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whileiamdying · 9 years

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Emily Brontë’s WUTHERING HEIGHTS; Chapter IX

He entered, vociferating oaths dreadful to hear; and caught me in the act of stowing his son away in the kitchen cupboard. Hareton was impressed with a wholesome terror of encountering either his wild beast’s fondness or his madman’s rage; for in one he ran a chance of being squeezed and kissed to death, and in the other of being flung into the fire, or dashed against the wall; and the poor thing remained perfectly quiet wherever I chose to put him.

“There, I’ve found it out at last!” cried Hindley, pulling me back by the skin of my neck, like a dog. “By heaven and hell, you’ve sworn between you to murder that child! I know how it is, now, that he is always out of my way. But, with the help of Satan, I shall make you swallow the carving-knife, Nelly! You needn’t laugh; for I’ve just crammed Kenneth, head-downmost, in the Black-horse marsh; and two is the same as one—and I want to kill some of you: I shall have no rest till I do!”

“But I don’t like the carving-knife, Mr. Hindley,” I answered; “it has been cutting red herrings. I’d rather be shot, if you please.”

“You’d rather be damned!” he said; “and so you shall. No law in England can hinder a man from keeping his house decent, and mine’s abominable! Open your mouth.”

He held the knife in his hand, and pushed its point between my teeth: but, for my part, I was never much afraid of his vagaries. I spat out, and affirmed it tasted detestably—I would not take it on any account.

“Oh!” said he, releasing me, “I see that hideous little villain is not Hareton: I beg your pardon, Nell. If it be, he deserves flaying alive for not running to welcome me, and for screaming as if I were a goblin. Unnatural cub, come hither! I’ll teach thee to impose on a good-hearted, deluded father. Now, don’t you think the lad would be handsomer cropped? It makes a dog fiercer, and I love something fierce—get me a scissors—something fierce and trim! Besides, it’s infernal affectation—devilish conceit it is, to cherish our ears—we’re asses enough without them. Hush, child, hush! Well then, it is my darling! wisht, dry thy eyes—there’s a joy; kiss me. What! it won’t? Kiss me, Hareton! Damn thee, kiss me! By God, as if I would rear such a monster! As sure as I’m living, I’ll break the brat’s neck.”

Poor Hareton was squalling and kicking in his father’s arms with all his might, and redoubled his yells when he carried him upstairs and lifted him over the banister. I cried out that he would frighten the child into fits, and ran to rescue him. As I reached them, Hindley leant forward on the rails to listen to a noise below; almost forgetting what he had in his hands. “Who is that?” he asked, hearing some one approaching the stairs’-foot. I leant forward also, for the purpose of signing to Heathcliff, whose step I recognised, not to come further; and, at the instant when my eye quitted Hareton, he gave a sudden spring, delivered himself from the careless grasp that held him, and fell.

There was scarcely time to experience a thrill of horror before we saw that the little wretch was safe. Heathcliff arrived underneath just at the critical moment; by a natural impulse he arrested his descent, and setting him on his feet, looked up to discover the author of the accident. A miser who has parted with a lucky lottery ticket for five shillings, and finds next day he has lost in the bargain five thousand pounds, could not show a blanker countenance than he did on beholding the figure of Mr. Earnshaw above. It expressed, plainer than words could do, the intensest anguish at having made himself the instrument of thwarting his own revenge. Had it been dark, I daresay he would have tried to remedy the mistake by smashing Hareton’s skull on the steps; but, we witnessed his salvation; and I was presently below with my precious charge pressed to my heart. Hindley descended more leisurely, sobered and abashed.

“It is your fault, Ellen,” he said; “you should have kept him out of sight: you should have taken him from me! Is he injured anywhere?”

“Injured!” I cried angrily; “if he is not killed, he’ll be an idiot! Oh! I wonder his mother does not rise from her grave to see how you use him. You’re worse than a heathen—treating your own flesh and blood in that manner!”

He attempted to touch the child, who, on finding himself with me, sobbed off his terror directly. At the first finger his father laid on him, however, he shrieked again louder than before, and struggled as if he would go into convulsions.

“You shall not meddle with him!” I continued. “He hates you—they all hate you—that’s the truth! A happy family you have; and a pretty state you’re come to!”

“I shall come to a prettier, yet, Nelly,” laughed the misguided man, recovering his hardness. “At present, convey yourself and him away. And hark you, Heathcliff! clear you too quite from my reach and hearing. I wouldn’t murder you to-night; unless, perhaps, I set the house on fire: but that’s as my fancy goes.”

While saying this he took a pint bottle of brandy from the dresser, and poured some into a tumbler.

“Nay, don’t!” I entreated. “Mr. Hindley, do take warning. Have mercy on this unfortunate boy, if you care nothing for yourself!”

“Any one will do better for him than I shall,” he answered.

“Have mercy on your own soul!” I said, endeavouring to snatch the glass from his hand.

“Not I! On the contrary, I shall have great pleasure in sending it to perdition to punish its Maker,” exclaimed the blasphemer. “Here’s to its hearty damnation!”

He drank the spirits and impatiently bade us go; terminating his command with a sequel of horrid imprecations too bad to repeat or remember.

“It’s a pity he cannot kill himself with drink,” observed Heathcliff, muttering an echo of curses back when the door was shut. “He’s doing his very utmost; but his constitution defies him. Mr. Kenneth says he would wager his mare that he’ll outlive any man on this side Gimmerton, and go to the grave a hoary sinner; unless some happy chance out of the common course befall him.”

I went into the kitchen, and sat down to lull my little lamb to sleep. Heathcliff, as I thought, walked through to the barn. It turned out afterwards that he only got as far as the other side the settle, when he flung himself on a bench by the wall, removed from the fire, and remained silent.

I was rocking Hareton on my knee, and humming a song that began,—

It was far in the night, and the bairnies grat, The mither beneath the mools heard that,

when Miss Cathy, who had listened to the hubbub from her room, put her head in, and whispered,—“Are you alone, Nelly?”

“Yes, Miss,” I replied.

She entered and approached the hearth. I, supposing she was going to say something, looked up. The expression of her face seemed disturbed and anxious. Her lips were half asunder, as if she meant to speak, and she drew a breath; but it escaped in a sigh instead of a sentence. I resumed my song; not having forgotten her recent behaviour.

“Where’s Heathcliff?” she said, interrupting me.

“About his work in the stable,” was my answer.

He did not contradict me; perhaps he had fallen into a doze. There followed another long pause, during which I perceived a drop or two trickle from Catherine’s cheek to the flags. Is she sorry for her shameful conduct?—I asked myself. That will be a novelty: but she may come to the point as she will—I sha’n’t help her! No, she felt small trouble regarding any subject, save her own concerns.

“Oh, dear!” she cried at last. “I’m very unhappy!”

“A pity,” observed I. “You’re hard to please; so many friends and so few cares, and can’t make yourself content!”

“Nelly, will you keep a secret for me?” she pursued, kneeling down by me, and lifting her winsome eyes to my face with that sort of look which turns off bad temper, even when one has all the right in the world to indulge it.

“Is it worth keeping?” I inquired, less sulkily.

“Yes, and it worries me, and I must let it out! I want to know what I should do. To-day, Edgar Linton has asked me to marry him, and I’ve given him an answer. Now, before I tell you whether it was a consent or denial, you tell me which it ought to have been.”

“Really, Miss Catherine, how can I know?” I replied. “To be sure, considering the exhibition you performed in his presence this afternoon, I might say it would be wise to refuse him: since he asked you after that, he must either be hopelessly stupid or a venturesome fool.”

“If you talk so, I won’t tell you any more,” she returned, peevishly rising to her feet. “I accepted him, Nelly. Be quick, and say whether I was wrong!”

“You accepted him! Then what good is it discussing the matter? You have pledged your word, and cannot retract.”

“But say whether I should have done so—do!” she exclaimed in an irritated tone; chafing her hands together, and frowning.

“There are many things to be considered before that question can be answered properly,” I said, sententiously. “First and foremost, do you love Mr. Edgar?”

“Who can help it? Of course I do,” she answered.

Then I put her through the following catechism: for a girl of twenty-two it was not injudicious.

“Why do you love him, Miss Cathy?”

“Nonsense, I do—that’s sufficient.”

“By no means; you must say why?”

“Well, because he is handsome, and pleasant to be with.”

“Bad!” was my commentary.

“And because he is young and cheerful.”

“Bad, still.”

“And because he loves me.”

“Indifferent, coming there.”

“And he will be rich, and I shall like to be the greatest woman of the neighbourhood, and I shall be proud of having such a husband.”

“Worst of all. And now, say how you love him?”

“As everybody loves—You’re silly, Nelly.”

“Not at all—Answer.”

“I love the ground under his feet, and the air over his head, and everything he touches, and every word he says. I love all his looks, and all his actions, and him entirely and altogether. There now!”

“And why?”

“Nay; you are making a jest of it: it is exceedingly ill-natured! It’s no jest to me!” said the young lady, scowling, and turning her face to the fire.

“I’m very far from jesting, Miss Catherine,” I replied. “You love Mr. Edgar because he is handsome, and young, and cheerful, and rich, and loves you. The last, however, goes for nothing: you would love him without that, probably; and with it you wouldn’t, unless he possessed the four former attractions.”

“No, to be sure not: I should only pity him—hate him, perhaps, if he were ugly, and a clown.”

“But there are several other handsome, rich young men in the world: handsomer, possibly, and richer than he is. What should hinder you from loving them?”

“If there be any, they are out of my way: I’ve seen none like Edgar.”

“You may see some; and he won’t always be handsome, and young, and may not always be rich.”

“He is now; and I have only to do with the present. I wish you would speak rationally.”

“Well, that settles it: if you have only to do with the present, marry Mr. Linton.”

“I don’t want your permission for that—I shall marry him: and yet you have not told me whether I’m right.”

“Perfectly right; if people be right to marry only for the present. And now, let us hear what you are unhappy about. Your brother will be pleased; the old lady and gentleman will not object, I think; you will escape from a disorderly, comfortless home into a wealthy, respectable one; and you love Edgar, and Edgar loves you. All seems smooth and easy: where is the obstacle?”

“Here! and here!” replied Catherine, striking one hand on her forehead, and the other on her breast: “in whichever place the soul lives. In my soul and in my heart, I’m convinced I’m wrong!”

“That’s very strange! I cannot make it out.”

“It’s my secret. But if you will not mock at me, I’ll explain it: I can’t do it distinctly; but I’ll give you a feeling of how I feel.”

She seated herself by me again: her countenance grew sadder and graver, and her clasped hands trembled.

“Nelly, do you never dream queer dreams?” she said, suddenly, after some minutes’ reflection.

“Yes, now and then,” I answered.

“And so do I. I’ve dreamt in my life dreams that have stayed with me ever after, and changed my ideas: they’ve gone through and through me, like wine through water, and altered the colour of my mind. And this is one: I’m going to tell it—but take care not to smile at any part of it.”

“Oh! don’t, Miss Catherine!” I cried. “We’re dismal enough without conjuring up ghosts and visions to perplex us. Come, come, be merry and like yourself! Look at little Hareton! he’s dreaming nothing dreary. How sweetly he smiles in his sleep!”

“Yes; and how sweetly his father curses in his solitude! You remember him, I daresay, when he was just such another as that chubby thing: nearly as young and innocent. However, Nelly, I shall oblige you to listen: it’s not long; and I’ve no power to be merry to-night.”

“I won’t hear it, I won’t hear it!” I repeated, hastily.

I was superstitious about dreams then, and am still; and Catherine had an unusual gloom in her aspect, that made me dread something from which I might shape a prophecy, and foresee a fearful catastrophe. She was vexed, but she did not proceed. Apparently taking up another subject, she recommenced in a short time.

“If I were in heaven, Nelly, I should be extremely miserable.”

“Because you are not fit to go there,” I answered. “All sinners would be miserable in heaven.”

“But it is not for that. I dreamt once that I was there.”

“I tell you I won’t hearken to your dreams, Miss Catherine! I’ll go to bed,” I interrupted again.

She laughed, and held me down; for I made a motion to leave my chair.

“This is nothing,” cried she: “I was only going to say that heaven did not seem to be my home; and I broke my heart with weeping to come back to earth; and the angels were so angry that they flung me out into the middle of the heath on the top of Wuthering Heights; where I woke sobbing for joy. That will do to explain my secret, as well as the other. I’ve no more business to marry Edgar Linton than I have to be in heaven; and if the wicked man in there had not brought Heathcliff so low, I shouldn’t have thought of it. It would degrade me to marry Heathcliff now; so he shall never know how I love him: and that, not because he’s handsome, Nelly, but because he’s more myself than I am. Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same; and Linton’s is as different as a moonbeam from lightning, or frost from fire.”

Ere this speech ended I became sensible of Heathcliff’s presence. Having noticed a slight movement, I turned my head, and saw him rise from the bench, and steal out noiselessly. He had listened till he heard Catherine say it would degrade her to marry him, and then he stayed to hear no further. My companion, sitting on the ground, was prevented by the back of the settle from remarking his presence or departure; but I started, and bade her hush!

“Why?” she asked, gazing nervously round.

“Joseph is here,” I answered, catching opportunely the roll of his cartwheels up the road; “and Heathcliff will come in with him. I’m not sure whether he were not at the door this moment.”

“Oh, he couldn’t overhear me at the door!” said she. “Give me Hareton, while you get the supper, and when it is ready ask me to sup with you. I want to cheat my uncomfortable conscience, and be convinced that Heathcliff has no notion of these things. He has not, has he? He does not know what being in love is!”

“I see no reason that he should not know, as well as you,” I returned; “and if you are his choice, he’ll be the most unfortunate creature that ever was born! As soon as you become Mrs. Linton, he loses friend, and love, and all! Have you considered how you’ll bear the separation, and how he’ll bear to be quite deserted in the world? Because, Miss Catherine—”

“He quite deserted! we separated!” she exclaimed, with an accent of indignation. “Who is to separate us, pray? They’ll meet the fate of Milo! Not as long as I live, Ellen: for no mortal creature. Every Linton on the face of the earth might melt into nothing before I could consent to forsake Heathcliff. Oh, that’s not what I intend—that’s not what I mean! I shouldn’t be Mrs. Linton were such a price demanded! He’ll be as much to me as he has been all his lifetime. Edgar must shake off his antipathy, and tolerate him, at least. He will, when he learns my true feelings towards him. Nelly, I see now you think me a selfish wretch; but did it never strike you that if Heathcliff and I married, we should be beggars? whereas, if I marry Linton I can aid Heathcliff to rise, and place him out of my brother’s power.”

“With your husband’s money, Miss Catherine?” I asked. “You’ll find him not so pliable as you calculate upon: and, though I’m hardly a judge, I think that’s the worst motive you’ve given yet for being the wife of young Linton.”

“It is not,” retorted she; “it is the best! The others were the satisfaction of my whims: and for Edgar’s sake, too, to satisfy him. This is for the sake of one who comprehends in his person my feelings to Edgar and myself. I cannot express it; but surely you and everybody have a notion that there is or should be an existence of yours beyond you. What were the use of my creation, if I were entirely contained here? My great miseries in this world have been Heathcliff’s miseries, and I watched and felt each from the beginning: my great thought in living is himself. If all else perished, and he remained, I should still continue to be; and if all else remained, and he were annihilated, the universe would turn to a mighty stranger: I should not seem a part of it. My love for Linton is like the foliage in the woods: time will change it, I’m well aware, as winter changes the trees. My love for Heathcliff resembles the eternal rocks beneath: a source of little visible delight, but necessary. Nelly, I am Heathcliff! He’s always, always in my mind: not as a pleasure, any more than I am always a pleasure to myself, but as my own being. So don’t talk of our separation again: it is impracticable; and—”

She paused, and hid her face in the folds of my gown; but I jerked it forcibly away. I was out of patience with her folly!

“If I can make any sense of your nonsense, Miss,” I said, “it only goes to convince me that you are ignorant of the duties you undertake in marrying; or else that you are a wicked, unprincipled girl. But trouble me with no more secrets: I’ll not promise to keep them.”

“You’ll keep that?” she asked, eagerly.

“No, I’ll not promise,” I repeated.

She was about to insist, when the entrance of Joseph finished our conversation; and Catherine removed her seat to a corner, and nursed Hareton, while I made the supper. After it was cooked, my fellow-servant and I began to quarrel who should carry some to Mr. Hindley; and we didn’t settle it till all was nearly cold. Then we came to the agreement that we would let him ask, if he wanted any; for we feared particularly to go into his presence when he had been some time alone.

“And how isn’t that nowt comed in fro’ th’ field, be this time? What is he about? girt idle seeght!” demanded the old man, looking round for Heathcliff.

“I’ll call him,” I replied. “He’s in the barn, I’ve no doubt.”

I went and called, but got no answer. On returning, I whispered to Catherine that he had heard a good part of what she said, I was sure; and told how I saw him quit the kitchen just as she complained of her brother’s conduct regarding him. She jumped up in a fine fright, flung Hareton on to the settle, and ran to seek for her friend herself; not taking leisure to consider why she was so flurried, or how her talk would have affected him. She was absent such a while that Joseph proposed we should wait no longer. He cunningly conjectured they were staying away in order to avoid hearing his protracted blessing. They were “ill eneugh for ony fahl manners,” he affirmed. And on their behalf he added that night a special prayer to the usual quarter-of-an-hour’s supplication before meat, and would have tacked another to the end of the grace, had not his young mistress broken in upon him with a hurried command that he must run down the road, and, wherever Heathcliff had rambled, find and make him re-enter directly!

“I want to speak to him, and I must, before I go upstairs,” she said. “And the gate is open: he is somewhere out of hearing; for he would not reply, though I shouted at the top of the fold as loud as I could.”

Joseph objected at first; she was too much in earnest, however, to suffer contradiction; and at last he placed his hat on his head, and walked grumbling forth. Meantime, Catherine paced up and down the floor, exclaiming—“I wonder where he is—I wonder where he can be! What did I say, Nelly? I’ve forgotten. Was he vexed at my bad humour this afternoon? Dear! tell me what I’ve said to grieve him? I do wish he’d come. I do wish he would!”

“What a noise for nothing!” I cried, though rather uneasy myself. “What a trifle scares you! It’s surely no great cause of alarm that Heathcliff should take a moonlight saunter on the moors, or even lie too sulky to speak to us in the hay-loft. I’ll engage he’s lurking there. See if I don’t ferret him out!”

I departed to renew my search; its result was disappointment, and Joseph’s quest ended in the same.

“Yon lad gets war und war!” observed he on re-entering. “He’s left th’ gate at t’ full swing, and Miss’s pony has trodden dahn two rigs o’ corn, and plottered through, raight o’er into t’ meadow! Hahsomdiver, t’ maister ’ull play t’ devil to-morn, and he’ll do weel. He’s patience itsseln wi’ sich careless, offald craters—patience itsseln he is! Bud he’ll not be soa allus—yah’s see, all on ye! Yah mun’n’t drive him out of his heead for nowt!”

“Have you found Heathcliff, you ass?” interrupted Catherine. “Have you been looking for him, as I ordered?”

“I sud more likker look for th’ horse,” he replied. “It ’ud be to more sense. Bud I can look for norther horse nur man of a neeght loike this—as black as t’ chimbley! und Heathcliff’s noan t’ chap to coom at my whistle—happen he’ll be less hard o’ hearing wi’ ye!”

It was a very dark evening for summer: the clouds appeared inclined to thunder, and I said we had better all sit down; the approaching rain would be certain to bring him home without further trouble. However, Catherine would not be persuaded into tranquillity. She kept wandering to and fro, from the gate to the door, in a state of agitation which permitted no repose; and at length took up a permanent situation on one side of the wall, near the road: where, heedless of my expostulations and the growling thunder, and the great drops that began to plash around her, she remained, calling at intervals, and then listening, and then crying outright. She beat Hareton, or any child, at a good passionate fit of crying.

About midnight, while we still sat up, the storm came rattling over the Heights in full fury. There was a violent wind, as well as thunder, and either one or the other split a tree off at the corner of the building: a huge bough fell across the roof, and knocked down a portion of the east chimney-stack, sending a clatter of stones and soot into the kitchen-fire. We thought a bolt had fallen in the middle of us; and Joseph swung on to his knees, beseeching the Lord to remember the patriarchs Noah and Lot, and, as in former times, spare the righteous, though he smote the ungodly. I felt some sentiment that it must be a judgment on us also. The Jonah, in my mind, was Mr. Earnshaw; and I shook the handle of his den that I might ascertain if he were yet living. He replied audibly enough, in a fashion which made my companion vociferate, more clamorously than before, that a wide distinction might be drawn between saints like himself and sinners like his master. But the uproar passed away in twenty minutes, leaving us all unharmed; excepting Cathy, who got thoroughly drenched for her obstinacy in refusing to take shelter, and standing bonnetless and shawlless to catch as much water as she could with her hair and clothes. She came in and lay down on the settle, all soaked as she was, turning her face to the back, and putting her hands before it.

“Well, Miss!” I exclaimed, touching her shoulder; “you are not bent on getting your death, are you? Do you know what o’clock it is? Half-past twelve. Come, come to bed! there’s no use waiting any longer on that foolish boy: he’ll be gone to Gimmerton, and he’ll stay there now. He guesses we shouldn’t wait for him till this late hour: at least, he guesses that only Mr. Hindley would be up; and he’d rather avoid having the door opened by the master.”

“Nay, nay, he’s noan at Gimmerton,” said Joseph. “I’s niver wonder but he’s at t’ bothom of a bog-hoile. This visitation worn’t for nowt, and I wod hev’ ye to look out, Miss—yah muh be t’ next. Thank Hivin for all! All warks togither for gooid to them as is chozzen, and piked out fro’ th’ rubbidge! Yah knaw whet t’ Scripture ses.” And he began quoting several texts, referring us to chapters and verses where we might find them.

I, having vainly begged the wilful girl to rise and remove her wet things, left him preaching and her shivering, and betook myself to bed with little Hareton, who slept as fast as if everyone had been sleeping round him. I heard Joseph read on a while afterwards; then I distinguished his slow step on the ladder, and then I dropped asleep.

Coming down somewhat later than usual, I saw, by the sunbeams piercing the chinks of the shutters, Miss Catherine still seated near the fireplace. The house-door was ajar, too; light entered from its unclosed windows; Hindley had come out, and stood on the kitchen hearth, haggard and drowsy.

“What ails you, Cathy?” he was saying when I entered: “you look as dismal as a drowned whelp. Why are you so damp and pale, child?”

“I’ve been wet,” she answered reluctantly, “and I’m cold, that’s all.”

“Oh, she is naughty!” I cried, perceiving the master to be tolerably sober. “She got steeped in the shower of yesterday evening, and there she has sat the night through, and I couldn’t prevail on her to stir.”

Mr. Earnshaw stared at us in surprise. “The night through,” he repeated. “What kept her up? not fear of the thunder, surely? That was over hours since.”

Neither of us wished to mention Heathcliff’s absence, as long as we could conceal it; so I replied, I didn’t know how she took it into her head to sit up; and she said nothing. The morning was fresh and cool; I threw back the lattice, and presently the room filled with sweet scents from the garden; but Catherine called peevishly to me, “Ellen, shut the window. I’m starving!” And her teeth chattered as she shrank closer to the almost extinguished embers.

“She’s ill,” said Hindley, taking her wrist; “I suppose that’s the reason she would not go to bed. Damn it! I don’t want to be troubled with more sickness here. What took you into the rain?”

“Running after t’ lads, as usuald!” croaked Joseph, catching an opportunity from our hesitation to thrust in his evil tongue. “If I war yah, maister, I’d just slam t’ boards i’ their faces all on ’em, gentle and simple! Never a day ut yah’re off, but yon cat o’ Linton comes sneaking hither; and Miss Nelly, shoo’s a fine lass! shoo sits watching for ye i’ t’ kitchen; and as yah’re in at one door, he’s out at t’other; and, then, wer grand lady goes a-courting of her side! It’s bonny behaviour, lurking amang t’ fields, after twelve o’ t’ night, wi’ that fahl, flaysome divil of a gipsy, Heathcliff! They think I’m blind; but I’m noan: nowt ut t’ soart!—I seed young Linton boath coming and going, and I seed yah” (directing his discourse to me), “yah gooid fur nowt, slattenly witch! nip up and bolt into th’ house, t’ minute yah heard t’ maister’s horse-fit clatter up t’ road.”

“Silence, eavesdropper!” cried Catherine; “none of your insolence before me! Edgar Linton came yesterday by chance, Hindley; and it was I who told him to be off: because I knew you would not like to have met him as you were.”

“You lie, Cathy, no doubt,” answered her brother, “and you are a confounded simpleton! But never mind Linton at present: tell me, were you not with Heathcliff last night? Speak the truth, now. You need not be afraid of harming him: though I hate him as much as ever, he did me a good turn a short time since that will make my conscience tender of breaking his neck. To prevent it, I shall send him about his business this very morning; and after he’s gone, I’d advise you all to look sharp: I shall only have the more humour for you.”

“I never saw Heathcliff last night,” answered Catherine, beginning to sob bitterly: “and if you do turn him out of doors, I’ll go with him. But, perhaps, you’ll never have an opportunity: perhaps, he’s gone.” Here she burst into uncontrollable grief, and the remainder of her words were inarticulate.

Hindley lavished on her a torrent of scornful abuse, and bade her get to her room immediately, or she shouldn’t cry for nothing! I obliged her to obey; and I shall never forget what a scene she acted when we reached her chamber: it terrified me. I thought she was going mad, and I begged Joseph to run for the doctor. It proved the commencement of delirium: Mr. Kenneth, as soon as he saw her, pronounced her dangerously ill; she had a fever. He bled her, and he told me to let her live on whey and water-gruel, and take care she did not throw herself downstairs or out of the window; and then he left: for he had enough to do in the parish, where two or three miles was the ordinary distance between cottage and cottage.

Though I cannot say I made a gentle nurse, and Joseph and the master were no better, and though our patient was as wearisome and headstrong as a patient could be, she weathered it through. Old Mrs. Linton paid us several visits, to be sure, and set things to rights, and scolded and ordered us all; and when Catherine was convalescent, she insisted on conveying her to Thrushcross Grange: for which deliverance we were very grateful. But the poor dame had reason to repent of her kindness: she and her husband both took the fever, and died within a few days of each other.

Our young lady returned to us saucier and more passionate, and haughtier than ever. Heathcliff had never been heard of since the evening of the thunder-storm; and, one day, I had the misfortune, when she had provoked me exceedingly, to lay the blame of his disappearance on her: where indeed it belonged, as she well knew. From that period, for several months, she ceased to hold any communication with me, save in the relation of a mere servant. Joseph fell under a ban also: he would speak his mind, and lecture her all the same as if she were a little girl; and she esteemed herself a woman, and our mistress, and thought that her recent illness gave her a claim to be treated with consideration. Then the doctor had said that she would not bear crossing much; she ought to have her own way; and it was nothing less than murder in her eyes for any one to presume to stand up and contradict her. From Mr. Earnshaw and his companions she kept aloof; and tutored by Kenneth, and serious threats of a fit that often attended her rages, her brother allowed her whatever she pleased to demand, and generally avoided aggravating her fiery temper. He was rather too indulgent in humouring her caprices; not from affection, but from pride: he wished earnestly to see her bring honour to the family by an alliance with the Lintons, and as long as she let him alone she might trample on us like slaves, for aught he cared! Edgar Linton, as multitudes have been before and will be after him, was infatuated: and believed himself the happiest man alive on the day he led her to Gimmerton Chapel, three years subsequent to his father’s death.

Much against my inclination, I was persuaded to leave Wuthering Heights and accompany her here. Little Hareton was nearly five years old, and I had just begun to teach him his letters. We made a sad parting; but Catherine’s tears were more powerful than ours. When I refused to go, and when she found her entreaties did not move me, she went lamenting to her husband and brother. The former offered me munificent wages; the latter ordered me to pack up: he wanted no women in the house, he said, now that there was no mistress; and as to Hareton, the curate should take him in hand, by-and-by. And so I had but one choice left: to do as I was ordered. I told the master he got rid of all decent people only to run to ruin a little faster; I kissed Hareton, said good-by; and since then he has been a stranger: and it’s very queer to think it, but I’ve no doubt he has completely forgotten all about Ellen Dean, and that he was ever more than all the world to her and she to him!

* * * * *

At this point of the housekeeper’s story she chanced to glance towards the time-piece over the chimney; and was in amazement on seeing the minute-hand measure half-past one. She would not hear of staying a second longer: in truth, I felt rather disposed to defer the sequel of her narrative myself. And now that she is vanished to her rest, and I have meditated for another hour or two, I shall summon courage to go also, in spite of aching laziness of head and limbs.

#Wuthering Heights #Emily Brontë #Project Gutenberg

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ilici · 3 years

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221141425 3165

Summary: Karl finally hand delivers the bunny tail to Y/N and finds out she works at a Bunny Maid Cafe.

{Numbers mean Bunny Cafe}

Warnings: None

Word Count: 2809

Karl was now getting off the plane, as he walked to the baggage claim to get his suitcase. Niki and Karl had hid this from Y/N the entire time, making her think he wasn’t coming at all. Once he had his luggage, he was soon looking around for Niki, who instead was picking up Karl instead of picking up Y/N. Seeing her bright pink hair, he walked towards her a bright smile on his face, “Karl!” Niki said once she saw his fluffy brown hair. “Hey!” He said, pulling her into a quick hug, “How was the fly?” She asked, and Karl shrugged, “It would have been better if I wasn’t seated next to an old man who was snoring the entire time.” He said, which made Niki giggle. “I told you I would have gotten you first class, but you denied it.” She said, as the two walked towards her car.

“Yeah yeah.” He mumbled putting his suitcase in the trunk, “I am picking her up from work right? How long is the drive to your house?” He asked, not wanting to be late to pick her up. “Just down the road actually, but Y/N’s work is a ten minute drive. I’ll text her and tell her that I am picking her up instead, but it will actually be you driving my car. She usually is in the back, cleaning, so just wait for her outside.” She said, as she pulled into her driveway. “You weren’t joking when you said it was right down the road.” He mumbled, looking around seeing they lived in a somewhat secluded area. “Yeah, well, I will take your stuff into your room, you should head to her work. I’ll send the directions to you.” She told him, and he got out of the passenger seat, going to the drivers seat. While he was pulling out, his phone dinged indicating that Niki sent him the address for her work.

Pulling it open while watching the road, he saw that he led him to a place called ‘Coney Cafe’. Pushing the directions for it, the monotone robotic voice spoke up, telling him the way. Listening to it, he played some music to fill in the silence when the robot wasn’t speaking. As he was driving, he became more and more nervous, he didn’t know how he’d react or how Y/N would react. His heart was beating through his chest, and he gulped when he saw the little cafe appear in his line of vision. It was small and cute, from what he could see. Getting out, as it was still day light he locked Niki’s car, slowly walking into the cafe. His eye’s nearly bulged out of his skull when he saw three girls in an outfit similar to the ones Y/N was showing him days before. He looked around, seeing only one guy in a outfit that matched a butler, but settled on his head was a pair of bunny ears.

Karl’s first thought was he was at the wrong place, but when he saw a pair of white bunny ears on a similar set of hair, he froze. Y/N slowly walked out, in a white latex outfit, that was identical to Mai’s, and a pair of red knee high socks. He saw her carrying a tray of what seemed to be buns, and she kindly greeted a stranger giving them their desired food. Turning around, Karl locked eyes with E/C eyes, and he felt the breath get knocked out of him. Her eyes were adorned with red eyeshadow that matched her socks, “Karl?” Y/N said shocked, and Karl just let his eyes travel over her slowly, “Hey..” He said, nervously scratching the back of his neck. Sadly, he couldn’t see her smile as it was covered with a mask, that had the cafe’s name on it. “You’re here?!” She said shocked, and he sheepishly nodded his head. “I’m here.” He said, adjusting the mask on his nose, as it kept slipping from him speaking.

“How, what? when?” She asked confused, walking towards him slowly, only then did he realize their height difference. She was about Y/H, and her eye’s seemed much more innocent looking in person. “You work at a maid cafe?” He asked, and Y/N nodded her head, “Niki recommended it, she knew how much I liked wearing stuff like this, and she saw this cafe when she was out getting a tour from Wilbur.” She explained, as she led him to a table to sit him. “Wait here while I finish up.” She said, still trying to wrap her head around the fact that Karl was in the UK sitting, waiting, for her. The only way she recognized him was by the hair, the eyes, and the light blue Sapnap hoodie he wore that stuck out like a thumb. She knew something fishy was going on, because Corpse accidentally said Karl wouldn’t answer her for hours since he was on a plane. Before she could even ask, Corpse laughed and said, ‘Joking’ before hanging up.

She smiled and waved goodbye to her boss, who was always helping around the cafe whenever she was able to. “Bye Notori!” She said, as her boss waved back with a smile that was hidden behind her mask. Sighing, Y/N was mentally groaning because she had to open today, which meant she was awake since 4 this morning. Walking back out from the door that read ‘Staff Only’ she tapped Karl’s shoulder, “Do you want anything before we go? I usually fix myself a cup of Boba.” She said, and Karl just looked at the menu that was on the wall. “Yeah, I want to try the red velvet boba?” He asked, somewhat confused. Y/N smiled, “That’s new actually, it’s milk tea with red food coloring, and boba pearls that taste like red velvet cake.” She explained to him, going behind fixing their drinks. As Y/N made their drinks, Karl couldn't help but look at how amazing her body was, “Like what you see?” He heard a voice behind him, and he turned around coming face to face with the guy he saw earlier.

“I’m Vincent, but I prefer Vince.” He said, holding out a gloved hand to Karl. Karl hesitantly shook it, “You like her, don’t you?” He asked, and Karl’s face went bright red. He was thankful his mask covered his blush, “What makes you think that?” He asked, and Vince just grinned. “I’m like her older brother, I can tell.” He said, leaning in, “She likes you too. She hasn’t shut up about you since she met you.” He whispers, which made Karl have a boost of confidence. “So, where are you from?” Vince suddenly asked, changing the subject rather quickly, “Uh. Oh, I am from North Carolina.” He said, and Vince nodded, “So what made you work at a place like this?” Karl asked, noting he was the only boy here. “My mother owns the shop, we originally had the shop in Japan, but we moved here for better business, and because my step father lives here.” He explained, and Y/N walked back with two drinks in her hands.

“Hey Vince!” Y/N chirped happily, and Vince just patted Y/N head, ruffling her hair a bit purposely messing up her bunny ears. Y/N’s pout was not visible, as she ordered him to fix her hair and ears. “You’re lucky I have my hands occupied.” She mumbled to him, as Karl watched the two interact like actual siblings. “Oh! Here Karl.” She said, handing him is red drink, he looked at it closely before he noticed how shiny it looked. “Why is it so shiny?” He asked, confused. “I added some edible glitter into yours, special treat since you flew this way to see me.” She shrugged, as the two walked out. “Oh well thanks.” He mumbled, as they got into the car. “My feet hurt.” Y/N instantly whined, taking off her white heels. Karl looked over at her sympathetically, “How long were you walking around in those?” He asked, and Y/N took her mask off revealing her lower half of her face.

Karl’s eyes immediately went to her lips, and he watched her bite her bottom lip in thought. Her lips looked so soft, that he wanted to just reach out and touch them, but he held himself back. “Well, it is now 3 pm, so maybe 11 hours?” She said, and Karl looked over at her completely shocked. “11 hours?!” He said, bewildered, and Y/N simply nodded. “When we get to the house, you are going to change into comfortable clothes and I am giving you a foot massage.” He ordered, and Y/N looked over at him trying to think of ways to ruin the moment. “Karl.. do you have a foot kink..?” She asked, trying to pretend to be concerned. Karl let out a snort, and a few giggles as he drove shaking his head “No I do not.” He said, and Y/N laughed breaking out of character, “Okay good, that would have been a deal breaker.” She said, and Karl just laughed, as they drove back in peace.

After a short 10 minute silence, Y/N looked over at Karl, who was sipping on his boba. “Has anyone ever told you that your lips perfect for kissing?” She asked out of the blue, making Karl nearly choke. Quickly putting his drink down, he looked over at Y/N as they were now at a red light. “Pardon?” He asked, and Y/N just shrugged, “Nothing nothing.” She said, looking out of her window, and Karl just gaped at her. Hearing a honk, Karl snapped out of his trance and quickly pressed on the gas, turning left. “How long will you be staying?” Y/N asked, and Karl’s brain went numb at the fact that she could act like nothing happened. “Maybe a couple days, weeks.” He said, shrugging and Y/N just nodded. “Did you get the tail?” Karl nodded, “Yeah I did, you can pin it onto your outfits.” He said, “It’s actually under your seat if you want to get it.” He told her, pointing to the floor board.

Y/N reached down and grabbed a bag, pulling it up she looked seeing a ball of fur. Smiling, she grabbed it and took it out, examining it, “It’s so cute.” She said, feeling it, and put it on her lap. “Thank you.” She said, and looked over at Karl, as he drove. “Of course.” He mumbled, and finally pulled into the driveway. Y/N grinned and was about to open her door, before Karl yelled a quick ‘stop!’ which caused her to freeze. Seeing Karl now in front of her door, he opened it, and grabbed her heels and quickly picked her up from the seat. Y/N squealed, wrapping her arms around Karl’s neck so she felt more secure. Shutting her door with his foot, he walked to the porch, and reached forward, opening the door with one of his hands, holding Y/N up by his knee. Walking inside, he asked Y/N to lead him to his room, and finally they made it.

Placing her on her bed, he grinned, “You said your feet ached, so I am letting you take a break from walking.” He said, and Y/N’s heart fluttered at that, “Thank you.” She said, looking away to hide the very obvious blush that was creeping up to her cheeks. “I will be right back, be changed when I get back.” He told her, before he walked out shutting her door behind him. Looking around for Niki, he finally found her in the kitchen, “Where’s the room I will be staying in?” He asked, and Niki led him to a room upstairs, the left of Y/N’s. Walking inside, he noticed it was a neat room, it was a light grey and had its own streaming set up. He figured the room had it, since Wilbur would stay over from time to time. Unpacking, he changed into a pair of sweats, and a Harry Potter sweater. Walking out and back to Y/N’s he knocked, “Come in!” He heard Y/N’s voice.

Walking inside, he was welcomed with the sight of Y/N’s now disheveled hair, bare face, and her in a pajama set. “You look comfortable.” He reasoned, and Y/N just smiled, patting the spot beside of her, “I have Winnie the pooh playing.” She said, and Karl sat beside of her, and pulled her feet onto his lap softly. Y/N relaxed into the pillows behind her, as Karl massaged her feet. “I figured we could have a Disney marathon tonight.” She said, and Karl looked over at her, and grinned. “I’d love that.” He said, before finishing up his massage. After the movie ended, the two were now cuddled close together, “Y/N..” Karl whispered, seeing if she was still awake. Y/N hummed, turning over to face Karl. Now they were face to face, their lips inches away from each other. “I wanted to tell you something.” He said, looking at her features up close.

Y/N nodded her head, motioning for him to continue, both of their hearts beating rather quickly. “I really enjoy talking to you, and I enjoy seeing you every time we FaceTime.” He started, and Y/N smiled, “I really like you, Y/N. I know you don’t like long distance, but I will wait for you if I have to.” He said, and Y/N looked at him, her breath caught in her throat. “I like you too. It’s just I am so scared, I know you wouldn’t cheat or anything, I am afraid the distance will destroy everything. Especially with cover going on, you never know when the next travel ban will be.” She explained, “But I am willing to see if it will work.” She mumbled. Karl smiled, before both of their phones simultaneously dinging. Grabbing their phones, their eyes widened before they both laughed. ‘REPORT UK IS NOW UNDER TRAVEL BAN UNTIL THE BEGINNING OF MAY.’ “Looks like you’re stuck with me bunny girl.” Karl said, looking at her, and Y/N laughed.

“What about Jimmy’s youtube?” Y/N asked worried, and Karl just shook his head, “It’s okay, I will be streaming still, and I can just join Jimmy from FaceTime. I can also join the gaming videos no matter what, I just won’t be in the real life videos.” He said, and Y/N frowned, “Are you sure you are okay with that?” She asked, and he nodded his head, “Things happen in mysterious ways Y/N. I mean look at us, we met through Niki forgetting to mute her mic.” He said, and Y/N laughed at the memory, “Yeah that is true.” She said, and looked away in thought. “I’m getting a call.” Karl said, and answered it putting it on speaker, motioning for Y/N to be quiet. “Hello?” Karl answered, and Sapnap’s voice came from Karl’s phone. “Hey! I just saw that the UK is in a travel ban, which means you are stuck there.” He said, and Karl hummed, “Yeah I am.” He said, and Sapnap chuckled as another voice spoke up.

“If you don’t end up getting with Y/N by the time the travel ban lifts, I will meet you at the airport, and openly punch you.” Dream spoke up, and Karl laughed, “I will allow you to do that.” He said, and Sapnap spoke up, “If you don’t date her, our wedding in minecraft is off and I will marry Quackity only.” He said, and Karl gasped, “Now that’s just too far.” Karl said, and Dream’s muffled laugh came through, “That’s just messed up.” Dream said, and Sapnap just scoffed, “Screw you guys.” He mumbled hanging up. Karl laughed and looked back at Y/N who was just smiling at him. “What?” He asked, seeing Y/N wanted to say something. “Nothing.” She said, teasingly, and Karl groaned, “Not this again, just tell me.”

“Maybe the universe wants this.” She said, motioning to each other, and Karl grinned nodding his head. “Let’s not make the universe mad, we already have a pandemic going on.” He said, and Y/N laughed nodding her head, “Agreed.” She whispered, looking at Karl’s lips. Karl bit his lip, his mind wondering back to how soft her lips look, finally wanting to know the truth. He grabbed her chin and brought her face closer, “Let’s see.” He whispered to himself, as their lips were now inches apart. “See what?” She asked, clueless, and Karl smirked, “How soft they really are.”

#karl jacobs #karl jacobs x reader #karl jacobs imagine #mcyt imagine #mcyt fanfiction #mcyt x reader #mcyt #dreamsmp

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hanniiesuckle17 · 3 years

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Ateez Reaction: Hangover

A/n: i am so obsessed with Ateez. like wow. damn. so this is my first ateez reaction but i cant wait to do more! I'm still a new Atiny so please go easy on me and i hope you like it!

Tag List: @ashisparanoid @mini-meanhoe @leggomylino @hanstagrams @desertofdessert @hoes4hoseok @yangomangos @jeonqqin @geminirules @crscendoforsung @mrsunshine999 @jisungsjheekies @hannie-squirrel00 @cotccotc @kodzu-ken @konenichi @yangs-jeongin

Warnings: cussing

Hongjoong:

You awoke to pain between your legs and sore muscles all around your body. Normally, you took pretty well to hangovers. They never bothered you much. However, the night prior both you and your boyfriend had quite a lot to drink which led to a very...explorative and wild night.

You made a small attempt to sit up, but that was quickly stilled by the aching pain all over your mostly bare body. Rolling over, you grabbed the closest shirt on the floor and wheezed at the twinges of pain as you lifted it over your head. Looking over you saw Hongjoong still fast asleep. He lay on his stomach, the muscles in his back shifting every now and then.

Smiling, you pressend gentle kisses along his bare skin. Slowly he began to wake up. “Oh- my head-.....good morning, gorgeous.” His voice was raw sending shivers down your spine. His red hair was sticking up in wild directions, reminding you of a cute Einstein. His lips were puffy and there were several red marks on his neck and shoulder. “Is your hangover as bad as mine?” He mumbled, rubbing the fatigue and sleep away from his face.

“I have a small headache. I’m mostly sore...and hungry.”

“Ooooo! You know what sounds perfect?” Hongjoong mused, bottom lip tugging between his teeth. “Pizza.”He laughed seeing your eyes light up. Reaching over on the night stand he pulled out his phone and began ordering a huge pizza, with you looking over his shoulder.

“Do you think they would deliver it straight to the bed? I don’t wanna get up.”

Hongjoong laughed and finished the order before rolling on top of you and covering your face with lazy kisses. “Good thing I have the day off. I feel like shit and I have no plan of leaving this bed.” After a little while the two of you heard a knock at the apartment door. “I’m not getting up,” Holding out your fist the two of you played rock, paper, scissors for who had to get up and answer the door. Hongjoong groaned as you crushed his two fingers with your fist.

“Fuck you,” He said with a light hearted laugh before throwing off the covers and grabbing a clean pair of sweats to cover himself.

“You already did. Multiple times.”

Joong left laughing and came back with a pizza in hand. The two of you sat in bed the rest of the day, snacking on the greasy food and chasing away the hangovers and aches.

Seonghwa:

Seonghwa didn’t drink often. He preferred to be the sober one of the group; making sure no one got arrested or molested or something like that. Even when he got drunk with you, the next morning he was always the one taking care of you. He’d pop about twelve painkillers and rush around making you soup and getting medicine for your headaches.

This morning was not the normal case. Last night he and Hongjoong had gone out and come back blasted. Waking up to Hongjoong drooling on your couch was definitely not what you had expected. After kicking him out with money for a cab and a thermos of coffee you turned your attention to your now groaning boyfriend. You leaned on the doorframe and watched Seonghwa starfish and moan in the center of your shared bed.

“Morning, Toothless.”

“This is not morning. This is death. I am Death. Your Toothless is dead.”

There was no stopping the laugh that bubbled up in your chest. “What about my Seonghwa? Where is he?”

“He’s dead too. Too much vodka.”

Nodding, you played along before slinking into the bathroom and grabbing two Advil and glass of water. The cup thunked against the night stand and Seonghwa buried himself further into the blankets. “Tell your ghost there is medicine on the table.” The only answer you received was a shaky and pathetic groan from a lump of blanket. “Such a fucking drama queen,” You mumbled with a laugh.

You spent the next thirty minutes making Seonghwa hangover soup. You had found a recipe marked “For Tequila Y/n Aftermath” and assumed it should get your boyfriend back in working- or at least functioning- order.

Carefully, you brought a steaming bowl into the bedroom and forced Seonghwa to sit up against the headboard. He turned to you with puppy eyes. “Feed me?” Rolling your eyes, you reached for the bowl and gave him a spoonful. His eyes lit up with a happy smile.

“You’re lucky you’re cute, Toothless.”

Yunho:

“Wake up, lovebirds!” San screamed, throwing open the curtains.

Both you and Yunho shrugged away from the light. “San, fuck off!” You mumbled, burrowing further into Yunho’s chest. You whined as he sat up. Hearing San shriek you could only assume Yunho threw a pillow at the younger boy.

“How bad is your hangover?” Yunho asked, wrapping his long arms around you.

“How bad is yours?”

“Not too bad.....” You scoffed and pinched his arm making him yelp. “Okay-that was a lie. It’s pretty bad.”

“Same here.”

Your cold fingers wrapped around the blankets and pulled them over both your heads. “Let’s never drink again.” Yunho mumbled, eyes closing. The sheets rustled as he threw one of his long legs over you, hugging you with his entire body.

You chuckled, poking your boyfriend’s puffy cheek. You could only imagine how bloated your face was. “You and I both know that’s not gonna happen.” His lips pouted in frustration, eyes still closed. Unable to resist his cuteness you leaned up and pecked his lips. One peck turned into a few. A few turned into many.

“Hey, baby?” Yunho mumbled, lying on his back. You hummed, tracing patterns on his chest. “I think I’m gonna be sick.” You laughed and let him loose from your arms. Your giant boyfriend lumbered into the bathroom, closing the door behind him.

Your body ached and your head was throbbing against the frame of your skull. After a few moments Yunho emerged with a wet washcloth and his breath smelling like mint tooth paste. He still looked very hungover. “Come back to bed, bear.” He crawled over, careful not to get the blankets wet with the washcloth, and rest his head on your chest.

“For you, baby.” His long fingers gingerly lay the cool cloth on your forehead, easing the headache you were having. “What do you say to a few more hours of sleep?” He asked, listening to your heartbeat. Your hands slowly ran through his hair.

“Sounds pretty damn great.”

Yeosang:

The last you had heard from Yeosang was the ten drunk voicemails he left in your inbox. You called the boys’ manager and made sure that they got home safely. A few minutes ago you received a text from Hongjoong saying all the boys were now up (at two in the afternoon). Hopping in your car, you drove over to their dorm.

“Knock knock?” You entered the dorm knowing most of the boys would be like zombies. Just as you predicted several of the boys were strewn out in the mostly still dark apartment. The second you opened the blinds they yelped, still sensitive to the light. “Where’s Yeosang?” You asked between laughs.

Mingi groaned from the couch and gestured to the kitchen. There you saw Yeosang attempting to stir something in a pot. He got tired halfway through the motion and rested his head on the counter. Quietly, you took off your coat and approached him from behind. Your boyfriend jumped almost a full foot in the air when you wrapped your arms around him from behind. “Y/n? When did you get here, honey?”

Yeosang abandoned the pot for you, choosing instead to nuzzle his head in your neck. “Just a few minutes ago.” He pulled you into a soft hug, breathing in the scent of your perfume. “So how much and what did you drink last night?” You asked with a laugh. He pulled away and drowsily looked you in the eyes.

“Ummmm....I remember lots of soju....then San made us do tequila shots.” Out of habit you pushed his soft hair out of his face as he spoke. He leaned into your hand like a moth drawn to light.

Reaching up, you felt his forehead. “Aww baby. You’ve got a little bit of a fever.” He nodded reattaching his head to the crook of your neck. Normally Yeosang was the opposite of clingy. He was shy and preferred to not flaunt his affection for you. “You want me to finish making your food, Sangie?” He pouted with a nod and shuffled so he was behind you. Picking up where he left off you began to finish his meal.

“More spice please.” He asked cutely pressing a kiss to your neck.

San:

Sweet, sweet karma. What did you do to deserve this? You thought with a grin. Everytime you had a hangover San was the first to unleash all hell at you. He played loud music in the morning. He “dropped” pans while making breakfast. But worst of all....without fail, he dragged you to the gym and made you work out with him. He claimed it was the best cure for a hangover.

Now here he lay, still completely knocked out from the night before. Your boyfriend’s legs were tangled in the sheets and his arms were wrapped tightly around a pillow, a sad replacement for your body. “Sweet revenge, you are mine.” Swiftly you kicked San’s leg only earning a groan from the man. “San,” you sang.

“What.” The man said lifting his head up and glaring at your smiling face.

“Did you have a little too much fun last night, baby?”

“No.” He simply hugged the pillow tighter and attempted to go back to sleep.

San flinched, grabbing his head as you slammed down his favorite sneakers on the nightstand. “You what the best cure for a hangover is?” Knowing he wasn’t going to answer you yanked the blankets away. San whined and groaned like a little child. “A workout.”

“NO!”

Depsite his protests, like your boyfriend had done to you many times, you now dragged him to the gym and forced him through a seemingly endless exercise routine. You couldn’t help but laugh at the sight beside you. San looked terrible as he struggled to keep up with your pace on the treadmill. “You good to keep going?” He glared knowing it was not a question but his face quickly changed.

“Fuck- I’m gonna be sick.”

Jumping off the machine, San sprinted to the gym’s bathrooms, most likely to wrench his guts out. Emerging, San wiped his mouth and looked at you with a guilty smile. “What are you never ever going to do again?”

“I will never make you work out with a hangover.”

“Good,” Laughing you watched his face twist embarrassment. Regardless, he leaned down capturing your lips in a kiss. You curled away, shivering. “Okay, I love you but no more kisses until you’ve brushed your teeth and showered.”

Mingi:

Your head was pounding. Thankfully your bedroom was still dark except for the small source of light emitting from your boyfriend’s phone. “Mingi?” The boy turned hearing his name. His head was resting against the head board, colored hair sticking up in random places.

Little blue rectangles reflected the screen of his phone in his glasses. “Hi, baby,” He mumbled, voice still raw. Like the big baby he was, Mingi rolled over ontop of you, eliciting a groan from your lips.

“What time is it?”

“Early....but late....but also early...”

“Mingi are you still drunk from last night?” He shook his head, nuzzling into your neck. He was unquestionably still drunk. The boys had roped you into their crazy antics which resulted in you and Mingi drunkenly stumbling into a cab back to your apartment. Mingi did have.....a lot...to drink. Way more than you.

“Lemme get the curtains.” With a goofy smile, Mingi pecked your lips before his tall form wobbled over to the covered window. Pulling back the curtains he gasped and turned to you cutely. “Babe!” You snorted at your cute, still tipsy, boyfriend. “Shit! It’s dark outside! Did we sleep the whole day?”

Laughing, you checked your phone. “Mingi, it’s just raining. It’s only 10:00 AM.” Feeling the effects of your growing hangover you snuggled back under the covers. “Babyyyyy, come back to bed.” You whined watching Mingi mess with something on his phone.

“Noooo! I’m up! Oh my god! Y/n! Let’s dance!”

Mingi began playing a loud sound on his phone and dancing over the foot of the bed. “Baby.....you’re still drunk.” He shook his head and began singing the lyrics quite loudly. Headache spiking, you covered your ears.

Launching the nearest pillow at him quickly shut your boyfriend up. “Why did you do that?” He asked with a pout.

“Aww bub...come back to bed.” Finally obliging, Mingi crawled back into your arms and the two of you slept off the remaining effects of alcohol.

Wooyoung:

You awoke to heavenly smells of something good floating from your kitchen. Squinting at the bright light in your room you sat up and turned to see Wooyoung’s side of the bed cold and empty.

“Woo?”

Your throat was dry and scratchy as you called out to your boyfriend. It shocked you to see your usually stoic and sarcastic boyfriend rush into the room, spoon in hand. “You’re awake?” He asked quietly. You groaned as Wooyoung pounced on top of you in a bear hug. “How bad is your hangover?” He asked kissing all over your face.

“Very bad.”

“Well, you did try to drink San under the table.”

Your eyebrow quirked up and Wooyoung laughed at your sleepy face. “The question is....did I win?” He laughed even more before nodding. “Then I deem this hangover- ‘worth it’.”Gently, Wooyoung tucked his hands under your legs and lifted you up.

You were glad your sore muscles didn’t have to move much as your newly doting boyfriend carried you into the kitchen, even setting you down on a stool at the counter. This was a new side of Wooyoung you hadn’t seen.

“Whatcha cookin’, good lookin’?”

“Hangover soup just for you, love.”

You watched him cut the remaining vegetables and ingredients with expert skill and slide them across the cutting board and into the pot. Watching Wooyoung move around the kitchen like it was second nature sent a warm bubbly feeling to your chest and stomach. “Were you always this domestic?” You asked resting your chin against your palm.

A light layer of sweat rested on his forehead, pieces of black hair clinging to the skin. The steam from the pot after up onto his handsome face. “Does it turn you on?” He answered wiggling his eyebrows.

“And there is my horny, evil, chaotic Wooyoung.”

The corner of his lips lifted up in a smile as he ladled the warm homemade soup into bowls. Setting yours in front of you with a kiss on the cheek he encouraged you to eat. “You love me all the same.”

“Yes. Thank you for taking care of me,” A smile filled your face as you tried some of the soup, Wooyoung anxiously awaiting your opinion. You nodded eagerly and quickly ate the rest of the bowl, feeling better by the second.

Jongho:

“Never again. Never again will I drink.”

The phrase left your lips like a mantra as you rolled around in bed. The room was dark, blinds drawn and your head stuffed under the covers. Your whole body was sore and your head was throbbing. “Oh...shit....here it comes.” You cried feeling the contents of your stomach begin to crawl up your throat.

Rushing to the bathroom you hurled into the white porcelain bowl. You hated throwing up. Not being able to stand the vile taste in your mouth, you immediately brushed your teeth. Grabbing your phone on the way back to the warmth and comfort of your bed, you unlocked it and winced at the harsh blue light.

Pressing the device to your ear, you listened to the dial tone and awaited the sweet sound of your boyfriend’s voice. “Hi my baby!” Jongho greeted in English. Despite the piercing volume of his voice, you couldn't help but grin. How was it possible you were dating the cutest man on the entire planet. “Say hi to Atiny!” Nevermind. He was no longer cute. He put you on speaker phone.

“Hi, Atiny! Jongho, darling, take me off speaker for a sec.”

He hummed in response. “Did you just wake up? When I left you last night you tried to get me to dance the Harlem Shake with you.” You covered your face in embarrassment. You and Jongho and gone out last night and you may have had way too much to drink.

“What time is it?”

“Like.....4 pm.”

“OH MY GOD!”

Jongho’s laugh was like music to your ears. “Should I come over later? I’m done about seven-ish.” Groaning you rolled over, struggling against the urge to vomit again. “Is that a no groan, a yes groan, or I’m too hungover to speak groan?”

“You said seven? Could you bring medicine..........and pizza.....yeah. Lots of pizza.”

“So pizza, meds, anything else?”

“Nope! I love youuuu!”

Jongho chuckled over the phone. “I love you too, baby. See you later,”

Masterlist

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nkogneatho · 3 years

Text

ATTACK ON TITAN PDA HEADCANONS. (Part 1)

Requests are open. (If you want a prompt, list is here)

▪︎I do not own the characters. Gn!reader.

•Levi Ackerman

Levi may seem like someone who doesn't like romantic stuff but once he sees someone checking you out, he gets jealous.

You guys are walking in the mall. You stop when you see a mesmerizing red gown. You pull Levi into the store. His attention was all on how your eyes sparkled at a mere piece of silk cloth. A small grin on his face until he felt a set of eyes hooked on your body. The grin faded and turned into a big smirk as Levi came closer to you. You turned unknowingly to find the short yet intimidating man shadowing you. He couldn't resist and pulled you in for a kiss while eyeing devilishly to the store manager who was staring at you. 'Back of ass. They are mine.' , he delivered that look.

•Eren Jaeger

Ohh boy. It doesn't bother Eren to show affection in public, it's just that he never thought it so deeply.

Eren's schedule is so full that you guys barely get to go on dates. You once complained about it and then he just left without saying anything. So you decided to maybe give him some space. Eren at first thought it might turn out to be okay but no. Every second he thought about you. He always lies to himself, maybe that is a good choice sometimes but not always. He cannot deny how much he misses you. After realizing that doesn't matter what he is doing, you are always running on his mind, he called you but you weren't picking up as you were kinda upset with him. The next day, Eren bumped into you on the way to class. He snatched your wrist, throwing you into the the locker kissing you deep. There were people around you but only a few, plus it wasn't about them at this moment. You grinned into the kiss when you noticed that he can't help but miss you because he is never so affectionate. "Don't ignore me again. I'll give you all the dates you want baby", the insecurity of losing you was crystal clear in his voice.

•Erwin Smith

Erwin is the sweetest guy on this planet and the way he treasures you is so adorable. He doesn't show PDA that much but he will hold your hands and kiss you whenever or wherever you need it.

Your result just came out and turned out that you didn't score as much as you expected you will. Well, Levi straightforwardly blamed you. "It's your fault. Who told you to stay up late doing stupid things rather than studying?", no sugar coating words at all, well not that you expect that from him.

You did think Erwin might wonder the same stuffs about you. You didn't open up to him about how lately you were feeling towards your academics. You sat there with your head on the desk, hands crossed, left arm supporting your skull. Although a sad lover won't go unnoticed by him.

He pulled your desk closer to his, stroked your back a few times. You were so used to his hands patting you that you recognized the gesture. A smile appeared on your face, a relieving one maybe. He ruffled your hairs and kissed the top of your head in the classroom. You revealed your face to him deciding maybe it's good to face him now. You smiled at him, he held your hands and placed a kiss on your forehead this time. "It's okay. I know you work hard enough for your capacity love", you are so lucky to have such an understanding lover.

•Armin Arlert

He really wants to show PDA but it's like he is so nervous that maybe you won't be comfortable with it so he doesn't even brings the topic up ever.

It was a chilly night, an almost empty street, although some of the shops were still open. It was quite rare for you both to go out in winters. You'd rather stay in sheets with your lovely boyfriend, binging shows than go out but it's been a long time since you last watched a movie at cinema.

Your body sort of started shivering. A regret for not listening to Armin when he said to wear extra layers ran through you. It's not like you can ask him to hurry up and bother your date when he is enjoying. You continued to shiver or tried so hard not to. This didn't go unnoticed by Armin. He didn't care of any of his thoughts now, just kind of disappointed that you'd rather tremble than tell him what's the matter. He stopped, pulled you in a corner bus stop, took off his upper jacket and wrapped it around you. The unexpected gesture made you smile. He kissed your ears, blowing a cool wind on it that made chills run down your body. "Don't hide anything from me baby. If you want anything, just say it. I will try my best to provide you that", he seemed pretty confident with his words and that's what made you happy.

•Zeke Yeager

He is such an ass but a gentleman. It doesn't even bother what place is, he will show his affection whenever he wants to.

You both were coming back from the ER as you broke your finger bones while pillow fighting with him.

It was late at night, but the crowd was still there as you both lived in a popular area. You saw your favourite ramen stall and insisted him to eat there. He denied at first but then the grumbling sound that his stomach made was enough to give him away.

You were so excited as the original chef was back, so even the tables were pretty much reserved. You luckily got a place, both of you settled across the table. Your excited heart started complimenting the taste or why it is your favorite food, even before the ramen was arrived. Zeke was laughing, god knows why.

The uncle placed the bowls on the table.

"Ittadakimasu", he said and started digging in.

"Ara y/n-chan, if your hand alright?", you did forget that your fingers were plastered and you can't hold the chopsticks on your own. The smile on your face dropped when Zeke started laughing, practically banging the table. Now you get it why he was behaving like that. After all he makes fun of you a lot.

You stayed mad for a couple of minutes, but then he pitied a soul like you so he sat beside you and fed you with his own hands.

So what if Zeke can be an ass? He still is a loving boyfriend.

#aot fluff #aot smut #snk headcanons #aot headcanons #levi x reader #eren x reader #attack on titan #levi smut #aot angst #aot eren

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greenteabtch · 3 years

Text

Once Upon A Starkhaven Summer

A retelling of the iconic musical Anastasia featuring Sebastian Vael and Hawke.

Pairing: Sebhawke

Rating: G

Summary: In 9:20 Dragon a coup was staged on the royal family of Starkhaven. All those of the Vael line were thought lost, but the absence of the youngest Vael prince's body left many wondering: could the last of the Vaels yet live? Rumors are afoot, some claiming the young prince is alive, delivered to safety by the hand of the Maker himself.

A reward of a thousand sovereigns was offered to prove the theory, awaiting the lucky person who could return him safely to the Starkhaven council.

Leads are few, but the challenge is nothing to Helena Hawke. She knows he's alive, even swears she pulled him from the brink with her own hands. With the prolific author Varric supplying funds in the hopes of his next bestseller and Helena's determination to save her family from destitution, they resolve to find the prince, one way or another.

Chapters: 1 2 ....

Update: Chapter 2 is up, with an excerpt under the cut! :)

“Listen, little brother ,” she enunciated, pushing herself into his space. “I am pulling my weight. Don’t you dare accuse me of less.”

The air in the room had been sucked away like a vacuum, hair pin-straight on Helena’s arms. She was losing her temper, mana coiling in her belly like a serpent.

Boulder-toned eyes pinched closed, his posture as silent and looming as one of the many statues that lined Kirkwall’s streets.

“You know, I would have believed you. Once.”

Helena started, features wide in surprise at that. She refused to move from her position, instead listening to Carver’s footsteps as he pulled himself out of her way. “What does that mean?”

The wood creaked as he reached the fireplace, she knew for she had stepped in that spot many times before. A scoff tickled her ears, her eyes trained directly ahead.

“You did pull your weight. More than it, actually,” he muttered. “You were our big sister, our protector, even before Pa...” the remaining words were swallowed by the crackling flame, but Helena didn’t need him to finish his sentence. Her eyes fell to the ground, fists bunched by her side. Carver seemed to renew himself, a light thump of the mantle reigniting his passion.

“Look,” he asserted. “To the void with the past, you know how I feel about it. The fact is, the moment you rediscovered that cursed charm you’ve been doing nothing but chasing after the ghost of an old wives’ tale.”

Helena’s teeth clenched, eyes hardening to steel.

“It’s not an old wives’ tale.”

“What, you’re not even going to pretend that you’re not looking for your stupid prince?”

At that, Helena spun on her heel, hair whipping about like a storm as her voice raised. “ Carver ! I know what I saw,” she looked to her twitching fingers in front of her, a shake coming over her body as red blood seemed to coat them again. “I know what I felt,” They balled into fists, her chin whipping high in the air. “And I know he’s alive.”

“We were all there with you that day!” Carver’s arm swept out, his ire no longer sheltering itself beneath sarcasm. “Don’t you think that if you had discovered an injured boy, let alone a prince, one of us would have noticed?” He ran his hand through his growing bangs, the thin strands fraying under his force. “Ma says you weren’t even that skilled of a healer back then. If anyone was saving anyone it would have been Pa or Bethany.”

Cracks spread over her skin as Helena’s jaw clenched even harder, blood vessels throbbing in her skull.

“Do you think me such a foolish dreamer that I would jeopardize my family on a whim?”

He opened his mouth to answer but was cut off by her sharpening rage. “Do you think I don’t know how slim my chances are? How much I am risking for this reward?” Her voice was dangerously clear, eyes obsidian in her biting blizzard. “This isn’t a game, Carver. This isn’t an exciting little adventure for me to play the hero. This is a gamble for the rest of our lives,”

She set her jaw, “I wouldn’t dare bet without a winning hand.”

Silence reigned between them, the two remaining Hawke children squaring off in the low light of the fire. Her chest rose and fell with effort, breath shaking in her lungs. Carver appeared in no better shape, his eyes cast down to his shoes.

She had just let her eyes slip closed in frustration when she heard a quiet voice.

“I just want this to be over.”

She opened them.

Carver was picking at his fingers now, hair swaying with each pull. His lips quivered slightly, teeth baring themselves on occasion as his eyes grew wetter and wetter in the shadows.

“I’m sick of fighting for work out there on my own, wondering where in the void my sister is and how I’m going to bring back enough coin to keep any of us afloat. Ma’s no help, she’s too busy sobbing all day, and Gamlen,” his jaw trembled “well, he just takes.”

Helena’s body untensed, fingers inching their way towards Carver and halting when he looked away. Small, red lips parted, brows furrowing as her mind was quieted by her pounding heartbeat. Looking at him, it was impossible to see anything other than that long-haired kid with shocking dark eyes and tougher than grit smile, even when covered in scrapes and bruises. Her brother, brave and mature as he may be today, would always be five years old peeling oranges with cut fingers for her and Bethany.

Her little brother.

A sound came from her mouth as her face pinched, the words struggling to come out. She breathed, fingers pushing deep into her temple.

“Carver…”

His head shook from side to side, hand running through his hair.

Eventually, after a few moments of quiet, he spoke. “Just stay. At least in Kirkwall.”

Her mouth felt dry, body frozen in place.

Then, air blew from her nose, her body feeling light.

“That’s all?” she asked, voice low. “You’re not asking me to give up my search?”

Carver fiddled with the buckle on his shirt. “Like you’d listen.”

Her jaw clenched, lungs feeling as though they had been punctured. He was right.

“I’ll...” But she couldn’t promise this. Not yet. “...try.”

Her brother’s brows screwed in, each further dip of his mouth a sickly stab into her gut.

“Whatever,” he muttered, pulling away from the mantle he leaned on. He brushed past her as he made his way across the room, tossing her a venomous glance. “You’ll do what you want anyway.”

Before she could answer, he disappeared into the next room, the door clicking shut behind him.

Flames crackled, morose as the voice that had gotten lodged inside her throat finally broke free.

“I’m sorry.”

He didn’t hear.

#bitch i learned how to DESCRIBE #sebhawke #sebastian vael #dragon age #dragon age 2 #da2 #my writing #fanfic #fanfiction #helena hawke #ship: wings sprout from broken backs #anastasia au #:))))

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onecanonlife · 3 years

Text

careful son (you got dreamer's plans)

Wilbur gasps back to life with mud between his fingers and rain in his eyes.

Wilbur was dead. Now, he is not. He can't say that he's particularly happy about it.

Unfortunately, the server is still as tumultuous as ever, even with Dream locked away, so it seems that his involvement in things isn't a matter of if, but when.

(Alternatively: the prodigal son returns, and a broken family finally begins to heal. If, that is, the egg doesn't get them all killed first.)

Chapter Word Count: 11,809

Chapter Warnings: swearing, manipulation, mind control, blood, violence, su.icidal ideation, panic attacks, and temporary character death

Chapter Summary: Dream’s broken out of prison.

(masterlist w/ ao3 links)

(first chapter) (previous chapter) (next chapter)

Chapter Eleven: take a drink of that promise land

His thoughts fly apart. His heart pounds in tandem with his feet. There is room for one thing in his mind and one thing only, the words curling around themselves, the end running into the beginning, and it’s Sam is dead and Dream is coming Sam is dead is dead is dead and Dream is coming Sam is dead and Dream is is is—

And under that, Sam’s words echo: As long as I live, he will never set foot outside this prison. Delivered with such confidence, meant to be a reassurance, a promise. But Sam is dead.

He bursts into the Egg’s chamber at a dead sprint. And then draws up short, eyes darting around the room. There: Puffy, arguing with Bad, Sapnap by her side. Next to Bad: Ant, Punz, Ponk. Standing back from the Egg a bit: Tommy, Tubbo, Techno, Phil, Ranboo, a measure of distance between the former two and the latter three.

But they’re all alright. None of them are bloodstained. There are no cries of pain. No clash of weapons. No eyes gone blank and empty, no items scattered across the floor to indicate a first or second death. They’re all alright, haven’t even come to blows yet, it seems, and for a moment, Wilbur is the only one in the room who knows. He is the messenger, and he must deliver the news, even though he doesn’t want to, doesn’t want to voice it, doesn’t want to make it real. It’s a crushing weight in his chest, stealing his breath, making his head spin. He holds his communicator tightly in his hand, a death grip. Checking it one last time changes nothing. The words are still there.

No one’s seen him yet.

“—did not sign up for this,” Techno is saying, an aside to Phil that he doesn’t bother to keep at a murmur. “I’m here to fight, not watch a domestic dispute. This is really awkward, Phil. They’re just screamin’ at each other.”

“Feels a bit scuffed,” Phil agrees, voice slightly distant. His eyes are fixed on the Egg, his fingers absently fiddling with his sword hilt.

“Dream’s coming,” Wilbur says.

He doesn’t say it as loudly as he intends. His voice cracks slightly on the second word. But the room goes silent, and all eyes turn to him

(and it’s a terrible imitation of things that once were, of his voice strident and powerful and his words potent and inspiring, and his speeches commanded armies, once, led people to die for him, but this is not that, and he is as much a harbinger as the crow that perches on Philza’s shoulders)

at once.

“What?” Tommy says, his voice a pale shadow.

Mutely, he holds out his communicator, as though they can read the print from this distance. But it provokes all of them into pulling out theirs, and he watches the transformation, watches the realization dawn. Watches Techno raise an eyebrow, watches Phil frown, watches Puffy’s face contort in visceral horror. Watches Tommy mouth the words to himself, disbelieving. Watches him look up, make eye contact, and there is a sheen in his eyes, a desperation for this to be untrue, and he wishes he could give him what he wants. Wishes he could say that this is some kind of prank, a joke in poor taste.

If there is anyone laughing, it isn’t him.

“Well, shit,” Phil says.

“No,” Tommy says, “no, no, no, no, no, there’s no way, the prison is supposed to be secure, there’s no way this is real, oh holy shit, holy shit what are we going to do—”

“Does this have to mean he’s out?” Tubbo asks, practically a plea. His ears have folded back, almost plastered against his skull. “There’s no way that he could still be in there? And that he just, got in a lucky shot or something?”

It’s a possibility, technically. A possibility that Sam let his guard down around the prisoner, that Dream somehow managed to overpower him, even after months in solitary confinement, muscles atrophying, managed to get one over the man armed to the teeth and wearing full netherite armor. A possibility, but not a likely one, and he knows in his heart of hearts that it isn’t true, knows that

(you looked at that mask at that blank smiling mask and you did not need to look in his eyes to know what lurked did there did not need to look to feel his gaze crawling down your back and you bloodied his nose and yet he looked on you like dirt like an insect like a puppet)

Sam would never have been so careless. If Sam is dead, has lost a life to Dream, then Dream is out.

“How could this have happened?” Puffy asks. “Sam would never have let his guard down!” There is more than fear lining her words, but Wilbur can’t pay her much attention now. Because Tommy’s breaths are coming in quick, shallow, edged with a hint of a whine, and he knows very well the beginnings of a panic attack when he sees one.

(and it was never supposed to happen to Tommy to his little brother to his baby brother and he doesn’t know if it was the war but if not the war it was everything that came after and the blame all comes circling back to him in the end)

Phil steps forward, concern written on his face, but Wilbur brushes past him.

“Tommy,” he says, and takes Tommy’s hand in his, keeping his grasp light and loose, so that Tommy can break away if he wants, “breathe with me, alright? In and out.” He breathes, loud and exaggerated, and it is a miracle that he can keep the rhythm steady when he was so scared only a moment ago, when he still is scared, when he expects footsteps to echo down the corridor at any moment, the worst nightmare become reality. But this is for Tommy, and for Tommy, he can put aside his own fears, can forget where they are and what they’re doing and push away the growing static and do what needs to be done. Do what he has promised to do.

Tommy grips his hand so hard he can almost hear his bones creaking. But gradually, he comes back, and his darting eyes focus on his face, clarity shining back through, though the fear does not dissipate.

“He is going to have to go through all of us before he gets to you,” Wilbur says lowly. Another promise. This one, he will be better about keeping to the letter. But Tommy shudders.

“That’s what I’m fucking scared of,” he says, in a voice that tries to be harsh but instead just sounds young.

(child soldiers, child soldiers, lives too short and graves too long)

“I’m not going to let anything happen,” he says, and wishes Tommy would believe him. But he cannot fault him for his lack of faith. Not after anything. Not after he’s grown so accustomed to family letting him down time and time again, not when he’s grown so accustomed to being burnt every time he extends a hand. Wilbur has wielded that fire himself. He can hear it even now, crackling around the edges of his consciousness, held at bay now only because he can see its destructiveness for what it is, can look past the horrible glory to the inglorious horror.

Or. No. That’s the Egg. The crackling is whispers.

He’d almost forgotten. He’s been focused on the other problem, almost forgetting about the first. But the Egg is here, gleaming red, pulsing, blood-drenched. He blinks, and his vision wavers, and there is blood beading on its surface like condensation, like dew, rolling down its sides and pooling beneath it. Spreading outward. Reaching for him.

People are talking. Discussing.

“He’s not going to go through all of us,” Techno is saying. “Don’t be so dramatic. He’s not that good. And he’s homeless again. I’m not goin’ down to some homeless man.”

“Do we even know that he’s coming here?” Phil asks. “He wouldn’t have any way of knowing where we are, right?”

Bad is soaked in it, soaked in the blood, and Ant, and Punz, and Ponk are soaked in it, and it is creeping up onto everyone else, staining their trousers, and he can hear the whispers, can hear the promises, can hear it again he can hear it again—

Sing blood, sing fire, it says to him, sing a requiem, sing of sleep, sing of what you want, if only you choose, if only you give in, I can give you all you’ve wanted, I can fulfill your dreams, and you ran once but you have returned to me now and I am in your blood and so is the fire and so is the void and you cannot deny yourself for long, gunpowder child.

(please not again please not again please no he won’t he won’t he won’t)

Tommy yanks on his arm.

“Wilbur,” he hisses.

(it asked you to hurt Tommy it asked you once and it will ask you again stop listening to it stop stop stop)

He blinks again, and the blood is gone, though the room is still bathed in red, from the egg and from the lava. Tommy is pressing something into his hand, a bottle of holy water, and Wilbur takes it with only a second of hesitation. The water goes down cool and fresh, and his mind clears. Not all the way. But enough. The whispers dissipate back into the static, indistinguishable from white noise.

“Sorry,” he says.

“Just keep your head on straight, big man,” Tubbo says, and—oh, it’s Tubbo who gave him the water. Tommy’s still holding his hand, but Tubbo’s pressed close to both of them, and whether he’s looking to protect or to be protected, Wilbur doesn’t know. Perhaps both.

“So obviously, this changes things,” Ant is saying, slow and considering.

“Does it?” Puffy asks.

“Of course,” Bad says. “We think that Dream should be in prison just as much as you do. He did bad things. He should be locked up.” He pauses, tilting his head, and Wilbur thinks that this is the most like the old Bad that he’s sounded. “So, how about we have a truce? We work together to take care of this, and maybe you’ll see how much the Egg can help, and then we won’t have to fight at all!”

“Right, because teaming with the people we were about to commit extreme violence against five minutes ago is a great plan,” Techno says. “I don’t see what could go wrong with that at all.”

Wilbur’s glad he said it. He understands the idea, of course, understands the concept of the enemy of my enemy is my friend, but he cannot work with those he does not trust, and he does not trust Bad or Ant or Punz not to stick a blade in his back as soon as he dares to turn it. Wouldn’t, even if there weren’t a mind control egg involved, even if they didn’t follow the very thing that has attempted to coerce him into betraying the only thing left he holds dear, the only people. Even if he still didn’t feel the thing sticking its tendrils into his mind, trying to find purchase.

He takes another swig of water. Tries to loosen his grip on the neck of the bottle, and fails.

“I don’t know that we have a choice,” Puffy says. Her shoulders slump. “If Dream is coming, we can’t be fighting among ourselves. We have to present a united front. Anything less, and he’ll walk all over us.” Her face is tight, but there is no real fear in it. Just pain. Perhaps regret.

(and you know that face you have seen it before that is the face of a parent who believes they have failed their child their light their beloved gone wrong and snuffed out and unrecognizable and they wonder if they could have stopped it and do not know which answer would be worse)

And as if the words are a summons, there are footsteps.

Footsteps. Unhurried, casual. Echoing down the corridor, loud as drumbeats, loud as a death knell. Footsteps, and the room goes quiet, unnaturally so. The Egg, that constant hum, stops, and that is the most terrifying thing of all. The world balances on the edge of a coin, teetering, ready to fall one way or the other. An anvil hangs overhead, waiting for the lever to be pulled, an anvil if the anvil knew the taste of blood and longed for it. An anvil if the anvil delighted in the death it caused.

(that day is blurry and out of focus, all its darkest implications slipping from Ghostbur’s memories like butter. he remembers showing Friend to Techno. and he remembers a flash of gold, brilliant and consuming and orienting the sky on a new axis. was the idea planted then, he wonders? the possibility that Ghostbur sought out so ardently? trade a ghost for a villain and try not to count too dearly the cost?)

“Shit,” Phil mutters, and just like that, everyone in the room takes on a defensive position, eyes trained on the entrance, half-hidden by vines as it is. Phil and Techno shift closer together, in sync as they always are. The Egg’s cohorts bunch up together. Sapnap strides forward a few paces, standing just a bit in front of everyone else, and no one moves to stop him, not with the scowl his lips are twisted into, not with the ready way he holds his sword.

(he is coming he is coming dark and twisted the poison at the core and you are all out of time)

Wilbur places himself between the entrance and the boys. It probably says something that they don’t try to stop him, that Tommy doesn’t call him out for babying him, that Tubbo doesn’t protest.

The sword falls into his hand. He hates

(himself, what he can do with it, but he has no crossbow so he must carry something and this sword is what he has even if he doesn’t want it but he doesn’t have a choice in the matter and self-loathing is thick in the back of his throat)

it, but he can use it, and that’s what matters most. Has always been what matters most, ever since the day he left home, guitar strapped to his back and songs on his lips and eyes still bright and curious, not jaded and dull as he knows they are now. He could use a sword, then, of course; Philza would never have allowed him to leave without the ability to defend himself. But it did not call to him, and it does not call to him now,

(but there is only one thing that calls to him now)

but there is no longer any room to worry about callings. The dog days are over, and he has been a general, and he has been a president, and he has been a traitor, and he has been a villain, and now, he will settle for being a protector. If just this once.

Dream steps into view.

It has always been odd, the power that he holds to command a room. Part of Wilbur knows that it is more their fault than anything; he can command a room because they give him the power to do so, because even after all this time, they still fear him. But Dream steps into view, and he cannot tear his eyes away, even though Dream is only a skinny man in a hoodie and a smiling mask that a five-year-old could have drawn.

It is something in his bearing, perhaps. The way his head is held high even after weeks of imprisonment. The way he strides forward, confident even though he is far outnumbered. The way his actual mouth, just barely visible under the edge of his mask, curls up in a smirk.

(you look at him and he is wrong he is wrong watch the shadows watch what dogs his steps do you see it you must see it)

Or perhaps it is the blood that stains his hands. It glints in the lava light, tacky, not yet dry.

“Hope I didn’t keep you waiting too long,” he says. Too calm. Too even.

“Shit off,” Tommy says, and Dream’s gaze snaps to him.

“Oh, come on now,” he says. “Don’t be like that, Tommy. After all the fun we had together? I had to work hard to make this little visit happen, you know. I’d think you’d be a little more thankful.”

“Okayyy—”

“You’ve got no right to—”

“Oi, you can’t just—”

“Don’t you fucking talk to him—”

“Yeah, I have to say, that’s pretty cringe of you—”

The chorus of voices that comes to Tommy’s defense, including his own, is gratifying. And it seems to bolster Tommy’s spirits, too, makes him stand just a bit taller, defiance flashing in his eyes. But then, one rises above the rest, and Sapnap takes a few steps forward, holding his own sword steadily out in front of him.

“This is the only warning you’re going to get, Dream,” he states. “Go back to the prison, now.”

Dream laughs.

(a laugh, not a wheeze, and that tea-kettle whistle is a distant memory, belonging to brighter days when no storms brewed on the horizon and all of them were friends and the war was a game, once, before it was real)

“Are you threatening me, Sapnap?” he asks, voice light. “What do you think you’re going to be able to do?”

“You know I am,” Sapnap replies, still steady. “I’m sure you’ll take down a few of us. But not all of us. Not all at once. We united against you before, and we’re going to do it again. You remember what happened last time, right? And I’m not holding back, Dream. I’ve told you. I don’t know who you are anymore. So, last chance. Go back to the prison, now, and we won’t have to do it the hard way. And I won’t have to try and take your final life.”

Dream cocks his head, as if he’s actually considering it.

“You say that as if you think I didn’t know you were all here,” he says. “Like I didn’t know exactly what I was doing. Think I’m going to have to take a hard pass on that one. If you want me back in the prison, you’re going to have to kill me first.”

A flurry of motion. Sapnap swings, and he is no Technoblade but he no amateur, either, and there is power and speed behind his blow, and Dream just stands there. Unmoving. Puffy shouts. Dream still doesn’t stir, and Wilbur feels like he’s watching in slow motion as the blade approaches Dream’s chest, and it can’t be this easy, he wouldn’t just stand there and take it, not when he’s down to only one life, so what is he—

And then, at the last second: Dream’s hand darts out, lighting fast, grips Sapnap’s wrist, and tugs him forward. Sapnap stumbles, off-balance, crashes against Dream, swing going wide, and before he can recover, Dream isn’t there anymore. It’s like he was never there in the first place; it’s just Sapnap, two steps away from losing his balance completely, though he recovers, looking around wildly.

What—

“The thing is, it was interesting at first,” Dream says, and his voice is coming from somewhere else, is coming from behind them, and Wilbur wheels, pushing himself between Tommy and Tubbo and positioning himself in front of both of them, arms outstretched to shield them, perhaps, or to keep them back.

(there is something so very wrong here and if he cannot see what then he will do this much, and if it his life for theirs, so be it)

Dream’s sitting on the Egg. Criss-cross, hands in his lap, swaying side to side slightly. Even the visible parts of his face are cast in shadow, and his mask gleams in the red light.

“Hey, don’t—Dream. Get down from there,” Bad says. Like a parent admonishing a child.

“The prison, I mean,” Dream says. “I didn’t see it coming. I was pretty mad about it at first, but I mean, I can adapt to things. So I thought I’d see how it turned out.” He sighs. “But I’m done playing games now.”

“What the shit,” Tommy murmurs, behind him, “what the shit is he talking about, how the fuck did he get up there—”

“It’s been fun,” Dream continues. “A lot of you break the rules a lot, but I can do that, too, so it was fine. It’s been a good game. But you know, there comes a time when even the best games come to an end. You decide to go for checkmate. Or you run out of cards.”

A jolt runs down Wilbur’s spine. He knows, knows without any way to know, really, that Dream is looking at him.

(his gaze on you is like stinging hornets is like oil poured over your head and down your throat is like a black hole opening in your chest and the black hole watches and cares nothing for your life it is not in the nature of a black hole to care)

“And I have to say,” Dream says, “you guys are kind of irritating. You and your prisons and your rules and your hypocrisy, all of you. I wanted to unite the server, once, and I guess I did that. It was kind of nice to see, in a way, all of you coming together against me. But it’s all fake, in the end. All of it. You play nice with each other on the surface and turn around and stab each other in the backs. This server’s turned into something awful, and it’s your faults.”

“I am about ninety percent certain that’s not accurate,” Techno says.

“Yeah, what the fuck?” Tommy bites out. “You’re the issue here, you bastard. Everything was good until you decided to, to fuck us all over. We’d all be fine and dandy if we’d never met you.”

Wilbur opens his mouth to agree and then

(remembers ravines dark and deep and buttons upon buttons upon buttons and Dream gave him the means but he stood in that room and made the decision himself and he cannot assign more blame than exists, cannot say that Dream is the only thing wrong with this server, cannot say that he, too, does not trail devastation in his wake)

shuts it again.

“You can think what you want,” Dream says amiably. “I don’t really care. Like I said, I’m done playing. I just don’t know how you can call me the villain when half the people here have blown up a country.”

“An interesting line from the man with literal blood caking his hands,” Wilbur says. The words come out soft, but they echo like a gunshot. He’s not sure where they came from, but he knows he’s not wrong. He can’t stop staring, can’t stop thinking about it. He’s seen plenty of blood in his life, has been covered in more than his fair share of it, but given the circumstances, there’s only one person that blood can belong to.

He wonders how much it hurt. If Sam was scared.

(he had all three lives as far as he knows, so he’ll be fine, but fine is miles from good, and Wilbur remembers the first he lost, remembers the pain and the shock and the betrayal and the terror, not just for himself but for the comrades, for the family he dragged down with him, dragged into a traitor’s trap, and how must the warden have felt, dying with the knowledge that he failed in his charge?)

“Are you sure I’m the only one?” Dream returns, just as softly, and Wilbur doesn’t know what the fuck he’s trying to get at, except he’s bowled over by a sudden, irrational fear that there is blood on his hands, that he’s been dripping with it this whole time and didn’t know it, and there is panic and there is static and the Egg is humming and crooning of blood and decay and the desire to be fed, and he can’t stop himself from looking.

His hands are clean. But they don’t feel it. They itch, like a thousand ants, like a dozen layers of mud caked dry and crackling.

“Leave him be, Dream,” Phil says, overlapping with Tommy’s much louder, “Shut the fuck up!”

Wilbur swallows dryly. Downs another sip of holy water. It makes him feel better, though only marginally. There’s not much left in the flask.

“I really think you should get down from the Egg, Dream,” Bad says, slightly more severely than last time. So, a mildly more disappointed parent.

(it occurs to him then: someone should shoot him. he’s unarmored, no weapon in his hand, a sitting duck. someone should shoot him, should take care of the problem right now, while they can, while the opportunity is there, before Dream pulls whatever he’s sure to be planning. so why haven’t they?)

Dream stays silent for a moment.

“I don’t think I will,” he says. “I like it a lot.”

His blood runs cold.

(no)

No.

(but you know the feeling of its claws in your mind slimy and prying and seeking and you know the feeling of Dream’s gaze on your face suffocating and slick and they are similar so very similar they are two of a kind two of a pair so it makes sense but it doesn’t all the same and there is something still that you do not know)

Hello, the Egg croons, hello divine blood corrupted, hello to my brethren, hello to the void that seeps in the cracks, hello to the creature you are now and goodbye to the weakling you were, soft and caring and despicable, and we can do great things together, you and I.

He looks around wildly. No one else seems to hear it. But he’s certain it wasn’t directed at him.

“So, here’s what’s going to happen,” Dream says. “I’m going to keep sitting up here. And you guys have two choices. You can give in to the Egg. Join it. That’d be fine. If you don’t, they’re going to kill you, and I’m going to help.” He tilts his head upward, and his own smile becomes visible, wide and toothy. “You like those odds better, Sapnap? You think I can take out more than a few of you now?”

For a moment, Wilbur allows himself to hope that Bad won’t go along with it. That the desire to see Dream put away will overpower the Egg’s directives, whatever they are. But Bad’s expression goes from doubtful to considering to determined, and the red of the room deepens, becomes more vibrant, pulses with a steady beat, with a hum that sounds like victory and power and a thousand dissonant voices calling for blood.

The Egg has accepted the offer. Has welcomed Dream into the fold. They will find no ally in Badboyhalo. No ally in Antfrost, Ponk, Punz.

(the fold is the wrong word. Dream is still separate. somehow, inextricably, he knows that this is an alliance of equals, that Dream has surrendered nothing and gained everything)

(do you begin to see on some level you already know)

An arrow slices through the air. Dream jerks to the side. Its barbed head slices open the sleeve of his hoodie, but draws no blood. A second later, and it would have.

“Fuck that,” Sapnap says. “And fuck you.”

It’s as if it’s a signal. Phil laughs, no mirth in it, the Angel of Death at the surface. He grips his own sword tighter, and behind him, Tommy and Tubbo are shifting, their breaths coming quicker with the anticipation, with the promise of a fight. Their blood runs hot, and they are still afraid, he knows, but they have allies by their side, and that makes all the difference, and six versus six

(is it six versus six? where is he getting those numbers from? those aren’t the numbers from where he’s standing)

is terrible odds when Dream is on the opposing side, but they have the Blood God and the Angel of Death and they will all of them fight to the end, and he was too quick, maybe, to give in to despair, to fear.

(but his mind is still screaming that something is wrong something is wrong)

The Egg’s lackeys stand at the ready. Any second, now, any second—

Blood, the Egg sings, there must be blood and I shall drink of their veins, and we shall drink together, you and I, and what is in me is also in you, and you are not of me but you are greater than yourself, and they are all yours for the taking, are ours for the unmaking.

Dream laughs. Not in submission, but in agreement.

And like a lightning flash, Wilbur understands.

“You’re the same,” he says, and just like that, the momentum of the room is arrested, all attention back on him once again. He doesn’t know what’s going to come out of his mouth until he speaks, but the words ring true. He looks at Dream, perched atop the Egg like a demented kind of bird, and understands that something, intrinsically, about them is the same.

Dream grins. Rises to his feet with a jump, balancing easily on the domed surface.

“You’re starting to get it,” Dream says. “I wondered if you would, Wilbur. We come from the same kind of place, all of us. You know what the void is like. You’re not quite like me, but you know what it’s like, to have something whispering in your head.” His grin widens further. Wilbur blinks, once, a sudden irritation in his eyes, and when he looks again, the smile on his mask is wider, too. More crooked. Has it been that way all along?

Another two arrows. One from Sapnap, one from Puffy, now, slightly off target. He dodges both easily.

“I tried to fight at first,” Dream says. “But it turns out it was right all along. I’m greater now than I ever was before.” He pauses, tilting his head, and when he speaks again, it is thick with condescension. “If it’s any consolation, Tubbo, you tried your best. Not your fault you didn’t have a clue what you were doing. Once you let something in, there’s no going back.”

He dares a glance around the room. There’s confusion, irritation, no understanding. He has no idea what Dream’s referencing, knows only that something dreadful is within him, and with that comes the thought that he cannot possibly be human, and that they have never understood the first thing about him this whole time. But Tubbo jolts, goes pale, takes a step back.

“Wait—” he says, “no, what are you—are you saying—but we got rid of it, we got rid of it—”

“Tubbo, what the fuck is he on about now?” Tommy demands, but Tubbo just shakes his head. Rapidly, panicked, and then there is no more time for explanations, because the Egg’s voice rings out in his head once again, a wash of red takes over his vision, and the world tilts, and it is more than just the Egg, it is the Egg and something else, something deeper rooted, something more toxic, something that permeates the air and the water of this server, something sickly and creeping and dark and powerful, something that says you are all mine my puppets my own to dispose of and I will have you.

(you see it now, too late)

By the time he can make sense of things again, he’s on his knees, his hands clutching his hair, and there’s so much noise, so much noise all around him, and he’s lost time, he must have lost time, because everyone’s fighting, finally, the strange tension that held the room in sway broken at last. But his head spins, and he can’t keep track of where everyone is, the combat nothing but blurs of motion between the red hanging vines.

Dream’s still on the Egg. That much he can tell.

(it was a signal a command a directive and you heard it but did not follow you did not follow you will not follow it brought you to your knees but you will not follow)

“—come on Wil, don’t do this again, not again, please,” Tommy is saying, and Tubbo is holding him by the shoulder, keeping him upright, and he didn’t mean to collapse, hates that he’s apparently so susceptible to this, but if there is a silver lining it is in that it has kept his boys by his side, not in that mess, people clashing together with movements that are difficult to track with pounding head and stinging eyes.

He fumbles for the holy water and comes up empty. Nothing left.

“I’m with you,” he manages. “Sorry. Egg was being shouty. Not fun.”

“Oh, well, if it’s not fun,” Tommy says, visibly relieved, and his attention moves from him to track the battle. It must make more sense to him than it does to Wilbur at the moment, because he frowns. “Stupid fucking Eggers aren’t letting anyone get to Dream. Wish we could kill the fuckers. That’d make it easier.”

“Sapnap keeps firing off shots when he can, but he keeps dodging,” Tubbo adds. “It’s only been a minute. We were gonna join in, but we didn’t want to leave you alone.”

“Okay,” he says. “That’s—okay, that’s good.” Now that they’ve said it, he can pick out the combat easier. Bad’s fighting Phil and holding his own, Punz and Ponk are keeping Puffy and Sapnap busy, Antfrost is barely fending off Techno, and Dream’s overseeing it all from on high, making no moves to join in. They sit in an oasis in the midst of it all, no one seeming to pay them much mind. He’ll take the reprieve while he can get it. “Tubbo, what was he talking about?”

“I don’t—” Tubbo’s face twists. “I don’t know how you picked up on it. But months and months ago, Dream was possessed by a demon. A dreamon, we called it. But we got rid of it. Me and Fundy. We exorcised him for sure. And he’s not, he’s not acting like he did when that was going on, it was so obvious back then, like, his voice was all weird and deep and doubly—”

“Okay, okay, we can figure it out later,” he says. “We can—”

Demons. Dreamons. What the fuck?

(Dream might be possessed but that doesn’t sound right, doesn’t feel right, but it would account for the oil slick gaze and the way the darkness gathers, the shivers down his spine whenever he looks at him, but it’s not quite right, but if Dream is a demon and he and the Egg are the same then what does that make the Egg and none of this makes sense at all)

(he misses the days when the worst they had to worry about was Sapnap trying to arrest them for starting a drug van)

As he looks on, Techno shoves Ant in Phil’s direction, and Phil takes on a second opponent easily, the two of them as in sync as they always are. Phil holds all of Ant’s attention, leaving Techno free to pivot toward the Egg, and the man who still stands there. He holds out his sword, points it at him, a threat, an invitation, made easily as breathing, and Wilbur is reminded that Techno has fought Dream before, many times.

“Has prison made you a coward, Dream?” Techno asks, an obvious taunt, and Dream holds himself very still for a moment before laughing, short and sharp. An axe drops into his hand—and when did he find the time to get that?—and he springs forward, rearing back to strike a blow. It’s like

(it is)

watching a clash of gods,

(and how is Dream so strong after so long locked away?)

and the sound of metal on metal rings out as their weapons connect. Techno grins, fierce and wild, and Wilbur doesn’t have to be able to hear them to know what his voices are chanting.

(blood for the blood god)

And then: a realization.

The Egg is unguarded.

Dream is occupied with Techno, now. Bad and Ant are on Phil, Ponk and Punz on Puffy and Sapnap, and the fighting is spread throughout the room, but centered in the middle, where everyone has the most space to move. The Egg is unguarded, and the three of them have been left out, so perhaps they can still do what they set out to do.

His eyes trace the room. If they hug the wall, they can make it to the corner without attracting too much attention, hopefully. They can—

What is Ranboo doing?

He’d forgotten he was here, honestly. He’s been so quiet, so still. He’s hovering by the wall, hands clenching and unclenching, but other than that, he is unmoving, and he doesn’t seem to be tracking the fight. His eyes stare straight ahead, glazed, and this is something they can’t afford. He’s not sure why Ranboo came in the first place, but he’s a sitting duck where he is right now, and all it will take is one of their enemies seeing the state he’s in before he gets used against them.

Alright. They can do this. Alright.

“Open season on the Egg,” he murmurs, meeting Tommy’s eyes, then Tubbo. He keeps his voice low, inaudible to anyone else. Hopefully. “We creep around the side. Grab your friend along the way.” He jerks his head toward Ranboo, and they both understand what he means immediately. He redistributes his weight and stands, and counts it as a win that the wave of dizziness only lasts a moment. He gestures for them to follow him, and starts picking his way through the vines, keeping his movements as soundless as he possibly can. The noises of battle will work in their favor, that way.

Ranboo doesn’t react to their approach. Wilbur has seen states sort of like this before, has seen people caught up in flashbacks, dead to the world around them, so perhaps that’s what this is. But if that is the case, it’s odd that his face is so blank, that there is no expression there at all, that whatever he is seeing, he is barely reacting to it.

“He sleepwalks,” Tubbo whispers. “He told me. He might be sleepwalking.”

“He—” Okay. Okay, this is fine. “Alright, one of you two grab him. We’re not going to leave him here like this.”

Tubbo grabs his hand instantly, barely waiting for him to finish speaking. Tommy rolls his eyes. Wilbur glances back and forth between the three of them, then turns his back and presses on, inching his way along the outskirts of the room. No one takes notice of them, no one seems to realize what they’re up to, and even the Egg itself doesn’t seem to pay much mind; its hum remains constant, a continuous presence that neither wanes nor waxes.

And then, they’re crouching behind it. Tubbo tugs on Ranboo’s arm, and he sits with them, still absent.

“Alright, big man,” Tommy says. “We just gonna stab it to death? I think we should stab it to death.”

“It’s probably the first thing to try,” he concedes. He peers around its thick shell; the fights so far are inconclusive. Techno’s taken a scratch to his cheek, Dream a slice along his forearm. He doesn’t know how much time they have, and up close, the Egg’s shell is thick, hard. Even a netherite sword is going to need some heavy leverage behind it if it’s going to pierce through, and being this close to the thing makes his head swim, even when it’s not talking directly to him.

“Okay,” he says, and places one heel against a vine behind him, bracing himself. The sword feels unwieldy in his hand, awkward and too heavy, but it’s not as if the Egg will be hitting back. Strength is what he needs here, not finesse.

He brings his arm back, and then—

Weary son, restless son, it croons, its voice scraping against the insides of his skull, you needn’t fight me, wandering son, you only fight yourself and why fight when you can have what you want, that deep sleep, unending peace, the void still calls to you, calls of a world black and unending and eternal, and I can return you there, and you can lay down your steel at last, lay down your iron, lay down your arms at last and only sleep.

He wavers. But—

“Get out of my head,” he grits out, and the other two suddenly look very alarmed. “Shut up, get out, I know your games now, and I’m not falling for them again. Get the fuck out.” But though his voice is angry, it is weak, thin, threaded with pain, and his brothers can hear it, and he knows the Egg can feel it, knows the Egg can burrow inside of him and stick itself into all of the unstable places, all of the hollows in his heart, and tease out temptation.

(but he’s made a promise)

He inhales. Prepares himself again.

If not you then it will be him, it says, and he freezes, that darling boy of yours, golden haired sunshine gone limp and dead and eyes dull and blank and rotting in his skull, if it is not you then it will be him, if I cannot have you then I will have him, we will have him, for he does not hear my voice so he must die, and his blood will nourish my roots and I will grow strong on his life, I will kill him if you let me, and will you let me, blood child, child of death, shall you allow me my due?

“Shut up,” he whispers. “Shut up, stop, I won’t—I won’t let that happen. Shut up.”

“Wil,” Tommy says, “Wil, here, let me, let me do it, okay?” And Tommy’s hand is on his, gently lowering his sword arm, and then he steps forward, his own blade raised defiantly. “Take this, omelet bitch!”

I will kill him, I will do it now!

“Wait, Tommy, wait—”

Tommy drives his sword against the Egg’s shell, and two things happen. The first is that the blade skids off against it, leaving a slight dent, perhaps, but no more than that. And the second is that Tommy goes pale, doubles over, and wraps his free hand around his stomach, wheezing, eyes bugging out of his skull.

“Holy shit,” he gasps, “holy shit, that hurt, what the hell—”

“Tommy?” Tubbo demands. “Tommy, what is it, what did it do?”

“It hurt me,” Tommy says, like he can’t quite believe it. He straightens, some of the color slowly returning to his face. “The bastard hurt me. It was like, like fucking fire in my chest or some shit, what the hell?”

“It said it was going to kill you,” Wilbur whispers. “That’s what it said to me.”

“Oh.” Tommy stares at him. “Well, um, it didn’t. Obviously. Still kicking.”

“But it will,” he says. “That’s why it didn’t bother to try and stop us coming up here. That’s why none of the Eggers care. That’s why Dream felt alright leaving it alone. If we try to hurt it, it can hurt us back. Physically.”

They stay silent for a moment.

“Well, shit,” Tubbo says. “What are we supposed to do now, then?”

He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know. The entire plan revolved around them being able to destroy the Egg. They thought that the people under its control would be the worst problem. And then Dream came along, and that was out the window, but he thought—he thought that he could make sure that this was worth something, that this would bear some fruit, even if they’d have to deal with an even bigger problem afterward. But now, it’s all fallen apart, and the room is still full of the sound of fighting, and what are they fighting for, if they’re not going to be able to accomplish anything without—

I shall spare him if you give in, if you let yourself go, I shall give you peace and keep it from him, my ally wants him alive and I can make concessions, I can be generous, so I put it on your shoulders and the choice is yours, child of—

“Shut up,” he screams, hoarse and jagged, and the red in his vision now is anger, pure and undiluted, and the sudden surge of strength does not feel like his own, and the movement he makes does not feel like his own, because it is impulsive and ill-conceived, but he drives his own weapon into the Egg’s bulk, and understands only moments later what Tommy was talking about, because all the breath leaves his lungs at once, and his chest is set aflame, like there is fire

(fire all around him, fire, fire, fire, beautiful and fitting, fitting that it should end this way, in this utter annihilation of one of his greatest creating, a torch taken to his legacy, and he set down the pitch himself)

racing across his skin and in his heart, in his heart, and his heartbeat stutters, and then just as quickly as the sensation began, it ends, and he is left winded, exhausted, unsteady.

“Oh my god—”

“You stupid asshole, why would you—”

“Sorry,” he manages. “Sorry, it just, it pissed me off. You hear that?” He turns toward it. “You’re pissing me off, you great breakfast food. You are a terrible buffoon, and I hate you.”

You cannot hold out forever, void child.

He winces, bringing a hand up to his forehead. But he glares.

“We’ll see about that,” he states.

And then it all goes to shit. Even more than it’s gone to shit already. Because Dream is still fighting with Techno, and Wilbur hasn’t been paying attention to them for the past few minutes, but they both still seem to be going strong, and his attention is brought back to them by Dream calling out—

“I think I’ll call in that favor, Technoblade!”

And Tommy says—

“Oh, fuck no.”

And Tubbo swears, soft and vehement, and Wilbur is confused, because since when does Techno owe Dream a favor? How would he allow himself to be indebted to the man in the first place?

(another remembrance: following the flash of gold, following the fighting that he paid no attention to at all, because he had Friend and how exciting it was, to have a blue sheep, a blue sheep who he loved very much, who he could show everyone and perhaps make them happier because who wouldn’t love Friend immediately upon seeing them, but on the edge of the square there is a figure cloaked in green)

“Oh yeah?” Techno asks. He sounds unconcerned, but that’s just Technoblade. He takes a step back, disengaging from their fight, and Dram does the same, twirling his axe in his hand. “I’d be careful with that. You never know when I might inexplicably go deaf.”

“You can’t avoid it when I’m right in front of you,” Dream says.

“You’re underestimatin’ my powers of—”

“Listen to the Egg, Technoblade,” Dream says. “That’s the favor. Just stand there for a minute and listen to it. Let it really get to you. Let it sink in. You like blood, right? The Egg likes blood, too.” He shrugs, infuriatingly casual. “A bit messy for my taste, but whatever works, right? I don’t mind getting my hands a little dirty if I have to. We’re the same, in that way, you know.”

“Oh, fuck no,” Tommy says again, and then he’s starting forward, and Wilbur barely catches him by the shoulder in time. He doesn’t want him near Dream. He doesn’t want either of them near Dream. And Dream has to have something up his sleeve, with the way he’s brought this up so suddenly.

(the air feels electric, feels like something is awaited, feels like something is building, building to a breaking point, and he doesn’t want to know what is about to shatter)

“Wait,” he hisses, and Tommy glares, but he ignores him, taking in the battlefield again. Nothing has changed since last he checked, since before they hunkered down in this corner, by the Egg, and that is what is wrong here. It’s all too neat. Sapnap and Puffy have their fight, nicely contained, and Phil has his, and Techno his, and no one has dealt any serious damage against anyone else, and he knows that their side is constrained by not wanting to seriously injure anyone who is currently being mind controlled, but what is holding back the other side?

It is all too neat in a way that battles never are, because the first rule of combat is to keep your head, the second is not to drop your weapon, and the third is that no plan survives combat with the enemy. And yet, here they are, all opponents evenly matched, no side winning, and where is the chaos, the bloodshed?

If there is no chaos yet, it is because it has yet to be unleashed.

“I mean, I hear it,” Techno says, and has it been a minute? Surely not. Tommy and Tubbo have both gone tense. Ranboo is still crouching, right where Tubbo put him. He doesn’t know if that’s typical behavior of sleepwalkers. He doesn’t have time to think about it right now. Because Dream told Techno to listen to the Egg, and it’s a favor, and Techno always honors favors, no matter what, so he’s doing it, he’s listening to it, and somehow, that’s not what he’s most worried about,

(because there is something holding its breath, a leashed tension, a match held loosely, about to drop, and it’s been growing all this time but he senses it only now, only here, only watching his brother face down a nightmare forty paces away, and he thinks he hears the Egg in his mind and he thinks it sounds smug)

“But I hear a lot of voices,” Techno finishes. “Can’t say I find this one very compelling.”

(it should be a relief, a relief, a relief to know that the Egg will not take its red and shove it into Techno’s mind, that he will not look into his eyes and find a monster in his place, but his heart races and something is building, building, building, and there is no way that Dream staked everything on this play, on bringing Techno to his side, so what is the plan here, what is his plan?)

“I wondered if you might say something like that,” Dream says. He doesn’t sound at all like someone whose plans have just been foiled, who has just wasted a favor from the strongest fighter on the server. “I had to try, you understand.”

“Of course,” Technoblade says.

(there is a dam and the dam)

He feels it, then, and he thinks everyone else does too, and Tommy and Tubbo press against him, hands gripping each other for balance as the two of a kind united now and I lend my power to you and together you will succumb or you will perish and I no longer care for which you have spurned me for the last time locked me away and stripped me of the power that is mine and I reclaim it now and our power united united now my strength to yours revenge is sweetest when it is hot and the blood is fresh.

(bursts)

The vines.

The vines on the ground twitch. The vines hanging down sway. He moves his foot as the vine nearest to him spasms like a dying animal.

“What the fuck,” Tommy whispers.

A shout crawls up his throat. It dies on his lips.

It happens too quickly to process.

One moment, Techno is standing there, and the next, there is a red vine around his neck, and the crack should not echo through the room as it does, but it is all Wilbur can hear. All Wilbur can see. One of Techno’s hands comes up, and then it falls limp. His body goes slack, held up by the vine and the vine only, the vine still encircling his neck, the vine that digs into the skin under his helmet, the vine that—

That can’t—

That can’t be—

Technoblade never—

He doesn’t—

And then, before he has time to understand at all, before his mind can shake off the numbness that’s taken him, the complete and utter lack of comprehension, the ringing in his ears that is, oddly, interspersed with an enderman’s distressed warble, before he can come out of it—the world explodes in a brilliant flare of light, golden and pure, a rush of energy that sings of the universe, that sings of life and renewal and second chances, a soul tethered, kept back, returned, re-tuned, and for a split second, he is floating in the void again as the fabric of reality shifts, as the light dances, as the rules are rewritten, and he can see everything, and he is one with the universe and the universe is with him and there are hundreds of thousands of voices chanting—

“Technoblade never dies!” Techno crows, and the golden light of the totem flickers and dances in his eyes, visible even from here, and Techno is sure to feel that later, when his adrenaline comes crashing down. But for now, the laugh that springs from Wilbur’s lips is giddy and relieved and joyful all at once, and the grief that barely had a chance to gather at all dissipates like smoke in the wind.

“How many of those things do you have?” Tubbo yells, right in his ear, and then Phil laughs too, and he brings his sword hilt down on Bad’s, and Bad’s own weapon skitters across the floor and Phil wheels on Ant in the next motion, and Ponk and Punz are being pushed back, and Techno swirls his sword again and leaps for Dream, and suddenly it’s like the tide is turning, like maybe they can win the day and they’ll have time to work out the rest, except then Tubbo shouts again, a warning this time, but there is no time to move before a vine rips the others from him and he is slammed against the surface of the Egg, hard, and—

He can—

He—

(it’s on him it’s on him get it off get it off off off off off off off)

(it’s trying to consume him trying to take in all that he is and spit out nothing not even the bones and if he lets it there will be nothing left of him if he lets it and he fights he struggles and it’s on him and trying to cover him and blood is dripping over him and he can’t breathe he can’t breathe he opens his mouth and the blood pours in and he thrashes but its grip is inescapable and he’s panicking and he can’t he can’t he doesn’t want no rest is worth this)

And then hands are on him, pulling him forward, two pairs, and he opens his eyes, not realizing he’d closed them, and he lets himself be tugged away, his lungs inflating, and he expects to see Tommy and Tubbo, but it is Tommy and Ranboo, and Tubbo is hacking away at the vines that attacked him, that slammed him against the thing that tried to—

“Wilbur!” Tommy is shouting in his face. “Wilbur, don’t be an Egghead, don’t, don’t let it fucking eat you, you—”

“It wasn’t my idea,” he gasps out.

“Oh, good, you’re okay,” Ranboo says, perhaps a little hysterically, but there’s no time to calm him down, no time to puzzle over why he’s suddenly awake. “I’ve got no idea what’s going on. Why’s Dream out?” His voice is about an octave higher than Wilbur remembers it being, but at least he’s functional.

“We don’t know,” he says. “We’re dealing with it. Well. Dealing with it. Sort of. Everything’s gone a bit shit. Did you know you weren’t awake?”

“I mean, it happens,” Ranboo says. “I never know at the time. That’s not, um, that’s not how it works? I’m sorry?”

“No time, boys,” Tommy says. “We have, we have so many problems right now.”

The vines writhe, twist, lash out, and it is not all of them, not nearly all of them, because if it were all of them, they would be shredded like mincemeat, but it is more than enough to be a major issue, because suddenly, everyone has to focus on their foes and foliage all at once, and Techno and Phil seem alright, but Puffy and Sapnap begin to struggle under the onslaught, and they’re not going to win this. These vines attack with purpose, with blood lust, and they are seeking their deaths and they need to go. They need to cut their losses, as much as it stings, before someone who doesn’t have a totem loses a life.

(it burns the general in you to retreat now because there is always some part of you that will think in terms of tactical sacrifices and acceptable losses but there is also a part of you that can see when a battle is beyond its turning point and this battle is far past that and it was not in your favor so it is time to sound the horn time to perform an about-face and try not to be burned too badly in the leaving)

“We need to go!” Puffy calls, as if she’s read his mind. “We need to go right now!” She and Sapnap start to back slowly toward the entrance, covering each other as best they can with Ponk and Punz and fucking plants all after them.

“Wait, what? We can’t just—” Tommy starts, but he shakes his head, cutting him off.

“She’s right,” he says. “We stay here, and someone’s going to die. For real. And I’m not going to let that be you or Tubbo.” Tommy’s expression sets into something mulish, but he continues. “We’re not fighting anyone, we just have to make it to the exit. We all cover each other’s backs, and keep an eye out for the viney shit. Nobody’s losing a life to plants today.”

He doesn’t intend to use the old general’s voice, but Tommy and Tubbo both straighten, soldiers called to their posts, and he knows he can trust them in this, at least. They have their orders.

What could possibly go wrong?

(you can still feel him, can feet it, can feel both of them, but you can feel his presence grating up against yours, everything dark and corrupted and poisonous, you can feel it in the vines and in the air like sandpaper against your skin and he is not done yet do not turn away he is not done yet)

He doesn’t even get to take a step. Dream ducks under a blow from Techno and then looks to him, and even from across the room, he can feel his gaze pinning him, piercing him, and

(something is about to happen)

there is a flash of movement, too quick, too sudden,

(but you cannot fight the void, the absence of him, the howling pit that is he and that is it and that is them together)

and Tommy yelps, and then he’s gone, right out from under his hands, being dragged across the room, toward Techno, toward Dream, and times slows down. He lurches forward, hand outstretched, but he’s too slow, too slow, and he is still reaching out, is still stumbling forward, as if that will do anything, as if he will be able to cross forty paces before that vine, thick and red, deposits Tommy at Dream’s feet, and he is useless, powerless, and Tubbo is beside him, shouting, charging forward with more strength than he has in his own weary muscles, more power, but he will not be enough either.

Techno’s eyes widen. He tries to step forward, tries to hack away at the vine that has Tommy in its grip, but Dream leaps forward with another onslaught, so Techno is forced to focus on that and not his little brother, their little brother, now staggering to stay upright, now too close to Dream.

He keeps pushing forward, and his legs strain like he’s moving through molasses. Vines lash out at him, tearing at his clothes, his hair, his skin, and he can feel blood, warm and sticky, trailing down his leg, though there is no pain. Tubbo is beside him still, and Ranboo on his other side, and their swords sing but more and more vines move, now, and there are too many, too many to fight, and the room is filled with a red haze, and they’re closer now, but they’re not going to make it before Dream does something—

Dream launches himself into the air, flips over Techno’s head. He’s going for Tommy.

He’s going for Tommy.

(you promised to protect him you promised you promised and now death stares him in the face and you are now fifteen feet away fifteen feet and closing but fifteen feet too distant fifteen feet too late you cannot watch your brother die but that is the role you are consigned to spectator useless and reaching out for a hand that will never hold yours again)

Then, Techno is there. Techno pushes Tommy to the side, hard enough to fall to the floor. But he has no time to move out of the way himself, no time to bring his blade up to parry, and Dream’s axe sinks deep into his exposed throat, and Dream smiles, and Wilbur knows that this was his plan all along.

All the world goes still.

A crow caws, low and mournful.

He thinks he is screaming, but there is no sound in his ears.

Dream pivots lightly. Yanks the axe out. Blood spurts. Tommy’s mouth falls open, a rictus of horror. Technoblade’s jaw works, and his hands clench, unclench. He says something, and Wilbur can’t hear it.

(he has another totem he’ll be fine he’ll be fine please let him pull out another totem because Technoblade never dies Technoblade never dies please he never dies don’t let him die)

His inventory spills across the floor, and dust dissipates on the air.

Sound rushes back. As one, all of the communicators in the room chime. Just like that, Techno is gone.

“How many people are gonna have to sacrifice themselves for you before you learn?” Dream asks Tommy, axe dripping blood on the ground, and vines crowd him, vines weave around him, absorbing the blood, lapping up the blood, Techno’s blood.

(but Technoblade never dies Technoblade never dies Technoblade never dies)

Time resumes its normal pace.

He reaches Tommy’s side in the next instant. Dream just stands there, observing them, and the smile on his face is the cruelest on he has ever seen on a person, on a human,

(and that includes the times he’s looked in a mirror, seen dark bags and a sallow face and lips twisted into something too dark to be a smile)

but Dream isn’t human, is he? Can’t be. And Wilbur doesn’t know what he is, doesn’t know if he’s a demon himself of if he’s possessed or what, but he takes a split second to look Tommy over for injuries, finds none, and then joins Tubbo in starting for Dream, blade in his hand, even though he has no chance, they have no chance, not even together, because Dream had to resort to dirty tactics to defeat

(but Technoblade never dies so why why is he how can this)

Techno, but even he and Tubbo together do not a blood god make.

Dream holds out his axe. Saying, come get me, then.

And his heart is in his throat because his brother, his brother

(his brother is dead his brother is dead his brother has two lives left but his brother is dead)

was right there two seconds ago and now he has not, and a large part of him

(all of him, since childhood, since the first time Techno went out and came back bloodied and grinning and carrying an inventory full of loot)

has always assumed that Technoblade was invincible, that there is nothing in heaven or hell that could stop him, and that was why he let him into Pogtopia in those early days, because the world was shrinking in around him and there was no one he could trust but Technoblade was the strongest there was and he needed the strongest, needed the power of the blade, the power of iron and steel to take back what was his.

(and part of you looked in his eyes met crimson with your brown and knew deep within yourself that your brother was here for you here for you both and maybe you could let your guard down just a little let yourself be protected let yourself trust and you did, if only for a moment, even if it didn’t last, didn’t save you or anyone else in the end)

They cannot defeat Dream. He, especially, cannot defeat Dream. Not through combat. But Ranboo crouches by Tommy, and he steps up beside Tubbo, and raises his sword.

Phil gets there first.

His blade knocks into Dream’s axe so hard that he almost loses his grip, and Phil doesn’t let up, aiming another strike against his head and another against his chest and another against his arm, and it is all that Dream can do to block the blows, and this, this is the Angel of Death, and there is fear on Dream’s face, and then he is gone, standing atop the Egg again, and Phil almost follows after him.

But then, a mass of vines raises up, all around them. Too many to fight off, even together. Wilbur braces himself, and then there is something around them, covering them, shielding them, something massive and black, and Phil grunts, and—

(and how many times has he protected you like this now)

And his wings—

Thorns sink into Phil’s wings, which are out on full display, and Wilbur can’t stop staring, because Phil’s wings are tattered and torn, and his feathers are sticking out every which way, clearly not cared for, but that isn’t even the worst part, because there are holes in them, holes in his wings where Wilbur can see straight through to the opposite wall, and there are featherless patches covered in scarred skin, and there are places where bone lies exposed to the air, sticking out from flesh and plumage, and he can’t fly on these. There’s no way that he can fly on these.

(explosions around him and the heat scorches his back and he smiles and laughs and then Phil is there wrapping his wings around him and Phil cries out in pain as the walls go down as the fire licks at both of them scorches both of them but he didn’t think to care then and oh gods what has he done what has he done)

(and Phil’s wings are bleeding now as the red thorns dig in and it’s happening again happening again before his eyes and how many times will people have to sacrifice themselves for him before he learns?)

(your father’s bones blackened and twisted by heat and do they hurt do they hurt bones are not meant for the open air and surely the scar tissue aches and they are ruined they are ruined his pride and joy ruined and your father will not fly again will not feel the wind at his back and he loved it he loved it and he gave it up for you and yet you are here again still asking for a sacrifice always asking for a sacrifice at least once more)

He’s panicking. He’s panicking, and he needs to stop panicking, because there panic has no place on a field of battle, and that is a lesson he learned long ago, at the knee of his country, his beautiful country, and for a moment, he is on the walls, orange and black, and he is fighting for his nation, fighting for his people, and then he blinks, and Phil has gathered Tommy in his arms. Tommy doesn’t protest, blank shock painting his face.

“We need to go, Wil,” Phil says. “I need you all to guard me while I get Tommy out.” His voice is steel. No room for argument.

He nods, numbly. Moves mechanically. Doesn’t pay heed to the way the vines slash at him, as long as they’re not slashing at Tommy. There is blood on him.

(but it is his own, so that is alright)

He blinks, and Puffy and Sapnap have joined them. Sapnap’s white shirt is stained red. Blood sheets down from a wound on Puffy’s forehead. But they are alive.

(Techno isn’t)

(Technoblade never dies but Technoblade died and what do you do when the immortal figures of your childhood are no longer so?)

Bad and the rest do not stop them. The Egg does not stop them, though he can feel it, still, humming a victory march in his mind.

Dream, from where he stands on its top, does not stop them. He chances one glance back; Dream offers a mock salute.

(they are letting them go, they are letting them go as the cat releases the mouse, sure of its ability to follow the limping blood trail, sure of its chances of having a meal later, when it is more hungry, when it will be all the more satisfying. they are letting them go, and it is no mercy, and they will be driven forward like vermin, but they have no choice but to go, no choice but to run)

And then they’re going up the stairs, up the ladder, and into the sunlight.

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myemergence · 3 years

Text

We're Gonna Grow Together

Pairing: Maddie Buckley/Chimney Han

Series: 911 First Kiss Week

@911firstkissweek

Rating: Teen

TW/CW: mentions of car accident, mentions of childbirth

Summary: Maddie and Chim have spent weeks trying every trick to send Maddie into labor and nothing has worked. When Chim is dealing with the wreckage at a pileup on the interstate, they get the call that Maddie is in labor. Chim quickly learns how life-changing this night is going to be.

Read it on AO3

thanks for the beta, love! @nurse-buckley

Chimney’s leg bounced as he looked out the window of the police cruiser. They’d spent the last couple of hours responding to a horrific call, a pileup on the interstate caused by a car that was driving in the wrong direction.

They’d helped to save a lot of lives, gotten people out of the wreckage and on their way to the hospital, but there had been too many victims that were beyond help when they arrived, killed by the impact of a reckless accident.

Not more than an hour ago he’d been hunched over a fellow firefighter with the 118, Renfro, helping to patch him up and get him on the way to the hospital.

Until they’d been standing there and received a call from dispatch about a woman in labor and then everything all seemed to blur together. Somehow Chim had ended up in Athena’s cruiser. On more than one occasion he wouldn’t have put it past her to toss him into the back of the car and take him in—usually for his poor taste in humor and penchant for pranks.

“You alright?” Athena asked, the red lights of the ambulance reflecting off of the hood of the car, the sound of sirens breaking through the night.

“Yeah, I’m okay.” Chim answered, a forced laugh barely slipping past his lips as he glanced over at Athena. They’d been acquaintances for a long time. First, because Athena and Hen had been good friends and since Hen was his best friend their paths crossed regularly, and later on, because of Bobby. Even so, he was used to having some sort of buffer between the two of them.

The way their professional lives bled into their personal ones felt especially wrong tonight, the overlap was almost jarring after seeing so much loss, all the while preparing himself to welcome his child into the world.

“Maybe even great,” he adds after a minute, “and it’s probably terrible to say when…”

“When there are so many terrible things happening out there in the world? So many terrible things that we witnessed tonight?”

“Yeah, I guess.” Chim had always been pretty good at keeping his emotions out of calls, but there were times like tonight when they’d weigh on his heart. His mind kept going back to the boy who had called 911 in the first place, Jacob, and he really hoped that if anyone could pull through the tragedy tonight that it would be him.

“It just feels wrong,” he adds.

“It’s not,” Athena reminds him. “What happened today was horrific and traumatic for a lot of people, but being excited for your first child coming into the world? That’s what it’s all about.” Athena’s focus on the road ahead didn’t falter as she spoke. “If you lose all of your excitement for your life and family… you’ve given too much of yourself to the job.”

Chim nodded with a small jerk, still bouncing his leg anxiously in his seat.

“If you don’t stop bouncing your leg, we’re gonna have a problem,” she warned. Chim felt completely incapable of reading her, no matter the circumstance, so his leg quickly came to a halt with a muttered apology. “I remember how I felt with May. Hold on to that feeling for as long as you can.”

Athena pulled into the hospital and they moved swiftly toward the entrance, weaving through First Presbyterian in a way that only those who frequented the hospital could. Chim and Maddie had visited with enough false alarms that he knew exactly where he was headed. It was hard to believe, even after 42 weeks, that this was finally it.

Chim walked beside Athena, excitement and anxiety thrumming through his veins. He’d helped deliver babies in a pinch, had seen his share of deliveries, and he knew what to expect. This was different, it was Maddie upstairs, preparing to deliver their baby. Chim managed to press the button for the elevator, despite how unsteady he felt, and he turned to look at Athena.

“Okay, wish me luck.”

“Good luck,” Athena said as he stepped into the elevator. “Word of advice? If she tells you to shut up, shut up.”

“Copy that.” Chim drew in a deep breath as the elevator doors closed in front of him, Athena disappearing from view.

Most people were lucky to experience or witness a miracle once in a lifetime, if they were lucky. In his time with the 118, Chim had been witness to several unlikely miracles, victims pulling through when the odds, and sometimes even science, were against them. He’d somehow experienced two miracles, surviving rebar through his skull and then being stabbed by Doug.

Not to mention what he’d seen the rest of the firehouse, particularly Buck, endure and survive.

Despite all of the miracles that he’d personally been witness to, nothing felt as monumental as what he was experiencing now. Sitting in the chair beside Maddie’s hospital bed, dabbing the sweat from her brow with a towel, and holding her hand as he tried to help her manage the pain through the contractions.

Maddie grasped his hand tightly as the next one pulsed through her, Dr Heller coaching her through it. “You’re almost there. On the next contraction I need you to push for 10.”

Maddie nodded her head jerkily and Chim swept her hair back out of her face, unable to stop the swell of emotion around his heart as he watched her. He’d never met anyone as strong as Maddie before, able to conquer every challenge that life threw her way.

“You’ve got this, Maddie. Let’s meet our daughter.”

Maddie looked at him with tear filled eyes, somehow managing a smile despite the pain she was feeling, having planned all along to not get an epidural to help her with the pain. As it turned out, she wouldn’t have had time for one even if she wanted it.

The wave of the next contraction hit, and Chim counted her through it until a cry sounded in the hospital room.

“Sounds like someone’s got a healthy set of lungs on her,” Dr Heller said with a smile, looking at both Chim and Maddie.

She was a warrior, and Chim was completely in awe of her. He dipped his head down, kissing the side of her head as Dr Heller and the nurses checked the baby’s vitals, and he allowed himself a few moments to focus on this incredible thing that Maddie had just done.

Chim’s vision blurred as he looked down at her and blinked a few times to clear the tears. “I can’t believe you did it. I’m so proud of you.”

“I really did it,” Maddie gasped a breath as she held Chim’s gaze, disbelief obvious in her tone.

Within moments their baby was in Maddie’s arms, and Chim couldn’t tame the warmth that spread through his chest like wildfire. The love that he felt for Maddie—and now their daughter—was all consuming, and he didn’t want anything to ever dampen that.

“She’s perfect,” Chim whispered, sweeping away a tear as he watched Maddie’s first moments of motherhood, their baby swaddled in her arms. Maddie gently cradled her, bending forward and pressing a soft kiss to the top of her head.

They were both perfect, and somehow Chim was lucky enough to call them his.

#911firstkiss #911 first kiss week #madney #maddie buckley #chimney han #whentheyreyoung #911 #911 on fox #madney and jee make three

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the-iron-orchid · 3 years

Text

BOOK II: THE HIGH PRIESTESS

Chapter 2: The Palace (~2380 words)

Warnings: mild innuendo

Back to table of contents

I climb the steps that lead out of the market area, where I spy a fortune-teller’s booth nestled in a shaded corner, well out of the summer sun. It instantly brings me back to the days when Asra would go out and set up such a thing himself, before we set up the back room (once used for storage) instead. He was the one who dressed it all up with tasseled scarves and lengths of colorful fabric, carefully painting golden stars on the heavy curtain he acquired from only the Arcana know where.

A wave of sudden dizziness comes over me, my vision swimming. Something plays itself out inside my head, as if upon a stage of my mind’s eye.

Asra sits on his heels, the way I’ve seen him do so many times… but his hair is longer, his face just a fraction rounder. He looks up at me with a mischievous little curl of his lip. “Would you like a love reading? They’re very popular.”

My own voice is in my ears… but it is different. There is a slight but distinct Prakran accent, and the words are delivered in a teasing tone. “Oh? Do I seem like someone who needs a love reading?”

“You’ve got me there.” Asra grins before lowering his eyes in a way that is almost coquettish. “Did you enjoy the Masquerade? I did. Very much.” This last is delivered in a soft, husky tone that I have never heard from him before.

Or have I?

I hear myself give a low chuckle, and I see my own hand, decorated with henna and ringed in silver, as it reaches out to very gently lift his chin. He gives me a certain look from under his pale eyelashes, one that is unmistakable even to one of my nonexistent experience. (That I know of.) “Oh, yes. It was very diverting.”

What?

Blinking in the sunlight, reality returns around me, leaving me momentarily disoriented. What on earth was that? A vision? A dream? A fantasy? A memory? A sharp pain lances through my skull, and I hiss in my breath.

And then a sudden collision sends me stumbling forward. I barely manage to keep from losing my footing on the steps, and the stranger who has collided with me loses hold of the basket balanced on their hip, sending pomegranates rolling everywhere.

“Ohhhhh, great! Like I’m not already running behind…” comes their dismayed voice.

As I regain myself, shaking my head experimentally, I realize that the dizziness and the pain have gone, as suddenly as they came.

I crouch down to help them gather the scattered fruit, murmuring an apology for mooning about like that. The stranger assures me that it was their fault for not looking where they were going, too busy juggling their own errands.

I spot the final pomegranate directly in the path of a cart-horse, and with a thought I send my mage hand out to safely retrieve it. This seems to delight the red-headed stranger, their blue eyes sparkling. They thank me once more, apologizing again for bumping into me. At least the pomegranates have largely survived the ordeal intact.

The stranger extends a hand to me, and I take it. Their palm is rough and calloused against mine, the hand of one who works very hard with them.

“Probably shouldn’t do this, but…” A shiny pomegranate is offered to me. The fruits are splendid, large and ruby-red in color, the size of my two fists held together. This time of year, they must be imported or grown with the assistance of magic - definitely costly. When I accept, the stranger smiles warmly at me.

But just as they are about to take their leave, they seem to notice something - eyes first narrowing, then going wide as they peer at me more closely. “Wait, wait, wait! I know you!”

I can only blink at them, finding that I am at a disadvantage. Is this someone from my past, forgotten? Panic blossoms in my chest, but I try to let it slip aside, visualize it draining away. Such strong feelings can lead to my magic manifesting, or to the severe headaches that once plagued me regularly. Neither is desirable.

“You’re the magician! Jinana, right? Countess Nadia said we were expecting you.” Before I can wonder about this we, they continue. “It’s the hair, you see. Kind of gives you away. And, you know, the magic.” She grins. “You can call me Portia. I’m milady’s head servant at the Palace.”

My body relaxes, my heart slowing itself back down. The name of ‘Portia’ is vaguely familiar to me, possibly overheard via Marketplace gossip. (It is, after all, the one thing traded more than coin.) And of course, these fine pomegranates were no doubt grown especially for the Palace.

Portia informs me that this was a lucky meeting, as she knows the quickest way to get there. It’s well that she does, as even with her guidance it’s a long walk. Along the way, I open the pomegranate - with the use of my magic, it splits itself open in my hand like a flower, the sections falling neatly apart to be shared. This little trick utterly captivates Portia, who asks if I can teach her any of my magical tricks - if that’s even possible.

“It’s like anything else,” I tell her. “Some of us are born with natural talent… but almost anyone can perform some magic, with the right training.” Her eyes glimmer with mischievous glee.

“Ooh, then I’m going to have to make the time to learn!” she says. “Do you think I could learn to read the cards, too?”

“Divination does depend a little more on natural talent. But it’s not impossible.”

“Hmmm, maybe I’ll leave that one to the experts, then.” It doesn’t seem to put her out at all.

Portia is effervescently cheerful, and her company makes the trip go by much faster than it might have had I been alone. She is so easy to talk to, about everything from what it’s like to run a magic shop, to which sort of bugs indicate a healthy garden. By the time the Palace gates come into view, I feel like I’ve made a friend.

My legs, however, feel like they’re about to fall off - as I have said, I rarely leave the Center City area, and never farther than the Heart District, where Heron’s shop is. The elevation rises sharply from the Center City to where the Palace stands, overlooking it all. But Portia seems to have as much energy as ever; no doubt she makes this trek regularly. Her sturdy frame speaks of strength and health - next to her, I feel a bit like that seedling on my rooftop, struggling weakly in its mug of dirt under the sun.

Noticing that I am lagging behind, she pauses for a brief rest. We sit upon a low wall along the street, its bricks quite warm from the day’s sun. There is very little foot traffic up here, compared to the city below. Once in a while, a carriage rolls by on the smoothly-paved road.

“I’m really glad you’re here, Jinana,” Portia tells me, her demeanor becoming more serious. “Milady… well. Let’s just say that she could use some more... reliable help.” Her glance flicks toward the Palace with a seeming annoyance, then her face brightens once more with a smile. “Anyway, you seem like a good sort to me, you know? And my intuition is never wrong.” She winks at me.

I find that I don’t have much to say to that, but she looks at me expectantly.

“I, uh… well, I’m not sure how much use a fortune-teller and apprentice magician is in the scheme of things,” I laugh. “But… I’ll do my best. I promise.”

“Well, you know how Vesuvian politics are.” I do not, but I nod noncommittally. “Milady can always use more allies. Not everyone is keen on a Prakran princess being the ruler of Vesuvia.”

There’s an obvious care in her voice and face when she speaks of the Countess, and I wonder at it. But Portia rises, dusting off her backside, and I follow suit, our little rest break over.

The sun is just lowering in the sky as we finally approach the Palace’s tall gate of wrought iron. The Palace itself is a thing of many delicate spires, glittering and shining under the late golden sunlight like a mirage. The gate is guarded, of course, but Portia is my key. She introduces me to the guards - Ludovico and Bludmila. There is little to differentiate them in their armor. Even their faces are largely covered by their decorated helms - only the shape and color of their eyes, shadowed beneath, can be seen. But their posture is visibly relaxed with Portia, and they push the heavy gate open for us, allowing us to breeze through.

Beyond the gate there is a long bridge, rising at a steep angle over the palace’s moat. Pale, elongated shapes swirl in the dark water beneath, like the ghosts of serpents. I shiver slightly, despite the remaining warmth of the day.

“The late Count had those put there,” Portia says, mild disgust crossing her features as she notes the direction of my gaze. “Vampire eels. Kind of gross, but not a problem so long as you don’t fall in the water.”

“I’ll try not to.” I spare the eels one last glance before quickening my pace to catch up with Portia - she doesn’t want to keep the Countess waiting, and neither do I.

Questions rise in my hindbrain as we walk, stirring my latent anxieties now that I am here, and there is no turning back. Have I made the right decision in coming here? Could I have possibly done anything else? Will Asra know where to find me when he returns? (Of course he will.) What will happen to me if I cannot provide the help the Countess seeks? Her very word is law in this city, and being a magician will do me no good against it.

Before I know it, we’re at the Palace’s main entrance. Portia gives three strong knocks that seem to reverberate through my very bones. After a moment, some mechanism on the inside causes the doors to swing themselves wide in a ponderous arc. Within, I glimpse halls of polished marble and dark granite, unspeakably rich furnishings, and liveried servants going to and fro on their business.

There is definitely no turning back now.

A person in servant’s livery topped with a cap bearing a bright blue feather rushes up to us. They stop short when they notice me, sweeping into a deep bow (somehow the cap does not dislodge from their head). They then immediately rush on to Portia.

“Chamberlain,” she says with a nod, probably for my benefit, and asks how we are doing on time.

Her shoulders relax fractionally as the Chamberlain answers that we are just in time - the first course is about to be served, and the Countess has yet to come down. This is apparently slightly late for her, but working to our benefit.

Clearly relieved, Portia hands off her load to the chamberlain, adding that they should inform the kitchens that the Countess’s guest is here. The chamberlain vanishes into a wall panel, which slides invisibly shut behind them.

Portia must be favored, indeed, for the Palace chamberlain to defer to her so.

“That was close!” she confides. “I’ll take you straight to the dining room.”

“Dining room? I’m to dine with the Countess? Right now?” I did not expect this, and am certainly not dressed for it. Self-consciously, I tuck my escaping hair behind my ears.

Portia laughs. “Don’t tell me you thought we wouldn’t feed you!”

“That’s not it at all…” I answer, but she is already striding away down the hall, and I must hurry to keep up. Along the way, I surreptitiously freshen away the sweat and road dust with my magic. There isn’t much I can do for the plainness of my clothing. The only jewelry I wear is the copper ring on my right thumb (a spell focus), two simple necklaces (one gifted by Heron, the other by Asra), and now the little protection pouch, nestled under my top. Hardly suitable for dinner with the Countess… but it seems I must make do. I pull my shawl from inside my bag, and drape it over my shoulders. Perhaps it will help conceal some of the sins of my appearance.

Portia pushes open a double door of carved mahogany. The doors, exquisitely balanced, swing open easily and silently, despite their size and weight. Beyond, the long dining table is laden with platters of all manner of fine foods, and the smell alone causes my stomach to clench almost painfully with hunger. I’ve had so little today, and walked so much. But as Portia seats me in a fine chair with brocaded cushions, I see that the Countess has not yet arrived.

“How many people are supposed to be here?” I ask her. There is enough food for twenty or more on this table.

“Oh, it’s just you and the Countess! You’ll do fine,” she assures me. “I have to get back to work, but you’ll see me again!” She pats me on the shoulder reassuringly, then bustles away, back to her duties.

Instead of looking helplessly after Portia as she goes, I force myself to look around the room. More liveried servants are coming and going, bringing even more items to the table.

There is a large painting hanging prominently on the far wall, and the more I look at it, the stranger it gets. Several beast-headed figures are attending what seems to be a feast of small game, olives, bread, and wine. It is presided over by a man in noble finery, surrounded by rays of pure gold - but he has the head of a goat. Something about the nine figures feels familiar to me, but I can’t quite pin it down. It is so odd that I can only stare at it for a few moments… until a voice brings me out of my reverie.

“Ah, Jñāna. I’m so pleased that you’re here.”

The Countess has arrived.

#arcana rewrite: tides of chaos #the arcana rewrite #jinana aditya #chekhov's eels lmao

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my-brothers-corrupted · 3 years

Text

Chapter Four - Part 7

Dapper wakes up beside Red disoriented and upset and decides to take him somewhere he barely remembers to help him come to terms with their situation.

Tws for hospitalization, bruising, manipulation, and imprisonment.

Part 7 - Aftermath

aether-mae asked: Ok ok hear me out Dok- what if you were to make a deal with Dark, for him to off a certain someone for you. That way he won’t hunt you anymore and you take the opportunity while he’s undertaking the deal to run away

Dok sits stroking Noodle, staring at the ceiling, lying across his bed. He has nothing else to do. Nothing to do but wait and think and wonder. His mouth parts. He looks young and casual in his boxers and t-shirt, his usual semblance of professionalism and normality having faded away with his stress and the torn white coat lying beside his bed.

“Oh, yes, that would work,” he mutters, a gleam coming back to his eyes. “If that Dark thing can kill Anti and we could turn them against him�� I mean, Anti’s pretty fucking terrible, so it couldn’t be too hard to switch the side that Dark’s on, yeah? Unless they’re equally terrible… damn. But I think I’d ally with just about anyone at this point if they told me they could kill him. But who would even know how to do that?”

He sighs, shaking his head against his pillows, mussing his hair. He hasn’t eaten. He wants his siblings, all of them. All of the real ones. Safe and sound.

“Doesn’t someone have to know? Was there ever anyone? Did you ever know, back when you knew us, from before? Does Dapper remember anything? I have to find a way to make him stop hurting us…”

Anonymous asked: um. so hey dok! things are... stable for now. trick's alright, he's with anti, who did possess blue. red has a cut on his throat but trick said it wasn't lethal. dapper got hit pretty bad. they're both in the upstairs bathroom, um, sleeping/unconscious? they were just now coherent, though. anti is... not as angry as he could be, which is good at least! we're working on keeping everyone safe. i'm sure it's not been easy. how are you?

The door to the downstairs guest bedroom creaks open. Dok shoots up, staring at the entryway - and there, unharmed, is his twin.

“Trick,” breathes Dok, reaching out for him, and Trick has rarely looked as relieved to go crashing into his arms, halfway tackling him onto the bed.

“Is that all true?” asks Dok, muffled by the closeness. “Red’s not going to die? You’re okay? Dapper, what’s wrong with him? Where’s Blue?”

“Anti was still wearing Blue last I checked,” says Trick quietly. “I think I heard Red talking to Dap, but I’m not sure. He was pretty busted up, Dok. Are you alright?”

“No one touched me, Trick, I’m alright. It’s been days since someone’s laid a hand on me.”

“I was so scared Dark would send people into the house while we were all distracted, but I knew the cameras would tell me if someone tried to take you.”

“Thank you for going up there,” says Dok, wrapping him in his arms. “You’re my hero.”

Trick’s face flushes with pride, scooping Dok close to his body, though fear lingers in the whites of his eyes. He runs his fingers over the ravens on Dok’s chest without even having to look down at them, his other hand in Dok’s hair. Noodle jumps on top of his stomach and makes him yelp - and then laugh, accepting kisses on his nose from his kitten.

Anonymous asked: Yeah, you're both okay. Everyone's okay. You're all alive and okay.

“What are the chances?” murmurs Dok, and it makes Trick laugh. He wants to build him nests out of t-shirts and blankets and buy him fish and chips. He wants to give him coffee at Christmas and deliver babies with him. He wants to make him smile.

“Let’s go get some breakfast,” says Trick. “I bet you haven’t eaten.”

“Okay.”

Anonymous asked: Dok, still got your necklaces?

“And wouldn’t take them off for anything,” he says, pulling them out from beneath his shirt - three little black raven talismans, arranged one two three from his collarbone to the curve of his chest. Trick doesn’t react, heading upstairs without looking back.

“The animal one, the light weapon, and the one that protects my head and my heart,” says Dok gently, plucking at his ravens one by one. “From my friends.”

Anonymous asked: JJ, I know you're beat to hell right now but we're running out of time. Anti's done playing around. Red and Dok are basically out of his control and he sees that, if he starts cutting losses, he's going to kill them. He's gonna hold onto Blue for usefulness, and trick out of favoritism, but JJ, somehow you've fallen in the middle. This damn twin system is throwing everyone's judgment but I think you have a better glimpse of the whole picture. We don't want to cut losses but we need a plan.

“Noooooo,” protests Dapper unhappily, shaking his head. “Nooo, don’t make me decide things, am tiredddd.”

He draws out his signs in long motions and flops down against the side of the tub, silver chain around his throat. At least he’s been able to get out of the bathtub and move around a little with only his neck chained - Red is not so lucky.

“Don’t shake your head so much, buddy,” he coughs, sallow and pale with the coming of the morning, his neck as white as the t-shirt strip wrapped around it. “You might still be concussed.”

“I want off my collar,” protests Dapper, struggling to get up to his feet, only to crash back down to the floor. “I should have been a good boy, I’m sorry.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” whispers Red. “He’s been like this all night. Anti hurts him and it snaps him back into his sugar-sweet, obedient little brother mode. It’s not healthy. Dap, you didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Reddy, lemme go.”

“Just try to lie still.”

“I wanna go home, I wanna go away, I wanna go somewhere nice.”

Red shudders, both of them struggling to take care of each other while they deal with their own shit. Dapper is spacey and injured, wheezing when he breathes, and Red has been over-stimulated and uncomfortable for about nine hours straight. He ran himself a bath for the blood and Haldol and everything on the floor of the filthy tub, but he hates it when his clothes are wet almost as much as he hated sitting in his own blood. He wants to cry again but he’s too tired. He’s just got to stay strong and get through it, like he always does. Tomorrow, this will be over. Tomorrow, this will be over. Tomorrow, this will be over.

“Wanna go home,” repeats Dapper weakly.

Anonymous asked: i know, buddy. i'm sorry, dap, jamie, love, you didn't do anything wrong, you don't deserve this. but i don't think you'll be stuck like this for much longer, okay, bud? i don't think you'll be stuck right there for more than a few more hours, and i think in a week or so things will have been figured out. hold on, okay? you're doing great, and i know it's hard, but just hold on, buddy. we're doing our best to help you guys.

“I do not want to hold on.”

He is grumpy and tired, childish in his fear of Anti, because it’s always been the best way to protect himself.

“I want my bear and my friends and pasta and Jack. I don’t want to hold on. I don’t feel good. Red, come home with me. Can’t we?”

“We’re kind of stuck right now, bud.”

“Not stuck, never stuck. I wanna go. If I can think of something. Take you with me so you’re not so unhappy.”

“I don’t know what you mean, Dippin’ Dots. Want to look for Tylenol or something in the drawers?”

“Anti took everything out of the bathroom in case I try to overdose,” signs Dapper. “I can’t even die to escape him.”

“Hey, we don’t talk like that,” warns Red with a thrill of fear down his back. “Don’t have to die to escape anyone. We’re going to be okay.”

Dapper plays with his clock distantly, running it between his hands.

Red sighs and turns back to you. “Is my twin okay?” he asks. “Please? Can you see him? Is he awake?”

Anonymous asked: Anti if you're going to be wearing Blue, march him to a hospital. You're only making him worse.

Anti is running his hands over the flesh of Blue’s arms, standing in front of the mirror in his bedroom.

“You know,” he says, his voice a fine low rumble. “I’m almost getting used to having skin.”

He strokes his throat, his fingers drifting down his esophagus.

“With the sickness I get otherwise, it’s a lot more comfortable. And with Blue breaking down and always turned against me… I’m starting to wonder.”

He cups his face in his right hand, his left resting on his caved stomach. He listens to Blue’s heartbeat in his skull. Thump, thump, thump. Quiet and tired, but reassuring in its steadiness.

When he was small, he used to sit in the back of Jack’s head, only half-formed, and listen to the beating of his heart. The only rhythm he knew.

“I could maybe just wear him all the time,” he says. “And only leave when I needed to glitch. He scratches a little. Doesn’t fit quite so well as Dapper. But still, I could just… rest.”

He touches Blue’s image in the mirror.

“Change this body til it feels like my own.”

There’s a sly light in his eyes as he turns to you. You know that look by now. He’s trying to get a rise out of you, to wind you up, to piss you off - but he could be serious, too.

Blue shudders faintly, Anti’s eyes gleaming in his head.

Anonymous asked: You really think that'll impress Dark? Okay then.

Anti rumbles out a laugh. “Dark’s always impressed by me. Even when I thought they were a total creep they looked at me like I’m the prettiest little killer in the world, right down to the essence of me. Sometimes people tell you to go kill yourself with enough emphasis that you can tell they got it bad.”

It’s difficult to tell if he’s joking or not.

“But I’m glad you agree Blue’s unimpressive right now too.”

Blue’s body drops like a sack of flour as Anti steps out of him almost literally, backing away from his body and regarding him coolly, popping bubblegum in his mouth as he looks down at him.

“Got something on your face,” he says, nudging Blue with his foot as his eye begins to bleed.

“F - fucker!” gasps Blue, clawing at the hardwood and drawing in huge lungfuls of air. “What did you do to Red?”

“I’ll give your precious twin back to you when he’s learned his lesson. Get out of my sight, you little witch.”

pine-storm-season asked: Hey, Dok and Trick? Anti just unpossessed Blue, he's in Anti's bedroom and might appreciate help leaving the room and stuff.

Trick puts his cereal down right away, turning to head upstairs. Dok makes to follow and Trick shakes his head at him, warning him off. “You’re still not allowed up here.”

Dok can’t say he really minds staying away from his torture room. He waits for his siblings at the bottom of the stairs.

“Hey,” says Anti, pleased when Trick comes up to him.

“Hey, Green. Can I have him?”

Anti rolls his eyes. “If you want him, you can have him, but you don’t have to look after him if you don’t want to.”

“It’s okay, I just want to get him out of your hair,” says Trick nicely. Anti relaxes against his bed, watching Trick pull Blue to his feet. He isn’t looking well.

“Red, Red,” begs Blue.

“Maybe we can have Red and Dapper back too?”

“Don’t worry about them. A little later.”

Anonymous asked: (Dok, while you're alone, Anti hypnotized the ever-living FUCK out of Trick and told him that he has three days to get the necklaces off you or else he'll kill you. I'm really sorry to drop this on you so bluntly but it's really important you know. If you don't want Trick to know you know, you can probably play off your reaction to this news as reacting to Blue looking like shit, Trick's bringing him back now)

Dok’s mouth parts so softly you see his chapped top lip cling to the bottom for a second, revealing his slightly crooked front teeth. He doesn’t answer you - barely looks at you - for a good thirty second. A deep breath passes in and out of him without conscious thought and his eyebrows fall into a dismayed sort of terror.

“Oh, he - he said he’d kill me? Anti did?”

And how stupid it is - how utterly and painfully stupid - that after all the realization he went through, after all the growth, after all of his own hopes to kill his little brother - the thought of Anti killing him still burns like a betrayal.

He never loved him at all.

He spent so long being so good for him - gave his whole life up for Anti, loved him no matter what he did to himself and his siblings - and Anti would cut him open and leave him dead on the grass of the lawn just to punish Trick.

Dok has to go. He gets up and he leaves you there, racing away and back down the stairs.

Anonymous asked: well on one hand dok is totally entitled to that reaction on the other hand FUCK

“What reaction?” asks Trick, and then his twin isn’t at the bottom of the stairs.

“You told him!” he accuses instantly, whirling on you. “You - he shouldn’t have to know that! He shouldn’t have to think about it! Why would you - ugh! I was going to keep him safe, like I always do! He’s got enough going on right now, he - Blue?”

He catches Blue as he begins to slide off Trick’s shoulder, sinking towards the ground. Trick heaves him up in his arms, huffing with the weight of him, and, determined, he carries him to his and Red’s bedroom, setting him down on the bed.

“N-no, I’m okay,” stammers Blue, wiping at his forehead. “I’m okay, Dok.”

“It’s Trick, Blue.”

Blue pants, looking up at him. His foggy eyes are squinted nearly into slits, blinking fast.

“Can you see me?”

Blue closes his eyes and turns away, burying his face in his hands.

Anonymous asked: Can we set the cameras to transmit audio? If not, Trick, can you pass it on to Blue if he can't read these? It's gonna be alright, Blue. Right now, you're downstairs in Red and Trick's room. Trick is in the room with you, and Dok is I think also downstairs? But not in the room. Anti, Red, and Dapper are all upstairs. What's one thing we or someone else can do for you right now to help?

“I want Red!” snaps Blue, turning suddenly on Trick and shoving him away. “Get out! You’re just Anti’s little pet! Leave me alone! What can you or somebody do? Fucking nothing, that’s what! I’m just disgusting and sick, leave me the fuck alone!”

“Hey, Blue, calm down,” Trick snaps right back, real fear in his voice. “You’re panting way too hard, okay? Just try to breathe.”

“Then get out! Get out of my room! I don’t want you here! I don’t want anybody but Red and even he can’t save me so go away!”

Trick’s never really been snarled at by Blue, but he won’t let it get to him while everyone else in the house is in worse trouble than him. He decides his sibling isn’t joking about wanting to be left alone. Trick knows the feeling. He gives you a meaningful look, tilting you towards Blue. Keep an eye on him.

Trick leaves Blue alone. Blue tries to get up to draw the curtains closed for himself, but even this one little thing he can’t do for himself - he crashes to the floor, his legs giving out, and grits his teeth as the blurry image of his pale hands holds his shaking body off the floor.

Not even his hands. Not even his skin. Not even his body. Oh, fuck. His head swims. The world is falling away from him. He sits up, trembling, and falls back against the bed, gripping at his head. Gripping at the head. Not even his skull. Not even his fucking body.

“This isn’t me, this isn’t me, this isn’t me,” he whispers, his voice faltering back into despair. “Where did my body go, holy shit. This isn’t happening. This isn’t Blue.”

Trick finds Dok downstairs, hiding under the bed.

“Dok?”

He’s never seen him under there before.

“Dok, I’m here.”

He crawls down beneath his twin, reaching for him. Touching Dok does not make him look over or speak. He’s just still.

Trick’s heart sinks.

“One of your zone-outs, my brother?” he asks quietly.

Dok stares at nothing, breathing a little too slow, a little too deep. In. Out. In. Out.

“I’m here,” Trick repeats quietly, even though it never seems to be enough. “I’m here.”

Dok lies still. Lets him hold onto him.

He’s scared. No matter what he told himself, it all seemed to come down to this - in three days, he’ll most likely be dead. Yeah, he’s scared. His brain decided to give him a break. He’s far off in his head. Trick doesn’t think he feels anything at all when he’s like this. It’s a defense mechanism.

For a moment, Trick reaches up and touches Dok’s necklaces. The talismans burn his fingers dark red, but he doesn’t draw them away until he has to. He doesn’t think he can get them off with just his hands, but if he got a knife…

He sighs and leans against Dok’s shoulder, closing his eyes. Not right now. He can’t even think about it right now.

“I’m here,” he whispers. “I’m with you.”

They lie beneath the bed, in silence.

“Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go!”

“Dap,” begs Red, panting through his discomfort, trying to keep his calm. “You gotta stop rambling, little brother. You are okay. Okay? I’ll get you out of here.”

“No, I want to go home! Now, now, now!”

“Dap, we’re stuck! Come on, please take it easy!”

“No, we’re going now,” says Dapper, determined. He brushes at sweaty curls on his forehead and shivers, scrambling around the bathroom, his silver chain jingling. “We’re going away. Maybe we don’t have to come back. Where, I don’t know. I have to remember something. We can go home. I want to.”

His hand finds his little clock in the corner of the room. Red’s eyes widen.

“Now - hey, hold on a second, Dapper. I don’t think that’s a good idea right now.”

“Where do you want to go?” asks Dapper, barely seeming to hear him, staggering back towards him in the tub. “Who should we go see? I just have to remember… I just have to… we’ll go somewhere it doesn’t hurt so much. I’ll be good then. I promise. He won’t catch us. He can’t smell it, not in here. Where do you want to go, J-happy?”

pine-storm-season asked: I don't think that's a good idea, Dapper. He's already irritable and angry, and the chances of making it worse seem too high. I'm sorry, buddy, I think you have to stay here.

“I don’t want to, I want to go away, my whole body really really hurts.”

He crashes down besides Red and his big brother does his best to catch him as he falls, but this only makes Dapper gasp in pain as hands make contact with his bruised side. For a second, it seems to startle him out of his frantic determination. He collapses against the side of the tub, his head falling against Red’s. Red holds his shoulders and tries to make him breathe in time with him, rubbing his arm.

“It’s okay, Dap. It is. I promise. It will be.”

Dapper shakes his head, low, low, his eyes haunted.

“He really beat me. Like he used to back when I was never good.”

Red just holds onto him, shaking his head. He doesn’t know what to say anymore. He just knows - they have to go. They have to. He has to get his family away from Anti. He hopes Anti will forgive him someday, but he can’t worry about him now. Not when he’s treating them like this.

“I loved that big house in the forest,” signs Dapper quietly. “I only got to live there about a year.”

“Some day I’ll find a place where we can live and you can feel safe again. I promise.” He presses their foreheads gently together, minding the dark bruises across his little brother’s tired face.

“I want to go see Jack,” signs JJ gently, pressed against Red’s head. “I really want to talk to him. I think I need to talk to him. I miss him. He doesn’t remember me in reality. But I still remember him in my own timeline. I want to go see him.”

Maybe Red should protest more. But the truth is he’s filthy and hurt and in a lot of discomfort, something that translates directly into distress and pain for him.

And that one time when Dapper sent him back - when he saw them all again - when they were so healthy and clean and safe and Blue laid beside him and told him he was a good man -

Yes, Red wants that.

So he whispers:

“Are you sure you can make it? Even though you’re hurt?”

“Jackie,” signs Dapper, like it could be the sign for love or brother or family. “I’m sure.”

“And Anti won’t catch us?”

“Not if we’re quick. He didn’t catch me before.”

Dapper has eyes like suns faraway, big and bright. Red has had trouble saying no to him ever since he began to see the little recluse trapped in the attic as his baby brother again.

“Okay,” says Ro. “Let’s go home.”

He touches Dapper’s hand.

Anonymous asked: He, Dok, I doubt you'll be up to reading cameras right now, but however you're feeling is okay. You've done incredible work getting as free as you can from him, but not even magic can undo the effects of months of conditioning, abuse and hypnosis overnight. He's a master manipulator, you've done so well getting this far. Please don't beat yourself up for how you're reacting. Also Trick, this is a crazy stressful time for you guys, and you're doing your best, and we thank you sincerely for that.

“You know what?” says Trick, a little weakly. “We’ve gone through worse times together and come out okay, right, Dok?”

He’s managed to get Dok out from under the bed. They’re curled up on the couch in the basement, playing Lord of the Rings on the big TV. They don’t have internet, but they do have a DVD player.

“Look, Aragorn,” Trick prompts his brother, patting Dok’s arm. “You love this movie, right? When was the last time we saw it?”

Personally, Trick doesn’t really get the appeal, but he likes the monsters and the fighting scenes and things. Dok’s really into it, though, most of the time. But right now he’s just burrito-ed in all the blankets Trick gave him, staring down at the floor with a truly miserable expression on his face.

Trick hovers unhappily, patting his arm.

“It’s okay, buddy,” he says. “They’re right, don’t gotta blame yourself. It’s okay. You’re doing great.”

He curls up against him and keeps him company. Dok’s eyes don’t start to re-focus until they’re on their way to Mordor.

Anonymous asked: Yeah, you both are doing so well handling all this. Dok, however you're feeling is okay. We're going to do our absolute best to protect you guys, yeah? It's okay.

Dok lets out a small, tired sigh at Trick’s side.

“Hey,” whispers Trick. “Are you with me?”

Dok looks wearily over at him, meeting his eyes at last, but he doesn’t say anything.

Trick scoots forward and presses their heads together, lying against him. Dok glances over at you before lying back again. Faintly, his hand moves to rest across Trick’s.

They do not speak about the talismans. They do not speak about the death threat.

“Gimli is my favorite,” says Trick, after the dwarf says something funny, and Dok is grateful that he’s pretending to care.

“Can we watch all three?”

“We can watch all three.”

Dok will be asleep by the end of the first, but Trick doesn’t mind that either. He slides the second DVD in and goes back to his place at his side.

Anonymous asked: Hey Dap, Red, I'm all for you guys doing that, but are you completely sure you're going to be safe? If anything goes wrong, things could go even more south for you guys, and it's already really bad at the moment. Again, not trying to dissuade you, but please please make sure it's going to be safe. Or, as safe as anything in this family can be.

Ro comes to spitting and coughing.

He finds himself on his hands and feet - mid push-up, he thinks? He lets himself go down and then rises again, and, with a burst of pride, he feels taut muscles raise and lower him as though his weight were nothing to them. Another push-up. Another.

Jackie was strong, he realizes, and he blames the flash of jealousy on his old counter-part for being this fucking ridiculously fit, and then notices how strange it is to think of the person he used to be as someone else entirely.

He gets to his feet, glancing around.

Was this his room?

A lava lamp bubbles in the corner. His eyes get fixed on it, watching the colors rise and fall and float. His windows are open and cool air and birdsong float into the room. The walls are a nice light blue, the bed is a Queen with thick black blankets, and everything else - oh, fuck - it’s neat! It’s clean! Everything he owns is packed politely into drawers, a row of nice running shoes tucked in a perfect line in his closet, Spider-man decorations and pictures of his family arranged in clean lines on his dressers and drawers.

This is like Heaven.

For a long time, he sits in the middle of his floor, just breathing. Just watching. Just trying to remember.

A slow breath fades from his chest. He closes his eyes and he opens them again.

He remembers you and looks down, smiling.

“Safe, huh?” he mumbles, feeling the cool breeze through his hair. “What’s the fun in that?”

Anonymous asked: Oh alright, you made it safely!! Your room does look pretty cool, and damn wish I could do push ups like that. Way to flex, hero man. If you're able, would be be able to look for Dapper? You both weren't exactly doing super well when you left, and the magic might've taken a toll on him. (Hope this trip goes well for you!!)

“I’m not even flexing, this is just how I be,” purrs Ro, letting himself revel in the pride of it for a second, standing up and looking down at himself. He feels immortal like this. He looks into the mirror and his face is flushed with health - though he finds one deep scratch across his collarbone that surprises him, bandaged by neat hands, but stinging across his skin.

“Weird… wonder what that’s from? Oh, geez, yeah. Where is Dap?”

cest-mellow asked: it’s good to see you so healthy, red. but where is jameson? is there anyone else in the house with you?

“I better find him,” mumbles Ro, looking around like he expects JJ to crawl out from under the bed. “I don’t know if anyone else is here. I’m assuming this is the same house I was at last time he brought me back, the house in the woods he always talks about.”

He glances out the window. The trees are swaying in the wind.

“I don’t know how to get home without him, so he has to be around here somewhere. Right?”

“Hey, Jackie, are you coming?”

A voice with a familiar accent startles Ro out of his thoughts. He turns towards the door. “Uh… yeah, Dok, sorry, give me a second!”

“I know you’re just visiting, but I have a shift to be on time for, you know.”

“Right, sorry,” says Ro, a little startled. Did Dok just give him sass? Dok? “Oh, fuck, that’s not his real name. Uh… H, something German.”

cest-mellow asked: henrik! his name is henrik. where is he trying to take you? maybe jamie is there too? you should ask tho O_o

“Henrik! Right.”

“What?”

“No, I was just - uh - ”

Henrik pushes open the door to his room, leveling a look at him.

“Oh,” says Ro. “Hey.”

He’s got this clean white coat on and a dorky, cute blue turtleneck. His hair is very short at the sides, soft and dark on the top. He raises his eyebrows at Ro in a way that is both bemused and challenging. It’s not a look Ro is used to.

The Dok he knows is quiet and submissive, scampering back to his nest every time Red used to raise his voice at him, slathered in scarring and always trying and failing to keep his hands clean. But Henrik has this light in his eyes like nothing in the world has ever made him afraid, and his back is held so straight that for a moment Red thinks that he’s taller than him. Maybe he is taller than him, and Ro just never noticed before.

“Come on, dummkopf,” laughs Henrik, nudging his head towards Ro’s shoes. Ro doesn’t think Dok has ever insulted him out loud and to his face, even as a joke. “Let’s get going. Don’t you want to visit Jameson?”

Anonymous asked: Oh wow, guess this is happening, cool! What do you want to do while you're here, Red? (Is there anyway you could get information on Anti or any weaknesses? Or not, goodness knows you guys deserve to just have a nice time without worrying about him)

“One second, Henrik, I’ll be right there.”

“Oh, Henrik,” he says, and it takes Red a couple seconds to realize he’s being teased. “Today I’m Henrik, huh? Well, of course, Jackson, take all the time you need.”

There must be something else he’s supposed to call him, but Ro doesn’t remember what. Henrik grins at him like he’s waiting for him to say something back, but Red’s at a loss. Henrik blinks and steps back.

“Sorry,” says Ro. “Really, I’ll be right there.”

“Um, okay,” says Henrik. “I’ll just be on the porch.”

Henrik leaves and Red smacks himself in the head. “Two seconds in and already I’m acting weirder than usual. Okay, what do I want to do while I’m here? Geez, I gotta leave most of this up to Dap. Sounds like he had somebody he wanted to talk to. But, uh.”

He pauses, cocking his head.

“Well, if we have time, I would like to see Blue and Trick and… well. Blue and Trick. And just - yeah. Well. Probably don’t have time for anybody else, but I really liked last time seeing how healthy everybody looked. Kind of jarring. But right now especially, I really want to see that Blue’s okay.”

Anonymous asked: Ro, Dok's name is Henrik (von Schneeplestein)! If you run into Trick, he's Chase, you know Blue's name, and Dapper's with you, and oh if there's another guy you haven't seen before, he's Jack or Seán, I think JJ might be looking for him. Also, from what I can remember, yeah expect some sass from Henrik haha! These guys are probably going to pretty different to who they are now, but regardless of all that, you're still their brother. Best of luck!

“Holy shit,” gasps Red. “Holy shit!”

Schneeplestein, holy shit!

And it’s funny, first things first, just because that seems like such a ridiculous name on the surface, but Red isn’t even laughing, not for a second, because shit, that was his name, wasn’t it?

“Schneep,” he breathes, and it doesn’t matter how silly of a name it is, it’s a memory alive again on his tongue. “Holy shit… we were friends.”

He doesn’t remember the things they used to do or the way they used to get along, but with that name he knows that they did used to get along, that they did used to love each other in a way he’s long since forgotten, that Schneep was his brother long before Dok and Trick were bound at the hip, that that’s not just his tired, struggling little brother with the haunted eyes - that was Schneep, his Schneep, the doctor who always kicked his ass when he came home hurt, the man who would patch them up while grumbling in German the whole time, the arms he would come back to when he was in pain. That was his brother.

Ro has to sit down for a moment.

“Shit,” he whispers, biting on his nails. He lets his eyes slide shut for a second. “Schneep…”

Because it’s one thing to know that they used to know each other better and that their bodies used to be healthier. But to know that they used to be different people who loved each other, deeply, in different ways than they do now -

Fuck, it’s a lot to have stolen from them. It’s not fair.

It’s not fair that Schneep is dead.

He wants to see the others right now.

hollenka99 asked: Just a reminder for if you bump into them, Trick is Chase and Blue is Marvin. I'm guessing you used to call Henrik by a nickname. Try 'Hen' and see how he responds. After all, you're still shortening people's names now like Dapper being Dap etc. Can't hurt to try. Worse that will probably happen is that Henrik may tease you again.

“Okay, right,” mumbles Ro, getting to his feet. “Yeah, I’ll just… Chase. Right.”

And then he can’t bring himself to say the name Marvin out loud.

He tugs on sneakers - nice sneakers, red and white - and finds thin black gloves near the door, slipping them on despite a warm fall outside his window. He loves having gloves. Jackie is wearing a long, heavy red hoodie and long black and white sweatpants. He feels covered and comfy and - for the first time in a long time - handsome.

But somehow even that realization is painful, and he turns away from the mirror, swiping at a place on his forehead where a scar will one day exist.

He pushes out of his room, glancing down a short hallway towards a homey little living room with a couple worn-down couches. The house is quiet. He wanders through the kitchen and the laundry room, where faint voices waft in through an opened window. Pushing through the back door, he sees a pair of siblings working on a pretty little garden together, helping each other tear up weeds and chattering about nothing.

He’s never seen Blue and Trick spending time together alone.

“Hey,” he calls weakly.

Their heads turn up together, both smiling at him. Chase sticks his tongue out at him. Marvin winks. Ro hears a laugh bubble out of him, shaking his head in amazement.

pine-storm-season asked: Here you are, yeah! This is good, I think, to see them again like they are. You doing alright, Red?

“I feel weird,” he says, with a fluttering laugh. “But after being stuck in that fucking bathtub, I can’t be upset with anything. Hey, guys.”

“Hey, J-man.”

“The king, the legend!”

“Your shift at the hospital?”

“We’ll be there after lunch to give you a break.”

“He likes those Twix bars in the little shop out front if he gets upset.”

“I love a little shop.”

“Look how my mint is coming in!” Chase and Marvin both lean back to give him a view of bunches of herbs growing up from the ground. Ro shakes his head, laughing.

“Why don’t you just grow it with magic?” asks Ro.

“I’m still so tired from the fight,” says Marvin, grinning up at him and pushing long, dark hair from shining eyes. “But even if I wasn’t, it’s good for me to work the earth a little sometimes.”

Marvin buries his fingers in the soft damp earth, breathing in the deep richness of the smell like a worshipper breathes Easter incense. He closes blue eyes. The wind brushes across his soft hair. He smiles back at Ro and Chase follows their gazes.

“You have freckles,” says Ro faintly.

“When I get enough sun,” answers Chase warmly, touching his cheeks.

Anonymous asked: I think Schneep is a common nickname for him, maybe try that? This is probably going to be painful, seeing how much you guys have lost, and remembering things too, but hey, you can still reach something like this again. Healing is possible, and while you're not likely to be the same, you can still all make progress and learn to love each other like that again. While you're here, do your best to make the most of it!! Love you Jackie <3

“Hey.”

A hand descends on Ro’s shoulder and he turns to ice eyes behind thick glasses.

“Are you okay?” asks Schneep, frowning. “How’s the cut?”

Ro touches his chest uncertainly, feeling the faint burn of a clean wound. “Um. Okay.”

“Ready to go to the hospital?”

“Yeah, okay. Is Jack coming?”

Henrik blinks. “He’s still there from last night.”

“Oh, okay. Yeah, let’s go.”

Anonymous asked: So... are you guys going to visit Jack at the hospital? Is he okay?

Ro doesn’t know how to start asking about it without alerting Henrik to the fact that something’s wrong. He trails after his little brother towards the door of the house, next to which hangs a great silver mirror.

Schneep takes his wrist without preamble, making Ro startle, but all his brother does is say “amo, vale,” and then -

Hold on a second.

Ro is too startled to protest when Henrik pulls him through the mirror after him.

Gone is the forest. Red closes his eyes in shock against a strange sensation, feeling the world give an odd lurch around him, and - well, it’s not unlike the time travel, but his body has moved instead of changed. Brick walls rise on both sides, birds chittering around the rooftops. It might have been a dirty alleyway, once, but so many flowers and weeds and grasses have grown up through the broken earth and brick and pavement that it makes a tiny pocket in the back of the alley, hidden from the world. Henrik pushes through a curtain of vines and Ro sees people and cars rushing down the streets around them, feels the burn of city electricity, hears the laughter and the noise and the life of lived-in places. He takes one last look back at an abandoned mirror sitting in a dirty rectangle of painted blue wood and moves after Henrik, counting his breaths to keep them steady.

“What did you say?” he asks shakily, hurrying after Henrik to catch his wrist. “Those words, like a spell?”

Henrik quirks his eyebrows at him. “Marvin’s password? That was all.”

“Henrik, how’s everyone doing?”

“I didn’t get any calls overnight, so I’m hoping that means good. No more breakdowns for JJ, I hope, and if Jack got caught staying past visiting hours and thrown out on his ass, well, he can take care of himself.”

nikkilbook asked: .... Jackie, ask how Jameson is doing.

“How is Jameson? How was his last breakdown?”

That light like sunflame in Henrik’s eyes gives its first flicker of the day, and he turns to give Ro a frog-frown look, his mouth tight.

“Look, I promise I won’t let them put him back in the psych ward. I’ll convince them to let us take him home first, once they know he’s going to be okay without the hospital. It’s not his fault. It’s just Anti in his head… soon, things will clear up, and he won’t be saying things like that anymore.”

“Things like what?”

Henrik rubs his arms together, shaking his head. “You know what! Like that there’s messages hidden in his prescriptions and all the doctors are secretly trying to kill him.”

Red’s head clears a little. “Oh. He’s psychotic?”

“No, I told you!” protests Henrik, his upset rising. “It’s just Anti, it has to be! He’ll clear up again!”

“You should put him on Haldol,” says Ro wisely. “If we’ve learned one thing from all this.”

Henrik gives him a despairing look, stopping in the middle of the path. “Bayard, he’s been through too much already. I don’t… I don’t want him to be any sicker than this. Don’t want him to have to deal with delusions. We just got him, can’t he have a break? I want him to not get hurt anymore.”

Red’s chest twists. Dok never did stop trying to look after him, either.

He looks smaller than Ro again, standing in the middle of the street, playing with a loose button on his sleeve.

“We’ll do everything we can, okay?” he says, stepping forward. He slides an arm around Schneep’s shoulders and finds that it feels easy, natural, normal. Henrik pushes gently back against him. “Even if he has got something going on in his brain, he’s still perfect. Can still be happy. You’ll see. I’ll make sure he gets the chance. I promise.”

And Henrik smiles again, small and correct, yes, correct, right, normal, natural, true. Schneep. Like nothing has ever hurt him. Pride in the cold ice of his eyes, in his clean skin, in his head lifted up.

Was Anti the one who taught them all to cower?

Anonymous asked: Oooh they don't know yet about Jamie's psychosis... Red, can you find a way to discreetly ask how long JJ has been with your brothers? Because it either has been not that much or they've all gotten lucky for a big stretch of time

“He’s been in here… what, how many days is it now?” asks Ro, dodging out of the way of harried nurses and - oh, Schneep just slammed his shoulder into the arm of that doctor with the clipboard.

“Watch where you’re fucking going, Kerchek!” he hollers, narrowing a glare at her.

“Hey, everybody look out, it’s Mr. Genius!” snarks back Kerchek, rolling her eyes.

“Still jealous about that botched piggyback, aren’t you?”

“I’ll show you a botched piggyback, Schneeplestein, you check your back.”

“Just stay away from my brother or else.”

“Holy shit,” laughs Ro. “Stop fighting with the other doctors! What the hell?”

“She deserve it,” huffs Henrik, tearing away. “Hey! You two stop snickering and get back to work!”

A pair of howling medical students all but crumple over their assignments, head bent low together.

“Yes, Doc,” they laugh.

Henrik just rolls his eyes and keeps walking.

“You cause a lot of trouble, Schneeps?”

“Please, everyone knows I run this hellhole. Clarissa, how is my patient?”

“Hi, Jackie. Hi, Schneep,” says a dark-haired nurse, glancing them both over fondly. “He’s doing okay. Just slept most of the night. You’ll have to go check if he’s been giving the morning staff as much trouble as you do.”

“Unlikely,” answers Henrik dryly, pulling Ro away again. The hospital is crowded and he dislikes the smell and feel of it, but everyone is smiling at them as they pass - or glaring at Henrik, who snipes right back. He’s a vicious little man and ever since he started working here, any passive-aggressiveness or false niceties died with a bang rather than a whimper. The hospital’s been better for it - and a lot more entertaining.

“It’s been what, a week and a half?” answers Schneep belatedly. “He was so shaken up to begin with. But a nice young man, isn’t he, once you get past the murder attempts?”

“I’m still trying to wrap my head around the thought of you being a competent professional,” answers Ro cheekily, and a moment later a clipboard slams into his stomach. He groans out a laugh, snatching Henrik by the turtleneck and dragging him under his arm, making him yelp in protest and squirm to get away. They half-chase each other down the hallway towards Jamie’s room, Henrik fending him off with his clipboard, and Ro can’t stop laughing.

Fuck, when Blue reads him poetry with love in the lines of it, this is what he means.

Anonymous asked: Dang, I almost forgot how much confidence Schneep used to have. It's nice in a way to remember that he wasn't as quiet as he is, or well... will be. Bask in this moment, red. Enjoy that long passed time where brotherhood still held any kind of meaning other than simple hierarchy.

Ro looks at his brother as he pushes open the door to a nice little hospital room with lots of light. He doesn’t think he wants to know what sort of things you have to do to a person like Schneep to turn him into the little brother in a tattered coat shaking beneath the bed.

And this is better, he thinks, fleeting and true. Not that he was a different person. He could love him for whoever he is if he only got the chance. But that’s what was better - the chance to be his friend, and not just his brother. Maybe Jackie got swallowed up, too, the same way that Schneep did. Eaten up by that one role, letting it define him.

I’m more than his protector, though. I’m more than his big brother. He’s more than someone I need to look after all the time.

“Hey.” Henrik’s voice, gone gentle, interrupts his thoughts. “How are you feeling, my dear?”

Letting his legs dangle over one side of the blue hospital bed, Jameson tears his eyes away from the sun through the window and meets their eyes.

He looks exactly the same.

Anonymous asked: How's Jamie doing? Is he alright?

JJ reaches out for Ro.

He moves over to him and wraps his arms carefully around him, pressing JJ’s head to his shoulder. “Did you come to not knowing where I was?”

JJ nods, gripping at his sweatshirt. He doesn’t know what would have happened if he and Ro weren’t together when the timer on his clock ran out. He doesn’t travel like this a lot, or not that he remembers.

“Fuck, you really don’t age, do you? Like, truly. You just don’t.”

“Not until it’s my time,” answer JJ’s hands, a needle taped to the back of the right one. “And I haven’t had much of a chance at being twenty-five yet, you see.”

“I never thought this would be possible, but you might be skinnier now than you are… well, now.” Red draws back to look at him, pushing stiff, overgrown hair from his eyes and touches the back of his head, examining him. “I thought you said there used to be a time when Anti was nicer to you.”

“That time hasn’t come yet,” answers JJ wearily. “When he gets me back the second time…”

He notices Henrik standing by the door, staring between the two of them with his eyebrows up, worried and excited and confused all at the same time.

“You seem better,” he breathes, bouncing on his feet just a little. “Are you, um… feeling safer today? You are hugging today? We are not the enemies?”

JJ smiles, reaching out his arms. Henrik sweeps forward, beaming, and hugs him to his chest, pouring reassurances into his ear.

It’s about halfway through that JJ realizes this might have been the first time in his life he ever hugged Henrik. In the original timeline, he doesn’t think that happened until weeks later, when he stopped baring his teeth at anybody who tried to come close. He holds tighter and closes his eyes.

“You’re shaking,” murmurs Henrik. “You need more for the pain?”

JJ sucks in a breath, feeling at his body bit-by-bit. He does hurt, terribly, somewhere beneath the dull relief of whatever drugs he’s on. He’s beat and fragile, one of his ankles wrapped in a cast and an awful haze of weakness making him feel more like a ghost than a man.

And he’s never been medicated for his psychosis in his life. He knew it from the moment he came back to this moment in time. He miscalculated. He can barely think straight, and he’s afraid, and he doesn’t want to leave this room or face anyone.

“Where’s Jack?” asks Henrik, pushing lovingly at his hair. “Didn’t he stay with you?”

“Went to get me a hot chocolate,” signs JJ. “I really wanted one.”

“Oh, good.”

“Can I stay with Jackie a little while, H-healing? I want to talk to him.”

“Alright,” says Henrik, despite a little disappointment in his face. “Well, I need to get started at work for the day. But I’ll go over what the nurses said and if you need anything at all, I’ll come right back. Okay?”

JJ nods. Henrik cups his bruised face, soothing his thumb over a cut by his ear, and then, with one more look at the pair of them, he sweeps away again.

“You’re going to have to talk to Jack for me,” signs JJ immediately.

“What? No way! I don’t even know who that is. Leave me out of it, Jay. Hey, come on… don’t look at me like that.”

Anonymous asked: Jamie, how about you explain Jack real quick, and then we can also help Jackie talk to him if we need to?

“No, I refuse to explain,” says JJ politely.

“Dapper!”

“What! You might remember as you see him… I’d prefer for you to remember what he meant to you than me have to explain…”

Ro sighs, crossing his arms over his chest.

“This is the person Anti hates so much,” he says. “The old master.”

JJ picks quietly at the hospital bedsheets, watching mice crawl up the sides as he hallucinates. “I guess. Well, yes, he is the person Anti hates.”

“The magician who created us.”

“Something like that.”

“How can somebody have that much power?”

“It happens once in a millenium, my brother. And he has a bit of an energy boost.” JJ glances over at you, raising an eyebrow. “But I don’t remember all the details. Nobody understands the full thing. Usually, we let Jack stay out of it. It’s not really his fault, and he has a completely different life that’s not anybody’s business. We fight our battles without him. But… now I need to know.”

“What do you need to know?”

JJ stares up at him. “I… Dok and Blue have been… I just… I need to know more about… Anti.”

“What, Dap?”

“I can’t say it.” JJ ducks his head, squeezing his eyes shut. “Not while I can hear him whispering to me from the television…”

Ro glances at the TV on the wall. It’s off.

Anonymous asked: It's safe, bud. You can say.

“You should know by now,” says JJ begrudgingly, turning away from Ro. “You want to protect us, do it. I want my hot chocolate and to go back to bed.”

“Oh my goodness.”

“Blue has been sneaking around with Dok ever since Peru, Ro. Hasn’t he told you anything he’s been thinking?”

“No!” protests Ro, offended. “Well, I mean - he’s not sneaking around without me! We sneak around together! Geez!”

“Ro, we all know you haven’t picked a side yet. Blue doesn’t - ”

“Picked a side?” Ro scoffs, pacing at the foot of his bed. “What sort of side is there to pick? You’re talking about Anti. I want to get you away from him, I do, but that’s our brother, Dap, that’s our - ”

“You think I don’t know that!” JJ’s hands tear the air apart. “What, you think I’m naive to his love and his hatred, Ro? Look around you! Do you see Anti back home with you? Does he come to visit me in the hospital, bring me hot chocolate, garden with Marvin, play around like a kid with Schneep in the hallway? Ro, Anti can be your brother if you want him to be, but it’s a choice that we make. Or you, at least… I think I’m bound up in his blood forever.”

“You’re talking about hurtingAnti.” Ro holds onto his wrist, trying to make him look at him again. “You’re talking about hurting him, not just running.”

“He just chained us to a bathtub!”

Ro backs away, gnawing on the nail of his thumb. He shrugs, eyes flickering around.

Anonymous asked: I know he's your brother, Red. But can I ask you a question? If you just met him, and he started pushing people around like he does now, is he the kind of person you would want to be friends with?

“Mh, no, he scares me, but it’s not about friends, it’s about brothers.” He shifts on his feet, hugging his arms over his chest. “And Anti’s protected me before too, even if he’s hurt me to match. He gets lost in his temper… I want us to be away from him, and not to go back until he can stop hurting us. If he can. But I don’t want to hurt him…”

He knows the warmth of Anti’s body in a hug. He knows the warmth of his own blood on Anti’s hands. He shivers.

nikkilbook asked: Jackie, what does “brother” mean?

“Well,” says Ro. “Your blood, yeah? You gotta look out for your brothers. And they’re supposed to look after you. And if they don’t, well, I think you gotta go, at least to keep the others safe. But you don’t turn around on your family. He doesn’t… mean to hurt anybody. Just angry. Right? And hey!”

He whirls on JJ again, wagging a finger. “That’s Jack’s fault! Anti always says the old master made us like this.”

“Anti blames him for everything,” answers JJ bitterly, wiping at his face. “Just because Jack fucked up a couple times when he was younger. It’s not Jack’s fault Anti’s always mean and you know that. Or if it is Jack’s fault - honestly, I don’t remember - then Anti can never change, and it would be better to kill him than to let him keep living so ferociously miserable.”

Real emotion breaks Dapper’s face. He turns away, pulling his hair over his eyes.

He hates Anti. Often. Not always. And no matter what he tries to tell himself, he can’t deny that it hurts to see Anti in pain. Lately, he doesn’t even hold him at night. His condition rears thoughts in his head - traitor little brother. Selfish brat. Turning on him. Something touches his ankle and he gasps, jerking it back to his chest, but nothing’s there. Ro reaches out to soothe him, hand held out in front of him like a shield.

nikkilbook asked: I’m not sure Jack “made” you anything. He created you, but that doesn’t mean he micromanaged your every flaw and personality trait. You are you, you’ve always been you, you’ve never not been you. All he did was give you a way to exist physically in this world.

Maybe Anti’s angry a lot. Maybe that’s outside of his control. But hating is a choice. Turning affection into a weapon meant to hurt and to maim is a choice. And crucifying yourself on the hate of someone who would call himself brother has only ever been the role of one man, and you are not Him.

“Jackie,” signs JJ gently. “Jack doesn’t even remember us anymore because of what I did… so we know for a fact he doesn’t control any of us any longer, if he ever did. You are you. And I… I’m me, for better or for worse. And Anti is himself. The person he’s chosen to be. Ro… how long have we loved him, and he still does things like this?”

Ro tears a strip off his nail, eyes haunted. “You remember better than I do.”

“Well, it’s been a long time,” he sighs. “And all of us have done our best. But it’s not our fault, Ro. It’s not… it’s not my fault. I have loved him, I have… it’s not your fault if that’s not enough to change him… it’s not my fault.”

Ro tilts his head, pressing his lips together, but JJ doesn’t turn back to his gaze. He’s curled in on himself, petting his hands through his hair, face very tired, and very guilty.

Anonymous asked: It doesn't equal out like that, Red. You don't owe a n y loyalty to someone who hurts you, even if they also protect you. And what you said about his temper, and if he stops hurting you? Red, he's had the chance to stop, many times. If he hurt you once when he was angry, and then did his best to work on it and not hurt you again, that would be okayish. But he doesnt, Red. He has no excuse for cutting your throat just last night, or for any of the other things he's done. Nothing justifies that.

“Okay, fine,” snaps Ro, pulling at his hair. “I know that Anti sucks ass and I have for a long time, okay? But I’d be scared, Dap! I’d be scared! It’s always safer to stay away from him or just wait his temper out! That’s always been true… and I… he is my brother, even if he’s the fucking worst and I hate his guts half the time!”

Dapper sighs. “Alright, Red, just - ”

“If we try to hurt him he’ll kill us!” shrieks Red. “He’ll do things to us like he did to Blue at the river while I was running away! I got scared and he put Blue in the hospital and he still hasn’t recovered, Dap! I don’t think he ever will! Anti did that to him just because he hated him and wanted something he had. He can get inside our heads, he can control us. I wanted to attack him in Peru, but I had to protect Max.”

“Ro, I know.”

“And then he made me feel like I loved him again! Even when I know the truth, I still feel that way sometimes. I’m not strong enough, Dap, don’t you get that? I can’t keep him out of my head, can’t convince myself to do anything, can’t protect you from him! He does things like chain us to a bathroom and I can’t stop that, JJ, I can’t, I’m sorry. I’m not… I’m not enough! I’m not what anyone needs me to be! He’s going to keep hurting us… but he’ll hurt us less if I can just get you away for a while or keep shielding you the best way I know!”

“No, that’s not true!” cries JJ, slashing at the air. “Stop, Ro, J-Joy, listen to me. Watch. Watch. Ro, don’t you know why I’m in the hospital?”

Ro blinks, glancing around. “You’re hurt. Anti hurt you. He’s always hurt you. Your whole life.”

“But Anti’s not here.”

Ro brightens a little. “I found a way to get you away from him? You’re hidden?”

“No, Ro, better,” says Dapper, clutching at his aching ribs as he leans forward. “You and Blue beat him. Beat him into the earth and took this past version of me away from him. And that was the night you made Anti terrified of the weakness that would force him to scamper away from a fight like an animal.

We are not the ones hiding right now, Ro - he is.”

Anonymous asked: Red, Ro, Jackie, you're strong. And I'm sorry you've been forced to be for so long. But you can get through all of this. You can win. We've been with you for a long time, haven't we? We know you. And we believe you can do this. We're with you, bud, we'll help you. It won't always be the way it is, because you all can fight, and you can win. He wouldn't beat you all down into dust if he didn't think you could be powerful enough to fight back and win.

Ro sits down at the edge of JJ’s bed.

His little brother’s fingers tug gently on his sleeve, waiting for him.

“I love you,” he says, though the words are ashy in his mouth.

JJ nods, stroking at his wrist. He presses an “I love you” into the mattress as he scoots closer.

“I love all of you. I want to keep you safe. I’ve never been able to do that. And I… still don’t think I could hurt Anti.”

“I know I couldn’t,” JJ agrees. “But I need to find out. For Blue and Dok. Cause, Jackie, I think maybe… when it comes down to keeping all of us safe, or staying Anti’s brother - I think maybe, on that day, we’re going to have to hurt Anti.”

“Kill him?” asks Ro weakly.

“I don’t know. I don’t think I could watch that. But if he comes at us again and tries to hurt us like he did today, wouldn’t you rather that we had a way to stop him?”

Ro bites down on his lip.

“If he tried to hurt Blue like he hurt us today, wouldn’t you rather that you had a way to protect him?”

Oh, yes.

Instead of running away.

He would like to stand tall again.

nikkilbook asked: There is no “enough,” Jackie. There’s only you, and that’s all your brothers—your friends—have ever needed. Not the you that Anti has twisted you into thinking you’ve become, but the you that’s real. The you that says “I love you” by telling the truth. That’s who you are. And sometimes, the truth does mean fear. Because Anti is frightening. You deserve the right to be afraid. But fear does not mean cowardice, and it does not mean shame. You are not shameful for being afraid of him. Remember yourself, Astrifer. You’re the boy who loves by telling the truth.

Red - Ro - Jackie - hell, but he can never make one of them fit quite right. He thinks there used to be a truth to him, somewhere, before all the lines went blurry and his hands spilled so much blood in the name of someone who’s always hated him anyway.

JJ touches his palm.

The contact of skin makes Jackie shudder, but he’ll allow it, just for a moment. Beneath JJ’s touch, with a smell like the earth after rain, Jackie’s clean white hands rise with Red’s scars, revealing his present again.

“Anti always mocked you for being a terrible liar,” signs Dapper. “Because when you knew what was true, Jackie - that was when he was afraid of you.”

“What’s true, JJ?” he asks numbly.

JJ puts his head against his shoulder.

“Big brother, you’ve always known.”

Anonymous asked: Yeah, it's gonna be hard, I know. But we believe in you all, and we'll be right here with you to help.

“Okay,” says Jackie softly, an arm around Dapper’s waist, and he knows what it is to be holding him - natural, right, truthful.

“If you want me to, I’ll go talk to Jack.”

Dapper closes his eyes.

He thinks a part of him wanted Jackie to refuse. To refuse to allow Dapper to betray their false brother. But he said yes, and Dapper has.

“Okay.”

He hides in Jackie’s shoulder and tries to ignore everything else in the world but the feeling of his warmth beside him.

Anonymous asked: Where is Jack?

“Getting me hot choccy.”

“Holy shit. Don’t shorten it to hot choccy.”

“What? You don’t want hot choccy too?”

“That’s - hahaha. The worst possible spelling.”

“It’s the best way!”

“Don’t you have a sign for chocolate?”

“Maybe I like saying hot choccy! What!”

“Jay, haha, I - ”

The door pushes open.

Jackie’s on his feet in a second, adrenaline pumping, fists clenched, body taut.

He knows that face. He knows that energy in the air. It makes all his nerves light up like firecrackers.

Anti stares back at him, holding a little cafe cup in both hands.

No…

No, he was wrong. Not Anti.

He just looks like him.

Down to the second and third tattoo.

Down to the way his fingers move.

Down to the way his eyes gleam in the light.

“Hey, man,” comes his tired voice, coughing a little. He steps past Jackie and hands JJ his hot chocolate, setting a coffee down on the table beside him. “You just got here?”

“Yeah,” says Ro quietly. “Yeah, I did.”

“Mmh.”

Jack adjusts the white cap on his head and lays his head down at JJ’s side without another word, letting half-circled eyes slide shut.

Ro doesn’t move.

The air feels like a storm is coming, faraway lightning playing with the ends of his fingers. The air feels like the birds have flown away and the frogs are hiding.

Anonymous asked: Red, you alright?

“Um, yeah,” murmurs Ro, scratching at the back of his head. “Yeah, fine.”

But he’s nervous watching this person lying beside his little brother like nothing is wrong. Like they’ve known each other their whole lives. And Jack isn’t talking either, which means - worse still - Ro might have to start the conversation.

In all honesty, he just wants to take JJ and go back to the house, to have a few minutes of peace before they’re returned to that goddamn bathtub. He glances at his little brother, whose face has gone dead, his affect flat and his body tired. JJ lifts up his little pocketwatch, where only a sliver of gold, counting mercilessly down, continues to disappear.

Anonymous asked: What are you supposed to talk to Jack about, again?

“Anti,” mumbles Ro.

“Hm?” asks Jack, like a cat uncurling.

“Nothing,” replies Ro, backing off a little.

Anti. His master. How to hurt Anti. Anti, who hates Jack more than anything. Ro shouldn’t be doing this. But he told JJ he would. So they would have a way to protect themselves and each other if Anti becomes violent with them again before they can find a way to escape. Ro can’t watch his brothers get hurt anymore. He doesn’t want to be a bystander in their pain. He doesn’t want to be a coward.

He glances down at his outfit, clutching his hands into fists. A thick hood at his back, strong running sneakers, gloves on his fingers.

He wants to be a hero again.

Anonymous asked: Ro, there is a way to help Blue recover. When we were with Dok and the magicians, a magic book told a story of a girl who had her magic stolen and had the same ailments as Blue does now. The girl recovered and got her magic back when the thief was killed and had blood stolen from him and given back to the girl. There's a way to fix it, but something tells me you won't like this very much.

“Whoa, whoa, hold up, no way!” cries Ro in sudden alarm, making Jack sit up on the bed, blinking. “Nobody said killed, okay, what? What the fuck? Is that what JJ meant when he said Dok and Blue were trying to figure out how to hurt Anti? They’re going to - oh, fuck no! I’m not a part of that, okay?”

Terror and panic and guilt burst like a water balloon in his chest and overwhelm Ro with a sudden ferocity, making his eyes water.

“I’m gone, I’m out. This is fucked up. I know he’s cruel but I would never want to killhim. What’s wrong with Dok and Blue?”

“JB,” calls Jack. “What - what is going on?”

Ro locks eyes with him and gets no comfort from the face so much like his own. He turns and races out the door, needing to cry.

“JB!”

Anonymous asked: hey, red, it's okay. deep breaths, love. i know you don't want to kill him, and that's okay. no one says you have to. it might have to happen eventually, but right now we're just figuring out ways to protect them, okay? no one says you have to kill him, it's okay. we're just protecting your other brothers, that's all we plan to do.

“Might have to?” wheezes Ro, sweeping past a crowd of medical staff to race towards the stairwell. “Might have to happen… holy fuck… I didn’t… I’m not… but then, he’s the one who made me a killer, isn’t he?”

He shoves through the door into the stairwell, racing away, logical thought flown from his head. “But then, I do have to protect them, don’t I? I do, I do. I - ”

“Is this because I couldn’t do it?” cries Jack’s voice behind him, the door clicking open again. “Jackie, I tried, I - he was screaming for me! What was I supposed to do? He’s gone, isn’t he? Isn’t that what matters? I’m sorry.”

Ro stops dead, panting. Jack’s footsteps race down the stairs towards him.

Anonymous asked: red, do you think it's safe to tell jack what's happening? you don't have to, it just might help.

Ro lets out a shaky breath, turning to face Jack.

“Can we talk about this? Are you okay?” asks Jack, pushing a strand of long hair from his eyes and tucking it beneath his cap again.

His mouth is curled with guilt, his voice small and sad.

Ro stares at him, trying to make his heart stop pounding. He doesn’t know why he feels afraid of him - though it’s not uncommon for him to feel confused about what it is that he’s feeling or where it’s coming from. Jack, for his part, makes him feel like lightning is about to come down over his head.

“JB, you’re kind of scaring me,” he admits uncertainly, stepping forward to put a hand on Ro’s shoulder. “Are you - ?”

Ro jerks away from his touch, staring at him.

Jack’s eyebrows raise, a flash of something more sinister than confusion entering blue eyes.

No, wait…

One blue, one green.

Jack takes a step back, green eye swirling. “Is it you?” he asks, voice hardening. “Or is it… no, I would know if it were you. JB, what’s going on?”

Ro swallows. You have a good point - he’s going to have to tell Jack something, unless he’s about to become a much better actor than he’s been the whole rest of his life very suddenly.

“It is… it is Jackie,” he says.

“What’s going on?” asks Jack, the light fading from his right eye, leaving it blue again. “Is it just the hospital? Do you want me to walk you home? Where are your headphones?”

Anonymous asked: Do you think you could ask him what Anti's weaknesses are? That might be a place to start, Red.

“What were you taking about?” asks Ro quietly, taking another step away from him. “Just now, when you said you couldn’t do it. When you apologized.”

Jack’s shoulders slump. He waits for a moment to see if Ro will follow up or move again, but when he doesn’t, he lets out a deep, tired sigh and sinks back against the railing of the stairs.

There’s no walls on the outside of the stairwell. White light streams in as the colors of cars and people and the soft dappled green flickers of a few well-loved trees move around them in a silent dance.

“Look, I… I know you would rather I killed him,” says Jack, pushing round glasses up on his nose. “I’m sorry. If you’re mad, I just… didn’t have the guts for it, JB.”

Ro nods, eyes flickering. “How… how did he get weak enough that you could have killed him? What were you going to do?”

Uncertainty in blue eyes.

Jack stands up again.

“Jackie,” he says. “What year is it?”

Anonymous asked: uhhhh my guess is 2017? i don't know if i'm right though?

Ro bites down on his lip. “It’s 2017, Jack.”

Jack blinks at him.

Then he laughs, burying his face in his hands.

“Oh, my buddy,” he says. “Not even close.”

“Come on,” protests Ro, embarrassment making his cheeks flush.

Jack reaches up to shove his shoulder, making Ro start.

“Just tell me next time he sends you back! What’s up, man, you seem spooked as fuckkkk.”

He draws the word out and grins, his posture loose and relaxed again, bumping shoulders with Ro as he comes to stand next to him.

nikkilbook asked: He created you all, Jackie. He knows what JJ can do.

“Guess that’s true,” grumbles Ro, a little off-put.

“Thought you could get away with it,” teases Jack. “I shoulda smelled it even without you acting all weird. Why’d you hide that from me, Mr. Boyman?”

“You’re making fun of me.”

Jack’s joy falls out of his face. “Oh, um. Sorry. No, I was just playing. I’m sorry, I’ll stop. I didn’t… sorry. Um. What’s up?”

Anonymous asked: Can Jack hear (see?) us? What even are we rn?

I’ve said since the beginning that the camera system requires a suspension of disbelief at times when it’s not convenient. I describe the audience as a camera even when it doesn’t always quite make sense. For now, we’ll assume you’re a little camera clipped to Jackie’s hoodie or in his hoodie pocket, but he can still get your messages. Jack can’t see or hear you and doesn’t know you’re there.

Anonymous asked: He wasn't mocking you Ro. Anti may have used your name to belittle and hurt you, but Jack uses it to love you.

Ro flushes and ducks his head, rocking on his heels, uncomfortable. He isn’t the person Jack expects him to be, and he’s awkward on top of that, and he wants to go home.

“What’s wrong?” asks Jack, flustered.

“I just need to ask you some stuff,” mumbles Ro. “I don’t want to pretend we’re friends.”

Jack’s face falls. He doesn’t move for a second, his eyes flickering. He wraps his arms around himself in a hug, sets his mouth, and nods. “Okay… Fine. What’s up?”

Anonymous asked: It might take too long to explain everything, so maybe try saying you're worried about the others, and that it'd help to know Anti's weaknesses just in case you need to use them?

“I need to know about Anti’s weaknesses,” says Ro.

Jack looks up at him, blinking. “You just kicked his ass a week and a half ago in this year. How far in the future are you?”

“Don’t ask questions, please,” he answers quietly.

Jack rubs at his chest and adjusts his cap again. “I wish you’d tell me what’s wrong. I can help, right? Where am I in the future?”

“Not around, okay? I’m kind of… stuck. With him. I need to get out.”

“Well, it was you and Marv and JJ the other day,” says Jack. “I made sure there’s enough between the three of you to hurt him. Are Marv and JJ with you?”

“Kind of? But, come on, what did we even do to him? I don’t remember the fight well - hit my head.”

“Oh, okay.”

“You were apologizing,” says Ro. “What did you mean? When you said I’d rather he was dead?”

Jack shakes his head quickly, clasping his hands together. “JB, seriously, if that’s why you’re mad, I’m sorry, man. I’m really sorry. I can’t stop thinking about it… if I had just got my phone out and filmed it… but I let him live. He was there writhing beneath your hands, calling for me! What was I supposed to do? I know he took JJ but he’s still… he’s still…”

Jack shakes his head again, turning away. He pulls his cap lower over his eyes and hugs himself.

“You and Marv just beat him up as you would normally, I guess? Marv’s fire and you fighting him and JJ there to make sure it all went alright. And then you… you had him pinned down… you were both bleeding but Marvin had him trapped in his vines and he was too hurt to glitch away. He doesn’t have weaknesses, per say - I just made sure the five of you would be enough to defeat him if you could ever pin him down. And you did. I’m glad. I’m sorry I couldn’t finish him off.”

Anonymous asked: I don't know if telling Jack straight up that you're from a time where you're with Anti is a good idea, but perhaps getting to the point fast would be. How much time do you and JJ have left here?

“Oh, shit,” hisses Ro. “You’re right, I should have stayed with JJ. He has the clock.”

“Don’t worry about it,” says Jack quietly. “Here.”

He reaches into the pocket of his jacket and hands Jackie a clock just like JJ’s, with the little sliver of gold still counting down.

“How’d you get this? What the hell?”

“It’s not really a clock,” shrugs Jack. “Just a piece of his power. Our power. He and I can pull it out whenever we need it. But I can’t use it unless he’s nearby.”

“Why?”

Jack grins wryly. “Hey, I handed that power over when I made him. No use to me anyway. But when he’s close enough…”

“You can tap in.”

“Right.”

“Same with Blue?”

“What?”

“Er, Marvin?”

“Yeah, same with Marvin. And Anti, too.”

nikkilbook asked: All five? Are we talking power of friendship here, or do Schneep and Chase have specific contributions? And does it have to be you that films it, or is it just cameras in general? Would it have to be posted on the channel?

“Anybody could hurt Anti,” says Jack. “It’s just not often that people do because he can teleport and shapeshift. And he’s vicious. And smarter than most of his enemies, though of course he acts like a fucking idiot.”

“Yeah,” says Ro. “I’ve seen him hurt before, Jack, but he never dies. I don’t understand why.”

Jack lowers his eyes, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

Anonymous asked: Maybe ask him that if one of you couldn't do it, if he thinks it would still be possible to beat him again? Because Marvin doesn't have his magic right now, so he can't use it against Anti.

“Would we be able to beat him?” asks Ro. “If we couldn’t fight him like we can now?”

“You might be able to beat him,” mumbles Jack. “Anyone could beat him, even strangers to us, but only the five of you… well. Best chance is always getting the drop on him. Otherwise you gotta muster up enough strength and power to kick his ass, and that’s a lot harder.”

Anonymous asked: Okay, that went well. You could probably tell him that in your time you need to fight him, and so his weaknesses would be good to know?

“What do I need to know, Jack?” asks Ro, beginning to get frustrated. “Don’t cut corners or bullshit me. My family’s in trouble.”

Jack steps into his space, unafraid, eyebrows drawn back in worry. “Okay, deep breaths, okay? There’s nothing special to hurting Anti. You said you’ve seen people do it before.”

“Yeah,” says Ro. “In Singapore, there was a magician who fried him with electricity for about fifteen minutes and then set the house on fire, and he still didn’t die. I’ve seen a whole pack of magicians come after him. JJ says he’s seen Anti take all sorts of blows that should be mortal. He always comes out alive.”

Jack’s eyes widen, but he doesn’t question. He grips at Ro’s hoodie as he thinks.

“Listen, JB. I’m a creator, yeah. But creation doesn’t happen alone. There’s ways to focus power. Ways to make things happen. Like how Marvin can only grow plants if there’s already seeds or bits of them deep in the ground or nearby. There’s limits. There’s ways things have to be done.”

“Be direct,” Ro demands.

“You came to be not just because of my power, but because I shared you with other people,” says Jack earnestly, squeezing at the fabric of his jacket. “When I created most of you, you were pretty clearly human, so you can die like humans do, because that’s what people expect you to do. But Anti…”

“Isn’t human.”

“And that’s obvious about him from the start.”

“So he doesn’t die like a human.”

“No.”

“What does he die like?” Ro asks. “What is he then? A demon? A fairy? If you tell me then I’ll know how to kill him.”

“Right,” says Jack softly. “But that’s the thing. I… didn’t have a clear idea in mind when I created him. And I never told the audience jackshit about what he is.”

Ro stares at him, thinking.

“So…”

Jack clears his throat and closes his eyes. “Anti is confined only by the story that we tell. That means two things - you can’t kill him without telling the story, without building up to it, showing it, making it believable. And, two…”

Jack’s eyes open. His mouth is tight and trembling. He looks up at Jackie.

“It has to be one of the other characters in the story who kills him.”

Ro’s stomach drops.

“It has to be one of the five of you.”

Anonymous asked: why doesn't he die?

Ro clutches at Jack’s shoulders.

Tight.

He can’t help it. His brain is spinning. There’s nothing but a feeling he can’t name driving through his head, pounding against his skull, painful.

“You’re saying that Anti is immortal unless one of us kills him? One of his own brothers?”

Jack squirms a little beneath Ro’s tight grip, trying to back away, looking up at him in alarm. “Yeah. JB - ”

“And it has to be in front of a fucking audience? Like a public execution? No.”

“I made you real, but you’re characters at heart,” says Jack, panting a little as Ro squeezes tighter. “Since Anti’s not human, you have to tell the story.”

pine-storm-season asked: Would we count?

“How?” asks Ro weakly. “How can an audience be there?”

“Most of your story happened on my channel, over video.”

“On your channel?”

“Right,” says Jack, like it’s obvious.

“I… okay. So on video? Who has to see it?”

“Well, I don’t know exactly. The point would be… the point would be that the people who care about you, about these characters, about the people that you are - they would have to believe that something had changed.”

“They would have to believe that Anti had died.”

“Yes.”

“They’d have to see Anti die. See his corpse. See - ”

“Jackie, get off!” cries Jack, shoving at his arms as Ro’s grip begins to bruise, but Ro can barely breathe. He feels himself shove Jack back against the railing of the stairs. “Jackie, it’s okay, ow, you don’t have to squeeze me like that! It’s going to be okay, alright? Tell me where I can find you in the future! I’ll remember and I’ll come get you!”

Anonymous asked: Mmmh, is there really a point to avoiding telling Jack you don't remember him? I get that you didn't want to attract too much attention on yourself but at this point he's aware you're not from now and that there's something wrong. It's probably worth a shot, no?

“I don’t even know who you are!” cries Ro, trying to make himself let go of Jack, though he only seems to feel his fingers squeezing tighter. He can feel his heart racing, fast, fast, and he sees his vision going red. “If you think that Anti should die, why don’t you put his fucking costume on and film it yourself?”

“I was going to film it when you beat him!” shouts Jack. “You had him beat, had him hurt, and I had JJ back again, where he belongs! But he’s my creation too, Jackie! He was screaming for me to save him! How was I supposed to film that? Post that? He’s my boy too! I just wanted him to stop hurting JJ! He’s gone now, why can’t we just let him go!”

“He’ll come back!” screams Ro, shaking him, hard. “He’ll come back and spend the rest of his life hurting us!”

“Tell me where you are,” chokes Jack. “JB, I’ll come get you.”

“You left us the fuck alone!”

He lets go of Jack and staggers back, letting his creator crash back against the wall, panting.

“You’re not coming, Jack. You don’t even know me anymore. You never told the story in this timeline. It’s just the people who actually cared about us who remember.”

Jack stares up at him, shaking his head. “Jackie,” he croaks. “Jackie.”

And Red wonders if it’s the same way he said his name when Max came to his door, asking him where he was, and all Jack could do was stare at him and repeat their names like memories from dreams that were never real.

nikkilbook asked: He already tortures and abuses you in front of an audience. We’re the audience, Jackie. We’ve always been the audience. He rigged the cameras this way so he could make us watch, because he thought it was funny. Let us help you. Let us make a real difference.

“No, no, no,” chants Red. “No, no, no. This is awful. I don’t care if he’s terrible sometimes. He’s my little brother. I can’t… we can’t… not like that. Is that what Blue and Dok have been planning? I can’t, I…”

He needs to go home. Needs to see Anti. Needs to get back to JJ. He races towards his little brother, rushing up the stairs, his heart throbbing so hard it hurts in his chest.

“Let’s go,” pants Red, pushing back into JJ’s room. “Let’s go right now.”

JJ looks up from his hot chocolate, wiping at his tired eyes. “The timer’s almost up. Did you find out - ”

“Don’t talk about it, Dapper!” shouts Red, slamming his hand down on the table beside his bed.

nikkilbook asked: Remember yourself, Astrifer. Even if Ro-Red-Jackie don’t feel like they can fit, you can build a new identity, starting now. You can do this, Hero.

Ro covers his face with his hands, trying to breathe.

He needs to calm down. He can’t do this again. He can’t let his emotions control him so much. Make him so despairing, make him so angry. Make him so afraid. Surely Jackie never felt like this. That’s why he was a hero and Ro isn’t.

No, no.

Even saying that is letting the self-hatred win. He has to be stronger than it.

He slumps back into the hard plastic of the hospital chair at JJ’s side. Pulls the hood up over his head and hides in it, eyes closed, hugging his body the same way Jack did.

Okay. He’s okay. He just needs to calm down. He just got a little spooked. He’s okay. If Blue were here, he’d rock him and tell him he loves him and that it’s alright to be scared. If Max were here, he’d sit with him and talk to him until the terror passed and tell him he’s not going anywhere, even if he does get too angry and too loud and too aggressive sometimes.

And JJ sits with him, and doesn’t go anywhere either.

“Shit,” whispers Ro, beginning to uncurl from his ball when five minutes have passed. “I’m sorry for yelling at you… shit. I shouldn’t have grabbed him like that either. I don’t know why I… I’m sorry.”

JJ nods quietly, staring at him.

nikkilbook asked: Out of... curiosity, what would happen if we were able to help JJ get on meds and other supports from the very beginning? Would that do anything to prevent or weaken the psychotic episode that made Jack forget them?

“No, sorry,” says JJ softly, giving you a fleeting smile. “This is the timeline where Jack did create us and does know who we are. Nothing we do here will change the present. But thank you for thinking of me.”

Anonymous asked: You know the truth Ro. Anti is not, and never has been, your brother. You know the truth of brotherhood, and you've been there every time he's broken it.

It’s a truth that both of them are still struggling to grasp. It cuts Ro deep. He’s made Anti his whole life - his protection, his leadership, his service. But he’s known for a long time that his little brother does not love him. He’s told him things like that to his face, but Red still stays, because he wants to believe something different. The thought that all of this time and this life and this love that he’s given to Anti was for nothing is almost worse than if he had been trying to escape this whole time.

I gave myself over to this monster. I loved him. I never should have. We have to get away from him or I will never stop finding excuses for him.

For JJ’s part, what you’re saying is the truth of not just the last year, but of his whole existence. There was never anything but Anti. JJ tried for years to love him, and it was never enough. A part of him - fuck, more than a part of him - wishes desperately that he could still change his brother. Beneath his anger and his hurt, he just wishes that he had ever been enough to make Anti love him back. Maybe he did, time to time, but it never lasts.

Anonymous asked: Red, I know, bud. I know it's a really fucking hard thing to think about. I wouldn't want to kill any of my little siblings either. But killing Anti could save the life of Dok, or Trick, or Blue, or Jamie, it might be that for one of them to live Anti has to die. I'm sorry, Red, I know this is incredibly hard. And it doesn't have to happen now, okay? No one says you have to go back to your time and kill him immediately. But you might have to later, Red, love, and I'm sorry you do.

“Even if I don’t kill him,” whispers Red, whispers Ro, whispers Jackie. “We still have to go. Like I promised you. I’ll get you away from him. Okay?”

“Okay,” answers JJ despondently. “Okay.”

“I really shouldn’t have grabbed Jack. He asked me to stop and I didn’t even listen. If someone did that to me I’d lose it. I’ve got to go tell him I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have much time.”

nikkilbook asked: You are not to blame for choosing to love him. Either of you. He is wrong for choosing to hurt you with it.

“You know what? You’re fucking right. Especially because he’s a goddamn hypnotist. I just… I don’t understand why he would go to all this trouble of making us feel this way for him if he didn’t really want to love us back. We could be a real family… why not just kill us? I - ”

He catches sight of Jack, still sitting in the stairway, right where Red left him.

His face is covered by his hands. His glasses are abandoned on the ground beside him. He doesn’t move.

Red steps down towards him, mouth opening, but no words come out.

He stands above Jack for a long minute. His creator never moves.

Ro sits down beside him and touches his arm.

Jack lets his head fall against Jackie’s shoulder, face still hidden, crying quietly into his hands. And it’s only now that Ro sees just how tired he is - it’s in the curve of his shoulders, the bow of his legs, the subtle shaking of his fingers.

“Have you… been staying up with JJ at the hospital?” asks Ro softly.

“Don’t want to let Anti get him again,” whispers Jack. “Don’t want him to get any of you again. But now I know I can’t protect you. It’s my fault. I should have killed him when he was crying for me. It’s my fault.”

Anonymous asked: Jack? I don't know if you can see this, if so Red maybe tell him, but Jack, it's not your fault for being kind enough to spare him. I'm sorry that he took that and used it against the others, but Jack, you are not to blame for letting him go. You couldn't know what was going to happen. You're not to blame.

“Hey,” says Jackie, taking his hand in his own, drawing it away from his face. Jack looks up at him with Anti’s eyes. It makes Ro’s heart hurt.

“I’m sorry, buddy,” says Jack, eyes red, voice rasping. “I should never have let this happen.”

And Red wants to tell him a million things, everything you’ve told him to say and more. Things like “it’s not your fault” and “it’s not wrong that you loved him, that you didn’t want to kill him, I feel the same way” and “I know I wasn’t very nice, but I hope you know that I have wondered about you for the longest time and that, even though it hurt, I think meeting you just this once fixed something inside of me - ”

But it’s too late.

Time’s up.

“Jack,” says Red, and then he’s gone.

Anonymous asked: Did any time pass at all? Are we back to the bathtub?

You are back in the bathtub.

Ro struggles for a second, spasming against the ropes that bind him before he realizes his situation and surroundings and forces himself to quiet again, shaking with the pain of his aching muscles and the discomfort of being bound and wet.

That’s when he becomes aware of the screaming.

“Hey, wake up!” Anti shrieks, shaking Dapper’s shoulders. “My little brother, my little brother!”

Time has passed.

Dapper is unconscious, bleeding from his nose - he has been for several minutes.

“What’s wrong with you?” Anti tears the collar off his throat and cradles him against his chest. “He was fine! I was watching, he was fine! Dapper! Jamie!”

“Anti,” begins Red shakily.

“Shut up!” screams Anti. “This is your fucking fault for stealing his medicine! Get the fuck out of my sight! Carver, Monochroma!”

Red yelps as the rope around his body combusts into a short burst of flame, singeing his legs and his blue hoodie.

Anonymous asked: Red? Dap? You guys okay?

Red is shaken and hurting, but no worse than he has been the rest of the night. He still desperately, desperately wants to get out, get a shower, put on clean clothes, and just sleep, but now his little brother is weak.

Dapper has gone frigid pale, but then he’s always so white. This nosebleed is worse than most of his casual ones. It’s like a vessel has popped in his nose, sending streams of red dribbling down his mustache and beard and all the way down to his shirt. Ro thinks he sees him twitch for a moment, his eyes flickering, and he wonders if it’s safer for Dapper to be unconscious as long as his eyes are silver anyway. He recovered alright last time, didn’t he? But he’s still so black and blue from the night before, still wheezing and trapped in Anti’s arms…

“I said get out!” shouts Anti, throwing a shampoo bottle hard at Ro’s head. Ro startles and leaps out of the tub, retreating to the doorway of the bathroom.

Anonymous asked: red, can you go? i don't trust anti at all, but he sounds actually worried for dapper and so i think you should leave him be, i don't think dapper will get hurt worse.

“Okay, okay,” he pants, backing out of the room. “Just… keep an eye on him for me.”

Dripping water, he races away and down the stairs, casting one glance back at that room at the top of the hall. The door slams shut and locks.

Anonymous asked: anti, is he okay?

“Well, I don’t know, I don’t know what went wrong!” he cries, sweeping Dapper into his arms and rising like he weighs nothing. “It’s not catatonia, it’s not a concussion, he’s breathing alright… shit, Dap, what were you doing? Oh, fuck’s sake, this is cracked, and not in the good way.”

He’s gripping at Dapper’s side, feeling the shifting of his ribs.

“Goddamn, goddamn… I barely threw him around! He’ll have to rest. I’ll tape it. It will hurt for a long time, but he’s still breathing well enough. Nothing punctured. Come here, my doll, lie down…”

Anonymous asked: do you think this might be his body shutting down from getting hurt, or something?

“It’s because he time-traveled,” mumbles Red from the bottom of the stairs, looking up at locked door. “Going back a day or so - he can do that maybe a half-dozen times without it knocking him out. But going back so far… it’s like in Colombia, when he passed out afterwards. It takes a lot out of him.”

Ro sighs and rubs at his face, stepping into the hallway, looking around. Everything is so quiet. Where are the others?

“Think I’m going to get a shower,” he mumbles. “I’m gross and exhausted.”

Anonymous asked: Anti, do you know how to help him?

Anti grits his teeth in frustration and turns away from you, setting Dapper down in their bed. He sinks into the mattress and the pillows as Anti pulls the blankets over him and strokes his knuckle down the side of his face, his own expression twisting with fear and anger and exhaustion all at once.

“Why do you keep causing me so much trouble?” he growls, though his voice breaks halfway through. He grabs Dapper’s unmoving face between his fingers, trembling with the urge to squeeze until he leaves bruises. He forces himself to let go instead, sinking down onto his knees beside him. “You used to be so good for me. We never fought. I never had to discipline you. Why did this fall apart…”

He growls again and strikes his own face like he’s waking himself up, letting a shiver run up his spine and then, with a soft sigh that ruffles the bedsheets, letting his head sink onto the bed beside his brother, and closing his eyes.

Dapper’s eyes flicker, showing blue and silver. Anti is lying beside him, touching his hand. It hurts Dapper’s heart.

Anonymous asked: Red, you doing alright?

“Um, no, everything sucks and I’m probably going to lose it later and just… I just need a break. From all this. Hey, at least Blue’s not in bed. Worried about him sleeping so much. Don’t tell him I’m upset. I’m just getting a shower, okay? See you guys later. And… thanks for the help.”

He leaves you on his bed and heads into the bathroom, stripping off his clothes for the hamper as he goes.

Anonymous asked: Is Dap still out?

Anti’s eyes slide open as Dapper’s fingers curl around his own.

They look at each other. Dapper’s eyes, barely open, are tired and silent. He’s joyless lately. He’s numb.

“Where’d my little boy go?” mumbles Anti, pressing his forehead against their joined hands.

Dapper closes his eyes again. The wind is brushing against the screen over their window. The trees sway outside. A clock is ticking.

“Look,” says Anti. “I… I didn’t think about how Dark would scare you. Alright? I should have. I just wanted to see them again. I didn’t do it on purpose to make you upset. I didn’t realize you were still upset about them. I could have asked.”

Dapper blinks, opening his eyes to look at him.

“Dap. I’m sorry.”

Dapper’s mouth parts. He glances away, awake now. Anti doesn’t look up from their hands.

“When I said I wanted us to be friends again,” he mumbles, quiet and begrudging. “I meant it.”

Dapper touches his side, his bruised face darkening with unhappiness and hurt - and something deeper, too.

Anonymous asked: Are you more hurt than before, dap, or is it just still hurting?

“I’m more tired than before,” he admits, drawing his hand gently away from Anti’s. “That’s all.”

“Maybe you just needed a second out,” sighs Anti. “But I couldn’t wake you up. Just rest. You’re such a fucking… I just… just… just rest.”

Dapper nods, not sure what to say.

“I didn’t mean for you to get really hurt. I was just mad. Don’t do that again.”

Anonymous asked: Anti, you're calm now? Not gonna hurt anyone at the moment?

“Why don’t you fuck off,” sneers Anti, turning to you, but Dapper takes his hand and pulls his attention back.

“Yeah, we’re done,” mutters Anti, nuzzling back into his hand. “Quiet time, whatever. We’re going to stay up here and watch the trees so Dark doesn’t try to pull shit tonight. Tonight or tomorrow, I expect. We’re just resting.”

Anonymous asked: Don't fall for his same old excuse Jamie. "I was just angry" doesn't cut it this time. Don't forgive him this time, he could have killed you and Ro.

“Look, you shouldn’t have taken that medicine.”

“I just didn’t want to be - ”

“You have to listen to me, Dap! I wasn’t going to let anything actually happen to you.”

Dapper sighs, shaking his head. Anti squirms, frustrated, and gets to his feet. He touches Dapper’s beard and strokes his fingers through the short hairs. Carver looks up at him, his body aching.

“It’s been hard sleeping without you,” says Anti.

Dapper purses his mouth, but he nods. It’s been hard for him too.

Anonymous asked: He used love as a tool of manipulation. The main reason he bothered with love, with the brother and twin hierarchy, was to ensure you never left him and went back to Jack, was to ensure you never stood up for your true family, to solidify the deaths of your sense of self.

Manipulation. Tools. Weaponry. Love.

The slow death of self.

Red stands in the shower and thinks about it, head bowed, the water running down his skin.

But for Dapper - for JJ, for Carver, for Monochroma - there never was any self before Anti. There was never anyone to go back to.

“You have to be nicer to me if you want to be friends,” he protests weakly. “You can’t keep hurting me.”

“I… I’m sorry about the cracked rib too,” says Anti. “Okay? Fuck. I shouldn’t have fucked around with your medication in the first place. It was stupid. I’m sorry. But you can’t just disobey me either. You’re rebellious by nature because we’re cut from the same cloth, Dap. You and me - we’re the same. But at the same time, I’m big brother, and I’m the one who has to be in charge. Sometimes you make things so hard from me… I’ve been trying to make amends and it’s like you threw it back in my face. We’re supposed to be brothers. You know I don’t have anyone without you… not really.”

Dapper’s eyes water. He turns away, closing his eyes.

Anti sighs, a slight whimper in the noise. He puts a hand on Dapper’s side to be mindful of his ribs, and then he crawls into the bed beside him, and - carefully, carefully - wraps himself around his baby brother.

“Why you’re crying?” he whispers, stroking his hair. “It’s okay now. I’m sorry. I am. I’m right here.”

But Dapper doesn’t know why he’s crying. It’s not even because of the pain of every part of his body being coated in bruising. He doesn’t know.

“You have to stop hurting me, Anti, I don’t understand, I try to be good… I love you, I do, I…”

Anti listens to him. Pressed against his body. Rocking him gently against the bed.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.

He holds him for a long time.

“You’re tired. Sleep. We’ll rest. I’ll watch. Go to sleep.”

Anti lays his body down against the bed, pushing the pillows beneath him and tucking him in. He strokes Dapper’s beard, staring at him.

“I love you,” he whispers, his eyes closing, like it’s not a truth he can admit while looking him in the face.

Dapper closes his eyes too, hot with tears. The pressure on the bed beside him could just as well be Jack, watching over him in the hospital, but it isn’t.

It never is.

He’s so tired.

“I love you too,” he signs, and JJ lets his head rest against his brother’s.

Anonymous asked: Trick, Blue, Dok, are you three still alright?

You can find Trick and Dok dozing on the couch downstairs. Trick’s been talking to him and trying to ground him for a few hours now, and he’s exhausted from the emotional toil - but he still figures he’s doing better than his twin, who is only just now coming back from his panic.

At least Dok looks cozy and content now. Trick’s wrapped him up in blankets and made him a cup of the coffee he gave him for Christmas. Dok is so enamored with the smell he hasn’t even bothered to drink any yet. He sits breathing in the smell and holding the warm mug in his hands, his knees drawn up to his chest and his eyes sleeping. Trick lies down on the couch beside him. They haven’t seen Blue in a while when Trick hears his footsteps coming down the stairs.

Anonymous asked: Blue? Dok? Where are you guys? Is everything okay?

“Trick,” says Blue softly, padding towards him.

“Hmmmm,” hums Trick, lounging beside his brother. He lets his eyes slide open and finds himself very suddenly wide awake.

“Blue? Why do you have…?”

He trails off, staring up at him.

Blue holds the big kitchen knife limply in his left hand.

“I was thinking about cutting myself,” he says.

His voice is very dull. His face is numb. He barely looks at Trick. Like he’s seeing right through him.

“But then I thought I should tell somebody.”

“Oh,” says Trick. “Good… good job. Telling. Yeah. Can I have that?”

Blue lets him take the knife from him. Trick is stammering too much to speak. Dok takes a long drink of his coffee and lets out a deep, contented sigh, his eyes glazed.

“Dok looks better,” says Blue, turning to head back up the stairs.

“Come here, bud, come here,” gasps Trick, finding his voice. “Hang out with us a while, yeah, love?”

“Okay, Tricky.”

“Okay.”

Anonymous asked: Blue, you ok?

Blue squints at the camera.

“They asked if you’re okay,” Trick manages.

Blue looks at him like he doesn’t understand the question. Trick reaches out and grips his hand tightly, drawing him down to sit with them.

“What’s, uh. Are you… What’s going on?” asks Trick shakily.

“Not much,” answers Blue. “How ‘bout you?”

“We’re… we’re… Blue, what’s going on?”

“Not much, Trick.”

Trick scrapes at his hair, gritting his teeth in his mouth. “Blue, why were you going to cut yourself? Please help me understand?”

Blue stares down at the silver gleam of the blade in his brother’s hand.

“I was just in the bathroom and I thought maybe it would help. But then I thought, I have to tell someone, because that’s not right.”

“I’m glad you told me.”

“Well, yeah, you’re my darling,” says Blue. At last, Trick hears a little emotion in his voice: fondness. But still no fear or distress. He’s just… numb.

“I just wanted to check,” says Blue.

“Check what?”

“That the blood… that the blood is mine,” answers Blue bizarrely, touching Trick’s cheek. “Oh, dear… I’m feeling a little faint. I’m really far away from you. I don’t know where I am.”

“Roll your pants up a little and let me check you didn’t hurt yourself.”

Blue obeys, unperturbed. His thighs and stomach and arms are all untouched. Trick grips at his shoulder, massaging his muscles, and Blue relaxes a little.

“You like to be touched when you’re like this, right?” asks Trick, because he doesn’t know what else to say.

Blue nods, eyes flickering. Trick pushes towards him and wraps him arms tightly, tightly around him, kissing his cheek and pressing their bodies close together. He can feel his own chest shaking. He doesn’t want to get triggered, but he won’t leave Blue alone.

Anonymous asked: Blue, if you're interested to know, Anti just kicked out Red of the bathroom he chained him in. It's, uh, it's good news yeah?

Blue sighs through his nose, humming a little.

“Better a bathroom than flesh to keep us. Still stuck, though. Still stuck. I’m in the walls of this house. Or nowhere at all.”

You hear Trick swear quietly against him, but he just holds him tighter, rubbing circles into his shoulder with his thumb.

“Hey,” somebody whispers, but Dok is really too tired to care who.

“Mpf,” he replies, letting his head lull over to the other side of the couch. This has the chain reaction of stirring Blue from his sleep, but he too only flops back onto the arm of the couch.

The hand that reaches down to brush Dok’s shoulder is warm. He hears a tired little laugh. “Come on, Schneep, wake up.”

“Mmffff…. I’m up, I’m up. Trick?”

“It’s Roser.”

“Where’s Trick?”

“I waited til he went upstairs to cook you guys some dinner. I need to talk to you.”

Dok tries to rouse himself at last, shoving his glasses back up his nose and turning to look at Red. “What’s going on?”

There are eyes crossed out on your cameras. Ro has turned Anti’s sight away. They don’t have long before he notices.

“Dok,” says Red, looking him in the eyes. “Have you really been planning to kill Anti?”

Adrenaline pours into Dok’s blood and he chokes, sitting up quickly on the couch, drawing his knees to his chest. He’s going to flip out. He’s going to scream. He’s going to cry again.

“Red, Red,” he gasps, hiding his face from him. “Don’t punish me.”

“Fuck, Dok, no, no, I won’t, I swear, I just… I just need to know. Schneep, don’t cry…”

“He said he’s going to kill me,” sobs Henrik. “In a couple days. He said he’s done with me, he’ll murder me. I’m scared, I don’t want to die.”

“Okay,” says Red quietly, and it’s shocking enough that he doesn’t freak out himself that it makes Henrik almost stop, looking up at him in surprise, sniffling. Red touches the back of his head. “Okay, come on, then. I want you to go get your shoes on.”

“What?”

“Blue’s not well,” answers Red, drawing away from him. Dok sees a backpack stuffed full on his back, his shoes already on his feet, Blue’s cane in his hand. “And you’re in trouble. Come on. We’re going to the hospital.”

#chapter four

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concussed-to-pieces · 3 years

Text

The Mettle Of A Man; Part Seventeen

Fandom: Fallout (4)

Pairing: Eventual Paladin Danse/Female Sole Survivor

Rating: Holy shit M.

AN: Tagging @anonymouscosmos, @culturalrebel, @mercy-and-malice, @deepkittycollecto and @nelba! Enjoy!

Part One: ArcJet

Part Two: The Prydwen

Part Three: Orders

Part Four: Finding Brandis

Part Five: Weston Water And Oberland

Part Six: Meeting Preston And Matthew

Part Seven: Radstag And Radstorm

Part Eight: The Return To Sanctuary Hills

Part Nine: Domestic Ruminations

Part Ten: Institutionalized

Part Eleven: Two Weeks, Three Days

Part Twelve: Haylen’s Warning And The Glowing Sea

Part Thirteen: Under Fire

Part Fourteen: Dichotomy

Part Fifteen: The Litany Trial

Part Sixteen: Nice Try

[!TRIGGER WARNING!: This installment contains intense recounts of previous abuse, intense depictions of self-loathing, self-deprecation and brief mentions of depression. Stay safe!]

Cade caught Danse before he could depart after the rest of their unofficial 'war council' had been dismissed, the medical officer inquiring, "How are you coping, Paladin? I hope that your adjustment to your newfound knowledge is going well." The arch of his eyebrow indicated plainly that Cade was looking for a clear answer, possibly to dissuade his own concerns.

"I am still uncertain, Knight-Captain Cade." Danse stated bluntly. "I know that Quinlan's reports are accurate. I know that I must be a synth. But it is...it's difficult to wrap my head around it."

"My door is always open, Danse. As it's been since the day you were assigned to the Prydwen." Cade reminded him. "I can't say I've ever had the pleasure of doing a mental evaluation on a synth, but…" he trailed off thoughtfully. "Hmm, that's not quite right. You and I have had sessions before. Maybe synths aren't so different in their cognition. Perhaps this is a nature versus nurture scenario."

"Perhaps." Danse allowed, but he knew that he sounded less than optimistic.

"Maybe in a day or two, once everything has calmed down and you've had time to think?" Cade suggested. "Collect your thoughts, then come see me and we can discuss your current state and the repercussions of Maxson's treatment."

The paladin nodded, relieved that Cade didn't wish to immediately evaluate him. It had been an incredibly stressful and arduous several weeks. More than anything, the paladin was longing to finally get some sleep.

After he spoke to Haylen and Rhys, of course. They deserved his gratitude, if only for their combined efforts in delivering the tip-off that had literally saved his life. To say nothing of their care for Elizabeth in his absence, even though they were unable to free her. They had kept her alive, and that was more than the paladin had dared to hope for.

Danse watched Cade depart, his mind miles away now. Backhand would be incredibly busy in the lead up to the assault. He felt almost irritated by that; it was unfair to ask so much of her so soon after what had transpired. But the luxury of time was no longer on their side. Danse understood, in a practical sense, that they needed to strike as fast as possible. It was entirely within reason that the Institute already knew of their plans and were preparing their own countermeasures.

It still didn't erase the hollow sensation in his gut, the fear that Backhand was all too willing to stretch herself paper-thin for her various factions. He promised himself then and there that he would do his best to absorb some of the burden.

As much as she would allow.

The memory of her ripping her knuckles apart on the manual release of his armor, talking to Matthew's parents, taking her helmet off and smiling at him. Thank you, Danse or I thought you were dead or please don't do that to me again --

Danse chewed anxiously on his lower lip. As much as she would allow. As much as he could feasibly handle. It should have felt odd that he was trading one leader for another, but Danse could only rationalize that it must be another portion of his programming.

"Paladin Danse, sir?"

Rhys . Danse started, turning around. He hadn't even heard the knight approach down the catwalk. Hell, he hadn't even realized he was spacing out in the hallway. "Yes, Knight?" He replied, nodding out of habit to acknowledge Haylen beside Rhys.

"Elder Brandis said you wanted to see us, sir." The knight stated, sounding a bit hesitant. "He said we needed to discuss...certain things."

Of course he did . Danse sighed heavily, bracing himself for some level of a disappointment-fueled tirade.

"Danse, I'm so sorry." Haylen blurted out, her voice shaking. Danse was startled, tilting his head while she carried on, "I wish there had been some other way for me to tell you. You must have been terrified ."

"I was certainly confused, if nothing else." The paladin admitted with a wry smile. "I am immensely grateful to both of you, regardless of my own trials. You followed your training and stuck to your guns, and I couldn't be more proud." He deflated slightly. "Even if the pride of a synth means precious little."

"The synth shit doesn't matter to either of us, sir." Rhys muttered. "We don't care. We're just glad you're back and that Maxson didn't manage to kill you. That's the important part, right?"

"In a way." Danse agreed, grimacing. "Our battle is far from over, however."

"Hey, we're doing something. That's more than a lot of people can say." Haylen reasoned, ever the optimist. "I've got faith in whatever plan you guys come up with."

"Thank you for believing in me." The paladin murmured, giving the only surviving members of Squad Gladius a stiff salute.

"We know you, sir. You protected us, trained us. Built us up from basically nothing." Rhys sounded angry, his typically-sullen expression gone even more sour. "You think we could ever turn our backs on you? You're not that stupid."

Haylen began to protest, "Rhys-"

"Haylen, you and I both know he'll just self-deprecate until he dissolves. I'm not letting that happen." Rhys grumbled at the scribe, who fell silent at his reasoning. Her eyes were narrowed to slits and the sight was immensely entertaining to Danse, who couldn't keep a nervous chuckle from bubbling up in his throat.

"I'm certain the two of you are aware of the devastating depression you dragged me out of all those years ago in the Capital Wasteland." Danse clapped Rhys on the shoulder and caught Haylen up in a rare one-armed hug. "How many times will you two save me? Should I start taking you for granted?"

"Paladin Danse, sir, w-we…" Haylen trailed off, her lower lip quivering. She buried her face in Danse's ribs and Rhys grunted.

"Haylen, c'mon . Pull it together." He huffed, his own eyes looking suspiciously wet. "Listen, sir, I think I've made our position pretty clear. We follow your orders. Learning about that shit with Maxson-"

"I'm so angry! " Haylen interrupted him, glaring upwards. "God Danse, I'm furious . What he did to you is unforgivable, inexcusable." She announced hotly. "Everyone assumed something was going on, but we also assumed it was consensual ."

" 'Everyone' ?" Danse echoed, a weird surge of retroactive embarrassment seizing his body. "I suppose I should be thankful you all were so willing to offer me the illusion of privacy." He mumbled.

"He's never coming anywhere near you again, sir." Rhys stated, his jaw set in an angry scowl. "I don't care if he's the last of the Maxson line. I'll break his fucking skull."

His words stirred Danse's guilt to life, the ugly feeling rearing its head once more. "It is a difficult situation to be in. I do not envy our elders, past or present." Danse tried to pose the sentence with a modicum of compassion, though he was unsure of the attempt's success. The paladin knew that despite Maxson's position of power, Danse bore a majority of the blame for not standing up to the elder until it was too late to prevent his spiral.

"Difficult, my ass ." Rhys growled under his breath.

…

"So we've got Preston, someone by the name of John D., the…" Ingram narrowed her eyes at the readout. " Atom Cats ?"

"Yep. Real into their power armor. And Zeke owes me a favor." Backhand explained, continuing to scroll through her Pip Boy notes. "If I can get them to walk across the pond and cover the Castle, that will free up more Minutemen to join us."

"Should I ask how you managed to ingratiate yourself with so many of these people?"

"I'm a sucker for a lost cause." Vega answered, her tone dry.

Ingram snorted, shaking her head. "Lucky for us, I imagine. Also lucky for us that you're the forgiving sort."

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves, Proctor." Backhand retorted. "I'm just not yet in a position to combat your aerial superiority."

"Whew, gonna' file that one away for later consideration."

A soft knock on the comm doorway interrupted the two women, and Vega turned to see Danse peering cautiously into the room. "Paladin! You're just in time, we were about to start rallying the troops. Want to lend a hand?"

"What needs to be done, General Vega?" The paladin asked, his posture gone stiff and proper.

Backhand could feel her smile dim slightly, but she reined herself in. They had all been through so much, she reasoned, and old habits were usually a comfort. "Well, I've got a few calls to make on my own, but if you can get in touch with Lieutenant Garvey that would be a huge help."

"Understood."

Proctor Ingram (who had been watching their exchange with poorly-veiled interest) stepped out of the way so that Danse could settle down at the desk alongside one of their many radio switchboards. "Vega, I think the two of you can handle this." The older woman remarked, giving Elizabeth a sly wink behind Danse's back. "I'll start whipping the base camp into shape. Make myself useful, y'know. Ad Victoriam."

Vega went bright red as Ingram saluted, the proctor sporting an absolutely infuriating smirk. "B-But Proctor--"

"No buts! You guys handle the easy stuff. I'll manage the elbow grease." Ingram then mouthed talk to him! , before strolling out of the comm area. Backhand swore under her breath, thumping her fist into the desk in mute frustration.

"I can leave, General Vega." Danse offered, making her start and whirl to face him.

"No no! No, uh, you're fine. You're not the problem here." Vega assured him, waving her hands nervously. "I'm just...I'm a little uptight, that's all."

"Will your forces refuse to join us?" The paladin asked, his rigid posture easing slightly as he tipped his head back to look up at her. He continued in an undertone, "Would it be simpler to do it with your troops alone? Do you truly need the Brotherhood?"

"We do need the Brotherhood, yes. But I don't think we'll need them for the fighting. We'll need them for the mass casualty options and the refugee care after the fact." Backhand began to pace, mostly so she didn't have to maintain eye contact. The paladin looked fatigued yet determined, and it pained her to know that rest was still so far away for them. Rest and the possibility of actually speaking with him about the thing that had been on her mind in one form or another since…

Well, it had been a long time.

"We'll need help rebuilding more than anything. Not a lot of settlements will be keen to take on synths, so I'll need to figure out some kind of alternative. I really need to talk with Nick and Dea--er, John D ., and get their input on this whole engagement." Backhand rubbed her temples. "And here I thought getting in would be the hard part!" She tried to joke.

After a moment of silence, Vega heard Danse clear his throat. "General... Elizabeth , I know you already have many responsibilities, all of them miles more important than my own struggles."

Backhand looked over at him expectantly, a little confused.

"I have to give Cade a full report." The tall man said abruptly. "I...he wants to know everything that's transpired." He stared down at the floor, the heel of his boot scuffing the grating beneath them as he rushed to add, "I know it's selfish of me to ask you to--I mean, you've been through so much, b-but I was...rather, I am uncertain of this endeavor, and my ability to maintain my composure during it. You tend to have a mollifying effect on me for some reason."

"You want me to be present when you give your medical officer the full rundown?" Vega raised an eyebrow, further confused. Danse was a soldier , surely he had endured a full physical before?

"I am overly anxious. It means reliving some portions of my past that I find...traumatic."

"Oh." Oh . Backhand felt stupid as the truth dawned on her. Everything that's transpired . Of course Danse would want someone he trusted with him, this wasn't a physical exam at all. "What about Haylen or Rhys? Are they more appraised of the situation?"

Danse was shaking his head before she had even finished. "I did my best to keep everything that happened quiet, though it appears that I was unsuccessful. I was told that was my only option, and I did not wish to disobey Maxson's orders."

"That fuckin' asshole." Vega growled. "Alright, if you're sure it's me you want with you, I'm here."

"You don't have t--er, that is, I regret taking up more of your valuable time, General Vega. I promise after this meeting with Cade, I will be fully at your disposal." He assured her, seemingly pained by his current state.

"Danse, I don't care about that. I don't want you better just so you can get used up again, I want you better for you . I'm sorry that all of this robs you of the proper time to regroup, y'know?" Backhand apologized, her words deliberately quiet as she boldly laced her fingers through his own. "Once we're done here, though, you need to take some time off. General's orders."

"I would have to speak with Elder Brandis on the matter. As his most senior paladin, I am unsure if he would be able to permit me that luxury." Danse replied unhappily, giving her hand a gentle squeeze before he released it. "' A run ashore ', always just out of reach."

"I'm getting you time off, even if I have to kidnap you myself."

The paladin's chuckle in reply to her threat was subdued, but it still sent a frisson of happiness through her body. Backhand choked down the guilt of having those feelings in the first place for just a second, choosing to bask in the warm sensation.

"When you're ready, General, I'll need the proper frequencies to speak with the Castle." Danse's request brought her crashing back down to earth, and Vega rushed to oblige him.

There's always something else to do .

…

Two days later, on the cusp of their attack on the Institute, the both of them were seated in Knight-Captain Cade's main office aboard the Prydwen. The older officer sat across from them in the cramped space, a clipboard propped up on his knee.

"The only questions I'll ask will be strictly for clarity's sake." The knight-captain informed Danse quietly. "If you don't want to answer, that is entirely acceptable and within your right, but the more information we have, the better."

Danse nodded, the motion stilted. "I understand, Knight-Captain. I'll do my best to cooperate."

Vega squeezed his hand. God knew she didn't like this one damn bit, but she was going to stick it out for him. After all, he had gone to bat for her against the elder . Loyalty like that was in short supply. "I'm right here with you, Danse." She said softly. He had gone pasty white beneath his usual windblown complexion, and he gripped her hand wordlessly.

"If you could start at the beginning, Paladin. Or as close to it as possible." Cade prompted him.

"Yes, I...of course." Danse rasped. "The first time we engaged was shortly before the Brotherhood lost Knight Cutler."

Cade looked at him over his half-moon glasses, seeming perturbed. "That was...so this was a prolonged assault."

"Not an assault. I did as I was ordered." The dull tone of Danse's voice, the way his eyes had gone almost grey ...Vega wanted to know how the hell Maxson had ever justified this. "I could not bring myself to question Arthur. He came to me, at first simply asking for help even though it was an order. He said he couldn't sleep. I...I never told Cutler. I didn't think it was relevant. I thought I was helping the new elder." Danse looked up at Cade. "I know what it's like to not be able to sleep for all the thoughts in your head."

"Was there a specific point in time where his behavior shifted? Perhaps when it became more clear to you that there was something wrong?" Backhand was grateful for the delicate way Cade phrased the question.

"I…" Danse's brow furrowed. "...had just come back with...after what transpired with Cutler. Four days on base. I was furious with Maxson for stationing Cutler out there, furious with myself for not saving Cutler. I was grieving and hurt both physically and emotionally, as you recall." Cade inclined his head. "I assume you also recall the bite on my arm that appeared shortly thereafter. That was a...result of my inability to perform."

"Ah." Cade murmured, jotting something down.

Bite? Vega could feel Danse trembling. "I-I was...unable to function or perform for him in a satisfactory manner and that was his method of voicing his frustration with me." Danse swallowed hard. "I was mourning , Cade." He sounded like he was begging the other man to understand, begging him not to judge.

Perform for him. Backhand sucked in a deep breath through her nose, willing herself to stay silent.

"After that, I would just comply. It was never as bad as that time. I would perform for him to the best of my abilities." Danse paused, "but I never sought him out, and nothing occurred without me being ordered to do so." He then proceeded to rattle off a distressingly-long list of dates, every time that Maxson had coerced him. "I was not interested in...well, anyone , after Cutler." He muttered after a brief pause, "the term broken seems fitting."

"You weren't allowed proper space to heal yourself after what happened with Cutler. You were injured and then forced to deal with someone who kept prying open your wounds because they enjoyed lording their power over you." Cade theorized, his voice a little sharper. " Broken is not fitting in the slightest, Danse."

The paladin shrugged. "Whatever the terminology might be, then."

" Traumatized , Danse. Emotional wounds take time to heal, just like physical ones. Losing Cutler in the way that we did-"

"I deserved it!" Danse cut off the medical officer, leaning forward and clenching his free hand on his knee. "I failed Cutler, Cade! I should have gone after him sooner! The treatment from Maxson is what I deserved ." His eyes were wild, frantic. "He's an abuser, but I am a man deserving of every last instance of that abuse for my inaction when it came to Cutler!" The paladin reasoned intensely.

Cade sighed, rifling through his clipboard. "Danse, you did not deserve or garner punishment for the consequences of Maxson's orders." He informed the other man quietly. "You were simply a man who lost someone that he cared deeply about."

"And to find out that I'm not even that much!" Danse spat. "I'm still trying to cope with the reality that I am a living lie . My identity as Paladin Danse is nothing but a memory now. Everything I held dear, everything I ever believed in is completely gone. Can you imagine how that feels?" Danse was nearly shouting at this point, moving to stand. "I started out as nothing , and I've ended up as nothing . And I don't know what the hell to do about it!"

Backhand brought her hand up over his elbow, hauling him back down into his seat. " Listen to Cade, Danse." She growled. The paladin fought her grip briefly, but ultimately slumped in the chair. Good thing too, Vega wasn't exactly up to full strength just yet. The large man was shaking again, his breathing coming in harsh bursts. "It's okay, it's okay." Vega found herself repeating the phrase, rubbing circles on his back between his shoulder blades. Many members of military factions found repetition comforting and Danse appeared to be no exception, the large man heaving a massive sigh under the weight of her hand.

"Danse, I'll fully admit to being out of my element here. I never expected to have to treat a synth." Knight-Captain Cade said plainly. "However, I've known you for many years. We have an established rapport. Your body is indistinguishable from an ordinary human body, as proved by my records. Your mental processes and pain responses are normal for a human. I suppose what I'm trying to say is learning that you are a synth may not change all that much, despite what you may be feeling."

Danse choked out a forlorn noise that might have been a sob, burying his face in his hands. "I'm so confused." He confessed plaintively. "You're saying I did not deserve punishment for my failings, but...how else am I supposed to atone for Cutler?" He looked up, tears welling up in his eyes. "How am I supposed to reconcile with these human emotions, Cade? I barely kept myself under control when I believed I was human!"

"Your feelings have always run deep, Danse. Your empathy for your fellow man has landed you in hot water more than once." Cade gestured at Vega. "According to our infiltrator, even the most brutal of synths feel regret and remorse just like we do, though they have not been taught how to cope with it."

"I still feel like a human. Nothing feels different, yet now I constantly second-guess everything I do. I've had a plan from the beginning to shape my future, but I have to wonder about whether that's a lie as well." Danse remarked bitterly. "I had...I had hoped…" he trailed off, shaking his head. "It doesn't matter."

Backhand could feel her heart breaking the longer he spoke. His true identity was an immense blow to him, and on top of it he was still struggling under the burden of the guilt he carried due to Cutler's demise. He blamed himself for Arthur's demands.

"Listen to Cade, Danse." She urged. Her hand was essentially on autopilot as she traced small patterns on the center of his back, moving up and down his spine without rhyme or reason. "You're not to blame for what Maxson did. It's not yours to bear. Trust me, coming from someone who's more than willing to take on other folk's problems, that weight is not yours."

"But-"

"You trust me, right?" Vega interrupted him softly, cupping his face so that he had to look at her.

"With my life, General Vega."

The rapid sincerity of his reply startled her and Backhand needed to take a moment, steeling herself yet again. "I know you trust Cade too, and I know this won't be a quick or easy process. But you accepting that whatever happened was not your fault would be a huge first step."

"I...If I do…" Danse paused, hesitating. "Vega, if I forget about him..."

"Hey, nobody said anything about forgetting. You told me about Cutler, about how important he was to you. There's no way someone like you could forget about him. But you need to forgive yourself, you have to understand that losing him was not your fault." Once more she found herself in over her head, but she did her best to tell him all the things she wished someone had told her when Sergeant Cathan had died.

"He was...he was everything to me." Danse's voice cracked. "And I had to--I had to, he was...I had to."

"What happened to Cutler and his team was an immense tragedy, and a needless one at that." Cade spoke up from his seat, his brow furrowed. "Maxson outed himself quite thoroughly during the trial, I would say. It will be difficult for him to explain his actions away when so many witnesses heard exactly what he said."

Elizabeth felt Danse go still, the paladin hanging on to Cade's every word. "Am I even permitted to be happy that he may face consequences?" He asked uncertainly, wringing his hands. "Is that a breach of protocol, Knight-Captain?"

The medical officer shifted his weight, leaning forward to prop himself up with his elbows on his knees. "I can't promise you swift justice, you know how the Brotherhood operates. But Arthur invoked the right of a litany trial, then proceeded to break his own terms. To say nothing of the fact that he nearly killed someone uninvolved in the trial." Cade shook his head. "His abuse flourished in secrecy. Now that everything is out in the open, I do not believe even his status as the last Maxson will sway the other elders when they pass judgement."

"Thank you, Knight-Captain." Danse closed his eyes, inhaling deeply. "I...thank you, Vega." He continued, a little quieter. He caught her hand in his own, giving it a cautious squeeze. Almost as if he was imitating her gesture from earlier in the week. "I have so much to think about."

"Agreed. Shall I put in a request to Brandis for a leave of absence?"

Danse visibly recoiled at Cade's suggestion, his eyes going wide in dismay. "No! No, I am needed, Knight-Captain. After our assault has been carried out, and the Institute has been wiped from the map, I…" he hesitated, like the words were caught in his throat. "I will gladly take a leave. Until then, however, there is still work to do."

"There is always work to do, Paladin." Cade chided. "Remember what I told you? You will burn yourself out and the Brotherhood can ill afford to lose you."

"I'll see to it that he takes time off after our successful operation." Backhand stated firmly. Cade raised an eyebrow at that and Danse flushed across the bridge of his nose, stuttering a little. "Your health is important to me, Danse. You can be as stubborn as you want, but I'm not letting you weasel out of this."

"I suppose that will have to do." Cade sighed. "Do you have any questions for me, Paladin?"

Danse shot a sidelong glance at Vega that she was relatively certain she wasn't supposed to see, the large man worrying his lower lip. Maybe it was just wishful thinking on her part, though, as Danse shook his head after a moment. "No, I...I just have some reflection to do." He got to his feet abruptly, saluting both Cade and Elizabeth. "Ad Victoriam, Knight-Captain. Ad Victoriam, General Vega."

Cade returned the salute absently, already absorbed in writing something else down. Vega was a little slower, her query of, "do you need me, Danse?" coming out softer than she had intended.

She wanted to believe that the paladin hesitated before he replied, "No, General Vega. I can manage."

Part Eighteen

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