up. “Oh! Sure! I can take you in to get some pizza!”

Rhiannon had by then walked over to the Pale Bro, and put her hand on his arm again. “You know, I could definitely go for some more pizza myself,” she purred.

Meanwhile, Harrison was trying to chat up Y’lehna, and also strip to his boxers so he could get in the hot tub, without looking like he was doing it in a creepy way. “So, where’re you from?”

“Massachusetts,” Y’lehna said, lying back in the lawn chair and wistfully gazing at Trevor, who had followed Rhiannon, the Pale Bro, and Ashlee in for pizza. “A little town called Innsmouth, on the coast. Little more than half an hour north of Boston.” Y’lehna had legs, but they were covered with scales and her feet were large and webbed.

“Cool. I’m from New Jersey, but, you know, like the south end. Not the part that’s all gritty like Newark and Jersey City.” Harrison slid into the hot tub. “Oh, man, this is nice. You wanna get back in?”

“After I finish my wine cooler, maybe. Ashlee doesn’t like it when we eat or drink in the tub.”

Evan was the first to come back from the pizza hunt, carrying a beer and two slices and had actually had swimming trunks at the cabin – they hadn’t planned on going swimming on this trip, but Evan kept some clothes here all the time, and he’d already changed into them and then put his clothes on over. He stripped to his bathing suit and then went and got into the hot tub near Nandini. “Hey.”

Nandini barely noticed; she was too busy looking at Harrison. Evan had to say it again to get her attention. She turned and looked at him. “Oh, you can’t eat those in the tub. Or drink the beer.”

“What if I sit back from the tub and just soak my feet, until I’m done with the food?”

Nandini shrugged. “I guess that’d be okay, but you’d have to ask Ashlee. Can I ask you something?”

Evan beamed. “Sure! Whatever you want!”

She nodded her head toward Harrison. “Does your friend have a girlfriend?”

Evan’s first reaction was dismay – Nandini seemed to not even notice him as a man, and was just making eyes at Harrison, who was obviously captivated by Y’lehna. Then he narrowed his eyes and decided to make problems on purpose. “Oh, sorry, Harrison is gay.” Actually, Steve was bi and the rest of them were straight – Evan thought, anyway, unsure about the Pale Bro and if he even had a sexuality, but he did seem to like to look at girls.

Nandini sighed. “Aren’t they always.”

Ashlee was the next to come back. She sat next to Evan. “You know, if you want to get into the hot tub and still eat your food, I normally have a rule about that but I could let it go this time. Just as long as you keep the actual food and drink out of the hot tub so it doesn’t make everything gross.” She smiled at Evan.

Evan smiled at her, because it was always good to smile at your host, and it was also always good to smile at a pretty girl, and Ashlee was both. “Thanks,” he said, not planning to take her up on it because what if he dropped the pizza?, and then turned back to Nandini. “What’re you majoring in?”

“Ugh, I hate having to explain it to people,” Nandini said. “It’s… complicated. It’s a discipline that’s part economic theory, part psychology, part sociology and part anthropology. Basically, I’m majoring in the question of why do people do dumb things when they’d be better off doing smart ones, and how that impacts our understanding of economics.”

“That sounds really interesting,” said Evan, who had quit his business major because he was bored out of his mind by economics. “I’m doing Asia studies. Yeah, it’s a cliché.” He’d gone into Asia studies after he quit his business major because it was the only thing he thought his parents would let him get by with if he refused to study business. Some kind of “Mom, Dad, I really want to get in touch with our heritage and understand the culture of my grandparents” bullshit. Also, statistically you were more likely to find a girl who considers Asian guys hot in Asia studies than any other major, he suspected.

“That’s pretty cool!” Ashlee said. “Which part of Asia is your family from? China, Korea…?”

“China, originally,” Evan, whose real name was Haoran, but who’d been going by Evan since second grade, said. His pizza finished, he slid down into the tub and turned back to Nandini. “So, we came over here to warn you – and maybe help you fight if it comes to it – but we’re worried there might be a killer or something in the woods?”

“Omigod, really?” Ashlee asked, eyes wide with terror.

“Why do you think that?” Nandini asked, seeming completely calm.

“Well, my parents had an employee, Joe, buy food for my cabin. He was supposed to drop it off… but he never showed up, and he never called my parents, and he’s not answering his cell. Meanwhile, we saw this absolutely huge tread in the dirt, and the Pale Bro thinks it might be his cousin.”

“Yeah, he told us all that,” Nandini said. “Except for the part about it maybe being his cousin.”

“So, a monster?” Y’lehna asks. “Because there’s a difference between a psycho killer, who’s human, and a monster, who isn’t. You don’t know what the monster’s capable of, but when you see them, you know they’re a monster.”

“Yeah, but just because they look like a monster doesn’t mean anything about what they’re like!” Harrison said. “The Pale Bro looks like a monster, but he’s a really great guy!”

“I’m guessing his cousin sucks, though,” Y’lehna said.

“Well, we don’t know his cousin,” Harrison said, somewhat diplomatically.

“Do you really think there’s a killer?” Ashlee asked, getting into the hot tub right next to Evan – and inconveniently, between him and Nandini. “But you’ll protect us, right?”

“Uh, some of us can protect ourselves…” Nandini said.

Evan got back out of the tub so he could see Nandini more clearly without Ashlee in the way. “Absolutely. I’m not trying to say that we’re offering our protection because, you know, we’re guys and you’re girls and we think we’re tougher than you. That’s not it at all; I bet most of you could kick my ass.” He did not actually think this; Evan was in pretty good shape, since he was preparing to backpack all over Asia next year if he got the chance, and also, he bicycled a lot. It was pretty clear to him, though, that Nandini was invested in thinking of herself as someone who could protect herself, and who knew? Maybe she was a martial arts master or a crack shot. “But we figure, there’s safety in numbers. Plus, if it is the Pale Bro’s cousin, he can get it to back the hell off.”

“Good point,” Nandini said.

At this point there was a glass-shattering, horrible screech, and then something, some unknown creature moving so fast it was a blur, leapt out of the hot tub and charged directly at Evan, Nandini and Ashlee. All three of them screamed, as it slashed bright pain across Evan’s legs, right above his knees.

And then Ashlee started cracking up, as the horrible assailant stopped at the edge of the deck and began washing itself vigorously. “Phenyl, you dumbass. I know you like to sleep on the tub when we have it covered, but couldn’t you see we have it open and it’s full of water?”

Evan’s heart was still pounding, but now that he could see the creature that had slashed gashes into his thighs, he took deep breaths to calm himself down. “That’s your cat?”

“Yeah, her name is Phenylephrine and she’s a dumbass. She catches rats, though. One time she chased off a raccoon who’d gotten into the trash.” Ashlee attempted to pick her cat up, but the almost-entirely-black-except-for-white-bib cat jumped down off the deck, apparently not sufficiently recovered from her ordeal to tolerate interacting with humans. Evan decided not to ask why the cat was named after a decongestant.

“So what are you majoring in?” Harrison asked Y’lehna, trying to come across as casual. “I’m doing liberal arts, you know? Just a little of everything.”

“Shakespearean literature,” Y’lehna said.

“Oh, wow! You know about the theory that he didn’t write his own plays, right?”

Y’lehna rolled her eyes. “Of course I do. It’s bullshit.”

And as she explained all the reasons why she thought the theory was bullshit, Harrison listened to her raptly with imaginary hearts in his eyes.

***

Steve was deeply grateful to Kayla for taking him in to find Ashlee’s shower. The cabin had wooden floors, thankfully, so the gunk still dripping off his body could be easily cleaned. It made sense – it was a cabin in the woods, after all – but Steve had some vague idea of what rich people houses were like from visiting Evan, and carpet played a big role in his mental image of a rich person abode.

He was less impressed with the towel Kayla found him, after he came out of the shower. It was very… brief. Bigger than a hand towel, but not by much, it covered the territory it was required to cover and not very much else.

“I hate to ask, but does Ashlee have any brothers or other family members who might be around my size? This towel is kinda…”

Kayla laughed. “I think you look cute in it, but yeah, I can see why you’d want something bigger!” She stuck her head in the kitchen, where Ashlee was serving pizza to Evan, Rhiannon, Trevor, and the Pale Bro. “Hey, Ashlee! Does Hunter have any swimming trunks or t-shirts here?”

“You can check. He usually uses the middle bedroom.”

Steve called out, “I can have them cleaned and returned tomorrow, I just… my clothes are all muddy… I don’t want to impose, but this towel’s kind of tiny…”

“No problem, I don’t even care if you keep Hunter’s stuff. It would serve him right for being a douche,” Ashlee said.

Kayla checked, and came back with a NASCAR t-shirt and a pair of swimming trunks with grotesquely grinning emojis all over it. “Sorry, I hope it fits! It’s all he had!”

“No problem, NASCAR’s cool,” Steve said. The sum total of his knowledge about NASCAR was that it had something to do with cars, probably, and that guys who drank warm crappy beer and drove pickup trucks liked it, and that was all. But if Ashlee’s family was into it, maybe it was worth checking out.

He and Kayla walked into the kitchen, now that he was vaguely decent. “OMG I am so sorry,” Ashlee said. “That shirt is awful. Is that really the only one Hunter had?”

Steve shrugged, understanding more about Ashlee’s relationship to her brother’s interests. “It’s not like I’m into NASCAR or anything, but beggars can’t be choosers, right?”

The Pale Bro chose this moment to inform everyone in a voice that echoed like a portent of doom that there was no more beer in Ashlee’s fridge, and this was a problem, because he and his bros had brought beer for 5 people for three days, but now they had ten people, so what if they ran out?

Steve privately thought it was good that the Pale Bro wasn’t majoring in anything that needed math. Ten people would burn through the beer for five people at twice the rate, but twice the rate of three days would be a day and a half, more than enough time to go get more beer, unless the psycho killer or monster slashed their tires or something.

Kayla spoke up. “I’ve got more in the trunk of my car, but I parked kind of crappy.”

“Well, no matter how crappy the parking job was, more beer’s always a good thing,” Trevor said.

The Pale Bro expressed in a voice that was like the crackling of atoms fusing together in the unfathomable heat of the sun that he’d be happy to go get them out of Kayla’s car.

“Uh… no, I think Steve should do it,” Kayla said. “Because he’s shorter, and it’s a really crappy parking job. Trust me, you will bonk your head on trees about six times just trying to reach my car.”

“Did you park it in the woods?” Trevor asked.

“Um, sorta… I was kinda excited about getting here and waving to my friends and I accidentally hit the gas instead of the brake and I ended up in the woods… yeah.” She looked up at Steve forlornly. “I’m such an idiot.”

“You’re not an idiot,” Steve said, because it was always a good idea to tell a pretty girl who said she was an idiot that in fact she was not.

In a voice like the echoes of a NASCAR race going on over one’s head because one was in a sewer system under the track, the Pale Bro offered to help Kayla get her car out of the woods, if it was stuck there.

“That’s really sweet of you,” Rhiannon purred. “Probably better to do it in daylight, though. There’s a cliff drop near there, and you don’t want to accidentally slip over the edge.”

“Or worse, drop the car,” Steve said, and laughed. Kayla laughed with him.

The Pale Bro expressed to Kayla that if there was a cliff face near there, then he was very glad that she hadn’t accidentally driven off the edge, because that would have been bad.

“Yeah,” Kayla said, “but it all worked out so no harm done, right? Unless, like, I punctured the gas tank with a tree branch or something. That would definitely be bad.”

Steve, Trevor, Rhiannon and the Pale Bro all agreed that that would definitely be the case.

***

After Steve and Kayla had left to go to Kayla’s car to get more beer, Rhiannon asked the Pale Bro what his major was.

“I’m pre-med,” Trevor inserted, not actually having been asked.

“Mm, nice. I’m trying to become a physicist, myself. What about you?” She repeated the question in the Pale Bro’s direction.

In a voice that was muffled and full of pizza, the Pale Bro conveyed that he hadn’t heard the question, sorry.

“I just wanted to know what your major was,” she said.

The Pale Bro confessed that he was majoring in gender studies, having decided that hotel management was not really a good career path for him.

“Oh, really!” Rhiannon brightened. “You don’t see a lot of guys majoring in gender studies! You must be very secure in your masculinity.” She said this as someone who seemed very secure in the Pale Bro’s masculinity, herself, as she pressed against him.

The Pale Bro mumbled in a voice that really didn’t sound all that different from anyone else’s mumbling that he just didn’t like how society treated women, and added that his mother raised him to respect and look up to women. He confided that she had torn apart giant megafauna with her bare claws and fed them to her brood of spawn while insisting on table manners, and that he couldn’t imagine any job more difficult than being the primary caretaker of children. Children, he admitted, scared him.

“Oh, yes, the little rugrats can totally bring the chaos,” Rhiannon laughed.

The Pale Bro clarified that actually chaos was perfectly fine by him and the natural state of all things that the universe must someday return to; it was their high-pitched screechy voices that really bothered him.

“I never knew that,” Trevor said. “Weird, what you learn about people. Rhiannon,which kind of physics are you concentrating on? Like, space, or quantum, or what?”

“Haven’t really narrowed it down like that, it’s going to depend on what grad school accepts me and which programs I can get into,” Rhiannon said. To the Pale Bro she said, “Hey, do you want to go for a walk? It’s really nice out.”

“It is, but there might be some kind of killer or monster in the woods,” Trevor reminded her. “Do you really think it’s a good idea to go wandering off by yourself?”

She rolled her eyes and gestured at the Pale Bro. “I’m pretty sure that Pale here would be able to protect me if anything came up,” she said.

The Pale Bro confessed in a voice that echoed like the infrasound rumble of the collapse of a concrete building, but an embarrassed and regretful tone, that actually he wanted to wait right here, because he wanted more beer and also his feet hurt.

“Well, why don’t we go back to the hot tub and let you soak your feet for a bit?” Rhiannon asked.

“That sounds like a great idea,” Trevor said. “We’ve got our own beer cooler out there, remember? You brought it over.”

This was true, the Pale Bro admitted, but he couldn’t eat or drink in the hot tub, and he wanted another slice of Hawaiian pizza if there was any.

“Oh, but you’re a big fellow,” Rhiannon said. “You could totally sit back from the hot tub and dangle your feet in it while you’re eating, and you wouldn’t be close enough to the tub to bother Ashlee.”

In that case, the Pale Bro conveyed in a voice like the rumbling of a train full of dead bodies, he was all for the hot tub, because that shit sounded great.

***

The group joined back up around the hot tub, all except for Kayla and Steve, who were still in the woods, ostensibly getting beer out of Kayla’s car. Ashlee had brought out chips and pretzels, which, she said, were not to be eaten within five feet of the hot tub. This meant that the Pale Bro could soak his feet while he snacked, as promised, but no one else could actually eat near the tub.

“Come on, that’s not fair,” Y’lehna, who was considerably more drunk than she had been earlier in the evening and probably really needed to fill her stomach with chips and pretzels, complained. “I’ve been good all night but now I’m starving, and you know my skin needs to be moisturized.”

“I keep offering to let you try some of my Oil of Olay,” Ashlee mumbled.

“If I wanted to cover myself in something oily, I’d use fish oil, it’s traditional around my hometown,” Y’lehna said sharply. “I wanna be in water. Like, H20.” She looked up at Trevor, pleadingly. “Do you think I’m asking too much? I don’t think I’m asking too much.”

“I think you should definitely eat something,” Trevor said.

“I don’t think it’s too much to ask,” offered Harrison eagerly.

“But I don’t want to get any food in the hot tub,” Ashlee whined. “It’d be gross, and we’d have to drain it and clean it…”

“Well, I want to be in the water and I want goddamn pretzels, is that too much? Is that really too much?” Y’lehna yelled, making Ashlee quail.

At that point they all heard the sound of clanging and shattering, and Kayla and Steve screaming like they were being murdered.

Ashlee shrieked in terrified response. The Pale Bro, Trevor and Nandini were all off the deck and running toward the sound in a second, followed by Rhiannon, Evan and Harrison. Y’lehna took the opportunity to grab an entire dish of pretzels, drop herself into the tub, and stand at the edge of the tub, facing the concrete around the tub and stuffing her face. “I can be responsible,” she muttered. “I can not get pretzels in the tub. I don’t have to eat underwater. I don’t even want to. Pretzels aren’t like fish. They get soggy.”

No one was there to hear her, though, because they had all gone into the woods.

The Pale Bro had only gotten in a few feet when Steve yelled, “Don’t come any closer, guys!”

“Are you being murdered?” Trevor asked, loudly.

“We will totally fuck them up if someone is trying to kill you!” Harrison said, clenching his fists.

“No, guys, it’s good… it’s all good.”

“It’s not good at all!” Kayla wailed. “I spent so much money on that beer!”

The Pale Bro heard the word ‘beer’ and conveyed that if something was going on with the beer he absolutely needed to know, right now.

“We dropped it!”

“We dropped it off a goddamn cliff,” Steve moaned. “Kayla had this whole big cooler—”

“It was so expensive! So much beer!”

“And we were carrying it together, and then I tripped on a tree root, and slipped, and Kayla tried to grab me… and we dropped the beer.”

“Off the cliff!” Kayla couldn’t have sounded more heartbroken if she were a young lady during the Vietnam War being told that her betrothed, who had been her childhood sweetheart since she was three years old, had had a completely sober four-way with two Vietnamese twins and their pet goat, and then had been killed by the Viet Cong while he was still cavorting with the goat.

In a voice that sounded like the auditory representation of hair raising combined with the scream of nails on a chalkboard, the Pale Bro expressed that he couldn’t believe this and Steve had been such a fuckup.

Steve, actually kind of intimidated, raised his hands. “I know, man, I’m sorry! We didn’t mean to!”

The Pale Bro then lectured the two of them about how if he’d been allowed to help in the first place, he wouldn’t have accidentally dropped the beer off the cliff and right now they would all be knocking back some sweet brews, but instead they insisted they could handle it and now all that beer had been tragically lost, cut down in the prime of its life, its yeasty lifeblood spilling out across the rocks and stones below where none could drink it except maybe some squirrels who would get themselves totally fucked up.

“Come on, man, it’s just beer,” Evan said. “We can get more.”

“Not if there’s a killer out there!” Kayla wailed. “We won’t be able to leave to go get beer until morning! What if the killer slashes our tires?”

The Pale Bro conveyed that if that happened, it was fucking on because no psycho killer, monster, or cousin was going to get between him and more beer.

Trevor, trying to be the voice of reason, said, “Folks, we’ve got a lot of beer in our cooler and we’ve barely touched it. There’s no use crying over spilled… beer.”

“Yes, there is! It’s very cryable!” Kayla declared, starting to cry.

“God, you’re drunk,” Nandini muttered. “Maybe you shouldn’t be hitting any more of the beer anyway.”

“Come on,” Steve said, putting his arm around Kayla. “It’s gonna be all right. Don’t cry. Trevor’s right, we’ve got a lot in our cooler.”

Kayla turned toward him and cried against his chest, as he hugged her with one arm and awkwardly patted her head with the other.

“Wow,” Nandini said. “You’re really into this guy, aren’t you?”

Steve turned red, which they could all see by now because they’d made their way out of the woods and back into the outside lights of the cabin. “Uh, I don’t think so, I’m just trying to comfort her…”

“You’re a white guy touching her hair and she’s putting up with it,” Nandini said. “Kayla’s been known to punch white people who touch her hair.”

“That was that bitch Madison and it was one time!” Kayla cried.

Steve removed his hand. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, I just…”

“No! I like it when you touch my hair! I don’t like it when bitches like Madison touch my hair after they’ve just said some racist bullshit, but you’re being so sweet! You can officially touch my hair,” Kayla said, and then started sobbing again, hugging Steve tightly.

The Pale Bro audibly sighed, in a voice like a dude who’s just seen one of his best friends score a date with a chick he was really into and he can’t even be mad because it wasn’t like he got anywhere with her himself or even admitted to anyone how cute he thought she was.

***

The group returned to find that Harrison had wandered back to the hot tub as soon as it was clear that no one was being killed except maybe a large number of innocent bottles of beer, and was sitting outside the hot tub but right by Y’lehna, who was in the hot tub eating chips.

Nandini said, severely, “Y’lehna! Ashlee told you not to do that!”

“Ashlee can tell me herself,” Y’lehna said with chips in her mouth.

“I’ve been watching,” Harrison said brightly. “None of the crumbs have fallen in the water! It’s all good!”

Trevor snorted. “Well, of course you think so, Har,” he said. “You’ve got it bad, haven’t you?”

Nandini frowned, and then scowled, and glared at Evan. “Wait, you told me he was gay!”

“You said what?” Harrison was shocked.

Evan held up his hands. “Sorry, Har. But…” He looked over at Nandini. “I thought that if I told you that he only likes really unusual girls, you’d feel hurt because it would sound like I was telling you you were basic or something, and that’s totally wrong. You’re gorgeous and you could probably get any guy you wanted, except Harrison, because you don’t have scales or feathers or six eyes or something.”

“Well, you could have said that,” Nandini said.

Kayla said, “I get it. Rhiannon’s like that, too.”

“To be fair,” Harrison said, “I am bi.” This was information Evan had not known. “I just haven’t yet met any weird dudes who aren’t related to Pale here, and it’s just way too weird to date one of your bro’s actual brothers or something.”

“Does anyone know where Ashlee went?” Steve asked.

Everyone looked around. There was no Ashlee.

“Could she be in the bathroom, maybe?” Nandini asked.

“Don’t think so,” Y’lehna said. “She ran off while you guys were running to the woods. I wasn’t gonna get in the hot tub and eat pretzels if she was still here!”

“Uh, yeah,” Rhiannon said. “That’s a little long to be in the bathroom.”

The Pale Bro expressed in a voice that was exhaustedly done with this bullshit that he could look for her.

“Nah, man, I’ll do it,” Trevor said. “I know your feet are hurting, and I’m the next biggest guy after you.”

“I could go with you,” Steve said.

Trevor shook his head. “Steve… that is a cute girl who is very, very drunk,” he said, pointing at Kayla. “I don’t know her tolerance, but I’m pretty sure that if she isn’t at puke bucket level now, she will be soon. You need to stay with her and make sure she’s okay.”

“Yeah, good point,” Steve said.

Nandini turned back to Evan as Trevor walked away. “I can’t believe you lied to me, though. I mean, I know Rhiannon. I could have accepted ‘he’s only into weird-looking chicks’—”

“Thanks, Nandi, that’s sweet,” Y’lehna said.

“You know what I mean,” Nandini said, waving her hand dismissively.

“Look, I’m gonna come clean with you,” Evan said. “I really thought you were great. You’re hot, you’re smart – I’m not dumb, but when you talked about your major, I realized you could run rings around me – and you stay calm in a crisis, and I really respect that. But you asked me if Har had a girlfriend, and I just – I’m sorry. It was like you didn’t even notice I’m a dude, and that made me feel bad. So I did something shitty, and I gotta apologize to both you and Harrison.”

“I mean, no problem on my end,” Harrison said. “It’s all good, bro.”

“Damn,” Nandini said, running her hand through her hair. “I didn’t even think about what that sounded like when I asked you. I’m sorry, Evan, what I said to you was a shitty thing too. I mean, I still think what you did was worse because you were lying, but I understand why you did it.”

“Hey, I know you didn’t mean to hurt my feelings.”

“Evan’s right, though,” Harrison said. “I mean, not about me being gay, I like girls just fine, but…” He shrugged. “Girls that look like normal human beings, even beautiful human beings, it just doesn’t click. Y’lehna here’s really different-looking, and that is so hot.” He turned to Y’lehna. “You know you’re super-hot, right?”

“Yes,” Y’lehna said, “but boys like you don’t usually agree. So that’s nice.”

“I guess I can forgive you,” Nandi said to Evan. “But you’d better not lie to me again.”

“I am pretty sure you could kick my ass if I did, so I won’t. I like my ass un-kicked.”

“Your ass is okay,” Nandini said. “I’ve seen better asses, but yours is all right.”

Rhiannon had offered to give the Pale Bro a foot rub, since his feet hurt. A guy as big as he was suffered from foot pain frequently, so he’d agreed, while apologizing in a voice like a church organ in a cave for his toenails. Some might say his toenails were worth apologizing for, as they were about four inches long and razor sharp.

But Rhiannon disagreed. “Your toenails are great. Look how white they are! I never see guys without all kinds of grody fungus turning their toenails yellow. And I bet you’re amazing at climbing trees with them.”

The Pale Bro allowed that this was true, and that climbing in general was one of his talents.

Steve, meanwhile, wasn’t exactly sure what he ought to be doing with Kayla, who was now lying on her back, her head in his lap, rambling about stars and how far away they were. When she’d asked for another beer, he’d gotten her cold water instead and reminded her that water was important to avoid hangovers. She’d finished most of the water – the rest had spilled – and now she seemed to be close to falling asleep in his lap.

“You’re really into stars, huh?” he asked. “You an astronomy major?”

“Oh no!” Kayla laughed. “Math! I’d tell you all about it but I’m waaaaaay too drunk. I just reeeeally like stars!”

“That’s cool,” Steve said. “I’m a comp sci major myself.”

“Are you gonna build an AI that wants to take over the world and enslave humanity?” Kayla asked.

“Hey, I’d be happy if I could build an AI that can identify rocks as not sheep,” Steve laughed.

***

Trevor had very quickly guessed where Ashlee might be.

Ashlee was nervous and reacted badly to things that startled or scared her. Ashlee was also at her own house – well, cabin. So odds were, Ashlee had gone into the cabin to calm down.

The cabin wasn’t very big, and Ashlee wasn’t in any of the rooms in an obvious place. So Trevor started checking the not-obvious places, like a closet in a room that looked girly enough that it might be her room. He knocked on the door.

She shrieked, inside the closet, but he said, “Ashlee, calm down! It’s me, Trevor. Can I check on you to make sure you’re okay?”

“Uh… okay,” she said, and Trevor opened the door. Ashlee was sitting in a lighted closet, on the floor, completely covered to her shoulders with stuffed animals.

“Wow. Are you okay?” He squatted down. Being a big black man, Trevor had learned many strategies for making himself look less threatening. Not towering over somebody was one of them.

“Not… really?” Ashlee said.

“I know you were scared with all that noise. Hell, I was too. But it turned out to be nothing. Steve and Kayla accidentally dropped some beer over the cliff.”

“It’s not that,” she whispered. “It’s just… it’s too much. Too many people.”

“Yeah?” He sat on the floor crisscross applesauce, making himself even lower and more relaxed-looking. “You want us to go?”

“No! I mean, this was supposed to be a weekend with just my friends, and then you guys show up, but you’re nice guys! I like you guys! But it’s just so many people, I started to wig out.” She lifts an arm out of the sea of stuffed animals. “So I do this thing when there’s too many people and I start to freak… I find a tiny place and I fill it with soft things and I lay in them until my tachycardia goes away.”

“Tachycardia?”

“Oh, um, that means fast heart beat. Sorry. I just always call it that because it sounds scarier than fast heartbeat and it really is scarier so I want people to know it’s a problem.”

“I know what it means, I’m a pre-med. I just wondered—”

“Oh wow! I’m in pre-med, too!” Ashlee sat up , some of the stuffed animals falling off her. “I guess we’re not in any classes together because you’re a senior and I’m a sophomore, but did you have Lessing for Organic Chemistry?”

“You’re doing orgo in sophomore year?” Trevor whistled. “That’s fast.”

“Yeah, I, um, my high school had like this program where good students could do science classes at a nearby college, for college credit, in senior year, so I took chemistry then, and bio last year and also the math I needed, so I get to do orgo this year.”

“I hated orgo. It’s just memorize a bunch of prefixes and suffixes and string them together. Couldn’t we find a better way to describe methylethylpropylene than that?”

She laughed. “Is that even a real thing?”

“I don’t know, but it’s pretty ridiculous that I can put together a string of prefixes and make something that sounds like a chemical even if it doesn’t exist.” He shook his head sadly. “And yeah, I had Lessing. She’s tough. She giving your brain a real workout?”

“Yeah. It’s a challenge. Everyone always told me, ‘Ashlee, you can’t just coast along getting straight As without ever studying. Ashlee, when you go to college it’ll be a lot harder. Ashlee, you need to learn how to study or you’ll fail in college.’ Well… I haven’t failed yet, but… it might be close.” She sighed. “I’m sorry. I must sound so stuck up with my humblebrag. ‘Oh, it’s so hard to be a gifted student who gets straight As!’ But it really is hard. Because if it was too easy for you in school you don’t learn how to handle it when it gets too hard, and I’m just, like, totally stressed.”

“I feel you. My mom made me study, and I was like, ‘momma, I do not need to read the book and highlight all the important parts and then write them in an outline and then read over the outline! I got it the first time I read the book!’ And that was what she said. ‘You take shortcuts now because everything’s easy, you’ll be in a world of hurt when things get hard.’ And hell, I ended up in a world of hurt in orgo anyway.” They both laughed.

“Anyway, your friends are worried about you and I don’t want people to think we both got bumped off by a psycho killer, so I figure, there’s three options here. I leave and tell everyone you’re okay, and I leave you the hell alone; I leave and tell everyone you’re okay, and then I come back and we keep talking; or you and I both leave together and we both tell everyone you’re okay, and then we get to eat some chips, if Y’lehna and Harrison didn’t get them all already.”

“She’s in the hot tub eating chips, isn’t she.” It was not a question.

“Yeah, sad but true. At least she’s leaning over the side so the crumbs get on the concrete and they don’t fall in the tub.”

Ashlee sighed. “I guess I better get back out there. But I do still want to talk and stuff. And I wanna check up on Phenylephrine so maybe you can help me find her.”

“Phenylephrine?”

“My cat. The cat before her was Sudafed so when she died and I got a new kitten I named her Phenylephrine.”

“I get the joke there, but why was the first cat named Sudafed?”

“My mom was allergic to cats and she said if we get a cat we might as well name it Sudafed because she’d be taking so much of it, and then we did get a cat, so she did name her Sudafed.”

“Maybe she shouldn’t have gotten a cat if she was that allergic?”

“Oh, no, my mom loves cats. She just says wiseass things sometimes. Anyway, Phenyl lives here at the cabin and the cleaning service makes sure she gets fed. They call her the head of Mousekeeping Services.”

Trevor laughed.

***

Outside, it turned out there was no need to turn out a search party for Phenylephrine, as for some entirely inexplicable reason it turned out she liked chips, and also Harrison’s lap, where he was feeding her chips. She didn’t actually eat the chips, she just licked them.

The party was starting to flag just a bit; Evan suggested putting on some music, but the internet wasn’t good enough here for Ashlee’s Spotify playlist and she didn’t have MP3s on a hard drive like Evan did. Evan was regretting not putting a bunch of MP3s on a flash drive and bringing them with him. Nandini had a CD in her car – the girls had all come up here in their own cars, except for Y’lehna who couldn’t drive – but it was hit songs from Bollywood musicals and no one here knew any of them, and she was self-conscious about whether anyone would even like them.

And then, as they discussed what to do about tunes, a shadow fell across them, blocking the moon for a moment.

They all looked up, even the Pale Bro. A shambling monstrosity, 20 feet tall and brick red, with sprouting tentacles where its face should be and eyes on the tentacles, and Edward-Scissorhands-length blades for fingernails, loomed over them.

Several of the group screamed. The Pale Bro got to his feet.

“D̶̫̊̚Ũ̸̟̝͍̘̮͒Ḍ̸͋̽̀E̷̛̝̹̗͈̊͌̍,̷̨̖̲̺̤̝͂̈́̎͘ ̴̛̱͚͗Y̶̧͔͉̙͋͊̊͋͘Ô̸̢̥̙͙U̴͖͍̳̭͗̊̌͘͘͜R̷̫̜̘̀ ̶̼̘̠̾̐̈́̒̚Ṃ̴̡̡̦̮̖̿͗̊͋͝Ȯ̴͛ͅM̴̺̱͕̳̀ ̷̱͔̄̃̎́I̸̙͐̍͑͐S̶͉͉̲͋̊͒̽̄͜ ̵̤̙̬̫̒͋́͛P̷̧̧̧̰͔̦͠Î̴̢̜͒̅͘S̷̛̝̤͂́̍̐S̴̭͉͆̋̿É̴̢̺̲̫̝͋́̋̚̚D̴̥͈̠̋̅̅̀͝͝ ̴̡̡̖̬̓A̵͈͚̣͂̆̔̍̂̕T̷̡͙̠̙̫̎̈̄͝ͅ ̴͔͗̀̋͗̏Y̴̤͇̪͕͇͎͆̌̀̊̈́Ơ̸̡̢̙̭͇͕̒̐̕̕U̸̡̩̠̚.̸̣̖̼̫́͛̄,” the entity boomed.

In a sound like the rushing of lava through underground caverns just before a volcano was about to blow, the Pale Bro demanded to know if the entity had eaten any people lately.

“S̴̙̱͕̀H̴̭͐̈́͠I̷̘̟͉̝͊͐̄̋̀̑Ṱ̷̢̫̮͓̲̐̑͗̈́̀,̵͓̥͖͈̾́̏̇͘ ̵̣̳͍̿Ń̵̟̦̰͖̺͜O̸͉̓̈̊͛̔̕.̷̣̜̗̩̈́ ̸͖̋̓̀̀͝͝Í̶̘̗͓̱̗̬̀̈́'̴̗̯͈͈̥͎̎̇M̷̹̻͉̼͑̎̓̐̏̀ ̴͚̻͚̱̇̿͛̏͒͠O̴̩̪̣̯̤͙̐̐̚̚Ņ̶͇̘̤̗͗͗̑͛̏̇͜ ̸̡͎̔̽͛A̷̢̘̪͎̗͊͐̌͝͠ ̸̤̺͉̫̖̫̀̓̑̕̕D̴̡̜̤̻̉Ĩ̸̡̯͉͔́̓̂͘͝Ę̶̨̫͇̬̳̉̽͑̈̊͐T̸̥̝̹̑̾.̷̢̟̻̭̲̿ ̴̧̣͌̆̃̕ͅÏ̷̟̰̫̰̹̽̐̐F̶͖̂̉̌ ̵͔͚̊̐Y̸͔̆Ö̴̞̦͕̘̀̒̀͘Ṳ̶̪̝͙̎̿͘ ̵̥̀̏͗E̵̦̣̲͍͉̥̊V̶̑͒̏ͅȨ̷͚̪̲̎͜ͅR̵͎͖̀̓̈́͑͠ ̷̣̀̀̓͋C̸̲̗͎̞͔̭͌̈́̕͘Ã̶̝͉̮͉͉̓̄͒̈́͜͝M̵̙̮͎̹̌E̷̥̪̎̓͗́͝ ̷͎͓̙̺͔̗͂̑̕H̶̢̍͗́͋͊O̴̗̎̽̆M̴̮̭̮͐̑́̚Ë̶̩̦̹̞́͂̈́̆ ̴̩̻̈́͘Y̴̨͍̣̩͈̎̅͘͘O̵̠͉͒̐̈̕͝U̶̪̝̳̺͑͆̇'̸̖̋D̶̗̉̓̿͐̓ ̸͉̍̀͠K̷̥̞̼̍͛́̇͗͝N̵̡̹̠͚̥̰̋̈́̌̈́͘O̸̻̠͍̲͋̉Ẁ̸̞͎̺̀͆̌̀ ̴̛͔̙͗͗̉͠T̸̨̓̀̎H̶̡̱̘͈̹͐̔͗͂͘A̷̠̠͉͎̫̰̿̄T̴̡̰͍̦͕̉̌,” it said, rolling tentacles clockwise around its face in an approximation of an eye roll.

If that was the case, the Pale Bro shot back, explain why this entity’s footprint was found right outside his bro’s cabin, and a man was missing.

“Į̴̙͈̻̓͗͜ͅ ̷̙̑̔͛͝W̷̺̯̲͗͝Ã̸̹͕̊S̷̹̲͆̏ͅ ̵̝̈́̒͗̓̍L̸͖̺̊͛Ǫ̶̗̥̼͍̥̒̒̌̊O̸͙̊̎̋̏̕Ķ̴͚̫̤̈̔́̅͑͝Į̵͑̍Ṉ̸̨͌͂́Ǵ̵̭̥̹̮̞̏͂ͅ ̷͚͙̹̋F̸̧͕͉͓̊̾͊O̵̲̙͓͛̌̄̏̕̚R̴̬͚̠͉̬̘̽̀̌́͊ ̴͎̀̏̐͋Y̴͈̘̮͌͋̍̃̍̈́Ơ̷̞͉̝͙̻̒U̵̦̭͈̻̪̽͂͗̚,̴̳̐ ̸̢̠̙͕̰̐̅D̸̟̫̋͑̅̈́̄͜͝ͅŰ̵̡̜̤̺̿̍̃̈́M̵̼̜̳̊͊̋̈ͅB̷̧͖̲̮̤̜͋̐͑̔Ȁ̶̼̪̟̼̱̐̔̋̀͘S̷̨̳͂S̶̨̡͈̈́̐͂̿͜͠,” the entity said. “A̷͕̎͆Ṷ̴̢̣͙͐Ņ̷͓͔͕̙̟͛̿́̐͝T̶̠̹̜͇͐̾̊̂̚ ̸͔̐͋̓̓͐͝€̶͉̦̍̊̅₯̷̟̙̗̱̤̈́̋̌͂͌̚ῥ̷̠̩̇ῗ̶̦͎͚̃͊̾ᾗ̴̤̞̰͕͓̈́͜Ỷ̸͔̫͙̦͐ẞ̶̦͕̱́͂͑́͊̈́ ̵͉͍͉̼̐͑̈́͋͝S̷̢͇̽͗͛͊̏E̸͉̲̓̉̎̈N̸̤̾Ț̷̻̍́̍ ̴͓̱͉͍̝̄̐̀͜ M̷̹͖͝E̸̘̖͓̍͋͜ ̶̢̲̘͋ T̴̠̘̲̼̍̈́̄̏̃͝ͅǪ̷̨̡̤͕͎͠ ̴̬͑͊ T̵͚̫̆̏͘E̴͚̗̯̠̊͗͌̕̚ͅL̴̫̺̫̀̄̽̃̕L̶̡͚̫̬̈́͑̇ ̴̲͙̼̖̘̺̈͊̓̂͠ Y̸̰̳̰̑Ơ̵̢̼̯͕̌Ų̶̜̜͚͇̕ͅ ̶̟͎̫͌ Y̴͔̱̼̅̋̄̀͜O̴͕̰̰̎̄U̶͓̜̼̝͑̃͂͘͝ ̸̨͎̀͊Ṅ̵̢͙̙̹̀Ë̸̖E̵̢̪̪͛̒̈D̷͍͖̀̈̏͊͋̚ ̶̦̙̫̺͓̉͂͠T̸̙̮̬͚̚Ó̷̖̘̩̘̝̌̄ ̸͇͍͋͒̃̑Ṽ̸͉̞͔̘̱̃͑̌I̷͙͛͑͝S̸̢̗̬̞͂̽I̵̺̿̾͗̀̓̅T̷̢͈̺̹̀̇͊͐̊̍ͅ,̵̭̔ ̷̹̥̺̟̣͋̄͜Ş̵̺̱̃Ḩ̴̙͙̼͙͉̔̎̍̐́̃I̷͔͚͂̇̑͂͜T̷̲̱͔̬̓͠H̶̝̝͌̏͐Ę̴̨̰̙̤͖̎A̸͔͠ͅḐ̴̻͚͔̯̏́͐͘.̵͚͎̪͖̼̻̇̉.”

The Pale Bro replied, in a voice like the whining of an engine underneath the whapping sound of helicopter rotors, that he was on vacation with his bros and he was not here to visit his mom and she could just deal.

“A̶̱̘̬̪̝̓͌͊͐̚R̸͙͌̉̆̆̇̔ͅE̵̡̱̙̯̮̅͗ ̴͈͒̐Y̶̮̤̽̄O̴̢͓̙̝̮͉̾̆̈́̔̚͝Ų̸͚̗͓̞͎̀͝ ̶̡̬͚̄̆͌͋̉̆F̷̙͊͋U̷̿͊̊̽͌̚ͅC̴͙̦̼͕̈́̊̒K̴̬̘͆̀̑͒̐I̸̅́̈͒̅͠ͅŅ̴̪͍̭͂̈G̴̗̥͎͌̔̽̑̈́ ̸̻̰͆̈̕Ȟ̶̱̜̎̕Ī̴͎̝̖̼̤̱̏̐G̵͚͙̊͆̃̍̅ͅͅḦ̸̡̾̄̕?̵͉̫̠̉̈́̓ ̸̡͕̔͐Y̵̨͒͊̈̕O̴̮͓̼̽̓͝Ú̶̝̺͜ ̴̛̪̚ͅͅC̸̣̆͛̿̓̂Á̸͇͈̦͐͗̇͝N̸̞̭̲̻͖̦̽̈́̈'̶̪̪̐͐̈́T̸͔̘͌̄ ̴̨̪͙̫̩̐́S̶̩̋̃A̷̡̨͙͉͕͑́̔̓̌͜͠Y̸̯̝͕̋͗̄̾ ̵̲̜̥̥͆͊̾̑̊͜͝ͅT̴̟̭̼̲̐̄H̶͚̦̯̱̐̔͝Ą̴̥̤̅̃̄̂̾T̵̞̜̱̍̈́̔̕͜ͅ ̶̤͇͐Ṱ̷̃̾̚Ȏ̷͇͈͓̰͇͓ ̶͓̘̟̉̄̀͌̽ͅẎ̸̢̠̿Ỏ̸̧̢̹̹̀̓U̶̢̬͚̞̘͂́̃̆̽̔Ṛ̵̬̱̯̟̀͐̓̎̃͠ ̵̨̮̏̑̐̐M̷̽͜͝O̴̪̙͙͕̥̕͘M̵̨͉̫̭̩̔͑̈́̈̈͝!” the entity exclaimed.

“This is your cousin, bro?” Evan asked diplomatically.

In a voice like the moaning of the wind through a forest of dead things and disappointments, the Pale Bro admitted that this asshole was indeed his cousin, and was carrying a message from the Bro’s mom that he needed to come visit her, because somehow she’d found out that he was vacationing in the area.

“Well, why don’t you just tell him that you will go to visit your mom, in a few days, right before we head out? It is rude to be right near her house and not go visit her, but on the other hand you’re on vacation to spend time with us, so just do it at the end,” Evan suggested.

The Pale Bro expressed that if he absolutely had to visit his mom, that was probably the best way to handle it, and could his cousin kindly fuck off now.

“Ö̵̡̩͙̠̮͌̓̍K̶͈̬̳̰̺͂̋̂́̕Ạ̸̢̬̪̠̠̽͝Ÿ̴͓̰̰̻͔́̏͒̌͆,̶̮̉͒͒̿̏ ̵̦̺̠͓̩̲̍͆̉B̸͕̽͆Ư̵̟̔̈́̌̏͒Ţ̵̳̞̙̣̪̏̂ ̶͈̲̃͐̈́͋͛Y̴̝͍͌̈̍Ơ̶̙̝̱̘̈́̉́̊͒Ū̷͎̦ ̸͚̓B̷͕̥͊͗̿̒͝Ë̴͕͖̪͇̃́T̶͉̓̾̌̃̀͘T̵̨̟̠̩͚̜͂̎̚̕͝Ḙ̴͈̳̮͗̆͋̐́̈́R̶̡̛̪̮͖͓͙̍̈́͌́ ̸̧̘̻̞̣̈́͆͑̄͜N̷͎̦̬͊͌̆̌̕O̵̧̫̾́̾͜T̵͔̉́ ̸͔̒̀̐͆̌F̵̣͉̖̺̱̚ͅÒ̸̯̜̼̖̋̑͘͜R̶̲̦̱̭̱̙̆̈G̵͓̘̞͎̑̅E̴̲̓̿T̴̝̝̑͌̏̊̄̕ ̴̧̡̮̮͓͓̐͒T̸̡̛̖͈͒̕Ḥ̸̬̭͙̪̲̈́͌̈́̚͠͝Ì̸̡͎̝̎̈́̾͂̕S̷̠̻̣̈́̓͘̚ ̶̧̤̀̈́Ţ̴̧̛̫̫̑͗̓͌̉ͅÏ̵̧̘̰̆ͅM̶̮̤̎̉͜E̶̘̬̟͓̜͔̓̕̕̕,̶̗̈ ̶̖͇̞̀̾͑̓͜͠D̷̡̢̧̹̖͙͛̂̒̏̏I̵̛͍̘̜̲̥̓̏̅͐͂̋͝P̴̧̢̡̱͖̣͔̰̦̊̀Ṡ̸̳̺̓̓̕H̷̰̭̣͂͗Ị̶̢̧̜͇̅̎̓̈̉̂̃̐̕͜͜ͅT̶̰̰̋͐.̵͍̜̠̰͊͝ ̷̝͔̼̞͘ͅI̶̩͍̘͎̺̓'̷͕̟̗̣̳̻̀͂͠L̵̹̣̃͗̇͆L̴̢̛̩̤͖̬̆̚ ̸̲̬̲̈́͛͑̌B̴̘̹́́̈͝E̵͓͐̋͒͐̏̎ ̵͇̹̂͒Ẇ̵̨͎̣̝͔͘ͅA̷̻̗̫̍͑̈́̇̐T̸̥̱̘̲̳̋C̶̪̀H̵̢̏͜Ì̸̡̨͙̜̠̲͘N̸͖̹̦̿͊́͛̈́͝G̵̡̨̘̼̀̑̅̎.̷̍̑̆.” The giant creature lumbered off, back into the woods.

“Your family sounds like mine,” Evan said, commiserating.

“Mine, too,” Nandini said. “If I was within 50 miles of my mom while I was on vacation and I didn’t stop by to see her, I’d never hear the end of it.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever met your mom,” Steve said.

The Pale Bro suggested that that was just as well.

***

Kayla was napping on Steve, whose legs were starting to go numb but he didn’t want to risk waking her up. Trevor and Ashlee were talking animatedly about terrible professors and classes that were absolute bullshit but required for the pre-med track. Nandini, having forgiven Evan for lying to her about Harrison, had agreed to go on a date or two with him once they all got back to school, and see where things went. Also, she’d helped him recover his mom’s good knives, which they’d all dropped in the dirt when they got here so the girls wouldn’t be scared of them. Rhiannon continued to hit on the Pale Bro, who either didn’t notice, or was so flustered by a girl paying attention to him that he pretended not to notice. Y’lehna, somewhat overheated by spending too long in the tub and not drinking enough water, had a headache, and Harrison was tending her by getting her glasses of water with ice from Ashlee’s freezer.

Everything was going pretty well, and a lot of fun, except for Steve and his numb legs, when a man wearing a ski mask and carrying a bloody knife came out of the woods.

Everyone except Trevor and the Pale Bro screamed. The Pale Bro growled, less like a dog and more like the sound of the devil’s car engine, down in Hell, when the devil is revving it because he’s just challenged the Archangel Michael to a race in a demonic replica of NASCAR. Trevor took note of where Evan and Nandini had put all of Evan’s mom’s kitchen knives, and yelled, “Can we help you?”, preparing to grab a knife from the pile and go knife-fight the dude, just in case the Pale Bro was too drunk to simply lift the fellow up and toss him off the cliff that had already claimed Kayla’s case of beer.

“I hope so!” the man yelled back. “I’m in the middle of cutting up steaks for the grill, and I realize, I don’t have any potatoes! I was gonna do the potatoes on low and slow so they’d be nice and soft inside, but turns out, all my potatoes rotted and I haven’t got any, and it’d take like forty-five minutes to drive into town. And now it’s too late for baked potatoes, but I haven’t got any kind of starch, so I was wondering if you guys have any French fries?”

Trevor blinked.

“Uh, why are you wearing a ski mask?” Nandini asked.

“Oh, this!” The man pulled off the mask. “Haha, almost forgot I had this on! I’m anemic, so my face gets cold. I wear ski masks around to keep warm, but I forgot how that would look to somebody else. Wow, that was dumb of me.”

The man was a good bit older than any of them, maybe late 20’s or early 30’s. He was a white dude with a tan complexion, like Rhiannon’s, but it was a little grayish and unhealthy looking in the bright lights around the hot tub, which could be due to the anemia. His black hair was wavy and longish, parted on the side and going down to his shoulders, framing his face, and he had a mustache and beard. “My name’s Jason,” he said. “My girlfriend and I just moved back in to the cabin – we live here in the spring and summer months because my girl can’t handle the summer sun, she needs some shade – and I brought the steaks with me to celebrate, but I thought I had potatoes. I forgot, potatoes don’t survive being stored for four months.”

“Whew.” Evan shook his head. “That’s nasty, man. I hope you were able to get the smell out of wherever you were storing them.”

“It might take a few more good scrubs,” Jason acknowledged, grinning. “Hey, do you guys mind if I put the ski mask back on? I know what it looks like, but my face is really cold.”

“Go ahead,” Trevor said.

“Yeah, we don’t mind,” Nandini said. “If you turn out to be a serial killer, it’s not like you’re not a serial killer when the mask is off.”

Jason laughed again. “Well, I can eat a whole box of cereal in one sitting, so I guess you could call me a cereal killer.” Many of the college students groaned at the pun.

“You and your girlfriend, do you have kids?” Harrison asked. “Because that was dad-joke worthy.”

“Haha! Nah, no kids yet, dunno if that’s in the cards ever to be frank. Angella’s not much of a kid person.” He pronounced the name On-zhellah rather than An-jellah, like it was French or something.

“I don’t think I have any fries,” Ashlee said. “Or anything, really. When I’m here at the cabin I mostly drive down into town and get takeout. I mean, I’ve got bacon and eggs and bread for toast, and I could make you a PB&J or a lunch meat sandwich, but no real food.”

“That’s better than what I’ve got,” Evan muttered, and then, more loudly, “You got any tomatoes or peppers? I could chop them up and fry you some Spanish rice; I’d just have to go back to my cabin to get rice and spices.”

“Hey, man, that’d be awesome,” Jason said. “Yeah, I’ve got tomatoes and peppers. We’ve got a lot of steak and I don’t think even Angella’s appetite for bloody meat will put a dent in it, so if you guys wanted to come over and get some steak…”

The Pale Bro said in a voice like the moon had crashed but was still orbiting, scraping itself along the Earth’s crust as it went, that steak sounded sweet and he wouldn’t mind having some steak.

“Bro, you are just, like, an eating machine,” Harrison said. “But yeah, wouldn’t mind a steak.”

“I prefer seafood,” Y’lehna said, “but I don’t dislike steak.”

“Guys, Kayla’s asleep and I can’t leave her alone here,” Steve pointed out.

“I’ll stay here with Kayla,” Ashlee suggested. “You can go get steak.”

“I don’t feel great leaving you guys by yourselves, though, you sure you don’t want me to stay?”

At this point, Kayla lifted her head and asked blearily, “What’s happening?”, which solved the issue of who would stay with her; when steak was explained to her she cheerfully agreed that steak would be nice, and everyone else agreed that Kayla had had enough to drink that, assuming she didn’t puke it up, putting more food in her stomach might be a good idea.

Trevor and a couple of knives went with Evan back to Evan’s cabin to get the rice; the Pale Bro went with the rest of them to Jason’s cabin, both to make sure nothing happened to any of his friends, and because steak sounded awesome. Since Evan’s family had been coming here for vacations since he was a kid, he knew the area well enough to know how to get to Jason’s house once Jason gave him the address.

***

Jason’s cabin was about the same size as Evan’s, and it did not have a hot tub, but it did have a barbeque grill. Not one of those tiny little portable things that run on charcoal, either. This was a large fancy propane-powered grill of the kind that could practically be used in an industrial kitchen.

“Honey! I brought guests! And they brought beer! And their friend is gonna make us some Spanish rice!” he called.

A woman came out of the cabin, looking so goth she might as well have invented it. She had incredibly pale white skin, without even the undertone of red most healthy human beings have; she wasn’t quite as pale as the Pale Bro, but it was close. Long black hair slunk down her back like she was cosplaying Morticia Adams. She was wearing hip-hugging black jeans and a long-sleeved black blouse, and a chain around her neck with an Egyptian ankh on it, and her lips were blood-red.

Then she opened her mouth, and it became immediately apparent that she had fangs.

“How do you do,” she said in a vaguely quasi-European accent. “I’m called Angella Darque, with a q. And you are?”

The college students introduced themselves, Nandini wearing a very skeptical pair of eyebrows the entire time. After introductions were done, she asked, “Is your last name really Darque?”

Angella looked taken aback. Jason said, “It’s really Duncan, actually, but she’s getting together the legal paperwork to get it changed because she hates her dad. Deadbeat, never paid child support, you know the type.”

“Oh, Jason, I had no idea today was ‘let’s tell total strangers all about my girlfriend’s private history’ day. Is that what we’re celebrating?”

“Sorry.”

“His lips are so loose,” she confessed to the students. “Sometimes I just want to… sew them shut.”

“Isn’t she hilarious?” Jason laughed. “We met at a support group for people with anemia, five years ago, and we’ve been together since.”

“Um,” Ashlee, obviously very nervous, said. “Uh, we brought some beer if you want. And also wine coolers. Would you like a wine cooler?”

“No, I never drink… wine,” Angella said. And then, “Do you have anything like a Jaeger?”

“Evan’s got vodka back at the cabin,” Steve volunteered.

“Does your cell phone work up here? Maybe you could call him,” Jason said. “Or I could, if he’s got a landline.”

“Oh, no, I wouldn’t want to put anyone out,” Angella said. “I have 151 here, and that’s quite fine. Would any of you like some?”

“Yeah, slip it on me!” Kayla cheered, somewhat mangling her idiom.

Nandini and Y’lehna said at the same time, “No.” And then Y’lehna clarified. “I’m a little drunk, but she’s, like, totally plastered. We can’t even let her have a beer at this point. Soda’s cool, though.”

The Pale Bro conveyed in a voice like a million marbles suddenly gaining sentience and stampeding for a cliff to fling themselves over like lemmings, except that lemmings don’t really do that, that he would appreciate a rum and Coke.

Angella went back in the house to make the Pale Bro a rum and Coke with dangerously-high-proof rum. Harrison, Steve, and the girls looked at each other. Finally Rhiannon said, “I thought maybe I saw… your girlfriend has fangs? What’s up with that?”

“Pretty cool, huh?” Jason said cheerfully. “Now you guys need to let me know, should I use the rosemary garlic marinade, the pineapple ginger, or the Brazilian steakhouse?”

“Why not mix it up?” Harrison asked. “You got a lot of steak there, you could do ‘em all!”

“I don’t think pineapple ginger would go well with steak,” Ashlee said uncertainly. “Doesn’t that sound like more of a pork thing?”

“Or fish,” Y’lehna said. “Oh, but wait! Nandini, can you even eat pork?”

“I can eat anything,” Nandini said irritably, “but my family’s Hindi, not Muslim. I’m supposed to stay away from beef, not pork. But some traditions I don’t even believe in is not going to stop me from eating a nice steak.”

“I could add pork medallions, if you thought it was a good idea,” Jason said.

“Nah, man, you’ve got a lot of meat here,” Harrison said. “It looks great! Maybe if you had like a swordfish or tuna steak for Y’lehna, but if you don’t, no worries.”

“I got a salmon.”

“Pineapple ginger might go really well with salmon,” Y’lehna suggested.

Meanwhile Angella had brought the Pale Bro his rum and Coke, and they were currently discussing literary trends in fiction aimed at college-educated women.

***

Evan and Trevor returned with rice, spices, dried vegetables, and coincidentally, a can of pineapple chunks. Jason ended up preparing the salmon with the pineapple chunks after defrosting it in his microwave, and Evan made the Spanish rice he’d promised, and no one actually questioned why someone had started grilling steaks at midnight.

The salmon was done first, and Y’lehna and Nandini, who was feeling just a little bit guilty over her earlier decision to eat beef, got most of it. Angella got the first steak that came up, when it was barely warmed, still dripping blood. Then the rest of them, as the rest of the steaks were all done around the same time, along with the rice.

At some point, Evan suggested that everyone return to his cabin, because he had video games and music and nice speakers; Jason and Angella turned the offer down, Angella saying, “The night is young, and has yet to yield all its delights”, which was really corny and pretentious, but given the look she gave Jason when she said it, none of the guys questioned why he was staying at his own cabin tonight instead of going with them. Ashlee also insisted on staying at her own cabin; after a whole night of having ten people at her house, she was kind of burned out on people, and needed to get some sleep. And everyone agreed that Kayla should stay at Ashlee’s cabin; she was still cheerful and fun, but she was still pretty plastered. Because of the potential threat of a killer, Steve volunteered to stay with the girls; he knew Evan’s landline number, so he could call in reinforcements if necessary. Everyone else trooped back along the road, many carrying tinfoil-covered plates of steak and spicy rice, back to Evan’s cabin.

There was blood dripped onto the driveway.

The Pale Bro noticed it before anyone else, with his multiple sensitive eyes. His arm went out to block Evan from going any further, and in a voice like the rumble of an entire river’s worth of water pouring from a broken dam, he warned everyone of the blood and suggested he should go first.

Evan put up his hands. “No problem, man,” he said. “You take point.”

“I’m right behind you,” Trevor, holding one of the knives in front of him, said.

“Okay, I’ll bring up the rear,” Nandini said. “Harrison, Y’Lehna, Rhiannon, Evan, you go between us.”

Harrison looked at Nandini, who was taller than him, and then at the others. Evan was maybe the same height as Nandini, maybe very slightly taller… or very slightly shorter. It was too dark for Harrison to accurately judge.

He, too, put up his hands. “Works for me,” he said.

Evan looked back at Nandini. “I feel like I should be back with you,” he said. “If Pale’s got Trevor as backup…”

The Pale Bro pointed out, in a tone that conveyed deep irritation, that he didn’t need backup because if it was a human killer he’d make short work of them and if it was a monster, only he had a chance, and anyway it was probably not a monster because his cousin had claimed to be on a diet and the only reason they’d thought it was a monster in the first place was his cousin’s footprint. He then walked forward resolutely.

The door to the cabin was hanging open. The Pale Bro ducked his head way down, which he was pretty much used to doing any time he was going through a door, and pushed through, followed by Trevor. They’d left all the lights on, with the shutters closed, so that the light leaking around the edges of the shutters would make someone think they were home, and also because the lights were LED bulbs so seriously, that was probably like only thirty cents worth of electricity wasted. In that light, they saw blood all over the floor.

All of the group looked at each other uneasily. Ever since the Pale Bro had found the girls and the hot tub, no one had really been acting as if there genuinely was a potential killer out there; they’d given lip service to the idea, they’d certainly gotten scared enough every time something bizarre happened – and a lot of bizarre things had happened – but they hadn’t really treated it as a serious risk. Now it seemed possible that someone had been murdered in Evan’s cabin, or had been stabbed somewhere else and staggered into Evan’s cabin, despite the fact that all the locks had been locked.

The Pale Bro went forward into the kitchen, following the blood trail – and stopped in confusion. This caused everyone else to stop short, without being able to see into the kitchen because the Bro was blocking the doorway.

“Come on, bro, what’s going on?” Evan asked.

The Pale Bro slid sideways out of the way in a fashion that didn’t quite look like a real way anything could possibly move, and Evan pushed forward to be right behind Trevor, both of them crammed into the doorway.

A middle-aged white dude wearing a baseball cap advertising Evan’s parents’ company was at the sink, his front covered in blood. He had turned to face all of them, his hands clean but his sleeves completely saturated with something’s death juices.

“Joe?” Evan said disbelievingly.

“Evan!” Joe said. “I’m so sorry about the mess, man, and the hour, I know you’re pissed and I don’t blame you, I’d be pissed too, I know I’m really late—”

“Joe. Why are you covered in blood? What happened?”

“The meat defrosted,” Joe said. “I was driving around this mountain trying to find the cabin for so long, the meat defrosted, and when I pulled it out of my trunk, the bag caught on something and ripped and all the blood from the meat defrosting was all over me. I’m so sorry.”

“Why are you—” Evan glanced at a fancy cuckoo clock on the wall that actually ran on batteries, not solely on clockwork. “—getting in at two fucking am when you were supposed to be here before six?”

“I have been driving around this mountain since four in the afternoon,” Joe said. “My GPS stopped working halfway up the mountain, and I swear I tried to follow your mom’s directions, I swear, but I couldn’t find Long Leaf Lane no matter how hard I looked, and I went back down and asked at the gas station but none of them lived on the mountain, so I bought a paper map but it didn’t help at all because Long Leaf Lane wasn’t even on it—”

“It’s a private drive, I don’t even know if they put those on maps,” Evan said.

“Evan, if this is your guy with the food and he’s not dying of stab wounds, I’m going to use your bathroom,” Nandini said. “Where is it?”

“There’s two, one upstairs with a claw-foot tub and one down on this floor, go back out of the kitchen and it’s the door on the east side of the living room,” Evan said.

“Great, using the downstairs one,” Nandini said, and ducked back out of the doorway.

“Are you okay?” Rhiannon asked Joe.

“I’ve been driving for ten hours. Last six of which I couldn’t find my way back down the mountain either, and I didn’t have any food and the only water was the ice that used to be in my Sprite that melted—”

“Come on, man,” Evan said, sighing. “Yeah, the GPS situation really sucks around here. I wouldn’t wanna try to find Long Leaf Lane if I hadn’t been coming here every summer for, like, ten years. Let’s get you upstairs and get you cleaned up.” He looked over at Harrison and the Pale Bro. “Guys, you know more or less where the stuff in the kitchen goes, right? Can you put the food away?”

“The ice cream melted,” Joe moaned. “I’m so sorry…”

“No, come on. Let’s get you a shower and a change of clothes. I’ll borrow something of Steve’s while you’re in the shower, he’s about your size.”

“I think I know,” Harrison said. “We put the meat in the freezer?”

Rhiannon and Evan said, “No!” at the same time, and Rhiannon added, “You’ve got to put it in the fridge. You can’t freeze most things twice, they get freezer burned.”

“Huh,” Harrison said, looking over the sheer quantity of meat that Joe had been trying to carry in a paper shopping bag with handles. “I guess we’re gonna go back to Jason and Angella’s at least one night this week, ‘cause this is way more meat than we can eat before it goes bad.”

The Pale Bro, who had just picked up the bag of melted ice cream and slurped the whole thing down like it was a milkshake, said, in the voice of a creature whose mouth was entirely full of melted ice cream, something very much like “Watch me.”

“Lemme go throw this shit out,” Harrison said of the paper shopping bag, whose bottom had almost disintegrated from holding way too much au jus for even a strong, well-made paper shopping bag to handle, and which smelled like a murder had been done, or at least that someone had lost an arm and was bleeding out.

Evan took Joe upstairs to the bathroom to wash himself, broke into Steve’s suitcase and took a random t-shirt and pair of shorts, and advised him that he could stay overnight, sleep on the couch, and have some eggs and bacon in the morning, now that he had brought the eggs and bacon.

And then they all heard Harrison screaming.

Evan got down the stairs approximately as fast as Nandini came racing from the bathroom, but Rhiannon, Y’lehna and the Pale Bro were out the door faster, having been closer.

Harrison was on the ground. The trash can had been dumped over. It was mostly cleaning products used by the team that cleaned the cabin between uses, but there were some banana peels and candy wrappers – and now, a bloody shopping bag – in the pile of trash.

Standing over the pile of trash, looking kind of pissed, was a black bear.

In the voice of a guy who has finally, finally gotten the chance to use his strength and size to protect his friends after like what seemed like twenty-seven false scares tonight, the Pale Bro said something that could possibly be understood to be “Fucking finally,” and charged at the bear.

The bear had a lot of mass, even more than the Pale Bro, who was a very, very skinny dude, but the Pale Bro was around twice as tall as the bear, had much longer claws, and was doing something weird to the space around the bear, making lensing effects that distorted all the angles of the trees and branches behind the trash can. The bear flailed a bit, and then the Pale Bro lifted it and held it straight out from his body, where its much smaller paws couldn’t hope to reach. It snarled and kicked and scratched, but the Pale Bro relentlessly carried it into the woods, where they both disappeared.

“Well.” Evan said. “Who wants to help me clean up this trash?”

“’Want’ is a strong word,” Harrison said, but he helped, and Nandini and Rhiannon pitched in. Y’lehna would have helped, but she had to run back into the cabin to run cold water over her arms and legs.

The Pale Bro returned minutes later, without a scratch on him. “Where’d you put the bear, dude?” Harrison asked.

The Bro conveyed that he could possibly have gone out to the cliff that ran alongside the road – the same cliff that, in a different location, had claimed the life of an entire case of beer – and by the way, did any of them know that bears bounce? Because he hadn’t.

“Dude, you didn’t have to kill it,” Evan complained.

“Yes, he did! It was gonna kill me! I don’t want it coming back for revenge!” Harrison gabbled out.

The Pale Bro declared that he hadn’t killed it. Before anyone could feel either relief or fear over that, he added that his mom lived down that way someplace and she would probably kill it, because eldritch spawn eat a lot and he had a lot of brothers and sisters.

***

And so the first night of their vacation ended, with the Pale Bro staying up all night playing video games with Trevor, who’d returned to the cabin with Steve once they’d both been informed that there was no psycho killer and Joe was actually fine, he’d just gotten really lost. Evan, Harrison and Steve went to bed like normal people, or rather, like normal people who are young men in college, around four am, after walking Rhiannon, Nandini and Y’lehna back to their cabin like gentlemen, because psycho killer or no, the woods were dark and any number of things could happen. In other words, it was a perfectly normal night on vacation, just like any group of friends in college might have.

As for anything that might have happened the next day, or any of the other days of their vacation… that’s a story for another time.

#52 project #spooky 5 #comedy #horror #except not really

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bgn846 · 4 years

Text

I Got It Covered, Trust Me - FFXV FIC

Summary:

Gladio decides Iris' new boyfriend has to go, he's an idiot. Iris doesn't agree. Gladio takes matters into his own hands and invites them both over for dinner, and a little chat. What could possibly go wrong?

Notes:

I had a great time doing a little collab with Blackchocomuffin for this piece. Please, go check out their awesome art of Gladio being a good overprotective brother. ART,

TW: For animal blood on an apron.

Work Text:

The one thing Gladio didn’t take into account was Prompto freaking out. He was covered in blood, so he shouldn’t have been too surprised by the reaction. However, what Gladio didn’t foresee was having to explain everything to Ignis, since he couldn’t see what Prompto was going on about.

“What do you mean he’s bleeding?” Ignis exclaimed rushing forward to try and touch him.

“I’m fine Iggy, babe trust me it’s not even my blood.”

Prompto decided now would be a good time to tell Ignis, in great detail, what he looked like. This did not go well. Namely, because Gladio had decided that Iris’ latest boyfriend needed to go, and his bloodied appearance was directly linked to that.

“First off he’s wearing an apron?” Prompto questioned as he announced it to Ignis like that would instantly explain things. “And it’s covered in blood and what is with the knife big guy? It looks like you murdered someone!” Prompto asked with concern.

“Will someone please tell me what the hell is going on? Do I need to fetch a medic?” Ignis asked, his voice rising higher and higher by the second.

Gladio wanted to pull his partner into a hug, but being covered in blood prevented that action. Guess he’d have to fess up. Gladio was doing so well on his little mini-mission and then Prompto had to swing by unexpectedly.

“Listen, the both of you, just let me explain. I’m uninjured; this is leftover blood from the recent kill at the hunter’s guild.” Gladio paused for a moment when Ignis’ handsome face adopted a very bizarre expression. When the man didn’t say anything Gladio continued. “I’m going to, to, um,” and this is when the sheer stupidness of his idea hit Gladio. He was trying to scare his little sister’s boyfriend so he’d go away. Gods, he was an asshole. “Er, uh, shit, you’re both gonna say I’m a total jerk, but this is to scare off Todd.”

“Oh,” was all Prompto uttered.

“Todd, as in Iris’ new boyfriend, Todd?” Ignis clarified.

“Yep, that’s the one.”

“Why may I ask, have you decided that Todd must go?” Ignis queried.

“Okay, in Gladio’s defense Todd is an idiot.” Prompto chimed in with a thoughtful look. “He thinks corn and flour tortillas are the same thing. That’s weird.”

Surprised to hear Prompto throw Todd under the bus, Gladio had renewed hope in his plan. “Iggy, all I wanna do is have Todd see me like this so he’ll get freaked and leave Iris alone.”

“What if your plan doesn’t work? What then? I’m not sure Todd seeing you,” Ignis paused and waved his hand around nondescriptly. “As Prompto described you will do anything.”

“Yeah, well, I’ll just have to tie him up and put him in my trunk for a night. He’ll get lost after that for sure.”

“Prompto I can’t tell, is he joking? I fear he’s being serious,” Ignis sighed trying to remain calm.

“Why the apron?” Prompto asked instead.

“Oh! Well, Iris wanted me to officially meet Todd so I told her to bring him over for dinner tonight. The thing is Iggy wasn’t going to know what I looked like, so he could remain innocent when Iris yells at me later.”

“Oh damn, did I screw things up by swinging by?” Prompto queried.

“Aside from destroying Iggy’s alibi, it’s not a big deal Prom.”

“Wait, I’m still lost over here, you are wearing an apron that has been covered in blood? Correct?”

“Yeah, and I’ve got some on my face too to match.”

“Six save me, that’s why you didn’t give me a kiss when you got back earlier. You were trying to spare me from getting dirty.”

“Right, so are we all on board for scaring the shit outta Todd?”

“I can’t imagine this young man is so bad. Though, I’ve never personally met him.”

“He’s not the brightest bulb in the box Iggy,” Prompto admitted. “Did I mention that his brother is a flat eoser? I mean come on that’s terrible enough.”

“Excuse me, he’s a what?”

“No, not him, his brother. You know a flat esoer, someone who thinks the eos is flat.”

Ignis licked his lips and opened his mouth to speak but gave up after a moment.

“So yeah I’ve got maybe twenty more minutes to get real dinner started so I’m a believable cook when they get here,” Gladio supplied quickly.

“Are you not going to explain anything when they arrive?” Prompto asked with a small smile. “How do you see this going?”

“I’m hoping Todd will give me a look that says he’s scared for his life and then I’ll probably make some sorta comment about Iris’ last boyfriend being a troublemaker, and that I took care of em’.”

“And you both claim Todd is an idiot,” Ignis grumbled as he shuffled away to find the couch and sit down.

“Seriously he is! That is why I’m doing this.”

“Do be careful Gladio, she may try and date his brother in retaliation.”

“Nah, Iris wouldn’t do that, she’s too smart for that.”

“At least one of the Amicitia siblings has their parent’s wits.”

Prompto barked out a laugh before Gladio could respond. “Guess I should head out so you can get prepared. I want to hear all the little details. Ignis, let me know how hard Iris hits Gladio. I know you’ll be able to tell based on the sound.”

Ignis gave Prompto a nod signaling he’d heard and went back to using his phone, listening to the daily reports from the marshal. As quickly as Prompto had arrived he was gone, off to find some of the glaive to relax for the night. They’d all had a busy day and it was time to unwind. Unless as in Gladio’s case, he was attempting to not alienate his litter sister or upset his own boyfriend. It was a fine line he was treading.

Time flew after Prompto left, and Gladio soon found that he was not only covered in blood but cooking stains as well. At least they’d have a good dinner, or Ignis would if Iris killed him before they ate. The tall tale sound of footsteps approaching meant the moment of truth had arrived. Grabbing his large carving knife complete with dried blood covering every inch, he waited to hear a knock before he answered.

However, when he shuffled out of their tiny kitchen towards the door Ignis was already standing and waving him back. “Allow me, your reveal will be better from the kitchen,” he whispered while waiting near the door.

Unable to keep the grin from his face Gladio leaned forward and gave Ignis a quick kiss on the lips. “Thanks, babe, you’re the best!” he offered in a hushed tone before retreating back to his spot by the stove.

Ignis merely shook his head and put on his best ‘I know nothing’ face when someone knocked. Iris’ voice rang out a second later announcing their arrival, his little sister was always mindful of Ignis not being able to use the peephole in the door. Forced to turn away from the door Gladio took a deep breath and waited.

“Lovely to hear you again Iris,” Ignis offered easily to which the younger Amicitia laughed brightly. “Ah yes, this must be who we are here to meet, Todd correct?”

A low voice answered, but not loud enough for Gladio to hear well.

“Do come in and make yourself at home, Gladio’s been busy in the kitchen all evening,” Ignis supplied before closing the door.

Thinking of how his dad might have reacted to meeting one of Iris’ boyfriends, Gladio put on his best impression of their late father and spun around to meet Iris and Todd. “So this is the young man you’ve been so enamored with, huh?” Gladio stated before frowning. “I do hope you treat my sister well, she’s a very special lady.”

Nothing but silence filled the room when he finished talking. Iris was looking at him like she wanted to throttle him and Todd; well Todd was just not paying attention. The little shit. The moment he fully turned around to see the rest of the apartment behind him Iris stepped forward and punched Gladio in the arm, hard. Training with Cor was paying off; Iris had a mean right hook.

“Uh, do you need help with anything?” Todd asked with a blank look when he focused again. “I didn’t realize you got so into cooking, you’re like covered, in, um, lots of stuff.”

“Blood, Todd, I’m covered in blood,” Gladio deadpanned in a moment of anger.

“Are we having meat? Oh, I thought Iris told you, I’m a vegan.”

“What?” Gladio asked in confusion. How the hell had this kid not noticed that this was an overly excessive amount of blood to be covered in. Even for cooking.

“You know like someone who doesn’t eat meat or dairy products. Plant-based only.”

“How?” This was bad, this was very bad. Gladio was so thrown off he couldn’t even speak full sentences anymore.

“Oh, uh, I grow a lot of my own food but it’s like really hard and sometimes I don’t eat enough. I mean it’s so dark out all the time, and it’s hard to gro--.”

Gladio had already tuned Todd out, this little brat didn’t even know what it was like to eat meat, let alone butcher it. That, he hadn’t taken into account. This didn’t mean Todd was dumb though, just massively out of the loop. Still, he thought he’d managed to at least look like a horror movie villain. Maybe Todd didn’t watch scary movies either?

“—like that’s how I usually do it, but it’s hard to find tofu sometimes, but I can make fake chicken with flour and that’s not bad. Uh, when are we eating, I have to stick to a strict schedule otherwise my body gets out of whack,” Todd finished with an expectant look.

Sweet shiva, Gladio was starting to seriously consider his options for actually doing away with Todd. Fine, he doesn’t eat meat, but he could at least not be an asshole about it! “Dinner should be ready soon, why don’t you go help Ignis with the wine.”

“I only drink wines that haven’t been aged in wood; do you have anything like that?”

Gladio couldn’t even form words; this guy was a piece of work. Thankfully, Ignis was ready to field that request. His partner guided Todd away towards their modest wine rack to select something. Gladio already knew they didn’t have what Todd wanted. They had nothing Todd wanted. His garula steak pasta sauce paired with egg pasta wasn’t vegan. The bread rolls with cheese baked in most definitely weren’t. Though, why did he care, the little shit could starve, he wasn’t here to make Todd happy! He was trying to make him go away.

The second Todd stepped away with Ignis, Iris got close and promptly kicked him in the shin. Biting back a yell Gladio limped back into the kitchen space. “He’s an idiot!” Gladio hissed under his breath.

“He’s my idiot!” Iris whisper shouted back.

“Can’t you select a different one? He’s sorta rude.”

“I can’t believe you, trying to scare him like this.”

“Well, it didn’t work! See, he’s an idiot!” Gladio huffed excitedly.

“No, he’s not,” Iris growled lowly.

“I look like I mur—Did you two find a good wine?” Gladio asked cheerily when Todd came back over holding a bottle.

“Not sure, the label on this one is too faded for me to tell if it’s been aged in wood barrels or not. I won’t drink it because it’s like cruelty against trees and all. Ignis said there might be a magnifying glass over here for me to try and read the label better?”

“Excuse me? What about trees?” Gladio was well out of his element with this kid, he wasn’t an idiot he was just plain weird. “I don’t think they fe--.”

“I know where there is one!” Iris interjected, “One sec baby let me grab it for you.”

Baby!? Dear lord his little sister was calling this tool bag baby. The world had officially ended. Gladio nearly threw up in his mouth when Todd repeated the name back to Iris. He almost didn’t catch the barely concealed snort from Ignis across the room. Damn him, at least he was having fun.

Dinner was a disaster. The more Gladio worked to fluster Todd, the more Iris would fawn over him. Figures, she’d act that way, she was doing this out of spite, he was sure of it. Ignis on the other hand was having the time of his life. When Todd started talking about conspiracy theories, Ignis, who knew every little thing there is to know, easily debunked each and every one.

As the night crawled on, Gladio realized Todd was getting drunk. The kid had only been able to eat the small salad they’d made. He’d declined the dressing since that wasn’t the right way to eat greens. Something about being respectful to their natural state and covering them in oil and vinegar was a huge mistake. This of course made Gladio smother his salad in dressing, just to see if he could elicit a reaction out of the tool bag.

It didn’t work.

Nothing was working, Todd was terrible, but Iris wasn’t going to dump him, he’d failed his mission. However, right when Gladio thought all hope was lost, Todd opened his mouth and proceeded to stick his foot in it. Guess getting drunk had made him a little loose-lipped.

“Gladio,” Todd announced seriously, “You should tell Iris to be careful when she fights. I keep telling her that she won’t look good with battle scars.”

“Sometimes you have no choice but to take up arms buddy, it’s the way things are nowadays,” Gladio answered meaningfully. “We’ve sworn an oath to protect the people and that may come at a cost.”

“Yeah, yeah, but like for Iris specifically, she shouldn’t fight, it’s not right.”

“What?” Gladio and Iris asked in unison.

“Baby, hear me out, I like you and all but like you can’t keep fighting, what if you get scars like your brother? You won’t be pretty anymore.”

The deathly silence that followed Todd’s proclamation was the best thing Gladio had heard all night. Maybe things were turning around after all. Todd wasn’t an idiot. He was a duche bag. Even better!

Iris had cried a few times since Ignis had asked Todd to leave after his comment. Something about having an angry blind man remove his visor, and pointedly stare at you left little room for argument. Ignis’ bold move had done more than Gladio’s bloodied apron had even come close to achieving. Todd’s utter look of fear at being singled out was a thing of pure joy to behold. Gladio didn’t like that it came at the expense of his sister's feelings, but Todd needed to go.

“Is he blind?! Sorry Ignis but I’m still in shock,” Iris lamented. “I mean you both clearly have visible scars, why would he say something so, so rude.”

“He’s a douche bag, that’s why!” Gladio cut in.

“It’s alright, that wine he drank had been aged in an oak barrel for at least fifteen years. He had to go on my word that it hadn’t been,” Ignis added calmly.

“You lied to him?” Gladio asked with a smile.

“I may have fibbed; I can’t be expected to keep all my wine bottles straight. I’m unable to read any of the labels personally so I can’t really be blamed.”

“Who doesn’t use dressing on salad, that’s stupid,” Iris mumbled a second later.

“I knew you’d come around! Come on let us find you a nice normal boy to date. Iggy and I will invite them over for a nice din--.”

“NO! No, no, no I’m fine. Gladio you stay outta my business,” Iris cut in, though she was smiling a little.

Laughing loudly Gladio pulled Iris over, nearly toppling her chair, for a proper hug. “Okay truce, I won’t go actively hunting for a boyfriend for you, but can you at least trust us when we tell you they might be an idiot?”

“Maybe, just don’t do the bloodied apron knife thing again, that was awful.”

“What did he look like? I’ve had Prompto describe his look but I’d like to hear it from you, if I may.”

Iris happily obliged and described all of Gladio’s elaborate planning, down to the black trash bags on the counter with a sticky label on them that read ‘Todd’. Prompto hadn’t noticed those.

By the time she’d finished and they’d cleaned up everything Gladio decided he could break out dessert. No reason to waste his efforts. Iris merely rolled her eyes when he took out a plate of simple sugar cookies that he’d decorated with little radioactive symbols. “What?! It was a backup plan in case Todd hadn’t figured out things.”

“Ignis, he’s made cookies with the hazardous symbol all over them. Do you think we are safe to eat them?”

“Oh that’s what you were doing,” Ignis exclaimed with a smile. “Yes, they should be palatable. I helped with those. I didn’t realize what Gladio intended to use them for. He added the decoration afterward, I believe.”

“You are such a dork Gladio. Thanks for looking out for me though.”

“Anytime Iris, Iggy, and I are here for ya no matter what.”

Iris leaned over and gave him another hug. “Sounds good, but there is one thing I gotta know,” pausing she pulled away. “Where the hell did you get all that blood?!”

#ffxv fanfiction #ffxv #gladio #iris #ignis #this might be crack #you've been warned

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pi-creates · 4 years

Note

If they had decided to Make Kenny the season 2 villain and make him ‘the carver’ how do you think the season would’ve ended? Do you think they still should have made us choose between Kenny and someone else? Maybe between Kenny and Luke? Or do you think they should’ve gone a whole different direction?

Good point, anon - if Kenny was the “Carver” of season 2 and nothing else in the plot changes, then no I don’t think it really makes sense for the ending to still be part of the “choose your caregiver” ending thing. Because he’d be dead by one of the other characters... not sure who in this case, maybe Alvin.

I suppose they could still go through with that concept but with whichever characters are still around near the end... like a group of Bonnie, Mike, and Arvo(? maybe), or Luke and Jane?? I dunno, it’s hard since a lot of the characters aside from Kenny and Luke didn’t get much development in season 2, and even Luke’s development is a bit of a rollercoaster after Kenny shows up.

It would probably be better to have an entirely new ending scenario set up if Kenny was the antagonist from the start - though I’m not entirely sure what that would be.

But ya know what? I’m going to try to make this work with Kenny still being involved in the ending and keeping as many of the plot beats as possible - bear with me, I might have gotten a bit carried away...

So, Kenny as Carver cannot ever directly harm Clem. He needs to keep that ambiguity that says even if he has lost his way, he really is doing his best for Clem. Otherwise there never will be a realistic choice, you wouldn’t pick an absolute villain at the ending if a friend/ally was the other option.

So like, I dunno, have Troy be more of a threat to Clem while at Howe’s, but keep Kenny as the main threat to the rest of the group. He can still murder Walter/Alvin at the ski lodge, and doesn’t know Clem is there until afterwards when Troy (who also was the one who talked to Clem in the cabin) points her out.

Kenny can have his moment where he sees her, gets this glimmer in his eye, but then he smothers it when Troy/Bonnie notices. Later on Kenny calls Clem to his office at Howe’s and tries to reminisce with her, but leave us little ominous details that remind us how aggressive he has been to the others - cut knuckles or something similar. He tries to steer the conversation to be only pleasant talk about how happy he is that she found her way back to him, and how he’ll make sure she’s safe from now on with him. And at this point Clem can appeal to Kenny or call him out on how she thinks he’s changed, but he still counters with something along the lines of:

“I know it’s harsh, but these people would all die if someone doesn’t stop them from doing something stupid. Sometimes you just have to do that. And if one person fucks things up for everyone else, then we’re better off without them. You understand that, don’t you, Clem? You’re a smart girl, you’d never be like that.”

and if you happen to respond negatively to him, he’ll just say:

“You’re just not old enough to understand yet. It’s ok, I’ll teach you. You’ll get better.”

This also adds more reasoning behind why Clem has to be the one to sneak into the main office - the group can see that if Clem gets caught by Kenny then he’d probably not hurt her. He’s too preoccupied with trying to teach her and keep everyone else in line.

The failed escape attempt can still happen, but the target of Kenny’s aggression can be one of the others - Luke maybe, or Nick if he’s still around. But instead of Clem being there for the build-up - she should hear the argument happening from outside the courtyard. By the time she can see what’s happening Kenny is already hitting them. Clem can attempt to intervene but will get attacked by Troy.

This gets Kenny’s attention and he blows up at Troy and leaves the injured parties in the courtyard without any snide comments. Whoever Kenny was punishing also doesn’t get quite as injured because Clem interrupts before things get that bad.

Kenny leaves with a conflicted look on his face that says he doesn’t necessarily regret hurting the people trying to escape, but he does regret Clem seeing it.

Kenny then also cannot try to cut them off while escaping, show him on the roof doing his whole “no, no, NO” thing when he sees Clem walking through the herd with the others. Maybe even have him be responsible for shooting a walker trying to get to her or one of the others. We need to believe that his main priority the whole time was keeping his people alive.

Now we don’t see Kenny again through all of the next episode. We are left unknowing as to what happened to him. Also, Jane doesn’t leave the group after AJ is born (I know this seems unrelated, but give me a moment). Otherwise, this episode can progress in a similar way, and we’ll either have to assume one of the group knows enough to help Rebecca during the birth. Or we can be very charitable and say that Carlos got through unscathed with the help of Kenny taking a walker or two out of the herd - because if Kenny is “Carver”, then he wants that baby to be born safe.

Rebecca still dies when the Russian group shows up - whether this is from medical complications or the Russians themselves. Just to make things make more sense, maybe Carlos dies here too if he’s still around (to make the group even more desperate for help). At the start of the next episode, instead of Jane returning at the last moment to save the group it’s Kenny. Everyone is on edge but he immediately goes into dad mode and checks in with Clem and the baby. This needs to show some extreme concern and potentially even have him in tears. Anything to really solidify that his want to protect his family is by far his largest priority.

Have the group be scared of him, but then he starts pulling out supplies he managed to scrape together before he escaped Howe’s. He has at least some baby formula and medical supplies. Kenny barely acknowledges that the rest of the group exists or that his compound has fallen. It’s all about the baby and Clem.

The group reluctantly allows him to carry the baby in exchange for all of his weapons. Jane strongly disagrees with keeping him around, and lets say Bonnie says that if they want that baby to survive they need to cooperate and use his supplies. Clem can decide who she agrees with more, but regardless it is decided that Kenny can stay with Luke and Mike keeping him on constant watch.

Kenny cannot raise his voice or do anything even mildly aggressive from here on. He behaves like the perfect parent, every word he says is in relation to AJ or Clem and their survival. He asks Clem what she think Rebecca would want to name the baby - he needs to show compassion to whatever she says before they settle for Alvin Junior. This is important as it would tell us that he doesn’t really care if he’s not the child’s father, he just wants someone to care for. Whether this is a genuine action or a calculated one is left up to the player.

Still, he has to be viewed as the absolute best caregiver to AJ, everyone else is useless with the baby. They can’t hold him right, he cries, and Kenny just knows how to calm him down when there’s walkers around. He’s experienced a baby before and had been preparing for the baby’s arrival for a while now.

Instead of Kenny getting aggro at Arvo, Mike is the one trying to talk to him. The betrayal later on comes from Mike and Bonnie putting trust in Arvo and turning tail when it seems they made the wrong choice.

Kenny is allowed to be angry again with whoever is left in the party - so at minimum Jane, but if we feel like making the decision more complicated we can include Luke here too. Kenny is pissed, he wants to hop in that truck and go with Clem and AJ - he couldn’t care less about Jane (and Luke) who refuses to split off alone at this point.

Kenny drives recklessly in pursuit of the people who hurt Clem, maybe has a spinout and keeps going or barrels through obstacles he shouldn’t. When asked to calm down he blows up at everyone else in the car. Seeing how aggressively Kenny is making his decisions triggers Jane (and Luke) in to thinking that Kenny is about to repeat his cycle of behaviour if he sticks around. Before this point they tolerated him being around because it looked like he had calmed down and was trying his best to be good for the children - now they view it as obsession driving his actions. They worry what will happen if his obsession changes, or if Clem/AJ get between him and whatever obsession he is currently focussing on.

The same or similar drama can happen with the rest stop where we decide whether we can forgive Kenny’s behaviour towards others since he has never directed anything specifically at us, or if we think it is better to go with Jane - someone who isn’t as great with kids and is more inclined to be distrustful of others.

I’m hesitant to say the same drama would happen if Luke was there, unless you now want to add the element of Luke also being in the dark of Jane’s plan. Like, maybe depending on your relationship with Luke he can decide whether to talk him in to staying with you (+ Jane or Kenny) in an ending, having a Luke ending where you stay with neither Jane or Kenny... or if you have a poor relationship with Luke he buggers off and you get the alone ending. But all of that might be getting a little too complicated and I’m not sure how in character it would be in this scenario for Luke to just leave Clem and AJ.

In any case, I think maybe all the changes might just make the ending choice somewhat logical even with Kenny being the “Carver” of the season. Like, he needs to still be an antagonist, but we have to question his conviction and intentions. I would still say going with Kenny isn’t really what I would consider a “good” choice here, but it would sow seeds of doubt as to whether Kenny could change for the better with Clem’s presence calming him down. Like, we have to feel like he’s already started to turn that corner after Howe’s fell - then it’s up to us whether or not we think he’ll continue that trend or not.

#twdg talk #twdg s2 #twdg kenny #i really put way too much thought in to this

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mosylufanfic · 4 years

Text

A Year and a Day

This is for the Killervibe Week Theme Arranged Marriage! (oof I love me an arranged marriage fic)

A Year and a Day

The party broke up early, as these things went. Generally handfast parties went into the wee hours of the morning, but the second moon had barely risen by the time people started drifting out of the town hall and back to their houses.

Of course, Cisco thought, looking across the room at his bride, this wasn't your normal handfasting.

Caitlin Snow had taken his hand and recited the vows without any dramatics, but also without any enthusiasm, and when the ceremony was over, she'd dropped it and turned away. She'd spent pretty much the entire party with her crew, and the whole table had deflected any attempts on the part of the colonists to get to know them.

Great.

Usually handfast parties were a welcome for the new colonist, a chance for them to meet and bond with the people who would be their lifelong neighbors if all went well. But this one had made it clear she only intended to stick around long enough to qualify for permanent citizenship, and then she'd be back on her ship and breaking atmo the first chance she got.

Of course, he'd see her again after that. She was half-owner of the ship that loomed in the moonlight on the edge of town. Now that it was owned by a colonial citizen, it was automatically registered to the colony and would be making runs for them. But it would come back only a few times a year, and he had his doubts she'd seek him out.

They just had to get through the handfast year first.

"Thanks for doing this," Barry said at his side.

He grabbed a bun as the tray went past and bit into it with only a hint of savagery. "You asked," he said through the mouthful of bun.

And Barry had asked him, even though he'd handfasted twice already, because Captain Tannhauser had flatly refused the idea of sacrificing her first mate for the entire year, so Cisco would be making some trips on the Snowfall. He was one of the few people in the colony who could be spared for a week or a month at a time as the ship sailed the lightyears between systems.

"Hey, you'll get to see some of the galaxy," Barry said.

Cisco looked out at the window at the ship. "Yeah," he muttered. "In a tin can."

He'd never left the Trappist colonies, never been to the Kepler system or the Teegarden system or even back to the Terran system, which everyone still called home even if they'd never seen it. Yeah, he might have wondered what was out there, but he had a life here. And he liked it.

"It's just a year," Barry said.

"I know," he replied and let out a sigh. "I know."

He left Barry and went walking over to the table where his bride sat. Caitlin Snow, part-owner, first mate, and ship’s medic of the Snowfall, a year older than him, and in the eyes of the Terran government, his wife.

Unless they screwed up and managed to get this marriage nullified before the year was out. Then she'd lose her citizenship and the colony would have to pay not only all the fees and taxes for a new, unattached colonist, but also late fines. And after the past few years, they didn't have that kind of money. Not to mention they'd lose access to the Snowfall and have to start hiring out cargo haulers from the inner systems again, at twice the rate the Snowfall charged.

"Hey," he said, and the crew turned to look at him. He cleared his throat. "Long day, right? You want to, uh, to go get settled in?"

They all stared at him for a moment, and he thought, Shit, I didn't threaten to ravish her! I just want to show her my house! You know? Where she's going to live for the next year?

Then the captain nodded sharply. "We should get started loading her up. The McGee settlement on Trappist-e expects us by tomorrow evening."

"Yep," Cisco said. "Everything's out on the dock, labeled and ready for you."

The captain nodded again, her face rather cold. As if that had been a signal, the crew got to their feet and started filing out. A few of them touched Caitlin's shoulder and one pretty, dark-skinned woman squeezed her hand. Cisco noted that she squeezed back. A friend? A lover? Would she even tell him?

Finally, it was only the captain and Caitlin standing there, face-to-expressionless-face.

"Clear skies, Caitlin," the captain said.

"Smooth landings, Mom," Caitlin said.

The captain nodded one last time and walked out the door, following the rest of her crew. Caitlin reached down and picked up a plain black rucksack, slinging it over her shoulder. "Where are we going?" she said.

"Uh, my house," Cisco said, gesturing vaguely. "That way down the street."

She marched out the door, turning her face away from the crew walking up the street toward the Snowfall.

He fell into step with her. Normally, he'd be pointing things out - that's the botany center, that's the recreation center, there's the greenhouses, there's the library, there’s the clinic where you’ll work . . . but she didn't seem interested. The silence fell between them and until he found himself blurting, "That's your mom?"

"What?"

"Captain Tannhauser. You called her Mom."

"Yes," she said. "You didn't know that?"

He'd missed it somehow. Of course, Barry had made all the arrangements, Cisco just had to show up. "Well, you have different last names."

"Snow was my dad's name."

"Are you two always so - " He broke off.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"Are we always so what?"

"I mean, it's a pretty big day, and she's leaving the planet. Like, now. You're not going to see her for a couple of weeks, easy. But you acted like you were saying goodbye to a co-worker you didn't like that much."

"We're not given to histrionics," she said.

He was so busy gaping at her that he almost missed his own house. "Oh, whoa, whoa, hey! This is me. Right here. My house."

She swiveled and backtracked the couple of steps she'd taken past his front door. He tapped the button and the door swished open. He spread his arms. "Home sweet home."

She stepped inside and looked around.

It wasn't a big house. It wasn't like the ones he read about in old books from Earth, or the year-old holomovies they got out here. Those houses with glimmering smartglass walls and floating beds, 'bot maids and house computers that anticipated your every need. But it was his. He'd painted the walls, built the furniture, woven the rugs on the floors.

But she'd been so many places. Seen so much. And she was looking around his house without any expression whatsoever.

"So it's - so this is the front room," he said. "Couch, there, very comfy for afternoon naps. That wall over there is where I project stuff. Holos and files and whatever." He reached in his pocket and tossed his comm on the glass-covered table. "This is the charging table. Hooked up to the solars on the roof but it's got a good battery. Kitchen right over there. My chiller. Not big, I know, but I get a lot of fresh ingredients, seasonal, so I don't need much storage. Uh. You like to cook?"

She blinked. Said, "I don't know how."

She didn't know how to cook?

"Okay," he said. "Well." He turned away from the kitchen. "So here are the other rooms. My lab, first, here." He patted the first door on the right.

"Your lab?"

"I build things. It's kind of - it's my deal. I build things. It's a mess right now so I'm not going to give you the tour. You can check it out later if you want, I'm not precious. Just don't mess with anything or I'll have to go all Bluebeard on you."

She looked at him blankly.

"It's this story - okay. Never mind." Clearly she didn't share his taste for antiquated Terran mythology. "Okay, so, bathroom here. I cleared off a shelf for you to put your - " He eyed her rucksack. Did she have anything in it? "- your, you know, bathroom stuff."

She ignored the shelf in favor of staring at the shower stall. Maybe it was too small for her. He cleared his throat. "This time of year we get more hot water because the pipes are all laid along the roofs and they get the sun on the way in. But during the rainy season, we're all limited to ten minutes because otherwise it's cold showers for half the town."

She nodded.

"Right," he said. "Okay, so to continue your tour - " He led the way out of the bathroom and to the door directly across the hall. He hit the button. "This one here is my bedroom. Tada."

She walked in, setting her pack on the bed.

"Whoa! Hey, what are you doing?"

"Getting unpacked," she said. She frowned at the bed and unzipped her bag.

"No! No. Oh my god. You're not sleeping here."

She turned her frown on him. "You said it was your bedroom."

"Yeah, mine! Not yours. You don't have to share with me." He stepped back and pointed at the last door. "There. That's your room. There."

She picked up her rucksack again, following him to the door as he opened it for her. She didn't make any move to go in. "This is where I'll sleep?"

"Yeah. It's all ready for you, sheets on the bed and everything." He gestured as he spoke. "Uh, you got your charging table here, some shelves, right, put whatever you want. The closet, obviously, hah. The window opens if you like to sleep with some night air. I oiled the latches."

The room was the same size as his lab and his own bedroom. But it looked plain and small, suddenly.

"You can do whatever you want to it while you're here," he said quickly. “Paint, pictures - Allegra got really into weaving, and like textiles? She had literal tapestries up. It was wild. She took them all with her when she moved out."

"Who's Allegra?"

"My last handfast. You might have met her tonight."

"You've been married before?"

"It's not a marriage," he said. "It's a handfast. This isn't forever." He stepped back. "I'll let you get settled in."

This house was huge.

Caitlin set her rucksack in the center of the bed and stared at it for a moment. Then she shifted it to the end of the bed and sat. She let out a squeak as springs creaked and the mattress sagged under her. Unprepared, she almost brained herself on the wall before springing back up.

There was no storage under the bed, or above the bed. Not like her snug berth on the Snowfall. Just shelves and hooks. Clearly everything was just supposed to sit out in the open. Loose. Not secured at all.

She desperately wanted cabinets, doors to swing shut and latch. Some way to fold the furniture up into the walls. If you had things just out like this, they'd all go flying if you had bank hard to avoid an asteroid. If there was a rough re-entry, you could come back and everything you owned could be all over the floor if you hadn't secured it properly.

No asteroids, no re-entries. She was on land. Nothing was going anywhere.

She nudged the table next to the bed with her foot, and it scooted across the floor.

It wasn't even bolted down.

A comm, he said. You can charge your comm here.

She didn't have one. She'd never needed one. The Snowfall had a PA system. You just found the nearest terminal and called out for whoever you needed. They would come find you. It never took more than ten minutes, even if they were on the other end of the ship. Sometimes she carried one of the ships' comms when they'd made planetside and she was out in the port city to shop for supplies or explore. But it wasn't hers.

She felt lost, in freefall. She'd lived her whole life on that ship. Slept every night, after she could sleep on her own, in the berth tucked up against the engines, their low basso hum the only lullaby she'd ever needed.

He'd asked if she liked to cook and it was as if her brain shorted out. She enjoyed preparing the ship's meals, when her turn came up on the rota, but it was all dehydrated, freeze-dried, powdered items that she put together, from recipes that had been meticulously planned.

He'd talked about fresh ingredients. She didn't know how to cook with those. Fresh fruits and vegetables were a rare treat, reserved for Rosh Hashanah or when they got a bonus for bringing the cargo in early. And actual meat like they'd had on the tables at the party? Not reconstituted protein, but honest-to-Terra meat? The idea of cooking with that struck terror into her heart.

She must have looked like a total rube, gaping at the water shower. She'd seen water showers in movies. Read about them in books. But water was too heavy to carry more than what they needed for drinking or rehydration. She'd used sonics all her life. She couldn't picture getting clean by pouring water all over herself.

She went over to the window and flattened her hands against the glass. There was a latch. It opened, Cisco had said. Oh, no, no, no. Having a window was going to be bad enough, all that land out there, so wide open she thought she might float away through it. No, she wouldn't be opening this window at night. Or possibly ever.

There was a low, familiar rumble, and Caitlin pressed her hands hard to the glass. The Snowfall rose above the houses, her bow already tilting up. Her stern glowed with the blaze of the engines.

Caitlin had seen her like this before, times when the port authority made them change docks. But she was always lifting up and coming down again a little ways away, and Caitlin could walk over and join her again. Mostly, she was onboard, feeling the pressure of G's mounting, pushing her into her seat in the cockpit as they lifted up into the blue sky and watched it turn black and fill with stars as they broke atmo.

It seemed to hover for a moment, and then it lifted away, pushing up into the atmosphere, getting smaller and smaller.

Gone.

Something bubbled up in her throat, and she pressed her hands to her mouth. Instead of vomit, tears poured down over her hands as she watched her ship, her home, her family disappear.

Don't be stupid, she told herself fiercely. Don't be such a child. You knew this would happen. They'll be back. You'll see her again.

But the tears wouldn't stop.

Over the hiccuping gasps of her breath, she heard a light knock. She shook her head but couldn't make herself say anything.

"Caitlin?" he called. "Everything okay?"

Go away, she thought, but an especially loud hiccup of a sob escaped instead.

The door swished and his footsteps echoed on the floorboards. Not the familiar thunk-thunk of boots on a deck, but a sound of bare feet on wood. "Caitlin?"

She turned her face to the window. "I'm not crying."

"Sure," he said. "That's why there aren't tears all over your face."

She dragged her sleeve over her face. "Please go away."

"God," he said. "You're acting like fucking Persephone kidnapped by Hades."

"Who?"

"It's this old - you know what, never mind. I mean, you're acting like this is the end of the world. It's not that bad here, okay? I mean, I like it."

Startled, she lifted her head. Tears still dripped off her chin.

He stood in the middle of her room, arms crossed, a scowl on his face. "So we're not a full planet yet, we don't have cities or operas or - I don't know, whatever it is you're used to. But it's nice here! You see those mountains? I fucking love those mountains, okay? Prettiest place in the galaxy and you can quote me on that. The ocean's an hour away by speeder and in a month or two it'll be warm enough to go swimming and sailing. The people are great. We have an ice cream parlor! We make ice cream now. There's, there's - it's not that bad, all right?"

She stared at him. "It's not about being here," she said. "It's about not being there." She pointed up to the star-filled sky that had swallowed her ship. "It's about my ship flying away and I'm not on it." The tears started up again and she turned her face away.

He was silent for so long she thought he'd left. But then the soft scuff of footsteps warned that he was coming closer, and two strong arms came around her. "Oh my god," he muttered. "Oh my god, I'm such a jerk. I'm sorry. Shhh. You're okay. You're okay. Let it out. You'll feel better."

She never cried in front of people. She hated it. But for some reason, she dropped her head to his shoulder and sobbed as he stroked her hair, crooning softly.

Her head ached and her face felt sticky by the time she'd cried herself out.

"Better?" he said, taking her shoulders and looking her in the face.

He'd been right. She nodded, wiping her face on her sleeve again.

He let out his breath. "I'm sorry I was such an asshole right now. I thought you were crying because you hated it here."

"Your planet's okay," she said. "It looks nice. It wasn't that."

He fished in his pocket and offered her a handkerchief. She blew her nose and mopped her face, then tried to give it back.

"No," he said blandly, "you can keep it. That's okay. I've got others."

She managed a smile and tucked it in her pocket. "I'm sorry," she said. "It's just - the Snowfall left. And I was here. And I couldn't - "

"Yeah," he said, with a depth of understanding in his voice. "You're homesick, aren't you?"

She felt her lip wobble again, dangerously. "I've never been off my ship," she said.

"Never?"

She waved her hand impatiently. "I've walked on land," she said. "I'm not that much of a space baby. I just - even if I was at a hotel or something, I always knew she was close, and I was going back soon. But she's gone."

He reached out and undid the latch, swinging the window open. He leaned on the sill, looking out at the stars. "How old were you when you started flying?"

"Neonatal," she said, looking at the window, all open to the elements. Cool air washed around them, smelling sweet and green.

It took him a moment. "You were born on that ship?"

"My dad was the ship's medic. My mom was the first mate. They fell in love. They bought out the last captain when I was five and renamed her.” She edged closer to the window, cautiously. She failed to fall out. “When my dad died a few years ago, I inherited his shares. I know it looks like a tin can to you, but to me, it's home."

He winced and looked out at the stars. "Why did you agree to this?"

She studied his position and copied it, bracing her elbows on the sill next to him and propped her chin in her hand. He felt sturdy and warm at her side. If all that openness out there tried to swallow her, he would catch her. "Do you know how docking fees work?"

"Huh? No . . . "

"Every time we make planetfall, we pay a fee to the port authority. They give discounts based on the owners' citizenship. But nomads pay full price. Always. Everywhere."

"Nomads?"

"Ships whose owners have no citizenship. We used to be registered to the Starlabs station off Mars, but - "

"Yeah, we heard about that disaster, even out here. Why didn't you apply for refugee status on some nice planet?"

"We would have had to stay wherever we applied. We couldn't have flown. So we flew as nomads. But that wasn't working."

"So you handfasted with me to avoid the taxes?"

She groaned. Why had she expected a rockfoot to understand any of this? A colonial rockfoot, too; everybody knew what they were like. "We have to figure those fees in anytime we bid for a job, and nomads bid for all our jobs. If we bid too high, we don't get the job, of course not. But if we bid too low, we don't make a profit."

"And that would be terrible."

"Don't give your utopian colonial attitude. We need to buy fuel and supplies. We need to pay the crew a fair wage. We need to perform maintenance so we pass annual inspections or guess what? It's another fee. My mom and I aren't some greedy fatcat ship owners like you see in the holos, cackling over our piles of money. We're in the red. All the way down. Drowning in red."

He took that in. "So you - could you lose the ship?"

"If we'd had another month like the last six, we would've."

He was quiet for a moment. "So that's why you wanted citizenship. And the cargo runs that Barry was guaranteeing."

Caitlin sighed, remembering her own indignation at that list of runs, half of which were colony-to-colony in the Trappist system. Not to mention the stipulation that they'd carry any colonist where they needed to go. We're not planet-hoppers, she'd snarled to her mother. And we're not a passenger ship!

Her mother had snapped back, For the next year, we'll do it with a smile, because those runs are a sure thing.

She said, "Colonial ships pay the lowest fees anywhere, and they don't pay any fees between colonies in the same system.. But we barely had the spare change to pay our crew for this last run. We couldn't buy into a colony."

"Most people can't," he said. "And you know, we pay a lot of money to the inner systems for unattached colonists, too. That's why almost everybody who was born here has done at least a couple of handfasts to bring new blood in. We couldn't afford to expand, otherwise."

She turned her head to look at him. "How many people have you married so they could come here?"

"Two," he said. "Chester Runk and Allegra Garcia. You'll see them around town. And again, it's not a marriage. Marriage is . . . it's different. It's forever. Handfasting is just one year. And people here aren't really going to treat us like a married couple. We're more like roommates. Or a mentorship."

"Is that why you didn't want me in your bedroom?" She'd felt strangely insulted by that. She wasn't a virginal princess or anything. She'd had port lovers, and one short-timer on the ship who'd spent most of his off-time in her bunk in between Proxima Centauri-B and Teegarden's-C. "You're not allowed to sleep with your handfast?"

He laughed and - blushed? It was hard to tell in the moonlight. 0"No, nothing like that. A lot of handfasts sleep together during their year, and there's a handfast baby every now and then. It's just - I didn't want you to feel like it was required."

"Did you sleep with your other handfasts?"

"Ah - " He scratched his eyebrow. "With Chester. But Allegra was more like my little sister. I am attracted to women, but I wasn't into her like that."

Hmmmm. He'd been very quick to make that clear, hadn't he?

He reached out and brushed her hair out of her eyes. She felt herself go still, holding his gaze. "Look," he said in a low voice. "This is new and strange for both of us. Did you know I've never been off this planet?"

She felt her eyes widen. "Never?"

He shook his head. "Not even once. You want the truth, I'm kind of terrified of going into space."

"Don't be. It's beautiful. Wait until you see it."

He smiled at her and it was a completely different smile than the ones he'd aimed her way all day. Those had been bright and shiny, pasted on. This one seemed to come from all the way inside him, beaming out at her like sunlight. "Okay," he said. "You can show me. But for the next year, the longest we can be apart is seventy-one hours.”

She nodded. She’d read the contract closely. If they hit seventy-two, the Terran government would nullify the contract. “I know. I’d lose my citizenship.”

“And then you lose your ship and the colony loses a shit-ton of money we can't afford. It's disastrous for both of us. All of us, if you think about it. We're in this together. So let's try to do this together, okay?"

A ship couldn't fly if the crew was all at cross-purposes. She nodded. "Okay. Together."

He straightened up. "Get some sleep, okay? You're getting the grand tour of the town tomorrow, and we're totally having ice cream."

It made her smile. "I'll hold to you that."

He smiled back and started for the door.

Something prompted her to call out, "Cisco?"

He paused. "Mmm?"

"You said that marriages were different than handfasts."

"Yeah," he said. "Handfasts are about convenience, and growing the community. Marriages are about love. Partnership. They're forever."

"Does a handfast ever turn into a marriage?"

"It's happened," he said. "Why do you ask?"

She shrugged and turned away from him to close the window. "I was just curious."

FINIS

#Cisco Ramon #Caitlin Snow #killervibe #killervibeweek20 #mosylufanfic lives up to her damn name #fanfiction #arranged marriage AU #IN SPAAAACE #the flash

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stevemoffett · 4 years

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A Hard Nap, The Fall of Math, The Star Wars Holiday Special, Disco Point, and There You Are

In January last year, I noticed a sign in myself of the same cancer my dad had back in 2008. Unlike the usual symptoms that set off my paranoia, it wasn’t some vague feeling, it wasn’t an intermittent pain, and it wasn’t a general ill feeling—it was clear and unambiguous, out of the ordinary and one of those symptoms that, if you google it, is under the list of “call your doctor if you experience any of the following.”

It was also nonspecific: this symptom could mean cancer, but it could also mean about five other cancer-unrelated conditions. I called for an appointment that morning with my general practitioner, who said that the earliest available date was about two weeks later.

I knew that the only way my fear would be effectively relieved was with the one sure-fire diagnostic tool for this type of cancer, one that’s recommended for everyone, but not until about age 50: a colonoscopy.

For the two weeks before my GP appointment, I mentally prepared for death. For the record, I do this every time I interpret my body’s signals as cancerous, but the mental preparation usually stops after a few days when the symptom either goes away or when a clear alternative cause presents itself. This time, I didn’t get that kind of relief and, in fact, the symptom repeated more than once between setting the appointment and going to it. Each time, it was like an intrusive thought come to life: you’re going to die. You’re going to go through surgery and chemotherapy like Dad and you’re either going to die early, or find out like he did that the cure is worse than the disease, or maybe you’ll hang on just long enough to experience both.

Winter mornings in Texas can sometimes be surprisingly cold. While stepping out the door on a midsummer morning is like walking into someone’s hot exhale, as you might expect, a 33-degree morning is more like a slap in the face. When I packed everything I figured I’d need to move here a couple of years ago, I threw away my winter coat, thinking, I won’t be needing this anymore. (The coat was also about ten years old at that point.)

My first winter in Texas, I layered a bunch of shirts underneath a light jacket and wore a scarf on freezing days. The second winter, I decided that I’d had enough of being cold. After all, I rationalized, here in Texas it was monetarily possible to never have to feel cold again if you really don’t want to. So I bought the warmest coat I could find, an unstylish, bulky parka made by Caterpillar, the company that makes construction vehicles. No more layering, no more checking the weather before leaving in the morning. I could just put this coat on and not worry about it.

But now, under the shadow of a cancer scare these January mornings, wearing the big coat made me feel less like I was smarter than the weather and more like I was trying to smuggle a terminal disease wherever I went. Under my coat, tie, button-down shirt, undershirt, skin, fat, and muscle, something was growing silently in the dark. While maybe it had slipped up and showed some of its handiwork to me, it was already too late to do much about it now.

Since it has affected my life several times before, and since it is such an exquisite mixture of dread and uncertainty, cancer is one of my mind’s biggest bogeymen. I feel personally insulted by the idea of it. I treat you so well, body—why would you betray me? Was I not nice enough? Is this poetic justice for my vanity? Is it, as the old anecdotal saying goes, due to my worrying?

Not only did I feel like I was smuggling cancer under the big coat, I was also warming it up by drinking my coffee. I was feeding it directly when I ate something too sugary. And I was probably even giving it an evil sense of satisfaction when I got stressed out about it. If I was able to keep my mind off it by working in the lab, mixing and pipetting, using kits, and doing arithmetic in my head, it would come crashing back into focus when I was pulling my gloves off to wash my hands.

I pulled up incognito mode on my phone’s browser during my breaks, googling “5-year survival rate colon cancer age 35.” “Cancer staging colon prognosis.” “Colon cancer smoking.” “Colon cancer smoke one pack in college.” “Colon cancer smoke one pack 18 years ago.” “Colon cancer smoke one pack after seeing Luke Wilson smoking in The Royal Tenenbaums.”

At home, I suddenly started noticing the expiration dates on my nonperishables. What will last longer, I thought, the freshness of this baking soda, or me.

I knew I wasn’t going to be comforted by the first GP visit. After all, they’re usually the first stop to a specialist, unless you have a PPO insurance plan, which I don’t. The doctor listened to my symptoms and family history. “Well,” he said, “Given your history, it’s a good idea to refer you to a GI. But, you seem like you lead a healthy lifestyle otherwise, with none of the other risk factors, so we’ll see what he says.”

I made the GI appointment and had to wait two more weeks for it, with the same circular worrying and googling. At the GI appointment, I sat in the waiting room, the youngest patient there by a few decades, and I felt a little bit ridiculous. On the other hand, I’d also just read a harrowing story about a woman in her late 20s who had colon cancer and died from it. That was a real person, I thought, who at the first phase of it probably went through all the same feelings I was now, the I’m-being-ridiculous and is-this-worth-the-time-and-vacation-days, all the way up until her diagnosis. Not just because I was scared, I felt a pang of sympathy. A disease of the old picking a victim from the young is terrible luck.

And I figured, if it could be her, it could be anyone. But most of all, it could be me.

That last bit, I think, is one of—one of—my greatest flaws, the vanity of always thinking that the worst things will happen to you, in spite of the odds. It’s a way of making yourself feel special, but it has no upside. You don’t feel confidence with this type of special-feeling. In fact, you’re more likely to be timid and self-centered, and you just come across as weird to the outside observer. They might think, There’s only a few steps between that guy and Howard Hughes. Somewhere, deep in your mind, they think: Wires are crossed.

Shortly before I went in, another patient arrived, a man around my age or maybe younger who, despite a dozen or so free seats, declined to sit down. My name was called, and I passed a sign on the way to the back that said, “If you have recently traveled to China and have a fever you must let our staff know.”

This doctor’s exam rooms had floor-to-ceiling windows, the kind you’d see in a movie, instead of the usual dull and bulby, off-white plastic exam room interior. A Spanish medical student came in to give a pre-appointment questionnaire and to take my vitals. He asked, in much better English than I could have mustered in Spanish, “So. There is some blood in they crep?”

When he came in, the GI repeated what my GP had said, and since he was also the person who would be performing a colonoscopy, he said I should set an appointment for one with him. I managed to get a date three weeks later.

From other people’s stories, I knew two things about colonoscopies: they are no fun, especially the night before, but the general anesthesia on the day of the procedure, on the other hand, is fun. I was nervous enough on the day before that I actually asked someone at the pharmacy for help finding the items I was looking for: Polyethylene Glycol (or PEG, which we use all the time for lab experiments, and which I was going to have to drink 2 liters of), Gatorade, and laxative pills. I had to take about 800% of their recommended dosages, each.

The bodily effect of those chemicals was dramatic, and I will spare the details. The worst parts of it, I found, were the generally exhausting physical toll it took, and the feeling by the end that I had some kind of dangerous sodium imbalance: I was sweating between my fingers, for example, but the rest of me felt as dry as paper. At 10PM, I was too tired to do anything, but too nervous to sleep for more than a few hours.

One smaller worry that I felt the next morning, as I took a selfie in my hospital gown to send to a friend back home, making a backward peace sign to show off the IV sticking into my hand and also how brave I was being, was that I might just die right there on the table from the general anesthesia. Part of my grad school research was on Propofol, the most-used general anesthesia nowadays (which, incidentally, also killed Michael Jackson). This was the same drug I was to be given.

I’d never been fully put under anesthesia before. It was astronomically improbable that I’d have an adverse reaction to it and die (and by the way, Michael Jackson abused it, using it far outside of medical praxis—if you’re afraid to get a colonoscopy yourself, don’t be, it could save your life), but keep in mind what I said about my vanity.

“Hey, I’m really scared,” I told the anesthesiologist. He said something, muffled by his mask, that sounded like, “It’ll be all right.” Then he busied himself with a syringe, connecting it to my IV. He depressed it about a third of the way. “This should help you,” he said.

The last thing I said was, “Whoa…I feel it.”

After what felt like a hard, late-afternoon nap, I said, “Hello?”

My head was wrapped with something. When I touched my face, I could feel that there were cotton pads underneath the wrapping, holding my eyes shut. I guess that at some point either mid-procedure or after, my eyes had opened, unseeing, and they’d done this to keep them from drying out. “Hang on, sir,” I heard a nurse say, and my head was unwrapped.

“It’s over?” I asked.

“You’re all done,” he said.

“Gimme a minute, please,” I said, my South Jersey accent peeking out. “I feel a little weird.”

Eventually, I sat up. Two of the nurses helped me stand, and I pumped my arms like I was lifting light, invisible dumbbells. As I put my glasses on and looked around, I thought that they all seemed like they were fighting to not smirk. What did I say while I was blacked out? I wondered, with a twinge of panic, before deciding that it would be worthless to speculate. It could have been anything. There are literally millions of possibilities. Again—it would be worthless to speculate, I told myself, firmly.

An Uber driver, I had been told by hospital staff during a consultation, was not a legally strong enough party to take responsibility for me at discharge. Someone I knew would have to escort me to my apartment. Also, they said, they really would do that thing where you’re back in your own clothes, and they push you to the exit in a wheelchair when you’re all finished. After my procedure, my co-worker stood waiting in the discharge zone with his car as an orderly wheeled me out of the hospital exit. I stood up from the wheelchair and got into the passenger seat of his car, for some reason more aware than usual of the heat coming from the vent and the smell of the car’s leather upholstery. “I still feel weird from the anesthesia,” I said to my friend.

“I’ll bet you do,” he replied.

It was about lunch time, and I had taken the rest of the day off from work. When I got home, I ordered a pizza and lay on my bed. I ate the pizza and watched Star Wars. I had not felt any euphoria when I woke up, I thought hollowly. And my first solid meal in almost forty hours tasted unremarkable. I was still groggy, but not in a pleasant way. I felt cheated.

The hospital staff had put a manilla envelope into my hands as I left. It contained sheets of images the doctor had taken during the procedure. Once lucid, I leafed through them and compared the thumbnail-sized images on printer paper with googled images of cancerous tumors viewed through a colonoscope, trying to diagnose myself.

A couple of the images on the papers had shapes that looked weird, with what seemed like variations in the texture or color of my colon wall that to me, at least, appeared one hundred percent fatal. It was another two weeks before I had a follow-up appointment to go over them with the surgeon.

“See this?” The GI said, two weeks later, pointing to one of the images that had seemed completely normal to me, unlike other ones I had thought were much more scary and unusual-looking. “That’s a low-risk polyp. Of course, now it’s a no-risk polyp, ‘cause it’s gone.”

This medical episode ended only three or so weeks before the whole world changed, but I was all the more grateful for that. If I’d waited to be checked out, then I would have been weighing whether it was worth getting tested against the possibility of being infected with COVID.

The doctor recommended that I get a colonoscopy every five years from now on, but added, “If you want, you can go earlier than that.” I told him thanks, but once every five years sounded fine.

I wrote about the first seven weeks of the pandemic in my last entry. After that, May and June passed in the same way as March and April had. I went back to work in mid-June for two weeks before the first summer COVID spike closed things back up. I continued to play Quake, and I continued to fret about my family.

I had a job interview for a position in northern Maryland in April. I didn’t get it, but I had a good idea why I’d been turned down: the position wanted people with proven math skills. Which makes sense—for the last few years I’d said repeatedly that I wanted to have a job that involves less lab work and more data analysis. This was one of those jobs.

My graduate program gave me a degree in “Computational and Integrative Biology.” Sometimes I shorten it to “Integrative Biology,” or “Computational Biology,” but I always feel sort of dishonest when I tell people my degree. (Apparently this feeling is common among grad students). My own reason for feeling dishonest was because, in any other college, the work I was doing would probably just fall under normal old “Biology.” While it was true I had done course work that reflected “Computational and Integrative” Biology, they were courses taught in a remedial way.

When I say remedial, I mean that they were courses designed to get biologists up to speed on how to do higher-level data analyses with their experiments. For instance, in my “Biomath” course, we went over ordinary differential equations and graph theory. Those are both intermediate-level math types, ones you’d encounter in the later part of an undergraduate math degree program. Throughout that course, there was a lot of handwaving whenever I asked questions.

“Eh…,” the professor might have responded to something I had asked, “that requires a lot of background explanation we don’t need right now to handle the problem here. Just take it as a given for what we’re working on.”

In grad school, it’s common to be well-versed in only your narrow little research tunnel that leads outward to the edge of “known” biology. But a few times each month, several of us students would head to the bar down at the city’s waterfront after work to talk about our research. It usually began with a complaint—“This is the third time this kit wouldn’t work this week and it takes twelve fucking hours to run it each time,”—but to give us a more context for their problem, whoever was griping would have to go back and start at the beginning, recounting all the steps leading to their experiment’s failure.

This was a useful exercise, since a pair of new eyes on your work meant that at least you could get feedback on how to better relate the subject matter when you talked to a non-science audience, and at most, you might get a real solution for the problem you were bumping up against.

But I would sometimes get privately upset, as I sipped my beer and glanced out the window at the river, when a math-centered Computational and Integrative Biology student would start talking about their research. As someone who feels an unpleasant, TV static-like anxiety in my chest the moment I see letters in italics, or one of those big, orphan sorority sigmas following an equal sign during a math seminar, this upset feeling was directed at myself. Because, as a result of my insecurity, I would start listening to the beginning of the math student’s explanation of their research, trip over the first unfamiliar term I heard, lose the thread of what they were talking about, give up, and zone out. The math students, overall, just seemed light years ahead of me.

A critical vocabulary word that I began to mentally tie to the situation—slumming, these math types were slumming when talking to us biologists—was the grain of sand to my insecurity’s oyster. By the time I got my diploma a few years later, it had developed into a little pearl; now I had the feeling that I was, relative to those who’d come from a math background, a fake computational biologist.

Unhelpfully, the people in charge of hiring for the jobs I want nowadays seemed to agree. All the job listings I was interested in applying for made me feel the same panic that advanced math symbols on powerpoint slides did. The subjects they wanted their applicants to have experience in—machine learning, deep learning, regression analyses—were all frightening, impregnable terms, reminding me either of some kind of giant machine made up of endless tubes and valves, all spitting dangerously hot steam, or of a highly secure, underground bomb shelter that requires fingerprints or eyeball scans to get into. I knew from my previous learning experiences that if I didn’t understand the fundamentals and learned only the higher-level, applied stuff, it was just going to make me feel unworthy, and I’d forget it at once.

But summer had come—it was midsummer now, in fact. The pandemic wasn’t going anywhere, so what was I going to do if I didn’t start learning something? I ended up registering for three classes at a community college back home, which offered their fall semester online. For two thousand dollars, including textbooks, I got a spot in Introductory Statistics, Linear Algebra, and Calculus III.

Calculus III was a risk. I’d taken Calc I and II in undergrad, now about seventeen years ago, and I had earned Bs back then. I didn’t remember much of the material from either class. I’d tried watching Khan Academy videos at various points in the meantime, but could never stick with it. I’d watch several videos in a row, feel like I understood things, try a practice problem, get it wrong, and forget about it after a day or two. But now, I had put actual money into it and, in a few months, a grade would be spit back out, so this time I had real skin in the game.

But I had misgivings that I was too old to learn new stuff, or that I would be one of those students I remember when I was in undergrad, the older students who would grind class to a halt with their endless questions. Or maybe I would get worse grades than I had in undergrad, despite taking things more seriously now.

Two of the classes were taught asynchronously, meaning each lecture was a video that you could pause or replay at your leisure, and all tests were take-home, but the other class, Statistics, was done over Zoom. You might think a Zoom class could be a better way to learn—clarifying questions can be asked immediately, for instance—but for me, at least, it was not. Instead of focusing on the material being taught, the whole time I’d be thinking, “They can see me. Everyone here can see me. I can see me, and I have a dumbass expression on my face. Can they tell that I have a bedsheet instead of a curtain over my window blinds?”

My mind wandered during class just as much as it had while sitting in a lecture hall when I was eighteen, but now, these classes were held later at night, after I’d been working all day and had eaten dinner. As a result of this, and the fact that I find Statistics to be boring when it’s taught as a series of don’t-worry-about-how-we-derived-it formulas to plug numbers into, I did the worst in Statistics.

But Calc and Linear Algebra were more interesting. When I watched the class videos, I got familiar with the disembodied voices of the teachers, who each seemed to be trying to do an impression of Khan Academy videos. My Calc teacher, with his strong Vietnamese accent, would punctuate every few lines of derivation or proof with, “So what does that mean then?” Every time—new topic, new chapter, new problem, exactly the same tone of voice: “So what does that mean then?”

Eventually, in my head, his cadence merged with the tones of Woody Woodpecker’s laugh, and I began saying it to myself as I did chores around my apartment. “So what does that mean, then?” I’d half-sing at my garbage can liner as I cinched it shut. “So what does that mean, then?” I’d say to a wrinkled button-down shirt, enjoying the pepper shaker-y smell of my iron when it’s turned up to its hottest setting. “So what does that mean, then?” I’d say to the window blinds, when considering whether I should replace the bedsheet I’d hung there with an actual curtain, before answering myself that No, this apartment is too temporary for something as tony as curtains.

Sometimes I’d say it three times in a row, like Woody Woodpecker himself:

“So what does that mean, then?”

I kept a Google Sheet of how much time I spent doing work for each class, and found that I averaged about 20 hours a week total. That broke down to approximately an hour and a half each weekday, and on Saturday and Sunday I would go for about six or seven hours each. I’d get up at 7:30 those weekend mornings and brew a pot of coffee, then sit taking notes and working through every part of each assigned homework, not moving on from a problem until I understood everything about it.

I think that those Saturday and Sunday mornings may have been the happiest I felt during the year 2020. In the middle of a difficult Calc problem, not having the answer yet but certain I was on the right track, while also buzzing on caffeine, as a beam of early horizontal sunlight hit my kitchen backsplash and filled the apartment with more brightness than all my lightbulbs put together, I for once did not feel worried. I was unworried about my parents, my sisters, my brother, my sister-in-law, my niece and nephew, and all the pets. Unworried about COVID, or cancer, or the work stresses of the week. Unworried about getting older, about being alone still, or about enjoying being alone too much; unworried about letting all of this time go by and still feeling like real life hasn’t started; unworried about my dad having another stroke, or about my mom just suddenly up and dying out of nowhere, or cancer, or whether my hairline is changing, or the fact that my heart has been skipping a beat sometimes lately, or whether my friends who I speak to on the phone were getting sick of me, or whether I am too graphic when I describe symptoms I am afraid mean I might have cancer, or whether my apartment neighbors will keep me up with their noise again tonight, or whether the tooth sensitivity I feel drinking cold water lately means I need to risk a dentist visit during a pandemic, or whether I will be able to have healthier boundaries with my parents whenever I return to the northeast, or whether I’ll ever feel truly satisfied and content, or whether I’ll ever feel actual joy some day, or whether my hang-ups, and anxieties, and fears, and regrets about my personal and professional choices will end up all ganging up on me at once, or, of course, whether at any given moment, I might have cancer.

My attitude going into the classes was that I would disregard whatever grades I got and simply aim for as much comprehension as possible. But about halfway through the semester, I lost my nerve and began to think of my grades as a direct indicator of my level of understanding. So I started fretting about my grades, and on days of Calc III exams during the second half of the semester, I took vacation time so I could spend the whole day working on them.

It got a little crazy toward the end, but finally, it was over, and I managed to get all As. That made me happy, even if I knew that that kind of satisfaction is a bit immature. But I felt like I was making up for some of the sins I had committed as a college student, my laziness and my previous lack of appreciation for education finally, in a small way, absolved.

I spent Christmas here in Texas. When I think back on Christmases from previous years I find that I can remember the past two years very well because I flew home and packed a lot of family and friend time into a few short days. Before 2018, though, I can’t remember any specific Christmas well enough to recount anything that happened on the day.

But when I was a little kid, I remembered each Christmas perfectly, mainly due to the gifts I got and the room where we put the Christmas tree—where “Christmas happened”: in 1990, it was in the back room and we got a magic set, and also my brother pretended to faint when he saw he’d gotten Reebok Pumps. In 1991, it was in the family room, and my brother and I got the Nintendo game “Base Wars.” In 1992, it was in the living room and we got a Sega Genesis along with the game “Sonic 2.” In 1993, it was in the family room again, and I got a Hot Wheels Key Force car, and my brother got the Genesis game “Hard Ball 3 With Al Michaels.”

In 1994, my grandfather died a few weeks before Christmas, and we got a Sega CD. That was the year I became aware that the Christmas spirit was vulnerable to external forces, one’s first experience with death being the most offensive of those forces, and after a few months I also became aware that a hot new gaming console like the Sega CD could “fail,” slipping into obscurity with a small and unremarkable library of games. As a result, the indestructible-seeming sheen of Christmas fell away, leaving behind a better idea of what Christmas really is: a bare, thin-glassed lightbulb plugged into the middle of the year’s darkest period. After 1994, I can’t really remember what happened each Christmas.

This past Christmas will always be memorable, though, because I spent Christmas Eve and Christmas Day pretty much doing one of three things: playing Quake (yes, that hobby still refuses to die), watching something Star Wars-related, or video chatting with my family. At any time when I wasn’t speaking to family, I had Christmas music playing in the background, including while Star Wars was on. I turned the heat up in my apartment to 75 degrees and enjoyed how money-wastingly hot it was getting, until my nose started to bleed from the dry air.

I want to take this opportunity to say that I much prefer Christmas Eve to Christmas Day. Christmas Eve is generally all anticipation and guest arrivals, buoying the mood long into the falling night. From the viewpoint of Christmas Eve, any miracle might happen the following morning. But then after a late, over-buttered breakfast on Christmas Day, there’s nothing much else to do except think about cleaning up and regret how much you’ve eaten. The “anything could happen” feeling is now all gone, collapsed from a dazzling infinity’s worth of possibilities down to one homely outcome.

I hadn’t put up any decorations for my apartment, unless the Christmas music can be considered a decoration. This ended up being a good thing, though, since I didn’t have to take anything down once the holiday was over.

I started taking walks pretty early in the pandemic, my first walk happening after about one week of lockdown. That day there was a surprisingly large amount of people also walking. We all stayed far away from one another, since none of us were wearing masks—the width of even a modest suburban Texas street is still impressively wide, so there was no safety issue. I always took the initiative to be the one who crossed the street if I saw someone, exaggeratedly swinging my arms as I crossed so the person walking toward me could see my intentions even from far away. I did this because I figured it would be harder for the dog-walkers to wrangle their dog across the street and get out of my way, and the people without dogs were either old or were walking in a group.

In the beginning I was walking maybe twice a week, which then became three times, which became five. It held at five times a week during the fall semester because I’d have to be on Zoom from 6:30-8:30 PM Tuesdays and Thursdays, which took up the whole span of time in which I would usually walk. Nowadays, no longer taking classes, I walk every night.

For a while, I tried to get home before sunset, because I’m afraid of being hit by a car in the dark. After the clocks shifted back, I had to choose between walking earlier, during rush hour when everyone was arriving back at their houses from work, or waiting to walk until after the sun has set. I ended up buying one of those reflective construction worker’s vests for $8 on Amazon and waiting for nighttime. I feel like a dork when I wear the vest, but most of the people walking at night who I see are also wearing reflective clothes. Theirs are more chic than my vest, though, looking like they were ordered through an expensive fitness-wear catalogue. I’d buy the same type, but to me, walking is a meditative, solitary act, and I don’t want to feel that I’m catering to externalities like looking stylish while I’m trying to feel solitary. It also acts as a tacit acknowledgement that I’m not a criminal: “I’m making myself as visible as possible! I’m not casing your houses to break into them later on!”

Even though the focus of COVID is on the transmission of disease through shared, respired air, I still pay a lot of attention to contaminated surfaces. When I go out anywhere, I have a routine: first, I put on my going-out clothes (newly clean), then my shoes, which are possibly dirty, since I have to re-tie them sometimes with unwashed hands, so before I touch anything else after tying my shoes, I wash my hands. Then, I put on a mask, turn off all the lights except the one at the front door, pick up my keys with my right hand, slip my phone into my left pocket, and walk to the door. I put my keys in my right pocket (my wallet is already there), open the door with my right hand, turn out the light, step out the door, and take the keys out of my pocket to lock the door with, again, only my right hand.

I use my right hand pretty much everywhere outside—to push or pull open doors, to open my car to retrieve something from it, to open my mailbox and carry my mail in—because I know that if I use my left hand, my phone-operating hand, I’m going to have to put the phone into a little UV light phone-sterilizing box that I bought when I get home. And for some reason, I feel like it’s a small moral failure to have to use that UV box, so I try to keep my left hand from touching anything except for the phone. But I know that if I drive anywhere, all bets are off—both my hands touch the steering wheel, my left hand touches the car door handle while getting out, and I push open doors with both hands whenever I get somewhere. I’m sure that my left hand ends up touching something that may have SARS-CoV-2 on it as I carry out an errand, and therefore into the UV box my phone must go when I get home. But, when I go out to walk, there’s a good chance that I won’t need to touch anything with my left hand between leaving the apartment and coming back. If that’s the case, I can use my phone freely while walking if I want to, but when I get home, I can still just take it from my pocket and place it on my desk, no ultraviolet sterilizing waves needed. But of course then I still have to wash my right hand.

The walk is the same route every night now. It’s a vaguely circular, level 2.7 miles, starting northbound, bearing west, south, then east. It takes about forty minutes for me to walk the whole thing, plus or minus four minutes, depending on how warmed up I get while walking. My heart rate generally goes up to about 115 beats per minute for most of the walk, according to my watch, then spikes to 135 as I climb the stairs to my fourth floor apartment at the end.

Insulated by the sound of music or an audiobook on my headphones, and with my hands stuck in my pockets, actually holding onto the cloth pocket linings themselves, I feel less like a person on a walk and more like someone steering a large, inertia-filled thing—a sailboat that I have to tack against an unfavorable wind, or a bobsled whose blades I have to turn out of deep ruts on the ice. But despite feeling bodily awkward, I find suburbia to be a soothing place to move through. I really don’t understand how some people think of the suburbs as some kind of dystopia, to be honest. My neighborhood has wide streets, as I mentioned, and the houses are almost all ranch-style. The trees, like the houses, are shorter than they are in the northeast. Some of the trees look more like very tall shrubbery. As for the ground, the blades of grass are wider, and the soil is just a bit sandier. Sometimes, I see two-inch-long cockroaches, what people back home would call “water bugs,” creeping across the sidewalks.

I can’t remember the names of the streets on the walk, except for Forrest Street, which I noticed once when I saw the street sign while I was running and it made me think of “Run, Forrest, run!” and Kenilworth Street, which has the same name as a street back at home. Other than those, I only know points along the route by the informal names I’ve assigned to them. There’s a road where it changes direction from heading north to heading east, and it looks over a little park. The lack of houses there gives an unobstructed view of the western horizon. For that reason, I call that part of the route “Sunset Bend.” At another point on the route there is a house where, in the beginning of lockdown last spring, a family was always outside, the parents sitting motionless in Adirondack chairs while their kids all went nuts on the front lawn, playing with the sprinkler, or doing hopscotch, or sitting at one of those tiny plastic picnic tables, playing some board game. That part of the walk I called “Kidville.”

There were other houses that were always so inactive, so abandoned-seeming—the blinds were always closed and there wasn’t a car in the driveway—that I started to wonder if anyone lived there at all, and whether maybe the neighborhood association was mowing its lawn to stave off the shabbiness. But after the switch from walking in daylight to nighttime, I saw that some of those houses, while still shut up and silent, had lights on inside in rooms not facing the street. Looking at those houses is like staring into the vents of a space heater in a dark room.

Eventually I started thinking about how the walk is exactly 2.7 miles. Then, idly, I realized that if you multiply 2.7 by 30, you get 81. That number of years, eighty-one, seems like a decent amount of years to hope to live—it’s not greedy, you’re not asking for a hundred years, for example—but also, maybe when I get closer to 81, there will be better medical treatments and 81 will seem younger. Assuming that doesn’t happen, though, I think of 81 years as more or less “a complete life.” It is very sad, but not exactly a tragedy, to die at 81.

With this in mind, I started translating the distance along my walk to human ages. For instance, 1.0 miles into the walk, times 30, would equal 30 years. And 1.2 miles times 30 would equal 36 years, which is how old I am now. Since by the time I’d discovered this “conversion formula,” the walk was already so familiar to me that I had a very good perspective on how far into the walk any given point felt—the precise moment when I sense that I’m transitioning from the middle to the end phase of the walk, for example. So when I came up with the multiply-by-30 conversion formula, I was interested to see exactly what part of the walk 1.2 miles, or 36 years old, corresponded to.

The answer is that it was later in the walk than I’d hoped. The moment I reach 1.2 miles is long past the most scenic parts of the route; it’s just after a left turn that puts me on a long straightaway of modest houses leading to an arterial road, known to me as the hook-around part of the circuit where in past walks, I had thought, “Now I’m on my way back home.”

Over the next few evenings, I noted other points, ones that had come before the 1.2 mile marker, and compared them to parts of my already-lived life: I graduated high school at 0.6 miles into the walk, which was the beginning of Sunset Bend. I got my master’s degree in a spot where, at nighttime, a streetlight shines through the leaves on a tree, giving the street a dance hall, disco-ball kind of lighting (hence, “Disco Point”). That friendly, lighted patch of street, with a jaunty-looking house standing next to it, makes it my favorite part of the walk. As for points I have not yet reached: still ahead of my current age distance, at around 1.5 miles, is Kidville, but I haven’t seen anyone in the front yard there in months now.

Toward the end, almost back home, there’s a large school property. I’ve never seen anyone on the grounds, except for the occasional person who sneaks onto the running track to jog it. Along one of the fences that borders the school, in springtime last year, someone started zip-tying laminated sheets of paper with jokes written on them to the chain links. The jokes are all clean, and pretty lame—these days it seems like almost all kid-friendly jokes are just puns, like “How did the farmer find his wife? He tractor down!”

One time, I saw a kid about ten years old on his bike, riding along the sidewalk and stopping to read each joke. The fence ends at a small park for toddlers. There’s a big plastic sign at the entrance of the park, faded but still legible, that has a boy’s name displayed on it. Below his name is written a tragically short span of years, and below that, a message: “This park is dedicated to the memory of (the boy’s name), and to all of the little tykes of (the neighborhood).” Whoever it was putting up jokes on the schoolyard fence stopped replacing them with new ones some time during the fall, and I walk too late to ever see anyone playing at the playground. Well, that’s not quite true: very rarely, around 9 PM on warm nights, I might see what appears to be a young mother scrutinizing her phone as her kid swings in the dark.

I haven’t been to the gym to lift any weights since lockdown started. I’ve been able to do cardio in my apartment, but the result of all the cardio and all the walking is that I’ve lost a decent amount of lifting strength, as well as about ten pounds. This is consistent with how life in general has evolved: I have also reduced the list of spaces I travel to, leaving my apartment only to go to work, to pick up groceries, and to walk through my neighborhood. My body, and the edges of my life, have gone through a great miniaturization, but my perspective has adapted with it—each feature within this smaller space seems more detailed, and the day’s moments are of a finer grain. Inside my apartment, I have realized how much the lighting affects the atmosphere, and as a result the mood, so I can change which lights are on when to reflect the mood of each time of day. When I walk at night, sometimes I have the same feeling I did the week before I moved here from New Jersey, a sort of farewell feeling. That feeling started in the fall as a dessert-like flipside to my happy mornings spent doing math homework. Those evenings, I also felt like I was saying goodbye, to a more insecure, more ignorant version of myself, I guess. Nowadays, I get the feeling that I’m saying goodbye to the person who had, until now, always feared that he was missing out on things.

There will be a time, closer to now than now is to the beginning of the pandemic, when I will leave Texas. I will be happy and relieved to return home, whenever that is. But at the same time, there’s a new feeling that is starting to take root, and it’s a weird one: for all the hardship that the pandemic has presented to me, the anxiety for my family and the limitations it’s put on my mobility, social life, and career, for more than ten months now, its most memorable effect, unless I’m affected by the illness itself, will be that it made me love my neighborhood. I have walked more than 500 miles of it over the months, and scores of miles remain to be walked before I move away. I’ve walked during steaming afternoons, during cloudy sunsets, in pre-dawn twilight on cool mornings, and during soft, breezy evenings. It’s always picturesque, pleasant, very green. The houses look inviting, and the dog-walkers wave to me. I listen to music that suits my mood and do the geographical equivalent of palm reading. That’s all, really.

Can a person love a place? Feel gratitude toward landscaping, houses, parked cars, and people viewed only from a distance? Can someone feel affinity to a fox seen in a churchyard and streetlights shining through leaves in the night? Affection for lawn mower exhaust, for the noise of an approaching SUV slowly carving out a bend? Love for landmarks that correspond to moments in one’s past, or to moments that one might encounter in the future?

There will be a time, I hope, when my years in Texas are far in the past. But some day, I will hear a song, or see a house with a certain architecture, or smell a variety of grass, and Texas will return to me. At the same time, I also hope that it isn’t too overwhelming. I’ve found that I can never tell how potent a memory of a particular time or place will be until there’s a lot of distance between me and it. Sometimes, a memory will come gently, settling on me like a haze, ready to be indulged, even laughed at. In such cases I turn up the music that brought the memory, or take a luxuriating whiff of the scent, and I think back on the time, feeling only a little bit sad.

But other memories swoop down like some kind of predatory bird, and in those cases, the nostalgia feels more like the punch of the bird’s talons in the back of my neck. The sense of missing is so strong that it feels less like nostalgia and more like a distilled, portable homesickness. Ridiculously, I’ll even want to return to the memory’s time and place, despite knowing that in reality it had been fraught with pain or unease. Which makes the sneaking feeling growing during this time, at this place, all the more uncanny. I mean, all that this span of time has been, is me, and some terrain, and the wind, and the light of the sun or the moon. No one else. My nostalgia for anything before this was always about times and places with other people. So who will I be missing?

Someone once said, Wherever you go, there you are. But now, I wonder: is that really true?

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