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yelena-bellova · 3 years

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Safe Haven: tfatws!Bucky Barnes x fem!reader - Chapter Nine

chapter eight - Chapter Nine: The Soldier and the Mutant - chapter ten

Series Masterlist

Plot: Y/n deals with the new knowledge about who her father truly was and receives a surprise visitor.

Warnings: angst, fluff, fluff, FLUFF, my gosh it’s nearly suffocating how much fluff, language, one allusion to sex, mentions of suicide, mentions of torture

Word Count: 10.1k

A/N: I’m just gonna let this one speak for itself, thanks for being so patient 😉

----

“HYDRA?”

“HYDRA…” I sighed.

Melanie and I were sat on her front porch, coffee cups in hand and revelations on our lips. I’d been home for two days and the shock of finding out about my father’s longstanding lie, while still fresh, was morphing into numbness. Being his daughter too, Mel needed to know the truth as well.

“This guy’s gotta be lying,” my sister waved a hand in front of her, “He has to be, he’s a criminal a-and he’s crazy.” “He’s not lying, Mels,” I held my head in my hand with my elbow resting on my chair, “I went online and scoured the internet, Dad’s name was listed in the HYDRA files leaked ten years ago.”

Mel leaned forward in her seat and hung her head, bracing her weight on her knees. My sister had always been a rock, unshakable even in the face of the worst circumstances. Even though she was keeping it together for my sake, I could see the well of emotions that would spring up once I was gone. “I can’t believe this,” she mumbled, shaking her head softly, “But looking back, it makes so much sense.” I furrowed my brows at her, “You wanna spell this one out for me?”

“Think about it,” she turned in her seat to face me, “Dad was wracked with guilt every day since he came home from the,” she set her mug down on the coffee table and made air quotes, “‘service.’ Nightmares and flashbacks and that awful depression…I mean, the man tore himself apart for what he’d done when he wasn’t passed out from drinking. He’d have had to do some pretty nasty things to feel that much guilt.” “Yeah, well, he should have felt guilty,” I grumbled, staring down at the coffee to hide the tears slowly forming in my eyes, “He hurt innocent people.”

“Wow…” she said quietly.

I sat forward in my seat, “Mom can never find about this, the shock could kill her. And as much as I feel like she should know who she was married to, I don’t think I can destroy another person’s image of Dad.” “No, I don’t think we should tell her either,” Mel agreed, taking a sip from her coffee, “I’m sorry enough that you had to find out. Wait,” she slapped a hand over my arm, “Does Bucky know? You said you and Sam were working with him.” I had done my best to put Bucky out of my mind for the past two days, failing spectacularly. I had gotten so used to him being by my side the past week that once he was gone, it felt like something was missing. Never mind the way I’d left him, those blue eyes begging me not to shut him out, the very same thing I’d asked him not to do. I had to remind myself at least ten times a day that removing myself from his life was for his good.

“Yeah, he knows,” I looked back down at my lap, squeezing the coffee mug so tight, I thought it might shatter. Mel threw her hands out to their sides, “And?”

“And he knows,” I replied, knowing that wouldn’t be a good enough answer for her. “So this guy finds out that our dad tortured him for years and he’s been running around Europe with his daughter and he had no reaction? What are you not telling me?” “Mel, what do you want me to say?” I snapped my head up, “He was there when Zemo told me and he’s not with me now, there’s nothing more to tell…"

I may have been a mutant, but sometimes I wished I’d have gotten my sister’s detective skills instead. She could take one look at a person and go Sherlock Holmes on their ass before they knew what hit them. It was one of the reasons she’d made such a good psychologist before becoming a stay-at-home mom.

Mel inhaled sharply and her eyes widened, “Oh my gosh, do you-“ “Don’t say it,” I held up a hand and forcefully pressed my eyes shut, a few teardrops squeezing out onto my eyelashes, “Please don’t say it.” As requested, she fell silent, her hand slipping onto my shoulder and rubbing small circles. I trained my eyes ahead of me, focusing on the last remnants of the morning’s sunrise. I’d always loved getting up early enough to watch the light spread across the sky, giving me hope that whatever pain I was feeling was only temporary. I found no such comfort gazing at the spectacle in my current state.

“It’s better this way,” I said, not able to look at her lest she see my contradictory eyes, “Trust me.” “Well,” Mel sighed loudly, “You’re the one that knows the guy…Just promise me one thing?” “Hmm?” She pulled one of my hands out of the death grip I had on my cup and took it into one of hers, “This is huge news, life-shattering, and we’re allowed to process it however we need to. But I see that look in your eyes, none of this is on you. Don’t blame yourself for what Dad did to him.” And if Mel had spent the time I had with Bucky, watched him in the bar in Madripoor, been in the therapy session with him, seen his reaction to losing his arm in Riga, I knew she’d feel different. I had a front row seat to Bucky’s PTSD and my father had been the ringleader. How could I not feel a little responsible? ——

Sam, Sarah and I had talked the boat situation over the morning before. The offer that Sarah had received from the guy who had been interested before Sam returned home had fallen through, he’d cited the reason as that it would take more money to fix than it was worth. Ever the hero, Sam had phoned everyone in the community who had known his parents and called in as many favors as he could. As I pulled up to the docks, ready to roll up my sleeves and begin working, I was delightfully surprised at how many people had responded. There were at least a dozen sets of helping hands waiting to work. It was moments like these that reminded me how lucky I was to live in such a close knit community.

I weaved through people, greeting and thanking everyone for coming out as I made my way to the boat. “Black Falcon to the rescue again, huh?” I called out to Sam as I climbed aboard, he was standing at the bow of the ship next to somebody whose back was turned to me. “You know it,” Sam called back, turning around and facing me, along with the man who he’d been in conversation with.

It was Bucky.

My heart stopped and I froze in my tracks, adrenaline shooting through my veins. Our eyes met across the deck and we may as well have been back in Sokovia. There was the same pain threaded through his ocean blue eyes only enhanced by the fear reflecting in mine. I wanted to run to him and away from him all at once, but knew which instinct needed to be listened to.

I looked to Sam and faked a hopefully convincing smile, “I’ll be below deck.” Hurriedly, I hauled my ass across the deck and raced down the steps. My hands flew to cover my nose and mouth as my breathing increased. He was here, he couldn’t be here, why was he here? Any progress I’d made, however small, in trying to put Bucky to rest had been revived the second I saw his face.

“You wanna explain what that was?” I looked up to see Sam stepping off the final stair and crossing his arms in front of me, “One day you’re friends and the next you bolt outta the room when you see the guy?” “Just,” I strained, stopping to take as soothing a breath as I was capable of and straightening my posture, “Keep me where he isn’t.” Sam sighed, reading me all too well, “Y/n, if this is about your dad, there’s noth-“ “Now what needs to be done down here?” I interrupted, placing my hands on my hips and hoping that if I projected confidence, I’d start to feel it.

“Fine,” Sam conceded to my wishes and gestured to the engine we were standing next to, “Check the zincs. If you need to replace ‘em, we’ll have to run down to Joe’s. And just so you know,” he stood at the steps and pointed between me and where Bucky most likely stood above us, “I don’t agree with this.” I shook my head to shake myself out of the moment as he left me to my work, blissfully hidden from the person I wanted to be with most.

——

I had never experienced a more uncomfortable day.

For the entire morning and afternoon, it was like switching a light on and off. If Bucky came below deck to fix something, I filed out as quick as I could to work above deck. We didn’t interact more than when we passed each other once in a while, each brush of shoulder sending a jolt of electricity through me. Sam had been no help either, he’d prevented me from making the necessary run to the hardware store or helping Sarah with lunch. He was determined to try and quarantine me and Bucky on the boat, most likely in hopes that my resolve would weaken. No matter how much it was killing me, I kept my distance and my head down as we made repairs in awkward silence.

When the sun began to set over the waters and there was nothing left to be done for the day, I carefully made my way up the stairs and listened for voices. When I heard none close by, I took quick steps across the deck and hopped off the boat onto the dock. I didn’t dare look over my shoulder to see if Bucky, who was stealthy enough to sneak up on anyone, was behind me and kept on my path to the outdoor kitchen area Sarah was closing up. “Good day?” I asked, grabbing an extra rag to try and get the oil off my hands from working on the engine.

“Better than you,” she retorted, “You’ve had that sour look on your face since you got here.” “Just,” I sighed and stopped my rigorous rubbing for a second, “Still thinking about everything…” Stopping her cleaning while I resumed mine, she wrapped her arms around my shoulders and leaned her head against mine. Out of Sam, Melanie, myself and her, Sarah was the most removed from the situation. My dad hadn’t interacted much with the Wilsons, he hadn’t interacted with hardly anyone outside of his family, so Sarah didn’t have many memories with him nor had she fought HYDRA. It was actually nice to be around someone who didn’t have his dirty deeds bouncing around their head like an old school Microsoft screensaver.

“You,” she pressed a kiss to the side of my head, “Are one of the best human beings I know and nothing can change that, not even this.” Starting the argument that this revelation did in fact change a lot of things would be useless, I knew better than to try and prove Sarah wrong. I simply patted her arm and leaned into her embrace, taking the comfort I could get even if I didn’t necessarily deserve it.

“By the way,” she said as she unwrapped her arms, “Sam invited Bucky to stay the night.” My stomach dropped, “WHAT?” “He was gonna go find a hotel room but that’s ridiculous when he can just crash on the couch,” Sarah shrugged, wiping off the counter once again. “Why?” I pressed my hands to my mouth in a praying position, “Why could you not be an angel who has to help everybody, just this once?”

Sarah turned to face me, placing on hand on her hip, “The guy saved your ass from being killed and ran you to the hospital,” I opened my mouth to ask her how she knew that, she held up a finger to me, “Sam told me all about Riga. It’s the least we can do for him. And don’t even think about running to Mel’s place for the night, you promised the boys you’d take them to school tomorrow morning.” I stood there, nervously wringing the cloth through my hands as Sarah walked away to finish up another task before night fell. All my efforts to keep away from Bucky were failing and it wasn’t due to anything on my part. How was I supposed to protect him if we were constantly around each other? As I looked out to the deck of the boat, I could see Sam and Bucky had winded up there drinking beers to celebrate their long day of work. It was a scene that only days ago, I could have easily slipped into. I didn’t just miss Bucky, I missed the dynamic the three of us had grown to have. Sam would have pressed a beer into my hand and lightheartedly elbowed me, I’d have settled down next to Bucky whose hand would have naturally drifted to the small of my back…It would have been a perfect end to the day. Instead, I was cursing my father for ever having dipped a toe in HYDRA’s pool, his decision had ruined my life.

——

I had two vendettas, one with Sam for inviting Bucky to stay and one with my quickly drying throat that begged for water.

Laying in bed with my pillow smashed across my face, I peeked one eye out to check my alarm clock. 1:29AM. I’d laid in the same position for an hour, hoping that sleep took me over and my thirst would die till the morning. The family had been asleep for hours and with the amount of work Sam and him did, Bucky should have been passed out too. If I pulled it off just right, I could sneak downstairs to grab a bottle of water and get out before he ever stirred. Waking an ex-assassin wouldn’t be good for either of us.

I tiptoed out of my room, mindful of the creaking door as I passed AJ and Cass’ bedroom. Once I got to the stairs, I chose a silent approach and used my energy to float my way down the steps. I continued doing so through the kitchen, sneaking a peek over to the couch to see Bucky sound asleep. I opened up the fridge quietly and reached in blindly, feeling around till I hit a bottle and pulling it out. Tucking the bottle under my arm, I placed my hands back at my side and began to let the energy lift me.

“You do know I can hear you, right?” The familiar voice startled me, causing me to absorb the energy back into my palms quickly. I squeezed my eyes shut in frustration before turning to see Bucky, laying in the same position I’d found him in with his lids still shut. “Forgot,” I said, hoping he didn’t hear the shake in my voice, “Super soldier.”

Flipping the blanket Sarah had given to him off his body, he swung his long legs off the couch and sat up to face me. It truly wasn’t fair how good he looked even in the middle of the night, the moonlight coming through the windows and highlighting his silhouette. Admiring his profile was the only thing making the uncomfortable silence semi-bearable.

“We need to talk,” he started. “We really don’t,” I hurriedly replied, starting to rotate my body to flee. Bucky stood up, the couch creaking in relief as he did, “Yes, we do. You left so fast the other day I couldn’t get two words in.” “Because you didn’t need to,” I said from my place in the kitchen, “There’s nothing you can say to make any of this better and you shouldn’t. In fact, you should hate me.” He raised a tired eyebrow, “Hate you?”

“Yes,” I said, a little louder, “Hate me for what my father did to you, hate me for being his daughter. I hate me right now, I don’t understand why you don’t.” “Because there’s nothing to hate,” Bucky chuckled softly, “You of all people have given me the least to hate.” “Bucky, of all people you should hate me the most,” I said firmly, setting the forgotten bottle on the counter, “We travel the world all week and then you find out I’m the daughter of the man whose job was to hook you up to machines an-and torture you all day. That’s the man who I drew pictures of and kissed every night before bed and thought was the greatest person to ever walk the fucking planet,” I spread my arms out to accentuate the point, “That man is one of the reasons for all that pain seeping out of you. And guess what? I’m him. I’m literally his flesh and blood! So go ahead, hate me! You have every right to, and it would make this all so much easier if you did.” “Make what easier? Ignoring each other?” Bucky crossed his arms over his broad chest, “I don’t want to do that.” I knew he wasn’t going to let it go, I had only one decent shot at ending the conversation and I needed to take it, even if it broke my heart. “Well, it’s what I want,” I picked up the bottle again, trying to pretend I was as confidant in my decision to walk away as my words were.

“That’s a lie and we both know it,” Bucky said, the tiniest smirk appearing on his lips, something I always found cute but now found annoying.

It may have been the biggest lie I’d ever told in my entire life, but it was also truth. I wanted to leave Bucky before he inevitably left me. “No, it’s not,” I said, my voice threatening to tremble as I used it. “You wanna look me in the eye and tell me that?” I hadn’t dared to make too much contact with those wild eyes that I’d fallen for, I’d only give in all the quicker and let his grace draw me straight into his arms. He’d called my bluff, knowing that lying to him was easy when I didn’t actually have to see him and that I couldn’t continue the charade if that changed. As I dragged my eyes up to meet his, the tears I’d been fighting back began to come forward. He looked broken and whole at the sight of me, exactly how I felt.

“What do you want me to say, Bucky?” I whispered, my throat closing with emotion.

“I want you to tell me, to my face,” he paused, drawing a shallow breath, “That I’m crazy and that I read every signal wrong.” It would have been less painful if he’d sucker punched me with his left hand, I’d have actually preferred it. It had taken everything in me to tell just one lie, I couldn’t do it again to either one of us. But I also couldn’t succumb to my feelings. “Bucky…” I shakily began, clenching my fists at their sides.

“Because you’ve been living in my head pretty much since the minute I met you, and I don’t wanna sweep this week under the rug like it was nothing,” Bucky made a sweeping motion with his hand, “I don’t think I can.” “Bucky, we can’t…I can’t do that to you.” “Do what?” he asked confusedly, squinting his eyes as if he couldn’t see the issue. “I don’t want to hurt you!” I snapped, allowing the tears to break free of their restraints and shed themselves, “There’s going to come a day where every memory of what he put you through is going to be blamed on me and I can’t wait for the day where you wake up and look at me like I’m the monster my father was. I can’t have a little of you, Bucky, and then lose you entirely.” My cheeks were wet with my guilt, I made no effort to dry them or cease their streams. I stood there on the edge of where the kitchen met the living room staring at the man who held my heart, trying to pry it from his hands to no avail. Bucky looked just as surprised by the revelation as I’d been when it flew from my lips without any opposition from my head.

“What did you say to me in Riga?” he whispered, his voice raising slightly to try and emphasize the point he was about to make, “’I don’t believe that any part of you is capable of me?’ ‘That’s not who you really are?’” he echoed my sentiments from days ago, “You’re not him. If I believed there was any of him in you, I wouldn’t be standing here begging you to stop beating yourself up about this.” He took a step forward, waiting to see if I walked away but I was too focused on him to think about running. He continued coming forward, “Y/n, I can’t walk away from this like you mean nothing to me. You’re the first person I’ve met that sees me as Bucky Barnes before anything else. I gave you every reason to write me off and you didn’t give up on me,” he paused, swallowing harshly as he stopped in front of me, “When I’m with you, I feel safe for the first time in a long time. There’s never gonna come a day where I stop lookin’ at you like you’re the most important thing in the world to me.”

There were mere inches left between us, the words I had been dying to hear were now mine for the taking and I was too paralyzed with shock to react. Of course he had to come and hit me with my own affirmations, making perfect sense. The side of my mind that believed I didn’t deserve this happiness was screaming that these feelings would fade, that my father’s sins would always be at the forefront of us. The other side that wanted nothing more than to reach out and close the distance between us was telling me to believe him and let myself be cared for, something I’d always believed I was too broken for. And somehow they were both drowned out by the excitement I felt with Bucky in such close proximity, staring down at me with those cerulean pools, infused with the darkness that sent a chill down my spine. There was a palpable change in the air, from emotional to the great and grand something we finally near naming. Every part of me wanted to reach out and take him for for myself, to kiss him and pull him so close that there was no telling where I began and he ended. If there was a chance for me to back out, it was now. I could run to my room, to my car, anywhere that he wasn’t. But at the end of the day, that wasn’t what I wanted. I could either let myself be held captive by crimes I’d never committed, or I could dedicate myself to loving the man who the universe had somehow tied me to long ago.

“Tell me to stop,” Bucky said, his voice hitting that low timbre that made goosebumps break out across my skin.

I couldn’t deny either one of us any longer.

Bucky took a step towards me, his eyes never leaving mine as I backed to accommodate him and his plans. A small gasp left me as my back hit the kitchen wall, my hands reaching back to press against it to try and find purchase on something. There was now only a breath’s width of space left between Bucky and I, our shared air growing more and more heated as we bathed in the anticipation of the moment. His eyes flicked between my y/e/c ones and my lips, looking for any signs of hesitation that didn’t exist. He placed a finger under my chin to tilt my head to his liking, pausing to take in the sight of my tear streaked face in the last seconds before we let loose the storm that had been brewing inside us both. I took the time to admire the wonder on his face, the two of us his newest discovery in a world he had long been asleep to.

He leaned in and our lips finally touched, euphorically.

I found myself unable to move, overwhelmed by the sensation I’d wanted to feel since our dance in Madripoor. Bucky didn’t overstep his bounds, he kept our mouths softly connected as we absorbed each other. When he disconnected our lips, whether to repeat the act or pull away, my body snapped into action and my hands flew to his neck, pulling him back down to me. Our lips didn’t fight for dominance so much as they did try and take in as much of each other as they could. Bucky’s hand slipped from my chin and both fell to my hips, pulling me flush against his body. On his tongue, I could taste the remnants of however many beers he’d shared with Sam, they’d stayed on the boat till the first evening stars started to appear. The scent of him, freshly showered after a long day of work, invaded my senses and spurred me on further, my hands moving to fist the back of his blue henley. With our kisses becoming more fervent, Bucky’s metal arm wrapped around my hips and lifted me so effortlessly, it only made the moment more heated. I wound my legs around his waist and let him carry me to wherever he desired, him easily supporting my weight and never disconnecting our lips as he fell to the couch. My hands snaked up his back to thread themselves through the short brown locks, causing him to pull away with a soft moan before diving back into my mouth. His flesh hand took hold of the back of my head and pushed me further into the kiss, trying to taste as much of me as he could. This. This was what I had been craving since the moment I’d realized I was far more starved of Bucky’s touch than I’d thought I’d been. The delightful friction our bodies created, the pressure of our lips dancing together, the knowledge that I was just as much his as he was mine. No more questioning, no more stolen moments wondering what could have happened if we hadn’t been interrupted. This was whole and perfect and right.

Eventually, the second long breaks we took for became insufficient and we needed to part for longer. Bucky looked gorgeously spent, his half lidded eyes following me, his lips deliciously swollen and his hair messed up from where my hands had been. I smiled as I dragged my hands to his cheek and ran my thumb over his plump lower lip, bringing a lopsided grin to his face. There was a joy I hadn’t seen him express yet and my stomach flipped knowing that I was the one to bring it in him.

“Don’t leave,” he breathed, his chest rising and falling rapidly in the aftermath of our passion, “Please.” In my palms, I held one of the world’s most deadly men, someone whose reputation had consisted of how ruthless a killer he’d once been. And here he was, warm and soft and begging me not to go. “I’m not going anywhere,” I whispered, delighting in how his eyes brightened at hearing my words. Contrasting the intensity of the minutes before, I leaned in and brushed my lips against Bucky’s with as little pressure as I could. He chased them the second I pulled away, eliciting a giggle out of me that he swallowed, kissing me so lovingly it almost broke my heart. He inhaled me like I was oxygen and he’d been deprived far too long. It didn’t occur to me that there was a chance I was his first kiss since before he shipped out in the ’40’s. “I don’t wanna stop,” he mumbled against my lips. “Then don’t,” I replied, breathing in his soft exhales, “We’ll stay up all night doing this.” Bucky chuckled, pulling away from my mouth to turn his head and press tender kisses to the palm I’d been cradling his cheek in. He tugged me closer then, my hands winding around his shoulders and his face burying itself in my neck. My laugh at the sensation of his scruff quickly morphed to a moan as he planted drawn out kisses against every inch of the bruises our encounter with Walker in Riga had left me with. I extended my neck to give him better access, feeling his lips twist in a wicked grin as his ministrations caused my breathing to quicken. “Okay, if you keep doing this,” I gasped, trying to steady my voice, “We’re gonna be up all night doing something else.” He pecked the column of my neck once more before pulling his head out and facing me, still smiling. I pressed my forehead to his and he nuzzled his nose against mine, still desperate to keep any contact he could.

“I’ve wanted to do this for a while,” Bucky confessed, rubbing his metal hand up and down my back, “Thought about it in Riga, when we were fighting, in the alleyway…”

“Me too,” I agreed, grinning uncontrollably, “But you know why I’m glad it didn’t happen till now?” Bucky hummed questioningly, “Because this is the longest we’ve been together without someone interrupting us.”

Bucky chortled loud enough for me to feel the need to cover his mouth, causing me to laugh myself. I never thought that there would come a day where the two of us would be sitting on my couch in the middle of the night, as lighthearted as could be. This was a slice of heaven after all that we’d been through. “Do you believe me now when I say my opinion of you is never gonna change?” Bucky asked. Had he not proven to me that it was true, I wouldn’t have believed it. I’d have punished the both of us for the rest of my life. “As long as you believe me when I say that I know you’ll never hurt me.” I knew that there was so many layers to his pain, most that I would never understand, but he couldn’t keep a part of himself hidden forever. If we were going to do this, we were going do it wholeheartedly, taking the best and the worst parts of each other. The unlovable would never go unloved as long as we were together.

“Okay,” Bucky sighed, tightening the arm around my waist and bringing the other to my face, “Okay.” He pulled me down to press his lips to each of my cheeks, landing one last one to my mouth.

Our kisses became longer and softer, signaling that though we were both eager to explore this new territory, exhaustion was running the show. We eventually slowed down to where Bucky’s face rested in the juncture where my neck met my shoulder while my head rested against his, one arm wrapped around his shoulders and a hand running through his hair. My lips laid featherlight kisses against his temple every few minutes, taking advantage of the fact that I could do so freely now. I could feel his hot breath hit my skin at such a leisurely pace that if it hadn’t have been for his metal thumb rubbing my waist every once in a while, I’d have thought he’d fallen asleep. Eventually, when my eyelids began to shut against my will, Bucky shifted on the couch to lay both of us down. I settled naturally on top of him, my head against his chest and a hand resting on each of his broad shoulders. Just when I thought in my drowsy haze that nothing could make the moment any more perfect, Bucky pressed a sleepy kiss to the top of my head and tightened his arms around my back, securing my body to his.

This was peace.

This was right.

This was what we deserved.

——

At the sound of hushed voices and grunts, my eyes slowly opened. I blinked a few times and made out the sight of my nephews, AJ throwing punches and Cass deflecting them with the shield that had laid in the hallway for days. After days spent witnessing some of the worst the world had to offer, this was the purity that I needed to see.

“Bucky…” I whispered, he inhaled sharply as he awoke with one arm slung over my waist and the other hung over the edge of the couch. I tapped his chest and pointed to my nephews, still oblivious to our presence.

“Hey,” Bucky called, his morning voice rougher than it was the rest of the day.

The boys jumped at the sound, Cass shoving the shield back in its case and him and AJ running as soon as it hit the ground with mischievous smiles on their faces. I laughed softly, looking up to see Bucky lazily smiling. I had the best view in the world, close enough to see the lines that drew his grin up, so different from the frowning ones I was so used to seeing. When he tilted his head down and our eyes met, his smile made no effort to lessen itself.

“Morning,” he said, bringing a hand up to stroke the top of my head.

“Morning,” I replied, shimmying up his body and taking hold of his cheeks, our lips meeting in early morning bliss, “We’re in deep shit.” “Why’s that?” he asked.

“The boys can’t keep a secret to save their lives,” I chuckled, “So you need to enjoy your last day alive because Sam is going to kill you.” Bucky wrinkled his nose as he laughed, “Thanks for the warning.” I dropped my head back to his chest, picking up one of his dog tags in my hand and reading his name pressed in the metal. I’d never been a big believer in fate, but as I rubbed a thumb over the necklace I was reminded that Bucky and I should have never met. He should have been long gone by now, Captain America’s childhood friend who met a tragic end before he could see the war won. He wasn’t supposed to be here, warming my body with his and pressing the sweetest kisses I’d ever known to my skin. Our being together defied time itself.

“Seeing them, the boys…” Bucky began, still stroking my hair, “I think I get what you and Sam were talking about back in Maryland.”

I rested my chin on his pec to see him, his gaze focused on the ceiling in deep thought. “Steve giving him the shield…It’s not the same at all.”

I shook my head, sadly, giving confirmation to his revelation. I didn’t begrudge him for not understanding right away, unless you were in Sam’s shoes you could only have so much of an understanding. The unrelenting way that Bucky had pushed him was what had caused me to call him out on several occasions. But if the week we’d had with our confrontation with the police, meeting Isaiah and coming to Delacroix had finally shown him the flaw in his thinking, I was glad. “I think you should talk to him,” I suggested. He scoffed, “I think I owe him a lot more than that.

“Well, he’s probably already out on the boat. And I,” I groaned as I sat up, straddling Bucky’s hips, “Promised the boys that I’d take them to school so we both need to get up.” Bucky made a similar sound as he swung his legs over the couch, pivoting my body so that we were in a similar position we’d been in in the middle of the night. He took my face in his hand and gave a kiss so long, I knew I’d feel the ghost of his lips until the next time I was able to feel the real thing. To think just hours before I’d been hellbent on convincing him that we couldn’t allow ourselves to act on our feelings. Here I was now struggling to let go of him to spend an hour apart at most.

The giggling on the other side of the wall broke the spell though.

Bucky and I broke apart with a shared smile. “See you in a bit,” I whispered, pressing my hands to his chest and pushing off of him to disappear around the corner.

After dressing for the day, I corralled the boys into my car. I could practically hear their predictable thoughts and feel their eyes boring into the back of my head as I shut my door. “There’s donuts with both your names on them if you promise not to tell Uncle Sam what you saw this morning.”

A resounding chorus of enthusiastic ‘okays’ reminded me that I was the best aunt in the world who made the worst parenting decisions.

——

By nothing short of a miracle, Bucky was still alive when I returned.

We worked on the boat with familiar stolen glances and secret smirks when Sam had his back turned. At some point Sarah kicked the two of them off the boat for attempting to repair the water pump, something she’d been repairing and Bucky and I were forced to separate. As the two men departed the dock, he turned around to catch one last look at me and flashed the smile I’d seen more of in the last twelve hours than I had all week.

“You wanna tell me what changed from last night?” Sarah’s voice broke me out of the daze I was in.

“Huh?”

“You’ve been staring at that man with googly eyes all day,” she climbed aboard the boat, “You’re also lucky that our brother is clueless.”

I rolled my eyes and bumped my hip against hers, “Freakin’ mom vision, can’t get anything past you.” “I’m just glad you got out of your own way, he seems like a good guy,” Sarah smiled, “He’s also fine as hell, if you haven’t noticed. If you wouldn’t have gone for it, I might have.” Our loud laughter mixed together as I whacked her with the towel I’d been using to clean an oil stain off of the boat.

Later that day, after finishing helping my sister with a few repairs we could get done without interruptions from Sam and Bucky, I wandered to our backyard to behold a sight I never thought I’d see. Sam was throwing the shield around while Bucky stood beside him. I stopped at the side of the house to watch, the Vibranium bouncing off of training pads from our garage that were strapped to the tree. Since Sam had brought the shield home six months ago, I’d never seen him do more than pick it up and look at it every once in a while. He’d kept it stored away in his bedroom in its casing, AJ and Cass hadn’t even seen it until he’d left it in the hall after returning from Maryland. To see him wielding it now felt…right. He looked just as natural with it as Steve had. Bucky had made a 180 as well, he looked content watching Sam as he caught the shield in its return journey back to them. If I hadn’t watched them bicker like schoolchildren for the better portion of the week, I’d have mistaken them for friends. “Are you telling me that you two could’ve man-hugged it out back in that interrogation room?” I shouted as I watched them clasp hands and pull each other in, “Coulda spared yourselves a lot of discomfort.”

They both laughed and turned to face me, in an effort to save time as I made my way out to where they stood. “So what’s new?” I asked with a knowing smile, eyeing Sam as he held the shield at his side

“Absolutely nothing,” he replied, “And a little bit of everything.”

I chuckled before my eyes inevitably found Bucky’s, who was already waiting for me with an outstretched palm. “Can I talk to you a minute?” “Yeah,” I reached out and intwined our fingers. “Whoa! Wait, wait, wait,” Sam boomed, gesturing to our locked hands, “What the hell is this?”

“Something new,” I shrugged, looking up and matching Bucky’s smile.

Sam groaned in disgust, “You’ve been here twenty four hours, Barnes, you couldn’t’ve kept your hands off my sister? I-I can’t even look at this, it’s sickening, ugh…” he turned his back to us and began his walk back to the house, spinning around quickly and stuttering, “You know what? I-“ he closed his mouth and shook his head, “Uh-uh, nope, can’t do it.” Bucky and I both snorted as we watched him leave, voicing his displeasure to himself. I looked down and noticed the packed duffle bag that rested at Bucky’s feet, “I get the feeling there’s something you need to tell me?” He sighed, reaching blindly to weave his fingers with my other hand’s set. “There’s something I gotta go do. A couple somethings actually. I talked to Sam, or at least he talked to me,” one corner of his mouth quirked up, “This whole making amends thing, I haven’t been doing the greatest job of it. There’s too many names in that book that don’t have closure about what happened to someone they loved. If I stand a chance at putting what happened in the past, I gotta go ‘do the work’.”

I rubbed my thumb over his smooth metal knuckle, staring down at the space between us. “Yeah, you do,” I looked up at him, “Recovery sucks, there’s no sophisticated way of putting it. Sam and I have both seen the ugly side of it. But you owe it to yourself to work as hard as you can for your freedom, as difficult as it can be sometimes.” Bucky leaned down to press his forehead against mine. “If it hadn’t’ve been for you, I might not have believed that. I wanna get better for you too, to try and be the man you deserve.”

I hummed and bit down on my bottom lip, smiling widely. “So…you kinda like me.” “Yeah,” Bucky chuckled softly, “Just a little bit.”

The warmth I felt radiating through me, brought on by nothing more than a touch of our hands and a shared smile powered me in a way my energy never could. “Go,” I said after a few seconds of silence, “Do whatever you need to do. I think there’s some things here that I need to take care of myself.” Bucky pulled back to look my face over as if to commit every inch to his memory before holding the back of my head and pressing a kiss to my lips. Perhaps it was cruel that I had just gotten him and now had to let him go for an undetermined period of time. But his recovery meant more to me than any amount of heart pounding touches or earth shattering kisses he could give. If we ever had a shot of making it, we needed to go to our separate corners and heal.

I hesitantly broke away from his lips first, rubbing mine together after to memorize the taste he’d left. “If I don’t let you go now, I won’t be able to…” “It won’t be forever,” he shook his head, bumping his nose against mine, “Sam’s gonna call me if he gets a lead on Karli.” Rather than keep him longer with my insecurities about jumping back into hero work now knowing who my father had truly been, I decided that dealing with that was for my personal healing. I reached my arms up to wind around his neck, his finding their new home around my waist and for a split second in time, nothing else mattered. There was just me, Bucky and the future I hoped we had ahead of us. I memorized the feel of him, the rise and fall of his chest against mine, his soft hair between my fingers, the scratch of his stubble against my neck. I hadn’t had time to daydream about Bucky since recognizing my feelings for him but even if I had, they’d have never done the real thing near justice.

“Stay safe, Sergeant,” I said, pulling back to peck his lips one last time and releasing him from my hold.

Bucky picked up his bag and slung it over his shoulder, giving my hand one more squeeze and holding it as he started to walk backwards. Once we reached a point where the only way to keep the contact was to follow him, we let go with a brush of our fingers till I was only holding air. With a final shared look, he turned his back to me and started down the dirt path that would lead him from our corner of Louisiana to the rest of the world. In so many ways I felt as if we’d traveled back to 1943 when he’d shipped out for England. I was sending him off to another war, this time battling his own past. Above any other feeling I felt for Bucky, the one that topped the list was belief. I believed in him more than he believed in himself and I wanted that to change. He could do it and once he did, there was no telling just how happy we could be.

But I in turn had to deal with my own demons.

——

While I wish I could have said I had a plan like Bucky’s, I had no idea what the first step was to healing past what my father had done.

HYDRA wasn’t a topic that I could just plop down on a therapist’s couch and start discussing, there were only so many people I could talk to about it. I found myself wishing that Steve was still around, next to Bucky he was the world’s leading expert on how much damage the organization could do. Without a blueprint of how to begin mending my wounds, I was left to wallow in my own grief over the man I’d believed my dad to be. Sam, however, was on fire.

After him, Sarah and I had made the unanimous decision that the boat was too important to our family to part with, he had launched into the most intense training I’d ever seen him put himself through. He was both blowing me away and not surprising me at all with his dedication.

One morning, I came outside at his normal time to come home from his 6AM run with a cup of coffee for me and a Gatorade for him. On cue, he came jogging up the dirt path I’d watched Bucky leave on days ago.

“You’re inhuman,” I said, tossing him the drink as he approached, “I’m convinced of it.” “It’s nothin’ you couldn’t be doing,” he panted.

“Yeah, I can run with you or I can get up before sunrise. A combo deal is not gonna happen,” I chortled before taking a sip of my coffee.

Sam joined me and sat down beside me on our back porch, the view of the blue waters a perfect accent to the almost fully risen sun. “Look, I don’t wanna know any details but…you and Bucky?”

I smiled as I stared down into my mug, just the thought of him causing happiness to bloom in my chest. “It was kinda happening the whole time, it just took us a while to realize it.” Sam groaned, taking a long swig of his drink. “That’s all I need to know, as long as you both are happy and not too disgusting with each other,” he looked out the corner of his eyes at me, “I think I can live with it.” “Well, that’s mighty big of you,” I patted his sweaty shoulder, instantly regretting the decision and wiping my palm on my bathrobe, “That shield starting to feel like it’s yours?” Sam chuckled, “It doesn’t feel like it’s not mine anymore, it’s…weird. Talking with Isaiah was sobering and he’s allowed to be as bitter as he wants. The man’s earned to right to feel anything after what he’s been through. But,” he sighed, “I couldn’t let it go. All that pain and suffering, I can’t let it go to waste.” “You couldn’t not be a hero even if you tried,” I shook my head in amazement, beaming with pride at my brother, “I’m proud of you.”

“Hey, that’s my line,” he hit my knee with the back of his hand, “I’ve got Torres working on some things, hopefully we can figure out where Karli might be going next-“ I couldn’t lead both him and Bucky to believe I was seriously considering going back to the fight. “I’m gonna stop you right there,” I held up a hand, “When you find them, it’s gonna be just you and Bucky. I’m out.” He furrowed his brows and twisted to face me fully, “Why?” “I can’t be the hero I thought I could, not after what I found out. It would only be a matter of time till somebody looked me up and figured out who my father was, then what? Some ex-HYDRA member comes looking for me? The public loses trust in me to protect them? Your reputation gets damaged when they realize I’m your sister?” I dropped my head down to stare at my lap, “It’s a bad idea. HYDRA doesn’t breed heroes.”

A beat of silence was played before my brother gave his rebuttal. “Look at me,” I dragged my eyes away from my engrossing coffee to him, “I couldn’t give two shits what people think about you being my sister, cause you know what? They don’t know you. They don’t know what you’ve done to try and stop the Flag Smashers, how you saved my life in that warehouse or how you helped keep our family going for five years. They don’t know how stubborn and caring and how much of a hero you are without your powers,” he paused and smirked at me, “And they’re never gonna know that if you don’t show them. What your dad did was horrible, but you’re not the one that did it. If you didn’t let his secret hold you back from being with Bucky, why’re you letting it hold you back from something else you want? You don’t need to be proud of being his daughter, but you need to make peace with it.”

He was right, as if he could ever be anything other than. Sam was counseling me like a sister but also like one of the countless veterans he’d helped wracked with guilt. I didn’t know if I’d ever fully recover from the hurt that came with the revelation, but if I kept on going how I was, I’d be a complete hypocrite. If Bucky could face the victims of his crimes and confess to them, I should’ve been able to deal with my ghosts. All I’d ever wanted to do was help people, to use that mutated gene of mine to help right wrongs. To do that, I needed to do the work. “This is a far cry from a few days ago when you were ready to send me packing,” I retorted. “Well,” Sam chuckled, “You proved me wrong. Fighting with you by my side just felt right, made me wish you could’ve been there for ‘em all.”

The fact that I had shown him that I could keep up with him was astounding, I honestly didn’t think it would ever happen. But with his approval, I’d have to have been an idiot to walk away from it all.

“Good talk,” I smiled, patting his leg while taking one last sip of my coffee before handing it to him.

“Where are you going?” Sam asked.

“Making peace with it.”

——

The drive from Delacroix to New Orleans had always relaxed me. The disappearance of the deep bayous as the scenery slowly changed to city, the ever present cypress trees, the hour travel time always gave me time to think. Something I was thankful for today especially.

I parked my car outside my destination, making the long trek through the cemetery I’d visited every week as a child. My feet automatically as I passed the neat rows of above ground tombs until I reached where I needed to be.

Keeping a safe distance away, I stuffed my hands in my jacket pockets and took a deep breath. “Hi,” I whispered, greeting my father’s tomb as if I expected it to speak back to me. “Um…I don’t know if you can hear me wherever you are but…there’s some things I need to talk to you about.” My eyes began to water, partially from the wind hitting my face but mostly from the tears that had been waiting to spring free. “Why’d you do it, Dad?” I whispered against the lump in my throat, “I don’t understand how you could ever have been a part of something so destructive. You were the last person I would have ever believed could have done something like this. You were my hero,” I looked down at the ground between us, “I never thought you’d end up being the villain.” I drew a shaky breath and continued, “I watched your guilt over your ‘time in the service’ tear you apart to a point where you thought death was the only way out so…I think it’s safe to assume you felt bad about what you’d done. I watched you every day try to be a good father to me and Mel, you didn’t succeed all the time but you did your best. I know you loved us…” “Somehow,” I dug the heel of my sneaker into my the dirt, “I’m trying to find it in me to forgive you, Dad. For the pain your secret’s brought me, for what your name could do to the rest of my life, for lying…But the one thing I don’t know how to forgive you for is what you did to Bucky,” the tears that I’d finally gotten under control threatened to start again, “Because Dad, he means the world to me and to know that you were behind that pain that’s running his life…It makes me want to hate you. And the saddest part is that I know you would have loved him if you’d ever gotten a chance to meet the real him.”

“The way I see it, I can’t undo the damage you did to the world,” my voice found its strength, “But what you did isn’t going to dictate what I do with my life. I’ve only ever wanted to do good, however I can, that’s what I’m going to do. I know that you wanted me to keep my powers hidden, probably because you didn’t want anyone to find me, but I can’t do that anymore. I can’t pay the price for your sins. So I’m gonna fight and I’m gonna try to rewrite our family’s legacy.”

“Anyway, that’s, uh, that’s all I wanted to say,” I took a slow step forward and placed a hand over the stone tomb, “I wish…I wish things would have turned out different.”

With one last gaze upon my father’s final resting place, I left the same way I’d come, for once not having to fake the confidence I was feeling.

——

“Oh, oh, it’s going…” I teased.

“Give it back!” Sam yelled! “It’s going!”

“Y/n!”

I levitated the shield further away from Sam and slid it across the ground into the boy’s soccer net, AJ and Cass chasing me as I did. I’d only just shown them that their aunt could make stuff fly and we were currently engaged in an intense game of keep away with Sam.

“AJ! Grab it!” I yelled, my nephew hurrying to the net and lifting the shield, stumbling a little as he took off running with it on his arm. I threw up a force field around Sam, who was gaining on him, “Oh no!” Sam was laughing the whole time as he tried to punch his way out of the bubble encasing him. “Go go go!” I cried, watching the boys run off with the shield into the house, dropping the field once they were inside.

“You’re the worst influence on them, you know that right?” Sam chuckled as we slowly made our way towards the front door.

“Hey, I don’t want them thinking their uncle’s the only cool one in the family,” I replied as we entered the house, pulling out my phone to check the notifications I’d feel vibrating in my back pocket. One was a news alert. “Sam.” “Huh?” I tossed him my phone and hurried through the house till I reached the television, flipping to the news to see the article come to life. The GRC was voting in New York on the Patch Act, a movement that would move twenty million refugees back to their home country.

“Shit,” I mumbled, feeling Sam’s presence behind me. His phone rang to announce a call. “It’s Torres,” he held out the phone and revealed the man’s face. “Sorry this took so long, spare you the technical details, but I finally got results for the scans you asked for and I think we’re onto something,” Torres explained as Sam and I went to look at his computer, displaying a map of Europe that lit up with bright red circles. “When we look back, all these pings, they’re from places just before the Flag Smashers hit. Clearly, they’re all over Europe. Earlier today, we got one from New York. Now, I can’t promise you they’re not using a VPN or masking their location, but…” I’d stopped listening after he’d said ‘New York,’ and turned my attention to the tv, every piece of the puzzle was coming together. Karli wouldn’t be physically able to hold herself back from interfering with the vote. “Great work, Joaquin,” Sam said, his eyes trained on the screen along with me, “We’ll take it from here,” he hung up the call and turned to me, “Time to get to work. Come with me.” He rose from his chair and led me to the coat closet nearest to the front door, opening it up to pull out a large silver case and handing it to me. “I don’t know what’s in it, Bucky just told me to hold onto it until the time came where you’d need it,” Sam stated, “I’m thinking that’s now.” Confusedly, I carried it out and up to my bedroom, placing it on my mattress and trying to figure out how to open it. There was no keyhole, only a bar that hosted a red screen. My finger brushed over it, the action turning it blue and the case automatically released an air lock I didn’t know it had. Waiting a few seconds to make sure nothing popped out, I carefully opened the box to see something I couldn’t have predicted in a million years. Resting on top of the surprise was a note on the nicest stationary I’d ever seen…

You may be able to kick my ass, but I’m never gonna stop trying to protect you.

- Bucky

I breathed a soft laugh, holding the paper in my hand and imagining Bucky hunched over a table, writing the words that were now lodged in my heart. “Sam,” I called out, leaving the case open and rushing across the hall to my brother’s room, “Sam, it’s-“ All words disappeared and all thoughts halted at the sight of him opening up his own case, I didn’t need to see its contents to make an educated guess at what was inside of it. There were a dozen emotions playing out on Sam’s face, wonder, apprehension, excitement, shock…Every one of them valid but none of them coming close to the amount of pure determination in his eyes.

I watched from the doorway, smiling, “Ready when you are, Cap.”

----

A/N: AHHH. Only two chapters left, hope this one lived up to your expectations. Getting your messages and comments and asks have been making my days and I’m so glad people are enjoying this little ride I’m taking us all on. Let me know what you thought and/or if you’d like to be tagged for the remainder of the series!

Safe Haven taglist: @tanyaherondale @wanniiieeee @asoftie4bucky @edencherries @i-reblog-fics-i-like @ttalisa @gcfty @withyoutilltheendofthismess @rinaispunk @weirdowithnobeardo @felicityofbakerstreet @godlyhufflepuff @eternalharry @voguesir @mizz-kraziii @okayline @smellmymisunderstoodfluff @wanderin-stories @nicklet94 @intricate-melody @aesthethickks @stumbleonmywords @simplybarnes @21bruhs @lostinwonderland314 @superbookishhufflepuff @kaelyn-lobrutto24 @zozebos @fandomxreaders @kittengirl998 @sarai-ibn-la-ahad @i-know-i-can @x-judyjude-x @thebi-valkyrieofvalhalla @buckverse @living-that-best-life @haphazardhufflepuff @citlalireedus @lindseyrae20 @missstef23 @qhbr2013 @sebby-stann @bluemoon-icecream @iixbella @lets-love-little-me @abitofeverythinggg @itsnottilly @sltwins @mads-weasley @hart-failure @natdrunk @nctma15

#bucky barnes x fem!reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x reader #sam wilson x reader #sam wilson x platonic!reader #marvel imagine

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themurphyzone · 3 years

Text

PatB Nova Ch 7

Ch 7: Perturb

AN: This chapter’s somehow got long so a lot of stuff I wanted to originally place here’s going in the next one.

FFN Link

Terran Date 2015.4.23

Since I currently lack access to my regular equipment, I’m making do with an audio recording program from a Terran computer. I must admit it’s not nearly as efficient as my usual method, but it will have to suffice.

Pinky is an…interesting host. I won’t deny that he’s rather generous, and the delicacy he identified as cream cheese is surprisingly palatable. I’ve also taken up residence in his cage which he also kindly offered for my use as a safe place to sleep. The sponge bed has been moved to the cage per my request.

Objective assessment of Pinky: his species is a lab mouse, his eyes have to be some odd mutation because it cannot be possible for them to be that blue, and he’s an amiable idiot. As I’m recording this, he’s currently scolding two inanimate objects for their failure to keep the cage clean in his absence.

Today’s goal: Pinky is planning for a trip to the local mall to obtain a hat to wear for the Derby. Once again, it’s an illogical custom I am unfamiliar with. I’ve agreed to accompany him for two purposes. The first, clues on Snowball’s whereabouts. And the second, to gather intel on Terran habits for world domination purposes. Snowball and I will be able to put my information to good use when we’re reunited.

Signing off for now, the Brain.

o-o-o-o-o

Getting lost, losing communications, and the unrelenting solitude were the major dangers of setting foot outside of Penumbra. Only the first two conditions applied now.

Pinky leapt through the mail slot and danced along the pavement. He wore a lavender blouse that left his shoulders exposed, his shorts made of a Terran material called denim. Apparently, this excursion was also an opportunity to make a fashion statement. But Brain didn’t see the practicality of Pinky’s clothes. The silly Terran stepped on an odd rock here and there, but his twirls didn’t slow down. Just looking at him made Brain slightly dizzy.

Thin, white clouds drifted lazily in the vast blue sky far above them. Brain looked up, one hand on his brow to shield his eyes from the bright sunlight. New Selene and the stars weren’t visible, though they were somewhere much higher than the sky.

He squinted and lowered his gaze to the ground, dark spots forming in his vision and making everything rather blurry.

Brain had switched his jumpsuit and gloves for a Terran disguise, a simple red shirt and another pair of denim shorts, both items borrowed from Pinky’s large collection of outfits. But since Pinky’s legs were longer, the shorts technically functioned more like pants, and the shirt was knee-length. Though it was comfortable, so he went along with it for now.

Besides, Pinky had been shockingly adamant about the jumpsuit and gloves needing a wash. Brain had protested at first since the material had anti-olfactory functions built in, but Pinky insisted and Brain agreed if only to shut up the Terran.

Procuring formal clothes for conquest would just have to wait.

And there was another issue he hadn’t anticipated.

Everything was so colorful and loud. He was so used to everything being muted and dark. Already he missed the ever present hum of the lab technology, and he’d barely set foot outside the door. Brain stood on the coarse welcome mat, on the border between safety and the unknown.

He was just grateful his accelerated healing kicked in overnight, and the bandages were no longer necessary.

“Come on, Brain!” Pinky shouted as he skipped along the pavement, careful to avoid all the cracks. “The sidewalk is great! Just don’t step on the crack, or you’ll break your mama’s back!”

Brain scowled. “My mother is on a different planet entirely, if she hasn’t already fallen victim to the many dangers of the natural world. Stepping on a cracked rock here on Terra will have no effect on her skeletal structure. The two actions are entirely uncorrelated.”

“The corals are related?” Pinky gasped, hands flying to his mouth in genuine surprise. “I knew they looked similar!”

There was absolutely no reasoning with him, was there?

A large, sleek metal structure roared down the large stretch of pavement in front of them, a cloud of smoke trailing behind it as it rounded a corner and disappeared. It wasn’t his first time seeing one of those vehicles, since they’d been peppered throughout the satellite images he’d viewed back on Penumbra.

A car. One of the forms of land-based transportation on Terra, Brain recalled from the file on Terran technology. Highly practical for traveling long distances.

Cars were much larger in person. The images made them seem so tiny.

And once again, he found himself woefully lacking essential information. Did cars function similarly to a rover? How did it zoom by so quickly? What was the power source?

He looked up at the sky again, but the sunlight had somehow gotten stronger during his pondering, and he quickly averted his eyes.

“Poit. Your eyes are so squinty, Brain!” Pinky lightly tapped Brain’s head, breaking him out of his thoughts. “Don’t look directly into the sun. It’s bad for your eyes and you’d need to eat lots and lots of carrots to fix them and then your fur will turn orange!”

“A side effect of all this light,” Brain replied, making a mental note that carrots were an edible item that caused orange fur. He’d have to avoid them in the future. “I’m fine. Let’s depart for this…mall.”

The word felt strange on his tongue. But his feet wouldn’t leave the safety of the welcome mat.

“I’d love for you to come along, but if you’d rather not, that’s fine too,” Pinky said. There was a slight tinge of disappointment in his voice though, but he still seemed as sunny as the actual star. It was somewhat unsettling.

“Won’t you join my little expedition, Brain?” Snowball wrapped an arm around Brain’s shoulders. Fine mist trailed from the aisam’s claws, surrounding them with an icy chill that traveled up Brain’s spine and settled into his fur. “The road to Eclipse Lab is awfully barren and I could use a little company. Perhaps we could test our skills with star identification along the way.”

Brain shoved him away and Snowball clicked his tongue in disappointment.

“For the last time, I’m n-not interested in visiting that horrible, scrik-ridden m-mess of a lab, Snowball. If you wish to leave New Selene sometime in the next cycle, you will allow me to fine-tune the propulsion system in peace,” Brain retorted, hating the tremor in his voice caused by a brief yet violent case of the shivers. He picked up a wrench and examined it for overuse damage, turning his back on Snowball so he wouldn’t see Brain’s hands tremble.

Whether it was from the cold or the mere thought of setting foot in the place where he’d been prodded and restrained by long, claw-like fingers, he couldn’t say.

“You can’t be an invertebrate, Brain,” Snowball grumbled. His disappointment was palpable, and Brain’s fingers tightened around the wrench. “Our combined intellect is unparalleled and far superior to those imbecilic Terrans. Whatever it takes to rule, whatever it takes to wear the crown, we must seize it by any means possible.”

Then he was gone, and the Conquistador’s silent frame became Brain’s steadfast companion.

“Earth to Brain! Oh sorry, should I say Terra to Brain instead? Come in, Terra to Brain! This is Lieutenant Pinky reporting in! Over!”

Pinky was suddenly in front of his face, and Brain leapt back in surprise. He must’ve been lost in his ponderings again. Pinky held something behind his back, something bright and yellow poking out near his tail.

“Yes, Pinky. I hear you,” Brain sighed. Then Pinky showed him the item behind his back, and it turned out to be the oddest pair of safety goggles Brain had ever seen in his life. The star-shaped frame was yellow and provided little protection for the nose, and the lens were tinted dark instead of clear. “These goggles are highly impractical for technical work.”

“They’re sunglasses actually. Slipped inside and grabbed ‘em while you were pandering. I use these if I’m playing movie star-slash-chiropractor! Try them on!” Pinky said. Deciding it was best to humor him, Brain slid on the glasses, and his vision became a shade darker. The colors were still there, just not as bright. The headache that had threatened to form dissipated into nothingness.

“This is bearable,” Brain said. Pinky was slightly darker as well, though the tinted lens did nothing to diminish his shining blue eyes.

Pinky clapped his hands in glee. “Exactly! Also works for grizzlies and honey bears and teddies! And now you’re a movie star too!”

Brain rolled his eyes, sweeping his antennae back so they didn’t get in the way. “That’s not a classification of any star. Despite your questionable logic, and I use that word in a fairly liberal sense, the color spectrum of your planet is no longer a strain on my eyes. So…thanks.”

“Aww! You’re welcome, Brain,” Pinky said. “And really, you can wear them in the lab too. I don’t mind.”

“No, Pinky. I’m coming along. I have goals to accomplish during this trip,” Brain said. Taking a deep breath, he stepped off the welcome mat, then hopped off the step and onto the pavement.

It wasn’t as difficult as his mind made it out to be.

Pinky laughed, and Brain barely got out of the way in time before several ounces of idiosyncrasies could crash into him.

Brain wouldn’t get anything done by sitting around and being too afraid to leave the lab’s safe haven. Somewhere underneath the massive sky, Snowball was likely planning his own day’s activities. And today, they’d be taking the first steps to conquer Terra.

Through any means possible.

o-o-o-o-o

Brain prided himself on his keen observation skills, something that would serve him well when he and Snowball finally exploited the inhabitants’ many weaknesses. Pinky considered it a ‘a blousery, blustery, beautiful day’, whatever that meant, and skipped to and fro in every direction to take in the sights of the city. Brain kept him in view at all times, not wanting to be left alone in this strange world.

He quickly found that the word ‘Terrans’ failed to encapsulate the biodiversity of the planet, in addition to individual differences between members of the same species. Humans varied greatly in size, shape, and appearance, though even the tallest ones weren’t nearly as large as a Selenian. Some had their heads buried in their devices with cords going into their ears and were oblivious to their surroundings, and Brain had to keep an eye out for those dangerous folks since they didn’t seem to care about anyone in their path.

While inconvenient for him, their failure to pay attention could easily be turned into an advantage.

Several humans walked alongside quadrupedal creatures that sniffed the ground and had collars and ropes around their necks that led to a handle in the human’s hand. Pinky called them ‘dogs’ and ‘leashes’. He was more than happy to clarify anything Brain didn’t understand, and while he figured that he would have to research Terra more in-depth later, Pinky’s happy explanations were sufficient for now.

Brain firmly held Pinky’s hand as they passed by a human and a golden-furred dog with large paws and a long, panting tongue. The dog sniffed them curiously and made a ‘groomph’ noise, and though it didn’t seem hostile, Brain dragged Pinky away before the dog had the opportunity to slobber all over them.

But even the ‘goldy’, as Pinky called it, was more preferable to the tiny, yappy thing that Pinky identified as a ‘Chi-wa-wa’. At least it was yanked back by its leash before it could give chase to them.

Pinky called himself a mouse, and his friend Pharfignewton was a horse. Two species down.

The flying creatures were pigeons, crows, and sparrows. They ate whatever they could scavenge on the ground. The tiny things that scurried around his feet were insects, and Pinky yanked him back from stepping on a sidewalk crack filled with red and black ‘ants’.

“Fire ants will make your feet itchy and tingly!” he warned. “And not the pleasant kind either!”

Brain committed his warning to memory.

Cars crawled by slowly on the street, packed closely as far as the eye could see. They made odd screeching noises from time to time, the humans inside grumpily slamming their palms against their steering devices.

Lights on every corner controlled the flow of cars. Everyone became furious with red and brightened when it was green. He wasn’t exactly sure what yellow was supposed to do since some cars sped right past and others came to a stop. Regardless, humans were dependent on those lights in their vehicles. It was an interesting observation.

There were plenty of additional rules too, which Pinky was adamant on teaching. Only cross at the white strips at the lights, and only when the red hand changed to the green human. Look left, right, then left again before crossing. Pat your head and rub your belly if you see an out-of-state license plate…well, Brain was pretty sure that wasn’t a safety rule since none of the humans were doing it. Just a Pinky thing then.

Everything was alive, from the structures that creaked on the highest buildings to the scattered pebbles underfoot. While he’d known the planet’s atmosphere carried sound far better than New Selene’s, experiencing it for himself was nothing short of fascinating. He’d have to research the exact composition that made it all possible later. Energy flowed towards him in all directions, though the daytime thankfully masked his glowing orbs.

Blending in wasn’t difficult either. Humans were more oblivious than he thought.

“Last corner, Brain!” Pinky exclaimed, twirling happily as they waited for the signal to cross the busy intersection. “Then we’re at the mall! You’ll love it! There’s food and clothing and perfume and toys and-“

“Pinky, what exactly is the purpose of a mall?” Brain asked. Pinky had been rather unclear on that. Mostly he’d just been gushing about all the fun things they could do.

“To do fun fun silly-willy things with your friends and look at stuff you can never afford on a lab mouse’s salary, of course!” Pinky replied.

The signal to cross finally appeared, and Pinky skipped merrily across the white strip, nimbly avoiding getting trampled by several humans walking in the opposite direction. Brain walked at a normal pace, keeping his tail close to his body. He didn’t trust the distracted humans to watch where they were going, especially since their handheld devices seemed to hold more importance than avoiding getting run over heavy wheels.

As Brain stepped onto the sidewalk, an odd texture struck him on the head, knocking his sunglasses askew. Several drops of a lukewarm liquid splashing onto his fur. It didn’t hurt, but it was still an unpleasant surprise. The human next to him didn’t notice. He was too busy yelling into his device and gesturing wildly, then stomped off in a huff. He almost trampled Pinky, who barely managed to pull his tail out of the way before the man’s large foot crushed it.

“Well, he was certainly rude. He littered and didn’t say sorry for dropping the cup on your head!” Pinky complained as he helped Brain to his feet, his blue eyes narrowed at the man’s back as he disappeared into the crowd. He cupped his hands to his mouth and shouted in the man’s general direction. “Hey, litterbug! I bet your mom’s older than you! Narf!”

He gave a firm nod, satisfied with his ludicrous and underwhelming insult.

A furious Pinky. That was an interesting concept, yet anger and Pinky somehow remained mutually exclusive in Brain’s mind.

“Not to worry, Pinky,” Brain said, wiping the liquid away from the base of his antennae. He returned his sunglasses to the proper position. “He’s long gone. I’ve suffered worse.”

Pinky took a deep breath, then took a sniff of the cup’s opening and wrinkled his nose. “Maybe he wouldn’t be so grumpy or litterbuggy if he put more sugar in his cappuccino,” he sighed. “Styrofoam too. Can’t recycle that.”

Dragging the cup over to a nearby garbage can, Pinky hoisted it over his head and trying to stick it through the hole on top. The cup was barely over the rim, Pinky clinging to the metal with one hand and scrabbling for a foothold. He wasn’t giving up without a fight, so Brain grabbed Pinky’s ankles to give him the extra boost needed to push the cup in.

Pinky climbed down once he heard the dull thud from inside the can. “Thanks,” he said gratefully, though he still seemed unusually morose.

Brain walked into a section lined with vegetation and dirt that separated the street from the mall. But Pinky didn’t follow. He was looking into the direction they came from. “The cup’s in the proper place now. Let’s go, Pinky.”

Instead of following Brain, Pinky moved to the curbside, looking down at his feet. Really. Pinky came to the mall for a purpose, however inane it was. He needed to commit to that goal.

Brain growled in frustration, grasping his wayward companion’s wrist and pulling him in the mall’s direction. Pinky stumbled, but hardly budged otherwise. “Quit being stubborn, Pinky. The sun will burn out before you twitch a finger at this rate.”

“But the rest of it…“ Pinky whimpered, pointing to the street.

The road was filled with cups like the one Pinky had just thrown away. Filthy, damp, and unreadable papers lined the curb. A plastic bag tumbled in the wind. There were even a few objects that might’ve been clothing at one point.

Some people passed them by without a care in the world, others clicked their tongue at the mess but hurried on their way. Two people on the other side of the intersection were clothed in white from head to toe, picking away at the garbage with long sticks and depositing them into large bags.

From the sheer amount of garbage that lined the streets, Brain thought it was a futile effort on their part.

This was one of Terra’s downsides. Its inhabitants were destroying the very planet they lived on. It was one of the few observations the Selenian scientists were accurate about.

Pinky reached for a mass of papers, a revolting yellowish-green grime covering its surface, but Brain pulled him back before he could touch it.

“Don’t touch that with your bare hands, Pinky,” Brain scolded. “It’s unsanitary.”

Pinky pouted. Now obstinance. He shifted moods rather quickly, didn’t he? It was baffling.

“We gotta take care of Mother Earth, Brain!” Pinky protested as Brain dragged him into the vegetation. “Or there won’t be any pretty flowers to sniff and the acorn and pinecone elves won’t ever set aside their differences to sign that peace treaty!”

“The databank contained many details regarding the pollution of Terra, Pinky,” Brain admitted. “So I’m aware of the issue. But cleaning this one street would take time we can’t spare. You’re being sidetracked from your goal, and I can’t achieve my own objectives either.”

“Wait…” Pinky murmured. “You’re gonna rule soon, aren’t you? So you can definitely protect the world! That’s wonderful, Brain! I know you can do it!”

The sudden shift in mood caught Brain off-guard.

I can? Brain almost said, but the hope shining in Pinky’s eyes quelled that uncertain response. There was nothing but sincere admiration in that pool of blue, a massive surge of electrons flowing from Pinky’s chest into Brain’s antennae.

He would dare describe the electrons as a positive charge. How? Electrons were supposed to be negative! What kind of anomaly did he have the terrifying pleasure of knowing?

Brain cleared his throat, focusing on the enormous sprawling complex in front of them. Pinky’s blind faith was off-putting, and it was much easier to disregard it. “Of course. I will have unquestionable power in the near-future. Solving these issues will be easier than calibrating an auto-navigation interface.”

Pinky blinked.

“And…I’ll oversee those peace treaty negotiations between the elves.”

Pinky brightened immediately. “Thank you, Brain! Thank you, thank you, thank you!” Long arms snagged Brain and lifted him off the ground in an enormous hug. Brain’s feet kicked out, but the warmth Pinky emitted had the strangest subduing effect. Brain’s antennae weren’t obstructed either, just swept back. Apparently, Pinky learned from last time.

Brain’s chest was oddly warm. Or maybe it was Pinky’s. It was hard to know for certain.

“Your orbs are so glowy,” Pinky said in awe.

And they weren’t achieving anything from this display of sentimentality! With some difficulty, Brain reclaimed his right arm and bopped Pinky on top of his empty noggin.

Pinky immediately let go, stumbling around dizzily and startling a nearby sparrow with his loud giggles. Brain landed on the base of his tail, a brief painful twinge travelling up his spine. In hindsight, he didn’t plan that well. At least there wasn’t another kink.

“That was jolly fun, Brain!” Pinky exclaimed upon recovery.

If he ever had the spare time, he was definitely researching the differences between actual Terran phrases and Pinky-isms.

“I’m sure,” Brain sighed, though he wasn’t sure and never would be, but Pinky didn’t need to know that.

They walked into a large, multi-level structure that Pinky called a ‘parking garage’, which housed a large amount of dormant vehicles. It was similar to the traffic they’d passed earlier, but the drivers were elsewhere. They were packed close, almost touching, and Brain wondered how anyone could possibly get in or out in these tight quarters.

Another few inches closer and the drivers would be completely trapped. That idea had potential.

Pinky hopped onto each yellow marking on the ground, arms flailing as he tried to avoid the gray areas in between. Brain followed at a more sedate pace. Then Pinky gasped and straightened up just as he landed on the last yellow marking before the mall entrance, Brain nearly bumping into him.

“Look, Brain! Somebody’s dropped their wallet!” Pinky gasped, hurrying over to a black object lying against the curb. He undid the zipper and glanced inside. “Egad, that’s a lot of money!”

Brain peeked inside. A wad of folded green paper was tucked inside one of the pockets. “A currency-based economy? Selene and its colonies utilized barter systems,” he said.

Which could be an issue. Brain had originally planned to trade the Conquistador’s spare parts for useful items.

“Oh no, Brain. Currants would get squished in your pants. Then you’d need a really strong stain remover,” Pinky replied. “Besides, this man’s very lucky he can buy so many hats! That’s what I’d do if I had any money!”

He must’ve misheard that. Surely.

“Pinky, tell me you brought the monetary value required for your hat.”

Pinky dug his hand into a fur pocket, but only came out with a piece of fluff. “Hmmm, well, I have some dryer lint! Only money I have is Nicholas the Nickel, and he’s cleaning the cage with—oh.” His ears and tail fell limp under Brain’s glare.

Brain kicked a loose pebble, and it ricocheted harshly off the base of a metal sign. Of all the native species he could’ve chosen for a guide, it just had to be the one individual whose head was denser than a neutron star.

“Sorry, Brain,” Pinky murmured. “I’m not very good at this goal-setting thing, am I?”

He said ‘sorry’ a lot for placation’s sake. But no matter the context, he always sounded sincere. Brain pushed his sunglasses up to his forehead and rubbed the bridge of his nose. Somehow, he couldn’t find it in himself to be irate with Pinky anymore.

“You require more practice,” Brain replied. He glanced at the strange, valuable green papers in the wallet. Funny how they came across the commodity needed at this moment. “However, it’s most fortunate that we should stumble on the item required in trade for your hat.”

The money was all in 20s and 50s, and while Brain was unfamiliar with this currency, he figured there would be enough to spare. He took the money out of the pocket and tucked it under his arm. Then he flipped his sunglasses down, but Pinky tugged the money out of his grip before he could walk off.

“No, Brain! That’s stealing!” Pinky protested, slipping the money back into the wallet. “This rightfully belongs to a Mr. Joe Lamont! We have to take this wallet to Lost and Found now!”

Pinky’s stubborn side came out randomly, it seemed.

“The money is here at your convenience, Pinky. You have to use every asset possible to achieve your goal,” Brain said.

“What if Mr. Lamont needs this?” Pinky tapped a card that displayed a human’s photo along with other identifying information. Then he pointed to a small picture of a man and woman. “What if he needs this for anniversary or birthday presents, or else his wife won’t be happy and he’ll be sad cause he left his wallet somewhere and what if someone picks it up and won’t give it back? Cause that’s just mean!”

“Then he should’ve been more careful with such a valuable item,” Brain snapped. Pinky made a noise of disbelief and turned his back to Brain. “So take one or two of the papers for yourself and give the rest back.”

While he’d prefer to keep the entire wallet for future use, it seemed he would just have to compromise with Pinky.

“He won’t notice.”

“NARF!” Pinky retorted.

His assumption was wrong. Pinky wouldn’t accept a compromise either. It was a losing battle, and as much as hated conceding defeat, no other options presented themselves.

“Fine! Do what makes you happy! See if I care!” Brain shouted at Pinky’s back.

He was only presenting the most logical solution. It wasn’t his fault this idiot wasn’t taking the opportunity! And none of this was helping him find Snowball or conquer Terra either!

“Returning the wallet would make me happy, Brain,” Pinky said with conviction.

“Why?” Brain asked. This wasn’t the type of goal-setting he’d pictured at all.

“It feels right.”

Tasks should be performed with efficiency in mind, not for emotion’s sake. But it seemed that keeping Pinky in his normal euphoric state would be in Brain’s best interest for now.

“Alright, let’s return that wallet. Neither you nor I shall use any of the money for personal reasons. We’re heading to the…Lost and Found?” Brain said reluctantly. He took a deep breath, reminding himself to keep Pinky in a good mood. “You lead the way. I’m not familiar with this locale.”

Pinky faced Brain, and the bright smile was back. Brain looked away. He wasn’t doing this out of altruism, and Pinky needed to learn that.

“Yup, it’s like the Island of Misfit Toys, but for car keys, jackets, and other things too!” Pinky exclaimed, hoisting the wallet above his head. “And now it’s for Mr. Lamont’s wallet!”

The satellite images never pinpointed a geographical location named the Island of Misfit Toys. Probably situated next to a more prominent landmass then.

“Welcome to Macy’s, Brain!” Pinky cheered as they entered a pristine white building. “For all your expensive brand clothing and Thanksgiving Day needs!”

The store was brightly lit, so Brain kept his sunglasses down. Numerous bottles of varying colors were on display. Women shouted from behind their counters, urging passersby to purchase their products. Most people walked by quickly, looking rather uncomfortable and twitchy until they were far from the display area. Only two women seemed interested at all, spraying misty clouds on tiny strips of paper and sniffing them curiously.

“What are they doing?” Brain whispered as he shuffled closer to Pinky for protection’s sake. There was a predatory gleam in those workers’ eyes, and he didn’t like it one bit.

Even Pinky with his near-perpetual cheer seemed uncomfortable, his fingers anxiously drumming against the wallet. “Poit. Selling perfume. All sorts of lovely scents, but this is definitely why online shopping is more popular these days.”

Before Brain could respond, one of the workers suddenly rushed towards them with a manic smile that showed way too many teeth.

“Hi, you wanna buy some perfume buy one and ya get another half price ‘til May!” she shrieked. Without giving them a chance to respond, she sprayed perfume directly in their faces.

Pink mist engulfed them and obstructed their vision. A pungent scent clogged Brain’s nose, trickling its way down his throat, and he let out a hacking cough to expel it. Pinky’s wheeze suddenly turned into a yelp, and by the time the mist cleared, the woman was walking away with the wallet in hand.

Pinky clung to the wallet desperately, his legs kicking out as he was hoisted into the air. “Please, miss! Brain and I—ehem—Brain and I need to give this wallet to Lost and Found so Mr. Lamont can buy his wife nice presents!”

“Oh, it’s a sizeable wallet you’ve got there too!” the woman exclaimed. Brain found her pitch highly grating. “Let’s see, with money like that you can get lilac, honeysuckle, eau de escargot, a perfume that smells like wet goat hair sponsored by Gwenyth Paltrow-“

“I’m sure they smell lovely, but-“

“Very lovely indeed!” the woman spoke over Pinky, who could only dangle helplessly.

Brain gritted his teeth and hurried after them, shaking off his earlier disorientation. When she stopped to jabber about perfume again, he slammed his tail onto her bare ankle and administered a quick shock. Startled, she dropped Pinky the wallet. Brain darted between her sandals just in time to catch Pinky, who clutched the wallet to his chest, slightly dizzy from his sudden fall.

The perfume bottle was aimed in their direction again.

Brain took off with Pinky in his arms, running as fast as he could when those dreaded sandals got too close for comfort. He allowed Pinky to safekeep the wallet, since he was already so protective of it.

“Relentless scrik!” Brain panted as the woman hurled various sales pitches behind them. Pinky wasn’t heavy, but the wallet was a different story. And Pinky made it look so simple!

Well, Pinky was simple in general. Perhaps it was a distributive effect.

“Brain, go into the carpeted area!” Pinky shouted. “She can’t follow us out of her department!”

Deciding to trust Pinky’s word, Brain ran straight onto the carpet, barely dodging someone’s shoe in time, and his foot caught on the raised border between the carpet and tile. He fell onto his face, one of the sunglasses’ handles digging into his fur on impact. Pinky and the wallet tumbled across the floor, coming to a stop a short distance away.

As Pinky predicted, the woman stopped chasing them.

“Annnnd there goes my bonus,” she muttered dejectedly. She slammed the perfume bottle onto a nearby counter, startling a sleepy coworker who toppled off her chair in surprise and plastered on a fake smile for a passing customer. He glanced at her briefly and walked away with a grimace.

“Sooo…welcome to Macy’s?” Pinky laughed nervously. “On the bright side, we smell like radish roses now!”

Brain threw a button at him.

o-o-o-o-o

They kept to the corners after that fiasco, hoping to avoid drawing attention to a moving wallet. Pinky marveled at the various styles advertised by a human-like object he called a ‘Manny Kin’. He prattled on about the models and clothing, and Brain tuned him out to better observe the humans.

The younger ones appeared restless and bored out of their minds. The adults often stopped to admire an article of clothing, checked the price, and shook their heads before moving onto the next item. Everyone was dressed in a far more casual style than the clothing on sale.

“Oh, here’s the mall center! It’s where all the real fun happens, Brain!” Pinky said, his tail wagging in excitement. “Plus, the Lost and Found is just beyond this store. We’ll make Mr. Lamont happy in no time!”

Instead of a back wall, there was a large, doorless opening that led out of the store. Pinky danced his way across the boundary with a cheerful goodbye to the Macy’s sign. As Brain stepped into the wide open space, he was astounded by the sheer scale of the mall center.

He’d expected a plain corridor that connected different sections, not a massive space with a roof that appeared to touch the sky. The population density was much higher than in Macy’s, humans loudly chatting among themselves, shouting at consumers to purchase wares, and swinging large bags from their arms.

There were two floors above their heads, connected to the ground by staircases and escalators. The escalators seemed by far the popular choice for people moving between floors. Brain felt dizzy just looking at that open space above them, and he decided to focus only straight ahead for now.

Dozens of smaller stores lined the walls. Most of them sold clothes like Macy’s, and Brain couldn’t fathom why humans needed so many stores just to sell clothes. A fresh, rich scent wafted through the air, and though it was much more pleasant than the perfume, it made him somewhat famished as well.

“Look, Brain! The cookie shop! Don’t they smell divine?” Pinky asked with a dreamy sigh. “They taste delicious too!”

“Another one of your foods?” Brain asked, though it fell on deaf ears. Pinky had gone over to the display case, practically drooling on it as he admired the cookies inside, the wallet leaning against his side.

Brain stood on the other side of the wallet, just in case anyone had any ideas about stealing it.

At first, Brain thought the cookies were classified by ingredient, but one of the groups was labelled ‘snickerdoodle’ and Brain was of the opinion that no sane planet in the universe would ever call anything by that strange moniker.

“Let’s be on our way, Pinky,” Brain said, because there wasn’t anything productive he could do while his Terran guide was staring longingly at cookies. “That wallet won’t return itself.”

“Okay, Brain…” Pinky said forlornly. His hands squeaked sadly against the glass, but before he could pick up the wallet, a woman came out from behind the counter, her dark hair tied back in a bun. She approached them with a napkin in one hand.

Brain grabbed Pinky’s hand and the wallet, tensing up in case he had to yank them away at a moment’s notice.

But the woman made no move to snatch the wallet. She only squatted next to them and held out the napkin, revealing two small pieces of cookies. “Free sample?” she asked. “They’re fresh out of the oven.”

“Thanks so much...Laura!” Pinky read the name tag pinned to her shirt, then snatched up one of the pieces and shoved it into his mouth. Crumbs stained his muzzle. “Narrrrf! That was dee-lish!”

Cautiously, Brain took the second piece and bit into it. Sweetness flooded his taste buds, and he quickly finished his portion, the cookie melting in his mouth. If anything, Pinky had understated how delicious it tasted.

“It’s exquisite,” he said to Laura, who beamed right back.

“Glad you enjoyed it!” Laura said. She provided them with wet napkins so they could rid themselves of the remaining crumbs, and they left the cookie shop behind.

“She was so nice, Brain!” Pinky said, safeguarding the wallet once again. “Sugar cookies are my favorites! Well, after chocolate chip and macadamia and snickerdoodle-“

Brain nodded. “She didn’t steal anything while our guard was down. Count that in your definition of ‘nice’.”

Thankfully, they didn’t have to walk far to get to the Lost and Found. Brain hoped to put this wallet nonsense behind them in the next half hour. They had objectives to fulfill.

The Lost and Found was in a hallway that led to an exit from the mall, and Brain made a mental note of its location. He refused to set foot in that Macy’s ever again.

A podium was situated in front of the doors, and the worker behind it nervously held out a box to an irate man in a formal suit similar to the merchandise at Macy’s. He snatched the box and threw several articles of clothing and various lost items to the ground.

Pinky lifted the wallet above his head, his feet tapping in excitement. “That’s the man! He looks exactly like his pictures!”

Mr. Lamont was practically tearing the box apart without any regard for the other lost belongings, and the worker’s eyes were wide with fear. That didn’t bode well. Brain grabbed Pinky’s tail, but it slipped out of his grasp. The idiot had no sense of impending danger and walked right up to the belligerent man.

“You’re hiding it, aren’t you?” Mr. Lamont snarled, slamming his hand against the podium. The worker cowered behind his chair. “Hand over my wallet this instant, or you’ll be out of a job.”

The worker paled.

Brain rushed over to try and pull Pinky back. Mr. Lamont hadn’t noticed them yet. There was still a chance they could slip the wallet among the other items and leave without detection.

“Hi, Mr. Lamont! You dropped your wallet in the parking garage!” Pinky greeted. “Me and my friend here were just taking it to Lost and Found, and what a coinkydink we’d find you here too! Isn’t that great?”

Pinky held the wallet up expectantly, that silly smile never leaving his face.

Mr. Lamont snatched the wallet out of Pinky’s hands, wrinkling his nose haughtily.

“You’re welcome!” Pinky chirped, then happily turned to Brain. “We did it!”

Pinky had done most of the work, but if he wanted to share credit, Brain chose not to correct him. “Yes. Now we may return to what we originally-“

Mr. Lamont’s foot slammed into Pinky’s side, too fast for Brain to shout a warning. Pinky yelped as he was thrown into a wall. There he laid in a crumpled heap, hands wrapped around his abdomen for protection.

“How much did you take, thief?” Mr. Lamont spat. He cast a looming shadow over Pinky, who whimpered in pain, tears forming in pitiful blue eyes.

It was such a foreign appearance for the idiotic but kindhearted mouse.

A strange fury overtook Brain, one that was much different from dealing with troublesome ships, arguing with Snowball, or frustration with his current predicament. It brewed in the depth of his stomach and spread through the rest of his body.

Brain whipped off his sunglasses, placing himself firmly between Pinky and the ungrateful reprobate.

“He stole nothing from you,” Brain growled. “Count the money yourself, you repugnant excuse of an organism, unless your mind has degraded far beyond the ability to perform simple arithmetic.”

“And just who do you think you are?” Mr. Lamont sneered.

Brain crossed his arms proudly. He refused to cower before the Terran. “A genetically enhanced Selenian mos seeking dominion over your world.”

And when all was said and done, Mr. Lamont would be bowing down to him.

But that glorious fantasy was cut short. Brain saw the black sole of a shoe, there was a forceful pressure against his body. His limbs refused to cooperate. He couldn’t reach his tail for self-defense, his heart pumping faster and faster until it couldn’t compensate for the lack of electrons anymore-

The crushing pressure vanished.

Faraway voices blended together, one angry, one meek, and one familiar.

Someone lifted his head, a gentle hand moving his antennae aside, then slowly pushed his head down until he rested against soft fabric. Brain’s fingers twitched. His full mobility would take several minutes to return, but this wasn’t a terrible position to wait it out.

A drop of moisture fell on his face, followed by several more.

Rain?

He’d heard of that particular climate pattern, but had never seen it in action before.

Brain opened his eyes, craning his neck to see this curious phenomenon. But he was met with Pinky’s tearful gaze instead.

He’d learned much of Terran culture during this expedition, but was it really worth all these ridiculous emotions?

“Stop dampening my fur with your lacrimal ducts, Pinky,” Brain said, his voice hoarse.

Pinky managed a giggle, inanity that was far more preferable to all this crying. “Sorry, Brain. I don’t have any milk. But are you okay? P-p-poit.”

“I’ll need several minutes to recuperate. Then I’ll be ready.” Brain felt his cheeks heat up from the proximity. Mobility returned to his right leg, and he couldn’t wait for this mortifying close contact to be over. “Where’s Mr. Lamont?”

Pinky scowled at the name, an expression that looked odd on him, but not wholly unwelcome. “Mr. Lameany called you vermin and left with his wallet. But you’re not vermin, Brain! You’re my best friend!”

A childish insult. He’d have to teach Pinky about using more sophisticated language.

“And you…are Pinky,” he sighed, patting Pinky’s arm.

Pinky smiled brightly. At least Brain could strive towards one of his objectives. They weren’t quite through with business at the mall though. He’d have to tough it out.

But for now, he settled back against Pinky, who happily taught him the age-old Terran method of settling arguments known as rock-paper-scissors.

AN: FINISHED AT LAST.

I am not making stuff up as I write I totally had a plan for this fic y’all can’t prove nothing.

Brain gets to learn good and bad stuff about Terra, poor Pinky gets hurt. These mice can’t even go the mall without something happening, can they?

#pinky and the brain #patb fanfiction #patb nova

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thecosmicsen · 3 years

Text

🎂 happy belated birthday month to fellow ghosty boy, aka the soft boy Jaewoo is stuck to in any AU, the one and only @phantombs ! 🎂

* : ✮ ┆ the one in which they both bond with the afterlife .

call it the synchronisation of two backgrounds harmonising that cultivated this very moment of Jaewoo enthusiastically bursting through Cường’s front door. the trust that Cường has in him to provide key access speaks volumes of unfathomable confidence despite the striking contrasts between what the two deem as amicable greetings. typically, Jaewoo is akin to a sudden blast of nippy wind that tends to slap someone across the face with its sharp stinging icy breeze whereas Cường is the type to snore through category five typhoons. this indisputable fact about the elder male is what provides Jaewoo with the brazen guts to invade his home so unabashedly since he knows that nothing will stir the unconscious figure. as according to plan.

detecting the lump in the midst of the blankets, Jaewoo now enters stealth mode as he navigates his way around the bedroom. setting down the canister of helium with a slightly louder thunk, he sucks in his cheeks in horror as he tersely waits to see if it elicits a stir or two out of Cường. it doesn’t. with a smug sense of achievement, he proceeds with the first step of filling up confetti-filled balloons so he can robustly tie them in batches of three with blue ribbons. what the true finishing touch is the polaroids of the abundant pictures he has taken of Cường over the span of time they have spent together. besides the absolutely candid shots varying from Cường overlooking the speckles of freshly budded cherry blossoms to him randomly snoozing in an upright position on the park bench, the polaroids consist of vintage filtered memory snapshots ranging from . . .

one. tiny coffee puddles lingering at the bottom of almost emptied mugs. licked up cupcake crumbs. overcast cherry blossom shadows merging with the tabletop. the lining of plush armchairs overlooking the open cafe balcony. pink-tinged cheeks from the open breeze. a slumped over snoozing figure, his mouth slightly agape as he snugly fits in the width of his chair. it’s ironic really, sleeping right after a caffeine dose ? classic Cường.

two. rain-streaked panels. the lazy streaks of dusk filtering through clearing horizons. idly bustling of Cường’s back faced to him as he gently rifles through his collection of mugs. thick woolly covered socks perched up together. a low hum of a cheery tune. the cheeky grin he flashes when Cường turns around with the familiar scolding look. “ you’re going to be chilled to the bone, wrap up the blanket tighter around yourself. ” the elder male warns him and he obliges.

three. dusted piano keys. a pair of hands gliding across the ivory. the other pair patiently listening, and listening, and listening. time stands still in the air, the concept being sapped away between the gaps of the keys as Cường plays the tunes of a piece so bittersweet. reminiscing curls his lips downwards until Cường gently grabs hold of his hand and gingerly swaps it with his own. “ learn to play with me, ” he jerks Jaewoo out of his transfixed spiralling stance that threatens to plunge him into a nostalgic dimension.

four. flash. flash. flash. another piercing flash. it washes him out, bringing out the sallow side of his physical manifestation. he’s suddenly very self-conscious. all he is doing is walking along the river, breeze tickling through his hair. the only person he notices is Cường with his mobile phone pointed in his direction. “ wait, I’m not ready for a picture. ” Jaewoo protests, immediately raising his hand up into a peace sign with a chirpy grin. Cường snaps a few more before shaking his head, a fond smile taking over. “ you silly boy, does the sun ever need to prepare its shining brightness ? nor do you. ”

five. buzzing electric hums crackle. indignant yells from preteens cause a crease between Cường’s brows. blaring beeps and glowing neon signs cram up any leftover space in the arcade. they promise many bountiful rewards. get your hands dirty, you might win an oversized stuffed narwhale. Jaewoo rubs his hands gleefully, akin to a persistent fly about to dig into a tasty feast. “ I know just the thing you need on the days you sleep for fourteen hours. ” pivoting to the flashiest claw machine with Line characters packed like sardines, he eagerly hunches over with his tongue sticking out in concentration. he will win this. inserting his leftover cash in enthusiastically, he aims the metallic grip of death to the nearest stuffed bunny. taking in a noisy deep inhale to quell his adrenaline, he jabs at the pretentiously gaudy red button for the claws to suffocate the bunny to victory. it works ! he didn’t expect it to in full honesty but now he can smugly brandish it to the amused male. “ let’s call him Lele. now you will never be alone. ”

. . . a shrill whistle sounds from Jaewoo as he clambers towards Cường’s bedroom window. a hoard of worn out older dogs struggle to float up to the window’s height. but with the aid of Jaewoo’s awaiting palms, they are safely directed into the warm haven of Cường’s birthday setup. what’s left is the lighting of candles and the birthday. the ghost had considered buying a massive rectangular cake to fit the few hundred candles on it but he reckoned that Cường wouldn’t be up for using all of his lung power on blowing out that many candles so he settled for placing fifty seven instead. not a jibe to the other’s age at all.

clapping his hands together, Jaewoo motions at the expectant dogs to go huddle up against the sleeping figure in bed. beyond eagerly, they all contentedly clamber besides Cường as they are familiar with the man and his previous visits to the shelter. the wholesome sight warms his heart and he hurriedly moves to snap a picture of the cosy sight before Cường can object. by the looks of it, he still hasn’t fully stirred from his slumber yet so Jaewoo takes the cue to finally begin the slow singing of the birthday cheer.

“ happy birthday to you, happy birthday Choi Cường, happy birthday to you. ” the dogs happily grumble along to Jaewoo’s trilling voice in an unique harmonisation to celebrate the cheer of Cường entering another year of life yet again.

Cường finally arises with groggy eyes, hair sticking out in random tufts and incomprehesible noises that only those fully acquainted with deep sleep can fathom. Jaewoo approaches him with his birthday cake, eyes glazed with delight.

“ make a wish ! ” Jaewoo shoves the cake in front of him and Cường indulges him by huffing out the candles in three goes before tugging him onto the pile of puppies on the bed. “ please don’t tell me you wished for more sleep. ”

alas, Cường has already fallen back into a half-drowsy state but it’s okay. the cake can wait.

* : ✮ ┆ the one in which they both bear the weight of the crown .

huff puff. huff puff. huff puff. look at what lengths the young prince goes to. it takes a lot of cautious scrambling on the ivy-clad bricks. it surely would have been a call for an immediate plummet to death. had the prince not been thoroughly experienced with years and years of experience in exiting the castle grounds for invigorating quests for adventures, he wouldn’t have made it beyond a single ledge. as lithe as a cat, he even managed to maintain his hold on a staggering wide window ledge that showcased an approaching candlelight, presumably one of the many patrolling guards. security had greatly intensified ever since that eye-opening hectic night of ultimate meetings of meetings. the only leeway he was able to breakthrough and finally make through the fortress was through months and months of extensive study with the aid of prince Cường’s silent cues on illustrating ways on how the other may keep visiting him in his lonely desolate tower.

evidently, the legwork pays off since Jaewoo is able to navigate his way through the labyrinth of tenacious security personnel. it’s extraordinarily exciting to be going through such leaps and bounds to visit your secret werewolf best friend, son of the rival kingdom that your family swore an oath against !

entirely pleased with himself and his progress, the young prince proceeds with his voyage to the grand tower window after ensuring with a peep that the patrolling guard has moved on. he makes a quick mental note of how the fourth floor garrison seem to take around seventy five seconds for a quick sweep before moving on with his cat climb.

it must have been a nasty shock for Cường to have his grand balcony doors thumped on frantically in the dead of the night. Jaewoo can faintly make out the startled grunt followed by groggy scuffling towards the set of gold-plated doors. the sight that Cường is faced with upon opening the doors with hesitance is one straight out of the many books that he’s read with Jaewoo in their more relaxed princely hang out sessions. the moon crescent gently laminates Jaewoo’s tall and proud silhouette with its sheer pearly luminescence glimmering off the many encrusted jewels on his figure.

“ prince Cường, head of all mythical protection, the defender of deep sleep and all other his realms, you have officially lived to see and enter another blessed year ! ” Jaewoo enthuses, his eyes dancing wild in delight with his self-perceived inspirational opening. “ despite the beast inside, quite literally if I may add, you have persisted and floated through the face of adversity. a very very joyful and happy birthday to you. as my gift to you, I must insist on you going out with me on this clear mid spring evening. ”

to be expected, Cường stares at him incredulously before opening his mouth to come up with a gurgle of excuses ranging from it being too late and the best birthday gift he can give is to have the longest nap. this is all naturally dismissed by Jaewoo with a wave of hands although he switches up his tactic with pleading beseeching eyes.

“ I swear in the name of all things that I love, this will be a minimal effort journey for you, your highness. ” Jaewoo holds his hand on his chest to declare his oath. “ outside your grounds, I have brought a sled with a comfortable makeshift that I specially made for you. please please please. I shall carry you along the entire time. you only need to walk the distance to and from your bedroom to outside the grounds but even for that, I can piggyback you for when we are out of sights from your garrison. ”

Cường sighs in defeat, knowing that it takes far more energy to Jaewoo who doesn’t take no as an answer either way. the duo had been continuously going out for either one of Jaewoo’s gutsy expeditions in his quest for seeking fantastical legends or heading for a cosy hangout in his secret shed hangout. so it is a familiar cause-and-effect process that Cường has grudgingly gotten accustomed to.

soon enough, the two are bundled up warmly and exit their usual and lesser dangerous route from within the castle instead of dangling off precariously on tower walls. as they veer near the edge of the perimetres of the castle grounds, Jaewoo begins to piggyback him as promised. with Cường’s thick plush cape enveloping his body too, Jaewoo enthusiastically leaps towards the awaiting royal sled concealed underneath the moss of an oak.

“ see, I made it like almost exactly like your real bed which you love to lay in so much ! “ Jaewoo gingerly lowers down Cường after ensuring every speck of leftover moss is flicked off. almost immediately, Cường nestles himself underneath the main heavyweight blanket with his eyes flitting shut which is a sure sign that Jaewoo must have accurately devised a mobile sleeping quarters for the lethargic prince. with the toothiest grin, Jaewoo leaves his nap to him in peace before securing the sled to his armour.

as they traverse through the grounds, a route that Jaewoo deliberately scoured for its even ground to avoid jilting Cường too much, the night begins to sink in deeper. an expert in creating handheld torches, Jaewoo lights the way for himself and his drowsy reluctant companion through the sweeping grand grounds of eclipsing trees. thankfully, the destination in mind for the birthday isn’t too far off so much of the night isn’t wasted on the journey time itself.

they arrive to a clearing that opens up the dull moonlit night with a large lake in sight. there is already a boat awaiting for them ( a product of Jaewoo’s meticulous birthday planning ). the barely illuminated body of water does not do justice for the usual daytime blue-green depths as the night overcasts its murky shadow. in fact, it would have been totally understandable if Cường was to believe that Jaewoo dragged him out in the midst of the night to kill him in this open valley. ironically, the birthday boy does reflect similar sentiments as he questions Jaewoo as to why they have come here but he does thank Jaewoo for bringing him out in the open air.

“ behold my dear friend, you shall see why I brought you here. ” Jaewoo holds out a hand in plea before sticking the burning torch into the ground near the docked boat. “ I’m going to transfer you to the boat now. I made it extra comfy for you, do not fear. ” admittedly, the wooden boat does look slightly shabby from what the torch’s amber lighting shows up. yet the confines of the boat are layered thick with nothing but fleece plush-lined winter blankets and opulent feather pine-stuffed pillows directly from Jaewoo’s palace.

transferring Cường to the boat takes no more than a second, the birthday prince not weighing more than mere grapes to Jaewoo who is amped up on adrenaline. blowing the touch out, must to Cường’s skepticism, he hops into the boat eagerly before grabbing the oars to paddle them out and away from shore. the atmosphere drastically dips to an eerie cloudless night with not a source of light to be found yet Jaewoo keeps on paddling and paddling and paddling.

“ what do you bring me here for ? ” Cường questions yet again, sounding helplessly bewildered. Jaewoo swats at him.

“ ssshhh, you’ll see in a moment. don’t be too loud now ! ” Jaewoo playfully jibes despite being several pitches higher than Cường. setting the oars now with definitive decisiveness, he stops paddling as he opts to shoulder another blanket around himself. “ any moment now . . . ”

as if just to vehemently rebel against Jaewoo’s words, the pair are left in the sweeping frigid silence in the enveloping darkness. the lake is completely still. the air almost stagnant from its lifelessness. Jaewoo frets about Cường falling asleep again. before he can reach out for Cường’s arm to harshly pinch. it begins to appear.

the fireflies begin to leisurely appear. each warm glow emitting slowly one by one until it begins to reflect against the clear lake depths, stark in its crystal clear glowing luminescence. it starts off with ten good fireflies darting around until a few hundred more show up to entirely brighten up the entire body of water like one of the radiant lantern festivals celebrated in the kingdom. some begin to glimmer near the boats which causes a cascading effects of pale yellow to light up all around them. finally Jaewoo can glimpse the entirety of Cường’s face who looks utterly in awe. he gently holds a finger out, witnessing how a firefly immediately beckons to his fingertip. it warms up the features of his face significantly.

this once, Jaewoo remains serenely silent as he soaks in the magical sight of the fireflies and their endless etched out glittery reflection on the still lake’s surface. glancing back to Cường, he brings out the hidden sack of pastries so he can gingerly stuff one in his mouth.

“ happy birthday, your highness ! ”

* : ✮ ┆ the one in which they are both reliant on coffee and stacks of books .

yeah, birthday, it's your birthday. if I die, bury me inside the Louis store, they ask me what I do and who I do it for and how I come up with this shit up in the studio. all I want for my birthday is a big booty hoe !

it is six in the crisp fresh early morning. the scatter of April’s cherry blossoms softly breeze past the windows. in the far off distance, the blue buses agilely shuttle to their timely scheduled stops. what is there to greet the overambitious joggers is the bountiful stretching of the clear blue skies and its cheery sunshine companion. what a landscape of utmost urban tranquility.

skrr, skrr, wrists movin, cookin', gettin' to it cookin', I'm in the kitchen, yams everywhere !

this lyric accurately reveals where the culprit of the booming bass music is located. what should be another college boy routine of panicked last minute waking up, rolling out of bed, brushing teeth and forgetting to comb before running out of the house is not happening. it’s pulverised along with the vibrating bass that resonates through the tight budgeted walls.

ah, Yeezy, Yeezy, how you do it, huh ? it's my birthday, I deserve to be greedy, huh ?

whether the actual birthday boy is begging for the chance to be greedy or the chaotic sound source in the kitchen is debatable. the April birthday boy is was soundly fast asleep in his bedroom underneath the newly gifted weighted blanket and he must be too groggy with early morning drowsiness. he groans as the bass violently shakes his bed before waiting a few moments to see if the music will miraculously switch off. perhaps this spring day will bless him with a power shut off to banish the ruckus.

I show up with a check to your work place then hand the valet the keys to the merces. tell the DJ play your song, this shit come on. what I'm seeing from the back I can't front on. they ask me what I do and who I do it for !

as fast as Cường’s lethargic feet will transport him to the kitchen despite it being a mere few steps in their apartment, it feels like eternity to him. as he languidly inches towards the kitchen, the deafening birthday song begins to ring his ears. it elicits a slight grimace out of him. his only plan is to lower the music volume to five before noiselessly dragging himself back to bed to flop down to prolong his sixteen hour nap.

however, his plans are rapidly crushed to itty bitty microscopic bits the moment he stumbles across the sight of Jaewoo haphazardly dancing along with ardent strong passionate strokes in the midst of the glammed up kitchen. stray confetti and metallic balloons litter the countertops and corners. a stack of presents line up on the island as a standout centrepiece on the counter set up for two. the warm scent of fresh souffle pancakes fill up the air and berry compote compete to overwhelm senses along with the brewing green tea. when Cường is set to open his presents after breakfast, he will come to find out that Jaewoo has purchased a drawstring hoodie pillow, an interesting choice of a pillow, another ostrich pillow for classes, an aromatherapy eye pillow, microwaveable slippers, a book light for philosophical bedtime reading, a golden ratio notebook, a poster, and a self-heating coffee mug.

“ finally, I was beginning to wonder how long it would take to bait you out of bed ! ” Jaewoo chirpily waves at the dopy figure in the middle of his twirling hands up motion, who is seemingly flabbergasted. it’s an overload of various stimuli to all take in at once at six in the morning. but to his credit, Jaewoo begins to lower the volume to a decent level that won’t burst eardrums.

“ who are those presents for ? they better be for you. I told you, you didn’t have to do anything for me. silly boy. ” Cường finally remembers how to vocalise after awakening slightly.

wiggling his finger at him, Jaewoo jubilantly shakes his head with a smug smile before grabbing hold of the other’s shoulders to steer him to sit down on the island stool. “ so you are allowed to do whatever you want for my birthday but I can’t do the same ? if you do not accept these presents then I will have no choice but to start playing Tinashe at full volume. you know how her songs get me going. ”

it appears to be that Cường receives the message so he expectantly grabs his chopsticks. with a triumphant grin, Jaewoo pours out a cup of green tea to him before pouring out a bowl of seaweed soup for him. “ eat up birthday boy, live a very long healthy prosperous life. who else will I take to astronomy club ! I need you alive ! ” with his eyes sparkling mischievously, he then whispers out one final. “ happy birthday Cường. ”

#ok so at least it is still April where you are so #hAPPY BIRTHDAY MONTH CUONG #this is super late but it's here .#this may be slightly chaotic #proceed at your own cost #there's like so many reoccurring themes no matter which au they are in JSOIFJSKPFFK #just don't judge<3 #phantombs #* : ✮ ┆ℎ𝑒 𝑤ℎ𝑜 𝑖𝑠 𝑓𝑎𝑚𝑖𝑙𝑖𝑎𝑟 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑖𝑙𝑒𝑛𝑐𝑒 𝑜𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑑𝑒𝑎𝑑 (𝐶𝑢𝑜𝑛𝑔).

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holy-hyuck · 4 years

Text

Crossroads

You’re used to prioritising your career over your love, and so is Felix. But when standing at a crossroad, you’re forced to make a choice. And for the first time, you seem to choose right.

Pairing: Idol!Lee Felix x Model!Reader

Word Count: 2.8k

Genre: Fluff, Slight angst if you squint

Warnings: None

P.S: This was requested by the lovely @pisces-gal23 10 months ago...yeah. We all know my time management and organisation skills are shit, and I had started this months ago and never finished due to lack of motivation, but here it is! Anyway I hope I did your request justice and I hope you enjoy it!

The clouds rolled by and the wind made a whipping sound against the window as your car drove down the empty road, nothing but a single truck in front of you that turned left thirty metres farther down, leaving you alone on the straight path. Felix's hand lay leisurely on the steering wheel, the fingers of his other one laced with yours.

With your head propped up on your arm that sat by the open window, the cold glass cooling your skin, you bathed in the glory of the rising sun. Your eyes were closed as you let the wind caress your face, albeit violently, without resisting it.

You were in a deep slumber just minutes before, catching up on your interrupted sleep. From your grandparents' cottage on the outskirts of the town, your boyfriend and you were making your way all the way to the JYP headquarters, where the man himself awaited your arrival since the week before.

Felix squeezed your hand tighter and you opened your eyes, slowly, adjusting to the sun that turned the sky a light blue instead of the purple hues it had painted on hours ago. The concept of time felt strangely unfamiliar when there was no pressure on you, and no deadlines to meet.

"You okay? Did you sleep well?" He glanced at you for an elongated second before forcing his eyes to face the road. He knew you hated when he didn't pay attention to where he was driving, but if only you saw yourself the way he saw you during those precious, rare moments in life when it was just the two of you and the road, you wouldn't want to tear your eyes off of yourself either.

You mumbled something, and though incoherent, Felix knew what you meant. Shifting, you placed your hands on either side of your legs and changed your position into a seated one.

Though you enjoyed spending time with Felix more than anything, you missed sleep, being able to bury your face in the soft sheets and not care about smudged makeup or wrinkled designer clothes. You missed the sun filtering through your white blinds and the smell of coffee in the morning when you took the time to make it and enjoy every sip instead of downing five shots of espresso to stay awake through another photoshoot.

"How long have we been on the road?" you asked through a yawn, making a sound towards the end that seemed to amuse Felix to no end. Hearing his giggles put a smile on your face.

Once he composed himself, he looked at the watch on his wrist, keeping a gentle smile on his face. "Nearly four hours." He watched as you nodded, letting out a sigh in the process. "Just an hour left, baby. You can do it."

You gave him a look, watching a stupid grin overtake his features.

"Do you want something to eat?" he asked, approaching a petrol station.

Your stomach rumbled at the thought, and you wished you had more time to eat a proper meal. For now, though, a small snack would have to suffice, so you nodded your head and unbuckled the seatbelt, letting the freckled boy put the petrol in as you wandered through the isles of the small shop. You needed Lix to make some decisions for you, including making the choice between a Twix or a Snickers. Seeing your boyfriend enter the shop, you grabbed both off the shelf, taking a pack of crisps for Felix and a water bottle for yourself, and made your way to the counter.

After paying, both of you sat in the car and ate your goods, letting comfortable silence fall between you two. No matter the circumstances, seconds spent with Felix were never awkward. You allowed each other to feel like a family, a home - you allowed him to feel safe and loved, and he returned the favour.

Felix brought a crisp up to his lips and shoved it in his mouth to cover up a yawn. You furrowed your brows, watching him in concern until he finally noticed your stare.

"Yes?" he asked, eyebrows raised and another crisp on the verge of being consumed.

"Are you okay? You look tired."

His expression remained the same as he took in your words, then nodded his head.

"No, you're not. Get out, I'll drive."

"Wha-"

"Chop chop," you rushed, already leaving your side of the car and coming onto his.

Bewildered, the blond scrambled to get his sweets, and the two of you switched places.

"That's better," you commented, throwing your wrapper onto the back seat and starting to drive away, back towards your original destination.

The journey, yet again, was quiet, songs from the radio filling in the empty space of the car, your hand tapping the wheel to the beat and your mouth lipsyncing the words. Felix watched you from the passenger's seat, awe painted on his face.

You were the only harmony. You were the gentle wind enveloping people in a hug when they most needed it, when they were alone. You were the birds chirping at five in the morning, signifying a new day, and you were the flowers blossoming at the start of spring, a season of change and hope. You were Felix's hope, his safe haven. You were his sign that there were good things in life still waiting for him, just at the reach of his fingertips.

Your humming lulled Felix to sleep. He laid his head on your lap, the love and safety he felt in the moment stronger than his feelings of uncomfortableness. With one hand on the steering wheel, you reached the other one out to run your fingers through the soft strands of Felix's hair.

Neither one of you were used to the lack of products on you, as every day you were reminded that you were somebody's dolls and puppets. Your bodies were made to be clothed in someone else's designs and visions of beauty, your bare faces not good enough, in need to be covered up. Felix was yours and you were his, but you were both also somebody else's, a product from a perfectly oiled machine of a ruthless industry.

And yet, you knew you signed up for this, and were the one who crafted your own tale. You needed to take responsibility for your actions, and you had to be content with the life you had, even if it was exhausting, both mentally and physically. You weren't planning on living in regret.

A tear slipped from your eye and you sniffed, your hand leaving the warmth of Felix's head to wipe it away. Clearing your throat, you turned up the radio, before your hand returned to its original position, and you let your worries fade away, melt into the melodies leaving your lips.

"My love, my love, my love, my love," you sang. It was your favourite song, and you begged Felix to sing it to you, albeit with no luck. He was still very much shy when it came to singing, and preferred to do other things to impress you, things he knew he was good at.

Felix woke up, gently opening his eyes before the light forced him to close them. It felt like he slept for seconds, even though you'd later claim it had been nearly half an hour. Talk about a power nap.

He heard you singing, and it made him want to go back to sleep but he knew that once he woke up, there was no chance of him falling asleep again.

He loved your voice. Not because it was the best in the world, but because in this cold world, when he detached himself from reality, it was the only thing that was familiar. It had the ability to bring him back home, where he needed to be the most.

The corner of his eye stung, a free-falling tear leaving a trace on your jeans until it turned into something more, a waterfall of his emotions staining the material beneath his face, and soon after your skin.

You felt it, too, when you stopped at a crossroad, the red light signalling that you had to wait for your turn, even though it was just the two of you driving on this lonely road. When the colour transitioned into a bright green, and your foot was so close to the pedal, you stopped, hesitant.

You looked down at Felix, who not-so-discreetly used the sleeve of his oversized, fluorescent red jumper to wipe away his tears, the way you had before. You sighed, driving forward ever so slowly, then took a rather sharp turn to the left, despite your destination being straight ahead. Dirt flew from underneath the burning tyres until the car finally came to a stop beside a boulder.

The sudden motion made Felix jump up, and his wide, deer-like eyes filled with curiosity as he scanned his environment. In the meantime, you had already left the car and copied Felix's actions, trying to decipher where you were, but every answer you came up was the same; unknown. Perhaps it was better this way.

"(Y/n), where are we?" Felix asked once he climbed out of the car, the gentle wind making his platinum strands dance along to the beat coming from the car radio.

"I wish I'd know," you replied, looking over at him. His eyebrows were scrunched together, and he stood there in confusion, and yet his features remained as soft as ever.

You sat on the hood of your car, patting the space beside you, collecting the dust on your fingers. Though reluctantly, the boy sat next to you.

"I think it's time to talk about whatever is it that's bothering you."

"And what is it that's bothering me?"

"Whatever made you cry," you pointed out, and as though he was classically conditioned to do so, his hand reached his eyes, finding nothing but dry and sticky skin, his freckles reading like Braille under the touch of his fingertips.

Silence fell over the deserted land, enveloping both of you. You resorted to playing with the rings on your fingers, truly believing - as each second passed by agonisingly slowly - that you chose the wrong time. That maybe, Felix had nothing to say to you.

Feeling the metal creak next to you, you shifted your gaze to see your boyfriend playing with the chain on his jeans. You both looked up at the sky and stared, finding it hard to pick the conversation back up.

"Being an idol is stressful," he stated, at last, not looking in your direction.

"I know." You looked at each other and you gave him a half-smile. It wasn't sincere enough to elicit a response.

"Lix..." Your hand found his and you gave it the warmth it needed.

"I'm fucking worried," you whispered, growing frustrated when he didn't reply. "Felix."

His hand left yours and he looked up, smiling. Then, he wrapped his hand tightly around yours and broke into tears. His head down, tears falling onto the ground, he bent forward and you were quick to envelop him in a hug.

You rubbed soothing circles onto the small of his back, your face buried in his hair.

Felix was so incredibly and undeniably human, and as you felt his hot tears roll down your skin, you were reminded that because he was only human, he had to break too. The real him was concealed to fit whichever image the company needed from him, and on-screen, became what the world wanted, and every once in a while, you remembered that all idols were, were people. Like you, like your friends, like the cashiers at your favourite store, and the girls selling peonies down the street. He was just the same. The same twenty amino acids made up his DNA as they did yours, the same cells repaired his body over and over again, and the same heart pumped blood around his body and allowed him to experience being human.

And if you ever asked, he’d say it felt incredible to be alive, so simply, yet in such a complex way.

The wind whistled in your ears as you held Felix in your embrace, afraid he'll slip away just like sand, holding him like the treasure he was. You hoped he felt safe in your arms, and you hoped he knew he could tell you anything. Felix held so many emotions in his heart, sometimes you feared they would overspill at the most unexpected time, in the most hurtful way. You didn't want him to bottle his feelings up.

Your boyfriend sniffed and pulled away from the hug, leaving a part of your white shirt see-through from the tears. You gave him a smile, warm and gentle, and he seemed to reciprocate it with genuineness. Standing up, he pulled you by the hand towards the car, and both of you sat inside as the wind outside picked up its speed.

"It's just so hard sometimes, you know? Having to be everywhere, all the time, and having to be a perfect mix of yourself and a fake. I just wish there was a day in my life when I wouldn't have to pretend, when I could just be tired, or sad, or angry without repercussions and judgement." He sighed and ran his hands down his face.

"You get to have that with me," you told him and watched his face remain unchanged. "Lix, I know it's hard. It's exhausting, and it makes you want to rebel every once in a while, and we shouldn't have to hide who we are for the sake of our reputation because we are good people and there's nothing we have to hide," you ranted, not knowing where you were going with this. By the look on the boy's face, it was clear it's something you’ve never confessed before. "But at least we have each other. I get to be one-hundred-per cent myself with you, and that's okay because it's only you who matters anyway.”

You placed your hand on top of Felix's and he squeezed it tight so the tears pooling in his eyes wouldn't slip again. It was a silent thank you, and it was enough.

You started the car again and drove in the quiet of the day. After you said what you said, a weight you didn't even know existed was lifted off your heart. It felt like you just freed a trapped bird from its cage. And it felt damn good.

There's a shit ton of crossroads, you thought as you approached another one, the light turning red. This one, however, you recognised, for just turning left instead of going straight meant getting to the diner where you and Felix had your first official date. You smiled at the memory of Felix spilling your water on you from the nerves, and you joking that at least it wasn't wine, for you were wearing a white tank top underneath your denim jacket.

You remembered the beating of your heart as you kissed Felix goodbye on the cheek, a small peck that left the boy blushing, and you, closing the door in his face just to jump up in joy behind them. You remembered your first "I love you" in that same diner, nervously holding your boyfriend's hand as you told him these three words that you kept on the tip of your tongue for weeks, and perhaps that is what made you take a left when the lights turned green.

"(Y/n), we need to go straight to get to the meeting," Felix informed you, believing it was just a simple mistake of yours.

"No, I know." You were met with confusion, and you sighed. "Think about this. We always only do what we're told. We were enjoying a nice week away from work at the cottage and the moment your boss called, we were packing our bags. We let our lives be controlled by the people that mean the least to us. We let ourselves be criticised for the sake of our happiness, which only damages us in the end. All we ever chose was our jobs, always only JYP, and recording, and photoshoots, and never, ever just us."

Felix's featured softer the longer you ranted for, understanding what you meant, and letting your tone convince him your words were true.

"I don't care for that anymore. I wanna go to our favourite diner. I want to eat their vegan pancakes, and lie down on the grass by the river that runs by it, and tell you that I love you without the pressure of time on me. I wanna choose my own happiness this time around."

You looked over at Felix, and all he did was smile at you and press a kiss to your cheek. That was all the encouragement you needed to keep on driving and never look back.

"I'm choosing us."

#skzwritersclub #stray kids scenarios #felix scenarios #lee felix scenarios #stray kids imagines #felix imagines #lee felix imagines #stray kids fluff #felix fluff #lee felix fluff #stray kids x reader #felix x reader #lee felix x reader

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docmanda · 3 years

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Prompt: Sometimes, being with you feels like a dream that I don’t ever want to wake up from - HeHuaLian (or on hard mode, with Mu Hanzhang)

There we go...this took forever and it is only a small thing but hey, I wrote something right? Also there seems to be exactly none (0) works for this on AO3? I could not find a single thing, no matter what I searched for...

~I Walked With You Once Upon A Dream~

Usually it was Third Prince Jing Shao who would wake up from nightmares, silently shaking and clinging to his Jun Qing as if he would disappear the moment he let go of him after he had shouted himself awake. But tonight it was Mu Hanzhang himself who had woken up with a half choked sob stuck in his throat and phantom pain setting his chest aflame, the ghostly feeling of snowflakes caressing his cheeks like the ice cold fingers of the reaper himself making him shiver even after he had opened his eyes. Jing Shao´s hands are already tightening around his waist on instinct alone, pulling him closer to comfort him before he has even properly woken up himself and Mu Hanzhang lets himself be drawn close, willing and pliable and for once completely without his usual shyness.

They had been sharing a bed long enough by now that he should have gotten used to the clinginess that was his -at first so unwilling seeming- husband but sometimes, especially with the last remnants of his nightmare still stuck to him like a torn spiderweb, it felt even less real than the stinging pain of a blade and the sticky, warm feeling of his life blood drenching the clothes of the man now usually gently snoring next to him. It was always the same, disjointed nightmare of pain and blood and a hopeless flight with the vague impression of being held in someone's arms and a now so familiar voice calling out to him in desperation and regret. It always left him feeling weirdly hollowed out in the aftermath, as if something small but crucial was missing and Mu Hanzhang simply could not remember what it was.

And he knew that there must be more to this ever recurring dream of his too, more than just the always looming fear of losing someone he had come to cherish: He had seen it in the way Jing Shao´s soft gaze had turnt painful and full of regrets when he had told him of this nightmare the first time, smothering him with kisses and caresses until his face had been as bright red as the lanterns on their wedding night, the still lingering memories of pain completely forgotten when Jing Shao had finally pressed him deeper into their bedding. He had been weirdly unable to meet Mu Hanzhang´s gaze, as if he was the one responsible for his nightmare and plagued by guilt, until Mu Hanzhang had finally found his courage and pulled him in close for a kiss of his own initiative instead of simply letting the other man do as he wished, blushing fiercely while doing so. Jing Shao had been surprised at first and even more enthusiastic than before second, effectively preventing Mu Hanzhang from falling back into his nightmare by virtue of keeping him up until the early hours of morning and exhausting him too much to do anything but sleep like the dead afterwards.

When the sun had already been high in the sky and Mu Hanzhang´s bad conscience had finally managed to shoo his lazy husband out of their bed, Jing Shao had simply carried on as he did everyday, as gentle and attentive as ever. Only his occasionally shifting gaze and the weirdly melancholic moods where he would pull Mu Hanzhang close without any warning and refuse to let go of him, face buried into the crook of his neck while his usually so gentle fingers left faint bruises on his Jun Qing´s skin from being grabbed too tight, would remind him that there must be something more between them that he regretted than just the unpleasant memories of their first night together, something deep and old and painful that sometimes seemed to loom over every touch and caress between them.

He had tried asking, first in an offhand way, then when that hadn't worked more directly but other than a vague ´I haven´t treated you well before even if you deserved so much better´ there were no answers forthcoming, his husband´s usually so easy smile seeming forced and his eyes lost in some faraway memories. At some point Mu Hanzhang had simply decided to let it be. If Jing Shao wanted to share what so very obviously weighed on his soul than he would, there was no advantage gained from forcing him and until he had decided to talk by himself Mu Hanzhang would simply allow himself to be held whenever the other man had the need to do so. He had already gotten so much luckier with this unasked for union then he had ever expected, especially after their rough start. He had no wish to go back to that day when Jing Shao had barely been skirting the very outer edges of politeness with him while they were in public and he surely did not want to go back to what had come afterwards, in the privacy of their bridal chamber

At first he had thought that his husband´s obvious regret and overabundance of care had stemmed from how rough he had been during that night, venting his frustration of having been forced to marry a male wife and thus ending his political career pretty thoroughly on poor Mu Hanzhang. And honestly, as unpleasant as the whole ordeal had been, Mu Hanzhang didn´t even blame him much for it. After all, the third prince was not the only one who had to give up the life they had envisioned for them and it hadn't been his fault that the Emperor had found his offspring to be too ambitious and had chosen poor Mu Hanzhang to hobble him. His only fault had been that he was quiet, studious and without any scandals and of appropriate birth, ranked high enough to not be offensive but born by a concubine and not a main wife and thus not in line to inherit any titles.

He had actually been surprised that the other man had even wanted to consummate their marriage to begin with, while traditional it wasn't actually required when marrying a male wife after all and he had thought he would slip away to get consoled by his concubines the moment the banquet had ended and they had been sent off to their bridal chamber. Mu Hanzhang himself had never held much interest in romance at all, too focused on his studies to care for much else aside from a detached notion that something like that existed and that at some point he was probably required to find a wife. But contrary to the prince he had neither concubines nor had he dallied in brothels as so many others of his age did, preferring to spend his time with books instead of company of any kind. He simply had held no interest whatsoever but when their marriage had been declared there had been a small, sarcastic voice in the back of Mu Hanzhang´s head chastising him for his abstinent lifestyle. If he had just gone and sullied himself a little bit with a spot of gambling and whoring like so many others the Emperor might have found him unfit to marry the prince and might have gone for somebody else instead. After all, while he could force a male wife unto the ambitious prince to keep him in check he did have to keep his status in mind too and someone of to ill an repute would have been out of the question.

But Mu Hanzhang had never had the habit of crying over spilt milk, too realistic to spend much time agonizing about what if´s and what might have been´s. The decision had been made for him and there was nothing he could do to change it, as much as he might have hated it at first. He had been resigned to going through the motions of their marriage and spending the rest of his life rotting away in some forgotten part of the Third Prince´s household, an unwanted and scorned wife that served no purpose other than to end the Prince´s bloodline and ambitions. He had hoped that, if he could just blend into the background enough, he would at least be able to continue his studies in private even if any kind of public recognition would forever be out of his reach. But while consummation of marriage might not be required, being at his husband´s beck and call was one of his duties...and that meant attending to his bedchamber too if he so wished. And Mu Hanzhang still had his own family to consider, from his father's reputation to his birth mother´s safety so everything that could lead to the Prince being able to officially divorce him on grounds of dereliction of his wifely duties was right out of the question.

And so he had just closed his eyes and gritted his teeth when the Prince had roughly shoved him down onto the mattress, ripping apart his bridal outfit with no regard to the costly fabric and let the other man do as he wished. It had been rough and painful and humiliating but the Prince had also been drunk and so the whole ordeal had at least been over mercifully quick. The other man had fallen asleep with a persistent scowl on his face, his hand tightly gripping poor Mu Hanzhang´s disheveled hair and preventing him from even getting up to clean himself or properly attend to his husband. Mu Hanzhang had fallen asleep himself at some point, exhausted and drained both physically and emotionally...only to wake up next to someone that looked like Third Prince Jing Shao but could just as well have been a completely different person the next morning.

Mu Hanzhang had been very wary of this sudden shift in behaviour, not being able to reconcile the scowling man of the night before with this gentle one that smiled at him and treated him as if he was a fragile treasure instead of just a convenient door mat. The Prince had blamed his behaviour on having too much to drink but Mu Hanzhang did not believe him. He had never really met Jing Shao beforehand but he was known for having a temper and not shying away from cruelty if it served his needs. Being this overbearingly gentle and considerate seemed out of character for him, as if something during the night had happened that had switched half of his personality around. And his servants seemed to be just as baffled by how he treated ´his Jun Qing´, throwing each other confused glances whenever they thought nobody could see them.

They had clearly been surprised by the amount of respect their prince demanded they show his new wife, bumbling about awkwardly the first days afterwards until they had adjusted to the new way things apparently got handled now in the princely household. And Mu Hanzhang´s initial hopes of their wedding night just being a one off, a way for the prince to get rid of some of his frustration and to very clearly show him his place at the same time had been shattered too when Jing Shao had not only insisted on sleeping together every night but had even refused to visit his concubines on top of that. Nobody had been more surprised by that than Mu Hanzhang. After all, while the Prince might have a bit of a reputation of not being adverse to some pretty female company, he had never heard anything of him having a taste for men too. But a taste he seemed to have, at least when it came to his Jun Qing, sticky and barely even meeting the minimum requirements for propriety whenever they were in public.

The man in question is still hugging him tight around the middle, his face stuffed snuggly into the crook of Mu Hanzhang´s neck while snuffling questioningly at him, drowsy and half asleep. Jing Shao had insisted that they share their bed every night and not only for sleeping. And much to his surprise Mu Hanzhang had found that he didn't really mind either. There had never been a repeat of that first, horrible night, with his prince never being anything but gentle and careful whenever he took him apart, always on the lookout for even only the smallest amount of discomfort on Mu Hanzhang´s side. And while it was rare for him still to be the one to initiate any kind of affections between them he had grown to like the ways that this husband of his would pay attention to him, always considering him first before anything else, even his own pleasure. It still made him blush and freeze like a startled deer, all that love and attention being showered unto him with absolute disregard to anything else...but he had to admit he would be hard pressed to give up what had developed between them too, as much as it still baffled him.

Jing Shao makes a soft, happy sigh when Mu Hanzhang gently cards his fingers through thick black hair to fully lull him back to sleep, savoring the feel of the silky tresses between his fingers. Yes, he would be heartbroken indeed if he had to give this up now, their nearness and the obvious love the other man held for him. It makes something deep inside him yearn in a way he cannot explain, as if at some point things had been different, depriving him of this closeness. He can still feel the cold bite of the wind on his face, the phantom pain on his back a persistent itch and sometimes he doesn't know what is true: the man lying heavily against his side, his breath warm and gentle against his neck and his hands an anchoring weight around his middle or the abyss like feeling of hopelessness permeating him, ripe with the tangy bite of surrender and pain and loss.

Mu Hanzhang pulls Jing Shao close, pressing his face into the dark mop of hair, his eyes stinging with sudden tears he can not explain and his voice muffled as he whispers.

“Sometimes, being with you feels like a dream that I don’t ever want to wake up from.”

Jing Shao stills in his arms for a moment, then there is the soft touch of cool lips against Mu Hanzhang´s throat, chasing away the last remnants of the nightmare clinging to him with all it's unbearable tenderness. His prince´s answer is just as soft, barely audible about their combined heartbeats, one chasing the other but never far apart.

“Then let's hope that this night is everlasting so that we both can keep on dreaming forever.”

#The wife is first #Qi Wei Shang #Mu Hanzhang #Jing Shao #fixaidea

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hunsuks · 4 years

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Vapor. | gonhun

pairings: gonhun (main), gonbae, hunhee.

genre: angst, dreams

word count: 1,827

a/n: i've always wanted to write something out of this plot and i finally found the perfect pair! the characters were originally switched up (like byounggon as seunghun and vice versa) but something made me feel like it would be better the other way around so if i missed some mistake from switching their names, please forgive me because i did it after i had someone read it for me. 🥺💛

p.s this is not a songfic but these songs fit this fic so much so you can also listen to them while reading.

"It's him."

Byounggon's heart started acting as if it was about to escape and rip his rib cage. For what felt like a myriad of moments passing by around him, he felt his feet glued to the ground. Numb and frozen on his state, he felt white heat drape all over him. His vision started to darken and his hearing started blurring out as well. He was going to pass out anytime soon but he has to follow him. He knows to himself that it's him. The man of his dream. It's Seunghun. The Seunghun who he have always yearned to meet in real life and not only in his deep slumber. The Seunghun that he wanted to hold in his arms not only fifteen minutes after he closed his eyes. He have waited all his life for this day to come. He can't let him go.

—

This world felt as if nothing could tear them apart. Not even the storm. Nothing. This world felt like the complete opposite of Byounggon's reality. In this world, he felt secured. He felt real happiness. He was euphoric. Because he was holding the dearest man of his life. He held him softly, with great caution but at the same time, so tight that it seemed like Seunghun would slip away in a blink of an eye.

Because he would. He was just a dream who would disappear like vapor the moment Byounggon opens his eyes.

For a moment and for the first time in Byounggon's life, he didn't ever want to wake up from a dream. Seunghun was his most beautiful nightmare; because he never had Seunghun in his reality.

The first time Byounggon started having vivid dreams, he woke up feeling like he never slept at all. He felt more exhausted than he should be from sleeping for almost half a day. He oddly felt like he was carrying a weight in his chest that he felt like sobbing it out and crying his eyes out would help him breathe but it doesn't. His dreams vividly, continuously, ran inside his head.

He never met this man, yet he was the most beautiful man he's ever seen in his life. He felt like it was pathetic to cry over someone he only saw in his dreams. But he never had dreams as clear as this. He can remember every detail from Seunghun's face. He can remember Seunghun's name.

He shook his head and went to wash his face with cold water only to face his restless self in the mirror.

"Are you this pathetic now?" he cursed to himself.

The insomnia he's been having for the past months after a traumatic good bye with Jinyoung left him restless. For the past months, he couldn't remember dreaming at all. He can't even remember if he was ever asleep. Still, he refused to be medicated leaving him no choice but watch the sun rise each day. This was the longest sleep he's ever had ever since that night Jinyoung said he couldn't do it anymore. And it constantly pains him. Even at this moment. The memories of that night tried to intrude in between the flashes of his dream.

He felt like he's carrying a piece of that world in his dream with him even in this world; with his soul. It felt too real to forget. Everything reminds him of Seunghun.

How can I even remember his name? I never met him, not even once as far as I can remember.

In his dreams, they were perfect. As perfect as what every couple in this world would admire to be.

—

"Welcome home, my love." Seunghun whispered to his ear as he breathed in Seunghun's neck, inhaling what oddly seemed to be a familiar scent. This is what home smells like. His heart have never felt this warm. There were no worries in his head while his arms were tightly wrapped around Seunghun's body while they were standing in the middle of an empty living room. The only worry going on in his head right now is the boxes that they are about to unpack and the furniture that they had to put in places within the day.

"Welcome home..." He answered as Seunghun placed a peck on his forehead and shuffled his hair.

Byounggon was aware that he was dreaming. But it felt too good to resist. He would like to watch this. Oddly, he would like to see what happens next with this beautiful boy with him.

'Don't open your eyes yet Byounggon, don't.' he thought to himself within his dreams.

"So this is what it feels like? We're really living together now. You can't let go of me now." Seunghun chuckled as he held Byounggon's hand, tight.

'I wish I can't.' Byounggon thought to himself as his gaze wandered around Seunghun's face, indulging every detail that he can, every detail that he wants to remember even if he woke up.

"I will never let go. You know that." Byounggon said as if he really meant it. Because that's how it felt like. He felt like those words came out straight from his heart to a stranger in front of him; even though he didn't feel like one at all.

They began to unpack all the stuff that they could do for the day. As enough as having the TV and the sofa in the living room and having the bed set in their now shared room. Byounggon vividly remembers every little detail. Even from the moment Seunghun accidentally hit his toe in the corner of the table and how he burned his tongue from the ramyeon that they cooked for dinner.

He have never laughed this much in a while. He was aware. It felt like he was living someone else's life but at the same time it felt so right to hold Seunghun's hand that fits perfectly with his, to kiss Seunghun's lips that felt like his was meant to meet. It was too surreal. He never encountered something that's too good to be true ever in his life.

—

And his life went on and so did the vivid dreams. Byounggon have never felt so excited to go home and sleep each day. It felt like he was living his life everyday just to sleep again; just to meet Seunghun in his dreams again.

He never told anyone about this. He was scared that everybody will tell him that he's crazy for having dreams that felt like a drama with consecutive episodes every night. He started getting convinced that he's living another life in another universe, a world wherein everything is perfect with Seunghun.

He was scared that if he told someone about it, he might suddenly stop seeing Seunghun in his dreams.

He knows that if he ever told someone about it, they would tell him to look for him in this world, but that was what he was most scared of. To meet him in this world. To meet this stranger in this world.

Until one day, there was no way to escape from his fears anymore.

He knew that this day would come. Somehow he wished that this reality was the dream instead.

The Seunghun in his dream is standing in front him. He have never felt this sure in his life. He scanned every detail from his face as Seunghun looked down at the book that he was holding. And he knows, deep in his heart that every detail hits home within him. A stranger never felt this familiar to him. Just like the first he met his Seunghun in his dreams, he never felt like a stranger at all.

"It's him."

'Does he know me? What if he doesn't know me? What if he does? Would I tell him that I know him? Does he dream the same dreams as me? What if he thinks I'm crazy?' Myriad of thoughts spiraled around Byounggon's head. He felt as if he was going to collapse.

'Of course I'm crazy.'

Seunghun is just a table and books away from him in his favorite bookstore. Never did he ever think that this is where he'll finally meet Seunghun.

For what felt like years of standing across him, Seunghun finally closes the book he was holding and started heading to the cashier.

Unconsciously, Byounggon's voice cracked as he slipped Seunghun's name out of his mouth way too loud without thinking.

A millisecond felt like an hour.

Thump. Thump.

He gripped the table to support himself, he knows he's going to fall soon.

Thump. Thump.

Did he hear me? Why is everyone looking at me?

Thump. Thump.

Is he going to turn?

Thump.

And he did.

Byounggon never thought he'll meet those glistening eyes ever in his life; in this world. But this is the reality. He tried to pinch himself multiple times but it was even harder to differentiate what's real and what's not. He was trying to convince himself that perhaps, this is the dream.

Seunghun's expression was hard to read. He was not shocked. Not confused either. Byounggon does not know how to identify what it says. Neither does he know how to tell how he's feeling right at that moment, he just wanted to run away but at the same time, feel Seunghun's warmth.

Seunghun's expression was suddenly bright. It was as if he was not the man Byounggon was looking at a few seconds? minutes? a million thoughts ago.

That smile. The smile that tells him that he's finally home. His comfort. His rest. His safe haven. He's looking at it right now. But more vivid. Realer.

"Seunghun-ah..." said someone softly from behind Byounggon.

And this time, it tears his heart rather than making it warm, because he was not the reason behind it.

He knew what was gonna come. He felt like he was gonna throw up but he watched a fairly tall boy walk to Seunghun from his behind and wrapped his arms around Seunghun's waist.

"I'm done choosing a book Yong-ah. Look."

#cix #fiction #angst #dreams #lee byounggon #kim seunghun #bae jinyoung #kim yonghee #yoon hyunsuk #au #fanfic #Spotify

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pencil-free · 4 years

Text

Red Gold - Chapter 3

Genre: Urban Fantasy Subgenre: Mystery Rating: 13+ Warnings: Blood, Violence, Magic Systems that make No Sense

My class schedule seemed normal enough. At the very least it was boring. I thumbed through the emails of Intro to This and Basics of That and waited for my phone’s screen to load the rest of my emails. The weak WiFi signal struggled its way through the thick roof of branches above my actual roof, but at least I was comfy where I waited for the white screen to fill in. My bed had come in earlier today, and before noon I had the frame built and the mattress fitted with brand new sheets. My clothes were put away and a coffee maker joined the fridge in the kitchenette. It felt weird to putter from the bedroom to the kitchenette without the sound of a television duly doling out the morning news while my mom cooked breakfast. It was almost nice, though, once I got over the silence. I didn’t have to answer her too many questions too early in the day. Unfortunately, the quiet left me with little else to hear except for whatever my imagination filled in.

The birds that chirped outside to greet the sun could have been a warning of an approaching stranger. The branches that snapped and swayed against the windows would have just as easily been tossed by a wayward footfall as any stiff breeze. The groan of the door could have been from the old and rusted hinges on an already old frame, or it could have been a knock from a fist with no good intentions. I waited with the phone in my hand, my finger just above the emergency dial button and waited for another sound from the door. I half expected it to creak again with the wind that rattled through the hole still in the roof. The other half waited for an actual knock to come and for my landlord to be on the other side. Ill intentions or not, the hole was really bothering me and I had a few words about it for him. Neither came, though, and I put my phone away when it gave up its struggle, and rinsed my dishes instead. I grabbed my bag and through my phone and keys into it and headed outside. There would be, I hoped, a stronger signal at the school, and it was a better use of my energy to plan my route to campus than to sit inside over thinking an early demise. It was hard not to when the forest looked just as intimidating, if not more, in the morning sunshine. Despite the bright light, the trees did their very best to block it all out, and the dirt path that wound around the cottage stretched towards the main road was hidden by a tight curve. My thoughts picked up the fast tempo again. Anything could be around the corner - a bear, a clumsy hunter, bigfoot. I tightened my hold on my bag. I didn’t have any self-defense items stored in its pockets and it wasn’t heavy enough to swing around for any effective impact, but just the feeling of the rough straps under my palm grounded me enough to not lose my head. I picked up the pace and didn’t stop jogging until my feet touched asphalt. Warmth touched my shoulders as I broke free of the forest and I didn’t realize how hard I was breathing until a car zoomed past and stole the air from my lungs. I took a deep breath in. Everything was fine. Everything was okay. I slowly breathed out. Everything was- “Hey!” “Don’t kill me!” I shrieked. My bag was halfway off my shoulder and turned in front of me to protect my stomach when the shadow running straight for me stopped to put their hands on their hips and lean over to catch their breath. I waited, my bag still in front of me and frozen to the spot as they wiped blue curls from their face and lifted the brownest eyes I had ever seen to meet mine. “Can I have those $10?” they asked and I snapped my gaze over my shoulder. The road behind me was empty and he was, unfortunately, talking to me. “I-I don’t have any money.” My feet were still stuck to the ground but I quickly repositioned by pack onto my shoulder. They pointed to the ground and I flinched. My first day as a normal college kid and I was about to be mugged. “What about the one under your foot?” My…foot? I forced my knee to bend and my eyes widened before they narrowed to match the scowl across my face. A bill was pressed flat to the ground, stuck there by the heel of my shoe, and I peeled it free. I handed it over with a sigh. “You saved me!” they shouted, and I blinked as the money was ripped from my hand. “My car ran out of gas just as I got to the station but I’d forgotten my wallet. I was hoping someone would stop but then I saw you and I hoped-” “That I’d have something to give you,” I finished for him. They nodded, sweaty curls bouncing. My feet now free of the fearful lock on them, I took a step back before the wind could switch direction. “Well, it’s yours, so…” I trailed off as the smile on their face only grew. “Is there anything I can do for you? The gas station is just down the hill if you want a coffee or a candy or something,” they offered, and I shook my head. I had enough of a risk tempting fate just walking out the door. It would be stupid to chance getting roped up in the old Candy From a Stranger Trick. “A ride to the college then? You look like you’re new here. I could give you the grand tour. My name’s Grey.” He stuck a hand out and I thought, if I was going to turn down his every offer, accepting the handshake was the least I could do. “Cameron.” “Nice to meet you, Cam,” he said, I was too thrown by the sudden nickname to realize we were moving. My hand was still in his, and from his grip, it didn’t seem like that would change anytime soon. I was roped in. Was this a kidnapping? Maybe being normal wasn’t as great as I thought it would be. “Let go,” I hissed, and when the tug of my arm didn’t stop him I grit my teeth. “I wish you would-.” “The college is that way.” My hand fell limp to my side as Grey dropped it in favor of opening the door to his car. I blinked. We were already down the hill, the forest an ugly shadow behind me and the campus rising in front like a shiny haven. A cloud rolled across the sun and the reflection of the light against all the windows in the distance disappeared. The car door slammed shut and I jumped back a step. “That’s the professors’ offices,” he said, pointing a finger over the top of his car to the tall building with all the windows. I followed his hand as he turned it to the left and squinted at another, flatter building further behind it. “And those are the dorms. There’s more behind it but they’re hard to see from here. And the actual classrooms are over there.” Several buildings of all shapes and sizes, one of them almost circular, framed a U-shape around a wide lawn on the other side of the offices. The campus was still a distance away, but I was sure there were all kinds of paths that crossed the lawn, and there had to have been even more buildings scattered further beyond the ones we could see from the gas station. Like administrations, where I had to go to get my ID and double check that I was actually listed a student for the year. I could have just wished it to happen but… I shook my head. I wasn’t going to rely on that anymore. It was bound to fail sometime, I told myself, and it would be just my luck if it happened to be now. “Are you sure you don’t want a ride to see it?” “Very sure!” I threw my hands up in front of me, but Grey was already on the other side of the car. It wasn’t enough distance to make me feel safe, but at least I wasn’t in danger of him throwing me into the back seat. His smile didn’t dim. “The coffee then?” He glanced at the station’s small store. His eyes were finally off me. It was my chance. “No thank you!” I shouted, and turned fast on my heel. A car would be faster than my legs, but I hoped I could get enough of a head start to make him second guess a chase. And, to make it even more difficult for him- I ducked into the woods, head down to miss the branches that lined the road. The path slowed me down even more, but after two days of living in the forest, I’d learned not to underestimate the winding paths and gnarled roots. I did my best to navigate through them both as fast as I could, and only stopped when I thought I was a fair distance from the road. I couldn’t hear the sound of a car following me or footsteps awkwardly trudging along a similar path, and I breathed a sigh of relief. For the first time, the eerie silence and stillness of the woods was comforting. I almost felt safe in all its shadows. I hoped I would still the feel same when I got back to the cabin. Wherever that was from here. I sighed. I’d have to double back to find the road and follow it to the path I’d first come up or else I’d end up more lost. I turned around and started to pick my way back until the quiet was broken by the sound of snapping branches. I stilled, one foot above the ground, and the noise came again. Had Grey followed me into the woods? My eyes widened. What if it was a bear? I’d promised myself to be normal, to not use my luck, but I was desperate this time. I opened my mouth just as something big and black rammed into my side.

#my writing #writeblr #red gold wip #urban fantasy #murder mysteries #fiction

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luisamayalcottlove · 4 years

Text

A like ability (my beating heart)

Warning: A short scene of bullying (not extremly explict), written in one sitting at one am without a beta

Summary: Louisas ability through the years.

The first time Louisa used her ability she was thirteen.

She´d just started a new book that day. Has spend all day perusing it and falling deeper and deeper into a beautiful intricate fantasy world.

Even now, years later she still remembered the story about a sunken city, mysterious sirens and a headstrong, confident princess setting out for adventure. She´d spend all day reading but even then she hadn´t been capable of finishing it off. That evening, after her parents tucked her in and gave her a goodnight kiss she´d pretended to fall asleep. However a little while after they left Louisa pushed down her covers, switched on her night light and retrieved her book from beside her bed, determined to find out it´s ending.

She still remembered the feeling overcoming her then, her wish for the stoppage of time, a lightness overtaking her.

Like she´d stepped out of reality and onto her own little plane of existence. Resuming her book she became absorbed once more and didn´t look concern herself with reality again until she´d finished. The moment she´d looked up and realised only an hour at most had past hadn´t been anything special. Only a slight confusion cursed through her but she didn´t regard it as anything overly strange.

Never would she have guessed at her ability.

Instead she´d only turned over and went back to sleep, none the wiser.

For the next few years nothing like that should occur again.

To be more specific it shouldn´t occur again until Louisa had turned fifteen.

Louisa always had been different.

At least that´s what the other kids said. She was too shy. Too timid. Too anxious. The teachers liked her too much and the other kids not enough. They always laughed at her. Made fun of her. Of her countenance. Of her skewed sense of time. Not that Louisa minded that much. She liked to be alone. And after all she had. Friends. Friends like Marianne. She was nice. So different from Louisa, upbeat, open and witty. Sure she often took jabs at Louisa. And asked after her homework. Or made her do stuff she wasn´t all that sure about.

But still they were friends.

Not to mention that the other kids were just that little bit kinder, that little more inclined to ignore her when Marianne was with her.

But still it didn´t always work. Sometimes. Sometimes, some things just happen. She must have provoked them somehow. Something she did must have forced them into it somehow, to take her things, pull her hair and dump her notes into the pond behind the school.

But it was fine.

After all she´d gotten everything back after a while and her notes would dry.

That afternoon she´d gone home and just sat down in a corner of her room. For a while she just sat there, not really thinking about anything. Years later Louisa would realise that she´d cried then. But in the moment she didn´t really feel anything. Then a light feeling overtook her. Just like years before and somehow that made it better.

Again Louisa stepped out of reality and into some place else. Shaking her head Louisa got up, grabbed her favourite book and snuggled up into bed. Hours later she looked up again, realizing how little time had passed. A frown creased her face and for a moment Louisa contemplated how strange this was but then a wave of sleepiness hit her.

Yawning Louisa snuggled deeper under the covers.

Louisa didn´t even realize that she fell asleep until her mom woke her up hours later.

When Louisa was sixteen she realised what was happening. An ability. She´d been scared, unsure what to do. So she´d done the only thing she could thing about. She told her parents.

“Mom, Dad there´s something weird going on with me.”

They´d been supportive, went to a specialist with her, tried to keep her sense of time as intact as they could and did everything in their power to stop her from isolating.

She remembered overhearing them crying.

They tried their best. Maybe that was enough. Maybe it wasn´t.

When Louisa was seventeen her sense of time was ruined.

When Louisa was eighteen she met Francis and finally found a place to belong.

When Louisa was nineteen she spend most of her freetime slaving over strategies. Finding the perfect plan. Louisa was smart. Has always been. But she wasn´t a genius.

Not like her opponents, but still she kept up.

She had to, for her family, for the place where she belonged. So what were a few hours of being holed up in her room against that. Sacrifices had to be made. And she´d happily be that sacrifice.

A knock ripped her out of her reverie.

“Louisa come on out, we haven´t seen you in hours.”

When Louisa was twenty she woke up with a gentle heart carding through her hair. A soft kiss was pressed to her forehead.

“Good morning my love.”

Mumbling Louisa cuddled closer to the steady warmth beside her. Inhaling deeply and letting the light smell of warmth and roses wash over her. The person beside her chuckled, lightly rocking her body with it. Not that Louisa minded, instead she started to pepper light kisses onto the others collarbones and slowly opened her eyes against the morning sun.

It had been weeks since Louisa last used her ability. Hadn´t wanted to. Not when there was the way more appealing prospect over curling up with her book beside someone else. Not when she could be on a date with her heart instead. With her light. Her beloved.

Rolling over onto her stomach she now lay entirely on her other half, blinked up into the others face and whispered:” I love you.”

“I love you too, my dream”, Lucy answered, cupping Louisas face and leaning down to slot their lips together.

#louisa may alcott #louisa may alcott bsd #alcott #alcott bsd #moncott #louisa x lucy #lucy maud montgomery #lucy bsd #lucy montgomery #my drabbles #bsd #bungou stray dogs #bungo stray dogs #bungou SD #bungou alcott #bungou stray dogs i

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cathwritestragediesnotsins · 4 years

Text

A deal with the devil

Dean Winchester x reader

occurs after crossroad blues!!

word count: 2,930

Summary: Y/N is pissed at Dean after he considers selling his soul

As soon as we arrive at the motel I hop out of the car. Both boys had noticed I was a little off after the hunt but weren't sure if they should mention it. It became very clear how pissed I was when I slammed the door of the Impala as hard as I could. The duo shares a look before getting out and following me.

I marched straight to my room, pulling out my key and fumbling with it in the poor lighting for a moment before fitting it into the slot. But just as I was about to close the door a hand reached out and snatched at the edge, preventing me from pulling it closed.

I spin around, fully prepared to yell at Dean, only to see Sam looking at me with his sad eyes. "What?" I huff in annoyance, I back down a bit but put my hand that isn't resting on the doorknob onto my hip to emphasize just how furious I am. But Sam doesn't back down.

"You should talk to him." he says simply, giving me a sympathetic look before releasing the door from his giant hand and walking away toward his own room. I watch him go for a moment before I see Dean approaching the doorway and quickly remember the night's events. I turn, leaving the door open behind me for my boyfriend but not acknowledging him at all other than that.

I grab my bag and begin to peel off my dirty, sweaty and bloodied clothes from the hunt and dress for bed without a word to Dean. Finally, he snaps.

"Ok, are you going to tell me why the hell you're mad at me or are you going to break up with me?" Dean snarks, aggressively throwing his shirt onto the floor. I roll my eyes as I turn down the sheets. "Seriously? You don't get to mad at me." I retort. He groans in response. My voice rises to be heard over his grumbling. "I'm not the one who tried to sell my soul to the devil." I comment off-handedly. "That's what this is about?!" he says incredulously. "Yes, Dean. Yes. I'm upset that my boyfriend almost sold his soul. Sorry!" I sass, tossing a pillow at him. He catches it and glares at me "Well I didn't do it so I don't see what the big deal is!" he shouts at me.

I scoff in anger fueled by a deep hurt. "The big deal, Dean, is that you didn't even stop to think for a moment about how that would destroy me. And Sam? Did either of us even cross your mind?" I shout but my voice is beginning to break with pain and tears gather in my eyes. "I still can't believe you actually considered it! How could you do that Dean?! How could you do that to me?? How could you even think about leaving me alone here?" The tears are streaking down my cheeks now and my lip quivers as I fight against the urge to sob.

"Y/N..." Dean sighs, running a hand through his hair.

"No! Don't 'Y/N' me! I just-I can't with you right now Dean. You fucked up, majorly. You were selfish and immature..." I trail off and my voice switches from a firm, chastising tone to an unbearably vulnerable one. "I just don't understand......"

I'm quiet for a long moment as I try to keep from breaking down completely. Dean watches me guiltily but I can tell he still doesn't understand why I'm so upset. I shake my head and look down in despair, watching my tears drop onto the carpet, leaving wet spots. I thought I made him understand. I thought I could make him understand. And it hurts that I was wrong.

I grip another one of the pillows, that I hadn't noticed I'd picked up off the bed, against my chest. "I think...I need some time. I'm going to stay in Sam's room tonight." I whisper, still avoiding looking up at him. I know if I look up and see the beautiful man that I love and almost lost I won't be able to hold myself together anymore.

I can hear him open his mouth to say something but when nothing comes I drop the pillow, grab my phone from the nightstand and breeze past him on my way out the door. I realize my hands are shaking when I step out into the heavy, humid summer night. I stand there in mild shock for a moment, allowing the heat to chase away the chill in my bones and the chirping of the crickets to lull me into a calmer state. I clutch my hands to my chest and shuffle down the porch to Sam's room a few doors down. All I want to do at this very moment is lay down on the floor and never move again. The weight of the pain feels like it's crushing me. Nothing feels certain anymore. Our problems feel un-fixable.

When I reach room number 19 I lean my head wearily against Sam's door, suddenly unsure if I should knock. Not because I doubt that he'd let me in. But because it's been an equally stressful day for him. And because I am too drained to talk about things. I am running on empty and my only safe-haven is unavailable to me. It's the worst feeling in the world. So despite my doubts, I knock.

I can hear rustling and the bed creaking before the lock turns and Sam appears in place of the door. "Hey, Y/N, are you alright?" he questions and my composure slips. I shake my head as my chest heaves and I bite my lips to keep from crying. Without another word he steps back from the doorway and ushers me into his room, identical to the one I was just in.

I stop and stand there dumbly in the middle of the room. 'What is happening?' is all I can think, because this hurts like some horrible nightmare. I feel a blanket being draped over my shoulders and I grip it tightly, welcoming the comfort it provides. Sammy grabs me by my shoulders from behind and guides me to the bed. He pulls down the quilt and climbs in ahead of me, situating himself before reaching out for me. I comply, slipping into the double bed beside him with my blanket still tucked around me.

He wraps his arms around me and tugs me closer to his large chest. I nuzzle my face into the pillow in sadness. I love Sam, he's like a brother to me but his arms are not my home, his smell is not the one that brings a smile to my lips. "He's an idiot." Sam whispers, kissing lightly behind my ear. I laugh sadly, though his joke helps me to relax a bit. "Yeah...but he's our problem." I feel Sam nod from where his chin is fitted to rest on my head. "I just don't understand Sam. He really still doesn't get it. Even after everything he still thinks he means nothing to us. He still doesn't understand that I need him. And I knew he didn't know it but... I never thought it was bad enough that he would die willingly."

Sam breaths in and out heavily before answering. "Dean's always been so focused on taking care of everyone else that it never really occurred to him that he was important too." the younger Winchester explains. "Even growing up, he pushed anyone he got close with away. Not because he didn't want them, but because he was afraid he was toxic to them. Or that they would somehow get in the way of him being there for me."

"I know. I understand. I've been there. But at some point you either choose your self-hate over everything and everyone else or you let them love you. His self-loathing is his worst quality. Probably the only thing I hate about him. And it's frustrating because I know it's possible to overcome it. And I'm trying so hard to get him to work on it. But he hates himself enough that he thinks it's not even worth the effort. But he's the most amazing person I've ever met. And it hurts, it feels like I'm failing him if I can't show him that."

"You're not failing him Y/N. I think it's just going to take him a long time before he realizes he is his own worst enemy. Until then we just have to keep fighting an uphill battle." Sam says, sounding weary both physically and emotionally. I nod in agreement.

We're both quiet for awhile and I am on the verge of sleep when a thought comes to me. I snort out an amused laugh.

"I wish we could 'It's a wonderful life' his ass" I state, quietly in case Sam is already asleep.

I know he's not though when I feel his body start to shake with laughter and his familiar, deep, rumble of a laugh peals through the silence.

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

I woke up that morning, my head buzzing with clarity. I suddenly knew exactly what I needed to do.

I slipped out of the room while Sam was in the shower, careful to avoid being seen by either of the brothers and started the walk to my destination. After all there was no sense in taking the Impala on a one way trip.

The sun had risen high in the sky and it scorched the back of my neck with it's heat. I reached the place I was headed for within the hour and walked exactly to the center of the crossroads. I kneeled down and dug away at the dirt with my fingers. It was still loose from last night and a chill ran up my spine at the reminder of what had almost been done. My fingers clanged against metal and I locked them around the small tin.

I pulled it out of the hole and brushed the dirt from it before opening it. It's contents had all clearly been there for quite some time, with the acception of Dean's picture. I removed it and traded it out for a picture of my own, one Sam had taken on the road. The window was down and I was clearly laughing, looking with admiration in my eyes to the driver's seat where Dean was no doubt sitting. I looked so happy. My heart became heavy at the happy memory.

I shook the thoughts away and placed the picture inside the container before swinging the lid shut and putting it back in the ground. I didn't have to wait long after I'd covered it with dirt.

"You called?" a deep voice said and I spun around quickly to see a tall, lean, muscular man with dark hair that swept down over his eyes. Hmm. Dean had said the woman that appeared to him was very beautiful, guess they took the form of a visually appealing person. I rolled my eyes. He was flawless to look at but I knew that perfect vessel held a twisted soul. And I had seen what real beauty looked like. I had given my heart to him.

"Obviously. I need to make a deal." I said, cutting right down to business. I would not be toyed with.

The demon smirks and quirks a brow in interest. "Go on..."

I gulp in anxiety but grit my jaw to cover it. I will not allow my weakness to be prayed upon by this beast. My whole body is alight with panic. It tingles and dances over my skin but I am detached from it.

"My soul for Dean Winchester's happiness. That is all I want. For him to not have to live in torment anymore." I state, stepping forward.

He barks out a taunting laugh at my request. He flashes me a bright, white smile. "You are so amusing, you humans. So pathetic. You will really sell your soul just to make him happy? Ha!"

"Is that a no then?" I say, raising my brows in challenge. He sobers up a bit, though I still see the spark of amusement in his eyes. He hums, pretending to think it over. I roll my eyes for the second time, "I don't have all day."

He laughs again before stepping towards me and extending his hand for me to take. "Sounds good to me." he says, licking his lips. I subconsciously do the same as I mentally prepare myself for what comes next. I swat away his hand and step forward, rising onto my tip toes to reach him. He smirks at me once again and leans down, closing his eyes. Our lips are mere inches from touching, sealing the deal.

"Hey!"

I yank away from the demon to see Dean marching toward us furiously. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" he shouts. My faces drains of color. I wasn't planning on this. I turn back and look at the demon who places a hand on my cheek in an attempt to lure me in again. I look to Dean. "I have to do this." I explain. I can see his eyes widen in surprise before I return to my previous position. He won't reach us in time. I know it, he knows it and the demon knows it. "Let's finish this." I whisper, having to take a moment to regain my courage after the interruption. I wring out my hands nervously and spring up to kiss him when suddenly the sound of a shot rings out and the demon is flung back from me. I gape in shock. I turn and see Dean lowering his rifle. "Stay away from my girlfriend!" he roars, stomping past me to get to the demon who looks at me and hisses. "You planned this didn't you!"

"No! Dean, c'mon this is none of your business. Go home. Let me make my deal."

My boyfriend turns to me and the look of anger mixed with betrayal feels like a bullet lodging in my chest. "None of my business?!" he says and I flinch at his tone. He turns back to the demon and mercilessly empties more salt rounds into it until it disappears completely. We both take a moment to watch it's form disintegrate into black dust and dance on the wind up into the sky. Once he is sure it's been taken care of he turns on me.

"Explain. Now." he growls. My eyes dart around, avoiding his piercing gaze as I try to find the words. "I just, wanted to help you. And I didn't know how else to." I say. I hate how small my voice sounds but the words wring with vulnerable truth.

"Well certainly not like this!" he yells, throwing his hands up and gesturing wildly with frustration. "Ok," I shout back, shocked at his reaction and suddenly angered by his words. "Then please tell me how I can help because I have no fucking idea!" I run a hand through my hair roughly and start to pace. "You won't talk to me anymore, you won't listen to me. Ever since John died all you think about is him and I know you're hurting but that's really fucking unfair Dean. I've lost people too. But you don't live your life focused on the dead. Because they're dead! So don't push away the people who are still here and actually care! Your Dad died because he knew, just like everybody else, that you are special, Dean; you're important. No one made him sell his life for yours. He chose to because he loved you! But you never allow yourself to see any of that. You walk around, carrying all of this shit that's not even your fault and you're so consumed by it that you push away the people who love you! And dammit Dean I fucking love you. I will say it over and over and over again because I know what it's like to be insecure but I also know that there's a difference between being insecure and punishing yourself. So if you aren't going to let me love you then... I can't keep doing this." my voice lowers dramatically as I say those last words because even though I know I'm doing the right thing it hurts so much.

He stops short, taken aback. He looks scared. He covers the distance between us and pulls me into him, hugging me tightly as if he's afraid I'll disappear. "I can't lose you." he whispers into my neck where he is hiding his face. My body sags with relief. I return the embrace and reach up a hand to card through his blond hair. "Then don't" I whisper, pleadingly.

He rocks us back and forth, still not letting me go. "I'll do better." he promises. I hear tears in his voice. "I love you so much Y/N. I won't lose you. Please stay. I'm sorry."

I stroke my palm over his neck to calm him down as he works himself up. It feels good to be the calm one for once; to see him let out all of his pent up hurt and show that our relationship matters to him as much as it does to me.

"I love you too Dean. I'm not going anywhere. I love you. Thank you."

#dean winchester #spn #supernatural #dean winchester x reader #sam winchester #sam winchester x reader platonic #dean x you #reader insert

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capnjay21 · 5 years

Text

bring walls down, hear my sound 3/3

Ten happy years after the events of 'the boy that stood by the sea', and Henry Cassidy is no longer the little boy he used to be. Unused to the unpredictability of raising a teenager, his sudden wayward behaviour becomes a source of mystery to all the adults in his life. When things begin to spiral out of control, Killian and Emma must decide what sort of parents, and partners, they wish to be - of course, where Neal Cassidy is involved, nothing is ever simple.

link to the boy that stood by the sea || ao3 || part one || part two

Rating: T A/N: So it's actually been two years since I updated this story. I'm not sure if any of my readers will still be around, or interested, but nonetheless I am excited to finally put the conclusion out into the world!

As it's been a while, I will reiterate the content warning for the last chapter which still applies - there is a discussion regarding a miscarriage Emma underwent a few years prior, which is an important event for her and Killian and in this narrative. As ever, please take care of yourselves, but I hope you decide to continue!

Now without further ado, here is my 13.5k finisher! (PS, I know Coney Island doesn't open in the winter, but please dispel that tiny bit of realism for this chapter!) Enjoy! <3

-/-

Henry has been in New York for four days.

Neal keeps waiting for the other shoe to drop, for him to decide to go home or for Killian to ring and demand that he be sent back to Boston — he’s more than aware he’s living on borrowed time. Truth be told, for the first time in a long while he really feels like he’s doing the parent thing, making sure the boy gets decent meals every day and leaving work early enough to come home and spend time with him.

In fact, he’s beginning to wonder what made this so hard ten years ago.

It was such a long time ago now, he remembers the sensations and emotions far more than how he actually behaved when Henry lived with him full time, before Emma had stolen his car and entered their lives. It had been such a colossal struggle, trying to balance his work life with Henry, all pushing boundaries and guilt, god, so much fucking guilt, until it had reached breaking point that night on a beach in Maine. No matter how hard he had tried, he just couldn’t reconcile the two things that he loved most, this little boy who had needed him there and this job, the only thing he had ever wanted before Henry was born. It had ended in him letting one of them go.

He doesn’t regret sending Henry to live with Killian permanently. That had always been the right decision. What he does regret is missing out on time spent with him; the lazy mornings and sun-soaked afternoons, the science projects and parent-teacher conferences. Neal never had a reason to go to the library without Henry tucked into his side, but then, he had to remind himself, it wasn’t like he’d been around enough to take the boy there when they were together. Although he gave both Killian and Emma a hard time on the phone after the yacht incident, he knows Henry had a better life with them than he could’ve ever given him.

He just can’t work out why. Now, it’s the easiest thing in the world. He can’t wait for the end of the day to come so he can be back at the flat playing video games, or taking him out to eat or touring him around the best attractions New York can offer. They’re making up for years of lost time, and he can’t bear to waste a single minute.

His priorities have shifted; he realises that now. Better late than never.

And god, it’s so much better.

If he could redo that decision on a beach in Maine, hell, every decision he’d ever made before that, it would not be the job that he would keep. Nor the boy he would lose.

That said, with this newfound clarity comes something else — maturity. At thirty-fucking-nine it’s about time. Henry is his son, sure, but four perfect days don’t make up for sixteen years of emotional and oftentimes physical unreliability. Killian is the one who had been there, Killian is the one who is probably sat at home in Boston worrying himself into the ground, thinking he isn’t worth it. Killian is the reason this boy is such a bright spark in Neal’s otherwise empty life.

Well. It doesn’t have to be empty. He just has to go home.

(And so does Henry.)

As long as he knows that, as long as he’s aware of it, it feels okay. But he doesn’t want to let go of this yet, these longing, desperate days. He wants to know how it feels to have everything.

“So, you got work today?” Henry says brightly around his cup of coffee, eyes wide and expectant.

It’s Monday. Neal has a conference in the morning, two meetings and a sales briefing.

“Nope,” he says, taking out his phone to text his assistant that he won’t be in. “Day off.”

“Wow.” Henry’s eyebrows have shot to his hairline. “I didn’t realise you had those.”

It’s not said bitterly, but it could well have been. It could have been and it would’ve been entirely fair. But Henry is sweet and good and always forgave him, even when he didn’t deserve it.

“Very funny,” Neal sticks out his tongue, setting a plate of scrambled eggs down in front of the boy. He reaches into the microwave and emerges with the cheese he’d melted ready to drizzle on top.

“Cheddar?” Henry queries.

“Gouda.”

The boy grins. “Good, I was just testing you.” He takes the bowl from him and begins to smother his eggs. Once he’s done, he uses a fork to begin mixing it all together. “So, what’s on the agenda for today then?”

It’s so easy, being with Henry like this. It’s so fucking easy, which is what makes this so fucking hard.

“Henry,” he starts, before hesitating. The tone of his voice probably alerts his son to the nature of what he wants to say, and he looks up from his breakfast. Neal merely meets his gaze sadly, lifting one shoulder in a half shrug. “When are you going home, kiddo?”

Henry’s face falls, and he looks younger than he has in four days. More like a little boy by the sea trying to make an impossible choice. “I thought we said no outsider —”

Neal shakes his head. “Not gonna work this time.”

They’ve spent days running in the opposite direction to their responsibilities, from the people who care about them — he supposes it’s a comfort, in a sense. In his quieter moments he’d always been afraid that when Henry became a man, he’d see nothing of himself in him; he just wishes he’d passed on a more redeeming quality than the tendency to ignore his problems with more conviction than he confronted them.

Whatever happened back in Boston, he has to face it. Neal can’t be the place that Henry runs to, as much as he wants days like this to never be over.

When Henry speaks, his voice is quiet, the furthest yet from the confident young man that turned up on his doorstep.

“Can’t this be home?”

A bachelor pad in the middle of New York City, the safe haven they’ve turned it into. Neal’s heart melts, if only under the weight of the knowledge that no, of course it can’t.

He smiles sadly. “You know I’d love nothing more.”

“Then let’s make it happen!” Henry urges.

Before Neal can reply, his cell begins to buzz across the countertop. For a terrifying moment he thinks it might be Killian, finally coming to hold him accountable, but the pair of them look over to see Tink’s name flashing across the screen. Neal’s stomach clenches tighter. God, he wants to be the responsible adult they all deserve, but fuck if it doesn’t make him feel like shit.

Wordlessly, he reaches over and turns off his phone. Henry watches the movement intently.

“Why aren’t you answering her?”

After all, they’ve already lifted their embargo on no-outsider-talk.

Neal readies himself to tell his son everything, but the words that leave his tongue don’t resemble the confession he had meant to impart.

“Do you remember that time I took you to Coney Island?”

Old habits die slow and brutal deaths.

Henry looks wary at the sudden switch of conversation, but he plays along. “I wasn’t big enough for most of the rides.”

The boy had only been eight, and a short eight-year-old at that, and the day had been such a dramatic failure that he couldn’t hand Henry back to Killian fast enough to break from the shame. Of course, Henry had babbled on about how amazing the cotton candy and the spectacle of the entire day had been, thanking his father profusely and Killian had looked suitably impressed. Neal didn’t dare confess to the contrary. Undoubtedly, Henry’s optimism and his father’s realism remember that day excruciatingly differently.

Neal shrugs. “You would be now, wouldn’t you?”

It’s a dare. They’ll see how long they can push this.

Henry grabs his coat, and they decide to keep running.

-/-

There was Emma, thinking her couch hopping days were finally behind her.

Thankfully, David and Mary Margaret’s couch is infinitely superior to any she’s put up with before.

Almost buried under an abundance of pillows and soft blankets as the white gold of morning begins to creep past the curtains, Emma is grateful she didn’t think to go anywhere else. Truthfully, the night prior is a blur. All she knows is it left a yawning hole in her chest, a dead weight that begged to be lifted but had settled rather firmly in the crevice where her heart usually lay. She’d gotten up to try and convince Killian to come back to bed, come back to her, and somehow it had ended with them spitting fire at each other about Henry, and then — well. Then it had been marriage and children and missed opportunities and apparently a colossally poor level of communication between them that she hadn’t even realised existed.

It’s exhausting to even think about. She feels emotionally drained, devoid of energy, and wants nothing more than to sink into the Nolans’ sofa and never emerge.

As a gentle knock sounds at the door, she senses this is not to be the case.

“Emma?” Mary Margaret pokes her head around the door, a tentative look on her face. When Emma merely grunts in response she slips inside, closing the door behind her with a gentle click. “I bring gifts,” she says, waving a mug topped with whipped cream in front of her as she comes to rest on the arm.

With great difficulty, Emma drags herself into a sitting position. “Is that cocoa?”

“With cinnamon,” Mary Margaret promises, and Emma eagerly reaches for the cup. “And cream. I thought I’d push the boat out for this one.”

“Please, don’t mention boats,” Emma grimaces, but thanks her friend fondly as she hands her the mug. Any kind of nautical reference is far beyond what she can handle right now. She takes her first sip and it’s warm, and heavenly. Mary Margaret had introduced her to the wonder of adding cinnamon to hot chocolate, but she’s yet to brew one that tastes even half as good as her friend’s.

Taking delicate sips from her own mug, Mary Margaret allows her this — a few peaceful minutes of silence, letting her make the first move. She’d never met anybody who treated her quite as tenderly as her, except perhaps Killian. With a jolt of nausea threatening to rise, she lowers her mug. Something was made tender by Killian last night, but it feels more like battle scars than hot cocoa.

“Do you want to talk?”

Emma sighs. It’s not as if she thought she could avoid this conversation (turning up with red-rimmed eyes on your best friend’s doorstep at nearly three in the morning did somewhat merit an explanation), but she was at least hoping to get in a few more hours of sleep.

“Not… really.”

Mary Margaret turns from where she is perched on the arm, angling her body towards her. “I take it you and Killian had a fight?”

Putting it mildly.

“It wasn’t just a fight,” Emma says tiredly, “it was the armageddon of fights. You could have measured it on the Richter scale, I mean it.”

Her friend’s expression twists with sympathy and Emma looks away, picking violently at loose threads on the blanket she’d been given. Even now, with her roots down and her life as settled as it’s ever been (the previous night notwithstanding) she isn’t comfortable with anyone, no matter how well intentioned, pitying her. It takes her right back to life in the system and teachers who were happy to condescend to her, but not to do anything about it.

Unaware of her ire, Mary Margaret continues. “What was it about?”

“Henry, me and him, just…” Emma waves an absent hand. “Everything.”

“Henry’s still in New York then?”

Emma nods. “And ever since he left — hell, before he left, with all that stuff with the yacht, Killian’s been totally… I don’t know, out of it. Not himself.” It feels good to tell someone, to hopefully find at least some validation in the way she’s been feeling; to have someone else recognise that things haven’t been right, Killian hasn’t been right, and it’s not all within her imagination. “And I tried to call him out on it and suddenly we were arguing about what terrible parents we’d make and the fact that we never got married.”

Mary Margaret’s eyebrows jump to her hairline. “Wow.”

Wow didn’t quite cover it, in Emma’s opinion.

“Bit of a one-eighty, right?”

Her friend hesitates for a moment, taking a small sip of her cocoa as she does so. “I’m not so sure.” At Emma’s surprised look, Mary Margaret’s gaze slips to her mug, as if trying to work out how best to put her thoughts into words. “Listen, I don’t know your relationship even half as well as you do, but it seems to me like… this is the first time you guys have ever really experienced each other without Henry.” She shrugs, a pensive rise in her shoulders. “The first time there isn’t a third variable to consider; it’s just the two of you. Maybe it’s just about finding a new rhythm.”

Emma turns over this new assessment in her mind. She’s spent weeks roiling in doubt, watching Killian slip further into himself, and last night had felt like the final challenge — she hadn’t been enough to bring him out of it, she’d just become collateral damage. Mary Margaret was right, throughout their entire relationship Henry had always been there. They’d fought before, sure, but they’d always had Henry to think of, and they’d never wanted to make the boy feel the way he had when she and Neal had been together. They kept everything as open and honest as they could, and she knew Killian always tried to explain things to him when they disagreed.

Their entire life together had been coloured by Henry. Wasn’t he their rhythm?

“After ten years of the old one?” Emma let out a long, uncertain breath. “I don’t know If we can, I feel like last night proved that.”

I just added it to the long list of things I was giving up because I wanted to be with you!

“We wouldn’t even be together if it weren’t for Henry, I know that much.”

Without Henry, her marriage to Neal would have just disintegrated with nothing to show for it but wasted time. Without Henry, Killian might never have entered her life. Without Henry, she might not have fought for her own little piece of happiness, she might never have recognised what she deserved.

Could she still do it without him?

“But if your relationship is so dependent on Henry…” Mary Margaret bites her lip. “I don’t want to say it, Emma.”

She doesn’t need to. “Maybe we shouldn’t be together at all.”

The mere notion of it takes the fight right out of her and she sinks back into the cushions. Her mind is abuzz with doubts and truths she refuses to acknowledge, and wordlessly her friend lifts the blanket and snuggles in beside her. Even in the midst of her heartache, her entire body warms as Mary Margaret wraps an arm around her shoulders and allows Emma to rest her head in the crook of her neck. She’s always been jagged edges to Mary Margaret’s softness, but maybe if she stays here long enough she can absorb some of her strength.

“I love both of you,” Mary Margaret says gently, “but your happiness is the most important thing. However you find it.”

I’m pregnant, she wants to tell her.

Instead she curls in closer, and begs the sun to stop rising.

-/-

“You look exhausted, mate.”

Killian rubs his eyes tiredly. “I didn’t sleep.”

Barely half an hour after Killian had informed the Rabbit Hole WhatsApp chat that he wouldn’t be coming in today without providing any further information, Robin had arrived on his doorstep armed with coffee and a full monty breakfast from the café down the street in his arms. Given the café down the street didn’t usually do breakfasts to go, Killian had regarded his friend with amusement and allowed him inside. It felt good to have somebody else in the apartment — it made the walls seem closer, the space not as empty as it had been throughout the night.

Currently, he sits only prodding at the meal hurriedly dumped onto a plate as Robin fusses around in his kitchen, filling two glasses with water before bringing them over. He had correctly deduced that coffee probably wouldn’t be conducive to productive brain function, not with how wired Killian already felt. Every time he shut his eyes he could see Emma, coat thrown over her dressing gown, the door clicking shut behind her. Sleep had been entirely unobtainable.

“Sounds like a hell of a bust up,” Robin says with sympathy, handing him the glass.

Dutifully, Killian takes a few large gulps. The liquid only gathers in his gut, churning, lending discomfort to his already turbulent, weary state. “It’s like I was floating above my body, you know?” he brushes his hair from his eyes, the strands greasy from being ruffled all night. God, he needs a shower. “I was watching myself saying these things that I didn’t mean and flinging them at her like — like somebody that isn’t me.”

Robin drops down into an armchair, watching him carefully. “Have you called her?”

His heart clenches.

“She asked me not to.”

“Well, you know women.” His friend’s mouth quirks upwards. “Whenever Regina tells me not to call her it’s only because she wants me to. Secretly, mind.”

Not Emma. Emma doesn’t play games. “Believe me; she doesn’t want me to call.”

The open hurt, the wide eyed-astonishment. The staggered look she sent him when she realised just what it was he’d said — all of it replays and replays unpleasantly like the scratch of a broken vinyl. Miserably, he stabs a rasher of bacon and shovels it in his mouth, not wanting to see the sympathy in Robin’s eyes. He doesn’t deserve it.

“Couples fight, Killian,” he offers gently, “it happens.”

He shakes his head miserably. “Not like this.”

Either Robin concedes or he just has no idea how to respond, the effect of which being they sit in silence for a few comfortable minutes. They both just watch Killian push the food around his plate with his fork, the only sound the scrape of the utensil against china. Fuck, he can’t do a single thing right. Henry, Emma — somehow he’s managed to drive them both away, and he has no clue how to fix it. At least he knows where Henry is, still safe in New York with Neal, but Emma? He could hazard a guess at her going to Mary Margaret’s, but she could just as easily have found herself in August’s apartment. A hot flush of jealousy unlike anything he’s felt in years surges up without his consent. August has never been a threat, Emma had assured him of as much the first and only time he’d ever gotten silly over it, but at that moment his every irrational thought is crawling for sunlight.

Gods, what is he doing now? Doubting her? What the bloody hell is wrong with him?

“Maybe it’s because of Henry.”

Wrapped up in his own thoughts, for a moment Killian had forgotten Robin was even there. At his bemused look, the other man shrugs and carries on.

“You know, him not being here. Perhaps your relationship has been about him for so long, it’s struggling now that he’s gone.”

Killian frowns. There’s some sound logic behind it, but it doesn’t sound right. It’s enough of an oddity to give him pause. “I don’t… I’m not really sure about that.”

“Makes sense, doesn’t it?” his friend continues, exuding a nonchalance that, if Killian is honest, slightly winds him up. “The only reason Marian and I stayed together so long was because of Roland. By the end, my feelings for her were built entirely around our son, it just took me a while to realise it.”

“But that’s different,” Killian insists, before he has a chance to even think it through.

Robin’s eyebrows raise as he lifts his glass to his lips. “How?”

“Because —” he falters, but the power of the words in his rebuttal surge forward regardless. “I love Emma. I fell in love with her for her, not Henry. Hell, she was married to my best friend. If I wanted something easy, some scapegoat for love, I wouldn’t have picked this.”

“But if it’s this hard,” Robin presses, shrugging lightly, “maybe it just isn’t meant to be.”

“I don’t believe that,” he says fiercely, sitting up straighter in his seat as he angles more towards his friend, agitation spurring his movements. “We should be together, Emma and I. All this — all this crap doesn’t change anything about how I feel.” In his distraction, one of his hands finds its way into his hair and runs through it, tugging sharply at the ends. “I love her. Her strength, her vulnerability — and I love her walls. I love being the one to break them down. It doesn’t matter that our journey has been slower than most, or more complicated than most, because we are always moving forward. We’ve fought for our love and we’ve won, and I am not giving up just because it got hard.”

If he had been paying attention to Robin, sitting on the opposite armchair, he might have noticed the way the other man’s grin widened, his eyebrows climbing closer to his hairline the more Killian rambles on. Once he’s done, Robin drains the rest of his glass and drops it down onto the table, spreading his hands.

“And you’re telling me this, because...?”

His friend’s mischievous expression is the only confirmation Killian needs that he’s been goaded into something. Still, he’s not sure he cares.

Robin helps himself to the remainder of his breakfast, while Killian practically falls over himself in his haste to get dressed and out the apartment.

-/-

After some persuading, Mary Margaret finally convinces her to eat something and even ushers her into some fresh clothes as the morning wears on. The frilly collared cardigans of Mary Margaret’s wardrobe aren’t exactly her style, but at least they fit — she’d left her flat in only a coat and her dressing gown, and although that worked reasonably well for her escape at two in the morning, she can’t imagine going back dressed the same way.

God, going back. Emma doesn’t even know how to consider it.

Unfortunately, with it being a Monday morning, Mary Margaret has a class to teach at Hopper’s Elementary and only has time to ensure Emma manages to force down a bagel before she regrettably departs, but David has the morning off and she is assured she can stay as long as she wants. The man seems to sense she isn’t in a particularly talkative mood, and keeps her company in silence after trading a few polite enquiries about Henry’s wellbeing — he’d been one of the first people they’d called when they discovered him missing, so it’s only natural he should be anxious to know the boy is okay. Grateful for the company, she answers his questions as best as she can without letting her heart seize too much.

After a few hours of warm distractions, watching re-runs of Friends on the Nolan’s ancient television set, the buzzer for the apartment goes.

David sends her a reassuring smile as he stands, heading over to the intercom.

“Who is it?”

“David?” Killian’s voice stutters to life over the static, and Emma’s chest tightens uncomfortably. “It’s Killian, sorry to disturb you. I was hoping — is, erm, is Emma there?”

David looks to her apprehensively, ready to take his cues from her. She doesn’t want to talk to Killian, not with her conversation with Mary Margaret so fresh and with so little time to prepare herself. Still, it would feel worse to lie. Emma merely shrugs, helplessly, and David scratches the back of his head

“She — uh, she doesn’t really want to talk right now, Killian,” he settles on, biting his lip.

“That’s — that’s okay,” Killian continues hesitantly. “I mean, it’s fine. Would it be alright if I just — talked?”

David turns to her again, but she doesn’t know what to tell him. She’s more than acquainted with how determined Killian can be when he wants to, and if she’s honest there are very few things she can think of that he can say that would be worse than the night before. It seems only mildly ludicrous to have their first interaction after the argument be over the intercom at David and Mary Margaret’s apartment, but she can’t help it — she can’t face him, not yet. Not when she is still trying to decide how she feels.

“I’ll just talk and she can listen, or — or she can not, if she doesn’t want to, but I’ll be here, outside, just… talking.” After a moment’s hesitation, David locks the switch that keeps the line open. Taking that as some kind of affirmation, Killian clears his throat. “So, uh, here I go.”

David, ever the considerate one, gives some weak excuse for re-arranging the shelves in his bedroom, but Emma’s arm shoots out to stop him. She could do with the support; she doesn’t want to listen to this alone in case she isn’t ready for what he wants to say. Without a word, David drops down onto the sofa beside her.

“I, erm, I didn’t sleep,” the voice crackles through the speaker. “Not a wink after you left, I couldn’t. That’s not relevant. Ugh, I, um.” He lets out a sharp, frustrated sound. “Listen, a friend helped me realise — or, he reminded me, I don’t know — that a man unwilling to fight for what he wants deserves what he gets. So maybe I deserve to lose you because I don’t know who I’ve been fighting for these last couple of weeks — because it hasn’t been you, and it hasn’t been Henry.”

He pauses, and Emma listens intently. David links their fingers together.

“I’ve been a damned fool, Emma, I’ve been a coward and I’ve let my demons get the better of me. It’s like you said — you said children need to make mistakes in order to find out what matters to them, but I’m prepared to argue that kind of self-education carries well into adult life. Because you matter to me, Emma. I love you. I have loved you since the first night you yelled at me and I love you all the more for continuing to do so when I’m being a prat. These past ten years have been the best of my life, and there isn’t a thing I would change.”

Emma shakes her head fiercely, reaching her hand up to cover her eyes as she knows they must be watering. He did want things to be different, that’s what he said. Apparently, he’d spent ten years giving things up for her, compromising for her, and the idea that she’d been holding him back from some great happiness is perhaps what had shaken her the most. They were in this together, that’s what she’d thought. Killian doesn’t stop, however, uncertainly continuing to speak over the intercom, the tendrils of his voice clutching tight around her heart.

“I know that, given my behaviour last night, you may believe me to be speaking in untruths, but I swear I’m not. Every single decision, every single moment has led us to where we are now and that place means everything to me. I’m not unhappy. I’m not unsatisfied, quite the opposite. And I’m sorry if I ever made you think otherwise.”

The speaker crackles, a little bit of distortion as he collects himself.

“I’ll never stop fighting for us. Never again. I — I hope you know that.”

Silence, and David pulls Emma close, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

“So anyway, I guess, uh, feelings shared. You can go back to... Friends, I suppose, given it’s a Monday morning. Or maybe David and Mary Margaret don’t like Friends. I never asked. Bloody hell. I’m - I’ll go now. Just,” he sighs again into the speaker, “come home soon, my love.”

She slowly disentangles herself from David, and reaches for her coat.

-/-

After lyrically vomiting into the intercom system, Killian doesn’t really know what to expect.

He’d hoped, of course, for some kind of reaction or response, but he’s never been one to push for it where Emma is concerned. When it became evident that no answer would be forthcoming from the speaker, he had reluctantly stepped away; only becoming more embarrassed once he realised a man poking through his mailbox for a suspiciously long time had, in all likelihood, listened to the entire spiel. Face entirely aflame, Killian had departed the building out into the early Boston morning.

It had rained the night before, the entire street awash with muddied concrete and the stench of wet asphalt, but Killian isn’t ready to go home yet. Point of fact, he’s just declared he won’t be giving up on he and Emma without a fight, so returning to his apartment would appear to nullify the entire notion. He thinks about stopping somewhere for a coffee, but after patting his jacket down he belatedly realises he didn’t bring his wallet out with him. After Robin’s needling he had been so fired up that he hadn’t exactly considered that Emma might not be ready yet for what he had to say. He only knew he was desperate to say it.

For lack of a better idea, he sits down on the kerb.

Considering his options, he waits, staring out into the city traffic and remembering the first time they met, the distrust to the chorus of car horns and loud, angry pedestrians in front of Henry’s old school. It’s only a few blocks from here, where Mary Margaret works. He muses on walking there and back just to clear his head a little, to observe how much of it might have changed in the last ten years, but just as he’s convinced himself it would be a good way to procrastinate, the door to the building opens behind him.

His eyes lock with Emma’s, sparkling jade and bright with unshed tears, red-rimmed, and he immediately jumps to his feet. Uncertain of what to expect, he just waits for her to speak. When she does, it’s with a gentle tremble in her bottom lip, after she takes a shuddering breath.

“I don’t want to stop fighting for us either.”

When Killian steps forward to fold her tightly into his arms, she returns the embrace with equal vigour.

-/-

Luna Park boasted only a smattering of attendees, January not exactly a conducive time for regular theme-park goers, but the crowds were substantial enough to hide Neal and Henry from each other. They had spent over an hour amongst the rides, swapping only idle chatter and suggestions for what they should do next, a dead weight hanging over them like a cloud from the overcast day descending into the city. Neal knows what he has to say, Henry is waiting for him to say it. Their conversation at breakfast hovers between them, unresolved and deadly.

It's a stark contrast to how the last few days have been — at least he thinks it is. Maybe all along they were aware there was an expiration date on easy.

As the clock edges nearer to midday, Henry is leading his father through the crowd in the direction of the Ferris Wheel, boasting about how cool it would be to be sat on the top on exactly the stroke of twelve, but Neal catches hold of his hand and slows him to a stop. He suggests taking a break by the beach instead, and Henry reluctantly agrees; they both know what happens when they talk.

It isn’t the same as that beach in Storybrooke.

The breeze from the ocean stings with the sharp bite of winter, and the sand underfoot is far thinner and grainier than Maine had offered. Although almost deserted, the distant sounds of the park quietening behind them, a few gulls flock towards the edge of the coast, rising and falling with a flutter as the tide washes in, and out. It’s enough to bring back the memory of watching his boy ask for something he couldn’t provide, and it’s enough to spur him into action.

Henry stares out into the ocean, hands in his pockets, expression unreadable.

After a few moments they sit, uncaring for the way they disturb the sand.

“I am glad you came to me when you needed somewhere to go,” Neal starts, and it’s as safe a place as any. “That after all this time you can still trust me.” Even if he doesn’t deserve it. “But I do want to know why — and I need to know why because I trust Killian and Emma to be your home, to take care of you, and if they aren’t doing that then I can change it. Just say the word Henry and I will change it.”

Killian and Emma are twice the parents he will ever be, but if Henry breathes a word about not wanting to be with them — he would raise hell on earth to make it happen.

“They’re fine,” Henry says quietly, to Neal’s surprise. The boy picks up a stick from the sand and begins to push patterns into it. “They’re great, they always have been.”

Neal shakes his head, not understanding. “Then why did you come?”

Henry mimics his uncertainty. “I wanted — I wanted to get to know you. You as a person, as Neal. Not this… this thing that towered over me for years.” Neal swallows, and Henry finally turns to look at him. His chestnut eyes are round and as open as they have ever been. “You terrify me, do you know that?”

Whatever he had imagined Henry might say, it certainly wasn’t that.

The beach, in Maine. The rush and fall of the waves. He can hear himself responding to that very fear as if it were yesterday, and not ten years prior.

I’m sorry. Henry I’m sorry, I don’t want you to be scared. I’m an… I’m a massive idiot.

“You had so much power over me for so long,” Henry continues, and Neal realises how much easier it is to stare out into the sea than to truly acknowledge what his boy is saying. “I would have done anything to impress you, I agreed with anything you said. I wanted you to like me. I wanted you to want to keep me.”

Neal hangs his head.

“I love Killian and Emma so much, but you? God, I can’t even explain it.”

“I get it,” his father says quietly.

Henry finally turns to look at him, his mouth curved in a doubtful line. “Do you?”

“Henry, you could be describing verbatim how I talk about my old man.”

That family fucking resemblance he’d always been hoping for; there it was.

Neal knows how it feels to fight and fight when the other person isn’t fighting back. The realisation that he wasn’t, that he couldn’t, is what made him let Henry go in the first place.

“Tink is pregnant.”

Henry tenses up at his side. Neal’s gaze drops down to the sand, not realising he’d been curling her name into the earth with his finger. Fuck, he loves her. Like he’s never loved anyone. And this is how he’s treating her?

“She hasn’t told me yet, not officially. But I found her test. It’s why I’m out here,” signing up for every conference and meeting on the other side of the country that he could, “I’m scared shitless, buddy.”

Henry opens his mouth. “Dad—”

“I fucked up so badly before — you know that, right?” He’s almost afraid to hear the answer. “That was all on me. I couldn’t be there for you growing up because I wasn’t ready, I made shitty choices. I was selfish. And do you know what the worst part is?” Mutely, Henry shakes his head. “I gave up on us.”

The moment he’d realised just how tricky this balance was going to be, he’d given up. Maybe Henry had a better life because of it — he liked to think that. Of course, he’d never really know. Still, when he looks across at Henry now, a healthy boy with a heart the size of the entire state, it’s impossible not to recognise that something incredible has taken place.

He feels the humiliating sting of something behind his nose, so he turns his gaze back to the skyline and the gulls that sweep across the tide.

“And I missed the whole goddamn show. You’re perfect, Henry. You’ve never needed to impress me.” Neal tries valiantly to keep the tremor from his voice, but isn’t entirely certain he succeeds. “The fact that you’re sitting here, a whole person who can love and forgive as easily as you do blows my fucking mind, and it all happened without me.”

Henry shifts from where he sits, sending a scatter of sand up into the air.

“It wasn’t —” he starts.

“Not again,” Neal continues firmly. Determinedly. “Never again. I’m going to be there for this kid and for Tink, every fucking step of the way. I’m ready now and I — I think I needed you to help me realise I could do it. Thank you, Henry.”

When the silence stretches for a few, painful beats too long, he considers how he might have better phrased that particular confession. Once he looks over at Henry, the boy barely meets his eyes for a second before turning away, shaking his head as he roughly stumbles to his feet.

“I have to go.”

Neal blinks in surprise. “Henry?” He’s already halfway up the beach before he can stand. “Henry, wait!” Although he jogs back up to the entrance of the park, Henry’s signature scarf has already disappeared into the crowd.

Shit.

-/-

"When was the first time I yelled at you?"

Emma speaks quietly into his chest, although he can feel her smile in the curve of her mouth pressed against him. Killian edges the sheet further down the bed, baring Emma’s back so he can continue to trace absent star patterns into the slope of her spine. They speak only in low tones, neither wanting to disturb this bubble of peace they have finally won; warm, sated, and basking in the late morning sun.

He smiles at her question, pausing before answering just long enough to press a kiss to the top of her head.

“I’m surprised you don’t remember,” he says amusedly. “Let’s see. I came by to Neal’s apartment with Henry, we’d known each other for — oh, I don’t know. A few months, maybe more? I wanted to see if you could babysit because I’d been lumbered with an extra shift at work.”

“Oh god, right,” Emma shifts as she remembers, pressing her lips briefly to his bare shoulder. “It was the day Neal and I moved into our new place, and I was locked out.” She gives him an apologetic look. “I was such a monster to you, I’m sorry.”

Killian chuckles gently. “You weren’t a monster.” Emma merely raises an eyebrow. “Perhaps a little monstrous. But I got a free cake out of it, so you won’t hear me complaining.”

“A vanilla apology cake.”

“My favourite kind.” Killian tugs her closer and she obliges, curling her leg over his beneath the sheet. “You looked so beautiful that night. Sitting in the Rabbit Hole with Henry asleep on your lap. You were just — I realised you were everything I hadn’t known I wanted. Until you drove away to the home of my best friend.”

Instead of replying, Emma straightens up. Killian lets her go, hand drifting down her back to rest near her hip, and she bites her lip. Something she usually does when she’s uncertain. When her eyes flicker to his, he knows.

“Killian.”

Abruptly Killian stands, reaching for their discarded clothes.

“That’s a tone that suggests I’ll need pants for this conversation.”

She takes the shirt he holds out to her and slips it over her head. “I think if last night taught us anything… we’ve been misunderstanding each other for a while. So let’s just — talk. Communicate.” Killian re-joins her on the bed, pausing slightly to brush some of her loose hair behind her ear. It shines in the dusty sunlight. “That’s what healthy couples do, right?”

“Definitely needed pants.”

Emma laughs despite herself, but shoots him a look warning him to take this seriously. So he takes a deep breath, and after a few moments he decides to go first.

“I… love the life that we’ve built together. What I said today — I meant it. But if it’s possible to have it all with you, I do want it.” Emma nods, urging him to continue as she brushes a hand down his arm. “I want to move out of the city. Get a house somewhere. A white picket fence, a stunning view of the sea — I want that. I want to marry you, have a kid of our own, maybe two if it's not too late. I love you, Emma,” he assures her, “but I want to share more than just this place and a bank account.”

When he finally turns his gaze back to her, he can see the sad crease in her brow.

“And you assumed I wouldn’t want those things too.”

He hangs his head. “I’m sorry.”

“You hurt me yesterday.”

“I know,” he says quietly, reaching for her hand and bringing it to his mouth to kiss. “I’m so sorry. I was a fool, and I never should have kept these things to myself, let alone exploded at you. It was bad form.”

Emma watches him before nodding, firmly. “Okay.” He turns her hand over to kiss her palm. “I forgive you.” It lands with gravity, and a tension he didn’t even know he had been harbouring releases itself. “My turn.”

Killian moves to let go of her hand, but Emma holds on tightly.

“Six years ago, I was pregnant.”

Killian’s heart stops. “Love, you don’t have to —”

“I was pregnant and I didn’t tell you because I didn’t know how you were going to react, I was trying to find the right moment…” Emma winces, shaking her head. “And I left it too late.”

He wants to say something, anything, to find the right words to reassure her — but none will come. Instead he feels suspended, his pulse racing. They’ve never spoken about it out loud, not a single word. In moments he is back in the waiting room at the ER, confused and distressed and waiting for her to return, to tell him what happened, instead of letting him make inferences.

Don’t make me go through this again.

“We lost a child, Killian.”

She grips his hand tighter, and he watches as a single tear curves its way down her cheek.

"Our child."

It isn't like he hadn't known. From the moment he lifted her from the bathroom floor he had known, somewhere in his restless heart, the truth she refused to confirm. Knowing it, though, and feeling it; they had always been entirely separate entities.

Henry had been ten. As emotionally mature as he had always been, it had still taken him a while to come to the same realisation that Killian had the moment he left the hospital; that Emma wasn't quite okay. When he'd started to pry, Killian had packed him off on a three week holiday to California with Neal, at little protest from both parties. By the time he'd gotten home he had forgotten the whole thing, and Emma was almost back to her old self.

Killian hadn't allowed himself to consider, truly consider, just what had happened that day; in the months that followed Emma's accident he had forced himself to focus on her, on Henry, on his every effort to get their lives back to normal. Henry made it to school on time, Emma found herself spoiled by date nights, surprise gestures, anything to divert attention from the way she had withdrawn into herself. His iron focus had allowed him to leave his own grief behind and blame it on Emma's reluctance to talk.

That had been a coward's way out, and on some level he had always known that.

In his dreams, he did things differently. In his quieter moments, he had found himself down the dizzying path of considering the way things might have happened, if fate had been a little kinder.

(In his heart, a little girl turned six last June.

She had golden hair and eyes like forget-me-nots.)

Emma's nails dig into his palm and he is wrenched back to the present.

"I want you to understand something," she is saying, and he pulls himself back to focus on her words, "you can't predict these things. It was nothing you did, it was nothing I did. It wouldn't have helped if you'd known."

Killian feels a gasp of air dart for escape through his throat; he thinks he might have been holding onto that breath for six years.

Emma wipes her eyes with the sleeve of his borrowed shirt. "I'm sorry I never told you that.”

Killian nods silently. When he doesn't speak, she slides across the bed to him, and his arm instinctively reaches around her shoulders. "Okay?" she presses.

"Okay."

"But most of all I — I am so sorry for never letting you grieve. For closing myself off, for letting it go unsaid." He would catch her staring out of windows, not responding until the third time he called her name. More often than not he found her curled up with a blanket on the sofa rather than in bed beside him, the distance between them substantially more than a couple of rooms apart. “We should have done this together.”

“Aye,” he murmurs, and he kisses a tear from the corner of her mouth, “we should have.”

They talk for a long time after that. For how long exactly, Killian couldn't say, he only watches as the sun slowly sinks to kiss the top of the Boston skyline, casting longer shadows across the bed. Their bed, their life. The life that had taken a decade to build, with a foundation far stronger than the demolition attempted the night before.

“We’ve been doing this all wrong,” he whispers into her shoulder, as the afternoon fades into beams of orange light.

Emma turns to him curiously. “What do you mean?”

It’s with determination that he faces her now, with the fight that had left him the moment he awoke to find Henry’s untouched bed.

“Let’s go get our son.”

-/-

It’s just gone 8pm by the time Emma’s beaten up bug has gotten them to New York, and Neal had been frantic as he opened the door to them.

“He’s gone,” he had said, “he won’t answer his phone. I’ve already called the police.”

Although her stomach had plummeted, her steadfast grasp on Killian had been all she needed to keep a level-head. If she paused for one second to consider the multitude of disastrous scenarios that could have happened to Henry after he left Neal on the beach she’s certain the sheer power of that tide would overwhelm her — perhaps the same could be said for Killian. Perhaps it was a testament to how far they had come over the last twenty-four hours that he immediately took charge, barking orders for Neal to check the public library one more time while he and Emma combed four blocks in every direction from his apartment.

For all his absence over the last few weeks, his confidence is like a sedative to the swell of panic within her.

She can’t stop thinking about the time the boy had vanished as they watched the Christmas lights turn on. Only that time Emma had miraculously found him happily perched on a hotdog stand, waving about his new light up sword and pretending to be King Arthur to the amusement of the vendor.

(Enquiries were made at various stands she came across. None had seen a lanky brunette in his teens skulking about.)

Her phone buzzes, and Emma reaches out a hand to give Killian pause as she checks, hoping it will be from Henry but certain it’s from Neal.

Nothing at library. No1 seen a kid. Whats the plan??

“He’s not there,” she winces. If possible, Killian’s expression turns even grimmer. “Now what? We’ve already checked all his old haunts.” Henry hadn’t lived in New York for many years, not since Neal had moved to California, so their best idea had been his favourite places to go when he was much younger.

Killian rubs his face with one hand, and it’s that moment Emma realises how unbelievably tired he must be. His eyes are tinted red and rimmed with dark circles, and exhaustion has aged him beyond his years. Even his skin appears sallower than normal. Guilt claws at her when she considers he was probably up half the night much like she was, and she can’t help but feel responsible.

Emma reaches for his hand, squeezes tight. “Maybe we should head back to Neal’s apartment. He’s bound to head back there eventually — and if his phone is dead then it’s better we’re there.”

“If something unspeakable hasn’t happened to him already.”

Unspeakable is certainly the word for it.

“This is my fault,” Killian laments, “if I hadn’t been so bloody stubborn he could have been home days ago. I’m a sodding idiot.”

“If you are then we all are,” Emma insists. “Henry is our responsibility.” Not just Killian’s, not just Neal’s. Theirs. “And we’d be better off just working as the team we should’ve always been instead of wasting time blaming ourselves and each other.”

Somewhere along the way they had splintered, and the fractures had found their way to Henry — the very storm they had believed they were protecting him from had found its epicentre in their insecurities and their inability to communicate. The only thing left to do was make a course correction and continue to try their best. Realise their mistakes, move forward.

Pray they aren’t too late.

“I just wish we’d come here sooner. I wish I hadn’t driven him away to start with.” He sighs heavily, turns back the way they’ve come. “But you know what they say, if wishes were horses—”

“Beggars wouldn’t bother making wishes?”

Even as she says it, the lightning bolt of realisation crashes into her with a force that has her tugging back on Killian’s hand to stop him in his tracks.

She knows exactly where Henry is.

-/-

Even at night, the plaza is packed with people. Tourists huddle together and alternate between staring up at the entrance to the library, lit with large floodlights that winked in and out for a display, and watching the fountain spurt behind them. Many stand at its edge, offering pennies into its depths for the opportunity to ask for something in return.

It’s no wonder Neal would have missed him as he charged into the building — he’d never really known Henry to be more interested in what the waters might offer than the curling pages of a beloved tome, but Emma remembered. At a time in the boy’s life when she hadn’t really known how much she could lay a claim to, this spot had been theirs. Fleeting, gentle, but full of hope.

The three of them scan the crowd frantically — and it feels as if they all lay eyes on him at the exact same moment. Henry is perched on the edge of the fountain, hands gripping the stone on either side of him, body angled towards the water. An immense wave of relief rushes through Emma once she recognises him, and she considers how achingly long it feels since she saw him last. So much felt like it had changed even as she tried to claw her way into keeping it the same.

Killian takes her hand; she knows he must sense it too.

His lips part as they approach, a deep breath being drawn in. Yet it’s only a soft word that comes out. “Henry —”

“What the hell were you thinking, running off like that?!” Neal brushes past them furiously, and Henry visibly starts at the sudden intrusion on wherever his mind had been wandering. It’s a staccato movement that pulls him right back in front of them. “I have been worried out of my mind for you! You could have been kidnapped, you could have died, anything could have—!"

Neal cuts himself off for the sheer horror of it, and Henry takes the pause as an opportunity to bite.

“You’d have noticed, then?”

It’s light, but it’s a thinly veiled accusation. For a moment Emma considers that there is more to the past few days than Neal has told them.

Neal, for his part, appears to stifle a retort. His hands clench and unclench at his sides.

He settles for a warning. “Don’t you ever do that to me again.”

Henry lets out a puff of air, a frustrated noise, his body angling away from his father in a visible snub. As his eyes start to sweep the crowd Emma can feel the hairs on the back of her neck stand to attention, as the boy’s gaze lands on she and Killian. If he is surprised he does a good job of hiding it. It lasts scarcely a second, his eyes flickering first from her to Killian, before turning determinedly back into the fountain.

Killian, after squeezing her hand once, lets go.

He closes the distance and sits beside the boy.

Henry flinches away, shuffling an inch in the other direction.

“Please, just leave me alone.”

“I want to talk.” Killian’s response is quiet, but firm.

“I don’t.”

“Henry…” Neal admonishes from his position at the side, and Emma finds herself frowning at the tone — since when did Neal become that parent? The one advocating respect and chastising for the contrary?

It doesn’t feel — earnt.

Maybe she is being unfair.

Henry looks up at him sharply, eyes narrowed. “You don’t get a say in what I do.”

Neal gapes for a few moments, before his expression sinks into something apologetic he directs at Killian — Killian acknowledges the attempt with a barely perceptible nod, but his attention is entirely on Henry.

“I’m sorry.” In the piercing January air, his words turn to ghosts. “For the things I said before. They were spoken in anger and not a day will go by I won’t regret them.” For all his sincerity, Henry continues to stare forcefully into the water. Emma had always found Killian impossible to ignore, not when he was light and soft and steady, but the boy doesn’t appear to have much trouble doing just that.

“Will you look at me, please? Henry?”

She watches Henry not even react, lashes low and downcast; watches the concerned edge begin to furrow Killian’s brow, his confidence rapidly deteriorating, and she’s about to step in when suddenly all she can think about are the gimmicks they would use when Henry was a kid. How one time he refused to listen to any instruction from either parental figure unless it was spoken like Yoda, how they’d adopted it into their every conversation until Henry frustratingly couldn’t get any help with his homework without talking in circles and he’d begged them to stop. How they had begun starting every sentence with ‘please’ and ending them with ‘thank you’ to freak Neal out by pretending new Massachusetts state grammar laws demanded it.

Emma considers these, and reaches into her jacket for her cell phone.

Moments later, Henry’s pocket begins to vibrate. Once he pulls out his cell and frowns at the screen, his shoulders twitch, as if he were resisting the urge to turn and face her. After a few pensive seconds he slides his thumb across the screen and lifts it to his ear.

“It’s the glass, isn’t it?” she says immediately.

Henry’s pause is dubious. “Excuse me?”

“The partition,” she continues, “the reason you’re not hearing us. We have to use the phones or we can’t talk through the glass.”

The boy’s shoulders drop and she hears a long exhale through the speaker, like a breath of laughter. He understands.

“I’m not in prison, Emma.”

“You got arrested, didn’t you?”

“And you think I’d waste my phone call on you?”

Emma smiles although she knows he’s not looking. “Wentworth Miller was busy.” She doesn’t want to lose this brief bite of connection, so she hurries to continue. “I used to bring you out here when we were in NYC together, remember? I’d tell you to wish your problems away.”

Finally, Henry turns. His gaze lifts and his eyes lock on her. He’s hurting. She can see it. Can feel it in her bones.

“Yeah.”

“Did it work?”

Henry lifts his shoulder in a shrug. “I don’t have a penny.”

Without a word, Killian rummages in his pocket and finds one, holding it out to him. After a moment, and watching only his outstretched hand, Henry takes it.

“Talk to us,” Emma pleads.

The seconds extend like an unfurling bloom; slow, and heavy with anticipation.

Then, by some miracle, he begins to talk.

“It was so easy before. Making wishes, I mean. I know you probably thought I was wishing for a new bike or a trip to Disneyland or… I don’t know. Stuff kids want.” Like raindrops, what begins as a few drops slowly develops into a downpour, as he turns the penny over and over in his hand and keeps his gaze firmly fixed upon the water. “And don’t get me wrong, I wanted those things. But I didn’t wish for them.”

Emma doesn’t want to interject, but she had never felt as if he were wishing for something as trivial as a bike. Not when he had held those pennies in his tiny hands like they were precious stones, as if he carried more value in his palm than a thousand gold bars. Henry had always been wishing for something more profound — she had known it like she knew the curve of his smile.

“Wishes were too — too important for those things. So I did what I’ve always done,” Henry scratched the back of his neck as he paused. “I listened to you. All of you. None of you ever stood by the fountain like I did, and it didn’t seem fair, so I listened to your wishes so that I could make them for you.”

He hadn’t understood half of them at the time, he says, but he lists a few — for Neal to close an important deal, for Killian to find the perfect birthday present for Liam, for Emma to catch the ‘bad guy’ she was looking for. Emma watches, stunned, as he lists the exact conditions of a case she had decided to gently let Henry in on that she had forgotten completely about; it was near on seven years ago that she had sought out the bail jumper Ryan Marlow, but here Henry was pitching her the particulars in perfect detail. Henry, who had been wishing ardently for her success at age nine, with a penny she had picked out of her purse.

“Happy endings,” he says quietly, “over, and over, and over. I was obsessed with them.”

A beloved tome, the curling pages of Once Upon a Time clutched tightly to his chest for years.

He doesn’t have to remind them.

“But to me, a real happy ending needed certain… well, conventions, I suppose. A wedding, a kid, a perfect home in a castle in the country.”

Killian’s words ring in her mind, and as if he knows the direction of her thoughts the man’s eyes rise to meet hers, and she notes the usual brilliant blue has been usurped by a duller, ashen colour. She feels the same tight clutch inside she knows he must, a softer yearning, the paralysis of something sweet and sad all at once.

A white picket fence, a stunning view of the sea.

How alike the pair of them are, even now.

Henry’s brows have knitted together. “I’m not a kid anymore, I know — better than anyone — that the world doesn’t work that way. But in a way, none of you got any that. Hell, you and Killian have been together for a decade and you still live in Killian’s bachelor pad. And then I realised the common denominator.” His shoulders appear to quiver, and Emma notices a muscle in Killian’s right wrist twitch, as if it had wanted to reach out to him. She herself wants nothing more than to rush forward, wipe the concerns away from him as if he were six again and had merely scraped his knee. “You’ve spent so much of your lives putting me first that the most you hoped to wish for was less traffic at the intersection on 23rd Street. And that just — it just —”

He is mute for a moment, words slipping out and away before he can form them, and Emma realises with a jolt that what she had mistaken for a kind of melancholy was in fact fury. Henry trembled with minute rage; at the penny in his hand, the fountain in front, at the stars concealed by the dark curtain of night above them.

“God, it was so frustrating to realise. Mortifying, even. And every good thing you did just made it worse. Every kind word, every thoughtful gesture.” He lets out a heavy breath. “It was like drowning in lukewarm water.”

So he stayed out late with some friends. He walked the length of the wharf, twice, before picking the prettiest, sturdiest yacht he could find and barking instructions for how to get it out of the harbour for those who dared to follow. For the wild, outrageous, cleverness of it. For the joy and the heartache of nostalgia and the wind in his hair and the way Violet Mogan’s cheeks had flushed when she laughed.

For the way that Killian had arrived at the precinct, powerful yet immensely disappointed.

Got everything? He had asked, quietly. Let’s go.

“I just thought if I could get you to stop looking at me like I hang the sun, then it might not be too late for you to build something together. Not a castle, maybe, but something just as strong. And I have Dad,” he flickered his gaze at the other man, before dropping it back bitterly to the penny in his palm. “Or I thought I had Dad. Turns out my wish for him was the only one that came true.”

It’s a quill, Daddy says it’s magic. It’s for telling stories. He says I have to write him a happy ending.

“Just a little too late for me.”

There is the chime of nail on copper, and in the space of two heartbeats the penny arcs into the fountain with a gentle plop.

No one seems to know what to say.

Henry drops the phone from his ear and jabs at it with his thumb, cutting off the call with Emma. She had forgotten they were still connected that way at all, how rapt her attention had been on him.

And all she can think is — what an idiot.

She realises she must have said it aloud as all three of the men before her startle; Henry from his perch on the fountain, Killian from beside him and Neal standing a few feet from them.

Hastening to clarify before more hurt feelings are thrown around, she doubles down.

“I just mean — Henry, your logic is way off. We’re your parents.” All three, no matter how distant. “We are always going to look at you like you put the sun there, even when you’re at your most bratty. That’s love, kid. We love you.” It was easy to say, now, easier to admit than it had been for most of her life. But then, this was the boy who had taught her how to do it. “Nothing you can do will change that, not boat stealing or,” she scrambles for something else, “or even hanging out with that little shit Malcolm.”

“Language,” Henry responds instinctively. At Emma’s exasperated stare a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. They thought they had been losing Henry — in that instance she realises he had been there all along. “He is a bit of an asshole.”

Emma crosses the distance between them, kneeling down in front of the boy and taking his hand firmly. Perhaps on another day he would’ve been embarrassed, a sixteen-year-old holding hands with an adult like that, but in the force of the last few days he just clutches her back tightly.

“But you’re right,” Emma continues seriously. She won’t do him the disingenuity of trying to claim a falsehood now. “There are steps Killian and I haven’t taken. Important ones. As it happens, we’ve been misunderstanding each other for a long time now.” With her free hand, she reaches for Killian, finding his fingertips already reaching back for her. “But that’s nothing to do with you. Do you get that?”

Henry nods, but the movement is hesitant.

“I mean it, kid. Look at me. Do you understand?”

He does. A visible weight seems to lift. Maybe he just needed someone to say it out loud.

To her surprise, Neal settles down on his haunches beside her, gentle in a way she is unaccustomed to seeing from him. Like he can sense the gravity of a moment and he doesn’t wish to disturb it — like a beach in Maine, and a little boy who had asked so quietly for what he wanted that his father had given it without reproach.

Turns out my wish for him was the only one that came true.

“Henry,” he picks up where Emma has left off, “I’m — you clearly needed someone this week, and all you got was this giant… playmate.” He considers himself with an air of obvious frustration. “And then I made it worse. You’ve never needed to try hard for me, you know that, right? You’re number one.” He lifts a single finger to illustrate it. “You’re number one. And about earlier…”

Emma does not know what happened earlier, Neal had been light with the details; just that they had been at Luna Park and Henry had run off. Whatever it was, the weight is palpable as Henry stiffens a little before her.

“You left before I could finish. Yeah, I’m going to be a dad again, but you know what that means? You’re going to be a brother.”

Henry blinks; like he hadn’t even considered it.

“And that was something I was really hoping you’d want to be.”

Neal bites his lip, waiting for his son’s reaction.

He needn’t have worried. Henry was warmth, and love, and he always would be.

“I do,” he said, then softer, “I’m sorry.”

“Me too,” Neal smiled ruefully. “I always am with you.”

The air bristles with something unsaid, and Emma stands. Maybe Neal also senses it because he too moves away, and as casually as she can she looks to Killian now for his thoughts. Silent as he had been throughout the exchange, his mood is difficult to read; Emma can identify some of the reactions she had seen, remorse, sadness, pride, and she leans on the turmoil she knew had been churning inside him since the first moment they had found Henry gone. But he has fortified, this she knows. He just wants to put them all back together.

Henry, perhaps in contrition, almost refuses to look at him.

If Killian takes offence he doesn’t show it. Instead he smiles, a watery, delicate thing.

“You’re my best friend in the whole world, bug,” he says. “I’m half a man without you.”

Henry’s eyes shut tight and for the first time, Emma can see a bead of emotion roll down his cheek.

“Please come home.”

It happened so quickly that she almost didn’t see it; but the next moment Henry was in Killian’s arms, shaking and murmuring apologies into his shoulder. The older man was shushing him as if we were a child again, assuring him all was forgotten, and his relief was palpable in the manner with which his fists clenched into Henry’s coat and the tightness of his eyes pressed closed, supressing a stronger tide.

Emma looks down, the moment almost feeling too private to intrude upon, and Neal does the same. Unconsciously her hand lifts to her stomach, to the barely perceptible swell that has begun there; she has to tell him, but not now. She wanted to let him have this first. He deserved it

“What I said,” Henry croaks, and from the corner of her eye she can see he has pulled back, has his hands resting on Killian’s shoulders and is looking at him directly. “What I said before I left —”

You are not my dad!

“You are,” he nods determinedly, wiping at his eyes with his sleeve. “In every way that matters. You are. I’m sorry.”

Killian simply pulls him back in, closer, and the night feels just a little bit brighter.

-/-

A rerun of Jurassic Park is the only thing on the TV by the time they make it back to Neal’s apartment, most of the selection near midnight having dried up considerably as most prepare for bed before work the following day. Arrangements are made, and rather than attempt the near four hour drive back to Boston tonight Killian and Emma had volunteered to take the sofa while Henry spends a final night in his old room. However, the unspoken word among them is that none are quite ready for sleep yet, and had switched on the television for wont of something easier to focus on — something light, something arbitrary — something with a few more scales than the monsters they had been battling away today.

Killian sits with his arm around Emma, Henry on her other side leaning against her and slumped across the remainder of the sofa with his gangly legs stretching for the arm of Neal’s chair, where his father has been poking at the holes in socks much to the boy’s exasperation.

“Honestly. You know you don’t have to wait for Killian to buy you socks anymore, right? If you go to a store they’ll actually give you some in exchange for those green wrinkly notes.”

Henry snorts. “I don’t have any ‘green wrinkly notes’. When did you think I’d have time to get myself a job in between all my community service?”

“Nice try,” Emma says, “it was only twenty-five hours, and the last I checked you were nearly done.”

“Only twenty-five hours? Did you pay off the judge or was this just a really shitty yacht?”

“Can we not debate the particulars, please?” Killian admonishes. “I’m trying to watch the folly of man and a twenty-foot lizard tear devour a bloke on a bog.”

A brief pause where, suitably chastened, they realise it’s probably not appropriate to be making so light of the whole thing.

“And it was a Pershing 80 he stole, anyway. Even a used one would go for over two million dollars.”

At the indignant looks and protests from the others, Killian merely grins and shrugs, holding up a hand to shield his face as Henry flings a cushion over his shoulder in his direction. Emma declares that she’s going to the kitchen for more popcorn, and just as Neal asks her to get him a portion his phone rings. Killian catches a glimpse of the screen before he picks it up.

‘Tink calling…’

He offers an apologetic smile to the pair of them as he heads out into the hallway, his voice briefly floating back towards them even as they try and pretend their ears aren’t pointed towards the sound.

“Hey, baby. Yeah, I’ll be home soon — tomorrow, even. First flight I can get. It’s been a bit of a crazy week. For you too? That’s great. I can’t wait to…”

It trails off into a low murmur as he shuts the door behind him.

Killian watches Henry carefully for his reaction. The news that Tink was pregnant had come as a shock to all of them, not least to Killian, but it had clearly had a profound impact on Henry as it had only contributed further to his spiral. He seemed calmer now. A small smile had pulled at the corner of his mouth as he watched his father retreat into the other room, something proud and full of warmth. Maybe Killian can relate to some of what he must be feeling.

They had all waited a long time for Neal Cassidy to grow up, Henry most of all; maybe they were finally seeing it happen.

Henry turned back to the film, and Killian tossed the cushion back onto the boy’s stomach to get his attention.

“So,” he starts brightly, to the backdrop of little Tim’s daring rescue from the jeep trapped in the tree. “What’s her name?”

Henry pretends not to understand, but Killian knows he does. It’s something of a relief. He can still read this boy like the book of fairy-tales he used to tote around in his oversized backpack.

“Who’s name?”

Killian raises his eyebrows suggestively.

“Well if it’s dating tips you need, lad, I know my way around women.”

“Oh god.”

“Not so long ago I was just like you, young, spritely, ready for my first brush with a lady’s—”

“Stop, do not finish that sentence.”

“Charms,” Killian concludes, feigning an aghast look at what Henry might have presumed. This earns him another cushion to the face.

It’s such a relief, to be able to needle Henry in such a way, back to the easy companionship he had enjoyed for most of the boy’s life — but it feels different, too. Not exactly negative, he decides, but a change has certainly come about. Perhaps they could never make it through something like this entirely unscathed, but he realises as the moment passes by that there will be some things Henry will choose not to confide in him. An odd notion. There had never been anything Henry couldn’t tell him before.

But to his surprise, he felt that that would be okay. He was growing up, and it was about time Killian realised it. He couldn’t cart him around on the back of his bike to a museum anymore, but they could find their peace in other ways; like he and Emma, their rhythm would change but it could grow and blossom into something even better if he just let it. For the first time he is almost looking forward to what the next stage of Henry’s life might bring them, instead of longing for the treasures the past had held.

“Violet.”

Killian glances over in surprise, observes that Henry’s ears are scarlet as he keeps his gaze fixed on the television screen.

“Her name, I mean. Violet.”

Killian smiles, although Henry can’t see it.

Maybe he’ll get to keep the little boy by the sea just a short while longer.

Deciding not to put Henry through any further embarrassment, Killian stands. “That’s a lovely name,” he tells him, and leaves the door open for him to talk about it any time he wishes. “And I’m sure she thought your Grand Theft Marina was very impressive, if nothing else. I’m going to go see about that popcorn.”

He leaves Henry in the sitting room, passing Neal quietly in the hall before crossing into the kitchen. Emma is there, watching the microwave humming as whatever is inside rotates slowly. She turns to watch him as he enters. Dropping a quick kiss to her temple, he reaches past her for a couple of glasses and a bottle of wine from the cabinet. Neal’s taste for wine had grown over the last ten years, but he had still never quite acquired a taste for Sauvignon Blanc the way that Emma had — those he kept around for her, for special occasions, and Killian quite felt this merited a glass or two.

Pouring three glasses, two for himself and Neal, and just as he was about to pour the third Emma blurts out to stop him —

“I’m pregnant.”

Killian freezes. The microwave pings its conclusion loudly into the kitchen.

“So, uh, no wine, I mean. None for me. I’ll just, um, I’ll have juice. Or whatever Henry’s having. Do you think Neal has coke? I’ll just go ask—”

“Wait just a —” Killian blinks, “you’re —?”

She nods, biting her lip.

“I figured I’d be better off not waiting for the perfect moment anymore and just… picked the next one.”

Killian can’t wrap his mind around it. She’s pregnant. The thought spins back and forth around his head, ricocheting heavily and sending him spinning. For a moment he almost imagines the room swimming out of focus, Emma standing uncertainly by the microwave looking to him for his response — for his approval or, if the way doubt flickers across her expression, possibly his rejection. Through every dizzying sensation its that which pierces through, and before he can even consider his own feelings properly he is in front of her, dazed, kneeling and pressing a kiss to her stomach.

Elated, he decides.

Elated is how he feels.

It’s almost impossible to comprehend. Unbridled joy bursts forth inside him and he is invincible — Henry in the next room, howling with laughter at something Neal had said, Neal, growth and hope, and Emma. The only woman he would ever wish to bear his child, forgiving him, cherishing him, giving him the only life he had ever wanted, and more life beyond.

Emma’s fingers tangle in his hair as he kneels before her and he thinks he is trembling, breathing deeply as a few tears roll down his cheek. He doesn’t even think to be embarrassed, it’s been such a long, long road to get here. Her fingers squeeze and he looks up, as always awed by her and her strength. Through everything that had happened over the last few days, she had been carrying this knowledge with her with a steadfastness and fidelity to her own spirit — even when he was at his worst, she had not let him deter her when she had far greater things to be frightened of.

She’s crying too, he can see that. And as if she can read his thoughts, she murmurs, “I’m scared.”

Killian shakes his head. “I’m not.”

He stands, brings her hands to his mouth and kisses each one delicately.

This, he has to make sure she knows.

“I know we face an uncertain future, but there is one thing I want you to be certain of.” A press of his lips to hers and he is unconquerable. “I will always be by your side.”

She breathes out, deeply. “So — you’re happy?”

“Irreparably.”

At this she laughs, and his heart still melts at the sound. He tugs her in for a strong hug, lifting her off the ground and her joy is as palpable as his own. She peppers kisses across his jaw and he whispers that he loves her, and his reward is a smile the breadth of the sun. They hear Henry from the next room calling them in for his favourite part, the ascent over the electric fence, and he sets her back down. After reaching past him for the rapidly cooling popcorn, Emma gives him a final wink over her shoulder and departs back to the sitting room.

Pregnant.

He wants to dance on the countertop and yell until his throat is hoarse and run a thousand miles just for the thrill of it.

As he follows, the scene in the sitting room makes his bubble of happiness only swell; Henry catching popcorn in his mouth with the same enthusiasm as cherries thrown across the bar in the Rabbit Hole, Neal acting as pitcher with the bowl of popcorn and Emma choosing opportunities to intercept. There is something decidedly special about it.

There needn’t be castles, or weddings, or meadows upon meadows of wildflowers. Nor swords, magic, dwarves or palaces made of glass. No, Killian decides, none of those ornaments or flourishes are needed — happy endings are far from how they appeared in Henry’s storybooks. He has his own suspicions now about how they present themselves.

In unremarkable, fugacious moments. In the gentle shapes of people who love, are loved, and continue to be brave.

Happy endings, the real ones, look a lot more like that.

36 notes · View notes

katcadecascade · 5 years

Text

Tides at Lakeshore

A Trollhunter fanfic with Kanjigar still alive as the Trollhunter and Barbara Lake is a wizard.

Summary: Those who carry the sword of daylight follow the guidance of the Lady of the Lake.Right now, the current era of these two beings are apparently having troubles with their respective sons.

[X]: Archive of Our Own

[X]: Fanfiction.net

Chapter 1: Hello Hallucinating

As the Trollhunter, Kanjigar the Courageous fought valiantly, landing each strike with a powerful blow. Facing off against Bular was always a grand feat of danger in this long dreadful war.

Here under the bridge of humans, exchanging parries as the sun rises, Kanjigar hears only one thing ring through his head.

‘This ruse will save your life,’ a wise woman said. ‘I sense the bindings of destiny to come at full force. Something dangerous is coming and I wish for you to live to defeat it.’

Her last warning was specific.

‘Don’t touch the light until the battle ends.’

Thus as sunlight narrows the battlefield, Bular taunts the Trollhunter.

“Yield, Kanjigar.”

“A Trollhunter never yields.”

The two trolls clash swords, avoiding the rays of deadly light as much as possible. Bular may have superior bulk as he kicks Daylight out of Kanjigar’s hands into the sun.

Quickly thinking, Kanjigar resummons the sword back into his hands, guarding against another strike.

The sun rose high as they scurried their way to the bridge’s under railings. Bular pinned Kanjigar down, forcing him over the ledge. Kanjigar managed to hold his weight right before his horns touched sunlight.

“It’s me or the sun,” Bular spat, grinning madly, “either way it’s your doom.”

Kanjigar gritted his teeth. This must be the way the fight ends. He strained his ears to hope that no human eyes are around before his ruse ends.

“I command Daylight, Bular,” Kanjigar tightly held onto his enemy, “I fear no sun.”

With all of his might, Kanjigar jumped off of the railings, constraining Bular’s left arm.

The Gumm-gumm only had seconds to realize that the Trollhunter wasn’t hissing in pain of petrification. Unfortunately for him, his arm trapped by the hunter burned in the light. With his free hand Bular hung to the bridge railings and saw how his left arm turned into stone.

The Trollhunter fell from the crumbling hand and landed gracefully on the ground, mockingly safe in the daylight.

“How!” Bular roared, regaining his ground and clutching his damaged arm.

“My amulet can hold many powers,” Kanjigar boasted, “One such is the ability of day walking.”

“There’s no honor in cheap tricks, Trollhunter!”

Kanjigar rose up his sword to the Gumm-gumm, “I have no need to give you honor or glory, only to my kin. Do you still seek to fight, son of Gunmar?”

Bular roared once more, spitting insults but eventually Kanjigar watched the troll retreat back into the shadows of the sewers.

Finally alone, Kanjigar breathed out relief and returned to his own haven of darkness. Honesty he was terrified if the gem of day walking didn’t work.

But it did and Kanjigar lives to fight for another day.

More proof to trust the guidance of the Lady of the Lake. But there are words of hers that he cannot make action of.

[]

Meanwhile, the shabby shape of the sleeping Barbara Lake is revealed to her son when he checked her that very morning.

Jim Lake sets down the breakfast tray and polished up her glasses. She looked more exhausted than usual from the dark circles around her eyes.

He glanced back to her note on the door.

Busy work last night. Sleeping in. Remember to take your meds. – Mom

No matter what message she leaves for him, she insists to remind him about his pills.

There’s no real reason to argue against her. She’s Doctor Barbara Lake. Of course her son will listen to her.

The only problem, Jim finds out, is that his pill bottle is empty. He even rattles the empty bottle for emphasis. Apparently it slipped both of their minds about getting a refill, either too busy at the hospitable or at school or with housework.

Shrugging, Jim talked to himself, “It’s just one day. I’ll be fine.”

An hour later he did not feel fine.

Toby sent him worrying glances throughout class and Jim barely paid any attention to it. A small twinge of pain ached on his jaw bone and his head began to throb a little. Most of all his eyes could barely stay open. Occasionally he had to blink away the visual snow that cloaked his vision.

By the bell ring he was barely comprehending that Mr. Strickler has been calling his name.

With a surprise jerk, Jim fell out of his chair. Toby was at his side to help him up as the rest of the class left. With a clearer head Jim embarrassedly noticed that Clare saw the whole thing with a concerned frown.

“Mr. Lake, are you alright?” Mr. Strickler helped the boy gathered his scattered supplies.

“I’m fine,” he said the same time Toby said, “Probably not.”

“You don’t look too good,” the teacher continued, “I have to ask if you’re coming down with something.” Jim raised a hand to his forehead, just to make sure, but his temperature felt normal. He even let Mr. Strickler do the same thing and he was still concerned and confused.

Jim glanced around, aware that it was only him, his best friend and his favorite teacher here but wariness still relevant to his aching head. “I ran out of my medication today, allergy pills,” he assured, “I guess my body really needed them.”

“That’s a bit alarming,” Mr. Strickler said.

“Yeah this isn’t as bad as the last time you didn’t take them,” Toby added.

Jim clenched onto his handbag, feeling a little flushed at the worried eyes aimed at him. “I’m just tired, that’s probably it.”

“Or stressed,” Mr. Strickler said, “I fear that you’re carrying too many responsibilities. I know that it’s just you and your mother but if you feel overwhelm-“

“I’m okay,” Jim rushed, “We’re okay.”

Mr. Strickler gave him a small smile, “I was merely going to suggest that you ask for help.” He nodded over to Toby, still at his side with a thumb’s up. “You’re shouldering the weight of the world like Atlas.” The teacher walked over to his desk to write something. “I believe I’m long overdue for a conversation with your mother. Also here’s a nurse’s note if you feel like you’re getting worse.” He handed the papers to Jim. With one last worried gaze he said, “I do only mean the best for you, Young Atlas.”

Pocketing the notes, Jim offered a grateful smile, “Thanks Mr. Strickler.”

As the boys left the room, Mr. Strickler called out, “One more thing, if you’re feeling better, I submit that talking with Miss Nunez would be more effective than staring.”

Toby snickered, “Take the advice Jimbo. You’re going to need it.”

“Shut up,” he lightly scoffed.

[]

“I’m glad to hear everything went well,” a feminine sigh echoed the crystallized healing room of Vendel the wise.

“The look of his face,” Kanjigar laughed, “I’m detailing an artist immediately.” At the unamused scowl of the elder troll, the hunter switched gears, “Anyway, from the way Bular fought and screamed he seemed as eager as ever to kill me.”

“He always wants kill,” Aaarrrgghh said.

“Yes but this felt different this time,” Kanjigar continued, “I sensed he’s anticipating something. He fought with great tenacity and alarm.”

Blinky rolled his six eyes, “He does that only when you quip about his father.”

“Speaking of fathers,” the woman began, “how’s everything with you and Draal?”

“Lady Lake, we’re supposed to talk about the fate of troll kind,” Kanjigar groaned, rubbing his temples for good measure, not like the woman can see it.

A snort from the communication tool irritated the Trollhunter further. “Last I checked he’s a part of it. Meaning you should take my advice and spend more time with him.”

“Shall not,” he said and beside him the three trolls sighed over another round of this argument. “I must prioritize my duties as the Trollhunter. You agreed with me about keeping him away from my scared charge.”

“Yes but I also told you to bond with him as well!”

“There you go off again with your human thinking,” he grumped, “Troll culture is about bonds forged through bloodshed battles and I will not risk my son into a war he cannot win. He’s not ready.”

Aaarrgghh roughly nudged his shoulder with a stern glare, “Fought with us at bridge.”

“That was when Deya bared the mantle,” Kanjigar dismissed, “I am proud to say we conquered that battle but now that I am the Trollhunter I will leave no burden fall upon my son.”

“So what’s stopping you Kanjigar?” Lady Lake asked harshly, “I guided you to live another day and for what, all to fight more?”

Vendel approached the speaking tool before Kanjigar could make a move to destroy it, “Lady Lake, we thank you for your guidance and council but this is a nature of us trolls. I’m afraid mere words cannot sway the most stubborn of stones.”

“Hey!”

“Of course Elder,” Lady Lake said, losing the intensity in her voice. “All I’m suggesting is that you deserve to spend time with your son.”

“I do and I will,” Kanjigar promised, “but after the end of the Gumm-gumm King.”

He stomped off without a goodbye. As the Trollhunter he values every warning and advice from the bloodline of the original Lady of the Lake. Her existence was a mere folk tale to young whelps but only elders, important figures, and the Trollhunter have a direct connection with her.

Well as direct as a communication tool can be.

The few previous Ladies of the Lake made direct contact to troll kind but only in dire extremes. Now the current one asks for privacy and only Vendel knows her face. It is better off that way, Kanjigar reasons as he walks through Trollmarket.

His world must remain hidden from human eyes. He has the sneaky suspension that Vendel has connection to other magical humans on the surface but Kanjigar is fine to remain ignorant to that information.

As he makes his way to the Hero’s Forge, his son Draal approaches him.

Just as he was about to greet his kin, Kanjigar narrows his eyes at the broken spike on the youngling’s shoulder. “My son, is there a reason you have fewer spikes then I remember?”

“No,” Draal said too quickly, shifting to have a better profile, “Father I wanted to check up on you. I heard about your fight with Bular.”

“I won obviously,” Kanjigar said shortly, too focused on getting a good look at his son’s back. Draal still attempted to turn away but he got a good look at the scratches and scorch marks. “Draal did you go train in the Forge without my permission again?”

Draal didn’t waste time with denial, “So what if I did? It’s not like you would even give me permission.”

“I told you, only Trollhunters train there.”

“And yet you bring anyone willing to spar with you except me!” Draal exclaimed, “Why don’t you ever want to train with me?”

“Right now you are acting like a whiny whelp,” Kanjigar stated, well aware of the civilian eyes watching, “I don’t have time for this, son.”

He brushed past Draal, swallowing down the tight feeling in his throat for once again pushing away his son. It’s for his own good, Kanjigar told himself. Lady Lake doesn’t understand this part of his life and no advice from her will change his mind.

[]

By the end of the school day, Jim can confidently say that he needs his drugs.

Okay, not the proper term for prescribed pills but he’s using humor to cope.

First he tries to introduce himself to Claire. All he got from that was embarrassment, a tiny spark of hope, and a flyer for theater auditions.

Second he tries to talk Psycho Steve out of bulling Eli Pepperjack. It was pretty intimidating and the loud noises weren’t helping his headache.

Lastly the mentioned headache was gradually gotten worse. Sharp pain prick in his jaw and Jim wanted to guess that this is probably his wisdom teeth coming out early. But then his ears feel too sensitive to sound and massaging them weren’t helping. At the very least the weird pressure on his head lessened but his head still feels off balanced.

His eyes through, that’s the real problem. Jim would swear that when he checked his reflection his eyes would flash with a different color for a millisecond. Toby said that he didn’t notice a thing but believes him all the same.

Honestly if it wasn’t for Toby the poor boy would’ve broken down.

Toby helped Jim get back home and made him lay on the couch for a while.

“And you don’t have like a spare hidden around?” Toby hollered out, double checking the bathroom cabinets. He padded back down the stairs to see Jim groaning into the pillows. “Oh boy this is worse than last time.”

Jim pulled the pillow off of his face, “I don’t feel so good, Mr. Domzalski.”

“Don’t you dare pull that on me!”

“The pain is real!”

“Oh my Guillermo,” Toby slapped his forehead, “I think you’re ready to play Romeo, Jimbo.”

“If I can get my meds,” Jim squeezed his eyes shut and reach over for his phone. Learning from earlier, Jim had the brightness all the way down as he speed dialed his mom. “Nope, straight to voice mail again.”

“Well she’ll be home soon.” Jim threw his best friend a doubtful look and shimmied over to lie on his stomach and press his face into the pillow. “Jim, you should be on your back so you can, yah know, be able to breath.”

Toby could barely hear the muffled, “Head hurts!”

He heard Toby walk over and then felt the boy pat his back gently. “I’ll go whip up some good old fashion chicken noodle soup. Nothing like Nana’s recipe to help a growing boy as she likes to say.”

Jim made an effort to grunt out a thanks but it must of have gotten lost in the pillow as he tried to sleep. It felt more like lucid dreaming. He can clearly hear Toby in his kitchen, using the medium size pot and oh how weird that he knows the specifics.

But that’s the least of his worries as he scratched at his head, the twin pressures that returned with a force of agony. Jim thinks that he’s biting on the pillow because his jaw bone has the unpleasant sting again.

It feels all too slow and he digs his nails into his scalp, trying to scratch away the pain and it turns sharper once he realizes that he must have scratched some skin off. Jim squeezed his hands, gaining some self-control to see blood under his finger nails.

Mindlessly he licked away the specks of blood, almost satisfied with the taste.

Then he looks at his hands and sees blue.

He just licked away the red smudges of blood and now there’s blue something specked on his hands. Weirdly his first reaction is to lick and chew it away but no, it’s his skin that’s blue.

Jim shucked off his jacket wildly, gaining Toby’s attention.

“Hey Jim, everything al-“

Both boys stared at Jim’s arms, patches of blue skin tone seeping seamlessly with his usual complexion. And then Jim attempted to scratch it all away in a panic.

“Jim, stop!” Toby ran over to get a hold of his friend’s shaky hands and sharp nails. Jim’s arms now had red dripping into this mess. “Jim, look at me.”

The boy’s eyes are wide and he’s starting to breathe too fast. “Toby, what’s going on? My allergies, what, what’s happening?”

Too confused and scared at the abnormal changes, Jim peers at his arms, the blueness hasn’t spread but he notices how his nails changed to a pure white hue and gotten sharper and inhuman.

Jim’s barely aware that Toby’s been patting his cheeks. They’re both scared but Toby knows that his mind is far clearer and makes the decision to let go of Jim to call Dr. Lake. The moment he got the lady’s number ringing Toby feels the air shift and hears the door slam.

A cold weight drops into his stomach as he saw his best friend zip away in only a matter of seconds into the fading light of the sun.

[]

After his training in the Forge, Kanjigar goes to the surface, comforted by the late evening sky as the sun winks out from the horizon. He still has the gem of day walking but he won’t make a habit of using it. He needs to keep trolls and human matters far away from each other.

It might not be entirely possible but a troll can hope.

He thinks this because the two worlds are already as chaotic as they can get. A mixture of the two has already been attempted by the race of the changelings, a truly horrible experiment.

Kanjigar continues his trek through the woods, keenly aware of any movement from either man or animal. With the looming threat of Bular, he’s been risking a lot of time on the surface, attempting to catch any track of his misdeeds, hence the purpose of the gem of day walking.

It was a suggestion from Vendel to push the boundaries of the Amulet and with the title of Courageous how could Kanjigar refuse?

He walks this path alone to shield his kin from the dangers that Bular has likely plague upon the humans. Lady Lake has shared her suspicions of Bular acting on the violent quality of eating humans. Kanjigar knows that as the Trollhunter he’s supposed to protect both sides of the world.

Kanjigar admits that he has already failed one side of it with his inaction on human affairs. Explaining his incapability translated into excuses for Lady Lake. She’s not wrong.

Lady Lake has wisdom from her own ancestors, each one different from what Vendel has said. The Elder tells him that the current one is far more engaged despite the anonymous calls. Kanjigar patiently waits for further insight on that but for now he walks.

That’s when he smells it, blood of an impure.

He hasn’t smelled that type of scent since he caught Draal coming back from a battle with a changeling years ago.

The Trollhunter chases after the source. It moves fast, away from the lights of human domesticity. Something must have gone array, Kanjigar justifies, likely its mask was cracking and it’s fleeing to its master.

Fleeing to Bular.

No, Kanjigar must intervene and soon he catches up to the changeling. It runs clumsily, disregarding the natural stealth of its kind. Running up to the changeling, Kanjigar sees how small it is and how it is whimpering, destressed.

The changeling is unstable, that’s dangerous. Kanjigar wastes no time to tackle the whelp, pinning it to the forest floor.

“You’re done for the night, impure,” Kanjigar sneers.

He expects fiery insults about his ancestors, of labels of being a brute and slave to Merlin. Instead the whelp just screams, scrabbling under his weight.

The changeling flails its limps and sobs out, “Oh my Guillermo, please, please don’t kill me!”

“Gill-mo?” He tries to say.

The babbling of last words continues much to the Trollhunter’s confusion. “There are so many recipes I want to try! I want to graduate and actually have a real conversation with Claire. Toby, oh man Toby, I’m so sorry. Why did I run? I look like a monster! I’m blue? Why am I blue? Is it because my eyes are blue or because I wear my blue jacket way too much? No, oh no Mom!”

Finally the words stop but Kanjigar doesn’t feel any better when the whelp cries out for its mother.

If this is the changeling’s signature move to catch the enemy off guard, well it’s working. But what kind of battle tactic is crying for mom?

The wailing go silent and Kanjigar realizes that he spent way too long just staring oddly at the other troll.

“Please let me go,” the whelp whimpers and oh Deya, this truly is a whelp, only a babe. His eyes hold an innocence that only a father can know. Draal once had those clear eyes, long time ago before he ever picked up a weapon.

Kanjigar slowly moves off of the boy but still keeps a tight grip on his scruff. Well no, there’s no real scruff actually so he holds on tightly to the boy’s shoulders.

“I’m not going to kill you,” Kanjigar said slowly, trying to calm the boy. He wants to threaten an ‘unless’ because this is still a changeling but now standing over the boy he sees the stubs of horns. They barely poke out. He only notices them because of the speckles of blood at scratched skin.

Narrowing his eyes, Kanjigar tries to get a better look at the boy’s skin in the moonlight.

It’s in a human skin tone, squishy and too soft to be considered troll. And yet there are patches of blue on the boy’s arms. Kanjigar may not know the skin tenderness of humans but he knows the skins of trolls and changelings. This boy barely qualifies at one. For Avalon’s sake Kanjigar can’t even see his tiny tusks!

The boy still stares at Kanjigar with horror, as if he’s as menacing as Bular.

The thought disgusts him so Kanjigar speaks to the boy like he once did to a young Draal, “I’m sorry for attacking you. I believed you to be,” he coughs, “be a nefarious, old troll.”

His weak smile does nothing to ease the boy. He glances at the hand still clutching his shoulder and back to Kanjigar. He utters out, “Troll?”

“Yes a troll,” Kanjigar knocks on his horns for emphasis but gets confused at the boy’s growing confusion. “Wait you do know what a troll is, yes?” The boy slowly shook his head. “But you are a troll or at least part?” Kanjigar takes a moment to process his own words, “Huh.”

In that though process, he becomes oblivious to the boy’s meltdown.

“What?” He shakily said, “No, this isn’t happening. This is just my allergies. I must be hallucinating.”

Instinctively, the Trollhunter said, “Hello Hallucinating, my name is Kanjigar the Courageous.”

The boy slowly blinked and his ears, too small but still pointy, twitch.

“That’s it!” The boy raises his arms above his head, shrugging off Kanjigar’s lost grip. “I am dreaming!”

“Dear boy,” Kanjigar weakly smiles, “please chose a name, Dreaming.”

“ARGH!”

“Hmm, missed a few letters,” he muttered.

The boy began to march off, “I’m going home!”

Wait.

“Wait!” Kanjigar quickly grabbed the collar of the boy’s shirt, effectively stopping him, “I can’t let you return to your familiar’s household.”

The boy raised an eyebrow at him, “Okay I barely understood that sentence. All I got is that you’re not letting me go home.”

Kanjigar quickly thinks. This whelp of a changeling ran into the woods panicked over his trollish features. He hurt himself until he bled, too confused and scared and… and new. He might not be able to shift like a mature changeling.

“Do you think it’s wise to return still looking like this?”

That gets the boy to pause and he looks to his talons. The white of it still has some blood.

“I don’t know what’s going on,” he admits, fisting his hands with a determination that matches Draal’s, “but I’m going back to Toby, we can figure this out together.”

“I’m afraid I can’t let you do that,” Kanjigar said, duty prevailing any other option. He can’t let this changeling gossip a dangerous secret to presumably a human.

The changeling’s ears twitch up and oh how young this whelp must be to be so expressive with merely his ears.

Kanjigar ignores the look of horror as he slams a heavy, armored fist onto the boy’s head.

The boy drops to the ground with a groan.

The Trollhunter carefully takes the boy into his arms.

Vendel must have some insight on this right?

#trollhunters #trollhunters fic #my fic #kanjigar #jim lake jr

11 notes · View notes

dan-de-leon · 5 years

Text

A Valentines one-shot ficlet for @squidpro-quo

Happy Valentines Day!!

"I really love the OT3 with Zen/Obi/Shirayuki, something with the three of them would be amazing! I'd rather not get anything with abo au or explicit sex"

I hope this is alright >_< This is my first foray back into writing after a 5 year hiatus. I’ll probably post this on AO3 when I have time later.

Have a lovely valentines!!

Untitled - a short omake?

The crew have some introspective thoughts and musings about the nature of their lives as they hear about the plot of Yuzuri’s latest obsession.

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

There was a strong feeling of foreboding in the air. While Zen never liked trusting in such, he unwittingly fell into the same bad habit that his old manners teachers tried and failed to whip him out of all throughout his younger years: paying more attention to the weather than the words of the person he’s engaged in conversation with.

It certainly was the kind of day that couldn't decide whether to be bright or dreary. The snow flurries already stopped and zen's throat was no longer aching. Yet he was warned to stay aware of his health. Mainly since it would not be good for the image of their beautiful city if royalty got sick there all the time.

He pushed a bereft yawn down his lungs; no matter how much the gray seemed to begin looming over those blue skies, it would not fit if he were to yawn in the middle of shirayuki's cheerful and (altogether too) bubbly friend's dialogue. Something about romance novels? Everyone seems to be paying attention though. And who is Zen but a master at staying alert.

"The writing is superb! It delivered way more than I expected," she barely stopped herself from sighing, "my only objection was that it ended too soon."

Shirayuki, patiently listening beside him, was serene and hardly disheveled as usual. Despite her busy schedule and tendency to overwork, she always looked immaculate, whatever the situation. Meanwhile, her friend paused to glance at him. Was that a smirk he saw, just now? No. Yuzuri faced Shirayuki once more, though with a question obviously directed towards him. He braced himself.

"Though, of course, with your highness being around, this type of excitement must be humdrum nonsense, right?"

He breathed a sigh of relief. And then held his breath right after- causing a cough to sneak up on his already much-abused throat. He put a fist before his mouth and coughed once more for good measure.

"What? No! Not at all. What are the main points?"

This seemed to encourage the young girl. She gave a wider grin before resuming with her discussion.

"Oooooh, it had all the best elements!! Right, Suzu? There's the forbidden romance between the prince and the lowborn lady, him rescuing her from pirates and unruly bandits-"

What?

That one landed way too close to home for him to keep being comfortable. His foot fidgeted. He glared at it to stay. Put. The many times Shirayuki got into trouble because of their situation still made him feel guilty to this day. But he would not ask her to stop, nor would he presume to imagine that he would ever be able to order her to do so.

He glanced at Shirayuki. She was frowning, but only a smidge.

-------

Shirayuki didn't really pay attention to what was being said. That said, she had her head in the clouds the whole time (considering that they were gray, growing, and halfway covering the sky).

That is, until she felt a tickle in her back. It wasn't too uncomfortable -- only enough to make her want to scratch at it. Fine, it was reeeeally uncomfortable. What material did they make herbalist clothes from nowadays, poison ivy?!

She blinked. She was sure she HAD heard the last portion of yuruzi's monologue, but who could really blame her for being a tad bit (note: a LOT) distracted?

"The prince carrying the lady bridal-style-"

A memory of a warm hand gently wrapping over her waist

"-stolen kisses-"

The sun on her face. That warm spring day. The feeling of her heart pounding, as she felt the pain and simultaneous joy of a first kiss from a very attractive young gentleman.

"-dangerous enemies, as skilled as knights appointed by the crown!"

Come to think of it, they haven't really experienced any danger for those two whole years they've spent in lyrias, haven't they? It was like time stopped and it became normal, to not think about the castle. Shirayuki never had any trouble with petty distractions when there was work to be done. The time here went by so rapidly, since she always had the next project to work on. And once Zen returned, it was like time started moving once more.

And WHY on earth was that prickly feeling in her neck starting to burn? Shirayuki gave in and scratched at her neck. It wasn't the right spot, but it was close enough for the time being.

-----

Suzu was giving him that look again.

While he appreciated time spent with their friends in Lyrias, their teasing looks have always been his constant adversary and longtime companion. He should be used to them by now. He's never reacted before, and them goading him won't make him do so now.

The bubbly girl was being blocked from his view by Shirayuki's slender back. He didn't want to stare, really. She was right there. He couldn't help it. Honest.

"-she even got kidnapped! By the worst type of bandits imaginable!"

He remembered those days. Nonstop action, enough that he could barely breathe. Is he softer now, milder now, tamer now, in comparison? Has this place officially defanged him?

"The lady's true love, saving her in the nick of time!"

He'd never dreamed of that role before. But if he did, would it actually make any difference?

And of course, the prince and the lady's knight, both madly in love with her!"

Suzu's stare was penetrating him now. Not to mention, Zen switched from looking at Shirayuki to looking at him, too.

He sneezed. Everyone jumped.

"It's getting a bit cold. How about we head back in for some warm tea?"

Everybody seemed only too eager to provide assent.

And thus, their whole group started trudging back to the warmth of the kitchen, with the sound of Yuzuri's chatter providing a comfortable ambience. -----

Lyrias was practically a fortress. And thus, it was not too easy for anyone to just jump in and take any random person from the inside. So it was just Shirayuki's luck that she is the unfortunate person caught in the crossfire, yet again.

Some man (she had no idea who, he just blindfolded her and wrapped her up) knocked her out cold while she was checking out books in the extensive library. How and when they got inside, she did not know.

She was still blindfolded. Her hands were tied - but carefully. Whoever did this must've known her status, and didn't want to get in trouble for knocking her around too much. She was famous around here for being a friend of the crown, after all.

Now, what options do I have?

While her body might have just gotten used to the lack of movement that came with indoor work, she will not let it be a reason for her to lose that same tenacity that drove her to run all the way to another country just for the sake of avoiding the selfish wishes of a once famously spoiled man.

Shirayuki checked all her senses. Her sight was out, obviously. She wriggled her hands - still tight. She smelled the air - the heavy musk of being in a wooden room. But- and her tongue darted out, tasting the air: why is it sweet?

Footsteps

And- they're getting closer.

This didn't bode well for her. She had to think of a solution, and fast.

Shirayuki knew the walls tasted of moss. This moss was lightly useful for providing a light tonic when collected, dried and placed in boiling water. They collected those flowers in the spring.

Fresh, though, and in wintertime, means the tiny leaves will release a certain powder when shaken.

The door opened, and Shirayuki kicked the wall. She held her breath and hoped to god that the man had large nostrils like most other hooligans here in this city.

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

Shirayuki had been in her lonesome all morning for some reason.

Normally Obi would be beside her. Yet today of all days Zen required him to be present for sparring practice. Man-to-man bonding, as they called it (though kiki would raise a finely manicured brow at this insinuation)

When he finally escaped for just a tad bit and ran through his usual shortcut (rooftops, what else?) to get to his mistress's haven, he was whooping for joy. The plan for the rest of the day? To provide any help for her in the best way he could.

Yet- what was this feeling of dread? He tried to sense for her presence in the library. His breathing evened out, and he stretched out his hearing to pinpoint the exact place she was supposed to be. This was a relic from days spent listening for the cadence of her heart amidst the roar of a snowstorm upon castle walls. He would recognize her even from the next room.

And yet, none of those abilities could help him out if she wasn't present in the room.

He sniffed the air. There was the light permeating smell of old books and cement. And something else - the residual scent of herbs, from days when Shirayuki brought samples to cross-check with books.

There was a bad feeling rising now, like a crested wave almost reaching the breaking point. He rushed to her oither hangout spots - finding none, he sought out the usual suspects for her attention. None of them have seen even a single strand of her famously bright red hair.

And thus, he had to report to Zen

------

"Shirayuki is missing."

Zen wanted to facepalm. Wasn't Yuzuri talking about this exact situation mere moments ago?

"I guess at least the plot is consistent, huh?"

"Master, you said something?"

"Nothing. Let's go rescue our fair maiden."

#ANSValentines2019 #squidpro-quo #ans valentines #fic-exchange #snow white with the red hair #obiyukizen #zenyukiobi

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clevernewdimension · 6 years

Text

Guardians (M)

Purge AU

1. Revenge - Kyungsoo | 2. Guardians - Sehun | 3. Coming soon |

Oh Sehun, the younger adoptive brother of Junmyeon, spends his Purge nights protecting the clinic they put on every year for innocent people. His past is dark, not wanting to remember it. Every year he wants to make people like that asshole pay.

And he does, all the while shuffling people who are hurt into their little clinic so his brother and the few people they trust can patch them up and give them a safe haven from the night. Sehun was the muscle, listening to her over the comms as she takes out threats before they can get close and tell him about people needing help. She’s always there, his best friend. He saved her when they were young, and they’ve been together ever since. She also helps protect the clinic, an excellent sharpshooter and quick witted.

Their night starts like any other, proving the meaning of their friends with benefits relationship before getting ready to stay up all night and save people. Then things go horribly wrong, and Sehun has to face someone he wishes died long ago to keep her alive. His nightmares back. Can Sehun face them to save her?

Genre: Action

Word count: 9.2K

A/N: Trigger warnings for sexual assault, rape, child abuse, pedophilia, non con/ dub con, death, blood, guns, knives. Seriously, if these trigger you, DO NOT READ.

Sehun lights a cigarette, blowing out the smoke as the news on the TV keeps talking. He rolls his eyes, sitting on the curb. He holds the bottle of beer in his hand, taking a sip of it as he waits. The news croons on about the Purge tonight, telling everyone to either keep in doors or, if they want, go out and exercise their rights. The freedom to act like a goddamned maniac once a year.

Wonderful.

Last year, Sehun did what he’s been doing since Mr. Kim took him in. Help with the family run clinic. Mr. Kim died, and Junmyeon, his adopted older brother, took control. He’s a doctor, so it makes sense. Sehun, on the other hand, spent his time in fight clubs and training in a little bit of martial arts. Their mutual friend, Kyungsoo, taught him how to shoot and how to use a knife. Trained him to be much like himself.

Except Sehun doesn’t have an off switch for his emotions. He feels them all the time. Constantly. Something, he thinks, that he picked up from Junmyeon. His step brother was the most caring man he knows. Because of this, he’s perfected the blank, emotionless face. Keeping things bottled up until he can let it out on some assholes trying to hurt innocent people wanting some help. So, tonight, he’ll be looking out for people who try to attack their one day only clinic. He wants to make sure everyone is safe from the sick fucks who love the Purge. If he didn’t have Junmyeon in his life, he could have became one of those people. Sehun doesn’t like to think about it, though.

If anything, Sehun should be glad he only has to deal with sick freaks only once a year anymore. Visions from the past in his mind, like they always were this time of year. That basement. The knife in his small hands as he carves the letters into skin. The feeling of that man over him, smiling as he cried and cried. His begging and pleading falling on deaf ears.

Sehun closes his eyes, pinching his own arm as he tried to focus on anything but that. “It’s been almost twenty years,” He mumbles to himself, opening his eyes and seeing the ashes from the cigarette fall. “Get over it,” He says to himself. Purge day causes him to smoke. Every other day he’s fine, but today, his nerves are shot to hell. A nervous tick that he couldn’t stop.

A car stops in front of him. He looks up, seeing Kyungsoo in the driver’s seat. Sehun drops his cigarette, standing and putting it out with his heel. He downs the rest of the beer, throwing it to the trash can that was close by before getting in the SUV.

He looks up, seeing Kyungsoo in the driver’s seat. His hair growing out again, as he puts the car into drive. The woman beside him smiles at Sehun, a small wave. Sehun smiles back, happy that she was fine. Last year she hired Kyungsoo to kill the people who took and killed her kid. Sehun thought she wouldn’t survive the night. Nice to be wrong, since she’s smart and very helpful.

“I take it the two of you will be on watch,” Kyungsoo asks, looking at the younger man through the rear view briefly.

Sehun’s mind goes to his best friend. Known each other for years. He nods, “Yeah. Of course. Where else would we be?”

“I’m still shocked she isn’t sick of you yet,” He says, shaking his head.

Sehun agrees. After all, while they both were involved with fighting and getting the shit kicked out of them, she managed to get herself mostly together. Sehun works as security for some rich fucks in town. A pair of friends who own a multi billion dollar company selling who knows what. Park Chanyeol and Kim Jongin. Countless times has Sehun had to save them. He always told them that, on Purge night, they have to find someone else. They respect that, thankfully, and choose to leave the country to avoid the day. They’ve sent him pictures of themselves in Paris. He would smile, happy knowing they are safe. They’re good people.

Unlike him, she did something more with her life. She managed to get a job where she can stay at home and provide tech services. She went to college and got a degree in the city two years after they met. Sehun stayed in the shadows and won fighting competitions.

Everyone they knew had a feeling about how they are with one another. When they weren’t practicing or playing video games, they were tangled up in one another, mouths drowning in each other’s moans. For ten years they’ve know each other. Sehun was seventeen when they met. She was average height, but back then she was small and scared. Weak.

Now, not so much. She was dangerous, in more ways than one. He smirks, thinking about their little habits and how they have built their lives around one another. After the first year, they started call one another names. Sehun was Bitch, and she was Cunt. She picked the names out while completely drunk off her ass one night and they just stuck. Sehun wouldn’t have called her that if she wasn’t fine with it, after all. She was a burning light in this place. A sun surrounded by people who were nothing. Black holes trying to end her wonderful and bright light. She deserve better. But he knows she won’t leave.

He can’t help but feel as if he is holding her back, in that regard. Because of that, he can’t let himself fall deeper for her. All he sees in his dreams is her smirk. Her black hair and her light blue eyes. They way she looks when she’s asleep, peaceful. Beautiful. He holds himself back. He tastes the forbidden fruit, but never bites it. Never truly has it. That’s all he needs, because he knows that there will come a time when she finally sees she’s worth so much more than this. And Sehun will stand there, waving bye and let her go because he knows that she is like a bird. Free, and shouldn’t be caged by anything, least of all by him.

It hurts, but he knows that it’s what she deserves.

He leans back into the seat, letting out a sigh as he closes his eyes, letting him have a few moments to peace before the night.

I walk down the hall, my ragged canvas shoes squeaking. The apartment building wasn’t bad, but not exactly the best neighborhood. Drug deals common in the alley beside it, a few gang members with a ‘safe house’ a floor below. I don’t know why Sehun insists on living here, but who am I to judge. Granted, he isn’t here often. It’s not unusual for me to wake up and see him beside me on my bed or, if he’s too tired, on the couch in my living room. I’ve offered him the spare room, so that we could be room mates, multiple times but he say no every time.

It’s not that I was scared of him living here. He can handle himself. After all, Kyungsoo taught him everything he knows. I just don’t think living there, alone, is good for him. He can try to hide it all he wants, but I know he has nightmares. Often. Sometimes he’s woken me up screaming. I had to shake him awake as he would gasp, breathing deeply like someone was trying to suffocate him.

He needed therapy, that much was certain. But he would never agree to it. I’ve brought it up, but he shot it down. So, instead, when he is next to me when he wakes, I try to distract him however I can from whatever it is that still haunts him. Most of the time we just talk. Very rarely is it with sex, but when it is, it’s not like the other times. After nightmares, he’s so... soft. Kind. Treating me more like the woman he loves than the woman he comes to for a quick fuck. and every time, I’m left wondering why it can’t be like that more often. Why can’t he show me those feelings and mean them.

I roll my eyes, shoving my thoughts out of my mind. My black hair loose, as I knock quickly on the door. Time is running out, and I don’t need these thoughts clouding my judgement tonight of all nights. The bag on my shoulder heavy, with the clothes I’ll wear tonight while we keep watch and the weapons I’ll use to defend the clinic. Hair ties around my wrist, ready to keep my hair out of my eyes. There was always this sense of unease I had today, before it starts.

This was usual. This is what happens every year today. A bit of fun first before getting serious and working to protect the clinic at night. Once the chime happens a second time, signaling the end of the Purge, a coma for the next day or two. The door opens, Sehun standing there. His shirt off, showing off his very toned and scared chest. Tattoos inked on his tan skin. A skull on his upper arm, and a dagger on his forearm, and a small rose on his right index finger. On his chest was tally marks. Each one for every Purge since he was eight, he told me. Never explained more than that, though I think it has something to do with the nightmares.

His hands pull me towards him, lips immediately on mine, all tongue. I close my eyes, trying to wall up my feelings and just take this at face value. Sex. Just sex. The best dicking I ever get (Not that I’d ever tell him that), but no romance, no love, just lust. He picks me up, kicking the door closed. His lips soft as his kiss was anything but.

This has been our relationship since we met. Ten years ago, Sehun saved me from some awful people and took me to his brother. We’ve been best friends ever since. I remember that day clearly. My then crush tricked me to go out with him that night. He brutally murdered his teacher, and I ran from him. He was covered in her blood, hands all over me as he tried to release the pent up rage even more. So I left him, running into the night completely defenseless. I was fifteen, alone and some disgusting asshole tried to rape me. Thankfully, Sehun got there before anything could happen. He looked so young then, even if he was two years older than me. God, how time has past.

His fingers dig into my thighs as I pull at his white hair, moaning in his mouth. My tongue meeting his with as much desperate need as he did, though I would never say it. My body lights with a fire every time he touches me, and it hurts, knowing it wasn’t the same for him.

I smirk against his lips, “Someone’s needy. Can’t get laid without me lately?” I pull my shirt off over my head, tossing it to the side. I wanted his skin on my skin now, I want that fire to come over me and turn me to ash. Overload my emotions now so that, when the time comes, I will be able to pull the trigger easily.

“Will you just shut up and let me fuck you,” He growls, biting into my shoulder. The pain made me groan, rolling my hips into his body. His voice like this always makes me wet. He doesn’t have to try to turn me on anymore. He doesn’t even know the effect he has on me, how strong it is. Seeing him like this is a blessing and a curse.

Oh Sehun is a handsome man, easy on the eyes. He’s tempting, like that piece of cake you know you shouldn’t have, but you take a bite anyways. Women all over town wanting to get a piece of him, but he never seeks them out. A lot of men, too. Seems like Sehun is attractive to people from all walks of life. There’s something thrilling knowing that, even if this relationship is purely sexual, he’s loyal in the sense he doesn’t fuck about with other people. It makes me proud, that it’s only me. I’m the only one who get’s his hands on me, his head between my thighs and his cock in me. They all try, but he only goes to me.

“Don’t like be bringing up your lack of game, huh,” I mumble, quickly biting into his shoulder, hearing him hiss in my ear. I make fun of him to keep myself from muttering my true feelings for him. It’s all a carefully placed defense mechanism.

“Like you’re any better,” He says, pushing me down onto his bed as he crawls over me. “You come to me to get dick constantly,” He mutters, grinding his hips to mine.

It’s true. He only goes to me, and I only go to him. I make up all the excuses, but the truth is, I don’t want anyone besides him. Besides, why would I want some dude who only care about his own pleasure that doesn’t know what the fuck a clit is? Pass.

The moan left me before I could stop it. He was hard already, like he’s been waiting all day for this too. “It’s because you’re easy, babe,” I say with a smile, reaching behind me and taking my bra off. He quickly pulls it away, tossing it to the side of his room. His eyes over my skin, his gaze hungry. I smirk at this, “Why work for it when I can just walk in and have your face between my legs in seconds?”

“You fucking cunt,” He mutters, teeth biting into the side of one of my breasts as he’s pulling down my sweats and panties down my legs quickly. This was our usual. Fast. Hard. Practically primal. And god did it feel so fucking good.

“Love you too, bitch,” I say, smiling as I lay back against his bed. If I say it sarcastically, he will never believe it if I just outright say it accidentally one day. Or, that’s the hope. I smile, watching him move down and feeling his tongue already licking my center. My hand in his hair, pulling it as he eats me like he’s starving. My heart racing, holding onto him as his fingers slip into me. “Fuck, Sehun,” I moan, arching my back. The feeling of everything he does to me seems magnified at all times.

“That’s the point, idiot,” He mutters quickly, before getting back to it.

That’s how our relationship is. We’re best friend who constantly mock one another while… well, fucking. The fucking part started a little after I turned seventeen. I don’t even know how it happened, all I know is that once it started, it never stopped. My thoughts pulled away from the past, feeling his fingers touch me in the best of ways. His tongue was merciless, licking and sucking at my clit while his fingers were moving in and out, making me lose myself in the feeling. He’s so in tune with my body I was already cumming around his fingers in a few minutes, groaning and moaning as he moves, licking his lips as he smirks, looking proud.

“If anyone is easy, it’s you,” He says with a smirk, “Look how quick I can make you cum, after all.”

His sweatpants were discarded as I move, getting on my knees. A hear him put on the condom, as I just arched my back, “Hurry, bitch, I won’t wait all day!”

“You’d never find someone else who can fuck you like I can, Cunt,” He growls, pushing into me without warning. I moan, my arms feeling weak as he pulls out and slams into me.

I smile, hearing the nickname he calls me. “Bitch, you ain’t special,” I moan, falling to my elbows. A hard thrust has me moaning unabashedly, my eyes rolling back with a smile.

“Hard to take you seriously when you keep moaning like that,” He growls, thrusting into me harder.

I ignore him, closing my eyes and clutching onto his blanket. This is how it was. A few jabs before we just lose ourselves in the feeling. I moaned loudly as he hit me just right, my body completely ignited from the sensation. I roll my eyes, hearing his neighbor bang on the wall. I smile, putting my hands on the headboard in order to push back so I stop sliding up the bed. I make no move to quiet myself, feeling Sehun’s hands grip my hips tightly, pulling me back forcefully as his hips slapped against me.

Banging on the wall happened again, a woman’s voice on the other side complaining.

“Get some dick of your own and shut up,” I yell, hearing Sehun laugh at that.

“If you weren’t, Uh,” He says, groaning momentarily, “Screaming like a slut, it would be fine!”

“Shut up and fuck, Bitch,” I moan out, arching my back just right.

Sehun moves quicker, knowing we have limited time. He groans, putting all his strength into fucking me into the mattress. It didn’t take long for Sehun to get me there again. I yell, nails digging into the headboard, the fire turning into an inferno. Soon it was too much, very sensitive as I was panting at the feeling. I couldn't stop the sounds if I wanted to, it felt too good. He groans, as I feel him still before he falls next to me.

I look over, seeing him breathing heavily. He looks amazing like this. For a moment, nothing is wrong. Everything is fine and he’s just a man who just had some mindless sex. Like, if only for a moment, his thoughts were put on pause. Sweat on his skin as he smiles, letting out a small laugh. I smile, feeling my heart clench.

Just like it always does.

Our relationship is purely friends with benefits. We are best friends, who fuck occasionally. Often. Problem is, I’ve had feelings for this bitch for ages. Thankfully I am able to keep it contained. After all, Sehun isn’t the type for relationships. Unless mostly sexual, that is. He doesn’t let himself get close to people. Romantic relationship is out of the question for sure. It doesn’t stop me from wanting it, though. Sometimes I think I should end this sexual side of our relationship, but I know I’m already too far gone for it to matter.

“Come on,” He says, “We have to shower and get ready.”

“Only if you let sit on your dick again after,” I say with a smirk, looking over at him and winking.

“You talk like that and then say you’re not obsessed with my dick,” He mutters, smirking before sitting up.

“Your dick is nice. Somehow you’ve been blessed with an amazing cock, but that’s not it. The rest of you is the problem,” I say, laughing as I see his face. “Come on. We need to get out there before the time starts. After all, I think your neighbor will actually kill us if we stay.”

We showered quickly, hands off one another as we are running out of time. We got dressed in our black clothes quickly. My hair in a braid as I get my rifle, making sure it’s ok. A knife in my boot and a pistol at my hip. A pair of goggles I stole to give me some thermal vision that I can turn off an on.

“Junmyeon put a portable heater up there for you,” Sehun says, pulling on his jacket. “Your little nest. The water tower has been turned into a little fort for you.”

I smile, “Nice to know. Gets cold up there every fucking year.”

He arms himself, multiple knives and hidden guns. He glances over, eyes worried as he buckles a gas mask to his side. A few years ago someone had some gas bomb that almost gave him lung problems. Now, he’s careful. “You don’t have to do this,” He says.

I roll my eyes. Every year this happens. “I know. But I owe that clinic my life. I owe you my life. So I’m going to protect both. Period.”

“Worth a shot,” He says, rolling his eyes.

“What is Kyungsoo and his boo doing this year,” I ask, looking up at Sehun.

“She’s helping Junmyeon. He’s doing whatever he usually does. Thankfully this time in this city. He’s a bit nervous after last year.”

I put on my gloves, before seeing Sehun hand me his AR. I take it, putting it over my shoulder as we walk down the hall. The motorcycle he owns was nice, as he holds the handles and I get on after him, helmets on. I clutch onto his leather jacket as we go, heading to the clinic.

The city was eerily empty. Sehun driving though open roads with no one there. I cling to him, holding on as I look at all the businesses that have boarded up their windows or have hired security for the night. I see a mother dragging her child in as they cried, trying to explain to them that it was for their own good. The streets were clean and soon, rivers of blood will be flowing. I close my eyes, trying not to think about what will be inevitable.

We got there, Junmyeon already there, taking inventory. He looks up, smiling. “Hey,” He says, placing his clipboard down on the table. “The walkie talkies are in the other room on the charger. Headsets there too. Figured you both have earned them after years of this.”

“Fucking finally,” I say with a grin, pushing Sehun’s AR into his chest before walking into the room. He just scoffs, following after me. I smile, my rifle over my shoulder as I take one, putting it in my pocket. The headset plugging an ear, the small mouthpiece hanging down like a mic a singer would wear. I put in on, nodding. “Channel three?”

“Like always,” Sehun says, putting his own. Junmyeon also had one on him at all times, though with no head set. He looks at me. “Be careful, watch the fire escape.”

“Sure,” I say with a nod, “You be careful, too. Don’t die on me, Bitch.”

“I don’t plan on it, Cunt,” He says with a smile. A quick hug, like normal. I let myself enjoy this. Enjoy these like it could be my last one, because you never know. It was far too short, though. We pulled away and we were off. I climb the stairs, getting to the roof with ease. The wind up here was not bad, gentle breeze, but it will effect all my shots. I climb the water tower, see a newly made door in it. Open it, seeing a wooden floor made. Large cut outs of every side so I can see the surrounding area. A chair so I can sit and watch, but with wheels so I can kick it away and get ready to fire when I need. A small, propane heater that I turn on with a smile.

I put my goggles on, looking around. A pair of earmuffs over, to protect my ears from the gun sounds. All I would be able to hear is muffled gunshots and Sehun in my ear. I see Sehun on the opposite roof, waving. “I see you,” I say, “This year no fucker is getting in.”

“Agreed,” He says, nodding.

The system is in place, and we hear the warning sirens. It’s begun.

Sehun stays there, taking a walk around the building every hour, just to see if someone is too close for comfort. I shoot anyone who looks like a threat. Seems like Kyungsoo and Sehun have installed the lights on every alley that leads close. Easier to see if they’re hurt or not.

I look carefully, watching as I see a few men about a mile away. If they get any closer, I’ll shoot, as I watch them stab into someone. “That sick gang is around,” I mutter.

“They always are,” Sehun replies. “Every time I kill one of them, they always die asking me about my girlfriend.” I hear him huff.

My heart clenches at that, trying to ignore it as I see people running for their lives a bit away.

“As if any of those asshole could hurt you. Your smarter and have a way better right hook.” I smile hearing that. It makes my heart flutter when he complements me, even if it’s something like that. “Be careful,” He says, “You know how they are, once your in their sights, they won’t rest.”

“They’ll get a bullet in the face before they reach me,” I mutter, smirking. I stop, seeing a man holding an ax chasing a girl. “Gesture street, little girl. If he doesn’t get her before he’s close enough, I’m shooting him. Take her to the clinic?”

“I will,” He says, as I see him out of his seat and quickly going down the fire escape.

I smirk, getting his head in my sight. The wind will move the bullet slightly to the left before the building can shield it. I adjust, taking a deep breath. I exhale, pulling the trigger with ease.

The loud crash of the shot was dull to me due to the ear muffs. Specifically designed for gun shooting. After all, I wanted my eardrums in tact, thank you very much. The gun kicking back as I told it with experience. I see the man on the ground, head a mess as the little girl turns, crying. Just then, Sehun picks her up, putting a hand over her mouth.

“Listen, you’re safe, I promise,” He mutters quietly, trying not to draw any attention to them. He kept the line open on his side so I could hear everything, just to be sure. “I’m going to take you to a doctor, ok? He’ll make sure you’re ok. After, we’ll find your parents.”

I see the figure nod. I switch the channel of my walkie talkie to the channel to talk to Junmyeon, “A little girl, five or six. A few cuts, but over all fine. Sehun is coming in with her.”

“Thank you,” He says, as I see another hurt person hobble into the door. Starting early, I suppose.

After dropping her off, Sehun does his check, an I have to shoot another two people. That was the night, for the most part. Same as always, save for last year. Sehun was busy, quickly moving, ignoring a small cut to his face that Junmyeon quickly put a band-aid over.

Hours pass, and I only have to shoot a few people. They’ve seem to caught on quickly at the deal. Sehun would be up and down all night, helping people get to the clinic safely as I kept a close watch on it all. I stretch, watching him go down and check an alley close by. I see him, crouching, looking down the walk away, “I can’t see there, so you’re on your own, Bitch.”

No reply.

That nagging feeling gets me. Like something is wrong. I frown, seeing him clearly. “Bitch, answer me, you fuck. Give me a hand sign if you can hear me.” He just looks at the alley. No hand sign at all. I pull up the goggles, just barely seeing the headset on him. I reach for mine, freezing. The wire for the headset was cut. The walkie talkie on the small table behind me gone.

It was then I see the man behind me, a knife in his hands as he just smiled.

I turn, holding my rifle that he swats away, making it fall out of the window. I reach of my pistol, feeling it gone as he just smiles. His hair was brown, eyes matching as he just grins. A scar on his face, over his eye. The left one didn’t move, which meant it was a glass one or something.

“It’s funny,” He mutters, “Seeing little Sehun now. He’s all grown up. Armed to the teeth and too careful to sneak up on. But, you are easy prey. Just had wait for the right moment.”

“What do you want,” I say, glaring as I see blood dripping from his hand as he had the knife stabbed into his thumb as he spun it in his hand.

“My little Sehun has been bad,” He says with a growl. “So I have to punish him. What better way to punish him than to kill the one he cares about most?”

I act quickly, kicking him at the chest, the door behind him almost opens, making him have to grab onto the sides to keep himself from falling. I move, getting out of the windows and jumping down. I let out a cry of pain, feeling my ankle hurt. I ignore it, moving towards the door into the clinic. I grab it, feeling it locked as I look, seeing the man quickly moving towards me, knife still in hand.

The fire escape is my only chance. I move quick, going down and down. I look up, still moving when I’m half way and see him staring down too. I move, faster, getting to the end. My heart pumping as I go down the ladder, My jacket caught on it, I rip it off quickly, leaving it forgotten. I jump the last bit, landing on the ground. My ankle on fire from the pain. I go to move, running down the street. I know roughly where Sehun is, I just have to get there. My breath coming out in little clouds, my body not even noticing the cold. I feel around, the knife missing too as I curse, throwing the earpiece off along with the mic. He was catching up as I turn the corner, seeing a huge van blocking this alley. I curse, turning and seeing him behind me.

“This has been the most fun I’ve had in a long time,” He mutters, reaching. He was faster than I expected, but I kick at his knee, hearing him hiss in pain. Before I could run, I feel something pierce my arm. Another on my back though the shirt, his hand there holding something.

Pain. My muscles locking up as I fell. He smiles holding the taser. I feel tears come to my eyes as he smiles. Quickly, he places a handcuff around one of my wrists, as I fight back. He squeezed the trigger again, making me lock up once more as he does the other hand. Once it stopped, I scream out, my throat on fire, “SEHUN!” He glares fist connecting with my face, making me dazed as he gets a roll of duct tape from his pocket, a long piece. I scream out Sehun’s name again, before the tape was placed over my mouth.

He picks me up, holding me easily. He laughs, “He’ll come looking for you. I left him a little note of where to meet us in a little bit. But first, I have to prepare you.”

A quick hit to the temple makes me lose consciousness.

Sehun crouches looking down the alley. He rolls his eyes, seeing just two people going at it next to a dumpster. “At least have some class,” He mutters, rolling his eyes. It’s disgusting, thinking about that. If it was him, he’d at least find a place that didn’t smell like rotting food and piss. “If I ever get desperate enough to try to fuck you next to a dumpster, shoot me,” Sehun whispers over the line, rolling his eyes at the couple.

No reply. She could be talking with Junmyeon, though. It happens sometimes. She’ll get too focused, eyes glued to her surroundings. The only thing that will break her out of it is when she tells him about someone or if she shoots. times like this, Sehun has said things to her that he’s always wanted to. A way to get it out without her knowing. Helps him not to explode over it.

He reaches, getting a cigarette then heart stops, hearing the echoing scream of his name. His blood goes cold, his eyes wide in fear as he moves, letting the cigarette drop from his lips instantly. He moves, sprinting, trying to pinpoint the place he heard the voice. “Cunt, do you hear me,” He asks over the walkie talkie. The feeling of dread coming over him, “Y/N, this isn’t funny!” He knows that if he said her name, she would answer. That is the only think that breaks her out of her trance. He only uses it if it was serious.

But she didn’t.

He changes the channel, “Jun, something’s happened to Y/N,” He says, trying to calm his heart. “Stay inside, call Kyungsoo. His job is probably over by now, he’ll have to take over.”

“Sehun,” His brother says, “Be careful!”

He passes by an alley, and a glimmer from the side catches his eye. A man swinging an ax directly at his face. He ducks, glaring at the man before dodging the next swing, taking the ax from him and embedding it deep in his skull. The man’s eyes fade instantly, the blood pouring as he lets him drop. He runs, hearing another scream of his name. He turns, changing direction. The alley behind the clinic.

A van blocking the way. He moves, getting on his stomach and crawling. He sees nothing. He sees no one. His eyes catch the headset on the ground, the cord connected to nothing. Sehun turns, looking at the fire escape and sees her jacket hanging from it. He quickly goes up, glancing and seeing the door of the water tower open, her rifle on the other side, lying still. He moves quickly, getting up there.

His eyes loo around, seeing drops of blood on the ground. Her walkie talkie to the side, cord to the head set cut. Her pistol and knife on the ground, kicked under and hidden from sight of where she would be seated. He glances at the rest of the table top that surrounds the entire little room. He freezes, seeing it.

All his life, he’s hated a specific flower. His eyes going wide with rage seeing it lying there, a piece of paper next to it and a Polaroid. He looks at the picture, seeing a younger him. Lying on his stomach, naked with his hands behind his back. The date on it. He was seven then. The memory flashes to his mind before he can stop it. Tears falling down his face in silent cries as the man was pulling on his pants. The shame he felt, being used like that. The man stopped, hand over his butt before placing a flower by his face. “These always remind me of you, Sehun,” He says softly, as if he didn’t just acct like a savage animal to him. “They look like your little pout, so pretty.”

Sehun’s hand rips the pink tulip, petals falling to the floor of the water tower as tears spill down his face. The anger and rage he felt was building as he looks at the paper.

‘The old church. We’ll be waiting.’

He moves going to the roof door. It was locked, and Sehun just kicks it open, hearing the wood crack as he does so. The picture in his hand as he walks down the stairs, a few people moving out of his way, afraid. Junmyeon was there, so was Kyungsoo. They both looked over, seeing Sehun.

Junmyeon’s eyes are wide, looking at his younger brother. Sehun just hands him the picture, “He has her.”

He told Junmyeon. The only person he’s ever told the full and total truth to. He watches the doctor’s eyes go wide, looking at the picture with anger. The eldest looks up, “Go get her. Don’t let him torment you anymore.” He moves, throwing the picture into the fire close by, letting it melt. Sehun wishes it was that easy to get rid of memories too.

Kyungsoo looks over, “I’ll go too.” He doesn’t know what’s going on, but he knows it’s bad. One look at Sehun like this can tell him that much. He’s never seen Sehun this freaked out about anything before.

“No,” Sehun says, “Someone has to watch the clinic. Besides us, I only trust you.” He looks at Kyungsoo, eyes pleading.

The man nods, “If you need me-”

“I’ll make sure to let you know,” He says, before moving to his helmet.

When I woke up, I was tied. I feel myself being hoisted up so I wasn’t lying down. Something around my neck. A slap to the face makes me gasp, looking as seeing the man in front of me. He looks older than before. Crows feet and graying hair. He lets me go, giving me a sight of where I was. On the stage of an abandoned church. My wrists chained out by my side. A rope around my neck, which the end was in his hand. He smiles, “Good morning,” He mutters, hand moving down my chest. I felt his fingertips on my bare skin. Making me look down.

My shirt cut open, bra as well. He smiles at me, “Shame you’re not more flat chested. I could have pretended you are what I like. Gotten started early.”

“You disgusting fuck,” I growl, glaring at him.

He smiles, taking his knife as cutting a line from close to the nose to my jaw. “He’ll be here soon. I think he’ll finally come back to me if it means to save you.”

I glare at him, “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Oh, he didn’t tell you,” He asks, smirking. The church was dusty, old and falling apart. The chandelier fallen though the floor, some of the pews falling in the hole as well. Around us were candles, and hundreds of pink tulips scattered around. “Sehun and I had quite the passionate relationship a while back.”

“I’ve known him for ten years,” I say, rolling my eyes, “He’s never said anything about you.” I shake my head. He’ll, we’ve been fucking for eight of those ten, and, as far as I know, he’s never had sex with anyone else.

“He was so scared then. So small. He grew into a fine man,” He says, ignoring me, losing himself for a moment in the past. “So strong and sure of himself now. Back then he was scared. Timid. Shy. His little hand would cling to whatever it could when he was terrified.”

I feel my eyes widen. That’s why he never spoke about it. My stomach felt awful, the need to vomit coming up. The man slaps tape to my mouth, hand hitting my face and sending it to the other direction from the force.

“Why you,” He asls, glaring a little, like he was confused. “I gave him everything. I gave him love, passion... and he left me.” The man glares at me with his one good eye. “He stabbed my eye and ran like it meant nothing.”

He looks at me, hand rubbing the cut on my face, making it sting. “To think that now, all his passion is aimed at you.” He scoffs, “You don’t deserve it, you heartless whore. You’ll use him and lose him. It would have been only a matter of time before you broke his heart.”

I try to say something to him, tell him how disgusting he was, but he just looks. He smiles, “I can’t wait. He was so little an inexperienced back then. I can’t wait to see his mouth back around my cock. Back then he could barely fit it in, his little lips were so small.” He glares, “But he’s been tainted by you. I’ve seen it, though the windows of his place. His face between your legs, corrupting him more and more. It’s disgusting,” He says, pulling my hair sharply.

“But don’t worry,” He mutters, “I’m here. I’ll cleanse him again.”

I glared and him, fighting against my bindings. I wanted to hurt him knowing what he’s done to Sehun. This man deserved a painful death. He smiles, taking a gun from his side, pointing it at my head as he moves to stand by my side.

The door slams open, as I see Sehun holding is AR, anger in his eyes. Rage like I’ve never seen as he take a moment to understand the situation. His eyes widen, looking at the gun to my head.

“My little Sehun,” The man says, all the affection in his voice was real, adoration in his smile. “It’s been too long, my dear.”

“Let her go,” He says, walking up, the gun still trained on that disgusting freak.

“This isn’t how this works,” He says, laughing. “Remember? I’m the adult. You listen to me.” He smiles, “Throw your gun into the hole. Do it, or I will shoot her.”

Sehun pauses, a look of fear for a moment. Since I’ve known him, he hasn’t been afraid of anything. Though, now that I understand, I get it.

The gun meets my temple, making me whine in pain. Tears come to my eyes,my head aching even more now. “Trust me, it’s taken everything I had not to kill her already. The woman who touched my property,” He growls, pushing the gun into my head more. “Who tricked you into her bed and spread her disease! Don’t push me, because I desperately want to kill her already!”

Sehun tosses the gun into the hole immediately, hands up as he walks forward. I could see him trying to stay strong, but there was something about him that was completely shaken to his core. Even still, he glared at him, looked him in the eyes and faced his freak of a man again.

The man takes a knife from his side, tossing it right in front of me. “Sehun, I want you to decorate her-”

“I won’t hurt her,” He says, with a growl of anger. Sehun had hate radiating off of him. The anger making his hands shake as he just glared at him.

“Hurt her, or I’ll kill her,” He says with a sick, mocking grin, “your choice.”

Sehun moves, kneeling in front of me and picking up the knife. “I’m sorry,” He says, looking at me. “I’ll try to make this as painless as possible.”

“I want you to admit it to her,” He says, “On her skin. How you feel about her. Give her a reminder of what it is she will lose after tonight is done. Just like I made you to do me.” He pulls his shirt down, showing of the word hate carved there over and over. From shaky little letter to large, capital ones.

Sehun takes the knife, looking at it. It was small, a tiny pocket knife as he presses it into my skin. I whine, trying to move away from the pain but Sehun just holds me still. “I’m sorry,” He says, quietly. Trying to speak only to me. I see tears in his eyes, “Y/N, it’s ok, I’m almost done. Just a little bit longer.” Carve after carve, letter after letter. I look, seeing tears fall from Sehun’s eyes as I was whining. He moves away, dropping the knife as he looks at the look on my skin. I look, only seeing the blood and not a single letter though it.

“Wonderful,” He says, hand grabbing Sehun’s hair and forcing him to look up. “It’s good to be honest about your feelings, after all.” Sehun, for a moment, looks like a child. Scared. Small. It doesn’t last long, though, before he glares at him.

“You remember this, him?” He asks, smirking, his hand moving to his belt, pulling it lose. “Give me this, and I won’t kill her,” He says, smirking. “Resist, and I’ll make you watch as the blood leaves her head and I’ll use her blood to fuck you with.”

I was scared, hearing that. I glanced over at him, seeing my friend look small. Sehun looks ill, glaring at him, but staying still. The man shoves his pants down, pulling his dick out from his pants. He smiles, tapping it to Sehun’s lips. “Here comes the airplane, little Sehun,” He mutters, smiling. “Suck it properly, don’t half ass it, either.”

I wanted to tell him it was fine. That he didn’t have to do this. I can see how much he hated it, now disgusted and scared he was. I would die if it meant he never had to do anything this man ever wants. But I can’t. I was screaming against the tape, but no worse could reach his ears.

Instead, I watch as he glares up at him, opening his mouth and obeys. His other hand moves to Sehun’s head, gripping the hair there as he laughs, “Oh fuck,” He says, moaning, pressing the gun to my head. I try to yell still, my voice muffled by the tape. The man’s head was back as Sehun removes him from his mouth, gasping for air for a moment. Sehun moves, quickly mouthing ‘trust me, I have a plan.’

My eyes locked with him, guilt like a stone in my stomach what he’s willing to do just to save me. He turns, looking back and opening his mouth again. This time, the man wasn’t as kind. A hand tight in his hair, forcing him down, making my friend choke. But still he glares at the man. The hate in his eyes unwavering when he looked at him.

“What a good boy,” The man says, “Still as obedient as ever. I taught you well,” He says, letting out a little gasp. The sound my my friend having to do this making me feel ill. I pulled at my restraints, wanting to help him. The pain as I pulled was stinging, biting into my skin. It was nothing compared to seeing Sehun being used like this, against his will.

He pulls Sehun off of him, “Tell me you love me. Use my name.” He pushes the barrel of the gun to my temple.

“I love you, Sam” He says, eyes closed. He didn’t want to look at him when he said those words.

“Look at me and say it,” He growls, letting go of Sehun’s hair as he takes the rope around my neck, pulling it tightly

I feel it tighten as I gasp for air. He pulled more and more, tighter and tighter until I couldn’t breathe. My eyes watering as I tried to make it stop, get some air in my lungs.

Sehun looks at him, without waiting another moment. His eyes whining with tears, “I love you, Sam.”

“I’ve been waiting for so long,” He mutters, shaking his head. “My little Sehun, I love you too.”

The rope loosens, as breathe quickly though my nose. Sehun looks at me, worried and keeping a watchful eye on me. The man’s hand goes back to Sehun’s hair, “Now, open up for me again, my little tulip.”

It hurt to see him have to do this. Pain himself for this. He does, closing his eyes and choking as the man was thrusting his hips. “Yes,” The man moans, “S-Sehun, I’ve tried to find someone to replace you, but no other boy could!”

I was trying to scream through the tape, tears falling from my eyes freely as Sehun just looks at me, his eyes worried. Soon, the man was moaning, telling Sehun he was about to cum. I feel the gun move briefly away from my face, and I see Sehun look at me, seeing it too. Sehun moves, pulling him out and shoving him. The gun goes off, making me flinch as I see Sehun knocking the gun out of his hand. He yanks one of the chains holding my hands free quickly, as if he knew his plan would work all along. The gun skids a few feet away, out of reach as Sehun straddles the man.

“You disgusting fuck,” Sehun screams, fist connecting with the man’s face. “I hate you, I despise you, you goddamn sick fuck!”

The crunch of his fist hitting the man in the face. Blood on Sehun’s hands as he hits him again and again. I pull the tape off my mouth, getting my other hand free quickly, a bit of pain at my side as I ignore it, trying to get myself ready to help Sehun if he needs.

“I don’t care what you do to me,” Sehun growls, holding the man by the collar. He was bloody, and beaten so bad he was almost unrecognizable. “I will never care so long as it is only on ME! When you bring the people I care about in it, I will make sure you never breathe ever again!” The slam of his fist again, “Y/N is a good person! She doesn’t deserve this! She doesn’t deserve you doing this to her!”

“Yes, she-” The man starts, before Sehun hits him again, letting out a guttural roar of anger.

“Shut up,” He screams, tears falling from his face, “So many years you were my biggest nightmare. What you did to me-”

The man spits out blood, sobbing, “I cared for you! I love you!”

Sehun glares, his voice dark but low. “In no way does someone who cares for a child would ever do the things you made me do. The sad fact is you're a disgusting pig-”

Sehun’s voice fades as I feel faint. I look down, seeing red on my side, near my waist. The gun... went off earlier. I felt myself stumble as I loved towards him, “Sehun,” I mutter, seeing his eyes snap to me. His eyes wide as he moves. A quickl glance around and he sees the pistol. He grabs the gun quickly, glaring at the man and putting a bullet through his head. The sound of the shot ringing in my ears. He moves, pulling me to him and picking me up.

My eyes fade closed, the image of Sehun worried the last thing I see.

When my eyes open, I see the face of Junmyeon. He smiles, placing a hand on my face, “Welcome back,” He says, leaning and pressing a kiss to my forehead.

“Sehun,” I choke out, looking around, trying to sit up. The man, running... the church. It all came back at once.

“He’s… he’s ok,” Junmyeon mutters, looking up. “Purge is over. A few moments before you woke up. I think he’ll be coming back from the place, now.”

“What,” I ask, confused.

“He went and burned the old church down,” He says, “I told him to leave or else I wouldn’t have been able to sew your wound up, he was so attached to you. Just a graze,” He says, before pointing at the bandage on my chest. “I also patched that up, but it seems like that is going to scar.”

Tears spring to my eyes, remembering, “He… oh god, Junmyeon-”

“I know,” He says, “Who that man is. Sehun told me about it a long time ago. I’m glad he’s dead.”

My memories flashback, as I rip the bandage off. I look, seeing the words, finally. The pain of each cut I remember clearly. I remember Sehun crying as he cut me, hurting me, just to carve how he felt in my skin to save me.

‘I love you, but I don’t deserve you.’

I felt my heart in my throat. I looked at Junmyeon, “Can I leave?”

He nods, “Be careful, don’t rip your stitches. He’s probably in the living room here, waiting by now.”

I go to move, before he grabs my hand and shoving a spare shirt into my hand. My torso bare still, I didn’t even notice.. I pull it on, hissing at the pain from the graze bullet wound. I move, looking quickly. The clinic was getting empty, people going home after a night of hell. I smile, seeing the little girl crying and holding a woman she called ‘Mommy’.

but that wasn’t what was going to make feel at ease. I turn the corner, looking around quickly. I see him there, head in his hands as he sits on the couch, alone in the room. A cut on his fore arm still dripping, the edge of his shirt a bit burn. He looked, fine on the outside. it was his mind I was worried about.

I move, getting on his lap. He was shocked, looking at me, eyes wide. “You’re ok? Tha-”

I brush my lips to his, the kiss soft. It’s never been like this, for us. Our kisses are usually pure lust or hard and angry. When he’d wake up from nightmares and we’d have sex so softly, we never kissed. He avoided kissing me on the lips, kissing me every where else. I pour everything I had into it, wanting him to feel that I felt it too. That I’ve been holding back from my true feelings all this time. I feel him trembling, like he was overwhelmed with emotions. I was too, feeling myself shake. His soft lips pressed against mine, kissing me back. I pull away, smiling.

“Oh Sehun,” I mutter, looking him in the eyes. “I love you. I’ve loved you for years. I never acted because you never showed any interest in any relationship other than friendship or purely sexual. And I… I’m s-so sorry,” I mutter, feeling tears come to my eyes. “I would have rather you let him shoot me than do th-”

He holds me face tightly, pressing his lips to mine, this time he shows me all he felt though the movements of our lips. They were so soft, making sure to not hurt me as his passion shined though. I felt his fingers trembling as he pulled away, “Never. I would have been a fucking slave to him if it kept you alive,” His eyes filling with tears, “You’re worth it, you’re worth everything and then some. More than I could ever give you.” He holds my face, “I can’t live if you’re gone. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself.” He smiles, looking down, “I... I never said anything because how can someone like you ever love someone like me? I’m barely together, Y/N. You deserve a man who can give you anything you want and who can love you like you deserve.”

“Oh Sehun,” I mutter again, “I love you. Only you. It’s only ever been you. I’ve been there for your nightmares, for your injuries. This? What happened? What you’ve survived though? I doesn’t change that. You’re not damaged, or broken. You just need to let people in so you can heal. And I intend to help you through that, too.”

I pull him into a hug, letting him cry into my shoulder as he held me, carefully but close. My hand rubbing his back, letting him get it all out as I mutter words of encouragement into his ear. All the pain he’s held onto for so long finally coming out as silent tears fall from my eyes.

Sehun has been the guardian for everyone for so long. It’s long past due someone was one for him.

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