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fuckthisshitimin · 2 years

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Borrowed Time, Chapter 6: This is a romantic comedy

Chapter 1: Are you afraid of death, Jon?

Chapter 2: Take my Picture (I want to last longer)

Chapter 3: I don't know.

Chapter 4: About the life of Gertrude Robinson

Chapter 5: Do not go gentle (into that good night)

read on ao3

September 30th, last autumn of Gerard Keay

2:00PM

Sasha is with her. She doesn’t have to be, her work is done, and she could be outside getting a coffee or back to her hotel to rest but she said she would stay with Gertrude’s body, and Rosie is there too, it is strange to see her after all those years, and Gerry, so—

Jon fiddles with his phone, playing back the conversation in his head.

“What do you want? — I don’t know.”

If this isn’t the story of his life. He groans, taking the last puff of his cigarette before trashing it. No, it isn’t. He wants… he knows what he wants. Too much, probably. And he’s glad Martin will be here. He is relieved he didn’t have to make that decision, too. Pocketing his phone, he heads back into the funeral house, mumbling about the steps as he reaches the lower level. Oliver had given him the key of the elevator, the one they use to transport the caskets. But he didn’t… ah, he didn’t feel like taking the elevator.

Sasha is putting her coat on when he opens the door, and Gerry fiddles with a pencil mindlessly.

“Did Rosie go?”

“She’s with Oliver, talking about the service. Oh, she said you’ll read a poem.”

“I— what? I don’t like poetry.”

She grabs her suitcase, he hadn’t seen it before. So she came here straight from the train. “Yes, but you did drama, and you are terrible at speeches so she doesn’t want you to talk.”

“I—”

“You did drama?”

Gerry’s eyes drifted away from their sketchbook, and Jon is pinned in place by the attention. “This. Is not the point.”

“Oh, yes, he did. Sang, even. You can sing a song if you like it better, I don’t think Rosie would mind.”

“I can’t— I wasn’t close to her, and, I, she, Gertrude never liked me.”

Sasha checks her scarf, her phone, looks around the room one last night before sighing. “Now this is not the point, Jon, I am writing something, Rosie is planning everything, Elias will manage the ceremony—”

“I could do it.”

She stops with one hand in her pocket, the other on her suitcase. “Gerry, you don’t have to.”

“How come they get to chose and I don’t?”

Sasha glares at him and he shivers, before she turns on her heels. “I don’t care, okay? Just, someone will say a poem, and it won’t be me.”

Jon says “Bye,” but she’s already out the door, and he turns to Gerry, defeated. Their features are tense. Her mouth has a strange shape. “I don’t even know any poem,” he says, as a weak defense, and it has the merit of undoing some of the tension between Gerry’s brows.

“I think I know the perfect one.”

“You can go, too. I don’t need company.”

His tone is brisk, and he winces when the words are out. He didn’t mean it like that, he just… It’s his superstition, his problem, no one should have to stay in a sunless room with a dead body for his sake. But Gerry doesn’t seem to take offense, no, they don’t snap at him like they could.

He just puts his sketchbook down to go towards the body. He looks at it for a long time, utterly still, before he can say, “Well I do.”

And there is something in their eyes Jon hadn’t seen on them before. It doesn’t feel allowed, to come close, when Gerry recites, and it sounds like singing.

“Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,

Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,

Silence the pianos and with muffled drum

Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.”

A halt here, and Jon thinks he has heard this poem before. A soft hum, before Gerry starts again.

“Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead,

Scribbling on the sky the message “She is Dead”.

Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,

Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

She was my North, my South, my East and West,

My working week and my Sunday rest,

My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;

I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong.”

There is a watery quality to Gerry’s voice, like the verge of tears, yet it is steady as only the ocean can be. It’s a love poem, and Jon stands awaiting, not daring a breath louder than the other.

“The stars are not wanted now, put out every one,

Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun,

Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood;

For nothing now can ever come to any good.”

It sounds like a conclusion. Is it? Does he have to say something? Because Gerry is crying, he is sure of it, but they don’t make a move, and he knows— he wouldn’t want someone he barely knows touching him if he was crying. But he— he thinks Gerry would be fine. Yes, he would, he would appreciate Gerry’s touch. If Gerry was amenable. So maybe— he can’t come to a decision before they speak again.

“Gertrude didn’t like poetry much, either. This isn’t the one I will say, by the way.”

They turn towards him, just enough to shoot a glance, and Jon gets closer, if maybe this is an invitation, at least Gerry can see he is approaching, and if they don’t stop him, it might not be unwanted? They said they needed company. Jon is terrible company. But he is still company. He isn’t a terrible listener, he thinks.

“It’s the one she said for Agnes’s funeral. I think it might be the only one she knew. She talked a bit, too. Honestly, it was hilarious. She was… can you imagine her grieving?”

Jon frowns, looking down at the dead woman’s face. “Not really, no.”

“I don’t think she could, either. She was restless throughout the ceremony. Utterly displeased. She looked inconvenienced more than she looked hurt. When she went up to talk, in front of Montague’s family, she was furious. I half expected her to explode, to tell them just how much they hurt Agnes. I’m impressed she didn’t.”

“She just glared, took the papers she had prepared, but barely looked at them. She said…”

December 21st, first winter without Agnes

“This is a comedy. But you are lucky, because it is a romantic comedy and Agnes loved those. Not that you would know. You wouldn’t know, either, that her favourite romcom was Four Weddings and A Funeral. We went to see it in the theatres. She cried a lot, and for a long time. It is a romantic comedy, that teaches people like us love forever in silence, and then, they die. Well, the very next day, I met you for the first time, and I do not think any reminder of those events is needed.”

The audience is silent. Gerard is quiet, too, in the back row, and Gertrude cannot understand why they decided to come. Sasha is there, too— but Sasha has something with funerals, so it isn’t this surprising.

She relishes the hostility from the room. It’s easier when she has something to stand up for, something to stand up against. If they weren’t here, teeth out and threatening, she would fall apart. Now, now, this damned poem. She knows it. Agnes made her watch this movie far too much.

When she concludes it, there is not a tear shed, not from her, not from anyone else, and she smiles. She has teeth, too.

“Now I do not care for funerals nor do I care for weddings. But Agnes did. This is why I am here, today, and why I was with her on the thirteenth of march, 2014, twenty years after this awful romcom debacle, when she asked if I would be with her until death did us part. We held this promise and today, as her wife and executor, I am to make sure Agnes Robinson will be inhumated and not cremated, as was her will. Thank you for your attention, I think the hearse will be coming shortly.”

Gerry chuckles, eyes wide, and Jon joins, yes, it does sound like Gertrude Robinson, and when he thinks about it, he wishes he had known her more. Maybe she didn’t like him, but he did like her. Despite her chaotic organization. She was fierce, and proud, and certain of what she knew, and all the things he couldn’t be. She was a brave woman.

“Jon?”

In many ways, Gerry takes from her. The decision taken before Jon’s eyes, fortified in an instant.

“Yes—Yes?”

In many other ways, Gerry is the furthest thing from her. The resolute gentleness of his voice, and, well, he doesn’t dislike Jon.

They examine his eyes like she did— yet, here still, it’s the opposite. Gertrude’s gaze felt like a dive deep inside him, now, now he’s the one sinking, and Gerry is the ocean, and he feels like taking their hand is okay so he does, and Gerry doesn’t expect it so they jump a bit, and they get closer, and he doesn’t expect it so he jumps a bit and Gerry talks.

“I don’t have the time for this, really.”

Jon wants to ask. Wants to, but Gerry looks at his lips, it’s deliberate, and his face is burning up. And he can’t help looking at Gerry’s lips, too, and he knows they see it. They’re conscious of this, when they breath in.

“Crushes, and pining. It’s not a luxury I have.”

Like a brick at the bottom of Jon’s stomach, sinking slowly. He feels warm, and light-headed, and he thinks he needs time, to find words, to make a decision, because he doesn’t know. And he needs to know. He can’t be rejected before he has even called this a feeling. Not in this strange, heavy and burning way. Not when he just found out that Gerry’s hands are dry and warm and stronger than they look. Thoughts are too fast in his head, he’s stuck and Gerry doesn’t look away, like they can stand it. “Whether this can work or not isn’t important to me,” another thousand thoughts, their voice is barely louder than his mind, “so if you want to kiss me, I’d appreciate you do it now.”

Jon’s brain shuts completely for half a second, half a second of evidence, before the thoughts rush in again, and he doesn’t know if it’s a good idea, or how this will play out, or if this has a chance to last, if he is just starstruck or if after kissing Gerry he will want to do it again, if he will like it, if Gerry will, and— and Gerry asked a simple question, Jon’s breath is too desperate before his hand finds Gerry’s cheek and he brings them closer, closes his eyes to kiss them for the first time, blind and at least certain that in this exact instant, there is nothing he’d rather be doing.

Maybe in two seconds it will be over.

Gerry’s fingers tighten between his. One, two seconds, it isn’t over. The hand on his side is awkward but warm, and it holds him firmly, searching for the right amount of pressure, the right position. When Jon arches his back to get closer, when his hand slips to Gerry’s hair, it adjusts, finds the small of his back, and it’s been a long time since Jon had a first kiss, it has been— and a cold shock runs though Jon’s body at once, and he stills utterly and Gerry’s contact disappears.

Jon doesn’t know what he can say, to fix this, fix the shadow that passes over their eyes when they spot the panic in his, the humorless smile on the lips he just kissed, and where does he start?

“Gerry—”

“’s okay. Thank you, still.”

“No, wait. Let me—”

“You don’t owe me anything.”

But it’s venom. It’s venom spilling out of Gerry’s words, still. They can’t help that it stings.

“I still want to explain. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

What did he promise, just a few hours ago, about not doing things he knew… well, he hadn’t known he would be sorry. He would have if he had just thought, but— he was asked.

“I, ah, I have a partner.”

Gerry moves away from him, a bit more distance, it’s cold and it’s wrong and when Jon tries to focus his eyes on something else the first thing he finds is Gertrude’s closed face, and it doesn’t help. “I didn’t, didn’t remember you were… not aware of that fact.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?” He has no idea what that might mean, and Gerry’s face is closed, too, now. “Look, I don’t know where you stand on, ah, exclusivity, and, I am… not sure myself of where I stand on that… spectrum, but what I know is that I value transparency and I shouldn’t kiss someone whilst withholding information.”

“Oh.”

“Yes. I don’t—” He looks up to Gerry, and it’s easy to remember the tug in his chest when they kissed, the pull, the warmth of her lips, “I am sorry, but even as I am very conscious I wronged you I do not feel very sorry.”

A gulp and a strangled laugh. Jon’s eyelids shut when Gerry’s hand shadows over them, settling on his temple. Gerry is close again. It’s burning, again. He doesn’t see, but he feels that their face is closer. “So this would be okay, now that I know?”

“Yes.”

It feels wrong, that it could be so simple, like a cheat, a shortcut. The impression is stomped dead by Gerry’s lips, by eager hands in his hair and Gerry’s shirt beneath his fingers. They taste of cigarettes and iron and something new, something desperate, something Jon wants to learn. Something unknown and so right Jon could cry.

#borrowed time #jongerry #jongerry fic #jongerrymartin #jgm fic #mikhail writes #tma #the magnus archives #the magnus pod #gertrudeagnes #gertrude robinson #agnes montague #gerry keay #gerard keay #jon sims #jonathan sims #the archivist

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somewhatgreatexpectations · 3 years

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To Die For (Wanda Maximoff/ Reader)

Hello! It is with great joy and a little bit of sadness that I present you all with the final part of “Love Goes”. This part in particular is inspired by Sam Smith’s “To Die For”. Pieces from Endgame are used but very little.

Summary: The aftermath of Endgame, how will Wanda navigate and what will happen to Y/n.

“I long for you, just a touch of your hand. You don't leave my mind. Lonely days I'm feeling like a fool for dreaming… Sunshine living on a perfect day while my world's crashing down.”

Hope. That was all Wanda had left. She knew that she couldn’t let it waver for even a moment. Allowing the hope within her to waver would be the same as accepting defeat. Accepting that you weren’t coming back. That was something she would never allow herself to believe.

Like you told her, you and her were a happy ending. It’s the only ending she could ever envision for herself. The only life she wanted. The only life she’d accept. You and her. Together. Happily.

It had only been a week since the fateful battle and you had been transferred to a S.W.O.R.D. facility since. What worried Wanda most was that you still hadn’t woken up and hadn’t shown much progression since arriving.

She could still feel you though.

Wanda would allow herself glimpses into your mind and could see the vibrancy that still existed within. Your heart was still beating, and your mind was still your own. Even if you weren’t awake, you were still you.

The thought brought comfort to Wanda despite the circumstances. It kept hope alive in her heart.

It was only a matter of time until you were awake and in her arms again. At least that’s what she kept telling herself.

The situation could have been worse though and she knew that. Shortly after you were transferred to the facility she learned the full details of how exactly Thanos was defeated. How Tony and Natasha had given their lives in exchange for the outcome. As much as the news saddened her, she couldn’t help but feel a selfish sense of relief that you hadn’t been dealt the same fate.

Her life – her heart - felt as though it was hanging in the balance. You were all she had. All she wanted. If she lost you she knew there would be no recovery for her. She’d drown. Sink to the bottom with no chance of resurfacing if you weren’t there to pull her back up.

The warmth of your hand in her own anchored her. It always did, but not as much as being in your arms, or hearing your voice. “I’m drowning.” She whispered against your hand. “I’m drowning, Y/n. I need to hear your voice, see you open your eyes, and have you hold me and tell me everything is going to be okay. I’m drowning, and you can’t save me until you wake up.” Her lips trembled slightly against your hand as a single tear fell down her cheek.

The days and nights had blurred together for her. Both of which were spent unwaveringly at your side. The only disruptions often came in the form of varying people in the facility checking your vitals or injecting new medications into your IV that they informed her should wake you up soon.

Besides the worry and fear she constantly felt, there was a sense of bitterness that the only one who had come to see you or her during your time in the facility was Fury. That was only when you were still at S.H.I.E.L.D’s location. It was upsetting to her that Steve had yet to visit you considering the history you two shared and how close you two had always been. Considering how you had been willing to risk your life for him on multiple occasions.

Today was Tony’s funeral and she was reluctantly leaving your side to pay her respects for a short while. Also, to give Rogers a piece of her mind.

When the funeral concluded she wandered over to the lake to collect her thoughts and emotions. Taking in the beautiful day around her, a stark contrast to how she felt internally. The perfect day felt wrong when it still felt like her world was crashing down within her.

As she was staring out the lake, preparing herself for what she wanted to tell Steve, Clint walked up to her. “Hey, kid.”

Wanda kept a neutral face and merely nodded at him. “Hello.”

There was hesitation in the way Clint stopped at her side. “You have every right to not want to talk to me right now.” He began seriously, his head ducked shamefully. “I wanted to go visit Y/n… Check on you. I did. I just-… It’s been hard accepting that Nat’s gone, you know? It’s not an excuse for not being there. It’s just where my head was. I’m sorry, Wanda.”

As much as Wanda wanted to ignore him, she knew she couldn’t. “I understand.” She replied softly, her gaze still on the lake before her.

“I wish there was a way that I could let her know that we won. That we did it.” Clint admitted quietly to her.

Wanda shifted her gaze to him. “She knows.” There was a small pause. “They both do.” Despite not being awake, she liked to believe that you knew.

Clint wrapped a comforting arm around her and she leaned into the embrace.

“Wanda.” A somber voice caught her attention as she turned to find Steve standing there with his hands folded behind his back. “A word?”

Clearly not wanting to be caught in the crossfire, Clint stepped back. “I think that’s my cue to go.” He pressed a kiss to the top of Wanda’s head. “I’ll do better, okay? Let me know if you need anything. I’ll be by to visit Y/n soon.” Wanda nodded slightly at his words as he walked away.

When Clint was out of the vicinity, Steve stepped into his place. Wanda’s jaw clenched. She was more upset at him than anyone. She knew if roles were reversed you would have been uncompromisingly by his side.

“What do you want?” She asked, her tone cold.

Steve’s face remained neutral despite her tone. “How is she?”

A bitter laugh escaped her lips at his question. “How is she?” she shook her head in disbelief. “You have a lot of nerve asking that when you’ve had a whole week to go see for yourself.”

A heavy sigh escaped his lips. “Look, Wanda, I understand you’re upset with me but I-“

Wanda rounded on him, her eyes livid. “Upset? I am far passed upset, Rogers. I’m furious. Y/n needed you and you abandon her. She would have done anything for you! She idolized you!”

Each of Wanda’s words impacted Steve, she could see that, but she didn’t stop. He took it. “She thought you were her family and you couldn’t even be bothered to go see for yourself if she’s okay! You don’t even care-“

“Enough! That’s not true!” Steve roared. The accusation that he didn’t care seemingly being the final straw. Wanda recoiled in surprise. “I feel guilty, okay? I feel like the only reason that she’s in there in the first place is because of me. I couldn’t face her. I didn’t deserve to.” His volume didn’t lower as the emotions he was holding in finally boiled over.

“You know she wouldn’t have blamed you.” Wanda eventually replied, her tone still clipped.

Steve rubbed a hand down his face. “I know, but I do. I blame myself. She was trying to protect me, and she only felt like she had to protect me because I couldn’t stop him the first time. She got hurt because I couldn’t get to her fast enough. She’s my family too.”

As much as she wanted to be angry with him, she found it much more difficult when she learned of the guilt that seemed to be weighing heavily on him. “You know Y/n would have done that either way.” She confessed quietly. “She would have tried to stop him regardless of who she was defending. That’s who she is.”

A weak nod was his only response. Wanda wasn’t sure if he believed her. “How has she been?” Steve repeated, hoping for a genuine answer this time.

“She still hasn’t woken up.” Wanda began unsteadily. “They keep injecting her with new serums everyday saying that each one will wake her up, but it never does.”

Steve closed his eyes at the information, his expression distressed for just a moment until he schooled his features and put on a brave face for Wanda. “She’s going to wake up. I know she will.”

Hearing the words she had been telling herself from someone else brought Wanda a small sense of comfort. “I know she will too.” She turned to him. “I’m going to get back to her now, she needs me. Go see her.”

“I will.” He nodded firmly, his words definitive. “I have to return the stones in an hour and try and see if I can undo something. As soon as I do that I’ll be immovably by her side. I’ll stay with you until she wakes up. You have my word. She has my word.” There was purpose in his voice.

Wanda quirked her lips up slightly at him and nodded without a word. She knew he meant what he said. She walked off to her car to begin the drive back to S.W.O.R.D’s medical branch of the facility. ___________________ Her heart dropped when she entered your room, only to be met with an empty bed. On numb legs, she ran out and stopped the first worker she saw. “Y/n Y/ln. Where is she? She was here just an hour ago.”

The employee looked around nervously. “She’s been moved. I believe it would be in your best interest to speak to the director.”

Wanda’s brow furrowed in confusion. “The director? Why?”

“His office is located on the second floor, third door on the left.” The employee informed her meekly before scurrying away.

Practically running, Wanda reached the office in minutes, throwing the door open. “Ms. Maximoff.” The man who she presumed to be the director greeted her, an unnerving smile on his face.

“Where is she?” Wanda demanded, not caring about anything other than being reunited with you. “Is-is she okay?” Anxiety began to build within her and press against her chest making it harder for her to breath. Her nails dug into her palms.

The man gestured for her to sit in an empty chair, she ignored the request. “My name is Tyler Hayward. I am the director of S.W.O.R.D.”

Wanda merely stared blankly back at him, her jaw clenched tightly. “Where. Is. Y/n?” She enunciated sharply, her patience fading.

The unnerving smile never faltered on Hayward’s face. “That is the unfortunate part, Ms. Maximoff. You see, while you were gone Ms. Y/ln suffered from some brain hemorrhaging. We were able to stop it, but it seems her brain has suffered an extensive amount of damage. We ran some tests and it appears she has lost all cognitive function. She is just a shell now. She only has another day or two at best. I’m sorry.”

Wanda’s world stopped at his words. She immediately shook her head. “That’s not true.” She said shakily as tears began streaming down her cheeks, the weight on her chest getting heavier, forcing her under. She couldn’t breathe. “That’s not true. Let me see her.”

Hayward gestured forward to the large window in his office. “They’re running some tests on her now, but so far the data has remained conclusive. There is no longer brain function.” Numbly Wanda walked up to the large window and glanced down, feeling the life drain from her at the sight of you. Pale and on what looked like an experimentation table, surrounded by several S.W.O.R.D. scientists. “I’m afraid it’s time to start talking about letting her go.”

Wanda spun around to face him angrily. “Let her go?” she cried, her voice cracking. “She’s all I have.”

Hayward held his hands up slightly. “It’s only a matter of days before she’s unable to breathe on her own and her heart stops being.”

Empty. That’s what she felt at his words. She wanted to scream. Her powers reacted to the emotion she was feeling before her mind did as the glass she was leaning on shattered. Without hesitation she floated down to where you were. Her heart hammering in her chest the closer she got.

The world around her went dark and the only sight she was able to take in was the way your chest weakly rose and fell with each breath. With shaking hands, she raised them to your temple as feeble wisps of red floated from her fingertips and disappeared into your mind.

All she saw was darkness.

“I can’t feel you.” She whispered brokenly, the pain in her chest overcoming her. The sensation composing her entire being as everything within her collapsed. She was alone, and she knew she wouldn’t recover. Then everything went dark around her. ________________________________

“Darling, have you seen my notebook? I’m running late for my meeting with my editor and I can’t seem to find it anywhere.” You questioned hastily as you rushed into the kitchen and skidded to a halt in the entry way. Looking around the area with a frazzled expression on your face.

Wanda looked over from her place by the stove and waved her hand, the notebook floating from under your arm to directly in front of your face. “You mean this one, dear?” She asked with an amused smile.

Sheepishly you plucked the notebook out of the air as you made your way over to her. “What would I do without you?” You leaned forward so your lips rested gently against her own.

“Mmm,” Wanda mumbled with a smile as she spoke against your lips. Her arms resting comfortably over your shoulders. “I believe your mind would fail you, sweetheart.”

Your hands fell to her waist as you pulled her closer. “That’s for certain.” You replied easily with a loving smile. “Have I told you how beautiful you look today?”

A small blush spread over her cheeks. “You have not but thank you. You look beautiful as well, darling. I’m beginning to get jealous that your editor gets to spend the day in your presence. Speaking of…” she trailed off and glanced pointedly at the clock.

“My meeting!” Your eyes widened as you pressed one last loving kiss to her lips. “I’ll be going now. I love you, darling. I’ll be home soon!” You shouted as you began running out.

Wanda shook her head at you, the smile on her face never faltering. “I love you, too, dear!” She called after you, pretending to catch the kiss you blew to her as you rushed out the door. She sighed happily and leaned against the wall of the kitchen.

The end.

. . . . . .

“Glad you were able to make it, Rogers.” Fury said seriously as he shook Steve’s hand. “And Ms. Romanoff. Welcome back.” He shook her hand as well.

Steve nodded easily in response. “Of course. You know that I’d be here in a heartbeat for Y/n. Wanda as well.” Both followed Fury into a large make-shift tent located in the woods.

“What exactly are we dealing with?” Natasha asked, confusion lacing her words.

For a moment Fury seemed to ponder her question. “We’re not entirely sure.”

“Does Wanda even know that she saved Y/n? That she was never gone?” Steve questioned seriously, his arms crossed as he stared at the screen before him.

Fury shook his head. “No. It seems Hayward convinced Wanda that Y/n was gone, no brain function. What Wanda didn’t know was he had gone rogue. Every serum they injected in Y/n kept her in her comatose state rather than attempt to wake her up like they were telling Wanda. I’ve looked at the files that my inside contacts gave me, and it seems Y/n should have been up in the first day or two to recover from minor brain swelling.”

“Why are they doing this though?” Natasha questioned as she looked over the chart. Steve’s jaw was clenched as he listened to each detail.

Taking the chart from Natasha, Fury turned the pages until he found what he was looking for and handed it back to Natasha. “Right there. It seems that Y/n carries a rare mutant gene that they could extract and essentially build an army with. They believed that if they removed Wanda from the picture they could continue the experiments and eventually wipe Y/n’s memory to use her as a weapon. Turn her into a super solider… but much worse because of her powers.” There was an edge to his tone. “They are very interested in her ability to manipulate earth and metal. They had considered Wanda briefly as well, but the perfect opportunity presented itself with Y/n. That’s why they insisted on her transfer to their facility.”

“How do we get them back before Hayward gets to them?” Steve questioned quietly, a dangerous tone to his voice.

Instead of answering Fury gestured to the woman who had been sitting and listening to the conversation. “Wanda isn’t letting anyone with ties to your past in. Fury already tried. She won’t let you or Natasha in.” They both stared at her. “I didn’t introduce myself. Sorry, my name is Darcy Lewis. Astrophysics. Big fan.” The bespectacled woman rambled.

Natasha smirked, an amused glint in her eye. “Okay, Darcy Lewis, what’s our next step?”

“We’ll do whatever it takes.” Steve finished powerfully as they all watched you and Wanda share a sweet kiss before the credits began to roll on the screen before them.

Well, that’s all folks! 13 parts completed! It’s been a journey writing this and it is by far the longest thing I’ve ever written. This story has become my baby and it always brings me so much joy to read your comments and seeing others enjoy it. I had a plan for this chapter since the moment I began writing this story but it was so hard when it came down to writing because of the most recent episode of Wandavision, so I tweaked it a little. Was it a sadder or happier ending? You may never know. Thank you all so much for taking this journey with me. I hope you enjoyed.

As always, thoughts and comments always welcome. :)

p.s. I brought back Steve and Nat but I couldn’t figure out how to make Tony surviving make sense or fit the story, sorry. Still love Tony.

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amor-immortalem · 3 years

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An Alternate Path

Genre: Angst

A/N: Originally this was supposed to be a two-part mini fic but people asked about a part three. I wasn’t sure where else to exactly go from there since the end of the second part felt so final for me. But then, inspired by a comment on the 2nd part, I began to think about how it would have gone if Arella hadn’t been revived with Mammon’s blood. Think of this as the bad end to the AU. This is the final part.

obviously spoilers for the lesson 16 incident and for lesson 50 (i think… correct me if Im wrong)

Replaced part 1

The Good/True End

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He sits in his room starting at the dried blood on his hands, heart aching from the loss of his mate. It had only been mere hours since Barbatos had taken her body to prepare for funeral rites but to the Avatar of Greed, it had felt like centuries. Why? He’s asked himself this question over and over. Why didn’t you check on her sooner? Why didn’t you call or text? Why didn’t you notice? Why didn’t you feel something was wrong through your pact?

As much as he wants to, Mammon has no more tears left to cry. His human is gone, never to return and it was the fault of him and his brother. He should have been there sooner. Should have reminded her how much he cared. Should have done a lot of things. He had every opportunity to, but he squandered all of it.

He rakes his hands through his hair as they whys replay in his head. The demon doesn’t have an answer for them- none that would satisfy them, at least. He lets out a yell as grief turns to rage and nothing of value is spared from his violence. Items and trinkets knock from their shelves, furniture overturned, by time the second-born was done, his room looked like a war zone.

It’s only then that Mammon collapses to his knees and lets out a broken wail as he can hear the restless cawing of his crows outside.

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Levi is alone in his room, having shut himself away hours ago. Laying in his bathtub bed, the Avatar of Envy loses himself to his thoughts and the view of the water above him. He can’t help but think about what would have happened if he had put his foot down when Asmo approached him to recruit him in helping his little matchmaking plan for Melissa and Satan.

And then his thoughts focus in on the other human. If she had never come, if they had never welcomed her into their lives through the exchange programme... Arella would still be alive. She’d still be sitting here, playing video games and helping him decide which anime he should choose to watch when there was a conflict of time slots. They’d still be talking about their Husbandos and Waifus just as they always had. But she’s not here. She never will be anymore. All because he didn’t have the spine to act like the older brother and tell Asmo no. Because he allowed his younger brother to monopolize his time.

His best friend is gone and he was part of the problem that led up to that. Levi has never felt so much self-hatred before and, just like with Lilith, he doesn’t know how to come to terms with the loss of another person so dear to him. For now, he’ll just lay here and waste away like the filthy, yucky otaku he is, wishing there was a way he could go back and undo it all or hoping that this was all just some horrible nightmare that his brain has conjured up.

“She’ll be back in the morning... right? She’s just sleeping over at the castle, right?!”

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Beel just eats. He eats and eats and eats to make the pain go away but just like his endless hunger, the pain never stops. He feels so empty inside that the only other option is to gorge himself until he physically can’t hold it anymore and vomits before he goes back for more until the cycle repeats and he runs out of food. The loss of their favorite human is killing him now- the grief of it squeezing his heart like an anaconda.

If he would have just gone to invite her to that new café she had wanted to visit with him only an hour sooner, this could have been stopped. But he didn’t. He didn’t and that’s what cuts deepest. He should have noticed when she stopped coming to dinner, or skipping breakfast, or not joining the student council for lunch day after day. He should have realized something was wrong then. But he chose to ignore it, thinking it was just one of those ‘moods’ Arella had told him about human women experiencing at certain times of the month. He thought he was helping by giving her space these last few weeks but Beel knows now that he was dead wrong.

Who would be his food buddy now? Who would let him drag them all over town in order to try out restaurant after restaurant, café and café? Sure, he had Belphie to take with him but his younger twin never really showed the same excitement when it came to trying out all the different food and drink options on the menu. The demon doesn’t realize he’s crying until the tear drops hit his hands. She only needed one of them to take a moment to see her and none of them could be bothered do just that.

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Belphegor only wants to sleep. He wants to sleep and never wake up again. In his dreams is where Arella is, happy, smiling, laughing. That laugh will haunt his waking moments forever as he realizes that for the second time, the Avatar of Sloth has caused her death. Belphie was only one of two brothers who rejected Asmo when they asked him to help with that damn plan of his. It had been too long since he and Arella had napped together after school or plotted something with Satan as part of the Anti-Lucifer league. How he missed those days.

He can feel the tears pool in his eyes as he curls up into a ball on the bed in the attic. He wonders if he had just stayed up here forever instead of trying to trick Arella into setting him free, would this hole in his chest disappear? As he buries his face into the body pillow Arella had gifted him for his birthday this year, he cries himself to sleep- indulges himself in all the good memories they had made together after she had forgiven him for everything he had done to her.

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Asmodeus is lost. They stare and stare at their skincare products trying to will themself to start their nightly skincare routine. How could they have been so foolish? The passage of time is so different to humans than it is to demons. They had only meant to take a month to match Satan and Melissa up so how had it turned to eleven already?! The Avatar of Lust wants to scream. Both at themself and no one at all. Hot tears still sting their eyes as they shapeshift. They change and they change and they change forms- any number of features forming and then shifting away as they try to find a look that they won’t recognize themself in but it doesn’t work. Asmo’s not able to look themself in the mirror for the rest of the night as they just crash down on their bed. They want to mark up their beautiful body into some hideous to match the feelings crushing their heart. Asmo wants to do something- anything- to themself to experience even a fraction of the pain Arella must have felt but all the demon feels now is just hollowness.

Their phone is vibrating on the bed next to them- a call from Solomon. No doubt he could feel Asmo’s distress through the pact they share but the Avatar of Lust is too tired from hours of ugly crying and most certainly not in the mood to speak to anyone- pact master or otherwise. The phone goes unanswered.

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Satan has his head buried in the books. He’s been at this for hours- there must be a way to bring her back to them! Melissa is with him, bringing whatever books he asks for in his search as she too is eager to bring the lost human back to this plane of existence. There was so much they wanted to do with her. From watching cheesy mystery dramas together to forming a small book club consisting of just the three of them, none of that would come to pass now.

As book after book turns up dead ends, the demon just buries his head in his hands. It feels pointless now. Who was he to play God with life and death? The thought of never seeing his friend alive once more is enough to break the Avatar of Wrath as his shoulders shake with violent sobs. He wants to go on a rampage- destroy the whole city but what would that fix? It certainly wouldn’t bring her back.

As the demon continues to cry, Melissa only wraps her arms around him and he returns the gesture. She runs her fingers through his blonde hair in an effort to calm him and it seems to work, if only for a little while. She pulls a chair up to sit next to him as she holds his hand in hers.

“Tell me about your favorite memories with her,” They girl begins, “We can’t undo what was done, but we can keep her memory alive by sharing the good times.”

And so, they talk late into the night, Satan smiling at all the memories of Arella that he holds close to his heart.

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“Hi this is Arella! I’m sorry I can’t get to the phone right now but leave a message after the beep.... Beeeeeeeeeep”

The sound of his brother’s laughter followed by Mammon calling Arella a dork in the background can be heard at the end of the greeting on her D.D.D.’s voicemail. The Avatar of Pride can only smile with tear-stained cheeks. He was beyond intoxicated, having just finished his fourth bottle of demonus for the night. He can feel the anguish his brothers have been going through all night and it only makes his sorrow deeper.

When Arella first arrived, all Lucifer cared about was keeping her alive long enough to make it through the year. She was unimportant to him outside of the viability of the exchange programme. Back then, he would have laughed at himself for the state he was in currently. She was just a human. Why did it matter if she lived or died if it didn’t affect the exchange programme?

But she wasn’t just a human. She was their human. She was special to him. And now she was gone. There was no second chance. There would be no merging of timelines to keep her alive. Fate was cruel, but sometimes Diavolo could be crueler.

Lucifer knew his longtime friend had a reason for this. He was teaching the brothers a lesson with her death. As much as it hurt now to lose another part of this family, things would get easier as the years went on regardless of how horribly they all would miss her. This was a lesson he and his brothers would not soon forget.

Cracking open his fifth bottle of demonus, the first-born scrolls through devilgram, saving pictures on her profile to be used in the memorial service. One of Arella with each of his brothers and himself and multiple pictures she’d taken with all eight of them from their adventures throughout the years that they’d all been together.

He lets his mind wander back over the last eleven months. All the red flags he had missed with his rose-colored glasses. They all made sense to him now. All the time she spent isolating herself from them, skipping meals, leaving either incredibly early for school or incredibly late for school. She was trying to get them to notice her over Melissa. He regrets their last interaction from a few months back. The way there had clearly been something wrong, yet he chose to lecture her about attending RAD on time as to not disgrace Diavolo. How he wishes he could take it back.

As the only brother save for Belphegor not conscripted to help Asmo in his ridiculous plan, Lucifer should have been the first to reach out to her. He may have been buried under paperwork, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t just sit and talk while he worked. He regrets not calling or checking up on her.

A video plays on her devilgram. It was from one of the nights they had spent up in the human world last summer.

“Awww, come one, Lucifer. It won’t be that bad. We’ll have those flowers from the fairy rings and make it back in one piece. I promise to keep Mammon under control so we won’t cause any trouble.”

The Avatar of Pride clicks out of the app as he feels more tears gather in his eyes. He can’t do this right now. Not tonight.

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Her service was beautiful- Or at least that’s what Lucifer tells Mammon as he and the rest of their brothers return home. Mammon wanted to go, he really did, but with it only being a few days removed from her death, the second-born couldn’t bring himself to go. It wasn’t because he didn’t love her or didn’t want to celebrate his mate’s life but it was still far too painful for him.

Part of him was still in denial over it too. Somehow, he’d managed to convince himself that she wasn’t gone. She was just stuck up in the human world and had forgotten her D.D.D here so he couldn’t call her. The logical side of him knew it wasn’t the case and every time he was reminded of it, it threw the Avatar of Greed into a deeper pit of despair. He’d spent some nights since she’d passed alone, crying himself to sleep begging for his human to come back to him others he would just lie awake, tracing over where her mark from their pact had been etched into his chest, set right over his heart.

Suddenly years have gone by now. His brothers have made peace with her passing but Mammon cannot. Visiting her grave never helps to ease the pain either, but still he goes. If Arella’s spirit still lingers, no doubt she would be upset if he didn’t go. It would only serve to prove her dying thoughts true when they couldn’t have been further from the truth.

“Hey, Treasure... Miss me?” There’s no one here but Mammon and a tombstone. “I miss you... everyday... So much changes every year... Both Asmo, Levi, ‘n Satan got kids now... little girls for them and Levi has a boy...” He pauses to take a shuddering breath as the cold wind blows. “Can ya believe it? The first kids born ta this family and their both girls and then we got a boy... sweet little things too- alla ‘em. I wish ya coulda been there ta meet them... Actually, looking at my brothers with their kids, it makes me wonder what ours woulda been like, ya know? And I wish none of this woulda happened... you deserved so much better than me ‘n I knew that. We all knew that. But ya chose me anyway and look where it got ya... Six feet under... If I could go back and do it all over again I would. I woulda told ya what was goin’ on. I woulda spent more time with ya. I woulda... woulda proposed... made sure you knew how much I loved ya everyday... I know ya probably can’t hear me, but I’m so sorry... for everything! I love you so much that I can’t move on and I won’t. If I die single then that’s fine by me.”

As he cries, thinking he’s alone, Arella watches from her seat on her tombstone. None of the brothers knew it but she’d been watching all this time. It wasn’t until she passed that she realized how deep their feelings ran and part of her wishes she would have waited just a bit longer before leaving for the human world that night.

She tries her best to let them know she’s there- that she loves them and is watching over them with Lilith, but she’s not strong enough to do more than move small objects around. She hopes that they’d notice but they never do.

As she hops off of her tombstone, Arella crouches down next to her mate. The best she can do for him is conjure a warm breeze as her spirit leans over to press a kiss that he’ll never feel to his cheek. Upon the breeze, he can hear a soft whisper of a reply.

“I love you too.”

And it's that reply that reassures him she’s there and she always will be. He hopes maybe in another life they’ll meet again and get to have the happy ending they never got to have in this one.

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theshelbyclan · 4 years

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Brotherly Discomfort

Summary: After ‘the talk’, your brothers are adamant to protect you, but you throw yet another curveball their way. Part 2 to Growing Pains

(Gif by @nofckingfighting) A/N: This is part 2 to my most popular fic Growing Pains and I used anon’s request: Could you do a Shelby sis story where she’s a lesbian and in love with a woman and her family doesn’t know. The family is trying to get her into an arranged marriage with a man and she can’t figure out how to tell them she’s a lesbian cause she feels they won’t except her? Sorry if that’s too much. Love your writing so much btw!! Thanks for this request babes, hope I did it justice :) Words: 2387

*** “Right, Y/N, sit down,” Tommy sighed deeply and pointed at a single chair by the kitchen table, “We need to talk.” As you sat down, three brothers loomed over you. Tommy lit a cigarette like his life depended on it, Arthur couldn’t stand still if his life depended on it and John seemed to have forgotten what his life actually depended on, so he just stood there, unsure of everything. “We’re having another talk,” you stated. The last one, only a few days ago, was still fresh in your mind.

“We are,” you brother confirmed. Arthur took off his cap like he was attending a funeral and stumbled, “We, uhm… We’ve had an idea.” “Christ,” Polly mumbled from behind her newspaper and you couldn’t agree more. “The thing is,” John finally spoke, “We’ve been worried after we… talked.” “Right,” you nodded, “Because of he subject of our conversation?” “It’s not just that!” your brother continued, with a slight frantic edge to his voice, “You’re growing up, but you’re still running around with the dogs at all hours. You won’t listen to anyone, do whatever you please…” Tommy continued where John faltered, “The truth is, Y/N, you’re getting to be too wild.” “Oh, fuck off, Tom,” and you got up with every intention to leave the room. “Sit down,” he said sternly, “We can’t have another Ada situation.” “Situation?” your eyebrows shot up, “What do you fucking mean by a fucking situation?” “The baby, Y/N,” Arthur explained. “I’m sorry,” you were boiling inside now, “but please explain: was the baby the problem or the man she had the baby with the problem? Or possibly, maybe, the fact that you three had no say in the matter?!” “That’s not the point,” John could feel this conversation wasn’t going as planned, “The thing is we couldn’t stop it!” Polly scoffed behind you, so at least you felt like someone was on your side. After a few moments of silence, your anger got the better of you and you slammed a hand down on the table in a very Tommy manner, “So what did you three fucking geniuses come up with?” Tommy pointed at you menacingly, “You fucking watch your mouth. You may be sixteen but I will still wash your mouth out with soap if you don’t mind that tongue…” “Minding my tongue…” you repeated, rolling your eyes, “Fine. So, what’s the plan? Arthur? John? Are we going back to the old ways and am I being married off to some good gypsy boy?” You turned around at Polly and laughed at your own joke, but when the room fell silent once again, you realised you’d hit the jackpot. Arthur had known you since the day you were born. He’d been twelve at the time and he could recognise every little expression on your face. Like when you were little, you used to scrunch up your nose just before you were about to cry for hunger. Or when you were sad, a small wobble in your chin just before the tears. Or when you were angry, a wrinkle in your forehead gave away the tantrum that was about to follow. This was happening right now. So he held up both hands and said, “Y/N, he’s from a good family…” “Nope,” you said, adamantly. “He is,” John confirmed gently, “and he has horses.” “Fucking no,” you shook your head. Tommy sighed, “We already made the deal.” “You promised your sister, just like that. That’s low, even coming from you, Thomas,” Polly’s cold voice sounded. If there was one person who could break his tough exterior, it was his aunt, “Well, what the fuck should we have done, Pol? Let her run wild, like you, eh?” But you stood up and walked over to Tommy. This was the man who had raised you, cared for you and disciplined you most of all, but right now, none of it mattered. So you slapped him hard, once. “Undo it Tommy,” you hissed, “Undo it or I’ll fucking cut you.” In the background you could hear Arthur mumble at once, “Okay, we’ll undo it…” “Give me one good reason,” your brother’s face, now only inches away, remained emotionless. You sighed and decided to throw all caution to the wind. “Anna,” you said, calmly. “What?” John asked immediately. So you repeated, voice raised, “Anna!” Three frowning brother stared at you, not understanding at all. “Remember when you asked me what hisname was, last week?” you called out exasperated. “’John’, wasn’t it?” Arthur looked at you. “No, it wasn’t fucking ‘John’, Arthur, she just said so,” John explained to his oldest brother. Tommy lit another cigarette, “What’s your point, Y/N?” You pointed at your neck where the nearly faded hickey could still be seen if you knew, “The name of the girl who gave me this is Anna.” “That would be bloody fantastic actually, because we wouldn’t have to worry anymore about a baby situation…” John squinted, “I think she’s serious…” “Oooooh fuck…” Arthur sighed, suddenly connecting the dots; “We’ve been keeping an eye on the wrong fucking people, John.” But John burst out laughing, “Didn’t see that one coming, did you, Tommy?” Slowly, your brother sat down and started smoking his second cigarette, “Pol, contact Madame Ross, tell her the wedding is off.” But Aunt Polly was having none of it, “You got us into this mess, you can fix it.” And then fear settled suddenly into the pit of your stomach. You looked at Tommy and asked softly, “Are you mad?” “Nope,” he said, head dropped down into his hands. “Disappointed?” “No, I’m not disappointed. But you should’ve told us, eh?” You shrugged, “Didn’t think you’d… approve.” “Why?” John asked, “We don’t care that you like women.” And all the love you had in you went out to your brother in that very moment. “Y/N,” Arthur started and he looked so angry that uncertainty took over again, “Why the fuck did you not tell us before we… explained?” “Because it was hilarious,” Polly commented unhelpfully. John started giggling again, “Fucking unnecessary is what it was.” “Arthur?” you asked, fear seeping into your voice. He sighed deeply, fidgeting with his hat, “It’s not the women, Y/N, I don’t care about that. It’s you and… anyone really. I don’t like the idea of you with anyone. Remember when she used to play with the coals, remember John?” “Yeah, I remember,” John smiled. “Black like the night she’d be!” Arthur remembered out loud, “Sweet and innocent.” “Well, she’s not anymore,” Polly sipped her tea. “I fucking see that and I don’t like it,” you eldest brother’s smile faded quickly. “Right,” Tommy raised his head again, “Guess we need to change our approach.” “There really no need…” you started. But he continued, ignoring you, “So you like girls, eh?” “Yep,” you confirmed meekly. “Only girls?” You nodded, “Well, one in particular.” Arthur looked at Tommy like he would have all the answers, “Now what, Tom?” You could now start to see the humour in all of it. Your brothers’ faces were an absolute picture! John could hardly contain his laughter, Tommy looked like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders and Arthur was filled with the absolute dread at another conversation like the one you had last week. “Oh, come on!” John called out, “I’m sure we could offer some advice!” He winked at you and a smile spread across your face. “Yeah!” you said, “I mean you all like women, right? This should be even easier!” “It’s not,” Arthur muttered. “I like women,” John said to no one in particular. “What about you, Tommy?” you asked your brother sweetly. But he just rolled his eyes and continued smoking. A part of you wanted to joke about him and Alfie, but you decided against it at the last second. “Horses?” you ventured, “Tommy, any advice on this with the famous analogy of horses? “Horses don’t really…” he waved a hand, coughed and stopped talking all together. “Well, at least you don’t have to be afraid of her getting pregnant,” John said to Arthur, who was as white as a sheet now. “That’s right,” he replied in a low voice, “but that’s my entire speech out the window, because there’s no waiting ‘till bloody marriage either…” “Well,” you tried to comfort your older brother, “You did offer me some good advice the last time, Arthur. You said there was no hurry and to not do it unless I wanted to?” “Right! I did say that. That, yes, it still stands!” Arthur looked around the kitchen triumphantly. “And John,” you continued, “you said to not put anything in my mouth unless I wanted to. Sound advice that was, now more than ever!” “Fucking hell,” Arthur crumbled again, “I can’t do this again. Tom, say something.” “Women….” Tommy started off vaguely waving his cigarette around, “they want love.” “We do.” “And they always want to take things slow.” “Can you imagine?” John interrupted, “Two women together? Must take ages…” “You’d be surprised…” you started, but when you saw your other brothers’ faces, you shut your mouth quickly. Tommy glared daggers at his brother and then turned to you, “How did you become an expert all of a sudden, eh?” “Talked to Ada,” you shrugged. “You talked to Ada…” he repeated lowly and threw his head back. “Wait,” John said suddenly, “Is this why you hate wearing dresses?” “Or why you drink whiskey like a man?” Arthur added, carefully. “That’s just because she’s a Shelby,” Polly explained matter-of-factly. “Or why you never sit on chairs?” John continued, “Or hang out at the factory all the time! Or why you always talk about votes for women…” You held up a hand to stop your brother, “None of that has anything to do with me liking women, John. That’s just… me.” “So what does have to do with you liking women?” your other brother asked in his typical low voice. “Me liking women…?” “So how does it work exactly?” John furrowed his brows, “Like, without… a man there?” “John,” Arthur warned him with a grumble. “Well, both people are enjoying themselves, for starters…” you replied in earnest. “Fucking hell,” the eldest interrupted, “She’s turning into Ada, she bloody is.” “Have you never seen two women together, Arthur?” you asked innocently, “Not even in London?” “They’re all mad bastards down in London, Y/N, the things I’ve seen there…” “Well, imagine me now.” Tommy had just taken a sip of his whiskey and practically choked on the spot, “That’s fucking it. You’re not to go near the BSA again!” “Why?” you called out, “It’s not like all the women in the world are gathered at the BSA!” “I will not have you behaving,” he struggled to find the words but finally spit, “like those fucking women in London!” “Don’t worry, Tommy,” you tried to comfort him, “I’m still… we haven’t actually…” “Oh, thank God,” Arthur sank down in his chair. “Well, when you do, just be gentle, alright?” John offered some advice, “And light a candle! Women love candles.” “Candles, check,” you noted. Tommy downed his whiskey, recomposed himself and added, “And make sure they’re in the mood first…” “To get ‘happy’,” you said, “like Arthur said last time,” “Yes,” he sighed deeply.

“Cut your nails,” John said out of the blue, “Esme told me.”

Arthur turned to his brother, “What the bloody hell do nails have to do with anything?”

“Well, it’s for when you…”

But Tommy silenced you with a gesture, “Please, Y/N, don’t.”

“Right,” and the quiet returned in the small kitchen. Well, at least now they knew, so that terrifying bit was out of the way. Apart from that, you weren’t quite sure if this was going great, because your brothers seemed absolutely petrified and slightly annoyed at your sudden revelation. Maybe it would’ve been better if you hadn’t told them. Then again, marrying a ‘good gypsy boy’ was the last thing you wanted in life. So maybe you could lighten the mood just a little.

“I have a better idea,” a sudden glint came into your eyes, “How about I offer all of you some advice!” The tables had turned already and this couldn’t possibly get any more awkward.

“Nope,” Arthur stood up and promptly marched out of the kitchen, talking to himself, “I can’t. That’s my baby sister and I just fucking can’t...”

“Arthur, where are you going?” Polly called after him, mirth clearly audible in her voice. And he replied, “I’m going to find this Anna, make sure she’s from a good family…” And then he was gone.

Tommy looked from you to Polly for a few seconds before he cleared his throat and mumbled something about business. Polly smirked at you and his face was full of annoyance at it all, “I need to get back to Dangerous. The horse. Tell me some other time, eh?”

“Tommy,” you asked carefully, “Are you sure you’re not mad about me liking women?”

“Princess, I honestly don’t give a fuck who you like,” he said, while putting on his coat and hat, “I just want to meet this Anna and if she hurts you, I’ll still kill her. None of that has changed, eh?”

This was strangely comforting to you.

And just as you were about to offer some unwanted advice, he left the kitchen in a hurry and called over his shoulder, “If you have any questions, Ada apparently has all the fucking answers!”

So you turned to your aunt, “That went well, didn’t it?”

“At least the wedding’s off.”

“Thank fuck,” you smirked and Polly smiled at you encouragingly, “You don’t mind, Aunt Pol, do you?”

“I’m with Tommy,” she said returning to her stern voice, “The fact that it’s a woman won’t make me hesitate.”

“Right,” you nodded, “She makes me happy, though.”

“Good,” Aunt Polly continued to read the newspaper, “Bring her over for tea. Let’s make the boys really uncomfortable, shall we?”

Still laughing, you stood up with the intention of getting on with your homework, when you suddenly noticed John was still sitting on the chair in the back of the kitchen.

“What do you want?” you asked him bluntly.

“I’m waiting,” he said, hands upturned, “You promised me some advice, remember?”

***

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mrpenguinpants · 3 years

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Childe/Tartaglia: “Enemies” to “Lovers”

Aww, thank you 💕💕 All of you are so lovely ;-; Coming out from the bushes and attacking me.

Have you guy’s seen the Childe trailer? It’s in Chinese but holy shit I want him?? Who is Xiao anymore? WHAT ARE LOYALTIES??? I’m gonna ATTEMPT to roll for Childe. I love snake two faced characters so much.

I’ve never written for Childe before and there’s not a lot to go off on but I will try my best. Honestly, he’s like Dazai 2.0 for me lol.

I’m not sure what scenario you wanted but since I’m hard simping for this man, I made this a lot a bit self indulgent. I actually had a completely different idea so that’s where the enemies to lovers title comes from before I scrapped it. Now if you’ll excuse me, here’s your 2k words of food.

Update: Guess what? You’re getting a part 2. Don’t know when but now I have a taglist if you want to be added and tagged when it comes out

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Childe/Tartaglia: “Enemies” to “[Lovers]”

Childe silently hops over the wall and onto the roof in the dead of night. The moon was shining high, casting dark shadows that he slips in between them as he eyes his destination. An open window leading to an important personnel. Usually, he would send an agent to observe, but once he learned who this secret person was, he decided to take it into his own hands. To stretch his muscles a bit. His hand quickly caught the edge of the window sill as he raises himself and drops into the spacious room. He whistles lowly as he looks around. This was a big room but it wasn’t that much of a surprise, considering who was staying here.

“Thank you, have a good night.”

His head perks up as he hears a voice and steps into the shadows of the room. He can faintly make out an outline of a body behind the sliding doors and stands back, out of sight. He watches as the doors slowly open and the person he’s been looking for steps in. One of the leaders of the Qixing. As soon as the door’s close behind you, your shoulder’s finally relaxed before turning around to walk to the other end of the room where a large mirror was placed. You loosen the pin holding your clothes up, finally ready to get rid of these heavy clothes. He quickly averts his eyes but your voice once again breaks the silence.

“Do you make it a habit of watching others without their knowledge or are you going to say something?” you ask as you turn around as your eyes roam around what appeared to be an empty room. He weighs his options before shrugging and stepping out into the moonlight with his arms raised in mock surrender.

“I swear I would look away. I’m a bad guy but I’m not one of those types. I promise!” He laughs casually despite the circumstance, “I’m surprised you noticed me. But I suppose one of the Qixing would be capable of such an act.”

“Oh no, you were perfect. You just came at a bad time. But who are you? You don’t act like an agent” you eyed him carefully as you fiddled with your pin.

“I’m Childe, one of the Fatui’s Eleven Harbingers,” he replies giving a mock bow in your direction. He watches your reaction to see if you’ll panic and call for the Millelith. Instead, you simply nod along and you’ve stopped fiddling with the pin on your clothing.

“Ah, I’ve met a few of you Harbingers. You don’t look like one” you remarked as you turn around once again to finally undo the pin. Childe quickly turns his gaze away as you settle the heavy clothes on the table to fold. You pull your inner clothes closer to yourself to keep warm in the chilly room.

“I’m a bit too young to see their way of thinking. So I don’t fit in well with them,” he shrugs unbothered. He’s never liked the other Harbingers anyways, “I wasn’t aware that the Qixing had other leaders present.”

“Well, the Qixing prefer to keep things somewhat discreet-”

“Yaoguang? Is everything alright? We heard voices,” one of the Millelith cuts you off as both Childe and your eyes dart to the paper screen door. Childe steps silently towards the window sill, ready to escape if needed. He would have to do a lot of unnecessary explaining if he were caught and the Qixing were already suspicious of the Fatui.

“Yes, I’m alright. I haven’t heard anything at all. Are you sure you are alright? Maybe you should rest,” you quickly walk to the door and slide it open just enough for the Millelith to see your face. The Millelith shakes his head and quietly apologizes for disturbing you before leaving.

“That looks like my cue to go, it’s getting pretty late anyway,” Childe smiles as he ducks under the window sill and gives a small wave back to you.

“Have a good night Childe.”

“You too, Yaoguang.”

---

“Don’t you think the Qixing are a bit too secretive?”

You turn around to see Childe sitting on the window sill as he ponders the thought. His right leg is resting on his left knee as his arm hold’s his chin as he stares at the wall in front of him. You give him a quick once over before going back to what you were doing, polishing your pin.

“Are you sure one of the Fatui should be saying that? Your organization plays with deceit and trickery” you laugh quietly to yourself as you place your pin in a old wooden box. It looked out of place in the room with the crude drawings and chipped paint, but Childe thought it suited you.

“Hey, I don’t agree with those methods at least! I’m here in front of you, aren’t I? But what about you? Aren’t you keeping me a secret from the Qixing?” he grins mischievously as he directs his attention onto you. Your back to still to him but he can watch your face in the reflection of the mirror. He’s not sure if he should commend you on your relaxed expression or the fact that he could easily kill you with your back turned.

“Mm, perhaps. But I enjoy this. You may not believe me but I think of you as a friend Childe. A personal secret of mine.” you say amused as you look up into the reflection of the mirror and manage to catch his surprised expression before it disappears.

“A friend? We’ve barely known each other,” he looked at you incredulously but with a wry smile, “I might seem nice but I’m still a bad guy.”

“A lot of people in Liyue don’t appear as they seem. But I don’t consider all of them as bad people. Don’t you think so Childe?”

He doesn’t say anything. You never mention it again.

---

“I have a younger sister who is an astrologist,” you say as you’re lying back on the bed while he sits on the window sill, “she’s the one that gave me this pin except her pin is red with the star and moon.”

You held the pin up for him to take and look for himself. He slips off the window sill and walks to your lying figure to take hold of it. It was a blue pin with a star in the center and the sun’s rays lining the edges of the rim. It was a bit worn but it was in incredibly good condition. He’s seen how you look at the pin so he’s not surprised.

“Astrology huh? Aren’t you Qixing named after the Big Dipper’s stars?” he asks as he hands the pin back to you and watches your eyes take a childlike gleam. He huffs a bit amused under his breath, you always seem to get like this whenever he let’s you ramble about stars.

“Yes, Yaoguang is translated from the Alkaid star. Alkaid derives from the Arabic phrase meaning "The leader of the daughters of the bier". The daughters of the bier are the three stars of the handle of the Big Dipper, Alkaid, Mizar, and Alioth. While the four stars of the bowl, Megrez, Phecda, Merak, and Dubhe, are the bie,” you ramble on making different gesture as you continue your mini lecture, “Tianquan and Yuheng are the stars Megrez and Alioth. They are here in Liyue too but Tianquan will be the one that preforms the Rite of Descension. It feels as if I’m attending my sister’s talent show even if Tianquan is older than me.”

“Hm, I’ve never looked into studying the stars. I’m more of a fighter,” Childe comments as he hears you laugh that you’re not surprised. He looks towards the moon and see’s it’s his time to leave. You give him a small wave as he starts back to the window sill before giving a small comment over his shoulder.

“You know I also have a younger sister.”

“Is she aware of what you do Childe?”

“No, of course not. Does your sister know what you do?”

“No, she doesn’t know either.”

---

“Can I see your mask?”

He unstraps it from his head and hands it to you as he watches you run your finger around the intricate details before moving it over your face. You’re both seated on the bed this time beside each other.

“I don’t understand how you can fight wearing this,” you say as you squint your eyes through the opening of the mask. He chuckles softly at the weird expression before plucking his mask out of your hands.

“Hm? I thought the Qixing were capable fighters?” he asks as he reattaches the mask to the side of his head. He rest’s his chin back onto his hand and settles back into his comfortable position.

“Yes, Tianquan uses the geo element while Yuheng uses electro,” you list off on one hand.

“What do you use?” he asks.

“Who knows” you answer.

He pouts a bit which you have to stifle your laugh at. It’s somewhat amazing how far he’s gone with this. He’s pretty busy managing business behind the scenes and getting on friendly terms with that funeral parlor man, Zhongli was it? Yet, he finds himself back here whenever he get’s a free night.

“I’m sorry for laughing but I never thought you could make such an expression. But I’m being honest. I can’t use a vision so I don’t know,” you shrug as you lie back down and close your eyes. Childe nods along even though you can’t see him. He had always thought the pin you carried was your vision until you let him hold it for himself.

“If you joined the Fatui. We could give you a vision,” he says as his gaze almost pierces through you but you continue to look unbothered. Your eye’s still remained peacefully closed.

“It’s the night before the Rite of Descension. It will be a busy day so you should get some rest before then Childe”

---

It was the day of the Rite of Descension and he had yet to see you. He knew you would be observing but wouldn’t you at least be at a vantage point where you could view the entire ritual?

“Excuse me, have you seen the Yaoguang?” he asks one of the Qixing attendants but she only looks at him confused. He’s not that surprised about that either.

“Yaoguang? I’m sorry but that leader isn’t here in Liyue right now. Did you mean to ask for Tianquan Lady Ningguang perhaps?” she attempts to correct as she gestures to the middle of the stage, where the white haired woman was standing.

“Yaoguang isn’t here? They haven’t appeared at all these past few weeks for the Rite of Descension to observe?” he asks again but the lady shook her head as he chuckled. So not even people closest to the Qixing knew that one of their leaders was being impersonated.

“Oh, sorry. Yes, I meant for Tianquan Ningguang. Sorry, these star names are a bit hard to wrap my head around” he laughs it off before walking away before the lady has time to respond.

“She is busy preparing for the Rite of Descension so she won’t be seeing anyone anytime soon. Perhaps after the ceremony if it’s urgent?” she still calls out to him before going back to her responsibilities.

Tartaglia nods as he waves goodbye before continuing on. He never cared for the Rite of Descension but maybe today will be interesting. He spots two familiar faces in the crowd trying to get to the front to see the Rite of Descension. They seem to be friends. He laughs to himself as he reminisces all your past interactions with him. He’ll find out sooner or later who this mysterious Yaoguang impersonator is. After all, the walls have ears.

---

Part 2 perhaps? Depends on the feedback I get on this. I read about the big dipper for this fic.

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact imagines #genshin imagines #genshin impact headcanons #genshin impact fluff #genshin impact childe #genshin impact childe x reader #childe x reader #genshin impact fanfiction #genshin impact tartaglia #tartaglia x reader #genshin childe imagine #genshin headcanons #genshin fanfic #childe headcanons #childe imagines

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guacam011y · 3 years

Text

***SPOILERS FOR EPISODE 5 OF WANDAVISION***

HOLY SHITE MY MIND IS BLOWN

TOMMY AND BILLY CRYING

“Do you want me to take that again?” “Take it from the top?”

Agnes knows ! Tiger - Ralph

“Dark liquor” Vision being concerned

Billy and Tommy aged up?!

I DO NOT TRUST HAYWARD

SCARLET WITCH - TALKING ABOUT HOW WANDA DOESN’T HAVE A CODENAME

SIS STRAIGHT UP TOOK VISIONS CORPSE

HEX — HER POWERS GET REFERRED TO AS HEX POWERS SOMETIMES IN THE COMICS

CAPTAIN MARVEL REFERENCE

NORM SAYING NONE OF IT IS REAL

SPARKY THE DOG - VISION HAD A STAND ALONE AND STOLE A DOG

HER ACCENT

LAGOS

SHE DOESNT KNOW HOW ANY OF THIS STARTED IN THE FIRST PLACE

EVAN PETERS AS QUICKSILVER

DARCY GOING “SHE RECAST PIETRO?” MOOOD

X-MEN, START TO THE MULTIVERSE?!

WANDA CAN’T BE THE ONLY ONE CONTROLLING IT

IS MONICA MAD AT CAROL???

MONICA X DARCY?! WHAT A POWER COUPLE THAT WOULD BE

SIS REALLY ENDGAME - ENDGAME ENDED WITH TONY’S FUNERAL AND WANDA PROBS WENT STRAIGHT FROM THERE AND STOLE HER DEAD BF’S CORPSE (can’t really blame her, it looked like they were trying to experiment on Vis and could it be Hayward behind it?)

WHO WAS THAT ENGINEER THAT MONICA WAS GOING TO CONTACT?

BABY VISION

AND AGNES DEFINITELY KNOWS SOMETHING

DARCY FINALLY GOT HER COFFEE

SO VIS SAID THAT WANDA COULD’VE MADE EVERYTHING SUBCONSCIOUSLY AND THAT OVER TIME SHE BECAME AWARE OF IT, AND SIS DEFO HAS SOME CONTROL BUT IT’S NOT ALL HER. I THINK AGNES IS AGATHA HARKNESS AND EITHER MEPHISTO IS BEHIND IT OR IT’S NIGHTMARE AND THEY’VE MAYBE POWERED UP NIGHTMARE

***FURTHER UPDATES AND EASTER EGGS***

Auntie Agnes and Agnes saying she has a few tricks up her sleeve - we should definitely take note of that seeing as Agnes definitely has something to do with the whole situation

Wanda and Vision’s house changed again, being inspired by Family Ties, possibly Full House and Growing Pains

“Do you want me to take it from the top?” It seems as though when someone, this time Vision, steers away from the script, things either reset themselves or people become aware to some capacity, although Agnes probably already knows

Speaking of Growing Pains - It had a spin off called “Just the 10 of Us” in which the director for Wandavision, Matt Shakman, was apart of the cast - and seemingly also inspired the theme song for this week

We should definitely keep an eye on Monica and her potential for powers. With Maria last episode revealed to have gone by the name ‘Photon’ (which is a name that Monica uses as one of her aliases in the comics) and could inspire Monica’s name as she develops her powers - those scans didn’t look 100% normal. Monica has also used the Captain Marvel monicker in the comics

Wanda’s energy field and such being referred to as “Hex” short for Hexagon, could be a little nod to the comics where Wanda’s powers are sometimes called Hex powers

She’s never been referred to as the Scarlet Witch on the big screen - and it seems as though she soon may earn that code name

So we now know that Wanda stole Vision’s corpse from S.W.O.R.D, but did she actually re animate him fully? He’s still got the gem in the centre of his forehead, but the last time he had it was in Infinity War where it promptly got ripped out by Thanos - so has Wanda found her own way of reanimating him and he’s alive or is he dead and just a trick of the mind - though from other trailers/previews, Vis is seen trying to and looks successful at leaving Wanda’s barrier

They had a little call back to Captain America: Civil War with the Sokovia Accords, which were targeting the Avengers in general but were created when Wanda lost control of her powers and killed civilians

A little joke towards Vis as playing “Father Knows Best” in their little suburbia - Which was a sitcom that ran for 200 episodes in the 50’s

Sparky ! A little nod to the little green dog from the Walta and King comics run for Vision and unfortunately soon meets the same fate 💔

A little nod to Endgame when we hear from Monica that Wanda definitely could’ve taken down Thanos by herself had Thanos not rained fire - and Jimmy arguing that Captain Marvel could’ve just as easily done it - which leaves Monica with an angry look on her face

Good ol’ dial up internet

Can Vis “save” the residents of Westview? He can still seemingly interact with people’s minds, with or without the mind stone - Norm soon comes out of his trance as Vis snaps him out of it and asks to call his sister and that he has to save them all from “her” - now this “her” could be Wanda...but it could also be Agnes and then Vis shuts him down soon enough again and Norm goes back to his sit com self

Billy and Tommy are fully aware, or at least suspect Wanda’s abilities - after asking her to bring back Sparky from the dead and speaking of Billy and Tommy - could they be semi permanent fixtures in the MCU, it would help to introduce the Young Avengers eventually. They'll do Young Avengers at some point since Kang is supposed to be a thing in the third Ant-Man.

Teddy, unfortunately, I don't think will be here for a bit (I really hope he is though!). I think the guy they hired that everyone is rumoring to be Teddy might just be an episode about Billy coming to terms with his sexuality and Wanda and Vis learning to accept it in the way that era of tv they're in would go about with that kind of episode and the dude is just a dude - but again, I really hope it’s Teddy 😭

Wanda leaves the hex after a mini missile/plane tries to shoot at her - and she’s in her Scarlet Witch costume and is seemingly mostly back to her “normal self”, which includes her accent !

Lagos brand paper towels - “For when you make a mess you didn’t mean to” - a nod to Civil War again in which Wanda accidentally blew up a building in Lagos and caused the Sokovian accords to come to fruition

The mail man again - I also think he was in the commercial but anywho - “Your mom won’t let him go far” similar to “Much like she won’t let anyone leave” a potential nod to Wanda or Agnes not letting anyone leave?

“We can’t reverse death” and yet she brought Vision back - keeping in mind that he’s an android but still a little foreshadow to what happened at the end of the ep? Better yet, could Pietro coming back be a distraction for Wanda? Agnes or whoever introducing someone that Wanda lives in hopes that she won’t go full on breakdown superpowers or just to give her an attachment to Westview even more and make her not want to leave at all

“She recasted Pietro” EVAN ! I’m so pumped for this - it seems this could turn into the X-Men making their debut earlier than expected possibly? In any case, it’s a nice little Easter Egg to the previous Fox franchise of X-Men movies where Evan played Peter Maximoff “Quicksilver” alongside James McAvoy as Prof X, Hugh Jackman as Wolverine and so many others - and with Deadpool being confirmed as Disney’s first R rated film, it seems Mutants are definitely on their way to the MCU

Agnes is definitely Agatha or a gender bent Nightmare

The way Billy shed himself and Tommy up was scary - definitely a little nod to his powers coming in

Multiple different perspectives of Wanda saying that Monica left

Red Hex dialled up to around light sources (computer, window, etc.)

Vision mentions reading Charles Darwin’s The Descent of Man - which could refer to Mutants entering the MCU, Mutants being superior to humans

Agnes calls herself Auntie Agnes - in episode 2 during the title sequence in the grocery store there’s a product called ‘Auntie A’s Kitty Litter’

Agnes refers to herself as a Tiger and in the episode, there’s a Tiger on the dining table in the kitchen - could that be a listening device, her eyes and ears?

There are no other children in Westview - Billy and Tommy are immune because they have no prior trauma

Elizabeth Olsen’s photos are real and slightly altered with Sokovian flags in the background

In the birthday shot of Billy and Tommy, they have ‘1,2,3,4,5’ candles all on one cake

In the holiday photos, Vision goes from Turkey to Easter Bunny, to Santa and progressively gets more unhappy - realising he no longer wants to play along in Wanda’s Hex

During Monica’s callbacks to seeing Wanda’s pain inside her head, we see a new shot of Wanda crying - it looks like it’s around the time she stole Vision’s corpse, as the outfit she’s wearing is very similar, if not the same - could this be an after shot of when she’s trying to bring Vision back?

During the scene where we see the footage of Wanda stealing Vision’s corpse, the S.W.O.R.D logo that appears on the table has 8 stars around the rim of the logo but then has a 9th one in the middle - could this be a little Easter Egg to the nine realms of the Cosmos? And there’s also a map showing Cape Canaveral, could that be where S.W.O.R.D’s headquarters are?

Wanda and Pietro were born in 1989 to Irina and Oleg Maximoff - who were killed in an air raid when the twins were 10. In the comics, Wanda and Pietro were raised by Django and Maria Maximoff, before their true parentage was revealed as being the children of Magneto, however, in the comics this has been retconned so that Wanda and Pietro are no longer Mutants and the High Evolutionary had just disguised them as Mutants (something I think they should undo tbh - MARVEL, PLEASE MAKE WANDA AND PIETRO MUTANTS AGAIN!!!)

Speaking of the air raid, that was also referenced in Age of Ultron by Pietro and Wanda - “We were 10 years old, having dinner the four of us. And the first shell hits 2 floors below, makes a hole in the floor” - was the beeping Stark toaster be what that was referring to?

WHIH reappears for a brief cameo as the news service in the MCU - and Hayward cuts off Jimmy as he was trying to defend Wanda’s reputation, in which Jimmy then turns to Darcy and says “I try not to speak ill of people” Darcy then follows up with “Then allow me, Hayward’s a-“ and then she’s cut off by a shot back to Hayward saying the word “Terrorist” which would make sense as it seems with Vision’s corpse, he may have been trying to make sentient weapons and by subverting Vision’s will and blaming Wanda of doing the same. In the footage shown of Wanda stealing Vision’s remains, we see Vision broken up into parts and S.W.O.R.D seems to be experimenting on him and this seems to be the robotics/nanotech project that Hayward was referring to. Monica asks Hayward about the footage saying “When was this?” to which Hayward replies saying “9 days ago. Maximoff stormed our facility, stole Vision’s body and resurrected him” - this would mean that Wanda took Vision 2 weeks after the events of Endgame, about a week before Monica returned to S.W.O.R.D and Hayward didn’t tell her any of this and when he sent her in there, he knew exactly what he was doing - with her reputation after Civil War, this makes it easier for Hayward to paint her as the villain.

Back in Westview, Tommy wears red and Billy wears green - which are the colours that Wiccan and Speed wear in the comics, respectively. And it’s also the colours that Wanda and Vision are known for and appears quite a lot in their wardrobes

More in regards to Sparky, he was the synthezoid dog in Tom King’s run of Vision - the story being that he was originally a dog named Zeke who unfortunately passed away after digging up the Grim Reaper’s corpse and getting zapped. The Grim Reaper’s helmet appears during the title sequence of Episode 2 in the floorboards. Could Sparky have been trying to dig up a similar thing when he was caught by Agnes and consequently killed?

Monica mentions that she knows this aerospace engineer, they’re never shown but she is seen texting them. Could it be Reed Richards a.k.a Mr Fantastic? Hayward did mention that some astronauts used to work for S.W.O.R.D before a mission went haywire - though it seems a bit lacklustre to introduce such highly anticipated characters this way. Could it instead be the Skrull daughter of Talos that Monica befriended at the end of Captain Marvel? She mentioned that they had extraterrestrial allies in episode 4 working with her and Fury as apart of S.W.O.R.D - in the Spanish subtitles they use the feminine articles for this engineer - so I think it’s more likely to be Talos’s daughter

The board that we saw in Episode 4 now includes the mailman, drivers license and all - could he be Jimmy’s missing witness?

The tension in the room after Jimmy references Carol is similarly seen when in Spider-Man: Far From Home, where Peter asks Skrull Fury/Talos “How about Captain Marvel?” To which Talos replies “Don’t involve her name”. Fury, Monica and Talos were all on the side of the Skrulls by then end of Captain Marvel and the space station that Fury was on maybe apart of S.W.O.R.D. So did Carol betray them?

A slight reference to Captain America: The First Avenger is made when Monica pulls a Peggy Carter and shoots at something to see if it’s bulletproof, in Peggy’s case it was the iconic Captain America shield and in the case of Monica, it was her clothes that she was wearing after Wanda threw her out of the Hex

Abilash (Norm) never states that Wanda is the one that Vision has to save them from, it’s just “her” - could this instead be Agnes?

When Billy is training Sparky to sit, he puts the treat by his ear up to his temple - a future reference that Billy will one day share the same powers as his mum?

During the scene in which Wanda leaves the Hex briefly, she turns the guns onto Hayward but none are trained on Monica - she may still trust Monica slightly, whereas with Hayward, she slightly more pissed off because of what he was doing to Vision’s remains. And turning a bunch of guns on the people you don’t trust? Like father, like daughter as Magneto pulls a similar move in one of the X-Men films - Hopefully, the big cameo they keep teasing will be Ian McKellan as Magneto or the Magnus of this House of M adaptation

During when Agnes “found” Sparky, she says he died from eating too many leaves from her plants - in the Tom King Vision run, one of Vision’s kids ends up killing Sparky and sees inside his stomach that there’s a plant that Agatha Harkness grows in her garden

All the names that appear during the credits that Wanda tries to run to end the show and to stop Vision from talking are names of people who work on the actual Wandavision show itself

When Evan Peter’s version of Quicksilver shows up, he says “Does a long lost bro get to squeeze his sister to death or what?” I DO NOT TRUST THIS PIETRO - Similar to Wandavision, the Fox X-Men movies moved up decade by decade - First Class was in the 1960s, Days of Future Past was in the 1970s, Apocalypse was in the 1980s and Dark Phoenix was in the 1990’s - which would make even more sense as MCU! Pietro wasn’t born until 1989, whereas Peter was active during the 1980s. I reckon that this Pietro is Jimmy’s missing witness, Agnes’s husband Ralph and is disguising itself as a comforting presence to Wanda as Vision no longer brings comfort and is trying to bring Wanda back to reality - and when he shows up, the mirror in the background behind Wanda is slightly distorted but his hand looks red and in the shot as well, there seems to be a grey arm reaching towards Pietro - in the shot itself behind and in front of Wanda, there’s nothing there but in the mirror, there is! Either way, I do not trust this Pietro and it’s just an entity trying to give Wanda the last thing that could make her happy - but it won’t last, as everything is already breaking down around her.

I seriously seriously love this show so much 💙

186 notes · View notes

janetbrown711 · 3 years

Note

"you've always been strong for me. let me return the favor." Angelina 2 to William 🥺

To say William woke up feeling refreshed would be the most obvious lie of all time.

His first thought in his painfully groggy head of his was of his location. From what he could sense, it wasn’t familiar. The beds felt cheap, nothing like the royal silk sheets he had gotten used to at the palace.

His second thought was of Lena. He couldn’t feel her presence, which caused him to snap his eyes open and look for her.

This third thought was remembering what had happened.

Freeing Wakko. Hurting his arm. The attack.

He tried sitting up but a wave of pain shot through his whole body and he was forced to sit back down. However, he looked across the room and saw her.

Lena was in a bed across the room from him, and it hurt his neck to look at her, but he couldn’t look away. He had never seen her with so many bruises and bandages around her in his life. It broke his heart.

“Oh good, you’re awake,” The familiar voice of his childhood best friend, Helloise Nerz, spoke softly. “How are you feeling?”

How was he feeling? Almost every inch of his body ached and hurt, his wife somehow appearing worse than him, and he was miles and miles away from his children, who he already missed terribly.

“Right... poor question,” She apologized. “How much do you remember?”

He thought a moment.

“Last thing I remember is passing out on your doorstep,” He said. She nodded.

“Good, because that was the last thing that happened,” She said.

“So... what’s wrong with me, doc?” He joked a little. Helloise chuckled.

“Nurse. Scratchy is the real doc, I’m just the assistant,” She remarked.

“Don’t sell yourself short, Helloise. I’m sure you could run this place if you had to,” He said. She snorted.

“You’ve got a terribly sprained arm that I noticed was already bandaged, but you’ve made much worse, I presume from carrying her highness. You also have a torn ligament in your right ankle, minor frostbite, and numerous pulled muscles throughout your legs,” she read off of a chart.

“And Lena?” He asked.

“Broken rib, a minor concussion from what we can tell, fractured fibula, severe bruising on the face, minor frostbite, and blood loss from a severe wound in the right shoulder we cleaned and stitched up.”

William looked at his wife again.

“How long have we been asleep?” He asked.

“Three days,” She said. William blinked.

“Th-three days?” he asked.

She sighed. “William...” she sat on the edge of his bed.

“The whole kingdom thinks you two are dead, and honestly, you two are lucky to be alive.”

“What? Why? How? What about Yakko Wakko and Dot? Are they alright?” He tried sitting up, but the wave of pain reminded him not to.

“Well, her majesty the queen threw a funeral two days ago. They said attackers stormed the castle in the night and killed the two of you,” She explained.

“But what about Yakko Wakko and Dot? Are they okay?” He asked.

“I haven’t heard any news of the three of them, so they should be alright with the queen.”

“If you could consider being with the queen alright,” he muttered.

“Right... She wasn’t the best mother, right?” She remembered. He shook his head, sighing. Just then, a low grumble came from across the room, and Lena began to stir.

“What... where... Will..?” she mumbled as her eyes slowly opened and she took in her surroundings. William wanted nothing more than to rush to her side, but the numerous injuries Helloise had informed him about kept him where he was. Instead, the good nurse went over and started evaluating and explaining the situation to her.

“D-dead..?” Her face went pale as a ghost. “That means... They’re with... we have to go. Now,” She looked at William, and started climbing out of her bed, nearly collapsing immediately if it hadn’t been for Helloise catching her.

“Your highness, you can’t. You need to recover,” She said, laying her back down.

“I can’t leave them with her- I can’t,” She shook her head.

“Lena...” He said softly. She looked at him for a moment, before lying back down and looking away, her expression mostly unreadable. Just then, the doctor came in.

“Oh goodie, you two are awake,” He said, but he quickly read the room.

“Er... how are you two feeling?” He asked. William shrugged, while Lena remained silently looking away.

He then pulled the nurse back outside to talk for a moment, promising it wouldn’t be long. William nodded and let them go, and his eyes went to Lena.

She wouldn’t look at him, even when he said her name. Something was deeply, deeply wrong. William wished he could read her mind, though he did have a few guesses. For one, the kids.

William knew they were resourceful and clever, but he honestly had no idea what Angelina was going to do to them now that they were out of the picture- especially if she thought they were dead.

It sent a shiver down his spine just thinking about it...

“So... your highnesses... what can you tell us about the attack?” The doctor reentered and asked.

“Oh god... where to start?” he chuckled nervously.

“If you aren’t ready, it’s totally fine,” Helloise sat on the edge of his bed. “We just... well... the people are curious. You are supposed to be dead after all.”

“Of course,” William said, before taking in a deep breath and beginning.

.o0o.

It had been a tense week. William had been mad at himself when he had sprained his arm. He was a knight, dammit, he was supposed to be trained to be better than that. Now it meant he had to postpone any of his own mini training lessons he was giving Wakko and Yakko until later, which he knew Yakko would be suspicious of. He always had a habit of picking up on their anxiety and carrying it with him like it was his responsibility too, which was upsetting for multiple reasons.

Some of Angelina’s lessons were extremely difficult to try and undo.

At least Wakko was trying to be optimistic about things. After he had broken him out of the tower, Wakko was spending a lot more time with them as a family, suddenly talking to them a lot more than he used to, which William took as a good sign, seeing as he desperately wanted something to look on the bright side about.

Dot was happy too, of course, as she was just glad to have Wakko back too. She could hardly tell everyone else was anxious, she was only four after all.

When the first window broke, William had been up in a flash, and despite his injury, he grabbed his sword anyway.

“William? What’s the matter?” Lena had asked.

“Go back to sleep, my love. I’ll handle this,” he kissed her head, leaving their bedroom.

He walked through the halls, surprised at just how silent everything was. Still, he kept his guard up, not allowing himself to relax for even a second.

“...this castle is huge! Even with the map she gave us,” a disgruntled, not-too-far off voice said. William ducked behind a curtain for cover.

“It’s a quick mission though: grab the king, grab the queen, and grab the kid if there’s time to spare,” A lower voice shrugged, and William felt a wave of protectiveness wash over him. Immediately, he burst out and attacked one of the men, and they quickly began a sword fight.

Unfortunately, William found himself evenly matched by his opponent and realized he was surrounded by allies, some that were even taller than him.

He was kinda screwed.

Still, he fought and parried and swung and blocked with a valiant effort, though the pain in his arm burned more and more and it was evident he was becoming weaker. His opponent saw this, and got behind, and he brought down the handle of his sword onto his arm, and William dropped his sword and fell onto the ground, growling in pain.

“Remember, queenie said no blood on her carpets or tapestries,” The tallest reminded his attacker, who was now pointing his sword at his face. “Tie him up. With the strongest removed, we can work on getting that queen and the middle boy,” He ordered, before taking a few and leaving.

Wakko.

William growled, and swiped his feet out from under him, causing his attacker to fall to the ground. William then began fighting with his bare fists against the men who tried jumping on and fighting him next.

However, the numbers were too large, and before William knew it, his wrists were tied and he was captured.

“Alright, move it, princey,” one of the men kicked him. William gnashed his teeth, but they planned for that, as two of the men held him down, and a third quickly put a muzzle around him.

“There, now that should get you to behave,” He grinned, pulling William up, and the three men forced him out of the castle, and into the back of a carriage, where he was locked in and left.

He tried kicking the door open, but it must’ve been solid wood because he got nowhere, and all he ended up doing was exhausting himself.

William was alone for quite an amount of time, and he tried everything he could to break free of his restraints but nothing was working. He cursed his stubbornness that caused him to sprain his arm- if it hadn’t been for that he was confident he would’ve been able to take down the six men. He was a knight for god’s sake- he was supposed to be able to protect his family.

He was supposed to be able to protect his family.

After a long moment of silence and stillness, the door opened and Lena was thrown in next to him, and William caught a glimpse of the outside and noticed it was snowing lightly.

He didn’t dwell on that, his eyes falling onto Lena, who looked horrible. Tears were streaming down her face as she looked at him, slowly and painfully crawling her way over and lying against his chest. William did his best to hug her with his hands tied.

Neither of them could say a word, but both knew exactly what the other was feeling, and they did their best to embrace and comfort each other.

Then, the carriage began to move.

They didn’t capture Wakko.

Despite everything, William sighed a breath of relief.

Silently, the couple rode for hours, not knowing where they were being taken or why or who was behind any of this, though they had a few guesses.

William was just glad he still had her... even if it wouldn’t be for much longer.

He loved her with his entire being, nothing would ever change that, not an evil queen, and not even death.

However, his mind quickly went to his kids.

Wakko was alive- at least, he hoped. The attackers said they couldn’t get blood anywhere, hopefully, that meant they just ran out of time to find him and he was okay.

But if they were killed, William had no idea what Angelina would do to them. They would have no protection from her now. They could be hurt, or worse...

William hugged Lena a little tighter.

After an hour or two of riding, the temperature inside the carriage got notably colder, the snow outside picking up.

William prayed for a miracle.

They continued riding on, William even drifting to sleep at one point, when they were suddenly jerked awake. there were shouts from out of where they were, and William and Lena sat up best they could, though Lena was in a lot more pain. Suddenly, the carriage lost control, and started to skid and slide, though William and Lena had no idea what the cause was- but it didn’t matter because not before long, it crashed into a tree and everyone was thrown into the air, and landed with a crash and crack.

William winced at the sound, closing his eyes but when he opened, he saw it-

The doors were busted open.

Quickly, William scooted out, gesturing for Lena to follow, but she was closing her eyes and cringing in pain, and William realized she had injured her leg in the fall. Knowing they didn’t have much time to run, he carefully got her out, having her arms go around him with the tie, and having her hold herself up best she could with her remaining upper body strength as they ran into the woods, as far away as they could manage, also while looking for something they could use to untie their hands- and also a hiding place for when the attackers began to search.

Luckily, William was well trained in tracking so he did his best to make sure his footprints in the snow made zero sense and were misleading at best, praying they wouldn’t be able to follow, but he didn’t know who or what they were, so it was hard to be certain.

Eventually, William and Lena made it to a cave and they hid in there for a while, With William finding a particularly sharp rock he used to untie his hands, remove his muzzle, then untie Lena, and remove her muzzle.

“William,” she said with teary eyes.

“Lena,’ he replied, becoming overwhelmed with the desire to hug her, but noting her injured state, he instead just pressed his forehead against hers, and she did the same, placing her soft hand against his face as she cried softly.

“We can’t stay here for long- a bear probably lives here,” she said.

“Just for a moment, we need to rest- figure out where we are, and what our next move is,” He said.

“We’re so far from home... how are we going to get out of this?” She asked.

“I... I don’t know, Lena,” He admitted. “But we will, I promise.”

They stayed hidden for quite some time, having only one close call when one of the tracker’s voices was close enough for them to hear, but William was ready with the sharp rock in case he got too close, but he never did, so they were alright.

Well- alright, considering everything that just happened.

Eventually, the sun started to rise in the woods, and it slowly dawned on William that the coast was clear, and they were free to go.

But... free to go where? They had no idea where they were- were they even in Warnerstock? They could be in foreign lands for all they know- a place where they didn’t even speak the language and they could be killed for sneaking in and-

Wait. Lena was the Princess, and knew all the languages of the neighboring kingdoms, and would likely be given aid. William was panicking over nothing.

However... Lena was looking rather weak. She lost a lot of blood, and her injuries were only pilling up.

“Where do we go?” Lena asked as he was looking at her.

“Well... I don’t think we can go home... as something tells me your mother was behind this...” He stroked his chin.

“You’re telling me,” she huffed, before wincing in pain.

William snapped. “I know a place where they can’t refuse us,” he grinned.

Lena blinked. “William... Acme falls is in the middle of nowhere and perhaps one of the first places they’d go looking for us if we were missing,” she frowned.

“Well- not unless your mother wants us to be dead. Then she wouldn’t have to or want to look anywhere,” he said. “It’d be just like it was when we had just gotten married.”

“When we just married...” Lena trailed off into the memory, a look of sad nostalgia written on her face.

“Look... I’m going to go and try to figure out where we are, so we can head to Acme. Will you be okay if you stay here?” he asked.

“I don’t think I have a choice,” she tried to joke, but William knew she hated it. He kissed her forehead.

“I love you,” He said. “I won’t be long.”

“I love you too, Wiliam,” she replied, and William ran out of the cave.

It took about an hour, but eventually, William discovered that yes, they were still in Warnerstock, and found the direction they were to go to if they wanted to go to Acme Falls. It would be quite the trek, especially if this snow continued to fall, but he had determination on his side.

He was not going to die here, nor was he going to let Lena. He would carry her in his arms if he had to, simple as that.

.o0o.

“So... yeah. We hiked for hours to reach here, the strains and pulled muscles and frostbite are from trekking through the snow, and that’s how we got here,” William finished his tale.

“Oh William... that’s terrible,” Helloise looked at him sadly.

“That does explain a lot... you two should really be getting rest now, yah?” Scratchnsniff remarked, reading over their charts one more time.

“Rest, yeah...” he nodded slowly, though sleep was the last thing he wanted. He wanted to go back to the palace asap, and kill Angelina, and get his kids back. He was confident Lena felt the same.

Though... they wouldn’t be able to do much good in this state... especially without a plan.

“We’ll leave the two of you alone... you’ve been through a lot,” Helloise said.

“Thanks,” he gave a weak smile, which she returned.

His eyes then went to his wife, who still wasn’t looking at him, staring intently at the ground and wall.

“Lena, my love, what’s the matter?” He asked. Lena snorted.

“That’s your first question?” She snarked.

Okay, that was on him. That was a pretty dumb question.

“What are you thinking about?” he tried again. Lena crossed her arms.

“It isn’t fair...” she said. William sighed.

“I know it’s not fair that-”

“I’m not talking about my mother o-or the attack- I-i’m talking about you,” she snapped. William paused.

“What do you mean?” he asked. Lena sighed, wincing at the pain.

“Damned broken ribs...” she muttered.

“I meant... It’s not fair. Time after time after time I end up hurt or crying or abused- it isn’t fair. You’re always so strong William, it pains me. When is it my turn to be strong for you?” she said, wiping away tears and trying her best not to cry.

“Lena...” William reached out to her as much as he could, his arm nearly touching her pillow. Lena continued to look away.

“I’m serious. No matter what happens, you’re always so strong and so brave and comforting. I just- I feel so inadequate,” she whispered.

“Lena, you aren’t inadequate,” He said softly. “You’re just...”

“Damaged?” she said, matter-of-factly. “Don’t pretend it isn’t true- I know what my mother has done.”

“Lena, I don’t care. I love you,” He said.

“And I love you- but... I just... you’ve always been so strong for me William. I want to return the favor, just once...” She looked at him.

“Lena, we’ve both lost so much... this shouldn’t be something we measure or keep track of,” He said, and Lena placed her head where his hand is on her pillow.

“I miss them, William,” she whispered.

“I miss them too, my love,” he whispered back. Lena kissed his hand.

“We’ll get them back, Lena. I promise,” he said. Lena nodded, kissing his hand again and closing her eyes.

“I promise too. No matter what it takes, we are going to get our babies back.”

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14

#my fics #angelina 1 lives au #queen angelina ii #william warner #angelina warner #hello nurse #dr scratchnsniff #tw blood #tw kidnapping #tw muzzles #angst #feels #long post

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cinaja · 3 years

Text

Before the Wall part 59

Masterlist

----

“We need a healer!” Drakon shouts. He looks around at Sinna, Nephelle, all these people who are standing around in a loose circle. Why are they just standing around like this? Why aren’t they doing anything to help?

“Drakon.” The sand crunches as Sinna approaches and puts a hand on his shoulder.

He ignores her, looking over his shoulder, then back at Miryam. It cannot possibly take this long to get a healer! Doesn’t anyone realize that she needs help, immediately?

“Don’t just stand around like this!” He snaps. “Someone help.”

“Drakon.” Sinna squeezes his shoulder. “It’s too late. There’s nothing you can do anymore.”

No. No. Drakon pushes off her hand, reaching for Miryam, fingers trembling. She isn’t… She can’t be…

There is so much blood all over her clothes, blood in the sand. So much blood…

She must be unconscious. Of course, blood loss will make people pass out. They just need to get a healer. But they need to hurry, or they might be too late. Why isn’t anyone doing anything?

He jumps to his feet, ready to go looking for a healer himself if necessary, but Sinna grabs him by the arm by the arm before he can take the first step.

“Let go,” Drakon snaps at her, but she doesn’t.

He tries to tear his arm out of her grip, but she is stronger than him. Easily, she catches his other arm as well and forces his hands down. He struggles against her hold, but he might as well have been trying to bend a sword.

“It’s too late,” Sinna repeats. Her voice is so gentle – she’s hardly ever that gentle – and that, more than anything else, makes the reality sink in. This time, her words get through to Drakon and he stops struggling. “She’s dead,” Sinna says. Does she realize that each word feels like a knife to the chest? “There’s nothing you can do.”

Drakon’s body seems to have forgotten how to breathe, how to function normally. He sags against Sinna’s hold. If she hadn’t been holding him, he doesn’t think he would have been able to stay upright as his mind keeps raging against the truth it sees as impossible.

He knows the terrible feeling that this isn’t real, this isn’t possible, this can’t be happening. He knows what it’s like to have his heart struggle against being forced to catch on with what his mind already knows: That there is no undoing what happened, no way to turn back time and bring the dead back to life. No way to stop the pain, either.

When his family got killed, Drakon broke down. He spent the days before the funeral locked in his rooms, trying to vanish into nothing at all to escape the pain. It took days for him to leave his room again, or to realize that his parents’ death meant that he would inherit all of their responsibilities.

When Jurian died, he managed to keep going. Pushed the pain away and forced himself to keep functioning. But then, he had Miryam who needed him, Miryam who he wouldn’t leave alone with her pain. Now, though, it is Miryam who is gone and he can’t…

He closes his eyes, trying to reign in the sob that is building in his chest. Miryam wouldn’t want him to break down. Not now, not when there are so many people who need some sort of leadership, people he is now solely responsible for. For them, he needs to keep going.

Miryam being dead still doesn’t feel real. And just for this moment, he will have to pretend that it isn’t real. At least until they are safe and he can allow himself time to mourn in private.

He opens his eyes. Sinna is still holding his arms, looking at him like she is waiting for him to fall apart. This time, when Drakon pushes off her hands, she lets him.

“We…” Cauldron, why does it hurt so much? His eyes drift over to Miryam and linger. “Can someone please…” He doesn’t know how to finish the sentence, what order to give. Truth is, he doesn’t want anyone to touch Miryam, doesn’t want her body to be brought away like she is reduced to nothing more than a lifeless thing.

“I can see to it,” Sinna offers.

Drakon nods and forces himself to look away from Miryam. “We need to get away from the shore,” he says. His voice is trembling but growing steadier with each word. “Hide in the forest, maybe, somewhere where we aren’t so plainly visible. Set up a camp, tend to the wounded. Food. We also need food, and a water source.”

Sinna scans his face, narrowing her eyes slightly. Then, she nods and jumps into motion.

They move the entire group to the forest bordering the shore. Set up a camp there, hidden by the trees and close to a nearby river. The healers start to work on the wounded, everyone else finds some other things to do: Preparing food, setting up tents, building defences. Someone lights a fire. The fire is put out, word is sent out that fires are forbidden, they are trying to stay hidden.

Looking back later, Drakon will not be able to tell what he was doing during those long hours. He walks around the camp, anything he does feeling meaningless. Talks to people, finds empty words of reassurance for them. Ignores anyone who tries to offer condolences until people stop trying to talk to him about Miryam.

It is long past midnight and most of the camp is asleep when he finally starts drifting over to the centre of the camp where Miryam has been laid out. Throughout the day, people kept coming by to pay their respects, but Drakon always kept his distance. Now that he is alone, though, he sits down next to Miryam. Next to Miryam’s body. Corpse, but he cannot bear to think of her as that. The idea that she might be dead is so completely and utterly impossible. Drakon would sooner believe that the sun disappeared from the sky, or that the stars all winked out at once.

When he looks at her, he can almost convince himself that she is just sleeping. As long as he only looks at her face instead of the blood-drenched tunic, that is. (Someone has taken out the broken spear, he notices when he finally does look.)

Miryam isn’t dead. She cannot be. If there was one person, just one person he would have trusted to survive this war… How is it that Miryam is dead, that Jurian is dead, but he survived?

It isn’t fair. If there was anyone who would have deserved to survive this war and live to see the better world they wanted to create, it would have been Miryam.

He could cry now, he thinks. The camp is set out, everything is prepared. Everything is safe. He is alone, no one there to see. Now, he could break down, allow the pain in.

But the world-ending sorrow Drakon was expecting doesn’t come. Instead, he is angry. It is all so unfair, so terribly unnecessary. Miryam shouldn’t have died. Not like this, not now that they have already won.

Sometime in the last hours, Nephelle told him about the message Miryam asked her to deliver. I didn’t mean for this to happen and keep my people safe and remember what you promised.

Drakon does plan to keep her people safe. He will do so until his last breath if necessary. And he remembers what he promised. But Cauldron, he doesn’t want to keep that promise. Not now, not after this. How can he keep what Shey and the others did a secret, how can he help them get away with it when Miryam and hundreds of others died? And what would the point be? It wasn’t just Miryam they were after, but all of them. No matter how much Drakon might play stupid, for Shey, him and the hundreds of thousands of people will only ever be unwanted witnesses.

Besides, Drakon doesn’t want Miryam’s killers to get away with it. He cannot bear the thought. He wants to… well, the one thing he really wants is for Miryam to not be dead. But he cannot undo that.

He’s just about to contemplate what might happen if he told Andromache about what happened when he realizes that that he might be a bit hasty. There are a few things in the world that can never be undone. Death is usually one of them. Usually, but not always.

Resurrections are a tricky matter. Highly dangerous and unpredictable. They are not impossible, though, at least not for people who have access to one of the few magical items (or, in some cases, people) that are capable of bringing back the dead.

Years ago, Ghost once told him that the Sword of Daín might be able to help resurrect the dead, that he would help Drakon do it in exchange for his freedom. Drakon refused, then. He briefly considered the offer for Jurian, but then, he did not know if Jurian would even want to be resurrected.

With Miryam, that is a different matter.

The realization that there might be a way to save her yet is like a spark that ignites a fire. Drakon doesn’t stop to consider that resurrections are risky for everyone involved, that Kiko made him promise to never do anything like this or that he had his reasons for not daring to free Ghost. All he can think is that Miryam doesn’t have to be dead. She could still survive.

It doesn’t need to end like this.

They didn’t get around to putting up wards yet, so there’s nothing stopping Drakon from winnowing out of the camp. Hesitantly, he takes Miryam’s hands (her skin is cold to the touch and this is wrong, so wrong, but he will make it right again) and winnows them both out of the camp. Only when they land on the soft jungle floor on Cretea does he remember that he should probably have told someone that he was leaving. His magic, drained as it is, won’t allow him to go back again now, though, so he will just have to hope that no one will notice his disappearance just yet.

Drakon looks down at Miryam, who landed on the ground next to him, realizing only now that he will have to carry her. He reaches out but hesitates. There is something extremely off about just picking up her lifeless body, and he is reluctant to so much as touch her. He sees little alternative, though, so he tells himself to stop being ridiculous, picks her up and starts walking.

The way to the cave seems to take twice as long as usual. Drakon can’t tell if it’s because the darkness makes walking more difficult, if he is just tired and slowed further by the weight of Miryam in his arms, or if he isn’t slower at all and just imagining it because he is so desperate to reach his destination. After what seems like hours of walking through the dark forest, he finally reaches the cave.

The door opens easily. Drakon storms through and is already halfway through the tunnel before it has closed again behind him. In front of the cave’s entrance, the mist rises but it doesn’t seem to be able to decide on a form, instead lingering in the doorway.

It seems fitting. What would be left for him to fear now?

“Let me through,” he tells the mist, and it does. Without any resistance, he steps into the cave.

The sword is still there, in the same place as usual, its blade shimmering darkly. Gently, Drakon deposits Miryam on the ground, taking care to put her in a position that seems somewhat comfortable.

“What happened?” A voice asks behind him.

Drakon rises and slowly turns to face Ghost, who appeared a few feet behind him. He seems to have changed his clothing style, apparently favouring blue now.

“I need your help,” Drakon says.

Ghost is still staring at Miryam on the ground, not even looking up at the words. The blue of his clothes darkens, colour fading to grey.

“You once told me you could help me resurrect someone,” Drakon pushes. “I want to take that offer now. If you help me bring her back, I’m letting you out of the cave.”

Slowly, Ghost looks away from Miryam and up to Drakon. “I can’t help you,” he says.

Drakon frowns, trying to ignore the dread in his stomach. “You said you could,” he says. “Please. This isn’t for me, it’s… You know Miryam, you know she deserves better than…” He makes a vague gesture. “Please.”

Ghost’s face remains neutral as usual, but Drakon can still feel the struggle that is raging under the surface. “What about the rules?” He asks, his obvious attempt at lightness failing. “Aren’t there millennia of tradition forbidding you from even touching that sword?”

Drakon shrugs. Tradition is the furthest thing from his mind right now. And maybe it makes him a hypocrite that he refused to consider using the sword for during all these years but is willing to use it now, but he will worry about that later. For now, all that counts is that he finds a way to save Miryam.

“It is dangerous,” Ghost says. “You know that mortals aren’t meant to use the sword.”

“You said if I just used it once, I would survive,” Drakon challenges. “It only starts to destroy you if you use it more often, and I only need it for this one thing. It probably won’t do any damage at all.” Ghost still doesn’t seem convinced, and so he adds, “Please. This is the only way to save her.”

That seems to do the trick. Ghost stares at him for a moment longer, then gives a jerky nod. “Alright, then,” he says. His voice is grave, and on another day, Drakon might have wondered about why he sounds so unhappy when he is about to get freed. Right now, though, he still cannot think about anything but the fact that he will be able to bring Miryam back. “That sword isn’t exactly made for resurrections, but if you do as I say, this should work out.”

Drakon promises to do that, and so they begin. Step one is to simply pick up the sword. It is lighter than a sword this size should be, and strangely cold, but other than that, it doesn’t feel particularly magical. There is no pain, no unpleasant sensation at all, which Drakon takes as a good sign.

“Step one accomplished,” he says jokingly, smiling at Ghost.

Ghost doesn’t smile back, instead averts his eyes. He mutters a few words in the language Miryam uses for her spells and the sword comes alive in Drakon’s hands.

Drakon gasps. A wave of cold shoots through his body and he blinks. When he opens his eyes again, the world is different. He can see colourful strings hanging in the air, wrapping around Ghost and moving away from the sword. For a moment, he simply stands and stares. This must be what the world always looks like for Miryam. It is beautiful, and absolutely fascinating. Kiko would probably give his left hand to be able to see this.

“Before we continue, I want you to cut me loose,” Ghost says. He seems far more curt than usual. “You see the string running from the sword’s pommel to me? The black one?” Drakon nods. “Cut it.”

The string shivers slightly, like it understood what Ghost said. Drakon almost feels bad for it, but he did promise to follow Ghost’s directions. Carefully, he brings the sword around and slashes through the string. The blade cuts through it easily, but on the impact, a jolt goes through Drakon’s body, shooting from his right hand through his entire body. He gasps and nearly drops the sword.

Ghost is silent for a moment, staring at the cut string. When he continues, his voice seems a bit thicker. “I’m going to recite a spell to you now. You need to repeat it word by word, as clearly as possible.”

Drakon nods, resisting the urge to rub his aching hand, and they begin. Casting the spell this way is awkward, mainly because he doesn’t understand the meaning of the words, can barely pronounce them correctly. Reciting a spell without understanding a word of what he is saying is extremely unpleasant, and it’s only made worse by the fact that each word burns his throat. He keeps needing to pause and twice, he has to spit out blood.

The further Drakon gets in the spell, the more the strings around him begin to move. Then, slowly, the black jewel in the sword’s pommel begins to glow. By the time the spell is finally done, the entire sword seems to vibrate in his hands and Drakon is just about ready to collapse.

“Take the sword and hold the pommel over her chest. The jewel needs to be over the heart.” Drakon swings the sword around and Ghost’s entire form begins to flicker with annoyance. “Watch out with the strings!” He snaps. “What if you cut one of them and make the entire mountain collapse?”

Drakon swallows and resists the urge to tell Ghost that he really could have mentioned that risk in advance. He keeps his eyes on the blade, watching out for any strings that might get in the way, as he kneels down next to Miryam. Carefully, he places the still-glowing jewel over her heart.

“There’s one more command you need to give,” Ghost says. “And you ought to focus on what you want the spell to do. The sword is sentient enough that it might take your intention into consideration.”

Drakon nods, staring down at Miryam. I want her to not be dead.

Ghost recites the last sentence for him, and Drakon very carefully and slowly repeats it after him, all the while focusing on his wish that Miryam should not be dead, please, just let her live.

He finishes the last word and silence falls. Drakon stares down at the sword at his hands, at Miryam who is still motionless on the ground. His heart is racing as he waits, with bated breath, for something to happen. It occurs to him that he didn’t ask Ghost what the spell would do, how he would know if it worked.

He is about to turn to Ghost and ask him when a beam of light bursts out of the jewel, energy crackling in the air. Drakon is thrown backwards through the air. He lands hard on his back, pain shooting through his sword arm and making him gasp.

Ghost appears in front of him. Drakon is still gasping for air, waiting for the pain to fade as he knows it should, but it doesn’t. Instead, it gets worse, slowly spreading from his arm into his body.

“The spell is working,” Ghost says.

Drakon wants to reply, but in that moment, a new wave of pain rushes through his body. It’s like he’s being stabbed with hundreds of tiny, burning knives. He lets out a strangled gasp, trying desperately to breathe through the pain, to focus on anything but the feeling of being slowly stabbed to death.

“I’m sorry,” Ghost whispers.

Drakon doesn’t know why he’s apologizing, but in that moment, the knives seem to twist and he begins to thrash, his body desperately trying to escape the pain. This shouldn’t be happening. It was just one spell, he ought to be fine, Ghost said… Ghost said…

He lets out a sob, twisting around on the ground. Vaguely, he realizes that he is probably dying – after all, what else could hurt this much? But he cannot die, he wasn’t supposed to… Miryam will be all alone and he…

His vision is already beginning to turn dark around the edges and the pain is only getting worse. Now seems like a good time to pass out, even if it will probably be over soon afterwards. The cave disappears around him, but even if he can’t make out his surroundings anymore, he is still fully conscious. He is trapped alone in the darkness, alone with the pain, and it hurts and hurts and hurts, until time loses all meaning and the only thing that seems to exist anymore is the unending pain.

----

The first thing that returns is the pain. It’s like someone set her on fire, or flayed all the skin from her bones. Miryam wants to cry, wants to writhe and scream, somehow move in a desperate attempt to escape from the pain that seems to swallow up her entire world, but her body won’t obey.

Everything feels wrong. Someone ripped her out of her body and then pushed her back in and everything is wrong. She doesn’t fit, nothing fits and along the ragged edges where she has been ripped out and shoved back into her body the wrong way, it hurts.

The pain feels like she is being torn apart, or burned alive, but it must actually be mending something because after what feels like eternity, she regains some shred of control over her body. She notices because she can feel it beginning to convulse around her – still not from her doing, more like some strange shell that is moving around her.

She vaguely registers that someone is talking, but she can’t make out the words, and the pain doesn’t allow her to focus on anything else. What is happening to her? She wants it to stop. Someone just make it stop, please…

It doesn’t stop, but at least the burning eases after a while. And whatever rift there was inside of her must be mending because she slowly regains feeling in her body. What she feels isn’t much more pleasant than the burning, though. It’s like each of her senses has sharpened a hundredfold. She can feel the air touching her skin so acutely it’s almost unbearable. Actually unbearable is the feeling of clothes over her skin. It’s like her skin has been ripped off and someone is now ripping sand over her bare flesh.

“Miryam,” someone says.

The voice is gentle, but it still feels like someone is running a knife through her head. She tries to open her eyes and immediately closes them again, unable to bear the light.

“Miryam, hey, it’s alright,” the person continues.

Miryam whimpers. Stop, please stop talking, she wants to say, but her voice doesn’t obey. Her arms do, though, and so she presses her hands against her ears. The other person still seems to understand and stops talking.

For what seems like another eternity, Miryam simply lies on the ground, curled up into a tight ball. At times, it doesn’t seem like the pain will ever end, but eventually, it eases enough that she can begin to contemplate what brought her into this situation.

Straining to focus, Miryam tries to go back to the last clear memory: Ravenia and her, facing each other alone in a narrow passage, water roaring on either side. The spear Ravenia threw, the pain of it hitting. Nephelle trying to fly her out, her desperately trying to hold on and then –

Then, her mind runs into a wall. No matter how hard she tries, she cannot remember anything beyond that point.

She was so sure she was going to die. But Nephelle must have managed to get her out in time after all, she must have misjudged the extent of her own injuries, some healer must still have been able to fix her.

Her entire body shaking, Miryam tries to push herself up on her arms. She manages to turn herself around and push herself into a sitting position. Then, slowly and carefully, she opens her eyes.

Ghost is kneeling a few inches above the ground in front of her. “Are you feeling better?” He asks.

Miryam just stares at him. What is he doing here? Or rather, if he is here, what is she doing here, given that he can hardly be anywhere other than on Cretea? By all logic, she should be lying on a beach somewhere, Drakon and Nephelle and the others nearby.

“What happened?” She croaks, almost surprised by the sound of her own voice.

Her clothes are still scraping against her skin and she is surprised to find that she isn’t bleeding. Not anymore, at least, because her clothes are entirely drenched in dried blood. So much blood… She does not think she should have been able to lose this much blood and survive. Maybe with a really talented healer…

She reaches up for the hole in her tunic where the spear went through, expecting to find bandages. Instead, there is only bare skin. Even a really talented healer should not have been able to completely patch up a wound like this. And she has little first-hand experience with getting stabbed in the chest, but she doesn’t think it should have hurt the way it did. She might have been imagining stuff, of course, but -

“You died,” Ghost says, shifting around uncomfortably.

“Ah.” Miryam nods numbly. “That makes sense. I lost a lot of blood.”

Ghost manages a somewhat convincing frown. “You are remarkably calm about this.

Miryam nods again. “It’s the shock,” she says.

“Ah,” Ghost says, nodding as well. There seems to be a whole lot of nodding in this conversation. “Should I wait until you are… done? Before telling you the rest?”

“No, you go on.” Miryam squeezes her eyes shut – the light, dim as it is, is still painful – and tries to ignore the painfully sore feeling of her entire body. Even breathing hurts, like the air is suddenly acid.

“Okay,” Ghost says. “So, you died.” Then, he stops speaking.

“You said so already. Why am I here?”

“Well, Drakon…” Ghost hesitates. “He brought you here and used the sword to resurrect you.”

Miryam opens her eyes. “Drakon,” she says, mind finally catching on with the part that makes the least sense out of everything. It shouldn’t be Ghost explaining any of this to her but Drakon. He would never have left her to endure that pain alone, never just disappeared. “Where is he?”

Ghost just stares back at her, form darkening slightly. Then, he slowly points his chin behind Miryam.

Miryam scrambles to her feet. Her lefts fail to support her, though, and she falls over halfway through turning around. She makes a sound somewhere between gasp and sob as she lands on the ground, pushes herself up again and turns around fully.

Before her, Drakon lies sprawled on the ground. His right arm is bent at an odd angle and the skin on his hand and arm looks wrong, charred, like it has been burned. He doesn’t seem to be conscious, but as Miryam is watching, his body begins to twitch and convulse.

Miryam is beginning to shake. Her arms barely manage to support her as she crawls over to him.

Drakon is still thrashing on the ground. It’s clear that he’s in pain. He doesn’t seem to notice Miryam as she approaches, either too caught up in his pain or unconscious.

Tears are stinging in her eyes. Trembling fingers hover over Drakon’s chest, dancing over to his arm. Something looks off about his aura, she can sense it, but she can’t quite put her finger on it. She doesn’t dare to touch him for fear of accidentally making things worse, can’t even get to close because he is still thrashing uncontrollably.

“Drakon,” she whispers, knowing he likely cannot hear her. “Drakon, please.” He doesn’t answer, doesn’t react at all.

She twists around to Ghost. “What happened?” She asks. Her voice is louder than she expected and echoes in the small chamber.

There are far too many strings in that tiny chamber. Around Ghost, around her and Drakon. All of them shivering away from the sword that is lying discarded on the ground. Miryam can sense where it is even without looking, can feel it beckoning. It wasn’t like this before.

Ghost disappears and reappears again, closer to her. “I’m so sorry,” he says. “Using the sword… It’s not made to be used by mortals. Still, once would have been fine, but Drakon… I don’t know if you know, but the rulers of Erithia swear all swear a vow to the mother to never use the sword. A binding vow.”

Miryam doesn’t allow herself to contemplate what that might mean. She can feel herself on the brink of breaking down, but she cannot allow herself to, not now.

“Well, I’ll undo it, then,” she says. She tries to sound firm, but she is shaking, her voice jumps between octaves as she speaks. “What can I do to undo it?”

Ghost slowly shakes his head. “There’s nothing to be done,” he says. “The only people capable of breaking a vow like that are the involved parties.”

“And what will happen if it isn’t broken?” Miryam asks.

Ghost seems distinctly uncomfortable. “That varies from vow to vow,” he says. “In this case, though, I’m afraid the effect is meant to be a punishment for using the sword.” He hesitates. “It will kill him in the way using the sword would have over time. Just more slowly.”

Miryam starts shaking her head. “No,” she whispers. “No, no, that’s not possible.”

She turns back to Drakon, reaching for his hand. He shouldn’t have… What was he thinking throwing his life away over her? And like this…

It’s all wrong. It’s all so terribly, terribly wrong. Why did he do this? He knew that she has a death sentence hanging over her head no matter what. And she can’t… She can’t lose another person she loves, she can’t…

“He can’t die,” she whispers. “Not like this, not for me. Why did he do this?”

She wasn’t talking to anyone in particular, just screaming her desperation out at the universe in general, but Ghost still answers. “He didn’t know,” he says very quietly.

Miryam pauses. Slowly, she turns around to him, pieces clicking into place to form the entire picture of what must have happened while she was dead. “But you did,” she says, very softly.

“I’m sorry,” Ghost says. “I just wanted – “

Miryam doesn’t even hear him. All she can think is that he knew, and he didn’t tell Drakon. Probably lied to him about it. And he… he must also have helped Drakon, explained to him what to do. Alone, he would never have known how to do a resurrection. He knew. He knew and still helped Drakon do it, deliberately damned him to a horrible death.

“You…” Miryam stares at Ghost, slowly shaking her head. She trusted him. Trusted him and he…

She picks up a loose stone lying on the ground before her. With all the force she can muster, she hurls it at Ghost. It flies right through him, sending ripples through his form, revealing something like a knot of strings below for a moment.

“You bastard!” Miryam shouts.

She reaches for another stone, not caring that she knows it can’t hurt him, but her legs give out from under her and she falls to the ground. The impact revibrates through her entire body, driving fresh tears into her eyes. Sobbing, she turns back around to Drakon, who is still thrashing lying on the ground. He makes a noise somewhere between whimper and scream, and Miryam reaches for his uninjured arm and takes his hand as if that will somehow make it better.

This is some terrible nightmare. She might have survived, but the price is that she has to sit here and watch Drakon die slowly and painfully. And the worst part is, she can’t do anything at all. She can’t save him. She can’t even comfort him or make things easier.

“What is going on?” A new voice asks from behind Miryam.

She looks up, not letting go of Drakon’s hands. There is a woman standing – or rather hovering – by the cave’s entrance. She has freckles and startlingly blue eyes, ginger hair done up dramatically with pearls and gemstones woven into it. Her dress is nothing short of dramatic either, glowing lightly in the dark.

“Étaín,” Ghost says, voice unreadable. “I was wondering if you would turn up. After all it has been, what, six millennia, since you locked me up in this cave.”

“More like eight,” the woman – Étaìn, Miryam heard that name somewhere before, but where? – replies. “But I see you’ve finally found a way to get out.” Her eyes flicker over to Miryam’s direction, ignoring her entirely and giving Drakon the briefest glance before returning to Ghost. “Disappointing, I must say,” she says. “But I suppose that’s what I get for trusting mortals to safekeep my possessions.”

Miryam stares at her. Étaín. Of course. Étaín as in The Mother. The Faes’ goddess.

Well, she supposes that’s just about the only thing that stood a chance of making her day even worse.

“No thanks to you,” he replies. His voice is sharp, but there is some other emotion there. Hurt, maybe. “What did you do the last millennia, I wonder? Sulk? How very mature of you.”

Around the two of them, the strings are beginning to move around, seemingly driven into a frenzy by the argument. Their movement is making Miryam dizzy, her head is quickly beginning to hurt.

“And what reason would I have had to return for you?” Étaín snaps back. “You killed me and – “

“Oh, as if you didn’t kill me first!” Ghost interjects.

“ – betrayed me,” Étaín finishes. “You chose these stupid mortals over us, and – “

“Shut up!” Miryam shouts, jumping to her feet. She is shaking. Étaín and Ghost both turn around to face her. “Do you think I care about your stupid argument?”

Étaín wrinkles her nose. “You might have the good sense to stay quiet.” She turns back to Ghost. “What is the mortal doing here, Daín?”

Gaping, Miryam stares back and forth between the two of them. Daín. Ghost is… That doesn't make any sense. Ghost can’t be Daín, he is in this cave because he killed Daín. But now, Étaín – the Mother, Miryam is actually going to lose it – apparently was the one to kill him, and he killed her, and…

It’s just too fucking much.

Étaín and Ghost-or-Daín-or-whoever are already jumping back into their argument again, seemingly having forgotten about Miryam altogether. The strings are still moving and everything hurts and Drakon is thrashing around on the ground, and Miryam just cannot take it.

“- really do not get to complain,” Étaín is saying. “You were the one who betrayed me. You threw everything away and – “

“I said shut up!” Miryam shouts.

Étaín turns around to her. Her entire form seems to grow, glow dimming. “Watch yourself, mortal,” she says, voice turning deeper and echoing. It’s almost like there are two people speaking simultaneously. “Do not forget your place. I am god. You think you get to speak to me?”

“Oh yes, I do,” Miryam snaps. She is so far beyond caring about threats. “You are god? Fine, then let us talk about your stupid world and what it does to my people! Millennia of slavery and suffering and death, and you did nothing. What claim do you have to my worship or my respect? This is our world.”

Étaín’s form darkens further. She turns to Daín. “You told her?” She asks, something like betrayal in her voice.

Miryam, who had meant to say that this world belongs to the humans just as much as anyone else, is mildly confused. As soon as Drakon is no longer dying and she doesn’t have a potential goddess standing in front of her, she will have to think about how Étaín understood her comment and what that might mean.

Daín scowls. “You kill me. You leave me in this cave to metaphorically rot. And despite that, you still expect me to keep your secrets?”

“Oh, as if you – “

“That is enough!” Miryam shouts.

Her voice seems to echo through the strings, making them shiver and shy away. For a moment, the forms of Daín and Étaín flickers and reveal a bundle of strings beneath, curled into a tight ball and far too complicated for Miryam to read. The strings are all cut up in places, though, loose ends hanging out, black and charred at places. Daín looks a bit worse off than Étaín, but not by much.

Huh. That’s another thing she will have to think about. Sometime. Right now, though, she will deal with the fact that the being in front of her is not just potentially a goddess but also happens to be her only shot at saving Drakon.

Miryam turns to Étaín whose form is steady again now. “A binding vow always needs at least two people involved, one swearing and one receiving,” she says, forcing her voice to sound even, “I assume that you are the receiving party in the vow Drakon took.” Étaín doesn’t react. She just stares at Miryam without blinking. Before she can lecture Miryam for daring to speak to her again, she continues, “So release him from his vow. Please.”

Étaín studies her in silence for a moment. Then, she asks, “He’s your husband, isn’t he?” Miryam nods stiffly. Étaín shrugs and gives Daín a sharp look. “Then you ought to be grateful. Husbands are overrated and too often turn out to be nothing but nuisances.”

“One might say the same about goddesses who only turn up after everything is over and refuse to be helpful,” Miryam snaps. Insulting the person who has Drakon’s life in her hands is probably not the smartest strategy, but she isn’t feeling particularly smart right now. “You are going to release him from the vow. Now.”

Étaín cocks her head to the side. “You’ve certainly got nerve, little mortal, and I do not mean that as a compliment. My patience only goes so far.”

Miryam shakes her head. She is far beyond caring about threats. Especially when Étaín still hasn’t followed the threats up with anything, which, together with the frayed, torn strings, leads Miryam to believe she might not be able to.

“If you don’t release him, he is going to die,” she says.

Étaín begins to smile. It is a horrible smile, far too big and wide, making it abundantly clear that she is neither Fae nor human and only mimicking the expression. “Extraordinarily slowly and painfully, I know,” she says. “It’s what I set the spell to do as punishment for any ruler of Erithia who might be stupid or arrogant enough to use it – the pain of being killed by the Sword, drawn out over days and years and centuries. A slow, painfully death. Just what he deserves for daring to use the sword.”

She might have said something else, but Miryam no longer listens. She can’t hear anything over the roaring in her ears. Fear and pain and confusion all merge and turn, within moments, into blinding fury. There are a thousand things Miryam could be furious about – Shey and the other Fae and Ghost-who-is-Daín and maybe even Drakon and the sheer unfairness of it all – but right now and here, all her fury concentrates itself on what is in front of her. And that is Étaín. This person – Miryam refuses to call her a goddess, will never give her that honour – who could have likely ended slavery with one word but didn’t, who allowed for all that suffering to happen, who only turned up at the last moment and now dares to stand here and tell her that Drakon deserves to die, as if he is somehow beholden to her wishes when she never one did anything to help any of them.

Miryam stretches out a hand. There is no command she gives, no thought or intention behind it – she is just acting, maybe on instinct or maybe just pure desperation.

The sword jumps off the floor and into her waiting palm. Without pausing to consider, to think about what she is doing, Miryam brings the blade around, gripping the hilt with both hands. It is cold under her fingers, so cold it stings, and lighter than a sword this size should be.

Around her, the world comes into sharp focus. The strings are clearer than they have ever been before, and she can see the strings that seem to make up Étaín and Daín shimmering below their forms. Strings move away from the sword, as if they are scared of it. One isn’t fast enough, though. It comes into contact, and the blade cuts right through it, leaving the string to fall to the ground, charred and broken. The mountain rumbles. Miryam brings the sword around the entire way until the tip is pointing at Étaín.

A sword that can cut through strings and a being that seems to be made entirely from them. How extremely convenient.

“See, Étaín,” Daín says, “this is why you don’t tell the woman standing next to the one weapon capable of killing you that you hope her husband will die painfully.”

Miryam ignores him, keeping her attention entirely focused on Étaín. “Release him,” she says very softly, “Or you will learn what it feels like to be slowly killed by the sword.”

Étaín looks down at Miryam’s hands on the sword and snorts. “You would be a whole lot more intimidating if you weren’t holding that sword the wrong way. This isn’t a stick, girl.”

Wrong grip or not, it does not take any particular skill with a sword to hit a target that is only inches away from you. Miryam slashes forward, cutting through one of Étaín’s outer strings before she has time to move away. Lighting sparks at her fingertips, the sword sings in her hands.

Étaín shrieks, her mortal form shattering, leaving only the strings below. The noise is inhuman, loud and shrill and wrong. It hurts Miryam’s ears, seems to go through her entire body. Daín might have made a noise as well, might have moved forward, but Miryam doesn’t dare take her eyes away from the being in front of her. Not human, not Fae, but something else altogether. It doesn’t matter. Not when she is clearly injured already and Daín just confirmed that the sword Miryam holds is capable of killing her.

“They call this blade Godmaker,” Miryam says, staring at the bundle of strings that is Étaín. “Godkiller would be more fitting a name, I think.” She steps forward. The strings shy away from her, and if Étaín had a face, Miryam is sure she would look at least a little bit terrified. “If he dies,” Miryam continues, “I am going to kill you. I don’t care how far you run, or how long it takes. I will hunt you to the end of earth if necessary, and I will give you the exact death you have given him.”

Slowly, Étaín’s form rematerializes around the bundle of strings. She is staring at Miryam, unmoving, unblinking.

“Don’t be stupid, Étaín,” Daín says. “You aren’t truly going to let her kill you just to be difficult. Please, just give her what she wants.”

Étaín is silent for another moment. When she finally says something, it is in a language Miryam doesn’t know. It is similar to the language of the strings she herself learned, similar in the sounds and the way it makes the air shiver and feel heavy, but just different enough that Miryam cannot understand what Étaín is doing. She tightens her grip on the sword, watching the strings move around her and wondering, idly, if she will die now.

But nothing happens. And then, Étaín stops speaking and turns to Miryam. For a moment, she merely stares at her, eyes seeming to burn from within. Fury – and maybe, just maybe, a hint of fear.

“You’re done?” Miryam asks. She doesn’t dare to look over at Drakon, instead forces herself to keep her eyes trained on Étaín who inclines her head. “Good.” She lowers her sword slightly. “Then leave. If you ever come near me or anyone I care about again, you will regret it.”

Étaín doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t nod. She simply disappears into thin air.

Only now does Miryam dare to turn around to Drakon. He is still lying on the ground, not thrashing anymore but entirely motionless… Throughout it all, Miryam didn’t consider the option that Étaín might kill Drakon instead of helping him. She considers it now, though.

Sword falling forgotten to the ground, she drops to her knees next to him. “Drakon. Hey, Drakon. Can you hear me?”

Her fingers are shaking so badly that it takes her three tries to take his pulse. When she finally does find it, she nearly sobs with relief.

----

They are sitting together outside of the cave, fingers interlaced. At the horizon, the sky is already beginning to turn a creamy pink. Soon enough, the sun will rise.

It has been hours since they stumbled out of the cave, both of them leaning against each other for support. They’ve barely said a word since.

In theory, there would have been a lot to say. There is the entire matter of Shey and the other Fae in the Alliance to address, the mess that is waiting for them on the Continent. Miryam could have told Drakon about her death on the ocean floor, or about her meeting with his goddess, about Daín. Drakon could have explained what happened between her death and her resurrection. Or they might have talked about pain, compared the feeling of being ripped out of your body and shoved back in with being destroyed bit by bit by a magical sword. Miryam might have said that her entire body still feels sore and painful, or Drakon might have told that his right arm hasn’t stopped hurting.

They do none of it. Right there, in that moment, the Continent and all the trouble waiting there is far away, and words seem to have lost all meaning either way.

The sun is just beginning to climb over the horizon when Drakon finally breaks the silence. “What do we do now?” He asks.

Miryam doesn’t tear her eyes away from the rising sun. “I don’t know,” she says. “First, we should probably go back to the others and then take it one step at the time.”

Drakon nods. Then, he suddenly curses and jumps to his feet.

“What’s wrong?” Miryam asks, getting up as well although a bit more slowly.

“I didn’t tell anyone I was leaving before coming here,” Drakon says, hectically running a hand through his hair. “It’s been hours, they are going to be worried sick by now. Sinna is going to kill me.”

Miryam blinks at him for a moment. Then, she bursts out laughing.

“This isn’t funny,” Drakon mutters, and it probably really isn’t, but he is laughing as well. After everything that just happened, being able to worry about something as mundane as this is surprisingly relieving. It breaks the tension and then, they are hugging, clinging on tightly to each other, laughing and crying at the same time as the realization that this is over, they have survived, slowly begins to set in.

----

A/N: We've got a discord group for discussing this story now, so if anyone wants to join up, the link is here :D

Tags: @croissantcitysucks @aileywrites @femtopulsed

#getting REALLY close to the end #2 more chapters after this probably #the next chapter will be back to the other characters (namely Andromache and Mor) and their side of things again #also one new pov for one scene #before the wall #miryam #jurian #drakon

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outerspacesteve · 3 years

Text

headcanon #9: bucky retires

So I keep seeing the rumour that Bucky will die in a second season of TFATWS, and realistically, it’s plausible because of how long Seb has been in the MCU. Except, I’m refusing to believe it because I can’t handle that, so pair it with my refusal to believe that Steve is dead even after being included in Midtown High’s memorial video, and voila:

Sam and Bucky spend two seasons of The Falcon and The Winter Soldier, doing whatever they do, saving the world, whatever. Obviously I don’t know what will happen will happen in tfatws, but for the sake of the headcanon, I’m just going to say that they remain canon compliant for the most part.

But picture this, Sam and Bucky spend the two seasons together, being The Falcon and The Winter Soldier, saving the world, you know the drill. Partway through the second season something big happens, and Bucky begins to realise he can’t do this anymore. It’s taking more of a toll on his mental health than he cares to admit. He never wanted any of this - he never wanted to join the army, to leave little Stevie in Brooklyn, to fight in the war, to be captured and experimented on by HYDRA. He never wanted to be the Winter Soldier, but that was never his decision to make.

And after coming out of cryophase at the end of Black Panther, things began to look up: he had Steve visiting as often as he could, he lived in peace, and his goats needed him. Then comes Infinity War. He’s tired of war, but the entire world is at stake and Bucky believes he needs to recompense for all the chaos he ensued as the Winter Soldier.

At the end of Endgame, Steve still goes back in time. He doesn’t hate his friend - he, above anyone, deserves to be happy, to be able to rest. Sure, he’s upset, he’s worried that it’ll change things between them, but he’s happy for him.

Cap still gives Sam the shield. It’s the right choice, Bucky thinks, he didn’t want it anyway. But this gives him a sense of duty again: he’ll team up with Sam, he was one of Steve’s closest friends after all - it’s the least he could do. And he still believes he has something to make up for.

Cue The Falcon and The Winter Soldier.

And, as I said, something happens partway through the second season that really impacts Bucky mentally. He doesn’t do anything about it though, because they’re in the middle of a big mission; he can’t just suddenly back out. Sam notices something is up with Bucky, too, but they’re on a mission, they’re stressed, they’re busy, so he doesn’t bring it up, intending to ask him about it when things hopefully calm down.

After they’ve saved the world and their lives are fairly quiet, Bucky begins to unpack it all - his PTSD, his need to make up for past actions he had no control over, his mental health issues, etc. Sam recommends him a therapist and so Bucky goes to therapy.

It’s gruelling. It’s painful some days, but it’s necessary. And he’s healing - it’s slow, but he’s getting better nonetheless.

Until Nick Fury, or whoever is in charge at this point, calls Sam and Bucky with a mission, informing them that the Quinjet will be collecting them in 3 days.

Bucky’s in a state of uncertainty: he’s finally beginning to heal from everything he has gone through and he’s enjoyed these few peaceful months, and going back out on a mission could potentially undo everything he’s been working so hard on recently. But, at the same time, the mission. He can’t just quit, right?

He talks to Sam about it, who reassures him that he’ll survive without him, and urges him to be selfish for once, to make his own choice with himself in mind, to do what he wants.

So Bucky retires.

He calls Nick Fury, tells him that he can’t go on the mission and that he’s retiring.

Yeah, it turns out “Steve is getting weaker, some of his old ailments from before the serum are beginning to show signs of return - you know, because of the whole old-age thing - and I should probably take care of him. And technically, I’m also beyond retirement age.” Steve’s perfectly fine and health, but Fury doesn’t need to know the truth, because Bucky isn’t comfortable enough yet to be opening up to anyone other than Steve, Sam and his therapist.

But, just because Steve is old, doesn’t mean he’s weak and frail. So, instead of Steve lying in bed while Bucky takes care of him, as per what Nick thinks is happening, they literally go wild.

It’s Steve and Bucky watching all of the sit-coms they missed while being in the ice. It’s Steve and Bucky going all of town to claim as many senior discounts as possible. It’s Steve and Bucky gorging themselves on trying quintessential 21st century foods, like those classically American sweets that pretty much taste like chemicals. It’s Steve and Bucky pranking Sam as often as possible (“Sam, it’s Steve! He fell down the stairs and is in a wheelchair now.”), they even sent him a fake invitation to Steve’s funeral once. What can they say? Sam gives good sympathy gifts.

It’s good. Sure, things are different now, but still, overall, it’s good. Some days it feels like living with Steve again in their Brooklyn apartment in the early 40s, again. Some days it’s better. Some days it’s bad. But that’s alright - at least he’s getting better.

Steve takes Bucky to see the Grand Canyon.

Bucky manages to recover their dog tags from the museum. (They both wore one of each other’s during the war, so Bucky’s set of his and Steve’s dog tags were lost forever, but that was something he chose not to dwell on. At least they had the dog tags the Steve wore.)

Maybe Steve and Bucky find out that there was once a time where they both liked each other, romantically. Maybe it’s something they laugh about, or maybe it’s something they reminisce sadly about - a missed opportunity that now they may never know.

Bucky no longer has a strict purpose in life. He doesn’t feel like he needs to make up for everything he did before, he doesn’t have missions he needs to be on, and he no longer feels trapped by the clutches of war, or as though he has no control. He’s just existing. He’s alive. He finally has the chance to live his life, to actually live it, so that’s what he’s doing.

Most of the time, he’s happy. And that’s what matters.

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hargrove-mayfields · 3 years

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Just A Dream Away

Chapter 12/13 read here on ao3!

for @harringrovebigbang

~~~~

They don’t have time to wait for Steve.

Over the radio he’s told very bluntly that Billy is not going to make it if they wait for Steve to find them first, and they have to get him to the hospital immediately.

He understands, but they say they can’t even put him on the radio, and he hears coughing in the background before the radio is turned off, so he has to find his way out of the woods alone, then wait on his front porch, bat clutched tightly in his hands just in case, for Joyce with a car full of kids to pick him up and drive him to the hospital.

The half hour it takes is the longest of his life, so that by the time he’s in the hospital, he’s running on waxed floors, tennis shoes skidding as he pushes forward into the endless labyrinth of white tiles and fluorescent lights.

Billy. The boy he'd held as he died in this very hospital. Now alive and breathing in room 340, just a floor above from where he’d thought he’d lost him forever. His legs can’t carry him there fast enough.

He’s only vaguely aware of the kids running behind him, or of the nurses who shout at them that visiting hours are over, unaware that they have a free pass, a special government sanctioned patient to visit. He thinks he hears Max, just as breathless as he is, shout something vulgar back at one of them.

They pass by room after room, Steve muttering the numbers under his breath as they skip the until they reach the start of the wing Billy’s being kept in, and he sprints so fast the numbers are too blurry to count.

He catches himself with both hands on the door frame of 340, leaving small scuff marks on the floor as he skids to a stop. There isn’t even time to take a breath and prepare himself before he’s rushing into the room.

The small group that he hadn’t left out in the hall is already in the tiny hospital room, Kali and El and Robin standing around the bed, talking to Billy. That’s a good enough sign, but they’re still in Steve’s way, the one last barrier keeping him from reuniting with his love. He has to see him.

“Move.” He hears himself breathe out, and they do, stepping aside each with matching looks of respect and sympathy for all that had got them to this point.

Billy looks up at him, the closed off, traumatized expression behind his eyes melting into one of relief and love that was mirrored perfectly in Steve’s own features. He’s sitting on the side of the bed, feet flat on the floor so he’s facing the door. An oxygen mask not much unlike the one that had kept him, or not really him, alive for so many months strapped to his face and a bandage wrapped tightly around his arm. Tired, deep blue eyes glassy with tears stare straight back at him.

Steve is completely frozen in place, can’t process the fact that he’s standing across from the boy he’d buried a year ago now. The one he never stopped mourning. Never stopped loving.

Billy’s the first of the two to say something, his voice cracking with the effort, with emotion , as a tear slips down his grimy cheek, “C’mere, Stevie.”

Steve practically trips over his own two feet, throwing himself into Billy’s open arms, “Baby, oh my god.”

“I know, Stevie.” Billy comforts, rubbing soothing circles into his back, but it only makes Steve cry harder, nuzzling Billy’s mess of hair and sobbing, “I lost you.”

“No, baby, I was here. I was here the whole time.”

Steve nods, sniffling as he tries to calm his tears, “I’m sorry.” He’s apologizing for everything, from crying to not saving him sooner to not being there in the first place.

“Sorry? Stevie, you saved me.” He thumbs over the bloody scratch on Steve’s cheek, “You could’ve been killed doing that for me with just a baseball bat.”

Insistently, Steve shakes his head, “Don’t make this about me. Look at you , you’re covered in blood.”

“Most of it’s not mine. There’s so many of those fuckers over there. They used to mind their own but something was different. Had to kill tons of ‘em.”

“But you’re okay?”

“Mhm. Doc says I’ll be on oxygen for as long as I breathed that shit in, maybe longer, and this damn bite’s getting infected, but s’nothin they can’t fix.”

“Good. I was so scared.” Steve sighs, relieved, and Billy chuckles, somehow despite everything still like himself as he teases, “You were scared? How do you think I felt?”

“Oh shut up. I’m serious. I thought you were gone, and then they said you might not make it.”

“We’ll I’m here now, baby, and I’m doing just fine.” Billy assures, so much confidence in his voice, albeit tired and worn, that Steve believes him.

Steve smiles, Billy’s attitude being back such a relief to his worry, “I love you, Bill.”

“Love you too.”

“Is that my bandana?” Steve gently tugs on the bandana tied at the back of Billy’s neck, the tiniest blush appearing on his face, but before he can answer, Max pipes up from the doorway, “And is that my watch?”

Billy’s face lights up all over again, “Maxi! C’mere, shitbird.”

Max runs up to her brother, stopping just short of the bed, her freckled cheeks already tracked with tears, “Am I allowed to hug you?”

“I fought monsters and you’re worried a hug’s gonna hurt me?” Billy smiles and holds his arms out for her, “Give your big brother a hug.”

Still just on the side of apprehensive, Max hugs him, and Billy starts to interrogate her, asking quietly, “Are you okay, Maxi? How’s home been? Has Neil hurt you?”

Max shakes her head, “Your dad’s been all depressed since you.. well since you died. He hasn’t hit my mom since before your funeral.”

“You telling me the truth?” He looks to Steve for confirmation, who nods as well, had heard the same from Max.

“Well don't congratulate him for that. I have half a mind to take that shotgun down there and give it to him for everything he did before.” Billy continues, voice grumbly, but Max pulls away from his hug to tell him, “Please don’t. You don’t ever even have to come home again. I never want to see you act how you used to have to around your dad again.”

“I’m not leaving you, Max.”

“You won’t be. Like I said, he doesn’t bother us anymore.” Max drops her voice to a whisper, her face somber and serious, “Just move in with Steve, please. That would make me feel better.”

It won’t be that easy, the two of them both know that if the glance they share says anything, but Billy agrees regardless, can’t bear to crush his sisters optimism after everything she already had gone through because of him.

“Alright, Maxi. I trust you.” Billy undoes the small yellow watch on his wrist, handing it back to her, “You can have this back. Sorry if it’s broken.”

Max takes the watch gently, holding it tightly in her hand and throwing herself into him for another hug, sobbing hard into Billy’s chest as her well-kept composure comes undone. He holds her and runs his fingers through her hair, mumbling on repeat, “I gotcha, Maxi. M’sorry.”

It takes until Joyce comes back in the room with news for her crying to calm down, pulling away from him and retreating to stand by El while she listens, a couple of the other kids thumbing away discreet tears from the emotional display as well.

Joyce had at first ushered all the kids in the room and told them to be supportive of Max, before leaving to talk with Billy’s doctors in the absence of his parents. Now she was back with something to say, and Billy looks to her expectantly, “So? How long’re they keepin’ me in this hell hole?”

“A month at least. They’re going to want to do a lot of tests. Monitor how you’re adjusting.” She smiles sympathetically, “I wish I had better news, but it’s for the best they keep you a while.”

Steve looks to Billy, holding his hand for assurance, worried he’ll take it badly, but he only nods determinedly, “Whatever it takes.”

#harringrove big bang 2021 #harringrove #billy hargrove #steve harrington #billy x steve #billy & max #max mayfield #ej writer #story by ej!#almost done! we’re in the home stretch y’all!

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angstyaches · 3 years

Text

I’ve Been Away Pt. 2

Part One

CW: anxiety, nausea, indigestion, hospital/nursing home setting, past death mention, degenerative illness, memory loss (dementia), loss of sight, family drama/issues very vaguely implied.

AN: I’ve been sitting on this for so long that everything is now obvious to me, and I’m sorry if it’s a lot more vague/confusing than I think it is. Hopefully Part Three will clear things up if so.

___

“Are you gonna go in?” Shayne asked quietly.

Felix swallowed thickly as the silence broke. He hadn’t even realised Shayne had woken up; he’d been sleeping since about thirty minutes after they’d left, and now it was four hours later.

“I am,” Felix said, trying to sound firm despite the queasy tremble in his voice. He stared out the windscreen at the pale orange building that ran in a semi-circle around the car park. The paint job looked fresh and clean, and the whole scene – even the car park – radiated a silence that reminded Felix of a graveyard. Even the pale blossoms that sprung from the bushes lining the pavement made him think of funeral flowers. He’d seen pictures of the place online, but actually being here felt… strange.

It was like he was stepping into a life that wasn’t his anymore.

He cringed at the sudden wrenching sensation in his gut. His stomach gave a low grumble as it shifted. He swallowed yet again, gently bringing the back of his hand to his mouth and stifling a weak burp that had crept up. He’d picked up indigestion tablets when he’d stopped to get petrol, but the chalky chunks hadn’t worked too effectively against the rising tide of stress in his belly.

“Did we drive here in silence just to sit here in more silence?”

Felix frowned at that. “We only drove in silence because you fell asleep.”

“Yeah, for about an hour.”

“You were awake for two hours and you didn’t say anything? You didn’t even ask where we were going.”

Shayne gave a lazy shrug. “Didn’t seem like you wanted to talk about it.”

Another uneasy belch rumbled in Felix’s belly. His shoulders moved forward slightly as it slipped up his throat. “Ugh. I really don’t feel well.”

Shayne gestured towards the main building. “I’m sure they’ve got a shit tonne of doctors inside. Wait, are we here to ask about checking Elliott in? He told me the other day that he’s almost seventy in human years, so it’s good that you’re thinking about where to stick him next.”

Felix sighed deeply, wishing he had the energy to deal with the joke, but the thought of Elliott only made his stomach and chest burn even more. He wanted this to be over. He wanted to go home and see his partner.

“Okay,” he said, tightening his grip on the steering wheel and inhaling deeply. “Wish me luck, buddy. I’m going in.”

“Okay, bye, then.”

By the time the long breath was released from Felix’s lungs, his hands hadn’t left the steering wheel of the parked car.

“You’re still sitting there,” Shayne mumbled in a sing-song voice.

“Yes, I’m aware,” Felix replied, sticking a thumb nail between his teeth and biting down on it. He wondered with a shiver of fresh anxiety if he was actually thirsty; should he have packed one of his lollipops to tide him over? Was it even safe for him to go, unescorted, into a building where there were likely needles and blood bags and other such contraptions? Had he really done such a bad job of thinking this through?

Had coming here been a complete mistake?

“Felix…”

“Yes, I know, I’m going,” Felix insisted quietly, an uncertain hand rubbing at his belly.

“Jesus, are you okay, or what’s going on?”

“I’m fine, I’ve just got… a tad of stupid indigestion.” A slight flush of heat rose to Felix’s cheeks as he felt his stomach gurgle under his hand. “Happens when I’m nervous.”

Shayne clicked his tongue and reached across to undo his seatbelt. “God, if you’re this fucking worked up, what if I go inside with you?”

Felix raised his eyebrows. “Would you really?” he gushed softly.

“Please don’t make this weird and emotional.”

“I always knew you loved me, cuz.”

“Aw. It’s like you think I won’t punch you in the throat.”

___

At least Felix couldn’t have said that the place smelled like death; there was quite a pleasant, disinfectant smell from the moment they stepped through the doors. Well, maybe not pleasant, but it was at least reassuring. The floors were old – beige linoleum from the 90s, it seemed – but they glistened, all the way from the reception desk to the open-plan recreational space at the far side of the lobby. Felix could see at least six figures seated in armchairs, one of them being attended by a nurse while another was shaking a walking stick in the direction of a flat-screen TV.

He swallowed, blinking in surprise when he turned his head and someone had spotted them. Another nurse, a bit older than the one across the room.

“Hi!” the young nurse chirped, glancing at Shayne first, and then at Felix. “Are you here visiting someone?”

Felix’s grip on his documents and newspaper clippings tightened. He wished he’d put them in a folder instead of carrying it all around so conspicuously. His jaw was heavy and his throat was clenched. Yes, he thought, willing his lips to move. How had he forgotten how to form the word yes?!

“Yeah, we are,” Shayne piped up, his voice slightly higher to mimic the tone of the nurse’s.

“Great, what’s the name?”

This time, Felix knew he couldn’t cop out of giving an answer. Shayne could have been the most helpful person in the world, but he wasn’t a mind reader. Felix cleared his throat, swallowing a burning belch before it could burst out of his mouth. “Patri- Patricia Bramley.”

The nurse pursed their lips as they referred to a clipboard on the desk in front of them.

Felix swallowed, fidgeting with the zipper on his jacket. “Trish,” he mumbled.

“Ah, Trish,” the nurse repeated with an air of recognition.

There was a beat of silence that Felix’s mind filled in with disturbing readiness; he braced himself for a look of discomfort or despair to cross the nurse’s face, and for them to gently explain that Trish had been dead for years; that she had wept every night out of loneliness until the loneliness ate so deeply into her heart that it gave out, and that whoever was responsible should –

“She’s actually in her room right now,” the nurse said, an easy smile crossing their face. “She might be sleeping, but if she’s awake, she’ll be very happy to see some visitors. Is one of you Avery, by any chance?”

The nurse’s gaze was more focused on Shayne as the question was asked, and Shayne quickly responded, “Uh, no.”

A panicked laugh burst past Felix’s lips, causing the nurse to throw him a confused look.

“Nephews, we’re – we’re Trish’s nephews,” he said, hoping his voice wasn’t as shaky as he sounded. “I’m Felix, and this is Shayne.”

“Alright, well, come this way,” the nurse instructed, guiding them towards a hallway to the west of the communal area.

Felix glanced towards the gathering of recliner armchairs and end tables, momentarily drinking in the sound of daytime TV and murmured conversation, before his chest tightened all over again. There was a shakiness in his bones and an empty longing in the pit of his stomach, and he realised he was missing Elliott. All of this could have been so much easier if he’d had Elliott’s hand to hold onto, Elliott’s calming voice to reassure him, Elliott’s easy smile to turn to.

“I can’t remember the last time Trish had a visitor, so this is exciting! She’s going to be delighted. Do you live far away, or..?”

“Mmm, something like that,” Shayne was telling the nurse, meeting Felix’s gaze as he looked forward again. His eyebrows were pulled together, question marks basically jumping out the top of his head. Felix gave a nervous smile that he was sure looked more like a queasy grimace, because he sure was feeling queasy, and the smell of disinfectant was suddenly not helping.

The nurse slowed by a private bedroom, peering around the door. “Here we go – ah, looks like she’s awake after all! Afternoon, Trish!”

Felix’s stomach pretty much hit the floor as he stepped into the room after Shayne and the nurse. The disinfectant smell vanished, talcum powder and the smell of roses swamping the air instead. She had always loved roses and had filled the house with them and doused herself with rose perfumes. Felix could practically hear her singing something in a soft, low voice as he inhaled, though his memory hadn’t held onto any words of the song.

Sunlight trailed gently through a netted curtain, warming the magnolia walls. A knitted purple blanket was thrown across her lower body as she cradled something to her chest with both hands, something that Felix couldn’t quite see. All he could tell was that they had cut her hair. She had always said she wanted to keep her hair long, even into her old age. She’d always been braiding it and twirling it between her fingers. He almost let himself get angry about it, before he realised that no one had been there to tell them to do otherwise – not even him.

“Trish? Your nephews are here to see you,” the nurse exclaimed happily. “Why don’t we sit you up, so you can have a chat?”

“Who – who is that?” the woman whimpered, reaching out a hand, which the nurse promptly took.

“It’s Andy, Mrs. Bramley,” the nurse replied, speaking a little more firmly this time. “I’m here with two of your nephews, isn’t that nice?”

The numbness began to spread out from Felix’s chest as the nurse adjusted the hospital bed so that the silver-haired woman was almost upright without the danger of slumping forward. Soft eyes that had once held such warmth and recognition were unfocused and foggy, never landing anywhere for longer than a few seconds.

She can’t see.

Just how long had he been away?

Shayne backed up a couple of steps, briefly meeting Felix’s panicked gaze, and then swept a hand through the air to beckon him further into the room.

“I-I –” Felix’s stomach flipped as he shook his head, pushing another bubble of acidic air towards his throat. “Shayne, I can’t – I-I don’t think I can do this.”

“Nephews?” the woman mumbled.

“Yeah, your nephews…” Nurse Andy looked at Shayne, beckoning him to the other side of the bed. “Felix and – Shayne, was it?”

“Uh, yeah, that’s me,” Shayne said, awkwardly letting himself be guided into a stiff plastic chair.

Felix lingered by the opposite wall, smiling weakly at the nurse as they glanced over at him.

“Shayne and Felix are here,” Andy repeated for the sake of Patricia’s hearing. “They’re gonna talk to you for a little while, okay? And I’ll be back in about fifteen minutes with your lunch.”

“Ah…” Patricia nodded slowly, a nervous twitch of a smile crossing her face. “Oliver will want steak for his lunch. But don’t let him near the whisky cabinet until the sun goes down.”

Andy shot Shayne and Felix a smile that said good luck, and left.

There was dead silence for what felt like the longest time, in which the woman turned her head to look in the direction the window. Felix could barely see her face now.

Shayne sat forward in the armchair, elbows resting on his knees. Felix felt his gaze land on him briefly before he stared at the floor. “Are you okay?”

Felix opened his mouth to answer, but Patricia answered first. Shayne’s head shot up at the sound of her voice, his eyes wide.

“Oh, I’m quite fine, sweetheart,” she replied, tilting her head in Shayne’s direction. “You can tell your father I’m quite alright.”

Shayne made brief eye contact with Felix again, before a wandering hand caught his attention. He seemed to automatically reach up to let it rest against his own palm, and the woman tightened her grip around it.

“I’m…” Shayne shifted in the chair and cleared his throat. “Patricia, I’m not – I’m not your son.”

“Oh, my son…” Patricia gave a low chuckle. “Are you friends with Avery?”

Felix felt his hair stand on end, bristling with a cold that just wasn’t there. He expected another look from Shayne, but he didn’t get one.

“Avery?” Shayne’s voice was surprisingly soft. He continued letting her hold his hand, which Felix found surprising.

A pinch of anxiety made Felix’s skin bristle. He shook his head in denial, thinking maybe he could shake the name out of his head; he hadn’t heard it in so long, and it felt like it would have dragged a gasp out of him, if he could bring himself to breathe at all. He looked down and rearranged his feet on the spotless linoleum floor. The nerves were a permanent tingling knot in the pit of his belly, a sour taste in the back of his throat that he couldn’t get rid of. Tears burned his eyes and throat, the kind that he knew would overwhelm him for hours if he let them fall.

“That’s a… nice name,” Shayne was saying.

“No,” Patricia mumbled, shaking her head with curious ambition. “My baby was never Avery, not for a single… Oh, I have to – have to pick him up at two o’clock. Have to – have to wash Avery’s hands, Avery’s little hands… Oliver hates mess. Hates it in the house.”

“Shayne,” Felix whispered, taking a step backwards, towards the door.

Shayne looked up. “What?” he hissed.

“I think we – we should – we should go,” Felix whimpered. He was starting to feel very, very ill, now that he was able to put a face, a voice, a set of memories, to the sketch outline he’d kept in his head. These were names and things he hadn’t let himself even think about for thirteen years. He’d put all of this in a box – in a coffin, more or less – and had never intended on opening it.

He lifted the back of his hand and turned his head to let out a couple of deep, anxious belches, trying his best to keep his eyes from watering.

“Hey, Trish?” Shayne said, starting to get up from the chair. “I have to go to the bathroom, but my friend’s going to keep talking to you. Right?”

“Wh-what?” Felix stammered. His heart leapt as Shayne nodded to the chair, beckoning for Felix to come around the bed and take his seat. Bitter acid licked the back of his throat.

“Yeah, come on, sit down,” Shayne said loudly, using that same breezy voice he’d put on when he’d spoken to Nurse Andy. It seemed to prick up Patricia’s ears and hold her attention, because she turned her head slightly, as though searching for

Felix’s hands shook as he laid his documents down on the bedside locker and then shuffled around the end of the bed. He let his weight sit at the very edge of the seat, legs too twitchy with nervous energy to sit all the way back. He glanced up as he sensed Shayne moving away.

He gently grabbed onto the dark-haired boy’s arm.

“Shayne,” Felix whispered, feeling the break in his own voice as it trembled.

“Relax, I’m right fucking here,” Shayne whispered. He cleared his throat and broke out the peppy voice from before. “Hey, Trish, this is my friend. His name’s –”

“Felix,” Felix murmured, gently laying his hand over the back of hers. The contact was surreal, like he was holding a hand made of wax, and he might have dropped it again out of abject fear, if she hadn’t closed her fingers around his. “I’m… I’m Felix.”

“Hello, sweetheart.”

“H-hi, how – how are you doing?”

“Oh, I was just weeding the flower beds.”

Felix’s heart sank. He wasn’t sure what exactly he’d been expecting; it wasn’t as though touching her own flesh and blood would suddenly bring back the coherency that had been eaten away by the dementia over the years.

“Sorry,” he whispered, clearing his throat and staring at the back of her hand. The words felt and sounded insufficient for what he needed them for, and yet he couldn’t think of any better ones. “I’ve been away for a, um, a long time, and I’m – I’m really sorry.”

Nothing changed on her face, nothing to indicate that she was taking any of what he was saying in. He felt a flutter of relief in his chest.

He realised Shayne wasn’t listening, either; in fact, he’d gone around to the other side of the bed and picked up something from Felix’s pile of papers. Felix didn’t have the heart to say anything to stop him.

“Oliver Bramley,” Shayne mumbled, frowning at a cutting from a newspaper. “Her husband’s a tech guy, apparently he’s worth millions.”

Felix squeezed Patricia’s hand and watched as Shayne flipped to the next clipping.

“Oh,” Shayne said, almost immediately after seeing the next headline. “He was worth millions. He’s been dead a few years…” His voice drifted off as he read to the end of the article. He looked up at Felix. “It says Avery’s dead too.”

“Yeah,” Felix said softly, turning his gaze towards her again. Her expression was peaceful, and her hands were gentle as they both cupped Felix’s. Her fingers, he realised, were drifting softly across his skin, a little more pointedly than Felix felt comfortable with. It looked like she was feeling for a watch or a bracelet, until she pressed the pads of her fingers into his wrist, as though she was checking his pulse.

Felix’s stomach flipped as he realised what was happening.

She was checking whether or not he had a pulse.

Felix sat up straight and tried to pull his hand free, but couldn’t bring himself to do it. Patricia jumped slightly, and lifted her head as though to meet his gaze, even though she couldn’t. He blinked, and tears dropped onto his lap.

All of the things he’d thought, at some time or another, that he’d like to say to her, seemed to evaporate straight off his tongue. His throat was probably too dry to form any words, in any case.

“Felix,” Patricia whispered, that smile breezing across her face again. As he looked up at her and blinked away tears, he envisioned the years melting out of her skin, her face quickly becoming the one that he remembered.

“Yeah,” he said, nodding briskly and trying to ignore the tears that were gathering in his eyes. He had never believed he’d hear that name being spoken by that voice.

“That suits you much better, darling.”

#Swallow the World #Thicker than Blood #Stw Felix #Felix's story #nausea #indigestion #anxiety #angst fic #sickfic #my OCs #memory loss mention #dementia mention #family drama

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ectonurites · 3 years

Note

do u have any thoughts on the whole “tim is zapped to time prison” storyline? bc i feel like it could have been pretty interesting and a good way to bring back young justice/tim’s memories more immediately if it hadn’t been such a blatant attempt to just get tim out of storylines bc they had no ideas for his character

sorry lol u don’t have to respond i just kind of wish people talked about this storyline more? and the fact that tim lowkey became one of the only people in dc with knowledge of the other timelines (i think so at least) and nobody really addressed it?? like going into the next phase where people learn about other timelines after death metal.... tim should already know some of this stuff right?

YES YES YES OKAY LETS TALK ABOUT THIS this got incredibly long because I just have a lot to say (and i included screenshots) and i prob got a little off topic but. but lets get started anyways:

i haven’t read that particular storyline in a few months so i might be missing/misremembering some details here, but that whole ‘time prison + future tim’ thing was like. a really really interesting concept and the implications/impacts it has are a big part of why i liked tynion’s detective comics run as much as i did even with it’s flaws in characterization (such as treating tim like he was jimmy neutron boy genius and making steph..... be all ready to quit/breakaway from the team like that. the steph quitting characterization really started i think in batgirl convergence and unfortunately has haunted her since, even though pre reboot never giving up was like...... one of her defining traits. dc i hate you sometimes)

i think that one of the biggest things that bothers me about the situation is how little we saw most of the other characters in the batfamily grieve (aside from steph and some with bruce, but again the way steph was portrayed just... hhhhhh. it very much reduced her to ‘tims girlfriend’ more than i’d have preferred) but otherwise like...as far as I can remember there was maybe one line in that monsters crossover thing where dick mentioned tim was gone, jason had a single line about avoiding the funeral in rhato, i dont think they showed any reaction from babs at all until after he was back, and the most for damian I recall is at the end of the 2014 teen titans run (#24) where he looks at... a case with the old red robin uniform Tim wasn’t even wearing anymore when he died? and that just bugs me. Instead of getting to see the actual funeral we get one flashback to it way after the fact once Bruce already knows Tim’s not actually dead

But at the time when they all DID think he was dead? the closest thing we see was in that same teen titans issue (#24) there’s a memorial-type ‘sharing stories’ thing after the funeral with tim’s titans friends but.... we don’t see something like that with his family. tim is a major presence in these peoples’ lives, they are his family, when he gets sent into time prison its even SAID how loved he apparently is

its just... idk. they all thought he was dead, and if they had put more emphasis on showing not just telling how that effected EVERYONE (not just steph) in the batfam, it might have felt a lot less like they were just putting tim away until there was a story idea for him. (like obviously I know they can’t make everyone’s stories revolve around Tim, but I’d have way preferred a detective comics issue of the funeral/memorial with the family than having there only be a teen titans one, I think it would have... held more relevance & meaning... but instead they just went right into that monster crossover story instead of lingering on this)

but then the Tim story itself once it does pick up way later, with titans tomorrow/future tim coming along having that whole “tell conner you’re sorry” “who’s conner?” exchange with current tim... that opens up A LOT of things to think about, and I think was pretty interestingly done if i’m remembering correctly. future tim recognizes the timelines are different, and ya know goes off to try to change things further ("whaddaya got there?” “a gun to kill batwoman” “NO!!!!”), theres lots of fighting etc etc the good guys win as we expect, but once that’s all settled tim’s left there with this whole. thought process

which ya know is the big indicator there’s weird timeline/reality fuckery going on (or also the read here can be that tim and kon are so connected across all space and time that their bond can transcend anything even timelines and realities and reboots... “and they were soulmates” “oh my god they were soulmates”)

ANYWAYS lets not forget that tim isnt the only one who learns about this other timeline stuff during this whole situation!

Brother Eye has records of future tim’s timeline, and cass & steph see who they used to be! and as soon as steph finds out ‘holy shit i was ROBIN and BATGIRL?’ she also desperately wants to know more! which then a bit later leads into young justice 2019 where instead of going off to college like they told Bruce they were gonna, Steph and Tim go get the help of Zatanna to see what might be going on in their brains with these timelines and weird feelings (as we see in flashback form in yj 2019 #5)

and HOO BOY DOES SHE FIND THINGS! she gets in there and finds out that oh yeah, their brains had very much so been tampered with, and with her magic she undoes some of it, by unlocking memories, and Tim finally remembers Conner! (also in case u were wondering, that panel is specifically a callback to this one from yj 1998 #17 when Cissie quit the team)

one thing that I think is weird/interesting/idk if it gets... properly addressed even, was that Zatanna also poked around Steph’s brain too and she didn’t remember everything? Might have something to do even with how Tim had been in time prison, might have taken less work from Z to open things up because of that? Who knows

additionally i wanna call attention to how he said “That entire chapter of my life” which... leading into my next point a bit... strongly leads me to believe even though he’s remembering some things he definitely does not have ALL of his memories back (because theres a lot more than just the young justice ‘chapter’ of tim’s life that was drastically changed by the new 52 & rebirth)

BUT moving on, i wanna bring up this part from later on (after they figured out that there was a crisis that caused things in the world to change, which is why their memories/brains were messed with) in issue #16

so yeah, I think it’s indicated even though Zatanna brought back some memories and opened up his brain a bit, there’s still many holes, and some things seem more like dreams rather than memories and he’s probably unable to tell which are which on his own to some extent. (also for reference the real thing that Tim thought was just a dream is... likely yj 1998 issue #1)

So based on the things i’ve brought up here (which are the things I remember off the top of my head, I could easily be accidentally leaving shit out LMAO i haven’t fully read through any of these books in at least 3 or more months now) I think it’s safe to assume that Tim definitely has a head start on getting back his memories before Death Metal happens, but that it was by no means a complete thing. So the after effects of Death Metal are probably just gonna... be a little less drastic for him vs most other people because it was already happening, but it’ll be kinda filling in the remaining gaps?

And like you said he is absolutely one of the few people that already knew about about the timelines/the fact that these crises have happened and changed things, but pretty much all the other young justice characters are also aware that there was meddling in the timeline/that multiple timelines and alternate universes like this exist since they were all together as a group when it got explained (in like. yj 2019 #15 i believe is where most of the explaining happens) (and cass as well is aware of things to some extent because of her and steph’s interaction with Brother Eye) but the difference is that Zatanna didn’t go into everyone’s brains, so they aren’t dealing with the same memory things as Tim (and possibly Steph? because again Z DID go in her brain, she just wasn’t able to unlock all the same things as she did with Tim)

but yeah in general i SO wish this was explored more, both in canon and in fanworks (fanworks tho... that can still happen >:3c). Memories hazily coming in for Tim while Kon and Bart are able to confirm or deny things, him dealing with conflicting memories and feelings about his past as they trickle in... like I think we’ll start to see these types of things moving forward across a lot of titles with Infinite Frontier (i BELIEVE dont quote me on this but I BELIEVE the person writing Damian’s upcoming solo had mentioned in an interview that the memories coming back of the other timeline aren’t going to be an all at once thing but will be more gradual for most characters) but the fact that it theoretically had already been happening for Tim for MONTHS and we only got that one crumb indicating it in #16 of it instead of any actual exploration makes me SAAAAAAD

#Anonymous #tim drake #dc comics #meta #sam talks about tim too much #if anyone has diff thoughts interpretations im always down to discuss!#this sent me down a rabbit hole thats why i didnt answer last night it was Suddenly 1am djsjsjs #also sorry no issue numbers on the detective comics stuff but those r screenshots i already had #from my readthrough a while back or google images. so i didnt go check

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frunbuns · 3 years

Text

Almost Home

Modern AU

Read on Ao3

I was just a kid

Dreams were looking big and then I had to grow up

No one ever says

All the love you give might not be enough

Broke my heart in two a couple times

Before it hurt too much

Obi-Wan has been sitting in the car for hours. It’s brand new. Still smells like it even though he’s had it for a while now. Something about insurance. He can’t quite remember what it was, but Mace had taken care of it for him. He hasn’t used it. This is the first time he’s ever been in it. Since getting discharged from the hospital.

It’s a nice car. Maybe he would have liked it if it was before. Though he’s never been quite good with cars. As long as it worked he never thought all that much about it.

The keys are not even in the ignition. He’s got his seatbelt on, his hands clutching the steering wheel, but that’s about it. He hasn’t even turned on the radio. He’s actually not quite sure how to turn it on.

He’s sure that if he wasn’t gripping the steering wheel so hard his hands would be shaking.

He needs to get going soon. Anakin is waiting for Obi-Wan to come pick him up. To finally take him home. It had all been sorted out. After a lot of fighting and arguing - and a little help from Mace and Plo - he had been allowed to take Anakin in after all. Despite his age. Despite Qui-Gon. Despite everything that had happened.

He had fought so hard for the kid, but it seemed now he had lost all his bravado. Over a car, of all things. Over a simple drive.

His heart beats quickly behind his healing ribs as he takes slow, shaky breaths. Willing himself to let go of the steering wheel. To relax.

His hands are slick with sweat when he finally lets go. He thinks he might be sick for a moment, but it passes as quickly as it came when he leans back and closes his eyes.

He wishes his father was there.

Wiping his sweaty palms off on his pants he picks his phone out of his pocket and calls the first person on his contact list. It rings a few seconds before it picks up.

“Obi-Wan?” Bant’s voice says through the speaker. “Obi-Wan, how are you? We haven’t heard from you in a while now and—”

“Can you come?” He hates how small and pathetic his voice sounds. “Please?”

He hears some shuffling on the other end. Then, “Yeah, sure. Where are you?”

Obi-Wan swallows thickly. “The car,” he says, hoping she’ll get it. “I’m in the car.”

She does. “I’ll be there in five.”

Grief, Obi-Wan finds, is all consuming. It takes, and it takes, and it takes until all that's left is a hollow shell if yourself. And then it takes more, as it sees fit. Until all that's left is numbness and emptiness.

It's exhausting. Carrying around all that pain by yourself. It renders you almost immobile. It's like doing the smallest movements – like walking from one room to another – sucks everything out of him. A kind of exhaustion that settles heavily in his limbs, burying deep under his skin and muscle.

It takes his breath away at times. Leaves him gasping for air almost. Because it just hurts so much.

Obi-Wan vaguely recalls their pet goldfish dying when he was little. He had cried so hard he'd nearly thrown up. It took hours before his father had managed to calm him down enough to scoop the little guy out of the tank with a tiny net.

After some coaching Obi-Wan had allowed him to flush him down the toilet. Only after assuring his son that the little fish had loved him too, as Obi-Wan had loved it. That he had been a good owner. That sometimes pets just die. That the pain he felt only meant that what he had lost had meant something.

It had calmed the raging heartbreak slightly. Enough for the two of them to give the little guy a proper funeral. He had cried the whole time, but his father kept his big, comforting hand around him the entire time as he spoke.

He had been a steady rock in a storm of chaos. Something Obi-Wan was too young to quite understand at the time.

Now, however, he's all alone. There are no big arms wrapping around him. No steady rock to his storm of chaos.

It's agony, having loved and lost. He hates it, he decides.

He's aware that he's retreated into himself a bit. That he's far from the person he was before. But if he's going to be able to wake up every morning and take care of Anakin he has to box it all away. Put on some kind of façade to keep him going.

Obi-Wan checks the mirror again for what must be the thousandth time that trip. Qui-Gon sighs, watching the younger man bemused. Knuckles white as he grips the steering wheel for dear life.

Outside the rain slaps against the roof of the car like bullets. Creating tracks on the windows. The wipers work overtime to keep the water at bay. In many ways it feels like driving on a river.

"There are no cars here for miles, Obi-Wan," he says. "You don't have to worry so much. Relax."

"I still think you should have been the one to drive," Obi-Wan replies.

"You're never going to get comfortable behind the wheel if you don't try. You already passed your test and you have your licence. A bit of weather will be fine."

"Maybe they shouldn't have let me–"

They drive over a hole in the asphalt and Obi-Wan startles. He grips the steering wheel until his knuckles turn white.

Qui-Gon chuckles. "Relax, Obi-Wan. You’re doing fine.”

Obi-Wan takes a deep breath. His grip on the steering wheel slackening. He nods. It’s fine. It’s just a bit of water.

Obi-Wan closes the door behind him, Anakin’s bag slung over his shoulder. A weary sigh leaves his lips. He can’t help but feel like he should have cleaned up a bit before he picked up Anakin. But the boy doesn’t seem to mind as he runs room to room, exploring the space.

“Woah!” he exclaims. “This is so wizard! Do you really live here?”

Obi-Wan huffs as he drops the bag on the living room floor. It feels a lot brighter than he could remember it being before he left. Bant laughs next to him.

“He’s got a lot of energy,” she says. Obi-Wan nods.

“Do you need anything else?” she asks him, quietly so only he hears.

“No,” he replies, then clears his throat. “No. We’ll be fine. Thank you.”

She smiles at him then. Almost sadly. And places the car keys in his hand. “Just give me a call if you need anything. Anything.” she says. “Any of us. We’re more than willing to help.”

Obi-Wan nods numbly.

“Bye Anakin!” she shouts down the corridor. “I’ll see you around. Take good care of your new dad for me, will you?”

“I will!” Anakin shouts back. “Goodbye, Bant!”

She chuckles and pats Obi-Wan’s back. “Take care, Obi,” she mutters to him, and then walks out, closing the door after her.

Obi-Wan sits down on the sofa, his body aching with this kind of exhaustion that doesn’t leave no matter how much he sleeps. He runs his hand over his face and just sits there for a moment, with his head in his hand. He listens half-heartedly to Anakin rummaging through the bathroom. He can’t quite bring himself to care about the mess the boy might be creating. Maybe it makes him a bad parent.

He’ll take care of it later. Later… He’s been saying that a lot lately, but later doesn’t seem to ever come. If anything it just keeps adding up. It’s like there’s a big pile of later shoved into a closet somewhere just waiting to be opened and wreak havoc.

“Obi-Wan?” a timid voice says.

Obi-Wan lifts his face from his hands and comes face to face with Anakin. He looks at the boy expectantly as he seems to hesitate.

“Are you alright?” he finally asks.

Obi-Wan sighs. “I’m fine.” Anakin looks unconvinced, but doesn’t press him, seemingly satisfied with that answer for now. “Is there anything else?”

Anakin grabs his bag of belongings and slings it over his shoulder. “Where do I sleep?”

Obi-Wan blinks. “Oh,” he says, a little confunded. “You can take my room.”

Obi-Wan comes to, to the sound of static. His head hurts. A lot. In fact, his whole body hurts. And there’s a distinct smell of oil and antifreeze coming from somewhere. Everything feels muddy and strange. There’s something wet dripping down his face. Wait. No. That’s not right. It’s dripping up.

He groans as he forces his eyes open. Bright lights assault his vision. When his eyes finally adjust everything is upside down. It takes him a moment to realise he’s in the car. There’s another car a few meters in front of them, a massive bulk in its side and its hood. Their entire windshield has shattered, littering the car with glass. His seatbelt is the only thing keeping him from crashing into the roof of the vehicle.

Obi-Wan’s breath hitches. “Da-ad?” He coughs, chest aching after each one. “Dad?”

Slowly, he manages to turn his head towards the passenger seat. The car door is missing on that side. Rivers of blood drip down Qui-Gon’s thorso, soaking his clothes and gathering into a bloody puddle under him. He’s unconscious. And injured. Maybe even worse. He could be— He might be—

“Dad?” He tries again.

Obi-Wan’s heart beats rapidly behind his aching ribs. No one answers. His heart sinks.

He fumbles with his seatbelt, desperately trying to undo his seatbelt. It releases him with a soft click and he goes tumbling into the roof of the car. He cries out as he lands on his shoulder. It takes him a moment to recover before he manages to think straight again. Or as straight as he could before he fell at least. Everything feels a bit muddy and cloudy.

He pushes himself towards Qui-Gon with his weak limbs. It’s a challenge in the small space of the car, but he manages to get close enough to touch him.

With a shaking hand he reaches towards the older man. His pulse is weak and uneven under his fingertips, but there nonetheless. Obi-Wan would be relieved if he wasn’t so sure Qui-Gon was dying.

He manages to fiddle with some of the buttons on the radio and the buzzing stops. He swallows back what sounds like a sob and closes his eyes. It hurts. Everything hurts.

The funeral passes in a blur. Anakin is glued to his hand the whole time, not letting go even once. His tiny hand grips his with vigor. He presses himself into his side when there are people around and practically hides behind him when they come to talk.

“I see you brought the boy as well.”

Obi-Wan purses his lips and looks at his grandfather, face blank and expressionless. The man holds himself high where he stands, practically radiating authority. Obi-Wan used to be scared of him as a child. His cold nature was always a harsh contrast to his father’s warm presence. Not that they spent much time around each other. Qui-Gon had fallen out with his father years before Obi-Wan came into the picture.

Obi-Wan only stares at him as Anakin pushes himself into his side, looking up at the older man with apprehension.

“Though I’ll have to say I’m surprised they let you take him,” the man muses. “Given your age and situation.”

“Obi-Wan was always the golden child,” Xanatos chimes in, ambling up to them. “Of course they let him. They always let him have what he wants, if he pleads enough and bats his eyes at them.”

Obi-Wan’s jaw clenches. He never got along with Xanatos. Even as a child. As the youngest of three – significantly as well – Xanatos just never liked him.

Xanatos stares down at him, barely concealing a glare.

"Oh, please leave him alone," echoes the voice of Feemor. He stops next to them, joining their circle. "Xanatos. Grandpa," he greets them with practiced politeness.

"I see you've finally decided to come back home," Dooku comments, a smug brow raised. "Life treating you well over there, I assume. Seeing as it's been quite some time since you were back in Coruscant."

"As a matter of fact; it is."

They chat for a while. Not for the sake of being nice and catching up, but just to be polite. If polite is an accurate word for it at all. The passive aggressiveness is thick in the air, lacing each word. It’s exhausting to listen to. Obi-Wan understands well why his father kept him away from them as much as he did.

Obi-Wan merely watches the three of them talk, occasionally nodding his head, not really ,paying attention to what’s being said.. Anakin keeps himself tucked into his leg. but seems to be much more comfortable now that he's not under Dooku and Xanatos' heavy gaze.

“—but hey, maybe this is a good thing. The rescue takes on his own rescue. Poetic, really. Dad never could turn down a stray.”

“Xanatos—”

“He always was too sympathetic for his own good. And see how you repaid hi—”

“That’s enough!”

Obi-Wan stumbles over his own feet as Feemor drags him away, Anakin’s grip on his hand tightening as he tries to keep up with the two men. Obi-Wan has never seen Feemor look so furious as he does now. Eyes dark and expression stone cold. It’s unnerving in a way. Feemor has always been the kind and soft-spoken one. Similar to their dad in a lot of ways.

They come to a stop a few tabled down. Feemor’s anger melts away, replaced with a sad smile. “Don’t listen to them, Obi,” he says. “Xanatos is just bitter and petty because he can be.”

Obi-Wan nods and swallows thickly.

Feemor looks down at Anakin, a soft smile gracing his lips. “You must be Anakin,” he says, extending his hand to the little boy. “Nice to meet you, little man. I’m your uncle Feemor.”

Anakin only looks at the outstretched hand, clutching the material of Obi-Wan’s black suit in his hands. Feemor huffs in amusement, turning his gaze back up to Obi-Wan.

“He’s a shy one.”

Obi-Wan clears his throat. “Only sometimes.”

The older man laughs. Anakin shifts next to him.

“I’m sorry about…” His expression turns sad. “I heard it was bad.”

Obi-Wan nods woefully, eyes downcast and lips pursed. He doesn’t trust himself to speak. Doesn’t even protest when Feemor pulls him into a hug, wrapping his arms around him.

“It’s going to be alright, you’ll see,” He murmurs with a sigh. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there. You’re the best of all of us, you know. Dad would be so proud.”

And just like that Obi-Wan sags into the embrace, burying his face in Feemor’s suit. He only holds him tighter when he weeps into the fabric. It’s pitiful and undignified, but the hollowness of Obi-Wan’s heart feels easier to carry in that moment.

It’s so easy to believe Feemor in that moment, and Obi-Wan clings to it.

Obi-Wan isn’t sure how long they wait before he hears the siren. Qui-Gon’s breathing has become shallow and he hasn’t shown any signs of waking up. At some point Obi-Wan started shivering. He’s not sure when, or exactly why. He might be in shock, he thinks.

He hears the commotion of the emergency workers reaching the other car. He hopes they’re okay. He would call out if he felt like he could.

He hears talking, but it’s hard to make out the words.

“Dad?” he whispers, voice hoarse and grating. He coughs, eyes watering.

Next thing he knows he’s being pulled out of the wreckage. There are hands on him and they’re asking questions he doesn’t understand. It all happens in a blur. Then he’s being strapped down to a bed.

“Can you tell us your name, sir?”

Obi-Wan blinks, vision blurry from being moved. His eyes land on a dark haired man.

“Your name, sir. Can you tell us?”

“Obi-Wan,” he says, voice barely above a whisper, teeth chattering. “Kenobi. Obi-Wan Kenobi.”

“That’s good, Obi-Wan. Can you tell me who was in the car with you?”

When Obi-Wan turns his head he sees a group of paramedics pulling an unconscious Qui-Gon out of the car and strapping him down to a bed like the one Obi-Wan lies on. Something in his chest squeezes painfully in his chest at the sight, a surge of anxiety bubbling up from within.

“Qui-Gon,” he says, breath hitching. “My father. Qui-Gon Jinn. He needs— He needs help—”

“They’ll take good care of your father, Obi-Wan. Just relax and let us do our job.”

Obi-Wan gasps for breath. It’s as though something heavy is pressing down onto his chest. Like there’s something blocking his airways. His head swims and his stomach churns as he’s loaded into the back of the ambulance.

He only gets a glance at Qui-Gon before the door is shut and they drive off.

The next few days pass by monotonously. Anakin seems to be adjusting well to his new life, much to Obi-Wan’s relief. He talks animatedly about his day every day when he comes home from school. Obi-Wan spends his days trying to catch up on his classes.

It almost feels like things are going to be okay.

Qui-Gon’s room remains untouched. Door ajar, sitting there like a painful reminder. Ominous almost. If he felt like he could bear it - that he wouldn’t risk getting a look inside - he would at least close the door properly.

He should probably start cleaning it out. He can’t sleep on the sofa forever.

His phone vibrates, loud against the wooden table. Obi-Wan startles. He thinks about just letting it ring like he always does until he sees who’s calling him.

Anakin’s school.

But why would they call him?

He swears his heart skips a beat as he picks up.

“Hello?”

“Hello. Is this Anakin’s father?”

Obi-Wan hesitates for a moment. Technically he is. In all the legal ways. But Anakin has never called him anything but Obi or Obi-Wan.

Still, he says, “Yes.”

“This is Anakin’s teacher, Shaak Ti.”

“Did something happen?”

“Anakin got in a fight with one of his classmates and he appears to have run away. We can’t find him anywhere near school grounds.”

He what?

Obi-Wan’s heart stops. It’s like time freezes around him. He even stops breathing for a moment.

“We already have our staff searching for him, but we were hoping you could come here too.”

“I… Yes, of course! I’ll be there right away.”

Shaak lets out a relieved breath. “Thank you.”

With shaking hands he lowers the cellphone from his ear.

What if something terrible happened to Anakin? What if he’s hurt? What if he got lost and can’t find his way back? He’s not familiar with Coruscant yet. He never even left Tatooine before he came to Coruscant. Anything could have happened. Coruscant is big and dangerous.

Obi-Wan has no idea how to deal with anything Anakin related normally. How is he expected to act now? Is this what being a parent is like? Being so terrified you feel like you’re going to die?

He’s only had Anakin for a few weeks. Surely if something has happened they’re going to take him from him. They were right to be sceptical of him. He’s not fit to take care of a child. The thought of Anakin being taken away from him now… It’s unbearable. He can’t lose him too. Not now.

He scrolls through his contacts until he lands on Bant. His finger only wavers over the call button for a second.

“Obi-Wan? How are you? I haven’t heard from you in a while—”

“It’s Anakin. He— He—””

“What happened?” She sounds worried now. Suddenly serious.

“They said he got in a fight or— or something. I don’t— They can’t find him. He ran away and they can’t find him, Bant! What if he’s hurt?”

“Okay. Relax, Obi-Wan. It’s gonna be fine. I’ll call the others, and then I’ll come pick you up and we’ll find him. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“We’ll find him, Obi.”

Obi-Wan can’t breathe. He’s been sitting next to the bed for at least twenty minutes, not doing anything. He’s dimly aware of the nurse standing behind him, watching him.

It’s the first time he’s got to see his father since...since the car.

He looks better. Without all the blood. He looks almost normal. It’s almost like… It’s like he’s just sleeping.

His hand trembles as he reaches for his father’s limp hand. It lacks its usual warmth, but Obi-Wan squeezes it lovingly anyway. There’s no steady heartbeat beneath his fingertips.

The realisation that he’s never going to see him again - not properly. Not alive. - hits hard. It drops onto him with the weight of a building. Crushing him under the rubble.

Obi-Wan Kenobi knows loss. He knows loss very well. But it does not make it any less heartbreaking. It does not make the pain any easier to bear.

“Da-ad… Oh, dad…”

Carefully, he brushes a strand of hair away from the man’s face. His eyes cloud with tears, he chokes back a sob. Grief heavy on his heart, he gives in. Cradling his father’s hand to his face, he cries. Pitiful and miserable.

Broken rib. Collapsed lung. Head trauma. Coupled up with bad weather, slippery roads and the impact with the other vehicle it had all been one unfortunate accident. One that cost him his father.

He doesn’t know much of the specifics, but he hopes he at least wasn’t in too much pain. He can’t bear the thought of it.

This is the man who took him in. Who gave him a home. Who took care of him. The man who raised him. The man who loved him. Unconditionally. And the man he loved— still loves.

Guilt claws at his insides. Ugly and suffocating. Like a thick blanket, enveloping his whole being. Shameful thoughts poison his subconscious.

It should’ve been him. It should’ve been him. It should’ve…

It’s of no use. Not now. Not ever.

But Obi-Wan feels like a part of his soul has been ripped away. That some irreparable part of him has been broken beyond repair. Taken away from him by that other car and his sloppy driving. Like some cruel punishment from the world itself.

He sits there until his throat is sore and his eyes red.

The rain is pouring down in buckets. Obi-Wan is soaked to the bone. Absolutely sopping wet. Still, Obi-Wan can’t quite bring himself to regret not picking up an umbrella when the first drizzle came. Anakin is still out there. Cold, wet and lost.

They’ve managed to narrow it down to a nearby forest. With the help of some teachers and some of their friends.

His phone died twelve minutes ago. If they find him before he does Obi-Wan hopes he can hear them yell for him. If he can hear anything from the deafening sound of downpour.

Obi-Wan’s teeth clenches to stop them from chattering. His shoes make squelching sounds for each step he takes. He pushes his hair away from his face.

And that's when he sees him. Sitting under a tree, protected from the pouring rain by the leaves. Sitting against the tree, arms wrapped around his knees. Obi-Wan's heart skips a beat.

"Anakin!"

The little boy's eyes snap up to him, surprise and relief colouring his features. "Dad!" He exclaims, scrambling to his feet in a mess of limbs.

Obi-Wan barely has time to even acknowledge that before he’s running. Running faster than he's ever ran before. He practically crashes to his knees in front of Anakin pulling him into a tight embrace. "Anakin," he whispers, voice cracking slightly. His heart warms with affection. "Don't ever do that again."

"I'm sorry–"

Obi-Wan pulls away, giving Anakin a thorough once-over. "Are you hurt?" he asks, trembling hands patting him down. Nervous eyes flit across his features. His hands land on his cheeks, cold and wet, but comforting.

"I'm okay," Anakin tells him.

Before he can say anything else Obi-Wan pulls him into a hug again. He grips the fabric of Anakin's jumper as if the boy will vanish into thin air if he lets go. His other hand buries itself in his hair, securely holding his head against his shoulder. Even though his fingers are cold and numb, Obi-Wan doesn't let go.

Anakin tentatively wraps his arms around the older man, burying himself in the safety of Obi-Wan's embrace. Even though Obi-Wan's clothes are soaked through, and he's cold, Anakin doesn't let go. When he feels the man shaking against him, and hears him sniffle into his hair, he only holds him tighter.

“You scared me,” Obi-Wan murmurs. “Why didn’t you tell me you were struggling?”

“I didn’t want to worry you. You’re so sad and tired all the time.”

Obi-Wan could swear his heart breaks a little at that.

“Oh, dear. It’s my responsibility to take care of you. You mustn’t ever feel that you can’t come to me.”

Anakin is quiet for a while. “Okay.”

Around them the rain pitter patters against the leaves.

“You’re cold.”

Obi-Wan chuckles. “Yeah.”

“You’re gonna get sick.”

“It’ll be fine.”

Behind him boots splash in the puddles. Obi-Wan thinks he might hear yelling, but it’s hard to hear over the rainfall.

“Obi-Wan.” There’s a hand on his shoulder. “It’s time to go.”

Obi-Wan untangles himself from Anakin and comes face to face with Mace Windu. The man holds a black umbrella over him, protecting him and them from the rain.

“We’ve got a car waiting just outside the forest. Now come here before you get yourself both sicker than you already are. Qui-Gon would never forgive me if I let you two sit out here any longer.”

The warmth of the house is welcome. His clothes are still dripping by the time he steps in the door. He’s not sure he’s ever been so relieved to be home. He sighs as he closes the door behind him.

When he takes off his shoes his socks leave wet footprints on the hardwood floor. Anakin tip toes around his footprints to get into the living room, giggling quietly to himself as he does.

He gets Anakin out of his clothes and into a pair of warm, dry pajamas. Then he hops into the shower, the warm water doing wonders for his cold and aching muscles. When he steps out of the bathroom he feels marginally better.

“Ani?”

Anakin is not in the living room. He’s not in the kitchen either. Obi-Wan tries not to worry. He wouldn’t have left the house. He’s probably in his room. Before he gets time to start worrying he sets foot for the corridor.

And sure as day, there he is. Wearing some scarf Obi-Wan doesn’t recognise. Standing in the doorway of Qui-Gon’s bedroom. Obi-Wan swallows thickly and ambles up to him. When he’s behind him he places a hand in the boy’s hair and gazes into the bedroom.

“You never go in here.”

Obi-Wan hums.

“You’re scared.”

Anakin isn’t dumb. Of course he would notice. Kids are never stupid, no matter how hard you pretend they are. It was only a matter of time before he would be confronted about his little charade he’s been putting up.

“Maybe,” Anakin murmurs. “If we cleaned up in here you wouldn’t be so scared anymore.” He looks up at him, hopeful and young.

Obi-Wan clears his throat. “Yeah,” he agrees. “Maybe.”

Anakin walks into the room, inspecting the room with curious eyes. Then he grabs an almost empty box laying by the bed and starts putting things in it. “We did this when my mom died,” he says quietly. “She didn’t have as much stuff as your dad though.”

Awkwardly, almost clumsily, Obi-Wan walks into the room too, sitting down on the other side of the box. He picks up a discarded sweater from the floor and inspects it - He was always the messier of the two of them. Feels the fabric on his skin. It still smells like him. Even after all these weeks.

“You can keep some of it if you want,” Anakin says then. “They let me keep some of mom’s things.” He fiddles with the scarf for a moment. “This used to be hers. It makes me feel better when I miss her.”

Obi-Wan feels a pang of sympathy in his chest. Once again reminded of how much this little child has been through. Oh, what he’d do to make all that pain go away. He’d gladly take it all on himself if he could. If it meant he would never have to feel such heartbreak in his life ever again.

“You should try it on,” Anakin suggests.

Obi-Wan pulls the sweater over his head. He has a second where he can’t quite find the hole for the right arm, but he quickly figures it out. He catches a glimpse of himself in the floor-length mirror and he can’t help but laugh. The sweater is massive on him. Practically swallows him whole. Qui-Gon had always been a quite large man, but to see it like this…

Anakin laughs too. “You look small,” he says between giggles. “You’ll grow into it. That’s what mom always said, at least.”

He won’t, but he doesn’t say anything about it.

He rolls up the sleeves and picks up a framed picture from the dresser.

“Wow, you used to be small,” Anakin comments, pointing to the small redheaded child standing next to a younger Qui-Qon. “I didn’t know Mr Qui-Gon very well, but he seemed like a nice man. And a good dad.”

Obi-Wan sniffles. “He was.”

“I’ve never had a dad before,” Anakin explains, studying the picture. “I was really happy when Mr Qui-Gon said he would be mine - like, really happy - but I think you’re doing a pretty good job at it too.”

Obi-Wan’s lips quirk upwards, into a sort of lipsides and awkward smile.

“Do you miss him? Your dad.”

Obi-Wan nods. “Very much.”

“I miss my mom too. It’s okay to be sad about it. It just means it meant something.”

Obi-Wan feels like he’s been crying a lot lately, but it seems like this is what finally breaks the dam. Anakin only places a hand on his arm as he muffles his sobs in the long sleeves of Qui-Gon’s sweater. Slowly he sinks back onto the floor, back against the bed.

He feels very much like that small, scared child he used to be at this moment. The small, scared child who didn’t know how the world worked yet. Who didn’t know what to do or how to do anything. The small, scared child who worried about everything. But maybe he just never actually stopped being that child.

Anakin presses himself up against his side, leaning his head on his shoulder. It’s such a small thing, but it makes him feel infinitely better. Like things might be okay after all. And it will be, he reminds himself. It will just take some time.

Just close your eyes

Soon we'll be home

Fall asleep to the radio

Strangers pass by

Red, green and gold

I wonder what they're all waiting for

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