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apomaro-mellow · 1 year

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Part 3 of Steve Disappearing

Brittney was feeling less good about this as the night went on. There was no way Mr. Eddie was gonna let her babysit again if he found out about this. He was one of the least strict parents she knew, but even he would’ve drawn the line at this. Driving a bunch of kids under cover of darkness to Hawkins seemed like a good idea at the time though. That is until Lucy revealed she didn’t know exactly where to look. Or what they were even looking for.

“Why don’t we go to the sites of the murders?”, Noah suggested.

Brittney slammed on the brakes. “Murders?! That’s what we’re doing here?! I thought we were gonna, I don’t know, go somewhere important to you and your dad.”

“Important....let’s go to the high school!”

Brittney let out a breath. She had been reading books on teenage development (never mind that she was still waist-deep in her youth) so she felt that she should guide Lucy even in her misguided actions. And her dad was all rock and roll and down with authority, so he’d understand if they broke into a school in another town, right?

“The school records would have info on gang activity with students, right? Even if it was just regular fighting, that sort of stuff goes on your permanent record”, Lucy said.

Ashley looked up at the intimidating walls of the school. “This is gonna go on our permanent record if we get caught.”

“Actually, we’ll just go to jail”, Noah said.

“No, you’ll go to juvie, I’ll go to jail”, Brittney said. “So let’s be stealthy, look at those records, and be outta here.”

Lucy was prepared to look for a window to sneak in through, or perhaps try getting in through the roof, when she heard the creak of a door. Somehow, the gym had been left open. What luck!

“Guys, let’s go!”

Not waiting for an answer, she raced for the door, only for it to shut right behind her. There was a bit of light from the windows, but she took out her flashlight too.

“Guys?”, she pointed it towards the door.

She felt a chill creep up her spine and she looked around. It was a normal gym. Just a basketball court and some bleachers. But these places always seemed creepier at night. Lucy wondered if her dads stared down gang rivals here. Then it got so cold she could see her breath. And then it seemed as though that mist was filling the room. And then it turned to black smoke. Lucy rubbed her eyes. It was past her bedtime but there was no way she was this tired.

Then the smoke began to form a figure, first unrecognizable, and then slowly it turned more familiar. From the smoke emerged her father, Steve.

“Dad?”, she gasped. Lucy was in such shock, she didn’t hear the door slam open. “Dad!”, she started to run towards his outstretched arms but someone held her back. “Wha?”

“That’s not your father”, an old woman said.

“Lucy”, Steve called. And it was his voice but also not only his voice but Lucy didn’t know what that meant.

“We’re not falling for your tricks.” Lucy turned her head at the new voice and this one was an old man who seemed like someone she knew but couldn’t completely recall. And he had a gun aimed at her dad.

Steve tilted his head. “I’ve never tricked anyone. I have only ever spoken the truth.” He looked to Lucy. “I am not your father. But I have made him better.”

A bullet went into his shoulder, but it flew through in a haze of black smoke. Like he wasn’t even there.

“You can’t stop me anymore. Not when I have everything that I need now.” And then he melted back into the darkness. Lucy was scared and confused and tired and overwhelmed and it finally all hit her as she fell to her knees and cried out for her dad.

Heavy footsteps pounded the floor.

“Lucy!!” Suddenly she was being scooped up in a familiar embrace as she sobbed. She thought she’d been getting too big to be carried like this but Eddie held her no problem, like she would always fit perfectly in his arms.

“Joyce, chief, thank you so much.”

“I haven’t been chief in years, kid.”

“And he hasn’t been a kid in years”, Joyce said. “You know I take Code Reds seriously.”

Eddie was stroking her hair as he tried to calm her. He had only come in the moment Lucy broke down in tears. He’d have to get the whole story later. Because from their reactions and the tension in the room and the unseasonable coldness of the room, it could only mean one thing. The Upside Down was back.

Eddie sends Brittney and the other kids back. The least involved the better. But he takes up Joyce’s offer to go to her and Hopper’s place for the night. He needs to tell Lucy everything. Now. So he gets started on the ride over, holding her hand as he follows Joyce’s car. Tells her how he was indeed accused of murder when it turned out to be an otherworldly demon doing it. And how that demon was of a realm that Steve had been fighting against years before.

“So...you guys weren’t in a gang?”

Despite the ice that had been in his gut, he chuckles. “Not officially, hon.”

He tells her how they narrowly thwarted Vecna back in 86. He tells her how back when she was nine years old, El and Will both felt something going on and they thought they had to fight one last time. They got to the house and the story paused as they got set up. Joyce made them some tea and told them to help themselves to the leftovers and Eddie continued.

“Your dad, El the Hero, and Will the Wise, all went down there for a final showdown.”

“This has to be the end of it”, El said.

Everyone nodded in agreement. That much was certain. Even if they couldn’t destroy the Upside Down, they could cut it off from their world for good.

“That means we’ve gotta be firm on this”, Steve said. “When we finish this, we get out, no dilly-dallying. And close the gate once and for all.”

“No dilly-dallying? Are we talking about a demon dimension or a trip to Disney?”, Robin teased.

“Steve’s right though”, Mike said. “Whoever goes down needs to be quick. We can’t afford to go slow.”

“And it can’t be too many of us”, Nancy added.

“So who goes?”, Lucas asked.

After many hours of figuring out just who would be taking the dive again (arguing, debating, pleading) the team was decided. The stakes were known, but Eddie had no idea what he could stand to lose until Steve pulled him aside.

“I don’t know what’s going to happen down there. I mean with those two it could be a piece of cake”, Steve said, gesturing to the Wonder Twins. “But anything’s possible.”

“What’re you getting at?”, Eddie asked.

“No matter what happens, once the gate is closed, it needs to stay closed.”

Eddie gave him a look like that was obvious. And then Steve leveled him with a stare of his own and Eddie understood, not that he liked it.

“Steve...”

“I’m not saying it could happen. Just, if it does, if for some reason I don’t make it out, don’t keep the gate open. Don’t open it again. Don’t come looking for me.”

Eddie’s eyes began to glisten, hypotheticals be damned because he knew there was always, always a chance it could happen.

“How can you ask that of me?”

“Because you’re the only one they’ll listen to if it comes to this. Husband rights and all.”

“What about Lucy?”

“Hey, I’m doing everything in my power to come back. But someone’s gotta think of worst case scenarios.”

“So dad’s been stuck in that place since then?”, Lucy asked, having eaten just a couple of bites of her food during Eddie’s story.

Eddie ran a hand through his hair. “Well, the thing is, if he was, El would’ve been able to find him. But she never could. From what Joyce and Hopper told me, you saw Vecna using an illusion of his body as a mouthpiece. Vecna can conjure up visions. But him having you father’s physical body...and somehow...cloaking his entire being so he can’t be found would explain the disappearance. The question now is why did he do that, besides for his survival, and why did he reveal himself now...”

Then Eddie looked to her barely touched plate and his own uneaten food and sighed. “We can figure it out later. Let’s get to bed.”

Tagged

@captain-winter-wolf-aehs

#gonna be honest i imagined the reveal scenes like 10 different ways #im still not sure if im satisfied #but that's what fics are for #maybe in the coming months ill write alternate versions #apo writes #stranger things #steddie #fanfiction #also is this the longest part?#this might be the longest one #i was gonna cut it off with eddie getting there #but i wanted him to finally tell her #captain-winter-wolf-aehs

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moonshine-nightlight · 9 months

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Nothing's Wrong with Dale - Part Twenty-Eight

It’s been a week, but you’re fairly certain your fiancé accidentally got himself replaced by an eldritch being from the Depths. Deciding that he’s certainly not worse than your original fiancé, you endeavor to keep the engagement and his new non-human state to yourself.

However, this might prove harder than you originally thought.

Fantasy, arranged marriage, malemonsterxfemalereader, M/F

AO3: Nothing’s Wrong with Dale Chapter 28

[Part One][Part Two] [Part Three] [Part Four] [Part Five] [Part Six] [Part Seven] [Part Seven.5][Part Eight] [Part Nine] [Part Ten] [Part Eleven] [Part Twelve] [Part Thirteen] [Part Fourteen] [Part Fifteen] [Part Sixteen] [Part Seventeen] [Part Eighteen] [Part Nineteen] [Part Twenty] [Part Twenty-One] [Part Twenty-Two][Part Twenty-Three] [Part Twenty-Four][Part Twenty-Five] [Part Twenty-Six] [Part Twenty-Seven] Part Twenty-Eight [Part Twenty-Nine] [Part Thirty] [Part Thirty-One] [Part Thirty-Two] [Part Thirty-Three] [Part Thirty-Four]

If you had thought that the relatively good note that last gala in Connton ended on was a sign of things to come, you would have been wrong. Despite his more jovial turn at the end of the night, Dale’s melancholy in the garden persisted far more than that last mood. If anything he’d been more distant, with hints of a frustrated temper that worries you in its reminder of the man you’d no longer thought you’d have to deal with. You can’t tell what is causing the mood, though you know of many potential culprits.

It could be the investigation. Early the last morning in Connton, you’d seen Dale conversing in the stable loft with a pair of rough-looking folks. From their serious, almost sharp demeanor, and their nondescript brown clothing, everything about them screamed mercenaries. Dale was crouched in the shadows and you almost didn’t recognize him. In fact, you were fairly certain you weren’t supposed to be able to as nothing of his physical features were discernible beyond the vague outline of a person, but his eyes were glowing bright blue with white pupils. The way they had reflected briefly with the light of the single swinging lantern had made you think they belong to a cat at first. The mercenaries certainly looked respectful of his obvious inhuman appearance. When Dale was playing his own contractor, he must be pretending to have demonic enhancements.

You don’t think they noticed you—you hurried on your way quickly enough—having only been up this early to accept the box of herbal ingredients you’d ordered from a local shop. Still, it worried you because the mercenary angle of the investigation wasn’t expected to move forward quickly enough for them to need to meet again so soon. Not that you’d had a chance to speak with Dale about it, or could admit to what you saw in mixed company.

Between the trip back to the Northridge estate, settling back into the estate, and then preparations for the wedding, you’d not had a single moment alone with him. One of his grandparents was always present. They spoke only of wedding matters in the company of others and pressed him for updates on the investigation when alone, which he refused to grant. This left you without any new notes on the situation either.

Dinner the last couple nights had been pleasant, with Dale spending an acceptable amount of time with family. However, nearly all wedding guests had arrived by now–with no sign of Great Aunt Deborah to the Northridges’ collective relief. Dale had elected to spend the majority of his socializing with the friends with which he’d traveled abroad. Even if it did result in him getting rather more drunk than he usually had.

You take a sip of your own wine and gently chide yourself that he isn’t that bad—and certainly not as bad as some of the others. However, you want to spend that time with him. You want another private walk in the garden. You want his hand in yours. You want his support with your family—who you were weathering, but primarily on your own. It still irks you to have talked more with his relatives and your own than with him or even much with his friends these past nights. He’d given cursory introductions, but seemed intent on socializing with them without you.

Perhaps he knows you’d not get along. Perhaps he is trying to afford you more time to speak with your family, to reestablish yourself as an adult with them. You’d thought you’d made your appreciation of his support clear, but maybe he just thought you only needed him to smooth over the beginnings of conversations and not throughout? Perhaps he is attempting to gather information for the investigations on either Eastmont or the Heiress. Maybe he’s trying to verify the people he excluded from the list were proper. If these friends of the original Dale are more likely to open up with only their old friend and not his new, wallflower fiance, is that so unreasonable?

Dale hasn’t discussed any of this with you and you hate how your mind jumps to the conclusion that he’s avoiding you when it’s as likely that he was simply too busy to take the time. Because that guess is too close to your other fears. That perhaps he has made other plans. That maybe getting back into the world of demonic mercenaries is tempting. Or maybe he can see now that noble life came with its own dangers. Or all the pretending was making him realize he’d be playacting as Lord Dale for the rest of his time here and he isn’t sure he wants that anymore.

A body bumps into your own, startling you out of your reverie and your spiraling thoughts. A baron you barely recognize says, “My apologies,” as he hurries over to catch a servant’s attention. You sigh as you finish your own glass of wine and look for something lighter to drink for the rest of the evening. If you’re already this nervous, with so many anxious thoughts tumbling around in your mind, the clearer you can think the better.

Grandmother had left for the evening, with your blessing and thoughts on one of the dessert dishes for the chef you’d hired for the wedding. Your mother had followed her. Your father had retired early with the grandchildren. Callalily and her husband had been with some of Dale’s more distant relatives all day because Callalily could and would find a way to expand her social network anywhere.

You’d better join Marigold, her husband, and the artistic circle they had accrued before Douglas charitably drew you into his circle of military compatriots. You’d sacrificed last night to that group, wanting to see the sibling you knew the least—and you think it had been worth it—but your lack of personal experience often left you feeling like an outsider or plain confused. With the way your mind is intent on gnawing at itself this evening, you’d best avoid them. Unless you see Dale join them of course—he’d made a few comments when he was there last night that worried you in the attention they received.

At this rate you were going to leave your wedding only to immediately fall asleep for a week. But until then, where is Marigold? Had she gone to inspect the gardens and the statues within? The sun was setting, but there was still plenty to see by for all the servants would start lighting the torches soon. Accepting a glass of iced tea, you walk along the side of the room with doors out to the gardens, trying to see if any groups are out there.

You think you might have spotted a handful of people in a courtyard, when a hand on your arms startles you. You turn abruptly enough to have to adjust your grip on your glass to keep from spilling only to find Callalily.

Before you can say anything, she links arms with you and begins to walk away from glass doors outside. “I have been meaning to speak with you,” she leans in closer to add, “in private.”

“Oh?” You furrow your brow, but gesture her into the nearby alcove, decorative screens blocking most of the view into the great hall. This unoccupied musician storage room is as close to a separate room as you are going to find without leaving the area entirely. Is Mother doing something again? Has one of Callalily’s children broken a vase? She has been alluding to her and your other married siblings giving you some sort of advice which could be nice, but where are the others? And is a dinner in the great hall with so many people around truly the time for such a thing?

“Yes,” Callalily replies, glancing around, before adding, “about your fiance.”

Ice shoots through your veins. Has she seen something? Did he do something in front of her? Callalily was clever and sharp, able to pick up on nuances others missed with ease, not to mention her memory. Why hadn’t you thought of it before? Simply because no one in Dale’s family hadn’t noticed enough discrepancies to make them suspicious, beyond Grandfather’s now put-to-bed worries about you, did not mean no one would. You swallow. “What about Lord Dale?”

“Are you certain…” Callalily begins before stopping. Callalily never pauses like that, as if she is hesitating. You rack your mind for any time that she might have been alone with Dale and seen something you cannot explain away—that she has not already dismissed as a trick of the eye. However, she doesn’t look frightened, merely apprehensive. Has Dale made some other sort of mistake? “I am aware that you are looking forward to marriage and your independence from our parents. However, is there a possibility you might be acting with some rash or willful blindness regarding the betrothed you’ve chosen?”

You need a minute to parse what she’s said, it's so far from what you were expecting. It sounds as if she knows nothing of his true nature instead she’s suggesting... When you finally comprehend her words without your fears overshadowing them, you blink in shock. “Excuse me? Are you suggesting I choose a different fiance? You believe I should sever my engagement?”

Instead of immediately correcting you, she only looks apologetic. “I am only saying that this will affect the rest of your life and it’s important—”

“—Important I give the decision a due amount of thought?” you finish for her, parroting back her words from when she questioned your choice of school and later questioned focusing your studies on administration rather than medicine despite always attempting to impart upon you the importance of making your own choice free from others influences. “I cannot—.” You can’t believe she would ask you something like this, that she would still doubt your ability to make decisions for yourself. And to ask this now, of all times. “I do not know what is worse, that you think I have not already done so or that you think I’m fickle enough to change my mind three days before the wedding.”

“That’s not what I am saying!” she protests.

You’ve always given her the benefit of the doubt, that she worries about you and only wants what’s best for you. This is so far beyond that. Angry frustration fills every line of your body as you resist the urge to throw your hands in the air. You take a deep breath and say, with as little emotion as possible and as much fake patience as you can muster, “Then what are you saying?”

Callalily falters for a split second before straightening her spine with renewed confidence. “If new information comes to light, then it is necessary to change one’s course of action. There are always legitimate reasons to delay or reconsider important decisions. You are allowed to change your mind.” Her voice gentles at the end and you hate it more than you did the self-righteousness of the beginning. And at the heart of it, all she is saying, in more general words, is exactly what she claimed not to be saying.

You take a deep breath. “I am allowed such a choice. You are not wrong that such a thing is possible. But you are still advocating that I break my betrothal, or at least my wedding date.” You pause, to give her the chance to dispute you, but she keeps her lips pressed together. “Do not act as though doing so would not have far-reaching consequences. Do not act as though I shall do so on the word or suggestion of one other person, no matter how I care for you.” Your stern voice breaks, no matter your attempt to keep up the facade. “I do not understand why you are proposing such a course of action. Has something happened, Callalily? Why are you saying this to me?”

“He does not seem trustworthy,” Callalily says urgently, stepping closer. “The rumors that I’ve heard just since coming here have me concerned. He does not seem worthy of your hand.” That should be flattering to hear, that she thinks so highly of you, and in a manner it is, but it also fills you with worry about what she has heard, what secrets she might be edging around. Simultaneously, you’re embarrassed that she thinks you so ignorant as to not have known any of this yourself. “I’m starting to doubt why Mother and Father even entertained the notion of an engagement with Lord Dale. He is not right for you.”

You don’t even know what to say in the face of such vague accusations. The comment regarding your parents is both surprising and not. Callalily’s faith in your parents decisions always corresponds with if they are in concert with her own—if they agree, it is because they are intelligent, logical parents worthy of respect and if they do not… You’ve no idea what rumors she might have heard otherwise, and her concerns might be more valid with the original Dale, but even in that case, you had committed to this course of action and she’d not have swayed you then, at least, you hope not. “Well, I appreciate your concern, sister,” you try to politely brush her off because the worst thing is when she digs her heels in, “however it is unnecessary in this instance. So let us return—”

“Do not “sister” me,” she hisses. You wince, perhaps you overstepped with your more casual dismissal. “My concerns are valid. You’ve not even heard them out.”

“Fine,” you reply stiffly, trying to hide your fear and weariness with having to defend your choices to the person who most advocates you making them. “Name them. What has you so convinced I should not marry? Has he threatened you? Me? Did you catch him with a lover?” You are careful to name the events least likely to your mind, in order to guarantee her negative response. You know they also give away how fed up you are with having to discuss this, but you find yourself beyond caring at this point. If she wants to do this, it shall be at least as unpleasant for her as it is for you. “Please enlighten me.”

Callalily’s expression vacillates between shocked at your anger and annoyance at your continued downplaying of her worries. “I did not have to stumble upon him with a lover to know he’s taken them before.” You want to point out that many nobles do. That you’d known he had done so. That at least he had been discreet enough that there were no children or even solid evidence of who his lovers were, which is far more than can be said for others. “He’s left a string of them as he traveled and left all dissatisfied with how the affair ended. It appears he prefers to make promises of permanence and position and then break any such vows.” You can believe that of the original Dale. The only reason he had been honest with you in the beginning is because he thought you a guarantee. “Not only to his lovers, but to his proclaimed friends as well. Many were thought to have been guaranteed a position in his household only to have such promises broken with ease.”

That final comment might actually be due to the change in Dale, how you have decided together to choose those deserving of such positions and not simply how politically advantageous bringing in certain people might be. You don’t know how many such promises the original Dale had made, nor how many this Dale has broken. The prospect worries you, could that be why Dale is spending so much time with his friends and why he is in such a tense mood these days? Regardless, you can tell Callalily none of this and so you try hard to keep your expression neutral.

It must be working because Callalily frowns at your lack of response and continues before you can rebut any of her concerns. “Then there are the rumors of his interest and experimentation with the Depths, no matter Northridge’s reputation of staunch opposition.” Your eye must twitch at that, or something else gives away your trepidation with this topic. Callalily’s mouth flattens into a grim smile. “I’ve heard from multiple sources about his study of such subjects and his interest in performing such rituals. Any man who seeks the aid of the Depths, against his family’s wishes and without an obvious need, cannot have good intentions. He falls victim to the lesser vices too: gambling, drinking, spending freely on vanity.”

She holds up a hand and counts off on her fingers, “He’s ambitious, selfish, a liar, and a cheat. He’s not to be trusted or relied upon.”

You wait a few extra seconds to see if there is more before you reply. “I appreciate your concerns, however—”

“However, you’re not going to listen, are you?” Callalily’s hands are on her hips and she purses her lips together in frustrated dismay. “I thought only Marigold was this hard-headed. I thought you knew better, I thought you couldn’t be swayed by a handsome face or—”

“That is enough,” you snap, unable to keep the words in any longer. “Is this a discussion or a lecture? I have let you voice your concerns and if you’re not satisfied with my acknowledgment, then I’ll take my own turn to speak now.”

“Very well.” Callalily snaps. “Go on, what do you say to this?”

You’ve no idea where to start and decide to simply go through in the order she did. After a sip of your drink, you begin, “Firstly, I did do my own research in my prospective spouse as I of course considered this decision very seriously indeed. While my contacts and methods are not your own, I do have some.” While Callalily’s were likely other nobles, foreign officials and the like, you had grown close with your servants—maids and nursemaids alike who cared for you in your illness and you’d continued the habit at school. If your maid, Martina, hadn’t had to help her family, she’d have come with you to Northridge. She’d truly retired from being lady’s maid when you went off to school. She’d apprenticed under a nurse and completed her training, but had agreed to be your maid once more, if only until you were betrothed.

“Clearly they weren’t skilled,” Callalily cuts in to diagnose, “if they did not return with similar information.”

“They did,” you correct, because that was in their report, “baring I assume any information that’s related to Dale’s activities from the last two months, of course. The difference is my context for such information and my personal experience with him. Beyond that, you’ve never grappled with the choices I have.”

“Excuse me?” she looks offended, pressing a hand to her chest. “I am married. It was a decision I made with Mother and Father, but I was the driving decision maker, not them, not societal pressure, nor anything except my own drive for my future.”

“And that cannot be what I have done,” you cannot help but allow a certain sardonic edge to enter into your voice at her implication, “what I am doing.”

“You—”

“No,” you interrupt, ignoring her startled expression. “I believe it is time you listened to me, properly for once.” You take a deep breath while she waits, eyes a bit wider than before, for you to do so. “You were the second oldest, with intelligence, a talent for language, and more confidence in society than I’ll ever have. And robust health, of course. Your options for marrying, for how to spend your days—your vision—none of those are mine.” You can see she knows you can want different things but that she’s still not facing reality when it comes to your opportunities. You swallow and continue, “Mother and Father did their best to keep word of my ill health minimal, but they did not try so hard when I was young. Not until I was older did they begin to believe I’d live to be an adult who had to worry about marriage prospects. They expected me to die young or at least not to outlive Aunt Katherine’s age.”

Callalily pales at your statements and rushes to reassure you, “That’s not, no one wanted—”

“I’m not discussing what they wanted,” you reply gently. “I am stating what they believed to be true.” When she still looks as though she will protest, you ask her outright, “Are you going to say they did tell you as much? That I was born in a fragile state, too late in Mother’s life and with the fits just like Father’s little sister. She was twelve when she died.” They had believed you would do the same. No matter how they tried to hide it, you can barely remember a time in your life you did not know that death chased you far harder than it did others, haunting your every spasm. “You should have seen how Father looked at me from eleven ‘til I went three months without a fit, when he could look at me at all.”

Callalily has no notion of how to response. She places a hand on your shoulder, trying for some sort of physical comfort, “I...”

When nothing further escapes her mouth, you try for a smile. “I’m not saying this for pity, Callalily, I’m saying this because you act as though I was not the one who lived through it. As if I was not the one in pain, not the one who was dying. As if I slept through those years.” You’ve never been able to understand that belief. As if, despite certain medicinal efforts, you were in some sort of un-rememberable haze during those times. It was your life, your body.

You straighten as you proclaim, “Well, I did not. I was very aware. My dreams were not your dreams, but I did have them. As it is, I’ve been quite successful, for a given metric of success as I have achieved most of them by. I can walk across a room without worrying I’m going to hurt myself. I can run and ride and dance.” You remember counting steps and keeping track of days and pushing yourself to grab every tiny chance to live. How hard and easy it had been to achieve some of those goals once you began the upward climb to recovery. “I have been able to leave our country estate and attend to school and participate in galas.” You gesture to the ball beyond you.

“At the school that I wished to attend, even if it wasn’t the one you still believe I should have gone to, I was finally able to dream beyond even that.” It had taken some time, your dreams so distant for so long, that you had felt lost once you were there, life overwhelming in a manner you were unaccustomed to. “I do not want to become a diplomat as you are, or an artist, or a knight. An academic or a physician do not appeal either, although I know you think I should become a doctor.” She had said as much in her letters and in person. You have explained that you enjoy the topic and taking care of yourself, but you do not wish it for a career. She thinks it is Mother’s influencing pushing for a more traditional noble life or your own insecurities and fears holding you back. You simply do not want it.

You’ve tried to persuade her you are not settling or giving in or whatever else she believes. You want her to listen so badly this time as you say, “I spent too much time with Asher in his study. I enjoyed my administration classes too much. I was on an estate too long. My wish is to aid in the running of a fief, even if I’m fifth born. Even if the rumors of my sickness were so persistent that the first few potential suitors I was introduced to thought I’d died years ago. I begged Mother for the extra health reports.” You’d hated them, hated how invasive they were and how skeptical the doctors were. You had feared them telling you the illness would return or that you were unfit to be married. However, in the end, you’d needed their assurances to the contrary nearly as much as your prospects had. “Our parents increased my dowry in response to my wishes.” They had still managed the process and it had been what they were hoping for, to see you follow the most traditional path, but why shouldn’t you have encouraged them when it was in service to your own ends?

Callalily did appear to be listening, or at least she made no further motions to interrupt. You feel bolstered by that and say, “There were others we considered. True, not many, but a handful. I’ve no desire to do the socializing and connection forging a new baron would require,” you begin covering the reasons you turned down the few you’d had even a single conversation with. Perhaps it's disingenuous to mention these who you’d no formal discussion about marriage, but they were people and families that had been tangible enough that you recall your reasons of rejection. “I’ve no desire to shoulder all the administration a collegiate heir would ask. I’ve no desire to raise another’s children, never sure of my own future if they move against me. I might not run as cold as Mother likes to believe, but I do not want to spend months in the snow. I do not want to move somewhere I cannot speak the language fluently.” At the last one, you can’t help but give her a pointed look to remind her that you don’t have her facility with language, to reiterate that you want different things.

You take another deep breath, because now you must discuss Dale—without giving voice to any of the changes that have happened with him. “Lord Dale, even with his concerning reputation at times, did not come with such obstacles. Many take lovers prior to marriage, do you think me ignorant?” You are aware she thought you on the naive side, but you need her to remember that you’ve been an adult for years now and do not require such coddling. “He was discrete with those matters, as I am certain you cannot identify them all. Not to mention, they are liable to spin such affairs to have faults that are his rather than their own.” Callalily reluctantly nods her agreement at that.

At least, having connections with who you did meant you were more confident that she might be in the main point. “I made certain he’d sired no bastard children, through my medical contacts.” You can see she hadn’t considered that you might have such advantages, but you’ve no desire to dwell on this topic. You need to confront her concerns with his personality head on before you lose steam. “He’s on the arrogant side, spoiled to a degree given how his grandparents raised him after his parent’s untimely death,” you quietly acknowledge with a glance to ensure you are still alone in your alcove, before continuing, “but many heirs are. As for gambling, he plays cards, yes, but he has no concerning debts I could find. He’s not violent with his friends nor his servants. He’s not a drunkard, if we’re wanting to discuss vices. Did you truly find anything to support such activities?”

“No,” Callalily admits. “You are correct, there was nothing to obvious excess that I discovered in my minimal investigation. However, his research into concerning topics…” She trails off, obviously allowing you to have the floor back.

You’re grateful she’s letting you, that she seems far more interested in a true discussion than she had originally. It’s still more than you’ve perhaps ever said at one time to her and naturally it is on the most complex topic in your life. “As for his academic interests,” you say carefully, “I’ve spoken with him and am aware of his stance on such matters. He disagrees with the rigidity of his grandparents’ laws and actions. In the manner of many rebellious youth, he had pursued the opposite. Now, he seeks to ensure he knows enough to protect himself and Northridge. He has moved on from his more careless experimentation, to my knowledge.” Whatever else he does now, it cannot be more careless, that’s for certain.

“And the broken oaths?” Callalily asks, sterner and more skeptical after your most recent answer.

You sigh, wishing you’d had the foresight to realize how this would appear from the outside. “As for certain promises made to his friends, after he discussed them with his grandparents, myself, and the steward, some were retracted due to unsuitability. It is a sign of the better judgment of the study room rather than the rash wishes when traveling and drinking. It is expected, to change one’s mind in light of the advice of trusted advisors, is it not?” you can’t help but add, echoing her original point.

She rolls her eyes, but doesn’t disagree. You’ve provided a rebuttal to the majority of her points, right? You take advantage of her still rather open mood to attempt to state as clearly as you can where you stand. “My desire is to marry Lord Dale and be his lady of Northridge. I’d thank you to respect my decision. It’s already been made.”

She frowns, but it's more thoughtful and resigned than angry or frustrated which you hope is a good sign. “I see. You certainly have an answer for everything, do you not?” She sighs heavily, but you think you hear only defeat in the sound, not her preparing for another fight. “I had no idea you were so aware of how concerning we all found your condition, nor had I thought since your recovery of what else your illness might still cast a pall over. I think you are still—well, I suppose that’s only my view, is it not?”

“I can continue speaking, explain further,” you offer, but your voice gives away how wearing you find the concept. “You might eventually make a point I haven’t considered.”

“No,” she replies, shaking her head and glancing back at the still bustling grand hall. “I’ll not put us both through that. Not here, not now—though anything you want to confide in me, I’d hear,” she offers with a small smile. “I suppose the only question I have left to ask is: has he been treating you well? Not only in public, but in private?”

She’s sincere in her question and you appreciate the feeling of familial support it gives you. You know if you answered to the contrary, she would help you break such an engagement. The prospect makes you feel safer, even if it is unnecessary. “Yes, he has.”

“Even so, some do not reveal themselves until time passes,” she warns, but you can tell it’s for the sake of it, out of general protectiveness, not doubt in you.

That lets you answer her calmly instead of defensively, “I’m aware. I have contingencies for that outcome, should it occur.” She raises a brow at that, but you’ll not discuss that here. You’ve no notion how she’d see you medicinal protections. “I cannot wait for the clear, perfect, future—I can only grasp what is in front of me.”

“I suppose that is all any of us can do,” she agrees. Then she ventures a more tentative observation, “You have appeared weary and tense over the past few days. I thought he might be the cause.”

You blink in surprise, you hadn’t thought she’d notice. So much for hiding those feelings, you think ruefully. “I’m not one for all these parties and socializing, no matter how I used to long for them. They are more enjoyable in theory, or in moderation.” You smile sheepishly. “Truthfully, I will be pleased after the wedding, when we can stop having them so frequently.”

She smiles back at that admittance. “I see. My apologies, for my presumption. I did not mean to insult you. I was only worried for you.”

“I know.” You place your hand over hers on your shoulder and give it a squeeze. “I thank you for your concern, truly, but please do not broach this topic again,” you plead, eyes darting beyond her once. You try for a casual attitude as you say, “I’ll have no rumors about my wedding being called off, thank you very much.”

“Of course, of course,” she hurries to reassure you. “Let’s rejoin the others.” You follow her out of the alcove and back towards where the majority of guests are congregated, past a few of the now open doors to the gardens. “I don’t think we’ll stay too late tonight—I’ve far too many letters to write in the morning, but I believe I saw Asher—”

Wherever Callalily might have seen Asher, you don’t find out. A commotion in the courtyard directly outside catches both your attention. In one of the courtyards off the grand hall, a knot of courtiers your own age are gathered. The shouting appears to be coming from one particularly drunk figure if the way they are swaying is any indication. The air has the sudden awkwardness of a group who had been having fun only for the tone to abruptly turn serious and uncomfortable. A small circle of space is forming around him, revealing another figure as well. One you recognize all too well.

“Dale,” you say quietly, immediately changing course. Callalily is only a step behind you as you cross the paving stones to the group. The setting sun and the newly light torches cause light and shadow to dance in the wind and by the heights, you hope that's all that’s causing it.

“…believe what I am hearing with these ears,” the drunk man is saying. He tugs on one of his ears for emphasis even as the other clutches his goblet. He turns to another and asks, “Can you Millie?”

“I heard it as well, Willie,” a woman sounding near as drunk as him replies. “Said he required an individual with a greater range of skills. A person more ree-lie-able.”

Willie scoffs. “For how long have you found me so inconsistent, Dale?”

“Wilhelm,” Dale’s voice is easily heard above the chatter around them. He’s clearly trying for calm reason, which you know won’t work on someone who’s clearly had as much as Wilhelm has, but you’re glad he isn’t upset. “You have had too much of your own gift and—”

“Oh, I beg your pardon,” he gives an exaggerated and very low bow you hope he can’t recover from. Unfortunately, despite a half step to the side, he straightens once more with only a mildly more exaggerated sway than before. “How inconsiderate of me.”

You slip through those forming the loose circle, recognizing them as various members of Dale’s traveling party. You come up on his left and murmur, “Lord Dale,” to warn him of your presence as you slot yourself next to him. You can’t help the hand that skates down his side, checking however briefly that he’s still in one piece and with no shadow tendrils to speak of. “Is everything alright?”

“Yes, sana,” he replies, his dark eyes meeting yours for a second before they fix back on Wilhelm. They’re not even glowing, which is a profound relief, even if this lighting might excuse such a thing more than others. “Everything is fine.” His tone is still light enough, if anything it contains an apology for you having to join him in dealing with this problem.

You relax at his attitude, hoping that this is routine enough that this group won’t think it out of the ordinary. That it can be quickly handled.

“Is this your doing?” Wilhelm accuses and you look over at him to see him not glaring at Dale any longer, but at you.

You nearly step back in surprise, but Dale’s strong arm wrapping around your back helps you find the support to stay where you are. You’re still not sure what the argument, if there is one, is even about—let alone why he might think you’ve anything to do with it. “Excuse me?” You finally place the name and hesitantly identify him as, “Lord Wilhelm of Aliers, yes?”

“As you rightly must know!” he slurs back before gesturing emphatically with what must be a nearly empty goblet of wine given how careless he’s being with it. “Do not play coy with me!”

You think you were introduced to him the first night you were back on the estate along with the rest of his family, but you’ve not had a true conversation with him. “I do not know—” you try to protest before he cuts you off.

“Are you manipulating Dale into abandoning his friends?” He takes a step forward and Dale’s grip on your upper arm tightens. “Whispering in his ear until he betrayed his oaths?”

You open your mouth and then shut it, no notion of how to respond. What is he even talking about? Dale answers in your stead, retorting, “There was no oath to betray and you are well aware of that.”

“There might as well have been,” Wilhelm hisses and you finally remember that he had been one of Dales’—original Dale’s—choices for a position in the Northridge household. A training master of some kind until this Dale had reconsidered the intelligence of such a choice. Wilhelm takes another step closer. “How dare you, you meddling little pest.”

“Watch your tongue,” Dale’s voice has lost the mild veneer of humor he previously had. “Apologize to my fiance this instant.”

Before you can try to diffuse the situation as if it might be a misunderstanding, Wilhelm takes another gulp of his drink, which evidently was not yet emptied of its contents, and says, “Not a chance. I want, want an answer.” He draws his sword with a surprisingly clean motion and points its wavering tip at you. Even yards away, you do not appreciate the threat. “Is this your doing? Are you the reason he’s all, all, yeah? Did you convince him to abandon me and give my promised posting to another?”

“I did noth—” you try to protest.

“My betrothed has nothing to do with us or the posting,” Dale interjects, pulling you closer and now with his own sword in hand. You’re aware of the circle of space has grown around you. Wilhelm’s other friends don’t appear particularly inclined to reign him in, most just watching for the skeptical. You think you see two exchange coin. “And you shall apologize for the grievous insult you have paid to us both.”

Wilhelm notices his goblet is empty and that Dale’s own sword is drawn, in that order, causing his scowl to deepen. He shoves his cup into someone’s hand with a brisk order to fetch him another before walking closer to Dale into the growing space around the two arguing nobles and yourself. “Are we going to settle this properly? Or do you not care for such activities these days either? Domestic and cowardly, eh?”

You almost want to laugh at the idea of either of those words describing either Dale, but the tension and possibility of a genuine fight keeps any such more light-hearted responses frozen in your chest. You glance up to see Dale’s darkened expression. You feel the tension in his body as he says, “Do not push me, Wilhelm. I will answer you if you continue to do so and you shall not appreciate the result.”

“No,” Wilhelm cries, “it is you who will regret their actions.” And then he charges at the pair of you. Dale releases you, thrusting his cane into you hands and pushing you behind him in the same motion. You stumble into the steadying hands of his valet as he baits Wilhelm away from the spot you’d been standing. You absent-mindedly thank Mr. Murray for keeping you on your feet after the abrupt motion, but you can’t take your eyes off the fight.

The two circle each other after that charge fails and luckily for you, Wilhelm seems to have forgotten you exist. “There’s no need for this, Wilhelm,” Dale says, obviously still trying to talk his friend out of this fight. Wilhelm doesn’t even seem to hear him. Even drunk he proves to be an expert swordsman as he manages several near blows. You can see why Dale considered him for swordsmaster, despite his obvious weakness for drink. He manages a strike that gets past Dale’s guard. Luckily Dale is able to step back so it does nothing more than cut his vest.

It's obvious he’s unhurt, but you watch as Dale’s whole demeanor focuses, as he finally stops trying to prevent this fight. He’s graceful and controlled compared to Wilhelm’s swaying, fast movements. You can’t help but admire the picture he creates as he moves. You don’t fear he’ll get hurt, only what he might reveal, and surely a single duel such as this is nothing compared to the tournament. If you worry for anyone, it’s Wilhelm as his skill might force Dale to answer back more strongly than he wants to given his friend’s condition. Although, perhaps they are no longer quite that close.

In the end, Dales doesn’t bother trying to best a swordsman of such caliber, even if he’s soused. Dale seizes the first opening he sees and presses in bodily, catching and tilting the sword points to the left and locking hilts. Wilhelm sputters something about a foul while trying to get free only for Dale to send both rapiers clattering to the floor. Unfortunately with it gone from his hand, Wilhelm seems to remember how to use the rest of his body and he kicks out at Dale’s knee.

“Rotten cheater,” he spits as Dale grunts and tries to stay on his feet. “Why are you—”

Whatever he’s trying to say is cut off by the whole body check Dale gives him, turning his shoulder into Wilhelm’s chest to knock him back. Wilhelm stumbles, trying to stay standing, but Dale follows him. Wilhelm manages to dodge first one punch and then the next, but the third hits him square on the side of the head. His eyes roll back as he drops like a stone.

Someone catches him before he can hit the ground and Dale’s eyes dart around, as if looking for another threat to handle. You finally look away from Dale’s form and notice that the one who caught Wilhelm as he fell wasn’t one of his friends, but your brother, Douglas. In fact, as you look around you, very few of the original group is still present. Callalily’s whispering in the ear of one woman who is being escorted out by Callalily’s husband, who you don’t even recall joining you out here. Callalily walks over to another lingering couple after sending you a wink.

“I apologize for the spectacle,” Dale says to the dwindling group at large. He focuses on Douglas and adds, sounding bewildered at how quickly everything escalated, “He’d been in pleasant spirits earlier.”

“Clearly he ended up deep in the unpleasant ones in the meantime,” Douglas replies with a cheeky grin. “You two,” he looks right at the remaining couple who are currently tending to the drunk woman, “Millie”. They look startled to be addressed while the woman you finally identify as Millian of Sunston pouts at her empty goblet. “Would you be so kind as to guide me to his,” he jostles the still unconscious Wilhelm, “rooms?” Despite that his words are technically a question, Douglas makes it clear there is only one answer he expects. He’s always been rather good at that. Being taller than even Dale helps. “I think it best we aid these two in sleeping the night's events off in peace.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” the woman replies, grateful enough you don’t think she even noticed the implied threat. “My apologies, Dale, for my brother. He—no, no. I apologize profusely for his misbehavior and offer no excuses. We could give none that would be adequate.”

“Peace, Helena,” Dale says, sounding tired. “I should not have encouraged him to enjoy himself so in order to compensate for changing my mind regarding his posting. Regardless, his actions are not your own.”

“Nor yours,” she replies with a self-deprecating smile, “As he has proven himself worthy your reluctance in one foul swoop. I appreciate your understanding his disappointment manifesting itself as it did.”

Dale nods, uninterested in making the night’s ordeal into a longer affair with more obvious recompense as is his right as the challenged noble, the winner of the informal duel, and the owner of this home. For all her feigned confidence, Helena seems relieved at Dale’s easy agreement. You walk over to them, handing Dale his cane back. His eyes are as intent as they ever have been as he looks you over, even though you were not even in the fight. Once secure in your well being, he turns back to Helena. “Please do impress upon him my intolerance of slights aimed at my bethrothed, if not at myself. He’d be wise to apologize.”

“Of course,” Helena reassures him before meeting your eyes. “I beg his pardon and apologize in his stead tonight, my lady. He should never have said what he did and he would never have said them, if not for his overindulgence.”

“I understand and accept your apology,” you reply formally. “We all are aware of how too much fine wine can befuddle the mind and confuse the tongue.”

Millian scoffs at the word ‘confuse’ and Helena and her friend take the opportunity to hustle her away, leading Douglas to sling Wilhelm over his shoulder and follow.

As soon as they are back inside, you notice everyone else in this courtyard has gone as well, only Dale’s valet waits for you within the grand hall’s doorway and Callalily’s district purple and gold dress is evident through the glass window to the right. Grateful you’ve no more audience, you turn to Dale, reaching to trace the cut scored along his vest from Wilhelm’s rapier. “Dale, are you alright? Truly?”

Dale catches your hand in his own larger one. “I’m fine, sana,” Dale says, trying for a smile, but not quite reaching one.

Your disbelief must show on your face because he wipes his free hand down his face and sighs. “I am only tired, as we have discussed.” His thumb absentmindedly strokes the back of your hand, both comforting you and sending a pleasing tingle down your arm. He looks contrite as he says, “I apologize for instigating such a scene.”

“It was no more your fault than Lady Helena’s,” you say, aiming to reassure him. You hope he can tell you’re referring to both his handling of the situation tonight and his decision not to give the swordsmaster posting to Wilhelm in the first place.

You think he understands you, some of the tension in his shoulders dissipating. And yet, he still looks more upset than you’d like from the night’s events. He shakes his head lightly. “All the same, my apologies for the trouble I’ve played a hand in causing.”

“Dale, there’s nothing you’ve done that warrants apology,” you say as sincerely as you are able to.

He gives another small smile in function, if not in sentiment, and lets go of your hand. Reluctantly, you pull it back to yourself, unable to reach back out after he’s pulled away. You glance back inside the hall and try for a smile yourself, hoping to get everything back into a more typical mood. “Shall we return?”

“I’m more tired than I expected after that confrontation,” Dale confesses, shoving his hands into his pockets. “If you’ll excuse me, I believe I’ll retire for the night.”

You’re tempted to say that in fact you will not excuse him. You want to demand to know what is weighing so heavily on him these past few days, to shoulder the burden in some way. The most you can likely do is listen to him and he won’t even allow that much. All you need to do is wait three more days, you remind yourself. In three days, you’ll be married and finally alone with each other. You can finally have an honest, private conversation and start your partnership together. You can wait that long. You can. “Of course,” you allow, however reluctantly, “have a restful night.”

A sardonic smile crosses Dale’s face and you think he’s going to make a quip about his tiredness or how much sleep he requires, but then it fades. Do demons get nightmares? Is something else contributing to his exhaustion beyond the galas or the investigation? He looks up at the now dark night sky for a moment before he looks back down at you. He opens his mouth and you think he’s actually going to confide in you. In the end, all he says before walking away is, “I wish the same for you.”

[Part Twenty-Nine]

#my writing #story part #story: nothing's wrong with dale #nothing's wrong with dale #dale #slow burn #monster bf #monster romance #arranged marriage #osha compliant #terato #exophilia #its a long one - the longest one might say #my sister had no opinion about my choice of college and/or major #why do you ask? lol #don't you lov it when people think they know what you want and who you are and what u like better than u do urself?#good intentions #just a bit late #hope theres not too much monologing #hiding in the corner with ur sibling not-yelling at each other #on this 3 days before my wedding #gotta admire a man who can knock out a drunk dude harassing you #douglas also thinks he's funny #chap 2 of 3 brought to you by my week long vacation with all my siblings that just happened #can you tell?#stay tuned for the next chapter with more sibling shenanigans #let me know what you thought!

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neversetyoufree · 10 months

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in the last ep of the anime, i noticed that it cut out to the ending directly before vanitas could actually take noes hand, and i wondered if that was referencing what noe said about vanitas at the beginning.

Oh that's such a good catch! You're absolutely right anon, and I think we can take your idea even further than that.

I've talked about this in a previous post, but VnC's running refrain of Noé reaching for Vanitas's hand is really symbolic. Noé has saved Vanitas from literally falling multiple times, but their entire relationship is also one big metaphorical outstretched hand. Vanitas is "falling" down toward his inevitable doom as he self destructs via his revenge, and Noé is grasping out desperately as he tries to catch him and save him from that fate.

"That day when I didn't grab your hand" (which I assume, along with killing him, is what you mean by "what Noé said about Vanitas") might refer to a future event in which Noé will literally fail to catch Vanitas. But more importantly, it's a reference to the larger truth. By Noé's definition of salvation—in terms of preventing his death, Noé is going to fail to save Vanitas. No amount of reaching out can prevent his ultimate fall.

Within this metaphor, then, the scene on the rooftop after the amusement park can be summed up simply. It's the scene where Vanitas finally lets himself reach for Noé's offered hand.

I mean this in three ways.

The first way is the literal way. The scene ends with Vanitas reaching up to take Noé's hand and be helped to his feet. And despite the sheer frequency of Noé reaching out for or trying to catch Vanitas, this is only the second time we see Vanitas actually reach up and take Noé's hand to be helped of his own accord. The only other time is in the catacombs, right before he decides to tell Noé about Doctor Moreau for the first time.

In the catacombs, Vanitas taking Noé's hand works as a symbolic gesture of trust and an acceptance of Noé's help with the Moreau case. Noé has been forcing his help on Vanitas up until this point, staying up late by the door just to follow him out, but taking his hand is the moment that Vani starts to willingly bring him into the fold. The literal is never just literal with these guys.

The second way comes when Vanitas tells Noé that he's "given up on making him do what he wants." As I said, Noé has spent the entire manga reaching out and trying to save Vanitas from his "fall." One major facet of that is his recurring refusal to let Vanitas isolate himself. He makes a willful declaration of staying by his side when Vanitas tries to dismiss him in the bell tower, and when Vanitas tries to cut Noé out of his life by the blade of a knife, Noé comes back with "I will never set you free." Vanitas wants, or at least claims he wants, Noé to leave him the hell alone, but Noé says no every time.

"Giving up on making Noé do what he wants," then, means that Vanitas has finally let himself accept that he wants Noé by his side. There's no more pretending he doesn't want his help or his presence. No more trying to shove Noé away every time he's upset. At least in this moment (though we'll have to see if he holds himself to it), Vanitas has admitted that he wants Noé and Noé's supportiveness in his life.

Mochijun even uses a flashback panel to be sure we know exactly what Vanitas means here. It's that important.

Giving up on trying to push Noé away is one very significant way in which Vanitas has accepted the metaphorical outstretched hand. He's admitting he wants Noé, and Noé's presence means the presence of love and help. It means the end of self-isolation as a maladaptive coping technique. Of course he's going to reach up and accept Noé's literal offer to help him to his feet in the same scene that he finally tells Noé he'll stop trying to get rid of him.

The third way is, of course, when Vanitas says that he wants Noé to be the one to kill him.

Now, this is not how Noé wanted Vanitas to interpret his outstretched hand. Unlike his loved ones, Noé does not see killing and being killed as a way to show love or to save someone. His offer of salvation is meant to be an offer to save Vanitas from his self-destruction. But Vanitas does not want to be saved that way. And given that the manga begins with the statement that Noé will kill him someday, we know that Vanitas cannot be saved by Noé's definition.

However, Vanitas does not share Noé's definition of salvation. I don't know if Vanitas himself could even put words to his personal idea of salvation. But we know from multiple examples that it can sometimes include the gift of a kind death to prevent a worse life. That's the kind of salvation he offers when he returns a curse bearer's True Name despite knowing that it will kill them.

I have a lot of thoughts about the kind of salvation Vanitas could find in Noé, but for the purposes of this scene, this idea of a preferable death is a big one. Vanitas would rather die than lose his humanity, and this is an extremely vulnerable thing for him. Saying that he wants Noé to kill him is, in his own way, accepting Noé's unspoken offer of salvation. He's saying "I want you to be the one to save me in the one way that I can accept."

Vanitas cannot envision a life for himself, and thanks to the way Luna's Mark is rewriting him, it's likely that a long life as his human self would be impossible even if he weren't suicidal. But though it's still not healthy behavior, his request for death is, in his own terms, taking up the hand that Noé has extended. It's a grasp for salvation by a man that cannot admit that he wants to be saved.

And that brings me back to your original point, anon. Because Vanitas reaches up for Noé's hand, and that is incredibly important, but in both the anime and the manga, we do not get to see him take it. The meaning of this depends on what definition of salvation you analyze the scene through.

By Noé's definition, we know that Vanitas cannot and will not be saved. As he says in the beginning, Noé is going to kill him someday. There will be a day when he will fail to grab his hand, and Vanitas will finally fall to the gravity of his doom. So in that way, it makes sense that even in the most optimistic of scenes, we have to cut away before Vanitas can actually take Noé's hand. He might be letting himself reach for it now, and that's a good thing, but Noé is never actually going to be able to pull him up. To show us otherwise in a scene so full of symbolism and foreshadowing would be a lie.

However, as I keep saying, Noé's definition of salvation isn't the only one at play. As much as Vanitas's death will not be prevented, the fact remains that he is still finally letting himself reach for salvation in some form. So perhaps we can cut away as soon as he starts to reach not because he'll never be saved, but because the thing that matters in this scene is the reaching itself. Noé has become a supportive constant in Vanitas's life. He's just reaffirmed that he won't change, that he'll continue to support Vanitas from beside him.

We don't need to see Noé take Vanitas's hand once he starts reaching because that is a foregone conclusion. It's Vanitas's decision to reach that needs the emphasis of being the final shot, because that's the heart of the moment.

In the manga, Vanitas reaches up, and we cut to the sunlit sky. This whole scene, in addition to the running thread of reaching hands and salvation, has an overarching symbol in the end of the rain. Vanitas and Noé's horrible fight was in the storm, the rain patters to its end as they make up, and the sun breaks through the clouds as they reaffirm their pledges to one another and Noé re-offers Vanitas his hand. It's simple but effective pathetic fallacy.

So to that end, Vanitas reaches up to take Noé's offer to help him stand (reaches up to take some version of his promise of salvation), and we cut to the sunlit sky. Noé has brought the sunlight back as he offers his hand to Vanitas. Joy and light and hope return as Noé's love for and desire to save Vanitas are reestablished. Then Vanitas reaches toward that light, and we cut to the sunbeams to make sure you know just what he's reaching toward.

This works well for the end of a story arc! The weather symbol has been a constant throughout the whole amusement park arc, so of course the chapter that marks its end has to be capped off with an image of the clouds breaking. It's a closing note that pulls together Vanitas's reaching for salvation, the weather symbolism, and 55.5's general tone of relief.

Meanwhile, the anime switches things so that we see the sunbeams first, and then Vanitas reaching for Noé's hand is the final shot of the whole entire show. And for once, I actually really like this little change! The manga's order of images works well as a resolution for its chapter and its story arc, but the anime's version works really well as a possible end for the story overall.

The VnC anime may or may not ever get another season, so for the foreseeable future, Vanitas reaching for Noé's hand is the end of the show. This gives that shot a lot of emphasis. In fact, it kind of makes it the meaning of the whole thing.

Noé spends the whole anime reaching out and trying to offer a hand of salvation to Vanitas, and the final shot of the whole thing is Vanitas letting himself reach up to take it. We don't end on the shot of their clasping hands, but the shot of the reaching, because Vanitas's decision to accept some form of salvation is the thing the whole show has been building towards. It's the decision to reach up that makes the whole story.

So though they go about it in very slightly different ways, the manga and the anime are still both making meaning out of the simple act of Vanitas reaching. That's the core of the whole thing.

And overall, though I've framed "we cut away because Noé won't actually be able to stop his fall/grab his hand" and "we cut away because the decision to reach is the important part" as two opposing interpretations, I actually think their co-existence is key. Vnc's whole story is a conflict between Noé and Vanitas's definitions of salvation. The tension of their relationship isn't "will Noé find a way to save Vanitas from death?" (He won't). The tension is "will Noé find some other way to save Vanitas before his death?" and "will he be able to recognize that alternate salvation as salvation if/once Vanitas claims it?"

VnC is a story about a doomed man who might in some way be saved. Chapter 55.5 cuts away before we see Vanitas actually take Noé's hand because he is doomed to fall someday and not reach that hand when it matters most, but also because the thing that matters in this scene is that he decides to reach up at all. Vanitas is going to die, so any hope and optimism in his story must make peace with the doom of him. His healing from his trauma and accepting love and help happens while he is hurtling rapidly toward his ending. That's the beauty and the tension of Vanoé's relationship (and the beauty and tension of VnC as a whole).

So to answer your question anon, yes. We cut away before Vanitas reaches Noé's hand because, as we're told in the beginning, he will not ultimately reach Noé's salvation. But at the same time, the whole point of the rooftop scene is that Vanitas does want to accept some kind of salvation, and he just might manage do it. It all depends on how he can be saved.

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