#anyone who's supposed to believe their friend is dead for nearly a decade while they reunite with everyone else is so foul | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

robininthelabyrinth · 3 years

Note

LXC offhandedly says something about his relationship with NHS that would be totally innocent from *anyone* else, but sounds scandalously filthy coming from *him*. Bonus points if it's around LWJ and/or WWX and they are floored. Double bonus points if he did it on purpose for revenge over having to listen to *them* all the time. - 🦇

Petty - ao3

The first time was an accident.

No, that wasn’t right. More accurately, the first time was entirely Wei Wuxian’s fault.

(Lan Xichen sometimes thought, not very kindly, that many things were, more than Lan Wangji would necessarily admit to. He had not yet settled with himself if those were his actual thoughts or if it was merely bitterness about everything that had happened and in which Wei Wuxian had played chief role, but that was one of the things he was working on, for himself.

After all those years of being deceived, it was important for him to get to know his own mind, his own thoughts, and to be sure about them.)

“It’s good to see you out and about,” Wei Wuxian said warmly to him when they met again, as if Lan Xichen had only been confined at home with a brief illness rather than in strict seclusion for over a year.

Lan Xichen thought, perhaps, that Wei Wuxian was attempting to translate for Lan Wangji, standing beside him, practically radiating welcome and hopefulness and other such things that Lan Xichen honestly wasn’t equipped to deal with at the moment and had been purposefully ignoring. If so, it was not a very accurate translation, and unnecessary – no one knew his brother better than him.

Certainly not his brother’s long-dead lost love, who hadn’t even known.

“Indeed,” he said, not smiling, and Wei Wuxian’s own smile faded a little, as Lan Wangji’s own hope already had. “Nie Huaisang will be coming to visit me, and I plan to host him at the hanshi.”

That might also have been at Lan Wangji’s request, although only obliquely, if at all – even when he had appeared at his weakest, his most fallible and pathetic, Nie Huaisang had always been as stubborn as an ox (as stubborn as his brother), and no one could make him do anything he didn’t want to do. This included running his own sect, no matter how much they had tried, and it also included actually listening to the people he’d just begged to solve problems for him. Lan Xichen could remember all the countless times Nie Huaisang had sobbed on his shoulder, and Jin Guangyao’s, too, until they’d given him advice, at which point he would thank them effusively and merrily go along and do whatever he felt like doing regardless. He was very good at getting his own way in the end.

As subsequent events had shown.

Lan Xichen could tell from the expression on Wei Wuxian’s face that he didn’t understand why Lan Xichen would choose to break his seclusion to host Nie Huaisang of all people, especially when he had declined all similar efforts by Lan Wangji, but he wasn’t especially inclined to explain.

If he even could.

How to explain that contemplation had shown that he had been the one to fail Nie Huaisang and not the other way around? Long before they’d ever sworn brotherhood, he had promised Nie Mingjue to watch over Nie Huaisang and aid him whole-heartedly in all his endeavors. Nie Mingjue had always worried, first and foremost, that Nie Huaisang not be lonely, knowing that his brother, born with a weak body, had long struggled with finding his place in his martially-inclined sect – everything else was secondary in Nie Mingjue’s mind, even Nie Huaisang’s personal safety. He’d always said that Nie Huaisang was a proper Nie in that fashion, that he would devote every part of him to the things he loved no matter if it meant death, and there was nothing anyone could do about it; all he’d ever wanted, instead, was for Nie Huaisang not to be alone as he did so.

Lan Xichen had sworn to be there for him.

He hadn’t been.

He’d sworn to stand beside Nie Mingjue, too, promised it in his heart and in the eyes of all the world, and he’d even meant it when he’d done so. And then, despite it all, he’d spent nearly half his life supporting and shielding his murderer – he’d broken so many promises. To the Nie, to himself. The only thing Lan Xichen could do to atone for those failures was to try to do better: to learn from what he’d done, to teach himself what he’d lacked, to make up for his deficiencies. To live up to what little remained of those promises.

And so, if Nie Huaisang wanted to see him, he would see him, even if he had seen no one else.

Wei Wuxian didn’t understand that.

Couldn’t, maybe.

Wei Wuxian was his brother-in-law, he made Lan Wangji happy, and Lan Xichen was grateful for that. He was even grateful, in a painful, agonizing sort of way, for Wei Wuxian’s help in revealing the truth about Jin Guangyao and his dark deeds. But Wei Wuxian forgot pain as soon as it happened and believed everyone else ought to be the same: they were together now, so never mind about all those years Lan Wangji spent alone and in mourning; Jin Guangyao had been a murderer, so never mind about all the good things he’d done or the good times they’d shared; Lan Xichen was out of seclusion, so clearly he’d gotten over everything that had happened.

At least for Lan Xichen, pain did not work that way.

“Well, that’s nice,” Wei Wuxian said after a while, when the silence had gone from merely familiar to actively awkward and Lan Wangji was staring at the ground, his hopes dashed to bits, even though that had not been Lan Xichen’s intent. He loved his brother very much, but he couldn’t heal himself fast enough to assuage Lan Wangji’s guilt at winning his happiness at the expense of Lan Xichen’s pain, nor did he intend to try. “I didn’t know he was coming.”

Lan Xichen did not point out that he was Sect Leader, not Lan Wangji, and that his word was final regarding who did and did not have the right to enter the Cloud Recesses at any time. It would be petty.

He was trying not to be petty. It was very hard.

“I hope to spend some quality time together with him,” Lan Xichen finally said, some meaningless filler designed to let them get out of the current conversational impasse, and was bewildered when Wei Wuxian, possibly inspired by the high tension of the moment, burst out in raucous laughter, reaching out to elbow Lan Wangji in the side.

“I bet you will,” he said, his tone almost jeering. “Quality time, yeah? Just the two of you together in the hanshi and everything.”

It wasn’t until Lan Wangji’s ears reddened slightly that Lan Xichen comprehended what Wei Wuxian was implying. That he had left a year’s seclusion because, what, he wanted to hop into bed with Nie Huaisang?

The mere notion was so puerile that it could barely be considered as rising to the level of a joke, the implication not only crude but actively cruel and disdainful of all the work Lan Xichen had done to put himself back together over the past year, and Lan Xichen had absolutely no idea how he was supposed to respond.

He glanced at Lan Wangji, wondering if his brother would say something – apologize, maybe – but he was clearly unable or unwilling to help. Finally, he shook his head and walked away.

That was the first time.

The second time – and many of the other times thereafter – were not accidental at all.

Talking with Nie Huaisang had been wretchedly painful but cleansing, necessary, just as his silent and extended contemplation in seclusion had been. They had not wholly forgiven each other for everything that had happened, whether the harms they had knowingly or unknowingly inflicted or for the agonies they had each suffered, but they were on a path to get there together – each one of them agreeing to learn from what had happened, to try to extend trust to each other, real trust, so that neither of them had to continue on their lonely roads alone.

It might be nearly two decades late, but Lan Xichen was determined to make good on his promise to Nie Mingjue, and Nie Huaisang equally determined in his own way to live up to what his brother would have wanted now that it was an option.

One unexpected aspect of this, interestingly, was how the clash between their values – Lan sect rules, Nie sect principles – gave rise to any number of very interesting analytical conversations. Nie Huaisang was a poor scholar for rules that required rote memorization to learn, but he understood his sect’s moral code down to his bones, well enough to be able to fashion himself a path within it. When pressed for his thoughts on any given subject, his arguments were well-fashioned, logical, and difficult to refute.

Lan Xichen had not enjoyed himself so much in years.

Even in the days when he had wholly believed in Jin Guangyao, his former friend was simply too facile to have a proper back-and-forth with: he would always yield, or seem to, or else dance around the main subject until they were on another on which they could agree; he had always prioritized good feeling over intellecutal growth. He’d never understood what enjoyment could be gotten out of standing your ground on some theoretical or philosophical issue.

At any rate, one of the points Nie Huaisang had won, curiously enough, was in regards to the subject of pettiness: bad in large doses, but acceptable in small, in his view. He compared it to venting frustrations or to understanding and indulging oneself in the positive sense – if you’re a petty person, he said matter-of-factly, you can try to improve yourself, but you’re not going accept yourself unless you just admit it. If that’s the sort of person you were, you wouldn’t get anywhere constantly resisting the urge to fight things out in petty, stupid ways.

Sometimes you just wanted to get into it over something stupid because otherwise you’d get into it over something important, and that was, in Nie Huaisang’s view, not a bad thing: if someone got in your face, get back in theirs.

Lan Xichen was, in many ways, a petty person.

“So, how is Nie Huaisang doing?” Wei Wuxian asked when lunch was not entirely over. Etiquette dictated that Lan Xichen had to respond, and family rules that he knew Wei Wuxian knew made clear it was impermissible to talk over meals: the only acceptable solution, therefore, was for him to consider his half-eaten meal as already complete, respond, and wait until dinner to fill up. And all because Wei Wuxian simply couldn’t wait another half-ke to blurt out his question, because he was too free and unrestrained to honor the rules of the family he had married into just because he personally didn’t think they were important. “Where is he, anyway? I would’ve thought he’d be here with us.”

Lan Xichen put down his bowl with just a little extra more force than he should, enough to make it clink against the table, and Lan Wangji’s eyes tightened a little at the unusual display of irritation.

“He’s still in bed,” Lan Xichen said mildly. “I’m afraid I rather wore him out last night.”

Wei Wuxian choked, misunderstanding, just as Lan Xichen had intended him to.

They’d gotten onto an interesting subject of conversation and had ended up talking most of the previous day’s afternoon and evening, as it happened, and Nie Huaisang was still a sect leader, with important business to attend to; Lan Xichen was fairly sure that after he had retired at the usual time for his sect, Nie Huaisang had worked until nearly dawn. Anyway, Nie Huaisang wasn’t much for set meal-times, not even by Wei Wuxian’s lax standards; he’d shared an early breakfast with Lan Xichen before going to sleep.

“Perhaps you can speak with him later, if you need him,” Lan Xichen said, folding his hands in front of him. “I will pass along your regards when I return to the hanshi. Which I should do now, in fact: I have some correspondence I need to attend to.”

Lan Xichen wondered if Wei Wuxian even noticed that his words signified Lan Xichen’s graceful removal of the work of sect correspondence from Lan Wangji, returning it into his own hands. Lan Qiren and Lan Wangji had managed sect business between them during Lan Xichen’s seclusion, and both had recognized that even though he had emerged from that seclusion he was still very much in the midst of his recovery and neither had tried to push him back into the role of Sect Leader. His announcement that he needed to attend to correspondence indicated that he was shouldering that burden once more – moreover, it was, by Lan sect standards, a rather vicious snub to make the announcement of the transition a public one, however subtle the wording, especially when he did not similarly make any sort of announcement regarding the work his uncle was managing on his behalf.

Petty.

Unnecessarily petty, really – it wasn’t Lan Wangji’s fault that he’d married a man who couldn’t even after all this time comprehend that sometimes you valued something because someone else did, even if you yourself didn’t care for or understand it.

It was, however, his fault in not putting a stop to Wei Wuxian’s rudeness.

It wasn’t actually hard for a grown man to at least try to respect a rule as basic as do not speak during meals, or for that matter the one about not making tremendous noise late at night when you knew everyone else was sleeping. Having previously been in seclusion, Lan Xichen wasn’t aware of how bad it had gotten, with disciples rearranging their living quarters further and further away from any place Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian might be found breaking the rules against excessive promiscuity – and really, Lan Wangji should know better. No one was asking that he refrain from being in love, even extravagantly so, but they did live in a community, and he ought to have basic respect for others, even if it meant occasionally saying no to his beloved long-lost and miraculously reunited lover.

Lan Xichen knew how hard it was for him to say no, of course; he suffered from the same generosity of spirit as his brother. But hadn’t everything that had happened a year ago shown the folly of always saying yes?

“Ah, Wei-xiong,” Lan Xichen said a few days later when they crossed paths in the middle of the day. “Are you on your way to the apothecary? Could I ask you to pick up a few items for me?”

Wei Wuxian shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other, presumably still aching from the bout of early afternoon delight that he and Lan Wangji had been indulging in over by the cold spring – which was meant to be a place for cultivation for all, not a private garden in which the young master of the sect could frolic like one of his pet rabbits. It would have to be cleaned before anyone else could use it, and Lan Wangji was undoubtedly back there giving those orders now, his forehead ribbon no doubt askew from having been utilized in private activity before being hastily replaced.

“Certainly, Xichen-xiong,” he said. “What do you need?”

“Some ointments of the sort used for stretching and to ease pain,” Lan Xichen said. “Huaisang has been complaining of soreness and stiffness as of late.”

He had, of course – among his misfortunes, Nie Huaisang had been born with something of a crooked spine, and his lower back would sporadically spasm, causing him great pain. Not that that was what Wei Wuxian was thinking of, of course.

“I’ve tried using my hands on him,” Lan Xichen added, allowing himself to sound regretful – which he was, as he hated to see Nie Huaisang suffering. “But he says it’s not enough, given the, ah, magnitude of the issue. I want to get him some relief and make sure he’s comfortable…I’m sure you understand.”

He was sure Wei Wuxian did not.

“Uh, sure,” Wei Wuxian said, barely bothering to hide the fact that he was giggling under his breath. “I’ll grab some for you, no problem…you should really ask Nie Huaisang to give you some, uh, books. To provide you with some guidance.”

“He’s provided several,” Lan Xichen said peaceably. Nie Huaisang was extremely fussy; naturally he would ensure that Lan Xichen was well supplied in guides on massage before allowing him to tend to him. “But thank you for the suggestion.”

Wei Wuxian nodded and saluted briefly, clearly ready to move on.

“Oh,” Lan Xichen said, as if only just remembering. “And tell Wangji that he doesn’t need to come to the meeting this evening – I know the two of you have better things to do with your time than having him listen to interminable reports on agriculture.”

Wei Wuxian actually smiled at that, as if the quarterly agricultural reports from the farms that fed the entire Cloud Recesses weren’t one of the most critical duties for Lan clan members to attend to and one that Lan Wangji had been assisting with since the age of twelve.

That task accomplished, Lan Xichen returned to the hanshi, where Nie Huaisang was scowling over the initial reports that had come in from the furthest farms in writing – he’d already offered to supplement any harvest shortfalls with the excess from Qinghe’s own extremely productive fields, but any shortage in one area could lead to shortages in others; no one wanted another famine among the common people the way there had been during the Sunshot Campaign and the hard years thereafter.

“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” he asked doubtfully when Lan Xichen mentioned that he’d excused Lan Wangji from attending that evening and would therefore be doubly reliant on Nie Huaisang’s recollection of the meeting afterwards. “Lan Wangji may think you’re punishing him for marrying Wei Wuxian, which you’re not.”

“I’m not,” Lan Xichen agreed, because he wasn’t. If anything, he’d encouraged them to get together, and no matter the cost to himself, he was happy that Lan Wangji had achieved his heart’s desire after wanting it for such a long time.

“He may also interpret it as you punishing him for failing to control his spouse.”

“I don’t want him to control his spouse,” Lan Xichen said. “I want him to have some self-respect. Wangji has always greatly respected the rules of our sect and, until now, has always thought carefully before choosing to break them, accepting the consequences for doing so no matter how harsh. If I believed that Wangji truly disagreed with the rules, I would be willing to engage with him on the subject in good faith, but that isn’t what’s happening. He still believes in the rules.”

“He just doesn’t have the balls to tell Wei Wuxian that he wants him to stop stamping all over them?”

Lan Xichen huffed lightly. “I wouldn’t have put it that way.”

“But it’s what you think,” Nie Huaisang concluded.

“It is,” Lan Xichen said. “They’re going to spend the rest of their lives together – is Wangji planning on letting Wei Wuxian to win every argument without fail, no matter the cost to himself? Is he even planning on informing with him what the cost of his actions is? To always give and never take is not an equal relationship.”

“And your increased sensitivity on the subject of keeping secrets from your loved ones for, purportedly, their own good is completely beside the point, I assume?”

“The fact that I’m sensitive doesn’t make me wrong,” Lan Xichen said. “If Wangji is keeping secrets from Wei Wuxian, if he’s unwilling to rely on him or share his troubles with him, if he intends to one-sidedly sacrifice everything for him without even consulting with him as to whether he would be willing to accept such a sacrifice, then what they have isn’t a marriage.”

There was a house filled with purple gentians in the Cloud Recesses that stood as the eternal reminder of what that sort of marriage looked like, a terrible sacrifice that eventually became as much of a shackle on the recipient as it had been on the giver. Lan Xichen wouldn’t allow Lan Wangji to make that mistake.

And as for Wei Wuxian...if he truly oved Lan Wangji, he wouldn’t want it, either.

Lan Xichen certainly hadn’t.

Nie Huaisang sighed gustily. “All right, fine, fine. You know me, I’m always in favor of people standing up for what they think is the right thing even when it’s hard –” This was an almost grotesque understatement, but the friendship they were forging now was in some large parts based on the gallows humor emerging from their shared traumas. “– so I will reluctantly endorse your actions and, even more reluctantly, attend your meeting with you to take notes for later.”

“I appreciate your help. And your endorsement, of course.”

“Nie Huaisang has gotten much better at playing the xiao,” Lan Xichen remarked to Wei Wuxian on the day he removed Lan Wangji from the teaching roster and disqualified him from accompanying the juniors in night-hunts. “He’s a very – hands-on learner.”

Wei Wuxian snorted.

“I’ve been demonstrating the proper technique for him. Breath control is paramount, naturally, but of course you also have to know what to do with your tongue…”

Wei Wuxian was full on sniggering. “Oh, I bet,” he said salaciously. “I’m sure you’re a very hands-on teacher, eh, Xichen-xiong?”

“I want him to excel,” Lan Xichen agreed. “And that means plenty of practice…oh, I’m sorry, Wei-xiong. I shouldn’t have interrupted you – you were running somewhere?”

Right in the middle of the main pathways, no less, where the quick footfalls and sudden movement had startled countless people into very nearly raising an alarm before they realized there wasn’t anything to worry about. There were too many of them that remembered the war.

They had taken comfort in the enforced tranquility of the Cloud Recesses, before.

“Oh, no, don’t worry about it,” Wei Wuxian said breezily. “Just had an idea and wanted to get back to my workshop as quickly as possible, that’s all.”

“I see,” Lan Xichen said. “I won’t stand in your way, then.”

He actually was teaching Nie Huaisang how to play the xiao, at his request – he’d made some comparisons to it while debating a matter of ethics, and Nie Huaisang was determined to learn just enough to argue back in kind.

Lan Xichen didn’t have any illusions that Nie Huaisang would stick with it any more than he’d stuck with any other type of cultivation – he’d first tried teaching him musical cultivation when he was a child without any success at all, and Jin Guangyao’s example had definitely not endeared Nie Huaisang to the concept – but it was rather nice to discuss music without necessarily focusing on the backdrop of cultivation within it.

Accordingly, he continued the metaphor with Wei Wuxian for several days running. He talked about how energetic a student Nie Huaisang was –“He’s wearing me out,” he said, shaking his head. “Draining me dry…” – and mentioned that they were having an interesting time going back and forth on the subject of fingering, despite Nie Huaisang’s claims that his weak fingers weren’t nearly as suited for quick, assured movement as Lan Xichen’s.

“I don’t know what he’s talking about,” Lan Xichen had said, even as Wei Wuxian had nearly cried from laughter. “His fingers are very flexible, and I get a great deal of enjoyment from his enthusiasm. Skill comes later.”

“Definitely something you have to work on together,” Wei Wuxian said enthusiastically. “It gets better as you go, doesn’t it?”

In the past few days, he had brought alcohol into public places, rather than leaving it in the jingshi where the breach would be a minor one, and tried to encourage the juniors to share it with him, although they’d refused; he’d even tried to bully them into doing so using his superior age and the respect they’d owed him until Lan Xichen had intervened with ‘urgent’ tasks for the juniors instead.

He had loudly speculated regarding one sect elder’s marital affairs after the man had refused to speak with him following a disagreement, breaking both the rules against malicious gossip and those against disrespecting the older generation all at once. He had gone hunting and fishing right outside the boundary line of the Cloud Recesses in clear sight of the disciples, including several who were attempting to practice cultivation based on compassion for all creatures; several others were pulled from their usual tasks to go purify the ground according to their customs, including a careful check of their wells to ensure that the blood and viscera had not seeped into the groundwater that ran so high and near to the surface.

In return, Lan Xichen relieved Lan Wangji of his requirement to go patrolling – “You’re married now, after all,” he’d said to Wei Wuxian, as if it wasn’t a duty shared by adult every sect member, “I’m sure you want the benefit of his company at night. Isn’t that right?” – and revoked his access to the restricted areas of the sect, including the discipline hall of which he had had sole charge since before the age of fifteen. He asked his uncle to resume the full schedule of teaching, including the classes which had previously been shifted in part over to Lan Wangji – his uncle agreed, understanding his motives, although he looked sick to his stomach with anxiety the way he always did when Lan Xichen and Lan Wangji were fighting – and had publicly chided one of the juniors for “bothering” Lan Wangji with questions regarding his cultivation.

“Aren’t you so old already?” he scolded gently, a smile fixed on his face and his eyes firmly on the junior instead of his brother standing beside him. “You can’t go running to Wangji with every little issue that comes to mind. Reflect on yourself, and take pains not to be a burden to others.”

The junior appeared very nearly on the verge of tears, and he was not the only one. He, at least, understood the significance of Lan Xichen issuing the reprimand in public – if the junior in question had truly been pestering Lan Wangji with too many questions, it would have been a tremendous rebuke to him personally; as he had not, and everyone knew he had not, it was a clear order from the sect leader that no one was to bring any questions to Lan Wangji.

“Brother,” Lan Wangji said, his voice low and hurt.

“I know you must be tired, recently,” Lan Xichen said, looking back at him with a steady, unflinching gaze. “I understand that you and your husband have been taking long walks at night.”

Through residential areas, no less, and Lan Wangji knew better. Perhaps their sect was too strict with the rules about waking and resting, strict enough that the other sects laughed at them over it, but the rules were in place for a reason. Even if Lan Wangji himself was feeling restless enough to wander at night, there were places he could go that were designated specifically for that – gardens, mountain paths, what have you – where their wanderings would not bother others who had already gone to sleep.

Lan Wangji hesitated, his shoulders rising to his ears, but he dropped his gaze to the ground and nodded, conceding the point.

He knew better.

He knew better, he cared about doing better, and he let Wei Wuxian walk all over him anyway.

“It must be difficult to go walking at zi hour and wake at mao,” Lan Xichen said. “Perhaps waking at si hour would suit you better.”

Lan Wangji looked stricken. After over thirty years of waking at the appropriate time, he would have to be suffering from true bone-deep exhaustion for him not to rise at mao hour per their rules; Lan Xichen’s suggestion, if he enforced it, would do nothing but restrict him from leaving the jingshi until that later time.

Confinement was not a punishment Lan Xichen inflicted lightly on anyone, least of all his brother. His brother, who had suffered just as much from what had happened to their mother as he had.

“Perhaps you can use the additional time to talk to your spouse,” Lan Xichen said.

Tell him that you don’t like how he ignores all our rules like he’s trying to make a contest out of it, he meant. Tell him that you wince every time he puts his foot in it, every time he offends someone he didn’t have to, every time he disrespects our ancestors and all but spits on everything they cared about. Tell him that you’ll compromise on some rules, the ones that are genuinely hard for him, but that you want him to follow others out of respect for the fact that they mean something to you.

He would do it for you, Wangji. He loves you. You don’t always have to be the one to sacrifice.

Just tell him.

Lan Wangji’s lips pressed together.

Another refusal. It wasn’t that Lan Xichen didn’t know how stubborn his brother could be, especially in matters relating to Wei Wuxian, and he didn’t really want to match wills against him – he never really had, not in all their life. He loved his little brother so very much, and so Lan Xichen always been the one to yield, the one to give in, the one to make up the difference between them. The one to encourage him, the one to look the other way: whatever Lan Wangji had needed or even wanted, Lan Xichen had sought to give him.

Even the dreadful punishment with the discipline whip had been something Lan Xichen had sought to avert, and would have, if only Lan Wangji had not so self-destructively insisted upon it.

He had allowed it to proceed only because he thought that the physical pain would give Lan Wangji some measure of relief from the enormous emotional pain he was suffering from.

But now – this wasn’t just a temporary physical pain that Lan Wangji was trying to choose.

This was the rest of his life.

Lan Xichen was not going to back down over this.

“Si hour it is, then,” he said with a sigh. Nor would he revoke the instruction he had implicitly given to the juniors that Lan Wangji was no longer an acceptable advisor, unable to guide them in the Lan sect rules that he was constantly defying by proxy. “It’s for the best, I suppose. It’ll help habituate you.”

Lan Wangji looked up sharply.

Lan Xichen met his gaze head on. His brother, he reflected, was for once the one underestimating his stubbornness.

“I understand,” he said, his words very slow and very deliberate and very carefully chosen, “that rising at si hour is customary in the Lotus Pier, if a little late. That’s where Wei Wuxian picked up his habits, was it not?”

Lan Wangji’s eyes were wide as if he couldn’t believe Lan Xichen was saying what he was saying.

Perhaps he had become infected by Wei Wuxian’s obliviousness and needed things to be said flat out.

Very well.

“The Cloud Recesses is the home of the Lan,” Lan Xichen said. “Our lives are here, guided by our rules that are laid out on the Wall of Discipline for all to see. It is the life we have all chosen, freely and without coercion – but I know it is not the life for everyone.”

“Brother!” Lan Wangji exclaimed, and he actually looked viscerally upset, the expression clear enough on his face that even Wei Wuxian ought to be able to tell what he was feeling.

“You don’t have to follow them if you don’t want to, Wangji,” Lan Xichen continued, inexorable. He, like most of his sect, disliked this sort of straightforwardness, but he was Nie Mingjue’s sworn brother and Nie Huaisang’s brother by proxy; he knew how to wield his words with the brutality of a saber as well as the grace of a sword or the gentle lilt of the xiao. “But I will not allow you to continue making a mockery of them. Not here.”

Lan Wangji looked as if he’d been stabbed.

No – Lan Xichen had seen his brother get stabbed. He had taken that better than this.

“I will write to Sect Leader Jiang by the end of the week,” Lan Xichen said, and clasped his hands behind his back to keep them from trembling. Tell him before then. Please. “Between the two of us, I’m certain that we can find somewhere to suit both you and your husband, so that you may live as free and unrestrained as you wish.”

He did Lan Wangji the honor of not looking back as he walked away.

He knew his brother wouldn’t want him to see the tears.

It was, if anything, a pleasant surprise when Wei Wuxian burst into Lan Xichen’s home less than a day later. Lan Xichen had thought it would take at least three.

“What is wrong with you?” Wei Wuxian shouted, slamming his hands down on the table in front of Lan Xichen. “What the fuck is wrong with you? Is it me? If it’s me you have a problem with, say it to my face directly!”

Lan Xichen finished swallowing the tea he’d just sipped. “Not everything is about you,” he said, feeling tired. “This is about Wangji.”

Wei Wuxian’s eyes were red-rimmed as if he, too, had been crying.

“You’re not seriously planning on kicking him out of the Cloud Recesses because I broke a few of your rules, are you?” he asked, biting off each word individually. “He’s your brother. He’s a perfect Lan – he ran your sect for a year!”

“Our sect,” Lan Xichen corrected. “Wangji will always have a place here, as will you.”

Wei Wuxian crossed his arms over his chest. “Then why is he convinced that you want him to go?”

Lan Xichen sighed.

“I’m sure his knees hurt,” he said.

“…what?”

“His knees,” Lan Xichen said. “From all the kneeling he’s been doing.”

Wei Wuxian looked truly bewildered now. “Are you – making a sex joke?” he said. “Now?”

“No, though I’m unsurprised you took it as one,” Lan Xichen said, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. “I’m referring to all the kneeling in penance that my brother has been doing to atone for all the rules he has been breaking on your behalf. You wouldn’t have noticed it, as I assume he’s been deliberately hiding it from you.”

Wei Wuxian stared at him. “He’s been kneeling?”

“Wangji cares very deeply about our sect’s traditions,” Lan Xichen said. “He would never have been made the head of the discipline hall if he didn’t. He knows them backwards and forwards, better than anyone except for my uncle and the sect elders that specialize in it. They’re important to him.”

“But –”

“He keeps track of every rule you instigate him into breaking,” Lan Xichen said flatly. “Every single one, large and small, major or minor, and he tries to do his best to pay for what he’s done because he’d rather kneel all night without getting any sleep, rather hurt his hand copying out rules, rather endure a beating or two if it means he doesn’t have to tell you to stop.”

Wei Wuxian’s mouth was slightly agape.

“Do you remember the story I told you about our parents? I shared that story with you for a reason, because I wanted you to better understand Wangji. We all carry the scars our parents left on us, and he’s no different. He’s so afraid of imprisoning you the way our father did our mother that he has decided to follow in our father’s footsteps by sacrificing everything for you.”

“I don’t – I don’t want him to sacrifice anything for me!”

“I know,” Lan Xichen said simply. “That’s why I said that this wasn’t about you. Yes, now that you live here, you should follow our rules, or at least respect them – and respect means respect, not playing around to see how many loopholes you can find in them. Do you think we don’t know about them? That no one in the history of our sect has ever figured out that ‘do not take life within the premises’ could be subverted by taking a life directly outside of it?”

Wei Wuxian was silent.

“We follow the rules because we want to,” Lan Xichen said. “They’re the rules our ancestors put together and handed down. They are meaningful to us, even when they are awkward or seem pointless. Even when other people laugh at us or belittle us or act like we’re stupid for choosing to behave the way we do.”

Wei Wuxian winced.

“Your conduct would be a problem if you were a guest,” Lan Xichen continued. “But you are not a guest. You are Wangji’s husband, my brother-in-law. You are family. If you do not wish to obey the rules, you do not have to, and you will still be welcome here. But Wangji wants to obey the rules – it is only that he fears losing you more.”

“How long have you been having this argument?” Wei Wuxian asked, because he wasn’t actually stupid, merely oblivious.

“I started taking away his responsibilities on the third day following my exit from seclusion,” Lan Xichen said. “I have steadily escalated it with every rule you have incited him into breaking with you since. And still, he refused to speak with you.”

Wei Wuxian’s hands were clenched into fists. He looked down at them.

“I know how much you love my brother,” Lan Xichen said. “If he had told you that it mattered to him, you would have found a way to reach a compromise with him – of that I have no doubt. But if it wasn’t the rules, it would be something else; some other thing that he would choose to sacrifice, another situation where he would choose to endure agony over having a mildly uncomfortable conversation with you. That was why I couldn’t just reach out to you directly. It had to be him; he had to be the one to tell you.”

“I understand,” Wei Wuxian said. “I don’t…I’d rather find it out over this than have him throw away his life instead of telling me I was being stupid.”

Lan Xichen nodded. That had been his fear as well, and the reason that one of his first moves had been to restrict Lan Wangji from going out on night-hunts.

“I’ll talk to him,” Wei Wuxian said, and scrubbed his face. His eyes had started tearing up again. “I’ll – I’ll talk to him. I’ll make him understand that it’s not – he can’t just do that! He didn’t even ask me if I wanted him to give all of that up for me; he knew I wouldn’t want him to, that’s why he didn’t ask, and he just went ahead and did it anyway. He didn’t tell me that he was suffering, that you were taking away his responsibilities! He didn’t say a single word, and I just blithely carried on thinking everything was fucking all right and all the while he was suffering, and – and he – he…oh, fuck. Fuck. Fuck!”

Lan Xichen blinked.

“I did the exact same fucking thing to Jiang Cheng!” Wei Wuxian exploded. He leapt to his feet. “I’m such a fucking idiot! Lan Zhan and me, we’re both – we’re really well matched, aren’t we?”

He shook his head.

“I’ll talk to Lan Zhan,” he said again, and he looked grimly determined the way he had in the war, the same expression shining through even with a new face. “Don’t worry, Xichen-xiong. I’ll make him understand.”

He turned on his heel and marched out of the room.

Lan Xichen watched him go, thinking to himself that he might have inadvertently done something good for Wei Wuxian as well through all of this. And perhaps it would help Lan Wangji’s own crisis to see Wei Wuxian going through the same – because Lan Wangji’s crisis had already taken place.

He could have lied to Wei Wuxian’s face over why they were leaving. He could have chosen not to tell him that Lan Xichen was forcing him out, cutting him off; he could have kept it secret, hidden, could have come up with some story or just left it all unsaid. If he was truly determined to never let any of his pain onto Wei Wuxian’s shoulders, he could have done that.

He’d chosen to come clean instead.

Maybe now they’d be able to move forward as equals, as partners.

(And, if they were really lucky, maybe finally reaching agreement to stop breaking all the rules all the time would mean that they’d stop having sex on every possible available surface and keep it to the jingshi and a few gardens. No one else needed to see that. Really.)

“I see that Wangji-xiong and Wei-xiong are now even more disgustingly in love than ever before,” Nie Huaisang said. “And that Wei-xiong seems to have finally gotten over his obsession with defying authority through violating each and every one of the Lan sect rules. I was only away at the Unclean Realm for three days, you know.”

“I work fast,” Lan Xichen said with a smile.

Lan Wangji had come to him, eyes red, and put his head in Lan Xichen’s lap the way he used to as a child, and they’d talked. For hours, they’d talked, in the slow and halting way they had – where each word was carefully considered, each emotion analyzed, and only a quarter of conversation was said out loud – and at the end of it, they were both completely wrecked, but stronger for it.

They’d talked about their parents, which they had never verbalized before; they talked about Jin Guangyao, and Nie Mingjue, and Wei Wuxian, both past and present. They talked about their ruined expectations, their hopes, their guilt; they talked about the rules that bound them both, the ones that served them as both strength and weakness, the foundation on which they relied in their times of doubt. They talked about love, and fear, and anger.

They’d promised to never to need to have to have this conversation ever again, and they were both very determined to keep that promise.

Lan Qiren had agreed to work with Wei Wuxian regarding which rules could be bent and which ones ought not be – finally giving him the full version of education he’d missed out on when he’d been returned home too early by Jiang Fengmian all those years before, because copying rules didn’t mean understanding them – and Lan Xichen had returned to Lan Wangji all the responsibilities and privileges he’d taken away from him, much to the relief of all the juniors that had been suffering through their fight.

(Lan Wangji confided in Lan Xichen that he was relieved that Lan Sizhui and Lan Jingyi had been away on a long visit to Lanling Jin throughout the entire debacle, and Lan Xichen wholeheartedly agreed.)

“That you do,” Nie Huaisang said. “Did being straightforward help?”

“More than expected,” Lan Xichen conceded. That had been one of the things he and Nie Huaisang had been discussing these past few weeks, the merits of straightforwardness against obliqueness, and they’d both argued both sides of the issue, given their personal experiences. “I will grant you that it served its purpose well in this situation.”

“Good,” Nie Huaisang said, and put his chin into his hands. “Now tell me, what’s this I hear about you and me being the subject of a series of apparently godawful sex jokes?”

Lan Xichen froze.

Nie Huaisang grinned.

“It was…a metaphor?” Lan Xichen tried. “A means of communicating with Wei Wuxian while not acknowledging the ongoing situation, and a message about paying attention to underlying meaning.”

“Try again,” Nie Huaisang said gleefully. “You could’ve done that without invoking my name.”

“Who else could I invoke? I spend all my time with you!”

All the time he wasn’t being Sect Leader, that was. If there was one good thing that had come out of this entire debacle beyond his heart-to-heart with Lan Wangji, it was that Lan Xichen had been so anxious over Lan Wangji that he had forgotten his own fears about resuming his position, and now that he was back, it didn’t seem as scary as it had when he’d been alone in his room in seclusion.

Nie Huaisang did not appear especially moved by this eminently logical argument. He put his hands over his heart and fluttered his eyelashes, saying in an affected, almost operatic voice, “And all this time I never knew you felt like that, Xichen-gege –”

Lan Xichen choked.

“To think that all of this time that we spent cloistered together, pure as virgins, we could have been doing all sorts of things – using my, what was the term used, ample assets –”

Lan Xichen wondered if it would be possible for the ground to swallow him up at this very second. Failing that, a sect emergency would do.

Possibly an invasion?

“– and this, of course, refers to my extremely large…stock of picture books.”

“Huaisang…”

Nie Huaisang laughed at his face and settled down across from him. “I’m not ready to court or be courted,” he said. “Sorry to disappoint you.”

“No,” Lan Xichen said. “I’m not either, I don’t think.”

He was starting to think that he might be one day, though. That there would be a day – a distant day, far in the future, just barely coming into view – where his days would be more all right than not, where he could make decisions and be confident that he was making them for himself and not to cover up some mess of trauma.

And maybe, when that day arrived for him, it would also arrive for Nie Huaisang, who was himself digging himself back out of the deep pit he had made in his soul seeking his lonely vengeance.

“Still,” Nie Huaisang said thoughtfully. “Since Wei-xiong and Lan Wangji are on their way here right now to join us, and given that I’m already crushing your hopes and dreams…”

Lan Xichen foresaw a great deal of mockery in his future, and he was almost looking forward to it.

“…do you want to pretend to be making out on the table that they’ll have to drink tea off until they catch us and plead for mercy?”

Well.

Lan Xichen did always say that he was petty.

#mdzs #lan xichen #lan wangji #wei wuxian #nie huaisang #mostly Lan brothers focused #background wangxian and xisang #my fic #my fics #petty #lan sect civil war #Anonymous #not as silly a fic as you might expect from the prompt

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redrobin-detective · 3 years

Text

The 101 Deaths of Danny Phantom

AO3 link

One of the first things people learned about dealing with ghosts, other than not to try and date them, is to never asks about their death or obsessions. That doesn’t mean the citizens of Amity Park aren’t curious though, especially about their resident ghostly hero and the confusing and concerning comments he sometimes makes.

“Are you okay?” Phantom asked Maisie as she shook and tried to hold back tears after that car had almost slammed into her. She sometimes joked about getting hit crossing the street of her college campus to pay her obnoxious loans but it was another thing entirely to almost experience it herself. Maisie was nearly twenty, she shouldn’t be comforted by someone younger than her little step sister but here she was, shaking like a lead and leaning into Phantom’s comforting, chilly touch.

“Sorry,” she stuttered, “thank you, I’m sorry I’m just-”

“Hey, it’s okay to be upset that was very scary. The thought of dying is very scary.” Through her adrenaline and her tears, she took in the ghost’s unnatural glow, his faded, barely visible appearance and the fact that he was floating a foot off the ground. Maisie knows this ghost, this boy, knows more than she ever could about death.

“And getting run over by a car sure is a bad way to go,” the ghost kid chuckled awkwardly, taking his cold hand off her shoulder to scratch at the back of his neck. “You should see how my dad drives or my mom or my sister if she’s running late enough,” Phantom paused in thought. “No one in my family should have a license now that I think about it. Anyway,” he dismissed with a wave.

“My sister and I were getting ready to head out to school and my dad was backing out of driveway too fast and didn’t see us and uh, luckily I got my sister out of the way in time haha,” Phantom trailed off awkwardly. Was it because of the uncomfortable conversation or because he noticed her dawning horror.

Her best friend ran the community college’s Phan club so Maisie was a member by default. Phantom’s death was sometimes talked about late at night, everything from wrongful murder to a freak accident. She never in her worst nightmares imagined being him being runover in front of his own house by parental ignorance. It was so normal, a quick mistake and a life lost.

“Oh my god,” he said with an adorable little green blush. “Why am I babbling about that? You almost got hit by a car, I’m probably retraumatizing you or something. I should probably go get the jerk who almost hit you,” he said before disappearing into thin air.

“Tia is not going to believe this,” she whispered to no one. All she knew is that for the rest of her damned life she was going to look both ways when crossing the street. She’d seen first hand what a single moment of reckless driving could cause.

XxX

Matthew, not Matt or Matty or Hughie, Matthew shivered from the cold. He was only in his boxers with little Pacman on them. It had been fine when he’d gone to bed considering it was mid-August but Phantom and this stupid flaming mecha ghost had tussled outside the summer camp he was working at. He could see some of the kids snickering at his state of undress though he was just extremely glad they were alive enough to disrespect him like this.

“Oh man, I’m sorry,” the ghost kid said with big, sad eyes that looked so human despite the fact that they were literally glowing. He looked around at all the snow and ice left over from his fight. “Jeez you guys must be freezing, I wish I could warm you all up but all I can do is make things colder.”

“S’okay,” Matthew said through his chattering teeth. “Teaching the kids how to start a fire was supposed to be next week but we can get a jump on it.” That got a smile out of the ghost and within a half hour, the other counselors were distributing blankets and hot beverages to the kids clustered around multiple fires. They didn’t seem particularly upset by the potentially fatal attack, Matthew will breakdown about that at a later time when he was alone. For now, he just smiled as the children chattered happily with the ghost while he cleaned up as much of the damage as possible.

“So you spend all day fighting ghosts?” Zoe asked with stars in her eyes.

“A lot of the nights too,” Phantom nodded, “I do other stuff but yeah it seems ghost fighting takes up most of my time.”

“Where’d you learn those cool powers?” Zuri asked, miming a punch.

“Comes with being a ghost,” Phantom shrugged, “my ice powers came in later though so I still struggle a bit with them but I’m getting better every day.”

“Why ice though?” Morris said with his cocked curiously to the side. “I see some ghosts use fire or shadows, why do you have ice?”

“Ah that’s a little personal,” Phantom chuckled but his posture was easy despite the invasive question. “Specialty powers like my ice require special circumstances and a certain uh connection to the ghost. Someone like me couldn’t use fire or electricity or plants, ice is in my soul, it’s who I am.”

Matthew paused in drinking his lukewarm coffee as a horrible thought came to mind. He’s been an outdoorsman all his life, practically from the time he could walk. He’d been a deep woods camping guide for a decade before switching to working at summer camps. But the years working in the relative comfort of a stable camp didn’t erase his knowledge of how unforgiving and deadly the woods in the winter could be. A grown man, much less a young teen, would freeze to death in 20 minutes if it was cold enough.

It made sense for ghosts to develop powers related to their deaths. Had Phantom been one of the dozens of unfortunate kids he read about every year who ran away in the middle of winter only to found later as a frozen corpse. He eyed the boy’s snow white hair and frigid aura he exuded with mournful trepidation. God, what a horrible way to die.

“I’d get chilly with ice powers,” Tabby said with a shudder, she held out her cup of cocoa. “You want some of my cocoa to warm you up?”

“No thanks,” Phantom said with a soft smile that was warm despite everything. “The cold hasn’t bothered me for a while.”

XxX

Ghost attacks may be the norm but, if there was one good thing that came out of whole mess it was the fact that violent human crimes went down drastically. So when the rare murder did happen, the shock and fear rippled through the whole town.

Stanford Newton had only been sheriff of Amity Park for eight months after the last guy had gone gray overnight and moved to Florida the next day. It was a daunting position but one he bore proudly. This wouldn’t be his first murder investigation having initially cut his teeth as a beat cop in Chicago but it would be the first in Amity. And it certainly was the first in which the dead served in an active capacity.

“Amanda Chastain, 27. Officially she was a waitress down at Spengler’s Diner but she’s been picked up for prostitution twice in the last year,” Stan said calmly, ignoring the cold, angry presence over his shoulder. “History of polysubstance abuse as well, not that either of those things mean she deserved this.” Used, beaten to death and then dumped in the trash like yesterday’s paper.

He wondered if she’d come back a ghost or if she’d finally get some peace this world hadn’t offered her. “We don’t have many leads right now, I’m afraid. Acting illegally as they are, there’s not a lot of resources these poor girls have to turn to.”

“I’ll find them,” The Phantom said with blazing conviction, his voice thick and sharp as ice. “I’ll find and bring them to justice and make sure no one else is hurt again.”

“I believe you,” Stan nodded, shutting his notebook as he finally turned to face the teenage superhero haunting his town. He can’t say he liked what he saw. The Phantom looked even less human than usual, his aura flaring and flickering like the foggy mist before a heavy snowstorm. His unnatural green eyes glowered, painting his too young face in a terrifying light.

The kid looked furious, clearly taking this death to heart. He’d read the Fenton’s memos about obsessions and such but this seemed beyond that. “But don’t hurt anyone to do it, or yourself while you’re at it.”

“I won’t, I’ll make sure they’ll face human justice and don’t worry,” Phantom gave a snarling smile. “No mortal can hurt me, not like this,” he growled causing the hairs on Stan’s arms and neck to stand on end. He flew off after that, presumably to track down Amanda’s killer.

“Not like this,” Stan mumbled to him, pulling out his handkerchief and wiping his brow where a cold sweat had broken out. “Jesus Christ that poor kid.” Stan had seen plenty of murdered and mutilated bodies in his lifetime, some of them even kids. He just never got to talk to them after they’d had their life forcibly snatched away. It would explain the ghost’s near fanatical determination to save others, why he took a stranger’s murder so personally.

“I hope your own murderer is behind bars,” Stan said as he tucked his handkerchief back into his coat pocket. “Or even six feet under, for killing a good kid like you.” Stan made his way back to his squad car so he could head back to the station and move forward with the official investigation. But he’d eat his hat if there wasn’t a stammering lowlife there by tomorrow ready to turn themselves in.

Maybe after all this was settled down, he’d delve into some of the cold cases stacked in the cellar. Maybe in there he’ll find a picture of a smiling, carefree teen who’d disappeared and returned with the power now to ensure no one else suffered as he had.

XxX

“Yes, I know about the Phantom,” Luis Oliveira will say to anyone who so much as brings up the ghost kid. Locals know better by now but the tourists eat it up every time. He twists his finely combed mustache and gestures to the floor where his audience is standing. “He died right there oh ten or eleven years ago.”

Luis has worked his way all across the the United States since he emigrated from Brazil in the 70s. He finally settled in Amity Park about twelve years ago. He’d never intended to stay in the small Midwest town but the fatal shooting of a young customer kept his little corner market open.

“He was a nice kid, always said hi to me and paid in exact change. Was big fan of the snacks I made, would stop by after school and take half my inventory. He had big brown eyes and a crooked nose,” Luis would smile at the memory before closing his eyes and frowning sadly. “One day, he came late. His teacher made him stay after to go over a failed test, I remember he complained. He was pulling out his money when robber burst in, demanding my money. I fumbled for the register key, dropped it. I bent down to grab it and I hear shots going off. Two over my head, another right into the boy’s throat.”

Luis will hear the sound of that sweet boy’s guttural choking sounds as he drowned in his own blood until the day he himself died. The robber left after the shot, Luis called the police and held the young man’s hand as he died. The would be thief were never found and Luis never did learn anything about the boy who’d died on his floor for getting hungry after school.

“As soon as I saw Phantom on the TV,” Luis would say, perking up after his moment of somber grief, “I knew it was that boy come back. Those kind eyes, I’d recognize them anywhere. He’s never come here but one day he will and I will be able to pass on my regret on not being able to save his life that day.”

XxX

“I think he killed himself,” Mikey whispered to Lester during lunch period, angling his voice low. “The jocks may love Phantom for his powers but I just know he was one of us, an unwanted nerd. I’ve seen him chatting up a ghost I’m pretty sure is Poindexter, Casper’s suicide kid. They’re probably bonding over their similar deaths and the circumstances that led to it.”

“That’s pretty dark,” Lester whispered back. “I also get unpopular vibes from him but I don’t think he’s the time do uh do that to himself; he’s too stubborn and protective. But I bet he was the victim of a prank gone wrong. Dash locked Fenton in the Janitor’s closet last Wednesday, he got out okay somehow but maybe something like that happened to Phantom. He always looks kind of annoyed at the A-listers, maybe they remind him of old bullies.”

“Nuh-uh,” Clara said, pushing up her glasses with her middle finger. “The ghost kid totally got electrocuted or something. He was fighting that weather ghost and he sent lightning bolts his way and Phantom flinched. He fought the Ghost King and yet a little electricity scares him? It might not’ve even been a lightning strike but something manmade like a machine backfiring or something.”

“Get real,” Mikey scoffed, sipping his milk with an eyeroll. “I’m sure we’d have heard about some poor kid getting zapped to death; this town isn’t that big.”

“We’d have heard about a suicide too,” Lester noted with a wry grin.

“Shut up Mr. I base my theories around Fenton who’s a known weirdo”.

XxX

“I’m telling you, the ghost kid died of some debilitating illness,” Abbie McMillian, retired school teacher and three year reigning champ at the Tristate area’s Daylily Competition. She sipped her tea and spoke with as much confidence as she had back in the day wrangling Amity’s impressionable youths. “The superhero thing is clear wish childhood fulfillment, a chance to live and be free like he never got to in life. You see how happy and carefree that young man looks while flying? Clearly he spent his formative years sick and weak.”

“No way,” Greta von Martin frowned as she aggressively stirred her own tea to show her displeasure. “I worked in a hospital for close to 30 years and I know what chronically sick kids look like and Phantom doesn’t fit the bill. I will agree he’s carefree when he’s not battling spooks but he acts like a stupid teen. I’m telling you, the boy got into his parent’s liquor cabinet or took a few too many of whatever pill was going around his school. Tragic but something that happens every day.”

“Greta, dearie,” Abbie said with a pinched frown. “We’ve been friends since grade school and I love you like a sister but you are wrong and until you admit it, I won’t share anymore of my recipes.”

“You’re just being stubborn because you can’t see what’s right in front of you even after working with kids half of your life, Abbie, love,” Greta sniffed. “And you can kiss my grandson’s help weeding you garden goodbye until you relent.”

XxX

Perhaps one of the most human traits is curiosity, especially about what comes after death. Now the good people of Amity Park know a great deal about the dead so the lives before is what attracts their attention and none so more than the ghost boy. Maybe it’s because he’s their hero or maybe it’s because he’s so young. Or perhaps it’s because Phantom is such a mess of contradictions that it’s very hard to guess how the unfortunate boy met his end. But everyone has their own theories, from the mundane to the fantastic, some with evidence backing them up and others pure poppycock.

But for all their curiosity, as much as it burns them to know, they’ll never ask. They don’t want to risk the powerful ghost’s wrath but, moreover, it seemed in poor taste. The boy risked his afterlife to keep them safe, they couldn’t ask what traumatic and miserable circumstances had led to this point.

And besides, it was so much more fun to look up at ghostly figure as he sped through the skies and wonder.

#danny phantom #my writing #i made a headcanon post and immeaditly said 'i have to write this'#and then I did #tw: suicide mention #there is a non described background death of an OC #opinions are like assholes #everyone has one #and *everyone* has an opinion on how phantom died #some are reasonably close and some are waaaay far off #but they wonder and gossip and argue when the kid cant hear #its human nature

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ghostbustermelanieking · 3 years

Note

i'd like to hear some headcanons for your "georgie can see dead people" au! :0

oh thank you so much!! this is probably going to be a little messy, since i haven't actually started the fic, but!! here is something!! :) (also i am so sorry for all the sixth sense references. the actual fic will undoubtedly be worse.)

1. So the basic premise of this AU is that the end result of Georgie's encounter with the End is that, instead of losing her ability to feel fear, she gains the ability to see the dead. Everything goes the same otherwise: the protest, Alex, the dead woman, Georgie waking up days later at home, the months of strangeness and unfeeling. The difference is that when Georgie wakes up, she can see the dead woman, too. Never too close—only in corners, behind doors, in the window. And never always, but only in the moments that feel crucial. The moments where she's searching for something of herself. Her mother hugs her and she sees the dead woman over her mother's shoulder.

Georgie sees Alex, too, sometimes. Closer and more head on; she is always looking back. But she never speaks, and neither does the dead woman from the room. It isn't until she begins to see other ghosts that she realizes they can talk, if they want to. If they choose.

(Six months later is when Georgie figures out how to lock the dead woman out. She stops seeing Alex shortly after, except on occasion. Sometimes she'll see a flash of those familiar eyes in the mirror, over her shoulder, and they always seem to be apologetic. But Alex still never says anything. Georgie gets good at pretending that this doesn't hurt nearly as much as losing her.)

2. Jon is the first one that Georgie almost tells. Almost. They're honest with each other in a way that Georgie usually isn't, when they first meet, and she almost thinks he'd believe her. They talk about ghost stories all the time.

She mostly thinks about it when she sees Jon's ghosts. It isn't often but she sees them. He'll talk about what little he remembers of his parents, or pull out some old, faded pictures, and she'll see the faces reflected in the kitchen, the bathroom mirror, Jon's bedroom. He never talks about the apparition of a strange teenager that appears, once, when they both wake up sweaty from frantic nightmares and he refuses to explain, and Georgie doesn't press. He doesn't tell her about Mr. Spider and she doesn't tell him about the ghosts. Much as they love each other, they do still have secrets.

Georgie goes to his grandmother's funeral years later, even though they're barely talking at this point, and almost tells him then. Seeing him stand mostly alone at the grave, looking monumentally alone, and then a flicker of his grandmother behind him—she almost does. But still she doesn't. She's never told anyone before, and she and Jon aren't really in touch, so she just hugs him and tells him she's so sorry, and doesn't meet the eyes of the woman watching behind the fresh grave.

3. Melanie is another person Georgie almost tells. They still meet through their connections—Ghost Hunt UK, What the Ghost, and Georgie's power is (probably unsurprisingly) very useful for the paranormal podcast business. (All her episodes aren't pulled from real life, from her own experiences—that would be irresponsible, and there's more clout in retelling familiar stories. But sometimes when Georgie runs out of episode ideas, she'll visit a spooky place, write down what she sees, do a deep dive on the history, and fill in the gaps by attributing her sightings to "unnamed" witnesses.) She's met a lot of people in the ghost hunting business, but Melanie stands out, because they hit it off so immediately. Start hanging out outside of work drinks, at parties or pubs or research stints. Melanie starts inviting Georgie to consult on the show, or to collaborate, and Georgie uses what she sees to point Melanie and her team towards real sightings. Why not? Might as well have the horrible power be useful for something. Haley Joel Osment solved his problem by helping people, and this isn't the same at all (and that's a movie, anyways), but it is something.

So she and Melanie become fast friends, faster than Georgie is used to, and Georgie genuinely thinks about telling her. She trusts her, and she doesn't think Melanie would laugh, or call her a liar. (Melanie's got stories about not being believed, too; it's common in the paranormal business.) She thinks Melanie might be the right person, maybe. Just maybe.

(She doesn't end up doing it. She's still a coward when it comes to that. But it isn't because she isn't tempted.)

(The idea to tell Melanie comes before she starts seeing Melanie's father. But that fact doesn't help her decision, either. In quiet moments with Melanie, Georgie starts seeing the man in Melanie's framed photos in the shadows, looking at Melanie with sad eyes, calling her little moth. But Melanie can still barely talk about her dad, and the accident, and it feels even more wrong after he starts showing up, to tell her. Georgie worries Melanie might think she's making fun, or making something up to make her feel better, and she doesn't see this going well.

Instead she says, sometimes, I know your dad loved you a lot. Melanie says, Yeah, I know, too. Georgie says, And I bet he misses you, even though it isn't a bet; she knows. But she can't tell Melanie, and that's as far as it can go.)

4. The most significant time Georgie wants to tell Melanie, but doesn't, is the one she'll end up regretting the most in the end. When Melanie gets out of the hospital, first, and then when she comes back from India; when Georgie is basically the only friend Melanie has left from her old life, and therefore is probably the person Melanie goes to the most. The person Melanie confides in.

So Georgie is there to see it all. She'll be sitting across from Melanie in a pub, or beside her on the couch; she'll brush Melanie's hand with hers, or their knees will knock together, and Georgie will see flashes of blood, violence. Hear screaming. She'll see haunted faces out of the corner of her eyes: soldiers, doctors. Muzzles of guns. Once, a stained hand gripping Melanie around the leg.

She'll regret it, later, but Georgie doesn't say anything; she doesn't know what to say. She's never seen anything like this, even with over a decade of seeing ghosts. How is she supposed to explain it? She doesn't really know what it means. Melanie talks about war ghosts, and Georgie listens, and she rationalizes that Melanie will have to be okay. (She was okay, when it was her, and if—if this is something serious, something worse, than… then Georgie will be there. Melanie will have someone who understands.)

5. One night in February of 2018, Jon shows up back in Georgie's life, looking shell-shocked on her doorstep. He stands in the hall looking mildly terrified, when Georgie opens the door, and behind him stands a dead woman, looking desperate and furious all at once.

"Georgie," Jon says weakly. "I-I know it's been a while, but…"

"Jon! Christ, what happened to you? Are you all right?" Georgie says, trying to take in Jon and the dead woman all at once. (She is new—Jon must have had someone else close to him die.) She focuses on Jon, puts a hand on his shoulder. "Are you hurt?"

"I… I'm fine." Jon's hands twist in front of him. "I… didn't know where else to go."

Georgie swallows hard and says, "Are you in trouble?" The dead woman is looking right at her. Georgie keeps looking at Jon.

"I… yes." Jon chews on his lower lip. "If… I know it's a lot to ask, b-but I… could I… possibly stay here for a little while?"

Georgie swallows hard. She has a dozen questions—what's happened, why he needs somewhere to stay, why he looks like this—he looks like he's been through emotional turmoil, through hell—and worse, why a dead woman has followed him here. But she doesn't know how to ask these questions. And she can't just turn him away. Jon helped her heal during one of the worst periods of her life, even if he doesn't know it. And she can do the same.

"Yeah," Georgie says, and leans forward to pull Jon into a hug—tentative at first, and then stronger, when Jon latches on like he needs it. "Y-yeah, Jon, of course."

Jon rambles out a frantic thank you, layered in with apologies and copious promises to pay rent, but it becomes harder to listen. Right over Jon's shoulder, the dead woman is staring right at her, her mouth hanging open. She's got long hair and glasses, and she looks exhausted, and it isn't immediately obvious how she has died, which is unusual. And she's looking right at Georgie. She says, suddenly, "Can you—can you see me?"

It isn't the first time a ghost has spoken to her, but it's a rare enough occasion to be shocking. Her throat is thick with surprise, and she can't say anything in front of Jon, so she just sort of imperceptibly nods. Holds the dead woman's gaze for a moment.

"Fuck," says the dead woman. "Thank—thank god, thank Christ, I…" She pauses and looks at Jon, then back at Georgie, still numbly hugging Jon there in the hall. "My name is Sasha," she says, and Georgie thinks of the scene in The Sixth Sense where the sick little girl under the blanket asks for help. "Can you… can you help me?"

(send me an au and i'll give you 5+ headcanons)

#*pushes my Sasha and Georgie becomes friends agenda* yeah.... (so this is like the concrete plot points from this au lol. i havent decided #on an ending)#wtgfs #tma fic #sorta #tma au #jon & georgie #i wrote this #georgie barker sees dead people

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nevertheless-moving · 3 years

Text

Suicidal Misunderstanding XIV

Part I - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Part XI - - - - Part XII - - - - Part XIII

Star Wars Time Travel AU #27

Plo Koon woke to find himself chained in a dark room.

Somewhere behind him he could hear steady dripping; it was uncertain if that was deliberate or not.

He strained to discern anything in the dim light, but the walls of his prison refused to form into anything recognizable.

Cautiously, the trapped Master cast his senses out, only to find them reflected back at odd angles. He decided to wait before attempting to push any further past what his captor wished him to see.

Time passed strangely, but sooner than expected there was the sound of a pressurized airlock opening and, distantly, a raging ocean.

The airlock cycled through its rotation and Obi-Wan Kenobi stepped out of the amorphous shadows looking...decidedly worse for the wear.

Plo ached at the sight. His normally carefully maintained beard was a scraggly mess. His robes hung tattered and bloodied. Of particular concern was how dry he looked, skin cracked and bleeding for want of water. The figure standing before him with a dead-eyed glare resembled less an accomplished Jedi Master and more the wretched husk of one.

“Who are you?” Obi-Wan's shade hissed. The chains around the Kel Dooran tightened.

Well, however he might view himself and others...at least he’s willing to fight to defend what remains? At the bare minimum he’s not acting intentionally self destructive...

“Good Morning, Obi-Wan. I am a Jedi Master and your friend. I have been attempting to reach you through your rather impressive shielding. I must say, you’ve done a remarkable job confining me in this mental construct, its been sometime since anyone has managed to get the best of me in this arena.”

Obi-Wan snorted. “Don’t try and flatter me, you barely fought back. You could easily have forced your way anywhere, but for some reason you let me corral you, presumably to try and gain my trust. Now answer my question. Your presence is very much light so I doubt you’re Sidious or...Vader. I could be wrong obviously, but i can’t see either of themselves putting this much effort into that sort of mask...just tell me who you are, and why you’re with them.”

“I am Master Plo Koon, a High Council Member, and I am not unknown to you” he elaborated without hesitation. “I am glad that you can identify that I am a light force user. Can you not sense familiarity within my force presence, even so far within your domain?”

Obi-Wan reared back and the dripping noise in the corner stopped.

“It’s a trick. We might be in my head but that doesn’t mean I’m surrendering any of my thoughts to you,” Obi-Wan snarled. “I felt Plo Koon’s death, he was one of the first...and even if he somehow survived he would never work with the Sith to invade my mind. Never.”

“Obi-Wan. Listen to me. Please. I am not dead. I am not working with the Sith. I was brought in to reach you because no other method was working. You are in the healing halls at the Jedi Temple on Coruscant.” Plo spoke calmly, but implacably, “We believe you have either experienced a uniquely detailed vision, or a run in with a dark-sider. Whatever has happened, I can feel the lingering impression of unsafety. But here and now, you are not in any immediate physical danger. There must be something I can do to convince you of your present physical location.”

“A uniquely detailed vision, huh? ha!” Obi-Wan replied, gesturing wildly. “Ha! You expect me to believe that what, the last four years of my life were a detailed prophecy? Why?”

“You...believe you have lived years beyond the rest of us. I take it the- what you remember has been dangerous enough to warrant maintaining abnormally tight control over your mental walls, precluding simply reaching out to ascertain the truth yourself.”

“Clearly my control wasn’t enough if you’re in here.” Obi-Wan muttered.

“I do apologize for the intrusion, but we’ve already used every other tool at our disposal to reach you. I repeat, is there anything that can be done to convince you that you are, from your perspective, ‘in the past’. You are a High Council member with a grandpadawan. It’s been two years since the start of the clone wars. You recently finished an extended clean up of the Mon Cala sector after your victory.”

Obi-Wan stared at him curiously. “If I set a test and you fail, will you agree to dispense with the pretenses?”

Plo-Koon hesitated. “Perhaps I’m making this deal in bad faith, as I am know I am Plo-Koon, and that everything I have said is the truth... but I swear that if you somehow prove that neither of those things are true and I am secretly working for a sith lord, I will...reveal that.”

Obi-Wan sighed. “Best I’m going to get, I suppose.”

The chains holding Plo-Koon loosened. Before he could respond, there was a hurtling rising sensation that he struggled not to fight against. After a disorienting moment, he found himself in his own body, feeling vaguely seasick. Obi-Wan blinked awake, apparently unfazed by the precautionary bonds holding him in place. Master Aerdo’s gaze flicked between them intensely. Plo-Koon held up a clawed hand to forestall any interruption while the two gained their bearings.

Obi-Wan spoke first:

“Cihynglo’s Fourth Meditation”

“...What?” Koon replied, honestly confused.

“Cihynglo was a renowned Kashykian Jedi, her mediations are, well i suppose were considered a quintessential example of High Republic cosmic poetry.”

“I’m familiar with Cihynglo- my master used to speak of her fondly.” Plo Koon said slowly. “Though I can’t say I’m familiar with her Fourth Mediation.”

“Hmm. Yes, well her poetry in the last few decades of her life got increasingly, well, esoteric. While most of her work was widely translated and distributed, she requested that those who wished to read her fourth Meditations do so in person, so as to experience without dilution the full calligraphy and artwork that accompanied her words. She only ever produced two copies. Any guesses where they were kept?”

Obi-Wan’s voice started out in the steady tones of a born lecturer, only to grow bitter towards the end.

“Is one in the temple?” Master Koon asked.

“Yes, one was held in the Master’s wing of the temple archives. The other was housed in a place of honor in The White Forest’s Great Tree of Knowledge. Considering both libraries were reduced to ash in the first month of the Empire, it is quite impossible, even for the Emperor, to find a copy.”

His vague attempt at a smirk quickly fell flat.

“I was privileged enough to be granted time to begin reading it once, but, alas, an emergency situation in the intergalactic war you created meant that I had to run off mid-sonnet. Bring me that book, let me hold it, read it, and I will believe that I somehow unlocked the secret of time-travel while overdosing on Spice.”

Obi-Wan paused, catching his breath. “In the next fifteen minutes, please. Any more than that and you might try tracking down the few surviving Wookie scholars.” Koon flipped open his comm. “Master Nu, I have an urgent request.”

“Nu here, go on,” came the response.

“This may sound strange, but it is crucial that Cihynglo’s Fourth Meditation be brought to the healing halls, room seven. Within the next 15 minutes.”

“You do understand you’re talking about a physical book, not a flimsi-stack or a holocron. It’s not meant to leave a climate-controlled room.”

“I promise you, I would not ask if it weren’t life or death. Please Jocasta, I’ll explain later.”

“I’ll be there in 10. It had better be one durned good explanation.”

Obi-Wan looked bemused. ”You’re setting yourself up for failure.”

“I am glad you were able to come up with a test you found meaningful. Remember, you have friends here, regardless of whether you experienced subjective time travel or an incredibly detailed vision.”

They waited a little longer. Obi-Wan critically examined Master Aerdo.

“I’m a Senior Soul Healer” they offered at the non-verbal prompting.

“How interesting.” Obi-Wan remarked dryly.

They sat in awkward silence for another minute.

They were all equally trained in suppressing fidgets, coughs, or other nervous tics, which made the wait that slightest bit more unbearable, each second nearly imperceptible from the one before.

Eventually the sound of heavy boots moving at speed approached.

Master Nu strode in, gently cradling a great burden. The book gleamed large and vital in the light of its stasis wrap. Her eyes widened at they took in Obi-Wan, still cuffed to the bed.

“Cihynglo’s Fourth Meditation, as asked for. I trust you have an excellent explanation for how a book of poetry is a matter of life or death.”

“I’m hoping that it will convince our friend Master Kenobi that I am who I claim to be and we are where I claim we are.” Koon gently pulled the book from her grasp and reverently placed it on Obi-Wan’s lap. Obi-Wan stared at it uncomprehendingly.

“Obi-Wan, I’m going to uncuff you now. I trust that you will use your freedom to examine our ‘proof.’ We will physically intercede if you make any attempts at self harm.”

Master Nu gasped. “Then the temple rumors...I don’t understand.”

Obi Wan picked up the book as if he was afraid it might bite him. With an irritated snort, he opened brusquely to the middle, and began carelessly flipping ahead.

Master Nu started forward, offended, but Plo Koon held her back. “Please Master Nu, patience-”

Finally Obi-Wan seemed to reach the page he was looking for and stopped. “..And still the rain fell like blood of the womb” he murmured. “That...I tried to think of how the line ended but I...”

Everyone watched as the book shook in Obi-Wan's grasp. He turned the page, gasping slightly and murmuring as he read. “This is...a little gross, but oddly touching. I certainly would not have come up with it myself...but its so clearly...” They watched his react, eyes darting wildly and brow furrowing in confusion.

Several pages later he dropped the book abruptly.

“This is impossible,” he gasped.

Nu darted forward, carefully snatching it from his lap, "I am endeavoring to practice tolerance, but how is destroying an irreplaceable piece of literature supposed to help anyone?!” she snapped

“I admit I wondered that myself, but when I imagined what harm the Sith could do with some of the archive’s more practical works, I understood your decision to torch the collection” Obi-Wan responded dreamily. “I suppose the more beautific works would likely have been destroyed anyway...”

“Torch the archives? I would never.”

“But you did,” Obi-Wan insisted feverishly. “I found your message when we searching for survivors. There were so many bodies piled at the archive door that I was almost hopeful that they had managed to...but I suppose they held out just long enough for you to complete your task.”

Nu backed away slowly. “That sounds like quite the disturbing vision, Master Kenobi.”

“It wasn’t just a vision, it was my life. It-visions don’t last years!” he said, finally growing hysterical. “I remember everything! That gods-awful mission to Cato Nemodia! Getting takeout food with Anakin! The smell of burning flesh in the creche! Singing to Luke! The last year of the war! All of you! You crying after Dooku’s death,” he added gesturing wildly at the archivist. “It was so awkward! You were embarrassed! You told me that for some stupid reason you had ‘held out hope’ it was all an insane uncover mission, that he wasn’t really- Three years alone in the desert! I remember three years of living on fucking Tatooine, how could that possibly be a vision!”

“I...hadn’t told anyone that,” Nu whispered with a hint of alarm. She glanced at Plo Koon, daring him to comment. “I know its very much unlikely at this point, and by any measure, he’s taken things too far, but he’s gone on such long shadow missions in the past...” she looked away.

“Oh, Jocasta...” Plo sighed.

“Master Kenobi. I cannot explain how you came to have such detailed knowledge of the future,” Aerdo said, drawing focus back to the bewildered Obi-Wan, who had shifted into a defensive crouch on the bed. “But I do know one reasonably sure fire way to establish that this, us, is the present. Open yourself up to the force, please, just let yourself listen to what it has to say.

“I...want to, of course I want to believe- but the idea that I’m here- it’s, if you’re real than you can’t possibly understand, its too good to be true.” Obi-Wan responded brokenly.

“I know things have been clouded of late, but, if nothing else trust in the force to not lie to you.” Plo-Koon urged. “If you keep closing yourself off like this, how can you possibly learn if things are better than you think”

Obi-Wan collapsed from his crouch, knees folding underneath.

“If I am...even if I am in the past... Sideous might be watching...i didn’t- i don’t know the extent of his gaze- even if...” he trailed off.

“If it makes you feel safer, you are of course free to again raise your shields to whatever extent you feel necessary once you have verified your reality.” Aerdo replied smoothly.

Obi-Wan looked warily at the three Jedi in the room.“I...” he started, trying to articulate the swelling hope and fear only to find himself at a loss for words.

Aerdo shot him a reassuring smile, “If you don’t feel ready right now, that’s perfectly understandable. We’re very happy you’re willing to reach out as much as you have already. Would you like to pause this discussion for now so we can find you something to eat? I believe a simple broth is a customary first post-bacta meal, but if you have any special requests I’ll do what I can.”

Obi-Wan let out a deep breath, dropping his head into his hands. “I- I need to know, don’t I?” he mumbled. “Force help me...you win.” He took one last, searching look at the faces of his fellow Jedi before closing his eyes and surrendering himself to the force.

He opened a small hole in his mental barricades and tentatively allowed his thoughts to drip out. Tentatively, he trickled over the bank of Plo Koon’s being (expecting a frigid burn) only to find a warm and heartbreakingly familiar pool of tempered kindness.

He ran, slightly faster now, over the other Jedi presences in the room. Having finished his course without encountering any dark undertow, he ebbed back. There was an indistinct impression of something heavy giving way.

Obi-Wan’s Shields Fell Like A Dam Beneath a Tidal Wave -

#star wars #my au #suicidal misunderstanding au #star wars au no 27 #time travel #starwars #star wars fanfiction #obi-wan kenobi #fix-it

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musette22 · 3 years

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Hi Minnie! Hope you can help me settle an argument my brother and I are having about EG!Steve. I'd love to hear your thoughts about this with shipping goggles off, looking at it purely in terms of characterization, narrative, and good writing. Better hang on though, it's going to be a long ask! (sorry in advance for spamming you!) 1/7

So my brother and I were watching FatWS and once again got into a debate about whether Steve's last actions were a disservice or in line with his characterization and narrative, given that the Russos confirmed (and therefore it's Word of God/canon, even if it did sound reactionary to the immediate backlash after EG) that Steve created an alternate reality when he went back, and didn't just live in hiding in the past of the OG timeline. 2/7

Because of this, my bro argued that: 1) the total character assassination that is the idea of Steve just sitting back and letting all the shit happen happen is no longer a problem - for all we know, the alternate reality oldman!Steve came from might have become utopic already due to his presence and foresight. He played coy when talking to Sam so we don't know for certain he didn't save Bucky, get rid of Hydra, and enact social reform when he had the chance. 3/7

Likewise, 2) the accusation that Steve would rob Peggy of her husband and children is a non-issue as Steve went back to a time before Peggy and Daniel got together - I argued here that it was still wrong for him to do given that he KNEW for a fact that Peggy lived a happy life, whereas it was a gamble if he could give her the same. My bro shot back when you truly loved someone, you want them to be happy and to have what's best for them. 4/7

So if Steve chose to go back to Peggy, he had to have believed that he could give her the best life. That Steve based that decision purely on his own assessment is pretty in character (e.g. pushing to become a soldier because he thought that was how he could do his part, even though at the time, he'd have just been a danger to himself and other soldiers; not signing the Accords because he believed in his team's judgment in crises above gov't oversight that might be influenced by politics). 5/7

And lastly 3) he might have settled into the past and started to move on, but what was wrong with him choosing to be selfish and going to the past when given a chance? Why was it wrong for him to go back to a time he knew, where he was beloved by both Peggy and the public, and when he could also save Bucky early? In terms of character growth, wouldn't it be fair for him to finally learn he could be a bit selfish and choose happiness, after a lifetime of nearly suicidal selflessness? 6/7

Our debate was based on confirmed canon with shipping put aside. So I put forth the sin of leaving a traumatized Bucky, Sam, and world behind, that Steve's actions were surely the result of a man broken by grief again and again, and that choosing the past was him running away - which, I argued, was a horrible way to end his character arc. But my brother asked me why I thought so, because wasn't this the so-called 'soft epilogue' that Steve deserved, one that was most in line with canon? 7/7

***************

Hey love! Very interesting argument you and your brother are having here… I’m sure he’s a great guy but I have to say that I vehemently disagree with him (as you probably already guessed lol). Soooo many people have done an excellent job at explaining why, shipping aside, Steve’s ending in EG was absolute bollocks, and I’m certain I could never argue this case as well as all of them have. Nevertheless, I’ll do my best to explain why, in my opinion, your brother is wrong :p I’m going to put my reply under the keep reading tag, because it is long.

1. The Russos and Markus & McFeely (the writers) never managed to agree on whether Steve really did go back to an alternate timeline, and if so, how that would have worked, exactly. When they were asked, after EG had been released, about whether Steve would have just sat back and let everything he knew was happening/going to happen in the decades to come, both to Bucky and to the world at large, they came up with this ‘alternate timeline’ solution, but they kept contradicting each other on the logistics and technicalities of it (like how would old man Steve suddenly be able to jump timelines to come back to give Sam the shield in EG? And how did EG Steve attend Peggy’s funeral, like they also suggested, which would technically have been in a different timeline?). Which makes it pretty clear that this wasn’t something they’d considered beforehand or even all agree on afterwards, and therefore it can’t technically allowed to play a role in judging the rightness of Steve’s ending in EG if we’re looking at it from a ‘the creator’s word is law’ perspective. Moreover, there is nothing to indicate in EG itself that Steve knew he’d be able to create alternate timelines, so that would’ve been a crazy gamble on his part. Also, him ‘playing coy’ in that final scene with Sam really isn’t a convincing indication that he was actually, canonically, talking about anything besides marrying Peggy.

2. Which bring us to point two: Peggy had literally told Steve she’d lived a happy life with her family, and told him in no uncertain terms to move on. If Steve really loved her, he would have accepted her wishes and allowed her the dignity of her choice (something Peggy herself, in CA:TFA, had told Steve was important to do when you care about someone) to move on from him once she believed him dead. Steve deciding that he would be better for Peggy because he believed was a better man than the person she ended up marrying originally would be the most un-like Steve thing to do, ever. Steve has never once shown that he thinks of himself as the hero or better than other people – he simply wants to do the best he can to help make the world a better place. He would never say “Peggy deserves the best and I believe I am the best, therefore she will have me, regardless of what she thinks or wants.” Steve drinks respect women juice, that’s clear from all of his movies, and deciding the course of her entire life for her, taking away her agency, whether in his own timeline or another, would be utterly disrespectful to Peggy.

3. As for the next point: of course there’s nothing wrong with Steve being selfish for once – Steve is human, and all humans are selfish sometimes, and that’s okay. But, as Chris Evans already explained multiple times prior to Endgame, Steve had already made selfish decisions in the past, namely when it came to getting Bucky back and keeping him safe. Shipping aside, Bucky was presented in all the Cap movies as Steve’s very best friend, and was even called his ‘soulmate’ (platonically or otherwise) by M&M (the writers). So when, in Civil War, Steve was presented with a choice between duty/what was expected of him by the government versus saving Bucky/keeping Bucky safe, Steve was selfish and chose Bucky. That, canonically, made sense. Peggy being presented as the ultimate love of Steve’s life, who he loved and valued more than anyone or anything else in the world (which is what happened in EG), canonically does not make sense.

In CA:TWS, Peggy told Steve to move on. When Peggy died, Steve buried her and mourned her, and then not long after, he canonically kissed Peggy’s niece. Then, in Infinity War, Steve saw Bucky turn to dust before his very eyes in the “Blip” (a conscious decision on the writers’/directors’ part to show how Steve once again lost what was most important to him while helplessly standing by) – and the next thing we know, Steve is leading a support group for other people who lost loved ones in the Blip, and starts talking about losing… Peggy? Huh. Also, Steve going back to a time which your brother calls “a time when he was beloved the public” doesn’t add up, either: technically, Steve went back to a time where people loved an idea of him, but also believed him to be dead. So either he would have had to have found a way to convincingly stage his own resurrection (meanwhile possibly leaving the other version to vegetate in the ice..? depending on how this timeline malarkey was supposed to work), or he would have lived his whole life hidden behind some fake persona – which does not sound like Steve at all, does it?

4. Finally, let’s talk about Bucky some more, because I think we need to to be able to assess the situation properly. I understand that your brother may believe that shippers are often delusional and only see what they want to see etc, but there is ample evidence, canonically, of Bucky being the most important person in Steve’s life – the person he would give up the shield for, the person he would give up his other friendships for, the person he would give up his life for. Peggy may have been a recurring character in character in the three Cap movies, but she was never presented as the principal motivator of his actions, or as the love of Steve’s life. You know who was? Bucky. Sure, that love wasn’t canonically romantic in nature, but there can’t be any doubt that Bucky meant more than anything to Steve. Therefore, Steve choosing to have a ‘soft epilogue’ that entails him spending the rest of his life without Bucky – and, more importantly, Bucky to spend the rest of his life without Steve – contradicts everything we’ve learned about their relationship (platonic or otherwise) in the rest of the movies, does it not?

Also, the Russos have said something to the effect that Bucky and Steve were now both mentally ‘well enough’ to not ‘need’ each other anymore (because as we all know, that’s exactly how friendships work…), but it’s pretty clear from EG that Steve was still traumatized by everything he’d been through, and going back to the 50s would have meant he would never be able to get proper help with that and in fact could only talk about any of it with Peggy and Peggy alone. Moreover, M&M have literally said in interviews that Bucky wasn’t all that well yet, mentally, and TFAWTS also shows convincingly that Bucky was not actually in a good place when Steve left him. So that would have meant that Steve either did not see this (unlikely, given how close they were) or did not care (unlikely, given how close they were).

It would have meant that for the first time in all these movies, Steve decided “to hell with Bucky’s needs, I’m gonna just be selfish because I’ve earned it and claim my trophy wife because actually I am the best man for her, despite the fact that she’s already lived a happy life that I will be negating against her wishes, but that’s fine because maybe I’ll be able to create a different timeline, and maybe I’ll be able to save Bucky from all his trauma anyway, but then again maybe not, but that brings me back to my first point of to hell with Bucky’s needs” - which does not make a lot of sense to me, personally. Not to mention that, in exchange for his ‘soft epilogue’, Steve would also leave the world to sort out the post-Blip mess without him, and leave all the other friends he still had left and clearly cared about a lot to boot. I would not call that character growth, I would call that character disintegration. If your brother insists on taking the creator’s word as gospel and that we have to accept that Steve really did do what he did at the end of Endgame, and that wasn’t just a case of bad, lazy writing fuelled by greed, then to make a decision like this, Steve would have been either an asshole in disguise all along, or mentally extremely unstable.

There you have it, my two cents! I hope this helps a little in settling the argument with your brother, anon! Lots of love ❤️

#anti endgame #steve rogers #minnie answers #Anonymous

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theleftovertaco · 3 years

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Post War HCs

TW- mentions of panic attacks, hoarding, PTSD, self harm, if any of this may trigger something for you, don’t fucking read it.

I always kind of get annoyed when writers, shows or movies ignore the physical or mental trauma that their characters have. I understand in Harry Potter where the characters aren’t really shown past their first 7 years but I do have some personal HCs about how each of the characters fared following the second Wizarding War and the Battle of Hogwarts

All was not well.

Harry gets sensory overload, he’s anxious all the time, and over the following years he becomes a bit of a control freak, since he felt like he could barely control things around him as a teen. He spent nearly 7 years telling himself and others that he wanted to be an Auror, and he followed through, going through the training, passing his exams and finally becoming an Auror.

He gets burnout in less than 2 years before eventually resenting his job. It’s not for lack of trying, they do a lot the first few months in active duty and he moves up the ranks faster than anyone in Ministry history (being the chosen one has it’s perks).

But he feels like there’s so much that’s put on his plate, that he can’t control. Harry spent seven years at Hogwarts dodging Daily Prophet interviews and trying to live up to the expectations of being the Chosen One, and he hoped that after he killed Voldemort, those expectations would have been met and he could finally have some peace.

The expectations grew. So did criticisms. Any singular mistake the Auror department made fell under his responsibility, at least, according to the press.

At the one and a half year mark, he breaks, doesn’t show up for work one day, dodges his family and friends and takes off for a few weeks. He shows up later to press shoving their quick-quotes quills in his face and hands in an immediate notice of resignation.

All was not well.

Hermione still wakes up in the middle of the night with stinging flesh, and she has to check over her limbs to make sure that Bellatrix didn’t somehow carve another slur into her, even though Hermione knows she’s dead.

Sometimes she can still feel the knife carving into her arm, can still feel the blood dripping out of the wound.

She develops a fear of snakes over time, even the smallest garden snake makes her jump, considering her experience with snakes during the war was less than satisfactory, to say the least

Hermione puts her guard up when meeting diplomats as she rises the Ministry ranks. She never knows who is going to spout anti- muggle rhetoric in her face. She walks with her wand always in her hand.

She never knows if a Voldemort sympathizer will jump out and attack her when she walks down Diagon Alley.

All was not well.

Ron can’t be away from Hermione or Harry for too long or he gets separation anxiety. Spending nearly a decade in life or death situations makes him nearly unable to function unless he knows they’re both okay.

Ron still feels a curling sensation in his gut if he is away from Hermione for too long. Sometimes he wakes up screaming her name when his nightmares make him relive the sounds of her being tortured by Bellatrix.

After the third time of him showing up at her doorstep at odd hours of the night, she takes him to buy a landline so he can just call to confirm her safety.

Ron needs reassurance that his friends won’t leave him. He spent his whole life being mistaken or compared to his siblings. There is always that sinking feeling in his mind that one day, his friends will realize that they’re better than him, and they’ll move on.

It takes years of reassuring before he begins to believe it himself.

All was not well.

Fred lives, but his hearing is permanently damaged from the explosion. Sometimes he can still hear ringing sounds of the blast and his ears will randomly bleed.

He tries to hold it together, to prove that he doesn’t need help with his hearing.

It takes about eight months before he concedes and allows his mother to take him to get his ears looked at, but by that point the damage is too far down, so he tries muggle hearing aids.

Sometimes Fred can still feel his lungs crushing in while he struggles to take another breath, can feel his ribcage closing in on his heart. Whoever he’s closest too will have to sit down with him and remind him that he’s not under a dark pile of rubble, unable to scream or speak or breath.

Sometimes it’s impossible for him to hear them though because when he has panic attacks his ears just, shut off, or he’ll rip out his aid.

All was not well.

George still gets insane migraines and feels phantom pains on the left side of his head. He has to take potions to quell the constant pounding sensation in his head.

He can never be apart from Fred for long. The five minutes of terror he went through when he believed his twin brother was dead have made him constantly worried for his brothers safety so he babies him all the time. Fred eventually gets fed up with him and snaps a few months in, yelling at him to “stop treating me like a child!”

George breaks down sobbing and they both end up going to joint therapy.

George is tired all the time. His job of being around kids in the shop all the time, working 12+ hour days, for 4-6 days a week tires him out. He needs his sleep.

Fred often finds him slumped over at his desk or at a register and sends him home.

He hits his breaking point when he refuses to sleep or rest for over 3 days and collapses while restocking.

Fred and George learn to enforce specific schedules, shifts no longer than ten hours for them and no more than nine for their employees.

All was not well.

Ginny, Neville, Luna, Dean, and Seamus still wake up from nightmares of the first years screaming under the punishment of the Carrow twins.

They snuck as many as possible into the Room of Requirement.

But it wasn’t enough, and they all have memories scraped into their skulls of sending the body of a first year Hufflepuff home to sobbing parents after Amycus Carrow caught her reading the Quibbler.

Ginny feels her scalp on fire years after her 6th year from when Alecto Carrow dragged her by the hair.

She begins to tear out her own hair.

Ginny eventually breaks and just shaves her whole head.

All was not well.

Neville retreats into his shell of plants and disappears into greenhouse three to his venomous tentacula when he feels panicked.

He has to create a rigid schedule for himself, a response to the undiscernible chaos of his school years.

All was not well.

Luna starts seeing her mother again in her dreams, her screams as she died mirroring the ones of the students that screamed out for help while they were still in school.

All was not well.

Dean and Seamus rent an apartment together and open a pub because if they aren’t always in each others line of sight, panic shoots through their hearts. Seamus throws all his energy into cooking and Dean controls most of the serving and financial aspects of the place.

All was not well.

Molly Weasley still glances at her family clock in fear, though now a few more names have been added to it, waiting for the hands of Harry, Ron, and Hermione to switch back to “Mortal Peril” like they did so often while the three were horcrux hunting.

All was not well.

Arthur Weasley clings to his muggle objects like a shield and eventually develops a light hoarding problem. Molly and the children have to force him to go through each item. Harry and Hermione sit down with him and explain the purpose of each object until he’s ready to let a lot of it go.

All was not well.

Minerva McGonagall still is on the lookout for kids that look like they come from dangerous homes. Kids that need her help. She worries after 7 years of chaos when the other shoe will drop, and waits with baited breath for news to come through that another catastrophic event will occur within the walls of Hogwarts, walls which were supposed to keep students safe.

All was not well.

Draco Malfoy spends hours in the shower scrubbing at his scar, trying to make it disappear, he cuts into it at some point with a knife and his mother gently forces him to enter himself into a temporary psych ward after she finds him bloodied and passed out on his bathroom floor.

All was not well. All was never well.

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blackbat05 · 3 years

Text

Hope

Jimmy Woo x Reader

A/N: I think if I’m stressed I just end up writing more as a source of comfort. Anyways, I have finally achieved my promise of writing a new character! I really love Jimmy Woo especially after his appearance in WandaVision y’all (please, he deserves more love). Again, I had an idea in my head and I just went along with it - the reader is basically living alone and with the blip, her mental health just takes another hit. Jimmy is there to support her and to also give her news that brings a little bit of hope to the reader. Not sure how it turned out but would appreciate if you gave a like or comment if you wish! Enjoy!

Genre: PG 13

Warnings: Mentions of drugs, struggling with mental health after the blip (this is pretty interesting and I would like to explore more if possible), two idiots having a crush on each other?

‘Another late night?’ A cup of coffee is placed on your table. You look up to see that it belongs to your long-time friend and colleague from the FBI, Jimmy Woo.

‘Yeah,’ you groaned as you tried stretching your back against the chair. ‘Helped Agent Cortez from the DEA to chase down a few leads back in Detroit. I just got back at two in the morning,’ stifling a yawn. ‘What about you?’ You attempt to prolong the conversation. It was always nice seeing Jimmy to start the day right. Let’s just say that over the years, you developed feelings for this charming man.

‘Been the same old thing, board wants us to keep tabs on Maximoff,’ referring to the Scarlet Witch. You couldn’t help but to feel sorry for the former Avenger who was probably on the run now after causing the Westview anomaly. Glancing around the office, you realized there were more people starting to stream in. Not the best place for a private conversation. Standing up, you pointed upwards, asking him silently if he wanted to talk on the rooftop instead.

Your insides couldn’t have been more thankful for the warm brown liquid that trickled down your esophagus. Feeling a bit more awake, you decided to be more active. ‘Do they know that Captain Rambeau let Wanda go?’

He shakes his head, ‘Monica told the board by the time she got to where Wanda was supposed to be, she was gone,’ he looks at you, waiting for your reaction. ‘I know what you’re thinking but-’

‘Hey, I’m not Hayward. Anyone with two pairs of eyes and functioning brain would know that Wanda is not the villain that SWORD made her to be. I don’t know her but somehow I feel…’ You trailed off, not being able to find the right words.

You heard a lot about the sorceress through Jimmy’s nightly calls with you when he was in Westview. Just how could someone go for so long being so alone? His last call before storming into Westview was… impactful.

‘So you going to arrest her?’

There was a bout of silence before Jimmy gave a sigh, ‘To be honest, I don’t know. Monica’s in there right now so I trust her. But Wanda’s probably not going to stay in the States if she walks free. He tells you to give him a moment as he shouts in the distance to someone - a fellow FBI agent. ‘Hey, I got to go.’

‘Be careful.’

You cup your hands around the coffee, gazing into the distance. Like the FBI office, people were starting their day too. The day started to become brighter as the skies were tinted with navy blue specks. How long has it been since you were living here alone in Washington?

Jimmy tries not to intrude into your thoughts but as a friend who had knew you for over a decade, he wasn’t dumb. You were probably thinking about your family, a thousand of miles away from America. He remembers you bursting into his house after graduation, not caring about your tear-stricken face. Apparently your family wanted to move back to your homeland back in Madripoor.

But you were just starting out your career here, preparing to go to the police academy and all. It was your dream - hell, it was what you wanted. You felt pride serving people and helping others. People called you basic and naïve for having those thoughts, but it was that desire that kept you going till now.

Then the blip happened. As Jimmy sees the people below his apartment block vanishing into dust, the first person he thinks is to call you. It just kept going back to voicemail.

You’re in your new apartment that the Global Repatriation Council managed to arrange for you. It was a cozy two room apartment located on the fifth floor. You should have been thankful and you were, but just like how the lights were all switched off, you were spiraling into a vast land of meaningless thoughts.

Everyone had moved on without you. The moment you were dusted back into your old apartment back in Jersey, you immediately called your family to receive the biggest shock of your life. Your younger brother was caught in a shootout between the Vladivostok mafia and the local gangs at Club Azimut. What in the name of gods was he even doing there anyway?

‘I think it’s best not to come home for a while Y/N, your father-’

‘Thinks that it’s my fault,’ you finished the sentence for your mother. I couldn’t blame them. You were essentially a cop. Which made your brother a target especially in shit holes like Madripoor. Of course, your father was pissed beyond repair - B/N died and you caused it.

‘It’s ok mom, I get it. Take care of yourself ok?’ Before she could say another word, you hung up. The room was overwhelming the lone figure with its silence. Maybe that’s why you found yourself bursting into tears.

Jimmy walks to your apartment door, two bags of Chinese takeout in one hand. He slows down when he hears the muffled sobs. The door to your place was ajar. Pushing it carefully, he walks past the entrance to see your dazed figure leaning against the wall, unpacked boxes surrounding you. You don’t even notice that someone had entered your house.

‘What am I supposed to do Jimmy?’ It felt like your heart was stretched into every single direction every time you spoke a word. You couldn’t stop yourself from trembling.

Jimmy puts the bags aside on the dining table, taking a seat beside you. He doesn’t say a word and the only sound that could be heard within your apartment was the honking of cars eagerly awaiting to get back home to their families. Reaching for the television control, he switches it on to a documentary channel, letting you lean on him.

You realized that you had floated into a world of your own thoughts, leaving Jimmy standing beside you on the rooftop. ‘I’m sorry Jimmy, got carried away.’

He shakes his head as he continues to sip his coffee. That was what made Jimmy so comfortable to be around with. But you knew that as your best friend, you weren’t going to short change him - he had given you the time and space that you needed.

‘Talking about Wanda just makes me think about Madripoor,’ you started, unsure of how to continue. ‘It’ll be eleven, twelve years of me living alone.’ You didn’t even bother to count anymore, what good would it do? ‘I dedicate nearly half my life to the force, believing that it was the right choice,’ you said, ‘but I lost the people around me instead. I just don’t know how long I can continue with all this,’ you waved around, referring to the late nights, the long stake outs and the dangerous situations that you were constantly tossed in. Sure, you were lucky to have good colleagues who made sure you didn’t get a bullet in the back but none of them were remotely close enough to share your emotional struggles that only increased since you were snapped back.

Maybe except for Jimmy.

He waits for you to go on but you seem to have finished. This was a good time to bring up what he had in mind that would probably kill two birds with one stone.

‘The FBI does have ways of traumatizing their own in the most unexpected ways, but we can never really escape from it can we? Every time we put one demon down, more takes its place. I’ve been there,’ he pause, recollecting his own thoughts. ‘Facing these monsters can be scary but - I guess what I’m really trying to say is that you don’t have to do this alone Y/N.’ His heart skips a beat. He has to continue, there was no turning back.

‘Monica’s going to be away for a while,’ he adds on, ‘Avenger stuff. Probably off-world. And Darcy, well... who knows where she’ll be?’

You waited patiently for him to get his point across.

‘Director Fury knows about this but he wants an extra pair of eyes on the ground to watch Wanda’s movements. I can’t do it alone so I recommended you.’

Your brain cell freezes, trying to process the past few minutes. So you were potentially going from investigating drug cartels to assessing an Avenger level threat? And with Jimmy who knows you at the back of his head as your partner? The top of your mouth twitched upwards.

‘I’m sorry if it was so unexpected. But seeing you like this, I thought you could use an energy booster.’ Jimmy had no idea where was this surging amount of confidence coming from. He imagines Darcy’s voice ringing in his head. Go get her tiger!

‘Energy booster?’ You played along, teasing him at his choice of words. ‘I’m not sure if potentially being mind controlled by the Scarlet Witch would bring energy to me but I’m grateful.’

‘I’m hurt Y/N,’ he places his free hand over his chest in mock horror. ‘Here I was thinking that working with me everyday would bring some light into your life.’ Jimmy abruptly halts his sentence. What the hell were you thinking?

Suddenly your coffee cup was very interesting to look at. You always had a crush on Jimmy but let’s face it - work romances never end up good. You didn’t want to jeopardize the friendship you had slowly build up with him for what - fifteen years?

A voice inside your head knocks some senses into you. Come on Y/N, he’s been with you through thick and thin! He knows everything about you, hell he even knows how you eat! Life’s not going to wait for anyone. So just take the leap of faith. It’s Jimmy here we’re talking about.

Just as Jimmy was dead sure that you were about to reject his offer, he meets your eyes that is now full of confidence. ‘Well if Director Fury thinks highly of me, I can’t say no right?’

Who cared about controlling one’s facial expressions, Jimmy was the happiest man in the FBI building. Phone beeping in his pocket, he checks the message. ‘Ah shoot, I got to go. SWORD’s demanding another meeting again. But I’ll catch up with you later? Maybe for dinner at the ramen place two blocks down?’

You tried not to get ahead of yourself but it was hard not to. ‘Sure, sounds like a plan.’

As you see his retreating figure, you couldn’t help but to think that maybe, just maybe, hope was not too far away.

Finishing the last of your coffee, you threw your cup into the bin. Agent Cortez had just sent you a text as well - it was time to finish your last bit of the job before a whole new beginning.

Crazy, but at least you had Jimmy.

A/N: Still trying to work on my endings! HAHAHA~ but I really hope that somehow it brings a little comfort? I think I’m just writing (or trying to at least) comfort stuff to just have an outlet. If you have read up till here, thank you! Wherever you are, stay safe and healthy! If you need to talk, I think my inbox is open? I did set it to receive stuff so feel free! I’ll get back to you as soon as I can if you do! Lots of love~

P.S. IS FINALLY FRIDAY AND OCTOBER! Omg I want to join in the fun on Kinktober but 2 problems:

1. I can’t do the obvious without being cringey (smut writers y’all the MVP)

2. I only end my placement on the 2nd last week of October so I can’t do it like everyday TT or at least like frequently

#jimmy woo #Jimmy woo x reader #mcu x reader #he’s my comfort character #wandavision #mcu phase 4

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musicanddancingthroughlife · 3 years

Text

Shklance - I Died

I feel like I basically dropped off the face of the planet, and for that I apologize. I have no excuses, except stress and mental health have been a huge problem lately and I’ve just been trying to find balance in my life. I can’t promise anything in the near future, with holidays coming up, and I have finals in like 3 weeks, and then my husband and I are moving at the end of the year, and then my little sister’s wedding is a few weeks after so I’m helping with that, and basically my life is just a mess right now, but I am still working on stuff, comments are always welcome and really do help to get me motivated, and hopefully I can get back into the groove of writing daily and posting weekly!

This story is probs gonna be a part 1 of 2. Hopefully. As is, I wanted it to be a stand alone, but I’ve been drafting it for almost a month now and I just want to throw it at you guys. So know I’m working on a part 2, where they talk about the whole thing and you see everyone’s reactions to what happened. This was actually a request someone made of me on my Ao3 account, but I’ve always loved reading stories dealing with everyone finding out about Lance dying. Just never thought I could do it justice haha. Anyway, hope you enjoy!

---------------------------------------------------

Lance knew that this was going to be an emotional day for all of them, but seriously, this was a little overkill. He knew he shouldn’t have gotten out of bed today.

Sure, it was the one-year anniversary of the day they all saved the universe, ended the war that had gone on for decades, blah blah blah, but getting up also meant that he was going to have to see everyone again.

Not that he wasn’t thrilled to see them! He and Hunk especially had been waiting for this day for months, and he couldn’t wait to see Pidge and Matt again, either. Last Lance had talked to them, they had been working on some seriously neat stuff. They were sure to be a lot of fun.

Hell, he had even been looking forward to seeing Allura again, even though things had never really been the same between them after Allura broke things off. Though, considering how hurt he was still feeling about their break up, it was probably a good thing she had canceled last minute. She’d said that she needed to focus on helping the universe heal. Lance had wanted to go with her, but she rejected him. He knew she was trying to be kind, telling him that he “deserved the time to rest” and that she “knew how much he’s been missing his home planet.” But really, all it had done was serve to remind him that he wasn’t actually necessary.

Not like Shiro and Keith were.

Allura hadn’t had any problems taking them with her, even though everyone else (even Keith) and agreed that if anyone deserved the down time, it was Shiro. Especially since Shiro had seemed a little weary when he accepted the invitation from Allura. Personally, Lance believed the only reason he agreed to go was because he knew that Keith wouldn’t be happy staying in one place anymore, and of course, there was no way they were going to allow themselves to be separated again, not after everything that had happened…

And Lance was even looking forward to seeing Keith and Shiro, since he had probably missed them the most. But he also knew that it was going to be hard. It was always hard seeing them together, but knowing that they’ve been doing so much good out in the universe, that they’ve gotten to see so much more of those worlds than he had… That was going to be hard.

Not to mention Lance still hadn’t managed to shake the crushes he’d had on them for so long now.

Or the fact that while everyone else was off changing the universe, traveling the galaxies, creating newer and better technology and inventions, Lance had done nothing? Okay, so farming wasn’t nothing. And no one could deny that Earth needed some TLC after the trauma of the war had nearly destroyed it. But as much as he enjoyed the simple hard work involved, that didn’t mean he didn’t understand it was stupid. It was pathetic. His friends were still fighting, in their own ways, and Lance felt as if he had simply given up. He couldn’t figure out what he wanted to spend his time doing, what felt most worthy of his time and attention, and so he had allowed himself to fall back on something easy.

And he wasn’t sure that he could face his friends while knowing the truth about himself, that he was a coward and had no mission or goals in life.

******

So, maybe Lance was a bit of a drama queen, because things had actually been going better than he expected. Everyone looked good, older and more experienced. Hunk had even grown out some facial hair, though it was a little sparse coming in. Lance knew that wouldn’t be the case for very long. The most shocking was Allura’s news about expecting a child (Keith and Shiro had passed it on in her absence). That hurt way more than Lance thought had a right to, but he tried hard to suppress that pain until he could process it in private. Possibly while crying over a tub of ice cream.

And as far as their actual dinner and celebration went, well… it really had been inevitable that their discussion would become heavier. And, as usual, Lance couldn’t keep his own mouth shut.

“We had some good times, though, right?” Lance laughed easily, trying to direct the conversation back to something lighter, something easier (at this point he’d had a couple decades to cement his masks, and he was good at pretending like nothing was wrong). “I mean, we might have been injured, and tortured—”

“Lance,” Hunk warned. He darted a quick, concerned look to Keith and Shiro, but thankfully neither of them looked too worried. Instead, they were staring at Lance with such sappy looks Hunk was irritated Lance wasn’t paying enough attention to notice on his own. A shared glance with Pidge told him that at least he wasn’t alone in his annoyance.

Lance continued thoughtlessly, “and I mean, maybe a couple of us died, but hey! In the end, it all turned out okay, and look at everyone, living their best lives!” (Lance was firmly ignoring the fact that he had spent most of his free time leading up to today pouting in bed. No one else knew, and therefore it didn’t count.)

Pidge opened her mouth, but Shiro spoke first. His brows were furrowed, and his nose had scrunched up a little. Lance wanted to melt at the cuteness of it. “Did someone else die? I thought I was the only one. Who else died?”

Lance’s jaw snapped shut. He couldn’t remember if it had even been brought up or not… It had to have, right? There’s no way his friends – his team – had just gone on for this long without knowing! He thought they were just ignoring it! Things had been crazy, and they’d never really gotten a chance to slow down and breathe, let alone discuss everything that had happened. And that was fine! That was to be expected! But now he was supposed to believe they just didn’t know??? Did that mean they didn’t care? That they didn’t notice all the nightmares that had become the norm after his death? The way he was jumpier for months after that battle? And if that were the case, then was it even worth bringing up now, so long after it had happened?

Lance’s face was burning, the warm flush traveling up to the tips of his ears, and possibly all the way down his neck. He could feel his eyes welling up, but he brushed it away, pretending his face palm in order to hide the movement. He glanced at his friends, unsurprised to find Hunk staring at him intently. Pidge was muttering to herself, obviously trying to determine what had happened on her own. Lance couldn’t even bear to drag his gaze to Keith or Shiro.

He tried to get out of answering Keith.

“Oops haha, must’ve miscounted, I meant to say that one of us had died,” Lance laughed again but unlike earlier, this one was decidedly uncomfortable. “Because. Obviously. One of us… did. Sorry, Shiro. But like, you died. That happened. And it was weird and we got a weird clone out of the deal, which was weird – did I say that already? – and like he wasn’t a great dude, so I’m glad you didn’t stay dead, you know? You’re much nicer than that clone was, he was kind of a jerk. No offense, Shiro. I mean, not that you’re the clone or anything, cause you’re Shiro, and that was Not-Shiro—”

Oh dear God why wouldn’t they shut him up? Lance was so busy panicking about what he was saying that he didn’t notice Shiro and Keith slowly standing, approaching him from each side. But Hunk and Pidge could almost see the concern rising off them.

“But he was mean, and he yelled at us a lot. Although I guess he really spent most of his time yelling at me, which really, makes sense, but again, not something you would’ve done, Shiro, so I’m glad you didn’t stay dead or anything, because Not-Shiro was a terrible replacement and—”

“Shiro yelled at you?” Keith had come close enough that he could lay a warm, gentle hand on Lance’s shoulder. Lance almost flinched at the contact, it had been so long since someone had touched him like that. Sure, he saw his family way more often than he had while they were fighting in space, but, come on. They were fighting in space. He never saw them back then! Anything was an improvement over that! Anyway, the point was, he knew he was lonely. He ignored it. It didn’t matter. His friends were happy, his family was safe.

“Weren’t you listening when I said it was Not-Shiro?” was all Lance could think to say. Keith rolled his eyes.

“Why did he yell at you?” Shiro asked. Lance shrugged.

“Lance had some good advice to share. Though honestly, I’m thinking that Lance’s plan just wouldn’t have suited the clone’s purposes and he wanted to make sure that Lance would stop pushing. So he yelled, knowing that would be enough to shut Lance down,” Hunk said. He shot Lance an apologetic look as he did so. Smart, because Lance was Not Happy with him. Now wasn’t the time to share petty hurts!

“Personally, I believe it was because if anyone was going to find out he wasn’t really Shiro, it would’ve been you,” Pidge shrugged. And really, et tu, Pidge? This wasn’t fair at all. Not to mention, now Lance could feel the now-familiar guilt from knowing he hadn’t been able to tell.

And that was what finally had Lance speaking up. “Oh come on, guys, that’s not even the worst any of us suffered out there! Lotor joined the team! I died! Shiro died! Keith left! We had bigger things to deal with!”

There was a brief silence following this, long enough for Lance to squeeze his eyes shut and briefly mutter “Fuck” to himself, and then—

“What do you mean, you died?”

Lance’s ability to make things worse every time he opens his mouth really should be considered a wonder of the world.

He opened his eyes hesitantly to find that everyone was watching him intently. Tears were welling in Hunk’s eyes, and Lance knew that if he paid too much attention to his friend, then he would break almost instantly. He avoided looking in that direction, lips pursed shut, determined to stay quiet now. But they were just as determined to make him talk.

“Lance, please, what happened?” and since when the hell does Pidge beg? That’s just wrong. But effective, because that wrongness made Lance jerk his head up, eyes accidentally locking with Shiro.

He looked so sad…

“It really wasn’t a huge deal, I was just saying that there was a lot happening. It was pretty much impossible for all of us to keep up with each other, what with Lotor and Allura, and Keith disappearing then coming back, and the search for Shiro… and Hunk, Pidge, you guys had a great team thing going on there. That was a lot of fun! And then remember Coran had us playing Monsters and Mana? Good times!”

“You played what?” Keith asked, confused. Then he shook his head. “Stop distracting us, Lance. Answer the questions.”

“Um. What questions?”

Keith’s face hardened, eyes doing that dangerous flinty thing that Lance had always loved to see when he got mad. But before he could say anything, Lance’s phone went off. He really did try to hide the relief on his face as he stood, but the way Shiro set his jaw made him think he was not successful.

Before Lance could answer the call, he felt his phone plucked from his fingers. He lunged for it, and Keith slipped it into his own back pocket, out of Lance’s reach. Even worse, his lunge for it brought their faces way too close. Lance jerked back, face flaming a bright red, but he felt himself crash back into Shiro’s firm, solid chest. He started to stammer apologies, but Keith’s hands settled on Lance’s shoulders, pulling him away, and then he and Shiro pushed him back down into his chair. As Shiro moved to kneel next to Lance’s chair, Keith held him there, grounding and sure. He leaned down, putting his mouth close to Lance’s ear and then murmured “Please. We need to know. We’re horrible friends for not already knowing, but we’re asking now and we need you to tell us. Let us help.” And Shiro gripped Lance’s arm, thumb smoothing against his darker skin, making it harder and harder for Lance to want to move.

Lance knew that they were blowing this out of proportion. But he still felt touched. He’d thought they were just ignoring his death because other things were happening at the same time, but maybe that wasn’t really the case. Maybe they truly hadn’t known. Maybe Allura had never said anything, and Lance, expecting Allura to say something, hadn’t said anything either, and so maybe they just didn’t know. Maybe sharing it now would be okay.

#shklance #takahsi shirogane #keith kogane #lance mcclain #shklance fic #vld #vld fic #voltron #voltron fic #voltron legendary defender #protective!shiro #protective!keith #langst #i guess #jessi rambles #mywriting #my writing #its been so long Idk if im missing any tags #sorry

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ibijau · 3 years

Note

27 for xisang, please make it as angsty as your heart desires ❤️

It had been a few years since Lan Xichen had left his seclusion, and a few more since the events that had pushed him to enter it. He had made his peace with the whole thing, accepted his share of guilt and blame, and resumed his life as before, only changed by a better understanding of human nature. He also, perhaps, paid a little more attention to rumours, and was more interested in investigating them, knowing that refusing to do so had partly led to that disaster with Jin Guangyao. Even when rumours were unfounded, Lan Xichen had started to realise, the very fact that they existed could reveal something about both their target and their instigator.

The latest rumour was that Nie Huaisang intended to become Chief Cultivator.

Once, Lan Xichen would have dismissed the idea immediately. Nie Huaisang was many things, but he had never been particularly ambitious nor interested in hard work. Certainly Qinghe Nie was doing better again these days, but it still wasn’t quite back to truly being a Great Sect, nor did it give any signs that it aimed to be. Then again, if Nie Huaisang had proven one thing, it was that he knew how to deceive and misdirect when it served his purposes.

At the next conference they both attended, Lan Xichen found himself paying rather more attention than usual to the man he’d once counted as a friend of sorts. At first there was nothing amiss. Nie Huaisang conducted himself as usual, talking little, listening a lot. Listening too much, in fact. Lan Xichen realised after a bit that he had never seen Nie Huaisang so attentive at a conference, even if he was clearly trying to hide it. What’s more, quite a few times Lan Xichen caught the other man glancing in his direction. They hadn’t exchanged two words since that certain night, nor had either of them made efforts to acknowledge the other in any way, so this was odd.

Odder still was it for Nie Huaisang to come seek him out when a break was offered for lunch.

“Lan zongzhu, may I request a word with you?” Nie Huaisang asked, his tone a little too light to be really polite, just as it used to be.

“Nie zongzhu, if we have anything to talk about, I suggest you get in touch with my uncle, as you’ve done of late,” Lan Xichen replied. “He will probably be of more help than myself.”

There was a flash of pain on Nie Huaisang’s face at that rejection, as if it were a surprise. As if Nie Huaisang hadn’t done everything in his power to cause a rift between them.

More upset than he would have expected, Lan Xichen started turning away, only to feel a hand grasping his sleeve and pulling on the fabric.

“Er-ge, please, I need your help,” Nie Huaisang begged with startling sincerity, nervously glancing around. “A situation has emerged that I cannot deal with alone, I don’t know what I’ll do if you don’t help me!”

Lan Xichen shivered. The last time he’d seen that pleading expression on Nie Huaisang’s face had been years ago, at that disastrous conference in Lanling when they had failed to unmask Jin Guangyao. For Nie Huaisang to fall back into his old comedy, something had to have happened.

Anger flashed through Lan Xichen’s mind, which he was careful not to show. Whatever Nie Huaisang had done this time didn’t concern him, and he was done being used by that man as a tool and a weapon.

At the same time, Nie Huaisang had never once reached out for him in all those years, always directly dealing with Lan Qiren or, on a few occasions Wei Wuxian, if he needed something. Whatever bitter taste Lan Xichen felt over the events that had passed between them, it was easy to guess that Nie Huaisang hardly had better feelings toward him. So for him to come begging, to call him ‘er-ge’ again…

“Let’s find somewhere more private then,” Lan Xichen conceded, hating himself for this weakness he knew he would regret.

He pretended not to notice the eagerness and relief on Nie Huaisang’s face, both of which were surely fake, and led the other man toward the room he’d been given for the duration of the conference. It was unpleasant to let Nie Huaisang have a glimpse of his privacy, even in such an impersonal manner, but this couldn’t be avoided.

As soon as the room’s door closed behind them, Nie Huaisang’s attitude changed, and he sagged onto a chair, more like a distressed child than the scheming murderer Lan Xichen now knew him to be.

“Er-ge, I am so lost!” Nie Huaisang cried out, dropping his head into his hands. “And I didn’t know who to turn to and… I don’t even know if you’ll believe me, but I have to try. If you don’t believe me, who will?”

“What have you done now?” Lan Xichen asked, allowing some impatience to pierce through.

“I haven’t done anything! But I think something was done to me. Er-ge, a little while ago, I woke up one morning, and everything was wrong, so wrong. I thought at first that maybe da-ge was pulling a prank on me, or that he wanted to punish me for something, so I played along, right? But then I realised that it wasn’t that at all, and it couldn’t be something da-ge had done, because he’s dead? Er-ge, is da-ge really dead?” Nie Huaisang asked, looking up at him.

Lan Xichen shivered and nodded, too dumbstruck to say anything. Nie Huaisang cried out, and broke into tears. He looked so utterly miserable that it took all of Lan Xichen’s self control not to kneel at his side and comfort him.

“I can’t believe…” Nie Huaisang sobbed. “And A-Yao too?”

Another nod.

“How could they… and they killed each other? I got that right, didn’t I? They killed each other?”

“Huaisang, what are you playing at?” Lan Xichen snapped. “You know that very well. You were then when it happened.”

Nie Huaisang’s eyes widened as if in shock.

“Er-ge, so you’re really angry at me? What did I do to you?”

“What didn’t you do, Huaisang?”

A pitiful gasp escaped the younger man who bit his lip and looked away, still crying steadily.

“Maybe this was a bad idea,” he mumbled, sniffling and clumsily trying to wipe his tears with the back of his hands. “Maybe I shouldn’t have… but if not you, who can I trust? You’re the only one who’s always put up with me. Er-ge, please, I know you’re angry, but you have to help me because… because whatever it is I’ve done to you, I don’t remember it.”

“Huaisang!”

“I really don’t!” Nie Huaisang sobbed, curling up on himself. “I don’t remember anything, and I’m so lost, and da-ge is dead, and I don’t know what to do, I really don’t know, and I’m supposed to be a sect leader but I don’t know how to do that! And I… I’m lost, I’m so lost, I need help, p-please help me, p-please, er-ge, please h-help me! I d-don’t, I don’t know, I don’t know anything and I’m, I’m s-so lost!”

Confronted with the sight of his former friend crying so hard that he seemed to be choking on his own tears, Lan Xichen hesitated. It wasn’t new for Nie Huaisang to cry in front of him, but it was rarely so raw and inelegant. Nie Huaisang was a little vain, and rarely allowed his apparent despair to make him ugly. Right then, though, his face was red and wet from heavy tears and snot, and there was no artfulness to be found in his crying. In fact the only time Lan Xichen could remember Nie Huaisang looking like this had been right after hearing that his brother had passed away.

Moved against his will, Lan Xichen came closer and knelt by Nie Huaisang, awkwardly patting his shoulder in comfort.

“What do you mean you don’t remember anything?”

“I don’t!” Nie Huaisang wailed. “I went to sleep one night, all excited about that Phoenix Mountain Hunt that we were about to go to, because I’d say A-Yao and you and Jiang Cheng and even Wei Wuxian, even if he’s all weird now! And then I wake up in the morning, and my room looks different, and people are calling me sect leader, and now da-ge is dead, and you hate me, and, and…”

He started sobbing again, harder than before.

“How long ago was that?” Lan Xichen asked, rubbing the other man’s back.

“F-four months ago,” Nie Huaisang mumbled. “I, I didn’t know what t-to do so I played along. I f-figured it would stop on its own maybe. T-then I thought, if someone d-did this to me, they’ll t-try something else if they think it’s n-not working. I really t-thought it might be a p-prank, but you… you never lie, er-ge, so it’s really t-true. Da-ge is d-dead, it’s true, it’s all true…”

For a moment, Lan Xichen stopped breathing.

He remembered how, years and years before, Nie Huaisang had refused to listen to anyone telling him that his brother had died until Lan Xichen himself confirmed it. Back then too, Nie Huaisang had only trusted him and claimed it was because Lan Xichen never lied.

“Are you trying to tell me that you’ve lost nearly two decades’ worth of memory and in four months, nobody noticed?”

Nie Huaisang nodded miserably.

“I couldn’t let them know,” he sighed, his tears starting to calm a little. “Even when I f-figured it probably wasn’t a prank, then it meant that someone had attacked me, r-right? I couldn’t let anyone know that it had worked.” He sniffed, and wiped away his tears. “I really wanted to come see you sooner, but I’d heard some of my disciples chat that it was annoying we were in such bad terms with the great sects, so I wasn’t sure you’d see me at all if I went to Gusu. I thought I’d just wait until we were in the same place, and then I’d see if you seemed angry at me or not. And you are. I didn’t even know you could get so angry at someone, er-ge.”

“I am. Should I tell you why?”

Sniffling some more, Nie Huaisang shook his head.

“I think I can guess. I think it has to do with da-ge and san-ge. Is… is it my fault they’re dead?”

Lan Xichen opened his mouth, ready to say that at least one of them had died by his fault indeed, then closed it again. If Nie Huaisang was in earnest, if he’d really lost his memories, then telling him the truth would just be needlessly cruel. If his last memory was before the Phoenix Mountain Hunt, then he really was just a clueless young man. Lan Xichen still remembered how dainty Nie Huaisang had looked at that Night Hunt, the slight argument he’d gotten in with Nie Mingjue over being properly dressed for the occasion. It had been back when the two brother’s fights were just a game between them, before Nie Mingjue’s health started to decline and all good humour disappeared from their arguments.

If their places had been reversed, perhaps Nie Huaisang wouldn’t have had the kindness of staying silent. He had proved that he wasn’t above being cruel when the occasion called for it, and he’d shown also in what little regard he held Lan Xichen.

But Lan Xichen wasn’t Nie Huaisang, and the world already held enough cruelty as it was.

“They died because Jin Guangyao made certain choices, and those eventually turned against him,” Lan Xichen claimed. “The role you played in that was no greater or lesser than mine.”

“But I played a role,” Nie Huaisang sharply noted, before sighing. “I thought so. Do you think maybe someone took offence to that and decided to punish me for it?”

“Very few people know what really happened between da-ge and Jin Guangyao, and of those, none are the sort to use curses,” Lan Xichen replied. He paused, considering something. “One is the kind who might figure out how to lift them, though. Huaisang, would you consider coming to Gusu with me to meet Wei Wuxian? If anyone can find how to help you, I think it is him.”

An odd little noise escaped from Nie Huaisang’s lips, something almost like laughter.

“Wei Wuxian is in Gusu? So that’s true too, he really married Lan Wangji? Ah, and here I thought that for sure that one was fake… The future is a really odd place, uh? But… yes, I’ll come. I’m so tired of being on my own, and I trust you, er-ge.”

Lan Xichen quickly stood up and turned away, his eyes suddenly burning with tears he couldn’t allow himself to spill, his chest so tight he nearly couldn’t breathe.

He had thought he’d made his peace with what had happened, with the way it had happened, but to hear Nie Huaisang’s easy profession of trust reopened an old wound. If only he’d shown the same trust after his brother’s death, if only he hadn’t tried to handle that one his own, if only he’d realised that Lan Xichen would have listened to his suspicions, if only Lan Xichen had seen that something had been wrong…

But perhaps there had been nothing to see.

Four months of amnesia, and nobody had noticed anything.

Lan Xichen wondered if he should have taken comfort in this confirmation of Nie Huaisang’s acting skills. He found that at the moment, he couldn’t. Being fooled by a master was still to have been fooled.

“Let’s discuss the details of this later,” Lan Xichen suggested in a strangled voice. “It will be noticed that we’ve both disappeared, and that will fuel gossip. Take a moment to compose yourself, and then…”

“It’s fine, I’m good,” Nie Huaisang replied with perfect steadiness. “May I just borrow some water to clean my face?”

Startled by his tone, Lan Xichen turned to look at him. Nie Huaisang was standing once more, his expression perfectly placid in spite of some lingering redness in his eyes. After he washed the tears and snot off his face, nothing remained of the breakdown he had just gone through. Lan Xichen found himself almost wondering if any of that had happened, if he had just dreamed that moment of fear and vulnerability, that demonstration of trust.

Only time would tell if Nie Huaisang had been sincere, or if this was only another scheme of his.

#xisang #nie huaisang #lan xichen #mo dao zu shi #mdzs #might continue this just because I want nhs to be chilling and laughing with wwx when they meet #and thenhaving a complete breakdown when he's alone with lxc bc wtf happened to wwx why does he have a different face??#jau writes #luke-fone-fabre #nhs amnesia

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siennahrobek · 3 years

Text

Future Past

5 BBY

(Luke is approximately 14 years old)

Lothal was a bit of a strange place to stop, on account of being so bustling with the Empire’s presence. However, for some reason, Ben had insisted on a short stop there and lured him in with that mischievous smirk he would get sometimes and a mention of a surprise. And Luke supposed, he could use the distraction. Of anything, really.

It had been hard; so soon after Ben had forced Boil to leave them. Boil had been Luke’s friend, in a way that he had never had before. He and Ben didn’t stay on a planet long enough for Luke to actually make friends, but Boil had stayed with them for months and it was turning into routine. It became normal. Even squishing him into their little ship wasn’t too bad; Luke was just too happy about just having someone else around. Of course, Qui-Gon stopped by once in a while, but he couldn’t hold his form for very long and generally, he only came when he had something to teach. Luke had been so happy for those couple of months, having someone around to talk to and help and teach and be taught by. He loved Ben, of course, he did, with so much, but there was a difference.

And suddenly that was taken away.

And Luke had been very upset.

After Boil had been sent away, Luke didn’t talk to Ben for nearly a week and even after that, it was only necessary exchanges between them. Which led to their trip to Lothal where they barely made it past the strict incoming traffic regulations and landed in the middle of nowhere.

Meditation, Luke presumed with a frown and the roll of his eyes.

Ben took nothing with him, just gestured for Luke to follow him out into the grasslands. And, as of course, he did, and they walked in silence through the tiny civilization which he knew would be leading out into the actual, literal, middle of nowhere. At least, until Ben had spotted something that had interested in him. After telling Luke to stay where he was and the younger man returning that request with a long, irritated whine and near rebuttal, Ben had left him in the market, hidden away in an alley until he got back.

It wasn’t just hard because of Boil leaving, although that was the core of it. It wasn’t just because Luke had lost pretty much the only friend, he had made that he knew Ben would trust. But Luke had been a bit bitter towards his guardian. Things were a bit more strained than usual, and Luke was holding onto his feelings. The ones that were so upset and angry that he felt like sometimes he could just explode.

Because he finally, finally, had a friend that Ben would approve of. Sure, he was older like Ben, but it was a start, it was something. It was even a person that Ben cared about and trusted. But then he just sent him away and Luke was struggling on forgiving Ben for that.

Lost in thought and his bitterness, Luke was a bit too late to notice the being creeping up on him but realized just enough for avoid the stun coming his way. He didn’t get a good look at his opponent who tried to flip him…only for Luke to bring the being with him and flipped him as well.

It hurt. And no doubt it hurt the other guy too.

The ensuing fight was rather brutal, and Luke had a feeling if he hadn’t been shown so many hand-to-hand moves by Boil, he would have lost. Well, if the fight had gone on any longer than the few moments that it had, he probably would have lost. At least, if Luke hadn’t used the Force. But that would blow their cover.

It was sharp and ruthless with fast strikes that were almost always some kind of hit, whether or not it was the area that it was intended. And for absolute certain, Luke knew he would hurt and be so sore tomorrow. Well, if he liveduntil tomorrow. And by the way things were going with this fight, he wasn’t entirely so sure he would.

“Luke!”

“Echo!”

The two of them had stopped so abruptly that they both stumbled, nearing falling over one another as they tripped over themselves to stand up and move away, one from the other. Luke felt like he was coughing up the dust the two fighters had kicked into the air, but it was difficult to get enough air in his lungs. He was tired. Ben and another trooper, longer hair and a bandana were standing in their sight line, looking quite unimpressed and frowning, expectantly.

“Ben!”

“General Kenobi?”

Luke’s head whipped around to the side, where his opponent was, eyes wide and shocked. The man had ripped off his dark helmet to stare and Luke tried to prevent his double take. Because…. well, because he looked like Boil. Well, not exactly. He didn’t really have much in the way of hair and his skin was a bit ashen, but they looked so similar. Meaning this was a clone. Luke glanced back at Ben and the other man. Another clone.

“Echo,” Ben greeted, quiet and soft with a slight bow. His presence softened at the sight of this former soldier that he knew but he was still guarded, shielded. Luke struggled to understand this sometimes, but Ben had believed the clones had betrayed the jedi and killed all of his family and people for well over a decade. That caution wasn’t just going to go away. But he was trying, and he did his best. “It is good to see you alive and well.”

“Is it?” the clone – Echo – sputtered, obviously a bit surprised at the statement. “Because I have a hard time being glad to see…people like us, knowing what happened.” Luke knew what he was alluding to; how could he not. Everyone knew what had happened, even though there were different stories surrounding it, depending on who one heard it from.

“I know about the chips,” Ben swallowed as his eyes softened further in grief, something misty and far away, like he wasn’t quite in the present. It was for everyone involved, rather tragic. The jedi dead and the troopers brainwashed; the galaxy gone and under the tyranny of the new Galactic Empire. “We found out a few months ago. I am so sorry.”

“I feel like I should be saying that to you,” Echo muttered, shaking his head while the other clone just looked between the both of them. He wondered who he was exactly and how he knew them. “I shouldn’t be surprised you are alive. The 212thalways had rumors about you.”

“Rumors?” Ben mused, an eyebrow raising curiously.

“Yeah. Some of them thought you were unkillable.”

Ben scoffed with several different and varying emotions running through it, some Luke couldn’t quite identify with any amount of certainty. “That is rather ridiculous but, I suppose, their faith in me is… it would have been nice, if things hadn’t worked out the way they did,” Ben said. “I hear you are chasing a bounty. On Luke and myself.”

Echo blinked and shot a glance at Luke before turning back to Ben. “Uh… yes sir. Although, in our defense, we didn’t know it was you.”

“No worries,” Ben shrugged and tucked his hands into the large sleeves of the overcoat of his robe. “And I think you can drop the sir. I am no longer your superior officer, much less a general.”

Echo just smirked faintly. “Of course, sir.”

“Hunter and I just wanted to make sure you and Luke didn’t kill each other,” Ben responded, his tone filling with a form of amusement. “Would you mind keeping him company or entertained while we speak?”

The trooper just nodded. As the two of them walked off to have their talk with the assurance that the clone and boy did not, in fact, kill one another or would for that matter, Echo turned back towards Luke and tried to smile, offering his good hand for Luke to shake. He did, of course. It was only polite. “Sorry about, ya know, hitting you in the face, kid.”

“You can call me Luke,” the younger boy replied but he forced himself to look at him. It was a bit difficult with the similar facial structure of his friend. They looked virtually nothing alike aside from that. Boil had more hair and a bit of a scowl, and his presence was oh so vastly different. Neither were bad or better, but it just kind of made Luke miss Boil. “I’m sorry for nearly busting your vambrace,” he added, gesturing towards the slightly sparking tech inside. Echo just winced but then shrugged and pulled up his other arm which…had a machine attached to it.

“I’ve got it,” he added as he started to poke at it. “Those moves looked familiar. Considering General Kenobi knew about the chips, I guess it is safe to say that you two came in contact with some troopers.”

Luke nodded.

“Anyone I might know?”

“I don’t know in particular if you knew them,” Luke replied as the two of them walked through the little marketplace, slow and steady. Echo continued to work a bit on his partially broken vambrace, and Luke kept his gaze on the varying items that were out for sale in the market. “Commander Cody and Sergeant Boil we found on Vader’s ship.”

The clone paused and stared at him, just kicking up as he stopped in his tracks. Luke paused enough to glance at him, a bit startled. “That…is a lot to unpack. I’m going to skip over the whole Lord Vader thing for now. Cody is alive?”

Luke hesitated and looked away. “No. He’s not.”

Echo sagged in disappointment, but they continued to walk. “Oh…so you…you learned some stuff from the other guy, Boil.”

“He was a part of the 212th, Ben’s immediate battalion,” Luke explained. He didn’t know if Echo knew in particular but he just thought it would be best to clarify. “He was with us for several months before Ben sent him away. He taught me some things and told me a ton of stories. About Ben and the 212th, about Cody, about him and his brother Waxer and all the others.”

“You like stories?”

Luke tried not to look sheepish when he nodded in affirmation.

Echo just grinned. “I have plenty of stories. And trust me, they are some of the most insane and fantastical stories you will hear. My brother, Fives, and I were amidst all sorts of action alongside our general. They called him the Hero with No Fear and he was…something else. His name was Anakin Skywalker.”

Luke barely got to hear a fraction of what Echo had to offer and it just made him even more upset when Ben told him they had to go their separate ways. He wanted more. He needed more. Echo was fun and his stories great and they were about his father! Oh, he wanted to know more!

But Ben was stern, and Hunter was anxious to get back to the rest of their party. Luke somehow convinced them to give the two jedi a ride to their destination, which Ben very reluctantly finally caved to. Luke had a few more minutes and he would use it to the best of his ability. Their destination, as Ben pointed out, was a fairly natural looking structure for Lothal’s environment and the two clones had left near immediately after dropping them off. Luke’s heart just felt heavy.

Ben explained that it was a Jedi Temple and that they would both have to use the force to make the entrance known. It took them a fair amount of time, possibly due to their conflicting feelings on the past events and Luke’s bitterness. But, eventually, it happened and the Temple unraveled to reveal its door way, coming up from the ground.

Ben didn’t say a word.

They walked in. It was musty and disgusting but there was a brief and faint scent of freshness, possibly from someone opening the Temple recently. At least before the last two hundred years. Luke voiced this out loud.

“I would believe so,” Ben hummed as he looked around, running a hand along one of the pillars with a kind of sad reverence. “This is a Jedi Temple and I do believe we will find some guidance here.”

“Guidance for what?”

“Whoever knows,” Ben replied, letting the torches light up in small flickers of flames that lit their way. There were a few skeletons around the floor near the columns. Neither of them tried to look at them, rather avoided them and kept walking deeper. “The Force may use the Temple for varying lessons for any one of us and it is a good place to be to learn something. I dare say you could use some guidance that is not from me.”

Luke just glanced away and swallowed.

It hadn’t been easy between the two of them, that was for sure.

“Are we…splitting up?”

“Your journey is your own,” Ben replied, calm and kind, although there was something underneath that Luke couldn’t identify. “Just as mine will be mine. Why don’t you start that way? It smells less musty.”

Luke glanced to where he gestured. “Okay,” he replied and looked back to Ben, but he had already disappeared. Even for someone at his age with as much grey hairs as he had, he was surprisingly quick and sneaky. “Okay,” he repeated to himself with a sharp exhale. He turned towards the doorway and took one of the torches before heading in.

He didn’t know how long he walked or how he lost his torch. For a while, he was in the dark. Everything was so silent it was eerie and rather disturbing, making Luke exceptionally uncomfortable.

And then. And then things changed.

And that change was so sudden and so real and the reason he was here seemed to mush in his mind. He didn’t exactly remember where he was or what exactly he was supposed to be doing. But he stopped when he felt it. Luke stepped into a gorgeous garden, grass tickling at his legs, soft and lush with the crashing of waterfalls bubbling over his ears. It was a sound he would never get bored of; ever since the first time he had seen one. There were walkways winding around the land, with patches of flowers and a few trees, full bearing of fruit and leaves, dotting the grounds. It was so beautiful.

He wanted to know off his boots and just…relish in the feeling.

It was warm here. Not the kind of heat that was oppressive and ongoing and just made one want to lie down in their room and not move, ever. But the kind that would come and go just enough for comfort, something of joy and kindness. He closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath, taking in those good feelings and the brisk freshness of the air.

There was a joyful shout, and he opened his eyes. Ther were children running over a hill chasing one another and reaching out with huge grins on their faces and sparkling eyes full of laughter and playfulness. Luke blinked.

And then again.

There were…people here?

He paused and stared in wonderment. Maybe…maybe they were jedi. They were in a Temple. Right? That was where he was. Right, right, he and Ben had went into a Jedi Temple. Made sense, perhaps, that there would be remnants of jedi here…right?

Maybe there were survivors.

Survivors, Luke thought numbly. It sounded too good to be true. He had to find Ben. He had to tell him what he had discovered.

“Luke!” a voice called, cheerfully. He spun around and stared at the being, blankly as a he strode up; a Kel Dor if he wasn’t mistaken, walked to him, hands tucked into his sleeves, similar to the way Ben did when he was wearing a large cloak. “Initiate Luke,” he corrected with a chuckle and although his face was incapable of smiling with the mask that he wore, Luke was pretty sure he was grinning on the inside.

“Initiate?” Luke echoed, questioningly.

“Yes,” the being chuckled again and gestured to him up and down. “The step before becoming a padawan, of course.” Luke looked down at the light-colored tunics he was in. These…were not his clothes.

“I can be a padawan?” he murmured.

“Of course!” the Kel Dor teased but he sounded warm and kind, although a bit surprised on Luke’s questioning about his place here. “You have done very well in your classes. You are well on your way to becoming a great jedi.”

“There are no more jedi…besides Ben,” Luke replied numbly as his mind sparked. Of course, Ben. That was what he was supposed to do. He needed to find Ben, tell him about this, about these…jedi he had discovered. At least, Luke thought they were jedi.

“Nonsense, Initiate,” the Kel Dor said, with a light shake of his head, amusement filling his voice. He waved around the garden, gesturing to other beings that had now entered and were mingling around. There were so many, of different ages and appearances and species. Most were speaking to one another, in groups of two to several. “There are many,” he assured as he made Luke look. “And you must only choose.”

“Choose?” he sounded too much like an echo.

“A master.”

Sure enough, some of those around were speaking with children that were dressed like Luke. Some were hugging, being led away by the respective masters with their hand or appendage in the other’s. They were choosing and being chosen, Luke realized. Initiates being chosen as padawans. Initiates choosing their masters.

“I can choose?”

“Well,” the being pointed out as he put a hand on Luke’s shoulder. He nearly startled; only Ben and Boil had generally touched him. The Kel Dor didn’t seem to notice. “It is a mutual thing. However, I was hoping to ask you.”

“Ask me?”

“To be my padawan,” the master suggested and turned to face him straight on. “You are kind, driven and compassionate. You would do well under my tutelage. What do you say, Initiate? Would you like to be my padawan?”

Luke stared for an embarrassingly long time because that just…it seemed impossible. He had always wanted to be a jedi; especially a padawan, for as long as he knew what a padawan was. Ben never technically denied him outright or said no. Rather, he would just tell him how dangerous that term was, and they had better not speak of it again. Luke didn’t always listen. “I…I’m sorry, sir – master – but I don’t think so. I need to find my guardian.”

“Unfortunate,” the master hummed, shaking his head and he sounded genuinely disappointed. Luke hated doing that to him but something about this just didn’t seem right. Something else at play. “Good luck, I suppose then. I hope you find what you are looking for.”

“I’m looking for Ben,” Luke replied, glancing around. When he turned back, the Kel Dor was gone. It was like he had disappeared right out of the thin air. After what Luke had seen Ben do, he couldn’t be terrible surprised if the jedi had been capable of that, but he thought it was rather unlikely. “This is rather strange.”

“Quite not,” someone else said. Another master was behind him again and Luke turned around towards him. He was older, with long greying hair.

“Master…?” he questioned.

He frowned. “Master Drallig. Better work on that memory, initiate. A master will not want to train a child who cannot even remember their name.”

“Yes master,” he replied.

“You are up next.”

“Up?”

“The Exhibition match,” Master Drallig frowned deeper. “Come on, initiate! Get your head in the game! Prospective masters are watching.”

“Of course. Of course,” Luke nodded and jogged off to where the master gestured. Even though he had no idea where this was, what was happening or what exactly he was supposed to be doing, his body seemed to know, and he just moved with it. He spent hours in the exhibition, sparring and fighting against other students, moving on to next rounds as he won bouts.

It was like he had been training and readying himself for this for his entire life. And it was an amazing feeling.

Luke didn’t know if he won the exhibition match or, rather, if anyone had or could. He just remembered doing several fights and moving on until he found himself back in the depths of the garden again, away from the tournament itself and amidst other masters. He was having an increasingly difficult time reminding himself that this wasn’t real and his goal here.

All he knew was that this was his chance to become a padawan.

He just had to find someone that felt right.

So, Luke went through the garden, every so often someone asking him to be their padawan but none of them felt quite right. Or perhaps they felt too right to be true. It hardly mattered; something niggled in the back of his mind, reminding him he had a goal and a purpose. He just kept forgetting what that was exactly. He was getting desperate. Nothing felt quite right. But he was running out of time and options. It was getting harder to say no. By the time Qui-Gon Jinn came around with his request, there were barely any masters left. He was so kind and gentle and a familiar face. Luke wanted to wrap himself in the cloak like he did with…

Ben!

Luke stuttered and took off, leaving Master Jinn without an answer. Rude, perhaps, but Luke was running out of time. He had to find Ben. Because Ben. The light that appeared before him was blinding and devastating but Luke knew. He knew. It was his father.

“Hey kiddo.”

Luke swallowed. This…this was something he had always wanted. To meet his father. It seemed like an impossible dream. Because it was. Impossible.

His father began to speak and oh! Was Luke so starstruck! It was his father! The famous jedi! The hero with no fear! Ben’s friend, his brother…

Luke stopped.

Ben.

“I’m sorry,” he croaked out. “I can’t talk. I have to find Ben.”

His father stared at him with a serious frown, his face perfect and smooth, with the locks of his hair framing his face that made Luke too easily calm. He looked right; perfect. Like Luke had always imagined his father to be. There was something missing about his face, but Luke couldn’t quite put his finger on what. He supposed, at this point, it hardly mattered. “Isn’t this what you always wanted? Your greatest dream? To meet me? To talk to me?”

“I have to find Ben before it’s too late,” Luke tried to reason, and he found it difficult to tear his eyes away from his father to look around for his guardian.

“So, he’s more important than me? I am your father!”

“And I want to be a jedi. Like you. Like Ben.”

“I can teach you, I can teach you much better than that insecure relic of an age long gone,” his father insisted, determined and strong. Luke’s brows just scrunched together with a deepening frown because that didn’t quite sound right. His father loved Ben, they were friends, brothers. He couldn’t imagine him saying something rather rude and disrespectful like this about him. “I am your father.”

“I know,” Luke replied with a hard swallow. So much was running through his head. It was so hard to keep track. “But this…I need to do this. I want to be a jedi and that means sacrifice. Letting go.”

His father reeled back and scowled, his eyes blazing with heat and color and lines scratching into the sides of his face, barely noticeable but it was almost all Luke could see. “You would trade this – everything you ever wanted – me, the jedi, this world, for him?”

“This isn’t real,” Luke responded, sadly as he forced himself to stare at his father, into his eyes. Direct and resolute. “And Ben…even if he wasn’t destined to be my jedi master, I would choose him every time,” he backed away, one foot after another. It had started out slow, but he knew he didn’t have a lot of time. “I will still dream of truly meeting you,” he said and then began to run. It was all he could do to keep himself from staying, from staying and losing everything else but the feeling of dreams. All he could feel was the heat burning into his back as he ran off. And he just kept running. His feet began to ache, and he tripped over them in embarrassing frequency.

“Ben!”

Nothing.

“BEN!”

Still nothing. There was no one in sight of the garden anymore.

“Ben! Please!” he begged, finally tripping to a halt. He nearly fell, exhausted and out of breath as he tried to catch up. He didn’t have much more time; it was running out. “Please. Please. I just…I just want to be a jedi.” His chest started to heave, and tears threatened to overtake his vision. “Please.”

There was a brief silence.

“Well, if a jedi is all you wanted to be, there were plenty of masters willing to teach you. I have no doubt you had plenty of offers.”

Luke scrambled to turn because that voice; oh he knew that voice. “Ben!” he cried, happily, tears coming out in relief as he caught sight of his guardian. He looked a bit younger, less weary. The bags under his eyes were less noticeable and the only real wrinkles around his face were that in the corners of his eyes from smiling.

“Hello, Beacon.”

“I want to be a jedi,” he promised as he got closer to him. “I hope you never question my commitment.”

Ben hummed. “You have made your desire to become a jedi rather clear. You had plenty of chance. Master Koon, Master Jinn, even your father.”

“You saw that?”

He smiled but shrugged. “You said no to all of them. Why?”

“Because of you.”

“I’m holding you back?” he asked, incredulously. He looked torn and almost offended, almost horrified at the prospect. It was laughable to Luke but apparently Ben had taken that very seriously. Luke wondered what that meant; why he would react in such a way.

Luke choked out a laugh and shook his head, rather vehemently. “No Ben. Never. I didn’t want anyone else. And I know it’s important. You are always my choice. You were always my choice.”

Present Past

Luke

Iyah, one of the slaves that Siri and Luke had freed from the little temporary quarters that the troopers had been held in had a hiding place for them until the group figured out what to do next. Siri still had her disguise of a slave trader and with all the traffic and bustle of the up-and-coming auction, it was easy to move and blend in with the crowds when Luke and Siri’s smoke bombs erupted upon Luke’s presence being found missing. Iyah’s former master had died as of recently and she was in the auction house because her master’s family was going to sell her. It would be some time before the rest of the family went through all of his things and house, so they had a fairly secure hiding place until then. Luke didn’t think that they would be at the house that long.

The smoke from their little distraction is noticeable, even to those out in the streets and far from the palace but they were practically harmless. Just enough to mask their presence and allow them to escape. Wrapping the troopers in cloaks, they moved through the curious crowds that watched as the smoke puffed from the palace windows and doors.

The house that Iyah brings them to is out of the way and not something that someone would come to immediately, as it is just a bit off the streets. The other slaves mostly huddled on their own, leaving the jedi and troopers to their own devices but Iyah just eyes Luke up, warily and announces her intention to make food for everyone as she comes back to bring them a first aid kit; probably one that she knew her master had on hand. Most beings had something of the sort.

“You don’t have to do that, ma’am,” Captain Rex tried to assure her quickly, in some attempt to convince her that she had nothing to fear from them; that she had no obligation to feed any of them.

Luke met her eyes for a moment, and she frowned at the trooper, but she doesn’t say anything. She just turned and nearly stormed back to the kitchen.

Fives was itching to speak, to ask for answers. Luke didn’t have to be force sensitive to know how eager and pressed he was for such things. He didn’t want to explain everything at the moment; he hurt, and he was tired, but he knew it was inevitable. Eventually, Fives could not quite continue to keep it all in. It hadn’t been long. Most of them were still trying to just catch their breath.

“I think it is about time you tell us what is going on,” Fives started, his jaw clenching. If nothing else, Luke had to admire his persistence and pursuit for answers and justice.

Luke sighed and tried to sit up further. They were all on the floor, mostly collapsed over themselves in their exhaustion but Waxer helped him and let him lean against his solid shoulder. “I can tell him about some things, if you want,” he suggested, gently.

The boy knew the trooper was being genuine. Boil had told Luke so much about Waxer in the months that he had with him, and he didn’t seem to downplay how kind and good Waxer was. Luke hoped he could keep him alive, if only for Boil’s sake but he couldn’t help but value him above and beyond. He hadn’t been around for long but trusting Waxer felt near like second nature.

“I knew you were keeping secrets,” Fives frowned at the Lieutenant, his eyes narrowing with suspicion. Waxer, took it in stride, barely shrugging and projecting a show of simple acceptance. Fives kept going with a stream of questions and a demand for answers. “What do you know? What is going on? Does this have anything to do with what happened with Krell? Or why we were put under him and not ourGeneral. Or how about the fact that General Kenobi came back to the Resolute on a stretcher?”

“One at a time, Fives,” Rex interrupted, flatly with a tired sigh. It perhaps, wasn’t exactly the right thing to say at the moment.

“And you, you have been keeping secrets too,” Fives shot at him, his frowning deepening. He was so frustrated and scared; Luke could feel it. He couldn’t entirely blame the trooper; the situation was intense and strange. Sometimes with one’s most intense emotions, in the moment, they could not be shielded. It was easier for a jedi because they trained for that sort of thing, but most other beings didn’t even know the existence of shields; not really. “You know it as well but decided, hey, let’s not tell your troops. Maybe some of them would still be alive if you had.”

Rex’s jaw clenched and Luke lurched forward, ready to defend. It wasn’t his fault and Luke hardly thought it mattered knowing what he knew would have changed anything. Luke hadn’t known specifically Krell was a traitor or any specifics on the Umbara campaign but that didn’t make the losses they encountered hurt any less.

“Enough,” Master Tachi nearly barked. She was still standing for a moment and towered over the rest of them, coming back from getting some pillows and blankets from the others. They weren’t great, probably not even that comfortable, but it would do. “This is getting none of us anywhere. I am certain they all have good explanations for what information they have and the lack of flow of it.” At the very least, she seemed to believe it.

Luke shook his head, mostly to himself, and tried to organize his thoughts and what exactly he would say. He didn’t want to tell the 501st, only because of how close they were with his father and due to Palpatine being around his father all the time… secrecy was crucial. “Look, okay,” he started, trying to catch up with himself. It was not particularly easy. He didn’t even know if they would believe him. Others had taken it fairly well; the 212th’s faith in Ben and Cody’s reasoning was helpful, as well as Master Vos’s abilities. But most of these guys were from the 501st; Luke didn’t know if they had that type of faith or belief. “This is…the galaxy depends on total, complete and absolute secrecy. Absolute. You cannot tell anyone,” he stressed as best he could.

“Why not?” Jesse asked, genuinely curious.

“We have to be very careful on the flow of this because there are people we cannot trust and I don’t know all of them,” Luke started to explain, his voice nearly rocky as he spoke. He didn’t particularly want to because well, it was complicated and in all honesty, he had no idea what exactly all he would be revealing to these people. “I don’t know all the people I cannot trust in this time,” he tried to clarify with a bit of a wince. “Some of the 212th knows a bit of what I explained, but for the most part, only Master Vos, Commander Cody and maybe Ben…er Master Kenobi knows most of it.”

Rex tensed up a little, his eyes turning a bit sharper as he stared at Luke at the mention of his closest brother. Luke tried to ignore the shielded feelings Rex was hiding. They weren’t exactly the most positive ones and Luke’s heightened ability with the force let him see, even through some of the thickest of shields. It wasn’t something he particularly liked but sometimes it seemed too apparent for him to ignore. And in Rex’s case, he found out that one of his closest brother was keeping secrets from him. “Cody knows all of what you know?”

“I explained some things to him,” Luke confessed, not quite meeting Rex’s eyes. He barely got to know Cody at all in the future; as they were only with one another for an hour or two, but he had heard plenty from both Ben and Boil. “Please don’t get mad at him. It’s my family. I’m sorry. I asked him not to tell you.”

“Why?” Rex replied steadily, keeping his voice completely void of too many feelings that Luke could feel. “You seemed like you trusted me.”

“I do,” Luke insisted quickly and then, embarrassingly enough, his mouth ran off with him. “You aren’t the breach.”

“The breach?” Rex’s brows creased as he stared at the boy. “Who is?”

“If you act strange, Skywalker will know…” Luke drifted off, uneasily as his hands shuffled in his lap his gaze turning down. Speaking of his father was strange, especially when he was very strict on not letting anyone know what Anakin was too him. He still had to wrap his own head around all of this; he didn’t need everyone else’s opinions and thoughts on the matter yet.

“No way. NotGeneral Skywalker,” Fives insisted, nearly moving to stand up to make his point. Both Jesse and Tup pulled him down to keep him sitting but Fives was absolute. “He is loyal to the Republic; whatever happened… it is not his fault.”

Luke ignored him, fiddling with his hands. It wasn’t completely complicated he thought, at least, the line of who should and should not know the future, but it was complicated for Luke. Being in the era with his father, when he is so young and not completely evil and trying to kill him and such, it was strange. It would only be stranger when Ben came to get him, and he had to explain why he wasn’t geekingout over the fact he was getting to meet the man. “Look, a lot happened and a lot more that I don’t know. And then the Chancellor will get wind of things,” he replied, slowly, unsure how this would end up going. It was certainly an intense accusation and not one he was completely sure how others would react to. “He is not someone we can trust.”

There was a brief moment of absolute silence.

And then…

“You can’t be serious?”

“What are you trying to say?”

“This is absolutely ridiculous!”

“He’s the leaderof the Republic.”

“Why don’t you want him to know?”

“How do you know about this?”

“What happened?”

“What did he do?”

“The Chancellor…how bad is it?” Siri asked, her voice rising above the others; something stern but calm and solid. Luke wasn’t entirely sure if it was actually louder or just something he could hear better over the others. She looked over at him, believing and serious. It was hard to wrap his head around. She just…believed him. She didn’t even know who he was. He didn’t know how she had that kind of faith in him or why she did, but he was incredibly grateful.

“The worst you can imagine,” he choked out.

Siri paused and took a seat near him with a few moments of silence to mull this over. Everyone let her have the moment, trying not to stare as she took what time she was given to think about things and come to her own conclusion. “The Sith master,” she guessed, her jaw clenching as she said it and glanced up at him. He nodded. “How do you know this?”

He hesitated and glanced at Waxer, who nodded encouragingly, and then Rex who just stared, ready and knowing. Luke turned back to Siri, eyes glazing over the others while he could vaguely feel Waxer’s presence near him. “Well…” he started, shifting, still uneasy. He sighed and then took another breath, readying himself for actually saying it again and the fallout of what he was about to reveal. “I guess the simplest way to say it is that I am from the future.”

“Now I know you’re kidding,” Fives shook his head as an only partially amused smile stretched on his face, but he turned serious and partially irritated as he continued with a scoff. “That is your big secret? Some sort of sick prank? What was this? Some terrible plan convoluted to try and get Dooku’s attention or something? I have no idea what your plan or goal was but guess what? It didn’t work.”

“He’s not lying,” Waxer insisted, leaning towards Luke and forward towards Fives at the same time, protective and relentless. He calmed himself but continued, just as strong and solid and ready. “Originally,” he glanced over at the boy. “Luke was born a little over a year from now, right when the war ends.”

“We have a year left?” Checkerboard whined.

“Who wins?”

“The Sith win,” Luke pushed out because it was the truth. Everyone else had been losers in this war because even though the jedi and troopers did everything they could to protect people, it was still a trap. Mostly for the jedi of course, but for this, in this, it turned out just as horrible for the troopers as well. “No one really wins but him. Trust me. The galaxy after the war is so much worse.”

“The Jedi….” Waxer sighed and Luke took his hand, squeezing it, gentle and assuring. Luke hadn’t been around at the time; he hadn’t been a jedi. But Waxer, even though he was technically around, he had taken it even worse than some of the others. Even the prospect of this happening, to them, to anyone, was horrifying. But it was something that it appeared he needed to get through. “The Jedi are killed, virtually all of them. And we do it. There are…some kind of chips in our brains that make us practically droids and we kill all of them.”

The silence was palpable.

No one could even completely imagine the implications of what he was saying.

“It’s gotta come out,” Rex said suddenly, shuddering out of his stupor. Fives reached out for him, but Rex jerked out of the way, and he stood up, as if that would make some kind of difference. “I work closely with Commander Tano! She’s fifteen!”

“We have to wait until we get back to the ship,” Waxer answered instead, looking up kindly and understanding. “We can’t do it now.”

“I need it out,” Rex muttered.

“Can’t you just use your jedi magic to get it out?” Checkerboard asked.

“I…” Luke shifted. “No. I can’t. I have the power but not the precision. Me and Ben, we had to do it together when we didn’t have medical equipment. I did it by accident with Boil.”

“How did you do it with him?”

“I uh…kind of slammed him into a wall,” Luke replied with a sheepish look.

“If you and General Kenobi were able to do that, can’t you and General Tachi do the same thing?”

Luke winced. “No. Not that she isn’t capable, but we don’t know each other, not like that. It’s hard to explain.”

“General Kenobi will be here quickly,” Waxer assured. “And when he does, we can get out of here and you can get the chip out.” Afterwards, Luke got himself around to talking a bit more on what was going on, although not giving quite enough as he did in the first time around with those in the 212th that Commander Cody had brought with him. The troopers popped in with questions that Luke tried to answer the best he could, but Master Tachi stayed quiet, waiting and listening quietly.

“He lived through it,” Siri says, near inaudibly, shaking her head. The troopers were talking amongst one another, although he wasn’t entirely sure what they were talking about; he just stared at the master. This was kind of amazing, he thought, getting to meet so many people that he had never thought he would be able to. His father, Master Vos, Master freaking Siri Tachi. “The genocide and devastation of the jedi; our people. Of course he did. As if he hadn’t gone through enough.”

Their gazes met and he tried to shoot her a small smile.

The door opened and Iyah brought them a few trays of food. Luke recognized the meal; he had seen it once in a while when Aunt Beru helped out fleeing or freed slaves back on Tatooine when he was a child. He accepted it gratefully with a quiet thank you in another tongue and they ate for a moment in quiet and peace, although the knowledge about the chips were still hanging over their heads. Every time someone tried to say something, they were shut down within moments.

By the time they were done with the meal, Master Tachi politely excused herself and Luke as well, to his surprise and pulled him out of the room. It was a flimsy excuse that Luke thought sounded rather ridiculous, but the troopers seemed to buy. Maybe this was a jedi thing. He hoped he would get to learn. She took the first aid kit with her and sat him down at a table away from the others.

“Come on, take off the armor,” she said.

Luke blinked but did what he was told.

“Dooku gave you some nice robes,” she murmured but barely waited a second for an answer. “Take them off please. I know you have a wound underneath there. You want to tell me how you got it?”

Luke continued to do as he was told and tried to wrangle himself out of the dark robes, after he carefully set aside the armor pieces in a pile nearby. “A lightsaber. He wanted to watch me fight Krell again.”

Her eyebrows creased. “Krell? As in Pong Krell?”

“He’s a traitor,” Luke muttered.

“Why were you with him?”

“We fought on Umbara. I…we almost won,” Luke replied, as she started to clean and disinfect the area around the wound. It hurt to move, most of the time, and he hated looking at it. Vaguely, he wondered if it would scar. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that. He explained how Krell had set up the troops during the campaign and how Luke had just barely stopped it in time, although not early enough it seemed.

“You were alone?” she noted with a frown.

“Ask. I know you want to,” Luke just smiled, faintly.

“You know who I was,” she continued, barely sparing him a glance.

“Yes. Ben…uhm… Obi-Wan talked about you,” he nearly ducked with the embarrassment. No one knew him as Ben around here, no one but him. He would have to get used to calling him by his given name. Or, if he was really lucky, perhaps Master Kenobi. Or something of the sort. Long had Luke wanted to be a padawan – Ben’s padawan – but things were doing so fast and so far, he tried not to cling to that type of hope.

“You can call him Ben,” Siri shrugged, lightly as she smiled gently at him. “I understand who you refer to.”

The conversation wasn’t exactly light at all times, but it bounced around a lot. Neither of them had a particular direction they were going through, although, of course, it would mostly be about Obi-wan. He was really the only thing they both had in common. What Luke knew about her wasn’t a whole ton as a person, as Ben tended to tell him the best and most amazing things about the people he loved, but Luke was not against getting to know her now, while he still could. He had no idea how long he would be able to stay in the past; if this was his present now or if he would have to return to his own. “He carried around your warming crystal every day,” Luke said instead, trying to catch Siri’s eyes. He did and she looked down at her necklace, a thin rope that wrapped around a near pulsing and slightly luminescent crystal.

She looked back up at him and stopped for a moment to stare.

Luke didn’t know what it meant but he knew what to say. “He loves you.”

Ben was full of love. It was something that Luke had known for a long time. How different it must be, as Ben in this time and place had so many people to love that were still alive. The entirety of the Jedi Order, the troops he had befriended, his other friends across the galaxy, those he had loved in a slightly different way… it was no longer the kind nostalgia and memory type of love that Luke knew.

These people were alive now; at the very least, some of them. This would change so much. And he couldn’t wait to feel that type of love in Ben for this time. He was kind, of course, even when they were on the run. Luke could feel it when they met people, especially those Luke knew. Any troopers they came across, Cody and Boil and Bail Organa. And Master Vos; oh, Luke had remembered how happy Obi-Wan had felt; the love he had projected. Luke rarely questioned Ben’s love: he tried to show it in many ways that may have not always been the most apparent.

“I’ve known that for a very long time,” Siri replied, her voice quiet and kind. She hesitated and smiled to herself, as if remembering something amusing but important. “He loves so many, so much. It often brings him so much pain.”

No matter what Obi-Wan lost, he still kept being himself, in the light, was still giving out his kindness. “He told me about you,” Luke confessed, his chest warming. He never really got to talk about this, as Ben was almost always the only person he could talk to. It just wasn’t the same.

“What did he say?” She couldn’t help her curiosity, looking up at him with an amused but cautious glance, her lips curling up just enough.

He matched her expression. “I can’t imagine you being unable to guess.”

She grinned, her smile widening into something more mischievous. “Indulge me.”

“He knew you well, the longest I suppose. At least, it seemed like it, out of the people he loved in that way,” he explained, his smile softening as he thought back to the things he had learned from Ben over the years and what he could pull out of the older jedi. There was times Ben was easier to get answers from and other times Luke had to beg for something; anything. He didn’t like to guilt trip, but it was easy sometimes, there was very little else to do when they were in hyperspace, stuck in the tiny little space that was their ship for so many years. “You knew him, well, perhaps better than most, I think. He seemed to think so. He’s sad a lot of things. How talented you were with a lightsaber, strong willed and independent; determined and so focused. He said you were beautiful and had short blonde hair and liked jumpsuits. And you know, the obvious, that you were amazing.”

Siri choked down a laugh.

Luke didn’t give her enough time to answer and continued, glancing down at his hands and stripped his gloves from them. “I asked him about those he had fell in love with after I asked about my mother,” he explained quietly. “I don’t think it was easy for him to talk about that, considering his past, but I was young. I didn’t understand and I…I wanted to know.”

“Who is your mother?”

He shifted around, suddenly uneasy. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Master Tachi because of course he did. Even if he didn’t trust her just from what Ben had told him and such, she had helped him, had gotten him out of Dooku’s clutches and helped him rescue the troopers. But this was a whole different level and honestly, Luke had never had to deal with this before. His parents, they were alive, and he had to deal with that, eventually. “It’s complicated.”

“It’s someone Obi-Wan knew,” she mused, unfazed by his inability to give a straight answer. “Rather well, if he had such answers for you. If he could describe her and tell you about her in a way that would make you ask.”

“Master Tachi,” Luke warned, swallowing heavily.

“Senator Padme Amidala.”

Oh wow, she was good.

“How did you know?”

“I am rather observant,” she shrugged. “Comes with the job, I suppose. One has to be in my line of work. I’ve met her a couple of times. Obi-Wan has talked about her too, as he often is around her and working with her. At least, more than some others. Between those things and when you saw collars on the clones…” she drifted off, pointedly. He swallowed nervously, glancing down.

“Your initial anger was Skywalker. Something almost personal and hot; I could feel it through the Force; it burned through my shields, even though we do not have a bond. It was easy to know, and I know it well, as I have trained around Skywalker plenty of times before. The cold fury, however, was Obi-Wan. You didn’t scream and hit something; you weren’t exactly calm, but you weren’t crazy either; just furious. It is something I have seen him do to hide his anger when he was older and it is very cold. But how you handled it? With the righteous fury and reckless abandon, with making a snap choice with little plan? To free the slaves, you could and get them out of there? I’ve seen that kind of thing before when I have been in Senate meetings or hearing about them even. I’ve seen it before. That is all Padme Amidala.”

Luke looked up to stare at her in some kind of awe because he had barely told her anything about his parents. He had barely told anyone anything about his parents. Cody knew simply from knowing Obi-Wan and remembering a holo he had shown. Master Vos knew it from Luke’s own memories. But Siri, she simply deduced. Ben wasn’t kidding when he said she was amazing. It made the boy wonder about the others Ben had known as amazing and how great they were in their respective talents. “I…you are as good as Ben says,” he confessed.

“That’s nothing,” she shrugged, and Luke had to believe it. Or, at the very least, Siri herself believed it wasn’t that impressive. Luke couldn’t quite tell if it was confidence or ego or simple honesty; he didn’t know her or anyone else for that matter, like that. “Obi-Wan and I…our padawans were around the same age,” she explained, and brought back up bacta patches to put on his wound to help it heal up quicker and cleaner. “We did missions together. Trained together. I’ve known Skywalker as a teenager. You have his sandy blonde hair and unstoppable drive.”

He really hoped that was a good thing. He had only ever really had Ben’s perspective and thoughts on his father which were a bit skewed. It wasn’t that they were wrong, but Luke knew for certain that he didn’t tell him whole truths, not nearly as much about the faults. It had taken Luke quite some time to understand exactly why. The fact of the matter was Ben had wanted Luke to love his father, to know him as his best self rather than the faults and monster that he eventually became. It had been hard to swallow for some time and Luke still wasn’t entirely sure how he felt about it; it was something he continuously had to work through and was. “Wow…you really figured that out quick.”

“With your whole-time travel thing,” she leaned back a bit to get a better look at his wound and brought out the bandages to keep the bacta on, as well as clean alongside the wound itself. “And Obi-Wan knowing your parents so well to tell you about them….I was just open to any possibility. That is hardly the craziest option.”

“I’m not my father.”

She glanced at him, certainly a form of understanding in her gaze. He wondered what that meant. How she could understand such a thing, from which he was feeling. It was something he had to tell himself since he had learned what his father had become. Before that, he wanted nothing more to be like his father. Ben had told Luke some of the most fantastical things about Anakin Skywalker and how much Luke would have been loved by him. How much he was loved. Ben didn’t generally make comparisons between them like that; it was rather a seldom occurrence. But after learning Anakin Skywalker was Darth Vader, the beast that was constantly chasing and trying to kill them; it had taken Luke a length of time to come to terms with several different things that were connected to that. Whether or not Anakin Skywalker was evil or not, Luke wasn’t him. He shouldn’t be him. Luke should be Luke.

He was still trying to figure out who that was.

“Of course not,” Master Tachi assured readily. “You are Luke.”

“No, I mean…” he sighed. She was right, of course, but that wasn’t quite the point he was trying to make. But, as the moment passed, she seemed to understand still.

“I understand,” Siri nodded. “You are not Anakin Skywalker and similarities or comparisons between the two of you doesn’t mean you do or say the same things. Blood is not everything.”

He nodded and glanced away as she got up to start wrapping around his shoulder and torso, weaving between his appendage to get the best available lock for the bandages with the best range of motion. For some reason, the conversation skipped over again. He didn’t really want to talk about his father; he knew that would certainly be coming in the future. “I hope he came back with me.”

“A coma was mentioned,” she hummed but he could feel and hear the under currents of concern shifting through her voice.

“Yeah. He was in some kind of unexplainable coma when I…. left,” he said carefully. If she noticed his hesitation, she did not seem to be inclined to mention it or point it out. “I’m pretty sure he is awake now. I just don’t know if he came back with me.”

“He won’t abandon you.”

Oh, she sounded so sure.

“Perhaps,” he choked out instead.

“I will not either,” she nudged him, his good shoulder, from the back. He caught a glimpse of a ready and determined smile. “Would you like a partner?”

He chuckled, his chest softening as the conversation turned a little gentler. He quite enjoyed and appreciated the change of pace. “I think Waxer might get offended,” he pointed out. It was a joke, because of course it was. He didn’t know how Waxer felt, not exactly. But he did seem rather inclined to stay by Luke’s side and that was also something he could appreciate. He had plenty of experience with other clones, but it had always been so short, save for Boil’s time with them in the future…past? Luke’s past. But Boil hadn’t been allowed to stay. Luke had been rather upset with Ben for quite some time after that.

She laughed, completely unbothered and unoffended by the notion. “We can make a squad. How does that sound?” she asked, tightening the bandages a little. It was uncomfortable but he knew the pressure would be better in the end.

He grinned, trying to turn his head towards her. “Save Galaxy and Destroy Sith Squad.”

If anyone could help him destroy the Sith, he couldn’t be surprised if she ended up being one of them. Of course, there were others he would like on that squad too.

“SGaDSS,” she snickered as she finished up and came back to his front to tie it off. It was some kind of silent and mutual agreement and they high fived. Both of their hands were sweaty, from the heat and warmth of the planet but his heart was soaring that it hardly mattered. She was a jedi and he got to meet her. He got to meet another of Ben’s friends, loved ones. “You talk kind of like him,” she said after they stopped laughing and sat down, settling against the wall. She had brought over some pillows and blankets from closet in the corner so they could lean against them instead of just the hard floor and wall.

“Who? Anakin?”

“No,” she chuckled, waving her hand. “Obi-Wan. He could be so sarcastic, so quippy. He could verbally keep up with anyone. The way he jokes with and about his troopers. The way he follows those he cares about into the fires of Hell,” she glanced away and shook her head, once again almost lost in thoughts and memories. “Just… part of the reason he is a good person to be around, to be friends with.”

He and Ben had talked a lot about love and compassion and kindness. The different types and the roles they could play in life. But love was still love, in any form. No one was higher or more important than another. It was a lesson that Luke had found solace in. “He always told me that loving someone was enough. Time and distance don’t exist when it comes to love.”

“Apparently he is very wise in the future,” Siri hummed and suddenly he was leaning against her. He was tired, because of course he was, but this was easier, just leaning on her and almost ready to fall asleep or something. He had been tired a lot lately. He wondered if it was because of the time travel. At least he hadn’t been in a coma, like Ben.

“He doesn’t…” Luke drifted off, trying to find the words but his mind was starting to get heavy. “Always make sense but he tries.”

“That’s Obi-Wan for ya,” Siri chuckled and scooted a little closer to him, possibly to make things more comfortable for either of them, or both.

“This will be the longest I have been around a jedi that wasn’t Ben,” Luke muttered.

“It hasn’t even been a day.”

Well, considering he had only met one jedi before and that was for a very short time, it wasn’t exactly hard to compete. “I have met one other jedi and it was barely for an hour,” Luke replied with a huff. “I was in a galaxy so dark, so few jedi. But here, in this time, here I have been around Skywalker, Ahsoka, Master Tiin, Master Vos… I…”

“Quinlan was there?” Siri asked, suddenly interrupting and a bit surprised.

“He came to help Ben, I’m pretty sure,” Luke replied, his heart catching pace and moving a little quicker than normal. He liked Master Vos; he was very interesting and was the only other real jedi he had met in his own past. And Ben seemed to really care about and love him too. But if he was a danger to Ben… Why? Is that…bad?”

“No, not at all,” she shook her head, blonde hair swaying a bit. “They just haven’t hung around each other for a while.”

“They’re friends.”

“Yes. Very much so,” she paused and studied him, glancing down at her shoulder where he was resting near her. “You should take a nap.”

“What? Why?” he snorted but even he knew it was obvious. He was tired.

“You heal when you sleep,” she replied bluntly and then paused before continuing, like she needed to have some sort of explanation and clarification. “We have a medic friend.”

“Bant,” he hummed. Another person Ben knew and loved and talked about. He wondered if she was still alive; he didn’t remember when she died. If she was still around; he would like to meet her. They could probably exchange notes on their caring regiments for Ben.

“Yes.”

“She’s right,” a new yet soft and familiar voice creeps into Luke’s ability to hear. Both of them glance up in the door way where Waxer was standing, partially void of armor with his arms crossed against his chest, frowning disappointedly. He shook his head and was very clear about expressing how he felt. “And I’m not happy you didn’t say something about being hurt.” He barely gave them a moment before he walked over and asked for permission to sit next to them. Luke practically took his arm and dragged the trooper down to their level. He was so warm, and kind and his presence just curled around his. Even though there were only half a dozen troopers, it was an overwhelming sense of good feelings and warmth that Luke wasn’t used to.

Luke didn’t talk much, his brain becoming heavy and tired as the moments passed on until he was barely conscious. At some point, another trooper came in, but Luke’s eyes had already been closed as his mind started to move towards sleep mode. There was talking and footsteps. Luke tried to reach out into the force, towards that warm something that had entered, and he heard a door shut. A few chuckles.

By that time, he is sound asleep and knows nothing.

Fives

The second part of the explosion was what woke them as it was very audible and even shook the ground what they were laid upon. It shook them awake for certain, even before one of the former slaves – the woman that made them a meal before – ran in started spouting hurried exclamations in a language that Fives didn’t actually understand.

The younger jedi, Luke, was practically draped across any trooper he could get close to, as well as the other, older jedi, practically clinging to them. He was embarrassed when he awoke, tucked near Lieutenant Waxer but no one said a word. Only silently untangled themselves from the boy and got up as the woman continued to babble.

They were on their feet within moments, although Jesse’s legs were tangled in the scratchy blankets, and he fell over himself. Tup couldn’t help but chuckle as he and Checkerboard, from the 212th, helped untangle him and get him up.

“What’s happened?” Captain Rex asked.

The woman continued to speak but the Captain just glanced around helplessly. He, like the rest of them, didn’t know the language that she was speaking and apparently, she didn’t have a translator either; hand held or implant.

General – Master – Something Tachi stared at the woman intently and nodded. “She said that something has exploded; she is fairly certain that it was the palace.”

“Did you explode the structure?” Checkerboard choked out.

Master Tachi just scoffed. “No. The devices that Luke and I planted were of the smoke variety and they have long gone off. There is not a way that ours could have brought even part of that building down,” she insisted.

“Do you think it was the Republic?” Jesse asked, catching his breath after his battle with the blankets and pillows.

The jedi frowned but thought about this for a moment. “I doubt it. It isn’t generally the jedi way to just explode entire government buildings, even if they are the headquarters to a slaver queen,” she paused and said a few things to the woman. After an exchange, the woman left, although Fives wasn’t entirely sure what was said. “Get ready and get dressed. We have to figure out what is going on and how to get out of here. Or, at the very least, contact someone.”

Everyone nodded, readily. She had nothing to get ready about herself and said a few things to Luke, quiet and under her breath. He started to grab his robes and armor pieces and started to put them together as she strode out of the room.

Lieutenant Waxer glanced at the boy, curious with a silent question. “She’s going to try to see if she can get contact,” Luke replied as he worked with surprising efficiency. He did stumble over some pieces of the armor, not quite used to such things, but the 212th Checkerboard, quickly moved to help him.

After a few minutes, they were all ready to move and they excited the room towards the door in the front of the building. Master – General – ugh something (Fives had no idea what to call her) Tachi was messing with some radio, working intently. He didn’t dare to ask if she was having any progress with it.

Luke stopped at the door, keeping it closed, and reached out, with his eyes shut and taking a deep breath. After a long moment, something sparked, and the boy started to bounce on his feet. “He’s here!” he cheered, chattering excitedly as he continued to repeat the phrase.

“What are you talking about?”

The boy’s eyes were shining so bright, Fives almost felt like he was blinding but he bounced around the room, nearly flying outside of the door before holding himself back and spinning around towards them again. “He is here! I can feel him! Ben! Ben is here!”

“General…Kenobi…” Lieutenant Waxer tried slowly.

Luke nodded, vigorously. “Master Tachi! Siri! Ben…Obi-Wan is here!” he called out. The jedi glanced at him with a blink.

“I’ve got some lines,” General Tachi said, instead although she smiled faintly at him. “There are reports of slavers getting injured and stealing slaves. Someone with a light saber.”

Luke paused and frowned. “But I have his saber.”

“I’m sure he borrowed someone else’s,” General Tachi assured as she stepped closer to him. “You did say Quinlan was with him and well, Quinlan works just fine with a blaster too. So, I’m sure you are right, and it is Kenobi.”

He nodded. “We have to go.”

“Luke…”

“No! We have to get back to him!” Luke insisted as he started to move again. “We have to get to him as soon as possible. There is so much to do, and danger and I have to help him!”

“Iyah said it is chaos out there, we need to be careful,” General Tachi tried to reason carefully.

“I can’t wait,” Luke shook his head and before any of them knew it, he was out the door.

General Tachi cursed in a language Fives didn’t know but both the 212th boys had raced after Luke without a moment’s notice. The general groaned. “I have to get my equipment and pack it up. Can you…”

“We’ve got it sir,” Captain Rex nodded, curtly and glanced at the others left. “Let’s move boys. Cover the padawan commander’s back. Jesse, stay here with the general…”

“Not a general!” the jedi called back.

“Give her any help and protection that she needs,” the captain finished. Fives clasped his hand with his brother before Jesse tailed after General Tachi and the other ran off after the runaway jedi padawan youngling person.

It was chaos in the streets. So many were fighting. There were pieces of debris that had fallen even as far as they had gotten and some, slower, still falling yet. Ash and dust billowed everywhere, obscuring the skies. Luke and the 212thboys were already a bit far ahead, but they were rather easily noticeable to the eye in the off white and battered armor of the troops.

“He’s just as bad as Skywalker,” the captain muttered under his breath and ran full speed through the crowds in attempt to catch up.

Fives just grinned at Tup and pulled on his helmet before following.

Oh but those were the best kind.

Fives didn’t know when it happened but eventually droids started showing up. Getting through towards the palace is more difficult than expected and eventually, they even get a chance to catch their breath when they run into alley ways and abandoned houses and structures. Everyone seems to be fighting everyone, from droids fighting slavers to slavers fighting slaves to slaves fighting droids and slavers. It is a whole mess, and it is easy to get off track.

Which they do.

They end up out of the way of the palace which made Luke very frustrated. They could all feel it. Perhaps it was a jedi thing, Fives thought. He trusted Skywalker with a lot; he was a good man. There were times, however, Fives felt as though he could feel his emotions in any given situation. Well, he shouldn’t say that. In any high stakes or near-death situations. Or anything that involved Senator Amidala.

Luke’s frustrations are practically palpable, and it nearly makes Fives feel that way too. He is fairly certain it must be a jedi thing because no way is he normally feeling like this, even with the situation that they are embroiled in. He’s panicked and scared and desperate.

It is a lot more chaotic than even Umbara and often times, the group keeps losing one another for moments or even near hour at a time. There is no battlefield, no ground to take. There are no real sides. It is just unbridled and intense chaos.

Rumors begin to swirl around about lightsabers and the jedi. Some slaves from the palace running with panic, screaming about several men in light sabers fighting one another and the death of the queen. Fives didn’t think Luke could get anymore worried and desperate.

He was very wrong.

Fives wouldn’t blame Luke for what was to come next.

Brothers died in battle no matter where they were. It was a fact of their lives, and he knew that the jedi did their best. They just couldn’t save everyone and even then, sometimes they could – and did – lose their own lives in the process. This was a battlefield of a different breed, Fives thought. He almost thought they would survive this.

He should have known better.

Fives didn’t really know Check but that didn’t mean his death didn’t hurt.

And he knew it had hit Luke pretty hard too.

The moment he saw the trooper go down; they both knew it was over. There was no way the soldier could have survived that shot. But even though Luke had fought in the battle on Umbara with Lieutenant Waxer’s platoon, a group of soldiers that included Check, his reaction was not something any soldier should have advised.

He stopped and stared, frozen in place. Shocked and unmoving, as if unable to comprehend anything going on around him in the world. Captain Rex shouted something, possibly for Luke to get a hold of himself, possibly for one of them to get him out of the line of fire. Fives, of course, couldn’t do anything about the former as of yet, but he could do the latter. Running across the field from his cover, Fives literally tackled Luke down to the ground and behind a stack of crates near a door. Without a word or anything, he practically dragged the boy into the house.

They were lucky, no one was home.

Leaning Luke upright against the wall in a sitting position, Fives closed the door to give them a few minutes and gave the rest of them a short brief on the comms. As of currently, Luke was in no shape to keep moving. He asked for the jedi, perhaps she could help him, but General Tachi was a bit off with Lieutenant Waxer and Jesse. It would be quite a few moments before she could get to them. She simply ordered for them to find cover and stay put. They needed the break, possibly a nap, and for Luke to come back to them before anyone could make another run for the palace. It always seemed so far off; it would still take quite some time.

“Luke,” Fives tried with a frown, pressing a hand against the boy’s shoulder on his pauldron. Tears were starting to come from the boy’s blue eyes, steadily and finally, the first emotion finally came up. It wasn’t much but it was something. “Look, I know this is tough. Losing someone you care about, no matter how long you have known them, it’s…it’s heart breaking. And in war, where people die it’s even worse because you don’t…you don’t have a moment to stop and grieve. You don’t have a moment for burial or saying goodbye. It’s something you try to prepare for but… you can’t.”

He was in front of him before sitting down himself next to the jedi-in-training, or whatever he was, and sighed, taking off his helmet and setting it aside.

“I’m not trying to scold you or anything, but this is war, and we are going to lose people,” Fives tried, unsteadily. “And we don’t… it often happens so fast. There is no time for goodbyes and even less time for grief, in the moment. I lost…I lost my brother really fast. He did something…. something that I would have been the one to do and it just…one moment he was right by me and the next he was gone. Explosion and we had to move, there wasn’t a second to spare.”

Luke’s face started to scrunch up and Fives counted that as a win, although his feelings were mostly tied up in the memories. The boy blinked and stared at him, like he wasn’t completely sure. “Echo?”

Fives stared right back at him, his head whipping around, eyes wide. Because…he hadn’t said his name. “How did you…”

An explosion went off and the glass of the window above them shattered, spraying the contents and other debris into the house and over them. Luke threw himself over Fives in an effort to protect him from the flying debris which Fives, absentmindedly thought was a little amusing and ironic.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” Fives muttered without his permission. The door busted through and both of them startled, soon to be relieved as it was only Tup and Captain Rex that came through.

“You guys good?”

“Yessir,” Fives grumbled as he got out from underneath Luke. The boy responded but Fives’ ears were ringing and he couldn’t quite make out what he had said.

“General Tachi wants us to wait for her, get some rest and so we can regroup,” Tup relayed.

“I heard,” Fives sighed and glanced around. “The place looks pretty abandoned, at least for now.”

“Most people who aren’t fighting are hiding in their homes,” the captain responded, also taking a look around. He gestured to Tup, who went to make sure and secure the perimeter. “So, my guess is that they are still out there fighting or dead. General Tachi shouldn’t be too long, but she also said we don’t have to wait up for her. Take a nap she said.”

Fives scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Whatever. I guess I’ll find some blankets and pillows and a good large room to hole up in.”

It wasn’t that hard. The place wasn’t very big and eventually he found a living room space where the hard furniture could be moved to the walls, reinforce them and barricade any windows and doors. Unless someone came in with a full tactical team, it should hold out for at least a few hours. By the time General Tachi got to the house, flanked by Lieutenant Waxer and Jesse, Luke was half asleep but tried his best went they came in.

The Lieutenant was holding Check’s helmet and Luke burst into tears again.

They left the two of them alone for a moment. Well, it was a bit longer than a moment. Fives explained a bit on what happened with Check and Luke’s reaction. Luke may have been used to running and fighting and even conflict, but he wasn’t not used to the realities of war. Not like this.

They came back in after quite some time. Luke was already lightly snoring and fast asleep against Waxer’s shoulder, who was half asleep himself. And so, they made a perimeter around one another for moments of rest over the next several hours.

It is barely an hour in and already Luke is tangled up and cuddling with several troopers, as if reaching out and trying to be in contact with as many of them as he could.

“If no one else is gonna say it,” Jesse started, keeping his voice rather quiet as to not awake the young’un. “I ain’t gonna lie, is it strange that he is all…touchy and cuddly? I didn’t think jedi were…really like that.”

Everyone looked over at General Tachi, who frowned and took a breath, her lips twitching. “He is…touch started but not quite either. It is difficult to explain because jedi are very different. But one of the reasons the jedi start so young, adopted young and raised together is so they can form bonds with others like them. It is often necessary for healthy development.”

“But Luke…he wasn’t raised like that,” Waxer realized, glancing down at the child before looking back up at General Tachi. He looked quite worried and concerned. After only a few days of knowing this child, he was already so attached. Fives wondered if that was normal for him. “So he doesn’t have those bonds.”

“Luke’s presence is latching onto other jedi and connected beings,” General Tachi continued. “He has several fledgling bonds which help his… starvation but considering Obi-Wan and him were constantly on the run, Luke probably didn’t get much time with them and so they either faded or remained very thin; barely there. He’s already formed some type of connections with you.”

“All of us?”

“Luke’s presence in the force is starving for connections,” she added, and Fives could tell there was a hint of concern in her voice, although she mostly kept emotions out of it. “It won’t interfere with you or anything and if left unattended, it shouldn’t grow.”

“It helps him?” Waxer asked.

General Tachi nodded, a bit gravely. This was a rather serious topic, Fives realized. “It is partially why he is even more cuddly than normal, even for a jedi.”

Waxer held Luke close, as if that would help. The boy just huffed into his shoulder. “And…if the bond…if it does grow stronger? Is that okay?” he added, looking back up at General Tachi, eyebrows scrunched together as his concern became more and more evident on his physical features.

General Tachi just nodded.

“Even from a clone?”

“Especially from a clone.”

“What does that mean?”

“Obi-Wan could explain it better,” she confessed with a small sigh. Luke’s arm sleepily touched hers and she moved a little closer to him. “I don’t have a clone attachment or much experience with you.”

“Can you try?”

“I’m not sure if anyone, you or anyone really understands how well the clones and the jedi connect with one another, fit together, how easy it is to share bonds with,” she started, making sure to look between all of them. “Your warmth and light in the Force…as Obi-Wan tells it, although different individuals, is clicks very well with our own. This is rather quite unusual for non-force sensitives. Obi-Wan told me once it’s like we were made for you, that we were meant to be together in some way.”

“They used to say on Kamino,” Rex said quietly. He hadn’t been speaking a whole lot as of late, listening quiet and with purpose and the mention of Kamino brought both nostalgia and bitterness to all of the troopers. Their brothers were still there but it was not generally a good place to be. “We were made for the jedi.”

General Tachi thought about this and hummed. Perhaps it was agreement or disagreement or neither, Fives wasn’t sure. She was hard to read and hard to understand, much more so than their own general. “Perhaps. But I don’t think it is one sided,” she swiped Luke’s bangs to the side, gently. He exhaled again. “Many of the jedi will continue to choose you. Obi-Wan continues to choose you. It is a new galaxy and things are changing. If you will have us, we will gladly stay with you.”

“I don’t know anyone except the jedi who have cared anything for us,” Lieutenant Waxer confessed. “And I can’t speak for everyone of course, but I think we would rather be with you than any other people in the galaxy, if we had to choose.”

“You should get some sleep,” General Tachi said instead, glancing over towards the window that Fives and Tup had already blocked.

“We should set up watches for the next few hours,” Rex replied, leaving the previous conversation with ease and picking up the new one just as easily.

“Do not worry. I have it covered.”

“You can’t do it by yourself.”

“Oh yes I can. Just….trust me on this one,” she winked.

Luke

When Luke wakes up, he is drowning in a clone cuddle pile and practically has to claw his way out, his face completely red and flush with embarrassment. He is sputtering by the end of it but tries with all of his skill and work not to wake them up while trying to get himself out of the pile.

Master Tachi glanced at him from the side of the pile, out of the sleeping troopers and smirked at him, amused. “Sleep well?” she snickered.

Luke just blushed and glanced away, moving towards her as quietly and gently as he could.

“It is nothing to be ashamed of, Luke. You are an empath and crave connections naturally,” she pointed out. It wasn’t something that Luke didn’t know, in particular, but it was different here and now. Things were still dark but still so much lighter than the time he was from. There were others to connect to so close and actually around. It was so much. “It just seems so extreme now because you have never had so much before and now, there is much to have.”

“It…it’s been just Ben and me for a long time,” Luke confessed as he sat down next to her, hugging his knees. He glanced over at his armor piled over in the corner and reached for the closest pieces. “Before that it was just Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru but I don’t think they quite…understood.”

“Many do not,” she hummed.

“I love Ben,” he added, quickly. It was the truth; Ben was the only person he had with him, everyone else was gone forever or deceased. “He…he is pretty much all I have. It is hard without him around. I…I just have never been around so much….”

“Light, warmth?” she suggested.

“Hyperspace is cold, and we are not planet side a lot,” he explained. He tried to talk about a bit on their situation, in the future, past, whatever. It was easy to talk to her. Maybe it was because she was a jedi. Perhaps it was because Ben knew her and told him about her. Maybe she just was easy to talk to for him. “Ben is very warm, but this is different.”

“Everyone feels different, especially jedi,” Master Tachi assured. “You have been starved of that. It is why we raise out children in creches, together.”

“Ben told me about creches,” Luke hugged his knees tighter as he clipped the shin guards to his lower legs. He didn’t look at her, rather thinking about so much all at once. “I think I would have liked it.”

She nodded and the outer wall shook a little. They both glanced towards the little window on that side of the room. The conversation was over, Luke thought to himself. It wasn’t long; he wished he could talk more with her, but it was clear. “The fighting is getting close again,” she pointed out with a frown. “We should move.”

Luke nodded. “Any ideas on where to go?”

“I have been working on establishing communications with Obi-Wan’s ship,” Master Tachi explained as she grabbed some of her own gear and began putting it on. Her radio was in the corner, and she glanced at it as some kind of gesture to guide his gaze towards the appliance. “They are being pretty tight lipped, and I don’t have his codes.”

“Probably don’t want Dooku to get any information,” Luke added. Whether or not this was the truth, it made sense anyways. He wondered where the Count was now and if he was making problems for Ben and the troopers. “Do you think they have troops on the ground?”

Master Tachi paused and frowned again. “Not sure. This place isn’t Republic friendly or even wants to be,” she replied as she stood up, finishing putting on her own gear, so different from what Luke and the other troopers were wearing. “The Jedi have taken out the Zygerrian slave empire before but…everything was different then.”

He didn’t know exactly what that meant, in particular but he followed her, putting on his smaller pieces and Master Tachi helping him clip on the gorget. “If they take out the enemy ship, I think they can drive the Separatists away,” Luke said. “I only saw one up there, I don’t think they were planning for an invasion.”

“I think you are right.”

“I have no doubt the palace is in chaos, but I don’t think there is any order for power players. No one seems organized. We might be able to get there. That is probably where Ben would look since he was following Dooku.”

“That level of chaos could mean lack of leadership,” Siri murmured as she messed around a bit with her portable radio. “The queen may be incapacitated or dead, meaning there would be a power vacuum.”

“That would also mean less guards, we could probably slip through. No one is giving orders,” he added.

“Or too many are for any type or organization.”

“Even if Ben is done looking through the palace, he would still be around that area,” Luke said.

“He is not going to just give up,” Master Tachi nodded. “Especially not with Quinlan with him.”

“So, we head towards the palace then.”

“The closer we are, the easier it will be to get communications with the Republic – or better yet – Obi-Wan’s fleet,” Master Tachi added with a grin growing on her face.

“The closer we are, the more likely I will be able to feel Ben better,” Luke added with a matching grin as he brightened up, significantly. He just needed to find Ben. Things would be okay if he could just get to him. “Don’t try to lie to me and say you don’t have a pretty strong bond with him too.”

“He is one of my closest friends,” she admitted.

“Look at you two,” a new voice piped in with a chuckle. Both Luke and Master Tachi glanced around. The troopers were all at least awake with vaguely amused expressions. A few were even moving towards their armor piles to get ready for moving out at a moment’s notice. “Makin plans without us,” Jesse added.

“Thought you could use the extra beauty sleep,” Luke grinned, cheekily.

“You little brat,” Jesse teased.

They talk a little while everyone gets ready and dressed. Master Tachi gave them a short rundown of what they were going to be doing; moving back towards the Palace. There was some apprehension, going back to that horrid place. Luke completely understood, even just thinking about made him rather upset, skin vibrating for the need for justice. If it was his choice, no one would have to go anywhere near it again. But he had to find Ben. They had to find Ben and they needed to get off of this planet.

The little group had left soon after, quiet and out of the back door, away from the chaos outside. The fighting and struggling had not ceased exactly, as there were still slavers, slaves and droids still fighting amongst one another. Luke kept Check’s helmet clipped to his belt and no one said a word about it.

They couldn’t exactly avoid the fighting and conflict and eventually, they had to move towards the more main roads to make their way towards the palace. They avoided them, of course, whenever they could. By the time they had to get to the main road, which was a straight shot to the palace, they were about knee deep in conflict.

It kind of amazed him how easy they worked together. Master Tachi had never really worked with these troopers before barely – if any – either. Luke himself had only fought alongside Waxer and only for a few moments, the other troopers as well. But the five boys they had with him and Master Tachi, they had quickly adapted to the way they moved and the way they worked. Moving with the troopers was easy, even though there weren’t many of them. They didn’t a fairly good job keeping up with him and Master Tachi and although neither of them were actually used to working with troopers, they seemed to blend well together when it came to helping each other out and having each other’s back.

Master Tachi had a blaster on her, and he knew she wouldn’t bring out her lightsaber unless it was absolutely necessary. Ben had been the same way during their travels. It often times brought unwanted attention.

Luke, on the other hand, didn’t have another weapon and he had a much larger and passionate need to fight and protect. He made arcs with Ben’s light saber like he was born for it. Perhaps, in some ways, he was.

The loss of Check was a heavy weight, but they kept moving.

The young boy from the future wouldn’t let anyone die on his account, not with this. There were six others with him – he could keep them alive. He had to keep them alive. He did not leave them and kept them within his sights the best he possibly could. It was hard to keep them together as they seemed to have the same idea about one another. Luke caught a blaster shot with the force that came too close to Jesse’s face for comfort. Tup shot a slaver that was coming up on Luke’s six.

Getting so close to the palace, they stayed tight knit until the courtyard was in place. They paused in an out-of-the-way alley to come up with a plan, right outside of the palace perimeter. “It is absolute and complete chaos out there but I can feel Ben,” Luke said hurriedly, his voice rising in excitement and plenty of eagerness. “I can sneak in and since I can sense him, I’ll be able to find him quicker. I’ll bring him back.”

“I don’t think that’s a good…”

“Look, I got this, okay?” Luke insisted and didn’t wait for an answer. He ran out of the hiding place and leapt on top of the building nearby, racing across the rooftops up and away from the fighting crowds down below. Eventually he had to get back to the ground as he got inside the palace courtyard where the battle started to thin out a little.

He reached out in the Force and tried to concentrate. He could feel Ben. He knew he could feel him.

And then…

“Luke!”

The yell was raw, screeching into the stormy chaos of the battle, as if his voice alone was desperate enough to demand the person of his desire to be returned.

“Luke!” it tried again, near at the top of his lungs.

“Ben?”

Luke couldn’t help but perk at the sound of his name. Oh, how he hoped that it was real, that it was his voice and not his wishful thinking or the screams of another being. The being that he so desperately wanted it to be.

“Luke?” the voice called out tentatively.

It was real! It was Ben’s voice!

The youngster jumped back into the fray of disorder and conflict without a second thought. “Ben!” Luke shouted back as he fought harder against the chaos, clawing his way through anyone and everyone. His saber was off now, clipped to his belt. Because now, he didn’t need it. He fought through the crowd with his hands and the undeniable power of the force, forcing his way through them with enough strength to make others even jump out of the way.

Then he saw him. Because even though it had been fifteen years and Ben’s appearance was so different; not that weathered and oh so greying older man that Luke knew; he could recognize him. It didn’t matter that his hair was a brownish ginger instead of the grey and white. It didn’t matter that his skin was younger and smoother instead of washed out and wrinkled. It didn’t matter that he was in armor pieces and under robes rather than the larger cloaks and well-used clothes. It didn’t even matter that his eyes were bluer now, had more color instead of the tired and older gaze Luke knew.

None of that mattered. Luke would know him anywhere, no matter how much of his physical appearance may have changed. He would never forget. He never could.

Tears were pricking at his eyes then, but they weren’t quite clouding his vision. He choked out the name before charging towards his guardian. Ben may not have known what Luke was going to do but he quickly figured it out. Luke ran and leapt at him with no small amount of abandon, with all the excitement and relief coursing through him and all of the desperation and fear washing away, out from his bones.

He was pretty sure that he was crying, and it did not matter. In that moment, nothing mattered but him. Because Luke was no longer alone. Whether or not everything was real, whatever Ben knew or did not know, it hardly mattered. Luke was no longer alone and all he wanted was to be wrapped up in Ben’s robe in the way he did when he was younger. He wanted to tell Ben of all the things that he had been through and all the things they could do now. Now that they had this chance. This chance to change everything and save so many.

“I know you can catch me, old man! You don’t have any grey hairs!”

And he does; Ben catches him and wraps his arms around Luke so tight, he doesn’t think the older man will ever let go. He doesn’t really want him to. Because in this moment, he doesn’t have to worry about anything. Ben is here. It doesn’t matter if he remembered Luke or not. It doesn’t matter what Ben knew or what he didn’t. He held Luke like he always held Luke, with strength and love and compassion. Like Luke had nothing in the world to worry about ever.

“You remember me.”

He didn’t know if he was right or not. Rather, it was a guess, but Ben just chuckled and curled his arms around Luke, secure and tight. “I could never forget,” he whispered, and Luke held on even snugger, wrapping his limbs around his guardian and locking his face in the crook of his neck, brown ginger hair tickling his face. “Foolish child, running off into war,” Ben mumbled with a fond huff.

“I had to try and save Waxer,” Luke said, exhaling the best he could. He felt out of breath and like he may never get it back. “I’m not sorry.” He wasn’t, he couldn’t quite be. He just wanted to help them in any way he could. He couldn’t save Checkerboard and that was going to haunt him, but he tried to make sure he remembered about all the other ones that he had helped. He had kept Waxer alive. He helped stop Krell’s massacre. He had tried and tried and tried.

“I’m not upset,” Ben assured quietly. Distantly, Luke could hear a small explosion go off. He was glad that he had found his guardian in a spot where there wasn’t blatant battle going on. “You just scared me near to death. I’m an old man, Beacon, my heart can’t take such things.”

“You’re over 15 years in the past you dummy,” Luke choked on near tears, but his chest was bubbling with laughter, something of relief and amusement. “You aren’t even old,” he paused and snuggled just a bit closer, so thankful and unable to let him go at the moment. He would, soon, of course. There was a lot of work to do but he would keep the minute. “I’m so glad you are okay.”

“I will never abandon you.”

Something in his chest loosened which helped him loosen his grip, even if only a little bit. That reminded him, Luke thought as he gave out an actual audible chuckle. “I have the very best present for you,” he murmured with a smile, amusement swelling.

“Oh? How fortuitous,” Ben rumbled, just as entertained as him. Luke didn’t know if anyone was watching or around, but it didn’t matter. Not to him. All there needed to be was Ben and him. Even if only for a minute. “As it so happens, I have a gift for you as well.”

“You got me a present?!” Luke cheered, surprised and excited as he perked up and leaned back to look at him. Luke could see the smirk that was forming underneath Ben’s mustache and beard, a twinkle so apparent in his eye. “What is it?” he asked.

“You will have to wait until we get back to the ship,” Ben chuckled as he let Luke down back to the ground.

“I bet my gift is better!” Luke boasted, his smile sly and knowing as he leaned back on his heels with the slyest grin he could muster. He didn’t think there was anything that could be better than bringing Ben back a loved one and he knew it.

“Oh?” he asked, raising an eyebrow in that way Luke had seen so many times before. “I don’t know…” he drifted off with the shake of his head. He sounded very sure of himself. “My gift is pretty impressive, if I do say so myself.”

Luke’s eyes sparkled and he took Ben’s hand, firm and secure. He was just getting more and more excited. He couldn’t wait to see Ben’s face when he showed him the person that Luke had come across because oh! He had brought back someone Ben cared about; someone he hadn’t seen in over a decade and half. “Come on! I left her with the troopers.”

“Her?” Ben echoed, questioningly, but Luke wrapped his hand tighter and practically dragged him across the courtyard, through some of the sides of the conflict before he brought him back to the little structure that his team was hiding in. He got down the alley and called out to the troopers. Waxer was the first to turn, the others following close behind as they realized who was coming up to them and putting their weapons down.

Waxer tore of his helmet and all Luke could see and feel was near absolute relief. “General!”

“Master!” Luke called out as Ben finally stopped, unable to move forward.

Because he saw.

Ben was staring, Luke noticed. His glanced between the two of them, uncertain about what would happen next, but he couldn’t help but feel excitement nearly overcome him. The female master grinned at the sight of them and walked, firm and with purpose, her face scraped up and dirty from fighting and finding rest in the little, out of the way places they could. As she came up to him, Ben reached up, hesitant and rubbed some of the light layer of dirt from her cheek.

“May I?” he murmured under his breath.

Luke’s own caught.

“Of course.” Even though she was expecting it, Luke could tell she was surprised by Ben’s hug and how tightly he wound around her. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it, Kenobi?” she hummed as she relaxed a little into the embrace.

“You have no idea.”

“I do. At least a little. Luke told me.”

“Tachi!” a new voice cheered, and Luke glanced around. It was Master Vos, and he was jogging towards them with a couple others, a mix of troopers and jedi. Well, one jedi. He hadn’t even realized that there had been troopers and the jedi master around when he found Ben, much less of them following the two of them. “I knew it had to be you,” he snickered, turning to lean against the wall, as if he needed a brace to prevent himself from falling over with his laughter.

“Vos,” Master Tachi replied in a mock flat tone but even Luke could feel and see that she wasn’t nearly as unimpressed as she made herself out to sound. “At the very least, you kept Obi-Wan alive.”

“Hey! You weren’t there when I was trying to convince him this was time travel and not a Sith trick or torture,” Master Vos shot back, grinning wide. Neither of them was actually upset or mad or anything negative really at one another, but it was rather amusing to watch them all interact. It was funny; Luke had a bit of a hard time seeing them as such close friends with Ben.

“Well, you seemed to do that at the least,” Master Tachi huffed with a smile as the two of them leaned back and she crossed her arms over her chest for some kind of effect.

“Is everyone here?”

“We lost Checkerboard in the fight,” Waxer stepped up for a short report as Luke glanced away, his chest heating up in grief and shame. Ben put a hand on his shoulder, warm and soothing. “The other troops that were taken are accounted for.”

“Commander Cody went back up to the ship to help Sergeant Barlex fight off the Separatist ship and it appears they are doing well,” Master Vos explained, pointing upwards into the sky where they could just make out two ships, mildly obscured by the clouds and atmosphere. There may have been others, but they couldn’t be seen from the ground. Luke didn’t know.

“The Zygerrians are winning the fight with the droids too,” Rex mumbled as he looked between the jedi masters. “But they are an absolute mess. There is no organization; just fighting for fighting’s sake.”

“We have a lot of work to do,” Luke added in, firm and determined. He wasn’t wrong. Beyond this, with their chance, there was so much to do if they were going to save the troopers, the jedi and the galaxy. “We should convene with the Jedi Council, create a plan and get to work on saving the galaxy from the Empire and the Sith.”

Ben chuckled, lightly as he shot Luke a glance, a single eyebrow raised a bit curiously but Luke could feel his shields tightening a little more. “Oh, should we?”

“We do need the help,” Luke pointed out, red with embarrassment as he looked away as he realized what he said and how he said it. “R-Right.”

The jedi master just kept snickering. “Yes,” he glanced back at the others and got a look at the other jedi behind him. Luke hadn’t even noticed him come up and his breath caught in his chest. Ben perked and looked back at Luke, looking so genuinely kind and nice. Luke’s heart fell a bit. “Luke, I’ve heard you met your…”

“Anakin Skywalker,” Luke interrupted, rather loudly, in a rare show of disrespect. He tried not to let much of anything slip past as he tightened his shields as best, he could, staring at his father with his jaw set. He had to figure out how to play this. Honestly, he had to figure out how to deal with this, especially now, in the time and situation that they both were in. Ben didn’t know that Luke knew. Knew who Anakin Skywalker, his father, became. “Yeah. We’ve met.”

Ben turned confused and it was so wounded and genuine that it near physically hurt Luke to see him respond like that. “Luke…you…know who he is,” Ben said, his response slow and measured, deliberate. Cautious.

Luke hated it. “I do,” he nodded, staring just barely at Anakin.

“I am rather, confused, Luke, why…”

“Could we talk about this, later? Perhaps in private?” Luke fidgeted, glancing down at his gloved hands, his voice quieting into something that others, unless standing right by them, wouldn’t be able to hear. Luke never thought he would have this change, to have to be in this type of scenario. Luke never thought that he would meet his father as Anakin Skywalker, not after knowing what Vader had done and how many times, he had chased them, nearly killing the both of them. He had to figure out how to deal with and what to do with the change and knowledge that he had.

Ben’s brows were drawn but he nodded, solemn. “Of course. Later,” he responded, still careful and curious and worried. “But we will talk about it. This is most unlike you.”

Luke sighed, inwardly in relief. This was not the time or the place or in the right company. He couldn’t talk about this with his father actually in the vicinity. He didn’t know how he would react and there was so much more to do. “I know,” he flipped the hilt of Ben’s saber towards its owner. “This is yours. I’m sorry I borrowed it without asking.”

“Keep it for now,” Ben replied, pushing the hilt back towards him. “I’m glad you did. My crystal is willing to work with you, as always. Hopefully, in this time, you will be able to create your own.”

Luke perked subtly.

They all caught it.

“I think it is about time that we got off of this…. planet,” Ben said, carefully, trying to keep the disgust out of his voice.

“Agreed,” came a chorus of voices in near unison.

“Commander Cody can get a ship down here within a few minutes,” Master Vos announced, already messing with his commlink. “But we have to get to a nearby landing platform.”

“Shouldn’t be toohard,” Luke replied. “We’ve got four jedi, a handful of highly competent troopers and a guy who is not half bad with a lightsaber.”

“That…is how you are describing yourself?” Ben said, an eyebrow raising curiously. Luke shrugged as the troopers made a quick perimeter around them, ready to move out whenever given the order. “You know, with where and when we are, the Jedi Order is still around,” he pointed out.

“I want to help you keep it that way.”

“I know,” Ben nodded, solemnly. “I am fairly certain I can convince the Council to let you in the Order, if, of course, we happen to stay here. You’d have some catching up to do but you have been trained quite a bit and I think you have enough training to be picked up as a padawan.”

Luke felt his entire body freeze. “Picked up?” he choked out.

Ben kept his gaze completely void of any telltale emotions or thoughts; his shields as tight as they could be. “Of course. You are very talented, Luke. Kind, compassionate, determined and so eager to learn. If this is still what you want.”

He just stared back at him because…because he inferred that he wouldn’t be Ben’s padawan. That just…he wanted to be Ben’s padawan. Luke remembered the vision and trial he went through in the Lothal Temple. This was…it was always supposed to be them.

He would just have to prove himself. “I still want it,” he stated, firmly.

Ben nodded.

“We should get going,” Master Tachi popped in, speaking slowly, glancing between them with a varying range of emotions screaming across her face. They agreed and without another turn of phrase, they ran off.

Getting to the landing pad was easy. There was Luke, four incredibly talented jedi and a handful of insanely amazing troopers that could practically carve a path without hardly breaking a sweat. And it was right in time. The gunship landed just at the moment they came into view. They jumped in and off they went up towards the flagship which was beating down at the lone Separatist ship it was battling.

Commander Cody was waiting for them, along with a few others, most of which Luke recognized. There was Kix and Helix and…

“Boil!” Luke grinned with all the happiness and eagerness and relief he could project into the name. The trooper always looked surprised when Luke said his name like that and sure, this Boil didn’t have the same experiences with and without Luke that the older one did but he was still Boil. It didn’t matter.

He smiled though, warmer than most would expect with his shoulders sagging just a bit. “Hey kid. Sportin’ the armor pretty good.”

“I’m sorry I took it, but I had to sneak onto a gunship,” Luke shrugged before practically bowling the trooper over, Waxer hot on his heels. He was laughing and clasped Boil’s shoulder in greeting as the latter tried to get a handle on the squid-like hug that Luke gave. “I had to keep Waxer alive.”

When he got back to the ground and stood back, Boil’s brows were furrowed, and he frowned in realization. He glanced at Waxer, and they exchanged looks. Luke wasn’t entirely sure what they meant.

“All of you are going to need a check up and scan,” Helix butted in, Kix right at his side. They looked almost like twins. Well, really only for the fact that they had the same displeased expression on their faces. Luke tried to hush down his laugh.

“I will hand them all over to your capable care,” Ben assured as he walked closer to the group. Master Vos was whispering to Master Tachi which ended in them both snickering, almost uncontrollably. “But I do have a gift for Luke, if you don’t mind waiting a moment to take him.”

Helix shrugged. “Fine.”

Ben glanced around at the other troopers. “Did Gearshift come with you?” he asked as he got closer to Luke and wrapped a thin cloth around his eyes, making sure he could see a thing. Luke just scoffed good naturedly.

“Gearshift!” someone called out.

There were footsteps from a human and…something else. A clacking noise. A lot of them actually. It stopped and there were a few other quiet noises. “Can I loooooook??” Luke’s voice came out in a near whine. A few chuckles erupted from those around him.

Ben was standing next to him as someone untied and took off the blindfold. And in front of Luke, in Ben’s hands, was the cutest little BD explorer type droid Luke thinks he had ever seen. Washed in grey and gold, it’s little head looked up at him and squeaked in a binary Luke wasn’t entirely sure he understood but the meaning was clear. Plenty of curiosity.

His heart practically stopped. Could it be? No way.

No way.

“Is this…” he drifted off, unable to form words. He glanced at Ben, eyes wide and near pleading. “Are you serious?”

“I happened to have found her on the ship that we hijacked on our way here,” Ben explained with one of the fondest smiles Luke had ever seen up on him. “I helped fix her up, Anakin helped fix her up and she needs a bit more tweaking and probably a program update, but I thought you might like her. We talked a bit and she claimed she will give you a chance. She’s had a bit of a difficult time and would like a memory wipe, but I think you two will get along.”

“You got me a droid?!”

“I’m not sure if I would say got. I didn’t exactly pay for her or anything. Rather…liberated, in a way,” Ben pointed out.

Luke reached out his hands to let the little droid hop into his palms. He nearly felt like crying. “She’s so cute,” he whispered as she beeped at him, quick and excited. “I…can’t understand what she is saying though. Not fully.”

“It’s coded binary. Don’t worry, that can be changed in the programming.”

“Can we keep both?”

“Yes? But why?”

“I’d like to learn it. I think it would be fun. What’s her name?”

“Her designation is BD-42, but she claims to be amendable for changes.”

Luke hummed and stared at his new little droid friend. This was just… a dream. There was no other explanation. “Hmmm. We will have to brainstorm, won’t we, girl? I’m sure we can come up with something fantastic that is very you.” He looked up at Ben and he knew his eyes were sparkling because, well, they had to be. “Thank you, Ben.”

“I did promise you a droid at some point.”

“I think…. I think we might be a good team,” Luke agreed. “And we have a lot to do with an uncertain amount of time to do it.”

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locke-writes · 4 years

Text

Only Time Will Tell

Author: locke-writes

Title: Only Time Will Tell

Based On: Imagine you accidentally get sent back in time to 1940′s Brooklyn, thanks to something you were helping Tony work on, and you meet Bucky, who you have never met before, and he helps you out, then when Tony finally comes to get you and brings you back home, you meet Bucky a few months later and he remembers you. by @thranduilsperkybutt For: the first Follower Voted Content on this blog

Rating: T

Word Count: 2,244

AN: Made it a Soulmate!AU

Tag List: @lotsoffandomrecs/ @lgbtonystarks / @scarletsoldierrr / @moonlit-imagines / @randomfandomimagine / @groovyfluxie /

If there was anyone who could accidentally invent time travel it was going to be Tony Stark. It shouldn’t have been that surprising as the man had accidentally invented multiple things in his lifetime and you supposed he would again. Your only issue was that you were involved this time. And involved in such a way that you wondered if you could have ever really forgiven him.

He had asked for your help with an experiment in the lab. That was all it was supposed to be, a small experiment working with a variety of chemical compounds in an effort to make a cheaper, pliable, metal for the Iron Man suits. The intention was to create one not just more lightweight than current models, but a suit that could be easily hidden on one’s person like in the form of a watch or even a tie pin. Yet of course the discovery made was unintended and now here you were.

Back in time. This was easy enough to discern when suddenly you were no longer in Tony’s lab but in the middle of the street in New York.

You supposed it was a beneficial that you seemed to blend in in terms of clothing, although there were a few stares as you wandered down the street. Grabbing a newspaper you hoped that no one paid any attention to the year on the minted coin that you placed on the counter. Money was money but time was never the same, and neither of course was the look of the coin itself. Wandering down the street you cursed at Tony in your mind when you saw what the current year was.

1942. You had gone all the way back in time only to be smack in the middle of WWII. There was nowhere you could go and you supposed that the one person you knew from 1942 would never believe you even if you managed to track Steve down in all of this mess. Thoughts worked their way around your mind, distracting you from watching out for anyone on the street. You only came back into focus once you ran into someone.

There was an oddity to looking into the face of your soulmate and knowing that you didn’t belong there. You’d heard people say that there was a spark, a feeling of electricity that flowed through you upon first touch and you knew that to be true. The only other thing you knew to be true as the soulmark formed across both your wrists, was that you belonged in a different time. You hated yourself for thinking what a blessing it was that he was in uniform.

However it was the truth. He was looking at you, to stunned for words and all you could think was that he might be dead in a week, he might be dead in days depending on when he was going to be sent overseas. You wanted to be feeling what you assumed he felt, the hope, the wonderment of finding the person whose soul is one with your own. Yet there you were, afraid that you would break his heart by leaving so abruptly. There had to be a way home and Tony would find you. Then the man in front of you would be a memory, a mere thought you had when you stared at your wrist.

“I’m Bucky,” he broke the silence.

You stepped out of the path of people walking before facing him again, “Bucky?”

“James. But my middle name is Buchanan so everyone just calls me Bucky” Nodding you introduced yourself to him.

He smiled, repeating your name as if it was some word that would provide answers to every question he had in his life, “Do you have anywhere you need to be?”

“No” you replied answering honestly but vague enough that he could assume what he wanted.

He offered to take you to lunch which you accepted knowing it was the only way that you would most likely be able to have any meal without drawing to much attention to yourself. There was a diner nearby where you grabbed a table, Bucky quiet as you both waited for your food. You wondered if you should begin conversation but fought against it, knowing that any bond you formed here would only be severed once you left. It seemed an idiotic thing to think that nothing about yourself would come up in conversation.

Maybe it was Bucky being your soulmate or maybe it was that he was simply kind to you but you found yourself opening up to him. Stories about childhoods were shared although yours had details altered to fit your current timeline. There was nothing that you felt you couldn’t share with him, except the fact that you didn’t belong.

When he asked if he could walk you home you faltered. It was the one thing that had been in the back of your mind. You’d been stuck in the past for nearly three hours and without the promise of going home, to your actual home, there was nothing else you wanted to dwell on. Especially the fact that you had no place to go. With Bucky it was easy being as honest as you could be and he was offering you the spare bedroom at his apartment as soon as you came up with the lie that yours had fallen through after you’d already moved to the city.

You were given spare clothes, towels for the bathroom, and fresh sheets for the bed, before you made your way to the living room. It was small and Bucky was going over some documents at the table while you wandered directly to the bookcase in the corner. There were a few novels that you had read, one’s that you knew would come to be treasured for decades to come. Bucky said nothing as you grabbed his copy of Great Expectations off the shelf. And he continued to say nothing after, in the midst of silence, you began to read aloud.

You’d been living together for two weeks when Bucky received the date he was to leave. That was two weeks you’d been out of place in another time and two weeks that had brought you closer together with him. You hated the fact that you’d fallen in love with him, hated the fact that you admitted it to him and learned he felt the same. In two weeks you had met Steve as he was then and you had made a few friends at the drug store where you managed to find work. It was odd, you thought, they’d even hired you without references but you supposed employment was different now versus your own time.

It felt like a lie when you looked at Bucky. It felt like everything you’d ever said to him was a lie. Could you have bared to tell him what would happen to Steve? Could you have bared to tell him that you didn’t know who he was, that Steve had never spoken of him, at least never around you. Tony was working on a way to bring you home, you had faith that he was. Yet there was a part of you that didn’t want to be home, that didn’t want to leave what you had built here and would continue to build here.

The night before he was meant to leave you went with Bucky and Steve to the technology exhibition. You knew it was goodbye, not just until he would return but permanently. However long he’d be away there was that chance you’d not be around to see him. Faking a smile you stood by him throughout the night, hand in hand staring in awe of what could have been and smiling slightly at what you knew would be.

Bucky refused to say goodbye that night, and he refused to say goodbye the next morning even as you watched him prepare to depart from the train depot. You slid a copy of Great Expectations into his hand and asked him to remember you. You kissed him before he left your life forever.

The weeks that followed seemed empty. There were those at work that tried to comfort you, those who were in similar predicaments with their own loved ones although they didn’t know for fact they’d never see one another again. Silence filled the apartment making it unbearable to stay for longer than a minute. Often you found yourself at the movies, watching the same thing over and over again just to be away from the lingering feeling of Bucky. Perhaps you were out of a different time although you fit so perfectly within.

Letters came and you responded. Steve had enlisted and you knew what that would entail. You wondered if he had thought you might be shocked if ever there was a chance you’d see him as you knew him in your own timeline.

All in all it had been two months that you had lived a life in a time not your own. Two months before Tony made it to you. You never questioned Tony, never asked how he had found where you were living, you were only grateful he had found you at all. Tony said nothing in regard to the sorrow that surrounded you as you collected your things to come home. He didn’t even question the book or the letters that you took with you, he simply explained what had happened and how he had managed to fix it.

Home. It stopped seeming like home the minute you arrived. There were tales of couples so entwined that separation worsened each person, that they seemed drained without one another. Tony tried speaking with you and you lied telling him it was just strange being back as though nothing had happened when you had lived a different life in a different time even if it was short.

Whether or not he believed you, you didn’t know, but altogether he just began treating everything like it was normal. You supposed for him it was.

Steve spoke to you, telling you that he had memories of you. Memories of you and Bucky. He was kind enough to provide you with sketches he had done of the two of you but you never questioned what happened to Bucky and so Steve never said anything. He didn’t want to break your heart any more than it already had been.

As time wore on you tried to get back into the routine of your life. At first it was a struggle, difficult to find the time to catch back up with everything that you had missed. Soon you found that each minute became easier than the last. You were healing, there was still a grief within you - a loss that while you knew would dim you recognized would never leave. The mark on your wrist remained covered.

And when it seemed that everything had started to heal, you were ripped bare again.

Never was it unusual for you to be called to Avengers meetings. You were not a hero but you were as much a part of the team as if you had been. What was unusual was for there to be only three people in the conference room, Steve, Tony, and a third man who stood with his back to you. You cleared your throat to indicate your presence. Steve and Tony turned to face you but the third man remained facing away, you were about to ask who he was when Steve interrupted.

“If I was able to tell you sooner I would have”

Tony only nodded before putting a hand on the man’s shoulder indicating that he should now face you.

Your eyes widened as you looked upon his face, taking quick strides to reach him. The two of you were left alone in the room and suddenly he breathed out your name. He was different, wary, and you refused to say anything about his metal arm knowing well enough that he would tell you that story when he was ready.

Cradling his face in your hands you simply stared at him, not even realizing that you were crying until you felt him wipe away your tears. You gripped his wrist, tracing over his mark and knowing that you would soon be able to expose yours once more without the pain of loss coursing through you.

"I still have the book you gave me" he spoke, still lowly as if speaking any louder would shatter this reality.

He didn't have to say the title for you to know what he meant and you smiled softly, "I have the one from the apartment. And every letter."

"There's too much to explain."

"I know, that can come later. Just. I want to be here with you right now, I don't want to think about anything else. I never thought I would see you again Bucky"

His hands moved away from your face to wrap around you, pulling you into him.

The past had never felt truly like home and you realized that your current time had always been lacking that feeling as well. With Bucky holding you it came upon you and it stayed engrained into your mind when he told you he loved you.

Past, present, or future, there was never going to be any sense of home without Bucky.

Because Bucky was home.

#locke writes #marvel #bucky barnes #marvel imagine #bucky barnes imagine #marvel fic #bucky barnes fic #marvel fanfic #bucky barnes fanfic #marvel oneshot #bucky barnes oneshot

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robininthelabyrinth · 3 years

Note

The Nie brothers time travel but something goes wrong and they end up in each other bodies. So now they have to defeat WRH, find a way to curb JGY worst tendencies, and hide (and undo) the switch before any cultivator decides they are possesed by evil spirits

“I can’t do this,” Nie Huaisang announced heavily. “I can’t. Nope. Cannot. No way.”

“You apparently found a way to time travel into the past,” his brother pointed out. He was taking this entire thing very calmly – or, rather, like he’d heard a really great joke. It wasn’t that Nie Huaisang had forgotten that his brother had a sense of humor hidden under the rage, especially in the earlier years before Jin Guangyao got at him, but he may have downplayed his memories of how annoying it was to be the target of it. “Your abilities are clearly well beyond what you’ve been leading me to believe.”

“I’m sneaky,” Nie Huaisang explained. “I can scheme and plot and play politics, sometimes, if I have to. But I cannot be a general!”

I cannot be you, he meant. He might currently be inhabiting his long-dead brother’s body – an unfortunate side effect of messing up the time travel array, he suspected, but then again experimental things were often imperfect – while his brother’s spirit had been cast out into his own former self, but he wasn’t his brother.

He could never be.

(But Nie Mingjue was alive, alive and well with bright eyes and that stupid smirk that didn’t fit right on Nie Huaisang’s smaller face except in the ways it sort of did, and that was all Nie Huaisang had ever wanted in his life, other than Jin Guangyao to pay in blood and shame for depriving him of it.)

“Why not?” his brother asked. He leaned back and stretched lazily. Nie Mingjue never did a lazy thing in his whole life, so it was deliberate. He was enjoying this. “We have a battle strategy, already decided; most of the rest of it is on-the-ground tactics, which can be done just as well from behind the lines as at the front of them. There’s a reason that no one ever settled on the best place for a war-leader to be – it comes down to temperament.”

Nie Huaisang threw his hands into the air. “I know that! I was sect leader for nearly two decades, da-ge; I assure you, I’ve heard all the sect’s philosophical musings by now. But I don’t have your temperament – there’s no way someone won’t figure out what’s happened, that we’ve switched, and that’ll be a disaster.”

“Two decades,” Nie Mingjue said thoughtfully, focusing on the entirely wrong part of the conversation.

“A decade and a half to avenge your untimely murder,” that got a flinch out of his brother and his focus back, just as Nie Huaisang had wanted, “and another five to find a way to come back and avert it entirely.”

Nie Huaisang had always been resourceful. Resourceful, and ruthless – sometimes to a degree that scared even him.

When he was younger, it was okay. After all, the only thing he used it for was sneaking treats and spoiling himself, and it didn’t really matter if he was ruthless about stuff like that. And then his brother died – was murdered – and suddenly he knew what it was like to be his brother: a young man suddenly shoved into the role of sect leader, and having to balance everything he now had to be against the overwhelming blistering hatred he bore for and the crippling weight of the vengeance he had sworn against a man who had taken away someone he loved forever for something as pointless and ephemeral as political advantage.

(He had to take a deep breath at the mere thought of it, the family rage spiking under his skin. It was a bit of a surprise, actually, to find that his brother didn’t have more of it - he’d always assumed that his rage was lesser, weaker, the way his golden core was, but no. It turned out their rage was just the same.)

“So what you’re saying,” his brother said, and he was smirking again, oh no, “is that you’re focused, efficient, and unyielding in pursuit of your goals, given the right motivation. That sounds like general material to me.”

“Not if the goal is to make sure no one knows what’s happened,” Nie Huaisang hissed. Had own face always looked so incredibly punchable? “Da-ge, it doesn’t matter what type of general I might be. What matters is that it’s not the same type of general you are – you’re always at the front line, leading the charge. I can’t do that.”

“Sure you can,” his brother said. “By the time you’re in the middle of a charge, you’re not really thinking tactics anymore. It’s all just fighting, and I know you know all the moves, no matter how much you bitch and moan about having to practice them.”

Nie Huaisang glared, crossing his arms over his chest – his brother’s arms, his brother’s chest, and this was still just too weird. He hadn’t even had time to properly weep and cry and hug his brother the way he’d expected to in the event the time travel array worked; they’d had to jump straight into explanations and strategizing because there was a pretty big battle happening in less than twenty-four hours and they needed to fix this first.

His brother rolled his eyes at him, and for the first time Nie Huaisang realized that his brother was going to have no problem at all pretending to be him – the acting problem here went only one way. “Just let Baxia handle the aggression part, okay? The rest is muscle memory, and I, at least, have done enough to build that in.”

“Letting the saber spirit in like that is dangerous, da-ge,” Nie Huaisang reminded him, eyes narrowed. His brother was also assuming that Baxia would agree to be wielded by anyone other than her beloved master, which was a stretch – she barely even agreed to be sharpened by someone else, resisting violently whenever someone tried.

Jin Guangyao had died still bearing the scars from his attempt.

“Well, apparently I get murdered before it becomes an issue, so why worry?” his brother cackled, and Nie Huaisang glared harder. It had no impact whatsoever: Nie Mingjue stood up and stretched again. “You know what, Huaisang, if you’re feeling the need to sit around and pity yourself, you’ve got at least a few incense sticks’ worth of time to do it in before actually doing something becomes necessary – I, on the other hand, am going to do something productive with my time.”

“Like what?”

His brother grinned at him with teeth. “Saber training. And there’s nothing you can do to stop me.”

Nie Huaisang picked up a teacup and hurtled it at his beloved big brother’s head. Naturally, Nie Mingjue dodged, effortlessly, and left laughing.

“At least pretend like you’re going to behave!” Nie Huaisang bellowed after him, but his brother just waved at him, and – ugh. This was vengeance for a lifetime of laziness, wasn’t it? Coming to bite him in the ass.

After a few minutes, Nie Huaisang picked up another teacup – they always had dozens of them in the Nie sect, cheaply made in bulk and specifically designed to shatter easily because of the family tendency to throw stuff around and not calm down until something was broken, and better a cheap teacup than an expensive door or table, better something designed not to hurt anyone who happened to get in the way or didn’t know how to duck faster enough – and threw it against the door again.

It shattered beautifully. NIe Huaisang had only rarely been able to get it to do that, and never so effortlessly – the advantage of his brother’s strength.

Strength, and height. Nie Huaisang was tall now.

Okay, self-pity could wait until later. Nie Huaisang was going to go patrol the camp for a little bit and enjoy looking down at all the people.

It was going to be great.

It was, too. Even talking with people wasn’t as difficult as he thought it was going to be. Perhaps he shouldn’t be so surprised at that; he had been sect leader for years, so he was accustomed to answering questions and making on-the-fly rearrangements and responding to things with leading questions that made the other person come up with the solution on their own, not to mention saying encouraging things that made people feel better about things.

He’d had to do a lot of that, being the Head-shaker, and even more afterwards, when he’d shed his disguise like a cicada shedding its skin.

It was easier now than it had ever been before, of course. The Nie sect was still strong, under his brother’s leadership; his disciples didn’t have that discouraged look lurking in the back of their eyes, the shame of being led by the disgraceful Head-shaker. It was easy to brighten someone’s day with a nod in their direction, disciples blooming like roses at the sight of their stern sect leader looking approving, and the questions he received were far more intellectually stimulating than the usual – less about making sure he knew what he was supposed to do and more actual puzzles, things that had really tripped people up.

Nie Huaisang tried at first to keep his answers short, tried to pretend to be more stoic and stand-offish the way the famous Chifeng-zun ought to be, except when he did everyone just smiled at him the way they always had when he’d been the Head-shaker – a little indulgent, a little pitying, a little “well he’s trying his best” – and after a while Nie Huaisang started remembering things he’d long ago forgotten.

Things like how his brother was actually kind of a mess sometimes, emotionally speaking – he was the sort of person who got weepy over dramatic literature – and how he’d never quite gotten the hang of people, how he valued his friends like gold and held grudges way too long and promoted people just because they seemed decent; how he sometimes spent his entire money pouch and more on buying Nie Huaisang stupid trinkets because it seemed to make him happy, even borrowing money from their escort, which would always be doubled over laughing at how their fearsome sect leader couldn’t bring himself to say no.

Like how Nie Huaisang’s sect was his family, aunts and uncles and brothers and sisters, whether born in or adopted or just part of the sect. The good type of family – not always the closest, not always your friends, not always even people you really liked, but still all predisposed to take your side in a fight if it came down to it.

These were the people who supported him and stood behind him – even when he was the Head-shaker.

He’d almost forgotten.

And so, despite himself, Nie Huaisang softened a bit. He stopped trying to respond to everything with a grunt or a huff, started asking about people’s families, making suggestions, telling them they’d done a good job.

“Glad you’re out of your mood,” Nie Yongbiao, who’d been quietly trailing him, finally commented, and Nie Huaisang blinked owlishly at him. “What kicked it off this time? You usually only get that closed-mouth after having to host guests.”

And that was true, wasn’t it? It had been such a long time, and after so much trauma, that Nie Huaisang had forgotten how his brother used to shut down whenever there was a discussion conference or an important meeting – how it took him longer and longer to get better on the other side as the qi deviation drew nearer, his meridians filling with Jin Guangyao’s spiritual poison. By the end, he had barely ever been open and free, barely seemed to remember how to drop his guard and relax, to act like a regular person with a sense of humor again, be the person Nie Huaisang knew his brother to be.

But that was then, and this was now - war had been good for Nie Mingjue, in a strange way. Here in the camps there was a lessened expectation of etiquette, a great appreciation of strength, and his brother was more free to be himself, straightforward and blunt as the off side of a saber.

(Nie Mingjue had tried so hard to be a good brother to Jin Guangyao, Nie Huaisang abruptly remembered, but he’d shut down after every visit, worse than ever before. His heart had known the truth, even if he had allowed himself to be convinced by Lan Xichen and Nie Huaisang to keep giving Jin Guangyao second chance after second chance. He should never have listened to them.)

“Argument with Huaisang,” he said, a safe answer, and Nie Yongbiao nodded wisely.

“Can you say what it was about?” he asked, rather unexpectedly – Nie Yongbiao wasn’t exactly talkative, and no one ever pried about their family affairs. Catching Nie Huaisang’s surprised look, he shrugged. “He’s obviously very upset.”

“He is?”

“He’s at the training field,” Nie Yongbiao stressed, and Nie Huaisang had to choke down a hysterical laugh. Of course Nie Yongbiao would think that something must have gone horribly wrong to get “Nie Huaisang” to go willingly to train.

Nor was Nie Yongbiao the only one, for that matter: when Nie Huaisang arrived at the training field they’d set up in the middle of the camp, he saw an entire crowd of Nie sect disciples milling around at the edge of the field, bearing a suspicious resemblance to a flock of over-anxious quail.

He reached up to his face, pretending to want to pinch the bridge of his nose but actually to smother a smile, and luckily he had regained control of his features by the time he reached the edge of the small sea of disciples because they immediately all turned to him with relieved expressions, their cries of “Sect Leader! Sect Leader!” ringing in his ears like the coos of his pet birds.

“What’s the matter?” he asked, and immediately received the full story: Nie Huaisang had come to the field looking upset – one person insisted there had been tears in his eyes – and had set himself up against a practice dummy, and he hadn’t stopped whacking at it ever since.

Clearly, the world was ending.

“We had an argument earlier,” Nie Huaisang admitted, and managed, barely, not to laugh at how they all looked at him with disapproving eyes. “I’ll talk with him.”

Approving nods all around, although they didn’t disperse.

“Sect Leader,” one of the older generation said, very hesitantly. “If it’s about – the clan matter – if there’s anything we can do to help –”

Nie Huaisang shook his head, feeling touched. When it really had been him, his brother had kept the specifics of it secret – the tombs, the inevitability, the deterioration he was so avidly trying to put off – until it was too late, and he’d had to learn about it the hard way; it was nice, though, that they apparently all worried so much on his behalf about it.

“Thank you,” he said, and meant it. “But it’s a different issue.”

Namely, the issue was that the person doing the training wasn’t Nie Huaisang at all, he thought, but when the crowd finally started breaking apart, people going back to their assigned tasks, and he finally managed to make his way to where his brother was, he was surprised to see that his brother really did appear to be upset.

He wasn’t practicing any of his normal training routines, but rather wielding Aituan in the same way a novice woodcutter would wield an axe: repetitive strikes, made wildly and with too much strength, as if hitting the practice dummy was the only thing that could vent his feelings.

“Uh, ‘Huaisang’?” Nie Huaisang asked, worrying his lip as he came closer. “Are you –”

His brother dropped Aituan to the ground – which, hey! Watch it, that was his saber! – and turned, and Nie Huaisang had only a moment to see his glassy eyes before his brother threw himself forward, wrapping his arms around him and holding him tight.

Nie Huaisang automatically responded, wrapping his arms back around and holding Nie Mingjue close – it was nice, he thought, to finally have the reach he’d always felt he should have, big and tall and enveloping in its warm the way his brother had been for him.

“What’s the matter?” he asked, his voice low enough not to carry. “Did something happen…?”

“No,” Nie Mingjue said, but his lips were pressed together to keep them from trembling. Nie Huaisang’s body had always been free with his emotions, much to his annoyance; he’d learned to cultivate it into a disguise, but he hadn’t really liked it. Tears had never been a relief for him the way they’d been for his brother. “No, it’s nothing.”

“It’s obviously not nothing,” Nie Huaisang said firmly, and carted him off back to his tent. Being as worried as he was, he did his best not to be too smug about finally being the one who was strong enough to pick his brother up, rather than the other way around – not that he needed to, what with his brother following docilely along with him – but there was, perhaps, a little bit of smugness. “Okay, we’re back, silencing talismans are back up because we apparently have the nosiest disciples. Tell me what’s wrong.”

“It’s nothing, really…”

“Da-ge.”

“I left you alone,” his brother blurted out, looking up at him with tear-filled eyes. “For twenty years. Whatever I did, however I got murdered – some moment of carelessness – it doesn’t matter. I failed you.”

Oh, no. No, no, no–

“No,” he said out loud. “No, da-ge, you were tricked – it wasn’t – it wasn’t your fault.”

“I always said I would hold up the sky for you,” Nie Mingjue said bitterly. “And instead I left you with the same inheritance that I received. I never wanted that for you, Huaisang. Never.”

“Da-ge,” Nie Huaisang said helplessly. “Da-ge, you don’t understand. You were trying. You wanted – you were doing everything you could. It wasn’t your fault. You didn’t fail me. I was the one who failed you. I’ve always failed you –”

“Never!”

“I’m lazy, I’m selfish, I’m good-for-nothing, a head-shaker –”

“So what?” his brother said, glaring up at him. His eyes were red, but with tears, not qi deviation. “Even if it’s true, which it isn’t, because no head-shaker could have avenged me, could have found a way to come back, could have become the Nie sect leader and kept it for two decades, even if it’s true – so what? As long as you’re safe, I don’t care. As long as you have a way to defend yourself, and you so obviously must have, then nothing else matters. Nothing has ever mattered but your happiness.”

“And yours,” Nie Huaisang shot back. “You have the right to a life too, da-ge! You – you should have had my support. You should have been able to share your burdens, I should have helped you instead of anchored you down –”

“Huaisang –”

Nie Huaisang pulled him in tight again. “It’ll be different, this time,” he promised, his voice rough. “I’m older than you ever go the chance to be, da-ge. This time, I can help you with the things you’re not good at – I can do the politics, the people. We can bear the weight of the sect together.”

He felt a whisper in the back of his mind that was strange and yet familiar, approving. Baxia, he realized. Baxia, approving of him; Baxia, who would let him wield her, and he sensed her confidence that no one would get past her iron guard, together protecting his brother in both body and soul.

“All right,” his brother said. “Together. You and me – and the others.”

“Others?”

“After so many years, you must know who’s trustworthy,” Nie Mingjue pointed out. Already back to being practical, even if he was wiping his eyes. “If we tell those people, they can help us keep up the impression that I’m you and you’re me for as long as we need it.”

Nie Huaisang was nodding along, because that made sense, only then his brother said the last part and it was like a sunrise had opened up in his head, the way terrible and wonderful ideas always did.

“Da-ge,” he said, tasting the words in his mouth. “Da-ge, how do you like my body?”

His brother blinked up at him. “It’s fine, I guess? You’re actually in pretty decent shape, better than I thought, and your cultivation is – well, you could do a bit more with that, honestly, but it’s not uncomfortable or anything. Why?”

Nie Huaisang smiled. He’d always been remarkably resistant to their family’s cultivation curse, and not only, as he’d pretended to Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji all those years ago, because he didn’t practice - it was his temper, or lack thereof, that softened the saber spirit’s effects on him.

Even if his body’s cultivation increased, he was far enough behind the curve, with his mediocre talent, that it would take decades for him to reach the level that it would be dangerous to him, while his brother’s prodigious talent, coupled with his inheritance of the family temper, made him even more likely to succumb – it was that prediction which had worried him so much that he had sought out treatment even before it had become a serious problem, the same worries that had driven him into Jin Guangyao’s trap.

What do you think? he asked the brand-new whisper in his mind. Aituan would probably bitch and moan about having to actually do things, but he’d secretly enjoy getting a bit more evil-killing in; the question was Baxia. What would she think?

A purr of agreement.

“I was just thinking,” Nie Huaisang said. “Chronologically speaking, I’m older than you are. I ran the sect for years – it might be hard to let go of that habit. How about we just…stay as we are, for now?”

Nie Mingjue frowned. “Baxia –”

“I’ll use her in public, and Aituan in private,” Nie Huaisang interrupted. He’d known that would be his brother’s first concern. “And you’ll do the opposite. And when we’re settled enough, we’ll come up with some excuse to switch.”

His brother hesitated. “But…you don’t like doing things. Responsibility. That sort of thing.”

“I got over it,” Nie Huaisang assured him. “Trust me, I have a whole system – I’ll implement it once the Sunshot Campaign is done; you’ll be amazed at how much easier it makes things, and then all the things that are left over are the stuff I actually enjoy. And this way, you could…I…”

He swallowed, and put his hands on his brother’s shoulders. He didn’t want to manipulate his brother into something like this – he didn’t want to manipulate his brother at all. His brother deserved the truth and honesty he had always freely given the world, and so Nie Huaisang could only offer up the unvarnished truth.

“I want to do this for you, da-ge,” he said. “I want you to have the life you should have had. I want you to have hobbies again, to make friends, real friends that will put you first. I want you to have fun with them without thinking of how people might think about it…please, da-ge. I came back here to keep you alive, but I want more than that. I want to see you live.”

“Okay,” his brother said, and he was choking back tears again. “We’ll – we’ll discuss it later, but I’ll think about it. Okay.”

“Good,” Nie Huaisang said. “Now catch me up on the tactics we’re planning on using in tomorrow’s battle, and I’ll let you know everything I know about what happens in the future…oh, and one more thing.”

“Oh?”

Nie Huaisang’s hand dropped to the table, parallel to Baxia; he could hear her purr in his mind whistling like the rumble of thunder. He smiled.

“Can you tell me where Meng Yao is?”

#mdzs #nie huaisang #nie mingjue #my fic #my fics #Anonymous

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maatryoshkaa · 4 years

Text

young god | chapter 13

chapters: | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11| 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | epilogue |

word count: 3.5k

warnings: foul language, implied sexual assault, mentions of trauma and mental illness

description: Yang Jeongin, the only living witness of the Miroh Heights Murders, is finally awake, casting a new shadow of possibilities onto the entire investigation. Han Jisung knows deep down there’s only one place left to go, and takes his chances with a familiar blond detective -- but they find that where chances are given, lives may be taken away.

watch the trailer here!

13| give and take.

They say when you have a close brush with death, you see your life flash before your eyes.

Jeongin supposed there was some truth to that. One moment he had been squinting at the golden-haired boy in the darkness; the next he had found himself collapsed against the forest floor. The sky had spun above him like a broken kaleidoscope, until the unbearably hot throbbing in his head had finally forced his eyes shut. He had felt the strength seeping from his limbs, like blood being drained from livestock, and had let the numbness wash over him like an icy tidal wave.

That was when Jeongin’s life had flashed behind his closed eyelids — choppy flashes of memories and people’s voices, warped and dizzying.

“Life in prison?” Jeongin’s own voice sounded tinny in his ears, and his father gave him a sad smile on the other side of the plexiglass. “B-but all you did was—”

“A man lost his life because of me,” his father spoke slowly, eyes steady on Jeongin’s distraught face. Slow, steady, careful. Kind. That was how Jeongin had always known his father — a gentle man who wouldn’t hurt a fly — yet now he was sitting across from him in an inmate’s uniform, handcuffs locked tight around his wrists.

“But he—he hurt Mum first,” Jeongin whispered, barely able to push the words out of his throat. “He—you said he—”

“He did.” His father’s face had darkened, his normally soft jaw clenched. “I...lost it, and what happened to him was what that bastard deserved — but nothing changes the fact that I...killed him.” He let out a deep, weary sigh, and Jeongin was suddenly struck by how much older his father looked. “He got his punishment for his sins one way, and now I’m paying for mine. It’s as simple as that, my boy.”

The buzzer sounded and the door behind him clicked open, a stone-faced officer stepping into the room as his father stood. “Take good care of your mother, would you?”

“Dad, if—” Jeongin’s shaking voice made his father turn back around. The question was odd, but it had been burning at the back of his mind since the beginning of the visit. “If you—had the chance to go back. Would you still have...done it?”

Silence fell between father and son like a curtain. His father inhaled deeply, raising his eyebrows before meeting his son’s eyes again. “I don’t doubt it,” he finally replied, voice soft. “What could I do? It was for someone I loved.”

From then on, Jeongin’s mother had spent the better years of her life working whatever job she could find, and the two of them lived off minimum wage and money sent by estranged relatives — until the poor woman had finally fallen ill. No one would hire a sickly old woman — especially not one that had been involved in a sexual assault case, all those years ago.

That was why Jeongin worked with four different delivery companies at a time; that was what he could never bring himself to tell Hyunjin or you. Work four jobs, graduate, and make proper money to pay his mother’s hospital bills, to dig himself out of the poverty he’d known his entire life. Yang Jeongin’s one-way, masterplan. Until…

The coma.

He had become almost comfortably numb, like a body submerged in the middle of a pond — yet occasionally, something would pull him above the surface, even if just for a brief moment. A voice, a pressure, a light. It was almost always Hyunjin, the soft-hearted barista talking to him about his day as if Jeongin had simply sat down to chat in Glow Cafe, not rendered immobile and unresponsive by a concussion. Sometimes, though, the older boy would be crying, silent sobs shaking his lean frame until he was so exhausted he’d fall asleep by Jeongin’s side. And Jeongin wanted nothing more than to reach out to reassure him, to pull his friend into a hug, but he couldn’t will his body to move no matter how hard he tried.

Until now.

An incessant high-pitched beeping was growing louder and louder, the tips of his fingers prickling. Jeongin’s heartbeat surged into his temples, pounding against his eardrums like fists demanding entry. The darkness behind his eyelids was shifting, pinpricks of light poking their way in — and like a breath of air had been knocked straight into his lungs, Jeongin felt his entire body lurch forward and his eyes shot open.

For several seconds he could only take deep, gasping breaths, obsessed with just the feeling of it all, vaguely registering the inhaler pressed against his mouth. His eyes were still adjusting, flashes of white light and black stars painting his blurry vision. There were shouts from all around him, a deep rumbling as everything seemed to shake.

It was as if the entire sky was falling above him, he thought vaguely.

He blinked, hard, and his vision finally focused, the incongruous voices and sounds growing clearer. The incessant beeping had been the heart monitor by his cot, keeping in time with his gasping breathing. And the yelling was coming from none other than Hwang Hyunjin, whose dark hazel eyes were wide with disbelief and already brimming with tears of shock.

“J-Jeongin? He’s — he’s awake,” the taller boy nearly tripped getting to his feet, yanking aside the curtains and disappearing from Jeongin’s sight. “He’s awake!”

Jeongin winced, a throbbing pressure beginning to press at his skull. His fingers twitched twice and he flexed them gingerly. Suddenly remembering, his hands weakly scrabbled for his pockets, desperately feeling for a familiar metal box but coming back empty.

His Walkman was gone.

The deep rumbling passed by him again and he realised it was the sound of carts full of medical equipment speeding across the halls — like there had been yet another emergency. Jeongin could only make out some of what the hospital staff were saying as they rushed past.

“Stab wound to the chest...brought her in...no sight of him.”

Jagged fragments of his memory were coming back to him, the empty feeling in his chest beginning to fill with a sinking sense of dread. The strange boy. A dismembered corpse.

What on earth happened while I was out?

━━━━━━━━

Run.

Jisung’s feet slammed into the pavement, puddles splashing cold rainwater onto his bloodstained jeans.

“He’s a runner, that’s what he is.”

His chest was burning, ribs feeling as if they were closing in on his lungs. He could still feel your warm body pressed against his, widened eyes fluttering shut as he could only watch in horror. With strength Jisung didn’t know he had left, he had carried you in his arms and bolted into the alley just as the police had turned into the diner’s back lot. The hospital was only a block away. He had burst into the lobby, nearly collapsing as he shouted for someone, anyone to help — and nearby, stunned doctors had loaded you onto an empty gurney before whisking you into the emergency room. Once they returned, Jisung was long gone.

“You ran away from her, too, yeah?”

The gang’s taunting voices echoed in his head, the sky rumbling above him — just like how his father’s voice had always rumbled, shaking the thin walls of his childhood home. And now, Jisung was ten years old all over again, clutching his camcorder in his bloodstained hands.

There had been a fine layer of dust coating the dented metal when Jisung had seized it from his dorm closet. Just touching the metal made his hands slippery with cold sweat, but he forced himself to grip it harder, counting the memory cards before he took off. Running, one last time.

“Try running now, Han.”

He wasn’t running away.

If he wanted to reverse the horrible things he’d done, there was only one place left to go.

“Han Jisung, always running away.”

“Not this time,” Jisung breathed through gritted teeth, almost welcoming the way the falling rain burned at his eyes and nostrils. “Not anymore.”

━━━━━━━━

Bang Chan didn’t realize how long he had been pacing the room until his feet began to ache in protest.

The detective hadn’t left the police precinct since Woojin had called him over, the pair pulling out files and chasing leads from dawn till dusk. Kim Seungmin had popped in for several hours before he had been called back to the law office. The moon had come and gone, until telltale sirens sounded not long after noon, and Woojin was called onto the scene of yet another emergency.

Another hour or so had passed since then, and Chan was replaying the same conversation with the police chief over and over in his head.

“I didn’t want to believe it, Chan, but from the beginning I had this—this feeling—”

“A hunch,” Chan finished, and when the police chief looked hesitant, Chan continued, “is almost always based on something more concrete, whether you know it or not. Something familiar, or strange. We’ve hit all the dead ends; a hunch is one of the better things we can hope for right now.”

Woojin exhaled, then spoke slowly. “The victims’ backgrounds, how they’ve all had pasts connected to abuse, or adultery. Not to mention the modus operandi that stood out the most — you remember the fire, and numerous counts of brute force.”

“I thought something was familiar, too,” Seungmin had interjected, his brow furrowing. “I studied this...case back in law school — a shotgun marriage, their young son growing up in an abusive household, until one day —”

“The house went up in flames,” Woojin finished, nodding. “It’s the same case, the most infamous amongst domestic abuse cases in Miroh Heights. The names were withheld for privacy reasons. Though the case was closed over a decade ago...the accuracy of the final verdict, and the true events that transpired that night, are still unknown.”

“Victims of cold cases often reappear as suspicious persons,” Chan muttered. “It’s a reach, but if you look at the similarities...”

“We’ve been blindsided this entire time,” Seungmin said slowly, his fingers raking through his hair. “Not a substance abuser, quite possibly not a cold-blooded killer.” He looked up at Woojin, whose brow was furrowed in deep thought. “So if your hunch is correct, then—”

“This is the aftereffect of a cold domestic violence case from over a decade ago,” the young police chief said firmly, eyes flickering up to Chan. “And we can’t afford to let it slip away again.”

Something had been pricking at the back of the detective’s head since Woojin had begun talking — no, far before he had even arrived at the police station. Chan had always been known for having a quick mind; it was one of the things that separated him from other, more mediocre detectives in his field — but this time, something was blocking him from reaching the final conclusion. He didn’t lack evidence; there were no flaws in his logic. It was the horrible feeling of familiarity that made him choke, that forced him to hesitate. Because he knew this case, he had seen it before.

“And it’s not a reach, Detective,” Woojin continued, voice gentle but eyes firm. “Because I believe you know the story yourself.”

Seungmin turned towards Chan, eyes questioning. The detective shook his empty coffee cup in his hands, eyes skirting over the countless case files and papers they had been sifting through for hours.

“The perpetrator is—”

A blond boy burst into the dimly lit room, breathing so hard Chan thought he was about to have a stroke. It didn’t take longer than a second for the detective to recognise him.

“Han Jisung,” Chan finished the flashback aloud, the name hanging in the tense air. His eyes scanned the shaking boy from head to toe, a cold feeling running down his spine. He wasn’t even trying to hide the blood soaking his clothes and skin, Chan thought numbly. This was his friend, someone he’d always looked at like a little brother—but he had seen, solved too many of these cases not to recognise the stricken look on Jisung’s pale face.

This was the shell of a man who had just lost everything.

“What brings you here?” Chan asked, watching him carefully. The same tousled golden hair, he noted, pushing down a pang in his chest; the same boyish round cheeks, although there was a smattering of bruises and cuts across them now.

“You told me I—I could talk to you or Woojin. Anytime.” Jisung’s voice faltered, wiping at his face as if to clear away some of the muck, but the dried blood on his palms only smeared more across his jaw. He looked like a lost dog, a stray that had turned up on the nearest warm doorstep and was watching him with almost apologetic, apprehensive eyes.

Chan set down his notebook, nodding slowly. “That I did,” he finally replied, glancing back up at the younger boy before pulling out two chairs. “Woojin got called to a scene, though. You okay if I listen for now?”

Jisung felt a flood of indescribable emotions wash over him. The same twist in his gut he had felt back at the 3rd Eye, when the Chan had pulled him close and asked if he was okay.

I’ll listen.

That was more than anyone had ever offered him since the incident thirteen years ago. The therapists, the police, the social workers — all they had ever wanted was for him to listen to them, to heed their advice and bury his past behind him.

Other than you, of course. The memory of your fading eyes burning into his own shook him back to the present.

“I think you know, Chan,” Jisung said softly, marking the way the detective was warily scanning the blood covering him from head to toe; the dishevelled look Jisung must have had on his face.

“I have a hunch,” was the detective’s reply. He sounded as if he were repeating someone else’s words, but his voice was steady as it had ever been. “But you’re going to need to help me on this one, kiddo.”

Jisung met the older boy’s eyes — Chan’s always tired but unfailingly kind eyes, always willing to give the benefit of the doubt. Maybe that was what made him such a meticulous detective, respected by criminals and citizens alike — never jumping to conclusions, always seeing a problem out till the end. The detective’s gaze dropped to the silver camcorder in Jisung’s hands.

“You used to carry that around everywhere you went, I remember. Never showed anyone what you’d film, though.”

“Do you have...anything that can play memory cards?” Jisung swallowed a painful lump in his throat. “I need to—show you. Now.”

Wordlessly, Chan moved his laptop over on the table, and made the younger boy take a seat next to him.

Jisung had always thought his past was something to be kept buried — below the ashes of his childhood home, or six feet under his mother’s grave, or bottled deep within his chest. That no one would ever truly know — would want to know — what had happened that day, let alone what had been happening for the years leading up to that day. And yet, for the second time in two days, he was sat next to someone who, to his surprise, didn’t make him want to run. Someone he was willing to take the risk of revealing the darkest parts of himself with.

For the next hour, Chan watched the footage in silence, from the very first Christmas to the day Jisung’s father’s mistress had pressed burning cigarettes into his bare skin. From the fateful day their entire home was brought to the ground with alcohol and fire at the hands of a ten year old boy, and to the choppy records from the years that followed. Jisung had taped his encounters with the incompetent officers and dismissive social workers at the police station, and the mandatory therapy sessions they had subjected him to. He had taped the kidnapping, and his years at the children’s home with Minho.

He had not taped any of the killings.

Chan sat through it all, reliving Jisung’s nightmares the way the younger boy had every night for the past thirteen years, an ugly childhood told through the fisheye lens of an old camcorder. By the time the last tape had finished, the detective had not moved, but Jisung knew him well enough to catch the tension in his jaw, the shaken look in his normally bright eyes.

“You were the cold case,” Chan finally said, a long exhale leaving his now-dry lips. “From thirteen years ago. The one they couldn’t solve, and swept under the rug.”

Jisung didn’t respond, too busy forcing every inch of his body to remain still — to not stand and sprint out of the room, out of the police station he had been avoiding his entire life.

“Why are you telling me this?” The detective asked, turning his body to face the younger boy.

“Because I—I killed—all those people,” Jisung wove his hand towards the files Chan had splayed onto the desk, the headshots of victims lying at the very top. The words were heavier than weights in his mouth, and and the truth of it all tasted more bitter than poison. “And then I—I couldn’t stop. I sound insane, I know I do. I know I p-probably am. They were—flashes at first. Triggers, seizures that went too far. And soon it became like--like an impulse, until I started blacking out completely—” Jisung’s breathing caught up to him and he choked, but he managed to force the last words out. “And today, I...hurt...y/n.” He saw the alarm flash across Chan’s eyes. “The last person who made me hope...made me want to hope that life was worth living, after all.”

He sounded insane.

He sounded like a serial killer trying to make excuses for something inexcusable.

He sounded like a monster.

“You sound like you’ve been through a lot.” Chan’s voice made Jisung look up from his shoes. The soft look in his eyes was back, and though a bit of the blood had drained from his face, the warmth in his voice had never left. “Thank you. For telling me.”

That was the final blow.

“S-stop. Don’t—say that,” Jisung could feel his voice breaking, the tears burning at his throat. “Chan, you have to turn me in, make them give me the death penalty, I-I—”

“Han Jisung.” The detective’s voice was stern, his normally gentle eyes narrowed. “You turned yourself in. The case from thirteen years ago needs to be reopened, and all the factors reinvestigated to be fairly taken into account. You do not deserve the death penalty.”

Jisung was shaking his head numbly, lips unable to form protests as the detective continued, a blazing look in his eyes Jisung had never seen before. “You’re not gonna be a martyr now, you hear? Han Jisung, you’ve been hurt by everyone else your whole damn life. I’m not about to let you hurt yourself.”

There it was again. That feeling of unfamiliar warmth aching deep in his chest, like an old bruise being pressed into. Before Jisung could speak, a slow, sarcastic clapping echoing through the room made both of them raise their heads and turn in alarm.

Prosecutor Kang pushed the door aside, eyebrows raised in amusement and mock sympathy.

“What are—you can’t—” Chan leapt up from his seat, but Kang only looked more amused as he looked over his shoulder at the open doorway, where a huddle of prosecutors and police officers alike were gathered with expressions of horror. Seungmin was among them, his face white.

“You all heard him, didn’t you? Detain the murderer.” Kang smiled triumphantly as the officers surrounded Jisung, seizing his arms so roughly he felt like they were being pulled from their sockets.

Chan looked livid, eyes darting wildly between the officers and Prosecutor Kang. “Let him go. Keep him in the precinct until Woojin comes back, Kang,” he protested, but the older prosecutor only sneered.

“Detective Bang, aren’t you overstepping your boundaries? Wait for Kim Woojin? Don’t forget—” Kang took a step closer to Chan, eyes narrowing. “Personal relations with the perpetrator cannot participate in the investigation.”

Chan felt his gut twist, scanning the whitened expressions on the surrounding staff’s faces. How much had they seen, overheard? Kang watched the detective’s eyes flicker momentarily, and laughed.

“Besides,” he continued, “I’d say it’s time the prosecution did its part.” He shot a meaningful glance at Seungmin, who had been glaring between Jisung, Chan, and Kang with his fists clenched. Kang clicked his tongue, sighing. “Kim Seungmin, Kim Seungmin — I can’t believe I have to do your dirty work.”

Chan’s mind was reeling, all options coming back blank. This was the District 9 Precinct, and as a homicidal detective, he had no power over Woojin’s men. In fact, after what Kang had said, Chan wasn’t even sure if Woojin had power over Woojin’s men anymore. You fucked up, Bang. You fucked up bad.

Chan risked a glance at Jisung’s face and immediately regretted it. What he saw had no traces of anger, no more hate, no signs of struggle. His eyes were wide and dark, as if the boy had shut down completely. Kang scoffed at the detective’s sudden silence, turning on his heel and motioning towards the officers.

Chan could only watch helplessly as Jisung was dragged out of the room like a limp doll, his once-rounded cheeks still shining with blood and fresh tears.

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