#this means both force and book have worn the same shirt in two different series in which they were a couple

[yurtletheturtlehenderson]

S.T. REWRITE - S2:E9; Chapter Nine, The Gate - [Pt. 1]

A Will Byers x Reader Series

The survivors turn up the heat on the monstrous force that's holding Will hostage, and Y/n's powers are put to the ultimate test in the process. Eleven makes plans to finish what she started.

A/n: heads up, another ask the characters is coming up at the end of this book so if you plan on asking questions relevant to the plot I do ask you hold off until the rest of this episode. If you have just simple or silly non-plot related stuff I guess I don't mind taking them here 😊 thx for reading!

Also, the El/Dustin/Lucas reunion [and friendship tbh] is criminally underappreciated and always makes me cry happy tears. Same with El and Joyce. Always broke me, always will. Duffers, give me more. Also, Max blushed in this scene, and yall can @ me I don't care, but it happened.

||3rd Person POV||

Their feet shakily carry them across the floor to each other. Their hearts both stop as they gaze one another, both in their own unique form of shock.

"Eleven." Mike's voice barely tumbles out in a strained whisper.

Her smile grows bright at the sound of her name on his tongue, a sound she had missed all these months.

"Mike!" She gasps tearfully, and they collapse into a tender hug.

For a moment they relish in one another's embrace, not caring they have to stumble for balance as they cling to one another. More sniffles and tearful gasps spill from their lips as the others look on in a mixture of sadness and excitement filled shock.

Apart from Max, who's brows furrow above her widened eyes as she leans in close to Lucas in a whisper.

"Is that...?"

Dustin and Lucas nod silently, still in as much disbelief as the collective few.

Finally, but all too soon for the pair, Mike and El break apart.

"I never gave up on you," Mike swears. "I called you every night. Every night for--"

"353 days." She finishes softly, drawing out another look of shock on the boy. "I heard."

Despite the small but taunting thought that had always lingered in the back of her mind that told her otherwise, he does not get mad. He merely tilts his head in confusion.

"Why didn't you tell me you were there?" He asks gently. "That you were okay?"

Before she can form a proper sentence, Hopper speaks up from where he had previously stood rooted to the ground.

"Because I wouldn't let her."

Mike swivels on his heels to find Hopper looking back at him, solemnly. Mike stumbles back agape as Hopper glides forward, and gestures in waining and worn down stress over the girl.

"The hell is this?" He grumbles softly, relief flooding his voice. "Where the hell you been?"

"Where have you been?" She spits back, in an equally sounding failed attempt at anger.

His gun hangs limply at his side as he takes El into his embrace, who gladly accepts by coiling her arms around his large frame in content.

"You've been hiding her," Mike gasp gravely. "You've been hiding her this whole time!"

Everyone flinches as the Wheeler boy launches an unexpected attack on the chief. He jumps forward, throwing his weight into his arms as he shoves the man.

"Hey!"

He turns, knowing the fight this boy is going to attempt and grabs at his shirt to steady him. Mike fights against his effort briefly, but he can't hide the spark of fear in his eyes as Hopper towers over him.

Hidden amongst the stunned group, Y/n shuffles on her feet nervously as she witnesses the strength of Mike's wrath. And yet, numbly, her feet carry her forward to accept the damning sentence she always knew would befall her. Her guilt had grown thrice its size in the brief moments of Mike and El's reunion and she can keep the secret no longer.

Weakly, she tugs Mike away from the chief in half-hearted protest.

"Mike,"

Her voice comes out in a wavering and cracking demand and she has to try again to be heard over his cries of protest.

"Mike!"

Finally, he, rips his attention -and arm - away from Hopper's hold, and whips his head to snap at her. Her hand remains wrapped around his sleeved arm as if hoping her gentle touch will soften the blow. But even she knows it not make a difference.

"What?"

Her eyes flicker from him to Hopper and El in a frightened manner.

"What?!" He demands. "You can't seriously be defending him?! He hid her from us! He knew!"

The words she ached to say died on her tongue, though she knew now she didn't have to tell him. Her e/c eyes went glassy, her bottom lip began to quiver and his eyes suddenly shifted.

"No," he whispers, eyes jumping from El's new attire to towards hers as he shakes his head. The pieces had fallen into place. "No, you wouldn't...?"

"I'm so sorry, I-"

He rips his arm away from her in disgust and cradles it against his chest. The small act creates another crack in her heart as he looks at her in fury and loathing. Will already looked at her like this, and now Mike, too.

"What the hell is wrong with you people?!" He demands, glare flying between Hopper and Y/n. "What is wrong with you?!"'

"Mike, I wanted to tell you--"

"BUT YOU DIDN'T!" His anger is now fully directed at Y/n. "YOU DIDN'T TELL ME!"

It's Hopper's turn to tug Mike away from Y/n, but again, Mike violently rips himself away.

"It wasn't safe!" Y/n pleads.

"Bullshit!" Mike shoved the girl in front of him away.

"Mike-!" El interjects.

In his anger, Mike doesn't seem register her pleas. All of his attention - and pain - directed soley on Y/n.

She stumbled back, not surprised at such a harsh response but she tries to stay calm for the sake of everyone around her. Her hands begin to darken as heat bubbles to the surface.

"I can't believe you, Y/n!" A fresh batch of tears welled in his eyes but he dismissed hers. Unable to care.

He shakes his head, not knowing why he even bothers to ask but it slips out in a dark whisper. "How long have you known?"

Y/n takes a long, shaky deep breath. Her voice quivers as she speaks.

"The day Dart escaped, and... and right before the Mind Flayer got Will on the field."

His face twists into a bitter scowl. "Five days? You've known for five days?!"

"And it's been killing me, Mike! But she said it would keep you safe!"

"Killing you?! It's been killing you?! You think I give a shit? YOU LIED-!"

He storms after her again, ready to shove her but his hands never reach her shoulders. Her body tenses as he charges and a small, involuntary burst of energy explodes around her, protecting her.

He falls back in a yelp of pain, Hopper is able to catch the boy before he reaches the ground and everyone watching - those especially who hadn't previously known about Y/n's abilities - flinched in shock. Several items around her within a two-foot radius shook and even tumbled off the shelves and tables. Y/n looks at everyone and then back at Mike in a worried glance.

"Mike, are you okay? I didn't mean--"

"Get off me!" He swats at her outstretched hand and she flinches.

Hopper's fuse runs out and his voice comes out in a thunderous bark.

"Hey, hey! Alright!" He discards the gun against the wall. "ENOUGH!"

The two bickering friends falter at the volume of the man's voice and stumble back when he reaches for them. A firm hand on either of their shoulders, he looks them in the eye with a scowl.

"Enough." he seethes, prying Mike off of Y/n and begins pushing him in the direction of Jonathan's room. "Let's talk. Alone."

Everyone watches in surprise as the two storm off down the hall, now stewing in the shock of all that has unfolded in the past few minutes alone. El shuffles on her feet, her eyes trailing two of the three people she cares of most as they disappear down the hall, unable to shake the stress of her situation and the harm it inflicts on everyone.

"Protecting her! Protecting her?" Mike fumes.

"Now, Mike--"

"You guys really expect me to forget the fact that you two blatantly lied to my face that she was alive?"

"Mike--"

"For a whole year?!"

"ENOUGH!"

Mike's eyes widen suddenly in shock, it dissolves quickly but his anger does not. Hopper sighs, bringing a hand to rub at his eyes before shrugging at the kid with a hardened expression.

"You are going to listen to me, and you're gonna listen to me good. I kept her from you,"

He says to Mike admittedly, then gestures in the direction of the living room.

"and so did Y/n. And that sucks. I get it kid, but you have no idea what kind of consequences you and your family and anyone - including your friend -," he points to the door again, still seething with anger. "face just knowing she's alive. It is an IMMEDIATE and PERMANENT target on your back."

"Oh, what so I should be THANKING you?"

"I'm not asking you to thank me!" Hopper screams back, voice, and fuse straining. "I'm asking you to try and understand!"

"I don't! I don't understand!"

"That's fine. That's fine! Just do not blame her, she's upset enough as it is."

"I don't blame her! I blame you! I blame you!"

"That's fine, kid." Hopper spits through a fake smile, and he throws his arms up in surrender "That's okay. In fact, blame me for all of it. El, your friend, even this damn Mind Flayer, or whatever the hell else you can think of. That's okay with me, but--"

"NO! Nothing about this is okay! Nothing about this is okay!" Mike launches another attack on Hopper who stumbles back.

He eases his arms out, trying to calm the kid down. But Mike does not relent. All of his heartbreak and misery since the moment she disappeared in the cloud of ashes, to every moment of radio silence with his walkie. It all erupted out of him and he charged at Hopper, swinging punches left and right into his gut until he was backed up at the door.

"You're a stupid, disgusting-"

"Okay. All right!"

"-lying piece of shit!"

"Stop it! Stop it-"

Hopper makes a grab at the boy's arms, trying to calm him down.

"LIAR! LIAR! LIAR!"

"It's okay. Stop it!"

As he had with the Will just minutes ago, Hopper wraps his arms around the boy in a hug. And though Mike continues to cry out, his efforts against Hopper begin to weaken before fading out altogether.

"Liar! Liar! Liar!"

Mike is now collapsed into Hopper's chest and allows his cries to drain him completely. His tears streak his pinkened cheeks and stain Hopper's coat. All frustration with Mike evaporates completely and all that's left beneath is the fatherly instincts he had never let go of. He holds him tighter against his chest and lays his right hand on Mike's head with his chin buried in his hair.

"You're okay, kid." He whispers. "You're okay."

Mike's whimpers disappear into Hopper's chest though they still manage to coat the silence. Hopper holds the boy tighter, his hands rested gently against his shoulders and he whispers once more.

"I'm sorry, kid."

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

After their disappearance down the hall, El gladly found herself in the embrace of Lucas and Dustin. Like Mike and Y/n, they looked the same apart from the inevitable touch of time she noticed. They had approached her timidly, but each wore similar blinding grins. El has trouble battling a smile at them and to their surprise, she eagerly launched into a hug that they gladly accepted.

"We missed you," Lucas says.

"I missed you, too," she murmurs contently.

"We talked about you pretty much every day," Dustin says, and her small smile returns.

She pulls away to look at them, but her soft brown eyes widen when she notices Dustin's smile. Curiously, she reaches out to Dustin, poking her finger at his mouth as he pulls back confused.

"Teeth," she says.

"What?"

"You have teeth,"

Dustin and Lucas share a chuckle through their still matching grins. Dustin nods, smiling extra bright to show off his new set of teeth.

"Oh. You like these pearls?"

Dustin rolls his tongue in a purr, and El's eyes grow wide as saucers in concern. Lucas and Dustin chuckle in response. They had indeed missed their friend very much, especially her confusion and shock to most regular things.

"El?"

The boys parted for Max who approached her with a shy and eager smile.

"Hey, um," she blushed, extending her hand. "I'm Max. I've heard a lot about you."

El recognized now why the redhead was so familiar, and her gaze flickered to her outstretched hand. That small flame of jealously in the pit of her stomach licked at her heart again. Intentionally ignoring the gesture of the girl and the girl herself, she pushed past her, bumping her shoulder with Max. Max's blush darkened, this time in embarrassment and she looked at the floor in hurt.

El was more focused on the woman she had spotted across the room. The first adult to ever put El needs before anyone else, even if it meant finding her son would be next to impossible. The first person to ever treat and care for her as she was, not a weapon, but a child deserving of love and nurturing. The woman who now stood across the room with tears in her eyes, a quivering smile and arms open wide as if she was her own daughter.

She collapsed in Joyce's warm embrace and no sooner did they both burst into tears. El melted in her gentle and soothing touch, and an audible whimper escaped her when she felt Joyce's palms rub small and gentle circles in her back.

It was the cozy and safe motherly embrace she had longed for all her life.

"Hey," Joyce coos softly in her ear. "Hey, sweetheart."

Another small cry bubbles out of her mouth and for a moment she feels embarrassed for wetting Joyce's jacket, but Joyce doesn't seem to care. She pulls apart from El and strokes her cheek and hair lovingly. Instinctively, scanning the girls face for any signs of injury.

"Hey," she coos again, and El sniffles.

"Is he okay?" She whispers.

Joyce tilts her head, a crooked but sweetened smile forming at El's worry, and her thumb strokes her cheek one last time.

"It's not looking good, sweetie." El's face falls at the answer, and she fears she got here too late. Her eyes pick up again and begin scanning the room when she realizes her greetings aren't done.

Her eyes land on Y/n across the room who had fallen silent after her encounter with Mike. She was far in the corner, her hand picks at the ends of her sleeves and she looked up cautiously at El.

El turns and crosses the room to her best friend.

"Y/n..."

Y/n's eyes flutter around the room briefly, all too aware of the prying ears. Cautiously, her old name slips out. "El..."

For a moment they stew in silence, not knowing what to say and the others watch befuddled at their behavior. By now they know that Y/n had discovered El's survival, but that was all they knew. But seeing them together now, both dressed in similar bold outfits they were able to piece together the two had spent some time together in the past few days. Particularly, the rest of the party.

"You came back," Y/n muttered, surprised.

"I saw everyone in danger," El answered. "I had to come home."

Y/n's eyebrows twitched ever so at the word before frowning. Her eyes flicker behind El briefly at the others, to see if they were listening. To her relief, she saw Joyce send her an understanding smile before pulling the others away into the kitchen.

"I thought you were home. With your sister. Someone who understands you," Her words came out more bitter than she anticipated but she makes no effort to take it back.

"She does, Y/n. What it was like there... Something you won't ever understand."

A look of hurt flashed across Y/n's face and her eyes take her somewhere else. Anywhere that wasn't El. She didn't want her to see how upset she was.

"But that is good." She says gently, causing Y/n's eyes to flicker back at her before returning to the floor. "It was a bad place, and... it was not your fault."

Y/n now looks back at El, her brows still creased in a frown but at least she was showing she was listening.

"How I grew up. I don't blame you."

The Henderson girl's expression softened, but her frown still lingered. She seems to consider her words, and then her attention falls to the inside of her jacket. She begins digging inside and finally she pulls out the files. The words Missing Experiment scribbled on the front. El's stomach sinks, her lips creasing together in a nervous habit.

"Then why did you keep this from me? You know that I've been searching for answers, and you had them with you that whole time! Why?"

El shifts on her feet, and when she speaks she mentally scorns herself for her wavering voice.

"I was afraid."

Y/n shakes her head with a somber and disappointed look. "Afraid of what, Jane?"

Tears started to brim in El's eyes now, not only at her mistake and the guilt it brought but the sound of her name on Y/n's tongue. It didn't feel right. Jane didn't feel right. Not anymore.

She licks her lips nervously, before answering.

"That you would leave. That once you had them... you'd go back home and I... wouldn't be able to see you again."

"El-" Y/n stops, sighing at the floor as she shakes her head. Still not used to the name. She looks back to her friend. "Jane. I wouldn't do that. You're my friend, and I wanted to help you. I did help you!"

"The truck," El threw back with a quirked brow.

Surprisingly enough, Y/n felt a weak chuckle bubble up.

"There's a very good reason why I didn't want us to ride in a truck. But I told you, we could have found another way! A safer way,"

Why is Y/n so afraid of trucks? El wondered.

"All I'm trying to say, Jane, is that I wouldn't have turned around and left as soon as I got what I was looking for. Friend's don't do that. I wanted to find out about myself, sure, but I wanted to help you, too." Y/n explains in sad exasperation. "I wouldn't have just left you..."

"But... you did?" El asks confused.

"Because they said they wanted to get rid of me!"

El looked taken aback.

"That's what I was trying to tell you. They didn't want me there and they were going to get rid of me. Besides, I asked and you said you were going to stay... You understand why I couldn't, right?"

El nods looking to the floor. She takes a deep breath and looks back at Y/n, searching her eyes. She feels a tug at her heart.

"I'm sorry, Y/n."

The ends of Y/n's lips twitch into a soft smile. She inches forward, and for a moment El fears something bad will happen. Like Y/n will shake her head and leave. But she's delighted to find how wrong she was when Y/n pulls her into a hug.

"I'm sorry, too." She whispers.

Both girls begin to sniffle, drawing the attention of the others who had previously parted into their own conversations to give them some space. After a moment, they pull away.

"So," Y/n says, offering a hopeful grin. "friends?"

El felt as if all the weight she had held on her shoulders vanished, and something the girls both noticed now was a much stronger bond forming before their very eyes. This bond was only established and sealed forever by what El said next.

"Sisters."

They smiled brightly at one another, and El's quickly melted into a shy smirk.

"El." She says finally.

Y/n's expression fell into that of a confused frown.

"Huh?"

"El. Not Jane," she looks to the floor sadly before muttering. "Never was."

Y/n's lips molded into a sympathetic smile, and the pair met in another hug. El felt the warmth return, the warmth that had disappeared the morning Y/n had back in Chicago when Y/n mumbled contently into her ear.

"I'm really glad you're back, El."

They break apart, a soft look echnaged between one another with grins to match.

"Me too," El mutters.

Suddenly El's smile fell. It was replaced with a shocked look, and she turned to look between Y/n and where Joyce had dissapeared, the panic setting in.

"Will!" She says in a worried realization. "Can... I see him?"

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

El opens the door slowly to ease its creaking, and timidly she steps inside. Joyce and Y/n follow closely behind as El approaches Jonathan's bed that holds a sleeping Will. El kneels beside the sleeping boy, Joyce, and Y/n taking a seat on either side of the bed. El watches his chest steadily rise and fall, and she notes he is just as pale and weakened as he had been the last time she saw him in the void.

"H-He's not doing well," Joyce eases.

El hesitantly places a hand on his bedside, and she feels a small lump in her throat.

"I know," she mutters sadly. "I saw,"

Joyce and Y/n look to her in slight surprise.

"What else did you see?" Joyce asks.

El looks between her friend and Joyce, sadly. Her stomach begins to coil into several knots, and her hands began to clam up at the question. El recognizes the feeling all too well, it was the same feeling she'd get whenever she had to get into the bath. Or when Papa made her repeat words from men in different rooms, or when he asked her to hurt the poor cat. It was a feeling she had almost every second she was inside that lab, the room, or any time Papa was near. It was an awful sickly feeling, but as she looked at Will now, she knew.

It had to be done.

She knew what she had to do.

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

El stood before the Byers kitchen table with Joyce and Y/n. Her eyes bore into the back of the notepad where the two words that sparked this dark feeling inside her were scribbled out in red.

CLOSE GATE

Y/n's eyes widen when she sees their translation for the first time. It dawned on her what Will had been telling them, and she recalls what El had tearfully admitted at the quarry just one year ago.

"The gate," she mumbles.

A look of realization hits Joyce, and she points to it eagerly. "You opened this gate before, right?"

El looks up and off to the distance, stuffing down her last bit of hesitation and she answers in a hoarse whisper.

"Yes,"

"Do you think you think if we got you back there, that you could close it?" Y/n looks worriedly back at El. The task was no doubt a large one for El to handle all alone, and though she knew it was likely their only hope, it made her fear for her.

What would happen to her? But then a simple thought crosses her mind, perhaps from the smaller corner of her mind that wanted to provide assurance and she asked herself.

It was just a gate right, surely it couldn't be that big?

Right?

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

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Text “ENOUGH” to 55156 or sign this petition to demand justice for Breonna Taylor

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[endlessly-searching-for-you]

There’s Always Another Summer

It all started on La Huerta, and it all ended here—or so it seemed. After Taylor used her connection to Vaanu to help Rourke, the whole world had been changed, and the change was not for the better. Finding her way in the dystopian empire, she tries to reconnect with her friends, build a relationship with her newfound family, find the love she had lost… and change the fate of an entire planet once again.

Chapter 1: All Gone Wrong

Masterlist / Chapter 2 »

A/N: Ah, where do I start? I first got the idea in July, in La Huerta tapas bar (no kidding), and it was supposed to be a series of drabbles/one-shots. But you know how these things go, and now it’s full series. If I ever finish it. (If I don’t, ping me. Seriously! I already know how it ends, why shouldn’t you)

The story starts after the events of Rourke’s ending, and it’s focusing on friendships and adventure rather than romance. It’s still based on my playthrough, where Taylor married Jake, so if you don’t like these two together, I’m sorry. If you do, I’m sorry.

Some parts were written in my first language and translated into English. I tried my best to find and fix any mistakes that happened in the process (and believe me, I won’t do it again, it’s twice the job), but if you see something I missed, feel free to tell me (that’s how I learn!). All mistakes are mine and mine alone. All characters (sadly) belong to Pixelberry. I’m just borrowing them for an eternity while.

Tags: @brightpinkpeppercorn​ @zaffrenotes​ @politicallycorrectinnocentteen @ifyouseekheart​; thanks for the vote of confidence guys! I hope you either enjoy it or forgive me ;-) happy Thanksgiving, or just happy Thursday!

It’s all gone wrong Heaven hold us Where do we go When it’s all over? — Raign

To say things were bad, was to say nothing at all. It didn’t seem that way at first. Sure, the world would have been better without Rourke calling himself the emperor, but on the outside, things looked good. The sun was still shining, the sky was still blue, people still lived, loved, laughed. You couldn’t see something was wrong until you started digging. One day you could hear your neighbor murmuring some angry words at the government; the next, everyone pretended they never existed. If you knew who to ask, you could learn some rumors about friends-of-my-second-cousin who went into service and never came back. Or even darker stories about those who did—and weren’t the same people anymore.

And it was all Taylor’s fault.

There wasn’t a day when she didn’t regret her decision. Time after time, Rourke proved they shouldn’t trust him, and she still took his offer. What little powers she had, she gave up for a promise of a better life. All because Jake asked. That night was forever ago, but the look on his face kept haunting her. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw his blue eyes looking at her pleadingly, cheeks wet with tears—please, it would mean everything to me. He hated the guy’s guts and still begged her to go with his plan. She could, and should have, said no. She didn’t.

Not that there was much she could do, anyway. Yes, agreeing to Rourke’s plan wasn’t their only option. They could stay on the island and watch the world burn, or—she felt a pang of guilt—she could save them all by sacrificing herself. It would be the right thing to do, one life exchanged for billions of others. Movie heroes wouldn’t hesitate. Hell, even Mike didn’t, just moments earlier. Maybe if she was a better person...? No! No, one thing for sure, she wasn’t a selfish monster—at least that’s what she kept telling herself. It was just hard to believe it anymore.

“Nevermind,” she thought, shaking her head. What’s been done has been done, and thinking about what could have been was a waste of time. The world was full of people who signed up without reading the fine print, Taylor wasn’t the first, and she certainly wouldn’t be the last one. And as much as she hated to admit it, Rourke kept his end of the deal—kind of. Her friends might not remember her, but at least they were safe. Jake got Mike back, and they were both alive, just far from being fine. And she... she got the family she always wanted.

A brief smile crossed Taylor’s lips. Family. It was surprising, but Rourke did a great job picking her parents. They seemed like one of the good ones, and she sometimes wondered who they really were. Did he know them before it all happened? Were they a figment of his imagination that came true? Either way, it was easy to believe they were related. She somehow seemed to have both of her parents’ qualities combined; her father’s easygoing attitude and (a bit too short) temper, her mother’s charm, wit, and overprotectiveness. Even their appearance was on point, from the messy hair of her father to her mother’s calm smile. There were photos of their three together, keepsake boxes, scrapbooks, and the new memories of a happy childhood.

It was a beautiful picture, indeed. Only when the first excitement faded away, Taylor realized there was hardly anything more than that. There was no meaning and no depth behind the picture. A psychopath like Rourke wouldn’t know the difference, but she did. The most important things—love, affection, trust—were missing. No matter how hard she tried, how badly she wanted to believe it was all real, it didn’t work. Finally, one day, she snapped and tried to tell her parents the truth. Okay, she had to admit, maybe the Sunday dinner wasn’t the best time to do it—but there would never be a good time for it anyway. It didn’t go too well, and now that she thought about it, she couldn’t tell what she expected. Even Diego didn’t believe her story, why would they be different?

“Are you still with me, Taylor?”

She blinked a few times. Where was she? Ah, yes, the weekly therapy session. The argument caused her parents to show the first real emotion in months: fear. It wasn’t that surprising. The fact they weren’t afraid of her, but for her, was. Maybe they did care, after all. They didn’t report her to the thought police, or whatever name Rourke gave to his force; they brought a professional who was supposed to help.

“I’m sorry. I—it’s hard for me to talk about it.” God, when did she learn to lie like that? Ever since she realized her therapist was one of the people who loved the sound of their own voice, she spent their sessions daydreaming about one thing or another. The chatter was merely background noise, and all she did was coming up with a generic response when it stopped. No wonder the therapy wasn’t working at all.

“Ah, that’s understandable.” The therapist shot what was probably supposed to be an encouraging smile, but actually reminded Taylor about a giant barracuda. “As I said, the brain can create false memories, especially after traumatic events. It tries to protect you and replaces the painful memory with a fake one. It could be anything. Something from a book you have read, or a movie—”

Oh, if only you knew, Taylor smiled bleakly at the round-faced woman. It would have been a hell of a lot easier if it was just a book or a movie, or even something entirely made up by her imagination. Yes, her brain made up things to fill the void, only it wasn’t what they all thought. It made up all things that made her human. How was she supposed to live with that? She dropped her head and stared at her worn-out shoes when a sudden realization hit her like a hammer. Hell, her brain made up her own name. From a freaking sneaker label. How come she didn’t see it earlier?

Suddenly, she was ripped out of the office, hurtling through space and time, and when she opened her eyes, all she could see was red. She doubled over in pain, touching her forehead to her knees. She felt something sticky, and to her horror, realized it was blood. It was in her eyes, on her hands, her legs, the warm sand, everywhere—

“What’s your name?” She heard a faint whisper, and a weak hand grabbed her arm.

I can’t remember! She wanted to scream, but no sound came out. I don’t know. My name? Do I have one? I don’t think so. Should I? She lowered her head again, trying to stop it from spinning, and then she saw it. Yes. Might as well be it. Chuck doesn’t seem like a girl’s name, but—

“Taylor. My name’s Taylor.”

“I’m—” the hand she was holding went limp, and she knew it was over. Whoever it was, they were gone, and she didn’t even get to know their name. Gone, just like that. She looked around and realized they were all dead. Twelve young people, with their whole lives ahead of them, were now gone for good.

She was on her own.

Taylor gasped for air, and the sudden pain in her chest brought her back to reality. A small drop of blood fell onto her shoes, and she felt sick. It was just a flashback, a memory of a life that wasn’t even entirely her own—but it was too much. She pushed the chair, murmured an apology, and ran from the office. Air. She needed some air, stat, or else she’ll throw up. Everything seemed to blur in a hurry—

“Hey, watch out!”

“Oof! I’m so sorry!” Taylor steadied herself against the wall and took a deep breath. She recognized the voice, red hair, blue eyes, even the white shirt was the same. “I didn’t see you. Really sorry about that. Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. My coffee, that’s another story. What—” The redhead gasped. “Oh, God. You’re bleeding.”

“It’s nothing. A little bloody nose, that’s all. I’m sorry about your coffee, Quinn.”

“Wait.” The redhead drew her brows together. “How did you know my name? Have we met?”

“Yeah. The first day of uni, by the fountain, remember me? I didn’t make the best first impression, I’m afraid.” Taylor chuckled, relieved. “And now I completely blew the second one. Why don’t we go to the cafe across the street and I’ll make it up to you. You know, third time’s the charm? Please?”

Quinn’s face fell. “I can’t. I have an appointment with Dr. Andrews.”

“I just left her office, and let me tell you, she sucks.” Taylor winced. “Big time. Please? I won’t tell anyone. And if you want to talk, I’m a good listener.”

“Ah, to hell with it. After you!” Quinn laughed, and they ran down the hallway, giggling like two fifth-graders skipping classes. They were already at the door when she stopped and looked over her shoulder with a frown. “Crap! She saw us.”

“Who?”

“My friend. Michelle. She’s an intern here.”

Taylor turned to look at another familiar face. With her white coat and hair tied into a high ponytail, Michelle looked almost like her older counterpart from Vaanu’s ember of hope. At least one of us is making her dreams come true, she thought with a smile. “Don’t worry. This one’s on me. If she gives you any trouble, you know who to blame!”

She was right about the third time being better than the previous two. They had one coffee, then another one, a few cupcakes, talked, laughed... almost as if they knew each other their whole lives.

“There you are! Why don’t you answer my calls?” Diego dropped into the chair and looked at them with reproach. “I finally got the perfect title! What do you think about Endless Summer—”

“Hello to you, too!” Taylor sneered and gestured across the table. “Diego, this is Quinn. Quinn, this is Diego. He’s my best friend. And we... kinda write a book together.”

“A graphic novel, actually.” He protested. “And it’s Taylor’s idea, only she says she couldn’t put two words together even if she tried. Now, I don’t mean to brag or anything, but I’m pretty good at it.”

“Yeah, only we don’t know anyone who can draw.”

“Actually... I can,” Quinn smiled broadly. “Well, I mostly paint, but I’m always up for a challenge. I can show you a few of my works... if you want me to?”

Taylor shared a look with Diego, and they both nodded vigorously. She pulled a sketchbook out of her backpack and handed it to them, blush rising up on her cheeks.

“I never showed this to anyone. Please don’t laugh. It’s just... I’m having these strange dreams, and I don’t want to forget them...”

They both stared at a picture of an impossibly enormous tree rising into the sky. There was a whole city carved into its side. Little huts perched on the branches and the wooden bridges hung between them, held together by vines. Diego inhaled sharply, and Taylor felt tears welling up in her eyes. Quinn remembered. The memories were buried deep within her, but they were there.

“Quinn...” She squeezed her hand gently. “Do you know what this is?”

“No. As I said, it’s from a dream. I can’t remember the name... I thought it was Yggdrasil, you know, the Norse tree of life? But it’s not that. It’s something similar, but when I wake up, I can’t remember it anymore.”

“Elyystel.” Diego recovered his voice. “Taylor, that’s gotta be the tree city you told me about. Quinn, you’re a genius. Welcome on board!”

#endless summer #endless summer fanfiction #playchoices fanfiction #long post

[eldritchsurveys]

761.

Does anyone know your bank pin number other than you? Who? >> Yeah, Sparrow does.

Have you ever had a boyfriend/girlfriend who was depressed? >> Sure.

Would you be able to climb out your bedroom window to sneak out? >> Absolutely not, I live on the third floor. --Well, I could climb out, and I might even survive, but... let’s just say it’s pretty goddamn risky. Anyway, I’m an adult and I don’t have to sneak out of my own apartment, so it’s irrelevant.

What would you do if you found out the last person you called was pregnant/got someone pregnant? >> ---

Can you taste the difference between brand name food and store brand food? >> Depends on the food. Some foods are pretty easy to dupe and it’s not a problem, but not all of them.

Would you be embarrassed to buy pads/tampons/condoms? Which one more? >> No, dude.

If a stranger went in your bedroom, would they be able to tell what gender you are from just looking at it? >> I don’t know what someone would guess, it depends on what people use as markers for gender. Besides, I don’t subscribe to a specific gender, so whatever they’d guess would be wrong regardless.

Are your parents gullible? >> ---

Do you still own a VCR? >> I’ve never owned a VCR. By the time I left home, DVDs had won the battle.

About how much money have you spent on food in the past two weeks? >> I haven’t spent any money on food. Sparrow’s unemployment checks have paid for the groceries, because just one of those was still more than I get in a month.

If you were in a car accident would the last person you kissed care? >> I mean, of course the Inworlders would care.

If you were looking for a new pair of shoes where would you go? >> I wouldn’t go anywhere, right now. But in general, I still have no idea where I would go. I’ve always hated shoe shopping, almost more than I hate other clothes shopping.

How much was the last pair of shoes you bought? >> The last pair of shoes I got were about $70 or $80. I didn’t buy them, Sparrow did.

What color is the computer/laptop you’re on? Did you buy it yourself? >> Silver. No, Sparrow’s Best Buy card bought it.

Do you have a second home? >> No.

Would you be surprised if you saw the last person you texted smoking? >> A little, yeah, because the last time I saw her smoke anything was back when I first got here and was still a smoker myself.

Does the smell of cigarettes, weed and beer repulse you? >> The smell of cigarettes can be repulsive to me, which I’ve heard is pretty common amongst ex-smokers. Also, my sensory defensiveness is higher than it used to be, so. The smell of beer doesn’t usually repulse me, but that can vary depending on what kind of day I’m having. The smell of weed is often too strong for my liking, but I don’t necessarily hate it. I just can’t be around it for too long because of, I repeat, sensory defensiveness.

Was the last person you kissed younger or older than you? >> ---

Do you think people have any misconceptions about you? >> Well, duh. Just like I probably have plenty of misconceptions about other people.

Have you ever purchased Girl Scout cookies? >> Yeah.

Do you like waffles? >> Yeah.

Do you watch birthing videos on a day-to-day basis? >> That... seems like one hell of a hobby.

Do you find piercings/tattoos attractive? >> I find them fun and interesting and cool to look at and talk about and learn about. I guess that can be summed up under “attractive”.

Would you talk to someone you don’t know on the internet? >> I always talk to people I don’t know on the internet, it’s kind of part of the experience (unless you just never use the social aspect of the internet).

How often do you drink Monster? >> Never, I hate Monster.

Have you ever made totally pointless videos with your friends? >> Maybe. I don’t really remember doing so, but it’s a possibility.

Do you like to buy those Warped Tour compilations? >> No, but I vaguely remember them.

Do you like sitting on the inside or outside of a restaurant booth? >> I don’t think I prefer one or the other by itself -- it’s usually a combination of different elements that determines whether I’ll sit on the inside or the outside of a booth.

Do you own a nightgown? >> No.

Have you ever made a house out of a giant cardboard box? >> No.

Have you ever made a tent out of sheets in your bedroom? >> No.

Do your grandparents know how to operate a cell phone? >> ---

Have you ever had sex or something like it? >> Yes to... both?

Have you ever read a George Orwell book? >> No, because though I started it, I never finished 1984.

Have you ever worn fishnets? >> Yeah, many times.

How many piercings and tattoos do you have? >> Two [sets of] piercings and three tattoos.

Is someone in your family affected by Asperger’s? >> ---

In a hotel do you always nose through all the drawers and cupboards? >> No.

Would you rather go out to eat or be eaten out? >> I’d definitely rather go out to eat, thanks.

Do you always wear your seat belt? >> Yeah. What’s funny is I was never made to wear one as a child. I had to get used to seatbelts in adulthood. I... have no idea why that is. Not a good look, though.

Have you ever liked someone much older than you? >> Sure.

Have you ever been in a play? >> Yeah, once.

Do you have any secrets that nobody knows about? >> I mean, I wouldn’t call them “secrets” because it’s not that deep, but yeah, there are plenty of things the average acquaintance doesn’t know about me.

Is there ice cream in your freezer? >> Yeah.

Have you ever started to laugh but played it off as a cough successfully? >> Probably.

Have you ever liked the lyrics of a band but hated the music? >> Yeah, that’s kind of how I feel about The Mountain Goats. The lyrics always seem interesting, but then I listen to the song itself and I’m like “bleh...”

Does your bathroom have a window? >> No, and god, I’d give an organ for a bathroom with a fucking window.

Do you go somewhere to get your eyebrows done? >> No.

When you were younger did you read the A Series Of Unfortunate Events books? >> No.

Who was the last band you saw live? >> Hozier and crew.

Do you believe prayer really works? >> It depends on what you expect prayer to do. I think it works greatly for focusing one’s mind and will, for feeling connected to whatever numinous force you’re into, and for the meditative effect. I also think it works to calm one down, to relieve stress, that sort of thing -- which can be helpful when you’re trying to heal from an illness or something, when you think about the body holistically. Now, if you want to claim that prayer literally causes divine power to come out of the universe and, say, completely eradicate a person’s cancer... well, I mean, I just don’t know about that, is all.

Are you a fan of the band Gym Class Heroes? >> No.

Frosted flakes or frosted mini wheats? >> I used to love frosted mini-wheats... it’s been forever since I had those.

Have you been on a date in the park? >> Something like that.

Ever dated someone you were best friends with first? >> Something like that.

Are there any diseases/health problems that run in your family? >> ---

Do you have asthma? >> Nope. I should have, almost everyone else born in my area at that time period was riddled with respiratory ailments. Bad air up in Elizabethport.

Are tongue piercings slutty? >> Sigh.

Is there anybody you think is hot over the age of 40? >> That’s basically a foundational criterion for me to consider someone attractive, lmfao.

Last person to take off your pants, besides you? >> No one takes off my pants except me.

Do you remember those cool highlighters that smelled like popcorn? >> No.

Might you enjoy hanging out in the woods for day or two? >> Absolutely.

Have you ever written something on a bathroom stall? >> No.

Least favorite alcoholic drink? >> Hmm... I guess gin. Rarely will I drink a gin-based cocktail.

Have you ever kissed someone named Paul or Luke? >> Maybe? I don’t know.

How did you meet the last male you texted? >> ---

Have you ever had an embarrassing email address? >> No.

Do you put shampoo in your left or right hand? Left. I had to mime that. <-- lol yeah, same.

Do you have a bull ring through your nose? >> I mean, yeah, more or less.

Do you and your dad get along? >> :|

Can you see your purse right now? >> ---

Are you wearing any perfume? What kind? >> No.

Are there products in your hair? >> No.

When you get colds, do you use nasal spray to help get your nose unstuffy? >> Sometimes, when I get aggravated enough.

Do you actually like sneezing? >> No.

Have you taken a shower yet today? >> No.

Do you have one best friend who is always there for you? >> ---

Do you wear skirts a lot? >> No.

Do you wear sweatpants a lot? >> I don’t have enough pairs to wear them a lot, but let me tell you, if I had more they’re pretty much all I would wear as far as outside clothing goes.

How many pairs of jeans do you think you have? >> I have three pairs, I don’t have to guess.

Do you like hoodies? >> I love hoodies.

Big ones or the form fitting kind? >> Big ones.

Do you wear polo shirts a lot? >> I never wear polo shirts.

Did you ever actually have a rubber duck? >> No.

Are you one of those people who claim to live with no regrets? >> I mean, I don’t necessarily feel great about everything I’ve done, but I’m not going to obsess about it either. All I can do is try to learn from my mistakes moving forward, and hope my brain doesn’t turn on me and make me do more things I’ll have to learn from. I don’t know, man, “regret” just doesn’t feel like a thing I fully comprehend.

Do you love your computer? >> I sure do. Both of them.

Do you drink coffee? >> No.

Do you basically like all of your clothes? >> Sure. When I stop liking them, I get rid of them.

Do you shop mostly with your parents, your friends, or by yourself? >> Either by myself or with Sparrow.

#surveys #survey #random survey

[dogbearinggifts]

Tattoos With Better Stories

Umbrella Academy

Author’s Note: Well, here we are—Part Three of a series that started as a single oneshot meant to fix the VFW scene and soon gained a sequel. If you haven’t read either of those, start with He Saw the Ghosts before moving on to Dead Ringer.  

Both are available on my AO3 account. 

Tagging: @timelesspromise 

Jim didn’t know what to make of the unnamed soldier’s expression. 

It wasn’t a whole smile, but it was near enough to one for Jim to wonder what might lurk behind it. Such a look wasn’t unexpected of a soldier in an active war zone, but there was something more about it, some strange contentment that kept it from sinking into despair. Not for the first time, Jim found himself searching the faces of the other men in his unit for any clue, no matter how small, that might force the facts in his head to fall into their proper places and form a picture clearer than the one before him. But no matter how long he looked, no matter how much the pit in his stomach urged him to look elsewhere, his gaze drifted back, again and again, to David Katz.

The quality of the photograph was par for the course, for its day—a middling caliber that was better than the worst and disappointing when placed alongside the best. Had it been a little less grainy, Jim was certain they’d have been able to make out the barest outlines of the soldier’s tattoos, distinguish a few features that might have separated the soldier in the photo from the veteran they knew. A little grainier, and the soldier would have been only somewhat clearer than most images of Bigfoot or the Loch Ness Monster, his resemblance to Klaus dismissed just as easily. 

Richard took a long pull from his soda, lowered it, and spoke for the first time in a good while. 

“What the hell?” 

Earlier

“Okay, so first you need to cast on a few stitches.” 

“Cast on.” 

“Right. What you’re gonna do is you’re gonna make a slipknot and put that over the needle.” 

“Which needle?” 

“Doesn’t matter.” 

Klaus looked down at the two identical knitting needles in his lap. “Oh. Right.” He formed the knot easily enough and slipped it over one needle, holding it upright. “Now what?” 

“Now you need to make the first stitch.” 

From all Richard had relayed of his encounter with Klaus the night before, he’d never intended to give the younger man a personal knitting lesson. Plans to meet up with him at the library, to pull him into the circle and let him absorb suggestions and tricks from a group eager to teach had taken a blow when Klaus had called earlier that morning. “Said he couldn’t make it,” Richard had told Jim on their way to the shop. “Went on about how he’d tried to knit and couldn’t do it, so he couldn’t come, didn’t want to slow us down.” 

He’d also said Klaus had sounded as if he’d hoped to leave a message rather than speak to the person he’d called, but that was neither here nor there. 

“You’ll take one end of the yarn like this.” Richard lifted his own yarn to demonstrate. “And then lay it over top the rest to make a loop.” 

Klaus had to look back at the example once or twice, but he replicated it without trouble. 

“Now you’ll just slide the loop onto the same needle as the slipknot.” 

Jim glanced toward the cash register. Aimee shot him a smile before pretending to straighten an immaculate display of crochet hooks. Despite her age, she was an old hand around the shop, having been hired on the year before their knitting group outgrew the small meeting room and moved to the library. She still dropped by whenever night classes aligned to keep Thursdays free, bringing along her latest project and a story or two about her dog. 

Klaus tried lifting the loop and sliding it over the needle, as Richard demonstrated, but he hadn’t twisted it correctly and the loop disintegrated and he had to form it again. After a moment of frustration, he managed to slide his new loop down alongside the knot. 

“Great. Now you’ll just do that another eighteen times.” 

Klaus let out a puff of air that wasn’t quite a sigh, but might have been on its way to one. With care, he formed another loop, lifted it gingerly, and placed it on the needle. Richard nodded approval, and Jim’s gaze drifted back to the tattoo on Klaus’ bicep, to the words Sky Soldiers printed above the skull emblem. There were more letters inked in tiny font above, but Klaus’ sleeve kept getting in the way and they were too small for Jim to read from where he sat. 

Like the olive drab vest he wore, like the dog tags dangling against his shirt, the tattoo was just familiar enough to poke at memories ranging from bittersweet to unpalatable. There were a few sweet ones, sure, but war and time had a way of working in concert to change the flavor of those. Perhaps the words meant something different to Klaus, perhaps there was another reason he had chosen to have them inscribed on his skin, but to see it on a man so young sent a dozen questions bubbling to his mind, each more uncomfortable than the last. 

He looked to Richard, but if the man shared his misgivings, he didn’t show it. Jim traded a look with his friend, then spoke. 

“So Klaus. You from the city?” 

Klaus kept his attention on the next stitch he cast on. “Yeah, pretty much. I mean, I’ve always lived here, so I guess that’s where I’m from.” 

Jim had heard less conclusive answers. “So no military family for you.” 

He wasn’t expecting a laugh, let alone one with such a bitter edge. “Not like that, no.” 

No confusion crossed Richard’s face, but he did toss Jim a quick glance. Talk later, it said. Of Klaus, Richard asked: “So what made you decide to enlist?” 

Klaus hesitated, and that hesitation went on a little too long for Jim to believe he was simply concentrating on his knitting. “Just kinda….got thrown into it, I guess.” 

Jim nodded slowly. He’d heard that sentiment before, expressed a dozen different ways—from men who were drafted. Those who enlisted had longer stories, some inspiring and some less so, but they had stories. Reasons. Ideals that were confirmed and challenged, shattered and tested. There were exceptions, of course, but when there hadn’t been a draft in forty-six years, stories and reasons usually replaced uncertainty and bewilderment. 

He looked to Richard, trying to guess whether he should ask the kid where he’d served or leave that to his friend, but Klaus lifted his cast-on stitches for inspection. “Got it!” 

“Looks good,” Richard said, and Klaus smiled at the approval. “Now you’ll take your yarn like this….” 

He threaded the yarn around and between his fingers, and Klaus did the same, mimicking as Richard lifted his second needle and slid it into the first stitch. His fingers slipped a bit, missed the yarn the first couple times, but he managed. That smile resurfaced when Richard nodded encouragement. 

Jim knew better than to interrupt a novice knitter in the midst of his first uncertain stitches, so he cast about for something, some small and mundane task that might distance him from the questions tapping him on the shoulder. A glance at his watch told him it was a little late for one meal, a little early for the next—as good a time as any for a snack. 

“I’m gonna head down to the coffee shop on the corner,” he said, stretching. “You guys want anything?” 

“Ooh! They still have those breakfast sandwiches, with the sausage and egg on a biscuit with all that melty cheese?” 

“I’m sure they do.” Jim had expected a little more hesitation from Klaus, but the younger man’s enthusiasm brought a smile. “You want anything, Rich?” 

“Just coffee.” 

Jim stood, but before he’d gotten completely to his feet, a familiar glint of steel against Klaus’ shirt caught his eye. The letter K was up where the surname belonged, but that only proved this Klaus wasn’t a Hargreeves, so he read further. 

What the hell? 

For a long moment, Richard’s words hung in a silence filled by low chatter and Tom Petty’s voice filtering through the speakers: Somewhere, somehow, somebody must’ve kicked you around some...

“You heard what he said.” 

Jim nodded. He’d found Richard and Klaus mid-conversation, but he’d caught enough to stop in his tracks and listen. “Maybe he’s just read more books than most.” 

“But why Vietnam?” 

“Could just like military history.” 

Richard shook his head at the photo. “World War Two’s the one everybody wants to learn about. Vietnam’s the one they want to forget.” 

After a halfhearted search for a counterpoint, Jim gave up. “Was he…” 

Richard met his gaze. 

“From the sound of it, he knows a lot about what the 173rd was up to. He talk about anything else? Overall strategies, basic timeline, any other shit that makes it into those books?” 

“Not much.” He paused in thought. “Actually... I’d have to check the dates, but I don’t think he brought up anything outside of ‘68 or ‘69.” 

Jim took another swig of beer, hoping it would quell his unease. Most amateur historian types liked to study everything, and they’d talk your ear off about anything that occurred within their eras of interest. A self-described WWII buff had spoken about D-Day, the myriad faults in Hitler’s strategies, the American and English home fronts, and scientific advances courtesy of wartime technology. Not all historians were like that; some had a narrower range. But when a particular era sparked their interest, many of those who made research a hobby became intellectual magpies, snatching up every halfway interesting fact for their ever-growing collections. 

“How the hell’d Vietnam come up, anyway?” 

“He asked where I’d served.” 

Klaus should have fielded the question first. He was the mystery, after all, the one who had walked into a room full of strangers to sob over a man fifty years gone. Even if he didn’t care to discuss what he remembered, he should have at least mentioned where he’d been. “He say where he served?” 

“Never got to that, no. But he talked an awful lot about Vietnam.” 

Jim lapsed into silence again. What he’d seen of that talk, of the look Klaus had worn as he spoke, was enough to make him want to down the rest of his beer, grab another, and head out on the town long enough to put Klaus and the unnamed soldier and everything in between out of his mind. Researchers, amateur historians, history buffs—whatever you wanted to call them, most of them bore a certain expression when their favorite era surfaced in conversation. Their eyes lit up, their faces softened as if in preparation to smile. Some talked with voices pitched higher in excitement; some talked with their hands as well. It had repulsed Jim at first, seeing them discuss the Second World War as if a conflict that had left blood and bodies strewn across a ruined landscape was the plot of a popular film they longed to see again. It wasn’t his war, but it was still a war. Even after reminding himself that what they knew of it was cold facts on a page, old posters and stories collected years after surrenders were made and victories declared, he couldn’t say their enthusiasm set him at ease. 

When Klaus spoke of Vietnam, of battles fought years before his time and a war ended decades before his birth, there was no light in his eyes. No eagerness, no sharpened interest, no horror or shock. He responded to Richard’s stories with somber nods and words, but not surprise. He’d shared no anecdotes of his own; any facts he’d named had been in the form of questions—were you here, were you there, did you see this go down or were you wrapped up in a different shitshow—but Jim had seen the look in his eyes, heard the subtle catch in his voice before. It was a question, a plea for recognition. 

You’ve been to hell. Did you see what I saw? Do what I did? 

“You see his forearm?” 

Richard’s voice, quiet though it was, gave Jim a start, but it faded quickly. “Academy kids weren’t the only ones to get those tattoos.” 

Richard gave a slow nod, eyes on the photo. “Even if he is that Klaus, it doesn’t explain how he got the tags.” 

Katz, David. Jim saw the dog tags in his mind’s eye, as sharp and clear as if they sat before him, the name pressed into the metal and his memory. The man himself stood in the photo beside Klaus’ doppelgänger. 

“Might explain how he knew Katz, if he can talk to the dead.” 

“Doesn’t explain anything else.” 

Jim said nothing. Something had happened to Klaus—anyone who looked more than a second could see that. But a longer gaze and a while spent listening told a story, one set in a faraway jungle and filled with blood and the chatter of gunfire and awful lights blazing through the darkness—one Klaus was too young to know. One he heard with the solemn quiet of a man who had witnessed it. 

Scars are just tattoos with better stories. Jim wasn’t sure where he’d first heard that or how much stock he put in it, but it had stuck. But when those scars weren’t the kind you could show off to a retired Marine over a few drinks, when they were the sort that appeared only as ripples in a pond, there was no narrative. Only a jumble of events and details—a sobbing man and things he shouldn’t have known, tattoos with significance that ought to escape him—strung together in a manner that might have made sense in a fever dream, but nowhere else. 

“Could be a scam,” Jim said. To his relief, Richard shook his head almost immediately. 

“Tats are expensive.” 

“Research is free.” 

“You don’t learn what he learned without reading a shit-ton of books and old documents.” He took another sip. “Too much investment for too little payoff.” 

A similar thought had planted itself in Jim’s mind, but hearing it echoed allowed it to take root through the silence that followed. “He never asked for anything.” 

Richard looked to him; Jim saw him out the corner of his eye as he regarded the photo again. 

“Never asked for a goddamn thing. Not even help.”  

Richard nodded slowly, somberly, and Jim shut his eyes. All those disparate elements swirling around him, all those impossibilities played as fact, and that was what kept Jim from dismissing it all as a sick hoax played for profit. If there was profit to be gained, Klaus didn’t seek it. He only sought to carry what he’d brought back with him, even as the burden crushed him beneath its weight. 

The two of them stood in silence as the music played. 

“Never did track down everyone in his unit,” Richard said after a long minute. 

Jim nodded. The war had taken some and spared others, but those it spared weren’t shielded from death by other means. Others could have lived, but with their whereabouts unknown, they were no more able to name the soldier who appeared in their photo. 

“Got any other leads?” Jim asked. 

Richard drew a long breath. “There’s one guy. Tried contacting him a couple times, wound up getting put in touch with a friend of a friend. That trail might lead to a dead end for all I know….but it might lead somewhere.” 

Jim looked to the unnamed soldier again. All those years between the taking of the photo and Klaus traipsing into the bar, all those years spent trying to connect the man to a name, had culminated in a morning of knitting and a conversation that made no sense and too much sense. 

This lead, this man from Katz’s unit—as Richard said, it could be yet another dead end in a long string of dead ends. But if it wasn’t, if they could speak to a man who had served alongside the unnamed soldier, had talked with him and eaten with him and exchanged a hundred jokes with him that would have drawn gasps and looks of horror from anyone who didn’t spend their days marching from one battlefield to the next….

The thought brought a mixture of anticipation and apprehension, and Jim wasn’t sure if the two could be separated. 

“And if it doesn’t?” 

Richard regarded the photo again, and Jim couldn’t say whether his gaze went out to the unnamed soldier or to Katz. Maybe it had settled on the both of them.  

“Then I guess we’re back to square one.” 

Author’s Note: For anyone who’s curious, the song playing in the background is “Refugee” by Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers. 

#the umbrella academy #umbrella academy fanfic #umbrella academy spoilers #sheepdogs series #tua fanfic #oneshot #klaus hargreeves #original character #original characters #long post #not sure how this scene fits into the show's timeline #i mean #i know it can #but not sure how #but i liked it so here it is

[raendown]

Commission for @cassieeeeanne!

Pairing: KakashiYamato Word count: 4273 Rated: G Summary: After a car accident leaves Kakashi without his memories Tenzou finds himself the only one having trouble moving forward - mostly because he is the only one left to remember all the years of being happily married, years that now exist only in his own mind. He visits still, of course he does, but over the past few months he's discovered that hope is hard to cling to when your other half is already letting go.

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KO-FI and commission info in the header!

Memoir Redacted

The hospital hallways were warm, which felt wrong. Something about being denied the cliché of a cold uncaring hospital just didn’t sit right with him no matter that he tried to rationalize it away by reminding himself they were just entering the height of summer and one of the nurses had told him a month ago that their air conditioning wasn’t the best. Stepping out of the cool breeze outside and in to the muggy heat of the in-patient wing, Tenzou automatically pulled at the collar of his t-shirt. He could already feel the sweat gathering in the small of his back.

At the very least his partner was probably happy with the temperature. Kakashi had always abhorred the cold, although he wasn’t even sure if the man remembered that or if it was just instinct that had him leaning in to what small patches of sun reached his bed during the day.

Rubbing at his temple with one hand, Tenzou returned a greeting from one of the nurses with a small wave of his other hand. He was never sure if it bothered him or touched him that they all knew his face and his name by now. For the first week after Kakashi’s accident he had practically camped here and in the month after he woke up Tenzou had visited every day after work. Two more months down the road and he still visited just as frequently but he didn’t think many people would blame him for not staying as long each time anymore.

Looking in to the eyes of the man he loved and seeing nothing but blank politeness would drive anyone from the room, he was sure.

When he reached Kakashi’s room Tenzou paused to look in through the window, taking a moment just to admire the sight of his husband’s placid smile and the carefree lack of tension in his shoulders, the ease with which he held himself even in this sterile, foreign environment. For a man with little to no memories of who he was Kakashi had been incredibly brave from the moment he woke up. It was almost as admirable as it was painful to see all the qualities that Tenzou had fallen in love with him for all those years ago displayed so prominently despite the fact that, for all he knew, he was untethered to this world around him.

Clearing his throat, Tenzou pushed his thoughts aside just as he pushed the door open and stepped through.

“Knock, knock,” he called softly. Kakashi turned to look at him and his heart thudded painfully at the minute tightening around those beloved eyes, the flicker of impatience where there should have been loving welcome.

“Tenzou-san.”

“I’m your husband,” he pointed out for the hundredth time. “There’s no need to be so formal.”

Kakashi closed his eyes in the way of his fake smile and tilted his head to one side, “Ah, I still forget things sometimes. Please excuse me.”

He apparently forgot, too, that as his husband Tenzou would know all his habits, could read the irritation behind that false smile and knew that Kakashi didn’t really want him here. They got along well enough. Of course they did, they had clicked together like puzzle pieces right from the moment they first met so many years ago. The problem now was that this wasn’t the first meeting and yet only Tenzou carried the baggage of their shared memories.

“I brought you a few things from home,” he offered, letting the fake smile pass without comment. “You’ve already read the other books I brought so I thought you’d like the last in the series. And this is just a little, uh, you play with this puzzle box a lot. Mostly just to keep your hands busy while we watch TV but I thought maybe…”

“That it might spark some memories?” Kakashi held out one hand but it was with the air of someone resigned to doing something just to get it out of the way.

Dropping the puzzle box in the outstretched hand, ignoring the screaming voice in his heart that yearned to weave their fingers together, Tenzou nodded and murmured quietly, “I had hoped so.”

“Maa, I appreciate the book,” Kakashi offered. “I’m dying to know what happens next.”

“I could spoil it for you,” Tenzou teased with a hesitant smile. He was pleased to see Kakashi huff and snatch the novel away from him as well to hold it close like a precious child. He always had gotten a little too in to his stories; it was good to see that was another thing about him that hadn’t changed.

“Don’t you dare! Junko has been through so much and I want to find out for myself how she deals with Haruya’s betrayal! A love story should be experienced, not recounted!”

Tenzou recoiled like he’d been slapped in the face and his reaction seemed to force Kakashi to realize what he’d just said. To his credit he did wince, a clear sign he hadn’t meant to be so blatantly insulting, and set the book down to rub awkwardly at the back of his head. No amount of apologetic expressions could make up for blunt honesty, however. The damage had already been done.

Fighting hard to keep his own face neutral, Tenzou took a step back. “Anyway, I just came to drop those off and to let you know that…that I’m still thinking of you. But I, uh, I suppose if you’re so excited then I should let you get to reading!”

He offered a false smile of his own but didn’t dare look up to see whether it worked in the slightest. Kakashi’s eyes burned in to him as they both murmured awkward goodbyes and even though he knew it was impossible Tenzou felt as though those eyes followed him all the way back out of the hospital, chasing him through the too-warm hallways and out in to the breeze where he was disappointed to realize that he still couldn’t breathe past the lead in his chest.

Of course, as weak as he was for the man he had married, Tenzou was back at the hospital only two days later. Kakashi had called him a sucker for punishment many times before and never had he felt so much like laughing and crying at the same time because the man was more right than ever and he wouldn’t even remember it.

A terrible irony considering how much he enjoyed being right.

Before going to Kakashi’s room he spoke to one of the nurses in the hallway who updated him on the fact that there were really no updates to be given, his condition unchanging. The blood clot they were so worried about was still in the same spot, not moving towards his brain yet but also not disappearing, and the blood thinners they had him on weren’t making as much of a difference as the doctor had hoped. If it weren’t for the blood thinners Kakashi could have actually come home. Tenzou supposed his husband was probably grateful that giving an adult so much Advil had such a potential to be dangerous since it gave him an excuse not to go live with a man whom he saw as a stranger.

The first thing Tenzou saw when he did enter the room was a smile he knew all too well. Kakashi had a cute face and a killer smile and he knew just how to use it, always had. It was one of the first things that caught Tenzou’s attention and it was one of the deadliest weapons against him whenever they bickered. The problem right then was that his favorite smile was being directed at someone who was absolutely not him.

Both Kakashi and the nurse stopped laughing as soon as they spotted him there in the doorway, the nameless young man who had probably come in to the room by accident cleared his throat and bid the patient a good day, edging around Tenzou with a nervous look in his eyes that said he knew all about the odd relationship between them but had chosen to stop and flirt anyway. Hopefully some of the other nurses would know his name so Tenzou could ask him very politely to step the fuck off.

“Tenzou-san,” Kakashi greeted him. His voice carried a firm note that elicited a very soft sigh from the doorway.

“You don’t have to- never mind. How are you?”

“Well I suppose most of my day has been pretty good.” When Kakashi smiled there was a layer of coldness behind it that said Tenzou was the one who had ruined that good day by interrupting the scene he had just now.

Choosing not to address that, Tenzou rather stubbornly stepped in to the room and parked himself in to visitor’s chair. Kakashi was his husband. They had been married for six years and dated for two before that. No wet behind the ears nurse boy was going to step in to his territory without a fight; just because it hurt to his very core that Kakashi would give so much warmth to someone he had no connections to and yet turned away from Tenzou on instinct, that didn’t mean he was ready to give up quite yet.

Almost. But not yet. He was worn and tired and the months of cool reception had been hard but he was also patient and so deeply in love he didn’t know if it was in him to turn away. This was the road he had chosen to walk and by god he would walk it until his knees gave out from underneath him. Or until he was asked to leave. That was an option he had very carefully considered, accepted, and then gently pushed to one side in the desperate hope that it would never happen.

“Have you gotten very far in your book?” he asked. It was the safest topic he could think of to talk about and was rewarded for his efforts by the excitement on Kakashi’s face.

“Already four chapters in! It’s thrilling! The romance, the action, the suspense and everything, it’s all so masterfully crafted. I really must have some good taste for these to be my favorites. This author is a genius!” While he spoke his hands traced shapes in the air, the most animated movements Tenzou had seen from him since the accident. It was heartening to see.

“You met him once, you know,” he said. “We went to a book signing two years ago when this last installment came out. You were first in line. We camped outside the bookstore all night.”

Kakashi’s jaw dropped with awe. “I met him!? Tell me! Tell me everything!”

There was really no denying that happy expression. For the first time since the man had woken from his coma he seemed excited to interact and Tenzou was human enough to take his wins where he could find them. It was incredible to be in the center of Kakashi’s focus again and for the next couple of hours he dredged up every scrap of knowledge he had about the Icha Icha series and its author, things he had picked up over the years from listening to this same man gush over them or reciting a few raunchy passages during intimate moments. He might have never read the books himself but after living with someone who obsessed over them for so long he was bound to know at least enough to carry his weight in the conversation.

Unfortunately the well of his knowledge did run dry eventually and even Kakashi could only ask so many questions about the author when their meeting with him had only lasted for about fifteen minutes, most of which had been spent standing to the side and speaking over his shoulder while the man continued to sign novels for other people in line. The description of how jealous the other book lovers had been to see him being so friendly with the author earned a laugh at least.

But as the conversation slowly began to peter out again Tenzou felt the same old frustration rising up in him.

“It shouldn’t be this awkward,” he blurted suddenly. “You always told me it was love at first sight, that you were captivated right from the beginning. I don’t understand. How is it different now?” He knew he had ruined all the good rapport he’d just built when Kakashi ran a tired hand through his messy silver hair.

“Maybe you look different,” was his blunt suggestion.

“Not that much. At least, you always said–”

“Or maybe that’s the problem! You’re always on about what I’ve said and what I’ve done and how you think I’m supposed to be. I don’t know that guy you want me to be, Tenzou-san, and I don’t know you. Maybe I fell in love with you the first time because you didn’t expect anything from me!”

Leaning back in his chair, Tenzou took a deep breath to steady himself. It was surprisingly difficult. “You’re right, I have been expecting a lot from you. It’s just hard. One day I have a husband who loves me and then the next…”

“Yes, yes, the next you have me. Well I’m very sorry to be a disappointment for you but I don’t think you’ve ever completely understood what it’s like from my side. I don’t know you! But you look at me like you’re just…waiting.” Kakashi shook his head. “I don’t even really know what you’re waiting for. My memories? Some sign that I’m falling in love with you all over again even though you haven’t given me any time or reason to? It stresses me out to have you here, Tenzou-san. I’m sorry if that hurts to hear but every time you visit…it’s just stressful trying to figure out who you’re waiting for me to be.”

Each word he spoke was like another knife in Tenzou’s heart. Ice ran through his veins and his lungs burned for the air he couldn’t seem to breathe in properly. No pain he had ever felt came even close to this except those first terrible hours after the accident when they weren’t sure if Kakashi would live or die. But worst of all was knowing that Kakashi hadn’t said anything that wasn’t true. Knowing that for all the hope in his heart Kakashi’s memories were gone, they might never come back, and there was absolutely nothing he could do about that.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered quietly, hands fisted on his knees. “You’re right, of course. I should never have put those expectations on you. It was unfair of me. Thank you for being honest. Perhaps it would be best if I…visited less often.” Despite his efforts he couldn’t quite bring himself to say he would stay away and he averted his gaze to avoid seeing any potential disappointment in Kakashi’s face.

“Right. I truly don’t mean to hurt you but I would appreciate a little space to just breathe and learn to be me again. Please don’t think I haven’t tried to remember. I have. I can see how much you love me and it isn’t that I don’t want that. I just…I don’t remember you.”

His voice had only been so soft on the few rare occasions when they fought for real and Tenzou hated himself for even making the comparison after what he had just been told. It took a great deal of effort to peel himself up out of the plastic chair and step back towards the door with both hands clasped together in the awkwardly polite manner so many had made fun of him for over the years.

“If space is what you ask of me then space is what I will give you.” He hovered for a couple of long minutes as he tried to think of something else to say but all the words in his head were jumbled and messy, emotional and so very much not what needed to be said at that moment. For all that he had always been the more mature between the two of them, more in tune with his emotions, it was sort of funny that now he had finally found a situation where that worked to his detriment. Now in the hour when he felt the most was the time when he needed to box himself in and display the least – and he had failed at that. It simply wasn’t in his nature. With a formal bow Tenzou excused himself and whispered his goodbyes.

When the door closed behind him Kakashi’s voice did not follow but the nurses in their station all watched him pass with sympathy in their eyes as tears began to spill over his cheeks. He ignored them. Their sympathy was not what he wanted right then.

Resisting the desire to go visit his beloved was about as hard as he’d thought it would be. Neither of them had ever had any family to fall back on and without Kakashi as the glue to keep them together he found his circle of friends less cohesive than he would have liked. He spent the next couple of weeks feeling isolated despite the people all around him at work or when he went out shopping, lonelier than he could ever remember feeling in his life.

Most of the time he spent away was filled with deep cleaning their home and flipping through magazines he had no real interest in, things he could do that didn’t require much brain power since his mind remained stuck in a hospital room where he apparently wasn’t welcome. Or needed. The sight of Kakashi smiling at another man played in his head a hundred times over until he thought it might make him physically ill to remind himself yet again that if the memories never came back then he had no right to stop Kakashi from falling in love with someone new and starting a new life over the ashes of their old one. It was a hard truth and it hurt to swallow but it was something he knew he couldn’t let himself forget.

He hadn’t been sent away entirely yet, however, and Tenzou could only keep his stupidly hopeful heart away for so long. Certain occasions should be spent together, after all. On the Monday of the third week he found himself trudging along muggy hospital hallways once again and fanning himself absently with one hand while he waved to the nurses with the other. Kakashi wasn’t in his bed when Tenzou came in to the room but the bathroom door was closed and the light was on so he hovered anxiously just inside the room feeling as though he were back in high school waiting for the principal to see him. When the door opened he did his best to assume a neutral face instead of the kicked puppy look he knew he was probably wearing.

“Oh. Tenzou. Jeez, you scared me.” Kakashi faltered in the bathroom doorway and put a hand over his heart, laughing a little at his own reaction. Then he continued on to clamor back in his bed before saying anything else, melting back against the pillows.

“I hope I haven’t come at a bad time,” Tenzou murmured, still not coming entirely in to the room yet also unwilling to send himself away. Not if he didn’t have to.

“Maa, I was pretty bored actually. The TV in here stopped working yesterday so I haven’t really had much to do.”

A half smile formed on his lips and he asked, “How will you ever watch your soaps now?”

“Right? All that drama and I’m missing it! They’re so messy and stupid and they draw you right in until you’re sitting on the edge of your seat because you’ve gotta know whether Takeshi survives that third brain transplant.”

“Brain transplants?” A snort of disbelief escaped him and he was thrilled to hear Kakashi laugh.

“I know, right!”

“Ridiculous.”

They both giggled over the stupidity of soap operas for a little while, coming up with more and more unbelievable problems for the characters to face and the stupidly dramatic solutions the show might bring out for them or the twists that would get thrown in to the mix. It was pleasant conversation, more pleasant than most they’d had, and not just because this time Tenzou could actually put his whole self in to it with no pretending. He could easily admit to feeling the draw of those stupid dramas as much as his husband. What made it truly nice though was the ease in Kakashi’s stance, the lack of tension in his shoulders, the way he seemed to sense that there was nothing being asked of him and so felt no need to raise his hackles defensively in the face of failure.

Eventually the conversation turned to other things in a natural manner and Tenzou happily followed along whatever path Kakashi wished to tread. Honestly he was just happy to finally sit here with no expectations and no burning in the back of his eyes as he compared every breath and blink to the man he wanted to be sitting in front of him. In a way it was like meeting Kakashi for the first time all over again and it was strangely refreshing.

More than three hours passed by almost without notice and he only truly realized the time when his stomach rumbled loudly enough he feared they might have heard it all the way over at the nurses’ station. With a faintly embarrassed look Tenzou held a hand over his stomach and apologized.

“Time for lunch?” Kakashi asked him with light humor. He nodded.

“Yeah, I think I’ll treat myself to my favorite.”

“Oh? What’s your favorite?” It was only an innocent question asked with a surprising amount of genuine curiosity but for Tenzou it felt like a bucket of ice dumped over his head.

For a little while it had been just like old times and whether that was because he’d been able to let go for a while or simply because he forgot about Kakashi’s condition in his eagerness wasn’t clear. Obviously he would need to do a little more work on this whole ‘no expectations’ thing; apparently his poor tired heart had been hoping that just this one nice conversation would solve all their problems. Pushing himself to his feet, Tenzou very firmly told himself to put a lock down on his emotions and keep this pain to himself lest he alienate his husband after all that work he’s just put in to growing closer again.

“I’m really boring,” he joked instead. “My favorite thing to eat is just this really great apple walnut salad I get from a place that’s a few miles from here.”

“Maa, a man’s got to eat his veggies.”

Tenzou smiled softly. “That he does. Well, this man is off to eat his veggies right now. Have a good day, Kakashi. I’ll come visit again…sometime. Not too soon, I promise, wouldn’t want you to get tired of my face or something.” He forced a little chuckle that even managed to sound half genuine and it seemed like he would manage to get away from this visit without any proverbial scratches.

He made it all the way to the door and halfway out before Kakashi’s voice called himself with an absent note, already distracting himself with something. When he turned back the man had one of the Icha Icha books open across his lap for yet another read through, his fingers fiddling with a worn puzzle box to keep them occupied.

“What is it?” he asked. Kakashi smiled vaguely.

“Happy birthday, Tenzou. Just thought I should say that before you go.”

“I…it is my birthday.”

“Mm. I hope it’s a good one.”

With that Kakashi went back to his book and Tenzou very carefully shut the door, leaned back against the corridor wall, and slid down to the floor with both hands clasped over his mouth to muffle the sobs bubbling up out of his chest.

Kakashi remembered his birthday. As calmly as though it were only normal he had remembered something he’d never being told, oh so casually stopping Tenzou’s heart and nearly ending his entire world because Kakashi remembered. It was only a single detail, small in the grand scheme of things, but to him it was the breath of fresh air after so long in the dark. It was a ray of hope when he had only just begun to accept that all may truly have been lost.

Tears streamed down his cheeks and Tenzou curled in to himself to muffle the sounds of his crying, desperately trying not to draw attention from the man just on the other side of the wall, but for once it was not pain that shook his form. It was joy. Joy so bright and hopeful it almost did become its own kind of pain but he could not have cared less, gave himself over to it without hesitation. After so long feeling nothing but the slow dwindling of his own hope it was a strange kind of ecstasy to latch on to something so small and seemingly insignificant.

Kakashi had remembered his birthday. And with that Tenzou was reminded of what it was like to believe that things might really be okay. Because if he remembered this one thing – well.

What else might he remember?

#rae writes #commission #kakayama #kakashi #yamato #tenzou #fanfiction

[pen-masta]

Brotherly Love Part 1: Promise

This is a series I’ve been working on for a while about three brothers enjoy!

1 2 3 4A 4B

The rain pounds against the window, as the wind howls its moaning cry. With his blanket wrapped tight around him like a wooly shield, Castel lies in his bed. He curls up further into a ball as he listens to the roaring storm outside. Nuzzling his head deeper into his pillow he wills himself to fall back to sleep; he has been awake for hours, startled out of slumber by a loud crash of thunder. Pulling his protection back away from his head, he peers out into his little room. Besides his Scooby Doo nightlight, the only other glow in his room is his digital alarm clock, whose blue digits shine 3:40 AM. With a sigh Castel rolls back over to face his wall.

No use in just lying here, he thinks to himself. And with that he hauls himself out of his race car bed. Shuffling his feet across the shag carpet of his room, he makes his way to the door of his room—making sure to keep his blanket wrapped tight around his little body, it was his shield after all. The door creeks open and Castel drags himself out into the darkness of the hallway.

Once his eyes adjust to the inky black the journey to the kitchen from his room is no problem, but when he gets there he is surprised to see there is a light on. Poking his head around the corner he sees a body much larger than his hunched over the island.

Dawning his worn out UFO t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants, his older brother sits at the island reading the book that lay in front of him. Castel inches closer with his blanket shield dragging along the slick floor behind him. Quietly he positions himself next to his brother and stares up at the giant young man for a moment.

Zack looks much different than Castel, Zack looks more like their oldest brother Michael. They both have black hair and blue eyes and neither of them have any freckles; while Castel has a mop of brown unruly curls, caramel brown eyes, and so many freckles across his cheeks and nose you could connect them to make a picture. Castel doesn’t look like his mommy or his daddy either…but Zack and Mikey do. Castel has always wondered why he was the black sheep of the family. Why couldn’t he have black hair like Zack and Mikey and daddy, or blue eyes like his brothers and mommy?

Castel hadn’t always felt this way; these were very recent discoveries he’s made over the past few months. The kids at his pre-school have older brothers and sisters like he does, but they all have the same hair color or eye color or something that they all shared; something that when you saw it you knew in an instant they were related. But his physical feature compared to his family is not the only thing that makes him feel different, when he was littler he felt strange hanging out with his big brothers and playing games. He couldn’t place the feeling nor understood it so he just ignored it, but now the feelings were coming back and were making his wonder…why?

Castel blinks and shakes his head clearing it before giving Zack’s pant leg a gentle tug. Zack snaps out of his trance and looks down to see his baby brother staring up at him with tired eyes. He smiles and closes his book before turning on his stool to face Castel.

“Hey Cassie,” Zack says. “Why are you up so late Tiger?”

“Couldn’t sleep,” Castel says rubbing one of his tired little eyes with the palm of his hand.

Zack’s smile widens, “Did the storm scare you?”

“No!” Castel says abruptly. He pursues his lips, furrows his brow, and crosses his arms—leaving his poor blanket to plummet to the floor. Castel felt insulted that his brother would even suggest such a thing as Castel being afraid—even if a tiny part of him was. He was six-years-old now he was a big boy and shouldn’t let a stupid storm scare him.

Zack stifles a chuckle and picks up the small boy. Placing his brother on his knees, he smiles warmly at his pouty faced little brother. “Well I am,” Zack says, “that’s why I’m down here and not in bed.”

 “You’re too big to be scared of a storm,” Castel says his brow relaxing.

“You’re never too big to be afraid of something Cassie,” Zack says picking up the fallen blanket from where it lay on the floor. “Storms are big and loud and scary.”

“They aren’t that bad,” Castel giggles a little and smiles at the fact that he was braver than his big brother.

“Well I think they are,” Zack says wrapping the blanket around Castel once again.

“Well you’re just a scardy cat,” Castel says.

“Is that so?” Zack laughs and raises an eyebrow at his brother.

“Yes,” Castel nods. “I’m not though, I’m brave.” He points to himself with his thumb for emphasis.

A crack of thunder rings out without warning and Castel lets out a rather loud yelp and jumps closer to his brother, hugging him tight. Zack feels the way Castel trembles and how his little heart is pounding against Zack’s stomach. He smiles sympathetically and wraps his strong arms around the little boy, giving him a reassuring squeeze. After a moment Castel stops trembling and looks up at his brother.

 Zack scans the little face for any signs of tears or anymore fear. When he finds none and sees Castel is relaxed his sympathetic smile turns into a teasing grin.

 “Brave huh?”

Castel’s cheeks turn pink and he smiles embarrassed, in response to his brother’s teasing he sticks his tongue out at him. Zack chuckles and ruffles the mop of curls on his baby brother’s head. Leaving his book behind Zack carries Castel across the kitchen and over to the cabinet. Castel sits on the counter and watches as Zack pops some popcorn in the microwave and makes up two cups of chocolate milk. Once the kernels have been popped, Zack pours the steaming fluffy treat into a large bowl. Castel sneaks a handful as Zack digs around in the drawers, he pulls out a bag and dups little chocolate chips into the bowl of popcorn. As he mixes the popcorn and chocolate together Castel throws a few pieces of his stolen corn at his brother.

Zack smiles playfully and narrows his eyes at his brother before throwing a few pieces back, earning him several giggles from the baby next to him. Zack puts Castel on his shoulders and hands the bowl up to him; using Zack’s head for balance Castel holds onto the bowl, while Zack carries the cups and his brother into the living room.

He sets the cups and bowl down on the coffee table before gently knocking his brother back into the LazyBoy. Castel giggles more and laughs as he falls from his brother’s shoulders onto the cushiony chair. Zack settles in next to Castel and watches his baby brother squirm and crawl around until he’s comfortable—which comfortable means curling up on Zack’s stomach buddle up in his blanket. Once Castel has finally stopped moving Zack tucks the bowl into the crook of his arm and offers some to Castel.

The two brothers sit like this nibbling at the chocolaty, buttery treat for a while. Zack tells Castel stories from his childhood before Castel was born: cool vacations, funny tales about getting lost on trips, fun rides, anything and everything. Zack spins his tales for hours, all the while Castel is staring up at his brother with big curious eyes, listening intently to every word.

Castel couldn’t wait to be as big as his brother and have all these stories to share. Maybe when he’s as big as Zack he’ll have a little brother to sit with in the early mornings and tell stories to. Mikey was more of the playful brother than Zack, when Mikey came home from school he’d always have new games to play with Zack and Castel. Castel loved playing with Mikey, but he also loved these moments with Zack. Listening to his stories and talking with his big brother he adored them, he craved them, in fact anytime at all with either of his amazing big brothers was all Castel wanted.

Soon the bowl is empty, the cups are drained, and the storm has been long forgotten by both boys, with laughter and stories drowning out the noise. Castel nuzzles his head into Zack’s chest, his eyelids becoming heavy, his body yearning him to sleep…but he doesn’t want to sleep, he doesn’t want to leave this moment so he forces his eyes to stay open.

I will not fall asleep, I will not fall asleep, he repeats to himself in his thoughts just as a yawn slips passed his lips. Zack—becoming very overwhelmed with sleep as well—smiles softly and brushes a few curls back from Castel’s forehead.

“You tired Tiger?” He asks

“No,” Castel says as another yawn escapes him.

Zack chuckles and rubs the small back of his brother, softly humming a song his mother sang to him when he was Castel’s age. Although Castel is extremely stubborn he eventually—and reluctantly—drifts to sleep. Zack listens to the soft slow breaths of his baby brother, and watches as Castel’s thumb slowly finds its way to his mouth.

With a smile Zack looks out the window to see the rain dripping off the gutter as the mean, furious clouds move on towards a new place. As the sun begins to climb up into the dark sky, Zack looks back at the little boy lying on him. And in that moment he promises himself that no matter what he will always be there to chase away the fears and storms that will attack his little brother. Because he still is his little brother no matter what his DNA says, Castel will always be his little brother and Zack will always be his big brother. Zack will always be there for him to protect him from everything, even the truth.

 I will never let him know he is adopted; Zack promises himself as he joins his brother in slumber.