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lover-of-trash-and-people · 3 years

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netflix shadow and bone s1 e5 pt3: peak darklina

the first kiss scene Alina is so beautiful Her little smile as she picks up his kefta after he hears him call out for Ivan to get it like ooh I'm gonna play a little trick on Alek Her making him smile with a joke that's not even funny The tentativeness of it all, them tiptoeing around each other, testing the boundaries Him being taken aback by her offering to help him put on his kefta but still wanting her to and immediately resorting to business voice asking questions about official sun summoner stuff And putting on his serious business face him trying to explain away the gloves by calling them a safeguard, not a sign of him not trusting her abilities the face he makes after saying spectacle either depicting his distaste for the showiness of the event or depicting his embarrassment at how he phrased the sentence, like what the fuck did I just say (more likely the first one) Her quickly turning around and walking away after the eye contact makes her realise how close they are and him pulling a puzzled look as she does so Just. Just how adorable the energy is. Both of them making jokes to diffuse the tension, her gripping the table to maybe steady or calm herself, the looks they give to each other as if engaged in a delicate dance; god-like Him straight up just blinking and looking down and gulping as she says 'we can offer Grisha and Ravkans hope' (could be multiple things he's thinking at this point, and all of them interest me) 'That means a lot to me, Alina.' *her turning to look at his face* 'You mean a lot...' *her immediately lowering her gaze and tracing where her mal scar used to be lmao* 'to everyone' *her raising her gaze to him again* The music swelling as she walks up to him, her barely grazing her fingers against his collar, his eyes looking across hers as if in disbelief, her looking at his lips, and then her closing the gap between them. Him being a little stiff, indubitably from being shocked, and yet giving into it almost instinctively as if he can't help it. The violin coming in powerfully yet softly to emphasize the tenderness of it all. This thing has been made with so much love and I can't contain myself about it. Him opening his eyes half a second after Alina, almost as if waking up from a dream and then, following a relaxing of his facial muscles as he clearly regains his composure, immediately looking inscrutable. Her doubting herself, not losing eye contact as he stands up from the desk, but her sudden fear, regret, and embarrassment clear on her face. Her sides of her lips slowly rising giving way his own self mirroring her and breaking into smile and composing himself and breaking into smile again before saying 'Not many people surprise me, Miss Starkov'. Her now fully breaking out into a smile, her face a picture of unguarded joy, she looks down only to have his gaze follow her face. Both of them giddy in the other's presence and the audience can feel it. It feels like he is leaning in for another one when the sound of the door opening makes them spring apart, regaining their composures and standing at a respectable distance from each other. Her poorly suppressing a smile, him looking at her visibly, her mimicking him with a glance out of her periphery, causing her to give in to her smile completely. Him looking visibly distracted as he attempts to pay attention to whoever came into the room. the Jesper of it all Jesper the mega idiot not being able to control his face from doing a thing as he realises the person who caught him where he wasn't supposed to be is the same person he was making sexy eyes at before and yet regaining his composure in record time The poor stable hand actually being interested in Jesper and being adorable with Jesper just being like charm itself Can you believe looking at Jesper Llewellyn Fahey in the flesh and having him make sexy eyes at you and then forgetting about it? Because I simply cannot. The line about light role play? Felt a little not right. GO OFF STABLE HAND WHO PUSHED JESPER AGAINST A WALL AND KISSED HIM, HE LITERALLY SAID IM POPPING OFF AND

THEN HE DID Zoya Zoya saying fuck off to the random racist comment made by one of the guests, but she was racist to Alina herself? (I mean South Asian-East Asian hate is not uncommon so idk) David omg the cutie pie adjusting his hair at the fete HEARTRENDER FUCKING HUSBANDS Fedyor insisting on Ivan eating the sweet and Ivan's solemn head shake like no babe im on a diet and Fedyor being like heart eyes please eat the sweet my love and then Fedyor holding Ivan's face to make him nibble off a corner and Ivan's face splitting into a reluctant grin Kaz the actor Seeing Kaz the actor instead of Kaz the master of trickery and plans is an interesting thing Kanej being Kanej cute banter interaction, would recommend, 10/10 hints at Arken being sus The look Kaz gives Arken when Arken leaves, I really should have known, I was simply being a clown Darkling and the dumb royalty We love the Darkling suppressing his anger at these otkazat'sya rulers dissing the grisha and the little palace Alina's entrance The soft hum that we hear when Alina enters but we don't see her face Alina's adorable peeking The Darkling's expression changing despite being done af with these mfers and instantaneously on catching a glimpse of Alina, she really has that power huh He really made it look like his pupils dilated and who knows maybe they did Him trying to call her out for not following protocol but him melting and saying 'you look lovely, by the way' Her saying 'you look like you needed saving' I can't breathe you're so cool ballroom at the little palace I must confess I expected the ballroom of the winter fete to be bigger

GENYADAVID looking at each other and pretending not to look at each other, my fucking heart Kanej being Kanej Kaz implying they're gonna try to trick the people into thinking that the fake sun summoner is real and Inej being done with his shit Alina's demonstration HER NAME IS ALINA STARKOV yes mfer The way people back away as he steps, god the power of this man Inej looking at Kaz omfg Okay him clapping the darkness into the room was cool af I love the shadow summoning effects so fucking much The first bit of light that Alina summons lighting up the gold parts of her black kefta, absolute perfection Alina just enjoying her power and then looking to Alek, his lips parting when she does Aw Fedyor looking at Ivan in a I told you she could do it way Genya and Fedyor exchanging glances as Alina besties THE CROWD SAYING SANKTA ALINA INEJ SAYING SANKTA ALINA WITH HALF A TEAR IN HER EYE DAMN THIS IS POWERFUL Jesper and Dima IMMEDIATELY TRANSITIONING TO JESPER SAYING 'SAINTS' AS A NAKED STABLE BOY GETS OFF OF HIM AGAHSJSJSJKS I CAN'T IM CACKLING AT THE AUDACITY OF THIS SHOW HOW ARE THEY SO PERFECT (his name's dima btw) Poor fucking Dima getting frightening orders from his superior as his hookup sneaks out with horses that are definitely not his Arken the little shit Ah Arken why'd you have to go and do this I was actually amused by you before the malyen factor omg Mal's here and someone saw him getting here apparat and faith? The apparat literally jumping out of the palace walls at Alina lol man I do love the religion angle of this universe and it would have been so fucking cool if it were explored a bit better ew apparat that grab was very violent mal/darkling interaction the darkling's reaction at his recognition of mal was so funny ah yes my arch nemesis, the other angle of this teen immortal love triangle how utterly delightful someone explain the darkling's 'are you alright' to mal, is it because Alina was worried sick, is it mind games, is it curiosity, what is it Im still don't know how to feel with them attaching a literal symbol to the sun summoner, to Alina's dreams and to the stag itself 'not until I see Alina' THE LOYAL HIMBO ENERGY IN THIS ONE ISTFG I have never known nose acting until I saw Ben Barnes, he uses his nose in his acting and it is absolutely wonderful; case in point, the 'i beg your pardon' to mal with the rage making his voice shake okay but why is every mal darkling interaction like, everything the prompt answer our baby mal gives and the satisfaction it brings to his face, fucking amazing the darkling being literally struck by this, his mouth literally agape, king this is a 20 year old lmao Baghra! OMG WE GOT A GLIMPSE OF BAGHRA'S FIRE YES Genya supremacy Genya beating Arken up let's fucking go Marie's plot influence and Racism? Yellowface? again? hmm bardugo (then again, I have no authority over this, I'm south asian) Ive already talked about how I'm interested in knowing if and how changing Marie's time and place of death going to influence the plot much because in the books it caused a chain reaction doing a lot of stuff Alina, my love Alina just, laughing with other Grisha, feeling at home, ah be still my treacherous heart Mal's confrontation scene with Alina that was in the books being retconned to Mal calling out to her body double, hmm, probably to make Mal more likeable, I don't have any feelings about this particularly Nadia and Fedyor Okay the both of them, smiling and walking, hand in hand, cute mlm wlw solidarity moment that I missed during the first watch Kanej interacting with Alina Why is Alina literally so adorable The music picking up as the Inferni catches sight of the 'limping man' (what? it was funny when he said it) Blue Irises Alina's face showing a certain sense of calm when Alek shows up Alina's face after the Darkling says 'for you' and presents her with blue irises is something like gasp okay you've got game sexy shadow man mal fite time omg I thought she was taking mal to talk to Baghra or smth not to kill him 🤡 aren't oprichnikis like

otkazat'sya or am I missing smth? Because Baghra's spy is obvs a fabrikator THE DESK SCENE omg the scene hath arriveth the fact that Alina can't stop smiling gods, the flirting 'I don't recall this, being part of the schedule' him turning back and saying 'it isn't' her hiding her face through the cover of smelling the flowers and just how coy she acts, like the literal eyelid batting Ma'am how embarrassing for you to have feelings rn these two are my absolute favs of all time the camera moving as they move from their spots on which they had to stand on to get the shot of their shadows almost kissing her nodding and smiling at him saying 'she'll probably be alright' like okay I'm ready for smooches kiss me already and him going 'don't you think' trying to savour this moment IM SORRY BUT THE FUCKING SCORE AT THE MOMENT THEIR LIPS MEET YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND I CANNOT COPE the way his hand is so big that he can almost hold her entire face in it the way she grips the back of his head I'm sorry I feel so disrespectful saying this but the sounds they make+I think that's a um titty grab or maybe it's just a holding someone and the placement was um unintended but I doubt it because everything in this fucking show is so intentional+ the lift up onto the desk+ the faces they make+ um god I'm going to hell for this but when they sort of grind into each other (I understand this is acting and they're just good at their job) but god does all of this make my heart race and also makes me happy I guess LITERAL GIGGLES I can't I'm soft 🥺🥺🥺 his little head shake at the knock on the door when he goes in for one last kiss before she gets off the desk and her eyes going all oy you, go get the door, I'm not going anywhere don't make whoever it is wait is so adorable and domestic her just standing there mouth agape to herself when he walks away HIM STILL FLUSHED AND BLUSHING AND HIS HAPPINESS CLEAR AS DAY ON HIS FACE WHEN HE OPENS THE DOOR his gaze flits to her when Ivan says Alina was the target 'I'll be waiting' love, I physically can't anymore Little cheek hold and walk away Her little smile to herself nearly fading before he jumps back in again to her surprise and to ours to hold her face with both his hands and kiss her one last time, and yes, he does kiss like he's being drafted for the war in the morning Her little mouth open and close and then her little smile to herself after he leaves I refuse to watch the rest of the episode right now because no let me steep in the darklina bliss

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lake-arrius-caverns · 3 years

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Nerevarine Rising

Chapter 9: Outlander Avenger

this took too long to post heehoo ive noticed that sometimes italics don’t save when im posting on tumblr? might have been a glitch idk but in that case it’s better to read on AO3 where the formatting is actually proper lol

summary On their arrival to Vivec City, the twins part ways and Fahjoth finds himself drawn into the investigation of a very serious crime.

content warnings violence, blood, minor character death

read under the cut or on AO3, cheers 👍

:: First :: || << Previous << || >> Next >> || :: Masterpost ::

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“Ey, Ribyna, have you ever heard of Ashlanders?”

“Yeah, why?”

Fahjoth paused, pulling a disgruntled pout. The sun had well and truly set now; the last vestiges of warmth had evaporated entirely, replaced by a nipping chill and creeping shadows that submerged their surroundings in deep blue blankets. Vivec City loomed in the distance, unlike anything Fahjoth had ever seen before. Instead of individual houses like he had seen in every other town he’d been to so far, the city was populated by rows of colossal cantons, square and blocky yet towering over them with a kind of intimidating grandeur. Walkways bridged the gaps between the cantons, stretching over the rolling waters of the Ascadian Isles’ open bay, and several flags and tapestries fluttered from the sides of the cantons, embroidered with differing patterns and art that Fahjoth couldn’t make out from a distance.

Turning his gaze back to Ribyna as they crossed the bridge towards the first canton, Fahjoth gave an exasperated huff, though there was no real annoyance in his tone. “Oh, so it’s just me, then?” he questioned. “Being an idiot as per usual. D’you know, I made a right tit of myself to Cosades earlier. Told him I didn’t know what Ashlanders were, then he gave me a bollocking for being a dipshit. I mean, how was I supposed to know? Nobody’s told me!”

Ribyna’s response was surprisingly terse. “Well, maybe if you kept your mouth shut more often instead of chatting a load of shit, you’d listen and actually learn something for once.”

Fahjoth blinked, taken aback by this harsh rebuttal. He was used to Ribyna’s blunt manner of speaking of course, but this was something else entirely. He had noticed her demeanour getting more subdued and her posture stiffening the closer they got to Vivec City, and chalked it up to weariness after their long walk. Now, however, he was not so sure. Was that a hint of nervousness he detected in her voice?

“Are you alright?” he asked, then frowned sympathetically. “Bit nervous about being in the big city?”

“What?” Ribyna turned back to Fahjoth and flashed him a scathing look. “No, of course not. Don’t be stupid.”

“Then what is it?” He received no response, as Ribyna stopped walking and examined their surroundings, occasionally dropping her gaze down and squinting at the map she held.

“Right, I’ve got some shit to do,” she announced, as if she hadn’t even heard Fahjoth’s concerns. Fahjoth was certain that this wasn’t the case. “I’ll see you later.”

“Whoah, hang on a second!” Fahjoth protested, disconcerted by Ribyna’s unexpected change of plans. “I didn’t realise we’d be splitting up. What are you doing, anyway?”

“Just... stuff,” Ribyna replied vaguely. Fahjoth grimaced; perhaps it was best that he didn’t know the details after all, if she was here on business with the Thieves Guild.

“Alright, fine,” Fahjoth said, relenting. “But where should I meet you?”

“Uh...” Ribyna gestured aimlessly at the immediate canton, the details on its banners now impossible to make out in the dark. “The map says this is the Foreign Quarter. Just find a cornerclub or something in here and get a room sorted for us. I’ll meet you back here when I’m done.”

“Right,” Fahjoth replied mutedly. Admittedly, he was disappointed; he had been assuming that he and Ribyna would explore Vivec City together, but now, he was resigning himself to being Billy-No-Mates for the next few hours, or however long Ribyna would take to do her mysterious errand. “See you later then.”

Fahjoth thought Ribyna may have flashed him an apologetic glance before she turned away, but then she stalked away along the path flanking the canton and rounded the corner, disappearing out of sight. Heaving a sigh that materialised in the air as a faint puff of steam, Fahjoth turned and headed up the sloping path towards the canton’s upper door, slipping inside and into the warmth.

The inside of the canton was well-lit with torches and rather cheerfully decorated, an array of potted plants sitting in the corners while colourful tapestries and banners hung from the walls. Fahjoth could see a variety of people going about their business, not just Dunmer but Imperials, Bretons, and Redguards, among others, and in that moment he felt a strange sense of almost belonging. Initially he was surprised, until he realised that he was in the Foreign Quarter, and he was left with a deep feeling of despondency instead.

This grim reminder that he truly was an outlander was accentuated by the unrelenting glares he received from the Ordinators who patrolled the corridors, striking an intimidating presence with their gleaming gold armour and helmets, fashioned into the shape of a sharp elven face with a crest of hair atop their heads.

“We’ll have no trouble here,” one of the Ordinators said in a low, rasping voice as he walked by. “Move along.”

Suppressing a shudder, Fahjoth began to wander around the upper floor of the canton, trying to look as if he knew where he was going as opposed to being totally lost. Fortunately, it didn’t take too long before he found himself at a door with a sign overhead reading The Black Shalk Cornerclub. Figuring that he was not going to find anywhere more ideal than this, he pushed the door open and stepped in with caution.

The cornerclub was quiet, with only a few punters sitting around tables or standing in the corners of the room, deep in conversation. A Dunmer stood organising a collection of bottles behind the counter, while an Argonian sat at the bar nursing a drink of his own. Fahjoth approached, plonked himself onto a stool near to the Argonian, and offered him a smile of greeting. The Argonian, who had seemed quite tense as Fahjoth sat down, suddenly relaxed and gave Fahjoth a polite smile in return.

“Can I have a mazte, please?” he asked the barman, reaching into his pocket for his coin purse. “Oh, and how much would a room be for the night for two people?”

“That’ll be twenty drakes for the room, sera,” the barman replied, pushing a bottle of mazte towards Fahjoth. “And ten for the mazte.”

“Oh, alright, cheers! I’ll take it then,” Fahjoth replied, handing over the coins with relief. He caught the Argonian’s eye and chuckled, a wry grin curling the corner of his mouth. “Ribyna reckoned it’d be more expensive than that.”

“Ribyna?” the Argonian questioned.

“Ah, that’s my twin! She’s off doing... something,” Fahjoth answered, his voice trailing off thoughtfully as a mild frown settled on his face. “I’m not sure what. She wouldn’t say.”

“I see. That sounds rather sinister.” The Argonian smirked. “Forgive me, but I don’t believe we’ve met.”

Fahjoth couldn’t hold back an awkward giggle. “You’re right, sorry. My name’s Fahjoth,” he said, holding his hand out, which the Argonian shook after a brief pause.

“Huleeya,” he introduced himself, withdrawing his hand and taking a sip of his drink. “Well, I can’t blame your twin for being secretive. Not with this recent spate of attacks on outlanders.”

Fahjoth’s smile slipped from his face. “Attacks?”

“Oh, yes.” Huleeya nodded gravely. “Not just attacks, but murders. Five outlanders have been found dead this week. Not only that, but two Ordinators have been found dead too. Killed in the same way — that is, with their throats slit.”

“Gods alive... Do they know who’s doing it?”

“If they knew, they would have been caught already,” Huleeya replied. “The Justice Offices are looking for help in catching the killer, from what I’ve heard.”

Fahjoth paused. Though this had given him a lot to think about, there was something else he wanted to ask. “Is that why you looked a bit...” — he gestured vaguely with a wave of his hand — “on edge when I came over?”

“Hm? Ah, no. It’s not that,” Huleeya said. “It just wouldn’t be the first time I’ve had trouble from the local Dunmer, that’s all.”

“What do you—?”

“Excuse me, outlander. I should get going.” Huleeya finished the remainder of his drink and stood up. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Fahjoth. You and your twin should be careful if you’re out wandering alone at night.”

“Ah... we will. Thanks, mate,” Fahjoth answered, watching as Huleeya said his farewells to the barkeep and took his leave. Once again, Fahjoth was left alone with his thoughts, and he began to get some very dangerous thoughts indeed.

The Justice Offices are looking for help in catching the killer...

He bit his lip as he nursed his mazte, quietly wrestling with his own brain. To think that he would be able to go up against a serial killer who had slain two highly trained Ordinators was madness, and yet...

By the time he had drained the last of his mazte from the bottle, he had made his decision. Fahjoth stood up, trying to ignore the creeping feeling of foreboding, dropped off his supplies in his rented room and headed outside into the fresh night air once more.

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The Office of the Watch was much further away than Fahjoth had anticipated, and by the time he arrived, his legs — which had been trembling with nerves — were heavy and aching from weariness, which didn’t bode well for what he had to do. It had been a very long day already, and more than anything Fahjoth was craving a nice warm bed to fall into, but he’d come all this way. There was no going back now.

After navigating the Hall of Justice — with some difficulty, assuaged only slightly by the directions given to him from irate Ordinators on patrol — Fahjoth eventually found himself at the doors of the Office of the Watch, which he knocked gently and waited to be given permission to enter.

Peering around the door, Fahjoth was faced with a rather small and cluttered office inhabited by three Dunmer in the usual golden cuirass and boots, who were sitting at messy desks and perusing sheaves of parchment. One of them, a dark-haired Mer with a moustache and goatee, eyed Fahjoth as he crossed the threshold, the heavy bags under his eyes indicative of his tiredness.

“Can I help you?” he asked, his voice hoarse. “We’re very busy, as you can see.”

“Sorry to bother you,” Fahjoth apologised, “but I’m looking for an Elam Andas?”

“Yes, that’s me. I am Elam Andas, chief of Vivec's Order of the Watch. Are you here looking for work?”

Fahjoth bit his lip, knowing full well that this was his last chance to back out of his foolish and potentially suicidal mission, but he ploughed on anyway. “I heard you were looking for help solving these recent murders.”

The effect his words had on the office was startling. The officers stopped what they were doing, each of them fixing their red eyes on Fahjoth with dubious expressions. Fahjoth remained silent until Andas spoke again.

“We cannot officially hire you as only Ordinators can serve the watch,” he explained. “But if you can find this killer and bring them to justice, we’ll see to it that you’re rewarded for your efforts.”

Bring them to justice? Now that was something Fahjoth was sure was well above his pay grade. He had been hoping to do a bit of investigation, to help the Watch with their search, but to be tasked with bringing down a serial killer himself? That wasn’t something he was at all confident he could handle.

“Oh, I—” he started in alarm, but Andas cut him off.

“I require no commitment from you,” Andas informed him. “In fact, I can’t even officially accept one. But if you’re serious about helping, I can tell you what we know so far about the killer and the victims.”

After a moment of hesitation, Fahjoth nodded, and Andas gestured to the seat across his desk. Fahjoth obeyed, sitting and listening in silence.

“There have been seven victims so far, five outlanders and two Ordinators, and all with their throats slit. Three of the victims were found in the Foreign Quarter, one near the Arena and one in the Hlaalu Compound. None of the outlanders had been on Vvardenfell for more than a week.

“Our Ordinators were found near the body in the Hlaalu Compound, and we think they interrupted the killer at work. Despite the fact that they were armed and on duty, their weapons were still in their sheaths when their bodies were found, which is unsettling. We’re likely looking at someone incredibly stealthy, or adept at illusion magic.”

It was times like this that Fahjoth dearly wished he could read and write. At least then he would have been able to make notes.

“Finally... there is the matter of witnesses. We’ve had no official witnesses come forward, but one outlander reported being threatened by a Dunmer woman with a dagger in the Hlaalu Compound, around the time of the other murders. He couldn’t give us a very clear description as he teleported himself away to safety, but he told us she was wearing a skirt and netch leather armour.”

Fahjoth nodded, frowning as he tried to absorb all of this information, all the while his heartbeat had quickened uncomfortably with apprehension. Without further ado, he stood and excused himself from the office, heading back outside and into the late night’s chilly grip.

Hearing about the victims, as well as Huleeya’s dire warning, had strengthened Fahjoth’s resolve. Someone was lurking in the shadows of Vivec City, slaughtering innocent people seemingly purely because of their foreign origins. People just like him.

His years spent away from Morrowind had left him as good as an outlander in the eyes of the native Dunmer, and if someone considered that fact alone a trait punishable by death, then they couldn’t be allowed to continue to walk free. Someone needed to deal with them, and if the city’s Ordinators couldn’t — or wouldn’t — then perhaps it would be up to him.

Although... it would probably be a good idea to find Ribyna first, Fahjoth figured as he set off towards the city’s northernmost cantons, before he went blundering headfirst to his potential death. Again.

The path ahead was dark and unsettling, and Fahjoth found himself throwing anxious glances over his shoulder every few minutes, flinching at the slightest unexpected sound and eyeing every shadow with mistrust lest he be ambushed by a dagger-wielding, skirt-donning Dunmer intent on ending his life. It was with relief that he made it to the first of his destinations and, incidentally, the last place he had seen Ribyna heading towards — the Arena.

——————————————

Unfortunately for Fahjoth, Ribyna was nowhere to be seen, so he lingered around the Arena for long enough to do some investigating, inquiring with a few inhabitants and Ordinators but turning up no new leads. Eventually he was forced to resign himself to the fact that he would be a lone worker in this case — a thought that inspired a well of dread in his gut — and moved on.

The same was to be said with the Hlaalu Compound, where Fahjoth had checked in the hope that someone would have seen something about the attempted attack, but he had no luck there either. He then moved on to the Foreign Quarter where, to his surprise, an Orc was happy to assist.

“I recall someone — maybe one of the sewer cleaners — saying something about seeing a Dunmer woman down in the Underworks. Wouldn’t be that odd, but... in the Underworks? That’s odd. Nothing down there but rats and sewers.”

Which led Fahjoth to his next point of investigation — the Underworks.

——————————————

The moment he stepped foot in the Underworks, the smell hit him like a brick to the face. Almost choking on the pungent stench of sewage water, Fahjoth lingered for just long enough to feel just a little more regret before he set off, trying to forget the misgivings he felt. He yanked his scarf up to cover his nose and mouth and navigated the Underworks as carefully as he could, every footstep deliberately placed to be as quiet as possible. He was well aware that the killer could be lurking around any corner, and the deeper he tread into the sewers the more he felt his legs begin to tremble.

It was almost silent down here, the only sounds being that of the murky water sloshing against the smooth stone sewer walls and the occasional drip of moisture from the damp-ridden ceiling. Every so often he would hear a rat scuttling around in the darkness and his heart would jolt, requiring him to take a moment to stop and let his adrenaline levels fall after an unpleasant spike that set his pulse racing.

As he progressed, however, more unpleasant thoughts began to surface in his mind. One possibility kept presenting itself to him, and as hard as he tried to reject it, he found that he couldn’t wholeheartedly dismiss it.

“What are you doing, anyway?”

“Just... stuff.”

He remembered that strange look on Ribyna’s face when he mentioned going to Vivec City. He could tell easily when his twin was apprehensive, and as brief as it was, it had been only too clear to see on her face back in Balmora. Was she nervous about returning to the scene of the crime?

But that was ridiculous! His twin wasn’t a murderer!

What reason would she have to kill outlanders, anyway? The more Fahjoth thought about it, the more illogical it seemed. Least of all because he had never even seen Ribyna wear a skirt for as long as he could remember. So why couldn’t he simply disregard it? The fact that he even had doubts in the first place said enough, and he was even more nervous as he crept through the tunnels, dreading the possibility of seeing his twin around the next bend.

So wrapped up was he in his own thoughts that as Fahjoth rounded a corner and exited a smaller tunnel into a larger section of the sewers, he didn’t even notice the figure standing at the end of the tunnel until he was looking straight at them. With a choked gasp, he flung himself back around the corner from which he had just emerged and pressed himself against the wall, his heart pounding in his chest and his stomach tied up in knots. After pausing to listen for any sign of the stranger’s approach, he deemed it safe enough to peer around the wall again and get a better look at the figure ahead.

Even in the low light, he could tell that it was a Dunmer, and they were indeed wearing a skirt with what seemed to be a leather cuirass. This particular corner of the sewer almost looked like a base, with a scruffy bedroll laying on the ground near evidence of where a makeshift fireplace had been lit in the form of a charred mound of wood scraps. A pile of dilapidated crates and debris were strewn haphazardly around the alcove, in some cases holding — or failing to hold — contents like food and bottles of alcohol. Evidently, this was someone who had stocked up for some time.

Fortunately, she hadn’t noticed Fahjoth yet. She sat atop one of the crates, perusing some sort of book or journal and occasionally making notes. A dagger — stained an ominous rusty hue — sat by her side, and Fahjoth’s suspicions were all but confirmed.

How was he going to do this?

He could call it a day, back out quietly the way he came and return to the Office of the Watch with what he knew of the killer’s whereabouts. But even then, would anything get done? Would the Ordinators get here in time before the killer made another move, and claimed another victim?

Perhaps if he could sneak up behind her, he could get the advantage. He knew better than anyone that he was no master of stealth, but she looked fairly preoccupied. Perhaps if he was quiet and quick, then—

No sooner had the thought crossed his mind did he become aware of a weight suddenly pulling vigorously on his foot. As he looked down, he silently squirmed and grimaced at the sight of a large rat digging its teeth into the chitin, shaking its head as if determined to pull his boot clean off. It made no noise other than a soft, squeaky growl, but the splashing of the water beneath its paws was unsettlingly loud and echoed due to the circular tunnel’s acoustics. If this kept up, it was only a matter of time before the killer would notice him.

“Get off!” Fahjoth hissed, frantically shaking his foot. “Get off! Get off, you little c—!”

Unfortunately, the rat refused to budge. It was dragged along in the wake of Fahjoth’s mild kicks, which gradually grew more and more vigorous as he fought to free his foot of the rat’s vice-like grip. Leaning on the wall for balance, he raised his foot up off the ground, now aggressively kicking at the air when all prior attempts at gently shaking the rat off failed. The situation would have been comical had Fahjoth not been so painfully conscious of the murderer sitting barely 20 yards away from where he stood.

At last, after what felt like hours, the rat let go. However, the momentum given to it by Fahjoth’s kicking motion caused it to gracefully soar away as it was flung off his foot and land with a tremendous splash in the deep sewer water in front of him.

Instantly, Fahjoth froze. He pressed himself back against the wall, his breathing fast and laboured as he strained his ears for any sign of movement. Apart from the splashing of the rat as it swam away, apparently done with terrorising Fahjoth for the time being, all was silent. Then, as he dared to peek around the corner to evaluate the situation, a pair of red eyes stared into his own as he made direct eye contact with the Dunmer.

Her reaction was instant. She leapt up from her seat, dagger in hand, and stormed the length of the tunnel towards him, already screaming abuse and profanities in his direction. Kicking hard off the ground, Fahjoth threw himself into motion, and with the Dunmer hurtling closer his options for where to go were limited. A brown and grey blur in his peripheral as he passed indicated that the Dunmer was giving chase, but with the advantage of having longer legs, Fahjoth half-sprinted and half-leapt over a nearby bridge spanning the sewer water before pelting down to the tunnel’s end. Whirling around once he came to a stop, the Dunmer was mere seconds behind him, so Fahjoth drew his sword and stood fast.

Wielding a dagger which seemed to emanate a sickly red glow, his opponent lunged, landing a glancing blow against Fahjoth’s armour as he leapt back. But she was much faster than he had anticipated. He stumbled back and threw himself from side to side to avoid the Dunmer’s aggressive strategy of repeated jabs and slashes, breaking into a sweat and feeling his flanks ache with every shallow pant. One thrust of the dagger slid between the gap in the chitin protecting his arm, slicing through the sleeve and nicking the skin beneath.

With a gasp, Fahjoth flung himself backwards. There was a dull thud as his heel collided with something on the ground and his balance was completely thrown off.

His stomach lurched as he began a sharp descent, hitting the ground with a painful bump. The scraping and groans of the crates he fell against rang in his ears as the Dunmer was suddenly filling his vision, dagger poised ready to plunge into his throat.

With his sword arm raised in a vague attempt to defend himself, Fahjoth reached to the side, grasping at nothingness in a frantic search for something, anything, that could—

The cold sliminess of damp wood brushed against his fingertips. He fastened his grip, braced himself and flung the broken chunk at his assailant with as much force as he could muster.

The jagged lump of wood, a deadly weapon in its own right in the right circumstances, struck the Dunmer square in the face. She staggered back with a howl of pain, clutching her eye while blood seeped from a fresh injury above her brow. With adrenaline coursing through him, Fahjoth sprung to his feet, clutching the hilt of his sword with fingers now damp from his own blood.

The Dunmer lifted her gaze to Fahjoth again, her uninjured eye blazing with a chilling hatred, but before she could make another move Fahjoth had sprung. He rushed forward and thrust his sword into the Dunmer’s midriff, the tip of the blade piercing the thin, aged leather of her armour with surprising ease. Then he continued pushing forward, until his sword had been buried up to its hilt into her stomach and protruded out from her navel.

The Dunmer froze, paralysed by the deadly blow, and Fahjoth relinquished his weapon and backed off, unable to do anything else but stare as she staggered to the side and fell. A sharp clang announced her collision to the ground as the sword’s blade hit the ground first, but once her momentum stopped and she lay still, total silence fell upon them.

Silence, apart from the sound of Fahjoth’s ragged breathing.

As he stared down at the lifeless Dunmer on the ground before him, Fahjoth only became conscious of how badly his legs were shaking when he tried to take a step forward and his knees almost buckled beneath his weight. Only one thought circled in his mind, over and over, as he silently watched the blood starting to ooze out from beneath her body.

He had done this.

Someone was dead because of him.

The more logical part of his brain insisted that if he hadn’t, it would have been him lying there in a pool of his own blood instead. But that didn’t make him feel much better about the fact that he had just taken someone’s life.

There was a part of him that didn’t even want to approach the body to retrieve his shortsword, but at the end of the day, he had paid good money for that. And it wasn’t as if he had a backup. So with a trembling hand he grasped the hilt, slowly prising the sword out of the Dunmer’s body and wincing at the sickening sound of the blade gliding against flesh, squelching and wet. He cleaned the metal as best he could using linen from the makeshift bed, then sheathed his weapon and reluctantly searched the camp for evidence to present to Elam Andas.

He didn’t find much of any substance. The journal the Dunmer had been reading was, of course, impossible for him to read. Quite apart from not finding any sense in the words, it was damp and smudged terribly to the point where it was barely legible. Still, perhaps the Office of the Watch would have better luck; he took it, along with an old rusty key and the Dunmer’s dagger, which left him feeling oddly nauseous and drained after his fingertips came into direct contact with it.

The damp stickiness of blood on his arm and staining his sleeve was impossible to ignore, as was the injury beneath it, so Fahjoth took a moment to attempt to heal it on his own. With the spell he had acquired from the Mages Guild in mind, Fahjoth closed his eyes and furrowed his brows in concentration; he racked every corner of his brain, searching for any spark that could ignite the spell that he could feel hesitating at his fingertips. But in his already worn-out state, the attempts only ended up draining yet more of his energy and left him with a considerable headache. In the end he conceded and admitted defeat, recognising a lost cause when he saw one.

Then Fahjoth embarked on the long walk back to the Hall of Justice, craving fresh air and a warm bed above all else. It hadn’t quite sunk in yet that he had successfully taken on a serial killer and lived to tell the tale, but there was an odd light-heartedness in his chest as he traipsed back along the paths through Vivec City’s shadowy cantons, feeling somehow more confident than before.

——————————————

Fahjoth’s triumphant — albeit exhausted and bloodied — return to the Office of the Watch was met with disbelief at first, followed by amazement once he broke the news that the killer had been dealt with. Elam Andas was thrilled and accepted the dagger and journal as evidence without question, perhaps a sign of how desperate he was to believe that this Dunmer was no longer a threat. After expressing his gratitude he sent Fahjoth on his way, with a promise that Ordinators would be sent to clean up the mess and the reward of an enchanted belt to protect him on his travels, which Fahjoth accepted eagerly. Although he was pleased with the response to his daring deed, he was now more than ever looking forward to collapsing into bed after a very, very long day.

With thoughts of only soft pillows and warm sheets on his mind as he entered the familiarity of the Foreign Quarter, it wasn’t until he came face-to-face with someone approaching the hallway to the cornerclub from the opposite way that he realised he had forgotten something — or rather, someone.

“Ribyna!” Fahjoth exclaimed, recognising his sibling even from a distance. But something was wrong. There was no wave or call of greeting from Ribyna, who walked silently over to him with a pronounced limp in her step.

“Ribyna?”

In the light of the torch that hung from the nearby wall, Fahjoth could see that Ribyna was in a dreadful state. Her armour was scuffed and damaged in places and her hair was a mess, but most worryingly was the copious amount of bloodstains that spattered and smeared her almost from head to foot.

“Ribyna!” Fahjoth gasped, rushing over to meet her and instantly beginning to fuss. “What the hell happened?! Are you okay?!”

“I’m fine,” Ribyna grunted, making a half-hearted attempt to push Fahjoth away.

“You’re covered in blood!”

“It’s fine. It’s not my blood.” Ribyna paused to wince, doubling over slightly and gritting her teeth. “Most of it...”

Before Fahjoth could question her further, they were interrupted by the rapid approach of an Ordinator, his sword drawn and raised at Ribyna threateningly.

“Halt!” he barked. “Murderous scum! You violated the law, outlander. Surrender and come with me immediately.”

Fahjoth's mouth fell open with horror. Murderous? Surely there had to be some kind of mistake...

However, Ribyna's silence was not encouraging. Instead of protesting her innocence, she reached into a pocket and tugged out a somewhat bloodstained roll of parchment, which she passed over to the guard without a word. To Fahjoth's astonishment, once he had finished reading it, he nodded and tucked the note away in his own armour.

“All of your papers seem to be in order,” he said, dipping his head to Ribyna. “You are free to go.”

And then he walked away, leaving Fahjoth utterly bemused as he stared at his still very quiet twin.

“Are you gonna tell me what the hell just happened?” he questioned, and Ribyna huffed.

"In a sec. Let's get inside first," she muttered, slipping away into the cornerclub without waiting for a response. Fahjoth, left with little choice, followed her in and then led the way to their room. The moment he opened the door, Ribyna pushed past him and dropped down onto the bed with a groan — much to Fahjoth's displeasure, as he had been hoping to do this exact thing first.

“Well?” he prompted, lowering himself into a nearby chair and slouching back, relishing the chance to take the weight off his sore feet for a while. “What was that guard on about, calling you ‘murderous scum’?”

It was a moment or two before Ribyna dragged herself upright again and turned her gaze to Fahjoth.

“I joined the Morag Tong.”

Fahjoth, who had been in the process of removing his boots, froze motionless as he felt his blood run cold. “You what?!” he hissed, once he found his voice again. “You’ve— what?!”

“Yeah.” Ribyna’s tone was level as she stared back at Fahjoth, looking more tired than defensive. “Don’t start, alright? I’m knackered.”

“Don’t st—?!” Fahjoth bolted upright, keeping his voice hushed as best he could but fighting to quash the outrage that burned in his chest. “You’ve gone and joined a murder cult and you’re telling me to not start?!”

“It’s not a murder cult!” Ribyna protested. “It’s perfectly legal!”

“Just because it’s legal, doesn’t mean it’s not a—” Fahjoth stopped mid-rant, rubbing his eyes with exasperation. “Just... Ugh, what have you gone and done that for? Can’t you just do something... normal?! Like... I dunno, go join the Fighters Guild if you really wanna stab things!”

“No.” She slouched down, looking suddenly more tired than ever. “Look, maybe I’m fed up of being treated like the shit on everyone’s shoes, alright? Maybe I just... wanted a bit of respect for once.”

Fahjoth faltered, experiencing a flicker of sympathy for his twin. He knew that feeling all too well. “Beebs, you don’t need to become a murderer to be respected.”

“I was already a murderer,” Ribyna pointed out bluntly. Fahjoth felt a twist in his gut, memories from that horrendous day threatening to resurface in his mind. “At least this way I can get paid for it.”

Fahjoth paused, struggling to find an argument and fighting to put into words exactly how he felt about Ribyna’s new career choice. Eventually, he heaved a sigh. “But... it can’t be safe. Look, you’re injured! I’m... I’m worried about you, Ribyna.”

“Well, don’t be. Turns out I’m half-decent at killing people.�� Naturally, Ribyna’s answer didn’t reassure Fahjoth in the slightest, but she ploughed on anyway with a change of subject. “Anyway, what about you? What have you been up to?” Now that she was evaluating Fahjoth properly, her eyes soon fell on the bloodstains that still blemished his clothes and armour. “Is that blood?!”

“Yeah... and this time, it is mine. Honestly, you won’t believe the day I’ve had, Beebs,” Fahjoth said, before he began to regale the whole story; meeting Huleeya, learning about the outlander killings, going to the Office of the Watch, venturing into the Underworks...

By the time he had finished, Ribyna was staring at him with an incredulous look on her face.

“Hang on,” she started, “you killed someone and you’re having a go at me for joining the Morag Tong? Hypocrite, much!”

“I— but— what?!” Fahjoth spluttered, affronted. “Th-that’s different! I’m not an assassin, I was stopping a serial killer—”

But he promptly shut his mouth once he noticed the wry grin curling at the corners of Ribyna’s lips.

“I’m only messing,” she chortled, her smirk quickly becoming a proud smile. “Holy shit, that’s amazing, Fahji. Shame they didn’t pay you for it, mind.”

“I don’t mind,” Fahjoth replied honestly, calming down again. “I’m just glad she can’t hurt anyone else.” He paused, feeling heat rising in his face as he prepared himself to confess to something. “Honestly for a little while, I was worried that the killer was gonna be you.”

Ribyna promptly cocked a brow. “You fucking donkey, why would I go around killing outlanders? I am an outlander!”

“I was just freaking out!” Fahjoth protested. “I was tired, and nervous, and you’d been acting proper shifty, and— well, I obviously wasn’t that far off, was I? Might not’ve been outlanders, but you were planning on killing people after all!”

Ribyna rolled her eyes, busying herself with removing her own armour. “Yeah yeah, alright, you’ve already said your piece. Come on, let’s get cleaned up and get some sleep. I’m absolutely wrecked.”

Though he still had plenty more to say on the matter, Fahjoth agreed, for both their sakes. He was looking forward to crashing just as much as Ribyna was, and once they had finished helping each other tend to their injuries and settled down for the night, Fahjoth was asleep almost as soon as his head had hit the pillows.

—————————————————————————————

tag list @boulderfall-cave , @padomaicocean (lmk if you’d like to be added!)

#oc: fahjoth #oc: ribyna #tes #tes fic #morrowind #dunmer #dunmer oc #nerevarine #elder scrolls #elder scrolls fanfic #TES III: Morrowind

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hunterenough · 3 years

Text

I am Dean.

I am Dean. I’ve identified with the character essentially since the show aired. We’re about the same age, both oldest siblings, and we’ve both had a lot of responsibility thrust on us that we just had to learn to handle. We’ve learned to stuff down what we feel because it’s our job to get shit done, and most of the time, feelings just get in the way. We love deeply, but most people think we’re unfeeling because after 30 odd years of boxing shit up, we’re damned professionals at it.

Right about the time the show started, I’d dropped out of graduate school and was living back at home while I worked up enough cash to find a place of my own. There was very little about my life that I felt was my own, and it was very much like being back in high school. All of the things that I’d learned about myself in the years I was away were erased, and I was very much trying to act like the person everyone thought I still was. I think Dean was the same, that each time he was out on his own, he learned a little more about who he actually was, and that each time they came back together, he had to act like nothing had changed, like he was still the perfect little soldier his dad had raised. I had to act like the quiet book-smart girl my family knew. But we knew, Dean and I, what we were hiding from the world in those moments. For Dean, I think it was a recognition of grey areas, an understanding of what love really could mean, how different his life could be.

I was a lot less successful at hiding it in the long run. I didn’t come out to my family intentionally. My dad happened to come home from work early one day, and found me napping with my then girlfriend. Shit hit the fan, I was essentially kicked out of the house, and wound up living with my girlfriend. I’m really lucky. It was a pretty smooth transition, and my brothers were incredibly supportive. It took nearly a year, but my parents eventually realized that having a queer daughter was not the end of the world, and they’d rather have me in their lives than not. It wasn’t perfect, but I’ll give them every bit of credit for learning to not only accept me, but to show that they had never stopped loving me. My mom even tried to explain that they just didn’t know how to talk to me about it at first. That relationship ended, not well really, but that didn’t matter, life went on.

I met my husband-to-be the same year Dean met Cas. I won’t pretend we danced around starting a relationship like they did, but I think Dean and I had a pretty similar approach. I performed my role as a new girlfriend the way I figured people thought I should. I held hands and we kissed in public. Honestly, that’s not how I’d ever been in a relationship before. I’m not huge on touching in general, less so in public, but nobody had ever seen me in a relationship with a guy, and, after everything, I just didn’t feel like trying to explain myself again.

Performing is exhausting. When I realized that this guy was important, that I really might want him around long term, it felt even more so. Again, I’m lucky because when i started to let my mask slip, this guy fell in love with the real me too. Our relationship settled into a comfortable safe space, and I was happy. Our relationship wasn’t perfect, but at the end of the day, he was always there for me.

Dean, I think, had that with Cas. Regardless of their “relationship” status, whether they were best friends or something more, Cas was Dean’s safe place. He was the person that knew all of his weaknesses and flaws and still chose to stand by his side.

Fast forward to season 12. A lot happened in those years, both for Dean and for me. Honestly though, this is where Dean and I found our next huge plot of common ground. In 2017, my husband was diagnosed with cancer. I watched Dean wrap Cas for his funeral pyre while I was sitting in a hospital room next to my husband who was hooked up to IV’s in his arm and a central port in his chest. I completely understood the stoicism of the act. Our practicality and sense of duty serves us well when our world is going to shit. Dean turned to drinking, I learned exactly how to be responsible for my husband’s at home care. I’ll never be able to explain how well I understood exactly what Dean was feeling when he met Billie. I didn’t want to die, but honestly if it was my time, then so be it. I’m not suicidal, never have been, but I didn’t have a lot of fight left in me after I lost my husband.

Now, to the end of Season 15. I think Dean’s characterization after Cas was taken was spot on, but I can say that primarily because nearly all of what we saw was him with others. Remember, we’ve had years of practice stuffing our feelings down, doing what needs to be done, and acting fine.

I held my husband’s hand while he died. I did exactly what I promised him I would and told him I loved him and that everything would be okay. (We’ll get back to how much that part of the finale kicked the shit out of me in a bit.)

When he was gone, in the living room of our house mind you, because that’s what he wanted, I got shit done. I called his nursing service to report his death, called the funeral home to retrieve his body, and started notifying our friends and family. I smoked a pack of cigarettes and kept my shit together because I knew that if i started to cry, I might never stop. I watched the home nurse and the funeral director prep his body and roll it away, sent his mom home, and when I was finally alone, more alone than I’d been in years, I sat next to his bed and cried until I couldn’t breathe.

By the time my brother showed up a couple hours after I’d called to tell him my husband had passed, I was doing the dishes. It was well after midnight at this point. I’d told him I was good, but...he’s my brother, and he knows me. He came with a bottle of whiskey (another thing Dean and I have in common), and sent me to bed after we’d shared a few shots.

The thing that you don’t know, unless you’ve been through it, is that there is a TON of shit that needs to be done after someone dies. I planned a cremation, a memorial, dealt with insurance companies and our mortgage and all of our joint accounts, and by the time all of that was underway, it was time to go back to work.

When someone you love dies, there is an expectation that you’re going to grieve publically. For me, for Dean, that is unacceptable. If we’re weak, if we lean on someone while we’re dealing with our grief, then we’re letting down the people that depend on us to be strong. Yes, that’s a completely acceptable and normal thing for a good chunk of the population, but that’s not who we are. I can honestly say that moving forward with my life was literally the only thing that kept me going.

So, the final two episodes.

I didn’t question for a second that Dean didn’t talk about Cas’ declaration or his sacrifice. I sure as hell didn’t. I didn’t doubt that he’d make a seamless transition back to casework in the same way I went back to my own job. Having a role to perform that I understood and knowing how to act in specific situations made it so much easier for me to push things down. He had to prove to Sam that he was fine for the same reason that I did, so that the people who love us wouldn’t be watching our every move waiting for us to run screaming off the next cliff. My brother, the same one who showed up with whiskey, did essentially the same thing that Sam did. He didn’t push me to talk. He helped me clean all the medical supplies out of the house, made sure my house and car weren’t going to kill me, and texted me weird random memes daily just so I would text him back.

I also didn’t question the empties in his bedroom or the coat in the trunk. In private moments, when no one is around to see, it’s ok to loosen the relief valve on all of the shit that’s been tightly contained. I slept in my husband’s hoodies and emptied my bar. I understood those things. No one knew about the nightmares, and I ignored the fact that I was drowning in a million memories of my husband every day I spent at home.

To me, those things go hand in hand with losing the person you love most. Regardless of whether or not you think that Dean loves Cas romantically, you can’t argue that Cas was his life partner in a way completely different from Sam. Sam is his responsibility, Cas was his choice. He loves them both, just differently.

Disregarding the revival of an old character for no apparent reason and the fact that it was one of John’s old cases, I didn’t struggle with the handling of the vampire scene in the barn either. I don’t believe that Dean would have ever killed himself intentionally. He would have seen it as his responsibility not only to survive, but to live. Cas just died to save him, again, and there’s no way that Dean is going to let that be for nothing. For me, it was finally going to a Supernatural convention and taking a trip to Paris. For Dean, it was Pie Fest in Akron. They drove fifteen hours for pie. Live, don’t just survive.

He didn’t intentionally throw himself at that hunk of rebar. It was a byproduct of doing his job. But, I think, his reaction to it was the most real thing that could have happened. He didn’t want Sam to call an ambulance or try to save him. He didn’t want Sam to do anything but give him permission to stop fighting. He needed to hear that it was ok.

I’ve never been close to my own death. I don’t have that perspective, but in the year and a half that my husband fought cancer, I was taught to understand this moment as well. When we moved to the palliative stage of my husband’s treatment, the part where medical care is no longer about treating the disease but is now focused on providing comfort, we talked about everything. The thing that scared my husband the most was leaving me behind. He worried about how I would deal with my grief, he worried about me being alone, he worried about how I would manage a sixty hour work week and four pets and a four bedroom house and a two hour round trip commute. He didn’t worry about being dead, he worried about me being alive.

The night my husband died, we all knew it was coming. There are a variety of medical indicators, blood pressure changes, muscle changes, and most critically, at the very end, the fucking death rattle. I cannot explain this sound, I hope you never hear it, but you’ll know if you do. So, at the very end, when my husband was fighting for every breath, I held his hand, and I told him I loved him and I told him that everything would be ok. It was my way of telling him that he didn’t have to fight for me anymore, that I would be ok without him. It didn’t have to be true, but he had to hear it. I couldn’t let him die with all of that worry and guilt swirling around in his head.

Hearing Dean ask Sam to tell him it was ok hit me so fucking hard. For me, it was the clearest declaration of his love for Cas that he could have given. He literally looked at his brother, who he has sacrificed his life for in a myriad of ways, and asked for permission not to fight anymore.

Sam did the same thing for Dean that I did for my husband. He recognized that Dean would hold on as long as he could just to make sure that his little brother would be ok once he was gone. He knew Dean was miserable and suffering, so he held Dean’s hand, told him he loved him, and that it was ok. It didn’t have to be true, he just had to say it.

To be honest, I didn’t have a problem with Bobby being the one to welcome Dean to heaven. In fact, I think he was a great choice, regardless of whether or not it was a Covid related decision on the writer’s part. Bobby was his dad, someone he trusted, and was the logical person to let Dean know that Jack had revamped heaven before sending Dean out to do what he had to do to find his peace. I didn’t expect an emotional scene, it would have been out of character for both of them.

I didn’t have a problem with Dean climbing into Baby and just driving. Two years after losing my husband and I still do the same thing when the shit in my brain is moving too fast for me to deal. Baby is home to him, a place he feels comfortable and in control, and driving is the best way he knows to find some perspective.

I didn’t have a problem with the montage of Sam’s life. I thought it was terribly constructed, but the content of it was predictable. Sam stayed true to character and did what he asked of Dean before hopping into the pit. He went out and made himself an apple pie life. I would have been surprised and disappointed if it was anything different.

The thing that made me hate the finale was the end. When Dean turned around on that bridge, what we should have heard was “Hello Dean.” That hug should have been Dean and Cas. Regardless of whether or not you think they shared romantic love, Cas was family, name on the table and all. I didn’t need a love confession, I didn’t need a kiss, I didn’t need some grand romantic moment. I just needed that thank-Jack-you’re-not-stuck-in-uber-hell hug like the one Benny watched in purgatory or that Mary saw after the soul bomb. Dean’s been in heaven for a bit, long enough that Sam could have witnessed this one from the passenger seat with a grin.

There’s no way Dean would have found peace without seeing for himself that Cas was safe, and you’ll never convince me otherwise.

#spn spoilers #spn finale

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luckyfirerabbit · 4 years

Text

Jaune Doe: pt 7

(short and sweet, it’s how it came out)

It's been hills and valleys for him the last couple weeks. The nightmares come and go in waves, a few nights on, then off, then on again for a few more. His appetite is inconsistent but he doesn't appear to have an issue with it, though the staff is worried about his weight. But, on the positive side, they've got him off the IV completely and are managing his pain rather well with Ibuprofen. He's up and walking as expected. His concussion is healing as it should as well, but his memory is still spotty at best. Aside from his sleep disturbances his mood is stable, even pleasant, and he's able to tolerate what few visitors he receives with little issue.

Today, however, Jaune is noticeably concerned, lounging in his bed and staring at the ceiling with a sever knit to his brow. His transfer date is coming up and he doesn't know what to do. Pyrrha said she would figure it out, or at least help him do it, but she hasn't brought him anything yet, not even the copy of his file that she promised.

What's going to happen to him? Will they just toss him out? No, no...would they really?

"Knock, knock,"

Jaune blinks out of his troubled haze, reflexively smiling. "Hey, Pyrrha, I was just thinking about you."

"Oh yeah? Good things I hope." Oh my gods, why did I say that? She's starting to second guess herself already.

"You could say that." he lilts his head, noncommittal. "Everything okay? What's in the bag?"

"Well," she knows he's referring to the duffel bag she has in one hand. She approaches the bed and sets it down near the foot of it, asking for permission to sit on the edge before continuing. "I actually wanted to talk to you about your transfer."

"Oh, good. What did you find out?"

"I've got all the information on the hospital campuses available for you right here." she props her briefcase on her lap and opens it, passing him a folder that he had expected to be much thicker. "Most of them are nearby, and a few of them have single occupancy units so you could have some privacy if you wanted."

"That's great, thank you." he takes the papers, seemingly genuinely relieved. "And what about the copy of my file?"

"That's here too." she's still sifting through everything she keeps in the case, producing another pale colored file.

He shows his gratitude through a short lived but heartfelt smile, though the expression kinks with curiosity. "And the bag?"

Pyrrha snaps her case closed and takes a sharp, stabilizing breath at the same time. "I...bought you some clothes. I had to guess your size for the most part, but...yeah. There's some hard-soled slippers in there that should fit you, too, at least until you can tell me your shoe size."

"Pyrrha," he's stunned, "y-you didn't have to do that."

"I know, I wanted to." she can't look at him, focusing on her hands and the way her fingers drum at the edges of her briefcase. "I also wanted to ask you something."

"Besides my shoe size?" the little chuckle at the end sounds nervous.

"Yes," she laughs in turn. "I was wondering...I applied to be your sponsor. If you want...you can come and stay with me."

His brow creases, a mixture of concern and uncertainty flickering in his eyes. His hands fumble with the papers he's holding, eventually settling to let them sit atop his thighs when he draws his legs up. "I...you didn't...why would you do that?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean," his hand reaches back and cups his neck, rubbing out the anxiety he feels mounting in his chest. He lifts his eyes and meets her gaze briefly. "It's...shit," he pushes his hand through his hair, fingernails in his scalp and catching on a cut he forgot about. "I don't know how to say it without sounding like an asshole."

"Then just say it, it's okay." she assures him.

"What's your angle?" he blurts out, feeling the shame of the hidden accusation immediately.

Part of her thinks she gets it, it's the same part that pushes down the little hurt brought on by his suspicion. After everything he's been through -just the stuff she knows about- how was he supposed to trust her like that? It's a wonder he has any trust for her at all.

Eventually Pyrrha just smiles and waits until he looks at her again. "Like I said before, I just want to help."

He still holds a certain uneasy wariness in his face. "And if I say no?"

"Then that's your choice." she nods once. "I'd hope you'd accept the clothes, though, considering you don't really have anything," she laughs, an attempt to break the tension that she's certain fails, "but you're welcome to say no. I'll still be your advocate, I'll still work on your case and make sure you're taken care of. Nothing changes."

Jaune hears sirens in his head, warnings, some vicious and desperate thing screaming for him to retreat. It's a trap is all he can think, in spite of everything he's seen -he knows- to the contrary.

For a moment the two just look at each other, and Pyrrha eventually takes that as a sign. She eases to her feet, her brief case tucked under her arm.

"Take some time to think it over, and just let me know when you've made a decision, okay? Until then, if you need me, just have someone page me."

He nods. "...Thanks." he offers timidly.

"Of course."

---

Every so often Pyrrha will skip her evening trip to the gym in favor of dinner out with her coworkers, which usually consists of Blake or Billy or Sahv, or some combination of the three. Tonight it's Blake and Yang joining her at Magic Wok. The three of them manage to get a booth tucked away in a relatively quiet corner, the perfect spot to sit and talk without disturbing or being disturbed by others.

"Am I an asshole?"

Blake coughs as her food goes down the wrong pipe, causing Yang to reach across to pat her lover on the back as she gapes at Pyrrha from across the table.

"What on earth makes you say that?" Blake sputters once she's able.

Pyrrha shifts in her seat, uncomfortable under their joint scrutiny. "I mean...maybe asshole isn't the right word,"

"Damn straight it isn't." Yang insists. "That's the last word I'd ever use in regards to you." she looks to Blake. "You okay now, baby?"

"I'm fine." one last cough. "But seriously, why would you think that?"

"Well, like we talked about, I told Jaune I was willing to sponsor him." she prods the tangle of noodles on her plate with her chopsticks. "And...just like you said he might, he got defensive and kind of...shut down."

"So why would you think you're an asshole?"

"Because," Pyrrha slouches, putting her hands in her lap as if she can hide her discomfort. "I just...I hate when I upset people. Especially when I just want to do the right thing."

"I'm not saying you shouldn't take it personally, because you're doing that anyway -that's right, I've got your number, superhero," Blake's felid ears match the asymmetry of her eyebrows, "but I don't believe he got defensive simply because it's you. It's because things are changing for him again, what little stability he has is about to shift and he doesn't know what to do, if there's anything he can do. And that's probably coming from a long time of having no control over his own fate or well being. Then, of course, there's the more than likely possibility of general trust issues."

Yang takes a long draw from the straw in her drink, her brow furrowing as she swallows. "He's probably convinced this is just some elaborate scam, and the minute he agrees to go home with you, all hell's going to break loose."

And part of Pyrrha knows there's not much she can do to change that for him. Jaune would have to discover for himself if she was trustworthy, if what she was offering him was real or some cruel joke at his expense. She shudders at the idea of just how bad he might think things could be, a man who -while drugged out of his mind and mad with pain- still had the wherewithal to be terrified and fight back against those that were trying to save his life.

"If what he went through was anything like," Yang continues, pausing to put a crispy rangoon in her mouth and tuck it in her cheek. She'll gesture with her hand, knowing they both know what she means. "Gods only know the kind of head games he's had to navigate until now. But I agree with Blake, I don't think it's because of you."

"I know, I agree with you too, just,"

"Just you're a micro-manager and this is something you can't change." Blake explains knowingly. "But you've got a good enough head on your shoulders to let it run it's course."

"I certainly hope so." Pyrrha sips her drink. "And I don't want to influence his decision so I'm keeping our visits to a need-only basis."

One golden brow rises. "Want me to influence him for you?"

"Yang," Blake warns gently, half-heartedly.

"No, I'm serious. Listen," Yang shoves down another rangoon and swallows, leaning towards Pyrrha on one elbow. "He doesn't understand the kind of person you are, he probably thinks you're like some fucking unicorn -all mythological and sparkly and too good to be true. Let me talk to him, I mean, you've been meaning for me to anyway, right?"

"True." Blake nods.

"But he should make this choice on his own." Pyrrha reaffirms. "He deserves that."

"He also deserves the best chance at recovery and getting his life back together." Yang counters.

"Also true." Blake chimes, seeming more focused on her food than the conversation.

"And I think you can give him that chance, Pyrrha. Hell," she laughs, easing away, back into her own space in the booth. "If it weren't for you, I might not have met Blake, so you basically saved my life."

Pyrrha blushes and tries to hide her face, failing miserably. "I just got you the referral."

"Semantics." Yang waves her hand in dismissal. "So let me go to bat for you, just this once, and I promise I won't use my impeccable charm for evil ever again."

Blake laughs, almost choking on her food again. Once she's able to she quickly swallows.

"Come on; I kind of feel like you owe me after not letting me curb-stomp your ex."

"Yang," Pyrrha exhales hard, appalled more so at herself for the effort it takes not to laugh than at Yang for the comment. "He wasn't that bad,"

"Bullshit." Yang points a finger at her, sharp, decisive.

Blake clears her throat, takes a quick drink. "Being in denial doesn't change the truth of the matter, Pyrrha, it would be better if you just accept it."

"I've gotten better at it." she admits meekly. "Just...I don't think anyone deserves to be curb-stomped. Believe it or not, I'm not a huge fan of violence."

"Well I am," Yang's finger has changed to her thumb and points back at her, "and as far as I'm concerned, a man who hits his wife deserves a helluva lot worse."

Pyrrha sighs and smiles. "And while I appreciate how fiercely protective you both are of me, it isn't necessary."

"You heard her, down girl." Blake nudges Yang with an elbow.

Yang tucks close to Blake, diving face first into the crook of her neck. "Woof,"

"Oh my god," Pyrrha groans, "check please,"

#Jaune Doe #jaune arc #pyrrha nikos #bumbleby #blake x yang #blake belladonna #yang xiao long

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armouredgoblin · 4 years

Text

Im fucking angry

Its been a long time since i have actually posted anything on here. But now I need to vent Ive seen so much shit going on that it makes me want to scream for some common sense

I dont care about your Identity. I only care if you are a good person Once you force your identity into the conversation and make it litterally only about that, its not “Oh it doesnt mean that X and Y dont matter” its “My Identity comes first before anything that might counter that argument” Right now I am seeing people attacking each other PURELY over racial skin tone ON ALL SIDES.

Im seeing history being wiped out for something that we thought was normal 100′s to 1000′s of years ago but then the west took it upon themselves to remove as much as possible. If you havent guessed its slavery btw Im seeing people litterally creating a lawless part of a city and cry when they cannot get their extremly priverliged food “Vegan and soy products”. Congratulations people you are so privilage you have the CHOICE of foods you can buy, but now you put yourselves into a situation where you cannot get more of it thanks to the systems you have derailed completely that worked fine until you fucking idiots.

The Media is so baised its now just stupid. Claiming that the stabbings in scotland would have been provented if we had given the “asylum Seekers” more free shit? They openly Dox people who dont just take the narritive that they try to spoon feed to us. Good morning britain had a person saying that they should have translated the warnings in Lester into other languages because of their highly Diverse population. Im pretty sure that the main language in Britian is English. Ive also noticed that the places with the most Diverse Populations have the worst issues (cough cough London)

Speaking of Diversity. Shut the fuck up Khan (The london mayor). During your time london has become a cesspit of bullshit and is no longer an English city. Its so bad that the Native population of the country is out numbered in our own capital city. It is not a strength when more and more issues are coming up because you dont have the balls to deal with the issues because WACISM. I have seen better Mayoral canadates in my toilet than you and your Divesity is our strength PR bullshitter. You can also take that fucking internet police you keep pouring money into because people are getting offended on the internet with “non crime hate crimes” Also fuck Hate crime laws they are over reaching and too vague to be any use.

People are being Cancelled left right and center because of things that they have said over 10 years ago in some cases. like Fucking hell give them some time to learn from their mistakes or is it a case of that they can never change, Because if you watch/ read some of their latest stuff it shows that they are different people now.

Anyone who disagrees with the current bias as well is labeled as “Far Right”, how about go fuck yourselves. That means the majority of the normal thinking world is far right by your own standards including some of those who think even a iota out of place.

Im going to say something now I do not agree with the current movement. Its no longer about what it was origonally, its now a completely Marxist and Maoist movement bent on changing the free fucking western world into a bullshit 3rd world. Sure things are not perfect but you lot creating more divides based on your ever increasing Identities and numerous labels you give yourselves and others are causing more problems than they solve.

Did you know that silencing anyone that disagrees with you can force and opinon that could be massively seen as negative can cause more underground movments to spread. Sunlight is the best disinfectent, keeping things in the light allows debate and the chance for people to understand what the others are saying instead of out right deleting them.

Did you know that slavery is happening in africa? or dont they count? ON another note did you know that the Irish were also persecuted and treated like shit? Did you know that Islam the religion which is protected by fucking everyone on the left will activly erode your freedoms and throw you off of a building for being anything but straight? also it is in their text that slaves are a thing? Its also a point that their Prophet is a bloody pedophile.

Did you know that the most rascism we see in history is happens to be visable now because we think FAR FAR differently to back then? Did you know that Communism no matter what form it has taken has claimed 10′s of millions of lives? there is no such thing is not “real communism”.

Did you know that not everything is Trumps or the Conservatives (uk) fault? in fact a good number of the counsils or the cities run by labour(UK) and the Democrats(US) are the worst run of them all with the highest crime and allowing something like CHAZ or CHOP to happen. Now people are just roaming around stealing and harming others within that zone because the police are being ordered not to enter by the fucking Mayor of the city that this “Socialist Haven” resides in. YOU EVEN SEGREGATE WHOLE ZONES JUST FOR ONE RACE IN THERE SO WHATS THAT ABOUT BEING RACIST ?

Did you know that Defunding the police will be a bad thing ? For example, who is going to stop a mean son of a bitch from stealing your shit or causing harm to your family? because outside of america we do not have that many rights to defend our own property (Specificly the UK) and we can be arrested for defending ourselves. Did you know a peacful protest does not include going onto privet land and then crying when someone pulls a gun on you? We have seen what a “ most peaceful protest” is by the standards that things are getting set on fire, homes and businesses and lives are being taken.

I honestly hate all this shit that is happening. So here are my suggestions Fucking sit down and learn some history

Know that the Majority do not think like you and your repulsive hive mind.

Stop dividing yourselves into groups with more and more oppression points

and try to be good people.

Don’t harras, dox, cancel people.

Hate crime laws have been stupid for a long time.

I know there are bad things in this world but all you are doing is adding to the problems and in a lot of cases ignoring others that do not follow your narritive.

Love from The Llama

Ps I have saved this as a document because there is going to be at least one person out there who will want this silenced. I will not be silenced

#blm #defund cops #fuck everything #i am angry #you are wrong #listen to others #you all know what i'm talking about #History is a lesson #Marxist #maoism #common sense #dont give up #Dont bend the knee #Dont listen to everything #this will get flagged #this will be the death of me #this will be deleted

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trackinghallownest · 5 years

Note

-slides into your dms- tell me about your vessel ocs!!!! Whose your favorite. Everyone has a favorite even if they don't like to admit it! And is it ok if I draw them interacting with my vessel ocs?

HHfngfh gh i’m,,, thank you for this ask i’m dying,, i will absolutely go off if you dont mind me taking this chance!! ft doodles!! because i can!! and you absolutely can draw them with yours i will probably cry and definitely draw interactions back udfkfhvdf;;

some of this i may have mentioned in other posts but i cant for the life of me keep track of what ive put here compared to the discord so! i’m just going to fact dump! and put under a cut so i don’t completely fill peoples’ dashes shkfd

first is gonna be spindle since. i love them. theyre probably my favourite. and also the first i made. theyre just babie

they really are just babey,,

kind of accidentally an endless source of lifeblood which is a long story but its not.. very fun. to be constantly covered in plants. by adulthood most of their torso and one of their limbs is almost completely replaced/encased in plant matter

they take this pretty well actually. even if it gets a lot harder to move

for a vessel they grew up to full size much quicker than others of their kind, likely due to the lifeblood’s properties, but really nobody has much of a clue. didnt have time to get used to their size and still has VERY bad spatial awareness

broke their horn tip by smacking it on a low ceiling hkfdnfbdmvdf

plants bursting out of their shell and eye have pretty badly damaged it, and they can’t see out of the broken eye

theyre trying their hardest!! always!! they can’t move around very well and sometimes get lonely sitting at home in dirtmouth but they’re friendly to just about anybody and have so much love to give

seriously they dont even eat but they like to make sure they have food and drink at home in case anyone drops in and needs it

they’ve never been able to fight, and shy away from violence or combat in all forms

very scared of the dark and carries a lantern with them at all times, usually around their neck

discharges excess lifeblood into soil and grows a garden from it - keeps it from overtaking their body any further, and it’s something to do

not the best at communicating since a wood arm makes signing stiff and tricky, but they’re not much of a talker (signer?) anyway

then we have scratch n thimble who are kinda twins but not really. yeah those are matching scarves they are Bros (sibs??)

scratch FIGHTS THINGS and USES A REAL BIG NAIL

the biggest of all my vessel ocs, just in general. a big and strong friend

made it to the palace but got tossed for starting to care too much and takin a blow for another sibling. saved thimble from dying down there too and they were absolutely inseparable since

really just the embodiment of the ‘you befriended x! x would now die for you’ meme not gonna lie

has almost literally died for Multiple siblings n friends before but they wouldn’t let them. which is, a good thing

too reckless for their own good especially in their younger years but thankfully mellows out quite a bit by adulthood

tries to keep up a strong stoic front but also doesnt hesitate to abandon it if needed. theyre big soft really (they wont admit it tho)

has The Biggest soft spot for kids do not let them tell you otherwise

fought for the sake of it in the colosseum for many years before Stuff And Things involving yet another vessel happened and they kinda trashed the place and never went back

their nail is about as big and heavy as their entire body and they’re surprisingly good at using it for something so unwieldy. could probably crush most bugs just by virtue of it being So Damn Big

spends a lot of time when grown at the howling cliffs keeping an eye on those travelling into the kingdom, and deterring those with malicious intent

they got that eye wound from their sibling… it was technically an accident. they still don’t talk about it though

contrary to their twin thimble is the smallest vessel (as a babby at least - they do end up standing taller than spin and ruth when fully grown)

they have the very unfortunate problem of their shade having fused with void tendrils from the abyss sea as a babby

as such their shade is very violent and kinda has a habit of literally bursting out their shell and lashing out at anything around them under stress

eventually they get a handle on it and learn to control the literally overflowing void inside them but until then their entire life is pretty much a big clusterfuck of trying not to kill people, which they hate

they’re very timid and shy and cling to familiar figures (especially scratch) probably too much, but strike out on their own much more growing up

theyre very strong and capable, moreso than most magic users, but you wouldn’t guess it. the only time they’d even consider showing it is in another’s defense

uses void tendrils like extra limbs. very functional! can hold many things (or offer many hugs) at once. may be slightly slimy though.

their cloak is very long and would probably benefit from being trimmed shorter but they absolutely refuse to let anyone touch it. its kinda grimy at this point and they trip a lot but don’t do anything about it

friends with a bunch of mossflies they picked up in the gardens! they all have names

can communicate with other void-creatures by sharing some of their own void! this was discovered entirely by accident but very useful, if awkward to explain

sure they’re kinda timid and like being on their lonesome, but they’re also very level-headed and friendly, and get along very well with low-energy quieter sorts of people especially

ruth is a small vessel rn/as far as i’ve worked out a timeline for! i know what they look like big but as far as the content on this blog currently goes theyre just .. smal

actual infant. hadnt actually been wandering out of the abyss that long before being dragged up to the colosseum to fight for sport

really doesnt have much of a clue how to act at first, other than ‘stab things before they stab you’

their name comes from ‘ruthless’, a nickname they got in the colosseum because they literally did not (appear to) give two shits whether they lived or died in battle. they’d just come back, anyway

scratch was the one that found them flinging a nail around and immediately went ‘oh thats a baby. this is bad, actually’

for the first short while of freedom scratch is the only one they’ll let even get close to them, and pretty much clings to them relentlessly. not a moments rest

they were actually pretty badly infected by the time they were broken out but theyre better now (another long story)

doesn’t have a natural cloak - it was ripped out and never grew back in. they make do though! their ‘new’ one was made from part of scratch’s that they ripped off and fixed together. they love it more than anything

once they actually figured out not everyone was out to kill them they stopped fighting back, and became a lot more curious and lively in general

still has a very warped and guarded sense of trust, however

kinda iffy around weapons and reacts badly to confrontation but does eventually learn to fight again (just.. in a better way)

pretty short even when grown, and going by height alone is the shortest when they’re all big

likes picking up pretty trinkets and things and carrying them around. has a few tied to their horns (as well as many pockets)

i have just now decided that spite counts as well! they dont actually survive to adulthood in any timeline i have currently (sorry spite) so big spite is entirely a theoretical but theyre fun to draw so

now spite? spite wins the babiest baby award

has one single braincell that bounces around their shell like a windows screensaver

their name indicates they are capable of feeling any negative emotion or hatred which is entirely untrue. by the time this was figured out they already wouldn’t answer to anything else

absolutely no sense of self-preservation or common sense. they are, in most regards, a very cute and very stupid dog

got lost on their way out of the abyss the first time around, ended up in the lighthouse and met friend mori!! was almost caught but eventually smuggled out and away

spent a lot of the time on the run in city of tears with said friend who was pretty much presumed dead by then. got taken in by a family, enjoyed themselves for a while

…but were eventually caught and thrown right back into the abyss along with mori killing them both for real this time. unfortunately.

cut to MANY years later and oops! their shade fused with the corpse and for some ungodly reason theyre both alive. time for the worst buddy comedy ever ft. literal pile of goop and body parts

spite does not seem to know nor care that theyre dead however

mostly happy to sit up there on mori’s shell and nap for hours at a time or fiddle with literally anything in reach. give them a cool rock and they’ll be entertained for hours. they are but a simple creacher

they do actually eventually learn to use a nail but who’s idea was it to give a child a sword. seriously i just wanna talk

#crazandlion #asks #if you actually read this far i would kill and die for you this took me 3 hours to write #and i think it was maybe worth it #hdfkfdvkjfdhvdhf #it was good to gather my thoughts on em i guess? hell yeah #tthank you;;#my ocs #spindle #thimble #scratch #ruth #spite #this was such a great ask to get i am still reeling i. yes #ohyes!! one last reminder theyre all agender/nb and if you gender them on purpose i'll break ur knees (they/them for all please)#(jk but i will correct you)

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bittykimmy13 · 5 years

Text

Change of Heart (GT)

Of course Ben and Lee couldn't be left out of the fun of the Print/Shot AU :') The majority of prints live in regulated communities. Ones that step out of line are put into the Mercy Program, where they are purchased by wealthy humans and treated as pets. Once an owner deems their print is "rehabilitated", the print may return to their community. After the third owner, however, the print is automatically transferred into a trinket body. Which, as we've seen, is so much WORSE. ANYWAY, this is a much lighter story compared to the past few. ENJOY :D Characters belong to me and the lovely @little-miss-maggie <3

(( More from the Print / Trinket Universe ))

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The fluorescent lights hanging above Lee did not allow him to finish the sleep he so desperately needed. He squeezed his eyes shut tighter and turned his head, but the lights continued to glare through his eyelids. When he tried to roll onto his side, a deep ache shot through his body and startled him into alertness. He couldn’t remember ever feeling so sore. Memories from the night before rushed back. Raining. Three men darting out of the alley, dragging him into the shadows, beating the shit out of him. There had been no chance for him to fight back, not even a second of time to raise his hands and defend himself. He had sank down against the brick wall, and a tiny shout had come from his pocket. Ben had jumped out. And as the ache in Lee’s body spread deeper, that was the last thing he could remember. Possibilities raced through his mind. If the muggers had spotted Ben, no doubt they took him. If Ben had gotten away, it would be simple enough to track his cuff. It was the worst case scenario that made Lee shiver: in all the commotion, darkness, and rain, Ben could have been carelessly killed.

Drawing in a deep, shuddering breath, he squinted his eyes open. For a second, he thought he was in a hotel room, but the IV drip by his bed told him otherwise. The bag of fluid was labeled with a logo for Kingston Luxury Hospital. The door was wide open, and he could hear the drone of several conversations coming from a nurses’ station. When he tried to sit up, he had to suppress a groan of pain. His gaze roved the room, taking in the amenities: a large TV mounted to the wall, elegantly-carved furniture, a nightstand that held a vase of flowers, a tissue box, a glass of water, and what looked like a service pager. Now if they could just get rid of the bright fucking lights, it would be heaven. He leaned over to reach for the pager, but a twitch of movement from across the room caught his eye. Ben. Ben was on a table next to the curtained window, sitting in a clear glass cage. Relief rushed through Lee at first, but it was quick to waver. Ben was in the corner of the container, legs drawn to his chest. He lifted his head and found Lee looking at him. The expression on that tiny face was unreadable from a distance, but there was something glum about the way Ben put his chin back down on his knees. Lee croaked out a chuckle. “Must be pretty disappointing for you that I lived, huh?” Ben didn’t respond. Shocking. Lee grabbed the pager by the bed and pushed the button that would alert the nurse’s station. In no time at all, a young woman with a black ponytail came prancing into the room. She beamed at him and came to a stop by his bed, folding her hands in front of her. “Good afternoon, Mr. Rhodes,” she said. “I’m Sally. You’re up sooner than we expected, but your vitals have been looking perfectly normal, all things considered. The doctor will be along later when she’s making her rounds in this wing. I’m sure the investigator will want to speak with you as well.” Lee leaned his head back on the pillows. “What the hell happened? I can’t remember anything after I was attacked. Did they get the guys who did it?” “Still on the run. I’m sorry. And it’s not surprising that you don’t remember much. You were in bad shape by the time the ambulance reached you.” Nodding, Lee turned his gaze over to Ben, who hurriedly looked away. “Any reason in particular he’s in there?” “It’s protocol,” Sally said, her pleasant tone untouched. “When a patient is in your sort of condition and there’s nowhere else to take a print, it needs to be contained.” She gave Lee a private smile. “We don’t run a babysitting service. And well, you should know… he was showing escapee tendencies when you were found.” “No shit,” Lee said, rolling his eyes. “Trying to hide?” “Worse. His tracking cuff had been removed, and your phone was on the ground behind a dumpster. Security footage shows that it fell out of your pocket during the attack and your print dragged it behind a garbage can during the commotion. He must have gone into the settings of your phone and deactivated his cuff.” “How’s that possible? My phone unlocks with my fingerprint.” She chewed her lip and shrugged. “It gets more disturbing. The footage shows that he dragged the phone back out when those thugs were gone. While you were unconscious, he used your finger to unlock it.” “Well, isn’t that fucking nice.” Lee turned a glare toward Ben. “It’s up to you how you want to proceed about all that,” Sally went on. “But for now, focus on your recovery.” Lee breathed out a weary sigh. “How did they find him, then? His cuff was off.” There was something tentative, almost uncomfortable, about Sally’s pause. She cleared her throat. “Well, he… he didn’t run off right away. The footage shows him lingering for a while near you before he ran off. It seems he went and got someone’s attention and led them to you.” He waited for her to laugh and say she was kidding. “Yeah, okay,” Lee scoffed. “What really happened?” “No, really,” she said. “Your print flagged down a couple who were walking down the block. They were concerned to see a cuffless print without an owner in sight, so they followed him to you. They’re the ones who called the ambulance and made sure your print didn’t go anywhere.” Her words sank in slowly. Even if his head wasn’t pounding, it would have taken a while to process. “You can’t be serious.” Lee pointed at Ben. “That print? That one right there?” She giggled. “I know. It’s odd, isn’t it? But that’s what I was told. Your print hasn’t said a word since you were brought in.” Lee turned his eyes to the glass container. “So you’re saying he saved me,” he said slowly. “And you… put him in a box.” “Well, I didn’t,” Sally said, confusion tainting the corners of her smile. “Like I said, Mr. Rhodes, it’s protocol—” “Take him out of there.” Sally pursed her lips, brow pinching as though waiting for him to take back his words and say he was joking. When he did no such thing, she threaded her fingers together in front of her and laughed uncomfortably. “Sir, you’re in no condition to manage your print. Is there anything else I can do for you?” “Nope. The only thing you can do for me is take him out of there.” “Mr. Rhodes. His cuff wasn’t located in the scramble to get you here, so it would violate the general Mercy Program legislation to not have him contained in some—” “Sorry,” Lee laid in overtop her. “What I meant to say was, take him the fuck out of there and bring him to me, unless you want to wager if I can make you lose your job in three phone calls or less.” She gave an outraged little scoff, her friendly energy going out like a light. When she didn’t move, Lee lifted his eyebrows in an I’m-dead-serious manner that finally spurred her to the other side of the room. She hesitated, then reached into the open top of the glass container. Ben finally reacted, shrinking against the corner, but there was nowhere for him to go. Sally managed to get her hand around his waist and lift him out. “Where do you want him?” she asked flatly, striding back to the bed. “Nightstand.” He frowned when she came closer and he spotted a dark red gash on Ben’s arm, caked with dried blood. There were dark splotches along his skin too that could either be dirt or bruising. On top of that, he looked a shade paler than death. Lee looked at Sally in disbelief. “He’s hurt. This is a fucking hospital—why would he still be like this?” “We’re not authorized to treat prints.” Lee groaned, watching as Ben staggered away from Sally’s hand when she set him down on the nightstand. The print kept his gaze pointed downward, standing stiffly with his hurt arm clutched against himself. Lee was prepared to order Sally to help Ben, to hell with what was authorized, but when he eyed her scowling face, he had the feeling she might do more harm than good if she got her hands on Ben again. “Bring salve,” Lee said instead. “The good stuff.” Sally wavered, jaw dropping in protest. “Hey, wanna make it two phone calls or less?” Lee said gamely. “I’m feeling pretty lucky right now, near-death experience and all.” Once she hurried off, Lee propped himself up to sit in bed. He winced at the ache that mercilessly pounded his body. He had to have been in pretty bad shape if he was still feeling this much punishment. Grabbing one of the pillows stacked under his head, he set it on his lap and turned his attention to the nightstand. Ben gasped and flinched away from the approach of Lee’s hand, shaking his head pleadingly. Lee sighed, completing the motion regardless and closing his fingers around Ben’s middle. “I know you don’t like this,” Lee said. “But that cut’s gonna get infected if it doesn’t get fixed up.” After Ben was set down on the pillow, he scooted back and tucked his arm close against himself. He kept his wide eyes trained down, his little body wired with tension. Lee chewed his lip, eyeing the scrapes and grime that had gone ignored on Ben’s exposed arms. “Ridiculous,” Lee muttered, reaching aside to swipe a tissue from the box on the nightstand. “I guarantee you, this hospital is full of people whining over papercuts, and not one of these nurses could stop for one fucking minute…” He wrapped the tissue around his finger and wet the tip of it in the glass of water. Cupping his other hand around Ben, Lee could feel him shivering. Lee proceeded to wipe away the grime from his good arm, along with a patch of dirt on the side of his neck. Frustrated as he was, Lee was glad to have something to focus on besides actual conversation. Luckily, Sally came back in and offered further distraction, if only for a moment. She sulkily placed a capped bottle of salve on the bed. “Let me know when you’re done with it, please,” she said. “I’ll get into trouble if—” “Shut the door on your way out,” Lee said. With a huff, she strode out, sealing Lee and Ben in silence. “I need your arm.” Lee adjusted the tissue so that he wouldn’t be rubbing dirt into the wound. “Come on—don’t be like that. I need to clean it first.” Ben still didn’t move. Lee sighed and reached in with his other hand, gently pinching Ben’s wrist to pull his arm out. Ben’s breathing became quicker, more frantic, but he didn’t try to wrench himself away, thankfully. He merely kept his wide eyes on his arm, as though he might be seeing it for the last time. “How’d you get this anyway?” Lee asked, narrowing his eyes at the sliced flesh. Swallowing hard, Ben uttered, “Your phone w-was cracked.” Lee clenched his jaw. Gentle as he could, he cleaned the wound and the blood caked around it. With that out of the way, he released Ben long enough to grab the salve and uncap it. “This’ll sting,” Lee warned after applying a dab of salve to his fingertip. He secured Ben’s arm again and kept a firm grip, prepared for Ben to flinch away upon contact. “But it won’t feel any worse than getting sliced in the first place.” Ben’s face contorted with pain as Lee applied the salve. Hissing, Ben tried to tug his arm back, but Lee kept his stubborn hold to make sure the medicine was rubbed in. The moment Lee let go, Ben reclaimed his arm and fell to his side. Wheezing, he stared at his arm. Amazement dawned on his face as the redness of the wound began to dull. “See?” Lee said. “Not so bad. It’ll be closed up in no time.” The amazement on Ben’s face fled. “What’s the point?” “What do you mean?” A pause. Ben sat up, but his shoulders were slumped with despair. “I… I’m not going to be in this body for much longer.” He looked up, and Lee was shocked to see tears rapidly pooling in his eyes. Ben made a choked sound, his words almost lost. “So, w-what’s the point of fixing me up?” As realization dawned, Lee was speechless for once. And Ben, just as uncharacteristically, was the one to fill the silence. There were too many expressions on his face to identify in isolation: anger, sorrow, desperation, regret. “Please,” Ben croaked. “Please, don’t send me back. Even if you weren’t my third owner… if they find out I-I got my cuff off, that would mean a direct sentence to the Trinket Program.” Ben’s frantic breaths became overcome with sobs that hit Lee like punches. “I… I won’t fight anymore! I won’t do it again, j-just… please. I’ll be exactly how you want me to be. I’ll be p-perfect, I swear!” Lee flinched his hand closer, brushing his fingertips against Ben’s spine and the back of his head. Ben buried his face in his hands and ducked his head as if he was about to be snatched up. Lee’s fingers settled gently, making no move to coil around Ben’s shivering body. “You really think I’m going to turn you in?” Lee asked in a hushed voice. “Y-you… you said I was on my last chance. You said if I-I—” “Yeah, I know what I said, but…” Lee’s eyes trailed to the empty space on Ben’s wrist that the cuff normally occupied. He wondered what it must have felt like, to have a brush with freedom and decide to throw it away. “I don’t get it,” Lee admitted. “You saved me.” Ben kept his head down and sniffled. Didn’t answer. “You… you had a chance,” Lee said, desperate to follow his logic. “You got the cuff off. Why did you go looking for someone to help me?” Ben mumbled something. Lee angled himself closer, cocking his head to listen. “What?” “I couldn’t tell if you were breathing,” Ben half-shouted. Though he lifted his head, his gaze remained pointed down, uncooperative for even a second of eye contact. Scoffing, Lee shook his head incredulously. “So what?” Heaving an exhausted sigh, Ben didn’t elaborate. “I’m just trying to understand,” Lee insisted. “I thought you hated me.” Ben’s eyes finally darted up, rife with frustration. “That doesn’t mean I could leave you to die! I was the only one besides those thugs who knew you were there. If I hadn’t done something… it would be as if I killed you myself.” Lee stared until Ben lost his nerve and started to shy away. Pulling his fingertips away from Ben’s back, Lee gingerly tilted his chin up. Ben flinched, but he met Lee’s eyes again. “Thank you,” Lee said. Ben clenched his jaw. “You… you’re really not sending me to the Facility?” “No. Fuck no.” Dropping his hand, Lee shut his eyes for a moment. He could feel the drugs and exhaustion lacing his body beginning to drag him back under. He swore that Ben was starting to look the same kind of weary too, now that relief had to be settling in. “That salve is great,” Lee said. “But it takes energy from your body to do its stuff. I know you couldn’t have gotten any sleep in that thing.” He nodded at the glass case and pulled his hands away from Ben completely. “So, just stay right here. Lay down and get some rest.” Ben reacted immediately, laying down with what could only be frightened obedience. As if Lee might change his mind if he didn’t do exactly as he was told. “That… I mean, that wasn’t an order,” Lee said, face flushing. He leaned back, putting his head on the pillow behind him, and sighed. “Listen. If they come and try to put you back in that thing or take you away, just shout for me. Understand?” When Ben didn’t answer, Lee looked down at the pillow on his lap. There was still abundant fear on Ben’s face, along with a heavy dose of skepticism that Lee couldn’t blame him for having. “I mean it,” Lee said. “Understand?” Ben hesitated, then nodded. Without a word, he laid down with his back to Lee.

#gt #gt writing #mywriting #mercy shot au #print universe #amwriting #ben #lee

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faiththefox · 4 years

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The Sun of the asylum Chapter 2: Meeting the patients

Sorry its taken so long to post this Ive got school and there have been some big storms in my area so I have put my laptop on charge just in case. Anyways I hope you guys enjoy.

@uirene you wanted me to tag you with every chapter so here you go! lets start the story

@ask-the-new-killer (I wrote this a while back just check the Sunlily tag next time! I’ll try to tag you when I finally get around to the third chapter lol)

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I wait in the lobby of the asylum for the head nurse so I could find out where my on-site room is and get a tour of the building. I stand there for only a minute before a women her 50′s comes in with a very sour look on her face. She huffs at me before extending her hand out to me. “Welcome Miss.. Rose was it?” She says as I mumble “Its Tori.. rose is my surname” to which she ignores me. “I’m Miss Rachael and this is the Hills asylum the home to some of the famous killers in history more commonly know as the slashers. You are going to be replacing me as the head nurse of this facility so its best to give you a tour now before meeting your patients” She drones on as she starts walking.

She lead me around the asylum showing me all the activity areas available to the patients ‘although she commented on the fact they shouldn’t have to have them for murders’ I think back as she showed me each of their rooms. It seems like all the brothers were roomed together while Billy, Micheal and Jason were put in their own rooms. The place wasn’t as big as I thought but this just means there should be better chances of getting closer to them right? Suddenly, Rachael brought me to a room completely covered in Christmas decorations “This is billy’s special places.. as he calls it. This is where you bring him if his “fits” become to much.” She says bluntly before pulling me away and started leading me outside.

There they were.. the Slashers. Micheal was throw flat rocks at what looked like a makeshift person. Bubba, Chop-top, and nubbins were playing tag and running all around the place. Bo was leaning on a wall looking very pissed off while his brother was sitting by the fence drawing in a sketch book. Jason was also sitting near the fence but facing more towards the woods with his shoulders slumped down almost... sad looking. Brahms was just sitting smack dab in the middle building a very sad looking castle out dirt but the weirdest thing was billy who was chained to a bench with a straitjacket and muzzle. I look over at Rachael who waves her hand out over the yard “Why don’t you go meet them while I go finish getting the last bit of paperwork ready for you then Ill show you their activity planner so you know what they do on which days.” She bluntly says again before walking back inside.

I start walking over to Jason cause something was pulling me over to him. I sat down in the dirt, getting my uniform dirty, before looking at Jason tilting my head. He turns and looks at me as I notice what he had been doing. In the dirt was a a childish drawing of a little boy and what looked like an older woman. My eyes widened as I realized that this was him and his mother. “Do you miss her?” I say softly as he kept looking at me. He looks back at the drawing before nodding with his shoulders slumping down more. I gently placed my hand on his shoulder and smiled “I miss my mom to sometimes but all I need to know is that she loves me with all of her heart” I spoke gently before Jason hugged me surprising me. I forgot to meet all of the other slashers as I just sat with Jason telling him stories my mom told me about herself. Soon Rachael came back outside and walked over to us which made Jason tense up. “I see you are getting close to Mister Voorhees. Shall we head inside?” She says in her dull tone. I nod getting up as Jason turns back to the woods and his little drawing.

We walked inside and did everything that was need before she lead me to my room. Giving me the key before walking away leaving me to my own devices so, I start to unpack and put all of my stuff away. As I putting away my Brahms costume my phone started ringing from my purse on the bed that I had just pulled out of my bag. I pull it out and check the caller I.D and surprise surprise it was my brother Alex “Whats up bro?” I say as I answer the phone. “Hey! How was your first day..? Did you get hurt?” He asked and I could hear the worried tone in his voice. I laugh before replying “No but Jason seems to like me now! I told him.. about mom” My smile faltered as I said the last part. Our mom had died two years ago during her trip around the world... She was walking around Paris and her heart-rate got to high... they couldn’t save her. Alex was quiet before I say “I didn’t get to meet the others so its going to be a crazy ride tomorrow.” He laughs halfheartedly. We chat for a few minutes about random things trying to get our minds off of mom for a moment because her death hurt us terribly.

We said goodbye and I finished putting away my stuff before flopping into my bed and passing out almost as soon as my head hits the pillow.

~~~~~~~~~~The Next Morning~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I woke up to the sound of loud knocking on my door. I jump up and walked over to the door opening it forgetting I didn’t change last night so I probably look like crap. At the door was a young nurse about 20, I guessed fresh out of college or nursing school. “H-hello Miss Rose... umm Miss Evans wanted me to tell you today is the day you get control to see how to do with the patients...” She says in a shy and nervous tone. I place a hand on her shoulder and smile “Thank you for telling me and call me Tori! Also don’t be nervous around me Im only older then you by 6 year hahah” I say jokingly. She nervous smiles back before rushing off to something. I shut the door and quickly see that my hair was a rats nest and my outfit was a bit wrinkled. I groan as I brush my hair out but decide that I wouldn’t have much time to change and headed out the door.

I head to the dining room (it was to small to be a cafeteria and seemed more like a dining room to me) and see all the slashers sitting at the table but no food in front of them. “Hello I’m the new head nurse Tori! Sorry for the quick intro but why don’t you guys have food?” I quickly question. “I dont know you tell me? Man you are shit head nurse” Bo says making glare at him before walking into the kitchen area. “I’ll make something does anyone have any requests for breakfast?” I call out to me through the window thing as I put an apron on. “PANCAKES!” Three very hyper voices call out making me laugh. I quickly make a chocolate pancake recipe my mom used to make for me. Then I put the two pancakes from the huge batch on 9 separate plates. I brought two out and sat me in front of Jason and bubba before running back and trying to being the plates out as quickly as I can.

Everyone dug in quickly after I set all the plates down expect for Micheal, Jason and Brahms. I sigh walking back into the kitchen and making some toast for myself as I used all the batter for their food. After 30 minutes I walked back in to see everyone’s plates were clean making smile just a bit as I grabbed everyone’s plates to put them in the kitchen. I walk back in and smile “Ok guys today is a free day so I can fully get to know each of you guys!” I say with a happy tone. Everyone (expet for the ones with masks) looked happy and rushed off but billy grabbed my arm as I walked to follow the rest out. I only then noticed that he wasn’t wearing the muzzle or jacket today. “Flithy pig..” he softly mutters and I see that his eyes aren’t fully focus which made me a bit sad. I lead him to his christmas room and set him down. His face lights up and he starts playing with all the toys in the room.

Billy finally got focused with a coloring book I was able to leave the room and start to check on the others. The first group I found was the sawyer brothers listen to the radio and playing with some blocks. I knocked lightly on the door frame when the music went to commercial making them all look at me. Bubba clapped his hands and run up to me hugging me practical lifting me in the air. “Whoa! Bubba can you please put me down!” I say laughing a bit with a smile which I guess he didn’t expect the me be happy? I could see his eyes widen behind the latex mask the replaced his original one. He giggled setting me down as his brothers started chanting “Bubba’s got a girlfriend behind him”. I smile and say “Just wanted to see how you guys were doing! and if you needed anything!” Bubba nods and points at the blocks before pulling me over to them. Chop-top laughs and says “He wants to play with ya! Good for ya!” as Bubba and I started playing for an hour before I had to go. Bubba was happy and waved as I left to go check on the others which lead me to the art room where Micheal, Brahms and Vincent.

I watched Vincent work with the clay making a beautiful statue of an alicorn before I was snapped out of it by Brahms’s childish whining as Micheal grabbed one of the colored pencil that he wasn’t even using. I walked over and placed a hand on his shoulder like I did with Jason and the young nurse. “Is there a problem sweetheart” I ask defaulting the nickname out of habit. I could see Brahms’s eyes widen as he looked up at me from his coloring book on the table. He shook his head before turning his head back to his coloring book (which looks like greta and him making me sigh in my mind). Micheal didn’t even look at me as he worked on this beautiful looking mask so I left him alone. I left and found Jason by himself outside looking at the forest again. I walk up and gently put a hand on his shoulder like yesterday making him turn to me. “You missing her again?” I ask in a soft tone but he shook his head. He made a drawing of eyes “You want to just look at the woods because you like nature?” I guessed making him nod his head quickly. “Mind if I join you?” I ask making him nod as I sit down next to him. This was a good start as any I guess.

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FINALLY DONE IM SOOO SORRY IT TOOK SO LONG TO MAKE THIS! IVE BEEN SO BUSY BUT HERE IT IS! HOPE YOU ALL ENJOY! IM GOING TO GO DO RANDOM STUFF LOL!

Also She didn’t find Bo because he was hiding away from her so he didn’t have to deal with her.

#micheal myers #jason voorhees #brahms heelshire #vincent sinclair #bo sinclair #billy lenz #Bubba Sawyer #nubbins sawyer #chop top sawyer #Sunlily #Oc #Chapter 2

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spaceskam · 5 years

Text

Moirai (1/7)

ive had this idea in my head for awhile now, but i was still working out all the kinks on how I would write it. now here it is, hope you enjoy!

Summary: michael finds a baby. not everyone thinks it’s a good idea.

part one - part two - part three

ao3

Michael felt it.

He didn’t know exactly what it was he was feeling, but he knew it was important and his brain wasn’t giving him any choice but to follow it. He knew it probably wasn’t a smart idea to separate from Alex and Kyle, but there was a hum inside him that lured him away. It led him to a locked door that opened to a flight of stars that wasn’t shown on any of the maps that they’d found.

Alex had kept his word to look into Project Shepard and make sure what happened at Caulfield wasn’t happening elsewhere. He’d only come up with one possible other location, Pitlochry Prison, but it didn’t have nearly as much information on it. Still, he didn’t want to take any chances, and he packed up Michael and Kyle to go check it out.

Things were still confusing between them. He’d ended things with Maria the moment Max died, but Alex had still been hurt by it. Fixing that was slow and painful and for a while all they could discuss was Project Shepard. Then about five weeks ago, Michael had gotten a little too fucked up and ended up exploding the airstream in a way that even Michael Bay would’ve been jealous of. He couch hopped for a few nights, but Isobel didn’t let him sleep in and Max made too much noise with Liz. He’d even attempted to stay with Kyle, but one morning of hearing him bustling around at 4:30 AM was enough before he resigned to sleeping in the bunker with a sleeping bag. That is until Alex told him to just stay with him. It was a confusing proposition at first, but Alex had a spare bedroom that was apparently underused and it’d be easier to work with them in the same place anyway.

Michael had stayed with Alex for about a month now and he’d already decided that’s what his life was about, being with Alex Manes. They both stayed up ridiculously late if they slept at all, they liked the same movies, they understood each other’s science rambles enough to hold a coherent conversation, they picked up after themselves, they are the same food. But it was waking up to Alex humming in the kitchen over a pan of eggs at noon clad in sweatpants and nothing more as he offered a cup of coffee that had Michael sold. That’s what he wanted to wake up to forever.

Then, a few nights ago, when Alex had come to them with the prospect of another prison, Michael had had a stronger reaction than he’d anticipated. He’d overdosed on fear, memories of Caulfield taking over. Something instinctual happened in Alex‒that’s what it had to be‒and he’d held Michael close while whispering soothing words. There were two good beds in the cabin, and yet neither of them moved from the couch for hours. Even when Michael had calmed down and even when they’d both fallen asleep only to wake up the next morning, neither one of them made the decision to move.

So, after 8 hours wrapped up in Alexander Manes and after clearing his mind, Michael kissed him. He’d expected to be rejected and therefore kept it short. Sleep was still heavy in them both and that had to be what kept Alex from being Alex and telling him to stop. Instead, they’d stared for a moment with Alex’s fingers tangled up in his hair before meeting together in a sweet kiss.

They hadn’t really discussed what that meant, but they hadn’t taken it back. In fact, they’d only moved forward. Within the last three days, touching and kissing and mindblowing sex had come back to their relationship. They used the excuse of Pitlochry to not have to really talk about it because talking meant addressing their issues and they’d historically been bad at that to the point it ruined all the good stuff. He wanted so badly to keep the good stuff. He planned to keep the good stuff. That meant staying alive, safe, and with Alex at Pitlochry. He couldn’t afford to break again because he found someone he couldn’t save.

Yet, whatever was calling to him made him throw all caution to the wind.

The staircase was long and dark, so much so he could barely see a damn thing. Instinct and whatever was calling him were his only sense of direction. Maybe he should’ve felt scared. Instead, he felt braver than he had ever before in entire life. The hum deep in his brain, in his bones, kept getting louder and stronger the more he walked.

And then there was a glow.

It was faint, but it sparked something deep within Michael, a familiarity that his conscious mind couldn’t comprehend but his body knew. He raced towards it and not a single cell in his body was surprised to find a pod at the end of the tunnel. The walkie-talkie that was strapped to his shirt went off, Alex’s voice ringing through the air and getting progressively more and more panicked when he didn’t respond. He couldn’t respond.

Inside the pod, there was a baby. A small one, curled into the fetal position and floating there for god knows how long. Someone had put her here, put her in a place where no one could find her unless they knew. Michael didn’t know. Yet here he was.

“Guerin, I’m giving you ten seconds to respond, if you don’t, I’m going to come get you,” Alex said, carefully skirting the part where he’d put a small tracking device in each of their walkie talkies. It was for safety, in case someone was here. He thought someone had him.

Michael should’ve responded. His body seemed to scream out to respond to him, to let him know he was totally fine and it wasn’t necessary, but whatever was bringing him to this pod was in control. It didn’t give a shit about a worrying Alex; it wanted Michael.

The fear only started whenever his own hands began glowing in a way he’d only seen Max’s or his mother’s. He didn’t know how to do that and he surely didn’t know how he was doing it now. But that hum assured him this was supposed to happen, subduing his fear with the overwhelming calm and desire to follow it’s lead.

No silver was needed as his glowing palms reached into the pod, grabbing the infant cautiously and pulling her out into the world. She breathed for the first time and she whimpered and she whined and Michael stared at her as he held her out in front of him. The baby laid across his forearm, Michael instinctively cradling her head in his hand and allowed the out-of-place feeling of overwhelming pride wash over him.

Michael had held many babies in his life and even taken care of a few. Foster care was a bitch and there had been more than one home he’d been thrown into where he was expected to cater to the younger children that were there. It never really bothered him, it wasn’t their fault and he could at least make sure they were being looked after while he could, but none of that pseudo-parenting made him feel like he did in that moment. He could only assume that it was due to it being a child of his own species that it felt so surreal. He couldn’t even move.

“Guerin,” That was Kyle’s voice. It was present, not over radio signals. Michael didn’t look over to him. “What’cha got there?”

Eventually, after blinking a few million times, the spell over him was broken. Michael fell back on his ass, carefully pulling the baby into his chest and cradling her close. He had to catch his breath before letting his eyes drift over to see Valenti standing there with nothing short of shock and confusion on his face.

“The fuck’s it look like?” Michael managed before cautiously looking back down to make sure he hadn’t hurt the little alien. She looked fine, kicking her feet aimlessly and gripping onto the wire of walkie talkie. Michael pried it out of her little fist, letting her take hold of his thumb instead.

“Guerin!” Alex’s voice echoed through the tunnel and Michael, who was now firmly in control of his own mind again, felt his heart claw into his throat. He’d scared him. So much for healing their relationship. Alex jogged up to them, coming into view with the light of the dim pod. His chest was heaving and he looked so fucking worried. He spoke before Michael could apologize. “What‒where did you get that?”

“Sorry for scaring you,” Michael said softly, his eyes shifting back down to the baby in his arms.

“Michael,” Alex said slowly, cautiously. His footsteps crunched against the dusty concrete floor. “What is that?”

“Jesus Christ, have neither of you seen a baby before?” he shot back, slowly and carefully taking off the jacket Alex had made him wear to wrap around the little alien.

“We have. We’re more confused on how you went missing for nearly an hour and then we find you with a child that wasn’t with you when we came,” Kyle said as if it should’ve been obvious why they were concerned. Nearly an hour? Had he really been gone that long? It felt like five minutes at most.

“She called to me,” Michael said simply. That was the only way he could describe it, the only way that made sense to him.

“Uh-huh,” Alex’s voice again made him look up. He was closer this time, worry and fear very obvious on his face. What was he so scared of? There was nothing scary about a baby.

“Let me see it,” Kyle said. Overwhelming panic encompassed Michael so quickly and so strongly that he wondered if it was even his.

“No. Why? What are you gonna do to her? She’s mine,” Michael insisted, holding the little alien closer to his chest. Her tiny hand was holding tightly onto Michael’s thumb and he had no intention of prying it off.

Alex and Kyle shared a look before looking back at him. Micahel hated when they did that. It was like they decided they could communicate without speaking. He hated it even more when it was about him.

“Michael, she isn’t yours,” Alex said softly. It felt like a betrayal for some reason. Alex didn’t get it, he didn’t feel it. She was Michael’s, end of discussion.

“Okay, but she’s an alien and who is the only other alien here? Oh, yeah, me, so she’s mine by default,” Michael argued. He didn’t know how to put into words the tie he felt to this little baby he just discovered. It was strong and just clicked in his mind like this was undoubtedly his responsibility. This was his purpose in life. They wouldn’t get it.

They did the whole look-sharing thing again.

“Fine,” Kyle said carefully, “We can take her with us.”

“Of fucking course we’re taking her with us, was there another option?” Michael scoffed, scowling at the doctor who clearly thought he had a say in this. Like Michael would leave her. Absolutely not.

He’d left aliens before. He wasn’t about to do it again.

Kyle just ignored his comment though, “I need to check her out, make sure she’s stable enough to just take straight home.” He started taking steps towards Michael. He very slowly stood up with a nod, hesitantly passing the baby from his arms to Kyle’s.

However, the moment she was out of Michael’s grasp, she started screaming. Her cry was a force to be reckoned with, echoing around the tunnel and bouncing off the walls to make it even louder. Michael felt it in his core.

“Give her back, she doesn’t like you!” Michael snapped, taking her back. He held her little head to his shoulder, glaring at Kyle who held his hands up as a white flag. It was almost comical how quickly her cries subdued whenever Michael held her close again. He might’ve laughed if he wasn’t so focused on the relief he got from the tiny alien relaxing again. “She’s mine.”

Alex moved forward, curiosity in place of fear as he held his hands out. Michael licked his lips as he looked between his baby and Alex. He trusted Alex. Valenti was growing on him, but Alex was the one he’d trust more than literally anyone else in the world. Alex was allowed all his vulnerabilities without a second thought‒if he trusted anyone to take care of the baby, it was Alex. Even if he didn’t get it.

“Okay,” Michael said softly, holding his breath as he carefully passed the baby to Alex’s arms.

Admittedly, she stayed quiet a little longer than she did with Kyle, but, after a few whimpers that made Michael’s heartache, she started crying. Michael grabbed her again, cradling her close and shushing her.

“I don’t like when she cries,” Michael said, trying to explain so Alex would stop looking so hurt, “It feels like when Isobel or Max gets hurt. It, it’s like it hurts me too.” Alex stared at him for a moment with nothing short of worry on his face.

“Is there a rational explanation for that?” Alex asked Kyle, not even trying to be subtle. Michael rocked her, his eyes falling closed as he fed off the peace the baby exuded when she was in his arms.

“Uh, if I had to guess, it’s a whole psychic thing. I… I don’t know why it’s so strong? I don’t know, I’m not an alien expert,” Kyle tried.

“I meant, why does she freak out every time someone other than Michael holds her?” Alex clarified, sounding a little more fed up.

“Oh, I’d say his body temperature. I don’t know exactly how the pod things work, but I’m sure it feels like an incubator. Also, I’m sure the little thing’s used to his species, they’re hotter than us,” Kyle rationalized. Michael opened his eyes again.

“I don’t know, Alex is pretty hot,” Michael commented. Alex’s lips struggled as he tried to fight the incoming smile, cocking his head to the side as he gave his signature Sweet Eyes. Michael had no other way to describe them than that. They were so fond they made him feel gooey, they’d always been his Sweet Eyes.

“Oh, so the baby trance breaks for you to be flirtatious? Why am I not surprised?” Alex said and Michael smiled at him. Maybe they could still be something. He knew adding a baby into the mix made things a little harder, but Michael believed they could still make it. They had to.

“Okay, look, I know we’re all distracted by the whole baby thing and flirting with your ex thing, but I’d like to remind everyone that we’re still in an abandoned prison in a secret tunnel where we found a fucking child,” Kyle said. He had a good point.

It was much faster getting out of Pitlochry than it was getting inside of it, yet the sun was already starting to set which meant they had to have been there for a while. Michael’s internal clock must’ve been completely fucked once he started feeling that pull. That was made more prevalent whenever they all climbed into Alex’s fancy truck and Micahel was suddenly hit with just how tired he actually was. His whole body felt drained and he melted into the seat, the baby firmly against his chest.

Alex drove maybe five minutes before pulling over and forcing Kyle in the driver’s seat and climbing in the back.

“You’re going to drop her if you try to keep sitting up when you’re about to pass the hell out,” Alex said and he didn’t give Michael much of a choice but to lay his head in his lap. Not that he minded. Michael made sure the little alien stayed in his arm, laying all cuddled up between the seats of the car and Michael’s chest and still wrapped in the jacket.

“Oh my god, I can’t get over how cute she is,” Isobel gushed as she lifted the baby from the couch. Michael watched her, struggling to keep his hands to himself and not make sure she didn’t drop her. He knew she wouldn’t, but that didn’t help the anxiety in his chest.

Alex sat beside him and draped his arm over the back of the couch behind him‒that helped.

“Okay, so, her cells look the same as yours, for the most part, I’d say she’s definitely the same species. The only difference is your power source is pretty prevalent in your DNA, but hers... it’s virtually glowing inside of her. Has she shown any signs of any powers?” Liz asked as she walked in from the kitchen. In the 30 minutes since she’d pulled up at the cabin with Max, she’d turned the kitchen into a makeshift lab.

“Other than the whole luring Michael thing, no,” Alex answered.

Liz nodded, “So, she’s psychic?”

“We all are on some level, though,” Max added.

“Okay, well, when did you guys come into your main powers?”

“I’ve had ‘em for as long as I can remember,” Michael said, letting himself lean into Alex’s side just a little. Isobel nodded in agreement.

“Mine was a bit later, like when I was eleven, but the psychic thing was already there,” Max said. Liz nodded thoughtfully, mumbling under her breath as he went back into the kitchen.

“Oh, look at this smile!” Isobel cooed, turning the little alien slightly to show Micahel her smile. It was easily the most contagious thing in the world.

Isobel had been a little later than Max and Liz, but she was carting a few baby essentials including bottles, formula, onesies, and diapers. Micahel was especially thankful for the diapers since his jacket was now completely ruined. However, with some help from Kyle, they had him fed, bathed, and dressed, putting both she and Micahel at ease. It also helped that this happened after Liz had stuck her in the arm with a needle.

“Oh, she’s so soft and lovable! Yes, you are! Yes, you are!” Isobel said, earning happy heavy breathing and gurgling from the baby. A few more baby-talked sentences later, she stood to give her back to Michael. He clearly had it written all over his face how much he wanted to hold her again. It really felt like his baby.

“Hi, baby,” Michael said, trying his hand at baby talk as he brought her back against his chest. Alex snorted.

“She needs a name,” Isobel said, leaning forward. Michael nodded slowly, pursing his lips in thought as he looked down at the baby in his arms.

Before he could even suggest anything, Kyle walked back in the room with Max and they stood in the middle of the room like they had something important to say. Michael doubted they did. He got his confirmation‒the baby was healthy. That’s all he needed to know.

“So, I figure we can all pitch in watching her until I can get in touch with a social worker. She’s young enough that she’ll probably get adopted fast, but‒”

“What are you talking about?” Michael said, sitting up straight as he stared at Kyle in frustrated confusion. The words ‘social worker’ sent a familiar chill down his spine that he’d thought he’d gotten over at least a decade prior. No way that was an option when it came to his baby.

“Micahel, we can’t keep her, she’s not ours to keep,” Max said, that condescending tone dripping from his voice and provoking Michael to have to keep way too much focus in staying calm. “We have to give her to someone who knows how to take care of her.”

“I’m sorry, who said this was your decision to make?” Michael snapped. His was nearly vibrating with anger. How dare they think they could just take her away. What the fuck gave them the right?

“Michael‒”

“Don’t ‘Michael’ me! She’s mine! She isn’t going anywhere!”

“You don’t know the first thing about taking care of a baby.”

“So? Does anyone? I’ll learn,” Michael said, scoffing as he shook his head. The baby in his arms clearly seemed to feed off his mood, gradually getting more and more fussy as Michael got more and more pissed. “I’m not having this conversation with you guys, she’s not going anywhere. I don’t understand why you would want her too. I know you guys think you had it great and all, and I’m sure you think you did, but you were still confused and scared of yourselves and scared of other people. And we were older, we knew that we came from pods! She’s too little, she won’t know anything. She’ll just know that she can do things that she shouldn’t, she’ll be terrified and alone. Why should I put her through that, especially when she has someone who wants her? Not only someone who wants her but understands her power and can provide an environment where she can explore that power freely without being scared and trying to hide it. I can give her what we didn’t have! I don’t care if you don’t want to, Max, but I do. I’m not letting you guys try to convince me that she’ll be better off with someone who doesn’t understand her and never will.”

The room was quiet as they stared at him. Though, instead of understanding like it should’ve been, it was just pity. It was as though they weren’t even aware that this baby was going to grow and become like them, become a powerful alien. Yeah, there was a chance she could end up living fine and happy, but there was a bigger chance that she wouldn’t. And at least they had each other‒this baby wouldn’t have anyone. Michael knew what that felt like and, bond or not, he refused to let her go through that.

“Fuck you guys, I’ll figure it out on my own, no need to stress yourselves out,” Michael spat, standing to his feet and heading down the hall to Alex’s room. He couldn’t look at them, not when they all were acting like he was being irrational. He didn’t have it in him to comprehend how wanting to take care of someone who needed it was irrational.

The only thing that calmed him down was the fact that Alex followed him.

“They’ve completely lost it, why would I give her up? She needs me, she needs someone who‒” Michael had to cut himself off when he turned to see Alex’s face didn’t look that much different from the rest of them. Pity and concern. He took a step back.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Alex asked, reaching out to him. Micahel stepped away again. He didn’t even have Alex on his side. Alex, who grew up feeling unwanted, unloved, and undeniably different in a way he couldn’t understand for years, wanted to subject the same fate onto an infant who had someone who wanted her. What the fuck was going on? “You don’t even have a place of your own, how can you take care of a baby?”

It was a low blow, they both knew it. Well, all three of them knew it. It knocked the air from Micahel’s lung and, within seconds, the baby was crying. Michael stared at him, a million different things going through his mind as a way to retaliate but only one stood out and repeated itself. I have enough saved for a new place, I just wanted to be with you, you asshole.

Still, regardless of how much he wanted to throw it in his face, he couldn’t. So Micahel gave a tight, sarcastic smile and leaned closer.

“Don’t worry, Alex, we’ll be out of your life in a few days,” Michael said, pushing past him and heading towards the guest bedroom. It hurt him and he hoped it hurt Alex, even if just a little bit. If anyone understood why he didn’t want to give him up, it should’ve been Alex. But then again, he had spent over a decade thinking that Alex was an exception to many things.

He rarely ever was.

Michael ignored the shakiness in his hands as he shushed the baby in his arms, swallowing back any tears that threatened. He felt stupid for being emotional, he should’ve expected this. Alex never stayed when things got hard and the rest of them thought nothing of him. Why would anyone around him think he was capable of raising a baby? They all thought he was stupid, a lowlife, a good-for-nothing street rat who would never get anywhere and would never care for anyone but himself. But they were wrong and he cared a lot about a lot of people to the point he’d do anything for them and this baby had been added to the list. Why couldn’t they see that?

Michael sniffled louder than he wanted, wiping away a stray tear and pretending it wasn’t over losing Alex all over again.

“It’s okay, baby, we’ll figure it out, it’s just you and me,” Michael said, “That’s all we need.”

#malex #malex fic #michael guerin #michael guerin fic #alex manes #alex manes fic #roswell new mexico #roswell new mexico fic #rnm #rnm fic #4.2k word #multichapter #i'll add this to my masterlist later i'm too heckin tired #sorry if i'm missing any tags

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chicgeekgirl89 · 5 years

Text

The Liability: Chap. 2

Read Chapter 1 Here

It felt like there was a hole in his chest. Like a really, really big hole that someone had filled with fire. And knives. And acid. And….

His eyes cracked open and he took in the familiar sight (god when did it become familiar?) of the hospital ceiling. There was a strong smell of antiseptic and something was beeping nearby. Probably something keeping him alive.

He lifted a hand to rub his eyes and found it connected to an IV. Ah. Something bad had happened to him. There were flashes of it niggling at the corner of his mind but honestly, he was pretty sure he didn’t want to remember it.

“This is your fault!” someone hissed.

His fuzzy brain recognized his best friend’s voice, but the one that answered him was a bit more of a surprise. “I didn’t ask him to come with me!” Derek Hale spat back in a harsh whisper.

Stiles forced his eyes open a little wider to find the two werewolves on either side of his bed. They were glaring at each other and both had their hands clenched into fists. Apparently there was a whisper fight going on.

“He’s a human! He doesn’t have any way to protect himself!” Scott said.

“Well then maybe you shouldn’t let a member of your pack wander the woods alone in the middle of the night.”

“He wasn’t alone, he was with you. That makes him your responsibility!”

Stiles shifted in the bed and his breath caught in his throat as the fire in his belly burned even hotter. It caught the attention of both wolves. “Stiles!” Scott sat down next to him, all his attention turning to his friend. “Hey, are you okay?”

“If by okay you mean basically ripped in half then yeah, I’m good,” Stiles gasped. “Holy jeez that smarts.”

“Take it easy,” Scott said. “Do you want me to call my mom?”

“You lost a lot of blood,” Derek said. “Most of it’s in your car.”

“Really dude?” Scott asked.

“How bad is it?” Stiles asked. “How much time do I have? Are we talking days here? Weeks?”

“It’s just stitches,” Derek said. “There was barely any internal bleeding at all.”

“Barely any is too much for someone who’s mortal!” Scott snapped.

“I got him here in time didn’t I?”

“As touching as it is to have you both fighting over my deathbed,” Stiles began.

“You’re not dying!” they both snarled at the same time.

“Right okay, well it kind of feels like I am so maybe we could do something about the pain here since you both have, you know, a magical ability to suck away the agony?” Stiles asked, his breath coming in short gasps as sweat beaded on his forehead.

Scott immediately put a hand on his shoulder and the pain slowly began to ebb away. “Thanks,” he said, willing his body to stop shaking. “What happened?”

“You followed me. The omega attacked. But don’t worry. Isaac and Boyd caught up with him. He won’t be hurting anybody else.”

Stiles grimaced. A dead werewolf was better than dead citizens of Beacon Hills, but it still wasn’t a pleasant outcome. Scott wasn’t too happy either judging by the way his hand tightened on Stiles’ shoulder.

“Is uh, is my dad here?” Stiles asked. He felt pretty terrible and as nice as it was to have his best friend by his side, his dad was the one he really wanted to see right now, even if seeing him meant a pretty thorough argument about his involvement with the supernatural and its tendency to interfere with his health.

“He’s on his way. Should be here any minute,” Scott said.

“That’s good. Anyway we could not tell him about how I nearly bled out and died?”

“It’ll be all right,” Scott said.

“Thanks for that, by the way,” Stiles said, looking at Derek. “You kind of saved my life back there.”

“Yeah well, don’t let it happen again,” Derek said.

“Definitely not planning on getting disemboweled again anytime soon,” Stiles said.

There was a scuffle of feet in the hallway and his dad appeared. There were dark circles under his eyes and Stiles felt a wave of guilt. He’d been all the way in Sacramento for a conference and being woken up at three am had clearly taken its toll. “Stiles,” he said, his voice weary. “What…?”

“We’ll give you a minute,” Derek said.

Scott let go of Stiles’ shoulder and the pain came back immediately, making his stomach roll unpleasantly. He swallowed it down as his dad took another step into the room. “Dad, I’m okay.”

“You sure as hell are not okay.” The sheriff sank down into the chair Scott had vacated. “Stiles…”

“I know what you’re going to say, but I’m not going to do it. Scott needs me. The pack needs me. I’m not going to stop helping them just because it might result in permanent disfigurement,” Stiles said quickly.

“Stiles come on! You can’t keep doing stuff like this. You’re not superhuman!”

“Neither are you!” Stiles shouted, wincing as his stitches pulled.

“I’m the Sheriff. I’m trained to deal with situations like this.”

“Like what? Things with fangs? Magical glowing eyes? Is that a course they offer at the police academy? Because as far as I see it, the only difference between me hunting this shit and you hunting it is that you have a gun. Which, in case you hadn’t noticed, turns out to be useless on a pretty regular basis.”

He was tired and in pain and the words came out sharper than he’d intended. His dad rubbed a hand across his face. “I just don’t want to lose you,” he whispered. “I can’t lose you Stiles.”

“I don’t want to lose you either,” Stiles said, the fight draining out of him as the pain grew more intense. “That’s why I’m doing this. To keep Beacon Hills safe. To keep all of us safe.”

He winced and his dad leaned closer. “Are you hurting?”

“Nah, it’s not that bad.” That was a lie. It was like freaking being roasted on a hot poker.

“I’ll get the nurse.”

Stiles thought about arguing, but with his best friend/pain reliever gone things were starting to become a bit unbearable. And if he was hurting his dad wouldn’t go home. And if his dad didn’t go home, then they would either fight or sit in a super tense silence and Stiles just wasn’t up to either.

The drugs had him drifting in and out for most of the day. When he finally really woke up he guessed it was between midnight and one am. He blinked a couple times trying to clear his head, willing his body to shift in the bed without pulling at his stitches.

That was when his eyes found the corner of the room and his heart nearly jumped out of his chest. “Shit! What the hell Derek?!”

The werewolf was standing moodily in the darkened corner, his arms crossed over his chest. “God damn it you nearly gave me a heart attack!” Stiles croaked. Now his stitches were definitely pulling and his pain had doubled. “What are you doing here in the middle of the night?”

“You almost got shredded on my watch,” Derek said. “I wanted to make sure you were all right.”

“By standing in the dark and watching me sleep like some kind of stalker?”

“It’s kind of my thing,” Derek said, cracking half a smile.

“Yeah well…it’s creepy,” Stiles grumbled. “Ow.” He put hand to his chest wishing it would alleviate the sharp agony that came with every breath he took. Or the ache in his head. Or the soreness of his muscles. He wasn’t picky. Any kind of relief would be welcome.

“You’re hurting,” Derek took a step toward him, his eyes flashing in the dark.

“Yeah, well, mortal and all that,” Stiles said, struggling to sit up a little more. “Aren’t visiting hours over?”

“Does that matter?” Derek asked.

“I guess you’ve never really been a rule follower,” Stiles said. “Why are you here Derek?”

“I told you. I wanted to make sure you were all right.” Derek shifted against the wall and his eyes wouldn’t quite meet Stiles’.

Stiles realized what was going on. “You feel guilty.”

“What?”

“You feel bad that the omega got me. That you didn’t stop it.”

Derek glared at him for a moment. “Okay. Fine. Yes. I feel…a little guilt that I didn’t send you home when I first sensed you. I shouldn’t have let you follow me so far.”

“I make my own choices.”

“And it’s my job to make sure they don’t come back to bite you in the ass.”

The words seemed to surprise even Derek. “Okay…” Stiles said slowly.

“Look, you’re not my pack. But you’re part of Scott’s pack and Scott is…kind of like family. Which makes you kind of like family.” Derek’s jaw clenched. “I don’t let people mess with my family.”

Stiles didn’t have much to say to that. He wasn’t sure how he felt about Derek watching his back.

“My turn,” Derek said, apparently done with the emotional stuff. “What did you mean when you said I stole your best friend?”

Stiles’ memory of the car ride to the hospital was hazy and part of him had hoped he’d imagined those words slipping past his lips in some kind of pain induced hallucination. Apparently not. “I don’t know,” he said uncomfortably. “Nothing. I was just mad and in pain.”

“You’re lying.”

“Stop smelling me!”

“Can’t help it.” Derek raised his eyebrows. “So? What did you mean?”

“I don’t know.”

“Yes you do.”

“God, Derek, just leave me alone!”

“Not until you tell me what you meant.”

“Scott was my best friend!” The words tore from his throat and he swallowed hard, annoyed at the tears that filled his eyes. “He was my best friend because we were the same. We had the same problems. We had the same kind of life. And then you all came along and turned him into some sort of freaking super human and I’m just…me. Still human. Before, I could help him. Now I’m just…a liability. And someday,” he swallowed hard, “someday he’ll probably decide he doesn’t need me anymore. I’m not a wolf so I’m not really pack. I’m just a leftover.”

His headache was growing worse the longer he tried to hold back tears. Why the hell was he pouring his heart out to Derek? The guy didn’t even like him.

“You’re not a leftover,” Derek said quietly. “You are human. But that doesn’t make you a liability.”

“Says the one who healed from his injuries hours ago,” Stiles sniped.

“For what it’s worth, I’m not sorry that Scott received the bite.” Derek paused. “But I am sorry that it changed things between you.”

Stiles felt drained and he took in a sharp breath as pain stabbed through his chest. “Just leave me alone Derek,” he said between gritted teeth.

Derek took three steps across the room and put a hand on Stiles’ shoulder. The pain began to ebb immediately and Stiles felt his eyes grow instantly heavy. “You don’t have to do that,” he mumbled as sleep began to take him away.

“I know,” Derek said. But he planted himself in a chair next to the bed and held on anyway.

“Thanks for saving my life,” Stiles said, his eyes closed.

“Don’t get used to it.” But Derek’s voice was soft and even had a teasing sound? Stiles’ brain must be making things up. But still, somehow, he felt better.

#Teen Wolf #The Liability #Stiles Stillinski #Stiles whump #Derek Hale #Scott McCall #Oh boys #Sheriff Stillinski

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writingandchocolatemilk · 5 years

Text

Asylum - Chapter One

Hello, welcome to this venture !

This is a fic co-written by myself and @somebratinamask

There are several chapters planned, but for now there are two written. This is a fic primarily devoted to RusAme, but GerIta is essential to the plot and will come up later.

We hope you enjoy.

On AO3. On FFn.

Chapter One : The Delusions of Alfred F. Jones

Alfred F. Jones was an honest, true, good American, and as such, he did not lie. Well, sometimes he had to lie, but that was always for the greater good, for helping people, so it wasn't the same thing as lying-lying. It was like telling kids about Santa, or the Tooth Fairy, because it was fun and for their own good, and that was why Alfred lied, sometimes, but not today.

No, not today when the concerned nurse frowned down at him and asked him: "Why did you go into the burning building, Alfred? Can you tell me that?"

So, Alfred F. Jones said what he said when it wasn't a Santa situation, which was the truth: "Because I'm a fireman."

The nurse, who had kind eyes even if her mouth was set a little hard, looked at him with soft admiration. "No, Alfred, you're not a fireman. Can you tell me why you ran into the fire?"

Of course Alfred was a fireman, he had wanted to be a fireman since he was, what, seven years old? He had been running into smoky buildings for, what, at least six years now? Something like that, after college, and he just hadn't had time to grab his equipment, but people had been in trouble, and so Alfred did what firemen do and ran into the fire.

He told the nurse this.

And then Matthew burst into the room.

"You're an idiot, Alfred!" Matthew said, voice on the edge of hysterics.

"Calm down, Mattie, I'm f—"

"You're not fine! You almost died from smoke inhalation, Alfred, do you understand me!? You almost died." Matt collapsed in a chair and put his face in his hands. "I can't do this anymore, Alfred, I just can't."

God, his brother was so hysterical sometimes. He always blew things out of proportion and always bitched and moaned about how Alfred wasn't being responsible, but Alfred saw an issue and you know what, Alfred acted, that was more than Matthew could say for himself.

But, of course, it wasn't Alfred's job to tell Matt how timid he was. Alfred struggled to sit up under the wires checking his pulse and the IV lines and the oxygen mask, and leaned over to give Mattie a reassuring squeeze on the knee, and a kind smile, because it was alright.

"Mattie, come on now, I've gotten into scrapes worse than this. I'm a fireman, remember—"

Matthew looked at the nurse, eyes wide. "He does this. He's fine for a few months and then he'll do something fucking stupid like this and—and—he's never done anything like this before. It's just—he'll climb trees to get cats or walk around at night being a vigilante he's never… never…"

The nurse clicked her tongue.

…

In hindsight, Alfred should have lied.

He had nothing against the nurse, he was sure she was perfectly fine in her spare time, but also she was sort of a giant bitch.

…

This new nurse, a woman with a smile that was much warmer than the other nurse, took his blood pressures and asked him if he was on any medication, explained her name was Amy, and that she was going to be showing him around, where the bathrooms were, that he had to keep his wristband on with his name.

The whole place was basically a giant circle, with rooms lining either side—well, not a circle, but a square, but it looped around—and there was only one set of doors out, the one that Alfred came through. He had been buzzed in and then Amy had relocked the doors.

"Hey, Amy," Alfred said, giving her a warm smile, "why are the doors locked?"

Well, apparently not everyone wanted to be here, which was fair. Alfred didn't particularly want to be here either, but he wondered if Amy thought he was one of the unruly ones, because of course he wasn't, even if that bitchy nurse had listened to his hysterical brother, but this was a misunderstanding.

Alfred found that if he was agreeable, even if it was silly, people cut him slack.

Still though. He eyed the locked doors as they passed by. And the nurses' station was locked. He watched the nurses—who didn't wear scrubs, even though they were in the hospital—jingle their keys to enter the sections Alfred was barred from.

Amy returned. "Have you ever taken antipsychotic pills, Alfred?"

"Nah, I'm healthy."

Amy nodded, and then explained that he wasn't a fireman—Jesus, what was it with these people? You'd think they had his autobiography run through an antonym machine—and that these pills would help him have a better grip on his "situation."

Alfred smiled and swallowed them down pleasantly enough.

At least Matthew had brought him an overnight bag.

…

Alfred had never had a roommate before.

Alfred watched his sleeping form intently, chin resting in his hand. The only roommate he had ever had was Mattie, and it was exactly as much fun as was to be expected. Matthew hadn't even let Alfred get a dog—can you believe that? Get a dog, like Matt was his dad or some shit.

"Can I help you?" The roommate was looking at Alfred.

Alfred grinned. "Good, you're up. I'm Alfred F. Jones, and I'm a fireman. I hope we can split this rent evenly between the two of us, and I'm getting a dog, so I hope you're a dog person."

The roommate blinked at him. "Hello, Alfred, it's three in the morning. I would appreciate it if you would stop muttering and let me get some sleep."

Ah, so if that was how the roommate was going to be, that was fine. But of course, they wouldn't let Alfred switch roommates, it was too late or early or something, and this other nurse was much bigger and had an actual uniform on, and he told Alfred to get back to bed in a way Alfred was familiar with, because it was usually how people spoke to him before they punched him.

"Hey, easy, big guy! Alright, alright, I'm going to bed. It's just that this guy over here sucks, and—"

"Back to bed, Jones."

Two out of the three nurses so far were giant dickheads. Alfred was not impressed.

…

"Alfred?"

Alfred stood up and gave a little bow to the circle. "Hello, all! I am Alfred F. Jones, the best damn fireman this side of the Mississippi, which is saying a lot, considering how heavily populated the East Coast is! See these burns? I got them from saving people from a blaze! I had smoke inhalation."

Of course, no one was awake this early in the morning, and the nurses took his blood pressure and talked to him in soothing voices and gave him more pills and no one even asked what it was like being a fucking fireman, which was cool as shit, but whatever, fine.

One jumpy kid gave him a curious look. "Are you really a fireman?"

Alfred jumped on the opportunity this—what was his name? Feli-something? This Feli, then—gave him. Yes, you should have seen the fire. Alfred threw his hands in the air, making a whooshing noise of the timbers being eaten—the heat, Feli, you could have felt it from forty feet away, and it was night, of course, so Alfred's eyes had been drawn to the light like a moth to a flame, the cinders flying into the air so high they could have burned the underside of planes—

Which was a thought, because Alfred had a pilot's license, too—

But the fire, yes, and Alfred had just known there was someone calling for help, trapped under a fallen support beam, so of course Alfred had barged in there, searching frantically through the smoke, his glasses practically melting on his nose.

Feli watched, enraptured, captivated by this story, and Alfred was happy he could make at least one friend in this place.

…

The afternoon brought with it drowsiness. Alfred sat on his bed, looking at the bandages on his hands, rerunning the story he had told that Feli-kid, fixing details he had forgotten, like how this woman was worried about her baby and was yelling for help, that was—

"I haven't introduced myself."

Alfred looked up at the shit roommate. "Oh, now you want to talk?"

"Yes, when it's not the middle of the night, I think you will find me much more amicable. I'm Ivan."

Alfred rolled his eyes.

"So, you're a fireman? I heard that little story you told Feliciano."

Ah, so Ivan had been listening. Well, good. "Yeah, but I had forgotten some stuff. There's a lot to it, you know, there's a lot to saving people."

"And being a pilot?"

That's right, that's where Alfred had received his firefighting training. You just don't show up to a big ass fire without training, so they taught that in the air force, in case the planes ever caught fire on the air force ships, or the field, how to save people. Alfred wasn't lying about that, Alfred didn't lie, like everyone kept saying.

Ivan asked after Alfred's hands, and Alfred had to end up showing him the burns, explaining how it had been from moving fallen timbers, and of course he usually wore gear, but there was no time to act, this lady was screaming for her kid and what was Alfred going to do? What was smoke inhalation to saving a child? A baby, two actually.

Sometimes, you just needed to act.

Ivan gave him a look—probably feeling bad he had been a dick earlier. But by this point, Alfred was tired of talking.

…

Alfred didn't like this doctor.

"Alfred, I'm going to need you to cooperate. The only way you can get better is to work with me here."

The doctor was fucking condescending, that's what. There was nothing wrong with Alfred, this was all a misunderstanding, for fuck's sake Alfred was a pilot, he had saved a family from a fucking fire, he didn't need to be in the hospital, right?

And how were the meds making Alfred feel?

Tired, they were making him tired and sluggish. Alfred had slept all afternoon, and then had been kept in his room by another dickhead nurse who said it was too late to walk, so Alfred was left jiggling his knee all night and wondering where the fuck all his shoelaces had gone, and why hadn't Matthew packed him anything to do.

And look, he had a twitch.

"That's a side effect."

To what?

And then the doctor spouted off the name of the medication which meant dick-all to Alfred, and again, they were antipsychotic meds, but Alfred wasn't doing anything psychotic!

It was like having the same conversation on a loop.

…

"Alfred."

Alfred focused on Matthew. "Please tell me you brought something for me to do. I'm bouncing off the walls here, I'm going fucking crazy."

Matt nodded. "I brought you the stuff you keep hidden under your bed."

The good stuff, how did he know where Alfred kept the good stuff? All the good comics collectors would kill to have—

"Alfred."

"Yeah?"

"Alfred, why do you think you're a pilot?"

"Because how else would I have training for the fire?" Alfred held up his bandaged hands.

Mattie nodded. "So, you're in the military?"

"Yes."

Mattie nodded again. "Okay. How old are you?"

"Do you seriously not know how old I am?"

"Of course I do, I'm your brother. Just humor me and I'll give you comics."

Alfred rolled his eyes. He loved his brother, but look, again with the dad shit, the ultimatums! "I'm twenty-four."

"Okay, and when did you go to the military?"

"I—"

Mattie leaned forward. "No, think about it. It wasn't when you were eighteen, right? Because you went to college for a bit, remember? Until you were twenty-two, right? And then we moved closer to our Dads, right? How were you trained and deployed in two years?"

"People are trained and deployed in two years—"

"No, because you were there for the vow renewals, right?"

Alfred frowned. Yeah, that was right, that shit was boring and long and sappy, and Alfred had nearly torn his skin off keeping still that long, but he had smiled and hugged everyone like his Father had told him to do, good boy.

"Alfred, you're not a pilot, right?"

Right, yeah, of course. Who the fuck had been saying he's a pilot? That's stupid—although, of course, he could see where the confusion could come in, Alfred was very trim and had the calm demeanor of a pilot—but Alfred hadn't had the time to enlist, unfortunately, he was busy at school.

And busy with the volunteer firefighters, of course.

But Alfred kept that to himself and Mattie gave him a box filled with, finally, something interesting.

…

Feli was saying something interesting. "I know it's all in my head, I get that, but it doesn't stop me from hearing things, you know? And then you start to wonder what's real or not, because how can you really know, know, you know? Because sometimes you ignore something and it's real."

…

Ivan tilted his head. "What are you thinking about?"

Alfred picked at the scabs on his hands, irritated with them. They were itchy and he was tired and twitchy and the shit Matthew had brought him had only lasted—only lasted for a few hours, and now Alfred was without things to do, and he was stuck watching boring movies and walking outside for like, two seconds.

So that thing Feli had said the other day was eating at him. Because he had sounded delusional, right? That's what Alfred thought, anyways, because how the fuck do you mishear things that are real? Maybe fake things, but it's like when there's a ringing in your ears, you make a noise in your throat and the fake ringing fades back and you can figure out it was just the blood in your ears.

"Yes, Feliciano has schizophrenic."

Right, exactly, Alfred knew that shit, he was wondering more like, well, what was Alfred doing here? Clearly it was a misunderstanding, but Matthew had been here, and Matt didn't do anything without calling Papa and talking for fucking hours on end, so Alfred's parents knew he was here, but Alfred wasn't a schizo, just—

"You're not delusional?" Ivan asked, raising his eyebrows.

Alfred glared at him. "No, I'm not fucking delusional."

"You take the same pills as Feliciano, don't you?"

Ivan didn't know if they were the same pills.

"I do, actually. Small, yellow, with a line through the middle."

Alfred's mind jumped back to that morning, when meds were being passed out. Yeah, yeah, that sounded about right. That's what his looked like, anyways, and yes, actually, he was sure Feli did take the same ones.

"Same ones Feliciano takes," Ivan insisted.

Well, clearly that was just a mistake, then. All Alfred had to do was go to one of the nurses and tell them they had messed up the medication, just knock on that glass and smile like he did and tell them no, he wasn't a schizophrenic, not like Feli—

"That wouldn't work though, would it?" Ivan asked.

Alfred hesitated at the door. Ivan knew what drugs he and Feli took. "Why wouldn't it?"

Ivan gave a casual shrug and leaned back against his pillows. "I could see them messing up your drugs once, twice, maybe even three times. But you've been here, what, two weeks now? You've talked to the doctor how many times, to your nurse Amy, and they keep giving you the 'wrong' drugs?"

"You're saying it's intentional?"

Ivan gave another little shrug and flipped a page in his book.

No, he couldn't just say that and fuck off. But that didn't make sense, Alfred was in a hospital, why would they give him the wrong medication on purpose? Although, none of the nurses wore any scrubs, and that was just sanitary, wasn't it, wearing scrubs? That had been bugging Alfred, and it was weird how they took his blood pressure, what did that have to do with anything?

And the twitch. Alfred looked at his hand that moved without his permission, and how he had been telling the doctor that he was drowsy. Or maybe they were placebo pills, doctors did that sometimes, too, to test medication. That would explain why they were giving it to Alfred, to test it.

Feli was absolutely no help. He had no idea what medication he was taking, or what it looked like, and he had no idea what his official diagnosis was, he just kept saying something about dopamine, which made no fucking sense. Feli had no idea if any of the nurses were registered, he had no idea what the doctor's last name even was because it was slipping Alfred's mind—

Wait, no it wasn't. What was it that Matthew had been saying the other day? Alfred had gone to college.

Of course Ivan knew what medication Alfred was taking, because Alfred had prescribed it to himself. Ivan must have seen the slip. Relief dropped down Alfred's back like warm water, and he smiled.

…

Ivan leaned close enough to whisper into Alfred's ear without Alfred's coworkers hearing. "I see you're still taking your pills."

Alfred pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and looked at Ivan through half-lidded eyes. "Of course I'm taking my pills. It would be dumb to waste the prescription. You're wrong, by the way, Feli and I don't take the same meds. I take Flutix and he takes Harbidrole. It's an easy mistake, really, they do look similar, but Harbidrole is used for schizophrenia, while I clearly don't have schizophrenia."

"Ah, so you're a doctor, now."

Yes, of course. Alfred was a little young, sure, but he was in advanced classes, and he was halfway through his residency before this little incident, he was studying—

"And the firefighting?"

What? Oh, yes, well, that was just on a volunteer basis, just to pad his resume so he could get into medical school, which was difficult enough, but Alfred managed it after only a year and a half at undergrad. It—

"So, if you don't mind me asking, why are you in a psych ward, Dr. Jones?"

Part of Alfred's residency, plus Alfred was feeling very stressed with medical school—

"And what is your diagnosis?"

"Like I said," Alfred said primly, "stress, mainly. That's what Flutix is used for. It has to do with dopamine."

"Oh, dopamine, of course. And dopamine has to do with stress, doesn't it, Dr. Jones."

"Yes." Alfred grinned. "Exactly. Very good."

"What are you studying?"

"Psychiatry."

Ivan tilted his head. "Could I ask you a question, Dr. Jones?"

"Of course. You are in a psych ward, of course, and I am studying psychiatry." Dr. Jones was a man of the people after all, and what was a little free consultation among—

"What would you diagnose me with?" Ivan's lips twitched into a small smile. "If you would allow me to pick your brain."

Well, that was an easy one. Ivan was clearly a neurotic, distrustful, prone to conspiracy theories. Dr. Jones didn't know how to concisely put it, but it was clear in the way Ivan distrusted the medication Alfred prescribed himself, and was generally shifty—

"I'm shifty?"

Dr. Jones blinked. "Yeah, you didn't want a roommate, right? Distrustful of someone new."

Ivan's eyes lit up. "Actually, I'm very pleased with the turn of events that led to my new roommate. Thank you, Alfred, this has been enlightening."

Ivan touched Dr. Jones' elbow lightly as he passed.

Dr. Jones watched him walk down the hall. Yeah, that's right, he could diagnose people, because he was a doctor, but he hadn't much time to really get an in-depth look into most patients' brains because he was still so new on the floor, but he had talked to Feli.

Feli glanced up as Dr. Jones approached and smiled, and boy, did Dr. Jones have some great news for Feli. No, Feli, Dr. Jones, Alfred was a doctor, please, stop deflecting, Dr. Jones had some great news for Feli, he didn't have schizophrenia, he had seizures.

Yes, Feli, that's what make sense, doesn't it? It explained the weird hallucinations, why Feli was so absentminded, a mild form of epilepsy, definitely, Feli should definitely let his primary care doctor know as soon as he saw her again—

Yes, of course Dr. Jones was a doctor, he was only a firefighter on a volunteer basis, and even that was pretty rare, no, listen, Feli, Dr. Jones had graduated early from medical school through an advanced program, and was in the middle of his residency and was here to get a feel of where he would be working, and also due to stress.

…

"A doctor? Alfred, does that make sense to you?" the fellow doctor sitting across from Dr. Jones asked.

"That's Dr. Jones to you."

Dr. Jones sat in stubborn silence and the doctor had the audacity to sigh and shuffle papers in front on him, saying they'll try again tomorrow, Alfred.

"That's Dr. Jones."

…

Dr. Jones sat on his bed, exhausted, watching Ivan, who wasn't doing all too terribly much. Now that Dr. Jones thought about it, both Ivan and Mattie did the same boring shit—namely, read a whole bunch. Didn't they get bored? Dr. Jones got bored watching them, and Dr. Jones was so fucking sick of being bored.

"What are you reading?" Alfred asked, nicking the book from Ivan's hands.

"Excuse me, I was reading that."

Yeah, and it was fucking boring. Dr. Jones walked back over to his bed and bent over the book, picking up where Ivan had left off, squinting through the dense, academic writing, trying to follow dates.

"It's a history book," Ivan said from the other side of the room.

Yeah, Dr. Jones could—

"Are you a fan of history?"

No, not really. It was always so dry for Dr. Jones' taste. It was cool when it was wars or explosions or spy missions, but mostly it was a lot of riots or picketing or death or presidents, and while it was interesting to learn, things like that didn't stick in Alfred's head very well, so he was left with a jumble of information and dates that didn't connect.

"I see." Ivan was clearly trying to get his book back with all this talk, but Dr. Jones wasn't—"What does stick in your head, then?"

"Physics." Alfred blinked at his own answer. "Math. Stuff with right and wrong answers."

Ivan watched Alfred flip through the pages of his book.

Alfred looked up. "I like space stuff. I thought it was really cool they could send satellites to different moons based on the gravity and orbit of other planets. I forget the word for it, but there's a way to make a satellite orbit around another body and then have it slingshot where you want it to go. Maybe it was slingshot-ing. Called that."

"So, my history book isn't very interesting to you, is it?"

Alfred snorted. No, of course it wasn't interesting, Dr. Jones only took it to see what was so fascinating—

"I have another book you might like."

If it was anything like the current book in Dr. Jones' possession—

Ivan sat up on his bed and reached underneath to pull out a plastic bin filled with books, enough to give even Matt a rough time of reading them all, which was saying something, and he moved a few stacks around until he found what he was looking for.

He held it out to Alfred. "Here."

Alfred already had a book—

Ivan waved the book in the air. "Come on, take it. You've read through those comics underneath your bed at least ten times, and I guarantee the book you have in your hands currently will put you to sleep faster than Flutix does."

Alfred stood and quickly exchanged books. Ivan didn't say another word, and curled back onto his bed, resuming where Alfred had left the pages.

Dr. Jones wasn't expecting much when he flipped open to a random page, but to his surprise, it was about space stuff. Granted, it was still boring ass history shit, but it went into the Cold War science behind all the space missions, how spies had stolen information.

Occasionally, Alfred would reach a part in the book that referenced something earlier that he hadn't read, so Alfred would need to flip back, but he would end up engrossed with this new part that led into the thing he had been reading later, so he would flip back and forth and back and forth and back and forth until there was nothing left.

And then Alfred started again.

…

Ivan glanced up at Alfred. "I was beginning to think I had lost you in there."

Alfred handed back the book and took a seat by Ivan on the ground because the chairs were too far away and Alfred had something he needed to do. He handed back the book and then handed him #4 of Mightnighter: Out.

Ivan raised an eyebrow and looked pleased. "I don't think I can spend three days reading a comic, but I will certainly do my…" Ivan actually seemed to get a good look at the cover. "There's… a hammer. And a sickle."

Yes, of course there was a hammer and sickle, Ivan was Russian.

"How did you know I was Russian?"

Well, it was easy with his last name and his accent, so slight that nothing but Alfred's trained ears could pick it up.

Alfred jumped up and nodded, because now Ivan could read about something he liked, as well, something he could connect with and take some hours away so he wasn't fidgety, either, something to keep his mind engaged and fingers from trembling even though he had told the doctor he was sick of the tic—

Ivan held the book back out. "You can keep it."

Alfred had snatched the book before he was even aware he had done it, it was just back in his hands. "You can't keep the comic."

"I wasn't planning to."

…

Few things went in the box, stuff that thieves and spies would spend hours pouring over, the smallest detail, the smallest word, the way the color faded into black or the way the plot twisted together from other stories to merge into a perfect issue that only made sense if you read the other ones, eyes red and tired and those who would spend days and days and days pouring over these things, studying, these are things that went in the box, to keep from those who would study instead.

These were precious things.

…

Alfred wondered, faintly whenever he caught himself waking up, why there weren't any windows in his room.

…

"You seem better."

Alfred glanced up from the table to Matthew, an ocean away on pills and the hard plastic-wood tables were made of. "There was nothing wrong with me to begin with." The words the doctor used came out across his tongue: "I get carried away with things."

Mattie let out a breath of air like a deflating balloon. "How are things?"

How were things? That was a question. "I sleep, a lot. And I've walked around that fucking ward enough times to wear a track in the linoleum, but I'm…"

He was what? Alfred could feel it, vaguely, something different, something just on the edge of his consciousness that usually got him going was bound and gagged, like the hum of a TV that was muted, a different sort of noise. It was strange and Alfred was afraid to think about it too much.

"It's good," Matthew said, firmly. "It's a good thing, the doctor said so."

Alfred frowned at this, and something about the phrase scratched at the back of his mind. Mattie told him about his shifts, about how Dad and Papa missed him and sent their love, of course. Alfred had the urge to scratch at his hairline.

"Are they coming to visit?"

Matt sighed again, and Alfred wondered when he had started doing that all the time, like everything Alfred said was the tenth time he had asked the same thing. "No, I don't think so. But I did bring you some things—"

"Why won't they visit?"

Matthew stared at him like a sinking ship. "Because they don't want to. They say it makes them too sad, Alfred, and I'm inclined to agree. What are you doing here!?"

That was a good question, wasn't it?

Matthew let out another fucking sigh. "God, Alfred, what are you doing here?"

"Well, do you have something to say?"

Matthew let out a little laugh. "Do I have something to say—do you think you'll hear it? Or will you just get that deranged look in your eye and start rambling away about some—" Mattie hissed the word: "Bullshit and ruin things again?"

That wasn't fucking fair, Alfred didn't ruin jackshit—

"Yes, you have, and what's worse, you don't even think, you're a million miles away—"

Across a sea— "How the fuck do you know what my doctor said?"

Matthew froze for just a second, in the middle of looking around, of his shoulders slumping. "I didn't, I just know what an improvement looks like."

Alfred stood. "You're fucking lying. You're not my emergency contact, I didn't give you permission to talk to my doctor, it's none of your fucking business about why I'm in here."

Matthew let out a laugh of sharp air. "It's not my business—do you hear yourself? Like I haven't been fucking forced into your business for years—"

"There you go again with that dad bullshit again!"

"What on earth are you—"

"You act like I'm a little kid!" Alfred loomed over Matthew.

Matthew didn't stand, face-to-face with Alfred, nose inches from his own, didn't shove him back, no, Mattie just sank further into his seat. "You are a little kid."

"Leave."

Matthew opened his mouth—

Alfred shoved Matthew, and his brother threw out his arms to stop himself from falling backwards out of the chair. "Alfred what the—"

"Leave and take your fucking party favors with you. They don't make up for the fact you use me to feel better about yourself, that treating me like an idiot makes you feel better because no one gives a shit about you, not Dad, not Papa, and especially not me."

Matt didn't even look up at him. "You're unbelievable, you know that?"

"No, I'm just usually too nice to tell you the obvious, but I'm sick of your sighing and I'm sick of the shit you bring me and I'm sick of you talking to my doctor and I'm sick of all of this!" Alfred whirled to the blond nurse hovering nearby. "And you can tell my fucking doctor that if I hear he's been talking to my brother, there's not a strong enough lock to keep me from leaving this place."

Now Matthew stood. "You're being—"

"Leave."

…

"You talked to my brother."

The doctor looked impassively back at him over his desk. "Does that bother you?"

"Yes, it fucking bothers me. What about doctor-patient confidentiality, doc? What about you not telling fucking lies to my brother about me?"

Oh, but they weren't lies, Alfred, he was just updating Matthew on Alfred's situation, but there wasn't a fucking situation! For fuck's sake, Alfred shouldn't be in here! And it was god damned illegal to keep him here without his permission.

"Matthew was concerned about your delusions, Alfred."

Delusions, delusions, what fucking delusions, those were misunderstandings, those were idiots, those were the doctor saying things about Alfred that just weren't true, maybe you're fucking delusional!

"Clearly, you're in no position to talk right now, Alfred. We'll try again tomorrow."

…

Alfred didn't care about the fucking penguins, or about their stupid fucking eggs, or about how they were still in fucking Antarctica even though they should have fucking died off hundreds of years ago, thousands, millions, the timescale of evolution.

Alfred felt his eyes flicking from person to person until he reached an awfully large gap he hadn't noticed before, and his eyes landed on Ivan, an island in the tightly packed folding chairs of movie night.

"Look at the chick, Alfred," Feli breathed next to him.

Feli kept saying stupid shit like that, while Ivan got to have three chair-lengths of space around him like an asteroid impact.

…

And one that followed Ivan around like a bubble.

…

In the morning vitals line, Alfred could have sat in a chair between Ivan and the next person.

…

At recreation time, Ivan by the window, reading, people moving around him like water around a smooth stone that licked his finger to turn pages.

…

At meals, a table to himself, a fortress, a minefield.

…

Outdoors, Ivan could have been a hiker, alone, the last one on the Earth, walking through a field with his hands behind his back and a tent he could set up in abandoned cities.

…

A lion gripped a gazelle in his teeth while Alfred neatly stepped over the chairs in front of him and sat down next to Ivan. If Ivan was surprised, if Alfred held more interest than the stupid fucking Savannah, he certainly didn't show it.

"People are afraid of you."

Ivan's eyes held only the screen in front of him and did not turn their attention to Alfred. "I am trying to watch the movie. Your voice is loud and distracting."

"You don't give a shit about the movie."

"Interesting conclusion, because I'm watching it."

Alfred looked between Ivan and the projection. "Who gives a shit about lions?"

"Obviously not you."

Ivan's eyes were still glued to the screen and it was pissing Alfred right the fuck off.

"No one talks to you. All yesterday, no one, just the nurses and I would guess your doctor, but it must get lonely. All you do is read books and watch the shitty documentaries and nod when the nurses ask you to do something, and you don't have visitors that often, and you read fast and no one else reads the things you do so you have no one to talk to about them."

Finally, Ivan turned his eyes "So, Mr. Popular is pitying me? I have some bad news: I'm not going to sit at your lunch table."

"I wasn't inviting you." Alfred grinned at him. "But you are lonely. Or something. You didn't answer my questions, see, you're fucking deflecting and that shit doesn't work anymore. I might twitch like a motherfucker but you're lying, Braginski."

Half of Ivan's face was illuminated by the sunlit world an ocean away, and the other half was not. "And what am I lying about, Jones?"

Alfred stood and a shadow ate the projection. "You would totally sit at my lunch table if I invited you."

…

Ivan did not have any more books. He had boxes and boxes full of shit, but he did not have any more books, and Alfred should know, he had been digging under Ivan's bed nearly all evening, pulling out waste of tree pulp after waste of tree pulp and flipping to a random page only to find it wholly uninteresting.

Ivan had watched him at first, but he had soon picked up one of the books Alfred had tossed irritably away and began reading, trusting Alfred enough to look through his precious information. Not that there was much. Just shit.

"You know," Ivan said, licking a finger, "I could suggest a book to you."

No, that wasn't what Alfred wanted. He didn't want a suggestion, he wanted a book to call to him like a beacon, something influential that would change his world view like people had experienced with the Bible, but less boring than the Bible, because Alfred had tried that one and found it both hard to read and also a waste of paper and honestly, did every single book Ivan own try to use the biggest word possible? Like look, here, extraordinary, couldn't they just use great?

Ivan proceeded to tell him about the merits of more precise words to communicate blah, blah, blah. Alfred watched Ivan's mouth move and watched his eyes continue to read as he lectured and the sound wasn't bad, soft. Alfred looked up at Ivan from his position on the floor, his feet under Ivan's bed, and thought about how few people had seen Ivan from this angle, looking up as Ivan read and talked, surrounded by books. And the sound really was quite lovely and Alfred just rested his head against Ivan's knee.

…

Alfred stared at the doorway, counting the shadows that walked by, counting his heart beat, dividing it by six, multiplied by twelve and a half and then subtracting by seven, fingers twitching, restarting when the shadows walked back in front of the door, boots heavy on the floor.

He had asked to go to the bathroom three times and it was only one in the morning, they were going to tell him to hold it if he didn't stop, they were going to call the nurses if he didn't stop—

"What are you thinking about?"

Alfred looked over to the other side of the room and found a companion in bed, sitting up, eyes bright in the gloom.

"I don't want to sleep." Alfred held up his hand and watched his hand trembled. "It feels like all I've been doing is sleeping and I don't want to do it anymore." Like a fog had settled over him, slowing his movements, the whole world banging on his front door and demanding his attention. And the world was so boring.

"It is boring," Ivan said softly, "isn't it?"

Alfred blinked up at him, suddenly unsure if he had spoken aloud or not. "Why are you here, Ivan?"

Ivan head turned away from the light of the hallway, and if there had been a window in this jailcell, Ivan would have been looking out it and considering the question. As it was, he looked at the cinderblock walls and took longer to respond. "Because I was ordered to be here."

This clicked into place in Alfred's mind. So that was why people were afraid of him, because he wasn't kept here against his will by the hospital, but by someone else, because he didn't take the same pills in the morning and his responses weren't the same in group. Because someone higher had looked at Ivan and decided to make him come here.

"And why are you here, Alfred?"

Why was Alfred here. It was all people seemed to be asking him these days, and Alfred watched the shadow walk across the door and counted his heartbeat and divided and multiplied and subtracted and almost forgot to respond to a question that had been haunting him the past few days. "I'm not like Feli."

"No. No, you are most certainly not like Feliciano. Which begs the question, doesn't it?"

"I think… I think Mattie put me here." Alfred picked at some weird, dry stuff on his hands, wondering where it had come from, why it was there, when things like this started to bug him when they so clearly hadn't before. Had they? "Do you think that medication works?"

"Flutix?"

What the fuck was Flutix? "No, the shit they give me. The same bullshit they give Feli. Do you think it works? Do you think it's working? Do you—"

"I certainly think it does something."

Ivan's figure swam in Alfred's vision and his eyes burned and his head was full of fuzz and he could feel the darkness pulling him down, pulling his eyelids down and his head started to dip even as he jerked up to try and stay awake and even as Ivan stood and walked over to him and it felt so good to slip into that blank space in his head and give in and Ivan looked down at him and

…

Alfred frowned. "Where did you get that?"

Feli looked up. "Hm?"

Alfred pointed at the brownie Feli was holding. "Where did you get that? I didn't get one, and everyone else only gets Jell-O here for dessert. How the fuck did you get a brownie, Feli?"

Feli looked at the brownie in his hand like he was surprised to see it there, the fucker. "Oh, um, I don't know. It was just on my food tray, and I just thought that I could eat it because it was there—"

"Why didn't anyone else get a brownie?" Alfred leaned over and snatched the paper slip that detailed Feli's food order, and yep, the slip had Feli's name on it, so he hadn't taken someone else's tray by accident. "What makes you so special that you get a good dessert?"

Feli was staring at him with wide eyes, frozen, scrambling for an excuse. "I—I don't know, I just eat what they—"

"No, that's bullshit. They have a locked room and you have to ride on an elevator to get up here, they don't make mistakes, there aren't any windows. You didn't just get a brownie by mistake. There's other shit, too, you get more bathroom breaks at night, and I bet you there's other shit I didn't notice, either."

"Alfred," Feli said, voice bordering on yelling, defensive, "I don't know why I got a brownie." His voice wavered and his eyes were glassy and Alfred wasn't buying that shit for a second. "But I'm sure if I just tell—"

"Alfred." Ivan's voice was like a fire extinguisher, cold and calm and dousing, a tone that could get in your lungs and seep into your bloodstream and calm anger. Alfred hadn't even heard him walk over, and he leaned backwards to look at him. "Could I talk to you for a moment?"

Alfred shoved himself away from the table, glaring at Feli as Ivan gently led him away by the small of the back to the corner of the room, where he stood, head tilted as Alfred explained that Feli was fucking shifty as fuck, the brownie was just the final straw, something was off and Alfred didn't know what but Feli definitely had connections, he had a key to this place, a key or could feed notes through the heating vents to the kitchen—

"Alfred, do you really think Feliciano could pull all that off?"

Alfred watched Feli stare at his brownie, eyes wet and breath hitching, the schizo.

"Right, see," Ivan murmured, "it doesn't make sense for Feliciano to be the one orchestrating any grand brownie heist, does it?"

No. No, Alfred supposed not. No, but he was caught up in something, something he had no idea about, right over his head, a mile high. It was just a matter of who, and of course the obvious answer were the people keeping Feli here, and by extension, the people keeping Alfred here, but why, and what did the brownie have to do with it?

Well, it was obviously a reward, even if poor, stupid Feli had no idea it was. But, if there was one thing Feli was, was talkative, he could talk about the color of the tiles or about flowers or other dumb shit, so he was a spy—

"Come on Alfred, you can do better than that." Ivan looked over his shoulder at Feli. "I do wonder the coincidence, though, don't you?"

Okay, start over, Feli wasn't a spy, he was just a bystander. And Feli wasn't going to put two and two together, obviously, so that just…

Alfred bounced on the balls of his feet. "It has to do with me, I bet you. I'm the only guy in this place who's going to notice something like that, the only one who can put this together. It was a message from…"

From someone, and Alfred felt his brow furrow as he dug for answers.

"Feliciano as a means of communication. Yes, Alfred, I like that. Good boy."

…

Alfred couldn't think. He could feel the thoughts scatter away from him like marbles, ones he was constantly tripping over himself trying to capture, marbles covered in butter. Other thoughts kept interrupting on everything, stupid thoughts that made him hesitate and worry about instead.

When the doctor asked about Matthew, Alfred found himself wondering about Matt, where he was, if he missed Alfred, what he was doing with all of Alfred's stuff, how Dad and Papa were, how Matthew was, if he was still mad at Alfred, and Alfred found himself unable to remember Matthew's number when he tried to call, which just sent his mind spiraling more because what if Matthew had died of carbon monoxide poisoning, it was Alfred who had always checked the alarms and changed the batteries, how the apartment was, how Matthew was paying rent without Alfred's contribution and on and on and on and if Matt was mad at Alfred.

When Feli started avoiding him for whatever reason, Alfred's mind got on about that. Why was Feli avoiding him? It hardly seemed fair and Alfred hadn't even done anything besides out the obvious, so now Alfred watched Feli eat alone like a loser and Feli avoided looking at him and he got quiet and it was just such bullshit that Alfred couldn't comprehend it.

And Ivan. Alfred found Ivan plaguing Alfred's train of thought like a bandit. He had been ordered to be here, what could that fascinating thing mean, and did it have to do with the books Ivan read. He had touched Alfred's elbow and his back and had called Alfred a good boy, and he was always there to suggest something that Alfred hadn't even considered, make Alfred's mind reel with the possibilities and he seemed to like doing it, and he caught Ivan looking at him, head tilted and Alfred needed to figure out who was trying to get a message to him.

During movie nights, Alfred pressed his knee against Ivan's and watched Ivan pretend to ignore him.

Alfred changed in front of Ivan after his showers, dripping wet and slick, humming like he wasn't aware he was doing it, and he reveled in the eyes Ivan had for him.

But.

He needed to get his mind back on topic. He couldn't think. And there was something up with the brownie—

"For the love of God, Alfred, stop with the brownie."

-and so Alfred had a plan. Alfred had big tonsils. When he was younger, he would stare at himself in the mirror, examining his eyes and his eyebrows and his hair and his teeth and the thing that dangled from the back of his throat and his tonsils. He had forced Mathew's mouth open (and nearly gotten a finger chomped off for his trouble) to compare, and Alfred's tonsils were much, much bigger.

"I hardly see what this has to do with the brownie, or more importantly, what this has to do with your special message." Ivan was pretending to read, like he did when Alfred told him his plans.

The next morning, waiting for his meds, Alfred pretended to swallow them as the nurse checked his cheeks and tongue and cheeks, but in reality they were resting on his tonsils. If he flexed his throat right, his tonsils stuck out, catching the pills like a net catching litter from his stream of thought.

Alfred waited for the nurse to move off, and then coughed up the pills into palm of his hand grinned at Ivan.

Ivan looked at the pills. "That was disgusting," he said mildly. "But clever."

"Of course it was clever. I'm clever. Now," Alfred said, flicking the pills through the heating vent, "I can think again."

"And what a delight that will be."

Alfred grinned.

…

Ordered to be here.

Alfred watched Ivan's sleeping form as the words ran over and over again in his head. Ordered to be here by who?

Someone stalked by the doorframe and Alfred watched them without his glasses on and in a half-haze of exhaustion and his mind couldn't connect the two pieces because that nurse was familiar, wasn't he, Alfred had seen him before, he knew it, he knew it.

…

It was like Alfred had downed energy drinks, he felt like he was on top of the world, a map spread before him and he could freely wander around it and no Feli, he wasn't hyper today, this was how he always was, it's just that Feli didn't notice things like Alfred did, not that it's a bad thing.

Well, Feli, it was simple really. Remember the brownie, it was apart of something bigger, something Feli hadn't realized before. It was a test, test for Alfred, to check how with it he was, if he was still trusting the pills they gave out—not that he wasn't taking them—but it had to do with the management. Did you ever notice how everything is locked around here, no, probably not, but the only way in and out: locked. The nurse's station: locked. Certain rooms, random rooms, one where Alfred had gotten his blood tested: locked. It didn't make sense because Alfred wasn't a threat to anyone.

It was the doctor. The head doctor, the one who ran everything—no, Feli, he isn't nice—well, if he was nice, that was just a ploy to get people to trust him. Clearly, he wasn't a good guy. That was the only thing that made sense to Alfred, that he was keeping people here against their will. People like Alfred, who shouldn't be here, and Ivan, who was ordered to be here, people like Feli who couldn't do much, even if he wanted to.

"Really?" Ivan asked. "Why would he want to keep people here?"

Well, that was simple, wasn't it? Doctors had egos, everyone knew that, almost as bad as ER nurses, and they liked to flex them. So when doctors like…

"Dr. Väinämöinen."

Right, yes, Dr. V, got some people who were misunderstood, it made him feel like he had a big dick to keep Alfred here, the fucker. But he wasn't completely evil, he just wanted to see if you were smarter than him, if you could solve his puzzles, catch his clues, he would let you go. Shit like the brownie.

"You are obsessed with this brownie."

It's all apart of the puzzle, Ivan.

And it made sense, too, that fucker was condescending as fuck, broke trust constantly, didn't give a fuck about doctor-patient confidentiality, flagrantly threw his weight around by ordering bullshit prescriptions, ignored complaints, and was generally just a giant cock.

…

There was something new in his box, something that shouldn't be there, something sharp. It was a box cutter, at the very bottom, hidden under a broken gyroscope and old thermometer, one Alfred had never seen before in his life, with a fresh, crisp blade, one that fit into his palm like it had been molded to.

…

There was something higher than the doctor, Ivan. The doctor must have a boss, right? Someone who looked into the workings of this whole fucking locked loop and laughed about it. This higher-someone knew about the doctor and knew about Alfred, had seen him in the ER, had picked him for this game. This higher-someone, that's who was—

"Alfred." Ivan's breath was hot against Alfred's neck and his toes were cold against Alfred's legs. "It's too late for this."

"But you believe me." Alfred rolled his head to look at Ivan, searching his face in the gloom. "This person, they're the one who ordered you to be here, right? You're a spy, you're someone who reports back to him, aren't you?" Alfred looked for a confirmation in a movement of Ivan's face.

Ivan reached a hand up and ran a finger along Alfred's jawline.

And there were two sections, one working for the doctor and one working for the higher person—

"The General?"

Yes, the General, some were working for him, some for the doctor, and the one working for the General, they were the one sending messages to Alfred, they were the ones who wanted to get him and Ivan out, Alfred had figured it out, didn't Ivan see, it was so simple, Alfred felt like an idiot for not seeing it soon—

"Do you know all those books I read, Alfred?"

Yes—

"I would burn all those books just to listen to you talk for ten minutes."

"Ten?"

Ivan let out a sigh and bit Alfred gently on the shoulder, then kissed him in the same spot, lightly, Alfred barely felt his lips there, light as a snowflake melting. "Five, even. But it is late, and the guards will change shifts soon."

Ivan stood and retreated to his bed and left Alfred aching after cold toes.

Alfred knew what he had to do.

…

"I want to talk," Alfred said.

The doctor looked at him with interest. "That's what I'm here for, after all."

No, Alfred was going to speak and the doctor was going to listen, and then he was going to decide. Alfred wasn't stupid, he had figured out what was going on around here. It hadn't been easy, but it made sense now, the pills, the wrongful imprisonment—

No, doctor, Alfred was going to speak first.

The wrongful imprisonment, the hints, the little things, the brownie, the gift someone had sent him, Mattie turning his back on Alfred, all these had melded into a perfect picture of what was going on around here.

And, Alfred spoke louder for the microphones no doubt planted around the room, he had figured out what the General was asking him to do. But Alfred was going to give the doctor a choice first, because Alfred was a good guy. Now, the good doctor could either let Alfred go and explain to Matthew that this whole thing was a mistake, could release Ivan and stop playing this demented game—let everyone go who didn't deserve to be here, or the doctor would see exactly what the General had planned for him.

No, answer the question first.

Answer the question.

Alright, fine, if that's how he wanted to do things. And so Alfred stood and showed him the gift the General had sent him.

The doctor stood immediately but his feet got caught up in the chair and he half fell on his desk, papers—Alfred's paper, papers that tracked his progress at the games and notes to the General—slid from the folder to the floor and Alfred had made it around the edge of the desk and the doctor was looking up at him with wide eyes and Alfred raised the gift and Alfred brought the gift down but the doctor had been raising his hands and Alfred's gift came down there instead of—instead of—

And now the doctor was bleeding and yelling and there was so much blood, dripping down his arms and off his elbows and falling to the ground and getting on those white notes and he shied away from Alfred and the doctor's feet finally came free of the chair and he slumped against the wall looking at his ruined palms and another fresh wave of blood seeped down his arms and Alfred suddenly didn't know what the General wanted now and he backed away and he looked around for the cameras and he told the doctor:

"I want to leave now."

The doctor nodded at him. "Alright, Alfred." His voice was small and scared but his face was composed even as he held his hands uselessly in front of him, and Alfred could see he had gotten him in between the thumb and the pointer finger and his thumb hung down at an odd angle that made Alfred's stomach turn.

And then a nurse burst into the room and Alfred was slammed into the ground and he was sorry, he didn't mean to, he got it wrong, he was sorry, he didn't want to hurt anyone he just wanted to go, please let him go home please please please

#aph rusame #rusame #APH America #APH Russia #hetalia fanfic #writing #hetalia fanfiction #asylum #alfred f jones #ivan braginski

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mentalmimosa · 5 years

Text

long night in the castle of lions

Sometimes, the nights in the castle are long. Long and filled with a sort of infinite quiet, the sound of universe at rest that presses in from all sides. No noise from inside the ship can compete with it, that silence, not Lance’s snores or the singsong Hunk uses to talk himself into sleep: It’s ok. It’s all right. Everything is gonna be fine.

It isn’t. Keith’s pretty sure of that. Lions or legendary whatever notwithstanding, it feels like they’re pretty much screwed.

Galactic evil? Weapons that can blow away worlds? What kind of chance do they have against any of that?

Not good. Not fucking good.

He can hide those thoughts during the day, when they’re out and about saving the innocent and protecting what’s good, what seems right. But at night, when he has only the shadows and his own head for company, those thoughts drown him out, pull him knee deep into despair.

He doesn’t sleep much in the castle. He envies everybody who can: Pidge, who can curl into any corner and be asleep in ten ticks. Allura and Coran, who slept here for 10,000 years, for gods’ sake. And Shiro, their great and glorious leader, who strolls into the lounge for breakfast every morning looking like he’s just had a strong, solid eight.

“Good morning,” he’ll say to each of them, a smile and a pat on the shoulder for each. “How’d you sleep?”

Keith doesn’t bother to lie anymore, to put on an act of at ease and well-rested.

“Like shit, Shiro,” he’ll say, not bothering to raise his head from the purple stuff that passes for coffee. “Like absolute shit.”

The first time he’d said it, Shiro had startled, his hold on Keith’s shoulder going sudden and tight.

“Really?”

“Yeah. Didn’t get a wink.”

“Well,” Shiro had stumbled, “you, ah--did you try meditation?”

“Didn’t bother.” He’d looked up, looked back to see Shiro’s face drawn up and worried. “I never sleep a lot anyway. Even on Earth. I’m fine.”

Shiro hadn’t bought it then, didn’t buy it now, but Keith’s stuck to it, this little shade of untruth. No, he’s never taken refuge in sleep like some people but he’s never found it so elusive before, so willing to slip out of his grasp. After a while, he even finds himself missing his nightmares: the ones about crashing, the ones about falling, the ones about his mom’s voice. They feel like old friends, those dreams, that he’s no longer allowed to see.

And he’s tired. Dear gods, he’s exhausted. But even the softest Altean pillow and the pressure of darkness can’t kick him over to sleep, not the kind he needs, the kind that lets him sink into the bed and lasts for more than 20 minutes. That sort of sleep, it feels like, is long fucking gone.

*****

One night, or what passes for it in space, there’s a knock on his door.

That’s how he knows it isn’t Coran or Allura; they’d have gone straight for the chime. It’s not Hunk, either, because he favors shave and a haircut , and it’s not Lance because he’s a dick and would’ve pounded with both fists. And shouted. He’d definitely have shouted.

Pidge or Shiro, then.

And unless Pidge’s shot up a foot in the last few hours, the tapping is too tall for him. So.

“It’s alright, Shiro,” he calls, waving on the small bunkside lamp. “You can come in.”

The door slides open and Shiro steps in, frowning. “How’d you know it was me?”

“Lucky guess.”

“Right.”

It takes Keith a second to realize that Shiro looks weird. Well, not weird, but a lot less formal than usual; less like a Garrison Leader and more like a person. A person who’s wearing--

“Are those pajamas ?”

Shiro looks down at himself, looks back up at Keith, bemused. “To the best of my knowledge, yes. They’re not a matched set, but since it’s what I tend to sleep in, I think calling them pajamas is fair.”

“Oh. Sure.”

“I mean, if anyone’s attire is cause for comment, I think it’s yours. Aren’t those the clothes you wore today? And yesterday? And the day before that?”

“I put them through the ‘fresher every morning,” Keith says, defensive. “It’s not like I’m wandering around unwashed or something.”

“No, it’s”--Shiro holds his hands up, a little sign of surrender--“I wasn’t suggesting you were. Do you...is this what you wear every night?”

Keith bristles. “Yes. So?”

“So, maybe you’d have an easier time sleeping if you, you know, let yourself relax.”

“I am relaxed!”

Shiro’s mouth curves. “Yeah, obviously. Look at you. You’re the picture of rest and relaxation, Keith.”

Gods, what is it with this guy? “What are you doing here?”

“I’m worried about you.”

“Ugh.” Keith folds his arms across his chest, summons his best scowl. “You don’t need to be.”

“You haven’t slept in weeks. And that’s according to you. You don’t see a cause for concern?”

“I told you. I’m fine.”

Shiro steps towards the bunk, the lamp catching his face, the dark light of his eyes. “And I’m here as your friend to tell you you’re not. What happened with you and the Green Lion today?”

There’s a rush of heat in his face. “We--I lost track of it for a minute, that’s all.”

“And nearly crashed into its side. You could’ve been hurt. So could Pidge, along with both of your lions.”

“But I didn’t. Everything turned out fine. We got home in one piece, didn’t we?”

Shiro’s voice is terribly gentle. “Keith.”

“What?”

“That was just today. Last week, you almost went headfirst into that asteroid. And right before that, you--”

“Gods, shut up!” Keith says. There are tears in his eyes, tears, in front of freaking Shiro. It’s fucking horrific. “You don’t have to--I know I’ve screwed up, ok? I know each and every time I’ve made a mistake.”

“Keith--”

“I know I’m a fuck-up, alright? I know that, I know, you don’t have to come in here in the middle of the fucking night to remind me!”

“Hey,” Shiro says, a shot of steel in his voice, “no way. That’s not why I’m here.”

“Really? Really? Right. Sure, Shiro.”

“Damn it, don’t--!”

He shoves the tears from his cheeks and flies up, ready to punch Shiro if he has to, shove him out into the corridor, anything to make him go away. “Stop talking!” he barks. “Just shut up and get out of here!”

“No!” Shiro shouts, getting right in his face. “I’ve tried not talking to you about this, and you know what, that didn’t work! You’re still dead on your feet all the time, you still look sick, you still feel like you’re worthless and you think that you’re holding us back but you’re not, Keith! You’re not!”

Keith bares his teeth, balls his fists. “How the fuck do you know how I feel, huh?”

“How do I--?” Shiro looks furious. “What part of there are no secrets between paladins did you not understand?”

“What?”

“The mind-link,” Shiro says through gritted teeth. “When we’re Voltron. Do you not grok how it works?”

Keith snarls, tries to take a step back, but Shiro has him by the elbows like a vise. “You’ve been digging around in my head, then? That’s great. That’s real fucking leader-ly of you.”

“I’m not--I’m not digging around in your head! You’re broadcasting those feelings like they’re on a freaking repeater!”

“No, I’m not.”

“You are.” Shiro’s eyes are angry, his grip unrelenting. “Gods, don’t you see? The more tired you get, the louder your thoughts are. Your brain doesn’t have the energy to hold them back.”

There’s a sink of fear in Keith’s gut. He’s afraid it shows in his face; raises his voice just in case. “Well,” he spits, “that doesn’t mean you have to listen!”

“You’re impossible!” Shiro says through clentched teeth. “Honestly, gods, Keith, you’re the most--!”

There are a lot of things that rattle around in Keith’s head on those long nights in the Castle of Lions. Some nights, he can’t crawl out of sadness, can’t shake himself free of worry and doubt. Some nights, there’s fear: the shriek of Zarkon’s fighters; the screams of dying planets; the way the Red Lion trembles when he’s wounded.

But on some nights, when the silence is at its most still, Keith thinks about Shiro. Not the man who strides about with so much certainty, the man who never loses his cool, the man whose resolution, whose steadiness has held their shaky team together time and strange time again.

No, he thinks about the man he’d seen on the table on Earth, the man whose shackles he’d broken, the man who he’d half-carried, half-dragged into the open air, to the speeder, to safety. He remembers the weight of Shiro’s head on his shoulder and the stutter of his breath, the way he’d clung to Keith without reservation or shame, the soft grateful sounds he’d made against Keith’s neck as they staggered towards safety and away from chains and from fear:

Thank you, he’d murmured, his voice like a bruise. Whoever you are. Thank you.

And those thoughts slip sometimes into a dream, an imagined hour in his bed with Shiro bent over him, kissing him, petting at his skin until he cries out and making those same grateful sounds as he pushes into Keith’s body, fills him until there’s no room for thinking, no room for worry, no worry for something like doubt.

Keith, this dream-Shiro will murmur, his voice like a bruise. Thank you. Thank you.

On those longest of nights, the sweetest, he’ll take himself in hand and forget to muffle his cries. He’ll imagine the shape of Shiro’s mouth, the taste of its weight upon his, and stroke himself as Shiro would, slow and steady, each touch perfect and measured until it’s not, until they can’t be, until they’re fucking in earnest and all words are gone and there is, in the whole goddamn universe, only the two of them left, spend supernovas panting against each other’s hot skin.

And then, with the dream pulled about him, he’ll sleep, fall into a soft solid hour of respite but then awake feeling guilty, so fucking guilty, his flesh crawling in shame, and his eyes never close again after that.

Has he put that out into the mind-link? Those feelings, that momentary delusion. Does Shiro know about all of that, too?

“Fuck,” he says, frantic, twisting in Shiro’s arms, “do you ever shut up?”

“I don’t know. Do you ever listen?”

His heart is on fire, his whole body filled with panic. “Huh,” he spits, “maybe if you said something worth hearing.”

Shiro opens his mouth--to scold, to fuss, to shout, maybe all of the above--but in the same instant, their bodies collide, Keith’s thrashing crashing their hips together in a sweet sudden collision and oh, Keith thinks wild, disbelieving, oh gods, because Shiro is hard, stiff behind the soft turn of his sleep pants and he’s breathing startled into Keith’s face and not running away and this is a terrible idea, this isn’t even a thought, this is the best thing that Keith’s done all day:

He turns his face and jams his mouth against Shiro’s, less a kiss than a battering ram. It’s awkward and sideways and rushed and yet it makes Shiro moan, makes his hands fly up to cup Keith’s face and steady him, steady them, turn the awkward into something perfect and deep.

He tastes like Altean toothpaste, does Shiro, a dark, bitter berry. His tongue is demanding and his body unyielding and his fingers are cold, metal and skin both, and with all this, with just a kiss, he makes Keith see fucking stars.

“I didn’t come here for this,” Shiro whispers when they part, when their lips drift just enough to let words fly. “I mean, I’d be lying if I said I’d never thought about, um...but honestly, I came to see if you were all right.”

Keith slips his hand under the hem of Shiro’s t-shirt, lays his palm over cool, shivering skin. “Mmm, I know. But does that mean you want to stop?”

Shiro makes a tiny, pained sound, his cock twitching against Keith’s hip. “Stop? No. No no. Unless you--unless you want to.”

“No,” Keith says, biting gently at Shiro’s lip, his own curled up in a smile. “Definitely not.”

*****

In the morning, he’s slumped over his weird not-coffee when he feels a hand on his shoulder, a roughened voice saying: “Keith? How’d you sleep?”

He tips his head back and smiles. “Like a baby, actually. Once I got around to it. How about you?"

Shiro’s eyes are warm, his mouth still flushed. “About the same, actually.”

“Really? Huh. That’s funny.”

“It is, isn’t it?” Shiro touches the bruise he left on Keith’s neck, the only one the collar of his jacket can’t hide, and gives up a tired grin. “What a coincidence.”

The whole team is looking at them, aren’t they, and Lance is howling something tinged with disbelief but it’s fine, Keith isn’t worried about it; he’s not worried about a damn thing. For the moment, it’s the castle that’s bustling, brimming over with noise and ideas and life, while Keith’s head is quiet and settled, the joy of the night before pressing in on all sides.

“Good morning,” Shiro says, giving him one last squeeze, another lazy shot of a smile.

“Yeah,” Keith says to himself, to his last sip of coffee, to the goggled eyes of his teammates. “It is.”

#shiro #first kiss #season one

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