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the-sweetest-dragon · 4 years

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Things Can Only Get Better - Chapter One

Fandom: Teen Wolf

Pairing: Stiles Stilinksi x OC (Evangeline Monroe)

Word Count: 11k

Warnings: allusions to trauma, me explaining things, anxiety, an extremely slow burn

AN: Hi... I am alive, barely. I honestly don’t know if anyone really wants this, but I’m posting it because @nerdsarebetter told me to <3. This is purely self indulgent but I’m actually kinda proud of it so uh..... yeah. Sorry this isn’t my IT fic but this has been making me really happy so you’re just gonna have to deal with it. Oh, the dots symbolize a change in point of view, just so everyone is aware

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“The wolves in the woods have sharp teeth and long claws, but it’s the wolf inside that will tear you apart.” -Jennifer Donnelly

Mom and I drove through many different states during our drive from Kansas to California. We watched the sun set in New Mexico and the sun rise in Arizona. None of them compared to Kansas, but we’d learn to deal. Mom and I paused to rest when we reached California, since we had been driving for what felt like forever.

The move was necessary; we all needed a bit of a fresh start. We were returning to Mom’s old home, Beacon Hills, where my aunt and cousin still lived. Now, you may be wondering why we were living in Kansas when we could have been living in California the entire time. My parents met at the University of Kansas; she was an art history major and he was a law student. It was instant chemistry and after they were married, they just never saw a reason to leave Kansas. Until Dad got this job offer and decided that we all needed a change of scenery.

Was that partially my fault? Yeah, kinda. Last winter was rough for all of us, and I knew it was one of the reasons Dad accepted this new position. I also knew he wouldn’t ever insinuate that it was fully my fault, even though it definitely was. Mom assured me that Dad wanted this job anyways, and I tried to believe her.

We settled down for the night in a cheap motel just inside the California border. I took the time to relax and update my cousin and Dad about our travels. Dad sent me a picture of the new house, with him smiling in front of it. I couldn’t help but smile; he looked so happy already. Lydia, my cousin, gave me details about the high school that would be starting the day after we arrived. She told me about her life, the classes and teachers we would have, how excited she was to see us.

I knew having Lydia Martin as a cousin would help me find friends, but she was insistent that I would have to have a boyfriend. Now, I wasn’t going to think too hard on that one, especially since I knew that with Lydia around, finding a boyfriend or even a guy that was interested in me would be practically impossible.

Lydia looked a lot like me, in a lot of ways. We shared the same red hair and our faces were very similar. When we were little, people would confuse us for sisters when we would visit her and her parents. The small differences between us weren’t necessarily in looks, but in our personalities. Lydia had always been bossy and confident, and remained that way. I have always been more of a classical bookworm; I would sit alone and read during recess, I never had many friends, and I wasn’t the prettiest. Despite sharing similar faces, Lydia didn’t have to struggle with her weight. I had… issues, that came to a head last winter.

We started the drive back up again early this morning. It was only another two hours in the car and then we were in Beacon Hills. I watched in awe as the city sprawled out in front of us. We drove down several streets, Mom exploring her old home that she would be able to share fully with her family. Soon we were turning onto the street to our house.

As we pull into the driveway for our new house, I can’t help but admire it. Dad had found probably the prettiest house I could have ever imagined. It’s painted a deep blue color, with ivy crawling up the sides. The front porch held an old picnic table and a few boxes from Dad moving a few things in. It’s pushed up against the woods, the tall trees embracing the back half of it.

I pull myself from the leather seats and stretch before getting out of the car. Mom smiles over at me before doing the same. I can see her mind working on how to improve the house, where she can plant her garden and let it blossom. Distracted by the house, I don’t hear another car pull up behind our own.

“Evie!”

At the sound of my name I quickly turn to find Lydia standing near the parked U-HAUL Dad drove up here a day before. I let out an ungodly squeal and run towards her, catching her in a hug before she can tell me to stop. She let out a soft sound of discomfort before I let her go.

“Sorry,” I say with a smile. “Wasn’t expecting you to be here already.” I tuck a stray piece of hair behind my ear and readjust my glasses to sit more comfortably on my nose. “Are you here to help me or…?”

Lydia laughs softly and shakes her head, strawberry curls bouncing slightly at the movement. The light caught her green eyes, making them sparkle like emeralds. Not for the first time, I wish I had inherited green eyes instead of my father’s dark brown ones.

“I’m here to tell you about my party that you’re the guest of honor this Friday.” I let out a soft groan; parties were one of my least favorite activities. “No, I will not hear any of that. You are my cousin, you have to be introduced to the public in the grandest way possible. I’ll pick you up tomorrow morning, ok?” I nod, agreeing silently. Arguing with Lydia was not something I wanted to do, ever. She would win and it’s much easier to just agree with her.

Lydia left with a pat on my arm, leaving us to move in on our own. She stopped to hug my parents before getting into her car and driving back to her own house, in a much more expensive part of town.

Moving all my boxes into the house took longer than I originally expected. By the time I had gotten everything into my new room it was dark outside. Instead of unpacking, I decided to take a short walk into the woods, just to explore a little. The air had turned chilly, so I grabbed a hoodie and changed into more comfortable shoes.

“Don’t forget a flashlight!” Dad says before I head out into the dark. He hands me one with a smile. He was used to me sitting at the edge of the woods at our old house, reading a book against a tree.

As I enter the dark of the woods, I can immediately sense something off. The woods in Kansas never felt like this, never felt so… sinister, like something was watching me. I shake the feeling off, knowing I only felt this way because it was new.

I walk for maybe twenty minutes before I trip on a tree trunk. I wince, hands and knees scraped and bloody from the fall. I wipe the blood from my hands off on my jeans when I hear a howl in the distance. I fix my glasses and tilt my head, making sure I heard it correctly before continuing. The sounds of animals were familiar and not threatening, but it was still spooky. I make it another few feet when I get the sense that something is following me. I check over both shoulders and see nothing but the feeling doesn’t go away. I turn back towards the house and quicken my step, refusing to run quite yet.

The feeling continues and I’m so distracted by it that I trip again. I land hard on my already cut knees, my flashlight disappearing into the brush. Biting my lip so hard, I taste blood, but refusing to let out a sound of pain to alert whatever was following me that I was injured. I fumble, trying to pick it back up when I feel something close around my ankle.

Before I can scream, I’m being dragged backwards, farther into the woods. I try to kick at whatever is holding me, when I feel wickedly sharp teeth latch into the fleshy part of my calf. I scream, both in frustration and pain as I double my efforts to get free. Nothing I do seems to make it let me go. The pain becomes secondary to the panic that fills me. What happens if I can’t get free? Will anyone come to find me? What will be left of me to find? I feel immense anger take over me; I did not come all this way just to be taken out by some anonymous thing. Letting the rage fuel me, I kick my attacker so hard that I hear a bark of pain and the teeth let go. The moment I feel it release my leg I’m up and sprinting back to the house.

I run until I can see the light of the house and I’m out of the woods. I check over my shoulder to see if anything follows me but the only thing I see is darkness. Collapsing on the front porch, the pain finally hits me. The reek of my blood fills the air and the sight of my own blood leaking out of me makes me want to vomit. I press a hand to my calf to check the damage, feeling the bite marks that it left there. A sob escapes me and that's the moment Mom decides to open the door.

“Honey! What’s wrong? Where’d all this blood come from? Are you hurt?” she questions in rapid fire succession. Instead of answering, I break down in tears. Mom pulls me inside where Dad is waiting with a first aid kit. He calmly applies pressure to the bite mark, asking quiet questions about what happened. I give a quick version of the story, including my thought that it was a wolf that bit me. Dad nods but Mom looks like she may argue with me. Thankfully, she doesn’t.

Dad cleans out my various wounds with alcohol and I wince softly. He apologizes and puts bandages on my hands and knees, then wraps my calf in gauze and tapes the edges with medical tape. The wound still bled a little.

“Can you stand?” Dad asks gently. I nod and he pulls me up carefully.

“We should take her to the hospital Danny! She could be seriously injured!” Mom exclaims, her panic evident in her voice. Dad turns a level look at her, one hand resting on her shoulder.

“The marks aren’t deep enough for stitches, Mandy,” he says calmly. “We cleaned them out really well, so there shouldn’t be any infection. We’ll keep an eye on it, okay?” Mom nods, wiping at a tear that had fallen. Dad helps me up the stairs to my bedroom.

After he deposits me into bed, Mom sits down beside me with a glass of water and a few painkillers. She runs a hand over my uninjured leg and smiles at me.

“I remember when I was little, your grandma always warned me to stay out of the woods. She said bad things lingered there.” She sighs, a frown forming on her face. “I never understood the warning, but I do now. Please, don’t go back into those woods. I know you like to read in secluded spots but from now on, the woods are off limits, especially at night. Do you understand Evie?”

“Yes, Mom. I understand.” She nods, a sigh coming from deep within her. “I think it’s for the best anyways. They kind of freak me out. It’s nothing like the woods in Kansas.” Mom laughs softly, shaking her head.

“You got that right kiddo.” She sighs. “Well, try to get some rest babe. Lydia will be here bright and early I’m sure.”

I nod and she gets up off my bed, walking to the door and leaving my room. I drift off sometime around one in the morning, Persephone, my cat, curled up next to me. I, surprisingly, have no dreams, not even with the horrific events of the night plaguing my waking thoughts.

My alarm goes off at six and I groan before getting up. My hands and knees still ache from my falls in the woods, but the bite had stopped bleeding sometime in the night. I would have to get Dad to replace the bandages anyways, just to be safe. I carefully remove the gauze from my calf, checking it out in the mirror before turning on the hot water. The marks themselves weren’t big but they went deep into the muscle of my calf. I take a quick shower and sit patiently on the toilet seat for Dad to rebandage my leg. He does it without complaint, even giving me a smile before patting my thigh and returning to his own morning routine.

I dress quickly, in an outfit I had planned on the drive here. The loose fitting plain pants paired with a white button down, the shirt half tucked in and I unbutton a few buttons then roll up my sleeves past my elbows. I put on a gold locket I got as a present from Nana before leaving Kansas and admire the way in glints in the light. I finish the outfit off with a thick black belt before rushing to do my hair and makeup. I keep my makeup light and pull my short hair into a half ponytail, letting my bangs fall slightly in my eyes before putting my glasses back on. A honk from outside makes me rush to put in earrings and I grab my shoes and bag before rushing out the door to Lydia’s waiting car. I wince as I get into the car, my wounds still aching. Lydia lets out a wolf whistle, admiring my outfit. She’s dressed rather nicely too, though that is her default. Dressing nicely gives her confidence, and Lydia has always had a great sense of style. I smile, showing off my outfit for her, her expert eye noting all the little details and gives me a nod of approval.

“Great first day outfit Evie. It’s almost perfect.” I laugh as I buckle my seat belt, leaning down to roll the cuffs of my pants a few times and slipping on my boots, accidentally flashing my bandage at her. “Woah what happened to your leg?”

I retell my story to her, leaving out some of the scarier details to not freak her out as badly. As I tell her, Lydia’s eyebrows retreat further and further into her hair, her eyes going wide at the mention of feeling like I was being stalked. I show her the bandages on my hands as well, laughing about how clumsy I was right before I was bit.

“That’s so weird. We’ve never had animal attacks before,” she says. After a pause, she continues. “Well, just stay out of the woods, Evie, and we won’t have an issue.” I laugh softly as she turns the ignition and we drive in comfortable silence to school. Once there, she turns to me, her curls moving with her. “So, I’ll introduce you to Jackson when we get inside. I’m sure he’ll love you.” She smiles, giving me confidence. Having Lydia’s vote of confidence meant the world to me.

“I’ll do my best to make a good impression.” I shoot her a lopsided grin, my glasses perched precariously on my nose. Lydia gently pushes them back up and boops my nose before getting out of the car, making me laugh. I unbuckle my seat and grab my bag before doing the same.

I follow her through the main doors of the school, ignoring two boys talking on the sidewalk. One was taller than the other, with fluffy hair and an uneven jaw; I vaguely recognized him. Maybe I had seen him on the street yesterday? The other had a buzzcut and whiskey brown eyes. They’re discussing some body the police found in the woods last night and I feel a surge of panic fill me. My stomach turned sour and I’m suddenly glad I hadn’t eaten yet. That body could have easily been me. It had been found ripped in half, by an animal they thought. Their conversation stops as we walk by.

“Hey Lydia! You look… like you’re going to ignore me,” the buzzcut one says. I turn and shoot him a soft smile in apology and hurry along with Lydia. Poor boy is probably in love with her, like most boys are. Jackson is a real lucky guy if Lydia chose him out of the millions of guys prancing around trying to impress her.

The feeling of panic settles in my gut, and I suddenly remember that I hadn’t stopped to take my medication before leaving the house. All eyes fall on us, making Lydia smile as she struts down the hallway to her locker, but I frown pausing slightly. She definitely didn’t prepare me for this. A boy quickly joins her side and I hurry to catch up, trying to forget about the panic lacing my body. I check my bag for my antidepressants, but realize they aren’t there quickly. I quietly curse, hoping no one heard me as I race to catch up to Lydia before the bell rings.

I bounce on the balls on my feet, a smile flashing across my face at the boy, who I assume is Jackson. His face is handsome but seems to be set in a permanent scowl. He gives me a quick nod and turns back to Lydia. They have a soft conversation right before the bell rings. I wince, the sound too loud in my ears. Lydia gives you a worried look before taking me to the principal's office for a tour.

She leaves me with a smile and a promise to meet me at lunch. I walk in and have a short conversation with the secretary, giving her the files from my old school that I had put in my bag, the one important thing I had remembered to take with me today. The tour is short, mostly going through where my classes were going to be before she drops me off at my English class, where another new girl is being introduced.

“Class, these are our new students Allison Argent and Evangeline Monroe. Please do your best to make them feel welcome.” The other new girl is pretty, with dark curls and pretty dark eyes. I shoot her a smile before heading towards one of the only open seats, coincidentally near the boys from earlier. Allison does the same, sitting behind the one with fluffy hair. I watch as he turns to hand her a pen, a grin plastered on his face. The other one turns to look at me and I catch a whiff of his cologne, which is far too strong for a Wednesday morning.

I gag slightly at the smell and he makes a face at me before turning his attention back to the teacher. God, I had never had such a strong sense of smell before. Maybe I’m coming down with something? Trying to quell the panic before it sets in, I push my glasses back up onto my nose to distract me, and try to concentrate on the lesson and not the awful smell radiating from the boy next to me.

He smelled of the woods and death on top of his strong cologne. Now that I thought about it, so did the other boy. He had the reek of blood lingering on him as well. I’m so focused on the smell that I drop my pen. As I reach for it, so does buzzcut and we hit our heads on each other.

“Ow,” he says rather loudly. I mouth sorry and he hands me my pen, grimacing slightly.

“Stiles, if you have something to share with the class, maybe you should stand up.” The boy, Stiles, shakes his head and the teacher continues with his lesson. I readjust my pony tail and continue to take notes quietly.

The next half of the day passes quickly and soon it’s lunch time. I search for Lydia in the cafeteria and spot her sitting with Jackson, having a heated conversation about something. I pause after getting my food and feel the ache in my leg start to lessen. I smile to myself, happy that it’s started to hurt less. Lydia spots me and waves me over to her table, where the other new girl, Allison, is also sitting. I walk over quickly and sit down next to Lydia.

“Evie, please help me convince Allison that she has to come to our party.” I make eye contact with Allison, who shakes her head slightly, making me laugh slightly. “She says she has a family thing but we all know that’s a load of bull.”

“If she doesn’t want to come, that’s her business Lydia.” I smile and extend my hand to Allison. “I’m Evie by the way, Lydia’s cousin. You just moved here right?” She nods and the conversation flows easily after that. We compare schedules and find out that we share three classes with each other in the afternoon: PE, chemistry, and math.

Apparently, PE is used as an extra practice for the lacrosse team, which I won’t complain about. I hate mandatory physical exertion. However, as Lydia explains the game to Allison and I, I’m lost within five minutes and Allison seems just as confused as I am. Lydia gives us all the details on the guys on the team, mostly in relation to which ones she thinks we should date. She completely skips over 24 and 11, deeming them undateable by not mentioning them. Allison and I share a look, already wondering who the two could be.

“Who’s number eleven?” Allison asks. I raise an eyebrow, turning to Lydia to hear her answer. Lydia purses her lips, an unreadable expression on her face.

“I’m not sure,” she says after a slight pause. “A freshman maybe?” I laugh softly, shaking my head. It’s just like my cousin to not know the boys that don’t catch her eye. We watch both boys take off their helmets to get a drink and their identities are revealed quickly.

“Oh, it’s those boys from English class,” I say with a flick of my hand. Lydia laughs, Allison joining in soon after but quieter. I lean forward, balancing my chin on my hand. “They’re kinda cute, in a nerdy kind of way.” Allison nods and Lydia’s face pulls into a frown.

“Out of all the guys, you think they’re cute? Them? Seriously?” The confusion on her face makes me want to laugh, though I refrain from doing so. “Evie, I can understand. The boys at your old school were atrocious to look at, all weak jawlines and colorless eyes. Not sure about you Allison, but you have to have better taste than that. You’ve been all around, surely there’s better guys than those two?” I shrug, turning my attention back to the boys running on the field.

“It’s not just about looks Lydia, it's about personality. I much prefer someone with a sense of humor over someone with perfect cheekbones,” Allison says with a smile. I nod, agreeing. I notice how she watches McCall and already I know she’s interested in him.

“Personally, I don’t really care about gender either. If they have a good personality, what should it matter what they look like?” I say. Lydia just shakes her head and turns her attention back to the field to watch Jackson practice. I nudge Allison and lean in close to whisper in her ear. “That got her to shut up, huh?”

Allison laughs and bumps me with her shoulder. The rest of the period passes in relative silence. At one point, I pull out a book and start reading, the pages fluttering in the slight breeze. McCall apparently has improved immensely over the summer according to Coach. However, every time the ball was caught a shiver ran up my spine at the sound. It hurt my ears to hear, like nails on a chalkboard but not nearly as bad. It got to the point that the sound was making my head throb in pain. I rub my temple and dig through my bag until I find the bottle of ibuprofen I had stashed in there. I take three and take a swig of water out of Lydia’s bottle. I pat her leg before going inside at the sound of the bell.

“See you after school?”

She nods, dismissing me with a wave of her hand. I grab my bag and hurry to my next class. The rest of the day passes quickly and I meet Lydia back at her car. Jackson and her are making out quite ferociously on her side of the car, making me roll my eyes. I sigh and go to find another ride. Maybe Allison could give me a ride.

As I walk back towards the school, I get body slammed by some guy, sending me tumbling to the ground. My books fly everywhere and the other person makes a loud sound of pain.

“I am so sor- oh it’s you.” The guy sighs, and overs a hand to help me up. “You really need to learn to watch where you’re going.” It’s the guy from English, Stiles I believe, that I had bonked heads with earlier. He hauls me up to my feet and picks up my sprawled books while I dust myself off. The cuts on my knees are screaming, but the pain is quick to fade after a few seconds.

“Thanks,” I say with a smile, happy to reconcile. I hold out a hand. “I’m Evie, by the way. Stiles, right? I’m really sorry about earlier.” The boy blinks in surprise, not used to female attention. He takes my hand and shakes it. I tuck a stray piece of hair behind my ear, taking my bag back from him. Stiles looks over my shoulder, realizing without me saying anything why I was walking away from Lydia’s car. “Would you mind giving me a lift home? My ride’s kinda busy.” He gets a funny grin on his face before nodding.

I follow him back to his car, an older Jeep that I instantly fall in love with. Jeeps have always been my favorite car, and I was saving up for one before… well, before last winter. I can feel my face breaking trying to contain my smile. Stiles raises an eyebrow and opens my door for me. The inside of the Jeep is messy, as if he kind of lives in it.

“So, Evie. How’re you related to Lydia?” he asks as I climb into the car. I throw my bag in the back and buckle my seat belt.

“She’s my cousin, our mothers are sisters. I just moved here from Kansas.” Stiles frowns, as if Kansas is an insult to him personally. He turns the ignition and we drive silently after I give him my address. I wince only once, when we hit a pothole in the road that reminds me that my calf is not ok. I lean down to check the bandage, but there’s no new blood. Stiles looks over at me at that moment.

“What happened there?” he asks.

“Oh, I got bit by some animal last night in the woods,” I say with a wave of my hand, like it’s no big deal that I probably should have gotten a rabies shot. He slams the brakes, shooting me forwards in my seat and hitting my head on his dash. “Ow!” I rub my forehead, with an indignant look on my face. “What is your obsession with hurting me today?” He turns towards me quickly, one arm flinging itself over the back of my seat.

“You got bit in the woods last night?” he asks.

“Yes, what part of that did you not understand?”

“My friend Scott was bit last night too! Why were you in the woods? Did you hear about the body that was found?” he says in rapid fire. “I wonder if it was the same animal… Can I see the bite?” My eyebrows scrunch together in confusion but show him the wound only to discover that it has fully healed. His eyes go wide and I hear him mutter, “oh fuck.”

“I - I don’t understand. It was bloody this morning…” Stiles looks panicked, and honestly I’m on the precipice of a panic attack myself. “I promise! I had to change the bandage this morning because it had bled through the first one. I have no reason to lie to you.”

“I don’t understand then. You don’t even have a scar.” I sigh and lean my head onto the dash. Could this day get any weirder? Stiles sits up straighter in his seat, as if an idea came over him. “Have you been having hearing and light sensitivity? Scott said earlier that the lights were hurting his eyes and that he had heard someone’s phone call from outside.” I nod, narrowing my eyes at him.

“I’ve also had a sensitivity to certain smells. Like earlier, you smelled awful.” A hurt look crosses his face, and I try to quickly amend. “You smell fine now, but earlier you reeked of death…” I pause. “Maybe that was Scott. I apologize for saying you smelled bad.” He shakes his head, a small smile on his face.

“You’re forgiven.” The smile falls when he realizes how close the symptoms were to each other. To be honest, it was kind of freaking me out as well. Before I know it, the Jeep is in motion again but the opposite way from my house.

“Where are we going?”

“My house, we need to do some research.” At the word research, a smile floods my face, despite the panic still racing through me. I adore research. Stiles turns to me, a frown on his face. “We have to figure this out. You and Scott could be in serious trouble if we don’t find out what the hell is going on.”

……………………………………………………………………………………..

We researched for hours, her chair pulled directly next to mine as we poured over any information on werewolves and the supernatural that we could find. Every once in a while I would look over at her, still astounded by how much she looked like Lydia. They could almost be twins, if you didn’t look too long at them. Evie must have gotten her dad’s eyes because they were a deep brown, darker than even Scott’s eyes, while Lydia had green eyes that reminded me of spring grass.

Everytime Evie scooted her chair closer to mine, I moved away slightly. Not because I didn’t like her, but because she kind of scared me, and not in a fun way. If she and Scott are what I think they are, they could be really dangerous. As we collected evidence, the more worried Evie became. I watched as her eyebrows scrunched together with every new piece of information.

“So, if I am a werewolf, when’s the next full moon?” she asks suddenly. I do a quick search and look back at her, finding that her eyes had gone wide, the pupil completely taking over the brown in her eyes. The next full moon was this Friday, coincidentally the same night as Lydia’s party. “Oh this is bad… this is very, very bad.”

“Why? It won’t be that hard to just not go.” She shakes her head, running her fingers through her already messed up hair. It had come down from her small ponytail about an hour into our research.

“The whole reason she’s even having a party is because of me. It’s my introduction into Beacon Hills.” Evie sighs, tugging on her hair once more, as if it was a nervous tick that she couldn’t control. “She’ll be pissed if I don’t show up.” She turns to me, worry shining in her eyes. “I’m a pretty calm person. Do you think I’d be ok?”

I pondered the question. Evie did seem pretty laid back and generally pretty calm. I didn’t know her that well, but if the hours we had spent pouring over information wasn’t an indicator of how calm she was, I didn’t know what would be. But with all the information we had found, I wasn’t sure she’d be able to stay calm, especially in a party setting. The lights, the music, the drinking. It was a lot to handle, even for a normal person.

“I have more confidence in you than I do Scott, but I still don’t think it would be a good idea.” She nods, a sad look crossing her face and I instantly feel bad. I lay a hand on her shoulder and squeeze gently. Then, an idea pops into my head. “What if I went with you to the party?” She raised an eyebrow.

“As what, my date?” I blink a few times, not having considered the possibility that people would think we could be dating.

“I mean, it would be easier to explain than the actual reason. And, I don’t think I’d be invited unless you personally invited me anyways,” I say. Evie considers it for a moment, thinking through all the possible scenarios and how it could go wrong if she didn’t have someone with her to calm her down if the change was too powerful. “Before you decide, I really should call Scott and tell him about what we’ve found. I don’t think he’ll be as accepting of this fate as you are.” She nods.

“Do I need to find a ride home or do I need to be a part of this? What would you like me to do?” she asks and I balk at the question. I had just assumed she’d stay, not really understanding that she may need to go home to her family. It was weird how comfortable I was around her already, despite our rocky start. I consider her question for a moment, before deciding Scott would probably be more willing to hear it from a stranger than me.

“I think you staying would be a good idea. Scott isn’t the most perceptive guy, usually needs a helping hand to understand things. Maybe if you’re here to help me explain, he’ll be more apt to not do something stupid.” She laughs, a bright happy sound. I notice that we haven’t eaten yet, and it’s getting to be kinda late. “Hey, I’m going to go call Scott and then order a pizza, anything in particular you want?” I ask, hoping she doesn’t say something dumb like pineapple. She taps her chin, considering all the options.

“Do they have meat lovers?” she asks. I nod and go off to take care of my calls, leaving her in my room alone. The one to Scott goes immediately to voicemail, as usual. Placing the order to the pizza parlor was a lot easier and quicker than I thought it would be, considering the time. I walk back into my room, only to find that Evie has made herself comfortable on my bed and is doing homework. She looks up and says, “What? I have math homework.” I just shake my head, a small smile on my face.

We work on our homework in relative silence, Evie only talking when she has a question about a math problem. The pizza arrives and I finally get a hold of Scott, who’s at my house in less than ten minutes. The call was filled with him gushing about asking Allison to the party on Friday, though I’m not sure how he pulled that off. He’s at my house in less than ten minutes, a knock at the door announcing his presence.

I watch Evie shake out her shoulders, as if preparing herself for battle. She’s not entirely wrong. Opening the door for Scott and ushering him in takes all of five seconds and he’s heading up to my room before the door is even shut. I hurry after him, only for me to run into his back. Hard. He had paused in the doorway, blocking me from entering.

“OW! Dude you can’t just stop in the middle of a doorway!” Scott turns to look at me, a confused look on his face.

“Sorry, wasn’t expecting you to have a girl in your room!” I snort, a bit impressed with myself at the realization that I did have a girl in my room, and push past him into my room, where Evie is sitting cross legged on my bed. She waves, a piece of pizza in hand. Scott looks back at me with a gleam of mischief in his eyes. I huff out a sigh, already knowing what he’s thinking.

“It’s not what it looks like… I mean, it may look like what it looks like, depending on what you think it looks like but it’s not…” I drift off, earning a snort from Evie. I glare at her, but she just shrugs and nervously starts picking at her eyebrows. “Not helping.”

“So what’s she doing here then? Is this a date? Am I interrupting or…?” Scott asks. Evie just laughs, shaking her head. I glare at her again, she’s really not helping my case at all.

“No, you’re not interrupting, but we do have some things to share with you,” she says. She meets Scott’s eyes, not an ounce of fear in her body. “We have the same problem. Both of us were bit by an animal last night in the woods that half a dead body was found in. I can’t be sure that it was the same animal, but my bite has disappeared, and I’m assuming yours has as well.” Scott looks at me, confusion written plainly on his face.

Evie just sighs, already distraught. “We’re werewolves. The light and sound sensitivity, the heightened smell, the quick healing. All signs point to lycanthropy.” Her eyes drop to her hands, which had moved from messing with her eyebrow to messing with the ends of her pant leg. With a sigh, she pulls the pant leg up, showing Scott where her bite mark had been. Evie runs a finger over it, as if checking to see if there was anything left of the wound. “This morning I was bleeding and now there isn’t even a scar. I know it’s a lot to take in but we have to be careful from now on. We’re dangerous,” she says, her voice dropping to a whisper.

Scott looks at me, and I nod, confirming what she had said. He shakes his head, either not believing it or not wanting to believe it. I open my mouth to explain more, but he’s out the door before the time the words can form. I exchange a look with Evie and hurry after him, hoping to catch him before he goes completely loco. I catch up, winded and with a racing heart.

“Dude, you have to believe us. This isn’t some prank. You have to be careful, especially on Friday.” Scott turns quickly to look at me, making me backpedal a few feet so I don’t get run over, again. Confusion is written plainly on his face. I mentally kick myself; of course Scott wouldn’t know what Friday meant in werewolf terms.

“Why? What happens Friday?” he asks.

“Friday’s the full moon, man. That’s when your bloodlust will be at its strongest. You won’t be able to control yourself, especially around Allison.” His eyes flash yellow, something I hadn’t seen Evie’s do yet. I don’t back down, even though I really should have. Anger radiates from him, and I put my hands up in surrender. “I know it’s a lot to take in, but you gotta believe me. I’ve seen the way Allison affects you, it’ll be easy to lose control, especially at the party. You have to cancel.”

“I can’t do that! This may be my one shot with her! Nothing will get in the way of that!” he yells. I stop, not used to being yelled at by Scott. He turns away from me, returning to his fast pace and I let him leave. Knowing he won’t come back, I turn back towards my house

Once inside, I raced up the stairs to see that Evie was packing up her homework, her back turned towards me. She turns when she hears me at the door, a sad smile on her face. Evie tucks a stray strand of hair behind her ear and pushes her glasses up her nose before speaking.

“So, he took that rather well huh?” I let out a strangled laugh and collapsed on my bed. I feel, rather than see, her sit down beside me. “Hey, if nothing else we’ll know where he’ll be Friday. We can keep an eye on him.” She smiles down at me and I smile back, before a thought hits me.

“We should have told Scott that we were dating. Would have made Friday so much easier.” She snorts, flopping back on the bed.

“May have made it easier, but I have a feeling he’s going to ignore us like the plague.” She sits back up with a huff. “Well, I guess you better get me home. I had told my parents that I was studying with a friend but after last night it wouldn’t surprise me if they gave me a tighter curfew.” With a groan, I sit up as well. It was well past ten, we had been here for at least seven hours.

The drive to her house was quick and mostly silent. I could tell that all of this weighed heavily on Evie; her shoulders had drooped and her eyes were dull. As I pull into her driveway, she turns towards me, putting a hand on my arm and squeezing lightly.

“My dad is standing outside. He’s going to say some really dumb things,” she says. I nod, not fully understanding but agreeing nonetheless. “Pick me up tomorrow morning? I don’t know if Lydia planned to pick me up or not and I’m not allowed to drive.” I scrunch my eyebrows together, confused. Evie just shrugs. “I’m not… a safe driver.”

I hop out to help her out, still pretending her leg hurt even though it had healed over. I grab her bag for her, a tight smile pulling across her face. Handing it to her, I look towards where her father lingered on the porch. I wave and he starts coming closer to say hi, I guess. Evie stands there nervously, unsure to how her father will react. He meets us at the Jeep and we shake hands. I make sure to keep a smile on my face, though his grip feels like he’s going to break my knuckles.

“Thanks for bringin’ her home, it’s much appreciated.” I nod, trying to seem as non threatening as possible. He claps me on the back. “Now then, was this a date or just studying?”

“Dad!” Evie exclaims. Her dad just holds his hands up in surrender and smiles at his daughter. “No, it wasn’t a date. Stiles was helping me with math, right Stiles?” I gulp and force a smile.

“Yes sir, just math.” Evie smiles at me before pushing her dads towards the house.

“See you tomorrow!” she calls over her shoulder, her dad’s laugher catching on the wind. I smile as I get back into the Jeep. Maybe, just maybe, this will all work out okay.

………………………………………………………………………………………

My sleep that night was less than restful. I had dreams where I had claws and fangs and I ran through the woods naked. I woke up to my mom yelling my name from downstairs. I groan, dragging myself out of bed to get dressed quickly. I pull on a patterned green sweater with a black skirt and grab my boots from downstairs, not bothering with makeup or trying to make my hair look better. I ran my fingers through it and called it a day. Grabbing a granola bar and my bag, I was out the door and hurtling for my ride within ten minutes. I skid to a stop when I see not only Lydia’s car, but also Stiles’ Jeep waiting for me.

“Well this won’t end well,” I say under my breath. Lydia gets out of her car and reaches me first, a confused look on her face. I smile at her, hoping that she won’t be angry.

“What is he doing here? I thought I was your ride to school!” she says with a stomp of her foot. I look over her shoulder and make eye contact with Stiles, hoping he understands that he needs to get his ass out of the car now.

“He gave me a lift yesterday,,” I say as Stiles hops out of the Jeep and rushes towards us. “Stiles offered to pick me up today, since I hadn’t heard from you.” I smile apologetically at my cousin, watching her eyes narrow at the two of us. Stiles throws an arm over my shoulders, giving me a small smile. Something must click for Lydia because her face quickly changes.

“I said to get a guy on the lacrosse team!” she exclaims, surprising me slightly.

“You play lacrosse right?” I ask, actually unsure if I had dreamed that part of the day or not. He looks back and forth from Lydia to me before nodding. I turn back to Lydia, a smile on my face. “You never said that he had to play, just that he had to be on the lacrosse team.”

“Be careful with my cousin,” she says before getting into her car and speeding off.

“Let’s get going.” Stiles opens my door for me, yet again. “Thanks, but you really don’t have to do that.” He just shrugs and I get into the car with a sigh. The ride to school was relatively quiet, mostly filled with our combined anxious sounds. Stiles wouldn’t stop drumming his fingers on the steering wheel and my leg wouldn’t stop bouncing.

“So, how are we planning to make people think we’re going out?” he asks. I sigh, a headache already forming.

“Lydia already assumes we either hooked up or something. She’ll spread that like wildfire. We won’t have to do anything,” I say softly, pulling at my eyebrows in nervousness. Stiles just nods and opens my door for me, yet again. We walk into school together and immediately people start staring. Stiles and I hurry towards English, with moments to spare.

The stares don’t stop there. I’m not sure if it’s out of confusion or jealousy, but either way I’m not a fan. It follows me the entire day, only stopping when I get to lunch and a different scandal has happened, taking the heat from Stiles and I.

After grabbing my tray, I search for his shaved head, already deciding that I would rather sit with him and Scott than deal with Lydia’s angry eyes that had been following me all day. Unfortunately, that didn’t last long. Almost instantly, Lydia is there, Jackson and Allison in tow. Jackson plops down, a scowl on his face. I really don’t get a good vibe from him, but that’s a conversation for another day.

“We are going shopping after school today,” Lydia states. I make eye contact with Allison, who was sitting very closely to Scott. I raise an eyebrow at her, somehow already knowing that she won’t want to go.

“Is there a reason why?” I ask. Lydia flips her hair over one shoulder, hitting Stiles in the face. I hold in a laugh, knowing that would set her off. Allison shakes her head at me, desperate to get out of this endeavor. I turn towards Lydia, a frown settling on my face.

“You both need new outfits for the party,” she states matter of factly. I sigh, already knowing we won’t win this argument. “Evie’s closet is totally void of any party clothes and I know Allison’s is pretty much the same.” Lydia pointedly looks at both Scott and Stiles. “Since my friends refuse to find acceptable dates, everyone’s outfits will have to be perfect. Especially you, Biles.”

“It’s actually…” he starts, then Lydia glares at him. “You know what, Biles is fine.” I laugh softly, gaining a frown from Stiles.

“If I agree, do I get to pick out my own dress?” Allison asks. I shake my head, already knowing the answer. Lydia would not relinquish that particular thing. If she couldn’t pick our dates, she sure as hell would pick what we wore.

“Of course not, I already have them picked out. We just have to go pick them up.” Allison and I make eye contact, shrugging. What could go wrong? It was just shopping.

The shopping actually didn’t take too long. She really had picked the outfits out already. Lydia refused to let us see them, but insisted they would fit perfectly. I hated to doubt her, but I was pretty sure she didn’t quite understand I wasn’t a size four. So, I made sure to check at least the size of the dress was correct. Shockingly, it was and I was insanely grateful that she hadn’t tried to stuff me into something too small.

We dropped Allison off first, her house not too far from my own but much larger. Her family must have money out the ass to afford it. After exchanging goodbyes (and numbers since I had basically no one's information), Allison hops out and leaves Lydia and I alone in the car. I decide to take the plunge and apologize for this morning.

“I didn’t mean to upset you this morning. I didn’t know you’d show up to give me a ride,” I say softly. Lydia shakes her head, waving a hand to dispel any hard feelings.

“I was more confused than upset. I wasn’t expecting you to get a guy so fast.” She nudges me with her shoulder, getting me to laugh. “While I still don’t get why him, I won’t question your choice too much, as long as he keeps you happy. You deserve to be happy after everything.” I smile sadly and she grabs my hand, squeezing twice. I grab all my stuff from the backseat and head inside.

I work on homework for a few hours and take a break to answer texts and eat dinner. Around ten, I hear my phone ring and Stiles' name pops up on my phone. I answer, a smile on my face.

“Hey, what’s up?” I ask quietly, fully aware of my parents sleeping in the room over from my own. I close my door, hoping that keeps the noise to a minimum.

“I have a lot to talk about, are you home?” I furrow my brows. His voice is echoey and filled with anxiety, making me wonder what he’s found.

“Yeah…” I say cautiously.

“Okay, great! I’ll be there in a few.”

I wait for a few minutes and then I hear rocks hitting my window. I open it, seeing Stiles standing not too far away with a handful of pebbles. Racing downstairs, I let him in and hold a finger to my mouth to signal that he would have to be quiet. We’re up the stairs in record time and I softly shut my bedroom door behind us. I watch Stiles take in the mess that is my room, and I rush around to pick it up a little to make it look less like I just moved in, even though I had. Stiles watches me with a grin on his face, all anxiety from the call dissipating from his face.

“So, what happened?” I ask, keeping my voice low. He takes a deep breath, readying himself before launching into his story.

“Me and Scott were in the woods, trying to find the other half of the body that was found because he said he saw it before he got bit. We didn’t find the body, but we did see Derek Hale, who was being extra spooky in the woods for apparently no reason and-” I hold my hand up for him to pause and he stops mid sentence.

“Hold up. Who’s Derek Hale?” I ask.

“Oh, I totally forgot you just moved here. Of course you don’t know. Duh Stiles.” He hits himself on the head, making me laugh a little. “Six years ago there was a fire at the Hale house, and lots of the family died. Only a few survived, one of which being Derek. Everyone thought he left after the fire, but apparently he’s come back.” I nod, now somewhat caught up. “Anyways, he was in the woods being creepy and threw Scott’s inhaler back to him. We think he may be behind the murder and you guys being bitten but we aren’t sure and have no definite proof.” At the mention of the bite, I start to pace. Stiles sits on my bed, picking at my bed spread.

“So, if he’s the one that bit both me and Scott, what does that mean? Is he the alpha?” I ask. Stiles shrugs, unsure. He seems to be more occupied with looking around my room. I sigh, deciding to sit down next to him, forgetting that I was already in my pajamas. With a boy in my room. The urge to pull the blanket over my head was getting stronger by the minute. Lydia would skin me alive when she found out that I had Stiles in my room and didn’t make out with him. I laugh softly and turn myself towards him.

��What?” he asks, his whiskey brown eyes searching my face. I just smile, knowing he may not like my answer.

“Lydia will be so disappointed in me,” I say with a sigh. His eyebrows furrowed together, making me laugh again. “I have a boy in my room, with no intentions to make out with him.” He laughs, shaking his head. I pat his knee. “Well, anything else you need to tell me?” I ask.

“How’re you doing, with all of this?” he asks. I sigh, running my fingers through my hair, contemplating how much to share. This was just one more problem in my life that couldn’t be fixed, and I had a lot of practice with such things so I wasn’t nearly as freaked out as someone else would be. I settle for a nicer version of the truth, knowing that while I felt comfortable around Stiles, he didn’t need to know all the dirty details of my life right now.

“To be honest, not well. Every little sound is amplified tenfold and certain smells make me want to vomit. Heightened senses are not the superpower I wanted,” I say with a slight smile.

“You’re handling it all really well, a lot better than Scott is. You just seem so…” he pauses, searching for the right word. I raise an eyebrow as he settles on the word that everyone uses to describe me. “Calm. If I were you, I’d be freaking out.” I shrug, stretching my legs out on my bed.

“My constant state is freaking out. I was diagnosed with anxiety in middle school and I take antidepressants that even me out a lot. I haven’t had an attack since last year,” I say, hoping he won’t ask me to elaborate. Thankfully, he does not. Stiles just nods, as if understanding without me having to say anything. “This whole werewolf thing may be good for me, maybe the healing factor will seep into my brain and repair the pathways that make me anxious.” He laughs.

“Well, it did fix Scott’s asthma.” He pauses, pondering something. “Have you tested the extent of your reflexes? Scott got weirdly good at lacrosse right after he got bit, catching every ball that was thrown at him. I wonder if yours have gotten better too.” I shrug, unsure if I really wanted to know or not. I was never good at sports before, what would be the point in trying out for them now?

“I’m not really an athletic person,” I say, gesturing towards my body. Stiles rolls his eyes, a funny look on his face.

“Oh please. Every time I turned around today some new guy was staring at you. Every guy on the team thinks you’re an absolute babe,” he states. The compliment catches me off guard, though not totally unwelcome. It had been a long time since someone noticed the way I looked, without being creepy about it. Stiles pats my bare thigh, not noticing the way I tense up as he does so, and stands up. “Well, I’d better get going before your dad threatens to kill me.” I laugh, shaking my head. “See you bright and early tomorrow morning?”

“Sure thing,” I say with a smile. He starts to walk out, but pauses in the doorway. Stiles turns to look at me, a weird glint in his eyes.

“Oh, and by the way. I meant what I said. You’re a total knockout.” He leaves with a smirk, my mouth hanging open like a fish. I stay like that for a good amount of time, trying to decipher if he was flirting or just being nice.

It takes a while, but I finally settle myself down enough to sleep and for once, I don’t have any nightmares or dreams.

I woke up on time for a change and took time to look nice. I showered, removing the bandage and deciding that I wouldn’t put another on. The people who knew wouldn’t notice and it was a waste of gauze. I select a cream colored button down sweater, a pair of brown trousers, and a pair of ballet flats. I curl my hair a little and add minimal makeup along with my necklace and a few rings. Shockingly, I even have time to eat an actual breakfast before I hear the Jeep pull into the drive.

I kiss my mom’s cheek on the way out, grabbing my bag and heading out. Stiles opens my door for me and I smile up at him. We chat on the way to school about nothing in particular and our day goes much the same way as yesterday. We eat lunch together, Allison and Lydia joining us once again. Jackson is there too, but he doesn’t talk much; he mostly just glares and looks moody. I sincerely don’t know what Lydia sees in him, I can’t detect any sort of a personality coming from him.

Lydia drives me home after school, our conversation filled with talk of the party. She seemed confident in my abilities to get there myself, not offering me a ride or anything. Getting ready by myself feels like a monumental task, especially since tonight was not only the party but also the full moon. My first full moon as a werewolf, and I was going to a party. Honestly, how dumb am I?

I pick nervously at my cuticles as I pull the outfit we decided on out of it’s bag. I let out a soft gasp; Lydia had picked out a deep green dress with a corset-esque bodice and long lace sleeves. It was short and made of a satin material, which would hug my curves nicely without feeling clingy. If I was being honest, the dress kind of scared me. I’m not used to showing so much skin, especially since I would be in front of so many people.

I slip the dress on, skipping looking in the mirror just yet and heading towards the bathroom to do a more dramatic makeup look. My version of dramatic is just a heavier blush and a slight winged liner. I refresh my curls from this morning, making a few frame my face. I also make sure I put in contacts, though I have noticed my eyesight getting better. I slap on a little lip gloss and hurry to put on the heels that Lydia had chosen.

Remembering that tonight may not go so well, I pack a small bag with extra comfortable clothes, just in case I wolf out and end up naked somewhere. I pat Persephone on the head as I grab a pair of sneakers to throw into my bag when I hear Stiles’ Jeep pull up to the house.

He gets out to help me get myself out to the car, somehow knowing I’m worthless at walking in heels. I notice that he’s gotten very dressed up for a party. He’s paired a light pink dress shirt with a black tie and grey suit jacket with skinny jeans. I raise an eyebrow, wondering if he got dressed in the dark but not really caring too much. I have come to appreciate his weird sense of style, with his many layers of shirts and odd pairings of colors.

When he finally looks at me, his mouth drops, making me laugh loudly. I can’t say I was expecting that kind of reaction but I won’t say no to it.

“You look… wow!” I shake my head at him, a smile crossing my face.

“Yeah?” I do a little spin for him, just to get the full effect. Stiles laughs and helps me into the Jeep. I watch him rush to his side and get in the car.

“So, I’ve got some things prepared in case you feel like you may lose control.” He pulls a duffle bag out of the back seat and hands it to me gently. “I have rope, cuffs, and if it comes to it, chains. You said Lydia had a basement, right?” I nod and he continues. “If we have to, we can keep you down there away from everyone.” Something on my face must have betrayed my thoughts of worry, because he quickly adds, “not that I think you’ll have too much of an issue with it. You seem pretty in control right now.”

I smile, but something must have changed in my face because Stiles’ eyes lock onto my own. Fear leaks out of him, the smell of it hitting me quickly.

“What? What’s wrong?” I ask, immediately worried.

“Your eyes were yellow for a second. I hadn’t seen them do that yet.” His fingers start drumming on the wheel, an anxious tick of his that I nearly duplicated by bouncing my leg.

“Oh. Is that bad or…?” I gnawed on my lip, hoping that my eyes changing color wasn’t a bad omen of what was to come.

“I don’t think so. You weren’t doing that on purpose right?” I shake my head. “Maybe it was triggered by feeling anxious. I’m sure it won’t be a problem.” He smiles, but the reek of fear lingers.

The party goes off without a hitch. Lydia really does throw great parties, though I barely see her or Allison the entire time, though I try to periodically check on them, just to make sure. Allison seems to be having a really good time with Scott, and Lydia is off with Jackson somewhere almost constantly disappearing into dark corners to make out.

I stick with Stiles most of the time, his hand on my arm a constant comfort. We drink a little, but I mainly try to stay away from the alcohol. The lights outside hurt my eyes, so we stayed inside. He barely leaves my side, only leaving for a few minutes to check Lydia’s basement. Stiles is back within moments, finding me in the same place he had left me. We dance a little, his moves goofy and catching me off guard. I genuinely started having a good time, the worry that had consumed me for the past few days slowly leaking out of me.

However, sometime around ten, Stiles rushes out to follow Scott out of the party and leaves me on my own, without much of an explanation.

“I’ll be right back!” he yells before disappearing. I try to keep to myself after that, not wanting to risk anything. Not long after he leaves, I realize that I haven’t seen Allison in a long time and go to find her.

“Hey have you seen Allison?” I yell over the music to Lydia. She shakes her head, and continues to dance with Jackson. I sigh, irritation crawling its way up my spine. It couldn’t be that hard to know where one girl went, right? I quickly crush the irritation, knowing that won’t help me find anyone.

I head towards the bathroom, deciding that would be the quietest place to make a call. I call Stiles, he doesn’t pick up. Then I try to call Allison, no answer there either. Frustration and anger fill me, nearly overtaking the anxiety of the situation. I grip the sink and watch my fingers lengthen and grow sharp claws. Looking up, I watch my face transform slowly; the space between my brows becomes flatter, my eyes turn a bright shade of yellow, and two pairs of fangs rip through my gums. I groan, realizing how painful having extra teeth in my mouth was.

I try to take deep breaths, to find my center but nothing works. God, Lydia will kill me if I mess up this stupid bathroom. My face stays the same and at that moment I’m glad Stiles left to trail after Scott. I don’t think I’d want him to see me like this. Shockingly, at the thought of Stiles my claws slowly start retreating. I watch as my hands return to normal in a few moments and the pain in my gums recedes slowly.

Closing my eyes, I try to think more about Stiles and the way he calms me down. I think about how his hand on my arm kept me stable tonight and my eyes return to their usual dark color. Focusing on the image of him dancing in my head, I can feel my face settle back into its normal position. I sigh, letting go of the sink and stare into the mirror to make sure everything is back to normal.

Once I’ve assured myself I’m back to being myself, I smile at my reflection. A sense of pride overcomes me, making my smile turn into a grin. I didn’t hurt anyone. A weight is slowly taken off my shoulders and I feel as if I can finally breathe again. I made it through my first full moon without doing anything stupid, I wasn’t naked in the woods, no one was dead. I could handle this. I could do this.

#teen wolf #stiles stilinski #dylan o'brien #new oc #werewolf #i have too much time on my hands #things can only get better #teen wolf season one

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twilighteve-writes · 4 years

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Feather One Divided -- Chapter 11: The Pull

Feather one divided, fate’s ties frayed,

Fractured and wedged, scattered and gone.

After sharing an unsettling dream of Felldrake, the Three Caballeros decided to join back together with Xandra to form a stronghold in case the sorcerer returned. But Felldrake’s plans proved to be bigger than they expected, and when he struck so close to home, it was all Donald could do to keep his family – and himself – together.

(Also available in AO3)

(Chapter 1)

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A cutlass, a broadsword, and a spear united.

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“Home.”

Della tilted her head at Donald’s answer, but it was Uncle Scrooge who voiced their thoughts. “What do you mean, home?”

Donald turned to them, eerily slow. For some reason, Panchito and José both mirrored the motion in the exact same time, exact same speed, exact same direction, and Della was suddenly regretful of the times she and Donald decided to pull the creepy twins prank on anyone they deemed funny enough to pull that one on. It was fun when she was doing it; it really wasn’t fun to see it happen before her eyes. The golden glow really didn’t help matters, either.

“It’s home,” Donald said, voice almost toneless. It was still eerily clear instead of the scratchy voice he normally spoke in. “It’s in Duckburg.”

Uncle Scrooge rolled his eyes. “Of course it is,” he grumbled. “We’re getting back, then.”

“Where exactly is the Well, though?” Della asked. “Do you have a more specific location?”

Donald’s eyelids fluttered. “The sea,” he said after a beat. “By the Money Bin.”

“Okay, great, thanks, can you drop the seeds and drop the whole gold glitter thing now?” Della asked again.

Donald tilted his head the other way; José and Panchito both mirrored the motion. They had to be doing that on purpose.

Xandra was the one who answered. “I don’t think he can drop it.”

Della blinked at her. “Wait, what? Why? He just needs to drop the seeds.”

“It’s not that simple,” Xandra said. “If he drops it, the connection breaks. And we don’t know if the Well is the type of location that changes every time it wants to move or not.”

Magica hummed with interest. “Is that not the sort of magic that is less draining if you just leave them be? Leaving him be for now might be better for him in the long run than cutting it off prematurely.”

“Yeah,” Xandra confirmed reluctantly. “I don’t like it either, but… I guess if we can let them rest while Donald is still doing this and maybe have them use the Orb of Remedies at the same time, it will lessen the load.”

“Is there really nothing else we can do?” Della asked just as Uncle Scrooge began rummaging for the orb.

“Not really, no,” Xandra said, shaking her head. “You can probably connect to his magic to help feed the need for the connection to keep going, but it’ll drain you and you need to pilot the plane. Also it’s really draining, I don’t recommend it for you.” She glanced at the three Caballeros. “I guess… I can supply them with my magic, too, but I don’t think mortals can survive a deity’s pure magic.”

“Put that as a last resort, then,” Uncle Scrooge said, placing the orb in Donald’s hand. His fingers curled around the orb, but it was almost an instinctive reaction. He didn’t seem all that present, still. Uncle Scrooge sighed and fixed Donald’s hat and turned to Della. “Let’s go back to Duckburg, then. Land by the Money Bin. We’ll set up camp there unless the location changes.” He narrowed his eyes at her. “But we’ll rest here for now if you’re not up to it, lass.”

“No, I’m fine,” Della said. She wasn’t at her best, but she could still fly back home okay. “I’ll rest more once we’re landed.”

Uncle Scrooge hummed, but kept his eyes on her. She ignored the doubtful stare, plopping down on the pilot’s seat and glancing at how Goldie helped Xandra coax Donald to sit down and wear his seatbelt correctly. Once she made sure everyone was safely strapped in (and double and triple checked, just to be sure), she had the plane soaring in no time and made a beeline to the Money Bin.

Once she landed, he helped Uncle Scrooge wrangle Donald out of the plane while Xandra herded Panchito and José to follow. Their connection with Donald had started to tire them out, with their magic being siphoned away. A part of Della was jealous of them, missing the way Donald’s ocean wrapped around her when they let their magic connect and communicate with each other. As she let Donald plop down on a chair, she let her magic snake in and wrap around Donald’s, feeling the transformed magic that no longer felt like the sea sluggishly flow beneath her sky.

And then the current snapped hungrily and latched onto Della’s magic, leeching off of her and drinking greedily, like a man trapped in the desert desperately clawing for water. Della let out a muffled gasp of surprise, and Donald’s head snapped up, a sudden, sharp awareness in his eyes. He pushed Della away and barricaded his magic, cutting off the connection between them. Della swayed back, blinking away the dark dots in her eyes.

“Don’t,” Donald snarled, voice scratchy. The gold glitters seemed to dissipate for a split second before they were back, and Donald closed his eyes and breathed, slumping into his seat.

A pair of strong hands caught and steadied her. She looked up to meet Xandra’s eyes.

“I told you it’ll drain you,” Xandra said, frowning in displeasure.

“You didn’t say how much,” Della rasped.

“I also said I don’t recommend it for you,” Xandra pointed out. “Donald, Panchito, and José would be fine; the amulet boost their magic like crazy. You don’t have that boost.”

“Will she be okay?” Uncle Scrooge asked. His voice sounded far and muffled. Oh boy, was this magic exhaustion? Was that a thing?

“Probably, if she rests,” Xandra answered, and oh, her voice sounded even more muffled.

“I’m good, I’m good, I’m gonna rest, it’s okay,” Della half-mumbled, half-slurred as she pulled herself free from Xandra’s hold. She slumped into a seat a few chairs away from Donald’s, feeling creeped out by the way the wild magic still felt like it was hammering away at the dam Donald built to reach hers. She scrunched her eyes shut and sighed, internally cursing the building pain in her head. Magic migraine. Fun.

She closed her eyes, determined to ride away the pain until she felt okay, and when she opened her eyes again she realized she had fallen asleep at some point, and she had felt loads better. She kneaded at the crick in her neck as she looked around, finding Uncle Scrooge arguing with Magica, voice low, with Goldie looking away with an unreadable expression in her eyes. Something about wishes. Xandra stood over José, Panchito, and Donald, who gathered together at one corner, all three still glowing softly gold.

Della blinked when she realized that the three had donned armors; a gold-and-blue one for Donald, a broze-and-red one for Panchito, and silver-and-green for José, though the colors were slightly covered by the glittery gold they still held. It had dimmed somewhat, but it was still shining brightly, covering Donald, José, and Panchito in identical aquamarine-and-gold that reflected off every surface.

José seemed to realize she was staring, and he offered a small smile. “Final battle, my friend,” he said. “Time to get serious.”

“Your get serious is to get sets of armor?” Della blurted.

“And weapons,” Panchito confirmed. His voice was much more subdued than usual, but he still held up his spear in gusto. José held out his own weapon, a one sided sword with a slight curve that Della had no idea what the name was, and behind them, Donald caught her gaze and showed her his own straight sword.

“Sweet, do I get any?” Della asked again.

“Sorry, buddy, but those are Caballero exclusives,” Xandra said with a grimace.

Della blew a stray strand of hair out of her face. “Well that’s disappointing.”

“You can fly, you’ll be fine,” Panchito said.

“Ehhh, it’s still not as cool as toting about weapons in shining armors like you guys.”

The gold that glittered about Donald’s person pulsed. He turned to the sea, staring into the depths. “The Well’s calling,” he murmured.

“It’s starting to appear, then,” Xandra concluded. She glanced to the clear sky, looking at the hanging full moon and the brightly shining Venus.

“Well, then,” Godie said, drawing attention to her, “I guess it’s time for me to go.”

“You’re not joining us?” Della asked.

“Oh, I know when to pick my battles,” Goldie said with a shrug. “I can’t fight with magic. Getting my wish is tempting, sure, but I think Scroogie here would rather wish for his family’s safety. Can’t really argue with that, with how much trouble you get into.” She looked away and added under her breath, “And getting skewered with magic isn’t my favorite pastime.”

“You’re not just saying you’re backing off because you want to raid my bin, are you?” Uncle Scrooge asked with narrowed eyes.

“For once, no! I’m as surprised as you are!”

Donald ignored the banter and walked closer to the water. Della followed his gaze and saw the beginnings of a whirlpool materializing in the water, and it slowly grew bigger.

Donald’s golden shine grew stronger, as did the gold that enveloped both José and Panchito. The other two Caballero joined Donald by his sides, bluish gold pulsing. With each pulse, the glow grew stronger until the three were a beacon in the night, nearly overtaking the generous light of the moon. Their magic soared and screamed in scattered, staccato flares, Donald’s coursing water swooshing underneath and José’s sunset and cocktails warming Della’s throat and Panchito’s rowdy music tapping against any available surface. Their magic ran amok and hooked themselves to any other magic nearby, not greedily sucking like Donald’s was earlier but simply trying to rouse them up. Soon, Della could feel elongating shadows and creeping dusk that was Magica began flicking about, her natural magic peeking through even without the amulet to channel or direct it. Goldie’s followed, curtains and masks and warm smiles with a thousand meanings peeking through fabric. To Della’s surprise, something flicked and flared in Uncle Scrooge, and the ring of gold coins hitting one another jingled in her ears. Soon, Xandra, too, shone gold, and the feeling of whizzing arrows wrapped around Della’s torso and triggered her own magic.

White plumes bloomed around her as wind picked up, blowing her hair up and lifting her feet off the ground. She breathed as the sunny summer sun seemed to warm her face.

Distracted by the rising of their magic, they didn’t pay attention to the whirlpool.

The next thing Della was aware of was the sensation of being slapped in the face with pure darkness that rolled her over like the ocean waves, and Della gasped, trying to pull air into her lungs and found herself unable to. Panic hit her full force.

She screamed.

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In the end, they didn’t really need to tail anyone, not really.

When Drake got the plane to park by Launchpad’s garage, it was clear that it wouldn’t fit all of them. Somehow, he managed to calm the ensuing protests with a simple, “Look, I know, but this is what we have and planes don’t grow on trees.”

Dewey wanted so very badly to point out that the plane he brought looked suspiciously familiar to the one used by the other vigilante running about Duckburg, Darkwing Duck, but he, Huey, and the girls agreed not to say anything for now. There would be time to interrogate him later.

Well, Dewey knew. But it wasn’t like it was his secret to tell, and he knew when to shut up when he really had to, so.

Fenton took his sweet time equipping the plane with stronger radar capable of withstanding and detecting magic. Dewey suspected he was stalling to keep them in the manor for as long as possible, but Fenton assured them he was working as fast as he could. Dewey doubted Fenton could lie, so he decided to trust him. Apparently, upgrading the radar took Fenton almost a day on its own due to the complexity of how magic was scienced enough to be measured and detected.

It was the next day, the day before what Dewey had come to dub as the moon and star day, when Fenton finally sprung out of the plane, exhausted and sweaty and greasy, with a chipper but tired “Done!”

“You could’ve been faster if you let me help,” Drake said, half grumbling.

“Nope! I told you already, magic radar and GPS is tricky. It’s prone to exploding in your face, and the only reason this one didn’t is because I’ve exploded enough to know how to avoid that.” Fenton jumped out of the plane and grabbed a bottle of energy drink and downed it in one go, ignoring the judging look Webby and Violet shot him. He put the bottle down and clapped. “Now then! Let’s see if this works.”

“Uh-uh, no, no, no. Back off, I’m operating the plane,” Drake said sternly. “You’ve messed around with my plane enough.” Behind him, Huey added another note to his evidence that Drake Mallard is Darkwing Duck list, which had been growing steadily longer the more time they spent with Drake.

“Um, I’m the pilot here,” Launchpad said.

“It’s still my plane,” Drake grumbled. Huey underlined the note he just scribbled three times.

Drake started the plane with an ease of having done it many, many times, and activated the radar. It beeped loudly, and Dewey scrambled up to see the map. “So? Does it work?” he demanded.

“Seems so,” Drake said.

“I also upgraded it a bit, so it should be able to reach more distance now,” Fenton chirped. “It should be able to detect active magic. I don’t know how to track dormant magic yet.”

“Cool, now let’s – “ Drake paused. “That’s weird. There’s a close one there. I think that’s… Scrooge McDuck’s Money Bin?”

“Then that must be Uncle Scrooge and the others,” Huey concluded. “No one else in town has magic other than us.”

Dewey turned slowly to Fenton. “Heyyy, Fenton… you’re good with tech, right?”

“Um.” Fenton shifted to create a distance to Dewey. “Why do you ask?”

“I was wondering if you can hack into the security cameras so we can see what’s happening inside.”

Fenton’s mouth dropped open and he worked his jaw silently for a moment. “No,” he said at last. “I’m – no. Not doing that.”

“But that always happens in the movies!”

“Dewey, I get what you mean and I understand why you’re asking me,” Fenton began, “but I will be breaking so many laws if I do that and I will lose my job and I will end up in jail, and that will break my M’ma’s heart, and I will not break M’ma’s heart because I will not survive that.”

“Aw,” Dewey pouted, but he decided to back down. It wasn’t like he could do it himself.

“Isn’t it weird, though, that they’re back in town?” Webby pointed out. “I thought they were going to go around looking for the Well.”

“Maybe the Well is there,” Violet said.

Lena stared at her. “Maybe the Well is there,” she echoed. “Do we – how do we make sure of this? Can we just go there?”

“I don’t see why not,” Webby said with a shrug. “I mean, I’ll want to stop by my room first so I can grab some stuff. We’ll probably need a first aid kit, for starters. Do you think my grappling hook will help? Should I just go for my crossbow?”

Drake tugged at Launchpad. “Did she just say crossbow?” he hissed into Launchpad’s ear, though still loud enough for Dewey to hear.

“Yeah? She has regular bow and arrows too,” Launchpad said, and Drake looked like he was about to faint just from that.

Huey, though, glanced at the clock and shook his head. “No. Not now, anyway.”

Dewey turned to him in betrayal. “Why not?”

“I checked the astronomical calendar, Venus is going to appear at around 3.30 in the morning,” Huey said. “It’s almost sundown. I think we should just take a nap for a while and go to the bridge to the bin at, I don’t know. Two?”

“Oh,” Dewey said, blinking. “That makes a lot more sense than just barging in now, I guess.”

Huey huffed. “Of course it does. There’s a reason why I make plans.”

Webby turned and purposefully stared at Launchpad. “So, can you take us there later, Launchpad? Please?”

“Uhh, I guess if that’s the only way I can keep my word to Mr. McD about keeping you safe,” Launchpad muttered.

“You shouldn’t use the plane, though,” Drake said. “It’ll be so obvious. They’ll know you guys are there before you even land.”

“Wait, have I been upgrading your plane for nothing?!” Fenton blurted, and Drake laughed. Launchpad sighed while the two men bickered and ushered Dewey, Huey, Webby, Lena, and Violet back to the manor. Dewey complied, mostly because he’d given Launchpad enough stress lines in one day and was about to give him more later on.

They camped out in the boys’ room, with Huey and Violet both setting up way more alarm clocks than strictly necessary, but when Dewey complained about it Huey just gave him a flat, unimpressed look that he had seemed to perfect in over the years he was brothers with both Dewey and Louie. “We all know you sleep through your alarms a lot, Dewey, I’m not taking chances,” he’d said, and Huey had to be grateful Dewey loved him because how dare he.

It took a while to fall asleep, with them being as wired as they were, but Dewey was stubborn and he would take a nap and fall asleep out of sheer fricking will if he had to, and eventually sleep claimed him at last. He felt ridiculously offended when the alarm clocks brought him back to the waking world, but he pushed it aside in favor of hounding Launchpad to get them closer to the bin.

Just before they left the room, Huey paused and rummaged through Louie’s stuff.

“Hue?” Dewey called.

“Just a sec – there we go,” Huey breathed, pulling out Louie’s golden khopesh. He strapped it to his back and looked at Dewey solemnly. “Just in case.”

Dewey exhaled. “Yeah, okay.”

They made their way to Launchpad’s garage and found him asleep, with Drake atop of him and Fenton nodding off while slumping against the two’s sides. Violet approached them and shook them awake.

“It’s time,” she said, cool and matter-of-fact like usual.

Launchpad groaned and turned over. “Five more minutes, Mom,” he slurred, unaware that him turning over had Drake falling off and waking grumpily while Fenton blinked blearily at them both.

Violet, for her part, was staring at the three in incredulous surprise. She turned to Webby. “Do… do I sound like a mother?” she asked.

“No,” Webby said, at the same time as Lena chiming a “Yes”. They looked at each other and shrugged, opting instead to pull the three adults up.

“Okay, okay, I’m up,” Drake grumbled, rubbing his eyes. Launchpad finally rose from his slumber at his side, while Fenton was already reaching for more energy drink.

Despite the rough awakening, the drive to the bridge was surprisingly smooth. To Dewey’s absolute bewilderment, Launchpad was a much better driver when sleepy.

“Wait, wait, stop, stop, stop,” Huey urged suddenly as they neared the bridge. “If we get closer they might realize we’re here. We need to keep our distance.”

Lena stared at the stretch of ocean between them and the bin. “We’re still miles away from them.”

“That’s the idea,” Huey said. He took out a pair of binoculars and tossed Dewey another pair. “Come on, let’s check this out.” He ran to the edge of the road, practically leaning to the rusty railing. Drake, who followed him out, pulled him back.

He frowned when Huey shot him a glare. “What? I’m not risking you falling off,” he said.

Dewey ignored them, choosing to use the binoculars to survey the Money Bin. There would be time to tease Huey about Dewey being the reckless brother later.

The sea was calm, though for some reason Dewey felt like there was a note of agitation in it. Having lived by the sea practically his whole life, he’d learned to read the ocean until he could recite every wave and every current like the back of his hand. Huey and Louie both could do the same, though they were nowhere near Uncle Donald’s level, who always seemed to be able to tell the ocean’s mood with just a glance. Now that he knew it was partly because of his magic, Dewey kind of wanted to tell Uncle Donald that he had been cheating the whole time.

A spark of something gold caught his eyes, and he zeroed in on it. “Hey, what’s that?” he exclaimed, mostly to draw the others’ attention.

Huey scanned with the binoculars again. “It looks like some… sparkles? Gold?”

“Is it Louie?” Webby asked.

“No, I don’t think that’s Louie,” Huey said with a frown, still looking. His magic buzzed for a moment, straining. “Doesn’t feel like Louie. And the color is wrong.”

Dewey checked again. “Yeah… it’s different. Louie’s is kinda green. Like that gemstone. This one is more… blue?”

Huey turned to look at him. “Do you think that’s Uncle Donald?”

“Does it feel like him?” Dewey shot back.

Huey frowned. “No, but I don’t know. Sometimes magical artefacts make your magic feel different, right?”

Dewey muttered a soft yeah and turned back to look at the glittering dot of gold in the distance. It pulsed.

Huey lowered his binoculars. “Something’s wrong.”

Dewey felt it just after Huey closed his beak. It rippled through the water as the gold pulsed again. Almost without meaning to, Dewey took a step back.

Something flew overhead, wingbeats loud in the silence of the night as the sea itself seemed to still. Webby broke the silence with a gasp and a whisper. “Felldrake,” she said.

Dewey looked up and for the first time since his connection with Louie was gone he could feel his magic sparking unbidden. Leopold was flying too fast for him to follow, but he could see Felldrake’s form on his back, holding a smaller figure who gleamed gold-and-emerald in his hands. Louie pointed at somewhere at the sea, near the Money Bin, and Felldrake directed Leopold to it.

He kept his eyes on the flying figures and ran to the bridge. He couldn’t even make three steps before Huey grabbed him by his wrist, yanking back.

“Let’s go!” Dewey urged.

“You said we wouldn’t engage!” Huey hissed. “We’re not getting close.”

“Why would we even bother coming here then?!”

“To observe! To make sure things are okay!” Huey snapped. “To step in, later, if we have to! I’m not going to let us just run ahead and get in the thick of things and then get Mom and Uncle Donald hurt because they got surprised we just popped up!”

“But that’s – “ Dewey bit his tongue and looked away. He did promise Huey to stay back. “Okay, but give me a leeway. If there’s a chance to grab Louie when Mom and Uncle Donald and Uncle Scrooge are busy, we’re doing it.”

“Only if we’re sure no one’s getting hurt,” Huey relented after a moment. Dewey could take that.

“Guys,” Lena interrupted, voice faint. “Guys, look.”

Turning to the direction Lena pointed, Dewey couldn’t help the sharp gasp he took. The sea had formed a whirlpool, from which a deep darkness swelled into a bubble, a tiny dot of light inside it. The gold that was Louie pulsed along with the dot, as did the bluish-gold in the Bin.

“Is that… the well?” Webby asked, squinting at the whirlpool.

“That can’t be, that looks nothing like a well,” Huey protested.

“Oh, I don’t know, Huey,” Launchpad said nervously. “Looks can be deceiving.”

“What’s it doing?” Fenton asked softly, but the disturbed tone caught their attention. They stared at the bubble of darkness, and Dewey felt leaden trepidation weighing down his chest when the bubble seemed to breathe and grow bigger with each passing second.

Lena held her hand out. Her amulet glowed softly. She frowned, likely trying to sense what was happening, then her eyes grew wide as she scrambled to retreat. “Get back!” she yelled. “The whirlpool’s – !”

The warning came too late – or maybe it didn’t matter at all. The darkness swelled and exploded out, crashing and sweeping them into a wave. Dewey closed his eyes and tried to grip the railing, but the darkness swallowed him whole and he was left with a sensation of drowning in open air.

The rush dissipated. Dewey opened his eyes to survey his surroundings.

He was no longer in Duckburg.

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The ground was hard and rough. Stones, instead of earth.

That was the first thing Donald realized when he came to. Rough cobblestones against his cheek, grating his beak, gravity pressing him down against the stones and making him sore.

The next thing he realized was that he was no longer glowing with glitter-gold that overtook his person, and that his head feel clear again. Mixing his magic with the seed’s had made him feel like he was wading through mud, like his thoughts were slowed while all his attention was taken by the Well’s call and nothing else could stick.

Oh, shoot, where were the seeds? They weren’t in his hand anymore.

He groaned and pushed himself up, and there were a dissonant chorus of groans all around him. Looking around, he realized that José and Panchito were with him, decked in armor and holding their weapons, and he belatedly realized he wore his own armor and held his sword in his hand. With them, Xandra sat up with a grunt, shaking her long hair and fluffing it up as a result. There were more groaning, and Donald realized Della, Uncle Scrooge, Goldie, and Magica all woke by him.

So the whole gang was here.

Della rubbed her neck and looked around, locked gazes with him, and perked up. “Don! You’re not glowing anymore!”

Donald blinked. “Um, yeah?”

“Do you feel okay?”

He blinked again and stared at his hands. “I surprisingly do? This is weird. I thought I was going to pass out or something.”

“Normally you would. You probably don’t feel that way because we’re not in Duckburg anymore,” Xandra piped up. She pursed her lips. “It’s probably going to be hell once you got back, though.”

“Eh, I’ll deal with it then,” Donald replied flippantly. “Does anyone know where the seeds are? I don’t have it anymore.”

Uncle Scrooge looked around and plucked something from the ground. “I got them. They fell here.”

Donald nodded and heaved a sigh of relief. He really didn’t want to lose the seeds. He stood and felt his grip on the sword, correcting it when he realized he was holding it wrong. It had been a while and he never really had any formal training on how to use the sword (barring the little time he spent at King Arthur’s kingdom, but he wasn’t sure that really counted), but it was always instinctual, how he knew he had things right or wrong the moment his hands closed on the sword and his body was covered in the Caballero armor. He wondered how much of it was him and how much was magic.

There was a scuffling sound, and Donald turned to check. To his surprise, he saw Huey, Dewey, and Lena, staring at them like deer in headlights.

“Okay, why are you kids here?” Della asked, sighing.

“Um,” Huey said.

“It was Dewey’s idea!” Lena blurted.

“Hey! Huey agreed! You all agreed!”

Donald pressed a palm to his forehead and tried to muffle a groan, feeling the start of a migraine building in. Thankfully, Della could handle the kids, and she had started to calm them down and managed to coax them to tell why they were there at all. Then came tumbles of words over why they were there, and Donald clenched his fists.

“But why are they here but not the rest?” Uncle Scrooge wondered. “It doesn’t make sense – oh. It’s magic, isn’t it.”

Xandra hummed in agreement. “Seems like that. Proximity is a factor too, I think, but everyone here has at least a little bit of magic.”

“Okay, but where is here exactly?” Goldie cut in. “Is this some sort of a separate dimension?”

“Sort of, yeah,” Xandra said. “I guess the Well of Wishes is the type of place that likes to hide in a pocket dimension.”

“So how do we get out?” Della asked.

Magica scoffed. “The only way you get out of any labyrinth. You look for the exit. I’ll bet my amulet you have to get to the physical well to get to the exit.”

Donald glanced at José and Panchito. They both shrugged, and José exclaimed, “I suppose that’s as good a plan as any. There’s only one road and I’m not fond of traveling that way.” He gestured to behind Donald, and Donald turned to check, and he had to agree with José.

They were standing in the middle of a cobblestone road, and the corner from which the kids appeared had somehow disappeared. Around them was a great expanse of grey-white fog, and the road behind them was completely obscured from view, and so dark it was almost black. In contrast, the road ahead of them was brighter, with the fog seemingly less thick. Donald wasn’t keen on exploring the dark road, either.

“Only one way to go, then?” Goldie asked with a bitter smile.

Donald stared at the brighter road and let out a breath. “Only one way to go,” he agreed.

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When Webby blinked the darkness out of her eyes, things were silent.

When she looked around, she realized Huey, Dewey, and Lena were gone.

Her breath hitched in her throat. “Huey? Dewey! Lena!” she called, to no avail. They were nowhere she could see, and her voice could only carry so far.

“Webby,” Violet called, and Webby whispped her head to her so fast a sharp pain stabbed her in the neck. She hissed in pain but otherwise ignored it, rushing to Violet’s side. She was standing by the railing, staring at the sea. Webby followed her gaze and let out a gasp.

The whirlpool had disappeared, but the bubble of darkness was still there. Except it wasn’t a bubble of darkness with a tiny speck of light inside anymore; it was a big bubble with things in it, like a giant snow globe. The colors looked muted and greyish, but Webby could see things moving in it. She grabbed a binocular that either Huey or Dewey had dropped and used it to survey the bubble and bit back another gasp when she realized her friends were there along with the adults.

Louie, Felldrake, and Leopold were nowhere to be seen, inside or out of the bubble.

“They’re – they’re inside,” Webby stammered. “Why are they inside? Are they trapped?”

“Oh no! We have to bring them back!” Launchpad yelled, already climbing over the railing.

Drake pulled him back. “Okay, no, stop. I know we say let’s get dangerous all the time but I don’t think I can pull you out if you drown because you’re big, and that snow globe thing is far from the shore.”

“And I don’t think we can do anything about it, anyway,” Fenton added, using the remaining binocular to look into the bubble. “We don’t have magic. If my experiments trying to measure magic with Huey, Dewey, and Louie were anything to go by, we won’t be able to pop that bubble with any nonmagic means.”

“Then… we’re just stuck here, doing nothing,” Violet concluded. Her brows creased unhappily.

“The least we can do is monitor it,” Fenton said. His tone mirrored Violet’s frustrated one.

“What if we get closer?” Launchpad piped up. “We can at least see if they’re okay inside!”

“I told you already that I can’t bring you up if you drown, LP,” Drake said dryly.

“No, with a boat!” Launchpad said. “We can go to the harbor and borrow a boat!”

“Doesn’t Uncle Scrooge have a trawler?” Webby asked, remembering the trawler they had used when they retrieved the Three Feathers Pin in Lady Gullianne. “If we can get to Uncle Scrooge’s garage and get it out to the sea soon – “

“Is it the same as Donald’s boat? Because that one looks like it’s seen better days,” Fenton said doubtfully.

“No, it’s a different boat,” Webby assured. “Uncle Donald’s boat is fine, it’s seaworthy, but it’s not as fast as the trawler.”

Launchpad’s gaze hardened. “Okay, I’m getting the trawler!” he said. “Webby, Violet, you two stay here and see if anything happens, okay? Fenton, look after them.” He turned to Drake. “Come on, DW, help me get the trawler out. We’re getting dangerous.”

Drake nodded readily and followed Launchpad to the car. It soon zipped out through the Duckburg streets like lightning, and Webby prayed that they would get to the manor and get back to them safely.

She turned back to the bubble and took a deep breath. Surely they would be okay. Her family was ridiculously smart and capable and strong. Surely that was enough to keep them safe.

The bubble didn’t offer reassurance. Webby’s fingers ghosted over her bracelet and she stared silently at the bubble, watching the shine of the full moon wash over it, and wished with everything she had that everyone would come back safe and sound.

#feather one divided #dt17 magic au #dt17 #donald duck #della duck #panchito pistoles #josé carioca #xandra #scrooge mcduck #goldie o'gilt #magica de spell #Huey Duck #Dewey Duck #Webby Vanderquack #lena de spell #violet sabrewing #launchpad mcquack #Drake Mallard #Fenton Crackshell-Cabrera

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captainmeowvelwrites · 4 years

Text

You Times Two (Ch.2)

Pairing: Marinette/Ladybug | Adrien/Chat Noir Words: 4147 Summary: Ladybug knew this was necessary. She was the Guardian. He had the Cat Miraculous. But when his suit evaporated in a glow of pale green, she sure hadn’t expected him to have something far more precious: her heart. Cross-posted: AO3 and FFN

Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | ...

Recap: Previously, on You Times Two... Ladybug learnt her kitty's secret identity, invented a new language, and threw her yoyo off the Eiffel Tower. Her word vomit reminded our dear, sweet Adrien of someone, but true to form, he just couldn't figure out who. Will LB find her yoyo? Will Golden Boy get a clue? Will a half-reveal make even a shred of difference? Or are these lovelorn dorks just beyond help at this point? Read on to find out!

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Chapter Two

Ladybug plopped onto her balcony, the planks squeaking beneath her feet. She latched her yoyo around her waist and stole a glance over the ledge, finding closed curtains and an empty street. No witnesses to her arrival.

At least something was going right this evening.

In hindsight, finding her yoyo had by far been the easiest part of the night. She'd found it dangling from the roof of a horse-themed carousel, the ride glowing like a yellow beacon to anyone near the Eiffel Tower after dark. Thankfully, it'd been too high for just anyone to reach.

But with her super agility?

Not a problem.

Ladybug hurried to the skylight hatch, fixed into the balcony floor, only to squeak as she stubbed her toe on a potted plant, then stumbled over another. Both were new additions, and easily overlooked at the best of times. Tonight, they were basically two bullseyes for her unrivalled clumsiness.

"S-Sorry, Sunny," she stuttered, glancing at a single, yellow flower. She turned to a cluster of bright purple ones. "You – You too, Patty."

She yanked the hatch open and dropped onto her bed, the glass shuddering as the door thumped shut above her. A desk lamp cast its glow upon her lean frame, highlighting her silhouette as she stumbled down the ladder with about as much grace as a potato.

"Spots off…"

Those two words, usually full of quiet confidence, instead shook in tandem with the rest of her.

In a flash of pink, Marinette stood where Ladybug once had, and Tikki emerged at her side. Her powers might've just been the only reason her legs hadn't liquified sooner, for she instantly sunk to the wooden floor.

With a quiet gasp, Tikki swooped to her aid. "Marinette?" she said, waving a tiny hand over her chosen's vacant eyes. "Marinette, it's going to be okay!"

Marinette remained silent, save for the long, croaky groan that slipped through her lips.

A frown filled Tikki's face. Like magma below a dormant volcano, a whole chamber of thoughts bubbled and boiled beneath Marinette's skin, ready to explode. Whatever she was staring at, she wasn't truly seeing it.

Tikki had expected as much—and knew there was more to come.

"This whole time," Marinette eventually breathed, more to herself than her kwami. "Chat Noir… has been Adrien." The phrase squeezed through her lips, as though that fact hadn't quite rooted itself in her brain. "Adrien—my Adrien."

No, he wasn't hers anymore.

In fact, he never had been.

Her throat closed, throbbing and aching, as though an unseen hand had snaked itself around her neck and refused to let go.

"This," Marinette choked, "isn't a disaster." Tears blurred her bedroom, but refused to fall. "This… is the apocalypse!" She flew to her feet, gripping her scalp as she started to pace. "Adrien is Chat Noir. He's always been Chat Noir. He's been my partner… this whole time!" She gasped, the gravity of those words slowly sinking in. "Oh my gosh, I've been rejecting Adrien… for Adrien… this whole time!" Her eyes shot wider. "No, even worse than that. I've been pushing Adrien away. I've been telling him I'm in love with someone else! And after being in love with me for so long, he's actually given up and moved on – to Kagami!" She released her grip on her scalp to instead cover her face, hiding a wounded look. "How can I possibly face him, Tikki?"

Before the kwami had even opened her mouth, Marinette peeled her hands from her face to reveal an entirely new look; one that shined with purpose and promise. "Wait, how silly of me. I don't have to face him. I can just start a new life!" She pressed her palms together, her face brightening. "Yeah. I'll sell my designs, save up some money, change my name to Bridgette and learn to juggle five – no, six – pineapples." Her plan played out in her head like a filmstrip, foolproof. "Then I can join a travelling circus, leave this whole mess behind me and—"

"Marinette," Tikki cried, flapping her hands out in front of the girl in question. "You're being silly! You can't—"

"You're right," said Marinette, a line etching between her brows. "I can't juggle to save my life—I'm way too clumsy!" She launched a triumphant finger in the air. "I know! I'll grow a beard. I'll become Bridgette, The Bearded Lady – yeah, that has a nice ring to it – and then the circus will have to let me—"

"Marinette!" The weight of Tikki's tone had her screeching to a halt, her plans crashing around her. "Don't you think you're overreacting a little?"

"Tikki!" Marinette shrieked, worry clouding her features. "I'm already a complete mess around Adrien – and now Chat Noir too. How am I supposed to save Paris like this?" She dragged herself to her desk and slumped into her hot pink revolving chair. "Not to mention he and Kagami are a thing now. And I've been hanging out with Luka—"

Luka…

An hour ago, the mere thought of the blue-haired boy sparked a light in her eyes, a rising joy in her chest, a fluttering in her stomach.

Now, her heart dropped like lead.

Maybe Master Fu had been wrong about her. She'd led Hawk Moth right to him, and that failure was the only reason she'd become the Guardian. What if tonight was her second mistake? What if learning Chat Noir's identity had only made things worse?

For a fleeting moment, she realised Tikki had already known Chat Noir's identity. Throughout her decision-making process – in which she'd weighed the pros and cons of knowing Chat's identity to her little, red companion – Tikki had known and hadn't once nudged her one way or the other. If she’d thought this was a disaster waiting to happen, surely she would've said so. Did Tikki think she could handle this?

The pang in her chest faded, if only a little.

Yet, tears swelled behind her eyes, only kept at bay by a few well-timed blinks. "I thought," she murmured, her chin meeting her chest, "I'd finally accepted that Adrien would never be more than just a friend. I thought I was moving on, but"—her fists shook in her lap—"now that I know we had a chance together, I… I don't know what to think…"

"Okay," Tikki said, rubbing her neck with a sheepish smile. "Maybe overreacting was the wrong way to put it." She settled on the desk, its white paint stark against her crimson skin. "Yes, Adrien's the one who's been fighting by your side this whole time, but he's still the same Chat Noir he was before. The only difference now is that you know who he is."

"That's exactly the problem, Tikki!" She slid a few inches down the back of her chair, its squeaks faint to her ears. "The fact that Adrien is Chat Noir only makes things worse!"

Tikki tilted her head, seeking further elaboration.

With a sigh, Marinette straightened where she sat, rooting her feet firmly on the floor. "You remember Chat Blanc, don't you?" Her eyes sunk to her lap, where her thumbs circled each other in an endless loop. She lost herself in vile visions of crumbling statues, a world of rubble, and a pair of icy blue eyes—as chilling as an arctic blizzard.

Chat Blanc's words, dripping with malice, bounced about her brain like a razor-studded pinball. "Things were purrfect until Hawk Moth found out about everything." She could still hear the soft clink of his claws as he’d crept along iron scraps of the Eiffel Tower, eyes peeled for his prey. "Once the cat is outta the bag, it's only a matter of time until everyone knows. It was our love that did this to the world, M'Lady!"

Marinette's eyes squeezed shut, willing away the living nightmare.

Such attempts were in vain.

Instead, she was clad in red and black latex, and Chat Blanc stood tall across an immense, iron beam. She was trapped and he knew it. He skulked closer, white light surging at his fingertips, his body framed by a city of ruins. "You know that by merging our Miraculous together we'd be granted one wish, right? Any wish we wanted." Desperation had clouded her vision, her eyes darting left, right, left again—searching for an escape and finding none. He'd drawn closer still, ready to destroy her with a single touch. "Well my wish would be to fix everything, so we could be in love again…"

Again…

That single word screamed in Marinette's ears, refusing to be ignored.

"The simple truth is you don't love me anymore," Chat Blanc had later cried, his voice thick with grief, "so I might as well destroy you, me, our memories… everything!"

That final word echoed through Marinette's mind, like she was hearing it again for the first time. Her hands curled into fists, trembling in her lap, colour draining from her knuckles. Even now, those tormented cries – Adrien's cries – rattled her to the core.

So lost.

So broken.

So devoid of hope.

How could she possibly risk putting him through that kind of pain again?

What if this time it was her that became a brittle statue beneath a sea of ruins, turned to dust by the slightest touch?

Wiped from existence by a single mistake.

Her mistake.

A mounting weight clamped down on her chest and in that moment, she choked down a sob that threatened to spew forth. "Tikki, if our love caused all of that…" Her lips curled and shook, a knot twisting her stomach. "If it brought about the end of the world…" Finally, tears tumbled freely from her eyes, dotting her lap and dying her pants a darker shade of pink. She buried her head in her hands and sobbed, each one racking her shoulders. "I… I don't think I can ever tell him who I am, Tikki. And I never thought it would hurt this much!"

Tikki's eyes creased. "Everything's going to work out, Marinette." She glided onto her shoulder and patted it lightly. "You just need to give yourself some time to let this all sink in, okay?"

"I… I know." Her words came out low and shaky. "Hawk Moth targets people who feel"—a sob shook her shoulders—"like there's no way to fix their problem." She sucked in a breath, only just stifling another sob, and released a wobbly sigh shortly after. "But what can I do, Tikki? I'm just so confused!"

“You'll figure things out, Marinette.” Tikki beamed at her. "You always do."

---

For the rest of the night, she somehow kept the tears at bay. That might've been, in part, because her parents had soon returned from a date, raving about the delicious meals they'd just had and the quick, yet cheery service. Any other night, the hopeless romantic in her would've absorbed their every merry word. Tonight, however, while they'd distracted her a little, she'd still been so out of sorts they’d later popped their heads through her bedroom hatch, questions at the ready.

"Oh, I'm just tired," Marinette insisted, resorting to the same lame excuse she'd used on Chat. By this point, she wasn’t exactly lying. "Actually, I was just about to get ready for bed."

So she did.

And from one mundane task to the next, a new realisation would force its way into her racing mind.

"Oh my gosh, Tikki!" she shrieked, a baby pink hairbrush clasped between her fingers. "I've kissed Adrien – twice!" Her hand flew to her lips, only for a pained grunt to leave them as her hairbrush greeted her face.

…

"No wonder," Marinette garbled through a mouthful of toothpaste, "Adwien shounded sho mush li' Chat in 'at movie." She spat into her bedroom sink and rinsed out her mouth. "He was voicing himself!" Her hand slapped her forehead. "That's why he stuttered so much when I said he sounded almost exactly like the real Chat Noir!"

…

A gasp escaped her lips as she hopped around the room, struggling to shove a leg through her pale pink pyjama pants. "Oh man, Tikki!" She stumbled into the nearest wall, grunting from the pain. "Remember that time Adrien said what a knightmare? That's totally something Chat Noir would say." She thumped her head against the wall she'd just greeted. "Duh! It was so obvious!"

…

"Tomorrow's Friday!" Marinette shrieked, clambering into bed. "You know what that means? A joint patrol! With Adrien!" She dragged her hands down her face. "Disaster!"

…

Marinette burst upright in bed, her blankets hugging her lean frame. "The day after tomorrow is Saturday." She turned to Tikki. "And isn't Alya having people over for video games – including Adrien?" She placed a finger to her lips, considering the situation for a moment longer. "Nahhh. I doubt his dad will let him come." She almost hoped for that very scenario, and that made her feel terrible.

…

The lights were off and yet, as she'd expected, her mind was still reeling from the evening's events. "Hold up," she called into the dark, hearing Tikki straighten on the pillow beside her. "The day after Saturday is Sunday. And I'm meant to go to the movies – with Luka!" Her brain was a scrambled mess, bouncing between two modes – repressed tears and unholy screeching. "How am I supposed to hang out with Luka when all I can think about right now is Adrien?" She chewed at her lower lip. "That doesn't seem very fair on Luka, does it?"

"Marinette," Tikki yawned, "it's very late."

Marinette squinted into the darkness, faintly making out her kwami's tiny silhouette. She looked to be rubbing her eyes.

"I'm sure," Tikki murmured, "you'll think up a solution once you've had a good night's rest. Being tired never helps an anxious mind."

Marinette sighed. "You're probably right." She fluffed up Tikki's pillow, then her own, and slumped against it. "Good night, Tikki."

"Sweet dreams, Marinette."

---

A ghostly voice sang out her name.

Her eyes eased open.

Moonlight flooded through the skylight hatch above, fixing on her like a spotlight.

"Marineeette," the intruder sang again.

She shot straight in bed, hairs prickling on her neck. Her eyes darted every which way, as she peered over her blanket, out into the darkness that shrouded the space beyond her bed.

Her name came again, this time as a feral hiss.

Marinette's stomach coiled. Her muscles ached, adrenaline rushing through her veins, preparing her for the worst.

A black paw slithered out from the shadows, its claws clutching the foot of the bed frame. "There you are!" Another paw followed, tearing the end of her bedspread, and two cat-like eyes emerged, glowing green, framed by a mask as dark as the room around it. An eerie grin stretched his lips far wider than humanly possible. "Do you wanna know my secret, Marinette?" snarled Chat Noir, twitching and jerking as he dragged himself toward her like a possessed China doll, "I'm in love with a girl and her name is Kagami!"

Marinette jolted awake, a screech hurdling from her throat. Her eyes dashed around a room that this time, she saw quite clearly despite the dark.

In an instant, Tikki was hovering straight ahead. "Marinette," she cried, alarm riddled through every syllable. "What's wrong? Is everything okay?!"

"No! I mean, yes. I mean—" Marinette forced a smile and scooped her kwami up in her palms. "It – It was just a bad dream," she insisted, and pecked Tikki's tiny cheek. "Nothing to worry about."

Even in the low light, she could see that Tikki wasn't buying it. "But your hands… They're shaking!"

Marinette drew her kwami close, nuzzling her briefly. "I know you're worried, but trust me… I'll be fine." She ignored the pointed look Tikki gave as she placed the little kwami on the pillow beside her. "It's like you said." She yawned, slumping into her pillow. "I'll figure this out."

She had to.

Her eyes slid shut, but she hardly managed one more wink of sleep after that.

---

The morning sun soaked Marinette with its warmth, its rays spilling over the rooftop of Collège Françoise Dupont. Her eyes – brimming with focus – darted right, left and right again, as she tiptoed up the school steps.

These last twelve hours, her brain had been torturing her. And naturally, it had chosen now of all times to remind her of the day a film crew had broadcasted her bedroom – more specifically, her bedroom walls – for all of France to see.

For Adrien to see.

Pink grazed her cheeks.

The morning after, she'd failed to enter school undetected.

This time would be different.

Today, she was the epitome of stealth.

And failing that, she was also late—on purpose, for once.

After all, it's not like Adrien could strike up a conversation with her if she was late, ergo she'd have no chance to rouse suspicion with her word vomit. This time, her plan was foolproof. She was sure of it.

The familiar ring of a bell echoed out into the street, where morning traffic rumbled. She heard a groan from the hefty, oak doors at the top of the stairs.

"Wait!" Marinette called, stumbling up the steps. "Wait! I'm almost there!" She squeezed through the doors just in time, seeing the school groundsman step back with wide eyes. "Made it," she breathed, gripping her knees with a sigh of relief.

A couple of doors on the second story clicked shut. Students had already flowed into their respective classrooms, leaving the courtyard empty. There'd been no akuma attacks this morning either, so Adrien had no reason to be late.

"Perfect."

Determination filled her face as she threw herself against the nearest wall. She slunk around the edge of the courtyard, over to the locker room swing doors, remaining unseen. That is, if you didn't count the school groundsman, who watched on with a quirk of his brow and a tilt of his balding head.

Other than that, she was practically invisible.

With a triumphant grin, Marinette shoved the swing doors aside, expecting rows of lockers to fill her vision.

Instead, she was greeted by a grunt and a pair of familiar green eyes.

She'd shoved the doors, all right.

Straight into Adrien's face.

Straight into Chat Noir's face.

The universe hated her. True or false?

Horror tainted her features, putting his pained expression to shame. "Kill me," she muttered, watching as he gingerly rubbed his nose, blinking incessantly.

Adrien looked up at her. "Hm? What was that?"

Marinette went rigid, clinging to the straps of her backpack. "Uhh! I said excuse me! No—sorry!" She shifted from one foot to the other and back again, avoiding his gaze. "Yeah! Sorry! That's what I vent—meant!"

"Don't worry, Marinette." He showed a small smile as he placed a hand on her shoulder, his ring in full view. Her insides flipped at the sight of it. "Trust me, I've been through worse."

Had he said that twelve hours ago, she would've been intrigued. Now, she knew exactly what he meant. If there was one guy in Paris who could take a beating, it was Chat Noir.

Her fingers toyed with the bottom of her black cardigan, the events of last night replaying in her mind like a humiliating home video. "I'm so clorry—err, clumsy. And sorry. I'm so sorry!" She spared a moment to inspect his face; it looked as flawless as ever, but she still had to ask, "Are you gay—" She zapped upright. "Okay!" she screamed, "I meant okay! Are you okay? Uhh – Not that there's anything wrong with being gay. I'd still love – I mean, like you – just the gay—way you are!" Her face must've looked like a stop sign by now. "Not – Not that I think you are gay. I mean, there's salami—pastrami—Kagami!"

Marinette's stomach soured at the reminder of the girl who held his affections. She could just feel a frown emerging as she tugged her backpack closer, itching to dump its contents into her locker.

Adrien tilted his head, confusion swirling in his stare. Only then did she realise his eyebags, dark and puffy, might've just rivalled her own.

Guilt hissed accusations in her ear.

She was the one responsible for them.

She just knew it.

"I'm… I'm okay, Marinette," Adrien stammered, lurching her back to reality. He scratched his cheek, his eyes drifting to the ceiling. "I'm just, uhh…" When he looked back at her, he smiled, though she didn't miss it falter. "I didn't sleep too well, but that's not your fault."

"Yeahhh," she drawled, "I mean no! No, it's not." She turned away to slap herself, hoping it'd help her to regain some sense—emphasis on some.

"Hey," Adrien said, his tone much lighter.

Marinette stood stiff as a plank as she re-faced him, at first thinking he planned to call her out for slapping herself. His smile said otherwise.

"I know I've said this before," he continued, that soft smile growing, "but your hair still looks really pretty when it's down."

"Wait, what?" She reached for her pigtails and instead found loose strands. Oh great. Not only had she forgotten to style her hair this morning. She'd forgotten to even brush it. If she'd looked like a stop sign before, she must've looked like a dang fire truck by now.

Marinette rushed her fingers through her hair, wishing she could jam her head in the nearest locker. "Oh, I… uhh… slept in." She smoothed her hands over her scalp. "I – uhh – yeah. I actually had a bad sleep too! I must've – erm – forgotten to brush—I mean, tie up my hair. Y'know… from the no-sleep." She giggled, peering up at him from through her dark fringe.

Adrien laughed into his hand. It was reserved, refined, careful—nothing like the snickers, smirks and guffaws of his alter ego. "Well," he said, bringing a hand to his bangs, "how about we match?" He ruffled his hair, flashed a grin, and suddenly, all she saw was Chat Noir.

Somehow, it put her at ease… if only for a second.

She smiled—small, but genuine. "I've… never seen your hair like that." It wasn't a total lie. "It suits you, Adrien."

For some reason, that comment had him glowing. "You really think so?" His grin only grew and, in that moment, ladybugs fluttered in her chest. "Thank you, Marinette!"

"No problem, Chadrien."

Marinette froze.

"Adrien," she screeched, stooping her head low in apology. "That's what I meant! Not – uhh – that other thing." A nervous giggle escaped her as she glanced over his shoulder, where her locker awaited her. "Boy, am I tired, huh? 'Cause I have absolutely no idea where that came from!" His lips parted, but her gasp cut him off. "Oh no!" she cried, clasping her hair. "The well—shell—bell rung, like, five minutes ago!"

There was a spark of realisation in Adrien's eyes. "Oh," he faltered, glancing at the exit over her shoulders. "Well, how about I wait for you outside?" His smile was softer again. "It's probably better to interrupt class once rather than twice, right?"

Marinette stilled, taking in his smile. She could already hear the onslaught of questions Alya would send her way if they arrived to class together—late. "Oh, no no no no!" she said, waving her hands like a maniac. "I mean, you… you don't have to." She gave a quiet giggle. "You grow—err, go first. I don't mind being the one to interrupt the second time."

"Please." Adrien held up his own hand far more gracefully. "I insist."

Fighting back a grimace, Marinette nodded stiffly, as though the motion pained her. Not far off, if she was honest. "I'll smell—err, see you outside then." She stepped to her left, but he stepped the same way.

"Sorry," they said in unison.

Marinette dipped her head, pink pinching her cheeks, and lumbered around him to her locker. The doors swung shut behind her, announcing that she was alone.

Immediately, she smacked her head against her locker, over and over, like a broken record. Maybe she'd finally – literally – knock some sense into herself.

She'd probably be here a while.

"Well," Tikki said, peeking up from Marinette's pink side bag, "that could've been worse."

Marinette stopped to glance down at her kwami and the strained smile she wore. That smile said the one thing Tikki didn't: it could've gone a lot better too.

"I knew the first half of our conversation was going suspiciously well," Marinette muttered, pouting.

Tikki arched a brow. "You think it went well?" She went taut at the mortified look her owner sent her. "I mean, yeah – it went so well!"

Marinette threw her head back and let out a throaty groan.

#ml fic #miraculous ladybug #you times two #adrinette #marichat #ladynoir #ladrien

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welllpthisishappening · 6 years

Text

Caught in Your Light (4/4)

Forever. It’s been forever. Or, possibly, longer.

It might honestly be longer.

Killian can’t remember a moment when he wasn’t hopelessly, head over heels in love with Emma. And it’s kind of becoming a problem. Because it’s been forever and they’ve always been friends, but now things are changing and traditions are ending and there’s just one more weekend.

This is it. So it’s time to do something about it. In Boston. With all their friends watching. It’ll be fine.

Rating: Mature. Swearing. Kissing. Rinse and repeat. Word Count: Seriously way too many. 9.3 this chapter. Lolz. AN: Here it is! This is the final part of my @csficformal gift for @idristardis. This story was such a delight to write and I can’t thank you guys enough for continuing to enjoy when I slam keys and spew words at the internet. There are more baseball jokes and pop culture references and you should probably listen to Counting Stars by Augustana because that’s where the title comes from and I want everyone to love Augustana as much as I have since 2006. Also on Ao3 if that’s how you roll.

It takes him, approximately, forty-seven seconds to exhale.

He’s holding his breath, hoarding it like that will, somehow, make his brain work quicker or fire the appropriate neurons and the room is spinning a little bit. That might be because he’s not breathing properly.

Killian drags a hand over his face, licking his lips and he winces when his head snaps towards the door. Still closed. Or closed again. It doesn’t matter.

The only thing that does matter is that he’s standing alone in the middle of his apartment and he can’t seem to catch his breath.

He tries not to come up with another Marathon joke.

It doesn’t work.

And he’s not really sure what sound seems to just fall out of him, a mix of actual laughter and disbelief and something that feels almost like joy because he can’t seem to stop replaying Emma’s words in his head.

They echo in between horrible jokes and slightly bad puns and I love you seems to brand itself on the inside of his eyelids every time he blinks.

He keeps blinking – like that will make the scene change or prove that he’s still asleep and possibly dreaming, but if he were either one of those things he’d still be in bed with his arm wrapped around Emma’s waist and, really, that’s not all that bad of an alternative.

Killian sighs again, a rush of oxygen that probably deserved a little more time in his body if the burning in his lungs is any indication, and the room continues to shift on several different axises.

I love you.

His legs wobble a bit when he takes a step forward, not entirely sure where he’s going, but positive he needs to move. He has no idea where his phone is and half of Emma’s stuff is still strewn across his bedroom because she’s kind of a mess sometimes, but only when she’s comfortable and he’s always kind of loved that about her and--

“Oh fuck,” Killian breathes.

He throws his right hand out, a flash of pain rushing up his forearm and he’s only slightly concerned about the dent he’s left in whatever the goddamn wall is made out of because he’s fairly positive that won’t be covered in the renter’s insurance he absolutely has.

I love you.

And he stood there.

She kept talking and ranting and pacing and he stood there like a fucking statute staring at her while his mind tried to latch onto the idea that this could actually be reality.

He’s alone in his apartment and there’s still a frame sitting in the corner of his couch.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Killian mutters. He’s going to fix this. He’s going to...do something big and important and both of those things will probably freak Emma out so he can’t do either one, but he has to do something and just screaming I’ve loved you forever in her face probably isn’t the best course of action either.

He needs eighty-two mimosas and several plates of home fries.

Emma has a habit of stealing his home fries.

“God fucking hell, shit, damn,” Killian curses, nearly tripping over his own feet to get down his hallway and this whole weekend is some kind of complete disaster.

It’s not the quickest shower he’s ever taken, but it’s pretty close – the water barely getting hot before he’s out and trying to find a shirt and socks that match. He gives up on the sock thing in, like, ten seconds flat.

He’s half a step away from the door, mind racing and pulse racing and he knows Emma isn’t going to come back here – home, he called it home and she called it home and he wants to call it home together in a collective way that means something and maybe he should lead with that when he finds her – but his phone is buzzing in his pocket and it feels as if his heart has leapt into his throat and fallen to his feet at the same time.

It’s not the worst feeling in the world, honestly.

His phone buzzes again.

And it’s not the name he’s expecting, or hoping, to see.

David Nolan, 1:05 p.m.: Do we need to stage a search and rescue? I’m not putting out an APB, so either you guys tell me where you are or I’m going to be super annoyed.

Killian squeezes the phone tight enough he’s only slightly worried about doing damage to it, but then it’s making more noise and Ruby has written a goddamn novel.

Ruby Lucas, 1:06 p.m.: Dear Detective David Nolan. CALM DOWN. You know the T runs weird on Sundays and we are not really that late. This cannot possibly be good for your blood pressure. Order something to drink. Come up with some reasons why the Red Sox are going to win the AL East this year to antagonize Jones. Drink the drink you ordered. Stare longingly at your wife. Rinse and repeat until the Boston public transportation system decides to stop being a massive dick on the weekends.

Killian laughs in spite of himself and his body’s seeming inability to do two things at once – like walk and read text messages at the same time. And there are already dots on his screen in the group text that will never end.

Merida Broch, 1:07 p.m.: Killian and Emma aren’t here yet.

Ruby Lucas, 1:07 p.m.: !!!

Ruby Lucas, 1:07 p.m.: WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAT?!?!

Mulan Fa, 1:08 p.m.: You should see her face. She’s doing an almost admirable job of looking genuinely surprised.

Merida Brock, 1:09 p.m.: A for effort, right M’s?

Mary Margaret Nolan, 1:10 p.m.: No comment.

Ruby Lucas, 1:10 p.m.: WHAT DOES THAT MEAN? WHAT. DOES. THAT MEAN?!

Killian’s not sure if it’s just his hand that’s shaking or his entire arm or, possibly, his entire being and it might be all three, but he’s not breathing again and that joy he’d felt before was obviously fleeting, inching closer to what feels like fury.

And frustration.

That’s less dramatic than fury.

Ruby Lucas, 1:12 p.m.: Why is no one answering me? We are three stops away. I need updates. I need information. Mary Margaret, I know things about you! I was there the first time you got drunk freshman and tried to do the hand jive in the middle of Beacon Street.

Merida Brock, 1:13 p.m.: The hand jive? David Nolan, 1:14 p.m.: From Grease. Ruby, stop talking.

Ruby sends back a string of emojis that are equal parts immature and impressive in their double entendres, but Killian’s legs have finally decided to be a functioning part of his body and he’s too busy jogging towards the stairwell to spend too much time lingering on meanings.

Or the hand jive.

He’d like to see Mary Margaret drunkenly do the hand jive some time.

If only to tell the story to future Nolan at some indeterminate point in the future.

That, however, will probably revoke his recently granted godparent’dom and maybe he should discuss his ideas with Emma first – just to double check. Or whatever. God damn.

David Nolan, 1:15 p.m.: Killian and Emma if you are not here in ten minutes, we’re going to order without you and I’m not going to let you get mimosas.

Mary Margaret Nolan, 1:16 p.m.: That’s not true. You can have all the mimosas you want. As many as you need.

Killian rolls his eyes, another door slamming behind him and he almost runs into a small family when he rounds the corner outside his apartment building. “Sorry, sorry, sorry,” he mumbles, holding both hands up and they stare at him like he’s lost his mind.

He kind of has.

And his phone doesn’t vibrate immediately, staying silent in his hand as he all but sprints towards the T a few blocks away. There appears to be an oxygen shortage in his neighborhood, a stitch in his side that feels as if it’s growing every second he stands on the platform.

He will, eventually, blame that for what he does next.

I’m going to order a mimosa every other minute and then I’m going to dump out every glass David tries to drink and make him pay for both of our meals.

It’s probably not the best response immediately following emotional declarations in his apartment or overly interfering friends, but he knows Emma and neither one of them responded to the group text.

So Killian waits – for the train and a response and several other things that he probably should have dealt with by now, but that would require any of them to act like adults and David was making mimosa-based threats a few minutes before, so by comparison, he feels like he’s doing a pretty ok job.

He’s not counting seconds or stops, but his heel taps impatiently, tucked into the corner of a car to avoid the influx of tourists because some website in February claimed Back Bay was an undiscovered and underexplored neighborhood and Killian nearly takes out a guy with his elbow when his phone makes noise.

Emma Swan, 1:24 p.m.: That’s a lot of mimosas. Can you get alcohol poisoning from shitty champagne?

Killian Jones, 1:25 p.m.: Don’t let Mary Margaret hear you call it shitty champagne. She’ll take umbrage at that and assume it’s an insult to her entire schedule and her questionable decision to pick brunch as her Final Jam choice.

Emma Swan, 1:25 p.m.: Good word.

Emma Swan, 1:27 p.m.: And it’s because Mary Margaret knows we all appreciate brunch, so she gave up her choice so we could have this plus everything else we wanted to do. Presumably because she’s a better person than all of us combined.

Killian Jones, 1:28 p.m.: I’m not disagreeing with you. Emma Swan: 1:29 p.m.: No? Killian Jones, 1:29 p.m.: I don’t think there are many things I’d disagree with you on, love.

He needs to stop breathing through his mouth – quiet sighs and not-so-quiet sighs and he’s going to sue that website because the tourists on the train keep shooting him slightly concerned glances when he can’t seem to stop making noise.

But his pulse is doing something medically impossible in his veins and he can almost hear Emma’s voice in his head, the way her eyes flicker up when she’s trying to make a joke and he wants to be anywhere except going to brunch.

Even if the champagne is good.

Mary Margaret wouldn’t pick a restaurant with shitty champagne.

The train lurches to a stop, tourists grumbling and everyone should be required to take a class on how to maintain their center of balance before getting on public transportation. Killian pushes his way through the door, doing his best to avoid toes and shoes and only kind of doing either, jogging down the stairs towards the restaurant he’s only slightly certain is the right one.

He hopes it’s the right one.

The half-formed plan in the back of his mind is not going to work if he shows up at the wrong restaurant.

Killian will never actually admit to running down Sudbury Street, but he would be lying if he said he didn’t, at least, jog briskly, weaving around people and families and one particularly large stroller making it way towards the patch of green masquerading as a park a few blocks away.

They’re sitting by the window – Merida’s hair making it all impossible to miss them, Ruby’s laugh a close second – and David waves his arms like Killian’s ignoring them and not just waiting for the light to turn.

“Where have you been?” David shouts. “I was almost genuinely worried.”

“Almost genuinely being the operative words here,” Mulan mutters, grinning despite the glare she gets in response and Ruby is fiddling with her phone.

She curses under her breath when the thing doesn’t do what she, apparently, wants it to, bumping a salt shaker in the process and Mary Margaret mumbles something about shoulders and good luck. “We don’t have time for that, M’s,” Ruby says, but Killian is more distracted by the music coming out of her phone.

“What the hell are you doing, Lucas?” It’s that song. Not the Dropkick Murphys, but some other song from the early 2000s about this city and sunsets and Emma absolutely knows all the lyrics.

Killian knows she knows all the lyrics.

She’ll never admit to knowing all the lyrics.

Ruby blinks, twisting her neck and looking for something that obviously isn’t there. Her shoulders sag noticeably. “What is going on?” she asks sharply, narrowing her eyes at Killian like any of this is his fault.

Ok, so some of it is his fault and he really should have said something back to Emma, but now he’s got, at least, three quarters of a plan and he’s going to fix it.

All of it.

In some great, big life-altering kind of way.

“I have no idea what you’re asking me, Lucas,” Killian admits and he’s still standing on the sidewalk. He has absolutely no intention of going in the restaurant.

“How is that possible? What did you do?” “Was it bad?” Mary Margaret asks, apparently joining the conversation that makes no sense whatsoever. “After we left, I mean? It looked like it could be ok. I had a good feeling.” “Wait, you guys saw Emma and Killian already?” Mulan asks. “This morning?” “We had some stuff.” “Stuff.” “Stuff,” David repeats intently and Killian makes a mental note to tell Emma about dad voice and the list of things he has to do keeps growing. “Seriously, Lucas, what is this music? You’re going to get us kicked out of the restaurant before we can order.” Ruby rolls her eyes, her gaze, somehow, never leaving Killian and if he felt like he was going to get grounded with Mary Margaret and David, he kind of feels like he’s going to get reprimanded for every decision he’s ever made now.

“Is this seriously not the moment?” Ruby sighs. “Because I have been waiting for this forever. Years. Actual years. I have schedules for this moment. Outlines.” “It’s been discussed,” Mulan adds, a smile on her face and Mary Margaret looks like she’s about start crying again. “In detail. More than once.” Merida tilts her head, eyeing them both over the top of a glass that is filled with something other than mimosa. “Is that weird? It feels like it should be weird.” “Please, you’re the one who wanted to bet on it.” “What?” Killian shouts, scaring several different members of the waitstaff. He’s fairly certain the hostess is actively trying to get someone else to come outside and ask him to sit down. “Bet on what, exactly?” David does his best to turn his laughter into a convincing cough, but he’s also trying to drink mimosa at the same time and it ends with him nearly choking and Merida cackling and Ruby must have that goddamn song on repeat.

Killian’s not sure if the heat on his cheeks is from the questionable amount of sun or something slightly more emotional.

Emma’s not there.

“Alright, alright,” Ruby says quickly, hooking her chin over Mulan’s still-shaking shoulders. “Tell me, honestly, were you not late because you were fine-tuning your speech? Where’s Emma?” “What speech?” Killian asks. “And I’m only about ninety-two percent certain about that second question.” Mary Margaret blinks, confusion obvious, which is fair. Killian tries to ignore her stare boring into the side of his face. Or David’s. He’s already got his phone out.

“The speech,” Ruby continues, like that makes any sense at all. “The big one. The important one. Where you tell us that you and Emma have been actually dating this entire time and we’re all not insane.” “I mean…” “Do not finish that sentence, Jones.”

He flashes her a smile, a strange twist of muscles and feeling considering the small tempest of emotions currently sitting in the pit of his stomach. Ruby looks stunned. Killian adds that to the list as well.

“I really thought this was the moment,” Ruby grumbles. “The mutual pining was cute for a while, but now it’s just starting to get kind of obnoxious.”

“It’s not obnoxious,” Mary Margaret corrects, but Ruby gags and Mulan mutters ehhhh under her breath and Killian’s not entirely sure where that other voice is coming from.

It might be Merida’s phone.

It is definitely Merida’s phone.

“I’ve got no idea what you’re talking about,” Killian admits, another lie that doesn’t entirely feel right on his tongue and he really needs to start coming up with more concise schedules if he’s going to keep having these kinds of conversations.

“Oh, that was bad,” Mulan mutters. “It didn’t even sound like you were trying.” Ruby hums knowingly. “That’s because he wasn’t. Something happened. Something big. With M’s and David and they’re all lying to us. To our faces. During Final Jam. That’s rude, Jones.” “What happened after we left?” David asks, another attempt at dad voice that falls a little short because Killian is not, in fact, a kid. Just possibly a lovesick teenager, for the last ten years, because he might have actually been in love with Emma for the last ten years and his friends have known the entire time.

Killian doesn’t answer immediately and it’s more than enough time for Ruby’s eyes to dart towards Mary Margaret, a smile curling on her mouth and her tongue pressed against the inside of her cheek and it’s, suddenly, almost believable that she has a schedule for this conversation.

“Just tell me one thing,” she says. “Have you guys been dating the whole time? Or just, like, recently? You’re not secretly married are you?” “I thought they were married,” the voice on the phone, which is definitely Mac, says and several different people at the table groan dramatically.

Killian closes his eyes. “Not married. Not dating. Friends.” “That’s a worse lie than the last one,” Mulan chuckles.

“And not entirely true,” Mary Margaret adds. Killian’s eyes snap open. “Oh, c’mon,” she says, disbelief in every letter and she sounds genuinely stunned. Ruby’s started laughing again. “Are you kidding me?” “That was almost close to being an insult,” Merida mumbles, most of her drink already gone. “He’s just slow on the uptake.” “I’m standing right here,” Killian hisses. “And you guys are fucking this up.” Ruby makes a noise that is somewhere between a guffaw and the sound a rocket makes when it takes off, leaping out of her chair and the salt is a lost cause at that point. “Did you tell her you’re stupid, crazy in love with her yet? I mean, not like in a Beyonce way, a you way. Is that why she’s not here? Is that why you weren’t here? Was I totally right?”

“What was it like?” Mary Margaret adds. “Epic? Romantic? Slightly cautious and vulnerable, but also incredibly sweet?” Killian’s slightly worried his face is going to freeze this way – twisted into surprise and concern at just how much thought his friends have put into this and he needs Mary Margaret to explain what the hell she meant before.

He doesn’t get the chance. “Oh my God, Mary Margaret, now is not the time,” Mulan says. “Look at him. He’s dying out there. He’s loitering and dying and probably thinking all kinds of things that aren’t true.”

“Ruby brought a soundtrack!” “To be fair, he hasn’t actually said anything,” David points out, earning several hums of agreement and Killian has dislocated his jaw. He’s positive. “But Mary Margaret is right. The friends thing is a joke. It’s been a joke forever, right? I mean since--” He cuts himself off, clamping his lips together tight enough that they all but disappear from his face. Ruby curses again.

The goddamn song won’t stop playing.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Killian asks and he’s not entirely sure who he’s directing the question to. He’s still not entirely sure the entire goddamn day hasn't been a very lucid and slightly convoluted dream. “I need someone to answer me right now. In complete sentences.” “Shit, I feel like I’m getting detention,” Ruby mutters.

“You get a lot of detention in high school, Lucas?” She flips him off, Mary Margaret mumbling oh my God as she tries to pull Ruby’s hand down and they’re going to have to leave a tip to every single person working in that restaurant. Killian’s eyes flit towards David, several empty mimosa glasses around him and both of them try to take a deep breath.

It doesn’t work.

“You’re an idiot,” David accuses. “Both of you are, but you’re the only one here so you can take the brunt of my insults.” “I”m not sure that’s how it works.”

“Too bad. Did anything else happen after that one Final Jam?” Killian’s entire body sags forward, like he’s been punched in the gut and had his legs kicked out from underneath him and David smiles smugly because he’s also an idiot. “Yeah, I figured,” he says. “For what it’s worth, I don’t think she remembers she told me. It was years ago and she’d gotten into some scrape with a skip and you didn’t answer your phone. There was morphine involved.” “And you never brought it up?”

“Why would I?”’

“What did she say?” “I’m not telling you that,” David says, sitting up straighter and slinging an arm around Mary Margaret’s shoulders. Killian doesn’t try to stop himself from rolling his eyes. “But what I am telling you is that you both have been idiots for years. The pining thing has been as stupid as any of the stupid shit we’ve all done. You’ve convinced yourselves you’re friends when you want to spend most of your time making out in public places again.” “What?” Ruby screams. Mary Margaret’s eyes widen to a size that cannot be appropriate for normal humans. Merida knocks over what’s left of her drink. Mulan appears to have frozen.

“I’m going to say something,” Mary Margaret warns. “And it’s going to be sentimental. So I don’t want to hear any over the top groaning or anything like that, everyone understand?”

“Understood, Mrs. Nolan,” Killian mutters, mock saluting with two fingers.

“You two have been in love with each other forever. Before forever. But neither one of you is very good with maybe or what if. The thing is, though, neither one of you realized you were both dealing with definitely.” “These are not the complete sentences I demanded a few seconds ago.” “Then try and listen for a change. You love her. She loves you. It’s easy.”

“That’s stupid romantic, M’s,” Ruby grins and she’s got her arm around Mulan now as well, a smile on her face that could probably cut glass or something. Killian really needs to stop making all these science jokes when he doesn’t understand the facts behind them.

And his mind is still jumping from question to question, a string of hopes and optimism and a distinct lack of either because his phone has been almost painfully silent the entire time he’s been loitering on the sidewalk.

“Yeah, it is,” Mary Margaret agrees. “But Killian stares at Emma like she’s the center of the universe and she does the same thing right back, so maybe we’re all due for a little sweeping romance in our lives.” Ruby nods. “See, that’s why I was playing the song. You going to go sweep, Jones?”

He digs his teeth into his lower lip, tugging in a breath through is nose and Ruby only looks momentarily put out by the whole thing.

“Seriously,” David shrugs. “Mac’s not the only one who thinks you guys are married when he sees you. Most cognizant people think that. We’ve been waiting for you two to catch up for years. Have you?” It feels a little bit like a threat and a little bit like several different life-lessons from half a dozen different TV dad’s, the music actually swelling in the background like they’re living life to an early 2000s soundtrack. And Killian’s not entirely sure what the right answer is, standing in the middle of the sidewalk with the sun beating down on the back of his neck and cautious optimism surging through every inch of him.

But then he feels himself nodding and almost smiling and there are tears on Mary Margaret’s face. “Yeah, I think so,” Killian says. Mac actually whoops. Maybe they should invite him to Final Jam from now on. “Alright, listen, I’ve got, like, half a plan and several demands and then I’m done listening to you guys and your shitty sentence structure, ok?”

He doesn’t pause or give any of them a chance to interrupt, grabbing one of the mimosas a slightly frightened waiter leaves on the table when his mouth goes dry. Killian just keeps talking and drinking and there are a few nods and shared, slightly knowing smiles because he’s absolutely been staring at Emma like she’s the center of several different universes for the better part of the last decade.

Mac cheers when he finishes.

Killian grins, taking another swig of mimosa before nodding once and running away – again.

Only this time he feels like he’s running towards something and someone and, hopefully, everything, so that feels like an important distinction.

There is no jogging this time around.

It’s a flat-out sprint, past museums and monuments and he almost breaks both his ankles when his shoes refuse to find any traction on cobblestones.

There are so many cobblestones in Boston.

The entire goddamn city is a bit of a contradiction – as historic as America can get, really, the start of several different moments Killian can recite from memory and a major, metropolitan space with skyscrapers and fancy bridges that several different engineering shows Emma secretly likes to watch on the History Channel have claimed are modern marvels. It’s old and new and tradition and not and it feels like the metaphors are stabbing Killian in the side by the time he leaves the cobblestones behind, stepping on the incredibly green grass in Boston Common.

There are more tourists here – kites and picnic blankets and camera shutters – but he barely gives himself a chance to get his bearings or consider just how quickly he’s run half a mile, before he’s moving again.

It seems to take a small eternity and several lifetimes to cross the Common, eyes darting every direction on the off chance that he’s wrong. And it’s kind of pointless.

Killian knows he’s not wrong.

He knows exactly where Emma is.

There’s a huge line in front of the swan boats – kids shouting and screaming and slightly flustered parents trying to calm them, mixed in with disgruntled teenagers and grandparents and more camera shutters snapping – and he sees her before she realizes he’s standing there.

She’s leaning against the tree closest to the water, hair tugged over one of her shoulders and Killian can just make out the headphones stuck in her ears. They look oddly familiar. Probably because they’re his.

The realization does something stupid to every single facet of his being, standing stock-still in the middle of the pathway while he tries to remember a single letter of the English language.

A kid nearby shouts something, snapping Emma’s attention away from the phone in her hand and her eyes widen when she notices him standing there, lips parting almost audibly. Her shoulders shift slightly, like she’s trying to stay comfortable against the tree or, just, in general and Killian forgets any reason for any of the nerves he’s had all weekend.

She was right.

It was stupid. Is stupid.

Anything that isn’t telling her the absolute truth is stupidest thing he could possibly be doing.

That’s not a word.

“Hey,” she mutters, tugging one headphone out. “You’re uh...how’d you know I was here?”

Killian shakes his head and she’s got no idea.

She has no idea he loves her back.

“Shit,” Killian breathes, which is really not what he hoped to say at all. “Damnit, that’s not..Swan, where else were you going to go?”

Emma’s mouth snaps closed and a minimum-wage employee of the city of Boston is announcing that it’s time to all aboard before this Swan floats away. It draws a laugh out of both of them, eyes flitting towards each other and his feet are moving as soon as the thought lands in the back of his brain.

She’s still sitting when he moves into her space and Killian can just barely make out the NESN announcers coming through the headphone resting on her thigh. He’s going to keep laughing for the rest of the day.

Maybe after he kisses Emma.

He really, really wants to kiss Emma again.

“Are they winning?” Killian asks, nodding towards the phone and the game he can now see playing on her screen.

“Up four, zip and just about to start the second. The Red Sox offense is ridiculous.” “Or the Rays are really bad at pitching.” “Yeah, that too,” Emma says. She hasn’t tried to get up. Killian isn’t sure if that’s a good or bad thing. He’s also not sure if his knees will actually bend to sit next to her. “How come we didn’t make fun of Craig Kimbrel?” “What?” “Craig Kimbrel,” she repeats. “I feel like we missed a prime opportunity with that one. His windup is ridiculous and absurd and, honestly, just asking to be made fun of. Even with that wicked fastball.” Her eyes flash when she realizes what she’s said and Killian’s smile, somehow, gets even wider. “Ok, do not start,” Emma mutters. “That’s just part of city-wide vernacular.” “Pahrk the cah in Hahvard yahrd,” Killian says, exaggerating every vowel and adding in a few more for good measure.

Emma laughs.

It feels like a walk-off home run.

“That’s not funny,” she growls, but her eyes are still bright and he’s still jogging around the metaphorical bases. Emma huffs when his laughter doesn’t fade immediately, wringing her hands together and Killian is pleasantly surprised to find his knees do, in fact, still work.

Her hands are warm when he tugs her fingers apart, crouched in front of her with his own fingers laced through hers.

“It’s a little funny.” “You think way too highly of your own brand of humor.”

“Got you to almost laugh though, so…” Killian trails off, lifting his eyebrows and hoping and the Rays go down in order in the top of the second.

“We really should have made fun of Craig Kimbrel,” Emma whispers. “It’s so easy. I can’t believe we didn’t think about it.” He’s not an English teacher so he’s not entirely qualified to dissect the deeper meaning behind emotional conversations, but if Killian were writing an essay this would be the part of the story he’d highlight and critique.

Because Emma doesn’t let go of his hand and he’s balancing most of his weight on his heels, but neither one of them can pull their gaze away from the other and the next words out of his mouth feel almost poetic.

“Because it wasn’t a save situation, love. They didn’t need to bring in the closer if they were already winning.” Emma’s answering laugh seems to sink into every inch of him, and, selfishly, Killian hopes he hears that sound every day for the rest of his life because it might be his favorite sound in all of documented history.

He’s good at history.

Or so say several degrees and that one award he got three years ago when Emma flew in to be at the ceremony.

And he’s never really sure how he doesn’t fall on top of her, but Killian surges forward and Emma’s free hand flies into his hair and kissing her, for the third time, and it's better than the first two combined, plus some.

They move against each other like they’ve been doing this for years, a rhythm that’s new and not and as easy as hitting against the Tampa Bay Rays on bullpen day. Killian tilts his head, not entirely sure what he’s trying to get, but certain it’s just more in some kind of overwhelming way.

His hand shifts, brushing against Emma’s side until she’s sighing into his mouth and her whole body flinches when he brushes his tongue over her lower lip.

There’s a goddamn tree root digging into his left knee and Emma’s phone has, somehow, ended up perpendicular between both of them, but it’s as close to perfect as making out in public can be. Killian’s fairly certain they’ve scandalized the tourists.

He doesn’t care.

And Emma’s fingers in his hair might be his second-favorite thing – behind her laugh because, honestly, that’s just other-level.

She shifts, phone falling to the ground in the process, but then her arms are around his neck and they’re going to get arrested for public indecency.

It would probably be worth it.

David would bail them out. Probably.

Killian stops thinking about jail time, nipping at Emma’s lip instead and that manages to work a totally different sound out of her and maybe he’s an enormous creep because he likes that one a lot and might be making some kind of list of noise-type sounds.

“What?”

He blinks at the question, not sure how either one of them is breathing enough to actually form words, but Emma leans back slightly and Killian can’t help but smile at the look on her face – pupils blown wide and the other headphone has fallen out, the cord hanging over her left shoulder, and she kind of looks how he feels.

“You said words,” Emma says and for one jarring moment he’s legitimately worried this is all a dream. “I was just...I couldn’t really hear. I was…” “Preoccupied?” “Yeah, exactly.”

Killian shakes his head, trying to brush away anything that isn’t her and this and them and he dimly wonders if they can get kicked out of Boston Common. He ducks his head to kiss her first, appreciating the way she follows after him and maybe they’ll just stay in Boston Common forever.

“I love you,” he says and it’s the easiest sentence he’s uttered in his entire life. Emma’s breath hitches, tongue darting out between her lips and that's only slightly distracting, but his calves are, finally, starting to cramp and he’s got a plan. He’s going to stick to it.

“I love you....enough to make my head spin sometimes,” Killian continues, brushing his thumb over Emma’s cheek and just below the lip she’s still biting. “I have for as long as I can remember. I honestly can’t remember a time when I didn’t. And I don’t want to not be doing that.”

“God, that’s the worst English I’ve ever heard.” “Swan, I’m trying to get you to swoon here, love.”

She blushes, closing her eyes like she’s trying to preserve the moment, which, honestly is kind of silly because Killian has every intention of this moment just continuing for the rest of their lives, but it’s also kind of endearing and a little adorable and he keeps getting sidetracked by kissing her.

That seems to bode well for the future.

Their future.

As a collective unit.

“Ah, right, of course,” Emma laughs. “Don’t let me stop you.”

Killian makes a face – one side of his mouth tugging up and eyebrows shifting and he’s fairly certain the blush in Emma’s cheeks gets stronger. This whole moment is doing ridiculous things to his ego. “I love you,” he says again, like he’s been saying it and promising it forever and it’s only a little insane that he hasn’t. “And, uh...none of this is ending.” Emma narrows her eyes. “What?” “That’s kind of why I was late. I would have been here two seconds after you left otherwise, but I had, like, seven-eighths of a plan and--” “Seven-eighths? Good thing you’re not a math teacher.” “That’s an appropriate fraction, Swan. And a pretty hefty amount of plan.” “I can’t believe you just used the word hefty in actual conversation.” “Because you keep interrupting,” Killian says, tapping lightly on her chin. “That makes it difficult to stay on point.” She inhales sharply and the makeouts had done a good job of fogging some of his more recent memories. Like the one where she’d walked out of his apartment an hour before. “I’m sorry,” Emma whispers, meeting his wide-eyed stare with one of her own. “No, no, I’m...I know I’m interrupting and I promise I really am swooning here, but I just want to explain. So, let me explain ok?” Killian nods slowly, giving his calves some reprieve when he twists his legs to sit next to Emma. Her hand finds his almost immediately – or the other way around.

The semantics don’t matter.

English is a dumb language anyway.

“I meant it,” Emma starts. “The...whole emotional outburst and blowup and those are really horrible words for it, but I meant it. And that’s terrifying. Because I meant the other parts too. You’re you and you’re my best friend, don’t tell Mary Margaret that either though, but she probably knows already and it’s totally true and now Final Jam is going to end and things are going to change and I can’t cope with that and then you were…”

She takes a deep breath, licking her lips and it’s like the whole world takes a moment to give them this, sitting a few feet away from the swan boats with the sun and the breeze and the incredibly bright blue sky.

So naturally Emma surprises him.

“We are really, really good at making out,” she says, laugh shaky at best when Killian nearly chokes on a sudden surplus of oxygen. “It’s ridiculous how good we are at it.” “With room for improvement, I hope,” Killian mutters and they’re going to draw more curious stares for their inappropriate laughter than anything else.

“That’s not even a good line.” “Yeah, but I think you still want to make out with me, so…” Emma makes a noise in the back of her throat, but then there’s more kissing and it almost feels like he’s trying to breathe her in and his whole brain stops working for a moment. “It wasn’t fair of me,” she whispers, letting her forehead rest against his. There’s hair brushing against his lips. “Because I was scared of what would happen when this was gone and there weren’t any more schedules or plans and it’s exactly what happened the first time. I just wanted you to be mine for a second.”

Killian can just make out her slightly tremulous smile, eyes a bit glossier than normal and she turns her face into his palm when he rests it against her cheek.

It feels like his heart is going to explode.

“For as long as I can remember, Swan,” Killian says and the world pauses again, or possibly shifts slightly and everything seems to audibly fall into place.

It’s the best metaphor he’s come up with all weekend.

“But you never said.” “Yeah, well, neither did you.” Emma sighs, scrunching her nose. “That’s where the whole this is so stupid rant came from. It was like something snapped in my brain this morning. I woke up and you are freakishly warm, did you know that?” “I did not.” “You are! Crazy warm and it was all so easy and you didn’t argue about anything.” “Swan, if you think I’m ever going to argue about making out with you in my apartment or falling asleep next to you, despite your propensity to stealing blankets, then maybe this is as stupid as you keep saying it is.” “Are you just trying to impress me with your vocabulary at this point?” Killian shrugs. “Maybe. Is it working?” “Maybe.” “How come you came here, Swan?” “How come you knew I came here?” “Nuh uh,” Killian objects. “That’s not how this works. You can’t answer a question with another question. We’ve got to go point to point or we’re never going to get to everything else.” “What else is there?” “I told you, I had seven-eighths of a plan. It became a complete eighth when everyone else agreed with me.” Emma’s eyes widen in curiosity, but Killian shakes his head again. “Nope. An answer. Why’d you come here, love?” If she notices the change in endearment she doesn’t say anything, but her eyebrows shift slightly and her thumb hasn’t stopped moving since his hand found hers again. “You said it first, actually. And I really don’t think I steal blankets.” “You do. I said what?”

“Stick around.” Killian eyebrows pull low, confusion flashing down his spine and he’s been flying the seat of several metaphorical pants all morning, but he genuinely has no idea what the hell she’s talking about. Emma groans.

“Seriously?” she sighs. “You really don’t remember? Was it because you were having so much fun being a giant history nerd?” “I have no idea what you’re talking about. And I'm not a history nerd.” “You teach history!” “That does not, by default, make me a nerd.”

“Oh my God.” Emma shakes her head, twisting her lips and she kisses him quick enough that he hopes he didn’t imagine it. She’s smiling when she pulls away. “You were talking about Paul Revere and the Boston Massacre and you told me to stick around and I could learn more history facts, but I got kind of stuck on the first part and, well,” she shrugs, “did you mean it?” David was right. They are the world’s two biggest idiots.

Emma’s staring at him, lips pressed together and breathing shallow, but the muscles in Killian’s face are starting to ache from overuse. “Of course I did,” he says and every sentence is easier to say than the last.

He’s only slightly frustrated he hasn’t been saying them for the last ten years.

“Yeah, yes, fuck, Emma,” Killian continues. He has to take a breath before he says anything else, the weight of emotion pressing down on every inch of him and it’s absurd and probably impossible, but it’s felt like that kind of day. He’s only slightly positive he doesn’t shout in her face. “Stay here,” he says. “You can...I want you to stay here.”

The whole center of the universe joke has never felt more apt.

Something, something...like Killian is looking right into the sun.

“I really don’t want to go back to Chicago,” Emma says.

“So don’t.” “It’s not that easy.” “Why not?” She blinks. And blinks again. “It shouldn’t be, right? There’s got to be more than that.” “There’s not, Swan, I promise. We’ve already done enough of everything else, I think we should get some easy at this point, don’t you?” “Ah, well, when you put it like that.” “Exactly,” Killian says, reaching up to brush a wayward strand of hair behind her ear. Not touching her is insane. “Still swooning?” “Not when you have to double check on it. What are all eight parts of the plan?” “There aren’t eight parts. Just one.” “Which is?” “We’re uncancelling Final Jam.”

They’re loading another boat full of tourists and there’s a toddler having a complete meltdown over something a few feet away, but Killian doesn’t pull his gaze away from Emma – watching every shift in her expression as she realizes what he’s said.

He’s going to set some kind of record for continuous smiling in one emotionally-charged conversation.

“It doesn’t have to end, Swan,” Killian says. “Or, more to the point, it shouldn't end. None of us really want it to. We just kind of assumed it would, but that’s ridiculous and so I’ve decided we’re not.” “You’ve decided?” “Yeah.” “And that’s, like, Final Jam law now?” “Eventually we’ll decide that’s the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever said,” he laughs, catching Emma around the wrist when she swats at his chest. “And, no, that’s where I was. The rest of them agreed. It might be different and we might not be able to do the same weekend every year, but it’ll happen and we’ve got everything else too.” Emma quirks an eyebrow. “Everything else?” “I’m fairly positive we did agree to joint godparent’dom a few hours ago, love. And that’ll probably be easier if you’re in the same city, learning some incredibly not nerd-like history facts.”

“It’s not the worst plan I’ve ever heard.” “That’s definitely what I was aiming for.” She laughs, easier than it was at any point all weekend, like she’s breathing out at the same time and Killian’s optimism is just that, no lingering caution or unnecessary precursors. He kisses her – mostly because he can’t come up with a reason not to and because they’ve already wasted so much goddamn time.

And they’re really, really good at kissing each other.

“I love you,” Emma says, mumbling the words against his lips. Killian’s going to smile forever. “And I’m also crazy hungry.” They draw a few more stares and few glances when Killian’s entire body shakes from laughing, but he’s so goddamn happy it’s easy to ignore anything that isn’t how easily he and Emma fall back into normal. It is, some reasonable part of his mind is quick to point out, probably because they’ve been doing this forever.

David’s going to be insufferable.

“We can fix that, Swan,” Killian grins, standing up and holding his hand out. She takes it without a word.

They go to Dunkin Donuts, which is only slightly stereotypical Boston, but it’s still, technically, Final Jam and Killian’s kind of hungry too. They split an entire box of Munchkins and he mutters you’re going to burn your tongue when Emma tries to down her Dunkaccino in four gulps.

She sticks her tongue out at him.

And they’re definitely late by the time the Uber gets to the final event on the not-so-Final Final Jam schedule – Killian’s arm around Emma’s shoulders when they try and sneak into the tour group at Harpoon Brewery without anyone noticing.

Mary Margaret notices. It might be the least surprising thing that’s happened in the last seventy-two hours.

She barely contains her screech, one hand flying to her mouth while the other one swats at David’s side and Killian can feel Emma’s grin when she turns into his side. “Deep breaths, M’s,” Emma mutters, but it does no good and they’ve drawn another crowd.

The tour guide looks personally offended that they’ve shown up half an hour late.

“Aw, c’mon,” Ruby shouts. “We’re doing this now? Seriously?” “Play the music, Rubes,” Mary Margaret says, Emma mumbling what under her breath.

Killian rolls his eyes. And wonders if he can make up for the lack of mimosas that afternoon with a copious amount of craft beer samples. “Ignore them,” he says. “We’re not running on a schedule anymore.” “Living on the edge, huh, Jones?” Mulan asks. She’s already got an empty plastic cup in her hand while Merida is, clearly, trying to distract the tour guide by asking questions about hops that no one has ever even considered asking before.

“Something like that.” David is suspiciously silent, eyes darting from Emma back to Killian quickly enough that he’s probably going to give himself a headache. Emma doesn’t appear to be breathing.

“Everything ok there, Detective?”

His eyebrows jump up his forehead. “You tell me. I need to yell anymore?” “Did you yell before?” “He strongly implied,” Killian says. “I think he was trying to parent us a little bit.” “Ah, well, he’s got to practice on someone, I guess. Although I wouldn’t be totally opposed to him not doing that again.” David smiles – it’s not entirely what Killian expects and he’s not entirely opposed to it. Mary Margaret’s sniffle sounds impossibly loud in the middle of a brewery tour they’re ruining and whatever song Ruby’s tiny phone speakers are playing.

“Yeah, ok,” David says. “But if you guys are stupid again, I’m going to be really annoyed.” Mary Margaret sighs, eyes closed lightly and one hand on her stomach and the whole thing is so goddamn domestic it’s almost painful. Emma’s head is resting on Killian’s shoulder.

“What song is that?” she asks and half the tour has already moved on to a different part of the brewery.

“That ‘Boston’ band,” Ruby answers. “You know they were still making music in 2011?” “They’re actually called Boston band?” “No, no, I have no idea what their name is, but the music’s not half bad and it’s whatever was next on the YouTube playlist because you guys ruined my plans for the initial romantic sweep.” “I don’t think any of those words made sense in that order.” Ruby sighs. “You done deflecting? Because it’s been kind of annoying having to text both you and Jones.” “We’re still two different people, Lucas,” Killian mutters, but neither he nor Emma have voiced any actual objections to the new text message procedures. And Ruby totally knows.

“I made no claims otherwise. My point still stands” He glances at Emma, rolling his shoulder slightly to meet her eyes. She presses up on her toes, tugging lightly on the front of his shirt and Mary Margaret actually gets a good amount of air on her jump when she sees it. The blood visibly rushes out of David’s face.

“So, uh,” Merida laughs. “That seems like it’s ok to joint text then.” Killian nods. “Yeah, it’s ok. But, Nolan, seriously, stop jumping up and down. David’s going to pass out.” “Don’t you have CPR training?” David asks.

“Are you asking me to perform CPR on you?” “I mean, you know, in the event of an emergency. And I’ll feel better trusting you with my kid if you know CPR.” “This is the most morbid conversation anyone has ever had in a brewery,” Ruby says. “Shouldn’t we be getting drunk? Or at least buzzed? Sorry, M’s.” Mary Margaret waves a dismissive hand, the other still resting on her stomach and Killian feels Emma’s laugh before he hears it. He assumes there’s a scientific meaning for that. He does not care. “I know CPR too,” she says. “You know, just for the record.” David practically beams. “Noted. And, listen, Em’s, I’ve been thinking about that time vortex in Jones’ hallway and I realized we totally forgot a fandom for name ideas.” “Ah yeah, Doctor Who, God, how did we miss that?” “Because Luthien was better,” Killian mumbles, winking at Mary Margaret when she immediately starts to dispute the idea. “What do you think about T.A.R.D.I.S. as a name, Nolan?” “Didn’t she have a name in that one episode?” Merida asks. They’ve completely separated from the group now. “The one good part of that one season.” “Whoa, harsh opinion,” Ruby laughs.

“Don’t get me started.” “Idris,” Emma answers. “The T.A.R.D.I.S. in human form was named Idris. Idris Nolan? Not bad. Sounds kind of like a warrior princess.” Her eyes flit towards Mary Margaret, something in the back of Killian’s brain sparking with visions and wants and optimism that he’s nothing short of certain of now. He presses a kiss to Emma’s temple.

“We’ll consider it,” Mary Margaret promises.

They do, as Ruby suggested, get incredibly buzzed on free beer samples and the quiet happiness that comes from knowing things are changing, but still, somehow, staying the same. There are goodbyes eventually – Merida has to go save New York and Mulan’s already in the process of moving, which leads Ruby to almost giggling out loud in the middle of Fort Point – but Emma smiles when she tells David and Mary Margaret she’s going to stick around for awhile and Killian nearly slams his thumb through his phone trying to order an Uber back to his apartment.

They make out in the backseat.

It probably affects his rider rating.

But then they’re climbing out of the car and Emma’s hands are everywhere and they barely make it in the front door before Killian’s turning on her, lips dragging across her jaw and the side of her neck and they stand in the foyer for a solid fifteen minutes.

It’s some kind of race after that – stumbling their way up the stairs and getting another door open and Killian’s belt is half off by the time they make it into his apartment.

He can’t stop kissing her. Or the other way around.

They’re a mess of limbs and lips and laughter and the alliteration is absurd, a line of clothes left in their wake as they try to get back to his bedroom without dislocating or snapping anything.

It’s awfully close, the bed creaking underneath them when they both collapse on it, but there’s more laughter and more smiles and there’s so much skin between them it makes Killian’s heart sputter in his chest.

“Still with me?” Emma asks softly, trailing a finger across his arm. He can’t quite nod when he’s laying on top of a large pile of pillows, but Killian makes an admirable effort and everything feels so normal it’s like they’ve just woken up and settled into their lives.

He hopes that’s exactly what’s happened.

“Consistently, Swan,” he says. Emma doesn’t answer – he swears her eyes get greener, though, a fact he would have voiced if she didn’t catch his lips with hers, slinging a leg over his hips and, suddenly, there’s nowhere else he’d rather be.

The noise he makes when Emma rocks her hips is probably embarrassing, but he’s so far gone for her already it doesn’t make much of a difference. It’s easy and perfect and them in some kind of grand, sweeping way that he’s been waiting for since the very first day he saw her.

He might mutter I love you into her hair and under her jaw and the curve of her shoulder, a mantra that sounds even better when Emma repeats it.

More than once.

They order Chinese food eventually and eat it on his couch with Return of the King playing. Emma’s wearing one of his shirts.

And it’s easy to fall asleep, but exponentially harder to wake up – all of the blankets tugged to her side of the bed and tucked under her chin.

“C’mon, don’t move,” Emma mumbles, cracking one eye open when he slides out of bed. “You were so warm.” “How could you tell through your mountain of stolen blankets?” “Shut up.”

Killian chuckles, brushing his lips over the few inches of her that isn’t covered. It’s mostly hair. “I’ve got to go to work. Mold young minds and whatnot. Explain how fucked up the legislative branch of government is.” “You going to use that exact phrasing, then?” “Probably.” Emma opens her other eye, a small smile tugging on the corners of her lips. “Yeah, that’s definitely the right plan of attack. They’re all going to pass their AP exams, for sure.” “I’ll take even your sarcastic vote of confidence, love. Go back to sleep. I’ll be back later.” “I’ll be here,” she mutters, burrowing further into the blankets and Killian has to move or he’s never going to leave. “I’ll probably break your coffee maker, though.”

She is.

The coffee maker, meanwhile, is unscathed.

It makes him smile every time – settling into this life and this future and, eventually, when the boxes are unpacked and there’s a job lined up for her with David’s connections at Boston PD, they hang some frames on the wall.

There are only three, but Emma says they’re a good start and the one in the middle is his favorite. The sign’s still a little ripped, but there’s some tape involved and it looks pretty fantastic on the wall, the hand-written sentiment truer than ever.

Welcome home, Swan.

And they finally, both, are.

#cs ff #captain swan #cs #cs fic #captain swan ff #caught in your light #seriously craig kimbrel's wind up is so weird #it makes me laugh every single time #baseball puns with deeper true love meaning

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