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starr-fall-knight-rise · 4 years

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Humans are Space Orcs, “Survival.”

I had a lot of fun writing this one. Honestly being inside his head is so much fun, and I hope you all like it :). Hope it makes you laugh today.

So, I survived….

Surprise!

Not sure how that is going to turn out for me, and as I wake up lying back down in the sand and my right hand chilled from the cool inland ocean, I begin to realize that the awful ordeal I had gone through wasn’t just a dream. At first it felt like it, warm sand below my back and cool water on my fingertips. Somewhere birds are chirping, and I lay there for a while simply soaking in heaven, that is until I hear the secondary explosion as one the aux engines which jolts me upright sitting there covered in sand, my clothes singed, my arms aching from minor burns…. Completely alone.

Looking around I realize that this is not in fact earth, those are not, in fact birds, and I am not, in fact dead and being shown to heaven, but in fact much of the opposite. This is not earth, those look like tiny dinosaurs, and this is honestly, probably hell.

I take a minute to get my bearings before slowly crawling my way to my feet stumbling upright. The prosthetic takes most of the weight as I limp up the beach and back towards the wreckage of the command deck. I don’t expect to get much out of it considering that the entire thing is on fucking fire, but give me a bit of a break, less than a day ago I had been plunging towards a blakhole (or what I thought was a black hole that clearly turned out to not be) sure that I was going to die. In a way I was just a little pissed off. Don’t get me wrong, its not because I WANTED to die, I am actually one of the few humans on the face of the galaxy who enjoys living, but simply because I had accepted the fact that I was going to die. I had made peace with it, I had expected it, but instead I had been thrown into one of the worst warp experiences of my life, rattled around inside the command deck and then crash landed spectacularly onto an unknown planet.

I mean, it didn’t look like any place I Had ever seen before. Sure the sand and the ocean were almost natural, but tall, skinny, thousand foot trees certainly weren't, and neither were the large shelled crustaceans shambling up the beach .

I sighed and sat down in the sand with a soft plop watching as fire continued to smolder at the wreckage of my ship. It was only now that I realized my shoes were gone, and I could feel the sand between my toes.

Then the slight hissing hits me, and I turn to look down at my arm where a glint of bright silver catches my attention.

The iron eye suit.

I hadn’t had time to take it off.

I flexed my fingers watching the mid morning light run up and down the metal.

Ok, that was interesting.

Of course my dumbass had managed to take off the jetpack at some point….. shit.

I flopped back in the sand staring up at the sky. It was all coming back to me now, the entire ordeal from start to finish. The fight with the Kree, the space battle --that was arguably pretty fucking awesome…. Eat your heart out kirk-- and finally my destruction of the ship and my journey to the sort of blackish but not really, hole.

It occured to me: Everyone thought I was dead.

That stopped my musings for a second. What would happen? They wouldn’t look for me…. Would they? Then again UNSC policy held that no man was considered KIA until there was a body. I would be pronounced missing in action though assumed dead.

Someone else would be given command, my ship would have to be repaired, and meanwhile the crew would be disbanded or sent on leave.

Katie, maverick, Ramirez, Krill, Conn, Narobi, Cannon…. They all thought I was dead.

Waffles?

Fuck… thinking about her made me want to cry. Like I am going to be honest here guys, when a dog dies in a movie or when a dog is sad in a movie because their human dies, I don’t give a shit about the human, but I will cry. I will cry like a weenie because the dog is sad.

Like when all three of your brothers are sitting on your right hand side, and you have this magic ability to be water falling out of one eye while the other is dry to save face with your manhood kind of cry, no? Is that just me

Then my family, my father, my mother, my brothers. What would this do to them? They'd be devastated sure… Imagining my mother hearing about my untimely death was heartbreaking, and I was worried more than ever about Thoams. His quiet struggle with heroin addiction, and his recent one year sobriety was a big step for him…. Would my death mean setting him back? Was I that important to him that something might happen? He never dealt with stress well, so what was going to happen.

And… Sunny?

I had saved her life, yes but what had I done to her in the process? I had made her watch me die, unable to do anything. I had made her helpless, a victim of circumstance: something I knew she would never forgive herself for. I may have saved her life but…. I possibly ruined her in the process.

…

It's a good thing my brothers weren’t here because I wasn’t going to be able to do the one eye waterfall trick. This time it was going to be both eyes…. Still mad that that screwdriver hadn’t ruined my tear ducts too, I could have benefited from that.

I’d say I took about five six minutes to myself to be a pathetic bitch lying there in the sand feeling sorry for myself, and then I wiped my eyes manned up and got to my feet.

Alright.

I looked around at the open planet and the smouldering wreckage of my once beautiful ship. There was only one option here. I had to find a way out, or at least a way to survive, so maybe one day someone might find me somehow…. Yeah yeah yeah I get it is unfounded optimism and it is totally not going to happen, but let a man dream a little.

I was going to have to channel the spirit of one of my childhood idols.

Mark Watney

You know from that book about the guy who gets stuck on mars by himself for a year, the one that was made into a pretty good movie with Matt Damon.

I liked both the book and the movie though they diverge a little towards the end:you know, because hollywood.

There are a couple of problems with this plan of course…. Number one being that I am not a super smart engineer botanist. I am in fact, a fighter pilot, and a raging idiot.

I mean granted I did go to that pilot training school where they drop you out into the forest for a month and tell you good luck, that sucked shit, so it's not like I am completely helpless but still.

However, luckily for me, unlike Mark, I don’t have to worry about air, or water. Granted I have to worry about food, but in a different way. I don’t know what here would be edible to humans, so I am going to have to read carefully. THere is also the issue of clean water which Mark never had to worry about, I do.

YEah, I get it, our circumstances are very different, but I think what I want to channel most about him is his attitude, nihilistically optimistic.

I am going to survive this.

I look up at the sky watching as the planet’s rings glow dimly overhead through the blue atmospheric haze.

First thing was first, water, food and a weapon.

Fun fact about my model of ship:It is already ready for a scenario like this and has emergency packs stored under every seat of the bridge. Of course the problem there being the bridge is now on fire.

I walk over to the ocean and cut strips of my uniform to tie around my hands. I know it won’t give me much, ut it is better than nothing. Then I dunk myself in the water. It’s cold and causes me to shiver, but the air around me is warm, so I am not so worried.

I turn and head back towards the ship keeping a distance from the larger fires and heading towards the more smouldering ones. I don’t strike much luck to begin with, but eventually I manage to haul out one emergency pack from under one of the crew chairs. MY hands get a bit singed in the process, and the hot metal causes me to yowl like an angry cat and drop the case to the ground, but at least I have something.

I wait or it to cool off for a few minutes before dragging it back up the beach and sitting down to open.

Jackpot!

I have a canteen (with purifier) one of those filtration straws, to make the inland ocean my cup, and a handy little device that analyses organic material and tells you if it's edible or not.

I love living in the future

I also had emergency blankets, fire starting material, a knife, a flair gun, a radio. This was also along with a couple of other odds and ends like a compass, paracord, first aid kit, inflatable life raft, a multi-tool , monocular, and a box of nails.

The first aid kit included, bandages, antibiotic ointment, antibiotics of the general: for whatever stabs or infects you variety, painkillers, a turnakit, sewing needle and thread, staple gun: sort of, gauze anti-inflammatories, and fuck yes, a razon a toothbrush and some toothpaste.

If i ever got off this planet and back home I was to kiss whoever made this case, man woman does not mater, they are getting a kiss, cheek if they happen to be married of course, but if they really insist I um up for full mouth contact on the person who saved my life.

All jesting aside, this was good, and I first went to go get a drink of water.

HYdrations is important kiddos.

Next I had to tend to my injuries, minor burns and scrapes, bruises that I could do nothing about. Then it was time for a little shelter, which i erected with great ease between a couple of the strange tall trees, using torn up ferns to provide bedding on the inside and a canopy overhead.

I was feeling pretty badass right now, survivor style, though lets be honest, I was kind of lame since I had so much help from the magic box of wonderful mysticalities.

You know between this gox of medicine and the arc of the covenant, I would definitely pick this box first, for sure.

Took me a good day or two to get settled, and I’ll admit it wasn’t easy.

Gathering food was fine, I found some berries and fruits off of nearby plants, a couple of roots that were ok to eat, and even some of the crustaceans were palatable once I cooked them, using my fire pit and laying them out over a slab of discarded ship metal.

But there were a couple things I failed to think about.

A couple of things being

1# there is no fucking TP on this planet, also I had to dig a hole for fear of accidentally giving myself cholera or some nasty thing on accident by contaminating a water supply.

2# bed uncomfortable

3# no sunscreen

4# After a couple days your really start to smell like ass, now hold on for a minute there, I am completely in the habit of washing my ass,I promise, but I am telling you unwashed human just smells like ass, no way around it, greasy nasty sweaty stank.

The clothes don’t help obviously, and I found a way to wash the clothes by rubbing them in the sand and using some sweet smelling leaves.

OF course you know the problem with all that, right?

Naked.

While on laundry day I am completely nude out in the sun on a tropical planet. If someone were to go flying overhead, they would see more than they bargained for, and way more than they wanted as my pasty white ass flapped around in the breeze as they drove by.

A change of clothes was in order, so I spent the day, while my clothes were being washed, sitting on the sidelines using plant material, scraps and thread to pull together a rudimentary grass skirt/ loincloth of sorts

Now don’t think it didn’t cross my mind everyone.

I half expected god to descend from the sky and ask me what I was doing.

This whole covering your junk with leaves thing seems to be a theme for people named Adam

And yes that was a biblical reference, I am in fact named after the first man, so this is a fitting bonding moment for me and my namesake.

The biggest issue of course is when everything slows down, late at night as I am trying to fall asleep, and I realize that…. I may be stuck here forever.

I will grow old and die alone on this island.

And no one will ever know.

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ashintheairlikesnow · 5 years

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Daniel Michaelson: Laced Drink

(another @whumptober2019 prompt for Day 20: Laced Drink. I went with kind of a different take on it, I hope you guys like it!. TW: for nonconsensual touching (nothing NSFW or anything), being forced to drink something against their will)

Nate blinks awake to the sound of a mumbling voice, just a little too muffled to understand. He shifts around in the bed, pushing himself up on his elbows where he lays on his stomach under the heavy soft blankets that Abraham layers one atop the other until Nate feels weighed down by them, by their warmth.

“Bram? Is th-that you?”

“Fuck off, baby,” Bram says without opening his eyes, his voice affectionate but still sleep-slurred, nuzzling into Nate’s neck.

He’s still asleep enough that Nate feels safe pulling away from him, shivering only half in disgust, half in something worse.

The voice definitely isn’t Bram - the mumbling is still going, pauses in-between like he’s listening to half of a conversation someone’s having on the phone. Nate groans, trying to stretch and pull himself all the way awake, feeling skin pull over scratches and bruised spots, wincing a little.

Bram’s arm slides off of him when he moves and the other man - the man he hates and fears and somehow, somehow, feels a helpless despairing love for - rolls onto his other side, back to him, and Nate breathes a sigh of relief.

He still can’t quite stop himself from leaning in to kiss one cold bare shoulder, even though he doesn’t want to, even though he hates Bram so, so much.

He can’t help the little thrill of sick happiness when Bram mumbles, “God, I love you so much, baby,” and then relaxes fully back into sleep.

He hates himself - but he can’t help it.

It’s like a spell - a spell he was under for years and somehow broke and escaped and now he’s under it again, hypnotized, charmed, held captive by his mind as much as by any of the injuries he’s had inflicted on him - and there are so, so many ways to be injured he’d never known before he met Ashley and Abraham.

Before they followed him home.

Before they murdered his best friend.

Before they took him away.

They dragged him out of his own home drugged and beaten and worse days after murdering Ross, kept him locked up and bleeding, and still - still he loves Bram, and hates himself for being so broken as to feel love he didn’t ever want for a man who is a goddamn monster who has hurt him in so many ways and hurts Danny in so many more.

In his sleep, Bram seems utterly normal. Relaxed and breathing deeply, all the power and charisma locked away behind closed eyes. He could be anyone other than who - what - he is.

Nate sometimes lays just like this, watching him sleep, idly fantasizing about smothering him with a pillow or sneaking out of bed to get a knife to stab him with, dumping arsenic in his drink at dinner, just anything - any murder at all would be wonderful.

He won’t, though.

He can’t - and he and Bram both know it. They both know Nate will never do anything more than dream, now.

He escaped once, and then only because Ashley Denner hadn’t given a shit whether or not he loved her - so he didn’t, and he’d been able to kill her while Bram was out hunting for new people to slaughter to sate himself.

He couldn’t turn on Bram.

He wouldn’t dare, not for his own sake.

Although lately he’s started to think that maybe, just maybe, he could if it would help Danny.

Danny had just been some younger guy that he kept sort of thinking about, but here in the cabin, trapped, Nate thought about him all the time.

Danny had been funny, sarcastic and cynical and cursing every other breath - and he’d thought Nate’s quiet dry wit was hilarious. When that part of Danny came back - and it did, when they watched old movies or Bram brought back one of those weird kids’ make-your-own-suncatcher kits and they spent half the night painting them (and eventually each other, laughing in whispered gasps to keep from waking Bram up) - Nate thought he might be falling in love with Danny, too.

Maybe it was just because they were captives together.

Maybe he would have fallen for him anyway.

Nate doesn’t ask - you never ask why, that’s a rule, and Nate follows the rules even for his own feelings, because he’s nothing if not a master at simply burying his emotions in a kind of quiet empty cry for help inside his head that he never, ever lets out.

Maybe he can do something to escape, if he could know for sure it would work, that it would let him get Danny out alive. But every time he thinks about it, he thinks about how Bram will really kill Danny if they get caught trying to escape together… and he can’t do it.

He has to get him out of here - but he just… can’t.

He’s not sure how long he has before there isn’t much Danny left to rescue. He goes away a little more each day, no longer answers to his name, only to the stupid dog-name Bram gave him. He sleeps curled up out there on the thin plastic mat in the early spring chill and he deserves so much more than life as a captive Bram keeps just to see how broken he can make someone.

And Danny is so, so broken. Something of him was still in there, though - Nate could see it in the fury that sometimes still lit the blue eyes, an anger he didn’t dare show. He saw it when Danny remembered, every once in awhile, that he could laugh.

Like the suncatchers thing - when Danny had nearly passed out from trying to hold the laughter back, blue streaks painted in his red hair, a swipe of green across one cheek, and the red nose Nate had given him and called him Rudolph for three days afterward whenever Bram wasn’t close enough to hear it.

Danny had leaned over and painted him right back, a spiral in purple on one cheek and a happy face in green on the other, and finally a streak of blue that started at the line of his black hair and went down the center of his face, the cool paint and slightly scratchy bristled moving in a slow, solid line down over his nose, his mouth, chin, and finally straight down his neck over the scars from every time Ashley carved the collar, until they had reached the neckline of his shirt-

And Danny had stopped, looking up at his eyes, and smiled at him. I wish we were anywhere other than here doing this, Danny had said softly, and then grinned at him, only the barest hint of the darkness in his eyes. Because then I would get you drunk enough to pass out and paint dicks all over you.

Then he’d collapsed back into giggles, and the moment of tense waiting for something, something neither of them could really give in this place, was gone, and Nate laughed with him.

Then there was the Blair Witch day.

Danny had tied a bunch of sticks with twine into Blair Witch effigies and hung them around the clearing near the cabin, twelve or thirteen altogether. It’d taken him all afternoon and when he was done, he’d laughed at his own stupid joke until he fell over, hand pressed to the side where his old broken rib still hurt sometimes, pulling Nate down with him until the two of them were covered in dust and dirt, still laughing.

Bram had paused in his work scraping hides to look up and smile at his two good boys getting along so well.

The laughter died in them both when Bram smiled.

If he is ever going to do anything, it has to be before Danny stops being able to laugh, and there seem to be fewer and fewer times when he laughs now.

Nate tries to shake the thoughts of escape, making himself lay back down with the image of Danny laughing behind his eyes, but the mumbling doesn’t stop. After a moment his sleepy brain wakes the rest of the way up and he realizes it’s not Danny maybe watching TV out there - the mumbling is Danny himself.

Nate’s eyes blink back open and he’s immediately fully awake. He slides carefully out of the bed, disturbing it as little as possible, and Bram doesn’t even move. He usually doesn’t, once he’s asleep, trusting in Danny’s chain and Nate’s broken spirit to keep him safe.

Nate hates that his trust is not misplaced.

The floor is freezing cold under his bare feet as he tiptoes out to the living room, closing the bedroom door slowly behind him. The room is dark but there’s a full moon tonight and moonlight shines through the windows over by the door, lighting the whole room in a kind of eerie blue-white, everything perfectly visible but off-color, like watching a black-and-white movie that someone just barely colorized.

He expects to see Danny curled up on his mat like always, in the defensive sleeping position that’s become second nature to him - hands over his head or stomach to ward off the blow, knees to his chest, head tucked in so as little is exposed as possible, wrapped in every single one of the threadbare blankets he is given and usually still shivering from cold, almost always in just a thin T-shirt and old cotton pajama pants unless Bram deems him good enough to earn a sweater or flannels.

Instead, Danny is sitting up on his mat, his back to Nate, talking to himself.

Nate pauses, swallows hard, and just listens.

“Have to look in the woods,” Danny mumbles, words slurred like he’s drunk, shoulders hunched in on themselves. His head hangs forwards, just a little, hair falling over his eyes. “You have to look, to look in the woods, Ryan.”

Ryan.

That’s his brother’s name - he’d told Nate he had a younger brother, they talked about it a lot in the early days, the biological child of the people who adopted him and who then largely forgot they had two sons and cared only about the younger.

There’s a pause, and then Danny says softly, “He says you aren’t looking anymore, Ryan. Are you-… are you still looking?”

Nate moves slowly forward, giving Danny sort of a wide berth, trying to get a look at his face. When he comes all the way around to where he can see him, Danny jumps a little and turns, looking over at Nate.

Even in the dark, his eyes are glassy and fogged-over, and Nate can see the stripes of color high in his cheeks, the shimmer of clammy sweat on his forehead and the tip of his nose, the place Nate had once painted red because he’d wanted so badly to kiss it but didn’t dare.

“Danny-” Nate catches himself and glances over his shoulder, but the bedroom door is still closed, and he can hear Bram snoring, just faintly, through the door. He turns back. “R-Red, are you okay?”

“Ryan’s here,” Danny says, and his voice is still slurred. He can’t quite seem to lift his head all of the way up, and his hands are rubbing compulsively at his thighs, the way you rub at your aching knee on a rainy day. “He doesn’t know where to look, Nate. I told him, I told him you have to, um, to look in the woods. Bram always says no one’s looking anymore, no one misses me, but Ryan does. He’s still looking, Nate, he promises he’s still looking.”

“I d-d-don’t d-doubt it, Red, b-but…” Nate moves slowly closer, cautiously, watching Danny’s face as he does. The foggy blue eyes slide away from him, back to the spot he was looking at before, but Danny doesn’t tense up or try to pull away when he reaches out one hand.

Danny’s forehead is sweat-soaked and slick and burns so hot Nate pulls his hand back with a hiss.

“This is Nate,” Danny says out loud, without looking back at him. “He’s in the woods, too. Can you, can you tell the cops to look for him, too? Nathaniel Vandrum. That’s his whole name, Ryan. Can you, can you tell them? Please, Ryan, are you still looking?” Danny leans forward, pleadingly, lifting his hands to show them to the phantom brother only he can see.

Nate swallows against the guilt at the lines of red, inflamed scars that travel up his hands, cut just over the tops of the visible veins, cut over and over and over again until the marks were deep and permanent.

Each scar is a rule Danny has broken, each cut carved into him until he swears he won’t break it again.

Nate knows exactly how that feels - his own hands bear the same scars, just a few years older.

“Ryan, don’t give up,” Danny whispers, and his eyes are starting to fill with tears. “Please don’t stop looking for me. Please, you’re the only one who will, please don’t stop looking, I’m in the woods-”

“I c-c-c-can’t fu, fucking l-listen to th-this,” Nate mutters, backing away from him, trying to think. He leaves Danny mumbling to go into the kitchen, pulling the tea Danny had made earlier out in its giant pitcher, pouring a small cup of it. It’s hawthorn berry tea, something Danny had found a recipe for in one of the survivalist books the body had had out here before Bram decided he wanted this cabin. It’s sweetened with plenty of honey Danny had stirred in while it was still hot, and it should cover the taste of the medicine well enough.

He can hear Danny still talking to his brother as he moves over to the bathroom, pulling down the cold medicine, pouring a dose of the syrup into the tea and then stirring to dissolve it as best he can.

After a moment’s hesitation, he grabs the thermometer, too.

They say sometimes to let a fever run its course, but if that meant listening to Danny beg his brother to find him - when Nate knew very well no one ever would, no one ever found Bram unless he wanted to be found - he couldn’t do it.

Nate stared at his own reflection in the mirror - he was older by years than Danny but he’d lost so much of his life to Bram by now that he didn’t really feel it. The face that looked back at him seemed hardly recognizable - he’d been smiling in the last photo anyone ever took of him before there was this, a professor in a suit and tie, in his second year of teaching adjunct and deeply in love with the life he was building.

All the photos of him now had shadows around the eyes, buried deep within the mossy green there, shaggy half-chopped black hair with a curl at the nape of his neck where it always ended up just a little too long. All the photos of him now had the scar in his lip, still healing from the last time he’d really angered Bram by trying to stand up for Danny. All the photos of him now showed the rings of scars around his neck from Ashley’s collar.

He’d worn a lot of turtlenecks and high-necked sweaters when he was out, for those few months, before Bram had tracked him back down.

“You can’t let him turn into you,” Nate says to his reflection, but all he gets back is an empty mouthing echo of his own words.

Danny will turn into something worse, in the end, because Bram doesn’t love him. There’s nothing to stop him from going too far, nothing but the fact that he still find Danny amusing. If Nate can’t figure out where all his courage is hiding and do something, Danny will eventually be too injured to recover.

And if Danny dies, Nate will have absolutely no reason left to remember himself.

Out in the living room, he hears Danny’s muttering change into something fearful, the sound of the chain scraping along the ground, and then he hears the younger man start to cry, the sniffling sound of him trying to hold it back but failing.

He can’t listen to Danny’s tears, not for the days it might take the fever to break on its own. He’s barely hanging on by swinging from each time Danny remembers how to laugh to the next.

Each swing on the vine takes longer, forces him to go further, and Nate isn’t sure he can keep himself together much longer if Danny stops entirely.

When he comes back out of the bathroom, he freezes at the sight of Bram sitting on the couch with the side table lamp lit, Danny settled between his legs with his back to him, Bram’s fingers running through Danny’s hair, petting him gently, oh so gently, with one hand while the other rubs at the back of his neck.

Nate can see how badly Danny is shaking from all the way across the room the careful way he is holding himself very still, the blank blue eyes staring directly ahead of himself, tear tracks a visible shimmer along the scarring on his face.

“H-he’s sick, B-Bram,” Nate says, hesitantly. “I w-w-went to g-get a thermom.. thermo… thermometer.”

“Oh, I know, baby,” Bram replies cheerfully, without even pausing in his movements. “I heard you get up, decided to come out and see for myself what my good boys were up to.” He looks over at Nate, raising an eyebrow at the glass in one hand. “What’s that?”

“M-medicine. R-Red hates t-t-t-taking medicine, so I f-figured put some in t-t-tea so he can’t taste it…” He shrugs, trying to keep his voice casual, trying not to let on how much it bothers him to watch Danny’s absolute terror wash through him, again and again, adrenaline not fighting the fever but fueling its rise.

He moves around, setting the glass on the side table (Bram shoots him an irritated look before picking up a coaster and loudly moving it underneath the cup) and crouches in front of Danny, looking him over. He’s even redder, if that’s possible, and the sweat is gone, replaced by a blistering dry heat underneath his skin that Nate can only stand for a moment.

He’s like a furnace, isn’t he?” Bram says in a low, delighted voice. “I could use him for a space heater in bed like this.”

“O-open your m-m-mouth please, D-… Red,” Nate says softly, flinching as he nearly uses the wrong name. Bram only shakes his head, and Nate shoots him a mute look of apology as Danny obediently opens his mouth, letting Nate slide the thermometer under his tongue and turn it on with a tiny, barely-audible ‘beep’.

“Eye-an ish thalk-ing oo ee,” Danny slurs around the thermometer. His eyes keep glancing off of Nate’s and then bouncing around the room and back again.

Ssshhh, Red, g-g-give me j-just a seh… a second,” Nate says softly, gently pushing his jaw up so his mouth closes all the way. Bram’s hands never stop their gentle petting and massaging at his head and neck, and Danny trembles the whole time under the touch he can’t stand but knows better than to reject.

When the thermometer beeps again, Nate pulls it out of Danny’s mouth, holding the little screen at an angle where he can see the digital numbers in black against the light green. He squints, then looks up at Danny’s pale, red-cheeked face again. “106.8. H-holy sh-sh-shit. No f-f-fucking w-wonder he’s s-seeing th-things, Bram.”

“What are you seeing, little Red?” Bram asks in a tone of syrupy sweetness, and Nate is suddenly deeply sorry he even mentioned hallucinations at all. Bram leans down, the hand in Danny’s hair dropping to his right shoulder, sliding down over the upper arms that are becoming muscled from nearly two years of the heavy lifting and chores he’s responsible for, the other leaving his neck to curve around his left arm and hold that, too. “Hm?”

“M-my brother,” Danny answers, his voice shaking, blue eyes searching the room where he was looking before. “Ryan is, he’s still looking, Abraham, he’s still looking for me, I just have to tell him-”

“He’s not looking for you, you fucking whore,” Bram murmurs without the slightest change in tone. “No one is. What’s even left of you now, hm?”

“N-no,” Danny whimpers, and Nate shatters a little more.

But a little of his unwilling, unwanted love for Bram shatters, too.

“No, Ryan’s looking, he says he’s looking-… you have to look in the woods, Ryan, we’re in the woods-” Bram’s hands tighten around his arms and Danny cuts himself off, but his eyes stay on that corner of the room, staring and staring and staring at the brother he can see there, someone Nate has only seen in a couple of cell phone photos Danny showed him before the night they were taken away. “Please don’t stop looking for me,” Danny begs the empty corner, straining against Bram’s grip. “Please, please don’t stop looking, Ryan, please, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry-”

“No one is ever going to find you here,” Bram says softly. “No one is looking any longer, Red. We’re all you have now - Nate and me. We’re the only ones who could want something as fucked up as you.” His eyes lift to Nate’s, and the cold inhuman amusement in them shifts, warms, becomes the love and affection he always shows his true love.

Nate could kill him right now.

Only he… only he still can’t. He’s never hated Bram more than this, but he can’t do it, he can’t lift a finger, and Bram knows it.

“Give him his medicine, baby,” Bram purrs, smooth a silk, and Danny begins to struggle in his grip. He’s too sick to do more than pull weakly against the hands that hold him, and Bram leans forward in a sudden violent lunge, throwing an arm around his chest to pull him up tight against him, the other moving to his jaw - thumb on one side, fingers on the other.

Danny freezes, eyes wide in fear, as though only now realizing that he’s been struggling, when you never pull away from Abraham Denner.

Never reject a touch.

“I’m sorry,” Danny says in a sudden rush, struggling to get the words out from around Bram holding his jaw. “I’m s-s-sorry, I didn’t mean to, I didn’t mean-… I just… it’s just, Ryan’s here, I can see him-”

“Don’t give a fuck,” Bram says softly. “Nate says you need medicine. My baby gets what he wants.”

Nate hasn’t moved, only staring at them, breathing hard.

I hate you, I hate you so fucking much, I love you, I love him, how can you do this to him, how can you make me be part of what you do to him, why can’t I kill you, I love you so much I hate you I love you I hate you

I love him

“I said, give him his medicine,” Bram says, and his voice drops into something low and laced with threat and ice, and Nate nods quickly, grabbing the cup off the side table. A dose of medicine for the fever, stirred into a few inches of honey-laced tea.

He takes a deep breath, looks into Danny’s teary eyes, and says softly, “I’m s-s-sorry, Red. I h-have to, you can’t h-h-have a fever this high. Y-your leg’s probably inf-infected or something, I’ll clean it o-out once the fever’s d-d-d-down-”

“Please,” Danny begs him, begs him, and Nate has never felt more like slime. His voice is a high, ragged plea that bounces off the beams in the ceiling and back down. “Please don’t take Ryan away. Please, please, don’t take Ryan away from me, Nate, please! Please let me keep my brother!”

“F-f-fuck, I’m so sorry, I’m s-s-so s-s-s-s-” He can’t get the words out, his own eyes are hot with tears, but he lifts the glass and Bram uses his thumb and fingers to force Danny’s mouth open as he tries to hold it closed.

Danny shakes his head as much as he can, violently, but Bram’s grip is strong and inexorable and eventually Danny’s mouth is forced open far enough for Nate to pour some of the tea in.

Bram snaps it shut, holding Danny’s mouth closed with about a third of the tea in there. He looks at Nate, glacial eyes cold and delighted. “Pinch his nose.”

“Wh-what? Bram, I, I c-c-can’t-”

“Do it.”

Nate closes his eyes for a second against a wash of shame so strong it nearly knocks him over, and then reaches out and pinches Danny’s nose closed with his own thumb and finger.

Danny, eyes wide, struggles again, fights as hard as he can - but he’s sick and weak and he was tired and hungry before that, and eventually he has to swallow if he wants to breathe. As soon as he does, Nate yanks his hand back and Danny breathes as hard as he can through his nose.

Then Bram forces his jaw open again, to Danny’s low pained wordless whine. “Again,” He orders Nate, and this time Nate doesn’t hesitate.

He all but throws his hand forward to pour more of the medicine into Danny’s mouth, and again they force his mouth and nose shut until he swallows.

A third time, and Danny’s taken all of the medicine and Bram shoves him forward and away from himself as hard as he can.

Danny smacks hard into the floor on his stomach, crying hoarsely, whispering, “No, no, you have to keep looking, you can’t stop trying to find me,” and Nate leans over to rub his back. It’s the only thing he can think of to do.

“I’m going back to bed,” Bram says, looking down at the two of them. He pauses, then leans down to run his fingers through Nate’s black hair and down over his neck. “You can stay out here with him, if you want, baby.”

“Thank you, B-Bram,” Nate says, and he really means it; it’s a sick, awful gratitude he feels, but still he’s grateful, even just for this much mercy. He lets Bram rest a hand on top of his head for another moment before he turns and walks away, back into the bedroom, and closes the door.

It wasn’t much, but it was still mercy, and Bram has so little to give.

Be grateful for every gift you are given.

He manages to get Danny back onto his mat, sitting next to him on the wood floor and rubbing his back as he curls back into his ball. He shakes for a while and cries, but eventually the medicine kicks in and Nate watches Danny’s breath slow, his eyes flutter back closed, a cold sweat breaking out all across him as the fever drops.

“I h-hate this,” He says in a thick heavy voice, slurred now with sleep rather than sickness.

Nate nods, leaning over to press a kiss to his forehead, in that little spot between his eyes where there’s a furrow that never seems to leave. “M-me too,” Nate whispers. “I’m s-s-sorry.”

“I’m sorry, too, Nate.” Danny’s limbs have gone loose and Nate pulls the blankets around him as tightly as he can, kisses him one more time, on the top of his head. “I’m so sorry,” Danny murmurs. “I wish…”

“I w-w-w-wish too, Danny,” Nate whispers, low enough he knows Bram won’t hear it. “I wish, t-too.”

I love you.

I hate him.

I love him.

I love you.

Once he’s totally sure Danny is asleep, Nate unfolds himself and lays down on the couch, staring up at the ceiling, wide awake. Guilt is an ever-present beat in him, right alongside his heart.

All he can hear is the sound of Danny begging him not to take his brother away.

#whumptober2019 #no.21 #prompt: laced drink #whump #comforting caretaker #caretaker forced to be whumper #intimate whumper #violent whumper #broken whumpee #prior whumpee #Daniel Michaelson's story #Nathaniel vandrum #Abraham denner #tw: nonconsensual touching #tw: forced ingestion of drink #sickfic #conditioning #dehumanization #caretaker

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mythicamagic · 5 years

Text

Giselle: DL oneshot

Commission for @s-e-kwan who asked for the ballet story of Giselle featuring Yui Komori. So somewhat of a Diabolik Fairytales AU

Pairing: Subayui

SFW but features character death

word length: 1,800

Sunlight bathed light blonde locks in a vibrant shine. A young woman hurried out the door, tapping her toe on the ground to right her shoe. She had dressed appropriately for a harvest festival, long pale pink skirts swaying around her legs.

The excitement caused her heart to rapidly thud and constrict, and she winced, placing her hand on her chest.

“Mind yourself, Yui.”

She glanced over her shoulder, forcing a smile. “I’m alright. Don’t worry, Father.”

“I suppose you’ll be seeing that boy again,” Seiji Komori’s eyes narrowed as he lingered within the threshold to their home. “Don’t let him exhaust your heart.”

She waved, shrugging off his warnings and running in the direction of the square. No force on earth would keep her from a meeting with Loys.

A maypole had been erected in the village square, and children danced around it, weaving the ribbons together. Men and women minded stalls. Foods were placed out for everyone, and she entered the dance that had begun, weaving around partners that spun in wonderful circles, waltzing.

“Kitty!” Arms wrapped around her, and Yui stiffened, before laughing as Kou spun her out.

“I’m sorry Kou, I can’t stay, I have to find Loys.”

“Ahhh that guy again?” He pulled her back to him, frowning. “You don’t find it a lil weird that he disappears all the time? And there’s no way he lives in the village. Somethin’s not-“

“Oi, problem?” A new voice caused her cheeks to flush as familiar white hair caught her eye and she was pulled into new arms.

“No, not at all,” she smiled, completely clueless as Kou stepped back, glaring.

Loys returned it, jaw ticking. Yui placed her hands on his shoulders, and he gentled slightly even as his calloused palms grasped her fragile fingers.

They danced for what felt like hours. A happy noise escaped her lips when he gripped her waist, pulling her in as they turned. He was a surprisingly good dancer, but it had taken months to coax this side out of him.

“I don’t dance.” He’d glared, arms crossed as she discovered his little hideaway in a dingy ally on the outskirts of the square. It had been the winter solstice, on the very night they’d first met and become such a strange pair. For some reason, she’d felt he was running from something.

“Do you not know how?”

“I know plenty. Too much. Ain’t dancin’, no way in hell.”

“That’s fine, but I could really use a partner,” she’d winced, rolling her ankle. She’d twisted it- but it was expected she’d perform for the solstice. Yui had become the village’s star dancer, excelling in ballroom and ballet.

She could remember him lifting her onto his feet, and awkwardly trying to complete the steps of the dance. All the while he’d grumbled.

‘It’s the reason I fell in love with you, Loys.’ Yui smiled, heart thundering. She could only dance a few hours a day due to her condition. Father kept strict tabs on her. But with Loys she felt strong and sure.

Loys’ lashes lowered, and he leaned down, gathering her close and stopping amidst the dancers. He pressed his lips to hers, causing her to inhale and grip his shoulders tight. She practically radiated happiness, nothing could be better-

“Everyone! Everyone look, come quick! The nobles are here!”

“The nobles are passing through!”

Loys ripped his mouth away from hers, looking up. Yui was lost in a daze before she felt herself be planted down on her feet after reaching cloud nine.

“I gotta go. Be back later,” he quickly muttered, kissing her flushed cheek.

“W-wait!” She reached out, but it was already too late, his form swallowed by the crowd. Feeling herself be pushed and prodded back, Yui was helpless to do much else but watch as the five nobles of House Sakamaki came into sight. It was rumoured there was six, but Subaru, the youngest brother had become an infamous recluse.

Yui stared, watching them atop their steeds. Each one carried a sword at the hip, with a symbol upon the scabbard. Proof of their blood and superior heritage.

She swallowed, averting her gaze.

“Kitty! Kit- ah hell, YUI! Yui I found it!”

She turned her attention to Kou, who grinned madly, pushing through the enamoured crowd. He held aloft a single item. A sword. Exactly the same as the one's nobility wore at their sides.

“K-Kou, where did you get that?” Her voice turned thin.

“I finally found his hiding place. That guy Loys, he’s one of them, Yui. He’s a noble!” Kou hissed.

“W-what? Kou, please don’t be ridiculous-“ she snatched it off him

But it was too late. Someone spotted it, and soon new shouts entered the air. Things like ‘thief’ and ‘robber.’

“Oh my, oh my, oh my~ what do we have here?”

A shadow fell over them, and Yui gripped the sword tight, cowering as a large horse bore down on them. A rider with red hair smiled sharply, reaching down to grasp her wrist.

“Has a naughty girl stolen my little brother’s sword? How humiliating for him. Tell me, did you steal it after pleasuring him?” Laito purrs, green eyes glittering. “A person is most fragile after experiencing true bliss, wouldn’t you agree?”

The crowds began to murmur, saying there must be some mistake, as sweet Yui would never steal. Reiji Sakamaki clicked his tongue, easing his horse to continue on. They needed to stay on schedule. Yui tugged at her wrist, the colour draining from her face when he didn’t let go.

“I’m going to enjoy making you fragile over and over again,” Laito purred in her ear, before Kou tried to yank her from his grip, a scuffle breaking out.

“Oi!”

They stopped. Yui turned her head, instantly brightening.

“Loys!”

“Subaru~”

Yui froze, glancing up at Laito. She then slowly turned back to look at the white-haired young man, whose red eyes had turned sombre.

“Loys…why- what’s going on?”

“Is that the name he’s called himself? How cute. Did he also tell you he has a fiancée waiting for him back home?” Laito smiled.

Yui flinched as though she’d been struck. What was worse- Subaru hung his head, hands squeezing into tight fists.

It’s…true?

Rose-pink eyes stared ahead sightlessly. She then felt her shoulders be grasped. Townsfolk that didn’t understand the situation urged her to the middle of the square.

‘You really should see her dance, milords-“ and, “she’s graceful as a swan! Please stay and watch!’ Filled her ears.

And so, Yui danced.

Her legs moved mindlessly, and she swayed like a marionette, dipped this way and that. All the while, her heart thrummed against the wall of her chest. Slowly, with every thud, a little piece was chipped off. She raised sorrowful eyes, gaze locking with Loys, no- Subaru’s.

He stared back, expression contrite and regretful.

Even then she loved him, oh how she loved him.

Her dance moved faster and faster, becoming more erratic. Her arms bent up, spine arching as she gazed at the heavens and inhaled, chocking on a sob when the corset dug into her ribs.

The heavy weight in her chest crumbled and split free into pieces, and the dancing girl danced no more.

------

They say that Kou Mukami, the gamekeeper, drowned himself in the very lake Yui’s grave sat beside, overlooking the water.

Were you to ask her father, however, he’d say that spirits preyed upon the boy and had forced him to dance until he’d died.

Much like the village’s beloved star.

Subaru didn’t listen. He didn’t think much of anything. Or speak. He’d come to resemble his brother Shuu, listlessly visiting her grave often and placing white roses atop it. His betrothed meant nothing to him. He’d never wanted that life. Perhaps that was what made him such a brat, but with her, with Yui- she’d eased his loneliness. Her smile had been dumb, and she’d chatted nonsense, but hell she’d been perfect and kind, forgiving of his rough hands.

The only person who’d given a damn was dead now, joining his long-deceased mother, who had also been proficient in ballet. She’d taught him everything about dance. He’d loathed it so much after she’d died- until Yui had breathed life into his steps again.

He grit his teeth. What was even the point anymore?

On one such night, he started upright beside her tombstone, a terrible, vile chill shuddering down his spine. Subaru stood, his sleep-deprived eyes taking in the sight of eleven ghostly figures standing atop the surface of the lake.

They wore fine white dresses, their images shimmering with an ethereal quality- at times like that of gossamer. They all began to dance, spinning in tight circles and raising their arms as they leapt over the water.

One such pale apparition raised her hand to Subaru, beckoning.

He raised his palm, gaze flat.

“I don’t dance,” he muttered in a hoarse voice. When had he last eaten, again?

“Do you not know how?”

Muscles froze, locking in place. His throat constricted, and Subaru turned his head, finding a pale pink form to his left. “I know plenty,” he rasped, legs shaking and threatening to send him to his knees. “Too much. Ain’t dancin’, no way in hell…”

Yui smiled softly, a phantom wind caressing her hair as she extended a hand. “That’s fine, but I could really use a partner.”

He did not refuse, eagerly taking her hand that still felt soft and warm in his own larger one. He danced with her, performing the same lifts- still able to hold her close and embrace her. She even smelled the same. He could almost fool himself into believing she were still alive. He apologised endlessly into her hair, tears pricking his eyes as bone white fingers latched into her dress tightly.

A soft touch stroked his hair.

“It’s alright…I forgive you,” she murmured. “I forgive you, Subaru.”

He exhaled hard, own heart shaking in his chest. Yet even as he tried to stop, they continued to dance, moving closer to the shore of the lake, until his feet splashed in the water as they performed a pas de deux. His breath shuddered, feeling a strong force urging him to move deeper into the lake.

“Stop,” Yui soon interjected, staring not at him but at the ghostly women. “Please stop. Leave him alone. I don’t want this.” Her firm voice eased, brows pulling together. “I don’t want the man I love to die.”

Their expressions thinned, incensed. And yet his feet slowed, gaining control.

Soon, their dancing died down, and Subaru merely held her, gently swaying in the shallows while her dress trailed into the water.

Come sunrise, however, his touch skimmed through her. She slowly vanished with each creeping ray of light upon her face.

He waited, and at night, she returned once again to his arms. In this way, they continued for a long time, with the moon as their only witness.

They say that Subaru Sakamaki drowned himself after Kou Mukami, for the very same reason: it was all to reach the angel ballerina that danced upon the surface of the moonlit lake.

Sometimes though, others had claimed to see her with a partner, dancing a perfect pas de deux.

End

#subayui #Yui komori #diabolik lovers #Subaru Sakamaki #dl fanfiction

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wolfgrowlwrites · 6 years

Text

Daniel in the Den

Named after a Bastille song because I can’t title anything and I had that looping while I wrote and it fits.

AKA I take matters into my own hands and write the AU that will not leave me alone where Stormfur is Lionblaze’s mentor.

AO3

The moment after the apprentices’ names are announced there is a beat of silence before the cheering begins. Lionpaw looks to Stormfur for explanation, but the gray tom’s eyes are dark, not the startled excitement of the heartbeat before.

But then he gives Lionpaw a gentle nudge and Lionpaw lifts his head, he’s a warrior apprentice now! He looks to Firestar and sees warmth in the leader’s gaze and blinks back at him. He’ll make him proud.

He just hopes he can make Stormfur proud too.

The moment after the cheering stops the whispering begins. Lionpaw can hear it so he knows Jaypaw can, and his brother looks furious. The murmuring is as much about Lionpaw as it is Jaypaw.

“A RiverClan warrior-”

“Poor mite, he’s so small too, cruel to let him get his hopes up isn’t it?”

“He’s Graystripe’s son of course Firestar would give him an apprentice-“

“Especially his own grandkit.”

“Brightheart,” Stormfur’s voice rises over the din, “did you want to take them to see the territory or…”

“I was going to have Jaypaw take care of the elder’s den.”

Lionblaze spots the flash of anger in his brother’s blue eyes, “maybe I could help?”

“I was going to suggest that,” Stormfur admits, he looks amused, “come to think of it, you two have already explored the territory haven’t you?”

Jaypaw rolls his eyes but Lionpaw dares to give his mentor a dirty look, “Firestar let us become apprentices didn’t he?”

Stormfur laughs, “got your mother’s spunk alright.”

“Hey!” Stormfur’s eyes go wide at Squirrelflight’s rebuke from across camp, Jaypaw and Lionpaw laughed at him and even Brightheart, who’d gone oddly tense as Stormfur talked relaxed with a chuckle.

“Might help keep them out of trouble to keep them together,” she agrees, Lionpaw grumbles under his breath to Jaypaw.

“Sneak out of camp to hunt foxes one time.”

Jaypaw turns his head towards him, whiskers flicking in amusement, “don’t worry. Someday we’ll give them something else to talk about.” He sank his claws into the ground, and Lionpaw wondered who he was trying to reassure.

He leans into him, “you bet.”

Taking care of the elders is thankless work because Mousefur is unmatched when it comes to demanding the quality of her moss.

Lionpaw pads past their mentors in time to see Jaypaw has his silently simmering face on, and it doesn’t take long to figure out why.

Longtail’s talking about being blind, but all the stuff he’s saying Lionpaw knows Jaypaw can do, and he gives his brother another two heartbeats before he snaps.

“Longtail?” Lionpaw speaks up before Jaypaw can, his brother glares at him but he’s trying to help, “Jaypaw already knows that.”

Mousefur goes to speak but Lionpaw is probably as angry and tired of this as Jaypaw is, “he was the one to track the foxes! Hollypaw and I would’ve been lost in the woods but he could find the scent when none of us could. He found the fox den.”

“But he didn’t have the common sense not to stick his head in a fox den did he,” Mousefur huffed, Lionpaw flattens his ears but it’s Jaypaw who snaps.

“Don’t take it out on me just because your hips ache! I’m not a helpless kit who needs everyone to protect him!” that last bit is directed at Lionpaw, he accepts it without flinching, he knows he went too far, Jaypaw doesn’t like to be spoken for. “I’ve always been blind but that doesn’t mean I can’t feel you looking at me the way you do, the way Stormfur is right now!”

Lionpaw whirled in time to see the flash of guilt on his mentor’s face, Brightheart looks at Stormfur with what looks like disappointment.

“Sorry Jay,” he murmurs, he watches his brother deflate, fur no longer standing on end but obviously still upset.

He flicks an ear at Lionpaw in acknowledgement, and opens his mouth before snapping it shut again. Instead he snags a piece of dirty moss and flings at him, striking him square in the muzzle. And Lionpaw doesn’t need Jaypaw’s weird perceptiveness to see that all the older cats are stunned by his accuracy.

“Go get more fresh moss,” his brother replies, and then with a slight hint of pleasure, “and you can ask Leafpool for mouse bile, Longtail has a tick.”

Lionpaw sticks his tongue out at him but he can see Jaypaw’s in better spirits now as he pads out of the elder’s den, and he hopes everything will still be fine when he comes back with the mouse bile.

The next few days he spends a lot of time with Jaypaw to the point he kind of worries he’s getting on his brother’s nerves. He can tell Stormfur is getting on Brightheart’s, always having them tag along with whatever they’re doing.

One such hunting trip and Lionpaw trails behind, he’s liking being an apprentice a lot less than he thought he would. It always feels tense, though he can tell Stormfur is trying and always praises him when he does something right, but that doesn’t make up for how miserable he feels right now.

Brightheart is occasionally glancing over her shoulder to look at Stormfur and Lionpaw can’t tell what she’s feeling but he doubts it’s anything positive.

Stormfur slows to let him catch up, and blinks gently at him, “how did you sleep Lionpaw?”

“I slept fine!” He waved his tail, “I was exhausted after yesterday.” One of the few rare days Stormfur had separated from Brightheart, and taken Lionpaw down to the lake. He’d been determined to teach him how to swim.

When Lionpaw had pointed out that he was a ThunderClan cat and they didn’t swim Stormfur had replied with a story about the journey to Midnight, and how Brambleclaw had almost drowned. That had been enough to convince Lionpaw that maybe it would be worth knowing the basics. Just in case.

But it had been exhausting to swim for that long, Stormfur had ended up carrying him partway home, Lionpaw hadn’t been slung over someone’s shoulder’s since he’d had “badger” rides as a kit, and it had been nice. Like for the first time he’d felt a real connection to his mentor. Like Stormfur felt sure of himself and of Lionpaw.

They came to a clearing, Brightheart settled down at the roots of a tree and after a heartbeat’s hesitation Stormfur sat next to her.

Jaypaw sat down with a heavy sigh, Lionpaw wondered if he could somehow hear or smell the tension between their mentors, because it was very visible.

“Stormfur’s not following us around because he thinks you can’t mentor me, he’s worried that he can’t mentor Lionpaw,” Jaypaw stated bluntly, Lionpaw blinked at, Brightheart’s eye widened and Stormfur’s jaw fell open.

“I- Jaypaw-”

“Everyone expects great things from us, when they’re not expecting us to be entitled brats anyway, so they’re paying close attention to me, Lionpaw and Hollypaw,” Jaypaw drew himself and mocked some of their clanmates, “not a surprise Hollypaw’s being a medicine cat, Firestar was always kicking and yowling in his sleep, they should be grateful they’ll get a good night’s sleep.” He dropped back to his more slumped shoulder, ears flattened, pose, “and I’m blind so that means I’m never going to amount to anything but Lionpaw already looks like Brambleclaw so everyone expected him to be a great warrior but then Firestar made Stormfur his mentor and now the Clan thinks he’s going to mangle it up, so he keeps following you around because he doesn’t know how to mentor a ThunderClan cat and he’s afraid he’ll prove them right.”

Lionpaw had to try not to snicker at his mentor’s face, both he and Brightheart looked stunned. Jaypaw wasn’t done though, he turned his head to Stormfur, “and Brightheart thinks you’re following her around because you don’t think she can mentor me, and I’m tired of you two spending more time glaring at each other than teaching me how to hunt that shrew I can hear over there-” he angrily jerked his head to a nearby tree, “so if you’d talk that out or whatever so I can learn how to hunt?”

Now Lionpaw was seriously struggling because none of what Jaypaw had said was funny but Brightheart and Stormfur’s expressions were. He leaned over to Jaypaw and wheezed, “warn me before you do something like that, they’d be less stunned if you’d killed a badger.”

Jaypaw let out a sigh, “do they show any signs of talking or am I going to have to hope the shrew dies of old age?”

Lionpaw shrugged, “not sure, they’re kind of staring at you now.”

Jaypaw sighed again and laid down, crossing his paws, “my eyes don’t work but my ears do you know. I’ve heard what the Clan says about me, and they were talking about Stormfur even before we got made apprentices.”

Lionpaw wasn’t as smart as his siblings, he knew that but he added, “at our ceremony too, everyone was talking.” Even he’d noticed that.

Stormfur let out a rough breath, “he’s right.” He admitted quietly, “the best time I’ve had training Lionpaw was teaching him how to swim.” He looked terrified of how Brightheart would take that, but she blinked thoughtfully as he spoke, “he’s the grandson of the leader, the son of the deputy, he’s the embodiment of ThunderClan and Firestar gave him to me.”

Brightheart’s gaze was on Jaypaw, “I’m sorry Stormfur.” Her good ear flattened, “I just wanted some time to get to know just Jaypaw because he was my first apprentice and he was always going to be a challenge for whoever his mentor was-” her attention snapped to Lionpaw’s brother before either could speak, “because of your personality Jaypaw, you’re very critical of yourself and others.”

Jaypaw paused and Lionpaw offered, “she’s right you know.”

Jaypaw gave him a dirty look, but Lionpaw licked his brother on the head, making him pull away in disgust.

“How do you even swim anyway,” he asked, whiskers twitching, “you’re all fluff you’d just sink like a rock.”

“Stormfur said I was good at it!” For a first try but still! It counted! He could see by his brother’s amused expression that he knew the full complement but he let it slide.

Brightheart rested her tail on Stormfur’s shoulder, “why don’t you go take Lionpaw for some one on one training, and I’ll help you later.”

Stormfur nodded, he blinked at her gratefully, “thank you.”

Brightheart let out a quiet laugh, “and Stormfur? How surprised do you think ShadowClan would be if your apprentice fought like a RiverClan cat?”

Stormfur actually shook with laughter at that, Lionpaw though liked the idea. He wanted to know how to fight in a way that would surprise his enemies. “Stormfur you have to show me!”

“Alright, alright,” Stormfur got to his paws, “good luck with that shrew Jaypaw.” He dipped his head to Brightheart, “thank you.”

Brightheart looked at him, confused, “why me though?”

Stormfur shrugged his shoulders, “you’re a senior ThunderClan warrior?”

“Why not ask Brambleclaw though?”

Stormfur flattened his ears and glanced at Lionpaw, “he’s got his paws full with Berrypaw.”

Jaypaw gave Lionpaw a look, he missed because Lionpaw had moved but it was still pretty close, and it was the one he gave his siblings when someone lied.

Lionpaw figured that Stormfur just didn’t want to tell their parents he didn’t think he could train their son, “Stormfur, come on, please?”

“Alright, alright, I’m coming,” he flicked his tail over Lionpaw’s ears, “and hush or you’ll scare your brother’s shrew off.”

The next quarter moon Lionpaw spends a lot more of his time learning how to swim. And he loves it. He can feel himself getting stronger at it, better. He wants to be as good as Stormfur who slips through the water like a fish as he teaches Lionpaw.

But more than that, Lionpaw can feel himself getting stronger. He thinks he could probably beat Berrypaw for sheer strength now, moving through the water took a lot of strength. And learning how to fight in the water without losing your balance or getting water up your nose was a steep learning curve but a rewarding one.

Occasionally he and Jaypaw train together, mostly for hunting practice though, as Brightheart teaches all three of them how to stalk prey. Lionpaw thinks it helps Jaypaw to hear her correct Stormfur and know that even warriors got it wrong. It was kind of like having two mentors.

Stormfur had offered swimming lessons to Brightheart and Jaypaw, and they were considering them, Jaypaw seemed interested and Lionpaw wonders if his brother worries about accidentally stumbling into the water.

In fact today they’d met on the bank of the lake, Lionpaw shaking the water out of his coat as they plan to attempt to stalk the voles that are found around her.

Jaypaw’s facing the water, his ears angling as he listens, “there’s some further down the shore,” he nods in the direction, and Stormfur and Brightheart have learned to not question him. Lionpaw feels a rush of pride, he lets Jaypaw take the lead.

Brightheart and Stormfur stop to watch them, Lionpaw moves closer to the water to help disguise the water dripping off his fur.

Jaypaw flicks his tail at him and he freezes, watching his brother, breath held, was he about to make a successful catch?

Jaypaw crouches exactly as Brightheart had taught them, Lionpaw fights against his own excitement to hold absolutely still as he watches his brother.

The sounds of something moving through the undergrowth nearby makes his ears prick and he prays to StarClan the vole doesn’t hear it. But by the way Jaypaw clumsily leaps forward it had.

“Mouse-dung!” he sits up, wiping sand off his muzzle and looks to the bushes, “Berrypaw!”

Lionpaw isn’t even surprised when the cream tom jumps out, though he apparently is, “what are you two doing here?”

“Hunting voles,” Lionpaw meows, and if Berrypaw makes one comment at Jaypaw Lionpaw will shred his ears.

Berrypaw pads further out and sniffs, “missed it did you?” Lionpaw growls softly in his throat, and the only thing that stops him is Brambleclaw padding out. His father takes in the scene and looks to Brightheart and Stormfur.

“What happened?”

“Jaypaw was stalking a vole,” Brightheart reported, she was looking at his brother was such disappointment, Lionpaw could only imagine how she felt, watching her apprentice’s first chance at catching prey ruined by a Clanmate, “Berrypaw startled it though and he couldn’t catch it before it ran off.”

Lionpaw pads up to the hole the vole ran into, he peers in, could he… his paws were wide but if he could make them fit that technique Stormfur had showed him… “Jaypaw get behind me,” he murmurs, “and if I flings something and it doesn’t sound like a rock, kill it.”

Jaypaw nods and Lionpaw looks over, Berrypaw is sitting by their father and shrugs his shoulders. “It was an accident.”

“You should be more careful when walking around Berrypaw, you never know when a Clanmate is hunting or you might find prey yourself.”

“His crouch was perfect too Brambleclaw,” Stormfur speaks up, “he would’ve had it for sure.” The certainty in his voice warms Lionpaw, “they’re both turning into expert hunters.”

As he speaks Lionpaw strikes out, like he was fishing, the way Stormfur taught him. He thinks the vole actually bites him as he strikes it, but then it’s sent flying out of the nock. Jaypaw doesn’t even let it hit the ground, his head snaps and so do his jaws and vole squeals as he kills it.

Berrypaw’s jaw hangs open, while the three warriors manage to look more put together in their shock it’s obvious they’re equally surprised. Jaypaw also looks surprised and drops his kill, “I didn’t think that would work.”

Lionpaw examines his paw but there’s no blood so maybe the vole didn’t bite him after all. He looks to Stormfur who looks at him with a mixture of awe and pride.

“L-like I was saying,” Stormfur shakes his head as he looks at the two of them, “they’re going to be credits to their Clan.”

#Warrior Cats #Lionblaze #Stormfur

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need1etail · 5 years

Text

Chapter Twenty-Two

I lied

Needlepaw looked puzzled. “What do you mean?” she asked.

“You know what I mean!” Alderpaw cried, trying to choke back his anger at Needlepaw’s obtuseness. “SkyClan left the gorge after the rogues attacked them, and no cat seems to know where they went. We were supposed to save them! We just got there way too late!”

“How can you be sure?” Needlepaw asked, tilting her head to one side.

“Because the other Clans—our Clans—drove SkyClan out of the forest. That was so shameful, it’s been kept secret ever since. My visions were telling me to go to SkyClan and bring back the territory by the lake—to clear the sky, like in the prophecy.” Alderpaw’s voice began to shake as he realized the depth of his failure. “I messed up! I didn’t understand the first vision right away, then Sandstorm died . . . We got to the gorge too late. We couldn’t find what lay in the shadows because SkyClan already left. Now the sky will never clear! Who know what will happen to the Clans? And it’s because I’m a terrible medicine cat!”

He crouched down on the hard Twoleg path and rested his nose on his paws, letting out a desolate whimper. It seemed there was nothing but darkness ahead of him.

Needlepaw said nothing, and when Alderpaw at last looked up again, she was watching him with her tail curled neatly around her forepaws and a sympathetic, yet skeptical look on her face. “Are you done?” she asked.

Alderpaw flicked an ear, annoyed with Needlepaw and himself for breaking down in front of her. “Yes, I guess I am.”

“Look, Alderpaw, I don’t mean to be harsh, but you’re being stupid and self-pitying.” Alderpaw flinched at the words. “It would have taken the rogues a long time to set up in SkyClan’s old camp. And from the way you described Frecklewish, all ragged and skinny, the attack didn’t happen just yesterday. With the timing of your vision, there’s no way we could have made it to the gorge in time to save SkyClan.”

Alderpaw took all that in, beginning to feel a tiny bit better. “So?” he mewed at last, his voice pitiful and small.

“So,” Needlepaw responded, smiling as she rose to her paws and headed off down the alley, “your vision must mean something else.”

Alderpaw was silent for a moment, thinking it over. At the end of the alley they spotted the bridge a little way downstream, where Bob had told them it was. To his relief, it wasn’t a huge Thunderpath carrying monsters across the river, but a narrow, wooden structure a bit like he half-bridges that jutted out into the lake. With no Twolegs in sight, it took only a couple of heartbeats for Alderpaw and Needlepaw to dart across.

On the opposite side of the river, a small stream trickled into the main current, tracking through the long grass with a belt of woodland beyond. Alderpaw’s spirits rose as they headed into the trees, but he still couldn’t stop worrying over the meaning of his quest.

He head to admit that what Needlepaw had said made sense. But if my visions weren’t leading me to SkyClan so I could save them, what were they telling me to do? It was hard for him to feel that anything had accomplished on the journey. We haven’t saved any cats. We haven’t embraced what we found in the shadows. We barely managed to survive ourselves. And we lost grandma. Is there something else I should have done?

Without guidance from StarClan, Alderpaw felt as helpless as a kit.

Together Alderpaw and Needlepaw trekked across open country for several sunrises, heading toward the setting sun. They crossed Thuderpaths, skirted Twolegplaces, and found their way through fields where strange animals cropped the grass and watched them with curiosity. Now, toward the end of another tough day, Alderpaw was weary and cold, tired from sleeping under bushes or drafty hollow in the ground. He longed for his comfortable nest in the stone hollow.

At least my hunting skills have improved more, he thought, warming at the thought. Nearly starving is a good way to concentrate my mind of the prey, just like Toadstep and Rain wanted me to.

From time to time, he and Needlepaw had picked up the cent of other questing cats, which reassured them that they were going in the right direction. But each time they found the traces, they were fainter and more stale, as if the others were moving faster and drawing farther ahead.

The daylight was dying, and gray were massing overhead. A chilly wind blew across the grass, ruffling the cats’ fur. Now and again Alderpaw felt the sharp sting of rain, and he guessed a storm was coming.

That’s just what we need! He groaned inwardly.

Suddenly Needlepaw, a little way ahead, let out an excited cry and began racing forward.

“Wait! What’s the matter?” Alderpaw called after her.

“It’s the farm!” Needlepaw tossed the words over her shoulder. “The one we passed through on the way!”

Bounding after Needlepaw, Alderpaw spotted the shiny fence and the field where the tall, yellow-brown plants had grown. Now only spiky stubble remained, and there was no sign of the monster with the spinning.

Needlepaw reached the fence and easily scrambled over it, then pelted onward toward the cluster of Twoleg dens.

“Wait! Come back!” Alderpaw yowled, but Needlepaw ignored him.

At the same moment, the skies opened and rain cascaded down, drenching Alderpaw within heartbeats. He could barely see Needlepaw ahead of him through the driving screen of raindrops. When he reached the fence, the shiny strands were already so wet and slippery that it took all his concentration to clamber over.

A sharp pang of sick grief stabbed through Alderpaw as he remembered Sandstorm. This is where everything went wrong. This terrible sharp fence, and the sticky mud that made her wound worse. We must have passed her grave on the way without realizing it. Oh, grandma, I’m so sorry . . .

Landing awkwardly on the other side and sending silent curses to the fence, Alderpaw pushed aside the bitter memories and managed to spot Needlepaw, still heading toward the center of the farm. “Stop! Come back!” he called again, but if she heard him, she paid no attention.

“Fox-dung!” Alderpaw snarled. He knew that the sensible thing to do was to leave the farm, shelter under some trees until the storm was over, and then work out the best way to go. But he had no choice now but to follow Needlepaw.

She ran past the cluster of Twoleg dens and headed into the field with the big yellow barn. Wide wooden doors barred the entrance, but there was a gap at the bottom, and Needlepaw managed to squeeze through. Growling in annoyance, Alderpaw flattened himself to the muddy earth and dragged himself through after her, the bottom of the door scraping his back fur.

Staggering to his paws, Alderpaw looked around. The huge barn was divided into sections by wooden barriers, different than Barley’s open barn, and he stiffened when he saw that horses were standing in two of them.

“Needlepaw, watch out!” he called, then realized that long tendrils were tethering the horses in place. Thank StarClan! There’s no way they can get at us!

Needlepaw ran into one of the empty sections, then popped her head out and beckoned Alderpaw with a flick of her ears. “Come on, mouse-brain.”

Alderpaw followed her. Inside the section, the barn floor was covered in the same dry, yellow grass that Barley let them sleep on. A warm animal smell filled the air; the scent of horse was strongest, but Alderpaw detected mice too.

“Why did you come in here?” he asked Needlepaw, anger swirling inside him. “Haven’t you learned anything? Twolegs are dangerous!”

Needlepaw settled down among the spiky stalks and began to groom herself. “I’d never want to live with Twolegs,” she mewed between strokes of her tongue, “but they do have nice warm dens, and loads of food. Would you really rather be outside in the rain right now?”

Listening to the rain battering down on the roof, Alderpaw had to admit that the annoying apprentice had a point. Letting out a sigh, he sank down into the stalks beside her.

“We can leave when the rain stops,” Needlepaw promises. “For now, we’ve got a safe place to rest and plenty of mice.”

Abandoning her grooming, she sprang to her paws and dived into the heads of stalks. Heartbeats later she emerged again with bits of the stalks all over her fur and the body of a plump mouse gripped firmly in her jaws.

“This is for you,” she meowed, dropping the prey in front of Alderpaw. “Just to say sorry for not listening to you out in the rain.”

When did Needlepaw ever listen to any cat? Alderpaw reflecting, smiling and shaking his head. “Thanks,” he told her, and sank his teeth into the warm prey.

Needlepaw caught another mouse for herself and settled down to eat it beside Alderpaw. Gradually Alderpaw managed to relax. The warmth, his full belly, and the repetitive sound of the rain outside soon lulled him to sleep.

“It’s good to see you again.”

Alderpaw opened his eyes, aware at first of the glimmer of starlight on the surface of a pool and the soft splashing of water. Leaping to his paws, his heart beating wildly, he realized that he was standing beside the Moonpool. Sandstorm stood beside him, her pale ginger pelt glowing with a frosty light and the sparkle of stars at her paws. She was purring, and her green eyes shone with love for her grandson.

“Grandma!” Alderpaw breathed out, rushing forward and nuzzling her chest with his head. “I’m so happy to see you.”

Sandstorm bent her head to touch her nose to his ear, and Alderpaw let out a soft whimper, not wanting to leave her.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Sandstorm reminded him.

“I know that now,” Alderpaw told her. “It was your time to go.”

Sandstorm smiled. “I sensed when I decided to go with you to search for SkyClan that I might not survive the journey. I’m glad I came with you. Going on that quest and passing on to StarClan made me feel like I was doing something important when I died instead of just sitting around the elder’s den. And your quest gave me the chance to relive a special memory with Firestar.”

Alderpaw’s heart swelled and warmed for her grandmother. “Are you and Firestar together now, in StarClan?” he asked.

“Yes, we are,” Sandstorm purred. She sat down at the edge of the Moonpool and beckoned with her tail for Alderpaw to join her. “Now,” she continued, “tell me how your journey has gone. What have you learned?”

Frustration welled up inside Alderpaw. “It’s been absolutely horrible!” he burst out. “I don’t think I’ve learned anything at all.”

When Sandstorm only waited, her green gaze fixed on him, he began to pour out the story of everything that had happened since she moved on to StarClan: finding Darktail and his cats at the gorge; discovering that they weren’t the real SkyClan, and that SkyClan had been driven out; trying to decide what to do, then escaping from the camp and being washed away with Needlepaw. “Please tell me what to do now!” he finished.

When Sandstorm did not respond, Alderpaw let his head droop wretchedly. “I know I’ve made a complete mess of everything.”

“How?” Sandstorm asked.

Alderpaw thought that was obvious. “I didn’t get there in time! If we were meant to save SkyClan to ‘clear the sky’, now no cat can do that. I led every cat on this quest into great danger, and what have we accomplished? Nothing!” he spat. “I’ve failed.”

Unable to even look at Sandstorm anymore, he let out a despairing wail. A moment later, he felt her nuzzle his cheek, and a sense of comfort spread through his whole body. He managed to look up.

“Do you know the difference between you and Sparkpaw?” Sandstorm asked.

Alderpaw couldn’t see the point of the question. “What?”

“Sparkpaw believes she’s solved every problem,” Sandstorm replied, affection glimmering in her eyes, “and you believe you’ve caused every problem. You’re two sides of the same leaf. But you haven’t caused this problem,” she went on, lifting his head with her paw. “You have not failed. And it is not too late to fulfill this quest. It will merely require a different path.”

“What do you mean?” Alderpaw asked, but even as he spoke the words, he felt himself being shaken. The starshine on the surface of the Moonpool began to fade, and Sandstorm’s shape faded with it. “Wait!” Alderpaw cried in alarm. “What different path?”

But he was already waking, to find Needlepaw, shaking his shoulder. “It’s stopped raining,” she meowed. “I thought you’d want to know, since you’re so eager to get home.”

Groggily, Alderpaw sat up. “Yes, let’s go home,” he murmured. But, he added silently to himself, we’ll need to follow a different path . . .

#warriors #warrior cats #wc #a vision of shadows #the apprentice's quest #avos #avos rewrite #avosrewirte #alderpaw #alderheart #needletail #needlepaw #sandstorm #shadowclan #skyclan #thunderclan #starclan

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huntershelper25 · 5 years

Text

Path of the Chosen: Ch 5

Summary: Dean lay dying. There isn’t anything Brooke can do. She wrestles with some old memories and ultimately comes face to face with the death of an old friend.

A/N: I suck at summaries. Feed back is always welcome here!

Disclaimer: There are some direct quotes and scenes from the show. I do not own any of it. I only claim the character of Brooke and how she fits into the story. All else is credited to the writers and copyright holders of the show Supernatural

Warning: There is some smut thrown in randomly for the first few chapters as flashbacks to establish timeline, character building, and relationships, but after that the smut dies down to infrequently. I will let you know when it pops up. Also, let’s just assume condoms are implied. They aren’t mentioned, but let’s assume they are used.

Word Count: 3297

Pairings (through entire story): Dean/Brooke (OFC), Sam/Brooke (OFC)

Previous chapters

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

All chapters released on AO3 before shared on tumblr

Chapter Five

He looked so small lying in that hospital bed, hooked up to machines that were beeping and humming. The only time she had ever seen Dean in a hospital was when he had been scratched up something awful by a werewolf when they were just kids, but even then he only needed some stitches and bandages, nothing like the condition Brooke found him in as she stood in the hallway and watched a nurse examine the machines and take notes on a clip board.

Sam hadn’t said much before he and Bobby left for the impound lot, just that Dean was in bad shape and even that appeared difficult for Sam to say. She didn’t press him for details, just hugged him once more and told Bobby she was going to stick around and look in on Dean.

“Excuse me,” Brooke reached out and tapped the nurse as she passed.

“Yes?”

“How is he?” She turned and looked at Dean’s still form.

“Are you family?”

“He’s my…. Cousin.” It wasn’t really a lie.

The nurse sighed, obviously contemplating how much information she should divulge to someone who wasn’t immediate family, “He’s suffered some head trauma and is in a coma.” The nurse finally stated when she saw the sullen look on Brooke’s face. “Doctor’s won’t know the extent of the damage until he wakes up. If he wakes up.”

“If he wakes up? Are you saying there’s a chance he might not wake up?” She looked from the nurse back to Dean and was shocked at how much smaller he looked, how helpless he looked, and at how scared she was.

“I’m sorry,” the nurse said under her breath as she walked away.

Brooke stood in the door way watching his chest rise and fall with each breath. She couldn’t bring herself to enter the room. She felt that if she remained in the hallway that it would all go away, that she would wake up at Bobby’s at any moment and this would all have been a dream, but she didn’t wake up. It was real. Dean was lying in that hospital bed.

She took a deep breath and made a move to walk into the room when the hair on the back of her neck stood on end and a chill ran through her body.

“Damn it. I hate hospitals,” she said as she shook it off.

This sensation was nothing new to Brooke, just like with Meg. She had been able to sense the presence of ghosts and demons ever since she was 12. She never knew why it manifested itself at that age, but she remembered the first time it ever happened. She had been on her first hunt with her father and felt the same chill run through her body and got the sense that someone was watching them just before the spirit manifested itself. She hadn’t told her father because she thought it was a coincidence, but when she sensed her first demon she knew she had to speak up. Demons were different than ghosts, they made her slightly light headed and dizzy, almost like her brain was sloshing around in her skull. Sometimes if there were many demons involved it would cause her pain, almost like a dull, nagging head ache.

Because of this, hospitals had always made her feel uneasy, with all the spirits of the recently deceased floating around awaiting their reaper and of those that simply couldn’t move on. Prolonged stays in hospitals always made her feel schizophrenic with an extra dose of paranoia.

She took another deep breath and slowly walked into the room. She stopped at the foot of the bed and had to hold back tears. It was one thing to see his motionless form from the safety of the hallway, but to see him limp and lifeless up close was another story.

Brooke crossed her arms across her chest and sighed. For some reason all she could think about was that night five years ago. Dean was possibly dying right before her eyes and of all thoughts her subconscious decided to drudge that particular night up. What happened that night had impacted their lives more than anyone could have imagined and in usual Dean fashion he had blamed himself for how it had played out. But he wasn’t at fault, not entirely. She felt a tear roll down her cheek as she realized that this may be the last and only time to tell him this. To tell him she was sorry for her part. That he shouldn’t have blamed himself for any of it. That she was probably more to blame than he was. After all, she was the one that threw caution to the wind and walked across that hotel room.

Another tear fell. He had to know.

“Dean, I-“ she was interrupted by a soft rap on the door. She turned to find John being pushed in a wheelchair by an orderly.

She moved to wipe away her tears as the anger inside her grew but thought better of it. She wanted him to see the pain and devastation he had caused. All of this was his fault. Dean lying in that bed, Sam hurting inside and out, her father being killed, Caleb…it was all John’s fault.

“Brooke.” John said as the orderly excused himself and John wheeled himself into the room.

She didn’t speak, just glared. She was done letting him off the hook and using the excuse that he was doing what he thought he had to do. This was going too far. Putting his own children in death’s path was beyond reproach.

“I take it you made it to Bobby’s alright,” he continued as he pulled the chair up to the side of the bed.

She nodded.

John nodded his approval and turned toward Dean. Over the years she had learned what John looked like when he was deep in thought and expected to see that now, but what she saw was defeat. She was taken aback slightly. This was John Winchester and John Winchester was always on top of things, always one step ahead, always ready to run head long into a fight. Yet here he was looking like a lost puppy.

“So, what’s the plan?” she inquired.

“There isn’t one,” he replied, almost too quickly.

“What do you mean there isn’t one?” she had to strain to keep from yelling at him. She couldn’t believe he had no plan. “John, there has to be something-“

“There isn’t,” he tossed her the look he always gave to Sam that said the conversation was over.

Her heart was pounding and her hands were shaking. All the anger she felt towards him for everything he had done, not just recently, but everything, was building up. For how hard he rode Dean, for how he expected Dean to be the parent and watch over Sam, for how he would never listen to Sam, for how he chased Sam away, for her father, and for what he had done to her that night in Illinois. Dean was dying and he had no plan. Dean was dying and he wasn’t even trying. She suddenly had the strong urge to shoot something and at that moment John was that something. She moved her eyes from John to Dean and in her mind promised him she’d be back, then turned and walked out of the room.

She roamed the halls of the hospital trying to remind herself that despite the way she lived her life, she wasn’t a violent person. That right now, no matter what her feelings were about John, he was right, there probably wasn’t anything they could do for Dean. Every faith healer she had ever heard of always turned out to be a hoax, most hoodoo healers were a joke, and witchcraft always required a price that Dean wouldn’t want anyone to pay for his life.

She was used to feeling useless, her father was an expert at that, but she had never been helpless. There was honestly nothing she could do in this situation but wait and she hated that. She just lost her father, the only constant in her life, and she could possibly be losing Dean as she walked. Dean. One of the only people in the world she trusted with her life and there was nothing she could do to save his.

The words Dean left on her voicemail all those years ago popped into her head, “I promised I would always have your back and I let you down.” She sighed. He had never once let her down, ever. Especially not that night five years ago he had been referring to….

They walked into the motel room, shrugging off their coats, on a total high. They hadn’t bargained for the ghost to give them as much trouble as it had. It was supposed to be an easy job, but the ghost had tossed them both around pretty good. They each sported contusions on their arms and face. The deep gash above Dean’s left eye still trickled blood, it needed stitches.

The entire way back to the motel they had laughed and talked about each action and reaction they had taken earlier that night like it had been an epic football game.

“and when you cracked off that salt round point blank right into the back of her head,” he gave her a big smile, “awesome!”

Brooke couldn’t help but laugh at him. This was the first job either of them had done completely without their fathers’ help and he was blatantly excited that it had been somewhat of a challenge. “Alright,” she said taking the responsible adult role, “sit.” she pointed to the end of one of the beds and grabbed the first aid kit out of his duffle.

Dean sighed and rolled his eyes as he walked over to the bed, obviously frustrated that she was putting a stopper in the fun but knowing full well that he needed stitches.

She set the kit next to him on the bed and placed her left knee on the bed, in between his legs, to steady herself. He inhaled sharply when she placed an alcohol wipe on the cut. She knew it had to hurt something awful, it was a pretty nasty gash, but she also knew he would never let her know just how much. She finished cleaning the wound and readied the needle and thread. “You ready for this?” He cringed as he nodded, closed his eyes and placed his left hand around her waist to steady himself, as she had seen him do when Sam or John stitched him up.

While she stitched the cut, which was smaller than it originally appeared, she became very aware of his hand on her lower back, flexing and unflexing with each stitch. When she tied it off, he let out another long, heavy breath and his hand relaxed, but didn’t move. She glanced down at his face as she reached for some dressing, his eyes were still closed, and she realized that they were level with her chest.

Her heart raced as she became aware of their proximity to one another. She began to tape the dressing in place and became conscious of her shaking hands. She took a moment, closed her eyes and drew in a long steady breath. She adjusted her weight just slightly as she opened her eyes to return to the dressing, but when she did, she felt just how close to him her knee was. Her realization was matched by his when he swallowed hard and sighed, eyes still closed.

She told herself to relax and focus on the task at hand. ‘Dress the wound, stand up and walk away.’ She thought to herself. She proceeded to tape the dressing in place, slowly due to her shaking hands. In her head she pictured herself patting him on the shoulder saying, ‘All done.’ Standing up and walking away, but for some reason, beyond her understanding, she didn’t move. She couldn’t speak, she was afraid if she did her voice would crack. Her heart was racing so fast it felt like it was about to jump out of her chest.

She closed her eyes and gave herself a firm talking to, ‘Just stand up. Just walk away. MOVE! Do something!’

While she wrestled with herself, she felt his hand slowly move from her waist to her thigh. She gripped the roll of tape she still held in her hands tightly and forced herself to open her eyes, but instead of standing up and walking away, she looked down.

She looked straight into his piercing green eyes. Her heart began to pound at an alarming rate as she felt his hand tighten its grip on her thigh. There was a hitch in her breath when he reached his right hand and placed it on her cheek.

She closed her eyes, ‘This is not happening. This is not happening.’

Suddenly his lips were upon hers, soft and gentle as he coaxed hers into responding. She dropped the roll of tape, placed her right hand on his arm, and her left found its way to the back of his neck as she leaned into the kiss. Accepting it.

She had known Dean for years and she had always thought of him as being a little more aggressive, but she was surprised to find him so smooth and gentle. As she lowered herself to his level her knee shifted forward which resulted in a soft moan to be emitted from his lips. With this new closeness she became aware of the growing situation, especially his growing situation, and her mind switched back on. ‘This is Dean, what am I doing?’

She pulled away from the kiss, stood and took a few steps away, her back to him. This was Dean, the guy she had grown to think of almost as a sibling. She was scared. She was nervous. She had never been with a guy, not like this. She had always wanted her first time to be with someone she cared about, for it to be special, in that cinematic mushy way.

She heard the bed creak. She turned to see him walk to the table on the other side of the room and shove the kit back in his bag, his back to her. She watched as he just stood there. She watched his shoulders rise and fall with each deep breath he took as he raked his hand down his face. All the while she thought, ‘Your idea of this amazing love and this amazing person and losing your virginity in this amazing way is ridiculous. You know damn well that relationships in this life never work out. That you are never going to have that kind of love, never going to have that amazing night. So, the very least you can hope for is that the guy at least cares about you on some level, any level. And you know that Dean cares about you in his own way. He’s always had your back, he’s always been there to save your ass. Yeah, sure he has a reputation with the ladies, but isn’t that a good thing? It’ll just be another fun night for him, no expectations. It’ll be a win-win.’ She fought with herself as to whether it was a good idea to go forward or not, when he turned around and saw her looking at him. They both stood there, staring at each other, not saying a word.

“Screw it.” she said aloud as she walked across the room, threw her arms around his neck, and pulled him down into a kiss.

For an instant his body recoiled in surprise, but without tearing his lips from her’s he recovered, wrapped his arms around her back and pulled her in closer.

He was a little more aggressive this time, he grabbed at her back, ran his hand up into her hair and pulled out the elastic band letting her long hair fall around her shoulders. All while he slowly walked forward, forcing her to take a few steps back until her legs hit the side of the bed.

He pulled away and looked her in the eye. She sensed he was checking to see if she really wanted to go this far, to go down this road. She ran her hands down his neck and under his over shirt, pushing it back off his shoulders. He shrugged out of it and resumed their kiss.

He ran his hands down her back and around to her sides, grabbed the hem of her shirt and slowly began to inch it up, clearly waiting for any sign of objection. She wished he’d stop expecting her to object at any second, it was frustrating, and the only way she knew how to show him that he would find no objections from her was to reach down and undo his belt.

He froze and looked down at her hands as they made easy work of his buckle, even as they shook, and began to pull the belt out of its loops. He brought his gaze up to meet her’s, a look of surprise on his face. He hadn’t expected prude little Brooke to be so forward. Once she had freed his belt, hands still shaking, heart still racing, she slowly removed her own shirt and looked him straight in the eye. ‘You can’t turn back now,’ she thought to herself.

She watched as he took in her shirtless body for the first time, before he brought his eyes back up to her’s. She could have sworn she saw a smirk twitch at the corner of his mouth as he removed his own shirt, wrapped his arms around her and put his lips to hers again.

At some point she had found a chair and sat leaning forward, face in her hands. That night, as innocent as it had seemed in the moment, was where everything had begun to fall apart. She leaned back, closed her eyes, and rested her head against the wall wondering if she hadn’t walked across that room, if she had just waited, that maybe, just maybe things would have played out differently and they wouldn’t be here. That Dean wouldn’t be dying.

“Code 500 to the ER. Code 500 to the ER.” Came a voice over the PA.

Ever instinct told her something was seriously wrong. She got up and started moving down the hall. She saw nurses and a doctor run into a room and her heart sank when it dawned on her, ‘That’s Dean’s room!’ she practically broke into a run as she fought her way down the hall through the mass of people that seemed to have come out of nowhere. She literally ran into Sam as he came into the hall from another room.

“Sam, it’s…” was all she could get out as she grabbed the sleeve of his shirt and pulled him down the hall. It didn’t take much effort because Sam was in a near sprint already.

They came to a sliding halt right outside Dean’s room and her heart fell out of her chest at the sight before them. The monitors were giving off a constant high-pitched squeal and the doctor was shouting orders at the nurses who were scurrying around plunging needles into Dean’s IVs, pushing buttons on the monitor, and pumping air into his lungs as another gave him chest compressions. The doctor stepped in and said, “Clear” just before shocking him. Brooke’s chest felt every jolt as she watched Dean’s body raise of the bed with each shock.

She reached out and grabbed Sam’s arm as they stood and watched this all unfold. This was all too surreal. Dean was dying right in front of them and there was nothing either of them could do.

Suddenly, the hair on the back of her neck stood on end again and her entire body was flooded with the sense of spirit presence, but it was different, this presence was almost familiar. “No,” she said out loud, she could have sworn the presence she was feeling was Dean.

Her grip on Sam grew tighter. She was mentally thrown suddenly when she felt Sam tense up and look around the room. Before she could ask him about it, she heard the monitors stop their constant high pitch sound and resume the soft rhythmic beeping of before.

“We have a pulse. We’re back into sinus rhythm.”

The energy in the room changed dramatically at that point. Both Brooke and Sam let out the breath they hadn’t realized they had been holding. Dean was okay. For now.

She found herself standing at his bedside as the hospital personnel filed out of the room. She scarcely heard the doctor say, “Let’s go speak with your farther.” As he led Sam down the hall. She was in a daze. He had flat lined. He had technically been dead for two whole minutes. She instinctively reached out to grab his hand but pulled back. Dean hates touchy feely crap. She looked down at his face. The face of a sleeping Dean, one she had seen a thousand times. Her heart clenched. This wasn’t a sleeping Dean. She ran a finger softly across the top of his hand then gently worked her fingers underneath his and closed her small hand around his as tightly as she could. For her.

She had forgotten how big his hands were, his strong capable hands. The hands that had pulled her out of the fire, figuratively and on a few occasions literally. The first hands that had ever really touched her.

Her pants had been discarded, kicked across the room, and she now stood before him in just her bra and panties. As he kissed her, he slowly slid his hand down her side and around the front. She sharply inhaled as he slid his hand between her thighs.

He brought his lips to her throat, planting soft kisses along her jaw line as he went, his free hand in her hair. She buried her face in his shoulder as his hand skillfully found its way beneath the thin cloth and found what it was looking for.

This sensation was nothing new to her, years of spending long nights alone in a motel with smut on pay-per-view has taught her a lot, but to have someone else do the work while she gripped his biceps and dug at his back with her fingers was something else entirely. And boy did he know what he was doing.

The hand that was in her hair moved its way to her chin and gentle pulled it upward, so she was looking him in the face. He held her gaze all while his hand continued its work. The combination was almost too much for her to handle, she let out a soft moan just as he put his lips to hers.

He stepped back, leaving her standing there panting. Arms idly at her sides she watched as his eyes slowly panned her body. When his eyes found hers again, he licked his lips then gave her a cocky smile as he kicked off his boots and unbuttoned his jeans. Leaving his boxers on he kicked his jeans out of the way giving her an eyeful of that growing situation she had felt with her knee earlier.

He stepped back to her and placed one hand on her shoulder, the other on her hip, and gently guided her on to the bed.

A tear ran down her cheek. The full reality of losing him began to sink in. She wished she could have the opportunity to tell him, just once, that none of it was his fault. That she was sorry for putting him in that position. She didn’t regret any of it, only that she wished she had handled it better. She was young and naïve. She didn’t know what it all would mean. She hadn’t been ready for that step, but she was glad that it had been him, someone who cared about her.

“Dean, I’m sorry,” She finally squeaked out as more tears began to fall. “I wish things could have been different. I wish I had been more adult about it. I wish I had had a chance to tell you…. To say that I…”

Just then she heard someone cough. She turned and saw Sam standing in the doorway holding a paper bag. She reluctantly pulled her hand from Dean’s and wiped the tears from her face.

“Hey,” he said bashfully pretending he hadn’t overheard, “this may sound weird, but I think Dean is here.”

“Like in spirit form?”

“Yeah.” He moved into the room.

“I felt something earlier-“

“I did too and so I thought maybe…” he pulled a box out of the bag and revealed a Ouija board. “I know it’s kinda lame, but I figured it was worth a shot.”

“No, that’s actually a great idea,” she said as she took the box from him and began to open it.

She saw him smile proudly out of the corner of her eye.

They sat on the floor side by side and laid the board out in front of them. Sam placed his fingers on the planchette as he asked, “Dean, are you here?”

They both jumped as the planchette began to move. Brooke followed it with her eyes as it hovered over the word Yes.

“It’s good to hear from you man. It hasn’t been the same without you, Dean,” Sam laughed.

The planchette immediately began to move again as Sam read the letter aloud, “H.. U… N… Hunting? Are you hunting?”

The Planchette moved to Yes.

“Is what your hunting in the hospital?” Sam asked.

“Do you know what it is?” Brooke asked at the same time.

They both let out a nervous laugh.

“What is it?” Sam rephrased.

The planchette began to move again as Brooke read the letters out loud this time, “R… E… A…P…E…R.”

Brooke and Sam exchanged nervous looks.

“Dean, is it after you?” Sam asked hesitantly.

Brooke inhaled deeply as the planchette moved to Yes.

“If it’s here naturally, there’s no way to stop it,” Sam sighed. “Man, you’re um...”

“Screwed,” Brooke finished for him.

Sam suddenly moved to stand up and began walking to the door, “No, there’s gotta be a way. There has to be. Dad will know what to do.”

Brooke sat on the floor eyes still on the Ouija board. A reaper. She had read about them but had never faced one. What she did know was that a reaper was a bringer of death. They collected souls of the dead. Dean really was screwed. Another tear got loose and ran down her cheek. She gasped when he cheek became suddenly cold as though someone with a cold hand had placed it on her face.

“Dean?”

Before she could say anything else, Sam was back.

“So, he wasn’t in his room,” he said as he sat on the edge of the bed, “but I got dad’s journal, so who knows. Maybe there’s something in here.”

He leafed through it, mumbling the words as he read them and turning the page when he didn’t find what he was looking for. Brooke stood over his shoulder.

“There. Go back.” She said.

He turned back a page to see the word Reaper written across the middle of the page.

Sam read the page aloud.

“There isn’t anything in here about how to catch one.” Brooke said as she crossed her arms and began pacing the room.

Suddenly she felt it. That under water feeling accompanied by slight nausea, ‘Demon.’

Sam’s attention still on the book, she walked out into the hall. She paced up and down trying to pin point where it was, but with all the spirit activity and the stress of possibly losing part of her family, her senses weren’t as sharp as normal. Panic set in as she realized this may be the demon they were after. The one that had gotten Dean here in the first place. She hastened her search, trying to calm her mind and focus on the sensation. Where was it the strongest? Where did it fade?

She wandered into rooms, garnering threatening looks from their occupants. The feeling was consistently stronger near the stairwell to the basement, she began to descend the stairs, one hand on the rail, the other pulling a flask of holy water from her pocket, when suddenly it was gone. The nausea ended and the dizziness vanished.

“HELP! I NEED HELP!”

She spun around. That was Sam. She broke in to sprint up the stairs and down the hall. When she rounded the corner into the room she stopped in her tracks. There were nurses and doctors bustling about like last time, but this something was different. She gasped when she saw him. Dean. Sitting upright in the bed trying to pull the breathing tube out of his mouth, fighting with the nurses as they tried to get him to lie back down. She saw Sam in the corner of the room and walked over to join him. Her eyes staying on Dean.

“He just sat up,” Sam said quietly, but with excitement, “He was lying there and then suddenly his eyes were open and he was sitting straight up. I don’t even know how it happened.”

Brooke reached over and took Sam’s hand in quiet celebration. Dean was going to be okay.

The nurses eventually got Dean to relax long enough for them to remove the breathing tube and convinced him that he needed further tests to make sure he really was okay. The Doctor informed them later that everything was fine. His brain swelling had vanished, his internal contusions had healed. It was as if nothing had happened. The three of them sat there in awe as the doctor left the room.

“Wait, so you said a reaper was after me?” Dean asked as soon as he knew that doctor was out of ear shot. Sam had spoken with Dean about what had all gone down while they waited for one of the scans.

“How did I ditch it?” He asked looking at Brooke.

“Beats me.” She said.

“Dean, you really don’t remember anything?” Sam asked.

“No, except this pit in my stomach,” He looked up at Sam with a scared look, “Sam, something’s wrong.”

There was a knock on the door, and they all turned to see John leaning on the door frame.

“How you feeling, Dude?” He said as he stepped into the room.

“Fine, I guess. I’m alive.”

“Well, that’s all that matters,” John replied.

“Where were you last night?” Sam asked with an angry look on his face.

John looked from Sam to Dean and back, “I had some things to take care of.”

“Well that’s specific.”

“Come on, Sam,” Dean sighed in annoyance.

“Did you go after the demon?” Sam accused.

“No,” John quickly replied.

“You know, why don’t I believe you?” Sam began to raise his voice.

It all makes sense. She HAD felt a demon last night. She stared at John wondering what he had done.

“Can we not fight,” John asked calmly as he stepped further into the room. “You know half the time we’re fighting I don’t know what we’re fighting about. We’re just buttin’ heads. Look, Sammy, I’ve made some mistakes, but I’ve always done the best I could. I just don’t want to fight anymore okay?”

“Dad, you alright?” Sam asked with a quizzical look and a tone of concern.

“Yeah,” John said with a smile, “I’m just a little tired. Hey, Sam would you and Brooke mind getting me a cup of caffeine?”

“Yeah sure,” She and Sam both said softly as the each turned to leave the room

Neither of them knew that would be the last time they would ever speak to John. They would return from the cafeteria to find John on his back on the floor of his hospital room. His heart had stopped. The doctors said that there must have been a complication from the injuries he had sustained from the accident. That they had no way of knowing, but Sam, Dean, and Brooke knew better. None of them wanted to admit it to each other or themselves, but they all knew it had something to do with the Demon.

#supernatural #spn #spn family #supernatural family #spnfamdom #spn famdon #superantural fan fiction #fan fiction #spn fanfiction #spn fics #superantural fic #dean winchester #sam winchester #dean x ofc #sam x ofc #ofc

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lord-of-shadows · 5 years

Text

A New Life (Kitty Reunion Ch. 3)

chapter 3 is here! check it out on AO3 or read under the cut. this one takes place three years later, and it mainly revolves around kit’s love for cordelia and some wholesome family moments :) words: ~2k. read ch. 1 and ch. 2. enjoy!!

CHAPTER THREE

The cold wind was blowing in Kit’s face as he held Cordelia in his arms, walking up the familiar path to their quaint home at the top of the hill.

He and Cordelia had just gotten back from Kit’s friend’s house, who also had a little sister two years older than Cordelia, but Kit deemed Cordelia (who was two) old enough to play with her. Kit met Trisha the summer after his sister was born when he was out on an emergency store run late at night (Tessa had run out of diapers for Cordelia, and unlike Magnus, she refused to magically steal more). As he exited the gas station, Kit noticed a night-clad figure following the mundane girl, and he instantly glamoured himself. Before the mysterious man could make a move on the girl, Kit had knocked him out—he admitted, he may have used too much force for a mundane, but it had been so long since he last experienced fighting crime; he had a love-hate relationship with how it always sent a feeling of adrenaline and exhilaration through his bones. The girl thanked him, but true to Devon’s residents, she immediately began to question him as to why she has never seen him before (everyone knew each other and their dog in this town). Then, after realizing that Kit was new and didn’t know that many people, she invited him to hang out with her friends that weekend, which Kit, at first, did not know how to react, but Jem and Tessa encouraged him to make new friends, and so he did, and after that, he became close friends with the other Devon residents around his age.

Kit realized that despite knowing a lot about his new friends, they didn’t know much about him, except the little story he curated: He was from America—Los Angeles, to be in fact (to which they always ask him about Hollywood and celebrities), and his parents had died in a car crash a few years ago (true that his parents died, but he couldn’t necessarily tell them it was because of faeries and demons), and so his British aunt and uncle adopted him (this was believable, since Tessa and Jem did have London accents, and they didn’t legally adopt Kit, but it was close enough), and now they ended up here, in the small town of Devon.

They always extended their condolences, but Kit found that the memory of his father didn’t hurt as much like before, and even though Tessa and Jem told him the truth about his mother, he used his grief to fuel his training, although he still couldn’t access that electric white light he unleashed while fighting the Riders of Mannan. The power had vanished as quickly as it appeared, and no matter the amount of training he did with Tessa or sometimes even Magnus, he couldn’t unlock it again.

Hopefully, he never had to. Though he was loathed to admit, it was pretty cool.

Cordelia was playing with his sleeve, babbling excitement about the Christmas lights Trisha’s family had already strung up on their house; even though Christmas was a mundane holiday, Tessa and Jem thought it would be a nice family tradition for them to partake in the gift-giving and spirit of it, and Kit recalled that Tessa had told him to return home early since they were planning to set up their decorations that day. It wasn’t like Kit could forget, with Cordelia mentioning it every two seconds.

Cordelia’s happiness filled Kit with child-like joy—he never did celebrate Christmas, his father deeming it a waste of time and believing there was no such thing as the spirit of Christmas since everyone in the Shadow Market was miserable anyway, but he was glad that Tessa and Jem found the holiday worthwhile. He wanted the best childhood for Cordelia, different than the one he had so that when she looked back as an adult, she would be filled with memories of fondness and love, not loneliness and death.

He entered the house, drawing an Open rune on the door, feeling the wards opening and closing all around him—and was met with Jem leaning against the counter and Tessa sitting on the couch, hunched over with a pen in her hand, small frowns on their faces, stress evident in their postures.

“I know Christmas decorating is no easy feat,” Kit said, a furrow between his eyebrows as he set down Cordelia on the floor, who proceeded to run straight to Jem. “But why the tense shoulders?”

Jem bent down to pick her up, the stress alleviating slightly, and let out a long sigh before sitting next to Tessa on the couch, and as Kit got closer, he realized she seemed to be focused on writing a letter to someone.

“Here,” Jem said, picking up a folded paper from the coffee table, handing it to Kit. “Read this.”

Kit sat in the armchair across from him, opened the letter, and began to read:

To Tessa Gray,

I apologize for reaching out to you on such short notice, but there has been strange activity concerning dark magic occurring around the ley lines here in Los Angeles. When Emma and Julian were on patrol yesterday, they noticed that a blight similar to the one a few years ago was taking over the land once again, but this time, it seemed to be spreading at a much faster rate than before. We have contacted the Unseelie King, and he claims it is affecting the Faerie lands as well. He tried to contact the Seelie Queen, but no response has yet been obtained. We contacted Magnus; there does not seem to be a warlock sickness again, but he says that a similar blight is appearing in New York too. We request your help immediately in investigating this issue, as we are not sure how much time we have left. We await your arrival.

Aline Penhallow, Head of Los Angeles Institute

“It’s happening again?" Kit said incredulously, glancing at Tessa. She was finished with her letter, folding it neatly before releasing it, the embers floating away with the unseen wind.

She nodded. “I have my suspicions on what may have occurred,” she said, her hand reaching up unconsciously to rub the sleeplessness from her eyes, “But it will be beneficial if I could see it myself.” She turned to Jem, who was looking at her with worried eyes. “The letter I sent was to Catarina Loss, to see if she has any insight on this occurrence, as she is more knowledgeable with this type of magic. I know she is teaching at the Scholomance though so she may not be able to help.”

At the mention of the Scholomance, Kit tensed, but Tessa and Jem did not seem to notice, caught in their own wordless conversation. He wondered if this is how he seemed like with Ty in the past.

Enough. It’s been three years, and yet, he still couldn’t stop thinking of him.

Dark magic, Aline had said in her letter. Kit shivered, his memory going back to that night in Alicante. He finally did tell the truth to Jem and Tessa about why he ran away but never told them what exactly he and Ty were doing—he knew there was no way they knew what happened, but sometimes, he felt that Tessa could easily see past through his lies.

Jem looked at him, concern still written on his face. “Christopher, Tessa and I have decided to leave to the Los Angeles Institute tomorrow. But don’t worry,” He added, seeing the panicked expression on Kit’s face, “We will not force you to come with us. The problem is we are not sure how long we will be gone so we will be bringing Cordelia. Helen and Aline can take care of her while we are away.” Kit knew Helen and Aline had adopted a faerie girl around Cordelia’s age from the excessive amount of photos Dru and Emma sent him—Nene, Kit believed they named her, after Helen and Mark’s faerie aunt—and something in the back of his mind thought it was a good idea for Cordelia to be around more kids her age, but Kit felt fear rise in him from being separated from his little sister. He could hear Tessa saying that it was okay if he wanted to stay since they trusted him well enough, and if anything did happen, he had the ability to summon them immediately with the little trinket they had given him.

“Also,” He heard Jem say quietly, “Tiberius will not be returning from the Scholomance until a few days before Christmas. I assure you, we will be back home by then.”

“I’ll go,” Kit decided, straightening in his chair. He could bear seeing Dru and Emma; besides, Emma made sure to visit them each May for Cordelia’s birthday, so it wouldn’t be much of a problem. Dru would be another hurdle, but Kit was sure he could handle it since they often texted each other and talked on the phone. But Ty? That was a whole other story—he hadn’t seen or communicated with the other boy in years. And yet, the thought of him still makes your heart race. Kit inhaled. He wasn’t sure what would happen if he saw the other boy again.

And he didn’t know if he wanted to find out.

“Great!” Tessa said, clapping her hands together. “Then it’s settled. We will leave tomorrow night so we can arrive in Los Angeles by the afternoon.” Right. Kit almost forgot about the ten-hour time zone difference. It was a pain when texting Emma and Dru. “I will go ahead and pack Cordelia’s things. You best get packing as well, Kit.”

“But Christmas lights?” Cordelia asked, thumb in her mouth, words sounding more like babbles, but Tessa managed to understand her anyway.

“How could I forget?” Tessa feigned shock. “How about you and Papa go set them up, and Kit and I will join you later?”

“Yay!” Cordelia cheered, crawling out of Jem’s embrace and grabbing his hand, Jem shooting Tessa a helpless—and panicked—smile before being whisked away outside.

Kit laughed silently, but his mind wasn’t paying attention to his sister’s antics, as it was currently consumed by thoughts of Los Angeles—he was going to be in the Institute’s winding halls again, going to witness the loud breakfasts and vibrant beaches and laugh with the others again—

Except Ty wasn’t going to be there, his mind added. He should feel grateful, and he was, but he could feel disappointment creep up in him, and he knew he couldn’t deny the truth, that he wanted to see Ty again.

Kit felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up to find that Tessa had moved over to him, a caring look on her face as if she had a motherly instinct that something was wrong. Kit let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

“Christopher,” Tessa said gently, using his real name, one that she only reserved for when she was being serious with him. “I know this will be difficult to face. But trust me, they will be excited to see you again. You are missed.” She cupped his cheek, and Kit leaned into it, a warmth rushing over him—an extremely young memory of his own mother doing this to him flashed in his mind, of her holding Kit close and singing softly when he couldn’t sleep. His head hurt. “If at any point you feel overwhelmed, let me know, and I will send you back home.” Kit nodded. Suddenly, they heard a crashing noise—Tessa’s eyes widened as she pulled back, her fingers sparkling—before Jem opened the door, calling in the midst of Cordelia’s hysterical laughter: “Everything is okay! Just got—” Sounds of struggle could be heard. “Just got tangled in some lights—” The door shut abruptly, and Kit and Tessa looked at each other before bursting into laughter.

Her hand covered her mouth, and Kit’s cheeks began to hurt. “Oh, by the Angel. Forget packing. Go help Jem and Cordelia instead. It seems as if Christmas decorations are too much those poor souls.” Kit could hear Tessa mumble as she walked away, a smile evident in her voice, “Whatever will I do with them…”

He held back a laugh, shaking his head as he got up, pushing back thoughts of Los Angeles. He’ll worry about that when the time comes tomorrow. Right now, it seemed like there was trouble right in their front yard, chorused by Jem’s playful yells and Cordelia’s bubbly laughter. With a grin on his face, he joined the chaos outside.

#kit and ty #kit herondale #ty blackthorn #kitty #fanfiction #qoaad #qoaad spoilers #queen of air and darkness #the dark artifices #tda #the wicked powers #twp #kit x ty #tsc #fluff and angst #a new life #reunion #sorry for posting this late tumblr was being weird

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