#which he wound up canceling (it’s fine I get life gets crazy) | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

zukoskataraa · 4 years

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a request i got from @blood-and-lychee a long time ago! sorry this took so long, i hope you like it!

prompt #39: we need to talk about what happened last night

“Katara, open the door.” Zuko says, sighing.

“Go away.” Katara replies, not wanting to see him.

“Katara, I’m not the one at fault here.” Zuko says, and Katara sighed, knowing he was right. She slowly opens the door to her apartment, and Zuko walks in. Silence was hanging in the air, neither of them wanting to talk first.

“L-Let’s sit down.” Katara says, avoiding eye contact with Zuko as she walks to her bedroom. Zuko follows, going into the room he had been in many times before. Katara sits in the middle of the bed, crossing her legs, and Zuko sits down on the edge of the bed. The silence was awkward, and Katara wanted to crawl into a hole and die.

“We need to talk about what happened last night.” Zuko finally speaks, looking at Katara. Katara avoids his gaze, biting her lip. She knew that Zuko had come over to talk about it. She knew that what she had done was wrong. But, she didn’t feel bad about it.

“There’s nothing to talk about.” Katara says, and Zuko scoffs.

“One doesn’t simply kiss their bestfriend on a fake date, Katara.” Zuko says, his tone harsh. Katara looks up at him, sighing.

“It was your fault for inviting me.” Katara says, defending herself. Zuko raises an eyebrow, an amused look on his face.

“I’m not the one who kissed you.” Zuko fights back, and Katara lies down, staring at her ceiling as she recalls yesterday’s events.

—

“You want me to do what?” Katara asks, eyes wide. She looks at Zuko, who was sitting next to her, looking desperate.

“Pretend to be my girlfriend. Just for tonight.” Zuko says, pleading. Katara was still processing the question that Zuko had asked.

“Tonight? Are you crazy? And why would you pick me? Ask Mai or Ty Lee or Toph.” Katara says, avoiding looking at him. Her heart was beating fast. Sure, Zuko was her best friend, ever since high school. They were now in college, and Katara would be lying to herself if she didn’t develop feelings for Zuko over the years. But, she didn’t want to ruin their friendship, so she never acted on her feelings for him.

“I was supposed to go with Mai, but she cancelled on me! And Ty Lee said no, very bluntly. So did Toph. And Sokka would kill me if I asked Suki. So, here I am.” Zuko says, and Katara scoffs.

“So you’re coming to me because you have no one else to turn to? I’m your last choice, huh? Go fish.” Katara says, rolling her eyes. She had already made up her mind, but she wanted to toy with Zuko for a bit. In an instant, Zuko was on his knees in front of her, and Katara widened her eyes.

“I didn’t mean it like that! I just didn’t want to burden you with this, so I never planned to ask you, until now. Please, Kat? I’ll do anything!” Zuko was clearly desperate, and Katara sighed.

“Man, I can’t believe you’re right here, begging in front of me. It’s a sight to behold, if I’m being honest.” Katara teases. “But, I’m no sadist. Get up, dude. I’ll pretend to be your girlfriend.” Katara says and Zuko stands, hugging Katara.

“Thanks, Kat!” Zuko says, smiling as he pulls away from the hug. Katara blushes and looks away.

“Y-Yeah. No problem. Where are we even going?” Katara asks, standing up from the couch.

“It’s just a formal dinner party. My parent’s company is hosting it to celebrate a new partnership. And my dad told me that I had to bring my significant other, who is non-existent.” Zuko sighs, sitting down on Katara’s sofa. Katara giggles.

“Well, why would he assume that you had a girlfriend in the first place?” She asks and Zuko shrugs.

“He thinks that Mai and I are still together. And as you know, we broke up last month, but we’re cool.” Zuko says and Katara nods.

“But he already knows who I am. If you bring me as your date, won’t it be awkward?” Katara asks and Zuko shakes his head.

“He thinks we, quote unquote, look good together. So, he’d probably be ecstatic if he thought that we were dating.” Zuko explains and Katara blushes, biting her lip. Well, at least his family approves of her.

“Okay, fine. Now get out of my apartment, Zuko. I have to get ready for dinner tonight, which I don’t even want to go to.” Katara says, joking.

“Hey, at least you’ll get free food.” Zuko says. “And like it’s still 2pm? Dinner isn’t til 7. You can get ready later.” Zuko says, and Katara rolls her eyes.

“You really don’t understand women.” Katara says, shaking her head. She grabs Zuko by the hand, who willingly follows her, as she walks towards her front door.

“I will see you later.” Zuko says as he opens the door and Katara let’s go of his hand. “I’ll pick you up at… 6:30? Sounds good?”

“Yup. Later, loser.” Katara says and Zuko chuckles.

“Wear something nice for me, okay? The theme is black, green, and blue.” Zuko winks and Katara rolls her eyes.

“Whatever.” Katara says and Zuko smiles.

“Bye, KitKat.” Zuko says and Katara blushes before sticking her tongue out at him and closing the door. Zuko would be the death of her. She nearly trips over the edge of her bed as she walks to her closet, looking for something to wear. Zuko was lucky that Katara had a green dress in her wardrobe that was formal enough. Her black dress was a little too provocative, and her blue dress wasn’t fit for the occasion. Katara also wanted to wear something nice, to see Zuko’s reaction - to tease him a little. Katara was sure that Zuko didn’t think of her romantically, that he only saw her as a friend. And that was okay with Katara, because she cherished her friendship with Zuko.

Katara took a shower, and got ready. It was a few minutes past three, and Zuko would pick her up at 6:30. So Katara had at least three more hours to prepare. She spent the first hour eating and watching a show, the second hour doing her hair - which Katara hated because her hair was a mess, and did her make up. Katara was changing into her dress when the doorbell rang, and Katara sighed as she was still struggling to zip up the dress from the back. She would get Zuko to do it, she decided, as she walked to the door.

Zuko gasped when the door opened to reveal Katara. She was wearing a satin, emerald green dress, with the neckline plunging low. There was a slit on the right side, showing her long, dark legs. Her hair was straightened at the top, but was wavy midway to the tips. She had a pearl clip on one side of her hair. Her makeup was just enough - lipstick, eyeshadow, eyeliner, but there was a hint of pink on Katara’s cheeks as Zuko had stared at her for what seemed like minutes.

“What? Do I look ugly?” Katara asks, unsure. Zuko shakes his head, embarrassed.

“You look great, KitKat.” Zuko says, smiling. “I mean it.”

“Thanks, Zuko.” Katara says, blushing. “Ah, can you zip this up for me?” Katara asks, turning around. Her dress was still zipped open, down to the small of her back. She felt exposed, but it’s not like she could have zipped it up herself.

“S-Sure.” Zuko says, gulping as he reaches for her dress. His fingers touch Katara’s back, and Katara closes her eyes. Silence is in the air as he slowly zips the dress up, and Katara grabs her hair and puts it at the side so he can finish zipping it up. “All done.” He says. Katara lets out a breath she didn’t know she was holding and turns around to look back at Zuko.

“Thanks, loser. Come on in, just lemme grab my things and then we can head out.” Katara smiles as she walks away, letting Zuko enter her home. Katara goes into her room, with Zuko behind her, and grabs a small gold purse, putting her phone, lipstick, keys, and some money inside. Zuko leans on the doorway, arms crossed.

“You look really stunning, KitKat.” Zuko compliments her again, and Katara blushes. Thankfully, her back was facing him, so he couldn’t see her reaction. She takes a deep breath before looking at Zuko. He looked good as well - in Katara’s defense, he looked good no matter what he wore - with an all black outfit, except for the emerald green bowtie, which ironically matched Katara’s dress. His hair was slicked back, except for a few loose tendrils flying around.

“You don’t look so bad yourself, Zuko.” She says as she grabs a gold necklace from her jewelry box and puts it on, centering the pendant in the middle of her chest. “Your tie matches my dress.”

“That it does.” He says, amusement in his voice. “Wasn’t expecting it, to be honest. But hey, we still look good.” Zuko says and Katara hums in approval as she walks past him and puts on her gold heels. Zuko was watching her the whole time, and Katara could feel his eyes burning into her.

“Stop staring, creep.” Katara says. “Come on, let’s go.” She says and Zuko chuckles as he follows her out of her apartment.

“I could be watching a movie right now, in my pajamas. Eating takeout.” Katara sighs as Zuko revs the car, the engine sputtering to life. Zuko laughs.

“This’ll be worth it. I promise. Plus, wouldn’t you rather look at me, your handsome best friend who is currently your fake boyfriend right now, than some actor on your tv?” He says as he starts to drive. Katara snorts, blushing.

“Puh-lease. I’d take Henry Cavill over you any day.” She says and Zuko chuckles.

“You wound me, Katara.” Zuko says and Katara giggles. “Okay so, if anyone asks. We’re dating, obviously. That’s been established. Uh, let’s say we’ve been dating for about two months now. I made the first move when I drove you back home from a dinner date. You said yes, and boom.” Zuko makes up a story, and Katara wishes it were true. “Also, I might like, touch you. You know, putting my hand on your waist, holding your hand, that sort of thing.” Zuko adds and Katara sighs. This would be so hard.

“Ew, you’re gonna give me your germs.” She jokes, trying to distract herself. Zuko laughs. “But fine. You owe me big time, Zuko.”

“That I do, my friend.” Zuko says. The rest of the car ride was filled with them bantering and laughing, both of them hoping to ease the tension before having to be serious at the dinner party.

They pull up to the hotel, which was very fancy, and Katara gulps. One room probably cost more than her tuition, she thought. The valet opened the door for her and helped her get out, to which she smiled and said thank you to. The valet then walked over to Zuko, and gave him the keys. Zuko walked over to Katara, smiling.

“I haven’t seen my parents in six months. To be honest, I’m kinda nervous.” Zuko says, and Katara wraps her arm around his.

“Don’t be nervous. I’ll be with you the whole time.” Katara assures her best friend, and Zuko nods.

“Well, Kat, off we go.” Zuko says and Katara giggles as they walk inside the hotel, towards the ballroom.

“You know, this is pretty boring.” Zuko whispers in Katara’s ear. It had been at least two hours since the dinner started, and there had been 5 long, dull speeches - all of which were talking about the same thing more or less. The food was exceptional though, and Katara had to give it to the chef’s, they knew how to cook. The appetizer was delicious, the main course was enamoring, and the desert was mouth-watering. The waiter had given them wine to drink, and they clinked their glasses.

“I know. This is why I should have just stayed at home.” Katara giggles, whispering back to Zuko.

“Sorry for dragging you here. I haven’t even seen my parents yet.” Zuko replies. “Well, I have, but they seem busy, so I’d rather not approach them.” Katara takes a sip from her wine and sighs.

“You could always-” She starts but is suddenly cut off.

“Zuko!” A deep voice calls out. Zuko immediately stands, looking at his dad. Zuko was almost as tall as his dad, Ozai.

“Hi dad.” Zuko greets. Katara stands up, smiling.

“Ah, Katara. So good to see you again.” Ursa, Zuko’s mother, smiles and gives Katara a hug.

“Hello, Ms. Ursa. Mr. Ozai. It’s nice to see you.” Katara says as she hugs Ursa.

“Katara, what a surprise. Zuko said he was bringing his girlfriend. Is that, perhaps, you?” Ozai asks, surprised. There was no malice in his voice, just shock.

“Yup.” Zuko responds, taking Katara’s hand in his. Katara wanted to die.

“Y-Yes. Zuko and I are dating.” Katara says, smiling. Ursa smiles and clasps her hands together.

“I can hear the wedding bells!” Ursa exclaims and the fake couple blushes.

“Mom! Stop.” Zuko says and Ursa giggles.

“I have to continue making my rounds. But it was good to see you, son. You too, my dear Katara. I have high hopes for you two.” Ozai says as he and Ursa walk away. The fake couple let out a breath they didn’t know they were holding, but Zuko hadn’t let go of Katara’s hand yet.

“Well, we passed. Can we go now?” Katara asks as she lets go of Zuko’s hand. She didn’t want to, but wine was more important at the moment. Zuko chuckles.

“Don’t you want to dance?” Zuko teases. There was a slow song playing, and some people had gone up to the dance floor, holding each other in each other’s arms. Katara scoffs.

“You know I don’t dance.”

“Yes, but, you’re not gonna die if you dance with me.” Zuko says. ‘I beg to differ’ Katara thinks. “I’m not going to force you, though. It’s up to you, KitKat.” Katara sighs.

“One dance. And then you’re taking me home.” Katara says and Zuko nods. He takes her hand and leads her to the dance floor. Katara puts her hand on Zuko’s shoulders, and Zuko puts his hands on Katara’s waist. The awkwardness would be the death of Katara. She looked at the ground, slowly moving to the beat. Zuko gently tilts her head up, brown eyes looking into blue ones.

“Hey, look at me.” Zuko smiles and Katara blushes. She didn’t know if it was the wine or something, but she suddenly wanted to make a move. They danced, looking into each other’s eyes the whole time. Katara was feeling brave and confident. If she didn’t do it now, she would never be able to do it. The song was about to end, and she would never get this chance again. She closed her eyes before leaning up to kiss Zuko. It was quick, and a bit rough. It was a peck, that’s all that Katara thought of as she pulled away. Zuko looked at her, eyes wide. And she knew she made a mistake.

—

“Hey, you owe me a favor right?” Katara asks as she sits back up, looking at Zuko. Zuko hums. “Okay. My favor is, just forget about what happened last night. Forget about the fake dating, forget about the kiss.”

“That’s hard to do, KitKat. I’m curious though, where did you run off to? I chased after you but you were gone.” Zuko says and Katara snorts.

“I hid in the bathroom for a few minutes before calling a cab.” Katara explains and Zuko chuckles.

“You shouldn’t have run away. I was going to say something before you dashed off like you were the flash.” Zuko jokes and Katara shakes her head.

“I was embarrassed. And… I never did get to apologize for last night, right? Sorry, Zuko.” Katara says and Zuko scoots closer to her.

“What’s there to be sorry about?” He asks, looking into her eyes. Katara gulps. “The reason that I can’t forget about last night, is because I like you, KitKat.” Zuko says and Katara’s heart skips a beat. “That wasn’t the ideal first kiss, but it’ll do.”

“W-Wait a minute, you LIKE me?” Katara says and Zuko nods. “Since when?”

“Well, I’m not gonna say. A man has to have a few secrets after all.” He winks. “I was waiting for you to make the first move, that’s all.” Zuko says and Katara blushes. Zuko leans closer to Katara, his eyes glancing at her lips. Katara gulps. Zuko’s hand caresses her cheeks, tucking away a strand of hair.

“You’re such a tease.” Katara says, her voice barely a whisper. Zuko chuckles before connecting his lips with hers. The kiss was slow and sweet. Zuko’s thumb caresses her cheeks, his other hand on Katara’s waist. They pull away a few seconds later, Katara avoiding his gaze.

“If fake dating was all it took for you to be mine, we should have done it sooner.” Zuko says, teasing as he pulls Katara in for a hug.

“Shut up. I hate you.” She says into his neck, voice muffled.

“No, you love me.” He replies. Katara smiles. ‘Yes, I do love you.’

masterlist | AO3

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bxllafanficc · 3 years

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¡Skate/sing your hearts out! (Yuri Plisetsky x reader)

(part four)

Part one. Part two. Part three. Part five. Masterlist

Summary:After last year's cancellation of Figure Skating Grand Prix, Yuri Plisetsky finds himself unable to bring out his inner skater after a year of doing nothing but enjoy life like a regular teenager. That's when you enter the picture; We Are Voice Grand Awards's currently hottest competitive vocalist come first place two years in a row. Just like the other competitors of Grand Prix, it turns out that Victor and Yuuri faces the same issue. With an arrangement between Victor and Yakov, they agree to travel to Japan and hire you as a mutual coach for Yuri and Yuuri to help bring back the emotion into their performances like before, maybe even more intense than ever. Yuri however, who's never experienced issues with his coaches before, for some reason finds this one particularly difficult to coexist along with in their (reasonably) odd partnership. Warnings: none

*Your POV*

Your eyes scanned through the fully stocked room that came to be yours a couple of days ago. Fairly large and a great window where the sun came to welcome you each morning. Not even the blinds could stop it. Now it was fairly dark inside since the sun was about to go down. You reached for the light switch and scanned through all your products and belongings for things that you could possibly move somewhere else.

The grunt of the Russian skater behind you caused you to turn around. As you did, he stopped and returned your stare, as if waiting for you to announce something. There was a lot that you needed to clean up. If you had known that you'd be expecting a roommate, you'd already have done so. Guess Victor forgot to mention that too, eh?

The visible twitch in the corner of your left eye was impossible to force back. Just at the mere thought of unintentional (?) screwups of the one and only Victor Nikiforov. Now, just because he was your childhood friend, it didn't mean that he wouldn't receive a massive ass-whooping if he as much as repeated the same mistake three times the same day now the few remaining hours of the day. If only you could get that message through.

And, you kind of did. Just not to the man you intended. Yuri at the receiving end of your stare was just about to open his mouth to say something, what you assume, sour when he noticed the twitching of your eye. Surprisingly, it shut him up before he started. He kind of shielded himself behind one of his bags and eyed you carefully.

Shit, wrong Russian dude.

"Sorry, that was meant for Victor." You let out a sigh and helped him with one of his bags out in the hall. You got a simple nod from the boy just before you passed him in the doorway.

He's been acting all quiet and confused ever since you tended to his wounds. Was something you said unclear? Maybe you should make sure the two of you were on the same page. 'Later...' you thought.

Yuuri and Victor hurried to the entrance of your room with a couple of more bags.

"So what do you think about it, Yuri? Pretty special eh?" It was Yuuri who spoke up, probably just as an act of friendliness. Though, you could understand how a punk like Yuri might take it as teasing.

"I'm not staying here. There's- there is no way I'm sharing a room with another person. I should have my own room. Why can't Victor and (Y/n) share a room and I get my own?!"

Ah, there he is. You were starting to get worried that he might actually turn nice. Then you'd have to call an ambulance just to ease Yakov's mind if he ever found out.

"With that thief? Nuh-uh. He already owes me an entire bottle of lotion, a mascara and a lipgloss. And for some reason, my throwaway razors are gone too. I'm not endangering any more of my stuff to him!" You shot a glare at Victor but he intentionally pretended not to hear nor see you. Seriously?

"Just lock them up or something, I don't care. Maybe I should just sleep on the couch. Give me one reason why it's worth sharing this room with you."

You didn't really know why you felt so opposed to the thought of him sleeping on the couch. You should be relived that you wouldn't have to share room with The Russian punk. But you still mumbled the one sentence after taking a brief moment to carefully word out your reason.

"What did you say?"

"... I have a cat."

The silence following almost made you feel like the scene of these weird soap operas that streamed on tv once in a while. But you did have a cat. A beautiful sacred Birman with the eyes of an ocean. And you knew about Yuri's fascination with them. Victor mentioned it somewhere along the lines when discussing his arrival days ago. And if you had to give him one reason, then that would be the one. It's probably the only reason too.

"Where." It wasn't a question. It almost made you giggle but you kept a straight face. Victor who knew the reason behind your words, almost cracked under the pressure.

"He's probable sleeping under the blanket on my bed, as always-"

Yuri pushed Victor aside with a stern 'move' and headed for your bed. A little anxious, you followed him through the entrance, afraid that he would be like one of those crazy catpeople who never stopped bothering their cat. You worried because you were one of those people. But because your cat was rather clingy too and you always had a bunch of stuff to do daytime, it kind of evened out the contrast. Two crazy people were too much, you figured.

"Well, we'll go off now and let you two bond now. Don't forget that we're having afternoon tea in an hour!" And with that, Victor and Yuuri was out of the picture. For awhile.

A round uneven pile under you blanket made Yuri stop at the end of the bed. You stood beside him as he lifted the blanket, revealing the fuzzy ball that was your cat. Round eyes stared up at the both at you and the cat stretched it's back, making a 'u' position.

"His name is Magnolia. You'll have to apologize to him for interrupting his sleepy time though." You half expected Yuri to scoff at your statement, thinking you were taking the animal too seriously. But the baby voice he used to communicate with Magnolia next almost had you taking a step back.

"Hi, Magnolia... 'm sorry, pretty boy. You'll have to forgive me, I'm afraid." He kept on talking to the sleepy cat as he extended a hand for him to smell. Magnolia yawned and gave the hand a sniff before sitting up, eyes intensely staring into the boy's soul. You could tell by the hesitation of Yuri's petting hand that he really wanted the cat's approval. He cat kept staring him straight in the eyes which usually means bad. Though, the purring heard from his belly said the opposite. You finally relaxed a little. Magnolia is very picky with who gets to touch him and you were expecting a bite, honestly.

"He's always been so stare-y... I've figured that he only stare at people he like or something he finds very interesting." You crouched down beside Yuri and rested with your arms at the bedside.

"Like owner, like cat, I guess then. I feel like he has the exact same piercing gaze you gave me earlier." Yuri grinned smugly at you and turned back his attention to the ball of fur who stood up, stroking its back to your chin. A little heat rose to your cheeks and you hoped Magnolia covered it up well enough with his body. It was kind of true. And you couldn't really deny it. You always did watch things a little to intense. But just because you found people very interesting, always seeking to improve your understanding and emotional range at any given time. So you shrugged your shoulders and coughed a little when the cat made sure to get his butt all up in your face too. This habit, you had noticed, was a trait almost every cat held within them.

"You're going to object or what?" Yuri caught your attention again and Magnolia moved away from your face just in time. So he was expecting some kind of denial.

"You're not wrong... You've just got the wrong idea of it."

"What do you mean?"

"You should probably start getting yourself settled here. We only have one hour."

"You didn't answer me." Yuri's remark left unanswered as well as you stood up and threw a bag at him. A light 'oof' slipped through him as the heavy thing hit him right in the stomach.

"Hey!"

You grinned and opened another bag, pouring the internal onto the floor. Tons of clothes splattered on the floor. Everything in-between black training clothes to underwear and a pajamas with cat prints. A keychain with a chibi cat and a stuffed animal of a tiger fell out on the floor lastly on top of the pile. Yuri quickly made his way to the clothes and gathered them in his arms, trying to hide them away. It was worth taking an extra look at the blush staining his cheeks. You wondered if you'd just met a fellow catmerch fan as instense as you. No, this was far crazier than you! Especially as you recognized the keychain being a print of his own cat that you'd seen on a social media Yuri Plisetsky fanpage once.

"Y-you can't touch my stuff! Nor see it!" His voice was a good blend of anger and a thick stain of embarrassment.

Maybe it wasn't ideal poring someone else's belongings onto the floor. But you knew that look that Yuri bearded only moments ago. The cat had taken him as his loyal servant and Yuri wasn't intending to move until he had satisfied Magnolia's every need. If you let that happen, it would take the entire hour you had to clean up the room. And you clearly didn't have that time.

"Just hurry up and help me then if I'm not allowed to touch it!"

"Fine! And move your stupid clothes and stuff over to your half of the room!"

(A/N: Shoutout to my cat who gave me the entire butt-in-face idea through experience. I really owe you one, you little jerk<3 Also, what have you thought of the story so far? I bet you Victor has planned a familiar exercise for tomorrow's day of training. Just a little helping hand to get Yuri back into shape, y'know;))

#inspiration #yuri on ice fanfiction #yuri on ice fandom #yurianime #yuri katsuki #yuri on ice #yuri plisetsky x reader #yurio plisetsky #yuri plisetsky #viktor nikirofov

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grandtheftstarship · 4 years

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Quietly (Spock x Wife!Reader) [Request!!]

“Hi! I’m a huge fan of Star Trek as well, and it’s funny that I’m close to your age! I’ll be sixteen very soon. I was wondering if perhaps you would write a Spock x Wife! Reader fic where Spock’s wife is generally very nervous and quiet, but very sweet, and she deals with a lot of Anxiety and Insomnia? And perhaps he tries to comfort her and aid her in sleep and being calmer? It would really be great bc I deal with both of those on the daily :) thx, LY! Live Long and Prosper, friend! ❤️ ~R”

Hiiii R!! This is so crazy because we are basically the same person omg. I’ve been meaning to write something like this for the longest time and then you requested!!! Stay strong sister!! Live Long and Prosper :D

p.s fun fact i wrote this entire thing and then ended up hating it so i rewrote it and now its so much better i really hope you like it

Warnings: a little angst, anxiety, basically 90% just fluff, short but sweet Word Count: 1571

request something!!

masterlist

You felt a warm hand on your shoulder, gently coaxing you awake. No, it couldn’t be morning already, could it? You had only just dipped your toes in the intoxicating pool that was sleep; how could it be over so soon?

Your eyes peeked open and you were met with a lovely image of your husband leaning over you, the slightest smile on his lips.

“Good morning,” Spock pressed a small kiss on your cheek before settling himself back down, head resting in the crook of your neck. You reached up to run your slender fingers through his soft hair, bliss soaring through your veins. Despite your lack of sleep, you would be happy to wake up like this any day.

But, alas, it was all over so soon. Your fantasy of waking up on Earth to the sun shining through your bedroom window curled up next to Spock felt so close, yet so far. Space was your passion, but Spock was your home. You knew which one felt more important.

Spock sat up and rolled out of the bed, stretching.

“Did you sleep?” He had learned that it wasn’t a question of if you slept ‘well’ anymore. He still asked every morning, but he always knew the answer.

You frowned, shaking your head. Spock pulled his Starfleet shirt over his head before bending over the bed to kiss you quickly.

“I’m certain the doctor could prescribe some melatonin or a similar medical remedy to ease your situation.” And, every morning, he tried to offer help for your condition. It was endearing, truly, but you wished he would just quit mentioning it altogether.

“Thank you, but you know I don’t react well with medication,” you replied, yawning and dragging yourself up. You pulled off your sleep shirt and tugged your red dress over your head as you walked to the bathroom, giving Spock a kiss on the cheek as you strode past him.

“Are you prepared for the away mission tomorrow?” he called from the bedroom.

Shit. Your heart dropped with such force your knees felt weak. Shit shit shit!! Your mind immediately went into overdrive and suddenly you were spiraling down a rabbit hole of different scenarios - all ending with either your death, Spock’s death, or just death in general. What if you got attacked? What if you killed everyone else in a shuttle crash and you had to live with the guilt for the rest of your life? There were so many things that could go wrong; one misstep, one miscalculation -you shook your head violently, snapping yourself out of it. You gripped the counter tightly and started taking deep breaths. It's fine. You were going to be just fine. Yeah... fine. It’s nothing. You were only going to be operating a shuttlecraft with twelve people aboard for the first time, three of which were your best friends. Fine. Just fine.

You had barely noticed your hairbrush slip from your other hand until the clatter shook you from your thoughts. Spock rushed in without missing a beat, placing a comforting hand on your back. Using his other hand, he brushed stray hairs from your eyes and lifted your chin up so he could meet your gaze. This wasn’t the first time he was there to ease you back down to reality.

“Hey, Hey. You are going to be okay,” he cooed softly, rubbing circles on your back. You shut your eyes and took a long, deep breath.

“I will be with you for the duration of the mission,” he reassured you. “I promise you, I will not leave your side.”

You felt relieved, but a lingering sense of unease remained. You threw your arms around your husband before pressing a quick kiss to his lips.

“Thank you,” you beamed up at him. “Really, you don’t need to do this.”

“There is nothing I wouldn’t do to help you, [y/n],” the smallest of smiles danced on his lips. He gave you a quick kiss on your forehead before exiting the bathroom, letting you finish getting ready. You bent down, picking up the hairbrush, frowning at the cracked handle. You would have to put that on the list of things to grab at the next starbase.

As you brushed your hair anyway, you thought hard about your schedule for the day, planning out things to do to avoid dwelling on the events tomorrow would hold too much. It worked, A little.

As you were putting the finishing touches on your morning routine, Spock poked his head in.

“Are you ready to leave?”

“Yep.” You sighed heavily, smoothing nonexistent wrinkles from your uniform. Before you could stop yourself, you turned away from the mirror and headed for the door, grabbing Spock’s hand and pulling him into the hallway.

ᓚᘏᗢ

After you and Spock ate breakfast, you went down to engineering for your job assignment. Unfortunately, Scotty didn’t have much for you to do, so you did ensign-level jobs for him to pass the time. Anything to quell the storm that was your anxiety.

You had tried so many times to find remedies for your condition; work, sleep, staying as busy as possible. Hell, Spock had quickly become a coping mechanism for you and was more successful than any of your other less-desirable options. Unfortunately, since he was a real person and an officer, he couldn’t be there for you all the time as you worked on opposing ends of the ship. This typically ended up with you spiraling and having to pull yourself out on your own.

Out of your four options, work was probably the least effective. There was too much time to think; too much time for your demons to sink their claws into your brain. And, since the one person who was able to fully calm you down was unreachable, escape was sometimes impossible.

Scotty had given you the small job of making sure the heating and cooling pipes on the starboard side of engineering and since the job was oh-so-simple, there was way too much time for your mind to wander. You tried so hard, you really did, to think about anything else, but the looming mission continued to push itself to the forefront of your mind. It wasn’t long before it would take over you once again.

ᓚᘏᗢ

You didn’t know how long you had been lying awake. The minutes ticked by like days, seconds passed like hours. Spock was curled around you tightly, trying to make you feel safe enough to sleep and it had worked for a little while, but fear had wound itself into a tight knot in your stomach. You had never been assigned to an away mission before and you were absolutely terrified out of your mind. Horror stories of officers going missing, getting mauled or eaten by monstrous aliens, dying painful, horrific deaths in any way you could imagine plagued your thoughts. You remembered back to the instructional class about manning a shuttle, the sole reason you were going on the mission, and your stomach lurched at the thought of the graphic photos they had shown of shuttle crashes during the safety portion of the course. Panic started building in your chest, your legs began to shake and you knew what was coming. You tried not to wake Spock, but a sob you had tried to contain wrenched its way out of your mouth as some sort of strangled gasp and your husband was instantly awake and leaning over you. You heard him speaking to you, but the only sounds you were able to make were choked cries and before you knew it you were in the midst of a full-on breakdown. Panic set your body on fire, lightning-fast images of possible outcomes to the mission flashed across your eyes, tears streaming down your face as you bawled into Spock’s bare chest.

“I can’t!” you sobbed over and over. “I can't!”

Spock had never held you so tightly, grasping across your back with one hand, the other tangled in your hair, clutching you into his chest. He rocked you softly as you started calming down, humming soft tunes in your ear as your wails turned to sniffles. Despite your trouble sleeping, mere minutes after you had stopped crying you had fallen asleep.

Spock didn’t let go of you for the rest of the night. He leaned back down on the bed, curling back around you and holding you close. He contemplated canceling the away mission until you were more up for it, but he decided it would probably be best to discuss it with you in the morning.

He eventually drifted off, only to wake a mere two hours later to the sound of your alarms. He quickly shut them off, not wanting to wake you since you had finally gotten the sleep you so desperately needed. Without moving too much as to wake you, Spock reached for his padd and canceled the mission anyway, as well as excusing himself and you from duty for the day. You needed your rest, especially after a night like the one you had just experienced and he knew he needed to be there for you.

He set the padd back down on the bedside table before climbing back under the covers and wrapping his arms around you. There was nothing he wouldn’t do for you. He loved you, after all.

#star trek #star trek fanfic #Star Trek Fanfiction #star trek aos #star trek x reader #star trek x reader fanfiction #star trek x fem!reader #spock #spock fanfic #spock fanfiction #spock x reader #Spock X female reader #spock aos #spock aos x reader

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ladyvader23 · 5 years

Text

Darth Vader Visits the Pediatrician

He couldn’t take it. He was going to go crazy. He’d already killed an entire platoon of men. All because he was exhausted.

He’d always known having a baby would be hard work. He’d overheard stories about parents staying up all hours of the night simply because their baby wouldn’t fall asleep, or would need changing, or would need to be fed. He was prepared for that. He preferred to meditate anyway, to avoid dreams of her.

But he wasn’t prepared for the non-stop crying. It didn’t help that he had not one, but two babies.

And he was by himself.

They’d barely stopped crying for the last two days. He’d done everything, but nothing seemed to soothe his little ones. Luke’s cries were small, rasping whimpers that tore at what little was left of his heart, but Leia...he was certain the entire Empire could hear her. He tried to focus on getting her to stop first, because as long as she was still screaming, Luke wouldn’t stop either, but he never got her to quiet for long enough to get him to stop.

Why? Why him?

They’d been fine the first few days after bringing them home, after convincing the Emperor that they wouldn’t be a threat if they never used their abilities. But then he’d fed them one night, put them down, and was ripped from his meditation by their awful screeching.

He was coming apart at the seams. He couldn’t focus. People died just for being in his way at the wrong time. He knew the Emperor was pleased by his unhinged behavior, for now, but he’d need to get it under control before the older man tired of it and decided to intervene.

If only she were there. She’d know what to do.

But she wasn’t. It was just him, and even though he was a Sith Lord who had a reputation to maintain, he was still a man who needed five minutes to rest.

So after trying everything again for the umpteenth time, and beginning to worry that there must be something medically wrong with them, he loaded the twins into their carriers, got them in his safest (but still fastest) speeder, and booked it across Coruscant.

He needed to do this far away from the prying eyes of the puppet Senate and the Emperor’s lackeys. He wasn’t foolish enough to think he’d get a chance to be anonymous--no, everyone knew of the Emperor’s new right hand. He was impossible to miss in the suit. And he wasn’t willing to take his children to a nondescript establishment. Those were usually that way for a reason--illegal, unsanitary reasons more fitting for a bounty hunter, not two babies. He couldn’t use his own medical droids--they were cold, lifeless, cruel, a personal punishment for himself, not for sweet little ones. So he still found an office in a reputable neighborhood and parked his speeder with haste.

They’d cried the entire way. When he let go of the wheel, it was bent from the pressure he exerted on it.

He’d fix it later. First, the twins.

He unloaded them and stormed into the small, tidy doctors office, using the Force to throw the door open, a baby carrier in each hand. “I need to see a doctor now.” He snapped, a little too loudly. The babies started crying harder.

A nurse droid hovered behind a desk. There was a woman with her baby already in front of the droid, and they both turned at his pronouncement. “You will wait your turn.” the droid, ever loyal to its programing, replied firmly before turning back to the woman.

But the woman had gone pale at the sight of him storming toward her, a baby carrier in both hands. “Ah, no, I’ll wait, thank you.” She sheepishly told the droid and hurried out into the childishly decorated lobby, finding the furthest corner away from him.

The droid made a disapproving click as it turned to him. “If you’re going to scare away our patients, I’m going to have to ask you to…”

He’d stopped at the reception desk, carefully used the Force to keep Luke and Leia’s carriers hovering next to him, and evenly placed his hands on the counter before the droid. From most people, it wouldn’t have been a threatening gesture, but the droid had the good sense to back up a step, re-evaluating the situation. “I said,” Vader hissed, putting the clear threat of dismemberment behind the words, “You will get me a doctor NOW.”

As if to support his words, the twins wailed. He gritted his teeth.

The droid was silent for a beat. “D-do you have an...appoint….?”

“I am not in the habit of asking more than once, droid, so if you value your meaningless life, I suggest you…”

“What is going on here?” A male voice interrupted.

Both Vader and the droid looked up to find a human male doctor approaching. He was an older gentleman, with dark hair that was graying around the temples, and light colored eyes that darted between him, his nurse droid, and the hovering carriers with the crying babies. Unlike the stupid droid who followed its protocol a little too literally, the man had the good sense to realize what was happening, and what was about to happen if he didn’t intervene. “Ah, AZI-5, cancel my appointments for the next few hours.”

The droid, AZI-5, glanced between the doctor and Vader. “Very well. Sir, if you could sign…”

Vader was about to rip the droid to shreds with his bare hands, but the doctor quickly interrupted. “Please, Lord Vader, right this way. No need to sign in.”

Well. At least someone had the good sense to stay alive. Taking hold of the carriers again, Vader followed the doctor into the office.

The room the doctor led Vader into was brightly painted with clowns and balloons on the walls. There were a few posters showing various infant life forms and rather generic medical information about babies, and a small padded table with sanitary paper on it. Vader set the carriers on the table, whirled to face the doctor, and demanded, “Make them stop. Now.”

The doctor, who had just finished closing the door, blinked at him, then at the crying babies. “Well, who do we have here?” He was attempting to sound like the normal supposedly approachable pediatrician he probably was, but his voice was strained.

Vader crossed his arms over his chest, reluctantly stepping back to let the doctor look at his children. His hands clenched into fists. “My children. Luke and Leia. And do dispense with the pleasantries, doctor. I’m here to get them back to their normal routine, and they aren’t going to notice the difference between you talking like a normal human being and like a fool.”

The doctor was already carefully checking Luke over as he replied. “I understand, Lord Vader, but it’s better for babies development to use voices like that when talking to them. It helps them develop better language skills early on.”

He didn’t see how that was possible, but then again, he hadn’t been around babies in--well, ever. “Just make them stop crying.”

The doctor had moved from Luke to Leia, who squirmed in her carrier under the intense speculation. “When did they start?”

“Two days ago. They haven’t stopped.” He watched the doctor, using the Force to reach out and check over his daughter himself. If the man scared his children and made it worse, he’d pay. But he didn’t get the sense that Leia was more upset than she already was, so he forced himself to relax. Marginally.

“How often are you...how often are they being fed?”

He didn’t like the insinuation that he didn’t feed them himself. He did, when he was home, which was more often than the Emperor liked. “Usually seven times a day.”

The doctor nodded. “Good.” Vader bit his lip as the doctor picked Luke up, then Leia. He didn’t like others holding them, not without his permission.

“Have you dealt with twins before?” Vader couldn’t help but ask. He figured, since the man was a pediatrician, but he needed to be sure he wouldn’t do something stupid and accidentally hurt them before he could stop him.

“Frequently.” The doctor assured him. “And you’re changing them?”

“Of course. I wouldn’t allow my children to sit in filth.”

“I didn’t mean to offend.” The man must have heard the threat in Vader’s voice, because he could feel his sudden spike of fear. But his hands on the babies remained steady and calm. “They’re healthy, with no fever or signs of illness...if I may, how long have you had the babies, Lord Vader?”

He glared, bitter, fresh wounds reopening as he remembered finding his precious babes on Tatooine, in the hands of the family that had allowed his own mother to be killed. “A week.” He said, simply.

The doctor didn’t dare ask about the previous two months of their lives. “And I assume you haven’t had much experience with children?”

Vader didn’t even bother to answer such an idiotic question. The answer was obvious.

After a moment of enduring his intense stare, the doctor cleared his throat. “Ah. Have you...burped the babies after feeding them?”

He frowned. “Have I what?”

The doctor nodded, evidently pleased that he’d found something wrong with Vader’s parenting. If he wasn’t holding his children… “Can you take Luke?”

Vader did so, holding him close to his chest. The baby in his arms quieted a little, squirmed closer, but didn’t stop crying. He sent soothing feelings through their bond while he watched the doctor pull a white rag from a drawer and place it over his shoulder. Then, he turned Leia around, set her face near the rag…

And began pounding on her back.

“What do you think you’re doing?!” Vader thundered, reaching out through the Force to grab the man’s throat.

The doctor’s eyes widened as he gagged, but he didn’t stop pounding on Leia’s back as he choked out, “Babies...need...burping…”

He loosened his grip, but only marginally. In his arms, Luke was squirming, sensing his father’s panic. “Explain.”

The doctor didn’t waste what breath he had to complain about the choke hold. “After feeding...you need...to burp them. Otherwise, they get...gassy, fussy...you have to do it...like this…”

Vader released his hold, and the doctor sucked in a breath just as Leia let out a massive baby burp...and threw up all over the rag.

The doctor was back in a choke hold. “You made it WORSE.” Vader thundered, horrified to see that his daughter was now sick on top of everything else.

This time, the doctor didn’t have room to speak, though he kept trying.

“What, I suppose you’re going to tell me this is part of it?!” Vader sarcastically snarled...and to his horror, the doctor managed to nod. Just as quickly, Vader released him again and the doctor began to cough. The entire time, the man hadn’t dropped Leia and…

She was no longer screaming.

She was still sniffling, even as the doctor continued on her back and she threw up a few more times onto the rag, but she didn’t cry anymore.

“It’s normal for babies to throw up.” the doctor’s voice was raspy now, but he still remained remarkably calm. At least outwardly. Vader could sense his terror, but it didn’t interfere with his actions to help Leia. “This young, they need help to do it on their own. When they’re older, they usually manage by themselves until their digestive system can handle keeping it all down.”

He stared at the doctor. Then, slowly, he looked down at a still crying Luke. It seemed backwards to do such a thing to his precious little ones. But, apparently, they needed it, and he’d had no idea. What else was he missing with them, not just because he was a Sith lord, but because he literally had no prior baby experience?

The doctor seemed to sense his distress. “It’s normal for all first-time parents to feel overwhelmed.” He tried to assure him. “It can be even more so with twins.”

He was Darth Vader. He was a Lord of the Sith. he was supposed to be better than this.

But, he supposed, Sith Lords and babies didn’t usually mix. This was uncharted territory, and as much as he hated it, he needed help.

“What is your name?”

The doctor hesitated, as though he knew what was coming. “Doctor Rawley, My Lord.”

Vader looked back up at him. “You will attend to my children in the future--at my personal residence. You will not breathe a word of it to anyone. If you do, your life will be forfeit.”

Doctor Rawley was good at keeping a calm outward demeanor, but Vader could sense the resignation and apprehension behind it. “Of course, Lord Vader. I understand.”

“Good. But for now,” he looked back down at the crying boy in his arms. “Teach me what you know.”

#dad vader series #Luke and Vader #leia and vader #luke and leia #star wars #fanfic #my own writing #inspired by my dad #who also knew nothing of babies #and also freaked out when one threw up #baby luke #baby leia #dad vader #is best vader

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iphoenixrising · 5 years

Text

For 900 Followers! Dr!Tim: Arkham Breakout

So, there was once upon a time this Ask aaaaand then this Ask. Then babe asked how things are going for a certain Dr. Drake, so...you know, it’s really a standard Wednesday when he’s literally caught in the middle of a massive Arkham breakout :D

Some day, he’s really going to have to reevaluate his life choices.

Volunteering for rounds at Arkham Asylum is definitely going to be on the list for review.

Sure, at the time, no one else from Mercy General was stepping up to volunteer (honestly, you’d have to be a patient here to willingly step up for this assignment. It’s fine, he’s been called worse).

Sure, he might have gotten friendly with some of the less insanely deranged inmates because really, considering how many times some of them had come through his ER to be patched up after a confrontation with one of the Bats, it was only a matter of time before they knew him by name.

Sure, he actually started to like wandering around the halls, talking with the inmates when they weren’t clutching stab wounds, contusions, and broken everything.

Sure, he might have been doing some side research on MacGregor's Syndrome (just some fun with genetics and incurable diseases), so the guards let him talk with Victor Fries a few times. And though short, their conversations were amazing, giving him a second thought about cryogenics.

Sure, maybe he enjoyed sitting outside Poison Ivy’s cell to ask her questions about her publication on cellular regeneration in plant hybrids.

(He brought her a sad, droopy orchid in thanks. She was actually smiling when he left, so he’s already got a resource when he needs it.)

Sure, he didn’t think it was dangerous enough to mention it to Dick or Jay.

The sounds through the Bluetooth in his ear, the lowly muttered curses from the Red Hood, the muffled boot falls, the rev of a massive engine, all of it is soothing in the fact they’re on the way to help him out here. Ass-kicking vigilantes for the win. But, still.

He’s well aware there’s going to be some conversations about why the hell he’s in Arkham in the first place once this is all over.

None if it makes him feel any better about the current sitch, not when the Joker, Scarecrow, Mr. Freeze, the Clock King, and Poison Ivy are moving through Arkham Asylum’s cafeteria, looking like a whole lot of shit has hit the proverbial fan in the works.

How do I keep getting myself in these situations? Is the real question here.

But Dr. Drake just focuses on the emergency at hand, fumbling through his doctor’s bag for more gauze with one bloody glove since what he’s pressing against the awkward stab in Jim Newman’s belly is already saturated, and his other hand is in mid-stitch.

He gives a customary glance to where the Mad Hatter is rolling around on the floor after someone took out his face with one of the trays.

The mashed potato mess is going to be such a pain in the ass to clean up later. Tim is pretty sure the perpetrator is one of the Hatter’s previously employed thugs, probably pissed off his 401-K got cancelled when the last heist didn’t really pan out.

Really, bad guys don’t have good medical insurance. Shouldn’t that just be, you know, a requirement?

He stays hiding behind his circle of protectors with the snatch-and-stich, most of whom are still tensely watching the progression of the Rogue Gallery through the general population, probably wondering if even one of those crazy fucks has some kind of mind-altering drug, high-test explosive, or some other painful way to die hiding in their jumpsuits.

Tim tries to make it fast, feels the pressure of the situation just by glancing down at Jim’s terrified eyes rolling back while he gets his side sewn back together without general anesthesia. It probably beats bleeding out all over the floor, but Tim knows that’s little consolation. At least the scar won’t be too bad.

(Probably.)

The guard with the nasal fracture in the circle with them is crouching low, fingering his side arm, looking pretty on the edge of terrified himself at the group of other guards with their hands up, prodded in the back with their own guns by some inmates that have obviously chosen crazy to side with.

Perfect.

They’re probably all going to die.

“Well, well, boys. We have a golden opportunity here,” the Clown Prince of Crime chorts with his sickening smile, makes Tim literally cringe with two more to go.

Even if his hands are shaking and the comm in his ear blanks out because they must be on the way (please, God, let them be on the way), Tim is quiet about it when he presses a fresh gauze pad from the already opened package and tapes that sucker in place without drawing too much attention to himself.

Mike Monohan, an inmate in his circle of protectors, plays a mean game of Uno, and flicks his fist open to a flat hand, the international sign for stay back and shut up.

Staying back and shutting the hell up it is.

“We could have so much fun now that we have the Warden here with us,” the Joker is saying, gesturing to the narrow-eyed Warden thrown down on the floor, right on top that wasted pasta salad.

While the rest of the formerly-fighting, raging inmates are wary and listening, Tim crab-walks back, finger over his mouth aimed at Jim. Sliding his arms under the inmate’s, he slowly, quietly, starts pulling his patient back in short bursts, trying to get them under a table without catching anyone’s eyes.

Dr. Crane has found his mask, is pacing around the frozen inmates and guards with the creepy mask, and the Clock King is standing behind the Joker like some kind of Enforcer.

Dr. Fries is leaning against the wall in his suit, the freeze gun holstered.

Dr. Isley is close to him, the two of them talking low whenever the Joker’s back is turned.

Harvey Dent shoves the Warden down on the floor, gives him a very pointed No moving, or it’s curtains for you.

Shauna Belzer waits serenely behind the Joker, the sock puppet on her hand snickering, eyeing the inmates over his shoulder.

Temple Fugate is tapping his foot impatiently, the glint by his right side is a pocket watch.

The inmate’s face is almost white with the effort to slide under the heavy table, even with Tim to help push him under.

“Fun, boss?” One of the inmates eagerly pushes through the frozen crowd, “is it the kinda fun what might break us outta here?”

“Chucko!” The Clown seems happy to see his previous henchmen, and from his point crouching by the edge of the table, Tim can see that sick smile gets wider. “If you aren’t a sight for sore eyes.”

“Hiya, boss,” the orange-clad henchmen seems just as happy to see the villain, “M’ sorry Mister Joker, but the cops took away my mask.”

“That’s all right, Chucko! The Gotham City Police never did have much of a sense of humor, but we’re all going to have a little fun before we break out of here anyway, huh huh huh.” It’s kind of sick how the Joker pats the henchmen on top the head like a dog, even worse considering the henchmen grins dopily back.

“As long as we stay on our time table,” Fugate interjects, “we have approximately one hour and thirty-seven minutes before the next shift arrives. Less if anyone makes it to the control room and radios for help. The, we will have Police and Special Forces descend upon us. Not to mention the Bat and his brats.”

“Hu-hu-hu, I guess you’ll have to keep an eye on the time, then, won’t you, Tempy?”

The Ventriloquists’ sock scrunches up, “we need to be out of here as soon as possible, Clown. I have a very important person to pick-up out of a locker in the bus station.” Which explains the sock instead of the creepy puppet, Ferdie.

Two-Face sneers at the circle of inmates effectively shielding the shaky doctor from first glance, turns to look at the gathering of other super villains, “I want out of this shit-show, Joker. I don’t get out, you are gonna have a bad fucking time on the inside. Any questions?”

But unruffled as ever, the Clown Prince of Crime just smiles at the group, eyes taking in the terror from half of the inmates, “of course, of course, Harv. We all want out, don’t we? And we’re going to do just that!...After we have play a little game with the Warden and his numbskull guards. Won’t that be worth sticking around?”

A hand tugs at Dr. Drake’s scrubs, and he glances down at the injured inmate, his eyes probably wide and terrified as he feels hearing the Joker talk about shit like games–

(Not fun for the whole family. Really, just your faces getting cut off, no big deal.)

“– gotta get to the infirmary and hide,” Jim hisses up at him, “who knows what they’ll do to ya. All of ‘em are nuts.”

“I can’t just leave,” he whispers back, eyes for the real problems here.

“Doc, there’s nothin’ you can do against these guys. They’re the real deal, and they will straight up murder you. I work for Two-Face, and you don’t wanna dick around with him.”

He’s listening, but his eyes are all for Fugate helping Jervis Tetch to his feet, trying to see if he’d broken his face in the first round of rioting–

And the idea, the plan, on how he could get everyone in this cafeteria out of this alive is right in his brain pan. Risky, but really the only shot he can think of.

“Stay down no matter what,” he tells Jim, pats the inmate’s hand gripping the hem of his scrub top, “I think I’ve got a way out of this.”

His legs shaking, knees knocking, Tim pulls away from Jim’s grip and takes a few steps closer to the inmates hiding him. He pockets the comm in his ear, leaving it on for when his vigilante boyfriends might actually make an appearance.

He takes a deep, trembly breath, watches intently as Fries walks over to look at what is obviously a very broken face.

“He probably has a nasal fracture,” Tim says loudly, cringing internally when everyone, everyone turns and stares right at him. “I’m a doctor. I can help.”

Mike is glaring at him, eyes narrowing in displeasure that he gave himself away, but, you know, thwarting break-out attempts means he needs to be able to move around the baddies.

None of that stops the painful lurch in his chest when that sick grin is absurdly delighted.

“Oh! I guess that answers that question, doesn’t it?” The Joker throws his head back to start laughing.

“What question?” One of the inmates interrupts the maniacal peals of laughter, looking around confused.

The shiny barrel, one of the guard’s side pieces, goes off like a bomb exploding, and the body drops with a hard thud in the sudden silence.

“That’ll teach you. Never ruin the punchline!”

And that sickeningly delighted grin turns on him, the barrel with a whisp of smoke still curling from the barrel.

“And as for you, well, I suppose there is a doctor in the house!” The laughter is loud and manic, echoing off the walls, a cacophony of insanity.

But.

Tim sees Victor Fries straighten noticeably, and hopes that maybe he can play his cards right to avoid getting himself killed.

“This is really going to hurt. There might be pain meds in the Infirmary, but I have no idea. I’m not permanent staff here,” he tells Jervis Tetch and Temple Fugate, gloved up at, looking critically at the mess that is currently the Mad Hatter’s face. “We can also check if they have a portable X-Ray because you are seriously going to need it.”

Tim clicks off the penlight and palpates the swollen area gently, “from what I can tell without any secondary evidence to support it, is you have a crack in the maxillary, which is why your eye is almost swollen shut. Yes, the swelling will go down, but cracking a bone this close to your eye could mean shards are going to cause more problems than you would want to deal with if you like being able to see.”

And even if the Mad Hatter is–

One. Scary. Mind-Controlling. Psychopath.

– his squashed face is obviously panicked.

“If you are a doctor as you say, then you will fix it – or you shall pay.”

“Mr. Tetch, I don’t know if Arkham is even equipped to do major surgery. Without the right tools, I could run the risk of permanently blinding you.”

He finally releases the swollen area, completely bullshitting with a straight face and intense eyes (he’s done more complex surgeries in a few back alleys and rooftops, but no one really needs to know those details), pointedly takes the villain’s pulse while glancing at his watch.

“Not to even mention your risk of infection here. Considering the number of organic material that could get into an incision on your face, it’s too much of a risk here at Arkham. There’s a reason why the Warden stopped allowing major surgery on inmates twenty years ago. One of them being nearly impossible to keep a sterile enough room in tact after the many escape attempts.”

Temple Fugate makes a strangled noise he covers up with a cough.

“Next issue is appropriate staffing. You’ve got RN’s, psychiatrists, one other medical doctor. But to be honest with you, Dr. Isley would be the best choice to keep you under during general anesthesia, taking her knowledge of chemicals into account, I mean. But, we run the risk of infection since her current state was caused by a combination of pesticides. That is not enough people to assist during major surgery and monitor your vitals while you’re under. If you code while you’re on my table, I don’t have enough qualified people to bring you back.”

While the Mad Hatter goes pale, blinking his good eye, Tim folds his arms over his chest and gives the villain his most sincere look.

“Your best bet to save vision in that eye is to take two inmates in an Ambulance and have them drop you at the hospital. They can say you got in a fight and the on-call here told them to get you to Gotham General immediately. Their OR has more state-of-the-art equipment than Mercy, and they could reconstruct your ethmoid flawlessly.”

He breaks a disposable ice pack and works it with his gloved hands, gently applies it to the area, and picks up the villain’s limp hand to hold it himself.

Jervis tries to slouch his eyebrows down, but flinches at the pain radiating from his injury, holds the ice pack tighter.

“After all those fights with the Bats, this certainly won’t be my last.” The neuroscientist mutters to himself, “Very well, Doctor, I’ll take my business into the city as you suggest, but don’t think this gets you any immunity from that pest.” And well meaning head nod to the Joker, gun still at his side while the Warden of Arkham is tied to a support pole in the center of the cafeteria.

“Perish the thought,” he closes up his doctor’s bag, giving the villain a wave before going back to where the inmates injured in the dinnertime scuffle were laid out on tables waiting for him. He figures it’s fine because he’s pretty sure he know how to handle that guy.

(Again.)

He leaves Fugate and Tetch to talk out the details, relieved neither of them realizing he dropped the tiny tracking device from his stethoscope in the band of Tetch’s hat when he turned the villain’s face to look closely at his injury.

He’s on his way to his next emergency because Jim is breathing hard and rapidly losing color, surrounded by four other inmates, but the dangerous gangster slash lawyer hovering by Jim’s hand is the real danger, not the muck they call potato salad still painting the walls.

“All right, let me through,” while he’s sliding between Rodney the Hammer (for obvious reasons) and poker-playing macrame enthusiast, Big Earl McCalister (a name from Jay’s life in the Narrows).

He re-gloves, puts his Arkham-specific bag down by Jim’s shoulder and unwinds the steth to check the usuals.

“Doc,” is the deep rasp of Two-Face’s I’m not happy tone. “This is one of my guys, you get me?”

“Read you like a book,” he replies without looking up, checking the skin around his stitches, “none of that changes the fact I don’t have what I need to help him.”

Tim curses softly, eyes going to Jim’s, noting the profuse sweating. The blade went in at least two inches, so they could be looking at intestinal perforation, which he is in no way equipped to handle in the fucking cafeteria of Arkham Asylum. He could possibly do a peritoneal lavage verify fluid out of his bowel is spilling into his abdominal cavity, but the slight swelling and discoloration are sure signs Jim needs laparoscopic surgery.

Now.

“I need you to listen to me,” he starts haltingly, but a hand on his forearm stops Dr. Drake cold.

Like he’s in a horror movie, his eyes go to where Two-Face has leaned over the injured thug on the table, and the ruined side of his face is prominent enough for him to see the excessive scarring.

“Yer gonna tell us what you need to take care of my man here,” is a not-fucking-around kind of dangerous, making Tim suck in a deep, deep breath just to try and keep himself calm.

(They’re on their way. They’re coming for him. They wouldn’t leave him here.)

“He needs an actual hospital with medical staff,” falls out of his mouth firmly, “I don’t have the people or equipment or the surgical staff I need to operate on him here. What I can tell you is that his lower intestines have probably been punctured, and he’s going to die of sepsis shock in less than an hour if we can’t get him into an OR.”

The sickly yellow eye narrows on him, assessing, and the pilfered gun in the gangster's other hand makes a soft click.

“There’s an ambulance here somewhere. Arkham has one for emergencies. Your guys can take it to Gotham General and no one would be the wiser,” Tim shrugs and looks back down at his patient. “As is, you can threaten me all you want, but attempting surgery here, is only going to end up in infection and probably death. I have no supplies of blood, IV fluids, antibiotics, or qualified staff. The nurses and MDs you do have here are good, but not trained at all for major abdominal surgery. There’s no way I can open him up and repair the perforation without killing him.”

And it’s a tense moment when Tim finally looks up at the gangster’s face, his own jaw set

“Then we gotta get ‘im out,” and Two-Face looks down at Jim Newman’s face.

Jim, eyes glassy with pain, reaches out a bloody hand, “ ‘Face?”

“Yeah, yeah. No worries, Jimmy. We’re gonna take care a’ ya.” And in what is an impossible-to-predict move, the burned side of the gangster’s face tries to lift up in a half-smile.

“M-My little Tracey, ‘Face. If I don’t–”

“Hey,” and it’s Tim drawing the sluggish eyes, “we’re going to get you taken care of, right?” And he glances up at Two-Face, swallowing hard, but keeping his gaze steady.

“Yeah,” the mass murderer looks back at him, an assessing something in his bulging eye, “yeah, we are. You, Doc, you gonna tell my man Vinnie what ‘cha need, and he’s gonna get it.”

The hulking thug still in his orange jumpsuit steps up to Jim’s side while Two-Face makes his exit, going straight for the laughing mad man gleefully shoving pies in the Warden’s face.

“Is your real name Vinnie?” Because honestly, his mouth is going to get him every damn time.

The thug just smiles.

Welp, okay then. “I need a gurney to transport him to the ambulance. I’m going to check his wound and re-wrap it.”

He’s already reaching in the bag for more gauze pads, pulling back the layers he’d already applied, checks the skin around the stitches, wishes he had a cuff to get Jim’s systolic pressure but estimates it’s down to 80 and dropping.

All it takes is for Vinnie to nod and two lackeys are scrambling to get down to the infirmary.

“Thought...thought I told ya ta get gone, Doc,” Jim wheezes, gritting his teeth as Tim gentle presses just his fingertips against the slight swell.

“Couldn’t leave you,” he replies without looking away.

After long seconds when he hurriedly pulls a syringe and antibiotic, hoping to give them some time then scrambles for a notepad and pen, scribbles instructions quickly while muttering aloud, “administered augmentin...probable perforation of intestine or bowel…”

He scribbles something at the very bottom and tears the paper off his notepad, slides it in Jim’s jumpsuit pocket.

“Make sure the ER doctors get that. It tells them what I’ve already given you so they don’t mix other antibiotics or painkillers.”

He pointedly ignores the fight breaking out between Two-Face and the Joker, but notices Vinnie turns completely away to watch the proceeding shouting match ending in guns pointed at other another.

“Fuckin’ stand down Clown, or I’m gonna make ya a stain.”

“C’mon Harve! Where’s your sense of humor? Ha ha ha haaa!”

“He’s going to get us out of here you ass!” Crane shoves his creepy mask right in Two-Faces peripheral, something probably dangerous clenched in the fist behind his leg.

“We can get ourselves out,” Belzer replies serenely, “we’ve all done it before after all.”

“That means we need to get going,” Fugate is pulling Tetch along with an arm over his shoulder, the other holding the ice pack against his face. The pocket watch makes an appearance, and Tim tapes fresh gauze pads down, mentally preparing to roll Jim off the table and shove it over if bullets start flying.

(Please, please, please hurry.)

Vinnie seems to get the tension suddenly in the room, milling inmates all freezing in place, eyes for the boatload of crazy in the center of the cafeteria by the salad bar.

“But we were just starting to have some fun!” The Joker almost screams, gesturing wildly with the gun to the hacking Warden.

“As usual,” Dr. Isley sighs, calmly walking in the middle of the two villains in the middle of the showdown, “you aren’t using your brain.”

“C’mon Red! I know you want to get out and visit our little Harl, but we have a golden opportunity here!”

Tim sucks in a hard breath when Dr. Isley’s eyes narrow dangerously, and oh God, oh God, oh God.

His eyes dart to the corner of the salad bar where Dr. Fries is leaning, the goggles over his eyes not showing at all what he’s thinking. But, but, Tim notices the ice gun is not longer in the holster at the side of his leg, instead it’s in hand with the doctor’s finger on the trigger.

A subtle shift, upper body moving because that suit has got to be heavy, and Tim isn’t imagining Dr. Fries is looking right at him around the Joker’s back.

Tim’s eyes shift down to his patient, muscles tightening in preparation for something.

“That’s enough,” is robotic through the suit’s speakers, kind of like Jay’s syths Tim thinks crazily when his heart starts to pick up when the Joker tilts his chin down and narrows his eyes right back at Poison Ivy and Two-Face.

If he wasn’t suddenly terrified about a Rogue Gallery Throw-Down, he would be fanboying right through the mashed potatoes.

“Stay out of it, Freeze Pop,” the Joker’s voice is low and utterly fucking terrifying.

“This accomplishes nothing but waste precious time,” Freeze deadpans, “it gives us less time to get far enough away from the Batman.”

“Oh, that’s easy enough to remedy!” And the Joker straightens, easily lowers the gun, smiling right at Two-Face’s shiny .45. “We just take some hostages along for the ride.”

Because, of fucking course, the Joker’s head swings over to stare him right the fuck down.

“Especially Gotham’s little darling, here! Why my stars and garters! I believe it’s the indomitable Doctor Drake! AH HA HA HA HA HA HAAA!”

And his heart jumps right up into his throat, choking him on his next breath.

Leaning to talk out of the corner of his mouth, the Joker’s eyes are all for the frozen civilian, “He was on the news, Harve, remember? The little do-gooder on the bridge.” The low drop of the Joker’s tone on that word, on bridge, hits Two-Face in the right way, making the gangster’s attention shift.

(Oh shit. This is bad, getting more bad, getting so, so, so bad.)

“That was you?” The other gun falls and Two-Face turns on him while the Joker is doing that cliche steeple-fingers-and-look-insane kind of thing, and that just really makes him want to take a step back. He should probably run, but it’s more likely Two-Face would shoot him in the back if he tried, so he’s got no other choice but to improvise.

With the copper taste in the back of his mouth, with the possibility he’s about to die horribly depending on the level of utter crazy in the room right now, Tim Drake straightens his spine, crosses his shaky arms to hide the fact.

“There were children, Mr. Dent. Children that didn’t deserve to die on a collapsing bridge.”

Jim Newman tenses on the table under him, still going pale, still on a ticking clock, and some of the other inmates are cowering back. The Ventriloquist looks eager to see what happens, her sock puppet whispering in her ear; Scarecrow, the Mad Hatter, and Clock King are looking at him intently, uncomfortably so. Poison Ivy sighs and arches a put-upon brow.

“I patched people up and put them in cars to get off the bridge. Your bombs did what they were supposed to do,” is more accusatory than he feels. “I just tried to keep the victim count down.”

“The other one didn’t go off. You have something ta do with that, Doc?” The question suddenly very, very important to how the next six seconds are going to go.

So Tim calculates what he’s going to say for a split second, “I was being hit with debris and pulling little girls out of cars,” which is true, “I only saw the Batman for a few minutes, and I didn’t have anything to do with another bomb.” Mostly true. B already knew it was Two-Face before Tim ever got a surprise ride on the Batplane courtesy of the blood-loss-and-shock express.

The new train leaving the station is I-might-die-in-Arkham-Asylum.

All Aboard

“Now Harve,” the Joker starts, tisking.

“Shut-up, Clown,” because the glint is the famous coin appearing in Dent’s unblemished hand.

Some crazy instinct makes him step away from the gurney, eyes all for the inevitable flip, hoping, praying his luck is going to hold out long enough to get a message out to the ER staff and stall long enough to keep them here until the vigilantes make a dashing, in-the-nick-of-time entrance, and really just save the day.

(Please please please save the day.)

“Got a fifty-fifty chance, Doc. I’m hoping ya got some extra luck.”

His breath gets caught in his chest at the twing when the coin rolls off Two-Face’s thumb into the air, is hyper-focused in the moment, doesn’t even notice Victor Fries straightening from his slouch to watch the proceedings. Fixes his eyes on the palm of that ruined hand–

–and the arm holding the gun slowly, surely rising.

The coin doesn’t make it back to that hand, gets slapped out of the air instead, and the gangster actually chokes.

“You-you son of a–!”

“Harve, Harve,” and for the first time, Dr. Drake can say he’s seen the Joker actually frowning, miffed that his plan is going sideways, anger simmering under the insanity, but it just goes to show he’s special kind of psychopath when he stretches his neck out to put his face less than an inch from the ruin side of Two-Face’s, and smile.

It’s telling how the Joker doesn’t even flinch at the cold rage across from him.

“He has more potential in the ‘hostage’ category, than the ‘dead’ category, Harve, and we need a nice little nest egg.” One white finger carelessly, comically pushes the barrel of the gun down to the ground with that sickening grin in place. “You and I both know–”

The he-he-he literally makes Tim’s skin crawl.

“–those caped do-gooders roll over for a nice hostage.”

The stare-down is like something you read about– the Joker is intense while Two-Face glares silently back, that yellow eye fixed.

The inmates around the Rogue Gallery are shifting, trying to stay out of the way in case the guns come back into play, and everything Dr. Drake has been trying to do seems to go immediately, irrevocably sideways.

The stand-off is interrupted when one of the inmates hurriedly scoops up the coin and brings it back, holding the scratched surface up, presenting it like a gift.

Two-Face doesn’t bother looking at the inmate, just snatches the coin, eyes narrowing on the Joker’s grin.

“As much as I fucking hate you, Clown, you got a point. We’re gonna need some leverage.”

“Oh, you flatterer. You don’t have to hate so much that I’m right, hu hu hu. Good! Now we can get this show back on the road and execute the Warden, right?”

The childish stomp jars Tim out of panicky brain-freeze, lets him suck in a choking breath at the crazily entertaining back-and-forth, and his knees wobble a little in weakening relief.

(He keeps himself calm by running through the last year of crazy shit he’s gotten his hands into since he’s been dating certain adorable, entertaining, and very, very late, vigilantes. He’s been up against some of these psychopaths, ninjas, and is the go-to guy for every kind of strange alien bacteria Booster Gold could possibly pick-up during his travels.)

Out of his peripheral, he sees Dr. Fries slouch back, head turned and looking at him, utterly unreadable with the goggles and glass dome.

The Ventriloquist, however, is pouting like she’s missing out on a good show. Great. At least someone wants to see him dead in the next few minutes.

“You have approximately forty-five minutes before the next shift will begin showing up for work,” Temple Fugate inserts, “and we need people to drive our Hatter friend to the hospital along with Dent’s right-hand man. It’s a perfect cover to get us through the gates without alerting authorities. Thus, whatever you intend to do, do it now.”

The impatience draws the Scarecrow’s attention, “expediency is preferable, ladies and gentlemen. I still have reserves hidden in Gotham, and I don’t need Bats on me before I get to them.”

“Fantastic!” The Joker laughs loudly, back arched, “then we get to–” and he spins on the heel of his spat, finger out to point at the Warden still tied up in the center of the cafeteria, pie remnants dripping off him.

But the Joker trails off with a “eww,” when the Warden is obviously gasping for air, his lips turning an unnatural shade of blue.

Like his life wasn’t hanging in the balance a few seconds ago, Tim snatches up his bag without looking away from the distressed Warden and takes off around the table while the guys waiting for Vinnie’s signal with the gurney move in to load up Jim Newman.

He skirts around the inmates, and already has his stethoscope in his ears, listening to the sickening sound of arrhythmia.

“He’s going into cardiac arrest!” Tim turns to shout at the gathered criminals, and his eyes slide up to the panicked Warden.

“...heart attack...last year,” the Warden gasps weakly, leaning into the ropes.

The Joker sputters, “I can’t kill him if he’s already dying! Where’s the fun in that?!”

And it’s a terrifying moment when the villain stalks up next to him to glare in the distressed Warden’s face, pointing a finger like he’s berating a naughty child.

“You’d better not shuffle off this mortal coil until I have the perfect joke to send you out!”

Tim ignores the villain fairly vibrating with anger, and keeps calculating, rooting around in his bag for a similar medication to the one he gave Nightwing back when the fear gas almost killed him, one that will help thin the blood and hopefully make sure the Warden survive the night.

He fills the syringe and quickly injects the Warden in the side of the throat, not bothering to waste time untying him to look for a vein.

“This medication is hopefully going to put him back to a normal rhythm,” Tim fills in as Dr. Crane, Dr. Isley, and Dr. Fries join their little pow-wow. “I don’t know any of his history to know if this is going to even work–”

Dr. Fries gets closer to the Warden, goggles seemingly fixed on his face, “do you have a history of arrhythmia, or a family history of heart problems?”

Still gasping for air, the Warden just nods.

“Give me a few details,” the villain demands. “Start with your parents.”

To Tim’s surprise, Dr. Isley and Dr. Crane listen intently to the Warden’s details about his family medical history while Tim keeps two fingers on the Warden’s pulse and listens closely, hoping the uneven pitter-patter evens out to at least under 100 beats per minute.

“I doubt they have an echocardiogram here,” Crane snarks to Isley when the Warden is gasping and Fries turns to a random inmate, demanding water and aspirin immediately.

“Of course not,” Dr. Isley sighs with a shake of her head, “anything more involved than a bandage is too much for these nitwits to handle.”

Multitasking like a boss, Tim looks at the biologist, psychologist, and geneticist over his shoulder, “there’s not even an electrocardiogram here to monitor his sinus rhythm. There might be defibs in the infirmary if we hit worst case scenario–”

“Those were removed the last time we broke out,” Scarecrow shrugs nonchalantly. “I think someone used it on a guard.”

Ivy steps up, fingers moving in a gimmie motion until Tim hands over his stethoscope. “It’s still faster than 100 per minute. What was that you injected? Beta blockers?”

“Yes, Dr. Isley,” he accepts his stethoscope back, not mentioning how there was a little more than just Beta blockers in that syringe.

“Good,” and she turns back to her fellow non-medical doctors that seem to have opinions on treatments. “If they get him to Gotham General in time, they can perform–”

“For now, we must get him down and elevate his feet. The staff can take necessary measures from there,” Fries is already behind the Warden, untying the ropes. “It will give them time to escape without impeding treatment.”

“Agreed,” Crane and Isley turn together and very pointedly stalk toward the mass of inmates still standing around the cafeteria waiting for how this little sitch is going to pan out.

The Joker and Two-Face flank them, making it an utterly terrifying meeting of bad guys.

“Listen up,” Crane makes a terrifying figure even still in his orange jumpsuit. “You are going to let the medical staff treat the Warden. If any of us find out he died, then there is going to be a reckoning.”

The Joker’s laugh punctuates the severity of the message.

“We’re the ones that get to kill him, understand? And once he’s back to his normal, healthy self, we’ll give this another go!”

“Until then,” Poison Ivy’s eyes glint dangerously, “we expect everyone to behave.”

Tim is helping Dr. Fries lay the Warden on his back, “since when has everyone been moonlighting as MDs?” He asks breathlessly while Ivy heards the full-time medical staff away from the general population and closer to the panting Warden.

“You would be surprised how much time one has for reading in here,” Fries fills in. “On a different note, I am impressed with your latest article on McGregor’s Syndrome.” Fries holds a hand down to help him stand, “Nora’s case is too far advanced, but your preliminary findings are exciting nonetheless.”

Shaky, Tim allows the medical staff he’s familiar with take over with the Warden and accepts Dr. Fries’ hand. “Everything is based off your research, so really, I’m the one that should be grateful for your help.”

The supervillain makes a humming noise and squeezes his hand, “whatever you do,” is low, just between the two of them, “do not antagonize any of them. You will make it out of this alive if you are careful, Dr. Drake.”

The hysterical laughter bubbling up in his chest really has nothing to do with things that are hilarious.

“Staying alive is my top goal tonight,” but the bravado doesn’t cover up how badly his hands are shaking.

“We shall see if you manage to accomplish it,” Fries deadpans as the huddle of supervillains breaks up.

While he’d been assessing the Warden, Jim Newman has been loaded onto the gurney, already prepped for the ambulance ride, and the Mad Hatter’s ice pack finally melted, so he’s really feeling the need to be in a hospital with plenty of nice narcotics.

“We are out of time,” Fugate flips his watch closed, facing the rest of the escaping Rogue Gallery, “we leave now or risk getting caught.”

“Well, when you put it that way–” and the Joker turns on him, reaches out to wrap bony fingers around Tim’s wrist, clenching down tight. “I suppose you’re out of time too, right Doc?”

Two-Face has no problem getting close enough that Tim can see the residual scarring, can trace the deep grooves, wonder if a second try at plastic surgery would be helpful or destructive at this juncture in the supervillain’s life. “You don’t make trouble, you’ll see tomorrow. We have an understanding here?”

“Yes,” he replies breathlessly in the face of two utterly terrifying murderers. “I’m going to do what you say.”

“Stay smart and I’m not gonna have to flip for you again.”

And as Tim manages to snatch his doctor’s bag while he’s pulled behind members of the Rogue Gallery, he closes his eyes and takes a shaky breath, hopes Dick and Jay can follow wherever in the hell the villains are taking him.

Which is to the ambulance bay where two rigs and a car with Arkham Asylum on it are housed. He almost facepalms when the keys are hanging up on a wall hook.

Temple Fugate is already dressed in EMT clothing while Crane takes off his mask to put on another set as Jervis Tetch and Jim Newman are loaded in the back.

Shuna Belzer hops in the driver’s seat of the other ambulance while Tim is shoved up into the rear by Joker and Two-Face. Dr. Isley and Dr. Fries join him, sitting on the opposite bench with the empty gurney between them.

“Now, now, good Doctor,” the Joker’s manic grin is even creepier in the lighting, the madman holding the doors almost closed. “If you try to misbehave, our Plant Queen and Freezy Pop are going to have to spank you for being naughty. And trust me, kid. You don’t want that kind of spanking.”

Tim’s eyes are wide as the doors close, his chest getting tight when the Joker locks him in, and for the first time since this whole mess started, his eyes feel heavy and hot without an emergency to focus on (but he still has a plan). All he can do is blink rapidly, try to stop it before it starts, before he gets a little hysterical about everything.

(What if they just leave you here?)

At this juncture, he has no idea what their plans are for him, if he’s riding along just to get shot in the head and left in a ditch somewhere outside Gotham City limits, or if the nice psychopaths really might let him go.

With all of them, it’s a 50/50 really.

(A toss of Two-Face’s coin...)

So he doesn’t feel bad leaning over, bracing his forearms on his knees, one hand over his eyes to keep Dr. Fries and Dr. Isley from seeing it while the ambulance roars to life and jerks forward.

“You did well back there,” Poison Ivy’s voice floats over his head, makes him look up with his nose still pink and eyes still watery. “Most doctors are intimidated around criminals like us. You are...a refreshing change.”

“Everyone is a person when they’re sick or injured,” he replies lightly, scrubbing at his face.

He doesn’t see her mouth curl up in a smile. “Criminal or not doesn’t matter in my line of work.”

“He is quite accomplished,” Fries isn’t looking at either of them, idly staring out the windows in the ambulance doors. “Anyone taking on genetics would have to be.”

“Hm,” Dr. Isley hums, “a simple medical doctor also taking on genetics–”

“Botany isn’t that much different,” he defends lightly, eyes narrowed.

It’s telling when the terrifying criminal leans forward, one fist braced on her knee, and draws him in with the history of Physiology and the mind-blowing chlorokinesis.

She pauses when he calls her Dr. Isley respectfully when he disagrees, and eventually even Dr. Fries joins them on the discussion when they move to microbiology.

It’s close enough to talking with colleagues that he almost forgets about the whole hostage thing for a few minutes while the ambulance rolls down from the mountains and splits ways with the other rig going toward Gotham General while their rig is heading toward Midtown, probably to pick up that puppet the Ventriloquist was yelling about.

He’s in the middle of arguing mitosis with Dr. Fries when the obvious sirens cut through the air. The ambulance jerks forward, accelerating.

Tim doesn’t hit the floor, but only just.

Dr. Fries opens the small window to the front, “what is going on?”

“We’ve been made, Tasty Freeze,” the Joker snarls with the EMT cap pulled over his forehead. “Someone ratted us out!”

“Step on it, Bells. Get us gone,” Tim hears Two-Face saying.

The sock puppet on her hand turns to look back at Fries. “Might wanna buckle up, kids! It’s going to be a bumpy ride.”

In a creepy movement, Fries and Isley turn to him.

“Sit down down and hold on,” Isley tells him, wiggling her fingers. Something up her sleeve moves, worms down her hand and fingers while Tim watches with clinical curiosity.

Tim gasps, watching the small plant growing under her mental coaxing, the long stem dividing, wrapping around the bolted legs of the bench he’s sitting on and form a makeshift harness around his shoulders and chest.

When he expects the vines to be thorny and coarse, terrifyingly restrictive, it’s actually kind of okay. The plant is warm and alive almost a heartbeat against his chest and arms, securing him to the bench.

The sirens on their ambulance start to wail and the Ventriloquist shoves her foot on the gas to make the rig lurch and speed faster, dodging around traffic.

“Where are you going?!” He can hear the Joker shriek, “the docks are that way!”

“I told you,” is the nasally voice of the sock puppet. “We’re going to get Ferdie first!”

“Oh no,” Dr. Isley mutters a second too late.

Because the Joker reaches over and jerks the wheel out of the Ventriloquists hands, yelling “getting away from the cops first, idiot!” and the ambulance careens sideways, skittering across the busy highway and smashing into a sedan minding its own business, and a tire on the rig blows while the villains in the front are fighting over control.

So Tim expects the rig to to smash into something, maybe even flip over and skitter across the pavement while the plants keep him from being thrown all over the back. He doesn’t expect Poison Ivy to lunge across the empty gurney just before the ambulance is airborne, throwing her arms around him, and shoving his face in her shoulder to protect him from the next few minutes of grinding metal and breaking glass.

The side of the ambulance splits on impact, twisting metal cuts through the vines holding him, severing the makeshift harness, and not even the remaining tendril could keep him and Dr. Isley from being thrown out of the rig onto the hot Gotham street.

The jolt of the landing drives the breath out of him, is when he slams his head hard enough that moving immediately is a real bad idea. The road rash is going to be shitty, but the blood in his eyes and woozy quality to life once he can raise his head probably means he’s just hit concussion city.

“D-Dr. Isley? Dr. Fries?” Sounds rough from his throat, sounds choked.

He’s dizzy when he pushes himself up, trying to keep from vomiting at the abrupt turn his stomach takes when he sits up, blinks at the the too-bright street lights.

Dr. Isley is laying a few feet from him on her side, breathing but not moving.

“No! No, no, no,” but his limbs feel heavy and sluggish when he tries to stand up and fails. He settles on hands and knees because at least he’s not going to throw up now, so he’s already winning for the night.

“Dr. Isley!” But he’s already assessing before he even touched her shoulder to roll her over, shaky hands assessing her neck, cracking open her eye lids, and by some miracle, he’d been wearing his Arkham-Only medical bag when they were thrown from the ambulance in the first place.

It proves to be moot when Pamela’s eyes flutter over while he’s taking her pulse and blinking rapidly to keep his vision clear, trying to be gentle but firm when he presses on her belly, and looks over every inch of her jumpsuit to make sure he hasn’t missed any indications of injuries.

“Oh thank God,” he whispers when her eyes dart up to him, and Tim leans back just a little to swipe his forearm over his eyes to make sure he doesn’t, you know, cry all over a patient.

“Dr. Isley, are you able to sit up? Do you feel dizzy? Nauseous?” He doesn’t realize he’s gone from taking her pulse to holding her hand.

“No,” she replies faintly, pushing herself up, “I believe I’m all right.”

“Okay...okay, that’s good. That’s so good, but I’ve got to check on Dr. Fries and the others. Just-just call for me if you start to feel worse, or sleepy or anything! I’ll be right back.”

Standing the second time is really a win when adrenaline hits him somewhere in the spine, and that small secret smile of hers convinces him she doesn’t have any serious injuries. But the vines flattened and slightly writhing under her makes him hope they cushioned her fall.

He uses all the strength in his weak arms to pull at the ambulance doors until they damn things open, and he can see Dr. Fries laying in a sprawl of metal suit and limbs, weakly gasping since the glass dome of his helmet has been broken.

“Dr. Fries!”

And the concussion has to take a back seat for the moment because time really isn’t on their side.

His brain starts working while he makes his way back into the ambulance, stumbling before righting himself, and gripping the villain under both arms, straining to drag him out of the ambulance and lay on the Gotham street.

The dome has a broken piece with frigid air escaping, and with the goggles askew, he can see the pupils are almost blown.

“Hold on, hold on,” he’s chanting and pulling everything out of his bag, searching for–

Duct tape and a Bolin Chest Seal.

Without any idea if the seal can stand-up to the frigid temperature of Dr. Fries’ suit, Tim makes his hand stop shaking to peel the backing off and apply it around the broken area, ripping the duct tape with his teeth to help reinforce the cracks.

Dr. Isley falls to her knees beside him abruptly, watching him apply a final strip. Together, they hold their breath while his breathing evens out and the visible eye flutters.

Luckily for them, police cars and a legit ambulance are quickly closing in on the carnage, so he can finally, finally, rest.

–or would have, but Two-Face kicks the door to the front of the wrecked rig open and stands out with the gun still in hand.

“It was you,” the gangster is dragging one foot, snarling wildly, “you got us caught. I shoulda gutted ya back at the nut house while I had a chance!”

The Joker woozily climbs out after him and just face plants into the street, something slurry like “anyone get the number of that bus?” while Shauna Belzer is already running away from the scene with the sock puppet leading her way.

“Harvey,” is a warning in Dr. Isley’s tone.

“Shut up, Pam. You know it was him!” The gun is wavery, but Tim is still one hundred percent sure the shot is going to be accurate enough to be bad news for him. “There ain’t no other way!”

“I was in the back the whole time,” he tries, subtly sliding an arm up in front of Dr. Isley, and the other over Dr. Fries. “There’s no way I could have alerted anyone about anything.”

“I ain’t taking anymore chances on you, no more flips, no more hiding, just curtains,” and the hammer goes back–

The next second, a blast of light takes over the sight of the gun barrel pointed at his chest, and the gangster’s hand and weapon are instantly encased in a block of ice.

“What the hell!?”

Dr. Fries pushes himself up, his freeze gun in hand, the seal around his domed helmet still working to keep him breathing. “It would be in poor taste to allow you to kill the young man that saved my life, Dent.”

Wearily, Dr. Fries drops the freeze gun while Two-Face falls to his knees with the heavy block encasing his fist and the gun.

Tim automatically winds his arm around the shoulders of Dr. Fries’ suit, helping the villain stay upright while the slamming of brakes and opening of doors signal the GCPD to the rescue.

Commissioner Gordon himself questions the young doctor, eyeing him critically when he insists Dr. Fries and Dr. Isley weren’t really trying to escape, but went along with the Joker’s plan to make sure he, the civilian, didn’t wind up dead.

“I’ve worked with Dr. Fries before,” and even though he told the young uniform no about the blanket and ride to Gotham General, he’s regretting it now because he’s starting to get cold his head is aching, “I published a paper about McGregor’s syndrome a few months ago. Early stage treatment. He helped me with the background, so yeah, he didn’t want me to get hurt. And Dr. Isley protected me when the ambulance flipped over. If there were trying to escape, they wouldn’t have saved me, or stopped Two-Face from killing me.”

“All right then, Doctor,” Gordon eyes him while he closes his little notebook, “I’ll have a word with the judge and the Warden. He’s fine by the way, and asked me to thank-you. He’s in Gotham General, about to go into surgery.”

“What about Jim Newman?” He asks quickly, rubbing his arms when a light dusting of rain makes him even colder.

“They were still working on him last time I checked, but everything looks good from what they said.”

And since the Commissioner is taller than him by at least a few inches, he can look over Tim’s head to signal another officer to their little pow-wow on the back of the intact ambulance.

Tim had immediately waved the gaping EMTs off to pick up Two-Face and Joker, had slapped a bandage on his own head and did a quick saline wash of his road rash.

He’d personally helped Dr. Fries and Dr. Isley into another ambulance, his expression troubled when the double-doors closed on them, and the rig took off through Gotham. It had been enough for him to seek out the Commissioner and tell him exactly what had gone down tonight so Poison Ivy and Dr. Freeze wouldn’t face further jail time.

(The flutter in the night, gold and black of Robin’s cape, or well, maybe he’d just imagined it. He’s got a pretty rocking concussion after all.)

Detective Renee Montoya is someone he’d worked with on more than one occasion. When she whistles low at the obvious damage, he knows the bruises are probably going to be beautiful tomorrow.

“Montoya, Dr. Drake doesn’t want to go to the hospital. Can you give him a lift when you head back to the station?”

“Absolutely, Sir–”

“To Arkham,” he interrupts blearily, “my car is still there. I need to pick it up.”

Both cops arch a brow at him, but Tim just stares back without further comment.

“All right. To Arkham it is.” Montoya grins at him and crooks a finger, leads him to her car sitting on the outskirts of the accident.

And really, Detective Montoya is a kind soul, stops long enough to get awful drive-thru coffee for him to sip on while they drive back to the Asylum, and she listens intently as he tells the story with a little more depth the second time.

“I’m glad you aren’t badly hurt, but you still should consider going to the hospital, Tim–”

“That’s not necessary, Detective.” Concussions not withstanding, he thinks as he sips his coffee. “I would probably go to work instead of rest anyway, so moot point even I went to Gotham General instead. But, I mean, how did the GCPD get control of Arkham and come after us so fast? I didn’t expect anyone to come after us.”

Except certain masked vigilantes, but, you know, prison breaks are really time consuming.

Montoya side-eyes him again. In her career, she’d brought more than one perp into Mercy Hospital’s ER, guarding handcuffed suspects, usually sporting a variety of injuries tangling with the Bats of Gotham. More than once, it was her or Bullock or another cop on one of Dr. Drake’s gurneys bleeding out, and the guy was absolutely unshakeable, pulling miracles out of his ass.

So yeah, she knows the Doc and his odd tendencies to get tangled up in too many...situations. Many of which lead right back to the city’s resident vigilantes.

(As a detective, she put together at least seven incidents in the last 24 months connecting their good doctor with the Bats. Crane taking over the hospital, kidnapped by the Joker, the bridge. Reported sightings of JLA members in Gotham hovering over Mercy General, and she would bet her badge it was the superheroes bringing their Batman to see Drake. Then the question as to why else would the Batman come out during the day and save what appeared to be one person? Unless that person was his personal physician. Not to mention that time someone got a few pieces of security footage with a Robin that was...taller, not as smooth jumping from rooftops. Oddly enough, some unknown masked crusader running with the Red Hood chasing this, what, fourth kid wearing the tunic? Given the evidence, Renee has theories.)

She might smirk a little at his very obvious deflection, but it also triggers every instinct she’s cultivated as a cop in Gotham City.

“Well, I’ll be honest with you, Doc, but it looks like the night crew had a hand in settling down things at the Asylum. Not to mention we got a call from the Head Nurse of the ER at Gotham General about a note you apparently left. That was probably after an anonymous tip to the station made us aware the Clock King, Mad Hatter, and Scarecrow were on their way to the hospital in disguise.”

He smiles into his coffee and appreciates the blasting heat all the way back up to the madhouse on the hill. She notices he doesn’t ask who the night crew is, and just adds it to the list of evidence.

It nice when Montoya walks him back inside, apparently not trusting him to get through to the infirmary at the back of the Asylum and get the keys to his car without another incident.

(She probably has a good reason.)

He makes an effort to keep it together in front of the detective when they make their way through the throng of police officers, extra guards, and personnel filling the hallways. The itch on the back of his neck could be the events of the night catching up to him, the anxiety on the edges of his consciousness that looks a lot like smeared cream corn and stab wounds, aching palms and exhaustion in every bone of his body.

It could also be how closely Montoya is watching him while they walk further into the compound.

His keys are on the same hook by the keycard access door, and it’s finally a spark of luck when a uniform on the premises catches her on their way in, pulls her aside to talk about something. (“They were here from what the inmates say,” the uniforms tells her low, “Red Hood and Nightwing were pretty brutal this time. The Bat had a hard time wrangling them in.”)

He gives a small wave with keys in hand to let her know he’s on the way out.

She puts a hand on the uniform’s shoulder to pause their conversation and give him another long look. “You should get some sleep, Doc. Take a few days off. I’ll bet you’ve got some… people looking out for you that will agree with me.”

For absolutely no reason, his face starts to get warm. “Thanks again for the ride, Detective.”

With her card in his pocket (not that he doesn’t have a collection of them from GCPD back on his desk at Mercy), he calmly adjusts his bag over the blood stains on the side of his scrubs and makes sure his badge is visible.

He keeps it the fuck together when he walks out of Arkham through the thinning throng like nothing is out of place, like he hasn’t just gone through half of the Rogue Gallery and lived to tell about it.

He absolutely doesn’t notice the vigilantes going through a particular vent as he starts down the maze of hallways to get the fuck out.

His battered Civic (because the nice car is only for special occasions, why chance getting it blown up?) looks more like safety than he’s ever associated with it before. Maybe that’s why his knees abruptly go out on him when he’s at the driver’s door, but it’s fine, fine to just take some time to sit, get his lungs full of air for the first time since this shit-show started.

(They had to take care of things like good saviors of the city and he survived, he’s good. He’s good. He’s good. He’s going to go home, make coffee, get a shower, and wait up for them to ask how the night went on their end. Just as soon as his knees get strength again–)

The crunch of gravel somewhere behind the car is what shakes him up from the blank time since he sat (fell) down to now. Before he can be up and moving, it’s Jason, his boyfriend, kneeling there beside him instead of the dangerous vigilante, the Red Hood.

He barely registers when Jay reaches for him, wraps him up in a tight embrace, talks gently against his hair

(“S’all right, Baby. Gotcha all caught up now, don’t I? Time ta go home, yeah?”

“J-Jay, what-what are you...?”

“Sorry, Timmy. They already gotcha out by the time we got here, n’ by the time we got those fuckers back in their cells, we gotch word there was an accident and GCPD was on the scene! Dick lost his fucking mind when we heard it over the radio.”

“O-Oh. It’s...it’s okay. I’m okay. I-I’m okay.”

“Mmhm. We’ll be the judge a’ that, won’t we, Baby?”)

It’s so easy to slot himself against the front of Jay’s body, the leather against his cheek is cool and worn and the smell of brimstone, gives him a reason for another deep breath.

It’s so easy for Jay to slide the driver’s seat back to make room for longer legs, to maneuver Tim in the passenger seat and buckle him in without complaints, stupidly lifting him instead of helping him stand.

E - we’ll go with Edmund, he thinks lazily when exhaustion sets in and the movement of the car keeps him aware enough to know Edmund isn’t going to be the worst concussions he’s ever had, so the night ends on a high note after all.

It’s better because Jay drives with one hand while the other has a grip on his wrist that is just this side of a little too tight, just what he needs to be able to drift because that hold is safe. At some point he’s burrowed down in the Red Hood’s famous leather jacket with the belt over his chest, and it smells like Gotham and brimstone enough to keep him grounded, so all he has to do is stare at the comm in Jay’s ear and drift.

“I got ‘em, Dick. He’s movin’ but he needs one hell of an aftercare hour if ya know what I mean.” Pause.

“Get the fuck off this wave, Demon. Ain’t nobody asked yer ass nothing anyhow.”

Another pause and a side-eye.

“There’s blood on ‘im, Alf, don’t look life-threatening, bruises n’ scrapes more n’ likely. Prob’ly a concussion ‘cause he ain’t trackin’ well, are ya Baby?”

He’s down in a soft, sleepy place, doesn’t feel like he really has to answer if it brings him closer to the surface. He manages to wiggle his fingers up to rub at Jay’s wrist, checks in as well as can really be expected.

Seriously, it’s been a rough fucking night.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. S’okay, baby, ya done good t’night, yeah? Me n’ all the Bats are proud as fuck, you feel me? Some a’ the worst of the worst n’ ya kept the body count low. Whazat? Naw, Dickie, we’re almost there. Gonna be waitin’ on us? Not you, Rob, got school inna morning, ain’t cha? Time fer little birdies ta go back ta the nest.”

Tim cracks his eyes open when the soothing roll of movement finally stops, but Dick is already there opening his door, barefoot with sweats and a hastily thrown-on t-shirt, bodily lifting him even though he’s all kinds of awake now.

“Oh my God,” and those arms get so, so tight.

(It feels so nice.)

“C’mon, put me down,” is huffed more by habit than conviction because really, he’s good with the damsel in distress act this time.

“You’re taking years off my life, Tim, and I’m a seasoned vigilante,” is about as deadpan as mother-hen Dick Grayson can get.

“If I ain’t a’ died already, ya’d be getting me close t’ it,” a soft kiss to his forehead, “no more gettin’ caught up with murderin’ psychos.”

“I think we’ve already had this conversation.”

“Apparently, it ain’t been stickin’.”

He hums a little and lets his eyes flutter closed again, lets them talk over his head while they take the fire escape up just to slide in his window.

He rouses enough to get a shower, tries pushing them bodily out the door to stop hovering, but it’s not like that’s going to happen.

It’s still feels really nice when they’re absolutely gentle with him, sliding his clothes off, touching the bruises and road rash with soft, hurt noises. It gets worse because he takes the time to really wash in case there’s residual debris, finally gets pulled under the hot water with a wall of muscle and security bracketing him in.

Jay washes his hair while Dick holds him by the hips, the two of them talking gently about what happened after they left the Cave and headed to the Asylum for pound the baddies into pudding time.

They had just worked their way to the cafeteria when they get word some of the Rogues escaped in ambulances, alerting the GCPD while they wrangled inmates back to their cells and took care of the captive staff.

B himself took the Warden to Gotham General once they had things well in hand, and the bats monitored the police radio when mentions of the accident heading toward Dixon with Gordon on scene. Rob jumped outta the big car fast enough to intercept GCPD to see Tim moving. It’s more hilarious than it should have been when Jay clucks his tongue and tells him to stop making friends with bad guys.

“I ain’t saying Pam n’ Vic are bad ta have on yer side,” a wet kiss to the top of his head, “but why don’t cha stick wid’ Ives and leave ‘em ta us?”

Dick is kneeling down gently washing his battered knees, “not to mention the conversation we’ll be having tomorrow about why we didn’t know you were moonlighting at Arkham and working with Victor Fries.” The warning in his tone makes Tim just sighs and lean back against Jay’s chest to let the two of them hold him up.

“Demon brat’s got something ta say ‘bout it, too,” said in his ear, “little asshole was worried as fuck. Don’t let ‘im tell ya any different.”

“I’ll call him tomorrow, let him know I’m okay,” and he absolutely will, if anything, to avoid Robin showing up at Mercy with another sandwich and soup to shove at him.

“Good idea, Baby. He was fighting like hell until we found out you weren’t even there.”

He doesn’t laugh at the insinuation, but he might just snicker a little.

He manages to step out on him own, but Jay takes the towel from his hands to get his back and Dick lifts him by the hips to set him on the sink so they can put salve and gauze on his injuries themselves.

They keep him distracted through the process with easy kisses and updates on Jim Newman, Hatter’s face, and Fugate’s excuses of coercion because, “I’m clinically insane. Of course I went along for the ride.”

They tell him they’re sending Pam a nice fern and Victor some data sets from B’s own trials with McGregor’s since it’s just good manners to thank supervillains for saving innocent civilians. He mumbles back about pasta salad and guns in his face. How playing Uno with some of the inmates has somehow made him cool enough not to die during a breakout, which they should take as a win considering the circumstances.

He must look about as bad as he feels because they get more gentle when he finally gives them what they desperately want, details about what went down. It’s woozy ramblings more than his usual high-level short and sweet because Shauna Bellzer is probably still out there looking for Ferdie, because the Joker apparently remembers him and is actively checking out shit like YouTube, and because now Two-Face is probably going to want him dead since that whole bridge fiasco is a point of contention.

He might wobble enough or sound shitty enough for Jay to take it as a reason to steer him toward the couch and cuddle the hell out of him, do that thing where he kisses the back of Tim’s neck in the right spots to make him shiver.

Dick runs a hand through his hair while he answers B’s wave with the last tag-up of the night, listens to the Dark Knight ranting about the clean-up at Arkham and going over the damn place yet again to check how the crazies keep escaping. But whatever Dick says in reply is lost on him when the world around him gets fuzzy at the edges again. He doesn’t realize how tight his hands are fisted in Jay’s shirt until fingers are trying to massage them open.

He might mumble something payment in kind because really? He did the job for them this time. One less shit show for them to fight (you’re welcome), so he really does deserve cuddles and warm showers dammit.

He totally earned it this time.

Dick eventually hangs up and unapologetically smushes him further down against Jay and coos softly, so he might have said it out loud, but can’t be bothered to care when he finally sinks down, comfortable and safe with that he’s just suddenly–

–out.

When he blinks again, arms over his hip and warm bodies bracket him in. It’s still early enough for him to sigh and sink back down for a few more hours, the ache in his bruised muscles secondary when his bed is full. It’s enough for him to sleep without nightmares of guns in his face and echoing laughter.

And if they wake him up with kisses to his stomach and chest, with bare hands sliding under his pajamas, with oh so gentle lovemaking, with talking against his throat and hip about how relieved they are, how brave he is, how strong he is, how he really oughtta have a Kevlar suit all his own and a domino on his face just on principle.

If they coddle and cuddle him, demand he tell them everything again from the beginning, take him back to the bedroom when his chest stutters at the most frightening parts, if they make him stay close until nightfall when they have to move into the shadows and be the protectors Gotham City needed. If they argue with him about resting instead of leaving to run the Gauntlet at Mercy with Steph and his team. If they check in on him half-way through the night and maybe just kidnap him for an hour to check his knees and the road rash. If they make him take two aspirin and drink a bottle of water, claim mid-patrol sandwiches for the win.

If they tell him they love him before they go back to it and leave him on the roof of the hospital with a fully belly and stars in his eyes, mouth still swollen from their kisses–

–then he’s going to to back to work with a stupid smile on his face and fight harder to save lives, to beat back the darkness of Gotham in his own way. He’s going to run until his lungs are on fire and his legs are wobbly. He’s going to answer calls from fucking space, and race the clock when the heroes of their world are facing mortality and need a doctor with hobbies. He’s going to keep track of the ninjas spying on them and be a safe place when the night life is killing his most important people. He’s going to do everything he can to keep moving. He’s going to fucking fight the good fight and it’s going to be by his choice every time.

Because this?

This is his life.

#winter writes #900 Followers #dr!tim #tim drake #jason todd #dick grayson #Rogue Gallery #dc comics #dickjaytim #I'm so proud of this fic #I can't even tell you #bad ass civilian tim #my fic #my writing #long post

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gumnut-logic · 4 years

Text

The Dentist (pt13)

Arrgh, another 1500 words and still no answers. Slippery eels, I tell you. Next part, definitely the next part ::glares at the characters::

Well, we’ve just passed the 10,000 word mark. So much for the tiny fic ::headdesk:: I’m fighting to finish this, I promise! Thank you for all your wonderful support ::hugs you all madly::

From here.

-o-o-o-

Virgil was edgy for the rest of the day, watching his brothers at first wander to and fro from the infirmary, then, once he had escaped that horrible room, watch them moon about the house. They eyed him as if he was explosive or fragile or worse.

The tableau was broken midafternoon when Eos called Scott out to rescue a crane driver from a collapsing highrise. The annoying thing was that it was more a job for Virgil and Two than Scott and One, but his brother took it anyway, the blue glare pinning Virgil to the sofa cushions.

After that there was one less brother mooning about the house avoiding Virgil.

At one point he approached John who, oddly, had yet to announce his return to Five, and attempted to get some answers out of him.

A hand landed on his shoulder and Virgil’s eyes widened at the sad expression on his younger brother’s face. “You’ll need to wait for Scott on this one, Virgil.”

“What is going on? You all look as if someone has died.” His eyes widened at John’s subtle flinch. “What aren’t you telling me?!”

John’s other hand landed on Virgil’s other shoulder and his space brother looked down at him, his expression ever so honest and sincere. “No one has died, Virgil. We just found out that someone we know and love has been hurt.”

“Who?!” Faces raced through his mind.

“Virgil, please wait for Scott.”

“Why?”

“Just...trust us.”

Virgil bit back the expletive as John squeezed his shoulders. What the hell was going on?

“John...”

“Wait for Scott.”

Wait for Scott. He grit his teeth to hold back his response.

He hid in his room for an hour, then fell asleep.

He awoke to find Alan perched on the end of his bed playing a computer game. “Alan.”

“Hey, Virgil. Hold a sec, I just gotta...” The game console let off a series of squawks and Alan swore. “So close!”

Virgil stared at him a moment, but when Alan’s attention didn’t return to him, he pushed off the covers and climbed out of bed. A trip to the bathroom and he encountered himself in the mirror.

The swelling was finally going down. He could see straight. His right eye was still bloodshot and the skin around it a rainbow of colours, but he could see. His mouth still hurt like crazy, but there had been no brothers sporting medication to alleviate the irritation which was odd in itself.

What were they waiting for?

He frowned and regretted it as it set off a throb in his eye that threatened to progress into a headache.

“Virgil, you okay in there?”

So Alan was hovering. No doubt still feeling guilty and worried about him. “Alan, I’m fine.” And honestly he was. Achy, yes, but his head was finally clear from the medication fog, his balance was fine, he could even speak okay.

He washed his face gently and patted it dry before returning to his room.

Alan’s eyes were on him the moment he walked in.

“I’m fine, Alan, I promise.”

Alan guiltily returned to his console. “Sorry, just making sure.”

A sigh and Virgil sat down beside him. “What is it? Is it this thing you guys refuse to talk to me about?”

Alan dropped his arms into his lap, fingering his game console. “It sucks.”

Perhaps it did, if Virgil knew what they were talking about. “Wanna talk about it?”

“Can’t. Not until you’re better.”

“I am better.”

“I-“ Alan cut himself off and shook his head. “I’m sorry, Virgil, I...” Blue eyes caught his and widened, staring. Tears welled suddenly and anger flashed. Alan bit his lip hard and spat out a string of profanity of the likes he had never heard from his little brother.

“Alan!”

“He is so lucky he’s dead.” A blink and Alan appeared to realise what he had said. “I...I’m sorry, Virg, I’m...aw, hell.” And his little brother was up and out the door before Virgil could grab him.

What?!

Virgil pushed himself off the bed and out the door, but Alan was gone.

What the hell was going on?!

As if to answer his question, the distant roar of rocket engines became immediate and the building echoed through its soundproofing as Thunderbird One lowered herself into her bay below the pool. Virgil couldn’t see her, but he knew the process like his own breathing. He made his way through the house and down to the comms room, knowing that would be where his brother would gravitate.

He found Gordon sitting at their father’s desk in his hoverchair. His father’s chair had been spun off to one side. Whatever he was doing, he was very focussed. Virgil was able to make his way around the lounge and step up to the desk. Gordon was staring at a document floating above the desktop and poking it with a stylus.

“Hey, Gordon.”

His brother physically jumped and the stylus went flying. The document disappeared as Gordon hurriedly swiped it away. “Oh, hey, Virg. You’re awake.”

If that wasn’t a guilty look then Virgil knew nothing about his brother. “Yes, Gordon, I’m awake. And before you ask, yes, I’m feeling better, thank you.” He eyed the aquanaut as he struggled to compose himself. “A better question might be, are you okay?”

Gordon looked away and Virgil found himself reaching out, his hand landing on his brother’s shoulders. “What is it?”

Bloodshot russet-brown eyes looked up at him. “Have you ever questioned Dad’s belief that everyone is worth saving?”

Okay, random. “Uh, no, why?”

Gordon looked down at the desk again. “Because he is wrong. There are people on this planet who do things that cancel out that right.”

Virgil swallowed. “It is not our place to judge who is worth saving, Gordon.”

“I know. It’s just...” He looked up again. “Some people are just assholes who don’t deserve the privilege of life.”

Virgil grabbed their father’s chair and sat down beside his brother. There were many things he could say. He could argue, make a point, but the despair in Gordon’s eyes was just painful. “Will you tell me what is going on?”

Gordon’s eyes widened before looking down at his lap. “We need to wait for Scott.”

Wait for Scott. “Why?” It came out frustrated.

“Because you’ll need him.”

The words sucked all the heat out of the room and his bones chilled. “Why?”

“Gordon!” Scott entered the room, still dressed in his uniform, the sleeve torn and bloodied.

Virgil shot to his feet and hurried over. “Scott, what the hell. Why didn’t you report an injury?”

Scott rolled his eyes. “It’s nothing-“

“Gordon, grab a first aid kit, and then find John. Why didn’t John pick up on this?”

Scott slapped his fingers away. “Because it is nothing, that’s why. Uniform got caught on a piece of metal as I fell and it tore. Scratched me up a little. The better question would be how are you?”

“You fell?! How far? Do you have any other injuries?” He stepped back a little and tracked his eyes over his brother. Nothing appeared out of order bar a few scuffs on his scuff pads.

“Virgil, for crying out loud. I fell, yes, but I caught myself with my grapple gun, I am fine.”

“I’ll be the judge of that. Now sit down and let me have a look.”

“Virgil-“

“I said sit down.” Calm, direct and as commanding as any Tracy brother.

The first aid kit appeared at Virgil’s elbow. He dug out the laser scalpel and began removing Scott’s sleeve as Gordon called over comms to summon John.

His brother sighed and surrendered.

Once the sleeve had been removed, it appeared that yes, he was overreacting just a little, but he didn’t care. Virgil preferred it that way. With a glare at his brother who by this time was smirking at him, he swabbed the wound clean and tapped it up with a couple of butterfly bandages. A protective dressing and he was satisfied that Scott wasn’t about to bleed to death on him.

“Happy now?” The pilot actually had the nerve to smirk at him.

“As happy as I can be when a brother has a hole in him, I guess.” He squeezed a uniform clad forearm absently as he began to tidy up the mess he had made.

“Virg, do you forgive me?” It was whispered, barely breath, but Virgil heard it. He looked up into pleading blue eyes.

A swallow. “Of course.” But he looked away, still processing the implications.

“Can you at least understand why I did it?”

A slow nod as he closed the lid of the first aid kit.

Scott grabbed his upper arm and squeezed. “Virgil-“

“I trust you, Scott.” But he wasn’t willing to talk about it just yet. “Get yourself cleaned up and meet me back here.” He caught those blue eyes again. “We have to talk.”

-o-o-o-

TBC

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #virgil tracy #thunderbirds fanfiction #scott tracy #gordon tracy #john tracy #alan tracy

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gingerpeachtae · 5 years

Text

Concentric [1]

masterlist

Words: 5.2k

Genres: fantasy!AU, angst, fluff, enemies to lovers, eventual smut (?)

Warnings: strangulation

Summary: You had been ready for the end of the semester. You had been ready to spend time away from your best friend, Jimin, and finally move on from the feelings you harbored. Yet, after your friend was forced to reveal a secret, you found yourself in a new world that was chock full of magic, war, and wonder. So, here you were, basically thrown into your own fantasy novel, with your best friend on one side, and six male warriors on the other.

A/N: OOF. I told ya’ll it would be up ASAP! Again, pls leave any love, advice, suggestions, etc! I hope you engoy :)

“Look, I’m just saying that there’s no way Frodo would have ever reached Mordor without Sam.” You waved your arms in frustration. “Hell, Shrek wouldn’t have gotten Fiona, both away from the castle and as a wife, if it weren’t for Donkey.”

You kicked at a stray pebble on the edge of the path. “Sidekicks are just so underappreciated.”

You were currently in a passionate rant, which often tended to be about some pretty random things Today’s lucky subject was the mistreatment of sidekicks, but it could have easily been the folklore of the Chupacabra or deciding which movie adaption was more cringeworthy: Percy Jackson or Twilight. Your best friend sighed as you both made your way through the campus arboretum.

“Only you would be so wound up about something like this Y/N.” He grinned.

It was a cool, crisp April morning. The sun was just beginning to emerge, creating an ethereal light across the horizon. Droplets of dew clung to the grass next to the worn-in sidewalk, and the trees were plump with their newly grown leaves that painted pockets of shade against the ground. You smiled to yourself as you admired the beauty. You hated waking up early but watching the world slowly come to life as you walked to class almost made it worth it. Key word: almost.

“Oh, but my dear Jimin.” You moved the smile to his direction, nudging his shoulder playfully. “Just wait until you’re the sidekick. Then you won’t be as eager to mock them.”

Your friend just shook his head at you and chuckled, the action rumbling throughout his compact, bulky frame. He grabbed your arm and tugged you onward toward the business building.

“Come on. We’re going to be late if you keep yapping about random shit all morning.”

Your heart began going crazy, beating at a rapid pace like it was a goddamn EDM song. You mentally scolded yourself and told it to sit down and shut up. Fuck. You hated yourself for it. Jimin’s been your best friend since you were 10 years old. Ever since punching his sweet face after he tried to scare you with a spider he found lurking around during recess. You knocked him on his ass, and when he didn’t run to the teacher to tattle, you helped him fabricate the poorly detailed story of how he slipped on the wet metal of the playground and banged his face. You and Jimin have been inseparable from that day forward. And you’ve been in love with him since you were 17. Unfortunately, you know the feeling isn’t mutual. This wasn’t some friends to lovers fanfic misunderstanding either. This was reality and sometimes reality just sucks like that. You’ve watched him flirt, kiss, and date his fair share of girls throughout your time together, and not one has he ever looked at you with any romantic inkling. Why would he? There he goes with his muscular and flexible as hell body. Seriously, the only thing this boy does more than eat and nap is put in time at the studio. Paired with dark hair that prefers to be dyed a vibrant orange, plump limps that beg to be kissed, a strong nose, a cutting jaw line, and oh my god his eyes. Dark brown with flecks of amber light. Like an animated tiger’s eye gemstone. Don’t even get yourself started on the way they squish close when he smiles or laughs hard. God, you swear nobody else has eyes even clo-

SMACK.

You ran straight into the glass door.

“Shit!” You rubbed your forehead painfully. “What the hell Jimin!? Why didn’t you hold the damn door open?”

All you got in response was a choking sound as the boy tried to reply but couldn’t because of the laughter shaking his body. It caused his eyes to do the damn squishy thing. You quickly looked away so that you wouldn’t stare in blatant awe.

“Damn and you call me clumsy. It’s not my fault you weren’t paying attention,” he finally wheezed out as he doubled over from the laughter.

Asshole.

Geez that hurt. You thought while massaging your poor head.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. I’m fine thanks for asking.” You rolled your eyes and started walking once more after safely passing through the doorway.

Four flights of stairs later and the two of you arrived outside of your 8 AM lecture. Ah yes, nothing quite like accounting at 8 in the freaking morning.

“Seriously, who invented 8 AM classes? Because I would really like to have a word with him for this terrible contribution to society,” you huff, “and I say him because there’s no way a woman would do this to society. Actually, I want to have a word with whoever talked me into taking a goddamn 8 AM!”

“Y/N…” Jimin hesitated. “That would be me.”

Of course.

“Also, why the actual fuck are we taking an accounting course?” you continued to whine. “We’re dance majors!”

After completing the awkward, squeezing, tip-toed walk through the classroom aisles to two seats next to each other, you collapsed into your respective chair.

“Because you and I are both minoring in entrepreneurship and it’s a required course.”

Raising an eyebrow at his smartass response you proceeded to poke his bicep.

“Well you and I are going to have a little chat later about your negative influences.”

“Oh, please Might Y/N, spare me from your wrath!”

You snorted in response, earning a stare from the chap sitting to your left. You retaliated with a glare, warning the bugger not to fuck with you this early.

“Whatever. But you definitely owe me some ice cream Slim Jim.”

Jimin winked before turning his attention back to the front of the class. Feeling your cheeks grow warm, you placed your face in your hands to hide the betraying blush. You inwardly groaned, reminding yourself that the semester was almost done. Just four more weeks and you can spend some time away from Jimin. Just four more weeks until he went on his annual trip to stay with some distant relative in the middle of nowhere with no reception. Maybe this year you could finally let go of your hopeless, unrequited love while he was gone.

Ugh. Ew. The thought made you roll your eyes at yourself. You were such a fucking sap.

“Ohhhhhhh my gosh.” You moaned as you licked the creamy deliciousness that trailed down the square indentations of the waffle cone.

After enduring the early class from hell, you and Jimin had separated ways for the rest of your classes for the day. Luckily, you didn’t have to withstand mindless lectures about debits and credits after 9:15.

“You are officially forgiven for making me take an 8 AM,” you informed Jimin. Although forgiven, you still side-eyed the cup which held his strawberry ice cream before continuing. “Except not getting a cone is a violation of ice cream law so…”

“Oh, come on! There is no such thing as ice cream law!” He threw his non-cup arm wide in defiance.

“There sure as fucking hell is! Thou shall never turn down ice cream and thou shall always choose a waffle cone. It’s first grade Slim Jim.”

“First I am disgusted you managed to throw in a SpongeBob reference. How do you always do that!? Second, I must simply agree to disagree. The cones get stale and leaky at the bottom. Plus, you get y/f/f ice cream, which is yucky, so I refuse to acknowledge your law.”

“Take that back! That’s like saying brownie edge pieces are better than the center pieces!”

“…But they are.”

All you could do was slowly turn and gape at your best friend in horror. It was quickly replaced with a scowl when he flicked your forehead.

Grumbling through your scowl, “Hey, so I need to hit the studio for a bit after this, but we’re still on for family dinner tonight right? I’m thinking of making that pulled pork mac and cheese you love.”

Jimin stiffened beside you and slowly let out a sigh, running a hand through his orange hair.

“Y/N, please don’t be mad, but I completely forgot about dinner and something else came up…” He awkwardly toyed with his ice cream.

“Seriously?” You weren’t mad. Just… disappointed. It was one of the last free nights you each had before finals and showcases started up. “You better not be cancelling on me for some girl you found at the bars last night.”

You murmured the last part in a low voice. Not like it wouldn’t have been the first time, though. He was constantly going out with girls he met, even if it sometimes meant leaving you behind. Not that you were salty about it. Or jealous. Nope. Not at all. But, you were his best friend, so it’s not like you could complain about it to him.

“No! No, it’s not a girl. I promise,” Jimin quickly retorted. “I just completely spaced on this project I have for K201. I have to meet up with my group to finish it, and tonight was the only night that worked with everyone.”

Well, at least it was a school excuse and not some bimbo. You thought as you popped the last bite of cone into your mouth.

Sweat dripped down your forehead and into your eyes. It left a pleasant satisfactory sting as your equally sweaty forearm rose to wipe it away. Dancing was hard, it was strenuous, but you relished in it. You loved feeling the music gliding across your body, inviting and encouraging your movement. The burn of your muscles. The stretch of your limbs. The bass in your chest. It was utterly euphoric. You had been in the studio for two hours already, but being the perfectionist you were, you kept telling yourself “one more time.” The first had been six times ago. After wiping away more sweat that fell down your face, you reached over to restart the song just. One. More. Time. Taking a deep breath, you walked back to your starting place as the ticks counted down to the start of the track.

Inhale. Exhale. Go.

After running through the routine three more times, you felt satisfied enough with the day’s progress. Breathing heavily and dripping sweat, you could not wait to take an unnecessarily long and hot shower. Yes, you were aware that cold water was much better for your body, especially after exercise, but cold water was evil. Even during the summer months, you couldn’t resist standing under scalding water for a good 30 minutes. At least you would rinse off with cold water for like 20 seconds at the end. That had to count for something, right?

But you didn’t feel like going home just yet. You didn’t want to open the fridge and see the ingredients you were originally going to cook up before Jimin threw a curve ball into the evening’s plans. As you thought of the places you could go instead of your single bedroom apartment, you realized that you hadn’t been to the state park just outside of the town in a few weeks. With Spring in full swing, it had to be breathtaking at the moment. Since you were already sweaty and gross, you figured being so for a little longer wouldn’t kill you as you grabbed your keys and turned off the studio light before walking out the door.

Twenty-seven minutes and a flash of your annual park pass later, you pulled into the first open spot you saw, which happened to be next to an ugly matte black Jeep Wrangler.

Geez, who paints their car matte and thinks it looks good? You ponder before whipping your eyes back to the vehicle.

Wait. Ugly matte black Jeep Wrangler?

You hope out of your car and slowly walk around to the Jeep. Positioning yourself beside the driver’s window, you peered through the tinted windows. There better not be a damn dreamcatcher…

...

“Slim Jim! I got you a present!” You excitedly hand over a small bag with unicorns adorning the side.

Jimin eagerly grabbed the gift, delighted with your choice of bag décor.

“I hope it’s a-”

“Dreamcatcher!” You interrupt singing as he removed the item from its magical paper prison.

“Um. Thanks Y/N, but you know I don’t really need this. I don’t get nightmares anymore,” he says as he lifts the delicate object higher to take a better look.

You punched him in the shoulder as he frowned at the white dreamcatcher in his hand.

“I wanted to get you something to hang from your rearview mirror that wasn’t so damn doom and gloom,” you explained as you gestured to his all black interior, “and it matches the one in my car! So, think of it as sort of a best friend necklace type thing.”

...

You hadn’t been sure if he would hang it up, but the next time you hoisted your y/h self into that black Jeep, it was proudly strung up above the dashboard. Where it still was as you currently looked through the window.

“Why the hell is Jimin here?”

You didn’t think he ever came here without you, because you basically had to drag him when you did. The guy loved the outdoors and every other park, but he had some weird aversion to this park in particular. Wouldn’t say why, though. You eventually just stopped asking when you were never given a straight answer. But, oh boy, were you going to be asking again today. With a groan of frustration and annoyance, you entered the hiking trail. Just wait until you find that boy, you were going to strangle him with your sweaty little hands.

You’d been walking for about thirty-five minutes before you found him. He wasn’t on the main trail, but on a side path that led to a small clearing. Not many people knew about it, but after you had stumbled upon it, you made sure to show it to Jimin the next you had dragged his ass out here.

“Oh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

“-Shit.” The man of the hour cut off in the middle of whatever he had been saying to himself when he heard you.

“What the hell Jimin!? You cancel on me, have the audacity to lie about why, and then I find you out here doing… doing what exactly?”

Marching across the clearing, you stopped a few yards away from him. You crossed your arms and cocked an eyebrow, just daring him to try and make up a crappy excuse. At least he had the decency to look scared shitless at your approach.

His eyes began darting all over the clearing. His hand nervously raked through his hair, but he stayed silent.

You’d had enough. “Are you really just going to stand there and not say anything?”

“Y/N. Please. Please just go home,” he begged, his eyes still darting. “It’s not safe.”

“It’s not safe? I’m pretty sure tick season is over Jimin,” you scoffed. “Are you buying drugs or something? What’s going on with you?”

“I can’t explain. Just please go home,” Jimin continued to plead, “I don’t want you-”

His sentence was interrupted when a force suddenly seized your neck and thrust your body backwards, pinning it against a tree. The odd thing was that nothing had touched you.

“What the hell is this?” You managed to spit out to your friend, who was looking at you with wide, panicked eyes. Then the force around your neck

Began.

To.

Squeeze.

Out of the corner of your vision, you could see that Jimin was trying to reach you, but it seemed an unseen force held him at bay too. He kept shouting some gibberish that you couldn’t understand. Probably because you were currently getting, you know, choked to death.

Shit. Shit. Shit. It hit you that you were actually getting bloody choked, and not in the good way.

You tried gasping for breath, but the air was not reaching your lungs. Your head started spinning and darkness began to rim your vision, slowly invading more and more of your eyesight. Desperately, you attempted to rip away the force blocking your air. But when you brought your hands up to your throat, you registered a warm, solid substance. It felt like skin. Thoroughly freaked and near passing out, you continued trying to claw the force away, but it completely encompassed your throat and wasn’t budging. Oh my god. You were going to die because of a ghost. Hello? Welcome to death registration, what’s your cause of perishing? Casper the fucking Ghost.

Wait. Were those fingers? Your vision was almost entirely black by now. You could still faintly hear Jimin shouting over the thumping of your heart. If those were fingers, then there must be a hand, arm, and body, right? You released your grip on the supposed hand around your throat and instead reached out to find what it was attached to.

Fabric. More skin. Muscles. A man? You hope. Either way this should hurt like a bitch.

You were losing control over your body, but you weren’t done for yet. You were too much of a stubborn bitch for that. Kicking out with your leg, you located one of Casper’s appendages and sloppily found the other with another kick. Then, with what little energy you had left, you forced your right leg up as hard and high as you could manage. The sudden rush of air back into your lungs made you even more dizzy as whatever held you vanished. Collapsing to your knees, you coughed while trying to support yourself by gripping the tree trunk behind you. Suddenly, Jimin was kneeling beside you, repeatedly saying your name. You don’t know how he escaped his ghost, maybe a spiritual kick to the tender region too.

Caressing your hair, he murmured, “Hey, hey, it’s going to be okay.”

“I don’t feel okay,” was all you could mutter before your arms gave out and the world fell to black nothingness.

Slowly, ever so slowly, you cracked open your eyes and saw Jimin’s worried face looking down at you. Your body felt like it was lagging behind your head, like when you kept moving the joystick forward during a video game, but the character decided to go sideways instead.

“You’re okay Y/N,” he reassured you, “you just passed out briefly.

Oh.

You pushed yourself up onto your elbows, grunting as dirt and twigs scraped against them as you did so. It still seemed to be only the two of you within the clearing, but you knew something, someone was there. You could feel it. You know, beyond the whole thrown against a tree and strangled thing.

Gripping his arm, you looked your best friend dead in the eye. “Okay, you’re going to help me up, and then you’re going to explain to me what the hell just happened.”

After doing so, and hesitantly stepping away from you, he attempted to act nonchalant.

“You tripped on a tree root and hit your head.” He shrugged.

You stared at him because there was no way. That had to be bullshit. You decided to straight up say as much. A few seconds went by and neither of you said anything. Jimin suddenly cocked his head to the left and nodded. His hand reached out in the direction his apricot-colored head had tilted toward, and then something peculiar happened. A tiny, delicate flower petal appeared in his hand. It hadn’t floated in on the breeze or fallen from the trees above. The pink petal had just… appeared. Cupping the object in his hand, he walked directly in front of you and extended the hand that held the petal. Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion, not understanding what revelation that petal was supposed to bring.

“Uhhh?”

Understanding your puzzlement, he explained that you apparently needed to place the petal on your tongue. You still had no reason as to why you needed to do that, but you still took the object gently out of his hand. Giving him a quizzical and skeptical glance, you proceeded to place the delicate pink petal inside your mouth. Expecting to have to gag on it as you swallowed, you were shocked when it simply dissolved on your tongue like powdered sugar. As soon as the last remnant disappeared you gasped as your vision went black. Stars erupted behind your eyes and the sounds of every living thing amplified to clarity. For a split-second, all you could see was that blinding galaxy. All you could hear was the stars twinkling and the rumbling of an endless, black expanse. You were fully alive, and you felt the world drifting by your fingertips. But the stars began to dim and dim and dim until your vision cleared. You blinked to regain yourself and stilled when you finally registered the clearing again. When you registered what was in the clearing.

You and Jimin were no longer alone.

Six strangers stood within the clearing.

Six of the most gorgeous men you had ever seen. Beautiful, regal, and intimidating as hell. They each wore a variation of what seemed to be a mix of armor and camouflage as they easily blended in with the spring colors. You sharply inhaled as you noticed that their ears extended into long, delicate points. They looked like some kind of modern Legolas. If Legolas decided to cut his hair, dye it random colors, and give you an immediate lady boner.

Damn. You seriously needed to get laid.

You stared at them before tightly closing your bugging eyes, counting to ten, and re-opening them. Nope, still there. They gazed back, waiting to see what you would do.

“You-I-I’m tripping. I’m high and I’m tripping. Whatever you gave me is some new drug, right? Which first off, screw you because that’s pretty fucked up,” you stammered out to Jimin, “Or you hired these cosplayers to appear right after I ate that thing. Mhmm. Yup. That’s it. Good prank.”

You looked at your friend, desperate for reassurance that this was just a hallucination, or some weird joke. He only shot you a sad expression before shaking his head. In a stressed gesture, he drew a hand down his face then through his orange locks.

Eyes bugging out yet again, you returned your gaze to the strangers. You noticed that one of them had moved to go lay down against the base of a tree, his arm tucked underneath his mint-colored hair. Was the situation too boring for the lad? You couldn’t exactly agree with him. About half of the others had small smiles tugging at the corner of their mouths, yet they were not all relaxed. Some were too still, too stiff to possibly be relaxed. A couple took a more forward approach and had their hands resting upon their weapons, ready to draw.

Hold the door. Weapons!?

Double taking, you saw that, yes, your eyes were correct. They were all armed. Swords, daggers, bows, one of them even had a mace. But no guns. At least that you could see. One of them had his hand tapping the ruby hilt of the dagger strapped against his side. You could see two more blades crossed behind his back. His face was more steeled than the others. He did not look in the least bit pleased.

Another with striking pale-yellow eyes said something to Jimin, in a language you couldn’t understand, gesturing to you as he spoke. Even though you had no idea what language it was, you put two and two together and realized it was the “gibberish” Jimin had been speaking earlier. The yellow-eyed man seemed to be the tallest out of the group, and although he did not appear to be pissed at the current situation, it was clear that he did not find it ideal. Whatever your friend replied with had the ruby-hilt man glaring even harder. Much to your surprise, however, was that a man to his left broke out into a huge, boxy grin.

Talk about having absolutely no clue on what was going on.

Finally getting over your initial, paralyzing shock, you found your attitude starting to make an appearance. Done with being out of the loop, you glared back at the one who seemed to have an issue with you. His hand stopped tapping the ruby gemstone and instead gripped the handle hard, his entire body locking up from the pressure. You swore he glared even heavier too, if it were possible. You internally rolled your eyes. What a chump.

Jimin took a deep breath and gently released it before turning to face you.

“Y/N/, I know how this is going to sound, but please just- Just listen.”

You looked your best friend in the eye and nodded.

“I’m not human, not entirely,” he explained, running a hand through his hair again. A habit he did constantly, but this time your eyes locked on his ears.

Jimin had never had what a person would consider a normal, rounded ear. His were slightly pointed. Not to the extent of the six strangers surrounding you, but a gentle tip that went beyond that of a typical ear. You’d never given it much thought but would occasionally tease that he was a magical creature. As you looked at them now, you could see that even though they were not as extreme, they carried the same shape and elegance as the ears of the others in the clearing.

Seeing the wheels turning behind your eyes, he motioned to the others. “I’m half Saeni. I spend my summers in their realm.”

“Uhhh-”

You were cut off by the man, no male you rethink since you were just told that they were not humans, that had spoken with Jimin earlier. He seemed to be getting impatient, his yellow eyes narrowing at you. Jimin rapidly fired back, gesturing to you over and over. God, you were getting tired of them talking about you like you weren’t there.

“Hey! Stop talking about me and not telling me what you’re saying. It’s super freaking annoying. And rude,” you declared as you crossed your arms with a huff.

Jimin whipped his head back to you in disbelief before he began chuckling. It was just such a you thing to do to already be over his big reveal and be demanding to be included in the conversation.

“Okay, okay.” He put his hands out in front of him as a peace offering. “So, they need my help, and um, need me to leave with them tomorrow.”

Um, excuse me. What?

He couldn’t just leave tomorrow. Damn looking forward to him going to his Aunt’s for the summer. He couldn’t just leave to go to this realm place out of nowhere.

“What about school? What about your Aunt’s for the summer… oh. Shit. There is no Aunt is there?”

Jimin only gave you a small, tight smile, his eyes filled with regret. Well, alrighty that answers that then. You took one deep breath, quickly deciding in your head before continuing. You still did not fully understand what was going on or what a Sinai? Saeni? Or whatever Jimin had said was, but you did know one thing for sure.

“I’m going with you,” you announced defiantly.

His eyes widened. “What!? No. No, you’re not. It’s not safe.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“You could get killed,” he strained.

You simply shrugged. “To die will be an awfully great adventure. Plus, finals are going to kill me anyway so…” You mumbled the second sentence under your breath.

“Y/N/, this is serious. I mean it. You could really get hurt.”

A male appeared behind Jimin, the one with the boxy smile, and clapped him on the shoulder. You had been so caught up in the argument that you hadn’t even noticed him, and the others, moving. With him being up close, you could finally get a better look at his appearance. And damn, were you quite happy at that. He had grey, almost silver, hair that flopped against his forehead regardless of the thick headband that attempted to push it back. The band did lift the steel-colored locks enough to fully see his dark, prominent eyebrows and clear, sharp blue eyes. Hot damn. He was fucking beautiful. You also noted that he had a small mole on the tip of his nose, numerous silver hoop earrings, and a single, dangling feather earring that matched the arrows holstered on his back. While you were preoccupied admiring the specimen before you, the attractive male looked you up and down before smiling again and squeezing Jimin’s shoulder.

“For Exia’s sake, Chim. Just let her come. It’s not like you’re going to win an argument with a female like her.”

That snapped you out of your daze. A female like you? Slowly, you moved your gaze to Jimin then back to the male, ready to oh-so-kindly inquire as to what type of female you were. Just as you went to start yet another argument, you finally registered what he said. Or rather, you registered the fact that you had been able to understand him.

Your mouth dropped. “You know English?” You stupidly asked as if it hadn’t just been established that yes, he did know English.

“I do, but only sometimes.” He winked.

Ooo-kay. Like that answer made any sense.

He paused, tilting his head to the side before adding in a genuinely concerned tone, “Hey, you might want to close your mouth before you inhale bugs.”

You blinked your eyes twice in astonishment.

What the-,” you sputtered, “this is between Jimin and me, and…” you trailed off, again putting a hold on your outburst to look at your best friend.

“He called you Chim.”

He gave you another sad smile. “Park Jimin is my real name, don’t worry, but I had to go by another name over there for… reasons.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw the glaring male turn his head to the side while snorting sarcastically. As you turned your head to him out of confusion for his reaction, you also saw Jimin give him a warning look before adding to his statement.

“Let’s just say that Chim is easier to go by.”

“Mmmm seems fake but okay,” you retorted, returning your attention back to your friend with a sigh.

With each minute that passed, it seemed like you knew your best friend less and less. How many secrets did he have? How could you even call yourselves “best friends” when he had seemingly lied to you since day one? You sighed once more, trying to wrap your head around it all. Although the entire situation was straight out of a goddamn fantasy book, you still trusted the person in front of you. Because this was Jimin. Your Jimin. Your Slim Jim. Even if he had avoided some things, he was still the boy that tried to scare you with a spider, he was still the person who has seen you at your worst, the person that was always there for you through breakups, injuries, and weak moments. He was still your best friend. And you wouldn’t abandon him.

You looked at him with determination. “I am going with you. Just tell me when you need me back here and what you need me to bring.”

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skz-yandere-blog · 5 years

Text

yandere stray kids being jealous

requested?: yes

if requested, put request here: heyy cutie, could you do a stray kids reaction of them being jealous?

author note?: i have no idea how this turned into most of them punishing reader, but it happened and i hope you enjoy it! thanks for the request!! sorry it took so long btw, i wanted to make it good and original for each one!!!

tw?: cursing, physical abuse, abusive relationship, mention of self harm/suicide, mention of animal abuse, mention of beating, mention of killing/murder

NOTE: I DO NOT CONDONE THESE TYPES OF RELATIONSHIPS. IF YOUR RELATIONSHIP SOUNDS ANYTHING LIKE ANY OF THESE, PLEASE CONTACT A DOMESTIC ABUSE HOTLINE FOR YOUR COUNTRY AND SEEK HELP.

Bang Chan;;

Let's get something straight here, you are his property. You're his to own and control as he pleases and sees fit. You have no rights when he's involved. He can make every single decision for you if he damn well pleases, because he owns you. The minute you started talking to him, you pretty much signed your life away.

So imagine his surprise when he sees his little trophy talking to some other guy. Immediately, he's angry. Angry that you're going against his rules he'd put in place. You had no rights in his eyes, so why were you acting like you did? He'd left for three minutes and twenty seven seconds and you were already breaking his rules, after you've been behaving so well and being such a good little trophy too.

Scratch being angry. He was furious. He didn't waste any time, going immediately over to you and wrapping and arm around your waist, a move that didn't look suspicious on its own, but the strength in which he was holding you made the gesture feel sinister. He leaned how head on your shoulder and closed his eyes, moaning some fake plight about not feeling well and wanting to go home. The guy that had been talking to you bought it, insisting that the two of you go home and help Chan feel better.

You knew what was coming, however you didn't say a word until you got in the car with him. That's when the apologizes started spilling from you, begging and pleading to not make your punishment so bad tonight. Chan simply laughed.

"Listen here, you're mine and only mine. You don't do anything unless I fucking say you can, you understand? Don't fucking beg, you'll get what you deserve for breaking the rules, trophy."

Woojin;;

It had been nothing more than a polite nod to the waiter that had set him off this time. You hadn't even looked at him, all you did was nod yes when he asked if you wanted lemon with the water that Woojin had said you wanted. I guess that was more than enough to warrant a punishment for you, though. He immediately cancelled The bill, paying for the drinks in to-go cups before leaving you off to the car to drive you home. You knew what he had planned for you tonight.

As soon as you entered the apartment, Woojin shoved you to the ground, watching you scramble to get on your knees to beg for forgiveness. You cried and plead with him, doing everything you knew possible to pull on his heartstrings and make him let you off the hook for the night. Instead, he spit in your face, calling you every single disgusting name under the sun. He was physical too, grabbing your hair, slamming you into pieces of furniture in your shared apartment, slapping and hitting you. He was really angry, this is what happens when he doesn't punish you for a while.

You tried to scoot away from his hand, which was now tightly wound around your throat, but he followed you backwards until you were pressed against the wall. He wasn't screaming, no, that would alert the neighbors that something was wrong. He spoke to you in his regular speaking voice, if not quieter, while making sure you couldn't make a sound. Finally, he let your throat go and stood at his full height, hand going for his belt buckle.

"I guess my little girl doesn't know how to properly act in public, does she? Guess that means she has to be taught a lesson. Get up. If I hear a single sound that isn't the sound of my belt, you're going to be in big fucking trouble."

Lee Know;;

Minho got jealous very often, it wasn’t much of a surprise to anyone when he accused someone he was dating of cheating, however it got especially bad with you. You always seemed to attract attention from other people and just had to be a social butterfly. You loved being around people and just being a chatter box. It’s who you were as a person. Minho hated it. Seeing all these people talking to you all the time made him feel angry. He didn’t like it at all.

He was quick to jump to conclusions as well, so when he saw you talking to another guy, he automatically assumed the worst. You were going to fall in love with someone else and leave him. That couldn’t happen. He couldn’t dare allow that to happen. Minho immediately stormed over and insisted that you two had to go home. When you protested, and the guy joined in on your side, he nearly slapped you. In fact, he raised his hand to, and instead grabbed you and pulled you towards his car.

Minho shoved you into the car, quickly buckling you up and forcing you to sit down without a fight. You simply slumped over and allowed him to drive you two to the house you stayed at. He dragged you inside and shoved you into the bedroom, slamming to door behind you before he got up into your face. Not saying a word. Just staring at you angrily. Finally he stepped over to the bed, sitting down and fisting his hands in his hair.

“Why do you have to make everything so fucking difficult? Why can’t you just listen to me for once? I only ask you to not talk to anyone else, this is why I never let you outside. Just. Fucking. Listen to me! That’s all I ask!”

Changbin;;

Changbin wasn’t a usually jealous person. This was good. However, when he did get jealous, he got very jealous. This was not good. He got violently angry, so upset that he would break items around the house or hurt you or other people in the vicinity. It was awful. You knew it was a terrible thing that could never be excused, however you were scared. You were petrified of him. He was usually so calm and loving, but he’d get so.. so... scary for seemingly no reason.

Today was one of those days. You two had been on a trip to the park, just walking around and talking when someone lost control of their dog. It immediately ran to you and started jumping on you and barking, causing you to laugh and bend down to pet the dog. The owner had bolted after their dog, having caught up to them as soon as they jumped on you. They were apologizing profusely, trying to pull their dog off of you, however you were fine and dandy. They allowed you to continue to play with the dog, laughing and talking about them with you.

You didn’t notice Changbin the entire time. He felt like his entire body was on fire. What was this fucking mutt doing taking away the time you two were supposed to spend together? His entire body screamed at him to do something, not a good idea for someone who wasn’t quite in the right mind to make any rash decisions. That’s why when Changbin started kicking the poor dog, you freaked out. You pulled him away, calling out apologizes to the owner while dragging Changbin back to the car and scolding him. He didn’t care.

“That mutt had no fucking right to waste our time, it’s supposed to be you and me right now. Not you and a stupid dog. Besides, I don’t like dogs anyways. It doesn’t matter to me if he gets a couple of kicks, teaches him a lesson he damn well deserves.”

Hyunjin;;

Hyunjin hated hurting you, he truly did. You just didn’t understand that he knew what was best for you. He knew how you should live your life because no one knew you better than him, not even yourself. You were too fragile, too weak. Anyone could take advantage of you at any point in time, they could manipulate you, make you hate him. He really didn’t want to have to retrain you.

When he took you out, he always wanted you to stay by his side, which you were usually good about. You didn’t want to make him upset, he was brutal when he was upset. The one time he’d left you by yourself in public, someone had already started talking to you. Flirting with you. Hyunjin knew that you were too stupid to be left on your own, yet he waned to test you. He watched what you did, watched you tell them that you had a boy friend and ask to be left alone.

What a good girl, doing exactly what he’d asked of her. Hyunjin came back up to you, holding your drinks and glaring down at the person who’d dared talk to his baby. He was snarky with them, telling them to go find a different bench in the zoo to sit on with a fire in his eyes. When they started protesting, Hyunjin started getting physical, handing your drinks to you and forcing the person to stand up from the bench and shoving them away from you.

“See, baby, you’re such a good girl for me. You knew exactly what to say to keep that man away from you. I hope you know why I make you stay next to me at all times now, baby? Do you understand? Good, good. I think you deserve a treat now!”

Han;;

You loved Jisung, you did! You really loved him! You wanted to give him the world, but anytime you tried to express that to someone, they would say that he’s finally brainwashed you, but you simply brushed all that aside. He loved you and you loved him. Was it too much to ask for your friends to be supportive? You and Jisung decided it would be best if you distanced yourself from those friends. They only wanted to tear the two of you apart, Jisung would tell you, they’ll only put a strain on our relationship. Sure, some things they said did make a bit of sense, but most of it was crazy! Jisung wasn’t evil like they said, he was just a bit depressed and self conscious, which they were making worse because of their mean words.

You were watching t.v late at night one day, just waiting for Jisung to get home so the two of you could fall asleep together, but he was taking a long time and you were so so tired. You accidentally fell asleep, only until Jisung got home, when you heard him close the front door, you had jolted awake and gotten up to go greet him. You were still sleepy, showing on your face and in your words. He cooed over your precious state, squishing your cheeks. However it turned into a different story when you two walked into the living room and he saw you were watching a t.v show with a popular male actor.

Jisung was suddenly so upset, asking if you’d fallen asleep watching the t.v. You told him you did and he seemed to explode. He started crying, asking if you preferred his voice to Jisung’s and if you loved him more. Then he started apologizing, saying he was going to kill himself since he clearly wasn’t good enough for you. He rushed into the kitchen and picked up the biggest knife he could find, placing it on his wrist and pressing it down to break his skin. You were begging him to stop, saying that you only loved him and no one else.

“I’m never good enough for you! You’re going to leave me, you hate me more than I hate myself. I should just fucking kill myself! You wouldn’t care anyways, would you? No one would care! Don’t fucking lie to me!”

Felix;;

You hated Felix with a burning fucking passion. That’s what you told yourself all the time. You hate him, you hate him, you hate him! He’s a fucking psycho, he’s a murderer. He deserves to rot in hell, suffer for the rest of eternity. You wanted him to just die already. You wanted to be free, not locked up in his basement as punishment for reading a fucking book. You weren’t supposed to be trapped like this, it didn’t work for your human nature, nor would it work for anyone’s nature. You simply wanted to read and write, it was the only thing that made you feel sane while being locked up in Felix’s house.

He’d caught you reading, it wasn’t even anything fiction, it was a cookbook for God’s sake! Were you not allowed to try and read about how to cook something? In Felix’s head, you weren’t, because you only needed him. You didn’t need anything besides him. You didn’t need books, you didn’t need an education, you didn’t need friends. So long as you had him, you should be fine. He gave you a chance to apologize to him for reading, instead you spit in his face, yelling something about how you were going crazy being anywhere near him, and now you were locked up in the basement, tied up to a chair as he burned every book he could find in the house.

After he burned all the books, he turned to look at you, anger flowing freely through his veins. Now it was time for him to punish you. You thought that you needed more than him to be happy? Oh boy, he was going to show you what you really needed. He started towards the stairs, turning to glare at you as he stepped up the first step. His voice was venomous and practically dripping with his fury.

“You think you don’t need me? Let’s see how you like being locked up in a basement for a week without any light, food, water, or talking. In fact, I should be harsher on you. You need to realize that I am the only thing you need to live, once you understand that and start acting like a good girl, then maybe I’ll feed you. Behave.”

Seungmin;;

Seungmin was just a bit off his rocker, but only just a bit. I mean, wasn’t everyone? You didn’t pay much mind to it, he just had an off sense of humor. It wasn’t weird for him, that’s just how he was. You two would joke about killing off people who annoyed the two of you, but they were always jokes. Sometimes the people you complained about bothering you would stop bothering because of you, however you never payed mind to it. You figured that they had always just gotten bored of bothering you.

You and Seungmin were both loners at your school, generally staying away from most other people and having minimal friends since most people tended to stay away from Seungmin, which means that they usually stayed away from you. When one of you made friends, it was a pretty big deal. When a new kid came to school and you two hit it off, you told Seungmin about it excitedly. Like usual, he joked about killing her off to have you to himself, to which you just laughed and replied that she could join your duo and make it a trio!

You didn’t expect Seungmin to actually carry out his threat. You never would’ve expected him to do something like what he did, and he never expected you to find him out. You found out he’d been threatening your new friend through her, and when you confronted him about it, he got very defensive. He started yelling about how she was coming in between you two, and how it was always going to be you two against the world. How she couldn’t ruin what you two had, and how he couldn’t risk losing you and not having anyone left.

“I can’t fucking lose you! You’re all I have left, no one wants me anymore, no one loves me. No one can have you except me, no one understands how much I fucking adore you. I have no one but you, you can’t just replace me! I’m irreplaceable, and so are you. You’re going to stay my friend no matter what I have to do to keep you.”

I.N;;

Jeongin was an absolute sweetheart, he’s always been such a nice person. He was the perfect guy, everyone loved him and pined after him. When he asked you out, you were amazed. You adored him, but your parents didn’t want you to date anyone right now, being in high school and needing to focus on your work. You respected your parents very much, and of course listened to whatever they told you to do. After all, parents always knew best! You declined Jeongin’s offer to date, but instead brought up the idea for waiting for each other until they graduated. He agreed, also claiming that they could become friends while waiting and get to know each other even better! It was going great!

You two were friends for a long time before he asked you out again, asking why you’d declined the first time. You explained the reason to him, and he said he understood after seeing how close you were to your parents. You had a great relationship with them, and yo clearly didn’t want to ruin it. Unbeknownst to you, Jeongin was willing to destroy that relationship for you. He started lying to your parents about what you were doing when you two hung out, claiming he was starting to get worried about your behavior.

They, of course, brought it up with you, and you denied everything. None of it was true, why would you own up to something you didn’t do? You cried to Jeongin, saying you didn’t know why they were accusing you of all these things.He acted just as confused as you, claiming that you were the best. A large rift started coming in between you and your parents, arguments and fights happening near daily. Everything was getting worse and worse until they admitted that Jeongin was the one telling them what you were doing. Of course, you confronted him. He started freaking out on you.

“You seriously think I would do that? I wouldn’t dare! Why would I try to ruin your relationship with your parents, I know I don’t have the greatest one with mine, but that means that I wouldn’t want you to have the same thing as me! I’ll find out who’s doing this, I promise. I’ll help you, I swear I will.”

500 notes · View notes

blackroseaki38 · 5 years

Text

Coloring in the Lines

@badthingshappenbingo

Fandom: Tim Drake in Dc Universe

Trope: Loss of Sight (What kind of sight was not specified. So, I decided on the loss of sight, more specifically, loss of normal colored sight)

An: Crazy this idea even came to me. Was driving home from work. Suddenly, at a stop light. I saw the red light, thought of an anime cake with strawberries on top. BAM. Imagine the strawberry drained of color. Colorblind. I know that is not how it works. But, I liked this idea so I did it.

Tim wakes up when the ringing of his alarm clock would not go away, like the constant ache in his head. Half asleep, he dragged himself out of bed to brush his teeth.

He decided to wait on getting dressed after he had something to fill his empty stomach since he hadn't had anything to eat since breakfast the day before. He grabbed the first thing he could get his hands on in his fridge, which was the slice of cake Damian forced him to take after last night's battle. How someone could look so murderous giving a small piece of cake still baffled him.

He took off the container's cover and sat down on his couch to eat. Tim was still tired and drowsy until the first bite of the sweet dessert hit him. The cool cream against the bittersweet chocolate, along with some kind of fruit, was refreshing enough to get him to open his eyes and see what he is eating.

Tim's eyes opened to see a slice of dark brown chocolate cake topped off with fluffy white cream, with a juicy red strawberry sitting on top. Suddenly, the bright red color of the speckled fruit started to drip away, like crimson blood bleeding out of a deep wound until there was no more color left. Tim's eyes widened in shock as the strawberry became a drab grey blob.

Tim stood up, letting the tupperware fall to the ground in a gooey mess at his feet. He ignored the mess to rush to his restroom, tripping over nonexistent items in his way. Tim slammed the door open and saw a pile of discarded clothing lying on the ground. The boy realized it was his suit, though it was no longer the maroon red color it used to be, at least in Tim's eyes.

Tim closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down. 'It can't be true,' he thought to himself. 'I can't be . . . broken.' He opened his eyes, hoping his fears were misguided. Instead of seeing his icy blue eyes, all he saw were a pair of monotonous grey eyes staring back at him.

Tim fell to the ground, devastated at the new development in his life. How could this have happened? He tried his best to remember what happened the night before.

He was able to start his regular patrol when Oracle informed him that Red Hood needed help. By the time he got there, Nightwing and Robin had barely joined the battle. Of course, Jason protested he didn't need any help, but the bullet wound in his arm spoke otherwise. Since Bruce was still at home on bed rest because of his cold, which he got from his impromptu dive in the Gotham harbor, it was only the four of them against the crowd of goons.

Luckily, they were able to defeat the group before call Gothom PD. Once they were able to leave, they said their goodbyes before going their own ways after a quick talk. Robin gave Tim the container of cake while Nightwing tried to keep the injured Hood in his grip to take him back to the Batcave because of his injury. With a quick reminder for tomorrow's family dinner, the trio was off to their destination. Tim was able to get back to his own home, though the kick he took to the head was bothering him. Since there was no blood or torn skin, he decided he didn't need to tell the others since it wasn't serious.

Now, Tim knew that was a mistake. He should have told Dick and maybe then, his eyesight might have been saved.

Tim knew the statistics and how tricky head injuries can be. A lot of head injuries end up with people blind or deaf. He was lucky he ended up with being colorblind instead of having some other kind of . . . issue. He was not going to call himself disabled, because he was more than capable of doing lots of things.

Tim turned to take a look at the uniform by his side. He gripped the material in his hands, wondering how he can be a hero with this issue. He didn't even know the extent of his colorblindness, but he knew he could still see a few colors from how he could still see the yellow walls of the small bathroom.

Tim knew he could tell Bruce and he would do everything in his hands to help him. Get him to a specialist or help him adjust to not seeing certain colors in the world. But, he had a feeling that Bruce would do anything possible to keep him safe, even from himself.

He would force him to move back into the manor and stop his work in Wayne Industries. He would take away the things that made him independent. He would take away . . . Red Robin. He would be taking away . . . his identity just like Dick did.

'No! I can't let anyone know about this or they . . . will take away who I really am. I need to learn how to adjust to being colorblind or else I can expect to be locked up in Wayne Manor for the rest of my life,' Tim decided.

He got up from the floor and went to get his phone from the living room. He winced as he saw the mess he left in his panic, so he quickly cleaned up before he did anything else. On his phone, he was able to find a good eye doctor to visit. He called and made an appointment for the next day. Tim was going to lay down for the rest of the day, to wait out his life until the appointment. But, a text on his phone reminded him of something or rather some event.

Hey, Tim! Just reminding you about the dinner with the family tonight!

Tim groaned as he read Dick's text. Alfred was very upset that the family had been unable to meet up for a family dinner in months. So, Dick decided to have at least one family dinner a month to make sure Alfred is happy . . . and he still makes everyone his delicious cookies. Tim was about to get up when his phone let out a small ding. He checked the notification and saw it was another text, this time from Jason.

Hey, Replacement! Dick asked me to get a cake for tonight, but I forgot. And there is no bakery nearby for me to get one from. Can you get the cake instead? I can make a quick mango custard, you know? Your favorite! I'll order one ahead of time for next month! Just this once!

Tim just found out he can't see certain colors anymore and now his brother was asking him to get a cake during this crisis. 'It's not his fault. He doesn't know about what's going on with me. I'll have to bring the cake, otherwise, there won't be a dessert. Besides, I do like mango custard,' he thought as he sent Jason a reply.

The next hour was spent getting dressed and trying to locate the closest bakery. Once he was ready, he left his home to go to the bakery where he decided to get the cake from.

As soon as he stepped out in the world, he was surprised by how different things looked. The sky was dark and stormy, but he wasn't sure if that was just the way he was seeing it or the weather. He tried to ignore the changes, but he wasn't able to completely. He stopped by the closest store to buy a pair of sunglasses, hoping it would make a difference. They made everything an even shade of grey, but it was better than seeing random pockets of greyish items instead. Once Tim had arrived at the bakery, he took off his glasses knowing it is unusual for people to wear them indoors. As he was doing so, he received another text, this time from a surprising source.

Drake, where are you? We expected you to come earlier. Grayson is getting worried about you since you have been ignoring his calls. Even Todd has arrived before you. Come to the manor before Todd decides to go find you.

Tim sighed, wishing this day would just end already. He sent a reply to Damian, telling him he'll be at the manor within the hour. With that issue out of the way, he started to talk to an employee behind the counter. She led him to a section to choose a cake from.

"These are the cakes that are ready to be picked up. We always have a few cancellations, but the cakes that are already made are placed here. Anyone can buy these cakes without waiting, though there is a limited selection to choose from," she explained as they arrived at a fridge.

Tim looked at the cakes, but none of them seem to catch his eye. Some were for other occasions and others were dull in color. Finally, he found a blue cake with greenish-gold and white stripes.

"I'll take that cake, ma'am,"

The lady looked hesitant as she took out the cake to box.

"Are you sure, sir? We weren't expecting anyone to buy this cake in particular,"

Tim knew not everyone likes the color pink since it is associated with being something girls would like, but he wasn’t going to be late getting to the manor because of the color pink.

"Yes, I'm sure. Can we hurry this along? I need to get going," Tim said as he checked the time on his phone.

As soon as the cake was packed, Tim was out the door and on his way to the manor. Once he arrived, Alfred took the cake box from him and corralled him into the living room. Inside the main sitting area, Dick was trying to get Damian to watch cartoons, Bruce was trying to stop Damian from hurting his brother, and Jason was laughing his head off on the ground.

Tim let out a sigh of relief. The regular chaos of their family was enough to distract everyone from paying attention to him. He slowly tried to leave when a voice called his name.

"Tim!"

Now that he was caught, Tim gave up trying to get away and turned around to greet the group. Bruce, the only one who probably noticed him entering the room, got up from his seat.

"I was getting worried when everyone, even Jason, got here before you. Was there some kind of problem?" Bruce asked cautiously.

'What can I say, Bruce. Everything's fine, except for the fake our family has learned to ignore our problems by following your example. It's not your fault that I tend to be invisible to even my own family. It's my fault. And the consequences were waking up and finding out I'm now colorblind.'

Of course, Tim couldn’t say his thoughts out loud. But, that would open up a can of emotions that he would never be prepared enough to handle.

"I'm fine, Bruce. I had to stop by a bakery to get the cake Jason was supposed to," he responded, making sure to loudly speak his last few lines.

Bruce shook his head with a smile and led the boy to the sofa. Tim was relieved that Bruce didn't notice anything out of the ordinary, though sensing someone is colorblind is out of the question even for Batman.

"I said I'll make sure to order a cake next time!" Jason yelled back.

"Actually, you should just make something like you did today, Jay! I always love your cooking, especially your baking!" Dick said, turning his attention away from Damian, who was clearly relieved he wasn't going to have to watch the treacherous pony show anymore.

"I've already told you, Dickhead. I don't have a good kitchen in the safehouse I'm currently living in. Can't exactly bake without the right tools," Jason countered.

"The dining table is prepared. Master Bruce and Young masters, you may take your seats now."

Everyone stood up and started going towards the dining room.

"Young master Jason?" Alfred called.

Jason stopped and turned to the butler.

"Yeah, Alfred?"

The older man smiled, his eyes twinkling as he looked at the young man in front of him.

"I wouldn't mind sharing the kitchen with you. Your welcome to bake whatever you want in my kitchen. I haven't had your delicious scones in so long."

Jason let a small smile grace his lips for a few seconds.

"I'll think about it. But, thanks for the offer, Alfie."

Once everyone was settled into the dining room, they started to dig in. Other than Alfred's amazing dishes, there were a few other dishes that were brought Dick had brought some sushi from his favorite Japanese restaurant since his cooking would most likely be toxic. Damian made a surprisingly good vegetarian stew, though Tim hoped he did not use his unsanitary daggers. Bruce tried to explain how he wanted to make gelatin, but something went wrong and he bought a tray of lasagna instead. Jason brought the promised mango custard and no one had any complaints about his dish.

Finally, after everyone had eaten and most of the dishes were put away, Alfred brought out the cake. Everyone leaned forward to take a look once Tim took apart the cardboard pink box. Once the cake was revealed, everyone looked at Tim confused.

"Uh, Tim? Not to be rude, but . . . " Dick drawled off.

"Why the fuck did you choose that cake?!" Jason asked bluntly.

"Young Master Jason! Language!" Alfred scolded.

"Sorry, Alfred," the young man replied with a blush on his face. He was not used to anyone 'parenting' him, but he knew better than to argue with Alfred.

"While I do not agree with Jason's choice of words, but I would like to know why you chose this design in particular," Bruce asked as well.

Tim was wondering what the big deal was when Damian spoke up.

"Drake, if I were you, I would have chosen a much superior cake," he started off.

Tim opened his mouth to respond when Damian held up his hand to stop him.

"But, I do like your design as well. The Union Jack is a much more sophisticated design than the American flag," he finished.

Suddenly, Tim made the connection. White Stripes. A cross and a giant X in the middle. Blueish background. 'Oh no! I brought a United Kingdom's flag cake! What can I do?! I can't exactly explain that I was in a rush and my new eye problems caused to mistakenly pick up this cake!' he thought to himself.

"Tim, are you okay?" Dick's worried voice shook the boy out of his thoughts.

"I bought this cake because of . . ." Tim knew he would be found out if he couldn't explain this away, then he saw Alfred standing behind Bruce and he knew what he had to do.

"ALFRED!"

Everyone looked at Alfred, who looked calm opposed to the rest of the family.

"Alfred, you asked Tim to bring a . . . Union Jack themed cake?" Bruce asked the man.

"Of course not, Master Bruce," the unmoved man answered.

"Replacement, can you please explain so we can eat dessert and I can leave?" Jason asked, tired at the conversation.

"What I mean is . . . I bought this cake because Alfred is . . . BRITISH! And I saw this cake, so I thought it would be a nice idea to make Alfred happy," Tim slowly explained.

"That's a nice thought, Tim. But, you do know we live in America, right?" Bruce asked, concerned about Tim's sudden lack of geology.

"Of course I know, Bruce!" Tim responded, gaining more confidence the more he spoke.

"Alfred does everything for us, so why can't we do something for him? Since he is sacrificing his birth land, we should at least appreciate the country that gave us the Alfred we know today," Tim ended his rant, not realizing when his explanation turned into an inspiring speech.

"Tim, I was starting to get concerned about you . . ." Dick started to say, his words worrying Tim.

" . . . but clearly, I was wrong! I'm with Tim! We should be thankful for Britain! We should appreciate where Alfred comes from!"

Tim was glad someone here believed his story.

"And we should definitely get U.K. flag tattoos!"

And now he wished Dick wasn't the first one to believe his story.

"Calm down, Dick. No one is getting any tattoos," Bruce tried to shut down that line of thought.

"Speak for yourself, old man! I already have two!" Jason bragged.

"If Todd had a tattoo, I need to have a better one!" Damian inserted himself into the conversation.

"As I said before, no one here is getting any more tattoos," Bruce said once more, with a pointed glare at Jason.

Alfred let out a small chuckle, catching everyone's attention. Everyone knew Alfred only laughed or chuckled in either the most heartwarming situations . . . or the most amusing.

"What's so funny, Alfred?" Dick asked, hoping the butler would spill the beans already.

"Oh, nothing. It's just that . . . this conversation feels so familiar to how it went between me and Master Bruce so many years ago," the man let out with another chuckle.

"Alfred . . . " Bruce tried to stop the conversation, knowing where this was going.

"Really? Bruce wanted a tattoo?!" Jason asked, with a familiar smirk on his face.

"Oh, yes. I told him he was too young to get his skin 'inked' as he used to say," Alfred continued.

"I assume Father listened to you," Damian guessed, trying not to look like he was not paying attention when he actually was.

"Then you would assume wrong," Alfred responded.

All the boys gasped at the thought of Bruce . . . disobeying Alfred. Bruce groaned, knowing what the man was going to say.

"You don't mean," Tim trailed off.

"Master Bruce got the tattoo he so dearly wanted against my wishes. Though he dearly regretted his decision when his tattoo got infected. And he was very much embarrassed when Leslie had to come in to take a look at his tattoo.

"Why was it embarrassing?" Tim asked.

"Most likely because of where his tattoo was located," Alfred informed them with a smile.

All the boys tried to hold in their laughter as they realize what Alfred meant while Bruce covered his face with his hands in shame.

"Alfred, did you have to tell them every detail?" he asked with a red face.

"Of course, Master Bruce. Besides, I did not tell them every single detail, though if you want me to . . ."

"No thank you, Alfred."

Alfred turned to Tim, as the laughter died down.

"Master Timothy, the others may have been surprised at your choice of design for the desert," he started off.

"I, on the other hand, appreciate your choice."

Tim smiled, thankful that Alfred not only saved his excuse from falling apart in pieces, but also helped distracted the rest of the family unknowingly.

Thankfully, Tim was able to get through the night without any more incidents. The cake turned out to be so delicious that no one had any complaints, but they were reminded of how Jason's cakes were even better. Since Tim and Damian were the only ones who have not tried his baking yet, they requested Jason bake a different country-themed cake every month. Though he venomously rejected the idea out loud, everyone secretly knew Jason would be talking with Alfred about new recipes and different ingredients right after dinner.

After they all helped with the cleaning up process, they all relocated to the living room. Dick tried to get everyone involved in a board game, which Damian tried to destroy in order to prevent that from ever happening. Bless his demonic heart!

Jason was still in the kitchen, not discussing the german chocolate cake he was not making for next month's family dinner. Bruce had snuck off to the cave, to work on another late-night case. In fact, it was time for Tim to leave as well. He had some cases of his own to work on before patrol tonight. Not to mention his upcoming appointment with the eye specialist tomorrow. His best chance of leaving was right now while both Alfred and Bruce were busy.

Tim got up from his seat on the couch and started to go towards his old room in the manor. The best way to escape this family was to make them think he was staying. Instead, he was planning on leaving through the window. The tree outside his room was always easy to scale downwards.

He opened his room, expecting to come into the room and have a quick escape. Instead, he found a certain big brother waiting for him.

Jason was sitting on his wooden desk chair. He lifted his head and his eyes met Tim's.

"Well, well. Look what the cat decided to drag in."

"Why are you in my room, Jason? "

"Your room? That’s not true anymore! You haven't slept over at the manor in months now. You only stay over at my place when your injured and the others don't want you to be alone. So, why are you here?" Jason was curious. It was always bad when he got like this. He doesn't give up until either he got an answer or he loses interest, which was unlikely to happen. Tim had to get him off his back before he got too invested.

"Same reason as you. To leave before Dick brings out the monopoly. The last time we tried playing that horrid game, Damian tried to stab me when I started to win." Tim was not making this up. He still has nightmares whenever Dick brought up having game nights again.

"Sure, that might be one reason why you're in such a hurry to leave. But, you've been acting strange all day. First, you were the last person to show up for the get-together today. Second, you brought a British themed cake and even you wouldn't be oblivious enough to get something like that. And last, you're trying to escape while everyone is distracted. You knew I would be in the kitchen talking with Alfred. Dick and Damian would argue, but also bond together in their weird ways of verbal fights. And Bruce would be trying to kill himself without sleep again. The usual. Usually, if you wanted to leave, you would try to leave with an excuse about being at Wayne Corp the next day. Alfred would take your side, knowing you need all the sleep you can get. You would proceed to go home and not sleep, working on some project all night instead. That is not what happened today. You tried leaving, without saying goodbye or anything. That is not normally how you do things. Something's up and I want to know about it. So, talk."

Jason may not be a good big brother, but he was a brother nonetheless. Bruce ignored the emotional problems he sees unless they interfere with their work. Dick loves to deal with emotional problems, but ever since Damian come on to the scene, Tim's had an easy time staying under the radar. Sure, the Demon kid needs a lot of help. But, is Jason and Alfred the only ones who can see how difficult of a time Tim is in right. He's the CEO of Wayne Corp at his age. His online classes keep him busy any time he's not at work. And being Red Robin takes up all his time during the night. When he actually sleeps, Jason doesn't know. Though he hopes to find out once he can worm his way into Tim's life, without letting him realize he has a heart. He had a reputation after all.

Tim didn't know what to do. Jason wasn't like the others. For some reason, he actually . . . liked him. Though he didn't know why, since he wasn't any more special then Damian or Dick, let alone Bruce. Recently, he reached out and now they both patrolled their areas together. In some ways, it made things easier since they got things done faster. In others, it made things difficult with Bruce. Luckily, Jason and Bruce were starting to get along more often or not. Which is one of the reasons Jason was even here today.

To be completely honest, Tim was not that afraid of telling Jason about his recent change in his eyesight. Unlike Bruce, Jason was more likely to let him continue doing things the way he wants. He was still used to hiding a lot of things from Bruce, even though they were on okay terms now. He just spent so much time hiding parts of himself away along with the things that have happened to him, that it was hard to turn off the switch in his head. Tim was sure he would encourage him to keep this all a secret then tell someone. Maybe he could tell him about this. He needed someone he could trust in his corner.

"Jason, I .... can't tell you. Here. Not right now. I'll talk to you on patrol tomorrow night. Can you just let me leave right now and I swear on my collection of coffee beans that I will tell you tomorrow."

The other looked at him with scrutinizing eyes, trying to figure out if this was some kind of trick or now. He finally saw what he wanted to see, because he stepped aside, leaving the window wide open for Tim to exit from.

Tim let his shoulders relax before he started towards the exit. He had one leg out the window, ready to scale the nearby tree down to leave. He turned back one last time at Jason and said one last word.

"Thanks."

As soon as Tim got home, all he could do was brush his teeth before he knocked out. He slept peacefully, letting himself forgot all about tomorrow and its incoming troubles. The impending eye doctor appointment. The unavoidable patrol confession scheduled with Jason. The secrets from Bruce and the others. None of that mattered at the moment. Right now, Tim let himself forgot about his color blindness as his dreams of rooftop tag continued.

To be continued ...... oR Is iT?

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bucklesomeswashswan · 4 years

Text

At the Beginning (4/11)

Once Upon a December Sequel

I am so incredibly sorry for the delay. I don’t have to tell you this has been a crazy time. My work has been slammed, the boyfriend is an ER doctor and he has been stressed, i’m worried about my family and my friends, I canceled my trips I’ve been looking forward to, there are people rioting in the streets. Anyway there’s been some days ( a LOT of days) I haven’t felt creative or motivated to think about writing. I’m sorry. I know a couple people asked for an update as a distraction from the quarantine and the world, but I needed my own and i couldn’t find it in writing.

I hope 15k words (40 pages) makes up for the delay a little. ;)

This chapter is a fun one! And very dear to my heart. Hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!

Captain Swan Steampunk Anastasia AU Summary: Emma might have thought her troubles were over after she defeated Gold, the leader of the Industrialists. But not everything is as it seems and Misthaven is in danger. Mysterious new faces and gangs lurk in the shadows as Misthaven struggles to find its footing in the power vacuum left behind when the Industrialists fell. Time is running out to regain control and alliances form and crumble as the betrayals come from those closer and closer to Emma. Will she be able to have the life she always wanted with her family and Killian or will the secrets from the past tear apart everything she thought she knew?

Rated M- earning this rating a bit here! AO3 Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 Start over with Once Upon a December [AO3]

Chapter 4: Love is a River

Emma picked at the muffin in her hands as she watched the men unload the wagons outside the palace. A train had arrived two days ago in Steveston just as the storm clouds had started to build. All of their things brought to them just as the air turned even colder.

She shivered against the winter air that blew in through the wide open front doors. Snowflakes floated lazily in after heavy boots and slowly melted on the cold marble floor. She watched the piles of boxes in the entryway grow with mixed feelings.

It had been two days since she’d gone to the city with August, and it had shaken loose a storm of memories that still hadn’t completely settled. Seeing the city again had made everything feel real. Looking at those streets and buildings with new eyes, it felt so different than it had just a few months ago when she had arrived, alone, and desperate to leave. Now she wasn’t running. This was the place they were fighting for, broken and lost in the same ways she was. Struggling.

And yet she had also found a spark of hope there. She knew now there was a way she could learn to control her magic. Someone to help her protect everyone she cared about. She smiled around a bite of muffin.

A warm weight of soft fabric settled over her shoulders as someone placed a jacket there protecting her against the cold. A small and welcome gesture. She pulled the coat a little closer, enjoying the comfort before turning toward the person who brought it.

“August,” she said in surprise. “I didn’t expect-”

She tried to ignore the sinking in her heart at the realization she had hoped it was Killian, that maybe it was a sign he had forgiven her.

“You looked cold standing here alone,” August said.

“Alone?” she repeated glancing at all the people all around them. “I’m hardly ever alone now.”

She saw him take in the bustle in the entryway, the looks sent at the two of them together. The way they always watched her, waiting, for some success or disaster, she wasn’t sure which anymore. The din of her new life.

“You know what i mean,” he said.

He meant Ruby and Killian. Ruby had gone to the Lost Boys, and Killian was giving her space. She knew he was upset that she had gone to the city with August. If she were being truthful, she knew she had been avoiding him too.

“I’m fine,” she told him, as if saying it out loud would will it to be true. “We’re fine.”

He watched her for a moment before speaking. “Good. I wasn’t going to leave you here without any friends.”

She looked up at him in surprise. “You’re leaving?”

He nodded. “I’m leading the envoy to Ludgate Island. We need to secure the prison.”

She heard the words he didn’t say, we need to secure Gold. The memories of him squeezed at her heart: his voice taunting her, the feeling of the amulet pulling at her, fear creeping up her spine. If Gold escaped...

“When do you leave?” she asked.

“An hour.”

So soon. She thought of the map they had laid out in the library a few nights ago, the path south toward the sea and the strait of rough water to the rocky outcropping of Ludgate Island. It wouldn’t be an easy journey.

“How long will you be there?” she asked him.

His sad expression was answer enough. She frowned as she watched him, wondering if she would see him again once he left. Drifting out her life again.

“We all have our parts to play,” he said and his eyes met hers and held. “I need to protect Misthaven from him.”

The way he said it made it clear that he was going there to protect something, someone, more specific. It hung there, unspoken. That loyalty that never faded. The words he wouldn't say.

She slid his coat off, the cold air making her miss it instantly. She carefully, slowly, folded it and pressed it back into his hands. “Thank you,” she said hoping he would understand.

He took it and then reached around to pull a pistol from his belt and held it out to her. An offering. A reminder of the danger that stood before them.

“I don’t want that,” she said, stepping back.

She remembered the train leaving Misthaven, the cold steel of a different pistol in her hands, taking aim at the blackguards chasing after them from the forest. She shivered at the memory. The sight of Killian’s wound, his blood dried on her fingers.

“I know you can take care of yourself,” he said, “but I need to know you’re safe.”

Emma considered his words for a moment before she took the pistol, feeling its weight. Her fingers tightened on the handle. Muscle memory, muscles she had never wanted to develop.

“Goodbye, Princess,” he murmured and pulled her gently into a warm hug.

She held him tightly, silently wishing him strength and luck on his journey. Their paths splitting again, their stories tangled but not quite connected.

“Morning, Emma. August,” Killian said from beside them, startling her.

They broke apart and she swung around in surprise, she hadn’t heard him approaching.

Killian’s expression was unreadable, his gaze locked on August even as he gently pushed the barrel of the pistol in her hand away from where it had been pointing absently at him when she turned.

“I was just leaving,” August said with one last look at Emma before he turned away from them.

Killian’s eyes followed him until he left the room before turning to her.

“You could be nicer,” she scolded him, tucking away the pistol. “He’s on our side. We’re old friends,” she said.

He nodded. “Friends.” It sounded cynical.

Emma rolled her eyes, she knew that look. “Now’s not the time to be jealous, Killian.”

He didn’t respond. That irked her even more.

“I don’t get jealous of you and Ruby,” she pointed out.

Killian blinked. “Ruby is family,” he told her as though it were obvious. “He doesn’t look at you like he sees you as a sister.”

She shook off his comment, she wasn’t going to argue with him. Not over August. Not when he was leaving and there was nothing more to say. Not when there was so much the two of them needed to say instead. Everything they had been avoiding. She looked at him across the distance that had formed between them the last few days.

“Why are you here?” she asked him.

His eyes widened slightly and she could have slapped herself hearing how her words sounded. He pulled back slightly, adding again to that distance.

Whatever she had expected or hoped his answer might be, it wasn’t the words that followed. “The Queen wants you to get ready. You’re heading into the city again today.”

“The city?” she asked. “Why?”

“To distribute the supplies and food from the train directly to the people.”

She glanced at the stacks of crates in the entryway.

“A publicity stunt?” she guessed.

Killian frowned. “No. To help them, Emma. That’s the reason we’re here, isn’t it?”

Shame burned through her. She was still adjusting her perspective. She had been skeptical of authority for so long that sometimes it was hard to remember that not everything was a trick. She wondered how many of the people in the city would react the same way she had. Jaded. Betrayed too many times.

She looked at Killian, someone who struggled for everything he had. Who was more used to losing what he earned. And yet here he was, still able to see the good around them, to believe in a better future.

“Of course,” she said. “When are we leaving?”

He looked almost guilty for a moment. “I’m not going with you, Emma,” he said.

Dread twisted her stomach making her feel faintly sick. She knew she had allowed this tension between them to fester but never had she meant to push him away in a meaningful way. Panic rose up within her.

“What?” The word came out a little broken. “I need you.”

He shook his head. “I can’t be seen with your family, Emma. There are already too many rumors. If we want to maintain any cover for me, or more importantly Ruby, about our loyalties, then I can’t stand in front of a crowd by your side and declare allegiance like that.”

She took a breath trying to calm herself. What he said made sense, he was thinking strategically. Still the thought of facing so many people and being the princess they wanted without him almost brought her to her knees.

“What if they didn’t see you with us?” she asked slowly.

He tilted his head, not understanding

“Follow after us, join the crowd, come with the guards. I don’t care how, but I want you to be there.”

He ran a hand through his hair before letting out a sigh and nodding. He didn’t look glad for an excuse to go with her, he looked almost defeated. “Aye, love,” he said at last. “I can do that.”

It didn’t completely ease her worry or feel like a victory. Not when they were being twisted and pulled by loyalties and duties. Not when it felt like a chore or a gamble for him to follow her. Were there forces stronger than them that would tear them apart no matter how much they loved each other? Was their love only one that survived in quiet times and gentle hours?

She opened her mouth to speak, an olive branch, the words she hadn’t said for days on the tip of her tongue. They just needed to talk, a moment to themselves as everything swirled around them.

“Princess Emma,” a lady’s maid said appearing at her side. “You’re needed upstairs.”

Emma blinked at the girl, needing just another minute. But when she looked back at Killian she knew the moment had slipped away.

She was herded toward the stairs to prepare for the day, away from Killian. When she glanced back at the landing he was already gone.

Her mother was waiting for her in her room. Directing the others as the trunks of Emma’s things were unpacked, overwhelming her space with tulle and embroidery, gold and sparkle. Pieces of a life she hardly knew.

“There you are,” her mother said, coming over to pull her close. Her smile as she watched everything get unpacked was almost contagious. “Isn’t it wonderful?”

“These are all mine?” Emma asked looking at the armoire already bursting.

Her mother just squeezed her arm, “Of course. Come on, we need to find one for you to wear today.”

Emma sat on the bed as she watched her mother flit between the fine gowns. Her fingers trailing down the fabric and straightening out long trains. This one would bring out the green of her eyes, that one would flatter her figure.

Emma looked around feeling a bit lost. It was like trying to pass an exam after missing all the lessons.

“I’m not sure we can show up in intricate ball gowns,” Emma said at last. “Most of the people there are living off nearly nothing. Won’t it seem... uncaring?”

Her mother set down the dress that had been cradled in her arms. “It’s not uncaring. Today we are going to bring hope, because I love this kingdom and we have come back to see beyond the despair to what it could be again.”

Emma glanced away, looking at the dress lying beside her. Tried to see it through her mother’s eyes. A way to return to a time that had been better. Her family getting back everything it had lost.

This dress was simpler, pale blue with embroidered silver flowers cascading down to the floor. “What about this one?” she suggested.

Her mother’s face lit up, pleased Emma seemed to be taking an active interest. “It’s perfect.”

Emma had the feeling her mother would have said that about anything Emma had picked. Sometimes Emma wasn’t sure what parental love or approval was meant to feel like. Was it a desperate attempt at any connection after so long apart or was it genuine?

But there was something that felt right about letting her mother help her fasten the small buttons at the back of the dress. A vague memory of days long ago. For a moment she felt like this was something mothers and daughters were meant to do. For a moment she felt that sense of family.

Emma’s fingers played at the delicate threads in the flowers. It must have taken countless hours by a steady experienced hand. And now it was hers to wear. She wondered if it had been made with her in mind, or if it was something they were all hoping would fit. Something fit for a princess.

She stepped over the mirror by the window. She thought of the gown she’d worn to the ball in Glowerhaven, when she’d fought Gold. She remembered how lost she had felt buried under all that fabric. This reflection looking back at her felt more familiar. Maybe she could do this, one step at a time.

She waved off the shining jewels they offered her. One small step at a time. She was still getting used to the weight of it all even without the added weight of diamonds and gems. She knew she would only get there by keeping in touch with who she was. And a part of her would always be that orphan girl. Two worlds in one person. Two lives coming together.

Before she felt ready Emma had joined her parents at their place in front of the wagons. She looked back at the group of people who would follow them, seeing no sign of Killian. There were more faces than she had expected. She kept a close eye on them as they walked away from the palace toward the city, watching for any unease on their faces, any wavering of their conviction, any hint of a lie in their intentions. Any signs of danger.

But as they entered the city her attention slipped to her parents, curious what their reaction would be. She remembered the feeling of the city when she had first seen it. The way the buildings had pressed in around her, the hopelessness that permeated from all sides.

The city seemed to hold its breath as they breached its limits. The streets quiet, empty, people pulling back, hiding from the approaching mass, as if they were an invading army.

She watched her mother as her eyes moved over the buildings, and how they rested on the faces peering hesitantly from dirty and broken windows. Shuttered behind their barriers, wary. Maybe they had been wrong, maybe there was no hope for them to regain the favor of these people who had learned over the years to hide and ignore the horrors just outside their doors to survive.

Emma sensed more than heard the sound from the shadowy corner of a collapsed storefront. She paused, wary of some threat. Everyone else stopped and followed her gaze, a few confused whispers echoed behind her. But instead of some hulking monster, a small shape stepped from the shadows.

It was a young girl, her apron spotted and torn, her hair tangled from the wind. Emma knew the look of someone who hadn’t slept tucked warmly in a bed. How many times had she looked like that? How many people over the years had looked away as if she wasn’t there, wasn’t their concern. But now she stood frozen in place watching the girl approach curiously.

Her mother broke away from the group moving toward the girl, kneeling down, her skirts folding onto the dirt and stones on the street. She beckoned her closer. There was something so trusting in the motion. Every hard lesson Emma had learned on the streets screamed at her to haul her mother back. The weight of the pistol hidden in her cloak burned against her as the girl moved closer.

A guard appeared at Emma’s side moving to assist the Queen. He was not brandishing a weapon but instead held a small loaf of bread from their supplies.The Queen offered him a smile in thanks as she took it and held it out to the girl.

“Are you hungry?” she asked.

The girl’s eyes locked on the bread and she half ran the last few steps grabbing the loaf. She bit off a big chunk, a smile spreading over her lips.

“What’s your name?” the Queen asked the girl. Her voice was gentle, mothering in the way Emma had missed out on for so many years. She blinked looking away, a tightness in her chest.

The girl looked from the Queen to the group behind her. Taking in their clothes, the wagons. “Paige,” the girl answered softly.

The Queen beamed at the small girl. “Hi, Paige,” she said. “It’s lovely to meet you.”

Paige gave another shy smile and took another bite of the bread.

Emma couldn’t help but think her mother was good at this. Where Emma had seen only a possible threat her mother had seen the truth. Not someone to fear but someone to help. Was this who she had been when she had ruled Misthaven? Was this why people had loved them? Was this why they were so sure the people would follow them again?

“Paige, can you do something for me?” The Queen asked.

Paige nodded slowly.

“Go and tell your family, your friends, and anyone you come across that the King and Queen are in the city and they’ve brought food and supplies for anyone who needs it.”

Paige’s eyes widened rising to look at the wagons stacked high with crates.

“Those are full of food?” she asked.

“Yes, there’s lots of food for everyone.”

She hardly needed any more encouraging. Paige turned and rushed up the street and out of view.

It wasn’t long before the faces hidden behind windows and shutters became people stepping out into the street to see what was happening. To confirm the rumors. And their numbers swelled as they made their way through the city until like a strong current they flowed through the streets gaining momentum.

~*~

Ruby watched the sun rise through the morning. The way the sky had turned from blue to gray to rose and then to gold. The light shining off the metal gutters and shimmering on the canals. Before the city woke up and the bustle started there was a moment when the city was crowned in light and gleamed like treasure. And then the sun rose fully and showed the city for what it really was, the light exposing all the darkness, the fairytale burned away.

She shifted her position, the slate roof beneath her uncomfortable after hours tucked up on top of the old central train station. From here she could see the main avenues and canals. Even the silent rails stretched out from where she sat in every direction. She watched over the city like a spider at the center of a web, waiting for something to fall into her trap.

It had been two days of prowling dark corners and crouched between buildings relearning the pulse of her city. The mundane goings on, stolen phrases of a hundred passing conversations, cross sections of a thousand people’s lives. From this perch and vantage point she took in everything.

It had been two days since she had gone back to the Breaker Street Factory and Peter’s knowing smile and this new assignment. Sentry duty. Perhaps a dull and unpleasant job, but she knew this task was a test of her loyalties and an assessment of her skills. It was what she would have done to test a new recruit. Besides, she didn’t mind it so much, it beat a council meeting. Hadn’t she been wishing for just this not long ago?

“So, I’m not the only person who knows about this spot,” a voice drawled from the shadows.

Ruby jumped to her feet drawing her dagger as a figure moved from behind one of the gargoyles she had thought were her only company up here.

“Who are you?” Ruby asked wanting some clue as to how this person got up on the ledge without her noticing. Maybe she wasn’t as good at this sentry thing as she had thought.

The figure stepped further out of the shadow, light falling on a slim figure in woven armor. Her black hair lifted off her shoulders from the breeze. Her dark eyes cool as she looked at Ruby.

“Peter sent me,” she said.

Ruby glanced around almost expecting to see others, perhaps a whole group sent to collect her. But they were alone on the roof.

“Is he calling me back?” Ruby asked.

The newcomer shifted into a casual pose but her expression remained hard. “No,” she said. “He sent me to follow you and watch what you did.”

“He thinks I’m going to betray him.”

It made sense. Peter was covering himself. This was a test with multiple layers. He wanted to be sure of her allegiance. He had made it quite clear when they had met that he knew she had ties to the royal family. He certainly seemed to know about Killian and Emma. Her only play had been to try to convince Peter that she was disenchanted with all of them. That she wanted to strike off on her own.

The woman shrugged before moving with sure feet over the sloping roof. She eased down beside Ruby, her dark hair shining in the sun. Ruby’s gaze traced over her face, her sharp eyes.

“Why are you telling me this?” Ruby asked.

She stared out at the city before sighing.

“Because I know who you are Ruby Lucas. And I don’t think you are loyal to the Lost Boys.” Ruby opened her mouth to make some sort of obligatory protest but she continued. “And that makes you my best chance at an ally.”

Ruby’s mouth snapped shut in surprise. “Who are you?” she asked again.

“My name’s Mulan,” she said, turning to face her. “I think we have a lot to talk about.”

Ruby wasn’t sure there was anything she could do about it anyway. After all Mulan had tracked her, scaled the side of a building after her, and knew her secrets. She was clearly skilled. That and the large sword strapped to her back. Ruby eyed it warily. If the armor was any indication she probably knew how to use it too.

Mulan noticed Ruby’s attention on the sword. She smiled and it transformed her, softening her fierce demeanor. If Peter had sent her as a trap Ruby was suddenly afraid of just how adept an opponent he might be because she could imagine herself falling willingly into this one if she let her guard down.

“Cursebreaker,” Mulan told her.

Ruby stared at her blankly.

“The sword,” she clarified.Trying to gain a little of Ruby’s trust with information. “It’s called Cursebreaker. It can cut through anything, any material and any magical enchantment. It’s been in my family for generations.”

Ruby traced the intricate engravings on the hilt, a mix of images of dragons and symbols in a language she didn’t know. It was a work of art, its history carved into it. It must have been valuable. And they had entrusted it to Mulan. That kind of faith told her a lot about Mulan.

“I don’t have any family heirlooms left, everything was lost in the revolt,” Ruby said. Though the way her grandmother had tutted about her clumsiness she probably wouldn’t have been given any even if she’d had the chance.

Mulan looked down at the streets below them. “You grew up here?” she asked.

“I thought you said you knew who I was,” Ruby challenged.

Mulan met her gaze. “I heard about the outlaw. I didn't know about before.”

The way she said it made Ruby curious what Mulan thought of her. Outlaw. It was a disapproving word, but her tone hadn’t been.

Some instinct told her to trust Mulan, sensed a similar heart looking back at her.

“My grandmother was a close friend of the Queen,” Ruby told her.

“That’s why you’re with the royals now?” she asked.

“A lot has happened since my grandmother died,” she said carefully. Not a confirmation and not a denial.

“And you chose to fight back,” Mulan said looking steadily at her. “That is very brave.”

Ruby blushed, being called brave by someone in armor felt like a big compliment.

“I’m guessing you’re something of a fighter too,” Ruby said trying to turn the conversation off of her to safer territory.

Mulan tugged at the gauntlets on her wrists. “The world doesn’t always lead you down the path you dreamed of.”

“What did you dream of doing?” Ruby asked, surprised by how much she wanted to know the answer, some insight into who she was.

Mulan leaned back a little, looking up at the sky. “I dreamed of making my family proud.”

“Are they not proud of you?” She thought again of the sword she carried.

Mulan met Ruby’s look. “I don’t know,” she said.

It wasn’t what she’d expected her to say.

“Where are they?”

Mulan’s expression darkened. “They’re gone.”

Ruby looked away. “Orphans of the revolution,” she murmured, Peter’s words. “I see why the Lost Boys recruited you.”

“There are a lot of reasons people join the Lost Boys,” Mulan said. Ruby perked up, this was what she’d said they needed to talk about.

“Why did you join then?” Ruby asked.

Mulan’s reply was interrupted by excited shouts from down on the streets. They both looked down at the commotion, people moving out into the streets beckoning others to follow, until at last the royal banners and guards turned down the avenue. The procession made its way over the wide stone bridge that spanned the main canal headed for the heart of the city.

Ruby stood up from her hiding place and slid to the edge of the roof for a better view of the square where the royals had come to a stop. She could just make out the gold shine of Emma’s hair in the center. A roar went up from the crowd as a large crate from one of the wagons was pried open and sacks of grain were pulled out and passed to the people there. She watched a small girl with curling brown hair scurry across the bridge to the edge of the crowd intent on seeing what was going on. Ruby instantly felt like she was looking back through the years at a younger version of herself. She even found herself scanning the surrounding people for a small Killian darting in between the crowd probably picking pockets.

“You have to tell Peter,” Mulan said quietly beside her.

Ruby looked at her, expecting to see judgement, waiting to see if she would go inform the Lost Boys. But there was only sadness. Like she understood exactly the position this put Ruby in. As if she had walked that very line before. Duty and betrayal.

She wondered what Mulan had traded to get into Peter’s good graces.

“I guess I’ll see you around,” Ruby said standing.

Mulan watched her from where she remained sitting. “I’ll see you around, I guess.”

She said it like this exchange was some habit they had formed over years. For a moment it was easy to pretend Mulan was someone she had known all her life. Ruby bit back a small smile and turned away.

Ruby dropped out of her perch and made to head back for the Breaker Street Factory. A part of her hated walking away from where she knew her friends were, away from what felt safe and deeper into danger. Her thoughts spun as she walked the empty streets. Something about meeting Mulan had left her feeling disoriented, confused, like she’d heard a joke but hadn’t understood the punchline.

When she entered the abandoned factory she found Peter easily enough in his office atop the spiral staircase. Sitting at his desk beside a roaring fireplace looking out the windows at the city like a hawk watching for scurrying prey.

“Ruby,” he said in greeting before turning around to face her. An unnerving display of just how much he knew of what was happening around him.

“The royal family has entered the city via the east gate and moved to the central square,” she told him without any preamble. “They’ve brought food for the people.”

Peter turned to her and leaned back in his chair seeming many years older than he looked. “How many guards did they have with them?” he asked her, watching her carefully.

She weighed how much information to give him without compromising the royals’ security measures.

“Around twenty,” she told him, hedging on giving an exact number, but supplied him a little extra information so he wouldn’t notice, “They’re armed with swords and pistols.”

“Industrialist weapons?” he asked.

She shook her head. “Traditional.”

He sneered, a wicked light in his eyes. “Fitting,” he mused. “At least we have a definite advantage there.”

Ruby’s chest tightened at his words, though she wasn’t sure if it was because of the implication that the Lost Boys had the royals significantly outgunned or the way he seemed to be including Ruby in his ‘we’.

He reached into a compartment in the desk and pulled out a dusty bottle of triple distilled whiskey. He brushed the dust from the cap before opening it. Clearly he didn’t break this out often. She couldn’t help but feel a little honored when he pushed a glass toward her. She joined him as he took a large sip, enjoying the way the liquid burned down her throat.

A small comfort as her heart hammered in her chest under his watchful gaze.

“How will they leave the city?” he asked her

She frowned. “I don’t know, I came straight here to inform you.”

He took a sip of the whiskey and Ruby found herself copying him. “What would you have advised they do if they had asked you?”

She thought for a moment. Mapping the city in her mind, places she would have told them to avoid, the quickest routes. She took into account the number of people, the possibility the adoring public might follow them out.

“I’d tell them to follow the canal and circle back the way they came in.”

“But you don’t know the actual plan?” he pushed.

She shook her head. “It’s only a guess,” she told him.

He swirled the whiskey in his glass looking at it speculatively. “This isn’t an operation that is carried out on a whim. Gathering the supplies, intelligence, managing security. Surely they planned this at the council meetings,” he said.

She paused. He was right. This wasn’t the sort of thing you could have planned in the last day or two while she had been gone. And that meant they had discussed this while Ruby had been at the lakeside palace with them but they hadn’t included her. Ruby tried to ignore the sting. She took another sip of the whiskey.

“They wouldn’t leave something like this to chance,” Peter said, thinking aloud. “They probably tested the route, had someone case the area.”

He looked over at her. The question clear in his expression.

Ruby tried to remember if she had heard any mention of that happening, any mentions of people or guards leaving to go to the city since they arrived. Emma had been in the city with August. But August was leaving to Lydgate, they wouldn’t send away their source of intel. She tried to think if anyone else had been sent. And then her heart dropped. Killian.

She and Killian had gone to the city. The Queen had told them they were going ‘only to collect information.’ It seemed baldly obvious now. She remembered thinking Killian and the Queen seemed like they were hiding something. It all fit into place. Was he keeping secrets from her too? The thought cut deeper than she’d expected. She felt as if she’d been sliced open and her organs were falling out onto the floor as she helplessly watched.

“Maybe they don’t trust the council,” Peter said offhandedly but Ruby only heard maybe they don’t trust you.

There was a buzzing in her ears. She couldn’t focus.

“They’d be right to be suspicious,” Ruby heard herself say as if she could dull the hurt of betrayal by striking back. “There’s more than a few council members who aren’t as loyal as the King and Queen think.”

Peter’s eyes flashed in the firelight flicking up from the glass in his hand.

He poured her another glass, she couldn’t remember finishing the first. She took another long sip. It seemed to help calm her. That burning rage settling into a glowing ember.

“They’re being reckless,” Ruby said, it felt good to finally say it. “They have no idea what they’re getting into. They think they can march in here and people will embrace them. As if nothing over the last thirteen years even happened.”

“There must be people on the council who have tried to warn them,” he prompted.

She shrugged. “I guess. But they’ve also surrounded themselves with people who think like they do. I suppose Emma is the best bet to make them understand. They will listen to her. Lord knows she has a good idea what this world is actually like.”

“I suppose their followers don’t trust Emma because she missed so many years of the training she was meant to have had to be princess,” he said.

Ruby shook her head with a bitter laugh. “Not exactly. I suspect a good portion of them would follow her, even over their loyalties to her parents.”

He took another sip of the whiskey as he pondered her words.

“I find loyalty is a tricky thing,” he told her thoughtfully. Like he was speaking to an old friend. “It is slowly earned and easily broken down. Too much pressure put on one person, too many lies, and suddenly it dissolves. I’ve had that problem in the Lost Boys. People I thought, I hoped, would rise to be top ranking members, important in our organization, and they let me down. I am much more careful who I confide in now.”

She looked up to meet his eyes, the steady way he was looking at her. The spark of hope in his eyes, as if maybe she was exactly who he had been looking for.

~*~

Killian watched from the fringes of the crowd as people fawned over the royal family. Today the smiles he saw around him were real. People passed him clutching bags of grain and newly cobbled pairs of boots. They remarked to each other how good it was to have the royals back.

It was going better than he’d dared to hope. His eyes were drawn once again to Emma. She shone at the center of the crowd, smiling brightly and shaking hands with anyone who came up to her. The crowd loved her, their beloved princess returned to them. The hero who had defeated Gold, the one who had saved them from the Industrialists.

But as she hauled the large bags off the wagons beside the guards she didn’t seem so elite or intangible. Here she seemed like she belonged, one of the people who surrounded her. She could dress in elegant dresses, but he smiled as he thought how there would always be a bit of the scrappy girl from the streets in her. She wasn’t a delicate shrinking violet, she wasn’t afraid to get her hands dirty, and that was exactly what the country needed.

A tall man pushed past him, knocking him back a step, and Killian might not have paid him any notice if not for the scowl on his face. So different from all the other faces around them that were beaming and delighted. Killian turned just in time to see the afternoon light glint off something in the man’s belt. It took a second before Killian realized what it was, an Industrialist pistol. He watched the man slink off, down one of the narrow streets off the square.

He looked around wildly for any sign they were under attack from Industrialist sympathizers. But there was no commotion, no uneasy faces in the crowd. No flashes of blackguards or black masks. He looked back just in time to see the man disappear around a corner, and he acted on instinct, turning away from the royals and the square and giving chase after the mysterious man.

He caught up to the man easily, keeping a safe distance as he trailed him through the city. At last they broke through the gridded city blocks to the docks. Killian paused. The area was emptier than he’d ever seen it. There were no airships docked, no workers bustling around, no raucous singing spilling from the row of taverns. This place had been the heart of Misthaven industry and trade. Now it decayed, empty and forgotten. It was another sure sign that the city was broken.

He was struck by another thought: this was where he had first met Emma. Years ago, both of them living entirely different lives, neither of them knowing what dangers lay ahead. He remembered the sight of her, shining brilliantly as she stood against the blackguards. The old Misthaven going up in flames around them. It looked very different than it had that night.

Killian saw the mysterious man slip into the cracked doors of one the warehouses clustered by the docks. He sidled up the door peeking through the opening but the place seemed empty, no sound reaching him. His instincts warned him that this could be a trap, but he needed to know who the man was. If he posed any danger. Why he had that pistol.

Killian ducked inside, his eyes adjusting to the dim room. There were groups of dusty crates scattered about the room, pushed aside, forgotten. He took a few steps moving further into the cavernous room toward a flickering lantern at the far end of the room.

Closer he could see the light was sitting on a table that had been fashioned into a workbench of some sort. Pliers and bolt cutters sat among gears and welding supplies. He looked around confused. The Industrialists hadn’t operated like this, they had centralized production in large factories, not a single workstation tucked forgotten into a warehouse.

“What are you doing here?” the man said appearing just to Killian’s left brandishing the very pistol that had caught his interest. “Answer or I’ll shoot you.”

“Hold on,” Killian said, holding up his hands. “I was following you.”

“Is that supposed to convince me not to shoot you?” he growled.

Killian turned to him with his hands still raised. He seemed only a few years older than Killian but his hair was graying at his temples and his small dark eyes and slight frame gave him a slightly manic look. His hand was shaking as he held the gun at Killian.

“I’m not here to hurt you,” he told the man.

“I have the gun, if anyone is getting hurt it’s you,” he retorted, giving the gun a shake for emphasis which was not as menacing as it was meant to be. Mostly it told Killian that the man didn’t have much experience with firearms, which did nothing to explain why he was in possession of an Industrialist gun.

“Easy,” Killian said, taking a step toward him raising his arms a little further. “Let’s start over, shall we? My name’s Killian Jones. Who are you?”

“Walsh,” the man said.

He watched skeptically as Killian slowly lowered his right hand toward him. With a moment’s hesitation, the man reached out to shake Killian’s hand. Mistake two, Killian thought as he grasped the man’s hand, it would be only too easy to disarm him and pull the gun from his other hand now. But Killian simply shook his hand and stepped back, overpowering him and putting him on the defensive was not going to get him any answers. He sensed that letting Walsh believe he was in control would yield the best results.

“What is this place, Walsh?” Killian asked looking pointedly toward the workbench.

Walsh glanced from the bench and Killian to the gun and let it fall to his side. Mistake three. Clearly Walsh was not accustomed to dealing with unsavory people.

“This is my workshop,” he answered.

Killian took quick stock of the room for anything else that might be a weapon, either one he could use or something that might activate against him.

“What is it you make here?” he asked him, moving to run a finger down the edge of a set of intricate gears that looked like the locking mechanism of a complex safe.

“I invent things here,” Walsh said with a hint of pride in his voice.

Killian turned to him.

“I’m carrying on where the Industrialists left off,” Walsh continued.

Now they were finally arriving at it.

“You’re an industrialist,” Killian said halfway between a statement and a question.

Walsh frowned. “The Industrialists are gone,” he said slowly in a way that sounded almost like pity, like he thought Killian might have been too thick to notice.

“Who do you work for then?” Killian asked.

“I work for the people,” he said. Killian waited but he didn’t elaborate.

“What do you make?” Killian asked again.

Walsh moved over to the bench straightening a few things and then wiping down the lock Killian had touched, cleaning off the spotless surface. “I make what is needed. That’s what true innovation is. That was what the Industrialists were doing, and now that they are gone I must continue. We can’t afford to let this much knowledge and progress be lost just because some man was defeated.”

Killian froze. For someone who couldn’t even hold a gun steady Walsh sure brushed off Gold’s existence like it had been nothing. It only added to the mystery and puzzle that only seemed more complicated with every small piece of information he provided.

“That is what innovation is all about: moving society forward,” Walsh continued. “It shouldn’t play to the whims of who is in political power at the moment. We can do things today we never even dreamed of ten years ago. We have access to manufacturing techniques that no other place in the world has. We have solved problems of transportation, sanitation, energy production, and medical care. We can’t lose those just because the Industrialists fell. Everyone has demonized them, but they did give us many things we never had before.”

Killian couldn’t deny there was some truth to his words. A perspective he had never considered before. But still his instincts warned him that Walsh’s free agent attitude made him too much of a wildcard to just leave uninvestigated.

“How many others are there, helping you?” Killian asked. He needed to assess the danger this kind of fringe group might be.

“Others?” Walsh asked, again looking like he thought Killian might be dimwitted. He gestured at the dark and empty warehouse. “You think there are so many left? That the engineers and inventors weren’t run off when Gold was defeated? You think the factories weren’t burned down? You think there are workshops hiding in every spare corner? You think there’s some weekly meeting I could attend? Maybe for tea or knitting circle? Perhaps we could start a cricket team, huh? You think I wouldn’t give anything for a sharp mind to collaborate with? To not be surrounded by weak, subservient, placated people who have no desire for progress?”

Killian worked to keep his expression unreadable as he felt a surge of indignation. This was the hubris and arrogance that had made Gold and the Industrialists unbearable. The way they could talk about helping the people and bettering society and then in the same breath insult and belittle the very people they claimed to champion. They cared only about seeing how far they could push science and the glory of discovery. They didn’t care about who was crushed to make it happen.

Walsh could wax poetic about innovation, but he could tell now that parts on the workbench were several pistols in various states of production. Walsh was making weapons.

“Who’s buying these?” Killian asked.

Walsh half pushed one of the pistols under a rag before seeming to realize it was pointless. He didn’t bother looking sheepish.

“There’s always a buyer. Some will pay top price to be well outfitted.”

“The gangs?” Killian guessed.

“There are some who know the value of good craftsmanship,” he said. “The powerful gangs have been around longer than the Industrialists, older than the stones of the city and just as important to its structure. They were imbedded just as deeply with Gold as the Industrialist big wigs. And when the industrialists fell some ran but some adapted, blending into a new landscape. Wearing a new mask. It wasn’t hard to find buyers, hell, some found have been buying from me for years.”

“The Lost Boys?” Killian asked him point blank not bothering to veil his interest.

Walsh swelled with unmasked pride. “Peter has appreciated my work for some time. Now he contracts exclusively with me.”

Killian felt the words hit him like a punch to the gut. He had been blind not to see this coming. “You can produce enough weapons from this workbench for the entire gang?” Killian asked him.

“I’m very good at what I do,” Walsh told him.

Humble too, Killian thought. Walsh would likely be more than happy if Gold managed to escape imprisonment and rise again. Killian wondered again how many others like him there might be, biding their time in the shadows. He almost couldn’t believe it but he was actually glad for August, he only hoped he made it to Lydgate Island soon.

“So are you going to arrest me?” Walsh asked him.

“I’m not the police,” Killian said, he wondered for a moment when he had reached the point so far from who he had been just months ago that he could be mistaken for an officer.

“You are with the royals,” Walsh said, not quite a question or a statement. The mirror of his own accusation that Walsh was an Industrialist. An invisible line between them.

Killian smirked. “I’m not here to arrest anyone.”

Walsh looked him over one last time before he turned his back and sat at the workbench. “Then I’ll ask you to see yourself out. This is private property.”

Killian looked for a long moment at Walsh, back turned. Vulnerable. Unprotected. Completely engrossed in his work once again. His silhouette edged in golden light from the glowing lantern.

He wondered for a second if he was making a mistake, not taking an easy opportunity, as he turned and walked away. Exiting the warehouse and leaving Walsh alone. The man determined to continue to change the world, but he was clinging to the past just as much as any of them.

He had to warn the others.

On the streets the day was clouding over, promising snow. He had barely turned the corner from the warehouses when he ran right into someone. He stumbled back in surprise before he registered the person in front of him.

“Emma?” he looked around. “What are you doing here? Why are you alone? Where’s your family?”

“I came to find you,” she said looking over his shoulder toward the docks. “Where did you go?”

“Followed a possible threat,” he said gesturing towards the warehouses. “I need to find Robin. We need to get a warning to Ruby. I don’t think we can trust Peter, he has a connection to Gold, and she’s walked right into his trap.”

“Killian, you can’t blow her cover to tell her to be careful of the person she is spying on. I'm pretty sure she already knows that. Besides you can’t just go walking into Peter’s stronghold and ask to talk to her.”

“I know,” he said. “That’s why I need to find Robin. He’ll be able to pass a message to her from within the Lost Boys.”

Emma frowned. “But we don’t know where Robin will be.”

“Actually, I do.”

She considered that carefully, crossing her arms.

“Okay, I’ll come with you.”

He was surprised by her response. “No, Emma, not for this. It’s no place for a princess. You should go back with your family.”

“I’m going with you, Killian,” she said stubbornly.

He sighed knowing she wouldn’t budge. He pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Please,” she said, making him look up because she so rarely begged. “I want to help Ruby. She’s my friend. Being a princess can’t stop me from helping people I care about. I don’t want to be just a figurehead, a symbol for people to use how they want.”

He thought of the way her face had fallen when he had told her he couldn’t go with her this morning. That fear of abandonment that gripped her no matter how much he tried to assure her.

“Okay,” he said at last.

She looked relieved, like she hadn’t expected him to agree. “So, where are we going?” she asked him.

He watched her carefully as he told her, “The catacombs.”

He enjoyed the stunned way her jaw dropped open before adding, “and you’re going to need a change of clothes.”

She looked down at her dress. “Who’s going to care what I’m wearing? The dead?”

He chuckled. “You’ve clearly never been to the catacombs,” he said, his eyes dancing with mischief.

“What does that mean?’ she asked him.

He just turned and beckoned her after him heading for shops up the street. “You’ll see.”

Killian led the way into a store tucked into a dingy corner, there was no window display, not even a sign advertising their wares. A rusted bell clacked roughly above them as he pushed open the door.

The room beyond the door was dimly lit with old gas fixtures, their light a slight green color. And everywhere there were crowded and cluttered shelves, stacks of moldering books and piles of wrinkled clothes.

“Is that Killian Jones?” the old woman behind a warped counter said. “I hate to think what i’ve done to earn this visit.”

“Miss Agatha,” Killian said with warmth in his tone. “Does a fellow need a reason to visit a beautiful lady?”

The woman’s eyes slipped past Killian to where Emma was standing just inside the door. “Seems you already got a beautiful lady.”

Killian struggled to hold back a smile. “Agatha, this is Emma,” he said gesturing to where Emma was hovering behind him.

“I know who she is,” Agatha said looking her over. “The whole city is buzzing about it.”

“Right,” Killian said. Agatha was always quick to get down to business. “That’s actually why we’re here. We need something a little less conspicuous.”

They all looked at Emma’s embroidered dress.

Agatha huffed a laugh, the sound of an engine backfiring. “I never knew inconspicuous to be your style, Mr. Jones.”

“Times change,” Killian said with an easy smile.

Agatha looked between him and Emma again. “That they do. I see you’ve lost your usual shadow.”

Killian shrugged. “Ruby’s on official business at the moment.”

Agatha seemed to file away that information, not everything she sold was as tangible as metal or linen.

“Shame, that girl knows how to spend money.”

Killian stepped forward and dropped a small pile of coins on the counter. “She’s not the only one. I’m trusting this will buy discretion as well.”

Agatha scooped up the coins almost as soon as they hit the counter. “Don’t insult me, Killian. We’ve known each other long enough.”

“Agatha, you are a true gem,” he said.

She scoffed but it didn’t cover her small smile. “Stop flirting or your girl will get jealous,” she said with a wink, easing gingerly off her stool onto arthritic joints. “Come on, sweetheart. We’ll see what we’ve got that suits you. Follow me.”

Emma looked a little startled at being addressed and glanced to Killian who gave her a small encouraging nod. She followed Agatha around the counter along the racks of clothes.

Killian perused the shelves in the front of the store while he waited. Agatha’s had always been a place you might find anything. Usually at a good discount from the shops on the high street or the wide avenues at the center of the city. If you weren’t concerned with how the items got here or if the official tariffs had been paid or if the shipments logged with the authorities, then Agatha’s was perfect.

The shelves showed no sign of organization, antiques shoved beside cooking ware, hardware beside candles. You would be lost if you were looking for something specific. Here, you just happened across treasures, waiting for you even when you didn’t know you were looking.

Agatha reappeared at the counter. “She’ll be a minute. She’s trying a few things.”

Killian nodded looking at a small metal box with an intricately carved keyhole. There was a note pasted to it that said unable to open, key lost.

He stared at the metal box thinking of Walsh’s crowded bench. “Agatha,” he said. “Have you heard of anyone buying up old Industrialist parts.”

“Sure,” she said and he swung around in surprise. “Lots of folks are trying to get spare parts now that there won’t be any new production. Just the other day had some rich folks from the East Side going to every store trying to find a back up engine for their laundry washer. Guess they’re terrified they might have to wash clothes manually like the rest of us.”

Killian frowned. Maybe it was too much to hope it’d be easy to figure out how many Industrialist sympathizers were left.

“Will you let me know if someone comes looking for gun parts?” he asked her.

She put a hand on her hip tilting her head. “You really can’t help yourself, can you?” she laughed to herself. “Get trouble stuck to you like shit on a pig.”

Agatha, always delicate in her word choice. Closest thing he’d ever met to how Ruby described her grandmother. He thought they probably would have gotten along swimmingly, Granny and Agatha.

“Don’t you go dragging that sweet girl into all that,” she said, her tone serious.

He heard Emma’s footsteps approaching. “Who says she’s not the one dragging me into it?” he responded.

Agatha shook her head pursing her lips. But before she could say anything else Emma appeared and he completely forgot about everything except the way her bodice skimmed her curves, tightly fastened with bronze buckles. Her skirt was patchwork but it hung on her like the finest silk. She looked like she’d be at home in the rowdy bars by the water making some steamboat captain fall in love with her. She looked like she was from the city, like this was her home. Like she belonged here.

“Well, that’s...” he trailed off, words escaping him, “much better.”

Emma walked toward him and he watched the sway of her hips, the swell of her breasts over the corset. Gods above.

She nudged him playfully. “My eyes are up here, Jones.”

He blinked letting out a weak splutter. He didn’t even bother looking over at Agatha; he could only imagine her expression.

“Come on, let’s go,” she said, her hand finding his arm. “Thank you, Agatha. Truly.”

“Mmhmm, you take care, dear,” she responded, and yeah she was definitely laughing at him.

Small flakes swirled in the air as they stepped back out onto the street. He took a deep breath the cold burning his lungs, cooling a little of the fire that had roared inside him. Much as he might have wanted to explore each and every layer of Emma’s new look he knew they had something more important to do.

“Follow me,” he said, leading her back towards the central canal. The lamps were beginning to flicker on, casting a warm glow to the buildings, a substitute for the sunset that was hidden behind the thick gray clouds. He thought of the winter solstice only a couple weeks ago and he wondered if there had been a celebration this year. If anyone had put out lanterns and holly wreaths in the chaos of the Industrialists fleeing Misthaven. Winter Solstice had always been his favorite holiday.

At last the street they were following ended at the canal. Its murky water lapping at the stone walls. Emma followed him as he ducked under the small bridge at the next cross street onto a narrow path along the edge of the water until they got to a small opening in the stones in the bridge’s supports.

“This leads to the catacombs?” Emma asked, looking a little warily at the dark tunnel.

“There’s multiple entrances throughout the city,” he told her. “These tunnels run all under the streets. Some say they go all the way to the castle.”

“They do.”

Killian looked over at her, surprised by her matter-of-fact tone.

She caught his glance before adding, “It’s how my family escaped the castle during the revolt”

He stared at her. It had been a common theory that the royals had been smuggled out through the tunnels. But Emma had never spoken since about that night since her memories returned and it caught him off guard.

“Come on,” he said and held out a hand guiding her the first step. “It’s okay.”

Emma took stilted cautious steps into the darkness. The sounds of the canal fading behind them.

“Do you have a light or something?” Emma whispered.

“Just a little farther,” he told her and sure enough when they turned a corner there ahead was a line of torches burning along the tunnel, out of sight from the hidden entrance but beckoning them on.

“Are they always here?” Emma asked

“Every night.”

“How many people know about this place?”

He knew she was asking questions because she was feeling out of her element. Nerves making her ramble. He remembered when she had stitched his shoulder, the words tumbling out of her to calm them both. He smiled at the memory of her touch.

“It’s one of the city’s secrets, but that doesn’t mean it’s a particularly well kept secret.”

They followed the torches through the maze of tunnels, the ground sloping up and down at times, occasionally sounds of dripping water could be heard leaking in from the canals overhead.

Finally the tunnel opened on a large cavern, a sunken chamber of the old catacombs. Already there was a large number of people gathered in the space.

Across the crowd he could see the alcoves that were nestled in the walls and corners, bones scattered along the walls mixed with the rough stones all around them. Music hummed in a thumping rhythm. A pulse beating through the people. The flickering light flashed off metal buckles on a hundred coats and boots and the thick spectacles pushed up from the faces of the factory workers. And it made the bones in the walls appear to shift and dance until it was hard to tell what movement came from the living or the dead. It was the illusion, the magic of this place. Everyone was equal here, surrounded by so many reminders of death. The one thing everyone had in common. It should have made it haunting, but to Killian, this was a place people came to feel alive.

Emma looked around the room in obvious shock. He tried to see it through her eyes, tried to remember the first time he had been here. Sent to gather information about smuggled goods for the promise of much needed coin. He’d been only a boy and this place had seemed like something out of the novels he read. A place more wonderful and terrible than fiction.

“How are we ever going to find Robin?” Emma breathed hopelessly looking at the mass of people. Ever practical, his Emma. Maybe she didn’t see the romance of this place.

“Let’s go,” he said, taking her hand and leading her toward the crowd.

She pulled back uneasily, her eyes darting around. “Wait, what am I supposed to do?”

He gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. “Blend in,” he grinned, leading her deeper into the cavern.

He grabbed two glasses of bubbling green liquid from a tray, slipping the man a coin. He passed one to Emma. “Cheers, love.”

She eyed the cocktail warily. “What is this?”

“This is how we blend in.” He lifted his glass and she tentatively touched hers to his.

He tipped the glass back taking a long drink. The burning taste was familiar to him but Emma coughed lightly beside him before putting on a brave face and taking another sip.

They wove between the people, Killian keeping a sharp eye out for Robin. Emma stuck close by his side and he became aware of the way the others were looking at them. No, at Emma. A mix of surprise and curiosity. It seemed no clothes or green drinks would allow her to blend in. Her identity shone from her, an integral part that could not be buried or forgotten.

A few people gave her smiles, nods of thanks. Whether for her efforts that morning or what she had done to rid them of the Industrialists he didn’t know. But for whatever their reason they seemed generally pleased to have her among them. One of them. Not above them, uncaring or disconnected, but here offering a shy smile.

“You’re causing a bit of a stir,” a voice said beside them. Killian turned to see Robin leaning casually against the wall of the cavern.

“Robin,” he breathed in relief. “We need a word.”

Robin cast a glance over their shoulders at the others in the room. “Maybe somewhere a little quieter.”

He moved into one of the small alcoves, a narrow twist in the hewn wall of the cavern. Here too bones and skulls lined the walls. Small rivulets of water leaked down over the bones like phantom blood, and shadows clung thickly here tucked away from the torches.

“You know, I didn’t expect you to make good on this offer quite so quickly,” Robin said to Killian.

But Emma simply rushed forward pulling Robin into a tight hug. He looked a little surprised before tentatively returning her embrace.

“Thank you,” she said, pulling back. “For everything you did for us.”

“My lady,” Robin replied, bending his head in a small bow. “What’s a favor between friends?” he said, his eyes lifting to Killian.

“Actually, since you mentioned it,” Killian said. “We’re here for another favor.”

Robin smirked. “Sounds about right.”

Killian glanced behind them but there was no one observing them. “It’s Ruby. I need you to pass her a message.”

Robin looked a little wary but he didn’t make any protest.

“Peter has connections to Gold,” Killian said, not wasting any time. “I think they used to work together. He’s buying industrialist weapons. We are trying to secure Gold but even from within the prison he may make a move against the royal family. Peter knows about Ruby’s history. She’ll be in considerable danger while she’s there.”

Robin glanced at Emma beside him. “Peter has been working to acquire weapons for some time. I’ve been suspicious for a while that he plans to move away from petty smuggling and racketeering and use the Lost Boys as his personal army. I have a few allies within the gang, we are working to gather more information.”

“Will you watch out for her?” Killian asked him. “Will you get her out if this goes badly?”

He hated that he couldn’t be the one watching Ruby’s back. Trusting someone else with that job felt like being asked to wear someone else’s face, fundamentally wrong to his sense of self.

“Killian,” Robin said, pausing to wait until he met his gaze. “I won’t let anything happen to her.”

He tried to let that promise comfort him.

Robin pulled out a worn bronze pocket watch. “It’s getting late,” he said. “We shouldn’t be seen leaving together. Stay here a while longer.” His gaze moved again to Emma. “People seem receptive to your presence. If you want to harness that political power you should show them you can understand them.”

“Does everything need to be about politics?” she asked with a frown.

Robin looked at her steadily. “Your life will be endless politics, Your Highness. And in politics, perception is everything.”

“No,” Emma said meeting his gaze. “In politics your allies are everything. I am very lucky in mine.”

Robin chuckled. “You’re already better at this than you think you are.”

With a small nod he pulled on his hat and ducked out of the alcove and disappeared into the crowd. Killian turned back to Emma.

“I suppose we could stay, let you get the whole experience,” he said nodding to the crowd.

Emma frowned. “I thought you didn’t want to be seen together.”

The words were like ice piercing him. He’d never meant for her to take his words from this morning that way.

“Emma, that’s not-” he broke off. “Robin will watch out for Ruby now. We might as well stop pretending. People have already seen you here, seen us together. Everyone already knows. I don’t want to act like this is something we need to hide.”

They moved from the alcove. The music had picked up and all the eyes that met his now had a shine from the effects of the brightly colored drinks. He could see Jefferson across the cavern with bottles of his illegally distilled wares, he’d probably make a good profit on a night like this. Tonight there was an infectious sense of celebration among everyone gathered. Nights like this were his favorite in the catacombs.

Taking her hand Killian guided Emma into the group of people dancing. If there was no need to try to conceal themselves any longer he wanted to make the most of this. Emma hesitated standing a little stiffly beside him as he came to a stop. He could see the uneasiness in her eyes.

He ran a hand down over the curve of her waist, as he’d wanted to all evening, the leather soft beneath his palm. He leaned a little closer to her. “It’s okay, Emma.”

“You trust these people?” she asked him quietly so they wouldn’t be overheard.

He glanced around, many of the faces ones he’d seen before, a few he could put names to. He’d squabbled and schemed alongside them for years, but trust? “No,” he told her before adding with a smirk, “but I’m here to keep you safe.”

He bent his head, his lips brushing the edge of her ear. He felt her take a shaking breath. “Give in to it,” he told her, pulling her into the sway of the beat of the music. Give us a chance he begged her silently.

She relaxed into him, following his lead. His heart leapt at the feeling and he buried a smile into her soft hair.

Energy coursed around them, the drums beating a steady rhythm, vibrating up through the stone at their feet. It was like they had crawled beneath the skin of the city to find the beat of its heart. All around them the dancing was getting more uninhibited, freer. All the worries and fears that hung heavily in the streets were shed down here, as if they could all be reborn again to then return and face another day above.

This was not like the waltz he had taught her or they had danced at her parents’ ball in Glowerhaven. This was instinctual, sensual. The two of them moved together. He loved the feeling of her in his arms. His hands ran over her back as she lifted her arms twisting to the melody, her head falling back, her hair brushing over his knuckles.

This Emma, the one he had seen at the coast, was a favorite of his. The one who didn’t have the worries of the world on her shoulders. The one that let herself be vulnerable. He loved seeing past her thick armor.

The crowd surrounded them, pulling at them like currents of the sea trying to pull them under. It would have been easy to be swept away. To get lost in the feeling as he had on numerous occasions in the past. To drink deeply from this dangerous draught.

But he followed her sparkling eyes, her hand tugging him gently. He needed little coaxing, it was always her, only her. And she was guiding him away from the tight press of the others. People moved aside for her as she cut a line through them. He noticed again the way they looked at her, admired her, but she had eyes only for him. She led them out of the crowd and the cavern up the sloping tunnels until the only sounds were the echo of their footsteps, the swish of her skirts, and pounding of his heart.

They broke the surface, the night air biting at them. He looked at Emma, the way her exhale swirled in the air. It was hours after the sun had set and the cold had settled heavily over the city in its absence. Goosebumps broke out over her bare shoulders and arms.

He shrugged out his jacket closing the distance between them, his arm coming around her, stepping into her space as he draped the thick material over her. She trembled next to him, his nose inches from her cheek. He could feel the heat of her skin, smell her perfume, feel her breath on his neck. His eyes found her lips, just parted, almost as if caught in a small gasp. He needed her.

“Killian,” she breathed so quietly he might have imagined it. A stray wish of his heart. But he could see that same desire burning in her gaze. There was no fear, no trace of uncertainty.

She stepped forward, her hand against his chest and she pushed him back a step until he shored up against the brick wall. His surprise was instantly forgotten as her lips found his, hungry. He smiled as she nipped at his bottom lip.

He bent down his hands sliding around her underneath his jacket gripping her tightly as he deepened the kiss. She melted, warm and pliant, into his embrace with a small moan that made his heart nearly stop. Her hands were everywhere, running through his hair, pressed into the back of his neck sending shivers down his spine that had nothing to do with the cold.

She pulled back a fraction breaking the kiss, her forehead against his.

“I don’t think we’ll make it back to the lake,” she said against his lips.

He breathed out a laugh nudging her lightly with his nose. “Eager, love?”

“I just mean it’s too cold,” she said with a breathless laugh. “We’ll freeze before we get halfway back.”

He smirked bending to place kisses along her jaw. “There’s ways to stay warm,” he said each word pressed into her skin.

“Killian,” she scolded.

“Don’t worry,” he told her. “I know a place where we can spend the night.”

She pulled back looking up at him. “Where?”

With one last kiss he took her hand. “You keep forgetting, this is my city,” he said and as he led her away from the catacombs deeper into the city he melted into the shadows, skirting around places that were busy this time of night and carefully avoiding clear sight lines from the buildings around them. Falling back into old habits.

They crossed the main avenue and turned down an alley, ducking between broken slats of an old decrepit fence, weaving a path that had once been very familiar to him. Tonight had felt like reliving a memory from years before, except now Emma was here, something different from his memories. But she didn’t question him once, falling into step beside him, as if she had always been there.

When he came to a stop in front of weathered door tucked into the side of a leaning building he glanced over at her.

He watched as her eyes moved over the chipped stones and dirty windows. He tried to imagine what she saw, a dingy slum, nothing like her palace by the lake. Creeping fears of inadequacy slithered from the corners of his mind.

“Was this your home?” she asked him.

He bit down on the inside of his lip. “Come on, with any luck it’ll at least be a little warmer inside.”

He pulled off his glove to pull out the lock picks that were tucked into the metal workings of his mechanical hand. With a practiced move he slid the picks into the lock and felt the pins catch, he turned the lock and with a firm shove of his shoulder the door opened.

He looked back to see her half-confused, half-impressed expression. “Ruby has the key,” he said with a shrug. He couldn’t have told her how much her answering laugh eased the pit in his stomach.

“Careful on the stairs,” he warned her as he moved inside the dark entryway, the only light was from a narrow window letting in a sliver of moonlight illuminate the uneven worn stairs.

The wood groaned with each of their footsteps. He paused at the top looking back just in time to see Emma’s foot catch on the last step knocking her off balance. She stumbled forward and he caught her, pulling her into him. She let out a shaking laugh as she righted herself.

“Sorry,” she said, still gripping him tightly, as close as they’d been when they were dancing, and kissing in the alley.

He leaned closer, brushing her hair back behind her ear and running his thumb down her cheek lingering at the soft skin just below her jaw.

He gazed at her, held in that moment framed in moonlight and dust. Ethereal. A single star in an otherwise cloudy night sky. She shouldn’t feel like she belonged here, he thought, but her eyes held that breathless look of wonder and warmth that felt more like home to him now than any four walls could.

“This way,” he said, reaching back to open the door behind him and holding it open for her. She stepped around him into the room beyond.

He moved by memory in the dark room to the fireplace on the far wall. He opened the chimney flue and swept the small pile of ashes and dust aside before stacking a few new logs and lighting them with the matches from the flint box in the crevice between stones in the hearth.

He turned back to Emma. She was standing in the center of the room he had lived in for years and he couldn’t quite decide how to react to the sight of her in his room. Emma, Princess Emma, the girl who had haunted him, an impossibility for the boy who had lived here. And yet here she was, her eyes moving around the room.

He lit a few of the candles scattered around the room, adding more warm light to the small room.

Emma dragged her fingers slowly over the surface of the desk, shifting a few of the papers there. And then she paused at the stack of books, a small smile tugging at her lips as she read the titles. A private memory.

She looked over at him.

“I thought you were living at the castle,” Emma said, breaking the silence.

He shook his head. “Just conducted some business there.” He took a step toward her, closing a little of the distance between them. “If you can break into the castle, people tend to believe you can do whatever else you say.”

“Ah,” she said knowingly, “All part of the act.” She glanced around the room again. “But this, this is the real you.”

He leaned against the desk.

“It isn’t much,” he said.

She stepped closer with deliberate slowness into the space between his knees, her eyes held his. “It is to me.”

Her words flooded through him, drowning out everything else. “I love you so much,” he told her.

A wide smile lit up her face. “I love you, too,” she said.

It was the first time she had said it in weeks. He knew she had been occupied with everything else, but now, her voice echoing in his ears, the words hanging between them, he didn’t know how he had survived a moment not hearing her say them.

“Say it again,” he begged her.

“I love you,” she said, no hesitation or uncertainty.

He couldn’t hold back any longer, his hands coming up to either side of her face as he kissed her, his fingers tangling into her hair. He had thought he knew what it was to love Emma, the weight and feel of it, but now as he kissed her he felt himself falling deeper, some depth there would never be any escaping from.

He pushed his jacket off her, his hands trailing down the length of her slim arms. Her hands worked clumsily at his waistcoat until with a shake of his shoulders he helped her remove it, tossing it onto the floor beside the jacket.

Emma pulled back then, slowing them down. Her eyes moving over his face, her expression contemplative. Her fingers reached up pushing back the hair that had fallen over his forehead. They traced the edge of his brow, across his cheekbone. He held still under her featherlight touch. At last she brushed his lips, and he placed a small kiss to her fingertips. She smiled despite herself, her eyes flicking up to his in a playful scold before they dropped back to where her hand had moved to the line of his jaw.

Her lips parted absently, like she hadn’t noticed, as she moved down the column of his neck. He shivered beneath her fingers, her careful investigation driving him wild.

When she reached the collar of his shirt she slowly undid the buttons, carefully pulling open the fabric. She bent forward to place a kiss over each new inch of skin revealed. He wasn’t sure he was still breathing by the time she reached his navel, her fingers pulling the hem of his shirt from his waistband.

He captured her wrists pulling her hands away from him, unable to endure it any longer. He turned them setting her on the desk before bending her back onto it in his need to be closer to her. She seemed just as eager, reaching for him, their hands interlocking as he pushed them over her head. There was a crash as books and trinkets toppled over the edge.

“Killian!” she gasped. “All your things.”

He glanced at the mess of papers for a second before placing a kiss on the soft skin of her neck. Nothing in the world could have pulled him from his current task. “Everything I care about is right here,” he assured her.

He kissed down over her collarbones, down her sternum to the tops of her breasts, feeling her heart beating there. She arched beneath him and he kissed the leather edge of the corset.

“I love this,” he told her, leaning back to take in the sight of Emma spread out on the desk dressed like a tavern wench. “You look beautiful.”

She laughed. “Should have known you’d have a thing for leather given that ridiculous coat.”

His fingers moved over the corset, tracing the buckles, slowly opening them. “You don’t like it?” he asked, drawing little meaningless designs into the leather with his fingertips as he went.

“I’m actually a little worried about the damage it’s done to my spleen,” she huffed.

He chucked. “Well, we can’t have that,” he said before tugging it off of her.

If he loved her in the leather fashion of the city, then he was hopeless for her bare skin. His hands skimmed up the sides of her ribs, his thumb dragging just beneath the swell of her breast.

She sat up wrapping her arms around his neck as she kissed him. He knew what she wanted without her needing to ask. Her body pressed against him, her skin warm, her heart pounding. He picked her up with an arm under her knees and carried her to the bed. Honestly he didn’t think the desk could handle what he wanted to do to her.

She sat on the edge of the bed, her hands finding his waist, tracing the lines of muscle there, following along the indent from hips. He bit his lip as his skin jumped, her gentle touch making him ticklish, not that he’d admit. He knew from her smile she knew, but she didn’t tease him. And this time he didn’t stop her as she loosened the laces on his trousers, pushing them off.

He leaned forward, moving to cover her body with his own, but she hooked her leg around his hip and rolled him under her. He laughed in surprise, looking up at her hovering over him. He loved when she used his own tricks against him.

She settled back onto his lap, her hands dragging down his chest as she held him still. Taking charge. Her expression was speculative, like an artist seeing a masterpiece within a blank canvas. In that moment he was ready to become whatever she wanted to make of him.

She bent down, her hair cascading down over him, strands of golden silk. Her kiss spread fire through his veins and he wanted to be consumed. His hands slid up her thighs bunching up the fabric of her skirt gripping her skin tightly as if it could anchor him to her. Everything in their lives seemed to be spinning further beyond their control, a thousand variables, a hundred reasons pulling them apart. He wanted this moment, this feeling, this night, just for them. And just let the rest of the world flow past.

She gave a small gasp as he pulled her more firmly against him. And it was a wicked torture when she responded, rolling her hips. Emma was never one to be outdone, never backing down from a challenge. Her fingers moved quickly to undo her skirt, letting it fall over the edge of the mattress, leaving nothing at all between them.

“I need you,” she said breathlessly against his lips. It was the sweetest sound he could imagine.

His hands found her hips as she sank onto him. His breath escaping in a long shaking exhale. Her braced against his chest and shoulders as she began to move and he surrendered to the feeling.

#captain swan #cs ff #cs au #cs fanfic #cs crew #steampunk anastasia au #sequel #at the beginning #sorry for the wait #my writing

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phagechildon · 4 years

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That Which is Human - Chapter 6

Sorry I couldn't upload for a bit! The holidays were crazy and I ran into some personal problems x.x Thank you @kanamizaki for being very kind and editing this chapter for me~! I kept deleting large portions and they came to my rescue x.x Trigger warnings for this chapter: suicidal thoughts, guns, and someone being shot

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“Thank you for seeing me on such short notice,” Matoba bowed to his most secretive business partner, his black tie dangling annoyingly away from his body. He couldn’t find himself to care much though. They were lucky he put his black suit on in the first place.

“Of course, anything for the head of the Matoba clan,” the Onabyn, who was the leader of the Yakuza said with a welcoming smile as the two bodyguards on each side of him returned the bow. Last time Matoba saw them, he exorcised two very dark youkai that someone deliberately attached to them; it seems they were still grateful. “What can I do for you, Seiji Matoba?”

“I don’t have a lot of time, so I’ll get to the point,” he said, not sitting down as another guard pulled a chair out for him. “A very powerful ally of mine is being targeted by someone in your group. I need those orders cancelled immediately.”

The boss’s eyes widened in both shock and fear, though Matoba wasn’t sure what the man feared more: the fact that they targeted someone very important to him or the fact that he had to cancel an order because someone outside the Yakuza was demanding him to.

“I-I see, I’m afraid some orders are harder to cancel than others,” the boss carefully said, obviously trying really hard not to upset him. It was kind of amusing to watch him battle against pride and fear as they both knew there was only one right answer. “What’s this ally’s name?”

“Takashi Natsume,” Matoba said as another bodyguard brought a small computer over. The boss wasted no time typing the name in, his eyes filling with confusion.

“You said Takashi Natsume, right?”

“Yes,” he said, disappointed that the boss wasn’t smart enough to put the pieces together. Someone was only useful and worth saving if they had value, which was something they liked to discuss at length. If he considered Natsume to be worth saving, then he should’ve realized the child probably saw youkai too. It seemed like the Boss’s pride was winning over reason. Maybe a threatening push would bring him back to his senses. “His uncle Teppei Hojo is the one who hired someone to kidnap, torture, and murder him. Thankfully for you, he survived unless we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

The boss grew pale at the threat as he gulped nervously, seeming to catch himself. “I agree. If we had known he was such an important ally to you, we would’ve never approved the mission in the first place. I’m terribly sorry for the mix up. As things stand, I see new orders for his nurse to keep him sedated with meds until the therapist and officer gets there to hand him back over to the Disposal Team. But these orders… they’re nearly a day old. The officer and therapist may have gotten to him already.” Matoba’s eye narrowed, his whole demeanor instantly darkening.

“Then call and order them to stop immediately. I will not tolerate this mission progressing any further.”

“Y-yes, of course,” the boss fumbled for his phone, his bodyguards nervously looking at each other, not sure what to do. Against someone like Matoba, who could see and control what couldn’t be seen, they didn’t stand a chance. “Dammit!” The boss cursed as the call went to voicemail, not even bothering to leave one as he redialed. Matoba frowned, having a feeling they wouldn’t answer. “Dammit, pick up the damned phone!”

“Is the Disposal Team the ones that originally took Natsume?” He asked, to which the Boss nodded, trying to get a hold of another person. “Where do they conduct their business? I’ll personally go down there and pick Natsume up myself.” There was no way those youkai would let someone take Natsume, but the Boss didn’t need to know that. However, he was very interested in the youkai he saw in the vision. He could kill two birds with one stone by visiting the person who was ordered to ‘take care’ of Natsume.

The Boss grew a bit pale as he diverted his attention back to the computer. “It’s… complicated,” he hesitantly said. “We have the address, and know the general area, but no one’s ever been able to actually find the place. Usually we have to meet up somewhere in town or at one of our villas.”

They had a hard time finding them? For some reason he had a sinking feeling it had something to do with the youkai. That powerful cat of Natsumes would’ve found him within a day, yet he didn’t. There had to be a good reason behind that.

“Give me the information anyway. If I can’t find it I’ll cross that bridge when I get there.”

----

It’s quiet, he realized as he felt himself stirring again. It hasn’t been this quiet in a while, it was honestly a bit unnerving. Nothing could’ve happened though, not with everyone watching over him.

“Oh, he’s waking up,” he heard a nearly foreign voice comment, making him stiffen. Who was this, and why was he in his room?

“My my, he was only asleep for three hours this time. Hopefully you guys can ease his mind so he can fully rest again.” Touko said, convincing him to slowly open his eyes. Like the past few times, the lights were dimmed as he saw Touko still standing at his bedside as Detective Oishi and Investigator Akasaka stood at the foot of his bed. Upon seeing his gaze the two smiled warmly, though there was an overwhelming sadness and guilt in their eyes.

“How are you feeling?” Detective Oishi asked, Touko smiling at him happily. Natsume couldn’t help the happiness that swelled in his chest. They listened to him - of course they'd listen to him.

“Okay,” he quietly said, his eyes drifting to Nyanko Sensei who was still in his true form with his eyes closed. Somehow Natsume knew he wasn’t sleeping, which made him feel safer. As long as Sensei was there, he knew everything would be okay.

“Good, then Mrs Touko, we’ll call you back in once we finish,” Detective Oishi said, to which she nodded.

“We’ll be right outside, Takashi,” she reassured as she squeezed his hand, unable to hide the worry in her tired brown eyes.

“Thank you,” he said, feeling a bit sad as she let go of his hand.

When she closed the door behind her, the two moved to where she had been before, their faces growing a bit grim. “We want to be frank with you, especially after everything you’ve been through,” Oishi started, making Natsume gulp a bit nervously. “Protocol wasn’t followed at all. Typically you’re questioned before you’re introduced to a lot of outside people, even your family members to ensure no one influences your statement. Your coma made things a bit difficult, but even so, once you were awake, they should’ve cleared everyone out until the officer on duty was available to take your statement. However, the officers assigned to you never took a statement and, from what I’ve heard, weren’t really here at all. After doing some digging, we learned they were part of the Yakuza.” Natsume felt his heart stop as he clenched the bedsheets, fear coursing through him. Those guards had been members of the Yakuza the whole time??

Lightning lit up the sky as thunder shook the ground. Natsume felt his eyes widen in terror as his whole body locked up, letting his bare swollen feet sink in the runny mud. A loud squeak to his right snapped him back into reality as a weight pulled on his right hand, nearly knocking him off balance. His eyes quickly focused on the small child who was nearly as horribly beat as he was.

“A-are you okay?” His shaky voice managed to ask. The child opened his mouth, thunder echoing with his lips. Natsume felt his heart quicken, his own lips trembling with his soaked and bloody body.

‘Lightning is worse, you know.’

No - he couldn’t freeze up here, not when this child’s life was literally in his hands. The chances of lightning hitting him while down on the ground was significantly less than when he was on Sensei’s back. Someone in his situation had to be truly cursed to incur such wrath.

“I-I’m fine,” the boy whimpered back, those dark brown eyes looking into his with worry. “Are you?”

Natsume felt himself flinch at the question, his face contorting in shock. That was a genuine question from someone who spent the past day or so in hell with him. Any other typical kid would’ve focused on himself, but not Toshiki.

“Yeah, sorry,” he said with a soft smile the rain easily smeared away. “Let’s go.”

Pulling his foot out of the mud, he took another step forward, his heart stopping upon hearing the child let out a short pained cry. Pivoting around, he saw Toshiki leaning on one foot as one of his small bruised arms reached down towards his ankle.

The mud caked skin was turning slightly red and purple, indicating an injury. It was injured before, did he twist and hurt it again just now? Walking on it would only make it worse. If something happened to him, Toshiki needed to be able to escape.

“Stop,” he ordered, seeing the other try taking another step forward. Upon his command, Toshiki jumped, his cautious brown eyes staring into his own. That look of pure terror made Natsume sigh, knowing his own eyes probably held the same expression when he was caught off guard.

Kneeling to the ground, he turned so his back was facing the child. The purposeful knife wounds along his inner thighs were screaming at him, but he ignored it. They didn’t have a lot of time. They weren’t deep enough to make him bleed out. “Get on.”

“Wh-what? No, I-I can walk!”

“Don’t argue with me,” Natsume sternly said, the child instantly going silent. Guilt ran through him as he took a deep breath, trying to come up with a good medium between being protective and stern. “Sorry… we don’t have a lot of time, so let me carry you for now, okay?”

Another clash of lightening and thunder made Natsume squeeze his eyes shut as his arms went stiff, his ears ringing and veins bursting with phantom pains.

Small, gentle fingers against his shoulders pulled him from his shock, letting out a sigh of relief as the child wrapped his arms around his neck.

Right, the lightning wouldn’t touch them.

Carefully wrapping his arms around the child’s legs, he stood, ignoring the sharp and fiery pain shooting throughout his entire body. The wounds on his back were screaming at him at the top of their lungs, making him whisper a slight sorry as he trudged on.

Everytime he stepped on something sharp under the mud they nearly tumbled to the ground, especially when he stepped on a particularly sharp stick that pierced his skin. Stumbling against a tree trunk, he bit his bottom lip tightly, desperately hoping the sharp pain would subside soon.

A gentle tap on his shoulder made him follow Toshiki’s hand as he pointed at something that was surprisingly close. Squinting through the fog, his heart raced in both fear and excitement.

A gas station - it was a gas station! A tear of pure relief fell past his cheek as peeled himself from the tree, a bright hopeful smile singing on his lips. For once he didn’t fear being noticed by others, not when it mean the humans could protect them.

Pushing through the pain, he made his own path through the woods, his eyes never losing sight of the gas station that was dimly lit up alongside a dirt road. So many things impaled his feet, making him stumble here and there. But it was okay, because they were going to be okay.

There was only one car in the area he assumed was the parking lot, but he didn’t let that dampen his hopes. Taking a deep breath, he looked in the window, a smile blossoming on his face. It was small sure, yet it radiated warmth. There were a lot of memories surrounding this place. Pushing the door open, both he and Toshiki shivered as a burst of cold air came over them, followed by warm air. The child couldn’t help the moan of relief as he relaxed a bit against him, making Natsume smile a bit.

“Welcome-” a young man stopped, a noise of distress leaving his throat. “A-are you guys okay?!”

Natsume looked up, seeing a man who seemed to be in his early twenties with shaggy brown hair and light green eyes staring at them in shock behind the counter.

“We need help-” Natsume managed out, glancing over his shoulder, realizing he should stay away from the windows. “We were kidnapped, they’re probably after us.”

The man instantly grabbed a set of keys and hurried over to them. Natsume couldn’t help taking a few steps away as the man approached, a shadow of fear and doubt casting over his face. The man instantly slowed down, putting his hands up to show he meant no harm.

“I’m gonna show you guys to the back room in case they show up, okay? Follow me.” The man turned and went to the side of the store where there was a door with a sign reading ‘employees only.’ Natsume hesitated as he followed a few steps behind, not sure if he could trust the man as he unlocked the door. When it opened, it revealed a rather small cramped looking room with a sleeping bag on a rather small run-down couch. There were pizza boxes amongst others scattered around the messy room.

“Let me get you guys some bandages-”

“Do you have a phone?” Natsume interrupted, the cramped room unnerving both him and the child. There was only a very small window above the couch barely big enough to fit a pizza box through. What if this man locked the door behind them and never let them out?

The man blushed as he quickly fumbled through his many pockets. “Y-yeah, sorry one sec.” Finding it he let out a triumphant smile, instantly calling for help. “Get settled in, I’ll grab some bandages and medicine.”

Natsume glanced back at the room, hearing the other start talking to someone on the phone. “Hey hi, I’m Ryuu Wisteria and I work at the Cube Stop Gas Station right off the high way - yeah, that one. A teen and kid just showed up in really bad condition. They say they were kidnapped.” Hearing he was indeed actually talking to someone, the injured teen reluctantly went into the room, his shaky legs threatening to give out at any moment.

“Imma set you down on the couch, okay?” He forewarned. When the little one nodded, he turned his back to the couch and let go of his feet. Seconds later Toshiki’s grip around his neck disappeared. In an instant his body practically hummed in response as his vision started fading in and out. Blinking a few times, he felt those small hands on his back, shaking him a bit, his voice soft, quiet, and worried. He didn’t even realize his legs gave out, nor that he fell against the makeshift couch. His head ached where it hit the side of the couch on the way down, along with one of his already sore ribs. His chest didn’t feel right as he gasped a few times, the wind seemingly knocked out of him.

“I’m fine,” he tried to reassure, though both knew it was a natural response at this point.

“Are you okay?” He heard the man from outside ask, his footsteps coming close to them, only to stop. “Oh wow, you guys work fast! I see an officer pulling up already," he said to the person on the phone.

An officer already responded to the call? It almost seemed too good to be true. The highway must’ve been closer than they thought.

The door to the store opened just as the man’s tone of voice started to change as he pressed the phone closer to his face, seeming to grow uneasy. “Really? But his lights are flashing on his car and everything-”

“I heard the situation from the radio,” another man’s voice said, making Natsume stiffen. Something wasn’t right, he could feel it in his gut.

“The other two are injured, no? Where are they?”

Natsume quietly stood, motioning for Toshiki to hid under one of the larger boxes in the room. The child looked uneasy, his terrified brown eyes seeking comfort and protection with him - both of which he knew he couldn’t provide.

“I-I’m sorry sir, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” the clerk said, as Natsume knelled at the corner of the doorway, seeing everything happen through a reflection on the ceiling. There was a police officer standing in front of the clerk with his hands on his hips, glowering at the man who seemed scared for his life.

“Are you serious? You’re on the phone with the station now!” He spat. “Hang up, the chief knows I’m here.”

“He does?” Ryuu asked, lowering the phone slowly, as if not sure. “They ran into the forest just now. They didn’t trust me and thought I was working for their kidnappers.”

The officer’s posture fell, those hands sliding off his hips. “Oh? What direction did they go?”

“Up the road,” the clerk said, pointing in the opposite direction they came.

“Thank you for the valuable information,” the police officer said, Ryuu’s eyes widening in complete disbelief. Natsume felt his heart stop in his chest, hardly able to grasp what he was seeing.

The officer had a gun pointed at the clerk’s head, the man that had been so thoughtful and protective moments ago. He barely even had a chance to take a deep breath as a shot rang out, red spraying in the reflection.

He shot him - he shot him in the head. The haunting hollow sound of Ryuu’s body hitting the floor sucked the air from his lungs, his entire body feeling heavier than lead as hopelessness settled in.

This was a police officer, they were supposed to be safe from their captures with him! Who could they turn to if they couldn’t trust the police?!

“Wow, you two got a pretty good kid killed. I couldn’t even tell if he was telling the truth or not, and I’m usually really good at reading people.” The officer’s eyes met his own through the reflective surface on the ceiling, making him blanch. “Then I saw you at the corner of my eye. Now come out, before I put a bullet through one of your limbs.”

Natsume’s said limbs were frozen in place, his mind still reeling in shock. This officer just killed their hero, what would he do once he came out?! Wouldn’t he just shoot him too?

“You have five seconds before I start shooting!!”

His body acted on it’s own as he jumped up, the adrenaline dulling the pain that wracked his body. The officer smirked upon seeing the reaction, moving his hand so his golden eyes were staring down the barrel of the gun.

Never in his life did he ever think he’d be staring down the end of the barrel with a maniac ready to end his life with a simple flinch of a finger. He’s gone up against powerful dark youkai and gods yet nothing was scarier than this moment. Even if he did what he was told, would the man shoot him anyway? Wasn’t that how humans typically did things?

“You’re turning blue, don’t forget to breath now,” the man laughed. “Now get over here before I run out of patience.”

He didn’t have a choice. Unlike youkai he didn’t stand a chance against a human. His powerful punches were useless on humans, especially against someone who was no doubt trained in hand to hand combat. If he didn’t have so much to lose, he would’ve tried finding a way to fight back, but he couldn't throw his life away anymore, and he couldn’t risk getting Toshiki shot.

“Where’s the other kid?” The officer asked as he approached, Natsume’s stomach rolled as he gagged, the sight of the clerk being far too much, even for him. “Not that your trembling isn’t amusing, but the kid - where is he?!”

Ryuu didn’t deserve this, that kind hearted soul deserved life. It wasn’t just fear that had him trembling, or the pain. Most of it was anger. “The storm separated us, I don’t know where he went.” The officer glowered at his harsh tone as he walked up and pressed the gun to his forehead, the cold metal a foreign sensation to him. This did feel familiar though, like the time Houzuki realized he was posing as Fuzuki to prevent the drought. His face resembled the same stoic expression he bore then, his fear gone.

They stared at each other for what felt like forever before the officer clicked his tongue in annoyance, unable to get a read on him.

The door to the gas station opened, the officer peeling his gaze away as a smirk formed. “You’re fast, Toma.”

Toma - it couldn’t be-! Turning his head, he saw it was true, wanting to do more than scream in frustration. There was no escaping them, no matter what they tried. Not even the god could help him escape, his eyes catching sight of Shirudo whose eyes were closed and head hung low.

“I’m sorry, Takashi. I… have to reveal Toshiki too. You should tell them yourself, so… you don’t get hurt.” The rope was tightening around his head, he could see it at the corner of his eyes, only making him more frustrated.

If only he had the Book of Friends, he could cheat the god’s curse and call for help.

“Please, Takashi. I don’t… want to see you get hurt anymore.”

No - he refused. They could do whatever they wanted to him as long as he knew he didn’t sell Toshiki out. A small smile that held both sorrow and pride came to the god’s face as he flicked his wrist. The box hiding the child suddenly moved, alerting the two adults. The gun was pulled from his face and pointed to the room.

Now he had no choice.

“Don’t shoot-” he said, clenching his fists. “It’s just Toshiki.”

Toma turned to him with a deep fire burning in his eyes. He moved closer, a ripping pain across his chest making him yelp and gasp at the same time. His knees buckled, his hands instinctively going to his chest as he grew light headed. The world around him shifted back and forth as a warmth flooded over his arms.

It should hurt, but it didn’t. Even as he felt himself being dragged, he felt nothing but a deep coldness seep over him.

He blinked a few times, finding everything darker than before. His blurry vision saw a pair of panicked dark brown eyes staring into his own, his mind slowly registering that this was Toshiki. The child was being gagged, and he didn’t even fight. After what they both just witnessed, he couldn’t blame him. In fact he would’ve encouraged him to do as they said.

“You wanna dump the small one at a beach, right?” He faintly heard Toma ask, his head starting to swirl again. He heard Satoshi answer, but his words were muffled.

Sleep… he just wanted to sleep.

“I’m sorry, Natsume,” he heard the deity whisper in his ear. “If I hadn’t been so selfish, I could've ended my life, and saved yours. I’m sorry, grandson of Reiko.” Something wet fell on his brow, which he assumed was a tear from Shirudo. “The wound isn’t too deep, you’ll survive, but it’ll hurt. Since your life is tied to Satoshi, you won’t be able to die easily, not while he’s still healthy. He’ll keep you alive long enough for help to come. But… just in case someone doesn’t find you, I’ll put a second curse on you, one that’ll keep you asleep until you’re safe-”

“Takashi?” Akasaka called, making Natsume blink the horrific memory from his mind. His hands were desperately clenching the sheets as Sensei breathed against him, his red eyes staring into his own.

“You panicked, you’re fine,” Sensei gently nuzzled his hair, earning a confused sound from one of the detectives. All they could see was his hair being rustled by something that wasn’t there.

“S-sorry, I-I guess... I panicked,” he admitted, slowly looking up at them. “But my friends, they’re in danger! Those officers saw everyone, they even had access to their names and addresses! They could’ve passed the information before they were caught!”

The detective and investigator frowned, knowing they couldn’t provide an answer that would settle his nerves. “If it helps, everyone on your guest list is here except for Shuuichi Natori who went home to get some rest. We’ll talk to the others to implement extra precautions, okay?” Fear still raged in his heart, but he was relieved that these two weren’t undermining him. “Let’s take your statement so you can focus on healing, okay?”

Taking a deep breath, he told them everything. He didn’t dare meet their eyes, he just stared at the sheets as he spoke with a slight tremble in his body and voice. They were recording him, thank gods. This way they wouldn’t make him repeat what he said. Sensei even remained strangely quiet, not saying a word as he finished. Recalling everything that happened made him feel both sick to his stomach and light headed.

“Is there anything else you can remember?” Oishi asked, both seeming horribly unnerved after learning of Toshiki and Satoshi.

“No, that’s everything,” he said, making sure to leave the details of the youkai out. The last thing he needed was for them to think some of the reports from his family members were true.

“And you’re sure they didn’t mention what beach they took Toshiki?”

“I’m positive,” he reaffirmed with a deep sigh, wishing he had more information to give them. “I… think he only as a day or two left.” They nodded, understanding the grave situation.

“I remember seeing the news talk about finding someone shot at a gas station, I think it was just outside Shiro Town.” Natsume’s eyes widened, his heart stopping in his chest. Shiro Town? Were they really that close to his parent’s old home and he didn’t even realize it? “We’ll get this to Chief Tsunemori right away. She’ll know the best way to go about this.”

“Thank you,” Natsume said, frustrated with the fact that he was feeling tired again. He hated to accuse someone without evidence, but in his state it was impossible to gather any. “May I ask a favor?”

“Of course, what is it?”

“Well… I know I’m not in the best condition, but I’m so tired even after the nap. I know it could be my body trying to heal but… I don’t know, I only feel this way after the nurse comes in.” The two went silent as they glanced at each other, their expressions turning grim. Natsume felt a nervous bead of sweat start forming on the side of his face, knowing this couldn’t be good.

“She came in around ten minutes before you woke up and changed the bags.” Oishi stepped forward and looked at the bags on the IV stand, his eyes squinting.

“Odd…” he trailed off as he took his phone out and snapped a picture.

“Wh-what?” The teen nervously asked.

“The label seems as if it was peeled off then put back on.” Very delicately he held his phone in one hand recording his other hand peel the sticker away. There was nothing underneath it though, which made them all nervous. “We’ll look into it,” he reassured, putting the label back on. “I know it’s hard, but don’t ask for pain medication until we sort this out.”

Natsume wanted to say he never even asked for it in the first place, but decided to leave that out. He’d have to try to convince the others that the pain was minimal and that he didn’t need medication right now. Not like it was a big deal considering he was planning on leaving tonight anyway.

“Change of plans. Akasaka, stay here with Takashi until the approved officers get here. I’ll get this over to the Chief.” Oishi ordered, to which the other nodded. Natsume couldn’t help but feel more at ease with the decision, smiling delicately up at the investigator.

“Thank you. I’m… sorry for inconveniencing both of you.”

“You’re not,” Akasaka smiled warmly. “This is our job.”

As soon as Oishi opened the door, he could hear everyone outside go silent. “We’re done, don’t harass him too much.”

Touko and Shigeru were the first ones in, followed by Nishumra, Kitamoto, Sasada, Shibata, Tanuma and then Taki. The fact that everyone was here aside from Natori completely blew him away, making him blush a little.

“Natsume!!” They all collectively cried. Tears fell down Nishimura and Sasada’s cheeks despite their best efforts, making Natsume smile warmly at them. His foster parents stayed along the wall with Akasaka, speaking to him quietly as they gave him time with his friends. This was the first time he actually got to speak to them, even to Tanuma and Taki.

“What took you so long?! We’ve been waiting for you to wake up!” Nishimura cried, not even seeming bothered that he was shedding tears in front of Taki. He was sure he’d hear all about how embarrassed he felt later; in fact he was looking forward to his scolding.

“Hey, we agreed we’d give him a break!” Sasada scolded. “How are you feeling Natsume?”

“Getting better,” he reassured. “I’m sorry to put you guys through all this.”

“Don’t start with that crap,” Shibata’s voice cut in, making Natsume look past his three normal friends to his old classmate, seeing him, Taki and Tanuma all carrying something colorful in their hands. His three normal friends turned, Sasada’s face turning red.

“N-not now-!”

“Why not now?” Tanuma asked, meeting Natsume’s eyes with a warm relieved smile.

“Natsume,” Taki said, making him slowly look at her as Nishimura and Kitamoto moved out of the way. A deep blush burned into Natsume’s face as he saw what they were holding, finding himself in disbelief. “Sasada came up with the idea to fold a thousand paper cranes, so we did, with everyone’s help.”

“I-I just came up with the idea. Everyone helped gather participants,” she blushed, looking away.

“My father, Shigeru, Touko, Ponta, and even Miss Yorie made one,” Tanuma said.

“I did too!” Shibata quickly shouted, which made Tanuma snort.

“There were even people who heard about what happened and wanted to make one for you. A lot of them said you helped them, so they wanted to return the favor,” Sasada explained as she tilted her head curiously. “You know a lot of people, Natsume. There were people of all ages! I had them write their names on the cranes because I couldn’t keep track.”

Natsume’s eyes widened in complete shock as Tanuma gently handed him one end of the paper cranes that were all stringed together. He didn’t even see half of them were still in a big box behind everyone.

“I…” he trailed off, not even knowing what to say as he looked at the first paper crane, reading the names as he went down the line:

Shigeru Fujiwara, Touko Fujiwara, Satoru Nishimura, Atsushi Kitamoto, Kaname Tanuma, Tanuma’s father, Jun Sasada, Akifumi Sugino, Shuuichi Natori, Tamiko, Tooru Taki, Katsumi Shibata, Chizu Sakanaka, Yuriko Ogata, Miyoko Aoi, Ito-san, Tsukiko Yousuke, Takuma Yousuke, Aoi, Kaoru Sonokawa, Beniko, Daisuke Yuki, Yorie Tsumura, Isamu Taki, and many, many more names of his precious friends, and even kind hearted strangers who crafted these beautiful cranes for him.

His hands trembled as tears trailed down his cheeks. So many people... most of them even lived somewhat far away, yet they traveled all the way here just to do this? How’d they even know he was hurt? Why would they use their time to make one and hand deliver it? They obviously couldn’t mail them without crushing them.

“Sasada organized search parties after the police suggested it, so word of your disappearance spread,” Tanuma said, noticing Natsume’s beyond confused expression.

Always the observant one, Natsume sniffled as he looked to Sasada, finding it hard to believe she was able to keep it together to organize all this. “Thank you, Sasada. I… honestly don’t even know what to say.”

Leaving him speechless made her blush even deeper, but smile even wider. Small tears formed in her eyes as she beamed, trying not to lose herself to her emotions. “I’m the class president, I can’t have one of my classmates disappear, let alone a good friend.”

“She was sooo bossy!!” Nishimura groaned, making Kitamoto smirk. “We couldn’t even sneeze without her yelling at us to take it more seriously. But that’s the most serious I’ve ever been!! There’s just no pleasing her!”

“You should’ve seen him Natsume,” Kitamoto laughed, nudging Nishimura with his elbow as a teasing smirk surfaced. “You wouldn’t have recognized him.”

“H-hey! I can be serious about things!” Nishimura pouted, feeling attacked as everyone laughed, even Natsume. It was cut short when he started coughing, much to his embarrassment. It felt like a lifetime since the last time he laughed so hard, even if it only lasted a few seconds.

“S-sorry, I’m fine,” he quickly reassured with that fake smile. Tanuma seemed to notice it as he frowned, looking worried.

Taki quickly grabbed a plastic cup and let Tanuma fill it with water the staff left for them, holding it out to him. “You should drink some water. Do you need help?” She asked kindly, making Natsume blush. His friends were doing so much for him… how could he ever repay everyone for their kindness?

“I think I got it,” he reassured, not wanting them to yell at him if his wrist did give out. Very carefully he moved his hand up and took the water, surprised that the effort didn’t hurt much. Not too long ago he could barely move his hand from the bed. Was this due to Sensei sleeping next to him? He’d have to thank him for lending him some of his power.

“Oh yeah, we have a bone to pick with you Natsume!” Nishimura pouted, making everyone look to him confused. Natsume unwillingly tensed, hoping it had nothing to do with his kidnapping. “Why didn’t you tell us you knew Shuuichi Natori?! He’s our favorite actor!!”

Natsume let out the breath he was holding, unable to help but genuinely smile. “When I first met him, I honestly didn’t know who he was, so we were able to talk to each other without the fame barrier.” He had practiced the answer when Natori started visiting him more often just in case one of his friends saw them together. “I felt like telling you guys who love him as an actor would be betraying him, so I didn’t.” Speaking of Natori, he knew the other didn’t go home. He probably set off to search for Toshiki and the deity, god, youkai - whatever his status technically was. Hinoe, Chobihige, the Middle Ranks, Kappa, Benio, and Misuzu were gone too. Much to Natori’s displeasure, some probably all accompanied him while others raced them there. For some reason, he was sad he didn’t get to see that.

“I guess that makes sense,” Nishimura pouted, trying to be mature with the answer as Natsume’s eyes fell a little, his body suddenly feeling very light. He smelled the ocean again, but also blood. ‘Hurry… please…’ Sensei opened one of his eyes, snapping Natsume out of his thoughts. For a moment he felt disoriented, almost forgetting where he was.

“Need to rest?” Sensei asked, to which he merely shook his head slightly, grateful for his bodyguard’s cautious watchful gaze.

“Natsume?” Shibata’s voice came next, much to Natsume’s surprise. The other was strangely quiet, probably feeling a bit uncomfortable knowing he couldn’t say anything about youkai in front of the other three. He’d have to thank him for his understanding later.

“I’m fine,” he reassured, though his smile didn’t reach his eyes this time. When he ‘disappeared’ again, he realized he’d cause them even more emotional distress. Sasada did so much to bring people together just for him, he hoped he’d be back before she could waste anymore of her time.

“You’re not going,” Sensei growled, somehow hearing his thoughts. Natsume merely smiled more, deciding to stay silent.

They’d argue about this later.

“Did you guys bring a game? I’d like to watch you play,” Natsume suggested, hoping to lighten the mood a bit. A hand gently wrapped around his own, making him go stiff.

“You’re shaking,” Tanuma whispered as the others cheered and started fighting over what game to play. Natsume looked down at his hand to see Tanuma holding his, allowing the water in the cup to stop spilling from the sides. “Are you really okay?”

“Yeah,” he said, though let his eyes fall. He was lying again… he didn’t have to lie to Tanuma. “Actually, not really. It’s something I can’t involve you guys with.” Taki and Shibata leaned closer, ignoring the others who were still arguing over which game would be the funnest for Natsume to watch.

“You’re hurt, Natsume,” Tanuma glowered, gently squeezing his hand as if protectively calling him an absolute idiot. “Whatever’s going on, you don’t have to do it alone. You can’t do it alone, not this time.” The other two nodded, looking at him with intense determination.

“I know,” Natsume reassured, giving Tanuma a genuine thankful smile. They deserved to know the truth. “There’s a curse only I can lift, but I only have a day or two before it kills me.”

“Wh-what!?” Shibata quietly choked as the others went pale. They knew there was another curse, Natori explained it could be draining his life force away.

“I have to find the youkai that’s bound to the family that kidnapped me, and no one but me can find it.” “Are you sure?” Tanuma asked, a nervous bead of sweat forming on the side of his face. “What about Sensei or Natori, or even the other youkai that were here earlier?”

Natsume shook his head, hating the look of fear on their faces. “The youkai can’t be found when you deliberately search for it, just as the people who are in it’s sphere of influence can’t be found.”

“Which means… the other kids won’t be found,” Taki said, going even more pale. “Natsume, you can’t go back-”

“It’s the only way,” he said, feeling Tanuma clench his hand even tighter. “The curse allows me to find them. If one of them dies before I find them, then I die. So… I don’t have a choice.”

Nyanko Sensei stood angrily, bringing his face close to his own. “You are not going anywhere, and you are not going to die. Leave it to the others, you need to focus on healing.”

“Sensei-” he stopped though, facing his friend’s horribly pale faces so the others didn't see him talking to thin air. “I have to return their name, Sensei. You know that I’m the only one that can.”

“Return their name?” Tanuma asked, to which Natsume shook his head, not wanting to explain it.

“If I disappear again, just know I’ll be back.”

“How can you be sure you’ll come back!?” Shibata lectured, wanting to slap some sense into Natsume despite knowing it was impossible to avoid the situation.

“Because I have a lot of friends helping me right now,” he reassured. “And Sensei will be with me too.” This time Nyanko Sensei didn’t say anything, seeming almost caught off guard by the information. He was thankful when the others finally came back, Sasada holding Uno in her hands.

“We figured a card game would be easier since the others are board games,” she informed before tilting her head, noticing their pale faces. “What’s with you three? You look really pale!”

“J-just haven’t gotten enough sleep,” Taki quickly reassured. She didn’t seem to fully convince the class president, but she decided not to comment on it.

“I shuffled these last time, so everyone get seven cards!”

Tanuma slowly removed his hand from Natsume’s as he took the half empty cup from his hand and set it on the side table. “Be safe, and… let us know if we can do anything,” he whispered as he was handed some cards.

Natsume felt horrible for scaring them like this, but it was better than just disappearing again. Shibata kept glancing back at him, unsure about it, but he was sure Tanuma and Taki would reassure him everything would be fine.

Because it would be. He had too many people he cared about to carelessly throw his life away.

They didn’t even finish the first round before he was out, hoping he wouldn’t sleep too long.

----

“Do it!!” Toma’s voice aggressively hissed at Satoshi as he slammed his hand against the wooden table, making the trembling teen jump. “Do it or I’ll do it to you!”

Natsume’s head lulled to the side as he watched Satoshi stare at his bleeding strapped hand in terror. It was locked in a device that removed fingernails. Just moments ago, his father ripped one of them off, the pain temporarily blinding him. He couldn’t help the way his own body trembled, though his dulled golden eyes focused on the other teen. He was shaking and whimpering with a look of absolute horror in his eyes. Those eyes didn’t belong to a killer, let alone someone who loved to hurt others. These were the eyes of a scared lonely boy who was backed against a wall with no way out. If he didn’t do this, Toma would give the child a whole new meaning to hell.

“Do it,” Natsume managed out, surprising both his captures. “I… can take it. Do it.”

Toma let out a demonic sounding laugh, looking to his son then to him. “Isn’t that Noble of you,” he smirked, roughly grabbing his chin and forcing Natsume to look at him again. “But foolish. If you want pain, we’ll give you pain. Do it now, Satoshi. Show this trash how naive his bravery is.”

Natsume glanced over to Satoshi, their eyes meeting even for a fleeting moment as his chin was yanked harder, forcing him to look back at the father.

“Do it!!”

With a choked cry the trembling teen slammed his hand down on the lever, the blinding pain coming back, being even worse than before. This time it felt like something was impaling his finger, forcing his stern determined face to waver. A faint ringing came to his ears as he felt the hand leave his chin, Toma’s mocking laugh making him feel sick to his stomach.

“You need more strength to remove the whole nail at once. Try again!” Natsume desperately wanted to shake his head no, the pain so overwhelming he almost did. The image of that boy’s terrified face came back to him, forcing him to take a deep breath.

He could do this. Pain was only temporary. He’d slip away eventually.

Satoshi rose his hand again, earning a cheer from Toma as the blinding pain shot through his arm and down his spine, the world finally fading to black.

“...-son… grandson, are you awake?” A faint voice gently called, hardly audible above the fiery pain he felt in nearly every nerve in his trembling body and agonizing throbbing in his left hand. “Please wake up, we don’t have a lot of time before they come back!” This voice… ah, it was the youkai, wasn’t it? He could sense it even with his eyes closed, but it’s poisonous aura from earlier was gone. The difference reminded him of the guardians Gen, who was at the cusp of becoming an evil spirit, and Sui, who had been fully corrupted.

Very slowly he opened his eyes, seeing the dirty white mask with a rope around it’s head and the lone red dotted blue eye staring into his own. Relief instantly flooded through the youkai as he let out a sigh. “Thank goodness I thought… well, it doesn't matter what I thought. You don’t have to speak, I know you’re in pain but please just… listen. We don’t have a lot of time.” His voice grew shaky, as if tears were close to the surface.

Despite wanting to say he didn’t have much of a choice considering he was tied up, Natsume didn’t. There was a desperation in the youkai’s trembling voice, one he couldn’t deny.

“I was born from a shield created by a powerful and talented craftsman who wanted nothing more than to protect his family during one of the wars. However, it was one of his family members that turned on him, the shield - and me - being unable to do anything as he was betrayed. Grieving over the loss of my master, I gathered what energy I could and fled. I wanted to find a place without humans and war - I wanted to find a place of peace. During my journey, I encountered many different humans, ones with kind hearts, some corrupted, and others in between. Each human I observed slowly restored my faith, and over time I learned that whoever I was with became encased in a protective aura, one that made it impossible for others to find them. As I traveled, humans were drawn to me, as if feeling my protective shield. Youkai started following shortly after, until we found the perfect haven together in a beautiful, lush mountain.” The youkai sighed, his gaze seeming far away and clouded now. “The more people that gathered, the more they worshipped me, the stronger I became. Soon I was strong enough to extend my shield over the entire mountain, allowing those who sought safety a place to call home.”

“There were festivals, so many festivals and parties. There was no violence, just happiness. Youkai helped the humans even though they couldn’t see them, and the humans, in return, gave offerings. It was peaceful times... so… peaceful.” His one eye closed as his posture fell. “Then… someone found us by accident. They weren’t looking for me or anyone else, they just stumbled upon us. When they learned of my power…”

An exorcist, Natsume sadly realized. Of course humans couldn’t leave such a rare and beautiful utopia alone.

“He cheated the system. Knowing he’d probably never find this place again, he had the local messenger send for his friends, not telling them why he asked for them to come urgently. Since his friends held no malice against him or anyone else in my protective sphere, they were able to find us. Shortly after that, chaos broke out. The exorcists sealed away all the youkai in our home as they put a cursed rope around me that bound me to their leader’s family.” Natusme’s eyes drifted to the rope, realizing this youkai really was just like Hiiragi. “If I don’t make sure they succeed, the rope will tighten around my head until it completely crushes me, which is why I couldn’t let you escape earlier.” The teen felt himself tremble a bit in fear, finally becoming aware of the situation he was in. Not only would he have to escape from that man and son, but he also had to escape from this youkai too. Unlike the others, the youkai would hate every second of it.

“So, you want me to free you?” He managed out, his voice scratchy and hoarse, but he didn’t care, not after learning how much this youkai suffered. If that utopia still existed today, he wondered how those people would react to those who could see them. “Your home… sounds like a paradise.”

“It was,” the youkai sighed, his blue and red eye meeting his warm golden ones again. “But my request is more complicated than that.”

“Huh?” He asked, wanting to tilt his head a bit to the side, but didn’t dare risk it.

“Satoshi, Toma’s son… I want you to free him.” Natsume’s eyes widened, recalling how he froze up and silently begged his father not to make him hurt him.

“Toma wanted his son to learn all about the family business so he can become the next heir after turning fifteen, but his wife quickly found out what he did for a living and tried to flee with Satoshi. In his rage, my master killed her and dragged his son back, literally beating the teachings into him.”

As sad as the story was, Natsume wasn’t sure how this story made the youkai want to protect Satoshi, especially after becoming a tainted deity. As much as he wanted to keep the peace back then, the corruption should’ve blinded him to nearly anyone in plight. There had to be more to this story.

As if sensing his confusion, the youkai continued. “My master’s actions only made my hatred towards humans to grow, that is, until one day, a terrible thunderstorm rolled in. Satoshi was sitting on the back patio, staring blankly at a tree with an intense desire to die as he clenched a rope in his hands. I was drawn to his negative thoughts and feelings, and sat down on the patio next to him. To my surprise, the child jumped, but didn’t do anything else but stare. Even if I meant to harm him, he wanted harm to be done to him:

“It’s alluring, isn’t it?” I asked, hiding my trembling voice. It was the first time a human actually looked me right in the eyes. I saw my corpse in the reflection of his hazel eyes that held little to no light in them. Just like me, he had been torn away from his happy life and forced into one where light no longer reflected in his eyes. I couldn’t help but feel a small desire to help the child since I couldn’t help myself.

“What?” The child asked, his voice sounding so fragile.

“Ending it all,” I repeated, glancing back to the tree.

“Oh,” the child responded meekly, becoming stiff beside me. It was obvious he was uncomfortable with the fact that I could read his desires, but it didn’t seem to bother him too much as he pulled his horribly bruised and wounded legs to his chest. “Yeah… it is.”

He didn’t ask who I was or even questioned why I was there. He merely accepted me into his reality, the reality he didn’t want to be apart of anymore. Despite being thrilled that he could see me, part of me grew sad. This human was only a child, yet he already desired eternal rest. There was still so much he hadn’t experienced yet. Was it really okay for me to encourage a child of man to end it all when he had barely lived at all?

That’s when I realized something. Even if the child tried to run away to start over somewhere, I would be forced to stop him from escaping. But would that really be so bad? While he ran free, I’d do nothing but feel the rope bring me long awaited peace.

“I… don’t necessarily want to die,” the child suddenly said, surprising me. “I want to live, I-I want to be loved and cared for. I’m sick of hurting people, I’m sick of being pushed to kill. I want to create life, not take it! But... it’s useless. My father’s friends are powerful - they’re everywhere. I wouldn’t last a day without them finding me. I’d be dragged back and severely punished.” He hugged himself tighter, burying his face into his legs. “At least in death, I won’t have to hurt others, and he can’t hurt me.”

They were mirrors of each other, Natsume realized. Except one was human, and the other was a youkai. Their similarities combined with the storm probably set the perfect conditions that let them meet.

“After that, whenever a storm rolled in, we met on the porch, free to speak our minds. We learned about each other, and learned of our desires. But lately, Satoshi hasn’t talked about his dreams. He hasn’t really spoken at all. When I gathered the courage to ask him what was wrong, he said he had given up on his dreams and looked forward to eternal nothingness: ‘It’s the only thing I can control in my life.” The youkai took deep shaky breath before continuing. “Grandson of Reiko, I cannot help him, nor can I help you. But you can help each other. I know it’s wrong and cruel of me, especially after the hope Reiko gave me, but I refuse to let an innocent human soul end up like me.”

Natsume didn’t even get a chance to ask what he meant as he felt a darkness press against him, merging with his body. His eyes rolled into the back of his head as a pressure settled over every inch of his body.

“I bound your life to Satoshi’s. If he dies, you die, and vise versa.” Natsume’s eyes snapped back open in fear, looking at the youkai in anger.

“As much as I want to help, I’m just a human child, there’s nothing I can really do-”

“There is,” he said, the youkai’s one eye looking off to the side. Natsume couldn’t help but follow his gaze and froze in horror. Staring at them was Satoshi, but it was obvious he didn’t see the youkai.

“If you return my name, I will gain enough power to break the curse. After that, no one will have trouble tracking them down. If you lead the police to the general area, their dogs will pick up the scent of dead bodies and come running. But you have to do it before Satoshi loses his will to live. If he’s forced to kill Toshiki, or you for that matter, it’ll be the end of him.”

“Wh-who are you talking to?” Satoshi asked, his voice sounding so shaky and vulnerable. Natsume couldn’t help but glance over at him, offering a warm smile. It was hard, especially since the other tormented him, yet his body acted on its own.

“Someone who’s very worried about you,” he said softly. “Someone who wants to see you free-”

“Natsume-” Shirudo’s voice interrupted the dream, the images slowly rippling away. “We’re out of time you have to hurry-!!”

Natsume jolted awake, feeling his heart nearly thudding out of his chest. He was sweating, but he wasn’t hot.

‘Killer… I’m a killer!’ Satoshi’s thoughts rang as a sharp pain shot through his head.

Satoshi was hurting himself, he was starting to lose it already-!

“Sensei,” he cried, seeing his bodyguard already hovering over him. Had he been there the whole time?

“I know,” he said with a defeated tone, glancing at the door. “You were dreaming so loudly it flowed into me. I understand now.”

There was so much he wanted to ask regarding that statement, but they didn’t have the time for nonsense. “Where’s the book?” Nyanko Sensei moved his head and grabbed something from under the bed and dropped it on his lap. Natsume blinked a few times, realizing it was one of Taki’s bags.

“The Tanuma kid and Taki brat left and came back with this bag. Tanuma even packed some of his clothes so you don’t have to stay in a hospital robe.”

Tanuma and Taki went all the way home and back just for him? His hands gently opened the bag, seeing the clothes, his new phone, and what looked like a protective charm Taki must’ve carved. Feeling even deeper, his fingers grazed the familiar cover of the Book of Friends, making him smile in warmth.

“I’ll change once we get away from the hospital,” he said, zipping the bag back up. “I’m sure the Fujiwaras will be back any second.”

“They’re just outside the door, talking to the Police Chief or whoever,” his bodyguard confirmed, moving his head close to the bed. “Can you climb on? If not, I’ll carry you in my mouth.”

“I think… you’ll have to carry me, just until we get out of the hospital cause of the machines,” he admitted as he moved down, seeing the machines and devices still attached to him. He unhooked all of them, leaving the heart monitor to remove last. “Okay. One, two, three-”

The heart monitor flat lined. There was a huge ruckas outside, but he didn’t even get to hear it as he was surrounded by a moist warmth. He clenched the bag as tightly as he could in his hands, feeling the wind brushing against him.

‘I’m so sorry, everyone. I’ll be back soon…’

This time, everything was different. This time he had Nyanko Sensei with him and a rejuvenated spirit.

He wouldn’t be caught a second time, and he refused to let himself die. There was no way he’d bring his loved ones that kind of permanent sorrow.

#natsume yuujinchou #phage writes #natsume's book of friends #this was surprisingly a lot shorter than i thought - the whole idea #but the recovery time may take a bit i donno yet x.x orz #am i kicked out of the fandom yet-shot-

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