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originalhybridloverfics · 3 years

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I Can't Let Her Die - Ch 10

A/N: Over the last week, my uncle passed away. And then I found out my cousin who came down for the funeral passed away.

My uncle was in his sixties but my cousin was only 34, he was perfectly healthy. My family is having a hard time with it all.

I will be taking time away to be with them. I won't be able to devote my time and headspace to write for a bit and I don't want my writing to suffer because of it.

Never take family for granted, death happens unexpectedly.

For now, I will be helping my cousin's wife in her time of need, my cousin had four young children and she could use the help during this difficult time.

This will be the last update until I am ready to get back to writing until then I will be on hiatus.

Felicity pressed her lips into a thin line. Laurel’s rudeness was not surprising. She had always had the feeling since their first meeting that Laurel didn’t like her.

Felicity knew it was because of Oliver but she didn’t understand it. Laurel had a history with Oliver. Not good history but it was still there. She had years of memories and moments with Oliver that no other woman who had been in his life did.

Though Felicity was glad she didn’t share the same history. Oliver and Laurel’s relationship was a place where romance, love, and loyalty went to die a slow painful agonizing death.

Still, she knew Laurel held a place in Oliver’s heart that no one could touch. Not even her.

Which is why she didn’t understand why the other woman was so threatened by her. Oliver loved her and held her on a pedestal above everyone else in life.

She was Gorgeous Laurel for a reason.

“You don’t get to come in and demand things.” Future Oliver’s voice was sharp like a blade. “And you sure as hell don’t get to come down here and speak to Felicity in such a way.”

“Ollie-”

“Don’t, I don’t want to hear another word out of your mouth unless it is an apology.” his eyes were like burning daggers, his jaw ticking in anger.

“I’m sorry,” Laurel said immediately. “I was just surprised is all.”

“I don’t mean to apologize to me, I mean apologize to Felicity.” He steps next to Felicity, his hand coming to wrap around her shoulder.

Laurel looked at them and felt something twist inside her. “You want me to apologize to her?”

“Yes, she deserves your respect. Not for you to treat her like some second or third-class citizen.” He ground out, his hand tightening on Felicity’s shoulder.

Felicity covered his hand with hers and looked up at him. “It’s okay, Oliver.”

“No, it’s not,” he said, his other hand came up to brush a strand of her hair back. “You deserve respect. It does not matter who it is. No one has the right to speak down to you. No one.”

Felicity’s heart pounded in her chest, she wasn’t surprised he spoke up for her not this new Oliver she was getting to know but the intensity in which he spoke had butterflies swirling in her stomach, his arms were practically surrounding her and she liked it. She wanted to stay there in the circle of his arms. If felt right. It felt like she belonged there, the heat coming from his body warming her.

The look in his eyes made her want to surge up and press her lips against his but she held herself back. She couldn’t do that.

She took a shaky step back only to feel another presence, her Oliver’s hand settled over her other shoulder. “He’s right. If you’re going to be coming down here I expect you to treat everyone equally,” he spoke to Laurel.

Digg came forward. “Why are you here Laurel?”

“I need to speak with Oliver,” Laurel looked between the two Oliver’s, “but now I just really need to know what is going on. How are there two of you?”

“It’s complicated.” The future Oliver said. “And it’s not something we can get into right now. Tell me what you came for.”

“Right,” Laurel stepped closer to him. “I know when Sara was here you would partner up with her out there on the streets but she’s gone with Nyssa and you’re out there alone.”

“He’s not alone,” Felicity interjected.

“Yes but neither Roy nor John are the Canary,” Laurel argued.

“Neither are you,” Felicity said and went on before Laurel could continue. “And don’t diminish John or Roy’s place on this team. Every night they go out into the field and have Oliver’s back. Each one of them makes sure they make it back home every night. This isn’t a one or two-person unit. It’s a team.”

“And where do you fit in all this?” Laurel didn’t like feeling like she was being talked down to but that’s what it felt like to her. “Is an IT girl really necessary?”

“Yes, and she is not just an IT girl. She’s Felicity” Future Oliver cut in sharply while Digg and Roy bristled at her words. “Before her, John and I were half-assing it at best. We were just two soldiers but with Felicity, we became a team. A family. And that expanded with Roy and Sara. Felicity is the heart of the team. Without her, it doesn’t work.” His expression darkened. “Trust me, I would know.”

“Oliver,” Felicity’s tone was soft as she looked at him, their gaze saying the words their lips weren’t. She slipped her hand in his, squeezing it in comfort.

Oliver automatically lifted her hand to his lips, and then held it to his heart.

Laurel’s eyes narrowed. “Am I missing something? Are you two together?”

“A place on this team.” Said Roy and John nudged him.

Present Oliver looked at the others, “Can you guys give us a moment with Laurel?”

John and Roy walked back to the back of the lair.

Felicity squeezed future Oliver’s hand one more time before joining Roy and John.

Laurel didn’t like the way both Oliver’s watch her go, one holding his hand out like her putting distance between them was too painful and the other like he wanted to call out to her for her to come back.

What the hell was going on with them and the babble mouth blonde.

“Furthermore, Felicity is more than the heart of the team, she’s brilliant and kind and she knows when to call our bullshit and force us to pull our heads out of our asses. Namely me. She is more valuable to the team and me than anyone, especially you could even begin to understand.” Future Oliver was vehement in his defense of Felicity.

“Ollie, I-”

“Don’t,” future Oliver said harshly. “I don’t want to hear an apology unless the words mean something to you.”

Laurel fell silent for a moment before finally. “I didn’t come here to cause problems. I wanted to talk about the Canary.”

“Sara is the Canary.” Future Oliver’s response was abrupt.

“Yes, but she’s not here. She left with Nyssa and I know you could use the help.”

“I have a team to help me.” Future Oliver glared harshly. “A team you are not a part of.”

“I can be,” Laurel argued.

“Are you out of your damn mind? You are not trained. If you go out there, you will get yourself killed or one of us.” Present Oliver said, his tone less harsh than his future self.

“Then train me!” Laurel saw the opening she was looking for.

A growl not unlike the one when he was under the hood, came from low in the back of future Oliver’s throat. “I don’t want you here in my space.”

Laurel flinched back.

“Hey, would you let me talk to her?” Present Oliver said, sending himself a look.

“You are too soft with her.” he accused before walking away.

Oliver’s eyes narrowed as his future self walked back to Felicity his hand easily finding hers, and hating as they seemed to be sharing food.

Seeing Felicity acting like a couple with him made him envious in a way he has never felt before.

“Laurel it is not that simple,” Oliver said gently, forcing himself to focus on her. “This life, being a member of this team-”

“I know that,” Laurel interjected. “I know this life is dangerous.” she took another step forward. “But saving people, fighting for a cause that is bigger than yourself, working with you,” she laid her hand on his arm. “This is what we were meant to do.”

Oliver looked at her hand on his arm, watching as it slid down to hold his hand. It felt wrong.

His eyes moved away from Laurel to Felicity, meeting her blues eyes. He flinched at the hurt look in her eyes as she watched him and Laurel.

He jerked his hand back as if he was caught doing something he shouldn’t but it was too late. Felicity looked away from him. She turned her whole body away from him.

He watched as his future self, stepped closer to her, tucking her into his side, and glared at him like he wanted to put an arrow through him.

Oliver frowned, wryly. His future self took self-loathing to another level. He was pretty sure his future self hated him to a certain degree.

“Laurel if you’re going to get into this it has to be for the right reasons.” Oliver turned back to her, forcing himself to look at her and not Felicity.

“What other reasons do I have,” Laurel was hurt when he pulled away from her she quickly covered it up, forcing a determined look. “Look, Ollie, I am going to help people just like Sara and you can either help me or I will do it on my own though I would feel better if you were with me.”

Oliver breathed out through his nose, fighting annoyance. Laurel never listened until she got her way and at this rate, she was going to get herself killed. “If you’re dead set on this regardless of the risk to yourself then you will not go out there until I say you are ready.”

“Does that mean you’re going to train me?” Laurel smiled cautiously.

“It does,” Oliver paused. “On one condition.”

“Which is?” Laurel asked, drawing closer to him, biting down on her lip.

“Felicity. I expect you to treat her with the same respect you would me and that goes for the whole team. If you are going to be a part of it you will not insult them and make anyone out to be inferior to you, do you understand?”

Laurel felt her hackles rise at the thought of treating the blonde as if she was on her level. She forced a smile. “Of course, Ollie.”

“C’mon,” said Oliver. “Felicity brought food. We were going to eat. We’ll discuss the new arrangement with the rest of the team.”

Laurel fell into step with him, feeling like she won, she flashed everyone a smile. “I look forward to fighting beside you,” she said before Oliver could.

“What’s happening now?” Roy shot Oliver a glare.

Felicity looked from Oliver and Laurel, brow furrowed.

“You’re not serious?” Future Oliver’s eyes were hard on his younger self. “She does not belong out there. She doesn’t belong down here.”

“We are going to work with her. It’s better than letting her get herself killed.” his younger self argued.

“We don’t have time for this!” Future Oliver growled, voice rising. “You know that! We have one goal. One! We don’t need distractions if we’re going to change my future.”

“You’re from the future?” Laurel jumped on the information like a dog with a bone.

She however was completely ignored by the two Oliver’s as the rest of Team Arrow watch them as if they were watching a ping pong match.

“We will change it but we can’t let Laurel get herself killed either.” present Oliver argued.

“I will not lose the woman I love because you can’t see the bigger picture here and focus on the only goal that matters.”

Felicity’s eyes widened, not expecting Oliver to proclaim his love in front of everyone.

But of course, Laurel took his words to mean her. Her heart skipped in her chest and a smile pulled at her lips. “You’re not going to lose me, Ollie. I am right here. This will-”

“I wasn’t talking about you!” Future Oliver growled in annoyance. “You are not the woman I love. Felicity is,”

“What?” Laurel recoiled as if he had hit her.

“I was talking about Felicity.” Future Oliver repeated

Laurel’s expression twisted. “So you are with Felicity? Really, Ollie? Screwing the EA is beneath you.”

“We are not sleeping together,” Felicity interjected.

Laurel scoffed, disbelievingly.

“Shut up,” future Oliver snapped angrily at the brunette, he stepped closer to Laurel and her eyes flared with desire.

Future Oliver’s annoyance flared more, he didn’t care for her attraction to him. He needed her to understand, she was not going to have everything go her way.

“Felicity and I have never been together, we have never slept together,”

“Then you can’t possibly love her,” Laurel said her tone, condescending. “Don’t mistake friendship for something more.”

“Love isn’t just fucking someone,” Oliver growled out. “It’s connection, it’s chemistry, understanding, belief, faith. It’s looking into their eyes and knowing that you’re safe, it’s that feeling of home when you’re with them, it’s the way your breath catches in your throat, your heart pounding against your ribcage. The way your skin feels heated by a simple touch, it the quiet dreams, it’s in the way you look at them. It’s all the little things.”

Laurel’s breath quickened with every word and she felt a pang because he wasn’t describing them.

“I am not in love with you, Laurel and the truth is I never was but Felicity,” he turned to look at her and found her, smiling at something Digg said. “Felicity is everything.” he turned back to Laurel. “I came back to save her life and that is the only thing that I care about. Don’t get in my way I can promise you won't like the results.”

“Alright,” his younger self stepped in front of Laurel. “I think she gets it.”

“If she doesn’t it’s on her.” Future Oliver moved, going back to Felicity.

Present Oliver forced himself to turn away. He wasn’t sure how much more he could take of seeing the easy way his older self interacted with Felicity.

He wasn’t surprised to see Laurel had tears in her eyes, a hurt look on her face. His future self was harsh.

“I don’t understand,” Laurel shook her head. “He came back here to save Felicity but if that’s was possible why didn’t he do this for his mom or God, Tommy? How is Felicity’s life more important?”

“It’s complicated. I can’t speak for him, I can only speak for myself and the experience I had and all I can tell you is that I can’t imagine getting through the last year without Felicity or the year before.” Oliver said. “I can’t imagine a future where she is not down here with me.”

Laurel shook her head and crossed her arms, her eyes landing on future Oliver and Felicity. The way he couldn’t get close enough, the absolute trust in Felicity’s eyes, the longing in his.

She couldn’t bring herself to understand no matter what Oliver said that out of everyone Oliver had lost Felicity was the one he came back to save. It didn’t make sense.

Who the hell was she to him to hold such a place in his life?

Laurel felt her stomach twist with anger and resentment with the realization that Oliver had never once felt about her with such strength and devotion.

What the hell was so special about Felicity?

She was the one who spent years putting up with his acts, the antics he got into with Tommy. The constant cheating, being fodder for the media because he didn’t know how to be faithful and now she was just going to be tossed aside for some blonde who came out of nowhere and brainwashed Ollie into thinking friendship was the same as being in love with someone?

No, she would make him see reason.

All she had to do was show him how great they were together and everything would be okay. She just had to suffer through this infatuation he seemed to have for Felicity.

She wouldn’t have to wait long. She was certain of it. When it came to women he was quick to grow bored. She was the exception. She has always been the exception. He always came back to her and she had no doubt he would come back to her again.

“Laurel, if you are going to be down here you will need to accept Felicity. Any grudges you might have for her need to be checked at the door.” present Oliver stressed.

Laurel dropped her arms and plastered on a fake smile. “I have no grudges. I just didn’t realize how important she is to you and u now that I do, I want to get to know her. Any friend of yours Ollie is a friend of mine.”

Future Oliver glowered when Laurel joined them with his younger self. He honestly didn’t have time for her.

It’s the only reason he told her the truth. He didn’t have time for games or keeping up with cover stories. He had more important things to deal with. Namely, keeping Felicity alive and ending the life of the bastard to take her from him.

Lunch was finished quietly a tenseness settling around them.

Laurel didn’t leave, not even when the boys headed out for patrol as night fell.

Felicity felt uncomfortable in her presence as she ran coms. She didn’t like that she was alone with Laurel.

Maybe she shouldn’t have convinced Future Oliver to join the rest of the team for patrol.

“How hard is it to do this?” Laurel asked, coming to look over her shoulder, staring at the computer screens.

“It’s the hardest thing in the world,” Felicity answered.

Laurel snorted. “I doubt sitting behind a computer is very hard.”

Felicity couldn’t stop her glare if she tried. “I meant the sacrifices Oliver, Roy, and John make going out there every night, living double lives, risking their safety to protect the city.”

Laurel couldn’t wait to be included in that. She wanted to make that kind of difference.

“And to answer the question. Yes, it’s not easy to run coms. it more than watching a computer screen, and it calls for more. It requires knowing your way around computer code and that’s something not easily taught to some individuals with less understanding of technology and not as much intellect.”

The boys were on the way back from patrol which Felicity couldn’t be happier about because she didn’t think she was prepared to deal with Laurel. Not tonight.

“It doesn’t look that difficult,” Laurel insisted. “I think I might want to try my hand at it.”

Felicity’s soul died on the inside at just the thought of Laurel touching her babies.

Oliver, Roy, and Digg made their way in through the back entrance, neither woman noticing the four men’s arrival.

“Oliver might have agreed to train you,” Felicity stood from her desk. “But you will not be going anywhere near my computers. I won’t have anyone messing with my babies.”

“I am good with computers.” Laurel insisted.

“Laurel, no one touches Felicity’s set up.” Future Oliver said drawing their eyes to him and the rest of the team.

“Not even you,” Laurel crossed her arms and cocked her head.

“Not even me,” present Oliver confirmed. “Can we talk?”

Laurel smiled brilliantly. Felicity tried not to show her hurt as he pulled Laurel to the other side of the room. Like the pair were sharing secret no one else was privileged enough to hear.

Felicity turned back to her computers, setting them to send alerts to her phone. “I am going to call it a night.”

She really just needed to get away from the Oliver and Laurel show. It was not good enough for her mental health.

Future Oliver set the bow he wielded down and grabbed Felicity’s coat from the back of her chair. “I’ll get you home,”

Felicity looked back at future Oliver and her chest warmed. “Do you think you can fit in the passenger seat of my car?”

“I’ll manage,” he said with a smile that was just for her.

Felicity said goodnight to Roy and John and allowed Oliver to take her by the hand.

Oliver chanced a look back to see his past self in a heated discussion with Laurel and he shook his head. If he had to make himself pull his head out of his ass to protect Felicity’s heart he damn well would do it. Facing forward again he laced his fingers with Felicity.

Felicity looked up at him and the smile on her face was enough to tear anyones’ walls down. “Let’s go home.”

His heart skipped in his chest, his stomach flipping.

Home. With Felicity.

Nothing had ever sounded more perfect.

Tags: @erika-amber @msbeccieboo @faegal04 @eloiselili @jendiaz69 @omglovechrissie @icannotbelieveiamhere @hope-for-olicity @keabbs @lageniuswannabe @it-was-a-red-heeler @aguschaer @memcjo

#arrow #fanfic #olicity #oliver x felicity #olicity fic #oliver queen #felicity smoak #fic: i can't let her die

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sabraeal · 3 years

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The Most Perverse Creature in the World, Chapter 11

[Read on AO3]

You had been concerned this evening-- no, that was too mild a description to contain how you waited outside the castle gate, alone and shrouded beneath the anonymity of your black lacquer. It had been anxiety that plagued you, every inch of skin alive and shivering with your nerves. You trusted Obi implicitly-- he had given you no reason to not these past weeks. Despite the reputation that recommended him for this business--whatever it was-- his behavior at the bawd house reminded you less of an unrepentant rake and more of a small boy made to sit and do sums in the summer.

But even so, your ladies had placed their trust in you. They had little choice; a woman of ill repute would be laughed out of the council, branded a greedy whore, but you--

Well, you were a widow above reproach. A countess in your own right, no matter what scandal brought you the title. Where their words would sink like oil in water, yours would rise as air, right into the upper echelons of the court, perhaps even into the king’s ears themselves. That didn’t mean that they’d listen to them, but yours at least had opportunity, whereas theirs--

Theirs would be laughed at, ridiculed for daring to speak above their station. You held their hopes in your hands, and to ask them to trust a new man, sight unseen, vetted only by the prince’s messenger felt like a favor too far.

It was good then, that as large as this Sir Lowen might be, he had all the gentleness of a princess from the pages of a storybook; the sort that might see animals eating out of his cupped palms, should he offer them. The instant he squeezed into your carriage, an apologetic dark shadow, your fears had eased, steady with the knowledge that the girls would be like kittens in his hands.

Your instincts were correct; hardly a breath has passed since he entered the boudoir, and already your ladies are eating out of them. Or perhaps, more accurately, trying to entice him to eat out of theirs.

Tsubaki may have spoken first, but it’s Himawari who stands closest. She uses every inch of leverage it gives her as she saunters closer, raking Sir Lowen with a speculative gaze that leaves no doubt as to what she’s measuring.

“Sorry, petal,” Himawari purrs, placing a finger right on his sternum. “But I’ll be handling this one.”

“That’s not fair,” Tsubaki whines. “Kikyo, tell her that’s not fair.”

“I...” Kikyo’s mouth works, and she tears her gaze off the prince’s aide with a flush. “I don’t think milady brought him here for any of that business.”

“Aw, come on now.” Himawari’s wide mouth breaks out into a wider smile, the sort canaries might see before they flew to the great coop in the sky. “It’d be a pity to waste milady’s coin.”

If skin could burn then Sir Lowen would be a bonfire. “P-please, ladies, I’m not here for anything like that!”

“I changed my mind.” Himawari turns a hard, thoughtful look on him. “I’d let this one handle me.”

“Well,” Obi drawls, having entirely too much fun, “now there’s some high praise.”

Sir Lowen shoots him a dubious glare. “Is it?”

“Well, none of them have ever offered to handle me on milady’s dime,” Obi informs him, mouth twitching at the corner. “You must have a certain...I don’t know what.”

“A third leg?” Tsubaki offers, quickly shushed by Kikyo.

“Please,” Himawari snorts. “Milady couldn’t pay me enough to put up with you.”

Obi presses a hand to his chest, scandalized. “I’ll have you know I’m a very generous--”

“You’re a pain in the ass,” she informs him. “You say you want to be handled, but there’s not a pair here you’d trust to do it. You couldn’t take a direction if it was dipped in gold and had your name carved in it.”

At once, the shy maiden melts away from Sir Lowen, replaced with a grin so satisfied and familiar you wonder which face it came from first-- Obi, or this man.

“Why, Obi,” he says, deceptively friendly. “I didn’t know you were taking me to a palm reader.”

Obi huffs, chin tilting up and arms folding tight across his chest. “I don’t think she’s interested in your palms, mister.”

Himawari’s brow tics, speculative. “Depends on where he plans on putting them.”

“I wasn’t--” Sir Lowen’s high ground turns to quicksand beneath his feet-- “I only meant--”

“If you are all quite finished bothering Sir Lowen,” you inform them, ignoring Himawari’s gleeful ‘hardly’-- “we have very little time left if we do not wish to squander the opportunity his name has afforded us.”

Kikyo bounces to her feet, leaving an empty space on the bed. “Ah, right. Sir Lowen, if you wouldn’t mind...”

He coughs, the red on his skin appearing uniquely painful. “I couldn’t...not...ah...”

“Oh!” Her fingers flicker in the air, all nerves. “Ah, then, perhaps this chair? If that would suit?”

“It would,” he allows graciously, the tension in his shoulders finally deflating. “I’ll just...stay here for the evening. I guess.”

“Don’t feel like you have to, sir,” Tsubaki purrs, rolling onto her back. “There’s plenty of room here on the bed.”

“There certainly will be, when I kick you off of it,” Himawari replied, leaping over to tweak the girl’s cheek. “No room for little girls while the adults are, hmm, talking.”

“The chair is fine!” he yelps, availing himself of it pointedly. “There! Hardly...hardly any different than a night in the palace!”

Obi’s lips give a dangerous twitch. “Well, I’m sure these ladies could change that if you only--”

“Obi.” You may not have had any child of your body, but you have raised a boy just the same; you know the precise octave in which one may raise their voice and insinuate trouble. He jolts at the sound of it, eyes rounding to innocence. “If you would...”

“Ah, right.” His shoulders hunch as he slinks toward you, a cat scolded but entirely unrepentant. “Well, mister, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

Sir Lowen’s head snaps up, eyes wide and white as he catches the open door. “Obi! You can’t--”

A large hand presses to your spine, scurrying you through it. Obi leans back, head poking through the gap. “Enjoy yourselves, ladies.”

“Obi--!” The door snicks shut behind him.

You frown, glancing at the door behind him. “Are you sure you two are friends?”

“The most bosom companions.” His teeth flash white in the hall’s dim. “Now let’s go see to your entertainment for the evening, my lady.”

You have never had reason to stray long in the brothel’s halls; Obi usually sees to it that your trip involves only the briefest stint through the back stairs, quickly and quietly depositing you in a room within moments of your arrival. So as your eyes adjust to the bare light, you cannot help but stare.

“Stripes?” Your fingers rise to trace the paper. It’s hard to make out their color in the dim, but you squint anyway, shuffling close enough for your slippers to brush the wainscoting. “Green stripes?”

“Well, not everything can be hand-painted cocks and balls.”

You nearly laugh, only tamping down when you see how his eyes have bulged, how stiffly he’s standing before you. Obi hadn’t meant to let that gem slip from his lips.

“Of course not,” you say, deceptively mild. Behind your veil, Obi can’t see your lips twitch. “I’d expect there to be quite a few cunts as well.”

You may restrain your laugh, but Obi doesn’t, a wheeze bursting from his lips. “My lady...”

It’s not until his shoulders ease, body hanging with its usual boneless grace, that you realize how tense he’s been. After that little scene in Tsubaki’s chamber, you half expected him to be prancing through the halls, giddy as a schoolboy he hung yet another of his bosom companions out to twist in the wind. But instead he’s...nervous.

“Obi.” His name hoists itself through the air with the heft of a feather, but he flinches nonetheless. “Is something wrong?”

His mouth opens, but closes just as quick, mouth curving in a rueful grin. “I wonder...”

You nearly call out to him again, his name right at the edge of your lips, but Obi’s voice startles you instead. “Come on, my lady, it’s this way.”

The door he stops at must be the one-- who else would have delicate violets painted in clusters along the jamb?-- and he hesitates once more, hand poised just above the knotless wood.

Gold eyes cast you one last long look, but you cannot read the message in it. There is too much regret, too much pity, too much of everything, and you would ask, you would take your gloved hand and hold him back, but--

You’re too late. His knuckles fall, a sharp rap, and suddenly he’s the Obi you expected to see once more, grin spread too wide on his angular face, the shadows clinging to him as if he might disappear if you took your eyes from him.

“Custom’s here,” he calls out gruffly, the perfect imitation of one of the brothel’s bouncers. Quieter, he turns to you, door creaking open as he says, “Good luck, my lady.”

You shore yourself up, becoming the implacable widow behind a facade of bombazine. “Let’s hope I don’t need it.”

This is not what you expect from a prostitute’s boudoir.

Gauzy rose curtains flutter between whitewashed posts, stirred by the door’s closing. They match the ones over the windows, a massive bank of glass settled over a seat meant to sit two, buried in pink striped cushions. The knobs on the vanity gleam golden, matching the subtly shimmering vines on the wallpaper, interrupted only by sprays of violets and roses.

It’s a child’s room; the very same you might see for a beloved daughter among your set. Save for the flowers, it could quite practically have been your own before you left it for your marriage bed.

Your hands clench where they hang knitted before you. Perhaps that is...part of the fantasy. Just as Himawari’s room is done in dark woods and deep hues to match the tastes of her clients, this might be much the same. A girl who catered to the illicitness of making love in a lover’s childhood room-- or, you cannot help but think, one that might be bound to do a man’s bidding, like a child might.

“Oh sir.” A pale shadow moves behind the curtain, as delicate as the voice that slips through the gauze. It’s a soft one, high-pitched and sweet, a part played to the hilt. “I’ve been so excited to meet you.”

You startle, heels bumping back into the door. You’d braced for confrontation, not seduction; even if this Sumire has never once seen a glimpse of Sir Lowen, there is no conceivable way that she could mistake a window in her weeds as the prince’s foremost aide. But thin as these curtains are, she can see just as much of you as you can see her-- nothing above a vague impression of color and shape.

It is not to last. Slender fingers slide through the seams, pushing the cloth aside. “I do hope you’ll take care of--”

A sweet face peers out between the curtains, chestnut hair pinned back and curled just like a little girl’s-- because that’s what she is. By her size, her proportions-- if she’s had her courses, she can count them but months, not years. Fourteen, at the most. At the least--

Your mind refuses to speculate. How can it, when all that fills it is an angry buzz, as harsh as the cicadas in summer. You had thought Tsubaki young, but this, this...

Her full mouth crumples into a child’s pout. “You aren’t Sir Lowen at all.”

And a good thing, too. Gentle as that man may be, you doubt he would take this with any sort of subtlety. “No. You may call me Countess Bederin.”

Those large eyes go wide, rounding until you can see white around the iris. “B-bederin?”

Your mouth curls. “I see my reputation precedes me. I suspect the girls have spoken about me.”

The girl-- Sumire, the madam’s favorite flower, sniffs, her coltish limbs folding over her. “They don’t need to tell me anything. I know all about you.”

It has been years since you’ve had a child in your home, but you recognize the prideful hook of that mouth. Less they don’t need to tell me anything, then, and more they wouldn’t tell me anything, even if I asked.

She settles back on her heels, eyeing you askance. “You’re the widow that comes around here to talk about, ah...?”

“Taxes, mostly,” you admit. “Working conditions as well. May I have a seat?”

With all the primness and pretension of a lord’s daughter, Sumire draws her spine straight, seating herself at the edge of the bed with ankles crossed. She would look every inch a girl born to it if it weren’t for her sullen pout-- or her negligee, one strap slowly slipping down her shoulder. “If you must.”

“I don’t,” you assure her. You’re not so old that standing for the duration of this conversation would harm you. “I would prefer to be invited, rather than impose.”

Her eyes widen before she drops them down, giving a begrudging nod. “Fine then. Over there. But you should know I don’t have any complaints.”

Her hand juts out; you follow its line to an overstuffed chair tucked in a corner. It’s pink as well, though not striped, its velvet worn bald in places. Your nurse had a similar one-- no, you had a similar one in your old room, a big wing-backed monument you’d climbed as a small thing, right into her lap until you got too big for it, then up the back itself. That is, until you’d fallen from the top and knocked the wind clean out of your chest. You’d taken your stories from the floor, after that, leaning your head against her knee as her finger stroked through your hair.

Your jaw sets as you sink into its cushioned depths. This furniture might share a shape, but you doubt Sumire has experienced the same sweet memories.

“Of course,” you manage through your teeth, “but that is valuable information as well. I am looking for as complete a picture as I can create when I make my recommendation to His Majesty.”

It’s an overstatement of your power to be sure-- the only time His Majesty would hear your opinions would be shortly before they were torn to shreds by the teeth of the council-- but it has the desired effect. Sumire’s small chest puffs, chin tilting up, eyes sparkling. You’ve made her important. No, you’ve made her words important.

“I should tell the madam you’re here,” she says, words crisp, threat idle. “So she can throw you right out for...for...ah...sedition.”

That would require the brothel to be a country and the madam its head of state-- a metaphor that might work if it did not require you to also live within it as well. Still, it was a poor point to quibble with a child, not when a girl like her could never afford to spurn a lady who has a king’s ear. At least, not when she could dream of putting herself in his bed. This was all a bit of theater, a way for her to cast the illusion of an equal field.

It is ground you can afford to cede. “You might. Or you might allow me to have your ear first, before you decide. The choice is yours.”

Sumire’s small feet still against the footboard, her body stiff and still with a hungry kind of wariness. You doubt she has ever been given such a choice before, paltry as it is.

“Very well.” Her voice takes on the clipped cadence of the upper crust; an affectation to your ear, but a good one. She’s been trained, at least, the streets scrubbed clean from her vowels. “Though there’s not a thing you could offer me that the madam won’t give if I ask.”

Besides a childhood, you don’t say.

“I’m not here to make any offer,” you tell her, as gentle as you are able. “Only to be a listening ear.”

Her head cocks, a sparrow offered seeds from a strange hand. “What do you mean?”

You stifle a smile; even if she cannot see it through the veil, she’ll hear it in your voice. Still-- she’s taken the bait, even if she hasn’t hopped up into your fingers. “My purpose is not to propose, but to listen. There is a proposal among the lords that would require all those engaging in acts considered...superfluous to the point of procreation for money to pay a certain extra consideration to the crown.”

Sumire blinks. “What’s that all mean?”

“They want to tax you for every act of sexual congress that does not involve, ah--” you flounder for the words; she may be a professional, but she is also a child, and oh, Obi might have teased you for asking, but he’d certainly have ideas-- “the insertion of a man’s member into your, hm...”

Secret garden, your nurse would have said, but that seems too pale, too flowery--

“Cunt?” she offers, so innocent, as if there were no other word.

“Yes.” Were the madam to stand before you now, you could choke the very life from her and feel no guilt. “Quite.”

Her small face rumples, wrinkled up in thought. “So if I let a john take me on hands and knees, would that cost extra too? Or only if he’s got his cock outside my--”

“Ah!” It had been too much to hear this from Tsubaki’s mouth, but an actual child’s is far, far worse. “Yes. I am afraid that anything that is not with a man top and a woman beneath--”

“But I am--”

“-- And, ah, facing him,” you add, hurriedly. “Any of it would be considered a...lewd act, subject to the tax.”

Sumire doesn’t speak, not at first; instead she merely sits with the knowledge, shadows rolling across her face in intervals.

“Well,” she decides, finally. “The madam handles all that for me. So I need not worry about any of this business.”

Frustration could grind your teeth to stubs, but you take in a breath, let it out. She would hardly be the first woman to place her trust in fiscal matters where it did not belong. Too many of your own acquaintance would say the same of their accounts; what use was it to balance books or be money-minded when their fathers, their brothers, their husbands all took care of such things. As long as there was enough credit to draw at the modiste, a woman needed no notion of how it came to be.

That had not been the education your father gave you-- you and your brothers alike learned to keep ledgers. It had been your cramped hand that wrote in Bederin’s, yours that tallied columns that no longer came to sums you could account for.

You cannot blame a woman for wanting to keep herself innocent of the things men might do, when they only amounted to numbers in the end.

“May I ask,” you begin, sliding your pencil from its place in your notebook’s binding. “What is the percentage the madam takes from your earnings?”

Sumire stares. “What do you mean?”

“The madam takes a cut of your earnings, does she not?” Your fingers tighten painfully around your pencil; it takes effort to ease it. “Part of your keep. For room and board and her private business. Do you know how much it is?”

She was always a child, but suddenly Sumire seems quite small indeed. “No, the madam...handles all my money.”

The lead pauses on your page. “Do you see any of it?”

“I...” Her brow furrows, doubt seeping into the shadows of her face. “She gives me pocket money. From my accounts. She says she puts it all away for me until I’m older.”

You have known plenty of young ladies with the same story. Your father had been of the old school where a woman took care of a manor’s accounts while its lord saw to its improvement-- but that philosophy was unpopular among men of the court. A good, obedient wife never handled any of their allowance; they merely took what their lord husband gave them for pin-money and never questioned its amount. That is, of course, until their creditors came. Even a title could only protect so far.

“Do you know the amount she takes from the other girls?” you ask, knowing full well the answer. “Perhaps we can extrapolate from there. Make an estimate,” you clarify, seeing confusion cloud her face.

“No,” she sniffs. “They don’t tell me anything. They’re jealous.”

There is some truth to that perhaps; Tsubaki certainly acts as though they are rivals for a mother’s love even if she hates the parent in question, and Himawari has made no secret that she doesn’t appreciate the pomp and circumstance around the search for Sumire’s custom. But still, it’s not the whole of it, though to say so would certainly fall upon deaf ears.

“You know,” you hum, setting your pencil back in its binding. “We want to have a larger meeting. One where the girls voice all their ideas. Where we can begin to see what needs should be met, should I bring a counter proposal before the council.”

Her mouth curves into a frown. “The madam won’t like that. She won’t let you do it.”

Your heart flutters in your chest, an anxious tattoo that rattles in your ears as you say, “That’s why we don’t plan to tell her.”

Sumire’s face takes on a petulant cast. “What if I did? Then you all couldn’t. Madam would like that.”

“You could,” you admit. “But if you came to it, perhaps you might know better what the madam keeps for you.”

From you, you mean, but you doubt she’s ready for that conversation. Not right now, when the idea of betrayal is so new.

The temptation is clear on her face, but curiosity shutters tight behind pride. “No one would want me there. They don’t like me.”

“I would want you there.” You set aside your notebook, letting nothing come between you but your veil. “I think you have important things to contribute.”

Her eyes widen, but only for a moment. The next she shakes her head, tossing her curls proudly. “I could still tell the madam, even if I go.”

“I trust you.” You want to at least, but she’s so young, and the madam is her world. Her protector and abuser both.

“The others won’t.”

“That may be,” you agree, “but it only takes one to convince others. I’ll be the first.”

Sumire eyes you warily, both dubious and hopeful, and you wish there was some way you could prove it, some way you could give her the assurance every child deserves. You drop your eyes to your lap, veil pooling on your hands--

And you do. Your fingers trace the lace edge, and it’s with an exaggerated motion that you lift it, the breeze from the widow caressing your bare cheeks.

Sumire’s jaw falls slack. “Why...” It closes as she leans closer, surprise etched in every plane of her face. “You aren’t ugly at all, miss.”

That’s not quite the reaction you expected. “Ah...thank you. I suppose.”

She hesitates, then gives you a quick, pained nod. “I’ll come. But I don’t promise I’ll keep quiet after.”

“I could expect no less,” you murmur, veiling your smile once more. “We all have to do what’s best, don’t we?”

You leave the room more troubled than you entered, but lighter somehow still.

“Did what needs doing?” Obi asks, levering himself out of the shadows.

“Not yet.” Your mouth stretches into a determined line. “But I’ll see it’s done.”

#haruka x reader #akagami no shirayukihime #snow white with the red hair #AT LAST I AM THROUGH THIS PORTION #next chapter should actually see the return of Haruka #and BELLIGERENT FLIRTING #ball is in your court now joanna >:3c

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phanfictioncatalogue · 3 years

Text

Fics Written In 2020 Masterlist

Flatmates (ao3) - intoapuddle

Summary: oh my god they were flatmates / the fuckboy!phil au we all deserve

i don't know why (i can't keep my eyes off of you) (ao3) - panlesters

Summary: Starting a new university is hard enough without Phil having to convince his best friend PJ he doesn't have a crush on their other flatmate, Dan. He definitely does not have a crush on Dan.

I like cupcakes, especially the gay variety (ao3) - Fictropes

Summary: Firstly, Dan was 29. How was that a mature student?

Secondly, his actual book was on the university fucking syllabus.

(or the one in which Dan tries university again in a desperate attempt to prolong his procrastination, and his lecturer Phil is apparently something of a fan)

I'll Protect You (ao3) - rainbowchristy

Summary: Phil is unique in more ways than one. The main thing that makes him different is his ability to see people's number one wish and biggest fear in blue and red respectively above their heads.

Most days, Phil acts like any other seventeen year old. One day when Dan's parents physically abused him (which was unfortunately not a rare occurrence), his wish changed. Can Phil help Dan change his wish in time or will his death wish come true?

It's cool, we're just friends (ao3) - sierraadeux

Summary: A romantic getaway for two, a beautiful Greek island, the wedding of everyone's dreams - what more could any couple want? Well, for Phil, maybe just for his date to not be his best friend.

or, the one where dan is an idiot, phil is an idiot, and the street cats of Santorini are incredibly cute.

let chance take me to your shore (ao3) - basl

Summary: Dan feels like he’s underwater. Everything seems filtered, the voice, the colors, even the pain he was feeling a moment ago.

He closes his eyes again.

“Stay with me,” the voice pleads.

But Dan’s tired, and sleep is more inviting.

or dan and phil are witches that somehow find each other.

linger on (ao3) - dizzy, waveydnp

Summary: A recent loss has ground Phil's life to a halt. At 33, he's static in his grief and living in the house he grew up in - until his mother kicks him out.

In a fit of indignation and with nothing to lose, he answers the first listing he finds for a room to rent in London... a listing posted by a guy named Dan.

Live Incidentally (ao3) - yikesola

Summary: At thirty-two, Phil’s fine with this lot in life— manager for Printzoid, a flat he rents on his own in a relatively nice part of London, friends he sees at least twice a month for board game nights, an ex-fiancé he’s trying damn hard to get over, and a brother who means well even if Martyn doesn’t understand why Phil insists there’s a distinction between their father’s artwork being creative and Martyn’s music being creative and Phil’s novelty t-shirts being... not-creative. A fic about adulthood and opening up.

Maybe (ao3) - dayevsphil, intoapuddle

Summary: They’re only friends but when Dan wants more, Phil gives it to him.

meant for me (ao3) - graydar

Summary: Dan doesn’t believe in soulmates. Phil believes in everything. Dan is scared of everything. Phil is scared of Dan.

Nature's Call (ao3) - indistinct_echo

Summary: When Dan goes camping, all sorts of limits get tested.

slutville, population two (ao3) - dayevsphil

Summary: Dan and Phil both have reputations for sleeping around. Their friends don't think they could hold down a relationship if they wanted to. Sounds like a challenge to them.

In Dan's defense, tequila makes anything seem like a good idea.

The Canary (ao3) - galaxy_ash

Summary: Dan is a famous singer called The Capricious Canary, but known as The Canary by his fans and the public. Phil is a paparazzo who hates his job and is assigned to stalk Dan to get insider pictures.

Time's Tide (ao3) - intoapuddle

Summary: All men have secrets, and Phil won't let his own be known. But even in 1984's Manchester there is another person that understands.

to all the people i've loved before (and the one who actually made me fall in love) (ao3) - natigail

Summary: Phil doesn’t crush on people often, but when he does the emotions seem to overwhelm him. The only way he knows how to deal is to write love letters. They were never meant to be read.

The most recent letter threatens to ruin his relationship with his big brother Martyn, so in a fit of panic, Phil finds himself turning to the boy who was the recipient of the very first love letter for help. Even if he is Dan Howell, the school heartthrob.

too far to walk alone (ao3) - chickenfree

Summary: “The hazelnut stracciatella,” he says, as always. They might or might not have a bet in the shop about whether he’ll ever vary.

Under My Skin (ao3) - americanphancakes

Summary: Dan gets a tattoo. He really, really enjoys the experience. A lot.

when it rains, it's lemon cakes (ao3) - corvinephan

Summary: "The thought of the boy quickly becomes one of his go-to fantasies, the thing that helps him get through the day, tethering him to reality and making it a bearable experience. And really, Phil thinks that it's a bit much to feel this way about what is, essentially, a complete stranger, but he's always been bad with fantasies, getting lost in them easily, head always filled with impossible scenarios and tender moments he'll never get to experience."

Sneaking around. Crushed pastries at the bottom of the tray. Kisses at dawn and the impending threat of an arranged marriage.

Phil meets a tall stranger on a late-night rendezvous through the castle. What happens when that stranger's smile and laugh fill an entire room, burrowing besides Phil's heart and refusing to leave?

World's Greatest First Love: The Case of Daniel Howell (ao3) - Yiffandquiff (paradisobound)

Summary: Dan Howell wanted a clean break from his father’s publishing company. It was why he applied for a different company in London: to stop the ridicule of his coworkers for riding on his ‘daddy’s coat tails’. But he wasn’t expecting to suddenly be going from a literature editor, to a graphic novel editor. And he certainly wasn't expecting to come face first with his first love who broke his heart from when he was a teenager: who just happens to be his new editor-in-chief.

Your Crowning Glory (ao3) - pasteldanhowells, rainbowchristy

Summary: Dan is 18 years old when the news is suddenly sprung upon him that he is next line to be the next king of Genovia, but things don’t go as smoothly as he thought, between having a suddenly busy schedule, a new lifestyle, an arranged marriage that Dan has no control over, and worst of all, Philip Lester trying to steal his crown.

#phanfictioncatalogue #phanfiction #phanfic #phan #masterlists #2020fics #2020fics masterlist

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therainbowwillow · 3 years

Text

https://therainbowwillow.tumblr.com/post/639917088173113344/alright-its-been-a-hot-second-since-ive-written -Part 1

Okay, Hadestown Fanfic With Crossovers Where Orpheus’s Terms are Different and Also ✨Olympus Drama✨Part 2/???

I think my greatest struggle in writing is... posting it. And deciding on a consistent plot. That too. Expect changes. Edit: Well, well, well, there’s a draft feature on this website? I might just migrate to Tumblr.

I may make an overview post at some point so you don’t actually have to read this. A long TL;DR probably, because it is written by Miss What-Is-Concise. My TL;DRs need TL;DRs of their own. Anyway, I’m rambling, so let me actually get started.

Preemptive:

-Orpheus is Apollo’s kid in this version, as he is in many retellings. He is raised by Hermes.

-Hermes works for Hades, bringing souls to the underworld. He resides away from Olympus to fulfill said duties.

-Dionysus’ parentage is by Persephone and Hades. (Because there’s no way Persephone’s screwing Zeus in the other room. Also this is his more underworld-connected family ties.)

-You drink from the River Lethe, according to some ancient authors, to forget your past life. And if Virgil can blatantly rip off Homer, I’m stealing ideas too.

-Would you look at that? This “short” AU fic is expanding by the minute. Hades and Persephone’s are true to the musical and that’s about it at this point.

Eurydice drags Orpheus to his feet. He leans against her. “Eurydice...” he mumbles. “I... I’m so sorry.”

“I signed my life away. That wasn’t up to you. We need to get going.”

Orpheus nods. “Why’s he letting us go? I don’t remember... anything really. I sang. Then I...” he turns away. “It felt like I was sitting in a fire. I couldn’t sing, I couldn’t think. It was unbearable.”

“I’ll never let them lay a finger on you again.”

“You didn’t answer me. Why’s he letting us go?” he asks, softly.

“He’s not,” Persephone mutters. “He wants you to fail. Then he’ll have a canary for his mines.”

Orpheus shudders at the thought. “My song... I thought... Persephone, I think I rewrote every note a hundred times. I lost the love of my life for that melody. And... it failed.”

“Just walk, okay? Please. Once we’re out of here, none of it matters,” Eurydice pleads.

“H-how far?” He’s almost afraid to ask. The original walk had been a grueling task. This one, he thinks, might be a hundred times harder. Whatever Hades had done to him... the effects hadn’t faded. Eurydice must already think he’s a selfish, naive, worthless idiot, he’s certain, so he plans to stay quiet. Unless it gets bad. Only if he needs to tell her, he decides.

“A mile, maybe a little more,” Persephone replies. “We’ll rest in my old greenhouse. It’ll be a roof over our heads at least. Don’t look back,” she warns. “Hades’ servants will follow us. Don’t give them a reason to think we’re afraid.”

Eurydice wraps and arm around Orpheus’s waist. “Tell me if you need a break.” He nods.

———————————

Hades sinks into his office chair. A painting of his wife hangs on the wall. He’s posing at her side. They’re smiling. She’s holding a bouquet of flowers. He rises and storms over to the portrait. He rips it of the wall and it crumples to the ground, torn in two.

He glances out the window. He’s viewing his realm from the highest point in Hadestown. The landscape is as flat as a sheet of paper. No hills, no mountains, only rivers, flowing by some force that is not the gravity of the overworld. His tower is the only peak. And the smokestacks of his factories.

This is his realm. All of it is his. Every inch of dirt, every scrap of metal and gemstone beneath the ground. Every sullen face of every tortured worker who’d sold his soul away. The wall is his too. And the Styx, which wraps it 7 times over. He’s a king and his castle is protected by the highest of palisades and yet... that boy... that son of Apollo had taken it all from him. What is a king without his iron fists? Now he had shown softness, now he’d shown weakness. A crack in the wall will bring the whole structure down, he thinks to himself. But what else can he do? Persephone is his wife. She is *his*. To imagine a thousand winters and springs and summers without her...

The underworld is lonely. He cannot lose her. But he cannot let the boy escape. Nor his lover, nor his traitorous workers. If he shows them an inch, they’ll take a mile. Worse, the traitors were right. Orpheus is alive. Orpheus is not his. That poet is all that stands in the way of his kingdom. And like any barrier, he will fall. How? Hades wonders. How can he kill the boy, break his spirit and punish him without losing Persephone? What blinds his wife? he asks himself. That silly little song had manipulated him, taken hold of his heart like alcohol. And Persephone loves it. She believes, truly believes, that Orpheus deserves to live for the very reason he must die.

Hades slams his fists against the window. Perhaps she was right. He ought to follow in his brothers’ footsteps. Forget his wife. That simple action would be enough to fix everything. If he let her go, she’d have nothing to hold over him. He wouldn’t be her puppet. He’d kill Orpheus, chain up the boy’s foolish lover and send Achilles and Patroclus to the darkest mines, and force them to work day and night apart from each other. Sure, the bunch of them would whine like kenneled puppies, but he could take their cries. They’d forget everything if he could get them to drink from the Lethe. Orpheus would be easy. Threaten his pretty little muse and he’d be scrambling to his knees. Eurydice would be nothing without her poet. Achilles would resist. He’d fight a millennia before he or his lover bowed before their king. But they too would fall.

Only Persephone stands in the way, he knows. He likes to imagine he has her under his control. But he knows it’s a lie. The food of the underworld she’d eaten, it didn’t confine her as well as he’d hoped. Sure, her time above ground would be made unbearable, but she would still be out of his grasp. She could leave. She would leave. He knows her threats aren’t empty. So he’ll find a way around her. He needs her to come back. Without Persephone’s warmth, he wouldn’t know what to do with himself.

He watches the crowd of shades begin to disperse and it dawns on him. Orpheus gives them hope, but he makes them afraid. How many deceased reside in Hadestown? It’d take a hundred thousand mortal lifetimes to count. And how many had stepped forward to help the poet boy? Two. Among that crowd, he knew, were great heroes. Heroes who once resided in Elysium. And still, only two shades had betrayed him. Two out of a trillion. Hades smiles. He won’t need to kill Orpheus. One of his workers can take the fall. Even Achilles won’t succeed in standing against an army the size of his. And Hades will win. His wife will see that some dead man has killed the singer to appease his king. She’ll suspect, but without proof, what does she have on him? Eurydice will see she has no choice. Once the boy belongs to him, Orpheus is his to manipulate. She’ll be trapped. Achilles, for all of his strength, is nothing alone. Without his dear Patroclus, he’ll give in. And so Hades plots.

————————————

Hermes, god of roads and messages, receives word of his adoptive son’s predicament with astounding speed. And he fears for Orpheus. But Hermes guides souls to the underworld, to Hades. To betray the king of Hadestown by helping the boy would be to lose his work and by extension, his freedom to live on the railroad. Without an excuse, he’d be back on Olympus, listening to Zeus and Hera’s endless bickering, watching Ares and Aphrodite humiliate themselves, and helping Dionysus comfort Apollo over the death of the mortal pretty boy of the week. And they wonder why Artemis avoids the damn place at all costs. In fact, he’s stuck on Olympus right now, called to the counsel by Zeus? Athena? He can’t remember. Some mortal breaking some rule.

Orpheus is more important than the meeting. His messenger had interrupted the counsel meeting to bring him word of the poor boy’s situation. He’s not sure how to cover this one up. No one was meant to interrupt important matters as this. Plus, he’d given the kid directions straight into Hadestown, which was the opposite of what his contract with Hades had said. He wasn’t allowed to barter for the return of mortal souls and he wasn’t allowed to assist mortals in doing the same.

“Hermes!” Zeus booms. “What is the meaning of this?”

He rolls his eyes. “Begone, messenger.” He slips a note into the man’s hands: ‘Tell Orpheus I’m coming.’ “Nothing, father. Just... matters of work. You know how Hades is. And don’t get me started on Thanatos! I’m late by half a second and-“

“Enough! I’ve half a mind to banish you from this counsel.” Hermes smiles. His excuses have succeeded.

Dionysus laughs, considerably beyond tipsy on his own wine. “You mind if I go too? I’m sick of this awful alcohol and I’ve got something far better back home.”

“Dionysus, wasn’t there an agreement we made?” Athena inquires, icily. “You cannot come to our meetings drunk.”

He smiles. “Well, you see,” he snaps his fingers and shakes his head, washing away his intoxication. “I didn’t come drunk. I *got* drunk while here.” He raises a flask and shakes it, refilling the canteen instantly. “There’s a difference.”

Athena grits her teeth. “Father, one more of these counsels and I swear...”

“And husband,” Hera pipes up, “We were going to address that nymph girl you’re always hanging around?”

Zeus flushes a deep shade of red. “Out. All of you. We’re done here.”

Hermes rises, forcing himself to keep his composure, at least until he’s out of sight. He steps into the sunlight that dazzles Olympus, treks the road to the edge of the mortal realm and... “Hermes?”

“Gods have mercy,” he mutters. He turns. “Apollo.” The god is puffy-eyed, probably from crying. Even Hermes had to agree, his latest lover had been gorgeous. Hyacinthus, was his name, if he remembered correctly. Apollo himself had called the counsel to beg for mortality when the boy had died and he hadn’t found another for what? Seventeen years? Spare for Orpheus’s muse mother, of course. Still, this was unusual, even for Apollo’s mellow dramatic self.

“You’re afraid.”

“Don’t... don’t do that, would you?” Hermes snaps, recoiling. “Yeah, yeah, medicine and all, but I don’t want you telling me what I’m thinking.”

Apollo dips his head in acknowledgment. “It’s my son, isn’t it?”

Hermes shakes his head. One word to Zeus and... all Prometheus did was hand over a spark. This was treason. “No, just work.”

Apollo tilts his head. “You’re lying.”

“What cause would I have for lies? I cannot keep Hades waiting, now.” He whirls away from Apollo’s gaze.

“Perhaps... treason?” Apollo inquires. Hermes’s eyes widen.

“Strong accusations.” He forces his voice not to shake.

“I won’t turn you in.” Liar, Hermes thinks. He wants to get on Zeus’s good side. A chance at getting his lover boy back.

“Correct. You wouldn’t have anything to turn me in for,” he tells the son of Leto.

“Orpheus’s wife... no, fiancée. No... I don’t know! The girl. She’s dead. Orpheus’s song is a failure. I heard it from Olympus. Lovely, really. But not nearly enough to convince Hades to let her go. Nothing is.”

Hermes turns again to face his half-brother. “Keep your voice down, would you? If Zeus hears a word of this-“

Apollo cuts him off. “And you helped him. You broke your contract and you know Hades better than anyone, other than Persephone, if they still talk these days. He’s crueler than he once was. They say Elysium itself is no more, that there’s only Tartarus now. You’re afraid of his wrath. And you’re afraid of Zeus. He’ll punish you too. You saw what he did to Asclepius. Struck by lightning for treason against Hades. And that was before this... winter,” he says, softer now.

“I don’t want a lecture, Apollo. What do you want?” Hermes glares at the god.

“I want a deal.”

Hermes narrows his eyes. “What kind of deal?”

“You break me in to the underworld-“

“No. I’m in enough danger as is.”

“Hear me out.”

“I said no!” Hermes steps back onto the road. Apollo grabs his wrist.

“I can get you out of trouble. Dionysus!” The wine god steps out of the woods.

“I’m due to visit my mother. Hades won’t prevent me from entering his realm, I’m his son,” Dionysus explains. “You and Apollo are there on Demeter’s ask to learn why Persephone is late. You, because you’re the god of messages and Apollo because he was available, on leave from his duties to mourn.”

Hermes groans. “The walk is far. Even if you’re me. Days on end of moping and drunken ramblings for a plan almost certain to backfire? I said no.”

Apollo smiles. “Then I’ll turn you in,” he says simply.

“You won’t. Orpheus is your blood. You’d put him in more danger. He knew of my contract and he let me break it. You’d add a charge against him. And it’s me. You cared once, didn’t you?”

“You know I would. You said so yourself. I visited the poet boy twice, maybe. And you? Ask yourself: when was the last time you optionally visited Olympus? But Hyacinthus, I loved for years. If I turn you in, I’m one step closer to him. On Zeus’s good side again.” Hermes shifts on his feet. “It’ll be good to have a doctor at the boy’s side too, seeing as your instructions just about starved him to death.”

Hermes glares at him. “Don’t.”

“You know it’s true. So? Let’s go or you trade places with Prometheus.”

“Fine,” he mutters, through a clenched jaw.

“Good. Now, this is on our terms, Hermes. I will aid your son because you’ve always been good to me and because he is my blood. If he gets in my way, he belongs to Hades.”

#hadestown au #orphydice #hadestown #hadestown fanfic #therainbowwrites

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thanks--for--listening · 4 years

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are there still beautiful things?

ahahah guess who’s finally back! with another fic that i lowkey am not sure if i like but whatever here it is its back to dinah/helena except this time its a childhood au based on seven by taylor swift bc a bitch does be loving folklore. (also on ao3.)

There was a spot by the beach, hidden away from the sand and the water, that only two people in the whole world had ever known about. Bushes and branches blocked the view from the ground, and leaves draped down to cover the entrance. It was Paradise, impossible to find if you didn’t know about it — there was no path, no sign. Just instinct and memory. Both of which Dinah had inherited.

The sound of the other kids got quieter as she made her way through the dirt and trees, feeling for the familiar marker, the stub that meant she was almost there. She wasn’t sure she liked the silence, not when she didn’t have someone to share it with anymore. He’d sworn her to secrecy, and she always kept her promises, but Dinah hadn’t realized how lonely it would be to keep this secret all to herself.

The swing was exactly as she’d left it. He’d built it for her when they first found the spot, had promised it wouldn’t break, that it would be waiting for her every summer, and she’d never known him to be wrong but she still sighed in relief when she saw it. She didn’t know if she’d be able to get up without his help, but she’d grown since last year, and the difference between eight and nine was enough to reach the seat. Hanging from the branches above her, it gave her the height she needed to see the water through the leaves, to look down at the rest of the world and not have to worry about being seen.

She wondered if he could see her up here. If he looked down on her the same way she looked down at everyone else. Mom said he did, but Mom believed in a lot of things that Dinah wasn’t sure about, and the world didn’t feel big enough for ghosts and heaven. Not when it already had magic.

A noise pulled her back into reality, and she turned in time to watch a girl fall through the leaves and into Paradise. “Hey!” Dinah yelled without thinking, “You can’t be in here! This is mine!”

The girl jumped and turned toward her. For a minute Dinah forgot why she was yelling. She was the prettiest person she’d ever seen, except for Mom. Her hair was in two braids, each one long enough to pass her shoulders. Her eyes were so big she felt like she couldn’t stop looking at them, even if she’d wanted to. Which she didn’t. Once glance and she wasn’t sure she ever wanted to stop looking.

The girl still hadn’t said anything, was just staring at her, and it was only then that Dinah realized she looked scared. “How did you find this place?” She asked, trying her best to sound less angry.

“I didn’t — I mean, it was an accident.”

“No one’s supposed to be able to find me when I’m in here.”

“I’m sorry. I’ll leave, I promise, I just — can I hide here? Just for a little bit, and then you never have to see me again.”

Dinah jumped off the swing, stepped closer to the girl. She’d picked herself off the ground, and now, standing in front of one another, Dinah realized the other girl was just a little taller than her. Usually she hated being short, hated that no one ever saw her as anything other than tiny and cute and weak, but this girl almost looked like she was trying to be shorter, to take up less space. Dinah didn’t understand it at all.

“Who are you hiding from?”

“Everyone. But mostly Sal.”

“Who’s Sal?”

“My driver.”

That explained the uniform, the fancy looking dress and the super tall socks and the church shoes. Dinah thought it looked all wrong on her. Like a costume, something she was dressing up in just for show. “You’re one of those super rich people then, aren’t you?”

The girl made a face, like the question confused her. “I don’t know. How do you know if you’re super rich?”

“Well, most people don’t pay other people to drive them around unless they’re really, really rich.”

“Oh.”

Dinah shook her head. She’d always known they didn’t have much, felt like she was constantly being reminded of it. She wondered what it would be like, to get to not think about money. To have so much you didn’t even realize you had it.

She tried to not be mean. It was something Mom said she had to work on, so she took a breath and reminded herself that it wasn’t this girl’s fault her parents had money and Mom didn’t. “Okay, so why are you hiding from your driver?” Dinah smiled. “Is he a spy?”

“What? No.”

“A pirate?”

“No.”

Dinah hesitated, before lowering her voice and asking, “Is he trying to hurt you?”

The girl gasped. “No. Sal would never hurt me.”

“Then why do you need to hide so badly?”

The girl looked down at the scuff marks that would surely be out the next time she wore those stupid shoes. “Don’t make fun of me.”

“I won’t.”

The girl looked up, and she must have seen the truth in Dinah’s eyes, because she sighed and said, “He doesn’t ever leave me alone. Everywhere I go lately he’s always right behind me. I’m just sick of it. I’m ten years old, I don’t need to be babysat all the time.”

“You’re right.” She looked at Dinah in surprise, so she added, “My mom lets me come here all the time. And I’m only nine.”

“She does?”

Dinah nodded. “We live down the street. I know every corner of this place.”

“Does that mean you know all the best hiding spots?”

“Yep. But none of them are better than this one.” She sat down, motioned for the other girl to sit with her. “You can hide here. I’m sorry I yelled at you earlier.”

“Thanks.” She slowly sat down next to her. “I’ve never been here before — Papa decided we needed to spend more time out of the house. Sal’s the one who picked the beach.”

“Did he not tell you where you were going? You’re not even wearing a bathing suit.”

“I didn’t have time to grab one — Papa had people coming over.”

“What does that mean?” She asked, but the other girl’s eyes had already widened, and Dinah didn’t know what she’d said but she’d seen that look before, knew it always meant something was wrong.

“I’m not supposed to talk about it. About Papa. About business.”

Dinah shrugged. “Okay. We don’t have to talk about it.” The other girl nodded, but she still seemed nervous. She didn’t know what it was, exactly, but there was something about the sight of her fidgeting with her braids, loosening strands of hair until they poked out between the crosses, that made Dinah feel like she’d do anything to get it to stop, to make her feel better. It possessed her, took over so quickly she didn’t have time to think before she opened her mouth and said, “My Dad used to build houses.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. He built everything. He made me that swing,” she pointed behind her, “and he helped me make this place. Helped me hide it.”

“He sounds like a lot of fun.”

“He was.”

The girl’s eyes scrunched together, and her head tilted slightly as she asked, “Was?”

Dinah nodded, stared at her hands in her lap. “He died last year. It was an accident.”

“Oh.”

“I don’t like to talk about it that much.”

“Then why are you telling me?” She looked up, watched the other girl hesitate before adding, “That wasn’t right, was it?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that wasn’t what I was supposed to say. That’s not what people usually ask.”

Part of her wanted to lie, but she shook her head instead. “No, not really.”

The girl's hands drifted back up to her braids, and now she was the one who wouldn’t look Dinah in the eye. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I never know how to do things right.”

“It’s okay.” The girl gave her a look, as if she didn’t believe her. “I’m serious. Everyone always gets weird and fake when my Dad gets brought up. I’d rather get questions like yours. Even if I don’t know the answer.”

“Really?” Dinah nodded. “Mama always says that I have to start learning how to be normal. But I don’t think that’s something most people have to learn. I don’t even know where to start.”

“Well, I think normal is boring and stupid. You don’t need it.” The girl smiled, and Dinah couldn’t stop from mirroring it. “I’m Dinah,” she said, sticking her hand out in front of her.

The girl reached for it, but pulled back. “I can’t tell you my name.”

“What? Why not?”

“Papa says we aren’t supposed to ever let anyone know who we are unless they already know. He says we have to protect ourselves and the family.”

“This isn’t like Stranger Danger, though. I’m not going to try and kidnap you with candy and a puppy.”

“I know. But I still can’t tell you.”

Dinah wanted to get mad. She thought she would. The past year, everything seemed to set her off, to fuel a fire in her stomach that she hadn’t noticed before, but now...the fire was quiet. And she wasn’t sure what that meant.

“Well, I need to call you something,” she finally decided. They both sat there, thinking, and in the silence Dinah could hear the birds chirping above them. She looked up, watched as two flew into the tree that carried the swing, danced around one another before flying off. Even as they flew away they stayed close by. It was like they belonged together.

“I don’t have any nicknames,” the other girl said, but Dinah kept staring at the sky, following the birds until they were nothing more than a speck in the distance.

“How about Blackbird?”

The girl frowned. “That’s an animal, not a name.”

“So? My Dad used to call my Mom Canary. That means animals can also be names.”

“But why Blackbird?”

“My mom sings a song about one a lot. It’s really pretty. So the bird must be pretty, too.”

“Your Mom’s a singer?”

Dinah nodded. “That’s why Dad used to call her Canary. She has a different job to make money, but singing is her favorite. Just like me.”

“Then maybe I should call you that, too. So we both have nicknames.”

“Yeah. I’d like that.” Dinah couldn’t stop from smiling, especially when Blackbird smiled back at her.

It faded as she turned toward the leaves. Dinah stared at them too, and a second later she heard the footsteps. Neither of them breathed as the sound passed by Paradise; it was only when they got quieter again that Blackbird exhaled.

“That’s probably Sal looking for me.”

“Will you come back?” She couldn’t stop the hope from slipping into her voice, from making her sound as desperate as she knew she was. Friends weren’t very easy to come by, and she wasn’t ready to let go of this one. Not yet.

“I don’t know — I’ll try. I’ll tell Sal to bring me back next time I have to get out of the house. He should listen to me.”

“Well, you’ll know where to find me if you do. I’m always here.”

Blackbird smiled, and it looked like she was about to leave, before she stopped. The smile disappeared as she said, “You can’t tell anyone about me. Ever.”

“I won’t.”

“Promise?”

She looked so afraid. Dinah didn’t understand why it mattered, but she held out her pinkie anyway. When Blackbird just stared at it, she sighed and reached for hers, forced their fingers to intertwine.

“What are you doing?”

“It’s a pinkie swear,” Dinah told her. “It’s stronger than a promise. It means I won’t ever tell anyone if you don’t want me to.”

Blackbird stared at their hands, their fingers still tied together. Dinah looked at them, too. It felt right. She couldn’t explain why, but she knew she didn’t want it to stop.

The footsteps went by again, and she watched Blackbird jump, tug her hand back. She waited ten more seconds, staring at Dinah the entire time, before she disappeared, backed out of Paradise and into reality.

—

A whole week passed before she saw her again.

She’d begun to worry that she would never come back. Dinah told herself that not everyone had the freedom she did, that if Blackbird didn’t show it wasn’t because she didn’t want to, but because she couldn’t get away. Convincing herself took more work as the days passed. It wouldn't have been the first time she thought she’d made a friend only for them to bail on her. She knew people lied, but something about this girl had felt different. And she’d seen Paradise — she had to come back.

It was on Friday, as she sat on the swing trying to convince herself to not lose hope, that the leaves rustled. She turned and watched her walk in slowly, like she didn’t believe anyone would be waiting for her. Dinah saw the moment she saw her, saw the smile creep onto her face, and she knew she wore one, too.

“You came back.”

“You waited for me.”

Dinah jumped off the swing. She still had the same two braids as last time, but the church dress was gone; instead, Blackbird was wearing a white tank top and skirt. It still didn’t look like her. “You’re not dressed for the beach again.”

“I know — we were on our way home from Tennis lessons when Sal turned around.”

“I didn’t know you played tennis.”

“I do lots of things. Mama loves activities. She says it makes us dignified, but I don’t really know what that means.”

Dinah shrugged. “I play soccer during the school year, but I don’t do much during the summer. Except when Mom teaches me guitar. What do you do?”

She spoke like she was reading from a book, saying another person’s words. “Fencing and Chinese lessons on Monday’s. Archery and Spanish on Tuesday’s. Piano and Italian on Wednesday’s. Violin and Gymnastics on Thursday’s. Chess and Tennis on Friday’s. The weekend is for practice. And church.”

“Wow. That’s a lot.”

Blackbird shrugged. “Mama says they’re all supposed to teach me stuff, but sometimes I think she just wants to keep us out of the house.”

“Us?”

“My brother and I. He has his own lessons.”

“I didn’t know you had a brother.”

Blackbird smiled, which made Dinah smile. “Yeah. He’s only seven, but he’s already way smarter than I am. And he’s really funny, except for when he’s being annoying.”

“You’re so lucky. You have a brother, and you play two instruments. I only know guitar, and I’m not even good at it yet.”

She shook her head. “You’re the lucky one, Canary. You get to come here whenever you want. You don’t have to hide from your parents.”

Dinah bit her lip. She knew she could lie, knew if she agreed Blackbird would think nothing of it, but when she tried to nod, she couldn’t. She didn’t want to — not with her. “Actually, I kinda do.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, my mom doesn’t think I’m alone when I come here. She thinks I have all these friends I hang out with. If she knew I didn’t have any, she’d worry. And she has enough to worry about already.”

“You don’t have other friends?” The question was so genuine Dinah couldn’t get mad. She didn’t say it like she was trying to make fun of her, but like she didn’t believe it. Like Dinah being friendless couldn’t possibly be true.

“No. After my dad, I got kinda mad at everyone. Wasn’t very fun to be around. And now…” she shrugged. “I don’t really know how to try again. Everyone at school’s already made up their minds about me.”

Blackbird didn’t say anything. Dinah wondered if she’d done it again, managed to ruin it before they could even start, but then she sighed. “I’m not sure how to help,” she finally said, “because I don’t have any friends, either.”

“You don’t?”

She shook her head. “My family…intimidates people. The other girls at school are told not to talk to me.”

The anger came almost instantly. “Well, they’re dumb! Who cares what your family does?”

“They’re not dumb — they’re scared. But I’m not entirely sure why. I think it has to do with the business, but no one will tell me what that is.”

Realization hit her. “Is that why you didn’t want to tell me your name? So I wouldn’t be scared?”

Blackbird wouldn’t look at her. “It might have been part of it.”

Dinah reached for her, ignored the way her nerves seemed to jump as she grabbed her hand. “You don’t have to tell me, but I don’t care who your family is — nothing about you could ever scare me away.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Yes, I do. I’m not a coward — plus, it doesn’t matter what your last name is. You’re not scary. Especially when you’re dressed like that.”

She smiled, and Dinah knew she should let go of her hand now, but she lingered, just a little. It felt nice, and Blackbird wasn’t pulling away. So they sat there for a minute, neither of them saying anything, and Dinah didn’t usually like silence, but she didn’t mind this one.

“Hey, did I tell you what we called this place?” She eventually asked. Blackbird shook her head. Dinah smiled, stood up and spread her arms out wide, did her best to act as dramatic as possible. “This,” she announced, “is Paradise.”

Blackbird laughed, and Dinah thought it might be the most beautiful sound in the world. “It’s perfect. I never want to leave.”

—

Their meetings were sporadic at best. Blackbird rarely showed up on the same days or at the same times, but Dinah could usually count on seeing her at least a few times each week. She always wore something frilly and fake, and Dinah wasn’t sure what looked like her, but she knew it wasn’t anything she’d ever worn.

They spent most of their time talking. She was always having to listen for Sal, and they never knew when she’d be able to come back, so they fit as much as they could into every day. Dinah told her about the best Saturday morning cartoons (Blackbird’s parents wouldn’t let her or her brother watch them), and she told Dinah about all her different lessons. Dinah learned that she liked archery and the piano best, and hated chess most of all.

“It’s too slow,” she complained, “and I always lose.”

“That’s why you should just play checkers instead,” Dinah kept telling her. “It’s faster and way more fun.”

“Mama says chess teaches you strategy and patience.”

“When are you ever gonna need to know how to do strategy?”

She laughed at that. “Strategy isn’t something you do, it’s something you learn.”

“Well, it sounds boring. It’s summer! You’re not supposed to be learning anything!”

“Not in my family.” She laughed, but it always made Dinah a little sad to hear her talk like that. Blackbird had looked so confused the first time she asked why she didn’t just quit whatever she didn’t like. She’d said that what she did wasn’t up to her; Dinah decided then that she wasn’t a fan of either of Blackbird’s parents, not if they kept her from doing fun stuff. From figuring out what she liked. Who she was.

—

She remembered the first time Blackbird used the swing. Dinah had caught her staring at it for weeks, but she didn’t say anything. Sharing Paradise was one thing, but he’d made the swing for her. It felt wrong to let anyone else use it.

The more time they spent together, the more she thought maybe she was looking at this all wrong. He might have made Paradise for her to hide in, but that didn’t mean she had to hide alone. And she wanted Blackbird to be happy. She was beginning to think she wanted that more than anything else.

So the next time she caught her looking, Dinah decided not to ignore it. “Do you wanna use it?”

She looked at her like a deer caught in headlights, like the very act of wanting it was something to feel guilty about, and whatever hesitation Dinah might have had disappeared instantaneously. She stood up, held her arm out and waited for her to take it; it took her a minute, but Dinah would have waited hours if that’s what she needed.

“You can’t swing too hard, otherwise the branch could give out,” she said as they walked up to it. “But you can see the whole beach from up there.”

Blackbird reached for the seat, letting her hand drift over the wood. “Are you sure I’m not going to break it?”

“I’m positive.”

Dinah watched as she jumped up, clinging to the rope that tied it to the tree above them. Part of her wanted to close her eyes, to bring up the view she’d memorized ages ago, to pretend they were both looking at it at the same time, but she couldn’t bring herself to turn away. Not when Blackbird was staring at the beach with wide eyes and wearing a smile that blew the view itself out of the water.

“It’s beautiful,” she said softly.

Dinah hummed in agreement. “Dad used to say this beach was the secret gem of Gotham. That it stayed beautiful because not many people knew about it.”

“He was right.” She seemed to speak on instinct, and Dinah watched as she brought herself back down to earth, her face changing along the way. “He made this for you. It’s special. I shouldn’t be up here.”

“No, it’s okay.” She had to reach forward to stop her from jumping off the seat. “Stay.”

“But—“

“But nothing.” She looked at her like she didn’t believe it, and Dinah had to search for the words to explain what had changed. “My dad made this whole place for us to be together. He built me the swing so I could see what he saw. But he’s gone now, and I don’t want to be alone here anymore.”

She didn’t look fully convinced, but she also didn’t try and jump off again, so Dinah counted it as a win. They stood there, listening to the birds and the bugs and everything else around them. It was funny, she thought, how different the world sounded when there was someone else with you to listen. How nature’s noise didn’t feel like it was desperately trying to fill the space around her anymore.

—

There were some days when Blackbird was quiet. She’d come in and sit down, never saying much or looking up at her. It was almost like she was in a trance, like she was lost in her own head, and Dinah couldn’t do anything but wait for her to find her way out again. On the quiet days, she sat with her, stared up at the sky and made sure to stay close enough so that she always knew she was there.

It had started as one of those days, until Blackbird broke her own silence. “Can I ask you something?”

“Anything.”

“How does it feel? To lose someone?”

Dinah couldn’t stare at the ground fast enough. “It’s not great.”

“I’m sorry,” she said quickly. “I’m not — I don’t want to make you sad. Or talk about it if I’m not allowed to ask.”

“No. It’s okay,” she said, and she was surprised to find that she was telling the truth. Everyone else who asked her about it only pissed her off, but something made this different. Made her different.

“It’s just — I don’t think I’m going to be very good at losing people. And I want to be prepared for when it happens. I don’t want to make things worse the way I always do.”

“You could never make anything worse.”

“I already do. With everything. It’s like the whole world was given a rule book except me, and now I never know how I’m supposed to act or feel or think, and everyone can see it but no one will tell me the right answers.” She waited a second, before adding, “I think you’re the only person who doesn’t notice.”

If Dinah could fight everyone who’d ever made her feel that way, she would. “The world is wrong, then,” she said, “if they can’t see what I see.”

Neither of them spoke for a minute. Dinah thought about her question, thought about the blurry days from right after and the nights she heard Mom pretend she wasn’t crying. She thought about all the months since, and she didn’t know which part was the most important, but she knew that Blackbird deserved to hear the truth. Or some version of it, at least.

“Losing people is weird. You keep thinking it’s going to stop hurting eventually, but it doesn’t. Not really. The hurt just...changes. Like, some days I feel totally normal, and then something little happens, and it’s like I can’t breathe all of a sudden. Other days the pain just kinda sits in the background of everything I do, and no matter how much I try to ignore it, I can’t.”

“That sounds really hard.”

“Yeah. The worst part is that there’s no one to blame. It just happened. Mom says that as more time passes, it’ll get easier, but she also says we have to do the work to heal before that can happen. I don’t really know what she means when she says that, but I pretend like I do. I think it helps her, to think that I understand.”

Blackbird closed her eyes. “I hope I never have to lose anyone. And I hope you don’t have to anymore, either.”

Dinah tried to smile, but she couldn’t quite find it. “Yeah. Me too.”

—

“Do you believe in magic, Blackbird?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Too good to be true.”

Dinah hesitated, before asking, “Would you believe me if I said I have magic?”

She looked up, and Dinah watched her think it over before answering. “Yes.”

“Why? You just said you don’t believe in it.”

“I believe in you. And I don’t think you’d ever lie to me. So if you told me you could do magic, then you can do magic.”

Dinah hesitated, before sitting up. “Okay. If I tell you this, you can’t tell anyone else. Ever.”

Blackbird sat up, too, stuck her pinkie out. Dinah reached for it, and while they held onto each other, she whispered, “My mom has superpowers, and I do, too.”

Her eyes widened. “What can you do?”

“Well, I can't do it yet. Not really. But my mom can destroy things with just her voice. And she’s gonna teach me how to do it when I’m older.”

“Wow.” She’d never told anyone before, but now, looking at her, she wasn’t sure why Mom had been so worried about people knowing their secret. Blackbird wasn’t scared of her. If anything, she seemed...amazed. Like Dinah’s powers made her special. Like Dinah was special.

“Mom says we have to hide it for now, but one day we’re gonna use them for good.”

“How?”

Dinah shrugged. “I guess fight bad guys.”

“Oh! Like the girls in your cartoon!”

She laughed. “Yeah, exactly like that.”

“I like that idea,” she said. “You would be a good superhero.”

Dinah gasped. “You should be one with me!”

“But I don’t have any superpowers.”

“Who cares? You can use your fencing swords! Or your bow and arrow! Or all that chess strategy.” Blackbird smiled, but she still looked like she didn’t believe it. Like she couldn’t see it. “We could wear matching costumes,” Dinah continued. “And we can use Paradise as our superhero base.”

“I guess I could be a good sidekick.”

Dinah gasped, reached over and punched her on the arm. “Don’t say that! We’d both be the heroes.”

“Is that even allowed?”

“Who cares? We’ll be grown-ups — we can make our own rules.”

She laughed, but it didn’t last very long. “It just doesn’t seem very likely.”

“Your parents won’t always be able to tell you what to do and where to go. One day, you’ll get to decide everything for yourself.”

Blackbird just shrugged. “Maybe.”

Dinah knew they could end it at that, but something in her didn’t want to let go of this just yet. “What color would you want your superhero costume to be?”

“I don’t know. Whatever color you like, I guess.”

She shook her head. “No, you have to pick for yourself. What’s your favorite color?”

“Mama says I look nice in green.”

“But what do you like?”

“I don’t know. Green, I guess. It’s easier to like whatever Mama likes.”

Dinah wasn’t sure what it was about today, what made this time different from the other days they’d spent here, but she couldn’t take it anymore. The anger came up before she could stop it. “What’s wrong with you?! Why don’t you ever stand up for yourself?”

She wanted the words back as soon as they came out. She wanted to rewind, wanted to be nicer, calmer, but instead she was stuck, forced to watch the way Blackbird’s face fell, the way her eyes widened and filled with tears. Her hand jumped up to her braids. She’d almost forgotten about the habit, hadn’t seen it in over a month, and she hated herself for being the reason it came back.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, and Dinah couldn’t stand that her voice sounded that small, that she was the reason for it. She tried to stand up, tried to find the words to make it better, but Blackbird was gone before she had the chance, backing out of Paradise and disappearing among the trees.

—

She spent three days practicing what to say if she ever came back. She wrote it down, memorized it, stared in the mirror and repeated herself over and over and over again. Not apologizing had stopped her from getting her old friends back; she wasn’t going to let it stop her from losing this one.

With every day that passed, she tried to imagine what Blackbird was doing. Whether she was winning in fencing. Whether she was learning a new song on the piano. Whether she was thinking about her. Missing her. Dinah thought about her life and wondered if maybe she’d overestimated what Paradise had to offer, if maybe she’d taken away its only appeal when she yelled at her.

She was sitting on the swing when she finally saw her again. It almost felt familiar — the sound of the leaves rustling, Dinah turning back to find a skittish girl standing behind her. “You came back,” she said, instinct driving her off-script before she could even start. “I wasn’t sure that you would.”

“I wasn’t sure that you’d want me to come back.”

“No! I mean, yes! I do! I do want you back!” Dinah jumped off the swing, reached for her hands and prayed she wouldn’t pull away. “I’m so sorry, Blackbird. I never should have yelled at you like that. I didn’t mean it, any of it.”

“I’m sorry, too. I shouldn’t have run away.”

Dinah shook her head. “No, this was all my fault. I didn’t mean to get upset. I just...I don’t like seeing you be mean to yourself. And I don’t like that you feel like you can’t be a person outside of your family. I think that’s what I was angry about, but I took it out on you. And that was wrong.”

“Why does that make you angry?” Dinah usually loved how every question she had felt honest and genuine, but she didn’t want her to ever have to question this.

“Because I want you to be happy.”

“Why?”

“Because I think everyone deserves to be happy, but especially you. I care more about you being happy than anyone else. You're my best friend.”

Her eyes widened. “Really?”

“Of course.”

“I think you’re my best friend, too, Canary. I promise I’ll never run away from you again.”

She wasn’t sure whether she wanted to jump or cry or scream; instead, she said, “I know you don’t like them, but I’m going to hug you now, because if I don’t I think I might explode.”

Blackbird laughed, and Dinah couldn’t help herself anymore. She flung her arms around her, squeezed as tight as she could. With her head against her chest, she could feel the way her body moved when she laughed, could feel the softness of those stupid clothes, could even hear her heart beating, the sound quiet but strong. She decided this, not Paradise, was her favorite place in the world.

“Would you be mad,” Blackbird said hesitantly, “if I told you I still don’t know what my favorite color is?”

Dinah fought back a smile, even though she knew she couldn’t see her face. “No. We don’t have to be superheroes until we’re super old, anyway. I’m sure you’ll figure it out by then.” She forced herself to step back, to let go, to look her in the eyes. “Besides, whatever color you like now could change. So much will probably be different by the time we grow up.”

“Not us, though, right?”

“No,” Dinah said, and she knew she was telling the truth when she promised, “We won’t ever change.”

—

Dinah saw her for two weeks straight at the beginning of August. The first week was perfect. The days felt special — earned, almost. As if it was their reward for having spent the rest of the summer stealing minutes and hours whenever they could. The sun never left, and it took Sal longer and longer to come looking for her. Most days, Dinah prayed he wouldn’t show, that his footsteps wouldn’t ever make themselves heard along their dirt path, and during that first week, her wish almost felt like it was coming true.

On the eighth day, though, Blackbird burst through the walls of Paradise in tears. Dinah watched for a second, shock freezing her in place. Once it wore off, she had to fight the urge to throw her arms around her, to hold her so tight that she couldn’t feel anything else. Dinah remembered days when she used to cry like this. Sometimes she needed the pain, needed to scream and cry just to get it all out, so she sat next to her, put her head on her shoulder and waited for her breaths to slow.

When they did, she had to bite back all her questions. She added patience to the list of reasons she wished she could tell her Mom about Blackbird, put it right next to the other things their relationship proved: that she hadn’t lost the ability to be a friend to someone, that she hadn’t been lying all summer, that she’d be okay. But she’d made a promise. And no matter how selfish she wanted to be, she wasn’t in the habit of breaking promises. So she waited. And waited. And after what felt like forever, Blackbird finally spoke.

“I heard him,” she whispered, “on the phone.”

“Heard who?”

“Papa.” She stared at the trees in front of them, and she spoke in a voice Dinah didn’t recognize. It was almost anger, but not quite. Almost sadness, too. Somewhere in between, maybe, but whatever it was, whatever she was feeling, it was heavy. Dinah fought back the thought that maybe she wasn’t strong enough to help carry it.

“What did he say?”

“I don’t know. I couldn’t hear it all. He didn’t know I was there. But it was the way he said it. It…” she shivered, and Dinah finally put an arm around her, tried to pull her closer. “I’ve never heard him talk like that before. Not to me, not to anyone.”

For the first time she turned, and all Dinah could see was panic. “On the phone, he...he was threatening people. He was yelling and using bad words, and he was acting really, really scary, but I don’t think it was pretend. I think he meant it all.”

Dinah didn’t need to know anything else. “Okay. Then you’re not going back.”

The panic melted into confusion almost instantly. “What?”

“Home. You’re not going back. Not if your dad is scaring you.”

“Where would I go?”

“You can come live with me. My mom won’t mind. I know she won’t.”

Blackbird shook her head. “She wouldn’t want me.”

“Of course she would. You’re nice and smart and fun and pretty. Anybody would want you.”

“Even you?”

“Especially me. If you came and lived with me, it would be like Paradise, but every single day.” She smiled, let herself run away with the idea. “You could sleep in my room with me, and we could stay up late every night, and we could come here whenever we wanted.”

She smiled, just a little bit. “It does sound fun.”

“It would be perfect! You wouldn’t have to be scared all the time, and I wouldn’t have to be alone.”

For a minute, it looked like she let herself see it. The life they both wanted, almost within their reach. But it didn’t last. “My family would find me.”

“Then...we’ll run away! Just the two of us. We’ll go somewhere so far they’ll never find us.”

“How? We’re just kids.”

“We can jump on a train. Or become pirates and sail across the ocean.” She saw the hope in her eyes fading away. Dinah desperately tried to get it back. “Or maybe I can learn to drive, and I’ll take my dad’s old truck and come get you, or—“

“It doesn’t matter,” she said softly. “Nowhere in the world is far enough that they won’t find me. They’d never let me go.”

“Not even if you asked?”

Blackbird shook her head. “They need me. For business.”

“Why would they need you for that? You’re ten.”

“Not now — later. My family,” she said softly. “They’re all part of it. Whatever it is. Whatever we do. And one day, I will be, too.”

She spoke as if the words were a realization. Dinah watched her eyes go wide, her hands creeping toward her braids. “Hey,” Dinah reached for them, tried to pull them away from her hair. “It’ll be okay.”

Blackbird shook her head. “I think it already started. I just didn’t notice.”

“What are you talking about? What’s already started?”

“Letting us in on the secret. I think...I think I’m going to know everything soon.”

“Didn’t you want to know?”

“Not anymore.” She stood up suddenly, started pacing around Paradise. “I’m the oldest. It’s gonna be me. And I’m going to have to mean it all, too.”

“Wait, Blackbird, slow down. What’s going to be you?”

She froze, looked down at her as if it was obvious. “I’m going to be in charge. Of the business.”

“Says who?”

“Everyone. Mama, Papa, my aunts and uncles. That’s what they meant when they said we were the legacies. Next in line. It was always going to be me or Pino, but if the one in charge is going to have to…” she shook her head. “It has to be me. I won’t let it be him.”

Dinah tried to wrap her mind around what she was saying, but it was like trying to do a puzzle while missing half of the pieces — the picture just didn’t make any sense. “But do you want to do it? Be in charge and be mean to people?”

“Don’t you get it?!” Now, for the first time all summer, Dinah was seeing how anger, plain and simple, looked on her. “I don’t get to do what I want. Ever. I never have and I never will. I can’t hide, I can’t run away. Nothing in the world can stop this from happening.”

They sat in the silence for a minute. It hurt more than the ones she’d grown used to — as if it was filled with pain instead of comfort, anger instead of ease. She wanted to fight back. She wanted to stand up and yell, to say that she was stronger, that she could fight it. She could save her. But Dinah had nothing to offer. She was small and adults were big, and nothing she did could change that. Not yet, at least. Not now.

But not forever. Mom always told her that the power inside of her, inside both of them, would let them help people. One day, Dinah would be the powerful one. The hero. She’d learn, and she’d grow, and she’d never have to feel helpless again. Her voice would save them both — all she needed was patience.

“I’ll stop it,” she finally said. “When I’m older and stronger and can use my powers. I’ll come save you. I’ll protect you. You just have to wait for me.”

“How? How could you stop it?”

“I don’t know. But I’ll figure out a way. And you won’t ever have to be what they want you to be. You won’t have to do anything unless you want to.” She stuck her pinkie out before she could decide whether it was a good idea or not. “I promise.”

Blackbird looked like she was going to protest, but she didn’t. She nodded and locked pinkies with her, and Dinah prayed she wasn’t making a promise she couldn’t keep.

—

The following Monday came heavy with the truth neither of them wanted to acknowledge. It was hidden in every word they said, in the silence between. They skirted around it, tried to ignore it as long as they could, but with every passing minute, she knew it only grew stronger: the feeling of running out of time.

Dinah broke first. “What are we going to do when school starts again?”

Blackbird just shrugged. She was laying down, staring up at the sky. Dinah sat on the swing, and she was tempted to look up with her, to try and find whatever had caught her attention, but nothing the world had to offer could make her take her eyes off Blackbird. Not when she wasn’t sure how much longer she had to memorize the sight of her.

“I don’t want to think about school.”

“Yeah. Me neither.” She hesitated, before adding, “I wish we got to go to school together.”

“We wouldn’t be in the same grade, though. I’m a year older than you, remember?”

“Yeah, but we could still see each other during recess and lunch. Plus, just knowing you’re there would make it better.”

“You would hate my school. We have to wear uniforms every single day. Dresses with tights and fancy shoes.”

“I would wear them for you,” Dinah said, and she saw her smile, still staring at the sky. “You would hate my school, too — the only afterschool activity we have is basketball. Nothing as fancy as everything you do.”

“I would give up all of my lessons for you,” she said back, and Dinah didn’t know what to do with the way her words made her feel. Warm and fuzzy and seen. It made her never want to hide again.

Blackbird turned, shifted onto her elbows so they were facing each other. “Canary,” she said, and Dinah could hear it in her voice that the time for pretending was over. “Are we ever going to see each other again after this week?”

“Of course we are,” she responded with more confidence than she had.

“How? When?”

“I don’t know. But even if we have to spend all year without each other, we can always come back to Paradise next summer.”

“That’s a long time from now.”

“Yeah,” Dinah said, “but I’d wait forever if I had to. Best friends don’t give up on each other.”

Blackbird nodded, with more determination than Dinah had ever seen from her. “I believe you,” she said, “but if it’s going to be that long, we should make this week the best week ever. Do everything we want before we have to wait.”

She knew exactly what she wanted to do, had known for a while, but found the courage in Blackbird’s conviction to follow through, to make a plan and stick with it. “Okay,” she said. “Best week ever.”

—

“I have a surprise for you,” Dinah said the minute Blackbird stepped into Paradise on Tuesday. She pulled the guitar from behind her back and watched as her eyes widened.

“Are you going to play for me?” Any nerves she might have had slipped away with the question. Dinah wasn’t sure she’d ever heard Blackbird sound that excited. And it was all because of her. The thought made it impossible to fight back a smile.

She nodded, sat down and heard Blackbird sit down across from her. She’d spent all morning anxiously tuning the strings the way Mom had shown her, playing the hard parts over and over again until she knew she wouldn’t mess them up.

“Remember when we first met, how I told you about that song? The one my mom likes to sing?” She fiddled with a couple of the strings as she talked, listened to make sure the notes sounded the way they were supposed to.

“The one about the Blackbird?” She asked, and Dinah smiled, answered her with chords, watched her fingers to make sure they moved to the right places at the right time. Her first breath shook just a little but she let the words out anyway:

Blackbird singing in the dead of night,

Take these broken wings and learn to fly,

All your life,

You were only waiting for this moment to arise.

She didn’t trust her hands not to falter, not if she looked up, looked at her, but she stole a glance anyway, felt her fingers stumble across the notes as she took in the sight of her. Blackbird was smiling, wider than she’d ever seen. Dinah knew she wouldn’t be strong enough to keep going if she kept her eyes up, so she forced them down, let the verses ease in one after the other. The chorus came quickly and she let it, let her voice lead her instead of her mind, let it carry her through the melody. Singing had always come easily to her but now it felt effortless, as natural as breathing.

She waited until the song ended, the last guitar notes fading into nothing more than an echo, before letting her eyes drift back up to Blackbird’s. She was wearing the same smile she’d spotted earlier, only this time it was accompanied by a blush in her cheeks and tears in her eyes. They sat in the silence for a moment, and Dinah wouldn’t have minded if it never stopped, if they’d been able to live in that moment forever.

“That was beautiful,” she eventually told her, voice barely over a whisper.

Dinah felt heat underneath her own cheeks. “It sounds better when my Mom sings it,” she confessed, “but I had her teach it to me after we met. I’ve been practicing all summer.”

“I don’t care what your mom sounds like — no one could possibly sing that better than you.”

She laughed. “I guess I live up to my name, then.”

“Yeah, I guess you do.” She hesitated, before adding, “I don’t ever think I’ll live up to mine. To that song.”

“You already have,” Dinah told her. “You’re better and more beautiful than any piece of music.”

She blushed some more, her cheeks filling with bright red, and Dinah couldn’t help but laugh. “I wish we could be like the song and just fly away,” she sighed, and Dinah thought she looked hopeful this time. Like she could see it. Like part of her was beginning to believe it might actually come true.

“One day, we will.”

Blackbird just looked at her. Dinah couldn’t explain the way she felt, couldn’t find words or lyrics or melodies to match a look like that. All she could do was take it in.

“Can you sing to me again?” She asked. Dinah smiled, nodded, adjusted her fingers and let the notes fill the space around them, let them build until the rest of the word faded away.

—

On Wednesday, it was Blackbird who walked into Paradise with her hands hidden behind her back.

“I have a surprise this time,” she told her, and Dinah smiled, stood up and stared at the object she held out in her hands.

“You brought...a pocket knife?”

She nodded, completely unfazed. “It’s Sal’s. I found it in the car today. I was thinking we could use it to write our name on one of the trees. That way anyone who finds this place will always know that it’s ours.”

“You’re so smart,” she told her as she turned her head, looked around Paradise for the perfect spot. She gasped when she found it, staring back at her in plain sight. “We should write it on the swing!”

She ran toward it, but when she turned around, Blackbird hadn’t moved. “Your dad made that for you,” she said softly. “I can’t put my name on there.”

“It’s okay — I want you to.”

“But—but it’s special!”

“You’re special,” she told her, and Blackbird looked down, began fidgeting with the knife. Dinah walked over, reached out and held onto her hands until she felt them stop.

“Why?” Her voice was so quiet, Dinah wasn’t sure she would have heard her if they hadn’t been standing inches apart.

“You’re the only person I know who looks at me and doesn’t see someone broken. And I want to remember that.”

She looked up then, freezing her in place with nothing more than her eyes. “How could anyone ever see you as broken?”

“Doesn’t matter. Because you don’t. So would you please come over and help me carve our names onto this swing?”

She waited a minute, staring at Dinah as if she was giving her a chance to change her mind; Dinah knew she never would. Blackbird must have realized it, too, because she nodded, held onto her hand as they stepped over toward the swing.

Dinah flipped it over. “The back isn’t polished, so it’ll be easier to put them here.”

“Is it okay if we use our nicknames?”

“Why wouldn’t it be? Who you are doesn’t change just because someone calls you something different. Here,” Dinah said, grabbing the knife out of Blackbird’s hand and flipping it open. “I’ll go first.”

“Be careful,” she said. “I’ve never actually used a knife like this before.”

“Don’t worry — I used to watch my dad do stuff like this all the time. We just have to be slow and careful, and never aim the knife toward our bodies.”

It was only when she started carving that Blackbird let go of her hand, moving to hold the swing steady instead. Dinah kept her eyes down as she worked, watched as each letter took shape. It wasn’t as clean as she’d have liked, but it would have to be good enough.

“Okay,” she said, taking a step back and holding out the knife. “Your turn.”

Blackbird moved even slower than she did. She carved each letter with precision and grace that Dinah knew she’d never have. When she got to the letter c, she started and stopped, frowning at the wood in front of her. Dinah didn’t wait for her to ask for help, knew that if she did, she’d be waiting a lifetime; instead, she walked to the other side of the swing, placed her hand on Blackbird’s and helped her finish the letter, and then the next, and then every one after that. When it was done, Dinah waited, just an extra second, before stepping backwards, letting space grow between them again.

“There,” she said. “It’s ours. Blackbird and Canary will forever have this spot marked.”

“What happens if someone moves the swing?”

“They won’t,” she replied instinctively, before deciding to add, “and if they do, we’ll just find it and bring it back. We won’t let anyone take Paradise away.”

“We can do that?”

“We can do anything.”

Blackbird smiled. “If the world thinks you’re broken, then I’m glad I get to be broken with you.”

“You’re not broken. Not even a little bit.”

“And neither are you. So maybe it’s everyone else that’s shattered. Not us.”

“Yeah,” Dinah smiled, and she knew she wasn’t pretending anymore when she agreed, “Not us.”

—

The weather on Thursday was perfect. Dinah remembered staring at the sky and thinking it looked fake, that it must have been a painting, because real skies couldn’t possibly be that blue. The sun was shining, and Paradise was theirs, and not even the threat of the end of summer could ruin her day.

Blackbird was sitting in front of her. She looked the way she always did, with her two braids and that church dress and those stupid shoes she’d worn so many times. Staring at her, Dinah wondered whether she’d ever see the real Blackbird, not the one her parents controlled. What would that girl look like? Did she even know?

“Why are you staring at me?” Her voice knocked her out of her own thoughts.

“No reason,” Dinah replied quickly, before impulsively asking, “Can I braid your hair?”

“It’s already braided.”

“No, I mean, can I take it out and do a different braid?”

“Why?”

Dinah shrugged. “You always wear it the same way. Plus, Mom’s been teaching me how to do all kinds of braids. I think I’m getting pretty good at it.”

“My mom braids my hair, too,” Blackbird said. “She’s the one who does it like this every morning. She’ll notice if it’s different.”

“I can rebraid it like that before you have to leave. I just wanna see what you look like with something different.”

“Okay,” she said, and Dinah wasn’t sure why she seemed nervous all of a sudden, but she decided she didn’t want to push it. Not today, when they only had tomorrow left.

She watched as she reached for the hair ties, separating each strand until her hair hung loose across her shoulders. It felt longer this way, and part of her didn’t want to touch it, didn’t want to change it at all. She looked older, too, and more relaxed. She hadn’t realized hair could change a person so much. Maybe it was its own kind of magic.

“Why are you staring again?” Dinah could see the way her cheeks began turning red, and she smiled, reached out for it before she could help herself.

“You look really pretty with your hair down,” she told her, running her fingers though it as she got up and kneeled behind her. “You should wear it like this more often.”

“Thanks,” she said, and Dinah couldn’t see her face but she knew she was blushing again. “How are you going to braid it?”

“I think I’m gonna start up here, kinda on the side,” she told her, “and then it’ll come all the way around to your other shoulder.”

They didn’t talk much as she worked. Dinah didn’t expect to be grateful for the silence, not on their second to last day, but there was something nice about the quiet. There always had been. With her other friends, she used to hate it when they had nothing to say, but Blackbird made it easy. Blackbird made everything easy.

Dinah finally broke it when she asked for her hair tie. She tied it off, moved in front of her and brought the end of the braid with her, laying it down so it just barely rested on her shoulder.

“How does it look?”

Dinah didn’t know how to explain that it made her look like a princess straight from the movies she watched and books she read, so she settled for, “I think it looks pretty good. I wish I had a mirror or something to show you.”

“That’s okay,” she said softly. “I trust you.”

They sat like that for another minute, face to face, the grass and dirt and air keeping the rest of the world locked away. She wished more than anything that they could stay right here forever. That nothing ever had to change. That time could stop, rewind and let her do this whole summer all over again.

She watched Blackbird’s face, saw the smile slowly fade away. “You look sad. What’s wrong?”

“I’m going to miss you,” Dinah said softly.

“I’m not leaving yet. We still have tomorrow.”

“And after that?”

Blackbird looked down, and Dinah saw her fidget with the extra hair tie now wrapped around her wrist. “After that, we go back to real life.”

“I hate real life.”

“Yeah. Me, too.”

“How am I going to last until next summer?”

“Maybe,” she said, and she looked up with the tiniest smile. “Maybe we can write letters to each other. And we can hold onto them until next year, and then when we see each other again we can read them and catch up on everything we missed. And maybe that’ll make it feel like we’re still here. Like we still get to talk to one another.”

“It won’t be the same,” she snapped. She saw Blackbird’s face fall, and quickly added, “But it’s better than nothing. We should do it.”

“We don’t have to if you don’t want to. It’s a stupid idea.”

“No, it’s not stupid. I’m sorry. I just wish we could talk more.”

“So do I. You’re the only person I actually like talking to. Well, you and my brother, but he gets tired of talking really fast.”

“At least you have a brother. I won’t have anyone to talk to anymore.”

“You have your mom,” she said, “and you can—“ she froze, her eyes wide and her body completely still.

“Blackbird, wha—“

“Shh!” She lunged forward, threw her hand over Dinah’s mouth; a few seconds later she heard it. Footsteps, familiar ones, passing right by them and then disappearing.

“Is that Sal? Already?” She whispered.

“It has to be,” she said as she stood up. Dinah watched her reach for her braids and only finding one, the panic growing as she frantically undid the hair tie.

“Here, let me help.” Dinah jumped up with her, undoing all of her work as fast as she could. “Why is he already looking for you? You just got here.”

“I don’t know. But I have to hurry. I don’t want him to find us.” Dinah stepped back, watched as Blackbird shook her unbraided hair out and ran her fingers through it. “I’ll catch him on his way back down.”

“Wait!” Dinah reached out, grabbed her arm before she could step through the leaves. “You’ll be back tomorrow, though, right?”

“Yeah. Of course.”

“Promise?” She asked, and Blackbird opened her mouth, but before she could say anything, the footsteps passed them by again. Dinah watched as she brought a finger to her lips, before slipping through the leaves.

Dinah knew she shouldn’t follow. Most days, Blackbird left before he came looking, but now they were right outside, and she couldn’t help herself. She crept forward, stuck her head out just enough to see them without being spotted. They’d only made it a few steps past Paradise, but Blackbird had found her way in front of him, so Dinah could only see his back.

“Boss says I’ve got to get you back home, kid.” Dinah thought his voice sounded funny, but maybe it was just the accent. She’d heard lots of people in the neighborhood whose first language wasn’t English, and he reminded her of them.

“Can we come back tomorrow?”

“Sure, Helena. Whatever you want.”

She heard the leaves underneath them as they walked away, and she stuck her head out further, tried to watch them for as long as she could. Blackbird must have been thinking the same thing because she looked behind her, caught her eye and smiled. She stuck her pinkie out, and Dinah did the same, before she turned forward and walked out of the woods.

It wasn’t until they were gone that Dinah realized what had happened. What she’d heard. What she now knew.

—

Helena. She spent all Friday morning practicing the sound of her name. She liked how it felt, found herself whispering it while she waited in Paradise, the word getting stuck in her head like the lyrics to her favorite songs. Helena, Helena, Helena.

Dinah thought about what would happen when she told her she knew. Blackbird—Helena would definitely freak out, but she’d begun figuring out the secrets to calming her down. And maybe, once she had time to think about it, she’d realize that it was okay for Dinah to know the rest. And once she knew everything, well...waiting all summer seemed pointless. If they were going to be writing each other letters, they might as well send them.

She rehearsed every word, imagined every possible scenario and prepared for it, but Blackbird never came. The hours slipped away slowly, painfully. As Dinah walked home, the setting sun her cue to leave, she began to worry. Sal had said they could come back. She’d pinkie promised. And Dinah knew people lied, knew they said one thing and meant another, knew they were cruel and broke promises all the time, but not Blackbird. Not them.

—

She spent most of the next few days trying to convince herself that Helena was okay. Her imagination loved to run wild, and the few stories she’d told about her family only gave them more fuel. Maybe her parents decided she needed to go last minute back-to-school shopping, or maybe they decided she needed to be locked up forever, like a Princess stuck in a tower. Maybe they went to visit her aunts and uncles, or maybe they’d shipped her off across the country, or maybe they’d sent her over the ocean on a boat so far no one would ever find her again. Dinah came up with hundreds of potential explanations, each one burying the thought that maybe she hadn’t come on purpose. Maybe she’d finally figured out what everyone at school already knew: Dinah Lance was not someone you wanted to be friends with.

As she walked on the bus Monday morning, she tried to keep her head down. Most people didn’t look at her much anyway, not after last year, which made ignoring them a lot easier. The only exceptions were the boys from the street over, who always sat near her and never shut up about anything.

This morning was no different. As she sat down, she heard them bickering, risked a glance up and saw them crowding over a page from a newspaper. Curiosity trapped her, left her looking for too long, and before she could stop it, she caught another pair of eyes.

“You see the news, Dinah?”

“What news?”

He tried to hold the paper out to her, but another arm pulled him back. “Dude, are you crazy? She can’t see this.”

Her pride betrayed her, made her narrow her eyes and ask, “And why can’t I?”

She watched the way he began to squirm. Like he hadn’t expected her to fight back. “It’s just— I don’t want it to upset you.”

“Why would it upset me?”

“You know the Bertinelli’s?”

Dinah raised an eyebrow at him. “Who?”

“The Bertinelli’s. One of the biggest crime families in Gotham. Don’t you pay attention?”

His friend smacked him on the arm, which almost made her laugh. “I guess not.”

“Well, someone went after them last weekend.”

Dinah waited for him to say more. “And this would upset me because…?”

He looked away, and suddenly she wondered if she should be nervous, if she should have kept her mouth shut and left it well enough alone. “Whoever it was, they took the whole family out. Burned the mansion down, too. But they, um. They also sent out photos to the press. Of the bodies. And I know that your dad—“

“Shut up and let me see that,” she said, grabbing the paper out of his hand before he could pity her any longer. She knew what everyone thought, but blood and gore didn’t scare her. It wasn’t anything new. She looked down, stared at the people lying in black and white on the floor, prepared herself to prove him wrong when—

Those shoes. She knew those shoes. They were too fancy for the beach, always worn with long white socks and polished no matter what happened to them, except now they were covered in spots, the same spots that everybody was lying in. Blood, her mind whispered, that’s blood, but she hardly heard it, because next to her was a boy, small and sinking in a puddle of grey, and she didn’t know him, not really, but she knew he was funny and sweet and that Blackbird had promised to give everything up to protect him.

She didn’t want to see it anymore, but her eyes wouldn’t let them go. Her body was covered, a woman lying practically on top of her, but creeping underneath she could see Blackbird’s hair was still down. She never wore her hair down. Dinah had promised she’d rebraid it but they’d run out of time, and now she was laying there with long hair and bloody socks and—

“Why.”

“Why what?”

“Why did they do it?”

“I’m not sure.” She heard his voice soften, and part of her hated the pity that crept in but most of her couldn’t find the room to care about what they thought of her. Not anymore. “Money, probably. Everyone’s always killing people for money.”

She heard the other kids stand up, heard them walk toward the front of the bus. She tried to follow but she couldn’t move, not when she couldn’t stop staring at her. She saw his hand reach for the paper, let him pull it away.

“I’m really sorry we showed you. It’s probably hard, with your dad and all, to see other people...well. You know.”

She forced herself to look up, to look away, to nod and blame her dead father and keep the most important promise she’d ever made, even when she wasn’t sure it mattered anymore. Blackbird—Helena, Helena Bertinelli had warned her that it would be dangerous if anyone knew they were friends. And Dinah had questioned her, had mocked her, but she’d been right all along. So nobody would know. Ever.

She didn’t remember anything about school that day. She stared at the board but all she saw was lines of shoes, all speckled and soaking and too still, even for a picture. She kept her mouth shut even when it hurt, even when all she wanted to do was cry and scream and yell at the sky. The boys on the bus home left her alone, and if she’d had room for any sort of feeling she’d be grateful, but feelings threatened to break the carefully built wall she’d constructed in the time it took her to get to her classroom that morning, so she gave them nothing.

When she got off the bus, she walked past her house, past the water and the sand, through the trees, until she found the stub that meant she was almost there. Part of her wished she’d walk through the leaves and find her waiting, on the swing or sitting on the ground, but Paradise was empty. It was gone. And it was never coming back.

The dam broke. Dinah felt it snap, heard the echo from deep inside her, let it come out with no restraint. She opened her mouth and screamed, until the trees shook, until her vision went blurry, until she didn’t feel like a person at all. She swore she could see it, the power, the sound itself, but she didn’t care. It hadn’t been enough. Whatever it was that lived inside her, she knew it couldn’t be magic, because magic wasn’t supposed to be cruel. Magic wasn’t supposed to leave you when you needed it most. Magic was supposed to be strong enough to save her.

When she woke up, her head was in her Mom’s lap. She could see the swing in front of her, the ropes frayed and barely hanging on, and she knew it was her fault. She’d destroyed Paradise. And nothing her Mom said could ever make it better.

—

Her training started pretty soon after that. Her heart wasn’t in it, but Mom was so worried, told her she had to know how to control it, so she went through the motions, learned about breath control and aim and how to turn it on and off. Using the cry left a bitter taste in her mouth, but every minute she spent focusing on training was a moment she didn’t have to think about mansions filled with smoke and bodies drowning in blood. And Mom looked so happy whenever she hit a milestone. One of them deserved that, she decided.

School never got better, but if Dinah was being honest, she knew she was the one who stopped trying. Her own worst enemy, as always. Mom worried, had asked about friends more than a few times, but her grades were always good, and eventually she learned to lie well enough to keep her questions at bay. Eventually, the lies began to feel a little like the truth.

—

She thought about her more than she meant to. It was always in the little moments. The mini victories, the accomplishments she had no one to share with. As she got older, she tried to imagine what they’d be doing if things had gone different that day. What would Helena think about the girls at school, who glared and laughed at her behind her back and wore more makeup than twelve-year-olds ever needed? What would she think when Dinah showed her how much better she’d gotten on guitar? Would she have figured out her favorite color by now?

She tried to write a letter, once. The way they’d planned. Every word felt fake, pointless when she’d never get a chance to read them. She tried to finish, because she’d made a promise, and she didn’t break her promises, but Helena had. Every time she closed her eyes, Dinah saw her turning around, smiling, pinkie held out toward her. Maybe if she’d run after her, if she’d made it official, Helena would have kept it. She would have come back.

Dinah crumpled up the paper, threw it away, and didn’t try again.

—

Years went by. Life got busier. Dinah joined the choir, found people to talk to at lunch and in between classes, but she knew better than to let it go any further. Acquaintances were safe. They didn’t ask questions or have any expectations. They wouldn’t hurt to lose.

Mom went to work, came back later and later, always seemed frustrated at the world. When Dinah was fifteen, she introduced her to friends who wore outfits like the ones she’d imagined as a kid and had all sorts of powers and abilities that shouldn’t be possible. She told her that she was fighting with them, that she needed to do more. They’d talked about it when she was little, talked about doing it together one day, but Mom couldn’t wait any longer, couldn’t sit by while people suffered. Not when she had the power to change it. But no matter how much she wanted to go, she still asked for permission. For her permission. She wouldn’t do it, if Dinah didn’t want her to.

Dinah let her go. She watched as she went out, night after night. Mom told her that once she turned eighteen she could come out with them, and Dinah wondered what she’d do when the day came. Once upon a time, it had been all she’d ever wanted, but that dream had died a long time ago. And yet, every night, every victory she watched them celebrate, gave it a little more life, made her think about colors and outfits and cartoons and doing good. She liked the idea of doing good.

—

Twelve days before she turned eighteen, Mom went out by herself. Dinah begged her not to. She wasn’t strong enough, not alone. She told her the police wouldn’t come, wouldn’t help her if she was the only one. She told her that life was unfair and people would always be hurt and she couldn’t save everyone, and risking her life when it wouldn’t help anything was reckless and dangerous and stupid.

Mom wouldn’t listen. She suited up, tried and failed to hide the pain in each movement. Dinah could see the leftover bruises and scars from the never ending battles that came before, decorating her body like a scrapbook dedicated to pain and suffering. Each one served as a reminder of what was waiting for her on the other side of that door. Each one could have been the end.

She tried to stop her; Mom ignored her. She begged to go with her; Mom refused. She threatened to go anyway; Mom gave her a look she’d never seen before, made her promise she wouldn’t follow. She swore she wouldn’t, even when the words felt like a betrayal.

Dinah watched her leave. Ninety minutes passed before she decided she didn’t want to be the person who kept her promises anymore. She ran, faster than she ever had before, ran until she heard sirens, blue and red lights illuminating a scene darker than all of her nightmares combined.

The first thing she saw was the puddle. With each flash it changed shades, but she’d never needed color to recognize blood. The black of her uniform wasn’t dark enough to hide it, and she was still, too still, and nobody was doing anything. They walked around her, ignored her, left her out in the open for anyone to see. Dinah wanted to run to her, wanted to grab her and take her away, but the news vans began driving up, and even then, some promises were too strong to break.

She didn’t know where she was going when she turned and ran, but she wasn’t surprised when she walked through the leaves and into what used to be Paradise. The swing wasn’t hanging anymore but it was still there, lying on the ground, dirty and hidden and forgotten. She hadn’t come back, not since the day she’d found out, when she’d woken up in her mother’s arms and cried until she couldn’t breathe. She’d held her, carried her home, and Dinah knew she’d believed the same thing the boys on the bus had, but she let her, sat on her lap and pretended her grief was old and resurfacing and nothing more.

Her knees hit the ground, the first thing she remembered feeling since she ran out the door. She wanted nothing more than to scream, but Dinah knew her own strength now, knew the damage she’d cause, so she bit her tongue until it bled and suffocated any noise that threatened to escape. She stayed there until the sun began to rise, until she knew for sure that no one was coming to get her.

—

By the time she met Cass, she’d grown used to the silence. She’d spent years drowning the memories in anything that would bury them, from whiskey to cigarettes to men and women who didn’t mind being used. In her low moments, when the thoughts snuck in, a voice questioning what they would think of her if they saw her now, she reminded herself that bad things happened all the time. Trying to prevent them was nothing more than wasted effort. She should have learned that lesson years ago, or at the very least last week, when she went back for Quinn only to get left with an ungrateful drunk clown and more attention from Sionis than she’d ever wanted.

There was something about the kid, though, that she couldn’t ignore. Maybe it was the way she reminded her of herself at that age, a little angry and a little stuck, or maybe it was her Mom’s lingering hold on her, but when she watched her get driven away, diamond in tow, she knew she couldn’t leave it alone. Bad things happened to innocent people, but Cass didn’t deserve to suffer under the hand of Roman Sionis. Fuck self-preservation — she’d put up with whatever trouble came her way to make sure Cass didn’t become another name on a list that was already too long for Dinah’s liking.

Which was how she found herself in this god-forsaken circus, with Montoya and Harley fucking Quinn and some wanna-be vigilante with a crossbow. It was exactly the kind of situation she’d spent years trying to avoid, but Cass was waving a gun around, and she knew how they’d found her, knew who’d sold her out. When she grabbed it from her, when she aimed it toward Quinn, she wasn’t thinking about anything other than keeping her safe. She kept one eye on Harley and the other on Cass, half listening to whatever nonsense the others were rambling about, and that was enough until—

“Helena Bertinelli.”

She’d never been shot, but Dinah imagined it felt something like this. Sharp pain in her chest, sucking the air and life out of her, the world suddenly moving in slow motion while her heart raced faster than it should ever be able to. She turned, looked at the now unhooded assassin and saw both a stranger and a memory. The look in her eyes was unrecognizable, foreign in every sense of the word, but the rest of her face — she’d spent enough years dreaming about that face to know it, even after all this time.

Dinah heard her detailing the men who’d killed her family, the men she’d hunted to return the favor. She couldn’t stop staring, looking in her eyes, searching for the girl she’d known. She watched the way they shifted when she declared she was done, resolve turning into panic, and the emotions may have been new but nobody else had ever told so much with just their eyes. It was that, more than the name, more than the explanation, that made her believe it. Blackbird, standing in front of her. Alive. Real.

Cass’s voice took all of their attention away before Dinah could figure out what to do, what to say. They moved toward the window, saw the army waiting for them. Dinah wondered who she’d pissed off to curse her with a fate as cruel as this one, to give her the gift of a lifetime only to promise certain death before she could ask if she remembered the little girl with the swing and the guitar.

Harley reminded them they didn’t have time for wallowing. She gave a speech Dinah knew they all needed to hear, Cass most of all, and then they were digging through a weapons chest, arming themselves with whatever they could find, wondering if it could possibly be enough.

For a moment everything was calm. Dinah looked over, saw Helena smearing black shit over her eyes. She wondered if this was it, the only chance they’d get, and her feet were moving before her mind had figured out what to say. Helena hardly paid her any attention, which might have made it easier, had her brain not chosen that moment to let genuine, irrelevant curiosity take over. “Hey, what’s up with this bow-and-arrow shtick?”

“It’s not a fucking bow-and-arrow, it’s a crossbow, I’m not twelve.”

The laugh came out before she could stop it. She’d only seen anger on her face once before, and to get it now, over something as simple as a name, was the cherry on top of the absolutely ridiculous scenario that life had thrown her into. The girl who’d refused to tell her who she was, who spent all summer using codenames chosen at random, now couldn’t stand her weapon being referred to as something she considered childlike. The girl who’d run away the first time Dinah raised her voice, who’d been shy and meek and scared, now snapped at a stranger as they prepared to storm into battle armed with baseball bats and roller skates. Nothing about this was funny, but its insanity was utterly and completely comical. So she laughed, until she looked up and caught her eyes for the first time.

It’s me, she wanted to say. I waited for you. I mourned you. I sang for you. Do you see me? She wanted to tell her, wanted to ask straight out. Time and cigarettes had left her voice sounding nothing like the one she would have known, and everything about herself felt different, but she wanted to ask anyway. More than that, she wanted her to say yes. She wanted her to remember. No matter what else came with it.

At the last second, she bit her tongue. They were about to walk into what would probably be the fight of their lives, one that she honestly doubted they’d walk out of. The last thing she wanted was to become a distraction. To be the reason she lost her a second time. So she said nothing, waited until Harley came up to them and asked if they were ready, prepared herself to leave it at that. But as they walked by one another, the thought running through her mind slipped out without her permission. “You can yell all you want,” she whispered, her words an echo of a conversation she’d almost forgotten, “I’m not a coward. Nothing about you could ever scare me.”

Two seconds later, men crashed through the ceiling, and nothing else mattered but survival. She went down the slide, because of course there was a fucking slide. Helena took just long enough for worry to creep in, but before Dinah could climb right back up, they heard her yelling; an instant later, she slid down, kneeling on top of the man she was burying her knife into

She knew it should have disturbed her. If she was normal, it probably would have freaked her out, sent her running in the opposite direction, but all she could think about was how far they’d come from the kids who delicately wielded a pocket knife to carve letters into a piece of wood. Dinah watched her and felt impressed, proud at the girl who’d learned to stand up for herself. And the tiniest part of her felt grateful that maybe they were both broken in the same ways, the cartoon morals they’d once held onto similarly crafted and shaped into whatever it was they were acting on now. And damn if taking down a man in a carnival slide wasn’t cool.

—

It should have been over when they walked out of the tunnel.

The fight itself had been mostly a blur, panic and instinct taking over and not letting go until the last man went down. She didn’t know what she’d done, what the others had done, but she knew that they were all standing at the end of it. She wasn’t sure anything else mattered.

Dinah remembered staring at Helena as they made their way out of the building. There was so much she hadn’t noticed earlier. Like the purple in her top, deep and dark and almost blending in with the black around it. And how she still stood taller than her, all these years later. And the braid in her hair, small and only on one side. The tunnel was dim, the early morning sky still dark, and all she wanted to do was see Helena in the daylight. She wanted to know every part of her, exactly the way it was.

The gunshots shattered her daydream. She watched Montoya go down, pulled her back as far as she could. She wanted to stay but Helena was alone up there, so she ran, grabbed the discarded gun on the floor and shot blindly into the ambush they’d walked right into. She watched Cass get dragged away, and the familiarity of it all threatened to leave her frozen in place. Another person, gone. Another loss she’d have to shelve among the rest. Someone else she was too helpless to save.

Except there was Blackbird. Standing by her side, shooting into the crowd. Fighting for a kid she didn’t even know. Fighting for herself. Alive, after all this time.

If it had been quieter, she may have heard the voice in her head yelling at her for letting her guard down. If it had been quieter, she may have recognized it. But noise this loud could only be silenced if it was overwhelmed, and she had been powerless for long enough. She’d made a promise, once, to use her powers to protect the people she loved. To protect Blackbird. And Dinah Lance didn’t break her promises.

She was already going through the motions when she heard it, words that could have come from any of them. “Canary, you know what you have to do.” Two quick breaths in. A third, deeper, slower, reaching down into her gut, until she could feel the power pulsing inside her, anxious for release after years of lying in wait. She let it build, remembered throwing out a last minute warning before running forward, out into the line of fire.

Intentionality. It had been her first lesson, the thing Mom said she’d always need if she wanted to use her powers. You have to mean it, she’d told her. You have to have something substantial behind it. A reason for using your power. It’s not a party trick — you have to feel something. She wasn’t sure she’d truly understood it until now. When Dinah opened her mouth, when she dug deep, it wasn’t just her power she found; it was pain. Years of it, piled on top of one another, buried underneath walls so thick she wasn’t sure she’d be strong enough to break them. She could feel the way her power intertwined with them, could feel it suffocating underneath the weight of everything she’d tried to ignore, all the suffering and guilt she’d tried to hide. It would hurt, letting it out. It would leave broken pieces behind that might never get put back together, but when she stood in front of Roman’s army, when she thought about Cass and Helena and Montoya and even Harley, she knew somehow that if she shattered, if she screamed until there was nothing left, someone would come to pick up the pieces. They wouldn’t let her break completely. They wouldn’t leave her alone. And she’d always known that any amount of pain would be worth saving the people she loved.

She took one last breath, and let it all out.

—

Dinah woke up to Montoya standing over her. She could see her mouth moving, but whatever she said wasn’t louder than the ringing in her ears. Or the pounding in her head. She’d seen Mom go through this all the time, but Dinah was out of practice. The last time she’d truly used her powers like this had been years ago, when Helena—

Helena. She tried to look around, but the entire world still felt like it was vibrating. Dinah squeezed her eyes shut, willed the feeling to pass. They didn’t have time for this. Helena needed her. Cass needed her.

When she opened her eyes again, Montoya was still talking, eyes frantic and hair slightly disheveled but overall alright. “—your car,” Dinah finally heard her say. “Canary, where’s your car?”

Dinah reached up and pointed in the general direction she’d parked, not trusting her voice just yet. Montoya nodded, reached down and helped her up. “Bertinelli already went after Quinn,” she said, “but they’ll need help. We gotta go.”

As they stumbled over to her surprisingly unscathed car, as her head cleared and her vision steadied, Dinah thought about what Montoya had said. Helena’s last name, thrown out so casually. Like it didn’t mean anything. Like it wasn’t the secret she’d kept for years. Like it hadn’t been the reason for one of the worst days of her life. She said it like it was just a word, nothing more, and Dinah wondered if maybe she was right. If they’d given it more power than it had ever deserved. If everyone had.

“I’m driving,” Montoya told her, and Dinah bit back a protest, tossed her the keys and hopped in the passenger's seat. They found Helena along the way, a little battered and bruised but still standing, followed her on her bike all the way to the pier. As they ran toward the sounds of gunfire, past statues that stood in the shadows and floorboards that snapped underneath their feet, all she could think about was Cass. The universe couldn’t take from her when it had just given back. Not when she’d fought for it this time. Not when she’d finally done everything right.

Finding her and Harley, standing together, staring into the water that was too red even for Gotham’s standards, Dinah wondered if this was destiny. If everything before this had been lessons disguised as punishment, showing her what she had to do. Teaching her how to fight for what she wanted, for who she loved. Teaching her how to survive. And if maybe, now that it was over, she would finally get a chance to do something more. To live. She had no idea what that looked like, but for the first time in her life, she was excited to find out.

—

They didn’t talk in the restaurant. Not at first. Dinah couldn’t stop looking at her, as if she might disappear if she let her out of her sight, as if all of this might have only been some figment of her imagination. It felt fragile, somehow. Like one wrong move, one wrong word, could bring the whole fantasy crumbling around her. So she kept her thoughts to herself, tried not to think too hard about the fact that Helena seemed to let her eyes roam anywhere else, so long as they never landed on her own.

The worry didn’t creep in until Harley stole her car. Helena laughed, the way she used to before, and suddenly she was nine years old again, sitting in the dirt by the beach, hidden behind the leaves and trees. That sound echoed throughout her happiest memories. She’d spent years calling on it, closing her eyes and going back when life became too much to handle. But what if she was the only one? What if her memory failed her, told her a story glossed over with time, one that looked much better than the truth? What if everything she thought she knew was wrong? Helena might not remember her at all. Or worse, she might not care. Dinah might be nothing more than a blip, a spot on a timeline that meant nothing in comparison to what came after it.

When Montoya stood up, when she handed Helena a business card and told them both to call her tomorrow, her heart started racing. It was just the two of them, the way it had always been, but they weren’t in Paradise anymore, and Dinah couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that this was the moment where everything changed. She’d spent years imagining something exactly like this, crazy and impossible scenarios where the people she loved came back to her, but imagining always let her control what happened. Now it was real life, and nothing was scarier than the fact that she had no idea what might come next.

“So,” Dinah assumed she’d be the one to break the silence, but she wasn’t brave enough to come right out and ask. “I guess—“

“They called you Canary,” Helena said, her eyes in her lap and her hands fiddling with that toy car Cass had given her. “And your voice is magic.”

A million feelings hit her all at once. Relief, ecstasy, shock, awe. Fear, with its lingering grip, still refusing to let go. Comfort, fighting for a place at the table, made stronger when Dinah thought about what she’d said. Canary. It had always sounded right when it came from her. Like it was her own title, her own name, not one passed down by someone she’d never be able to live up to. It reminded her of how she’d felt that summer — like someone could finally see her, just her, just Dinah, and still like what they saw.

She nodded, before realizing Helena wasn’t looking at her. “That’s true.”

“I knew a girl who had magic,” Helena whispered. “I called her Canary, too.”

The very words she’d feared came so quickly she felt embarrassed at her own doubt. She should have known — everything had always been easier with her. “And I knew a girl who hated chess and didn’t know her favorite color. But I never called her Huntress.”

Helena looked up, the same awe and genuity in her eyes that Dinah found so incredibly familiar. “You know who I am?”

“There’s not enough makeup in the world that could hide you from me,” she said, and she felt herself smiling, tried to think of a time when she felt this happy and came up blank. “Hi, Blackbird.”

Had she not spent all morning staring at her eyes, desperately trying to catch her gaze, she may have missed it; instead, she saw the way tears threatened to make an appearance at the sound of her old nickname, just for a moment, before she blinked them back. Her face was a mosaic, and Dinah knew she could look at her for hours, searching for each individual emotion, memorizing every inch of what she thought she would never see again.

Helena stared at her, mouth open, and Dinah could see the wheels turning, searching for the right thing to say, before she sighed and settled for, “Hi, Canary.”

“It’s been a while, huh?”

“Yeah.” Helena shook her head. “I don’t understand. I never told you my name.”

“I heard your driver call you Helena on that last day. When you didn’t show, when I saw what happened in the news, it wasn’t too hard to put two and two together.”

“They mentioned me in the news?”

Dinah thought about the bus ride, the black and white photo and the bloody socks. The boy in the puddle, the one who didn’t crawl out of an execution. The boy Helena had vowed to protect. “I saw a family photo,” she said, omitting details to still hold onto the truth. “Recognized you.”

“Oh.”

“I’m sorry. I can’t imagine what that must have been like.”

Helena didn’t say anything at first. Part of her wondered if she’d pushed too far, ruined everything already, and Dinah was seconds from handing out another apology when Helena finally spoke. “Do you remember the time I asked you about your dad? And what it was like to lose people?”

“Yeah.” The conversation came back in flashes. “You said you wanted to know what it was like. That you didn’t think you’d be good at it.”

She shrugged. “I was right.”

“Well, you can join the club, then.” The confused look on her face was so familiar, Dinah almost didn’t want to elaborate. “You think I handled losing you well? I almost destroyed Paradise. And after Mom?” She motioned around her. “I won’t bore you with the details, but this was probably the first good thing I’ve done since then.”

“You lost your Mom?” She sounded so sad, as if she’d known her. Dinah supposed in a way, maybe she had.

“Yeah. Years ago. She was doing this. The hero bullshit. The same kind of thing we talked about doing one day. Do you remember?”

“I remember everything.”

She didn’t know how to respond, how to tell her that their summer together had been the happiest time of her life, sandwiched in between the worst. That memories of them in Paradise, doing nothing but spending time together, had taunted her when she slept, reminding her of a time she could never go back to. That seeing her here, now, in the flesh, was everything she’d ever wanted, a dream somehow turned into reality. Remembering was an understatement.

“Yeah,” she finally told her. “So do I.”

“I’m sorry,” Helena said. “For leaving. For not coming back.”

“Not like you had a choice.”

“But I promised.”

She blinked away the image of Helena looking back at her, pinkie held out, smile on her face. Minutes from a massacre. “Yeah. And I promised I’d keep you safe. So I guess we both dropped the ball.”

“You couldn’t have protected me. No one could.”

“I could have tried.”

Helena just looked at her. “We were kids. You were hardly tall enough to get on that swing. You really think you could have stood up to some of the most ruthless people in Gotham?”

Dinah shrugged. “You never know. Looks can be very deceiving. What I lacked in height, I made up for in confidence and pent-up aggression back then.” She thought she was joking, but the more she spoke, the more it felt like a confession. “If I had just learned how to use my powers a little faster, maybe I could have taken them. I could have saved you.”

“Or you could have died.”

Dinah just shrugged. “Guess we’ll never know.”

They sat there for a minute, the silence comfortable and familiar, the way it used to be, until Helena said, “It really was impressive. Your voice. I always wondered what it would be like.”

“Oh, sure,” Dinah said with a smile. “It was real impressive the way I passed out in front of everyone. So graceful. So strong.”

“I thought it was beautiful,” Helena told her, and she was so serious, so genuine, that for a moment Dinah began to believe her. It was fascinating how quickly one sentence could challenge years of self-deprecation, of guilt and frustration and anger. Could make her question her own self-image. Could make her feel beautiful, if only for now.

“Yeah, well, you always saw me as better than I am. I guess some things never change.”

“Some things do.” She felt the shift, could hear it in her voice. Dinah didn’t want to think about the in-between, the time they spent apart. The tragedy of their own lives. It was easier to ignore it, to joke and deflect and laugh it all into oblivion.

“Yeah,” she agreed. “You definitely know how to use a knife now.”

She smiled, just barely, and Dinah took it as a win.

“You know what I mean,” she said. “We aren’t kids anymore. Everything is different.”

“Not everything,” Dinah said instinctively. “Not us.”

She knew immediately it was the wrong thing to say. Helena winced, as if the words were a slap across the face, as if she could feel them. As if they hurt her. As if Dinah hurt her. Her grip on that car tightened, and her eyes drifted away, looking for anything else. Anything but her.

“I shouldn’t — I’ve gotta-“ she turned, stood up and walked out of the restaurant. Dinah swore to herself, threw some money on the table and ran after her.

“Hey! Wait!” She kept going, kept her head down, but Dinah had let her walk away once before. She wasn’t letting it happen again.

She caught her right as they turned into the alley where Helena’s bike was parked, hidden in the shadows of the buildings next to them. Dinah jogged an extra step, put her hand on her shoulder. “Blackbird, please—“

“I’m not her anymore.” She snapped, turned so quickly that for an instant they were face to face, inches of air keeping them from touching. They stood like that, neither of them moving, until Helena blinked, swallowed and stepped backward. “The girl you knew,” she added. “Blackbird. She died that day. She’s gone. I can’t get her back.”

Dinah knew she’d never find the right words, but she searched for them anyway. She wanted to lie, to tell her that everything would be okay. That they’d reached the easy part now, that all the suffering was over, that she was wrong and they could close their eyes and be the kids they used to be. But she’d promised to never lie to her. And Dinah Lance didn’t break her promises.

“That makes two of us,” she settled for, before sticking her hand out into the new space between them.

Helena just stared at it. “What are you doing?”

“Making an introduction. My name is Dinah Lance. Some people call me Canary. My voice is magic, my mother was a superhero, and my best friend in the world died when I was nine. If I’m being honest, I’m pretty sure I died with her.”

Helena didn’t move. She didn’t speak. But when she looked up, when their eyes met, Dinah didn’t see the hardened assassin or the little girl from the beach. She saw someone entirely different. Someone she desperately wanted to know.

Slowly, Helena took her hand. “My name is Helena,” she said. “Helena Bertinelli. Some people call me Huntress. My best friend used to call me Blackbird.” She hesitated, before adding, “And my favorite color is purple.”

Dinah smiled, watched as Helena’s face began to mirror her own. “Purple’s a good choice. It’s nice to meet you, Helena.” Saying her name, the one she’d practiced, the one she’d held onto for years in secret, came with the same level of anticipation as it had before. Like anything was possible now that she had it.

Helena didn’t pull away, so neither did Dinah. They stood there, hand in hand. She could feel the callouses, the scars and rough edges that decorated her palm. It was a map, a timeline of everything she’d done, everywhere she’d been, and Dinah wanted nothing more than to know all of her stories.

“I don’t know what happens next,” Helena said softly.

“I think that’s up to us.”

“We could take up Renee’s offer. Wear the outfits, be the heroes.”

Dinah let go, only to hold her pinkie up in front of her. “I’m in if you are. We’re a team, remember?”

Helena smiled, reached for her, and suddenly there they were, miles from Paradise and years from childhood, pinkies wrapped around one another. “It might be fun. Doing something good. Helping other people.”

“I was thinking the exact same thing.”

“Plus, I don’t—um,” she dropped her pinkie, only to fiddle with the hair tie around her wrist. “I don’t really have anything else to do anymore. I’ve crossed every name off my list.”

Dinah had a million questions she wanted to ask about that, but it was early, and she was tired, and it dawned on her that they didn’t have to do everything today. She finally had the one thing she’d wanted more than anything else — time.

“Yeah,” she said instead, “I’m pretty sure I’m out of a job now, so I’ve got some free time.” Helena looked confused, so she added, “I sang at Sionis’s club. But I don’t really see them staying in business much longer.”

“You were a singer?” Dinah didn’t know how she managed to sound both happy and sad when she asked, like she couldn’t decide how she felt about it. Like her own feelings were a contradiction.

“Yeah. Most people didn’t really listen, though.”

Helena scoffed. “Then they’re stupid, or tasteless. Nobody sings like you do.”

She felt her entire body go warm, the same way she had all those years ago, when she’d brought the guitar into Paradise. “Yeah, well, I didn’t really care what they thought, anyway.”

“You didn’t?”

Dinah shook her head. “They weren’t you.”

“Oh.” She watched Helena look down, at her hands, at the ground, at anything else, but she couldn’t hide the smile, or the red on her cheeks. Watching her, all Dinah wanted to do was dig through her stuff, tune up her old guitar, and sing again. Not on a stage, not for a crowd, and not even for a paycheck. Just for her.

Helena looked back at her bike. “I’m not ready to leave yet.”

“Then don’t. Walk with me. It’s beautiful out.”

Dinah held out her hand. Helena stared at it for just a moment, before she took it, followed her out of the shade and back into the sunlight. Dinah finally got a chance to see her, to take everything in without any distractions. She saw her eyes, exactly as she remembered, dark and deep enough to drown in. She noticed the way her skin was littered with scars, new and old, small and dangerously large. But mostly, she noticed how even with her make-up almost entirely rubbed off and blood still decorating her body, Helena was still the most beautiful person she’d ever seen.

“Can I ask you something?” Helena said as they walked down the street.

“Anything.”

“Is it still standing? Paradise?”

“Honestly? I’m not sure. I haven’t been back in years. But I have the swing. It fell off the ropes a while back, but the base is still good.”

Helena shrugged. “Maybe we can rebuild it.”

“Maybe,” she said, “but the best part of Paradise was never the swing, or the beach. It was being with you.”

Helena stopped walking. “Then I guess we're already there.”

“Yeah,” Dinah said, looking up at the girl next to her. The one who left. The one who came back. “I guess we are.”

#pls pls validate me im such a sucker for that #also im gonna try and write more or go back to my abandoned WIPs but idk if u have prompt requests im always open to those #also the amount of italics i put in this...i need to be stopped #birds of prey #dinah x helena #crossbow canary #dinah lance #helena bertinelli #bop fanfic #fanfic #ao3 #TFLAO3 #folklore au finally exists

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camillemontespan · 4 years

Text

ten years from now [AU. drake walker x camille montespan] [part fifteen: clover]

M A S T E R L I S T

Warnings: None.

A/N: This is a slow one. I guess I wanted to add some more of Camille’s backstory into this and explore more of Drake and Camille’s childhood together.

@moonlightgem7 @jovialyouthmusic @mskaneko @ibldw-main @katedrakeohd @pug-bitch @gooddaykate @princessleac1 @burnsoslow @loveellamae @pedudley @oofchoices @emichelle @simplymissjulia @dcbbw @sirbeepsalot @rainbowsinthestorm @notoriouscs @fromthedeskofpaisleybleakmore @axwalker @marshmallowsaremyfavorite @nomadics-stuff @gardeningourmet @marshmallowsandfire @kingliam2019 **********************************

Drake had deliberately not seen Camille for a week. After her drunken antics, he felt it was only right to give her the space she so clearly needed. It was a blow for him as he had been hoping to work on building something with her now that she was in Texas, but he knew that if he pushed too hard, he risked losing her for good. So, he stayed off her radar and went about his days as normal.

When he did see her, such as at the farmers market or walking up the road to her grandmother’s house, he would give her a brief wave. She would wave back and go about her business. For Drake, it was an exercise in restraint.

One Sunday afternoon, he sat outside the ranch by the apple tree with a bottle of beer in his hand. The apple tree was old, having been planted by Bianca when Drake was born, and it was the marker of the resting place of his old dog, Clover.

Clover had been a golden labrador and was the most loyal and friendly dog in the state, according to Drake’s dad. She had died of old age and Drake had been by her side when she breathed her last. Clover had been the best dog and had followed Drake around all the time; which meant she also followed Camille around too.

Drake smiled at the thought of Clover.

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

Drake aged six, Camille aged five

Drake and Camille had met when they were five and six. While Bianca had been friends with Gisele for years, the Walkers were yet to meet Gisele’s granddaughter. That all changed one summer when a little girl with curly dark hair holding a battered suitcase clambered out of her grandfather Franklin’s car to be greeted by Gisele, who covered her with kisses.

Drake had seen her when he was out for a walk with his dad. He had looked at the girl curiously; Jackson had chuckled and teased, ‘Not until you’re older, son.’

Drake caught her eye. She looked at him warily before quickly looking away to scuff her sandals on the dirt road. Jackson waved at Gisele and Franklin. ‘Alright there, folks?’ he called.

Franklin smiled and took the little girl’s hand to guide her across to Jackson and Drake.

‘Hey there, Mr Walker,’ he said warmly. He looked down at Drake and reached into his pocket. Drake held out his hand automatically; as usual, Franklin deposited a candy into his hand with a wink.

Franklin was a gentleman in every sense of the word. He dressed impeccably every day, always with flair. Today, he was wearing a canary yellow suit jacket paired with tartan trousers and a navy cap on his head. Franklin and Gisele always looked like they were off to dinner somewhere fancy instead of just staying in their little house tending to their flowers.

‘Who’s this beauty?’ Jackson asked, gesturing to the girl.

‘My granddaughter, Camille,’ Franklin said softly. ‘Say hi, honey.’

Camille looked up at Jackson, this 6’4 giant, with her huge brown eyes. She stayed painfully silent.

‘She’s a little shy..’ Franklin murmured. He leaned closer to Jackson to whisper; Drake only caught some words, not that he was listening in.

‘Her parents.. Staying with us now.. Devastated..’

Drake looked at Camille. He saw with a start that she was staring at him curiously, as if trying to work him out.

‘I’m Drake,’ he said, raising his hand.

She retreated behind her grandfather’s legs, much to Drake’s disappointment.

‘Baby!’

Drake turned to see Bianca walking down the road with Clover. Drake grinned and ran to his mother, barrelling into her. ‘Ooof, watch the baby!’ Bianca laughed, placing her hands on her growing bump. She waved at Gisele before her eyes settled on Camille.

‘Who is this gorgeous little thing?’ she asked, joining the group.

‘My granddaughter, Camille,’ Franklin said. ‘Camille, this is our friend Bianca.’

Camille wasn’t listening. Her attention was captured by Clover, who was making it her mission to sniff Camille’s fingers and turn her into her new human friend. Camille was inching back, terrified.

Drake felt like he needed to show her how good Clover was. Who couldn’t love Clover?

‘This is my dog, Clover!’ he told her. ‘She’s real friendly.’

Camille was staring at the dog; her chest was rising rapidly and her eyes were filled with panic. Drake gently pulled Clover back, realising Camille was scared.

‘She’s two,’ Drake continued, focusing on stroking Clover who was now looking at Drake with a look of adoration on her face. ‘She loves people and she loves food! Look, she doesn’t bite.’

He stroked the dog some more, showing Camille that she was a good dog. Camille bit her lip but inched forward slowly towards the dog.

‘If you crouch down a little, she can reach you better,’ Jackson said from above in a gentle voice, watching the children.

Camille crouched down, keeping her eyes on Clover. The dog eyed Camille, her tail wagging, as the little girl got closer. Drake placed his hand around Clover’s collar; she wouldn’t jump but just in case..

Camille’s hand stroked the top of Clover’s head.

‘See!’ Drake cried. ‘She’s nice!’

Clover licked Camille’s finger, making her giggle. Drake grinned at the tinkly sound; it suited her.

‘Why is she called Clover?’ Camille asked in a small voice, surprising Drake. He was beginning to think she couldn’t speak.

‘Oh, well, she was the runt of the litter,’ he told her. ‘Nobody wanted her but I did, so she’s a lucky dog because she got picked! Clovers are lucky.’

Camille smiled as Clover licked her fingers some more.

‘I like her,’ she said simply.

Drake felt a burst of pride; Clover had done it! She had a new human friend!

‘She likes you too,’ Drake said. ‘Wanna play fetch with her?’

As Drake and Camille played fetch with clover, the adults discussed Camille’s situation in hushed tones. With her parents dead, she was now adopted by Gisele and Franklin. She was to start school next week and be in Drake’s class, which seemed a little brighter now that the two children were playing together. She was very shy, thanks to a short life of being neglected by her parents, but Gisele and Franklin were determined to bring her out of her shell.

They felt hope as they watched Camille laugh out loud as Clover caught a stick and brought it back to her. Drake jumped up and down with excitement, prompting Camille to join in with him.

Camille would be okay.

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

The sun was hot on Drake’s skin. He unbuttoned his shirt so he was now only wearing his white vest. Much better. He sipped his beer and thought about nothing. Or at least, tried to.

‘Hey Drake.’

Drake jumped at the sound of Camille’s voice. She was coming up the road carrying a glass dish in her hands.

‘Hey,’ he greeted her. ‘You okay?’

She got closer. She was dressed all summery today, wearing a red sundress, woven sandals and a white fedora on her head. ‘I hope you don’t mind me dropping by,’ she said. ‘But I was making casserole and made too much.. Do you guys want some?’

Drake smiled. ‘Always. We Walkers like to eat.’

Camille grinned and placed it down on the porch behind Drake. She eyed his beer. ‘Having a nice day?’

‘Yup,’ he said. ‘Just hangin’ out with Clover.’

Camille frowned. ‘Clover? I thought she..’

Drake patted the ground under the apple tree. ‘She’s lying under there.’

Camille’s eyes widened. She looked down at the ground and smiled sadly. ‘Hey, Clover.’

Drake gestured for Camille to sit beside him. ‘Beer?’ he asked.

‘Sure.’

He opened a bottle of her and clinked his against hers. ‘To Clover,’ he toasted. Camille grinned. ‘To Clover.’

They sat in silence for a moment until Camille broke it, needing to clear the air. ‘I’m sorry about getting drunk last week,’ she said, her voice filled with nerves. ‘I was an idiot. I’m sorry you had to deal with it.’

‘Hey, happens to all of us,’ Drake assured her. ‘Trust me, Savannah’s had to haul me up the stairs after one too many and given that she’s a foot shorter than me, that’s quite a challenge.’

Camille giggled and sipped her beer. ‘Well, I just wanted to apologise.’

She didn’t say anything else. Clearly, she didn’t remember telling Drake she loved him. Drake swallowed; baby steps, he reminded himself. Baby steps.

‘Clover was a good dog..’ Camille murmured. ‘She was always there.’

‘She was so loyal,’ Drake agreed. ‘I miss her.’

Camille nudged her shoulder against his, making Drake feel his heart flutter.

‘She was there for me that day you beat up Dylan Montgomery,’ Camille told him after taking another sip of beer. ‘I was crying and she came up to me and rested her head on my lap.’

Drake frowned. ‘I didn’t beat up Dylan Montgomery-’

‘You broke his nose, Drake,’ Camille interrupted, rolling her eyes. Drake chuckled. ‘That’s not beating someone up. If i had it my way, he’d have been in a lot more pain. Bastard deserved it.’

Camille shrugged. ‘He didn’t know, he was only seven.’

‘Still, you don’t speak to a girl that way.’

The ferocity in Drake’s voice was clear. Camille smiled softly at how protective Drake could be. He always had her back.

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

Drake aged eight, Camille aged seven

‘I want to be Britney this time!’ Camille protested, clenching her fists. ‘I’ve never been her!’

Madeleine laughed harshly. ‘You can be Beyonce, she’s just as good.’

‘I don’t like Beyonce!’ Camille shouted. ‘I like Britney!’

Madeleine rolled her eyes and continued to practice her dance moves with the other girls, Sophie and Amber. Camille tried to will away the tears forming in her eyes but she couldn’t; she adored Britney Spears. All she wanted was to be given the role of Britney so she could show off her dance routine to Overprotected.

But Madeleine never let her. Madeleine, Sophie and Amber took it in turns to be Britney every lunch break while Camille was always told to be Beyonce or Kelly Rowland or that other one from Destiny’s Child.

Camille had Britney’s CD. She had the doll. She danced to her songs all the time, putting on shows for her grandparents who would give her praise. She had even once managed to persuade Drake to join in with her routine to Oops! I Did It Again, much to her delight and Drake’s horror.

All she wanted was one lunch break where she could be Britney Spears. But it wasn’t allowed.

‘I want to be Britney!’ she shouted again, refusing to give up. ‘I love her! I know her dance routines!’

As she shouted, the kids in the playground were pausing in their activities and watching this drama unfold. Drake was one of them. He had been playing basketball with Rashad and Thomas, but he had stopped when he heard the girls shouting at each other. Abandoning the basketball, Drake wandered over to where Camille was standing, ready to jump in.

‘You can’t be Britney!’ Madeleine shouted back. ‘You don’t look like her!’

‘So?!’ Camille cried. ‘I know the dances!’

The other boys were watching this, some laughing, some feeling bad for Camille. She was a nice girl, always friendly to everyone; she wasn’t popular by any means but she was well liked by some of the children.

Dylan Montgomery was one of the boys laughing. He stepped forward to wade in with his unwanted opinion.

‘You can’t be Britney because you’re not blonde,’ he told her in a patronising tone that went way beyond his seven years. ‘You can’t be her.’

‘Yes I can!’ Camille said, her voice cracking. ‘I can be Britney!’

‘Let her be Britney,’ Drake joined in. ‘She’s really good.’

Madeleine rolled her eyes, as did Dylan. The two of them were the popular boy and girl in the class and they loved to flaunt it.

‘She doesn’t go to dance classes like me,’ Madeleine said. ‘So how can she be really good?’

‘I am really good!’ Camille burst out, tears streaming down her cheeks. ‘I am!’

‘You’re nothing like Britney!’ Dylan told her loudly. ‘She’s blonde and you’re not. You don’t look like her! She’s pretty, you’re not-’

Drake’s fist connected with Dylan Montgomery’s nose.

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

‘I swear to God, if we were allowed to use corporal punishment, I would do it!’ Jackson blazed furiously, pacing up and down the living room. ‘Jesus, Drake! Why are you beating up a kid?!’

‘He said she wasn’t pretty!’ Drake shouted, pointing at Camille who was sat on the sofa with her legs up to her chest, crying softly. Clover was beside her, resting her head on Camille’s lap, trying to soothe her.

‘Well, he is clearly blind!’ Jackson shouted. ‘But that gives you no right to hit him!’

‘They wouldn’t let her be Britney!’ Drake protested. ‘They all get to be Britney except for her! They tell her to be Beyonce!’

Bianca frowned. ‘What’s wrong with Beyonce? Why wouldn’t Camille want to be Beyonce?’

Franklin and Gisele were looking down at the floor, wringing their hands together. Bianca’s question went unanswered.

‘You burst his nose!’ Jackson yelled. ‘Drake, you can’t afford to have detention! Your report cards aren’t the best, you don’t pay attention in class-’

‘He deserved it!’ Drake burst out. ‘She’s my best friend and he hurt her feelings!’

Jackson pinched the sides of his nose in frustration. ‘I know, son. But that doesn’t mean you can go around hitting people.’

Drake went quiet. He cast his eyes over to Camille who was rubbing her eyes harshly. Feeling his heart tug, he sidled over to her and Clover, sitting up beside her. Camille leaned her head on his shoulder, her fingers still stroking the dog.

‘You two are thick as thieves,’ Jackson said quietly. ‘I get it. You act like it’s you guys against the world. But you gotta learn how to handle all the other kids otherwise it really will be you two against the world.’

Drake felt Camille take his hand. Drake squeezed hers reassuringly. Of course it was Drake and Camille against the world. It always would be.

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

‘I should go,’ Camille said after finishing her beer. ‘Thanks for the drink. Good to hang with Clover too.’

Drake smiled. ‘Any time, Montespan. She’s always gonna be here.’

‘Do you hang out with her a lot?’

Drake considered the question. ‘Basically every day at this time,’ he told her. Camille looked down at her hands, as if trying to pick her next words carefully.

‘Can I join you tomorrow?’ she asked.

Drake’s eyebrows went up. ‘But you said you needed space and I’m giving you space-’

‘I know,’ she interrupted. ‘But this was.. Nice.’

Drake bit his lip. ‘Camille.. What do you want from me here? You keep going back and forth..’

Camille scuffed her sandal against the ground. ‘I said I wanted us to take baby steps,’ she told him. ‘Hanging out with you, having beer, sitting with Clover.. This is what I wanted. No confusion, no drama. Just us, being easy together. Is that so wrong?’

It wasn’t wrong. It was confusing but it wasn’t wrong. But at least now he knew what she meant by baby steps. She meant easy summer afternoons, hanging out, laughing, remincising. No kissing, no touching, nothing more. She wanted to get to know Drake again.

‘Tomorrow afternoon then,’ Drake agreed. ‘Clover and I will be here.’

Camille smiled, relief flooding her face. ‘See you then,’ she said. Turning on her heel, she started to make her way back down the road before she turned to shout back at him.

‘What happened to Dylan Montgomery anyway?’

Drake laughed. ‘He’s married with five kids now.’

‘Five kids?!’ Camille shrieked. ‘Who would want to have babies with him?!’

Drake shrugged. ‘The nose surgeon’s daughter.’

Camille stared at him. ‘You’re kidding. He got a new nose?’

Drake chuckled. ‘What can I say? I ruined his face.’

#drake x camille

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ineffablegoodhusbandsomens · 4 years

Text

Hurts like Hell

I did a new thing! Been out of inspiration lately, but I got a little bit from an animation by Max Wayne on Youtube. It’s super angsty, and I loved the plot, so I asked if I could turn it into a fic, and told them I’d link their video with it, and they said, sure. So, here it is! And I’ll link the video on here too, if anyone wants to see it. It’s super angsty, but it’s really well done, and I love it a lot. You should go check it out! anyway, onto the fic! (Fair warning, this is hella angsty, I’m not gonna lie. There’s like, no happiness here)

They’d done it. They’d stopped the apocalypse, they’d saved the world, they’d convinced their sides to leave them alone. It had been over a year since then, and life had been good. So why now?

“Heaven and Hell working together, huh? That’s news to my ears” he’d said, trying to hide his fear behind his false confidence, when both Archangels and the Lords of Hell approached him in his flat.

“Don’t play coy, demon. We know about you and the Principality Aziraphale” Michael said, looking too smug for his liking. He felt fear rising in him, and tried to calm his nerves.

“Bit slow on the uptake there, Mikey boy. Thought you lot knew about our ‘fraternizing’ back when we were still trying to stop the end of the world” he replied, putting on his best smirk, and hoping they couldn’t see through him. Beelzebub grinned at him, and his blood ran cold.

“Oh, we did. But thatzz not what we’re here to talk about today. We know how you to zzwitched bodiezzz to avoid exzzecution” they said, and Crowley’s heart dropped as fast as his smile did. They knew. They knew, and now both he and Aziraphale were going to die. They were going to kill him first, and then go after his angel.

“Oh, that got him to drop the act. Yes, demon, we know. We know everything. How you two escaped execution, how you’ve been ‘fraternizing’, as you put it, since Eden. We know how you, a pathetic excuse for a demon fell in love with a pathetic excuse for an angel, even if we don’t know how. We could just kill you here and now” Gabriel said, his voice thick with triumph and smug. Crowley waited for the other shoe to drop, and for them to just kill him already.

“But we won’t”

Wait, what?

“See, we thought about killing you both, and finally being rid of you traitors, but we thought better of that. Instead, we’ve decided to make you both suffer” Gabriel finished, an almost sadistic look in his eyes.

“We know that you and that angel are in...love” Hastur spit out the word, almost as if it caused him physical pain to say it.

“And Crawley, that just won’t do. Demons ain't even s’possed to feel love in the first place, much less for an angel. So, we’re gonna take that away from you” Hastur continued, a definite sadistic look covering his entire face. Crowley felt fear rising in his chest. They weren’t going to kill only Aziraphale, were they?

“What do you mean?” he asked, willing his voice to be strong. He couldn’t show weakness, not now. Too much was at stake.

“We have a proposition for you. Cut ties with Aziraphale, never talk to him again, or we’ll make it easy for you to stay away” Gabriel said, and held out his hand. An image of Aziraphale appeared hovering above his palm, and Crowley felt his heart quicken. It may have been a projection, but he could never stop his heart from beating faster at any thing that reminded him of his angel. But then, fire took over the image, and Aziraphale was lost to him. Crowley knew what this meant. Stay away from Aziraphale, or you’ll never see him alive again. Leave, or he dies. He couldn’t contain his shock, knowing the look on his face gave the beings around him the answer they were looking for. Crowley wanted to argue that they wouldn’t dare, but, seeing the look on Gabriels face, he knew the Archangel wanted nothing more than for a chance to kill Aziraphale.

“What’s your answer, demon?” asked Uriel, who’d stayed silent this entire time.

“I’ll leave him alone. I’ll never go near him again” Crowley said, and couldn’t stop his voice from cracking, and knew everyone around him could tell, they’d got him.

“We’ll let you say your goodbye’s. Wouldn’t want him to think you’d abandoned him, do you?” Dagon asked, smiling dangerously, they’re sharp teeth shining menacingly at him.

“Of course, we can trust you won’t tell him about this little conversation we’ve had, right?” Gabriel said, grinning like the cat that finally caught the canary. Crowley couldn’t seem to force his voice to work, so he simply nodded his head. This was cruel, even for Heaven and Hell. Force him to break both his and his angels hearts, and then leave the angel forever.

“Good. We’ll leave you to it. And don’t worry, we’ll be monitoring you, making sure you never go back after the goodbye” Gabriel said, and the Archangels and demons both disappeared, leaving Crowley in his already empty, cold flat, feeling colder than it had ever felt before. Crowley finally released the emotions he was keeping locked in his chest, and his knees gave out, forcing him to fall to the floor. And for the first time in over a year, the demon could do nothing but cry over his lost love.

Check out the rest on AO3, or press keep reading to continue!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/23551879

Crowley remembered this as he walked through the rain, unprotected, to the meeting spot. He’d cried on the floor of his flat until his eyes were dry of tears, then he stood up, and called Aziraphale, forcing his voice to be devoid of any emotions, as his angel answered, cheerily. Crowley didn’t say much, only that he needed to urgently meet with Aziraphale at St. James’s Park in an hour, and then hung up, before the angel could say, “I love you”.

Crowley wrapped his arms around himself, to try and keep warm, as the cold rain drops seeped into his clothes. He looked up from the path, and saw Aziraphale, standing with his eyes shut, a cream colored umbrella protecting him from the rain. Even though Crowley had become used to seeing Aziraphale every day since the failure of Armageddon, he still found himself having to stop before getting to the angel. Aziraphale still took his breath away, even now. Especially now that he would never see him again. Crowley took a few seconds to memorize every detail of the being in front of him, to hold in his memory forever. It didn’t last long, before Aziraphale opened his eyes, and saw Crowley.

“Crowley, my dear! There you are! What was it you wanted so urgently to tell me, that you needed to meet me in the rain? And you must be freezing! Come here, there’s space under the umbrella” Aziraphale said, sounding as joyful as always, and Crowley knew he had to be strong.

Just do it. Rip it off like a band-aid, and go he thought to himself.

“We can’t do this anymore. The Arrangement. It has to end” Crowley said, daring his voice to see what would happen to it, if it cracked under the weight of his emotions. His heart ached, as Aziraphales smile faded

“Whatever do you mean, my dear? Are you feeling alright?” Aziraphale asked, sounding concerned for his partner.

“I mean, we can’t see each other anymore. I can’t do this anymore” Crowley replied, voice growing slightly louder. Maybe if he started yelling, he wouldn’t start crying.

“Darling, that’s not an answer. Why can’t you do this anymore?” Aziraphale said, sounding more confused than anything. Crowley closed his eyes behind his glasses.

“It wasn’t real. What we had between us. I’ve been tempting you for 6 millenia, to try and get you to fall from Heaven. It was going to be my greatest triumph as a demon, maybe even get me a seat next to Hastur, possibly even the Lords of Hell, if I was lucky. But you persisted. You continued believing in Her. So, I thought, maybe I can get you to fall, now that Heaven basically disowned you. But, didn’t work, so I’m giving up. That’s it for ‘us’” Crowley said, trying to make himself sound uncaring. But he knew it wasn’t working.

“Love, don’t be ridic-” Aziraphale began, but Crowley interrupted him.

“Didn’t you hear me?! It wasn’t real! I don’t, and never have loved you! It was all an act!” Crowley shouted, knowing he was going to break soon if he couldn’t get Aziraphale to understand. Breaking his heart was the only way to save his beloved angel.

“Anthony J. Crowley!” Aziraphale exclaimed, dropping his umbrella in anger and shock.

“You and I both know that is a lie. I don’t know what has gotten into your head, or who put this thought in your mind, but remember, we’re on our side” Aziraphale said, trying to keep a brave face, but Crowley knew his tells. He was scared. He was hurting, and he was close to believing Crowley.

“THERE IS NO ‘OUR SIDE’! THERE NEVER WAS! DON’T YOU UNDERSTAND?! IT’S OVER!” Crowley shouted, feeling tears prickle the corners of his eyes, and he saw the betrayal on his angels face. He couldn’t take it anymore. He turned and started to walk away. He heard the angels footsteps following him softly.

“Crowley, please. I love you” Aziraphale said, and Crowley could feel the angel reaching for his shoulder. One more action to hammer the nail into the coffin. He wordlessly put his hand up, silently telling the angel not to touch him. He heard the angel gasp softly, and then the sound of footsteps speeding away from him, and he was alone. For the first time in 6000 years, he felt truly, and utterly alone in the world. He didn’t dare look back, and tears fell from his eyes, knowing there would be nobody for him to look at.

He began sobbing, and knew he couldn’t do that in a rainy park. He began lowering himself to the ground, feeling his glasses fall from his face. When he finally reached the floor, he was back in his flat, his wings unfurled behind him. He sat himself on the ground, tucking his knees to his face, curling in on himself, brought his wings around to his front, sheltering him from the cruel world outside the feathery protection, and sobbed. He stayed that way for hours.

He couldn’t sleep. He couldn’t eat. He couldn’t drink. Everything he did made him think of Aziraphale. Every thought he had twisted itself, and became a memory of Aziraphale. He stopped listening to music. Every song he heard made him weep for his angel. This continued on for weeks. He burned his Velvet Underground CD the first time he tried listening to it after the Park. He’d been fine through the first song, but then Pale Blue Eyes started playing, and he couldn’t take it. He never left his flat. He didn’t want to risk seeing Aziraphale on the streets, because he knew he’d be unable to stay away. He got drunk every night, hoping the alcohol would take away the pain. It never did.

One night, 2 months after the last time he’d seen Aziraphale, he’d gotten incredibly drunk, and went around his flat in a drunken rage, destroying everything that reminded him of Aziraphale, everything he’d gotten for when his angel would choose to spend the night. He didn’t do it out of hatred or anger, he did it out of despair and suffering. He’d torn up pillows, he shattered classical records he’d bought for the angel. He burned the Heaven’s Dress tartan blanket he’d gotten commissioned for himself decades ago, when Aziraphale started wearing that blasted bow tie.

He’d gone room to room, ridding himself of anything that would ever make him think of Aziraphale. It hurt too much. He couldn’t take it, knowing his angel was out there, in the same city, and he could never see him again. He’d even almost destroyed the bird altar from the church he’d blown up to save Aziraphale in 1941, but he couldn’t bring himself to go through with it. He went into his room, and opened his bedside drawer. Inside was a small velvet box. He gingerly pulled it out, and opened it, as he sat down on his bed.

Inside was a beautiful gold ring, shaped like a snake. It’s back was studded with dozens of tiny onyx crystals, and its underside was studded with tiny rubies. It had yellow crystal eyes. It had cost Crowey a fortune, but money was no problem. He’d had it custom made to Aziraphale’s exact finger size. He was going to propose on the anniversary of the creation of The Arrangement, the day Aziraphale finally trusted him. He’d even had one made for himself, in the hopes that Aziraphale would say yes. It was shaped like 2 wings, studded in mother of pearl, wrapping around to meet, wing tip to wing tip in the front. Now neither would get the chance to wear the rings.

When he looked at the ring, he felt his drunken anger leave him, instead being replaced by grief and regret. His heart grew heavy, and tears fell from his eyes. He didn’t try to stop them. He closed the box, pressed it to his chest, and laid down on his bed, weeping until sleep took him.

When he woke up, it was still dark outside. His clock read 2:30 am, and he knew he wouldn’t fall back asleep. He took the velvet box, and gently placed it back in his dresser, before standing up, and walking out of his room. He saw the mess he’d made, and knew he couldn’t stay in his flat for the rest of the night. He felt dirty, unclean, disgusted at himself. He closed his eyes, and snapped his fingers, not caring where he ended up, as long as he could get clean.

Before he even opened them again, he felt the cool night air against his face, and heard the crashing of small waves to land. He opened his eyes, and found himself on a beach. He didn’t know where, and he didn’t care. He took off his glasses, and tossed them to the side, not caring where they landed. He started taking off his clothes, until he stood on the beach, wearing nothing, and he slowly walked into the water.

It was freezing. So cold, it hurt, but he didn’t care. The pain reminded him he was alive. He’d almost forgotten that, despite feeling empty and dead for 2 months, without his missing half, he was still alive, on Earth. He trudged on, walking until the freezing water passed his neck, and he started swimming. He swam for he didn’t know how long, until he couldn’t see the beach anymore, and he finally let go. He stopped swimming, and let himself sink into the sea, his head falling underneath the water, as he fell further into the sea. He curled in on himself, and held himself in the fetal position, as his mind raced, and he finally let everything out.

He unfurled his wings underwater, and used them to push his way to the surface and beyond, flying as high as he could, all his sorrow and grief finally being let go. Tears streamed from his eyes, as he flew higher and higher into the night sky. He pushed further and further, until he was level with the moon, and then he stopped pushing, and let himself fall. He fell and fell, only pushing out of the fall once his body was feet from the water below, and he flew himself back to shore. He knew what he needed to do.

When he had dressed himself again, he miracled himself outside the closed bookshop of his beloved, not bothering to put his glasses back on. The lights were on, and he could see inside, to where his angel was sitting, back to the window, a book in his hands, a mug of cocoa sitting next to him. Crowley leaned against the stone of the building, and looked on in sadness, at the one creature he wanted to see more than anyone else, and the one creature he could never see again. He’d made up his mind.

He snapped his fingers, and a bouquet of flowers, and the small velvet box appeared on the doorstep of the shop. He quickly rushed to the door, and knocked on it, not knowing what the angel would do.

“We’re closed!” he heard Aziraphale call from outside, and wanted nothing more than to open the door, walk into the building, and wrap his arms around the angel he loved. Wanted nothing more than to press gente kisses to Aziraphale’s face, and hear the adorable noises of happiness he made whenever Crowley did that. But, he couldn’t. So, he knocked again, harder this time, and knew the angel would answer it. He heard Aziraphale stand, and walk to the door, and just before it opened, he miracled himself back to his flat.

He knew Aziraphale would understand his message. The flowers he’d miracled were not randomly chosen. Both he and the angel had learned flower language in the 1800s, as proper gentlemen did. The bouquet consisted of purple hyacinth, amaranth, butterfly weed, striped carnation, everlasting, honeysuckle, monkshood, primrose, sweet pea, and apocynum. Together, they formed a message that read, “Please forgive me, I’ve deceived you. I love you, unfading. I can’t live without you, but I can’t be with you. I will always remember you. Be careful, danger is near. Farewell” And he’d left the angel the ring he was going to propose to him with, as a way for the angel to know that Crowley had never meant what he’d said at the Park, but he wasn’t taking it back. It was a piece of him the angel could keep, or get rid of. It was up to him.

He walked into his room, and found the other velvet box, that held the ring he was going to wear, if Aziraphale had said yes. He took the ring out of the box, and put it on his left ring finger. He was still grieving, but he would always love Aziraphale, and he hoped the angel felt the same. After doing that, he snapped his fingers once, and his flat was empty. You’d never have known anyone lived there for decades. He couldn’t stay in England. He couldn’t stay anywhere in Europe. Not when his angel was so close, and yet, so far. Anywhere in Europe was too close to England, to Aziraphale. And, with another snap, he was gone, already halfway across the world, in an apartment in America, preparing for a new life without Aziraphale.

And, if you guys wanna check out the video by Max Wayne, here’s the link. Like I said, it’s really good, even if it’s nothing but angst, and if you want, you should totally check it out! https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CNwzTFk1NDU

#good omens fic #Good Omens angst #sorry not sorry #Ineffable Husbands

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sigritandtheelves · 5 years

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hi! :) i was wondering if you could write a thing where it's either scully's or mulder's birthday and they're not looking forward to it but the other helps make it nice anyway? my own birthday is coming up and my friends won't be able to be there, and it would be unhealthy to be around my family, so reading something like that would be lovely. it's totally fine if you don't find the time though!! you're really awesome either way!

I hope this is in time, and that you have a great birthday. This is set in a somewhat happier universe than the one we got, where “William” never happened, but the rest of s9 did.

mature/explicit | 1.6k words | angst, au, fluff

—

February 23, 2004

The floor was cold and the sink was full of dirty dishes. She hadn’t washed her hair in three days and kept her robe pulled tight around her, almost always. Like most of the places they’d been, this cabin didn’t feel much like home. She was tired, she was cold, and she missed her mother.

From the living room came a loud racket: a bucket of toys dumped out on the floor and a little voice saying “Oh maaaan.” His favorite game, and one for which she’d nearly broken an ankle more than once—scattered trains and legos moving as they would across the rough floor into unseen places. Scully took her cup of coffee into the room where her son played.

William smiled when he saw her. “What’s cookin good lookin?” He said, a new phrase from his father, and she smiled in spite of the fog that seemed to have settled around her.

“Watch those trains,” she said. “They like to hide, and I don’t want to step on them.”

The boy nodded and scooped to the far radius of his dump site.

This space wasn’t designed for wintering. The walls were too thin. A crack under the door led a frigid trail of air across the uninsulated wood floor. They had to keep the water on a drip at night or the pipes would freeze. Unthinking, Scully reached and pulled a small blanket around her son’s shoulders. Just in time, too, because the door flew open and Mulder came in, carrying a large armload of wood. She hurried to close the door behind him, for which he mumbled a thanks.

When he’d dropped the armload by the stove, sending a shower of splinters in a small rain around the pile, he brushed himself off and moved toward her. “Oh hey,” he said, as if just noticing her.

She smirked. “Hey.”

He tugged on the belt of her robe, pulled her up against him. “Today’s the day, huh? Big day? Big four-oh?”

Her eyes narrowed. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

He took her in his arms and began dancing, rocking his hips and clasping her hand. “Is it everything you imagined?” There was no music so he hummed. “Is your life the dream you wanted?”

Behind her eyes, the sting of tears. He didn’t mean to be cruel, she knew, but it felt that way nonetheless. Scully pulled away from him and took her coffee mug back to the kitchen for a warm up. He followed a few seconds later, but she didn’t turn to meet his eyes.

“Scully,” he said.

She clenched and unclenched her fists beside the coffee pot.

“Dana, hey,” he tugged her around and tilted her face up, palms cool and a little rough. She didn’t want to cry in front of him, but this day had shaken her harder than expected.

“I’m just tired,” she managed.

“Tired of me?”

She shook her head, then let it fall against his chest. He smelled like musty wood and the dried lichen that grew on its outsides. He smelled like the earthy periphery of civilization: wild. She buried her nose in him. “Never you,” she said. “Of this.”

Mulder’s arms circled her, heavy and strong. It would only be a few moments before William plowed into their legs to complete their circle, demanding attention and probably snacks. Before that happened, though, Mulder tilted her face up and kissed her. “Have a bath,” he said. “Get dressed. I have a surprise.”

—

He made her pack a bag, and then they drove and drove while he refused to answer her Mulder, where are we going? over and again. He looked like the cat who ate the canary, eyeing her over the center console while he broke sunflower seeds between his teeth like they were green agents on their first case and not exhausted outlaws with a three-year-old. “You’ll see,” he said.

“We’re near Washington,” Scully observed. There was a tinge of worry in her voice. They hadn’t skirted this close to the federal government in two years of running, and she couldn’t imagine what would bring them here now. Mulder only made a non-committal sound of acknowledgement.

It was near dark, and William had long ago fallen asleep in the back seat when they finally made the turn off a country road. At the end of a long driveway was a small house, lit yellow from the inside, one porch-light glowing. Scully’s fear grew. They’d rarely made contact with anyone, and never this close to DC. “Mulder, who lives here?” She asked.

Again, he made no comment, but pulled to a stop in front of the house where there was one other car already parked: a newer model Subaru, gray. He turned in his seat to rub William’s knee. “Hey buddy. Time to wake up.” The child stirred and opened blue eyes. He stretched, yawned, made a whimpering sound of frustration at his stiff little limbs.

“Mulder, is it safe?”

He only smiled at her. “Yeah.” He climbed out and unlatched his son from the back seat, carrying William in one arm and the boy’s small duffel over the other shoulder. Scully checked the clip of her gun and left her bag in the car, but Mulder only shook his head at her. Free hand on her back, he led her up the steps.

“Where are we?” William asked.

Mulder kissed the boy’s cheek as he knocked on the door. “Home,” he said, watching Scully’s eyes narrow in suspicion.

Before she could question him, though, the door swung open and Maggie Scully stood before them. The older woman’s hands came to her mouth in joy and sadness and the (at last!) release of desperate anticipation. “Oh my God, Dana,” she said.

Scully’s face crumpled. “Mom?”

—

The inside of the house was warm and smelled of real food, not like the aluminum-tinged canned goods, warmed in an undersized microwave, that they’d grown so accustomed to. There was baked ziti and salad and fresh bread and even a cake—at the sight of which, William’s eyes had nearly bulged from his head.

After the two women had fallen into each other’s arms where they hugged and cried and cried and hugged and Mulder had cleared his throat and swiped at his own eyes, Maggie had scooped up her sleepy grandson to lavish him with two years worth of affection at once. Dana had turned to Mulder, grabbed his face with both hands, and kissed him hard, at which he’d laughed, but kissed her back soundly.

“How long were you planning this?” She whispered into his mouth.

He nibbled her bottom lip, kissed her nose. “About two months,” he said. ��Happy birthday.”

The house was theirs. A real house in one place, just two short hours from Maggie. It had three bedrooms and a full kitchen and a barn out back. Dana Scully shook with the joy of it, could hardly eat her dinner without the tears coming again. They would stay a few days, then go back for their things, but Maggie (with the help of Walter Skinner) had brought many of their stored objects here: small domestic touches that reminded them of who they’d been, of the promise that had returned to their lives.

William slept in a room full of stars, of planets on his bedspread and dinosaur sheets that he’d bounced and bounced on, yelping with delight. Mulder pulled Scully to their bedroom, to their bed that would remain theirs, for the rest of their lives if they wanted. She was cast in soft light by the bedside lamp, eyes shining above her navy sweater. Mulder touched her face and the whole room hummed.

“This was the best birthday I ever had,” she whispered, unable to stop the subtle curl of her lips.

Mulder tugged at the marled cotton of her top. “It’s not over yet.”

“My mom’s just down the hall,” she said, a half-hearted warning, but let him tug the garment off anyway. She did the same for him, tugging and pushing at fabric, until they both stood naked in their very own room. His palms slipped over her breasts, pulled at her lower back so his hardening cock angled warm into the skin of her belly. He kissed and kissed her until she pulled him to the mattress, scooted back so he could lay atop her and press her down into soft cotton. She studied his face over hers while his fingers traced her nipples, brushed down her ribs, splayed across her thigh that lifted along his waist. There was a sprinkling of gray hairs near his temples, soft lines at his eyes: the trace evidence of their hard years together, and so beautiful. She arched her back to feel the skin of their middles touch and smiled when he did the same. His fingers dipped between her legs and came up slick.

“This is what you want too?” She asked him, knowing he’d understand she meant more than just her body: the house, the stillness, the solid ground beneath their feet.

“More than anything,” he said. His fingers dipped again and she gasped. They moved lower, moved inside her, and she clenched around him, slipped her hand to palm the silk of his own straining sex. “I love you,” he told her.

Scully’s breath caught. Her heart pounded; she raised her head to capture his lips while she angled his cock toward the apex of her legs. They were words he held dear, even now in their shared life. He parsed them out carefully, offering them like rare gems only when they could carry the proper weight of their meaning. He lived them every day in his gentle actions, but spoke them so seldom that they always felt like gifts. Scully captured them in her own mouth now, as she pulled his body into hers, answering with her skin and her bones and her quick-pulsing blood. The thought of their shared years, the tricksy slippage of time that made her feel old, drifted away under the weight of his body and his love. He’d found her a home, and with it they’d found a future.

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tvdversefanfiction · 4 years

Text

Canary Carnage

Fandoms: Arrowverse, DC Universe, TVDverse and The Originals

Chapter Eleven: The Death of The Red Canary

Warnings: I don’t own any of the rights, content or characters belonging to any of the DC content I use within the story along with not owning any rights, content or characters within The Vampire Diaries, Originals or Legacies.

18 Rating: Moderate/Graphic displays of violence, sexual innuendos, sexually charged scenes, SMUT, strong language and potentially triggering scenes.

Pairings: M/M, F/F, M/F.

Lucas Lance would love to blame his entire life on the fact he had a demon inside of him, but he knew that one murderous blackout didn’t excuse him from the many murders he committed while fully aware.

Redemption was a word that had been on the Red Canary’s mind for a long time but the longer it remained just a word the longer it became less likely for him and now he had killed the woman who raised him he had come to the conclusion redemption was something he would never find.

In his final days Lucas Lance had realized that redemption was something he was never going to have but as he spent more time on the island Lian Yu with Nyssa Al Ghul he realized he wanted to hear the end of the story to why he was taken back in time not fully realizing the closer he got to the truth the closer he got to the end of his story.

Despite total isolation the Red Canary wasn’t nowhere near as miserable as most prisoners of Nyssa Al Ghul’s would be, in fact he had found himself growing to like the demon’s daughter especially as she taught him how to fight like an assassin as if she was somehow unknowingly preparing him for what was about to come.

“You have clearly depended far too much on that sonic scream of yours to learn how to properly fight like a true warrior.” Nyssa scolded Lucas after hitting a bamboo stick out of the canary’s hand and smacking him to the ground with her own bamboo stick. “However, you’re much better at this than Sara was at the beginning so there’s promise.”

“In my defense on this earth I could literally blow your head off with one scream.” Lucas replied as he struggled back to his feet and slowly picked his bamboo stick back up.

“Well you don’t have that collar around you anymore why aren’t you using that scream now?” Nyssa questioned as she struck Lucas once more with her makeshift weapon with such force the canary once again fell harshly to the dirt within the woods of Lian Yu.

“Laurel screams better than me, Sara fights better.” Lucas told the assassin after letting out a series of groans before rising back to his feet. “For some kind of undead child, I pretty much suck in the special department.”

“Yeah I must admit for somebody who has a whole prophecy written about him you aren’t particularly all that impressive.” Nyssa teased Lucas with a devious smirk across her face.

“Did you seriously just sass me?” Lucas laughed. “I’ve got to say you suit be sassy instead of this whole stoic thing you’ve got going for yourself.”

“Just because I haven’t forced you back home doesn’t mean we are friends now.” Nyssa reminded him. “My sister has information about the prophecy and has chosen to come to us…her curiosity clearly has gotten the better of her over this strange world but if she proves as useless as she normally is then we will be heading home.”

“Lucky for you I’m currently more interested in finding out the truth than escaping this damn island or else I’d be getting very violent right now.” Lucas answered the assassin, making it clear he was under no assumption they were suddenly friends only to be met my Nyssa’s bamboo stick striking him across the face and forcing him back into the dirt once again.

“How about we leave the threats until after you manage to land even one hit on me?” Nyssa scolded Lucas once again allowing herself to laugh at seeing him pissed off while back in the dirt once again.

Nyssa Al Ghul was more than happy to smack-down Lucas repeatedly eager to teach the devious canary a lesson or two but she had found herself surprised by how calm he was staying despite succumbing to her strength repeatedly, finding herself impressed with Lucas’ dedication and determination to the fight.

Sara Lance had lost a lot over the last few days including her mother and the man she believed to be her brother at the same time. She had lost her whole life once before when she was presumed dead but at least then she managed to hold out hope on being reunited with them one day but that day would never come because this time it was them who were gone and not her.

She couldn’t help but remember the little brother she was once so close to when they were younger who she unknowingly pulled away from as she grew older and began gravitating towards a closer friendship with her sister Laurel which she eventually ruined by sleeping with her sister’s boyfriend Laurel but that was a different time, Sara was a different person and her relationship with Laurel was once again improving as she realized it was just her that changed it was all three of them.

Sara had went from being a clueless girl obsessed with the wrong guy to a cold blooded assassin and was now a woman seeking redemption for her sins, Laurel was always pure and kind which she had kept to this day but she was stronger now and had spread her kindness through her acts of Black Canary protecting an entire city from evil and as for Lucas he had gone from an innocent, quiet and often shy boy to a ruthless cold blooded vigilante known as the Red Canary who it had been becoming painfully clear was long past any chance of redemption.

Sara Lance couldn’t help but get caught up in the past as she traveled on a boat that her and her sister Laurel had stolen heading to Lian Yu, the island that changed everything for her, as both were prepared to take the life of Lucas Lance.

“You don’t have to do this Laurel; I mean you can always back out now and head back.” The White Canary told her sister the Black Canary as both canaries walked from the shores of Lian Yu heading in the direction of the woods. “You don’t have to be the one who kills your own son…I can do it for you!”

“Sara I know how important your current no killing thing is to you and I won’t be the reason you backslide…sure I’ve never killed anyone before but who better to start with than the person I believed was my brother but was actually my son from the future.” Laurel replied to her as the two stopped at the shore, just before the woods began. “I can’t let him hurt anymore people it’s not right.”

“Shame on you Miss Laurel Lance I believed family meant more to you than that.” Elijah said with a disappointed look at Laurel after vamp speeding out of the woods to greet the two canaries.

“The last thing we need is for you or your family getting involved right now!” Sara snapped at the noble original, furious to learn he had followed them to Lian Yu.

“You can’t go around eliminating your own blood just because they do things, you’re not proud of!” Elijah told Laurel, while ignoring Sara completely. “Sure he has committed some unspeakable acts but as you grow older your going to learn that everyone does sooner or later I mean your own sister has probably taken more lives than your son and I don’t see you trying to kill her.”

“How dare you try and compare me to Lucas?” Sara argued with him. “He chose his path I did not.”

“He killed our mother Elijah you can’t begin to imagine…” Laurel began to say to Elijah, only for the original vampire to quickly cut her off.

“Actually, I do…Niklaus killed both my mother and my father although admittedly there weren’t exactly innocents in that story.” Elijah admitted to both canaries. “In fact, our parents turned us into what we are today the monsters everybody fears and then they turned their backs on us, hunted and tried to kill us multiple times for the creations that they made.”

“Well suddenly your family issues are starting to make a lot more sense.” Sara said to Elijah, shocked to hear of his story and clearly touched by it at the same time.

“Lucas didn’t have terrible parents he had our amazing parents and he had us.” Laurel continued to argue with Elijah, as tears formed in her eyes. “Trust me the last thing I want to do is murder my own son, but he’s hurt so many people and he’s just going to keep hurting more unless I stop him.”

“I guess that’s the difference between you and I.” Elijah stated, looking at Laurel with a sense of complete disappointment, a look that wounded her more than she’d like to admit. “I put family above all else, I’d let the world burn to the ground for my blood to be happy for just one day.”

“I’m the one who has to protect innocents from people like you and him.” Laurel replied as tears began falling from her eyes. “Those who can’t protect themselves will always find protection from me no matter what!”

Laurel and Sara were both left in shock as they saw Rebekah vamp speed out of the woods, heading straight towards her brother Elijah before snapping his neck and throwing her unconscious brother’s body down on to the ground.

“Sorry about that one Elijah but I guess this one is a case of all girls got to stick together.” Rebekah apologised to her older brother before turning her attention to the two canaries. “I for one agree with you about Lucas and not because I give a damn about any of what you said but because he’s messing around with my family and I don’t take too kindly to that.”

“How can we trust you?” Sara asked the original female vampire.

“Because despite my complete and utter hatred for you Lucas is currently pissing me off more!” Rebekah snapped at the White Canary before turning to the Black Canary. “And as for you Laurel Lance I actually quite like you when you’re not wearing bloody ridiculous leather fetish outfits in public that is.”

Rebekah wanted to protect her brother Klaus from his growing feelings towards the unhinged Red Canary knowing it wouldn’t end well for anyone involved and so she decided to double cross her brothers and make an alliance with Laurel and Sara knowing that they were her best shot at killing Lucas Lance once and for all.

Talia al Ghul was the other daughter to the demon Ra’s al Ghul and the half-sister to Nyssa al Ghul but unlike her sister Nyssa she was far less loyal to her father’s every whim and often wanting the head of the demon mantle within the league of assassins to herself creating a strained relationship with both her father and sister.

Neither Talia or Nyssa had a particularly good relationship with their father in fact it was more formal than loving they knew he was their leader more than he was their father and a cruel one at that.

The truth is if Ra’s al Ghul was ever taken out the first suspects would be his daughters but if someone else ever did manage to take out the demon it would be his daughters first in line to avenge his death.

Nyssa al Ghul hadn’t seen or heard of her sister since their father help speed along the end of Talia’s ill-fated romance with Oliver Queen forcing the Green Arrow to break up with her in return for training him, an offer Oliver was quick to accept.

Neither Nyssa or Talia had ever had much luck with love with Nyssa believing her luck had changed with Sara Lance only for her to leave the league and her behind, a move she both admired and was devastated by.

“Even after all she’s done to the league you still grant refuge to the undead child all because of her.” Talia stated as Nyssa greeted her within the woods of Lian Yu, clearly judging her half-sister’s choices. “Father believes her to be dead and I haven’t corrected him…yet.”

“I’m sure you’ll take great pleasure in running straight to our father after this meeting…Sara died for her sins against the league it’s not my fault it didn’t stick but she still payed which means her slate with us should be wiped clean.” Nyssa replied to her.

“Luckily for you that’s not the canary at the top of my list…besides what our father doesn’t know can’t hurt him.” Talia told her sister who was surprised by Talia’s willingness to co-operate. “Of course, in your return for your silence I want the undead child taken out permanently before our father learns of his location.”

“No harm will come to the Red Canary unless there is no other choice, but I have a theory your need to take him out with father knowing benefits you somehow.” Nyssa revealed with a knowing smile on her face. “What do you know that I don’t about Lucas Lance?”

“When our father took Mr Lance into the Lazarus Pit what seemed like a momentary dip was something far more…the pit normally restores life it’s powers somewhat connected to limbo itself and it was that connection our father sought out.” Talia informed her sister. “I’m not sure how he managed it, but he connected his life to the baby through some demon co-inhabitant…he wants to use it to expand his life even more.”

“Our father has lived for five centuries the Lazarus Pit would’ve made him live for another five centuries, why does he need to be bonded to Lucas or have a demon bonded to Lucas?” Nyssa wondered while trying to make sense of the information Talia was giving her.

“The pit had stopped healing father fully a secret he would’ve took to his grave if he didn’t find another way…Lucas Lance is the other way sister.” Talia revealed, confusing her half-sister even more. “Father has convinced himself that neither you or I are fit to take over when he dies and so he granted a literal soulless monster life within the child to be the head of the demon instead.”

“This makes literally no sense…Lucas has more control over the demon than the demon has of him. How do you know all this when Lucas hasn’t even been born in the present timeline?” Nyssa questioned her sister, refusing to believe her at first.

“I’m not the present-day Talia al Ghul, the present-day version of me is not wanting to be found and won’t be found until she wants to be.” Talia continued with the revelations. “As for Lucas Lance he is the demon, the baby died in that pit…my only guess is our father has well and truly lost his mind and believes an actual demon from some dead dimension is the only rightful heir to the throne.”

“Well he always wanted a son to be the heir god forbid a woman or even a lesbian woman take the demon mantle.” Nyssa replied as she began to realize her sister was talking truthfully to her. “All this time we’ve been fighting each other to take his place and he was never going to allow it.”

“The future changed when Laurel took her son into the past…not long after the Red Canary or a future version of him appeared more powerful than either of us…he obliterates everything, his family, our family, the league and our world.” Talia admitted to Nyssa who was clearly still in shock it all. “If we don’t kill him now, we will lose everything especially your beloved Sara Lance.”

Nyssa knew her father Ra’s al Ghul was a bigoted, self-loathing monster of a man who denied her love for Sara because he wanted his daughters both married off to men fitting of them.

She knew his mind was stuck in the past where he was born and as he grew older he grew rapidly more insane but to learn he had went out of his way to kidnap and kill a child to replace it with some kind of demon was her father at his craziest and he needed to be stopped by anyway possible even if it meant killing her beloved’s nephew/brother Lucas Lance.

And so Nyssa al Ghul and Talia al Ghul found themselves with the same mission as Laurel Lance, Sara Lance and Rebekah Mikaelson as they all plotted to kill the Red Canary once and for all leaving Lucas Lance with only three people still on his side Klaus, Elijah and Kol Mikaelson.

Klaus Mikaelson and his siblings had split up in their search for Lucas Lance knowing if either Laurel or Sara found the Red Canary first then they would likely kill him but what Klaus was yet to be made aware of was of Rebekah’s betrayal as she decided to side with the Black Canary and White Canary instead of her brothers.

Klaus believed he could only count on Elijah and Rebekah knowing Kol would more than likely just watch the murder instead of stopping it, not knowing Rebekah wanted him dead just as much as Laurel and Sara.

The original hybrid didn’t quite understand his need to save Lucas Lance not knowing if it was because he had feelings for the canary or if it was because he seen a lot of himself in the troubled meta-human but the one thing he did know was he wanted to protect him not only from himself but from the other canaries.

“Niklaus Mikaelson of all the deserted and decaying islands in the world and you stumbled onto mine.” Lucas said with a sinister smirk as he sped his way into a part of the woods by a near waterfall to see Klaus stood there, clearly looking for him. “Call me crazy but I don’t think that’s a coincidence.”

“I see Nyssa al Ghul has taken the collar of you tell me did you have a lease too?” Klaus teased the Red Canary in a flirtatious manner, clearly happy to see him.

“Let’s just say this hostile retreat has become somewhat less hostile for now at least until I work out why the bloody hell Ra’s al Ghul is so obsessed with me.” Lucas replied to the original hybrid as he began slowly walking towards him. “Although I must admit I’m very happy about your obsession with me.”

“I love flirting with psychopaths as much as any psychopath but I’m actually here to save your bloody ass once again! Your sisters or whatever you want to call them right now are here too and their here to kill you.” Klaus revealed to a stunned Lucas before Talia and Nyssa appeared from out of the woods before Lucas had a chance to process Klaus’ revelation.

“I’m sorry Mr Lance but they are not alone in their crusade.” Nyssa apologised as both her and her half-sister Talia pulled out their bows and arrows, Nyssa aiming her bow in Lucas’ direction while Talia directed hers at Klaus.

“You’ve got to be bloody kidding me you’re supposed to be helping the situation.” Klaus snapped before vamp speeding towards Talia who quickly drew her arrow just in time to launch it into the original hybrid’s chest, causing Klaus to fall to the ground unconscious much to Lucas’ horror.

“Okay…I know you’re an assassin and everything and trust me I get killing’s fun as much as anyone but I’m not dying today…I guess that means you are!” Lucas told Nyssa with a warning tone in his voice before she launched her arrow in his direction at the same time he let out his canary cry causing the arrow to disintegrate mid-air by the blast of his sonic scream which also sent Nyssa and Talia flying back into the deeper woods of Lian Yu as the ground beneath the Red Canary shook for a moment before his cry stopped and he sped out of sight leaving Klaus unconscious in the dirt.

Lucas Lance actually felt some regret for leaving Klaus Mikaelson after Klaus had tried so hard to save his life but he knew he had no other choice and he was determined not to die that day knowing that even if his cry was enough to put Nyssa and Talia down he still had at least Laurel and Sara to deal with.

The Red Canary was determined not to die that day but no matter how hard he cried or how fast he ran it was only a matter of time before death claimed the canary.

Lucas Lance didn’t run for very long as he found himself deep within the woods only to be met by the Black Canary seeing Laurel Lance for the first time since he found out she was actually his mother or rather one day in the nearby future she would become his mother.

The Black Canary managed to catch a speeding Lucas off chance as she sped in his direction before punching him to the ground ready to end the life of her son for his many murderous crimes, the latest being murdering his own grandmother Dinah Lance.

As he lay their in the dirt looking up at Laurel he could see the hatred in her eyes a look he had thought he’d seen many times from her before but this was the coldest stare she had ever gave him and in that moment he knew if he didn’t speak his truth he would more than likely die at the hands of his own mother.

“I didn’t mean to kill her!” Lucas screamed, pleading for his birth mother to believe him as he struggled back on to his feet. “I just lost my head for a moment it was like I blacked out and before I knew it, she was gone…because of me and I don’t even remember doing it.”

“Stop with the lies Lucas I don’t believe a single word that comes out of your mouth.” Laurel admitted to her deranged son. “You have taken so many lives and now hers…If I’m truly the one who gives your life then I should also be the one to take you out of this world.”

“You don’t get to claim mother duties just because of some fucked up future bullshit!” Lucas snapped at her, changing from desperation to fury in a second. “You couldn’t even tolerate me as a child as a sibling, yet you clung to the sibling who fucked your boyfriend! I never meant to kill the woman who was my mother despite her faults but when I kill you today, I’ll make sure to remember this one forever.”

“Even on your best day Lucas you could never take me!” Laurel replied to him, preparing to a fight to the death with her own son.

“That was simple cat and mice play this one’s for the kill and we both know you haven’t got the killer instinct.” Lucas warned his mother, ready to survive not expecting Rebekah to vamp speed her way behind him, snapping his neck instantly with one hand and ripping out his heart with another, dropping his heart to the ground as Lucas’ lifeless body fell to the ground, devastating a watching Laurel in the process.

“When it comes to killing leave it to the professionals.” Rebekah replied while still having the blood from the now dead Red Canary on her hands as Laurel looked over at the original female vampire with tears in her eyes, devastated it had to come to this.

“You didn’t need to make it so brutal.” Laurel cried, as Rebekah rolled her eyes at the Black Canary’s judgement.

“I know he was your son Laurel or whatever the hell he was to you but he was a danger to us all, a danger that needed stopping and I for one won’t apologize for doing what you probably wouldn’t have.” Rebekah replied to Laurel, making it clear to her that she did what was needed, or what she believed was needed.

“He said he never meant to kill my mother…what if he was telling the truth?” Laurel began to sob, quickly beginning to regret her actions. “What if I just helped murder my own son when he was just beginning to get better?”

“You didn’t kill him I did find some solace in knowing your hands are clean unlike my own.” Rebekah said, attempting to reassure a crying Laurel, beginning to regret her actions as Laurel fell to her knees and continued to sob for the son, she never got to be a mother too.

“It’s all my fault…I failed him…” Laurel cried repeatedly as Sara vamp sped her way over to kneel and hug her broken-hearted older sister.

“It’s not on you Laurel.” Sara promised her as she continued to hug her sister tighter, while Rebekah looked on at Laurel’s devastation, as tears began to form in the eyes of the original female vampire.

Lucas Lance tried to run from his fate but on a deserted island he quickly ran out of places to run too with Rebekah Mikaelson being the one to deliver the killer blow killing the Red Canary once and for all, doing what she believed needed to be done despite the backlash she would face from her brother Klaus.

The death of the Red Canary changed things for everyone and as time began to pass following Lucas Lance’s brutal end everyone began to realize it was for the best no matter how much it may hurt them all.

Nyssa al Ghul informed Sara Lance of the information future Talia told her about the prophecy hoping to ease the White Canary’s guilt while she grieved for the man who she once called brother, telling her Talia’s disappearance must mean the future was rewritten which must’ve been a good sign considering how bad the future that Talia painted was.

Klaus Mikaelson was furious with his sister Rebekah at first until he realized how blinded he was by Lucas Lance and the comparisons he had found between the two of them, eventually realizing that if his sister could forgive him for all his terrible crimes he could easily forgive her for doing something bad to him while trying to protect him at the same time.

Laurel Lance mourned the son she never had and the brother she grew up with at the same time blaming only herself for what led to Lucas’ end as she decided not to pursue motherhood or Star City setting up her heroic acts on Earth Blood believing they needed her more.

As the years passed, five years to be exact a lot changed within the world and everyone on Earth Blood believed that they had seen the end of the Red Canary and in many ways they did…however the multiverse was huge and just like there was more than one Laurel and Sara there was more than one Lucas.

In fact an Earth X version of Lucas Lance was about to seek refuge on Earth Blood following the death of the multiverse and the birth of Earth Prime after learning Earth Blood wasn’t connected to the multiverse, in fact Earth Blood was a part of a whole other universe with new rules and possibilities that Earth X’s Lucas Thomas Wayne’s couldn’t wait to take advantage of.

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