#FINALLY WROTE BECKORY WE ARE SO BACK

[puhpandas]

Carbon Fiber Hilt

(3,551 words) warnings: mentions of death, mind control, spiraling, panic attacks, knives, blood, trauma. the usual kinda

Gregory, while over at Tony's house, is asked to cut the vegetables for dinner. He never really was able to get over the feeling of the hilt of a knife in his hand.

Gregory hasn't picked up a knife since that night. He hasnt had any reason to. Vanessa has also avoided being even near one like the plague.

He hadn't had a reason to for a long time. A year and a half, actually. Maybe just a bit less than that. Knives were scarce in a house full of people terrified of them, and they were never needed when Vanessa would find meals to make that distinctively did not require one to prepare.

But time has passed. A lot of it has. And Gregory should have known he wouldn't have been able hide from one forever.

Its not the first time Gregorys been to Tony's house. It's small and old, and it shows in the asymmetrical-ness and appearance, but it's not a dump. It's very well kept and lived in, and its evident; theres flowers in the front yard and a birdhouse and a little rainbow pinwheel. Theres windchimes that Gregory can always hear from inside on particularly windy days and the place is made almost entirely out of old wood. It's just old.

Gregory never understood why Tony is so embarrased to take him here. His Mom and Grandma are really nice. His Grandma has wisdom to share and a glint in her eye, and she has crows feet all across her eyes that show off how much she smiles. Tony's Mom isnt much different. She also smiles, but it's more optimism and less joy. Theres bags under her eyes that show how shes struggled but a shine in her eye that tells that she isnt unhappy. Gregory thinks he sees that in Vanessa a lot.

Its comfortable at Tony's house, in a way that Gregory's apartment he shares with Vanessa and Freddy isnt. He loves his home, but theres a distinctness between the landlord white paint and gray cabinets in his house and the rich, homey wood of Tonys.

Gregory feels comfortable there. He thinks that Tony's family catches onto the same thing one day where they ask him if he wants to help with dinner.

"Mom." Tony grits out incredulously after she asks the question, her head peeking through the arch leading to the kitchen. "Greg shouldn't have to do that, remember?"

"Its okay, Tony." Gregory smiles easily, and any contempt he'd felt on his behalf seems to melt away when Tony catches his eye. "I don't mind helping."

That's how he ends up in the kitchen, shoulder to shoulder with Tony (he tries not to be too hyper aware of that) and his Grandma, stood in front of the counter.

"Perfect timing." Tony's Grandma grins at Gregory. "I needed someone to cut the vegetables anyway."

She then gestures to the counter, and the implications don't click in Gregory's head until far too late. He turns to look at the counter, and there, by the cutting board, is a-- knife.

Its blade is a clean, silver-ish white, and the hilt a black with the telltale three dots in the handle.

Before, he could hear the simmering of meat and smell the delicious aroma of whatever food Tony's family is cooking up. As soon as he lays eyes on the blade, it all washes away.

He knows he goes rigid against Tony's shoulder. The fabric of his T-Shirt rubs uncomfortably against his arm, and flashes and memories of a brown fursuit enter his mind without permission.

It's almost comical, how much it looks like the one he had--

"Greg?" Tony's voice rips him out of it, and it's only now Gregory realizes he was spiraling. The sound of cooking food and the sight of the yellow countertops, and Tony's worried face enter his vision.

He sets a hand on his arm, and all Gregory can do is stare with wide eyes, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. He's suddenly aware of the hammering in his heart, and that's the only thing that reminds him to breathe.

He breathes in slowly, not wanting to attract attention from Tony's family. Tony looks at him, and Gregory recognizes the concern in his eyes. It would be far from the first time Gregory has spiraled in front of Tony; hes done it unprompted countless times before. Tony is sometimes even a trigger himself.

Gregory catches Tony's gaze and Gregory can tell he's searching for what's wrong. Gregory shakes his head, trying to clear away the fog, and he returns the hand on Tony's arm, trying to smile. He doesnt know if it works or not.

"Its okay." He tells Tony. "I'm okay. I swear."

The entire time, he keeps his gaze carefully away from the knife still sitting untouched by the cutting board. Thankfully, Tony's family doesnt comment on how he hasnt started yet. Gregory exhales shakily when he can see the glint of the blade in the corner of his eye, but he stubbornly pushes it down, keeping his eyes on Tony.

"I-- I swear." He repeats, but it's way less certain than he wants it to be.

Thankfully, though, Tony let's it go. He just nods, turning to whatever it is his family asked him to do. Gregory doesnt look away immediately, and he can feel Tony glancing at him from the corner of his eye with worry. A watchful gaze.

He can see the silver shining in his peripherals. He knows it's there, and yet, despite how much he stubbornly hates how much it can send him shaking like a leaf, he cant force himself to look at it.

That's okay, he tells himself. Sometimes you arent ready to see things head on. Sometimes, when he and Tony sleepover at eachothers places, either of them can wake up from a nightmare and not be able to even see the other. Those nights, Gregory will just hold his hand to let him know hes there, and Tony will do the same for him.

That's what he needs to do. Touch is a way to dip your toe into the water, right? Gregory may not be ready to see a knife yet, but maybe he can still do what Tony's family wants him to without crumpling in on himself.

He can still feel Tony's intense look on him. He hasnt shifted his gaze away from the random spot on the counter this whole time. His shoulders shake, but he pushes past it, ignoring how he can only inch towards the handle instead of grabbing it. The simmering of the food on his left consumes his senses. It sounds like static.

His hand inches closer, and Gregory curses inwardly at how his hand trembles. It's just a knife. It's just a knife. Everybody can use a knife. It's just for the vegetables.

It's only because hes focused on his inner thoughts does his hand not retract away like it had been burned when it gets close. Hes unaware, blissfully for a moment, as his hand grows closer.

The handle of the knife (carbon fiber. he shouldn't know that.) only brushes against his fingertips.

It happens suddenly. In the split second his fingers touched the material, he felt the ridges in the material, the rough texture of the hilt. He felt electricity shoot up his arm so bad it hurt. He felt the way his shoulder jerked when his hand retreated so quickly you would think the knife bit at him. It might as well have.

The sudden movement of his arm drawing back and the burning touch of the knife's hilt makes him spiral. Hes all too aware of the burn in his shoulder blade and all he can think about is plunging the knife deep into something. Swinging with all his might with the intent to kill. The blade digging into something soft. Flesh.

His vision darkens around the edges. Somebody is talking to him-- Tony, he can recognize. He cant see him, because his eyes have gone dark. His arms are glued to his sides. The darkness creeps around the edge of his vision, like shadowy tendrils, and immediately, panic grips his insides.

Hes back. Hes taking back over. The shadow always meant he was being put under. No. No. He doesnt want to. He wants to go home he never wanted to do this. He never wanted to be so painfully aware of what it was like to live in shadows. In darkness. Underground where prying eyes could never see.

Gregory thinks there are hands touching his shoulders and his arms. His eyes are wide; he can feel the skin stretching. Hes aware of burning eyes enough with how much he tries to scrub the shadows away and this is no different.

His feet move, but he isnt aware of making them. The darkness is still here, and he doesnt know where hes going. Who's touching him. Hes back. hes back hes back hes back he has my body hes never going to let me out hes going to kill everyone--

All hes aware of is how it feels like hes back. He doesnt acknowledge a door closing, or how the floor transitions into hard wood to carpet, or how his breathing stutters and stalls like a car failing to start.

He's back there, and all he can feel is the hopelessness and incapability of being trapped. Locked away tight. Unable to fight back. Doubled down on because hes the favorite the favorite the wizards most favored apprentice--

"Greg?" Hands push at his shoulders, and Gregory feels the wall touch his back and his body slide down the wall. His shirt rides up his back, and all he can feel is the wet, sweaty fursuit riding on his skin. Rubbing it raw with plush and blistering when it gets sticky with blood. "Greg, can you hear me?"

He shakes his head, over and over, deliriously. He cant revel in the fact that he can control himself when he swears the voice is calling out to him. Can you hear me? You dont know me, but I know you. I can tell we're going to be great partners.

"Gregory, please--" The voice begs. Gregory pauses. The voice never begged. It only commanded. Directed. Instructed. "You cant breathe! You gotta listen to me. Hear my voice! Its Tony. Okay?"

The fog encompassing his mind (hes back hes back) lifts ever so slightly, enough for him to think. The fact that he can think at all propels him to push, and it's like it all comes rushing back. A kitchen. A knife. A house.

"You arent being controlled. He isnt back, okay? I know that's what you're thinking and its not true. Your brain is playing tricks on you again." The voice reaches him, and Gregory latches onto the familiarity of it, the tone and the richness but roughness of it making it through. "Trust me. Please."

Gregory never wanted to trust the voice. He never wanted to. He never did. But it had always been too late before.

He knows he would never want to trust the voice, but he finds that here, he does. He would never view the voice positively. The tightness in his chest and the darkness encompassing him ebb ever so slightly, and he peers through the cracks, like looking at the light at the end of a dark tunnel.

Tony he realizes. And with that comes the floodgates. Tony. Tony wouldnt be here if Gregory hadn't broke free last year. Gregory wouldn't be here if he hadn't broke free last Spring.

He pushes, and the black edging his vision let's up enough for him to see. He's in Tony's room, he can tell that much, and he can see that Tony himself is on his knees on the carpet in front of him, even through the fog, Gregory can see the panic and the worry on Tony's face.

"T--" His breath stutters. "Tony."

It's like seeing underwater, but Gregory can see the way Tony sags in relief at that. "Yeah, Greg. Its me." His voice reaches his ears, and Gregory revels in it. He revels that it reminds him of all those times he listened to Tony's voice to remind himself he's still here. That they both are. "You're at home, with me. Okay? You got freaked out over something but you're fine now. You can start coming back down to earth."

Despite himself, and the way his fingers still tingle and burn from where the handle of the knife burned him, he chuckles. "Says you."

Tony laughs as well, and Gregory feels the smile stretch on his face instinctively at the sound. It's like throwing him a rope, the beautiful sound, and he grabs ahold of it with both hands. "So you're probably feeling better now."

The final bits of blurriness ebb from his vision, and hes able to see clearly. He takes a moment, taking in Tony and the yellows and greens of his room and his green jacket and his blue eyes and his smile.

His body aches. His shoulders burn from how they're hunched, and Gregory's just able to stop himself from spiraling again at how familiar it is. How his muscles would scream when he would be in control, but he'd never stop. Never rest. Never stop swinging until the task was done. The inherit lack of feeling pain is one of the most blaring memories Gregory has that makes him so certain whatever had him was more inhuman than he could ever imagine.

He loosens his muscles, and Tony stays silent, just watching him with concerned eyes. Gregorys hand still burns; it feels like sparks flew when he'd touched the handle of the knife and now he has the burns to prove it. It twitches, and Gregory grips at Tony's carpet to try to scratch the feeling away. It doesnt work.

Tony notices. He always does. It doesnt help that it was with his left hand. Tony's eyes soften, wide and worried, and Gregory let's himself stare back as he catches his breath and tries to focus on anything that isnt the tingling in his fingertips.

He's only mostly aware when Tony shifts positions to his left side. He presses himself flush against Gregorys shoulder, like at the counter, but before Gregory can think about touching the knife again Tony is grabbing his left hand.

"I'm sorry." He says. "I should have said something about the knife. Or stopped you. This could have been avoided if I hadn't just watched--"

"No." Gregory cuts him off, voice raspy and breathless. "Its not your fault. I should have known it was a bad idea. Its just been so long that I..." He trails off. It really isnt Tony's fault, too. Gregory knows what it's like to just watch.

"Its been a year and a half, Greg." Tony points out. "I think... I think anybody would understand if you never wanted to even see a knife again after what happened to you."

Gregory nods, and despite how much he hates it, he finds himself agreeing. "I never wanted to." He says. He shuts his eyes tight and focuses on Tony's hand in his instead of the burning in his fingertips. "I didnt want to. I tried to fight back but it only made-- I only--"

Tony shushes him, squeezing his hand and pressing their shoulders closer. He uses his fingers to fidget with the tips of Gregory's, and it washes some of the prickling away to make room for Tony's warmth. "I know, Greg."

"He made me pick one." Gregory whispers, voice shaking. "I had to choose which one to kill them all with. The one in the kitchen looked just like the one I--"

"He's gone, Gregory." Tony reminds him. "You broke free."

Gregory shakes his head, his throat still feeling dry. "No." He whispers. "I never-- I never got freed. Not like how I helped Vanessa." That fear, that long suffering paralyzing uncertainty that keeps him second guessing if anything is real comes back full force, and his breath hitches. He eyes Tony's face, and their hands, trying to ground himself before he spirals. "What if--"

"He wont." Tony tells him, and theres a certain assertiveness that forces some part of Gregory to believe him. To turn away from the shadows dancing across the walls of his mind. "And if he does, we'll save you. We won't let him hurt you or anyone else."

Gregory revels in the reassurance, knowing that he's said the same thing to Vanessa multiple times. If Gregory has been able to believe it for her, maybe theres some hope for him as well. He breaths out a shaky puff of air, and he doesnt realize his eyes are unfocusing again until Tony squeezes his hand.

"I wont let him hurt you." Tony says, and theres some sort of edge to his voice that makes Gregory glance up at his face. Theres a shadow under his brow and a darkness to his eyes, but Gregory knows the anger is not directed at him. Not when Tony meets his eyes and they soften immediately. "You broke free for me all that time ago. Just so he wouldnt hurt me. I'll be there to ground you, or-- or to save you instead of the other way around."

Despite himself, Gregory's able to crack a smile at that, small as it is. He glances down at their hands, and feels the pressure. It's not cold like the handle of a knife, nor uncomfortably hot hot hot from the sweltering insides of the suit he had been trapped in. His hands do not twitch under plush and fabric; they curl around Tony's fingers, and the pressure is comforting. Welcome.

"My knight in shining armor." Gregory says quietly. Its something Vanessa would joke about when they'd talk about it and the games would be brought up. A little knight and the lost princess.

Gregory doesnt think apprentices have knights. Maybe that's what he had intended all along. No chance of getting out. No chavelry in silver armor to ride up and save you. Just the apprentice and the wizard.

Tony's fingers twitch themselves, and they shift to squeeze tighter around Gregory's own, entertwining like steel chainmail. My knight in shining armor he thinks. Maybe knights dont need a princess to be heroes.

Its warm; theres only the soft light of Tony's bedroom lamp on his desk with scattered notes and his own drawings carefully stacked around the edge, and Gregory can still hear the faint clattering of dishware across the house. The sky outside the window is a deep blue, and theres no purple to be found.

Tony's hand sends prickles up Gregorys own, but it's not like the rubbing of skin against plush fabric. It's not unwelcome. It's like fireworks dancing across his skin, electricity buzzing across his fingertips and his knuckles.

Gregory heaves out a final breath, and all the tightness in his chest leaves with it. Gregory can see how Tony smiles at him in-between the steadily dissipating darkness, and Gregory hangs onto it. It's a smile like one hes never seen before. Soft, crinkled at the eyes and filled with nothing but fondness.

Nothing like his smile. Nothing like the frozen grin when Gregory'd do a job well done. The grin that'd stick onto his face even when Gregory refused to--

"I think I'm ready to go back now." Gregory says, his voice clear now and unmuddled to his ears. It's only now that he realizes that he's still leaning against Tony against the door of his room, and their hands are still entertwined. His fingers are tingling, and it's only now that they twitch, but for a completely different reason. The shoulder that's pressed up against Tony's is warm and Gregory is painfully aware of it.

Not in a bad way. Gregory knows what it's like to be warm in a bad way. This is comforting in the way only Tony is. Even Vanessa and Freddy feel different than this.

Tony hums next to him, and doesnt move to get up at all. "My Mom will come get us when dinners done." He says, and his hand grips tighter and his shoulder presses closer. His neck twists to look over at him, and Gregory has to fight to not look away when he turns his face the same direction and they meet eyes.

Theres a brief, stuttering moment where they dont move at all. Dont breathe. But then Gregory is letting his forehead tip into Tony's shoulder and lie there.

"Okay." Is all he says. And that's it. Tony leans his head on Gregory's hair, and Gregory has to hide his smile at how he can hear Tony's heartbeat from the proximity and it's going a hundred miles an hour.

Gregory shuts his eyes at some point, and the darkness does not creep around the edges and pull him under. He's safe right now. Tony is here, and Tony would not be here if Gregory wasn't.

Tony squeezes his hand in between his chatting once, then twice, and any shadows that try to reach the window of his mind retreat. He's only aware of the smell of food wafting under the door, Tony's voice rambling on about something, and the warmth of Tony's hand in his.

ao3 link

#FINALLY WROTE BECKORY WE ARE SO BACK #my fics #pandas writes #beckory #gregory #tony #ggy #oneshot #au #blood warning #knife warning