#troubled past resurfacing | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

alicewritingstories · 6 months

Text

Whumptober Prompt Fills Part 10: Failure

~Also on AO3~

No. 29: “I only sink deeper the deeper I think.” | Scented Candle | Troubled Past Resurfacing | “What happened to me?”

Alt 2: Aftermath of Failure (Replacing 16)

Warnings: Discussion of past failure, implied trauma and flashbacks, mention of injury

Central character(s): Time, Wild

The battle was effectively over; even as Time looked around, sword at the ready, the last gold bokoblin fell to a combined attack by Wind and Four, leaking black blood on the ground for a moment before it exploded into smoke. Time sighed and nodded to himself as the others instinctively gathered around the wounded: Wild had been trampled by a lynel as it made its final charge - he'd shot it in the throat just before impact - but was stirring feebly under Sky's hands. Warriors was pulling an arrow out of Hyrule's shoulder while Legend held him down, telling him firmly that he was to accept healing for himself before going to check on Wild and that squirming was just making the wound larger. They all had the usual collection of cuts and bruises, but overall had got off lightly apart from those two.

"I'm going to check there are no more lying in wait," he called.

Twilight had joined Sky kneeling over Wild and was uncorking a potion, but he looked up and nodded. Four and Wind also looked round from hovering between their injured brothers and Four hurried to a ruined wall to climb up it and get a good vantage point. Wind stayed where he was, looking around carefully, his sword still in his hand.

Time smiled proudly and set off.

The battle had taken them into the edges of Wild's Castletown: a sad collection of ruins that, unlike other ruins in Wild's Hyrule, had not been taken over by nature. Only a few green shoots were starting to sprout between cracked stones and the shadow of the deserted castle fell ominously over everything. Once Time had turned a few corners away from where his boys were recovering from the battle, it was mournfully quiet.

Familiarly so.

As Time looked around the ruins of Castletown, destroyed by Ganon while its hero was deep in a magical sleep, his armor suddenly felt strange. He almost thought he heard Navi's voice in his ear, so clear that it made him look round for her.

In the distance he saw Vah Medoh, resting peacefully on its perch, and that reminded him that he was in Wild's Hyrule, not his own. That he was a grown man, no longer a child suddenly thrust into a teenager's body.

He shook his head hard and hastily continued his patrol, just watching for movements and trying not to look too hard at the empty, roofless houses marked with scorch marks.

He couldn't get back to the others too soon.

They had set up camp a little way further from the town and both Wild and Hyrule had been healed. Time smiled and spoke to them in something close to a daze, ate dinner without really being aware of what he was putting in his mouth, brushed off concerned questions, and went to sit on a rock overlooking the town. He knew it was a bad idea. He knew sitting and looking at a standing reminder of the moments after he had left the Temple of Time wouldn't help anything, but he felt drawn to it despite himself.

With a sigh, he picked up his ocarina - not the Ocarina of Time, but his own - and started playing it softly, settling into Zelda's Lullaby to stop himself drifting to the Song of Time.

"Time?"

He startled and looked up as Wild came and crouched down on the rock next to him, balanced on the balls of his feet. The champion nodded a greeting to him, then looked out over the ruins with a sigh.

"How are you feeling?" Time asked softly.

"Still bruised, but barely worth mentioning." Wild shifted to sit down normally and rested his elbows on his knees. After a long moment he said softly, "I hate coming here."

Time looked round at him again.

"I don't remember it except ruined and full of Malice and guardians. I've been back with Zelda a few times - she has big plans to rebuild - and she tries to tell me what it was like before, but…" Wild shook his head.

"What does she say?" asked Time, curious and glad of the distraction.

Wild shrugged. "Busy. Colorful. It sounds like it was a lot like your Castletown, actually."

Time looked back at the ruins. "Yes. It does remind me of my Castletown."

He could almost feel Wild's stare, but wasn't sure how to elaborate.

"I suppose… the fountain is in the same place? Relative to the castle?" ventured Wild.

Time sighed, shaking his head. "Sorry, it's… difficult to talk about. You remember I told you that when I took on Ganon the kingdom was already in ruins?"

Wild nodded.

"Well… Before that happened, the sword made me sleep for seven years while Ganon triumphed. When I emerged…" Time gestured to the maze of crumbling stones in front of them and the dark mass beyond it. "This was what I found."

Wild looked back at the ruins. "How many times did you defeat him? Ganon, I mean?"

"I hardly know the answer to that myself any more."

"But he never defeated you. Well…" Wild's eyes flicked back towards the camp, where a sudden peal of Legend's laughter had just rung out. "I see why you don't like talking about it. Just thinking about it makes my head hurt."

Time chuckled. "Indeed. But to respond to what you're really saying, I did fail. I was a child and I couldn't stop Ganon and that's why I was forced to sleep for seven years until I was taller and stronger, but in the meantime Zelda and the people of Hyrule saw Ganon rise and suffered under his rule and when I emerged from my sleep a thriving town was a deserted ruin." He glanced at Wild and patted his shoulder. "Seven years, a hundred years, and it comes to the same thing in the end."

Wild scowled. "I wasn't a child, though. I just… I don't even remember what happened. Just a couple of moments that tell me we ran." He picked up a small stone and threw it morosely to rattle down the slope towards an empty street. "I don't know why. I don't know what I saw or what I tried to do or if I even tried anything to fight. You did, I assume."

Time remembered Ganon looming over him and laughing as he lay on the ground, a helpless child not even worth killing. "Oh, yes, I tried. But even if I might not recognise Princess Zelda's Appointed Knight, I know the Hero of the Wild and I can't imagine he was all that different. I can't imagine you didn't even try."

Wild made a noise halfway to a bitter laugh.

Time laid a hand on his shoulder and said softly, "It's OK, Wild."

Wild shook his head.

"Wild. It's OK."

Wild shook his head again, but this time he leaned a little closer and let Time wrap an arm around his shoulder. After a moment, he relaxed his head onto Time's shoulder.

"It's OK," said Time again, resting his cheek on the top of Wild's head. The silence stretched as they looked out over the ruins, but Time felt better. His Castletown and his Hyrule thrived. This one was as scarred and weary as its hero, but Wild was healing. One day his Hyrule would do the same.

#whumptober2023 #no.29 #troubled past resurfacing #Alt.2 #Aftermath of failure #linked universe #fic #trauma tw #my fanfic #linked universe whump #lu time #lu wild

37 notes · View notes

lbibliophile-sw · 6 months

Text

Safety Briefing

Also on AO3 @whumptober-archive - day 29: troubled past resurfacing @clonefandomevents - Coruscant Guard bingo: GAR versus Corries @clonefandomevents - 501st bingo: flashbacks

For a long silent minute, Fox just looks at him.

“Usually, I tell GAR transfers to follow contested territory protocols and put them on street patrols, and that’s enough to keep them alive as they learn our rules. But you’re a mutie and a Captain. So I think you’ll understand when I say we are closer to Kamino SOP.

“Don’t stand out, don’t draw attention. Ensure that everything you do is perfect and without fault. Know that sometimes that’s still not enough, and all you can do is endure until they lose interest.

“Welcome to the Coruscant Guard, Captain Rex.”

#it's even better if you assume that fox is a natural redhead #CG bingo #501st bingo #whumptober 2023 #no.29 #troubled past resurfacing #star wars #sw:tcw #drabble #referenced clone trooper mistreatment #natural blond rex #commander fox #captain rex #bingo fill

30 notes · View notes

maschals · 6 months

Text

Oct 29 - Troubled past resurfacing

I love me a tragic romance

#whumptober 2023 #no.29 #troubled past resurfacing #the sheridan tapes #sam bailey #allen gott

19 notes · View notes

ladywynne · 7 months

Text

My Way

Moon Knight. Jake steps in when needed. What a life he's led.

Based on the song "My Way" by Frank Sinatra. For Whumptober 2023 - Fills prompts "pinned down", "alleyway", "outnumbered", and "troubled past resurfacing". It is whump, but there is also love and joy.

CW: violence, child abuse, character death, blood, gun

Word count - 2004

******************************************************

And now, the end is near

And so I face the final curtain

My friend, I'll say it clear

I'll state my case, of which I'm certain

I've lived a life that's full

I've traveled each and every highway

But more, much more than this

I did it my way

Marc spat out the blood pooling in his mouth and struggled back into a boxer’s stance. He knows pain. He is not afraid of it, but he also knows he is reaching the end of his endurance. Not that these assholes can tell that from where they’re standing. The super-powered zealots of Set are hovering warily, none of them willing to go first despite (or maybe because of) his bloody visage. All of them sporting an injury or two from the last hours.

Marc huffs a laugh and straightens slightly, “That all ya got?” He spares a quick glance behind himself. The kids he is protecting are okay, huddled together against the dirty brick wall. Four boys, none older than ten. He’s not sure what the cultists want with them, it was mere chance he came upon the scene in the first place, but he is not willing to find out. He needs to end this quickly. End this and get them out of here. He never thought he’d miss Khonshu.

He goes another few rounds. He’s better than his opponents, better by far; but there are so many, and they have supernatural strength. His knuckles are bleeding, as well as his nose, and he impatiently swipes the sweat and hair from his eyes so as not to miss the next attack. They don’t strike where he expects.

“MISTER!” A child’s voice screams to him with shrill fear. Marc whirls, his eyes coming to rest on a new player, a woman, compact with an athlete’s build. She must have flanked him while he fought, and now holds the smallest boy by the upper arm as she drags him around the makeshift fight club. Marc notes she is armed, but the weapon is holstered as she deals with the boy.

Marc immediately turns in that direction, punching with renewed vigor, but he is swarmed by foes who seem so single-minded as to be almost in a trance. Damn it! There’s more of ‘em.

Marc can barely make out the woman through the mass of zealots as she nears a van with the child. The boy struggles, planting his feet and twisting wildly. When they reach the bumper the child bites the woman’s wrist, and she cries out with a curse, but she doesn’t release him. Instead, she draws back her free hand and slaps him with a crack that can be heard over the grunts and blows of Marc’s own battle.

Time slows and Marc’s vision tunnels until all he sees is that little boy. He sees red bloom across the child’s cheek, sees the fear on his face and the way his body goes still in shock. The woman shakes the boy for good measure before restraining his small hands and tossing him into the van to another grim adult. Then she turns back for the next child.

But Marc doesn’t see this last. He can’t see because he isn’t there.

He is the boy. The sharp sound of the slap registers before the hot swell of pain. His hand rises to cradle his cheek as he looks up into the cold eyes of his own mother. She is spewing words at him, venom no doubt, but they don’t register through the ringing in his ears and all he can do is stand dumbly, lowering his eyes to the kitchen linoleum. His mother scoffs and pulls him by the hair. He doesn’t fight her, but tears roll down his cheeks from the sting of her grip.

Jake is ready, would have taken the reins soon in any case. He shoves forward, flexing his fists to ground himself as the pain and exhaustion of the body overtake his senses. But the lapse in awareness, short as it was, has cost them. Enemies are all over him. He swings viciously to try and clear space but takes a hard punch to the eye. He feels many hands wrestling to control his arms. Jake fights for all he’s worth. This is life-and-death, the time for taunts is over. Apart from the meaty thwack of blows landing and occasional exclamations of pain, silence engulfs the alleyway arena. Jake feels a surge of fierce pride when it seems the horde is faltering.

Then there is a brutal kick to the back of his leg. He falls. Jake lands hard on one knee and immediately tries to rebound upward. It’s no use. Four men secure his arms as a cruel hand forces his head back. He struggles valiantly. Shit! Damn! Joder! Feckin’ HELL! But in the end he is forced to watch through swelling eyes, seething with rage, as the last of the boys is loaded into that van. Thank G-d Marc ain’t here for this.

Jake takes a stab in the dark, rasping out. “Khonshu, Embracer. Save the kids. You gotta have a new fist by now. Use them and help the boys.” No response, but a sudden breeze behind the van gives him some hope. He didn't expect more. They had not parted with the bird on the best terms.

As the dark vehicle drives away his curls are released, and Jake gives it one more go. He thrashes and kicks wildly backward from his knees, but all it gets him is his face planted painfully into the grimy pavement.

He freezes when he hears it – a sound he knows intimately well. A sound that has haunted his every nightmare since Cairo. The cock of a pistol.

🌙🌙🌙

Regrets, I've had a few

But then again, too few to mention

I did what I had to do

And saw it through without exemption

I planned each charted course

Each careful step along the byway

And more, much more than this

I did it my way

Jake’s purpose looked different according to the situation, but he always protected Marc and Steven. More often than not Marc had to be protected from himself - from the physical repercussions of his pain and self-loathing. When Marc longed for a permanent solution or subconsciously tried to shorten his life through drinking and bad choices Jake was there to stop him. Steven suffered in other ways, his clever mind quick to fill in gaps, but unable to cure his devastating loneliness. Jake tried to ease it with a date. Sometimes he was needed simply because the other two were bickering and making themselves vulnerable. It didn’t really matter why. He was always there.

When they were young, Marc took it all. Poor kid thought he deserved abuse, and he would never hurt their mother. Jake was a child himself then - hiding, confused, only called forward if Marc really thought she would kill them. Thank God he has more control now. Now he watches near constantly. Vigilant. He can’t afford another Cairo, can’t let sus estúpidos muchachos get in that deep again, can’t let them die again. He loves them too damn much.

Yes, there were times, I'm sure you knew

When I bit off more than I could chew

But through it all, when there was doubt

I ate it up and spit it out

I faced it all and I stood tall

And did it my way

Jake had a lot of good times, more than Marc or Steven would ever have imagined for him. He loved. He had Gena and her boys, Crawley, and New York City. As a cabbie he met a lot of people, was tuned to the rhythm of the city and especially the nooks and crannies of Brooklyn. He knew the street walkers, the homeless, the policemen, the business owners, the elderly. And they knew him. Jake gave the body community. He fed that part of their soul.

He had freedom. G-d, the way it felt to drive Marc’s expensive car with the windows down, fast and free and unhidden. Jake never shied away from the world when he was on the outside, not unless it was for a mission. He embraced it all- the people, the smells, the sounds. It was part of why he loved to drive. He spent so much time unknown, silent, deadly and watchful and tough. But on the road, he could live. Make his own g-ddamned choices. Go where he wanted, as fast as he wanted. He would shift gears with so much adrenaline and joy coursing through him that no one, not even himself, could doubt that Jake Lockley took up space. Jake Lockley was fuckin’ real.

After he was revealed to the others Steven was sometimes with him as he drove. The Brit seemed to love watching him. Yeah mate, smashed that curve! And once Jake settled into the seat, his gloved hand relaxed on the wheel, the two of them talked. Surprisingly, it was a space where Steven and Jake found each other, experiencing the road together, learning what it was to be known.

I've loved, I've laughed and cried

I've had my fill my share of losing

And now, as tears subside

I find it all so amusing

To think I did all that

And may I say - not in a shy way

Oh no, oh no, not me

I did it my way

Jake loves Marc with all his heart. He always has. He supposes he was meant to love him, that guilt-ridden, violent, protective, beautiful soul that is Marc Spector.

Oh, Marc always knew he was there. It was a weird, cruel open secret in their mind. But Marc wouldn’t face him, feeling all his goodness had been poured into Steven, and afraid of what he would find in this last fractured part of himself. Jake never pushed it. He had witnessed Marc be backed into a corner far too often. Jake would never do that to him.

The awareness Steven gained in the Duat made it impossible to avoid reality any longer. Steven was an open book and he insisted on an open mind. So, finally, Marc looked inward, staring into the headspace with the ironic aid of a bathroom mirror, and saw reflected there the missing piece of himself.

Jake accepted his scrutiny, ready for the inevitable blame and condescension and loathing that he knew would not really be directed at him but at the tortured soul of the propagator himself. It did not come. Marc’s tense brows didn’t ease, but his fingers deliberately released their grip on the porcelain of the sink. And Marc straightened, brown eyes meeting brown eyes at last and finding within them a spirit common to them all. At last the corner of Marc’s mouth rose slightly in wry acknowledgement, “Got a name?”

For what is a man, what has he got

If not himself, then he has naught

To say the things he truly feels

And not the words of one who kneels

The record shows I took the blows

And did it my way

Yeah, Jake always knew he would be the one to take the final bullet. He knew because if it got bad and he had any time at all, he’d make sure of it. That is who he is, and he is damn proud of it.

🌙🌙🌙

A lot can happen in the final seconds of one’s life. They say your existence flashes before your eyes. It does for Jake, simply because Marc and Steven are there. Jake feels so many things - defiant, stoic, angry…but not lonely. It feels to him like Marc hugs him, grip tightening across his back and not letting go. And then Steven wraps around them both, impossibly encompassing them, a shield of love in this last moment. They understand. They are here with him. Together.

Dios mio. I must be the luckiest fucker on earth.

And Jake laughs.

Yes, it was my way

BANG

20 notes · View notes

meetinginsamarra · 6 months

Text

Whumptober Day 29 "troubled past resurfacing"

“I, John, um, am honoured…” Sherlock trailed off, cleared his throat and began anew. “Actually, and honestly, I’m too overwhelmed to find proper words.” He firmly focused his gaze on John’s eyes, forcing himself to concentrate. “But I would do it again. This sacrifice. For you.”

“Dear God, please, no!” John blurted and his body visibly shook as if it had been hit by a strong gust of wind. “Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate what you’ve done for me, all that you’ve done and thinking about it ‘appreciate’ is such a weak expression but I cannot think of another right now. I don’t know how to repay you, Sherlock.”

“There is no need to repay anything, John.”

“Yeah, sure. But you jumped off a roof for me, you shot Magnussen in order to save Mary and make me happy and now, you let yourself get killed for real by Smith to make me help you.” John scrubbed his hand throw his hair. “You have to stop sacrificing yourself for me Sherlock! I can’t take it to be the reason if you die and I won’t survive being left like this again. You’re not indestructable. You might think so but you’re really not.”

“I know but I made a vow to protect you. And Mary and the baby.”

“You kept your oath. Now, let me acquit you of it otherwise it will be the death of us both.”

“You cannot…”

“Just promise me to think about it, thoroughly, yes?” When Sherlock nodded, John’s strained posture relaxed a bit but he braced himself for what he needed to say next. To get over the troubled past resurfacing unwanted in front of his inner eye.

“When I saw you awake, I felt so happy. But then I thought you were afraid of me touching you, afraid that I might punch you again. I was crushed by guilt when I saw you so scared. I’ll never forgive myself for assaulting you in the mortuary. You were weak, drugged to hell and clearly out of your mind. I could have simply stopped after I incapacitated you, just left you there on the floor.”

“I made you do it. You have no fault. I don’t blame you, John. I had this plan and…”

John interjected, “Please don’t tell me you expected me to punch and kick you like this. I’ve been angry at everything and everyone for so long and you were just the poor innocent sod who made me break and received all the backlash.”

“I’m not innocent.” Sherlock choked out the next words. “I killed your wife.”

“No, absolutely not. She made a deliberate choice when she jumped in front of you. She might as well have just stood there watching you getting shot a second time.”

“She saved me.”

“She did. But we’ll never know what made her do it. Maybe she felt guilty after all for shooting you. I had not forgiven her and she knew it. Maybe she felt I never could if she let you die in the aquarium.”

—

find the fic on AO3 HERE

---

Please tell me if anybody wants to get tagged or untagged (just say it, I won’t get mad).

@helloliriels @calaisreno @7-percent @lisbeth-kk @peageetibbs @gaylilsherlock @totallysilvergirl @alexisnoir @blogstandbygo @jobooksncoffee @missdeliadili @kabubsmagga @mary-johnlocked @vaticancameos221 @kestrelwing64 @sabsi221b @jelly-of-many-ships

#whumptober2023 #no.29 #troubled past resurfacing #Sherlock #fic #my sherlock fanfics #slowly suffocating

11 notes · View notes

nyastri · 6 months

Link

My second attempt to contribute to Whumptober

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Linked Universe - Fandom, The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Relationships: Hyrule & Legend (Linked Universe) Additional Tags: Self-Harm, Derealization, Angst, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Anxiety Attacks, Really not sure if this is graphic but it's detailed, So be warned, Whump, Still not sure if this is technically whump but I hope so, Series: Part 2 of The Nature of Dreams Summary:

Sometimes, Legend would think he was stuck in a dream again. Thankfully, he now had a method for verifying if he was in reality or not. But according to Hyrule, it's not a very "good" method.

Whumptober day 29: Troubled past resurfacing, "I only sink deeper the deeper I think"

#whumptober2023 #no.29 #troubled past resurfacing #i only sink deeper the deeper i think #derealization #self h@rm #linked universe #lu #lu legend #legend whump #I love legend so much but no way I'm giving him a break

12 notes · View notes

lady-wallace · 6 months

Text

Whumptober Day 29 (Buddy Daddies)

Final Buddy Daddies fic for @whumptober More Rei angst today with some headcanons about his mother and why he sleeps in a bathtub.

~~~~~~~

Prompts Used: Scented Candles, Troubled Past Resurfacing, 'What happened to me?' Fandom: Buddy Baddies Character: Rei

~~~~~~~

Read on Ao3

~~~~~~~

Kazuki was an enigma to Rei. He didn't understand his insistence on keeping the apartment clean, or on making three meals a day (and forcing Rei to eat them). Making sure Rei showered, cutting his hair, and buying furniture to fill up the empty spaces. Well, maybe that made a little sense to Rei because it meant there were more things to hide behind in the event of an attack.

But perhaps it was because Kazuki was so normal. Rei had never been around people like that. He'd watched them on the outside living their lives. It was that curiosity that had led him to heading off to live on his own before he realized that he wasn't good at fitting in with normal people.

Even now, Kazuki was humming happily to himself as he came back to the apartment after shopping, calling to Rei while he sat on the couch playing games.

"Hey, I'm back! Grabbed some stuff for dinner."

Rei didn't reply. He had figured out that Kazuki would talk no matter if he did or not. He seemed to have a need to fill a space and it was, a lot of time, a welcome distraction to Rei.

He glanced over toward the kitchen where Kazuki was putting stuff away and saw him setting out a couple expensive looking candles on the counter.

"Got some candles today—thought they might make the place smell better."

"Why?" Rei had to ask.

"Dude, it reeks in here," Kazuki replied as he rummaged around for a lighter. "Trust me, you'll be able to tell the difference."

Rei turned back to his games, not wanting to bother trying to figure out another weird—or perhaps normal?—thing his roommate was doing.

That was until he caught the scent of the candles wafting through the house, sugary, warm and—

Gentle hands caring for a scraped knee.

A smile hovering over him, surrounded by long black hair.

"Stay here, don't move!"

A bathroom, inside the tub—broken glass all around.

"I'll always love you."

"Stay here and cover your ears."

Two men carrying something under a blood-stained sheet.

A sharp sting on his cheek, falling to the floor. "Soft like your mother."

"I'll always love you."

Rei gasped aloud, staggering to his feet, his hand coming to his head, dizzy from the sudden assault of—what, memories? Definitely memories, but from where?

"Rei? Hey, you good, man?"

He had to stop this. He grabbed his pistol and shot the candle, exploding the glass and wax into a hundred pieces and leaving a bullet hole in the wall behind it as Kazuki dove away with a shriek.

"Wh-what the hell man?" Kazuki demanded. "The landlord's gonna kill us for that!"

Rei didn't reply, he couldn't. He had to get out of here, away from the scent.

He hurried out of the apartment, stopping once he was out of the street, breathing in fresh air and effectively clearing his head.

What happened to me? he wondered, looking down at his shaky hand. That kind of thing wasn't supposed to happen to him. His father had made sure he was trained better than that.

SLAP—Soft like your mother

"Mother," Rei whispered.

He didn't remember his mother…he thought. But, that must have been….

"Rei!"

He startled as Kazuki jogged up to him, slowing down as he realized Rei wasn't going to go anywhere.

"Hey, man, I hope I didn't offend you or anything," he said. "I just thought the candles would be nice. Are you allergic or something?"

Rei shook his head.

"Then why the hell did you shoot it, man—those are expensive, you know!"

"I don't know," Rei finally replied, hands clenching. "Can you shut up?!"

Kazuki looked like he had slapped him and Rei might as well have. He'd never addressed the other man like that before, barely paid him outward heed.

"Rei, are you all right?"

"Leave me alone," Rei replied as he pushed past the other man and headed back to the apartment, going directly to his room. He needed to clear his head. He sank onto the bed, trying to take deep breaths to steady himself.

The same images flashed through his mind: Soft hands, long black hair, warm sweet scent of sugar, bathtub, broken, shouting, broken glass…

Rei didn't realize he had been clenching his hands so hard until he looked down to see his nails had made red crescents in his palms. He let out a shuddering breath and loosened his hands, still finding dangerous tremors in them.

Why had this affected him so much? Why had he allowed it to? He couldn't understand why those memories he didn't even know he'd had just showed up all of a sudden, uninvited, just because he had smelled a damn candle.

He stretched out on the bed, lowering one arm over his eyes as he tried to clear his mind. But everything just felt like it was such a mess and he didn't know what he was going to do.

XXX

Rei slunk down the stairs later that evening when he heard Kazuki banging around in the kitchen. It wasn't a familiar feeling to him, but he felt somewhat awkward, almost…well, a little bad about yelling at Kazuki earlier. While it technically was his fault for buying the candle, he couldn't know what had happened in Rei's head because of it.

Rei took a seat at the counter, hunched slightly. He could see the candle that he hadn't shot sitting to one side and tried not to let it make him uncomfortable. He watched Kazuki cook for a few minutes. The man always seemed so sure of himself while he was in the kitchen, doing things Rei had never seen anyone do before. But then, he could barely make toast, so what did he know?

"You hungry?"

Kazuki's words startled him out of his strangely rambling mind. He shrugged.

Kazuki continued, moving on to crack eggs, tossing the shells over his shoulder into the sink.

One missed and spattered raw egg on the counter and Kazuki glanced back with a sheepish grin. "Aw, missed. Was sure I'd get it that time." He chuckled, then let out a sigh with a brief smile. "My wife always hated it when I would do that."

Rei watched him clean it up and toss the shells into the trash before going back to cooking.

"You know, the only reason I bought the candles is because they reminded me of my wife," Kazuki went on. "She always had a million of them around the house, I was afraid she'd light the place on fire." He smiled fondly. "

Rei furrowed his brow. Kazuki never talked about his wife. Rei knew she had died, that was all. He'd seen one picture of her before Kazuki had put it into a drawer, clearly stating that it was none of Rei's business. So it confused him that he was bringing her up now.

"That scent was her favorite," Kazuki added.

The memories flashed back through his mind again and he squeezed his eyes shut before another memory popped into his head.

"This one is my favorite, doesn't it smell good, Rei-chan?" Warm flame, lighting the dark room. A soft kiss on his forehead through a curtain of black hair. "Maybe it will help you sleep."

Something caught in his throat and before he knew it he said, "My mother's too."

It surprised him and apparently surprised Kazuki too because he paused briefly before resuming his work, pouring eggs into a pan.

Rei was still confused about why he had even spoken when Kazuki said, "Memories can hurt sometimes. I still get sad when I think of her. But, you know, I guess that's how you know someone had an impact on your life."

But what if you don't remember? Rei wondered.

XXX

Rei never usually slept well. He was too hyperaware of his surroundings to fall into more than a light sleep. Tonight was worse though, because on top of his usual trained anxiety, he could not stop the images flashing through his mind, a messy jumble that threatened to drive him mad.

Because he did vaguely remember his mother, and he knew that something bad had happened to her, so how the hell had he forgotten that? He wanted to remember, but he didn't know how…

Rei pushed himself up from the couch where he had been trying to sleep, and glanced to the corner of the kitchen counter where Kazuki had set the second candle.

Rei got up and padded over to grab it, staring at it warily. He hadn't liked the loss of control he'd felt earlier when it came to the memories, but…

He wanted to remember. Maybe if he could control the situation, it would help everything become clearer?

"Stay here, don't move"

The frantically whispered words echoed again and Rei suddenly started upstairs, slipping into the bathroom. The tub stood there like some kind of sanctuary, a promise of safety. Rei set the candle down on the side of it and pulled out his lighter.

Warm light emanated from the flame, and he eased himself down into the tub, sitting cross-legged with his hands clasped in front of him, head down. He closed his eyes as the sweet scent filtered in, setting off memories once more.

He took a deep breath and tried to stop the instant flow, plucking one out and trying to focus on it, breathing the scent in deeply:

"Can't sleep again?"

Rei lay curled under his blankets, shaking his head. He could hear the men in suits outside, slamming car doors and driving away. They scared him.

"Here, I have an idea."

His mother left the room for a moment before returning with a candle. She set it by his bedside and lit it silently. A comforting glow spread around the room, allowing Rei to breathe a little easier.

"This one is my favorite, doesn't it smell good, Rei-chan?" Her face was in shadows, but she leaned over the bed, silky black hair acting as a curtain for the world beyond as she bent to kiss his forehead. "Maybe it will help you sleep."

"But papa—"

"Your father doesn't need to know," his mother said softly, stroking his hair. "Everyone needs a little light in the dark. Now close your eyes, I'll stay with you until you fall asleep."

Rei blinked, inhaling sharply. He couldn't remember the last time he had thought of his mother with such clarity. He had completely forgotten being that young even. It seemed so long ago in more than just years.

He swallowed hard and tried to dig for the other memory, focusing on the bathtub.

A loud bang startled him awake, Rei had barely opened his eyes before his mother was scooping him out of bed, carrying him quickly out of the room, where the men in suits were rushing down the hall, guns in hand.

"Mama?"

"Shh, be quiet."

She threw open the bathroom door and placed Rei into the tub.

"Stay here, don't move," she said quickly, cupping his cheek. "Just stay here and cover your ears."

"What's happening?"

"Don't ask questions, darling," she pleaded. "Promise me you'll stay down and not come out until I come for you. You'll be safe here, I promise." She leaned in and kissed his forehead. "I'll always love you, Rei."

Then she was gone and Rei was torn on following her, but the loud bangs sounded out and he was too scared so he curled up as small as he could in the tub and slammed his hands over his ears.

He didn't know how long he waited. Noises crashed around him, shards of glass and plaster sprinkling down as things exploded in the room. But Rei stayed still, knowing his mother wouldn't lie. That as long as he did he would be okay.

He stayed that way a long time after the sounds stopped. Someone opened the door and Rei finally looked up, hoping it was Mama but it was just one of the men in suits.

"I found him," the man said speaking into a crackling radio. "He seems to be okay."

The man reached into the tub and picked Rei up, shoes crunching over the glass on the floor.

"Mama," Rei murmured.

The man didn't say anything, but Rei wriggled free as soon as they got out and started running as the man swore.

"Mama!" he shouted.

He ran until he hit his father, staggering back as the man made no move to help him, staring at the milling men in the entryway of the house. Two men were picking up stretchers covered in red-stained white sheets, carrying them out the front door.

Rei saw a curtain of dark hair spilling from under one of them and started forward.

"M-Mama!"

His father caught his shoulder tightly, hauling him back.

"She won't be coming back, boy. You'd best get used to that. It's time to grow up and begin learning the duties of the Suwa heir."

He left, leaving Rei standing there, alone.

Rei came out of the memory, hands shaking, breaths coming quick and sharp. He looked around, half expecting to see that destroyed bathroom from before, but it was just the same as it always was, with the addition of the candle.

He let out a long breath, slowly laying down in the tub to stare up at the ceiling, allowing the warm scent of the burning wax to lull him. When he closed his eyes he could almost feel the touch of a hand on his cheek, soft lips on his forehead.

"I'll always love you."

"Mama," he whispered. An odd feeling came over him, not necessarily sadness—it had been so long ago now. But he felt glad to have remembered. Perhaps Kazuki was right. Maybe memories were worth the hurt they caused.

He curled up in the bottom of the tub, feeling safe with the candle glow and closed his eyes. And for the first time in a long time, he was able to fall into a deep, peaceful sleep.

XXX

Kazuki got up to grab a drink of water, noticing that Rei's bedroom door was open. Not that he usually slept there anyway, but he was still feeling a little bad about the candle incident. He didn't know what the scent might have brought up, but he was sure it probably wasn't good considering Rei's reaction.

But his roommate wasn't on the couch either when Kazuki got downstairs, which was odd.

Frowning, Kazuki got his glass of water and returned upstairs.

That was when he saw a warm glow from under the bathroom door and caught the scent of brown sugar and vanilla.

"Rei?" he asked.

There was no reply, and, worried, Kazuki cautiously opened the door.

The first thing he saw was the candle sitting on the side of the tub, burning away with a warm glow.

Inside the tub was Rei, curled in the bottom, sleeping heavily, breathing even and slow. His face actually looked relaxed and Kazuki felt an almost brotherly affection toward the younger man at the sight.

He went to grab a blanket, draping it over the sleeping man, leaving the candle burning as he went to catch some sleep himself.

~~~~~~~

Check out my Whumptober Masterpost HERE for more stories!

If you want to follow me on other social media or ask about fic or art commissions, find my info on My Carrd

#whumptober2023 #no.29 #scented candle #troubled past resurfacing #what happened to me?#buddy daddies #fanfic #past death of a parent tw #returning memories #rei suwa #kazuki kurusu #pre-series #hurt/comfort #buddy daddies fanfic #rei's emotional support bathtub

11 notes · View notes

acidic-eye · 6 months

Text

Whumptober 29: I rather forget then remember the pain of losing you

prompt: Troubled Past Resurfacing whumptober 29 - “Like… how wild forgot everything. Wonder if it would make my life better.” legend mused, he was cleaning his sword and magical items while he spoke. “Like, i feel bad for him but… i envy him at times you know? To forget it all? Fuckin wish i could forget my adventures.”

Hyrule gave him a wary look, “you know how miserable wild is not knowing what his past was, i dont think you would like it much.” legend shrugged, continuing to use a rag to wipe off the black blood on the sword. “I would hate to loose my memories, sounds scary.” he admitted, “when he first told us… i had the same thought to be honest, like… what if everything was wiped clean? Could i live normally? But then i realized i don't think i could even if everything was clean.”

“Its not fun.” another voice spoke out, they turned to the voice only to see wild, staring at the stars above. “You would think that it's nice not to remember all the bad things that happened, ya know? But it's not.” - Or legend wants to forget. Wild wishes he could remember

#linked universe #fanfic #wild linked universe #legend linked universe #whumptober2023 #hyrule linked universe #whumptober 2023 #troubled past resurfacing #no.29 #trauma bonding #memory loss

14 notes · View notes

musewrangler · 6 months

Text

Anakin wished, not for the first time, that Ahsoka could have been here. He wondered if she knew about this illness—if she had encountered anything like it.

But she and Rex were somewhere at Mon Mothma’s request, and anyway, Anakin was still figuring out a way forward with his former padawan.

Luke groaned again, turning restlessly and trying to kick off the blanket covering him.

“No!” he cried. “Father! Father… please …!”

It was a terrible echo of his pleading when the Emperor had turned his dark wrath upon the young Jedi.

“I’m here, Luke,” Anakin told him, laying a prosthetic hand over his son’s heart and placing the cold gel pack on his brow once again. He decided to risk a Force connection. It had helped Luke settle when Leia had done so.

#whumptober2023 #no.29 #troubled past resurfacing #what happened to me #star wars #fan fiction #star wars original trilogy #star wars au #luke skywalker #leia organa #anakin skywalker #illness #angst #father and son #family #skywalker family drama #slow healing #empire reimagined

13 notes · View notes

clintbartonruinedmylife · 6 months

Text

Whumptober 2023 - Day 29

"Troubled past resurfacing"

For a while Clint was happy. He had found a man he loved and who loved him, he had married said man, he had a good job he liked, he had friends and a life. Everything was good. Until one fucking Friday afternoon.

Clint was just coming home from his job as a carpenter. He parked his bike in the driveway when he noticed a car opposite of the house he lived in with Bucky. He looked at the car for a very long moment before he walked up to the entrance door, unlocked it and went in. He saw Bucky’s shoes lying beside the door and a smile appeared on his lips. He was home already.

“Babe, I’m home,” he called, the smile broadening.

But when Bucky didn’t answer his smile vanished.

“Babe?” he called. “Bucky?”

He went from the living room to the kitchen and there he paled immediately.

“Hello, Clint,” he heard a voice had hoped to never hear again. The man stood beside a chair and held a gun in his hand, aimed it at Bucky’s head who was tied to said chair. His arms behind his back, his feet to the legs of the chair and he was gagged. His eyes widened, when the man said Clint’s name. Two more men were sitting on the other chairs at the table, drinking coffee and smirking at him.

“Barney,” Clint said. “Jacques, Buck.” It’s been more than fifteen years since he’s seen them the last time and he had hoped to never see them again.

“Oh, you still know who I am,” Barney grinned. “I’m honored,” he said and placed his empty hand on his chest.

“Are you okay, babe?” Clint said, ignoring his big brother. Bucky was pale but he half nodded, half shrugged.

“So, you’re still taking it up the ass?” Barney asked and pressed his gun against Bucky’s temple.

“Fuck you,” Clint snapped back. “Why are you here? What do you want?”

“We need you and your special talent,” Jacques said and pointed at him, Clint. “And he,” he pointed at Bucky, “will make sure that you do what we want.”

“I’ve told you I don’t want to do this anymore, Barney,” Clint said.

Barney raised a brow and pressed the muzzle of his gun harder against Bucky’s temple.

“Do you want him to live?” he said and Clint gritted his teeth.

“Stop! Don’t hurt him,” he whispered.

“Depends on what you do, little brother,” Barney grinned and Bucky’s eyes wet wide.

Clint threw a glare in his direction but then he went to Bucky, hunkered down beside him and put a hand on his cheek.

“I’m so sorry, babe, that you have to find out this way. But I’m gonna explain everything to you when this is over. I promise.”

“Come on, get up. Buck will stay with your boyfriend and we…”

“Husband,” Clint said and glared at his brother. Barney cocked his head, grinned and patted his shoulder.

“Congrats! But now we have a job to do and Buck will take care that you do what we want you to do.”

“If you hurt him,” Clint growled. “If you so much as harm a hair on his head, I will kill you. All of you!”

He kissed Bucky despite the gag in his mouth and rose. “Let’s get this over with!”

#whumptober2023 #no. 29 #troubled past resurfacing #marvel #fic #clint barton #hawkeye #bucky barnes #winter soldier #winterhawk #barney barton #jacques duquesne #buck chisholm

18 notes · View notes

uniasus · 6 months

Text

Whumptober 23 - Day 29 - YGO

This is a longer fill, so you can also read on Ao3.

------

Atem blinked into the darkness, staring at the ceiling. Did he really have to go to the bathroom, or could he roll back over? Eh, he was up. Shoving the covers away, he padded out the room and into the hallway. He was too preoccupied with yawning to realize there was a light on under the bathroom door, twisting it open to startle Yugi, who dropped something with a yelp.

Atem stared at him and Yugi stared back. It took a moment for Atem’s brain to kick awake, but when it did all sleepiness vanished.

Yugi sat on the closed toilet seat, wearing sleep pants and a worn black t-shirt. His right leg was propped up on the edge of the tub, fabric pushed to his knees to show off a nasty-looking horizontal cut across the top of his calf. It was actively bleeding, if slowly, and behind Yugi on the sink were a variety of first aid supplies.

He turned, refusing to look at Atem, and picked up the wet cloth he’d dropped. Atem noticed used bandages on the floor. A bruise around Yugi’s lower calf, a thick ring of purple.

“Go back to bed, Atem.”

“I will not!”

“Well, if you have to pee, go use the bathroom downstairs.” Yugi concentrated on his leg, brushing the cloth along the wound. It didn’t stop bleeding; Atem could see the sluggish trail of red, the spots on the cloth. The bandages under Yugi’s lifted leg had brown spots.

He hadn’t simply injured himself during a shaving experiment.

Yugi continued cleaning the wound, moving with practiced ease. It was a stark reminder that before he’d solved the Puzzle, this had probably been a weekly occurrence for him. Tending his hurts by himself, not telling his grandfather to ease his worry. Atem had seen the memories, felt the sting of them. Yugi had never liked doing it.

But here he was. Treating himself for an injury Atem hadn’t known he’d gotten.

When Yugi dropped the cloth to reach for the gauze, Atem pressed into his space. He knelt on the ground, holding the cloth against Yugi’s leg.

“I’ll apply pressure while you get the bandages ready.”

“Go away, Atem.”

Atem stared at him in surprise, but Yugi’s face was blank. He wasn’t even looking at Atem, too busy opening up a packet of gauze. The squares were so white, almost glowing in the fluorescent light of the bathroom.

Yugi yanked Atem’s hand away. “I don’t need your help.”

“You only have so many hands.”

“I know what I’m doing. You don’t. Take that off.”

Reluctantly, Atem pulled away the wet rag. Yugi quickly measured the gauze against the length of the wound, then trimmed a bit from the piece’s edge. Then, he grabbed a dry cloth and patted his leg.

“Adhesives don’t stick well to wet skin,” he mumbled.

Ashamed, Atem leaned back and watched him work. He took a tube of something, antibiotic cream Atem read when he picked it up, and put a layer on the cut. Then, he put the strip of gauze over it, aligning the white fabric over the cut. Only then did he address Atem again.

“Can you hold that in place?”

Immediately, Atem leaned forward to obey. Around Atem’s fingers, Yugi placed a series of vertical bandaids to hold the gauze in place. On top of that, Yugi wrapped fabric bandages around his calf. Atem watched, nibbling his lip. He wanted to recommend stitches; the cut went halfway around Yugi’s leg and if it still bled it obviously wasn’t healing fast, but he suspected that Yugi would ignore the suggestion.

Atem combed through the ghost of memories he had from sharing Yugi’s body, the thoughts and feelings Yugi had shared with him to relieve Atem’s sadness at having no past. Yugi was familiar with doing this, taking care of himself in private. But he shouldn’t be doing it.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t want to.”

“Didn’t want to? Yugi, why? I just want to help-“

“Like you helped last weekend?”

“Last weekend? I don’t know what you did instead of going to that party with us, and I was worried when I realized you didn’t come home, but if you had something to do I would have certainly helped if you asked, Partner!” Atem was yelling by the end.

They both stilled, waiting to see if Solomon heard, but after a moment of no sounds they both let out their breath.

Yugi grit his teeth. “What, did you think I just went to a different party then? Got distracted by an errand for Grandpa? Found someone else to spend the weekend with?”

Atem narrowed his eyes. Honestly, yes, he had thought Yugi found something else to do last weekend and it had hurt that he’d not included Atem. Hadn’t even told him. But, he watched Yugi push down his pants leg, if Yugi hadn’t been at a different party. If something had happened, something that resulted in a cut that really, really should have stitches…

Yugi hadn’t ditched them for something better. He’d been in trouble. None of them had known, not over the weekend, and not now. If Atem hadn’t barged in on Yugi, he’d never have even known he was injured.

“Why didn’t you tell me, partner?” Atem asked again. “You could have called. You could have told us what happened. This isn’t the first time you’ve dressed this cut, I could have helped you with it yesterday!”

“Because I didn’t use to need to, partner.” Yugi threw back the nickname with venom. “You used to just look at me and know something was wrong, without reading my emotions through the Puzzle.”

“We were around each other twenty-four-seven! Of course, I would notice something. But now we both have school, jobs-“

“And I’ve dropped in priority, got it. Vessel job done, you’ve got a body, congrats.”

“Yugi!”

Yugi looked away and curled up on the toilet seat. Atem took the chance to look at him. He looked like he did every day, a tired university student who’d spent too much time studying. Yugi, never much for outdoor time, had become even paler as his studies had him spending hours in front of a computer screen learning to code. Easy answers to any question about his well-being, just like he used to shrug off Teá’s inquires about his health in lower secondary.

But Atem knew from Yugi’s shared memories that many of the times Yugi said he was fine, he was hiding bruises or some type of emotional hurt. A punch to the face hurt just as much as knowing he locked eyes with a classmate who scurried past to avoid having to see a beating. For all that he gave help to others, Yugi never asked for it. Even during the two and a half years they shared body, as they went from fight to fight with the support of friends, they always volunteered to come.

Joey’s insistence that Yugi not enter a tournament alone. Tristan on the sidelines, alert for potential danger and willing to lend a fist. Teá cheering her loudest, a reminder that Yugi had friends. Oh, he’d offer his help to Atem, and Atem would offer help in return. But to ask, please help me, had Yugi ever?

Once, Atem thought, when he first solved the Puzzle. When Atem, as Yami, forced himself into Yugi’s life and spent months helping him with bullies without Yugi being fully aware of it. He’d seen and acted, and now, now Yugi was right. Atem hadn’t noticed. But Yugi was also hiding. He didn’t have to decide to change his bandages at two in the morning. He’d slipped back into old habits, as if he was alone again, and that, that Atem regretted not catching.

He placed a hand on Yugi’s back. “Sorry. You’re right. I should have noticed something.”

Yugi turned his head to look at Atem. “I’m sorry, too. I didn’t mean that.”

“I know.”

“I just,” Yugi hiccuped. “I miss you. I know you’re here, and you’re not trapped any more! But I miss spending all that time with you.”

“Me too.” Atem leaned forward, pressing their foreheads together. “And I want you to know, you’re the most important person in the world to me. So please, when you need help, tell me, okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Any other wounds?”

“A few bruises.”

“How many is a few?”

Yugi pulled up his near pants leg, showing off the bruise around the bottom of his leg Atem noticed before. “This, and a match on my other leg. That’s it.”

“Do they hurt? Do you need painkillers?”

Yugi shook his head. “I took some after dinner. I’ll take more in the morning though.”

Atem nodded, making a note to watch Yugi this morning. Make sure he took those painkillers, try to figure out how he’d been hiding a limp or winces. It had to hurt to walk on his leg. “Can you tell me how you got them?”

“You’re gonna yell at me.”

“I’m not going to yell at you.”

Yugi curled up tighter. “You should yell at me.”

Atem ran a hand through Yugi’s hair. “I promise I won’t.”

“Do you remember Malik’s group? The Rare Hunters?”

Atem already didn’t like where this was going. He forced himself to not fist the hand in Yugi’s hair, or twist his face into a snarl. He didn’t want Yugi to stop talking.

“I remember many of the members were unhinged and violent.”

Yugi gave a hoarse laugh. “Apparently, they’re still around. Malik and Rishid just up and left them after Battle City, so there’s a power vacuum. Apparently, the solution they’ve come up with for who to lead them is defeating the person who defeated Malik.”

“Us.”

Yugi’s eyes slipped closed and he shivered. “Yeah. Except all the reports say he was defeated by a Japanese boy with spikey hair so-“

“So they’ve been going after you.”

“Last weekend was the second time.”

Atem wanted to yell. This was 100% something Yugi should have told him, told the whole group. He wasn’t worried about Yugi losing, no doubt he’d won both duels, but not without getting hurt. And some of those Hunters had worked in pairs, what would happen then? A two vs one Duel Monsters match?

Atem wanted to press for details. Who had he fought. Where. How. Who was responsible for this past weekend, locking down Yugi’s ankles? Yugi would probably tell him, but he’d just gotten Yugi to open up and all those past details, all those memories, weren’t what was important.

“I’m going to have Kaiba put an app on my phone so I can track you.”

“Other meee.”

Atem smiled at the whine, even as his heart squeezed. He realized it’d been a while since he heard Yugi call him that, and he wondered if the last time was before the Rare Hunters started targeting Yugi. Before he found himself in situations where he needed help, but couldn’t ask, and so just hoped that Atem would look and know, only he hadn’t.

Gently, Atem pulled Yugi off the toilet and into his lap. “I won’t invade your privacy. But I’ll check it when something like this past weekend happens. When you don’t show up where I expect you to be.

“You’re my partner, Yugi. I want to help you, in any way I can. As your duel partner, helping apply a bandaid. Anything. But I’m not in your head anymore. We’re not sharing a body. So sometimes, you have to tell me you need help. Promise me you’ll do that, okay?”

Yugi buried his face into Atem’s chest. “Okay.”

“Good. Anything you need tonight?”

“No. Just sleep.”

Atem squeezed Yugi tight, then let him go. They helped each other to their feet, quietly putting away the first aid supplies. Atem noticed how low they were on certain things, further evidence of Yugi’s past hurts. He’d restock tomorrow.

“Go to bed, partner,” Atem said, pushing Yugi out the door.

“Are you not tired?”

“I woke up for a reason.”

Yugi laughed softly. “Okay, okay. I’ll see you in the morning, Other Me.”

Atem watched him walk down the hallway to his bedroom. He’d watch Yugi a lot now, until he knew Yugi broke the habit of suffering in silence. That’d change, one day. Atem would make it so.

#whumptober 2023 #no 29 #troubled past resurfacing #yugioh #fic #wound care #yugi muto #atem #puzzleshipping #post battle city #my fanfiction

9 notes · View notes

little-peril-stories · 6 months

Text

Whumptober 2023: Box in Your Heart

Whumptober 2023 Masterlist

It's Halloween! Let's have a story set in a cemetery.

Warnings: angst, traumatic memories

Chapter 48 | Chapter 49 | TPOT Masterlist | Are You Nobody, Too? | Finale Part 1

Word count: 4500 || Approx reading time: 19 mins

Box in Your Heart

Teaser: Will flicks his gaze to me for only a second, his answer plain on his face—a face that’s pale and pinched, more so than I’ve seen in a while. He doesn’t say a word.

I don’t tail Will every time he disappears. After the first time, once I realized where he was going and what he was up to—once I was satisfied that he wasn’t doing anything stupid—I just let him be.

Today, though, there’s a storm brewing in the distance. The early days of spring bring madness around here—as likely to usher in flurries of wet, sleety snow as to pelt the earth with vicious rain, and the steely clouds on the horizon don’t give any indication of which they’re bringing. All I know is that it’s still cold and wet outside, and if Will stays out too long, he’s going to get soaked to the bone, and then I’m going to have to contend with his sniffly, sneezing, complaining self for the next week while he whines and drives us all to distraction.

At least Verity might fall out of love with him if she realizes what a pain in the ass he can sometimes be—although, by some miracle, she hasn’t noticed yet, so it seems I just have to keep waiting until we skip town for her infatuation to break.

Will doesn’t turn around when I approach, and I have to wonder if he even hears me. “Hey.”

He stiffens, but doesn’t seem startled. “Hey.”

Not the warmest welcome I could have hoped for, but I knew that going in. All of us could see it this morning: there were green-gold storm clouds in his eyes, not just in the sky. I heard Jamie and Geoff muttering before I left to chase after him, and though I didn’t catch everything, I know I heard the word nightmare.

So I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised he’s not thrilled to discover I’ve been hovering behind him.

“You all right?”

I have to smile, not at his gloomy silence, but at the way Will is perched on the ground. Without any of us noticing, he stole Jamie’s green scarf—old habits die hard, as they say—but he’s not wearing it; instead, he’s using it like a little pillow, keeping a barrier between his clothes and the damp earth. I can’t imagine Jamie will be delighted about getting his scarf back all muddy and wet.

Will flicks his gaze to me for only a second, his answer plain on his face—a face that’s pale and pinched, more so than I’ve seen in a while. He doesn’t say a word.

All right. It’s a silent treatment kind of day. Nothing I can’t handle. “What can I do to help?”

“Nothing, Colette.”

“Can I sit down?”

“You can do whatever you want.”

I bite back a sigh, grimace at the prospect of putting my body on the soggy ground, and take a seat, trying to fluff out my skirts as best I can. Wish I’d thought to bring something to sit on. He doesn’t pay me any heed, though, just keeps his eyes on the ground.

I know what’s here, and what he’s staring at, and why he always comes to this area of the churchyard. There’s no headstone, no marking whatsoever, and probably close to twenty coffins rotting away underneath the grass. The thought of Will and Jamie’s mother having had nothing more than a pauper’s funeral makes my throat ache. Probably, that’s not what Will is brooding about today, but it is the reason he always comes back to this spot.

The urge to prompt again, Want to tell me what’s bothering you? is so strong, it itches. I keep it inside, though, knowing he’ll spook and possibly fuck right off if I don’t play this carefully, but I have to tug a ball of yarn and a pair of knitting needles out of my pocket for distraction.

“You look like an old woman,” he says, and I catch a glint of hazel as he sends another unimpressed glance toward me and my restless, looping fingers.

Perhaps I should be irritated by the comment, but the truth is, I despise knitting and I’ve only taken it up again out of the boredom these last few months, and to be fair, I probably do look like an old woman. “You want to take over instead?”

He scoffs. Looks away.

“Your loss,” I say, revelling silently in my victory when the corner of his mouth twitches into a smile. “You don’t also want to look like an old lady?”

Biting his lip and attempting—royally unsuccessfully, I might add—to appear like he doesn’t want to laugh at least a little, he turns his face away before he asks, “How’d you know where I was?”

“Will.” It’s offensive, the suggestion that I wouldn’t be able to tail his grumpy, stomping footsteps. “You storm around like an elephant when you’re pissed off. Anyone would know where you were. Not just me.”

He hurls me a withering glare. “I don’t know what an elephant looks like.”

“If you ever picked up a book or any of the countless magazines Verity has delivered to the house,” I say, exasperated, “you might.”

To my surprise, the look in his eyes changes—a familiar, mischievous glint lights up. “Gotta assume they walk around real graceful and stealthy.”

“You would be incorrect in that assumption.”

Finally, he lets out a snort of laughter, and I have to suddenly entertain the possibility that maybe he’s pulling my leg about the elephant thing. “Why’d you follow me, then?”

It’s my turn to give him The Look. “To make sure you’re all right?”

“I’m fine.”

“Will.”

“Colette.”

“Fox.”

“Spider.”

“W—”

“I just needed a break,” he says before we can start going in circles again. “Okay? That’s it. I just… I couldn’t…”

His words fade away, and I let them. It’s hard to tell exactly what he meant: I couldn’t handle being in the house anymore. I couldn’t stay and wait for you all to pester me about my nightmares. I couldn’t bear the thought of more housework. I couldn’t look at all your annoying faces for a second longer.

He drifts off again, tugging tufts of grass and earth out of the ground, absently building a little pile in front of him, growing to collect rocks and twigs, too, as the silence drags on.

“Will,” I finally say when my patience for knitting and waiting for him to say something runs out, “it looks like it’s going to storm.”

“So?”

“So I don’t want to be out here if it’s going to rain.”

“So go back, then.”

“I’d rather not go back without you.”

His Adam’s apple bobs in and out. “You can. I don’t care.”

I shove out the next words before they can retreat. “I’m worried about you.”

“I told you I’m fine.”

“And I don’t think I believe you.”

He picks up one of the stones and throws it in the air, catching it in his fist, only to toss it again a few seconds later. “I know you were all talking about me this morning. All worried because I had…” So fast his arm seems to blur, he hurls the stone into the distance. It knocks against someone’s grave, clacking and hitting the ground with a dull thump. “Yeah. I had a fucking nightmare. It was bad. Okay? It was bad. I—I hate it. It… You know? I—”

I don’t have to ask what he saw in his dreams, what apparently had him in a cold sweat in the early hours of the morning, because I’m sure I already know, but I do anyway. Maybe, just maybe, he’ll say it out loud. “Want to talk about what was in it?”

“Same shit,” he says, his back going stiff. “Back—there.”

Almost, Will. Almost.

“Bloody fucking Hatchett,” he says bitterly, reaching for another rock and lobbing that, too. “Bloody goddamn knife.”

Knife. Almost beyond my control, my eyes sweep over him, travelling over the clothes that conceal what we all know is there—the assortment of pale, fading scars. The ones on his arms and wrists I see most often, whitish pink and shiny. Jamie says the ones on his back are bad, and around his ankles, too, left by the bite of a cat-o’-nine-tails and unyielding iron chains.

“I thought by now…” He doesn’t seem to notice my once-over, just attacks another distant grave with his rage-fuelled aim. “I don’t know, I just thought…”

Another stone. Another sigh.

I wait. That’s all I can do, I think. Because he’s lost again, quiet and staring, done slinging stuff around but plucking through the bits of damp dirt and grass. Not seeing any of it.

A loud bark rushes the air, originating somewhere beyond my sight, and I jump nearly out of my skin, spitting out a frustrated, “Ah, shit,” when my skein of wool rolls off my folded legs, away from the safety of my lap and onto the mucky ground.

He doesn’t notice, even when I have to strain to reach the errant, runaway wool.

“Not long now,” he says suddenly.

With a final stretch, my fingers grasp the yarn, and I jerk it back toward me before it can roll away again. “Until what?”

“Till we leave.”

My muscles still, drawn to a freeze by the razor-thin edge of sorrow to his tone. “No.” I have to school my own voice to keep out the relief and joy I feel over our looming departure, sentiments it doesn’t seem like he shares. “Not much longer at all.”

“I know I should want to go.” No surprise—he won’t look at me. “Just fucking leave it all behind, right?”

Well. I doubt that.

“I just don’t know what’s wrong with me. What the fuck happened, you know? I just…I mean….it’s been months—”

“Will—”

“And you’d think months later, I’d just—right? The nightmares and all that shit and it’s so stupid, you—I—”

“Will—”

Somewhere over the city centre, there’s a crack of thunder, making me jump again. I guess that answers the question about whether it’s going to be snow or rain. In response, it seems, to the gathering storm, a howl rises from amongst the stones.

“Fuck,” I squeak, quite unintentionally, at the sudden onslaught of noise.

“You don’t have to be scared,” he says, and to my surprise, he’s laughing. “That’s just Ginger.”

“Ginger?”

“The dog,” he says, laughing even harder at the look of confusion and not-unwarranted concern on my face.

“Whose dog?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know. Can’t tell if she belongs to anyone. But I’ve seen her here before.”

As if she can tell he’s talking about her, the animal he’s apparently taken it upon himself to call Ginger appears out of nowhere, bounding toward him in a rapid gallop, presenting a tongue far too slobbery for my liking. Unable to help myself, I stiffen at the sight of her.

I’m not afraid of dogs. I’m not.

But this one is careering toward us pretty damn fast, and it’s big, and we did just hear her howl an eerie, ear-splitting wail into the coming storm.

“Relax,” he says as the dog skids to a stop in front of him, planting herself by his boots and immediately and enthusiastically beginning to lick the sleeve of his coat. “She’s sweet.”

She’s dirty is perhaps a more accurate statement. “Will, you’re going to end up with fleas. You don’t know where she came from.”

“Oh, shut up. She doesn’t have fleas.”

Based on the way she turns away from him for a hearty scratch, he’s wrong, but he’s also smiling, so I drop the matter and just watch him while he drifts off, showering affection on the dog. I’m still pretending to knit, of course. I mean, knitting. Actually knitting.

“Stop staring at me,” he grumbles after a while, once he’s cottoned on.

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

Ginger yawns, revealing a gaping maw with at least two missing teeth, then curls up on the muddy ground, pressing herself against the side of Will’s leg. As he rests his hand on her flank, he heaves a long sigh.

Time to try again. “What’s wrong?”

Maybe with his favourite animal cuddled up at his side—fleas and all—he might be more amenable to talking about what’s bothering him.

But he just says, “Nothing.”

Another rumble of thunder. Not overhead yet, but I think I’ve lost my chance to make it out of here in dry clothes. But he doesn’t look like he’s moving anytime soon. “Listen to that. We’re going to die out here in this storm, tragically struck by lightning, caught out in the elements, and you’re lying to my face. You may as well just tell me now, since you won’t have another chance.”

He makes a face. “You’re being dramatic. And mor…” He paused. “What’s the word?”

“What word?”

“When you’re being weird and annoying and talking about how we’re going to die.”

Chuckling, I tell him, “Morbid,” which he remembers once I get to the b sound, and he ends up saying it with me.

God, what a relief to have a genuine laugh together.

“In all seriousness…” I try again once the giggles have faded. “You can tell me. If you want.”

He gives another long sigh, heavy enough that Ginger the dog looks up at him, affronted, when it bursts out of him.

“There’s nothing to say.” He’s mumbling, staring at the ground again. “Not really. I just… It was a bad morning. Started bad. Didn’t want to hang around, or I was going to end up punching Jamie in the face.”

“Why? What did Jamie do?”

“Nothing. He’s just the most annoying asshole in the world when I’m in a bad mood.”

Brothers. Good grief.

“Well, really, everyone was pissing me off, but I can’t hit Geoff. Or you.”

“That’s true,” I say. “If you ever tried, I’d break your fingers.”

“Yeah. I fucking know.” But he’s smiling, even though it’s sad and doesn’t really reach his eyes.

I venture a guess, one I’m pretty confident in. Maybe being more specific will help. “Is this all about us leaving?”

“I guess so.”

It’s a relief to get some kind of confirmation from him. I’ve no doubt our upcoming departure is part of it, but we both—we all—know that there’s so much more that eats away at him. The scars Baden Hatchett and the other constables left on his skin, they’re all covered up now. But he’s got more than even that. Scars on his soul, too. How often they crack open and bleed, set him on edge like they did this morning, how often he pretends he’s fine when he’s the exact opposite… I suppose only he knows.

“Never been anywhere else,” he says, rushing the words. “You know? Dad used to go around. With the railroad. Building it and whatever. But we were kids, and we obviously never went with him. So…”

So this city is all he and Jamie have ever known. The place that broke him time and time again, the place where people kept leaving him behind. And now, so we can all start fresh and get away from the constables who’ll wrap a noose around every one of our necks if we aren’t careful, he’s the one leaving instead.

“Come on, let’s hurry, before it rains.”

It takes me a minute to register that we’re not alone, and that a girl is winding her way through the gravestones, calling to someone I can’t yet see.

Happy to ignore her and whoever she’s talking to, I open my mouth to encourage Will to finish the thought he started, but he can’t hear me, not anymore. He’s off again, staring, his eyes fixed on the girl.

“Good god, Will, don’t stare like th—”

The girl calls to her companion again, wind whipping a dark blue skirt around her legs and sending wisps of dark brown hair crisscrossing over her face. At Will’s side, the hand that isn’t resting on Ginger’s mud-streaked fur clenches into a fist.

“It’s just going to be different.” It spills out of him, his tone suddenly frantic and unsure. “We’ll be gone and we might never come back. And it’ll be… If... We’ll be gone. You know, just in case…”

He clamps his mouth closed.

A little girl finally appears, sniffling, her hands covered in mud. A sister? A daughter? It’s impossible to tell. When the older girl turns to call for the child again, she notices the tear-streaked face and grime-coated fingers. “Oh…what happened?”

“I fell,” the kid whimpers, holding out her hands.

“Let me see,” the girl says, gently. “Oh, look at that. It’s a bit muddy, and I’m sure it stung, but you know what? I think you’ll be all right.”

Whatever the little one mumbles in answer, I don’t catch, but the girl feels in her pocket for a handkerchief, and when she produces it, she wipes the child’s hands clean. “See? Good as new.”

Ginger has sat up now, golden eyes fixed on the two in the distance as they pick up the pace again and head toward someone’s grave, quiet chatter drifting away on the wind. Will, like the dog, is still gawking.

“Stop,” I say, elbowing him in the ribs, eliciting an annoyed grunt.

“Ow!” The jolt of pain seems to wake him up. “What was that for?”

“You were staring at them like a madman.”

“I was not.”

“You were.”

“I wasn’t.”

He was, and he’s lucky the girl didn’t notice, because I don’t think she would have been happy to find a strange man gaping at her from across the cemetery. But I hold my tongue. “All right, all right, take it easy. You weren’t. I’m sorry.”

He resumes his grass-pulling and stone-throwing, quiet and pensive once more. Less angry now. Still sad.

“Do you want me to make you one of those?” I ask, pointing toward Jamie’s green scarf.

He blinks, coming back from whatever far-away land of daydreams he was in. “Huh?” I gesture toward the scarf again, and a tiny smirk slips onto his face. “You hate knitting.” He jerks his chin toward my mistake-ridden, misshapen, half-finished stocking.

“I know, but I’d do it for you. Anyway, scarves are one of the easiest things to make. Hard to mess up too bad.”

He chews his lip, still amused, tilting his head to the side, and I know there’s some kind of smartass comment coming my way. “I’ll ask Verity to make me one.”

“Don’t you dare.”

“She’s way better at it than you are.”

“I’m serious, William,” I say, brandishing my needles. “Don’t even think about it.”

That’s all I need—for Verie to read too much into an innocent (well, not exactly innocent, since he’s just trying to get under my skin) request from Will right before we leave, possibly forever.

“Forget it.” I roll my needles into the black wool and tuck the whole lot of it away in my coat pocket. “I’ll just teach you to knit and you can make it yourself.”

“Like that’s going to happen,” he says, laughing hard enough to earn a gruff whine and unimpressed look from Ginger. “No, thanks.”

“Jamie knows how to knit.”

He snorts. “Jamie’s Jamie.”

“And Geoff.”

“Yeah, but he knows how to do everything.”

“Even my father knows how to knit.”

Will raises his eyebrows. “No, he doesn’t. You’re lying.”

“I most certainly am not.” I cross my arms. “Justine wasn’t always around, you know. There were a few years where he was alone. After my mother...”

I let the last word disappear.

“I know your ma died, Colette,” he says tiredly. “I’m not a little kid. You don’t have to be afraid to say it.”

Ginger stands up, stretches, scratches, and wanders over to me, sniffing enthusiastically. Will grunts in annoyance when she knocks over his precious pile of detritus with her muddy feet. “Aw, Ginger, come on.”

Biting my lip, I try to nudge her away from me as gently as I can.

Out of nowhere, she stiffens, whirling away from me, a low growl in her throat.

“Will,” I say, inching away even though Ginger isn’t growing at me.

Frowning, he grabs onto her, apparently not even considering the possibility that she might turn, snapping and barking, to take a bite out of his hand. “No,” he says, so sternly it’s almost adorable, while he scans the graveyard, trying to figure out what she’s growling at. “You’re scaring Colette.”

Which she’s not.

I think he and I spot what she’s detected at the same time: a fleeting glimpse of a long tail, too fluffy and red to belong to a stray dog, as an animal disappears into the gathering gloom.

“That’s rude. We’re practically cousins. He didn’t even come by to say hello,” Will says indignantly, and as I’m preparing to remind him that foxes are predators with sharp teeth and he probably doesn’t want the thing to come by and say hello, I realize he’s making a joke.

A stupid joke, but a joke nonetheless.

He clings to the still-growling dog—whether for Ginger’s or the fox’s sake, I’m not sure—while we chuckle, and it’s as she calms and he lets go that the first droplets of rain begin to patter around us.

“It’s just water,” he says when I groan in annoyance. To prove his point, he leans back on his hands, tilting his face to catch the raindrops as they fall. “It feels nice.”

“We’re going to get soaked.”

He shrugs his shoulders and doesn’t move.

Ginger, now officially the smartest out of the three of us, huffs, whines, and strides off, presumably to find shelter. Jealously, I watch her vanish.

“Bye, then,” Will says, snorting.

“I’m not just going to leave you alone in the rain,” I say, exasperated, “even if I am pissed off about getting sopping wet.”

“What?” The look he gives me is utterly bewildered. “I know. I was saying goodbye to her.”

And then we’re laughing again, yes, laughing, while we sit in the churchyard on his mother’s unmarked grave, riding out his foul mood and being drowned in the cold spring rain.

Maybe, just maybe, we’re almost in the clear.

“I just wondered,” he says, rebuilding his little pile of stones, grass, and tree debris despite how soggy it’s all gotten, “if, you know, this might be my last chance. To come here.”

It’s been many long months, seemingly endless at times, of Jamie’s recovery, and Will’s too, and actually, you know what, all of us, leading up to our opportunity to seek real freedom somewhere else. At the cost, though, of leaving behind everything we know.

“She’d understand,” I day, even though I never met their mother and only know what Jamie and Will have shared.

“You think?”

Deciding to take the risk, I reach for his hand. It’s ice cold, but I honestly don’t think he even realizes. “I’m sure she’d want you to be safe. Right?”

“Guess so.” He frowns down at my fingers over his, but he doesn’t tug them free. I’m all right with that. I’d rather have him glaring at me a little than watch him fall back into quiet emptiness, that silent enemy that’s never that far away no matter how much time passes.

I grit my teeth against the chill, knowing now that I am locked in a battle with my stubborn mule of a friend, and whoever admits it’s time to go first is the loser.

And I’m playing against the champion, so I almost whoop with triumphant delight when he mumbles a few minutes later, “I’m kind of cold now.”

“Well, let’s go, then,” I say, holding back my entirely justified I told you so.

He agrees, shivering a little but appearing to be in far better spirits than before. Apparently, all it took was fresh air, a flea-ridden dog, a fleeting visit from a mangy fox, some peace and quiet, a few flashes of lightning, buckets of cold-ass rain, and some messy, disorganized attempts at getting him to talk about the feelings he so staunchly keeps locked away.

Nothing I couldn’t handle.

He stands, helping me up too since I haven’t let go of his hand, which I’m grateful for, as wet skirts are not easy or pleasant to move around in. Before we head toward the road, he pauses, staring out at the cemetery like he’s looking for someone.

“I’m hungry,” he says right before I tell him that actually, it’s getting really stormy now and it’s time to go, thank you very much. He turns to me, and whatever he was thinking about is lost and locked away again. “Are you hungry?”

“A little,” I say, trying not to laugh as I pull him away.

“What d’you think it’ll take to get Verity to bake me an apple cake?”

All it would take is a grin and a single word, but I’m not saying that. “Leave her alone. She’s busy.”

“But—”

“Make it yourself,” I say firmly.

“I don’t know how—”

“Well, maybe it’s time for you to learn something actually useful, you lazy ass.”

When this is met with silence, I cringe, wondering if I went back to bantering too soon.

“Well, teach me, then.”

Rain forgotten, I stumble to a stop. “What?”

“Teach me how to cook.”

“Bake,” I correct automatically, because I’m not sure I’m hearing any of this right.

“Whatever. To bake, then.”

He stares back at me, chin jutted out. Waiting for me to tease him, I think, to give him a reason to change his mind and say not to bother.

“Okay,” I say uncertainly, mind still reeling. “Oh…okay. Sure.”

I don’t understand him, I really don’t. Knitting is a no, but learning to bake—or cook, hopefully—is a yes. We’re leaving soon, but he’s asking now.

Best not to question these things too much, I suppose.

“Hurry up, then, if that’s what you want,” I say, tugging him along again. “Still gotta make it home in one piece first.”

I want to look at his face, see what expression waits there, but I’ve got my head ducked now, trying to keep the rain out of my eyes.

“Here,” he says, dropping his hat onto my head. “See if that helps.”

It doesn’t, but I tell him it does, and even though he lets go of my hand after a few minutes, I catch a rain-bleary glimpse of him at my side. There’s no smile, not exactly, but the storm that was in his face before has moved on, slapping us with real rain and wind instead. As I watch, blinking water from my eyes, he tilts his head back again, relishing the scouring embrace of the storm as he draws in a long breath and keeps moving forward.

Chapter 48 | Chapter 49 | TPOT Masterlist | Are You Nobody, Too? | Finale Part 1

Whumptober 2023 Prompts Fulfilled

No. 25: “You’re not delivering a perfect body to the grave.” | Storm

No. 27: “You drew stars around my scars; But now I’m bleeding. | Scars | “Let me see.”

No. 28: “We might not make it to the morning; so go on and tell me now.” | Bloody Knife

No. 29: “I only sink deeper the deeper I think.” | Troubled Past Resurfacing | “What happened to me?”

No. 30: “It’s okay, just to say, ‘I’m not okay’.” | Borrowed Clothing | “Not much longer...”

No. 31: “I thought that I was getting better.” | Emptiness | Setbacks | “Take it easy.”

14 notes · View notes