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olivinesea · 3 years

Text

Worth the Keeping

a/n: Damn this was a slow one. Brought to you by the way asphalt looks under streetlights and me having been a badly behaved teenage drunk. It’s long but there’s no way around it. TW abuse, nothing wild tho. One bad slur, I’m sorry. Settle in for some in depth Hotch thoughts. ~6k

Young Hotch, young Haley. Bittersweet.

He’s never thought much about his own life, never felt that it carried much importance. Certainly the people in his home did not value it. He thinks perhaps his mother did at one point but she is too caught up in her own worries and the care of Sean to devote any attention to him. Sometimes she even seems angry if he appears to need help. So he makes sure never to need it. He learns how to splint broken fingers and reset dislocated joints, how butterfly bandages and superglue were all that was needed to close most wounds. He thinks, when he is encouraged to imagine the future by naively optimistic teachers, that perhaps he will be an EMT since he’s become so good at triage. He’s met a few EMTs, the rare times when an ambulance was necessary, the threat to life too immediate to ignore. They usually seem like nice, if a little intense, people.

Once, when he was only five, he had experienced anaphylaxis after being stung by a bee. He’d already learned not to make a big deal out of life’s little injuries. So when the bee stings him in the garden, he knows not to say anything. It is his fault anyway, it is always his fault. He sucks on the skin around the sting, anything to take away the fiery sensation he is feeling. He has never been stung by a bee before, had no idea what was going to happen as he grabbed at the little buzzing creatures flying busily around his mother’s flower garden. It turned out, bees did not appreciate chubby hands grasping at them and one made a point of letting him know.

He creeps back to the house guiltily, thinking of the ice in the freezer, maybe he could get some of that. Sometimes his mother would bring him ice wrapped in a towel to place over the repercussions of his childish transgressions, still reaching for love he couldn’t earn. It was always too cold, biting in a way that made the injuries pulse. But he accepted it because it meant that his mother was sitting near him, that he wasn’t alone for a little while. This only reinforced his lessons that care was painful. Wasn’t it better to have someone care so much it hurt than to have no one to care at all? She promised him that’s all it was, it was only because they cared that these things happened. It was only that he was still learning.

But right now, the bee sting is burning a hole in his hand and he thinks maybe the ice could at least distract him from that pain. He slips silently into the house, his eyes adjusting slowly to the dark interior after the bright summer sun. He is breathing hard, but each breath seems to draw in less air. Maybe he is afraid. He knows fear, is intimately familiar with the feeling. He knows it better than most five year olds do, who only experience fear on a basic level—sometimes practical: fires burn, falling from high places is dangerous; sometimes fantastical: what if there are dragons in the woods or ghosts in the attic. Fear was a means to keep you safe but when you are a child there are supposed to be adults helping keep you safe as well. A child’s fear shouldn’t have to be so specific. Aaron is afraid of slammed doors and broken glass and dirt tracked in on his shoes. He is afraid of storms that brew in bottles of dark liquid and unleash torrential outpourings of disgust.

In this moment he is afraid, not of a monster, but of a person who might be watching him from the shadows of the living room. He is too young to understand schedules and time, he doesn’t know his greatest fear is otherwise occupied. Instead, he lets fear be the reason for his change in breathing. He makes it to the kitchen with its big windows and bright lighting, only to find his hand has grown, comically large and heavy, the skin swollen and stretched. Breathing feels like trying to drag air through a wet towel. He feels his heart racing as the fear closes in but still stays quiet. He probably wouldn’t be able to make much noise if he tried but he doesn’t want to find out who else is inside the house at the moment.

Through the small luck allotted him, his mother comes in minutes later to find him curled on the kitchen floor, skin around his mouth a pale blue, his eyes closed in concentration, trying to will air through his constricted windpipe. She is about to scold him, to tell him to stop playing when she sees his hand, all doughy pink and covered in hives that travel up his arm to his thin chest. She rushes to the phone to call 911. She’s never been more scared, both that her son might die and that her husband might find out how careless they’d both been.

Ambulances weren’t easy to hide, drew too much attention, but something tells her there isn’t time for a different choice. The EMTs assure her she had done the right thing, quickly setting to work administering epinephrine and monitoring Aaron’s oxygen levels. If he seems rather quiet and withdrawn for a five year old, he had just gone through a dramatic, life threatening experience. It would cause anyone to sink into a bit of shock. They don’t notice the nervous looks exchanged between mother and son, both their eyes darting to the long driveway every so often, looking out for incoming danger. When they tell her the boy needs to be taken to the hospital for further care she visibly balks.

“But he seems fine now, he’s doing better right?”

The child in question is sitting in the open back of the ambulance, thin legs dangling, scum from leftover bandaid adhesive outlining skinned knees. He is breathing carefully into a mask that another medic holds for him. His hand is cradled in his lap, no longer outlandishly large but still misshapen. He looks fragile and she longs to pull him away, out of the hands of these strangers, who may only be trying to help but don’t realize how their help might have consequences. She wants them to leave, wants the house to return to the state it was in this morning when her husband left for the day, so he wouldn’t see anything as out of place, wouldn’t have to know about the day’s events.

She is worried about talk in the neighborhood, about the way her front lawn has been overrun by busy people in uniform, doing what she can’t imagine. But it was a future worry; she was so good at keeping secrets surely this was one she could fit in somewhere. If only she can keep it contained to this moment, prevent it from spreading.

“He is, but it’s important that he go. There could be a secondary reaction.”

Her arms are crossed and she rubs her index finger across her bottom lip absently as she tries to think quickly. Victor will be home soon, he would be disturbed to find them gone. She doesn’t think there will be any way to hide this if they went to the hospital. Too many people will see, there will be no way to lie away their absence. But if they didn’t go now and Aaron got worse, she couldn’t very well call the emergency services a second time. She looks at him again. He is now staring down at the ground, swinging his little legs back and forth. She hates that she has to make a decision like this. She hates how there were likely no good outcomes no matter what she chooses. She pinches her lip between her fingernails for a moment then sighs as she gives in.

“Ok, let’s go. I just need to call my husband first.”

It was only the presence of the hospital staff that stops him from strangling both mother and son when he receives the bill. Aaron shrinks against his mother’s side as his father thanks the doctor with a tight voice before turning and walking out of the building. His mother, nervous herself, is shivering, he can feel her body shake as he presses against her. She takes off on quick steps to follow his father from the building. She would have left him behind if he hadn’t been gripping tightly to her skirt, nearly dragging him off balance with her speed. They get into the car silently. Aaron climbs behind the passenger seat to the back and tries to melt into the corner. The air is snapping with electricity as a fast moving spring rainstorm darkens the sky around them. The tension makes him want to scream. He knows better.

“I’m sorry, there wasn’t time,” his mother starts, her voice embarrassingly plaintive.

"Shut up.”

Aaron’s eyes dart back and forth between his parents. He sees his mother hang her head, rounding her shoulders ever so slightly. He sees his father’s knuckles turn white as he grips the steering wheel. He knows this was his fault but he doesn’t know how to fix it. He opens his mouth to say something but right then lightening cracks across the sky in front of them and they are all dazed by the flash.

Later, after they get back to the house and Aaron is sent to his room, the crashes of thunder mingle with his father’s shouting, his mother’s cries. He shivers beneath his too thin blanket, his lungs still feel new and foreign. Like they have been scraped raw and newly exposed to their purpose of pulling oxygen into his small body. He has suspected it before but this experience has solidified in his mind that he shouldn’t be here, that his presence only causes distress. He knows his mother would be better off if he had died, he knows his father would be less angry about that than whatever humiliation he feels he’s just experienced at the hospital. For some reason, despite his wishes to the contrary, he only brings about waste and pain. He had only wanted to meet the tiny creatures, to see if their busy movements, their buzzing hearts matched his own.

As he gets older, he grows tired of the care, he wishes more and more to be ignored. If only his father cared less, he could fade into the wallpaper, disappear into the shadows of their house. If no one cares, he can’t disappoint with his shortcomings. He can just float around in a fog that softens the world around him, never caring too much about anything, never feeling that sting of caring. If he doesn’t care, nothing matters, nothing can touch him.

Aaron has completely accepted the fact of his own unimportance by the time he is a teenager. He does everything he can to blend into the background. To escape the notice of others because being noticed is never safe. It reminds people that he dares to take up space, dares to make use of resources better allocated to creatures more deserving, less hateful.

Something shifts once he hits puberty, a sort of recklessness sparks inside him. Though he is still careful to avoid the attentions of adults, he starts to bite back when other kids tease him. They had been teasing him his whole life. For his strange haircuts and too small or too large clothing. For never having new things. They told him he was dirty, they told him he was weird. All the usual small cruelties children hurl at one another.

Now that he is in high school and has gone through a growth spurt, not yet his full size but much larger than he had been, he has some power. He notices the way the other kids step back when he stands up quickly, only with the desire to run and hide, but he notices it nevertheless. I’ll remember that, he thinks as he walks, rather than runs, to escape from their taunts.

Part way into his freshman year he breaks someone’s nose. While not exactly justified it wasn’t unprovoked either. They had been picking at him throughout the day. Purposely running him into lockers, knocking over his lunch tray and pinching him as he walked by. There are so many of them and they are so quick about it he is never completely sure who is doing it. His irritation grows inside him such that he wouldn’t be surprised to see smoke drifting out of his ears. The pokes and jabs are bad enough on their own but what the other kids don’t know is that they are just layering over deeper bruises, ones he does his best to forget about. If he thinks about those too much he’d go crazy.

The older he gets the harder it is to hold together the fractured reality he lives inside of. The one where a man can be both a hero and a monster. He has known since he was little about the danger his father carries but as he got older and saw more of the world around him he has realized that this is not the same for everyone. And not only is it not the same, his experience is somehow invisible, inconceivable to all the eyes of his hometown. As an adult he will look back and realize that some people did know, they just didn’t do anything to help, for whatever complicated reasons adults tell themselves that they shouldn’t get involved in others’ business. Even if the cost is taken out of a child’s nightmares.

So when Luke Gatson pulls his too-long hair and calls him a fag at the end of the day, he’s had enough. He swings his fist blindly but with all the force of years of built up anger. He is surprisingly accurate, maybe having absorbed more knowledge of inflicting pain over the years than he realized. There is an audible crack as the other boy collapses on his knees, holding both hands over his bleeding nose. Aaron stares at him, hand still clenched in a fist, eyes burning. Luke’s friends crowd around him, glancing between the two, wondering if they are meant to get some sort of revenge for their friend. Aaron can see that they are surprised, probably the reason that they haven’t jumped him immediately. He also sees the tears on Luke’s face that he is trying to hide. That makes him feel bad and he loses any sense of the burning hatred that had taken over.

“Sorry, Luke,” he says sheepishly.

“Fuck you Hotchner,” Luke replies, scowling at him.

Aaron shrugs, he’s heard worse, and walks away toward home. As afternoon becomes evening, Aaron’s stomach is in knots over the thought that his father will find out what he’d done. He is sure the man will not be pleased about it. He is so anxious he can’t even pretend to eat what is in front of him at dinner, a frequent struggle that earns him glares from both parents. He can’t stop darting his eyes to the phone, waiting for it to ring and deliver his sentencing.

He is washing the dishes when it finally does and he nearly drops the soapy ceramic, startled by the sound. He forces himself to stay still, to keep doing what he is supposed to, maybe his mother will intercept it. But his mother is putting Sean to bed, only his father is downstairs and he can hear him grumbling about people’s lack of decency calling so late. Aaron can only make out muffled sounds from the other room as his father has a short exchange with whoever is on the other end. He hasn’t been able to move since the phone started ringing and his hands start to shake as he hears the small click of the receiver, the footsteps coming toward the kitchen. He carefully sets the plate in the sink but continues to grip the sponge like it might be some sort of shield. He feels his father’s presence behind him and slowly turns to face him.

Victor is looking at him curiously from the doorway, eyebrows pulled together, corners of his mouth drawn down slightly.

“You got in a fight.” It is not a question, he is not interested in the details or whether his son might have different information.

Internally Aaron panics, trying to think of a way to escape this situation. He’s had plenty of time to consider how his father would react and how he might possibly minimize the fallout. Outside he is perfectly still, eyes downcast, breathing measured. Maybe he should run. He hasn’t tried that since he was small, too small to understand there was nowhere to run to. Maybe he would be fast enough now. Then he hears the least expected sound. He has to look up to convince himself he is interpreting it correctly. His father is laughing. His eyes go wide with alarm, he can’t remember his father ever laughing before. Maybe this has unlocked some new level of anger.

“Must have been a weak little shit to get taken down by you,” he says.

Still in shock, Aaron has nothing to say. His dad rubs his face with his hand, a little chuckle escaping. He drops his hand and looks at Aaron.

“Never fucking do that again. You won’t like what happens after.” All humor gone, the stony glare reappears. With that he turns and walks away, his steps only slightly unsteady.

Despite knowing better Aaron gets into more fights and his father delivers on his promise. Rationally he knows he can stop this. Maybe he doesn’t always have control over what happens to him at home, but this, the fighting, is completely a choice. After the first incident a few other kids test him, seeing if his breaking Luke’s nose was only luck. They quickly discover that he is able to back up that first knock out. Aaron is a natural fighter. He is on the scrawny side but what he lacks in mass he makes up for in pure rage. After a few more black eyes and split lips, the other kids grow more cautious, give him space when they walk by. No one teases him anymore.

But those fights taught him something. He discovers he likes the experience of being on the attack rather than only receiving. He never fights back at home, it is unthinkable to try to defend himself against what comes at him there. But out here in the world, for a few moments, he becomes something else. He becomes electricity and thunder, the one operating the crane that swings the wrecking ball, demolishing years of pent up confusion with his fists. He starts fights now. It does’t matter that it means he goes home to a matching fist, a coordinating set of bruises. He would be going home to that anyway, wouldn’t he? The blood in his mouth tastes like winning.

A couple years into high school and this is all he is now. Something dark and dangerous, he walks through the hallways, glaring at others, raising his fists any time he can find an excuse. If people notice he has more bruises than ever before, dusky marks on his cheek, his neck, the angry red patches of skin exposed during scuffles, it only makes sense given how much he’s taken to fighting.

Sometimes he sees flashes of fear in their eyes as he gains the upper hand and for a split second he is remorseful, identifying with that fear. But then, just as quickly, he is angry again. Angry that this fear is so new to them when for him it’s been a close companion all his life. He resents their normalcy and their parents that scold and worry, making a big show of taking away privileges when they have to come to collect their misbehaving child from the principal’s office. His father never makes a big show, barely says anything at all, simply apologizing to the principal, promising he will talk it over with his son, will make sure he understands the gravity of the path he is heading down. He can’t look at his father during these meetings, afraid he might scream, if only to drown out the ringing in his ears.

One time it is his mother rather than his father picking him up after yet another fight and he makes the mistake of making eye contact with her. The tears are instantaneous. He brushes at his face roughly with the heels of his hands, but nothing he does can stop them. He is frightening to see cry, making the people around him very uncomfortable with the way he is completely silent. The principal doesn’t bother giving his mother the usual speech, only ushers them out the door, his mother offering a quiet thank you. Looking into her eyes had shown him that she knows, that she knows what is coming and she will do nothing to stop it.

She had given up on him when Sean was born, writing him off as a lost cause. She will give everything to Sean; if only she can keep him safe, she won’t be a total failure. She felt guilty at first, trying to reason that Aaron was old enough to take care of himself but the nagging feeling of abandoning her responsibility was hard to escape. As he grew older, however, he had become this stranger she no longer feels anything for but shame. She can’t wait for the day he is old enough to leave the house. She knows there will be no peace before then.

Aaron fights with a determination that reveals how little he takes into account his own safety. He’ll fight with anyone; bigger, older, more experienced, it doesn’t matter. He’s even started to pick fights with adults, daring them to react. Nothing anyone does can touch him. Without a sense of self, a drive for self preservation, there is no reason not to throw himself entirely into the burning of the world. He would deny it but his deepest secret is the hope that if he keeps at it, perhaps someone will notice, someone will care enough to tell him he is worth compassion. Every time he fights and no one asks why, it reinforces this idea: that he is worthless, just an embarrassment to minimize. So he fights harder. He doesn’t know if he is trying to prove them right or wrong.

He only slows down when his father breaks his wrist and threatens to send him away. Alone in his room, doing his best to immobilize the joint with an old brace, he cries, hot and painful tears. Not because of the injury but for how twisted he’s become, how the only comfort he has found has been in turning this brutality on others.

Wandering the halls after school one day, prolonging the time before he heads home in the rain, he hears singing. Mindlessly he walks toward it, curious who might be the owner of such light that they can spill it out of themselves in sound. He comes to an open door and finds clumps of students standing or sitting, all facing toward a makeshift stage. Standing alone at the front was the singer, her face as beautiful as her voice suggests. He is magnetized. Her song ends and he feels it like a loss, barely registering the exchange between the girl and the two adults in the room as they thank her and make some marks on a clipboard. Suddenly there are fingers snapping in his face and he glares down at their owner, pulling his injured wrist in against his chest, protecting it from whatever action he is going to take. When he finds a small freshman boy looking up at him with an expression not of fear, only interest, he is confused. He is not accustomed to anyone looking at him without some degree of anger.

“Are you here for auditions?” The boy seems a little exasperated, like he’s repeated the question dozens of times already.

Aaron blinks at him. Auditions? As he is trying to understand the question, another kid steps into the spot last occupied by the singing girl and says a few words before beginning to sing as well. He notes that they are good as well but nowhere near the sweetness he was drawn in by. He looks around the room trying to find the girl, he is fairly certain he’s seen her before, maybe in one of his English classes. He never paid much attention to the other kids outside of which ones might deserve a fight. He spots her in a corner whispering with another girl, ducking her head and smiling, playfully knocking her friend’s shoulder. The strange feeling in his chest is his heart melting. He looks back down when he feels a tug on his shirt sleeve. He is ready to bite the head off of this annoying child.

“There’s a spot left if you want to audition. You have something prepared right?”

Aaron Hotchner has nothing prepared, nothing in his life could have prepared him for this moment but he’d do anything to get closer to that smile. He nods.

“Sure.” He can barely get the word out, his throat is dry and raspy. The kid looks at him quizzically, Aaron almost laughs at the way one of his eyebrows rises up. He can already imagine him as a crinkled old man.

“You have something to sing?” he questions more directly, doubt clearly apparent.

Aaron shrugs, he can come up with something. On the better days, the spring and summer days, when the light gets longer and he can wander in the woods for hours, he sang with the birds. Singing was nothing new to him. Singing for other people though, he does’t like that idea at all if he lets himself think about it. But there is no time to think. He is giving his name and being jostled into the room. Before he has fully taken in his surroundings, his name is spoken with some confusion as he is called up to his turn.

One of the adults is his civics teacher from his freshman year. She frowns as she looked at him and he feels a wash of anxiety, remembering who he is, remembering he is not made for good things. He opens and closes his mouth but no sound comes out. The room is quiet and he can feel everyone’s eyes on him. He exhales, angry with himself, looking up to glare out at this roomful of people who’s only crime is agreeing with him that he is worthless. But he sees her again—she is smiling, barely, but it is enough.

He clears his throat and starts to sing. It is a quiet sad song, a hymn he’s heard a hundred times as he forced himself to stay awake during services. There is not enough penance in the world to absolve him but he likes the music sometimes. This one has been a favorite for many years. His voice gets stronger as he settles into it, staring at the floor just beyond his shoes, trying to picture himself out in the woods, surrounded by his only companions—the silent trees and the birdsong. When he stops they are staring at him and he hates it. He rubs one foot against the back of the other calf, considering just walking out of the room before anyone is forced to say anything, to embarrass him further with some pitying words.

“That—that was great!” the teacher finally says. “We needed a baritone, you would be perfect.”

Aaron just nods, cheeks flushed as he risks another look to the corner where the girl had been standing. She is still there, looking at him more carefully now, her expression an odd mix of emotion. It is enough to give him the courage to smile back, just slightly, the tiniest twitch of the corner of his mouth.

“Rehearsals start next week. Everyday after school. Can you do that?”

He nods again, dragging his eyes back to the adults in front of him. “Yes, ma’am,” he says, just as quietly as when he started.

As he walks away, he hears his old civics teacher mutter to the drama teacher, “I had no idea he could sing. I’ve barely heard him speak.”

The other teacher hums back in agreement, just as confused.

Many months down the line and Aaron has softened a little. No longer an instigator of fights, he has other things on his mind. The anger hasn’t gone anywhere but he holds it back so that it doesn’t disturb the peace he finds with Haley. She is the best thing to ever come into his life and he knows he doesn’t deserve her; knows it is only a matter of time before the world rights itself and takes this gentle soul from him. He knows she is not a second chance, no one will ever forget what he is, he can never outrun the dark looks that follow his name. But he’ll hide in the solace she provides as long as the world lets him.

To her credit, she doesn’t make him feel foreign or pathetic as she learns new layers of his reality. Inside she cringes at every revelation but she is careful, keeping an invitation on her face, making space for him to bleed out some of what poisons him. He is hesitant and slow to share, sure that each slip will send her running. But when she does’t run, when she only pulls him closer, he trembles with the desire to be seen the way she seems to. That relentlessly denied hope gaining strength—that someone might care to look past the barbed wire and broken glass he’s made a home within.

There are good days and bad, they are only children after all. Sometimes he can’t explain his feelings. They are too big and all he wants to do was rip apart the world to find a place he can bury them. He tries to hide from her but she’s caught on to his tricks, seeking him out in all his usual unusual places: behind the gym, near the creek, the empty fields around his home. She grabs his shaking hands and pulls him to the ground, leaning against him and stroking the back of his hand while he shivers out the small pieces of a story that he thinks she can handle. The reality is it is much more than she can but much less than he needs. But they do their best.

She waits until she is alone or with her sister to cry for the ways life has harmed him, has doubled back on its promise and turned something she thought was a gift into nothing but torment. It is the first time she’s really understood what people mean when they say life is unfair. But she is stubborn and believes everyone deserves kindness, if no one else was willing to provide, she will be his reprieve.

At first the other girls laugh, thinking it is some kind of joke, a cliche, the beauty and the beast. But as they watch him change, catching smiles and held hands, they are in awe of Haley Brooks. While they can’t forget their distaste for the weird and angry boy they’ve known since grade school, they think perhaps there is something they missed. The softer-hearted among them root for their success; the others, once over the novelty, do their best to ignore the couple. Soon it isn’t even worth a comment when Haley turns up to some social event, towing along a brooding but behaved Aaron Hotchner.

It is Halloween and she’s convinced him to come to a party. Not a big deal, she promises, just a keg and some idiots in the woods. He gives in easily because he knows how badly she wants to go and he tries to give her whatever normalcy he can. He is uncomfortable at parties but appreciative that this one will be outside, in the woods, his woods, as he likes to think of them. The party is uneventful, he even manages to get a laugh from a group of tipsy sophomores when he makes a dry observation of the likeness of warm beer to peanuts. He hadn’t been trying to be funny but their laughter feels nice anyway.

They wander away from the party together, walking towards the neighborhood they both live in. He has handed over his jacket to supplement the impractical blue gingham dress she is wearing. He’d resisted her requests for a couples costume and frowned unhappily when she thrust a flannel and a straw hat at him as they were headed out. He’d put his normal jacket on over it as soon as she was distracted by a conversation and “lost” the hat somewhere in a bush. At least without the hat he could feasibly be wearing a normal outfit though he would never pick out something quite so green.

They hold hands as they walk down the sidewalk, tugging on one another slightly just to feel the comfort of the opposing weight. Occasionally there is a sign post and he drops her hand to split around it, only to grab it back and pull her in closely for a kiss. She giggles, enjoying this looser version of him. He doesn’t drink in front of her very often, usually too nervous to lower his guard and make himself vulnerable in that way.

As they get closer to town, he steps further into the street when he lets go of her hand. There is more traffic here and she is confused by what he’s doing. Maybe he is getting tired, not paying attention to his actions. She isn’t completely wrong, though it’s not the sort of inattention she’s thinking of. Every headlight that burns their vision pulls at him. The promise of impact, of un-ignorable damage draws him closer. He laughs as he stumbles, veering back to the sidewalk with smaller and smaller margins. He seems to have forgotten her, instead he is focused on this private game without a possibility of winning. It makes her nervous but she tells herself it isn’t a big deal. All boys are like this, flirting with destruction.

As yet another car passes with only a few feet of clearance, she can’t take it anymore.

“Aaron! This isn’t fun for me,” she is upset and the tone of her voice cuts through the drunken fog of his mind. He’s almost forgotten he isn’t alone, hypnotized by the weave of light and dark. Immediately remorseful, he jumps back to the sidewalk, planting his feet heavily and grabbing her around the waist. He pulls her in close, tucking her head under his chin, closing his eyes against the rise and fall of the horizon.

“‘m sorry,” he whispers into her hair. She shakes her head but squeezes him, arms wrapped around his torso. He takes another breath and opens his eyes, watching as another car passes them, oblivious to their small drama. The lights still pull at him but he clings to her, holding on for all he’s worth.

#Criminal Minds #aaron hotchner #haley hotchner #young hotch #tw abuse #hotch thoughts

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sunsetcurbed · 3 years

Text

i’ll keep us together (whatever it takes)

Pairing: Alex/Willie Words: 9,237 Rating: T Warnings: none read on AO3

Summary: “Willie,” Julie’s voice sounds. “Hey, Julie,” Willie greets. “I—uh—“ “Can Alex not see you?” she whispers. Okay, so… right. Right. This is a thing. (*) (or: alex has changed, and he's all but taken away from willie. willie doesn't settle for that.) I found out that apparently tumblr doesn’t post link posts in the tags unless they get a lot of notes so I’m reposting this as a text post and also posting the fic here on tumblr as well! Fic under the read more. :)

(*)

"Hey," Willie cheers, watching as Alex walks into the garage, head hanging down. Alex doesn't look up, just walks over and flops dramatically on the couch. Willie laughs at his boyfriend, and follows over. "Hey, hot dog," he calls again. Alex still doesn't look up. Furrowing his eyebrows, Willie crouches down next to him and reaches out to shake Alex's shoulder.

His hand passes through.

Willie draws his hand back quickly in surprise, and stares down at it. He reaches again, and again, his hand passes through Alex.

He scrambles to his feet and looks around. Something's wrong. Something—he's not sure what's going on, but something…

He steps back, and back, and back, until he's standing in the middle of the studio, and rushes through the open door. He stands in the driveway for a minute, struggling with his thoughts, until—

"Willie," Julie's voice whispers.

His head snaps up and he sees her walking down the pathway from her house. They found out last year that Julie could see all ghosts, and that her power extended beyond they band in that aspect. Unfortunately, Willie didn't share their powers in becoming visible when playing an instrument, which was one of the first things they tried, right after trying to rid Willie of Caleb's stamp. Neither had worked.

"Hey, Julie," Willie greets. "I—uh—"

"Can he not see you?" she whispers.

Okay, so… right. Right. This is a thing. She already knew about it, which—

"No. Why can't he?"

Julie walks towards him and offers a smile. But it's—it's a sad smile, one that Willie knows is accompanied by bad news. Suddenly, he regrets asking. "He's alive."

What?

No, seriously, what?

"What do you mean?"

"Do you know… unfinished business. Does… do you know if 'crossing over' means back to the world of the living?"

"I—I-I don't know? I wouldn't think so? I've never see someone cross over. I just thought…"

"We did, too," Julie says. "But the guys… we signed today. With a record label."

"What? That's awesome!" Alex had mentioned Destiny Management but he hadn't said they were officially signing.

"It is," she says, but her voice doesn't sound like it. "After each one of them signed, they came back to life, though. Heart, blood, eating, sleeping, everything."

Willie shakes his head. "But they should have…"

"We always thought that when they did their unfinished business, they'd… go to heaven, or whatever. But apparently crossing over, at least for them, meant crossing over back to the living."

"So Alex…"

"He's not like me," Julie frowns. "He can't see you."

"Fuck," Willie curses. There's a noise in the studio, and Willie turns around and sees Alex through the window, walking towards the driveway. "I—I gotta go," he stammers, and then he's gone from there and landing in the sand on the beach, where he had thought he and Alex would spend their time tonight.

Fuck, he thinks. All the pain the last year and a half has brought—the battle with Caleb for his soul, the fight between them all with Caleb, defeating the man who'd held him captive for years, and finally getting to be with Alex, stress free—all that pain and stress were for nothing, weren't they? Because Willie doesn't even have Alex anymore, the person who inspired him to fight back. The person who made it worth it. The person who was there to hold him after Caleb's hold on him broke will never be able to hold him again.

Not unless—

Willie's got work to do.

(*)

The next time Willie sees Alex is at the skate park, three months after it happened. Alex is leaning on the fence, staring at the bowl with sad eyes. He watches the people in the park fly up and down the ramps, and clings to the fence with a tight fist. Willie skates out of the park and passes through the fence to stand next to Alex.

"I miss you, too," he says, knowing that Alex can't hear him. "I mean, I haven't gone to Julie's studio looking for you like you're here, but. It's different when I can see you. You're living with the memory of me. I'm living with the reality of seeing you and hearing you, but not being able to interact."

Alex looks away from the skate park and towards the beach. His fingers curl tighter around the chain link fence until his knuckles turn white.

"I'm trying for you, man," Willie says, his voice high and tight. "I don't even know if I'll become human again like you did, but it's worth a shot. Even if I don't become human, at least I'll cross over and I won't have to be alone anymore. Maybe? I don't actually know where I'd go if I didn't become human again. I might still be alone. There might not be anything waiting for me. That's not as scary as having to live for an eternity without you, though. Or, not without you, but. Like this. Having you but… not really."

Alex draws in a shaky breath, and Willie poofs to his other side to get a glimpse of his face. His eyes are wet and he's chewing his bottom lip. He's doing everything he can not to cry, and that breaks Willie.

"I'm sorry," Willie whimpers. "I know I meant it way back when, when I said we never should have met, but that was because I almost got you guys killed. Once you were better, I didn't think I could ever feel that way again. But maybe I was right, even beyond that. Maybe it would be better if we'd never met. It'd be better for you." He reaches out a hand for Alex, but quickly drops it back to his side when he remembers he can't make contact anymore. He draws in a deep breath, but it hitches involuntarily. "But we did meet. We did, and now you have to live with the consequences of that. Is that what they are? Consequences? I guess so. I wish I could undo this all. Not—not you getting a second chance at life. You deserve it. But… I wish I could undo us."

Alex releases his grip on the fence and walks forward, right through Willie. Willie spins on his heel and watches Alex take a seat on a bench a few feet away. He looks up and around and finally, the tears fall from his eyes. Willie feels sick.

"No, I don't," he says in a rush. "God, I wish I wished I could undo us but I could never willingly give you up, Alex. No matter how much it hurts. Even though you're hurting I know you'll move on. That's how it works, right? God, we were only together for a little over a year, we only knew each other for a year and a half. That's hardly a lifetime love story, right? You'll find someone better—someone alive, and… and…"

And Willie can't do this anymore.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, taking in one last look at Alex's tearful face before poofing away.

(*)

The next time, he finds Alex at his grave. At Alex's grave.

See, Alex had asked him to go with him back in January. He'd needed to see what his tombstone said (Alex Mercer / December 18th 1978 – July 21st 1995 / Your song will live on forever.) and come to terms, fully, with his death. Willie had been more than happy to go with him, to hold him through his tears as he saw that his parents had actually put something dedicated to him, even if it was as small as an acknowledgment to his music. Ever since Alex crossed over, Willie has come here a few times a month to talk to the boy, because it's easier talking to a grave than it is to a person who won't respond.

When Willie reaches the grave, Alex is just standing there, staring at the headstone. He doesn't say anything, and neither does Willie. Instead, Willie looks around for another tomb with flowers on it. When he finds one, he plucks a single flower from the bouquet and walks over to Alex's grave again, and lays the flower down on the headstone.

Alex gasps. "Hello?" he murmurs. "Is… Willie?" he asks hopefully.

Willie doesn't have the heart to ignore him, so he picks the flower up again and hands it to the boy. Alex takes it reluctantly. "I miss you," Willie says, even though he knows Alex won't hear him.

"I miss you," Alex says, and Willie blinks. "God, I—I'm not even allowed to be upset about crossing over because I… I get to be with my band, and I'm, Willie, we're fucking going on tour. We're only opening, but we're touring. They think we'll be headlining our own tour in the next year or two. How am I supposed to be upset about that, right? But I—but I am. Because I have to do it without you and that's—that's not fair. That wasn't part of the deal, right? We were supposed to be fucking ghosts together. Not… God, I feel so ripped off. Julie said she could still see you, she didn't want to tell me but didn't think it was fair to keep it from me. Why can't I? Why the fuck can't I? I was a ghost and I can't see you anymore? Just because—just because I have blood in my veins again? You made me feel alive. You brought me back to life. And now I'm in this weird pseudo life phase where I'm actually alive but I feel just like I did when I came back as a ghost. Before I met you."

He shakes his head and Willie takes a step closer. He reaches out, but before he can try to lay a hand on Alex's arm, he remembers. He drops his hand.

"Reg says I'll move on, used that stupid 'you'll never forget your first ghost' line again, but that only worked when we'd known each other for two weeks. Two weeks and I was already moping over you, and then you were taken away after an entire year, after I—after I—it's not fair," Alex huffs. "I sound like such a child but it's not. Julie and Luke got their happy ending. Fuck, even Reg has someone now. Of course it probably won't last—after all it's his third relationship in five months, but. But he has that option. And I—Ray's making us go to school to finish off senior year and this kid from chemistry asked me out but—I'm not ready for that. God, I'm scared I'll never be ready for that. Luke told me to go for it, that maybe I need to be with someone to get my mind off of you, but I know that all I'll do is compare the two of you."

Tears are falling freely from Alex's eyes, and Willie wants nothing more than to reach up and brush them away, just like he did the last time they were at this grave together. He takes the flower from Alex's hand, plucks a petal off, and uses it as a towel to wipe Alex's face dry. Alex tosses his head back and laughs.

"Thank you," he says. He's quiet for a long moment, and Willie thinks he said everything that needed to be said. But then he draws in a deep breath. "I… I think one of the worst parts is that I never got to say goodbye. That I'll never get closure. Did you get as much out of our relationship as I did? Was it worth it to you? Are you hurting, too?" He pauses. His voice drops in to a whisper as he asks, "did you love me like I loved you?"

Willie frowns, and hands the flower back to Alex. Alex wraps his fingers around the stem, and toys with the petals with his other hand.

"See, I don't even know what you're trying to say, here," Alex admits. "I'm hoping you're saying yes, but maybe you're not. What if you're not even Willie, just a kind ghost who noticed I needed someone?" Willie grabs the flower out of Alex's hand, raises it up, and bonks Alex's forehead with it. "Okay, maybe not," he says, and there's a laugh in his voice, but there are tears in his eyes. He laughs then, but it comes out as a sob instead and he stumbles back. "Fuck," he says slowly.

Willie twirls the flower between his fingers and watches as Alex just… stares. He's just staring at the flower, disbelieving.

"I… God, I'm so relieved you're here, but it hurts so bad that I can't see you, you know? But—do you have it any easier? Being able to see me and hear me but knowing I can't see or hear or feel you? I feel like that'd be just as hard. I remember how helpless I felt when I was a ghost. This isn't—this isn't fair. Last year we had eternity together. And—that just gets ripped away? Do you even care—" Willie hits him with the flower again. "—okay. So you do. We both cared. So much. And… now look at us. I'm essentially talking to myself, on the verge of a panic attack, and you're… You're visiting my grave. I'm visiting my grave. Fuck this is all so fucked. I miss you."

Willie hands the flower back to Alex, hoping that he'll pick up that Willie misses him too.

Alex stares at the petals and draws in a breath. "I just wish—"

"Hey, mijo," a new voice comes in. Willie whips around to see the approaching figure, a tall, slim man with greying hair. He recognizes him as Julie's dad, and while he's never directly interacted with the man, hanging around with Alex and the band so much last year meant he could at least pick him out of a crowd. Julie's dad walks up beside Alex and looks down at the head stone. "Wow, that's really you."

Alex laughs. "Yeah. I really died. That's why I come here. To remind myself my entire experience as a ghost wasn't some weird fever dream. That it…" he looks down at the flower and holds it up to Julie's dad. "That it was all real."

"That'd be some fever dream," Julie's dad chuckles, clapping a hand on Alex's shoulder. For a moment, Willie expects the man's hand to pass right through, but when it doesn't, he cringes. Yet another reminder. "Are you ready to go, then?"

"Yeah, thanks for coming to get me. Can I just have one more minute? I'll meet you at the car?"

"Of course, mijo."

Julie's dad walks away and Alex stares at his headstone. "I miss you, Willie. I hope you run into me again," he says with a light in his voice, and Willie is taken back to their very first meeting. He reaches for the flower and takes it from Alex, bopping his face one more time. Then he passes the flower back, and Alex looks at it with wonderment on his face. "Bye," he murmurs, and then turns to walk towards the parked car waiting for him.

Willie waits until Alex slides into the passenger seat and shuts the door before drawing in a shaky breath and poofing away.

(*)

He can't stay away after that.

He knows Alex is living with Julie now (the Molinas, according to the painted stone next to their porch) so he stops by after school hours to just… see him. Alex, of course, has no idea that he's there, at least not at first. But then Willie starts to get bolder.

Alex will be sat at the dining room table doing his homework and Willie will see him answer a calculus problem wrong. When Alex walks away for a snack, Willie will take a piece of notebook paper out and redo the problem(s). When Alex gets back he looks around with a frown. He clearly isn't sure if it's Willie or not, and Willie's not sure he wants him to know, not until a few weeks in when he finds Alex crying in the studio. He's clearly on the verge of a panic attack, something that Willie'd seen many times, and helped him through multiple times. He's never felt so helpless, watching Alex breaking down and not being able to do anything.

He can, though, he realizes.

He goes into Alex's notebook and grabs a pen.

Hey, hot dog.

Alex drags in a shaky breath when the pen starts moving by itself, and once he reads the message he lets out a laugh that sounds more like a sob. "Willie," he whispers.

What can I do to help?

Alex smiles at the paper. "Nothing, you're—you being here helps."

Do you need to do breathing exercises? You can follow the pen.

"No," Alex shakes his head. "No, I'm good. Just—just talk to me?"

Can't talk. How's writing?

He rolls his eyes. "You know what I meant, asshole."

Guilty.

"How have you been? Where have you been? Why is this the first time you're—that you've actually contacted me?"

I've been around. I'd say correcting your calc homework counts as contacting you. It's me saying "wow you suck at math, which you've told me in the past but now I have hardcore proof."

He can't tell him that he's been trying to work out his unfinished business. He can't give Alex hope where there might not be any—not when there's no promise that Willie will figure out his unfinished business, and not when there's no promise he'll come back to life. He wants Alex to know he's trying—trying for him, but it's not fair. None of this is fair, but that'd be… really unfair to Alex. Especially if he's sitting here hoping for Willie to come back to life and one day he realizes it's been months since he's heard from Willie and Willie has no way to tell him that he's crossed over, but not to the living. It's all… it's too complicated. Willie doesn't even think he'd be able to put it into words.

"Hey, I've been doing pretty good in calc!" Alex yells. "I have a B, thanks."

"Thanks." You're welcome. I'm the reason you have a B.

Alex opens his mouth, then shuts it. "You know, you're probably right. You working out those problems is actually really helpful and helps me understand what I did wrong."

I've always needed to see someone do the math before I got it, maybe you're the same.

"Probably." Alex sighs, running his hands through his hair. He's stopped crying, but his face is still red and puffy, and his breathing is still labored. "How have you been though? I… you can see me, I can't see you. Are you okay?"

I miss you, but that's to be expected. Life Death has been a lot lately. I'm surviving okay though.

"Is there anything I can do for you?" Alex asks, voice genuine. Willie bites his lip. God, he—this is why he fell in love with this boy. Even on the verge of a panic attack he wants to help someone else.

No. You being here helps.

"Hey, that's my line."

I'm stealing it.

Alex laughs, and his breath evens out a little bit. "Should have known, you can't be as smooth as me."

I'm sorry, who had the gay panic when we met? And every time we saw each other for literally the next four months? Who RAN AWAY after kissing me? You want to talk about smooth?

"Those were very weak moments in my life, I ask you to forget everything before we started dating and only remember me as charming."

Oh, trust me, the gay panic was very charming, too.

"See, maybe it was all a ploy. My gay panic was me being smooth."

I wouldn't take it that far.

"Too late you already admitted it."

Willie laughs and reaches for Alex's hand, forgetting for just a moment. It passes through the other boy and he grimaces. He draws his hand back and tucks his hair behind his ear, and stares at the paper in front of him.

So what's it like recording an album? Everything you ever dreamed of?

"Oh, man, it's so cool," Alex gushes. Words fly out his mouth so fast that Willie struggles to keep up, but he just lets Alex's voice wash over him. The switch has been flipped—Alex is no longer panicking, and Willie's loneliness has ebbed.

It carries on like this for nearly an hour, Willie fills up two and a half sheets of paper, and Alex is careful to fold each one and stick it in his pocket. Willie knows he'll be storing them somewhere in his room. It's what Willie would do, anyways, and in certain regards, Alex and Willie are very similar. He's careful not to reveal too much to Alex, though. He doesn't want Alex to feel guilty, or to cling to hope, or…

He doesn't want to tell Alex he loves him on a sheet of paper. He can't do that to either of them—that'd be giving Alex too much to cling to, and it'd be taking away Willie's dream of telling him face to face. So when it's time for them to say goodbye (Alex looks at the clock, frowning. "The band is gonna be here in ten minutes for practice.") Willie simply scribbles down I'll see you around, hot dog. Alex's face goes soft, and Willie can't stop staring at it.

He wishes he could stay for band practice, but he can't face Julie. He can't, not when it'd break him to be able to talk with her and not the one person he really wants to talk to. He also thinks it might be too hard on Alex, to see Julie see Willie, and know that he can't. It'd be too hard on both of them, so once Alex says goodbye, he poofs away. He ends up on the streets of Hollywood and looks around. He sets his skateboard on the ground and skates off, aimlessly.

He has nowhere to go, nowhere to be.

(*)

Willie keeps correcting his calc homework, but now Alex knows who it is and starts thanking him. They have a few more half-written, half-spoken conversations over the next few months, but Willie tries to limit them so Alex doesn't get too attached.

(He laughs as he thinks that, understanding that Alex has always been attached, and interacting with him is only encouraging that. But Willie can't stay away, okay?)

He sees Luke and Reggie some, after all, the boys spend a lot of time in the studio together, especially when Julie is hanging out with Flynn. Willie never talks to Alex at these times, but sometimes he'll speak out loud, answer parts of the conversation that the guys are having, even though he knows they can't hear him.

(Yeah, okay, he's dangerously attached, too.)

He avoids Julie at all costs, he doesn't want her to know, and he knows Alex hasn't told any of them because Alex has said he hasn't told any of them, so. Willie believes him and knows why. Because Alex knows Julie would ask Willie to let Alex move on, and… honestly, neither Alex or Willie are ready for that.

"Technically you're still my boyfriend," Alex says one day. "We never broke up."

It's almost our two year anniversary.

"Yeah," Alex nods. "Two more months. God, it's been nine months without you?"

Not technically without me. I've been around a lot.

"It's been nine months since I last saw you," he amends. He rubs his eyes. "That's too damn long."

It's been nine months since I've held your hand. :(

Alex shakes his head. "I always felt bad for Julie and Luke, but… I never… it never clicked how hard it must have been before she could touch us. At least she could see and talk to us, though. Why can't I have her powers?"

Would her powers really be worth it? Because I can tell you that it SUCKS being able to see you but not being able to touch you. It's torture.

"Maybe you only say that because you've never had to sit alone talking to a piece of notebook paper before," Alex shoots back, but he's smiling.

He's been doing that a lot lately. Smiling. Willie knows it's because of him—he knows Alex and it's not hard to put two and two together. It's hard to miss the way Alex physically brightens every time he knows Willie is there, and the way he reaches for calculus homework before anything else, and leaves his calculus out sitting next to him when he's working on all of his other homework, as if calling for Willie. It works, too, most of the time. When Willie's not out trying to resolve his unfinished business, he's around the Molina household, avoiding Julie.

That had created an issue—Alex quickly realized that Willie disappeared whenever Julie came around, so he stopped hanging around Julie as much. Julie had tried apologizing for "whatever I did, Alex, I'm so sorry." Alex had to patiently tell her that it was nothing—he was just dealing with some personal problems and he ran away from the guys, too. She had tried to offer help, but he said he dealt better with problems on his own, which Willie laughed at when Alex recounted the conversation because Alex was helpless dealing with his issues alone. He told him as much and Alex flipped off the air in front of him.

This piece of notebook paper is offended. What's so bad about talking to notebook paper?

"I can't kiss a sheet of notebook paper," Alex points out. "Well—technically I could. Don't think it'd measure up to kissing my boyfriend, though."

Willie grins. It's impossible, and he knows he can't let it go on like this for much longer—it's been nine months of trying to figure out his unfinished business and he feels no closer than when he started—but it feels so good to be Alex's boyfriend still. He puts the pen to the piece of paper, and then picks it back up because—no. He still can't tell Alex he loves him. He's planning to leave Alex a note once it hits a year, telling him goodbye and asking him to move on. He'll be doubling his efforts to try and solve his unfinished business in the mean time, but he thinks—how cruel would it be to leave Alex with the knowledge that he lost someone who loved him, too? Because Alex has said he loved Willie—back Alex's grave he had asked if Willie loved him too and.

You wouldn't be able to kiss air, either.

"I could certainly try."

Willie shakes his head fondly, and then hears the studio door open. Alex lunges forward and grabs the pen out of the air, but it's pointless because when Willie turns around, it's Julie standing there. Her eyes are wide and her jaw is dropped.

"Hey, Julie," Alex greets. "What're you doing?"

"I left a song out here that I wanted to show Flynn," she says. "What are you doing?" She aims her voice like she's talking to Alex, but she's staring at Willie.

"Homework," Alex answers.

"Really?" she quirks an eyebrow.

"What else would I be doing?"

"I don't know, care to tell me?" This time, it's one hundred percent directed at Willie, and he flinches.

Alex frowns, still playing the part. "I don't—"

"Not you," Julie cuts Alex off.

"Julie…" Alex sighs. "Just leave him be."

"Can I talk to you outside?" There's no question who she's talking to.

Willie gets to his feet and walks out the door. Alex glares at her from where he's sitting on the couch, and flops back on to the cushions, crossing his arms in a pout.

Julie turns around and marches out to the driveway and whirls on Willie when he gets out there. "This isn't fair to him."

"None of this is fair, Julie," Willie says. "We're dealing the only way we know how."

"He—he said he was moving on. He said he was doing better!"

"He… technically is doing better," Willie says. "Maybe not moving on, but—"

"Willie, you need to let him go," Julie frowns.

"That's not your choice to make," Alex's voice comes from the studio doors. He pushes the door open and steps out. "I get you want to help, but leaving me and Willie be would be the best thing you could do to help."

"Alex…" Julie whispers. "It's not fair to you."

"You think I don't know that? You think the fact that Willie is dead and I'm alive has escaped my notice? Because it hasn't. I have to talk to a sheet of notebook paper to have a conversation with him. I have to guess when he'll appear, and hope each day that he will. I don't get to see him smile, or look at me, and I can't hold his hand, and I can't feel him against me. But despite that, I'm happy with him. Isn't that what you should be focusing on?"

Julie sucks in a breath. "Alex—"

"Julie," Alex cuts her off. "I understand where you're coming from. The amount of times I told Luke falling for you was a horrible decision, but he reminded me it wasn't a decision. You can't pick and choose who you love, and… I'm willing to go through this for Willie, okay? You can't protect me from everything, and I'd never ask you to. I am asking you to leave this be."

She looks away from Alex, and turns to Willie. "Are you really okay with how this is going?"

"I… For now," Willie answers. "I've been trying to figure out my unfinished business to see if I'll come back to life, too. It's all I've been doing when I'm not with Alex for the last nine months. If I can't figure it out within the year since Alex came back to life I am going to stop this, okay Julie? I don't want him to hurt. I'll tell him to move on, I'll tell him that I can't do it anymore, but until then, I want to be there for him. These may be our last months together," Willie whispers. "Please don't take that from us."

Julie sighs, long and loud, but her shoulders drop. "Fine," she says, throwing her hands up. "Whatever. I—I just don't want you guys hurting."

"If you think Willie being here hurts me, clearly you don't remember you and Luke in the early days."

"I do, though. I remember how much it sucked when I reached out and my hand went right through him. I remember thinking that we could never be together—even once I could touch you guys, it still… sucked. Alex, I do remember the early days, and that's why I just… I just don't want you hurting. And… falling in love with a ghost when you're human… it hurts."

"But it's also worth it," Alex reminds her. "You turned down Nick, even when you couldn't touch Luke. Because you knew it was worth it. Even thinking you were going to lose Luke, you still chose him. And I'm choosing Willie, even though I know I could lose him. Even though it sucks that he's a ghost. Willie is worth it."

Julie looks at Willie. "Is this worth it?"

Willie nods. "I might have to say goodbye soon, but it's not like we're making bad memories. Alex and I won't live to regret the time we had together if this doesn't work out. And it might take us time to move on, but this will never not be worth it."

Julie narrows her eyes. "Does he know?"

"Know? About the unfinished business?" Willie asks. "No. I don't want to get his hopes up."

"Good. Keep it that way."

"Keep what, what way?" Alex demands, looking between Julie and the space of air she's looking at.

"Something I can't tell you," Julie says, still looking at Willie. "Willie wants to keep it quiet, too. Hopefully I can tell you one day, but until that day comes, it's mine and Willie's secret. It's for the better."

"Didn't we just decide you don't know what's best for me?" Alex huffs.

"Not in this case," Willie says.

"Willie says 'not in this case,'" Julie translates. "Just… be careful both of you, alright? You know I love you both, right?"

Alex leans back against the studio door and crosses his arms, frowning. "I know, Jules. I love you, too. And I appreciate your thoughts and wanting me to be okay, but, really. We're fine."

"Yeah," Willie says. "If I can't figure out my unfinished business I'll stop by and say goodbye to you, too."

"Alright," Julie nods. "Let me just grab that song and then you two can get back to your… date."

Willie smiles at her. He can feel on his face that it's not a full smile, that it's sad, and that it's not reaching his eyes, but… he is sad. Vocalizing his plan, to Julie no less, has made it permanent. He really only has three months to figure out his unfinished business.

It doesn't feel like enough time. Looking back to Alex, he knows it's not.

He'll never be ready to say goodbye.

(*)

His time is up.

It's been an entire year, almost to the day (he gave himself one extra week) since Alex came back to life, and Willie is here to leave Alex. He's kneeling next to where Alex is sleeping on the studio's couch, looking so relaxed and content, and Willie… he's glad he prepared beforehand. He pulls the piece of notebook paper out of his pocked and places it on the table, Alex's name in bold pen on the top.

He wrote his note before he came to see Alex, knowing that he won't have the courage to write it down when he's looking at the other boy. Especially not if Alex is watching him. No, that's… he could never do that, not when he could see the look on Alex's face. So, the idea is, in and out, leave the note somewhere for Alex to find, and never look back.

The last part is going to be the hardest.

However, he's promised himself that he won't go looking for Alex or the others anymore. Not after tonight. He's letting Alex move on, but he needs to let himself move on, too. Alex will find someone else to love, and Willie… if nothing else, he should give himself the chance to find someone else to love. Not that he'll ever really feel confident again, knowing that one of them could cross over at any minute, leaving him just as heartbroken as he is now. But… it was worth it with Alex. He can't imagine how it ever wouldn't be worth it, even as he has to say goodbye now. Alex will always be worth it, and he can't be sorry for holding on as long as he did. The time he got to spend with him has given him enough courage to say goodbye… just… there's one more thing he wants to say, that he couldn't say in his note.

"I love you," Willie whispers, reaching down to stroke Alex's hair, but freezing before he could. He's not in the right mindset to have his hand pass through Alex, not again, not right now, when he feels the cramping in his chest from the pain of this moment. Not when it's been over a year and he still hasn't figured out his unfinished business. Not when he doesn't think he ever will. There's so much he's tried, so much he's done, and he's not sure what more there is to do. He's held on to this for far too long, and he thinks it's time to let go. He doesn't want his last memory of Alex to be his hand disappearing through the boy's body. "I'm so sorry I couldn't do better for you."

There's a clench in his stomach as he thinks about all he's gone through this past year. Practicing all the moves he wanted to perfect before he died. Returning to his childhood home and making connections with his family, apologizing for leaving them, apologizing for not being a better son. Visiting his older sister who ran away when he was younger. Tracking down the person who killed him from all of the newspaper articles and forgiving them. Going to his college and sitting in on all of the classes that he skipped out on when he was a student. Going back to Caleb's club and apologizing to all those he led there. Visiting the graves of all of his family members that he never got to say goodbye to. Visiting his grave and forgiving himself for his mistake.

Yet here he stands, still a ghost.

Truthfully, he didn't care if he crossed over to the living or crossed over to heaven. He just… didn't want to be here anymore. In this limbo between the living and the dead. Skating the streets of Hollywood was fun, but with Caleb gone, with the Ghost Club in his past, with Alex living… skating was all he had, and it wasn't enough to hold him to this… "life" that he was living. He just wanted it to be over—he just wanted to move on. He doesn't care what that means anymore. Just… not like this. Not this. He can't be stuck like this for eternity. He can't.

He shoves himself to his feet in a rush and walks to the door, forcing himself to not look back. It's time to move on—time to let Alex move on. Like Alex says, it's not fair, and Willie's just making it harder on both of them. If he hasn't figured out his unfinished business by now, he's not going to. Maybe he already missed his opportunity, maybe it's something that's waiting for him in the future, maybe it's—

Ow.

Willie looks up from where he landed on the floor, and sends a glare at the door. There's a noise from up in the loft and Reggie's laugh sounds through the studio. "Dude, did you just walk into the door? I know you can do dumb things when you just wake up, but come on."

Willie looks up at the loft and blinks.

Wait.

He walked into the door.

"Reggie?" he calls tentatively.

The boy pops his head out of the fence in the loft, jaw dropped. "Willie?"

"You can—you can see me?" Willie breathes, turning around on the floor and looking between Alex and Reggie. Thing one: he couldn't walk through the door. Thing two: Reggie could hear him walk into the door. Thing three: Reggie could see him.

"Alex!" Reggie screeches, throwing a box of picks down from the loft and at the couch. "Alex!"

Alex flinches when the box of picks lands right next to his head and groans. "Dude, what the fuck?" he asks, picking up the box and looking at it. "Why the fuck?"

"I'm sorry, but you're going to love me in a second because sit your butt up and look at the door."

"What are you talking about?" Alex demands as he sits up and rubs at his eyes. He looks up at the loft first, but Reggie's head peaking down at the door must interest him, because Willie looks away from Reggie at the same time Alex does, and their eyes meet. "Willie?" he whispers.

"Alex," he breathes out with a laugh. Alex is up and off the couch and striding towards him in one motion, dropping next to him with a loud thud of his knees hitting the concrete. Willie reaches towards him cautiously. He curls a hand around Alex's face, tracing his cheekbone with his thumb and laughs. "Oh my god."

Alex lunges forward and tackles Willie into a hug, holding him tight as they both start to cry.

"Hold on, hold on!" Reggie wails, footsteps thundering as he rushes down the loft stairs. "Remember, I can't poof out anymore, and I don't want to see what's going to happen next, just give me a minute to—okay, carry on," he finishes, and then the studio door clicks shut and Alex crashes his mouth to Willie's with no hesitance.

Willie gasps, and takes a moment to adjust to the feeling of Alex's mouth on his again, but after a moment, he pushes back into Alex and gives back as good as he's getting. It's easy to fall back into this, really. It's not like Willie forgot how Alex kisses, and he highly doubts Alex has forgotten how Willie kisses, so it's easy for the two of them to give and take, to push and pull. There's no learning involved, just coming home.

Alex's breath hitches and he pulls away quickly, shoving his face into Willie's neck. "Oh my god," Willie hears him whisper. "Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit. Please tell me I'm not dreaming?" he begs.

"You're not dreaming," Willie grins, holding Alex tighter.

"Yeah, but that's something dream you would say," Alex says, pulling away from Willie's neck and looking into his eyes. Alex's eyes are red and the area around them is swelling, and Willie swears he's never looked more beautiful. He lifts a hand and cups Alex's face. "Punch me."

"Wh—babe, no," he laughs, wiping the tears from Alex's face. "Punch yourself."

He's not expecting Alex to pull back and smash his fist into his forearm. "That wasn't hard enough, you've gotta—wait. My knees. The concrete hurt them. Can you dream pain? Is that a thing? Oh my god, I don't know enough about dreams, I—"

"Alex," Willie murmurs, leaning forward. "You're not dreaming. You've always trusted me, yeah? Trust me now." He presses his lips gently to Alex's, and feels Alex's lips quirk up in a smile.

He pulls back. "If I wake up from this you're so dead."

"Well, technically, if this was a dream, you'd be completely right. But right now I'm so alive." Willie pauses. "I think? I couldn't walk through the door and now you guys can see me and touch me and—"

Alex cuts him off with a kiss. After a few seconds he releases Willie's lips and sits back and closes a hand around Willie's wrist, pressing two fingers to where Willie's pulse point would be. Alex stares at his hand in amazement, and another smile spreads on his face. "You're alive."

"I am?" he asks, breathless.

"Yes, dude. What was? What was your unfinished business?"

"I don't—I don't know. The last thing I did was visit you. I've been trying to figure it out for the last year but nothing worked. Then… Wait."

"What?"

Willie feels blood rush to his face and wow isn't that a feeling. But, no. Not the point right now. He twists his wrist in Alex's hold and slips his hand down to hold Alex's. "The last thing I did was, um, tell you I love you."

"Falling in love was your unfinished business?"

"No," Willie shakes his head. "Otherwise I would have come back like, two years ago. Unless—did I really have to say it?"

"Unfinished business is weird, we were technically signed with Destiny Management for two months before we actually signed the papers, but I didn't actually come back until I signed the legit contract," Alex explains. He smiles at Willie, and then his expression drops. "Wait. You're in love with me?"

Willie feels his face soften. "I've been in love with you."

"Was it—was it you at my grave? A few months ago I—I know I could have asked you when you started writing to me but I was so scared—"

"It was me," Willie nods. "I can't believe you tried to suggest I didn't care—"

"I didn't—I couldn't—I just—everything sucked, I was doubting everything and the further I got away from you the more I was convinced that you didn't feel the same. I mean, you hadn't come to visit once—"

"I saw you at the skate park before that." He squeezes Alex hand. He lifts up their entwined fingers and presses a kiss to the back of Alex's hand. "You looked… you were so sad, and it hurt so much to talk to you. At first I thought it was better for both of us if I didn't… encourage it. I lost that plan, though. I was trying to figure out my unfinished business but I just wanted you to be happy."

"You make me happy."

Willie grins. "You make me happy too, hot dog."

Alex blushes and goes back to hiding his face in Willie's shoulder.

"Hey, have you tried hot dogs since you came back to life?"

"No," Alex laughs, then moves his head up to press a kiss to Willie's collarbone. He leans back, away from Willie's body so he can look him in the eyes. "I don't think I ever will."

"Yeah, well I'm stopping at every cross walk, even if the walk sign is on," Willie says. "What kills you makes you reevaluate your life choices."

"What kills you makes you smarter," Alex grins.

"Then why did you need me to help you pass calculus?" Willie teases.

Alex rolls his eyes and shoves at Willie, who reaches forward to grab Alex's bicep to stabilize him. "What are you doing here, man? You haven't been here in almost a month. I've been waiting for you."

Willie bites his lip and looks at the ground. "I was here to say goodbye. I gave myself one year to figure out my unfinished business and then I'd let us both move on. That—that's what I told Julie that night. That's what you couldn't know."

Alex breathes out, staring at Willie without blinking. His eyes start filling with tears and he lets out a mirthless laugh. "Well thank fuck you decided to tell me you loved me."

"Yeah," Willie nods. "Thank fuck."

(*)

They walk into the Molina household hand in hand, Alex murmuring things along the way, and Willie just listening, but mostly reveling in the feel of Alex's hand in his again.

"Ah, mijo!" Julie's dad exclaims happily. "Just in time, I was about to send Reggie out—who's this?"

Alex shifts, squeezes Willie's hand, and draws in a breath. "Ray, this is Willie. He's—do you remember how we told you I was dating a ghost before I came back to life?"

Ray (apparently) nods. "I do."

"This is him."

Ray's eyes narrow. "He came back to life, too?"

"He did. And he doesn't have anywhere to go right now, could he stay, at least in the studio? We'll find his family soon, but—"

"Alex," Ray cuts the boy off. "Of course." He looks to Willie. "Do you like tacos?"

Willie nods slowly. "Yes, sir."

Ray shakes his head. "None of that 'sir' stuff, Willie. Just Ray works. Let me go find another chair, and you can join us for dinner, bueno?"

"I—thank you," Willie says, genuinely taken aback by Ray's openness.

"Alright, the rest of the family is in the dining room, why don't you two go join them, I'm just going to grab a chair out of my office," he tells them, and then disappears around the corner.

Alex squeezes Willie's hand and smiles down at him. "Ready?"

Willie laughs. "For what?"

Alex grins and walks forward, tugging Willie along behind him. They walk through the kitchen and Willie can see the entire group as they make their way to the table—Julie's little brother (Carlos, he thinks) is sitting at the head of the table, talking rapidly with Reggie, who is sitting with his back to Willie and Alex. Julie's friend (Flynn, he's sure of that one) is sitting next to Reggie and he can tell from her posture that she's bent over her phone. Beside her, there's an open chair squeezed into the small space which Willie assumes is meant for Alex. Across the table, with their heads ducked together and talking in quiet tones are Julie and Luke, completely unaware to their presence. At least until Alex clears his throat.

Everyone looks at them, then. Reggie and Flynn turn in their seats, and Julie and Luke look up, confused. Carlos stares at Willie with a calculating look, and—

"Oh my god!" Julie screeches, shoving out of her chair so fast that she knocks it back into the window. She runs around the table and into the kitchen before launching herself at Willie. "You did it!"

Willie laughs but once Alex drops his hand, he holds on to her tightly. Despite being able to interact with her face to face for the last two and a half years, he's never got to touch her. She became one of his closest friends, but he'd never been able to give her a hug, and they're both tactile people. The entire group is, really. So he squeezes her tighter and breathes in her scent and savors in the feeling of being hugged by her. "I did," he says into her hair. "Thank you for giving me the chance."

"Of course," she says as she pulls away, but her hands don't leave him, just slide down to hold on to his forearms. "What was it?"

Alex grins from next to Willie and leans in to Julie's view. "He had to tell me he loved me."

"It took you guys two years to say I love you?" Luke says, and Willie notices him standing a few feet behind Julie. "Dude—"

"Not all of us say 'I love you' after the first date, Luke," Alex shoots back.

"But two years?"

"We were separated for one of those."

"But two years?"

"Leave them be," Julie tells him, finally dropping Willie's arms and spinning around to face her boyfriend. "It still took you months to work up the courage to ask me out. Willie asked Alex out as soon as he was free from Caleb." Willie wants to tell her that Alex had actually kissed him and ran away before Willie asked the boy out, but with a glance at Alex, who was glaring at him knowingly, he decides to save the story for another time. "At least they've got that sorted out."

Luke rolls his eyes and steps around Julie to clap a hand into Willie's. He bumps their shoulders together and grins, a trademark lopsided Luke grin. "I'm glad to see you, man."

"Me too!" Reggie cries from in back of the group. "Sorry I ran out of the studio on you guys, but I didn't—"

"You knew?" Julie gasps.

"Well, yeah? Why'd you think I ran in from the studio?"

"Considering you grabbed food, we thought you wanted a snack," Flynn says, and Reggie looks like he's considering her words before he shrugs. She turns to Willie. "I'm Flynn. Nice to meet you. I've heard a lot about you."

"Same," Willie says, leaning forward to shake her hand. "We've technically met, but you never got to see me."

"So you were a ghost, too?" Carlos calls from where he's still sitting at the dining room table. Ray is sitting at the other end now, too, having squeezed in another chair on the side where Julie and Luke had been sitting. It was a wheelie computer chair and as soon as Flynn saw it she dove for it with a cry of 'dibs,' sending her and the chair flying back into the wall.

"I was," Willie confirms, following the rest of the group as they make their way back to the dining room.

"Cool," Carlos breathes.

"Yeah, super cool," Julie rolls her eyes, ruffling her brother's hair. "Dying is so cool."

"Hey, he's alive again," Carlos shoots back. "So I can say it's cool."

"Can't argue that logic," Reggie grins.

"I also agree it's cool," Alex says, and sends Willie a soft smile.

"Yeah, yeah, we know, you're happy to have your boyfriend back," Flynn waves her hand through the air as she scooches back to the table. "But can we get to the tacos now?"

"I hope you like tacos," Luke says, reaching for a hard shell with one hand and the taco meat with the other. "Because they're gonna be your first taste of food in—wait, when did you die?"

"Seven, eight years ago. 2015."

"How old are you?" Julie asks.

"With or without the ghost years?"

"Without. That's what's going on your birth certificate."

"I was a month shy of turning twenty. I was born a month before you three," he says, nodding at each of the boys individually, "died in '95."

"It's a good thing we died, then," Alex says, waiting patiently for the rest of the table to make their tacos before he makes his own. "Never would have met you, otherwise. Or if I did…"

"We don't think about that," Luke says. "Otherwise we have to talk about how much older I am that Julie and that—that doesn't work."

"How much older than Julie are you?" Carlos asks.

Luke turns a mock glare on the kid. "Did you not hear what I just said? We don't think about that."

Reggie leans towards Carlos and stage whispers, "twenty six years."

Carlos looks absolutely gleeful. "Ha! Dad, did you know that?"

Ray sighs. "I did, Carlos. Eat your food."

"You're old," Carlos hisses at Luke.

"You're a child," Luke taunts back. Even through their tones, Willie can tell this group is a family. Luke is Carlos' older sister's boyfriend, yes, but his role as a pseudo brother to Carlos is just as important as his role as Julie's boyfriend. Reggie clearly adores the kid and Willie's sure their relationship is even closer than that of Carlos and Luke's. He looks at Alex, who is looking down the table at Carlos with fond eyes, and realizes that even Alex is this kid's brother. Alex is Julie's brother. He's Ray's son. He's not just living here, he's a piece of this family, and Willie is at a meet the family dinner, even if he already knew more than half of them. His eyes flick to Ray and suddenly he wants to make a good impression.

Alex must be able to feel him tense up, so he reaches over and lays a hand on Willie's thigh. He leans in. "What's wrong?"

Willie looks at him, looks around the table again, and settles on Ray again, who is giving him a look that's nearly as concerned as the one on Alex's face.

It's been ten minutes and he thinks he's a part of this family, too.

He smiles at Ray, who returns it, and then Willie turns to Alex. "Nothing. I'm good. But hey, I love you."

Alex smiles. He presses a kiss to Willie's cheek. "I love you, too."

#willex fic #willex fanfic #alex mercer x willie #willex #jatp fic #my writing

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stylesvolume94 · 4 years

Text

Keep Your Eyes On Me : pt1

Nobody ever knows when something terrible is going to happen; never truly knows. They can have a hunch or very accurate guess, but not a definite answer. Because something could go extremely right at the last second, or that bad thing could be a blessing in disguise.

This is Brayley's way of thinking. She likes to think the world is a happy place, just misguided; people are not born evil but just need someone to love. Bray never thinks that something unfortunate would happen to her just because or just out of the blue.

Her mother became extremely sick one day, and a trip to the hospital revealed she was in the early stages of cancer. A bad thing happened, but that visit caught the sickness in time, and now her mother is twelve years cancer-free.

Her dream college declined her, the only one she applied to, and by the time she found out, it was too late to apply to another school. A bad thing happened, but that gap year was nothing but productive and adventurous for her.

Bryce, her best friend, got knocked out during his soccer match, and she was his emergency contact who had to visit him in the ER. A bad thing happened, but that's where she met her then-boyfriend, Harry, who accidentally put him there.

Bad things happen, but nobody could ever just predict it. Brayley has stood by this way of thinking her entire life. How could someone just know? They can't; she refuses to believe it.

Of course, until that way of thinking is challenged.

------

"I have to go to the bank," Brayley muttered.

She got a snappy reply. "Then go."

"Seriously, Harry? I'm too tired to fight right now, okay? Please, could you just drive me? I'll be two seconds."

"It takes you five minutes just to get out of the car," Harry grumbled, "It'll take two hours, not two seconds."

"Harry. Please."

At that, Harry huffs a dramatic amount to show Brayley how tired and irritable he was. Nonetheless, he rises from his spot on the couch to retrieve his jacket and boots from the closet by the front door. Brayley followed behind her husband, waddling down the front steps of their walk-up apartment cautiously, as she was eight months pregnant.

When Harry and Brayley got married, they wanted to try for a baby, but they agreed to wait several months to adjust to their new lives and get every bit of paperwork out of the way before bringing a life into the world. Two months later, the pair found out they were four weeks pregnant. Brayley was ecstatic, and Harry was...happy.

He was happy, he'd always wanted to be a father, but the timing didn't feel right. He knew it was his fault that she was with child as she couldn't necessarily do it all herself. Harry just wished he had been more careful. Ever since the baby was announced to the pair, something in their lives seemed off.

Brayley feels alone more often than not, and she hates it. She keeps telling herself that this is the bad with which she is familiar. This is the bad, and the baby's birth in only a few weeks will be the good. She and Harry will be like they used to before the announcement, and he'll finally see how big a blessing their child is.

Brayley awoke with a headache, a sharp pain in her lower back, and a space beside her in bed. Standing under the warm water, she paused mid-shampoo. Brayley felt weird; she felt off. She didn't sense anything wrong physically, but she had a bad feeling.

Something terrible was going to happen. Brayley was positive.

------

"Do you need me to go in with you?" Harry didn't look at his wife as he pulled into a parking space at their banking facility; he kept his eyes forward.

"If you don't mind," Brayley mumbled, "I want to play it safe in case something happens."

"Like what?"

"I don't know...something bad maybe. I don't want to risk anything happening and not have you there with me." At this point, she was desperate. Brayley needed her husband with her; she didn't feel right.

"Since when do you feel that something bad is going to happen?" Harry looked over at his wife for the first time since they left the apartment.

"I don't know. I've never felt this way before, but I just had a feeling when I was in the shower." Bray glanced at Harry through her lashes and curly brown hair.

Harry furrowed his brows at the concern in his wife's voice. "Okay." He acknowledged, undoing his belt and stepping out of the car to open Brayley's door and help her into the building.

------

"How are you today, Mrs. Styles?" The couple's teller was a young woman of pale skin, green eyes, and auburn hair. Brayley always thought she would make a great actress or performer of some type; her features were too beautiful only to be seen in a bank.

"Fine, Beatrice, thank you. And yourself?" Brayley heard Harry sigh at the conversation-starter that she always used, being far too polite to answer with only the one word.

"Great, thanks! Mr. Styles." The fair woman nodded in Harry's direction as she waited for Brayley's information to load on the monitor in front of her.

"Beatrice." His reply was short and chipped; he wasn't in the mood for an hour-long visit.

"Okay, Mrs. Styles, what can I do for you this afternoon?"

"I had a few questions about my savings account and our joint one. I was wondering..."

Harry had drifted off at the mention of questions; knowing his wife, there were plenty more than 'just a few.' His eyes started to wander around the open space, enjoying how bright and spacious the room was. Harry thinks being cooped up at home, working long hours, and repeating was doing more damage than good, so he was happy to see faces other than just one in particular.

He noticed the windowpanes needed cleaning. The giant rug in the waiting area had its corners dangerously folded over, and finally, that a way-too loud man was scolding his teller for not allowing him to cash a void check.

Harry turned to watch the steady flow of people enter and exit the building. At this point, he had wholly drowned out his wife, though he knows by now that she was on her fifth question while Beatrice was too invested in her job to care.

Harry liked to people watch, so it was only a matter of time before he began observing the crowd. He noticed mostly men in suits walking in and women with young children. Oh, in came a woman with a dog in a stroller; odd.

But what caught Harry's attention was a group of six men in all black attire wearing baseball caps and sunglasses. Two of the men were holding deflated duffle bags, and the other four had their hands in the jacket pockets.

Harry's breath hitched, and his heart skipped at the looks of them, they didn't seem right. The men didn't yell, didn't order for people to get on the ground as Harry expected; they simply walked in and examined the space.

One of the men, substantially built and incredibly tall, removed his hands from his jacket to scratch at the stubble on his chin. That's when Harry noticed the dark, seemingly hard looking object poking from the man's waist. A gun.

The men still hadn't made a noise; they weren't drawing attention to themselves, and Harry wondered; if they were a threat, had they come up with a plan? Were they going to hurt someone, rob the place, scare people into submission?

He wasn't sure. But one thing he was one-hundred percent certain of, was that his wife was next to him in this potentially dangerous situation...and she was carrying his unborn child. When this truth crossed Harry's mind, he slowly turned to his wife, interrupting her question about mortgage payments.

"Oh, okay. So, if, in say, five years from now, we successfully own a house, how would-"

"Brayley." Harry murmured, trying his best to keep his voice low but imperative.

Brayley looked up at her husband. "Sorry, H, I'm almost done. I just have a couple more-"

"Brayley." She immediately stopped talking at the seriousness in his voice. Looking up into his green eyes, she saw fear and urgency flood through them and realized his chest was moving faster than she remembered. Her eyebrows drew together.

Right as Bray was about to ask what was wrong, Harry leaned forward gently, eyes trained on hers, and whispered to his girl in a voice so low, only she could hear, "Keep your eyes on me."

#harrystyles #harry #styles #harrystylesimagines #harrystylesmasterlist

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therainroguefanfiction · 4 years

Text

⁂ In WAR✘ and LOVE ♥ (Kei Tsukishima) First Love

📑 Table of Contents

Genre: Friendship, Slice of Life, Comedy ☁

Word Count: 3,597 ☁

Pairing: Reader x Tsukishima ☁

World: Haikyuu!! ☁

Author’s Note: This is my very first Haikyuu fic. Am I nervous? Yup. Am I excited? You bet! If enough people like this one shot, I might make a part two with a better ending, I don’t know lol

WARNING: This fic features a reader that has just graduated high school and a first-year. If you have a problem with this or this makes you uncomfortable, please do not read.

━━━━━━༻🌧️༺━━━━━━

You stepped up to the door of Karasuno’s gym, hearing the sound of squeaking shoes and hands slapping volleyballs. The sun was nearly set behind you, casting rays of orange and red across the earth. You were supposed to have arrived an hour earlier, but the train was delayed because a woman went into labor during the journey.

You slid the door open and stepped into the brightly lit gym where the volleyball team was practicing. ‘Hmm, looks like they just finished a three-on-three,’

Kiyoko, the team’s manager, was the first to notice you, tapping Daichi’s shoulder before pointing at you. He grinned when his brown eyes fell on you and he jogged over. “Y/N, you’re here! I was beginning to think you weren’t coming.”

“Sorry, Dai, there was an issue on the train and we got held up.”

He quirked a brow, resting his hand on his hip as he used his father tone. “Did you hurt someone again?”

You scoffed at the implication of his words. “That was one time, Dai, and the pervert deserved it for trying to feel up that middle school girl,”

“Yes, yes, a modern-day hero.” He teased. “And it happened at least three times that I’ve seen.”

Before you could respond to him, you suddenly saw a blur and felt a body slam into your own, arms wrapped around you and pinning your arms to your sides. “Y/N!!”

“Tanaka,” you grunted in annoyance. “Let me go before I punch you in the spleen.”

“Hah?!” His aura darkened and his arms tightened. “You think you can take me just ’cause you’re older? Let’s go! Here and now! I’ll bea -”

Daichi grabbed the back of the second-year’s shirt, yanking him off of you. “Knock it off!”

“Y/N started it!”

“Real mature,” you rolled your eyes, fixing the t-shirt you wore.

“What are you doing here, Y/N?” Suga questioned curiously, tilting his head to the side.

‘Ah, precious Suga. As adorable as ever,’ You offered him a shrug, nodding toward Daichi. “No idea. Ask your captain,”

By now, the rest of the team had gathered around, most of whom you recognized, but there were four faces you had never seen before and you assumed they were first-years. None of them really caught your attention as anything spectacular, but the tall blonde did stand out among them – he had to be six feet tall, easy.

“I was hoping you could lend the team a hand until we can find a coach,” Daichi confessed, rubbing the back of his neck.

“That seems pretty counter-productive considering I know nothing about volleyball,” you responded blankly.

“True,” he grinned. “But I could really use a hand keeping these guys in line.”

Now that had you intrigued. “With violence?” you grinned, a glint in your eyes.

Suga sweatdropped, patting your shoulder. “They can’t play in matches if you hurt them, Y/N…”

You clicked your tongue. “So I don’t break nothin’. Easy,”

“You missed the point…”

The orange-haired first year approached you like a curious animal, looking up at you with wide, brown eyes. His head tilted to the side like a cat. “Who are you?”

‘Damn, this guy is almost as short as Yuu,’ You hummed, leaning forward to flick his forehead. “Didn’t your mama ever teach you it’s rude to ask who someone is before introducing yourself first?”

He huffed, his cheeks expanding like a chipmunk. Was this kid the human embodiment of the animal kingdom? “Shouyou Hinata,”

“Good boy,” you ruffled his orange hair, chuckling when his cheeks darkened.

“I’m not a dog!”

“Meh. Humans, dogs. Same thing.”

“They’re not even close, Y/N…” Suga facepalmed.

Daichi ran his hand over his face, second-guessing his decision to ask you here. “You haven’t changed at all.” He shook his head, turning his attention to the four first-years. “Guys, this is Y/N. They graduated last year and they are a close family friend. I suggest not messing with them unless you have a death wish.”

As if to prove his point, you offered them a sadistic grin, your aura darkening. “If you’re a masochist, we’ll get along quite well!”

Three of the four stepped back with fearful expressions but the tall one kept his ground, golden eyes narrowed as he observed you. At first glance, he didn’t seem at all affected by your intimidating stance, but you didn’t miss the bead of sweat rolling down his cheek.

You hummed in amusement. ‘This guy has a pretty good poker face,’ “Well? Are the rest of you going to introduce yourselves? Or should I just call you thing 1, thing 2, and thing 3?”

The navy-haired boy stepped forward, a mixture of intimidation and annoyance swirling in his dark eyes. “Tobio Kageyama,”

You nodded your head in thanks, turning to the mousy brunette with freckles. His cheeks burned under your gaze and he quickly straightened his back, staring up at the ceiling. “Tadashi Yamaguchi, nice to meet you, senpai!”

“I’m not your senpai,” you stated blankly.

“Oh,” Tanaka suddenly started laughing, clutching his middle. “Right, you’re Y/N-san now, ain’t ya?!” He laughed harder as if he has just told the funniest joke in the history of mankind.

You rolled your eyes at the man-child before turning your attention to the blonde. “How ’bout you, beanpole?”

For a moment, he just stared at you with narrowed eyes. Whatever he was feeling, he was disciplined enough to keep the emotion from his face. And then he turned, walking away without a word.

Tanaka decided to feel offended for you and shot forward, only to be held back by Daichi. “You disrespectful lil shit, get back here!”

“Do you have to be so damn dramatic about everything?” you pinched the bridge of your nose. “If he wants to be an anti-social shit, let ’em. I don’t really care either way.”

His annoyed expression morphed into one of adoration as he clapped his hands together, nodding enthusiastically. “You’re so cool, Y/N-san!”

“Cut the -san, shit!” You snapped. ‘Christ, I forgot this guy changes emotions more than I change my damn underwear,’

“It’s time to clean up for the night, guys!” Takeda entered the gym with his typical goofy grin, which only widened when he saw you. “Y/N! It’s been so long, how are you doing?”

For the first time since you arrived on the school grounds, you offered the man a soft, genuine smile, something that surprised the first-years, one in particular. Since arriving, you had offered them only blank or aggressive expressions and, for some reason, seeing you make such a soft, kind expression took them all by surprise. Seeing your smile struck Tsukishima in a way he wasn’t used to and he paused to observe you, he felt his heart pick up speed.

A strange feeling was bubbling within his stomach and he couldn’t find a logical explanation for what it was. More than anything, he found himself feeling annoyed that you were being so kind and gentle with Takeda when he had gotten the opposite.

He did not like where this was going. Not one bit.

━━━━━━༻🌧️༺━━━━━━

You glared at the arm wrapped around your own, dragging you down the street at an ungodly hour. Since you lived in Tokyo, Tanaka had been kind enough to volunteer his house for you to stay in while you were assisting the team. His family didn’t even question it, they just accepted you with open arms and far too much hugging. Living with him also meant that he was there to make sure you were awake by four-thirty so he could drag you with him to the school for morning practice.

“Will you stop dragging your feet? We’re gonna be late!”

“The fuck you mean late? It’s barely five in the morning, bro.”

“Exactly! Daichi should be unlocking the gym any minute now!”

You groaned, turning your gaze to the sky, which was still dark since the sun hadn’t yet risen. “This is going to be a long day…”

He laughed loudly, scaring away a pair of birds that had been resting on the power lines above. When the two of you arrived, the captain and Suga were already there and working on setting up the net and bringing out the balls. Hinata and Kageyama arrived soon after, followed by the rest of the team.

While they started on their warmups, you let yourself fall against the stage, sliding down to the wooden floor with a tired grunt. Kiyoko sent you a concerned look but knew better than to bother you. For the next hour, everyone left you alone and you were able to block out the loud noises they were making, your eyes sliding closed. Mornings had never been your strong suit, and you had gotten into trouble on more than one occasion for showing up late to school. You were just beginning to doze off when a loud, sharp yell disturbed you.

“Watch out!”

And then you felt a sharp pain in your face, almost as if someone had just spiked a volleyball into it. The gym went deadly silent as the ball fell to the ground, bouncing a couple times before rolling away. Your nose burned, a thick stripe of blood leaking from your left nostril.

Suga was the first to react, rushing toward you with a concerned look painted on his face. “Y/N! Are you okay? You’re bleeding, come on I’ll take you to the nurse.”

You didn’t complain as he pulled you to your feet and out of the gym. The cold wind nipped at your skin as you headed across the walkway into the main building, Suga keeping a strong grip on your arm as if afraid you would fall over if he released you.

The nurse was the same young man that had been working there when you attended the school, a navy-haired man with eyes brighter than your future. He turned his attention to the two of you when you entered, quirking a brow.

“I knew you were gonna be held back,”

Your eye twitched, sending a wave of pain through your face. “I wasn’t held back, you jerk.”

He hummed as if he didn’t believe you. “Have a seat and tell me what happened. Another fight?”

“Y/N got hit in the face with a volleyball,” Suga explained with worry, helping you sit on the side of the stiff bed.

Despite trying to keep himself professional, he let out a short laugh. “Sorry, sorry. I just imagined you trying to do sports, ha!”

You rolled your eyes. “I wasn’t doing sports, I was trying to sleep.”

He sat down on the stool, rolling over to you with a grin. “That sounds right. Sugawara, you can head back, I’ll take good care of Y/N.”

Suga chewed on his bottom lip, torn between doing as he said and staying with you. “Is it broken?”

Kaze hummed again, sliding his hands into latex gloves before moving closer, his thumbs on either side of your nose. You winced at the sudden pressure. “Nope, not broken. They’ll be just fine.”

Suga released a relieved sigh, offering you a smile. “I’ll see you after class, Y/N.”

You sent him a mock salute, watching as he left the nurse’s office.

“Hold this cloth over your nose and tilt your head forward,” he ordered, handing you a piece of folded gauze.

“I thought it was backward,” you mumbled, placing the gauze over your nostrils.

“And this is why I’m the nurse and you’re not~ When you have a nosebleed, you shouldn’t hold your head back because blood can go down your throat and irritate your stomach, which may result in vomiting and more nose irritation.” He paused, seemingly proud of himself. “Look at that, you’re not even a student here anymore and I’m still slapping you with knowledge! I should be charging you.”

“Don’t count on it,” you responded, your words slightly muffled. It took about fifteen minutes for your nose to finally stop bleeding and ten more before Kaze would allow you to leave the office.

‘The hell am I supposed to do now?’ you wondered as you left the school building, heading for the vending machines near the gym. It would be weird if you just waited around for school to end, but you were too tired and annoyed to go anywhere else only to be dragged back to the gym once the school day ended.

You decided to settle down on a bench behind the gym, arms folded behind your head as you stretched out your body. The tree above you blocked most of the light from the sun, the shade making the breeze feel colder than it actually was, but you didn’t really mind. Your eyes slid closed and it wasn’t long before you were asleep.

━━━━━━༻🌧️༺━━━━━━

“Hey, wake up.”

Your body was shook lightly and you grunted, eyes blurry as they gazed up at the face hovering over you. It took a moment before you were able to focus on the face. “Ah, it’s the beanpole.”

He scowled at the nickname, straightening his body as you sat up on the bench, yawning loudly. His cheeks darkened as he took in your appearance and how adorable you looked after having just woken up.

“School over?” you questioned, rubbing at your eyes.

“Yeah. Sugawara-senpai is looking for you,”

“Mm, ‘course he is.” You pulled yourself to your feet, making a move to brush past him but his long, slender fingers curled around your upper arm to stop you. You paused, turning your body to better see him.

His brow was furrowed, lips parted but no sound escaped him.

“What?” you demanded. “Spit it out or let me go,”

“I’m sorry,” he said suddenly, his golden eyes far more interested in the dirt at your feet.

“For?”

The blonde’s pokerface was broken, making way for a guilty expression. His lips parted, closed, and then parted again. And then it clicked.

“You hit the ball,”

He nodded. “I didn’t mean to hit you… I’m sorry.”

The corner of your lips tugged up into a lopsided smirk. “You gonna make it up to me?”

His eyes narrowed suspiciously. “What do you want?”

“Not much,” you shrugged, eyes glinting. Even with your bruised nose, you were able to send a shiver of fear down his spine. “I’m thinking you can be my personal slave for a while,”

“No way!” He scowled.

“Fine then,” you shrugged, turning toward the direction of the gym. “I’ll just have to get you back, then. Watch your back, beanpole~”

With a groan, he jogged to catch up to you. “Kei Tsukishima,”

You quirked a brow. “That a curse or somethin’?”

“It’s my name, idiot.” He deadpanned.

You grinned, offering him your hand. He hesitated, his hand hovering in the air before finally resting against your own. Despite the coldness outside, your skin was warm against his, seeming to travel up his arm and into his cheeks. His heart started to race within his breast and he felt… nervous. Why did you make him feel this way?

Likewise, you felt a spark when your hands connected, warmth filling your body and settling on your chest like a small kitten looking for a place to sleep. You weren’t the most observant person in the world, but you hadn’t been out of school long enough to forget about how your classmates gushed about what falling in love felt like. Each one had something different to say about the experience, but there were always overlapping descriptors. What you were feeling now, like he was the most important person you had ever met, that you just wanted to wrap him in your arms and never let go… Were you falling for this bratty first year?

‘No no, that can’t be possible. We only just met,’ But you’d be lying if you said time didn’t stop as soon as his hand slid into your own. In that moment, nothing else mattered but the blonde boy in front of you. “Hey -”

“Y/N!” Suga rounded the corner and you quickly pulled your hand away, shoving it into your pocket. Tsukishima’s fell to his side limply, as if he wasn’t sure what to do with it. Suga smiled when he finally reached you, resting his hands on your upper arms. “How are you feeling? Did you get the okay from Kaze-san?”

“I’m fine, stop worrying so much, mother hen.” You flicked his forehead and he pouted.

Tsukishima’s lips formed a thin line as he watched the two of you joking around, the third-year’s hands still on your arms. He didn’t like it – the casual way he touched you, the caring way he looked at you, the smile you offered him, your tone teasing him. He wondered what it would be like to be in Suga’s position right now.

“Tsukishima?” Suga called, offering the blonde the same worried expression. “Y/N didn’t attack you, did they?”

“What kind of monster do you take me for?” You scoffed.

“…I’m not answering that.”

“Coward,”

He stuck his tongue out at you before turning back to the blonde, but he was already walking away toward the gym. You stared at his back as your feelings swirled around you uncertainly.

━━━━━━༻🌧️༺━━━━━━

Several days passed by, filled with fleeting glances between the two of you and a cacophony of unanswered questions. While you had been asked out several times during your time in high school, you had never been interested in dating or being in a relationship. And love? You would have said it didn’t exist if your classmates hadn’t been so adamant about finding it.

“Don’t worry, Hinata. Shake it off and keep going.” Daichi told the boy with an encouraging smile, once again taking on a more fatherly role.

You approached him as he stood beside the court, observing as the team took turns working on their receives. “Dai, can I talk to you for a minute?”

He looked at you in surprise before nodding, his fingers wrapping around your elbow as he led you from the building. You weren’t aware of the golden eyes following your form until they could no longer see you.

Once a safe distance away from the gym, he gave you his attention. He had always been close to you from the day the two of you had met, and he hadn’t missed how off you had been acting the last few days, but you were an introvert and kept to yourself unless it got serious. He knew it’d be a waste of time to ask you directly, so he waited until you came to him of your own accord, as you so often did.

“What happened?” he asked softly, folding hid arms across his chest.

You were quiet for a moment, eyes focusing on a small, grey bird that was hopping across the grass in search of food. “Is it possible to love someone you’ve just met?”

His eyes widened. He had prepared himself for a multitude of scenarios that could be the cause for your strange behavior as of late, but love? He never would have guessed that. It just wasn’t something you cared about. “Anything’s possible,” he commented, chuckling when you clicked your tongue, dissatisfied with the answer. “There’s a reason people talk about love at first sight. It’s definitely possible.”

“It wasn’t love at first sight though.” You muttered. “More like… love at first touch, I guess?”

“Hmm. And how did you feel when you touched?”

“Weird,” your brow furrowed as you recalled the moment and the emotions that had come along with it. “Warm, content. I wanted him to be mine.”

Daichi smiled warmly, resting his hands on your shoulders. “I never thought I’d see the day when you actually fell for someone. Who is he?”

You trusted Dai with your life, but you weren’t sure if you should tell him. It was his teammate, plus he was a first-year and you were no longer a high school student. There were only four years between you, but you knew people wouldn’t see it that way. You were now considered an adult, even though you hadn’t changed at all in the short amount of time you had been out of school.

“You can tell me,” he spoke softly, as if reading your mind. “I won’t judge you, you know that, Y/N.”

“Tsukishima,” you answered, meeting his gaze. His eyes remained warm, not showing any disgust or malice.

“Really? I didn’t think he was your type.”

“I don’t have a type,”

“Are you gonna tell him?”

“‘Course not,” you scoffed, turning your attention back to the bird. A crow had joined him in his search for food. Every time he managed to snatch a bug, he would bring it over to the smaller bird, nipping at his head before hopping away to continue the search. “It’s bad enough my first love is a first-year. Can you imagine getting rejected by one, too? Nah,”

“I think you’ll regret not taking a chance,”

“Maybe, but I’ll probably regret it more if I do.” You smiled softly at him, “Thank you, Dai, for always being here.”

“You’re family, Y/N. I’ve always got your back.” Daichi held his arms out and you chuckled, allowing yourself to fall into his arms. Like always, he seemed to make your worries disappear, if only for a few moments.

Tsukishima glanced out the door, just barely able to make out your form in the distance. He could only watch in frustration, hand clutching the door frame tightly as his captain held you to his chest.

━━━━━━༻🌧️༺━━━━━━

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thestarsaroundyourscars · 5 years

Note

“I didn’t drive all this way to say ‘hey’.”, or “don’t tempt me” for the reddie prompt :)

Thank you! I’m incapable of keeping these prompts short, SORRY AND ENJOY 💗

"Richie!"

The train station was buzzing with people and activity and it didn’t surprise Eddie when Richie didn’t hear his voice over all that noise. He watched as Richie kept walking, a mop of dark curls so tall that Eddie could see him over the crowd even without having to stand on his tiptoes. What he couldn’t do was catch up to Richie and his big strides, not unless he broke into a run. He didn’t think twice about doing it, no matter how cliché it might look, he needed to get to Richie before he boarded that train. It was hard when people got in his way though.

“Shit sorry.” Eddie mumbled at a woman when he bumped against her. He tripped over a man's suitcase but managed to regain his balance before face planting into the floor of a crowded train station. "Fuck. Stupid Richie with his stupid long legs."

Eddie would be lying if he said he didn't love those long legs though or if he said that he didn't love the man they were attached to. He still wasn’t sure if it was possible to love someone after knowing them for only one summer. It was barely enough time to even get to know a person, let alone fall in love with them yet here he was, chasing after Richie, hoping to get to him before he got on that train and disappeared from Eddie’s life.

They had come to a decision last night. Well Eddie had. Richie had reluctantly agreed that while they had a great summer together, it was better if they go their separate ways. Easier, Eddie had said. Richie lived on the other side of the country and even if his aunt lived in the same town as Eddie and he could visit, it would be too complicated to stay together. They had an amazing last night, they said their goodbyes and Eddie had gone to bed with his heart aching but his resolve intact.

It was less than ten hours later, Richie hadn’t even left yet and Eddie was already regretting his decision. He wished he could take it back. He wished he could tell Richie that he changed his mind.

He wished Richie would fucking notice him and stop fucking walking.

"Richie!"

Finally, Richie stopped. He looked around in confusion until his eyes landed on Eddie and they widened, his jaw literally dropping.

"Oh thank God." Eddie muttered under his breath, slowing down his pace and walking the remaining distance that separated him from Richie.

"Eddie?" He asked, gawking at him. "What the fuck are you doing here?"

"What? No 'hey' or 'it's good to see you Eds'?" Eddie asked, panting slightly.

Richie huffed, eyebrows knitting together. "I- of course it's nice to see you Eds but what the fuck?"

Eddie waved him off, he was bouncing on his feet, still vibrating with the adrenaline of chasing Richie all the way there and the anxiety of how this would play out. "That's okay, I didn't drive all this way to say hey."

"Why did you drive here?" Richie asked. "I thought you said all there was to be said last night.”

“Yeah, well. Those were all fucking lies.”

“Which part?”

“All of it. I don’t want you to disappear. I don’t want to forget about you. I don’t want this ―us to be just a summer fling. I want you. I want to try to make this work with you.”

“But you don’t believe in long distance relationships, you said―”

“Shut up, I know what I said! But that was just me being scared and stupid, which I still am. Scared, I mean. Because I’ve never felt this way about anyone before and it terrifies, because I’ve only known you for a couple of months! And that’s why I thought it would be easy to go back to how things were before knowing you, but I was wrong. I don’t want to do that, I don’t even think I that I can do it. What I want to do is to be with you because meeting you this summer was the best thing that happened to me, in a long time. If not ever. ” Eddie said, words jamming together with how fast he was talking. He wouldn’t be surprised if Richie didn’t understand half of what he said but when he finally looked up, he found Richie staring at him with the softest eyes and the dopiest smile so maybe he had at least caught the jist of it. “Are you going to say something? Please say something.”

“Hold me Eds, that was beautiful.” Richie teased, clutching at his chest with his hand.

Eddie slapped his shoulder with a growl. “Fuck you! I’m being serious Richie!”

“Ow! I know! I was being serious last night. I told you I was all in Eddie, that I didn’t want this to be over just because I live on the other side of the country but you said you couldn’t do it―” Eddie opened his mouth but Richie shushed him with his finger. “You said you couldn’t do it and I respected that but if you want this, if you want to try this with me, then I’m fucking in.”

Eddie smiled, letting out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “I want this. I’m sorry I was an idiot last night.”

“Hey I’m an idiot most of the time and you don’t mind.” Richie laughed, eliciting a giggle from Eddie. “I’m just glad you changed your mind.”

“Well I’m glad you didn’t. I don’t know what I would have done if you had turned me down. Probably jump in front of that train.”

Richie laughed, scooping Eddie up in his arms, wrapping them around his waist and spinning the two of them around. “I could never turn you down Eds."

"Rich stop." Eddie chastised, but his laughter undercut the meaning of his words. "People are staring!"

"You just chased after me in a crowded train station, yelling my name, people were already staring Spaghetti." Richie said, but put him down nonetheless. "By the way, that was really romantic of you Eds. You really know how to make a lady swoon.” He added, fanning himself, dramatically.

Eddie rolled his eyes but his lips tugged up into a smile. Before he could answer they were interrupted by a voice speaking into the intercom, the words resonating throughout the station. "Ladies and gentlemen, the ten AM train with destination to Bangor will depart from platform 4 in approximately ten minutes. Passengers are required to board the train to ensure a timely departure."

"That's your train isn't it?" Eddie asked, knowing the answer even before Richie nodded, having seen the way his face fell when he heard the announcement.

“Are you sure I can’t convince you to come with me? We can still get you a ticket.” Richie tried to joke but Eddie knew he meant every word.

Eddie wished he could say yes and go with him but he couldn’t so he swallowed the lump in his throat and offered Richie a weak smile. “Don’t tempt me.”

“See, you say that but all I hear the exact opposite.” Richie chuckled. Eddie saw that his eyes were shiny with unshed tears, the back of his own eyes were starting to burn. “If it’s about the money we can skip the ticket, I’ll hide you in my suitcase when it’s time for them to check. I know for a fact you’re quite bendy.” He winked.

“Shut up.” Eddie said. “You know I would if I could.”

Richie sighed loudly. “Yeah I know. I guess I’ll call you when I make it to Bangor?”

“Yeah. And when you get to the airport. And then when you land. And just― whenever you want.”

“You got it Eds.”

Eddie nodded, biting on his bottom lip. Hard. He hoped that the pain would distract him from the sting in his eyes from trying to hold back the tears. It didn’t and he felt a tear escape, but before he could wipe it away and pretend it was never there, Richie used his thumb to catch it.

"Hey, none of that Eds. We'll see each other again. I'll come visit you as soon as I can. And I'll call and text and skype." Eddie nodded again, he didn't trust his voice not to break if he tried to speak.

They had already done this the night before and it had felt more final than this. Yesterday it was a goodbye, whereas now it felt more like a see you later ―see you soon was better― and yet he hadn’t shed a single tear last night.

The voice repeated the message, only this time it announced that the train would be leaving in only five minutes, meaning it was time for Richie to go.

Having said what he needed to say, Eddie cradled Richie's face in his hands and pulled him down for one last kiss. They broke it off quickly, running out of time.

"I have to go."

"I know."

"I'll miss you.

"I'll miss you too."

I love you, Eddie wanted to say but he didn't, he would save it until they saw each other again, which he hoped would happen sooner rather than later.

"Don't forget to wave your handkerchief at me Eds, I'll be watching from the window."

Eddie let out a snort. “Why would I have a handkerchief with me? This isn’t the nineteenth century.”

“I’m buying you a handkerchief for next time.”

"Fine, as long as come all the way here to give it to me."

"Oh I'll give it to you." Richie teased, waggling his eyebrows. He walked backwards, away from Eddie and towards the platform. "Bye Eds."

"Bye Richie."

Eddie watched him get on the train, true to his word, Richie found a seat by the window and waved at Eddie. And even if he didn’t have a handkerchief, Eddie waved back until he couldn’t see Richie anymore.

Prompt came from this list, you can still send me a number and a ship and I’ll write something. Still have a few coming up :)

Tag list: @daddyphantomtbh @yes-dillman-yes @richietoaster@beepbeeprichiellc @its-stranger-than-you-think @lemonaayyee @pennys-pet-kitty @tinyarmedtrex @richiefuckfacetozier @sam-i-am2468 @richardtoz@aizeninlefox @reddie-for-anything @eddiefuckinkaspbrak@constantreaderfool @reddieclownclub @captainbartholomew @mirandonsky @proton-disaster-blaster @alargedepresso

#reddie #eddie chasing after richie #literally #summer love #answered #monse writes #anon ask

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snowmanmelting · 4 years

Text

What’s Left Unsaid | Frozen Fanfiction

Rating: T

Words: 1471

Summary: After their parents' sudden death, Elsa's life went through a lot of changes. Like getting to live again with her little sister, Anna, or processing the fact that she wouldn't need the cold to protect her from the flames anymore.

Read it under the break or at: AO3 | FFN

A/N: One of the main ideas I want to explore here is not just grief, but the conflicted feelings that come with it when the people we are grieving wasn’t the best in the world. So yes, you guessed it! Hurt/comfort with a side portion of angst and a harsh-reality soda /o/! Ok, maybe I’m over selling myself.

...Or am I?

1 | Principles |

They had died on a Friday night, yet Saturday dared to be a sunny day.

In movies, death is always dramatic, shocking, agonizing. The world stops for those who cry through blacks veils, with the rain in the background serving an absurd, cliche metaphor. And without any previous ideas, as it was common to exclude children from family tragedies, Elsa thought there would be some similarities.

However, the second hand of the clock didn't stop, the pop song on the radio didn't turn into a melancholic piano, nor gray clouds took over the sky. Birds kept singing over the backyard tree, the neighbor's dog barked at what sounded like a cat. Everything continued as it was minutes before the phone call. The only thing that changed was Elsa's personal, small, and immediate reality.

From one second to another, cold entered her body. It was slow and subtle, the way it froze her lungs and permeated the bones with every breath. It went deeper and deeper until her muscles trembled, the tip of her nose ached and her tears turned into frost. There was no notion of time or balance, and even boiling water felt like a glacier on her back.

An hour later, the world was exactly as she left it. With the difference of a coffee left forgotten, a ballad playing in the background, and a phone that kept ringing.

It seemed like a distant memory, a moment lost in time among others, but it actually happened this very morning. Elsa found it hard to place herself in time when cold settled in her body this way. She had no idea what she was doing anymore, just that she was doing things. Working on autopilot, being whoever was needed at the time. Whether it was a document provider, a shoulder to cry on, a witness in the identification process at the morgue, or just someone sitting at hospital stairs.

She needed air and daily life. The bustle of the avenue, conversations that ranged from people complaining about traffic to gossips about someone she'll never meet. The evening sun illuminating the butterflies that perched on some nearby flowers. The constant city noises. The normal.

When Elsa crossed the entrance, it was easy to believe this was some illusion that would disappear as soon as she felt her fingertips again.

The constant buzzing of the fluorescent lights amidst the morgue's silence brought her back to reality.

Her parents were dead. They weren't coming back.

The cold had yet to leave Elsa's bones.

A few meters away, some kids played plastic dinosaurs over the steps, detached from the reality of the hospital behind them. Someone who seemed to be their mother sat next to them, seeing and warning them if they got too far. Elsa remembered those weekends of family visits and evenings in the park. Anna always brought her dolls and they would wander around, looking for leaves and sticks to make rudimentary little houses for them.

Once, they got so far away they ended up by the pond, looking at a family of ducks that went out to ask for food and then returned to their small island. Her mother didn't find it cute or amusing. Neither did Elsa because, since Anna was five, it was up to her to be the most responsible of the two.

Suddenly, death made sense.

She wanted to cry tears of frost again. Perhaps with sadness, perhaps with some anger.

Why cry, though? Under what specific reason? That was the question. The motive, the real motive.

Grief that they wouldn’t be around anymore? That she’ll have to come home to an empty house and end up bawling in the middle of the living room? Yes, grief, that is. For the most part, she supposed. Because she loved them and they loved her back and always tried to do what they thought was best. That was how the phrasing usually went, at least. Both ways. You care. I care. We do the right thing. Everything is okay as it is. No complaints allowed.

No complaints, no, none at all.

But then what about the anger? What about the pain and the anger and the guilt at the smallest of the sparks of joy at the idea of freedom and the confusion because this is not what closure should feel like at all, even if someone had to die in the process but it didn’t really feel like it so how—

How was this closure?

How this was anything but, at the same time?

The easy way, it was the easiest way out.

This wasn’t the best time to analyze these things —it never was— as she was sure even the mere thought of it was disrespectful. And Elsa shouldn't even feel anything remotely similar in its structure. Better to conceal it, if she ever did, pretend it didn't exist for the sake of the world around her.

If it’s not there, then it’s not real.

Was there any proof? No, there wasn't. Therefore nothing is real, because Elsa took pride in her ability to hide certain things. She still did and wasn't about to stop it now.

So she stood there with her chin on her knees. In her immediate, personal tiny world. Where everything is fine, separations don't hurt, sacrifices don't exist, and she is a beautiful, happy puppet living a beautiful, happy life in her paper mache stage.

Bad habits die hard. Especially when you're not putting in any effort.

She stayed like that, for a while. Listening to casual conversations of those who came and went, watching carelessness and innocence wander around with cotton shoulders between laughter and dinosaurs with airplane growls. Watching those who had the opportunities Elsa had to disassociate herself from.

Somehow, she could make out the footsteps, growing stronger as they approached. They were fearful and insecure, and for a moment she wondered if it wasn't someone on the run.

Elsa knew who it was when they took a seat in the same cautious way. Their mere presence was enough. The feeling was... strange, but certain. Just like when you are alone at night and you know someone is right behind you. Turning around, then, means facing a catastrophic reality, an imaginative mind, or intangible memories.

"Hey."

Elsa turned her head, as there were no tragic events behind her this time, but quite the opposite. Anna was sitting there, right next to her.

At least two years had passed.

The morgue wasn't the most ideal form of reunion, to tell the truth. And a part of her wished that there never had to be one. That they had received the news together, that Elsa could feel the cold on her fingertips and her tears had been shared, instead of melted frost. Yet seeing her younger sister laugh with the cotton shoulders Elsa couldn't keep, in all those occasional meetings over the years, was worth it. Anna was happy for both of them, and that for Elsa for was enough.

However, this wasn’t the time to give in to melancholy, to apologize for past attitudes, or to offer explanations. It was about in the here and now, for the immediate need to find comfort.

Elsa saw Anna's lips tremble. She seemed to be looking for the right words while the sun made confusion, uncertainty, and anguish dance on the reflection of her green eyes. So as soon as she made the gesture of reaching out, her sister leaned down with the full force of body action and a fresh wave of tears.

It was a comforting warmth, the kind that brings you back to reality little by little. That gives time to breathe and to adapt to feeling sensations again, and that was so contrasting with the burning, scorching fire. It felt like hot chocolate in winter or curling up under the covers. Soft, gentle, restorative.

She hugged her tightly by the shoulders, resting her chin against the top of her sister's copper hair, and closing her eyes to the point that she saw colored spots, so as not to take the protagonism out of Anna's tears.

"I'm sorry," Elsa whispered, almost not finding her voice. "I'm so sorry, Anna."

I’m sorry for your loss. I’m sorry for our loss.

She was sorry with all the honesty in the world and, at the same time, she wasn’t. Because of the guilt at the smallest spark of joy on the hidden parts of her soul. The parts she had no proof of and, therefore, didn’t exist. She had to be the pretty but sad little puppet with her now sad little puppet life in her paper mache stage.

This was the best outcome of it all, despite what everyone might say.

Because their parents were dead.

It was better that way.

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vagrantblvrd · 5 years

Text

Communication Breakdown (1/1)

Summary: Matt fucked up.

He really, really fucked up.

Gavin is staring at him in shock and the rest of the crew is in various states of panic and alarm and Matt’s really fucked up now.

Notes: For @queen-bitchiest who asked for something based on this post that kind of sort of got away from me and is somewhat similar. /o\

(Read on AO3)

Matt fucked up.

He really, really fucked up.

Gavin is staring at him in shock and the rest of the crew is in various states of panic and alarm and Matt’s really fucked up now.

(To be fair, Gavin’s been pissing Matt off for the last forever, doing the stupidest shit and thinking it’s just fine and dandy and all of that and Matt has had fucking enough, okay? So much enough he doesn’t have the words for how much enough.)

“...What?”

Matt clears his throat, glancing at the others – still confused as hell and trying to make sense of the scene in front of them - and Matt’s bad knee is not enjoying any of this, okay.

So not.

“I said,” Matt says, clearing his throat again because that goddamn cough is acting up again. “Will you marry me, you piece of shit.”

There’s -

“Wow,” Jack says, first to recover. “Just. Wow, Matt.”

Michael has this look on his face like he’s been sucking lemons, hand clamped on Jeremy’s shoulder tight enough that even he’s wincing. Hissing at Michael to ease up a bit, Jesus Christ, Michael.

Matt has no fucking clue what that’s about, but hey whatever. He’s busy staring Gavin down like the idiot has a gun on him and fuck him anyway.

Idiot looks like he’s been through a meat-grinder, all bloody and beat up. Those fucking gold-framed sunglasses of his hooked into the collar of his shirt, lenses cracked and broken and goddamn him anyway.

“I’m pretty sure that’s not what you said before,” Ryan points out, quibbling just to quibble.

Geoff looks like he wishes these assholes he recruited could stop with their bullshit for like, five goddamn minutes for once.

Lindsay snaps a picture of Matt down on one knee in front of Gavin on her phone and sends it to someone. (Odds are good it’s Trevor who took Alfredo and Fiona out of town for a job because they have an agreement.)

And, okay, yes.

The first time Matt didn’t call Gavin a piece of shit – out loud, at any rate – but they all know he was thinking it. Especially after Gavin’s little adventure today.

“Matt,” Gavin says, strained note to his voice. “Could I have a word with you in private?”

Matt opens his mouth to tell him no, no he can not because he knows what Gavin’s about to say, but this being Gavin, eh doesn’t give him the chance.

No, Gavin pulls Matt to his feet and drags him along behind him as they head for the conference room, catcalls and Geoff’s despairing, “Don’t fuck in my conference room, you assholes!” following them.

========

The décor in the conference room is very...bland.

No-nonsense hardwood laminate and this odd off-white paint for the walls. Glass-topped conference table with brushed-steel legs.

The view’s nice, looks out over the city. You can see the mountains in the distance, and if it’s a clear day you can almost see Chiliad.

“Matt,” Gavin says, a little shaky. “What. What was that?”

Matt staring out the windows, but it’s the opposite of a clear day. Fat, heavy rain clouds with lightning and thunder out over Vinewood and moving towards the penthouse.

Supposed to be one hell of a storm rolling in, at least a couple of inches of rain before night rolls around.

Matt looks over at Gavin, who still looks like shit, by the way, and crosses his arms. (Gavin almost got himself killed today, and Matt is not okay with that in any way, as though that will change things. Make the reckless idiot think twice before pulling those stunts of his.)

“What?” Matt asks, frown on his face and just enough confusion thrown in there that for a moment Gavin looks like he’s doubting himself, what he thinks he heard in the penthouse’s living room. “I didn't say anything.”

And, alright.

That's pushing things a little too far because Gavin’s eyes narrow, all the stupid, reckless decision making abilities he has shoved aside to make way for the sharp-eyed bastard that enjoys playing dumb too damn much.

“There was a plan,” Gavin says, although which one he’s talking about is up for debate. “We had a plan, Matt.”

They did, didn’t they.

“Oh?” Matt says. “Which one might that be, Gavin? The one where you were supposed to stick with Ryan, and not go off on your own? Or maybe you mean the one where you avoid the pack of guards with itchy trigger fingers? Ooh, or maybe - “

God, there are so many plans Gavin could be talking about. And true, they’re all smaller components to the master plan for the heist, but still.

“Uh,” Gavin says, like he realizes he’s stepped into a mine-field here. “None of the above?”

Matt stares at Gavin.

Look, he knows, okay. Matt knows this...thing they’ve been doing the past few weeks is a farce. Knows none of it was real, was just Gavin being Gavin, trying to get the others off his back about his dating dry spell. (And it’s not like there’s a dating site for criminals or anything, so Matt doesn’t know what they were thinking, but whatever.)

Matt drew the short straw and he was fine, just fine with pretending to be Gavin’s plus one because hey, why not?

It was funny at first, watching the others react to the news Gavin was dating him. That he and Matt were a Thing. The expressions of horror and disgust as he and Gavin tried to out-do one another with pet names at every available opportunity, Matt trying to hold his shit together while Gavin simpered at him over the comms and just.

He kind of forgot for a while it wasn’t – look, he knows it will never happen, just.

Matt forgot, let himself get swept along in Gavin’s chaos and had fun. Enjoyed himself a little too much and -

Point is, point is, for the last few weeks Matt’s life has been a super crappy romcom, and he just made things worse.

There was supposed to be this dramatic breakup after the heist, just enough to have everyone else fall for it hook, line, and sinker. Get them to buy it the way they thought someone like Gavin would be interested in someone like Matt – great joke, right? - but Matt fucked that up.

Saw Gavin standing there after everything that happened giving him this look, all well? Get on with it then, we don’t have all day like he hadn’t come so damn close to dying, and Matt snapped.

Just.

Fucking snapped the way the betting pool Jack’s got going Matt’s not supposed to know about says he’s bound to one day with all the shit the crew gives him.

Matt snapped and instead of breaking up with Gavin he proposed to him.

Gavin’s still watching him.

Head tipped to the side and this little frown on his face, puzzling out what the hell’s gotten into Matt.

“Matt,” Gavin says, oddly formal about it. “While I know it can be confusing, breaking up rarely involves a marriage proposal.”

They kind of do? (Or maybe Matt’s lived a very different life from Gavin, because yeah. He's seen shit go down like this before.)

“Shows what you know,” Matt mutters.

Gavin sighs, and shuffles over to one of the conference room chairs. Makes this pained little noise as he sits down, winces just the tiniest bit.

“Matt,” he says, and gently pats the table. “Sit the hell down and talk to to me.”

Oh, such sweet nothings.

“I’m good where I am, thanks,” Matt says, always too stubborn for his own good.

Several minutes go by while Gavin studies him, wheels turning in that head of his.

Alright then, love,” Gavin says, and Matt’s fingers dig into his arm at how the term of endearment just slips off his tongue so easily.

Light and soft and not Matt’s alone because Gavin’s just as likely to call one of the others that or someone he bumps into on the street than Matt, so.

Yeah.

Not his, and he’s fine with that, but the past few weeks have fucked with Matt’s head a little too much. Gotten everything he used to keep (somewhat) neat and orderly in and locked down tight in his head all jumbled together and he’s just.

He’s tired.

“Matt,” Gavin says, concern creeping into his voice. “Are you okay?”

Matt kind of wants to laugh, or is it cry?

“I’m fine, Gavin,” he says, because he always is, right? Good old Matt Bragg, always there when the others need him, even if it’s to play fake boyfriend for some dumbshit. “Just fine.”

Gavin sighs, and when Matt looks over he realizes Gavin looks tired too.

Gotta be hurting like a son of a bitch too, after the day he’s had. Too many close calls and an unhealthy amount of explosions in his vicinity and all that.

“You should have someone look you over,” Matt says, done with this conversation. “You look like shit.”

Gavin’s mouth twists, but Matt’s not in the mood for his bullshit anymore.

“I’ve got...stuff to do,” he says. He trusts B-Team to have things in hand, all the post-heist work they have to do to keep the authorities off their backs, but he needs to be doing something. Cant’ just stand around with his thumb up his ass reliving one of the worst days of his life in his head while Gavin sits there staring at him like he doesn’t get it. “I’ll talk to you later.”

He leaves before Gavin can say anything else, pushes past the cluster of idiots outside the conference room doors and ignores the looks they give him as he does.

========

Matt hides out as much as he can for the next week, makes up excuses and flat-out lies to avoid facing the others in any capacity. (Thank God for B-Team running interference or he might have had to talk about his feelings.)

But then, you know.

The food poisoning hits, and he’s vulnerable like a turtle turtle turned on its back. Or is that tortoises?

Whichever one it is, he’s too sick to run when Trevor finally catches him.

“There you are.”

Matt doesn’t cringe, no.

That would just tip Trevor off as to Matt’s horrible life choices even more. No, Matt just feel his stomach clench up on him. (Could be the food poisoning, but he doesn’t get the accompanying nausea, just this all-over dread, so. Probably the feelings thing.)

“Matt?” Trevor asks, and then when Matt pretends he can’t hear him what with his headphones in, sternly, “Matt Bragg”

Matt would keep pretending he can’t hear Trevor, but then the asshole yanks the cord of his headphone out of Matt’s computer and he has to slap at the keyboard to mute the volume before it’s too late and Trevor hears what he’s listening to.

“Is that...Matt. Is that Sarah McLachlan ?”

Matt winces, and doesn’t deny it. (But oh, would he love to.)

“It’s a scientific fact,” Matt says, trying to hold on to whatever dignity he has left. “It's a scientific fact that listening to sad music after a breakup is beneficial.”

He’s pretty sure he just pulled that out of his ass, but whatever. The saddest song he can think of is from that one damned humane society commercial, God knows he feels like shit just thinking about it.

And...you know, the thing where he and Gavin weren’t actually dating, but. Uh. Details?

Trevor stares at him for a moment before shaking his head.

“Okay, whatever the hell that’s all about aside, I came to check on you.”

Well, obviously, what with Trevor picking the locks on Matt’s front door, yes.

“And!” Trevor continues, “I brought you a gift.”

That’s...concerning.

Deeply, deeply concerning.

Trevor’s smiling.

“Uh - “

Trevor’s smiling and Matt’s known him too long not to recognize the warning signs, and yet he’s still caught by surprise when Trevor reveals said “gift”.

“Bring him in!” Trevor calls out, like a demented game show host ushering in a contestant.

Behind Trevor Matt’s front door swings open to show Jeremy and a reluctant looking Gavin. Jeremy all but dragging Gavin inside, this manic grin on his face as he gives Gavin a little shove towards Matt and then blocks the door.

“Hey, Matt!” Jeremy says, and bright and cheerful and not a little terrifying. “Look who we found!”

Would you look at that? The nausea’s back, because Gavin’s not looking at him.

Is, in fact, looking at Trevor and Jeremy, everything thing about him screaming that he doesn’t want to be here, dear God you two, please let him leave,.

Trevor’s smiles kicks up another notch as he leans around Gavin and pins Matt with a look.

“You two kids play nice now,” he says with a wink. “We’ll be right outside.”

What.

“What?”

But Trevor borrows Matt’s earlier trick of selective hearing because he just waltzes right on out of Matt’s apartment with Jeremy and shuts the door behind them.

“Uh,” Matt says again, because what the hell? “Hey, Gavin.”

Gavin flinches, which is never a good sign.

He flinches, and turns to look at Matt.

Still looks like shit, but like. Less so.

The bruises are fading, no longer that dark, ugly purple Matt remembers from the penthouse. The cuts on his face and neck have scabbed over, should heal without scarring.

But there are dark marks under his eyes that weren’t there the last time Matt saw him, and he looks. Tired. Not the way he normally looks, burning the candle at both ends and thriving off it, no, he looks exhausted.

“You look like shit in a completely different way,” Matt says, because he’s never had a whole brain-to-mouth filter, and boy has that gotten him into trouble in the past. “No offense.”

Gavin makes a face at that, mouth quirking into the tiniest of smiles.

“Oh, no offense taken then since you said that, Matt,” he says, dumb little in-joke with them.

And then you know, an awkward pause.

Neither of them want to be here having the discussion they’re about to have because Trevor and Jeremy are assholes.

“I have a fire escape?” Matt offers, waves a hand more or less in the right direction. “But I have a feeling they roped Alfredo into this mess, and you know Alfredo.”

No doubt set up in a sniper’s nest in case they try to sneak out the back.

“Oh, they did,” Gavin says, eyes darting to Matt’s living room windows. “Fiona’s out there too.”

Jesus.

That’s something Matt didn’t need to know considering she has to be itching to take him down for all the shit he gives her.

“Awesome,” Matt says, because really.

Awesome.

Gavin’s watching Matt, this little frown between his eyes. All concerned and shit.

“You look terrible,” Gavin says, takes a step towards Matt before he stops himself, pulls the hand that was reaching towards him back with a jerky little motion. “Are you alright?”

Matt is super not alright, because the food poisoning. (And also his terrible life choices, but mainly the food poisoning at this point.)

“Well, you know,” Matt says. “Food poisoning will do that to you.”

Interestingly enough, Gavin winces. Opens and closes his mouth a few times like he’s got something to say and just doesn’t know how.

Like maybe he knows something Matt doesn’t, or just. Who even knows.

“Gavin?”

Gavin does the thing he does when he’s trying to translate from Gavin to English and failing, so he settles for vague hand gestures and words that are kind of sort of almost right with random noises thrown in.

It sounds like gibberish, and Matt can never tell if it’s some kind of British slang or Gavin’s brain shorting out.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that?”

Gavin sighs, looking at Matt like he’s the idiot here.

“I said,” Gavin says. “You should be nicer to Sarah.”

Matt’s positive that isn’t what Gavin said, but sure.

Also.

“Wait.”

Gavin raises his eyebrows, corner of his mouth ticking up like he thinks something is hilarious but he doesn’t want to look like an asshole. (Too late, but Matt appreciates the attempt.)

“Wait.”

Matt likes Sarah, he does. Gives her a lot of grief because he likes her, because like everyone else in the crew it’s how he shows affection or some shit. (They’re all a fucked up.)

Problem is, Sarah is a monster of a human being.

Plays all sweet and nice, but Matt knows she’s plotting behind his back, waiting for the right moment to lay him low so she can take his place and rule with an iron fist or some shit.

Or, you know. Just lay him low because he gives her shit and she’s not someone who takes kindly to that, whichever.

“She brought me my lunch,” Matt says, feeling like a detective in some shitty Vinewood movie putting the pieces together.

Sarah brought Matt his lunch, and the the food poisoning happened and he was too busy trying to puke up his guts to ponder overmuch how the food poisoning happened, or question if it was intentional.

“Oh my God,” Matt says, impressed despite of himself because she was so smooth about it, all happy smiles and kind and generous to get lunch for B-Team, just doing a good deed and dear God she’s far more devious than he gave her credit for. “Oh my God.”

Gavin bites his lip, looks away. Doesn’t laugh at Matt while struggles to come to terms with this most heinous of betrayals, no.

God no, Gavin would never.

“If it helps,” Gavin says, shoulders shaking just the tiniest bit. “I’m certain Trevor put her up to it.”

That...yeah. That doesn’t surprise Matt as much. Trevor would thinking giving Matt food poisoning would give him the perfect opening to instigate this...whatever this is.

(Oh, everyone thinks Trevor’s the nice one. All polite and shit, but no. Trevor is the worst one in the entire crew, including Sarah.)

“Of course he did,” Matt mutters. “It’s Trevor.”

Gavin clears his throat, shuffles his feet.

Catches Matt eye for a moment, this smile on his face before he looks away again just as fast.

Looks awkward as hell and Matt can’t figure out if that little flicker of guilt he saw on his face before he did was real or just a figment of his imagination.

And then -

“I bollocksed everything up between us, didn't I?” Gavin asks, staring at the ugly little garden garden gnome statue Jeremy stole for Matt on a dare with a frown on his face. “Did everything all wrong.”

Matt says nothing. He’s not sure what he can say, so he lets Gavin talk it out since that seems to be what he needs right now.

Something about the crew giving him grief over his non-existent romantic life and Gavin having enough. Wanting just a little bit of peace and quiet on that front as he wrestled with crew business and gearing up for the heist and a million and one other things.

Matt makes noises in the appropriate places because knows all about that, remembers Gavin explaining it to him when he made that indecent proposal of his. (Should have been a warning sign he did it over dinner, took Matt out to one of his favorite places to sweeten the deal. Butter him up, all that stuff.)

“It just...” Gavin sighs, gives Matt this wry smile. “It all got out of hand.”

That’s one way to put it.

“I thought,” Gavin sighs again, frustrated. “I thought I had it under control. Figured it was just for a little while, that I wouldn’t...wouldn’t lose sight of things.”

Matt’s stomach does this little flip, a dip and roll and the nausea is...doing something. Has him sinking down on his couch and giving Gavin a wordless shrug as he mimes food poisoning kind of sucks at him, or something close enough that Gavin seems to get it.

Matt watches as Gavin takes a seat in the crappy arm chair on the other side of Matt’s coffee table. Sees him fiddle with the strings on his hoodie, worrying the knot between his fingers.

“Michael told me it was a bad idea,” Gavin says, mumbles almost. “Said I was playing with fire, going to get burned and all that, but I didn’t listen to him. Told him he couldn’t say anything, and you know how he is.”

Oh, Matt knows.

Asshole would have either gone to Matt the moment he figured everything out to fuck with Gavin or he’d have Gavin’s back the whole way. (Or a little bit of both, give Matt more shit than usual and drop little comments here and there that were confusing as hell at the time, but now? Yeah. That whole hindsight thing is a bitch.)

Gavin makes a face, waves his hand in even more vague gestures.

“Can’t keep a secret from Michael to save my life,” he says. “Bastard’s good at sniffing ‘em out.”

Or maybe he just knows Gavin that well. (Also, Matt’s will pass on the nose jokes because the mood in the room is all wrong. Noble sacrifice on his part right there.)

Gavin shrugs, like he knows what Matt’s thinking.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for it to go the way it did,” Gavin says, fingers moving on to picking the hoodie string apart, undoing the knot and unraveling the string. “But it was just too much bloody fun messing with the others, but then it...”

Gavin trails off, frowning at the bits of fabric stuck under his nails like he doesn’t know where they came from. Scowls as he sets to pulling them free, making a messy pile of shredded fluff on Matt’s coffee table like an asshole.

“It got complicated,” Matt finishes for him. Because it did. He knows what Gavin means, because it really was fun at first.

The two of them fucking with the others, and just enjoying the ride. Getting the chance to know one another better, which was the main problem. Kicked that crush Matt had on Gavin into overdrive. Made him realize that hey, wow, that little crush he’d had on Gavin since he joined the crew wasn’t middle school infatuation with the guy. That he had feelings for Gavin even though he damn well knew better than that.

Knew perfectly well what a piece of shit Gavin was and he still liked him. (Liked-liked, even.)

But by then it was too late to keep himself from getting hurt and he knew that, he did, he just didn’t give a damn.

Gavin plucks the last bit of cloth out from under his nails and sighs.

“Yeah,” he says, sounding tired and defeated and guilty as Matt’s ever heard him. “That.”

Which, okay, great. Nice to know and everything, but -

“I like you,” Gavin blurts out, still staring at his hands, his nails. “A lot, Matt. I like you a lot.”

Matt doesn’t know what that means in this context.

“Well,” he says. Stops. Thinks, or tries to, but he’s kind of an idiot. “That’s great to hear, Gavin. I like you too.”

God, they sound like toddlers.

No, worse, because toddlers can express their emotions. What the two of them are doing is just sad.

Gavin looks up at him, like Matt’s not understanding him.

“No,” he says, insistent. “I like you, Matt.”

...Okay?

Gavin stares at Matt, who looks back feeling like he’s missing something but no clue what it could be and oh, Jesus, he hates moments like these, okay. Really, really hates them because they end with Matt being used as bait or conned into doing something he super doesn’t want to be part of. (See: Pretending to Date Gavin-fucking-Free as just one example.)

“Oh my God,” Gavin says, laughter a little hysterical at the edges. “Oh my God, Matt.”

Matt freezes when Gavin shoves himself to his feet and climbs over Matt’s coffee table - “Hey, my coffee table!” - to stand in front of him.

Looks down at Matt with that frown on his face again, the puzzle-solving one and sighs as he gives Matt this smile.

Soft and warm and too...too much.

Has Matt trying to move, back away from him because no>, but there’s nowhere for him to go. Can’t climb over the back of the couch because his balance is shit at the moment, and also he’s not the athletic sort.

Also, he might puke if he tries it.

“Matt Bragg,” Gavin says, and gets down on his knees in front of Matt to put them on even ground.

...Even-ish.

“You’re kind of an idiot, Matt Bragg,” Gavin says, and the way his voice sounds is all kinds of unfair, just as soft and affectionate as that damned smile of his. “And I’m not sure why, but I like that about you.”

That’s. Wow. Flattering?

“Um, thanks?”

Gavin rolls his eyes, because Matt isn’t a hundred percent on board with whatever it is he’s doing here – giving Matt backhanded compliments while confusing the hell out of him maybe? - and shakes his head.

“I’d like to date you,” Gavin says in one big rush. Breathes. “Properly, I mean. Take you out to all your favorite...restaurants and to movies and all that.”

Matt squints at Gavin.

He knows that that hesitation regarding Matt’s “restaurants” was all about. Knows everyone in the crew cannot fathom how he hasn’t died of scurvy or malnutrition yet with the way he eats. Knows what Gavin thinks about all of it, and yet here he is being mildly insulting about it.

That’s Gavin making an effort, really trying. More than Matt ever hoped for, and it’s -

Matt likes it.

Likes that Gavin’s making an effort here, letting Matt see him like this when he’s always so guarded about things. (Laughs and jokes, sure, and always, always deflecting.)

He’s still having a hard time buying someone as brilliant, as vibrant as Gavin would be interested in someone as – well. Someone like Matt, but there’s this part of him that wants to because Matt knows Gavin’s a piece of shit, sure, but he’s not someone who’d knowingly set out to fuck with Matt’s feelings.

Leap of faith, trust fall. Something like that.

“Wow,” Matt says, and he doesn’t know if the way his heart kicks him in the chest is related to the food poisoning or something else, or if it’s anything to do with how nervous Gavin looks right now. “That really hurt you to say didn’t it.”

Gavin’s eyes widen, and Matt can see him jumping to all the wrong conclusions, so he just.

“Okay,” Matt says, and laughs at the way Gavin chokes a little bit between trying to apologize harder and the confusion at Matt’s easy agreement. “Yeah, okay. We can do that. The dating thing. I’m super on board with that.”

Gavin’s not wrong about Matt being an idiot, because talk about smooth, but hey. Gavin’s the idiot who wants to date Matt, so what does that say about him?

And yes, for the record Matt knows he’s insulting himself there, but seriously.

Gavin could have anyone he wanted and he’s choosing Matt.

And sure, there’s every chance this won’t work out between them, but that’s the risk anyone takes when they date someone, isn’t it?

Give him a little hope and he goes all optimistic, doesn’t he? Because it’s possible this can still blow up in their faces, but Matt’s trying to ignore that for the moment. Wants to believe it can (it can) work between them if they’re both willing to put in some effort, be a little more honest with one another.

“...I feel like you’re laughing at me, Matt Bragg.”

Matt pastes on an innocent expression, because good lord no, Gavin. He would never dare do such a thing.

“Perish the thought,” he says, and laughs at the look Gavin gives him because they’re both idiots and this is such a bad idea, but that’s kind of what they do, so there’s that.

Gavin sighs again, but there’s a smile playing on his lips and he looks. He looks happy, like he can’t believe Matt’s giving him a chance, second one or whatever this is, and that can’t be a bad thing.

“Hey,” Matt says, leans forward and waits until Gavin does the same. “I kind of like you too, Gavin.”

#braggvin #mattvin #ragehappy #fahc au #queen-bitchiest #Prompt Fills #Kings of Nowhere #vagrant fic #this was supposed to be short and sweet?and yet here we are #lol #XD

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phonaesthemes · 4 years

Text

a list of asks

@padawanyugi tagged me in this, but Tumblr decided to eat any notification that I got tagged, so I’m glad I saw it on my dash because I like filling these things out. Thanks for tagging me! I may have typed A Lot.

Favorites: What types of books do you enjoy? Tell about what you’ve read recently (Or maybe about a book you hated recently!)I like spec-fic and sci-fi, although less “hard” science fiction, and I also enjoy fantasy. I read a lot of YA even though I’m in my 30s just because it seems easy to find a story I want to read and I’m not usually in the mood for dense prose.

I’ve been rereading the Wheel of Time series since it’s getting an Amazon TV show; it was my first non-LOTR fantasy series and I love it to death, warts and all, although I love joking about the weak points with other people who’ve read it. I think the last other thing I read was A Gentleman’s Guide to Vice and Virtue, which was a queer YA historical fiction, and it was a lot of fun. I wish I’d had access to all these queer stories when I was an actual teenager, but better late than never.

What types of music do you like to listen to? Share five songs from your music library. I really do like a bit of everything, although I gravitate towards certain genres more often depending on the season or time of day, so I’m going to cheat and pick 5 per season. Summer for me is lots of peppy pop (pride playlists!), punk and rock and punk-adjacent stuff, just upbeat stuff in general. -Weekender, by The Royal They -Break My Heart, by Dua Lipa -Toutes les femmes savent danser, by Loud -Ruby Soho, by Rancid -Womanarchist, by Bad Cop, Bad Cop

In the fall, my inner goth kid craves darkwave, goth rock, dramatic folk, roots rock, and also anything that reminds me of Halloween. -Iuka, by the Secret Sisters -Bela Lugosi’s Dead, by Bauhaus -How’s It Gonna End, by Tom Waits -Under the Milky Way, by The Church -I Put a Spell on You, by Screamin’ Jay Hawkins I could go on about the Christmas music I like at length (Boney M’s Christmas album slaps, ngl) but I’ll just skip that and say that I listen to more classical and piano pieces in the winter. I’m terrible at remembering names, so artists only: -Ludovico Einaudi -Chopin -Debussy -Saint-Saëns -Dvořák And in spring I’m usually just depressed af and listen to whatever. -FML, by K.Flay -Weird Part of the Night, by Louis Cole -Juodaan Viinaa, by Korpiklaani -P.O.H.U.I., by Carla’s Dreams -Marryuna, by Baker Boy

Do you have a show or movie that you can just put on anytime and it’s your comfort? Definitely Star Trek. I’ve rewatched the various iterations (except TOS) so many times. Also Mean Girls and Bring It On, idk why.

Do you have a favorite dessert? Tiramisu or creme brulée! Or macarons. I don’t eat dessert really unless I’m at a restaurant.

Do you have a favorite cold drink? Sparkling water, hands down.

Do you have a favorite game? The hours I have put into the SIms in my lifetime is probably shameful, although I haven’t played in a while. Don’t Starve is another contender for hours played, but I am also really fond everything by Amanita Design

Do you have a favorite part of your self care/beauty/health routine? I haven’t been doing it much lately since I’ve been dealing with some uncertain health issues with my joints (actually have a rheumatologist appointment later today), but savasana after a long yoga workout is borderline ecstasy.

Do you have a favorite type of take-out food? Indian for sure.

What’s your favorite type of exercise/physical activity? I have a love-hate relationship with running. I don’t actually love it but I love how I feel after. I really enjoy yoga. I love playing in the water at the beach, bodyboarding and swimming.

Pick between: (you choose the context)

Cook or bake? (I love cooking A Lot)

Space or ocean? (Hard to pick, but I grew up by the ocean and it’s 100% my happy place)

Chocolate or vanilla?

City or suburb or rural? (I grew up in an isolated rural village and I miss the quiet and the slower pace of life, but I do not miss the lack of amenities and opportunities, or the smalltown gossip. I also don’t drive bc of epilepsy, so I’m fucked as far as transport in rural settings.)

Past or future?

Shower in the morning or evening?

Mac/Apple or PC/Android? (Linux in general!)

Sing or dance? (I don’t have an amazing voice but I can carry a tune without it being painful, and I love singing along with songs.)

Get up early or sleep in? (I actually love sleeping in but with two kids, early morning is my only time to myself, so I wake up before 6 most days AGGH.)

Shoes, socks, or bare feet? (Hate socks. I’m barefoot at home all year round.)

Marker, crayon, or pencil? Pen!

Tea, coffee, or hot chocolate? (Coffee in the morning, tea later on.)

Random questions:

Have you ever had any pets? (Had dogs and a cat as a kid, and as an adult I’ve had betta fish and cats, and I have a cat currently.)

What is your academic background/job field? I did my undergrad in linguistics, and I am currently a stay-at-home dad lol. I do freelance editing and transcription on the side. I don’t think I’ll ever work in my field bc I really don’t have the energy to go to grad school.

What’s something random that you’re into (even if you aren’t good at it)? I signed up for a Cape Breton step dancing class in university and I loved it.

Are you good at putting away your clean laundry right away? It depends on the day, but generally yes. Mine and everyone else’s. When I lived alone? Absolutely not.

What’s one of your pet peeves? Someone trying to have a conversation with me when they have the radio or TV on. I can’t follow what you’re saying if someone else is speaking! I hate having that stuff on as background noise in general.

What’s something you’re pretty good at? I’m a great cook.

What’s the most recent nice thing you bought for yourself? A new conditioner ig? lol

Can you sew? I can mend a small tear or sew on a button, but it’s been years since I did more than that.

What’s a chore you hate (or a chore you enjoy)? I hate vacuuming so much. So much. Maybe if I had a better vaccuum cleaner I wouldn’t mind it, but I just feel like I’m fighting with the stupid thing, getting caught up on its own cords, caught on furniture, can’t quiiiite reach a spot... HATE IT. I like shoveling snow sometimes, though.

Tell us a fun fact about yourself. I am 20 years older than my youngest sibling, and five minutes younger than my “oldest” sibling.

Never have I ever... Gone fishing, even though I’m from a fishing community.

What extracurriculars did/do you do in school? In high school, I played trumpet in band until the band got dissolved from lack of funding. I played soccer one year, was in a play another year. We had an art club for like a semester that I was in. In university the first time round, I did step dancing and intramural hide and seek Second time around, I was in the linguistics club to help with assignments. (We were very much encouraged to work in pairs or groups for a lot of different classes. The only thing was that you did need to list your group members on the assignment so the prof knew who you worked with. My first morphology class in particular, we had a whole homework club where a huge portion of the class got together to work through assignments and help each other understand, and the prof would quite often show up. </tangent>

Deeper questions:

How’s your quarantine/last few months been? The cabin fever was really bad before the weather warmed up. I struggle with seasonal depression every spring, and it’s gotten much worse since we moved to Edmonton because of how long the winters are. (Snow from September to May/June? Fucccck.) It’s frankly horrifying to look at what’s going on in the US, but even though we have far fewer cases here, I’m really anxious that we’ll see another wave soon. Otherwise, I think I’ve adjusted. Home-schooling, hand-sanitizing, social distancing, masks...All feels kind of normal now, which should maybe concern me.

What do you think of human nature/society/etc.? I am like the least philosophical person you will meet so I don’t think I really have many thoughts.

What’s something you are insecure about? Writing my L2 if a native speaker is gonna read it.

What do you think is the meaning of life/reason that humans exist in the universe? I don’t think there is one, and that doesn’t bother me.

Do you think you’re better (whatever that means to you) than you used to be? Definitely. My adolescence and early adulthood was rough. I was dealing with a lot of trauma, untreated bipolar disorder, and I self-harmed for a very long time. I could not imagine making it to 30, let alone being stable and happy. I actively avoided thinking about the future because it made me spiral. But I was lucky enough to get help, consistent help from a doctor I clicked with, and it made a world of difference. I think younger me would be disappointed at how mundane my life is, but I’m thrilled to be boring because boring means no life-upending mood episodes. I have a happy partnership and two delightful kids and I couldn’t ask for more.

What are your thoughts on religion? I’m not religious and my own experience being raised in the Catholic church was frankly traumatic, but I know that it’s a source of comfort and community for many others and I think that’s awesome for them.

Do you think that there are aliens out there? I think so, although I think that we may not even know what other kinds of life to look for and may not recognize it even if we find it.

What’s something that’s been on your mind recently? We’re moving cross-country in less than a month (driving, no less, nearly 5000 km) and I still have so much to do to get ready aosjdoajdoasijdoaijsd

#personal #long post #in which i ramble about myself a great deal #@padawanyugi

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boykisserbuckley · 5 years

Note

KLAUS PROMPTS!! if you don't like this I can try again, but what about Klaus is sick and trying to hide severe pain of some sort (you can decide!) in front of his family and someone (possibly Five?) eventually sees through it :O

This took me a billion years longer than I expected, and it’s not the best thing ever, but I did it so I hope you enjoy it

Klaus felt like shit, plain and simple. He’d had a migraine building all morning, and it seemed to have reached its peak. His head was pounding, and his body couldn’t seem to decide if it was hot or cold; he alternated between shivering under as many blankets as possible, or throwing them all off trying to get away from the heat. It felt like he was sweating and freezing all at once, and every movement made his head ache more than before. The ghosts were louder too, now that he was sober, which didn’t help matters much.

“Just tell someone you’re sick, Klaus,” Ben said from where he’d been sitting cross-legged on the floor. Klaus groaned and shuffled deeper into the covers he had piled around him.

“…Jus’ need to sleep,” He muttered, but he flinched as a ghost let out a shriek next to the bed, and Ben sighed.

“I don’t think that’s going to–” Ben jumped and cut himself off at the sound of Luther calling from downstairs. Klaus winced.

“Family meeting, five minutes!” Luther bellowed again. Klaus shifted slowly, maneuvering himself out from under his nest of blankets. Ben tried to protest, but it’s not like he could physically push Klaus back into bed, so his brother waved him off and kept going. He pressed his palm to his forehead as he sat up, letting his naturally-cold fingers give him a brief release from the pain.

“Klaus, come on,” Ben protested again as Klaus made to stand up. “Luther would let you sit this one out if you just tell him what’s wrong.” Klaus hummed, not wanting to shake his head and make it all worse.

“No, he’d just think ’m high. Alison too.” Diego might have believed him, and Ben knew it too, but Klaus didn’t give him enough time to voice that before pushing himself up and making his way out into the hallway. Besides, Diego didn’t have the time to bother with him when he was busy saving the world, and Klaus could take care of himself anyway. He was feeling all kinds of terrible–weak and shaky, dry mouth, nausea threatening to crawl up his throat–but it was fine. He’d felt worse. He could handle it.

That is, he could, until he shuffled by the bathroom doorway a little too fast, tripped over the carpet, and stumbled enough to bash his shoulder into the doorframe. He caught himself before he could fall completely, but the movement sent shooting pain through his head and he was suddenly glad that he’d managed to bump into the bathroom door rather than a bedroom, because he was about to lose the loose hold he’d had on his queasy stomach.

Klaus had barely a second to get to his knees in front of the toilet before he was retching up the meager breakfast he’d had that morning, and god, he took back what he’d said before, this was the worst. He didn’t want to handle it. He wanted someone else to handle it, preferably someone other than Ben who could actually touch things. Between heaves, he contemplated taking Ben’s advice for once, and actually telling Luther he wasn’t feeling too hot, but the large man in question was at the door before he could finish the thought.

“Klaus! I called a family meeting, get your ass out of bed before I– oh,” Luther passed the doorway and then backtracked, trailing off in his rant when he spotted Klaus dry heaving into the toilet bowl. Klaus caught Ben glaring at him out of the corner of his eye, silently urging him to say something. He didn’t.

“Um,” Luther looked a little put out, like he wasn’t sure what to say in this situation. Klaus retched again, and Luther’s mouth curled in disgust. “Is this withdrawal again?”

“Didn’t take anything,” Klaus groaned, looking uncharacteristically miserable. He wished he could turn the lights off.

“Right,” Luther said, “Just… come downstairs as soon as you’re done, I guess.” He left more quickly than he’d come, leaving Klaus alone to listen to Ben’s angry rambling.

“You’ve been sober for ten months!” Ben was saying, rather loudly, but lowered his voice as soon as he caught Klaus grimacing.

“Not to them,” Klaus sighed, resting his aching forehead against the cool porcelain of the toilet bowl. It seemed like he was in the clear, for now, as long as he avoided any sudden movements. “Only been sober for two days, technically. Time travel’s a bitch.”

“He didn’t even ask if you were okay,” Ben said, more softly this time. Klaus waved him off with one manicured hand.

“I’m fine, Benny boy.” He stood on shaky legs and steadied himself against the wall, waiting for the pounding of his head to calm before he started his walk to the living room. He flushed the toilet twice. “Let’s head down, shall we? Can’t start a party without me, of course.”

He managed to make it to the living room in one piece–even if he’d love to have his head knocked off, because he was sure that would hurt less than it did now–and lowered himself gracelessly onto the couch. Everyone else was already there.

“Great, now that you’re done getting high, we can finally get started,” Luther said.

“You’re high?” Diego exclaimed, turning to stare at him. “You said you were done with that shit, man.”

“Didn’t take anything,” Klaus repeated, draping himself over the cushions and closing his eyes. He didn’t have to look to know his siblings were all glaring at him with varying degrees of disappointment. He shook off his own disappointment at their disbelief with a fairly accurate impersonation of dear-old-daddy, if he did say so himself; “You may begin, Number One!”

Alison groaned, Luther sighed, and Klaus was pretty sure Diego rolled his eyes. That seemed likely. He didn’t hear anything from Five.

He tuned out the rest of the conversation, for the most part, throwing an arm over his eyes to block out the living room lights. The migraine had admittedly been getting better, after the bathroom incident, but it was back to pounding now. His head felt like it would split open and the lights were too bright and Luther was yelling at Diego, Alison interjecting, which really wasn’t helping and oh, god, Klaus hoped he wasn’t about to throw up again–

“–Christ, Klaus, are you even listening?” Diego’s voice cut through Klaus’ addled thoughts, and he covered up his flinch by sitting up quickly.

“Uh–yup, yes, definitely listening, what did you say again?” Klaus was having a hard time focusing his eyes on Diego, and he was pretty sure he was sweating now, but all he felt was shaky and cold. He really wanted to go back to bed, turn all the lights off, and hope the ghosts would shut up long enough for him to sleep this off.

“Klaus…” Alison started, like she wanted to tell him off but didn’t know how. She trailed off instead.

“You need to start taking this seriously,” Luther said, and there he went sounding like their dad again. He’d stopped yelling after Diego had started talking, but the low tone of his voice still felt like too much. “You can’t be high all the time; if we’re going to stop the apocalypse we have to do it together, as a family. We don’t have time for games.”

Klaus didn’t even want to respond to that. At this point, even Ben had given up trying to convince him to tell his siblings what was going on. He was off in a corner, reading the book he always had, like he’d finally realized Klaus was right; they’d never listen to him, sober or not.

“He’s not,” Five spoke up from the bar. Klaus glanced up at him, surprised, and badly covered up a grimace when his head swam. He hadn’t considered his youngest–oldest?–brother in his excuses to Ben, and he thought now that he probably should have. Five was looking at him with that annoyingly calculating gaze he always adopted when he was trying to solve a problem. Klaus didn’t exactly like the implications of that, but he was glad someone was actually listening to him, so he’d take it.

“Thank you, at least one of you believes your poor, dear brother,” he tried, but it fell flat. He wasn’t even feeling up to dramatics by now, and he was pretty sure that if he moved any more than he already had, he’d throw up again.

“He’s not high,” Five said again, more firmly, to the siblings. “You’ve all seen what he’s like when he’s high. This isn’t it. He’s quiet, he hasn’t made an annoying comment since he came in here, and he didn’t even complain when you yelled at him.” He turned to Klaus and asked, “Are you sick?”

“Yeah,” Klaus answered tiredly, rubbing at his eyes again quickly, “Migraine.”

“You’re sick?” Diego echoed, an oddly comical parody of his earlier question.

“I caught him throwing up earlier, but I thought it was just withdrawal again.” Luther’s face was a strange mix of sheepish and confused, sinking further into sheepish when Alison rounded on him.

“You knew he was sick, and you still made him come down here?” She challenged.

“Well, I–”

“The apocalypse isn’t going to be stopped by you pushing people past their limits, Luther! You’re not dad!”

As the rest of them devolved into shouting again, Klaus dropped back against the cushions behind him and let out a heavy breath. He wasn’t sure if he could just leave, yet, but all the noise was jarring and he really wanted to just take a nap. He glanced up, tired eyes meeting Five’s across the room.

Five rolled his eyes skyward and pushed past the arguing siblings to get to Klaus, taking hold of his arm and jumping them away from the living room in a flash of blue light. They landed in Klaus’s room, where Klaus was promptly deposited on his bed. The jump and the light had been disorienting, for him and for Ben–even as a ghost, he was clutching his book and looking a little disgruntled–and by the time he’d blinked back the spots in his vision it was clear that Five had jumped to and from the bathroom too; he popped back into the room and dropped a couple of painkillers into Klaus’s hand, along with a glass of water. Klaus stared at the tablets for a moment, confused by the small amount of care his usually stoic brother was showing him. Five sent him a pointed look, mirrored unknowingly by Ben across the room, and that was enough for Klaus to grin weakly and down the pills and water in one go.

“Thanks, little bro,” Klaus teased, and Five scowled.

“Go to sleep,” was all Five said in response, but he opted for actually walking out of the room when he left, so he could flick off the light and shut the door. The lack of spatial jumping was telling enough. Klaus chuckled quietly, shared a look with Ben, and rolled over to finally get some sleep.

#this is way longer than i meant it to be #and im not sure they're entirely in character #but i did my best!!#i'll put it up on my ao3 soon too #klaus hargreeves #diego hargreeves #five hargreeves #alison hargreeves #luther hargreeves #honestly im not sure what the timeline is but vanya isn't there im sorry #:(#tua #the umbrella academy #sickfic #sick character #b!writes

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mycatshuman · 5 years

Text

Uunforgiving Waters

Pairings: Prinxiety

Word count: 4, 831

Warnings: death, drowning, sinking, panic attack, let me know if I missed any, please.

I would like to thank @civilsounds17 , @aroundofaceapplesauce , and @poems-art-darkness-n-more for reading over this for me. And I must say, I love civils' comments. Especially towards the end. Also I kind of changed it up a bit of you wanna read again.

That being said, I hope you enjoy this. And feel free to yell at me in comments.

Virgil jolted out of bed as it shook violently and he heard a thunderous scraping sound throughout the ship. He felt a jolt of fear course through his veins. What was that?!?! He threw back the covers and pulled on his shoes and jacket before heading out into the hall, making sure to close the door behind him so his roommates wouldn't yell at him.

The hallway was dimly lit with white paneling, still too bright. Virgil wrapped his arms around himself as he wandered down the corridor and made his way up and up until he was on the deck of the great ship. Stars littered the dark sky above as Virgil shivered. He let out a shaky sigh as he watched his breath form in front of him.

He didn't know why, but for some reason, he felt this sense of impending doom. Almost like something big was happening. Or something big had just happened. The air was cold and unforgiving. He was terrified. Very terrified and he didn't know why which just made everything worse.

Then he saw it.

On the deck beside him were huge chunks of frozen white. Virgil's head turned so fast he could have gotten whiplash as he looked to see an iceberg taller than the ship sail past. His blue eyes grew wide as he stared at the object. His head turned back to look at the chunks of ice sprawled across the deck.

He felt himself begin to panic as his brain ran through the worst possible outcomes imaginable, each more terrifying than the last. What if the ship sinks? What if this ship really isn't unsinkable?!?! Virgil felt his heart go even faster. I'm going to die tonight, aren't I?

Suddenly, Virgil felt a presence next to him and out of the corner of his eye, he saw a crimson red robe lined with gold. Virgil kept his head and eyes forward as he held his breath. Soon, delicate fingers intertwined with his own pale ones. Virgil waited with bated breath for someone, anyone, to yell at them. To tell them to get away from each other. To accuse him of trying to steal something from the first class passenger beside him.

“Virgil,” a soft voice whispered to him. “What happened?”

Virgil closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He felt the thumb of the man beside him rub against his hand. Soothing. Calming. Grounding. He opened his eyes and continued to stare out at the inky black ocean. “Iceberg,” he whispered. “Scraped alongside the ship.” He subtly jerked his head in the direction of the ice chunks scattered on deck. “It was pretty bad.”

“Hhm,” the man next to him hummed as he glanced around nonchalantly before inching closer to Virgil.

“Roman,” Virgil growled, a low warning in his throat.

The man next to him let out a small chuckle. “Virgil, no one's around. We'll be fine.”

Virgil softly shook his head, his bangs shaking in front of his eyes. “I don't think so. What if we sink?”

Roman had to hold back a belly laugh at the mere suggestion.

“Virgil, this ship is unsinkable! We will be okay. We'll make it to America. I'll disappear from my family and then we can get married and be happy.”

Virgil shook his head again. “Can we please check? I just want to make sure that there is no water inside the ship.”

Roman quickly checked their surroundings before he leaned down and pecked Virgil on his lips. “Of course, my storm cloud. Anything to make you feel better.”

Virgil frowned. The feeling of dread was still filling his gut. “Let’s just go before we get caught.” Roman nodded and followed the other down, down, down. They didn't quite notice anything other than the slight tilt of the hall. Almost as if the ship was leaning forward. Virgil didn't like it at all.

Roman didn't seem to be phased. Until they saw a crew member walk towards them, face a little grim. “Gather on deck for a lifeboat drill,” the crewman said before continuing on his way and starting to knock on doors to tell the other passengers the same thing. This did not help Virgil's anxiety. Roman no longer seemed to be carefree. Roman stepped closer to Virgil and pulled him into his arms. “Come on. We should go.” Virgil hid his face in Roman's chest as he let out a weary sigh.

“I have a very bad feeling about this.”

Roman's jaw clenched shut. “Everything will be okay,” he whispered. But he was no longer sure of his words. And although Virgil felt very uneasy about being in the bowels of the ship, he stayed there for a few moments wrapped in the strong arms of his loved one.

Virgil hadn't realized it had been around maybe five, ten minutes until they pulled away to the sound of trickling water. Virgil's eyes grew wide as he turned and looked down to the end of the hall to see a thin, clear, line creep up the floor. “Roman,” he whimpered causing the man to look at the line as well.

Roman gasped and pulled Virgil tighter to him. “W-we should get going,” Roman whispered as he moved backward, pulling Virgil along with him. It was terrifying. They couldn't take their eyes off the line of water slowly moving closer and closer.

The two were able to break from the siren song when the edge touched Roman's slippers.

Roman stumbled backward, shocked at the sub-zero temperature. A shudder ran through him. “We really should get going!” He grabbed ahold of Virgil's hand and began to drag him along as he ran to end of the hall and began to climb up the stairs. Soon the two ran into other passengers who didn’t seem to know what they were doing. Roman frowned, he had to get Virgil past them. He turned back to his love.

“Virgil, don't let go of my hand, okay?” He asked. Virgil nodded numbly. Oh, how Roman wished his angel would talk. It might comfort him and distract Virgil from his own fears. But Roman knew the man would not be able to speak quite so soon after seeing the dooming water rise through the hall.

Roman grabbed ahold of Virgil's pale hand tightly as he pulled Virgil with him while weaving through the crowd of people surrounding them. They looked lost, worried. Roman could only imagine what was going through these people's heads at this exact moment. Virgil would know. Virgil was a third class passenger after all. Even though his dark knight was different, he still probably had the same fears as the other hundreds of third-class passengers surrounding them.

Roman didn't want to think of what would have happened to Virgil if they had never met. If they had never fallen for each other. Would Virgil be trampled among the crowd? Would he be one of the first ones out on the deck? Maybe, considering he was there when Roman found him. But there was still the lingering image in the darkest corner of Roman's mind.

The image of his precious Virgil curled into a ball in the corner of his dark third class cabin, crying, panicking, sobbing, breaking as sharp ice cold water seeped under the door and moved closer and closer. The image of the water rising, slowly rising until it covered his love's chest and neck. Rising until Virgil could no longer escape. Rising until it covered Virgil's mouth. Then it would cover his nose. And then his head until there was no air to breathe.

Roman felt his heart break at the image. The image of Virgil drowning, alone, in a cold, dark room until his body sunk to the bottom of the ocean along with the ship. A tear fell from his emerald green eye. He couldn't let that happen. He couldn't let the love of his life die before they were able to have a life together. Before they were able to get married.

----

Virgil felt overwhelmed as people crowded around him and Roman as they pushed forward. Too much chaotic noise as the tilting of the ship slowly became more prominent. Virgil heard small children crying, he heard parents shushing their babies. He heard small, young, innocent voices asking adults what was going on. It broke his heart. He knew there weren't enough lifeboats. He knew that first class travelers would most likely get in lifeboats first. Or maybe women and children. He knew the lack of lifeboats and preparation would lead to the crew setting them off half full, leaving many souls behind. Leaving too many souls to the dark, inky freezing waters.

He knew.

Virgil could imagine any one of these children being left behind, any one of them being swept away in a wave of ice cold water. Virgil could imagine parents having to slowly come to the horrifying realization that they were not going to make it. That their children would never live full lives. He could imagine the pain and confusion when the children felt icy water burn their skin. Their blind panic when the water reached their lungs and took away their oxygen source.

It was heartbreaking.

Virgil could imagine older couples realizing that this was it. Their time had come. They were finally going to die. This was the end for them. He could imagine them curled into each other. Clinging to each other as the water slowly rose and spilled over onto their bed. The knowledge that these were their last moments. Their last moments together and they were going to spend them clutching each other's arms as the shocking cold rolled over them and quickly steal their air.

It all was truly heart wrenching.

The two made it out of the small crowd, for the most part. Virgil felt tears drip from his eyes as he felt the slant of the floor become more dramatic with each passing moment. We're not going to survive. Virgil felt hands on his shoulders, grounding him. He heard a faint, far away voice. Almost like he was underwater. He immediately snapped out of it and his eyes focused on the man in front of him. “Virgil!” Roman had raised his voice. There was panic interlaced through his Prince's vocal tones.

“Roman,” Virgil breathed. He set a hand on his lover's cheek. “We're going to die aren't we?”

Tears sprang to Roman's eyes at the barely-there look Virgil gave him. “N-no. We're not. We can do this. We're going to get through this. We're going to get through this and get married. We'll adopt some kids and grow old. Everything will be fine,” he choked out.

Virgil frowned as his eyes came into focus as they landed on Roman's green eyes. The distress in the man's voice having shocking him out of his vacant state. “Come on, we-” Virgil swallowed thickly. Despite the dread in his throat that said they weren't going to make it, that at least one of them wasn't going to make it, he had to stay optimistic. If not for himself than for Roman. Because despite their banter and teasing, he would do anything for Roman. Anything. He would die for him. He would live for him. He had to do this for him. He couldn't lose himself to the blinding panic that threatened to grab him and never let go until his inevitable death at sea.

Virgil grabbed on to Roman's shoulders. “Come on, let's get to the lifeboats.” Roman nodded numbly, the shock of the situation finally hitting him as Virgil finally climbed out of his dark spiraling pit of worst case scenarios. How are we going to survive?

Virgil dragged Roman behind him as he pushed and shoved up to the deck of the sinking ship. The deck was slanted more dramatically now. Setting a ball on the deck would cause it to immediately begin rolling down to the front of the ship until landing in the inky black darkness lapping at the outside of the ship, not quite spilling onto the deck yet.

Now that the ship was clearly sinking there was panic and chaotic voices and movements. It was stressing. Very stressing. Virgil frowned as he heard, among the panicking voices, the lulling sound of the band. The string instruments pulling at his heartstrings. It was truly heartbreaking. Who among them would die? Who would survive? Who would lose their loved ones?

Virgil heard a whisper from a passing crewman. His heart leapt into his throat. Water was already spilling onto the deck of the bow. Virgil dragged Roman along with him. He looked at the remaining lifeboats. He knew they weren't going to be able to get on one. He looked around, maybe there was something they could use as a raft. A door, a chair, anything.

Virgil felt a hand squeeze his own and looked to his side to see Roman, tear streaks staining his face, a watery smile on his face. “Virgil,” he whispered. Virgil nodded and let himself be pulled into a hug. A rare show of affection that he couldn't deny now. Not when they were on their way to their watery grave.

Tears leaked from Virgil's stormy blue eyes. “I love you, Roman,” he whispered into the man's chest.

Roman sniffed. “I love you, too Virgil.”

The two pulled apart, but not by much. Both were too scared to let go of the other. Too scared to lose each other in the panicked chaos.

Both heard rushing water filling hallowed halls. It was inside the ship. It was filling the ship. They didn't have long now. They wondered how many lives had already been lost. Were there cold lifeless bodies floating in rooms submerged in the water below them. Did the crew get all the women and children into lifeboats? Did they fill the lifeboats? How many were left?

Virgil and Roman looked over to see a man, a Reverend, Baptist minister, with what seemed to be a family member, maybe his sister? Although they didn't look much alike, maybe a sister-in-law? The man handed a book, his bible, to the women, before she got into the lifeboat.

Both Roman and Virgil could see the look in the two's eyes. They knew. They knew he was going to die. They knew that he wasn't going to make it. Virgil shivered, Roman pulled him tighter to his body. This man was at peace. He knew that this was his last night. And he was at peace with it.

He trusted his sister, to take the holy book with her, to give to maybe his wife. Who now would soon be widowed.

Silent tears fell from Virgil's eyes as he imagined being in their situation. He could see himself handing off his jacket, his wedding ring, to his brother Patton, to give to Roman. He could imagine Roman's pain. He could imagine the earth-shattering scream that would rip from his lover's throat. He could imagine Roman screaming until his throat was raw and bleeding.

Roman looked at Virgil as he saw a sudden surge of people climbing over anything and trampling others as they tried to to get away from the frigid water as it rushed over the slick boards of the deck. Roman turned and pulled Virgil to the back of the ship. He moved Virgil's hand to the railing. “Hold on as tight as you can!” He cried. Fear filled their guts. The deck was tilting. More and more. Soon it would be close to 45 degrees. Virgil looked at Roman, “I love you.”

Roman looked at him. It broke his heart. It really did. “I love you.”

There was a loud groan and then the lights of the ship went out, shrouding them in darkness with only the stars offering their small bit of light. There was a great jerk as what could only be the ship breaking in half, rocked the stern. Screams sounded throughout the night. Blood-curdling screams, heart-wrenching screams, heartbreaking screams. All Virgil could hear was the screams. The screams surrounding them, everywhere. The screams of death surrounding them. Soul-tearing screams.

Roman felt himself panic. The ship was going to go under and the suction of the ship would drag them down with it. Virgil read his mind. “Roman, let's try to get on the other side of the railing. Then we can jump off and hopefully swim away fast enough to not be pulled under.”

Roman nodded and the two moved over to the other side of the railing one at a time. They stood carefully as the stern stood up right at a 90-degree angle. Virgil grabbed ahold of Roman's hand. “On the count of three!” He shouted as the two looked down to watch as the ocean slowly swallowed up the bottom of the stern.

“One…” Roman started them off.

“Two…” Virgil yelled.

“Three!”

The two pushed themselves as far away from the ship as they could, feet scraping over the name of the ship. They splashed down into the water. Virgil gasped as the cold shocked his body. They immediately began to swim as fast as they could as the stern was slowly pulled down. They stopped and turned around to watch as last of the great luxury ship sunk into the ocean. The cold water lapped at the golden letters, TITANIC LIVERPOOL.

Even though the ship was now sinking deep below the icy waters, there were still shrill voices calling out for help. Calling for anyone, anything, to help them. No one would be able to survive in this cold water for long. Something in the back of Virgil's mind told him that the water was 28 degrees. It confused him. How would he know that? Why did that knowledge feel like a memory?

Roman suddenly shivered. Virgil frowned. “W-we h-have to g-get you out of the w-water,” he tried to say as his teeth chattered slightly.

Roman frowned. “B-b-but what a-about you?” He asked as he struggled to stay afloat.

Virgil shook his head. “I'll be fine. We can take turns if we find anything.”

Roman frowned. “O-okay. B-b-b-but you bet-ter p-promise.”

The two moved their arms as they swam around, ignoring the helpless, hopeless cries for help. It was getting harder to move their arms as they became heavy and numb. The sharp cold effectively turning their skin to ice as they moved and tried to keep blood circulating through their body and find anything that would let them survive until help could come. If it comes. Virgil couldn't help but think. But it would break him if he couldn't at least save Roman.

Soon, even Virgil's determination to keep looking for something, anything to help Roman, couldn't keep him going. He slowed, his fingers, arms, legs, whole body numb. “Roman,” he breathed as his voice barely a whisper.

Roman heard. The other voices had long since quieted, many of them finally succumbing to the cold waters. Roman turned around and found Virgil barely floating above the water. Roman's face melted into horror. Pure horror. “Virgil!” He exclaimed as he quickly moved forward to pull his dark stormy knight to his chest.

Virgil felt his arms going limp as Roman help him as best as he could while staying afloat. Virgil's frozen ear laid on Roman's chest, the frantic “thump. Thump. Thump.” Of Roman's heart beating in his ear. Roman looked around frantically. Was there anyone out there who could help them?!?!?! Why weren't there any lifeboats coming back to see if there were any survivors?!?!?! He couldn't lose Virgil!

“I'm sorry,” Virgil breathed out. His pulse slowing.

“It's not your fault, Virgil,” Roman whispered softly to him as he frantically looked for any sign of salvation. For any sign that they were saved. Roman's hand tightened around Virgil and he suddenly became aware of the pale man's weak pulse.

Roman looked down and started to panic. Virgil's face was whiter than milk and his lips were almost purple, how cruel was fate to turn his darling's lips to his favorite color. Tears welled up in Roman's eyes as he saw just how dull Virgil's eyes were. “Please, Virgil. Please, just-” Roman choked on a sob as he fought to keep them afloat. “Please, just hold on, a little longer. For me. Please?” Roman's voice cracked. “Please,”

Virgil frowned as he moved his head to look up at Roman. “I'm sorry,” he whispered, tears fell from his eyes as he felt himself grow colder and colder.

“No, Virgil, please. W-we- we're going to get through this. W-we'll get through this.” Tears poured from Roman's eyes.

“P-please don't cry.”

Roman violently shook his head as his eyes frantically searched for any sign of hope. His tears blurred everything which only caused him to cry harder. “I-I can't l-l-lose you!” Roman sobbed. His fingers were cold, his arms were becoming numb. He was losing.

Virgil mustered up the strength to grab ahold of one of Roman's hands. “It's okay.” He whispered, even as he felt himself slip away, deeper into the cold. He was dying. But he had to help Roman first.

Roman turned to face Virgil, tears staining his cheeks, frost clinging to his hair and face. “I love you.”

Virgil gave a weak absent smile. “I love you.” And then he was gone.

Roman screamed. He screamed and cried and sobbed until his throat was raw and red. He cried until he could cry no longer. He screamed until he lost his voice. He sobbed until the Unforgiving Waters of the Atlantic Ocean took him too.

----

Virgil jolted up and tumbled to the floor, his heart beating rapidly as his chest heaved. His eyes frantically darted around taking in his surroundings as he attempted to catch his breath.

Wherever he was, it was dark, cold. Was he dead? He vaguely heard what sounded like snoring but his heart was pounding too loud in his ears for him to hear anything clearly.

His breathing became rapid, his panicked breaths bouncing off the walls of the room he had to be in. He was scared. Oh so scared. What was going on?!?! What happened?!?! How did he get here?!?! Last he remembered he felt himself leave his body as the cold overtook him. He let out a sharp gasp as he realized he couldn't breathe!

----

Roman frowned as he heard heavy panicked breaths. Must be from the movie. He told himself. He pulled his arms tighter to him before he realized, his arms closed in on air. Wha? He suddenly heard a loud sob. Virgil! He jolted upright, the blanket falling from his shoulders and he turned his head to the corner of the living room, almost getting whiplash because of it.

There, in the corner was his emo nightmare, shaking and shivering as he choked out sobs and tears flooded his eyes and drenched his shirt in the salty liquid.

Roman flung the blanket off himself as he tumbled off the couch. He gently crawled to Virgil's side. “Virgil?” He whispered softly. “Are you okay? Can I touch you?”

Virgil whimpered and continued to cry as he curled into himself more. Roman's eyes widened in fear. What was bothering his love so much? And how could he destroy it? “Virgil? I'm going to place my hands on your shoulders now.” Roman took a deep breath and slowly and gently moved his hands to rest softly on Virgil's hoodie-clad shoulders.

“Breathe,” Roman breathed out softly. “Just breathe, Virgil. I'm right here. You got this. You can do this. Just breathe.” Roman took calm, regulated breaths in a hope that Virgil would copy him.

When Virgil suddenly jerked up, his head shooting up and becoming eye level with Roman.

Roman watched as Virgil's stormy eyes darted around, never landing on one thing for more than a second. It didn't even seem as if Virgil was quite there.

“Virgil,” Roman tried again. He squeezed Virgil's shoulders comfortingly to ground him. Virgil's breathing slowed and he seemed to be less frantic. “Breathe, Virgil.”

A few moments later and Virgil was able to focus his eyes on Roman's face. Roman wasn't expecting what happened next….well not the scale of it. Normally, after a panic attack, Virgil would just drop into Roman's arms, too exhausted to himself up. So when Virgil calmed down greatly, Roman held out his arms gently as he waited for Virgil to slouch forward and drop into his embrace.

He was in no way prepared for Virgil to launch himself at Roman and wrap his arms around the creative sides torso as tight as possible, almost like he was afraid of losing him. Roman caught himself by leaning back slightly on his palms.

“Virgil?” He asked softly. Roman heard a sniffle and looked down to see his love's eyes screwed shut, tears staining his cheeks. “What's wrong, Love?”

Virgil took a deep breath as he tightens his embrace. “W-we were on the Titanic and it was sinking and then we were in the water and it was so cold and then I was dying and you were crying and then you died!”

“Oh, Virgil,” Roman rubbed the anxious traits back. “I'm right here. I'm fine.” The prince suddenly became shockingly aware of the movie playing in the background. Titanic. Even worse, it was at the sinking scene. Roman snapped his fingers and the t.v. switched to the title sequence for The Nightmare Before Christmas.

Virgil kept his arms wrapped tight around Roman's middle as Roman shifted until he was leaning against the couch with Virgil in his lap. Roman wrapped his arms around the pale man and pulled him closer to him. The two stayed like that until a little after Jack's Lament.

“I'm sorry,” Virgil mumbled as he shifted and went to move out of Roman's embrace. Roman had other plans.

“You didn't do anything wrong, darling. You had a nightmare. You can't control that.”

Virgil slowly let himself be pulled closer to Roman and laid his head on Roman's chest. “Thank you,” Virgil whispered into the flamboyant man's chest.

Roman gave him a soft smile as he rubbed Virgil's back. Virgil yawned.

“Tired, love?” Virgil nodded.

Roman shifted slightly until they were comfortable. “Better, starry night?”

“Mhm hhm,” Virgil nodded and curled into Roman's chest as the fanciful side wrapped his arms around Virgil, giving him that safe feeling.

“I love you, Virgil.” Virgil lifted his head just enough to look at Roman. Then he blinked slowly before resting his head against Roman's chest once again. Roman almost squealed as the emo fell asleep. His boyfriend really was a cat.

----

Virgil felt like giving up hope after he and Roman had been floating in the unforgiving Atlantic ocean for what felt like a century. He was numb. He was frozen and he couldn't keep this up much longer.

Suddenly, he heard Roman shout.

“OVER HERE! OVER HERE!”

Virgil turned to see what looked to be a lifeboat searching for survivors amongst the many pale, stiff, cold, lifeless bodies floating aimlessly around. Virgil felt a spark of hope in his cold chest. “OVER HERE!” he began to shout along with Roman and eventually the lifeboat reached them.

They were pulled into the boat where they were given wool blankets. The two cuddled close together as their bodies tried to shiver the warmth back into their limbs.

Later, when they reached the Carpathia, they were checked out by doctors to make sure they were okay and had received no fatal injuries. Once everything was done, the two sat huddled together on the deck, away from the others. Roman shoved his nose into Virgil's neck as he remained curled up against his chest.

“I can't believe it,” Virgil whispered breathlessly.

“Believe what, Mi Amor?”

“That we survived. That your still here, with me, despite having a wealthy family who's probably looking for you.” Virgil ran a hand through his hair.

Roman smiled. “Believe it, dearest.” Then he grinned. “If you didn't believe that then you're not going to believe this.”

“What?”

“We're getting married!”

Virgil blushed scarlet red and hid his face with his hands. Roman chuckled before moving Virgil's pale hands from his face. He leaned in and placed a sweet, loving kiss to his love's lips. “I love you,” he whispered.

Virgil turned a deeper scarlet if that was even possible, and gave Roman a slow blink. Roman turned red a booped Virgil's nose. “Kitten.”

----

Roman and Virgil lay curled up against the couch as they slept. Virgil's head tucked under Roman's chin as Roman's arms held the emo close, his arms keeping him snuggled close. Both wore a smile on their faces. Roman was quite content with cuddling with his boyfriend. Virgil was happy to have the ending to his dream fixed.

The Unforgiving Waters long forgotten.

I hope you enjoyed that! Comments always appreciated! Positive or negative! I hope you all have a relaxing night and good day! P.S. I would love to ramble about this if anyone has questions. 💜💜💜💜💜

Taglist: @youre-lazy-and-youre-gay0-0 @roman-flair @kittenclever

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write-havoc · 6 years

Text

This Is How I Disappear Ch. 3

Summary: A girl named Chuck finds herself in the exact place she doesn't want to be, living with violent men in a desolate nursing home. After her former gym teacher finds her, will he be the savior she was looking for?

Fandom: The Walking Dead AU

Pairing: Negan/Original Female Character

Status: Completed (story continues in The Flame Is Gone, The Fire Remains)

Contains: swearing, violence, sexual assault, blood, smut

Readers 18+ of age only

Masterlists in my bio

Simon leads Chuck to the stairwell and they begin to descend. He pushes Chuck gently through the first floor doors upon reaching the bottom and they make their way through the meandering halls to a back stairwell that leads to the basement, silent the whole way.

“What happened, Chuck? What did you do, kiddo? Why is Negan punishing you?” Simon breaks the silence as they approach several metal doors lining a long, dark hallway.

“It… doesn't matter. I just… want to get this over with, please.”

Simon walks to one of the doors begrudgingly, pulls out a key, and opens it up. The room is small, just slightly bigger than a broom closet and completely stark except for a bucket in one corner.

This should be interesting. I don't really know what I was expecting, but…

“Get in.” Simon motions into the cell and she obeys.

“How long will I-“

He closes the door without another word.

I guess that's part of the punishment, not knowing how long I'll be in here. This might not be so bad, I mean, I don't mind being alone. Sure, it's dark and uncomfortable, but it's not exactly torturous, is it? I guess I’m glad I’m not on “fence duty”.

I wonder what’s the longest someone has stayed in here. And do different infractions have different lengths of punishment? Like, “five days for stealing, one for not kneeling fast enough, SEVENTY-FIVE FOR FLIRTING WITH WIFE NUMBER THREE!”

She makes herself giggle with her internal Negan impression, but it fades quickly. She realizes that she must be getting delirious from lack of sleep. She paces around a bit, letting the gravity of her situation sink in, and then sits down on the cold concrete.

Hmm. Yup. This is going to get uncomfortable really quickly. I wish I had put on a sweater today. I could use it as a pillow. Or blanket. It's actually kinda cold in here. Jeez, I'm already complaining and I've only been in here, what, three minutes?

I need to keep my mind occupied. Think of something. I wonder what Negan’s men are doing at Rolling Acres. Maybe they'll plant more crops. There's room for it there. Of raise animals. They might be more successful than I was at keeping them. I wonder how many people Negan has stationed there. Would someone live in my old room? Sleep on that bed… Okay, I don't want to think about that.

A song, maybe. I wonder if people are still making music out there. God, I would love to play something again. I probably can here. The fences are far enough away that the dead won't be attracted by it. I was always so afraid to play before. Even at Rolling Acres. I wish I had my mom’s old guitar. It wasn't in the house when I went back there to see if she was…

I miss her so much. I wonder what she would tell me to do now. She always knew just what to say to make me feel better…

——— Chuck’s POV ———

— 7 years ago —

“You okay, sweetie? The doctor said you can take your pain pills every four hours. You should be about due for some.” My mom is staring at me from the other side of the couch, knitting a blanket for her work friend’s daughter who’s pregnant. The tv is playing an episode of Grey’s Anatomy. I never really liked that show, but my mom absolutely loves it.

“Oh. No. I'm okay. I can hold off on the drugs for a while,” I’m not really in too much pain at the moment. I have my cast left foot propped up on our ottoman, with a few pillows underneath it for extra comfort. I can't believe that I broke my ankle going down two stairs on our porch! What kind of a klutz does that? Ruined my whole weekend. Now I have to go into school tomorrow and try to hobble around to all of my classes. I haven't even really gotten the hang of these crutches, yet.

Ugh. And now I'm gonna have to talk to Coach Negan about how I can participate in gym. I can't exactly run, or jog, or do anything we’re doing in that class. And I need the gym credits to graduate. Stupid me didn't get them out of the way early, so now I have gym class every day of my senior year to make them up.

“You sure you're okay? You're making a weird face.”

“I'm just anxious about tomorrow. I'm going to have to talk to your favorite teacher about an alternate lesson plan, considering my condition.” I lift up my left leg and wave my cast in the air as much as I can.

“Who's my favorite teacher?” My mom giggles a bit and I give her the “really?” face.

“Coach Negan.”

“Mmmm.” She nods. “Oh yeah. Coach Negan. He's so hot.” She fans herself to hammer her point in.

“Mom! Don't lust after him so much! It's weird… and gross.”

“Come on! You have to see that he's gorgeous.”

“Well, yeah, I have eyes,” I agree. He is a very handsome man. “He's just… my teacher. I can't look at him that way.”

“No, you're right. You shouldn't look at him like that, sweetie. Stay away from older men. Especially ruggedly handsome older men. Who have that bad boy thing going for them. And dimples.”

“Mom! Stop!” I exclaim, trying to stifle a giggle.

She laughs. “I'm just teasing!” She leans over and hits my arm playfully. “Well, why are you dreading having to talk to Professor HotBody about class? Is he an asshole or something. I bet he is. The really handsome ones usually are.”

“Not really. Well, I mean… yeah, he kinda is, but not to me. He’s only mean to the kids who are... you know, douchebags.”

“Why are you so anxious, then? He'll understand that you can't participate. I'm sure he'll work with you.”

“Yeah. I know that. I'm sure I'm not the first kid to break a bone. It's just that… just being around Negan makes me really nervous. I hate talking to him. It always gives me the hiccups.”

“Aww! It's always so adorable when you hiccup!”

“No, it isn't, mom. It's embarrassing and makes me want to die.” I let out a dramatic sigh as she makes an incredulous noise. My mom doesn't really understand what it's like to be awkward and quiet. She's perfectly comfortable around people. She never worries that she'll look stupid or do the wrong thing. “You've never really talked to him, so you don't know what he's like. He's just so…” I gesture my hands, trying to think of the right word, “ intense. He's super confident. And loud. And he swears all the time. He also talks with his whole body.” I throw my arms out and gesticulate wildly. It makes my mom laugh. “Being around people like that just makes me nervous. You know I'm weird like that. I didn't get your ‘normal people’ genes. I got dad’s awkward ones.”

“Well, you'll just have to think out exactly what you want to say to him and go over that a few times. Then you won't be scrambling to think of what to say when you're in front of him.”

“Yeah. I think I'll do that. His prep period is the same as my study hall, so I think I'll talk to him then. I don't want to interrupt one of his classes, or anything. And that’s the period right before my gym class, too, so it'll work out perfectly.”

“There you go! No need to worry.”

———

*Knock Knock Knock*

“ Yeah ?” comes Negan’s voice from inside the room.

Okay, Chuck. Just open his door and go through the speech you have memorized. It'll be fine.

“Hi, Coach,” I say after I open his door. He is seated behind his desk going through papers of some sort.

He looks down my leg at my cast. “Holy shit, Chuck. What did you do? Break your foot off in someone’s ass?” He laughs hard at his own joke.

I chuckle a bit. It’s kinda funny. “Uh, no. I tripped on my porch stairs like an idiot.” I hobble awkwardly around to sit in the chair in front of his desk, leaning my crutches on the chair beside me. “But, uh, that's why I'm here. I needed to talk to you about gym class. I can't participate normally, so I thought that, maybe, I could write reports on a sport… or an athlete, or anything you want, really. I could do a report for every class to make up credit-“

“Fuck that shit,” he interjects.

“Wha-“

“I didn't become a gym teacher so I could read fuckin’ reports. No offense, kid, but I'd rather have my nutsack ripped off by a chimpanzee than read fuckin’ book reports about the history of baseball or some shit.”

“I, uh..” *hiccup*

Ugh. Great. I really did not expect him to reject my idea. Now I'm all flustered.

“Look, you're a good kid. You're not a little motherfucker like most of the rest of them. What grade do I usually give you? A?”

“Uh, y-yeah.”

“Congrats. You get a fuckin’ A this term.”

*hiccup*

He starts to laugh at me. Ugh! “The fuck? You got the hiccups now?”

Yes, Negan. I have the stupid hiccups because I'm a crazy person and can't have a simple conversation without my body breaking down into a bundle of anxiousness! Of course, I never would say that out loud, so I just nod.

“Just hold your fuckin’ breath and get rid of them.”

I do as he said and my hiccups go away. Wow. That actually works. Good to know.

“So… what do you want me to do during class?”

“Fuck if I care.” He thinks about it for a second while he looks at me. “Wait… you're fuckin’ right. If people see you doing fuck all and still passing the class, I'll probably get shit for it.” He leans back in his chair with a perplexed expression on his face. He casts his gaze down to the papers on his desk and a slow smile creeps onto his face. “You know much about football?”

“Um. I know that they score touchdowns and that the quarterback throws the ball…” I shrug. That really is about everything I know. I'm not exactly the sporty type.

“Do you know anything about fantasy football?”

“I've watched The League a few times…?” I give him a little shrug, not really knowing what he’s wanting from me.

“Hmm. Well here's what we're gonna do. You'll come here to my office, this period and we're gonna work on my lineup and shit.” He shuffles the papers around and picks one up that has a bunch of names and scribbles beside them. He puts it in front of me to look at. “This is my fuckin’ team. I need you to look all these people up and tell me every-fuckin’-thing about them. What position they play. Their performances in past games. Whether they started or not. What the fuck is going on in their personal lives. Any fuckin’ shit that might say how they'll play in the next game. Got it?”

“Uh… Yeah. I can do that.” I think.

“I'm gonna take the shit you give me and determine who I'm going to play in that week’s game. If the players I pick actually play and do fuckin’ well, then I get points. If I get more points than anyone else in my league, then I fuckin' win the season. That's fantasy football.”

“That makes sense… I guess.”

“Good. You can start by organizing all this shit I have here.”

“Okay…”

“I'll okay this all with the principal later today. It should be no problem. I'm still teaching you about a fuckin' sport after all.”

That's how it goes for a few classes. I would do his research on whatever guys he wants me to and I would bring it to him, all organized. He'd pick out his players and fix his lineup for the week. It didn't take Negan too long to realize that this work doesn’t exactly fill the entire period. Especially five days a week.

“Well, fuck. I didn't think this through. Now I feel responsible for educating you and shit for the whole period and keeping you fucking occupied.”

“Uh. I guess I can just read quietly while you do your work…”

“You know how to play chess?” he asks suddenly.

“…Yeah. I can play.” Why is he asking? That's… random.

He stands up and walks to a cupboard on his wall. He rummages around until he produces a wooden box. “Good. I haven't played in fucking forever. No one learns how to play fucking chess anymore.” He sets the box down on the desk and takes his seat. The board is one of the kind that folds up and contains all the pieces inside. He opens it up, spilling the pieces on his desk. The two of us scoop up our pieces and begin to set them on the board.

“Oh, uh… I'm not very good, I don't think.” Why did I say that? I know I am pretty good at chess. Not that I've played recently. I used to play with my mom all the time. And my dad. When I was a kid. Before he died.

“It'll be a short game, then.”

We each take our turns, carefully making sure not to make any mistakes. I see his expression change after a few turns, from a smile to a tight frown. He is deep in thought with each move of the pieces. I admit, he is great at chess. I didn't really expect him to be.

“Checkmate,” Negan says, finally letting his grin back on his face.

“Good game, Coach.” I hold out my hand to shake his. That is just good sportsmanship. My dad would be proud.

“Why the fuck did you tell me you weren't very good?” he asks as he shakes my hand. “I'm fuckin’ amazing at chess and I just barely won.”

I shrug, not really knowing what to say. “I don't know…”

“Don't fuckin’ do that. Downplay yourself. If you’re fuckin’ good at something, own that shit.”

“I, uh. Okay... I will.”

The bell rings signaling the end of the period. Thank god. That seemed like it was going to turn into an awkward “Do you have self esteem issues?” conversation. No, thank you. I don't need the pamphlet… again. I gather up my things and leave quickly, or as quickly as I can on my crutches, giving Negan a small wave as I pass through the doorway.

After a few weeks, I actually begin to get comfortable around Negan. We talk about football and the league as we play chess during our class time. Often, though, our conversations go to more everyday things and we get to know each other pretty well.

“There is no way you were a nerd in high school!” I exclaim between giggles.

“I didn't say I was a nerd in high school, I said a was a nerdy fuckin’ kid. I was a chubby fuck when I was little. My family was poor as fuck, too, so I had no friends. Pretty much all I ever did was read all those same fantasy books you read now and watch a ton of sci-fi shit. And play chess with my mom.

“No way! You were fat nerd?!” I giggle. The thought of him being anything but the way he is now is just funny to me.

“Fuck yeah, I was. Then I switched schools and shot up 6 inches when I was fourteen. And started playing baseball. That helped with the whole fuckin’ popularity thing.”

“So you went from nerd to jock just like that?”

“I never really stopped being a nerd.” He pauses. “But don't tell a fuckin’ soul that, Chuck.” He points at me and gives me a stern look.

“I don't believe you! Okay, okay. Favorite character from Lord of the Rings?”

“Aragorn. He's a badass!”

“Uh. What's the name of the ship from Alien?”

“Oh shit. Uh. Uh... Nostromo!” He snaps his fingers as he comes up with the name.

“Okay. Ah! What's this from, ‘Of all the souls I have encountered in my travels, his was the most human.’?”

“Really? Fucking Wrath of Khan. Everyone knows that!”

“Ooooh.” I make a sarcastically impressed face. “Okay. Um… ‘All those moments will be lost, in time, like tears in rain.’”

“Blade Runner. Next.”

“‘Put on the glasses!’”

He laughs. “They Live! I'm surprised you fucking know that one!”

“It's a classic! Okay, okay. Oooh, I know! You'll get this one. ‘Curse your sudden but inevitable betrayal.’”

“Hmm.” He thinks for a moment. “Nope. Don't know that one.”

“What?! That's from Firefly!”

“Never heard of it.”

“Oh my god! It's amazing! It was a tv show but it only had one season. But it was soooo good. You should look it up. It has hookers in it. You'll like it.” I laugh at my own joke.

“Ha ha, Chuck. Very funny,” he says sarcastically. “I shouldn't let you fuckin' talk to me like that, you know.” He points at me as I move my bishop.

“Checkmate!” I exclaim.

“Fuck!” He snaps his gaze to the board. “You distracted me with talk of hookers!”

———

We're meeting in the library now.

I read the note on Negan's door. Really, Negan? I gotta hobble all the way to the library now? You couldn’t’ve told me any earlier?

I make my way to the library as fast as I can, but still arrive after the final bell. No one stops me in the halls anymore, though, because of my crutches. Negan is waiting for me outside the library doors as I turn the corner.

“This way.” I follow him to a table in the far corner of the library. The chess board is already set up and waiting for us. We take our seats and began to play.

“Why are we meeting here instead of your office?”

“Because I fucking said so.”

Jeez. He's in a mood. I hate when he's cranky. It puts me on edge. He goes to move his pawn and I notice that his knuckles are all cut up and bruised.

“What happened to your hand?”

“I fucked it up.” He snaps back.

Okay. No conversation this time.

Or the next time.

Or the time after that.

He hasn’t been himself for a few days. Something is up with him, but I don’t know what. It takes a week of completely silent chess matches before things go back to normal… ish. We still meet in the library, but Negan is back to his old self, it seems. I don’t ask what happened and he doesn’t tell.

“I'm getting my cast off next week, so I guess this will be one of our last games.”

“Why?”

I’m confused at his response. “Why am I getting my cast off?”

“Don’t be a smartass. Why would we stop playing?” he clarifies.

“Well, I figured I'd go back to my regular gym class.”

“This period is still free for both of us. Why does you going back to gym mean that we have to fucking stop playing chess this period?”

“I guess it doesn't, really.”

“Good. Because I think I need to kick your ass a few more fucking times to get ahead of you on wins.”

“You're keeping count?”

“You're not?” He caught me. I am keeping count. And I’m ahead by four games.

“You can't just let me be ahead?”

“Fuck, no! There's no way I'll let you graduate holding that shit over my head.”

“We're going to play the rest of the year then?”

“What, are you that bored of me?”

“No, of course not. I just always thought you were biding your time until you could be rid of me.”

“Really? You think I'm that much of an asshole?”

“No. I didn't mean it like that.” Did I hurt his feelings? I didn't know that was possible.

“I told you when we fucking started that I thought you were a good kid. And I haven't played chess like this since fuckin’ college.”

“Thank you, I think. That's a compliment, right?”

“Well, I meant it as one, so you're fucking welcome.” He smirks at me, but it quickly turns into a frown. “The fuck you lookin’ at, Brandon! ” Negan yells as he shifts his gaze to look behind me. I turn my head to see a boy from my class looking our way.

“Nothing, sir. ” He stands there for a few moments then leaves. That’s weird. I don’t really know what to make of it.

“Uh. What was that all about?”

“Don't worry about it.” Okay. That's all the info I'll get out of him. I know that tone.

“His name is Brendon, you know-”

“I know what his fuckin’ name is. I just hate that kid. Stay away from him, okay? He's a douchebag.”

I laugh a little bit at how Negan is talking about another student. He’s not wrong, though, about him being a douche. I hate that kid, too. He always harasses me, saying how good I look all the time just to tease me.

Negan rubs his beard and looks a bit uncomfortable. Maybe he’s not exactly back to his old self like I thought. “You know I would never be inappropriate with you, right?” he says quickly, as if he really doesn’t want to say the words.

I’m taken aback at the sudden change in topic. I know that some of the kids joke with me about my “extracurriculars” so they say, with Negan, but I never thought they actually believed it or talked with anyone else about it. I wonder if that stuff got back to him and that's why he’s acting so strangely. That would make sense, actually. He’s probably just been trying to cover his back. A male teacher meeting with a female student alone in his office could seem suspicious. But if Negan were to have an affair with a student, I’m pretty sure I would be his last choice.

“Yeah, I know. I trust you. I know you would never do anything like that,” I say genuinely.

“Good.” He looks at me with a strange expression. Like he’s trying to read my mind to make sure I’m not lying.

“So… My mom wants to invite you and your wife over for dinner sometime.” I change the subject after a few tense moments because I really don’t want to dwell on that uncomfortable topic. I wasn't lying, though. My mom had been trying to get me to ask him over for dinner for a while. She said she wanted to thank him for being such a good teacher to me. I figured she just wanted to ogle him.

“Hmm.” He looks away, his expression becoming lighter as he looks back to me. “Yeah. I think we can come over on Thursday. Lucille will be fuckin’ happy. She loves meeting parents and shit. I fuckin’ hate it.”

“Well I'll be sure to tell my mom that.” We both laugh.

“I didn't mean your parents. You're one of the only kids I can fuckin’ stand. All the rest of those little douchebags were raised by fuckin’ big douchebags and I hate dealing with them. If your mom raised you right than she must be a pretty good woman.”

I laugh. My mom would probably love to hear him say that. “I should've had you write my college recommendations. ‘Chuck was possibly raised right and I can effin’ stand her’.” I make him laugh with my impression of him.

“You know, you can have a real smart fuckin’ mouth, sometimes.”

———

“Dinner was delicious, Diane,” Lucille says while delicately patting the corners of her mouth with her napkin. She is very beautiful. Her silky straight dark auburn hair falls just past her shoulders and complements her icy blue eyes perfectly. Her stylish clothing flatters her petite frame and highlights her femininity. And she is the exact opposite of Negan. Quiet. Polite. Poised. With an air of nobility about her. I bet her family had money growing up. I wonder how she got with Negan…

“Yeah. That was fuckin’ great. We’ll have to have you cook for us more fuckin’ often.” My mom laughs. I warned her not to be offended by Negan’s language. Not that she’s against swearing to begin with, but Negan’s style of cursing can be jarring.

“You're more than welcome any time. You've been so good to my daughter, Negan. You know, Chuck doesn't have many friends, so you taking an interest has been so good for her.”

“Oh my god, mom. I'm right here,” I say lowly. I know my face has to be bright red since my cheeks and ears are burning hot. My mom gives me a smile as if she didn't just embarrass me horribly.

“She's a good kid,” Negan says while looking at my mother. Okay, guys. I am still here.

“Yes. You're a very fine young lady and I'm sure your future will hold great things,” Lucille actually says to me, smiling warmly. She seems so amazing. No wonder Negan settled down with her. Jeez, she’s so perfect that I kinda wanna settle down with her.

“Well I think it's about time for us to get fuckin’ going. Ready, babe?” Negan says to Lucille after a few more minutes of light conversation.

“I suppose it is getting late. Thank you very much for the delicious dinner, Diane.” Lucille makes her way over to my mother and gives her a friendly hug with Negan doing the same. “And very nice to meet you, Charlotte.” She hugs me, too. I've never really liked hugging people, but she is so nice, so I soldier through it. I try not to be too awkward, which is a feat for me.

“Nice to meet you, too.” I give her a smile.

Negan walks past me, giving me a small nod. “See you tomorrow, kid.” He turns back to my mom. “Will you see us out, Diane?”

“Oh, sure.” She follows them out to their car, which is parked on the street.

After a little bit, I walk upstairs to my room to get ready for bed. As I walk over to my windows to close the curtains, I look outside and see that my mom is hugging Negan and Lucille has her hand on my mom’s shoulder. That's kinda weird. What are they doing? It looks like they're consoling her, or something. But that makes no sense.

I watch them speak to each other for a few more minutes until Negan and Lucille get into their car and drive off. I change into my pjs and go downstairs to ask my mom about the encounter. I find her standing in front of the sink washing the dishes from dinner.

“What was that all about?” I ask.

“What, sweetie?”

“With Negan. Outside. I saw you talking with him.”

“Oh.” She clears her throat. “I was just telling him again how much his friendship with you means to me.” She continues to wash the dishes, not raising her gaze.

“Jeez, mom. You're gonna make him think I'm some pitiful outcast or something.”

She turns around and pulls me into a tight hug. “I love you so much, Chuck. I just want the world for you. And sometimes this world can be such a horrible place.” She kisses my forehead.

“Okay, mom. I love you, too.” I'm not quite sure what this is all about, but whatever. My mom could always be a bit overdramatic. “I'm headed to bed. Night.” I pull away from her and turn to leave the kitchen.

“Night, sweetie.”

—— ——

Chuck is pulled out of her memories by the sound of the metal door scraping open. She covers her overly sensitive eyes as light floods the small room. Negan's large form casts a long shadow onto her as he steps into the doorway.

“Come on, Chuck. Time to go.” His voice is flat, emotionless.

Chuck slowly stands, stretching out her stiff limbs. As soon as she gets to her full height, she feels light headed. She tries to take a step, but her vision starts to tunnel. The last thing she feels before darkness takes over is Negan's arms wrapping around her.

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shireness-says · 6 years

Text

Killian Jones and the Lost Boy

Summary: Killian Jones' entire life changes when he meets a boy living on the streets. ~12K.

A/N: This was supposed to be 5K. It was not. What it is is 12K of Killian being adorable with tiny Henry. Be aware: this is mostly a Captain Cobra fic with Captain Swan as a bonus. Contains swearing, vague mention of pirate deaths, and a painful amount of cute.

Many thanks to @awkwardnessandbaseball who took up the editing mantle when I couldn’t look at this anymore! Thanks a million, you da best.

Also on AO3.

Enjoy!

There’s a port, off in a nearly forgotten corner of the map at the furthest edge of Misthaven, that Killian Jones and the rest of the Jolly Roger’s crew like to dock at.

It’s nothing much; a tiny hamlet, really, not worthy of much interest to mapmakers, let alone anyone else. But the merchants are fair, the women are friendly, and the drinks are cheap, so the Jolly and her crew keep coming back. Scarlet’s even found himself a sweetheart in town – the pretty florist’s daughter, who loves when he brings her texts from far-off lands. So they make port every 4-6 weeks to restock.

It’s the kind of routine Killian’s life needs right now. Five bloody years spent searching the realm from one end to another for a way to finally kill the Dark One, to exact his revenge for his Milah and for his hand, and when he finally comes back with a poison that can kill the Crocodile once and for all, it’s only to discover that the demon had procured a magic bean at last and used it to reunite with his son in the Land Without Magic – a land Killian has no desire to ever set foot in. Killian’s entire life had centered around revenge for so long, first for his brother and then for his love; with his former monarch deposed after the war and the Crocodile long gone, he’s no longer quite sure what to do with himself. Piracy had been a means to an end, and without that goal to reach, he’s aimless, fruitlessly searching for some way to bring meaning back to his life. It’s been two years of this, him and the crew of the Jolly drifting along from port to port, like a ship without a rudder, just as when they first heard of the Dark One’s departure. So he makes a point of returning to this particular town regularly, in a feeble attempt to return some semblance of normalcy to all their lives.

Truly, it’s the least remarkable town imaginable. Killian isn’t even sure it has a name; there’s nothing listed on his maps, and the townspeople tend to just refer to their little hamlet as “here” or the only slightly more dignified “In Town”. It’s the kind of place where people keep saying they’ll leave one day, but rarely do, finding themselves staying behind and doing whatever their father had done before them and making a family and wishing they had just done more with their lives. But that’s of no concern to Killian and the rest of the crew; their comparatively worldly presence and status as a new face makes them welcomed guests in a town desperate for new tales of the world, even if they are pirates.

Really, the only distinguishing factor about the town is that it’s nearly overrun by a group of street children that Scarlet dubs the Lost Boys (over-dramatic git that he is). From what Killian understands, a sickness swept the next town over a few years back, leaving many children orphaned. No one quite knows how the children came to be in this hamlet instead, but the fact of the matter is they’re here, and clearly have no intention of leaving. Kilian never has problems with them; one of the bolder children tried to pick his pocket once, but that effort was quickly shut down. He may not hold with chopping off the hands of thieves, especially after losing a limb himself, but a threatening glare is more than permissible, and has so far worked wonders.

(Whale has a problem with the pick-pockets, but Whale is also an idiot, so Killian understands why the ship’s doctor has become such a target.)

There is one boy Killian worries about, who can’t be more than four and struggles to keep up with the others. He’s just so small, clearly years younger than even the next youngest boy. With his short legs and childlike tendency towards distraction, Killian is worried about the possibility of the lad getting separated and left behind. Unfortunately, the truth is that this may be a better solution than whatever the boy escaped from. Killian is more than familiar with local orphanages, having been a ward of one in that period between Mama’s death and Father’s retrieval (and later abandonment); he remembers the poor conditions, the children sleeping four to a bed, the insufficient amount of food that was always only a small step away from having gone bad. Slavery was far worse, but Killian’s memories of the orphanage are far from rosy, and in fact pitch closer to awful. He can’t blame the boys for wanting to strike out on their own in their ragtag group, and suspects what coins the little one can beg and the older ones can earn on odd jobs (combined, of course, with outright thievery) can provide much better sustenance than orphanage meals deal, combined with that wonderful feeling of independence and determining one’s own fate. Killian resolves to pay closer attention come winter when the temperatures drop to make sure the lad isn’t in danger of hypothermia, but for the moment, he’s happy to leave well enough alone.

------

For such a small town, it’s somewhat surprising that it can boast two taverns, but that’s the truth of the matter. The Jolly’s crew tends to patronize the less reputable of the two, a dark and slimy-feeling joint called the Rabbit Hole that’s not too far from the docks. Most of the town chooses the Red Wolf Inn, but Killian’s grown quite fond of this hole in the wall, where the traffic is less respectable and the owner (Jefferson, he thinks the name is) is more than happy to accept their money.

It’s been a night for the ages; Mulan had taken everything Smee had to offer in a game of dice, Whale somehow managed to piss off not one, not two, but three women in a two hour period, and whatever batch of rum Jefferson is serving them tonight is particularly strong. The entire crew is three sheets to the wind and Killian’s seen more than a few of his men slip off to dark corners with female companionship.

Killian had planned to find some company of his own that evening when they had all set out, but he’s thinking better of it now. Despite his intentions, he’s veering towards the kind of drunk where he’s likely to pass out immediately after sex and find his cabin missing a few valuables in the morning, and he’d honestly like to avoid that if at all possible. So as the night winds down, Killian slips out the door to walk back to the Jolly by himself. He absent-mindedly tries to plot a course for the rest of his evening: get back to the ship, set aside his vest to mend that missing button later, find some damn water to drink, maybe crawl into bed and read a bit more of that new collection of adventures he picked up at the market in Agrabah...

That’s when he hears the sniffle.

It’s a quiet noise, really; he’s not sure at first that he heard anything at all. But the noise comes again, from the alley to his left, and Killian can’t help but go and investigate. He expects a puppy, maybe, something insignificant to be sure, expects to be on his way in a moment.

Instead, he finds a little boy. No, he finds the boy, the little boy he tries not to worry about, huddled in a corner of the alley in the October night’s chill, all alone. And that discovery sobers Killian up quicker than he could have imagined.

The lad spots him coming as Killian steps closer, and fearfully tries to curl up tighter and scoot away, his bottom lip visibly trembling. Smart lad – already knows not to trust the benevolence of strangers. It’s working against Killian’s good intentions in this instance, but smart lad, all the same.

“It’s alright,” he say as gently as he can, “I’m not going to hurt you.”But the boy is still eyeing him warily – especially his hook, Killian realizes – so he unlocks the appendage from its brace, offering it to him in a goodwill gesture. The lad takes it somewhat tentatively, but seems reassured by the fact that he now has control over the sharp instrument.

“See? Nothing to worry about.” Killian offers his best smile, one he hopes will put the young boy at ease. “My name’s Killian. Or Hook, if you like that better.”

The lad frowns a little, tripping over the name. “Kill-an?”

“Aye, that’s right, Killian. What’s your name, lad?”

The boy still looks nervous, but he does mumble out “Henry.” So that’s progress.

“Henry? Oh, I like that. A good, strong, dashing name for a growing boy.” The next part is trickier – finding out exactly how little Henry came to be huddled in this corner. Killian has never seen the lost boys out late at night, for all that they’re underfoot during the day, so he assumes they’ve got some sort of shelter or tents set up.

“Henry, can you tell me where your friends are?”

Henry’s been a little misty ever since Killian walked up, but this question proves to be the straw that breaks the camel’s back, as the little boy bursts into tears.

Somehow, Killian ends up sprawled on the ground with a sobbing child in his arms, trying to soothe the poor thing and failing miserably. If this reaction is anything to go by, the rest of the boys are gone; thinking back, he realizes that the town had been abnormally quiet this time at port. They must have moved on to a new town and left poor Henry behind, whether by accident or on purpose. The boy’s tears finally start to calm, but the experience seems to have eliminated his hesitance as he clutches Killian’s jacket and tries to burrow his little face into the juncture of Killian’s neck and shoulder.

He rocks and shushes the little boy for a few minutes longer as he tries to formulate a plan. Henry is far too young to be on his own – honestly, it’s a wonder he’s made it this far with only a collection of other children looking after him. In the morning, he’ll have to see about maybe finding a family to take Henry in, but for the moment, there’s really only one option.

“Henry, would you like to sleep on my ship tonight?”

------

To say Will Scarlet is surprised when Killian shows up back at the Jolly Roger with a small child hanging onto his hook is an understatement.

“Uh… something you’d like to share with us, Captain?”

Henry’s getting nervous again, trying to hide behind Killian’s legs, so he shoots Scarlet a look he hopes says be gentle. “It’s alright, little one,” he cajoles, convincing Henry to peep out again, if only to look up to meet his eyes. “Henry, this is my friend Will Scarlet, and Scarlet, this is my friend Henry. Can you say hello to Mister Will?”

“Hello, Misser Will,” comes the little voice, somehow instantly melting his sarcastic second mate into a man who softly smiles as he crouches down to the little boy’s level.

“Well hello there, master Henry,” Will says, offering his hand for what must be the most adorable handshake Killian has ever witnessed. “How old are you?”

Henry proudly holds up five fingers, much to both men’s amusement. “Oh, you’re five?” Scarlet asks, only to receive a frown in return. Re-examining his fingers, Henry folds his pinky down before presenting the hand again. “Four then?” At least that receives an excited nod. Henry is clearly very proud to be an entire four years old.

“Young Henry is going to be staying with us tonight, isn’t that right, lad?”

Henry nods, but still looks up at Killian’s face nervously, like he’s afraid they’re going to take that privilege away from him at any moment. Killian tries to put as reassuring a smile on his face as he can, but it’s more than a little heartbreaking to see how Henry doesn’t trust this good fortune he’s receiving.

“Well that sounds like fun, little mate. Do you want something to snack on?” asks Will. “I know I get hungry right before I go to bed.”

The boy practically lights up at the mention of food, and Killian feels a stab of guilt cut through his heart. Gods, he was so worried about Henry having a safe place to stay for the night that he forgot that the lad probably hadn’t had a decent meal in possibly a very long while. So he nods at Scarlet to go rustle something up for the boy and offers his hook, once again, to the lad. He’d tried to offer the hand earlier, but Henry has taken some odd comfort from the hook, and it does have the added bonus of leaving Killian free to handle other things with his other hand (his only hand).

He’s already decided that Henry will sleep in his cabin. It’s not that Killian doesn’t trust his crew, it’s just that he doesn’t want to take any chances with the lad, and there’s probably the fewest chances for Henry to get into something and accidentally hurt himself in the captain’s quarters. Plus, he thinks Henry will be less scared in a room with him than with a bunch of strange men and women. So Killian carefully helps the boy down the ladder - he insists on doing it himself, very determinedly declaring “I can do it!”, even as Killian still makes sure to keep his hand and hook at the boy’s sides just in case he slips - and settles him in one of the chairs. The little lad is happy enough to sit at the table and look at all of the maps currently laid out, so Killian sets off to find the lad a cot and a blanket - maybe even a spare pillow, if one exists - just as Will is about to walk in with a hunk of bread for Henry to nibble on. As he walks away, he can just hear Henry’s excited chatter to the other man, a noise that makes him smile. But for the moment, he’s got more important things to take care of.

As he lugs the thin pallet down the narrow corridor - the best he can find, but probably still better than little Henry is used to, sadly enough - he runs into Will Scarlet again, seemingly making his way back to his own bunk in one of the former officer’s cabins. “Is the lad alright?” he tries not to ask too urgently.

But Will just nods genially. “Yep, happy as a clam. Practically inhaled that bit of bread, thought I’d go see if I had any sweets hidden to give him. How long is he staying with us, Captain?”

“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about, actually. You’re down in the village proper a hell of a lot more than any of the rest of us; have you heard of any families that might be willing to take him in?”

The crewman screws his brow in thought. “I… no, I don’t. But you might try going down to the other tavern tomorrow - the Red Wolf Inn. Most of the town wanders through, and lord knows that the lady who runs it, Granny Lucas, has an ear for the gossip. If anyone knows of family who’s willing, it’ll be her.”

That seems like a solid enough plan. He’ll head down with the boy tomorrow, sort the matter out, and then the Jolly Roger can be back out of port as soon as their stores are replenished. Easy. “Excellent. We’ll go in the morning.” And with a nod of thanks to the other man, Killian manages to reopen the door to the captain’s quarters and slip through with the pallet.

Only to find the four year old boy already asleep at the table and clutching the last scrap of bread like it’s his salvation.

As quietly as he can, Killian makes up the pallet, making a quick note in his head to get the boy a bath and a change of clothes in the morning. The little lad barely stirs when Killian carefully scoops him up to carry him to the makeshift bed, except to try and burrow in a little closer to the warmth of Killian’s chest. It makes his heart warm, that little bit, to see how this tiny human inexplicably seems to trust him, even unconsciously. He hasn’t thought about kids in a long time, not since Milah had told him she didn’t want any more, and he can’t help but wonder if this is what fatherhood could feel like; like a tiny body in his arms and an unassailable trust.

But Henry isn’t his. Henry, Killian tries to remind himself, won’t be staying on the Jolly for very long, will have a family of his own who can properly take care of him as soon as can be arranged. There’s no point in getting attached. So he sets the little boy down and tucks him in, carefully extricating the hunk of bread from tiny hands.

He allows himself to brush the dark hair out of Henry’s eyes before turning to attend to his own bedtime rituals, but that’s it.

------

When Killian wakes up with the sun the next morning, his little houseguest - or cabin-guest, he supposes, as the case may be - is still fast asleep. That’s fine; good, actually. It means he has a chance to get down to the local market to procure for Henry a set of clothes that isn’t quite so dirty and torn. Will is more than willing to keep an eye on the little guy; they seem to have formed an attachment in their short time together that Killian doesn’t see any reason to discourage. Will’s a big kid at heart, which the four year old must love.

His purchases are easy enough to locate; the only thing Killian ends up not buying is a pair of shoes for the lad, since he realizes he doesn’t have any clue what size Henry might need, and that’s something they’d need to be a bit more specific about. If the pants or shirt are too big, it’ll be fine, but shoes should really be a proper size, plus just a little bit of room to grow.

The shirt and pants should be the end of his purchases, besides maybe picking up just a bit of cheese on his way back to the ship, but a tiny, tucked away booth catches his eye instead. There’s an old woman making all sorts of knitted goods, fingers flying almost faster than his eyes can process: hats and socks and gloves, in every color imaginable. None of those are what catch his attention, however. Tucked away behind everything else is a bright flash of color - a multi-colored, patchwork blanket, the perfect size for a child. He doesn’t need to buy it, truly; he’s sure Henry will be more than happy with just the new clothes.

He buys it anyway.

------

To say Henry is thrilled is an understatement.

Killian walks back into his quarters to find Scarlet grinning at the table as a giggling Henry concocts some wild story and acts it out, practically bouncing off the walls. Still, he happily rushes over when Killian walks back in, laden down with packages.

“I missed you, Killy!” he chirps, trying to pry parcels out of his grasp.

Killy. He hasn’t been called Killy in years.

(He might like being Killy, even if Scarlet looks like he’ll give him all kinds of shit about it.)

Henry’s looking at him expectantly, so Killian’s probably been lost in his thoughts for too long. “Well I missed you too, little mate!” he smiles. “But I had to go pick up a few things for you.”

The clothes go over well - or at least as well as clothes ever go over with children when presented as a gift. But the blanket…

Henry loves the blanket.

He gasps dramatically when he tears the paper off, looking between the soft yarn and Killian’s face with a sort of soft awe before abruptly standing and crashing into Killian’s legs in a massive hug, muttering something into his thigh that Killian thinks must be “thank you”. It’s hard to know how to react to such a display, but he does as best he can, patting the boy’s back.

“Well, you’re very welcome lad.” Retrieving the blanket from it’s packaging on the floor, he clumsily drapes it over the boy’s shoulders with hand and hook. “Nice and cozy, yeah?”

Henry nods, still clinging to a leg.

“Now, what do you say we have some breakfast and get you washed up, then go see some of Mister Will’s friends?”

------

All washed up and practically skipping down the street, Henry looks like any other boy.

They’d told him, briefly, about the plan - how they’re going to go see a friend of Mister Will’s who going to find Henry a real home. The boy is a little confused, but enthusiastic all the same. It shouldn’t be too hard to find Henry a proper family, Killian thinks; the lad is just so damn happy, and loving, even after everything he’s been through.

Even at 11:30 in the morning on a weekday, the Red Wolf Inn is packed. Will was certainly right; the bustling room appears to be the social center of this tiny hamlet. They attract more than a few suspicious looks, but Will’s presence seems to calm the masses a bit, thankfully - something that must be a first, he wants to joke. The man himself is scanning the room with furrowed brow, seemingly not finding the face he’s looking for. In the meantime, a fierce blonde is quickly approaching with a scowl on her face that causes Henry to hide behind his leg. Killian can’t blame the lad; frankly he’d prefer to hide himself.

“What do you think you’re doing with him?” she demands, gesturing at Henry. Killian quickly realizes she’s more worried about the little lad than anything, which helps temper his trepidation in dealing with her, even as Henry grows even more nervous of her tone and clutches tighter to his trousers.

“Actually, Miss - ” he begins, but she cuts him off in fiery indignation. It’s a good look on her, actually; he might even like her, if she wasn’t actively working against him.

“Now listen here, you prick, you may be some fancy pirate and he’s just a street kid but that is no excuse. If you think I’m going to let you do awful things to him on this property -”

“Killy’s a good pirate!” Henry’s little voice pipes through, just as indignant as the blonde’s. “He bought me a blanket,” he adds, like that settles everything.

The barmaid still looks wary, but softens somewhat at Henry’s protestations. He has a way of doing that, Killian is starting to realize. “I’m just trying to look out for you, kid,” she finally says.

But Henry is a perpetual ray of sunshine. “He saw I was cold outside last night, and let me stay on his ship!” he chirps. “And he says he’s going to help me find a family! He’s a very good pirate.”

That even gets a smile out of the woman. “Well, he sounds like a very good friend.” She still sounds a little suspicious, but at least she’s no longer engaged in outright one-sided combat.

Henry just nods sagely. “He’s my Hook.” Like that’s a logical explanation of their relationship, in the same lines as ‘uncle’ or ‘brother’ or ‘father’. Hook.

(Who knows, maybe it is, what with the irrational, absurd comfort Henry draws from clinging to the damn thing.)

Killian shakes himself back to awareness before his thoughts can travel too far down any such rabbit holes. “That’s what we’re here about, actually, Miss. My mate Scarlet here told me the proprietress, Mrs. Lucas, might know of a family who could take young Henry in? It’s awfully cold for tiny fingers to be out on their own.”

He tries to grin charmingly, but the barmaid only looks uncomfortable. “Well…” she begins, clearly bothered by something, and Killian feels himself tense up in anticipation. “Granny isn’t here, you see. Left to spend the day by herself and gave me instructions not to bother her unless the place is on fire.”

Oh. Well, that’s an easy enough problem to work around. “That’s fine, lass. Do you know when she expects to come back?”

“The day after tomorrow. If you’re still in port you could come back then, I’m sure she’ll be more than happy to talk with you. And in the meantime, I could probably keep an ear out. Let you know if I hear of anyone who’d be willing.”

He opens his mouth to reply, but before he can even utter a single syllable, he’s interrupted by an awful gurgling, moaning noise - Henry’s stomach. The little lad can certainly tuck a lot away. Killian lets loose a chuckle at Henry’s guilty look, before turning back to the woman. “I think that should work. Now, in the meantime, I don’t suppose you have anything we could eat? It seems young Henry here is hungry again. Growing boy and all that.” Looking down at the boy in question, he sees Henry trying to give his own charming smile, and has to stifle a chuckle before turning back to the barmaid, catching her holding back her own laugh.

“I believe we have some stew in the back I could spoon up, if you like. How many servings?”

Killian turns to ask Scarlet if he’d like a bowl, but the man’s wandered off again, likely to try and woo his lady. Or maybe just avoid the blonde’s wrath. Either way, it’s an answer to his question.

“Two, please, Miss…?” he ends in a questioning tone. It would be helpful to know who to ask for in two days’ time (and that’s the only reason, truly, he swears).

“Emma. Emma Swan.”

------

Henry absolutely wolfs down his stew, and Killian makes a note to make sure they pick up some sort of bedtime snack for the boy tonight. The least they can do while the lad is on the Jolly Roger is make sure he’s well-fed.

Swan has noticeably softened by the time they’re ready to depart, a fact for which Killian is grateful - he’s not sure he has any more arguments to counter any insistence that Henry not stay on the Jolly. So they make their farewells - Henry more enthusiastically than Killian.

(“Bye, Miss Emma!” he calls, practically flapping his entire hand in a wave as the woman in question chuckles and good-naturedly waggles her fingers right back.)

The next days pass quickly, waiting for news from Miss Swan or from Mrs. Lucas. Killian does try going back to the tavern to see the proprietress on the day she’s expected back, and she is present, but so is the rest of the entire tiny village (or at least so it seems), so Miss Swan waves him away and promises they’ll come down to the ship when there’s news.

As much as the crew has welcomed their young guest, the fact of the matter is that they’ve been in port for almost a week. They’re a ship full of wanderers; while short sojourns to restock their stores and enjoy the local bars (and women) are welcomed, they all itch to get back on the open sea before too long, and a week is stretching their patience. So it’s with no small relief that he sees Miss Swan walking up the gangplank at last - at least, until he sees the look on her face.

“We’re trying to find him a good family - ” she starts, and Killilan can already see where this is going.

“But haven’t yet,” he interrupts. “I take it that’s what you’re here to tell me?”

She nods guiltily. Fantastic.

Honestly, he doesn’t know what the next step is. It hadn’t even crossed his mind that they’d have trouble finding a home for Henry. The boy is such a cheerful, bubbly delight; any family would be so lucky to have him. But the fact of the matter is that he needs to be casting off in the next day or so, or risk losing his crew to other ships. He trusts his men, a feeling that goes both ways, but this is their livelihood, and if the Jolly isn’t out pillaging and plundering, they’ll have to leave and find another ship to work on. He simply can’t afford to wait around until they find Henry a proper home, as much as he’d like to.

“I hate to ask, lass, but the crew and I need to be casting off. I don’t suppose there’s any way you can look after Henry until - ”

But that only earns another guilty shake of her head. Killian has to admit, he doesn’t much like that look on the lady’s face. “My room is barely big enough for me. I can’t keep Henry cooped up in there when I barely want to go back at night.”

There’s a whole host of questions he wants to ask about that, about why Miss Swan has to put up with such subpar lodgings and what he can do to help, but he’s distracted by the sudden awareness of Henry’s little body around his legs. Looking down he sees the worry no four year old should have to be carrying, and that’s it. The decision is made.

“What do you say, lad? Want to spend a little time on the ocean waves with us?”

------

Henry takes to life at sea like a fish to water, so to speak, and the crew takes to him like one of their own. Henry spends his days running from bow to stern and back again, seemingly without any complaints of unsteady legs or seasickness. Somewhere along the line, the crew - Killian suspects led by Scarlet, but he can’t prove anything - begins calling the boy “Little Mate”, which he loves (and Killian finds pretty cute too, even if he has to pretend to be stern and disapproving). As such, the days are now filled with calls of “C’mere, Little Mate, I want to show you something” and offers to teach the boy various things.

Scarlet - or ‘Misser Will’, as he’s becoming known - has an extra special bond with the little boy, but everyone really takes well to his presence on board. Smee is slowly showing Henry all the best hiding places (a particular hit with a curious little boy), and Mulan has been trying to teach him some basic defense with the help of a couple of wooden sticks for swords. At his age, lessons in actual sword-fighting are a little bit useless due to his size and attention span, but he still loves playing at being a knight (or perhaps a dashing pirate captain…) and Mulan’s insistence on decent form can only be an asset if he chooses to pursue the art as he grows older. Killian especially appreciates how she tries to teach their ward some basic weaponless maneuvers even little Henry can execute, like kicking and punching at knees and ankles and advising him to bite and scratch and scream. Henry is still more interested in charging wildly at Mulan’s legs, but Killian still feels better, knowing the boy will have these lessons in the back of his mind and a little bit of muscle memory of how to protect himself. Will, of course, will probably always occupy the top spot in Henry’s book of favorites, especially now that he’s trying to rig up a harness so the lad can safely climb up to the crow’s nest, but the rest of the crew seem ok with that. Even Whale seems to like having Henry around, even if he doesn’t know quite what to do with a small child.

The one little bump is the nightmares. Henry is shockingly good about going to bed when asked - much better than Killian ever remembers being about the matter, though the bedtime stories he receives as a reward for his cooperation certainly must help the process. The lad is even good enough to fall asleep quickly after hearing tales of pirates and princesses and mermaids. But unfortunately, good sleep is not always to be had for poor Henry. Killian is growing used to waking up to the lad’s thrashing and whimpering, and it truly breaks his heart all over again. There’s not much to do for it; the best Killian can do is try to calm the boy down with gentle shushing and strokes to his hair and face. Eventually, Henry will calm down, and usually falls back to sleep after being carefully tucked into his blanket, tight and snug.

(The whole endeavor is feeling more and more like parenthood, and Killian isn’t sure he dislikes it.)

(But Henry will be gone within the month, off to his own family, so he tries not to get too attached.)

------

Emma - Miss Swan, that is - is already waiting anxiously on the docks the next time the Jolly Roger makes port, practically bouncing on the balls of her feet in impatience. Henry makes a beeline straight for her legs as soon the gangplank is down with no notice at all for the various calls to “be careful, Little Mate!” Instead, he plows into her her with a mighty “oomph!” that Emma has, thankfully, already braced herself for.

As Killian makes his more sedate way down to the dock, he can already hear Henry chattering away, seemingly determined to tell Miss Emma every single thing that’s happened the last month.

“... and I saw dolphins, Miss Emma! Have you ever seen dolphins?”

She smiles indulgently, and Killian swears he feels his heart stutter at the sight of this woman being so good to the little lad. He’s so lost in that smile and the way she holds Henry’s hand like she might break it that he entirely misses her response, whatever it might be. Honestly, he’s not even sure how long he stands, smiling like a fool, before he notices Miss Swan jerking her head to the side like she has something she wants to tell him, privately.

And boy, does she ever have something to tell him.

“We think we found a family that will take Henry,” she says, and Killian feels his heart jump - whether in anticipation and excitement or in sadness that his time with Henry will soon be ending, it’s hard to say. The two are irrevocably tied together at this juncture.

Somehow, he forces words past his mouth. “You did?”

She nods. “Yeah. I mean, you and Henry will have the final say, but yeah, Granny and I think we have a candidate. I just wanted to talk to you about how you wanted to do this. Should we speak with them first, make sure they’ll be a good fit, before we let them meet Henry? You’re his de facto guardian at the moment, so I figured you might want to talk to the couple before making any decisions about his care.”

That… is a sound idea. He feels a little guilty admitting it, but Miss Emma is right. He just got so caught up in the idea of simply finding Henry a family that would take him in that he forgot to consider whether they’d be the right family, which is even more important. Emma is waiting expectantly, so he quickly pulls his thoughts together.

“Aye, that sounds like a good idea. Shall meet them at the Red Wolf in, say, two days time? Have a little bit of an interview?”

So it’s settled. Killian will meet Emma and the couple in two evening’s time to find out if they’re the right family for Henry.

------

They’re not the right family for Henry.

The wife is nice enough, a sweet woman on the upper end of middle age whose own two children are already gone, making names for themselves in the Queen’s Navy. She seems like the kind of woman you’d want for a loving aunt, who’d pull you into a loving hug and try to fatten you up a little.

Unfortunately, Killian can’t say the same about the husband. He’s a shoemaker by trade, which isn’t a problem, per se, but he seems detached from the whole thing, not excited by the prospect of a child like his wife is, and Killian gets the idea that he’s mostly agreeing to this as a way to get some help in his shop without formally having to take on an apprentice. Frankly, Killian’s a little afraid that Henry would get taken advantage of as another working body by this man, and he’s not at all confident that the wife, lovely though she may be, would have the spine to prevent it. So he expresses his thanks to their faces, and privately resolves that no, Henry will not be going home with these two.

The lad takes the news surprisingly well, especially considering how excited he had been at the prospect of a real proper home. But when Henry is told the bad news, he just shrugs and turns back to whatever wrestling match he and Scarlet had been in the middle of. Killian is just so relieved to not have to handle any tears that he’s willing to take the boy’s reaction at face value and not dig any deeper.

Emma agrees with him about the couple, thankfully. As it turns out, all of Granny’s interactions had been with the wife, and she shares his trepidations about the husband’s attitude and motivations. So they share a couple mugs of ale and resolve to continue searching for the perfect family to take in Henry - someplace where he won’t just be housed and fed, but truly happy. It’s the night Killian learns about Emma’s motivations for doing all this - that she herself grew up in a series of orphanages, overlooked and unloved. She’ll do anything to keep Henry from growing up like that.

(It’s also the night Killian learns how much he likes the way Emma snorts instead of laughs, but that’s entirely irrelevant to the matter at hand.)

Henry is still on board the ship when they cast off again, but Killian feels better about it, knowing that they still need to find the perfect fit for the little lad.

------

The second month with Little Mate goes more or less smoothly. This whole period of time seems to be defined by efforts to grant Henry little gifts. Mr. Smee, at one port, purchases a skein of the most obnoxiously green yarn Killian has ever seen and knits Henry a little hat to match his own. Henry, of course, insists on wearing the bloody thing almost all the time, so he’s become a tiny fluorescent beacon bobbing up and down the ship. Meanwhile, the ship’s carpenter has taken a liking to Henry that has resulted in a series of toys the boy patently Does Not Need, from a collection of building blocks that always seem to be right in the way of Killian’s bare feet at night to a carved wooden sword with intricate patterns on its hilt. Henry loves them all - really, this must be some sort of heaven for a little boy growing up with not nearly enough - but Killian’s favorite is the little step stool Mr. Hollis fashions for the lad so he can man the helm with the captain. Killian has been slowly trying to teach Henry about port and starboard and the basics of steering the Jolly, and while Little Mate is catching on admirably, he’s really more concerned with pretending to be the captain and giving the crew ridiculous orders. It’s very cute, and Killian tends to give the crew permission to follow Henry’s commands when it doesn’t interfere with other work because it makes the boy giggle, and it’s a sound Killian dearly loves to hear.

Even Whale has developed something of a friendship with Henry, despite still not really knowing how to interact with children. Granted, the entire friendship centers around Henry insisting that the good doctor examine his various minor scrapes and bruises, but still, it’s an odd comradery, of a sort. Whale is slowly figuring out how to talk to Henry, so that’s progress, at the very least.

Where they’re not making progress, unfortunately, is with Henry’s nightmares. Killian tries all he can think of to make it better, but to no avail, and there’s finally a night where even tucking the lad in snugly doesn’t help allay the terror. Killian’s already climbed back into bed to try and get back to sleep, but he can still hear the way Henry’s breath is faster than it ought to be and catches at every stray noise. The poor lad is still scared, there’s no two ways around it. And that’s unacceptable. Desperate times call for desperate measures, so he tries a last-ditch ploy he remembers Liam offering when he was young and scared.

“Lad? Do you want to crawl up here with me?”

By the end of the month, even on nights where he hasn’t had a nightmare, Henry still sometimes likes to crawl into Killian’s bunk, his precious blanket in hand, and starfish himself over Killian’s torso like a weighted blanket. It takes some getting used to on Killian’s end, but it helps the boy, and that’s really all he wants.

------

Emma’s second candidates are actually genuinely lovely - the both of them. He’s a baker in the next town over and she’s a dedicated homemaker, the kind of young and cheerful folks Killian would love to send Henry home with for good.

The only problem is that they already have seven children of their own. Seven. Seven children ranging from fifteen to almost two. Their heart is so clearly in the right place, and Killian appreciates their willingness to step up, but he’s not sure he wants Henry to be just one of a crowd.

He and Emma share another drink or two (or four, on his part...if anyone is counting) after the meeting with the rejected couple concludes. Killian keeps feeling like he has to apologize and justify his decision, which only gets worse the more he drinks. It’s especially stupid because Emma isn’t arguing with him.

“I just want what’s best for him,” he tipsily insists once again, before Emma has had enough.

“Would you stop it?” she demands. “I don’t disagree with you! I was just like Henry, once, just a kid who got forgotten and left by the wayside, and I know there’s a big difference between a roof over your head and a home. And that difference is the people.” She softens her tone as she sees his shock at her outburst. “I don’t blame you for being picky about a family for Henry, not for a moment. In fact, I think it’s nice that he has someone in his corner. It’s a lot more than I ever got.”

Killian wants to say more, wants to reach over and cover her hand with his and tell her all about a father who sold his sons for the sake of his own skin (the first time he’s told anyone since Milah), but the look on Emma’s face screams caution, and he knows that if he pushes too much, this could all go sideways. He can’t afford that for Henry’s sake.

So he nods and finishes his drink and tries not to think the words “kindred spirits”, instead steering the conversation to lighter topics, like the latest gossip in town and the places he and Henry have visited together.

Milah had always craved tales of adventure when trapped in her small town, as do many of the ladies he’s entertained at various ports, so it’s a surprise to hear that, while Emma enjoys hearing about how Henry had reacted to exotic sights, she doesn’t have much any particular desire to travel herself. It’s the strangest thing, as she’s fiery and full of life and energy in all other ways, but is still perfectly content in her corner of the world. When he explicitly asks about her lack of desire to see the world, she shrugs, having to take a moment to collect her thoughts.

“I guess… well, I guess I was always searching for a home as a kid. And while I may hate my actual rooms, this town, Granny and Ruby and all of my regulars… they’re the closest thing I’ve found to home. I don’t really want to give that up.”

It makes sense to him in that way he thinks only orphans understand. Killian has lived on the Jolly for years, but before that, nothing was stable in his life except for Liam. But he never truly felt lost, because Liam was his home. And then, later, Milah was his home. It was only the in between moments that he felt lost, homeless.

(He thinks that Henry, and maybe even Emma, could give him back that feeling of home.)

(But Emma and Henry need roots, roots he’s not in a position to provide, so he pushes the thought away once again.)

------

Month three with Henry on the Jolly Roger brings its ups and downs.

The particular high point, for Killian at least, is teaching Henry about the stars, just like Liam did for him. As Henry has gotten more confident in his stay on the Jolly Roger, he’s gotten more squirrelly about his bedtime, and on the nights where the boy is far too awake and very insistent that he won’t go to sleep, Killian has taken to spreading a blanket on the deck for them both to lay on and stare at the stars.

“You see that one there?” he says, pointing at the sky and guiding the boy’s tiny hand. “That’s the pegasus. Do you know what a pegasus is, Henry?”

Henry shakes his head and looks up expectantly in that way that never fails to make Killian’s heart melt.

“A pegasus is a flying horse. They’ve got these lovely, big wings all covered in feathers. No one has seen one in years, but they’re supposed to be absolutely beautiful.” He chances a glance at Henry, who watches him tell the stories with rapt attention. It’s that innocent attention that encourages him to keep talking, address a subject he usually avoids. “Did you know I had a brother, lad?” Henry shakes his head, eyes wide and curious. “Well, I did. His name was Liam, and he was the captain of this ship.”

“But you’re the captain, Killy!” the lad’s little voice pipes up, and it’s enough to make him chuckle.

“Well yes, Little Mate, but I wasn’t always. Liam was in charge first. And once, when he was still captain, we were given the use of a sail covered in pegasus feathers. And do you know what it did, Henry?”The boy shakes his head frantically, and despite the difficult memories the sight of Henry on the edge of his proverbial seat brings a smile back to Killian’s face. “I could scarcely believe it, but it made the entire ship fly - lifted us right out of the water and carried us through the clouds to another land!”

“Can we fly now?” Henry cuts in excitedly, and Killian feels a little knife of guilt over having to deny the boy a single thing.

“Sadly, no, but we can still go any place you want. Just say the word, my boy, and we’ll chart a path, any place you like to go.” It’s the best he can offer, under the circumstances, but Henry is a good enough lad that he readily accepts it and only snuggles in closer. They lay there in a peaceful silence for several minutes before Henry’s voice cuts once again through the night.

“Will you tell me another one, Killy?”

“Of course, lad.” He searches the sky for something else Henry might like, before settling on a small group of stars. There’s not so much a story involved, but he thinks the boy will like it all the same.

“See this one, Henry?” he says, tracing a cross shape with the boy’s pointed finger. “That one is called Cygnus. Do you know what cygnus means?”

He feels more than sees the shaggy head shake against his shoulder. The boy will have to have a haircut soon, but that’s a matter for another day.

“Well, cygnus is the Latin name for a swan.”

Looking down, he can see Henry’s little face light up. “Like Miss Emma?” he asks excitedly.

“Like Miss Emma,” he agrees, and it’s true. Emma is beautiful and slightly dangerous, someone not so make sudden movements around, just like her namesake. He’d hoped that telling Henry about Emma’s star would bring a smile to both of their faces, and it’s worked even better than he had hoped.

There are other good moments, too - it’s wonderful, seeing new places through Henry’s eyes and the wonder he expresses at each new day. It doesn’t hurt that Henry still introduces Killian as “He’s my Hook!” anytime anyone asks, bringing a soft smile Killian hadn’t known he was capable of to his face each time. But all the same, those quiet moments under the stars where Killian has to carry Henry down to bed at the end of the night are his favorites.

Unfortunately, month three also brings the worst moments imaginable when the Jolly Roger is cornered into an unavoidable fight with Henry hidden in the captain’s cabin. It’s not that the ship has become some sort of pleasure cruise since the boy has taken residence; they’re still pirates, and the way a pirate makes their living is by attacking and ransacking other ships. But Killian’s been more careful about his targets in the last months, not wanting to put Henry in undue danger. Primarily, they’ve been attacking ships that are already sitting ducks - somehow crippled, or small, or obviously poorly kept up; ships that won’t take too much effort or danger to subdue. But they’re in the middle of the ocean and some damned child of a pirate captain wants to make a name for himself by taking down the Jolly and her crew, and before Killian knows it, they’re prepping for battle.

He never wanted Henry to be in the middle of this. Of course, there’s plans in his head for if this happens while Henry is on board, but he never wanted any of them to need to be implemented. The battle will be bloody and scary and possibly deadly and gods, he never wanted Henry to hear any of the noises he’s about to hear.

Killian somehow manages to snag Scarlet as he’s running around prepping cannons and making sure the boarding equipment is where it needs to be. That’s stage one of the plan: keep Henry with Will. He could really use Scarlet up on deck in case this gets ugly, as he’s one of the better swordsmen, but at the same time, he is one of the better swordsmen, perhaps the best after Mulan, and he wants only the best looking after the lad. Plus, Henry loves Will. Having the big idiot keep the lad safe is the best option for Henry and for Killian’s frayed nerves.

“Come with me,” he manages to command the other man, practically dragging him below decks to where Henry is building some sort of tower on Killian’s desk. Bless Scarlet, he understands immediately upon seeing the boy, and nods as reassuringly as he can.

Killian walks over to where Henry is slowly looking more and more nervous and crouches down so they can talk eye to eye. It’s very important that he phrase this correctly so as not to panic the lad any further.

“Now Henry, you might hear some loud, scary noises in a little bit, but it’ll be alright, aye? Mister Will’s going to protect you, there’s absolutely nothing to worry about.”

Henry’s lip has started to tremble, but Will does his best to smile cheerfully. “We’re going to have our own little party, Little Mate, and make everyone jealous of the fun we’re having. Nothing to worry about.”

Still, Killian wraps his arm around the boy’s shoulders to calm him down. “But you’ll be good for Mister Will and make sure you do everything he says, right?”

“Aye, Killy,” Henry mumbles into his shirt, and Killian manages a chuckle despite the fear.

“That’s a lad. Now you be good and I’ll see you soon, ok?” he says, standing up and allowing the boy to crash into his legs in a fierce hug.

He pulls Scarlet aside on the way out for a final word. “There’s a secret compartment that should be large enough for him underneath the table.”

Scarlet nods solemnly in response, understanding the words as instructions for the worst-case scenario. Killian is only able to return to his duties as captain by reminding himself, repeatedly, that Scarlet will do everything in his power to keep Henry safe, should it come to that.

It doesn’t come to that, thankfully, but the battle is still everything Killian never wanted the boy to hear. There’s no casualties on their side, thank the gods - Killian does not relish the thought of having to explain to Henry why any of the crew won’t be coming back - but their opponent isn’t nearly so lucky. The cocky captain is ultimately spared, but he does lose several crew members and most of the wealth he’s carrying before the ship is effectively crippled and set adrift. Killian’s almost certain he won’t last long at the hands of his own crew, thanks to their anger over their losses, but at least he won’t have to have that particular blood his hands.

He leaves Smee to direct the clean-up as he rushes back down the ladder, stopping only at the sight of the literal blood on his hands. Killian wants so badly to rush right in and gather Henry back into his arms, give him a big hug he’s sure they both need, but there’s no way he can face the boy like this, still covered in the crimson evidence of battle. He’s had worse, especially in his most aimless days, but there’s enough that he’s sure would terrify a small boy. There’s nothing to be done about the shirt, unfortunately, but at the very least he can duck into one of the officer cabins to borrow a washbowl.

It feels like far too long before he finally deems himself clean enough to handle Henry. It’s just in time too, because when Killian opens his door, the boy is on the verge of a complete meltdown, even as Scarlet gently rocks him back and forth on the bed. As Killian enters, the boy bursts into tears and wiggles out of Will’s grip to run into his arms.

“I thought you weren’t coming back!” Henry sobs, and Killian collapses to the floor right in the doorway so as to hold the hysterical child better.

“Of course I came back, lad, I couldn’t leave my best mate, now could I?” he tries to cajole, but to no avail.

“Misser Will said you’d be back once it was quiet again, but the noises stopped and you still didn’t come…” but the sobs are nearly overtaking him now, and the rest of the sentence is lost in the tears. There’s not much to do for it anymore, so he just rocks the lad back and forth and tries to assure him that he won’t ever leave Henry alone, not if he can help it.

He doesn’t even pretend to put Henry to bed that night, just lets the lad sprawl all over him, for both their sakes and peace of mind.

------

Emma must sense the desperation when they pull back into port a week later, because she cuts right to the chase. There’s another family, and she thinks they’ll both really like them.

And Killian does. They’re a well-to-do family who’s just passing through, but they’re kind, if a little proper and uptight. It’d be a good life for Henry. So after the initial interview - which has somewhat changed into a quasi-interrogation over the past few months, but oh well - Killian agrees to bring Henry by the next day and see how they get on.

Henry, however, does not take to them. It’s not that he’s rude, or mean, he’s just quiet - not the Henry Killian has grown used to seeing these past months. They’re very kind and generous to offer, but it’s just not a good fit for the lad. Killian hates it, but he feels relief, knowing that it means Henry will spend another month in his care.

He haltingly puts that feeling into words on his ship that night, laying on a blanket with Emma and a sleeping Henry after an outing of stargazing.

(“Did you know you have a star, Miss Emma?” Henry had demanded excitedly, and had insisted she come learn the constellations when she had replied in the negative.)

(But then again, the lad had also insisted they buy Miss Emma a flower he proceeded to tell Emma was only from Killian, so Henry may have ulterior motives.)

(Not that Killian particularly minds those motives - he and Emma have grown unexpectedly close in their quest to find a family for the little boy that has brought them together. But there’s something especially blush-worthy about a four year old trying to orchestrate your love life.)

“It’s just going to be so quiet here, without him,” he whispers in the dark. “I know a pirate ship isn’t exactly a silent place, but I swear, he’s wormed himself into every corner.” He pauses. “Is is bad, that I’m happy the family didn’t work out? That I’ll get another month with him?”

He can just feel her fingers brush his where his arm cradles Henry, and it sets a whole different variety of butterflies fluttering in his stomach. “I think it just means that you care for him,” she responds softly. “And there’s nothing wrong with that. Henry could use a whole stable of people in his life who care for him.”

He can hear the faint sadness in her voice, the longing for something she never got, and it causes a pang in his heart in the same area that Henry’s gratefulness for the simplest things he should be used to does. It’s a little tricky with a sleeping four year old on his arm, but his reaches over to tangle his fingers with Emma’s as best he can.

(It’s moments like this that he wants to carefully store to look back on after Henry leaves, after Emma comes to her senses about associating with an aimless pirate, but he knows there’s no chance of his memory ever exactly capturing this feeling.)

------

Henry’s fourth month on the ship just feels like borrowed time.

The suggested families for Henry have gotten better, more suitable, and Killian fully suspects it’s because Emma’s taken over the search. It’s only a matter of time before she finds the perfect family, and Henry won’t be in his life any longer. So he tries to savor each moment as they come and make sure the lad only has the best of memories of their time together, short as it may be.

The best of memories, unfortunately, is complicated and compromised by Henry’s continued nightmares. They’ve gotten worse since the skirmish, the little boy waking up shaking in terror and crying out. Much as Killian might wish to keep Henry with them forever, the dreams only cement in his mind that a pirate ship is no place for a small child.

Calming Henry down from these dreams is bad enough, but what’s worse is how he’s begun calling for a father who’s not there. Each cry of “Papa!” sends a little shot of pain through his heart because he is not Papa which means that no matter what he does to soothe the boy, it won’t be precisely what he needs.

But Killian tries his hardest all the same, cradling Henry’s small body to his chest and carrying him from his small cot to the marginally larger bunk, whispering all the while that “it’s going to be alright, I’ve got you, Killy’s got you”.

Those nights they eventually both fall back to sleep with the remnants of tears on their faces with a death grip on one another.

------

Emma’s practically bouncing with excitement the next time they dock, and Killian’s heart sinks a little, knowing it means she’s finally found the right family for Henry.

“I think you’ll really like them,” she tells him. “They’re the kind of parents I wanted as a kid.”

And she’s right, of course - he really likes them, despite the corner of his soul that’s desperate to find a fault so he can keep Henry by his side for just a little while longer. They’re actually a pair of locals - a farmer and his wife, but they live further into the country and rarely come into the tavern, so Emma hadn’t even considered them until recently. The wife is a petite little woman who cries when she talks about how their own child had died in the sickness and they’d never been able to have another, her sturdy husband holding and stroking her hand through the sorrowful tale. It’s so easy to tell that they’d love Henry, regardless of blood, that Killian’s concerns are easily wiped away. The only thing left to do is introduce them to the boy himself.

Henry, by some miracle, takes to them immediately. There’s still some of the nerves at first, with the boy looking back at Killian for reassurance, but he’s quickly won over by the couple’s tales from the farm of their pair of sheepdogs and the small apple orchard and their stubborn cow who insists on going where she pleases, regardless of any prodding in various directions. Henry is so clearly enchanted by their descriptions of a proper home, and Killian’s heart beats a little easier through the lingering sadness, knowing this precious, happy boy will be absolutely cherished.

It’s bittersweet, walking back to the Jolly with a small hand within his own, knowing this will be the last time they do so together. Henry is somewhat subdued himself - has been all afternoon, come to think of it, despite his excitement about his new parents - so Killian thinks he can’t be alone in the sentiment. He’s trying to drown the sorrow in lists of things to do, things to pack (the storybook Will bought the lad in Glowerhaven, the pair of pants with the hole in them he hasn’t had a chance to fix…), but it’s not quite working, and most of the walk is spent in a sorrowful silence.

The rest of the day seems normal. Henry wanders off to tell Scarlet all about the “nice man and lady” and Killian sheds several tears while bundling all the lad’s things together - Gods, he has so much stuff now compared to when he arrived - but none of that is unexpected.

Things only take a turn for the unusual after dark. Killian had hoped to maybe spend one more evening under the stars with Henry, but the lad is downright lethargic, and ready for bed. That should have been Killian’s first clue, but it’s only later that he realizes something is really wrong.

No, the real first clue is when Henry wakes up not even three hours later with his teeth chattering.

“Papa?” he mumbles. “I don’t feel good.”

(Killian’s far too concerned to even worry about the fact that Henry is trying to call him Papa.)

And sure enough, when Killian goes to check, brows furrowed in concern, Henry is burning up, far warmer than little boys should ever be, and his eyes are all dull and glassy. Something is obviously wrong, something Killian can only imagine Henry picked up in a distant port.

There’s no time for speculation, though. Henry is sick, and Killian doesn’t know what to do. His first thought is Whale - the doctor should be able to fix this or at least help the poor mite - but Whale is off god knows where trying to get under some girl’s skirt, and not to be found. But Killian’s panicking and Henry needs something now and he doesn’t know how to fix it and somehow, they’re standing outside of the Red Wolf, Henry bundled into his beloved blanket in his arms and sweating buckets, without any memory of how they got here.

He somehow manages to find Emma, and it’s probably it’s own kind of miracle that he’s able to convey to her what the problem is despite the rising panic in his eyes and voice. She offers her own frown upon feeling his feverish head, and before he knows it, he and Henry have been ushered upstairs to one of the rooms in the inn.

“Do you know where he caught it?” Emma asks, failing to mask her own urgency.

Killian shakes his head in return. “It could be any number of ports…” he trails off. They’ve been to so many places in the last month alone; there’s no telling what Henry may have picked up.

“I think it’s just the flu,” Emma cuts in quietly, interrupting the blur of his thoughts. “But even that can be dangerous. I need you to go downstairs and tell Granny we need some broth and her chest salve. I want to try and make sure his chest doesn’t get too clogged up.”

Killian nods in relief; this is something he can do, fetch materials for the people who actually know what they’re doing, but Henry’s panicked cry stops him in his tracks.

“Papa!”

And there’s no question, Emma will have to get the things she asked for because Killian is not leaving the little lad. He may be a pirate and he may not be Henry’s father but when the lad calls for his papa, it is still Killian’s job to comfort him.

He gently holds Henry’s sweaty hand as he collapses into the chair next to the bed. “Papa?” the lad pipes again, but softer this time, calmer.

“It’s Killian, lad. Killy - your Hook.”

But Henry just sighs in relief and nods, like the matter is settled. “Papa.”

Oh.

He shouldn’t be surprised, with the massive role he’s played in the boy’s life these past four months, but it still takes his breath away to hear that title falling from Henry’s lips in relation to him. It’s with no small lump in his throat that he’s finally able to reply.

“Yes, lad, Papa’s here. I’m going to take real good care of you, aye? Papa’s not going anywhere.”

------

A pirate ship is no place for a young boy.

But that just means Killian gives up on the whole pirate lark and goes straight once more, changing the Jolly’s name to the Swan’s Song and going into business fetching whatever the townspeople might need from far off corners of the land.

It doesn’t happen overnight, of course; it’s a process, starting with addressing his decision to permanently take Henry in himself. The couple who are supposed to take Henry are gracious about the change of plans when Killian comes down the next day, exhausted and with hair shooting every which way, to tell them that Henry won’t be coming with them after all, that he’s going to assume care of the lad for good. Apparently, they had suspected as much, and are even kind enough to offer to let the two come visit if Henry ever wants to see the farm animals.

Next comes settling matters with his crew. Most have been there for years, and while Killian has never doubted their loyalty, switching to a life lived on the right side of the law is not what most of them signed up for. He can’t say for certain that they’ll follow him into this new endeavor. But he underestimates their faithfulness to himself and Henry; to a man, everyone decides to stay and embrace a new way of life, as long as Killian is still the captain.

(He does not cry over that, but it’s close. Clearly, Henry has made him go soft, though he can’t say he’d change a thing.)

He tries to wait to start something with Emma until all the other matters are settled, but he’s ultimately too impatient. His ducks are mostly in a row, having tearfully informed Henry that he’s not going anywhere, effectively retiring from piracy and informing the crew as such, but he would have liked to have purchased a proper home first - a way to give Emma the roots she so deserves. But Henry keeps needling him in his four year old way, and there’s really no denying that the very mention of Emma’s name makes Killian smile like some lovestruck schoolboy, so patience be damned. He may stroll confidently down to the Red Wolf Inn, but it’s still an incredible relief when Emma accepts his invitation for a night on the water, just the two of them, with a wide smile.

The house comes later. It’s not much - a small cottage on the coast a short walk from the town proper - but he can smell the sea wafting through the rooms and there’s room for flowerbeds on either side. Henry is enamored by the lofted area up by the rafters, and Killian’s already making plans to turn it into a bedroom for the boy before he even truly realizes he’s made the decision to buy the place. Money isn’t an issue after years of piracy, and the place is officially theirs sooner than he would have thought possible.

There’s not even a moment of questioning whether he’ll invite Emma to live with them. It’s only been a month since that first date, but Killian knows he’s in this for the long haul. He’s seen her rooms - they’re just as tiny as described, perhaps even more so. It may look like a whirlwind romance to others, but he already knows this is meant to be a home for all three of them - him and Emma and Henry. It wouldn’t be right to have one of those pieces missing. So Emma gathers up her belongings, and Killian swears that the main room seems brighter the moment she steps inside for good, just by thanks of her presence.

It’s truly nice, being able to settle into a more stable life, something he and the crew frankly all need as they get older. Many of the men are still living on the ship, but there’s a not insignificant portion who have decided to put down their own roots. Will even takes the opportunity to finally marry the lovely Miss French, an occasion they all celebrate. Some days, Killian thinks they’re all on their way to becoming sedentary old men and women.

(He can’t truly bring himself to complain.)

The transition isn’t entirely smooth, of course. Henry is devastated the first time he has to stay behind on land, and Killian is a little devastated to leave him, but Emma will be there in the neat little house to watch over him, so it’s not as bad as they both act. Emma will watch over him with all the love in her heart, and they’ll both be waiting whenever he steps back on land. Some days, he misses the feel of the ocean waves rocking him to sleep, but his heart hadn’t really been in piracy for a while; he’d been wandering the oceans aimlessly, until Henry had come along to give him a new purpose.

Lately, Henry’s been hinting about a wedding, but neither Killian nor Emma are in any rush. They may be living together and raising a child together, but they’re in no hurry to get married. He’s a reformed pirate and she’s a stubborn barmaid; tradition has already been thrown to the wind, so there’s no real need to do things just because anyone says they should.

Killian still plans to ask, one day, some indeterminate time when the sun is shining and they’re all incandescently happy and it’s right (because if there’s anything he’s learned from this journey, it’s the importance of the right fit, the right moment). But there’s no real urgency - he’s got all the time in the world.

After all, with a former lost boy and lost girl by his side, how could he ever need anything else?

#my writing #cs ff #Killian Jones and the Lost Boy #captain cobra #captain swan #too cute

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