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star-wars-writing · 3 months

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Espresso and Empathy

A/N: Thank you for stopping by to read this tale of Obi-Wan Kenobi and Cody. Set in the modern world, this story explores the unfolding relationship between a history professor and a coffee shop owner. I hope you enjoy this journey of discovery and connection written for the @codywanbingo with the prompt: "Air kisses".

"The Jedi's Brew" stood as an oasis of warmth and charm amidst the steel and glass of the bustling city. As one stepped through its antiquated wooden door, they were greeted by an alchemy of aromas – the rich, earthy scent of roasted coffee beans melding harmoniously with the sweet whispers of cinnamon and vanilla from freshly baked pastries. This olfactory tapestry was not just a mere welcome, but an invitation to leave the world behind, even if just for a coffee cup's time.

Inside, the ambiance was a delicate balance of comfort and elegance. The walls, painted in a soothing palette of deep blues and warm browns, were adorned with vintage star maps and framed quotes from poets and philosophers alike, each piece a nod to a universe far beyond the city’s confines. Soft, ambient lighting spilled from overhead, casting a gentle glow that seemed to slow the passage of time itself.

Furniture in "The Jedi's Brew" was a curated collection of mismatched chairs and tables, each with its own story to tell. Some were sturdy oak pieces that seemed to have grown from the floorboards themselves, while others were cozy armchairs upholstered in velvet, offering a hug to any weary traveler. The arrangement of these pieces created intimate nooks and crannies, making the space feel both expansive and invitingly close.

At the heart of the shop, the coffee bar stood as a proud altar to the art of coffee-making. An antique espresso machine, polished to a shine, hissed and puffed like a gentle dragon, crafting liquid magic cup by cup. Jars of coffee beans from around the world lined the shelves behind, each label a promise of a new adventure for the palate.

The air in "The Jedi's Brew" was alive with the soft murmur of conversations – a tapestry of stories, laughter, and sometimes, comfortable silences. It was a place where time seemed to relent, where the city’s heartbeat slowed to match the rhythmic drip of coffee. The shop's large windows framed the bustling outside world, yet inside, they offered a serene vantage point, a quiet observer's haven.

Above all, it was the sense of belonging that made "The Jedi's Brew" enchanting. It was in the way the shop seemed to embrace each customer, in the unspoken understanding that here, amidst the steam and whispers, one could find a moment of peace, a piece of home. This small, unassuming coffee shop was not just a place; it was an experience, a sanctuary for the soul amidst the symphony of city life.

****

Commander Cody, the owner and barista of "The Jedi's Brew," was the lifeblood of the establishment, a man whose military precision was softened by the warmth of his smile. Clad in a crisp apron, his movements behind the counter were a study in efficiency – each turn, each press of the espresso machine, executed with the exactness of a well-rehearsed drill. Yet, his eyes sparkled with an amiable light, his voice carrying a tone that was both commanding and comforting.

The coffee shop was not just his business; it was his passion, a project born from the desire to create a space where warmth met quality, where every patron felt like a welcomed guest in his home. Cody’s brothers, Rex, Wolffe, Ponds, Fives, and Echo, were his comrades-in-arms in this endeavor, each bringing their unique personality to the mix, turning the coffee shop into a vibrant tapestry of brotherhood and camaraderie.

Their banter was a delightful undercurrent to the shop's atmosphere. Rex, with his quick wit, often sparred verbally with Wolffe, whose dry humor was as subtle as it was sharp. Ponds, the peacemaker, would interject with a diplomatic quip, while Fives and Echo, the youngest, injected a dose of youthful energy, their laughter ringing out like chimes.

Cody, the eldest, balanced his role as leader and brother with a natural ease. He guided with a gentle hand, his instructions to his brothers clear but kind. The respect they held for him was palpable, a testament to their shared past and unspoken bond forged through years of shared experiences, both in and out of the military.

As Cody interacted with his brothers, there was a sense of a well-oiled machine, a unit that functioned seamlessly, each brother an integral cog. Yet, beyond the efficiency, there was love – a deep, abiding affection that resonated in their jests, in the way they moved around each other, anticipating needs and gestures with the familiarity of a dance long practiced.

The customers, regulars and newcomers alike, were drawn not just to the quality of the coffee but to the energy of the brothers. They watched, often amused, as Echo playfully dodged a towel thrown by Fives, or as Rex shared a laugh with a customer over a shared love of classic literature, a topic he was surprisingly passionate about.

Cody’s interactions with his patrons were a blend of professionalism and personal touch. He remembered names and orders, asked about their days with genuine interest, and offered a smile that seemed to say, “You’re among friends here.” His leadership was not just in running the shop but in creating a space where everyone felt a sense of belonging.

In quieter moments, Cody’s gaze would sweep over his shop, a look of pride lighting up his features. This was more than a business; it was a manifestation of his dreams, a place where the rigor of his military life met the warmth of his desire to connect with people. He saw every cup of coffee not just as a product, but as an extension of himself, a gift of comfort to whoever held it.

The dynamic in "The Jedi's Brew" was a delicate balance between order and warmth, a reflection of Cody and his brothers – men who had seen much, served much, but had found their peace in the simple yet profound act of serving others, one cup at a time.

****

In the tranquil cocoon of "The Jedi's Brew," where the symphony of coffee aromas and hushed conversations wove a tapestry of calm, Obi-Wan Kenobi found his haven. He entered with the ease of a regular, his presence a familiar and comforting addition to the shop's ambiance. The bell above the door chimed softly, announcing his arrival, yet it was his serene aura that truly marked his entry.

Obi-Wan, clad in his usual attire of a tweed blazer – the elbows worn from years of leaning over countless books – and a neatly knotted scarf, moved with a quiet grace. His hair, peppered with silver, spoke of wisdom and a life dedicated to the pursuit of knowledge, while the gentle lines etched around his eyes told of years spent smiling at the wonders of the past.

He selected his usual spot, a secluded corner by the window, where the light was just right – not too harsh, not too dim – perfect for delving into the depths of ancient history. As he settled into his favored armchair, a sigh of contentment escaped him, a silent acknowledgment of the shop's embrace.

Around him, the soft murmur of the shop continued. Patrons, each absorbed in their own worlds, cast occasional glances towards the professor, their eyes reflecting a mix of curiosity and respect. To them, Obi-Wan was a figure of intrigue, a staple of the shop's tapestry, as much a part of its charm as the antique espresso machine.

With a gentle touch, Obi-Wan opened his book, an ancient tome on the civilizations of forgotten worlds. His eyes flickered with a spark of excitement, a flame that was ignited anew with each turn of the page. It was in these moments, lost in the echoes of bygone eras, that he felt most alive, his heart beating in tune with the rhythmic turning of pages.

The coffee arrived, brought to his table by a barista with a knowing smile – a silent exchange of pleasantries without the need for words. The cup, a simple white porcelain, was a vessel of warmth, both physical and metaphorical. Obi-Wan wrapped his hands around it, feeling the heat seep into his skin, a grounding reminder of the present.

As he sipped his coffee, his gaze occasionally wandered beyond the window, where the world rushed by in a blur of color and light. Yet, in his quiet corner, time seemed to stand still. He was a solitary island in the midst of life's relentless river, a thinker amidst the doers.

Obi-Wan's thoughts often drifted as he read. Today, they meandered to the parallels between the ancient tales he cherished and the modern world outside. He pondered on the cyclical nature of history, on the lessons that time had whispered but humankind had often ignored. In these musings, he found a bittersweet solace, an understanding of the world that both enlightened and burdened.

His solitude, however, was not loneliness. It was a chosen companionship with the past, a dialogue with the ages. And yet, the warmth of the coffee shop, with its soft hum of life, provided a gentle anchor to the present, a reminder that while he might roam the corridors of history in his mind, he belonged to the here and now.

In "The Jedi's Brew," Obi-Wan was not just another customer. He was a silent guardian of stories, a keeper of wisdom, nestled in his corner with his coffee and his books, a bridge between the past and the present.

***

In the harmonious realm of "The Jedi's Brew," the interactions between Obi-Wan and Commander Cody were like the subtle yet essential notes in a symphony, each adding depth and richness to the melody of the coffee shop's daily life.

One such morning, as the first light of dawn painted the city in hues of amber and gold, Obi-Wan, his eyes reflecting the tranquility of a man at peace with his solitude, approached the counter. Cody, already in the rhythm of his morning tasks, looked up and greeted him with a nod, the corners of his eyes crinkling in a smile that spoke of recognition and respect.

"Good morning, Professor," Cody said, his voice carrying the warmth of a seasoned host. "The usual, or are you feeling adventurous today?"

Obi-Wan, placing his worn leather satchel on the counter, returned the smile. "I think I'll stick with the usual, Cody. Although, your 'adventurous' blends have never disappointed."

As Cody prepared his coffee, the rich aroma filling the space between them, their conversation meandered effortlessly from the mundane to the meaningful. They spoke of the weather, the crispness of the autumn air, and how it reminded Obi-Wan of the changing leaves in the gardens of the university.

"The campus must look quite spectacular this time of year," Cody remarked, his hands working deftly to craft the perfect cup.

"It does," Obi-Wan replied, his eyes lighting up with the mention of his beloved university. "There's a certain magic in the air, a sense of anticipation as the students return. It's quite infectious."

Cody handed him his coffee, and their fingers brushed momentarily, a fleeting touch that seemed to linger in the air. "I can imagine," he said, a hint of curiosity in his tone. "You must have quite the collection of stories from your years there."

Obi-Wan, taking a sip of his coffee, savored not just the flavor but the connection the simple beverage represented. "Indeed, I do. And speaking of stories," he added, a playful glint in his eye, "I've just started a fascinating book on ancient galactic civilizations. I think it might be right up your alley."

Cody leaned in, intrigued. "Oh? Do tell."

As Obi-Wan delved into a brief synopsis of his latest read, his voice a melody of enthusiasm and knowledge, Cody listened intently, his expression a mix of admiration and genuine interest. Their conversation was a dance of words and expressions, a testament to the growing bond between them, one that transcended the usual customer-barista dynamic.

Around them, the coffee shop hummed with its morning routine, but in their shared space at the counter, time seemed to slow, allowing their exchange to unfold in its own sacred tempo. The other patrons, some regulars who had grown accustomed to the professor's presence, cast occasional glances their way, their expressions a blend of curiosity and fondness. To them, Obi-Wan and Cody's interactions were a part of the shop's charm, a human connection that added to the warmth of their favorite haven.

As their conversation drew to a close, with Cody promising to check out Obi-Wan's book recommendation, there was a lingering sense of unspoken words, of stories yet to be shared. Obi-Wan, with a final nod and a grateful smile, retreated to his corner, his coffee in hand, leaving Cody to his duties.

In that moment, as Obi-Wan settled into his chair and Cody returned to his work, there was a shared feeling of contentment, a silent acknowledgment of the unique camaraderie they had cultivated. It was a bond formed over cups of coffee and snippets of conversation, a gentle yet profound connection that was as much a part of "The Jedi's Brew" as the coffee itself.

***

As the days unfurled like the pages of a well-loved book, the walls of "The Jedi's Brew" bore witness to the subtly evolving tapestry of interactions between Obi-Wan Kenobi and Commander Cody. The coffee shop, with its symphony of aromas and the comforting cadence of familiar routines, had become a stage for a dance of quiet anticipation and unspoken interest.

The crisp morning air was always slightly sweeter on the days Obi-Wan planned to visit the coffee shop. His morning preparations, once a matter of routine, had taken on a new significance. He found himself selecting his tweed jacket and scarf with more care, his reflection in the mirror revealing a hint of expectancy in his eyes.

As he stepped into the coffee shop, the familiar chime of the bell above the door seemed to resonate with the rhythm of his heartbeat. The warm, inviting atmosphere enveloped him, but it was the sight of Cody, behind the counter, that anchored his senses. There was a newfound depth to the way their gazes met; a silent acknowledgement that lingered just a moment longer than necessary, bridging the distance between them.

"Good morning, Obi-Wan," Cody would greet, his voice a rich blend of warmth and professionalism. There was a light in his eyes, subtle yet unmistakable, that seemed to brighten just for Obi-Wan.

"And to you, Cody," Obi-Wan would respond, his voice carrying an undercurrent of joy he barely recognized in himself. Each visit, each exchange, was like a step closer in a dance he hadn't realized he'd been longing to partake in.

Their conversations began to meander beyond the realms of coffee and weather, delving into territories of personal interests and past experiences. Cody would share anecdotes from his military days, his words painting vivid images of camaraderie and adventure, while Obi-Wan listened, captivated, his historian's mind enthralled by the living history before him.

Likewise, Obi-Wan's tales of academic life, of the wonders and mysteries of ancient civilizations, seemed to fascinate Cody. He listened with rapt attention, his questions thoughtful, prompting Obi-Wan to reveal more of himself than he usually allowed.

As Obi-Wan sipped his coffee in his corner, he found his gaze drifting towards the counter more often than not. He observed Cody's interactions with others, noting the ease and respect with which he treated everyone, yet quietly yearning for the moments when Cody's attention would return to him. There was a warmth in those exchanges that seemed to reach beyond the confines of customer and barista, touching something deeper within.

Even the other patrons began to notice the subtle dance unfolding between the two. Regulars exchanged knowing smiles and fleeting glances, witnessing the growing connection that laced each conversation with an undercurrent of something more. The atmosphere in "The Jedi's Brew" seemed to thrum with the quiet energy of their budding connection, adding an intangible layer of anticipation to the air.

As the days turned to weeks, Obi-Wan's visits to the coffee shop became the highlights of his mornings. The anticipation of seeing Cody, of engaging in their increasingly personal exchanges, stirred a sense of excitement within him that he hadn't felt in years. It was as if each visit, each shared smile, was a piece of a puzzle he hadn't known he was assembling.

In these moments, in the unspoken language of lingering glances and extended conversations, the foundation of something new and uncertain was being laid. It was a connection that transcended the simplicity of coffee shop banter, hinting at the possibility of something deeper, something that neither Obi-Wan nor Cody had yet dared to define.

***

As autumn deepened, bringing with it a tapestry of russet and gold that draped the city, the days began to shorten, and the evenings at "The Jedi's Brew" stretched longer, more languid and introspective. It was on one such evening, when the sky was a canvas of twilight hues, that Obi-Wan found himself lingering in the coffee shop long after the evening rush had ebbed away.

The shop, usually abuzz with the symphony of daily life, had settled into a quiet lull, the murmurs of the few remaining patrons a soft undertone to the gentle clinking of cups and the subtle whir of the espresso machine. Obi-Wan, ensconced in his usual corner, was lost in a tome of ancient history, the words a gateway to worlds long past.

As the clock hands marched steadily onwards, the patrons trickled out, leaving Obi-Wan and a few solitary figures in their own pockets of quiet. Cody, having handed over the reins of closing to Rex for the night, approached Obi-Wan's table with a relaxed stride, a cup of freshly brewed coffee in hand.

"Thought you might need a refill," Cody said, placing the cup before Obi-Wan, his voice a comfortable melody in the quietude of the shop.

Obi-Wan looked up, his eyes reflecting a blend of surprise and warmth. "Thank you, Cody. I didn't realize how late it had gotten."

Cody pulled up a chair, an unspoken invitation hanging in the air. "Sometimes, a good book can make hours seem like minutes," he remarked, his gaze briefly flitting over the tome's ancient cover.

Obi-Wan's smile was soft, tinged with appreciation. "Indeed, it can. This one is about the Byzantine Empire. Fascinating period, full of intrigue and artistry."

Cody leaned forward, his interest piqued. "Byzantine, you say? I've always been intrigued by that era. The complexity of their politics, the depth of their culture."

The conversation that unfolded was a tapestry of shared interests and mutual discovery. Obi-Wan spoke of his passion for history, his words painting vivid pictures of empires risen and fallen, of the timeless dance of humanity through the ages. Cody, in turn, shared his own interests, revealing a surprising affinity for classical music, particularly the compositions that had echoed through the halls of history.

"The way music can transcend time and place, it's always fascinated me," Cody said, his eyes reflecting the glow of the shop's ambient lighting. "There's a piece by Beethoven, 'Moonlight Sonata,' that I find particularly moving."

Obi-Wan's expression softened, a gentle understanding lighting his features. "Ah, 'Moonlight Sonata,' a piece both haunting and beautiful. It's remarkable how music can capture the essence of an emotion, a moment in time."

As they spoke, the world outside the coffee shop seemed to recede, leaving only the shared space of their conversation, a bubble where past and present intertwined. The shop's soft lighting cast a golden glow around them, lending an almost ethereal quality to the moment.

Around them, the few remaining patrons began to depart, the gentle chime of the door marking their exits. The shop, now almost empty, felt like a sanctuary, a space where time stood still, allowing their words and thoughts to unfurl in a dance of discovery and connection.

As the conversation meandered from music to history, and then to the more personal realms of hopes and dreams, there was a sense of barriers slowly dissolving, of two souls tentatively exploring the landscape of shared understanding and unexpected kinship.

When the conversation finally waned, a comfortable silence settled between them, filled with unspoken thoughts and emotions. It was a silence that spoke of a newfound depth to their relationship, a connection that had transcended the boundaries of mere acquaintance.

In that quiet coffee shop, as the evening whispered its way towards night, Obi-Wan and Cody discovered a kinship that was as surprising as it was welcome. It was a moment of connection that hinted at the possibility of something more, a journey just beginning to unfold.

The evening in "The Jedi's Brew" had wrapped itself in a cloak of tranquility, the kind that only comes when the world slows down, and the moment at hand becomes everything. The conversation between Obi-Wan and Cody, rich with the exploration of shared passions and quiet revelations, had gradually wound down, leaving in its wake a profound sense of connection and a silent acknowledgment of something unspoken yet deeply felt.

Cody, with a glance at the clock, which now showed the hour growing late, reluctantly pushed his chair back, the sound softly echoing in the near-empty coffee shop. "I should get back to closing up," he said, his voice carrying a tinge of reluctance, as if he were stepping out of one world and back into another.

Obi-Wan nodded, a soft smile playing on his lips. "Of course. Thank you for the coffee... and the conversation."

As Cody stood and began to make his way back to the counter, there was a palpable shift in the air, a lingering sense of the words left unsaid, of the emotions that had been gently stirred in the quiet of the evening. The subtle glow of the shop's lights seemed to cast a spotlight on the space between them, highlighting the significance of the moment.

Obi-Wan watched Cody retreat, feeling an unfamiliar flutter in his chest, a mixture of anticipation and a newfound boldness. In a fleeting moment of courage, spurred by the night's revelations and the comfortable intimacy they had shared, he lifted his hand in a gentle, playful gesture, sending an air kiss towards Cody.

The action, simple yet laden with meaning, hung in the air like a delicate promise, a bridge between their two worlds. Cody, pausing in his steps, turned back to look at Obi-Wan, his expression one of surprise that quickly melted into a smile of genuine pleasure. His eyes, always so expressive, shone with a mix of amusement and a deeper, more tender emotion that had only just begun to surface.

In that smile, there was an acknowledgment of Obi-Wan's gesture, a silent acceptance that spoke volumes. It was a smile that seemed to say, "I see you, and I am here with you." Cody's response, though wordless, was as eloquent as any spoken reply, conveying an understanding and a shared sentiment that transcended the need for language.

The air kiss, a playful yet poignant symbol of their burgeoning connection, marked a turning point in their relationship. It was a step beyond the boundaries of friendship, a toe dipped into the waters of something deeper, something that held the promise of new possibilities.

As Cody resumed his path to the counter, there was a new spring in his step, a lightness that mirrored Obi-Wan's own uplifted spirit. The professor, still seated, allowed himself a moment to bask in the afterglow of their exchange, his heart quietly singing with a joy he hadn't felt in years.

The coffee shop, now steeped in the silence of the approaching night, stood as a witness to the birth of something beautiful, something tentative yet filled with potential. In the quiet exchange of an air kiss, Obi-Wan and Cody had opened a door to a new chapter in their story, a chapter that was yet to be written but promised to be as rich and fulfilling as the aromatic brews of "The Jedi's Brew."

****

In the ensuing days, a subtle yet undeniable change permeated the atmosphere of "The Jedi's Brew." Each interaction between Obi-Wan and Cody, once a casual exchange between patron and barista, now thrummed with a current of unspoken feelings, a silent language understood only by the two of them.

The mornings brought with them a heightened sense of anticipation. For Obi-Wan, the walk to the coffee shop became a journey filled with an eager expectancy, each step bringing him closer to the now-familiar figure behind the counter. His thoughts, once occupied with the day's lectures and academic pursuits, increasingly found their way to Cody – to his smile, his laughter, and the stories yet untold.

Cody, in turn, found himself watching the door more frequently, awaiting Obi-Wan's arrival with an eagerness he had not known before. The sight of the professor, with his scholarly air and thoughtful eyes, became the highlight of his mornings, a moment that set the tone for the rest of his day.

Their conversations, once confined to the realms of coffee and weather, now ventured into deeper territories. Obi-Wan, with a cup of his favorite blend in hand, would often linger at the counter, speaking of his lectures with a passion that was both infectious and endearing.

"Just yesterday, I spoke about the Roman Empire's architectural marvels," Obi-Wan shared one morning, his eyes alight with the fervor of his subject. "It's fascinating to think how their engineering feats still influence us today."

Cody listened, genuinely captivated, leaning in slightly as if each word were a treasure. "I've always admired the way you historians can bring the past to life," he said. "Makes me wish I'd paid more attention in history class."

Their laughter mingled, a shared melody that added warmth to the shop's cozy ambiance.

As the days unfolded, Cody began sharing more of his own experiences. He spoke of his military days, not of the battles and hardships, but of the camaraderie, the places he had seen, and the lessons he had learned. His stories were a tapestry of adventure and resilience, each one revealing a new facet of his character.

"I remember this one time in the desert," Cody recounted, a reflective note in his voice. "The stars were so bright, it felt like we could reach out and touch them. Made us feel small, yet part of something vast and timeless."

Obi-Wan, listening intently, felt a connection to Cody's experiences, a resonance with his own explorations of the past's grand tapestries. Their conversations became a bridge between two worlds – the academic and the practical, the historical and the contemporary.

Around them, the regular patrons of "The Jedi's Brew" began to notice the subtle shift in Obi-Wan and Cody's interactions. There was a new depth to their exchanges, a tenderness that was palpable even in the most mundane conversations. Their laughter seemed richer, their silences more comfortable, and their glances more lingering.

In these moments of shared stories and mutual understanding, the unspoken feelings between them grew stronger, an undercurrent that neither could ignore. It was as if each word, each glance, and each shared smile were threads in a tapestry they were weaving together, a tapestry rich with potential and unexplored possibilities.

As the line between patron and barista blurred, a friendship deepened, blossoming into something that held the promise of more. In the quiet haven of the coffee shop, amidst the aroma of coffee and the soft murmur of conversations, Obi-Wan and Cody were embarking on a journey of discovery, one that was as much about understanding each other as it was about understanding themselves.

****

As the days gently folded into weeks, the walls of "The Jedi's Brew" became the silent custodians of a deepening bond between Obi-Wan and Cody, a bond woven from the threads of shared stories, lingering looks, and a burgeoning understanding that whispered of something more profound.

The crisp mornings saw Obi-Wan, his steps now imbued with a lightness, entering the coffee shop with a sense of anticipation that fluttered like a delicate leaf in the wind. The sight of Cody, his posture a blend of strength and ease behind the counter, became a beacon, drawing Obi-Wan into their shared world of quiet connection.

Their conversations, once a pleasant exchange of academic and military anecdotes, began to traverse the more personal landscapes of their lives. It was during one such morning, as the shop hummed with its usual rhythm of brewing coffee and hushed conversations, that Obi-Wan found himself opening up about his family.

"My family is scattered across the globe," Obi-Wan shared, a wistful note threading through his words. "We don't see each other often. It's mainly emails and the occasional call."

Cody, polishing a coffee cup, paused to look at Obi-Wan, his expression a soft canvas of empathy. "That must be tough," he said gently.

Obi-Wan nodded, a small, reflective smile touching his lips. "It is, at times. But I've found a family of sorts in my colleagues. Plo and Mace, they're more than just fellow professors. They've been my pillars, in a way."

Cody listened, his eyes reflecting the depth of his understanding. "I get that. Sometimes, family isn't just about blood. It's about the bonds we build along the way."

Encouraged by Cody's response, Obi-Wan ventured further, sharing anecdotes about Plo's wisdom and Mace's unwavering support, their personalities painting a picture of a familial bond formed within the hallowed halls of academia.

As the conversation flowed, Cody began to share more about his own family, his voice carrying a mixture of pride and affection. "I have a large family. My brothers and I, we've always been close, but Rex... he's more than a brother. We've been through a lot together, both in and out of the military."

The stories Cody shared about Rex and his other brothers were a vibrant tapestry of laughter, loyalty, and shared experiences. Each tale, whether it was about a childhood prank or a challenging time in the service, was infused with a sense of closeness and profound connection.

Obi-Wan, listening intently, felt a warmth spreading through him, a feeling of being privy to the sacred territory of Cody's personal life. The realization that they were sharing pieces of their worlds, pieces that were not often brought to light, added a new layer of intimacy to their growing friendship.

Their exchanges, rich with the nuances of shared understanding and empathy, began to carry an electric charge of unspoken emotions. The air between them seemed to thrum with the vibrancy of their connection, an invisible thread drawing them closer with each shared story, each knowing glance.

In these moments, as they delved into the realms of family and personal connections, the rest of the coffee shop seemed to fade into a soft blur. The world outside the windows of "The Jedi's Brew" continued its relentless march, but within the warm confines of the shop, time seemed to slow, allowing their bond to flourish in the rich soil of shared experiences and mutual understanding.

Their journey, which had begun as a series of casual interactions, was now evolving into something deeper, a path lined with the potential of unexplored emotions and the promise of a connection that transcended the ordinary. In the quiet sanctuary of the coffee shop, Obi-Wan and Cody were not just a professor and a barista; they were two souls, gradually unveiling the layers of their lives, discovering the profound joy of a connection that was as unexpected as it was welcome.

****

As autumn relinquished its hold to the brisk embrace of winter, the bond between Obi-Wan and Cody continued to flourish, nurtured by their daily interactions at "The Jedi's Brew." It was during this season of change that an opportunity arose for their connection to deepen further, bridging the gap between the coffee shop and the outside world.

One crisp morning, as Obi-Wan lingered over his coffee, he mentioned to Cody about an upcoming public lecture he was giving at the university. "It's on the socio-political impact of trade routes in ancient civilizations," he explained, his eyes alight with the passion he felt for his subject.

Cody, wiping down the counter, looked up with genuine interest. "That sounds fascinating, Obi-Wan. I'd love to come and listen if that's alright with you."

Obi-Wan's expression, initially one of mild surprise, quickly transformed into one of pleased delight. "I would be honored to have you there, Cody. It's this Thursday evening in the main auditorium."

The exchange marked a significant moment, a step beyond the familiar confines of the coffee shop, into a realm that was distinctly part of Obi-Wan's world.

On the evening of the lecture, as the auditorium filled with the hum of anticipation, Obi-Wan stood backstage, feeling an unfamiliar flutter of nerves. His lectures were always well-received, but tonight was different. Tonight, Cody would be in the audience. The thought brought both excitement and a hint of vulnerability.

As he stepped onto the stage, the bright lights and sea of faces momentarily disoriented him. He adjusted his glasses, cleared his throat, and began to speak, his voice steady and clear. As he delved into the complexities of ancient trade and its far-reaching impacts, he scanned the audience, searching for a familiar face.

There, in the fourth row, sat Cody. His posture was one of attentive interest, his eyes fixed on Obi-Wan. The sight of him, present in Obi-Wan's academic world, was both heartening and deeply significant. It was a gesture of support and interest that transcended their morning conversations over coffee.

Throughout the lecture, Obi-Wan found himself speaking not just to the audience, but to Cody. Each point he made, each insight he shared, felt like part of a conversation with him. Cody's presence, a solitary but significant thread, wove through his words, adding depth and meaning to the lecture.

After the applause had died down and the audience began to disperse, Cody made his way to the front. His approach was tentative, respectful of the academic setting, yet his smile was as warm and familiar as it was in the coffee shop.

"That was incredible, Obi-Wan," Cody said, his voice carrying a note of admiration. "I had no idea how intricate those trade networks were. It really opens up a new perspective on how interconnected our world is."

Obi-Wan, his initial nervousness replaced by a glow of satisfaction, responded, "Thank you, Cody. I'm really glad you could be here. It means a lot to me."

Their conversation flowed effortlessly, touching on various points from the lecture, then meandering to other topics. It was a continuation of the many talks they had shared, yet imbued with a new sense of closeness.

As they walked out of the auditorium together, the crisp night air greeting them, there was a palpable sense of a boundary having been crossed, of their relationship evolving into something richer. The evening was not just about sharing knowledge; it was a sharing of selves, a mutual exploration of interests and worlds.

In attending Obi-Wan's lecture, Cody had not only shown his respect and support for Obi-Wan's passion but had also opened a door to a deeper understanding of the man behind the professor. Likewise, Obi-Wan had welcomed Cody into a part of his life that was deeply important to him, a gesture of trust and connection.

As they said their goodnights, with a promise to talk more over coffee the next morning, there was a sense of unspoken agreement that they were no longer just acquaintances who enjoyed conversation. They were two individuals, each stepping into the other's world, discovering the joy and depth of a connection that was growing more profound with each passing day.

***

The following morning, the ambiance of "The Jedi's Brew" was suffused with its usual blend of warmth and the rich aroma of coffee. However, a subtle shift in the dynamics could be felt, particularly around the counter where Cody and his brothers were engaged in their morning routines.

Cody, lost in thought as he methodically prepared a batch of their signature blend, was jolted back to the present by Rex's teasing voice. "So, brother, how was the evening with the professor?" Rex asked, a playful glint in his eye, as he arranged the freshly baked pastries in the display case.

Cody's cheeks took on a hint of color, a rare show of bashfulness from the usually composed barista. "It was an enlightening lecture," he replied, trying to maintain a nonchalant tone as he focused on the coffee grinder.

Wolffe, overhearing the exchange, joined in with a knowing smile. "Enlightening, huh? I noticed you got back later than usual. You must have been very... enlightened."

The light-hearted ribbing continued, with Fives and Echo chiming in, their voices tinged with amusement and affection. "Maybe we should all attend these lectures if they're that interesting," Echo suggested, his laughter mixing with the clinking of the coffee cups he was setting up.

Cody, while trying to fend off their comments with good-natured retorts, couldn't help but feel a warmth at their teasing. It was a sign of his brothers' care and interest in his life, even if expressed through their characteristic banter.

Amidst the laughter and playful remarks, there was an unspoken acknowledgment of the change they had seen in Cody. His frequent glances towards the door, the softening of his expression when he spoke of Obi-Wan's lectures, and the lingering smiles that followed their conversations – all had not gone unnoticed by his observant brothers.

Ponds, who had been quietly setting up the register, added his thoughts in a more reflective tone. "It's good to see you like this, Cody. It's been a while since someone's caught your interest so much."

The comment, though gentle, struck a chord. Cody paused, a moment of introspection crossing his features. It was true; the connection he felt with Obi-Wan was something he hadn't experienced in a long time. It was more than just admiration for the professor's intellect; it was a deep-seated interest in the man himself, his thoughts, his stories, his very essence.

As the morning rush began, with customers trickling in and the usual buzz of activity enveloping the shop, Cody found himself eagerly anticipating Obi-Wan's arrival. The prospect of their morning conversation, a ritual that had become the highlight of his day, filled him with a sense of excitement that he hadn't felt in years.

The teasing from his brothers, though playful, had shed light on the depth of his fascination with Obi-Wan. It was a realization that was both exhilarating and daunting. As he prepared each cup of coffee, his mind wandered, replaying their conversations, their shared moments, and the subtle yet undeniable connection that had been forming between them.

In the sanctuary of "The Jedi's Brew," amidst the laughter of his brothers and the warmth of the coffee shop, Cody's feelings for Obi-Wan continued to bloom, a gentle yet persistent force that promised to shape the path of his heart in ways he had yet to fully understand.

***

The evening of the university event arrived with a flurry of excitement and anticipation, transforming the usually serene campus into a hub of bustling activity. "The Jedi's Brew" had been chosen to cater the event, a testament to its growing reputation in the city. The coffee shop's team, led by Cody and his brothers, arrived early, laden with equipment and supplies, ready to infuse the event with their signature warmth and quality.

The venue, a grand hall adorned with historic art and elegant decor, buzzed with the chatter of attendees, a mix of professors, students, and guests, all mingling in the sophisticated setting. Amidst this backdrop, Cody and his team set up their station, a beacon of rich aromas and inviting warmth in the corner of the hall.

Obi-Wan, as one of the hosts, was engaged in a whirlwind of greetings and conversations, his role as a professor bringing with it a host of responsibilities and expectations. Despite the demands of the evening, his gaze frequently wandered to the coffee station, seeking out the familiar figure of Cody.

Cody, donning his apron and a professional yet warm demeanor, was the picture of efficiency as he and his brothers served the guests. His movements were a blend of practiced skill and inherent grace, each interaction with attendees marked by his characteristic charm and ease.

Throughout the evening, amidst the serving of coffee and the exchange of pleasantries, Cody's eyes would find Obi-Wan's across the room. These stolen glances, brief yet laden with meaning, were their silent conversations amidst the din of the event. Each eye contact was a shared moment, a subtle smile passing between them, a quiet acknowledgment of the connection they shared.

Obi-Wan, for his part, felt a thrum of excitement each time their gazes met. The event, with all its formalities and duties, faded into the background during these moments, giving way to the unspoken bond he shared with Cody. His heart would skip a beat, a sensation both exhilarating and comforting, as he allowed himself these brief instances of connection.

Cody, in turn, felt a similar rush of emotions. Each glance from Obi-Wan, each subtle smile, was a reassurance, a tether that connected him to the professor despite the night's busyness. It was a reminder of their growing relationship, a promise of conversations yet to be had and moments yet to be shared.

As the evening wore on, the initial buzz of activity gradually subsided, giving way to a more relaxed atmosphere. The guests began to dwindle, leaving the hall in a state of quiet repose. Cody and his brothers started the process of packing up, their movements slower now, tinged with the fatigue of the night's work.

Obi-Wan, seizing the opportunity as the crowd thinned, made his way over to Cody. "You've outdone yourself tonight," he said, his voice a soft blend of gratitude and admiration.

Cody, wiping down the counter, looked up with a tired yet satisfied smile. "It was our pleasure, Obi-Wan. I'm just glad everything went smoothly."

Their conversation, brief due to the lingering guests and the task of cleaning up, was nonetheless rich with the undercurrent of their shared experience. They spoke of the night, of the success of the event, but their words carried a deeper significance, a recognition of the effort and care they had both invested in the evening.

As they said their goodbyes, with promises of catching up soon at the coffee shop, there was a mutual feeling of contentment, a sense of accomplishment not just in the success of the event, but in the strength of the connection they had maintained throughout the busy evening.

The university event, a convergence of their professional and personal worlds, had been another step in the unfolding journey of their relationship. In the midst of their duties and responsibilities, they had found moments of connection, subtle yet profound, that continued to draw them closer, weaving the fabric of their bond ever tighter.

As the event at the university gradually wound down, the grand hall, once aflutter with voices and movement, settled into a quieter rhythm. The remaining guests drifted towards the exits, their conversations fading into soft echoes that danced off the high ceilings and ornate walls. In the coffee-serving area, Obi-Wan and Cody found themselves in a pocket of calm, a serene bubble amidst the remnants of the bustling evening.

The area, now devoid of guests, was bathed in the soft glow of the overhead lights, casting gentle shadows that played on their faces. The air was still rich with the scent of coffee, a comforting reminder of "The Jedi's Brew" and the many mornings they had shared there.

Cody, who had been methodically cleaning up, paused as he realized they were alone. He looked up at Obi-Wan, standing across the counter, and in that quiet moment, the weight of their unspoken feelings seemed to fill the space between them.

Obi-Wan, leaning slightly on the counter, broke the silence, his voice carrying a depth of emotion that had been carefully restrained. "Cody, these past weeks, our conversations, the time we've spent together... they've come to mean a great deal to me."

Cody, placing the cloth down, met Obi-Wan's gaze with an intensity that mirrored his own. "I feel the same, Obi-Wan. There's something between us, more than just friendship. I've felt it for a while now."

The words, spoken aloud, hung in the air, a tangible admission of the connection they had both been nurturing. The atmosphere, charged with the potential of what lay unexplored between them, seemed to hold its breath.

Obi-Wan, his heart beating a rhythm of hopeful trepidation, continued, "I've found myself looking forward to our mornings together more than I would have expected. There's a... a compatibility, a shared understanding that I haven't found often."

Cody, his usual composure softened by the sincerity of the moment, nodded. "It's rare to find someone who understands you, who connects with you on so many levels. I didn't expect it, but I'm grateful for it, for you."

Their words were a dance of honesty and vulnerability, a delicate exploration of the feelings that had been quietly growing. In the empty coffee-serving area, surrounded by the remnants of the event, they allowed themselves to delve into the heart of their relationship.

"I don't know where this might lead, Cody, but I'm open to finding out, if you are," Obi-Wan said, a note of cautious optimism threading through his words.

Cody, reaching across the counter, briefly clasped Obi-Wan's hand, a gesture laden with meaning. "I am. Whatever this is, whatever it could be, I want to explore it with you."

Their hands parted, but the connection remained, a silent pact sealed in the quiet of the university hall. As they continued to talk, their conversation meandering through hopes and uncertainties, the potential of what lay ahead, they were both acutely aware of the significance of this moment.

The event had ended, but for Obi-Wan and Cody, it was the beginning of a new chapter, one filled with the promise of discovery and the potential of a relationship that had blossomed from shared morning coffees into something deeper, something profound. In the tranquility of the coffee-serving area, they had taken the first tentative steps towards exploring the depth of their connection, embarking on a journey guided by the heart and the quiet promise of a shared future.

In the stillness of the university hall, now empty of all but echoes and shadows, Obi-Wan and Cody lingered in the cocoon of their newfound understanding. The air around them was charged with the electricity of uncharted possibilities, each word they exchanged a step into a future they were now choosing to explore together.

Cody, leaning against the counter, his posture relaxed yet filled with an anticipatory energy, broke the comfortable silence that had settled between them. "I've always been an early riser, you know, because of the shop. But these past weeks, it's been about more than just coffee. It's been about... us."

Obi-Wan, standing across from him, felt a smile tug at the corners of his mouth, his heart swelling with a mixture of excitement and a deep, resonant affection. "I've felt the same. Our morning conversations have become the highlight of my day. It's not just the coffee or the history, it's the connection... with you."

Their eyes met, holding each other in a gaze that spoke volumes, communicating the depth of their feelings more eloquently than words ever could. The connection that had blossomed in the familiar confines of "The Jedi's Brew" was now ready to grow beyond those walls.

"I'd like that," Cody said, his voice a soft but firm declaration of his intentions. "To explore what's between us, to see where this path leads."

Obi-Wan's response was immediate, a reflection of his own desire to delve deeper into the bond they had formed. "I would like that very much. There's so much more I want to know about you, so many more conversations I want to have."

The conversation that followed was a gentle weaving of tentative plans and hopeful aspirations. They spoke of simple things – a walk in the park, a visit to a museum, perhaps a meal at a quiet restaurant. Each suggestion was a promise, a commitment to taking the time to understand each other outside the routine of their morning encounters.

As they finalized their plans for their first official outing, a sense of contentment settled over them. It was the kind of contentment that comes from knowing you're on the cusp of something wonderful, something that fills you with both anticipation and a deep sense of rightness.

The evening drew to a close, and as they prepared to part ways, there was a reluctance to end the moment, a desire to linger in the magic of their shared understanding. They exchanged a final, lingering look, a silent promise of all that was to come.

"Goodnight, Cody. I'll see you tomorrow," Obi-Wan said, his voice low and imbued with a warmth that hadn't been there before.

"Goodnight, Obi-Wan. I'm looking forward to it," Cody replied, his smile a reflection of the joy and anticipation that echoed in his heart.

As they walked away from the hall, each to their own thoughts and dreams, the night seemed to embrace them, a witness to the beginning of their journey together. The promise of future dates and shared moments hung in the air, a sweet melody that would carry them forward into a future filled with possibility and the warmth of a connection that had grown from shared cups of coffee into something deeper, something real. In the quiet aftermath of the university event, they had opened the door to exploring their relationship, stepping into a world of shared experiences and moments yet to be cherished.

****

The days following the university event were imbued with a new energy at "The Jedi's Brew." For Obi-Wan and Cody, each interaction was now tinged with the unspoken excitement of their burgeoning relationship. The coffee shop, once a place of casual encounters, had transformed into a space where every glance and conversation was laden with deeper meaning.

It was on a particularly serene evening, when the coffee shop hummed with the soft chatter of the day's last customers, that a new chapter in their story began to unfold. The sky outside was painted in strokes of twilight, the city winding down as the night approached.

As the clock neared closing time, the patrons gradually trickled out, leaving Obi-Wan and Cody in the quiet company of the now empty shop. The air was filled with the lingering aroma of coffee, a comforting backdrop to the significant moment that was about to unfold.

Cody, tidying up behind the counter, cast a glance towards Obi-Wan, who was gathering his belongings. "Would you like to help me lock up?" he asked, a hint of hopeful anticipation in his voice.

Obi-Wan, sensing the significance of the request, nodded with a soft smile. "I'd like that."

Together, they moved through the familiar motions of closing the shop. Cody turned off the espresso machine, its hiss and gurgle giving way to silence. Obi-Wan helped by wiping down the tables, his movements deliberate, a quiet reverence in the simple act of caring for the space that had brought them together.

As they worked, their conversation flowed naturally, touching on the events of the day, their plans for their upcoming date, and the quiet contentment they found in each other's company. The ease between them was a testament to the depth of their connection, a bond that had been strengthened in the shared moments within these walls.

With the last table cleaned and the chairs neatly tucked away, Cody and Obi-Wan made their way to the front door. Cody reached for the key, a simple metal piece that suddenly seemed to hold more weight than usual. He inserted it into the lock, turning it with a decisive click that marked the end of the day's business.

The action, simple yet symbolic, felt like a metaphor for the beginning of their journey together – a journey that was being locked into place, a path they were choosing to walk side by side.

As they stood there, the key still in the lock, they turned to face each other. The soft glow of the streetlights outside filtered through the windows, casting a gentle light that framed their faces.

"Thank you for helping me close up," Cody said, his voice low and sincere.

"It was my pleasure," Obi-Wan replied, his eyes holding Cody's gaze. "It feels different, locking up the shop with you. It feels... right."

In that moment, with the quiet of the shop surrounding them, a profound sense of connection enveloped them. They were on the threshold of something new, a journey that was theirs to explore, filled with the promise of shared experiences and discoveries.

Cody reached out, his hand gently brushing Obi-Wan's. It was a tender gesture, charged with the emotion of the moment. "I'm looking forward to this journey with you, Obi-Wan. To finding out where this path leads us."

Obi-Wan's hand clasped Cody's, a firm yet gentle affirmation of their mutual feelings. "As am I, Cody. As am I."

With a final, lingering look, they stepped out of the shop, locking the door behind them. The night embraced them, a quiet witness to the beginning of their journey together. The shop, now dark and still, stood as a testament to their story, a story that was just beginning to be written under the watchful eyes of the stars above.

****

As Obi-Wan walked home, the cool night air brushed against his face, carrying with it the whispers of the city as it settled into slumber. His steps were unhurried, echoing softly on the pavement, each one a testament to the profound sense of contentment that filled him. In his mind, the events of the evening replayed like a cherished melody, each note resonating with the warmth of newfound hope.

He thought of the coffee shop, now silent and dark, but vibrant with the memories they had created within its walls. He thought of Cody, of the way his smile had the power to stir something deep within him, of the ease and sincerity in his voice, and of the gentle strength in his hands. The memory of their shared moment locking up the shop lingered at the forefront of his mind, a symbol of the journey they had just embarked upon together.

The air kiss, a simple yet profound gesture, danced in his thoughts, a delicate symbol of their budding relationship. It was a moment that encapsulated the beauty of what was developing between them – a connection that was as surprising as it was deeply right. The memory of it brought a gentle smile to Obi-Wan's lips, a smile that spoke of the joy and anticipation for what lay ahead.

With each step, Obi-Wan felt a growing sense of peace. The uncertainties of the future, which had once loomed large, now seemed manageable, even welcome, as long as he and Cody faced them together. He felt a renewed sense of purpose, a desire to explore this new chapter of his life with the same passion and dedication he applied to his academic pursuits.

As he reached his home and turned the key in the lock, he paused for a moment, taking a deep breath of the night air. He felt grounded, connected to the present in a way he hadn't been before. The evening had not just marked the closing of the coffee shop; it had signified the opening of a new door in his life, one filled with the promise of shared laughter, conversations, and the warmth of a connection that had grown from a simple daily routine into something truly extraordinary.

Obi-Wan stepped inside, the warmth of his home enveloping him. As he prepared for bed, the thought of seeing Cody the next morning filled him with a quiet joy. He drifted off to sleep with a heart full of hope, the memory of the evening's air kiss a gentle reminder of the beautiful journey that lay ahead.

Thank you for joining me on this journey with Obi-Wan and Cody. If you enjoyed their story, your comments and likes are always greatly appreciated.

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marc--chilton · 3 days

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(mgv) house and wilson display courting behaviors and don't even realize it. granted, courting in that sense is out of style and traditionalist so even if they did believe they were doing it, they'd wrinkle their noses (house especially). but like.... house buying them expensive tickets to a thing is an opportunity to grow closer, wilson letting his food get stolen isn't just a show of patience but proof he can be a good provider, etc etc. the amount of times they get mistaken for a couple in omegaverse is, in turn, much greater than it already is in canon

#house md #hilson #i can imagine some people are more food aggressive naturally as it's an evolutionary trait #parents typically teach their kids not to bite if anything else should anyone reach for their food #but once they come into secondary puberty the instinct can return with a vengeance #so the 90% of the time that wilson doesn't even twitch as house steals half his lunch is a ->#sign of just how close they are AND how much wilson actually likes house #because food sharing is a love language no matter the au it's in real life it's oouguhhh #i've been on this rant before i know i have #and they (general public) don't even know how many times wilson brings dinner home too..........#“home” to house's place. even if wilson HAS A WIFE AND HIS OWN PLACE #and that's just canon. this show makes me sick (i am having a great time with house md)#mgv

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maideninorange · 7 months

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You had saved your Leader's life, and in doing so, they are a true part of your garden now. So why won't your Leader stop crying?

Did I just write a sequel to my late night Pikmin bad end angst fic? Why yes, yes I did. Now with way more worldbuilding!

(TWs: Canon-Typical Violence, Suicidal Thoughts, Non-Con Body Mod (albeit more focused on the feelings of betrayal that result))

Also, Olimar is referred to with exclusively they/them pronouns here. Because Pikmin don't know what gender is, and this was my way of representing that.

#pikmin #captain olimar #olimin #bad end #canon typical violence #tw suicidal thoughts #tw non-con body mod #betrayal #honestly I don't think Pikmin language even has third person pronouns #but English does so I must make do #this fic is more me having fun with worldbuilding anyway #but also mega angsty too!#how fun!#...I need to write Olimar being happy for once #to be (one with the garden)

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zacharyleigh316 · 3 months

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the haunting cry of a hollow heart

the haunting cry of a hollow heart | E | 8.6K | Read here (or below cut)

Castiel, despite his interest in all things other, despite his favor for the fantastical, his love for reading stories and fairytales, despite his faith and religion, he didn’t believe in the supernatural. --

Though, regrettably, much to his chagrin, perhaps if he had, he wouldn’t have been so unprepared. --

He believed in the afterlife, believed in God, angels (he was named after one, after all) and demons, Heaven and hell. But that was where his belief both started and ended. He didn’t believe in those creatures the very stories he loved to read warned him about, the creatures that shape-shifted, or sucked humans dry. The creatures that feasted on dead flesh, or came from other lands, other universes.

Though, regrettably, much to his chagrin, perhaps if he had, he wouldn’t have been so unprepared. However, less regrettably, it did put him in the position of crossing paths with a man who, by all accounts would have never known he’d existed, a handsome athlete who ran in completely different crowds—or so he presumed originally—a man who he only knew in name until the very object of his disbelief brought them together.

Castiel was working late in the library that night, when he heard Charlie’s bright voice greet him from a distance.

“Yo, what’s up?” She had a grin on her face, of which he could hear before he even saw her.

Not that it was very hard, even over the stacks of books he was carting around, and through the thick bindings of ones already shelved, her bright red bob could be seen coming across campus.

“Charlie.” He said in lieu of a proper hello, but his tone was no less fond.

“Look at what I found.”

Castiel didn’t have time to ask before she was thrusting a piece of paper to his chest, a smug look on her face.

“And by found, naturally you mean…” he asked skeptically, pulling the paper away from himself and reading it.

“This is a flyer for the gala. The same flyer that’s been posted to the events billboard since the beginning of the semester.”

“Okay, so I might have taken-“

“Pilfered-“

Charlie playfully shoved his shoulder, and shot him a glare, without any of its usual bite, had it been directed toward anyone but him.

“-Taken,” she repeated, purposefully ignoring his correction, “from one of the boards, yes, but there’s so many of them, it’s not like they’ll miss one.”

Castiel hummed disapprovingly, but let her continue.

“I thought we could go!”

At that, Castiel furrowed his brow. “Go? To the Valentine’s Day gala?”

“Yeah! C’mon, it'll be fun. We’ll stuff our faces with free food, and watch people get shitfaced and make fools of themselves on the dance floor. Think of all the blackmail.”

“And with whom are you thinking of bringing as your date?”

“You, silly, duh! We’ll go together. As friends of course. Because you’re dreamy, but definitely not my type. Seeing as you’re not a girl.”

Castiel rolled his eyes. “You’re not my type either.” He muttered, handing her back the flyer.

The ‘seeing as I like guys’ went unsaid, but Charlie smiled anyway. They both knew this of one another of course, having been friends since freshman year, when Charlie bounded into his life uninvited but no less welcome, but Charlie liked to bring it up every now and then, “as a reminder” she had said once, flourishing it with a wink. Though, it was her odd idiosyncrasies that made her so likable by even someone like Castiel himself—not that he was entirely lacking in those either, except, people usually steered clear of him for his.

“And who knows, maybe there’ll be some hot people there we can hit on. Wins all around the board.” Charlie added jovially, taking the flyer back, only to wave it about the air as she gestured excitedly.

“You make it sound like we’re already going.”

She smiled at him guiltily, and Castiel couldn’t help but sigh.

“Charlie…”

“Don’t be mad, okay? Promise you won’t be mad?”

“That depends. What did you do?” He asked, though by the look on his friend’s face, he was certain he already knew the answer.

“About that…I…might have already…bought us tickets. To go.”

“Charlie…” Castiel said again, not bothering to hide the weariness in his voice.

“You said you wouldn’t be mad!”

“Actually I said it depends. But that’s not the point. You never asked if I would want to attend.”

“Well, that’s because I knew you’d say no.” Charlie snorted, not looking all that sorry for it.

Castiel knew she wasn’t.

“You don’t do anything fun unless we make you, and this is me making you. Besides, you can’t say you’d rather be working late hours in the library of all places, all by yourself, again, when you can be hanging out with the coolest people on the planet! And you know I’m right.”

Castiel sighed again, this time in, albeit reluctant, acquiescence. Not that Charlie would take no for an answer, anyway.

She grinned at the droop of his shoulders, knowing full well that was him giving up the fight. The queen, per usual, proved her right to the title; Castiel was no stranger to loss when it came to arguing with Charlie. He was certain no one was. She got her way in the end, eventually.

“Fine.”

“Yes! No one deserves to be alone on Valentine’s Day, Castiel. Even jaded history majors with a work study in the university library, such as yourself.”

“I’m not jaded,” he defended, turning back to his long since forgotten task of shelving the returns. “My people skills are just…rusty.”

“Unless they learned to talk back, which would be super cool by the way, burying yourself in work with books as your only company isn’t going to help.”

That, Castiel surmised, was a lesson he knew all too well.

Ever since her reveal that they would be attending the gala, courtesy to none other than herself, Charlie hadn’t shut up about it. Every chance she got she talked about it with the excitement erring on that of a small child, that Castiel couldn’t help but allow it to bleed into himself, despite his earlier grievances. He still had his doubts of course, feeling rather under qualified for a social occasion such as a dance, but it really did beat staying in library, or worse, in his dorm, all by himself, with nothing to do whilst his friends had fun living life—he’d also rather not have to hear the couple in the room beside him have raucous sexual relations all night. He, too, has learned that lesson the hard way.

“We should go shopping this weekend, make it a whole thing.” Charlie suggested to the table, before stealing some of the fries off Castiel’s plate, having finished her own minutes prior, and popping them into her mouth.

Gabriel snorted. “What makes you think we don’t already have outfits?”

Meg, who was pretending not to listen, but so clearly was, looked up from her phone with a smirk. “We’ve all seen inside your closet, that’s what.”

“I’ll have you know that everything in there is peak fashion.”

Meg raised a manicured brow. “To whom exactly? The dead guy you inherited it second hand from?”

“Hey! Thrifting is very efficient, and cost effective. You know, for a college student.”

“You’re a graduate student, mastering in business management, I hardly think you need to be frugal.” She argued, and Gabe crossed his arms, pouting.

“Cassie, you’re just going to let her be mean to me?!”

Castiel rolled his eyes. “Meg didn’t say anything that wasn’t true.”

Gabriel gasped, looking thoroughly offended. He shook his head, and sullenly turned back to his own food.

“Don’t worry, Gabe, we’ll pick something real nice for you. Oh, we can even do a montage!”

“Sorry, Red. You may be able to get me to tag along at the mall with you, but I’m not going to be participating in that.” Meg said defiantly, her mind already made.

“But…montage.”

Gabe scoffed, muttering into his lunch. “Forget trying to convince this one, Charles, she’s stubborn. Like a mu-OW!”

Meg glared at Gabe, who was now rubbing his shin, from across the table. “Finish that, and die.”

“We’ll be there.” Castiel said suddenly, interrupting his friend’s antics. “Unless you’d rather show up naked.” He said this to his brother.

“Ew. Don’t give him ideas.” Charlie scrunched up her face in disgust, and Gabriel let out a laugh.

“Hey! There’d be a lot of people who’d enjoy that kind of show.”

“In your dreams.” Meg said, at the same time of Castiel’s, “not if it got you kicked out.”

“You lot are so boring.” Charlie whined, finishing off Castiel’s fries too. “Regardless of whether or not you guys are doing a montage, I’m making you watch me do one.”

The four of them set out that weekend to go shopping for outfits, and, although they shared their initial reluctance at lunch all those days prior to their outing, Charlie did, in the end, get her montage(s). Castiel, despite feeling foolish whilst modeling his various selection of outfits—all chosen meticulously for him by Charlie and Meg because he “couldn’t be trusted to put together a coherent look that both fit properly and wasn’t a boring color”—couldn’t have denied his red headed friend in the first place. By the two additional shows they got alongside his and Charlie’s, he figured it was much the same for Meg and Gabriel too.

Castiel wouldn’t be incorrect in presuming that Charlie already knew this, but he’d be damned if he told her that she was right, that he had fun, of course he did, in time that would have otherwise been spent in solitude brought upon by no one but himself, lest he inflate her ego any further.

With four new outfits under their metaphorical belts, they left their shopping spree in good spirits. It was only natural then, that the overall good mood wouldn’t last, and the playful camaraderie established between the friends would change the second they got back to campus, to blue and red flashing lights.

“What…do you think happened?” Charlie asked, her expression mirroring what Castiel was sure all their faces looked like in that moment.

He shook his head in lieu of answering, and swallowed down the bile rising in his throat.

As they neared the quad, they merged silently with the ever growing group of onlookers, most of whom were peers and faculty, whispers amongst the sea of people seeming all too loud over the eerie blanket of quiet. The cops, separated from them only by a thin barrier of police tape, stood just along edges of the area they cordoned off, no doubt keeping the crowd at bay. They offered no explanation, though Castiel could barely make out the murmured “stay back”s over the dread in his gut.

He did hear the sharp inhale beside him, however, that was Meg, he was certain, closely followed by a gasp, Charlie, and when he looked over, he saw why.

There, lying just beyond, was a body.

The grass was dark, no doubt stained crimson from blood, and the large gaping wound, from where the skull was bashed in, from which could be none other than its source, was still seeping, still fresh. The eyes stared out, wide and unseeing, as Castiel stared back in abject horror.

That was when he saw him. Jaw set and arms crossed, just across the way on the other side, stood Dean Winchester.

The man looked determined, not surprised at all to see the dead body of a classmate, in fact, and Castiel couldn’t help but watch, watch as Dean seemed to assess, seemed to study the crime scene in front of them, as if he was filing it away for later. Castiel recognized that look, because it was one he shared whenever he was trying to solve a puzzle.

Dean looked up then, like he could feel Castiel’s gaze on him, and their eyes met. The moment they did, Castiel remembered—albeit rather shamefully—the way stomach flipped for an entirely different reason than the horrific sight before them. Gabe’s iron grip on his arm was the only thing able to pull his attention away, and so he took the time to check in on the well-being of his friends, but by the time Castiel got the chance to look back, Dean was already gone.

To say the suicide—it was classified as a suicide—stirred up the atmosphere on campus, would be an understatement. Castiel couldn’t remember a time where he’d felt so shaken in his faith, so rocked to the core, raw and open and vulnerable. It was on everyone’s minds, and on everyone’s lips, and it was all anyone heard about the next few days. They didn’t cancel classes, or work, the world still went on—even though their fellow classmate’s’ was cut short, Castiel reminded himself—everything proceeding as normal, as if someone hadn’t just died, and perhaps that was worse.

Castiel didn’t know what he expected, or why he thought it would go differently, but he prayed and prayed and prayed for peace for the lost soul. Still, he couldn’t get the image out of his head. Nor could he get a certain cutting figure, but that was neither here nor there.

The very little information he had was acquired secondhand from the tail-ends of gossip, at work in the library. Apparently, or so the running theory was, the young woman, in a bout of madness, bashed her head against the tree until she dropped. Another student on their way back to their dorm found her and called the proper authorities. Castiel couldn’t imagine being the one to find the body, and he’d seen it for himself that night. He also heard that the woman’s boyfriend was beside himself with grief, most understandably, that not even he believed she would kill herself, that they were happy. She’d begged him to take her to the gala and he’d agreed.

Castiel also heard that her brains had been sucked out, but he was certain that was just hearsay; she had severe head trauma, after all, it probably only seemed like her brains were gone, when in reality they were just…well.

Shaking his head from his musings, if they’d even be called that, he got back to work, trying to lose himself in the repetitiveness of routine. Charlie had been unnaturally quiet the past few days, the dance quickly overshadowed by the recent events that transpired, and none of them felt it right to change the subject either. Castiel understood, for he was much the same, but he relished in being able to escape feeling for however long his shift was.

“Uh, hey, do you have any books on Gaelic mythology and folklore?”

Castiel paused what he was doing, and turned to greet the voice—definitely not Charlie this time—only to meet a pair of recently familiar, but quite beautiful up close, green eyes.

“Oh. Hello, Dean.” He said dumbly, but was rewarded with an amused smirk.

“Heya, Cas. Well, do you?”

Castiel furrowed his brow. “What.”

Dean chuckled. “Have books. On Gaelic folklore.”

Castiel inwardly cursed his ineptitude, and allowed himself to blink, forcing his basic motor functions to, well, function.

“Yes. We do. You know who I am?”

Dean regarded him curiously, brow raised. “Well, yeah. You’re friends with Charlie. We’ve never had the pleasure of meeting before, but she does talk about her other friends.”

“Oh.” He said again, finding himself at a loss for words.

Dean didn’t seem to mind. In fact, he still seemed rather amused by it, much to Castiel’s displeasure.

Instead of dwelling on it, however, Castiel abandoned his cart and gestured to Dean for him to follow, leading the other man to the section where he’d find what he was looking for.

“If you need anything else, let me know.”

He didn’t ask why an engineering student would need a book on Gaelic folklore, nor did Dean offer up an explanation.

“Awesome, thanks Cas.”

The nickname stole Castiel’s breath away with a familiarity he wasn’t aware they had, because they didn’t, not really—Dean was just friendly it seemed—also did he say he knew Charlie, she never said anything why didn’t she say anything—and he stood there, lingering longer than he should, awkwardly shifting in place.

“I’m…going to go…now.” He announced unhelpfully, and Dean had the decency not to comment on it.

“You do that.” He replied with a smile, and turned his attention to the shelves.

Castiel, released from whatever hold the other man had on him the second his gaze was elsewhere and no longer pointed at him, quickly made his way back to finish his work, lest he embarrass himself further.

“I wasn’t aware you knew Dean Winchester.” He grumbled to Charlie at dinner that night.

“Dean? He’s my handmaiden, of course I know Dean.”

Gabriel snorted. “Handmaiden?”

“There’s a story to that, I can tell.” Meg said, amused.

Charlie chuckled, a welcomed sound that the group hadn’t realized they missed until they heard it.

“There is, but I’m not telling. A queen’s gotta have her secrets.”

Meg clicked her tongue disapprovingly, and Gabriel groaned, complaining about “being edged, and not in the fun way” which promptly earned a smirk from Meg, a loud, boisterous laugh from Charlie, and a look of disgust from Castiel.

There was another ‘suicide’ reported that night.

Castiel was in the hall heading to his religious studies class when he next ran into Dean Winchester. He couldn’t fathom how he went his entire college career without so much as seeing a glimpse of the man, and now he saw him thrice in a matter of a few days. All because their peers appeared to be being picked off one by one.

There were now an accumulated three deaths since the first, and Castiel’s doubt had steadily increased right alongside the creeping uptick in body counts. He detested his wavering faith in the police, but there was only so many ‘suicides’ exacted in the same manner that they couldn’t be categorized as ‘suicides’ anymore. Two could possibly pass a coincidence, but three was a pattern; he knew that much. He had pondered, however, the reluctance in which the police seemed to label the ‘suicides’ as ‘murders’, but was only met with unease. For there to be murder, which Castiel was already (mostly) convinced was the case, would naturally mean for there to be a murderer.

But wouldn’t he want to know if his life was in danger? He wasn’t sure which option was scarier, but he was positive he’d rather be afraid and knowledgeable than ignorant but afraid anyway. So it was a dangerous doubt, Castiel surmised, since the only conclusion it led to was the authorities withholding the truth, regardless if it was due to their own incompetence or ulterior motives.

Dean looked furious, expression blazoned with a fierce determination, fiery and bright, even from the distance where Castiel stood. It was a devastatingly beautiful look on him, he noted sourly, seeing as his stupid heart couldn’t have picked a worse time to seek out another, and form a ridiculous infatuation that, Castiel knew, would go nowhere, regardless of their connection with Charlie.

He was talking with a much younger man, though, with the boy’s height, one wouldn’t be able to tell at first glance, and immediately Castiel knew this was Dean‘s little brother, Sam Winchester—a freshman in pre-law. Castiel recalled seeing him about, since a lot of their classes were in the same building.

“I’m pretty sure I know what it is, I just don’t know who it is.” Dean growled, crossing his arms in a posing figure, much like the one on the night they first met.

“We’ll figure it out, Dean. We always do.” Sam reassured, looking all the worse for wear as he said it, however.

Like he was trying to convince himself too.

“Yeah, but how many people have to die before then, Sammy?” Dean replied wearily, a horrifying dark look casting a dark shadow across Sam’s face.

Castiel’s chest seized in terror as he witnessed it; he’d never seen such a look on anyone’s face before, a look that, with resounding clarity, should not have ever had a place on the younger Winchester brother’s face.

“Oh hey, Cas.” Dean greeted as he noticed his approach, shooting a look at his brother before his face slipped into an easy grin.

Castiel noticed he did so with practiced familiarity, as if he was used to putting on a mask, but didn’t mention it.

“Cas?” Sam questioned, at the same time Castiel himself said, “hello, Dean. Sam.” With a cordial nod.

Were they actually investigating the incident? What business did two brothers have in a series of deaths? What could they do that the police already weren’t?

He didn’t think it wise to ask them any of these questions either.

“Hey, Castiel.” Sam said with a little wave, a small, friendly smile smoothing out his expression the same way his brother’s did.

“Just dropping off my baby bro to class.” Dean lied, just as easy as the rest of him, and reached across to ruffle Sam’s shaggy hair.

Sam squawked indignantly, knocking Dean’s hand aside with a rising blush to his cheeks. Dean chuckled at his brother’s embarrassment, which was an action definitely more genuine than anything else previously had been. Castiel had experience with this, after all, being a little brother himself, to Gabriel especially.

“You heading off to one of your smarty pants classes too, Cas?”

Castiel raised a brow. “I’m not sure what you mean by that, but I’m heading to my religious studies class, yes.”

Dean chuckled. “‘S’nothing, Cas. Just teasing you. Y’know, cuz you and Sam are both nerds, attending all your boring nerdy classes.”

Sam shot a glare at his brother, and Cas tilted his head to the side, curiously.

“Interesting. You seem to regard us as nerds, but you too are one. Perhaps not in the same way, but I would consider you a nerd most of all, considering your area of expertise.”

Sam snorted, his glare morphing into a smug grin as Dean spluttered. Apparently he had not expected Castiel to come back with such a lethal rebuttal.

“Damn, Cas.” Dean whistled, and Sam nodded his agreement.

“I’ve been telling him that for years.”

“Unfortunately I’ll be late if I stay any longer. Goodbye, Dean. Sam.”

He nodded his apologies as he said goodbye, and passed them by on the way to his class.

“See ya, Cas.” Dean said after him, before grunting in what Cas could only assume was an elbow to his side from Sam.

“Cas, huh?” He asked, amused.

“Shaddup!”

“I can’t believe we’re still going to this damned dance, after everything.” Meg mused, wrapping a long, thin section of her brunette hair around her curling iron.

Gabriel snorted, adjusting the cuffs of his creme colored blazer, as he stared at himself in the mirror. They were all getting ready in Charlie’s room, their hangout spot more often than not, since she bought out the double as a premium single (which meant more space and privacy), and could reasonably, and comfortably, fit them all. Though, Castiel shared the sentiment, and often wondered too, why they still planned to go.

It made him uneasy to think that it was just another excuse to sweep things under the rug and pretend everything was normal by the administration, since, aside from the plethora of grief counselors at their disposal, they hadn’t really done much in assuaging any actual grief by divulging in some sort of explanation why people were dying (read: being murdered, he begrudgingly admitted to himself, because people didn’t experience the same bouts of madness that drove them to suddenly kill themselves, all in the same exact manner as the one that succeeded them). He wouldn’t have believed it if he didn’t see it himself.

Safety, Castiel thought sullenly, apparently came second to whatever the reason was for the university’s decision to proceed as if nothing happened.

He was also still unsure what the Winchesters had to do with any of it.

“You don’t sound too displeased.” Gabriel commented, smoothing invisible creases on his maroon turtleneck.

Meg shrugged. “Do I like that people are dying? Of course not. But I suppose being distracted by a dance is better than focusing on the fact that life is short, and death is inevitable.”

Gabe groaned, and Charlie made a sound of discontent.

“Okay, yeah, bummer. I mean, at least we have each other, right? It can still be fun…”

Meg grinned, cat like. “Oh I definitely plan to still have fun.”

“Get laid you mean?” Gabriel teased, which only emboldened her.

Meg turned around, arms opened wide as she presented herself, devastatingly gorgeous in a satin crimson dress, with a black, mesh overlay, and a, in Castiel’s opinion, leg slit dangerously close to her upper thigh. It left little to be desired, but he couldn’t deny she looked amazing in it. Of course it wasn’t a surprise to any of them, since she’d chosen this particular dress during their shopping trip, that seemed so long ago now, rather than just last week.

“Have you seen me? Getting laid is half the fun. The remaining survivors won’t know what hit ‘em.” She all but purred, and Gabriel shook his head.

“Can’t believe you’d think about sex during these hard times.”

“Oh, and you aren’t?” Charlie quipped back, and Meg laughed.

He was glad his friends could find light in the darkness, but it didn’t sit right with him to participate. He did have the heart to. It didn’t feel right, when a guy lost his girlfriend, and then another girl lost hers. When another person lost their partner right after. And then, just the other day, another guy lost his boyfriend. It didn’t seem like the right time for anything, let alone love.

“Clarence, you okay? You’re awfully quiet over there.” Meg asked, snapping him out of his thoughts.

“I know it sounds kinda fucked up, but the situation is kinda fucked up.” Charlie added, reaching over to pat shoulder.

He loathed to be the one to bring down the mood so he forced a smile. “I know, it’s alright. I’m…okay.”

It was a lie, on every account, and they all knew it, but thankfully none of them pressed him further.

“Well, it’s settled then. We’re gonna go to the gala, just like planned, and we’re gonna have fun, stuff our faces, make fun of drunk people, and maybe get our flirt on.” Charlie said with a determined air of finality, and the rest of their group nodded.

“Are we all ready?” She asked, having been the first to finish, but looking nothing less than graceful in her fuchsia pantsuit.

Castiel looked down at himself, feeling a bit self conscious in black, slim fitting slacks, and a dusty rose colored dress shirt, his blazer a matching black with light, pink floral patterns, but both Meg and Charlie assured him when he tried it on, that he looked ‘hot’ in the outfit. He wasn’t all too sure he would have used those words, nor did he have desire to look ‘hot’, but he accepted the praise for what it was, and bought it with encouragement from all three of his friends.

He nodded reluctantly, and they all filed out of Charlie’s dorm, looking ready to take on the night. He tried not to imagine the walk to the campus ballroom as a death march to the gallows. Tried to ignore the impending doom settling deep in his gut, to think positive thoughts, about spending time with his friends having fun at the dance, what had been Charlie’s original selling point, when she approached him at work—which seemed like forever ago now—and proposed the idea of going to the dance in the first place.

He failed.

Castiel didn’t know precisely when it happened, but, at some point during the night, he and his friends got separated. He had excused himself to get some air outside in the hallway, away from prying eyes and warm bodies, tightly packed together on the dance floor, at cocktail tables, and hidden in not so secret corners.

He closed his eyes and rested his head against the wall, when the sound of distant thudding reached his ears, just under the sound of the music, like an undercurrent to the pulsing bass of whatever was playing in the ballroom.

At first, he attempted to ignore it, truly he did. But it continued, louder and louder and more aggressive; it was too far to discern anything, so, in what must have been a fit of insanity, for the serious lapse in judgment, he pushed himself off the wall and walked toward the sound, curiosity getting the better of him.

What Castiel witnessed then was no short of terrifying. He rounded the corner, and nearly lost all his breath, watching in frozen terror as someone bashed their head repeatedly into the glass window of a classroom, his knees almost buckling at the wet crunch of their skull cracking against the surface of the glass, icy fractures running up and out like veins in a splintered web as it, too, broke under pressure.

The person was crying, screaming really, hands cupped over bloodied ears, begging for someone to “make it stop, please just make it stop!” When, seemingly all at once, it did.

With one last sounding thump, they slid down to floor, smearing blood and brain matter against the pane of glass, and Castiel was helpless to do anything but watch, an unfortunate bystander to such a vile display, like an out of body experience that rattled his very soul, whilst his real, tangible body, this corporeal form, stay firmly rooted where it was.

But nothing, and he meant nothing, would have ever prepared him for the absolutely repulsive, ghastly looking, free-floating creature that materialized out of nowhere, before it stuck its long, equally repulsive tongue into the stranger’s head, and (honest to god) slurped their brains out. If Castiel thought what had just transpired was hard enough to stomach, it was nothing compared to watching this…this thing feast on someone who, only minutes prior, had been a living, breathing human.

Eyes wide and full of fearful tears, mind screaming at him to “move, just move, get out of here, run!” Castiel managed to take a step back. Unfortunately for Castiel, the movement was enough to rouse the monster from its food, dead, milky white eyes zeroing in on him and once again stealing his breath away. Choking on a silent gasp, Castiel had just enough time to see it unhinge its jaw, before he finally forced himself into a sprint back the way he came, stumbling only when an ear piercing shriek sounded from behind him, so loud it shook the walls.

An unnatural mist he hadn’t noticed before, sluggishly seeped from the tiled floor, surrounding his ankles, pouring endlessly up and out, creeping along the walls and pooling across ceiling, and out of it came the screaming beast, somehow right in front of him, blocking Castiel’s path. He cried out in pain as it screamed even louder, the sound reverberating in his skull, causing his vision to blur. He reached up to cup his ears, his heart lurching at the warm fluid he felt trickle against his palms.

He realized that, and perhaps a bit too late, but again with resounding clarity, that this was what had killed all those other people. That this was what was going to kill him.

“Hey, you ugly son of a bitch!”

Castiel snapped his eyes open—when had he closed them, he couldn’t remember—and watched the creature tear its attention away from him, snarling toward the intruder.

“Get away from him!”

Castiel flinched at the sound of a shotgun round, heard the shells clatter to the floor as the shooter reloaded, but was unable to look away from the thing in front of him as it dissolved into whatever before his eyes, just as quickly as it appeared. And yet, Castiel dared not take a breath, in fear that it would return because he had.

“Is…is it dead?” He asked, realizing the screaming had stopped, despite the residual ringing in his ear.

“Unfortunately, no. Only pure gold can kill these things.” Dean answered, guiltily.

“Right.”

“But not to worry. Rock-salt rounds are enough to stall them for a bit. Banshees take longer to recover than other spirits, so we have some time.”

Castiel said nothing, and Dean looked over at him, worry in his expression. He reached out, a comforting hand on Cas’ shoulder.

“You okay, Cas? I know that can be…a lot your first time.”

“First time?” Castiel muttered, brow furrowed.

“Uh, yeah,” Dean had the gall to appear abashed, nervously rubbing the back of his neck. “Y’know, your first encounter with the…supernatural.”

Castiel hated how he noticed how good Dean looked, even like that.

“The supernatural…” he parroted, as if trying it on for size.

And suddenly it all clicked in place. He glanced down at the gun, a sawed-off shotgun to be precise, in Dean’s hand, the one that had been used to blast away the banshee. He’d called it a banshee, a spirit, a malevolent fae spirit, from Gaelic folklore. Dean came to the library asking for a book on Gaelic folklore. He’d caught Dean and Sam talking about the murders after that. He remembered the ease at which Dean wore his mask then, how the lie came as free as breathing. The fierce determination radiating from both men, a look that Dean held close to his heart the very moment their eyes locked across the quad on the night of the first, and one Castiel noticed every time they ran into one another thereafter.

“Cas?”

“Dean.”

“Y-yeah?” Dean furrowed his brow, looking a bit put out by the lack of tone in Castiel’s voice, probably because he couldn’t read the situation anymore, but mostly concerned for, and about, Cas.

“You were investigating. The deaths.” A statement, not a question.

“Uh, kinda? Me and my brother we…hunt the supernatural.”

Castiel recalled how comfortable Dean looked when using the shotgun, the speed in which he reloaded after taking a shot, and hummed.

“A banshee. Did you hear it too then? You knew what it was.”

“Not exactly. I knew what it was because of the nature of the kills. Only its targets can hear its scream.”

Castiel closed his eyes and swallowed against the lump in his throat. “I heard it…”

“…”

Castiel opened his eyes, taking in the knowing look on Dean’s face, seeing the guilt and concern and anger—the latter not directed at him—there, all at once, wrapped into one gut wrenching expression.

“Am I going to die?”

“No.” Dean snapped immediately, sounding so sure that Castiel couldn’t help the flare of hope in his chest.

“Their screams are usually a death sentence, Dean. I watched…I watched that person get their brains sucked out. After they…killed themselves. It’s how the others died too, isn’t it?

“Fuck,” Dean cursed, shaking his head, “sorry you had to see that, Cas. It’s true I was too late to save them, but I will save you. I promise.”

Castiel didn’t feel like reminding Dean not to make promises he couldn’t keep. He really hoped that he could.

Castiel was in the middle of contemplating how mad his friends would be if he didn’t get to say goodbye, if he just left and disappeared without a word, when the walls of the hallway he and Dean retreated to (further, and at a safe distance, away from the ballroom) began to rattle. The lights flickered angrily, and the same mist from before returned, coming from everywhere and nowhere all at once.

Castiel heard its screams before anything else, however, and already knew it was back.

It materialized behind them, and all for Dean’s fast reflexes, he was still a tad too slow to react, and certainly felt it as his back made contact with the floor a good few feet away, after the banshee tossed him aside without even touching him.

“Dean!” Castiel called after him, only to be brought to his knees by the shrieking to his left, its rancid breath curling against his skin, and raising the hair on the back of his neck.

He grunted in pain, his ears ringing anew, and blindly struck out with the iron poker Dean had lent him, slumping when it, just as Dean said, disappeared. The relief was momentary, and it quickly reappeared beside Dean, who was still trying to grasp his bearings, looking downright pissed at being thwarted again.

“Son of a bitch-“ Dean’s curse was cut short, or rather, drowned out by another rattling screech, right in Dean’s face.

It reached out and pinned him down, and he turned his head, trying to wriggle out of its grip.

“Ugh! Ever heard of breath mint, lady?”

“Dean…” Castiel breathed, exasperated. He never ceased to be amazed by Dean’s tenacity to joke in the face of danger (literally).

Dean knocked their foreheads together, catching the banshee off guard, and managed to toss it off him, quickly grabbing his shotgun and taking a shot before it had time to recover. It exploded in a fiery cloud of whatever it was made of, and Castiel managed to pick himself up off of the floor, helping Dean up after making his way over to him.

“Thanks.” He said breathlessly, giving his hand a squeeze.

Castiel nodded, and didn’t fail to notice the way their hands lingered, before they dropped back down to their collective sides.

“Did you and Sam ever figure out why it’s here?”

Dean snorted. “Yeah. Our friendly neighborhood banshee is killing people because she’s jealous.”

“Jealous? Of whom?” Castiel asked, trying to make sense of it.

“Us. You know. Lovers, halves of a pair. Whatever. Guess Valentine’s Day stirred up some resentment, some bad memories.” Dean clarified with a shrug.

Castiel knew it wasn’t what Dean meant, when he said ‘us’, but he tried not to blush all the same.

“That’s why they were all people in a relationship?”

“Bingo. Banshees hunt in a particular place until there’s nothing left, and a college campus is basically a feast of couples, so our friend would have been well fed on us for a while, if it wasn’t for Sammy and I.” Dean sighed.

“Just wish we figured it out sooner.”

“You can’t blame yourself for that, Dean. But if what you said is true, why is she after me?”

“Eh, you got in her way. That, or you’re in love.” He said wryly, and at that Castiel did blush.

“Plus Charlie told me she signed you all up for the gala. Everyone who died so far was on that list. Could be a coincidence but…” Dean trailed off and shrugged again, but shot a smile over to Cas.

“You look really good by the way. Sorry you got caught up in all this. You got all dressed up and now you’re missing the dance, trying to hunt a banshee with me. You didn’t even know this stuff existed until now, and all you’re getting out of it is a ruined outfit.”

Castiel snorted. “And my life. I think surely that’s worth more. Along with everyone else’s life. I couldn’t care less about an…outfit. It was nice though.”

Dean chuckled. “Makes sense.”

“Besides, I didn’t even want to go. To the dance. Charlie made me. My only regret is that I didn’t let her know where I would be. But would you believe me when I’d say I’d rather be hunting a banshee with you, than in there with all those people?

“What, not a people person, Cas?”

Castiel shot him a deadpan look that made him laugh, and, despite himself, Cas found himself laughing along.

“Yeah. M’not either. Not really. Sure I talk a big game, but there’s only a few people who I can be real with, y’know?”

Castiel opened his mouth to reply, when the light above them exploded, and the banshee flew into them, dragging them across the hall and throwing them into the wall on the opposite end of where they had been standing. They crashed into each other, the impact stealing all the breath from his lungs, and they tumbled to the ground in a pile, the banshee’s resounding cackle rumbling the building like an earthquake.

Castiel rolled off of Dean, looking sullenly at their weapons that had clattered to the ground and skidded across the tile just out of reach.

“Damn, this bitch is really getting on my nerves.” Dean grunted out, almost a growl.

“I think I’m starting to share your sentiment.” Castiel managed, glaring at the imposing figure of the banshee, as she floated above them.

This time, when she screamed, both Cas and Dean cowered away from the sound.

“Really wish I had a golden blade right about now.” Dean joked, and Castiel groaned.

“Dean!”

“Sorry.” He apologized, though he didn’t sound that sorry to Castiel at all.

The banshee reached out and grabbed the lapels of Dean’s jacket, as if reminding them she was there, and picked him up off the ground. He scrambled for purchase, struggling in her tight grip, but his efforts were fruitless, and, as she raised them higher, her screaming never faltered.

Castiel reached up, wincing as the pads of his fingers pressed against the weeping wound at his forehead, and shakily lowered them again.

“If you wanted a dance, all you had to do was ask.” Dean quipped, which worked well in keeping her distracted.

“But any more than that I’ll have to politely decline. Don’t believe the rumors about me, I need to be wined and dined a least once before I put out.”

With a vindictive screech, Dean went flying again, but this time he was expecting it, and tumbled out of his fall. It wasn’t graceful by any means, but it still impressed Castiel.

He managed to grab the poker, his shotgun stuck between him and the banshee, and swung it as she charged at him. The moment she disappeared, Castiel scrambled up and tossed the shotgun to Dean, before ducking behind him.

Grateful that the attention was off him, he got to work, as Dean wildly swung at the banshee, her attacks becoming more ruthless as his hits became more predictable. He glanced up at the two of them, the mist acting as a smoke screen as she disappeared and reappeared, swirling around the poker as Dean used his baseball prowess to hit her every strike and lunge. It was ineffective in the long run, and hardly a long term solution, especially as Dean’s stamina wore out, but it helped Castiel by keeping her distracted once more.

When he finished, he stood up, fixing the banshee with a hard glare, the movement drawing her gaze to him.

“When it’s two against one, make sure to have eyes on both enemies.” He growled out, and as she charged after him, knocking an exhausted Dean off to the side, Castiel slammed his hand down on the blood sigil he made, activating both it and its copy on the opposite side of the hall.

It glowed bright, and in a matter of seconds, the banshee was dragged backward, and trapped against the wall, bound by the line of sigils. She roared, struggling against her invisible tether, mist swirling angrily, lights flickering like crazy, but she remained trapped, her fretting useless against the Celtic blood trapping spell.

“Holy shit, Cas!” Dean exclaimed, both pride and awe in his tone.

“You may be a hunter Dean, but you’re not the only one who reads.”

Dean grinned. “Awesome. How did you know that would work?”

“To be fair, I didn’t. But I figured if banshees were real, then the magic used to trap them must be too. So, while you kept her distracted, I drew the sigils with my blood.”

“Awesome.” Dean repeated, and Castiel couldn’t help but smile back.

Then, startling both of them out of whatever moment they were just about to have, the banshee suddenly burst into flames with a cry, crumbling like burnt paper into floating, ashy debris, until there was nothing left.

“What-“

The trill of Dean’s phone signaled an incoming call, interrupting whatever Castiel was about to ask, and he looked over curiously as Dean fished the device out of his pocket.

“It’s Sam.” He explained before picking up. “Sup, bitch. Took your sweet old time salting and burning the body, didn’t you?”

Castiel’s eyes widened. Salting and what-ing the body?!

“Yeah, fucking thing almost took out me and Cas…” he blushed and glanced over at him, before quickly looking away, and lowering his voice.

“Uh, yeah, that Cas. I mean there’s no other, is there? Anyway Sammy, don’t change the subject. What took you so long?”

Dean snorted. “Excuses, excuses. What? Oh…uh…I don’t know if he’d be up for that.”

Dean’s brow furrowed. “Well would you if you just got attacked by a banshee?”

The features then smoothed from his face, and he grinned once more. “You shoulda seen him Sammy, he used his blood to draw these badass sigils and trap the banshee, it was awesome.”

Castiel felt the heat rising in his cheeks, unsure how he felt about the Winchester brothers talking about him whilst he was right there, and only able to hear only half of the conversation, but mostly he was just embarrassed.

“Yeah yeah, alright, I’ll ask him. Bye, bitch.” Dean hung up and fondly rolled his eyes, before walking over to Cas.

“Sorry about that. Sammy had only just finished digging…uh well, you don’t need to hear about that, haha, the less you know the better, but the banshee is banished for good now, and he should be on his way back, thank fuck, but he suggested that after we clean up, maybe we catch the end of the dance together, if you-mmph!”

Castiel surged forward, most likely encouraged by the adrenaline still pumping through him—if not for that, he’s certain he would not have been that bold—and sealed their lips together, cutting Dean’s rambling short.

“Yes.” He whispered between them as he pulled away, Dean blinking away the surprise as his brain rebooted and processed what just happened.

“Uh…yeah?” Dean said dopily, a smile tugging at his lips.

Those lips Castiel just kissed.

“Yes.”

“Even though you said you’d rather be fighting a banshee than go to the dance?” Dean asked, sounding amused.

“We fought the banshee.” Castiel replied rather seriously, earning a chuckle from Dean.

“True. Guess we do deserve a reward after that.”

“Besides,” Castiel started with a sigh, “I disappeared without saying anything earlier. I’m sure Charlie, at the very least, is worried about me.”

Charlie was indeed worried about him, but so was Meg and Gabriel, in their own way. After he and Dean cleaned up, including making themselves semi presentable, they entered the ballroom only looking slightly rumpled, and no less for wear than they had already. The trio bounded up to him right away, once they found him, but Charlie couldn’t admonish him for long without acknowledging the man beside him—rather excitedly, might he add.

She jumped up and gave him a hug, which Dean happily returned, only wincing slightly as his sore muscles tugged and flexed to compensate for the weight and movement. He put her back down not too long after, and the second her feet touched the ground, the three of them were on them like a pack of hellhounds.

“You two came in together?” Gabriel asked, smirking.

“Where did you go? Why didn’t you tell us?” Charlie punched both of their arms lightly, and pouted.

“You two came in together?” Gabriel said again, looking even more smug, if possible.

“We looked everywhere for you and couldn’t find you! We thought you might have left, but then you didn’t say anything, or tell anybody if you got back to the dorm safe or not!” Charlie continued, shaking her head in blatant disapproval.

“You two came-ow!” Gabriel rubbed the back of his head, and pouted at a smirking Meg.

Castiel, who was scowling at his brother, felt his face smooth out, and Meg rolled her eyes rather dramatically.

“We get it, Gabe, they came in together. Did you fuck?”

Dean laughed, and shook his head. “No, we definitely didn’t. Cas is too good for a quick fuck like that, anyway.”

Meg nodded her approval, and Castiel groaned, hiding his face in his hands. Gabriel and Charlie both grinned.

“He just went out for air, when I happened to pass by on my way back from the auto-shop. I wasn’t sure I wanted to come to the dance, but then I saw Cas standing there looking like that, well.”

Charlie squealed excitedly, waving her hands in the air. “This is so awesome! I told you the dance would be fun, did I not say the dance would be fun?”

Castiel and Dean shared a look, a brief moment of silent conversation only they would understand, and Castiel let out a sigh.

“You did.” He confirmed, though ‘fun’ was a vast understatement, and certainly not how he would describe the dance—not that he’d experienced much of it, fighting a malevolent Gaelic fae spirit, and all.

“Aw man,” Charlie said with pout, as if she had a sudden revelation, “Cas is way ahead of us you guys! He wasn’t even here and managed to bring a date. Wait, you guys are here as a date right?”

“Yes, Char, we’re here together, as a date.”

Charlie squealed again, muttering how she “totally shipped it” whatever that meant, and turned back to their group with more fervor than ever that they “needed to catch up”. This time, however, when they separated, it didn’t bring the sense of dread it did when Castiel first encountered the banshee, and thought for certain he was about to die, without ever having said goodbye.

“I never did thank you, Dean. For saving me earlier. I truly thought I was…well. I didn’t think I would still be here, and I probably wouldn’t have been, if it wasn’t for you.”

“Dude, don’t thank me. You held your own against the banshee too. It was pretty hot.”

Castiel rolled his eyes, but smiled. He caught Charlie’s eye across the dance floor, and she gave him a thumbs up. Gabriel caught his eye next, but made a rather lewd gesture that would have appalled him, had Dean not also caught it and snickered, finding it amusing. Meg shoved him, and Castiel smirked as Gabriel flailed about, silently thanking her for once again reprimanding his brother on his behalf. She winked at them before turning away, and Castiel tilted his head to the side, thoughtfully.

“It’s strange to think that not too long ago we were fighting a supernatural creature, and now we’re back at the dance, spending time with our friends like it didn’t happen. There’s literally a body down the hall.”

“Eh, Sam’s got that taken care of. And nobody will know you were there, or what we did at all. They’re safe, and that’s what matters. That’s the job.”

Castiel hummed, and turned to Dean with an appreciative look. Dean looked back, blushing slightly at the attention, but smiled softly regardless.

“What?” He asked, and Castiel shook his head.

He kissed Dean in lieu of answering, and Dean eagerly kissed back.

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poormeowmeowcollector · 2 years

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No One Will Hurt You Again

Relationship: Charles Xavier/Erik Lehnsherr

Warnings: implied smut, trauma, smoking, alcohol, antisemitism, language, canon typical violence

Summary: Charles finds a mutant wrecking havoc at Miami because he's thirsty for revenge. So, he adopts him. (X-Men: First Class retelling but with Maneskin lyrics)

Notes: part of Lu Creative Time Challenge, song of choice is Coraline by Maneskin. Regarding Loki and Two Kings And One Guard, I don't know when I will finish it and go back to writing Loki, but I will see what I can do.

read on AO3

After Erik's interrogation was done, the CIA agreed with Charles' wish to keep him on the mutant team with a ground total of 3 people. The director told them they'd stay in a motel for the night. Moira and the others still distrust Erik, so Charles offered to take a room with him, insisting that he can keep a close eye on him. He didn't lie, but he didn't clarify what eye he'd be keeping.

Italian: Coraline bella come il sole / Guerriera dal cuore zelante / Capelli come rose rosse / Preziosi quei fili di rame, amore, portali da me

English: Coraline beautiful like the sun / A warrior with a zealous heart / Hair like red roses / Those copper-like wires, love, give them to me

The cheap motel room (possibly to avoid suspicion) only has one king-sized bed and no couch or even armchair. Charles freezes, taking turns staring at the bed and at Erik.

“Should I ask if we can get another room? One with two beds?” he asks. He might know basically all about Erik, but that's not mutual, there's no guarantee he'll be comfortable sleeping with a stranger. Instead, Erik glares at him like the suggestion was the worst of insults.

“Why are you asking?” he growls, like he's expecting disgust but is still willing to fight it. Charles needs a second to decode why Erik would snap, and his eyes widen when he realizes.

“No, no, no issue with you. But, we don't know each other…” he trails off, trying to save something. Erik's stance relaxes slightly, the furious fire in his steel cold eyes toning down but not disappearing.

“One night won't kill us, and I trust you are not stupid enough to attempt anything,” he shrugs, kicking off his boots and claiming one side of the bed. Charles sits on the edge, focused on untying his shoes, peeling off his clothes until he's left with a shirt and pants, and hesitantly gets in the bed.

Of course, Erik just lies on his back, head turned away from Charles and to the door, his breathing slow and steady as he sleeps. Unaware that Charles can't take his eyes off him, his lean yet firm body, the soft curls of his auburn hair that the moonlight allows Charles to see.

Erik's not like Charles. He's not a telepath. How could he know? How could he know that he's not the only gay man in the motel room, that Charles's dreams that night were filled with that skilled body, that soft voice, that beautiful copper hair? And how could Charles tell him?

Charles is famished, so he just drags Erik to the closest restaurant and sits down. Erik doesn't even bat an eye, it's not the first time since they started recruiting, and he knows that Charles' telepathy is making him need more calories than a baseline human. And, to be honest, Charles is not the only one who requires a bit more to manifest his powers properly.

Italian: Se senti campane cantare / Vedrai Coraline che piange / Che prende il dolore degli altri / E poi lo porta dentro lei

English: if you hear bells singing / You'll see Coraline crying / Taking the pain of others / Carrying it inside of her

When they receive the menu, Charles smirks slightly at Erik's surprise.

“You will let me order for you,” Erik orders, his voice having that tone that's excluding no from the acceptable answers. Charles nods and watches Erik inspect the menu and then order what sounds like enough food for five people, not a single word familiar to Charles' ears.

“Please don't poison me,” Charles mumbles after the waiter leaves with the menus. Erik shakes his head, a playful smile on his lips as he takes off the leather jacket that has become an extension of his skin despite the heatwave.

“Why would I poison the only tolerable person on the planet?” he snorts and watches Charles laugh at the reaction. Then, they sit in silence, both enjoying Erik's ease with the place, like he finally found where he can breathe. Just because he happened to be dragged to a Jewish owned restaurant during Charles' crusade for food.

“Can I ask you something?” Charles hesitates, he doesn't want to spoil Erik's mood. It's the first time he sees him so unguarded, and it'd be a shame to ruin it. Erik shrugs, waiting. “How long has it been since you last ate what you ordered?” he watches carefully for a negative reaction, but it never comes.

Charles knows that Erik has stopped believing. It's something he found out when he searched his mind that night with the submarine. And, by his refusal to cook anything other than fried eggs and pasta, he knows that his cooking skills are barely existent. Yet, he asks.

“Oh, well…” Erik mutters, trying to remember. His memory is usually better than most, so that's not a good indicator. “Since I was… 8-ish? It was harder for my mother to find ingredients after we fled after Kristallnacht, and I never really learned how to cook on my own,” he doesn't sound upset, not really. But Charles knows that the low hum of his mind is the same grief as every time he mentions his mother, his life before Shaw or the camp.

Erik keeps that hum as private as he can, letting it slip only whenever he thinks Charles is asleep, well after midnight. And Charles knows how to identify that hum only because he searched Erik's mind. But Erik is now letting that hum play, in a public place. Charles doesn't see the angry man everyone sees right now, just someone deprived of comfort, and he's willing to deliver.

“Then, I am sure you'll enjoy them,” he smiles, his eyes gleaming when he notices Erik's smirk, the hum getting more quiet. They're quick to fall into a familiar trance, sharing a comfortable silence that's interrupted only by judging the bystanders.

All until the food arrives.

Erik likes to present himself as a cynical man, someone untouched by whatever happened to him and whatever happens to people around him. He's exceptionally good at this, so good that even he believes it to be true. But after that night in the dock in Miami, Charles knows that he's the exact opposite. If he hadn't been in his mind, he'd also believe what everyone else does, that Erik is cold and emotionless.

And if he did, watching him stay frozen at the sight of the full of food dishes would be completely unexpected. But he knows better.

“Erik?” he asks, his voice low as he tries to not startle him. Erik still tenses for a split second, the dull knife on his right turning towards Charles. He shakes his head, tries to speak, but stays with his mouth agape before forcing it shut. One hand goes to his face, tries to rub off something from his eyes, Charles needs time to realize he’s wiping tears.

“Pardon me…” Erik's voice is barely audible as he gets up and escapes to the bathroom. Everything inside Charles screams at him to follow, to make sure Erik's okay, not alone, anything. But he knows that Erik doesn't exactly welcome emotional support, that he'll just go elsewhere until he recomposes himself.

The food is cold when Erik returns, untouched, even though Charles' body begs for food. He still manages to eat most of the table, Erik nibbling from here and there between taunts at how nothing will disappear if Charles breathes between bites. But Erik's voice is deeper, tinted with that sadness the low hum indicates, and his mood won't lift until the next morning.

“You can read me whenever you feel like it, you're always welcome,” Erik says, still coming down from the high, pressing Charles' naked back against his bare chest. His voice is a murmur, easier to feel than to listen. Charles's head isn't in a better state, he doesn't question. And even if he did, Erik would be asleep before he could answer.

Italian: Però lei sa la verità / Non è per tutti andare avanti / Con il cuore che è diviso in due metà, / È freddo già. / È una bambina però sente come un peso / E prima o poi si spezzerà

English: But she knows the truth / Not everyone can carry on / With their heart split in two / And it's cold already / She's a child, but she feels a weight / And sooner or later she'll break

He still meant it. Never offended or scared as Charles brushes through his thoughts. They would stay silent together, their minds mixed into one, like colors during a sunrise. One would use the link instead of speaking, either for privacy or because he didn't dare break the silence.

And Charles loves Erik's mind. It shines among the others like a diamond among gravel, attracting his telepathy like the most powerful magnet. He doesn't know if it's part of Erik's mutation or just the way he is, but there's no complaint. There's a pleasant mix of everything in Erik's mind, like a busy but cozy room. A harmony of languages, memories, ideas, and emotions, all one intertwining with the other as if threads of a luxurious piece of fabric.

But Erik's mind is not always the best place to be.

Charles's telepathy can sense trauma, spot it with ease. In most minds, it's like a flood of memories and feelings, threatening to tear apart everything with the most simple tap. Erik's mind is unique even in that way. It's not a flood, never a flood. Not even when he is overwhelmed or upset. It's like a pipe with a small leak, drop after drop hitting his mind, the erosion slowly doing its work but never stopping.

Charles is welcome in Erik's mind, but Erik still has areas that are restricted, protected by walls, areas the erosion has affected. Charles doesn't mess with the walls, averts his attention whenever he gets close, and he knows that Erik avoids these places as well.

Only a few times they touched these areas, when Charles was keeping the link while they were both tired and drunk in their motel room. At that moment, the walls were thin, and Charles's presence in Erik's mind was the tap to break them down.

Within moments, both men were reduced to hyperventilating messes, clenching onto one another like their lives depend on it. They tried to soothe each other, Charles apologizing for messing with his mind and Erik insisting that it's just a memory, that he knows how to handle it, but it's something new for Charles. They'll need almost two hours and five packs of cigarettes to manage to calm down relatively, but sleep is long forgotten.

Charles is still invited in Erik's mind, but he knows to keep the walls at arm's length.

Charles is reading in the leisure area on the base, enjoying the few moments of privacy. Until Moira comes in.

Italian: E la gente dirà: "Non vale niente / Non riesce neanche a uscire da una misera porta" / Ma un giorno, una volta, lei ci riuscirà

English: And people will say: “she's worth nothing / She can't even walk out of one stupid door” / But one day, some day, she'll do it

“We need to talk about Erik,” she drags a chair right in front of Charles, stubbornly sitting in.

“If it's about the leftover incident, he said your food is, and I quote, so unseasoned she could be eating paper and never know unless she started farting confetti, so I doubt he'll steal from you again,” Charles tilts his head, book closed on his lap.

“He is a liability, he won't hesitate to go rogue upon seeing Shaw,” she informs Charles, her eyes scanning him. “And we don't know if he's in position to help,” she adds, hesitant. Charles needs just one glance in her mind to find what made her suddenly so unsure about Erik.

The CIA has files on everyone, Erik Included. She opened it, found out about Erik's history with Shaw.

“I assure you, Moira. Erik is dedicated to stopping Shaw, powerful enough to do so and in his right mind,” he smiles, trying to brush off her concern without using his power. She doesn't seem to listen.

“Charles, he was in a camp! He met Shaw there! You can't possibly think it's a good idea to have him involved,” she insists, more upset about the information she received than about the strategy. Charles pauses for a bit, tries to think of his next move.

“I hope that you understand that this means that Erik is the one insisting on this, not that he is not in the state to confront Shaw,” Charles leans forward, smiling as Moira's mouth is agape.

“You can't possibly trust him! He's…” she trails off, and everything clicks.

“I think, if you have any argument about Erik's presence, he should be present to listen to your criticism,” he points out, watching Moira's blood leave her face. “Unless, of course, you know he'll be angry at your ideas, and for a good reason,” he smirks as the woman stays speechless.

“Listen to me well, Moira. You could drop the Shaw case, and so could I. Erik will either kill Shaw or die trying. On this mission, he is the most rigid of us, the most likely to take this to the end. And, if your bigotry gets in our way, I'll have him informed, and I assure you, he has no mercy for people like you and I have no reason to put some on his head. So, either you keep those words to yourself and assist us in stopping Shaw, or we continue without you, and I leave you unprotected to Erik's will. Do we have an understanding?” he watches satisfied as Moira struggles to find words, as she glances at the door, waiting for Erik to storm in.

“He will die trying,” she whispers, her confidence gone. At this, Charles chuckles.

“It's more possible for the sun to rise from the West,” he knows very well that his smile as he forms the words isn't because he won the argument.

No one is up at that hour. Moira and the rest of the kids have long fallen asleep. But Charles still feels the buzz of a mind keeping him up. When he realizes that the mind will just not shut up, he takes matters into his own hands.

Italian: E ho detto a Coraline che può crescere / Prendere le sue cose e poi partire / Ma sente un mostro che la tiene in gabbia / Che le ricopre la strada di mine

English: And I tell Coraline she can grow up / Take her things and then leave / But she feels a monster caging her / And covering her path with mine

He doesn't need to wander around, but he does have to look up at the roof to spot Erik sitting on the roof tiles and gazing at the woods.

«I suppose you are not looking for company, right?» Charles asks, his eyes on Erik as he drifts his gaze from the horizon to the balcony, to Charles.

«This doesn't mean you should go,» he pushes the thought away, a faint smile barely visible in the dark. Charles smiles back, swiftly climbs up until he's sitting by Erik's side.

“I didn't have you for such a good climber,” Erik smirks, eyes back to the forest.

“I grew up here, Erik. I know how to go anywhere in this house. The question is, how did you get up here?” he asks back, his eyebrow raised instinctively as he watches Erik.

“You have your tricks, I have mine…” he sighs, his fingers tapping the metal ashtray he somehow managed to get up here. Charles takes a deep breath, hugs one leg without thinking about it.

“You know, I have been thinking…” he trails off, testing the waters. He knows Erik won't like it, but he can present it lightly.

“You do that quite often,” Erik hums, one hand holding Charles's, tracing lines. He looks calm, that's a good sign.

“Are you sure you need to take down Shaw? You don't owe it to anyone. I understand it's what you built your life on, and it's definitely within your abilities. But Shaw's death won't lessen your pain, won't bring you peace,” Charles is careful, scanning Erik. He doesn't tense, doesn't emit rage like whenever Moira tries to discourage him from continuing. He just stays silent, then slowly brings his cigarette to his lips for a long drag.

“Peace was never an option,” he turns around, his gaze locking with Charles's. “And even if it is, it's not available to me. It's not an option I can follow. This… it's all I know, Charles. All I am. Whatever light you say is in me, you brought back to the surface, it's just there to push me forward, to… help me form an idea of what I want to create,” Erik speaks about a time after Shaw for the first time. Charles didn't even know that he had a plan for after Shaw. He can't help but smile, despite the promise that Erik will kill Shaw.

“And… I want you to be part of it, Charles. That monster may have made our paths cross, but we can make something great out of it,” Erik cups Charles's hand, his eyes moving all around Charles's face. An alliance, a common goal beyond Shaw. A life with Erik.

How can Charles say no?

They don't know how long they've been on that roof, just enjoying the silence, but Charles can see the sun rising between the trees. He turns, watches as the morning light illustrates Erik, makes his hair slowly get back its reddening tint, his eyes claiming that odd color, not quite blue but not quite green. He's never been so glad that his telepathy gives him an incredible memory, that he'll never forget that image.

Italian: Sarò il fuoco ed il freddo / Riparo d'inverno / Sarò ciò che respiri / Capirò cosa hai dentro / E sarò l'acqua da bere / Il significato del bene / Sarò anche un soldato / O la luce di sera / E in cambio non chiedo niente / Soltanto un sorriso / Ogni tua piccola lacrima è oceano sopra al mio viso / E in cambio non chiedo niente / Solo un po' di tempo / Sarò vessillo, scudo / O la tua spada d'argento

English: I'll be your fire and your cold / Your winter shelter / I'll be what you breathe / I'll understand what you have inside you / I'll be the water you drink / The meaning of good / I'll even be a soldier / Or your light in the evening / And in return I ask for nothing / Just a smile / Every little tear of yours is an ocean to my face / And in return I ask nothing / Just a little time / I'll be your banner, your shield / Or your silver sword

“You know, you don't have to do it all alone. I am here for you,” Charles doesn't think before he speaks, holding his breath in case Erik doesn't take it lightly.

Maybe it's the warmth of the moment, or the sleeplessness, but Erik laughs. His shoulders are shaking, his feet closer to his chest as he wipes tears.

“I thought that this was already established,” he breathes out eventually, leaning back until he's laying on the roof. There's something in that glint behind his eyes, that toothy smile. Charles can't help but find himself just as relaxed.

“No, I mean… you can talk to me about things… you can… I won't be just an ally to your fight. I want to be more. Your… your support… your serenity. Erik, if you let me, I'll be anything you need,” he pierces Erik with his eyes, watching as he rubs his face, lazily stretches his legs.

“Can you be just Charles? That's all I'll ever ask you to be…” Erik manages to hide a yawn perfectly, but his sleepiness is loud to Charles's mind. Charles chuckles, offering a small nod as an answer.

“Sure, but can we get down before you fall asleep on the roof?” he playfully nudges Erik, who in return rolls his eyes.

“I'm not tired, you're tired. You just… throw your tiredness into my mind,” the half-baked claim is accompanied by a series of vague gestures on the space between Erik's and Charles's head. It just makes Charles laugh more.

“Whatever, say that when you start snoring,” Charles slowly moves to the edge, watching Erik follow.

He doesn't say a word, just carefully goes down to the balcony and drags Charles with him to their bedroom. Neither bother to change clothes, just to kick off their shoes and collapse on the bed. Charles feels his eyes heavier, maybe Erik wasn't wrong about him being tired as well.

“Charles?” Erik mumbles, face plastered in the pillow, but he doesn't care enough to turn around. Charles gives him a small hum, eyes closing. “You really mean it? You'll be there?” he asks, not alert enough to have that conversation.

“Of course, I love you,” Charles doesn't think before he answers, and doesn't care if Erik reacts negatively.

“Mmm, I love you too,” Erik's words are barely there, he falls asleep before he could see Charles smiling.

They had found comfort in sleeping side by side, on the same bed. Charles feels less lonely with Erik's warm (always warm, always buzzing with life, always beautiful) body at arm's reach and Erik feels safe with Charles's power protecting him, for the first time since he was a kid.

Italian: E Coraline piange / Coraline ha l'ansia / Coraline vuole il mare ma ha paura dell'acqua / E forse il mare è dentro di lei / E ogni parola è un'ascia / Un taglio sulla schiena / Come una zattera che naviga in un fiume in piena / E forse il fiume è dentro di lei, di leip

English: And Coraline cries / Coraline's anxious / Coraline wants the sea but is afraid of water / And maybe the water is inside her / And every words is an axe / A cut on the back / Like a raft sailing on a raging river / And maybe the river is inside her, inside her.

But Erik still can't sleep, can't even close his eyes.

Tomorrow's the day they'll fight Shaw, when he'll kill him or die trying. He feels the coin burning in his jacket's pocket, he doesn't know if it's his imagination or his powers.

Killing Shaw will not bring you peace, Charles had said to him some time ago. Charles, who's now sleeping by his side, blissfully unaware. But can Erik have peace? After everything he's seen, he's gone through, and he's done, is he worthy of peace. Does he even know how to live a peaceful life, when he barely remembers his life before the camp?

He knows very well that his mother wouldn't want to see him get drowned in violence, and he knows Charles expects more, knows that Erik is more. But no matter how hard Erik wants to be that more, he doesn't know how. He has no clue how to be something other than his anger, and then his guilt. He's trapped in the life of vengeance that he formed, a cage of his own creation.

He doesn't know when he started crying, he wasn't even aware of it until Charles is awake, his huge blue eyes filled with worry. “Erik? Come here, please,” Charles raises one hand, laid on his side. Without a second or even a first thought, Erik sinks into the embrace.

He doesn't like people watching him cry, or show any type of vulnerability. And he's sure that Charles has only seen him tear up, shed a tear or two. But tonight, he lets it all out. He lets himself sob, weep, dig his hands on Charles's bare skin as his body and the metal bed frame are shaking. Charles stays there, traces flowers on Erik's back, mutters sweet nonsense with his soft posh voice until Erik can breathe again.

Erik doesn't push Charles away, but Charles lies on his back, makes Erik put his head on his chest, feel the telepath's heartbeat as his feet from ankle down are hanging over the bed. He closes his eyes, focuses on the air going in and out.

“You know, you don't have to know how to live a peaceful life. You can learn and adapt. And I'm sure you'll do great,” Charles muses. Others would be offended by Charles's snooping around, but Erik knows it's his natural state, and he would never kick Charles out. He doesn't have the words, but he does his best to send a wave of gratitude to Charles. By his smile, Erik assumes it's a success.

Son? Son?!

Italian: Coraline, bella come il sole / Ha perso il frutto del suo ventre / Non ha conosciuto l'amore / Ma un padre che di padre ha niente / Le han detto in città c'è un castello / Con mura talmente potenti / Che se ci vai a vivere dentro / Non potrà colpirti più niente

English: Coraline beautiful like the sun / She lost the fruit of her womb / She never knew love / She has a father that's nothing like a father / They told her there's a castle in town / With such strong walls / That if you live in there / Nothing will hurt you again

The asshole had the audacity to call Erik his son?! After he killed his mother? After he experimented on him?

Erik feels his blood boiling with rage, every fiber of his being ready to kill Shaw. Charles, still in his mind, screams at Erik that he's better, that he doesn't have to.

Charles says he's been in Erik's mind, that he knows. He doesn't know shit.

Shaw is frozen in place, holding the helmet. A helmet against telepaths, against Charles.

A helmet that will keep Erik intact, that will never allow anyone else inside.

A helmet that will keep him safe from harm.

His hands are slow as he puts it on, as Charles fades with a scream. Now it's just him and Shaw, as Erik pushes the coin inside the fucker's skull.

It's all done. He took his revenge, he's free. And with his helmet, he's free from everyone.

Italian: Non potrà colpirti più niente

English: Nothing will hurt you again

~~~~~

Taglist: @lucywrites02 @electroma89 @wrenhyperfixates @rorybutnotgilmore @hybrid-in-progress @weirdfangirl2416 @darkacademicfrom2021 @nicoistrying @twhiddlestonsstuff @kozkalovesloki @thewindandthewolves @gaitwae @leucoratia

#lucreatives02 #xmen fic #cherik fic #xmen fanfiction #xmen first class #cherik fanfic #xmen fanfic #implied smut #trauma tw #tw smoking #mention of alcohol #tw antisemitism #tw language #canon typical violence #angst #no beta we get sucked into turbohell like men #no beta we saunter vaguely downwards like crowley #no beta we go to superhell like gay angels #no beta this is war

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dollsome-does-tumblr · 1 year

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quick poll do you think succession fic should be rated m just for language even if literally nothing inappropriate happens in it

#i've got a sillly little roman/gerri ficlet i wrote last year and never posted #but like ... idk what to rate it because it's got canon-typical language but is also Chaste And Quaint As Hell #because it was written by .............. me

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thescientistowl · 2 years

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Dawn Eases Night

Right, so after a little reworking, I finally finshed writing the first chapter of my first Horizon/Niloy fic! I haven't written ANYTHING in a few years, so I am incredibly rusty at this (and for that, I am sorry).

It is flasback heavy, but they will be clearly laid out with underlined and italised timestamps, so you'll know when we're back in the present... hopefully, anyway. I also haven't had it beta read, and it isn't edited to the best of my already terrible ability. Again, I am so sorry.

I'm posting it here, on our beloved hellsite, because the Horizon and Niloy fanbases here are based. I also don't have an Ao3 account, and I'm sure my old FF.net account has probaly died by now anyway.

The story takes place post HFW, so expect spoilers, and at the minute I have warnings for canon typical violence and occasional strong language. This WILL change down the line as the story is going to visit some dark topics, but I'll update those warnings as I go.

So, the story is under the cut! Please enjoy the first chapter of Dawn Eases Night! If you want to send me any constructive criticism, then please feel free to do so :) .

Chapter 1: The Trail We Leave Behind

Red. Purple. Screaming. Aloy was surrounded by it all.

A thick miasma of acrid smoke filled her lungs, stealing her air, choking her from the inside. GAIA was dead. And the world… the world was burning.

Around her, machines of black and gold and furious purple tore down those that she loved. Beta’s cries were snuffed out as furious Spectres surrounded her. Zo, Kotallo and Alva lay crushed in a Slaughterspine’s wake. Erend, as brave as he was, had tried to handle several machines at once. They shot him dead. Talanah and Petra shot together in unison, but they were set upon by Stalkers, filled with darts and left to bleed. And behind them, a group of Chargers, bearing riders, fought back as best as they could before they too were ripped apart… but the last man standing among them put up the most furious of fights. Even then, Nil fell too.

Aloy tried to scream, but sound would not come. Movement would not carry her to their sides.

More familiar faces of her friends - of Carja, Tenakth, Oseram, Nora, Utaru, Quen and Banuk – fell to the machines or the toxic air that stole their breath, and there, in the distance, were Varl and Rost, their skin grey and their eyes cold, beckoning her towards her own demise, promising her that death was the release that she deserved.

It was never supposed to be like this. She was supposed to fix it! How could she not fix it!?

There was so much pain. She burned, she sputtered, and above her the red light of a now not so distant enemy loomed over her, mocking her. The screams of the people of the world, innocent people who couldn’t understand what was happening to them, filled her head.

She had failed. She had failed all of them. It was all her fault…

Aloy woke with a sharp breath, her lungs aching for the air that had been denied to her in her dreams. With frantic eyes she searched her surroundings; a storage chest sat nearby, shadowed by a set of well used training mannequins and old bookshelves filled with small tokens from her travels. She took stock of her position, her body laid out flat on a comfortable surface and covered with several blankets. Her bed. She was in her bedroom.

Forcing steady breaths, Aloy slowly counted backwards from ten, feeling her chest rise and fall to the rhythm she had implemented on herself, and deliberately drowned out the sound of her panicked heartbeat. She needed to move. Movement would clear her head.

Rising slowly and methodically from her mattress of Utaru make, Aloy moved around the desk that hid her bed from the full view of the door, her fingers running along the cool metal to help ground herself. The recycled air around her was cool without the warmth of her blankets but she found that she did not mind it at all – it reminded her of early mornings spent in the wilds, when the world was not yet quite awake, and the sun’s first rays had yet to warm the landscape.

With no real sense of direction, Aloy followed her feet as her body ran on instinct, leading her towards the common room beyond the door that opened with no command.

The Base was awfully quite now that most of her friends had returned to their homes, as free as they possibly could be before their looming fight against an apparently insurmountable threat. The Zeniths may have been defeated by their hands, but they had left them with one last parting shot, albeit an unintended one.

Nemesis. An angry red lingered in the forefront of her vision, the last vestige of her almost fevered dream, and Aloy fought to shake it away, taking a few unsteady steps into the open space as she did.

The common room itself was quiet and empty, save for the gentle hum of the holographs and electronics surrounding her, and in the dim light Aloy could see the trinkets and decorations left behind by her friends; Erend had left his Machine Strike board and several kegs of Scrappersap, Zo her many, many plants, and Kotallo’s piece of the Bulwark remained standing proud nearby. Alva had even graced the floors with a few Quen rugs before she had returned to Legacy’s Landfall. GAIA had taken to humming quietly in the small hours of the morning, her digitised voice a soothing and gradual wake up call to all in the Base, but one that was broken by a soft snore that came from Beta’s new bedroom – the one that had once been shared by Varl and Zo – and Aloy smiled. All of these things served to remind her that her night terrors were wrong: she wasn’t alone.

So then, why did she feel like the loneliest soul on the face of this planet?

With little else more to do than sit, Aloy made her way to the breakfast bar in the centre of the room, her naked feet padding gently across the soft Quen mats (and Aloy really would have to thank Alva for these the next time they spoke – they felt so good under her toes!). She found her perch atop one of the barstools and, with a great sigh of relief, rested her head against the metal of the counter, the contact alone cooling her sweat-soaked forehead. When had she even begun to sweat?

As her arms came to lay flat next to her head, Aloy felt a small and wooden thing brush against her knuckles. A tingle burned alight in the base of her head, as she looked up and came face to face with the most delicate figurine of a Charger. Her fingers reached out to stroke it, a smile casting across her lips the whole time, and her eyes flicked to another figure next to it, also made of wood, but one that was cast in the shape of a Tallneck. Both figures had been dyed, the blue of calmed lights contrasting with the light grey of the machine’s metal plating. Both were crafted by a pair of hands that could create such miniature wonders, but they could also destroy, killing in the most visceral of ways.

Memories of campfires and long conversations flooded her vision. Sometimes there were bandit camps on the horizon, and sometimes there were only the wilds, the dunes of the Sundom or the rolling hills of the Nora Sacred Lands. But always there was her, and him; the man that she had first encountered surrounded by corpses as she approached on the back of her newly acquired Strider, who had spoken so softly to her as though he had not just run through several bandits with his blade and bow.

Her smile grew as she remembered his introduction. ‘Call me Nil’, he had insisted, and though Aloy’s instinct knew this to be a false identity she had, at the time, no desire to push for the truth from this stranger who had offered to help her with the nearby bandit camp – one that threatened the Nora that she was now sworn to protect. He had only been of aid to her then, a temporary companion to help her on what was only one small part of her larger journey… or so that was what she had originally thought.

----------

Several months ago, outside the Gatelands camp…

“I thought we were partners.”

“I have my own roads to follow, Nil.”

Aloy’s stride was unwavering as she walked away from what had been the Gatelands bandit camp. Her once empty packs now sat heavy at her waist, full of the slagshine glass that she had taken from each marauder that she had killed. Hopefully the pieces would fetch a decent price - she was running low on supplies.

Two heavy footsteps echoed in the open canyon around them, and Nil appeared in the corner of her sight. He easily outpaced her with his long legs, and soon he was leading the way down the path that Aloy had intended to travel alone.

“And they seem to lead back to bandits.” He countered, looking over his shoulder with a crooked smile. “That works for me, I’m not suggesting a Carja wedding. I’m never lonely when there’s killing to be done.”

Aloy rolled her eyes. She was beginning to regret engaging with him in the Sacred Lands, because now their meetings were becoming infuriatingly frequent and Aloy was sure that he was following her. Rost had often warned her of the dangers that men like Nil could pose - those who appeared friendly, but who would later appear from nowhere by pure ‘chance’… She would have to put an arrow between his eyes if this continued.

If only she knew of another route to Meridian. If only she still had her Strider, but the damn thing had sacrificed itself in a fight with a roaming Sawtooth. But Aloy was not worried – she could override several machines now, but any override made on a machine that she could ride seemed to be its own, very unique, override - one that seemed to remember its past lives in the several machines it had inhabited. Perhaps Aloy would have to name this particular piece of override code…

As they drew level with the opening landscape, Aloy spotted something huge and bulky in the distance; a large and terrifying bipedal machine that roamed the heights above them. Aloy had never seen a machine so big, save for the Tallneck at Devil’s Thirst, and so she ignored Nil and instead raised her hand to her focus. With a melodic blip a burst of purple light encased her in a large orb, one seemingly made of an ever shifting net, and the machine - and it’s weak points - were highlighted clearly for her to see. As the machine turned towards the path on which they walked, the old-world glyphs formed a name in front of her eyes: Thunderjaw.

Her pulse quickened in anticipation of a fight, but then the machine turned and moved away, seemingly unaware of their presence.

A short breath of relief, and Aloy dismissed the web of light around her.

Nil, meanwhile, had continued talking. He didn’t even seem to notice that Aloy had not been paying attention to him. But as her ears reattuned to his voice she heard only words of violence, of murder, of bloodshed. Of war. She heard how he revelled in it, and something in her core quaked, as it had done, during their assaults on Gatelands and Devil’s Thirst. How could someone enjoy such chaos? There was still so much about the world beyond the Sacred Lands that she did not know, but she was quickly learning more and more about the ‘Red Raids’, and from the sound of his words Aloy wondered if Nil had seen or had been a part of this war.

Her curiosity was piqued.

“So, you used to be a soldier?” She interrupted his monologising, not caring for the furrow of Nil’s brows as he frowned. “You fought for the Carja?”

“For them, against them,” his expression slowly softened as he responded, “an empire always finds its wars. You can’t be picky.”

The path below them followed the slight slope of a gentle hillside, and Aloy soon found herself keeping an even pace with the strange Carja beside her as he took shorter steps. The sun beat down on them relentlessly, but where Aloy was clearly beginning to suffer and sweat from the heat Nil instead seemed to revel in it, stretching out his arms to the warming rays.

He looked at her pointedly before he continued.

“The new king, Avad, saw things differently. Called an investigation into war crimes. Aren’t all wars a crime to someone?”

Silently, Aloy agreed.

“Still,” he continued, his voice so casually matter-of-fact, “I raised my hand and volunteered.”

Aloy stopped, her feet digging into the loose stones and dirt beneath her. “You volunteered? To investigate?”

Nil also stopped, turning around to face her head on. From his lower position on the path, he was finally on an equal eye level with her.

“No, I volunteered my confession. No sense wasting time with an investigation.” A small smile played with his lips, and his eyes gleamed in the sunlight. “I was sent to Sunstone Rock for two years. The trade was fair.”

He turned on his heel then, continuing his descent, and Aloy, now infuriated with his indirect answers, stomped after him.

“They sent you to a rock for two years?” She demanded, confused. “Is this some kind of Carja ritual?”

Nil laughed then, his voice echoing from the few surrounding rock faces, and Aloy silently fumed. She didn’t know! How dare he laugh at her.

“No, no, Sunstone Rock is a prison,” he continued through his dying laughter. “South of Meridian. South of the Raingathers. Our new Sun-King is a believer in rehabilitation - as am I.” He looked once more over his shoulder as Aloy caught up to him. “In the heat of a stone cell, in the dark, I learned to focus on what was truly important to me.”

Aloy wondered what it was that Nil considered to be ‘truly important’ and then balked at the thought. Maybe she didn’t want to know.

“What were these things you did, Nil?”

“Acceptable things, under the circumstances.”

She frowned. “Acceptable to who?” Perhaps she didn’t want to know the answer to this either.

He smiled, and Aloy supposed it was a genuine attempt to put her at ease, but the glint of… something… in those cold silver eyes did absolutely nothing to calm the sense of dread that was slowly beginning to claw its way up from her stomach.

“I don’t make decisions.” He stated with a finality to his tone that was so blunt it sent her mind reeling. “Let’s just say the rules of engagement suited me. But rules are important. A structure.” He paused. “A cage.”

Aloy was wary as he rounded on her, her fingers instinctively flexing for a weapon.

Nil’s voice was low as he took one small step towards her, keeping a respectable distance between them as he did. “Otherwise… you know of those places? Lonely places where people once were, now just a hole cut into the world? Chances are, I was there before.”

He gazed down at her, unblinking, his eyes thinning, and Aloy knew that he was scrutinising her. She wouldn’t back down. Instead, Aloy straightened her back and glared up at him, her entire frame exuding defiance at whatever it was that Nil was examining her for. If he was trying to decide if she was easy prey, then he should already have his answer from their shared time at the bandit camps.

Seconds passed until Nil’s piercing gaze relaxed. Clearly, he had found what it was that he had been looking for.

“A brief encounter for us, but the end for them,” he smiled pleasantly, looking back down the hill to where the path forked. One branch was the more direct road to Meridian. The other led away from civilisation and further into the rocky landscape of the Sundom. And now Nil was making his way towards that very path.

Briefly he paused, turning to her with a smile that was all teeth and violence. “They were squalid lives anyway.”

Aloy could only stand, stunned, as he slowly vanished. Yes, the bandit’s lives were forfeit for their crimes, she agreed with him on that, but his love for bloodshed, his obvious pride in the unnamed crimes he had committed during the war… he was no better than the bandits he deemed below him.

Hopefully, said bandits would simply wise up and leave. Hopefully she would never have to see or hear from Nil again.

----------

A month later, in the jungles of The Jewel…

To say Aloy was frustrated would be an understatement. Between the bloody gash on her thigh and the clumsy loss of her tripcaster and medical supplies, Aloy wasn’t sure if today was just a bad day, or if her lack of sleep was beginning to take its toll. But there was so much that she had to do, and now that her new ‘friend’ Sylens was there to constantly remind her of the perpetual march of time, Aloy had very little in the way of calm moments where she could simply rest. Sleep… She had forgotten what that felt like. She had learned, however, that power naps were not an acceptable substitute.

Blackwing Snag lay behind her, now bereft of any trace of bandit life. Each of her shots had been quick and clean, until the leader of the crew, a woman from another tribe, the Tenakth, had found her. It had quickly become messy, and at some point the woman, Ullia, had angled her blade so precisely that it had cleanly cut through the leg of Aloy’s leather leggings and into the flesh of her thigh. It wasn’t a life-threatening injury, but it was a painfully persistent one.

At least Janeva would be pleased; Ullia had been Aloy’s final contract from the warden at Sunstone Rock.

“I was sent to Sunstone Rock for two years…”

Aloy had asked about Nil during her initial meeting with Janeva, curious to see if she could learn more about the hunter who had, somehow, crossed paths with her twice since their combined assault at the Gatelands camp.

“He was born under a long and dark shadow, but he wasn’t a knife without a thought behind it,” they had said. “He had honour. Old-fashioned. His time here… boiled it to the surface.”

Aloy had wanted to ask just what Janeva had meant, but the warden had ushered her away with three contracts in hand. Three contracts. Three dangerous criminals. She had never wanted to be a killer of men, but Aloy supposed that had all changed with the attack on the Proving. With Rost’s death. The Eclipse. Helis.

Her breath left her in a shudder at the memories; of Helis’s hand around her throat, his knife against the skin of her neck. Rost… oh, Rost…

Clamping her eyes shut, Aloy moved away from the camp, limping as she did so. She needed to concentrate on returning to Sunstone Rock. She needed to let Janeva know that the job was done, and hopefully she could find something to bandage her leg with whilst she was there.

Her trek across the humid jungle was slow, thanks to the biting pain in her leg and, Aloy thought with bitter resentment, a lack of energy. Her severe lack of rest was really beginning to rear its ugly head. Perhaps, if she had not been as exhausted as she was, Ullia would never have landed a hit on her in the first place.

At least now, this close to a clearing, she could just about see the prison through the heat haze.

An almost silent rustle broke her train of thought. As she had done so many times before, Aloy whipped around to face the sound, bow pulled from her shoulders and knocked with an arrow at lightning speed. Beyond the tip of her arrow there was nothing but deep jungle.

Perhaps she was hearing things. Exhaustion did do strange things to people…

A crack of twigs underneath feet. The sound was closer this time.

“Where..?”

Something shimmered in the air, lunging at her, something long and lithe, before Aloy could even think to react to it. It leapt into the air, where suddenly all pretence of stealth was gone, and a vicious looking machine of black armour and yellow armaments blinked into existence.

Aloy dove aside, missing its attack by mere inches. Not that it made much difference. With a dangerous growl the machine moved fast, turning on her and ramming Aloy into the ground. Sharp metal claws tore at her armour, and Aloy had to kick the thing in its centre to escape from it.

With no other thought than to escape, to hide, and hunt the damn thing from the shadows, Aloy turned and ran as best as her bloody leg would allow her, heading across the nearby stream and into the thicker body of the jungle, wild turkeys fleeing from her as she did.

A dart flew passed her, burying itself so deep in a nearby tree that the tip could be clearly seen on the other side of the trunk. It could shoot too? Why? Wasn’t it bad enough that it could turn invisible?

With her heart pounding in her head Aloy continued to run, weaving through trees and thick grasses in an attempt to lose it. She could no longer see it, but… was she safe? Was the damn thing hiding?

Something hard collided with her side, then her stomach, and all air escaped her. There was the briefest sensation of uncontrolled flight before Aloy landed painfully with the ground, her head slamming into rough dirt, sending sparks exploding behind her eyes. She rolled, faster and faster until she suddenly stopped, her body crashing against a thick tree, hidden in some deep and tangled red grass, blanketed in shadow and darkness.

The world spun, with the constant pounding of metal and high-pitched beeping echoing in her skull. A small, pathetic whimper escaped her lips as she dared to open her eyes. The sun, which had been high in the sky mere moments ago, was gone. The jungle floor was dark and calm with the sounds of night, save for the constant metal pounding and that wretched beeping. In the near distance she could see a red thrumming light. Aloy made another whimper as the light burned at her eyes.

Then bright blue, clear behind her eyelids, before quickly turning yellow and then vanishing, leaving her in the dark once more. The pounding of metal grew unbearably close.

Aloy just wanted silence. Peace.

Something grazed her shoulder in the dark, but Aloy had no energy to move away from it. The touch moved from her shoulder and to her neck, and visions of knives against throats flooded her mind’s eye. Some kind of small noise escaped her and the touch, though it lingered, vanished.

Then, running footsteps, moving quickly away from her. Not a machine. A shrill shriek as red erupted behind her eyelids, and the howling of that invisible monstrosity. No, more than one. The metal pounding moved away at speed, leaving her to the dark and silence, and Aloy welcomed both like the old friends that they were.

She woke to the warmth of the sun bearing down on her and birds chirping out their morning tunes. She could hear water nearby, some calm, and some crashing against rocks somewhere not too distantly. She had moved herself then, or someone else had.

Aloy opened her eyes against the light to find herself laying out in the open, on a rock outcropping next to a river, and the Jewel spread out like a blanket on the opposite bank.

She lay on an unfamiliar bedroll that someone had laid out for her, and just a few of her travelling packs rested by her head. As she moved to take in more of her surroundings, leaning up on her elbow for purchase and grunting with the pain and effort it took, she realised that her leg had been expertly bandaged around the large gash in her leggings, and most of her armour was missing.

No. No, no, no, she could not be this exposed in the wilds!

“Just relax girl,” a voice, laced with amusement, sounded somewhere behind her. “You’re safe here.”

She knew that voice. Nil.

Aloy fell back to the bedroll with a groan. Of all the people who could have found her, it had to be him?

“I have to say, the colour of blood suits you.” There was a clear smile to Nil’s voice as he spoke - she could see it all too clearly in her head. “But I do believe that the idea is to wear the blood of others, and not your own.”

“Could you please stop talking?” Aloy snapped, curling in on herself as she suddenly became all too aware of her light state of dress in his presence; her tunic and leggings were not enough protection if he decided he wanted to slide his blade between her ribs.

She heard a slap of hands on thighs behind her, and instead of speaking Nil simply hummed to himself. It was a quiet and unfamiliar tune, but it was a pleasing little thing all the same. In fact, Aloy was quite surprised that it was at all pleasant to listen to, coming from Nil.

But she needed to move. With a push that took more effort than it should have, Aloy forced herself to sit up straight.

The view that met her was astonishing. A tall cliff side skirted alongside them, leading to a large waterfall - one larger than she had ever seen - and to an outcropping where a Carja tower sat proudly against the deep blue of the sky. Birds gently flew above the tower, and the few clouds that dappled sky were calm.

“There’s another waterfall on the other side of the tower,” Nil began, obviously following the movement of her eyes. “It is quite impressive, isn’t it?”

Aloy frowned, slowing turning toward his voice. “I thought I’d asked you to keep quiet?”

And the world suddenly stopped.

Nil was sat by one of the few trees that surrounded them, hidden partially in some ferns, but his armoured jacket, pauldrons, vambraces and scarf were gone, as was his ridiculous feathered headdress, the clothing all set aside with his own things. The only cover he had on his top half were wrappings that were tightly wound around both of his forearms.

His hair was as jet black as his beard and shaved at the sides, with longer hair at his crown. Currently, said hair was sticking out in all sorts of uncontrolled directions, but even from here it looked so invitingly soft.

Nil’s chest was another magnificent sight. Yes, the parts that Aloy had already been able to see were quite beautiful to look at (she had to give him that much credit, at least) and once or twice she had needed to stop herself from staring. But now the full musculature of his torso was laid bare to her, as was the sheer strength of his arms.

It was with some shame that Aloy only found his severe lack of chest hair to be Nil’s singular physical let down, but she had noticed on her travels that a lack of body hair seemed to be the style among the Carja.

Even as an outcast, when Aloy had come of the age where hormones and physical attractiveness played a big part of her life, Aloy had discovered that she did like a healthy smattering of hair on a man’s chest. A rare sight in the Sacred Lands, yes, but when the summer sun had belted down upon them, some of the Nora men had chosen to shed enough of their armour and clothing to stave off the heat, and Aloy, watching from the side-lines and away from tribal life, had found those few moments to be very informative and refreshing… until Rost had caught her ogling a young brave one day, when instead she should have been training. He had admonished her severely for that, and she had never gone searching for such sights again.

But now here she was, gawking again like some lovestruck child, until she heard Nil chuckle darkly to himself and her eyes snapped back to his face. His silver eyes, usually so cold and calculating, were now filled with an unfamiliar warmth, not unlike the one that was threatening to burn her cheeks.

“Like what you see, girl?”

Aloy looked away quickly. What could she possibly say to that? Better to say nothing, then to open her mouth and sound like a fool.

Uncomfortable minutes passed, and Aloy itched to leave. She had never felt so awkward in her life. And so she took a mental stock of her things, to prepare and distract herself. She was missing a few packs, her bedroll, and from the pile of folded armour she could see that most of her leathers and hides were torn. Teb had worked so hard to make that armour for her, and one lousy machine had ruined it all.

Her hands reached for her hide top, thumbs caressing over the damage.

“You’ve never come across a Stalker before, have you?”

Aloy turned to look up at Nil, deliberately ignoring his state of undress. She raised an eyebrow.

“Those… things…” she began, thumbs still running along the damage. “Stalkers?”

Nil nodded.

Aloy huffed. “Appropriately named, I guess. I can’t believe one of them took me down.” The shame she felt was like a gut punch. What would Rost have said?

“Three.”

“What?”

Nil stood and straightened, stretching his back and his arms. In his hands was a small knife and a chunk of wood, and Aloy was curious as to what they were for; the wood was much too short and thick to be turned into arrows.

He made his way to her side, the silk of his purple pants sashaying as he moved, and knelt not too far away from her, once again keeping a respectful distance. Always a respectful distance.

“There were three Stalkers, Nora. Only one of them showed itself to you.” Nil looked at the fabric in her hands, his lips curling downwards.

“How do you know that?” Aloy’s eyes thinned. “You are following me, aren’t you?”

Nil chuckled. “No, I am not following you. By chance or fate, girl, our paths inevitably lead us together.” He looked into her eyes then, the warmth still there. “If I were a man of stronger faith then it would be of my belief that the Sun himself was leading me back to you. You are, after all, the best possible partner this soldier could ask for.”

Aloy rolled her eyes at his words, uttering a small and sardonic ‘thanks’ in return, but she felt the small and fleeting smile on her lips none the less. And judging from the look on Nil’s face, he had seen it too.

“So how did you know about them?” She asked, quickly changing the subject. “And how did you find me?”

Nil shifted, making himself comfortable, and placed the knife and the wood by his feet. There was something etched into the wood, the shape of something, but what it was Aloy could not quite tell.

“I was hunting the Stalkers, actually. I know, I know, I do not care for hunting them, but I do care for their echo shells.”

“And what do you need echo shells for? They’re only really used by machine hunters.”

Nil’s lips pursed, and it looked for a moment as though he was going to say no more on the subject. But then he exhaled slowly through his nose and continued. “There’s a trader that specialises in rare herbs. I have use for some of those herbs, and he only deals in echo shells.”

Aloy cocked an eyebrow at him. What kind of trader only accepted echo shells? And what herbs did Nil have an interest in? A feeling in her stomach stayed the questions on her tongue; he probably wouldn’t have answered them anyway.

“As for how I found you, I saw you in the distance, running through the trees. I could see one of the Stalkers on your tail, and another, well, it whipped you with its own tail. I watched as you flew and vanished down a steep embankment. It was actually quite impressive.”

“Nil.”

He smirked at her before continuing. “I saw the three of them then. They had to follow the long path down to find you, but you were apparently too well hidden in your landing place for them to find. It did take me a while to find you, after all.”

“And then you drew them away.” Aloy interjected, her mind replaying small snippets of what it had caught that night: the touches to her shoulder and neck, the rushing footsteps, the enraged machines…

Nil nodded.

“Why did you come looking for me? You could have just left me.”

“I didn’t want to lose my hunting partner, girl.” He replied with a non-comital shrug.

She scoffed. “You would have found some other idiot to help you.”

She watched as one of the corners of his lips quirked, before his face became infuriatingly neutral. “You may find it hard to believe, but there are many who find my charming disposition too much to handle.”

“No…” Aloy smirked, rolling her eyes. “You are a cuddly ray of sunshine. How could anyone find that too much?”

His lips quirked again, splitting enough for Aloy to see a quick flash of teeth, though whether it was in a smile or a snarl she could not know.

Nil reached for the knife and wood at his feet and examined the chunk of what had once been a proud tree. With a small hum he put the knife to it, gently whittling away at small chunks and slithers of bark. Aloy sat mesmerised as she watched the wood give way to his hands and the blade edge, with form slowly being gifted upon that which was once formless. Aloy still was not sure what it was going to be, but she was certain that she would see soon enough.

“Rest, girl,” Nil said, not looking up form his work. “I’ll make us a meal soon.”

But Aloy couldn’t rest. Her thoughts were too preoccupied with watching his work. It was… fascinating.

Nil stayed his hands, his eyes catching hers, and he smiled a genuine smile. It was not one of his snide or smug grins, nor the smile that was all teeth and death. Aloy’s heart skipped and shuddered beneath it – the gentle curve of his lips broke into small dimples in his cheeks and… wait, how had she never noticed that adorable little gap between his front teeth? Or the few, scattered freckles on his cheeks and nose? Or how the corners of his eyes crinkled as he smiled, silver irises sparkling. And the tattoos under them, what did they mean?

‘Stop. He’s a killer. Stop it!’

Aloy turned quickly, looking out across the river to where a group of Chargers grazed. Useful; the unique override code favoured those machines, she had noticed. She still needed a name for it though.

The soft swick of wood giving way to metal continued, and Aloy inclined her head so that she could see. Was it going to be a machine, or a person?

“You really should rest,” Nil’s voice was soft, “the Stalkers did throw you down a steep climb, after all.”

Aloy shuddered, looking back towards the Chargers. Were those machines still out there?

“Speaking of which,” she began, trying to block out the images of shimmering air that transformed into fangs and teeth. “Did you kill them?”

“Sadly, I did not. I drew them away long enough for me to get you to safety.”

“But your echo shells!”

“I’ll find some,” his eyes briefly flicked to her before returning themselves to his work. “Don’t concern yourself with that.”

They fell silent once again, Aloy sharing her time between watching Nil work and observing the behaviour of the Chargers. Her body didn’t ache as much now, and Nil’s bandages had stopped the bleeding from her leg.

Just how far were they from Sunstone Rock now?

And on that subject…

“I saw Sunstone Rock for myself.”

Nil seemed taken off guard by that admission, as his shoulders hunched and his hands stilled. Slowly, he relaxed and returned to his carving.

“Only visiting, I hope?” He asked, turning the wood with deft fingers. “Carja justice has become so complicated.”

Aloy nodded, and Nil caught it from the corner of his eye.

“Is Janeva still shackled there?”

“Janeva is the warden, if that’s what you mean.”

Nil chuckled, stopping his work to instead turn towards her.

“Such a waste of an intoxicating ferocity. We fought together, and each other!” His face softened as he clearly reminisced on old memories. “Ah, but don’t let me get sentimental.”

“Uh huh.”

“But why were you there? I thought the woman who saved the Sun-King could do no wrong?” The tease to his voice was as clear as the day above them.

Ah. He had heard about her defeat of Dervahl, and the subsequent rescue of Avad, Marad and Erend. Of course he had. Half of the Sundom seemed to know by now.

“I was exploring the area, and found the place being attacked by machines. One of the former inmates had a bone to pick with Janeva and the guards, it seemed. So, Janeva asked me to hunt him down, along with two other escaped prisoners.”

“Former inmate? Am I right in assuming that they are no longer with us?” His eyes twinkled.

“I didn’t kill him, Nil. Rasgrund was pretty good at doing that job for himself.”

“Ah, yes, the Oseram. I remember him. He enjoyed trying to make his deadly little traps out of any scraps that he could find.”

“Yeah, well, in the end he decided that he wanted to die to one of his ‘little traps’.”

“His is no great loss.”

The day passed by slowly, but Aloy found that the break from her usual hectic pace was a welcome one. Sylens was not particularly happy about her lack of progress, and he made no secret of it as he uttered very one-sided rebuttals through her Focus. Tired of his whining and enjoying the rest that her body and mind had clearly needed, she simply removed her Focus and stashed it safely in the nearest pack that she had. Aloy was more than happy to enjoy just one day off, and it came as a shock to her, as quickly as a bolt of lightning struck the tallest of peaks, that she was enjoying Nil’s company. He was… charming. Murderous, yes, but pleasant. Fascinating.

As promised, he later cooked the two of them a meal of small boar and mixed greens that he foraged from the jungle floor. He was a surprisingly good cook, she discovered, as she bit down into the seasoned meat and vegetables and her mouth was flooded with delicious flavours. What other skills was this man hiding beneath his vicious outer shell?

As the day passed to evening, and the evening to night, Nil finished carving the piece and held it gently in his hands. It was a small Watcher, its head held aloft as it kept vigil over the machines it helped to protect. It was, in a word, beautiful, and sculpted with a surprising amount of detail.

Putting the knife carefully back into his boot, Nil instead turned to one of his small packs and from inside he produced a small bottle of what looked to be grey ink or paint. A small brush followed, and Aloy moved closer to watch as he began to coat the bristles in the pigment.

She was rewarded with that same warm smile for her curiosity.

Nil had finished coating the wood before the last of the sun’s light vanished, and he placed it on a nearby rock, claiming that it had to dry before he could give it another layer of colour.

The fire he had started to cook their meal was still going strong, and as darkness descended upon them Aloy found herself closing the gap between them as they sat together, Nil pointing out the constellations that the Carja had for the stars that they all shared. Unsurprisinlgly, there were a lot of avian based constellations (the Carja did love their bird imagery), but there were also machines and figures from the tribe’s past. Aloy explained that the Nora believed the stars to be flecks of flame from a fire that All Mother had lit to guide them through the night. Nil remarked that it was quite a beautiful tale.

Aloy wasn’t sure when she fell asleep, only that she woke curled up in the place where she had been sat the night before. Nil gently snored beside her. He too had fallen asleep where she had last seen him.

She could leave. She should leave. But one look at his face, soft with sleep, and her resolve to do so vanished. Besides, it would be rude to do so after he had helped her. He could have potentially saved her life, for if he hadn’t found her before the Stalkers did… Aloy shook her head. No, no she wouldn’t think about the ‘what if’.

Nil woke a little while later, with obvious surprise on his face when his eyes found hers. Had he expected her to leave? Aloy simply greeted him in return and went about emptying the only pouch of food that she now owned, sharing what was left of her jerky and dried fruits with him.

“It’s not quite as good as what you cooked last night,” Aloy sheepishly admitted, “but it’ll get the day started before we have to part ways.”

Nil’s only reply was a slow but altogether large smile, one that made his eyes light up and her heart miss a beat.

Aloy could easily become accustomed to that smile.

----------

Aloy took the small figures into her hands, holding them both so fondly. Each nick in the wood, each stroke of paint, was all Nil.

The pair of machines had originally sat in her own room, guarding both Elisabet’s pendant and the necklace that Rost had gifted to her so long ago now, but with each subsequent visit to her room, her friends remarked on just how much they liked them too. And so Aloy had made the difficult decision to move them to the common area, where they could be enjoyed by all.

She just hoped that Nil wouldn’t mind. He had made them specifically for her, after all, but she supposed that perhaps he would feel a surge of pride that others enjoyed his handiwork just as much as she did.

It had been a few weeks since she had last seen him, and even then it had been fleeting as she had needed to stop at Hidden Ember to collect some special supplies that Abadund had promised to find for her.

Nil had worn his mask, his moniker of Red Teeth, the whole time, with the forced change in his voice that came with it, one that made him seem more Tenakth than the Carja that he was. Their conversation had been cut short as both Beta and Sylens had contacted her, asking her to joint them as they believed they had found a breakthrough in recapturing Hephaestus. And so Aloy had stupidly left, with one last apology to Nil as she did so. When she had returned to the base, it was revealed that it was a mere blip in the data that they had been reviewing. No breakthrough. There had been no need to leave Nil so quickly.

Damn it all, she missed him!

Well, she had recently promised both Zo and GAIA that she would take regular breaks. Perhaps a race with a certain Tenakth-spirited Carja soldier was exactly what she needed.

#hfw #hfw spoilers #niloy #fanfiction #canon typical violence #occasional strong language #flashback central baby #nil may be a murder hobo #but he's aloy's murder hobo #aloy actually takes a break now and then... who knew

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commander-krios · 2 years

Text

Dust in the Wind - 05- Risks

art by me1onmi1k

Summary: Jeff Moreau has always fought twice as hard to gain the same amount of respect as his fellow officers. He didn’t expect to have that in common with a biotic with a famous last name. -or- The time that Joker befriended the future first Human Spectre.

Rating: Mature

Characters: Jeff “Joker” Moreau, Aurora Shepard, David Anderson, Hannah Shepard, Kaidan Alenko, Toombs, Daniel Shepard, Charles Pressly, Major Kyle

Notes: Pre-Canon, Friendship, Future Shoker, Sole Survivor, Akuze, Canon Typical Violence, Thresher Maws, Minor Character Death, Explicit Language

Chapter 5: “Risks”

Daratar, Faryar System, Hourglass Nebula

Judy Sabovic wasn’t the superstitious type, but there was something deeply wrong about Daratar and she wasn’t just talking about the Eclipse mercs shooting at her. That was almost normal at this point in her career. No, it was a feeling she had so deep in her gut that she almost felt sick.

Stumbling over the uneven ground, kicking up dust with every step she took, Vic attempted to find cover that would hold up longer than the poor tree that had been her first choice.

The crack of Rivera’s rifle could be heard even over the gunfire, the bullet finding its prey easily. A smile crossed Vic’s lips briefly before she focused on her own position. With a quick breath, she knelt next to an abandoned crate near the entrance of the smuggling depot. Then she brought the rifle up and fired off a couple bursts in the group of mercs exiting the building. The heatsink glowed a fiery red when she popped it, replacing it just as quickly before letting off another sustained burst.

Many of the shots missed, but she did end the life of an engineer who was trying to set up a turret. A grenade from Lang destroyed the turret a moment later.

The yellow glow of Challa’s drone bounced by, the tiny orb tasing any enemies that came near. It’d been a good distraction so far, but she didn’t know how many more hits it could take. She hadn’t seen Hitesh in a few minutes, but the sight of the drone put her worry at ease for the time being. He was still fighting out there.

She would too.

Vic hadn’t seen Shepard or her biotics either. Not since Kyle had taken her and moved farther into the compound. Lang hadn’t been too happy about being left behind. Not that any of them were really, but that was part of the job. The commander said stay put so that’s what they did.

“Left flank, Vic.” Rivera’s voice rumbled over the comm.

A glimpse of yellow and black armor caught Vic’s eye when she turned. She managed to get her head down below cover before rifle fire erupted, bullets ricocheting against the crate.

“Fuck!”

Read on AO3 | The Playlist

#dust in the wind #my writing #mass effect #mass effect fanfic #aurora shepard #femshep #f!shepard #commander shepard #major kyle #original characters #violence #strong language #canon typical violence #judy ‘vic’ sabovic

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mistical52 · 2 years

Text

Stomping on Trodden Ground - Chapter 1

Fandom: The Walking Dead

Pairings: Rick Grimes/Daryl Dixon (It's not a major thing for this fic), Rick Grimes/Lori Grimes, Lori Grimes/Shane Walsh

Fanfic Blurb: Rick grouped up with his people once it was clear and looked at the people they saved. Rick’s muscles locked in place, and his gaze sharply moved to one of the men who came into camp part way through the attack. The man stepped forward with a young boy on his hip.

“Thank y’all for your help. You saved my family and a lot of people here,” said the man as he took another step forward and held out his free hand, “I’m Rick Grimes.”

Every muscle in Rick’s body was coiled and ready to move. Rick couldn’t help but stare at the man who had introduced himself as ‘Rick Grimes’. The man was clean shaven and wearing his deputy sheriff’s uniform. On his hip was Carl, a young Carl who couldn’t have been more than twelve.

AO3 Link. (The complete first part, chapters 1-5, is currently up there)

Art that I did for this chapter.

~~~

Rick groaned and heard leaves crunching as his weight shifted to his side. His head was pounding and he had no idea why. Rick slowly sat up and opened his eyes to a cold dark forest. Rick could only see vague shapes from the moonlight that filtered through the branches.

A groan next to Rick had him reaching for his knife. Two more sounded near him, but this time he heard a huff of a breath and a quiet 'fuck'. Rick relaxed slightly at the sounds of life.

"Everyone ok?" Rick asked in a hushed tone that didn’t travel beyond the people near him.

"Fine," came Daryl's gruff response.

"I'm ok," said Carl as he adjusted his hat.

"I'll live," said Carol, "But I have a killer headache."

Daryl grunted an agreement.

"Same," said Carl.

"So do I," replied Rick.

With everyone accounted for Rick eased himself into a standing position. "Looks like we've lost our daylight," he said before helping everyone to stand.

"Yeah. That was an awful earthquake we had. We were lucky that no walkers came across us while we were passed out," said Carol, accepting Rick's hand and then dusting herself off.

Rick remembered the earthquake they experienced that caused them all to fall over and be knocked unconscious. It was strange. But Rick couldn’t dwell on that.

Rick sighed, "We're better off heading back to the van. It’s too dark to find the cabin now. We can camp in the van for the night and look for the cabin once it’s light.”

Rick spun around trying to figure out which way it was back to the van. After a few moments, he turned to Daryl to get him to point them in the right direction.

Wordlessly Carol passed Daryl her torch. Daryl turned it on and used a hand to shield the light, minimising who, or what would see it. Daryl did a lap around where they were standing, looking into the bush nearby and the ground around them. Then he did a second lap with a frown on his face. After a third lap, Daryl looked towards the sky, his eyes tracking the stars that were visible through the trees.

“You know which way we’re heading?” asked Rick. He felt a twist in his stomach even as the ache in his head was dying down. With how much Daryl was looking they might be lost, which was concerning since Daryl was never lost.

“The van’s north of here, and that way’s north,” said Daryl pointing behind Rick, “But I don’t see no tracks. No footprints, no broken bush, no crushed leaves, nothing. It’s weird, ‘specially since you two are with us,” said Daryl pointing at Rick and Carl, who weren't the best at hiding their tracks or travelling undetected in the forests. “It’s like we dropped out of the sky.”

“But we didn’t. We walked from the van,” said Carl sounding slightly confused. He pushed his hat up and even in the dim light, Rick could make out the bandages covering his missing eye. “Then we fell and got knocked out by the earthquake,” finished Carl.

“I don’t see no tracks from where we walked. This forest looks different than before too,” said Daryl with a scowl at the surroundings.

“We were moved?” asked Carol shifting her rifle on her shoulder.

Daryl took one last sweep of the area with the torch before passing it back to Carol, “Nah, I don’t see nothing. No tracks at all. No one’s been through here.”

“Like we just dropped from the sky,” said Rick, repeating what Daryl said earlier with a thoughtful tone.

Daryl nodded.

Rick ran a hand through his hair, “We were heading south of the road. So long as we head north we should hit the road and we can find the van from there,” said Rick, then he pointed behind himself and looked at Daryl, “This way was north right?”

“Yeah.”

Rick nodded and started moving, “If we can’t find the road in forty minutes then we’ll look for a spot to make camp.”

They couldn’t find the road. They’d walked for about forty-five minutes north of their previous location. The road should have been thirty minutes from their location. Rick had glanced back at Daryl at the thirty-five minute mark to make sure he hadn’t gone off course, but Daryl just nodded him forward. Rick felt his gut twist again. They should have at least come across the road by now. What Daryl said before concerned him. How could there be no tracks? Rick and Carl were not good at hiding their tracks in the forests, and none of them were even trying to hide them in the first place. So Daryl should have been able to have seen at least his and Carl’s tracks with the torch.

Rick slowed to a stop and the others gathered in close around him.

“It’s been forty-five minutes. We haven’t come across the road. Look for a spot to camp. It’s cold but we’ll have to live without a fire tonight. We don’t have anything for noise traps so watch will be taken in pairs.

Everyone stated their understanding

Rick started moving forward again with everyone else fanning out around him, looking for a good spot for the night. If there was such a thing. They all stayed well within hearing distance in the quiet forest.

A soft quiet whistle asking for attention came from Carl. Carl stayed where he was while the others gathered around him. Once they were all close Carl spoke up in a soft whisper.

“There’s a light ahead. I think it’s a camp,” he said pointing ahead.

Rick looked and could see the faint light Carl had spotted. On closer inspection, he realised that there were a few of them.

“I think Carl’s right. It looks like a camp with a few people in it. We’ll get a closer look. If they seem friendly then we ask to stay the night. If they’re not then we take them out,” said Rick in a hushed tone.

“What if there’s too many?” asked Carol.

Rick knew that the likelihood of the camp being too much for the four of them to handle was low, no matter how armed they were. Their chances were even higher with surprise on their side.

“Then we avoid them and search for another place further out to camp,” replied Rick.

Carol nodded her approval of the plan.

With the plan set, Rick walked closer to the camp with his gun up. His footsteps were almost silent as he approached. Rick could hear Carl’s soft steps behind him, and while he couldn’t hear Carol or Daryl, he knew they were close.

Through the gap in the trees, Rick could make out two dozen or so people sitting around a few fires. The camp had a few vehicles parked around and an RV at the back of the camp with tents scattered around the middle. Rick couldn’t properly make out their faces from the distance and low light, but he could see a few children and elderly around the fires. Rick couldn’t see anyone on watch, but he did see a noise trap just ahead. Rick looked back at his group and knew they saw the same, an underprepared group. If they wanted they could easily take them. But the camp had elderly and children, so Rick planned to talk first and leave if the camp wouldn’t let them stay. There was no need for a fight if this group was protecting children and elderly.

Rick lowered his gun and nodded to the others. They all nodded back. Daryl levelled his crossbow, Carol hefted her rifle and Carl brought up his handgun.

Rick was going to go in alone and ask to stay the night. If the camp accepted, the others would come out and stay the night with two people keeping an eye on the group and acting as lookouts for walkers. They would take it in shifts and head off as soon as it was light. They might mention Alexandria if they felt the camp was safe. If the camp refused to let them stay, then they would leave. If the camp tried to take a shot at Rick then the others would cover him while he got out.

Just as Rick was about to step towards the camp he heard shuffling steps and moans.

Rick saw a walker break the treeline and head towards the camp, with other walkers following behind it. The walkers were spread out and coming from multiple sides of the camp.

“Fan out, go!” commanded Rick quietly.

As one the group surged forward, jumping the noise trap and started quickly taking out walkers. Rick used his hatchet to split the skull of a walker that almost took a bite out of an elderly woman. A second later Rick saw a crossbow bolt take down a walker that grabbed a woman who just stepped out of the RV.

The woman saw the walker drop and let out a scream. At the same time, the elderly couple yelled for help, looking up at Rick with fearful eyes.

Rick hauled the elderly woman up, “Get to the RV!” he hissed as he pushed her in that direction and did the same with the man.

The fighters of the camp stood up and grabbed their weapons.

“Don’t shoot! We’re here to help!” called Rick, “Get everyone to the RV and form a circle!”

“You heard him form a circle!” ordered one of the camp’s men.

If Rick wasn’t fighting walkers he would have frozen. The man sounded so much like Shane.

Rick buried his hatched in another walker as he stalked towards the RV. The camp fighters started shooting walkers but didn’t shoot Rick or his group.

A walker in front of Rick dropped, hit by a silenced shot. Carl gave him a nod and turned towards the outskirts of camp where a couple of walkers were exiting the tree line.

Carol knifed a walker and ushered people towards the RV, taking down any walkers that got too close to the handful of people she was protecting.

Daryl shot another walker that stumbled towards the RV and stabbed another near him.

Rick was almost at the RV, knocking down a walker that was trying to bite the elderly man. The sound of more guns being fired drew Rick’s attention to the dirt road that led into camp. Rick tensed and pulled out his Python, however, the camp members didn’t react to the four new people running into the camp and shooting up walkers as they went.

Most of the camp made it to the RV and with the help of the four newcomers, the walkers were quickly finished off.

There were tearful reunions with the newcomers who entered the camp and Rick ignored it, making sure that all the walkers he could see were dead for good.

Rick grouped up with his people once it was clear and looked at the people they saved. Rick’s muscles locked in place, and his gaze sharply moved to one of the men who came into camp part way through the attack. The man stepped forward with a young boy on his hip.

“Thank y’all for your help. You saved my family and a lot of people here,” said the man as he took another step forward and held out his free hand, “I’m Rick Grimes.”

Behind Officer Grimes stood Lori, and that alone took Rick’s breath away. Next to her stood Shane, Carol and Sophia. Beside them was T-Dog, Amy, Andrea, Dale, Jacqui and Glenn. God Glenn, he looked so young. He was barely an adult. Rick could see the younger Daryl too, crossbow up and standing slightly apart from the group. There were other people too, the Morales family, the elderly couple whose names Rick never learnt, Jim, and a few others that died last time during the attack.

Finally, Rick managed to form words and directed them at his group without taking his eyes off the members of the camp, “Y’all are seeing this right?”

“I see it, I just don’t believe it,” said Carol with a shaky voice. Rick didn’t need to guess where Carol was looking, his own eyes flicking over to the living Sophia.

Carl started to take a step forward but Rick put out a hand in front to stop him. Carl glanced at him but stayed put.

Rick’s eyes kept drifting over the group but they kept lingering on Lori, Shane, little Carl, and Glenn.

After another few moments of silence, Dale spoke up.

“Thank you for saving us. I’m Dale. Can we get your names?”

Rick raised a brow, “I’m surprised you don’t recognise us.”

“Dad, none of them know what you look like with a beard,” said Carl with a smile.

Rick chuckled and glanced at his son, “I suppose not,” he said, then Rick turned to face Dale and the rest of the camp, “I suppose we should introduce ourselves. I’m Rick Grime, this is my son Carl,” he said pointing loosely to Carl, “That’s Carol Peletier, and Daryl Dixon,” Rick continued pointing to his group.

Immediately confused murmuring started.

“Now you see why we were a little confused. ‘Cause this looks like the quarry and we haven’t been here since the beginning,” said Rick.

Silence started up with those words. ‘The beginning’ seemed to really quiet people down.

Little Carl wriggled in his father’s grip and Officer Grimes had to let him down. Little Carl took a few steps towards the older Carl, looking up at him curiously.

“So you’re me?” asked little Carl.

Carl laughed and took a few steps forward, crouching down to little Carl’s height, “Yeah, I guess I am.”

“This is so weird. It’s like one of my comic books,” said little Carl.

“I know right! Honestly, I thought I was just in a cool dream,” replied Carl.

“This would be a super cool dream,” agreed little Carl, “Hey, is that dad’s hat?”

Carl grinned and tilted his hat up, illuminating his bandages in the low light, “Yeah it is. But it’s mine now.”

“Can I try it?” asked little Carl.

“Sure, but I want it back. If you want your own you can ask your dad for his,” said Carl as he put his hat on little Carl and pushed the brim down.

Little Carl giggled and pushed it back up so he could see once again.

“Carl,” said Grimes, his voice shaking as he slowly stepped forward and kneeled in front of Carl. Grimes lifted, shaking hands to Carl’s cheeks, fingers brushing the bandages, “Carl, what happened?”

Carl’s smile fell and he closed his eye for a moment, then took a breath. When Carl opened his eye he put a hand on Grimes’ shoulder.

“I’m fine dad,” said Carl with a small reassuring smile.

“What happened?” asked Grimes, gently repeating the question.

Carl just shook his head, “It’s nothing I’m fine.”

Rick could hear Daryl’s angry snort.

“Carl,” Grimes tried again. But when Carl said nothing he turned pleading eyes onto Rick.

Rick was stone faced. He couldn’t say it. He couldn’t bring himself to say it.

Grimes kept looking at him with pleading eyes as he held Carl.

“Some little shit shot him,” said Daryl, breaking the silence.

Rick kept his eyes on Carl and his younger self. He saw the worry, then the fury wash over his younger self before it settled into anguish.

Lori’s gasp was clear to hear and Rick saw Shane put a hand on her shoulder while the other fist was clenched so tightly his knuckles were white.

Grimes gathered Carl up in a hug, “I’m so sorry Carl. I’m so sorry. I never wanted this for you.”

“It’s not your fault dad. It was never your fault,” said Carl as he hugged Grimes back. As Carl said the last part he looked over his shoulder at Rick.

Rick felt his shoulders drop and his expression becoming a mix of weary and sorrowful.

Rick felt something gently tug on his shirt sleeve. Automatically Rick looked down and his breath left him as he saw little Carl looking up at him from below the rim of his old hat. Little Carl slowly reached up and instantly Rick bent to scoop up little Carl and hefted him to his hip.

Little Carl grabbed at his beard and Rick let him, far too used to Judy doing something similar, but with a lot more tugging. Rick instantly felt calmer holding his child, even if it wasn’t quite his Carl.

“It’s so strange to see you with a beard,” commented little Carl.

Rick raised an eyebrow, “Good strange or bad strange?”

Little Carl hummed, “I don’t know.”

Rick gave little Carl a sly smile, “How about I help you make up your mind?” he said just before he shoved his chin onto little Carl’s cheek and moved his chin side to side. Judy always seemed to enjoy it when he did that. Just like Judy, little Carl giggled and lightly pushed against Rick’s face.

“No stop! It’s spikey!” said little Carl, laughter breaking up the words.

Rick stopped his attack and gave little Carl a huge grin. Little Carl returned it, with his own blinding smile.

Rick walked over to his son and Grimes. They had pulled back a bit but still had hands on each other's shoulders, and were looking at Rick and little Carl with soft smiles. Rick placed his free hand on his son’s head and returned the gentle smile.

With that Carol stepped forward and made her way to her younger self and Sophia. The camp let her through, watching with confusion and shock. Carol gently grabbed Mrs Peletier’s hand and gave her a pure sunny smile, one Rick knew was real and not fake. Mrs Peletier gave a shy smile back and Carol wrapped both her and Sophia in a hug.

Daryl stood back, his eyes sweeping the members of the camp but lingering on Glenn.

Rick caught his eye and tilted his head in a subtle ‘go on’ gesture.

Daryl hesitated for a brief moment, then steeled himself and stomped confidently through the crowd up to Glenn.

Glenn looked up at Daryl, his weight shifting from side to side.

“You do good man,” said Daryl, clapping Glenn on the shoulder.

Glenn looked ready to bolt when Daryl put a hand on his shoulder, but managed a nervous, “Thanks, man.”

Daryl gave Glenn a final clap then turned to Andrea, “Just don’t shoot me this time.”

Andrea’s eyes widened before her expression turned into a grin, “Can’t promise anything,” she replied.

Daryl huffed out a laugh.

“How is this possible?” asked Dale as he approached the Rick’s and Carl’s.

“I have no idea. But it’s about as strange as the dead walking so I’m not even gonna question it,” said Rick honestly. He had no idea where to even start questioning it. Eugene might have had a theory, but he wasn’t here.

“That earthquake from before was weird. Maybe it had something to do with that?” suggested Carl.

“I told ya’s the forest was different,” said Daryl gesturing with his hands towards the forest.

“Pookie, you also said ‘it was like we dropped out of the sky’” quoted Carol.

“Well there weren’t no signs we were there before, and now we know we weren't,” retorted Daryl, “We didn’t walk into this forest.”

“Where were you before?” asked Shane.

Daryl turned a sharp gaze to Shane and Rick decided to intervene before that look led to blows exchanged.

“We were closer to D.C. A few days out at most. We went out on a run trying to find a cabin we got word about,” informed Rick.

Carl let go of Grimes and stood up next to him, “It was supposed to be a quick and easy run, so much for that.”

Carol shrugged, “Nothing much we can do about that now.”

“It’s too dark to do much of anything now. Do y’all mind if we stay here for the night?” asked Rick.

“You saved people here, so I see no problem with it,” said Grimes then he turned to look at everyone else.

“They helped, I say they can stay,” said Glenn with a shrug.

“They saved Amy, if they want to stay then they can,” added Andrea, tightening her grip on her sister.

Amy gripped her arm at the same spot the walker grabbed her, “I’d like them to stay. Thank you, for saving me.”

“They took out a lot of those things. I think they can stay,” said T-Dog with a nod.

“I think it would be good for you to stay the night. It’d be rude to throw you out after you all helped us,” said Dale, turning to look a little pointedly at Shane who had said nothing during the exchange.

Shane looked back, then shrugged, “They saved our asses, they can stay if they want.”

Dale looked like he was about to speak again but Lori spoke up before he could.

“Carl, baby come here,” said Lori quietly looking at little Carl on Rick’s hip. Her expression was tight. She was worried.

Little Carl passed Rick the hat and started to squirm but instead of setting him down Rick just walked over to Lori and handed him over.

“Thanks,” said Lori with a small smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

Rick just nodded and went to stand by his Carl, who was looking longingly at the interaction. Rick tapped his arm and passed Carl his hat. Carl took it with a small smile and put it back on.

They would need to talk about this later. Rick needed to talk to his whole group about this and where they were going with the whole situation.

Dale turned to Rick, “Do any of you need anything?”

“If you can spare a tent that would be nice, we’ll share,” answered Rick.

Dale looked around at the carnage of the camp, his shoulders slumped, “We can do that. If you don’t mind taking one of the recently vacated tents. I’m sorry but we don’t have any other spares.”

“That’s fine. Thanks, Dale.”

“What are we going to do about our dead and the walkers?” asked Jacqui softly.

“That can wait till morning. It’s best to get some sleep while you can. You can bury the dead then and burn the walkers,” said Rick trying to be gentle, “It’s best to set up a watch to make sure there are no more of them. There wasn’t last time, but it won’t hurt to be sure. That was a lot of gunfire and it tends to draw some attention.”

Grimes nodded, “Good idea.”

“I’ll check the perimeter,” said Daryl, taking his crossbow off his shoulders.

“I’ll go too,” said Dixon, looking at his older self with an expression that Rick knew. Dixon wanted to talk.

“No, you’re not going,” said Shane firmly.

"Why?" asked both Daryls' so in sync that it seemed to surprise even them. They both glanced at each other before the older Daryl spoke up again.

“I know what I’m looking for and I can secure a camp,” retorted Daryl.

Shane scoffed, “You’re probably going to sneak out and look for your brother again.”

“Hey! I didn’t sneak out!” exclaimed Dixon.

“Merle is one of the toughest sons of a bitch I know, he cut off his own hand but he’s still kicking,” said Daryl.

“He is?” asked Dixon quietly.

“Yeah, he is. If we stick around long enough I’ll help you find him,” replied Daryl.

“We will,” added Rick, speaking up. The group would need to talk about it, but everyone knew how important Merle was to Daryl. Rick knew they’d all do it if Daryl asked.

“But not now. We have other things to do if Officer Stuck Up here will let us,” said Daryl with a bit of bite in his tone.

“T-Dog you secure the perimeter, Dixon you stay here,” ordered Shane.

Dixon glanced over at Daryl, “Which one?”

That seemed to momentarily trip Shane up, “Long haired Dixon. Short haired Dixon, you help T-Dog.”

“T-Dog’s beat and I don’t take orders from you,” said Daryl shifting his stance slightly and lowering his crossbow in preparation to throw it out of the way.

Rick put a firm hand on Shane’s shoulder, “Shane, brother, I trust Daryl with my life. He’s saved it more times than I can count. If you want someone to secure a perimeter then Daryl’s got it covered. Both of them do.”

Shane looked into Rick’s eyes for a long few moments, “You vouch for him?” Shane asked.

“I do.”

Shane’s gaze drifted back over to both Daryl’s, “You say you can do it? Then do it. T-Dog stay and get some rest.”

Rick gave Shane a nod and took his hand off his shoulder.

Both Daryl’s left and Rick could almost hear Dixon’s brain ticking over with questions.

Once they were out of sight Rick turned to the camp, “Right, collect the dead and put them on this side of the RV, the walkers on the other side. We clean up and make sure that all of our dead don’t come back then we can get a few hours rest and continue this in the morning. The kids sleep in the RV tonight. Anyone with injuries gets them looked at first.” said Rick automatically giving directions, “Carol, can you help the injured then please find us a tent? Carl with me, we’re clearing the walkers.”

Rick moved to the nearest walker and grabbed under its arms while Carl grabbed its feet. They moved with practised ease together and dropped the walker on one side of the RV before quickly moving on to the next.

Grimes was quick to follow along with T-Dog and Glenn. Shane hesitated for just a moment before he started doing the same. Jim and Jacqui teamed up to move their dead into a line in front of the RV while Andrea and Amy collected blankets to cover them with.

Dale, Lori, Mrs Peletier’s and Mrs Morales ushered the kids into the RV. The elderly couple followed them in.

Morales went over to every walker they dropped by the RV and made sure it was dead, stabbing a small knife into each head that looked too intact.

The other people, who Rick didn’t remember, split between collecting their dead and cleaning up the camp.

A few people did go over to Carol for injuries, but it looked like they were mostly scrapes and cuts rather than bites.

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