#that his brother simply drowned in the sewer saving him | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

darkhymns-fic · 2 years

Text

A Twin’s Remembrance

Those who bear the aspects of the Crucible were once considered divine; of tails, of horns, and of wings that stretched high.

But now, they were simply nothing but a curse. The Lands Between had no need for ones such as them. The Lands Between would not care if they died, forgotten in these sewers, until the shackles that bound them was truly set loose.

When Morgott finds his brother injured by his very own horns, the revulsion he feels over their deformities only grows stronger.

Fandom: Elden Ring Characters: Morgott, Mohg Rating: T Word Count: 5817 Mirror Link: AO3 Notes: Rated for some minor violence. Anyway I love the Fell Omen twins.

A scream echoed within the stonework of the sewers.

It woke Morgott fully. With a stuttered gasp, he leaned on his arm to focus his hearing, for the noise seemed to erupt all around him with no clear source.

It was not unusual for a scream to wake him, for a roar of pain to reach through the pipes and strangle his heart to silence. The Subterranean Shunning Grounds were no stranger to such wails of grief. But he had recognized the tone, the familiarity of it making him freeze.

Another moment or two, and he heard it once more. A voice he knew, as one would know since birth. Of pain and humiliation, just outside of his door.

An Omen was used to such things, even one who was still young as he, in his fifteen years of age. But it had been quite some time since he had heard that terrified note in his own brother’s voice.

He made to leave his simple cot on the floor, the ragged yet still soft cloth that served as his bedding wrinkling from his motions. One would have to peer closely to see the emblem of the Erdtree within its threads, but it had been much worn out from his turnings, from his horns tearing at the fabric without his intention. His bare feet made contact with the stone once more, the floor of his room a rare dryness compared to the rest of the underground.

Careful to move his tail, to not have it smack against the wall, to not have it render the crates full of preciously saved rations to ruins, Morgott marched for his door, and opened it inward. The hinges creaked as he did so, the oak of the door covered in thick moss.

His brother half-laid on the ground, one hand over his face, and keening a high note that was slowly thinning into near inaudibility.

“Mohg?” he called out. He quickly knelt beside his twin, but kept his hands clear. “Thou has been gone for so long. What has happened?”

None who are cursed such as they can hide their deformities. The horns that plagued Morgott’s own body was in full array on his brother’s face, blackened and curled like tarred bone. Morgott’s own horns grew outward from the right side of his face, deepening his brow. It reached up until it became a hardened knot, impossible to ever untangle, to ever break.

But Mohg’s horns stretched out and around his skull, framing it as if it were a cursed halo, or a crown that writhed when it was gilded by firelight. Such horns, even if there had been an attempt, could not have been excised without marring Mohg’s face beyond repair. It would have surely killed him, and drowned him in his own blood as his ruptured horns would drip upon him, leaving this Omen child with nothing but a painful end.

But as Morgott looked closer, he saw how his brother placed his palm over his left eye. His other was wide open, spilling tears that could not stop flowing. His eye was bright, nearly tinged yellow, and such a ghastly glow was not something Morgott had ever seen before. It was not the light of the Golden Order, even with the similar shade.

But there was blood too, and an old fear surged within Morgott once more.

“It…it has grown…” his brother rasped out. He pulled back his hand by a fraction, and one horn of his had deviated from its course. Instead of curving outwards from his cheeks to form against his skull, it had turned inward. It had snaked its way towards his eye and –

Morgott could not help but flinch once he realized. “No…” His hands tightened into fists, and he didn’t care that another horn protrusion on his palm dug into his skin. It did not compare to Mohg’s suffering. “Come inside then, we can inform the surgeons in Leyndell to-”

“No!” Mohg hissed, then covered his eye once again. Morgott could see the dried blood all over his brother’s hand, how it nearly blended with his skin. “Nothing must be done! Don’t you understand anything at all?!”

The viciousness of his speech was so strong, it made Morgott step back. In that motion, he revealed a weakness, one that made his brother grin without mirth. The blood had also dripped into his mouth, staining his sharp teeth with crimson.

“No… Why would you know? All you do is stay just out of the surface’s reach and...” But then another soft whine of pain, and Mohg bent forward, nearly collapsing from not only his injury, but what must have been a great climb from such a long distance.

His brother had always favored the deep recesses of the earth, searching for ways to burrow further.

Taking a deep breath, Morgott tried once more to get closer. “Thou came back home for a reason still. Take my hand… Thy bed has been left undisturbed.”

He extended his hand as he said so, making no move to snatch at his brother’s arm, or force him to follow along. Even though the temptation was there, inviting Morgott to entertain such thoughts should his brother refuse help, just as he refused so much else.

But Mohg must have been in too much pain to remember pride, and took his brother’s hand with his own that shook. Morgott carefully pulled him to his feet, placing Mohg’s arm around his shoulders to help him walk the few feet to his room.

“Please… do not… let them… ruin…” Mohg’s speech was fractured, spoken in whispers. The blood that fell across Morgott’s skin, the blood of his brother’s eye, felt so searing. “Do not…let them…near…”

Despite his misgivings, Morgott nodded. He then placed Mohg in the opposite corner of the room, where the candle had been snuffed out for many months. “I promise.”

He gave a silent prayer to the Erdtree, to spare his brother’s life. For were there not other Omen it could take its wrath on instead?

The last Morgott had seen of Mohg, it had been nearly half a year, perhaps even more.

His brother did not sleep well, if one could even call it sleep. The horn had lodged so well within his face that it must have torn not only his eye, but his muscles, shredding bone and cartilage in its wake. Whether it had done this slowly to his brother, or in a quick fashion, he could not say. All he knew was that Mohg suffered – and continued to suffer.

It was typically an impossible task to acquire clean water within the sewers, but Morgott had some cleverly stored within a hidden alcove, to avoid theft. He took the water barrel, dipping cloth in it so that he could drape it around his brother’s wound. Blood kept seeping onto the blankets, onto Mohg’s chin, onto Morgott’s very own hands.

The best he could do was wipe away what he could and listen intently to his brother’s pain.

Half a year Mohg had been gone. Had he suffered all this time?

Time passed. Morgott went through several candlesticks, unsure of leaving themselves in the dark, even if most would not dare attack them. They were far from the rats, and the imps had learned to keep away instead of playing their tricks on them. The other Omens had always acted as their protectors, but Morgott had once heard how such loyalties can always be altered. So he kept the door locked, he kept their food and water hidden, and by his side, he clutched a large cane of oak, more used to its weight.

Their room that served as their home was small, but enough to fit them both since childhood, with a spread of blankets on opposite sides, serving as their beds. There was also gathering of crates and boxes that held food and drink, with one side of the wall stacked with books. Such old tomes were given to Morgott to further his own education, for even though he was shunned, he mustn’t neglect his studies. But his brother’s side of the room was scarce of such things, instead filled with pots – and quite a number of them. For Mohg had always favored play over ‘the stuffy words of parchment,’ as he would say.

In his own so-called bed, Mohg still wore his rags, the same as when he left. But Morgott noted the blood, as if it had been fully drenched in a river of it. Certainly from his injury, and yet, the stain of it suggested so much more, and so much older.

Questions hovered on his tongue, but he couldn’t ask them. Mohg still clutched his eye, his breathing shallow, his screams now quieted. He continued to sit by his brother’s bedside, his large tail softly brushing the floor.

Either he would watch his brother claw his way to life, or he would die. Morgott, in either future, would simply sit here and wait.

Maybe that was all a Fell prince could do.

Three days passed, and Morgott once again heard a scream in his sleep.

It was different this time, for it was more of a low wail, one that tried to keep itself quiet to little success. Morgott had rarely left the room except to retrieve more provisions, and he slept close by, moving his own bundle of blankets to be near his brother. Yet even as Mohg had been in constant pain, this sound was different.

Morgott raised his head. He saw Mohg already sitting up, but no longer clutching at his face. Instead, he tore at his threadbare shirt, trying to upend it over his head, and struggling.

“Mohg, what is-?” Morgott started to ask before he saw Mohg’s back pulsed, how at his bare shoulder blades, blood was freshly flowing once more.

The wing stumps that he had since birth were a deep red. It made Morgott wonder if the bone from such things had pierced through the skin. Mohg finally wrenched his shirt free, then placed his hands on the floor, scrabbling at the stone.

“Are…are my wings…” He swallowed, took another shuddering breath, then faced Morgott. The horn lodged in his eye was so plain, stained red. But his remaining eye seemed to shine with a maddening fervor that Morgott could not recognize. “Do I have them?”

The question was so unexpected that all manner of speech left Morgott’s throat. But that only served to anger Mohg, who with sudden reflexes that belied the pain he must have still felt, crawled forward, claws upturning the dirt that coated the floor.

“Do I have them?! Do I have my wings?!”

The block of silence finally left Morgott, but just after he controlled the panic that had suddenly welled inside his chest. “No,” he said in an even tone. “Thou has not had them since the surgeons cut them from thine back.”

For it was known that young Omen would most certainly die if their horns are removed, but that did not apply to their wings.

Mohg stared, a snarl on his pain-filled face. He smashed his fist into the ground with fury, did it again, and again, and again, until Morgott reached out take hold of his arm.

“Thou must sleep,” he said, his voice a calm parallel to his brother’s physical anger. “Go to sleep.”

“They were supposed to grow!” Mohg shouted, but he didn’t resist the hold, as he didn’t resist being put back to bed, a blanket now over his bloodied back. “They were…”

But he had soon fallen deep into sleep, from exhaustion, from misery. His shouts must have brought him nothing but fatigue, until all he could do was curl into a ball within the crimson sheets.

Morgott sat by him, determined to be nearer this time should his brother wake up violently once again.

And yet, the sight of those bloodied wing stumps made Morgott feel more fear. They were stumps, still, yet he had not mentioned the outcropping of black feathers that seemed to form at the base, as little as they were.

He did not know what that meant at all.

More days passed, if one could say within the Subterranean Shunning Grounds. There was no sky to tell them the passing of time, and the church bells could not make it down through the thick walls built beneath the underground. The most that Morgott could use was an hourglass that stood in a lonely corner, routinely turned to help him keep track of such hours. But he had not always turned one in time, and there were long moments where he had neglected to do so altogether.

Mohg’s arrival had completely distorted his sense of time. Perhaps his brother had been bedbound for years instead of just days, but who was to say? None of the other Omens would know, even if he had asked.

But as days (or years, perhaps even centuries?) went by, Morgott remained in his spot, only moving to administer a wet cloth to Mohg’s forehead, to clean away the fresh blood once more.

It could have been early morning, or past midnight, but eventually, his brother stirred, giving a great yawn that revealed further rows of sharp canines. Different from Morgott, who kept his human jaw, his flat teeth. One would not have presumed them to be twins on appearances alone.

In their younger childhood, they used to look alike, but Mohg had changed slowly over the years…

His brother sat up, blinking slowly with a normal shine to his eye instead of that maddening glow. Morgott let out a soft exhale, relieved, though unsure as to why.

“How…” Mohg whispered. He looked down at the blankets that were his bed, stained with more of his own blood. “How I am here?”

Morgott blinked, a dull suspicion in his mind finally moving to the surface. “Thou dost not remember.” He stated. “I see.”

“What?” A thin vein of anger slid through Mohg’s tone, but exhaustion still overpowered him. He could hardly raise his voice, and so he once again spoke quietly. “Tell me what happened. I was…supposed to be down in the catacombs. I was trying to-” he stopped, turning away as he stared again at the blankets. “I only remember darkness.”

Morgott shifted, cleared his throat. “We are always in darkness here.” A pause. “But thou chose to go further.”

Mohg cast him a quick glance before going back to glare at the fabric, stained beyond recognition. The symbol of the Erdtree was adrift in a sea of blood, its details lost to it.

“Thou have tried to commit further blasphemy-”

“Be quiet,” Mohg hissed. “You know nothing of what I’ve done.”

“I would be more than pleased to be wrong!” Rarely did Morgott yell, but it would be foolish to deny his fear. His raised a hand to his own face, feeling the tree knot of horns, how rough and coarse they were. “Our curse was never meant to be nurtured. Neither our horns, nor mine own tail, nor thine wings. Why wish to make it worse?”

“I will not be shamed!” Mohg had enough strength for one furious roar, a sound loud enough to raise the hair on Morgott’s head. “I will not be like you and take a dagger to try to blunt what was given to me. What have you even accomplished? Still cursed, but with stumps to make you look weak!”

Morgott gritted his teeth. His horns had grown unruly over the years, much of it out of his control. It was dangerous to even attempt to cut away what he could. The white markings of bone above his eyes showed his meager attempts, where he had tried to prevent more horns into existence.

“And what did thou accomplish in turn?” he asked quietly. “I find thee at my door, on thy knees and in pain. There was even enough blood to fill up those precious pots.” Morgott gestured to said pots placed against the wall, of dirty and cracked ceramic, little playthings of Mohg in his younger years. “How could one be so reckless and be so close to death?”

Mohg’s anger was still apparent in his curled fingers, in his snarl, but a blink made such actions lose their impact, if slightly. The silence stretched, before he finally said, “My pots… They are still here?”

He turned to his side, seeing them placed carefully together, with linen at their base to prevent them from tipping over. “Why did you even keep them?”

Morgott was caught off guard by his brother’s genuine curiosity. He cleared his throat, his own anger already evaporating. “I recall that they were considered quite important…” Then he allowed himself careful smile. “Dost thou not appreciate it? Thine bloody pots remain here, and unbroken.”

“Truly? With all of their blood?” Mohg leaned forward as he asked his question.

“Well… The blood started to coagulate, and the stench became overwhelming…” Morgott shrugged. “I had to drain some. But now a few hold thine very own blood. Fresh, I may add.”

It was absolutely an appaling thing to say, macabre in its nature. And yet, Mohg laughed. He laughed uproariously, even as he winced from the pain of doing so. “You were always quite resourceful!”

With such a compliment, Morgott had not expected. But the sight of his brother laughing and in good cheer…it made him smile. What a ludicrous thing to find such cheer in.

They had no more words. Their fights with each other had always been quick.

Another day or two, and Mohg remained. Morgott would not complain.

He also did not pry into the whereabouts of his brother’s absence. There were suspicions, all of them seated on the edge of his tongue before he thought better of it. The long months he’d endured alone had stretched on within the darkness, rendering him hollow until he heard Mohg’s cry. For all he had known during that time, his brother may as well have died underground, still bound by the shackles that kept them to the earth.

But those who held their shackles had not been near for so very long, and Mohg was alive, if still bloody. He was here, and perhaps, he would be here to stay.

Morgott took great care to wrap the linen around Mohg’s back when he had woken up one morning, tightening a knot to keep it in place. “This should be good now.”

“Any tighter on these bandages and you may have well-broken my ribs,” Mohg complained.

A small tsk of the tongue. “Always spinning such lies and deceits.”

This was followed by a rough chuckle, but no barbs of anger or impatience. Mohg let his brother finish his task with no further complaint.

Morgott had caught sight of those wing stumps, the bone threatening to seep through. The linen was the best he could do to hide such things away.

“If thou move anymore, the wounds will reopen once again.” He sat back, wiping the blood from his hands on a heavily stained cloth. “I assume that would be unwanted.”

A pause. Mohg slowly shifted on the blankets, wrapping the thread-bare rags that served as his shirt around his shoulders. “Perhaps so.”

That note in his brother’s voice caught him, but again he let such matters go for now. “Sleep some more then. I will fetch fresh water for your wounds soon.”

“Ack, I am fatigued by constant sleep. I may as well be dead.” The word left Mohg’s mouth so easily and with little care, while Morgott had to assess its meaning with some unease. “I would hope that is not all you did while I was away, just sleep and rest in this room with the candles to keep you company.”

Morgott pressed his lips together firmly before speaking. “I see no need to repeat what thou must already know.”

From his narrowed eye, Mohg did. “Still practicing your so-called repentance?”

“It is necessary for ones such as us. The Golden Order dictates-”

“Enough with the lecture. Or I truly will go back to sleep again just to escape this.”

“Thou have asked, and I have merely answered. To become incensed over such a matter is childish.”

“Ah, of course,” Mohg held on the word with a rasp. “The old insults once again! Have you missed flinging such dirt at me all this time?”

Morgott sighed. “Thou are the one with thy childhood pots.”

A stutter. It was rare to see Mohg flail like this, but he did. If he had lips that weren’t overtaken by fangs, Morgott could only imagine how much his brother would pout at him now.

“At the most, I have tried to make something out of our meager existence! Instead of wallowing in prayers to the very Erdtree that rejected us! Or practicing golden incantations uselessly!” In his anger, he grabbed one such pot (that was luckily not filled), holding it in both claws. “Even when we were children, you abhorred my games.”

“Thy games never made any sense! There was never any rhyme or reason to it!”

“Oh, well, thou have never truly listened then.” At his impression, Mohg shook his head, the disgust in his voice so clear in his grunt. “I have been so long away that I have forgotten how it is to talk with you. Your proper speech sickens me! Why speak like those that have trapped us here to slowly die?!”

Morgott could not say much to that, the words pricking him deeply, more than what his own sharp horns could do.

His brother laughed, darkly, with no humor to it at all. “Such words are from those who have never loved us.”

“No,” Morgott said so suddenly. He clenched his fists, then moved to stand up. His bare feet marched along the stones, rustled the blankets of his own makeshift bed. “That’s not true.”

“How could it not be? Are you sick with your own delusions now?” More laughter, which was even more cruel. A laughter that stung both brothers instead of merely one.

“There are those who care for us.” Morgott looked to his side of the room, with the books, mildew already ruining the pages, their bindings all but frayed and broken. “Father has visited again.”

He heard nothing from Mohg, not even breathing. He turned, finding the shock on his brother’s face, as well as something else, a brief thing that went as left as it appeared. So dearly did Morgott wish to have not caused that brief expression of despair, no matter how fleeting it was.

“He came by, months ago,” he continued, answering the unspoken question. “To continue our training and help refill our rations… I did not know what to say regarding thine disappearance, except… how I believed thou would come back.”

Mohg clutched the pot, and for a moment, Morgott feared he would throw it. It would not be an uncommon action, for that was the pot’s main purpose after all.

“But he did not wait for me,” Mohg concluded.

Morgott added gently, “He waited for as long as he could.”

A shake of his brother’s head. “He came… and then left once again.” Mohg looked to the floor, and his one remaining eye seemed so dull then. “To mother… to Godwyn…”

“Yes,” Morgott agreed. There was no denying it. “He is on a campaign. An urgent one, so he could not continue to stay. He said it would be long before he could see us again.”

Mohg scoffed. “A true pity.”

But Morgott knew in the way his brother held himself, in the gritting of his teeth. Their father, in all their lives, had perhaps been the only one who was truly kind to them. And now, he was gone.

“You should have just told him I died then.”

“No, for I did not believe it.”

“Well, clearly he did!” Mohg snapped. But just as quickly, he quieted down again, hunched over his pot that he gripped so tightly, it must have been in pain. Morgott hoped that he would not see more blood seep through those bandages.

He did not know much else to say. He could not even provide words of comfort, of reassurance that their father would soon return. For his father had not been able to promise that himself.

Instead, he returned to his place beside his brother, sitting on the floor, just a few inches from the spread bedding. He had to maneuver his tail carefully, for it had grown, seeping out from his robes to lug around like a giant weight. He tried not to imagine the sneer his brother would have, if he were not currently devoured by gloom.

“Do…” Morgott halted, pressed his lips together, then started again. “Do you…” he paused, to let the word settle on his tongue with more ease. “…even remember your wings?”

His brother raised his head. He expected a comment on his speech… on his lack of sudden properness. But Mohg simply scratched a claw over the pot’s surface, tracing the curve as if it meant something to him.

“We were toddlers,” Morgott continued. “Father said…your wings barely held any feathers at all.”

It was not a full change of topic, but it was enough. Instead of misery, it was anger that filled his brother’s eye, frustration that made him hiss.

“But they were mine,” Mohg said quietly. So quiet it sounded like a growl. “They were mine, and they took it from me. I will have them back again.”

Even then, Morgott still could not ask him; he could not ask just why did he believe he could grow back what had been severed? What did he find deep beneath their feet, down through the underground tunnels?

Perhaps he feared the answer too much.

He stayed silent for a while and watched the candlelight dance among the walls. Mohg’s breathing was shallow, lost in his own dark thoughts. What dreams of flight he must have, and how Morgott could not deny that sometimes, such dreams came to him as well.

“What did…you imagine your wings to be?” he asked, earnestly, and with less stumble over his chosen speech.

“Grand,” Mohg answered. His gaze was still far-off. “The wings of a true god. Divine. For that is what we should be.”

“You mean the signs of the Crucible.” It was not unheard of. Those small, knotted charms that the Misbegotten would carry on their persons told of such a belief, in conflict with the Golden Order. “A sign of more primitive times.”

A short, but still hollow laugh. “You say such a thing because you refuse to embrace it. If we must be spurned because of how we are born, then I will take all that I was given. I will grow my horns, and I will grow my wings. With that, I will finally be free.” His brother hunched even further in on himself. “And the Greater Will can sod off.”

In another time, Morgott might have reprimanded such blasphemy. But in this room, with the memory of his brother’s warm blood on his hands, he could not. There was no pride in him for what he was born with, his horns a monstrous growth of tangles and barbs, and his tail an awful weight, seeming to shackle him further to the earth than the magic-made ones ever could. How Mohg could see such things as blessings, he did not think he would ever understand.

But he could understand being spiteful, if just a fraction or so.

“To have such wings to fly, I admit, sounds…quite tempting.”

His brother raised his head, though he stayed quite curved over his pot. “Tempted? You?”

Morgott shrugged. “Wings would at least allow us a bit of movement in these tunnels. Why, I could fly up to those imps on the wall and shove them off.” He crossed his arms, smiling a bit. “I could mimic the dragons that roam the sky, like Godwyn’s. I already have such horns and tail for it. I suspect not even Godwyn could tell the difference between me and Fortisaxx.”

It was a meager attempt at humor. Something that not even the other Fell Omen would snicker at, though they didn’t laugh much at anything…

But it was not the laughter of those Fell Omen that he sought. And when he heard the chuckle across from him, looked to see the smirk on Mohg’s face, the shaking of his shoulders, he then truly felt that pride.

“A dragon! Even I could not be so ambitious!” Still, Mohg continued to laugh, even as his laughter later devolved into a wheezing of breath. “And yet… I can only begin to imagine what mother would say to such a thing…”

Somehow, the comment made Morgott laugh, soft and low as it was. It had been unexpected, as well as painful. Their mother had rarely been seen, for she would never set foot in the sewers, would never come to visit like their father would. In all their years, they had never received a single word from her.

It was difficult to even recall her face, for she had banished them to the sewers not long after they were born.

With all that and more, Morgott laughed and laughed.

“What would our radiant mother say?” he repeated. “Her cursed children, shame of the Golden Lineage… now flying with the dragons! We might as well fly up to the boughs of the Erdtree!”

Mohg slapped his knee, his pot now held in just one hand. His deep laughter echoed among the stones around him. “Can the Erdtree truly reject us if we make our home within it? We could make a nest fitting for a prince.”

“Ah, if we do, you will need to build your own. I will make mine own nest.” He paused, cleared his throat again. “My own nest. And it will be grand indeed.”

“Not as grand as mine!” Mohg straightened up, as if he were trying to spread his wings just then. “I’ll make a nest that’s more impressive. For a king! I will-” He flinched. “Agh.”

Morgott already realized. “The wounds, is it?”

“Yes…they have opened again.”

He shook his head, moved to shift behind his brother and fix such blunders once more. And yet he smiled as he did so. “Foolish… One would think you were meaning to open them on purpose.”

“You didn’t wrap these linens correctly!” Mohg countered.

“I couldn’t do it more tightly because you kept fussing about…”

Yet even so, he couldn’t dim the smile from his lips, couldn’t stop chuckling at their previous jokes. There was pain still, from what they knew, but it was dull pain. Long accepted. No use to dwell on it. The shackles that wrapped around their beings and kept them chained, invisible but ever-present, were as well-known as memories that refused to fade.

Yet, as long as his brother was here, such memories could be bearable. They had to be.

So as he wrapped the linens again, he asked, “Are you satisfied by your venture then?”

Mohg turned his head over his shoulder, his face hidden away by thorns that have grown so unruly. “Satisfied?”

“Perhaps…that is not the correct term.” Morgott tightened a knot, sighed at the blood again on his hands, but at least it was minimal, easily washed away. “I do not know how long it will be until we may see Father once more, but he told me this… That we are better united than separated.” He pressed his lips together. “And I agree. There are so many uncertainties in this world, and I don’t want to lose you if I can help it. I fear of whatever lurks beneath us, or anywhere…”

Mohg was quiet, but there was the smallest, almost imperceptible nod from him. “Well…now how can I refuse such an offer?”

Morgott dared to hope. “So you will stay?”

If anyone besides a Fell saw Mohg then, they would have thought he snarled, looking demonic in nature. But Morgott only saw his brother’s smile.

“An older brother must care for his youngest, of course!”

“…Has your venture also deprived you of your senses? We are twins.”

“Yes, but I was born some minutes before you! Father told me so.”

“Oh, when Father says so, of course…”

But even so, he felt relief then. All it took was a familiar face to feel some comfort, after all.

And yet one day, or night, or afternoon, in however time passed for them, Mohg had left again.

Before he did so, their time together had been peaceful – as much as one could find peace in such a place. They left their single room, they recounted old stories of their father, and even made their secret ways that led up to the surface – but only for a certain distance. The shackles that bound their beings always pulled at their feet with a subtle weight. Any ladder that led up to a blue sky were suddenly much too difficult to climb.

Yet, for some time, both Morgott and Mohg could see the golden branches of the Erdtree through an open grate up high, its light shining down with the sun.

“Perhaps that upper bough is where we could make our nests,” Morgott had joked, happy to hear his twin laugh along to it.

“I will need my own for my grand palace of a nest. Sorry, brother, but you will need to find your very own.”

It had felt easy once again, and yet, Morgott must have missed the longing in his brother’s remaining eye. Perhaps Mohg had stared up at that golden bough a moment too long. Perhaps his laughter had been strained.

Because now he was gone.

The bed was askew, a pot or two tilted on their sides, with not even a note to his whereabouts.

Morgott fixed up the sheets, righted the pots, and sat on the floor, waiting. For nothing. For everything.

His brother had always fancied their shame, as if it were their blessing.

“Thou art nothing but a fool,” he said to the ground, clenching his fists, tears leaving his eyes.

Those who bear the aspects of the Crucible were once considered divine; of tails, of horns, and of wings that stretched high.

Why could his brother not realize that all they had was each other?

A fool indeed.

#elden ring #mohg #morgott #morgott the omen king #mohg lord of blood #fanfiction #one shot

21 notes · View notes

fluffykitty1999-blog · 3 years

Text

Dog of the Military- Chapter 28

Chapter 28- Bits and Pieces

"Home sweet couch." Ed strode into the living room, looking relieved to see Roy's tan sofa looking as inviting as it always had after his stint in the hospital. He was planning on sinking into the cushions and reading the latest alchemy books he'd sent Al to the library to get, but he was stopped when Roy placed a hand on his automail shoulder, guiding him towards the stairs.

"You said I could sleep on the couch once we got home." Ed was close to whining. Still, he followed Roy upstairs without too much complaint.

"What- you got a secret couch in your study that's more comfortable or something?"

"No. I just figured after all that time in a hospital and sleeping on couches you might like to have an actual bed." Roy led him down the hall past the open door of his study, with all it's alluring books. He pushed open the heavy oak door to reveal a small, rather sparse room. Flowered wall paper with dark gray spripes behind it, a small twin bed with blue sheets, a bookcase beside it, and a small desk tucked in the corner greeted them.

"Here we are. Your room." Roy said.

Ed was silent, and Roy frowned.

"I know it's a little plain- it was just my guest room for awhile, the only one who really stayed here was Hughes. We can spruce it up if you want, get pictures on the wall or whatever..."

Ed paused, taking a small step into the room.

"It's perfect like it is." he turned, looking behind him at Roy with uncertainty. "It's really mine?"

Roy nodded. "Might as well be. Whenever you're in Central and not out traveling, you're welcome to crash here. There's a spare house key somewhere, I'll have to see if I can find it for you."

Ed nodded, striding across the room to sit on the bed. Roy had already settled the lone suitcase- the only thing Ed really had besides the clothes on his back- containing all the research he'd saved from the dorm fires- beside the desk, and Ed let out a relaxed sigh, flopping on the bed.

He sat up on his automail elbow. "Do you want rent or anything? Room and board? I got money, research allowance and all..."

"I don't want anything from you, Ed. It's easier this way- we don't have to keep playing phone tag with reports, I get to know you're alive when you come home once every few weeks. Besides- you two are hardly in one place long enough to bother with something like that."

"Yeah. Okay, make sense." Ed flopped back on the bed, letting out a contented sigh.

Roy wondered for the first time- how long had it been since Ed had had something he could really call his won? Something besides a standard military issue dormitory or a generic hotel room. He was uncomfortable with the fact it'd probably been years.

"I'll have dinner ready in about an hour if you feel like eating." Roy figured it'd be best to just let the kid relax.

"Yeah, sounds good. Roy?"

Roy paused and turned back towards the room, not sure what the boy was going to say. "Yeah?"

"Thanks. For everything." Ed's golden eyes were soft and unguarded for once, the normal edge and distrust not present.

"No problem, kid."

LINEBREAK LINEBREAK LINEBREAK LINEBREAK LINEBREAK

"So we need to go to Fisk and check out the stone mentioned in this passage here." Ed finished brightly, looking up from the book he'd been reading and smiling at Alphonse.

"But brother- we need to stay in Central for awhile. The Colonel said so. Something about Colonel Banks still being on the loose. You know he's out to get you."

"Don't worry about me, Al. I'll be fine- the Colonel worries too much."

"I'm not going with you then." Al said, turning up his armored face in distaste.

"What!? But Alphonse..."

"The Colonel says we need to stay put until Banks is caught, so I'm not going anywhere but Central until he is. It's for your own good, Ed."

"But the military is taking forever to catch him! He could be in Drachma by now for all we know! He can;t keep us here forever!" Ed exploded.

Al gave a clunking shrug.

"Fine." Ed seethed, standing up. "If you won't help me look for the stone until Banks is caught, then we'll just have to catch him ourselves."

Behind a rather upscale restaurant, an old man with wiry gray hair and a bottle of liquor sat against the brick wall, gaze empty as he waited beside the dumpster for scraps.

The man merely paused and looked over apathetically when a blonde boy in a red cloak strode over to him.

"Hey hobo Joe, hows it going?"

"I'm still alive, I guess." the man said hoarsely.

"I brought you something." Ed smiled, pulling a brown bag from his coat. Inside were warm cinnamon buns- still sticky. The man took them and started to eat, the warm frosting getting caught in his unkempt beard.

"What are you looking for this time?" the man asked between bites of pastry.

"Colonel Robert Banks."

"Ah, yes. I saw a newspaper about him. Then I used it to line my boots." the old man said with a smile. His gaze searched Ed, who still had his arm in a sling. "Is he the one that busted your other arm?"

"Yeah. The whole military's looking for him. But the military is full of a bunch of jack wads, some know-nothings. You really have time to watch things out here, hobo Joe. So I figured if anybody knew something, it'd be you."

Hobo Joe shrugged. "Heard news of a new rat in the sewers. And there's been some strange foreign people around lately. You know, when most people don't want to be found down here, they go underground."

"Right. Thanks for the tip, old man. Do me a favor- drink some water." Ed frowned, looking at teh liqour bottle the man was holding. "You know that crap dehydrates you."

"Let me prune up and die in peace, shrimp."

Ed scoffed. He would've exploded, but he was running on a tight schedule. He was on his lunch break, and he'd told Roy he was going to visit Hughes afterwards, so he had about three hours, tops, before Roy was going to wonder where he was.

"You can't go after him alone, brother!" Al sounded upset at the notion as Ed found an unused manhole in a dark alley.

"Al- you can't fit. I'm sorry."

"But what if something happens to you down there? You only have one good arm!" Al protested.

"I can still clap even with the sling. And my arm doesn't hurt that bad, anyways." Ed said simply.

"I'll tell the Colonel." Al threatened.

"The whole reason I'm looking for this crazy jerk is so that the Colonel will let us look for the stone, Al! I'm doing this for you!"

"Well I don't like it!"

"Give me an hour, alright!? If I don't check back in, you can go and get Mustang."

"One hour. Not a minute more." Al said flatly.

"Alright then. See you in an hour." And Ed descended the ladder at half his usual speed, due to his flesh arm being stuck in a sling. Still, he didn't fret about it too much.

It took a few moments for his eyes to adjust to the dark. The only sound was running water, running down the main channel, and a few rats scuttling about. Ed was tempted to call out for Banks- he knew the man was looking to settle the score with him- but he paused when the corpse of a drowned rat floated by him on the water.

He might not be alone down here. He was reminded of the man with silver eyes who'd tried to take him at the hospital. Drachmans were probably looking for Banks as well. It was best to just keep his mouth shut and observe.

He walked several blocks underground, watching the dingy brown sewer water float by. He turned down another tunnel- this one was larger, there was more wter flowing. He noticed there was a small empty space, about two feet tall and three feet deep, at the base of the wall. Just big enough for a mini-fridge lying on its side to fit in. though why anyone would have a mini fridge down here, Ed couldn't fathom. It was just the only unit of measure that came to mind.

There was a circular grate at the edge of the tunnel, about fifty feet away. Water flowed between the bars like a waterfall, and the tunnel continued to both the right and left in either direction. Ed was planning on going left. when he reached the T-shaped junction, but he paused when he noticed a figure a mere twenty feet from him.

Whoever it was was dressed in black completely, and there was someone sitting at their feet.

Ed watched the odd, shambling walk as the figure took a few steps towards his tunnel before eh felt the icy fingers of dread gripping his heart. Whoever this was, it wasn't banks, and his palms itched and heart pounded with the need to get far, far away from him.

He turned and ran back down the tunnel towards where he came. He had about thirty seconds before the man turned into the tunnel and saw him. He was grateful for the noise of flowing water covering him as he turned and sprinted back the way he'd came, stumbling and nearly falling, only to notice the small empty compartment right beside him...

He rolled into the small crevice, letting out his breath in slow pants as he tried to calm his hammering heart.

Had he been quick enough? Or had the man already turned into the tunnel and seen him?

He couldn't tell if he was being pursued or not, and he didn't dare peek out and check and risk revealing himself if he hadn't already.

At first, the only thing he could hear was the sound of water pouring down through the grate and into the small channel flowing down the tunnel, and his heartbeat in his own ears. But gradually, as whoever it was approached him, he heard the footsteps increasing in volume. He squeezed his eys shut. He was at a disadvantage- the man could've already seen him, could've been hunting him right now, and he wouldn't have known it. All he could do was wait and pray he hadn't been seen.

He was hunched over on all fours- it was a painfully cramped position, and he scooted himself farther back into the recesses of the small crevice he was in, pressing his automail palm to his flesh hand in the sling. Even if he was caught, he could still manage one good transmutation to defend himself if he needed to.

In the rear corner in front of him, a rat sat, chewing on something it held between its fore paws as it sat on its hind legs. It didn't give him a second glance.

Ed could spend no more time looking at the creature, because the footsteps were right outside, now- he could see the pair of black boots and pants just outside his crevice. The man stopped walking.

Ed's heartbeat was so loud he couldn't hear what the man mumbled to himself, though he heard the familiar flick of a lighter and smelled cigarette smoke, before the man continued on walking. His heart was still racing, even as he listened to the footsteps fading into the distance. He was left alone with the sound of running water from the grate behind him.

Still- he had to wait. He wanted to make sure the man- whoever he was- was long gone before he dared come out.

He counted to 300, willing his purse to stop pounding and his hands to stop shaking.

He tried to focus on whatever was in front of him. The rat in the corner had grown tired of sharing its space with him- it cast whatever it was chewing on at its feet in front of him and scurried out of the small alcove, chattering its teeth as it went.

Ed frowned, something about the object the creature had dropped drawing his attention. It looked like a small stick of some kind, but there was something brightly colored on the end...

He reached forward, picking it up and looking at it.

It was a finger nail. He looked down at the base of what he was holding- a shimmer of ivory bone leered out beneath severed muscle and sinew...

He dropped the finger on instinct, turning his head to the side and vomiting whatever little lunch he'd eaten onto the concrete beside him. He was shaking, choking and retching- he clamped his hand over his mouth, trying to muffle the noise- his heart had begun to pound in his chest again, and he shook both in fear of what he'd found and that he'd be heard, the man would come back.

It was painful to try and hold it back, though- vomit scorched his nostrils and seeped between his fingers, and He stopped trying to muffle it, letting his stomach rebel one last time until he was quietly dry heaving.

When it was over he just laid on the ground, catching his breath and trying to stop his trembling. He needed to move. He needed to get up and get out of here. He was in over his head.

He looked dully forward at the detached human finger, reaching over with his automail hand. He was grateful he couldn't feel the texture of the dead skin on his metal hand, and he picked up the limb and slid it into his pocket. It was evidence, after all.

He took a deep breath, steeling his frayed nerves, and ducked his head out from beneath the alcove, peering around. The man in black was nowhere in sight- he was in the clear. He crawled out like a snake on his belly, hurriedly getting to his feet. He couldn't head back the way he came- that was where the man had been headed. He'd just have to hope that the man didn't go back where he'd already been.

He kept running down the passageway, turning to the left towards where the man had come from. He paused at the mouth of the new tunnel- the person who'd been sitting at the man's feet, back against the wall of the sewer, was still there.

He wasn't sure if they'd seen him, but something about it all seemed off. He approached cautiously- it was a woman, and she was slumped over like she was hurt...

There was blood around her. He'd thought it was water at first, but when he stepped in it and the scent of copper hit him, he knew.

If he hadn't already thrown up, he probably would've by now.

He chin rested on her chest, and he fumbled to pull his flesh arm from the sling, not noticing the pain as he moved his injured arm to place his fingers on her neck, feeling for a pulse. There was none.

She only had nine fingers. And they all sported the same bright purple acrylic nails as the finger in his pocket.

Somehow, he'd sunk to his knees and he was trembling again. He couldn't take her with him- she was dead weight, just a body, logically, he knew that, but her family deserved to see her again, to have a proper burial...

A rat shrieked behind him, and he whirled, startled, scrabbling through the grime on his backside.

What had he come here for again? He didn't know, but his heart thrummed in his throat, and he tried to push himself up with his flesh arm only for a spike of pain to send him crashing back down onto the grimy concrete. He managed to push himself up with his automail arm, though, regained his footing, and he was sprinting, running, running through the tunnels blindly.

He had to get out of here. He had to get out before that man came back or he found another body or something horrible happened.

He nearly ran past the ladder. He came skidding to a stop before the rusted metal loops, frantically climbing them, his boots slipping in the grime he'd acquired while in the sewer.

He wrestled with the manhole cover above, feeling blessed sunlight on his skin. his head and chest free from the underground prison, he breathed the fresh air, trying to calm his dizzying thoughts. He didn't look below him- but a hand grabbed on his flesh leg on the ladder, and he yelped.

He kicked out frantically with his automail leg- there was a crunch, and he scrambled the rest of the way out of the manhole and ran, blindly into the streets. He didn't stop running until he was almost to headquarters.

LINEBREAK LINEBREAK LINEBREAK LINEBREAK LINEBREAK

"Hey Roy- how's it going?"

Roy looked over, baffled, as Hughes plopped his tray down across from his friend in the military mess hall.

"What's with that look? Aren't you glad to see me?" Hughes asked, frowning at Roy's expression.

"You're not in your office."

"No, I'm not. I figured I'd have lunch over here today. IS something wrong?"

"No. But Ed said he was going to visit you after he went out for lunch. That was three hours ago."

"I haven't seen him all day." Hughes frowned, pushing his glasses up on his nose and his tray to the side, standing at the same time Roy did.

"What are you thinking?" Hughes asked as they headed towards the doors.

"I'm thinking he lied to me. He wanted to give me the slip- he's been on a short leash lately with everything going on- he;s probably out investigating by himself." Roy said, tight-lipped. His eyes had gone dark with anger.

"Where do you think he'd go?"

"I'm not sure." Roy palmed the front doors of HQ open, only to be met by the clanging sound of metal armor running up to him.

"Colonel!"

"Alphonse. Where's your brother?" Roy asked, voice cold.

"That's what I wanted to talk to you about. He heard a rumor Colonel Banks was hiding out in the sewers and went down to try and capture him- I tried to tell him not to go alone, but he wouldn't listen. He said he'd check in with me in an hour, but it's been nearly three, and i can't fit through the manhole to look for him myself..." Alphonse was wringing his gauntlets nervously.

Hughes had gone pale. "Roy, the sewers..."

"I know, Hughes." Roy pinched the bridge of his nose. "go get the team- we're sending all our men in."

"Looks like we don't have to. Here comes our rebel without a cause now." Hughes looked into the distance, as did Roy. A signature red figure was bobbing in the distance- stumbling, actually.

Roy broke into a jog, as did Hughes and Alphonse, to meet the boy half way.

Ed was practically shambling, looking behind him frantically at times.

"Fullmetal."

Ed flinched at his tone, but the relief on his face when he saw the Colonel was visible, and his tense shoulders relaxed.

The boy was, quite frankly, a mess. He was drenched from the knees down in grime and filth, sweat and dirt on his face- his white gloves had been soiled, and his hair was starting to escape his braid.

"Colonel."

"You lied, Fullmetal. You lied to me to go off and do something stupid on your own."

"Yeah, I did."

Roy paused. Ed was actually admitting he did something wrong instead of arguing with him. This was new.

"I know it was stupid, and I shouldn't have done it, and I'm sorry, okay? I didn't realize how dumb I was being until it was almost too late."

"Brother, what do you mean it was almost too late!?" Alphonse asked, going ramrod straight in shock.

Roy raked his eyes over the boy, searching him for any sign of injury- but aside from his braced arm, which hung limp at his side, having been freed from his sling, there was nothing obvious.

"I need to talk to you and Hughes, Colonel." Ed admitted, eyes serious. "Alphonse- go upstairs to the office."

"Whatever you need to tell them, Ed, I can hear it too. I'm your brother." Al protested.

"And I'm the military dog!" Ed snapped. Al stepped back, surprised at the outburst. Ed's expression softened. "Sorry, Al. I didn't mean to snap at you like that. It's just... I need to talk to them about something, and it doesn't have anything to do with the stone or our search. Nothing to do with our goal. It's military business- I promised I'd be the one to deal with that, not you."

"I just wanted to help you, Ed. I always want to help."

"I know." Ed stepped forward, resting his automail hand on his brother's chest plate affectionately. "Trust me, Al, I know. I'm sorry I was such a jerk about going off on my own today. I've been so eager to get back to searching for the stone that I've been a little reckless lately. The most help you could be to my right now is to go upstairs and read over the research summary notes I left on my desk. I'll join you to talk about them soon."

"Okay." BONK! Al brought his closed gauntlet down on the top of Ed's head.

"Ow! What was that for, Al!?" Ed protested.

"I was knocking some sense into you. Maybe next time you'll use it instead of being an idiot." Al said simply, before he was turning and striding back into HQ.

Ed sighed, looking up at Roy and Hughes with a tired expression. "You guys gonna chew me out too?"

"Probably. But I'm going to hear what you have to say first. Start talking." Roy crossed his arms over his chest, scrutinizing Ed carefully.

Ed sighed. "So I've been a little stir crazy because I've been cooped up in Central. I want to keep looking for the stone, but you said I'm supposed to stay close by until Banks is apprehended, and I know the Drachmans have something out for me now too, and I figured I'd be able to get back on the move sooner if I went after Banks myself. I heard he was in the sewers from my informant..."

"You have informants now, do you?" Hughes asked, looking amused. "And just who would they be?"

"My sources are none of your business." Ed replied, brows furrowing together. "Anyways, I was in the sewers looking for him. And I ran into someone... I don;t know who it was, but it wasn't Banks. I got this feeling- I don't know what it was, but I got the same feeling right before I lost my leg, so I knew enough to trust it. I hid- whoever he was, he didn't see me. I managed to get to the exit. But... I found some things. Some bad things."

"Like what?" Hughes asked, though he knew it was a loaded question.

"I found a dead body." Ed had stopped walking, his voice barely above a whisper. "I wanted to bring her body back with me. For her family. But I didn't have time- I didn't know when he was coming back. I barely got away as it was, I was climbing out of the manhole when he grabbed my leg and tried to drag me back down..."

"There's more than just Banks in the sewers, Ed. There's rapists and murders and drug addicts down there too." Hughes said quietly.

"Yeah- no kidding. I'm never going back there."

"No, you're not. Because you're now on house arrest- you're to be with me or a member of the team at all times. You're not going out to lunch anymore- you can eat in the mess hall like the rest of us. You'll either be at HQ or at home. Nowhere else. Understood?"

"Yeah, I guess." Ed looked at the ground kicking a stray pebble.

Hughes and Roy exchanged glances. Ed wasn't fighting tooth an nail. The boy was probably really rattled form what he'd experienced- maybe the boy was growing up and realizing it was for his own good. Or maybe he just wasn't in the mood to fight anymore.

"Hughes. I brought back some evidence- it was the only thing I could carry."

Hughes held out his hand expectantly, and Ed fished around in his pocket for a moment before he was depositing it in Hughes palm.

It was only the fact that Hughes and Mustang had been to war and seen carnage far worse that kept both men from visibly reacting.

"Hit the showers and get back to the office. We'll talk more about this later." Roy ordered curtly.

Ed nodded, ducking into HQ and keeping his head down. He'd had enough adventure for one day.

What do you think of our new seiral killer? Also- if you want to leave an encouraging comment or constructive criticism, here’s the obligatory link ;) https://ko-fi.com/fluffykitty12 .

#fma #fma fanfiction #Fullmetal Alchemist #fullmetal alchimist brotherhood #Roy Mustang #edward elric #Parental Roy #parentalroy #whumph #whump #hurt/comfort #hurt #comfort #dogofthemilitary #injury

7 notes · View notes

misscrazyfangirl321 · 4 years

Text

Proving Ourselves

A late contribution to Friends and Family August, because I wanted to finish strong, but writer’s block got in my way. Set in my universe where Sean finds out that he is Trubel’s father.*

*Feel free to message me for full backstory

Fandom: Grimm

Relationships: Theresa Rubel and Sean Renard

Vienna.

He hadn’t been there in years, not since just after his brother’s death, and he honestly never planned to go back. It was over; when his father died, there was hardly a point in the Royals keeping up the fight. (Hardly anyone left to keep fighting.)

But that was where one of the last keys was, and he truly did want to prove himself to this team. He made his choice, finally, but he knew that was only the first step. So he offered to go retrieve the key from the Royals.

At least Trubel wanted to come with him. Granted, it probably had more to do with not trusting him than any desire for father/daughter bonding, but it was something. He’d have to be careful, but if he played his cards right, he might be able to win her over a little.

“I’ll get us a couple of tickets,” he announced, and she gave a slow nod. He pulled out his phone, scrolling through websites until he found a good deal, and was just about to order them when she peered over his shoulder.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. First class?” She shook her head. “No way I can afford that.”

He waved her off. “I’ve got it.” Frankly, it sounded like a wonderful chance to spoil her a little. Clearly, she hadn’t had that enough in her life, and he had every intention of changing that.

She scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest. “Seriously? What, you think you buy me lots of nice things, and it’ll convince me that you’re a good guy now? Nah. That’s easy. You want to prove something? Prove you really care?” She fixed him with a cold stare. “Fly in the back of the plane. Absolute worst seats. No fancy service, no nice chairs…” She looked him over pointedly. “No leg room.”

And that was… Well. Not an altogether pleasant idea, although he’d definitely done things more uncomfortable than that. Trudging through sewers in Vienna, for one.

Still, though. For his daughter, anything.

“Consider it done.”

Two hours into the flight, and Sean was really starting to miss first class. He shifted a little in his seat, legs aching. Trubel didn’t turn back, just kept staring at her hands, but she must have seen out of the corner of her eyes; her lips twitched, just a little. And that made it all worth it.

… Probably.

Making a mental note to take some pain meds as soon as he landed, he glanced at his watch. Unfortunately, it wasn’t much later than it was the last time he checked. Or the time before that.

Ridiculous.

“Hey, uh-” It was the first time Trubel had spoken since boarding the flight, and he turned to her, maybe a bit too eager. So sue him; he wanted to talk to his daughter (and have something-anything-to focus on besides the growing cramp in his leg). But after a moment, she shook her head. “Forget it.”

“What is it?” He was trying not to push, truly, but she started this.

“I was just… Thinking about Mom.”

Oh. He drew in a breath, tilting his head to the side. “What about her?” Purposefully gentle, trying not to spook her. Trubel was one of the bravest people he’d ever known when it came to fights, but when it came to emotions, one false move could send her scurrying back inside herself. She gets that from me, he mused wryly, although it probably wasn’t fair to credit himself with anything she’d become.

She shrugged, clearly trying (and failing) to feign nonchalance. “Just… She was, like… Peaceful. Bake bread, make tea, smile at people… That kind of thing, right?”

“Right…?” He raised a brow, wondering if she was trying to make sense of his and Rebecca’s relationship. If so, he wished her luck. Many had tried, and all had failed.

“Think she’d be… Disappointed in me, or something?”

Oh, sweetheart. The endearment felt natural in his mind, but he managed-barely-to bite it back; he rather liked having his head attached, after all. “No,” he replied simply. “Definitely not.” Hopefully that would be enough.

She scoffed, shaking her head. “Right. I don’t even know why I asked you. You didn’t even know that she was a G-” She caught herself, glancing around to see if anyone was listening. Everyone seemed distracted in their own stuff, but she still only mouthed the end of the sentence: “Grimm.”

His gut twisted, and in spite of his best efforts, he couldn’t quite hide his flinch. It was true, of course; Rebecca kept that from him, and even though there was a lot he didn’t tell her, it ached, knowing that she didn’t trust him enough to tell him. The pot and the kettle, he supposed.

Trubel hesitated, maybe realizing that she’d struck a nerve. “Sorry,” she muttered. “I-”

“No,” he interrupted, forcing himself to exhale, to let the pain drift to the background. This was not about him. “You’re right; I didn’t. But I know how she thought.” He reached for her, hand lingering in the air between them, but didn’t dare close the gap.

She turned, finally facing him properly, and he let his hand fall to his knee. She said nothing, but her head was tilted to the side; at least she was listening.

“Rebecca believed in peace. But she always said it took two kinds of people to keep it: people who made it, and people who defended it. Artists, teachers… People like her. They make peace. But it’s up to people like you-” and me, he almost said, but he doubted she’d appreciate the parallel. “-to keep it.”

It had been more than twenty years since he’d last heard that spiel, but he could still remember every word of it. When things got to be too much-when he was drowning in guilt from his first shooting, no matter how many lives it saved-she gathered him up in her arms, stroking his hair, whispering the reassurances on a loop.

Trubel swallowed, watching him with wide eyes, but said nothing. He took that as his cue to continue.

“Believe me when I say that your mother would be so incredibly proud of the woman you’ve become. And-” his throat was a little too tight-there was that fear- “I know it probably doesn’t mean much to you right now, but… I am too.”

She turned away sharply, and for a horrifying moment he thought he’d crossed a line. He had no right to be proud, he had nothing to do with it, with how incredible she was, and now she was shutting him out, and-

A shudder ran through her, and he stopped short, panic giving way to realization: she was crying. Dabbing fiercely at her eyes with the edges of her sleeve, wrapping her other arm tightly around herself. Trying desperately to keep it in.

Should he just pretend he didn’t notice? Probably. But his heart ached at the thought of his little girl inches away from him, crying her eyes out all alone.

After a moment’s debate, he reached into his pocket, retrieving a handkerchief, and set it on her leg.

She froze, then looked down, and snorted. She lifted it up, wiping away her tears, wiping her nose, and taking deep breaths. Finally, she gave him a wry look. “You’re not getting this back.”

“I have more.” A ridiculous number, in fact. His father, for all his flaws, always went out of his way to send a handkerchief for Christmas. (Or at the very least, someone on his staff did. Privately, Sean always suspected the cook, Milly; she was always kind to him and his mother, after all.)

“Of course you do.”

The lapsed into silence, and he let his thoughts drift: first to Milly, then to his mother, and finally to Rebecca.

“What’cha thinking about?” Trubel asked, and he swallowed, grateful that she was reaching out but wishing she’d chosen any other time to do it.

Still, he wasn’t going to lie to her. “Just... I got to thinking about what your mother would say if she could see me now.”

Working with Black Claw? Kidnapping Kelly? Killing Meisner? Oh, she’d hate him now, wouldn’t she? Would the fact that he was trying now-that he was doing the best he could-for their daughter, for Diana, for Nick-outweigh the things he’d done? Hard to say. Not likely.

“She’d…�� Trubel hesitated, offering him a shaky smile. “She’d say you got old?”

It took a few moments for him to register the tentative olive branch, but when he did, he couldn’t help but laugh. A nameless sort of relief washed over him, as if he’d been waiting for this all along and hadn’t realized it.

“Now, I’ll take a lot of accusations,” he shot back. “Frankly, most of them are probably true. But if you’re saying I’ve lost my dashing good looks… That I won’t take.”

“Gross!” She laughed, shoving his shoulder, and he couldn’t stop the ridiculous smile spreading across his face. And just for a moment, he knew that it didn’t matter what happened next: with the keys, the team, or even the Jabberwocky.

Everything was going to be okay.

#theresa rubel #sean renard #grimm #6it #my fics #my writing #my works #mine #grimm nbc #faf august

21 notes · View notes

chaoswillfallrpg · 3 years

Photo

SILAS CRUMP is THIRTY-EIGHT YEARS-OLD and a PETTY CRIMINAL in DIAGON ALLEY in LONDON. He looks remarkably like JOSH HARTNETT and considers himself NEUTRAL. He is currently UNPLAYABLE.

→ OVERVIEW:

tw: blood, bodily harm, death, murder

An American werewolf roaming the streets of London, Silas has been running from himself since he was twenty-one years old though he has sadly ran into more danger than he intended to run away from. Born in Chicago, Silas was the eldest son of Muggle business owner CHRISTOPHER WHITLEY and his socialite wife MELISSA O’NEIL. As the eldest in their family and the Whitley family’s only son, Silas was heir to the Whitley Whiskey fortune and would be designated the family distillery that sat proudly on the outskirts of Chicago alongside their lavish home. The Whitley family had been Whiskey men since the 1800s when members of their family had arrived over from the North of England and brought their famous brand of drink alongside them. Silas’ early childhood was filled with long walks around their property, looking over their distilleries and being told day after day that all of this would be his. The first and smallest distillery they owned was the one next to their home, after their family brand had expanded most operations took place where they had more land leaving the Chicago distillers as mostly a tourist destination and occasional playground for Silas and his younger sister RIHANNON. When strange things began to happen to Silas, Rihannon was the first person to notice. At school children who bothered him would find themselves on the ceiling, whilst at home his mother’s pearls would vanish into thin air whilst Silas sported a knowing smirk.

Silas’ sister liked to believe something was happening to her brother, but whilst Rhiannon panicked, Silas grinned. One day he’d woken up with the ability to do things which he’d spent time trying to perfect, then one afternoon he arrived home to a brown owl sitting on the bike rack, a letter in it’s mouth addressed to him. Taking it from the owl, he tore it open and read it there and then. Silas was a wizard and he had been accepted to begin studying a wizarding school to help him better control his magic. His parents had found assumed it was a hoax, until they made a key discovery. Whiskey was what made their family famous. But the blend hadn’t been simply alcohol, it had been mixed with an elixir that sent people crazy for the taste. Mount Greylock was unlike anything Silas could have imagined. A place where he learned to control the magic that flowed through his fingers, he fit in well amongst the house of fellow artistic thinkers and took to being a wizard as well as he could considering he had no prior knowledge when he arrived. His presence at the school was rare due to his Muggle-Born status, though he was never penalised for it as was the case in European schools. Silas enjoyed learning, particularly about the wizarding world and longed to find a place he fit amongst them. An experienced alchemist like his ancestors, Silas could brew anything he put his mind to. Becoming popular amongst the students at due to his ability to mix Muggle alcohol and potions into mind blowing elixirs. It was this talent that helped him catch the eye of Silas’ first girlfriend.

OPHELIA DELACOUR was a beautiful Half-Blood witch, Silas fell deeply in love with her very quickly. Upon graduating Mount Greylock Silas was sure of two things. He would take over his family business and extend its reach back to the wizarding world and he would marry Ophelia Delacour. Popping the question on her ninetieth birthday the pair got to work planning the wedding. Every other waking moment was spent at the factory with his father manufacturing their first blend of Whitley’s Wizard Whiskey which they would first serve to the world at the wedding. After perfecting the formula Silas visited the pub with his friends, stumbling home drunk in the dark and attempting to find a taxi. But it wasn’t a taxi that found Silas that night. A beautiful woman who he had been speaking to that evening followed him into the alleyway behind the pub and after exchanging a few short words and kisses, claimed she would be in touch before transforming into a beast before his very eyes. Biting Silas on the neck she slid away into the dark. Managing to get home Silas tried to hide what he had become. The wizarding world was not kind to werewolves and although his family accepted him as a wizard and his fiancée’s family were liberal they were not that liberal. Brewing himself wolfsbane and drinking it religiously, he hid it from them well. Locking himself in the distillery on a full moon away from the eyes and ears of his family.

Days turned to weeks and weeks to months till his wedding was upon him. Burried in work on the night of his bachelor party he forgot to take his potion, chaining himself up in the distillery before passing out drunk. Unconscious, he hand’t noticed a pair of hands attempeting to untie him before he had shifted and it was too late. The next morning Silas awoke in the distillery to the sight of his sister torn to shreds on the floor in front of him. His whole world collapsing in a matter of seconds. Blinded by tears he buried her in her favourite field and made off into the dawn, changing his name and leaving his old life behind. Ashton Whitley could not live with what he had done, but Silas Crump might have a better life elsewhere with the past behind him. London was where he chose to drown his sorrows. Taking up a job in The White Wyvern he pulled pints before he was kicked out for draining their alcohol supply. That was when she found him. KAMALI SKENDER could smell the sorrow eating him up inside, stronger than any scent in London as he cried and wailed each full moon in the sewers below the surface of the city. The happiest Silas had been in a long while was when Le Cirque Des Rêves took him in. Though the circus was composed mostly of creatures and shady figures, Silas was grateful to find himself hired as an alchemy act, dazzling punters with his ability to mix weird and wonderful drinks they enjoyed during the show. Kamali was the mentor he needed. A werewolf who showed him that after the bite life went on.

She taught him how to love again and though his heart ached for Ophelia still, he forged a new life with Kamali, adopting a young wolf who came to need their aid and creating a family he did not think he would ever be able to have. CORIN HALE eased much of his pain, a little wolf she saw beauty in their kind and Silas began to see the world not through the dark lense he had always seen it but through her young eyes. Their life was a happy one. Until the evening BELLATRIX BLACK and RABASTAN LESTRANGE appeared at the circus. Cornering Silas the pair threatened to expose Silas to his new family and send word back to Chicago unless he joined their cause. A strong and older werewolf with pull in their community he was paramount to their cause, but shaken still by the death of his sister he refused and took off into the night with his daughter. Silas hadn’t wanted to take Corin, but he knew she would follow him to the ends of the earth even if it meant putting her at risk to find him. They had gotten as far as Nottingham before they had found them again. A fight ensued and seeing her strength and control despite the full moon, Rabastan and Bellatrix kidnapped Corin, casting a memory charm on Silas and staging the scene to appear as though she had been killed. When Silas came round again his daughter was gone. Shreds of her clothing remained and enough blood to suggest a massacre where she had stood. At first he thought he had lost control and murdered her, but something deep within him told him otherwise.

The moon had been full when she had disappeared, but he had been taking his potion. Travelling back to London, Silas sought the help of defence lawyer RODOLPHUS LESTRANGE, knowing that as soon as Corin was reported missing the finger would be pointed his way. Silas doesn’t remember a lot from that night. Just the two figures and a bright light before everything went dark. Fragments came back to him, but as they did another body showed up. BOOKER BAGNOLD, torn to pieces and floating in a fountain. Just like his sister had been. With his name attached to the murder. Frightened, Silas thought on his feet and kidnapped fellow werewolf JONATHAN REEVES, taking locks of his hair and using it to masquerade as him with poly juice potion to allow him to search for his daughter without being taken by the Ministry. His plan was going smoothly until the evening of The Yule Ball, Booker’s older brother HARRISON BAGNOLD targeted him, attempting to strike him with the killing curse. In a final declaration of love, Jonathan’s girlfriend ROSALIE FLINT sacrificed herself and dived in front of the curse killing her instantly. After laying her to rest in the forest, Silas paid his respects, dropped his disguise and moved on, scared of being seen again as Jonathan. Currently on the run and uncertain of who to trust, Silas is leaning on the support of those closest to him. Though he is not sure of many things he is certain of one thing. He did not kill Booker Bagnold, Corin is still out there needing to be saved and there is something much larger going on in wizarding London which he must help stop.

→ ADDITIONAL INFORMATION:

Blood Status → Muggle-Born (Werewolf)

Pronouns → He/Him

Identification → Cis Male

Sexuality → Pansexual

Relationship Status → Single

Previous Education → Mount Greylock School for Magic (Walmsini)

Societies → N/A

Family → Kamali Skender (partner), Corin Hale (adoptive daughter)

Connections → Rodolphus Lestrange (lawyer), Andromeda Black (legal aid), Regulus Black (legal aid), Bellatrix Black (unknown adversary), Rabastan Lestrange (unknown adversary), Booker Bagnold (alleged victim), Harrison Bagnold (adversary), Ophelia Delacour (ex-fiancée), Jonathan Reeves (victim/adversary), Rosalie Flint (former girlfriend under polyjuice potion), Fenrir Greyback (former alpha under polyjuice potion)

Future Information → N/A

SILAS CRUMP IS A LEVEL 8 WIZARD/WEREWOLF.

#josh hartnett #penny dreadful #supernatural roleplay #supernatural rp #supernatural rpg #silas crump #werewolf #wizard #alleys #magic #tw: murder #tw: death #tw: bodily harm #tw: blood #neutral #unplayable wizard #unplayable #unplayable werewolf #unplayable lgbtqia+

4 notes · View notes

aweebwrites · 5 years

Text

A Different Take

The Overlord only knew the errors of his decision to try and overthrow the First Spinjitzu Master when he rose the scythe of quakes high, intent in his eyes. He slammed the scythe into the ground and the land began to split, putting space between him and his children, watching helplessly as he was reduced to spirit while they were reduced to statues. He watched his eldest from afar, the one he appointed leader hardened, turnt to stone while reaching for him, his mouth still open in a yell.

He tried to get to him, to them but he couldn’t leave the island. The space between them only kept growing. Soon, he couldn’t see them anymore. He was wrong. He would have never attacked if it had meant his children would be collateral. But he hadn’t known that. Hadn't considered. He had created them all as soldiers at first, meant to be disposed if it meant he could reach his goal of conquering Ninjago. But he had watched them learn and interact and grew to treasure them. Now, none of that matters. His sons were at the mercy of the First Spinjitzu Master. He could find a way to shatter them. He feared for them.

But that fear gave way to anger, to the promise of retribution if even one of them ended up broken. And with the passing of thousands of years, watching the island sink into the Endless Sea, he plotted his return, his revenge…

And lost himself along the way.

Once Kozu was summoned to the Dark Island after what he was sure was at least a thousand years later with his brothers, he was eager like the rest of them to see their father again. Their spirits fell once they were met with the half mortal Garmadon and an off entity. When the entity spoke however, they realised that it was their father. This was what the First Spinjitzu Master had done to their father.

He told them to obey the mortal and they did, not having much of a choice with the mortal wearing the Helm of Darkness. Kozu never understood why he created that wretched helmet to begin with. They would do as he wished without it still. But this was their father's decision and they would respect it. It didn't take very long for them to notice the difference in their father.

He was like he had been when they were first created, perhaps even worse. He was distant, focused on nothing but revenge as well as conquering Ninjago. Kozu had learned by then that their father had spent his thousands of years as punishment on the island, by himself and reduced to this spirit form. They didn't know what had happened to him during that time but they could guess. It was why they worked harder for the mortal, each of them willingly walking into the Mouth of Darkness to get the dark matter their father needed, built tirelessly, scouted endlessly.

The Overlord had been pleased at their work, unphased once he received news of his soldiers falling prey to the Mouth of Darkness' depths, knowing very well they will be able to get themselves out. With time but it was very possible. (He had checked to reassure the nagging feeling in the back of his mind, speaking to Garmadon once he reached the surface again.) Everything was going perfectly, even though those ninja had tried to stop him. He successful possessed Garmadon's body, had regained his full form- but the boy, the Green Ninja had swept it all from under his feet.

All his plans, all his effort to secure them a safe place in this realm was about to be wiped away by a golden brat. That one thought had brought him up briefly from the demands of his mind to exact revenge and conquer. That's right. He wanted to secure a place for them. Wanted to ensure his children were safe. He looked at the boy who was glowing brightly before diving out of his own sphere of darkness, the light following him. There were so few left! He would not let them perish because of his mistakes!

Kozu and his brother's, still under the control of the brown idiot watched wide eyed as their father swooped down towards them, weapons raised against their will to hurt as the Brown Ninja ordered. They watched as he landed before them, wings gathering them all before him and covering them, ignoring the wounds they inflicted on him. There was blinding light and their father's pained roar. Kozu looked up at him, horrified as he faded before his eyes, leaving nothing but the mortal he had once possessed.

Father.

Kozu wanted to grieve, rampage even, but he couldn't let himself do so just yet. The Brown Ninja had fell over from the blast and the helmet had rolled off. He ran over, taking the helmet as the man looked up at him in fear. He yearned for nothing more than to destroy the ignorant mortal who controlled them and prevented them from preventing their father's demise but even woth their numbers, as significantly smaller as it was, the ninja had the golden one whom was capable of destroying them. They had to make their escape.

He lead them into hiding, moving quickly on their feet until they were sure that there was no-one following them. What was left of his father's vast army looked to him, the very same question in their eyes.

What now?

Their father was gone and they would most likely be attacked on sight by quite literally anyone. They couldn't be found by the Golden Ninja or they would be destroyed. They had to keep moving and stay low. And so they had. It was hard for Kozu to hide as many of them as there were but he couldn't bare to lose anyone else. The sewers were foul smelling and snake infested but they were extensive. They always held a way to make their escape if they were being pursued. He made it work. He had to. They used the chaos of the mortals rebuilding their precious city to make their escape, attacking the transport taking away their largest brother on the way. Now that they were mostly together again, now that they were free from the city…

Now that their father was gone…

They remained adrift.

Unknowing to them, the Overlord had lived.

He woke up in a digital realm, everything there new and confusing. It took the Overlord some time to understand this new world he was apart of but once he did, the first thing he did was look into the whereabouts of his Stone children. Do they live? Had he succeeded in saving them? Or had he… Yet again… Failed?

Relief washed over him once the internet provided information of the liberation of their largest brother. Their whereabouts are unknown but he knew his sons, knew Kozu. They were fine. His heart longed to be with them, to make sure no-one would ever even attempt to hurt them again… And so, he began scheming. Taking the Golden Ninja's power would finally give him his own body again while eliminating the threat he posed to his sons. It was the perfect plan. But he needed help. He simply couldn't do this on his own. And so, he had bullied the one Cyrus Borg to aid him.

Except, Cyrus had betrayed him and handed the ninja the technoblades, the only devices able to erase him from the Digiverse, and possibly… Erase his existence as he knew it. He couldn't have that. His sons were waiting for him. Did they even know he lived? Would they even want to see him again after everything he had done to them? He tried not to think of that. Borg couldn't be trusted anymore and the Ninja had the Technoblades. He needed more. He needed an army bit je didn't want to draw his Stone sons inyo another war. So he created a new one. The Nindroids were meant to be tools to reach the Ninja, an extension of himself. And yet…

Each Nindroid that went offline sent a stab of pain through his blackened, digitized heart. He created them, just like he had his Stone sons, to be tools. Yet again, he felt for them. Each one was created unique, their own personalities, their own souls. Cryptor was his most dedicated, his general. He willingly sacrifices his brothers just for the purpose of his plans. It ached his heart how much like him he was. But he had to harden it. He had to become whole once more. Once he was, once he had the golden power, then he would claim Ninjago as their home. His Stone and Metallic sons alike will live in peace once his work was done. They will no longer know fear. The moment soon came. He finally had the Golden Ninja in his grasp, feeling his power drain into him. He was so close, so, so close. But the Ninja- of course the Ninja- interfered, wiping him from the Digiverse, forcing him to take refuge in his half formed body. Pythor, the equally loyal serpentine had stood by his side, had saved him and the drowned mech. He had to plan a new. He sensed the moment the Golden Ninja had given up his powers after all. That only left one other source of golden power.

Unknowing to the Overlord, far away, towards the very southern tip of Ninjago lay a camp. Within that camp were a little over a hundred Stone Soldiers. Kozu stood on the sand, staring out at the ocean. All he could see was his own arms stretching forward, their vanishing father getting farther and farther away. Watching that, seeing him fading into vapor while desperately trying to reach him… He squeezed his eyes shut. It felt as if his world had come to an end. He knew it was very much the same for his brothers. They hadn't wanted to ever come anywhere cliffs nor beaches after that. Now… They would take any memory of their father and hold on tight. Kozu sometimes questioned himself. Could he have done something, anything to save their father's life? He knew he would if he could have. Standing here, the wind pushing his flowing black hair back. He…

He felt lost.

He stood unphased by the heavy footsteps that approached. A large foot landed next to him then another.

'Beautiful, is it not?' Kozu focused on the view ahead and noticed the sun beginning to set.

Funny. When he first stood here, the sun had just ripped below the sea.

'You did everything you could.' He looked up at their largest brother.

'How do you know that? You were not there.' Kozu couldn't keep the irritation out of his voice.

'I do not need to be there to know you had. And even so, our brothers do not lie.' He spoke low, his deep voice rumbling like thunder.

Kozu remained quiet. He knew it too. He knew he did everything he could. Yet he couldn't help but feel like there was more he could have done.

'Brother!' Both looked towards the Scout, all but tripping over his short legs to get to them.

'Slow brother, do not fall.' Kozu warned him but the scout fell just then.

He walked over, picking him up off the sand and setting him on his feet.

'What is the-'

'It is father!' He blurts and Kozu froze.

'He lives!'

_________________

The mission was a success. Cryptor had brought back the Golden weapons but with very few others. Yes, there was still a little over a hundred Nindroids remaining but his heart went out to every single one of them lost. He would not fail, would not allow their passing to be for naught. The ninja were stuck on the comet without a way back. All that was left now was for him to conquer Ninjago. But of course, the Ninja somehow return. They were the bane of his existence, the very legacy of the First Spinjitzu Master himself. How he despised him and in turn, them. They would come but he will not let them win. He had his Golden Armor and an army. He would win this, no matter what.

He sneered at the Ninja as he held all but one in the golden tendrils he created from the armor. This will be the last time any of them get in-between him and his goal for his family! He watched as their Nindroid hoped his way across to face him, tendrils raised and ready. What he hadn't expected was for the Nindroid to grab onto the Golden Armor directly like a fool.

"Let my friends go!" He grunted out, metallic body encased in a blue glow from the stress of the Golden Power.

"Go where, doomed Ninja?" He asked, watching almost amused as his face plate fell off. "The Golden Weapons are too powerful for you to behold. Your survival chance is low." He taunted.

"This isn't about numbers! It's about family!" Zane yelled and his words struck the Overlord so deep, he flinched with the force of it.

Only when the golden tendrils lose their powers did he realise that yet again, he was on the brink of destruction.

"I am a Nindroid and Ninja never quit! Go Ninja, go!" Zane yelled, blasting his ice at the Overlord, forcing him to take a step back.

No. He can't die! Not again!

He had even more to live for! His sons! His sons! He hadn't even had the chance to let his Stone sons know of his existence! He couldn't die!

"What are you doing?! Let me go you fool!" He all but roared at the Nindroid, trying to push him away but his body was locked up and unmoving.

He felt the Nindroid's core becoming more and more unstable. No! No!

"My… Sons!" He gritted out as the Nindroid glowed brighter.

He squeezed his eyes shut. This was the end. Again.

"No!"

His eyes shot open, just in time to see a blur of red knock the overloading Nindroid away from him, both figures hitting the ground hard. He blinked in surprise then gasped as the red helmet fell away as his son stood, glaring the Nindroid down as his glow decreased.

"... Ko… Zu…" He got out, recovering from almost being wiped out again.

He turned around and looked up at his father, at this new form he held.

"Father." He says quietly but the Overlord heard.

A collective yell sounded and he looked up, down and all around.

His sons.

All of them made a tight perimeter around them, armed and on the defense, mingling with the Nindroids that joined them. Warmth filled his cold heart- then he realised: he now had the upper hand. He laughed as he broke the ice away from his chest.

"You have failed! Ninjago will be-"

"No-one's." Kozu cut him off, surprising him and the ninja who had rushed over to their mechanical friend.

"Kozu. I do not understand." He managed to say after the surprise passed.

"Open your eyes father. You are doing it again!" He yelled, startling the Overlord anew. "Your obsession with Ninjago does us no good! Each and every time you try, you are defeated and we suffer! Did you save us, just so we can watch you fall yet again?!" He snapped at his father who appeared timid even.

"My son. All that I have done has been to secure a home for us. The ninja, the people would never leave us be!" The Overlord defended.

"Of course they will not! Not if we stay here! Not if we invaded their home when we have our own!" He yelled back. "The Dark Island is ours. It has been the moment since it was torn from Ninjago itself! I tire of running! Of fighting! I tire of these mortals and their annoying Ninja! We all tire!" He yelled, gesturing to his brothers and the Nindroids who then began to murmur their agreements.

The Overlord looked around at them all. He hadn't even considered the Dark Island. All he saw it as, was a prison. But his sons see it as otherwise. They see it as a refuge. He paused to consider. Yes, the island held many bad memories but… If his sons were there with him…

"Is this what you all think? What you all desire?" He questioned them.

There wasn't even the slightest bit of hesitation from any of them, their agreements rung clear.

"Do not do this thing again father. Revenge is not everything. It is not worth it. Not anymore." Kozu says quietly and the Overlord looked at him.

They all startled once he was overwhelmed in purple, gold and magenta smoke that faded to reveal the smaller form of the Overlord, Golden Armor on his person still, contorting with him to fit his smaller form. He walked forward to his sons, uncaring of the ninja watching from not very far away.

"... I too, tire." He spoke quietly once he was standing before Kozu, said Stone General almost a whole head taller than he was. "Tire of fearing, of fighting, of losing… I would desire nothing more than to be left alone with my sons." He tried for a smile, revealing sharp, serrated teeth.

Kozu breathed out a breath he hadn't realised he was holding and risked an embrace his father gladly returned. Celebrating yells echoed as the massive army convulged around the two.

"Well. What do we do now?" Jay asked, still clinging to the unconscious but alive Zane like a koala, much like the others were.

"I find this all very hard to believe." Garmadon admitted, staring on with eyes as wide as his brother's but he smiled. "But I understand what it means to risk it all for your son." He says, looking to Lloyd who smiled back.

"That's it?!" The tiny yell cut through the celebration and the army parted around the tiny serpentine glaring up at the Overlord and his son. "After all that, you're just going to give up?! Where's the destruction? The revenge?! This was not a part of out deal! You were supposed to take down the ninja once and for all!" He all but screamed at the Overlord, just to make sure he was heard.

Kozu and the Overlord glanced at each other. The Overlord then looked back to the tiny Serpentine.

"A wise Warrior once told me… That revenge is not everything. So yes, I have given up on trying to conquer Ninjago, on trying to defeat the Ninja. I have found… Better things to do with my time." He shared a smile with his son as Pythor seethed. "Perhaps you too will soon realise the same, Pythor. Perhaps you will even realise the cost of revenge… Is greater than you could think. Perhaps... You will realise that it is best... To let go." He says to the angry serpentine.

"No." The crowds of Nindroid and Stone Soldiers alike parted again, revealing Cryptor standing there.

He flicked his hood back, sneering at the one he is to consider as his 'father'.

"This is pathetic of you!" He spat and the Overlord held back his eldest son as he heard his second general out. "Giving up, after everything we've done, after all this time spent for what? For something as useless as 'family'?!" He yelled at the Overlord who remained cool in the face of his rage.

"Yes." He says simply, making Cryptor even angrier.

"What kind of worthless idealism is that?!" He all but roared, stalking towards his creator, intent in his eyes. "All of our hard work for nothing! Everything was a waste?! No! I won't accept that! I refuse!" He was now face to face with the Overlord as Kozu growled low, all four hands gripping his katanas tightly.

"You can't!" He snarled.

"I can and I have." The Overlord spoke again and the calm, confidently spoken words had Cryptor taking a step back.

"No!" He whispered, shaking his head, a metallic hand coming up to grip the hair he was given. "You can't! If you give up then- Then-!" Concern crossed the Overlord's expression.

"They died for nothing!" Cryptor blurted and they finally understood.

All the Nindroids he lead to their demise while following his word…

"It was not all for nothing. We would have not gotten here without their help." Kozu told him and Cryptor shot him a glare as he took more steps back.

"No! That isn't-" He turned and ran. "That isn't enough!"

Grief filled their father's heart as he watched him go, knowing confrontation was something he did not need right now.

"Let him go." He says, preventing anyone from going after him. "When he is ready… He will come to us." One Nindroid still followed him but that was expected.

Cryptor and Mindroid may not get along but their bond was unique.

"We have overstayed our welcome." The Overlord spoke to his sons then reached a hand out, creating a portal to the Dark Island. "It's time we take our leave." He says then watched as they all filtered in.

Both he and Kozu waited until the last Stone Soldier and Nindroid who chose to go with them went through before approaching the portal as well.

"Wait! We can't just let him go! At least, not with the Golden Armor!" Lloyd yelled, gaining their attention.

"Lloyd has a point." Their Sensei says as both brothers approached.

"I will not hand over the Golden Armor to either of you." The Overlord spoke up, glaring at them. "You half mortals and your gaggle of mortals do not have the means of power to protect it." He told them pointedly.

"You expect us to trust you with it? How do we know you won't just go back to the Dark Island and form another plan to take over Ninjago?" Wu countered.

"You let me worry about that." Kozu says, crossing his upper arms as his lower held onto his katanas still.

"Frankly, I've had enough of this place. For as long as no-one steps on the Dark Island uninvited, consider us at peace." The Overlord says, turning away, urging his glaring son along.

"You can't just-"

"Watch us." Kozu snarked, cutting off his father's previous host.

"Forgive us. We simply do not like either of you." The Overlord says lightly before walking through the portal, leaving it to disappear immediately after.

Both brothers stared where the portal once was.

"Well. The future promises to be interesting." Garmadon says drily and Wu couldn't help but chuckle.

"Ugh." They looked over at Zane who was slowly coming to. "What did I miss?" He asked as Cole and Kai helped him to sit.

"Zane. If I wasn't so shaken up and glad you're alive, I would strangle you to death." Kai says seriously and Zane blinked at him.

"But I do not need oxygen to live." He says, confused.

"Shut up and let us hug you, you big nerd." Lloyd mumbled as he squeezed him into a hug, the others hugging him as well.

_______________

The Dark Island got a lot more lively after that. The Overlord used his new golden power to create a massive stone castle to house all his sons. He also had to create a new power source for all the Nindroids with them but that was the least of his concern. The moment they got back, however, the first thing they did was liberate the Stone Soldiers trapped in the Mouth of Darkness. They were… Reasonably angry. They created their own city around the massive castle and they certainly didn't miss Ninjago at all. Cryptor and Mindroid eventually made an appearance and instead of feeling outcasts, they were welcomed as if they had always been there. The Overlord sealed the Golden Armor away once it began having a negative effect on his Stone sons (they began to crack dangerously) but it was impossible to get to for anyone aside from him and even he would have difficulty getting to it. He had to wield it once more however.

While he had no intentions in returning to Ninjago, the threat of Oni made it necessary. They threatened to destroy this realm which included the Dark Island and his sons. They weren't pleased that he left them behind for their safety but they were pleased to hear he didn't even have to fight. All he had to do was take his massive form with the equally massive sized golden armor and the Oni could not have fled faster. They held a strong hatred for the Golden Armor it appeared. The Dark Island was safe and so were his children. That was all that mattered.

Perhaps he should make more...

_____________________

(I mc fricking told you I'd finish it! *Me @ myself*. We all know Garmadad is the best dad in existence but Overdad is my dad and I love him so much you wouldn't believe. Not more than my boi Kozu tho but pretty hecking close. I absolutely love this evil boi okie.)

#ninjago #overlord ninjago #kozu ninjago #cryptor ninjago #ninjago sensei wu #ninjago sensei garmadon #kai ninjago #cole ninjago #zane ninjago #jay ninjago #ninjago lloyd #lloyd ninjago #ninjago overlord #ninjago kozu #ninjago general kozu #kozu #general kozu ninjago #general kozu #aweebwrites' work

72 notes · View notes

trash-the-tozier · 6 years

Text

The Disappearance of Georgie Denbrough (5/10)

Title: The Disappearance of Georgie Denbrough

Length ~60.8k (~6.1k for this part)

Summary: The summer between junior and senior year of high school, Bill’s little brother Georgie goes missing.

Warnings: It’s relatively canon-typical in terms of content. For this part there’s explicit language, mentions of death, violence,

Pairings: eventual Richie/Eddie and Ben/Beverly

A/N: ugh benverly are so cute I love them also posted to my ao3 here (much more readable tbh) Previous Parts: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4

Bill and Mike were already there by the time Ben arrived at the sewers. They weren't looking around like Ben expected but talking to each other instead, and there was a smile on Bill's face. Ben had only seen Bill smile a handful of times, but the expression looked good on him.

“Oh, no.” Mike was saying. He was laughing a little. “I cannot let you say that The Cure are cooler than Michael Jackson. I just can’t. He’s the King of Pop!”

“I d-didn’t say they were cooler. I s-s-said they were better.” Bill grinned as Mike shook his head, seemingly ashamed on Bill’s behalf. He spotted Ben approaching, calling out to him.

“Hey! The Cure or Michael Jackson?”

Ben thought for a moment.

“Is Prince not on the table?” He asked back, and Mike gave his answer consideration before declaring that an argument for a different day. He couldn’t stay ashamed of Bill for very long though, Richie and Eddie coming up quickly, seemingly right behind Ben. They were bickering about something like always, but Richie didn’t seem to be putting up as much of a fight as usual, just looking down at Eddie with a grin as the shorter one spoke fast and fervidly.

“No Richie, you cannot just ‘live in my closet’. That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“It would save me a lot of trips up and down that trellis, Eds. Those are more dangerous than you know. One day, I’ll fall and break my neck and then you’ll regret it. You’ll hold me in your lap and cry over my dead body.”

“Don’t call me Eds! I can’t believe we’re arguing about this. My mother would find you. And I keep stuff in there! Like… Clothes.”

“So you could keep me in there too! C’mon, it’s not like I haven’t seen your underwear before.” Richie’s expression was less suggestive and more affectionately dopey, but Eddie still shoved his shoulder so hard that he stumbled away a few paces. Eddie came to a huffy stop in front of the rest of them.

“Hi.” He said, the heat still in his voice. When Richie tried to walk up, he shoved him again without even looking. This time Richie fell into the grass, laughing. “Can someone tell Richie that he can’t move in with me?”

Nobody spoke. Bill simply looked amused, helping Richie to his feet. Mike’s eyebrows were raised, and Ben was hesitant to say anything. He couldn’t tell what Richie and Eddie had going on, but quite frankly, he was too afraid to ask. Eddie sighed, mumbling something about “have to do everything myself”.

Stan walked up next. He looked like he hadn’t slept much, but he greeted the group with a little smile anyways. When Beverly approached, she looked sort of the same way. Ben couldn’t help the smile on his face when he saw her though, his heart soaring when she met his eyes and smiled back.

“‘Sup Bevvy?” Richie greeted, an easy smile on his face as he waved. Her expression changed so quickly that Ben barely had time to register it, and before any of them realized what was happening she wound her arm back and slapped Richie across the face, his glasses flying off into the grass. He stumbled away from her, ducking his head, Eddie holding his arm to steady him. All of them looked at her, Stan taking a step back. Ben had seen her lobbing rocks during their fight against Bowers, and could tell that she hadn’t put her full force behind the blow--and it would have hurt infinitely more if she’d decided to punch him instead.

“Call me that again and I swear to god I will strangle you.” She said. Ben saw her swallow after she’d gotten the threat out, and she didn’t look angry. She looked… Scared. Her gaze flicked to the rest of the Losers. “That goes for the rest of you too, understand?”

Their bobble-headed nods seemed to make her realize the spectacle she was causing, casting her gaze to her feet.

“Good.” She finished. Then she stooped down, handing Richie back his glasses. “Sorry.”

With Richie trying to recalibrate his head on his shoulders, there wasn’t anyone to break the silence. Finally, Bill spoke up.

“N-no, you h-h-hit Richie in the face. You’re our hero.” He said. The remark got a few chuckles, Beverly offering him a small smile.

“We get it, we get it, no Bevvy. No need to try and kill me.” Richie said, stumbling back behind Ben and raising his hands placatingly to his chest when his brain had caught up with his mouth, seeing the twist in Beverly’s expression. Stan rolled his eyes and punched Richie on the shoulder. “Fuck! Sorry, sorry. Jesus.”

“So… The sewers?” Ben offered, and they made their way to the pipes.

It wasn’t the most fun way to spend the morning. It was dark and stuffy and didn’t smell the best, with a reluctant Stan and protesting Eddie trailing behind the group every step of the way. They found a couple of things as they stumbled around in the water (grey water, as Eddie was insisting, telling Stan the different ways they would all be contracting staph infections) most of it garbage that Richie flung around with a large stick he'd picked up. Bill found a small shoe with Tania McGowan's name written on the tongue, all of them solemn for a silent moment.

It was weird when Beverly found Patrick Hockstetter’s lighter. They all recognized it, even before Mike pointed out the initials that had been scratched into the bottom. Ben knew he should feel badly, that he should be sorry that Patrick was most likely dead, but all he could identify was a vague sympathy. He wasn't happy about it, he didn't wish death upon anyone, but…

“I don't know what to do with this.” Beverly confessed. She held her hand out palm up, offering the lighter to the group, asking someone else to decide its fate. Richie took it from her, examining it with a furrowed brow before pocketing it.

They reemerged, blinking in the sun, and it took Ben a couple of minutes to realize that he knew where they were. He pointed down the street.

“Hey, that's my house.” He said.

“No kidding!” Richie said with a laugh. He'd gone more or less quiet while climbing through the tunnels, but the sunlight seemed to revive him a little. He began crossing the street, as though forgetting that their mission for the day was to explore the tunnels, not pay Ben’s place a visit.

“H-hey, Richie--” Bill began, but then Mike let out a loud curse, and Eddie’s hands were on Ben’s back, pushing him to get him moving.

“What--?” Ben began, his question drowned out by the loud and menacing revving of an engine. He could guess what car that was--just their luck, of course this would happen--chancing a glance over his shoulder.

Bowers was all the way down the street, Vic and Huggins with him in his car. A look at his expression almost made Ben miss the days that Bowers spit in his face with a smile; this new ‘angry and murderous’ thing made him so much more terrifying. He was a good ways away, but his car was coming at them fast, and Ben scrambled to get his legs moving.

“Which house is yours?” Richie shouted, already in front of them. Ben gave him the house number, realizing as he got closer that his mother’s car was in the driveway. His mom was home. That didn’t seem to deter Richie though, because as soon as he reached the right house he dove inside, Stan fast on his heels.

Bowers’s car was almost on them. Ben could hear the engine roaring in his ears as he ran up onto the sidewalk, up onto his front lawn, hoping that he was safe now that he was out of the road. That wasn’t the case. He heard the bump behind him as the car went up over the curb, and simply kept running for his front door.

“Henry, fuck--” Huggins’s voice, and suddenly the car swerved, kicking up grass and dirt and skidding away from its collision course for Ben’s front porch. He looked back and saw the two bullies grappling for the wheel, Huggins steering the car back onto the street and Henry shouting curses at him.

“I almost had the fat fucker--”

And then Ben was inside, slamming and locking the door behind him. He half expected the gang to try coming in his house, the mad glint developing in Bowers’s eyes making him feel that nearly anything was possible, but they didn’t. Maybe the ‘veteran’ bumper sticker on the back of his mother’s car was dissuading them; if that were the case, Ben would be willing to wear it across his forehead.

His friends were all standing very awkwardly in his kitchen. It took him a few moments to catch his breath, then he gestured around vaguely with his hands.

“Uh… This is my house.”

It was Beverly that began laughing first, but soon they were a hopelessly giggling mess, Ben’s legs shaking slightly as the adrenaline faded from his limbs. He offered them drinks and snacks, trying to be a good host, and everyone had a cup of water in their hands by the time his mother came down the stairs.

“Well hello.” She sounded happy but hesitant, giving Ben a quick look. How she hadn’t known about other people in the house until now, Ben had no idea. They had been rather loud upon entering. “Benjamin, what’s all this?”

“These are my friends.” Ben supplied. He named them all in turn, each giving her a small wave.

“Oh, friends!” She exclaimed the word as though until now, she’d forgotten how to pronounce it. Ben wished she’d said it any other way than that.

“I know, we might just be the first ones.” Richie said, walking over and slinging an arm across Ben’s shoulders. “Your Benny’s a special boy.”

Mrs. Hanscom beamed at him. “I like this one.” She said, gesturing to Richie. Then Richie winked, and Ben shoved him.

“Okay, I’m going grocery shopping so I’ll be out for a little while.” She said, moving towards the door. She paused for a second at Beverly, who looked nervously back, but Mrs. Hanscom only complimented her on her dress before continuing on her way out. When she opened the door, she stopped.

“Oh, what happened here?”

Ben looked out. There were very clear tire tracks ripping through the grass.

“Looks like some kind of accident.” He said innocently. He glanced down, seeing Bowers’s car parked a few houses away, and pulled his head back inside. “Don’t know.”

“I do hope the driver is alright.” She remarked absently, and Ben bit the inside of his cheek. She turned and ruffled his hair affectionately. “If you go out again, just make sure to be home in time for dinner.”

“I will.”

She was out the door, Ben turning to the group.

“Bowers is just waiting down the street.” He said. “We probably shouldn’t go out there until he leaves.”

“Party at Ben’s!” Richie said happily.

“Don’t wink at my mom.” Ben responded. “It’s weird.”

Eddie hit Richie in the arm. “I told you it’s weird.”

Richie just shrugged in a hopeless sort of way.

“What can I say? Moms love me.”

Bill looked incredibly frustrated, and Ben felt bad for him.

“W-w-what are we s-supposed to do now?” He asked. Aside from a shrug from Stan, nobody else had an answer, and they sat themselves around Ben’s kitchen table, someone getting up every once and awhile and peeking through the windows to check on the status of the Bowers threat. Mike brought back the Cure vs. Michael Jackson debate, and after an hour and a round of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, they were all still stuck at Ben’s.

“Sorry about this.” Ben felt he had to say, but his apology was quickly waved off.

“Not your fault that Bowers is a dick.” Eddie said. “Plus, you’re keeping us out of the hepatitis breeding ground. We should be thanking you.”

“But--” Bill began, Ben remembering something so suddenly that he cut him off.

“That book!”

“What book?” Mike asked. Ben apologized to Bill, but turned to him as well, knowing that at least him, Stan, and Beverly would know what he was talking about.

“That book we looked at in the library, with the sewer system mapped out. Remember? I went back and checked it out. There are a few maps in it, too. We could see what places--”

“What p-places are ab-bandoned.” Bill finished. “We m-m-might be able to f-find out where he lives.”

He nodded and they all rose from their seats, Ben not realizing at first that everyone walking out of the kitchen meant everyone going into his room. He rushed ahead of them, trying desperately to clean up as much as he could before they got there, picking things up as he scurried around. It only half worked, his bed unmade and papers strewn all over the place, but at least all his dirty clothes were now shoved in his closet.

They walked in one by one, Ben standing back and watching their expressions, feeling strangely nervous. Everyone's eyes went first to the various things he had pinned up. Ben didn’t like having bare bedroom walls, and as a result he'd hung up every noteworthy thing he could. Flyers from events he’d attended and movie tickets were in the majority, with a few family photos and achievements from summer camps. Most of it was stuff he and his dad had done together and almost none of it was from Derry, but he liked having it all up there nonetheless.

Ben crossed to his desk, picking the book up. It was out of his hands as soon as he turned back to the group, Bill opening it, Stan and Mike on either side of him to get a good look as Eddie and Richie continued to flit around his room. Ben hovered behind them awkwardly, unsure of what it was they were doing. Beverly let out a little cough, and when Ben looked over the bottom dropped out of his stomach. She had her hand on the knob of his bedroom door, the door almost completely closed, all five members of New Kids On The Block staring back at him.

Ben’s eyes went wide, glancing momentarily to the unaware Eddie and Richie and shaking his head desperately. He’d been incredibly into the boy band a couple of years ago, and while they’d faded from his enthusiasm, he still knew most of their songs by heart. He’d put the poster up when he’d moved to Derry, and found he still had a soft spot for the group every time he tried to take it down. Bev looked completely delighted by her discovery, and as happy as Ben was to see her smile, he didn’t know what the rest of the Losers would do with that information and didn’t want to find out.

Thankfully, after a few more moments of teasing, Beverly reopened the door so that the poster was hidden safely against the wall, and Ben breathed a sigh of relief.

“The wellhouse.” Mike remarked. He sounded surprised, pointing to the book in Bill’s hands. “All of the sewer lines end up running to the old wellhouse. That thing isn’t there anymore, though; it was torn down or something.”

“W-what’s there now?” Bill asked, and Mike took the book from him, flipping through a few different pages of maps. Nobody else could see what it was they were looking at, but everyone watched them, a feeling of foreboding settling in Ben's stomach as Mike's eyes fixed on a place on the page. He swallowed, pointing.

“Well?” Beverly asked, visibly nervous. “What is it?”

“The Neibolt house.” Stan answered. His voice was slow, and he sounded slightly hoarse.

“Hey!” Richie gave Eddie a nudge, breaking the ominous silence that had settled around them. “You were right, Eds.”

Eddie didn’t look at all pleased at being right. Ben watched the courage muster up on Bill's face, taking a step towards the door.

“Woah, where are you going?” Mike asked, gripping Bill's shoulder. Bill turned back to them, his eyes bright, his mouth a thin line.

“L-l-let’s go. We know where h-he is, so let's go.”

“Go?” Stan echoed, his voice cracking slightly. “Go to the Neibolt house? Are you insane?”

Bill didn't wait to debate him, turning back to the exit, but Stan jumped forwards and grabbed his arm.

“Bill--”

“I'm going!” Bill shook him off, but Stan just grabbed him again. “I'm g-going. Every second we w-w-waste here is j-just--”

“Georgie. I get it.” Stan said empathetically. “But Bill, you have to think about this! It's crazy! If we really have a psycho clown on our hands then we are so damn far over our heads that it's unreal. We have to take this to the police. It's their job. We're just kids.”

“B-b-but--”

“You--we--are the only people doing something. I know that. But if this gets you killed, you'll be no use to Georgie at all. Please go to the police station.”

They held each other's gaze, Ben afraid even to breathe. Then, finally, Bill's eyes dropped to his feet.

“Fine.”

Stan visibly relaxed but Bill wasn't finished, looking up again.

“But i-if they d-d-don't do anything useful, w-we’re going in ourselves.”

Stan's fingers tightened on Bill's shirtsleeve.

“Fine.” He said. “Fine.”

Then he let him go, the group following Bill out of Ben's bedroom. Eddie ran forward and looked out the window.

“Coast is clear.” He reported. “Bowers left.”

Nodding dutifully, Bill was out the door without another word. The others left soon after that, first Eddie, then Mike and Stan. Richie asked to use his bathroom, Ben pointing him in the right direction, and after a strangely disconcerting promise to not do anything weird to the soap, Richie retreated into the house.

That left him with Beverly, and he smiled at her. Just being next to her was nice, despite the fact that she seemed a little different than usual today. Maybe she hadn't slept well; she had bags under her eyes that he'd noticed as soon as she'd greeted them, smiling a little less, and her walk was slightly stiff. All the same, his stomach did a little somersault when she smiled back. He wanted to tell her she smelled good, but thought that might be a bit much.

She misread his silence, laughing a little and looking out over the torn-up lawn.

“Don't worry. I won't tell anyone about your crush.”

“W-what?” Ben choked out. She raised an eyebrow at him.

“New Kids On The Block?” She said. “You know, that you're their biggest fan.”

“Oh.” He laughed a little. “Yeah. I mean, it was a couple years ago, I…”

“Is it because you were the new kid?” She asked. “I remember when you first came to class. You and I were in Social Studies together.”

“You remember that?” He couldn't hide how stunned he was.

“Yeah. You wrote the best paper in the class about the Civil War, so the teacher made you stand up and read the entire thing in front of everyone. Your face was bright red.”

“Of course that's what you remember.” Ben remarked, and Beverly laughed. She took a step out onto his front lawn.

“I'm going to go ahead.” She said. “I want to meet up with Bill, actually. He shouldn't do this alone. See you later.” She winked, and Ben had a near death experience right there in his doorway. “Hang tough.”

Ben recognized her parting words as a New Kids song reference, but by the time he'd thought of a response she was already halfway down the street. He said it anyway, calling after her.

“Please don't go girl!”

She turned at the sound of his voice, confused for just a moment before understanding what he said. When she realized it was another song title she threw her head back in a loud laugh, her shoulders relaxing, releasing a tension in them that Ben hadn't noticed until it was gone. It felt good to make her laugh like that.

“So. Bev.”

Ben spun around so fast he nearly fell down. It was Richie. Ben had completely forgotten he was there. Richie was staring at the back of Beverly's head as though she'd just told him a rather complicated math problem, though Ben knew for a fact that Richie was extremely good at math.

“Yeah?” He asked after a moment. “What?”

“She's great, don't get me wrong.” Richie said. “I mean, she's one of us now, so we'd all die for her. It's just… Why do you love her so much?”

“Love?” Ben squeaked. “I… It's…”

“Benny.” Richie raised his eyebrows. “Come on man.”

“Please don't try to get that nickname to catch on.”

“Fine, Benji.”

Benji wasn't much better, but Ben took it. He shrugged.

“I like being around her. She makes me nervous, but in a good way, and happy too. I want to make her laugh. I want to protect her, even though she really doesn't need it. I don't know.” It was hard to put his feelings into words. “She's fearless, and she's funny, and I can't wait to see her every day. Plus, she's… You know…”

“Cute.” Richie finished. Ben nodded but Richie didn't notice, looking preoccupied with his own thoughts. “Really, really cute.”

“Yeah.” Ben raised his eyebrows, confused by Richie's change in attitude, but he didn't end up needing to ask about it. Richie scuffed the bottom of his right shoe against the floor.

“I feel that way about someone too.” Then he caught the look in Ben's eye. “It's not Beverly, don't get your dick in a twist.”

“Oh.” When Richie didn't elaborate, Ben figured it wasn't his business. “Well, good luck.”

“You too, Benito.” Richie clapped him hard on the back, trying to break the mood with his terrible British accent as he jumped down all of Ben’s front steps at once. “I'm rooting for you, old sport!”

“Thanks.” Ben gave him a smile, and after a clumsy salute, Richie was gone.

“The Neibolt house?” The police officer gave him a disbelieving look. His dark hair was cropped short and his face was incredibly pockmarked from old acne scars that never properly healed. He seemed pretty sure that Bill and Beverly were playing some sort of joke on him. “What on God’s green Earth are you talking about, Denbrough?”

Bill swallowed, glancing at Beverly, who gave him an encouraging nod. She’d run after him, finally catching up in town, and Bill was glad now for her company. He hadn’t considered what to do if the police didn’t believe him. He hadn’t even thought that would be a possibility.

Taking a deep breath, he explained again about the sewers, and the clown Mike had seen. He left out the name Robert Gray, remembering what Mike had said about his father getting laughed out of the precinct. To his credit, the officer genuinely seemed to be listening. He turned to his partner when Bill had finished for the second time, a man with light brown hair and an exceptionally bushy mustache under his long nose.

“Are you hearing this?”

“Sounds like bullshit to me, but why not?” The cop with the mustache asked back. “You told me ten minutes ago that you were bored. We could go.”

“P-please.” Bill said. He was beginning to feel angry, trying to keep it out of his voice. His brother was missing, and the police were bored. He was frustrated with Stan, too; if not for him, Bill would be in the house by now. He might have even found Georgie already. “I-i-i-it w-won’t take long, j-j-j-just--”

“Alright, alright. Don’t hurt yourself.” Pockmark got to his feet, grabbing his hat and putting it on. “You two wanna ride in a cop car?”

Bill hadn’t expected to be invited along. He’d expected to be taken seriously, for this to be seen as the significant, dangerous lead that it was. All the same though, he did want to go, and a few minutes later the two of them found themselves in the back of the police vehicle, Mustache behind the wheel and Pockmark sitting shotgun. Nerves twisted themselves in his stomach, a negative type of anticipation, and a strange part of Bill wanted to cry. It must have shown on his face because Beverly reached over, rubbing his arm. He tried to smile in gratitude, but he felt his lips stretch weirdly and he quickly gave up.

“Hey, where's the chief?” Pockmark asked. “He didn’t ever come in.”

Mustache glanced over at him.

“Chief Bowers? Day off.” He answered. “He called in earlier though; can't find his damn gun. Thinks his kid stole it.”

Pockmark let out a breath. “Wouldn't surprise me. He hits that boy, you know.”

“Yeah?” Mustache’s mustache furrowed as he frowned, turning onto Neibolt street. “Sounds like he doesn't hit him hard enough.”

Then the police car was put into park, and they had arrived. The Neibolt house loomed over them, dark and desecrated, a sore thumb in an otherwise picturesque neighborhood. The lawn was brown and dead, a bare and mangled tree jutting from the earth like a gnarled hand. Vines had grown all around the first story of the house, creeping their way in between the cracks of the boarded up windows, but they too looked brown and wasted. The rusted fence boasted two “NO TRESPASSING” signs, but they were disregarded.

“It’s not trespassing if nobody lives here.” Mustache reasoned. “The owners of the house died, the kids didn’t want it, and they left it here to rot.”

It wasn’t until they got to the front door that Pockmark stopped them both.

“Just in case, you two stay out here.” He said. “There’s a working radio in the front if you need it. We should only be a moment, really. But we’ll take a look around.”

Bill bit back a retort. He wanted to go inside, especially since he’d already come all the way here. This had to be it, and if it was, that meant Georgie was in there. Georgie needed him. He couldn’t just stand here and do nothing. But he couldn’t defy a police officer to his face, especially not with Beverly holding tight to his arm. At her insistence they backed away from the porch, standing in the middle of the walkway to the house.

“God, I hate this place.” She said, and in spite of himself and his frustration Bill felt a shiver pass through him as he looked through the gaping front door. But still, his weight shifted forward, all the more ready to pull away from Beverly. She felt it, gripping him tighter.

“Bill, don’t.” She was looking at him, examining his face.

“What?”

“You want to play the hero.” She said. “You want to help, and I get it, but Stan’s right. If Pennywise is here, we need to let the cops take care of it.”

“I k-know.” Stan was right. Stan was usually right, but this wasn’t really a question of right or wrong; it was all about how much feeling useless he could bear.

It only took a few minutes before he was ready to disregard all of the warnings and go inside anyway, pulling his arm from Beverly’s grasp.

“Bill--” She started, and he turned to apologize, flinching horribly when something that felt like an explosion went off inside the house. Beverly cursed in surprise and confusion, Bill stepping instinctively closer to her. A metal rod flew from the open front door, landing only inches from their feet and cracking the pavement ahead of them as dust billowed from the windows like smoke. There were few moments of tense silence before the policemen emerged, Pockmark dragging Mustache down the steps. He looked like he’d survived a nuclear blast, his hair blown every which way, blood and dirt streaked across his face.

Mustache looked like he’d been through the nuclear blast too, but that he hadn’t been so lucky. It wasn’t until Beverly muffled a scream behind her hands that Bill noticed that the darkness on the clothes of the officers was actually blood, so much of it that it scared him, his eyes traveling up to see that Mustache had a rusted metal rod protruding through his neck. The ground seemed to sway under Bill’s feet, Pockmark’s frantic voice sounding like it was coming from miles away.

“Radio! Radio for help!”

Mustache--or Bruce Andeen, as Bill later learned--was dead before any help arrived. Bill tried to press the other officer for answers--Charles Avarino--but he didn’t talk much at all until they were back at the police station. Traps, he’d said. The place was full of them. Tripwires, bear traps, holes in the floor. Explosives. Something had launched steel rods through the living room, though in the moment he hadn’t been able to discern where they’d come from or how they’d been sprung. But despite all this, he said the house looked as though nothing had been in it for years. The dust was undisturbed. They didn’t see a single person.

“The place was empty.” He kept insisting. “We didn’t hear anyone. We didn’t see a soul. It was empty.”

Bill and Beverly were also questioned, and again Bill explained their reasoning for going to the Neibolt house, as well as what had happened, but they were marked off as unimportant. The Neibolt house was declared dangerous, the fence marked off with caution tape, the “NO TRESPASSING” signs now shiny and new and under police jurisdiction, and Bill and Beverly were sent home.

Beverly took him by the hand and began to walk. Bill felt numb, shellshocked; he didn’t even realize where they were going until Beverly came to a stop at his front door. When he didn’t move to go inside of his house she tugged him forward, stepping into the kitchen.

“You need to get some rest.” Her voice was quiet, but not in an attempt to be comforting. She was shaken. “Or eat something. We haven’t eaten since we were at Ben’s.”

Bill disregarded her suggestions, one thing on his mind as he left his kitchen. Her hand was still in his so he took her with him, walking together to Georgie’s bedroom. The door to the room was closed, and as soon as he saw it he choked on a gasp.

A dirty yellow raincoat was nailed to the wood of the door, arms of it splayed out and hood up as though it were being worn. It was Georgie’s and Bill knew it, running forward with a choked sob, pulling the coat down from the door and holding it close. Beverly was there with her hand on his shoulder but he barely noticed, his face a mess of tears as he pressed it into the raincoat. His world felt as though it were spinning and crumbling all at once and he couldn’t breathe, pain ripping itself from his throat in cries.

“Bill, Bill…” Beverly pulled him close to her, her hands threading through his hair, rubbing his back, trying to comfort him. “Bill, I’m so sorry…”

“Georgie…” The name was an explanation that Beverly didn’t need, but Bill felt as though it grounded him slightly, the coat feeling heavier and heavier in his hands until he let it fall to the floor. Bev took his hands in hers and it pulled him back to the present even more.

“Look at me. Look at me.” She reached up to wipe the wetness from his cheeks. “Breathe.”

It was difficult, but he did, the storm in his chest slowly subsiding. The tears came anew in the quiet but Beverly sat with him, and it was her again that kept him there, not allowing him to be swept away by his emotions, and he reigned himself in enough to speak.

“I-I-I…” Beverly met his eyes, and Bill realized he had no idea what it was he wanted to say. “Beverly…”

When he trailed off the second time she looked at him curiously for a moment, then leaned forwards and kissed him, giving their entwined fingers a squeeze.

Bill liked Beverly. She was fiercely strong and loyal, and anyone could tell how pretty she was. He had thought about kissing her once or twice. But this, while comforting… Something about it wasn't the way it should be.

Bill had kissed people before, and Beverly wasn't a bad kisser. It didn't feel wrong, exactly, but it didn't feel right, either. Beverly pulled away.

“There's something off about this, isn't there.” It was a question but it came out like a statement, and Bill tried to apologize.

“Bev, I-I-I…”

“No, I felt it too. It's okay.” She gave him a little smile. She wasn’t upset, and for that Bill was relieved. “I guess we're just meant to hold hands with other people, huh.”

“The h-hand holding was nice, actually.” Bill said, and Beverly smiled wider. Bill realized he truly felt better, safer and calmer. “Thank you, Beverly.”

“Of course. You're my best friend.” Beverly squeezed his hands again before letting him go.

“D-d-d… Do you really t-think he isn��t there?” Bill had to ask. Beverly frowned.

“I don’t know.” She confessed. “Officer Avarino did say he didn’t hear any…” Her voice died in her throat, looking up at the bedroom door they’d collapsed in front of. Bill followed her line of sight, clutching his stomach as though he’s just been punched in the gut, the wind completely knocked out of him.

There had been something on the door behind the raincoat, a message written in dark red. The door smelled of paint and not iron, but the small relief that the message wasn’t in blood barely helped.

“Leave my home alone or I’ll kill you.” Beverly read slowly, her voice shaking. “I’ll kill you and your sweet brother too.” Beverly gripped Bill’s shoulder, her fingers digging into him. “Bill, he was inside your house.”

That should have scared Bill, and he knew it, but that wasn’t the part of the message he was focusing on. He struggled to his feet, unsure if his legs would hold him. They did, just barely, and he swayed on the spot.

“He’s still alive.” He said. “Georgie’s still alive. We have to go to the Neibolt house.”

“Okay.” Beverly was willing, and he could see that, but she sent an anxious glance out the window down the hall. The sun was just starting to set, the beginnings of orange and pink streaking across the sky. “We will Bill, but tomorrow, okay? I have to go home.”

“Bev--”

“I have to go. Tomorrow we’ll call everyone, and we’ll go to Neibolt, and everything. But tonight I have to go home.”

Bill didn’t understand what had her suddenly so close to tears, but he could tell it was important, and he nodded.

“Okay.”

She gave him a small smile, and after a kiss on the cheek and an expression of farewell, she left. Bill grabbed a towel from the bathroom, hanging it over the door to cover the words, knowing full well that his parents wouldn’t try to move it. He didn’t want them to see the message. They were distraught enough as it was, and they wouldn’t believe him if he told them the truth. They would just be angry with him instead.

He took Georgie’s jacket with him into his bedroom. It smelled mostly of sewage and slightly of blood but Bill couldn’t bear to part with it, laying back on his bed and holding it in his hands. He wasn’t willing to admit it to anyone, most of all himself, but he’d begun to give up hope. Some part of him had just been waiting for a body to turn up, like Betty Ripsom had. Not anymore.

A tiny voice was nagging in the back of his mind, wondering if the whole thing was a trap, or some kind of red herring, Avarino’s words echoing in his mind. The place was empty.

He shook it away, determination settling in overtop of his uneasy fear. Georgie was in there, and Bill was going to get him out.

#it 2017 #reddie #reddie fic #benverly #benverly fic #bill denbrough #beverly marsh #ben hanscom #stanley uris #mike hanlon #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #myfic #tdogd

12 notes · View notes

tmntreasures · 7 years

Text

We have to break up... (Michelangelo)

Prompt:

It was an unfortunate circumstance, but it was simply inevitable. College was pricey in New York and takes a long time to complete, especially for what you wanted to go for. But there was a small glimmer of hope; there was a community college in your home town that cut the completion time in half and was still accredited.

There was just one problem: your hometown was six states away.

This unfortunately made the possibility of a long distance relationship an impossible option. Although you would be living with family, you felt like you had an obligation to contribute to the household and would be working during your summer and holiday breaks; and of course the turtles couldn't just hop on a plane to see you either, especially with your college being so far away. There wouldn't even be anytime for the two of you to communicate online either; there was the time zone difference to worry about, plus the turtle's patrols were always irregular and hard to schedule around, especially if they happened to run into a Foot patrol. Then there was the possibility of enemies finding out where you were. If they were to hack into one of your e-mails and find out where you were currently living, there would be no way the turtles could come save you. You would be putting yourself and your family in danger. There was no other option...

You had to break up.

Michelangelo:

You knew Michelangelo would try to joke about it at first. He did not even give you a chance to explain why it wouldn’t work before the orange-clad turtle just started spewing random facts about comic characters. For the first two days you paid it no mind; if this was his way of coping with the bad news, then so be it. You two could always have a more in-depth conversation about it all later.

It had been two weeks after you told him of your impending move and he still would not acknowledge it. First you wanted to wait and see if he would bring it up, but the turtle just kept talking about how cool he looked doing a front flip before knocking out some Foot Ninjas. You made sure you looked annoyed throughout his whole tale of action-packed ninja moves and flips, hoping he would notice and ask if something was wrong.

During his retelling he would look at you to make sure you were listening and knew exactly the type of look you were giving him. He figured if he ignored it, that you would stop making that face and then you would not have to talk about what you brought up days ago. Sometimes he would look back at you and cringe when the same glare was still on your face. It was one of the few things that made him uneasy; and every time he looked again, your glare seemed to get more and more intense.

“And then...! Then...” He paused and finally caved. His hands clapped together and he begged, “Babe, please stop looking at me like that, okay?”

“I'll stop when you stop avoiding the subject!” You snapped, eyes shooting daggers.

He winced at the tone of your voice and held his hands up. “Okay, okay! Fine, we'll talk!” He grumbled and sat down in front of you, crossing his legs. “What do you want to talk about?” He asked in a bored tone.

This seemed a little too easy. You narrowed your eyes in suspicion but straightened your back anyway. “Well...I want to make sure you're going to be okay.”

He chuckled nervously and his eyes looked about the room. “Of course I'm okay! Why wouldn't I be okay?”

An annoyed grumble came out of you as your hand rubbed your face. “Mikey, c'mon. You know what I'm talking about.”

He shook his head and stood up, turning his back to you. “Mmmm, nope! No I don't.” Suddenly he snapped his fingers and turned on his heel. “Oooh, I know! You mean if I'm okay with tacos being your favorite food instead of pizza? Then yeah, I'm okay with it. Even though your opinion is wrong,” that big grin forced itself across his face and he turned around again.

Your mouth fell open in disbelief. He really was gonna do this? Again!?

You slapped your hands on your thighs, before throwing them up into the air. "Okay, fine!! If you don't wanna talk about it, then fine! But I do have something to say, and you're gonna hear it! I'm leaving Mikey!! And we have to break up!" You exclaimed.

The moment you had started yelling Michelangelo covered his head and hollered. "Whaaat? I can't hear youuu! I got uh...wax build up!" The childish turtle started walking out of the room, still hollering. "I'm gonna have Donnie look at it, so it's gonna take all day. You should go home and we can try again tomorrow, 'kay?" He glanced in your direction to flash a nervous smile at you before rushing out of the room.

"Mikey!!" You called out to him, but he didn't return. You wouldn't be beaten that easily though. You had to get the message through Michelangelo's big head. Even if that meant using the one thing he loved the most against him. You pulled out your cellphone from your front pocket, and dialed a number. "Yes, hi. I'd like to make an order for delivery."

About forty five minutes passed before a pizza delivery guy arrived. No doubt he thought it was strange to meet you in the alley way, all by your lonesome to pick up the order, but once he got his tip he could care less. You brought the food through the sewers, and once you got back to the lair, the other brothers were following behind.

"So, what'cha got there?" The turtle in red leaned over your shoulder.

You swatted him away. "It's not for you, it's for Mikey!"

"So, what, he gets breakup pizza and we don't?" Raph huffed.

"To be fair, it would be easy for Raph to get a break-up pizza. If he ever got any," Donatello teased but paused. The lean turtle shook his head and nudged your arm. "Don't look now, but someone's watching..."

The smell of pizza had lured Michelangelo out of his hiding spot, but once he saw it was you holding the precious box he stayed hidden behind a wall. He would peer around the corner now and then to see if you had left yet, but for once he was upset to see you still standing there with the food balancing in your hand.

There was an endless battle going on inside of his head. On the one hand, his favorite person was holding his favorite food just feet away from him; it was like a dream come true! However, he knew it was a trap. There were things you wanted to tell him that should only exist in nightmares.

"Mikey, man up and get out here!" Leonardo ordered.

You smirked a little and put a hand on your hip, while holding the pizza box in your other hand. "Couldn't have said it better myself." You said teasingly.

Leo smiled as well, and leaned down to whisper in your ear, "Save me a slice."

You rolled your eyes and shook your head. "Go." You dismissed the other turtles, and they followed your command.

Now it was just you and Michelangelo.

Panic settled in as soon as his brothers started to leave. "Guys, hey! Don't leave me alone!" The youngest begged as he slowly came out from behind the wall. "C'mooon! W-we're brothers!"

Donatello waved his comment away and shook his head. "Sorry Mikey. You gotta learn to face your problems on your own."

He whined as his brothers continued to walk away. "But! I..!" He groaned when they disappeared. "How is it my problem when I didn't do anything wrong?" He muttered under his breath, crossing his arms in a pouting motion.

You walked over to their dining room table, and sat down at it with the pizza. You tapped on the seat next to you and smiled at the turtle. "Please?"

Blue eyes darted from the pizza then to you multiple times as he tried to judge the situation as best as he could. It was hard to think though with that wonderfully greasy aroma wafting through the air though. A tiny whimper came out of him before he finally gave in to the temptation.

He was silent when he walked over, but as soon as he sat down he huffed. "You're lucky I think you're cute."

You smiled again, but sighed soon after. "This sucks. It really does, but...we gotta try to make the best of it. I don't wanna leave you on bad terms. So we need to talk about it."

"Hm? What'd you say?" He kept his arms crossed and barely looked at you. The air was getting tense and he did not like it.

"Mikey," you said sternly. Grabbing his face and turning it towards yours. You stared deep into his eyes, not allowing him to break contact.

When he stared at you, all of the memories he had came rushing back to him. How you two met, how much fun you both had, how you knew exactly the best way to get on each other's nerves. Now you wanted to leave all that for school and not bring him along? How was that fair? Anger, confusion, and sadness made his insides run cold.

"D-don't look too long. You m-might change your mind, " He managed to choke out, doing his best to keep the tears at bay.

Hearing him begin to choke up triggered emotions of sadness that you thought were long gone; apparently they had been drowned out by your feelings of annoyance due to Mikey blatantly ignoring the problem at hand. Your eyes became watery, and you sniffled a little. "You know I love you."

"Then why are you leaving?" He groaned, hands gripping yours desperately. "There's tons of schools in New York! Can't you pick one of them?"

“I would've done that by now if I could,” you started to explain. You have seen the giant turtle mope before, but this was just heart breaking. He had not even made a move for the box yet.

Though it seemed you spoke too soon. A hesitant hand reached for the lid; it was as if he was debating if he actually wanted any or not. When he finally flipped the lid open his face scrunched in confusion.

“Aw man,” He grumbled as he lifted up a calzone instead of a slice of pizza. “Great day to get your order wrong.”

You licked your lips nervously before clearing your throat. “Actually, it's right.”

There was a look of betrayal on his face as his mouth hung open. He practically threw the Italian food back into the box and began to rant. “Cool! No, great! First you're changing states now you're changing food!” He fumbled for words for a second, “You got anything else you want to tell me?”

You sat there in silence, waiting for him to calm down first. Just as you were about to say something he interrupted.

“I don't want it to be over.”

It sounded more like a demand than a request. Despite this, you could hear his voice waver and shake and see the light that glistened off the tears that trickled down his cheeks.

“Mikey--”

“I don't want you to go!” He slammed his hands on the table to hide the crack in his voice.

You tensed at his reaction but stayed firm; you had to be strong for both of your sake's. “Michelangelo I don't like this either but--”

“Then why!?” He stood so fast that he knocked the chair back. Tears were streaming down his face but he made no move to wipe them away. Only a fraction of the sadness and hurt could be seen in his eyes as he glared down at you. “Why are you leaving if you don't want to?”

“Because I have to!” You hollered, feeling your cheeks start to burn in frustration. It had been hard enough for you to come to terms with moving so far away; this added guilt-trip from him was not making it any easier.

His jaw clenched and lips twitched as he tried to find something to say. Life was just playing a cruel joke on him all along; somehow he had gotten a hold of you as a girlfriend and just as things were really picking up, you had to leave. Not even for a short amount of time either, but for three years.

“Okay. Then...I have to go with you.” He nodded his head.

“Mikey, you can't.”

He held up a green finger and stared you in the eyes. “Yes I can! I can sneak into the cargo part of the plane.”

“I'm driving to Colorado,” you argued with crossed arms.

He paused in thought and continued. “Okay then. I'll sneak into the moving van. And then sneak out when you get there!”

His stubbornness was cute sometimes, but now was not the time for it. “Then where would you live for three years, huh?”

A scoff came out of him and he gestured to his surroundings. “The sewers. Duh!”

You raised a skeptical brow at him. “By yourself?”

There was a slight hesitation from the turtle before he nodded. “Yes?” He sounded unsure of his answer.

“Michelangelo,” You started, standing up and walking up to him. “Your brothers need you here.”

He tried to wave your comment off, “Yeah right. They don't need me.” “Yes, they do,” you grabbed his hands and squeezed them tightly. “You need them and they need you.”

For a moment all he did was rub your hands with his thumbs, his eyes locked on the digits. “I need you too,” the words were barely above a whisper.

You stared down at his hands and thought long and hard about what you were going to say next. “Well, you spent fifteen years without me. What's three years compared to that?” When no response came out of him you motioned towards the food still on the table. “C'mon. I can't finish that calzone alone. I know you'll like it.”

He looked up at you and then down at the deceitful box. “I'll try,” he paused and then added in a slightly more cheerful tone, “but it will never replace pizza.”

–

The next couple of days were not as bad as you thought they would be. Granted, Michelangelo would still refuse to talk about your impending move, but he still wanted to hang out like normal. It was nice, reading comics and watching shows as if you were not about to leave. The only thing that gave it away was he clung to you like glue. Any opportunity he had to touch you he would; if he could follow you into a room or hall he would be there on your heels like a lost puppy. It was cute until you had to go to the bathroom or turn in for the night.

The only reason you did not get too mad at him was you understood why he was doing it. The poor mutant was just squeezing in as much time with you as he could before you left for college. Besides, you would be lying if you said you did not like the attention. Unfortunately, it had to come to an end.

On the day before the move, you sent Michelangelo a message, telling him you had to stay home to finish packing. Surprisingly, he told you not to worry about it. Then he sent you a second message, saying he would see you tonight anyway. You sighed but figured you could stay awake for a couple of hours for him. After all, it would be the last time you see each other.

Hours passed. Boxes were taped shut, big pieces of furniture were carefully brought downstairs and loaded into the truck. The only thing left in your room was the bed, a comforter, a pillow, a change of clothes for tomorrow, and a few necessary toiletries. The moonlight illuminated the barren walls more so than usual. A lump started to form in your throat as it was getting hard to see.

A tap on your shoulder made you jump and turn quickly. Standing behind you was that familiar green face with a smile plastered on. You put a hand over your racing heart, hoping the gesture would slow it down somehow.

“Why didn't you knock first?” You breathed, trying to keep your voice down so your parents would not hear.

“I wanted to surprise you,” He grinned.

"Yeah. Surprise me with a heart-attack!" You hissed before hitting his arm playfully.

"I was kinda hoping your parents wouldn't be home... Then I could send you off with a 'bang'." He said jokingly, and finger gunned at you with a wink.

You could feel the heat radiate off your blushing cheeks as you smacked him again. "Michelangelo!" You scolded him halfheartedly. "Is that why you kept following me around yesterday?”

"Maaaaybe." He crossed his arms behind his head and grinned. "But you know.. If you still wanna, I got a way we could cover it up!" He reached a hand behind him for a moment before pulling out a cd case. He held it between two fingers, and there was a little orange turtle drawn on the cd with what looked like to be sharpie.

Your heart melted at the sight of the CD case. "Aww, Mikey!" You smiled and took the case from him, making a cooing noise when you noticed the hand-drawn turtle on there. "Aww! This is so sweet of you!" You got on your tiptoes to plant a kiss on his cheek. You looked at he CD case but then quickly turned back to him . "But no. We might not hear them come in if we have this too loud."

Mikey chuckled, and waved you off. "I'm just kiddin’ babe! Mostly." He mumbled. He glanced over at the packed boxes and frowned a bit. “Do ya think we could listen to a few songs now?"

At the sound of his voice you nodded. "Sure, just gimme a sec," you patted his arm and fished out your laptop. Once it was ready you popped the CD in and turned the volume down low enough for only the two of you to hear. "Are they good road-trip songs?" You asked before really listening to what the first song was.

"Some." He walked over to your bed and sat down on it. "Some are just," He fiddled with his sunglasses that were hanging off his neck. "Something to remember me by," he smiled a little and shrugged as the first song began to play.

It was a single by Vanilla Ice, with the main chorus being "Go ninja, go ninja, go!"

At the sound of the song you smirked. Typical Michelangelo. “You know I'd never forget you,” You smiled, sitting down next to him.

"Yeah..." He said quietly and smiled again, but this time not as brightly. He looked back to his sun glasses and stayed quiet for a while as the songs played.

The first couple songs were familiar pop songs, and you were thankful for them because they'd keep you awake for the drive. But as you got further into the list, the songs switched focus. A love song began playing, and you could see Michelangelo was concentrating on the lyrics. His eyes started to water, and he bit the inside of his cheek to keep any tears from squeezing out.

The song really was touching and you could feel your gut twist, already missing the mutant turtle. You intertwined your arms together until your hands grasped one another. You then rested your head on his firm green shoulder.

“I love it Mikey,” you whispered, simply enjoying his company and the music that played.

After a while, his emotions got the best of him and the tears began to flow. He clenched his eyes shut, and whimpered a little. "You... You sure there's nothing I could do to make you stay?" His voice was squeaky, and he gripped your hand tight.

"Not unless you got a diploma with my name on it," When you felt his tears fall on you it made your throat tighten. You sat up and used your free hand to try and wipe the salty water from his face. "I'm glad I got to spend time with you."

Michelangelo sniffled and wiped his nose. He turned his head to yours, tears still falling from his eyes. "I'm--I'm s-s-sorry. Th-they w-won't.. s-stop!!" He tried wiping at his eyes, now frustrated that he couldn't hold them back.

You could not stop yourself from letting out a quick giggle, but the amusement was lost when you could feel your own tears drawing near. "W-well make them! You're gonna make me...c-cry next!" You throat constricted with every word, forcing down the sobs so as to not alert your parents. Instead you pulled him in for a tight hug, crying into the side of his neck.

Mikey wrapped his arms around you, practically engulfing you since you were so small compared to him. He bent his head down, and sobbed violently into your shoulder. When he stopped to breathe, that part of your shirt was soaked. He took a few choppy breaths before whimpering out. "I l-love you so much! And I always will!! Forever! And-and! Even longer th-than that!"

You wiped at your own cheeks and nose, trying to focus on his face through your blurred vision. "I love you too!" You stopped for a second and nodded, "I-I'll come back. As soon as I can, I'll come back here. I promise!" You did not care if you were promising the improbable; you just wanted him to know how much he really meant to you.

"You better!!" Mikey held your hands tightly in his and rest his forehead on yours for a moment, before kissing you on this lips. He gave you no time to reciprocate. The kisses were sloppy and wet, and came one right after the other. Luckily for you, the turtle couldn't hold his breath for long and had to pull back, his breathing shaky.

You giggled under his reign of kisses and bumped your forehead teasingly on his. You sat there in silence for a minute and then looked at your door in thought. Though it would be risky doing anything but talking, what with your parents home and all, that did not mean he had to leave immediately.

"Listen," you spoke in a whisper, afraid your mother or father would somehow hear you. "We can't do anything, but if you want to sleep here tonight, that's fine." A smile tugged at your cheeks and you nodded at your phone. "I'll just set my alarm an hour early to give you time to head out."

Michelangelo gasped a little at your offer. "Yes!" He said a little too excitedly and squeezed your hands tight again.

Immediately your hand yanked out of his grip, putting a finger to your mouth. "Shhh!" You hissed through a smile. "We gotta keep it down, remember?"

"Oh!" His eyes widened a little and he covered his mouth. His cheeks lit up red and he grinned. "Sorry." He whispered.

The rest of the night had been perfect. The two of you just sat on your bed, listening to music, and making idle chit-chat. There were a few kisses here-and-there and a couple tearful embraces. Just as you were both about to lay down and go to sleep, the alarm on your phone went off.

You grabbed it in disbelief; there was no way it was time yet. You had not even gotten a wink of sleep! Despite seeing the clock on your phone you still ventured to the window and saw the sun peeking over the horizon. The sky was colored a wonderful yellow and purple and you could smell the moisture of morning dew in the air.

“Guess I'm really not waking up huh?” Michelangelo's voice cut through the silence.

“No,” you mumbled. The realization of leaving suddenly took hold of you. You gripped the windowsill and felt another wave of tears coming. “I'll...I'll listen to that CD every--”

The sound of footsteps outside your bedroom made both of you snap to attention. Michelangelo leaped out of your bed as you started to open the window for him.

“Hurry! Go, go!” You urged him along in a whisper, waving for him to move faster.

He stopped when he got to the window and looked at you. “You sure you don't want to stay?”

“Mikey,” You whined a little.

The smile on his face put you at ease, “Kiddin', Babe!” He stared at you for a long time and shrugged. “So...I will see you later right?”

You gave him a weak smile and a quick peck on the cheek. “Much later,” There was a knock on your door, making your heart race. “One second!” You called out before you started pushing the ninja out your window. “Go! I love you!”

“Okay, okay!” He hopped onto the fire escape silently and looked at you one more time. “Love you too,” He waved and then jumped off the side, disappearing into the shadowy alley below.

#TMNT #TMNT 2016 #MichelangeloxReader #TMNTxReader #CharacterxReader

75 notes · View notes