#i just get so disappointed when i realize someone's just as braindead as everyone else nd then i stop caring abt them. everyone r this way. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

magicalforcesau · 3 years

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Dancing With Ghosts in Your Garden~ Chapter 21 - Year 2: May

(ao3 link)

Palpatine would never expect his morning to start with something as pathetic as tripping over a potted plant upon entering his office. He managed not to fall, and bit back a sneer as he kicked the damned thing over. Someone had been in here… He could tell even if it wasn’t explicitly obvious. Not a single thing seemed out of place, but as he studied his desk it seemed to have been moved. Now that he mentioned it, everything in the room had been moved ever so slightly to the left, just enough to cause suspicion and clearly just enough to cause him to stumble like a newborn deer.

“Maul,” He growled, waving his wand in search of any hidden surprises, but had the madman tried to set any curses, his alarms would surely have been set off. Yes, he’d known he was close and had his suspicions that he was in the building.

A few days ago, the leeches had been let out of the potion storage. The Slytherin students hadn’t been very thrilled when several of them were found in their beds. Palpatine had dealt with it, regardless of how he’d prefer his house learn to deal with such trivial matters themselves.

The Slytherins he went to school with were much braver than the cowards of today.

Such an event he could chalk up to an accident, or a student lurking where they shouldn’t be. Yet even still, he found it unlikely that the leeches found their way into the common room on their own.

Of course he was the only one with such suspicions. The braindead ministry dogs stationed outside of the school had nary a clue to where Maul was at any given time. Maul would have to do nothing short of waltzing up to them in handcuffs before they’d realize what was right in front of them. With the sloppy way Maul was presenting himself, it was even more damning.

Even more useless were the pitiful dementors that couldn’t seem to find him even if he’d announced himself front and center. Though truthfully, Palpatine had some theories on that.

Maul had gotten soft in his time away it seemed, reduced to petty pranks and trickery like the student he’d never fully been. His former apprentice had never been particularly focused, becoming the killing machine of his namesake easily and with little prompting. Now, after many years to stew in the place where most lost their minds if not their souls, he refused to move his sights off of Skywalker.

Palpatine waved his wand again, righting his office to its proper position. He would not fall prey to such a mundane task as moving furniture, not when he had much bigger fish to fry. He walked around his desk staring a hole through the daily prophet left sitting there, Maul’s wanted poster still front and center.

If his former apprentice wanted to waste his time riling him up, he could do as he so pleased. Palpatine had worked too hard and too long to bring his plans into fruition. When he finally got his hands on him, Maul would learn to regret even the slightest action against him.

***

“Did that exam feel…” Satine paused, still in shock as they put greater distance between themselves and the courtyard.

“Short?” Obi-Wan finished for her, clearly still reeling from the same level of unease over the whole matter. They’d all passed- even Hondo- but that hadn’t exactly been hard since despite all of the drills and practices they needed to run, the exam somehow only consisted of a simple apparition across the lawn and back. Such practices were normally not possible at Hogwarts, with the sole exception being when a class was being taught.

“Yeah,” She nodded, confusion still pouring off her in waves.

“Even I thought it was a little too easy,” Cody admitted, which felt like a true testament that Obi-Wan and Satine weren’t simply disappointed that they hadn’t been challenged, “Normally, you’d never hear me say that, but…”

“And this isn’t our typical Charms or History of Magic exam,” Obi-Wan said.

“This is something akin to a driver’s license.” Satine turned to both of them, “And I promise you that while not rocket science by any measure, the driver’s test at least tries to prove that you can do the basics.”

“Hondo fell on his bum when he landed and he still passed.” Obi-Wan added, concern knitting his brow. “Makes me a bit worried what sort of people they’re allowing to apparate.”

“That’s just it, my brothers told me about the apparition exam and they always said they made you run drills like they did in class.”

“I remember Qui-Gon saying something similar,” Satine bit her lip, “Do you think they did this because of everything going on?”

“I wouldn’t doubt it,” Obi-Wan said and they continued walking, “Think about it, we were all out in the open, with a murderer on the loose. I bet they wanted to get it over with and usher us inside as fast as they could.”

“Then delay the test,” Satine shrugged, “I don’t get what the rush was to approve all of us.”

“Maybe it’s a means of escape,” Cody said darkly. “I just hope it doesn’t result in any other consequences. I don’t know if either of you have ever been splinched, but-”

“-It’s not comfortable,” Obi-Wan filled in a bit too quickly for either of his friend’s satisfaction. Particularly Satine looked concerned at how immediate his reaction had been. She’d heard of it, of course, but as a muggle-born, it never happened to her. Most of the time, according to Windu, it was clothes or hair lost to splinching, but there were instances when flesh was wounded.

Obi-Wan cleared his throat before either could comment, “I suppose the bright side is, we passed.”

Neither were so sure how bright it was.

***

Ventress has truly anticipated expulsion or at the very least, suspension, and maybe this would have been the case under Headmaster Yoda’s rule, but whether she deemed it lucky or not, she was receiving no such punishment with Palpatine.

“I hope you understand where you belong, Ventress and see that I have afforded you mercy because of your family.” Palpatine said in that smooth, light voice. His eyes spoke of a different story. Something haunted him or perhaps he was the one who'd done the haunting. He was lauded as the kindly old potions’ professor, but she knew from experience that one didn’t climb so high up the social ladder without breaking backs on one’s way.

Dooku was that way and she’d been one of the backs he’d broken. She wasn’t even a high peg on a ladder to him, just a meager foot stool.

“Did you write them?” She asked, because it was always good to know when she’d be expecting a howler in the mail.

“Not yet,” He tsked, walking around his desk, “Though I suspect I won’t need to. Word travels fast enough.”

Yes, this cursed world did appreciate a show more than anything else. She had never expected hers to be deemed a pitiful tragedy- a failed villainous uprising. She’d hoped that when her story broke that she’d have the support and care of her sisters at either side. Instead, as always, Ventress was alone.

“What are you going to do with me, Headmaster?” She asked, looking up into his eyes. She didn’t feel remorse for her actions, per say, just that they were evidently in vain. Like any true Slytherin, she was willing to do whatever it took to achieve the means to an end.

Part of her wanted expulsion or to be thrown away without the key. Anything, at the moment, seemed better than going back home and groveling and pretending that she was an abused victim. She wanted, with everything in her heavy bones, for this to be her narrative rather than the reality that she was nothing more than a bookend to Dooku’s and his master’s. She loathed the concept of being used, of being the victim, even if she knew her survival would depend on playing that role.

Palpatine watched her with almost serene calmness, like he could sense the way her thoughts bled. Nobody knew Palpatine’s story, because he kept that close to the chest. Ventress wondered if they ever would, even after death.

Everyone had their secrets.

And Ventress missed hers.

“Well, I’m stripping you of all authority, for starters,” He said, walking around his desk to sit behind it again, “Seeing as you are still a minor, I’ve managed to convince the Ministry to not toss you into Azkaban. If and only if-”

If there was one thing Ventress hated more than pretending, it was negotiating, which was a large facet of the pureblood world. People negotiated the terms of courting rituals, business deals, even social events and how they would proceed. It was all one big set of terms and conditions.

Even if she quite possibly still stood solely for her pure hatred for Dooku, she still couldn’t help but agree with some of those ideals. Would she abandon them in an effort to sabotage him? Yes, without hesitance. It was but another means to an end. She’d abandoned so much of what she knew already. It was only icing on the cake.

“What?” She asked, keeping her hands cross in her lap to prevent herself from clawing at the desk between them.

“You must tell the aurors everything you know about Dooku,” He said sagely, but it was clearly rehearsed, quite possibly just before she came in, “And my dear, they will know if you’re lying.”

***

Despite the waning student population and the heightened anxieties surrounding Maul sightings in the area, they were still allowing the Quidditch match between Slytherin and Hufflepuff. It seemed like a desperate grasping for normalcy from the staff members still trying to keep up morale. It didn’t feel very normal, however, when all four houses fit neatly within the bounds of the Gryffindor section of the field. The professors didn’t want everyone spread out and those with friends in other houses welcomed the opportunity to chat outside of class. Satine had positioned herself between Obi-Wan and Cody, they were sitting closest to the exit. She felt almost like she was being watched and kept glancing behind her, but there was no one there. Paranoia certainly.

“I hope Hufflepuff beats Slytherin,” Cody grumbled as he crossed his arms over his chest, “It’s the only way to get Gryffindor back in the running.”

“I think that’s fairly unlikely,” Ben nodded towards the field, a soft glare on his face, “Ventress looks angry.”

“When doesn’t she,” Satine muttered, ignoring Ben as he turned his concerned eyes onto her.

She was willing to put the experience behind her. Though she doubted she’d ever forget what it felt like to be slowly turned to stone. The girl in question had lost her title as Quidditch captain, but had remained on the team. It seemed though, they hadn’t gotten around to choosing a new captain because Ventress still approached Breha to shake hands. So it was simply the matter of losing a title and not really a position. If in fact Headmaster Palpatine didn’t bother to enforce such things.

Then again, she always knew he favored purebloods.

“Shouldn’t even be allowed to play,” Cody crossed his arms, “She shouldn’t even be allowed to be here at all.”

“I’m surprised they didn’t haul her off to Azkaban.”

“Do you really think a child belongs on that foul island?” Because that’s what they were, children. Satine didn’t think that such a horrible punishment would be worth it for someone who likely only recently turned 17. For something so horrible to be done on her account as well? She couldn’t stand for it. She wanted Ventress to find peace and she certainly wouldn’t be able to move past being a pawn for Dooku behind bars.

“It’s starting!” Cody grinned and leaned forward. At least this time since they were stuck in the back she wouldn’t have to worry about keeping him from falling over the ledge.

***

“Hey, Professor! You coming to see the match?” Anakin asked.

Kit Fisto flashed them a bright smile, which came easily for him even with the rumors that it would be cancelled due to Maul’s lingering presence. Anakin found that he was having a more difficult time offering legitimate smiles these days. Never did he ever consider that Maul was capable of drawing so close to the school.

“Just making sure there aren’t any stragglers, Anakin.” He said, “We’ve all got to stick together, after all.”

“Yeah, okay, but make sure you come watch! Gryffindor might not win the cup this year, but it would be pretty cool to see Ventress get beat by Hufflepuff.

“There’s got to be some punishment for what she did to us,” Rex growled with a clenched fist.

“And what’s better than getting demolished by the worst team in Quidditch?” Anakin said cheerily, although Rex didn’t seem so sure that was appropriate. Neither did the few Hufflepuffs that shot him dirty looks as they passed.

In spite of this, Kit Fisto laughed, his long green tentacles wiggling as he did, “Yes, well, I’m sure Headmaster Palpatine won’t let her off completely scot free.”

“I think he just let her play because she’s a good player,” Anakin grumbled.

“Now, now, there’s a lot more that goes on behind the scenes than either you or I are privy to,” Fisto said placatingly, “We’re all doing what we can to keep you guys safe.”

“I know.” Both Anakin and Rex said in unison.

“Even if I do feel like this might be testing fate a bit,” He gestured to the large crowd of people, “I suppose it is nice to see everyone so happy for a change.”

It was, but even Anakin, who had made some bold and sometimes foolish decisions in the name of fun, thought it was a little soon. He’d heard rumors that Palpatine was being pushed by the Ministry to hold the Quidditch matches anyway. Apparently, there was a decent gambling pool that relied on which team would come out on top.

“It would make me happier if Slytherin loses.” Rex said.

He leaned down to their level and winked, “Between you and me? Same.”

“We’ll see you in there?” Anakin laughed.

“I’m right behind you,” Fisto nodded.

***

Breha was never one to underestimate her opponents. Slytherin team may have been without a captain, but she still knew they would be looking to Ventress for plays. They’d been working with her all year after all. It was, however, still something they could take advantage of. A few of the Slytherin players would certainly be willing to try and usurp the queen in order to gain the position next year and that would make their play style much more chaotic than it would otherwise be.

That was excellent for a team like Hufflepuff, who thrived in their teamwork. None of them had the same level of ambition as many of the Slytherin’s she knew. Ambition wasn’t always a bad thing, Breha would be hard pressed to say she didn’t possess some level of it herself, but in a situation like this, she knew her team would flow like a stream whereas their opposition would butt heads like a rockslide.

She knocked away the Quaffle from the golden hoops as she kept a careful eye on the bludgers that were being knocked her way. Her chasers were quick to grab it out from the competitive hands of two Slytherin chasers. Hufflepuff was steadily racking up points and although they were nowhere near to beating them without the snitch, it certainly was quite an embarrassment for the house of green and silver. Normally Hufflepuff would be hard pressed to get the ball through a ring at all.

“Get it together, you useless swine,” Ventress hollered at her team as she skirted dangerously close to their heads. If she likely wasn’t in the mood to get into more trouble, Breha wondered if she might hit them with her bat.

“Good job!” Breha cheered with a smile as her own team scored a point. The cheers erupting from the audience were quieter than they usually were, but loud enough to hear over the wind. Breha frowned, taking her eyes off the game for only a moment to search her surroundings. She almost thought she’d heard a scream.

She turned, around and narrowly managed to catch the Quaffle with her hands rather than her face before tossing it down field. The audience cheered again, but something didn’t feel right. Breha’s hands twitched on the handle of her broom. She could call a timeout, but she would hate to waste something over a feeling.

She glanced around again. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary.

She raised her hands to make the call when a loud whistle jolted the game to a halt. Breha dodged a bludger as they both went sailing for their holding crate. Professor Tiin was holding up his hands in a desperate T. She descended quickly on her broom and the rest of the students in the sky followed.

“What’s going on?”

***

“They’ve stopped,” Satine was surprised. She’d watched a lot of Quidditch despite her distaste for it and she certainly hadn’t seen anything like this happen before, “A time out?”

“Somethings up,” Cody was the one to respond. He was watching the field with interest, but there was a layer of worry that he normally didn’t have when watching even the most dangerous of crashes, “Ref called for their grounding; there wasn’t anything wrong with the game.”

“No penalties,” Ben nodded. He too looked concerned, eyes flicking around the stadium. Satine found herself looking behind her again. She no longer felt eyes on her, but she certainly felt like the hairs on the back of her neck were beginning to raise. Before either of them could comment further though, Headmaster Palpatine’s voice, amplified, filled the stadium. His tone was less than pleased.

“Students and Faculty,” He started solemnly, “We must immediately return to the castle.”

Chatter filled the stands at once, not just the children either, but Satine caught Professor Plo turning to whisper to Professor Windu. Neither of them looked like they knew anything.

“What about the game?” A fourth year Gryffindor yelled, “It’s against the rules to stop!”

“What’s going on?” A Ravenclaw third year added from a few seats in front of her. Satine felt like her limbs were full of lead as she reached out to clutch the sleeve of Ben’s robe. She had a bad feeling.

“The game is not important,” There was a soft sigh that was barely audible past a few outcries from the student body, “It brings me a terrible sadness to inform you of the passing of Professor Kit Fisto-”

Cries of outrage and of sadness expelled themselves from the student body. The Professors, while schooled better on their emotions, looked just as surprised as they stood, immediately gathering students and shuffling them towards the exits. On the field, Professor Tiin was doing the same with the Quidditch teams.

“It has to be Maul,” Ben hissed at them, “He’s getting bolder.”

Neither she nor Cody could make much of a response though, being swept amongst other panicked students out of the stands and onto the sprawling grounds. Satine only realized she still had a grip on Ben’s sleeve when he tripped and fell, and she narrowly avoided the same fate by letting go.

“Ben-” She started reaching out a hand for him when she noticed he’d tripped over a first year who looked rather shell shocked, wide horrified eyes filling up with tears. He must have fallen first and narrowly avoided being trampled on.

“Oh, hey there, it’s alright,” Ben had noticed too, taking the time to help the boy up off the ground, despite the shouts of professors for them to get back in line, “Come on, we just have to get into the castle, alright? We’ll be safe there.” Satine felt like she was intruding, but refused to leave them there alone. Luckily, the boy took Ben’s hand quickly and the three of them shuffled back into the crowd quickly.

As soon as the last student was through the doors to the castle they slammed shut, latching forcefully behind them. The doors to the Great Hall did similarly.

“Bloody hell, I thought you two had disappeared,” Cody ran up to them, looking relieved. His own brothers fell at ease the second he turned away from them, clearly he’d rounded them up first thing.

“Is Anakin-?” Ben whipped his head around to look and Cody pointed towards where Anakin and Rex were looking pale and shaken, but alive.

All were accounted for it seemed, all but Professor Kit Fisto, who had died at the hands of a mad man while guarding the far side of the pitch, alone.

***

A funeral for Kit Fisto had been held off grounds- somewhere in the middle of the ocean for all of his aquatic friends and family members to properly mourn him in accordance with their traditions. His ashes were sprinkled over the Mariana Trench, where he’d done some of his biggest work.

His absence left the school caught in a limbo of uncertainty. Professors were in a mode of practicality only and it was hardly blameable. Maul had not only gotten within their barrier, but had committed a gruesome act of violence that some students had the horrors of bearing witness to the aftermath of.

Kit Fisto had been treated not like a person, but a sign to be waved on a stick, to show just what Maul intended to do to each of them if they didn’t give him Anakin Skywalker. Classes were taught within the confines of the common rooms to keep students from traveling elsewhere. With the blocked off tunnels, it seemed like the only safe space to keep Maul out.

No longer were even prefects allowed to walk the halls. Patrols were cancelled, and professors and aurors walked every space and brought food to students as well as taught their classes. It was a mess, really, and students were definitely affected by the change. Less and less faces were present, many removed from the castle altogether at the insistence of their parents.

However, those who remained were downcast and gray just like the sky outside their windows. A greedy part of Obi-Wan was thankful that his friends were still here, even if the current circumstances didn’t allow him to see Cody or Anakin. He was surprised Satine’s mother didn’t bring her home, though he had his suspicions of the extent at which she knew. It was hard to tell with the muggle families. They didn’t get the same news as wizards did, but it seemed awfully callous for there to be no warning from the school.

Then again, professors were quite busy working alongside the aurors to track Maul down. Part of him wondered where he could possibly be hiding, but really, there were endless corridors at Hogwarts that he’d never known of- not until the existence of the map, anyway. Even then, the fabled Room of Requirement was still out there untouched. Pure intentions were supposed to unlock it and he had severe doubts that Maul’s qualified.

This castle that they’d once been free to roam had shrunk significantly for all of them. He couldn’t even imagine being in Slytherin house and segmented only to the lightless space near the dungeons.

The news of Kit Fisto’s tragic demise took a while to reach outside outlets, for it wasn’t until an entire week later, shortly after his reported funeral, that they’d received a very dramatic and incoherent Floo call from Aayla. Even in the charcoal embers taking form into her face, he could tell she was blubbering like a baby.

“HOW COULD THIS HAPPEN?” She wailed and the other students in the common room, who were a bit piled on top of one another, turned their bodies to try and allow privacy to the fireplace. It wasn’t like Aayla seemed to mind much.

“Er, I know this must be difficult for you,” Obi-Wan tried awkwardly as he searched his eyes through the room. Where was Satine when he needed her? There weren’t too many places to go, after all.

“DIFFICULT? TRY IRREVOCABLY HEARTBROKEN TO THE LARGEST DEGREE? HE WAS SO YOUNG SO KIND SO BEAUTIFUL.” She shook with tears, “Too good for this world, honestly. I don’t… I don’t know how I’ll go on.”

Obi-Wan didn’t think himself a callous person, but he sure as hell didn’t know how to navigate this conversation without further setting her off, “He will be dearly missed as he was a favorite teacher for most.”

“He’s more than that!” She bellowed, but it wasn’t intimidating due to the hiccups she’d recently caught, “He was the kindest soul placed on this earth like an orb of light- and I but a moth drawn to him…”

“Yes, of course!” Obi-Wan panicked, “I didn’t mean to reduce your care for him, I only meant-”

“Aayla?” Satine was suddenly knelt beside him, looking over his shoulder and into the fire.

“Yes, Satine, Aayla heard the unfortunate news regarding Professor Fisto-”

“DON’T SAY HIS NAME IT’S TOO SOON!” She sobbed.

Satine flashed him a scathing look and he shrugged helplessly. Aayla did have a point about there being many extremely crestfallen students over the professor’s death. Beyond simply grieving a good professor and person too. Many of the remaining members of Fisto’s fan club were inconsolably upset, like they’d just lost the love of their young lives. It seemed he’d made a big impression in his short time as a professor, even if not necessarily the way he’d intended to.

Even on that scale, he’d be missed. Although reserved by bureaucratic restrictions, Fisto tried to teach them to fight, to protect themselves. In many ways, Obi-Wan preferred him as a professor to Dooku (even removing the sinister Sith stuff), because of how approachable and charismatic he’d been. Obi-Wan was in a bit of disbelief even still that he was gone.

“Did you see him?” She sniffled.

Satine tensed, but shook her head, “No, and I don’t envy those who did.”

“No, I suppose not.” Aayla said, “You know what my last words were to him?”

“What’s that?” Obi-Wan asked.

She breathed deeply to stabilize herself, “That I’d perfect resistance to the Imperius curse while at home. What kind of goodbye is that?”

“Well, you couldn’t have possibly known, Aayla.” Satine said soothingly and Obi-Wan wondered how she maintained the careful line of logic and empathetic. It would be beautiful to bear witness to under different circumstances that weren’t this depressing.

“Maybe not, but I haven’t even been able to do him justice by practicing my resistance!”

“Everyone’s having a hard time studying in this climate,” Satine said and looked around, “We’re all on top of one another in here.”

“Plus, rumor has it, someone’s fixed up a shrine for Professor Fisto in the girl’s bathroom,” Obi-Wan said.

“I should be there to pay tribute,” She said. “If it weren’t for my parents, I would be.”

“It’s better that you’re not,” Satine assured, “You can properly mourn him when you come back, when everything is safe again.”

If it was safe again. She hadn’t said it that way, but he could tell by her demeanor that she was thinking of it. It had only been a week since they were confined to their common room, but it was starting to feel very much like they were trapped. His only means of asking how Anakin was aside from the fireplace was through Qui-Gon and his daily visits.

“I’LL NEVER LOVE AGAIN!” She cried.

“Erm,” he bit his lip, “There there, he wouldn’t want you to be-”

“-He would never know what I want, because I, like many others, kept my feelings locked within my heart instead of on display. It’s the stupid logical side of me.”

“Well, he was your professor.” This was not the correct thing to say. “You couldn’t possibly pursue a relationship-”

“-Ben, why don’t you referee the first and second year’s game of gobstones, since you like it so,” The edge to her voice queued him into realizing that thankfully, it was not a suggestion.

“You still play that?” Aayla wrinkled her nose, briefly distracted from her woe, “That’s for children!”

“It’s a very tactical game, thank you!” Obi-Wan huffed.

“Kit liked darts.” Aayla remembered that she was supposed to be heartbroken.

Obi-Wan took his opportunity to exit before it was lost on him, feeling a bit guilty for leaving Satine with that mess to clean. As it were, sticking around was only making it worse. He just hoped that the other houses were faring better than they were locked up.

***

If it weren’t for the blanket of loss that stained everything, Anakin probably would have called their mandatory lockdown some sort of break from school. The concept of a “staycation” was lost on Rex and his brothers, but it was even less pleasant given the circumstances. The first day hadn’t been bad, since they all basically hung out and tried to distract themselves with snacks and jokes. Seven days in, however, it was getting tedious and it was even worse by the professors attempting to teach the entire common room at once, which meant that half of it was far too confusing and ahead of the game for even Anakin to grasp.

Plus, he didn’t have Obi-Wan to edit his stuff, which made a big difference. Qui-Gon did offer to deliver any parcels or letters back and forth, but that felt silly when he could always theoretically use the fireplace. Acknowledging that they might be in here for a while was starting to get to him.

“I’d give anything for a game of Quidditch,” Cody sighed as he flipped through a magazine on the very subject, wistfully running a hand on the glossy pictures that depicted summer fun in the most recent digest.

“Quidditch? I’d give anything to do a lap running around the castle,” Rex added with a stretch of his leg, “I’m going stir crazy.”

“Need I remind you all that you lot rejected our suggestion for indoor Aingingein.” Fives piped up from his spot on the floor beside his twin.

“Yeah, and I’ll never be desperate enough to try that inside!” Cody said, “We haven’t even got any barrels to light on fire anyway.”

“We could improvise!” Echo complained. “It doesn’t have to be on fire.”

“With you lot, it’s always on fire.” He said pointedly, “Even if it’s not supposed to be.”

“I have always excelled with pyrotechnic spells,” Echo said smugly, “Definitely a strong suit of mine.”

“Of ours, thank you,” Fives corrected.

“Never thought I’d hear the day where you’re the voice of reason,” Anakin said to Cody, who turned his head lazily with a crooked smile.

“Process of elimination, kid.” He said, though Anakin viewed Cody as more responsible than he gave himself credit for.

He felt guilty for allowing himself to feel monotony. Someone had died, after all, and the only reason they were all stuck here was because Maul wanted to eliminate the Chosen One- a title he couldn’t believe he’d once been proud of. They were all lucky to be safe within their common room and that Maul hadn’t incited anymore violence the day he got Fisto. Even that small consolation felt immediately hollow as Anakin thought of it.

It didn’t stop the darkest crevices of his mind from generating possibilities of Maul picking off each standing professor and auror, leaving them trapped and with no real way of knowing what was happening. It was horrifying. Judging by The Daily Prophet, reports weren’t being as authentic as they could be about the sheer amount of danger they were in.

“What’s the first thing you’re doing when we get out of here?” Rex asked him.

“Oh,” Anakin hadn’t really thought of it, “Probably never complain about having to wake up early for class ever again.”

“I hear that.” Fives said, “Getting up and moving to a different room sounds like a dream. Anything has to be better than sitting here wasting time.”

Anakin glanced over towards the other end of the room, where Padmé was perched near the window, allowing the natural light of the sun to provide an angelic glow on her face as she read the book in her lap. Even though they didn’t have to, she still dressed in Gryffindor robes and had her hair pulled back in two buns that were fanned out at the base of her neck and shimmering with a silver glitter.

In the pocket of his robes was the necklace he’d decorated for her. There were so many moments where he wanted to give it to her, to tell her that he painted it with his hands and that he knew life was short and that meant seizing it while you had it, not isolating him.

He considered standing and approaching her, sitting opposite and inquiring about what she was reading, telling her she looked lovely, and making this anything but wasted time for him.

The thought washed away faster than it appeared and an announcement chimed through the entire room, silencing everyone from the idle chatter that kept them sane thus far.

Anakin didn’t need to hear it before to know who it belonged to.

“Professors and students of Hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry,” Maul addressed them all like a king addressing his loyal subjects, “Despite how the Daily Prophet might paint me, I am capable of being reasonable. You see I am not as young as I used to be, so I see no issue in leaving the castle and its occupants unscathed. There is but one thing that I desire.”

Anakin’s heart was pounding in his chest and he felt Rex’s hand on his shoulder immediately. It should have been stabilizing and comforting, but all it really did was serve as a reminder as to why Maul was even here.

“Give me your precious Chosen One, and I will see to it that there is no more bloodshed,” Maul continued, “For it was not long ago that I was in your midst and though I was treated like a feral animal not worthy of teaching, I do have some sentimental nostalgia to this place. After all, every hero requires an origin story.”

“We do not bargain with murderers, Maul.” This time, Anakin truly did know the voice to be Mace Windu’s firm tone.

“A pity, Professor Windu, a pity indeed,” Maul remained completely calm and neutral, which Anakin hadn’t expected. They all watched the ceiling as though they waited with bated breath for him to sink through it. “Because until you submit to my conditions, I will cut through every single person in this school until I get what I want.”

“You will not succeed, Maul.” Palpatine, this time, echoed through the room, even if not physically present.

A long pause, and then, “I’ll be the judge of that, Headmaster.”

And then, a laugh so sinister and cold that Anakin swore his blood was frozen solid. Everyone was watching him as the voices faded and they were only left to the crackling of the fire. He stared straight ahead, burning with an anger and fear so bright that he felt he might physically glow.

“We aren’t going to let him get you, mate.” Rex insisted severely, “You hear me?”

He didn’t doubt that they would do everything in their power to save him, but Anakin already had the guilt of his mother’s disappearance weighing on his conscience. He wasn’t sure he could bear another.

At the thought of his mother, he practically saw stars. This monster had been the reason his family, his home, his protector was gone. He took her and did who knows what with her. And while he knew from deep within him, from the small little voice that told him so in his most horrible dreams, he wasn’t ready for such a threat.

But he also wasn’t ready to lose his mother and he certainly wasn’t ready to allow his friends to take any heroic falls for him. Maul was here for a reason and perhaps, that’s what he needed, to have it handed straight over to him.

“Anakin.” Rex said again and shook his shoulder, “I don’t like that look you’ve got on your face.”

He stared at his friend, memorizing the kindness on his face. He didn’t deserve him. “I’m sorry, Rex.”

“It’s not your fault!” He insisted, scoffing at the idea of it. “He’s a lunatic! He’s gone and murdered a professor because of a stupid poem that was written centuries ago! So what if you’re the Chosen One according to that! Isn’t Qui-Gon always saying the future is always changing?”

He was, but right now was the present, which Anakin could only control his own actions in.

“I am sorry for that… And for this,” He nodded, but then blasted his friend backwards with a swift stupefy spell, and raced out of the room before anyone could grab him. One of the Fett’s nearly succeeded and ripped a piece of his robe, but the door slammed behind him before he could be fully pulled back.

He was going to face Maul.

***

Satine, like every other student in the school, was horrified at the conversation they’d all heard booming in their ears. It felt like an immense invasion of privacy and had intended to have that effect, considering the initial source. They were lucky enough to have Qui-Gon present when it occurred for class, but any comfort that his presence might have offered was swept away when he immediately made for the exit with his wand ready.

“Qui-Gon,” Obi-Wan was paler than she’d ever seen him and watching his mentor with a fear they never should have known, “Don’t.”

“I will do what I must, Obi-Wan,” He nodded, “As will you, I’m sure.”

There was a passing secret language between them of which Satine did not understand and was not intended to. Whatever it meant, it caused Obi-Wan to look ready to snap in two right before her eyes.

He opened his mouth to say something, but closed it, not knowing what to say at all under such circumstances. They were under siege by one man, who couldn’t be stopped by aurors or Dementors or even their notable DADA professor. She felt her heart plunge into the pit of her stomach as the severity of this dawned on all of them. For a moment, it felt like there was no one else in the room but the three of them.

“Yes, Professor.” He said instead of what he’d meant to and just like that, Qui-Gon Jinn was gone and the door behind him locked.

Obi-Wan stared at where he’d left for a long moment, fists balled and whether it was the angle of the sun or otherwise, his eyes looked glassy. His lip didn’t tremble and his breathing didn’t change. Instead, he looked rigid beyond repair.

“I’m sure he’s just going to Gryffindor’s common room to check on Anakin.” Satine said as she cautiously approached him to rest a hand on his shoulder blade. He didn’t flinch or jump at her touch, but it did feel like he had transported off to another plane of existence.

“That’s exactly what he’s doing.” He said heavily and finally turned to meet her eyes, “Maul went to this school. Surely, he knows it well enough to know where the Gryffindors sleep.”

That had also occurred to her, but right now, standing in front of him, where they were both so desperately trying to grasp onto some semblance of hope, she didn’t want to voice it. She feared their time for seeking solace was well passed.

“Maul doesn’t know the codes to get in.” She said firmly, “He won’t be able to get in and get Anakin. The Fat Lady wouldn’t allow for it.

He did nod at that, “Yes, it was a security measure from-”

“-The war, I presume.” She raised an eyebrow, “As everything is?”

“Actually from the amount of teen pregnancies occurring from inter-house relations.” He said frankly and it nearly made her laugh if it didn’t sound like such a believably ludicrous solution only thought of by wizards.

Any light quip she was thinking of making disappeared into nothing as the fireplace burst into a hasty shout of, “Kenobi? Are you there? Satine? Anyone?”

They rushed to the fire again, recognizing their best friend’s voice in mind-numbing alarm. Any younger students dove out of the way immediately on instinct to avoid being knocked into the flames.

“Cody, I-” Obi-Wan hadn’t even gotten a word in edgewise before he was promptly cut off by Cody’s furious shout, which was no doubt trying to compete with the noisy background surrounding him.

“ANAKIN’S ESCAPED!”

“What?” It was Obi-Wan who interrupted this time. “What do you mean he escaped?”

“He’s going for Maul!” Rex cried, shoving his brother out of the way, “I tried to stop him, but-”

Anything else Rex said faded to the background, though she suspected it was mostly nonsense judging by how upset he clearly was.

No, that couldn’t be. Her heart was thundering in her ears at the implication. Anakin was giving himself up for slaughter, but she knew in her heart that despite his claims, Maul would not stop there. Violence only begets more violence, especially when from the hand of a bloodthirsty animal.

“Stay put,” Obi-Wan’s voice was almost unrecognizable. It was deeper, commanding, and completely unlike the gentle witticism she’d grown used to (and fond of) over the years. Had she not watched him speak, she might not have believed it at all.

“Kenobi, don’t you even think-” Cody shoved back in.

Obi-Wan didn’t allow him to finish the sentiment, ending the connection and shoving himself off the ground with nearly as much speed as he’d gotten to it, aggressively shoving through a surrounding crowd, knocking Fenn Rau onto his arse when he tried to block him from the exit with tremendous ease. Satine followed through the space he’d left in his wake, desperately trying to reach him with a pounding dread that washed her into a blinding panic.

She caught his hand just before he could leave, in a vice grip that under different circumstances she would not use, but it drew his attention back to her, his eyes blazing with purpose and certainty.

“Let go of me.” He said with strange calm.

“No.” She said, “I won’t let you do this.”

“That’s not up to you!”

“Like hell it isn’t!” She argued, “I won’t have you knocking on death’s door yet again out of some infuriating sense of nobility.”

“Satine,” His eyes softened as he focused on her and looked a little more like the boy who effortlessly stole her breath away, “It’s Anakin.”

She knew that. Her stomach curled and coiled at the vile revelation and what it meant for Obi-Wan, who despite not being the main character of this prophetic narrative, was a true hero despite his own self-doubts. And really, she wouldn’t care for him the way she did if he weren’t the type to run into the fire against his better logic for a boy who had always been chosen to him- prophecy be damned.

There was no one else in the room as she contemplated just how dire this moment was and how pitiful it was.

“Please be careful.” She found herself saying in a voice only he could hear.

“I always try to be.” It wasn’t a promise and she noticed that. He would never make a promise he couldn’t keep. Not to her.

They stared at each other for what felt like an eternity and her mind raced with a flush of memories and regrets- that in this moment the cold reality was drenching them with how little time they likely had left. It seemed he was processing a similar line of thinking, because his eyes scanned her face as though memorizing every detail. Thousands of unsaid words passed between them, though even then she yearned to hear the real thing.

It was now or never, it seemed.

“At Christmas, I-” His breath hitched, “I- Well, I’ve never…”

He seemed quite infuriated with himself. A crash in the distance caused them both to break their spell and Obi-Wan turned back to her, regret swimming in his eyes as well as a fondness that could no longer be debated.

They didn’t have time.

“I’m sorry,” He raised her hand to his lips, pressing a single firm kiss to her knuckles, “Another time, I hope.”

And she watched him go, memorizing with painstaking clarity the feeling of his hand slipping from hers and out of reach as his perfect silhouette danced down the stairs hurriedly, never looking back. Perhaps, because doing so would make him run back to her. That’s what she told herself again.

Her hand burned as she clutched it tightly. She had a duty to uphold too.

***

Anakin ran, assuming logically that the grand staircases would be where Maul awaited. He seemed to be somewhat interested in being dramatic and Anakin could think of no better place to stage an assault. He’d expected to hear someone following behind him, a professor trying to catch him before he did something so stupid or a friend come to his aid, but neither seemed as crazy as he was to face a threat so great.

The closer to the staircase he grew, the more aurors were laid about, Anakin felt his steps falter as he purposely turned his eyes away. They were fine, they had to be, they were just… taking a nap.

Although even his own heart didn’t take the gentle suggestion at face value.

He saw green light reflecting off the wall up ahead. It gave off an eerie strobe effect that made Anakin hesitate. His wand was still gripped in his hand and he did know a fair few spells he was quite good at, but what did he know about going against someone so powerful? Countless aurors were lying about, clearly not able to take him themselves and it certainly didn’t seem like Maul was in the mood to play with his victims.

The thoughts of his own home kept his feet moving forward. His mother’s bedroom, covered with feathers and his mother, missing, possibly worse and it had to be at the hands of Maul. Who else would be trying to draw him out, but the man who was very clear at wanting him dead this entire year? He repeated over and over and over again the stunning spell in his head as he stepped out into the open area of the staircases.

An auror had just caught the end of a green beam and was falling down. Maul looked almost bored as he watched and didn’t flinch as Anakin did as they hit the ground with a thud. Maul had put forth no effort in his spree, but the thought didn’t deter Anakin from hurtling his own spell while he had the element of surprise.

“Stupify,” He tried to be quiet about it, but his spell still missed the man by a few centimeters. Maul had noticed him much sooner, by the way he just stood there, watching him like a predator would its prey.

“So you have the dignity to fight your own battles,” He flicked his wand and Anakin dodged, jumping onto a staircase as it pivoted past him. Maul stepped casually onto his own and they both spun around each other before their stairs clicked into place. Anakin held his ground, aiming to stay as far away as he could from the man. There were things he wanted answered and he surely didn’t come here to lay down and die.

“I want to know what you did to my mum!” Anakin yelled before sending out another stunning spell and missing narrowly. Maul was still unperturbed by this and stepped onto another staircase.

“What would I care about your mother?” Maul asked with a sneer.

Anakin’s heart leapt, he must be lying, “Y-you took her! I know you did!” He shouted, his wand still clutched tightly in his hand. He sent off a quick chain-cast, aiming to disarm Maul, at least then there wasn’t much damage he could do. Maul reflected it like it was a particularly pesky fly and Anakin’s spell slammed into the wall, showering debris all around them.

“I didn’t take your mother, boy,” Maul sent a spell knocking Anakin’s wand out of his hand and causing it to tumble down the steps. He shrunk back as Maul took each step down to him incredibly slowly, “But once you’ve been erased from this earth,” He grinned, sharp teeth grinding together in a hideous display, “I’ll send her to find you.”

Maul’s wand was moving and in a last-ditch attempt at living, Anakin rushed forward, jumping at Maul and trying to rip his wand out of his hand. Maul growled, a low dangerous sound before shoving Anakin off. Anakin stumbled, but managed not to fall just in time for Maul’s foot to come crashing into his chest, sending him tumbling down the stairs.

He landed hard enough to knock the wind out of his lungs, but in the dust kicked up he managed to locate his wand before Maul could aim again and he sent out another desperate spell.

His heart sank as Maul simply stepped aside to dodge such a thing. This wasn’t how he wanted his life to end. He’d thought he’d be avenging his mother, locating her, being a hero. He was the Chosen One, he thought he could live through anything.

Maul raised his wand.

Anakin thought of his friends who he’d come to love like family. He thought of magic and all he had yet to learn. He thought of his mother, out there somewhere waiting for him.

***

There were bodies upon bodies lining the walls, all aurors, and all dead by Maul, presumably. Obi-Wan didn’t look as he went, not needing the horrifying distraction at the moment. These men and women gave themselves over to protect them and were treated like dominos to be knocked over in a chain reaction, all leading to-

-He came to an abrupt halt from his sprint, brain whirring as it tried to catch up to what his eyes saw to the left on the grand staircase. It was a body, and not just any body, but Anakin, small and limp at the bottom, completely unmoving. And just three flights up, completely shrouded in black save for his fiery face, was Maul.

“Stay away from him!” Obi-Wan shouted, drawing his attention immediately. Time only continued when he noticed Anakin’s chest moving up and down where he lay. All hope was not lost yet.

That was not to say that they were anywhere near out of the woods. The dementors had entered the space, but even this offered Obi-Wan no false hope. In fact, by the way they hovered beside him with a slight green glow surrounding their usual complete blackness, it was like they obeyed Maul somehow, serving the very opposite purpose than what was programmed of them.

Maul’s wand was sleek and smooth and undoubtedly did not belong to him originally. Obi-Wan knew enough about the clearances distributed by the Ministry that it belonged to an officer of some kind. He didn’t want to picture what happened to its original owner. Obi-Wan always struggled with conjuring patronuses, but if there was ever a time to learn, there was nothing like the present. He had to force his hand not to shake as he outstretched it, hoping he didn’t look as young as he felt.

He tried to channel happiness and positivity in a moment like this, in order to create the bright light needed to banish these dementors away, but every time a spark felt as though it might kindle, the gravity of their situation snuffed it out.

Maul said nothing, just as he hadn’t in Hogsmeade, but he did bear a full mouthful of yellow-stained teeth that matched the glowing eyes that appeared hollowed out in his skull. There was only hate and suffering behind those eyes, never a day of love or care. If Anakin’s life weren’t on the line, Obi-Wan might have felt sorry for him.

He knew the moment he made a move for the boy, Maul would only charge, but they couldn’t remain in this uneven standoff forever. Literally, they could not, because the stairs would not hold still for anyone, not even for the theatrics of a bloody lunatic. So, while it felt like a longshot, it also seemed like his only shot.

Obi-Wan took the leap, dashing to the end of the stairs, tumbling and grabbing Anakin on the way, just as the stairs moved and swiftly knocked them at an alarming velocity towards another shifting staircase. As predicted, when he moved, Maul moved, but not fast enough and stumbled as the stairs shifted, toppling over a railing in the process.

“Obi-Wan?” Anakin sat up and rubbed his head.

He quickly inspected the boy, satisfied that there was no blood, but there would definitely be a large bump on his head from whatever fall he’d taken. They didn’t have time to dilly dally. They had to go. He grabbed Anakin by the hand and pulled him the rest of the way down the stairs to the ground level, flickering his eyes up to notice the dementors closing in on them like nightfall.

For a brief moment, as the dementor positioned itself ready, Obi-Wan saw the future of Hogwarts as it was to be should Maul truly claim the school. He saw destruction, fire, betrayal, hate. He saw so much hate in the form of enraged yellow eyes. He couldn’t seem to feel his hands or his feet as the tunnel of darkness closed in on him. There was no life, there was no hope, there was no purpose.

All he wanted was for it to be over… Just put him out of his misery.

Why hadn’t Maul claimed them yet?

He saw his friends suffering at his failure. He saw the school itself burning to the ground. Cody was on the ground of the castle, a fiery hole in his chest that hadn’t cooled, unmoving and unblinking. Satine was surely next as she sobbed alongside him. Everything was painted in gray.

In the reflection of the green aura that tainted the dementors’ ragged cloaks, he met Anakin’s equally disillusioned gaze. That spark that refused to ignite earlier dragged like flint on steel and rubbed rapidly, starting to warm him up and remind him not of the bright spots of life, but of what he’d come here to do.

Positioning himself in front of Anakin, Obi-Wan yelled, “Expecto Patronum!”

Only an azure burst of light did not come from the tip of his wand, but somewhere above the dementors, taking the form of a beautiful blue and florid owl before circling and encompassing the dark phantoms with a blinding light. In the process, it knocked Maul backwards up a staircase and bolting forwards towards the person responsible.

He knew that patronus.

“Qui-Gon!” Anakin pointed up even further, where Obi-Wan’s mentor had thoroughly derailed Maul’s plans of following them by engaging in a violent trade of green and red bouts of magic back and forth, dancing along the stairs rhythmically, away from them, as though they were partners in an arranged production. Glass windows shattered and more dementors joined the game, never once standing a chance for Qui-Gon Jinn, though Maul proved himself quite the martial artist.

“We’ve got to help him!” Anakin began to move, which stalled Obi-Wan from his shocked reverie and he grabbed the boy by the collar of his shirt and yanked him back.

“No, you’ve got to get to safety!” Obi-Wan said and held him close to his face, “You are in no shape to be fighting a Sith lord.”

“Neither is he!” Anakin pointed out the obvious, which was that Maul’s aggressively acrobatic fighting style was only going to wear Qui-Gon out should they continue to edge towards a dead end. Qui-Gon would have very little room to maneuver and parry should they corner themselves in a tower or a narrow walkway. “And neither are you.”

“I have to help him.” Obi-Wan said, “It’s the only way.”

He couldn’t explain it too, because it just felt like he needed to push forward. The logical thing to do would be to run back to Ravenclaw tower with Anakin in tow and reunite with his friends in safety, but he was drawn to the fight and not for any sense of bloodlust, but refined purpose.

“I won’t let you!” Anakin cried, “It’s my fault!”

“Like hell it is!” Obi-Wan chastised and shoved him forward, “You are in control of your own actions, not Maul’s. The only action you should be doing is getting the hell out of here.”

“But-”

“No but’s, Anakin! If you never listen to me again, listen to me now: run. Hide. Get help, whatever, but you stay as far away as your little legs can carry you, alright? You are the future of tomorrow. This is only today.”

It wasn’t what he promised Qui-Gon, but if Anakin was away from Maul, he was safe, so if Obi-Wan could help delay that, he would.

“Where?”

“Exactly where you need to be,” He said.

“I can never get those stupid riddles!”

“Trust me, you will.” Obi-Wan said. “Just run.”

“And what about you?”

“I’m right behind you,” Though as they stared at each other, they both knew it was a lie. With tears staining his cheeks, Anakin nodded and ran in the opposite direction. Obi-Wan watched him until he was far enough away before turning and racing back up the steps again. Just as he did, they began moving, knocking Obi-Wan around rather roughly and almost backwards again, but he kept running and even dove forward to catch the next staircase by the hand.

For a moment, he was suspended above by only one hand, forcing himself to use all the strength in his body to lift himself and keep climbing.

Qui-Gon and Maul kept moving, the sound of glass shattering in their wake.

***

Against every fiber of his being that told him to stay and fight, Anakin ran. He aggressively swiped tears from his eyes with his arm as he did so, trying to keep his vision as clear as possible. He didn’t know where to go or what to do. Gryffindor’s common room was the other way and he would never understand the Ravenclaw riddle to get in.

Obi-Wan had only told him to go, but not where, though he’d looked at him with conviction as though he had given him a clue. Anakin was far too distressed to think of any clues. Fear swelled in him, as he considered what his two mentors were sacrificing in order to protect him, to protect the future. They believed in him, but he didn’t quite believe in himself at the moment. Maul was going to tear through this entire school and if there was one thing that was proven, it was just how inescapable that was.

He was supposed to be a hero, but he was trying to escape. It had always been the plan, but he’d never expected to have to do so alone. He was supposed to save them all, but he’d learned the hard way that he was no match for Maul.

His feet rapidly hit the ground, never once breaking stride as he tred onward. There was only so far he could go before he ended up right back where they were. He needed a place where no one would find him. He needed a safe haven.

But between the Zillo Beast, Dooku, and now Maul, he’d learned that there was no real sense of security in this wizarding world. It was fantastic in both the best and worst ways possible, with no room for the mundane quiet of peace. Anakin never typically cared when it didn’t involve a sadist breaking in and trying to murder him.

As he rounded a particularly sharp corner and briefly considered hiding in an empty classroom under a desk or in a chest, his eyes went round as he noticed not one, not two, but three dementors lingering near the dungeons. Slytherin’s common room was nearby, but they’d never let him in.

“Skywalker, what the hell are you doing?” Windu dropped in from seemingly nowhere, banishing the now mob of dementors that were swirling around them like a tornado.

“They’re everywhere!” He yelled.

“How did this happen?” Windu asked.

“Maul turned them against everyone! I don’t know how!”

Windu grimaced as they closed in on them and kept Anakin close as he flipped his cape to the side and valiantly pointed his wand with the lethal confidence of someone who had done it many times before. From Windu’s wand, a glowing blue ram burst through the wall of spinning black to create a pocket just big enough for Anakin.

“Run!” He shouted and once again, Anakin obeyed.

He needed to make sure he paid attention if he got to live to see the day patronuses were taught in school. Clearly, it was going to be an important lesson and one that Obi-Wan didn’t quite grasp yet.

Other professors were on the front lines of this massive fight against dementors whether inside or outside. Anakin leapt around one that was trying to suck the face off of Professor Ki-Adi Mundi, but was immediately banished by the vigilant Professor Shaak Ti. He never received more encouragement to keep pushing forward and away than he did in that moment.

Who would help Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan? Who would save them if all of the other professors were trying to handle the immediate threat of the dementors turning on them? His heart started to rattle as he kept going, approaching a dead end and slinking against the wall. The dementors came quicker than he anticipated even possible. Their long and bony fingers reached for him, ready to pull him into his own worst nightmares imaginable and to make them living realities. He’d snuck many horror movies in his time, but he’d never seen anything worse than them.

Where was it written that the Chosen One would need a soul to save the universe? Nowhere, it would seem, because this didn’t qualify as death, but a fate worse than. He pointed his wand out, hoping he could also learn the patronus charm on the fly, but felt the immediate disconnect between his words and his wand. They were just words in the end.

He pressed himself against the door, never wishing more than to be anywhere but here. He wished he could have found where Obi-Wan was referring. He needed it. He needed that refuge if he was going to be brave and if he was going to fight back one day.

He needed- To open his eyes?

Because once he did so, he realized that he was in a completely different room that he’d never seen before. It wasn’t empty, exactly. There were old books stacked on some rickety tables. Cobwebs lined the portraits on the walls that chatted amongst themselves. They stopped dead in the middle of conversation when they spotted Anakin.

“Er- Sorry for interrupting.” He said with a wave.

“Who the blazes are you?” The dusty portrait of a man with dark hair and light brown skin frowned deeply at Anakin.

“Don’t be rude, Master Ketu.” The hooded man in the portrait opposite to him nodded at Anakin, “Congratulations.”

“Do you even know what’s going on out there? There’s nothing to be congratulated for,” He said.

“Boy, have you no concept of what you have uncovered?” The man called Ketu pressed, his arms crossed over the numerous medals of honor that hung from his neck.

Anakin looked around him, “Uh… A dirty old classroom?”

He pinched his nose, “I swear, these children grow more ungrateful by the years.”

“To be fair, we haven’t seen a new child in over a century.” The other man said placatingly, “And there’s no way he can be worse than him. I am Ters Sendon, archivist and historian and this is Master Ketu, former leader of the old Je’daii order.”

“Je’Daii?”

“He hasn’t even heard of us.” Scoffed Ketu.

“An old group of warrior wizards who used to combat the ancient Sith during the old wars.” Ters said and Anakin gasped when he lifted off his hood to reveal horns protruding from his head just as Maul’s did. “What is it?”

“You’re… You’re like him!” Anakin backed away, nearly stumbling over a stray chair as he did, “You’re like the Sith lord that’s currently taking over our school!”

“I’m no Sith!” He protested.

“You look like him?”

“So? Sith is not a race, it’s a religion.” Ters said, “There are good people that look like me and plenty of bad people that look like you.”

Anakin considered that and realized as he looked at Ters Sendon that he didn’t bear any of the malicious traits that Maul had. There was no hate radiating off of his gaze, no yellow or orange to his eyes, no hostility in his voice. He didn’t even really look like Maul aside from the horns. As opposed to a stark red and black patterned face, Ters was more the color of leather, with beige swirls around his eyes and nose.

Ketu, not nearly as bored as he was before, stroked his black goatee, “You mean, the Sith have returned?”

“I’m supposed to defeat them someday.” Anakin said, “I’m the Chosen One. Or at least… I’m supposed to be, but I’m hiding…”

“Well, you’re much too young to fight a Sith, my boy.” Ketu said.

“Everyone’s been saying that and I know that, but how can I let other people take the fall for me?”

“Take it from someone who has seen plenty of golden haired heroes that were supposed to be chosen for greatness, you must accept that they are not fighting for you.”

“Ketu! How is that helpful?” Ters asked.

“Because it removes the pressure that comes with the position. Everyone has their place in this war, but you… You must survive. You must survive so that many others can live.” He fixed Anakin with a stern look, “That is why the Room summoned you.”

“The room?” Anakin looked around, “This place is special?”

“The Room of Requirement manifests itself only to students who truly need it.” Ters explained, “In your case, it’s to hide from this dastardly foe that breached your school.”

“If only I were alive… I’d bring this Sith to his knees.” Ketu sighed wistfully.

“I can’t just sit in here and wait!” Anakin yelped, his voice echoing around the room.

“Clearly, whatever you were running from had outnumbered you. You were whiter than a ghost.” Ters said, “And I’ve seen many ghosts.”

“Ghosts can come in here?”

“Not here, no.” Ketu shook his head, “We are the only portraits in the school that cannot move, but in our time, there were ghosts too.”

“Why can’t you move?”

“We must protect the integrity of the room,” Ters explained, “And a good thing too, because the last boy would have destroyed the place to prevent anyone else from finding it.”

“The magical enchantments were too powerful for him then, thankfully,” Ketu whistled, “I wonder where he got off to…”

“We need to get more people in here, to protect them!” Anakin said. “How can I let others follow me?”

“I think they may be safer where they are.”

Anakin wasn’t so sure.

***

Qui-Gon had but one clear goal when parrying and deflecting the onslaught of fast green bolts that erupted from Maul’s wand: get him out of the castle. Hopefully, from there, other professors stronger than he could prevent him from entering again. Qui-Gon was no fighter by nature. It took a great deal of strength and focus and connectivity with his inner peace to remain in line with Maul’s attacks. He was definitely no one’s first choice in fighting off a man who murdered countless aurors in his wake.

However, the moment he saw Maul and his possessed dementors hovering over Obi-Wan and Anakin, he knew that this would be his fight after all.

He’d never faced anything like this in his life- growing up in a time of peace was like the beautiful summer and late fall that preambled a harsh winter. Well, the ruthless attempts at his head led by the tenacious Sith was more of enough proof that winter had arrived with the full impact of a blizzard at their heels.

Qui-Gon tried to analyze and predict the Zabrak’s next attack, hoping that his strategic capabilities would balance him against the superior fighting style that was the combination of martial artistry and power. There was much hate that spewed from every fiber of Maul’s being, so personal that Qui-Gon almost took it as such. It was like every person who stood in his way somehow became Maul’s target enemy and it was obvious he wasn’t used to anyone lasting this long.

Well, Qui-Gon did have the high ground when he snuck up on Maul and took him off guard, effectively clipping the wings that the dementors brought him. He wouldn’t even begin to question how he’d did it, save for that it was obviously an ancient magic known to the Sith. As they crossed the archway to the empty Great Hall, veering away from the direction of the student dormitories to Qui-Gon’s relief, and Maul was allotted true space to spew knives and broken shards of glassware towards him at once, Qui-Gon realized why this man hid all year.

He did not hide to feel out their positioning or to even tease them. Any of that had only been a cherry on top for the malignant evil before him. No, Maul waited it out to grow, to improve his strengths, to ready himself for this fight, because regardless of the ease at which he slipped through their clenched fists, he still expected a grave one.

“Protego!” Qui-Gon shouted numerous times in numerous directions, shielding himself from every blow Maul flung at him, but dodging an incoming killing curse as well.

That was going to leave a mark on the walls.

The candles came crashing down, bathing the entire room in a gray hollowness that he wasn’t used to, but didn’t ponder. It was only fitting that a Sith was trying to take everything good about this place with him. Well, he wouldn’t have it, not on his watch, anyway.

Their beams collided, his disarming and Maul’s for the kill, creating the collaboration of blinding green and red at the middle. It resembled a golden snitch at the heart of the contact, but despite having dueled Dooku just last year, Qui-Gon felt his arm, and eventually his whole body by extension, growing weak. Dooku had been going easy on him and he knew it. Maul would do no such thing.

Maul tapped further into his heat, bearing a tight grin as he pushed harder, showing just what the dark side could do, but Qui-Gon did not and would not envy his pain or his suffering that led him to such darkness.

“You were just a child, did you even get to choose?” Qui-Gon asked, trying to possibly tap into any shred of humanity left within the empty cavern that took place of Maul’s soul. That included, bringing up a history Maul did not want to remember.

“You don’t know me.” It only emboldened his opponent’s attack, making the push and pull of their tug of war look a great deal more green than red.

“Perhaps, I do. We were students here once, right? At the same time even.”

Maul remained silent and focused. He would not monologue for Qui-Gon. It seemed he was the sort of foe not worth quarreling with.

“Give me the boy.” Was all he said.

“I cannot do that.” Qui-Gon shook his head.

“Then you will die.” He smiled.

Sweat gathered at his temples as he pushed harder, channeling the peace that existed in harmony at his core, willing the spark to burn brighter than it ever had. If not ever again, now would be the moment.

It was not looking good.

Until, an unprecedented blast of blue sent Maul skidding across the table, sliding into every stray glass and plate that had been left in shambles on the way. He was up and charging within a matter of seconds, which was remarkable on its own right, but this also meant that Qui-Gon didn’t have much of a second to breathe or consider that the wizard that entered the room was not a colleague or auror, but Obi-Wan Kenobi.

“Obi-Wan!” He shouted and moved to jump in front of him to be a last standing shield from Maul, as if that would do anything, but the boy was quick and immediately took to pursuing Maul with his own attacks.

“You shouldn’t be here.” He said.

“But I am, and we can talk about this later, no?” Obi-Wan gritted as Maul whipped out a second wand from his utility belt and let his robe drift to the ground. It seemed he came prepared for this very situation. It was a very unfortunate way to learn Maul was ambidextrous as he was just as proficient with his left hand as he was his right and was able to perform the same spell from two wands.

“We definitely will.” Qui-Gon fired back, but had to concede that the very last thing they needed to be doing to get out of here was arguing with each other. Not to mention, a very small part of him couldn’t help but be proud of Obi-Wan’s prowess for being so young.

He’d never seen him like this before- so sure of himself and so determined, as well as so underdressed. His robe and jumper were completely discarded somewhere along his way here and the sleeves of his collared shirt had been pushed up. While still wearing the tie that symbolized his house with pride, he suddenly looked much older than the boy he knew.

Even more than that, he successfully and quickly reflected Maul’s own curse back on him, sending the Sith dizzily stumbling around, though never once losing speed.

With Obi-Wan at his side, he was able to take Maul on at a more even level, even with the two wands. He and his mentee practiced in sync together. They’d never formally fought alongside each other, but where Qui-Gon moved, Obi-Wan moved, and the two took to dejecting each and every distant move displayed by Maul.

That was not to say it was easy, of course. Between the physicality and ferocity of Maul’s magical and non-magical aggression, it was still throwing the both of them through the ringer. Obi-Wan’s face was red, but laser focused and never relieved with pride if he managed to land some sort of attack.

They left out the doorway they came and through the third floor corridor, only further exhausting themselves the smaller the quarters became. Maul began to literally bounce off the walls, running up them and doing backflips to dodge and alternatively, to gain traction. As his history showed, he wasn’t purely invested in the magical portion of a fight, but the physical combat as well.

Up the stairs they went to the very top, a difficult task when Maul decided to turn the steps into slippery goo in his wake and fire on the railings. Qui-Gon had learned the latter of that sequence on his own the hard way. Obi-Wan charged ahead, more athletic than he gave himself credit for, and twice as brave. It was a lethal combination, though not one Qui-Gon would fool himself into believing would be enough to seizing Maul completely. They needed to distract him until Windu found them.

They needed help.

Maul was quite pressed when Obi-Wan managed a leg-locker spell on him, though it was only one leg by his aim. It wasn’t his fault, since Qui-Gon had to shove him aside to avoid wand arrows that came straight for his head.

Even still, there was no doubt that they were fighting better together.

The ceiling of the pointed tower crumbled, specs of dust and later actual pieces of infrastructure raining down on them and hurrying their pace. When reaching the small bridge that connected the two towers, Maul blasted the center as he ran ahead.

“Where’s he going?”

“The classrooms, it seems.” Qui-Gon answered as he tried to catch his breath. “Anakin-”

“-Is safe.” He said with resounding certainty, his blue eyes sharper than glass as he regarded him with shoulders back and his jaw squared. He was still shorter than Qui-Gon, but it was evident now more than ever that he was a child no longer. Yes, Obi-Wan was ready. Or was it that he had no choice but to be ready?

It pained Qui-Gon’s very soul, because children fighting the battles of adults never soothed him. They leapt over the chasm and through the already crumbling tower that dwindled all the way down, catching Maul at his heels after a few flights of rapidly following suit. He was either leading them to the belly of his trap or he was trying to shake them. Qui-Gon didn’t know how that spoke for their success as his opponents, but was willing to take any wins offered to them.

They were far from finished in their pursuit, as the tower began to physically shake back and forth. Taking this battle to heart, or whatever stood in place of it, Maul turned, charging up the stairs with a sword at hand pointed straight at them.

On instinct rather than through thought, Qui-Gon pushed Obi-Wan hard against the side of the wall, narrowly preventing him from meeting the tip of the blade.

“Stupefy!” He yelled, but missed and Maul went for the younger man again, a tight smile on his lips as he flipped forwards against the current of gravity and spun the sword straight towards them. Obi-Wan, who was stronger than he looked, caught Maul’s wrist before the finality of the attack could be completed. Using his entire body weight, he flung them down, doing his own half-assed little stunt to avoid being stabbed.

Qui-Gon seized his moment to attack, turning the coat of arms by the doorway onto Maul, giving them three fighters on their side. This didn’t stop Maul, who only seemed delighted by the challenge and swung at the ground to encourage it.

Obi-Wan scrambled off the ground in time and trotted alongside Qui-Gon as the knight moved forward and Maul backed himself up to the wall of the rounded tower, clashing his sword with the knight’s, meeting every swing with one of his own caliber. Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon, meanwhile, tried to use this brief moment of distraction to their advantage and fired whatever spells could come to their mind.

Obi-Wan had gotten even more creative and used a tongue fattening spell, likely trying to limit his airway.

It didn’t seem he even minded the limited mobility, though it only seemed to anger him that he was wasting his time. Maul had the advantage, being alive, but the knight had nothing to lose. Sometimes, that wasn’t a strength.

In a fit of unbridled rage, which was the only way either Qui-Gon or Obi-Wan could describe what transpired next, lightning rang through the sword and Maul leapt into the air, bringing the blade straight through the empty head of the knight and using the momentum of this force to fling the still sparking helmet towards them, hitting Obi-Wan directly in the stomach and sending him flipping over the railing with the added help of Maul diving forward to punch him square in the face.

“Immobulus!” Qui-Gon hollered, pointing his wand at Obi-Wan’s collapsing body just before he could hit the bottom stone at full-force. He was knocked out, nothing more, or maybe that’s what Qui-Gon needed to convince himself to continue edging through this battle.

The sword came down, achieving not a speck of flesh, but slicing Qui-Gon’s wand clean in two against the marble railing to their right. It was the closest he’d ever been to Maul and he understood why few wanted to approach him. He could feel the turmoil within this shell of a man, who was only driven by his own hate. He was like a walking timebomb who was expected to walk the earth like a person.

“When I’m done with you, I’ll kill the kid too,” Only he wasn’t referring to Anakin, but Obi-Wan.

“You won’t have the chance,” Qui-Gon said and kicked up his foot to toss the former knight’s sword into own hand. He was taught to wield by Count Dooku long ago, adopting many different tactics. It had always been in a gentlemanly fashion before, but Maul knew no such artistry or decency in this field. He was a predator and while he may have been playing with his food, he would still want nothing more than to collect the prize.

They backed out of the exit, Qui-Gon pursuing Maul as their blades clinked and clanked at rapid speed, each performing offensively without any pauses or breaks. Qui-Gon took his first success as they approached the classrooms and he managed to knock one of Maul’s wands free and clattering onto the ground. The Sith swordsman paid no mind, flipping backwards and inviting Qui-Gon to chase him into yet another trapped space.

He knew he was better where he could be afforded more breathing room, but at the moment, this was not a battle where Qui-Gon dictated the rules. Rarely, did the heroes get to do much of that in history. It was all about adaptivity and believing in oneself and the magic that lay within them.

“I am one with magic and the magic is within me.” He chanted on a harmonic loop inside his head, ignoring every fiber of his being that broke apart as they crashed through Professor Palpatine’s office of all places.

Perhaps, he was trying to pay a visit to his favorite professor. He looked disappointed even through the mask of focused disdain that he wasn’t present. He would never have known that Anakin might have been hiding here, after all. He lingered around the castle for a little while, but not long enough to see the students interact.

Thinking a bit like his enemy, Qui-Gon seized the weakness, going in for an elongated stalemate of the inner strengths, bringing them up close and personal.

“Who do you work for?” He asked calmly.

He knew that nothing splintered more than serenity or moreover, when their dastardly deeds took no effect on their desired target. Predictably, Maul clenched his yellow teeth to bare.

“I work for no one.” He scowled and shoved them apart, spinning and beginning a new onslaught of attacks that Qui-Gon met and dodged. The dodged shots ended up as holes that would need to be patched later and each designated attack seemed to chip away at him more and more.

Maul might have possessed an eternal source of energy from the cruelty at his very core, but he did not envy him for it.

They shuffled onto the external viaduct, which stretched back to the courtyard outside the Great Hall again, back towards the common rooms. He couldn’t let that happen. Qui-Gon knew that this was it. This long stretch of smooth stone that expanded over the chasm beneath them, was where this needed to end.

As if reading his mind, Maul closed in on him, making Qui-Gon overshoot a swing and nearly set himself off balance. Maul’s sword came down hard on the stone balustrade to their side, cracking it with the power and magical tenacity it contained, before retracting and kicking Qui-Gon in the sternum.

He rolled, backwards, and landed on his feet just in time to collide blades harshly, feeling like the swords might break if they strike again. This didn’t stop either of them and Qui-Gon desperately tried to seek out a window to take the advantage. And then, he found it. Maul’s gloved finger twitched just as he was reaching for his other wand- a dirty trick in a match of the blades, but Dooku might have done the same in his modern state.

Luckily, Qui-Gon didn’t necessarily need a wand.

He snatched the wand from midair by the sheer willpower of doing so.

“Petrificus Totalus!” And while Maul leapt to the ground, his frame stilled in the air as he caught the end of the charm, hitting the ground hard with his sword stuck frozen in hand.

He let out a heavy breath of relief. He pointed the wand at Maul and tossed the blade to the side and knelt over him. Only the man’s face could move, so he didn’t grow too close at risk of literally being bitten, but Qui-Gon looked at him sternly.

“What business do you have with the boy?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Maul chuckled lightly, “To destroy him.”

“But for what? Because he’s a threat to you?”

“No,” He would have shaken his head if he could, “Because he’s a threat to all of us.”

Qui-Gon frowned, “That- No, he will bring about an end to monsters like yourself and whatever master you refuse to name.”

“Don’t you see?” Maul said, “He is the monster.”

The words trickled through Qui-Gon’s ears like rain hitting the hard sidewalk. That couldn’t be true. He was to bring balance. Though, it was never exactly said how. It couldn’t be. The prophecy spoke of a united world and for the hero, which was Anakin, to prevail at great sacrifice.

Or at least, that’s how he interpreted it after much studying.

“That cannot be.”

“It has been written in fate. I have seen it,” And by the legitimate fear that plagued Maul’s gaze, he could tell the Sith was not lying about having been exposed to a plethora of horror, “He is but the pawn in a greater plan. Just like you and just like me.”

“He’s so much more than either of us,” Qui-Gon shook his head, keeping the wand steady at his throat, poking the skin ever so slightly. “Especially you.”

“I am merely trying to save us all,” Maul begged, “Just as you think you are. We are not that different. Skywalker isn’t either.”

“Anakin is the hero of this story, not you.” Qui-Gon said, determined now, “I will see to that.”

“No,” And just as quick as he fell, he moved too fast for Qui-Gon to even blink and the sword that had seemed frozen in time was thrust right into the pit of Qui-Gon’s stomach. Immeasurable pain soaked through him as he felt blood from all over rush through him and a varying list of parables cross his mind.

Maul brought him so close that their noses touched, “You won’t.”

He unsheathed the sword from the pit of Qui-Gon’s stomach and let him fall backwards, hitting the stone unceremoniously as sound seemed to fall behind in slow, deep motions. The blood rushed from his body and breathing suddenly became labored beyond measure. He was faced with warm sunlight, though he found himself only growing colder by the second. Slowly, the bright blue around the high sun was becoming a tunnel and getting fuzzier. The pain in his stomach was less aching as it was dull and detached from him. He saw stars and galaxies and far more than the human eyes could see.

He saw blackness that occluded the stars and realized strangely that it was a man in a dark cape. This was Vader, he knew somehow, but he couldn’t quite explain why. But there was more and as he looked into the stars that gathered in the eyes of his helmet, he saw the fates for what they were. There was so much loss in this montage of multiple realities that spawned in front of him. There was agony, hate, betrayal, death. So so much death beyond his own.

It was strange, to realize that he was dying and to not really care about the logistics of that. Instead, he cared for what he saw next: happiness, love, family, weddings, babies, revolution against an unjust cause, rebirth.

He saw the back of a man with white hair and a beard to match and while his heart initially spoke to him of his mentor, he found that the eyes that turned to meet him matched another that would grow to be wiser than them all.

He saw the good in the blond boy that everyone else feared. He saw the duality of the young brunette who was capable of far more than her small stature dictated. He saw friends he did and didn’t know. He saw them all come together and he saw them win. It was an imperfect future, full of not one, but many heroes.

Some that were chosen ones merely by their own volition. That fact settled hard and heavy. There was still much obscurity to meet the hope. Nothing, even at these far reaches of the universe, was written in stone. If there was one thing that was clear: Anakin was the key.

And in a flash he was back for a moment, given one last breath of life and to meet the tear stained eyes of Obi-Wan Kenobi.

He failed. But there was still hope.

***

“NO!” His cry was anguished and angry, his vision red like the blood dripping off the blade. He had already been running, hurrying to catch up with his mentor, not willing to leave him alone with that monster for more than a second longer than necessary.

He clearly hadn’t been fast enough.

He sprinted, faster still, wand automatically raised and flourished. A crack was heard as red light burst from his own wand and slammed into Maul, knocking him back a few feet and causing his sword to fly from his hand and over the bridge. He hadn’t even uttered the words, but his wand seemed to read his mind, connect with him and in this brief moment of connection, he hurtled as many spells as he could think of.

It was a dance of light. Maul had managed to pull his own wand out and was doing a fair job at blocking each colorful strike, but had yet to get an opening to counter. Obi-Wan tossed another stupify at Maul and it hit his protective spell so hard sparks flew.

“You’re too late,” Maul kicked a loose stone towards him, managing to distract him long enough that Maul could send a killing curse his way. He just managed to block it, the green spell falling apart just inches from his face. He staggered backwards nearly falling over the edge before launching another volley of attacks.

“I won’t let you hurt him,” Obi-Wan growled, although the pang in his chest reminded him of what he’d seen, what he hadn’t been fast enough to stop. He cast a smoke spell causing them both to be hidden within a dark cloud. Obi-Wan crept silently to the side, the only real chance he had was to catch Maul off guard. Just a few more steps-

A gust of wind kicked up from the center of the cloud blowing away the smoke screen and revealing an almost smug looking Maul. He grinned wildly, his yellow eyes gleaming like a tiger going for the kill.

Obi-Wan just managed to dodge as the spell Maul hurled blew a hole through the already crumbling parapet. He returned the favor with another stunning charm that did little more than knock Maul off balance.

Obi-Wan, however, took the opportunity rushing forwards a curse on the tip of his tongue before Maul fell backwards slamming a foot into Obi-Wan and kicking him back.

He stumbled to regain balance, but his foot slipped and time slowed as he desperately clawed for the edge of the bridge with his free hand. He swung there precariously, heart beating a mile a minute as he tried to think of something, anything. Maul grunted, he could only assume he was standing up again, making his way slowly towards what was surely Obi-Wan’s doom.

He looked to his wand, he couldn’t risk a spell, if he missed and hit the viaduct, he would surely be falling to his death. If he didn’t… Well he didn’t want to think of the terrible fate that would bring him. He swung his arm up, hand still gripping his wand, but allowing for him to pull himself up just high enough to see. Maul was approaching, wand twitching as he surely thought through every nasty spell he had at his disposal.

The dying sun came out from behind the clouds, reflecting its light off of something silver on the edge. A sudden burst of hope filled him as he whispered a series of spells that he hoped Maul took as nothing more than him praying for salvation.

Maul didn’t pause.

Obi-Wan dropped hold of the ledge flicking his wand upwards in order to soar up through the air landing behind Maul, just steady enough he was able to catch the silver sword, sapphires glittered across the bottom, a sight to behold if he weren’t busy lunging with it.

Maul had turned just in time to watch as Obi-Wan used every bit of strength, every bit of magic left in his body to bring the sword clear through his middle. The sadist had the decency to look surprised, shocked that he could be foiled by a scrawny 17 year old when so many had tried and failed before. Obi-Wan brought up his foot and kicked, returning the favor of pushing the Zabrak off the viaduct, he didn’t bother watching him fall.

The clatter of the sword falling out of Obi-Wan’s hand and onto the stone brought him out of his adrenaline induced daze and he turned his head almost robotically to where Qui-Gon still lay. He was breathing, but barely, each breath looked laborious even from afar.

“Qui-Gon!” One moment he was standing over where he committed a high wizarding crime and another he was on his knees next to his mentor. He ripped off his top layer and pressed over the wound desperately trying to stop the bleeding even though he could feel that his trousers were already being soaked through.

“No, no,” Qui-Gon batted his hands away, but it only gave Obi-Wan the determination to press harder.

“It’ll be alright, you’ll be fine,” Obi-Wan repeated to himself as he focused on the task at hand. A shaky hand caught his wrist and he tore his eyes away from the gore and met Qui-Gon’s deep blue eyes. Eyes normally filled with mystery and whimsy were focused just enough to quelm his fast-racing thoughts.

“Obi-Wan,” He pleaded, “Anakin-”

“Anakin’s fine!” Obi-Wan shook his head angrily, “I already told you he’s-”

“I need you to see that Anakin gets his training,” Qui-Gon grasped for his attention again and he gave it though he struggled too, “Anakin must become a wizard, he is the chosen one,” Qui-Gon spoke the words with a strong conviction as if he had been born with this knowledge and hadn’t found out along with the rest of them last year.

“Yes, sure, but Qui-Gon-” Obi-Wan tried, but froze when Qui-Gon struggled for a breath.

“Promise me Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon managed to pant, “Promise me you’ll see to it.”

“I promise,” He answered, they looked into each other’s eyes for a beat more before Obi-Wan returned to his task, wishing quite desperately that he’d gone with Satine to those first aid classes instead of the dueling club, “But don’t worry about that now, I-”

Qui-Gon’s breathing ceased.

There were no other sounds. He couldn’t hear the birds in the sky or the breeze through the trees; it was only silence. He felt his mouth form words, but couldn’t hear them. He moved his hands from Qui-Gon’s middle towards his shoulders shaking him once, twice, three times. He felt tears trailing down his face and he tried to wipe them away, likely just smearing his own face with the blood of both that murderer and of Qui-Gon. Merging the two of their beings together like they were twisted up into some horrifying cycle of fate. He pressed his head, body trembling, to Qui-Gon’s chest, praying to hear even an unsteady heartbeat.

All he could hear was silence.

He stayed there, unable to move and hardly unable to breathe at Qui-Gon’s side, sitting vigil for his mentor, his most trusted ally, the wisest man he knew. Eventually the bubble was bound to break and if it wasn’t Qui-Gon growing cold under him it was the hand that fell on his shoulder.

He flinched, whipping to the side prepared to fight another enemy, but his hands fell at the guarded look of Windu’s eyes. The professor tried to pull him away, but he broke out of his grasp with more strength than he’d thought he had left.

“Where’s Maul?” Windu crouched beside him, gently pressing Qui-Gon’s eyes shut. Obi-Wan couldn’t find it in himself to speak and he shook his head to try and convey that, but Windu just grabbed his shoulders and looked him straight in the eye, “I need to know if he’s still around.”

“I ki-” He tried, voice croaky and ruined in his silence, “He’s gone. Dead.”

Professor Windu said nothing, just placed a hand on his back for a moment more before standing. He swished his wand, brilliant red and gold sparks bursting out and filling the night sky, announcing to all that they were finally safe. However, after the display of colors he did not lower his wand and instead kept it raised, the tip glowing softly in the night’s sky.

Professor Plo Koon was the next to join them, his eyes sad and mournful under the light of their two wands. Then one by one the professors arrived, each taking in the scene and lighting their wands in silence. Obi-Wan felt much too numb sitting there on his own, magic exhausted from the fight, to locate his own wand much less light it in honor. Qui-Gon had never been much for ceremonies anyways, but the thought brought him no comfort.

The unspoken vigil ended as Headmaster Palpatine lowered his own wand, followed by Professor Windu. Obi-Wan was stood up by the latter, this time he found no fight left in him, and escorted towards the castle. He kept an eye on Qui-Gon’s body for as long as he could, but surrounded by the Headmaster and various professors it was impossible to see long before he crossed the threshold into the school.

#anakin skywalker #obi-wan kenobi #obitine #anidala #the clone wars #tcw #star wars #magical forces au #hpau

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artificialqueens · 4 years

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Tree House Kisses, Chapter 5 (Adorney) - Scorpio and Veronica

Chapter Summary: Just when Adore’s tired of being tired, someone new shows up. But why wasn’t Courtney informed?

Chapter 5: Shape of You

Adore shoved a couple of chips into her mouth, nose wrinkled in disgust, watching the obvious way Roy was flirting with Courtney, and the shameless way she was lapping up the attention. It had started with him teasing her, and currently had devolved into him attempting to tickle her on the grassy hillside where the group ate their lunch, as Courtney shrieked and giggled and pretended to want him to stop.

It had been a strange summer. After the bombshell news about Courtney’s parents dropped, Adore had decided not to reveal anything to her best friend about her sexuality yet. She tried to be a rock, a shoulder to cry on. She made a serious effort to spend time with Courtney all summer - even begging Bonnie to take Courtney along with them when they visited her cousins in Arizona, and making sure that no more than a few hours went by without a text.

Sometimes, she felt like she was leading a double life. Because while all that was going on, at the same time, she was taking every possible opportunity to sneak off with Violet. They had long since passed the days of mere make-outs in the tree house, and graduated to more adult forms of sexual experimentation. Violet was desperately in love with Fame, another girl in their class (although she tried to act cool about it), and it helped Adore to know that neither one of them was going to have their feelings crushed - at least, not by each other.

As Courtney had become fond of saying - romance and love and relationships were utter bullshit. The only thing in life that could truly be counted on were your friends.

And even that, Adore realized, was not guaranteed, as she watched her best friend act like a total fucking braindead idiot with a boy who had been annoying them since elementary school.

“Royyyyy, stoooop!” Courtney whined, giggling and simpering at him.

Adore stood up, the remnants of her lunch in her hands. “You know, when you want someone to stop touching you, giggling and batting your eyelashes is kind of a mixed message,” she said, then turned and flounced away.

Courtney jumped up and hurried after her. “Dory, wait up!”

Roy sighed slightly, whining to no one in particular, “Goddammit. Adore totally just fucked up my game.”

Jamin and Bob both laughed.

“What game?” Jamin asked.

“Yeah bro, you got no game,” Bob added.

“I have game!” Roy defended.

Alyssa and Darienne exchanged a look.

“Sorry, how long have you liked Courtney?” asked Darienne.

“Yeah, and you’re still just friends?” added Alyssa, with a judgmental pop of her tongue. “Maybe she’s trying to tell you something.”

The pretty brunette gave Roy a playful shove, fluttering her lashes.

“I’m taking it slow.”

“You’ve known her since you were like 3. That’s reeeeeeal slow, man,” Thorgy laughed.

“No fuckin’ game,” Bob proclaimed.

“Courtney!” Roy hurried up to Courtney at her locker, trying to catch her between the lunch bell and fifth period.

“Hey.” Courtney turned around, shutting her locker and flashing him a lopsided grin.

“Um...so...have you seen that new Exorcist movie yet?”

“Nope...have you?”

“No, but, uh...I heard it’s good. I was gonna try to see it this weekend.”

“Cool...” Courtney smiled, giving him a glimmer of hope.

“Are you free Friday? Do you want to maybe come with me?” Roy asked tentatively.

“Sure,” she agreed, slinging her backpack over her shoulder. “Who else is coming?”

“Oh. Um…” Roy shifted slightly. “I kind of thought it would just be the two of us.” He watched her face carefully as recognition dawned in her eyes.

“Oh…” she said softly, biting her lip nervously.

Roy cleared his throat and quickly backtracked, “You know, as friends.” He gave her a shaky smile, flashing his dimples.

“Right! Of course!” Courtney beamed up at him, eyes bright, radiant smile melting his heart. “So...I’ll see you later?”

“Yeah, definitely.” Relief and shame coursed through him. You fucking pussy, he told himself.

Courtney bit her lip again, flipping her ponytail over her shoulder and bouncing away down the hall. Bob, leaning on his locker nearby, gave Roy a knowing smirk.

Roy shook his head as Bob came sauntering towards him. “Don’t even start.”

Bob laughed. “Noooo fuckin’ game.”

“Fuck off,” Roy snapped, punching Bob on the shoulder.

COURTNEY: What do I wear? I don’t want to give him the wrong idea...

COURTNEY: But I still want to look cute.

COURTNEY: Do you think it’s really a just friends thing or is he full of shit?

ADORE: He’s full of shit

COURTNEY: LOL

COURTNEY: Well...

COURTNEY: If this is a date, what do I DO?

COURTNEY: Do I let him kiss me?

COURTNEY: I don’t know if I even like him like that...

COURTNEY: DORY HELP

ADORE: Come over. I’m bored.

VIOLET: Sorry pumpkin. It’s my brother’s birthday. We’re classing it up at the Outback Steakhouse tonight.

ADORE: Fuck.

VIOLET: What would you do if I was there??

VIOLET: …

VIOLET: Tell me where you’d touch me...

ADORE: I’m not in the mood for this.

VIOLET: You’re no fun at all.

ADORE: Yeah, well. Life is no fun.

VIOLET: Emo cunt

ADORE: Fuck off

VIOLET: Ohhhhhh...tonight’s your boo’s big date, huh?

ADORE: Goodnight, Violet

COURTNEY: DUDE

COURTNEY: He’s wearing so much cologne

COURTNEY: OMG I think this is a date

COURTNEY: WTF do I do?

COURTNEY: Adore???

COURTNEY: OK he’s being really nice and he keeps giving me those puppy eyes

COURTNEY: I feel kind of bad

COURTNEY: I really wish you were here

COURTNEY: Lol I just said “supposably” on purpose and he didn’t even correct me (I mean he clenched his teeth but he didn’t say anything)

COURTNEY: Lol he’s trying so hard

COURTNEY: It’s really pretty cute...

COURTNEY: DORY ARE YOU ALIVE???

“Ugh!” Adore hurled her phone out the window, into the grass. She curled into a ball and squeezed her eyes shut. And then she must have fallen asleep, because the next thing she knew, hands were shaking her awake.

She opened her eyes to see Courtney leaning over her in a relatively modest (for her) outfit, consisting of a sweater, colorful leggings, mini-skirt, and ugg boots.

“Why are you ignoring me?” she pouted, hands on her hips.

Adore groaned. “I fell asleep. How was your date?”

“It wasn’t a date.”

“Yeah, yeah. So did you kiss him or what?”

“Nope.” Courtney flopped down next to Adore on the bean bag, resting a head on her shoulder.

Adore sighed. “You will.”

Courtney laughed. “Maybe. We’ll see.”

Adore had seen the moving truck in the driveway yesterday, on her way back from Violet's. To her disappointment, she didn't see anyone, but like everyone else on the street, she was curious as to who was moving into their neighborhood. Adore and her mother even made a bet a couple of weeks ago, when Bonnie announced that the house had been sold. Adore was sure that their new neighbors were going to be a fresh young couple with small kids (also hoping she could get a babysitting job), and Bonnie was convinced that it was an older couple that she had seen looking at the house not long after Bendela’s family moved out.

“I just want you to casually walk by and see what you can peek,” Bonnie said from her place by the stove scrambling eggs, “But don't be creepy, okay?”

“What? I'm not creepy,” Adore leaned on the table, slightly offended.

“Yeah, sometimes you are. You got them big ol’ eyes and sometimes you just stare at people,” Bonnie turned to look at Adore, who was frowning. “Now, don’t get upset, I'm just saying that when you get nervous or shy you tend to just stare. And though it can be endearing, it’s also…a little bit creepy. Like the other day at the grocery store,” Bonnie continued to elaborate.

“What?” Adores voice went up a couple of octaves, “I didn't do anything at the store!”

“Oh, I know you didn't. You just gawked at the cashier as she flirted with you. I was so embarrassed. ‘My child is so awkward,’ I thought,” Bonnie sighed dramatically.

Since Adrian went to college a couple of months ago, the pair had become closer than Adore ever imagined. Being the last one in the house made Bonnie clingier than ever. Everywhere they went, her mother continuously pointed out pretty girls, trying to figure out Adore's type, even though Adore insisted she didn't have a type. Bonnie also let Adore have a glass of wine with her in the evenings, while they watched movies or ate dinner.

“That's totally different, she was gorgeous,” Adore exclaimed standing up from the table and grabbing two plates out of the cabinet.

“Okay, and? So are you,” Bonnie turned off the stove, scooping the eggs onto both plates.

“I was caught off-guard.”

“How? She was checking you out before we even got to the register.”

“I… I just didn't realize she was actually flirting with me until,” Adore tried to find the right excuse for her cold feet in the store the other day, “I thought she was just doing her job,” Adore shrugged, taking the waffles out of the toaster.

“Adore, you’ve got to work on your gaydar or you'll never get a girlfriend.”

Adore tried to be discrete as she wandered down the street to Dela’s old house. She noticed that the moving truck was no longer there, indicating that the mysterious neighbors were now settled in. Adore made sure to appear as casual as possible as she strolled past the driveway.

All of that was soon thrown out the door, when she saw the blonde crouched next to dirt bike. Stopped in her tracks, Adore stood mouth agape as she drank the girl in, because damn was she sexy. The girl’s thick blonde hair was pulled into a ponytail with a few strays falling loose, long creamy legs were on display thanks to a pair of cut off shorts, paired with a loose white tank top and beat up combat boots. All of it making Adore’s heart go into overdrive. And when she looked up at Adore with those ice-blue eyes framed by thick liner, Adore knew she was a goner.

Adore swallowed, when the girl rose from her crouched position everything seeming to move in slow motion as she made her way towards a mesmerized Adore. She took in every part of the girl, her slim frame, her red bra shown clearly through the thin top and her face--fuck she was beautiful. She definitely wasn’t an old groggy couple, or a three-year-old in need of a babysitter.

“Sup,” the blonde nodded stopping in front of her, eyes trailing down Adore’s body. Her voice was slow, low and fucking sexy.

“Uh,” Adore giggled nervously, “Hi.”

“So, I’m guessing you live ‘round here. Came to check out the new neighbors,” the blonde said, shifting her weight to one leg, linking her thumbs in her belt loops.

“Yeah, yeah. I, uh, I live a couple of houses down. Yeah, that one right there, I don’t know if you can, like, see it. It’s the one with the tree house in the backyard,” Adore stumbled over her words pointing in the direction of her house. She couldn’t believe it, in a matter of seconds she’d been reduced to a blubbering, giggly mess.

Her heart raced as the blonde leaned in towards her to get a look at where Adore was pointing, “That one, right there?” she pointed in the same direction as Adore, her voice sending shivers down Adore’s spine.

“Yeah,” Adore swallowed, quickly looking away to try to regain her composure.

“Well, nice to meet ya, I’m Pearl,” the girl held her hand out, blue eyes boring into Adore’s.

“A-Adore,” she reached out to meet Pearl’s hand.

COURTNEY: Meet me at the flagpole before class starts?

ADORE: Sorry, busy

Adore stuffed her phone into her bag as she led Pearl to the office to get her schedule from the office.

“Hopefully we have some classes together, but even if we don’t I can still show you to them. I mean, like, if you want me to, ya’ know,” Adore offered. She tried to play it cool, but she knew Pearl had her wrapped around her finger and it’d only been two days.

Pearl wasn’t just a pretty face, she was hilarious--with her deadpan sense of humor, filled with random facts. And they had a lot of interests in common. And when Pearl confirmed that she was a lesbian, Adore nearly fell out of her chair. Literally.

They were in Pearl’s garage drinking soda, listening to Green Day, Adore giving her a picture of what to expect from school.

“I mean I haven’t really been hanging out with my friends as much as I use to. Kind of just been a floater lately; talking to this person and hanging out with that person. Usually my best friend, Courtney. You should meet her; she’s amazing,” Adore shrugged tilting the chair forward. She was sitting backwards on the chair, legs on either side, arm resting on top of the back as she rocked.

“Well, I mean high school is that time when people start to go their separate ways. But, now you’ve got me. I’m just hoping there’s a lot of cute girls. I mean I haven’t been let down so far,” Pearl said, taking a sip from her can.

Adore face went red at the compliment, but was more focused on getting a solid answer, “Cute girls?” she inquired, making sure to keep her tone light, as she leaned forward with the chair.

“Yeah, I’m a girl’s girl,” Pearl winked and Adore nearly lost her balance, the chair almost slipping away from her. Luckily, Pearl reached out to help steady her.

“Of course, I want you to show me around. Don’t let me get stuck with some preppy tour guide who’s way too enthusiastic and happy to be here,” Pearl gave a crooked smile.

Adore giggled, since that tour guide would likely have been Darienne or Thorgy, who certainly fit the “preppy and too enthusiastic” description.

After getting Pearl’s schedule, they happily realized that they had three out of six classes together. “I can show you to your homeroom now or later, but I don’t think it’ll matter. We only go to homeroom to pick up papers or on important test days,” Adore explained.

“We can go to class now and stop by in between classes,” Pearl suggested.

“Okay, then. Let’s go to English,” Adore said, leading Pearl to first period.

“Mr. Harris, this is Pearl.”

“Oh, we have a new student?” the older man looked up from his desk, “Well, why wasn’t I informed about this?” he mumbled to himself, shuffling the papers on his desk.

“Yeah, Pearl Lent,” Pearl introduced herself. “Well, take a seat, wherever you choose, and talk to me after class so we can get caught up,” he dismissed the two.

Adore led Pearl to the back, where she usually sat. They were soon joined by April and Bob.

“You must be the new girl,” Bob smiled at Pearl.

“Yep.”

“Yeah, this is Pearl. She’s fucking cool.”

“Hi, I’m April.”

"Hi there." Pearl smiled charmingly up at April.

“Mhm, it’s pretty weird having someone living in the old Emerson’s house,” Bob started.

Adore’s brows furrowed, confused because that was not Bendela’s last name.

“Yeah, it’s been empty for as long as we can remember. Right Adore?”

“What are you-”

“Yeah. You know it’s haunted,” Bob continued, leaning forward onto Pearl’s desk. “Apparently, the Emerson’s son was a murderer and they moved when suspicions started to rise. The story is that their son started off killing animals in his backyard for fun- sacrificing them. Then one day, he grew curious. Wondered what it would be like to take the life of something bigger, more significant, a person. His first victim was his four-year-old neighbor. He suffocated him, then cut up his body before burying him. Then after that he couldn't stop. He grew addicted to the power. Some say that his parents knew and were just too afraid to confront him. Others say that they didn’t believe their sweet child could do all the horrible things that he was being accused of...” Bob was so close to Pearl, his voice falling to a whisper at the end.

Adore looked at Pearl, who was staring at Bob with a look of disbelief, confused and creeped out because her parents had told her that a family had just moved out earlier that summer.

“He’s so full of shit, Pearl,” Adore shook her head.

“Adore!” Bob laughed, “You’re always ruining things.”

“It wasn’t even funny.”

“Yeah, because you didn’t give it a chance to be.”

“Bob,” Adore sighed, “You’re just not funny,” she tried to keep her tone serious.

“Adore, stop lying,” Bob shook his head, “I’m hi-lar-ious,” he said, turning to April, who was a giggling mess in her seat, “See!”

Before Adore could reply, she was interrupted by Courtney, who she hadn’t even seen come in.

“Uhm, Hi, you must be Pearl,” Courtney gave a tight smile.

“Yeah, and you are?” Pearl leaned forward, attention on the pretty green-eyed girl.

“Courtney, and this is my seat.”

Pearl frowned, but shook her head and with an ‘okay’ and started to gather her things to move, not wanting to be problematic on her first day.

She was stopped by Adore, who put her hand on her arm, “Wait,” she said, and then turned to her best friend. “Courtney, it’s her first day. I’m showing her around, let her sit here, we don’t have assigned seats. Just sit next to April,” Adore tried to convince Courtney.

Appalled and offended, Courtney’s mouth dropped opened at her best friend’s words. “What?” she scoffed.

“Court, come on. Don’t be like that, just let her sit here,” Adore said, pouting at the end.

“I can move. It’s not a big deal, Adore,” Pearl said moving to gather her stuff again.

“No,” Adore whined before looking back to Courtney.

“Adore, she just said it’s no big deal and I’ve been sitting next to you since the first day of class. That’s not fair,” Courtney was now annoyed, not at Pearl, but Adore’s audacity to let someone that she just met take her seat, then try to convince her to sit somewhere else.

“Okay, okay. You’re right,” Adore finally agreed, “Pearl let’s sit over there, there's two open seats.”

As Adore and Pearl moved, Courtney scrunched up her face, sitting down with a huff.

Adore was over the moon to have Pearl in her classes. Introducing the beautiful girl to everyone, giddy when Pearl turned to look at her for reassurance or to make a face. Maybe, it was because Pearl was new and different. Adore had been surrounded by the same people most of her life and Pearl’s presence was such a breath of fresh air, Adore could barely contain her excitement.

“You don’t have to buy a locker if you don’t want. You can share with me?” Adore offered as they left Pearl’s homeroom teacher who had given her a bunch of papers that she would need.

“Really?”

“Yeah, no reason for you to pay five dollars for a locker, when I have plenty room in mine.”

“Wow, I guess I need to start thinking of a way to pay you back,” Pearl winked and Adore blushed when their hands lightly brushed together.

As the pair made their way to math, a particular short skirt caught Adore’s attention. Violet was bent over in front of her locker, going through her bag and Adore, excited to introduce Pearl, dragged the girl over to Violet.

“Hey, babe,” Adore greeted Violet, her hand lightly touching the exposed skin on Violet’s thigh to get her attention.

“Hey,” Violet stood up, turning to press a light kiss to Adore’s cheek before looking over to the blonde with narrowed eyes.

Pearl was unashamedly checking Violet out, taking in her pretty doll-like face, long black ponytail, crop top, and skirt.

“Hm, this must the infamous Pearl,” Violet said, a bored look on her face as she looked Pearl over. She had to admit that the girl was gorgeous, but Violet didn't plan to let Pearl know that.

“Infamous,” Pearl repeated in her slow drawl, “I wouldn’t use that word, but I am Pearl,” she finished with a crooked smirk.

Adore glanced between them hoping that they would get along, but from Violet’s demeanor it didn’t seem like she was planning to befriend the girl anytime soon.

“Whatever, everyone’s been talking about you. And I’ll say, I’m not impressed.”

“Oh, so, I’m guessing you’re the mean girl,” Pearl said, her tone joking.

“Sure,” Violet rolled her eyes, turning to pick up her bag and close her locker, “See you later, beautiful,” Violet said, pressing another kiss to Adore’s cheek, this time longer, making sure to leave a red print on Adore’s cheek. She pulled away, before sending Pearl a look and walking away.

Adore wiped the print from her cheek, as Pearl watched Violet walk away, her curiosity evident.

“Uh, girlfriend?” Pearl asked as she looked back to Adore.

“No, no,” Adore assured.

Pearl raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. “Well, she’s fucking gorgeous and she didn’t really seem to like me and that kiss was definitely a claim,” Pearl wiped the rest of Violet’s lipstick off her face as they made their way to their next class.

“Nah, we have like a friends with benefits kind of relationship, but she’s not like jealous or anything, I'm positive. She just likes to leave her mark and being difficult, that’s just her. But she’ll come around soon,” Adore nodded.

Gia and Laganja slid into the seats on either side of Courtney. She looked up from the math homework she was trying to finish before the bell rang. “Hey, guys.”

“Hey Court,” said Laganja. “You alright? You seem kind of...”

“Out of sorts…” Gia finished slowly, with a wry smile.

“I’m fine.”

“Hmmm.” Laganja clicked her tongue, imitating her role model, their head cheerleader, Alyssa Edwards.

“What do you think of that new girl?” Gia asked. “She’s like...really beautiful, huh?”

Courtney shrugged, “I mean, she’s pretty...I guess...”

“You guess? She’s gorgeous, and Adore seems to really like her,” Laganja pushed, observing Courtney’s reaction closely.

Courtney shifted in her seat, her mouth slightly turned down as she frowned, “She’s just showing her around because she’s new.”

Just then Adore and Pearl walked in together, Adore standing with Pearl as she introduced herself to the teacher.

“Eh, I don’t think that’s it,” Gia said, “I mean, we all know Adore, and she’s acting like Pearl’s the best thing since glitter.”

“I know Adore too, better than either of you,” Courtney snapped, ready to go on the defensive.

The knowing smirk they exchanged went over Courtney’s head as Adore and Pearl walked over to them.

“Just look at them, acting like the best of friends,” Laganja whispered right before the pair sat down. “Hey, Adore, did you finish the homework?” she asked innocently.

Courtney stayed silent as she watched Adore and Pearl.

“Yeah, I copied from Jinkx,” Adore said stiffly. It was no secret how much Adore disliked Courtney’s cheerleading friends, or as she liked to refer to Gia and Laganja, “Team Too Much.” She turned to murmur something to Pearl, who brushed Adore’s hair off of her shoulder, causing her cheeks to turn red.

Laganja looked at Courtney pointedly, one eyebrow raised. A hot jealousy started to burn in Courtney’s chest as she watched the two interact, but she refused to acknowledge it as anything more than fear of losing her best friend to a girl who had only been around for a day.

Courtney picked at her food, watching Adore and Pearl over by the lockers, chatting. Pearl had a hand on Adore’s arm, and Adore’s eyes sparkled as they talked, heads close together.

Bob shoved Roy slightly. “You could learn a thing or two from that new girl. Less than a week and Adore is ready to pack a suitcase full of her Indigo Girls CDs and move in with her. That’s game.”

Roy punched Bob on the arm, muttering, “Shut the fuck up!” under his breath.

Courtney frowned. “Bob, you’re such a little gossip. Why are you always starting rumors?”

“It’s not a rumor.” Bob said, confused. “She still hasn’t told you? It’s been like a year.”

Roy punched him again.

“Stop punching me, fuckface!” Bob punched him back.

“Hasn’t told me what?” Courtney asked quietly.

“Adore’s gay, Courtney. She came out to her family like, almost a year ago. Her mom told my mom last year.”

Courtney stared at Bob in stunned silence, heart pounding in her ears.

#rpdr fanfiction #adore delano #courtney act #adorney #bianca del rio #pearl liaison #violet chachki #bob the drag queen #bitney #viadore #adore x pearl #angst #fluff #lesbian au #high school au #tree house kisses #scorpio #veronica

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a-d-n-d-journal · 4 years

Text

Game Session #10

Characters:

Mirri in the wind, tabaxi; rapier

Rysiel, half-elf druid; acid burns, simple clothing and leather armor, scimitar

Teir, tiefling warlock; acid burns, vibrant gold skin and black hair w/silver highlights, horns, hooves, expensive-looking clothes and leather armor, carries a dagger as his only (physical) weapon

Zastu, dragonborn rogue; white scales almost completely covered in a hooded cape and mask, leather armor, short bow and shortsword + dagger

Noteable NPCs...

Sydiri Haunlar, human (Chondathan) fighter; brunette, chain shirt, dagger, shortbow, wooden club

Zephyros, cloud giant; windswept white hair, wispy white bear, billow purple robe with gold stars

Amarath and N'von, two human cultists missionaries and their seven human cult followers friends; all dressed in tight fabric wrapped around their thin bodies, topped with head wraps and decorated with feathers. Amarath carries a disturbing "smiling bag"

We were all tired and braindead during this one, so details are sparse...

Zephyros welcomes the party (Rysiel, Teir, Zastu, plus Sydiri at this point) to his floating tower. He explains that his extra-planar allies have told him that someone would come to help fix the mess that is the Ordning. What is the Ordning? It's giant society. Ever since forever, giant society has been ordered by type—with Storm Giants at the top, and Cloud Giants (me, Zephyros) below that, then whoever –handwaves– below that (fire and frost giants, stone giants, hill giants). Giants used to rule this land, until the war with the dragons millenia ago (giants and dragons are mortal enemies you know). Well, with the recent uprising of the dragons (a couple years ago), Annam got angry at us and called us all lazy and complacent. Oh, Annam, he's the Giant god. He looks over everything. And he broke the Ordning, that's why you've been hearing about giant attacks lately—everyone is trying to prove they're the most fit giant to rule over all of us. Er, you have heard about that, haven't you? Well, I thought that king Hekaton, lord of the Storm Giants, would be able to keep his seat of power, and hold control over giant society. He certainly seemed like he was going to continue that way. But then... Well, his wife, poor Neri, went missing. She had a soft spot for the small folk (that's you), and met with them on a regular basis, on an island off the Sword Coast. She turned up dead a while later—murdered. Hekaton, as you can imagine, flew into a rage. He would have led the giants to smash every small folk settlement on the coast, if it weren't for their youngest daughter—Serissa—who held her mother's affection for the small folk. She convinced Hekaton not to destroy you all, for Neri's sake. But now he's... Well, nevermind. Rysiel and Teir pipe up, insisting that Zephyros finish that thought. He's resistant at first, but they guess the truth, or near to it. Hekaton has gone missing now too. He went in search of his wife's murderers, but hasn't been heard form for weeks. His youngest daughter—Serissa, remember?—holds the throne, with her elder sisters—Mirran and Nym—acting as advisors, along with her uncle Uthor probably.

The party decides that going straight to the Storm King's throne is the best idea, and ask Zephyros where it is. Unfortunately, it is beyond them for many reasons. Maelstrom is a citadel deep within the Trackless Sea. Technically Zephyros' tower can bring them there—or close anyway, but they'd definitely be destroyed without magical protection, and Zephyros isn't interested in risking death. He offers to bring them close, but assures them they would die (kind of non-chalantly, at which point Mirri tells them that Zephyros isn't all there due to his fondess for contacting other planes and sometimes going temporarily insane). He knows how to get there, but they aren't near important enough—yet—to be able to manage it. The party sighs collectively, and asks to go to their second destination—Triboar—to deliver the news of Darthag Ulgar's death to his ex-wife at the Lionshield Trading post there. Zephyros brightens up immediately and says it'll take about 11 days (275 hours exactly) to get there. He asks if there's anything else he can get them before he retires upstairs to consult his extraplanar allies (Mirri rolls their eyes, "Not again!") —I also tell the party that they can treat Zephyros as a sort of merchant, but his supplies might be limited since he's a giant. Zephyros mentions that Mirri's (+1) rapier used to be a clothes pin, so who knows what he might have. (Rysiel asks for -something-, but I roll for it and he doesn't have it :/ ); They get some food—very airy spongcake-type stuff, and Zephyros brings down one of his many journals from the Moonshae Isles, which he wrote and illustrated himself. Mirri can't read them, but has been looking at the pictures a lot. Rysiel translates for Teir, who is increbily interested. The journals are about 100lbs each, and 4-5ft tall, made of thick parchment. (They can be used as a mundane item that grants advantage on certain knowledge rolls, but specific information isn't really available unless I go read a jillion wiki articles about the Moonshae Isles and their history/fauna/flora/etc). There's also some roleplay with the Tressym (Rillix) as they figure out what to feed it. Zephyros drops a hunk of raw meat at some point (and some of the griffon's hay bedding for Bobble), and Rysiel creates a bonfire to cook with. Zephyros reminds them not to come up to the second floor, or the griffon aerie. (Not that they have the ability anyway) The days start passing... Teir seeks Sydiri's help in wearing armor and using shields (they improvise with a giant wicker coaster). On the first day, Zephyros approaches "Ryan" to tell him that someone is looking for him. They go aside (outside) to talk, and Teir sneaks behind to eavesdrop. Both "Ryan" and Teir are disappointed though, when Zephyros reveals that "someone is looking for you" is the entirety of the message. Zephyros doesn't seem to notice, but the next day he comes down after speaking to his allies again and tells "Ryan" that "A Rainy Kevin" (or is it "Kevin Rainy"?) is the one looking for him, but that it will be someone else that finds him. Ryan/Rysiel thanks Zephyros, but looks confused.

On the third day, the party is surprised by some visitors, because no one wants to stand in the wind and cold to watch the fucking majestic countryside far below. There's a fluttering of many large wings, and then a moment later—some shouting. The voices ask—in the common tongue—for the owner and resident of the tower to come out and say hello. Zephyros is sleeping upstairs at the time, so the party waits until the owners of the voices make their way inside. Nine slendar humans appear, all dressed similarily in fabric wrapped around their bodies, tied tightly. They have more fabric wrapped around their heads, and are decoraed with feathers. Two of them appear somewhat more decorated, and one carries a shoulder back with a distrubing-looking smiley face. Teir recognizes the bag as magic, but doesn't remember why. The newcomers seems somewhat surprised to find some small folk, but ask if there's a cloud giant around. The party stands around looking offended until Zephyros calls down and greets them. "Have you heard of our Lord and Saviour, Yan C Bin?" One of the cultists missionaries asks. Zephyros looks confused. Two of them introduce themselves (to Zephyros) as N'von and Amarath, and explain that Yan-C-Bin wants his help to 'restore the planes to their rightful primodial state'. They're hazy on what this means, they just want a yes/no from Zephyros. Zephyros is confused, so he asks the party. Teir seems to think this is a bad idea, and is jealous of the newcomer's arrival, and also: how the fuck did you get here? The missionaries try to ignore him, but it quickly becomes obvious that he's not going anywhere, so: "On our giant vultures, of course." Teir tries to recall what he can about giant vultures (kind of an unusual choice of mount, but not unheard of) and what cultures/societies/groups were known to use them (no one close by! probably from another plane?) (I don't remember the rest of the conversation, but Zephyros goes upstairs to consult his planar allies on the matter, and the missionaries go outside because they like the wind and open air)

More than an hour passes and Mirri realizes that Zephyros must have had an 'accident' (he failed his saving throw on the spell), and is lying comatose upstairs. Teir sends his raven up to check on the giant, and then they have a game of pantomime to try to figure out what's going on (Zephyros is laying on the floor, but is alive). Mirri explains that he'll be "fine" in another 8 hours or so. A little while later, the two speaking missionaries pop back inside to see what's taking so long. (I don't remember what was said) They have an argument with Teir and Zastu (Rysiel is brooding in the corner or something? Idk), and Mirri walks by with 'Calm Emotions' (make targets indifferent), causing one of the missionaries and Zastu to chill out. The missionaries go back outside. Moments later they hear the flapping of wings and a scrabbling on the tower wall. Normally they'd ignore it, as the grphyons that Zephros keeps are constantly coming and going, but something is suspicious. Zastu sneaks outside and counts the missionaries and vultures there—only seven of nine of them are there. She goes back inside to tell the party. They are very offended by the presumptuousness of these cultists missionaries!!! To be continued...

Spells cast:

Mirri:

Abilities:

Cantrips: Mage Hand

Spells: Calm Emotions

Slots used: 0/4 1st; 1/3 2nd; Regained: All (multiple rests)

Rysiel:

Cantrips: Create Bonfire

Spells:

Slots used: 0/4 1st; 0/3 2nd Regained: All (multiple rests)

Teir:

Cleric abilities:

Cantrips:

Spells:

Rituals:

Slots used: Warlock 0/2 Cleric 0/2 1st Regained: All (multiple rests)

Killcount:

Mirri: 0 Rysiel: 0 Teir: 0 Zastu: 0

Treasure looted:

Supplies for 4 minor Potions of Healing (bought for 12gp ea. by Zastu)

Made 2 minor Potions of Healing (Zastu)

#5e #A Party Most Queer #storm king's thunder #D&D

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sarkastically · 6 years

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For the softer world prompts, could you do #2 Gert/Chase? Thanks!!

(This got much sadder than I was expecting. Also much longer. Warnings for mentions of child abuse, cursing, self-worth issues, self-esteem issues, character death. Mostly pulled from comic book canon.)

Rowboat

02. At my worst, I worry you’ll realize you deserve better. At my best, I worry you won’t. (I’ve never been better.)

Failure is a thing that Chase Stein is intimately familiar with. Some people have pets, mantras, touchstones, good luck charms. Some people have methodologies and habits. A few, likely fewer than claim to, have faith. Chase has failure. It feels etched into his bones, burned into his skin, threaded into his hair, and expelled with every breath that he has ever taken. When his heart beats, he thinks that it must surely pump failure through his veins to ensure that it is forever and always ingrained in every part of his body, so deep that he’ll never be free of it. Not really. Even though he has covered it over with this shiny veneer, this lie of being the popular jock, the lacrosse star, the guy that all the girls swoon over--almost all of them but that’s the problem, isn’t it?--the failure is still there under the surface, waiting for someone to scratch the new paint job off and find it waiting, a declaration that he can never run far enough away from because it’s just innately a part of him.

He knows his father recognized it, saw his utter inability to live up to anyone’s expectations, no matter how small, and wonders if it was this lack that resulted in the blows Victor reigned down on him his entire life. If he had been born better, maybe none of that would have happened. The fault, it seems, lies within him rather than within his father, which makes sense. Victor Stein is a genius. Victor Stein is a man who has made many wonderful marvels that have helped move the world forward. And he is a failure. Who could blame a brilliant man for being disappointed when his only son is shown to be lacking something integral?

Who could blame him for getting mad about that and lashing out?

Chase can’t. At least, not on the bad days. He knows what the others would say if he mentioned this mess to them. They would take his side because, somehow, even though he’s positive they can see the failure, they don’t seem to care as much. They don’t realize the hazard he poses, the danger that he puts them in just by being there, around them, near. He is a failure, and things that he touches have a habit of turning to dust beneath his hands. This isn’t something he wants to do to them, but he also can’t make himself leave them even if he thinks it would be better in the long run.

He can’t make himself leave Gert. He also can’t make himself say that aloud. To her. He can barely acknowledge it in his own heart, in his own head. The idea of forming it into words is terrifying because what if he’s wrong? What if he fails in loving her just as much as he fails in everything else?

What if Gert gets hurt?

And that ends the discussion right there before it even begins because he cannot allow that. No matter what happens to him, Gert needs to be okay. Gert is fantastic and important. She is smart and witty. She is a forest fire of thoughts and ideas and the ambition to see each and every one of them through to the end. If anyone in their group can change the world for the better, it is Gert, and he means to ensure that she gets that chance. Someday. Somehow. Even if it means he has to die for it. It seems like a just and right cause.

They trade quips back and forth, and he tries not to think of it like dancing. Chase knows that this type of attention from Gert is one of her ways of showing affection. People she doesn’t like, she ignores, doesn’t talk to, doesn’t bother with unless they need to be verbally cut down at the knees. But people she trusts, people whose company she enjoys get to experience what is a mostly friendly exchange of almost insults. He goes along with it, of course, much like he goes along with everything. Chase is a rowboat with no oars on the ocean, always drifting this way and that at the behest of the tides. He dares not try to take control of the situation because that is how you capsize and drown. Going with the flow has always been easier, falling into the patterns the world wants him to take is easier. There is less chance of failure, there is less chance of disappointment if no one knows what you can do, if everyone already thinks you’re a moron anyway.

They’re sitting in one of the rooms of the sunken mansion, companionably, in silence. Gert is reading one of the many books in the house that has not succumbed to dry rot or filled with water and mold, and he is just sitting, trying to watch her in a way that is not obvious. Though he does watch her. Often. He watches her breathe, he watches her laugh, the way she tucks her hair behind her ear one, two, three times or more in conversations when she is agitated. Gert is close to the vest with her emotions, but they slither out in stressful situations, hissing at anyone who gets too close. He’d love to be able to calm her. He’d like to be able to tell her that everything will be alright, but it would be a lie because he doesn’t know. It would be a lie, and she would be disappointed, and he would be a failure. And he just.

He can’t. He cannot stomach being a bigger failure in her eyes than what he knows he already is, a friend who drifted, got popular, stopped talking to her, stopped being him to become what the world wanted. In truth, Chase is the perfect example of so many things that Gert hates about the world, and he has listened to her enough to know it. He does listen to her even if she thinks he doesn’t, even if he seems like he doesn’t, even if he doesn’t always understand. He hears her. Her words stick in his mind like throwing stars embedded into a wall, like something from all the old ninja movies they used to watch together. Gert has never been good about softening her verbal blows; it’s just one of the many things that make up her personality, and he’s okay with that because it’s her.

So the stars stick there, and he bleeds around them, but he learns from it. And he listens. He just doesn’t tell her that because he doesn’t want her to think that he’s someone who can be depended on. He’d rather be thought of as the dumb fuck-up, the irrational, impulsive man-child. It’s easier. It’s so much easier. And it’s a height from which he can survive when he falls. There is no if. He will fall, he always does. The trick, especially now, is not to take the rest of them down with him and not to shatter into so many pieces when he lands that he is of no use whatsoever anymore. He’s a tool--Gert has accused him of as much though she doesn’t mean it in the way that he does when he applies it to himself--and tools can be useful. They are made to be used. He can be used. That’s fine. That’s okay. As long as it helps them.

As long as it helps her.

Sometimes he wonders if there’s a way he can get the rest of them out of this mess, but every single idea he has is tinged with that inevitable glint of failure. Something will go wrong, and then they will be in an even worse situation than the current one. There is a lot to be said for what they have right now. They have food, and they have shelter, working lights, and water. And, yeah, they are slowly slipping into the earth and some of the rooms are too wet or lost to mud, but they are not on fire, they are not on the streets. He has managed something somewhat good for them in bringing them here.

It just doesn’t feel like enough, and it feels like it will fall off into the ocean at any moment, leave them shocked and gasping for air. They will see what a moron, failure, disappointment he is, for real this time, and make him leave. Maybe they would be better off without him. Probably. But. He really can’t stand the thought of watching them leave him behind even if it would be better for them. He’s selfish like that, he supposes, wants what’s best for them but just as long as it includes him.

“What are you thinking about, Stein?”

Her voice is unexpected, almost strange. It is soft and there are no barbs in it this time, a rose pruned of all its thorns, and Chase isn’t really used to that. He thought she was reading. “Nothing.” It’s an easy lie, and it’s the answer that’s expected of him. Chase Stein, the big, brainless jock. Chase who has perfectly managed the thousand yard blank stare when asked difficult questions not because he doesn’t have an answer but because he doesn’t want to give the answer.

Gert sets the book aside without even bothering to slip something between the pages to mark her place, which Chase thinks is probably because she doesn’t need it. That’s just the kind of memory that Gert has, sharp and keen and comprehensive enough to recall every single mistake he’s ever made and every dumbass thing he’s done to her or in front of her. “I’m calling bullshit on that.”

He shifts, leaning further into the arm on the other side of the couch as though that will make him small enough to disappear into it. The obvious solution, the easy one, would be to get up and leave the room, divorce himself from the possibility of saying something dumb by simply not being there to say something dumb. But he doesn’t want to leave her company even when he’s discomforted by it, and, god, what does that say about him?

“For one thing,” she continues, pushing her glasses up her nose and then begins fiddling with her hands, which is the sort of thing that Gert only ever does when she’s nervous about something, and Chase wonders how many people in the world know about that, whether he’s in a small, select club. “I don’t think you could conceivably have been thinking about nothing for that amount of time without the very real likelihood of being braindead.”

The corner of his lip quirks automatically because this is Gert engaging him in conversation, teasing in the way she has that means she sees you and you are worth the effort. It means as much to him as a kiss from a crush might mean to someone else, which is probably sad and pathetic. He should probably want more from this, from them. He should probably be trying harder, attempting romantic gestures, doing something to express the way his heart threatens to bubble over like microwaved instant oatmeal in a shallow bowl, but what would he do if he caught her? He’s a failure. He’s a vase that just keeps rolling down the stairs, endlessly loud, completely broken, yet always smashing even more. And he’s also the person who knocked the vase down the stairs and just keeps doing it because he’s too dumb to manage anything more. Hadn’t his father said as much, once? More than one. Hadn’t his father said as much every single time he hit him even if it wasn’t always in words?

“Chase?” This time her voice is different, and he recognizes the soft concern she gets when she talks about the fact that they cannot only feed Molly sugar no matter how much she asks for it. How they need to make sure to maintain decent sleep schedules despite the fact that she’s the one with the worst habit of not sleeping out of all of them.

He remembers birthday parties when they were younger, Gert with her hair in some braid that was both intricate and yet wrong because her parents tried--they tried so damn hard all the time and he hates them but he loves them too because it was always apparent in every single thing they did how much they loved her--handing over packages that had been wrapped poorly but with care, and how the presents inside of them were always startlingly perfect even if it ended up being something you needed instead of something you wanted. When he was twelve, she gave him a stack of books that he had initially thought were lame only to realize, once he started reading them, that they were lush and beautiful and full of wonder. Everyone else had been getting him action figures or video games or sports equipment. Gert had given him worlds full of wonder and magic and danger and friendship. In the long run, her gift had meant the most.

“Hey, earth to Chase. We’re getting a little worried here, space cadet.” Gert has moved closer to him, and he can see how green her eyes are behind her glasses. They’re not always easy to see, and it’s not just because of the glasses but also because of the fact that Gert purposefully holds herself back from people. She hovers at the edges of the group, crosses her arms over her chest, will plant her feet in a power stance and literally lean away from people so that they can’t get too close. She wasn’t always like that. He remembers group huddles when they were children, limbs everywhere playing Twister, arms slung over shoulders, around waists. They were a pack, close as everything. There were times when their limbs would all tangle together and no one knew which belonged to who and no one cared because it didn’t matter. When does time change that, he wonders? Where is the demarcation between when it is okay to let other people touch you and when you build up the wall? Why does it happen? How does it stop?

Chase knows why he sometimes flinches from unexpected contact. He understands checking rooms for exits and making sure to avoid corners or places where you can be trapped. The years have taught him when to sense that a punch is coming, how to dodge it or twist so that it doesn’t hurt as much if you can’t avoid it completely. Gert doesn’t employ the same tactics that he does, and he doesn’t understand the purpose of her avoidance. He also cannot bring himself to ask about it, worried because not only is it not his place but depending on what the answer is he may want to do something that he has no right or means to do. Like, punch out half the people who went to school with her. Or something else. He doesn’t know. What he does know is that any quest he attempts to take up will end in failure. So why should he try? Why should he try at all?

It’s hard not to want to try, however, when she is right next to him on the couch, her knees pressed to the side of his leg, her green, searching eyes right there as though she can look deep enough into the sea of him to discover what scuttles dark and unknown along the bottom. How many quests does Gert have? How many missions? How many wrongs to right? It seems like all of them sometimes. It seems like she has decided she will cup the whole entire world in her small palms and never put it down until she has fixed it all. Chase knows, he already knows, that it will leave her scarred and marked and bruised, that it will flay the skin from her hands and strip the warmth from her heart and drown all the compassion in her mind.

The world is a dark place. Even the people who are supposed to love and care for you do not. It’s easier to be a rowboat. It’s easier to just let go, allow it to take you where it will, back and forth and all around on the open, crashing waters. It’s better than fighting.

They ran because they could not fight, but he knows Gert wanted to, wants to. Gert is a pacifist, but she still wants to find a way to beat them. It’s not worth it, he wants to say. It’s best to just keep running, hand in hand forever. Chase, for his posturing, does not like conflict, does not like violence, though he can hold his own in a fight. (Except against his father. Never against his father. But then Victor Stein, no matter how tall Chase got, how broad, has always been ten feet tall, a tornado trapped in human skin.)

“Chase?” Her fingers touch his cheek, hesitantly, and he turns his head slightly, hopes she will not draw away. She doesn’t. But she also doesn’t say anything so they stay there like that for a beat, her hand on his cheek, his eyes closed, head canted just enough that it’s obvious this is not nothing, and even though his heart should be pounding, he should probably be breathing faster, he’s calmer in her storm than anywhere else.

Stupid rowboat. Stupid tool.

She saved his life. When he drowned, she breathed air back into his lungs. He woke to the image of Gert Yorkes, hard, hardened, jaded to those with no fucking eyes to see her soft but determined, a glowing sputtering torch of truth, saving his life, the sensation of her lips against his own. He woke to wrap an arm around her and pull her closer, try and show her what it meant to him that she cared by kissing her back, his tongue inept, his mind fogged and swimming. Half-dead, half-alive, barely back from the brink of nothing, uncoordinated, a failure at dying as much as at living, and the first thing he did was kiss her. His lips haven’t felt right since, and they haven’t really talked about it because that’s not what they do, have real discussions.

That’s not what he does. Gert has lots of real discussions, sometimes she has them with herself because no one else will listen. He has heard her, ranting at herself, ranting at the walls, and wanted to knock, go in, listen, but doesn’t. Because he would fail her somehow. If he lets her wrap a hand around his wrist, if he gives her any sense of trust, any stable ground, he will inevitably fail and doom her. There is nothing he wants more than to keep her safe, and he is not safe. Far from it.

“Chase,” her voice wavers, and he remembers her momentary hesitation before they plunged down into the Hostel, the way he wanted to hold her and reassure her that it was okay but didn’t because how could he. “Can you please talk to me? Are you okay?” She has not moved her hand.

He opens his eyes, and she is still there, bright green eyes, brash purple hair, teeth sunk into her bottom lip because she is concerned. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not acting fine.”

“I’m just thinking. You’re right, it’s really hard for me.”

Gert looks slightly pained, regretful. “I don’t.” Her hand threads up into his hair. “I don’t actually think it’s difficult for you to think. I don’t really believe you’re a moron. You know that, right?”

Does he know that? He thinks that maybe he does or used to. He definitely used to believe it when she would gift him books and then call him to talk about them at length. Gert has never slept normally, always up late into the night, and Chase would make himself stay awake to talk to her, to listen to her, while they discussed the books she got him. And Gert never made fun of his ideas about them even if he had no ideas about them at all other than the fact that he liked something in them, some word, some character, just the fact that her hands had touched it before he did.

How long can you be in love with someone, Chase wonders, as he watches her face. How long can you be in love before it washes away like Sharpie on skin? How do you make it permanent, tattoo it into your skin, your heart?

Her hair has slid forward, covering part of her face, and he reaches to tuck it behind her ear, tries not to linger, tries not to think about the day she breathed life back into his body. He answers her with a question of his own. “Were you worried?”

When she pulls back just a bit, she looks surprised. It’s hard to catch Gert by surprise, and Chase carves the victory into his heart like he is Alexander the Great conquering the world. “What?”

“When you gave me CPR, were you worried?”

Gert looks a little like she has been hit by a car or seen a ghost or been told she’s failed an exam. Gert looks a little bit lost, and he regrets saying anything at all.

The words rush out of him so quickly he can barely keep up with them, but he just wants to take it back, undo that expression on her face that hurts him more than any injury his father ever bestowed on him. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked. Forget it. I’m sorry.” He tries to pull away, thinks it will likely be better if he retreats, flees back to the room he has declared as his own, in the back, near where the mansion has sunk the furthest. He wants to be there, to know when it all starts to go so that he can warn them.

He tries to pull away, but both her hands are on his face now.

“Yes.” The word is whispery and strange. Chase has never heard Gert speak so low except when she’s trying not to wake Molly and even then it never shakes the way it shakes now like she’s afraid of something. That’s ridiculous. Gert is afraid of nothing. “I was terrified of losing you.”

It’s a big admission.“Oh.” His heart is a train that has gone off the rails and is crashing through the white picket fences he imagines must exist in the American Midwest. He can’t stop smiling.

Gert is blushing and won’t look at him. She looks pissed, which is her default when she doesn’t know what else to do. “Look. Stop. Chase. Stop grinning like that.”

“Why?” He is reduced to one-word responses and looking like a fool. He has settled his hands over her own so that she cannot move them. He keeps brushing the tips of his fingers over hers, debating whether she will let him hold them or if that will just make her bolt.

“I don’t need you to make fun of me about it.”

“I would never.” It sounds like a prayer from his lips, and Chase has never prayed for anything before, not really, never believing it would do any good considering the world around him and who he is, what he has always been, a boy who should be golden but cannot succeed at anything.

That makes her gaze lock back onto him, and he knows that look. It’s her searching look, her digging through everything within reach to try and find the truth of the thing look, and he lets her. He shouldn’t, he knows. He should slam the door. He is a failure. He is a disaster waiting to happen. He is an anchor that will probably sink the entire ship, but he. He is also selfish, and he wants to stay trapped, pinned by her eyes. One day, he will probably make her regret this, but he doesn’t think he ever will.

And people can change, can’t they? Maybe he can unlearn how to be a failure. Maybe that can be stripped off of him like clothes, peeled away as easily as glue dried across a palm like a second skin.

“Why would I make fun?” His fingers twist into hers, and she lets him. She lets him. This is Gert and that simple fact speaks volumes.

Gert has her lip between her teeth, but her eyes never leave his face. He wonders what she’s looking for, wonders how to make it blatant, tries to soften his eyes, his mouth, pushes it to the forefront of his mind just in case Gert might be able to read it through the bone and blood and skin. “Because you’re Chase Stein, and I’m.”

“Wonderful,” he finishes for her, and she screws her face up at the interruption but doesn’t look mad the way she is normally mad when he cuts her off.

“Not what I was going to say.”

“No, but it’s true regardless.” He knows. Oh, he knows. Because he feels like that, too, worthless, a tool, nothing. He knows what it’s like to not have your inner self reflect what other people think, what other people see. He understands even if he doesn’t get it because Gert. Gert is. Gert IS in every sense of the word. Gert is an active sentence. Gert does things, Gert thinks things, Gert moves forward. Chase is passive, drifting, waiting.

How could she ever think she is anything less than herself? Whose face does he need to punch in for making her think that? God, probably his own. Probably his own dumb face. Is it possible to punch yourself, he wonders?

“You saved my life.” He’s still in awe of that. Maybe he shouldn’t be. Maybe it speaks loads to how much life with his parents has ruined him that Chase thinks his life might have been better if the period of its sentence occurred that day, on the ground, cold and wet and done.

“That doesn’t make me wonderful. That just makes me a decent person.”

“I still think you’re wonderful.” Unable to shut up or not speaking at all. Why are these his two default positions, and why does she bring both of them out so much? It’s not just that. Being near Gert lets Chase say true things. Most of the time when he’s talking, it's just talking, things to fill the quiet, but with her things get way more real. It might be annoying if it wasn’t so almost terrifying. It would be more terrifying if it wasn’t oddly freeing in some way. God, he doesn’t understand anything, does he? Maybe he is just as dense as his father always thought.

Her hands are still in his, and Chase doesn’t know if the trembling is her or him or both of them. When was the last time he touched someone this long?

“And I still think you might have legitimately suffered brain damage.”

Is this Gert’s way of simply trying to dismiss him, make the truth pouring from his mouth stop because it is too much, it is unwanted, or is she trying to get at something else? What does he mean when he attempts to push people away? He is trying to protect them, protect himself, because he is a failure who brings nothing good to anyone. Is this, then, Gert’s way of trying to let him know that she fears she is the exact same thing. He hopes not. But if it is, he wonders if there is any way he can prove her wrong. Even though she deserves better than him. Deserves nothing less than the best. “I thought you were wonderful before almost dying.”

“Well.” She swallows, and he tries not to think about what it would be like to press his lips against her throat. “I didn’t say that the brain damage was recent.”

Chase tugs on her hands, just the smallest, gentlest pull, but she follows it, moves closer to him, straddling his lap now, which makes it easier for them to look at each other than it had been a moment before. Although when she is this close, it’s hard for him to not just tuck his face into her neck and breathe her in, will his body to disintegrate down to only atoms so that he can lose himself inside of her and never have to deal with being again. “Maybe I got it from looking at you. You’re so hot you burned up all my synapses.”

It’s a terrible line, but Gert chuckles in a way that is fond and does not move off his lap. Their hands are still threaded together, but Chase lets one go so that he can place it tenderly on her neck. That makes Gert stop laughing, sucking her breath in sharp through her teeth in a way that makes him worry she hates it until he catches her eyes and they are anything but upset. “That’s okay?”

She nods. “That’s okay.”

Then she kisses him, and he wants to say don’t, wants to warn her away with the truth of everything that he is, in all the ways that he is lacking. There should be cards for this, he thinks. Hallmark could make a killing manufacturing warning labels for screw-ups like him. Human disaster. Never lives up to any expectations. Failure, failure, failure. It blinks like a railroad crossing light in his brain. But Gert’s mouth is on his, her tongue pressing forward against his own, and she has let go of his other hand so that she can ball both hands into his shirt, clinging like her life depends on it.

Oh, don’t, he wants to say. Don’t depend on me. Don’t trust me. But it’s too late. He can’t now. He can’t let her go now.

“That’s okay?” she asks when she breaks away to pant for breath, forehead against his, hands still balled into his shirt.

Chase has one hand in her hair and the other on her waist, pulling her incrementally closer. “That’s okay,” he says instead of admitting that she should have someone worth her time, which is what he will never be. Not even if he changes. Not even if he tries. But he is. He is going to try. “That is very much okay.”

She kisses him again, and he opens his mouth, lets every active thing in Gert drown out the voices in his head that whisper and hiss failure at him all day long. It occurs to him, only a little, that the same voice may exist in her own head. Perhaps they might not be enough on their own, but maybe together. Maybe together it’ll be okay. He hopes so because now that she is on his lap, kissing him, hands unfurling from his shirt to skate over skin, Chase is positive that it doesn’t matter if he will inevitably fail her because he cannot leave her.

#sara writes #sara's drabbles #runaways fic #Anonymous

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