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thetomorrowshow · 2 years

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trust au masterlist

the return of the trust au

i took a short break in updating this bc of personal reasons but here is another installment for yall on this fine thursday evening! much love to @after-nine-at-the-oasis for the encouragement :)

you can read the other pieces in the above-linked masterlist, or on my ao3 (linked on my blog). i will also have a taglist for this au if yall want to be tagged in the rb!

cw: referenced injuries, spiraling thoughts & self-hate

Jimmy’s too embarrassed to go to Lizzie right now.

Well, it’s not just that. For one thing, he’s almost too sore to get up. He’s bruised and broken all over and he’s not sure he’s ever going to get the taste of dirt out of his mouth. He really just wants to lie in his bed for the rest of the day and into the next.

Scott carried him to his bed earlier. He’d woken up on the couch, cuddled into Scott, whose head was tipped back, mouth slightly open, eyes closed. Jimmy had gazed at him for a moment, the soft pink dusting his cheeks, the flutter of his eyelashes with each breath. Then he’d tried to get up, and Scott had woken and left to get him food. When they had both eaten, Scott changed Jimmy’s bandages (which wore him out immensely) and then carried him to bed. With a soft word of farewell, Scott had left, locking the cabin door behind him. And Jimmy had fallen asleep almost instantly.

But now he’s awake, and his head is clear, and his alliance with Scott is proven to be something. So it’s about time he tells Lizzie, but he really doesn’t want to get out of bed. He needs to change his bandages too, probably, but he doesn’t want to whatsoever. He thinks, though, that he can manage to write a letter.

OCEAN QUEEN,

hi lizzie! i was writing to tell you of some IMPORTANT NEWS. VERY IMPORTANT NEWS. the Codfather Alliance is growing!

i have made a new ally. you may have noticed that scott smajor is nice to me now! we have signed allyship papers and are arranging deals NOW. i was going to write joel to tell him of the news, but i assume he is with you. i will also be writing to pixl to tell him :)

you may not trust him, but scott is a good ally and i hope he will become more.

i did good!! are you proud of me?

Cordially,

HRM THE CODFATHER 𓆟

Jimmy scribbles a little fish beside his title, as well as his signature. Then he seals the letter and puts away the book he’d been writing on. He has about three messengers designated for trips to the Ocean Empire, so he reluctantly brings himself to his feet and covers any injuries on display—he pulls the Codfather head over his face, clasps a jacket over his bandaged chest. Then he limps out of his cabin, to the messenger hut down the pier. He hands the letter to the secretary, ignores the look they give him when he flinches away from the brush of their fingers.

Lizzie’s going to want to call a meeting, and Lizzie will get on him if any of these injuries are infected. So Jimmy sighs, returns to his cabin, and unwraps his various bandages.

Jimmy’s out planting some poppies in his garden (one-handed, his right arm in a sling) when he hears the familiar sound of a twirling trident. Lizzie’s coming to visit! It’s fairly early for Lizzie to be visiting, and he usually only sees her in their weekly supplemental meetings (the most recent of which he’d canceled, as a chance to heal), so it’s good to see her.

He straightens up, dusts his hand on his pants and adjusts his Codfather head. He and Lizzie have only known that they’re seablings for a couple of months—it had completely shocked the both of them, and ever since that realization, they’ve quite clearly become more protective of one another. It’s no surprise that Lizzie’s dropping in for a surprise visit.

He waves widely, disguises his limp as a trip when he hurries to meet her at the landing point. “Lizzie! Did you get my letter last—”

He cuts off as Lizzie grips his arms, winces as her thumb presses into the nearly-healed gash on his bicep. Her hair is out of place, her face wrinkled with concern. Jimmy’s about to ask what’s wrong when she yanks off his Codfather head.

“I—Lizzie—!”

She stares at him—at his jaw, and the line of bruises there. Her face goes slack with—with something that looks a lot like grief.

“It’s true,” she whispers. Her eyes flick from his face to his sling, the one that both holds his injured arm and secures his broken collarbone in place. “They’re hurting you. I let them—” she chokes off, tears welling in her eyes.

“I—what? No, don’t—don’t cry,” Jimmy says frantically, his mind whirling. How did she find out? She isn’t allies with Scott, and nobody else knows—did one of his tormentors reveal something? “I—what are you talking about?”

Lizzie buries her face in his good shoulder, tears spilling over. “Smajor told us,” she cries. “He—he wanted our help protecting you. . . .”

Jimmy thinks for a long moment, Lizzie pressed against him. Scott told them. He doesn’t like that, doesn't like that Scott went to them without permission, but also. . . .

Scott wants to protect him. Scott wants to be there for him, whenever he needs it, is so worried that he won’t be enough that he went to people who aren’t his allies to ask for help. And that makes Jimmy feel . . . kind of special. Scott is doing all of this for him. Scott really cares about him.

Jimmy really cares about Scott, too.

“Why isn’t Scott here?” he asks after another long moment. He makes it as casual as possible, just inquiring after his presence. Scott’s his ally, after all. He’s supposed to pay attention to where he is and stuff. Lizzie still pulls back, fixes him with a questioning look.

“He was exhausted, so we gave him a guest bedroom. He should be asleep by now.”

Scott was exhausted? And noticeably? Tired enough that he needed to go straight to sleep while visiting another kingdom? That can’t be good. “Can I see him?” he says too quickly, quickly enough that Lizzie squints at him suspiciously.

“You’re clearly injured,” she says slowly. “Are you well enough for the flight?”

Jimmy almost snorts. He’s flown with far worse. He doesn’t say anything, though, just one-handedly adjusts the straps of his elytra.

Jimmy can’t tear his eyes from Scott’s face. The elf certainly looks exhausted, just as Lizzie had said, dark shadows under his eyes and waxy skin. Now, though, he’s peacefully slumbering, both hands loosely curled close to his chest. Jimmy watches him, watches his chest rise with every slow breath, watches his fingers twitch, watches the little turns of his mouth.

He reaches out with his good arm, aborts the movement. Not everybody likes physical contact, especially not when they’re sleeping. So he settles for just gazing at Scott, at his long eyelashes, at the way one of his wings is bent slightly under him, at—

“What’s so interesting about his face, huh?”

Jimmy starts, shoots up from his seat at Scott’s bedside. Joel is leaning against the doorway, arms crossed, brows raised. “I—uh—he just looks so tired, doesn’t he?” he manages. “I can’t imagine—usually he’s so perfect, and not that he isn’t still perfect, but he’s . . . well. . . .” he gestures vaguely at Scott, eyes turning back on him. Scott’s usually so bright, so radiant. Now he’s dulled, lost his shine.

He looks back to Joel only to see the man covering his mouth, some combination of shock and hysterics flitting across his face. Jimmy’s not sure why, or what he means by it, but before he can ask Joel has composed himself, properly stepping into the room.

“Jim, Lizzie and I have been talking, and . . . well.” Joel hesitates, eyes dancing from Jimmy’s bruised jaw line to his sling. “To start, I suppose—I’m sorry,” he says, meeting Jimmy’s eyes. “We—I haven’t done enough. Scott didn’t tell us much, but from what he did tell us, you’ve been going through a lot with no one to support you. And I’m sorry. I should’ve been there.”

“Joel, no,” Jimmy says earnestly. “I—I didn’t really know what was happening myself, not until Scott realized. And they hid it, they made me hide it.”

Joel flinches, takes his crown from his head and worriedly twists it around in his hands. “C’mon, Jimmy. Scott said it’s been going on for a while. There’s no way that for however many months it’s been—”

“Years,” Jimmy corrects. Joel’s mouth falls open.

“Y-years?”

“Um. Yeah. Since I joined Katherine’s alliance, pretty much.” Jimmy rubs the back of his neck. He’s a little . . . well, anxious, he supposes. Not of how Joel will react, but also completely that. Joel won’t be mad at him, right? “It’s been a while. I thought everyone knew, but Scott. . . .”

He looks back to the elf, still sleeping peacefully. Jimmy’s always thought that the feathers on his wings seemed so very soft. He’s wanted for months to run his fingers through them, just to see how they feel. Would it wake Scott up if he did that right now? Better to not risk it.

Crazy, how just a couple of weeks could change how he sees Scott entirely. In the past, when met with this opportunity, he would’ve touched him without hesitation, without regard for how he might react. Now, though. . . .

“He saw my scars, and he didn’t hurt me,” Jimmy murmurs. “He hated me, he used to hate me so much, but he saw that I needed help and he helped me. He wanted to help me. He hated me, but he wanted an alliance just so he could protect me.” He looks back up to Joel, who’s watching him with the most soulful look Jimmy’s ever seen on the man’s face. “Lizzie said he hasn’t slept in a week. For me. Have you ever had someone so worried for you that they don’t sleep for a week, trying to think of ways to protect you?”

He’s feeling a ton of guilt, there’s no doubt about it. But this is also the kindest thing that anyone has ever done for him. Scott cares about him, more than anyone Jimmy’s ever met. Scott doesn’t even know him, and he cares about him.

That means something, doesn’t it? Whatever it means, it makes Jimmy’s stomach go all fluttery.

“You’re not going to leave, are you?” Joel asks quietly. Jimmy shakes his head, sinks back into the chair beside Scott. He flexes his arm in the sling, feeling the almost-good pain of the stretch. He should be good to take it off; it’s mostly been on to keep his collarbone still and remind him not to use it, but he thinks that as long as he is careful about how high he raises his arm and how much weight he lifts, he should be good.

“Right. Lizzie should be in soon,” says Joel, rolling his shoulders and setting his crown back upon his head. “Might be a little bit, she’s composing letters to Gem and then probably another to Katherine, and I’d assume some to—er, everyone else involved. I ought to be doing that too, to be honest. So I’ll just . . . leave you to it.”

Jimmy shoots him a grateful smile, settling in a bit more comfortably. Once he's left the room, he returns to watching Scott, waiting for that moment (hopefully many hours from now, he desperately needs the rest) that he wakes.

Once Scott's left with a promise to get some more sleep (and reassurances from Jimmy and Lizzie that they'll message him frequent updates), Lizzie fixes Jimmy with a look that has him blushing without even knowing why.

"What's that all about?" he asks, gesturing to her face. Lizzie raises an eyebrow and laughs, and Joel joins in.

"Come on, Jimmy. Can you be any more obvious?" Joel chuckles. Jimmy looks between the two, utterly confused. What on earth do they mean? He’s not being obvious about anything, is he? He’s not even done anything to be obvious about.

"You and Scott? We saw the way you two look at each other," teases Lizzie, and oh.

They think that—they’re somehow under the impression that—and now Jimmy has to disabuse them of the assumption that he and Scott—

“No—it’s not like—”

“Do you want it to be?” Lizzie interjects, and Jimmy has to stop and consider.

Does he want it to be . . . whatever Lizzie is implying? Which he supposes is a romance? Is he . . . into Scott?

Memories shoot through his head—laying in Scott’s lap; blushing as Scott lifts him up with zero trouble; signing the alliance papers all while imagining what it might be like to kiss a Scott but ultimately not mentioning the tradition; watching him as he sleeps to ensure he gets rest; gazing at his shimmering blue hair across the House Blossom Alliance table; picturing running his hands through the elf’s wings. . . .

He feels his face heat and Lizzie crows in delight. “Stoppppp,” he moans, burying his face in his hands. He’s removed the sling, reveling in the (still limited, but not as much) range of motion he now has. Still, maybe he ought to put it back on if it means that Lizzie and Joel will be nicer to him. They treated him more gently when he was more obviously injured earlier.

“No, this is so cute!” Lizzie says, standing from the kitchen table as the kettle begins to whistle. “I already knew you thought he was pretty—”

“H—I didn’t even know, how—?”

“Sisters have their ways—”

“Except I knew too,” Joel butts in. “Like, you literally told me earlier today that you think he’s perfect. What, d’you think you’ve never said anything like that about him before?”

“I—what—” Jimmy sputters, searching back. “I did no such—” “You once ranked—unprompted, mind you—all of the House Blossom Alliance by attractiveness, and you put Scott at the top,” Joel continues, undeterred. Behind him, Lizzie shoots Jimmy an incredulous glance. He shrugs helplessly, glaring at Joel. So maybe he’d been a little drunk with Joel a while back. He’d said that in confidence, though! That’s not the kind of thing you just share with everyone.

“He’s objectively the prettiest,” he defends himself, only to be met with scoffs and snorts.

“Objectively the prettiest is Lizzie,” Joel says as Lizzie says, “Objectively the prettiest is Joey.” They both blink, then stare at each other. Jimmy grins, covers his mouth.

“You guys,” he sighs, clucking his tongue a little as he stands and eases the kettle from Lizzie’s hand. He gets one cup poured before Lizzie seems to register what he’s done and pushes him away.

“You’re injured, go sit down,” she commands, something like guilt flashing across her face. Jimmy frowns, but relinquishes the kettle and does as she says. “My point is,” she says as she finishes pouring, “you like him. Like-like him. Am I wrong?”

Jimmy jerks his head in not-quite-a-nod, not-quite-a-shake. “I—well, I barely know—I—he might—but . . . yeah,” he relents, settling back into his seat. Because he . . . he does like Scott, doesn’t he? He really really likes him. How could he not have noticed?

He almost rolls his eyes when Joel pumps his fist in the air.

Lizzie’s back is turned, but when she gathers up the mugs and places them on the table, Jimmy can’t help but be surprised by the excitement radiating off of her. He’d expected her to be . . . well, maybe not angry (that’s what his brain has been screaming at him for the past couple of minutes, to not give away any personal feelings they’re going to hate him they’re going to be mad he has to keep it a secret—), but disapproving at least. Apprehensive. Maybe a little exasperated. Then again, nothing today has gone the way he expected.

“Lizzie?” he asks hesitantly. “You . . . okay?”

“I’ve just never had a sibling have a crush before!” she bursts out, her fins flapping rapidly. She jumps in place a few times, grinning. “I can’t wait! What am I supposed to do? Shovel talk? Wait, I have to wait until your first date for that, huh? What about—”

“Calm down, babe,” Joel says, patting her elbow. “Jimmy’s not even sure if Smajor likes him back yet.”

And it hits Jimmy, quite suddenly, that he really has no clue. For all he knows, Scott's just his begrudging ally. Maybe losing an insane amount of sleep and patching them up when they get hurt is common practice for Rivendell alliances. Maybe there's nothing to be had between them.

He feels foolish, to be frank, and more than a little heartbroken. Nothing about Scott's actions have belied romantic intent. He may not even see Jimmy as a viable romantic objective (Jimmy's mind is suddenly filled with images of Scott seeing him at alliance meetings and writing him off as ugly and undesirable, images of him playing sleepover dating games with other emperors and always dropping Jimmy in the 'kill' category, images of him complaining to his advisors about his annoying new ally). There's no way Scott wants him. There's no way Scott looks at him and feels a little giddy the way Jimmy feels looking at Scott.

He and Sausage had been allies at first. Back when Jimmy was a new ruler, maybe two years after his coronation. Jimmy was honored and a little flustered by another emperor's support, especially one so roguishly handsome.

Jimmy doesn't think he'll survive it if history repeats itself.

"Oh Jim, I didn't mean—see, it'll be easy to figure it out!" Joel says, mirth gone from his face. He reaches out as if to take Jimmy's hand, aborts at the last moment. Jimmy tucks his hands closer to himself. "Right, Lizzie? We can see if he likes you, you don't have to worry about it at all."

"Easily," Lizzie nods. "In fact—why don't you ask him to family night?"

Family night? "Family night?" he says aloud. "Isn't that a bit—forward? Especially when he doesn't even like me?"

"Oh he definitely likes you," Joel mutters, before agreeing with his fiancée. "We can invite Pix too, so that it's more like an alliance meeting than family night. That way he won't get suspicious."

Family nights are sort of their thing, though. Ever since they discovered they're seablings, merely months ago, their weekly meetings have been everything keeping him together. Is that something he wants to introduce Scott to?

“It doesn’t have to be permanent,” Lizzie says. Something in his face must have given away his apprehension. “Just to figure out his feelings. Sound good?”

Jimmy thought for a moment more. It . . . couldn’t do any harm, could it?

And now Jimmy is alone on the floor of his house, trying to figure out what he did wrong.

According to Lizzie, he’s done everything right—he’s invited Scott to meetings, made him feel welcome, hugged him and included him and made him tea and scones. He’s tried to be vulnerable, show Scott that he trusts him and that he wants to be closer.

Lizzie’s assured him frequently that Scott is warming to him, enjoys his company. Sometimes Jimmy believes her—Scott seems to have a good time, shows up for every meeting, is slowly becoming more comfortable speaking his mind. And in the weeks since Jimmy realized he had a crush, he’s fallen further and further.

Scott is soft-spoken, waits for his turn and frequently does not speak unless prompted—unless he gets excited or heated. Then he hops into the conversation energetically, or relentlessly argues his point. More than once he’s gone from sitting quietly on the edge of Jimmy’s sofa, mug gripped tightly in both hands, to lounging back and gesturing wildly as his words go faster and faster. The nervous, curled-in-on-himself version of Scott slowly dissipates as Joel and Lizzie become more comfortable teasing him and he becomes more comfortable responding.

Scott’s laugh is the most beautiful sound Jimmy’s ever heard. He’s never been the type for poetics, but he can’t get over just how perfectly his laugh is created for every environment imaginable—tinkling like the windchimes of the Overgrown, or the splashes of the cod, or the ice crystals of Rivendell; musical like the flutes of Pixandria, the fiddles of Gilded Helanthia, the brassy tones of Mezelea. Any time he comes to think such thoughts, he blushes at the clumsiness—surely Scott could do much better than he.

Scott hugs him and everything is right in the world. He can hold Scott to his chest and pretend for just a moment that he has this, that Scott wants him and is his in turn.

Not that that will ever be true, now that Jimmy’s ruined everything.

He wants to blame Joel. He wants to blame Joel so badly for getting antsy about how long it’s taking to see if Scott likes him, for bringing up the concept of Jimmy kissing, for realizing that Jimmy broke cod law in his alliance with Scott. Joel isn’t to blame, though. Jimmy is.

He’d thought it was time for the next step. Scott had seemed receptive, had seemed to be open to everything suggested and had kissed him—

He hadn’t even asked. Cod, he hadn’t even asked! He’d just kissed Scott and then kissed him again and now Scott’s gone and will never trust him again. He wouldn’t be surprised if Scott breaks off the alliance tomorrow, not even a letter but a message on his communicator because Jimmy isn’t worth a letter, and then he’s going to reform his old alliances and then Scott will join them and Scott’s going to hurt him because Jimmy messed up so bad and he deserves it—

He doubles over with a gasping sob, hands buried in his hair as his nose touches the wooden floor. The light, warm feel of Scott’s lips on his lingers, and he sobs again because having the taste, wanting the taste, is such a violation that he can’t help but hate himself.

“I’m sorry,” he croaks to the empty house. “I never meant—I thought—” he cuts himself off, pulls at his hair. Scott’s not here to hear him. Scott’s never going to come close enough to let him apologize ever again.

He stays on the floor, curled up and crying, for at least an hour. When he finally manages to rouse himself, darkness has fallen entirely and the moon shines through his window over the sink in the kitchen, casting a patch of white on the floor. He takes in a shuddering breath, rubs his eyes with the heels of his hands.

He’s not fit to be a ruler. What kind of emperor cries on the floor for ages because of spurned affection? What kind of emperor assaults another, hurts them so badly they run from the room, unable to speak?

He picks up the blanket that had slid to the floor, wraps it up into a ball and tosses it onto the sofa. He goes through the motions of after-meetings—picks up the mugs and plates and set around the room and places them in the sink, adjusts cushions that have been rearranged, sweeps up the crumbs that have spilled here and there.

It’s so empty, empty without that brightness that seeing Scott usually brings. Jimmy sighs, leaves the dishes unwashed in the sink, and goes straight to bed, not even taking the time to undress.

When he wakes up, his eyelids are heavy and he feels more weighed down than he ever has. Sun filters through his bedroom curtains, shining directly onto his face. His blankets are twisted this way and that, under one leg and over the other. The room is silent, slow; even the dust that swirls in the beam of sun seem lazy. Jimmy lies there, more a part of this meandering world than a member of it.

He’s ruined everything. He’s lost the most useful alliance he’s ever made, he’s lost a protector, he’s lost a friend, he’s lost something he hadn’t even had. . . .

His communicator buzzes. Jimmy almost ignores it in favor of lying in bed forever, but it’s broken the easy atmosphere. He sighs, sits up, kicks the blankets out from under him and reaches for his communicator.

LDShadowLady: soooooo how’d it go??

Jimmy scrunches his eyes shut. He’s going to start crying again. He’s so weak that he can barely even think about the night before without crying, what kind of person is that weak?

Before he can stop himself, he’s hurling the communicator as hard as he can—he can’t look at it—he’s going to cry if he looks at it and he can’t cry and he hates himself—

It hits the wall, smashes apart, the back of it cracking off and flying back to hit him in the forehead. He falls back onto the bed more out of surprise than actual pain, rubbing his forehead. He feels a little embarrassed now, now that the communicator’s in pieces beside the wall and he’s got no way but mail to contact his allies. Now they’ll come looking for him or something stupid if he doesn’t respond, thinking that he’s being beat in a forest somewhere and needs help.

Which is where he should be, to be honest. Being a punching bag is all he deserves.

He has an empire to run, though. So Jimmy allows himself one more minute to mope about the little red mark on his forehead, one more minute to mourn his existence, one more minute to lose Scott. . . .

Then he rises and begins to prepare for a day of duty through heartbreak.

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