#but then sent him home after two hours because I was making thinly veiled threats about calling the health department on Facebook

[venmomejoy]

The Lucky Ones- pt. 3

ugh writing is so hard sometimes why do i do it

hope you guys are liking the fic so far! feel free to drop any comments, i love hearing from you all :)

part one / part two / part four

read it on AO3 here !!

The studio was huge.

Neil expected it to be big, but this was incomprehensible. It would take him days to map this place out. It made Neil nervous; his mother always took care to keep them away from large buildings- there are too many places for someone to hide in a big space, too many nooks and crannies he might not know about where someone could lurk. Smaller places were far easier, where you could check the entire space for attackers in a matter of minutes, where no one can sneak up on you, or catch you by surprise. He tried to absorb as much of the layout as possible, retracing every turn they've taken until the building starts to take form in his head, vague and nondescript as it may be.

Neil couldn't figure out how to hold onto his bag without raising any more suspicion than he already had in the car, so when Dan showed him to his trailer, he took care to hide it in the safest place he could find. Given, that was the cupboard underneath the bathroom sink, so Neil didn't exactly feel secure in his location of choice. He made sure to lock the door on his way out, but the thin metal sticks in his bag reminded him that locks can easily be picked. He was reluctant to leave when Dan beckoned him on, deciding they had spent time enough on the trailer and that they needed to move on if they wanted to see the whole studio before midnight, but he relented before anyone could notice his hesitance. Throughout the whole tour, every set and editing room and lounge, Neil felt the faint thrum of anxiety never leaving his skin, even as he focused on all the new information he was receiving.

The tour took more than a few hours, Dan and Matt talking extensively on every area they stopped at. Seth and Allison hadn't acknowledged Neil much, besides the casual glares Seth threw at him, too wrapped up in each other. Renee had the occasional soft-spoken comment, but for the most part left the talking to Dan and Matt. Neil appreciated all of the tips, a mix of things he already knew and things he made sure to store for when they began filming, but the influx of information was a little overwhelming. Throughout it all, a thought kept pressing his way to the front of his mind- his mother would be so disappointed in him.

Not just disappointed. No, she would be livid. She dedicated her entire life to keeping him safe, and he had thrown it all away. In all their years on the run, she had always put his safety first, had always made the hard decisions to keep him protected. Even when she was fatally shot, she kept pushing for his sake, not even letting on how grave her injury was until they had gotten to safety. But by then, it was too late. And all of the promises he had made her as she took her last breaths, all of the promises he had made to himself as he threw a match in the old car and watched it burn into ashes, taking her body with it, were destroyed. She had given up her life to keep him safe, and he answered her sacrifice with disrespect, practically spurning the freedom she fought so hard to give him.

Neil could feel his throat closing in. Sweat beaded on his forehead as he panted, willing his hands to stop shaking. Neil quickly excused himself as he rushed to the restroom, but not before he saw the concerned faces of his castmates. He would have to deal with their prying questions later, but right now all he could think about was his mother, how she would hate him, how he couldn't breath-

Neil braced his knees on either side of the toilet as soon as the stall closed behind him, the restroom blissfully empty. His stomach heaved, but he couldn't throw up food he never ate, so Neil sat and heaved and gasped until his heart stopped racing, until his breathing became even again. He didn't have time to panic. Panic left you vulnerable, and wasted precious minutes. So he pulled himself up and rinsed his mouth out in the sink, even though no bile had come up, expertly avoiding his reflection in the mirror.

When he left the bathroom he walked straight into his castmates, almost bumping directly into Matt's chest. It looked as if he had interrupted their deliberation session on whether to come in and check on him. He's glad they didn't. He doesn't need his new coworkers to see him like that after knowing him for one day. Neil pulls on his calm and collected face, though he's sure the remnants of his breakdown are still visible. Let them come to their own conclusion about what went on in there.

"Neil, are you okay, man?" Matt asked, the concern on his face mirrored by all the others, excluding Seth. But it wasn't just concern- there was pity there too. Neil didn't know how much Wymack had shared with them of the little he knew himself, but if his backstory was set in context to this, he was making a sorry first impression.

"I'm fine. Sorry for stopping up the tour." Whether they believe him or not, he can't tell, but his hard face leaves no room for inquiry.

"Don't apologize, Neil," Renee says. Neil's stomach turns at her saccharine tone.

"This was the last stop anyways. We can head home now, if you're ready," Dan notes, a look of understanding on her face. He almost laughs. There's no possible way she could understand.

"Sure, I just need to get my stuff from my trailer."

The group goes back the way they came, with significantly less talking this time, and the others wait patiently while Neil retrieves his bag, his trailer mercifully untouched.

The trip to the parking lot was filled with excited chatter, his castmates telling him about how excited they were for their character's plot this season, which couples they thought would make it to the end of the season and which would hit the chopping block, old scandals amongst the crew. Neil tried to contribute when he could, but the conversation seemed to go largely over his head, so he was content just to listen.

Matt addressed him after a while. "So, Neil, you've met the Monsters?" When Neil tilted his head in confusion at the name, he clarified. "Andrew, Nicky, Kevin, and Aaron. We call their group the Monsters, because those four are tyrants."

"Oh." After years of running from people who want him dead, Neil thought he had a pretty good radar for people that are threatening. He could understand the name for the twins, but Nicky didn't seem the aggressive type at all, and Kevin while seemed like a hardass, but he would probably roll over at the first sign of real conflict. "Yeah, I talked to them a little. Kevin and Andrew came with Wymack to pick me up, and I spoke with Nicky and Aaron for a few minutes right before I met you guys."

It was Allison who spoke up this time, the first real thing she'd said to Neil all day. "What a way to start your first job. You're scrappy-looking, but I'm still surprised that group didn't run you straight out the door."

Matt was inclined to agree. "Yeah, if I'd met Andrew on my first day, I never would have started acting. I have a good amount of experience and he still makes me question my career choice every day."

"Kevin, too," Dan says. "He's not as outwardly aggressive as Andrew, but with how hard he pushes us? I don't think I would have lasted a day if it was my first."

Renee glanced back over at him. "They're not that bad, Neil, don't let them scare you."

He was tempted to ask her if he looked scared to her. Andrew didn't frighten him, definitely not as much as he probably should. He knew Andrew's medication made him a little crazy, if not borderline psychotic. Andrew's medication was court-mandated, a sentence that, coupled with extensive therapy, allowed him to avoid jail time after he had almost beat four men to death when he caught them attacking Nicky. Neil knew Andrew probably had no qualms about hurting him, but he had far larger threats to worry about, and he had always had a hard time reconciling threat level with age. Even if he knew a younger man was dangerous, he didn't feel very frightened because he had been so conditioned to fear older men, like his father. In the same way, even obviously harmless middle-aged men put Neil's every muscle on edge.

They reconvened with Andrew's group as they made their way to the row of cars. "So, what did you think of our humble abode?" Nicky asks.

"It's huge."

"Yeah, it's easy to get lost in there for the first couple of weeks, but eventually you'll know this place like the back of your hand. We spend too much time here not to."

Neil looks back over at the building, wondering how long it would take for him to feel comfortable here. He was inclined to believe he never would. Glancing back, Neil catches Andrew's heavy gaze. Gone was the sarcastic humor and thinly veiled contempt, replaced with... nothing. Andrew wasn't glaring at Neil, but the look definitely wasn't friendly; he was just staring. Andrew's face was empty, void of any emotion at all. He must be coming down.

Without a word, Andrew turns and pulls himself into the driver's seat of an expensive black car. Turning towards the group, Neil asks, "Are we going to the cast house?"

"Yeah, it's only about a ten minute drive from here. Perfect for when your dead-tired leaving set at 4 am." Matt says. "You came with Wymack?"

"Yeah. Does he stay there too?"

They all chuckle a little. "God, no," Matt says. "He'd kill us if he had to spend that much time with us. He has his own place, but it's pretty close by."

"Oh, okay." That lifted a weight off of Neil's shoulders. He would never be able to relax if he was under the same roof as Wymack.

A honk draws their attention back to Andrew, the rest of the monsters going to join him in the car. When Neil just looks at Andrew through the windshield, he cocks an eyebrow at him silent demand. Neil knew better than to protest. "I guess I'll see you guys in a few?"

Matt and Dan both sent him disapproving looks. "Are you sure? There's space in Matt's truck," Dan says, sending a searching look towards the Andrew's car, as if she were trying to figure out why they were interested in Neil. He wouldn't mind knowing himself.  

"I already told them I'd go with them. It'll be fine."

Matt shrugged. "Whatever you say, man. But that group is psycho. If they go too far, just let me know. I have no problem with kicking Kevin's ass if you need me to." He smiles warmly at him.

Neil shoots him a puzzled stare. Matt just met him, why would he be offering to stand up for him? He has no attachment to Neil. "I'll be fine. I can take care of myself."

Matt looks unconvinced. "Okay, well, the offer still stands as long as you're here, alright?"

"Okay." Neil inclines his head at the two before stalking over to Andrew's car, sliding into the backseat next to Aaron and Nicky. Andrew peels out of the lot before Neil can even buckle his seatbelt.

Kevin and Nicky fill the short car ride with idle conversation, asking Neil about what he saw in the tour and what he thought of the sets. Nicky shares all kinds of stories from when they shot the earlier seasons when Kevin begins speaking in rapid French to someone over the phone. Neil was competent in French, but not fluent, and Kevin was speaking too fast for Neil to understand anything, so he focused on what Nicky was saying instead. Neil didn't mind Nicky dominating the conversation; he didn't have much to say anyway, and he was feeling tired after spending so many hours wandering around the studio

As Andrew swung the car into the driveway, Neil admired the house from the his window. It was huge, at least three stories, with sweeping windows and a spacious lawn; the porch alone was the size of some of Neil's old homes. The blend of brick and stone made the house feel classy and elegant. Neil's gawking was cut off as Andrew drove into the garage. Nicky practically pulled him out of the car, insisting on giving him a tour of the place. The door from the garage opens into a small hallway, with a break that leads to a laundry room before opening up into the kitchen. Kevin and Aaron follow them, but Andrew disappeared somewhere along the way. "Where did Andrew go?"

"He went to dose up," Kevin answers. "If he didn't take his medication soon, he'd be bent over a toilet somewhere."

"He'll be up in the clouds when he comes back," Nicky says, a little sadly. "That's the cycle: mania and apathy."

Neil didn't know what to say, so he turned back towards the kitchen, running his fingers along the marble countertops. Nicky's phone pinged, and he glanced at it before addressing them. "Matt says their going to pick up dinner. Chinese okay with you, Neil?"

He nods, and Nicky quickly types his response before pulling a smile on again, resuming Neil's tour. The inside of the house was as luxurious as the outside, fit with plush carpet and expensive-looking paintings. The lower level seems to have an open floor plan, the living and dining rooms visible from the kitchen. A large flatscreen TV sat across from a red couch that could easily seat five people. Two armchairs bracketed the couch, a plethora of throw pillows adorning all three. The extravagance made Neil uneasy; this much money just poured into fanciful items... he couldn't fathom it. There had never been time for him to buy anything for himself. They had limited resources, his mother always reminded him. They could not afford to buy things they didn't absolutely need.

"There are two bedrooms on the bottom floor. This one's Kevin's," Nicky said, pointing between two closed doors, "and the other is shared by Renee and Allison."

"Allison doesn't stay with Seth?"

"It's like Matt said earlier, those two are really on-again, off-again. When they fight, they can't even stand to look at each other, let alone sleep next to each other. They argue so often we thought it'd be easiest to just give them separate rooms, so Allison stays with Renee when she's on the rocks with Seth, and when they're doing well, she stays with him."

Neil's head already hurt trying to understand their dynamic. "Sounds complicated."

"Just wait until you see it for yourself. Their screaming matches are legendary." Nicky chuckles.

The four of them go up the first flight of stairs, which opens into a large sitting room, two twin hallways branching from it. Down one is Nicky and Aaron's shared room, and down the other is Seth's, as well as Dan and Matt's room. Fans of The Foxes loved Dan and Matt's relationship. The two met on set during season one, Matt playing Dan's love interest, and their romance quickly evolved off-screen.

"We tried to put the two couples as far away from the rest of us as possible," Nicky informs him.

"Not far enough," Aaron grumbles. "I don't know how it's possible for Allison and Seth to be that fucking loud."

"Oh, come on, Aaron, no tolerance for young love? I'm sure Neil knows how to make a girl scream," Nicky jokes, nudging Neil's shoulder.

Neil froze. "What?" There's no way they know who his father is, now way they meant it like that-

"Unless you swing, like me, which is totally cool. Makes my job easier, anyhow." Nicky winks at him.

Aaron groans. "Jesus, Nicky, can you not be a fucking creep for one second?"

"Hey, I didn't do anything! I'm just saying that if Neil was interested-"

"He just got here, and you have a boyfriend."

"You know Erik doesn't mind-"

This conversation was giving Neil a headache. "I don't swing."

"Damnit, you like girls?"

"I don't like anything. Can we keep moving?"

They grudgingly obliged. The layout of the third floor was pretty similar to that of the second, a large lounge opening into two hallways. One held Andrew's room, the other his. Nicky led him down Andrew's hallway, showing him to space, the door firmly closed. But as they turned to move towards his room, the door swung open, a doped-up Andrew standing on the threshold.

"Oh, joy, my favorite people coming to pay me a visit! Sorry, but I'm not in the mood. Do stop by another time!" Andrew grins.

"Sorry, Andrew, I was just showing Neil around. We're heading to his room next."

"Lucky for you, I know exactly where that is! If I cared more, perhaps I'd take you there. Unfortunately, I don't." Andrew threw his head back in laughter, pushing past them as he bounds downstairs. One look at the others' face and Neil can tell this behavior is commonplace.

Neil follows Nicky into the opposite hallway, Kevin keeping pace with them while Aaron hangs behind. Kevin had been abnormally quiet during this tour; Neil felt like he was gauging his reaction to everything, trying to feel him out. He refused to balk under his scrutiny.

Nicky paused dramatically with his hand on the doorknob, as if bracing them all for a great reveal, which was just a bedroom. Admittedly, it was easily the nicest bedroom he'd ever laid eyes on, but he imagined the others were used to the luxury by now.

Neil's eyes widened as he took in the huge space, the deep wood of the four-poster bed, the dresser that was far too large for the eight outfits he owned. A door opened to an en suite bathroom with a walk-in shower. It was the nicest place Neil had stayed in his entire life.

"It's good that you are the only addition to the main cast this season, since this was the last free bedroom we have. If there were any others, they'd have to stay in the pool house." Nicky joked. A quick peek from his window confirmed that, yes, there was a pool, clear blue water glinting in the setting sun. It was large, surrounded by lounge chairs and what looked to be a volleyball pit off the side.

"How do you guys afford this place?" He had been concerned about wasting his resources on housing before, but this was worse than he imagined. The house had to be millions of dollars, especially considering Los Angeles's real estate prices. He could not afford to spend this much money, since he still had a lifetime on the run to finance after his stay here.

Kevin finally spoke up. "You'd be surprised how large a salary is for a core actor on a show this popular."

"How much do we all pay for rent?"

"None," Nicky laughed. "Allison is practically an heiress. She has so much money it's stupid. She bought the house back when we first started the show, and she pays for the whole place."

Neil tilted his head, his eyebrows furrowing. "Why would she do that?"

"Because she has money to blow, so why not?" Nicky's smile faded a little as he took in Neil’s expression.

Kevin interrupted their conversation. "Dan and the others should be back soon. Let's head to the living room to wait for them."

They found Andrew on the couch, mindlessly surfing through channels, his focus anywhere but on the TV. When he saw them approaching, he tossed the remote unceremoniously onto the cushion next to him. "Back so soon?" Andrew gibes. "There's nothing good to watch, but it seems the universe has answered my plea for entertainment! Neil, tell me some of your deep, dark secrets."

Neil was tired of Andrew's taunting. "Leave me alone, Andrew."

"Oh, come on, Neil, don't be such a downer! Tell me, which one of your parents hits you, your mom or your dad?

"Christ, Andrew," Nicky groans.

"Could be both, I suppose," Andrew surmised. Neil simply fixed him with a glare, but Andrew was unfazed. "Your old director mentioned that you liked to wait until everyone left the theater to change out of your costume, said that a lot of times he gave you the keys and let you lock up. He thought you might be sleeping there. I'll admit, the duffel bag does add to his case, but why would you need to hide your body unless someone was hurting you? And I saw you leave that night, so you obviously had somewhere to go. So who is it?”

Neil gritted his teeth. He didn't need Andrew paying this much attention to him. "Stop trying to solve me."

"You can try to keep your secrets, Neil, but I'll figure you out soon."

"I'm not a toy."

"Oh, but you are," he smiled. "I've been needing something new to amuse myself with, though I doubt you'll last long."

"I mean it, Andrew. Don't mess with me."

"Ooh, the scary face!" Andrew laughs. "Yours gives Kevin a run for his money."

The doorbell saves Neil from answering. "I'll get it," he grumbles, eyes still boring into Andrew's. He strides towards the doorway to let the others in, a few of them presumably bringing the food in while Matt parks, but the cousins start talking before Neil is out of earshot, making every bone in his body seize. It isn't the words that alarm him; no, it's the language. Because Nicky was currently speaking in German.

Neil didn't know how they could know he spoke German. His mother had taken them across the world in an effort to confuse his father enough to lose their trail. Neil spent years living in German-speaking countries, namely Switzerland, Austria, and Germany itself, and as such, became fluent in German. Neil felt frozen to the spot, his every instinct telling him to get out of there, that they know,but as he listens to what Nicky is saying, it becomes apparent that they are not addressing him at all.  

"What did you and Kevin say to him before he got here? When I showed him his room there was pure panic on his face. I thought he was going to make a run for it."

Andrew only shrugged. Aaron spoke instead. "Yeah, did you see his face when he finished touring the studio? He was practically green," he scoffed. "He's not going to last a week here."

They had no idea he understood them. Neil loosed a breath of relief, resuming his journey to the door. The whole encounter hadn't lasted more than thirty seconds, but it felt like thirty years to Neil. The adrenaline was still pumping through his veins. If they didn't know he understood German, he wasn't going to tell them. He needed every advantage he could find, and if they thought they could have private conversations right under everyone's noses, Neil would play along.

He swung the door open, ushering Dan and Seth in, their arms full of bags of food. Everyone made their way into the kitchen as they dumped the food down on the table, Matt hanging the keys on a small hook as they came in from the garage.

After a few moments of everyone shoving food in their mouths, Kevin addressed the group. "Neil needs to familiarize himself with the previous seasons, so starting tonight, we are all going to rewatch the past episodes together. We need to finish all of the episodes before the table read, so we're going to have to start right away,"

The proposition is met with a series of groans from the cast. They probably all have better ways to spend their limited free time before the rigorous filming schedule overtakes their lives. "You guys don't have to watch it with me, I'll be fine on my own," Neil says.

"No, we all need to review the past plot anyways," Kevin says. "You should always review what has already occurred before you start a new season to ensure you are as prepared as you can be. Not only is it possible you have forgotten little details or nuances of the characters, but being explicitly reminded of your characters' backstory, personality, and motives helps you slip back into your role after so many months. So we're all watching the show, from the beginning."

Seth shot Neil a glare, muttering something that sounded like "fucking rookies."

When all the plates had been cleared, the group settled themselves in the living room. Dan and her group settled onto the couch together, while Andrew claimed one armchair, Neil the other. Aaron and Nicky sat on the floor, their backs pressed against the coffee table. As they dimmed the lights and started up the TV, Neil found himself completely engrossed in the show. He had always loved television, had always been able to completely lose himself as he watched these characters' lives unfold. Three episodes flew by, and Neil almost wanted to protest as Kevin shut the TV off, telling them all to get some sleep. They had to be up at the studio by 10 for their session with Abby, and it was already 1 am.

Neil felt too roused to sleep, excitement from watching the show and anxiety for his meeting with Abby tomorrow keeping him alert, so he decides to go for a quick run. Slipping into his running clothes, Neil stashed his bag in the dresser and takes off down the stairs, pushing the front door open and going on his way. Neil takes this time to familiarize himself with the neighborhood, although the darkness makes it hard to discern the details. All of the houses in this neighborhood are enormous, with neatly trimmed grass and tall columns on their porches. Neil makes his way around a few blocks before turning back the way he came. He's barely sweating when he reaches the house, so he opts out of a shower, ready to collapse on his bed from fatigue. Neil had barely slept last night, and had been walking almost all day.

But when he pulled out his duffel bag to change into some sleep clothes, he stopped cold. To an untrained eye, it might have looked like nothing was amiss. But Neil knew better. Neil always folded the tags on his clothes, and as he inspected them now, every single one was flat.

Someone had been through his things.

#andreil #andrew minyard/neil josten #andrew minyard #neil josten #aaron minyard #nicky hemmick #kevin day #matt boyd #allison reynolds #renee walker #dan wilds #david wymack #abby winfield #betsy dobson #riko moriyama #alternate universe #actors au #angst #fluff #slow burn #slow build #all for the game

[aelaer]

So I have a request: A Stephen who, in the Canon compliant universe, returns to the Sanctum for the first time in 5 years, breaks down and is completely devastated and exhausted from everything that happened. And then a time skip, to Stephen now having moved on, in acceptance. He may still feel a little guilty, but is immensly thankful for intimately knowing the beautiful souls who sacrificed themselves and resolved to cherish and celebrate their lives with their friends and family.

So my goal for this was to keep it under 1500 words. I completely failed that goal.

But that is what I am going to attempt to do with my ask prompts (should I get any more in the future), mostly because I have three multi-chapter stories completely spiraling out of control (and a fourth that needs its last chapter completed) and I will never get my Stephen Strange bingo card done by November if I keep on writing these super long things for every square XD

I’m not terribly pleased with the ending but oh well. Nothing was coming for days and I figured I sat on this for long enough.

Fill for @stephenstrangebingo​ square ‘It’s not your fault’. Warning for canon compliance and my obsessive need to explain away plot-holes with magic-science for a few paragraphs before actually addressing the prompt :P

Title: Black TagRating: GenPairings: NoneWord count: About 3k

The sun was setting over a celebratory New York City when Stephen came again to the New York Sanctum after five years gone. The powers that surrounded the building muffled the cheers and shouts and crying out on Bleecker Street from all the locals, unaware that the man who had helped instigate all their suffering was within the neighborhood.

It had been well over thirty hours since he had come back with the rest of the Disappeared. He was done with giving his report to the other Masters of Kamar-Taj and done with his part in what immediate reorganization was needed for their order. They had finally let him go to rest; he was alone. Wong, for instance, was still settling things as one of those who had survived the Decimation, and still helping others come to terms with what had passed.

And now, now all Stephen could think of was bed. He had washed up a bit in Kamar-Taj, thankfully, for he did not know if he would have had the stamina to do it now. The Cloak more-or-less carried him to his room as his body trembled, complete exhaustion overwhelming his entire being. He fell asleep near instantly.

It wasn’t until twelve hours later, as the dawn broke through his (unnatural) window to an untarnished view of the eastern coastline, that his exhaustion had dimmed to weariness and his mind had time to sort through everything that had happened.

Stephen had not spent his five years gone idle; unlike most other souls that were caught within the Soul Stone due to Thanos, he had an awareness of consciousness due to his connection to the Mystic Arts that made him able to utilize his time, even if time was not something he could feel passing. In those five years he had drawn power from the Soul Stone, a continuous draw into his own spirit to prepare for what he had to do upon his return.

(He knew, of course, that the Stone’s housing was disintegrated into atoms back in 2018. However, its raw energy was not actually gone, just scattered like the rest of the Infinity Stones. The first rule of thermodynamics was something Thanos did not consider, or maybe he did not care so long as that power was not easily obtainable for some time to come. In the end, he supposed it really didn’t matter.)

When he came to on Titan once more, he spared a minute briefly explaining the situation to the others, then asked for complete silence as he got them back to Earth, and more; for he had taken his borrowed energy to send a mental message to all warriors across the universe that he had found within the Soul Stone: The one who sent you away for five years must be defeated. Prepare for battle.

And then he made portals. So many fucking portals, portals he had no business having the ability to create, portals connected to the locations of those warriors across the universe, portals created with the power of the Soul Stone accumulated over five years and fully spent over the course of five minutes.

It was a damned miracle he had anything left in him for battle, but the Soul Stone was unlike any power source he had ever used before, including the Time Stone. Channeling the energy of Infinity Stones was unique to the standard rules of magic already, but the Soul Stone’s power was— indescribable.

So he had been able to battle. To hold himself up. And to watch as people from all over the universe, both the newly resurrected and those that had lived in a broken world, were slaughtered by Thanos’s armies. Slaughtered and with no way to return, not this time; he had used the Time Stone once to reverse death, and he had paid the price with several (hundreds, thousands) of his own deaths.

But the fabric of reality surrounding the battlefield was already torn by the combined actions of both the Avengers and Thanos, and it would tear even further with the final sacrifice; to use the Stones again at that moment, even one, was to rip the threads of the universe to pieces.

And so the dead remained dead.

Even though Stephen knew this, knew the logic behind his actions, knew that in triage situations, some people got the black tag—  it did not stop his stomach from twisting into a knot as he lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling and weighed down by the consequences of his actions.

In the silence and loneliness of the Sanctum, even while logic echoed in his head, guilt settled in the depths of Stephen’s core and began to make a home there.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

Despite pretending everything was okay and despite going through the motions of his duties, the guilt grew into a beast that swiftly consumed Stephen’s being. He felt little need to eat and his sleep was plagued with new nightmares that caused him to work himself into exhaustion (and thus dreamless nights).

By the time Tony’s funeral arrived, he had lost several pounds and the raccoon eyes were becoming more prominent. A small glamour spell helped conceal that, but still Wong looked at him with thinly-veiled concern.

“Are you sure that the invitation was not just for you?” Stephen asked as he found a suit, miraculously still intact after years (literally years) of no wear.

“Of course I’m sure,” Wong said slowly, his voice carefully even. “You were mentioned by name.”

“Ah.” He cleared his throat. “I’ll be ready in time, then.”

Wong was still looking at him with that expressionless and yet all-knowing look, so Stephen turned away and went to the ensuite bathroom to avoid uncomfortable questions. They didn’t have time to prod into that right now.

After all, it would be rather rude of him to be late to the funeral of a man he had black tagged.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

His lack of regular meals and general lack of care for eating was a new thing for him in this post-Thanos world (but he just didn’t have time for such trivial pursuits as food, not when he had five years to catch up on and a very damaged border between realities to monitor, to attempt to repair). Stephen got away with not really eating anything substantial for two weeks after Tony’s funeral.

Apparently someone (probably Wong) noticed this and the trend came to an abrupt halt. 

It started with the steward of the New York Sanctum. The steward’s role fulfilled the very real need of seeing to the general care and maintenance of the very magical and rather finicky building; it could only be fully overseen by a fully-trained disciple while its Master was dealing with the mystical threats in their part of the world. Stephen’s steward had been snapped into oblivion at the same time as he and was replaced with someone who spoke very little English. He remained at the post after the return of the Disappeared and generally avoided him, which was all well and good for Stephen. However, two weeks after the funeral, his steward was suddenly transferred to London (with no input asked from him either, the nerve) and the London steward came to New York.

His new steward was a woman: Italian, about sixty years old, five feet tall, and potentially the scariest woman he had ever met.

If anyone ever discovered his thoughts on the matter, they might wonder how that was possible when Stephen had been under the tutelage of the Ancient One. To him, she was the most powerful woman he had ever known, but he did not equivocate power with terror.

Ludovica Guerriero, on the other hand, was downright frightening. She seemed nice on first meeting; he learned she had come to be a part of the order a year after the Decimation, for all her children and grandchildren had been lost in that event (and with that story his guilt buried itself deeper into his soul). Unlike some of the new recruits who left for their families once they returned, Ludovica stayed on; she liked keeping busy and could ‘go visit the family whenever I want to, anyway’.

At first it was fine. Her first day there, she rearranged things her way while Stephen beat back some inter-dimensional boggarts and sealed a rip between dimensions in Guatemala. When he portaled back to the Sanctum, something that could only be called Italian was permeating the halls that led to the kitchen with a rich mix of smells. Unwittingly, his stomach growled.

He stepped towards the kitchen, then paused. He did not have time to sit down and eat if he wanted to finish his research before his body ultimately gave out on him. But as he started towards the stairs, Ludovica’s voice came to him with, “Doctor Strange? Is that you?”

Stephen sighed quietly and then called, “It’s me.” He took the few remaining steps towards the kitchen and halted at the doorway. “Smells good, Mrs Guerriero.”

“I’m glad you think so. I thought I’d do something special for my first night in New York for our dinner.”

Best to tell her immediately of his plans. “Actually, I—”

She continued on as if he hadn’t said a thing. “This was my nonna’s recipe. Parmigiana di melanzane with tomato, aubergine, the freshest mozzarella cheese; all ingredients picked up in my home town today.”

He blinked, momentarily sidetracked. “Sorry, uh, aubergine?”

Her brow furrowed. “Is that not the right word? It is melanzane, you know—” She cut herself off and pulled a stem with only part of the purple fruit remaining upon it. “This plant.”

“Oh! Oh, yeah, that’s an eggplant.”

“Eggplant? What a strange name.” She started dishing out the bake. “Would you mind setting the table, doctor?”

“I…” he started in protest, but the look she gave him was so sweet and imploring and kind. It reminded him of his grandmother from when he was young. He exhaled slowly; so much for his plans. “Sure.”

And that parmigiana di melanzane was really fucking delicious. It had no right to be that good.

About a week later, when he realized he had somehow been corralled to the dinner table every night since her arrival (and was a couple pounds heavier because of it), Stephen Strange realized that, underneath that sweet exterior, Ludovica Guerriero was an emotionally manipulative mastermind that knew exactly what to say to get him to do exactly what she wanted. This was absolutely terrifying.

Stephen was going to kill Wong.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

Despite the terrible emotional manipulation being forced upon his person regarding (incredibly delicious) food, Stephen somehow maintained the status quo with his duties for five weeks after the funeral. He would work himself to utter exhaustion and only then find some rest (though even with this method the nightmares came on occasion, when he was just not exhausted enough, in his opinion).

(The part of his mind well-versed in psychology laughed incredulously at that line of thinking. He told that part of his mind to shut up and mind its own business, then threw himself in his work again.)

But eventually it all came crashing down. Of course it did; that was his life the last… however many years. Two or seven depending on how one counted.

The most embarrassing part was the situation that ended up being the straw that broke the camel’s back. It was stupid, completely irrelevant, and shouldn’t have even happened, but here he was.

It went like this:

Ludovica was out for the day with her family in Italy, Wong was over to discuss things, and they were both hungry. Neither of them felt like cooking, so.

“What do you want to eat?” Stephen asked as his glamour spell transformed his robes to something more normal for New York. “Pizza? Sandwiches? Thai? Something else?”

Wong thought for a moment. “I wouldn’t say no to a tuna melt.”

Stephen stilled his steps; that sounded familiar. Why did that sound familiar? It was just a sandwich—

‘I’ll tell the guys at the deli. Maybe they’ll make you a metaphysical ham on rye.’

Stephen blinked and placed a hand against the wall to steady himself. He heard Wong say, “Stephen?” but it sounded muffled and distant.

‘A… buck and a half,’ Wong admitted.

He sighed. ‘What do you want?’

Wong clapped his hands together and followed him down the rest of the stairs. ‘I wouldn’t say no to a tuna melt.’

The crash of breaking glass and wood, emitting a sound loud enough to almost contest the car accident.

Bruce Banner. Tony Stark. Thanos is coming. Ebony Maw. We swore an oath to protect the Time Stone with our lives. Fourteen million, six hundred and five. 

One.

“…en. Look at me, Stephen. You’re in the New York Sanctum Sanctorum. You’re safe. The cloak wants to reach out to you, Stephen, but I batted it away until you can look at me. You’re safe.”

Wong’s words managed to break through the cacophony of madness splitting his mind and he gasped as he focused his eyes on Wong. At some point he had ended up on the floor. His heart attempted to beat itself out of his chest.

When they made eye contact, Wong said without breaking it, “You can rest on him, but get back if his heart rate increases.” Then he continued, as the cloak gently settled itself on Stephen’s shoulders, “Copy my breathing, Stephen. Inhale… and exhale. Good, just like that. Again, inhale… and exhale. Again.”

His breathing evened out and his heart rate eventually slowed to something approaching normal, and Stephen was finally able to manage words. “Where—  where did you—  learn how to do—  do that?”

Wong didn’t answer. Rather, he asked, “Can I help you off the floor?”

Still in a daze he nodded his acquiescence, and Wong took an elbow and forearm and hoisted him up with the assistance of the cloak. He led Stephen to one of the smaller, quieter parlours within the Sanctum and sat him down in a comfortable chair. “I’ll be right back.”

'Right back’ was certainly not immediate, but Stephen lost track of time and Wong seemed to return nearly instantly, this time with a couple fresh cups of tea. He did not attempt to give it to Stephen, but rather set it down beside him. Clearly he saw just how badly his hands were trembling.

Wong took a seat across from him and brought his own cup to his lips. He said nothing as Stephen further calmed his heart rate and the tremors in his hands became less prominent.

Several minutes of silence later, Stephen murmured, “Sorry.”

“I knew it would happen sooner or later,” was Wong’s answer. Stephen swallowed and said nothing. “You cannot continue going on like this.”

Stephen’s instinctive reaction was denial, but he could feel Wong’s eyes on him and his retort fell before it could even begin. “There’s too much to do,” he said instead.

“There always is,” was Wong’s reply.

The silence sat between them again when Wong did not expound further and Stephen battled against a myriad of emotions within his own mind. He tried to distract himself with tea, but the shaking in his hand was too prominent, too debilitating, so he withdrew it.

Another two minutes passed. “I have been given another chance in this world,” he tried instead. “All my efforts should go to protecting it.”

Wong eyed him expressionlessly. “Your efforts have gone above and beyond most. They have seen the resurrection of all life that was unjustly taken five years ago.”

“Those were not my efforts,” Stephen argued. “That was the Avengers.”

“And you set them on that path.”

The tremors increased. He swallowed heavily. “My efforts caused the entire universe to suffer for years. My efforts brought an intergalactic war to Earth’s soil. My efforts brought chaos and despair that led to so much death.” His voice broke on that last word and he turned his head away from Wong.

Wong permitted him a moment before speaking again. “I was told it was over fourteen million futures you saw.” A shudder ran through Stephen in reply. “At what point did you see this future?”

He swallowed. “Somewhere around four million.”

“And you searched another ten million after.”

His hands would not stop their violent shaking. He loosely gripped at the cloak and it curled around his hand. “I’m not—  I’ve done triage before,” he started. “Battle of New York. We didn’t have the resources to—  to save everyone. We had to pick our cases. Before the accident, it was one of the most difficult moments of my life.

“But this reality was—  it was too much to ask. There were too many black tags. I knew there… there were hundreds of millions of permutations. Maybe billions. But I could not sustain the strength needed to search further. I was not… not strong enough.” And to his horror, he felt tears falling from his eyes. He could not look at Wong.

“Stephen. Stephen, look at me.” Reluctantly, after a brief moment, he turned his face towards him. Wong’s steadfast look was blurred by the unwanted tears. “You are the strongest man I have ever known. What you did no other human being could have accomplished.” Stephen’s gaze lowered. “And you must remember: you saw the paths of the future, but you did not control its course. Everyone had their own free will to make the choices they made; they knew death was a real possibility, but they chose to fight.”

Another shudder ran through his entire body and he felt the cloak increase its pressure against him ever so slightly. He placed his face in his trembling hands and just tried to get a grip.

He suddenly felt a hand on his shoulder. “It’s not your fault, Stephen,” Wong muttered.

His tenuous grasp on his emotions completely broke. Another full body shudder ran through him before an ugly sob broke past his lips. Once it started, it was as if a dam had been broken; all his grief and guilt released itself then, the all-encompassing pain overwhelming his entire being. Even as he wept and mourned everything that had been lost, the cloak carefully curled about him and Wong remained a silent, steadfast presence at his side. His hand never left his shoulder.

And with the brick wall he had put about his heart finally breaking down, Stephen began to take his first steps towards recovery.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

“Oh, Doctor, you have mail.”

Stephen looked up from the tome to stare at Ludovica. “Mail? As in… from the mailbox?”

“Where else does mail come from?” she answered with a soft tut. He took the envelope from her and she left the study.

He frowned at the address. Upstate New York. What was in upstate New York? He carefully opened the envelope and unfolded the letter.

Oh. They finished rebuilding the Avengers compound. And… a celebration. A memorial, for Tony Stark, Natasha Romanoff, and all those who gave their lives over a year ago.

And he, Wong, and any sorcerer who wished to attend were invited to celebrate their lives.

Stephen’s eyes grew distant for a moment as his mind went back to that day. The ache was still there, but it did not consume him anymore. It had joined the other poignant, bittersweet reminders of days past, of those gone but still within living memory.

He softly exhaled before standing to head down the hall to Kamar-Taj. He was sure there were many who would be interested in attending, and to remember those gone so that they would not be forgotten.

——

A/N: Someone with the dedicated duty of basically babysitting Sanctums while their Masters fight off things was lovingly borrowed from keshwyn on AO3. Her series of one-shots around this figure are super super super gorgeous, go read them. Wonderful character development (I’ll write a proper fic rec soon)

(had to save it as jpg because for some reason it’s not letting me save as a png on photoshop atm? ugh)(and formatting should be fixed double ugh)

#doctor strange fanfic #stephen strange #doctor strange #wong #avengers: endgame #avengers fanfiction #my fanfiction #my writing #fanfic #ask #answered #long post #apparently the damn read more tag isnt working on the app #wtf tumblr #see reblog

[thatbluegibson]

CH 80

"Oh fuck... I forgot to call Andy."

Liz rolled to sit on the side of the bed and grabbed her phone, swatting Dave's hand when he snaked it around her waist and between her thighs.

"Hey, it's me... yeah... yeah we're good. It's all yours tonight... we're on the same floor, other side... okay, goodnight, Andy."

Dave frowned, wondering why she even needed to make that call. "You got your own room?"

She looked back at him and tucked her hair behind her ear. "Well, I kinda ambushed you."

"Liz," he sat up and turned on the light so he could see her better. "Did you honestly think I would turn you away?"

"I don't know...," she muttered, looking down. It was almost 3 in the morning and she didn't have the energy for this discussion. "I just didn't want to assume. I didn't know what I was going to walk into."

He sighed and scratched his beard a little. "I guess I deserve that." He was a serial cheater. He wasn't proud of it, but he had to admit to it since it had been well documented in the press, much to his horror.

"No..." she crawled back up the bed and into his lap. "That's not... Dave, please look at me." He kept his head down, staring at the sheet next to them. "Dave," she tried again, this time more sternly and he sighed, putting distance between them by leaning on the headboard. "That's not what I meant. I'm not accusing you of anything..." the memory of his hand on hers on the icy rail flooded her mind again. "Unless you have something you'd like to confess."

"For once, I don't," he said truthfully. There had been several gorgeous women trying to get his attention on this tour and he had been tempted, he was human after all, but it never went past a fleeting glance in the VIP room. "That was kind of my thing back in the day, though."

"Oh, I'm well aware," she said quietly, a half smile pulled at her lips as she reached across him to the nightstand.

Dave panicked, watching her flip through her phone. Someone had obviously said something to make her think he had cheated, though he had no idea who it could have been. "Please don't go," he whispered when she tapped on Andy's name, knowing that his voice would break if he spoke any louder. He hadn't done anything wrong, but he had always braced himself for the karma that would eventually hit him from all the past indiscretions he had gotten away with before she came around. She answered his plea by moving off his lap to sit next to him and nestling her head into his shoulder. Finding the picture Andy had sent her, she handed him the phone.

He stared at the image of them standing in the freezing rain with a metal fence between them and his arm around her, trying to remember anything about that night. All those stadiums and arenas, they all looked the same to him anymore. He knew it was Seattle only because he remembered Andy's story and he knew it was post-2003 because of the wedding ring on his finger. They looked so young; her hair was a lighter red and much longer, and her own engagement ring gleamed in the camera's flash as she gripped the metal rail separating their bodies. He looked a little drunk, a little tired and the realization of why she was showing him this hit him all at once.

"Did I hit on you?"

Liz laughed softly and took the phone from him. "You absolutely did. You said it was a shame that I was wearing a ring."

His eyes went wide and he turned to see her face. "Did we-?"

She laughed and shook her head against the pillow. "No. I turned you down then I got blackout drunk and had Andy tattoo me."

"Liz...," he started. She was remarkably relaxed for a woman that knew her boyfriend was a habitual adulterer. He would expect her to be agitated, maybe angry that he was admitting to being weak when it came to a pretty face and a willing nature, but she was completely at ease next to him.

"Just...," her hand found his on top of the blankets. "Please don't do that to me. Don't let me sit at home wondering. Or at least be honest with me if you do."

He wanted to tell her that he would never cheat on her, but he knew it would sound patronizing. He had said the same to Jordyn and had done it anyway and he wanted to be better. "Okay."

*

Dave stared at the closed bedroom door, barely listening to the journalist sitting across from him and Taylor droning on in German to her assistant. He had always been an early riser, but at that moment all he wanted was to run back into that bedroom and sleep for another six hours wrapped up in Liz. They had fallen asleep just as the sky was turning a steel grey and Dave had only managed just a couple hours before Taylor was knocking on the suite's door. He had let Liz sleep, sneaking out of the room without her even stirring.

The journalist finally began her interview, speaking to them in a thick German accent about the tour. Dave shot Taylor a quick glance and their wordless conversation meant they both knew it would be the same interview flow with all the same questions. He would answer the first few, usually about the songwriting process or how much alcohol was digested backstage, then would pass the next few on once Taylor finally decided on whatever awkward position he would sit in. The occasional curveball was lobbed at them, asking what they thought of Belgium or a local band but Dave couldn't remember the last time he had actually had to think about an answer before giving it. He felt himself drift into automatic pilot, answering each question with his usual humor and passion for music when suddenly the journalist cleared her throat and angled her body away from Taylor to face Dave head on. Oh shit, he thought, Here it comes.

"Elizabeth Colbert has joined you on this part of the tour and we are all wondering, how is she? We have seen her out with you, but no word on her condition or..."

Dave's smile faded and his eyes darted to Gus, who had been busy going over customs paperwork at the small dining table between the sitting area and the bedroom. He looked up and shook out his papers, startling the journalist's assistant and giving the kid a harsh glare while Dave answered. "You'll have to ask her. I'm only commenting on the band today," he said bluntly.

"But she is your girlfriend, yes?" the woman was oblivious to the tidal shift in the room, or maybe she just didn't care.

Taylor flopped back against the couch in annoyance when he realized his part of the questioning was done, sending a surge of anxiety through Dave. "Yes, but again we aren't discussing that today."

"Things are quite serious between you two? She-"

Taylor shot forward and snatched a glass of water off the coffee table. "So do you need me here or are we just going to sit around gossiping like housewives?"

She sneered at Taylor, then immediately tried to hide it, but the damage was already done. Taylor threw the back of his hand into Dave's chest, a little reminder that while they were cool, the interview was over and he jumped up from the couch, storming through the bedroom door where Dave just hoped Liz was up and dressed. Gus lumbered over and reminded the woman about the parameters of the interview while Dave added that if Liz's name was brought up again, he would refuse any further interviews from whatever publication she was affiliated with.

"I'm freelance," she insisted with a smug smile.

"Then if you want anyone to publish you again, you'll stay within our required talking points," Gus said sternly and dropped onto the couch where Taylor had been.

The woman's face went pale at the thinly veiled threat and she awkwardly shuffled through her papers to find points that didn't include any actress girlfriend. With Taylor gone and Gus now taking his place, Dave began to repair the tone of the interview, lest the band be dubbed another rude American rock band in the morning papers, and quickly worked to get this journalist the fuck out of there all before Taylor said something to Liz that would make her think she was becoming a distraction. She would book the next flight home if she knew she had caused anyone in the band's immediate radius grief and Dave didn't think he could handle saying goodbye to her so soon.

Twenty minutes later, Gus gave him the nod to escape the interview and he slipped into the silent, empty bedroom. Liz and Taylor's muffled voices drifted through the closed balcony door where they sat drinking coffee and watching the barges move up and down the river. Liz seemed relaxed, still in her white bathrobe with her bare feet propped on a little table next to Taylor's. Dave could tell Taylor was still agitated by the way his shoulders were hunched and he watched them for a moment, trying to gauge their moods. Then, Taylor suddenly burst out laughing. His shoulders dropped to their normal position and he casually pointed at Liz while he replied with something that made her laugh as well. She stood and stretched, taking her empty cup and Taylor's before coming back into the bedroom.

"Lurker," she laughed softly when she saw Dave watching them and crossed the room to the little breakfast bar. "Taylor told me what happened in there. I'm so sorry."

Dave sat on the edge of the bed and scrubbed a hand down his face, working on such little sleep and one terrible cup of coffee wasn't his favorite. "It's not your fault."

"Here," Liz held two fresh cups of coffee, shoving one under his nose for him to take. He assumed the other was for her, but she turned on her heel and opened the glass balcony door again, handing the cup to Taylor with a smile. They spoke for a moment, too quietly for Dave to hear when she gently put her hand on his shoulder on her way back into the room. Flashing Dave a sympathetic smile, she headed into the closet where she called out to him. "I had Sophie release a statement so the real pressing questions should stop."

He resisted the urge to join her when her robe flew out the closet door and landed in a heap on the carpet. "What did it say?"

"Check my phone."

Dave looked over at her phone laying on the nightstand and let his finger hover over the screen before swiping. Looking at her phone without her next to him felt strange, especially after their conversation the night before. She wanted him to be honest and transparent with her, but he felt like he was intruding or spying when the screen illuminated and displayed her email including a typical press release document.

For Immediate Release

London - Ms. Elizabeth Colbert is currently under physician ordered respite care while in Europe. She would like to thank the doctors, nurses, and staff at the facilities where she was so well cared for, the cast and crew of the film she had been working on as well as her close friends and family that have been by her side throughout this ordeal. Ms. Colbert would especially like to thank her fans that have expressed their concern, love and well wishes in these past several weeks.

Ms. Colbert is not granting interview or appearance requests and asks that any print publication, television programme, etc. please utilize the proper channels when information is deemed necessary. She is asking that her privacy and the privacy of her friends and family be respected at this time.

Ms. Colbert is looking forward to an eventual return to Los Angeles and to work.

Before he even had a chance to reply to her, his phone chimed in his pocket. It was the Google alert chime he had set to her name and he didn't even need to check it to know that the international news had already picked up the statement and was publishing articles like rapid fire.

Liz wandered out of the closet and Dave looked up at her as she pulled a loose sweatshirt over her leggings. "You put out an international press release just to save me the grief of dealing with Taylor's attitude?" he asked.

"Honestly, I'm a little pissed at myself for not thinking to do it sooner. I don't know if it'll work, but it was worth a shot," she said. "Is she still out there? Cause I can-"

She was interrupted by Gus flinging the bedroom door open and leaning against the frame. "Pack your shit, guys. The train to Paris leaves in two hours," he muttered, staring down at the paperwork in his hands. "You need a ticket, Elizabeth?"

"Yes. She's staying with us until we go home," Taylor answered as he stepped in from the balcony.

Liz jumped into action, hurrying over to Dave and taking her phone from his hand. "Wait, let me call my manager really quick so she can pay you guys-"

"Oh fuck off with your Hollywood blood money," Gus laughed loudly and shook his head. "I'm not sure if these two jokers told you, but the band is doing okay financially. See you three in the lobby in an hour." He slammed the door behind him, leaving Dave and Taylor to deal with her reaction.

Liz let out a shaky breath and carefully sat on the bed next to Dave. "Holy shit, he's scary."

Dave and Taylor looked at each other and burst out laughing.

#ThatBlueGibson

[cykosis]

pt 5

part 4 is here

part 6 is here

It was three hours before Judah returned home, which Calus heard from upstairs in his borrowed room. Quickly as he could, he raced down the stairs and nearly stumbled trying to avoid them slamming into one another before jumping back.

           Judah, who stepped back in the nick of time to watch his guest nearly fall, sighed in irritation.  “What?”  He snapped, not bothering to hide his annoyance.  “Do you have abandonment issues, too?”

           The greeting, if you could refer to it as that, sent a sharp prickle down Calus’s spine as he caught himself and stood upright. “I don’t need you to find me a way to Kylan.”  He would ignore all of that; an argument was what he was trying to avoid.  “I think it’ll probably just make me worse to go there.” Now it didn’t seem like he was retaliating due to the greeting.

           “Oh.”  Judah said, the shock apparent in his voice as he relaxed.  “Alright.”

           That was it?  Calus braced himself for something else; a criticism, an insult, anything to punctuate the response.  “You aren’t angry?”

           “Do you want me to be?”

           No, that wasn’t it.  Calus quickly shook his head, biting the inside of his cheek.  “I just thought you would have found somebody. I wanted to go follow you, to tell you, but I know you didn’t want me doing that, so I had to wait.  I was worried.”  He paused.  “I’m glad you’re not angry.”  Just in case that somehow had not been clear.

           As he slowly set his keys down on the table, Judah nodded slowly and released a breath.  “I’m glad to hear you can follow instructions.”  He moved past Calus, nudging him out of the way as he made his way up the stairs.  When he reached the top, he looked back and gave out another sigh.  “You’re in luck.  Nobody took the chance to bring you to an inhospitable wasteland.  That’s divine intervention if I’ve ever seen it.”

           It struck him as odd Judah wouldn’t have mentioned that in the first place, but it wasn’t as though he’d given him a whole lot of opportunity to speak.  “So, should I go?”  He didn’t mean to come off as rude or blunt, but he didn’t want to overstay his welcome now that there was no reason to stay.

           “And go where?”

           There it was again; that strange sort of leverage Judah kept using over his situation.  “Does it matter?”  He asked, unable to hide his own annoyance.  “Why do you want me to stay here so badly?”  It was weird; it wasn’t immediately characteristic of Judah in the first place.

           “Because I don’t want you getting kidnapped again?  Why are you so weird?”  There was hardly a breath between the two statements as Judah looked down at Calus in disbelief.  “Like, go ahead if you want to go so badly.  But stop announcing it like it’s a big deal.  Either go or don’t.  I’m getting tired of this.”  He came down the stairs about halfway and leaned over the railing at Calus as though he were expecting a response.

           “I…”  This, too, felt wrong.  Something about it; something about the urgency Judah was putting on his situation, it felt wrong.  “It’s just.” Should he come clean now, as he’d been intending to?  “Nobody is coming after me.”

           “What?”  The confusion was apparent in Judah’s face and voice.  “Okay?  Great? You’re delusional.  How am I supposed to feel better about releasing you back into the wild?”

           He had been hoping it hadn’t gone on for so long that this was a lie he had to unravel from the ground up.  “I’m not delusional.  Nobody was after me in the first place.  I…I guess I lied to you.  I panicked.” There was no excuse for it; he knew his panic was hardly even a reason for it to have happened.  Even in times of great stress, normal people didn’t lie about their family trying to hold them captive.

           Judah leaned back so he was standing upright and stared at Calus for a few moments in total silence, observing him.  “You lied to me?”

           “It’s.  More than that.  But yes.” As the words were leaving his mouth, he knew it sounded like an excuse a child would give.  Realistically, he had lied.  That was the end of it.  But in the moment, it hadn’t felt malicious.  It hadn’t felt like something that would have been believed in the first place.  If Judah had really believed his family had the technology in Garudia to imprison someone for an energy source, that only proved he was dumber than he gave off.

           “It’s really not.”  Judah scoffed, folding his arms, and shaking his head in disbelief once more. “You are really unbelievable.  Why would you lie to me?”

           Personally, Calus didn’t think there was reason for him to be getting this upset.  “It didn’t do anything to you.  I didn’t lie about what I can do, I just lied about the reason why I killed those people.” Really, it had been a comforting lie. How was he supposed to justify the fact he’d killed people?

           “Okay, so why did you kill them?”

           It was a fair question in all respects, but Judah’s suspicious tone flooded him with anger for reasons he could not understand. “Because they quarantined me for three years when there was nothing wrong with me and wouldn’t just let me go out into the wild to die or whatever.”  Looking back, it had been a selfish reason to kill.  He hadn’t been in danger; he could have incapacitated them if he would have been able to keep his emotions under control.

           “Nothing wrong with you?”  The disbelief thickened the air between them. “Calus.  You are infected with the deadliest organism this world has ever seen. You’re really upset because your friends and family didn’t want you accidentally killing everyone?” He paused.  “Are you going to get upset I won’t let you outside and kill me?”

           Judah didn’t understand; how could he?  He hadn’t been in isolation for three years, taken away from everything he had ever known.  He hadn’t had his parents move on, accept their son was dead and there was nothing they could do for him anymore.  He hadn’t been replaced; he hadn’t been forgotten by everyone except for the threat of his condition.  He hadn’t been through any of that; he’d lived here in comfort and relative inconvenience.  But he couldn’t go into that, he knew, without it coming off yet another excuse. There was nothing he could say to defend himself, though it hadn’t been the way Judah was taking it.

           “I didn’t infect anybody.”  He finally said, keeping his voice low as though he were talking to himself.  “They didn’t need to keep me like that.  They could have let me leave.”  Would that not have been easier for everyone?  Had it really been worth keeping him locked and isolated in an abandoned home, away from the rest of society?  Had it really been worth potentially exposing the people who volunteered to keep an eye on him?

           As expected, Judah only rolled his eyes and threw up his hands in disbelief.  “And people say I have ego issues.  I’m going to have my parents come here and meet you.”  He forced a laugh, dropping his arms to his sides in exasperation.

           “I want to make this easy for you to understand.” He continued, hopping down the rest of the stairs lightly and taking Calus’s hands in his own.  “You are not a good person.  I know you think you are.  But you’re not.”  He smiled with warmth every action had been devoid of up to now.  “It’s okay.  I like people like you.  I forgive you for lying.”

           Both the chill of the scene unfolding before him and the warmth of Judah’s voice created an explosion in his core.  He knew Judah was wrong; he was a good person regardless of what his opinion was.  He had left quarantine to protect everyone else, had wanted to go to Kylan for the sake of potentially being able to control milstrun indiscriminately. But he couldn’t protest, not on the back of playing along with such a lie.  Everything he had done to now had resulted in this, in the declaration that he was not a good person.

           He stayed quiet, which he could feel did not fare well.  Judah’s energy changed from warmth to icy as he ripped his hands away, storming back up the stairs and slamming a door when he finally reached the top so hard it made Calus’s ears ring.  In the aftermath, the silence in the house was by far the most suffocating thing he’d felt since his arrival here.

           Was he supposed to have agreed, to have said he understood he wasn’t a good person?  Calus knew he had lied, but in the grand scheme the lie seemed inconsequential.  Nothing had changed between the two of them; in fact, it seemed to be more of a relief Calus wasn’t under threat of being abducted.

           Did trust really matter that much?  So Judah would need to take an extra moment and consider whether what Calus was saying was the truth.  Really, he should be doing that as a reflex since they didn’t know one another.  People lied all the time; it was only when they lied about things that mattered where it became a problem.  He hadn’t killed anyone important; he hadn’t killed anyone in cold blood.  Just because Judah didn’t understand the circumstances didn’t make Calus a terrible person.

           Knowing it, however, wasn’t enough.  Rage was still coursing through his body at how Judah insisted on treating and speaking to him, flipping between hot and cold while spitting insults and thinly veiled threats.  His body moved independently of him, throwing him up the stairs and ripping Judah’s bedroom door open.

           “You do not decide whether I’m good or bad.” He hissed, and though he wanted so badly to run over to Judah and break his neck he maintained his composure and clenched his fists so hard he felt them begin to go numb.

           His host, as always, seemed bored with his outburst.  “Everyone decides whether someone else is good or bad.  Get over yourself.”  He barely offered his accuser a look, laying back down on his bed and staring up at the ceiling.

           Calus could barely hear the response; the blood in his ears was surging and pulsing with every breath.  If only he was as bloodthirsty as Judah seemed to think he was.  How he wished there was nothing stopping him from blacking out and going berserk.  “And what about you?”  He spat, his whole body moving every time he took a ragged breath.  “You’re just automatically a good person, right?”

           “You can call me a bad person if it makes you feel better.”  Judah was sitting up now, staring at Calus with a bored expression on his face. “Does it make you feel better? Can you stop breaking in here every time you have a problem?”

           Well, if Judah would stop abandoning conversations so he could have the last word, Calus wouldn’t need to follow him around to continue the conversations.  “No, because you don’t agree with me.”  If either of them had to be classified as bad, it certainly wasn’t him.  “You’re more selfish than me.  I know you are.”  He could catch Judah in this; he would throw every nasty comment back in his face.

           Judah let out a loud, sharp scoff that rang throughout the room.  “Get out of here.”  He waved between them, falling back on the bed in laughter.  “You’re delusional.  Get out.”

           This wasn’t delusion; none of this had been delusion.  He couldn’t explain it, but Judah was showing right now how terrible he was.  The way he kept avoiding the conversation, the way every response was for Calus to leave as soon as there was a criticism of Judah’s character.  He was hiding something.  He was a terrible person, if only the rest of the neighborhood could be here to witness this. “I’m not delusional.”  Was all he could spit out as he tried to avoid looking at Judah’s smugly gleeful face.  “Stop saying I’m delusional when you don’t want to admit you’re a bad person.”

           “I’m not agreeing with you when you’re telling me I’m bad!”  Calus cringed as Judah screamed, beside himself with laughter.  “Listen to yourself.  Calm down and listen to yourself.  This isn’t real.  Whatever this is.  It’s not real.”

           Had this been about likely anything else, Calus would have admitted that perhaps he was a bit out of mind with this accusation. But he knew this wasn’t right; normal people didn’t react like this to what he was saying.  When he’d been accused of being bad, he’d contested it. For Judah to be laughing it off, that was proof he was denying it.  He was not going to be lied to when Judah had thrown such a fit of being lied to.

           Before he spoke, he straightened up and considered his words thoughtfully.  If there were any sign of him not being entirely certain of his claims, he knew they wouldn’t be taken seriously.

           “You have done nothing but threaten me since I’ve gotten here,” he began, furrowing his brow as he spoke and clenching his jaw. “I’m tired of your nasty comments about me.  If you don’t like me, let me leave.”

           While Judah’s laughter stopped, his bored expression reclaimed its place.  “So go.” He shrugged, motioning to the door without looking up.  “Leave. Get out of my house.  I’m not holding you hostage.”  Slowly, he sat up.  “Really.  Leave.”

           Somehow, he had been expecting a different response. For Judah to fight back and say he hadn’t been doing those things, maybe.  For Judah to tell him he was delusional, that it hadn’t been like that. It felt like his heart was breaking, but he’d gotten what he wanted.  Judah wasn’t making him stay; he was practically shoving him out the door. So why did it hurt so bad that he couldn’t stay?

           “What?”  Judah asked, smugness overtaking him.  “Did you remember you have nowhere else to go?  Did you remember you can’t walk around like a normal person anymore?  Did you forget nobody likes you?”  He stared at Calus intently, awaiting what they both knew was coming next.  “It’s not that you can’t leave, is it?  It’s that you have nowhere else that wants you.  But you don’t want to admit that, because of your ego problem.  So now it’s my fault you don’t feel appreciated, right?”

           “No, it’s not-.”  Calus started.

           “No, it really is.”  Judah said flatly.  “You came into my house and want me to change how I’m acting because you personally do not like it.”  His words were harsh and blunt.  “You have spent this whole time making up illusions that I’m somehow evil because I’ve been calling you ugly or telling you you’re a liar.  I don’t even know your name, and you’re bursting in here now three separate times to accuse me of something.  I have real life problems.  Get out of here before I call somebody and make you a public spectacle.”

           Truthfully, Judah’s words did strike home for him. He could feel in his brain, the words being processed and absorbed as things to look out for in the future. But then, when he mentioned making him a public spectacle, it all unraveled into hysteria.  Judah was manipulating him; making him believe what he was talking about wasn’t real.  He was evil; Calus could feel it oozing off him.  Why else would he mention making him a public spectacle?

           “If you weren’t evil, why else would your neighbors hate you?”  He spat, though he knew he was grasping at straws for the sake of this argument. Deep down, he knew he was wrong, but that didn’t stop the alarm bells from ringing.  “Your parents are humanitarians.  It doesn’t make sense they’d hate you if you were good.”

           A few moments passed, and Calus knew he should have revoked it and come up with some excuse as to why he’d said it.  He was too arrogant to let it go, maybe, or he’d genuinely been asking and hadn’t adjusted his tone properly.  But the shame of admitting he’d gone too far was too much for him to handle.

           “My neighbors dislike me because I do not fundamentally agree with how international government is compensating my family, actually.”  Judah spat back, glaring at Calus with as much intensity as he could muster.  “They think I am ungrateful and entitled because I don’t think my parents should have to risk their lives every single day trying to help people just to live the same as everyone else.  They think I’m entitled because I think, at some point, people need to fix their problems themselves.  As you can see, there’s a theme here.”

           Calus was shattered.  Of all the retorts Judah could have had, of course it had to have been that he had a fair point and everyone else was in the wrong.  Of all the issues, it had to have been the one they were arguing about right now.  He wanted to run and hide in shame, but there was nowhere to go that wouldn’t be conceding defeat.

           “I’m sorry.”  It was all he could manage to say; he couldn’t go into how wrong he had been, but he knew Judah would be able to pick up on it from his clear shame.

           “That’s not enough.”

           He knew it wasn’t, but he didn’t know what else to say.  Why should he have to humiliate himself when they both knew who had been in the wrong? “What do you want me to do?”  He was halfway asking, halfway pleading to be free from this interaction.  If he hadn’t let his anger get the best of him, it wouldn’t be like this.

           “Oh, you don’t want to know what I want you to do.” Judah laughed, shaking his head slowly. “Just leave.  That’s enough for me.”

           This was his opportunity to leave and be free from this; he knew that.  He knew he, in fact, did not want to know what Judah wanted him to do.  But guilt weighed heavy on him, knowing he would walk away and this relationship that had begun with so much promise would be wasted forever over this.  Over his anger.  Over his inability to differentiate reality from delusion.  All of it.

           If he left, he would never know what Judah’s parents knew about milstrun.  If he left, he would never know what was happening inside of his body.  All these things that had been so appealing about Judah; they wouldn’t exist in another person.  He couldn’t walk away knowing he had been so wrong that he’d ruined his own chances of not further decomposing because of…this.

           “Tell me what I need to do.”  He said, breathing it out so he didn’t have to think about saying it.  “I was wrong. Tell me what I have to do to fix this.”

           For once, Judah seemed intrigued.  “I didn’t realize you weren’t always the most difficult person alive.  Or, almost-person, I guess.”  He added with a chuckle.  “But I don’t think I want to deal with you anymore.  You can say you’re sorry, but then you could be annoying again.  You’re just not worth it, no offense.”

           No, he couldn’t lose this when Judah had made it seem so easy.  Desperation pulled at his heart as he shook his head and struggled to find the words. “I promise.  I promise I won’t be.  You’re the only person who can help me, Judah.”  It felt as though he were about to cry, though no tears formed at his eyes.  “I’ll do whatever it takes.  Nobody else knows about milstrun.  I can’t just leave.  I don’t have anything else; you were right.”

           The intrigued look in Judah’s eyes only grew brighter with Calus’s pleas, and he seemed to consider this with thought. “Your magic powers can kill anything, right?”

           Calus swallowed a hard lump in his throat as his mind sparked alive with all the possibilities of where this was headed before nodding slowly.

           Intrigue exploded into amazement as Judah beamed and held his chin in his hands, resting his elbows on his knees.  “So are you going to do it?  Or should I find somebody else?”

           Conceptually, he had no issue with the idea of killing people.  In fact, it seemed as though it were an ideal situation.  If he did that, he would have an excuse to regenerate energy without relying on Judah for sustenance, which would make him feel a bit less as though he were leeching off Judah’s kindness.  What worried him was that it had been presented as something he wouldn’t want to do.

           But he didn’t have a choice, unless he wanted to give up the chance to know more about his condition and, hopefully, how to remedy it.  

“Yes.”  He said, swallowing the harsh venom of guilt.  Nothing good was going to come from this; he could feel it.

           Judah nodded, his smile subsiding a bit. “Don’t worry.  It’s for a good cause.  I’m not like you.”  He stood up and cracked his knuckles one by one absentmindedly.  “Actually, I wasn’t sure how else to ask you if you’d help me out. You seem like the kind of person who could do the right thing, if you knew what the right thing was.”

           “I…”  Calus trailed, trying to grapple with confusion.  This didn’t make sense; Judah was supposed to be evil.  He wasn’t supposed to have good intentions.

           “Wow, I didn’t realize your delusion had gotten so bad!”  Judah remarked, suppressing another chuckle.  “Sorry, I’m kidding, I just didn’t realize the idea of me having good intentions would make you react like that.”

           There was no point to reacting to that.  “What did you need help with?”  He would keep it emotionless and simple for now, until he could rebuild some form of trust.

           “I want to make all of the world’s problems disappear.”

[imagine-loki]

By The Willow Shade

TITLE: By The Willow Shade CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: Chapter 12 AUTHOR: MaliceManaged ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine being a witch (on Earth) and accidentally summoning Loki. He gets angry and confused, but ends up actually liking your company and teaches you more magic. RATING: T NOTES/WARNINGS: Some thinly veiled rape threats, because some people are just the worst.

__________________________

    There weren’t many choices in life that Willow regretted, but her latest one was certainly one of them. As she ran through the streets of Asgard, trying not to collide with anything or anyone, she wondered what in all the worlds had possessed her to do what she had.

    It had begun harmlessly enough; she’d woken up, taken a bath and had her breakfast with Loki as usual, and then decided that she wanted to explore the palace after her first lessons. Loki hadn’t been too happy about her wandering alone, but there really wasn’t much of a reason not to let her aside from his own general worries that he wasn’t about to tell her of; she’d never let it go if she knew. Most of the people she passed by eyed her curiously - and some of the noblewomen frowned at the loosely-fitting green tunic (that she may or may not have stolen from Loki and altered to fit her) and the black jean shorts she wore - but otherwise paid her little mind; the guards only bothering to acknowledge her when she tried to go into rooms that were off limits to the general public.

    Eventually she found her way to the library (and flirted with the idea of moving in there for life), where she spent the next four hours. That was when she found a book tucked away in a seemingly little-travelled corner; it was large and heavy, clearly very old but well cared for, and practically hummed with power. As she skimmed through the pages Willow realised it was a spellbook.

    She considered putting it back. She really did.

    Instead she kept reading, eventually coming upon a teleportation spell. She thought about it for all of thirty seconds before taking the book to an even more secluded corner of the library and reading through what she needed to do several times. When she thought she had it she set the book down and stepped back; concentrating, she called up her energy and set it to work shaping that of the world around her, willing it to move her across the room.

    That had been the plan, anyway…

    To say she overshot would be an understatement akin to saying the ocean is a bit of water. Her first indication that something had gone wrong was the bright sunlight that assaulted her vision even through her closed eyelids, causing her to yelp slightly and lose her concentration, which in turn launched her backwards and onto the floor quite painfully. She opened her eyes, shielding them from the overhead glare with her hands and dearly wishing she had her sunglasses with her, and looked around, finding herself in what seemed to be a park of some kind.

    Oh, way to go, genius, Willow scolded herself as she got up and dusted herself off. When her eyes adjusted to the brightness as much as they could she began to walk, intending to find her way back to the palace.

    She hadn’t been walking for ten minutes when she bumped into what felt like a wall as she turned a corner. It was in fact a man, a warrior she’d seen every night she had dinner in the feast hall; one she had caught staring at her in a way that made her very uncomfortable more than once.

    “Well, well; what have we here?” The man - Erling, she remembered his name was - commented to his two companions, a malicious grin upturning his lips.

    “I was not aware pets were allowed to roam freely so far from their masters,” One of the other men - Hákon - added with a sneer.

    “Perhaps our esteemed prince is done with this one,” The other - Snorri - suggested, eyeing Willow like prey.

    Willow was no fool, she knew exactly how dangerous the situation could turn if she didn’t act quickly, and so she did. Bracing herself against the pain it would inevitably bring, she raised her hands and conjured a ball of light which she threw on the ground between her and the men; the effect as it hit the street was similar to that of a flash grenade. As soon as she had let go she turned and ran away as fast as she could, which, given the practise she had at it, was quite fast; she could hear them behind her, cursing and shouting after her, but she ignored it and focused on escaping.

    She turned a corner and just barely dodged some baskets on the floor, but in her haste to evade them ran straight into someone else, her momentum sending her backwards to the floor. Looking up, Willow faced a rather large, brow haired woman who looked at her with concern colouring her features.

    “Oh, dear; are you alright?” The woman asked as she offered a hand to help Willow up. She looked her over and recognition dawned on her face. “I know of you; you are Willow, are you not? Loki’s d-… guest?” She corrected herself hastily, not that Willow noticed in her current state.

    “How did you know?” Willow asked as she looked around nervously.

    “My husband, Volstagg, has mentioned you. I am Hildegund,” The woman introduced herself. “What is the matter?”

    Willow was about to reply when she spotted the men she ran from, clearly none-too-pleased and heading straight for her. Hildegund frowned and grabbed Willow’s arm, pulling the girl behind her as the warriors walked up to them.

    “Hildegund,” Erling greeted. “This does not concern you; our business is with Loki’s little whore.”

    “I make it my concern. You should be ashamed of yourselves; bullying a child,” Hildegund snapped, squaring her shoulders and glaring at them. “Off with you all, or my husband will hear of this.”

    The men glared for a moment then turned and walked away, knowing better than to risk it. As soon as they were far enough away Willow let out a breath of relief, nearly collapsing onto her knees if not for Hildegund’s steadying hands.

    “Thank you so much,” Willow managed to say after a moment.

    “It’s alright,” Hildegund soothed, drawing Willow into a comforting hug. “Now come; you can rest in my home while you tell me what exactly you are doing so far from the palace all by yourself.”

****

    Loki was worried. That much was obvious, which spoke to just how worried the usually reserved Trickster actually was. But he hadn’t seen Willow in hours and when Thor dropped by he told him he hadn’t seen her at all that day, after which Loki tried scrying for her and found he couldn’t find her. Thor suggested she might be with Odin as an explanation and offered to check. When he returned with news that their father hadn’t seen her all day either he figured his brother would not take it well, and was not disappointed. Loki immediately stormed out of his chambers, unheeding of Thor’s warning that he technically wasn’t allowed to yet, and headed straight for the council room where the king was.

    Odin didn’t seem particularly surprised when Loki burst into the room without announcement with Thor trailing behind; he figured it might happen after being questioned about Willow’s whereabouts. He was mildly surprised by the openly worried expression on his youngest’s face, though; Loki hardly ever let his true feelings show, after all.

    “Have the centuries of lessons in etiquette been lost on you both, that you would not even bother to knock?” Odin asked conversationally as he waved the others present in the room away.

    “I did try to stop him,” Thor was quick to say, raising his hands and showing his father the frostbite Loki had given him when he’d tried to stop him by force.

    “I see,” Odin replied before turning to Loki. “I assume this is about Willow,” He more stated that asked.

    “She’s not in the palace anymore; I can feel it. I need to find her,” Loki spoke quickly.

    “You were not to leave your chambers,” Odin reminded.

    “Well, then send me back to the dungeons if you want, just let me find her first,” Loki practically pleaded.

    Odin raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

    “What?” Loki asked, looking at him as though he’d gone mad.

    “Why should I allow this?” Odin asked simply.

    “She… she could be anywhere. She could be hurt!” Loki exclaimed.

    “Why is this so important to you?” Odin pressed.

    “Because I love her!” Loki yelled, taking both of them aback. “I need her, and the thought of not having her in my life is worse than any form of torture. Is that what you want to hear??” Loki began to pace. “That when I look at her smile, I see Vali and Narfi? That when I think of what she has endured, I see Hela and Fenrir and Jörmungandr? I need her to be safe. I can’t lose her.” He paused and looked at Odin dolefully. “I can’t lose another child.”

    Not a moment later, two ravens flew into the room and perched on Odin’s shoulders; after a bit, he nodded once then turned back to Loki. “I sent out Huginn and Muninn when Thor came here earlier; she is safe, on her way back with Volstagg.”

    Loki let out the breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding and his shoulders slumped slightly in relief. “Good,” He managed, “Good.”

    “If you leave now, you could just meet her at the doors,” Odin commented mildly.

    Loki blinked at him in surprise then turned and left, a still somewhat stunned Thor following after him. Odin huffed a slight laugh and shook his head; he could almost hear Frigga commenting on how stubborn they all were when it came to admitting their feelings.

#Loki #Angst #God of Mischief #Submitted fic #submission #malicemanaged #By The Willow Shade #Chapter 12 #Witch #Earth #Summoning #Angry #Confused #Liking #Company #Teaches #Magic

[your-iron-lung]

Mixed Up 22 | I Don’t Want to Die (In the Hospital) |

Chapter Word Count: 6106

Pairings: Zoro/Sanji

Genre: Comedy, Drama, Romance

Chapter Warnings: Strong Language

Previous Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16 , 17, 18, 19, 20, 21,

Next Chapter: 23

The first time he dyed his hair was with cheaply bought store dye that didn’t last for very long and almost washed out completely after the first rinse. He had surprised everyone in the house he was living in at the time when he emerged from the bathroom with badly bleached, splotchy looking green hair. He remembers how Kuina had first looked envious, and then laughed outright at him. He’d been proud of his first attempt, but the shit she gave him for it wounded him. Not that he’d ever let her know, though; he’d merely accused her of being jealous and found out that he was right. She was, so she then demanded he go with her so she could pick out some cool hair colour of her own.

They didn’t do any research into which brand of dye was the best, but they picked up a different brand than the one he’d used originally after the results he got were far from optimal. He bought himself another bottle of a similar looking green, and when they got back home they dyed each other’s hair, laughing at one another for the way they looked while they waited for it to set. When it was done, Zoro’s hair was a solid, definite green and Kuina’s was a deep, dark blue that matched her eyes well.

He never did outgrow that colour. That perfect, absolute shade of green.

“You could lay down on the lawn and lose your hair in the grass,” Kuina had once said.

His hair was fading; he’d been in the hospital for too long.

Not only were his roots beginning to come in, adding a layer of dark soil for his blades of green hair to sprout from, but it’d been almost two weeks since he’d last dyed it. It was fading horribly, leaving him with the same look and quality he’d had when he’d first tried to dye it. One of his nurses (who had green hair of her own) kept making snide remarks about it, but the pain killers his doctor had him on and the fact that he was still pretty much bedridden prevented him from getting rightfully angry with her.

He could do little more than flip her off whenever she came to check in on him and taunt him with how brilliant her hair looked.

It’d been four days since the accident, and all Zoro really wanted to do was go home, drink a beer or six, and get Nami to help him re-dye his hair. Four days, and the doctor who’d removed his eye wanted to keep him there for who knew how much longer.

It didn’t make sense to him; they’d already explained how he would need to begin to care for his injury post-release, and even had a prescription written up for him for when he was able to go home- which they’d originally said he could do yesterday. The only reason they were keeping him hostage in the hospital was because those fucking painkillers they had him on made him too nauseous to leave his room. His only relief from the boredom and the irritating pain in his eye came in the form of visitors.

His whole team had come once, the day after the accident. They’d crowded the room and gave him a duffel bag filled with the things he’d left in his locker the day before and presented a huge, handmade ‘get well soon’ card to display by his bed. Even his coach had come with them, but he didn’t have any words to share with Zoro. They spoke of general things in an effort to keep the atmosphere light, but it eventually degraded into tearful apologies from those who had been on the ice with him when he’d been attacked and done nothing to help him. Zoro found it embarrassing, and so was quick to forgive them.

No one from his team had come back after the first initial visit, but he hadn’t really expected them to.

Nami came every day, but only stayed long enough to relay how Chopper was doing in her care and how work was going and who was giving his students lessons in his absence.

“It’s actually kind of cool to see Franky playing again, but he’s worried about you; we all are,” she’d said to him once, sighing melodramatically as she leaned over the railing of his bed.

“I’m fine,” he’d said, rolling his eye. “It’s just one eye; not like I went blind. I still have a backup.”

“Idiot! That’s not why we have two eyes!”

She’d made to hit him then, but showed enough self-restraint to keep it gentle. Their conversation had stalled out for a minute then as she somberly tried to avoid looking at the bandages across his face. She’d directed her attention to the small TV that was in the room Zoro shared with another man who also had severe facial injuries. The TV was locked on a channel that only aired soap operas, which had made her laugh at first but was now almost sort of comforting to her.

“I’ve been trying to get Sanji to come see you,” she’d said then, eyes flicking to the man who was happily watching the silent drama unfold on the television screen. “I don’t know what his deal is. He was so worried about you, but now it’s almost as if he’s afraid to see you.”

“I don’t need that idiot around here,” Zoro had said. “I’ve already got to deal with him.”

Zoro tilted his head towards his roommate, who’d turned a dumb smile onto the two of them that only Nami returned.

The man’s name was Duval, and he had, in both Zoro and Nami’s opinion, a rather uncanny resemblance to Sanji from what they could see around his bandages. His injuries were a result from what he’d called a ‘hate crime’ that had been committed against him because he was, in his own words, ‘too beautiful’.

“My looks sometimes make men act irrational with jealousy,” he’d explained on the first day that Zoro had been moved into the semi-private room with him. “It was a hate crime! The man’s girlfriend found my beauty too irresistible! He became enraged when he saw her talking with a man far more gorgeous than he, and yet he says I am to blame for flirting with her! I have no control over the way I look and how it makes women flock to me!”

Duval’s attitude and looks had reminded Zoro far too much of Sanji, but despite what he’d told Nami the day before, he did find that he almost sort of missed the bastard.

There was no one else in his life that could match his wits or rise to the physical challenges he issued. Johnny and Yosaku came close, but they were push overs and drug peddlers who only really chummed up to him so he’d buy their product.

Tashigi had filled that spot for him years earlier, but after the breakup-

No, fuck- he wasn’t going to think about her now.

Scowling, he turned his attention away from the TV he’d been mindlessly eyeballing and towards the various ‘get well soon’ cards and gifts he’d been sent during his time at the hospital. Stacked on the small bedside table was the huge card that had been signed by all his hockey teammates, and that one was surrounded by a few smaller ones that had come from his coworkers and students. Zoro didn’t care much for sentimentality, but if he were being honest, the card he’d received from Tony was his favourite.

The kid had neat handwriting, but his penmanship evidently didn’t transfer into his artistry, for the drawing he’d included of Zoro and him performing on stage together was shaky and scrunched up and overall very odd looking. The card itself didn’t tell him that Tony hoped his recovery was quick and painless, but instead included a rather thinly veiled threat that Zoro was certain the child’s grandmother had told him to write, as it said: ‘Don’t break your promise to me or else!’

If the doctors didn’t release him in time for the Solstice show, Zoro swore he was just going to walk out. Not that he hadn’t already tried that, but his attempt before had been so pitiful he didn’t think it’d work again unless he had some sort of help.

It was his legal right to leave the hospital if he were well enough to do so, wasn’t it?

And as much as his nurse Monet hated him, she wasn’t likely to help him slip out unnoticed. Zoro figured she enjoyed making his stay at the hospital as shitty as she could make it as much as he enjoyed making her job as hard to do as he possibly could. He’d even tried asking Nami once to help bust him out, but had gotten so severely reprimanded by her that he’d nearly decided to give up on escaping altogether.

That is, until Thursday came around and his way out appeared.

On the fifth day of his hospitalization, Sanji finally came to visit.

The door to Zoro’s room was closed when Sanji finally found it. The nurse that was working the station on the floor, though beautiful, had been entirely unhelpful in directing Sanji to the right room. As soon as he’d mentioned Zoro’s name to her, her demeanor switched from flirty to frosty before he could even finish blinking the hearts out of his eyes.

“Oh, that guy is somewhere on my floor. Down that hall somewhere taking up space,” she’d said icily, gesturing vaguely down the hall. Then she’d turned her back to him and proceeded to ignore him until he left.

He’d then spent the greater part of half an hour uneasily poking his head into various rooms to try and find where Zoro was being kept. Sanji hadn’t told Nami he was coming to visit, otherwise he would have asked her for his room number, but he’d been avoiding her the past few days. She’d been pressuring him so much to come that it had begun to make him feel uncomfortable whenever he caught her outside of his complex.

That, coupled with the guilt of knowing just made it seem… wrong, he supposed. Even if no one else blamed him, Sanji knew to blame himself. It had taken him days to work through the guilt and reason that, even if it was his fault, he should at least acknowledge what had happened to the man. He needed to see for himself the extent of the damage he’d caused, though he doubted very much that Zoro would want to see him.

The look on Zoro’s face when Sanji stepped through the door did little to change that feeling.

There was a huge, fierce scowl deeply embedded on his face that almost made Sanji turn around and leave until he realized that it wasn’t being directed at him. Zoro was sat upright in his bed with his arms crossed tight across his chest, frowning at the wall-mounted TV. When Sanji looked at it, he saw that it was airing some sort of drama that had apparently just reached a pivotal point in the story.

“No! How could she do that to him!?”

Surprised by the outburst, Sanji hadn’t realized Zoro was sharing a room with someone else until the other man burst out into emotional tears.

He turned to look at Zoro with a startled expression on his face before he took off the beanie and winter coat he’d been wearing.

“This,” Zoro said, gritting his teeth and finally turning to address Sanji. “This is what I have been dealing with for five fucking days.”

Sanji couldn’t help but smirk, relieved to see at least that the injury hadn’t changed Zoro’s attitude much. He set his clothing aside on a spare chair and pulled up another to sit next to Zoro’s bed. He glanced around the room, taking in how small the space was before he caught sight of the little bedside table full of gifts and cards.

“I didn’t know you had friends,” he commented, sounding bemused as he picked one up and read the standard Hallmark sentiment it contained.

“If I did, do you really think I’d be hanging out with you as much as I do?” Zoro bit out in reply.

Sanji was about to retort until he got a good look at the state Zoro was in. There was one large IV inserted into one of his arms, and a calmly beeping pulse monitor attached to his dominant hand. The bandages around his face did little to hide how tired Zoro seemed to be. His visible eye was dark-ringed and sunken, and his complexion was rather pale compared to how it usually was. They’d even taken out his safety pin earrings, effectively stripping him of his personality.

A twinge of sadness in his chest threatened to sour his mood and make him emotional, which was the last thing he wanted to do. Swallowing it down, Sanji replaced the card on the table and glanced back at Zoro.  

“Natural brunette, huh?” Sanji couldn’t help but say.

“Christ. And this is why I was glad when Nami said you didn’t want to come. Get your rocks off by kicking a guy when he’s already down?”

Sanji winced a bit inwardly, but outwardly grinned.

“You don’t look that down to me.”

And that was true, for the most part. Apart from looking like he hadn’t gotten a decent night’s sleep in a few days and the bandages covering his eye, Zoro looked, well, as fine as he could have been given his situation.

He’d only been physically injured, after all; it wasn’t like he was sick and recovering from that. Sanji didn’t think hospitals usually held people who’d been hurt like Zoro had for more than a day or two at most. Hell, emergency rooms didn’t even keep people for that long.

Which begged the question, “What are you still doing here?”

Zoro looked at him levelly for a moment, and then away with a shrug.

“This shit,” he said, tapping the IV that was going into his arm. “Makes me nauseous, but the anti-nausea shit makes me sick. They’ve caught me in a loop and won’t release me because they think I have the kind of money to keep paying for it all.”

“Oh.”

Frustrated, Zoro sighed. Sanji gave him a pitiable look as Duval cried out about the injustices of the show he was watching and demanded that the characters make amends. Begrudgingly, Zoro turned his attention to the TV to see what his roommate had been crying about as Sanji read another one of the cards.

“One of your students?” Sanji asked, holding up Tony’s card.

Zoro didn’t turn to look; merely nodded as Sanji took his time in appreciating the drawing. Whoever Tony was and drawn Zoro a little too tall and a little too skinny, but the angry expression on drawing was as accurate as it could’ve possibly been.

The visit was going much better for him than he’d expected it to, which filled him with an immense feeling of relief. Comforted by the feeling, Sanji replaced the card on the table just as Zoro swore loudly under his breath. Before Sanji could say or do anything to stop him, Zoro had jerked the blankets off of his bed abruptly and swung himself around so that his legs went over the non-railed side of his bed.

“What are you doing-” Sanji tried to say, completely taken aback as Zoro interrupted him.

“I’m done sitting here. You’re going to help me get out,” he growled, holding his head for a moment before looking around to give Sanji a stern look.

“What? No- how would I even begin to do that?” Sanji shook his head in disbelief. “I don’t think it’s even legal to leave before you’ve been officially discharged-”

“Shut the fuck up and close the goddamn door!” Zoro all but shouted.

“Oh my god you’re serious.”

Sanji backed out of the chair with a screech and hurriedly went to shut the door to the room before their raised voices attracted Monet’s attention. He turned back around to see Zoro struggling with trying to peel up the tape that kept the IV in his arm and shared a look of concern with Duval, who had suddenly lost interest in his show.

“You’re trying this again?” Duval asked, cocking his head to the side as Zoro finally succeeded, wincing visibly as he and pulled the needle out of his body.

“Again?” Sanji asked, somehow unsurprised as the needle was dropped to the floor.

“Shut up. Yes, again. Get my duffle bag under the bed,” Zoro ordered, ignoring the fact that he had begun to sweat with the effort of getting himself up. The nausea that had been plaguing him for the entire duration of his stay was beginning to flare up again.

“Fuck,” Sanji muttered as he crouched down so he could reach for the bag and bring it up. He set it down on the chair he’d been sitting on previously and then looked to Zoro, who had stood up with a slight wobble.

“Get my clothes out,” Zoro said, turning towards Sanji who had had to look away when he realized the hospital gown Zoro was wearing was untied and open down the back.

He tried to hide the flush from his face by busying himself with rifling through the contents of the bag, but knew from Duval’s laughter that he wasn’t fooling anyone.

“I didn’t know there was supposed to be a full moon tonight,” Duval cackled, leaning back in his bed to laugh comfortably.

“Shut the fuck up! Can’t fucking wait to be rid of you,” Zoro growled, wiping the sweat that had accumulated across his forehead away. He was more annoyed than embarrassed.

Zoro stood there stupidly for a moment, watching Sanji go through his bag before he had to sit back down on the end of his bed. He must’ve stood up too fast or something, as his head was beginning to spin, bringing the room around with it. Ignoring it as best he could, he watched as Sanji pulled out his pair of pants.

Sanji stared at the piece of clothing aghast.

“If Frankenstein had been a fashion designer instead of a mad scientist,” he said, holding the pair of pants up for Duval to see. “These would have been his monster.”

The pants in question looked as though they were made from two different pairs. There was an even split directly through the middle of the jeans going through the crotch so that one pants leg was red plaid and the other was solid black. Both legs had black patches sewn into them that advertised bands Zoro evidently liked enough to wear around.

“What’d I say about kicking a man when he’s already down?” Zoro snapped irritably, snatching the pants away from Sanji before he could find anything else about them to shit talk. “Find my shirt.”

“What, no underwear?” Sanji asked, then wished he hadn’t as Zoro began trying to stuff one of his legs into the pants.

“Don’t wear any on game days.” Zoro grunted as he struggled to work his way through the tight pants leg. “’s what jockstraps are for.”

Sanji felt his face flushing again, but thankfully it seemed as though Zoro was too preoccupied with putting his pants on to notice. He tried to force himself not to think about it too much as he continued going through the duffel bag, pulling out a thick, patched hoodie and a plain t shirt.

He politely averted his eyes as Zoro continued the struggle, grunting as he stood up briefly to adjust himself. After he finally seemed to have gotten his pants on and buttoned, Sanji handed over his shirt.

Zoro took it, but made no move to put it on. Instead he’d grown quite still, sitting back down on the side of his bed with his face screwed up in concentration.

“What? What is it?” Sanji asked, concerned as he noticed that Zoro’s complexion had become steadily greener over the duration of his visit.

“This is why he didn’t get very far the first time,” Duval said knowingly.

Zoro looked like he wanted to reply, but instead closed his eye and took a deep breath as he felt his stomach begin to want to heave.

“Take this- the fucking- take the pulse monitor off,” he said, holding out his hand towards Sanji who looked at it doubtfully.

“Won’t that just alert the nurse if you suddenly start flat-lining?”

“Fuck,” Zoro breathed out, still unwilling to open his eye. He put his hand back on his knee to steady it as his leg began to bob up and down.

Second thoughts began manifesting themselves in Sanji’s mind as he saw just how bad Zoro’s body handled the nausea that came with the pain reliving medicines he was on. Zoro looked like he would barely be able to stand, let alone walk down the hall to the elevator or even out the building.

“Maybe you should stay here,” Sanji tried to say, but went silent when Zoro’s head snapped up to glare at him deeply.

“No.” Zoro was sweating heavily at that point, and he had to wipe his face clean again. “I’m not staying here another fucking day.”

“I’ll wear it.”

Both Zoro and Sanji turned to look at Duval, who held up his hand to wave it at them. They were both confused before he clarified by saying, “The pulse monitor. I’ll wear it so she won’t know.”

“Won’t you get in trouble when they find out you duped them?” Sanji asked with a frown.

“Not if I was asleep when you slipped it on me without my knowing,” Duval replied with a grotesque wink that made both Sanji and Zoro wince.

Despite being unsure that this was the right course of action to take with Zoro in the condition he was in, Sanji helped to transfer the pulse monitor over onto Duval’s free hand. It went quickly, and no noise or other indicator was made by the machine tracking his pulse other than an inconsistent beep for a second that a swap had been made. Zoro seemed relieved by this, but his nausea was still going strong and was actively trying to gain the upper hand over him.

He had Sanji help him into his shirt and hoodie with pauses in between as he tried to keep himself from succumbing to the overbearing sensations his nausea produced. His stomach was seizing, his head was spinning, and he’d already begun to sweat through the shirt he’d just put on.

Again, Sanji was faced with doubts with what they were attempting to do.

“Help me put my boots on,” Zoro said, using all his concentration to keep his body sitting upright instead of curling over to ease the sensation.  

In any other situation, Sanji would have told him to fuck off and do it himself if he wanted to get out so damn badly, but he didn’t. Instead, he knelt down silently by Zoro’s feet and did his best with shoving them first into socks and then into his classic cherry red Docs. After he finished lacing them up, Sanji came to a stand and took a good, long hard look at Zoro.

He was still green tinged and sweaty, but appeared resolute and determined to walk out regardless. Sanji wasn’t sure he’d be able to, no matter how strongly he wanted to leave. He wanted to ask if Zoro was certain he wanted to try and go through with it, but instead asked, “Won’t the nurse recognize you if you just walk out?”

“She doesn’t care,” Duval and Zoro said at the same time.

Duval laughed, but Zoro could only smirk weakly.

“She watched him walk out the first time,” Duval said, smiling reminiscently. “Even walked with him a ways before he collapsed.”

“Okay, well, she might not, but what if someone else recognizes you? Like your doctor? You don’t exactly have what I’d call a ‘forgettable face’. Your hair alone sets you apart.”

“That’s the point,” Zoro said lamely.

“You dense motherfucker, I know that’s your whole shtick but even if we make it off the floor, I don’t think we’re going to make it out of the building if everyone recognizes and knows you’re still supposed to be hospitalized.”

Zipping up Zoro’s duffel bag, Sanji sighed and set it on the floor so he could reclaim the seat, trying to think of a solution that could work in preventing the punk from being recognized on his way out. The eye bandages that took up a third of his face were already something the staff of a hospital would notice; it would be hard enough trying to smuggle him out based on that fact alone. He could always wear his hoodie with the hood up, but given the anti-social clothing he was in, Sanji supposed that Zoro already cut too much of a foreboding figure to risk going out with the hood on.

Some self-righteous security guard or something was certain to stop them then, especially with the size of Zoro’s duffel bag that he would be carrying.

“Weren’t you wearing a hat when you came in?” Sanji looked up at Duval, who was smiling curiously at him from across the room. “Hats work well for hiding hair.”

“Shit, now you decide you want to be helpful?” Zoro said, still trying to keep himself from shaking. “It only took you a fucking week to do.”

“Well, if you leave I can finally turn the volume on for my shows and the season finale for this one comes on tonight! I’m pretty pleased to see you go, actually.”

Wordlessly, Sanji got up from his seat and grabbed his beanie that was lying atop his coat. He tossed it to Zoro, who grabbed it as it landed limply on the bed. He put it on and pulled it down, making sure his ears and forehead were covered entirely before he shot Sanji a ‘is this good enough?’ look.

“I guess that’ll work,” Sanji said, scrutinizing the way his beanie masked most of Zoro’s more recognizable features.

While Zoro didn’t look quite as conspicuous as before, the bandages on his face still stood out. There wasn’t much either of them could do about that, though, short of taking them off, which would have been a worse idea than this already was.

“Good luck, guys,” Duval said, giving the two of them the most horrific wink either of them had ever seen and which almost made Zoro throw up then and there.

Sanji retrieved his jacket and put it on hurriedly, opening the door to Zoro’s room to make sure the hall was clear before they made their attempt. Monet was still at her station, which was mercifully located at the opposite end of the hall from the elevator. They wouldn’t have to walk past her to get there, but it was in clear view of her desk; if she looked up from whatever she was doing at any point while they were moving, she’d definitely see them.

It was a risk they’d simply have to take.

Turning back around, Zoro had come to a stand and was waiting by the chair with his duffel bag on it. He was definitely paler than he had been and looked as though he’d be sick at any moment. He was swaying on his feet, and Sanji couldn’t tell if Zoro was aware of that or not.

“We’re going to have to walk fast,” Sanji said, going to grab the bag and hoist it over his shoulder so Zoro wouldn’t have to struggle with anything other than himself. He studied Zoro seriously for a moment, trying to find any last minute flaw he could to try and convince them that this was a terrible idea. He couldn’t. “Let’s go.”

Sanji led the way but quickly realized that Zoro wasn’t going to be able to keep up with the quick pace he’d set. He was already breathing fast and had a weird, disoriented glazed look about him as he followed behind. The elevator was only a hundred feet away, but it might have been a hundred feet that Zoro couldn’t walk.

His footsteps were hard and heavy as he sluggishly moved along, trying his best to concentrate solely on the effort of escaping and not letting his nausea get the better of him. He could barely even register where it was he was going, and only knew to follow after Sanji’s form. The lines on the linoleum flooring helped to guide him as he did his best to at least keep walking straight along them, but for some reason they liked to lean and curve at random points.

“We’re almost there,” Sanji said, speaking quietly as he fell back to match Zoro’s stride. “You can lean on me if you need.”

Glancing over his shoulder back to Monet’s position to make sure they were still in the clear, Sanji felt his heart sink in his chest when he saw that she was obviously watching them. She had a smirk on her face, but didn’t seem to be trying to alert anyone to Zoro’s escape. Instead, she blew Sanji a kiss and waved them goodbye.

Sanji’s heart fluttered for a moment before he felt Zoro suddenly grab hold of his arm. Startled out of his brief romantic longings, he saw that Zoro had taken him up on his offer and was now using Sanji as a support. Neither of them said anything about it as they finally reached the elevator, with Zoro breathing heavily through his nose and sweating profusely.

They thankfully only had to wait for about a minute after they pressed the down button before the elevator stopped to let them in. The only person that had been inside got off on their floor, but not before they shot a quizzical look at Zoro’s condition.

Sanji flashed them what he hoped was a reassuring smile before he hurried them onto the elevator and pressed the button to close the doors repeatedly until they obeyed. Zoro heaved a huge sigh as he shut his eye and rested back against the elevator wall, waiting to be transported down two floors. Sanji pressed the lobby button and hoped Zoro would last long enough to walk out the front of the building; the hardest part was yet to come.

There were going to be more people waiting in the hospital lobby, which meant there was more of a chance for someone who worked there to spot Zoro before they could leave. It was also a longer walk from the elevator to the sliding glass front doors, and if Zoro had struggled just to make it to the elevator in the first place, then how the hell was he going to be able to surmount that greater distance without drawing attention to himself?

One glance at the man told him that he probably couldn’t. All they could do was try.

“You can’t lean on me when we walk through the lobby,” Sanji said, adjusting the duffel bag’s strap as they descended. “It’ll be too obvious.”

“Won’t need to,” Zoro said in response, opening his eye to up at the ceiling.

He was nearly drenched in a cold sweat and had a hard time keeping his head from spinning but felt like he was getting a good handle over his nausea regardless. His stomach told him otherwise, but Zoro was certain he could keep it contained at least until they were outside and away from any prying eyes. The empty socket was throbbing now, pulsing in time with his rapid heartbeat but hadn’t yet begun to hurt. Despite the fact that it gave him debilitating nausea, the morphine at least did its job well.

“When we get outside, you wait out front off to the side somewhere and I’ll bring my car around to get you,” Sanji said, watching as the elevator counted down their floors. “I had to park in the deck. It’ll probably be easier for you to wait than to try and walk to it.”

“Fine.”

Before anything else could be said, the elevator dinged and opened to the lobby floor. There was a small crowd of people waiting to get on as the doors opened, prompting Sanji to quickly step out, hoping Zoro would keep up with him. It was obvious now that Zoro was struggling, but he managed to follow after him easily enough.

Sanji could hear the heavily labored breathing from Zoro as they slowly began to make their way towards the exit. They walked side by side, passing through the main lobby at a slow and general pace. Sweat was sliding down the sides of Zoro’s face as they progressed, but amazingly enough, he didn’t falter a single step. He kept his eye locked in a stern gaze at the doorway and focused only on moving with Sanji towards his perceived freedom as though he’d been jailed and just been released.

Perhaps due in part to the grungy clothing Zoro was wearing, Sanji noticed that as they walked through the lobby no one looked at them twice or tried to stop their progress. Zoro had a mean, deterring look about him that Sanji had noticed on the first day that they’d met, and was relieved to see that it worked on the general public as well. They made it out of the hospital without anyone trying to stop them, which was nothing short of a miracle in Sanji’s humble opinion.

Zoro sucked in a deep breath of the outside air as they moved quickly out of sight of the front desk, moving down the sidewalk several feet before the nausea finally demanded its host sit. He sat down as carefully he could on the side of the curb, resting his arms on his legs and letting his head hang down between them.

“I’ll get the car,” Sanji said, to which Zoro simply gave him a thumbs up in response.

He hurried away, hoisting the duffel bag up high onto his shoulder and disappeared down the walkway. Zoro hoped that the trick they’d pulled with Duval would buy them enough time for Sanji to pull around the car up and drive them off before anyone noticed and tried to reclaim him.

As warm as it was in the hospital, Zoro hadn’t minded being as sweaty as he was, but when the wind went by he shivered dramatically and remembered it was the middle of December. The sweat trapped two layers down against his skin had already been cold enough, but was now sticky and empowered by the chilled air.

His stomach heaved again, and this time he couldn’t stop it.

Thankful that he hadn’t eaten yet that day, all his stomach could force up was liquids. He puked hunched over with his head between his legs, his stomach coming up onto the pavement between his boots. There was a brief moment where he felt instantly better before his stomach convulsed again and started a cycle of painful dry heaving.

There was no one nearby to hear him groan as some of the pain of his eye surfaced in conjunction with the pain in his stomach. When Sanji finally pulled up, Zoro was still hunched over.

Parking as close to the curb as he could with the passenger side door closest to Zoro, Sanji got out and tried to help the injured man to his feet. At first it seemed as though Zoro didn’t want to uncurl, but after his stomach convinced him to spit up all the liquids it had left inside, he did finally come to a stand. He was trembling noticeably, but Sanji ignored it as he helped Zoro slide into the passenger seat.

Sanji didn’t badger him about buckling up as he pulled away from the hospital front, and in return Zoro didn’t have anything to say about the pop music that was playing through the car speakers. He sat with his eye closed, curled up as best he could on the car seat with his head pressed firmly against the cold window, breathing hard, yet still trying to fall asleep as Katy Perry sang to him on the ride home.

#zosan fanfic #zosan fanfiction #zosan #zoro/sanji #one piece fanfiction #one piece #punk au #modern day au #slow burn #mixed up