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digimonnetwork-project · 3 years

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Episode IV

Previous Episode

Leo’s Pride

Isamu was having lunch with the transfer student today.

Aki glanced over at Masato, noticing this fact as well. Mastato tapped his foot under the table, yeah, he knew Isamu had the right to sit wherever he wanted and talk to whoever he wanted, but he was spending an awful lot of time with the new girl.

“Do you think he’s going to stop hanging out with us?” Aki asked, worriedly adjusting his glasses with a disappointed frown, it wouldn’t have been the first time this happened to the duo.

Masato tapped his foot faster, “The least he could do is give us a proper ‘bye guys’ instead of this silent treatment.” The long haired boy huffed and tossed glare over at Imasu and Ju as they ate lunch together, “What does she have that we don’t?” He was more upset than Aki about this, he’d genuinely liked Isamu and believed that he’d stick around. After all the time they’d spent practicing for soccer and tryouts coming up soon...

Can’t be right all the time, Masato supposed.

Their comments did not go unheard, however, as it just so happened that Kaiyo Nakano was passing by their table with her bento box, “She’s got charm and wit, for one thing,” The brown haired girl said as she stopped and sat at their table with them, “And he’s smart and nice. Maybe they like each other.” She suggested.

“They’ve known each other for less than a week.” Masato pointed out, with an unimpressed sigh, “How could they possibly like each other that much?”

Kaiyo smiled and took a bite of her rice, “I haven’t known either of them very long, but I like them both just fine.” She announced.

Aki brushed some of his blond hair behind his ear, “That’s different, Nakano, you like everyone.”

“Just call me, Kaiyo. And I don’t see how that matters, there’s no waiting period to see if you like someone- unless” She started to snicker, “You thought I meant like-like!” Kaiyo giggled and broke into a laugh, “I just meant- he- she-! Haha guys and girls can just be friends you know!”

Masato and Aki stared at her, blushes rising to their cheeks as they realized how they’d misinterpreted her comment. Kaiyo wasn’t done teasing them though.

“Oh! But wait, what if they are in love!? Maybe they were star crossed lovers in a past life, bound to meet again and again in each lifetime, always to be torn apart, haha! It’s just like a Shoujo manga! Ha! Oh, don’t tell me, one of you is the reborn rival; here to win Ju away from him-wait not, it’s Isamu you’re upset about losing! Is he the love interest then?!”

“Th-that’s enough!” The pair sputtered in unison, making a few heads turn in their direction, but Kaiyo did manage to calm herself down before they drew too much attention.

Kaiyo chewed another bite of rice before speaking up again, “I don’t know Isamu very well, but when he served that detention for Ms. Mazawa, he couldn’t stop talking about meeting you two at the park. He didn’t even mention that you were practicing soccer until I asked him, he just wanted to hang out with you.”

“R-really?” Aki asked, “Soccer is his favorite thing, he didn’t mention it at all?”

“Nope.” Kaiyo answered, “I know he’s been spending a lot of time with Ju the last few days, but she’s still adjusting to living in Japan, once she’s settled maybe Isamu will introduce the three of you. Who knows? Maybe you’ll like her too. Lord knows you boys could use a girl or two in your friend circle.”

“What’s that supposed to mean!?” Masato asked, Kaiyo giggled and continued her meal instead of answering.

Isamu and Ju stood from their table and started outside without emptying the remains of their lunch in the garbage bin. Masato stood up too, and started to follow them, leaving his lunch untouched on his table while Aki scarfed down a few bites and went after Masato, properly disposing of his lunch waste as he passed the bin.

Left alone at the table, with Masato apparently not hungry enough to care, Kaiyo reached into his bento box and swiped his dessert, “Well if he doesn’t want it.” She grinned.

Aki followed Masato into the court yard where they spotted Isamu and Ju sitting on a bench, looking over a nearby bush. More than anything, Aki wanted to tug on his friend’s sleeve and tell him to go back inside- whether it was just because whatever Isamu and Ju were doing was none of their business, or because he didn’t want to find out that Kaiyo was wrong about the situation, he wasn’t sure.

But he also knew that Masato wouldn’t stop, even if he did tug on his sleeve and insist they leave Isamu and Ju alone. They’re backs were to the approaching boys, both of them had put their lunch down and it looked as if they had decided to finish eating outside while the weather was still nice. Only Ju had her laptop resting on her knees, and Isamu appeared to be dropping bits of food into the bush.

Aki heard Ju speaking, “The Admins are all Tamers too, but they don’t access the Network like everyone else, they program all city events, create new games, organize tournaments for the coliseum and monitor for bugs, all from the outside.”

“Do Tamers become Admins when they get too old?” asked a voice that came from the direction of Isamu, but didn’t sound like Isamu.

Ju shook her head, “No, Admins…I don’t really know actually, what qualifies someone to be an admin, I heard that the youngest admin is only seventeen.”

What in the world were they talking about?

Aki might have asked, but Masato was faster and bolder than him, and reached to tap Isamu on the shoulder, but in doing so came into Ju’s eye line. She gave a startled screech that made Isamu jump and shout in surprise. He whirled around, eyes wide searching for whatever had made Ju scream and his gaze settled on Masato and Aki, immediately relaxing.

However, it seemed he was not the only one looking. From the bush, three shapes leaped out at them, Aki screamed as a brown and red furry…thing knocked him to the ground, Masato gave a similar cry as two creatures, black and white dog-like animals, did the same to him.

“It’s alright Ju, we’ve got it, prepare the Digital con-” The white one on top of Masato started, but cut off when it realized that he was human and not…whatever it was expecting.

The creature on top of Aki noticed this detail too, and hopped off him, wide eyed and flashing a guilty look at Isamu. The brown haired boy fiddled with his goggles awkwardly “Er, Aki, Masato, I can explai-”

Aki didn’t give him a chance, once the initial shock was over he scrambled to his feet with a scream and made a break for the sports field. If he could make it passed to the road, maybe he could flag down a car or something. It flashed through Aki’s head that maybe he was being a bit of a wuss, but any thoughts about turning back to hear what Isamu had to say were dispelled the moment he realized Masato was running too.

Well, at least they were being wusses together.

“What the hell were those things!?” Aki shouted as he ran.

“I don’t know, I don’t care, just keep moving!” Masato replied.

Behind them, Aki heard Isamu call after them, “Guys wait!” They turned their head slightly to see that Isamu and Ju were both chasing after them, along with the three strange creatures that had jumped out of the bush at them.

It was the one that had landed on Aki, the cat-like animal with a red mohawk that shouted at them, “Watch out for the Digital gate!”

The what? Aki saw Masato turn his head back, and skid to a halt, but Aki wasn’t fast enough to stop and ran into him. The force made them both tumble forward, into a strange distortion in the air he hadn’t seen until they were right on top of it. “Guys!” He heard Isamu shout before all sounds were cut off entirely.

Masato’s face planted into the ground, and was smooshed deeper into it when Aki landed on top of him. Dazed and confused it took Masato a moment to realize that he was not on school property anymore. Aki gave a terrified gasp at their surroundings.

All around them was blackness, a series of lines and dots lit the floor, going through a slow rainbow gradient. What Masato initially thought was a building, on closer inspection just seemed to be a block with no doors or windows. It almost looked like a Microchip. In the distance, Masato could just make out an outline of what appeared to be real buildings, a city of some sort.

Aki squeaked suddenly as Masato stared in awe, “Yeah, I’m seeing this, where are we?”

“N-no, Masato-” Aki tugged his sleeve and pointed across the strange space where a large furry creature stood glaring at them, “What is that thing?”

In response, the monster snarled, “Call me a thing, do you? I am Apemon! And I will crush all human parasites in the name of my Lord Nabermon!” The monster rushed them, as his name implied he was very apelike with wild yellow fur and a large bone strapped to his back.

“Masato!” Aki cried, clutching his sleeve.

The longer haired boy yanked him to his feet, “Run for it Aki!” He yelled, dodging to their right as the monster leaped into the air and brought his bone down like a club, completely obliterating the section of the floor they’d dropped onto only seconds ago and revealing more circuit-like lights underneath. Masato pushed Aki ahead of him, ducking behind one of the smaller block structures for momentary cover. “Go that way, I’ll draw it’s attention this way” Masato told him, pointing off in the direction of the distant city “When it’s clear you head back toward that gate thing Isamu mentioned!”

“”What about you!?” Aki gasped, clearly already out of breath from their previous flight.

Used to running for far longer, Masato waved his hand, “I can outlast you any day of the week, if I stay behind I can buy you enough time to get home and get help.”

“Like Isamu and the transfer student?” Aki asked.

Masato remembered the creatures that were with them, Isamu and Ju hadn’t seemed bothered by the presence, and, now that he was thinking about it, they must have been feeding them behind the bushes. Maybe those creatures could help. “Yeah, go find them, they can’t be far behind us.”

Right on cue, as if summoned by their names, Isamu, Ju and the creatures that accompanied them appeared through the gate. Apemon still stood between them and the two boys.

Isamu looked around in awe, “Is this the Digital world?” he asked.

“No,” Wemicmon replied, and pointed toward the far off city, “That’s the Network, over there, this entire plane is the dimension between our worlds. The Digital World is below us somewhere, I think.”

“Actually,” Ju corrected and pointed to a gateway across from the one they’d just come through, “The Digital World would be through there.”

Both of them fizzled in the air for a moment, they would close soon. Isamu feared for a second that if they missed their chance they might get stuck, but remembered that they could return to the real world through the Network.

“Where do you learn this stuff?” Isamu asked, quirking an eyebrow at her.

“I’ve been a Tamer for three years.” She reminded him with a smirk. “Don’t worry, you’ll pick it up.”

There was no need to open a Digital Construct in this space, so Isamu and Ju kept one eye on the battle while they searched the nearby area for Aki and Masato. It didn’t take long to find them, and give a brief explanation of where they were and what the Digimon were.

“But if we’re friends with these guys, why does the big one want to kill us for that lord Nabler- Nobba…” Aki struggled to remember the name that Apemon had called out earlier.

Isamu didn’t have the first clue what he meant, but Ju’s eyes narrowed as she thought about it, “Nabermon?” She asked.

“Yes!” Masato nodded, “That’s the one. Who is he?”

Ju didn’t answer, just pointed back to the Gate, “You two need to get back to the real world now. Isamu, you and I should lure the Digimon closer to the Network so we can call for backup.”

“What? Why, what’s happening?” Isamu asked, pulling down his goggles to scan the enemy Digimon.

Apemon was a champion level Vaccine Digimon, who used the bone club as his primary weapon. He didn’t seem that much different than the first enemy he and Wemicmon had faced together.

“Because if he’s with the Court of Demons we can’t afford to underestimate him.”

“The Court of what?” Masato asked.

“I’ll explain later, just get to the Gate!” Ju lifted her D-Gauntlet and punched in a code, activating a speed boosting item she had won in the Network. Cannismon and Leptomon began running faster, easily dodging Apemon’s attacks.

Isamu punched in his own code, he’d only played a few games at the City and mostly got more Digicures, but he did get one item that would be of use at the moment. Apemon wasn’t stupid, and realized that he would never catch the twins and turned on the much slower Wemicmon, the bone club swung down on him, but Isamu’s item activated a shield that deflected the blow.

The inventory menu on his D-Gauntlet had told Isamu that the basic shield item he won was only good for a single use in battle, he hoped they could get help on time.

“Fever claw!” Wemicmon shouted, slicing Apemon across the face and leaving a mark over his eye.

“Moon Surge!”

“Sun Blast!” The twins attacked from either side of the yellow animal Digimon.

Their team attack usually worked like a charm, since their target could not defend against both attacks at once, but Apemon ducked low, “Metallic Fur!” He snarled, and the hairs on his body hardened to needles, shooting out and knocking the two canine Digimon out of the air.

Still on the ground, Wemicmon was spared the assault, but was also helpless to do anything to help his friends as Apemon’s fists caught flame next, “Magical Monkey Punch!” He shouted as he pumped them with his fire attack.

“Cannismon! Leptomon!” The golden haired Digimon shouted, his whole body began to glow “Lynx Fla-”

“Mega Bone Stick!”

Too slow to get out of the way in time, Wemicmon was thrown to the side by the blow. Cannismon and Leptomon were pinned to the ground by the needles and with Wemicmon out of the way the path was clear for Apemon to reach the children.

Wemicmon hopped back to his feet and dashed back toward the battle, but his Tamer knew he’d never make it in time.

Isamu swallowed hard, “Run!” he urged the others.

He grabbed Ju’s hand and dragged her away, they didn’t have time to call the Network for help they needed to get out of here and find a place to hide.

There wasn’t time for that either, and Isamu knew it, but if he could just buy a few seconds, maybe Aki and Masato could make it out. Apemon’s shadow loomed over him, he pulled on Ju’s arm and threw her ahead of him, hoping that maybe she could get out too.

“Isamu!” Wemicmon shouted, and his claws lit up for an attack but Isamu knew he was done for. He raised his hands to hide his face, it wouldn’t help but some instinct deeply rooted into human nature made him throw his arms up to block the attack. He knew he was going to die.

At least until his D-Gauntlet started reacting!

The light from his D-Gauntlet blinded Apemon, and the large Digimon stumbled back away from it. The device beeped wildly, and the boy shut his eyes against the light.

“Isamu! What did you press?” He heard Ju call over the beeping.

“I didn’t press anything!” He answered, Masato was running back toward them, reaching to pull Isamu back so they could escape, but Aki was staring out passed Apemon.

He pointed out where Isamu had last seen Wemicmon, “What’s happening to the cat guy?”

Isamu squinted, trying to see Wemicmon through the light of his D-Gauntlet, but couldn’t see him anywhere. It took him a moment to realize that the reason why was because Wemicmon was now glowing the same as his D-Gauntlet.

“Wemicmon Digivolve to…!”

A shape grew out of the smear of light that Wemicmon had become, growing taller, and bigger, the light quickly faded to reveal a new creature, similar to what Isamu had seen become of Scrofamon his first night in the Network.

“Nemaemon!”

The light faded from Isamu’s D-Gauntlet, and even Apemon had turned to see the new Digimon. He was the same color as Wemicmon, larger with a full mane, looking more like a lion. He had a belt wrapped around his torso that was keeping shoulder armor on Nameamon’s left arm, clothlike tendrils sprouted from his back between feathery patches of fur.

“His horn disappeared.” Isamu gaped, noticing that Wemic-no, Nemaemon’s face was far more cat-like than ever.

“Not going to comment on all those belts he’s suddenly wearing?” Ju blinked.

“How about that he’s got to be like ten feet tall!?” Masato shouted in a near panic.

This detail was what Aki noticed too, and he shrunk back, “He’s not going to hurt us, is he?”

Apemon seemed to lose interest in the humans at the sight of the new challenger. Isamu dropped his goggles over his eyes again to read the scan data on his partner’s new form. Nemaemon, mythical Digimon, Data type, Jungle Troopers. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing, this was Wemicmon? How cool!

“Metallic fur!” Apemon shouted, shooting needles toward Namaemon, who simply ducked low and his new shell deflected the attack.

Nemaemon rushed the enemy, dropping to all fours and now fast enough to keep up, “Inferno Bane!” He said, body slamming the other Digimon, raising back to two feet and holding Apemon down while breathing fire into his face.

Apemon grunted with pain and picked up his bone.

“Mega Bone Sti-”

“Eclipse Snare!” Everyone had been watching Nemaemon in awe, and hadn’t noticed the twins recover from the attacks they’d endured. Apemon was bound tightly by the beams of light and darkness that Cannismon and Leptomon wrapped around him, “Nemaemon, now!” Cannismon hissed.

The lion-like Digimon didn’t need to be told twice, “Leo’s Pride!” He raised a fiery fist, the flames shot out and took the form of a lion, running toward the trapped digimon and engulfing him in the fire.

“-Lord Nabermon, grant me-” Apemon dropped midsentence, knocked out completely, Isamu raised his D-Gauntlet and entered the sequence to convert Apemon to scan Data.

The Digimon pixelated and was drawn into the device, but more than that, the computer voice of the D-Gauntlet had an announcement, “Conversion completed. Map piece detected, would you like to view?”

“Um, not now.” Isamu said, Nemaemon stomped over to them and shrank back down to Wemicmon.

Isamu was a little disappointed at seeing his partner return to normal so soon, but at the same time, he knew he was having a hard enough time hiding Wemicmon, he’d never be able to keep Nemaemon out of sight.

He scooped up Wemicmon, “Let’s get out of here!” He said.

Nobody argued, Ju led the way out and the Digital gate closed behind them.

After the kids disappeared, a set of shadowy figures looked down at the former battle field, “You weren’t ever going to grant him the blessing of a Demon Lord were you?” The female figure said, almost with a laugh.

The bestial Digimon only grumbled in response, the clearest no that he could be bothered to give. That seemed to be enough because the woman did start to laugh.

“I thought so. So his mission was nothing but a wild goose chase them?” Again her companion did not give a real answer, but that didn’t seem to matter to her, “Oh well, those Tamers didn’t seem to be too experienced. Only one of them evolved their partner. A Digimon who cannot beat such fledglings is not worth of the scum beneath our feet, let alone our blessing”

“Indeed” The other replied, speaking for the first time, and turning away, “Come then, Mephistomon will want a real candidate selected soon…”

Back in the real world, Masato resisted the urge to drop to the ground and start kissing the grass after their close call. Aki said nothing, but his face was still white as a sheet, so Masato put on a brave face and was the first to speak as they started to wander back to where Isamu had Ju had been feeding their Digimon.

“So...A Digital Gate, huh?” It was sort of a pathetic question, but at least it wasn’t total awkward silence.

Isamu continued to carry Wemicmon, who yawned sleepily in his arms, “Yeah, they connect our world to the one we just came from” He said, and nodded to Ju, “She knows more about it than I do, I’ve only been a Tamer for a little while.”

“That’s pretty much the gist of Digital Gates. It's kind of weird, though...” She commented, “I’ve never seen two Digital Gates open up so close together. Back in Beijing they always appeared months apart.”

They reached the bench and Isamu set Wemic down so he could rest after his battle. He lifted his D-Gauntlet in amazement, he’d been able to make Wemicmon Digivolve to champion. That was incredible! Ju said that she’d had her partners for three years and she hadn’t been able to do that.

The corners of the screen glowed in sequence, a new code he needed to memorize, Isamu mouthed along with it, top right, top left, left, bottom right, top loft again.” He fished his pen out of his pocket and wrote that sequence down on his hand so he could transfer it to his notebook later.

He’d ask Ju about that after school maybe, but right now they had a lot of questions to answer from Aki and Masato, and not a lot of time to explain. Lunch break would be over soon. Even with the two of them telling the story together it was clear that the boys didn’t fully understand, Isamu didn’t blame them, he had first had experience as a Tamer and he still wasn’t sure he understood it all.

“Could we be Tamers?” Masato asked excitedly, as he paced back and forth in the courtyard “Where do we find Digimon partners?”

“How do we get the D-Gauntlets?” Aki pushed his glasses up, showing extreme interest in this, which was sort of a surprise for him.

“There’s always Digimon in the Network who are looking for Tamers.” Ju said, “Maybe you could talk to them sometime this weekend, you might get lucky.”

“Can they get into the Network without an ID?” Isamu asked as Aki and Masato quietly celebrated the idea of maybe becoming a Tamer like their friend.

Ju shrugged, as they reached the bench they’d started at “I don’t know, but I didn’t want them running off to go looking for a partner. We have until the weekend to figure something out.” She checked the time on her D-Gauntlet and slung her bag back off her shoulders, pulling her laptop out to check her email.

“So what kind of Digimon are there in the Network?” Masato asked, “I want to partner with someone cool, like Nemaemon.”

“Aw, shucks, I’m not that cool.” Wemicmon blushed, Isamu rolled his eyes and ruffled his Digimon’s mohawk earring a squawk of protest.

“All kinds of Digimon,” Ju shrugged, “But remember I said you might get lucky, just because you meet someone cool doesn’t mean you’ll get to be partners. I’ll talk to a few of them tonight and see if anyone’s interes-” She cut off suddenly and her eyes narrowed at the sight of something on her screen, “Isamu, have you checked your email recently?” She asked.

“No, why?” Ju pointed her screen toward him, Aki and Masato exchanged confused looks.

Isamu read the email out loud.

Urgent, do not enter the Network. All Digimon and Tamers be advised that the Court of Demons is planning a strike against the Network this week. A new Firewall is being programmed to shield most damage, but as a precaution, if you are not an Admin, please do not put yourself at risk by coming to the Network.

Gray.

He glanced at Ju, with a startled blink “Gray, like, as in the legendary Tamer, Gray?”

She nodded, “This is the same email he contacted me from three years ago.” Ju went back to her inbox where several more emails with subject lines warning them to stay out of the Network were waiting.

“The Court of Demons,” Aki repeated, “You said something about those guys earlier…who are they?”

The bell summoning them back to class rang, cutting short their conversation. Ju stood up, closing her laptop and putting it back in her bag, “The bad guys.” She said, “No one’s going to the Network until we get an all clear. Being a Tamer isn’t a game, so you’d better think hard about if you really want to do it.” She added with a note of finality and packed up so they could go.

Aki and Masato turned to Isamu for an explanation, but this was the first he had heard of this Court, the Digimon looked frightened though.

“We should head back.” he said, moving Wemicmon back into the bush,Cannismon and Leptomon ducked into it too, where they would hide until school was out and their Tamers came to pick them up.

As they passed by the fountain in the middle of the courtyard, the trio continued to talk quietly about the Digimon and failed to notice a small shape swimming in the water. A small furry face poked out to stare after the group, at a particular boy.

“I found him!” A feminine voice said, and brown eyes sparkled happily, “My Tamer!”

Next Episode

#Digimon #Digimon fanfiction #Digimon fanseries #Digimon FDD #chapters

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ussgallifrey · 4 years

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America's Suitehearts

✦ Summary: Life on the run rarely lived up to the glamour that was portrayed.

✦ Pairing: Steve Rogers x Female Reader

✦ Warnings: Minor violence, basic medical procedures

✦ Word Count: 3.5k

The mission went south almost immediately after the doors to the abandoned warehouse were opened. Life on the run rarely afforded the luxuries of such insurance as having readily available back-up. And while one half of the team remained in the public eye - or under house arrest in two cases - you valiantly remained at his side. And that was the Achilles heel of the situation.

Louisiana summer rained down with a vengeance that a New York upbringing left you rather unprepared for. The open windows of the beater truck - with its broken air conditioning, of course - drove over the hazy black-top rivers of backcountry vastness. Kicking up dust and rocks as it sped through empty farmland. Natasha and Sam had dipped over to New Mexico for intel while you remained at his side.

And you certainly hadn't planned on anything happening in their absence - hoping to reclaim a moment of reprieve, if you will, between running and fighting and clawing to survive. But between the diner off the main road and the blatantly out-of-place men congregating in the corner booth, his mind had easily been made up.

Scarfing down the greasy breakfast behind a low baseball cap. Your legs propped up on his lap under the table. Swirling the straw through the ice water - droplets forming on the side of the glass and running down your finger as you glanced up at your companion behind hooded eyes. Sugar-sweet syrup coating the tongue that poked out to swipe your lips.

His demeanor gave nothing away, though he was clearly listening in on their conversation - super-hearing comes in handy more often than not. And with the group abruptly leaving, it only took a moment to throw some crumpled-up dollars down and head to the door.

Under the pretense of looking at travel brochures and carefully displayed pies under the fingerprint-smeared glass case, you were able to follow the car's path. With enough distance put in place, you hopped in the passenger seat and took off after them. The ride was silent outside of the steady thrum of the tires and occasional creak of the engine.

Words, conversations, long heartfelt declarations were rare and far in-between these days. There was no need, let alone time for them. If the split hadn't happened, maybe you would be on a date in the park. Hands looped around his waist as he drove through the streets of the city on his motorcycle. Lounging happily on the plush couch at the compound with the rest of the team.

But that wasn't your life anymore.

And he felt that guilt every day with it. Despite your reassurances those first few weeks, the wall had slowly slipped in place. Now, almost a year into this vagrant nomadic lifestyle, it was rare to see that golden-haired man you had first fallen for. Summer love and cherry-sweet as innocent touches and flirtations grew. Turned to magma, gunpowder, tantalizingly ice-cold bitter love.

His stoicism hides the grief well. The guilt that eats away at him each night, with a burn only you can soothe with feather-light fingers on his brow and lips. Occasionally his gaze will be drawn from the road to you and then you might see the spark in his eyes, but only for a flash of a moment. A hand might dare to squeeze your thigh, but not much else.

Darling, sweetheart, babydoll. Puppy dog love, teasing cautious going steady cupcake baby love. No more.

Before this, he would have demanded a larger team for the mission. But now, now he was reckless. Even where you were concerned, despite his best intentions. And with no shield to his name, it was even more disturbing to witness. The fearless charge of Icarus and Ares. Out for blood and flying too close to the sun, to a death, he seemed to welcome more often than naught.

The sure thing, across all lines of low-level criminals, is their repetitive nature. Barely ready guards at the entrance easily pushed aside. The next, startled shouting and untrained shooting. It doesn't take much to disarm them at this point, not with all the practice you've had lately. Even tiresome in some regards. How boring, only AR-15s? Surely, even these guys could manage something more interesting - something more challenging.

And of course, after wading through a group of guards, there's the split option. Left or right, up or down. Either way will lead to something of value - their boss or their goods. Sometimes illegal arms, sometimes drugs, and the worst of times people.

This is not one of those times, luckily. He takes the upper floor on a hunch of finding the man in charge. And you descend the rickety metal steps to the basement without so much as a spare glance each other's way. There'll be time for that later, in a motel off the beaten path, bandaging each other up, trading long kisses and reassuring caresses.

Under flickering caged lights, you find the cargo. Spilling over, barely contained or organized. Three pallets in total, probably worth a pretty penny to a crime lord higher up on the food chain.

An easy anonymous tip to local authorities will have it cleared up by the weekend as most cases went for you these days.

Barely subtle footsteps have you pivoting and ducking a badly thrown punch. The guard stumbles with the momentum of his swing, at least a hundred and fifty pounds of muscle on you. But you're quick on your feet in comparison, darting around him in such a way as to wear him down. Any punch you deliver will be worthless on his mass anyway.

He lunges forward, trying to sweep you up into his arms. You jump onto his forearm and wrap yourself around his back, arms going tight around his neck as you settle on his broad shoulders. The guard flails, trying to bring you down, but you just hold tight.

This leads to you being pounded into a wall. And somehow, he has enough air left to fumble for a broken off pipe, which he then tries to hit you with but to little avail.

Finally, he succumbs and slowly collapses forward onto the dirty concrete floor with a heavy thud. Standing with a stretch, you feel the bruises already forming and hope to god that that'll be the worst of it. Giving the unconscious man a kick in the head for good measure, you're ready to wrap this up and meet up with your partner when you hear it.

A distant little puff of air. Followed by creaking and groaning and then -

You run for the stairs as the illuminated hallway starts to cave in from the explosion. The walls crumble and break as the dust flies Your heart races with adrenaline as you slide towards the metal staircase, only for it to collapse in a heap of rusted iron. Who the hell has a self-destruct button anyway? It was almost comical. And maybe you'd laugh and scoff if the roof and upper floors weren't starting to fall down.

As sheets of metal and concrete cascade in an ungodly horror, bits of wires and metal and wood coming down on top of you, blinding your sight with clouds of debris. You scramble, coughing and hacking, trying to find your way as quickly as possible. If you can make it to the doorframe, a support beam. If you can just -

"Agh," you gasp, only to struggle to even cough.

You can't see anything and your chest aches, you can't breathe and you're struggling, you can't - oh, it hurts. It hurts so damn bad.

Asses, goddammit, remember your training.

Unable to see, feeling trapped under a heavy blanket of darkness, you reach out, only to immediately come in contact with something solid. You try to push, with your hands, with your chest, and even with your legs - but nothing happens besides a sharp shot of pain. Burning like molten metal as it sears through your arm. Traveling right through your veins, screaming ahead like a locomotive before colliding with your brain as fireworks and shrapnel explode behind your eyes.

You try to call out, but it feels like you have a mouthful of dirt. Spitting furiously, you finally manage to croak out, "St-eve."

Hoping, praying that he's okay, that he can hear you at all.

"Steve!" Your voice is hoarse, barely above a whisper.

Concrete crumbles and breaks off in the distance, something muffled and far away. A sense of being underwater, at the bottom of the ocean. Drowning, down down down. And then -

"Sweetheart?!"

Your senses flood with relief, head falling back to the ground as you attempt to scream back, "Steve!"

Sheetrock and slabs of concrete are pulled and thrown until a halo of sunlight breaks through the darkness. You shield your eyes from the onslaught as a sigh of relief catches your attention. Carefully squinting against the light, his face comes into view. Bloodied and bruised. Blue eyes shining with something desperate and wide with terror.

"Just a second, baby. Almost got you."

He grunts and heaves until he's down at your side. And from there, he pushes against the slab that has you pinned down. Groan turning to a feral scream as he shoves the broken-off piece of flooring from your aching body.

And then he's kneeling at your side, assessing the damage. Fingers tracing your face with absolute fear.

"Fuck, sweetheart," he crumbles with a drop of broad shoulders, head bowed in anger. But not at you - never at you.

"Hey, Cap," you manage with a weak smile. Your mouth stings with iron - thick and heavy as it coats your tongue.

He resigns himself with a nod, hands moving under your head and legs as he lifts you up - cradling you carefully against his chest.

You hack and wheeze as more debris flies, filling the air with clouds of dust. It stings your senses, blinds your vision even further.

Steve tucks your head in closer to his chest, "Come on, baby. Let's get you out of here."

The journey to the truck is a complete blur. But the wail of sirens in the distance spurs him on as he floors the gas. Your head jostles roughly against the window as the smoldering warehouse disappears in a plume of smoke in the mirror.

And then you notice the hand holding yours. Fingers entwined, resting on your leg. Gaze traveling up the dirty arm, past the open cuts, to the concerned face of your love. Eyes focused on the road, but every ounce of fear still gracing his features.

From there, things get even hazier. There's a voice in your ear. But it's distant and far too insistent. The dark seems welcoming and easier, tugging you down into the depths of unconsciousness. Into the void where even nightmares can't reach you.

"Hnnng."

You feel immediate agitation as you try to snuggle further into the pillow. Another tug on your arm has you groaning, but it's quickly followed by a sudden yelp as your eyes shoot open and you struggle to sit up.

"The fuck was - what are you doing?!"

Steve eyes you carefully before giving a gentle push on your shoulder, forcing you back down onto the bed.

"Stay still," he murmurs. Gathering the rag in his hand as he gently blots at the festering wound on your left arm. One you hadn't really had the chance to notice earlier.

You watch him, methodical in his movements. All of you were, unfortunately, rather used to home-nursing by now. Evac wasn't an option on your table anymore. The best you could do sometimes was a bottle of whiskey and a makeshift tourniquet until a real professional could be sought out. Not that you minded when it was you, of course. But being on the other end, watching the one you love being treated? It was a completely different battlefield.

"What happened?" Your voice comes out sluggish and rough.

Blue eyes briefly meet yours before dabbing the rag in Isopropyl alcohol and continuing on with the deep cut. Hands moving slowly, feather-light as you wince from the sting.

"Homemade bomb."

You grind your teeth before managing, "No shit?"

A sliver of a smirk appears. And then you spot the needle in his hand.

"Oh, come on. How bad is it - "

Sitting up to bring your arm into view - oh, yeah. It was that bad. Without another word, you lie back down.

He's efficient, you'll give him that. Suturing like a pro, tying it off in a small knot before dropping a kiss to the untouched skin right next to the stitches.

As he moves on to other, far smaller cuts and bruises, you're able to take in the room. Another motel, another day. Bright orange walls with grungy white popcorn ceilings. And you swear the picture by the bathroom was in a place you stayed at three weeks back as well.

"Where are we?"

He doesn't even look up from where he's examining your ankle, "Thirteen miles from the Texas border."

Giving a little nod, "You made good time."

Your foot is carefully lowered onto a stack of folded white towels, elevated enough where it isn't uncomfortable. And then he's moving up your body, hovering above you with hands positioned on either side of your head.

"Well," he starts. "I had precious cargo."

Fighting the urge to roll your eyes, "Still cheesy. I appreciate it in these trying times."

His eyes flicker with something reminiscent of easier times. "Thought you would."

Warm lips, chapped lips, scabbed over and still holding a hint of blood, meet together. Careful, veering on gentle. Desperation slowly slips in. Fear bubbling up from the mission rears its head as Steve takes the lead in deepening the kiss. Tongue darting out to pull the pain from you. Mingling and twirling with your own. Hands eager and ready to roam and claim. But as you go to reach up to his hair, a sharp inhale has you reeling.

The welcomed weight and warmth of his body is gone in an instant as he sits up, carefully holding your arm in the palm of his calloused hand.

He studies it for a moment, "Wasn't sure if it was - " a slight pull has you wincing with a wave of pain.

Sitting back, Steve rubs at the back of his head, " You, uh, wanna take a shower?"

Strong and demanding gives way to strangely innocent at the mention of you being unclothed. But you take it in stride. Beckoning him back with your good hand.

"Only if you help me, Captain."

In simpler days, it was fun. Something exciting and bold and downright erotic. Now, it's convenience and comfort. Slipping out of torn and bloodied clothes, easing pants down and toeing off boots. Watching each other undress down to the barest of forms. The shapes and grooves never change. The injuries do, spackling the skin in strange new patterns.

Steve, as always, looks worse for wear underneath his civvies. He'll heal by tomorrow, where you'll have a nice limp for a few more days. A sling for much longer.

He gets the water going. The old faucet groans and creaks as a dribble of water trickles out. The shower pressure isn't right, but it's hot and he's there helping you into the tiny white tub. Holding you steady by the waist as he takes the first burst of water.

You let your good hand wander up to ruffle his hair - so much longer than you had ever seen before. It grows dark under the pelt of the showerhead. Droplets cascade along the edges of his face, dripping down his beard, before landing on your nose.

He takes great pleasure in the feel of your hand on his scalp. Working a lather in with the complimentary soap, digging your fingers in to get the remaining dirt and debris from his golden mane.

His head dips back into the stream. Your fingers travel down, following the bulge of shoulder and bicep. The swell of forearm, the broad plain of chest. And then you're spun around and a wave of pleasure falls over you with the spray of water.

A bottle uncaps and then strong fingers are easing their way through your hair. Gently pulling and pushing and digging a lather in. Your head falls to his chest as he holds you against him. Soapy hands press in along your back, easing the aches of the mission from your body. Leaving a trail of kisses along your shoulders.

You linger as long as the water allows. And then Steve's helping you back out onto the cold white tile floor. Carefully drying your body down with the scratchy towels. He does a quick dry for himself before scooping you up and carrying you back into the main room. You feel lightheaded by the action.

Another version of yourself might have blushed. Another version of Steve would have found the entire thing downright scandalous to be walking around like that. Completely naked with his girl in his arms. My how the times had changed. As if this was the most daring thing you'd done together.

He pulls the sheets back on the bed before setting you down. The comforter, which had a few fresh bloodstains mixed in with the hideous floral green print, is quickly rolled down. With your back against the headboard, Steve props your right leg back up on a pillow. Fingers careful and light trace the smooth skin of your bare leg. Lips press down on your knee, calf, the top of your foot, trying to ease that pain in the way only a lover can.

Steve momentarily gets up in search of his duffle bag. A bit of rummaging produces the roll of bandages and medical tape. The entire experience of watching your partner wrap your ankle is something that just warms your very soul. It's so incredibly domestic and sweet. Domestic for you two, that is.

Your arm will have to wait. He'll, no doubt, be making a supply run after you fall asleep. Some quick meals, a sling, more condoms. Definitely more of those.

He finishes with a kiss to the fresh wrapping. Sliding down the bed, pulling the pillows with you to rest your head on, Steve moves in beside you - pulling the covers with him.

It's still early enough in the night for the setting sun to break through the white vertical blinds. You leave the TV off for the meantime. Mr. Serious will be keeping a more watchful eye as you recover and therefore will force himself to stay away from the news (in your presence, anyway).

The thrumming AC is welcome in the humid room. Between the lingering heat from the shower and the near-constant furnace temperature radiating from Steve. The sheets are crisp and cool, the twinges of pain fade as the comfort of having him right there, holding, caressing, bringing you down.

"'m sorry," he admits with a whisper against your neck, nose nuzzled in tight.

Your fingers glide slowly up and down the forearm draped across your stomach, "Hush. I'm not accepting apologies for things out of your control right now."

You can feel his eyes open, he's probably trying to stare you down, but you remain happily in the dark of your closed eyelids.

"Sweetheart," it's deep and throaty, a heavy husk of gruffness trying to break the spell.

There's a quick pinch to his arm and a following hiss of displeasure.

He's unrelenting in his unending self-guilt, so you force your eyes open and catch the worried sea of blue.

"I mean it, Steven. You're gonna give me a headache. So, can you just shut up and hold me?"

It's like an order. And he only takes them from one person now, so he obliges. Framing his body around you, but being mindful of your elevated foot and pained arm.

You can't stand to see him so stuck in his own neverending thoughts, the worry sits right on his brow for all to see. With your right hand, you drag a fingertip over his cheek. Along the curve of his lips, the rough hair of his beard. The damp mane of gold deserves the carding of your fingers. He relaxes into it, the tight stretch of lines ease on his face as you feel the thrum of his heart.

It's comforting as always. It sings, I'm here and I'm not leaving you. For now, it's something to focus on. Something to draw you down into the heavy drape of sleep. He'll be here when you wake, probably fully healed too. But he'll watch after you, care for you until it's time to move on. Another city, another mission.

But it's just the way your lives run now. And you wouldn't trade it for anything. So, with the warm musk of your golden hero love settling in, you allow yourself the luxury of falling asleep in his arms.

Want to be added? Send me an ask ❤

#steve rogers x female reader #steve rogers one shot #marvel fan fic #my fic

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ducktracy · 4 years

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134. shanghaied shipmates (1936)

release date: june 20th, 1936

series: looney tunes

director: jack king

starring: joe dougherty (porky), billy bletcher (captain, hippo)

perhaps inspired by MGM’s mutiny on the bounty in 1935, as well as coupled with jack king’s love of adventure cartoons, shanghaied shipmates (as the title suggests) details the harsh conditions porky and his shipmates endure thanks to a dictatorial captain.

on occasion, i’ve likened jack king to frank tashlin—both directors with a keen eye for cinematography. while tashlin is inarguably the better director, more confident and ambitious than king, king certainly thought in cinematographic terms, as the opening scene suggests. a mist overlay shrouds a seaside town as we hone in on a bar. our favorite pig is doing a dance front and center while a gang of rowdy drunkards cheer him on. a hippo plays tickles the ivory on dueling pianos, and a goat tugs ferociously on a rope connected to some heavy object offscreen—a giant mug of beer. all is well.

inside the bar, that is. the mist overlay compliments the foreboding atmosphere as we get a shot of a docked ship and a lone captain pacing around on deck. suddenly, a tiny little bespectacled dog (one of the supporting members of the i haven’t got a hat gang) hilariously ambles on deck, even climbing over the captain and hopping back down onto the floor, declaring “the crew’s deserted the blinkin’ ship!” the captain is far from pleased, snarling in his assistant’s (christened mr. stew) the only suitable comeback would be to shanghai the crew.

the two pace through the streets of town and break into the bar. there’s a rather tashlin-esque camera angle as the captain analyzes one cowardly drunk in particular. it comes off as random and slightly misplaced, but certainly an interesting angle that’s worthy of a kudos for experimentation. king experimented with his cinematography, but not much else. with a steely glare, the captain pummels his victim and sends him whirling back onto the ship. the process continues, and one by one victims whirl back into their place, the bar growing emptier by the second.

finally, all of the shipmates are back on deck... except one. porky attempts to hide, diving into the inside of a piano, but his tail sticking out of the doors tells on himself immediately. the captain drags him out, grinning condescendingly as porky insists “you can’t do this to me!” of course he can! the captain, relatively unbothered, shoos porky along, giving a bellowing laugh and smacking porky in the butt to get him to go.

highly amusing setup as porky now scrubs the deck of the ship with the most contemptuous expression, glaring absolute daggers at the captain who surveys his every movement. porky’s disdain gets to him, and in an act of rebellion he slips the soap from his grip and slides it all the way to where the captain is marching. and, of course, the captain slips, none too pleased. porky acknowledges what he’s done, naive mischief now replaced with visible anxiety as he braces for punishment. said punishment: a bar of soap shoved down his piggy gullet. once more, porky insists “you can’t do this to me!”, but a hiccup spawning a multitude of bubbles destroys any sort of authority or credibility.

porky goes back to scrubbing when one of his shipmates checks to see what all the fuss is about. a hiccup later and porky attempts to explain himself, hindered by not only a stutter but an entire bar of soap lodged in his throat, eventually gagging “agh-agh-aghh, soap!” thankfully, his buddy is a good sport. the shipmate pulls porky’s tail and slingshots it back, propelling the soap out of his mouth and back onto the deck... where it ends up perfectly in position in front of the lumbering captain, who falls victim to the bar of soap once more. a hippo sticks his head out from inside the ship just to guffaw at the captain—he gets his as the captain placed him in stocks, forcing a cat to lick his feet while the captain bellows in laughter.

after some more mismanagement of the shipmates, we now go to lunch as a dog blares the lunch fanfare through a tuba. a stampede of starving shipmates trample him in seconds, the dog weakly blaring out a few more notes after the fact. a gag very similar in nature to boom boom, another king entry.

certainly nothing can go wrong at lunch, right? an expectant porky observes as the captain stalls with his heaping bowl of fried chicken. porky is so deprived of food that he can hardly contain his unadulterated glee, slapping his face and bouncing up and down and running his hands together. at first i found the scene to be much more disconcerting than anything, but now that i rewatch it, it’s pretty funny in a very unconventional and off-putting manner. funnier than what was intended to be.

paul smith animates the shipmates receiving their hearty meals: nothing but a plain old bone, the captain stripping every single piece of chicken of its contents. the shipmates are not at all happy. a hippo folds his arms in rebellion, a dog resorts to scarfing down his own hat as a means of sustenance, another chopping his bone to pieces and rolling his eyes all around, and even porky tearfully pouring salt on his bone and pitifully licking it off. the scene is unfortunately hindered by the restrained simplicity of smith’s animation, and thusly doesn’t reach its potential in terms of humor. once more, wannabe rebel porky reaches out for a fully packed chicken leg, receiving a slap of the wrist and a bone down the throat in shock instead.

a week crawls on, and the shipmates are more stir crazy than ever. they bang their mugs against the dining hall table, all chanting “we want food! we want food!” in unison. finally fed up, porky crawls onto the table and signals for the rest of the gang to huddle in as he whispers a plan. just then, mr. smee mr. stew pokes his head into the dining hall and is surprisingly smart enough to put two and two together. the animation of him going to alert the captain, scrambling all around the deck and twirling around a pole, is very amusing and funny. “mutiny, captain! mutiny!”

the rowdy shipmates continue to demand for their food as the captain barges into the dining hall, armed with duel pistols. a ballsy porky marches up to the captain and asserts “we demand food!” but, of course, his diminutive size is nothing for the giant captain, who merely blows him over and pins him against the wall with a deep breath. with that, porky orders “c’mon, men! get ‘im!” and thus sparks mutiny on the bounty as all of the men tackle the captain, gunshots firing in defense.

porky himself sets his sights on mr. stew. certainly one of the funniest moments in a king cartoon as porky pins mr. stew down, mr. stew holding up a hand to pause for a second. he signals to his glasses, lifting them up as if to say “would you hit a guy with glasses?” even better, mild-mannered porky gingerly places them aside, and then wastes no time as he decks mr. stew in the face repeatedly. great timing and great unspoken dialogue.

now the fight rages on on the deck of the ship, some shipmates even flying overboard and jumping ship. porky leads his crusade to victory as they all charge towards the captain. in retaliation, the captain whips a menacing cannon right in front of them, threatening to knock them all over like vengeful bowling pins.

however, his plan backfires (no pun intended): he shoots, and the force of the shot is so tremendous that the captain is scooped onto the cannon as it rolls backwards and propels itself into the air. he lands in the comfort of a bunch of crates. crates labeled as explosives. one explosion later, and the shipmates are singing merrily, lazily drifting across the ocean current on a raft, porky in the lead and armed with a whip. pan over to the captain pulling the entire caravan of crusaders, receiving a few hearty whips from porky as we iris out.

i didn’t think much of this cartoon when i first saw it, but i certainly appreciate it more now. not phenomenal by any means, and still hides in the shadow of tex and friz. the gags don’t always hit, some scenes suffering from a lack of confidence and conviction. however, with that said, this was an ambitious cartoon and certainly adventurous. though it didn’t always work out in his favor, king worked ambitiously and experimented with camera angles and surreal ideas, but his execution was where his cartoons were bogged down. good ideas that struggled to be realized. i give him credit for attempting experimenting so much! i’ve certainly gained respect for him (though his cartoons unfortunately don’t really rival the others during this time period.) this was a high energy cartoon that had its moments, such as mr. stew’s run cycles, porky contemptuously scrubbing the ship deck, and the fight scene between porky and mr. stew. i think this is one of king’s more interesting cartoons and would fare well as a single watch, but that’s probably about it.

link!

#lt #shanghaied shipmates #reviews #long post #king

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asleepyskeleton · 6 years

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I don’t really know if anyone’s paying attention to this blog now. I know it’s been over half a year now since I’ve last posted, and over a year since my last fic ended.

I have not been in an Undertale mood for the past several months. I’m not sure when I will be, or if I’ll ever be. In other words, I’m not sure if I’ll ever get back to the proposed mid-quel to my story. I feel bad about this... but I hope you understand.

But as I stated back in August of last year, the first chapter is finished. I don’t know how good it is, and it’s not been looked over, but... it would indeed be a waste not to post it. Please do not get your hopes up that this will be continued, but I do hope this will give at least a little bit of satisfaction. You may want to skim chapter 15 of my fic before reading this so you can better understand why characters are reacting to things the way they are. This takes place immediately after that chapter.

Here you go.

He felt, at some point, that he must have forgotten how to breathe.

Not that it was terribly important to do so--skeleton monsters never had to breathe, and only tended to do it as a way of imitating other monsters or calming themselves--but it worried him. Why couldn’t he breathe? Come to think of it, why couldn’t he move?

Why couldn’t he see?

Blinking, once, twice, he tried to clear his vision, to will himself to see, but only vague shapes answered. It was so dark, but there may have been something around him--trees, perhaps? Had he fallen asleep at his sentry station?

...No, he wasn’t at his sentry station, but he was in the forest.

He remembered, now--Flowey had called him out here. Because someone had gotten in trouble, except… there hadn’t been anyone in trouble except for him, because Flowey had grabbed him, and--

A high-pitched cackle echoed around him, and his entire body tensed, but he couldn’t move, he couldn’t bring up his magic, he couldn’t breathe, but he could see something, something all around him, writhing on the ground, off to either side of him, around his chest, writhing and squirming--

Vines.

The warped laughter began to morph, the sound somehow taking physical form, taking shape in front of him as a small, wriggling flower. Flowey was faced away from him, but he was still laughing.

Let me go, he wanted to say, but his voice didn’t work--nothing but a squeak left his throat. He struggled with all his might, finally working one of his arms free, and tried to tug at the vines on his chest. Though they were soft and shifted slightly under his grip, they did not let up, no matter how much he clawed.

The laughter grew in volume and intensity as the flower began to turn, slowly, slowly, until it whipped itself around, suddenly inches from his face.

Flowey’s eyes were wide and glazed, mouth split open and fanged, blue-white foam dripping off of his lolling tongue as he gagged again, and again, and laughed, and laughed--

Something cold and wet--the tongue? the spittle from it?--pressed into his chin, and he yelled, struggling, swinging his free arm, the world exploding into light and color again.

The first thing Papyrus registered was the sound of a very loud, very confused YIP as he finally managed to push himself upright. The next thing he registered was something heavy sliding off of his chest and onto his lap.

While Papyrus wasn’t sure if he’d actually screamed in his sleep during the nightmare, he was definitely screaming now.

There was a lot of commotion at that moment, but he couldn’t tell exactly what it was over the sound of his own screams and the pain overwhelming his entire body. Once the pain had faded to slightly more tolerable levels, his yelling went with it, and it was then he realized that the commotion was a large dog and an even larger dog chasing a smaller dog in circles around his room and barking incessantly.

He stared at the animals for several long moments, trying to make sense of the situation. A week or so ago, he might have been yelling in fury at the sight of the animals inexplicably charging around his room, but right now his mind was preoccupied with managing the pain that still racked his frame, and his voice was already sore from yelling. Or maybe it had been sore before that; he couldn’t remember.

Evidently, Papyrus had been so dazed that he’d entirely missed the smallest dog’s escape from the room, which was strange, since he didn’t remember either the door or the window opening. The other two dogs, however, rumbled and huffed something to each other before turning to face him, tilting their heads simultaneously.

He could only stare at them, dumbfounded.

What was going on?

He looked from the larger dog--a big, short-haired, cream-colored beast--to the smaller one--a fluffy white sort--and while something was naggingly familiar about the two, he still couldn’t make sense of what they were doing in his room. For lack of a better idea, he reached his hand out to beckon one of them over.

The larger dog’s head shot forward, neck elongating until it met his hand.

And in a moment he had his back pressed against the wall as his feet scrambled to push him further back. It’s just Lesser Dog, it’s Lesser Dog and Greater Dog, you know that, they’re your co-workers, why are you acting like this? he thought, but that thought didn’t keep his soul from pounding, agony surging through his bones with every pulse. There was nothing scary about this situation, and yet he was terrified--he couldn’t stop trembling, he couldn’t shake the thought that something bad was going to happen, but it was just the dogs, Lesser Dog had just wanted to be petted, but something about a long object coming flying toward him like that--

Vines, it had been like the vines, whipping toward him to grab him, grab his wrists, grab his ankles, grab his neck, they were grabbing him, they were choking him, they were--

A loud whine followed by something licking the side of his face brought him out of it. Both Lesser Dog and Greater Dog were on the bed beside him, ears drooping and both dogs whimpering. Greater dog was pawing at his nose.

“...I-I’m sorry,” Papyrus stammered, his voice scratchy and weak. His chest heaved as he gulped down breaths, trying to calm his still-pounding, aching soul. “I-I don’t know why… wh-what’s…”

The dogs looked at him helplessly, and Papyrus stared back. While they could understand him, he only understood a handful of phrases in their language, and they could not communicate anything useful to him on their own.

Shutting his eyes, Papyrus tried to gather his thoughts, trying to remember what had happened the night before. He remembered the forest, and Flowey--and his soul began pounding in his ribcage again, sending waves of pain with it. He yelped, wrapping his arms around his chest, only to find that his wrists hurt, and his chest hurt, and everything hurt why did everything hurt--

Greater Dog gave a bark, followed by a sneeze, snapping him back to the present again. That was right--they’d come for him. Sans, and Undyne, and all of the dogs--they’d all come and gotten him, and… and he couldn’t remember what happened after that.

Opening his eyes again, he found himself staring down at his ribcage. There were scars all over his ribs, mainly on the inside, and most notably one that went completely around one of his lowermost ribs. Undyne had started to heal him--he remembered now. But the rest of him still hadn’t been taken care of--there were deep, darkened gouges around his wrists, and spine, and…

Papyrus’s head snapped back upward, and he quickly grabbed at his sheets and yanked them over his lower body, partially because he was naked, and partially because he couldn’t stand another glimpse of the ugly wounds in his bones. No wonder he hurt so much--the sight of the gouges in his bones made him feel sick, and his mind was in a whirl trying to block out any memories of why he had injuries there of all places.

Not to mention, both Greater Dog and Lesser Dog had seen that--they’d seen the wounds all over him, they’d seen him as Undyne had carried him through the forest like a useless sack of bones… they’d seen what a failure he was.

And now he was crying again.

Great.

Papyrus covered his face, trying to hide his flushed cheekbones and the tears that were dripping down his jaw. Couldn’t this at least happen when no-one else was around?

He felt his mattress give a bounce as one of the dogs hopped off the bed, and heard his claws scratching against the carpet as he trotted somewhere else in the room. In a moment the bed was jostled as the dog jumped onto it again, and Papyrus winced at the feeling. Now what was going on?

Scrubbing some of the tears from his face, Papyrus looked up to find Greater Dog staring at him eagerly, a bright red scarf dangling from his mouth.

Papyrus stared for a moment, sniffling, then forced a smile, reaching out to pet the dog. “G-good boy,” he said, and though Greater Dog ducked away from his hand with another loud sneeze, he wagged his tail with enthusiasm.

“All right, what’s going on here?” came a muffled voice from the hallway, and Papyrus yelped when the door swung open.

Undyne stepped into the room, blinking her one eye wearily, as though she’d woken up roughly two minutes ago. Her eyepatch was off, her webbed feet were bare, and she appeared to be wearing the same shirt and jeans she’d worn yesterday.

Immediately the dogs leapt off the bed to greet her, barking and wagging their tails enthusiastically. Undyne grumbled some affectionate nonsense, petting them absently, while Papyrus scrambled to pull his blanket up higher, hiding his bare ribcage.

“Get back in your armor, ya nudes,” Undyne said, shoving the dogs away. “Grillby’s gonna be here with food soon.”

Obediently they darted to the other side of the room and hopped into the suits of armor sitting there. Lesser Dog, the larger of the two, hopped into the smaller set, while Greater Dog hopped into the larger. Now appearing to match their names, the two guards barked and yipped excitedly as they marched out of the room, leaving Undyne and Papyrus alone.

“...So,” Undyne started, her voice taking a gentler tone.

“P-please… c-close… th-the door,” Papyrus muttered weakly, staring very intently off to the side and clinging to his bedsheets for dear life.

“Hm? Oh, oh, got it.” Shutting the door softly, she strode over to his bed and sat at the end of it, twisting around to look at him. “How you feeling, Papyrus?”

Papyrus swallowed. Like ten of your spears are digging into my bones. Like I’m full of something more disgusting than grease, inside and out. Like I’m the worst sentry that ever lived.

He tried to form the words, but wound up choking back a sob instead.

“Ugh, dumb question.” He heard scales brushing against scales as she rubbed her hand over her face. “Uh… we--”

“Wh-where’s Sans?” he asked, suddenly looking up at her, and turning away when she gave a surprised look in return. It had only just now occurred to him how strange it was that Undyne was checking up on him rather than his brother. “H-h-he is all right, isn’t--?”

“Oh, yeah, he’s fine,” Undyne said, waving her hand dismissively. “Worn out, but… we all are.”

When he looked up at her again, she looked embarrassed.

“Shoulda’ mentioned... You were asleep before we got here, but we all sorta… crashed at your place, ‘cept the gyftrot--she’s still out in the forest. Everyone’s beat.”

Well, that explained what the dogs were doing here, but it still didn’t explain why Undyne was the one to check up on him, not Sans. Papyrus shifted uncomfortably under his sheets.

“Grillby’s comin’ to bring us some food, since none of us are in any real shape to cook. And we called for the Snowdin doctor to come have a look at you.”

Wincing, Papyrus pulled up his covers even higher, partially obscuring his face. “Th-the G-Gr…eat…” Trying to form the words made his non-existent stomach twist; they felt like a dirty, dirty lie. “I-I do not need to see the d-doctor.”

“Uh, yeah. You do.” Undyne was staring at him firmly--he could feel her hard gaze even without looking at her. “The Royal Guard’s mostly trained in combat magic, not healing magic. You know that. If you had just a few scrapes, it’d be one thing, but none of us can handle…” She broke off, and he heard her hair sweep against her back as she shook her head. “You’re going to see the doctor.”

It was not a statement, but a command.

“...Y-yes, sir,” Papyrus whimpered, shutting his eyes.

“Now c’mon, let’s get downstairs so you we can get somethin’ to eat. I’m starved.” She rose from the bed.

Papyrus stayed.

Undyne stopped at the door. “You comin’?” she asked, giving him a bewildered look.

“...U-um…” he mumbled, pulling the bedsheet slightly higher in an effort to hide his reddened cheekbones.

Remembrance crossed Undyne’s face, and she blinked. “...Oh.” And immediately she burst into laughter, bending over and slapping her knee. “Fuhuhuhu! Yeah, Paps, let’s haul you out there in your birthday suit!”

“I-it’s not funny!” he cried, partially angry and partially hurt. It wasn’t like he intentionally slept this way. “U-Undyne…!”

Mercifully, her laughter died, and her amused look shifted to an ashamed one, her fins drooping. “Sorry, dude. We’ve all been through hell… some of us more than others”--she gestured toward him, giving a sympathetic expression--”and I’ve been tryin’ to get everyone’s spirits up.”

Well, that was something he could understand, at least. Normally he could tolerate (or quickly get over) being teased, but this… “...P-please… d-don’t do that at my expense.”

“Eh, it was more at mine, since I was the one who forgot Dogamy took his coat back after we put you in bed.” She gave a fangy grin, twisted a little in embarrassment. “Sorry about that.” Now she strode over to his closet, opening it up and looking through his clothes. “Let’s get you covered, huh?”

She picked out a black tee that read “RAD TO THE BONE” in white lettering and grabbed a pair of shorts at first, before quickly putting them back and grabbing a pair of comfy-looking sweatpants instead. At any other time, Papyrus would have been infuriated that someone would do such a menial task for him, as though he were incapable of doing it himself, but now he felt a saddened weight tug at his soul. He really couldn’t get out of bed to pick out his clothes… and part of him wasn’t sure he’d even be able to do something as simple as that again.

Undyne approached his bed, seeming to debate something for a minute before setting his clothes down and heading toward the door. “I’ll give you some privacy--lemme know if you need, uh, anything.” With that, she slipped out the door and shut it softly behind her.

Papyrus stared down at the neatly-folded clothes in anxiety.

He pulled on the tee shirt first, trying valiantly to hold back any whimpers or moans as the action strained the bruised and torn bones of his joints. But he managed it, even though his efforts left him sore. The pants were going to be worse, he knew, but there was no way he was going to neglect that part.

It was as awful a process as he’d anticipated. Every movement of his legs was like a thousand magic spears being driven through his ankles, femurs, and pelvis. An action that should have taken a few seconds was taking him several minutes as he had to keep pausing, waiting for the pain to fade enough for him to pull his pants up higher. Once they were finally around his pelvis, it still hurt, the elastic band digging into the sides of the injured bone, but there was nothing to be done.

Stars. He hadn’t even gotten out of bed yet, and he already wanted to lie back down and never get up.

...He hadn’t even gotten out of bed.

And he’d have to get up, get up on his injured legs, and walk down the stairs, and just thinking about it made his joints scream in protest, and half the Royal Guard was there and they would see what a hard time he was having performing the simplest tasks in the world--

Papyrus flopped back down onto his bed, buried his face into his pillow, and stayed there.

Knock, knock, knock.

“Papyrus?”

He turned his head. “G… go ahead, Undyne,” he croaked, hoping she could hear him through the door. “I’ll stay here.”

“LIKE HECK YOU WILL!” Undyne roared, barging into the room, and Papyrus yelped, bolting upright, even as his every bone screamed in protest. Immediately Undyne looked embarrassed and ducked back behind the door, but, seeming to register seconds later that he was already dressed, stepped back in. “You’re not gonna stay cooped up here in your room all day!”

To his surprise, Papyrus felt anger bubbling up within his ribcage, his soul burning painfully. “ Y-you didn’t even knock!” he cried. “D-don’t you know a privacy?”

Undyne took a step back, facial fins drooping. “Uh--”

“G-get out!”

When she didn’t immediately respond, his magic reacted of its own accord. At first he tried to form an attack, but the effort left both a gnawing sensation in his magic reserves and a spike of pain through his soul. Immediately he held out his hand, and on the opposite side of the room one of the dormant bones sprang to life, flying out of the box and toward Undyne. She barely managed to dodge, and it clattered against the bed before dissipating.

She stared at him in shock, and he met her gaze with a glare.

For a moment it looked like she was going to say something back, but her face fell. She turned, exiting the room, and shut the door behind her.

Papyrus glared at the door for several moments before it hit him what he’d done.

Panic seized him, and he fell back onto his bed, grasping at the scarf he wasn’t wearing and clawing at his ribcage through his shirt as he realized he’d just attacked his friend, he’d tried to attack Undyne, he’d never done that outside of training, he’d never lost his temper at her, why did he do that? Why would he do that? What was wrong with him?

Part of him wanted to call out to Undyne again, but he felt like he was choking, and he didn’t know what he could say. She could fire him for insubordination. She probably would. He would never get into the guard--but then he was never going to anyway, not with what happened last night, not with how he’d nearly been killed, what was wrong with him what was wrong with him--

“Papyrus, please answer me.”

The voice was hoarse, especially as it was forced to be louder than normal. It wasn’t overly-loud, but the volume in combination with the owner of the voice was enough to break through Papyrus’s panic. He tried to answer, but he was still choking.

Please come in, Sans, please, help me, don’t leave me like this.

“I’m gonna open the door, okay?” And he did so, the door creaking open. Sans kept his head down as he entered the room and shuffled toward Papyrus’s bedside. He was wearing the same turtleneck and shorts he’d worn yesterday, and his eyes were unlit.

While he avoided looking into Papyrus’s face, he did seem to be looking in the direction of his chest and hands. Wordlessly he reached out and held one of them, gently pulling it away from his ribcage. Papyrus clutched his brother’s hand as Sans guided him out of his panic, showing him to breathe slowly and rhythmically and counting with him.

“No one’s mad at you, bro,” Sans said after a while, still not meeting his gaze. “Undyne wanted me to tell you she’s sorry.”

Even after calming down, Papyrus still felt exhausted, and shaky, and guilty over what he’d done. “B-but I… I-I threw a bone at her…”

“Yeah? Well…” Finally Sans looked up, one of his eyes lighting as he looked askance at his brother. “She gave you a pretty good target. She was being a big butthead.”

Papyrus burst into laughter, but quickly tried to stop--the action hurt his ribs. But then he remembered why he was hurt again, and… oh.

Sans was looking away again, refusing to meet his gaze. “I know you don’t want to do it, but you need to let the doctor patch you up, and then maybe we can… uh, see where to take it from here.”

Take it from here? “B-but… isn’t he just going to heal me?” He looked at his brother in confusion, and wished Sans would look him in the eye. Why couldn’t Sans look at him?

“About that… um. You’ve… uh, your soul hurts, right?”

“Y-yes…?” Couldn’t that just be healed like the rest of him?

“That’s… going to be a bit more difficult than the rest.”

“Oh…!” Papyrus shut his eyes, wishing everything would stop for a while. He was home now--why couldn’t everything just be okay now? Why wasn’t he okay?

...Was Sans okay?

Opening his eyes and pushing himself up on one arm, Papyrus looked at Sans in alarm. “S-Sans, were you hurt? D-did…?”

For a moment, it looked as though a heavy weight had been placed onto Sans’s back, as he shifted his stance. It took him a second to answer. “Let’s… not talk about what happened, there, bro,” he said, voice taking on a quieter tone.

Papyrus looked away ashamedly; of course that had been a bad question to ask. “S-sorry.”

“Not your fault,” Sans said, giving his hand a squeeze. “Not your fault, bro.”

They stayed there in silence for a moment before an explosion of barks erupted from the ground floor, startling them both. Sans was the first to relax. “Guess Grillby’s here with the food. Want me to grab you something?”

Part of Papyrus ached in hunger, but at the same time, he felt so sick he wasn’t sure he could muster up the will to eat. “N… no.”

“All right. I’m gonna grab some food though, then I’ll be back.” He forced a laugh. “I’m so hungry, I’m nothin’ but skin n’ bones, here.”

Papyrus didn’t laugh this time--he could tell a forced joke from a sincere one. Sans was not doing well--that was plain to see--and he worried about his brother. As he watched Sans step out of the room, he couldn’t help but wonder what had taken place between the time Sans and the gyftrot had left, and when Papyrus and Undyne found them again. Had… had he been hurt by…?

A deep shudder overcame him, and he frantically tried to push the thoughts back out of his mind. No, no, no… He wasn’t going to think about that, he wasn’t going to think about any of it, he wasn’t going to think about… about Flowey… No… no…

But he could remember being out in the snow, out in the forest by himself, just him and Flowey, because Flowey had tricked him and he’d been so stupid, how could be so stupid to fall for that, and Flowey had grabbed him and…

Knock, knock.

He snapped upright, groaning as the action hurt his back, and looked at the door wearily. “Wh… who’s there…?”

“Eggs.”

Annoyance crept in, chasing out some of the terror he had felt. Sans, why? “Eggs… who?”

“Eggsellent question.” With that, Sans opened the door, carrying a paper plate with a burger on it, and on top of that, another paper plate with an omelette and a plastic fork. “I know you’re not hungry, but this’s light n’ fluffy and it’ll be easy on your stomach… or, y’know, it would be if you had a stomach.” He was looking at the food as he spoke, not at Papyrus.

Papyrus eyed the plate warily, but took it anyway, staring down at it. It didn’t… look greasy, but he still didn’t feel like eating.

His empty magic reserves groaned.

No, he didn’t feel like eating.

Sans, meanwhile, had dragged the desk chair over to sit on, and was chomping down on his burger, focusing completely on eating. He wasn’t even looking to see if Papyrus had started on his food.

Papyrus stared down at his breakfast (lunch? He wasn’t sure what time it was), nudging it with his fork. Eating didn’t seem to matter as much as…

“Sans?”

“Hmph? S’uh matt’r?” he mumbled between bites. Taking a quick glance at Papyrus’s plate, he swallowed. “Oh, did you want ketchup with that? No prob, bro, I’ll get you some.” And immediately he stood up, carrying his food with him as he shuffled toward the door.

“S-Sans?”

He was reaching for the doorknob. “It’s all right, bro, I’ll be back in a--”

“SANS!”

The soggy plate and half-eaten burger dropped separately to the floor. Sans’s shoulders were hitched, his eye sockets blank, and a full-body shudder racked his frame, making his bones clatter.

No, no, not again--! He didn’t know what he’d done, but he’d upset Sans, somehow, worse than he already had... “I… I’m sorry.”

“...No.”

Pain shot through his chest as his soul jumped into his throat, choking him. Sans wasn’t--?!

“Y-you’re not the one that should be apologizing.”

Papyrus could breathe again, but it didn’t stop the pain in his chest, especially when Sans finally, finally turned to look at him.

Or he thought he did, anyway--it was hard to tell with his eyesockets still very, very blank.

“I… I should have been there for you, Papyrus,” he said quietly. “Nothing… n-nothing would have happened to you if I hadn’t been sittin’ around, feeling sorry for myself.”

Papyrus shook his head. “No. I sh-shouldn’t have been so stupid in the first place--”

“You’re not stupid, Paps.” And Sans’s eye lights were back, burning into his own eyesockets, if only for a moment. But they drifted down the the bed, staring at something that was sitting at the foot. Papyrus wondered what it was until he caught sight of the white paper.

His sketchpad? He hadn’t even noticed it there; it had nearly gotten lost in the mess that was his sheets. Looking over the page--the current one was blank--his brow furrowed. “I don’t understand.”

“You drew that…” Sans gestured helplessly, “thing. If you hadn’t done that, none of us would have known what to look for. We’d’ve never found you.”

Part of him recoiled at Flowey’s being referred to as a “thing,” but he tried to focus on the rest of Sans’s words. They’d found him because of the drawing that he’d made? That didn’t sound right. “Drawing doesn’t help people,” he mumbled.

“But it saved your life,” San retorted. “...You saved your life.”

As Papyrus tried to process this, a yell from downstairs tore through his thoughts.

“HEY! THE DOC’S HERE!”

Oh. Right.

Sans heaved a sigh, picking up the food he’d dropped, while Papyrus set his plate (which had already gone cold) on his table. He could hear the stairs creaking as the doctor made his way up, and gave Sans an uneasy look.

“Want me to stay?” Sans asked, shuffling his slippers against the carpet.

It was hard to say--he hated the idea of being alone in the room with the doctor, but he didn’t want Sans to see… what had happened to him. Not again, anyway. Perhaps a compromise was in order. “C-could you stay outside the door?”

Sans seemed relieved at the suggestion. “Yeah, I can do that.”

And when Sans stepped out of the room, the doctor stepped in. Or rather, squeezed in--he was a large, bipedal polar bear with elongated fangs jutting out from his upper jaw. Papyrus remembered seeing Doctor Boreas many years ago, but either the bear had filed down his fangs since then, or a much younger Papyrus had greatly exaggerated them in his mind back then. Either way, they still made him look… fairly cool, Papyrus had to admit.

Not that it made him any happier to see a doctor.

“G-good… morning, Doctor Boreas?” Papyrus stammered, forcing himself to sit at the edge of his bed. Stars it hurt his pelvis, but… that’s what the doctor was here to fix, wasn’t it?

“Afternoon,” the doctor corrected, looking the skeleton over. His features made it hard to tell if his expression was neutral, or if he was genuinely angry. “Captain Undyne tells me you ran into some trouble.”

Papyrus flinched. “I-I…”

“As I understand, the threat’s been neutralized.” Boreas stepped closer to his bed, kneeling so he was level with Papyrus. “But you’re still in pretty rough shape, huh?”

Of course he was in rough shape--that’s why the doctor was here in the first place. He nodded, hanging his head and shutting his eyes and wishing the doctor would just get it over with.

“You are aware of how healing magic works, correct?”

Papyrus nodded, wondering what that had to do with anything--then froze, realizing belatedly what the doctor meant. His non-existent stomach dropped.

“I’m sorry, but you will have to disrobe. I’ll give you a moment.” With that, Papyrus heard the doctor step out of the room, leaving him by himself.

He hated everything about this.

Several minutes and several attempts at fighting the urge to break down into tears later, Papyrus had finally gotten his shirt and pants off again. He kept a corner of his sheets draped over his pelvis--doctor or no doctor, he wanted to have some dignity--and crossed his arms protectively in front of his ribcage. “I-I’m ready, Doctor Boreas,” he rasped out, hoping he wouldn’t have to yell to get the doctor’s attention.

The bear stepped back into the room, humming in approval and approaching Papyrus again. Papyrus could not meet his gaze as the doctor looked over him.

“Let me see your arm,” Boreas commanded, and Papyrus held it out uneasily. The doctor held it gingerly in his paw, hovering the claws from his left paw over it. “Let me know if you want me to stop, all right?”

Papyrus shut his eyes again. “P-please just get it over with,” he whispered.

In a few moments, he felt the tingling of healing magic working its way through the torn bones in his wrist, where they had--where… something had been grabbing hold of them and tearing into them. He shuddered, pulling his thoughts away from that and instead thinking about how different this felt from when Undyne tried to heal him. Undyne’s healing magic had felt fierce, but indirect, scattering over places where it wasn’t needed and only healing the surface of some of the bruises and gashes. Boreas’s healing magic, however, worked itself deep into the wounds, healing them from the deepest point up to the surface.

But after a while, he noticed that the pain in his wrist was gone, yet the healing magic was still working its way over the healed bone. Papyrus opened his eyes to find Boreas staring at his wrist in concentration, still working healing magic into it. “I-it doesn’t hurt,” Papyrus said, and the bear kept up the magic for a moment before finally pulling away.

With the green magic gone, Papyrus could see his wrist clearly, and his brow furrowed to find that it was covered in faint scars.

To his dismay, Boreas seemed just as confused. “Something’s not right,” he said, holding up Papyrus’s wrist and frowning. “Captain Undyne had mentioned something, but I wasn’t certain…”

Wait, hadn’t Sans mentioned this? “D-does… does this have to do with my soul?”

“It may,” the doctor replied. “If that’s the case, I’ll have to take you to someone else. But for now, let’s take care of the rest of you.”

Papyrus complied, holding out his other arm for the doctor to heal. But much of the relief he felt at the deep wounds finally being healed was dampened at the aspect of their leaving scars behind. True, his gloves would cover most of what was on his wrists, but what about his spine? His legs? Why would healing magic be unable to take care of scars in the first place? He’d heard of monsters losing things like teeth or eyes due to getting to a healer too late--that had happened to Undyne during a training accident, he’d heard--but scars on monsters were rare.

Why was he scarring?

Boreas moved on to heal his head, jaw, and neck, healing the spots that Undyne had failed to reach with her inexperienced magic. Next, however, was the ribcage, which Papyrus bore with gritted teeth; healing magic felt nothing like… that, but it was still unnerving, and he had to fight to keep the mental image of vines crawling through his ribcage out of his head.

Sensing his patient’s discomfort, Boreas pulled his paw away. “Would you like me to stop for a moment?”

“N-n-no, no, please get it over with,” Papyrus hissed, wishing he could stop shaking.

So Boreas moved on, moving his paw around the front and back of Papyrus’s ribcage as he continued to heal it. Papyrus was grateful that he didn’t have to reach inside his ribcage, or he might not’ve been able to bear it.

Next, Boreas helped Papyrus move his feet back up onto the bed so he could heal those. His ankles were torn up just as badly as his wrists had been, and it was a relief to see them healed. But his legs were another story--while the fibula and tibia had a few bad scrapes, his femurs were a nightmare, and only got worse the closer they got to his pelvis. He couldn’t stop shaking as the doctor’s healing magic continued to move up his legs.

The doctor’s paw pulled away. “Papyrus, are you all right?”

“P-p-perfectly fine,” he stammered, staring blankly at the wall off to his side.

“Would you like me to stop for now?”

He shook his head; he wouldn’t be able to stand it if he had to wait.

“All right. I’m going to uncover the rest of you.”

Papyrus nodded, and covered his eyes when he felt his pelvis being uncovered. It felt like a long moment--what was the doctor thinking?--before he heard a sigh, and felt the healing magic seeping into the abused bone. He kept one hand over his eyesockets, and gripped the bed beneath him with his other, grinding his teeth as he waited for it to be over. It didn’t hurt, of course--that was the point of healing magic--but the feeling of anything near there made him feel sick. It was that strange mix of feelings--the feeling his body gave him that nothing around there felt wrong, but every other part of him vehemently disagreeing. He didn’t understand...

But after what seemed like ages, it was over with, and Doctor Boreas stepped back, covering Papyrus up again. “How are you feeling now?” he asked, and Papyrus uncovered his face.

There was no pain in his bones. He could move his limbs, tilt his head, open and close his jaw, and sit upright with no pain. But… something wasn’t right.

Sitting at the edge of his bed again (and feeling relieved that it didn’t hurt to do so), Papyrus looked up at the doctor uneasily. “I… my bones don’t hurt, but it feels like…” He grasped his ribs, trying to think of how to phrase it. “It… it still hurts, something… else. Like my soul--like my magic itself hurts.” Stars, it sounded stupid, yet the doctor seemed to understand.

“It is something to do with your soul, then,” Boreas said, looking Papyrus in the eye. “Soul pain is a serious issue… But luckily a few of my colleagues in the Underground have studied it. I’ll have to have a word with Captain Undyne first, but I believe I can transfer you to someone who can help you.”

Papyrus looked over his scarred wrists, ribs, and ankles, then back up at the doctor. “Y-yes. That would be good.”

Unfortunately that did not signify the end of the visit. Boreas had to retrieve a few items from a briefcase he’d brought in--none of which Papyrus knew the names of. The first, while annoying, was not overly-intrusive--it was an instrument the doctor used to peer into his eyesockets and nasal cavity and mouth, checking to make sure he hadn’t sustained any damage within his skull that would need special care. But either there was no damage in the first place, or Boreas’s magic had already taken care of it, so everything was fine there.

The next instrument, Papyrus was significantly less thrilled about. It was a stethoscope, he learned later, and Boreas pressed it gently but firmly into different parts of his chest and spine. The metal of the instrument was cold and touching bones that he very much did not want to be touched right now, but this had to be done. He tried to keep as still as he could, willing himself not to breathe or rattle his bones, as he was wont to do. It didn’t help that the doctor’s expressions were not reassuring--his brow furrowed, and his ears tilted back.

Papyrus had never been the best at reading expressions, but he knew that couldn’t be good.

Finally he put the instrument away, humming in thought. “Your magic reserves are nearly empty,” he remarked. “You will need to eat more if you want to recover.”

“I’m… I’m not hungry,” Papyrus muttered, shivering. Lies always tasted bitter.

“Please try to eat regardless. Your magic capacity will dwindle if you don’t eat enough.”

A terrible thought rose within him, and he swallowed it back down as best as he could. “Y-yes, sir.”

The doctor still wasn’t leaving. Papyrus dug his toes into the rug beneath him.

“...A terrible thing has happened to you, Papyrus,” Boreas said. His shoulders slumped as he spoke, making him look less intimidating than before. “A thing that no monster deserves to go through. But please remember… terrible things are not the end.”

He let that set in for a moment.

“I’m going to refer you to someone else, to take care of your soul pain. But if you find anything else acting up, or if you wish to discuss something, please call me.”

Papyrus wondered if he was expected to say anything in response, but the doctor only grabbed his briefcase and left, wishing him goodbye and a good recovery, and leaving him to think on what he’d said.

Terrible things were not the end, no… but it sure felt like they were.

He’d gotten his clothes on again--a much, much easier task now that his bones weren’t constantly screaming in pain--and finally managed to get out of bed. That had seemed like a feat worthy of celebration in and of itself, until he realized he was celebrating something he used to be able to do every single day without a problem.

He felt like he was becoming more and more like Sans every day.

Shuddering, Papyrus decisively marched to his door, finding the action a little more difficult than he anticipated, as he felt lightheaded and dizzy, and his magic reserves still groaned in protest. Opening the door, he found the downstairs to be significantly noisier than he’d expected.

Greater Dog, Lesser Dog, Dogamy, Dogaressa, Sans, and Undyne were all chatting, the TV was blaring, and scraps of food, paper plates, and plastic utensils were strewn around the table and floor. It was a mess, but… it was a comforting one.

Everyone sounded normal.

As Papyrus started to descend the stairs, he nearly tumbled when Undyne gave a shout:

“PAPYRUS!” she cried, bolting over to the bottom of the stairs. “You’re out of bed!”

His soul was pounding, and with it, pain pulsed through his bones. Calm down, it’s just Undyne, calm down…

Sensing her friend’s distress, Undyne cleared her throat. “Sorry, dude, didn’t mean to startle you. But… the doctor told me he was gonna have to refer you to someone else!”

She sounded weirdly happy about that. Papyrus stared at her, and blinked.

“You get to see Al--uh, Doctor Alphys!”

“...Doctor Alphys?” he repeated, now intrigued. “I-I know an ALPHYS on the Undernet, and the Alphys you--”

“Yep!” she cut him off a bit too quickly. “Same person. She’s great!”

Papyrus resumed easing himself down the stairs, fighting to keep himself steady while Undyne (and everyone else) was watching. “So she can help me?”

“You bet! I mean, uh, I don’t think the doc’s talked to her just yet, but I’m sure it’ll be fine. If anyone can help you, she can!”

“You… you really think so?” He looked up at Undyne, who had approached him with a fin-to-fin grin.

“Uh, yeah? She’s the Royal Scientist, dude. She’ll know exactly what to do!”

The idea of having to go to yet another doctor for more help was not appealing, but Undyne looked so excited and hopeful, it was… difficult not to feel the same. Plus, Alphys was someone he knew, sort of, so it wasn’t like this was a total stranger, right?

In spite of how tired, lightheaded, sick, and sore he felt, he looked at Undyne’s fangy grin, the hopeful looks of the dogs around him, and finally at Sans--Sans, who was hanging back by the table, ketchup smeared across his tired-but-true smile… and eye-lights focused on him.

Papyrus was not okay right now.

But… maybe he would be.

15 notes · View notes

insomniac-arrest · 6 years

Text

The Red Polka-dot Umbrella

genre: sci-fi, wlw, original

words: 3k

Classifieds

You were the women with the red polka-dot umbrella hurrying down the Gran Demeter subway station with a coffee spill down your blouse. I was the girl with the black shrink-wrap hat on next to the guy playing Toxic on his harmonica.

You had on yellow heels and maroon pants, your wallet fell out of your pocket as you shouted at some Tom Cruise looking guy to slow down. You didn’t look back.

It’s a black wallet with a belt buckle around the middle and four pockets on the inside, no ID but you’re missing an expired costco card and a good movie ticket. More importantly, your ticker was tucked away behind around like all 300 of your receipts.

Honestly, I’ll admit I considered just picking it up and pocketing your twenty-five bucks (heads-up: I already used the ten to buy a new vape. My bad).

But this is why I’m writing you: dear red-polka dot umbrella woman, I saw your ticker. Your numbers are in the single digits

Please contact me immediately, here’s my website and my number: [redacted]

CALL ME

summary: a young woman tries to return a wallet in a faceless city of a million people as time runs out

Here’s what Sheena knew: Gran Demeter station was a terribly busking site, busking was still stupid no matter what her roommate Tomcat said, and some lady she didn’t know was about to die.

Well, ‘didn’t know,’ was a relative term. Sheena knew that the lady liked tacky key charms (5 receipts), bad coffee (17 receipts from Mike’s Hardbrew), and had a thing for brightly colored shoes and extra large ridiculous scarves (too many receipts to count).

She knew she had a well-worn wallet with four pockets, all of her credit cards were disabled, and that she kept her ticker in her wallet after the bracelet part looked like it snapped. Sheena looked at the bright red ‘six’ on the dials like it was about to personally insult her family.

“Goddammit,” Sheena bit as she looked both ways across the platform. She could feel the rails rumbling and the stars were peaking out between the glass panels.

She shakes her head and moves from one bench to the next restlessly, she checks her watch for the fifth time and hopes the tram security were still paid below nebula minimum wage. They wouldn’t bother her then no matter how long she loitered between trams 5 and 6/

Her watches speakers buss to life, ‘Miss Coilwrecker,’ she jumps when Kip addresses her by the name she’d asked him to a couple drunken nights ago.

“Uh,” she shakes her watch, “yeah, Kip?” She blinks, the universal assistant device blinks at her.

“You have,” buzz, “36 new messages,” buzz, “tram 340 coming in. Do you need a ticket?” “No Kip.” She says heavily with a sigh, running her thumb over the smooth leather in her pocket, “any of those messages end in someone yelling ‘punkt?’

“Around five ma’am.”

She blows air out of her nose, “Analyze the rest for sincerity levels.”

“Of course Ma’am,” the little device buzzes off, Sheena doesn’t think she’s communicated with it this much since month she lived here. She usually didn’t have any use for it except to order pizza and tell it to put certain songs on 12x repeat.

Sheena stood on her tiptoes as she got on top of the bench, the vibrations of the next tram shakes her through her toes. She grits her teeth, “come on.”

She rubs her fingers over the leather of the wallet again as the station braces for the repressurization of the tram, the smell of ozone already oozes out onto the platform. Sheena’s eyes are rake over the various people stuffed inside the first car.

Red umbrella, polka dots, bright scarves, she claws for anything she could possibly recognize from this lady. There was only today left.

Her pockets are weighed down and Sheena’s eyes bulge out as she spies a mountain of dark hair and someone wearing a bright yellow kerchief.

“Now we’re talkin,” she jumps down to walk toward the color just as the doors about to open.

She feels the woosh of the tram doors as they slide open and a rabble of commuters come pushing their way out of the interplanet transport tram.

“Oi!” Sheena pushes a Glibbon out of the way as he rubs part of his wet shoulder fins on her new jacket, she shakes off the sticky droplets before pushing her way forward toward the yellow.

She staggers forward and starts waving, “hey!” Sheena uses her outdoor voices as she elbows her way forward, “you in the yellow neck thing.” The woman was hurrying on rainbow high heels toward the exits blithely and Sheena groans as she has to start to jog forward.

“I said stop,” she reaches forward, “look you might be dying lady.” The woman in the yellow pivots on her heel, she turns on her roughly, “excuse me?” Sheena rolls her eyes, “hey you missing a wallet?” Yellow Scarf just blinks at her, Sheena snaps her fingers, “I said, you missing a wallet? Or just or manners...” She bites at her.

The woman bares her teeth, “I’m not missing anything, I have places to be. What are you going on about?” Sheena shakes her head, “okay,” she lets go of her elbow, “but if you see a woman in all this lot with a red umbrella,” she takes a deep breath, “her ticker is missing. It’s almost atta a zero.” The women’s eyebrows shoot up, “Well.” She clears her throat, her tone going down a few octaves, “I’ll uh, I’ll keep on the lookout.” Sheena gives her a little salute and watches her leave with her shoulder’s slumping, “yeah, thanks.” She says bluntly as she watches the yellow disappear and her heart sink. “Fuck.” That was mostly for her own benefit.

She starts scanning the crowd again, “Kip,” she speaks into her watch, “update.”

The little speaker on her wrist churns out a stream of static before responding crisply: “11 remaining messages, most reporting traces of confusion or tomfoolery.’

“Erg,” she watches a couple more bland woman pass, no red umbrella. No extra large scarves.

“However,” Kip pauses in some sort of misguided suspense algorithm coded in. “Current DNA swabs of public terrain interacted with is active.” “Yes?” Sheena eyes her metal screen, “this isn’t the damn Odyssey, get to it.”

Kip beeped, “77% DNA match of the wallet with a public database at 9:51am. Placed next to public handrails of Lilly Czern park. Midtown Curie burrough.”

Sheena nods several times in a row to a degree she feared might make her dizzy, “why the hell didn’t you say right away? Fucking ring me.” She starts to run, “we don’t have much time.”

“You told me on December 9th 3041 to install ‘chill protocol’ and I have in accordance been installing eve-” “Yeah yeah,” she starts to run.

The warm soggy air of Demeter hits her right away as she runs out onto the surface of the small planet, the familiar smell of poppy pretzel bites and corner booth food floods her senses. Sheena muscles her way through the early morning tram crowd and gets fed directions toward the high rises of the business district.

“Shitty firm ladies,” she shakes her head and can’t believe she’s trekking all the way down to the financial district to give someone back their expired Costco card. Sheena sucks it up and misses a ditch puddle as she fast-walks toward Curie Borough.

The sky above flashes lighter blue as the artificial ozone barrier tints for ‘mid-day’ ambiance, Sheena resists the regular urge to throw something at the sensors. A small dog yaps at her as she passes the first cupid trees and Sheena wrinkles her nose at it.

She stuffs her hand into her pocket and rubs the leather again, she didn’t have the heart to open the wallet yet and see if the ticker had gone down yet again.

“Miss Coilwrecker,” her wrist beeps and Sheena almost swallows her own tongue in surprise.

“What is it Kip?” She says gruffly as she passes the midsection of the long park and approaches the forty-story skyscrapers of downtown.

“Your friend Tomcat-”

“No.” “He would like to know-” “Absolutely not.” “He requires your presence at his ‘gig’ tonight. And,” there was a short stall, “questions your current choices in some colorful words.”

“Such as?” “Ahem,” Kip cleared some robotic throat it didn’t have, “stalking is frowned upon in all 50 planet districts. Let the moneyed clucks get what’s coming to them. Just because you’re going through a dry spell-” “Okay, I get it.” She cuts the universal assistant off. “He also reminds you to not get thrown in jail for having ‘one angry ass mug’ and threatening someone. Followed by more colorful words.” “I get it. Send him some colorful words back, I told him this had to get done, no stupid gig tonight or not.” She growls and glares down a security droid as it passes her.

“Which colors?” Kip asks briskly, almost off-put if I robot she programmed to have a British accent could be ‘off-put.’

“Fuck,” she says carefully, “off. Those ones.”

There is a slight pause, “Of course.” Kip buzzes back into silence and Sheena eyes the passing pedestrians on the sidewalk. Red umbrella. Sheena tries to scramble up on top of a bench to get a better viewpoint, she sees a sea of grey suits in all directions and hears the clatter of busy feat.

“Oh, left ma’am. DNA match with public crosswalk Zelda Street.” Kip pitches through in real time from her police record patch she installed.

“On it!” Sheena almost topples off the bench as she scrambles toward the crosswalk. Her pulse picks up as her eyes dart back and forth across a group of Nel in rapid chirping conversation. “Come on,” she turns in circles as she sees two different crosswalks, “come on.”

Sheena feels a peak of hopelessness as the city melds into a blur and she sees too many streets and not enough twenty-something woman. Sheena pauses when she sees red. Bright red.

“Kip,” she gasps as she reaches out and starts to run, a pair of bright green pants blared next to a wrought iron park fence.

Sheena takes a deep breath, “HEY!” She shouts and points, “you.” She must have said the words forcefully enough as a head of dark hair turns and the face of a wide-eyed young woman stares back at her. She had wide-set dark eyes and full lips, she was tall, a little taller than Sheena.

She had a red umbrella sticking out of her bag and a heavy silver scarf.

Sheena pointed at her and narrows her eyes, “don’t move a muscle.”

The woman’s eyes were still huge, Sheena reached into her pockets to bring out the wallet and throw it at her if she has to. She gets the leather in hand but that’s just as she hears the clacking of heels against pavement.

She looks up to see some disappearing green.

“What did I just say?” Sheena groans as she watches her target begin to run the other direction. “I swear, this is damn a charitable act!” Sheena calls after her.

She goes back and forth in her head for a moment, deciding if it’s worth it. In a burst of spite she follows her out into the crosswalk.

All she has to go off of is fluffy black hair and bright green pants, but the green was bright enough to put neon signs to shame, she ducks in between bushes and waves. “Wait, fucking wait.” The woman was trying to cross a busy street of tubes and geocars. She doesn’t look behind her, Sheena considers kicking her as she gets close enough.

“Wallet,” she calls out, “It’s your wallet.” The woman just looks over her shoulder at her and walks straight into traffic, Sheena throws her hands up, “oh come on.” She’s forced to find another way across the five lanes when the crossing sign comes on and she somehow catches the last of the woman entering a building. Sheena is about to go football-tackle that woman and stuff the wallet in her mouth when she gets a message.

“Direct transmission,” Kip drones, “direct transmission.” “Now?” She huffs, “I’m busy.” “Direct transmission sent at 10:21 am from proximate personal Kip.” “Uh,” Sheena stared at Kip for a moment.

“10:21, message received,” static goes over the speakers before comes out in a hollowed mechanical voice, “I don’t want it.” Sheena blinks, “Want what?” “Message analysis,” Kip pauses for a moment, “it.”

“I don’t have time for this.” She pushed her way into the building she saw the woman enter. The Demeter Planetary Bank building, the front desk person eyes her but she manages to get to the elevator and get inside.

Sheena starts by pressing all 27 of the elevator buttons and watches her elevator mates leave with a couple deep grumbles at her. “Yeah yeah.” She waves them out.

“Message received.” Kip informs him. “Repeat message received.” “What is it?” “Stop.”

Sheena clicks on one of the side buttons of her watch, “send back the message: hold the hell still and I will.” “Yes Coilwrecker.”

Sheena blows air out of her nose and waits.

She feels her skin crawl as she passes more endless dim hallways and sees nothing but unfamiliar faces.

“My name is Sheena by the way,” she says into her watch.

Kip clicks to life, “Would you like me to call you-” “No, send that to the girl. She somehow got my number.” “Visual transmissions are now possible through singular contact and-” “Yes, go tell her my name. And that her numbers are going down.”

Kip goes quiet and Sheena checks the last hallway to see if she could get anything, “message received on the roof.” “Yes!” Sheena bullies a timid looking office worker into pointing her toward the roof access and she runs. There was a lot of running today.

Sheena bursts the roof door open and hollers, “stop!” She catches the woman’s bright eyes, Sheena cups her mouth, “You’re gonna fucking die.” She puts her hands up defensively in response, “I don’t have any more money.” Sheena groans deeply, “no wait, not like that.” She backs up and Sheena closes the door behind her before yanking out her pocket contents. She takes out the ticker, the red letter announcing an ominous ‘3.’ “Have you even been paying attention to your VF? Dumbass.” Her eyebrows shoot up, “someone really found that…” Sheena balls up her free hand and cowboy-walks over, “yeah. And it was a pain.” The woman covers her face and groans as she descends to the ground, her legs buckling at the new, “just throw it over the roof.” Sheena’s face falls a little, “what’re you talking about polka-dot lady?” She peers up between her fingers, “...polka-dot lady?” Sheena shrugs, “For the umbrella.” She rubs her neck and the woman looks up at her curiously. “And you

“Flores,” she says slowly, “my name is Flores.” Sheena puts her hand out, “Sheena.” She says bluntly, “I’ve been tracking you for two days now. Sheena.” Flores cocks her head to the side, “just for my wallet?” Sheena shakes the ticker in her hand, “dude, you are literally almost at 0.” Flores turns away and faces the street view, she hangs her head and they both stare out over the city.

“What’s the point?” She sighs and swings her foot over the side. “Let’s just say I’m screwed either way.” She looks up and her hair falls around her face, “I couldn’t make it.” Sheena itches the back of her hand, she glances back at the door and then the spot next to the stranger. She rubs her nose for a moment, she takes the seat next to her, settling down slowly with her legs hanging off the edge. The dizzying gray streets lay below.

“Please,” Sheena pushes her wallet toward her, “you still have one more punch before you get a free coffee at Hardbrew. You still have 20% a chipotle burrito.” Flores turns her face toward her slightly, she grins slightly, “you went through my stuff?” “Well,” Sheena’s mouth falls open.

Flore cracks a painted smile and lets out a little laugh, like the scratch of bark or something low and rumbling tumbling through the air. “Alright then.” Sheena looks away, “I was trying to find a way to return the dang thing.” Flores chuckles again, “did you find it on the train? I was a little freaked when I first lost all 25 bucks and all of my dead credit cards.” Sheena flashes her a grin, “And like 300 receipts.”

“Those too!” They laugh.

Sheena looks at from her purple pumps to her flowey pearl shirt, “okay, but I may or may not have bought a new vape with your stuff, but uh.” She looks her up and down, “you looked like someone who could use their wallet back.” Flores puts her hand out, “Do I?” She hums, “you work down here?” Sheena lifts an eyebrow, “Do I look like I work down here?” She displays her chipped painted nails and ripped pants.

Flores smiles, “Right.” Sheena hunches over, “I was just playing in the terminal. Or. My friend was playing and I was making fun of him as all you business people went to work.” She snorts, “told him it was a bad spot.” Flores bites her lip, “you play something too?” Sheena pushes her wallet toward her, “tell you what.” She wags it in front of her, “pay back your ticker and I’ll play you something on my violin. Which,” she winks, “I don’t just play for anyone.” Flores frowned slightly, “why?” “I dunno, I don’t just whip out the amp for-” “No, I mean, why would you do that?” She seems a little struck, “You don’t even know me. You don’t have to… I’m just.” Sheena slapped her on the back and shakes her shoulder a little bit, “tickers are bullshit.” She says forcefully, “I wouldn’t wish a 0 on anyone, even not a shopaholic, brightly colored cute lady, ya know?”

“Oh,” Flores says gently, “that’s, that’s sweet. I suppose...I suppose it’s bad. When the VF goes...you know, goes.” “Yeah. Death is like,” she pokes her, “kinda bad.” She laughs warmly before leaning forward, she flinches, “I don’t suppose folding under crippling debt can be any better.”

Sheena follows her gaze thoughtfully up and away toward the skyline, “I’ll teach you how to get overly sized stupid scarves from thrift shops instead if that would help.” Flores snorts and then puts her head in her hands, “You know the most idiotic part?” Sheena studies her, “running around downtown for some stranger with bad habits?” She sniffs, “I went down to 13 ‘cause I thought I could buy my way into getting him to not fucking leave.” She almost shakes from something red in the other woman’s vision. She gives a hollow laugh, “none of it worked.”

Sheena looks away, she traces her eyes over the bumpy skyline, “Look,” She says slowly and puts her hand out, “this fucking place…” She meets her eyes, “it eats everyone up.”

“You’re telling me.” The lines on Flores face creased and fell. “But you made it all the way out here.” She leans toward her, “Made it this far.” Flores glances at her, she studies her hand like an intricate portrait, “yeah.” She takes her hand and they sit there for a very long moment, silently, waiting, watching.

“I remember you,” Sheena turns slowly as Flores speaks lowly, “I remember. The girl in black at the station, with the hat out. You weren’t playing though, yeah,” Flores smile was something faint and promising, the dawn. “It’s a shame.” They both look down and Sheena presses a knob on her watch, “here.” She starts the transaction as their skin graces each other. Flores mouth makes a perfect ‘o’ before Sheena touches her wrist softly, she closes her eyes and feels it, Kip makes the transfer.

Flores blinks a couple times from the contact transfer. “What…” She dives for her wallet, and Sheena looks away as the other woman sees the 17 on her counter now.

She hears another sharp gasp, “I don’t know what to say.” Sheena bites her lip, “everyone could use a break now and then.” She smiles down at her shoelaces, “I don’t mind being someone’s once or twice.”

“I think you overpaid me.” “N-” Before the word comes out of her mouth Sheena turns her head and finds a soft press to the side of her mouth, she gasps. She turned right into a slight kiss.

Another contact VL transfer, an electric pulse runs up her spine.

She pecks her on the side of the mouth, Sheena’s ticker goes up one more point. Her cheeks flare a particularly high tone of red and Flores face is equally rouge. “Thanks,” Flores squeezes her hand, “thank you so much.” Her eyes are wide and she feels something warm and fluttery rise in her gut, “you didn’t need to.” Flores smiles like the dawn again, wide and all-encompassing, “I know.” She bites her lip, “I wanted to. I didn’t mean, but I hope it wasn’t, I mean.” She was blushing again. “If it wasn’t-”

Sheena grabs her hand and lifts it up, “It’s a start.” She kisses the knuckles and Flores laughs as they lean into each other.

The breeze whips around them and they sit there for a very long moment with the promise of heavy clouds on the horizon.

Flores says she’s more than welcome to walk home with her under her umbrella.

#original writing #science fiction #original story #wlw #sapphic #lesbian story

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tenorcolt8-blog · 5 years

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They “Biked The Bay,” And CRUSHED It

November 27, 2018

They “Biked The Bay,” And CRUSHED It

Editor’s Note: Back in the dog days of summer, Bicycle Coalition Regional Planner Leonard Bonarek posted what was essentially a dare to cyclists in our region: See if you can bike around the Delaware Bay. It was one of our most popular blog posts, and several folks took advantage of the resources we highlighted to complete at least part of the adventure. One couple, however, got pretty serious about summer fun and completed the entire journey in 48 hours, beginning and ending in Chester County. What follows is their account of the journey. May their sunny adventure brighten our dark days of late autumn. Click here for their photo album from the trip.

Bike The Bay 2018 By William Welch

When a challenge has been set, what happens in between the conception and execution? I have learned throughout the years traveling via bike that the goals you set cannot be secured by expectations. My girlfriend Kera and I have been bikepacking together for about 4 years. Our philosophy is simple; use what you have and every adventure starts at the front door. When the Bicycle Coalition of Philadelphia posted the Bike The Bay Challenge, we were both immediately consumed with the challenge. We knew we could leave our front door in West Chester, Pa and complete the challenge in 48 hours. That was the goal. It is hard not to laugh when you start thinking about the logistics of that goal. Luckily this trip we were going multimodal: bikes, trains, and boats!Our trip started out on August 3rd at about 3pm. Kera had to work at Center For Families in Malvern from 4pm-7pm. We rolled down the alley and started our journey heading North on business rt 100. Our ride down rt 100 is fairly safe, it has a wide shoulder and some cool neighborhood shortcuts that bring us to the head of the Chester Valley Trail. The Chester Valley Trail takes us right to Center For Families. While Kera went to work, I took then next 4 hours to make some last minute adjustments to the bikes and gear. Also, I meditated and took a nap in the sun. Kera took her clients rock climbing for adventure therapy and when she got back around 7, we packed up and headed for 30th street train station to catch a 10:50 pm train to Atlantic City.

We have both done this section of the trip many times at night, so we knew we had 34 miles and just about 3 hours to make it there! The timing would be close but, if we missed the 10:50 pm train, there was another at 12:15 a.m or so. We really needed to make the 10:50 train if we wanted any chance to make it to southern NJ by sunrise. The C.V.T. trail takes us up through Valley Forge Park, over Sullivan’s Crossing bridge and onto the Schuylkill River Trail. Riding the S.R.T. at night is magical! Kera and I both bike a lot at night, we always have three NiteRider headlights. We usually just run one at a time on the flasher mode because they last upwards of 30 hours each. The flashers make you very visible, some people but most cars think you’re a cop so they give you lots of room! We both also ride with two tail lights each as well as 2 safety triangles per person. Safety is so important, especially riding at night! As we traveled down the S.R.T. under the flash of the strobe we were both super happy to find out they repaved what was the worst section of the trail (after the Norristown train station all the way to Conshohocken). What a feeling after having endured the choppy pavement for so many years! We were really crushing the miles at this point, we knew we had a chance to make the train. We chose to take the crushed gravel section of the S.R.T. that leads down to the Manayunk Canal Trail. What’s an Adventure without some crushed gravel, mud, and puddles at night?!

“Downed Tree!” Wow! Looks like the storm had brought down a giant tree that fell right across the trail! There’s no way we were back-tracking, definitely no time for that. We had to carry the bikes over, under, and through the tree. That moment was our first rest. Manayunk was alive with people as we passed through onto East Falls and finally down to the Art Museum and at last we passed under Market Street. As we started making our way up to Market Street from the S.R.T., we both heard something unusual that sounded like a gang of motorcycles on the trail. Well, it was. Actually, it was a bunch of dirt bikes and A.T.V.’s on the trail. It’s such a shame that a few individuals can be so careless and ultimately put peoples’ lives at risk. We were fortunate to be off the trail and onto the ramp before they came through.

We made it to 30th Street Station with 30 minutes to spare! Neither of us knew where the train terminal was and where to buy tickets. So we roll into the station with all eyes on us! We scrambled frantically. We found the kiosk and bought the tickets and had time to use the bathroom and load up on as much food as we could carry and eat on the train. As we loaded onto the train, we had little trouble finding the space for our bikes. The only problem is that the bike parking on the train is also the handicap seating. As our adrenaline subdued and we both stopped shoving popcorn, chips, and some energy drinks in our faces.

We both realized what lied ahead. The train ride would take about 2 hours. We would arrive in A.C around 1am and then we had to either make it to Stone Harbor where our friend lives or make it all the way to Cape May to sleep for the night. Either way, we both knew we were in for something special. As we arrived in A.C. we headed straight for the boardwalk. We didn’t ride all the way to N.J. not to ride next to the beach! The breeze was amazing and as soon as we passed all the casinos, we had the whole boardwalk to ourselves. We both took this moment to get into the aero bars and crush some more miles. Eventually our boardwalk ride ended a few block from Margate and we took to the road. By this time it was about 1:30 am and there were signs of some drunk people all around. We knew we had to keep pushing. Lots of miles to go.

We took our second rest at the Wawa right before the Ocean Drive Bridge into Ocean City. We ordered Milkshakes for some reason and took a nice little 10 minute nap along the side of the building. The new bridge into O.C. is amazing! The protected bike lane is just the best. We did scare a bunch of seagulls, actually they scared us as we were bombing down the backside of the bridge. Finally, we made it into Ocean City. The quiet and dry town seemed like a milestone but really it was just the beginning of the suffering.

Google said we had 27 miles to Stone Harbor. Google didn’t say we would be riding into headwinds the whole way while we hit every mental wall you could ever think of! We stopped again in Sea Isle across the street from another Wawa. There were people, lights, and a fine beach to take another nap on! We continued on, the bars had just let out, it was about 3:00 a.m, and we needed to find sleep before day break. Two hours later we finally made it to Stone Harbor. Our friends house was all locked up. Luckily they had some nice lounge chairs we could sleep on. Autopilot took over and we ripped the bivys out of the dry sacks and cuddled up to the sounds of the bay. Within 5 mins of getting settled and almost asleep, the skies opened up with a nice shower of rain. Out of the bivys we crawled. We drug the lounge chairs up next to the house where we had a little bit of cover. Good enough for sleep.

A few more hours passed with some wonderful sleep and we heard someone open a screen door. He looked very confused as to why there were two people in camo bivys sleeping on the deck. It is hard to imagine what he thought about as he looked at as. Our conversation was super awkward, until finally he broke the silence. When he listened to where we had come from that night and that we were actually expected at the house, he loosened up. Our friend finally came outside and welcomed us inside to say hello to everyone. Here we told them of our adventure the previous evening and that we had to get to the Cape May Ferry by 3 pm. Everyone looked at us with that crazy “you’re going where by when?” stare! That’s when they offered us a ride to Cape May. Usually, we do not take rides on our journeys, however, the ride was in a boat that would dock at The Lobster House for lunch.

Immediately, we jumped on that wonderful adventure. We just needed some sleep. Upon awakening from our morning nap, we promptly loaded our bike on the boat. The sky, a beautiful blue, with tall fluffy clouds enabled our minds to get lost in all the activities on the water from Stone Harbor to Cape May Harbor. En route we did travel through the inlet in search of dolphins in the ocean. We didn’t spot any dolphins but we did have a hell of a time riding the 7 foot swells being produced by the winds that day! As we docked the boat and off loaded the bikes at The Lobster House, we realized we had to take our bikes through the restaurant so we could lock them up on the street. Nothing to see here, just 2 straggly bike riders! The food, service, and ambience are top notch at the Lobster House. Kera and I order as much food as we thought we could eat in the hour we had until the ferry departed from Cape May. We scarfed down our food in just about 20 minutes, leaving us about 30 minutes to ride 5 miles to the ferry. Kicking it into high gear on a full belly we rode hard. The leftovers strapped to the bikes stayed secure during the jaunt.

We arrived at the ferry, loaded on before all the cars and took our leftovers and sleeping pads to a shaded spot on the bow. After scarfing down the last of the leftovers, we laid down the sleeping pads and passed out for the next 60 mins with fellow ferry riders standing all around. As we both woke up from our summer slumber. we were just passing the breakers to Cape Henlopen State Park. We enjoyed the last 20 minutes of the Delaware Bay from the top deck of the ferry. From this vantage point we were eye level with the resident Ospreys who nest atop the vessel docking slips. This year marks the third consecutive year the couple have returned to greet travelers with their new family of raptors. Still groggy from our nap and lack of sleep, we decided it was time for a dip in the Delaware Bay in Lewes.

The sleepy old fishing town of Lewes provided us with the cold salt water, soft sanded bath we both were in need of! Floating around in the water felt great, except for the few crabs our toes got entangled with! At this point it was about 5pm on Saturday and we had somewhere in the range of 24 hours to travel 100 or so miles back to West Chester. From this point on it became a matter of how much food and drinks could we strap down to our bikes. We were hungry! We biked down to the Weis Market on Rt. 9 and Rt 1. We both kinda just let our bodies tell us what we want as we walked around the store. Apparently, we were very thirsty. We walked out with two Monster Energy drinks, a GT’s Kombucha, and a 52 oz Boathouse Farms Berry Smoothie. Outside the market, we relaxed on a patio swing that was for sale as we downed an energy drink and the kombucha. As we relaxed, while others shopped, we looked for real food. We found it in the form of the Capriotti’s Sandwich Shop. Kera and I both have an affinity for Capriotti’s because of their vegetarian options. We ordered the 20” Veggie Cole and a 20” Veggie Cheeseburger. I don’t remember eating the sandwich as much as I do the flood of emotions that are usually released at some point during long rides of this nature. It’s like at a certain point the body dumps everything it does not need to hold on to because the body is just wasting that energy when it knows it needs to ride on.

After a good emotional cleansing we plan the next 7 hours. We had to keep heading north into the night. We set our sights on Milford. It was 20 miles away. We had no idea what to do when we got there, but it was our destination. By the time we set out, the sun was going down. I imagine it was about 7 or 8 pm by the time we got moving again. Dusk – it is the most wonderful time to ride. The magic of the sunset and the cool breeze full of summer smells keeps all the pains in the back of our minds. As the sun sets, we both settle into the aero bars again and get into a rhythm of the strobing headlights. At this point we were riding in and out of farms and forests and up and over the Delaware hills. I started noticing some trail markers on the road, yellow painted frogs, I guess they led to Killian’s Pond. We really enjoyed spotting them along the way!

In a few hours time, we rolled into Milford, De. Looking for a place to camp, our options were limited. We are no strangers to rogue camping, but as we sat outside a closed bike shop and consumed the last of our bounty, we started calling hotels. We found a Motel 8 only a few miles on the North side of town and made the trek northbound. As we arrived the man at the front desk was on the phone and told the person at the other end that he just rented the last room. How relieving it was to hear that we had the last hotel room available that night. Our room required us to carry our bikes up a long flight of steps to the second floor, which at this point didn’t matter, there was a comfy bed, a shower, and A/C that I was cranking down as low as possible. After showering and getting cuddled up in bed, we ate some bedtime snacks and planned our return route home.

The next 90 miles to home would be interesting. There was the direct route up Rt.1 to the St. Georges Bridge or we could snake our way through the country roads to cross the Delaware Canal at the St. Georges Bridge. Sunday morning we woke and slowly moved from our cold room of comfort. First things first, we needed our food. Luckily there was a Capriotti’s in town. The ride to Capriotti’s brought us to the west side of Milford. Everyone was busy about their Sunday routine, but we had a deadline of getting home before I had to work on Monday and Kera started class a West Chester University. Suddenly we crossed over a lot of glass in the road. Hopefully the Continental Gatorhard Shells hold out. Kera went inside to order our morning sandwiches and everyone that passed had to know what we were up to. Some people wished us luck, others offered up directions and one guy really loved the 32mm tires on Kera’s Fuji Jari. Eventually the sandwiches had been loaded down and a Monster Energy consumed. We were ready to roll, we would head up Rt.1’s wide shoulder until Dover and then cut back into the farmland for a more scenic route. As I rolled away, I realized Kera was not behind me, she had a flat. Riding along Rt.1 seems crazy and maybe it is. It is a marked bike route and the shoulders are huge! All the beach traffic kept the speeds of the cars down and we made it up to Dover in no time.

Turning right at Dover Air Force base, we stopped at the entrance to the museum for lunch in the sun. I was not a big fan of eating in the blistering heat, but Kera loves the sun and enjoyed every second. Soon we were back on the bikes and had a nice ride winding back and forth through the farmlands. Around 2 pm we stopped right before Duck Creek. There we saw an elevated wildlife viewing platform. We hung out in the shade of the platform and took a nice mid day nap after watching the Ospreys chase each other around. Neither of us really wanted to get up from the nap but we had to keep pushing forward. Just a few miles up the road, Kera was riding lead as we crossed Smyrna Creek. She screamed back at me “Watermelon!” Needless to say, I became very confused. She stopped ahead of me and told me there was a watermelon on the concrete rail of the bridge. Curious and hungry, I turned around. Honestly, I fell down because I was clipped in and did not make a wide turn. She was right! There was a watermelon. After a quick inspection, I balanced my new friend between the handlebars and aerobars and found the closest tree to sit under. It smelled fresh and had no bruising. Kera gave me the knife and I ripped into the watermelon like a hungry zombie. Some of the melon was definitely a bit sour. I did not care. We ate about 3⁄4 of that melon and drank lots of the sweet juice. What a mess we made. The gods had rewarded our hard work!

The road to home was getting shorter and shorter as the hours passed by. One of the highlights of the Bike the Bay route that we were really looking forward to was the heritage greenway trail and the new Jack A. Markell Trail that runs from Wilmington to New Castle, DE. Kera and I both knew that once we hit New Castle and eventually Wilmington the road home to West Chester, Pa would be smooth and easy. As we all know when you set an expectation that is smooth and easy you are setting up for failure. This was no exception. The trail started out great and it felt so nice to be off the road and onto a trail. We rode the trail for a little less than 10 miles and we felt the bridge over the Christina River getting closer and closer. We passed the prison as the sun was setting. In the distance we saw two cars parked up ahead on the trail. The State Troopers had the bridge blocked off and we could not cross. They had no alternative route for us to take either. Time for Google Maps.

Google had no idea how to get us home. It ended up taking us on Rt. 141, a major highway, for about one terrifying mile. Maybe we made a wrong turn somewhere or it was late and we were tired, either way. We really welcome the opening of the Jack A. Markell Bridge. After recovering from our highway stint at a local gas station with a gatorade, we stored the second on board and rode off into the night. As we approached Greenville, Delaware, Kera and I realized this was that last 30 miles of the trip. Honestly, we knew it was going to be full of hills which we rode without for the past 48 hours. The first set of hills were tough. They progressively got easier as our breathing adjusted. As Kera led the assault home, I watched her light lead the way in front of me. Suddenly, I saw a silhouette of Kera’s body leave the bike and then in the same moment slam back down. She had hit a huge hole in the bike lane. She stopped no more than 100 feet later, gasping for breath. The moans of the lungs searching for air soon subsided and as she regained composure, we searched for what to do next. It was 12 am on Monday. The bike was alright, just a flat tire and displaced aero bars. Kera, on the other hand, wouldn’t be able to go on. We were fortunate to have a few very nice people stop and make sure we were alright. Relatively, everything was fine, we just needed a way home. Kera placed a call to her sister who lives in Kennett Square. Thankfully, she was on her way home from the beach and was able to pick us up and take us the final 10 miles back to West Chester. Next year we will have another go at the Bike the Bay Challenge. We both wanted to thank everyone who made the ride possible.

Ride completed by: William Welch and Kera Passante Bikepacking Adventures Follow us on Facebook @epicbiketours

Bikes on boats: The Cape May – Lewes Ferry

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Posted by Bicycle Coalition at 3:42 pm

Topics: Biking in Philly, Biking Outside The Region, Biking the Suburbs, Connecting Greater Philadelphia Bicycle Network, Featured

Source: https://bicyclecoalition.org/they-biked-the-bay-and-crushed-it/

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1989dreamer · 7 years

Text

Chapter 10 of Looking for a Place to Call Home

Please note: I am going a on short, month long hiatus to work on some projects. Thank you to all who take the time to read this. It is greatly appreciated.

~ * ~

Everything is a blur—sight, sound, and smell. It makes Derek upset, disorientated, and he whines softly. He can feel his sisters nearby but he can’t hear their heartbeats or smell their scent.

If he had to guess at what’s happened to him, he’d have to say that his body is shutting down due to his expounded energy compared to his lack of Calorie intake. It’s even too taxing for him to raise his voice and ask where he is.

So he drifts, scared, mostly alone, and unable to discern anything aside from a few jumbled words in the mess of everything.

Eventually, though, his vision clears and his ears pop and he can smell properly again. Well, not really. Everything seems affected, like he can’t quite use his senses.

He’s definitely at the hospital though, the off-white walls and uncomfortable looking furniture soaked through with a mix of muted emotions ranging from joy to fear are a giveaway.

The room is empty of people, and there is a privacy curtain pulled around a second bed. Two mauve-patterned armless chairs have been dragged next to his bed and they smell of his sisters and the pungent dad-ness of John.

They must have just left if he can still smell them this clearly.

Derek feels strong enough to sit up, a marked difference from what he recalls of the urgent rush from earlier—which is not much at all really. The crook of his left elbow itches, and he scratches at it absently as he swings his legs off the bed, feet impacting the cold tiles. He runs a hand over his arm where gooseflesh has sprung.

There is a machine attached to him by a series of sticky patches on his chest and trailing wires. It reminds him of the taser, and before that the battery the hunters liked to use on him. His heartbeat ratchets up, and the machine starts beeping frantically at him. It sounds like a countdown. He scrapes the patches off, wincing at the sticky residue that clings to his skin, but it has the desired effect of making the machine stop beeping.

Derek heaves a sigh of relief that he immediately chokes on when the machine lets out a sustained squawk.

The noise hurts his ears, so he scrambles away from it, ducking through the first door he finds. He ends up in a bathroom as tiny as the one from the vet clinic, only much cleaner and more well-lit when he flips the switch. He can still hear the machine in here, so he heads for the other door.

It opens before he can grab the handle, and a female nurse, long dark curls streaked with gray and white tied back in a ponytail, dark purple scrubs, sensible shoes, light perfume, and dark smudges under her eyes, strides in forcing him backward. With her comes a brief, overwhelming sense of sound and smells before she shuts the door. Derek tries to not recoil at the intensity of it all.

“And just where do you think you’re going, mister?” she demands, a no-nonsense tone.

Derek shrugs. Better than flinching at her demeanor, he thinks. “Away from the noise?”

“That noise will stop once you’re hooked up again,” the nurse says, kinder. “Come on, it won’t bite you.”

“Will it shock me?”

A looks of surprise flits over her face and her scent spikes with fear and anger. “No, it won’t,” she assures him gently.

Derek eyes her with suspicion. Her heartbeat is stead, but she’s twitching like she’s lying. “Promise?” he asks. The nurse smiles.

“I promise.” At least she seems more amused than anything right now, so Derek allows her to press him back onto the bed and reattach the sticky pads.

While she leans over him, he grabs her nametag and tugs it free. It’s magnetic, and he plays with it, noting that her name is Melissa. When she’s done with the machine, she takes her tag back and slips it into her pocket.

“Comfortable?”

Derek nods because a little lie like that means she will leave him alone again sooner.

No such luck.

She pins him with a steady gaze as if she knows he’s lying. He scents the air subtly, unsure about how he feels when it turns out she’s just a human.

“It’s time for another feeding.”

Derek looks at her hopefully. He wants more of the food Stiles got him. It takes better than the road kill and dog food. Melissa-the-nurse goes to the exit door and returns wheeling a cart covered in clear bags, some filled with liquid, others with supplies, and sharp needles.

The machine attached to him gives away his spike of fear.

Melissa smiles warmly, her off-center lips reminding him strongly of Scott-the-vet.

“You’re a very brave boy, Derek,” Melissa tells him. “Now, this will hurt a little because I need to reinsert your IV line. This will provide you with necessary fluids. I’m sure you’ve realized that you are dehydrated.”

Derek was aware that he was lacking fluids, yes, but he’d chalked it up to traveling into California where there were less backyard pools or outdoor spigots. He knew, as a wolf, he would replenish much of his lost fluids by eating things with liquid in them. He’d spent a few hours during his first night away from the hunters, teaching himself how to puncture a half-full bottle of soda pop so that it looked like it had burst on the side of the road. California was a little more conscientious with their littering and that source had dried up almost as fast as the outdoor water.

He doesn’t want to tell her any of this, not sure if she would take it as badly as Allison had earlier. After all, she’s a nurse.

Melissa swabs his inner left elbow with an alcohol wipe and then deftly inserts a needle into his flesh. She wriggles it briefly, forcing the metal in farther, and Derek grits his teeth at the pinch of pain.

He concentrates on not healing while Melissa works to detach the needle, leaving a plastic piece embedded in his vein. When she depresses the plunger to flush the tubing, he looks away, determined not to break. He’s suffered worse than a bit of fluid in his hand. Melissa does a few more things, including taping the contraption to his skin, and then steps back to hang one of the clear bags of liquid from a silver pole he hadn’t noticed earlier.

“All done,” she says smiling at him. It hasn’t even been five minutes. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

“No,” he agrees. He wonders if the IV is the reason he’s had more strength. He can feel it inside him when the liquid from the bag goes into his arm. It’s cool, wet, and foreign and he can taste it in the back of his throat. It takes all of his self-control not to rip it out.

Melissa notices his concentration and laughs softly. “I know it doesn’t feel the greatest but it’s really helping you.”

“A cheeseburger would help more,” Derek mutters. Melissa laughs again.

“I’m sure you think that. Truth is, while it’s high in Calories, most of those Calories come from fat and you don’t need that. What you need is proteins and carbohydrates—something that’ll stick to your bones while filling your belly.”

“Can I at least have one cheeseburger?”

The door opens before Melissa can answer, and Stiles steps in carrying a plastic bag. While the door is open again, Derek focuses on the hustle and bustle of the hospital, disappointed when he can’t pick his sisters out of the busyness.

As soon as the door swings shut behind Stiles, the noise, the smells, everything stops abruptly, like it was snuffed out.

Derek stares wide-eyed at both Stiles and Melissa, worried that it’s only now occurred to him that this is a trap. They’re going to give him back to the hunters because he won’t ever hear them coming. In fact, that’s probably where Laura and Cora are right now.

That whole showdown at the vet clinic, Stiles’ declaration, it was all a ruse.

The only person here he can trust is Allison. She’s smelled strongly of anger when she was accusing her of trying to kill her mate. She also hasn’t betrayed him yet. Maybe he can trust Lydia too? And then he remembers Lydia’s insistence that he come to the hospital.

Everyone, except Allison with her doctor-patient privilege, is working to keep him exposed, ready for the hunters. Especially Stiles. Derek growls at him, allowing the hole in his arm to heal, dislodging Melissa’s IV.

The nurse swears and scrambles to stop the drip while Derek launches himself at Stiles.

This time it doesn’t matter that he’s smaller than Stiles or that he only weighs fifty pounds, he has healed enough that the force behind his punch lays Stiles flat.

Probably as a reflex, Stiles lets go of his bag, and it spills sideways. Derek pauses, sniffing. Food! He jumps on the bag and scrambles to the bathroom, twisting the handle sharply so that it breaks, leaving Stiles and Melissa no way to get at him.

Inside the pilfered bag is a white Styrofoam box, but instead of cheeseburgers and curly fries, this is meat loaf with gravy and peas and mashed potatoes. Everything is all jumbled together from when it fell, but Derek doesn’t care. He scarfs it down, using his fingers to shovel it into his mouth. When he’s done, he licks the box clean and then dives back into the bag.

A smaller box yields an upside down brownie smushed into melting vanilla ice cream. Derek eats it too. Then, he drinks from the sink and studies his reflection.

Someone changed him from Stiles’ clothes into a set of scrubs like his sisters. His feet are still bare and dirty.

A shower would be nice, he decides. There is a stall with a showerhead and a railing and the curtain that he slides open is patterned with large, oddly colored plumeria flowers. Everything smells of bleach, and underneath that, like mildew and ammonia. Derek doesn’t care. It’s a shower and he needs one.

He blasts the hot water and then stands under the spray. Bliss.

~ * ~

Stiles stares at the bathroom door, ruefully rubbing at his aching shoulder.

Whatever Derek did to the door, it’s not opening anytime soon. It hadn’t even budged when he rammed his shoulder into it.

Melissa returns from talking to security and hands him a cold pack. She doesn’t say anything, for which Stiles is grateful. She is justified in an I-told-you-so since she definitely told him not to break her solid door. Pointing out that Derek had already broken it had earned him a nice smack to the back of his head.

“I think we should remove the dampeners,” Stiles suggests. “That’s probably why he freaked out in the first place.”

“Do you know how difficult it is to treat the supernatural without those dampeners in place?” Melissa demands. “I’ve had werewolves in here who could hear surgeries six floors away and were to agitated for me to treat them. The dampeners stay on.”

“And what about Derek’s well-being?” Stiles glares at her. (It’s better than demanding (again) why neither she nor his father revealed the existence of supernatural creatures to him.) “Obviously, Kate Argent did something horrible to him, but we don’t know if she used sensory deprivation in addition to the sustenance deprivation.” He waits for her to shrug before adding, “He’s also just been told that most of his family died three years ago.”

“Who told him that?”

“Who else? Parrish. I don’t know what he was thinking, but I know Derek hasn’t had time to process it. We’ve separated him from his sisters, his only living relatives, and we’re disallowing him from using his senses to his advantage. We’re no better than Kate Argent right now.”

Melissa looks conflicted. “Do you sincerely believe that we need to remove the dampeners for Derek Hale’s mental well-being?”

Stiles nods. He truly thinks that Derek only attacked because he felt threatened when he realized they were doing something to his senses.

“I’ll talk to the director and see about getting the dampeners lifted.”

“And the bathroom door?” Stiles asks.

The door to the hallway opens and in steps the fire chief, another graduate of the class of ’99. A narrow-shouldered woman who Stiles knows can bench press nearly twice her weight (as she proves at the annual Firefighters versus Police games every year). Rebecca “Harley” Harlowe, former crush (hey, Stiles was young, he had a crush on nearly every classmate of his growing up—the exception being Scott).

She is standing in her black Beacon Hills FD t-shirt and holding a long-handled axe.

“Stilinski,” she greets wearily.

“Harley. Good to see you.”

“Would be better if I hadn’t had to be called out.” She points at the bathroom door. “He’s behind there?”

“Yep.”

“Can he hear me?”

Stiles looks to Melissa. She shakes her head and Harley lets out a long sigh.

“You got your taser ready?”

It’s clipped to Stiles’ belt again. He pulls it free and preps it.

“On three.” Harley hefts her axe while Stiles aims at the door. “One.”

Stiles swallows hard. He hopes Derek doesn’t attack again.

“Two.”

He really doesn’t want to hurt the boy more. He’s gone through so much in the last three years.

“Three.”

Harley swings her axe.

~ * ~

MP, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14

#Teen Wolf Fanfiction #Derek Hale #Stiles Stilinski #My Story/My Writing #LfaPtCH

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