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#to cry. despite all contradicting evidence that this is happening to him is a good thing.

hacked-by-jake · 3 years

Note

Hbj, first of all I hope you have a great day. The theories about Jake using the character, it's making me crack my head, I've always been suspicious of the fact that he has such a quick love interest in MC, I don't see the point in him trusting and liking lovingly so fast in someone he doesn't know, whenever things get tough, he loves to say sweet things to calm down.

I love Jake, but of all the questions he can ask a stranger he decides to ask if MC has a boyfriend? It's like he wants to make sure he can use this method and after episode 8 when we decided to tell how we felt about what happened with Richy, I found him so cold in his responses, trying to treat the situation as unimportant and that bad things happen and when he saw that he was not convinced, he started to say beautiful things, I found it strange that he thought about giving up his sister for a complete stranger, because that's what we are, we don't know Jake and neither does he know us.

Despite all the theories, I know that when I talk to Jake again I'm going to trust him completely, after all they are theories, but the signs are there.

(If Jake is manipulating MC I will cry for days)

Hey, dear Anon! <3

Thank you very much! I also hope that you have a nice day/evening/night. <3

Well, first of all, even though the topic hurts a little, just like with you, but I love talking about it.

And I apologize in advance that the answer has become so long. I didn't expect that myself. xD

I fully understand your thoughts about this, and I’m also afraid that Jake is just taking advantage of us. I try to be as neutral as possible, so as not to be completely biased.

Okay, so I can say for myself, and for many others, that we’re actually the same on that point with Jake. We also trust him incredibly fast although he is anything but trustworthy at the beginning.

You know, I think the relationship between MC and Jake is a little bit based on soul mates. That it’s not a coincidence that we get to know him and that we get along so quickly.

We write more with Jake than with the other characters with whom we can enter into a closer relationship. For example, Richy, even when you flirt with Richy, it goes very fast to the point where you can get closer to him.

I think in some ways this "everything goes fast" is also simply because of the way the game works. I mean, we can’t take so much time to get to know everybody.

We immediately talk to all the characters, and directly a lot. If it would take longer in the game, it would be strange firstly because of Hannah, because she would be kidnapped much longer, and secondly, there would be a lot of tension missing. At least I think so.

You know, I think he’s asking MC if we have a boyfriend, actually, is more of a sign that he’s really interested. I don’t consider Jake to be someone who gets closer to someone when the person is already in a relationship. I think he really wanted to know. Because if he did all this just to make us trust him, he might not care if MC is in a relationship or not.

As we can notice, Jake has a hard time getting social contacts, having a hard time with things like smalltalk, etc. he tells us (we can ask him that, but I think only in the premium version) that he is and always was alone. (I can’t remember his exact wording.) And later he tells us that Hannah and Lilly are the only family he has left.

I think MC has just been the first person to really care about him for a long time, asking him more private questions. Directly during our second conversation with him, we can talk to him about the desert island, and ask him, for example, which programs he uses to hack.

I think, as he says himself, we immediately had a good relationship with each other. And if he’s been alone for a long time, and then someone like MC comes and pays attention to his personality, and not just superficially, he enjoys it.

We have not been deterred by him and his performances, and have treated him as a normal person. Not, for example, like the government that sees him as a criminal, but we know he’s a hacker, but we don’t let that put us off.

In episode 8, when Lilly criticizes us for really trusting him, we can say that we had no choice. We had to trust him, to help Hannah.

And so it was for him with MC. He was just trying to save his sister who was kidnapped in front of him. And all of a sudden, our number comes from Hannah. He had as few options as we had. He’s just trying to find his sister, so he has to trust the person whose number seems to have something to do with it.

Moreover, we are all in a dark time. A kidnapper and murderer who kidnapped one person, murdered one person, and maybe even a second one, Richy.

Everything is always under stress and we are working hard to find and save Hannah. Stress, grief and worry. When two people like MC and Jake meet and have to work so closely together, then a little distraction is really good. Or being drawn closer to someone when you’re desperate.

And then he writes a pretty agitated message, I don’t know if you ever chose this option, I can recommend it to you.

I think we can see how Jake really is when we talk to him about that Hannah might have done something to herself.

Jake says, "But if you think she might have done something to herself, that’s out of the question."

We can then say it’s okay, and we’ll continue to talk to him. However, we can continue to talk about it and tell him, for example, that we should not exclude anything. He’s still stubborn, and we can tell him, "Why are you so stubborn?"

(well, unfortunately I can’t find the screenshot of this place and I can’t remember his exact wording)

However, he sounds so desperate and worried and it also sounds a bit like a reproach, so that he even apologizes afterwards and says that he did not want us to feel bad about him.

(Maybe there is someone here who has selected it and has a screenshot of it)

Yes, unfortunately Jake, in episode 8 when we talk about Richy, sounds and is very cold and emotionless. I think it’s just hard for him to understand how it felt. And "unfortunately" he is more focused on finding Hannah that is one of the only things that interest him.

I think Jake is also kind of blaming himself for not being able to help Hannah faster.

As we also know from episode 8, Hannah had sent him an email. However, this address was no longer active, and he only saw it when it was actually too late. He called her right away, but if he’d seen the message sooner, that might never have happened. Of course, it’s not his fault, but that’s how we humans are. And I think it’s the same with him.

If he feels guilty, I can understand that he wants to help so badly. He probably blames himself for breaking off contact with her at the time. That he didn’t dare tell his sister he is her brother.

Maybe then everything would have been different, and Hannah wouldn’t have ended up in this situation.

I think he was thinking of giving up on Hannah and running away with MC because it was stressful for him, too. He also suffers from the situation, but does not admit it to himself.

As he says himself, he tries to look at everything as objectively as possible, so he ignores what happened to Jessy and Richy. Because I think he’s also hiding his own feelings.

And in between, we can see him from the emotional side. Only rarely, but sometimes it happens.

And right now he realizes that for some time it would be easier to disappear with MC and turn your back on everything. Since the situation also burdens him, it is quite normal to think about choosing the easier way, which would also make him feel better.

But, as he also says, this would bring nothing. The responsibility would catch up with us and we would live forever with the guilt of just letting Hannah down.

And last but not least: the topic of manipulation.

And yes, that’s exactly what Jake is doing with us, manipulating us by using our feelings for him, and calming us down by telling us nice things.

Best we see this in episode 7. After his pursuers tried to hack us. Although he used this method before, manipulated us, but in episode 7 it is the most extreme to see.

However, I have to say that we are doing the same thing with him. We’re doing the same thing.

And best we see that, in episode 8.

When we tell him that the others want to see what we have for clues, etc., and the others want him to come into the group.

We know for a fact that Jake isn’t thrilled. But we get him to decide against it by saying, "I can’t do this without you."

And that’s actually also a point that shows me that Jake really likes us, he gives in and accepts the situation after we tell him that.

And that’s exactly what happens when we ask him to write the letter to Ted with Lilly, where we can tell him that we’d like him to be there. And from that moment, Jake says yes.

If he really didn’t want it, or he didn’t care that we told him we couldn’t do it without us, he wouldn’t give in.

He would just keep saying that he doesn’t want to and he doesn’t want to talk to us about it.

We wouldn’t even have time to contradict him, or just tell the others everything, since he could have erased any evidence from our phone.

He lets us manipulate him as much as he manipulate us.

And he writes when he joins the group chat that he wants to change his mind to tell the others everything, because of us.

And even the others realize that Jake likes us.

Lilly, for example, says (when we talk to her in episode 6) that he interrupted the vote, that his reaction wasn’t normal just because he cared about the subject. He’s very biased, not just because we’re important to him to save Hannah. It’s because we were treated unfairly by Lilly and the others.

Jessy says to Phil that there’s someone who likes us, but she doesn’t know if we’re reciprocating his feelings.

I don’t think I need to say anything about Dan, do I?

Jake and MC are not as inconspicuous together as the two think themselves.

I think I’ve addressed the most important things now, so I want to say an end conclusion: I really believe that Jake likes us and not just manipulates us. I really think he wants to get closer to us.

I’m not a psychologist or anything, of course, but I think Jake has some psychological problems that he might even know himself. Many things are difficult for him and I can often identify with him on this point.

His actions and manner are not always the right ways, sometimes he does not know how to behave and what is okay and what is not. We can see it with Jessy and Richy.

With us, he tries to show empathy and support us, which is why he wants us to rest a little afterwards.

Jake doesn’t seem to have had an easy life, and of course that leaves its mark. I don’t think he’s that cold sometimes because he means it badly.

I know we haven’t known him for long, but this whole situation is so special that it’s not surprising that MC and Jake get along so well and get closer.

Of course I can’t say exactly, maybe it’s really all just played by him, that we will only see at the end, but I don’t think that everything is fake.

And of course, thank you very much for sharing your thoughts and theories with us. As you can see, I had a lot to say and really enjoyed answering that, and I hope I could help you a little bit.

So, I hope that I have not forgotten anything important now and that I have taken up everything I wanted to and can say. 😅

As I said, I don’t know everything myself, and this is just my opinion. I hope I’ve managed not to be so biased.

Take care of yourself and stay healthy, lovely Anon!💚🎭🌹

#duskwood anon ask #duskwood #duskwood jake #duskwood mc #duskwood Jake x mc #duskwood thoughts #duskwood theories #duskwood game #everbyte studio #everbyte game #everbyte duskwood #duskwood everbyte #duskwood hacker #iamjake #hbj dw answers

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strawberrymillks · 3 years

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Do you think Dabi could get redeemed? Like if endeavor can be redeemed so can Touya? Right?!

Yeah, and it would just be bad writing if he wasn’t or was left to rot/killed. The concept of an abusive father getting a second chance while his victim dies unhappy is incredibly gross. And as much as I criticize Horikoshi’s writing, I don’t think he’s nearly that dumb (I think he’s going to redeem both, which, ugh, but it’s not going to be only Endeavor). Of course I could be wrong, but there is more evidence for a redemption than not.

If Touya was irredeemable, we wouldn’t have gotten two chapters (as questionable as the framing was) explaining just why he turned out the way he is and Shouto empathizing with him (I’m going to get to Shouto at the end). We wouldn’t be shown him crying multiple times as both an adult and child (and crying is something Hori uses to evoke sympathy for his characters both in and out of universe, e.g: Eri, Toga, Shigaraki).

As the bottom panel shows, Shigaraki is being set up for redemption right now, and Toga is presumably as well (though since she’s a girl we have yet to see, if ever, what’s going on with her and Uraraka). It would be in poor taste to redeem them and not Dabi for some indiscernible reason when all three are established as the main villain trio and each one has their respective hero counterpart.

Also people cite him not caring about the LOV as the reason why Shigaraki and Toga are redeemable and Dabi isn’t but like, all I can say to that is don’t take his words at face value, because if you look at his actions it’s evident he does, although he may not realize himself. Take his attempt to save Twice for instance.

It’s notable that Dabi tries to comfort Twice while saving him. People can argue he wanted Twice to die all they want but his reaction immediately afterwards makes it evident he didn’t want it to happen. Dabi is not a character who shows emotion often. The fact that right after Twice’s death he proceeds to show sadness (and even brings up the fact that he can’t cry when no one mentioned it, implying that he really wants to cry) suggests that he’s really and truly feeling it. And as we know now, Touya is a very emotional person.

While he states that he only cared about Twice because he was useful to his plans he instantly contradicts himself moments later by saying he never cared about the League and he’s going to do everything on his own, showing he’s not the most reliable narrator right now. And if he only cared about Twice as an asset, once again he had nothing to gain from verbally defending Twice multiple times and by comforting him with physical touch when we know Dabi tries to avoid touching people as much as possible.

Hawks also mentions that Dabi’s fire is getting hotter after he kills Twice. This is, of course, due to the fact that his fire gets hotter the stronger his emotions are. You can argue that maybe he was feeling happiness but Horikoshi has made a point to show Touya crying and feeling sad every time he uses his quirk, suggesting his dominant emotion is sadness.

Nothing here really implies he’s too far gone. We’re supposed to see that he tried his hardest to save Twice, failed, and proceeded to go batshit for an entire year.

Another thing is that people say “Dabi is the exception meant to represent the people who can’t be saved” but that is really unlikely. That was Muscular’s role in the story, so I doubt he’s supposed to be some sort of wakeup call that some people just can’t be saved. Same thing with Gran Torino’s statement that killing can also save someone. I’m fairly certain that Horikoshi is going for “the new generation fixing the old generation’s mistakes” so chances are GT’s statement will be refuted in the end.

Plus, BNHA is optimistic. I don’t know why people get the impression it’s going to end on a tragic note. Dabi being killed off after a lifetime of suffering is very tragic and needlessly as well. That was what happened to Twice and I don’t see why it would repeat when the story itself makes it clear it was a bad decision (and BNHA is about not repeating past mistakes).

And as I mentioned in the beginning, but all three villains have a hero counterpart. That’s because all three are capable of sympathizing with them and are meant to save them. It would be a strange story where the students try to save them and decide they’re not worth the effort, when historically Deku and Shouto have been shown to either call out the adults for the way they handle things or act on their judgment for saving someone (Uraraka unfortunately has not had any focus on her but most likely she’ll join them). Shouto in particular should be more invested because of the personal connection, and in fact he already recognizes Dabi as his foil. This is a good thing, because it means Dabi, as a person, is someone who people are capable of empathizing with.

Tl;dr: Dabi has been well established to be a sympathetic character despite what people argue, and he is redeemable.

#idk if this really answered your question lol i feel like i went on a tangent but yeah #i also hope the formatting is okay i did it on mobile and tumblrs post editor is the worst thing ive ever seen #anonymous #bnha #dabi #long post #meta #i guess #🍓.ask

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beepbeepbobop · 3 years

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Back again.

I was telling my friend (who isn’t a Baccano! fan, but listens to me ramble) about my take on immortals and Czeslaw, and I don’t know where to put it, so! It goes here. As a warning, this is mostly me rambling and probably treads ground that has been talked about a lot in the past, but I hope it’s interesting anyway.

(This and the Infinity Train post is not a sign that I’m going to be more active in the future. Social media and the prospect of interacting with other people’s posts still make me anxious. Maybe one day.)

So! The first thing to keep in mind is that change is a major theme in Baccano!. No one is incapable of changing, but people have different relationships with it depending on who they are. Czes can't believe that he has changed seventy years after Isaac & Miria stealing him despite clear evidence that he has. Meanwhile, Nile actively resists change: His greatest fear after becoming immortal was that he would become desensitized to the loss of human life and begin to devalue it, so he spent decades fighting in active war zones so that he'd never forget the reality of death. This backfired, and instead left him inured to loss of life...but it's clear that he doesn't want to be this way? Realizing that he's gotten to the point where his expression doesn't even change if someone dies is devastating for him. Chane is the opposite: While it's absolutely for the best that she stops being a hitwoman and killing machine for her father, softening up is terrifying to her because then she can't serve her father the way she wants to. Czes is on the opposite end of the spectrum, because he wants to be better because he thinks he's a bad person (later on, he decides that he's the only bad person left in the world. Sir.), but can't recognize it because he doesn't feel different.

And...this is pertinent to the older immortals in particular - I'd argue even moreso than with the younger ones. Aside from the fact that the Elixir literally stops you from changing in the sense of age or injury...it also has to place inhibitors on your brain. Your brain is, after all, a physical part of your body! There are some....weird aspects about immortality that no one is able to figure out (for example, immortals can give birth; someone also pointed out that there are no examples of crying in reverse even though that's also a part of your body), but it's still safe to say that the brain doesn't age either because then...then a lot of the cast would be catatonic from Alzheimer's. Even without that, the human body can only retain so many memories. If an immortal's brain had the ability to deteriorate over time or overload based off of the amount of memories it contains....well, I don't think any of the older immortals would be able to function. Szilard definitely wouldn't be able to function (and neither would Firo after he devours Szilard) because Szilard has the memories of over a dozen people running around in his brain. Which brings me to my next point: If an immortal's brain functioned like a human's, devouring would not work as a concept. One of the hallmarks of being immortal is gaining other people's memories. Imagine the strain that would cause. And yet, it doesn't seem to be a problem! The chief worry of those who have devoured other immortals is worrying that having the memories of the other person might change you consciously or subconsciously. This is Firo's concern over devouring Szilard.

So...the fact that the brain doesn't physically grow older or change (with some leniency given because real world science sure is iffy here)...feels relevant because, mn...

Many of the older immortals feel stagnant, or stuck in time. Firstly, if the immortals changed at the same pace as a human being, I don't think most of them would be recognizable from one era to the other. And yet, they are! The Victor Talbot of the 1700s is clearly the same person as the Victor Talbot of the 1930s, albeit with alterations (because what kind of person would stay exactly the same after centuries?). The answer to that question is Elmer, by the way. Everyone comments on how he acts just like the Elmer they remember back in the day. But Elmer is a special case, seeing as he's our local empty shell and probable sociopath (not that he has ASPD! ASPD, sociopathy and psychopathy all present and function entirely differently from each other, which makes it....strange that they're lumped under the same umbrella - but that's another matter). Secondly, immortals...Uhm, they all handle grief horribly, and seem to feel stuck in the past? Maiza, for instance, acts starkly different from his past as a rebellious noble-boy gang member, but he's never forgiven himself for giving Gretto the information that led to his death. (Gretto being his brother.) Huey's overarching goal is to bring his dead girlfriend back to life, and he's been working towards this goal for centuries. Sylvie, who admittedly was not an immortal when Gretto died, held off on drinking the Elixir until she was all grown up, then set out to finding Szilard to take revenge on him for killing the boy she had run away with. This lasted for, you guessed it, centuries.

This isn't to say that immortals don't change, or even that they don't change drastically. I mentioned Nile, who became inured to death after fighting in war for decades. Czes went from a trusting, innocent child to someone paranoid and self-centered enough to try and get an entire train car's worth of people killed for his own safety to someone who wants to be a good person, but thinks he never will be and that there's something fundamentally wrong with him. But changing appears to be very, very difficult, and happens over an extended period of time in response to extreme situations.

And...this is particularly relevant to Czes (who keeps coming up as an example because he's the main person I'm thinking about with this tangent) because....it arguably hits him harder than any of the others due to being a child. Only the best decisions were made aboard the Advenna Avis, which includes letting the eight year old drink the immortality elixir. But...mn. It's one thing to be perpetually in your thirties, or twenties, or sixties, and another altogether to perpetually be eight years old. Czes can't truly 'grow up' even though he has more life experience than most adults combined, and it shows in his extreme emotional reactions, his self-centeredness, ect. There's a certain misconception about anime-only fans that he's an adult in a child's body, but I think it's easier to tell in the light novels that that's not the case, especially since you see what he's like back before the Advenna Avis. (He is shy. Very shy. Did nothing wrong ever.) Also, the fact that SAMPLE goes, "Yes! The perfect sacrifice!" when they specifically take a child to target emphasizes this. It's not proof - I'm pretty sure that SAMPLE would focus on his physical age as an 'eternal child', and may or may not have the resources to analyze him and go, "This boy is still eight years old in his head," - , but it hammers the point home.

Then...mn. One thing that's stuck out to me ever since the start is how long Czes was with Fermet. There's such a thing as learned helplessness, and it's not like Czes had anywhere to go, so that's not what is odd to me...especially when Fermet is known for manipulating people, and could definitely seed the idea that Czes can't go anywhere. More than physical proximity, I think about how long Czes believed in Fermet. It's explicitly stated that Czes absorbing Fermet's memories is what made him realize that - oh, Fermet was just sadistic and everything he said was an excuse. And...I think this is both an example of being controlled in many respects, and....another example of an immortal being stuck in the past - but in a very, very different way.

First off, learning that the people you look up to want to harm you is...difficult at best, especially when you're younger? But being mentally 'stuck' at a certain age would make things worse, because Czes is perpetually an age where it's natural to depend on a parental figure, and at an age where the brain isn't equipped to make those kinds of calls or realizations. There's also the matter of cognitive dissonance! Cognitive dissonance means a lot of things, but essentially, it's the idea that you have two conflicting beliefs, but the actions you take can retroactively alter your beliefs/place emphasis on one more than the other, as the mind is predisposed to reduce dissonance. I...take issue with how cognitive dissonance is interpreted because many examples don't account for the beliefs or opinions not being equal in the first place, but that's not the point. The point is that, as a child, the impulse to reduce dissonance is present while also being played against difficulty reading intentions, perceiving the world outside of yourself, and thinking critically. (For what it's worth, abusers also tend to discourage critical thinking because it damages their narrative, which would also play a part.) So, for example...

Say that, theoretically, Czes was yelled at every time he questions the idea that Fermet's intentions are right, or that maybe Fermet doesn't have his best interests in mind. (Czes is insightful, and they lived with each other for a long time, so this probably happened at least once unless the text directly contradicts me.) This is tame compared to the things we know about his time with Fermet, but ignore that. The desire to not be yelled at would lead him to hurriedly agree later on, and cognitive dissonance means that you're inclined to try to make your beliefs agree with your actions. In other words, the more he plays along, the more his brain tells him that he definitely believes this, and it makes perfect sense to! Fermet has shown that he cares about him, and took him in after his grandfather died, so of course. It only makes sense. And it's even harder for him to bridge the gap to a different conclusion because of how difficult it seems to be for immortals to change. It's only when Czes devours Fermet (or...or at least gets his memories) that everything snaps into place, because he can't reconcile that no matter how hard he tries (coincidentally, this also happens when he gets memories of being an adult, and while I seriously doubt that Czes went through Fermet's memories willingly, it kind of hammers my point about how difficult being eternally young would make things). So of course he snaps as hard as he does. It'd be kind of amazing if he didn't, honestly.

TLDR: Being immortal made it even harder for him to recognize or comprehend his trauma. Sorry for that.

#baccano #baccano!#czeslaw meyer #nile (baccano)#I don't know who else I discussed enough to tag #but the segment about szilard made me wonder whether you would have more memories from devouring a dozen people or from living #for a couple centuries #I think it depends on how old the immortals were #discord ramblings

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yandere-daydreams · 4 years

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I love your writing so much! If requests are still open could you do a yandere Kirishima and Kaminari sharing a darling, please? Maybe they come home to their darling who’s managed to escape into the backyard and just sits there knowing they’ll be punished

I don’t usually pair these two up, but it’s to work with characters a little softer than my usual preferences. That doesn’t mean I’m going to go easier on their Darling, though, at least not in this one-shot.

Title: Bloodless Victory.

TW: Mentions of Physical Abuse, Delusional Mindsets, and Stolkholm Syndrome.

Like all of the injuries your captors inflicted, this one felt worse than it looked.

You shouldn’t be surprised, honestly. Kirishima and Kaminari liked plenty of things about you, but neither was fond of blood and gristle and all the dirty, gristly messes their affection left behind when they were done with you. Kirishima would leave bruises, pressing his fingertips into your hips until your flesh was tender and soft underneath his hands, but he never broke the skin, he never did anything that would interrupt his fantasy of being your oh-so-benevolent caretaker. Kaminari didn’t pretend to be so altruistic, but he wasn’t any better when he pulled you into his lap and shots bolts of white, burning electricity into you until you were little more than a barely-conscious pile of muscle and bone draped on top of him, too tired and too sore to do anything but lie there and try not to notice when his hands began to wander. It hurt, but a few bruises and a patch of raw, reddened skin hardly looked like violence. They didn’t have to acknowledge it, not if they didn’t want to.

A traitorous, treacherous part of you wondered if they’d be kind enough to forget this, too, if they’d overlook the throbbing, icy pain of your submission and just be glad that you had surrendered, eventually. Immediately, you bit the side of your tongue and cursed yourself for daring to indulge the thought at all.

You curled into yourself, bringing your knees to your chest and letting your focus drift towards a new spot on the plain cement wall. Despite the lavishness of their apartment building, this room was barren, empty, little more than a conference table and a few plastic chairs, one of which you were currently tucked into. It was meant for staff, not the wealthy tenants they catered to, the same staff who’d herded you into your new prison when you emerged from the maintenance elevator, dazed and confused with rope-burns still visible on your wrists. You should’ve guessed that they’d been warned about the ‘vulnerable person’ living in their pent-house, and you should’ve known they’d believe the two Pro-Heroes with concerned smiles and enough spare income to rent out half the apartments in their building indefinitely. You only had yourself to blame for thinking otherwise.

In hindsight, you were forced to realize that, if you’d pushed, they probably would’ve called the police. If you cried and told them about the deadbolts and the chains and the abuse, they would’ve listened, done something to help you, gotten you away from your ‘boyfriends’ and taken you somewhere safe. They would’ve doubted you, sure, but you could’ve begged, screamed, explained. You could’ve said something. Anything would’ve been better than what you actually did - blinking and averting your eyes and nodding along until you were left alone to wallow in your own self-pity. If anything, you’d only reassured them that you were unstable, that you needed to be isolated and cared for.

So enveloped in your own thoughts, you almost didn’t notice when Kaminari came in, still dressed in his monochromatic get-up with a small, worried frown pulling at the corners of his mouth. His presence was unignorable, though, and as soon as you thought to lift your head, his arms were around you, pulling you to his chest before pushing you back, holding you out in front of him as he searched for cuts, scratches, evidence that something or someone else had come after you. He never really believed you didn’t want to be with him, he couldn’t believe it. He didn’t want to. “Are you hurt?” He asked, hastily, speaking too quickly for you to answer. “Did something happen? You look like hell - you didn’t cause any trouble, did you? Oh, fuck, how did you get down here?”

You opened your mouth, ready to either soothe his nerves or lie through your teeth, but Kaminari was already being pulled away, hauled back by the collar. “Space, Denki, give ‘em space,” Kirishima said, only letting go of his companion when Kaminari huffed and crossed his arms, grudgingly submitting to Kirishima’s demands. His gaze never left you, though, hardened and strict, standing in harsh contradiction to Kaminari’s unveiled concern. Completely unconnected with the taut, gentle smile he was so adamant on wearing. “Hey there, sweetheart,” He greeted, his tone smooth and even, as if you’d crack and shatter the moment he dared to raise his voice. “You alright?”

This time, you bit the inside of your cheek. Your tongue was starting to hurt. “No.”

They both stiffened, but neither did anything, only exchanging a wordless glance before shifting forward. They barely moved, hardly even taking a full step, but instantly, you were cornered, caged in place by two bodies you could never hope to overpower in a fair fight. Kirishima was the one to break the silence, placing a hand on your shoulder as he spoke. Whether it was in sympathy or in warning, you couldn’t be sure. “Can I ask why, (Y/n)?”

“I don’t know,” You started, glaring at the tiled floor at their feet. “Maybe because I was kidnapped, held captive and tortured by people who said they loved me, and after all that, they still don’t know why I might be upset. Because I can’t get away from them, I can’t even get outside, and whenever I try to, they hover over me and ask ‘what’s wrong’ and ‘are you alright’ until I cry or scream or pass out and believe it or not, none of those things are a whole lot of fun for me.” You paused, forcing yourself to take a deep breath. You’d have time to be angry later on. Right now, you just wanted to get out of this goddamn room. “Or, it might be because I can’t even make myself escape. I don’t even know if I want to, anymore, and I’m beginning to hate myself for it.”

Neither made a sound. Kirishima’s grip tightened around you, Kaminari swallowed, but neither of them spoke. You almost wished they’d interrupt you.

“I’m broken,” You admitted, weakly. “I’m don’t have any money, I don’t know what you did with any of my IDs, and everyone I know thinks I’m in the perfect relationship with two great, amazing guys. I don’t have anywhere to go, and I don’t even know if I can make myself leave. I just... I want to go home, now.”

Again, a second passed in silence. You were beginning to think you’d have to repeat yourself when Kamilari broke into a wide, unforgiving smile.

Then, he laughed.

You were hauled off your seat in the blink of an eye, scooped into his arms and drawn against him, his face quickly buried in the crook of your neck and his remaining laughter soon muffled by your skin. Kirishima tensed, but he didn’t cut in, letting Kaminari have his fun, letting you suffer. As glad for the former as he was complacent in the latter. “Hear that?” He called, addressing his companion despite Kirishima not being the one pressed against him. “They love us, Eijiro. They want to stay! I was starting to think our baby would never come around, but you were right!” He sighed, straightening his back and pushing a light, hasty kiss into your forehead. “We’re going to be a big, happy family, just like you said. We can finally be happy.”

Kirishima didn’t laugh, but he grinned, a gesture that was almost worse when combined with how easily he slotted himself against your back, how guiltlessly he added himself to Kaminari’s bliss. His lips brushed against the nape of your neck, and he chose to let them linger. To ignore your attempts to lean away. “Things’ll be easier, now. You won’t have to struggle, and we won’t have to get rough,” He muttered, nuzzling against you. “This is good. You might not think so, but trust me, it’s a change for the better.”

You could’ve fought, clawed and bit and struggled until they dropped you and let you stand on your own, but your limbs felt heavy, your form dragged down and mercilessly weightless, at the same time. You were tired, and you were hungry, and…

And it wasn’t like you had anything to fight for, anyway.

You’d already given up your chance to run.

520 notes · View notes

bagadew · 3 years

Text

The Great Ace Attorney Playthrough: The Adventure of the Runaway Room (Part 1b)

Last time: We (and by we I mean Ryunosuke and Susato) arrived in England, and were almost immediately sent to play lawyer by Daemon Gant’s ancestor, who is definitely going to either die or kill someone later. Despite our client being only the richest of able bodied white men, we quickly found ourselves on the ropes thanks to the worlds least impartial jury. Fortunately we now get to put the buggers on the spot and demand they give us their reasons for convicting my client (and boy had they better be good).

Ryunosuke, the more we learn about that man the more of a cad he becomes. I say we should be very thankful we aren’t doing that.

Let me get this straight, instead of smashing their half baked ideas to smithereens and laughing as I go, I have to use the worlds weakest bricks to build my argument.

Susato, one of them knows one of the witnesses.

Oh, so that’s what we’re doing.

Ok, Ryunosuke, lets get shit stirring!

Well firstly, either the drunk juror’s wrong or Beppo’s overcharging people, so jot that down.

Ooh, we’re pacing!

(Also, I’d like to thank Juror No.4 for backing me up, ma’am you are the only member of this group bothering to make even the slightest bit of effort. For this I thank you.)

Of course! Thank you for putting two and two together like that for me!

(Wait a second, I’ve just realized that we’ve got the KBS slung on our hip! That’s amazing!)

And this lady’s and gentleman, is why we don’t let people who know those involved stand on the Jury.

GET HIS ASS JUROR NO.4!

(You are my favourite juror, you can tell the others if you’d like.)

Excellent work Ryunosuke!

Have you not even been listening?

(Susato is explaining the last ten minutes to him because she has more patience than I ever will.)

>:D

And Juror No.2’s crossed over to our side as well!

>:D

And she’s doing it for much better reasons than Juror No.5!

Juror No.2 you’re winning me back!

Just two more jurors to convince now, so let’s go on to the discrepancy about how the victim was stabbed, and maybe point out that the body was left in the seat it was stabbed it.

Old Lady vs Jack the Ripper, here we go!

(Ten guineas on the granny!)

Haha! His knife got stuck in the table!

(I put it again that this man should have that knife taken away from him.)

Yes judge, and if we’d been allowed to go through the whole trial before the jurors jumped the gun, you’d have known that already.

Yay! We’ve won Granny Thickle back!

WHAT DO YOU THINK THE JURY IS SUPPOSED TO DO YOU NINCOMPOOP?!?

And he’s being really racist now.

Fortunately he’s also rubbing the rest of the jury up the wrong way!

Well I consider this to have been a success Ryunosuke.

Well given that the body was found on the seat and there was no blood on the floor... I’m going to say no.

He wants evidence.

Ok then.

As a wise man with a cool sword once said: I will shove it down your throat and make you choke on it.

(Yeah, we should really have seen Kazuma’s moral dubiousness coming...)

Anyways, let’s show him the crime scene photo then.

WRONG???

Of course! The autopsy report shows he was only stabbed once!!!

Meaning that there was only one incident where the witness was stabbed!

VICTORY VICTORY VICTORY!!!

YEAH!!!

Yes, kill each other!

My Lord, Juror No.3 has started licking his knife and threatening the witnesses now...

I’m a little bummed we didn’t get to convince Juror No.4 seeing as she’s the one putting in the hours up there, but never mind. We’re back on track baby!

HE CRUSHED IT!

Oh my god Ryunosuke, we’ve got a prosecution shut up button!

HE THREW OF HIS DRACULA CLOAK!

Oh please, we all know perjury doesn’t exist in this here!

Oho, so apparently Beppo’s been overcharging his customers. Given the conditions he’s been working in I can’t exactly blame him though.

Unfortunately that does kind of rule out the possibility of an extra passenger though, so I’m not sure it helped us much.

Damn right I do!

‘Absolutely’ Ryunosuke and I share one mind.

Now let’s see if we can clear up that whole ‘I saw the victim stabbed on the floor’ bs.

You know, I’m rapidly warming to Mr Furst. Unlike the other witnesses and the god damn jury, he’s not telling lies, or overinflated by his own self importance. He’s actually taking it seriously and doing his best to be as clear and close to factual as he can.

I mean he could well be the killer for all I know, but right now I’m just enjoying him as a nice gentle guy who’s trying his best. It’s refreshing.

Barok’s trying to point out that we still have one witness who saw the stabbing, to which I say: Yeah, a witness with a reason to lie!

Still, Beppo’s the one I should probably be focusing on here, as he’s saying he saw the victim stabbed in places he couldn’t have been.

Well that was easy.

Mr Fairplay on the other hand is going absolutely ham on his cane.

What’s the matter Mr Fairplay?

Got something to say?

Again Mr Fairplay, being a banker in an Ace Attorney Game is not the commending statement you think it is.

Anyways new statement time!

And what’s this I see? Both his hands were covered in blood? That looks like a new contradiction to me!

You know he’s weirdly insistent about this, and I can’t work out why?

Like, regardless of whether or not he committed the murder, he’s clearly hoping that Mr McGilded’s going to be taken out of the picture as a result.

But if he wants that to happen then this is such a weird thing to lie about. It doesn’t add in any way to Mr McGilded’s ‘guilt’, in fact thanks to his gloves it kind of does the opposite.

But if he’s not lying then he has to be mistaken and I don’t understand what that would mean either.

Wow, Juror No.6 is ready to throw down!

(Juror No.3’s going off as well, but I don’t think that’s anything to write home about.)

NOT IN THE WAY HE REPEATEDLY SAID IT WAS!

I’m no longer so sure. After all, if he was it would be far more in his interest to keep quiet about it or say he was mistaken as soon as we bought the gloves out.

What I’m beginning to wonder though, is if there was a mysterious fifth passenger after all, and their hands were the ones Mr Fairplay saw covered in blood.

Come to think of it, he did say that he didn’t see the victim or killers faces, so that’s a good chance, and one that actually gives some hint as to what our suspect looks like: i.e. small.

Debt time.

IT’S A HUGE DEBT!!!

Good to get proper conformation on that theory then.

ORDAAR!

(If you don’t know about the House of Commons cry of Order you should look it up on YouTube. It’s basically the one good thing to have come out of that place.)

So he did lie about seeing the moment the victim was stabbed then. I guess that leave more room for the idea that the fifth passenger did it.

Actually, come to think of it did Mr McGilded ever tell us where he went to sit in the carriage? Could he have been on the open side, the one Mr Fairplay and Mr Furst couldn’t see from where they were?

Huh, he’s still doubling down.

Again I really don’t think he’s lying here, but I do think he’s mistaken about who’s hands he could see.

Also given how much this statement relies on him being a witness I should probably rule him out of my enquires.

I’m rapidly going back over my notes to see if I ever accused him, but let’s be honest here I did. The False Accusations counter is up to a nice healthy 5/5.

Of course Mr Furst, you’re an angle and we’re all thrilled you’re here.

Ok, well now any doubts I had that Mr Fairplay was telling the truth have been put to rest, thank you Mr Furst. You, me and Susato should form our own breakaway courtroom, Juror No.4 can come if she likes.

Anyway time for more testimony.

Certainly looks that way doesn’t it My Lord?

Now Barok want’s to examine the Omnibus again.

You know what, sure Barok, knock yourself out.

Barok, keep up. It literally a huge contradiction sitting right there.

YES IT MATTERS!!!

Well thanks to Mr Furst, the one good witness, we know that the real killer wasn’t wearing any gloves. Again Mr Furst I thank you.

Wait a second, there was a space under the seat opposite the victim wasn’t there. I know it was full of stuff but was there any room for someone to fit themselves?

Barok’s telling me that there was no trace of blood on Mr McGilded’s actual hands. I’m glad you’ve finally caught up Barok but stop talking now so I can examine the omnibus again.

Yes! A space!

And whoever it was who could fit inside there definitely fits the category of small!

And right on cue it’s time to bring their blind spot to light.

Now, I need to work out if they want to know about the space under the seats or if they just want the seats themselves, because from where Mr Furst and Mr Fairplay were sitting they couldn’t see either.

Fuck it, I’ll just put my cursor half way between the two and hopefully it’ll except whichever one it wants.

Haha, yes... exactly what I was going to say...

MY EVIDENCE IS THE FUCKING BLOODIED GLOVES!!!

Anyways, given that the killer was by all accounts sitting next to the victim with no gloves and bloodied hands, the only person who could have been in the concealed seat was Mr McGilded. Again, did anyone actually bother to check which seat he sat in?

Well done Judge. Still as sharp as ever I see.

Wow, that one hit the light!

Barok, that’s alcohol. If you start a fire in here I’m not going to put you out.

Oh he’s being racist again.

Racist stuff Ryunosuke.

Ok, well let me brake this down into words that a stuck up prick like you would understand. The witnesses never saw the attackers face, but they did see his hands and all agree that they were covered in blood. My clients hands were not covered in blood, and therefor he doesn’t fit the one thing we know about the killer. However we know he was on the omnibus, and the only place he could have been is in the seat that can’t be seen.

... you guys, I think this man might be the OG “protégé” prosecutor. Hugh O’Connor and Sebastian Debeste were simply trending in this mans footsteps.

I’m not really sure how much clearer you want me to be My Lord!

(Also ORDAAAAR!)

Van Zieks is still crawling blindly towards the light, and I suggest we just move on without him.

I know (or at least I hope) he’s just deliberately putting up barriers as the prosecution, but the way he’s doing it really looks like he’s packing his intelligence onto a bus and sending it out to destinations unknown.

(Credit to Ryunosuke for spelling it out for him though.)

Thank you Mr Furst, I knew you’d have my back.

THEN LET’S BRING HIM INTO COURT!!!

(ORDAAARR!!!)

Yeah on what grounds?

I mean this is literally the solution to all our problems.

Yeah, well he probably lied (though I can’t work out why).

Excellent point Ryunosuke!

Now Van Zieks is pointing out that if Mr McGilded lied in his statement there would have been a deliberate reason for doing so. To be honest, as the prosecution, this seems like all the more reason to bring him in.

Anyway we’re demanding his testimony.

WHY THE HELL ARE WE ASKING THEM?!?

Well luckily for us the jury seems to finally be getting its arse in gear and has agreed (fairly unanimously) to let the god damn defendant make a statement in his own murder trial.

Nothing to say here. This just feels like a meme.

HAHA!!! THERE WAS SOMEONE!!!

EAT MY SHIT BAROK!!!

Wait an urchin?

Ace Attorney, I’ve already had a ‘don’t feel good’ case regarding who I’m accusing, don’t make me do that again.

STOP MAKING ME ACCUSE POOR AND FRIGHTENED CHILDREN!

Yeah, they probably would have done, and unlike you I don’t think she’d have been able to pull the ‘I donated a park to this city you know’ trick to win hearts and minds.

I wonder if she was there as a passenger or as a stowaway? Because I’d say that gap under the seat could fit a child pretty easily.

Now Barok’s saying we have no reason to believe Mr McGilded. And he’s right except for, you know, all the evidence...

Wait what.

A smoke bomb just went off!

I really don’t like the face Mr McGilded pulled just then, and he definitely gave a signal for it to be dropped.

...Ah fuck, he’s guilty isn’t he.

And he’s using some kid to cover it up.

Well shit...

#tgaa spoilers #tgaa #the great ace attorney #the adventure of the runaway room #ryunosuke naruhodo #susato mikotoba #barok van zieks #magnus mcgilded #bruce fairplay #lay d furst

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mirthful-sonnet · 3 years

Text

Rise Above the Ashes | Chapter 3

Summary: Jean and Mikasa find a remedy against their nightmares, Armin has an announcement, and despite the political tensions in Paradis the peace negotiations go forward.

Notes: Thanks once again to @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie for beta reading this <3

Warning: None

Ao3

Time was a blur that now consisted of nothing but restlessness and constant visits to the hospital.

That didn’t matter to Mikasa.

A restful sleep was something alien to her. She might as well spend her time beside Jean, trying to make up for yet another failing on her part.

It had all happened too fast, but she knew that the man could have reached her if Jean had not stepped in first. Her thoughts were too muddled, with the quietness of the hospital making the violent scene and Jean’s drug-induced confession echo inside her head.

I think I even loved you. Since we were trainees.

She was aware that he had a crush on her back then, something she had easily ignored. Yet knowing the depth of it and that he possibly still felt the same brought plenty of surprise and confusion.

Did he still feel the same way for her? No, that was impossible, and she could not bring herself to acknowledge it. Even the thought of doing it terrified her. He certainly showed no signs of remembering his words once he woke up again, and she didn’t expect him to. Not when he was still battling between life and death.

She felt a pang in her chest at the thought of death, at the mere idea of Jean dying. He had proved himself stronger and more stubborn than anyone had expected.

The doctor had described his case as nothing short of a miracle, as one of Jean’s lungs had collapsed and he had caught an infection that led to a critical fever. They had inserted a tube into his chest to help drain the excess blood and air caused by the wounds, and this morning they had finally removed it. While there was still pain, he was alive and that’s what mattered.

During the entire treatment, Mikasa remained by his side.

Jean constantly told her to go home and rest, but she rarely listened, opting to watch over him when Jean’s mother wasn’t around. She took a break from her volunteering at the orphanage and her work passing down messages to the queen. The rest of the group continued their negotiations while she and Mrs. Kirschtein watched over Jean.

Meeting Jean’s mother had brought her an unexpected sense of inner peace, her warm and caring personality making it easier to confront the guilt and uncertainty that plagued her. It took every ounce of composure to keep her from breaking down and falling on her knees with apologies when she met Mrs. Kirschtein.

The woman had smiled kindly at her, saying that she was happy that Jean had a friend looking after him so thoroughly. The reassurance in her hazel eyes was more than enough to make her feel better. It came unbidden, but she couldn’t help but be reminded of her own mother. The light that had been cruelly snuffed out of her life when her age could still be counted with her fingers.

While she felt a strange ache when watching them, she also liked to see Mrs.Kirschtein still fuss around her son, who could only roll his eyes while hiding a smile, clearly glad to have her present.

She immediately admired the lady, who put on a brave face despite the terror that had almost taken her son away from her. Mikasa had unintentionally witnessed her in such a vulnerable state during the early stages of Jean’s recovery that she had felt like an intruder.

It hadn’t been long since Jean’s mother arrived, having immediately taken the first train that was available to come to the capital with nothing but her garments and a broken heart. Mikasa had just returned but stopped when she saw her beside Jean’s unconscious form through the gap of the room’s door, fitting woolen socks over his limp feet as her only son battled for his life.

“Remember that time you fell down while playing with the neighborhood kids? I held you tight and you kept complaining about how you would be able to learn to take care of me if I kept fussing around you as if you were a baby.” She had said as she fit the blankets around his shivering form, a slight tremor in her voice as if she was trying not to cry. “You were always such a sweet child. Now look at you, a grown man but still getting into trouble. It won’t matter how older you get, because mom will always be here to take care of you.” Mikasa strained to look at the woman’s slouched shape, now crying freely. “Because you are still my little boy, my sun, and my sweet child.”

Mikasa realized then that there were tears streaming down her own cheeks as she watched the grieving mother. With one last glance, she had decided to leave them alone.

Now she was back in front of his room, holding a bag full of extra blankets and a packaged meal. At the same time, Mrs. Kirschtein opened the door to exit, startled at seeing Mikasa.

“Mikasa!” She exclaimed. “How lovely to see you! Although I thought you were back at your house resting.”

Mikasa shook her head, not wanting to explain that she barely got any rest as her sleep was filled with nightmares of blood and unforgiving steel.

“I slept for a good enough time,” she lied, “I figured I could bring more stuff for him. It’s the least I can do.”

The woman’s hazel gaze was gentle, reaching out to grasp her free hand. “My dear, there’s nothing more you could possibly do for my son. You have rarely left his side! Please don’t strain yourself so much, now I’ll have to fret over you too.”

Mikasa could only smile, squeezing back her hand. The bittersweet ache came back as she remembered her mother again, and she wondered if Jean had the same kind of memories with his mom when he was a child. Did she hold him when he had nightmares? Did she sing to the scars on his knees when he fell?

“My son still likes to act all haughty sometimes, but he cares so much. And he is worried for you. We both are.” The older woman added, looking genuinely concerned as she took in Mikasa’s weary appearance.

Mikasa knew the circles under her eyes must have given her away. “I know, Mrs. Kirschtein. I’m just…I care for him too. And this is the least I could do for all the trouble he put himself in for me.”

Her voice had come out weak, as she remembered that this wasn’t the first time Jean had saved her. Mrs. Kirschtein looked at her in disapproval. “You don’t give yourself enough credit, sweet girl. My son told me what you did to that horrible man who hurt him, and I couldn’t thank you enough for protecting him. I have only known you for a few weeks, but I have come to think of you as my daughter. That’s why I’m asking you to take it easy and allow yourself to rest and not worry. If not for Jean, then do it for me.”

Something jolted in her suddenly and she surged forward to hug the older woman tightly, with tears gathered in her eyes and a lump in her throat. She was mildly embarrassed, but the woman’s motherly affection had touched a part of her that had been hollow since she was that wide-eyed child living in the mountains. The older woman had stiffened momentarily at Mikasa’s unexpected reaction, but after a moment she hugged her back just as tightly, happy to offer the girl even just a little bit of comfort.

***

Jean’s coughs echoed along the hallway as he stopped to catch his breath.

“I don’t think this was a good idea,” Mikasa said, her hold on Jean’s hand faltering. He was already recovered enough to walk, but he still had to strain sometimes to breathe properly.

“Hah, don’t worry about this,” Jean managed to get out as he got his breath back and continued walking while holding onto Mikasa.

“If I spent any more time cooped up in that room, I would have jumped out from the window already. Then we would all be having regrets,” he added, his steps somewhat clumsy but still steady.

The hallway was dead silent, with bluish moonbeams filtering through the windows. The only sounds were those of their steps. Jean had wanted to take a walk since he felt suffocated in his room, and Mikasa insisted on walking with him.

“Stop being morbid,” Mikasa chided him.

Jean snorted; his breath was still strained. “It comes naturally these days.”

Mikasa looked at him, taking in the weariness permeating the smile on his face. A walking contradiction. There was still no sign of him remembering what he had said weeks ago in his delirious state. She suddenly gripped his arm tightly without noticing and he turned to her, a questioning look on his face.

“Are you okay?” He asked her, his concern evident. It seemed like such a Jean thing to worry over her while he was the one who had been on the brink of death.

“Jean, I…” She trailed off, not really knowing what to say, or how to acknowledge his past confession.

“What is it?” He asked.

Mikasa paused and then just shook her head, afraid that she would say the wrong thing. “It’s nothing, I just don’t want you to joke like that.”

Jean gave her a small smile and they continued walking. It felt odd to be able to walk like this again, even if his steps were awkward. His days had been filled with medications and therapy, visits from his friends, and the usual nightmares that were forgotten once he woke up and saw that Mikasa was still by his side.

The visits brought him great comfort, whether it was Connie bringing him books to read, Armin suddenly opening a chessboard mid-conversation, Reiner reading letters from Falco and Gabi aloud, Pieck talking endlessly about new spots she had discovered in town, or Annie sneaking in donuts (her favorite treat) for him to eat.

Right now, he was glad to break from the usual routine even if just for a while, and Mikasa remaining by his side made everything better. He only wished she didn’t feel so guilty or even felt the need to trouble herself so much for him.

Jean almost found their current situation amusing. It seemed that he had spent half of his life wanting Mikasa’s attention while she looked elsewhere, something that he could never resent her for. But now they were here together in the most uncertain of circumstances, caught up in the middle of trying to build a paradise out of a blank canvas.

Armin constantly gave him updates on the progress of the treaty and other legislations that had been approved. Historia also sent him notes notifying him about their progress and wishing him a speedy recovery since she couldn’t come in person. As a monarch, it wasn’t possible, and she had to juggle her favors carefully.

Their efforts had not been interrupted despite the attack, which Jean was immensely relieved about. He knew, however, that they could not let their guard down as it was clear that the hatred from their adversaries would not stop there. His wounded body was now the tangible evidence of that hatred. The culprits were awaiting a trial, and Yeagerist officials had sent a half-hearted apology for what happened.

Bastards.

Now there was an upcoming ceremony for the peace treaty to be signed, which would be highlighted by the first ever air show on the island. A demonstration of peace that also displayed the military and technological advancements that were taking place at a rapid speed in the country.

“Are you sure you’re ready to leave?” Mikasa’s voice interrupted him from his thoughts. She had an unreadable expression on her face.

“Of course, I am. I have gone from breaking a dozen bones to turning into a titan. A knife in my lung is nothing to me.”

Mikasa was quiet for a moment, pondering on his words. “What was it like?”

“Hmm?”

“Turning into a titan. What was that like?” Mikasa asked as they turned in a corner and faced another hallway.

Jean paused for a moment until he finally spoke. “I’m not sure I remember exactly what happened. At one point it was just me and Connie holding onto each other, wondering if what we did was enough. And then…it was just nothingness. Some part of me was alive and conscious, but the rest…well, it was like I had no control over myself. I wouldn’t wish that feeling on anyone.”

They kept walking slowly, their shapes casting shadows on the blank walls. At least in those moments that had seemed final he had not been alone. After the rumbling, he always had his friends with him, the terror they had faced linking all of them permanently. But Mikasa had to bear the weight of the aftermath by herself.

“I bet I looked handsome as a titan,” he tried to lighten the mood.

“I don’t remember. I just took off without so much as a goodbye.” Mikasa muttered.

Jean stopped in his tracks, tightening his hold on her hand so she would look at him. “Hey now, what is this? Nobody can blame you for how you reacted after doing what you did. I don’t think I would have even had the strength to keep going, but you did anyway.”

“But I could have-” Mikasa started.

“Stop, you’re here with me now, aren’t you?” He interrupted.

Mikasa wanted to protest again, but something about Jean’s expression made her stay quiet, and she only nodded. Deep down she knew he had a point. Killing Eren had been like tearing out her own limbs, leaving behind an empty shell of a girl, a kite cut off from its string, left to drift aimlessly. But the guilt she felt over leaving her friends behind to face whatever came their way was still there. Even mourning Eren made her feel terrible, as she struggled to reconcile the boy who had saved her with the one who had caused so much destruction and suffering. In a way, being here was a way of atoning for all the time she didn’t spend with the group, who had to face and struggle to fix the outcome of that destruction. But a more selfish part of her just wanted to spend more time near Jean.

“I do think though,” Jean said as they continued walking, “that you would have loved all the places we visited.”

Jean had told her about them, weaving stories about the cherry blossoms of Hizuru, the vast deserts of the Middle Eastern countries, the icy weather of the northern isles, and the active nightlife at Marley’s emerging cities. There was something extraordinary about how humanity was finding a way to rise back up despite the destruction that happened. There was still a long way to go, but little details like the ones he recounted to Mikasa gave him some hope for the future.

Mikasa loved to hear about the different places they visited, inevitably thinking about Eren and Armin’s dreams of going outside the walls. At that point in time, she had never taken much part of their dream, happy to simply watch their enthusiasm about the outside world. But listening to Jean’s stories made her feel as if she were treading through those landscapes herself.

“Maybe I’ll see some of those places eventually,” she said, letting him stretch his arms as he walked, still holding onto her hand.

“If by some chance you find yourself lost in a hellhole like Marley’s capital, I have a spare room in my apartment,” Jean commented, taking another pause to catch his breath before continuing to walk.

Mikasa looked at him. “You’ve told me dozens of stories about your travels, but I haven’t heard much from the place you live in.”

Jean was thoughtful for a moment. “The capital city is a nice place. At least right now it is. When I arrived, it was mostly rubble and shelters for refugees. The summers were infernal too.” He told her. “But I did meet some good people there, and everyone worked hard to preserve what was left and rebuild what was destroyed. Despite everything, I think…that I miss it somehow.”

It was true, he didn’t think that he would ever come to think of Marley as his permanent home, but he had still made some memories there that he held dear. The good times, the bad times, the friends, and the lovers he had there, they were all a part of him too.

Mikasa asked him for more details, and he went on to tell her about all the work they did in the shelters, how he had painted the walls of his apartment when he found them too plain, and the neighbors who introduced him to Marleyan cuisine and the subsequent disaster he had caused trying to cook an octopus. It made Mikasa laugh, picturing a frantic Jean trying not to burn his apartment down.

He also told her about the historical landmarks that survived the rumbling, the capital square that held all the government buildings, the hectic nightlife at the entertainment quarter, and the different dialects and languages he had discovered.

“I was terrible at first,” Jean commented, “I earned a good slap from a girl when I tried speaking to her in her dialect.”

“What did you tell her?” Mikasa asked.

“Something about my privates when I just wanted to ask her name,” Jean replied, his face flushed in embarrassment.

Mikasa stared at him blankly for a moment before bursting into laughter, the sound ringing through the quiet hallway. His embarrassing memory was forgotten as he took her in, not used to seeing her laughing so freely.

“I’m sorry-” she tried to say between bouts of laughter, failing to control it. “Oh no, that’s terrible but so funny Jean!”

She continued laughing until she finally had some control of herself. Then she looked at him and noticed that he was staring at her with something she could only describe as awe.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Mikasa asked between chuckles, her flushed face now matching his despite the darkness of the hallway.

“Oh-um sorry, it’s just that I’ve never seen you laugh like that before,” he looked away, flustered. “It’s nice.”

Mikasa felt her cheeks burn more fiercely and she let go of his hand to go near one of the windows in the hallway, calming herself down. She didn’t remember if she ever laughed like that before. Something about Jean made smiling and laughing easy instead of a struggle.

He was standing beside her now, taking in her reddened face and black hair coming loose from her hair tie. Anyone would say she looked disheveled and tired, but he only marveled at how effortlessly beautiful she was even now. He truly was hopeless, wasn’t he?

“I guess it’s new to me too,” she was still not looking at him. “Your tales, they make me happy.”

“I’m glad,” he muttered, turning to look at the outlines of the city buildings. “All these things I’ve been telling you, the places I have seen and the people I have met… they’re all still standing because of you, Mikasa.”

Mikasa immediately shook her head in denial. “No, I-”

“It’s the truth,” he interrupted, unnerved that Mikasa thought so lowly of herself. “The people that have survived and find a reason to smile and hope every day, the way everything is rising back up even better than before, you made it possible.”

She shifted in her feet, slightly flustered at his open praise. It wasn’t just her. All of them had helped stop Eren, she wanted to say. Plus, her friends were the ones who were working tirelessly to bring peace. But she couldn’t deny the comfort she felt from his words, from the anecdotes that proved that not everything was lost.

“Thanks, Jean,” she simply said, now thinking of something else she had been meaning to tell him but didn’t know how to.

They remained in comfortable silence, looking at the sleeping city before them. Before Jean could tell her that they had to go back, she finally spoke.

“Jean?”

“Hmm?”

“I’ve been meaning to tell you something,” Mikasa murmured, twiddling her thumbs. “Since you’re already set to be discharged and will have to follow up your treatment, I was thinking…why don’t you stay at my house?”

She had said the last words too fast, but Jean’s face made it clear that he understood her.

“What? N-no Mikasa, I can’t,” he stammered while shaking his head, “I’ll be fine in my lodgings, I can take care of myself.”

Mikasa felt her heart sink at his words, but she persisted. “I know you can… but they expect you to follow a strict routine and you’re still struggling to even walk and breathe. You’re going to need someone to help you and the rest of the group won’t be able to be there when you need it. Please, Jean, let me do this for you.”

Jean only shook his head again, even if he knew what she said was true. The group would be at the council every day while Armin gave him time off to fully recover. His mom was set to go back to Trost tomorrow after he had convinced her that he was fine and would be looked after, something that was a partial lie since he didn’t really have anyone but himself. They expected him to follow strict medications which was no problem to him, but he also had to dress and clean his wounds routinely while also having to work and do normal chores.

“Mikasa, I really appreciate it, but I can’t burden you with my condition. I promise that I’ll be fine.” His tone was firm, but the more he denied it the more desperate she became to convince him.

“You’re not a burden Jean. You could never be a burden to me. That’s why I’m asking you to consider it. This isn’t the first time you have put yourself in harm’s way for me. This is…this is the least I can do.”

Jean frowned, a little taken aback that she remembered that he had saved her once before. “What do you mean it’s the least you could do? You have done more than enough for me just by staying by my side. Don’t do this out of pity or just because you feel that you need to compensate me for something. I would take those stabbings a thousand times again if I had to.”

“It’s not out of pity!” Mikasa’s voice was shrill, which neither of them expected, and Jean blanched slightly at her tone. She reached out to grasp his arm and bowed her head, silently apologizing for raising her voice. “I want to help you,” she whispered, “it would mean everything to me if you would let me help you. We agreed that we would always be there for each other, and I meant that. Please let me help you, Jean.”

He exhaled sharply, trying to hold on to even just a sliver of stubbornness, but watching her pleading face made whatever resolve he had finally break.

Jean let out another exhale and finally nodded. “All right…I’ll stay with you, Mikasa.”

The smile that lit up her face made it worth it to him, and whatever protests he still had were quickly forgotten.

“Good, thank you, Jean.” She replied, and he wondered why she was thanking him when she was the one burdening herself for him.

He stepped forward, unable to help himself, and took a stray lock of her hair, tucking it behind her ear. “I’ll try to be a good guest.”

“As long as no octopus is involved, I’m not worried.” Mikasa deadpanned.

This time it was his laughter ringing through the hallway.

***

Life as a soldier had taught Jean to get accustomed to every circumstance possible. So, in that way, Jean easily got used to living with Mikasa.

It wasn’t a big house, but it was enough. He had his own room and it was suitable for the work he would continue to do from a distance.

They fall into an easy routine, a small semblance of normality in a pattern filled with triggers and bad dreams.

He wakes up, the tremors of his nightmares still permeating his body as he helps Mikasa prepare coffee and breakfast, never ignorant of the stiffness in her movements during the early hours of the morning as well. No doubt still stunned by her own nightly terrors. But they are grateful that the worst kind of nightmares are kept at bay for now, and their demons lay forgotten when they greet each other and make small talk over their meal.

Mikasa learns just how stubborn Jean can be, as despite his condition he insists on helping her with every chore around the house. She only relents slightly when it comes to cooking, with Jean making savory omelets that she can’t get enough of.

There are times when her curiosity threatens to get the best of her, where she wants to ask him what he meant by his dazed confession, but she stops herself in time. She pushes it into a hidden corner of her mind to avoid breaking this bubble of comfort - this castle in the sky they were building together.

Jean on the other hand learned how fussy she could be, a trait he had somewhat noticed back then with Eren and Armin. But now he finds himself as the target of her attention, and it’s a little overwhelming. Amid her attention, he also notices how odd she acts around him sometimes-as if she wanted to tell him something but kept herself from doing so. He didn’t want to pressure her into anything, so he doesn’t question her about it. Instead, he is endlessly grateful; for her watchful eyes when he is walking alone, for the snacks she leaves on his desk as he drowns himself in paperwork, and for her presence in general.

“I think Mikasa is looking to replace me as your mother”

Jean grimaced. “Mom, please don’t start.”

“I’m only telling the truth, Jeanbo. She’s been watching over you like a hawk! It’s almost like I’m not needed around here.” His mom said, a teasing undertone in her voice.

“Mikasa has always been protective and she…well she feels guilty over what happened. I don’t know how to make her understand that none of this is her fault.” He sighed; with the book he was reading now forgotten across his lap.

“She’s a caring girl, that one. I am sure she will understand eventually. But for now, just be grateful that you have someone like her in your life, Jeanbo.”

Jean stayed quiet, taking in her words, and then shook his head. “I’ll also be grateful when you stop calling me that and never mention that Mikasa’s my new mom again.”

“You’re right. I think daughter-in-law is more fitting.”

“MOM!”

He was only met with endless laughter.

It was an extraordinary thing, the solace one could find just by having another person close. Mikasa learns it through the easy rhythm they fall into in the kitchen, the little talks over the table, when they relax in the backyard, with their clothes loose due to the summer heat and faces flushed by the sun; through the endless stories he has from his travels, the concentration in his face when he’s sketching, or just the simple knowledge that he is here, living and breathing. Despite the guardedness that he still shows around her, the glimpses that she does get of his mind make her want to see the world through his eyes. She has always said that the world is cruel and beautiful, but when he is here, she can only see beauty.

There’s a glint in his hazel eyes when he tells her about the places they have been to that brings her an odd type of comfort. It’s one of the many quirks and details she notices about him. Their routine makes it impossible not to notice small details about each other.

He notices that she tucks her hair behind her ear when she’s embarrassed, she notices how the warm honey hues of his eyes can change color depending on the lighting, he notes the secret dimple on her left cheek if she smiles enough, she sees the way he scratches his ear when thinking hard about something, he’s transfixed by how much her grey eyes remind him of passing clouds, and she discovers that there are more scatterings of freckles and moles on his neck and arms.

This last detail she discovers during the daily procedure of changing his bandages. As former soldiers, they have found themselves in similar situations before. But the horrors of war are not around them anymore; now it’s just the both of them in the quietness of her house.

It takes great patience to convince him to let her help him, his protests that he can do it himself eventually drowned out. But when he bares his chest and the map of scars adorning it, she sometimes wonders if this was a good idea at all.

“Gruesome, huh?” He tells her one day, avoiding her eyes as his buttoned shirt lays open.

Mikasa snaps out of her stupor, immediately frowning. “Not at all, I’ve seen worse.”

She goes on to remove the bandages, trying not to wince along with him, as if she could feel his pain somehow. The sighs that escape him as she cleans and rubs the ointment on his wounds make the hairs at the back of her neck rise. There is an inevitable shyness when she sees the toned muscles of his chest and abs, when she visually traces the constellations of freckles and moles that dot the planes of smooth skin, when she sees the beauty that lays under the vestiges of war.

“Will I live to see my grandchildren, Nurse Ackerman?” Jean teases as she finishes up the task.

“Only if you behave, Mr. Kirschtein.” She teases back, pressing down the last new bandage, right over his heart.

Yes, she could get used to this.

It is easy and comforting, their new routine. They fall into it so naturally that they can almost ignore the cracks in the picture.

Almost.

Perhaps they were too hopeful or too confident that they wouldn’t have to hear each other’s night terrors, but that illusion breaks one night in which Mikasa’s screams fill the house.

Jean sat upright in his bed, having just woken up from his own nightmares, with every scream sending a dreadful shiver down his spine.

Nightmares were his nightly companions, and he and all his friends had become quite familiar with each other’s screams. The thought that Mikasa had to go through her nightmares alone pained him. The screams continued until he could not stand it anymore and walked out despite the tremors that were still shaking his body, reaching her room in no time. Her hands were tearing at her hair, and she was screaming Eren’s name in one instance while in another she was wailing for her mother and father.

“Mikasa, wake up!” He held both of her hands tightly while she still trashed around. After a while, her screams had been reduced to small, broken whimpers. Under his tight hold she opened her eyes abruptly - her confusion clear amongst endless tears, and she suddenly grabbed Jean forcefully by his neckline as if he were a stranger.

“It’s me Mikasa, it’s me.” Jean whispered shakily, an unbearable tension passing between them before he slowly pries her hands off him.

“Jean?” Mikasa croaked, her voice hoarse from her screams. “I’m s-I’m so sorry, Jean.”

She could barely finish her sentence before she started sobbing, loud and broken. He remained rooted in his spot, at a loss on what to do and trying to ignore his own tremors, watching the woman he loved and the former soldier he had admired for so long cry her heart out, now listening instead to the cries of a little girl still calling for her parents.

He snapped out of his daze when she grasped at his shirt as if he were a lifeline in a sea of tears. When she turned to look at him, he wondered if it was possible to have your heart torn in two just over looking at another person’s face. She looked so broken that he wanted to somehow gather her inside his heart and let her remain there for as long as she wanted.

“Wh…w…” She tried to make out amongst her whimpers.

“Easy, easy, you’re okay now,” Jean told her gently, wiping away her tears with his thumbs. “What were you trying to say?”

“Why…why does it hurt so much?” She fixed him with her swollen eyes, “Why does it still hurt?”

He wished he had an answer to that. Even after all these years, he didn’t think the pain would ever really stop. So, he thinks he owes it to her to be honest.

“I don’t know, Mikasa.” He said, his voice breaking a little.

She pressed her forehead to his chest, still crying. He takes that as a cue and gently pulls her to him, an embrace that she quickly returns in such a way that they don’t know who is comforting who.

He thinks they must have remained like that for a good while, with him rocking her gently in his arms like a child while she grasped his lower back, trying to stop the tremors that were still shaking him.

The whimpers quiet down, and the tension in her body loosens, so he laid her down on the bed and waited for her to fall asleep. He made shushing noises while stroking her hand, noticing the signs of exhaustion taking over. She is looking at him with a dazed expression before tightening her hold on him.

“Jean?”

“What is it?”

“Can you stay with me?” She asks, her voice sleepy.

In any other occasion, he would have promptly denied her, deeming it too improper. But watching that look on her face and remembering the terrors that would still await him back in his room made him lose all sense.

Just one night. At least just one.

He gulped and nodded, moving to climb in and get under the covers. The immediate warmth that they feel is overwhelming, and they scramble to get closer as if each other’s touch will be enough to keep the nightmares at bay.

She listened to his heartbeat, its steady pulse lulling her to sleep. His tremors died down under the gentle press of her hand, and he followed her into slumber soon after.

They have their first sleep without nightmares in years.

The moment when she wakes up in the morning is less peaceful in a way. Mikasa shoots up in her bed, feeling an onslaught of confusion and mortification when she remembered what happened.

Jean is fast asleep, his face relaxed and somehow younger, with his arm thrown over her lap. That usual subtle guardedness that he shows now completely shed.

The sight makes her heart hammer wildly and a strange warmth spreads in her chest. Before she can dwell on it or on how much she actually liked having him pressed against her, she bolts out of her room.

She doesn’t really know where she is going but she knows she must get out of there. The cold morning air greets her as she runs out of the house, running and running until she stops, gasping for breath and resting her hands on her knees.

Mist is rolling on the gravel road, revealing the scattered houses of the village in all their simpleness. She lets the coldness settle in, obliterating the heat that had overtaken her.

This was completely unexpected, and she knew it made no sense for her to react this way when she had been the one to coax him into her bed. Yet, she also knows there’s only so much sense you can have after nightmares like theirs. It was expected that they would eventually give in to that urgency, that need to cling to each other.

A flock of birds snaps her out of her thoughts, the group flying and dipping by her house before disappearing into the nearby woodland. Soon the whole village would be waking up, and she couldn’t stay here only wearing her nightshift. She wraps her arms around herself - a futile attempt to warm herself against the cold morning air and makes her way back to the house.

The smell of coffee invades her senses when she steps in, and she sees him in the kitchen, already pouring coffee into two cups.

There’s a hint of relief in his face when he notices her, and she swallows down whatever embarrassment she still feels and greets him as usual.

He greets her back, going on to ask her what they should make for breakfast. In that way, their shyness lays forgotten and what happened earlier remains unspoken.

Their routine for the day remains as usual, and the end of their errands sees them relaxing in her backyard like always, lazily talking about nothing and everything.

When night falls, they’re ready to face whatever horrors await them in their sleep again.

This time, Mikasa is in what appears to be a forest, and it doesn’t take long before she notices that Eren is walking ahead of her. She tries to reach him, but he only drifts away further, occasionally looking back at her, green eyes glinting as if he’s playing a game with her.

The further he gets, the more desperate she becomes. She calls his name, but he gets even further away from her. Always far away, always unreachable.

Soon the woodland disappears, and a steep precipice appears ahead, but Eren doesn’t stop walking. She feels as if her feet are shackled while trying to reach him, and she cries out his name brokenly as he plunges down the precipice and disappears.

Instead of screams, she wakes up with cold shivers and a lump in her throat. Her body is pulled taut like a bowstring as she struggles to gain her breath back, trying to blink away her tears. Her only company was the shadows cast upon her room.

But she then remembered that she wasn’t alone, not exactly. In another corner of her house, Jean was slumbering, probably fighting off his nightly terrors as well. It was a never-ending cycle, and yet she can’t pretend to not remember the remedy they had found against their demons: each other.

Mikasa had always put on a hard front to everybody, but she is tired, so very tired; she doesn’t want to hide or even think logically anymore. And so, ignoring all sense she stands up and makes her way to his room, her steps only a whisper against the wooden floor.

She shouldn’t have been surprised when she saw him sitting up in his bed already, though he didn’t seem to have noticed her, looking disconcerted. In the dim light, she can see that he is paler than usual and that his eyes are wide with unshed tears. He seems to finally recognize her as she reaches for him and gently wipes away the moisture that was beginning to spill down his cheeks.

There is an unfathomable look on his face as she soothes him, and when she asks a silent question with her own red-rimmed gaze, he pauses and then moves to open the covers for her.

She doesn’t hesitate to climb in.

***

There was childish laughter coming from the large yard.

It was a comforting sight, watching the children of the orphanage go about their day, playing their little games.

Jean could barely remember the time when he was that carefree and innocent, he pondered as he walked with Armin around the establishment.

“Until wintertime then?” He asked, not knowing how to take the information.

“That’s what I’ve been told. They will pick delegates to go to each of the allied nations. Whoever remains here is still unclear.” Armin said as he walked, looking at Jean’s tired expression and keeping a close watch on Jean’s steps as he balanced himself on a cane. He rarely used it but since he had insisted that he was ready to attend meetings he started bringing it with him, the constant walking and touring taking its toll on his body.

It had been common knowledge that they would need representatives in every nation, but the fact that there was already an established time for him to possibly leave Paradis took him by surprise. There were still months left for winter, and he still hadn’t made up his mind on whether he wanted to stay or leave.

They stopped in a far corner, with Jean leaning against the wooden fence, recalling a distant memory of when he was younger and stood here with his friends. In the distance, they noticed Mikasa walking in the grassy area, inspecting a group of kids who were playing on some swing sets. She noticed both of her friends watching and they waved at each other before she focused back on the children.

“She’s been quite active here,” Armin observed.

“And yet she still feels guilty for some reason,” Jean said, fishing around his pockets until he found what he was looking for.

Armin narrowed his eyes as he watched Jean lighting up a cigarette. His friend noticed him and groaned. “What? I’ve had to deal with Mikasa scolding me already, you’re going to lecture me as well?”

“You’re still recovering from a punctured lung, Jean.”

“I’ve dealt with worse things,” Jean mumbled, exhaling puffs of smoke. He knew his friends were right, but he couldn’t help it.

He sighed and took another drag. “So, tell me about this airshow, will you? What exactly are they planning?”

“I don’t have anything to do with it, but every delegation is expected to attend of course. The Yeagerists have made sure to spend every penny on the ceremony.” Armin said as he also leaned back against the fence.

Jean snorted. “This whole thing feels like a circus, it won’t be long before they go back on their word, I’m sure.”

“Perhaps, but in the meantime, we do what we can, and what we must. Even the Yeagerists know that we have to depend on each other. Right now, we focus on peace.”

Paradis too was struggling to rise back up, with its damaged borders and the destruction of the ecosystems around the world leading to severe droughts, forest fires, and famine. If the rumbling had gone any further, there was no chance they would have survived. Currently, every country was struggling with the reforestation of their lands and developing new technologies to battle the climate crisis. The treaty would be a milestone in that direction.

“Peace is only relative,” Jean remarked.

“Of course, but we must leverage that peace, be it relative or not. I will always condemn what Eren did, but I think he would want us to take advantage of whatever chances we can take.”

“It’s not like he left us much choice,” Jean spat, and then gave a tired sigh. “But whatever is best for us, I will vouch for that and support you along the way.”

“I know you will,” Armin said, bumping Jean’s shoulder and taking in the circles under his eyes. “I don’t want you to strain yourself too much though. If you can’t attend the ceremony, I will excuse you.”

Jean shook his head, exhaling another puff of smoke. “I will be there. I won’t give those assholes the pleasure of not attending.”

Armin hummed in response. “I hear that there are many other events planned beside the ceremony for the treaty. There are rumors that sweet Vera is coming here to perform.”

Jean looked elsewhere. “I heard that as well.”

Vera was a Marleyan singer and actress who quickly rose in fame all over the continent. Her advocate work with the Alliance was well documented, as she used her cultural influence to help gather supporters and fund numerous causes. Just as her charity work was well known, so was her affair with Ambassador Kirschtein.

He had been assigned to escort her to performances and public speeches linked to their cause. One thing led to another, and it was only a matter of time before they ended up tangled between the sheets. The prospect of seeing her made him feel strange but also happy, as despite their casual flings she had also been a good friend.

“Seem like Paradis is ready to deal with the outside world, and not just through treaties,” Armin remarked.

“Oh, they’ll love her for sure, she stole hearts whenever she went,” Jean said while taking another drag.

“Did she steal yours?”

Jean rolled his eyes. “No one stole anything, she and I made our boundaries clear before we started sleeping together. It was the same for all the other women I’ve been with. They took what they wanted, and I took what I wanted.”

“You think you will ever settle down?” Armin asked.

“I don’t know…especially not after…” Jean stopped himself. “Ah, never mind.”

“I’m all ears,” Armin said, looking at him expectantly.

Jean remained quiet for such a long time that Armin thought he wouldn’t say anything at all.

“I’m in love with Mikasa,” Jean finally admitted, feeling a weight lifted off his shoulders.

“Tell me something I don’t know,” Armin replied, looking at him sympathetically. “Have you tried telling her?”

“What? No, I’ll never tell her,” Jean said, dropping the cigarette and crushing it. “She doesn’t see me that way and I respect that. I’m happy as her friend.”

“You don’t believe that.” Armin had an eyebrow quirked.

“Oh, but I do, the time I’ve spent with her… it has kept me sane in a way,” Jean told him, then shaking his head. “I’m so in love with her it feels ridiculous. I can’t even think about settling down with anyone else even if I know I have no chance with her.”

“Why do you think that? You claim to respect her, but are you really doing that when you don’t even bother to know what she thinks?”

Jean scoffed. “I don’t need to ‘bother’ because I already know what she thinks. Her heart belongs to Eren, that’s a simple fact.”

It was Armin’s turn to scoff. “Eren is dead, Jean. She killed him if I may remind you, and she has always been a full, stronghearted person outside of him. You may love and cherish a memory, but there’s only so much love you can give to a dead man.”

Jean could only look away, staying quiet. Armin followed his tired gaze and found unsurprisingly fixed on Mikasa, who was now spinning a little girl in her arms.

“You may not believe me, but I’ve never seen her this relaxed and happy, not even when we were children.”

“I want her to be happy. That’s all I want.”

“Well, she looks happier than ever to me, and it’s because of you.”

“Don’t make me laugh,” Jean rolled his eyes.

“I’m not trying to make you laugh, it’s just the truth. Take it from someone who practically grew up with her.” Armin insisted. “Besides, I don’t think I could make you laugh with that weary expression you’ve had all day. Have you even slept lately?”

“Mikasa kept me up last night,” Jean replied, before realizing what he said.

Armin looked embarrassed. “She…kept you up, huh?”

“Not that way I- for goodness’ sake, Armin! I would never take advantage of her like that!” Jean exclaimed, blushing furiously while Armin smirked.

“Care to explain then?”

“We…ah, we’re sharing a bed, it helps with our nightmares,” Jean explained, avoiding Armin’s curious look. “It’s just sleeping I swear, somehow…somehow it makes it easier.”

Armin nodded in understanding, thinking of the solace he and Annie had found with each other in a similar way, though it was also different since their ritual had quickly taken a much more physical level.

“You don’t have to reassure me of anything, whatever you guys do is none of my business,” Armin said. “And I know you would never take advantage of her.”

Jean said nothing, still looking at Mikasa in the distance.

“But I insist that you must be honest with her.”

“I don’t think so, Armin. Let’s leave it at that.” Jean tried to end the subject.

“I never took you for being such a pessimist. I thought you wanted to be with her since we were Scouts.”

“Even back then I was aware that there was no chance she would ever return my feelings. So, I kept my distance and ignored it. And I-well… I turned to other girls.”

Jean looked embarrassed but Armin nodded in understanding, remembering the times when Jean and Connie would come in late from having explored whatever town they were stationed in and all it had to offer. Their time in Marley had been similar in that regard, with Reiner occasionally taking part in their escapades.

“In that way, I thought I was over her for a long time. It was easy to get distracted by constant missions, carousing, and sex. I should have known my feelings would only come back stronger once I saw her again.” Jean continued, still looking ashamed. “I have accepted that I’m in love with her, but I have also accepted that I’m just her friend, and I’m happy to be that. Being by her side, that is more than enough for me.”

Armin looked at Jean and saw that he truly meant his words. While he felt bad for his friend, he also couldn’t help his frustration at his resignation.

“You make everything sound so hopeless.” The blond complained, leaning further into the fence.

Jean smiled sadly. “I am utterly hopeless when it comes to her,” he said, “I don’t know if I’ll ever get over it.”

“You don’t have to get over it, you can simply love unapologetically. This world…us and our friends, we have seen too much misery. We owe it to ourselves to try and get some happiness, don’t we?”

“I don’t know if that’s possible… dreams, settling down, having a family, is it all worth it when we don’t know if this so-called peace will even last?”

Armin fixed him with his gaze. “It is worth it every bit,” he affirmed. “I have to believe that because…well, I want to tell you something.”

Jean looked at him curiously as Armin fidgeted with his hands. “I uh…I am planning to propose to Annie.”

A small silence passed between them before Jean’s face broke into pure happiness despite his tiredness.

“That’s-that’s amazing, Armin! I’m proud of you.” Jean said gleefully as he stepped forward to hug his friend tightly and pat his back.

“Hey! I haven’t even asked her yet and we don’t know if she’ll say yes!” Armin laughed, still hugging Jean back.

“Of course, she’ll say yes you idiot,” Jean said. “She looks at you as if the sun shines out of your ass.”

They both laughed before separating, still holding onto each other’s arms. “I don’t know how any of this works, but would you be my best man?”

Jean was already nodding before Armin finished his sentence. “Of course, of course, I’ll do it.”

“Good, because I have no idea what to do after I ask her.”

“And you think I do?” Jean countered, and they both laughed out loud again before continuing their walk, feeling much more at ease than before and enjoying the light breeze. There was still a lot of apprehension clouding Jean’s mind, but for now, he was glad that his friend wanted to take his chance at happiness. A glimmer of hope in the midst of uncertainty. For now, he could be happy about that.

***

The planes were flying at a safe distance, yet it felt as if they could graze the onlookers in a heartbeat. There was a cacophony of cheers, music, chatter, and roars from the planes that were flying overhead.

It seemed surreal that this was happening. It was almost as if all the hatred and tension that their visit had brought was broken, now replaced by celebration and merriment. The cheers came and went the same way the steel birds flew and dipped across the blue sky.

Jean had stood on the stage at the town square some hours ago, tall and defiant despite the scars he bore underneath his formal clothing and the cane that signified his survival.

His presence had given everyone much to talk about, some in puzzlement and others in admiration. He gave a speech with no problem and made sure to look at every Yeagerist official directly in the eye as they shook hands, silently telling them that this was his home.

Now he stood at the edges of the city that overlooked an extensive lake, watching with the members of the delegation as planes flew in unpredictable ways overhead, a sign of progress and more things to come.

He leaned against the railing, looking at the other delegations on the lower levels. Standing amongst the Hizurian delegation was Mikasa, who was also focused on the aerial spectacle while exchanging words with Kiyomi. Even with her small height the Hizurian diplomat still had an imposing presence whenever she went.

Almost as if Mikasa had felt the weight of his stare, she suddenly turned her head and found his gaze. Normally he would have been flustered but watching the smile that she gave him made him feel calm even in the middle of all the excitement that was happening around them. He smiled back before Kiyomi got her attention again and he turned back to the planes.

The sight of the planes flying and turning across the sky made him feel a small ache as he remembered Hange. He was sure the late commander would have loved this. Her excitement over all things unknown had left a huge gap amongst the former soldiers. Now all they could do was continue their endeavors for peace, just as she would have wanted.

He was hit by a barrage of memories as he watched, also wondering how Levi was faring while also finding reassurance in knowing that he was in good company and getting the rest he deserved. But just as he remembered past recollections, a small hidden memory surged up to the surface of his mind, now clear and prominent.

I liked you Mikasa, you know? I think I even loved you, since we were trainees.

No, it couldn’t be.

I wish he was here, I wish I could bring him back. I’m sorry I can’t do anything, I’m so sorry Mikasa…

The strange behavior Mikasa sometimes showed around him now made sense, and Jean suddenly felt as if he were about to vomit, his face blanching.

He had resolved to be Mikasa’s friend and not make things strange between them. But he had failed with flying colors.

With one last glance at Mikasa- who was still engaged in conversation, he backed away and left the compound, ignoring the questioning stares from his friends.

He walked as fast as he could even in his delicate state, immune to the fanfare around him and feeling absolutely mortified.

Way to go, dumbass.

#jeankasa #snk #attack on titan #jean kirstein #mikasa ackerman #hope all the tags work this time

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hotchley · 3 years

Text

aaron

summary: “some of us grow up to catch them.”

ssa hotchner. former prosecutor. unit chief of the behavioural analysis unit. best shot in the whole of the quantico building. dad to jack and his entire team.

aaron hotchner. just a boy, trying to make it through the day.

(alternatively known as the backstory, the moments between, and the hotch episode we never got)

read chapter one here!

chapter two: the moments in between

trigger warnings for this chapter : minor character deaths, death of a parent, implied/referenced child abuse, court cases involving a not guilty verdict to a charge of abuse, arson, references to cancer, references to the death of a child, vomit/sickness, references to self-harm and suicide, stabbing, canon-typical violence, blood, implied/reference drug addiction, references to domestic violence (this is between hotch's parents)

Aaron Hotchner was a lawyer full of contradictions.

He had graduated at the top of his class, but he never once referenced his own father’s abilities when he started practicing. And instead of becoming a defence lawyer- a role that would have led to him holding a position of power within weeks- he became a criminal prosecutor.

He claimed it was what called to him.

In reality, it was because he refused to let anything else be tainted by the memory of his father. He remembered the nights where his father would come home and talk about the horrible things his clients had done. He remembered how he had laughed and said he would be able to make all of those things go away with a few words. He remembered how his stomach had tightened at the injustice of it all.

But he wasn’t a scared little boy anymore. He was an adult. He was as close to happy as he could be when he spent his days looking at photos of people who had lives, and hopes, and dreams that were cut short. When an ordinary day at work meant putting some bad people behind bars whilst he was forced to let others go free.

When he was in court, he was amazing. He was cold and emotionless. People genuinely believed he had no emotions, that there was nothing that could faze him. Killers and abusers would hurl insults at him, defence lawyers would pull random laws from nowhere and he would take it. He would think on his feet and come up with something. But then there were sudden moments where he would look so vulnerable. Like when he spoke to a child, a young woman, the family that thought they hadn’t done anything to save their loved one.

The only time he would smile was when the blonde woman in his life would appear. Sometimes it was with lunch, dressed semi-casually, hair slightly messy and pen on her face from whatever it was she was doing. Other times it would be in a pretty dress. Those would be the days where he would look mildly terrified for a moment, before grinning and leading her out the office. On the bad days where they would be forced to come in on a weekend, she would come in with her own work and keep him company.

Haley had gone into teaching. High school history, although she always helped with the various productions held. She was a natural with the kids, always doing her best to be understanding and helpful, instead of confrontational and harsh. Despite this, there were still nights where she would come home, not saying anything. Those nights, Aaron would wrap his arms around her and let her cry about the injustice of the system.

Those were the nights he remembered just how lucky he was that she had taken a chance on him, unlike everyone else, who had left him to suffer. He didn’t want to think about where he would’ve been without her. Or if he would’ve even been anywhere on this earth.

So their lives weren’t perfect, and he woke up screaming some nights, but they were good. They both had stable jobs in the same area, which meant they could eat dinner together and fall asleep in each other’s arms every night. Haley liked linking their hands together so she could look at their wedding rings.

The wedding had been small, more for her parents than anyone else. He still didn’t believe he was worth loving. She had always dreamt of a wedding, but with Aaron none of that seemed to matter. What mattered was him being around. Her parents however, weren’t having any of it and even offered to pay for the wedding if that was the problem.

Haley had very kindly told them to keep their money. If her and Aaron were to get married, they would do it the way they wanted to, with their savings and their budget.

In the end, the wedding had been a compromise. Haley’s entire family, all of her high school friends and sorority sisters were invited, and everyone but Meredith attended. Aaron’s mother and brother came, as well as some of his friends from law school, but the list of people he actually wanted there was even shorter than Haley’s. She refused a seating plan for that exact reason.

After they cut the cake, they managed to sneak away for a few minutes. The wedding had been outdoors. They could see the stars. And when Aaron looked at her, he fell in love all over again. He could hear the music faintly, and so he had offered his hand and they had danced, feeling like they were seventeen all over again. That night, there had been no darkness inside him. Only joy.

And as one of his favourite authors, Joseph Campbell, had written: find a place inside where there’s joy, and the joy will burn out the pain.

But when you saw the things he did, it was difficult to find a place where joy could survive. And even when it was there, it was temporary. Because no matter what he, and everyone else in the district attorney’s office did, the evil never stopped. There was always somebody else getting hurt. Another victim not being believed. A lawyer quitting because they couldn’t keep looking at the worst of humanity and surviving.

Aaron’s own last case haunted him years after he joined the FBI.

He had been on edge for a while. Christmas had come and gone. With it, the never-ending questions from various colleagues and family members about when he was next coming home. When was Haley going to have a baby? Were they even trying for a child? Was Aaron having some difficulties? Or worst of all, when was he going to let go of his grand delusions and silly ideas and settle down as a defence lawyer?

Returning to his real home- the apartment him and Haley resided in, that had come to life with their little knick-knacks- had been a relief. She wasn’t fond of going home and seeing everyone that had failed Aaron, but she loved her family and friends. Aaron could never get away fast enough. She respected that. It was why they worked.

The new year came, and with it, new cases.

Aaron wasn’t trying to bring a killer to justice with only the evidence from the crime scenes and the testimony of families. He was trying to save an innocent child and make sure the only monsters in their life were the ones imaginary ones under the bed, instead of the father they said was abusing him and his mother.

It was like looking in a mirror. An innocent child finally snapping and telling the police the truth about their home life. But where Aaron had been mocked and told to stop being a liar, the police had listened. Gathered the evidence. They had done their job. Now it was time for Aaron to do his.

He poured over the files for hours. He found every piece of evidence he could. He would not fail this child. Not the same way he had been. He would find the truth behind every hospital visit, between every tear they had ever shed and he would make sure that the old bastard’s wife and son never had to be scared for their lives ever again.

Aaron was going to do what nobody ever did for him.

It was a week before the trial. New evidence had been located. It was all important, obviously, but there was something they were missing. Something Aaron knew would make all the difference to their case. He just needed to find out.

His phone lit up. Sean was calling him. He rolled his eyes. He couldn’t be dealing with his younger brother’s complaints in that moment. And he certainly couldn’t be lending him any more money. Him and Haley were saving for a mortgage. Then they would have a real home. Somewhere to call their own.

Somewhere to eventually raise their own children.

Sean tried to call him two more times. And Aaron declined two more times. It was a bit strange that he was phoning so consecutively, but it was probably nothing. No, not probably, definitely. It always was.

He turned back to the files, making sure his phone was on silent. When the clock ticked to six, he hurriedly locked majority of the files away in his cabinet and put the ones that had just come through into his briefcase. Haley had planned a nice evening for the two of them. But if- when- he woke up in the early hours of the morning, at least he could do something productive.

There were two more missed calls from Sean. Aaron made a mental note to phone him when he got home.

“Give me fifteen minutes to shower and then I’m yours, I promise,” he said as he entered their living room, shoes already neatly put away on the porch.

There were two packed bags on the couch. Haley was sat, wearing a black dress, hands in her lap, landline next to her. Her head was bent, but her body was shaking as tears slipped down her cheek, dampening the fabric.

Aaron felt bile rising in the back of his throat as he knelt in front of her. “Baby,” he whispered.

She shook her head.

“Baby, what happened? Just tell me, it’s okay.”

“Your mom’s gone,” she said.

“What?” Aaron whispered.

“I’m so sorry Aaron. I am so- that wasn’t the way I wanted to tell you. It’s just- Sean said she was admitted to the hospital earlier, and she passed away about an hour ago. They phoned here because you didn’t answer your cell phone. I tried to explain everything, really, but they wouldn’t let me speak and-”

“She’s really gone,” Aaron said.

Haley embraced him, awkwardly wrapping her arms around his neck as he sobbed, the knowledge still not sinking in, but the emptiness in his heart was threatening to overwhelm him entirely. They sat like that for what may have been hours or minutes as his body shook. Only when his tears turned to hiccups did Haley pull away, gently wiping away his tears with the sleeve of her dress.

“You should shower. There’s nothing else you can do now,” she said.

Aaron shook his head. Haley stood and led him to the bathtub.

“All you need to do is keep your head up for me, okay?”

The shower had no effect on him. Haley helped him dress. He felt like a small child, needing someone’s assistance to button his shirt up. But he couldn’t make his body cooperate with him. He couldn’t do anything, still in shock that she was gone.

Haley put the bags in the boot. Aaron got in the passenger side. He spent the journey staring out the window. When the buildings became more familiar, he closed his eyes, not opening them until they reached Haley’s old home. He turned to her in confusion.

“Sean is staying with a friend tonight. Going back to that house is not something you need to do today. My parents already said we could stay with them.”

Of course they did. Because everyone must’ve already known that his mother died. His mother had died and he hadn’t been there because he’d ignored his brother’s phone calls. What kind of person did that make him?

Haley no longer had the key. She rang the doorbell, one arm still wrapped around him as they awkwardly stood outside. Hotch remembered the first time he had gone to her house for dinner. It had been after his father passed away. He’d spent the entire meal feeling uncomfortable. Like the Brooks’ weren’t going to approve of him.

Her mother had hugged him, cradling the back of his head, whispering her condolences, both for what had been lost and for what the town had failed to do. Roy Brooks had shaken his hand, saying that anyone would be proud to call him their son. Jessica had dragged him to one side and said they’d all known about Haley sneaking him in during the night, but nobody knew what to say.

When he got home, he crawled into bed and sobbed. For the first time, somebody loved him unconditionally.

It was her mother that answered the door. When she saw who it was, she ushered them in. Aaron remembered at the last moment that he was supposed to take his shoes off. Haley led him to the living room.

Roy embraced him. “You’re freezing,” he whispered. “Darling, put some tea on. Aaron, how are you feeling?”

He shook his head. He did not deserve kindness. Not in this moment.

“That’s okay. You don’t have to talk. Just drink some tea and then got some sleep. Haley’s old bedroom has been set up for the two of you. And we’ll both be here if you need anything. The next few days are going to be draining for both of you, so please, don’t hesitate in asking for any kind of support.”

“Thank you Papa,” Haley said, rubbing her husband’s back.

Aaron tried to smile, but it was forced and uncomfortable.

Roy was the one who drove him to the funeral home. Haley had offered, but she had already driven them from their apartment, which had tired her out because she hated driving, so Aaron had declined, having every intention to bear the burden alone. But as he was slipping his shoes on, Roy had emerged, saying nobody should have go alone.

Sean was waiting outside for the two of them, eyes red, biting his nails. When Aaron looked at him, he couldn’t even imagine him as the eighteen-year-old about to go to college that he was. When Aaron looked at his little brother, he just saw the little boy who didn’t understand that their dad wasn’t coming home. Only this time, there were no comforting lies to give him. He understood everything. Including Aaron’s failure.

“How could you?” Sean whispered the moment he saw his brother.

Aaron looked down.

“She was in the hospital, constantly asking where you were. She didn’t care that I was there. She just wanted to know where her precious baby was, and I had to keep lying and say that you were coming when in reality, I had no fucking clue where you were. It was not supposed to be me holding her hand. It was supposed to be you. But you weren’t there, and so you have no right to turn up, now looking all sad and pathetic.”

Michael Hotchner had not been right about much. But he had been right about one thing. Aaron Hotchner was his mirror. Sean Hotchner was his son.

“Sean Hotchner. That is enough. You do not get to disrespect your brother or your mother like that. Go inside, and do not create another scene,” Roy snapped.

When Sean departed, he turned to Aaron, who was shaking.

“Son?”

“He’s right,” Aaron whispered. “I should have been there. He- Sean phoned me and I didn’t answer because I thought it was stupid and I had this case and- I failed her.”

“Look at me. It’s not your fault. It was her time to go, and you cannot spend the rest of your life blaming yourself. Sean is angry and grieving, and he doesn’t mean a single word of what he said. You’re a good man, doing a good job and you make my daughter happy. Don’t ever forget that. Okay?”

Aaron nodded, not truly believing him. He followed Sean into the funeral home, where they spent the next few hours in a tense, uncomfortable silence. Aaron wanted to comfort his brother, but he didn’t know how. Not when Sean stood as far away from him as possible.

The funeral was a day later. Once again, Haley held his hand until the priest called him up to say a few words. Aaron managed to make it through his eulogy with minimal tears, but the moment he was back beside his wife, he turned away from the grave, letting the tears fall.

The people were silently judging him for what he had failed to do. Roy glared at everyone that dared tried to voice these opinions. They were wrong. Aaron hadn’t failed anyone. He’d gotten there the moment he was supposed to, and if those people were even half as religious as they liked to claim they were, they would know that.

“You take as long as you need,” Haley whispered, when everyone else, even Sean had departed.

Aaron nodded, holding the flowers he’d grabbed from the car to his chest like a baby. He watched as Haley left, going to sit in the car to give him the space he needed. He’d told them all to drive home, that the walk would do him some good. He watched on unsteady legs as the car faded from view.

And then he fell to his knees, sobbing, one hand pressed to his mouth to stop too much noise from escaping, the other blindly feeling around for the flowers left by Sean. Their mother had hated roses- somehow, she always managed to prick her finger on the thorns. The only reason they had ever been in the house was because on the days where people would come round, his father would turn up with a bouquet of them, and she would dutifully smile and accept them.

Aaron moved the roses so they were hidden by all the other flowers they had left. And then he put his own small bouquet of carnations right where the headstone would go.

“Mama, I am so sorry,” he whispered.

And then he walked away, unable to stand the sight of the grave anymore.

The defence ripped him and his witnesses to shreds.

The verdict was not guilty.

The child was sent home.

“You promised me,” they sobbed as their father stood with an easy smirk on his face.

He was sick the moment he got home. Haley didn’t say a word. She just showed him an advert for the FBI that had been posted through the letterbox. When he stared at her, she smiled. Said that she had married Aaron Hotchner the man, not Mr Hotchner the prosecutor.

Two weeks later, he was enrolling in the FBI Academy.

Six months later and he was Agent Hotchner. He liked that. It was his own, and nobody would ever associate the title with his father. He could be his own person.

Then David Rossi gave him the nickname of Hotch and he couldn’t be happier. It would’ve made his mother smile. And his father turn in his grave at the utter shame of his good name being reduced down to something so mundane.

But being a profiler was tough. Every case meant dealing with the very worst of humanity. And even among the worst, there was a hierarchy. Some cases were just more disgusting, more scary and more scarring than others. A few cases reminded him that profilers were all just a step away from becoming unsubs themselves. That the line could and would blur before any of them even realised.

Vincent Perrotta left him vulnerable. Physically and emotionally. Jason had told him to loosen his tie and undo his top button, but Aaron needed the reassuring pressure of both things at his neck in order to maintain some kind of illusion of control in spite of the damage done by the wire.

He didn’t open up to unsubs. One of the most important parts of conducting an interrogation was to make them think you understood them without giving away anything about yourself. And most of the time, he was good at doing that. He pretended to understand the hatred of children, pretended to agree with them when they claimed that all women were just manipulative bitches and he pretended to find it amusing when they thought that the person doing the act was right.

The key word was pretend.

He wasn’t pretending when he looked Perrotta in the eye and told him the one thing that only Haley and Dave were aware of. Had it been any other time, it would’ve been funny. His own team didn’t know what his father had done to him, but this serial killer did, and it was all because he’d slipped up and said us instead of them.

Hotch had never been so thankful there was a bathroom on the same floor as his office that nobody ever used. The moment Perrotta turned away, the realisation that his crimes had never been inevitable causing more distress than the murder of the woman had, Hotch had bolted.

He hadn’t eaten since the incident in the night. It hurt to swallow. Which meant despite the minutes he spent retching over the toilet seat, hands trembling because how many times had he looked in the mirror and seen the exact same look that he’d witnessed on Perrotta, nothing came out.

Morgan was stood by the door.

“I know we have a no profiling rule.”

“Then follow it.”

“Reid’s doing your paperwork. He’s surprisingly good at forging your handwriting and I’m not sure I want to know why. That means all you need to do is sign it. Go home.”

“You’re not my superior Morgan,” Hotch snapped.

Morgan didn’t even blink. “I know. But you won’t write me up for insubordination. There’s no reason for you to be here, but there is every reason for you to be at home.”

Their relationship was a strange one. They trusted each other as agents- it was the only way they were able to go out in the field- but not as individuals. But then every once in a while, Derek would do something like this and Hotch would wonder if it was his way of saying that he did indeed care.

He was right though. There was every reason for him to be at home.

The living room light was off, so he immediately headed upstairs. Jack was asleep in his crib. Hotch felt uneasy in the nursery. Both he and Haley knew this was their forever home, which was why they had a nursery- it could be Jack’s bedroom until he moved out- but after Karl Arnold, he wasn’t sure how he felt about not being able to see him in the night.

“He won’t wake up if you hold him,” Haley said from the doorway.

“You should be asleep,” he replied, feeling guilty that he must have woken her.

“No, I shouldn’t. What happened?”

“How do you know something happened?”

She shrugged. “I know you.”

He sighed. “I don’t want to burden you. You already put up with enough from me.”

She crept closer, wrapping her arms around his waist, and he was transported back to the bathroom, only now the scars on his back had healed but not faded and more, both visible and hidden, covered his body because profiling always damaged people.

“You’re not burdening me. I’m asking.”

“Serial killer. His dad abused him and his mom. I accidentally told him that some of us grow up to catch them. But Hales, the look on his face. It was like he finally realised that everything he did had been because of him, not because of his father and I just, I sympathised. What kind of person does that make me?”

“A good one.”

“I saw myself in him. The person I might have become if you hadn’t saved me,” he confessed, still watching his son.

Haley’s grip loosened. He realised what he had said.

“Aaron that wasn’t me. You saved yourself. You got out and you decided you were going to break the cycle. That was you. I just helped you along the way. Hey, look at me.”

He turned, tears in his eyes. Haley smiled, still as bright and good as the day they met. She took his hands and lifted them to her lips, placing a soft kiss to them before leaning past him and lifting Jack up. The baby stirred slightly, but did not wake, even when Haley handed him to Aaron.

“You won’t hurt him. Or me. You will never be like the people that you hunt down. I will die before that ever happens,” she said. There was such raw passion in her voice that the tears finally fell.

Haley would die before he hurt someone. And he had made a vow to her father the day they married that he would keep her safe, and a second the day he joined the FBI that if Haley were to die, it would not be because of his job.

“Thank you,” he whispered, putting Jack down so he could press a kiss to her forehead.

“I love you,” she said, like it was the easiest thing in the world for her to do. Because to her it was. She just wished he could understand that.

He didn’t know how to say the words. Not in the way that she needed. So instead he smiled, took one last look at his baby and walked away. He pretended to be fine because Haley shouldn’t have to worry about her. In reality, the moment she fell asleep, he went and checked the locks. Again.

The darkness shouldn’t have been able to creep in, but it did. It always did.

“I hope Morgan wasn’t too rough with you,” Gideon said, taking the seat opposite him.

Hotch looked at him. Gideon gave him that smile that never seemed to be aimed at him anymore. He sighed, fiddling with the pen he’d placed on the paperwork he hadn’t touched since boarding the jet. Talking to Abby’s son had been more painful than he’d expected, but somebody needed to do it. It was the least they could do for him.

“I’ve handled worse,” he replied.

Gideon hmmed at that. “That doesn’t mean you have to. I made you some tea. Herbal. Apparently it’s calming. You should drink it.”

Hotch stared at the mug like it was going to poison him. Then he carried on staring out the window. It was dark, and there wasn’t really much to see, but he couldn’t keep looking at the sympathy on Jason’s face. It made him feel sick. He wasn’t the one that had lost a father that day. He had just gotten too close, again, despite constantly telling everyone that wasn’t something they could do.

It was impossible to get the image of him burning to death out of his mind. Whilst he wanted to believe Abby’s death had been swift and painless, much like his own father’s heart attack, he knew that was impossible. He’d seen enough burn victims to know it took time for that happen. He wondered if, in those final moments, Abby regretted his decision.

“Hotch there was nothing we could have done to save him,” Gideon said gently. He wished Dave was still there. He would know what to say, what to do. Gideon had never had that relationship with Aaron. He liked to think he had that relationship with Spencer, but Aaron was different. He didn’t understand him.

“I should have stopped him. He should have had more time. If only so he could look at his son and tell him what was going on.”

Gideon tilted his head to the side. “Spencer mentioned that you had gone to see the family. Why didn’t you send JJ? She is our media liaison, that’s her job description, not yours.”

“JJ wouldn’t have understood. I had to go. It had to be me.” Hotch didn’t really know why he was telling Gideon any of this.

“It was your penance, wasn’t it? You think it’s your fault that he died, so you decided to make the fallout your responsibility. Hotch, you’re the Unit Chief now. The team look to you. You can’t tell them to do one thing and then do the exact opposite.”

He closed his eyes. He didn’t want to be SSA Hotchner, or even Hotch. He wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to be Aaron, because even though Haley and Dave- the only people that used his first name- had always treated it like something precious, the ghost of his father made him think the only way it could be said was with disdain.

Even with his eyes closed, he knew Jason was watching him. He opened his eyes and turned slightly, watching the other members of the team. JJ and Emily were laughing at something that Morgan was saying. Reid was smiling. Hotch felt relieved. It had been far too long since Reid had smiled, and he knew he was the one to blame.

Jason followed his gaze. “They’ve all come so far, haven’t they? One day, they won’t even need us.”

That startled Hotch. His eyes met Gideon’s and he realised his mistake immediately.

“I see. It wasn’t just Abby you saw yourself in. It was his son. That’s why you went. You were compensating.”

“Please don’t profile me,” he whispered, knowing it was useless.

“I’m not. Now I know I’m no David Rossi or Haley Brooks, but I am here. However much you may not agree, I am.”

It was useless to say that he didn’t think that. Because he did, and it was written in the hesitance of his decisions. Of his constant watching. Of the pile of paperwork in his office that was meant to be Jason’s.

“I wanted- needed- to know who it was that my father had been having an affair because everyone, including my own mother, had known. But then he was diagnosed with cancer and all of that became irrelevant. I never got my answers, and it still hurts, even now.”

Nobody, not even Haley, knew about that. She obviously had her suspicions, and she knew about his lack of closure, but he had never properly told her.

Jason wasn’t saying anything. Hotch looked at him and saw that the other man was looking past him, not at him. He followed his gaze, and realised he was looking at Spencer. He swallowed the lump in his throat and smiled as Derek ruffled his hair.

He turned back, and saw that Jason was watching Spencer with the soft smile he had never managed to evoke. He blinked back tears. He missed Dave. He wanted Dave because Dave would know what to say to stop him feeling like such crap. Jason didn’t. Because Jason loved Spencer more than he loved Aaron, and Aaron couldn’t even fathom resenting either of them for that because it wasn’t either of their faults.

It was just a fact of life. But that didn’t mean it still didn’t sting when instead of replying, Gideon stood and went over to the other members of the team, intently listening to whatever it was Spencer was saying.

Haley would tell him to phone Dave. But he couldn’t disrupt his book tour like that. Instead, he kept staring out the window, trying to forget how beautiful the flames had looked against the darkness of the night or how deep down, he almost wished it had been him in there.

It was too close to the line between profiler and unsub.

He bottled up his emotions and hoped that Jason would stay. If not for him, then for Spencer. Because he couldn’t be that person. He was barely that person for Jack.

Jason did not stay. Neither did Haley. They both reached their breaking points and then Hotch pushed them too far.

Deep down, he knew the moment where they both decided they couldn’t take it anymore, the moment where they finally admitted to themselves that they deserved better and they took the steps to get there.

He just never expected they would happen on the same day. He supposed he’d bought that upon himself though. It was him that had said Jason was okay to return to work, for the purely selfish reason that he couldn’t do it alone even though he knew Gideon needed more time. It was him that had left on the case because Morgan had asked him to, even though Haley had asked him not to.

What kind of marriage was that? He didn’t know who had phoned. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know but there was no guarantee that Haley was having an affair. To suggest that she was would be cruel. It would only be because he didn’t want to have to take accountability for his part in the breakdown of their marriage.

It did take two to tango.

But where Jason took a piece of Spencer’s heart, Haley took the reason Hotch had never been able to stop hunting down monsters.

Morgan told him they would survive without Gideon. Hotch knew they would, but he wasn’t sure he could. Gideon’s departure, as much as he didn’t want to seem narcissistic, would reflect on him. He hadn’t saved him. He hadn’t been able to save his marriage- because Haley had done all she had and it had been his turn- and now the unsub’s last words were haunting his memory.

He had always taken pride in the fact that he was a difficult man to profile. A face schooled into a cautious look of neutrality, suits that hid the fact that he never seemed to have an appetite anymore. The only thing that ever gave away his nerves was the small hand thing he had never been able to stop doing.

For his own profession to be used against him in such a way, so soon after he had failed to save so many people- the six agents in Boston, Elle, Jason, Haley- was disarming. He wasn’t sure what he was meant to do. Normally, he would’ve gone to the home where Haley would have left a light on for him. He would’ve watched his son sleep and just stared at him in awe. He would’ve pressed a kiss to Haley’s forehead before climbing into their bed and seeking her warmth. Maybe, if it had been too late to go home, he would’ve taken Jason to the piano night down at the bar.

But Haley had taken her warmth and the thing that made their house a home with her. All the rooms would be dark when he got back. Jack’s room would be empty. Their bed would be cold.

He hadn’t slept alone since college. It hurt, to wake up in the morning and not see Haley’s hair, messy and knotted.

He just didn’t want to be alone, but who was he supposed to tell?

“Reid. I’ll drop you home. It’s been a long few days,” he said.

Everyone else had left. Reid looked up with wide eyes. He looked so painfully young, and Hotch felt a slight pain in his stomach. What was this job doing to him? Spencer deserved better than sleepless nights and painful memories that would never be forgotten. Hotch guessed that one day, Spencer would be added to the list of people he had failed to save.

In some ways, he already was.

“I can go myself,” Spencer mumbled.

“Reid. Let me do this. Please,” Hotch said.

Spencer nodded. “Okay.”

They left, the car far too silent for either of them to be comfortable. Hotch wanted to debate something intellectual, if only to soothe Spencer’s nerves, but the words classic narcissist still left a bitter taste in his mouth. And his mind had gone completely blank regarding anything else.

“We’ve driven past the turning. The route that you’re now going down would mean that getting to my apartment would take an hour extra.”

Hotch kept his eyes on the road, subtly checking that the car doors were locked. “You’re coming home with me. I don’t think you should go home alone.”

Reid turned to face him properly. “I don’t need you to treat me like a child. I get enough of that from everyone else. Gideon left me with a letter, just like my dad. He’s not going to come back and rationally, I have to accept that, because refusal to do so won’t change anything.”

“Maybe. But you should know better than anyone that we can’t control our brains.”

He realised the moment the words left his mouth that it wasn’t the right thing to say, and he immediately regretted them. What Reid thought he was trying to imply was definitely not what he was, but the words had come out wrong and now Reid was going to hate him too.

“I do. Know that. Don’t need you reminding me.”

He sounded just like Jack. Hotch swallowed. “I know. I’m sorry, that came out badly. What I meant was that you’re allowed to feel like you’re being irrational. Missing Gideon is a valid emotion, regardless of the way he left us. You. I meant you.”

They were stuck at a red light.

“Hotch, why haven’t you transferred?” Reid asked suddenly.

He shifted slightly. “My reason for doing it is no longer a thing.”

Reid frowned, and Hotch hit the gas.

“Oh,” he whispered. “I’m sorry. Is it our fault?”

Hotch shook his head. “Haley and I made our decisions. It was never anyone else’s problem, and it is most certainly not your fault.”

Reid wasn’t convinced.

“I don’t want to be alone right now,” he blurted out. “That’s why I’m taking you to the house. Because I can’t be alone and I need to feel like I’m doing something to help someone otherwise, what is the point in all of this?”

“This is about what the unsub said, isn’t it?”

They hadn’t had a conversation like this in so long. Not since before Hankel, his brain supplied.

“It’s true though, isn’t it? I failed to help Elle. I failed to help you, and Jason and Haley and god knows who else,” he said.

Spencer looked at him, chin tilted “You said: Haley and I made our decisions. It was never anyone else’s problem, and it is most certainly not your fault. How is this any different?”

Hotch sighed. “I had a responsibility to the other members of my team because I am meant to be their leader. You, on the other hand, are still just a kid, who has no connection whatsoever to my marriage.”

“I may be young, but I am in no way a child. And no, I didn’t have any connection to your marriage but I still don’t get your point. Elle and Gideon made their decisions of their own free will and there is nothing anyone could’ve done to stop them because when somebody is that determined to do something, they will always find a way.”

They’d pulled into the driveway. Hotch still hadn’t adjusted to the curtains still being open, for everyone to see and it took a moment to adjust to the darkness. The porch light hadn’t been on for a while, yet it was still a shock to the system. Haley’s light was just another thing he had taken for granted.

“When did you get so smart?” Hotch whispered. In some ways, he felt like he had watched as Spencer had grown from the new agent, doubting his worth and his abilities, to the slightly more confident that he had a family man that was now sat next to him. He hoped Spencer never lost his softness, or the things that made him the person he was, for there was nothing sadder.

“Hotch, I’ve always been smart. When Gideon returned after Boston, you introduced me as your expert on everything and then I told the man we were interviewing that I have an IQ of 187.”

“Never change Spencer.”

“I wouldn’t know how.”

There was a short silence.

“Would you stay the night?” Hotch asked.

“I thought that was what you wanted.”

“It is. But I want this to be your decision. If you’d rather be alone, then I will take you to your apartment and we’ll never speak about it again.”

They sat for a few minutes, and Hotch resisted the urge to tell Spencer to hurry up.

“I think I’ll stay the night,” he finally decided, voice small.

Hotch breathed a sigh of relief, not even caring that the house was still littered with small traces of Haley and the life they had spent together.

The two of them ate in relative silence, and then Hotch set them both up in the living room. He wanted- needed- to keep an eye on Spencer, but he told him that when Haley and him bought their first apartment and started living together, they would camp out in the living room because there was nobody to tell them not to.

He left out the part where it was also because Aaron had never really been allowed to sit wherever he wanted and do whatever he felt like.

There was some old documentary about the Russian Revolution in the background. Spencer had fallen asleep, his head in Hotch’s lap. Without even realising, Hotch had started stroking his hair, much like he used to do for Jack.

The light in the living room was on, and not once did Spencer wake. Hotch made them both breakfast- pancakes, because the look of joy when he said he probably had all the ingredients was not one he wanted to destroy- and Spencer gave him a genuine smile.

Neither of them spoke of it again, but Hotch felt a little lighter. A little bit more like the Aaron Haley had fallen in love with again. Maybe he couldn’t save everyone, but he saved Spencer, and even if it was only a little, and well after he should’ve, at least he had done it.

That would be enough to keep the darkness out, if only for a little bit.

Megan Kane died and Aaron- not Hotch, because Hotch would say that you can’t take cases personally, no matter how much you wanted to, held her hand. He held her hand as she said thank you for staying and not leaving. He didn’t have the words to tell her that he didn’t walk away for selfish reasons. Because he couldn’t have her considering him to be the same as the other men she’d killed.

Not after everything she’d done. The chip was safely tucked away in his pocket, just waiting to be passed on.

Even when her chest stopped rising, he refused to let go, only doing so when the police kicked the already open door to her room in, guns raised. When they stepped onto the balcony, he dropped her hand, watching as it fell limply. He didn’t know how long he had been sat there, but it was long enough for the body to go cold.

“Agent Hotchner. We need you to provide a statement. You were the only person present when she died,” the lead detective said.

Aaron stood, suddenly so angry at everything and everyone. “She took the pills and gave me the card. And then she asked me to stay so I did. Then she died. What more do you need than that?”

He didn’t want to tell them what she’d said. It was stupid, but it felt private.

He stormed out the room before they could respond and stepped into the elevator with a heavy heart.

Both Dave and Emily tried to make him feel better the whole way home. It was all to no avail. Their attempts to comfort him went over like a lead balloon. The only indication he’d even heard them was the slight clench of his jaw and his adamant stare out the window, his report on the table, only the first sentence written. When Dave tried to crack a joke, Hotch glared and he backed off.

Emily sat by him. Whilst her general presence usually never failed to make him feel a little better, it was just irritating him. He didn’t want to talk to any of them. He didn’t want them walking on eggshells. He wanted them to just leave him.

But then he felt bad. Because the one person he wanted had made it abundantly clear that she didn’t want anything to do with his job, and the rest were just trying to be there for him and that should’ve been enough for him.

When they got to the office, he did something he’d only done a few times before. He put the files on his desk and then he exited it. He needed to see his son. He needed to go to his real home- because now Haley was living in the house, it felt like a home again.

Haley had responded to his message about coming by with a simple: Ok. He still felt wrong profiling her, so he didn’t.

She had changed the locks. He didn’t have the key. And so he was stood there, awkwardly waiting for her to open the door whilst he rubbed circles with his thumb over the spot where his wedding ring had previously been. The tan line had all but faded. He felt pathetic for still reaching for it sometimes.

She opened the door. “There’s a birthday party that he’s been excited about for- you’re wearing a case suit.”

“I’m- what?”

She frowned. “Why are you wearing a case suit?”

“A case suit?”

“Yes. There are suits that you would only ever wear when you were on a case because they could be washed a lot more easily, and if you got blood on them, well you weren’t attached to them. How were you not aware of this?”

“I guess it was a subconscious thing. Look, we just landed but I-” he saw Jack peeking his head around the door.

On reflex, he crouched down. He remembered how he had felt when he was younger and his father would come storming in, towering over him, terrifying and threatening. He never wanted Jack to feel like that. And so he knelt down, burying his head in Jack’s neck for a moment before letting go.

“Hi buddy. How are you feeling?”

Jack stopped smiling. “I accidentally made mommy annoyed because I drew on the wall. But then she said that sometimes people feel bad emotions and that’s okay, you just need to be good about it. And then once we cleaned it up, she said that I’m not a bad kid, I just did a wrong thing.”

Hotch felt tears prick the back of his eyes. Haley was so good. Too good.

“She’s right. One act doesn’t determine who you are,” he said, voice cracking.

“Jack, mommy and daddy need to go and talk in the kitchen, so just stay in the living room, okay?”

Jack nodded.

Hotch followed Haley, noticing the last photo that was taken of the three of them before the divorce- although at the time nobody knew- was still stuck to the fridge.

“Tell me what happened,” she whispered.

Aaron turned away. “That’s not your job anymore.”

“Baby,” she said.

He closed his eyes. When was the last time somebody had called him that?

“I know what I said then. Trust me, there’s no way I could ever forget. But I was wrong. This is who you are. And I never should’ve asked you to change. I think the divorce was the best thing for both of us, because it was needed. But I still love you. And I know you won’t tell the team. So tell me.”

And he did. He told her everything. “The worst part is, she was right. I should be here every week, but Jack’s lucky if I’m here every fortnight. Haley, I always said I didn’t want to become a father because of how he hurt me. What kind of father am I if Jack is going to say the same thing?”

For a while Haley did not speak. They were just stood, a good six feet between them. And then she threw her arms around him. The force of her touch threw him off balance. When was the last time anyone had actually touched him? If he was struggling to remember, then it must’ve been far too long.

The smell of her shampoo felt like coming home and before he knew what was happening, he could taste the salt of his tears.

She stroked his hair and he relaxed into the touch, despite all the knots. He had always hated brushing his hair but loved when Haley would run her hands through it. She messed it up as he sobbed into her shoulder, and not for the first time, she wondered how many more times he could stare into the depths of depravity and come back whole.

Although, she thought to herself bitterly, he’d never been given the chance to be whole in the first place.

At some point, they’d started sitting on the kitchen floor. She was still playing with his hair.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “For everything.”

“You don’t need to be. And I will spend the rest of my life convincing you of that.”

Aaron looked at her with such love in his eyes that she could not resist the urge to press a soft kiss to his forehead before tugging him closer.

“Sleep here. I’ll take Jack to the party, and you can rest. Do that paperwork that’s in your office. And maybe tomorrow, we can all go for ice cream.”

His eyes widened. They were so soft and warm that Haley had never understood how he managed to glare at anyone. Apart from the people that had offered their sympathies at his father’s funeral, despite fully well knowing the truth.

“Really?”

“Yeah Aaron. Really. Now go upstairs and rest. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

She was, and it was like she had burst into his life in an explosion of light all over again.

Then George Foyet took that light and snuffed it out.

Haley once said she would die before Aaron hurt another person the way his father had hurt him. She said it because her death was so unlikely. It was an event that they knew would one day occur, but they never really thought about it. Though it was morbid, Aaron’s death was the one they had to prepare for. He was the one charging after dangerous criminals on a weekly basis. Haley was teaching.

Nothing bad was ever supposed to happen to her because he had promised, with everything he was, that he would keep her safe and that the horrors of his job would never touch her.

But he hadn’t been quick enough.

And now she was dead.

George Foyet had surrendered. He had surrendered willingly and without coercion, but Hotch hadn’t listened. He had carried on, even though his duty was to stop. To carry out a lawful arrest. But he hadn’t. He had carried on hitting a man that would not have been able to defend himself. Deep down he knew that was unfair to say. Foyet was taunting him by saying he was giving up.

Still, his knuckles ached. Morgan had pulled him off the body and he hadn’t been able to look. He couldn’t do it. So many things had already been destroyed by him. There was already so much blood on his hands, if he looked at Foyet he would never recover.

He was worse than his father. At least his father was a human. At least his father had never touched Sean. His father had never- to his knowledge- even attempted to beat his mother to death. But he had. He had beaten a man to death, and the worst part was, he would do it all again.

He would do it again because at least Jack was alive. Scared and confused, but alive. Hotch knew that if Jack had been the one to die, then he wouldn’t be here. He would’ve let Foyet kill him and vanish, as selfish as it was, because a life without his son was not one he wanted to live. After he found Haley, he knew he needed to consider the worst scenario: that Jack had not understood.

When Foyet told him that he would find Jack and show him his dead parents, something in him found the strength to survive. If Foyet was saying he would find Jack, then that would mean that he hadn’t already done so. Which meant Jack must’ve understood and was just waiting for his dad to come find him.

It was when Jack told him about how he had worked the case that the knowledge that Haley was dead hit him like a tonne of bricks. The first time he had found him, Jack had ran out and told his Mom what him and Daddy were doing together. Haley had smiled fondly before coming into the room, staring out the window instead of the desk.

Hotch had told her it was just a budget report. She looked down and did indeed see the budget sheet. But under that was the profile for a man who had recently lost his wife and was going after blonde mothers that resembled her.

There was blood all over his shirt and hands. Jack didn’t need to see that. The part of his brain not occupied with Haley knew that JJ was the best person for him to be with. She was good with children and had dealt with enough children of victims to know what to say and what to avoid.

Victims. Because that was what Haley had become. A victim of a serial killer and it was all his fault.

If he had just been quicker. If he had taken the deal. If he had transferred when Haley asked him to. They probably would have still ended up divorcing, but she would be alive. Jack would have a real parent. One that could look at him without turning away. Haley’s blood was on his hands, and every time he looked at Jack, he saw her. Because Jack had his mother’s light hair and kind eyes.

The day Aaron died- and god that couldn’t come fast enough- would be the day that the last piece of his father finally left the earth.

Haley’s hair was dark. That was the first thing he noticed when he saw her, lying on the ground. He’d heard people say that when someone died, you could kid yourself into thinking that they were just sleeping because they would look so peaceful.

Haley’s mouth was a thin line. She smiled when she was sleeping. Her clothes were not the ones she would have picked herself. Her eyes were still open. Aaron hated that she died alone and afraid. That should’ve been him. And her hair was dark. He cursed himself for being surprised. Of course it was dark. She’d gone into WitSec.

It just felt like a visual representation of everything he’d taken from her. Her light and innocence had been destroyed and it was all his fault. He hadn’t even told her Sam Kassmeyer was dead, which was such a stupid thing to fixate on, but anything to take away from the fact that she was gone.

When he pulled her limp, unmoving body towards him, needing to feel her against him one more time, she was still a little warm and he almost vomited right there. How close had they been that she wasn’t cold? He didn’t let go till Emily gently touched her shoulder, leading him away from the body.

The team were shielding him from the various people that had responded to the scene and if he had more energy, he would say thank you. But he was tired. And his hands hurt so much. They were still trembling.

Jack leant into his touch like it was nothing and Hotch marvelled at the fact that he seemed to adjust like it was nothing. He knew it was because he didn’t understand, but after everything that had been lost that day- two lives, a piece of Aaron, a place that was once home, the brightest light he’d ever met, Jack’s chance for a normal life- it felt like a win.

Before he knew it, the funeral was being held. He’d planned his eulogy, writing it whilst watching Jack because he couldn’t sleep without seeing the steady rise and fall of his son’s chest. There were a hundred different copies in the bin. How was he supposed to get up in front of everyone that looked to him and expected him to lead, and talk about Haley had made him feel safe?

Attending Haley’s funeral hurt more than either of his parents had. He wasn’t sure if that made him a terrible person. But when his father had died, he’d been relieved. Not happy, but maybe a little grateful. And when his mother had died, Haley had been stood next to him, her grip on his hand grounding him.

This time, she was the one in the ground. And the only person grounding him was a little boy, so much like Sean- not quite understanding, but aware enough to know the person they loved wasn’t coming home.

He held it together through his speech. Jessica gave him a soft smile before she took his place, reciting her own eulogy. Haley’s mother wasn’t able to attend because she was too unwell so her father recited both their speeches, voice cracking and tears streaming down his face.

It showed just how broken he was. No self-respecting Southern man would ever be able to shed tears that freely.

“Thank you for saying something,” Jessica said to him when they were all sat down. The team were far away enough to not hear, and he suspected that was why she had finally spoken to him.

“Jessie, this is all my fault. It was the least I could do. And I promise, I will spend the rest of my life making this up to you. To all of you.”

She let out a watery laugh. “Jessie. It’s been so long since you’ve called me that. Aar, I don’t blame you. I can’t. Because you did everything you could. I know that. And I heard you up there. You loved her. But you didn’t kill her. In fact, she’d kill me if I suggested such a thing. So forgive yourself. The rest of us have.”

“Jessica, why would you say something like that?” Roy shouted.

Jess flinched, unaware that her father had overheard everything.

Aaron shrunk down in his seat, unable to meet Roy’s eyes.

“You got my daughter killed. I trusted you. Even when nobody else did, when everybody said only bad things happened where Aaron Hotchner got involved, I trusted you. And when those people blamed you for what happened to your mother, I defended you. Because I knew you were a good man that would keep my daughter safe.”

“Dad, now is not the time,” Jessica said quietly.

“Yes it is! Yes. It is. My baby is dead, and it is all your fault. You promised me this would never happen. You swore. When your marriage died, I thought to myself: these things happen. They were young when they fell in love, perhaps they just grew up. But this- everything that has happened today? That’s on you. This is your fault. I wish it was you in the ground!”

Hotch flinched. “Roy, I-”

“It’s Mr Brooks to you now Hotchner. I treated you like a son. I- Haley did everything for you. Why weren’t you fast enough?”

And wasn’t that the million dollar question? Why had he not been fast enough?

“Dad, I know you are angry, but Aaron is not the person to be taking it out on! Just because he’s here and it is convenient does not make it right. Haley loved him until the very last moment. Shouldn’t that be enough to be good to him?”

Aaron just wanted everyone to stop shouting.

“She didn’t love him at the very last moment! How could she, after everything he put her through?”

“It is Hotchner going on the gravestone, not Brooks,” Jessica snapped.

Both Roy and Aaron stared at her. Neither of them had known about that, and she immediately paled, as though she’d revealed something she wasn’t meant to.

“What?” Roy spat.

“Haley called mom in the middle of the night in a panic. Said that if, somehow, this Foyet managed to find them, or if something happened, she wanted Hotchner to be on her gravestone because she loved Aaron.”

Roy’s hands were clenched at his sides and Aaron swallowed, subconsciously bracing himself for the blow that never came.

“I won’t do that to you. Ever. You may not be my son anymore, but I still would not harm you.”

Hotch exhaled, but Roy walked away before he could say anything. And the team got called away on a case.

“Did she really say that?” he asked Jessica, when it was just the two of them and their mugs of coffee. Jack had gone to sleep.

Jessica tore her gaze away from the carpet. Derek had done an incredible job of making it seem like nothing happened, but she now knew better and the thought of what had gone down made her sick. She wished she could convince Aaron to move, but she knew it would never work.

“Jess?”

“Hmm? Oh, yeah. She did. I was going to say something to you earlier but it completely slipped my mind. I hope that’s okay with you.”

He nodded. Of course it would be okay with him. Whatever Haley had wanted from him, he would give her. It would be too little too late, but it would still be something. Maybe it would lead to Roy’s forgiveness.

It was that line of reasoning that led to him almost accepting retirement, because what else was he meant to do? But then Jessica had offered to take Jack, saying it was the least she could do and that it wouldn’t be any trouble and he had been confused.

The gravestone hadn’t been placed yet, but he still knew where she was buried. That surprised him, because now that he thought about it, he couldn’t really remember the actual funeral. He just remembered Roy’s words. Aaron found himself talking to the air in a way he never had before, and by the time Dave found him, he’d made his decision.

Jack needed a father that could teach him how to move on and be happy. Aaron needed the team to be happy. Jessica had given her blessing, and maybe it was psychological, but everything felt a little warmer after he told his best friend that Haley already knew.

It didn’t mean he was confident that he was making the right choice. It was ridiculous, but he was terrified of how the team would respond. What if they thought he was making the wrong choice?

But on his first day in the office, they all treated him normally. Like nothing had changed. And for that, he was grateful. Emily was- as always- the only one aside from Dave with the self-destructive streak to make a comment.

Although it wasn’t the one he’d been expecting.

“I’m glad you came back,” she told him as he packed up his things to go.

There was a look in her eyes that told him she was being genuine. Her approval, deep down, meant more to him than everyone else’s, including Dave. For her to come in and say that she was happy he was there and leading the team meant more to him than he would ever be able to say. It also showed how far they had come. She had gone from insulting him every other sentence to wanting him around. He had gone from not trusting her to only being able to tell her the truth about what had really happened in his apartment.

“Thank you for letting me,” he said. If she had wanted it, she could have taken his job, no question. She wouldn’t- Derek was obviously the next Unit Chief- but she could have.

She smiled. “You keep us all safe, Aaron. How could I not?”

Emily’s hair was dark. As were her eyes. And there was a darkness that surrounded her in a similar way to him. He wasn’t sure where it came from. But she had learnt to live with hers. She had turned it into something beautiful that made people love her.

Perhaps he could do the same. Perhaps the darkness was something to welcome, not fear.

Emily Prentiss died, alone and cold, three times in one night. She died once when she told Derek Morgan to let her go because she genuinely believed Ian Doyle was still there, just waiting to hurt the people that had become her family. She flatlined in the ambulance, and Aaron had to watch as they frantically tried to revive her.

They succeeded in doing so, but at what cost?

She died a third time when Hotch had to make the decision as to whether or not she stayed. He wanted to scream at the bureau and say that it couldn’t be left to him because it was Emily’s life and if she wanted to stay and fight then she should.

But they would interpret his screaming and pleading as weakness. They would use it to deem him incapable of impartiality and then he would never know what happened. So instead of crying the way he wanted to, he kept his face neutral and argued all the reasons that Agent Prentiss- not Emily, not now- needed to be sent away and saved.

They went for it, and the prosecutor within him should have been proud. But it wasn’t. He was just tired.

Emily did not know that he had been in the ambulance and seen her die. She didn’t know that she had told him, whilst she was fading in and out of consciousness, about the darkness that she had seen and the chill that had come over her when she realised that she was dying or that he knew she wanted to believe in a better ending.

But Aaron did. It was why he found it so difficult to tell her what was happening. But he was already asking too much of JJ. JJ who was supposed to be a liaison for the state department and nothing more. But there was a haunted look in her eyes, and he so desperately wanted to comfort her, but there just wasn’t time.

He needed to save Emily before it was too late. Or maybe it already was too late. Maybe she would have survived if his own darkness hadn’t joined hers. Maybe if he’d been quicker in getting JJ or working out what had happened.

The moment he saw his own smiling face staring up at him, he should have known what was happening. But he hadn’t. And now yet another person’s blood was on his hands. When would it end? When would the people he loved stop being hurt by a darkness that should have only ever destroyed him?

His father once said the only thing he was good at was destroying beautiful things. Aaron had so desperately wanted to prove him wrong that he only succeeded in proving him right. Emily Prentiss had once been beautiful and good. One of the strongest and most resilient women he knew.

Hotch wasn’t stupid. He saw the way JJ looked at her. That was the other reason he had to be the one to tell her. Because he had seen Jason in the aftermath of the Boston bombing and Elle after she shot the rapist. He knew what Spencer’s anger and Derek’s fear looked like. He had seen the worst of each of his team members and never faltered because their darkness was nothing compared to his.

The Emily laying on that bed, broken and damaged beyond what any normal person should have been able to survive, was not the Emily they knew and Hotch was not going to let it be the Emily that JJ would remember. He would let JJ go with her to Paris because she would be stronger then.

That would be the Emily she would remember.

“Emily? Can you hear me?” he asked as quietly as he could.

She turned slightly, but even that small movement seemed to cause her pain. She opened her mouth to speak and winced.

“Don’t talk. You’re still too weak to do that. I just, I need to tell you what’s going to happen, okay? Because a lot of things are going to change and I want you to know exactly how this is going to play out.”

His hands were shoved in his pockets. One of them needed to be strong and pretend that everything was going to be okay, and it sure as hell couldn’t be her. But she saw and tried to motion to him. He shook his head. Soon she would be leaving him, and he did not want to remember her touch as being cold and almost lifeless. He wanted to remember her touch as being warm and comforting.

Without looking at her, he told her how they were sending her to Paris. His voice did not tremble and he did not break but he couldn’t face her when he was done talking. Instead, he stared at the floor and focused on the white tiles.

“I hate you,” she whispered. “How can you do this to me? I do not want to be sent to Paris whilst everyone else tries to deal with this.”

“Em. I’m trying to do the right thing,” he pleaded. He couldn’t have her hating him. Not after everything that had happened between them, and certainly not everything they had both done to gain the others trust.

“The right thing would have been to let me die,” she hissed.

He closed his eyes and it was only a few days earlier. He had told Clyde Easter that if anything happened to her, he would destroy him. The knowledge that he could do it without even flinching should have terrified him, but it didn’t. In some morbid way, it relaxed him.

When he turned his back, the knowledge that he had disarmed the other man bought him more joy than it should have, and again he was reminded of how thin the line between profiler and unsub really was.

“Mr Hotchner,” Clyde had called out.

Hotch had frozen, hands clenched at his side. How many years had it been since someone last called him that? And yet he still couldn’t hear the title without thinking of his father. He was an adult now, the man shouldn’t have held that influence over him but he was still terrified and he hated himself for it.

He’d turned, just enough so he could see Clyde’s face.

“I did my part. If she dies, that’s on you.”

And it was. It was all his fault. She had trusted him to keep them safe, but he had failed. Again. He had destroyed her, just like he had destroyed so many other good people. He didn’t deserve to be a coward anymore, so he looked up and met her eyes.

Weak and damaged as she was, she still managed to glare with a hatred he had only ever seen once. When she had been a college student, arguing with her mother. And he’d been both terrified and relieved to see that she could be so ruthless. Terrified because to him, she was just a girl and she shouldn’t have known how to hate like that, but relieved because he wasn’t the only one with such potential for darkness inside.

He left without another word. JJ had comforted Reid and Garcia because he had been too busy throwing up the single bite of sandwich he’d managed to choke down. And he knew something had happened to her whilst she was working for the Pentagon. He knew she wouldn’t be able to stay.

It was why he let her take Emily to Paris. He didn’t tell her what Emily had said to him. He just told her to ask if she could remember anything from the hospital. He spent the entire time waiting for her to respond. He was talking to Dave when there was a text from JJ. All it said was she doesn’t remember anything she said.

And it became slightly easier to breathe.

The funeral was difficult.

First thing in the morning, he had dropped Jack off with Jessica. Jack did not know it was a funeral that his father was attending, and so he was quite content to just sit in the living room and play with his toys whilst Aaron and Jessica stood in the hallway, talking in hushed whispers.

“Don’t you think he should go?” she had asked.

Hotch shook his head. “No. He already went to Haley’s. I can’t take him to Emily’s.”

“But he should be able to say goodbye to her.”

“Jessie, please. I can’t tell you why, but he can’t go to the funeral and I swear, as soon as I can, I will tell you everything but he just- I need him to not be there.”

She stared at him. “Aaron, you never need to beg for anything from me. I don’t know what’s going on, but whatever it is, you’ll be fine. I promise.”

Jessica didn’t understand that him and JJ were the only one that knew the coffin was empty. It was the second coffin in a year that Aaron was forced to stand beside. When did it end? When would the members of his team stop losing the people they loved?

Ashley Seaver was a child and he never should have let her stay on the team after that first case. She was meant to be a training agent, who was supposed to believe that her job would make a difference and protect people from a life like the one she had been forced to live. And yet here she was, stood at the grave of a team member whilst the rest fell apart. Hotch wanted her to remain good and hopeful, but he just didn’t know how to do that.

In some ways, he resented JJ. She was able to go back to the Pentagon and get away from the looks of her coworkers. She didn’t have to look out of her office and see the empty table that had once been Emily’s, nor did she have to go through the drawers of her desk and decide what would be kept and what would be thrown.

Aaron ended up keeping everything in a box at his apartment because he didn’t have the heart to throw anything away. Not when Emily wasn’t really dead, even though her photo was still hung up outside.

He needed to talk to someone, but there was nobody. So, he ran off to Afghanistan for three months working on a project he didn’t fully understand or see the point in. The guilt at leaving his team and Jack only slightly overshadowed the relief he had that nobody looked at him and seeked comfort. They just needed him to do a job.

Everybody else had grieved losing Emily. JJ had her closure for making sure she was settled in Paris, and from what Hotch could understand, she had been pushing the boundary as much as she could regarding the no communication rule. The team had each other, but he had nobody.

Then Ian Doyle died, and Emily Prentiss came back to them, but he didn’t come back to the team. Not really. For Derek was able to forgive Emily for what she did because the relief he felt at her return was enough to overpower his anger at her. Dave had suspected the whole time. Spencer was just glad that he hadn’t lost someone else, and that JJ had also been returned to them.

They could forgive JJ because it had never been her decision to leave them. They could forgive Emily because of everything she had been through and because she had no say in what was done to her.

It was Hotch that had failed to stop the move from happening. It was him that had made the decision to fake Emily’s death and not tell the team. He had chosen to leave them, and his son, for the summer. Yes, it was unfair to blame him, and it was likely his hands had been tied, but they were angry. They needed someone to direct that anger towards.

Every time they snapped at JJ or Emily, it felt like kicking a puppy for they would just look so hurt and upset that they immediately wanted to apologise. But if they shouted at Aaron, he would just take it. He wouldn’t argue or defend himself. He just took it, the ghosts behind his eyes not ones they could acknowledge in the moment.

He maintained his façade and pretended everything was okay because if he wasn’t okay, the team would have no use for him and he would become dispensable and there would be nothing left for him. Except for Jack. But he wasn’t sure how much he wanted Jack to see him. Since Emily’s return, his nightmares had gotten worse and he woke up screaming more times than he cared to admit.

And then one night, when Jack was staying with his cousins and grandfather, the nightmares got so bad that he barely managed to make it to the bathroom before he was vomiting up the meagre dinner he’d eaten.

When there was nothing left, he leant against the bathtub and sobbed. His own team hated him and there was nothing he could do because they were right. He didn’t trust them and he had fucked up so badly there was no redemption for him.

Jessica hadn’t been able to sleep. She had let herself into the apartment to see how Aaron was because there was a pit in her stomach, like something was terribly wrong.

“Aaron?” she called out.

There was no response, which on the one hand could have been a good thing because it would mean he was sleeping, but it could also mean he was refusing to speak to anyone. She wasn’t an idiot. When Emily had come to see Jack after that hearing thing because she needed something good, Aaron told her the truth. And then lied by saying he was fine after carrying that burden around himself.

The bedroom was empty. She told herself it didn’t mean anything, that he could just be in the shower or getting a glass of water. She crept along to the bathroom. Inside, he was vomiting and she knew it would eventually turn into sobs.

Without considering what she was doing, she dialled Derek Morgan’s number. He’d given it to her at the funeral and asked her to keep him safe. She had done her job as his sister, and now it was time for his team to their job as his family.

“Jessica?”

“Aaron’s sick and I think it’s your fault,” she said without thinking.

“Excuse me?”

“Oh god, no, not like that. I just- he’s being sick and I know that it’s because he’s been bottling everything up since the funeral which wasn’t really a funeral but oh, you know what I mean. I just- nothing I do will make him feel better. He needs you. All of you.”

On the other side of the line, Derek scoffed. “Jessica, Hotch is strong. Are you sure he’s not just got food poisoning or something?”

“I don’t think he’s eaten enough for that to happen.”

“Look Jessica, I’ll get the team together but I don’t know what you want us to do. Hotch made his decisions, and we can’t forgive him at the drop of a hat. We all need time to process.”

“Derek! He lost his wife to this job, are you really going to stand by as he loses himself trying to save all of you? I have never asked for anything from any of you, but Aaron needs you now. He’s just too scared of rejection to admit it.”

“We’ll be there as soon as we can.”

Morgan hung up and Jessica sighed.

“Jessie?” Aaron called out.

“Hey Aaron. What happened?” she asked, acting like nothing had happened.

“I don’t feel good,” he whispered.

She pressed a hand to his stomach. Damn him and his emotional constipation that meant all of his pain manifested physically.

“I know. I know. But it’s okay. It’s all going to be okay. I’ll get you cleaned up and then you’re going to eat something.”

He nodded and let her move him around as she pleased. The weight he had lost made her cringe. The last time he had looked so weak, he was seventeen and his father was dying of lung cancer.

The team all arrived at the same time, all in their pyjamas.

Aaron saw them and turned away. “Jessie, what are they doing here?”

“You need them Aaron. Whether you want to admit it or not, you need them.”

He shook his head as the medication Jessica had made him take after weeks of avoidance caused his filter to vanish and fuzziness as to what he was doing. “Don’t deserve them.”

“Yeah you do man. I’m sorry for how I was acting. I know you trust us and I never thought about how everything must have made you feel because I was angry,” Derek said.

Hotch shook his head, tears running down his cheeks.

“Can I hug you?” Derek asked.

Hotch didn’t respond, so Derek sat in front of him instead. “You’re forgiven Hotch. I promise.”

Hotch just stared but relaxed ever so slightly and didn’t protest when the other members of the team gave him small smiles or hugged him.

And the next day, they spoke to him, not as a boss, but as their friend. For the first time in a while, he felt like he was back where he belonged. Things weren’t perfect- they never were- but he no longer felt like the villain in his own story.

He felt like he was worthy of a small amount of love, which meant the darkness had not won. Not completely.

There were cases that were difficult. There were cases that made him want to quit, or curl into a ball and forget about how the outside world existed and was constantly hurt innocent people that didn’t deserve it. And there were cases that he knew would haunt him until the day he died.

Watching Jimmy lose his fight, the one thing that kept him going, just so he would be able to see his son one last time was something he would keep seeing every time he closed his eyes. He didn’t want to think about how he was the first one to realise that was what he wanted.

The team had all been waiting in various places, and he knew it wasn’t really what he was supposed to be doing, but when he looked into the man’s eyes, he saw a desperate father. And he thought of Jack. If it were Jack, he would do whatever it took to see him one last time. He deserved to see his son. And his son deserved a father.

Because when he looked at Jimmy he did not see the unsub his team had been after. He saw a broken and damaged man that was doing what it took to survive. Under normal circumstances, he’d been frightened by that but so much had happened that he almost felt desensitised when it came to relating to unsubs. His hands still went cold at the sight of every crime scene he visited. The bureau therapist would say the fact that he clung to that feeling both at home and in the field was unhealthy, but the bureau therapist had also deemed Jason, Elle, Spencer, himself and Emily fit for work after their respective ordeals.

“This isn’t a trick is it? Because you’re a federal agent, this isn’t your job,” he said.

“I’m a father first. And your son is holding on so he can say goodbye to you. I’m not so heartless that I would deprive you of a goodbye.”

He pressed a hand to his mouth. “He’s really going to- I can’t even bring myself to say the word. Am I a horrible person for not being here sooner?”

Hotch still blamed himself for not being there when his mother died. “No. No you did your best and you cannot think like that. I promise, when it came to your son, you have done nothing wrong. I’ll give you some privacy.” He hated to add the second part but he had to. “And I don’t want to, but you must understand-”

“I broke the law and you need to arrest me. I know. That’s fine. Everything will be fine because you have let me say goodbye to my baby.”

Aaron watched them through the window, a single tear coursing down his cheek as that was all he would allow himself until he made it home.

Sometimes, it was not the cases that made him question the reason behind doing any of this, but these moments where there was nothing that anyone could have done. They spent so much time putting bad guys away, and for what? The universe to just throw other tragedies in people’s faces.

Ryan closed his eyes at the same time that Aaron looked away. The raw grief both parents were feeling was something personal. He already felt like an intruder. He saw the man comfort his wife, who’s sobs had died down to silent tears as she placed a final kiss to her boy’s forehead.

They comforted each other.

Aaron wondered what would have happened if he hadn’t saved Jack from George Foyet. If he would still be alive now, or if he would have just let Foyet kill him because a life without Jack was not one he was capable of surviving. He wondered if Haley had survived instead, would they have been able to comfort each other, or would she blame him for the loss of her son? If Jack hadn’t survived, Hotch did not want to think of what his response would have been because the darkness of it scared him.

No parent should ever have to bury their child, and no child should ever have to be that strong for their parent. He admired Ryan for holding on for as long as he did, but he shouldn’t have had to. He should have been playing games with the other children and worrying about his favourite cartoon characters, not how many breaths he had left.

He stood outside for longer than he should have and he was gentler with the handcuffs than he ever remembered being. The last words he whispered were an apology that Jimmy did not want. Before he returned to the hotel, he stopped to see his wife.

“I’m so sorry,” he said. “And if I knew what to say, I would. But I don’t so please, just, find a reason to hold on. Anything.”

“Agent Hotchner, you gave my son the one thing he wanted. A chance to say goodbye to both his parents. That has to be enough for now.” She hugged him and was polite enough to not comment on how his own body shook with the tears he was unable to repress.

He gave her his card, and then he left her, alone, to process her losses.

On board the jet, he sat slightly apart from the rest of them, which they all took as their cue to leave him alone. Emily Prentiss had never liked listening to him, and so she took the seat opposite him. Hotch had to smile. That was the woman he knew. Not the one that was overcompensating for everything.

“I made you a cup of tea,” she said to him.

Hotch looked down at the mug and grimaced slightly.

“Jason did the same thing after the case with the serial arsonist. Do you remember? He was trying to get me to open up about how I related to the unsub.”

“Did you?”

Hotch shook his head, then hesitated. “Well, I suppose I did a little. He wasn’t really paying attention.”

Emily made a non-committal sound at that. “Look I’m here if you want to talk about it.”

He shook his head. “No. I can’t. Ryan just- he didn’t even look like Jack, but when I saw him, I just- they were a normal couple. They didn’t deserve to lose him like that.”

“Nobody deserves to lose someone they love that much like that. But they do. And we can’t stop that. What we can do is stop the bad guys who hurt other people and we do, whenever we can. Please don’t beat yourself up over this.”

He understood what she was saying, but he couldn’t accept it. Haley had been too good for him, and he deserved to have everything good taken from him because he hadn’t been able to save her when it had been his fault that she was forced into that situation.

She smirked. “And Rossi may have mentioned a woman making her way into your life. Beth is it?”

Hotch rolled his eyes. “I knew I shouldn’t have said anything. And it is just a bike ride.”

“You should go. Even if nothing happens, training is better with a partner. And you won’t be betraying Haley. Or Jack. If this thing works out, it will be because Beth understands that Jack doesn’t want or need another mom.”

Hotch looked at her with soft eyes. “Yeah. Maybe I should go.”

He did, and it was such a success that they ended up going on more than one date. She was excited to meet Jack, and they both loved each other. Even the team, who were always weary of potential partners, seemed to accept her as one of their own.

It momentarily convinced him that love could survive the horrors of their job.

The sound of the gun that Diane Turner shot herself and Maeve Donovan with sounded louder than even the three shots he had heard over the phone when George Foyet took Haley from him. His ear started ringing. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Alex close hers and lower her gun.

What had been thinking? Alex had already lost a son, and every case put the one she had just found at risk. Even now, she had the sense to look away. He was still holding his gun like there was something he could do.

Before he was aware of his actions, he had dropped it. Something that he always told people not to do, especially if the safety was off because you just couldn’t guarantee anything. The sound it made as it hit the ground was still nothing compared to Spencer’s sobbing.

Reid was on his knees, eyes closed as though that would stop him from seeing Maeve’s dead body, both her and Diane’s forming a pool around them. It would be another funeral for him to attend. It wasn’t fair. Reid was still just a kid compared to the rest of them, he didn’t deserve to see all the things he had been subjected to.

Hotch knelt beside him. “Reid?” he whispered, keeping his voice as soft as quiet as he could.

Reid shook his head. “It’s my fault. I should’ve done something. There were so many different endings to this series of events and at least half of them involved Maeve living and me dying, which is something everyone could have learnt to live with.”

“Spencer. That isn’t true,” he said, a lot more firmly.

Spencer’s sobs had calmed to hiccups. “It wasn’t supposed to be her.”

“I know,” he said, and he wrapped his arms around him. He felt Reid go limp against him as more sobs wracked his body. Reid was resting his head on Hotch’s shoulder and on instinct, he felt himself stroke the younger one’s hair, the same way he did to Jack when the little one couldn’t sleep.

He knew that grief caused people to go numb. When Reid pulled away, he kept one hand on his arm to stop him from being an idiot. Only Alex was still there, hovering by the side lines. The others had gone to stop the police from coming in too soon. They were giving Spencer the space to process.

Hotch wished they hadn’t. Jason and Emily were the ones that Reid turned to when he needed something. And if not them, then Derek and maybe JJ. But Jason and Emily were gone and Derek and JJ were dealing with other things.

And he was the only one who’s partner had ever been murdered by an unsub. He just didn’t know how to provide comfort. He didn’t know how he was supposed to tell Spencer that everything was going to be fun and he would recover because the truth was that he would never be the same. Aaron still wasn’t the same. It wasn’t possible, but sometimes his lower torso still ached the same way it had when Foyet first pushed the knife in. He wouldn’t lie to Spencer, but he couldn’t tell him the truth.

“I need- I never got to hold her. I need to hold her. Hotch let me go! I need to hold her, just once. Just once so I can remember her.”

The last time Hotch touched Haley, she was barely warm, but still lifeless. It overshadowed every single casual touch they’d shared since they were seventeen and it was all he could ever think of when he remembered her. He would give anything to forget the last time he held her.

Perhaps one day he would. But Spencer had an eidetic memory.

“I can’t let you do that,” he said.

Spencer shoved him. He wasn’t strong enough to knock him over, but Hotch hadn’t been expecting it and he lost his balance slightly. They both looked down at Reid’s hands. Reid looked at them like he couldn’t believe they were part of his body. Hotch looked down at how pure they were.

Reid had killed unsubs when it was the only way to save other people, but he was still innocent in so many other ways. He’d never hit the table to intimidate a suspect because that was Hotch’s job. He was the one that played bad cop, whilst they trusted Reid to successfully empathise.

Reid had never killed a man with their bare hands.

Hotch momentarily let go of Reid, and Reid tried to use that opportunity to grab Maeve’s hand. But Hotch was quicker, and before Spencer knew what was going on, Hotch had grabbed both his wrists and was holding them in front of his chest.

Both their eyes shone with tears.

“Let me go,” Spencer begged.

“No. Spencer listen to me. You don’t want your one and only memory of her touch to be when she couldn’t respond. You know better than me that she is going to be unresponsive. You won’t be able to kid yourself into thinking that she did indeed clasp your hand. Her perfume will be tinged with the stench of blood and she will be cold. Remember Maeve as the woman that made you smile. That was warm and bright. Not like this.”

Spencer relaxed against him, the tears falling. Hotch pulled him closer, holding him tight. At some point, Alex crept forward and gave the two of them a hug. She told them they needed to go. Reid shook his head. Between the two of them, they managed to get him down the stairs.

“I want to go to my apartment,” Reid stated after they took his statement. Hotch had sat with him the whole time. Reid’s monotony scared him and he wondered if the look on the officer’s face was the same as the one that been on Strauss’ after he spoke about Foyet.

“Spence,” JJ said, reaching for him.

“My apartment. Please. Hotch?”

Hotch knew why Reid had asked for it to be him. Because if he declined, Reid could come after him. Say that when Haley died, leaving behind a young son whose memories of his father were patchy and disrupted, Hotch had refused to stay with anyone. Instead, he had sat in the darkness of his apartment in case the monsters from Jack’s dreams came to life once more.

“If you need anything,” he said with a sigh, because he was the only one that understood.

Spencer nodded. But Hotch knew he wouldn’t.

They drove in silence. Hotch itched to say something but what? He understood what it was like to lose the one person that made your life better, but at the end of the day, he hadn’t been there. He had heard it over the phone. Spencer would see the images every time he closed his eyes.

“Would you like me to come up with you?” he asked.

Reid shook his head, exited the car but did not close the door.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t quick enough,” Hotch mumbled.

Reid’s pause meant he heard him. His lack of response meant he didn’t have any words of comfort that would not be lies. Perhaps that hurt more than Jessica’s sad smile when he got him and distractedly ruffled Jack’s hair, unable to focus on what he was saying properly.

He’d made the right decision in not letting Spencer touch the body. He knew he had. It didn’t stop him from wrapping Jack up in the coat Haley had picked and going to her grave. He knew Jack was missing his mom, so the trip served a dual purpose.

Jack liked to lay flowers at the graves that didn’t have any because- in his words- it would mean everyone would be as happy as his mommy was. As he did that, Hotch spoke.

“I didn’t let him touch her. I need to convince myself that was the right thing, but what if it wasn’t? I have years of touches to hold onto. He had never met her before then. What if one day, he wakes up and resents me because he can’t even imagine what she feels like?”

If Haley were alive, she would rub his shoulder and tell him he was a good man that needed to stop doubting every decision he made because he knew his team better than they knew themselves and that Reid would never hate him.

Be annoyed at him for specific things he did and lash out because he was in the wrong, yes. But hate him? Never.

Only Haley wasn’t alive. Hotch sighed, called Jack over and hesitated slightly when Jack held his hand out. Hours before, he had been holding a gun, ready to fire. He hadn’t been fast enough, and now another piece of Spencer had been lost to the abyss.

When Spencer didn’t return to work immediately, he was relieved. At least he was taking the time he needed to grieve and recover instead of rushing back and never dealing with the pain until it got so bad he could hardly breathe without holding back a sob.

He turned up on their case. Everyone else was excited to see him, because it meant he was alive. Hotch wasn’t so sure. Reid had never known anything other than the BAU, and that was partially his fault for not putting his foot down and telling Gideon the kid needed more experience before working as a profiler.

But there were people that needed saving, so he let it go.

And then he heard Spencer tell Dave how he wasn’t sleeping because he kept seeing Maeve asking him to dance but he had never been able to touch her. It was like a punch to the gut. Spencer had never touched Maeve because Hotch had told him not to, and now he was paying the price.

He didn’t hear Dave’s response. He used that moment to tell Alex he needed the bathroom. She seemed slightly taken aback but shifted out the way for him.

When Spencer came in after that, he seemed peaceful. He had danced with Maeve. Now, even though it wasn’t real, he had his closure because he’d been able to touch her, which was all he had wanted. Maybe it had something to do with being touch-starved.

Hotch thought of Haley. What would he give to see her one last time? Just to say he was sorry?

He was telling the team about a missing girl, but it was getting harder to breathe, and he couldn’t make out what the screen in front of him was displaying.

Before he knew what was happening, the world around him was going black and the frantic shouts of his team were not enough to bring him back.

When he opened his eyes, he saw her.

“Haley?” he whispered.

She looked beautiful. Her dress shone, and her hair was the same blonde it had been the day she’d gone into witness protection. She looked like the girl that had exploded into his life and taught him how to say I love you. That had taught him the meaning of light and who had changed his life forever.

“Hi baby,” she said with a grin.

He smiled. His light had come back to him.

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willadisastercry · 3 years

Text

Keith relapsing and not being able to stop once he starts... pt 2

(((( Once again: please, please, please read the trigger warnings and proceed with caution before reading this. I vividly describe Keith’s internal struggle after he relapses... if anything even remotely regarding self harming or someone discovering a person who has is sensitive to you I HIGHLY RECOMMEND YOU DONT READ ))))

tw: in depth depiction of acting on self harm ideations/urges, scars, relapsing, becoming ill from blood loss, someone discovering a person after they relapse, rationalizing their self harm because the alternative is suicide, contradicting oneself and later very much deciding they would rather be unalived, panic attack symptoms, reopening a wound, allusion to surgery (stitches)

Keith is still very out of it after having a full fledged panic attack and the last thing he wants is to invite another spectator into the mix to watch him devolve further. So Shiro agrees to do something he hasn’t had to do in a very long time... courtesy of his battlefield medicine training.

Also again... YES klance and NO klance. You can interpret it however but their questioningly less and less ‘no homo’ behavior uh certainly ramps up and I suggest that they’ve had certain discussions/interactions before... definitely still not the main focus of this fic but there for context bc it just happened that way.

Part 1 / Part 2

The tension in the air was palpable as it hung on all of them. Lance watched Shiro’s entire body visibly relax, the grimace on his face the only tell that he was working through something in his mind, remembering something unpleasant.

Keith’s wimper pulled both boys back after a minute of terrible silence.

Several of the hardest cuts to close had broken free of the glue that held them and were gushing steadily. Keith was paling by the minute as he continued to breathe rapidly and tremble as if he was cold despite the sweat on his forehead.

He just wanted this to be over. To finally be asleep where at least then he could pretend that it had never actually happened and it was just a horrible dream.

Without saying anything more Shiro pressed the bandage back to his side and moved Lance’s hand to hold pressure there while he stood up and scanned the room, his eyes landing on Keith’s towel. It was hardly even damp then with how much time had passed since Keith had finished his shower.

“Keith, I know you’re not going to want me to,” he started with his jaw set as he pulled Keith towards him for a moment to lay the towel beneath him despite his meager protests.

“...but I have to tell Coran so that he can—“

He stopped when Keith let out a desperate whine as he released his hand from his mouth to tug on Shiro’s arm, his fingers digging in like he was trying to anchor them to something so he didn’t drift away as his chest started working double time.

“No. You can’t! You’re n-not t-tell-telling him.”

“Keith, I know that this is—“

“No, you dont,” Keith rasped, “you d-don’t know anything and you c-can-can’t tell Coran.”

The fear in his wide eyes was enough to make Lance want to cry for the umpteenth time that night, his chest hitching painfully as he pleaded with Shiro, getting himself more worked up as he did.

“Calm down, buddy. You know how this works. You know we have to get you fixed up.”

He shook his head back and forth as Shiro tried to rationalize with him.

“Keith,” he paused with a lengthy sigh because the last thing he wanted was to do something that Keith didn’t want him to do.

“Keith it’s bad. You need stitches, we have to.”

His purple saucers met Shiro’s grey pinpoints for a long moment, fear and desperation glistening in Keith’s and making Shiro want to pull him up into a bone crushing embrace.

“Then y-you do it...” he all but whispered through a heave as he tried to take in enough air to satisfy the ache in his chest so he could talk.

“Ke—“

“You’ve d-done-done i-it-it before Sh-Sh-Shi—fuck. P-please, j-j-ju-just-just-j—“

“Okay,” Shiro agreed, his voice pitching higher as he tried to assuage the budding panic evident in Keith’s anguished expression and worsening trembling.

“Hey, it’s okay. I will. Shhh, I will.”

He repeated the words religiously after Keith began to choke on his own, his face reeling with frustration when the full body trembling made him unable to get a proper sentence out and the effort of trying sent him spiraling further.

Shiro carded his hand through Keith’s still damp hair as his hands rose back up to his face, his feet kicking against the bed as the terrible dropping feeling worked its way through his stomach, gasping as it did. Lance watched in horror as Shiro tried to comfort him but any point of contact made Keith struggle harder.

He absolutely hated being so vulnerable, so reliant on others in such a fragile state. He knew he sorely needed the affection but his body instinctively cringed away from their touches, at war with itself as his mind lied to him, told him he was pathetic for needing such a thing. Another part wanting to melt into even the faintest brush against his shuddering body. All while feeling the consequences of losing a pretty descent amount of blood, the loss fogging his mind to a point that made it immeasurably harder to not succumb to panic, especially since he was still bleeding.

It was truly the perfect storm and he hated every second of it.

His lungs felt like they were being dripped dry of every ounce of oxygen in them as the phantom sensation of spinning returned and disordered his heaving breaths further as he fought the urge to vomit. The bone deep exhaustion seemed to be rather helpful then, the physical symptoms of his anxiety fizzling out in minutes as he quite literally just lacked the faculties to accommodate them.

“I’m right here, Keith,” Shiro assured when his grip on his arm tightened and then wavered as he began to sink back into the mattress, his hands settling restlessly on his chest as they shook.

“That’s it, you’re alright.”

Shiro griped his shoulder securely now, the metal of his prosthetic arm weighing with an oddly pleasant pressure on Keith as his whole body shook still.

Closing his eyes seemed a tad less dangerous once he could breathe somewhat regularly again and the intense dizziness had somewhat dissipated. They were also swollen like hell and heavy from all the crying so shutting them became less of an active choice then as well.

Lance’s hand moved to his leg after a beat, just to peek and make sure that those wounds hadn’t met a similar fate. He watched as Shiro’s face dropped when he saw the second wrapping, swallowing thickly and shifting where he sat on the edge of the bed to speak to Lance.

“Will you get him to eat something while I go grab a few things?”

He nodded and made his way to the forgotten tray of snacks he’d nabbed as Shiro took off for supplies. The sobbing had died down after the climax of his panic did but the tears didn’t seem to ever dry up, evident from the sniffling every few minutes as he tried to clear his airways.

“Hey,” Lance nudged his arm where it had moved to cover his blotchy face again, “why don’t you sit up a little, gotta eat something...”

He didn’t even try, just shook his head.

“N-nauseous,” he stuttered, the shaking impossibly infuriating as he tried to relax enough to do anything other than cry.

“Hmmm, well you could also have juice, I can water it down a little. That sound doable?”

He just sighed and Lance took his indifference as a ‘whatever’ and went ahead anyway, nudging him again when he had a modified juice pouch for him.

“You don’t have to sit up all the way, there’s a straw,” Lance noted when Keith tried to raise himself up on shaking arms before they gave out. He grunted defeatedly and tried to scooch back on bent elbows and sit up that way but found he didn’t have the core strength then to do that either.

“Here, what if I...” Lance mused with a shy smile as he moved to pull Keith up enough to slide in behind him, bringing the pouch up to his lips where his now propped up head rested securely in the crook of his arm, still racked by tremors but seemingly more at ease with the contact.

“That better?”

Keith didn’t answer, just sucked on the straw of the pouch like he was dying of dehydration. By the time he’d finished the pouch Shiro was walking through the automatic door with a whoosh that startled Keith, his breathing picking back up as he nestled his head further into Lance’s arm like he was trying to hide under it.

“He finished some juice,” Lance stated proudly as Shiro laid out the haul of medical supplies he brought back.

“That’s good, something solid would be better though. Hm, how bout the bread?” Shiro asked, walking back over to the tray and picking up a roll from the batch Hunk had made with a type of alien wheat they’d found.

Keith grumbled but took it from Shiro’s outstretched hand because he knew that he wouldn’t be able to win that debate, but more because he knew what was coming next and he wanted that more than anything.

“What?! You just give in for Shiro but with me it’s like pulling teeth? I’m offended, mullet. Deeply offended,” Lance scoffed and Keith made a noise as he bit into the bread begrudgingly.

“It’s not personal, he just knows not to be stubborn unless he wants to be awake while I stitch him up.”

Lance’s heart sunk impossibly further into his chest because Shiro had fully found him like that before... and done this exact thing after. This wasn’t new to either of them.

God he wanted to cry too.

Once Keith had made a sizeable dent in the roll from the dinner he’d missed Shiro handed him three pills of which Lance assumed were some variant of a sleep aid that took him a while to swallow with how choppy he was breathing still. The high sort of buzz had never really gone away and only worsened when his anxiety took over, leaving him both feeling floaty and trapped in a constant state of shaking.

Lance tried to comfort him now that he seemed more receptive to being touched, tracing light circles on the shoulder not tucked against him and leaving his other hand out where he could reach it in case he needed something to squeeze.

In the time being Shiro had set up a sterile tray for what looked like a literal fish hook and a whole bunch of gauze. Oh, jeez. Lance wasn’t sure he could stomach watching and tried to manifest being able to just hold Keith in his arms while Shiro worked, ya know for moral support. For Keith obviously.

“How ya doing? Tired yet?” Shiro inquired as he continued to ready the tray, fiddling with bottles of medicine similar to what Lance had used before.

“Mhmm, getting... sleepy,” he slurred, his trembling dying down a bit as the medicine helped his body relax.

“Good,” Shiro let out a hollow laugh at the way he sounded like a kid again, “Lance will you let me know when he’s out?”

The altean medicine was working quickly, aided by the fact that he was already utterly spent and leaving his eyes fluttering as his breathing evened out. He didn’t want to fall asleep still worked up or he’d probably be restless, maybe even come to and be more disoriented than before. So he dragged out the relief of slowly being pulled to sleep by the flick of Lance’s fingers on his arm, forcing his eyes to remain open as long as he could manage.

“Yep, shouldn’t be long,” Lance noted when Keith let out a hissing yawn and turned his face towards Lance’s chest, his cheek resting against the squishiest part he could find and making Lance stifle a gasp.

Keith wasn’t known for being cuddly and the gesture, though not really a conscious one, made Lance’s stomach flutter. He wasn’t able to dwell on it long though because Shiro was addressing him again.

“Can you pinch his arm...?”

Lance obliged and Keith didn’t make a sound.

“Perfect, okay, you won’t get squeamish will you?”

“Uh... glue is a bit different than a needle but even that sort of freaked me out.”

“Alright then, you can clean and dissolve what opened up while I handle what’s already free,” Shiro determined as he ushered the familiar supplies closer to Lance.

He took up the needle which was already threaded and sighed heavily before pulling Keith’s desk chair flush up against the bed.

“Help me get him more on his side.”

They managed to by Lance pulling him by the shoulders and more onto his lap as Shiro pushed.

Shiro breathed deeply then, something in his eyes flickering as he removed the soaked through bandage from the younger boy’s hip. His entire side coated again, the skin visibly raised and puffy.

Lance took up the wound wash and showed it to Shiro who nodded, bringing the towel up to catch the excess liquid as he poured. Once he’d sopped up what had bled again Shiro started with the widest gash, the hardened glue was easy to pull off with how horribly it had been secured over such a large area. Lance looked elsewhere, focusing on removing the glue from the other reopened wounds.

Shiro operated like a robot after that, known quite literally for a precise hand but what happened next took that generalization to a whole other level. His fingers moved swiftly, tying off stitches almost faster than Lance could wash out the gashes but definitely quicker than he could remove the blue tinted glaze. He had to scrub and scrape at the substance from the open wounds, the bloody mess they’d become making the task harder than it ought to have been.

In actuality only a few had reopened, but they were also the deepest. Some of them took upwards of five stitches, others two or three. The proximity of them to each other, especially to ones that were still glued, made it difficult for Shiro to figure out where to place the needle.

They were done after ten or so minutes but when Shiro sat back to analyze his work, he frowned.

“What’s up?” Lance questioned dubiously.

Shiro didn’t answer, just brought his hand down to examine the glue that was barely holding about a dozen more wounds together. They’d grown darker, the amount of red beneath the generous amount of blue visibly greater than the lesser wounds as more blood gathered and threatened to burst out as well.

“Some of these look like they’re about to go too, they haven’t clotted. I don’t think they’d heal right if I don’t stitch them up, they’d leave worse, uh—worse scars.”

Lance nodded transfixedly, not sure if his heart could take hearing more things like that, more direct acknowledgments of how one of his best friends had hurt himself so badly... how it hadn’t been the first time... how he couldn’t make sure it was the last if even Shiro had failed to.

“-nce. Lance, hey, don’t let me lose you now. I need you to work on dissolving the rest of the glue,” Shiro said, his tone gentle again as he brought Lance back from the depths of his weary mind.

“Right,” he affirmed more for himself as he brought the dissolving liquid back down while Shiro rethreaded his needle.

Opening a just about to burst wound was admittedly a lot harder on Lance’s stomach than freeing one that had already. There was so much more blood because when he was done with one side it’d spring open and pool immediately as he fought to dissolve the rest before it spilled out and got everywhere.

Both of them were coated then, the only saving grace that kept Lance’s nerves at bay was Shiro having the forethought to have them both wear gloves, but that just made it seem like a literal operation. And with the amount of black threading Keith back together it was seeming more like one each horrible minute it droned on.

Shiro had lost his vest and jacket somewhere around the third time he had to rethread his needle, Lance’s discarded too after some time, both of them uncomfortably warm as they poured over stitching Keith back together.

Oh, oh god.

That did it for him.

Lance huffed shakily and turned his head away as he nearly lost it again over how much he wished he could do more than just help heal his wounds, he wanted to mend every one of his broken pieces, put the parts of him back together that you couldn’t see.

He couldn’t stand the thought of slapping a bandage on what had happened and ever going about normally again.

“Lance...”

Shiro looked at him with sorry eyes, wanting to hug him as he blinked back tears but Keith was very much preventing that from being possible.

“I’m okay, sorry—it’s just a lot.”

“I know. We’re almost done if that helps, just need to finish up on this one and then I want to take a quick look at his leg,” Shiro offered as he got back to the gash that was almost closed.

“It wasn’t as bad, only a few were deep,” Lance noted, his eyes glossy as they stared at Shiro’s busy hands, not even registering the way they pulled on Keith’s skin as they tied off the last knot.

Shiro nodded, sneaking a worried glance over at Lance who didn’t meet his gaze as he finished applying an ungodly amount of tape over top the gauze he’d put on the area. He then manhandled Keith’s leg so he could get at his thigh.

Lance looked down at his arms. There wasn’t much blue of the medical gloves on his hands showing, blood smeared past even that and up his arms. He hurriedly yanked at them, peeling one off within the other and folding the outer one over itself.

“Just toss it, I’ll clean this all up later.”

Shiro suggested noticing how dangerously close Lance was to unraveling and hoping to delay it until he could actually help.

He was right though, only a handful required stitches and half as many as the ones on his hip had needed at that. Shiro was done in record time, taking over Lance’s job of removing the glue and cleaning up the mess that followed, finishing by wrapping a thicker bandage around his leg and taping it in place.

When Shiro finally sat back and started to clean up he was dimly aware that Lance was silently crying and had scooted further down the bed to hold Keith more securely in his arms. Though he was definitely out he had never fully stopped shaking, but now it seemed more like a nervous system response to the nowhere near healthy amount of blood he’d lost. Lance moved his hands up and down his arm in attempt to soothe him anyway.

Shiro brought the throw blanket at the foot of the bed over the two of them after he’d removed all of the trashed medical supplies from it. Lance’s eyes had fluttered shut but were open now.

“He shouldn’t be up anytime soon but you look wiped, figured you’d want to stay...”

He nodded absently, eyes bleary but understanding as Shiro moved about the room for a little before sitting down at the foot of the bed.

“I’ll handle talking to him about all this tomorrow but in the case that he isn’t entirely dead to the world when the morning drill alarm goes off, tell him that he is not only excused but barred from training and piloting Red until his stitches are out.”

Lance just nodded again and yawned, pulling the blanket over the rest of his upper body.

“And Lance... “

He eyed Lance with a sort of fondness then.

“I know how fucked up tonight was, it couldn’t have been easy. You didn’t have to help him, you could’ve just gotten me, but you did. And I don’t know what kind of headspace he’ll be in when he wakes up but I do know he’ll be grateful you were there for him... even if he has a funny way of showing it.”

The lump in Lance’s throat bobbed threateningly, his eyes stinging again as he whispered a meak ‘thanks’ as Shiro stood up and leaned closer to ruffle his perfect hair before he turned to leave, shutting the lights off before he did.

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sapphiewrites-twst · 4 years

Text

A Moment of Silence

Couldn’t decide if I should post this or not. I probably stressed over this for the good part of a month. Enjoy!

YOU could do nothing but cry, evident of your distress leaving shiny trails of tears on your face. His voice still echoed in your head. Darling, you know what would happen if anyone else was to hear about this, right?

I’ll make sure the whole school knows your every. Little. Secret.

It was never supposed to be like this. For all you knew, he was just a kind upperclassman, offering to help you when you didn’t know how to complete your given assignments, taking you out for sweets at the Mostro Lounge, and comforting you when your test scores left room for improvement.

How naive you were to believe that, despite the fact you were the only girl at an all boy school, you could somehow become friends with some cool upperclassmen. But now you understood perfectly. A male and a female can never have a purely platonic friendship.

You can even catch your two close friends, Ace and Deuce, eyeing you sometimes. It’s all in good spirit, you understood and forgave it. They were teenage boys, after all. But this, this is going too far.

Currently, you were curled into a ball, hidden among brooms and mops in one of the supply closets in the prestigious school. Prestigious, huh? You thought bitterly. Seems like even prestigious schools have their share of bottom dwellers.

There are so many people trying to get into this prestigious school but they let in guys like that, Deuce’s words echoed in your ears. At the thought of your blue-haired friend, your heart squeezed painfully.

You wanted desperately to leap into your friends’ embraces, spilling everything he had been telling you, doing to you. Deep down, you understood the weight of your actions. If you told anyone about his threats and actions, nothing good would come out of it for anyone.

At least no one else would get hurt if I stay quiet.

Something moved outside of the supply closet. You choked back a sob, dread sinking into the pit of your stomach. Covering your mouth to soothe the hitching of your breath, you waited, the prospect of being found terrifying.

What would you say? Um, yeah, I’m fine. I just felt the need to hide in this dark supply closet and cry my heart out. That would arouse suspicions and inevitably yield the same outcome as the previous option. You could pick up the clicking of heels. The door creaked open, letting light spill in.

You flinched away from the light, eyes raw from crying. Vaguely, you could make out a silhouette looming in the doorway of the supply closet, although you couldn’t quite tell who it was.

As suddenly as it opened, the door closed, engulfing you in darkness.

What if it’s him? The thought of being trapped in this closet accompanied by only him sent shivers down your spine. Unfortunately, your trembling body knocked down a mop, the clatter of it hitting the ground ear-piercing in the continuous silence.

Frozen with horror, you tensed up, listening and watching desperately for any sign of movement.

Nothing. After a minute of silence, you relaxed, letting out the shaking breath you had been holding in.

“Boo.”

Crimson orbs glowed in the dark, inches away from your face. Before you could scream, a leather-clad hand covered your mouth, muffling your whimpers of fear. The musky, dust-filled scent of the closet was replaced by a mixture of clean linen and sweet vanilla.

The scent was calming and unlike the acrid, musky scent he had.

The man with glowing red eyes let a frivolous chuckle as he released you from his hold. “I didn’t frighten you too badly now, did I?” Even though he spoke right by your ear, you couldn’t distinguish who it was.

“N-no,” you stuttered, breath hitching, “W-who are you?” He didn’t reply, humming in understanding and disappeared from your touch. A moment later, dim light filled the small, dusty closet.

You found yourself staring at your senpai and the vice dorm leader of Diasomnia, Lilia Vanrouge.

Eyes widening, you attempted to cover up your tear stained face. It was bad that someone discovered you, but the vice dorm leader of Diasomnia? Frantically, you searched your mind for a reasonable excuse.

“I failed my test,” you muttered quickly, speaking before Lilia could get a word in.

“Is that so?” His voice contained no trace of doubt, just mild curiosity and maybe, just maybe a hint of concern. You nodded furiously, wiping away the remnants of your tears, waiting for Lilia to exit the closet.

Instead of leaving, Lilia meandered his way over to you, plopping down lightly beside your huddled form.

The third year said nothing, merely gazing at you languidly. Feeling hot under Lilia’s continuous gaze, you murmured, “Why are you here, Senpai?”

You watched in confused fascination as his lips quirked up into a knowing smile. Ignoring your question, Lilia asked lightly, “Why hide away by yourself, little one? I’m certain your friends are more than happy to console you.”

His presence delivered contradicting emotions. On one hand, you were nervous to be talking to such an important member who was not only your senior, but the vice dorm leader of the mysterious Diasomnia dorm.

On the other hand, Lilia’s calm presence soothed your frazzled nerves, as if encouraging you to speak your mind. It helped that the soft scents of fresh laundry and fragrant vanilla enveloped your senses, easing your tightly bunched muscles.

Before you could relax completely, a flash of his horrendous smile reappeared in your head. Fear and suspicion seized your windpipe, robbing you of the precious comfort you needed in this moment of vulnerability.

Hesitantly, you peered at the dark-haired fae, unsure of his intentions. Why would such an important figure bother with an inconspicuous little girl crying in one of the many supply closets in the unnecessarily large school?

Catching your gaze, Lilia merely smiled, reaching out to pat your head. “Whatever the matter may be, I’ll be glad to lend an ear if you need someone to confide in,” as an afterthought, your senpai winked at you playfully. “Won’t you tell your good ‘ol Lilia-senpai what’s troubling you?”

You couldn’t help but giggle tearfully at Lilia’s antics. It was hard not to laugh when he phrases his words like someone much, much older than your crimson-eyed upperclassman appeared.

However, one thing was still nagging at you. You chewed your lips nervously, not wishing to destroy the warm atmosphere Lilia had unintentionally (maybe? You weren’t exactly sure what his motive was) created.

Lilia seemed to catch on, shifting into a more comfortable position before giving you an encouraging grin that showed off his two abnormally sharp canines. It made you realize you are far, far away from actually knowing the mysterious vice dorm leader of the equally mystifying Diasomnia.

“Lilia-senpai,” you started timidly, debating whether to breach the subject or not, “Can I ask you a question?” With Lilia’s hum of acknowledgement, you swallowed your hesitation.

“Why?” You asked, fiddling with your hands. You couldn’t quite put your thoughts into words. You wanted to ask why he bothered to stop by, why he took his time to make you feel better about the situation despite barely having known who you were.

Above all, you wanted to know why Lilia cared, and if that was true, why did he take time out of his day for you, who was just another human that happened to go to this school with him?

Lilia seemed to understand everything you could not put into words, his measured gaze of contemplation washing over you. You studied your hands, waiting for his answer.

At last, your senpai spoke, a hint of a smile pulling at the corner of his lips. “Everyone needs someone to be there for them at any moment, whether they realize it or not.”

Lilia’s words drove itself deep within your heart as tears formed in your eyes once more, for a different reason this time. Your lips trembled and his eyes widened a tad, immediately crinkling at the edges with worry.

“Oh, dear, have I said something—?” Interrupting him with a small wail, you closed the distance between the two of you, burying your head in the crook of his neck.

“Th-thank you, Lilia-senpai,” you cried, shaking with gratitude. “No one’s ever said anything like that to me.”

He remained silent but hugged you back, hand stroking your back comfortingly. You couldn’t see it, but the ancient fae’s lips curled into a fond smile, eyes half-lidded as he observed your form.

Who in this world would ever want to harm someone as adorable as you are? Someone stupid, apparently. Lilia’s crimson eyes narrowed with that thought. He’d better have a little… chat with whoever decided to ruin your mood.

—

“I need a word with you.”

The male paused in his steps, squinting into the shadows. “Who’s there?”

A figure shifted forward into the light. Blood-red eyes glinted dangerously. The male took a step back, the feeling of unease enveloped his senses. “Lilia-san?”

“I heard about your little… rendezvous with a certain student.” Lilia’s voice was light , but underneath the affable tone was something more obscure.

“She’s my girlfriend,” he answered without a hitch, a lie practiced so many times it came as naturally as breathing.

“Be wary with your words, child. I am not fooled as easily as others.” With the fae’s words, he appeared right in front of the petrified second year, his usually flippant personality all but gone.

“Take my words as a warning: stay away from her.”

He stiffened. You were his possession, he can’t simply let you go this easily! Besides, you wouldn’t have told anyone; he made sure of that.

Steeling his nerves, the male drew himself up, the advantage of height gaining him more confidence. “Or what? What are you gonna do about it,” the male hesitated, but couldn’t resist continuing, “Old man?”

Lilia’s eyes narrowed. “I see. Very well, we’ll have it your way. I have cautioned you, after all.”

—

A week later, an announcement was posted on the bulletin board right outside of the cafeteria, where the news could reach every student.

With regrets I inform you of the departure of one of our second years. Under compromising conditions, he had been expelled from Night Raven College. To protect the students involved, we will not disclose the names or the reason he was deported from school grounds.

Thank you for your cooperation,

Headmaster Crowley

By the way, I hate the formatting on the mobile version ver of Tumblr.

#twisted wonderland #lilia vanrouge #lilia vanrouge x reader #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader

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drabbleoclock · 3 years

Text

Subtlety (Toya Todoroki AU P1)

Ok so this is an AU where Endeavor convinces Toya to give up his dream of becoming a hero so Dabi is never created. Also this is gonna be a two parter because I was inspired by this tik tok but I have not gotten to the part that actually inspired it yet, but this is getting kinda long so i'm just gonna make it a second part.

Anyway, I don't think there are any TWs in here, there are implied spicy times but nothing explicit. It's honestly just cute fluffy Toya.

Ok so I just went back and edited this and Idk why it keeps changing he to I in certain spots?? When I go to edit it and fix it, it is correct so I guess we just gotta live with it.

There were a few times Nozomi thought Toya might really like her. Of course she would never admit that she knew. She recalled his teasing when they had first started seeing each other, his taunts of "Don't fall in love with me now doll." ringing in her head as she caught the way he would look at her when she left after their first few nights together, a look of hidden disappointment.

The first time Nozomi questioned how he felt was when she first met his sister.

She had fallen against his chest, panting lightly, her fingers absentmindedly tracing the light burn marks on his arms. He chuckled, letting his head fall back against the pillows.

"You're way to good at that." He said, notably not taking his hands off of her hips.

"Well practice makes perfect right." She smirked back at him, lifting herself off of the bed and grabbing her clothes off of the floor.

"Hmm, I suppose so. When should we... practice again?" He asked, bending over her to grab his shirt from the floor, brushing his fingers over her hips. She smiled brightly making his heartbeat quicken. He willed it to slow, brushing it off as a result of their previous activity.

"Hmm, my roommate is going out of town next week, maybe you could pay me a visit?" Nozomi suggested pulling her shirt over her head and fixing her hair in the small mirror he had by his door.

"Can't wait, I'll walk you out." Toya smiled, holding the door open for the girl he thought was such a bad ass to walk through.

He had met Nozomi at a concert he had gone to see with some friends that ended up ditching him for some chicks that were smoking outside.

He had seen her across the room, her piercings glinting in the stage lights. She had tattoos up and down her arms that seemed to dance on their own as the girl moved. This confused and intrigued Toya greatly, he had never seen anything like it. He later found out this was an effect of her quirk, letting her tattoos move around her body freely. He gravitated toward the girl all night, not being able to stop himself from looking at her, imagining what she would be like with him. Eventually, after some crafty flirting, he found out.

Then found out a few more times.

"What a gentleman tonight." Nozomi teased placing a hand gently above her heart, pulling Toya out of his memory and walking through the door into the dark hallway.

"I do my best." Toya quipped back, resting his hand on her lower back as they walked to his front door. It was supposed to be a clear shot there, but Fuyumi had other plans.

She had seen the girl with her older brother a few times, more than he had brought any other girl around, and wanted to see what made this girl special to her brother, so she hid in the kitchen until she heard Toya try to sneak her out of the house.

Pretending she had just finished making her almost empty cup of tea, she walked out, feigning surprise as she "accidentally" bumped into the couple.

"Oh hello, you must be Nozomi, Toya has told me about you." Fuyumi said brightly, bowing slightly at the woman in front of her.

Toya groaned in annoyance as he tried to push his fling toward the door.

"Really?" She questioned, holding her ground intrigued by the statement. "All good things I hope."

"Oh yes, he talks about how 'surprisingly cool' you are." Fuyumi told her, quoting the words Toya had shared the other night when asked about the girl.

"You make it sound like I talk about her all the time. I don't." He cut in, pushing the girl harder now, trying to hide his pink cheeks in the dark of the hallway. "And I don't appreciate this ambush Yumi."

"Come on T, I wanna find out just how surprisingly cool I am." Nozomi teased, giving in and let herself be pushed to the door, waving at Fuyumi and laughing at his annoyed face as she went, the door closing quickly behind her with just a quick "see ya" from Toya who refused to let her see his flushed face.

That was the first time she suspected Toya might be catching feelings. Though admittedly a little pissed at the word surprisingly before the word cool in his description of her, she overlooked it not really caring too much what he thought of her. Not yet anyway.

The next time she suspected was a surprise to both of them. Nozomi's roommate had kicked her out of their shared apartment with only her backpack of personal belongings. She would have been fine with this had it not been for the group of thugs hanging around the building. They had taken her bag, wallet, phone, everything she had on her. Everything she had. Plus, to pour salt on the wound, had roughed her up a little when she tried to fight for her belongings.

She had put up a good fight but she was simply outnumbered and the heroes had long forgotten about her little corner of the city, deeming it beyond saving.

Not knowing where else to go, with no family or friends nearby, she went to the Todoroki household. She knocked on the front door, trying her best to get rid of any evidence of tears from her face. Shivering from the cold autumn night, she stood there waiting for anybody to answer the door.

Not much to her surprise, the girl she had met a few weeks ago stood before her. The woman, Fuyumi she remembered, was in a dressing gown, her white hair falling around her shoulders, the streaks of red popping in the moonlight.

Fuyumi was surprised to see the girl, especially in the state she was in. Her hair was a tangled mess, despite her attempts to comb out the knots as she walked, scraps and bruises littering her arms, and a few scraps on her face, a small trail of blood coming from where the small bit of metal went through her eyebrow. Nozomi loved every one of her piercings, but she did have to admit they were a bit of a disadvantage in a fight.

"Oh dear, are you alright? Come in, I'll go get Toya." She said, leading the girl to the living room, guiding her to sit on one of the pillows on the floor. "I'll get the first aid kit as well." Fuyumi muttered already headed down the hall to Toya's bedroom.

Toya had thought Fuyumi was messing with him, telling him his girlfriend was hurt in the living room. He laughed when she had said it, telling her he did not have a girlfriend, that he wasn't the type, but his sister just sighed and put on her best mom voice, demanding that he go into the living room.

So he did, strolling into the living room with his hands in the pockets of his pajama pants, not quite sure what to expect.

It certainly wasn't what he found. While she was definitely not his girlfriend, she was the closest thing he has ever had to one.

"What the hell happened to you?" He asked nonchalantly, taking his hand out of his pocket to motion to her face, an anger forming in his chest that contradicted the calmness of his voice.

"A lot." Nozomi answered, trying to swallow the sobs that threatened the back of her throat. "Let's run through my night. First, Kita kicked me out and I don't she her letting me back in. Then, some assholes tried to take my bag. When I fought back for it they took my phone and smashed it up, leaving me with absolutely nothing to my name, and nowhere to go. And now I'm here, unexpectedly dropping all of this shit on you, someone who has no reason to deal with all of my shit," Nozomi hickuped, letting the tears and the sobs she had been holding in all night out. "I'm so sorry, I just didn't know where else to go." She finished putting her head in her hands, trying not to let him see her in such a fragile state.

Toya didn't know what to do. He wanted to tell her it was fine, that she could stay as long as she needed to, but he knew that if his father found out she was here it... Wouldn't be good. He wanted to hug her, tell her that he would help her figure it out, but his body just stood there unmoving.

Thankfully Fuyumi was back, carrying the first aid kit that was usually stashed in the bathroom. She stopped by Toya, pushing the first aid kit into his hands and giving him a small push toward the crying woman.

"She's your friend so you can clean her up. I'm going back to bed." She said, already walking down the hallway to her room before there could be any protests.

"Right, lets get you cleaned up then." He said, kneeling beside the woman he had seen just a few nights ago. He remembered her smile then, how it made the corners of his own mouth twitch up. It was completely contagious, he wanted to see it now, he imagined how beautiful it would look in the moonlight.

He mentally cursed himself for the thought. Maybe Fuyumi was right, maybe he did like this girl, but now was far from the time to dwell on that.

"I hope you at least got a few good licks in." He joked ,desperate to make her stop crying. He moved her hands from her face and wiped the tears that were falling before bringing a soft, wet cloth to her brow, washing away the blood that had dried there.

"I think I at least broke one nose." Nozomi replied, a playful smile dancing on the corner of her lips. Her face was still sad but there it was, as beautiful as he knew it would be. Toya's cheeks warmed as he tried to focus on cleaning Nozomi's wounds.

"You can stay here, at least for a few days. Endeavor is out of town so it shouldn't be too much of a problem." Was his reply, returning to reality and turning his face into an uncaring mask, the one he always hid behind when faced with new feelings.

"Thank you." Was the only reply he got, Nozomi trying to read why he had suddenly dropped his own beautiful smile as she wrapped herself in a hug, trying to warm herself up.

Nozomi thought she might know why. She knew she was breaking down his walls, knew that he was trying to put them back up around himself, she just didn't know why, not for sure anyway. She figured, in the way he called his father Endeavor, in the way his voice grew darker and more stern when talking about him. It was the way she referenced her own family.

She didn't really want to think about it, and knew he certainly didn't want to talk about it so she just left it alone. It wasn't really her place to poke into his personal life anyway. She was just a booty call after all, well that's what her mind told her anyway. Deep down she knew, knew that something was growing, a bond that would soon be stronger than anything the two of them had ever had.

"Here." Toya said stripping his sweatshirt off (an Endeavor hoodie with crude sharpie marks) and pushing it into her arms. "You're shivering."

"Thank you. For everything." She whispered, bringing the sweatshirt over her head.

"Don't mention it. Now, I'm going to bed. You're welcome to join me of course." He said, getting up and walking back towards his room, Nozomi hot on his heels.

That night they shared a bed together, for the first time just sleeping. Her arms wrapped tightly around him as her head rested on his shoulder. His arm wrapped around her shoulders, his other hand resting under his head.

He hardly slept that night. He kept getting distracted by her, the way her mouth fell open slightly, the way she moved when she breathed, everything about her was intoxicating to him, and honestly it terrified him.

#toya todoroki #soft toya #original character #fuyumi todoroki #mha au #bnha au #mha fic #Toya deserves better #get my mans some help #toya fluff #fluff #soft

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itsclydebitches · 4 years

Note

I would have loved if Ironwood broke down a bit during the argument with Ruby. Maybe telling her that he wishes there was a magical solution that didn't get more blood on his hands, begging her to convince him of her amazing plan that will get them out of this, because there's nothing he'd like more then to have a day where he doesn't have to hurt someone because some bastard decided there wasn't enough suffering in the world. "Convince me, please... Please, save me from this choice."

Given the direction the story took the ethics in - AKA: Ironwood’s flimsily hopeful but sacrificial plan = objectively bad whereas Team RWBY’s suicidal lack of a plan = objectively good - I’m rather fascinated with how they animated Ironwood’s emotional state. Meaning, he continually displays emotions that are easy to view with disdain: he’s angry, stern, cold, etc. Despite the occasional nod to how he’s struggling (pinching the bridge of his nose, leaning against the wall, coming back with the skin of his arm sloshed off and the whole thing hanging useless in a sling) Ironwood manages to keep it together. For the most part he maintains his calm focus. Any outbursts are quickly stifled. Above all Ironwood doesn’t allow himself to break... which should be an indicator of what a good leader he is. Without fail he has put his own needs/emotions aside in the name of helping others. Exhausted trying to run a kingdom all on his own? Never mind that, I’m so glad you’re here please let me welcome you. Angry that these kids kept such major secrets and strung me along? Never mind that, we have deadly cold to deal with here. I just destroyed my remaining arm? Never mind that, the important thing is Watts is captured. Two of you betrayed me again and are now threatening to attack? Never mind that, I have to go and save what lives I can. It’s not healthy for Ironwood as an individual, but it’s incredibly indicative of how good he is despite not being all smiles and sunshine like Ruby. At least it should be. Instead, the story (furthered by many fans) twists his outward displays into “proof” that he doesn’t care. Ironwood is never allowed to cry, to beg, to tell Ruby outright as you say, “Give me an alternative and save me from this horrific decision” and thus it’s incredibly easy to paint him as someone who is actively choosing to kill the people of Mantle as opposed to someone who is actively choosing to save what people he can. Those two things are not the same, but Ironwood’s animation/dialogue makes it easy to assume it is. A character who looks uncaring more easily comes across as actually uncaring, despite how much their actions contradict that assumption. I brought up in another post the difference between Raven and Ironwood. It’s a conscious choice to have the murdering bandit cry to get the audience feeling sympathy and the sacrificing hero making an unimaginably hard call dead-eyed as he shoots a kid. Superficially RT did a lot in Volume 7 to make the “Ironwood is bad now” ending seem palatable, despite failing to actually write him as a bad person in any way that actually mattered.

However... this is RWBY and things are often more complicated than a straightforward “Media uses visual cues to try and override what’s actually happening in the story” situation. Because this imagined scene where Ironwood looks as scared as he feels, appears vulnerable, lets himself break in an “acceptable” way (that is, not with anger), begs Ruby to give him a magical solution to a currently impossible problem... we got that with Ozpin. All of it. RT wrote his scene in the snow where both his actions and his visual presentation said, “Hey, this is a guy who is heroic and human. He’s doing his best and should be supported through this dark time he’s going through” yet still the show insisted that this conclusion is wrong. We’re suppose to ignore what we see on screen (Ozpin’s status as a primary protagonist, a loving mentor, a hero in the past, then a passive party to Salem’s horrors, then an abusive victim) and his current dialogue/animation (crying in the snow and apologizing) to come to the conclusion, “Ozpin is horrible and we need to ignore him for two volumes.” Like... how? RWBY flip-flops constantly. Vulnerability isn’t enough to generate sympathy (Ozpin). Then it’s suddenly necessary for sympathy (Ironwood). Angry people shouldn’t be trusted (Ironwood). Except when we arbitrarily decide that anger is justified (Yang, Ruby). I’ve spoken at length about the hypocrisy regarding how Team RWBY is written vs. the male leaders in their life, but beyond the very obvious “We get to keep secrets but you don’t,” this extends into how they’re presented emotionally. When Ozpin begs he’s supposed to come across as pathetic. (Why haven’t you solved the Salem problem yet? Wow, this is our fearless leader? We can do so much better). When Ironwood doesn’t beg it’s supposed to be evidence of his cold nature. (Someone who really cared would have shown it more. Any man who can make that decision without sobbing wanted to make it in the first place). And then when those emotions are given to Team RWBY we’re supposed to flip the script again: Yang’s illogical fury is suddenly meant to be inspiring, not evidence of a larger problem. (How dare you question her decision to blindly trust a dangerous figure?) When Ruby collapses sobbing it’s supposed to generate compassion, not disgust. (This poor baby hearing about her mother! Let’s just ignore how this breakdown is a) erased during the Ace Ops fight and b) impacts her reckless decision to fight Salem). Emotional displays and their corresponding cues are all over the place because each character is following a different set of rules. Ironwood simply didn’t have a chance. No matter how he did or did not express his emotions, RWBY was determined to erase his characterization for a simplistic “This plan is The Worst™”) and “He shoots kids now.”

#rwby #rwde #mymetas #drtwit

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curlystom · 4 years

Text

written — peter parker

a/n: phew! so this is a repost from my old blog which i regretfully deleted (a story that i will go into another time) but i’m back! since all of my college courses are online now, i have been writing like crazy! expect to see some familiar and new stories soon. i have a lot planned. it’s good to be back (:

You admired the faint stars scattered across the night, winter sky as the bus slowed to a stop. The fluffy snow covered everything in its track, making it impossible for you to appreciate the true New York beauty. Your grip on your shoulder strap loosened, grateful that you didn’t have to carry the thousand pound backpack any longer. The tension in your shoulder throbbed as your carried textbooks begged to be put down, massaging the area once you plopped down in an empty row.

The cold air from outside contradicted with the warmth inside the vehicle, making the windows fog. You scooted yourself towards the edge of the bus and tugged on your hoodie sleeve so you could wiped the glass, leaving thin lines of water droplets behind.

The blinking street lamps you passed by barely illuminated the area around it. The light reflected off the pure, white snow so effortlessly, making the dark night seem a bit brighter. It was a sight you would have loved to appreciate, but the radiance was blurred by the fog and your eyes squinted at the difference in brightness.

You twiddled with your fingers, memories of the last few hours replaying like your favorite movie. A smile tugged your lips the more you thought about it.

Open textbooks were sprawled out all across the library table, your laptop resting among them along with a few bags of chips and power drinks. Your cheek rested against your palm, strands of your y/h/c hair falling in front of your face. Attempting to blow them out of your face, you glared when the seemingly easy task was failing.

Your arm fell against the table as you rested your head against your upper arm, wanting to let your eyes flutter close so badly. Studying for over 6 hours had taken its toll on you and it was very evident. The darkening under eyes and pale complexion gave you away.

A cup of coffee was exaggeratedly placed in front of you, forcing your eyes to open. Peter’s hands were on either side of him, resting against the table as he tilted his head to the side to look at you, a small smiling forming at the sight.

“You look like complete shit.” His lips were forced into a hard line, trying to muffle his laughter from other surrounding students.

You groaned, a fake cry leaving as you sank into the uncomfortable chair, the cushion no longer giving you the support you desperately needed.

Your hands covered your tired face, “God, I know. You don’t need to remind me. I’ve been here for over 6 hours.”

“Which is why..,” he scooted the coffee closer to you, “I got you that.”

He pulled the remaining chair from under the table, forcing you to place your feet back on the ground and unmask your face from him. Hesitating for a bit, you couldn’t resist his offer and slowly started to grab the drink, keeping your eyes on him. His eyebrows raised at your reaction as he slowly took a seat, crossing his legs and intertwining his fingers.

Your eyes examined the outside, squinting to make sure there was nothing off about this specific drink. His eyes were locked on you, an eyebrow raised as to why you were acting so strange. Perhaps the coffee would wake you up a bit. Your lips met the plastic cover, a slight burning sensation coming over your tongue as you took a small sip. You were truly too tired to panic.

The bitter taste lingered in your mouth, slowly approving the drink by smacking your lips together and giving a slow nod. He sighed in relief as you went to take another sip, thankful that he had made the right call on what coffee to get you. He turned around the books to see what you had been buried in the past few hours, asking questions about what your upcoming exam was about.

You weren’t listening.

Your eyes examined every part of his face as your lips softly brushed against the coffee lid, taking in every detail one by one.

His freckles replicated the bright stars above you, scattered in the most beautiful way possible. The red tint in his cheeks slowly began to fade into his pale skin, growing more comfortable with the temperature change. A few loose curls fell in front of his face seamlessly, your urge to run your fingers through his locks becoming stronger. His brown orbs exhibited small gold flecks as they scanned the pages, your lips parting at just how mesmerizing they were to look at.

He was breathtaking.

“Y/N?”

Your eyelids flickered as you shook your head, the coffee taking its time to fully sink in your system. Forcing your eyelids to stay open, you took a deep breath in as you fully gave your attention to the boy in front of you. “Hm?”

“Are you okay?” His eyebrows pinched together in concern, “You zoned out.”

“Jus’ exhausted.” You lied, taking another sip of your coffee. He gave you a small, sympathetic smile before forcing his lips into a tight line.

His eyes scanned the many books in front of you, developing a headache just by looking at them. He gripped the wooden arm rests and pushed himself up, closing each book and began to pack them in your bag.

You stood up as well, placing your cup of coffee on the table with your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “W-what are you doing?” You grabbed the books from his grasp, immediately deeping a deep breath when you felt how warm his touch was. A flustered laugh begged to escape but you bit the inside of your mouth from letting that happen.

“I am helping you pack up.” He gently closed your laptop and slipped it in its case, placing it in your backpack and zipping it up nicely. “You need to get some sleep.”

You opened your mouth to protest his actions and to try and convince him that you were fine, but it was no use. Waving his index finger at you, he held the strap of your backpack and encouraged you to take it and go home. A groan left your lips as you rolled your eyes, exaggeratedly grabbing the strap from him and throwing it over your shoulder. Your hand gripped around the coffee while the other waved at Peter, his face displaying a look of “you know i’m right”.

He was always right. It was a love/hate relationship with you. The boy never seemed to answer any question wrong, and his morals and values were ones you’d dream of in a partner. There was truly nothing wrong about the boy, and it was no shocker that you’d fallen head over heels for him.

You had been lucky enough to become his friend over the last 4 years. Having the same communications class definitely sparked a flame between the two of you, instantly becoming partners for every project and studying together. The chemistry you had with each other was undeniable, and it made it even harder not to fall in love with him.

He was everything you aspired to be. His aunt, who is the sweetest lady you’d ever met, received so much affection and love from her nephew, you couldn’t help but smile everytime you saw them together. He tutored other fellow students and volunteered with charities in his free time, truly surprised that he had any.

Peter was a busy guy, and the fact he still made sure to check up on you was the cherry on top.

Heat rushed to the apples of your cheeks at the thought of him, your hands covering them as much as you could so no one could see how flustered you had gotten. You bit your lip to prevent an excited squeal from slipping through, your eyes shutting close before slowly opening, staring out the glass.

The previously wiped area on the window had developed a new layer of fog, covering the entire area again. Water droplets stood still despite the the movement of the bus, your eyes admiring each and every one of them. Downtown New York was barely visible through the fogged glass, but the sight, nevertheless, was still breathtaking.

Colorful lights illuminated the night sky, the light peeking through the fog and displaying on your lap. Your hand peeked through the sleeve of your hoodie as you held out your index finger, meeting it with the freezing glass and traced Peter’s name with a little heart next to it.

A few droplets formed on your side of the glass, sliding down the newly written name. The wet residue resided on your finger before you wiped it off on your jeans, smiling at the letters on the window. The bus had slowed to a stop, and the surroundings indicated that this was your stop. You took one last look at the window before grabbing the strap of your backpack, thanking the bus driver, and stepping off the bus.

Peter sat a few rows behind you, his eyes following you as you departed. A small smile tugged at his lips at how carelessly beautiful you were. A few pieces from you bun were curled, framing your face perfectly. A rosy tint colored your cheeks, either from the frosty weather or being flustered. The way your corners of your eye crinkled when you smiled made his heart pound against his chest, butterflies fluttering in his stomach. You were unlike anyone he had ever seen.

His eyes trailed back to where you were previously sitting and landed on the fogged glass. The letters you had written were slowly disappearing but it was legible enough for him to read. He had watched you trace your finger along the frosted glass, seeing the slight flinch you made when you realized how cold it was, but you had placed it just right where anyone behind couldn’t see it.

The butterflies in his stomach intensified by 100, and his heart seemed to have beat faster when he comprehended what you had wrote. You, a beautiful, intelligent, and compassionate girl, felt nearly the same way he did about you. Time played a big role in this particular moment. He had met you years ago, unsure of his feelings for you and never really tested the waters. He remained close friends with you, bringing you coffee during your late study sessions and advising you to do what was best.

He was scared to break that wall, not wanting to change a relationship he was very appreciative of. The last thing he wanted to do was lose you, but now he was going to fight for you until his last dying breath.

#i have forgotten how much i loved tumblr #and writing #and just everything in general #tom holland #tom holland fic #tom holland x reader #tom holland fluff #peter parker #peter parker one shot #peter parker fluff #peter parker x reader #tom holland one shot #peter parker fic

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pepsi-writes · 3 years

Text

among us AU

Japan took one step in Medbay, careful not to make any noise. Ironically, it echoed throughout the entire room. "White," he whispered. "I'm here. You can come out now." I'm saying this to reassure the other, and definitely not to make me feel better, he reassured himself. He couldn't see much with the beds blocking the way, but he could see a bit of red. He peered closer. And it was blood, because of course it was. It led to a shallow, dark corner in the back of the room, where some thing covered with blood lay. "White? スイス?" He stepped closer to that thing.

And then he saw-

------

"I can't find the ejection lever in this dark." Russia complained. He was never one to whine, but it was especially getting on his nerves that America wouldn't turn on the lights.

"Look for the lever for goodness sake, I want to get this over with." America threatened. Of course he thought that now was the time to practice his 'energy conservative' plan for the lights. "Что мне искать в этом месте, где нет ничего, кроме отчаяния?" He muttered, rolling his eyes.

"Light on," the other rather unenthusiastically said. The lights responded by slowly crackling on, save for a stubborn bulb that continued to flicker on and off. America groaned, muttering something about replacing lights, then sprinted to the cafe.

He pulled down the lever with a hard clunk. The garbage chute slowly opened its outside barrier, and the remains slowly floated away among the pieces of leftovers and the scraps of garbage. As soon as it shut, Russia rushed out to the cafe, sprinting around the hallways to meet the crew. He had exactly twenty-seven seconds to make it to the cafe, and he had to make it count. He pressed the door to the cafe, and there he saw the crew, somberly seating themselves around the cafeteria table. He followed suit, placing himself between Japan and Belgium: code name Gray.

Japan trembled, desperately trying to wipe away tears, and failing to do so. Russia had heard him rambling along about how white was the color of death. Poor kid must be afraid of getting ejected; maybe it was because he was found next to her rotting corpse. Across him, Germany: code name Lime was drumming his finger on the table, desperately trying to figure out how to console himself without looking suspicious, while a distressed Spain: code name Red was also trying to get him to stop making noise.

Denmark: code name Maroon's face was blank as a sheet of paper, but her eyes were beginning to fill up with water-tears. They were tears, Russia said to himself. Denmark was crying-of course she was. Who wouldn't cry at a time like this?

She shut her visor, squeezing her eyes shut behind the plastic barrier. "I-I-I can't look," she sputtered through tears. Of course: the happiest of the crew finally knew what true grief was. Such is life. France: code name Pink patted her back in sympathy, whispering some happy stuff that he didn't care to listen to. The rest of the crew's faces were either blank stone, or indecipherable.

Russia couldn't understand why everybody was so sad, he really couldn't. Weren't they angry? Was it because he was heartless? Was it because he was in denial? Was it because he had no tears left-

The first scrap of garbage accidentally threw itself at the window, leaving an audible bang! He whipped around at the noise. Canada barely muttered to himself, "It's- it's happening." (Russia also barely muttered to himself "No shit, Sherlock.") Soon, the cluster of yesterday's leftovers followed it, some pieces barely clinging on to the rest of the pile. He held his breath. From examining the trash very closely, he knew what was next. And he was, for some reason, thrilled at the thought of knowing exactly what was to come.

-------------------

gore starts here

A bloody, stiff hand peeked out from the corner of the window, while some dismembered fingers followed suit. Of course, the ejection chamber has done a horrible job of butchering the rest of her. Weirdly, he wasn't quite nauseated by the hideous scene that was unfolding.

The body - was it a body when there was only half of it left? - followed the hand, interrupting his train of thought. It was grotesque, several deep cuts lining all over the arms and chest. Blood leaked out from the aforementioned cuts, but clear crystals replaced those immediately. Some organ had melted to a ripped up piece of white coat and dragged itself across the window, leaving a slick trail of red. Severed pieces of skin followed, covered in blood and shards of glass where it had mixed with the garbage.

Russia couldn't even make out the difference between the skin and the blood, just pure, raw flesh. A mass of greyish-pinkish matter and shards of bone trailed behind that, probably what was left of her head.

This, this butchered up piece of gore, was White. He couldn't imagine what kind of pain she must have been in if she were alive. A mixture of feelings began to stir up inside of him, but he pushed them down, trying to decipher them. A lot of nostalgia, a bit of pity, and obviously a pinch of irkiness, and what was that, joy? No, he must be queasy from food poisoning. Orange was a good friend, but not a good cook.

Russia pursed his lips in an attempt to appear disgusted right in front of the others. This was a victim of a murder, he thought, she was your friend! She was killed, her body is cut in half. That must hurt how'd she actually die or did she just bleed out wait no stop thinking about that why are you happy why does this make you happy stop thinking about that this is bad what would everybody think stop thinking about that ejecting me would be their first option i don't want to die too soon why are you starting to smile what are you doing stop thinking about that-

He tried to get any sort of grief out of him, but all he did was rejoice at the thought. Why couldn't he feel anything but happiness? Was he some kind of sick monster that reveled in the death and destruction of others? What kind of monster was he that he wouldn't notice that someone was crying? The last of the garbage disappeared, dragging his thoughts away with it.

White was gone. Forever. And it was relieving to him, like a weight had just been lifted off his chest.

"L-let's just get to the trial." America spoke, about as smooth as jagged glass. He patted Russia on the back half-heartedly. "Ruski, I know you must feel really sad, but we have to find out who killed her." Weird that he was saying that, because Russia was smiling.

------

"And that concludes the events of this case," Russia: code name Cyan said. France: code name Pink exhaled, showing off a weak smirk to cover her solemn expression. "So," she declared. "Japan really did it."

"Damn it!" America: code name Green exclaimed, "I had my bets set on Russia, but now.." Russia sent a small glare at him, but their silly little affairs were meaningless compared to this. France continued, nonchalant about America's response. "This is something I absolutely don't want to accept, but since all the evidence has been brought to light, it is the truth."

"The Japan we've come to know..." Brazil: code name Fortegreen uttered, suddenly as earnest as even Black, "Is a complete and utter disguise."

"He did murder Zwitserland," Netherlands: code name Black said, "everything he said was to manipulate us, to deceive us. He wanted to hurt us for no good reason, and that's the truth I choose to believe."

"If that was a lie as well, I'd have nothing to believe in," Sweden: code name Tan remarked. He glared at the cobalt blue table as if it itself committed the crime. Japan: code name Yellow shook his head. "You guys..." he stopped, looking up to glance at each member's faces. "I don't know anymore. You guys must be lying. Tell me this is just some elaborate prank. Tell me she's still alive! Tell me that you're not blaming me!"

Canada: code name Purple shifted away from Yellow, trembling like he didn't want to believe this. "All evidence points otherwise," he squeaked. "But I'm still voting to skip, if that makes you feel any better." A faint smile played across Japan's lips. He mouthed a 'thank you' at Canada, who nodded back. "Canada!" UK: code name Blue chastised. "You're seriously not going to vote for a murderer?" Canada nodded yet again, as if it was the only thing he knew how to do. "Yeah, I want to make Japan feel at least a little bit happy." Japan already knew he was going to be ejected anyway. He should just accept it and get it over with already. It's not like anybody was going to magically save him with a contradicting piece of evidence. They saw him in front of White, they presented the evidence, they gave him a chance to speak. That's it. It was a fair trial. He couldn't call on ISS, or MIRA, or even JEM. They would all see him as some cold-hearted murderer that did nothing but lie and decieve. Because that's what he was, at least in the crew's eyes. Now he was beginning to believe it too.

------

"The happiest part of my life was the end of it," Sweden: code name Tan lamented in a sultry tone.

Japan cocked his head. "Would you mind describing that?"

He gave a soft smile. "No."

"Sweden."

He groaned obnoxiously, then chuckled at Japan's insulted expression. Japan was obviously not used to being treated so casually; he probably thought it was some form of disrespect. "All right, but that's just because Russia is here. Oh, just thinking about it gives me butterflies in my petite stomach!"

Sweden inhaled deeply, marking the start of a long monologue. Netherlands covered his ears with his ghost hands right away. "I'm out. I'll see you all tomorrow. I'm not hearing whatever comes out of that mouth. I suggest you come with me, Denmark," he said as he floated out of the room. To catch up to him, Denmark scrambled out of her seat and phased through the wall.

"So, Russia didn't vote me out because he clearly likes me. Anyway, after I was outed, Rus romantically-"

Russia flushed, despite the fact that the story was, of course, just another one of Sweden's made for his own amusement. "Hey!"

"-carried me all the way to the ejection chamber, bridal style. He then leaned in close to my fragile little ears and whispered," Sweden imitated Russia by raising his voice two octaves higher, which sounded exactly like him, while he was basically a tomato at this point. " 'I'm so sorry they had to hurt you like this. I wanted to cradle you in my arms and bask in your warmth, and~"

"I've found someone!" Switzerland: code name White exclaimed, with her head poking through the wall and a big garbage bag in her hand. (He secretly appreciated her for interrupting Sweden because he knew Japan wouldn't be ready for what he was about to say.)

Sweden muttered a curse to himself. "I wanted to tell Japan about my love story! Can it wait- wait. You found someone? Is it a ghost? Do you know who it is?"

"Well, it's not one of us right now because they're in bits, but I'm sure they'll wake up soon, and I saw a bit of green," she rambled as she opened the bag and dumped its contents on the bed. "but I guess it was lime, so it might be America, Italy, or Germany. I believe that if I study this closely enough, I would be able to figure out who this is."

She crossed her arms and leaned in close to Sweden, whisper-yelling at him. "Where are Denmark and Netherlands anyway? I want them to see this," she said, not looking away from the mass of guts and blood.

"They both left because I was too awesome." he quipped.

"Hol' up," Russia interrupted. He raised his hands in contemplation for a while, really. "Are you asking me this blood and stuff belongs to a crew member?"

"Well, I did see a red finger and some chicken noodle soup somewhere in there," Switzerland replied, gesturing to the bed, "so my guess is that they were chopped up and thrown into soup. It took two entire days for me to form and I was only chopped in half, so it might take at least a week for this one to form."

"This murder seems a bit extra," Russia pondered. "Maybe even too extra. Who would do that to someone and not get away with it?"

"Now all we have to do is wait," Japan said, completely ignoring Russia's insecurities.

"Yeah, now we sit here and wait for this one to form."

#countryhumans #countryhuman

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francesderwent · 4 years

Text

part three: fatherhood and faith in August Rush

/ part one // part two /

A day before the concert at which both Lyla and Evan are due to perform, Arthur sees August’s name on a poster, and Wizard turns up at Juilliard. He rails at the Juilliard professors for daring to think they had anything to teach Evan, for believing that they could give music to him when music is “out there”. Evan says he doesn’t want to go, he likes it here, the professor says Wizard doesn’t have any right, but Wizard says, “I have every right, I’m his father.” And when Evan stands frozen, wishing to contradict this, Wizard whispers to him, “I know your real name, Evan…Evan.” Evan doesn’t want to lose this new family – but he doesn’t want to be sent back to the group home, where there is no music at all. He tells his professor, “He taught me everything I know,” and he lets Wizard lead him away.

The next day finds him playing in the park again, while Wizard argues on a nearby payphone, trying to eke out as much money as he can from whoever’s on the other line in exchange for August’s performing. Arthur reassures Evan; Wizard isn’t that bad, he’s just been in a mood, and Evan’s the only one who could make him feel better. Arthur couldn’t get Wizard’s favor, so he did the next best thing and won himself second-place by leading him to the chosen one. Evan knows better to be satisfied by Wizard’s favor, now, and he plays morosely, putting all his frustration into the music.

Louis walks up and puts a handful of change into Evan’s guitar case. He asks about Evan’s guitar, and Evan looks nervously over at Wizard, but Louis reassures him, “Don’t worry, I’m a musician, too.” He hands Evan his own guitar, and Evan passes him the one he got from Wizard; they sit together on the grass and experiment. They improvise a duet, Louis in a typical combination of strumming and fingerpicking, Evan in his signature style of hitting the strings. It’s both like and unlike Louis’s unwitting duets with Lyla, like, because the two different styles weave in and out of each other, allowing both to shine, and unlike because they’re both guitarists, both improvising. It’s fellowship and mentorship embodied in the music, rather than complementarity and romance. Evan comes back to life; he smiles again.

Louis asks him how long he’s been playing; “Six months,” Evan says, matter-of-fact. “Six months??” Louis repeats, “How’d you learn to play like that in six months?” “Juilliard.” “Juilliard,” Louis says, no doubt thinking about his lost love who graduated from there herself. “I have my own concert tonight,” Evan says. “Reckon I should believe you?” Louis asks, teasing. “Yeah,” Evan says, simply, but then adds, “but I can’t go.” “Why’s that?” Louis asks. Evan says, “It’s kind of a long story.” He’s closing himself off again, hiding. Louis says, “Well, if I went to Juilliard and I had a concert tonight, I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” “Yeah,” agrees Evan wistfully, “but what if something bad would happen if you did it?” Louis smiles, and tells him with the certain authority of experience, “You never quit on your music, no matter what happens. Because anytime something bad happens to you, it’s the one place you can escape to and just – let it go. I learned that the hard way.” You can’t escape the perturbations of love by giving up love; you can only find peace by turning from failed love to true love, from fallen human love to divine love. “Anyway, look at me,” Louis says gently, “nothing bad’s gonna happen. You gotta have a little faith.” Evan stares back at him thoughtfully, and then plays two notes in answer. Louis laughs – he understands. “I’m Louis”, he says. “Ev – August. August Rush,” Evan says, remembering only halfway through to use his new name. Louis makes him feel safe; being found and known for who he is by this man is not something he naturally fears – he has to remember to hide. Wizard yells for August; Louis admits he has to get going. “Bye,” Evan says. “Yeah…” Louis says, looking at him with his head cocked, wondering and worrying and caring. He reaches out and tousles Evan’s hair, which Evan allows placidly.

Louis didn’t recognize Evan on sight, like Lyla did – granted, he didn’t know Evan existed, but there is a sense in which he is inherently more “distant” from Evan than Lyla is. He didn’t carry him for nine months, and so his “recognition” of him is different. Evan is an individual to him, in some ways an equal; they speak the same language; Louis gives him advice like he’s a peer, teaches him from his own experience, leading by example. But he is not distant from Evan in the way that Wizard is; he cares about Evan for his own sake, he’s not trying to manipulate him or string him along emotionally. The distance is for the sake of allowing Evan to flourish as himself. This is fatherhood. Before Louis even knows he is a father, let alone Evan’s father, he gives Evan the first true image of fatherhood he’s had.

Furthermore, Louis’s last word to Evan, “nothing bad’s gonna happen, you gotta have a little faith” is the antithesis to Wizard’s system of pessimism, fear, and self-protection. It seems like naivety; Louis doesn’t know what Evan’s situation is, and what if something bad does happen? Bad things happen to people all the time. But here’s the kicker: good things happen too. And faith is believing that, ultimately, good has more weight – even when you can’t see it, even when the bad is right in front of you weighing you down. There’s a great quote from Ratzinger in Introduction to Christianity:

[The word “credo] signifies the deliberate view that what cannot be seen, what can in no wise move into the field of vision, is not unreal; that, on the contrary, what cannot be seen in fact represents true reality, the element that supports and makes possible all the rest of reality….Man’s natural inclination draws him to the visible, to what he can take in his hand and hold as his own….He must turn around to recognize how blind he is if he trusts only what he sees with his eyes. Without this change of direction, without this resistance to the natural inclination, there can be no belief. Indeed belief is the conversion in which man discovers that he is following an illusion if he devotes himself only to the tangible…and because our inclination does not cease to point us in another direction, it remains a turn that is new every day; only in a lifelong conversion can we become aware of what it means to say “I believe”.

I think a part of what it means to turn from the tangible to the spiritual is to turn from despair because it feels like all we see is suffering, to faith and hope because the divine plan is real though unseen. To say, despite the lack of empirical evidence, that if you choose love no matter what, nothing really bad’s gonna happen, nothing so bad that it will make the choice a mistake. Louis gives Evan an example of faith, and he gives him encouragement and kindness, with no ulterior motive. Because of this encounter, Evan is given the strength to choose faith himself.

When Wizard is counting their earnings in a subway station at the close of the day, Evan tells him he’s leaving, and he’s not coming back this time. Wizard scoffs. Why would Evan leave? To find his parents? “I bet they don’t come, because they can’t hear you,” he says cruelly. Evan stands poised, ready to run, but caught in Wizard’s lies and the fear that comes from them. And then Arthur hits Wizard, hard, with the guitar that used to be his – he’s giving up his own hope that Wizard will be his father in order to set Evan free. And Evan runs, but even when he’s gotten away from Wizard, the man’s words weigh him down. He’s underground and he can’t get to the surface.

This is when a faint music starts to echo through the vents above him. Lyla and Louis are both playing, just as at the start of the film, each of their pieces weaving in and out of the other. Lyla is pouring everything into her playing, her love for her son and her pain at missing him and her wish to be reunited with him. And Louis, who doesn’t know that he has a son, is singing to Lyla. But unlike in “This Time”, where he returns to their moment over and over, wishing every time that it’ll be the last and he won’t have to go back again, he’s reflecting on what brought Lyla to him in the first place. Instead of focusing on the loss, he remembers the hope: “you wanna reach out, you wanna give in, your head’s wrapped around what’s around the next bend…something inside you is crying and driving you on”. He comes to the conclusion that though their love was imperfect, there was something truly good in it, and he doesn’t regret that goodness, he wouldn’t take it back: “‘cause if you hadn’t found me, I would have found you.” In freely affirming the love he had for Lyla, he also affirms the fruit that was borne of it; in affirming the goodness of an imperfect love, he affirms the goodness of Evan’s very existence. He opens his heart and sings to Lyla, he doesn’t regret being found by her, and he would go out of himself to find her if he had to do it all again, and Evan’s deepest wish is fulfilled: he is found. His mother’s love for him, and his father’s affirmation of his existence find him in the music, and they draw him out of the dark.

Wizard is left alone, underground. He pulls out his harmonica, and plays a melody, letting it rise into the vents, hoping that Evan will hear it. It is the melody that Louis and Lyla heard the night they fell in love – Wizard played a role in the intertwining of all of their stories, and he played a role in Evan finding his way back to his family. In the mercy of God, great things were done through this broken man. But no one hears him, now; his role is complete. Everyone else has learned to play a new song, and he’s trapped in the past by his refusal to hope for something greater.

At last, Evan takes the stage in the park to conduct the rhapsody he composed, the piece he wanted to play to as many people as possible so that maybe his parents would hear. It’s the response to all the music he has heard in the world around him, in the fields and in the city and in the church, unified into a whole; he takes what sounds like chaos to the untrained ear and turns it into beauty, so that we, too, can hear it. Lyla, who is walking across the grass in her white dress, pauses, listening, and then turns around and strides back towards the stage. Louis hears the music in his cab with his band, but it’s not until he sees the poster, recognizes August’s name, and then sees Lyla’s name below it that he moves. He jumps from the cab and runs through the streets toward the concert, Lyla’s “marriage” totally forgotten. Lyla is looking for Evan; Louis is looking for her.

Evan is facing the orchestra, Lyla can only see him from the back, but she’s mesmerized by the music. Louis catches sight of her across the crowd. She walks forward as if drawn by an unseen force; he weaves through the crowd parallel to her. She steps out in front of the people, stares up, her entire person attuned to the music, and she knows. This is her son, who has been in her heart for so long. She’s found him. Louis steps up beside her silently and takes her hand; she looks up at him, and there’s no surprise. Of course he is here; of course he was drawn, just as she was. Everything is falling into place; they are, all of them, where they belong now. She smiles at him, and looks back up at Evan; Louis follows her gaze, and realizes what he recognized in the boy he met in the park. Wonder fills his face. This is his son – this is the fulfillment of his love, the fulfillment that he’s been searching for his whole life, without knowing it.

Abruptly, Evan looks up into the sky, listening. He pauses in his conducting, and slowly, slowly turns around, while the orchestra continues to play behind him. He’s apprehensive. What if there’s no one there? What if what he heard isn’t real? But he’s hopeful as well.

In front of the crowd stands a man and a woman, holding hands. The woman is looking at him with such love in her eyes and in her smile, like nobody has ever looked at him before. And yet it is recognizable. Nobody but his mother could look at him like that. Can it be true? He looks at the man – Louis, from the park, who told him to have faith. Louis nods. It’s true. Evan laughs.

He’s been found.

Because I’m a tiresome person, I’m going to spell it out one more time: music is love. The belief that you come from love, the cry of your heart that says the meaning of your life is love, is true. Because August Rush is a fairytale, it shows us this in a fairly literal sense. Evan believes that his parents loved each other and that they love him, and they did and they do. But Lyla and Louis’s love is not perfect – and even if it were even less perfect, so flawed that it was no longer love at all, Evan would still be right. We all come from love, because we all come from God. Even when mothers do not want their children, like Lyla wants Evan, and even when fathers do not affirm the love they have for their children’s mothers, like Louis affirms his love for Lyla, God wants us, and God affirms the love that is built into creation. Even if created love is imperfect and incomplete, it can still bear fruit, and that fruit always bears witness to the love of God which is at the origin of everything. Love always speaks of the one who gave us love. It might be hidden by suffering and fear, it might be mediated to us by selfish and broken people, but love is there and it is real, invisibly and powerfully.

You just gotta have a little faith.

#august rush #meta whine and rant #most dialogue is from memory?? so sorry if it's wrong #catch me crying about this pitifully while writing it

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worryinglyinnocent · 4 years

Text

Fic: Dead Man Walking (3/?)

Summary: Prime Ministers don’t normally wake up in morgues after they’ve been murdered, but that’s exactly what Robert Sutherland has just done. Right in front of Lacey’s nose. With limited resources and not knowing who to trust, Sutherland and Lacey must work together to get to the bottom of the attempted assassination.

Based loosely on this dream I had.

Rated: T, eventually E.

Note: This is meant to be ‘darkly humorous and amusing mystery’ rather than ‘gripping political thriller’…

[One] [Two] [AO3]

—

Dead Man Walking

Three

Something was wrong. Carrie had known that something was wrong from the moment that the Head of the Civil Service had told her to go home. He had told her in forceful and no uncertain terms to go home, and not to come back until he called her.

Now that Robert was… gone, Sir Albert Spencer, Head of the Civil Service, was her de facto boss, so she couldn’t really contradict him.

She hadn’t really focussed on the fact that something was wrong at the time, because at the time, she had just found the Prime Minister dead in his private office in Chequers and had been through all the necessary trauma of calling the police and the ambulance and making statements and officially identifying the body and watching her boss being taken away covered in a sheet.

She had settled in for a long night of enforcing a complete press blackout until cause of death could be determined, and of enacting several antiquated procedures related to ‘what happens when a Prime Minister dies in office’ that no one had needed to enact since 1812.

Ironically, the last Prime Minister to die in office was also the first and only to be assassinated.

Carrie seriously suspected that he was not in fact the only one.

She seriously suspected that Sir Albert knew something, and that was the reason why she, ostensibly the closest person to the Prime Minister, had been pretty much forcibly removed from Chequers and told to go home, that there was nothing she could do, that she’d had a traumatic evening and everyone else would take care of things.

Carrie sighed, continuing to stare at the chintzy floral wallpaper of her mother’s living room and wondering if the decision to start drinking as soon as she’d got home was a good one. Having been told to go home, Carrie had pointed out that, whilst the Prime Minister was away from London and she was with him, Chequers was her home, Sir Albert had politely reminded her that her mother lived not ten miles away from Chequers, and gave her a pointed look that told her, without the need for words, where he expected her to go.

Her mother, owner of a house in a small village in the middle of nowhere, had found her outside the house, crying her eyes out with angry tears of loss and frustration as she kicked the garden wall to within an inch of the stonework’s life.

She’d steered her inside, given her some elderflower wine to calm her down, and, Official Secrets Act be damned, had listened to Carrie pour out all her woes. To her credit, Mrs de Ville had not batted an eyelid at the fact that the Prime Minister had died of a suspected heart attack, and she had just kept topping up her daughter’s glass. Carrie raised an eyebrow as the drink kept flowing. At least she knew where she got it from.

They’d moved on from elderflower wine onto gin now, and it was now getting on for one in the morning. Mrs de Ville was snoring gently in her chair, and Carrie’s thoughts were coming full circle. Something was wrong. There was no way Robert had had a heart attack.

Yes, he was a smoker, and yes, he was under a lot of stress, but he’d been in good health lately, and there had been nothing wrong with him all day. Surely he’d show some kind of symptoms of impending doom.

This wasn’t supposed to have happened. This was supposed to her holiday, for fuck’s sake. Parliament wasn’t in session; everything was winding down for the summer. There had just been a couple of meetings about more sensitive policy matters for the next session that Robert had said couldn’t wait - so they’d arranged for a few private meetings at Chequers to go over it. Carrie had come down to be on hand if he needed her. Which, all things considered when it came to Robert losing his temper and threatening to do something stupid, was rather likely.

“Someone killed him,” she muttered darkly to the wallpaper.

The chilling thought was that the pool of suspects was incredibly small, given how few people were around. It was someone in the Cabinet, or the Civil Service, or the Chequers staff.

Carrie shook her head. She was getting paranoid. It was the wine. And the gin probably hadn’t helped either. He’d had a heart attack, it was terribly tragic, and half the public would mourn, and the other half would rejoice when they found out, and that was the way of it.

Except for the Head of the Civil Service locking her out of the proceedings. She couldn’t get those suspicions out of her head.

“Who killed who, darling?” Mrs de Ville jerked awake. “I do love a good murder. I always fancied myself as a Miss Marple, but our village is nowhere near as prone to death as St Mary Mead.”

“Someone killed the Prime Minister.”

“Oh yes, that.” Mrs de Ville held up the wine bottle - nowhere near the first they’d got through - and found it empty. “Well, why don’t you do a little investigation? With your connections, you should be in a perfect position to find things out.”

She wasn’t, though. She was sitting in her mother’s living room whilst the Head of the Civil Service tried very hard to keep her from finding anything out.

For the first time in her life, Carrie was actually beginning to wish that she hadn’t drunk so much.

Her phone began to ring, pulling her out of her morbid contemplation. She grabbed it excitedly, convinced that it would be Sir Albert calling her to bring her back into the fold (although how much use she’d be after a bottle and a half of wine was debatable), and she was brought up short when the number showed as unknown; a comparatively local landline number.

Maybe the press had already got wind of what had happened and were calling her for a statement. Admittedly, one in the morning was an odd time for it, but Carrie had long since learned after a lifetime in politics that journalism never slept.

The phone continued to ring, and finally, she answered.

“Hello?”

“Carrie, it’s me.”

“What?” Carrie was very glad that she was already sitting down because she would most certainly have fallen over had she not been.

“It’s me, Carrie! For fuck’s sake!” Robert certainly sounded like himself, and certainly sounded alive, and Carrie was really beginning to wish that she hadn’t drunk so much because her brain was operating at a speed slower than a snail wading through treacle.

“But you’re dead!” she hissed. “I saw you. You were dead. Very dead.”

“Well, evidently not quite as dead as everyone thought.”

“What, how… Where are you?”

“I’m still in the morgue.”

“You’re calling me from the morgue?”

“Yes.”

“How?”

“With a phone! Carrie… Have you been drinking?”

“Of course I’ve been drinking, you walnut! My boss just died, I just got put on indefinite garden leave, and I’ve been drowning my sorrows in elderflower wine for the last four hours!”

“Bloody hell, you must be desperate. Elderflower wine? Never mind. Look, I need your help; you’re the only person I trust.”

“I…” Carrie remembered her own conviction that Robert had been murdered and took his point. “Yes. All right. What do you need?”

“To find out who tried to kill me, that would be a good start. And getting out of this place would be good. And some aspirin. So far my only partner in crime is a trainee forensic scientist who isn’t even supposed to be here and who seems worryingly interested in my arse.”

Carrie could just about make out a young, female voice in the background of the call. “Your arse is very interesting.”

“You know, I have to agree with the trainee forensic scientist who isn’t even supposed to be there.”

“You’re drunk, Carrie. Look…” There was a heavy sigh on the other end of the line. “I really, really need you right now.”

Carrie nodded despite the fact he couldn’t see her. “Yes. Ok. I’ll be there. Where are you? I mean, apart from the morgue.”

“Stoke Mandeville hospital,” said the almost-forensic scientist.

“Ok. Just…” Carrie had no idea what kind of advice to offer a man who’d just risen from the dead and was hiding in a morgue. “Just… hang in there.”

“I’ll try.”

“I’ll see you as soon as I can. Oh, and Robert?”

“Yes?”

“I’m so glad that you’re alive.”

The call ended. Carrie was suddenly painfully and horribly sober, and she jumped up out of the squashy armchair she’d been ensconced in ever since her mother had levered her away from the garden wall before she could kick it down. The suddenness of the action alarmed Mrs de Ville.

“Where are you going, darling?”

“Stoke Mandeville. Robert’s alive and stuck in a morgue and I have to go and get him out and work out who tried to kill him and…”

She fumbled for her car keys, and Mrs de Ville came over, closing her wrinkled hands over Carrie’s shaking ones.

“Darling, I’m not going to be responsible for you ending up in the hospital you’re trying to get to. We’ll get a taxi.”

“We?”

“Well, naturally I’m coming with you. You can’t exactly trust anyone else in this game, and you’re going to need all the help you can get on this one. I just finished the latest Kathy Reichs; we’ll make the perfect team.”

Carrie was not altogether convinced, but her mother was right. She was going to need some help, and none of her usual channels would be available to her, especially if Sir Albert was running interference. It wasn’t like anyone would suspect a seemingly harmless septuagenarian; maybe she could help out with bluffing Carrie’s way into the hospital.

Ten minutes later found Carrie and her mother sitting in the back of a taxi on their way to Stoke Mandeville. The driver, an incredibly cynical woman named Ursula, had raised an eyebrow at their destination and suggested calling an ambulance instead, until Carrie had reassured her that neither she nor her mother were in need of medical attention.

Ursula had not seemed entirely convinced by this, especially since Mrs de Ville was swaying slightly, but had nonetheless begun the drive to the hospital. At this time of the night the roads were empty, and they made good time. It was only once they were nearing the carpark that Carrie realised they’d hit a major snag. Namely, she had no idea where the morgue was in relation to anywhere else in the hospital.

Also, if she was going to be sneaking the supposedly dead Prime Minister out of the hospital, taking him out through the main entrance probably wouldn’t be a good idea. If the press didn’t know that something odd had happened in the upper echelons of government before, then they certainly would after that.

“Can you just go round the block a bit and park up in a side street?” she asked.

Ursula raised her eyebrows in the rear-view mirror.

“Are you mad? There’s nowhere to park within about a mile of the place.”

“You can leave the meter running,” Carrie said. “We’ll be back as soon as we can.”

“Listen, madam, I don’t know what you’re doing, calling taxis in the middle of the night to take you to hospitals that you evidently want to get into furtively, but I am not partaking in any criminal activity. Once I drop you off, I’m out of here.”

“No! Please, we’ll need to go back again. And I promise that there is nothing illegal going on.”

Carrie knew that she probably didn’t sound all that convincing, but at the same time, she was desperate to get Robert out of the morgue and into somewhere safe, and right now this taxi was the only safe harbour she had.

Ursula heaved a sigh. “All right. There’s a little alley parallel to the ambulance station; there’s usually space in there and you can try and sneak in via Resus. But you pay for this journey now; I’m not going to hang around indefinitely.”

“You are a lifesaver. Quite possibly literally.” Carrie blew her a kiss from the back seat and Ursula rolled her eyes, but Carrie caught the slightest hint of a smile in the mirror.

The taxi pulled up and Carrie counted out change plus a generous tip, praying that Ursula would still be there when they got back. She considered leaving her mother in the car as insurance, but Mrs de Ville was already out of the taxi and scuttling towards the Resus entrance.

Carrie had never seen her mother scuttle before. Maddie de Ville had always been poised and dignified, and for a few moments all Carrie could do was stare in bewilderment, finally putting it down to the drink and following her as furtively as she could manage with that much elderflower wine inside her.

Quite how they managed to get inside without anyone noticing that anything was amiss would be a source of amazement to Carrie for the rest of her days, but they managed to make it out of A&E by refuge of sheer audacity and acting like they were definitely supposed to be there.

Now all they had to do was make it to the morgue.

“I think it’s this way.” Mrs de Ville was studying the hospital map on the wall intently. The morgue was not marked, but she tapped one long, red fingernail at the stairwell. “They’re usually in the basement.”

It was as good a place to start looking as any, and Carrie followed her mother towards the stairs, striding along the basement corridors with a confidence that neither of them felt but that would hopefully stop anyone from questioning them.

They had stopped to look at another map when they heard it.

“Pst!”

Carrie glanced over her shoulder. A young woman was leaning out of an unmarked doorway.

“Carrie de Ville?” she asked.

Carrie nodded once, uncertainly.

“Great. I’m Lacey French, almost-forensic scientist. I’ve got something of yours here.”

Carrie crossed the corridor and peered into the room – it turned out to be a linen closet – past Lacey.

Robert was there. He was looking rather worse for wear, but then, he had just been murdered so that was probably forgivable. Carrie knew that she wouldn’t be looking much better herself and she didn’t even have the excuse of waking up in a morgue.

“Robert!”

She pushed past Lacey and threw her arms around him. “Oh, darling, I’m so glad that you’re all right!”

Robert gave a weak laugh. “It’s good to see you too, Carrie.”

“Come on, let’s get out of here. There’s a taxi waiting.”

“Thank God for that,” said Lacey. “I really didn’t want to have to take him on the back of my moped. Let’s roll. Keep an eye out for Suits, the place is crawling with them.”

She led the way out of the linen closet and along the corridor, and Carrie, Robert and Mrs de Ville rushed to keep up with her.

Carrie had to smile, despite everything that was going on. She’d never met anyone less likely to be a forensic scientist, and anyone less likely to have helped the Prime Minister in his hour of need.

She felt that she was going to like Lacey French.

#rumbelle fic #sutheracey #Lacey French #Robert Sutherland #Cruella De Vil #anyem #Fic: Dead Man Walking

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