half the time we write things it's because we look at the selection of What's Available For X Thing and because it sucks ass, we go "FINE, we'll do it ourself" and that's at its core why we write for bug fables

somewhere to go, someone to love

my secret santa gift (@ducktalessecretsanta2020) for @kvanderquack!! i’m sorry for tagging again after i already sent my gift via dm-

also on ao3!!

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For as long as Lena lived (all fifteen years), she’d always been alone. She was born alone on the heights of Mount Vesuvius, from the remnants of her Aunt Magica’s shadow. She travelled to Duckburg alone, with no one to keep her company other than the voices in her head and the harsh whispering of her shadow. She bore the brunt of Magica’s lashings and whining alone, hurt and angry and bitter.

A happy family felt like such a foreign concept to her. Magica was always her one and only kin, the only person who had a connection to her. And she hated every second of it. If having just one aunt was so exhausting, imagine having two aunts. Imagine three. Criticizing your every move. Yelling at you for screwing up. Demanding nothing but obedience and respect and returning none of it. 

Lena didn’t think she would be able to take it. Family just didn’t sound like something she’d like.

That’s what she thought, anyway, until the Sabrewings took her in.

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1.

Lena can’t sleep.

Or to be exact, she can’t sleep peacefully. Ever since she came back to the land of the living, she’s been having dreams. Dreams where she found herself running from her. Into the woods, where the screeching of bats rang in the air, and the ground was muddy and made each consecutive step heavy. Or within a mansion suspiciously similar to Scrooge’s, her voice bouncing off the walls and getting closer and closer until they were literally screaming into her ears. She could do nothing but run.

She never dared to look back, but Lena always managed to glimpse her in the corner of her eye. The swish of a velvety black cape. A gloved hand, reaching out to snatch her. A flash of purple magic. 

Lena always manages to wake up before Magica could grab her and do god-knows-what. She would always be grateful for the fact that she awoke easily. But every dream ended in To Be Continued — never The End — and Lena didn’t want to know what The End would look like, because she has the sinking feeling that it won’t be a Happily Ever After.

Tonight is no different. She’s staring up at the ceiling of Violet’s room, letting the muffled snores of her roommate fill the still air. It’s getting increasingly hard to stay awake, and she isn’t sure how much longer she can take it.

Sighing, she rolls out of bed and leaves the room, making sure the door creaked as quietly as possible and that it clicked shut. She heads down the stairs and into the living room. A bookshelf stands in the corner, filled with all sorts of books from encyclopedias to photography books.

Lena instinctively grabs a cookbook (and accidentally knocks off a few more, but she’ll deal with them later) from the second topmost shelf. Yellow sticky notes jut out of the pages, all written on with dark purple ink. Walking into the kitchen adjacent, she flicks on the light, then flips the book open. Vanilla Cake, reads the title in big bold letters, followed by the exact quantity of ingredients needed and the instructions on how to bake one.

This should keep her up until tomorrow.

"...Lena? Shouldn't you be in bed?"

She freezes. Ty is standing at the door, a wooden baseball bat loosely held in his grip. He chucks it aside and steps into the kitchen.

"Hey." She waves half-heartedly with a sheepish smile. "I, uh, couldn't sleep."

"And you're in the kitchen with a cookbook, why?"

Because Aunt Magica haunts my dreams every night and I don’t wanna deal with it anymore?

“...I wanted to do something nice for my friends for once, so I thought baking a cake for our sleepover would be neat?”

Ty’s gaze flickers between Lena and the clock currently showing 12:59. He pinches the area between his eyes. “Lena, it’s late. I think you should go to bed—”

“No!” He flinches. Lena’s eyes widen. “I mean— no, I can’t go to bed until I finish this cake!” she backtracks, her voice cracking. Her heart is pounding. She can't go to sleep, she can't...! “If you help me, I’ll go to bed sooner! Maybe!”

Ty scratches the back of his head. “Well, Indy’s the dad who bakes, not me... but I suppose I can try.”

Relief washes over her. She flashes him a tired smile, handing him a bowl and some measuring cups. “Thanks.”

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2.

“We’re back!” 

Indy looks up from the couch. “Welcome back. How was your sleepover?”

“Pleasant,” Violet replies, already halfway up the stairs. “Ate some cake. Played a video game. Saved Lena from getting dragged into a mirror and possibly losing her within a lucid dream to the witch responsible for the shadow war several months ago. The usual.”

“Sounds nice,” Indy remarks. Then did a double take. “Wait, what?”

Ty laughs, following after Violet. “It’s a long story. Took the whole car ride for them to finish telling it.” Indy glares after him, but shrugs and returns to his book.

Lena drops her own bag on the floor and flops onto the couch with a heavy sigh. She could shower or whatever later. Right now she just wanted to rest.

“Long day?” Indy asks, barely moving from his position on the right side of the couch.

“Kinda. I’ve been through worse, though.”

There's a beat of silence.

The unspoken Like what? hangs over her head uncomfortably. Is this the part where she spills her entire life story? Should she play it off as a joke? Would it be wise to pretend she hadn’t said anything? She can feel Indy’s stare on her shoulder, burning like a pair of red-hot lasers—

He either noticed her discomfort, or is really good at reading minds, because he hums quietly and says, “You don’t have to elaborate.”

“...Ah. Right. Okay.” She sits upright, then lets out a short laugh. Her eyes wander over to Indy, who’s still reading his book with a content look on his face. “What is that?”

Indy shows her the book. There’s a bunch of pictures of Violet, Ty and Indy together. “It’s one of the family photo albums,” he explains. “Photography is one of my hobbies.”

Lena grunts in response, then peers at the photos more closely. “Is that Violet in the library?”

“Oh, that’s from the first time we visited the public library together. We had just moved into Duckburg, and wanted to do a little sightseeing. Violet insisted that we check out the library. That girl always did love reading. She gets it from Ty…”

They spend the rest of the hour looking through the photo album together. There’s a surprising amount of photos in this one tiny album, each preserving a special memory that Indy knows by heart and tells Lena about with nothing but fondness. She now knows that Violet used to take ballet classes (and hated it), has won at least two national spelling bees by the age of six, and is part of the Junior Woodchucks.

Photos from before Violet was born are also in it, located near the end of the album. Indy tells Lena that he first met Ty at a college entrance exam. They had entered the building at the same time, and Ty thought it would be neat to strike a conversation with him. They hit it off pretty much immediately, but forgot to ask for each other’s phone numbers before they went their separate ways.

“But you’re married now?!” Lena blurts out, jumping from the cough to point a shaky finger at him. “How?!”

He chuckles. “We met again at a supermarket several months later, I believe, reaching for the same can of beans. Ty’s first words to me ever since were ‘Holy shit, you like beans, too?!’ This time we remembered to exchange contact information, and here we are ten years later.”

“I— Wow.” Lena sits back down. “Some luck you have.”

“I wouldn’t call it luck,” he admits. His fingers gently caressing the old photo of them. “I like to think of it as fate. If we’re meant to be together, life will find a way to get us together.”

(Lena thinks about Webby.

She thinks about their “chance” meeting at the amphitheater.

She thinks about how she almost lost Webby by sacrificing herself to protect her.

She thinks about how lucky she had been that Violet was there in the library that day, reading a nerdy old book.

She inwardly decides that Indy is probably right.)

Once they reach the end of the album, Indy moves to close it. The corners of several photographs stick out from the side. Lena blinks.

“And those are?”

He looks down. “Oh.” Tucking them back in, he replies, “Those are some of the newer photographs. Haven’t gotten a new album for them yet, so I keep them here for the time being.” His fingers drum on the hard cover. “Come to think of it, I don't have any pictures with you yet. We’ll need to remedy that.”

“Hm, why?”

“You’re family, after all. I think you deserve a spot in the photo album.”

Family. She’s family. The thought of it makes her heart flutter.

It takes her a minute to realize Indy stopped talking, and is looking at her with the slightest hint of hesitation in his expression.

She beams at him. “That would be nice. You should get a new album first, though.” As if on cue, a photograph falls out. She picks up. “Hey, what about this one?” Indy lights up, and starts going into a tangent about the one time they lost Violet at Duckburg’s largest department store. As he does, she zones out for a bit, testing the name.

‘Lena Sabrewing’, huh…  She can feel her smile widening.  Sounds way cooler than Lena de Spell.

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3.

This is terrible, Lena concludes.

They’re on the way to the Junior Woodchuck Campgrounds for Violet’s upcoming graduation. She’s a little hazy on the details, but she does know that each year only one senior junior woodchuck can become a senior woodchuck (“That’s dumb! Why can’t you all just become senior woodchucks?!” “Don’t question it, Lena.”), they decide who graduates with some sort of obstacle course, and Violet’s opponent this year is likely going to be Huey.

Lena also knows that the campgrounds are located waaaay out on some island in the middle of nowhere, and if she sees another “NOW LEAVING DUCKBURG” sign she’s going to lose it. She lets out a groan as she slides farther down her seat, watching the pine trees blur into a strip of green on the landscape. “Hey, Vi, how much longer ‘til we’re there?”

No answer.

“Vi?”

Again, no answer. Lena knows that Violet has a tendency to be quiet during car rides, preferring to admire the scenery as they drive, but Violet should’ve at least spared her a grunt at this point.

She decides to turn and look at her. Violet is staring at her lap, perfectly still. Her fists are clenched so tightly she can see the white knuckles beneath her purple feathers, and they’re trembling.

“Vi, what’s wrong...?” Lena begins to ask, and then immediately Indy’s voice from before echoes in her head.

“Third time’s the charm, right Vi?”

The gears click into place. Oh.

She inches closer to Violet’s side — as much as she can with her seatbelt on, anyway — and reaches out to place a comforting hand over Violet’s. The hummingbird looks up.

“Hey,” Lena says, “you’ll be okay. You’re the best nerd I’ve ever know. What’s Huey got, his stupid guidebook? You’ve got this.”

“Actually, the Junior Woodchuck Wilderness Challenge prohibits use of the guidebook,” Violet corrects, then sighs. “Sorry. I know you’re trying to comfort me, but I…” She trails off. “I know failing is natural, but it still terrifies me every single time.”

Silence.

Indy, from the passenger seat, pipes up, “Violet, you know that just being willing to go back and try again is… really brave, right? Yeah, failure is inevitable, and very terrifying, but not a lot of people are able to bounce back from it like you do.”

“What Indy said.” Ty peers at them from the rearview mirror and gives them a thumbs up. “We love you no matter what, and I bet you’re gonna crush the competition this year.”

“Yeah! What they said! You’re Violet Sabrewing. You brought me back from the Shadow Realm. If you can do that, you can do anything!”

Violet stares at her for a moment, then Indy, then Ty. Her eyes are glassy. She opens her fist to hold Lena’s hand and squeezes it weakly.

“Thanks,” she whispers, with a smile that doesn’t exactly reach her eyes.

...At least she’s smiling a little. Lena frowns, but gets an idea. She leans forward to ask Ty, “By the way, how long until we get there?”

“Five hours, I think,” Indy answers.

“FIVE HOURS?!” She can feel a vein pop in her head. Five hours. Five. Hours. It feels like she’s been in this stinkin’ car for decades already. Well, no matter.

She turns to Violet. “Alright, since we’re basically stuck here, why don’t I teach you how to smacktalk?”

Violet raises an eyebrow, clearly unamused. “Is that really necessary? Also, I doubt Hubert would appreciate—”

“Of course it is! And of course he won’t. You can’t have a healthy rivalry without a little back and forth! Where’s the fun in that?! Now, the key to good smacktalk is...”

She spends the rest of the ride lecturing Violet on the essentials of smacktalk (read: making most of it up as she went). As they drove, Violet’s shoulders began to relax and she allowed herself to laugh more, and Lena felt more at ease than she had in a while.

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4.

Lena wakes up with a gasp. Frantically, she feels around. Her arms are intact. Her legs are still here. Nothing hurts. Phantom Blot isn’t here. Okay. It was just a dream. Just a dream. Just a dream.

“Lena?”

“Vi?” Lena calls, but it sounds more like a choked sob. She’s suddenly acutely aware of the tears messing up her feathers and her pounding heart.

Violet sits up. “Another nightmare?” she asks, her voice quiet. Lena nods. She gets up from bed and leaves the room. Lena sits in the darkness, her hands gripping her knees tightly. Breathe in, breathe out.

Violet returns with a tall glass of water and hands it to her. Lena takes it and brings the glass to her beak. The water is cool and soothing.

“They’ve become increasingly frequent. Shouldn’t we talk to our fathers about this?”

“No,” Lena says immediately, finishing her glass and setting it on the night table with shaky hands. “I don’t want them to get worried.” 

Violet gives her a glare that pierces even in the dark, then sighs.

“Very well.”

✿ — ✿ — ✿

On Christmas Day, Lena wakes up to Violet dumping a bucket of cold water over her.

“Merry Christmas.”

“Ack—! Violet, what the hell?!”

“Apologies,” Violet says, her tone betraying her words. She’s already dressed in a plain cream turtleneck. “You wouldn’t wake up no matter what I did.” She tugs at her sleeve. “Now, come. Fathers are already in the living room. You were literally the last to awaken.” Without waiting for a response, she drags her out of the room and down the stairs.

The living room feels… warmer than usual. There are string lights, giving out a gentle multicoloured glow, both around the Christmas Tree and hung up along the walls. Someone took the time to hang a wreath on every door in the house, each covered in mini ornaments and topped with a red bow. The bright orange fire in the fireplace is crackling.

Ty and Indy are already waiting, wearing matching Christmas sweaters. “Merry Christmas!” they greet, pulling the two girls into a hug. 

“Merry Christmas,” Lena says back before pulling away. The cheeriness of the season was beginning to catch up to her. “So! What do we do first?”

“Well, the presents are under the tree but maybe eat breakfast first—”

Lena was gone the moment Ty said ‘presents’. She rushes to the tree and begins checking the tags for her name. Not that there are that many presents to check. Violet follows soon after with a much calmer demeanor.

She ends up with a limited edition of The FeatherWeights’ newest album from Ty and Indy (“How did you know they’re my favourite band?!” “Your shirt is all we needed to clue us in.”) and an exact replica of the Caw-nverse shoes she loves wearing. Violet receives two books — an encyclopedia the thickness of one and a half dictionaries about magic and a thinner book called Tales of the Peculiar.

She’s ready to head off to the dining table to eat when Violet stops her. 

“Wait.” She pulls out a neatly wrapped present from her pocket and holds it out to Lena. “Here.”

“Wh— But I didn’t get you anything!”

“It’s okay.” Violet shoves the present into her hands. “Just take it.” Lena peers at her suspiciously before tearing the wrapping paper clean off and opening the box.

A dreamcatcher. The hoop used is a nice beige, and a flower-like design had been woven within it with colourful threads. White feathers suspended from twine, with beads adorning the strands at intervals, are attached to the hoop. Lena dangles the dreamcatcher above the box and looks at Violet questioningly.

“It may not be as beneficial as actual therapy since I couldn’t infuse it with any magic, but it should help keep the bad dreams at bay,” Violet explains. “Probably. I made it myself so it might not work.”

Lena stares at the dreamcatcher again. Upon closer inspection, the feathers and beads appear to be glued to the twine, and the twine was wound imperfectly around the base of the hoop. The flower design is also uneven, having slightly larger ‘petals’ on one side. She feels herself tear up. “Violet. This is the sweetest thing you’ve ever done for me.”

“I can’t believe saving you from roaming in the shadow realm for all of eternity isn’t the sweetest thing I've ever done for you,” Violet replies, completely deadpan. But the corners of her beak are twitching upwards.

“You wanted to summon evil spirits! I was a byproduct. It doesn’t count,” Lena jokes, putting the dreamcatcher away. She envelopes her in a crushing hug. “Thank you.” Her voice is wobbling. “This is just— It must’ve taken ages. Now I feel even worse for not getting you anything.”

Violet hugs her back just as tightly. “You’re welcome. Just make sure you get me my own personal library next year.”

As if your room isn’t filled with enough books as is, Lena thinks, but she can’t help but laugh.

Ty clears his throat. “This is great, but it’s already nine and you girls haven’t even had breakfast yet, so chop chop! We’ve got a whole day ahead of us.”

(They end up at the ice rink, where Lena learns that she’s actually terrible at ice skating. Violet offers to teach her like the Samaritan she is, but doesn’t hesitate to throw jabs at her incompetence. Fortunately, she’s not the only one who’s suffering, if Indy’s screaming and Ty’s guffawing are any indications.)

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In the first fifteen years of her life, Lena had been alone with no one to turn to. Being part of a happy family felt like something out of a movie or fairy tale. Happiness seemed like an unreachable dream.

But within two years, she found a best friend in Webby, a sister in Violet, and two dads in Ty and Indy. She found a family to call her own, one that loved her and made her feel good about herself. She was finally content.

The dreamcatcher and family photo hanging above her bed would need to be pried from her cold, dead hands.

Summary: Yami Sukehiro just wanted to join the Magic Knights and make his mentor proud.  He knew there would be trails.  He knew trouble would come his way.  Knew he would be faced with discrimination for being a foreigner and a peasant.  What he didn’t know.  Didn’t expect.  Was that literal Chaos would come his way.  That he and his mentor’s sister would be at the center of world ending trouble.  Or that he would fall in love with his mentor’s sister and face more than discrimination; but the jealousy of Nozel Silva who loved the same woman he did.

Please remember this fic is rated mature and has warnings of violence, abuse, sexual tension, sexual behavior, and other possible triggers. For a full list of story tags please check the fics AO3 (link to that at the top of my tumblrs homepage).

Doing a double update this week for two reasons. One of which is because I’m really excited to share chapter 101. A LOT will be going down next chapter.

Chapter 100

Yami rubbed his eyes, tired from the late night spent in Jax’s office. The secret meeting had felt like it would never end, everyone talking and theorizing about all they had learned.  Yami could’ve kissed Greywright when the Commander called an end to it saying it was getting them nowhere.  Exhausted from the long day and troubled sleep of the night before, Yami couldn’t have agreed more.  The meetings talk had devolved into a mess of words that had left his mind fogged and dizzy.

Having told Jax he would fill Bran in on the rest in the morning, Yami had taken the younger man out for a ride to do exactly that.  Jax hadn’t been happy.  The Captain was protective of his squad and didn’t like another member being brought in and endangered by all this.  Jax hadn’t been much happier about Yami going out for a ride either; but had relented now knowing the cause of Yami’s added aggression, and wanting to help in away way he could.

Back from their ride, Yami latched the gate behind Pilfer.  “Any questions?”

“Too many.”  Bran stepped back from No Name’s closed kennel.  After hearing the whole of it all, his mind was even more fried than it had been after last nights meeting.

“Any questions I can answer.”  Yami clarified.

Bran thought a moment, nothing and everything flipping through his mind at once.  He shook his head.  “None that I can formulate or think of now.”

Yami nodded, understanding.  If Bran hadn’t been overwhelmed from sitting in on last nights meeting, he certainly was now.  “If you do have any don’t go bugging Teris or Jax.”

“Does that mean I come to you?”  Bran asked, a little too eagerly.

Yami nearly said no; but he was the one who had brought Bran in on this. He was responsible for the kid now.  As if he hadn’t felt responsible enough for Bran before, what with being Vice Captain and the way Bran looked up to him.

Giving a nod, Yami grumbled.  “So long as you aren’t a nuisance.”

“I won’t be.”  Bran promised.

“I know it was said last night and I stared with it.  But you really can’t tell anyone.  Family.  Friends.  Sir Jorah.  Anyone.”

“I know.  I won’t.”

Thinking of how poorly he and Teris had masked their own knowledge about Ellara when faced with the Advisor a few weeks ago, Yami told.  “And no letting on that you know.  So stay well away from Olsen, Iban, and Ellara if you can’t act dumb.”

Before Yami could say that he should stay away from Iban and Ellara regardless, Bran told.

“I can act dumb!  I’m real good at it.”  Bran grimaced.

Yami chuckled and turned to the path that led up to the house.  “Come on.  Let’s get inside.  I’m hungry.”

100.2

Jon turned the corner to see a squad member leading Jax down the hall.

“On your way to see Captain Julius, Captain?”  Jon questioned.

Jax turned, his escort doing the same.

“I’ll take Captain Jax, Fragil.  I’m on my way there anyway.”

Fragil nodded and left the two men, going about her business.

Pulling up beside Jax, Jon utterly softly.  “You all must’ve learned something really important or disturbing last night.  I woke up early this morning to find Captain Julius in his study surround by books. Don’t think he ever went to bed.”

“I didn’t go to bed either.”  Jax yawned.  “And it was both important and disturbing.  How are things with Kess?”

“You say you learned something important and disturbing enough that you and Captain Julius didn’t go to sleep, yet are asking me about the Silver Eagles Captain?”

“No. I’m asking about your new betrothed who just so happens to be the Silver Eagles Captain.”  At Jon’s look, Jax shrugged.  “What? Someone elses troubles help take my mind off mine.”

“What makes you think the engagement is troubled?  And how did you hear of it?  We were only just betrothed yesterday afternoon.”  Jon’s eyes narrowed.  “Have you and my Captain been gossiping again?”

Jax smirked.  “News like this travels faster than Wild Fire in a windstorm.  So, are congratulations or sympathies an order?”

Jon gritted his teeth and opened his Captain's private study door.

“Stop!” Julius spun around, hand outstretched.

Jax stopped in mid-step.

Julius quickly created a time sphere for all inanimate objects in the room, freezing them in place.  “Alright.  It’s safe now.”

“Are you sure about that?  Julius, what…”  Jax slowly stepped inside, concerned eyes looking about the room.

Jon followed in the Black Bulls Captain's wake.  He quickly closed the door behind, not wanting any servants or squad members who might pass to see the manic mess.  And it was a mess.  Books were piled as high as a man was tall.  Countless tomes laid strewn open over each other, covering every surface from tables to chairs to the backs and arms of a sofa.  There were even a couple books precariously balanced on a pot, crushing some poor plant.  But it was the scrolls and loose leaf papers that really made the scene.  They were scattered everywhere. Apparently out of room Julius had begun laying pages out on the floor.  And when that wasn’t enough, he had taken to tacking things on the wall and pinning them to the curtains.

“Julius! What the--”  Jax tripped over the curled part of a scroll, Julius’ spell making it immovable.  The Black Bulls Captain cursed, taking several steps to steady himself.

“I had Marx transcribe what Bran overheard, and what the History of Chaos said about the portrait, along with what Teris read from Captain Shadow’s journal.”  Julius said, as if that explained the state of his private study.

Jon looked between the two Captain's.  “She was able to read it?”

Jax frowned.  He was going to tell his friend that it still didn’t explain all this, but Julius spoke first.

“I can’t believe you let Teris keep Captain Shadow’s journal.” Julius said, neither man acknowledging Jon’s question.

Jax shrugged a shoulder.  “Seemed reasonable since she’s the only one who can read the hidden message.”

Reasonable as it was, Julius wasn’t having it.  “But you know how she is. What if she--”

“Became obsessed and stayed awake all night, littering the floor with paper and pinning things to the walls?”  Jax cut in over his friend, looking pointedly around the room.

“I know about the journal you found.”  Julius said, reasoning his behavior.

Jax made a face, feeling both guilty and grateful he hadn’t been able to tell Yami about the journal two days ago when Yami had called him out on holding a secret.  “I’m going to tell them.”

“You can’t.  Teris will--”

“Do the same as you and make a mess of the general study at my base?” Jax questioned over Julius.  “Maybe.  But we promised those two no more secrets.  More than that, Teris and Yami have the History of Chaos.  After what we learned last night.  Given what you and Greywright came to suppose after I found that journal Iban told me about…  What if you and Greywright are right?”

Julius’ eyebrows pulled together.  He didn’t like Jax thinking he was right.  He didn’t want to be right.  It had been a crazy theory at the time.  It was still a crazy thought.  Just because what they had learned last night further pointed to such a possibility didn’t make the idea any less insane.  But given everything else; talk of Chaos and primordial forces, and crazy zealots who wanted to end everything to start a new beginning.  Was the notion that they were dealing with someone that old really that insane?

Sighing, Julius relented.  “Fine.  But at least wait a couple days.  Give them tomorrow off to relax and unwind.  They’ll need it.”

100.3

Ready for a nap after a hearty lunch, Yami entered Teris’ makeshift office.  He shook his head, seeing her bent over Captain Shadow’s journal exactly as he figured she would be.  “You gonna obsess over that thing all day?”

“I’m rereading, not obsessing.”  Teris muttered, without lifting her head.

“What obsessive freaks like you and Julius call rereading.  Normal folk call obsessing.”  Yami teased.

“You’re far from normal, Sukehiro.”

Yami smirked, hearing the smile in her voice.  He pushed aside the journal Jax should've taken away from her last night and set a plate of food in front of her.

“Hey!” Teris complained, reaching for the diary.  Seeing the food, her brows furrowed.  “What’s this?”

Yami leaned back against the table.  “What’s it look like?”

“Lunch.” Teris’ eyes widened.  “It’s lunch time?”

“Past.” Yami crossed his arms and stared down at her.  “See what I mean about obsessing?”

Teris’ stomach grumbled.  She blushed.

Chuckling, Yami encouraged.  “Dig in.”

“Thanks.”

Yami kissed her head, hand smoothing her hair.  “I’m gonna take a nap. If you’re not at the table for supper, I’m coming in here and burning that thing.”

“You wouldn’t.”  Teris said with certainty.

Yami righted, hand falling to his side.  “Try me.”

Feeling less certain, Teris turned in her seat to look at him.  Finding his expression void of taunting or humor, she complained.  “You’re terrible.”

A small grin cracked Yami’s somewhat stern expression.  “Yet you choose to be with me.  What’s that say about you?”

“That I’m either a fool or glutton for punishment.”  Teris half grumbled, half played.

“Well I know you’re no fool.  As for punishment...”  Yami’s eyes raked over her, crooked smile growing.  “The only punishment I’d ever give would be pleasurable for the both of us.”

100.3.2

Yami closed the door to Teris’ makeshift office feeling a light-hearted ease despite all they’d learned last night.  After teasing Teris like that and seeing her beautiful blush, how could he not?  Teris was capable of making all his troubles disappear with a single smile. She--

Yami’s footsteps stopped as he passed the narrow door of the servants stairs. “I told you to stay away from Teris. What are you doing sulking around her?”

“I’m not here for Teris.  Why do you think I let you sense my presence?” Iban stepped out of the dark opening that led down to his lab.

Yami turned, watching the Blood Mage appear out of the enclosed stairwell.

Iban looked Yami over and tisked.  “You really are having a time of it aren’t you?”

“A time of what?”  Yami asked.  Even without Bran having overheard the conversation between Iban and Ellara, it was always better to play dumb and hope Iban would give further information for free.

Iban stalked closer.  “You don’t have to pretend with me, Vice Captain.  I can help.”

Yami would’ve rested his hand on the hilt of his katana; but he rarely carried the weapon around the house.  Instead he placed a hand on his left hip.  “I already told you never to mention that dark magic ritual of yours to me again.”

“I am not speaking of the communicative dreams with the page of Chaos. I am speaking about the trouble you are currently having with the Darkness building within you. ”  Iban said.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Creepy.”

“So that dark, consuming pull I feel is not beginning to effect your temper?”  Iban questioned.  “At first I thought it was simply because you have such a short temper as it is.  But I was wrong.  The force within you is greater.”

“Greater?”

“Greater than the Light that is within--”

Yami snarled, daring Iban to say Teris’ name.

Iban smiled and went on.  “I think the Darkness within you is far greater than Alowishus Spade could have ever imagined.”

“But you can help.”  Yami supplied with a huff.

Iban gave a single nod.

Yami’s lip twitched in another sneer.  “You wanna help?  Tell me about this Darkness that’s supposedly building inside me.  Way is it so much stronger?  What do the Agents of Chaos want with it?  What do they have planned for the Winter Solstice?”

“Sorry, Vice Captain.  Such answers are far too costly.”

If it weren’t for what Bran had overheard, Yami would've thought Iban was referring to the price it would’ve cost him.  But now he knew otherwise.  Alowishus Spade had forced Iban into some sort of vow of silence; and the the cost the Blood Mage was referring to was the cost to lives of Iban’s family.

“There’s people working on it.  I don’t need your help.”  Yami gruffed.

“Who? Captain Jax and Commander Greywright?”  Iban’s eyes glimmered in the dim hall light.  “Our Captain and Knights Commander are highly capable men.  But this is so far from their field of expertise.  No doubt that is why the Captain has not told you of the assistance I gave him several weeks back.  Because Captain Jax has deferred to Captain Julius.  And the Azure Deers Captain is overly protective of his little sister, and protege.”

Yami’s eyes narrowed wondering what he was talking about.

“No doubt you mean Captain Julius and Senior Investigations Mage Marx are working on it.”  Iban went on.  “Such great scholarly minds might be able to find something that may be of assistance.  But will they find it in time?  And will it help enough?  I can feel the force seeping from your seams.  It is like the pressure of an oncoming storm.  Ready to burst and wash us away at any moment.” He tilted his head, staring Yami in the eye.  “I wonder which you will do first.  Kill everything in sight, including your friends.  Or head straight to Teris to--”  His words cut off in a gurgle.

Hand around Iban’s throat, Yami growled.  “Say her name again and I’ll end you.”

“I—be—lieve—oo.” Iban choked.

It was a fight for Yami to force his hand to release the Blood Mage.  He stepped back, corded muscles trembling with bridled energy.  Never had he moved so fast without mana skin.  He could have killed Iban. He had wanted to kill him.  The only thing that had stopped him was a small lingering voice of reason.  And that voice was quickly fading. Iban was right.  He would soon lose control to the force inside him. He had to get a handle on this or else…

Yami looked down the hallway toward Teris’ makeshift office.  He could sense her mana as bright as any ships warning beacon.  Never before had he worried at how her mana called to him, but he started to now.

Regaining his breath, Iban followed Yami’s gaze.  “She may be able to stop you.  Call you back as she did once before.  But do you really want to put her through that?  To take the chance that she will be unable to?  That you will devour her and destroy everything in sight?”

“I don’t want your help.”  Yami rumbled.

Iban heard the conflict in his voice.  “This one will not cost you, Vice Captain.  After all it is a form of self preservation.”

Tempted as Yami was, there was one thing stopping him.  “No doubt it entails black magic.”

“Yes.” Iban admitted.  “It is unavoidable.  After all it is black magic that is causing this.  Or have you deluded yourself into believing that things Alowishus Spade is doing, including the rituals he put her through and has in store for you, is nothing but benign sanctioned magic.”

Yami glared and told again.  “I don’t want or need your help.”

“I admire a man who doesn’t want to dabble in black magic.”

Yami looked skeptically at Iban.

“What? I do.”  Iban exhaled, slowly.  “That said.  In this instance. You either get your hands dirty with black magic.  Or you will see them soaked with blood.”

“You would like that, wouldn’t you?”

“What? Seeing you tainted by using black magic?  Or seeing you stained in the blood of your friends?”

Yami ground his teeth, wishing Iban would stop calling such images to mind.  “This force inside me is connected or part of my magic and mana, right?  Why can’t I just use so much mana a day and stop it from overflowing?”

“That might work for a time.”  Iban said.

Yami growled.  Julius had given the same answer when Yami suggested it during last nights meeting.

“There is a mana source that could be of help.  But I am fairly certain you would be even less likely to accept his assistance than you would mine.”

“Why?” Yami asked.

“Why Spade’s mana?  He is Death.  The father of Darkness.”

Yami almost ask how Alowishus Spade’s mana could be of help but it didn’t matter.  Instead, he asked.  “Why me?  Teris didn’t have this problem.”

“Your counterpart is not a third seventh born son.  Nor does she wield three types of magic from three different worlds.  She is from this land.  In tune to this lands magic.  Her ties are deep.  The roots of House Nova’s bloodline goes back further than the Clover Kingdom itself.  The family one of the oldest this land has.”

Frowning, Yami shook his head.  “I wield no magic from other worlds.”

“Do you not?”  Iban questioned.

“My homeland has no magic.”

Iban sighed, annoyed at Yami’s small mindedness.  “I am not here to convince you of your unique power, but to offer you a way to deal with the force growing inside you.”

“I said no.”  Yami growled, wanting to pummel Iban till the answer got through his thick head.

“Very well.  You know where to find me when you change your mind.”

Yami watched Iban turn back toward the servants stairwell, presumably to return his labs.  A nagging worry made him call out in question. “What happens if we manage to stay out of the Agents of Chaos’ grasp and their sick ritual doesn’t go down?  Do I stay like this? Does the force inside me continue to build until it takes over completely?  Or will it just go back to normal?”

Iban looked over his shoulder wearing a crooked smirk.  “It is both cute and sad that you think you have a chance of evading them.  The man is Death.  One would think that you would have grasped at least that by now.  You cannot avoid Death, Yami Sukehiro.  In the end, Death will always have its way.”

100.4

Olsen’s smile grew at the sound of rowdy banter coming from the dining hall. He heard Venice ask about tomorrows plans and something made him stop short.  As a gentleman, Olsen made a point never to eavesdrop. Especially when a lady was talking.  It didn’t matter that Venice's question might not be addressed to anyone in particular.  Or that the rest of the squad was likely at the table making the conversation far from private.  It was still unchivalrous.

Yet Olsen had no control over himself as he inched quietly closer, and listened in, eyes unfocused.

100.4.2

“I’m not sure.”  Teris answered Venice's question.

“You should take the day off.”  Jax encouraged from his seat.

Teris turned to the Captain.  “Really?”

“Yeah. You both should.”  Jax said, looking to Yami who sat to his left. He smiled, pleased Venice had given him a way to go about Julius’ ask without raising too much suspicion.  The Azure Deers Captain had been right, of course.  Whether he was going to tell Yami and Teris about the journal the day after tomorrow or not; his Vice Captain's needed a days break.

Yami’s eyes narrowed.  Jax had managed to get the entire squad, save for Iban, two days off little less than a month ago for Vanessa’s birthday party.  Encouraging them to take a day off so soon after that seemed suspect.

“What are you playing at?”  Yami asked.

“Nothing!” Jax assured, his tone and expression affirming the answer for the lie it was.

Seated to Yami’s left, Tobin nudged him with an elbow.  “Don’t go questioning an offer of a day off.”

Yami’s hand curled into a fist.  He didn’t want to hit his friend; but these days there was a constant underlying urge to hit something. And, playful or not, Tobin’s nudge nearly had him doing so.

He noticed the way Iban watched him, gold eyes shining.  Yami’s hand twitched wanting to wipe the smug, knowing smirk off the Blood Mage’s face.  Swallowing, Yami forced his hand open.   It didn’t matter if expending a sizable amount of mana wouldn’t work long term.  He just needed something to help right now.

“Jack’s been bugging me about going over to the Green Mantis base for a day of sparring.”  Yami eyed Tobin.  “You game?”

“For squashing that gangly bug?  Do you even have to ask?”  Tobin grinned.

“That means Teris and I can have a girls day.”  Venice enthused.

“It’s been far too long since we’ve had one of those.”  Teris said, excited by the thought.

Looking at Venice over the rim of his cup, Jax said.  “I find it amusing you and Tobin think you’re getting tomorrow off.”

Abril laughed at Venice's expression.

“Abril will cover for me.”  Venice volunteered the other girl.

Abril laughed all the louder.

Jax shook his head.  “She can’t.  I let her and Bran have tomorrow off a week ago.”

Venice's head snapped to Abril.  “What are you two doing?”

“Going to Raque to see Ricte.”  Abril answered.

Bran glanced nervously at Gendry.  While Gendry frowned at Abril.

“What happened to Ricte worked and couldn’t have any ol’ day off?” Teris asked, protective of Abril.

“Oh! I wanna go to Raque!  I haven’t been in so long.”  Venice whined.

Thinking Teris wouldn’t have much of a day off without her friend.  Never mind that he didn’t want her going out alone.  Jax sighed and told Venice.  “Fine.  You and Tobin can have the day off.”

“I don’t care about Tobin.  I just want to go to Raque with Teris.” Venice said.

“Hey.” Tobin complained.

Venice looked at Teris.  “You good with spending the day at Raque?”

“A day at the beach sounds grand.”  Teris smiled.

“Almost as grand as Gendry and I kicking Jack and Tobin’s ass’s.”  Yami said, in attempt at cheering Gendry.

“Hey!” Tobin complained again.

Rolling his eyes, Jax submitted to Yami’s sly addition of Gendry getting a day off.  “So long as Iban and Olsen stick around in case a mission order comes in and actual work needs to be done.”

100.4.3

Eyes still unfocused, Olsen quietly exited the house.  He created a cloud of water vapor and took to the air, having a sudden explicable and overwhelming need to see Ellara.

Comments are VERY MUCH appreciated and really make my day.  Thank you to those who have left hearts.  And a special THANK YOU to those who have recently commented or re-blogged. It really means a lot.

I’ve worried for a while that readers would have a hard time keeping everything with the Chaos plot straight given the long, slow draw of that plot and it seems a that worry has come to life.  Below is a list of Alowishus’ past lives.  If any of you would be interested in a list of chapter and scenes where the Chaos plot is prevalent please let me know, all it would take is a slight amendment to my personal fic notes.

Fin Spade – 1st life, son of Erin (who was Yurist's son) and Mira Spade; Fin was the one who stole the Future of Chaos out of labyrinth #297,353 only having it for a short time before Erin stole it back and "joined" it where it would be safe. Some years later Fin killed his father Erin at a placed known as the Dais.

Garo Belin – 2nd life, son of a middling merchant family; After starting to remember his past life as Fin and thinking he was going crazy, Garo went to the Dais (the place where the geyser labyrinth will eventually be, and currently is in fics timeline). There Garo found Erin Spade's skull and died doing the spell that put Erin’s soul in the skull.

?? – 3rd life; remembered 1st & 2nd lives when he was 10yrs. Collected Erin Spade’s skull that Garo spelled, and finally got some answers from Erin. Because of that he found a purpose that the other incarnations have worked toward and built upon. He's also the one who created what is now known as the Agents of Chaos; and is the one who was/is still called the "Master of Master's".

?? – 4th life

?? – 5th life

Everard Spade – 6th life; was Master of the Agents of Chaos; Captain Shadow killed him 3yrs before she was locked in the geyser labyrinth. Jax currently has his old journal thanks to Iban telling him where to look.

Alowishus Spade – 7th life, currently 380yrs; spent several adult years working on his own before rejoining the Agents of Chaos. Challenged and killed Alric (Iban's third great grandfather) for the right to be Master of the Agents of Chaos.

*Note: thanks to learning and using corpse magic, Alowishus is by FAR the longest lived of all his lives. His second longest life was his 1st incarnation Fin who lived 77yrs.

Next chapter snippet:

“We’ll sort that out later.  For now surrender and come with me, and I will see no one gets harmed.”

“And who might you be?”  Teris asked.

“Commander Fanzell.”  Fanzell said.

It was then that Teris noticed the diamond on his grimoire.

FALLEN LIKE SNOW - CHAPTER ONE: PRETTY PLEASE

Written by @jeranasblog​ and Kinkybeanlien

(moodboard made by @jeranasblog​)

After an unfortunate run in with his boss – Tony Stark – and a paparazzi in an elevator, Peter Parker finds himself at the top of a piste, skis attached to his feet and living the trope he has only read about in fan fiction.

Will he only fall flat on his face in the snow? Or will he fall for his annoyingly selfish boss as well?

-

Notes: Adult Peter Parker, Fake dating, One sided enemies to lovers, No powers!AU, Mutual pining, Sugar daddy!Tony, Sugar baby!Peter, Fluff, Smut and Angst. Smut tags for later: Wet Dream, Dry Humping, Daddy Kink, Mirror Sex, Dom/Sub Undertones, Bondage, Humiliation, Oral Sex, Anal Sex, Fingering, Edging, Lingerie, Dom/Top!Tony, Sub/Bottom!Peter

-

Read Chapter 1 Pretty Please on AO3!

Ugh. Peter rolled his neck as he stepped into the elevator. He pushed his shoulder back and flinched when he cracked. This internship was a killer on his body. It was fun and educational, for sure, but he really needed to mind his posture. Being hunched over his desk was already taking its toll. If only he could afford a physical therapist… “Babe, hold the elevator, please!” In a reflex, Peter pressed the button to keep the elevator door open and he looked up to see none other than his boss, Tony Stark, rushing for him. His mood soured immediately and he considered pressing the button to close the elevator doors. As much as he liked the work he did, Peter wasn’t very fond of the person he was working for. Wait… Did Mr. Stark just call him “Babe?” When Tony got close to the elevator he shouted. “Close it, close it!” Peter pressed the right button. His boss probably thought he could squeeze in at the last second, but unfortunately for him, that’s not how elevators work. Tony threaded the needle as the door closed, but the sensor picked up on him and Peter snorted when the doors opened again. The young man glanced up and saw a small horde of paparazzi rushing their way. Suddenly, Tony pressed into his space and took over the button, pushing Peter’s hand aside and repeatedly tapping the button as if that would make the elevator doors close faster. Peter scoffed and stepped back, shaking his head and rolling his eyes. “Whoever let them in the building is going to get fired,” Tony seethed. “Maybe your security system is just lacking.” Peter said the words before he could think them through and if looks could kill, Peter would have been on the shiny elevator floor right now. “Mister Stark-!” One of the paparazzi, a young sprite who definitely didn’t look like she was with the gossip magazine her badge claimed her to be from, managed to get into the elevator. The doors closed, leaving the others behind. The elevator slowly started moving down. The three of them stood awkwardly. “I’m not answering your questions,” Tony said quickly. The paparazzi grinned and turned to Peter, who took a small, uncertain step back. “Well, then I’ll just ask your boyfriend.” “B-boyfriend?” Peter stuttered and glanced at Tony wide-eyed. The older man blinked once and wrapped an arm around Peter’s shoulder. The boy’s brows curled up into a frown. “Ah, yes! We prefer the term ‘significant other,’ right, babe?” Tony stared down into Peter’s eyes, a demanding fire in them telling Peter he would lose his internship if he didn’t play along. Peter laughed awkwardly. “Right,” he stammered.  “What a scoop!” The young woman jumped once, only to realize they were in a moving elevator. She contained her excitement by almost literally vibrating in her spot. “Tony Stark’s new boyfriend! Or- significant other. What’s your name?” Peter’s lips pulled together in a pout. He sucked at his teeth and stopped himself from flinching when Tony’s hand squeezed his shoulder. “Peter.” “Last name?” “Private.” “Peter Private?” “No, Miss, he doesn’t want to disclose his last name. Duh.” Tony rolled his eyes and relaxed a little, letting Peter’s shoulder go, only to move his hand down to Peter’s back. It was warm and present and Peter wasn’t sure if he was okay with it. It felt strangely good, though. “Fair enough, I’ll figure that one out on my own.” The woman winked and Peter wished he could just disappear. “So, how long?” “Couple weeks,” Tony replied before Peter could protest or give any kind of answer on his own. “I take it you’re bringing him to the annual ‘Valentine’s Ski Charity’ event?” Peter’s eyes went wide. He’d heard about Tony’s infamous parties that he liked to throw in the most expensive places; Tirol in Austria being one of them. The charity event always sounded like an excuse for Stark to go all out and spend bucket loads of money to bring over all his bougie friends to get drunk and have lots of sex. Something Peter would rather not be a part of. “Obviously,” Tony scoffed. Peter raised an eyebrow and tried to keep a straight face, but this was starting to become too much. This man was unreal. He was using Peter. What a dick. Before Peter could explain the truth, the elevator doors opened. The woman from the paparazzi was ushered away by security, but everyone outside the elevator in the lobby could see Tony holding Peter the way he was. The way people in a relationship would hold each other. Oh, God. Peter felt sick. He wanted to run, but Tony closed the elevator doors and asked his AI to take them up to his office. Peter could only stare at his boss with a mixture of fear and anger, feeling the press of his hand still on his back. The ride up is silent. Peter could tell Tony was prepping some kind of grand speech for when they would get up to the office. However, Peter was certain he could kiss his internship goodbye. … When the friendly voice of Tony’s AI announced the arrival at his private office, Peter was frozen, staring at the arm of his boss, which was still wrapped around his middle. Neither of them made any attempts to move and Peter desperately wished he was somewhere else. The uneasy feeling was getting harder and harder to ignore until finally Tony removed his hand from Peter’s back and stepped out of the elevator and into his office. “I’m sorry, Mr.- Peter.” Tony sighed, falling onto the chair behind his desk in theatrical fashion. He looked several years older when the fake smile that he had worn in the presence of the reporter vanished and Peter was plagued by an unwanted feeling of pity. Sure, his boss was a dick, but the discomfort on his face wasn’t pretended. “Could you do me a favor and take a seat?” Tony gestured at the empty chair opposite the desk and, reluctantly, Peter followed the order. This was the time he would lose his internship. He had worked for it since he was in high school and now that dream would crumble into a million pieces due to his inability to keep his mouth shut.  The silence was painful. Peter looked at his knees and fumbled with his sleeves. Tony pinched the bridge of his nose. A million thoughts were running through Peter’s mind and he wished he could take his words back. Sure, scoffing at his boss was satisfying for a second, but it wasn’t worth losing the internship. When Tony still didn’t speak after several minutes, Peter got anxious and started to babble. “Look, Mr. Stark. I didn’t mean to insult your security system, but that’s no reason to take away my internship. I didn’t say anything to the reporters, I even played along, so just think about it before you fire me, please?” His voice died away the longer he was talking. “Mr.-?” “Parker, Sir.” His voice was dripping with venom as he called his boss ‘Sir’. “Mr. Parker, nobody said anything about losing the internship.” Fine, he would pack his stuff right away. He didn’t have many things at his desk, but he had to say goodbye to his coworkers at least- Wait, did he understand that right? He didn’t just get sacked? “I’m not fired?” He asked stupidly, staring at his boss with wide eyes. “No, Peter. You aren’t.” Peter didn’t comment on the familiar use of his first name, afraid to go too far so that Tony would change his mind. “But there is another thing I have to ask of you. Of course, there was a catch. Peter was talking to Tony Stark; one of the most selfish people on the entire planet. He would never let Peter get away so easily. “So, I basically told the world that you’re my ‘significant other’.” The painful expression on Tony’s face made Peter even angrier. “And I also said that you would come along to the ski event I’m hosting every year.” “Apparently,” Peter replied dryly, hoping he didn’t look too disgusted. Tony took a deep breath, his gaze fixated on Peter during his next words. “Peter, would you pretend to be my boyfriend during the event? I have to bring a date and we’ll be all over the news tomorrow anyways.”  Peter blinked, staring at his boss and waiting for him to laugh. This had to be a joke, Tony would tell him any second now, that he was just kidding. That Peter was fired. But another look at the tired face of his boss confirmed that he was actually serious. “You want me to do what?” Tony’s expression turned painful again. “I want you to pretend to be my boyfriend during the ‘Valentine’s Ski Charity’ event. Pretty please?” Fuck. Peter started to panic. He didn’t want to play Tony Stark’s boyfriend, he didn’t want to pretend that he liked the selfish man, and he definitely didn’t want to go to the stupid event where everyone would spend the day drinking alcohol and having sex with strangers. Hell, he couldn’t even ski. The problem was, he didn’t want to lose his internship either, so the decision was made before he could think too long about the upcoming weekend.  “I don’t have anything to wear.” Peter regretted his words immediately after they had left his mouth and he blushed furiously. Tony Stark, billionaire and playboy, was asking him, Peter Parker, for a favor and he could have asked for anything in return. He could have asked for a job after his internship or let his boss squirm with discomfort with hilarious demands. But instead, he had embarrassed himself, indirectly accepting the invitation while admitting that he didn’t have enough money to buy appropriate clothes.  “Don’t worry, kid,” his boss said with a big smile which made Peter sick. “We’ll get you something tailored. That’s the least I could do, obviously.” “Obviously,” Peter mumbled, sarcasm dripping from his voice. He hoped he had spoken quiet enough that Tony couldn’t hear it. Of course, the billionaire would take him to his personal tailor. How would it look if Tony spent time with a cheaply dressed person? At least, Tony Stark owed him something. Peter planned to take advantage of this promise. “All right.” Peter sighed, determined to get it over with. “Just tell me when and where you need me.” Tony grinned broadly as if Peter had just saved his day. Well, he probably had. The man tapped his tablet a few times. “I’ll pick you up tonight, 15th street, to take you to the tailor. Just bring yourself, I’ll bring the money.” He chuckled slightly, but the sound died down as he saw the petrified expression on Peter’s face. “Do I even need to ask how you got my address?” “Honey, you work for me. I didn’t even have to hack your phone.” A cold shiver ran down Peter’s spine and he quickly stood up to make his way out. “Don’t call me honey.” The words sounded angrier than he wanted them to. “Okay, okay.” Tony raised his hands to appease him. “Thanks again. I’ll pick you up at six o’clock.” “Goodbye, Mr. Stark.” Peter relaxed when the doors of the elevator finally closed behind him. Why did things like this always happen to him? Now he had to spend a horrible week in the middle of nowhere in Austria in the company of a man he despised. He couldn’t even get home alone if things would get too bad because there was no way he could afford a flight from Austria to the States. MJ would kill him when he would tell her how he handled the situation. The only thing he was looking forward to was the opportunity to learn how to ski.  … The elevator doors opened when Peter arrived on the ground floor, and one look at the crowded entry hall was enough for him to feel sick. Everyone was staring at him, the receptionist behind her desk, three men in expensive-looking suits at the end of the hall, even the cleaning staff stopped their work. Not even an hour had passed and the whole company knew of his ‘relationship’ with his boss. He felt like an animal in the zoo, caged in the small elevator and Peter wanted to take a lift back up, if it wouldn’t mean spending time with Tony Stark again. And he could definitely do without that. So, he gritted his teeth, took a deep breath, and practically ran to the exit door. He tried not to listen, but he failed. “Isn’t he the one Tony Stark called his boyfriend? Why is a billionaire interested in someone so normal? Do you think he used sex to get his internship?” Peter heard his own blood rushing in his ears, and he swallowed, calming himself down because he didn’t want to cause a scene. They could say anything, that he is a sugar babe and just wants the billionaire’s money, but he couldn’t stand someone accusing him of getting his internship only because he had slept with the boss. Peter had worked hard for it every day. When he finally left the building, he was trembling, and his breath had quickened. Anger and fear raged inside of him, threatening to take him under and he fumbled for his phone in his backpack. It was all Tony’s fault. Of course, the billionaire would declare him his ‘significant other’ without thinking about the consequences for Peter. And now he even had to go shopping with him like a child that was allowed to buy new stuff with his Dad. The thought made his stomach churn. Tony Stark was a heartless and selfish person, but now it was too late to stay away from him. Peter was relieved when he eventually found his phone. He dialed the number of his best friend immediately. “Peter?” MJ’s voice sounded confused. “Shouldn’t you be at work?” Peter swallowed and pinched the back of his nose. How could he explain the situation? It was already a disaster. “I’m on my way home early. I have a problem.” “So bad, that you couldn’t even wait until you get home?” Now he could definitely hear concern in her voice. “Yes.” “Aight, shoot.” Peter pondered how to phrase it while he was waiting for the subway. He didn’t want all the people around him to know what’s going on. “So, you know my boss?” MJ sighed, and he could practically see her raising her eyebrows in his mind. “Pete, you know I do. You can’t spend a week without complaining about him. What’s it today?” “Hey!” She was right, MJ always was, but he had every damn right to dislike Tony Stark. The man was a plague, a curse, and the world would be better off without the playboy. Today, he had learned to hate the arrogant prick even more. When the subway arrived and Peter got in, he decided to tell it short. He didn’t have much time today because Tony-I’m-the-center-of-the-world-Stark would pick him up later. Brilliant. “You’ll read all over the news tomorrow that I am his new boyfriend.” There were a few seconds of silence before MJ started to choke and furiously coughed into the phone. “Jesus, Pete. A little warning would be nice. How did you manage to get yourself in such a situation?” “It wasn’t my fault,” Peter said defensively. “There were paparazzi following him. He wanted to escape and called me babe, asking me to keep the elevator doors open.” “He did what?” Peter wasn’t sure if MJ believed him. “I don’t know why he did it, MJ. And then there was this woman, and she started to ask questions, and then he wrapped his arms around me, and said I am his boyfriend and that I would come with him to this stupid ski event and-“ “Okay, Pete. Stop.” MJ interrupted his rambling. “Take a deep breath and tell me about it from the beginning. Peter obeyed and tried to calm himself down. He had been on edge for the last hour and becoming hysterical wouldn’t help him now. “Have you ever heard of the ‘Valentine’s Ski Charity’ event?” MJ chuckled. “Sure, Pete. You told me about it several times while you ranted about your boss.” Peter blushed, he didn’t notice before how much he was complaining about Tony, but he still thought it was justified. “When he told the press that I am his boyfriend, the reporter asked him whether I would come to this stupid event, and he said yes. Then he begged me to come along, play his boyfriend and promised me we can break-up afterward.” MJ roared with laughter and if his boss wouldn’t be such an asshole, he might have smiled himself. However, things were how they were, and Peter wished he could disappear for a week for the millionth time. MJ was still giggling, but she regained the better part of her control. “Peter, you can just say no. I don’t think he would fire you for that. Just tell him it’s your aunt’s birthday or something like that.” Peter paused. He hadn’t thought about that before. The fear of losing his internship had apparently switched off his brain and now he could hit himself for that. “It might be too late,” Peter confessed sheepishly while he got off the subway at his stop. “I didn’t react that well.” The silence that followed was uncomfortable. “What did you say, Peter?” He considered hanging up for a moment just to avoid her reaction, but it was better to get it over with while they were just calling. MJ would let him know her opinion anyway and it was easier when he didn’t have to look at her. “I might have told him that I have nothing to wear and now he is taking me to his personal tailor later.” Peter heard a loud thud, probably MJ banging her head on the table and it was followed by a long groan. “Peter.” “I know.” He started to panic, he didn’t want to fly to Austria, he didn’t want to spend a weekend in an overly expensive hotel and he definitely didn’t want to keep the mighty Tony Stark company. “MJ, I don’t want to go.” It was silent for a second and whatever he had expected, it wasn’t this. “You think you’ll lose your internship if you cancel?” “Yes.” “Do you want to lose your internship?” “No, of course not.” “Then stop whining like a child and enjoy the money your boss will be spending on you. Peter, you already said yes. Get over your stupid disgust and keep your promises.” Peter sulked for a second. He knew she was right and he needed to hear that, but it was so difficult to swallow the feelings. Just once, the billionaire should be let down. He should see what it feels like if you couldn’t buy something with money, that the world wasn’t centered around him. But Peter had already agreed, so there was no other option. “Fine, I’ll go. But for the record, I’m going to bug you with all my complaints in the next few days.” MJ snorted loudly. “As if that would make a difference; you already do it anyway.” Hey, that wasn’t fair. “Jerk.” “Coward.” He had to smile a little. At least he knew she would kick his ass if he would fuck something up. He adored his best friend, even when she was bossy sometimes. “Love you.” “Love you, too, Pete. Enjoy the weekend with your Sugar Daddy.” He hung up without saying goodbye. … Peter paced through his room. It’s a few minutes before six and all his mind could focus on was the fact that he was going to go to Austria. With Tony Stark. This weekend. Shit. He looked up the area and as gorgeous as it is, the whole situation was incredibly daunting. The nearest airport is Innsbruck. He figured that’d be important to know, should he need to get away. He got so caught up in his research, that he forgot the time. He can’t help it that Innsbruck is one of the hardest airports to land on because of the steep descent between all the mountains and the heavy updrafts? There are only a couple pilots who can actually fly via Innsbruck because the landing is deemed incredibly difficult and dangerous. That’s nuts! Ah, dang it, he was doing it again. But then, he’d rather think about the awesome videos of aircrafts landing and taking off at Innsbruck Airport than what he was about to do. Go shopping. With Tony Stark. Shit. Peter wanted to wear something at least slightly presentable, but with his measly college student budget, he didn’t have anything that could impress the CEO of his internship company. Who was Peter even kidding? Why would he want to impress Mr. Stark? The man barely glanced at him when they first met all those months ago. Peter looked up to him so much and when they first met, Tony straight up ignored him. He’s an asshole. Right? Popping the news to May was a whole other thing. Peter decided to only give his aunt half-truths, opting to keep the “fake dating” side of the story a secret. She was ecstatic, though. Her nephew was going to Austria for Tony Stark’s charity event! Ugh. She immediately rushed to the set of drawers in the living room to dust off his passport that he barely used and started gathering her inflatable cushion and other items that would make the flight more comfortable. While he appreciated May and everything she did for him, part of Peter wanted for none of this to be necessary. Why did he agree to this again? ... A strange combined rush of excitement and embarrassment washed over Peter when Tony rocked up to the poor student’s apartment building in his gigantic, polished Audi. Mr. Stark roared the engines a few times and Peter wasn’t sure if it was to get his attention or everybody else’s. Peter pretended he didn’t see his neighbors, who were walking their dog, watch him climb into the passenger’s seat of the insanely expensive sports car. He was quietly grateful that the windows were blinded. “Hey, kid,” Tony quipped. “Hey.” It stayed quiet, save for the car rumbling like a hunting lioness. Peter’s mind raced. He was in a car. With Tony Stark. Shit. Everything about this seemed so unreal, like a dream of which he couldn’t decide whether it was good or bad. The smell of the leather interior of the car tickled the insides of his nose and his fingers fiddled with the fabric of his jeans. Why weren’t they moving yet? Why wasn’t Tony driving? What is Mr. Stark waiting for? Oh, God. When Peter finally dared to turn his head to look at his boss, the man was staring back at him over his blue-tinted glasses with his eyebrows raised. “W-what?” Peter managed to stutter. Tony nodded at Peter’s chest and briefly mentioned what it was lacking. “Seatbelt.” ... “So,” Tony said after clearing his throat. The car ride had been silent and relatively awkward up until now. “I read up on you in your files, but you, Peter Parker, are very hard to read in person.” Peter pressed his lips on top of each other, forcing himself to keep looking out the window instead of at Mr. Stark. It’s not like Peter had a solid reply to that remark anyways. “If we’re going to do this, we’re gonna at least have to talk to each other.” “I know,” Peter sighed. He used the palm of his hand to rub his forehead while squeezing his eyes shut. “It’s just a lot all at once, okay?” Peter turned his head to look at Tony, only to find he wasn’t even holding the wheel of the car. It was driving itself. Peter stared at it wide-eyed. Tony cocked his head and showed a toothy grin with only one corner of his mouth curled up. “I like to tinker more than anything.” Great, Peter just voiced how insecure he is about all of this and Tony once again managed to turn the conversation to himself. “Modern Da Vinci,” Peter quoted the news sites, hoping that stroking his boss’s ego would help the situation. “Whoever said that is a liar,” Tony dismissed, tracing the leather of the wheel with his index fingers. Peter couldn’t help but stare at the rough hands and the way they caressed their property. Peter’s mouth went dry. He wanted – no, needed – to remind himself why his teenage crush on the man had crumbled. However, Peter couldn’t help how unfairly hot his boss was, even when he was nearing his fifties. Tony looked back up at Peter with raised eyebrows. “I don’t paint.” “Maybe you should.” Peter could hit himself. What was that kind of an answer? “I mean I could always just throw some grease on a canvas and call it art. Shit sells as long as you’re already rich and call it art.” “A lucrative business.” “Eh.” Tony shrugged. “I’m already surrounded by enough pretentious snobs. My art collection’s completely managed by my secretary.” Peter barely managed to hold in a snort. Pretentious snobs. Had the man never looked in a mirror? Or listened to himself talk? Tony pushed a hand through his hair and shifted in his seat so he could face Peter more easily. “Look, kid, I’m sorry for dragging you into this.” “To be honest, Mr. Stark, I’m not sure if you are.” The words left Peter’s mouth before he could think them through and he quietly sucked in a breath. “What are you implying?” Tony’s tone is slightly threatening and Peter bit his lip with frustration when his body betrayed him, as the blood started rushing to his member. Why was Tony’s authoritative voice so hot? It wasn’t fair. “You called me ‘babe’ in front of all the paparazzi.” “Honest mistake.” “Honest mist-“ Peter pressed his lips on top of each other to keep himself from finishing his sarcastic parroting. “Right.” “I’m not gonna lie, I wouldn’t have called you that if you weren’t as pretty as you are- God!” Tony dropped himself back against his seat and groaned. “I’m bad at this, okay? I figured I’d have a date- someone actually willing- for this stupid event, but I don’t.” Stark straightened his shoulders and glanced at Peter. “And it’s selfish of me to think that I can just ask anybody and that they’ll drop whatever they’re doing to help me. So, if you don’t want this, just tell me ‘kay? I’m big on consent. I’ll just pay some other guy to do this. You’re obviously uncomfortable.” “Stupid event?” “Is that literally all you got from that?” Tony scoffed. Peter squinted slightly but swallowed his snarky reply. Tony sighed. “This Valentine’s event was set up when I was still with Pepper and it’s been an annual thing for over twelve years now. The charity celebrates love.” Tony spoke animatedly, the movement of his hands emphasizing his words. “The event has one rule that I stupidly decided to implement when I was a cocky engaged prick.” He paused, blinking twice. “No donating when you’re single.” “Why not change the rule?” “Cause that’s even more selfish than implementing it in front of all of your single friends when drunk and enforcing it all the years you do have a relationship with a woman you don’t even love.” Tony pressed his lips into a tight, ingenuine smile and faced the road again. It faltered and the tired CEO Peter had seen earlier today is back. “This is one of the events I spend a lot of dollars on because I know how difficult love is. But with that said, I don’t want you or anybody to feel forced into this. Just say the word, kid, I’ll drop you off back at your apartment and I’ll be out of your hair.” It was quiet for a second before Peter’s shoulders relaxed and he eased back into the chair. Tony didn’t necessarily want Peter as a tool to show off. Tony wanted Peter so he could donate to his own charity event. Kind of weird, but not... Bad. It was weird how Peter kept creating images of who his boss is in his head that always ended up being contradictory to the truth. When he was younger his mind deemed Tony a hero. His teen self revered the man as a sex symbol. The first week of his internship was a dream come true and after the “Hi there, Mr. Stark, I wanted to thank you for-” “Don’t have time for you, bye.” incident it all turned sour. His adoration turned to distaste. The man was a selfish asshole to Peter for so long. And now... Now he was telling Peter all of this? That he’s... Good? In a way? It was all so confusing. But at least it made Peter hate the situation less. He knew this year’s charity was for LGBTQ+ youth, so Tony wanting to donate to the cause this badly must mean something. And it also meant a lot to Peter. He could definitely suck up and bask in a week of luxury and wealth and take the rich pricks for what they are if it means Tony pays the charity a good chunk of his cash stack. “So, how long ‘til we reach the tailor?” Peter said, looking straight ahead and trying to hide a smile. Tony didn’t even bother to conceal his happiness at Peter’s remark and sat back to enjoy the ride as well. “Couple of minutes.” … Even though Peter was cautious because he didn’t want to be let down again, he felt himself loosening up to Tony a little more as the evening went on. He couldn’t help it; the billionaire was charming and funny and smart... Peter rarely met anyone who was this easy to talk to. Mr. Stark seemed pleasantly surprised when Peter genuinely laughed at his niche joke about hydraulic engines and Peter even quipped one about thermal physics himself when discussing the clothes they’d be wearing on the pistes. Tony’s laugh was on loop in his brain for the next five minutes the tailor spent measuring each inch of Peter’s body. He made Tony Stark laugh. Something inside Peter stirred when the man behind the till told Tony what the tailored suit was going to cost. The stirring turned into something more when Stark handed the man his black credit card and waved it off. Three months of rent in Manhattan. For a suit. The next store Tony drove them to sold all kinds of winter gear. Peter said he’d be okay with just one outfit, but Tony wouldn’t hear it. Peter had to wear something different every day of the week. There was something about Tony staring at Peter’s body in the skin-tight thermal wear that made Peter turn his lower body away from the billionaire. Because the ‘more’ had turned to ‘even more’ at this point. And Peter didn’t want Tony to see what the tight clothes couldn’t hide. The clothes were starting to layer and pile. Store after store was visited and Peter was only allowed to fit the most expensive pieces of clothing. Cashmere turtlenecks and silk jackets, leather and suede shoes, even soft cotton underwear. Everything Peter would wear and carry had Tony’s money all over it. Peter ended up with multiple outfits for every day of the trip. He was never one for shopping, but Tony’s eyes staring at him, judging him, and his soft lips telling him to make a turn, and complimenting him, had Peter dizzy by the time they left the last store. He could barely contain a thrust of his hips and hold back a moan when Tony placed a hand on his shoulder at the last store as he handed the black credit card to the salesman who just scored the jackpot for his provisional sales percentage. “All for him,” Tony had said. Peter’s tailored suits would be express shipped to their hotel in Gerlos, as would all the ski gear. Once again, all Peter had to bring was himself. It was strange. Peter had to remind himself that Tony was doing all of this for a reason. If Peter feels confident and looks good, he’ll be a better and more convincing boyfriend. He was silently being bribed, Peter was sure of it. No matter how kind Tony may seem, he’s still the ass Peter met that one day. Certainly.

We’re still playing our game of written hot potato! Dozens of your favorite authors are taking turns to tell a Veronica Mars mystery story. Each writer crafts their chapter and then “tosses” the story to the next person to continue the tale.  No one knows what will happen, so expect the unexpected! Follow the “vmhq presents” and “murder we wrote” tags for all the installments, or read the story as it develops on AO3. — Chapter Nine of MURDER, WE WROTE is written by @vmsteenbeans​​. And stayed tuned next week for Ch.10 from @loveobsessed2​  -tag, you’re it!

———————————————————————————————————–CHAPTER NINE by @vmsteenbeans​ 

Logan, Duncan and Veronica rushed out into the great room to investigate the crash, stopping short when they discovered the massive chandelier lying before them. The weight of the light fixture had cracked all of the tiles in the center of the room, and fine particles of marble still hung in the air.

Veronica covered her nose and mouth with the crook of her arm, squinting at the scene in front of her.  As the dust began to settle, she saw hundreds of tiny crystals scattered across the floor, sparkling in the firelight.  Those still attached to the chandelier swung gently back and forth, creating a cheerful tinkling sound at odds with the destruction before her.

She glanced over at Logan, whose eyes were already upon her.  They shared a look, and Logan nodded – he knew what came next.  They needed to make sure that there were no bodies crushed beneath the chandelier.

Just as they’d both begun to move forward, two things happened at once.  The other party guests came rushing downstairs, pausing at the bottom of the stairway, and Veronica heard a cough.  The weird thing was, it had come from above her.

She tilted her head back.  Wallace stared down at her through the brand new hole in the ceiling, looking just as shell-shocked as she felt.

“Veronica!  Is everyone okay?”

“Wallace?” she called back.  “What the…?”

“The floor gave way,” he explained.  “And you and I have a lot to talk about.  We’re coming down now.”

He disappeared, and her gaze returned to the chandelier.  Logan was crouched down beside it, inspecting the floor around it carefully.  He stood up and walked back over to Veronica, taking her hand in his.  “All clear,” he assured her.  “No one was hurt.”

Veronica exhaled, some of the tension leaving her body. “Well that’s one thing that’s gone right today.”  He squeezed her hand, and she smiled.  “Actually, that’s two things.”

Logan opened his mouth to reply.  Before he got the chance, Wallace and Casey came jogging down the stairs.  They pushed the others aside, making their way over to Veronica.

“Dude,” Casey said, looking rather exhilarated. “There’s a secret passageway in your room.”

“Are you kidding me?” Veronica replied.  She glanced over at Wallace, who didn’t appear nearly as excited about this new piece of information.

“It’s true,” he confirmed.  “And there’s more.”

***

“So what does this mean?” Gia asked.  “Are people, like, voyeuring us?”

They were all gathered in the living room again. Everyone had naturally gravitated towards the light and warmth of the fire, with the exception of Dick, who was back to playing bartender.

Veronica watched him from her spot on the loveseat, as he poured Godiva liqueur into a metal shaker.  She wondered, once again, where he’d disappeared to earlier.  Although in the scheme of things, we have much bigger problems to deal with.

She turned her attention back to Gia.  “I think we have to assume that, yeah,” she confirmed.  “More importantly, this means that none of us is actually safe in our rooms.  Even when the doors are locked.”

Veronica watched as the other guests digested that news. Everyone looked suitably uncomfortable at the thought, especially Logan.  He was seated beside her, brow furrowed and jaw tight, as he swept his gaze across the room.

Despite the seven months, nine days and- she glanced at her watch- twelve hours since she’d seen him last, Veronica knew Logan well enough to understand where his head was at.  It wasn’t his own safety he was worried about.  It was hers.

And although his protectiveness had once enraged her, she now found it… endearing.  She nestled herself closer, entwining her fingers in his.  Logan snaked his arm around her waist and dropped a kiss on her forehead, sighing into her hair.

“So what do we do?” Carrie asked.

“Block the passageways?” Luke suggested.

“Have someone stand guard in the secret tunnel?” Alexis spoke up.

Wallace stared at them in disbelief.  “Um, does no one else here remember the chandelier that just came crashing to the ground?  That tunnel doesn’t exactly meet OSHA safety standards.”

“Who’s Osha?” Kimmy asked.

Everyone ignored her, and Dick made his way from out behind the bar.  “Or there’s the obvious solution,” he replied, holding up his chocolate martini. “All nighter!”

“Yeah, Dick,” Susan replied dryly.  “That makes total sense.  We’ll all just get wasted while someone sneaks around, picking us off one by one.”

There was silence, and then all eyes landed on Veronica.

“Oh, now you want my help?” she asked.

Gia shrugged.  “Murder and stuff is like, your hobby.  Right?”

Veronica sighed heavily.  “Sure.”  She thought for a minute, considering her mantra from earlier in the day.  Contact authorities.  Stick together.  Preserve the evidence…  Well, one out of three ain’t bad.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but Dick has the right idea,” Veronica began.

“Rager!” he called out.

Veronica rolled her eyes.  “No.  But I think we should all stay in this room, together.  We’ve got plenty of wood to keep that fire going all night. Whoever’s tired can sleep on the couches and chairs, or we can even bring some mattresses and blankets down here. And at least two people need to stay awake at all times, to stand guard.”

After some dissention, everyone finally agreed to the plan.  Casey, Norris, Duncan and Luke went upstairs to start bringing down the mattresses, while the others began moving furniture around to make more room.

Veronica and Logan got up from the love seat.  He started to move forward, to help out, but she grabbed hold of his arm.  She tugged gently, pulling him towards the deserted great room.  Once they’d crossed the threshold, she turned to face him.

“What’s up?” he asked.

“I know sticking together is the right call,” she said softly, “but it feels like we’re being herded.”

Logan nodded.  “I’ve been thinking the same thing.  Like someone is… toying with us.”

“Exactly.”  Veronica chewed at her lower lip while she tried to figure out her next step. “Something’s been bothering me.”

Logan raised his brow.  “Just the one thing?”

“When Wallace and I got here, the storm was starting to get worse.  The captain told us he was going to stay in the caretaker’s cottage.  But when we were over there earlier, there was no sign of him.  Where is he?”

“That’s… a really good question.  Are there any other buildings on the island?  Maybe a guest house?”

“Maybe.  And another thing,” she went on.  “When we found out that Duncan and Norris’s deaths were faked, Norris said something to Jen.  Something like, ‘I thought we were the only ones today.’”

Logan nodded slowly.  “Meaning there were other fake murders planned for tomorrow and Sunday. So who else was supposed to fake-die?”

“Right.  And where are they?”  Veronica gestured around them.  “I mean, the jig is officially up.  The murder mystery is supposed to be over.  So, why weren’t those people told?  Why aren’t they here, with the rest of us?”

“Looks like Jen the party guide is still holding out on us.”

“Yeah.  It looks exactly like that.”  She paused. “And there’s something else.”

Logan smiled at her fondly.  “It’s never just one thing, with you.”

“Once I get going, it’s hard to stop.”

“Mmm,” he replied, bending down and kissing her on the lips.  “I recall.”

Veronica closed her eyes and leaned into the kiss, allowing herself to escape their present reality for just a moment.  This wasn’t the first time Logan had been her port in a storm, but it was the first time it had been quite this literal.

It was Logan who pulled away first, although the satisfied smile on his lips assured her he’d be more than happy to continue.  “You were saying?” he prompted.

Veronica blinked, trying to focus.  The one time she really and truly wanted to put her relationship with Logan first, she was stuck on a remote island during a blizzard, trapped in a mansion with some murdering psycho who was trying to kill her and everyone else with her.  So typical.

She cleared her throat.  “Right,” she began.  “My next question: why this specific group of people?”

“Haven’t we gone over this already?” he asked. “Or are you saying that you have a theory?”

“Well… I did think of one thing,” she admitted. “Meg.”

“Meg what?

“I don’t know.  Cole and Duncan used to date her.  Kimmy used to want to be her. She and Alexis were on the cheerleading squad together, she used to tutor Norris, and the rest of us were friends with her.  Even Leo knew her.”

“True,” he said slowly.  “But what about Wallace?”

“We’ve already established that he doesn’t seem to fit the pattern.  Except as a way to lure me here.”

“Okay, so what are you thinking?  She’s back from the dead, trying to kill us all zombie-style?”

Veronica gave him a withering look.  “No.  I’m just trying to find a common denominator, and that’s something I landed on.”

Logan didn’t look convinced.  “Yeah, but name any 09er and…”  He trailed off, his expression changing as his eyes skimmed the walls.  “Hey, do you still have that flashlight handy?”

Veronica nodded, producing the mini-Maglite from her back pocket and handing it to him.  “What’s up?”

“Well,” he replied.  “I used to have this girlfriend who made me watch a lot of period dramas.”  He cast a teasing smile in her direction, before turning the flashlight on and taking her hand.  “Jane Eyre, Gosford Park, Dangerous Liaisons…”

“I believe that last one was your pick.”

“I do have a weakness for Michelle Pfeiffer,” he said.  “Although she’s not my favorite blonde.”  Logan cast a cheeky look at Veronica, before leading her towards the kitchen.  “Anyway, if I remember correctly, the servant’s quarters were kept hidden in those grand houses of old.”

Finally catching on to what he had in mind, Veronica felt anticipation coursing through her.  “And we already know there’s one secret passageway in this house…”

“Exactly.”

Logan kept walking, flashlight pointed at the walls. He moved it down and across slowly, looking for any obvious cracks or crevices in the molding.  Spotting something, Veronica let go of his hand and stepped forward.  It was tiny, but there was a small bump in the molding.  She pressed it.

The entire panel swung forward, revealing the entrance to the servant’s quarters.  And seated at the small wooden table in front of them, munching on potato chips and staring at her laptop, was Mac.

amicability

adam francis/rin yamaoka | the spirit; canon typical violence warning; 3488 words

a/n: i don't know how I'm gonna format these kinda posts on here, since i know that Tumblr really loves to suppress tags and i haven’t formatted a full fic in a post in literal years, so if this looks a bit wonky, i apologise. anyways, hi i bring the rinadam goods that we as a community all love and deserve. this man has a ghost wife thank you very much. ALSO if anyone ever wants to suggest fics for me (more rinadam, or maybe even for some of my other ships if you care to ask, wink wink), feel free! my askbox is open.

likes < reblogs, any comments in the tags are appreciated

ao3 mirror in the reblogs! 

Preview: Looking up, he saw the mangled form of the Spirit staring down at him, having found him once more, her weapon drawn. Her looming presence over him made him sick... his eyes fell on the hatch by her feet. As he crawled closer to it, she was going to close it, watch the hope drain from his face and relish in it before slamming his shoulder through a hook and feeding him to the master she served so diligently, with all her rage and hatred.

The third and final scream echoed throughout the empty temple, as the former teacher pressed his back against the cold wall, clutching his side where warm blood stained his clothes and his hands. The soft rumbling of the generator beside him brought him some form of comfort, but not much - now Adam was in this trial alone, injured, with a very angry Spirit ready to sniff him out and strike him down, as she had done with the rest of his friends.

With his heart beating loud in his ears, Adam kept himself low to the ground, suppressing winces and groans of pain as best he could as he climbed out of the temple’s lower floor, and to the stairs outside. He pressed a hand against the wall for support, grabbing it hard to pull himself to his full height. He still ended up slumped over due to his injuries. He could see the gate from here... and no Spirit. Gritting his teeth and gripping his side, he took that as his cue to get going, quickly stepping down the temple’s stairs and stumbling on the damp earth beneath his feet, where the constant, miserable drizzle of rain left the ground of mud and leaves slick and dangerous. He took his time, but not too much, crouching around a wall and practically crawling around it, pressing his shoulder against the wood of it for support. The gate was in sight now. Adam took a moment to gather his breath, swallowing his inhibitions as he rose to his feet, stumbling towards the gate and reaching out to grab at the handle—

A loud scream from nearby made his head snap up, looking at the petite yet fierce form of the Spirit some distance away. She manifested her blade into her hand and screamed again, the fingers on her free hand almost snapping into a claw-like motion before she took off into a rage-fueled sprint, running for him. Slipping and stumbling for a moment on the wet forest floor beneath him, adrenaline began to kick in as Adam ran as fast as he could away from her. He heard the slashes of her blade, feeling the wind against his back from each slice as she got closer and closer, the familiar and trademark snapping and shattering coming from her twitching form echoing in his ears - the noise had haunted him the entire trial. 

She gave another ear-piercing scream as he vaulted over the wall, barely missing him again and hitting the edge of the window instead. His fingers slipped a little on the slick, mossy stone and he took a slight stumble on the other side, but he still carried on, running forward and ducking around another wall. His chest was heaving, a tight, twisting pain from his open wounds and running so far, pressing his back against the cold wall, as if that would help. There was next to no time to catch his breath, though, hearing that same damn cracking of the Spirits movements getting closer and closer, sniffing him out like a bloodhound. He looked around for a moment, the chipped red paint of the locker beside him catching his eye quickly - now this wasn’t a hard choice, limping towards the locker and quickly shutting the door - this was a last ditch effort or bust.

Watching with wide eyes, Adam saw through the small slits in the locker as she reached the wall where he once had been, beginning to pace back and forth in search of her final sacrifice. He began gripping harder to his side in a tense impulse and cursing himself as a surge of pain coursed through him. He listened to her strained, tired breaths, the way her limbs shifted and moved with each turn she made - for a moment, it was almost as if they locked eyes as she stared right at the locker, making his breath catch in his throat. But the Spirit did nothing further, grunting in frustration as she looked away, bare feet hitting the dirt as she went to look elsewhere. The teacher let out a quiet, shaky sigh, releasing the breath he had been holding and pressing his forehead against the locker door, before looking up again to check if the coast was clear.

And that’s when he saw it.

Right in front of him, as if luck itself had reached down and placed it there - a rusted, metal hatch, shadows gathering at its mouth as if they were reaching up and trying to grab a slice of heaven. His heart began beating faster just as he’d begun to calm down - was this it, could he have a chance, against all odds? Allowing himself to shakily laugh, Adam let go of the locker’s door handle and slowly pushed it open, careful to avoid any creaks the old hinges may have let out, stepping out with one foot first - pausing to check for noise - and then the other-

Sudden pain surged through his ankle as he pressed weight onto it, and without thinking Adam stumbled forwards, losing his footing rather quickly on the dirt and slipping onto his back, the wind being knocked out of him and leaving him gasping for air for a moment.  He rolled onto his side, the light drizzle of rain hitting his face now, as if to mock him as he lay there for a moment, trying to steady his breathing to stop himself from making any noise. He must have sprained his ankle in the chase - he wouldn’t have noticed in the rush, with the adrenaline pumping through his veins, keeping him alive. Gritting his teeth, Adam looked back up at the hatch, only a short distance away now. His only thought was to get to it. Get out before the Spirit could find him again. Moving his hand from his injured side, he made no effort to get up in his desperation, instead dragging himself across the mud, listening to the ambience from the hatch’s shadows and the way the rain hit the open, metal cover, as he got closer and closer.

And that’s when he heard it again. Light footsteps and the snapping of glass. Adam cursed himself, knowing it was too lucky to be more than an illusion of an escape, and anything else but a sick trick.

Looking up, he saw the mangled form of the Spirit staring down at him, having found him once more, her weapon drawn. Her looming presence over him made him sick... his eyes fell on the hatch by her feet. As he crawled closer to it, she was going to close it, watch the hope drain from his face and relish in it before slamming his shoulder through a hook and feeding him to the master she served so diligently, with all her rage and hatred.

“You... you won.” There was defeat in his voice - he knew there was no way, as he bled out on the wet floor of the forest just outside some accursed temple. He’d wake up by the campfire and start this all over again anyways, what did it matter? Adam’s head fell, expecting to hear the slam of metal, followed by the way the girl so terrible crackled and snapped, like broken glass, with every movement she made. But there was nothing.

All she gave him was a small noise - was that a whimper? - of... almost pity. He looked up at her again now; as she stared down at him with a... softer expression. The rage within her had subsided, if only momentarily, leaving her face soft and solemn as she gazed down at him. The light cracking of her movements and the shifting of her enfeebled limbs was the loudest of the noises she made, though from this distance he could hear her laboured, struggling breaths. 

“W...what are you...?” He wasn’t sure if she was sizing up her kill, or simply waiting for him to bleed out as she stared him down, but in a blood loss-induced delirium, Adam would swear up and down she looked... sad. The blade in her hand blinked away, from the serrated blade to its wrapped hilt, with a flick of a loose, pale wrist, leaving her stood there for a moment, arms at her side.

“...Free...” It was a struggle for her to speak, but the kanji she spoke almost took him by surprise - of course, looking at her this close, she was clearly of Asian descent, so the Japanese that came from her wasn’t the surprise he was taken aback by. It was moreso that he could still remember some himself to translate it, given how long he’d existed within the torturous realm by now.

Before he could ask her to elaborate, the Spirit turned her back on him, and slowly began shuffling away, her bare feet leaving a disgusting mud trail underneath her... leaving Adam alone to crawl to the hatch, and fall into an abyss of safety. 

~

Coming back around at the campfire, there was a loud pounding in his head and a throbbing in his side, being prodded at and touched. A wet surface touched against it, leaving him to wince at the sting of the antiseptic.

“Hey, hey, it’s OK, you’re safe, Mr. Francis.” Claudette’s voice remained calm above him, as she placed a hand under his head where a log had once been, leaving Adam to open his eyes and look up at her.

“I-I’m sorry-”

“Hey, no. You made it out, and that’s more than enough.” She smiled softly, always ready to put anyone’s anxieties at ease, going back to the med kit by her side for a moment. Adam remembered seeing her at the beginning of the trial; she was the first to be sacrificed on the hook. And yet, she didn’t hold any grudges - she never did. Claudette looked up again, as a shadow was cast over them, kneeling down. “Oh, Ace, give me a hand?”

There was a quiet grumble, as Adam shifted his gaze to look at the gambler who was taking the gauze from Claudette. He’d been the second sacrifice in the trial - if there was one thing that Ace was good at, it was being a distraction and a runaround. With his sunglasses falling down his nose from looking down, Adam could see him look up at him, their eyes locking. “No apologies for me, eh?”

“...You did great, Visconti. Sorry-”

“Ah, no need to apologize- selfless hero, I am, don’t you know.” He waved an arm of dismissal before the teacher could even finish his sentence, satisfied enough to get him to grin in his trademark, punchable-face way, passing the roll of gauze back to Claudette again, making Adam roll his eyes and laugh, though only momentarily, sucking air in again from his open wound.

That only left Kate, the last member of the trial, to be seen. Claudette said she was talking to Dwight about something, last time she’d seen them - probably going on another patrol of the fog, as was customary after every trial. They’d been working on the generator in the lower floor of the temple together, but she’d left him there to run the Spirit around again, just to make sure they got it up to speed - ‘gotta take every window of opportunity with open arms’, she’d said, in her gentle Southern drawl, with her usual warm smile for comfort. And he had been comforted, up until he heard her screams of pain from across the complex, just as he connected the wires and brought that final generator to life.

It didn’t take long for him to be patched up, enough to let him sit up, at the very least. He exchanged a few more words with both Ace and Claudette, the former going off to bother the old soldier Bill as soon as he spotted him, and the latter having to stop yet another fight between David and Meg that had become customary to the campfire as of recently. After being given an apologetic look by the botanist before she stood to her feet (her polite pleading contrasting to Detective Tapp who followed in her wake, his tone of voice commanding and his grip firm as pushed the two hot-headed young individuals away from each other), Adam found himself restless, sighing to himself as he looked around, the horizon around them obscured by fog and trees, just as it always had been. For some reason, though, he now felt eyes in the back of his head from the fog, something watching him from afar… it made his skin crawl. He thought back for a moment to the trial, and the way the Spirit stared down at him on the floor… and how similar this paranoid feeling made him feel. Gripping onto the log he sat by with one hand, and holding onto his injured side with the other, Adam pushed himself to his feet, and turned back to the wide outstretch of forest, before slowly - and against any better judgement he had - walking into the clearing.

That wasn’t any understatement, either - from what little they knew of the realm they were all residing in, going out there alone was almost guaranteed to get you hurt, or perhaps even killed, if that was even still possible. Wails and scraping metal had been heard through the trees, and it had been hypothesised that the killers who stalked their paths in every trial were occupying the very same woods, just outside of their own safe haven at the campfire. Of course, this paranoid drivel from Dwight had been mocked by some, but being out here alone, now Adam could understand. There was no wind, and yet, some of the leaves still moved, quiet whispers through the scenery around him bringing him no form of comfort. He gave a hard swallow, choosing to push through and continue - what was he hoping to find here, exactly? Had he hit his head in that trial, unknown to him, making him act out irrationally and possibly run into the face of danger? 

That same feeling of a  burning gaze came back twofold, even closer this time, causing Adam to bring his head up and look around. Among the same, silent trees, and the rolling fog in the distance, the gentle whispers (being the only noise made, he now noted - just how far had he wandered out here?) focused onto one sad, familiar form. A floating hand supported her against the tree she stood close to, watching him with her eyes of bright white voids. On instinct, he took a couple of steps away. She didn’t move. And once again, just like the trial before them, time seemed to almost slow in the silence that followed, the light shifting and crackling coming from the Spirit being the only thing to cut it. At least initially.

Adam watched as she moved again, opening her mouth to take a breath, before she spoke - her voice was strained from screaming, as often as she did in the trials. “You are… safe.”

He paused. “I… yes. Thanks to you.”

She seemed to smile slightly at that… strangely enough, it fit her face well, he noted to himself. “I… saved you.”

“...By letting me leave, yes.”

The Spirit stopped for a moment, looking down at her hand that had remained at her side until now, observing the large shard of glass pierced into her flesh. “You are… lost. Not safe here.”

“I-I am, yes. Are your… friends… nearby?”

“Yes.”

He swallowed hard, once again looking around in the open forest and fog that had surrounded the two of them. As he seemed to look around on alert, she continued.

“But it’s not… them. They are… bad people, but now, they are calm. It’s… this.” She lifted a hand to gesture all around herself, making him raise an eyebrow.

“The forest?”

“The fog,” she corrected, pausing to take a breath - from this interaction, it was plain to see that she wasn’t used to speaking so calmly, or perhaps even speaking at all. “Is hungry.”

“What?”

She looked at his confused face, shaking her head. “Not enough time. You… need to go back. I can... help you. If you would like.”

Adam watched as The Spirit held out her hand - for a moment holding out the wrong one, where glass remained and dried blood stained her palm, before pulling it back again - for him to take. He looked down at it, pondering for a moment what to do, before, against his better judgement, he extended his arm, and took her offer.

Her hand was so cold and dead against his skin, enough to make him jolt a little on contact, surprising the Spirit just as much as he recoiled away slightly. Adam let out a nervous laugh, unsure how long the rage he had seen her front more often than not would be subsided, before taking her cold hand once more. Her long, slender fingers curled around his hand, and, after seeming to gaze at the sky for a moment or two, she began to lead him through the trees that all looked the same, along a path that had not been walked. For a moment, Adam considered she was simply leading him away to kill him - perhaps to her fellow killers to let them join in on the fun. But as he was led along, looking at the softness of her features and the sadness in her eyes… he was almost sure that, right now at least, she wasn’t capable of such rancour.

They walked on and on through the trees, not a word between them, with Adam focusing on the sounds of broken glass that followed her as she walked, staring down at their conjoined hands while remaining aware of his surroundings enough to move around the fauna around them. The path seemed endless, but being lost in his thoughts meant that perhaps his sense of time became warped.

“What’s your name?”

The question from the girl came suddenly, cutting through the silence with her quiet voice, enough to make him look up and answer without thinking - as if he was talking to a friendly stranger, and not someone who very easily could - and had done so in the past - end his life. “...Adam.”

“Adam…” she repeated, not looking back at him. “Your name… is nice.”

He paused. “Do you… have a name?”

There wasn’t a response for a second or two, as she seemed to ponder the question. “I was… Rin.”

The notion of ‘was’ troubled him, combined with the need to actively think about the question. He disregarded it for the moment, as he replied; “Your name is nice as well.”

From this angle just behind her, he could swear that she smiled sadly. Adam chose not to press it further, continuing with another question - this may well have been the only chance to ask it, after all. A form of closure for himself, and perhaps information for his friends.

“You could have easily killed me, by the hatch. Why didn’t you?”

Her sad smile fell, face blank. “I… I don’t know. It’s odd… I think… we were similar, when you were like that.”

“Similar? What do you mean?”

The Spirit - Rin - shook her head now, dismissing the conversation, to which Adam complied, not wanting to bring forth the rage that she was known for among the people she and her ilk tormented. But it did not stop himself from thinking; about the person that Rin had once been, and how similar they really had to have been, in that moment. He thought about this as no more words were said.

When the light sound of idle chatter in the distance became noticeable, he looked up in its direction and pulled his hand away, enough to make the Spirit stop and look up at him. Adam listened to the white noise for a moment, never more glad to hear it, before looking back to what he once considered to be a threat.

“I… do not understand what you’re doing, but… thank you.”

Her smile was weak and strained, taking in air to prepare herself to speak again. “I cannot… follow. Be safe.” Rin looked up at him with her blank, sad looking eyes again, before passing by him again, no wind in particular following after her, some of her long hair brushing against his neck and face as she paused.

Adam watched her leave, watched her be taken into the fog that had seemed to follow them, thinking back to her warnings of her fellow killers not being the biggest danger in this realm - at least, not right now.

A loud, piercing, familiar screaming (not angry though - it was pained, straining) some distance away prompted him to swiftly return to the campfire now, as the fog slowly continued to roll in. 

New Year’s Eve: Aziraphale gets a wild idea about a question he’s wanted to ask for a while and Crowley does not understand why they’re going on holiday to Iceland.

I’m in Iceland for the new year (I’m posting this from 2020!) and of course I spent the last day of 2019 writing ridiculous fluff. Everywhere the Husbands go is real, and places I’ve been (though I did not get a luxury suite at the Blue Lagoon, I’m sad to say).

Previous installments are sweet but not necessary to read to understand (and can be found under the tag #PlaceWithoutPlot, although that’s not 100% true after this excerpt?). Excerpt here, full on AO3 or below the break.

--

The best crepes in Scotland were, undoubtedly, in a small café near the Meadows, which quickly became a regular spot for lunch on the days they wandered about separately. It was covered in tartan and old records, owned and operated by one man. The drinks were good and the crepes were divine.

“I was thinking, you know,” said Aziraphale, sipping a hot chocolate and relaxing into the tartan, “we don’t need to go back right away.”

“No?” asked Crowley. “Plants will miss me.”

“Oh, the Devices have nowhere to be,” said the angel. “Anathema will keep them alive and I’m sure they don’t mind a little reprieve.”

“You’re scheming,” Crowley lightheartedly accused, fighting to keep the smile off his lips. Aziraphale didn’t laugh or shoot Crowley a disapproving look, which meant he was legitimately nervous about something. The effort of hiding something distracted the angel, which meant Crowley could always tell when it happened. Crowley sat forward a bit: I’m paying attention. I know this is important. I’m listening.

“It’s just, well. We know Edinburgh. The whole island, really. We’ve lived here a very long time.”

“Understatement.”

“Yes. Well. So. I thought perhaps—if you wanted—we could go somewhere new.”

“New?” Crowley raised an eyebrow. “Everywhere’s new, angel. World keeps changing. That’s what we like about it. Remember?”

“I know! But it’s so easy to get around these days. No more horses, no more ships…”

“What’s wrong with ships? I like ships.”

“You never went on a trireme, if I recall,” said Aziraphale.

“No more triremes, I’ll give you.” Crowley raised an eyebrow. Aziraphale was avoiding talking about whatever he wanted to talk about, now. “Where did you want to go?”

“Iceland.”

“Iceland?”

“Iceland.”

Crowley bit back the why, the what in the world is in Iceland that makes you want to go there, the what has gotten into you lately, you’re always such a homebody, I literally moved right down the block from you because we both hate putting in more effort to go places than absolutely necessary. Aziraphale had something in mind, and Crowley had the sense that the wrong reaction would absolutely shatter the man. Besides, Crowley trusted him.

“All right,” said Crowley. “Iceland. What about New Year’s, then?”

-

Aziraphale insisted on being mysterious about his plans once they got to Iceland, so Crowley demanded the right to do the same.

“If you get a mystery,” he said, “I get a mystery too. And mine’s near the airport, so unless you’ve got a fantastic reason, I get to go first.”

They arrived in Keflavik—not Reykjavik, not on an international flight—and Crowley’s reasoning became apparent quickly. The flight didn’t exactly get in early, but this time of year the sun didn’t rise until noon, so it was the middle of the night when they landed at nine AM. They still didn’t have the Bentley (Newt was not to touch the car back in Sussex, and he was terrified enough of Crowley that Aziraphale suspected he’d form a permanent bond with the houseplants) but Crowley had managed a half-decent rental car. He convinced Aziraphale to get in before breakfast—“Trust me, angel, there’s food where we’re going!”—and they set out into the night. The weather was somewhat warm for the season. It was cold, but not freezing.

Iceland was famous for its stunning scenery and dramatic landscapes, but in darkness like this all they could see were black shapes against gray sky. As the sun rose, it cast long shadows over a broken landscape. The earth had cracked and crackled after centuries of volcanic activity, leaving fields that looked like the ruined cities of ancient giants. Trees here were short and grew in sparse copses—it had once been a forest island, but not after the Nordic settlers arrived—and the tumbling rocks were covered in silver-gray lichens and mosses. Here on the southwest corner, the mountains were mostly distant, framing the horizon.

Crowley peeled off the main road and drove towards an alpine cluster, and the sky grew lighter. He was sure Aziraphale would guess immediately—apparently the angel had been reading about Iceland—but it wasn’t until they drove past the first pools that Crowley saw his eyes light up. He’d picked this place for stupid, indulgent reasons, one of which was that the color of Aziraphale’s eyes matched the water exactly. (He also liked the idea of getting out of the chill for once, warming his serpentine bones, and that played into it.)

Hot springs. Deep-earth saltwater, heated by the volcano and pumped into what was essentially a fancy swimming pool by these brilliant, stupid human beings that they both loved so much. It was indulgent and warm and frankly good for their corporations and souls alike, and after doing things the Human Way for a bit he could use a little pampering.

There was a resort. Crowley had picked the top package, the one that came with free breakfast and facial treatments and daily yoga and guided hikes in addition to everything you could ask for at the hot springs. He’d booked a room for two nights, one with a view of the lagoons. It only came with a single king-sized bed, but honestly, so had every other place they’d stayed. Crowley was the only one who used it. Aziraphale just stayed up reading. Aside from a comment on the décor—“Clearly you chose this place, it looks just like the flat in London with a bit more natural light.”—Aziraphale didn’t mention it at all.

Aziraphale immediately ran off on one of the guided hikes, spouting something about history and geography. Crowley did yoga, taking a moment to try and guess what the angel was getting at with this trip in the first place. He was done first, and was relaxing in their suite with a silica mask when Aziraphale got back (grumpy from the physical activity, but excited about the geological history). Then there was dinner at the restaurant—a great wall of glass built next to the natural volcanic stone, with a table for two right next to illuminated volcanic pools and a plate of Icelandic cod for the angel—and a quick change into suits before they went into the main pool.

Public baths were familiar to them both—they had been around since the moment humans had discovered the delights of warm water—but there was something mystical about hot springs. The vivid water, as opaque and blue as a settled fog. The mist that rose and danced in the air as wind whipped around them, eddying in the rocks and around bridges. The open air, cold and wet with rain against the heat of the water.

The pool was an expanse. The far borders were lost in the mist, and patrons drifted through the water in various masks: mostly white silica, ghostly, with their laughter and conversations muted by the open space. The resort provided towels and bathrobes, so the bridges around the pools were inhabited by patrons in white as well, exploring the intricate landscape of the baths.

Crowley and Aziraphale hung their robes on hooks outside and darted to the water, laughing. They had both slicked back their hair with conditioner—the salt and silica stuck and dried it out—and Aziraphale looked ridiculous, his characteristic curls stuck flat to his head.  Someone took someone’s hand and they ended up drifting like the dead in the water, looking up at the darkness and locked together, holding tightly, refusing to ever let go.

 -

Crowley washed his hair in the private shower of their suite. The conditioner had done little to protect it, despite the spa’s claims that it had been specially designed for the water here. He could just miracle back the keratin, but some deep-down part of him liked the feeling of Aziraphale seeing him as imperfect. He slathered it in a keratin treatment instead, slicking it back against his head, before drying off and wrapping up in a robe. He’d get some rest and in the morning—

The demon’s wandering train of thought was jolted off its track as he came into the bedroom. Aziraphale was sitting on the bed. The angel was wearing pyjamas, silk beige ones with a gold trim, which was a sight Crowley had not ever thought he’d see. His hair was frizzy with silica and salt. He looked nervous. He jumped when Crowley closed the bathroom door.

“Ah. Hello.”

“Hello,” said Crowley, waving his hand in Aziraphale’s general direction. You’re in my bed, the gesture said. This is a new turn of events, please tell me what is happening.

“Yes. Well. I thought perhaps—so much has happened, lately. So much has changed. I’m… I’m tired, I think.” Aziraphale swallowed. “I’m quite tired. And I’ve never been much good at…” At trusting anyone, the pause said. At relaxing enough to let my guard down. Relaxing invites attack. Relaxing means I cannot avoid conflict once I see it coming. “…At sleeping. I thought perhaps I’d try it.”

“Am I on the couch, then?” asked Crowley, perhaps a bit more snidely than he meant it. It wasn’t so much that he was opposed to seeing the angel in pyjamas. He just assumed, at this point, that it was part of the Agreement that he was entitled to any bed in a room they shared, and he’d been looking forward to this one.

He’d give up any bed in the world for Aziraphale, but that was beside the point.

“No,” said Aziraphale.

“Oh,” said Crowley, surprised.

It was utterly impossible to sleep. The bed was warm and soft, and the rain pattered outside in a gentle white noise. Crowley rolled over, restless, assuming he’d see Aziraphale as a knot of blankets with a little angelic cloud of hair sticking out. Not the case: Aziraphale had turned to look at him, too.

Their eyes met. Gold to blue. Crowley breathed.

“You’re not very good at this,” said Aziraphale. “I thought you’d be asleep by now.”

“Sometimes it’s difficult.”

“Clearly.”

“You’ve messed with my usual routine,” said Crowley. “I don’t usually have distracting angels in my bed.”

“Distracting?” Aziraphale’s voice was prim. “So sinful.”

Crowley hit him with a pillow.

 -

The second night was clearer, and the private lagoon that came with their suite produced less steam. Crowley, who was beginning to doubt that he would ever sleep again, floated in the water and watched the stars for a while. There was some small light pollution from the spa and a nearby geothermal plant, but for the most part the sky was clear, and he could see the galaxy.

Aziraphale joined him. Crowley hadn’t bothered with a suit—no one could see them here and he still felt a little weird dressing up to get in a bath. Neither had the angel. He laid back in the water and joined Crowley without a word.

Crowley pointed. “Helped build that one,” he said.

“I know,” said Aziraphale. He pointed at a nearby cluster. “And those. And most of the structures around Ursa Major, didn’t you?”

“You kept track?”

“It’s not hard,” said Aziraphale. “You tell me every time we go stargazing. We’ve done quite a lot of stargazing.”

Crowley laughed. “Humans say, when they get old, their friends know all their stories.”

“And their partners,” said Aziraphale, and then he seemed like he was going to say something else, but he hesitated.

Crowley elbowed him. “Why are you so nervous?”

“It’s my turn tomorrow,” said Aziraphale. “You’ll find out then.”

 -

It was New Year’s Eve. They didn’t leave early, not until the sun was up. They needed to arrive after dark, Aziraphale insisted, and the drive wasn’t too long.

Bullshit, in Crowley’s opinion. Not too long was about seven hours from the resort, at the speed limit and with no stops. They drove north, touched the edge of Reykjavik, then swung east on Route 1 and took the Ring Road into eternity. And Aziraphale kept stopping for nibbles and photo opportunities. They took a detour north because he simply had to see Þingvallir National Park, and then he kept taking pictures out of the car window rather than just waiting for the lookout points, and then there was this lovely little farm-to-table place in Reykholt where they had to stop for a late lunch. It had a stunning mountain view, although it also had views into the actual barn and Crowley felt a bit odd eating a hamburger next to its still-living friends.

“Is this the thing?” Crowley asked, every time they stopped. Þingvallir was spectacular, great sweeping hills absolutely spattered with snowcapped mountains and boiling, broken earth. The barn food was good. The landscape was beautiful. But each time, Aziraphale shook his head. He was stalling, the bastard. Wherever he wanted to be, Crowley suspected he wanted to be there at midnight.

It was eleven-thirty when Aziraphale told him to pull over into a nondescript parking lot. They were a third of the way around the Ring Road. They weren’t even close to a town. (Hof didn’t count, it had a total of six intersections and five roads.) It was as godforsaken as Crowley was, and that was saying something.

“Just pull in,” said Aziraphale. Crowley was grumpy and tired. “I promise you, it’s worth it.”

Crowley obeyed. Wherever they were, Aziraphale had dragged them to the ends of the earth for it. Demons trusted no one, but Crowley trusted his angel. Always.

They parked and Crowley stepped out onto black sand. It was gritty and volcanic and nothing special, exactly: it covered the entire island like a blanket. It even pooled up at the bottom of the hot springs. They hadn’t traveled all this way to see sand.

Crowley turned around.

It was a minor miracle, he was sure, that the sky was still so clear and the beach was so empty. They were the only sentient creatures present for miles, and the stars spilled above them in a shining display that was almost as clear as the day Crowley had made them. They looked like diamonds, spilled across a sky of black velvet. And in front of him, in this perfect place, the beach—

“Behind us—they call it Glacier Bay. It’s full of icebergs that break off from the glaciers, and they all exit the bay through that small opening there. They break up and smooth down in the ocean, then get caught in the tide and pulled back here.”

“Angel…”

“They call it Diamond Beach because the ice is so clear and smooth, and the broken ice looks like diamonds on the black sand. One of the employees at the bookshop in Edinburgh went here, they showed me pictures. They do look like diamonds, of course, but I saw the pictures and I thought it looked more like—”

“Stars,” Crowley breathed.

Some of the shards were the size of Crowley’s hand; some were the size of Crowley. They were scattered along the sand like glass on ink, like stars on the sky, like diamonds on velvet, and it was freezing but it was beautiful, and this time Crowley knew exactly whose hand reached for whose. He’d taken Aziraphale’s and grasped it tight.

“I thought we could go for a walk here,” said Aziraphale.

“You brought us to Iceland for a walk?” He’d already started, tugging the angel along behind him. Down the slope to the beach, careful not to slip. Aziraphale cleared his throat and caught up.

“One could put it that way.” The angel extracted his hand from the demon’s in favor of tucking into Crowley’s arm instead. He was clearly trying to be romantic, to cuddle a little, but he was too nervous and his back had gone stiff. Crowley kissed the top of the angel’s head.

“I saw it and it reminded me of you,” said Aziraphale, clearly trying to segue into something. “You helped make the stars. It’s silly, thinking you’re older than me. I wasn’t around yet, not for that part.”

“Didn’t think I was older than you.”

“Not by much.”

“Not by much,” Crowley mimicked in a posh accent. He was teasing. Time as a concept didn’t really apply to angels.

“Hush, you. It made me think, well. You talk about them so much, and I think it was a happy time for you. I hope it was a happy time for you.” Complicated topic. But Aziraphale was building up to something, and Crowley wasn’t going to stop him. “And because, well, because it seems like a memory of a safe place, something important to you—a beginning, really. Not our beginning, not The Beginning—oh dear, maybe I should have done this in a garden—”

“Angel.” Crowley laughed. The sand sunk under their footsteps and the ocean—pure Atlantic, powerful and deep—beat steadily in the background. “Keep going.”

“It just seemed like a good place to ask you a question, that’s all. I didn’t have a diamond. This isn’t very well thought-through.”

Crowley paused. There was a feeling like warmth spreading through his chest.

Aziraphale took the opportunity to let go of Crowley’s arm and turn to face him. They stood there, eyes locked, twin points of light and darkness in a line parallel to the ocean. The angel breathed deeply, and the demon forgot to breathe at all.

“I need you to know what it is that I am asking,” Aziraphale said. “I don’t… There’s so much of this, of our relationship, that I never want to change. I enjoy our independence. I will never stop you from running off to see Bond Films at the cinema or saying unforgiveable things to your plants. I know that over the years we have both developed—ah—close relationships with humans on occasion, and I do not expect that to stop for either of us. I think those relationships, whatever they might be, are important to us.”

“Aziraphale…”

“I think our freedom, however we use it, is important to our dynamic. I don’t want anything to change between us, except perhaps for each of us to… to know. Crowley—Anthony—earlier this year I said something truly horrible to you, and I need you to know it wasn’t true. It has never been true, not really. I’ve been lying to myself. I think I’ve been lying to myself for quite a long time.”

The angel took the demon’s hand.

“I am on our side. Anthony Crowley—”

“Anthony J. Crowley—” It was a reflex.

“Anthony J. Crowley, I have chosen you for six thousand years. I have done so bucking and—and fighting, on occasion. But I have done so. And I know that you’ve done the same to me. In fact—in fact, I think I’ve lied to myself more than you’ve ever lied to me.”

“I’ve never lied to you,” said Crowley, holding that hand like it was the end of the world.

“What I’m asking you,” said Aziraphale, “is simply to… make it official, as it were. Say to each other, directly, that we are on our side and no one else’s. That we will choose each other over all future sides. All future… er, choices. All future loves.”

He removed his signet ring.

“When I say marriage—”

Crowley finally broke down. He wasn’t sure if he was laughing at Aziraphale’s monologue—was this a proposal or a contract?—or crying at the sudden rush of emotion, but he closed one hand around the ring and the other around Aziraphale’s waist and kissed him. Kissed him under the stars and among the diamonds, hours away from civilization, at the stroke of midnight.

“Yes.”

“Yes?”

“Yes, you idiot, always yes.” Crowley’s hands cupped his angel’s face, drinking in the love that poured from Aziraphale like a fountain. “You’re right. I’ve always picked you above everything. Everyone. Always. Easy to be ourselves and still do that. It’s natural.”

Natural didn’t always mean easy—especially to Aziraphale, who could be loyal to a fault to all the wrong people. But they were free to be themselves. Free to live however they wanted. Free to choose each other. Crowley put the signet ring on his finger, already mentally sketching out a serpentine ring to match it.

This time it was Aziraphale who kissed him.

Clouded Heads for Lust

Summary: Dan and Phil decide to get a new sex toy to help spice up their sex life a bit. But when Phil goes to buy something for them, his eyes catch on a plant in the store that releases this ‘sex pollen’. Now let’s just see what happens when the plant blooms. 

Word Count: 1.6k 

Warnings: This could be seen as dubious consent but that’s not my intention! My intention is both parties are completely consenting to what is happening to them. 

Written for the @phandomficfests BINGO Fic Fest: Prompt- Sex Pollen

View My BINGO | Read on Ao3

A/N: So I didn’t like the trope of sex pollen and what it stood for but I wanted to do it to get my first BINGO on my card (I have two other BINGO’s planned on this card besides this one) and so I kind of used a bit of the trope and then took a lot of creative licensing with it! 

They wanted to spice things up a bit in the bedroom. Or at least that’s what Phil has convinced himself that they have agreed upon. Mostly this is because he feels incredibly awkward as he’s stood in front of a random sex shop all alone because Dan didn’t want to make it suspicious if he went. Phil knows that Dan is doing this because he knows it makes Phil flustered to even so much as purchase a pack of condoms but this was a whole new level. 

The goal was to find something new that they could use in the bedroom. It wasn’t like they were having bad sex. In fact, Dan is literally the best sex Phil has ever had in his life. He confidently say this after 10 years that sex with Dan remains the best. But it was Dan’s idea when they finished one night and he turned to Phil and said, “Would you mind if I bought a vibrator for us to use?” 

Phil had sputtered. He’d literally been speechless. It’s not that that’s a bad thing because Phil knows it would be hot to watch Dan work a vibrator in and out of himself. But it jarred him. Because while he knew that Dan used sex toys often when he was alone, Phil still wasn’t expecting to have it be brought up so openly. 

So now Phil’s here. After long talks and understanding of what they want, Phil is here, stood in front of the store with his palms sweaty and shaky. 

Phil took a deep breath and pushed open the door, walking inside. He was instantly greeted by rows of X-rated DVD’s and other various sex toys. He swallowed down his fears and ventured further inside, trying to not make eye-contact with anyone else around him. 

He had been walking around for a while before he came upon a display of what looked like plants. He stopped and stared at what they were. Phil carefully reached out and picked up one. 

“Be careful with that.” 

Phil quickly turned on his heels and faced another male stood next to him with the name tag reading ‘Slim’ on it. 

“What is it?” 

Slim reached out and took the plant in his hand. “This plant, here, produces sex pollen.” 

“What is sex pollen?!” Phil instantly feels his face heat up and he finds himself sweating more than he had before as he tried to process what this weird plant even was. 

“When the plant blooms, it releases a pollen into the air and those who come in to contact with it will be possessed with an intense sexual lust.” 

Slim handed Phil back the plant and he took it back into his hands. He looked over the strange flower and noticed it looked like the petals were nearly bloomed out, they’d probably release their pollen in just a few days. 

“Is it dangerous?” 

Slim shook his head. “As long as whoever comes into contact with it can release those sexual feelings, they’ll be fine within an hour.” 

Phil nodded and then looked over the plant one last time. 

“I’ll take it.” 

***

“I told you to go buy us a new sex toy and you bought a fucking plant?!” 

Phil reached his hands up as he tried to stop the mini-tirade that is Dan whenever Phil buys something new that seems strange. 

“This is a sex toy!” Phil argued. “Well, not really. Like you can’t…stick it inside you or…” 

“Jesus Christ, Phil!” 

“…But in a few days it’s going to release a pollen and we’re going to be so horny that we’ll want each other so badly and I thought, maybe, that would bring us back a bit to when we first started dating and couldn’t stop touching each other.” 

Dan cocked up an eyebrow and grabbed for the plant that Phil had put on their kitchen table. 

“Are you sure that this is what this plant does?” Dan asks. “Because I swear to God, Phil, if someone convinced you to buy a plant from like fucking Venus, you’re moving out.” 

Phil tried to stifle a giggle as he looked at Dan and shook his head. “I’m sure it’ll be fine. Let’s just see what it actually does.” 

Dan just shrugged his shoulders and then carried the plant off to their bedroom where it sat for three more days. 

***

Phil was coming back from the store a few days later when he opened the front door and noticed instantly something was different. There was a haze in the air and his head instantly felt a bit cloudy. 

He looked around the room and followed the haze to their bedroom where a delightful smell weighed into his nostrils. He breathed in and felt a sense of urgency under his skin. One that made him feel like he needed to get onto the bed and get himself off. 

He opened his eyes and looked down to where Dan was laying on the bed, his legs spread and a dildo working in and out of himself. 

Phil walked over to the bed and Dan turned his head to him. Phil leaned down and pressed a kiss to Dan’s lips as Dan deepened it. His hand came up and wrapped itself on the back of Phil’s neck. 

Phil reached between them without a second thought and wrapped his hand around Dan’s cock, pumping the slick skin a few times as Dan moaned loudly against his lips. 

“How long?” 

Dan gasped and pulled back. “A few minutes.” 

Phil nodded and leaned in again as he kissed Dan harder. He took his hand off from Dan long enough to reached down in front of him and undo his own jeans. He pushed them off as fast he could as his cock sprung free and hit against his stomach with a wet smack. 

He pulled himself onto the bed, pressing himself between Dan’s legs as he leaned down again to capture Dan’s neck with his lips. He sucks on the skin as Dan mewls and Phil reaches down between his legs and grasps the end of the dildo in his fingers. 

Phil slowly pulled the dildo out from Dan as Dan arched his back and reached up, nails raking over Phil’s back. Phil threw the dildo onto the floor, not caring where it landed, and sat back, removing his shirt. 

He can feel the heat under this skin and he’s so hard it’s bordering on painful. Dan looks the same way, the head of his cock a deep red, almost angry. 

“You want me to fuck you?” Phil asks. 

Dan nods. “Please! Do it now! Get inside me.” 

Phil nods and his head, clouded with lust, tells him Dan is ready so he positions himself against Dan’s hole and pushes in slowly with hardly any give. He thrusts fast and hard, trying to get as deep as he can inside of Dan. 

It feels so good. Phil finds himself feeling overwhelming relief with the pleasure of being inside of Dan. 

His thrust quicken and Dan moans way louder than Phil’s heard in a long time. It’s over fast and that’s probably because they’re already so wound up from the pollen. But they go again, not stopping between orgasms, and after three, Phil’s way past his ability. 

He falls down beside Dan, who is just as tired, and they curl up together and fall asleep, not even bothering to clean up their mess of lube, sweat, and other fluids. 

When Phil wakes up, it’s nearly ten hours later. His body still feels heavy with fatigue and his legs feel tired. He turns and sees Dan is still laying beside him, his eyes just opening up too. 

“So…that was a thing.” Dan says with a laugh. 

“It definitely was.” 

“‘M way too tired to do that again.” 

“Same.” 

Dan sits up in bed and stretches, his joints audibly cracking causing Phil to cringe. Phil sits up too, and winces at the sticky, dried fluids he feels on his stomach and by the way Dan’s not too keen on closing his legs, Phil figures Dan’s feeling the same way. 

He can’t even remember if they used a condom but he doubts it. 

“I need to shower.” Dan announces, getting out of the bed. 

Phil nods and says he has to too so they head to the shower together and clean up. There is nothing sexual about it and there is no meaning behind it. They’re just cleaning themselves up and that’s it. 

When they got out, they make their way back to the bed as Dan starts to strip it. Phil finds himself staring at the plant on their dresser, it’s flowers already back to how they were before, no more pollen being released. 

“While that was fun and everything,” Dan says, looking up at Phil as he removes the last corner of the sheet from the mattress. “I think we’re getting a bit old to have that stamina that pollen needs to have.” 

“Can completely agree.” 

Dan lets out a laugh. “Like that was a lot of fun and I definitely got out a like months worth of sexual indulgences but I also like just having normal sex with you without having our senses clouded by that alien pollen.” 

Phil agrees completely and takes the plant in his hands. He walks out of the bedroom and into the kitchen and opens the garbage can with his foot. He looks down at the £15 plant in his hands and shakes his head as he lets it fall into the garbage can. 

Killing Time 4/?

Detective Weaver/Belle French, Mature

Summary: A Woven Beauty Law & Order-ish AU. Written for Writer’s Month 2019.

Chapter Summary: Flashback: Weaver and Belle get a start on the case.

Notes: Meanwhile, back at the hall of justice... You didn't think I was going to give up the bed sharing goodness that soon did you? ;) Okay, I am in the next chapter, but I need to balance present with past. I might try alternating chapters if that seems reasonable? IDK. I'm winging it here y'all. For the Writer's Month prompt #7: sports.

Warnings: Nothing much for this chapter, just the usual references to the crime. Please see AO3 for complete warnings and tags.

[AO3]  Previous: [1] [2] [3]

12 weeks ago...

“Sports? Seriously?”

Weaver rolled his eyes and dropped his head back to look up at the ceiling before he turned around. He pointed at the television mounted on the wall of Belle’s office with the remote that was still in his hand.

“You said ‘no news channels’ because they’re too distracting,” he snapped. “Movies with guns and explosions seemed inappropriate, and if I have to listen to another home renovation show I’ll fucking shoot something. The city only pays for basic cable. That makes our choices the Weather Channel, that will repeat the same useless, and probably wrong, forecast every half hour, or...”

He paused to gesture exaggeratedly at the TV as though he was displaying it on a game show. “Premier league.”

She huffed and stalked to her desk. “Fine, but keep it down so I can think.”

He gave another brief gaze up to the ceiling and then set the remote back where he found it, echoing her with a quiet but annoyed, fine.

“Court today?” he asked, noting the slim, navy pencil skirt and suit jacket she was wearing, with what she always referred to as a ‘standard issue’ white blouse.

Belle sighed audibly and dropped into her desk chair. “Yeah. Branson’s lawyer is filing everything he possibly can, so I spent all morning fielding that, and then I covered a continuance this afternoon for Mal. But starting tomorrow, my caseload is officially down to just this.”

She swept her hand towards the stacks of boxes and the large, blank whiteboard.

Weaver stood by the leather sofa, his hands on his hips as his eyes moved over the veritable mountain of evidence they had to go through. All they’d managed that first day was moving things around in her office and dragging the largest whiteboard they could find up from storage. That had been trickier than anticipated when they discovered it wouldn’t fit in the elevator unless they squeezed themselves into the corners and put it diagonally. Of course that took them a solid fifteen minutes of arguing to achieve.

If they couldn’t even get setup without being at each other's throats, he wasn’t sure how weeks of building a case was going to go.

“Where do you want to start?” he asked finally.

She frowned and sagged a little in her seat. She was already tired and done with today, but they needed to get started sooner rather than later. This case was the kind that could make or break a career, and there were far too many victims and victims families depending on her, a whole city in fact. It was something she kept trying not to think about, but that succeeding in keeping her up half the night.

Stretching her arms up, she bent to one side and then the other, trying to work out the knots in her spine before she answered. “The board?”

He nodded slowly and then moved to the whiteboard. There was a large pack of markers sitting on the ledge and he wasted no time in opening it and dumping them all into his palm before turning and holding them up like playing cards for her to see.

“Pick a color, any color.”

He wagged his eyebrows, and she laughed in spite of herself. “Red.”

Three hours and thirty dollars in Chinese takeout later, they had managed to get through one half of one box, and about a third of the information they had on victim number one.

“Oh come on!” Belle exclaimed, popping up off the sofa and bouncing on her bare feet. She’d ditched her heels almost immediately, and then her stockings about an hour into their work. “I cannot believe it’s going to end in dual red cards and a fucking tie. What the hell?”

Weaver watched her, bemused, and leaned back on the sofa. “I told you not to cheer for bloody Arsenal.”

She shot him a glare and then sat down, reaching for one of the takeout boxes. The chopsticks rattled around inside it, and she tipped it towards her to find it empty. “Did you eat the rest of the noodles?”

He held up his hands, feigning innocence. “Don’t look at me, oh, Queen of the Spicy Peanut Sauce.”

Her feeble swat at his leg only made him snicker. He relaxed against the sofa, and watched her from the side as she stacked the containers and tucked them back in the plastic bag they’d been delivered in. They’d spent so many nights like this, both at work and at home. If he closed his eyes, it could almost be four years ago, when another case introduced them and eventually brought them together, but there were far too many miles between then and now.

Weaver had lost the leather jacket minutes into their work, and rolled up his sleeves. It should have distracted her all that much, but for some reason it did. There was a weird intimacy in seeing someone be comfortable in your presence and your space. She wondered if he thought the same of her, and then pushed it aside, dumping the bag into the trash bin by her desk, and then turning to face the board. She read over what they had posted and arched her back, pressing a hand against her spine in a vain attempt to crack something.

Overall, it was going to be a fairly standard case board, with a picture of the first victim, a woman named Molly Macreedy. She was everything people loved about cases like this; she was young, pretty, and full of hope. Even her name sounded good, with a nice little bit of alliteration that made it easy to stick in people’s minds. It was a sad but true fact about anything like this, it helped when the victim was likable. They’d taped a picture of her at her college graduation under her name, written in red, and listed out all the particulars of the general crime scene, and a brief timeline leading up to when they believed she was killed.

That was the crux of the issue.

Nick Branson had been caught red handed - quite literally as his hands were covered in blood - trying to dump the fifth victim’s body. Later, they found Henry Mills, unconscious and tied up in Nick’s apartment. It was easy from there to tie Branson to the others, but his lack of confession meant they needed to work out the details of each murder on their own. DNA was great, but it wasn’t always enough. People wanted to know the where, when, and how. They wanted the existence of the DNA explained, and, in their minds, why any of it happened in the first place.

As if it was possible to find reason in something so senseless.

“Penny for your thoughts,” Weaver said.

His voice was soft, and Belle blinked, only just realizing that he’d turned off the television. She sighed. “I’m not sure they’re even worth that.”

He ran the back of his up and down her arm, shoulder to elbow, a light soothing motion. She wanted to lean into it, let his knuckles press just a little harder and ease some of the tension she’d been carrying all day. That was something he’d always been willing to do for her, a neck rub here, a foot massage there, purely for the sake of touching her and being close to her.

“There’s just so much,” she said finally. “I don’t know, you know? How to get through all of it.”

Weaver resisted the urge to put his arm around her. He knew she meant more than she was saying. It went beyond how to physically get through the boxes and folders and reports. It was how to survive the whole exercise, how to read about blood, injuries, wounds, and causes of death, and go home at the end of the day not feeling like you’d been through it yourself. It was how to live with it, and how to move on from it when it was all done, if any of them every really did in this job.

He swallowed and let his hand drop to the sofa, a hair’s breadth from Belle’s. “The same way we always do.”

Except that was a bit of a lie. Sure he’d probably finish of most days with a scotch, neat, but it would be at Roni’s instead of home, and there wouldn’t be a second glass with red wine in it for Belle, or the comfort of cool sheets and a warm body. But they would both still understand, still be able to look at each other and know from the dark circles and endless pots of coffee, the toll it was taking on the inside.

“Yeah.”

Her voice was barely above a breath, and then he felt something touch the edge of his hand. He glanced down to see her pinky brushing against his, and he turned his hand over to catch it between his thumb and index finger. She looked down suddenly, and then her eyes flicked up to his face. He tried to hold it back, but his lips twitched in amusement anyway, and she smiled.

“Sorry.”

He shrugged, letting go of her finger, somewhat reluctantly. “Don’t be. You always fidget when you’re thinking.”

“Yeah,” she said again, her head dropping for a second. Then she looked up, her stare fixing on Molly’s picture as she took a deep, steadying breath. This was the most civil they’d been to each other in a while, and also the longest amount of time they’d been in the same room. They didn’t even sign the divorce papers together, just shuttled them back and forth between lawyers.

“We need a plan,” she said.

Weaver pushed to his feet and walked over to the rest of the boxes, still neatly stacked under the window of her office, organized by which ones went with which victim.“Divide and conquer?”

He looked back at her over his shoulder at Belle, with raised eyebrows. “I’ll do the timelines, you do the lab results?”

“And we’ll do the autopsy reports together?”

She sounded almost hopeful, as if looking at the grittiest details together might lessen their blow on the psyche. It wouldn’t, but at least they’d weather it together.

His mouth curved crookedly. “Whatever the lady wants.”

Taste of Ordinary (Ch. 1/3)

Fandom: Steven Universe

Rating: General Audiences

Words: 5.4K

Pairings: Gen, but implied Steven/Connie

Summary: “Connie, can we talk?”

When a much needed moonlight conversation with his best friend turns into an attempted (and failed) “spring break” from all his responsibilities as a half-Gem, Steven finally comes to terms with the truth of his diamond heritage and all five thousand years of its consequences.

Set between The Question and Made of Honor.

This is gonna be a tungle exclusive (not on AO3) until I fully complete this fic, but I’m twitchy and desperately wanted to post what I have somewhere, sooo....

This story was pretty much born out of my desire to see Steven and Connie discuss the Pink Diamond reveal, because we never got to see that? I also wanted to see Steven take some time to contemplate what this all means for him as an individual (in the build up to the “she’s gone” in Change Your Mind). Throughout all the insanity of trying to bring his family back together, he never really got any “me” time.

While I’ve written quite a bit of script-like dialogue for SU in the past, this is my first time actually publicly posting any full fanfiction for it, which is exciting. With that in mind I would very much appreciate any support, reblogs, or tag comments people may make. 

Chapter 1: High Tides

“Connie,” her mother called from downstairs, “I should hope you’re planning on brushing your teeth within the hour…”

Caught in the act, Connie Maheswaran slammed shut the novel she’d been obsessively reading— book 3 of The No Home Boys series— and promptly rolled her eyes at her mom’s helicopter tendencies. “I know, I know!”

Good grief, she only got out of the shower like ten minutes ago. So maybe she does get distracted by books in the bathroom for hours on end occasionally, so what? She twisted the tap on, the exact sign her over-observant mother was waiting for, and slathered a generous layer of paste on her toothbrush. It’s nights like these she really hated this townhouse and its thin walls.

She was smack dab in the middle of brushing when a familiar song rang from her bedroom. It’s one of her favorites, the melody bringing back fond memories of dancing and togetherness and trust, memories of a connection running far deeper than any ordinary human bond could dare to dream. Eyes blowing wide, (because there’s only one person in this universe that distinctive ringtone corresponded to), she hurried through scrubbing her last molars and welled up the biggest mouthful of minty fresh flavored spit she could manage. Desperately hoping her mom won’t get after her later for skipping the floss and mouthwash, she grabbed the novel she’d been devouring and sprinted into her bedroom as if a Gem monster was on her tail.

Thankfully by the time she reached her phone it was still ringing. Depositing the book on her bedspread first, she reached to pick it up.

Steven Universe, a glimpse at the caller ID confirmed, her contact proudly displaying an image of the young teen with his tongue out in an over-exaggerated show of mock disgust, as if he’d just smelt rotten eggs or something. (It was a candid image they took a few months back and both laughed at until their sides hurt. Goodness knows what the context was, at this point.) Nevertheless she couldn’t help the untamable grin that crossed her lips at the mere thought of her best friend. She hadn’t talked to him in a few days. Hopefully, since tomorrow marked the start of spring break and she didn’t have to stress about studying for that honors algebra test anymore, she could hang out with him again.

Gleefully, she pressed to answer. “Hey you! What’s—“

“Connie, can we talk?” he interrupted, voice slightly hoarse. His gloomy tone was immediately both jarring and concerning.

“Uh—“ her heart sank, trying with desperation not to let her focus stray to thoughts of everything that could’ve possibly gone wrong in Beach City in her absence, without her help, without her sword— “of course, always. What’s wrong?”

“No, I mean- face to face. Can you come over, maybe? I know it’s like, almost past your curfew, but—“

Connie glanced at her alarm clock. Nine twenty six. Curfew at ten. She grimaced. With her parents it’d probably be a stretch, but with the right argument ...

“I’ll ask,” she replied. With any luck, they’ll understand when she explained why she needed to go. “See you soon, hopefully.”

“Okay, see ya’.”

And with that he hung up. Which was… unusual, to say the least. No parting joke, none of his usual contagious enthusiasm, no waiting for her to say bye. She gripped her phone tight, staring daggers at it as if at any second the screen might light up with another call or text, or… literally anything else.

As feared, nothing. An uneasiness grew ever present within her, constricting her thoughts and infesting her mind like a thorny vine. If Steven were facing a physical Gem threat he would’ve said so, right? He would’ve specifically called for her backup. But in this case, she knew nothing. Not the cause of his distress, nor his physical condition, nor what he actually needed- and that almost scared her more than all the combat based danger she’s faced altogether. She peered out her window, catching a flash of cotton candy pink resting in the grass in the backyard. Lion. Originally Steven’s pet, the magical creature had grown strangely attached to her ever since her friend‘s unexpected trip (well, kidnapping) to Homeworld. It was almost sweet, like he was specifically watching over her in his absence. In any case, she’d be able to warp to the temple on Lion’s back in no time. Her mouth pressed into a thin line, resolute as she picked a warm minty green sweater off the floor to slip on over her pajamas.

“Hold on Steven, I’m on my way.”

Just in case, she nabbed his mother’s sword from where last she left it, leaning against the corner of her room, and slung the scabbard’s thick leather strap over her shoulder. With a short yank to tighten it, she secured the ancient Gem weapon on her back.

Before she could turn to slip on some boots however, her bedroom door cracked open. She froze like ice.

“Sweetie, your father downstairs has a quick question for yo-“ Her mother paused mid sentence in the doorway, eyes narrowing when she noticed the unmistakable pink scabbard slung across her shoulder. With a heavy sigh, she dropped her face into her hand. “Connie…”

“I swear I was gonna come down and ask first!” Connie said.

Her mom’s gaze passed between her sword and the pleading expression no doubt etched within her own eyes. It was evident from her scrutiny that she doubted her claim. But despite all this...

“Just- just go,” she muttered eventually, roughly kneading her temple with her thumb. “It’s not like you have any school tomorrow. Text me when you arrive at Steven’s and when you’re coming back.”

She blinked in surprise.

“Wait, really??”

“Yes,” she emphasized. “Goodness knows what I say won’t stop you when it comes to helping that boy. Now go to him before I think too much about the dangers of a young girl being out after curfew and change my mind.”

Grinning ear to ear, she wrapped her arms like a vice around her now startled mother’s midsection, pressing her cheek against her heart.

“Thanks Mom, you’re the best!”

With a wry smile she hugged her close in return, gently ruffling her hair. “Mmm hmm.” And with a slight laugh: “I’ll let your father know you said that. Be smart, please?”

“I will,” she said, and gave her one last emphatic squeeze before parting ways.  

Mission now unhindered by parental permission, and boots on her feet, her gaze shifted with newfound purpose to the small backyard outside her window where Lion rested. As if already intimately understanding her every intention, the creature raised his head and stared back with a soulful fervor. To be honest it wouldn’t surprise her in the least to discover mind reading was one of his natural abilities all along. After all, he always managed to take them where they needed to be. With any luck that included tonight as well.

She confidently romped downstairs with all her gear at the ready, the reality of just how much she still didn’t know filling her with equal parts excitement and dread. That’s the funny thing about being best friends with someone who’s half human and magical, she‘s long since realized: Danger or not, you never could get tired of the thrill of adventure.

As with most matters in his life right now, his ukulele had slipped ever so slightly out of tune.

Wetting his chapped lips, Steven fiddled with the tuning pegs. With each string he hummed the appropriate note as he twisted the adjoined peg, plucking until the sounds matched. It didn’t take long until he had his favorite instrument back in order, with perfectly pitched A, E, C, and G. He sighed wearily and flopped onto his back on the broad hand he sat on, stretching arms and legs spread eagle. His ukulele gave a solitary huff of displeasure as it softly clunked against the smooth stone.

If only he could discover some concrete way to realign everything else that had fallen askew, if only.

Earlier this evening he’d warped up to the temple’s hand for some quiet time, hoping to maybe put some more work into one of his many half-written songs. It was the perfect resting place because no one else came up here super often except to do laundry! Now fourteen and a half years old, for Steven this form of escapism had settled into comfortable routine. Sometimes the others referred to it as his version of ‘retreating to his gem.’ And hey, maybe in a metaphoric sense that notion wasn’t too far from the truth, since he tended to retreat here after missions that were more emotionally grueling than usual. There was only one problem: being completely alone for the first time in a few days naturally left his mind wandering towards bleaker horizons he dared not explore. Mom was once Pink Diamond, yes. But as for the finer implications of that…

The young half-Gem turned his gaze up towards the distant stars in a futile attempt at distraction, catching the faintest glimpse of a meteor from this week’s shower streaking across the stratosphere before it finally burned up.

The truth was, he’d spent all his emotional energy trying to piece his family back together after the recent revelation that he hadn’t gotten the opportunity to consider what it meant for him. After all, Pearl and Amethyst and Garnet weren’t the ones who just learned that they actually have a diamond in their belly. (And how exactly did that work with the more-human part of his anatomy anyways? He finally saw the full size and shape of his gem when he watched Mom poof, and the facets of it jutted inwards pretty deep. Wouldn’t that like… prod him in the guts, or something, or feel uncomfortable? Was he supposed to have noticed this years back?? He had so many bizarre questions about all this and no clue how or who to ask—!) For this reason, for once in his life the Gems were the last people he wanted to confide in about his concerns. While Ruby and Sapphire weren’t a source of worry anymore— their relationship mended with some time apart and a heartfelt proposal— he’d hate to drag the mood down with more reminders of the past.

So he left the house. Grabbed his ukulele and his phone, relocated up here. Briefly he considered running over to the car wash. Maybe he could talk through his muddled thoughts with Dad, discuss things he hesitated to mention in Ruby and Amethyst’s company. Except his dad… he loved Rose. He claimed Mom being Pink Diamond didn’t bother him, that no one is entitled to someone else’s past, but what if he only said this for his credit? Softening the blow, treating him like glass like everyone else? What if Mom’s secrecy about this genuinely hurt him?

He couldn’t risk worsening the blow by forcing Dad to think about it more. But as much as he desired time apart from his family to reflect, it had become troublingly clear that improvising melodies up here on his lonesome was doing nothing to settle his anxieties.

Which is why he called Connie.

Connie, who was an outsider to all his family drama, who only knew of Rose through him. No personal connections like the rest of his guardians. Connie, who spent so much time as a kid observing people from afar that she could read the mood as clear as text on a page. Connie, whose sheer enthusiasm for things as varied as fantasy books and tennis and playing violin and Under the Knife and sword practice never ceased to delight him. Connie, who made him laugh— genuinely laugh— pretty much every day he’d spent with her, the one person in this whole world he felt he could tell everything. All of this, and yet three days since they last talked.

Three days since his entire perception of his heritage shifted under his feet like rocks crumbling to mere dust in the wind.

Steven wanted her to know. If anyone could come close to understanding how upsetting an upheaval this was for him, it was her.

His fingers sought out his ukulele with the same desperation as two halves of a broken gem, twitching to fill the tranquil almost-silence with music as a distraction to himself. Still laying on his back with the full majesty of the stars as his witness, he continued practicing the chord progression for a song he was working on.

“Can’t you see that we’re celestial? Extraterrestrial? And like a….” His hand fumbled on one of the strings, producing a sour chord. He cringed at the unexpected dissonance. Repositioning on the frets, he started singing the last line over again. “And like a shooting star you brighten every midnight sky—“

“Steven?” Connie called from the distance. He cut off, a slight blush heating his cheeks as he immediately shot upright to catch a glimpse of his best friend. Far below, she dismounted from Lion and dropped solidly onto the shore. She wore a light mint colored sweater over her pajamas, and she’d brought her sword, the longblade secured in its scabbard and slung over her shoulder.

“I’m up here,” he said as he set his ukulele aside, and waved at her from up on his stony perch. Connie followed his voice, scanning the beach with all the honed skill of a private detective before eventually locking eyes with him. She beamed, and broke into a wild sprint.

“Steven!”

With grace and poise he pushed off the stone hand, willing himself by emotion’s sway to float the rest of the way down. The stiff breeze ruffled his hair as he descended. The shore and his friend grew closer and closer, the foundation of his world easing back into focus. By the time his toes met the ground Connie was already there to (probably) hug the life out of him.

True to form, she about tackled him into the sand. The pair of them stumbled a few steps together in what was nearly a dance to keep from tumbling over. Laughing in an exhilarating mixture of relief and joy, Steven wrapped his arms tight around her, pressing his cheek against the taller girl’s shoulder.

“Aaaugh, I missed you so much, what happened?” she asked. “Is everything okay?”

Visible concern tinted her expression as she stepped back, surveying the beach once more for good measure. Pearl had taught her well, that’s for sure. Thankfully, not a soul wandered these shores at this time of night apart from them.

“Yeah, we’re okay! For once there’s nothing actually dangerous out tonight. Sorry if I worried you about that, on the phone? I’m- I got kinda lonely out here and wanted to see you,” he admitted with a spike of guilt that he’d caused her to fret so much. He ran his hand through his short curls. “Is... that all right?

Her offered grin was blissfully contagious. “Of course, ya’ big doof! Always. Hey, let’s go talk by the rocks.”

Before he could even open his mouth to agree she grabbed him by the hand and pulled him along. And so they started their journey around the temple’s perimeter, towards their familiar meeting spot. It was equally convenient as it was sentimental, since its close proximity to the cliff face shielded then from both sun and wind, and was also where they first met. (His first bubble! Geeze, that felt like a lifetime ago.)

On the way, they chatted about the latest book of The No Home Boys series that he loaned her, Steven being careful to avoid giving spoilers. Connie gushed about how she couldn’t put it down. It was so good, she added, that her incessant reading of it (even at the dinner table!) almost landed her in hot water with her mom! From there, the conversation drifted between her birthday plans for next month, the lunchtime debate club she was considering joining at school when it started again after spring break, and Pearl’s comedic misunderstanding of how to use a cell phone. (“Cell-u-lar phone,” he over enunciated like she had, the two of them snickering like mad at how silly it sounded.) By the time they sat down in the cliff’s protective embrace, she curiously asked why he’d been so unusually quiet for the past few days.

“Yeah, I’m sorry for basically dropping off the map for a while,” Steven said sheepishly, leaning back against the rock. “Wednesday was… pretty stressful, and then yesterday I went on an impromptu Wild West adventure with Ruby and Amethyst and my dad, and Amethyst was a horse, and as a cowboy you don’t exactly get great cell service, so…”

“Wait, Ruby?” she exclaimed, as she pulled the scabbard’s strap over her head. Gently, she lay the sword next to her in the sand. “Is Garnet- Ruby and Sapphire, are they okay?”

“Yeah, they’re fine. They’re actually getting married in a few days, and we’re gonna invite the whole town!”

“Oh wow, really?”

“Yeah, Ruby made a big proposal and everything!”

“That’s so exciting,” Connie said, dreamy smile brightening her face. “I love weddings!”

“I know, right? I can’t wait to start planning. Finally,” he said with a melodramatic flare and flourish that would make fellow actor Jamie proud. “A fitting use for the wedding aesthetic scrapbook I’ve been working on my entire life.”

She giggled at his antics. Her laughter was one of the best sounds in the world, one which only served to egg him on.

“Hey, you may laugh, but in truth…” He cupped his face in his hands, and batted his eyelids. “I’ve secretly been but a wee romantic soul all along.”

“Oh believe me, it’s never been a secret,” she teased, playfully nudging his side.

His cheeks grew warm. In a heartbeat, all Steven could think about as he met her eyes was how lucky he was to have her as his best friend, his jam bud, and in response his smile stretched so wide he felt he was about to burst. He wondered if— no, hoped that— she felt the same. In time their hands brushed against each other as gentle and shy as a whisper. Sitting together under the stars’ constant and patient presence, his wide palm came to rest over hers. In response, she curled her slender fingers tight around his.

The world around them grew lighter, more strikingly vivid, as an effervescent, tingling sensation he could never get used to spilled out from his core, the promise of togetherness. Under his shirt his gem began to glow.

And then a bitter realization— the fact that any of his fusions would bear the burden of his stress too— sobered his innocent eagerness. He didn’t want to dump all this on Stevonnie. He didn’t want this to be the way Connie found out. With a snap, the once blissful atmosphere faded, leaving him with a creeping anxiety churning deep in the pit of his stomach. Visibly disappointed, (because he could tell she knew this was a fusion he aborted), Connie pursed her lips, pulling away as well.

Idly, she began to trace spiral designs in the sand. He bit his lip as he watched, veins running cold with the insidious and consuming fear that by trying to protect her from this he’d only succeeded in hurting her more.

Which is why, even though logically he should’ve expected it given her aptitude for people watching and sensing the mood, her next words were so surprising.

“Don’t get me wrong, I always love talking to you about whatever, but why’d you really call me over?”

“I—“ he cut off for a second, almost shocked into silence by this reaction, by the fact she didn’t comment on the attempted fusion. “Like I said, it’s been a while, and—“

“It’s just that you- you sounded pretty upset on the phone,” she said, gaze focusing on some abstract point past the tides. “And for Garnet to split up in the first place? She never unfuses for no reason.”

“It’s not- we can get to that later, it’s fine!” he insisted, attempting to inject a more chipper attitude into his voice. “Anyways, you’ve been to other weddings, right? Think you can help brainstorm ideas?”

“Steven…”

“Also, on a scale of one to five, how feasible do you think it’d be to make big balloon floats of Ruby and Sapphire for the reception decor? Be honest!”

“Steven, please. Can’t you be honest? You’re my best friend, and I can tell something’s bothering you. I wanna help however I can.”

He swallowed. Her gaze was unwavering as she spoke, resolute, with stars glinting in her irises under the light of the rising moon. He had no doubt she’d walk alongside him to the far reaches of the cosmos if he asked, to Homeworld itself— and for her sake he often wished she wouldn’t. But despite his hesitation, he had to tell her at some point. Why shouldn’t that time be now?

“Fine, okay, okay,” he sighed, dropping the act. “It’s just… really complicated. I wanted to tell you first thing, but we were having fun, and then- gahhh, I ruined it, didn’t I?”

A small hand reached over and squeezed his shoulder.

“Hey. Don’t worry about it,” she said with a reassuring smile. “Talking about complicated stuff is what friendship’s for, right? Now, what’s on your mind?”

“It’s… about what happened on Wednesday. Something I discovered.” Steven nervously shifted in the sand, moving his legs out from under him. “You know all that stuff about the Diamond Authority on Homeworld, and the Gem War, and how my mom shattered Pink Diamond to stop it?”

She nodded in confirmation. His face flushed. It was now or never.

“Well, as it turns out, my mom actually kinda—” his voice dropped to barely a whisper— “was Pink Diamond.”

He hugged his knees tight to his chest as the fated truth finally sloughed off his tongue, staring out at sea with an almost blank expression. The tides were coming in. The ocean lapped against one of the temple fusion’s fallen hands that was lodged deep in the sand, slowly grinding away at its stone bit by bit, year after year. Unyielding. The silence between them didn’t last long, of course, but living in the moment it stretched into an infinity just as unimaginable as those tides.

“Oh,” was Connie’s initial response, and somehow that single syllable conveyed more raw meaning than any other string of words could dare to dream.

“Yeah. So, that’s a thing now.”

“That’s… that’s pretty big.”

“So was she,” he responded with a soft laugh.

“You saw her?”

“Yup! Well, in a memory... inside Pearl, inside Pearl, inside Pearl, inside Pearl inside Pearl’s pearl,” he said, slowly counting off each Pearl on his fingers. Seeing Connie’s blank expression, he bashfully rephrased. “I went inside her head. They were in that palanquinn, the one in Korea, and I- I watched my mom shapeshift back into Pink Diamond. Into her true form.”

The two fell back into a comfortable stillness as all this information sank in, not only for Connie but for Steven too. He was still processing it himself. Talking out loud instead of letting it linger in his mind like stagnant water helped.

Her mouth bobbed open. He followed her gaze to his stomach, knowing exactly what she was about to ask.

“Your gem, then. That means you’re also—?”

“A diamond,” he completed, pressing his palm against his belly, feeling the familiar faceting of his gem under his shirt. “Yeah. I guess it explains a whole lot, though! The healing spit, bringing watermelons to life, floating. The Gems always said no one but Mom was able to do all that, not even other Rose Quartzes.”

“Wait a minute,” Connie said, eyes widening. She jabbed her finger at him, brimming with barely contained excitement. “The dream!”

“The... dream?”

“The dream, remember? The really weird one we had on the jungle moon, in the diamond base! We dreamed about Pink Diamond. All that suddenly makes so much more sense now.”

“Oh. Oh! That dream! Yeah, it really does,” he smiled. “It’s still weird. But it’s also kinda a relief? That she didn’t really shatter someone, I mean.”

She cupped her chin in her hands, resting her elbows on her knees. Her brow furrowed. He could almost see the steam pouring out of her ears, interlocked gears grinding against each other as she attempted to puzzle through the next logical question.

“So what really happened?”

Steven turned to face her directly as he attempted to make sense of it all, his thoughts spilling over each other until they emerged as nothing but a fluid stream of consciousness:

“The gist is that my mom didn’t want Earth to be destroyed so she disguised herself as Rose Quartz and fought her own armies and then when the other diamonds wouldn’t let her stop the colonization she fake-shattered herself with Pearl’s help to stop the war entirely but it totally backfired and the rest of the diamonds corrupted all the other Gems on the planet in revenge for Pink’s fake-death and the only reason I never knew this before was because her last order to Pearl was to never tell another living soul about it.”

By the time he’d finished, Connie’s eyes were blown wide.

“Wow,” she breathed. “That’s... a whole lot to take in at once.”

“Yup.”

“So... how are you feeling about all this?“

“I- I don’t know anymore,” he said with a wide shrug. “Confused? It’s just- all my life I thought I was one thing, and then suddenly ‘surprise, Steven! You’re actually a diamond?’ Heh. Geeze.”

With a weak laugh, he ran his fingers through the short curls at the nape of his neck. His expression sobered again.

“Honestly,” he admitted, “I’m more worried about how everyone else is handling the news.”

“Oh yeah, are they okay?”

“I think they are now. But Garnet took it so hard she unfused, and even though I think she’s kinda relieved it’s no longer a secret Pearl’s been treating me like glass, and Amethyst... well, is Amethyst, so she’s mostly fine, but now she seems to believe it’s her job to make me feel better, which it isn’t.”

Connie listened patiently as he got all this off his chest, tumultuous thoughts he hadn’t the time or the courage to vocalize before. Now more than ever he was so thankful to have such a close friend.

“My dad seems okay, thankfully. But I guess this all got me thinking... I really can’t escape any of this. All my mom’s decisions are just gonna keep following us, and following us, and it feels like I’m the only one who’s doing anything to patch things up. I’ve been trying so hard to hold everyone together all this time that now it’s like I’m the one falling apart! But I dunno,” he said with a heavy sigh, looking with yearning back towards the ocean as if seeking an answer to a question he hesitated to ask aloud. He felt his hair ruffle in the throes of faint coastal breeze. “Sometimes I wonder if that’s just me being selfish.”

He gripped the sand, fingertips scouring shallow ridges in the loosely packed, granular surface. Now that he’d admitted one of his biggest fears— let the words slough off his tongue into actuality— he didn’t feel any better, more like an exposed nerve. A wave of guilt shot through him, guilt that he was burdening her with this in the first place, that he couldn’t always be the bright-eyed, optimistic Steven everyone expected, that he—

“I don’t think that’s selfish,” Connie said.

The tension in his hand eased.

“It sounds like you’re wanting some space to take care of yourself, that’s all. Self care is super important.”

A familiar grounding presence met his shoulder, and he turned to meet his best friend face-to-face. He was met by an unwavering smile, and eyes glistening with an honesty he wasn’t sure he always deserved.

“So maybe what you need,” she finished, scooting a bit closer to him, “is… a bit of time away from everything that’s making you stressed?”

“Yeah. Yeah,” he agreed with a slight crack in his voice, cheeks heating as they sat in such close proximity. “That sounds really nice right about now.”

“It’ll be like a mini vacation!” she said, and paused in thought. She enthusiastically jabbed her finger towards him, realization coloring her features. “Hey, kinda like your very own spring break, just like me!”

Mood lifting considerably at the idea, he squished his face with a loud, drawn-out gasp. “Oh my gosh, we’ll finally be spring break buds! You’ll be on break from school, and I’ll be on break from all the usual stuff like corrupted Gem missions, mortal danger, and being kidnapped! It’s perfect!”

An indiscernible emotion flickered across her eyes at that last bit, so subtle he almost didn’t catch it. “Yeah, um—“

“Hmm, but where should I go?” he mused out loud with barely a feather ruffled. “I can’t exactly stay at my house, because it’s supposed to be a vacation. Dad’s too close. Mask Island is too… watermelon-y. The barn’s in space. I guess I could find a motel…”

As he was pondering the mystery of where he might go vacationing, Connie rose to her feet with solid confidence. She picked up her sword and slung its leather strap across her shoulder. She then extended a hand to him, a silent but unquestionable request. The damp, malleable sand compacted under his sandals as he stood. She grinned conspiratorially.

“Come on, I know exactly where you can go.”

“What-a who-da hey??” he cried out in surprise, almost stumbling over his feet when her strong grip became even more taught and she began to pull him across the shore at a sprint. “Where the heck are we—“

“To Lion!” she said, gaze locked on the familiar shock of cotton candy pink resting just around the bend, actually not too far from where she first disembarked for once. “I thought… maybe you can stay with me!”

They zoomed past the first of the half-buried stone hands, through its rigid, unshakable shadow. Steven always thought it strangely intimidating, even if not intentionally so. He pursed his lips. Hmm, how relevant to his current emotions on Dr. and Mr. Maheswaran.

“That’d be super fun, but. D’ya even think your parents are gonna allow that?”

“I’m—“ her stalwart confidence wavered, their pace slowing as they finally reached Lion’s side— “not sure, but it’s worth a try, isn’t it?”

She gave Lion a quick scruff behind the ear. The magical creature leaned into her affectionate touch, his chest rumbling with a deep purr. The sight made Steven feel all floaty inside. He was genuinely happy the two of them were that close and trusting of each other.

“Good enough for me!” he said. “Let’s do it.”

Connie’s excitement at this— while not explicitly voiced— nearly bubbled over the brim like soda fizz, as if the mere idea of him sleeping over was held in greater anticipation than even the upcoming season finale of her favorite show. With practiced grace, she slung herself onto Lion’s back. In time he rose onto all four feet, as regal in his leisurely nature as ever. It was a silly observation in the long run, but he couldn’t help but admire how the mint green of her sweater and the pale blue of her pajamas stood in perfect contrast with the lion’s wild pink mane. His best friend offered her hand.

He began to reach out, when his previously wandering thoughts landed on a pertinent reminder. His eyes blew wide.

“Wait, I need pajamas! And also,” he said, eying his house, and the light still on inside, “I should probably let everyone know where I’m going before I completely disappear from town for the night? The last thing they need right now is something else to worry about.”

“Yeah, that’s probably a wise idea. Also good reminder, I need to text my mom.”

As she reached into her pocket for her phone, he began his short jog up the hill to the porch. He paused before he reached the splintered wooden rail by the stairs, turning back to call out his parting message.

“I’ll just be a few minutes, okay?”

She waved him off. “Okay! No worries. Unless Lion has secret lion plans, I’m not going anywhere.”

Anything at All      

(Click here to read on Ao3!)

(Click here to listen to the podfic!)

fandom: Teen Titans

pairing: BBRae

genre/warnings: AU - Canon Divergence; Implied/Referenced Abuse, Abusive Parents, Childhood Trauma, Graphic Depictions of Violence

additional tags: Angst, Family Issues, Friendship/Love, Protectiveness, Slow Burn, Romance, Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions

summary:

There are a few things that Beast Boy knows for certain:

He’s 21....and a total lightweight. He’s a vegan (but not like...a pretentious vegan). He’s not going to be single forever.

And the Teen Titans are the only family he'll ever need.

a/n: Hello everyone! This is the first fic I've ever actually completed, and I can't wait to finally share it! I had a lot of fun writing it. I'm currently in the editing process and hope to post roughly a chapter a week. Enjoy!

Chapter 1: Beginnings ( words: 5,680 )

Beast Boy watched as raindrops pounded against the side of the common room window, the sky a turbulent whirlwind of grays and blacks. Various equipment dotted the field far below, carelessly abandoned the moment Robin had called off training ‘due to weather conditions.’ The TV hummed quietly in the background against the rain, the kitchen lights glowing like street lamps in the dead of night.

“Finally ,” he said proudly, his hands and face pressed up against the cool glass. “The weather’s perfect.”

“Perfect?” a tired voice said a few feet behind him. “For what?” It was Raven, bundled up in the corner of the couch under a thick wool blanket. She was currently the only other person in the room, a large black book perched at the end of her hand like an enormous bird. “I thought you hated the rain.”

Beast Boy pushed off the glass, returning to the warmth.  “I hate getting wet . Wet dog is not a good look. Even for real dogs.” He walked over to the coffee table in the center of the room. “But this," he said, getting on his knees to pull a large cardboard box out from underneath, " This is great."

He heaved the box onto the table, scooting magazines and abandoned plates off to the side. "I’ve been waiting for it to rain—and I mean really pour —for a while now.”

“Because...?” Raven asked, as she watched him begin to dig through the box.

“Becaaaaaaaaause,” Beast Boy said, drawing out the word dramatically. “This time, I'm gonna come out on top." As he said this, he lifted the box, shaking out a dozen items or so onto the table. Among them were a slingshot, an roll of chicken wire, some old hot wheels, and two empty milk cartons.

“Please don’t tell me this is another one of your ridiculous pranks,” Raven said begrudgingly, adjusting her position.

Beast Boy shot her two finger guns with a click of his tongue. “Hell yeah it is, baby.”

“Do you really think I want anything to do with...whatever this is?” she said, vaguely gesturing toward the items on the table.

“Nope,” Beast Boy said, a little too enthusiastically.

“Then why are you showing it to me?”

“Because,” Beast Boy said, starting to arrange the treasures before him. “I wanna run the idea by someone while Cy's busy fixing his car. And since I know you don’t actually care, I don't have to worry about you ruining the surprise. Which--side note--" he said, pulling away from the growing structure to examine it, "Never give Starfire the nuke codes.”

Raven rolled her eyes again. But just as she was about to lift her book back up to block him from view, Beast Boy stuck his hand out to stop her.

“No, you’re gonna wanna see this. Trust me .” He grabbed a well-worn Batman figurine that he’d set off to the side. "Okay, so pretend this is Cyborg," he said, planting it at one corner of the mousetrap-like schematic.

Raven just frowned. "Is that...Robin's?"

Beast Boy squinted at the figure, biting his lip. “Eh...Not important." He planted the figure in a square marked off with string labeled 'GARAGE.' One of the hotwheels sat parked in this section.

"Cy's been so busy lately, he'll never see this coming'," Beast Boy said with a smirk. "Next time he heads down to the garage, I’ll have everything already set up. First move--he’ll trip this wire right here.” He pointed to a piece of string as he said this. "And that's when shit hits the fan."

"Please tell me you don't mean that literally," Raven said, wrinkling her nose.

Beast Boy just flashed her a devious smile. “We’ll get there.”

The demonstration took at least two minutes to run through, Beast Boy talking the entire time. By the end, most of his props were either on the floor or halfway across the room.

“...And to wrap it all up,” he said, not pausing to take a breath, “This catapult will trip this switch here, opening the window over here, and then the wagon from over here will send him sliding out into the mud, rolling down the hill and into this huge puddle riiiiiiight...here.” He pointed at a spot on the table marked with a fridge magnet 'X', a huge grin on his face. "After a storm like this one, that whole area's gonna be a lake. A super gross, slimy, stinky lake of prank legend. It’ll take him at least a week to get the stench out.”

Raven stared at the exhibit before her. Her eyes had followed every one of Beast Boy's movements in complete silence.

“So? Whaddya think?” he asked, rising and breathlessly plopping down on the couch beside her. “Pretty impressive, huh?”

Raven glanced at the table, then at him, then ultimately, back down at her book. “Yeah. You’re a genius.”

“Oh come on , Raven!” Beast Boy whined, throwing his arms out, gesturing back to the miniature metropolis. “That took me like...a month to come up with!”

Raven turned the page with a sigh. "Maybe if you weren’t so busy investing all of your time and energy into coming up with useless pranks, you’d actually have some left over for important things.”

“Like…?”

“Gee, I don’t know,” she said, holding out her hand with a shrug. “Things like doing the dishes or checking the mail--or maybe actually learning how to carry your weight in a fight. Don’t know how to help you with that last one though.”

Beast Boy frowned. “Just because you can’t appreciate art doesn’t mean it’s useless,” he said, leaning over to the table and using his arm to corral the items back into their box. The ones scattered on the floor became enveloped in small clouds of purple. Beast Boy held the box open, as Raven directed them into the container.

“And I do too carry my weight!" he said, sliding the box back under the couch.

“That’s...debatable.”

Coming from anyone else, he might have actually been hurt by the remark. But coming from Raven, it was a challenge more than anything else.

“Oh yeah?” Beast Boy said, a determined smile crossing his face. “Then carry this !”

With a running start off the cushions, he jumped off the back of the couch and into the air, morphing mid-flip. When he landed, the ground shook and the ceiling lights swung back and forth violently. The TV remote and discarded plates clattered off the coffee table and onto the floor. Beast Boy shook his head, flapping his huge green ears. He reared back and stomped down on the kitchen floor, proudly lifting his elephant’s trunk to let out a loud trumpet.

Raven glanced over her shoulder at him, clearly unimpressed. She turned back to her book, lifting a hand in the air as she did so.

Suddenly Beast Boy found himself surrounded in black shadow...and his feet began to lift off the ground. He automatically began to squirm in a half-hearted attempt to bring himself down, but it was a lost cause.

Raven lifted him higher and higher until, when he was barely a foot from the ceiling, the shadow disappeared in a flash--and he felt himself hurtling downward. With one last elephant screech of alarm he quickly shifted again, plopping onto the ground with four nimble tabby cat paws.

Without missing a beat, he crouched down and leapt up onto the back of the couch and then down onto the cushion beside Raven. He transformed back, kicking up his feet on the table, arms folded across his chest. “Smartass.”

Raven was still looking down at her book, but Beast Boy could see the faintest hint of a smile on her face.

After a moment, he felt--and heard--his stomach growl about as loudly as any animal he’d ever been.  

“Eugh, I’m starving. Pranking really does take a lot out of ya,” he said, springing to his feet once more. He headed to the kitchen just behind them--where there was always at least one bag of chips to be found in the pantry. This time it was Fritos--not a bad option at all.

“You want anything?” Beast Boy called over his shoulder, opening the fridge.

“I’m fine.”

In Raven’s secret, minimalist language, he’d learned that that usually meant ginger ale.

“Behind,” he said, chucking the last can of Canada Dry cranberry over his shoulder. Raven caught it and cracked it open in the air, all without even lifting a finger.

Beast Boy grabbed a root beer for himself and swung over the back of the couch again reclaiming his seat.

He looked up at the TV, which was still on in the background. He hadn’t paid any attention to it since he’d entered the room. The images that flashed by on the screen were dark and dramatic. It was mostly just video footage from a shaky night vision camera, rounded out with low budget murder re-enactments. “So what’re we watching?" he asked, shoving a handful of Fritos into his mouth. A doll with bloodshot eyes and a cracked face appeared in the corner as it cut to commercial. "Er...pretending to watch?” he asked.

“Ghost Adventures,” Raven replied.

“Seriously?” Beast Boy said, cracking open the root beer. It immediately started fizzing over, and he tried his best to lick up the extra foam. “You know that stuff is like...totally fake, right?”

"Of course it is," she said, not even looking up at the screen. "If opening interdimensional portals of that magnitude were so easy, my dad would've destroyed Earth ages ago."

“Then why do you watch this garbage?”

Raven let out an exhausted sigh. “I dunno. It’s kind of like...when you have so much actual demon shit going on in your life, watching the fake stuff is kinda...refreshing.” She flipped to the next page in her book. “You can change the channel if you want. I’ve already seen this episode.”

Beast Boy swiped the remote off the floor and was about to automatically click to one of his few go-to channels when Raven quickly interjected.

“—Just as long as you don’t put on American Ninja Warrior. Or The Carbonaro Effect. Or anything else in that vein.”

Beast Boy slumped in his seat. “What else is there?”

Just like the soda can and hot wheels before, the remote lifted out of Beast Boy’s grip and floated to the other side of the couch, landing in Raven’s free hand.

"Houses or food?" She asked, one eyebrow raised.

"Uh..." Beast Boy said, rubbing his chin. "Houses?"

The image on the screen changed drastically, cutting to a montage of different townhouses, highlighting their pros and cons. Then it flashed to a generic couple at a generic restaurant, two generic margaritas sitting in front of them.

Suddenly, a familiar, flighty voice echoed down the hallway behind them. “Hello, friends!” Starfire proclaimed as she entered the room. “I heard a loud crashing noise and came to see if everyone is—Oooo!” she squealed, the worry immediately dropping from her voice. “Are we watching the hunters of houses?”

“We are now,” Beast Boy said, taking another sip of his soda and setting it down on the table.

Starfire flew over to the couch in a heartbeat. “I have already seen this episode but it is enjoyable nonetheless,” she said, taking a seat next to Beast Boy, along with a handful of Fritos. “But I do love attempting to guess which house they will choose!”

“Didn’t you just say you’ve already seen this episode?” Beast Boy said, forfeiting the bag to Starfire, who was about to finish it off.

“Of course! But I do not remember which one they picked,” she said with a smile. “I hope it is the one with the crown of molding. It has so much character . At least, that is what the female voice always says.”

“Crown molding isn’t character,” Raven said, lowering her book again. “Character is when the realtor tells them that the former owner was a serial killer, and if you squint you can still see the blood stains in dining room where she chopped up her victims." She paused, exchanging a glance with a confused Starfire and disgusted Beast Boy. "And it has the original wood floors," she added hastily.

“But Raven!” Starfire exclaimed. “The with the mold comes with access to a pool of community swimming!”

Beast Boy shook his head. “You guys’ve both got it wrong. Character and pools aren’t important to them. They just said so,” he said, gesturing to the screen. “They need to pick the one in the suburbs. It’s the most realistic and the best bang for their buck.” He began counting off the assets on his fingers. “It’s close to downtown without being in it. Finished basement. Renovated kitchen. Plus they said they’re planning on having kids, and it’s in the best school district outta the three.”

The two looked at him, wide eyed and blinking.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Raven said. “I just never realized you actually possessed critical thinking skills.”

Beast Boy stuck out his tongue at her with a grimace.

Starfire giggled. “Well, I only hope that no matter which residence they select, they will live a joyful and prosperous life together!” Saying this, she clasped her hands together over her chest, looking off somewhere far away.

“I give it six months,” Raven said flatly.

Before the final reveal, the TV flashed to commercial again, now advertising soap and vacation cruises only old rich people could afford.

“Hmm..." Starfire hummed. "I forgot why it was that I originally came down here." She tapped her finger at the corner of her mouth. “Oh! The big thud! No one is hurt then?"“

“If you don't count hurt pride,” Raven said, a subtle smirk on her lips.

“Haha very funny,” Beast Boy said, crossing his arms.

But he immediately perked up as the ad on the TV switched. Now a chorus of joyful screams came from the speakers as a steel roller coaster completed a loop. Next it cycled through the images of a huge Ferris wheel and streets crammed with food carts and games.

“Oh, dude! I totally forgot!” he said, jumping to his feet. “The state fair opens this weekend!"

“Fair?” Starfire questioned, the same look of confusion still on her face. “As in the just and right?”

“No, no, no,” Beast Boy said, shaking his head. “Like the fair. You know...” He waved his hands in front of him as if painting an imaginary picture. “Sketchy rides, rigged games, shitty oversized stuffed animals..." He counted off the pros on his fingers once more. "And anything and everything you can think to eat--deep fried.”

"Deep...fried?" Starfire asked, her finger still at the corner of her mouth, eyes open wide.

Raven looked at Beast Boy, skeptical. “Is that your sales pitch?”

Beast Boy ignored her, continuing to talk to the one captivated member of his audience. “They also have performances, and auctions, and hella fuckin’ huuuuge vegetables. Stuff like that. Usually around the same place where they keep the farm animals.”

“Farm animals?!” Starfire said, her eyes lighting up with an intensity Beast Boy had not anticipated. “Do you think they will have...GOATS?”

“Uh...probably?” he shrugged.

“Oh, excellent!” Starfire said, jumping to her feet as well, tackling him with one of her trademark rib-crushing hugs. Luckily, she released him before he forgot how to breathe. “Oh how I long to see the small sideways-eyed sheep!” she said, hands shooting up to either side of her face.

“I mean,” Raven shrugged, “if you really wanna see a goat that bad...you don’t have to go to the fair to do it.” She nodded in Beast Boy’s direction.

“Oh, but Raven,” Starfire said, now flying over to her, claiming a corner of the blanket as her own, “It would be much more exciting to see multiple goats of many shapes and sizes simultaneously. Besides,” she shook her head with a pout, “Beast Boy cannot transform into the baby goat! At least, not that I am aware of.”

“She’s got a point, Rave,” Beast Boy said, taking another sip of his root beer.

Raven hunched her shoulders. “Fairs are just dirty, overcrowded, unapologetic government cash grabs.”

“But they have goooooaaaats,” Beast Boy said tauntingly, his comment immediately followed by another squeal from Starfire.

Raven just shook her head, returning to her book again. “We have more important things to do than go to the fair.”

“Like what?” Beast Boy said. “Sit around and read dusty old books all day?”

Just then, the three were interrupted by yet another voice, this one deep and mellow.

“Jesus. Well that was a shitshow.”

Cyborg walked into the room panting, covered in grease, with a towel in one hand and a large, techy looking cube in the other.

“What happened?” Beast Boy asked, hanging over the back side of the couch, turning to address him.

“This fucking battery,” Cyborg said, dropping the cube on the counter, “decided to short circuit on me, right when everything was coming together.” He sighed. “Fried the whole system.”

“Oof,” Beast Boy sighed.

“I am very sorry to hear that,” Starfire frowned.

“It’ll take me at least two weeks to get all the parts I need to fix it,” Cyborg said, cracking open the fridge. He pulled out some sandwich essentials—turkey, provolone, tomatoes. Then he grabbed some bread and mustard, generously coating the former with the latter. “Which means we’re gonna be out of a ride for a while. At least in terms of low profile transportation. Because I don’t think we can count Robin’s bike in the mix.”

“That is quite alright, Cyborg,” Starfire said, a little too enthusiastically. “I have always wanted an excuse to make use of the system of transportation for the public,” she beamed.

“Starfire. You can fly,” he said flatly in response.

“Yes, but the complicated schedules and routes of the buses is such a fascinating concept to me. And I would like to experience it with my first hand.”

Cyborg just blinked as if attempting to get rid of the thought altogether. He turned back to the fridge. “Aw man, are we all out of ginger ale?”

“Raven got the last one,” Beast Boy said, nodding back at her.

“Sorry,” she said, actually sounding a little bad about it.

“And we’re also out of pickles...sriracha...and,” Cyborg took a bottle in his hand and gave it a shake “ my seasonal, limited edition pumpkin spice creamer ?”

Starfire immediately ducked behind the couch, a pout on her face. “My deepest apologies, friend,” she said quietly. “I have quite a weakness for both the pumpkins and the spices.”

“This is chaos,” Cyborg said, giving up and closing the fridge door. “What are we? Animals?”

Beast Boy smiled, but before he could make a move, Cyborg pointed directly at him.

“Don’t.”

“Don’t worry ‘bout it, dude,” he said, sitting back down. “We’ll go shopping later after it stops raining.”

“And how do you suppose we get there? Drive? Fly? How’re we gonna carry all the groceries back?”

Starfire gasped. “The public transportation!”

Just then, the airlock door slid open at the other end of the room for a third time, and the only other person who could have walked through it did.

“Oh, good, everyone’s already here,” Robin said, making his entrance. In his right hand, he was gripping a large, rolled up sheet of paper of some sort. Something like a map.

“Uh...yeah man, we live here,” Beast Boy laughed.

Robin just stared at everyone for a moment, and it became clear he had been referring to something a little more specific. His brow furrowed. “Really guys? You didn’t remember?”

Everyone just stared back at him silently.

Robin ran his hand over his face, as if wiping away his exhaustion. “We’re supposed to be having a team meeting right now.”

“Hey, I remembered,” Cyborg said defensively, between a bite of his sandwich.

“Only because I ran into you in the hallway on my way up here, and you asked me where I was going,” Robin said, crossing his arms.

Cyborg just smiled sheepishly.

Robin sighed, heading over to the couch. “I know these things sometimes seem redundant, but for once I actually do have something we need to talk about.”

“Washing machine broken again?” Cyborg asked playfully, looking at Beast Boy as he said it.

“Hey, that wasn’t me, and you know it,” Beast Boy retorted.

“Well it wasn’t me ,” Cyborg said, gesturing to himself. “I don’t even wear clothes.”

Robin lifted a hand and the two fell silent immediately. “Unfortunately, this is a little more serious than blaming each other for not taking out the trash or cleaning the bathroom.” As he said this, he pulled out the paper, spreading it out on the table, scooting Beast Boy’s root beer carefully to the corner.

The sheet of paper, more like an architectural blueprint really, showed detailed layouts of specific areas throughout Jump City. There were multiple lines drawn here and there connecting one section to another, notes scrawled in the all of the margins.

“The technology we have is pretty good at keeping track of our battles,” Robin started. “Who the main aggressor was, if they were alone or accompanied, what seemed to be their ultimate goal in the battle. Their predicted attack patterns based on past fights…” He paused. “But there are some things a computer can’t tell you--no offense, Cy,” he said, with a subtle smile.

“None taken,” Cyborg laughed in return.

“Anyway,” Robin continued, turning back to the map, “sometimes you just feel a certain way about something. The data might not show it outright, but your gut is telling you something’s off.” He sighed. “Usually these battles are a one-time thing—we get in we get out—and the criminal is acting either alone or with a relatively short term goal. But the past two or three missions, I’ve been noticing some patterns.”

Robin pointed to one of the circled locations in the bottom left corner of the map. “Lower East side, about three weeks ago today. We were attacked by that group on androids at that EPA lab. I went back to ask some questions the next day. The woman I spoke to seemed just as surprised about the attack as anyone else. All of the EPA’s data is in the public domain. The building itself is on a pretty tight lockdown due to standard government procedures. But there isn’t really much there to...steal. At least not information wise,” Robin said, hand on the back of his neck. “Those assholes left behind a pretty big mess, but they only stole one thing. A piece of equipment called a mass spectrometer. From what the woman explained to me, it’s a pretty standard piece of machinery in their line of work. Nothing incredibly special. She said it was probably one of the more valuable machines in the lab--some of them can be worth up to 100k. But that just doesn’t settle it for me,” he said, shaking his head. “If the criminals just wanted money, they would’ve robbed a bank. They have about the same level of security.”

“I mean...they probably wanna use it for something then,” Beast Boy suggested. “You know, cut out the middleman.”

“She told me these machines are most commonly used to test drug metabolism rates, or analyze blood samples. Forensics stuff,” Robin said, staring back down at the paper. “Stuff that would be useful on our end. Not theirs.” As he said this, he reached into his pocket and took out a small coin-like object. “The woman said that they found this jammed in one of the machines the morning after.”

He placed the coin onto the table. Everyone automatically leaned over to reach for the shiny silver circle, but Cyborg was the one who got hold of it first. It was bent poorly out of shape, but still had some faintly legible lettering visible on it. Cyborg zoomed in as far as he could with his one eye, the lens taking a moment to focus on the miniscule letters.

“A....R....S....E…” he read aloud. “And then something else. That’s all I can make out. Shit’s pretty worn down.” He handed it to Starfire. Raven leaned in to look at it over her shoulder.

Beast Boy quickly clasped a hand over his mouth, but it was too late. The laughter was already erupting out of him. Everyone turned to look at him.

“May I ask what’s so funny?” Robin said, unamused.

“It’s just--” Beast Boy said, struggling to hold another cackle in .”Oh, come on! Arse? Like Ass?” he said, tears beginning to form in his eyes.

“We are fighting ass monsters?” Starfire said, disgusted.

Cyborg couldn’t hold back a laugh at that and snorted along with Beast Boy.

Raven rolled her eyes.

“No,” Robin said with a completely straight face.

Beast Boy reeled himself back, his laughter suppressed for now, but a grin still firmly on his face.

Robin cleared his throat. “Anyway...that brings me to my next point.” He reached into his pocket again, this time pulling out a small chip, like an identification tag. He placed it on the table. There were several letters missing on this one as well. “S, E, N,” Robin spelled out aloud. “They’re made of the same metal.”

Beast Boy looked down at the tag. This fight he did remember. It had taken place just a few days ago--at the local aquarium of all places. A break in that had escalated into a full blown hostage situation. They’d handled it, more or less, and no one had gotten hurt. Still, it all seemed like a lot more trouble than some fish were worth.

“But those were real people we fought at Franklin,” Cyborg said, frowning.

"We don’t know that for sure,” Robin replied. “And even if they were, that doesn’t mean the two attacks weren’t related.” He scanned some of the notes scribbled in the left hand margin of the map. “When I went back to Franklin Aquarium post battle, I decided to also check in with their adjunct Marine Biology research and conservation lab. Robin stared down at the tag. "I asked the researchers if they'd heard anything about the break in at the EPA. They hadn't--but said they’d worked on projects with them in the past. Again, no one had a good explanation for why anyone would want to target the aquarium like that. Besides property damage, the criminals didn’t leave much of a mark. At least, not one that they could prove.” Here, Robin flipped over the sheet of paper, revealing that the other side was covered in even more notes, even some crudely drawn diagrams.

“A man working at the head of R&D told me that they’d recently come into possession of a rare species of cuttlefish,” Robin continued. “And after the attack, it had gone missing. They said missing because they weren’t sure if it was stolen or killed during the general destruction.”

"Excuse me, Robin, but what is a fish of cuddles?" Starfire asked.

“A cuttlefish,” he repeated. “It's kinda like a squid. I didn’t understand exactly what was so important about it at first. Not until I took a look at the remains of the exhibit for myself." Saying this, Robin reached into his pocket and took out his phone, scrolling through it for a moment. "Most animals that change their color for camouflage do so on a pretty superficial level. Something to do with having specialized cells for changing color or creating patterns on their skin. But the species they lost at Franklin had only been discovered about a year ago. It was one of the only ones in captivity."

Without a word, Robin stopped scrolling and looked at Beast Boy. He handed him the phone, not even glancing at the other three.

Beast Boy grabbed the phone without asking questions. On the screen was a clear picture of an information sign under a vacant exhibit. Robin’s eyes still on him, he got the silent memo that he was supposed to read it aloud.

"Sepiida omneforman,” he started, having no idea what the words were supposed to sound like, “otherwise known as the South-African clay fish, is one of the rarest species of cuttlefish in the world. First discovered in 2017, by a group of researchers from Johannesburg, the clay fish is widely believed to be similar to the common cuttlefish in diet and habitat. Like their octopus kin, clay cuttlefish hide from enemies with chromatic camouflage and clouds of ink. However, they are one of the only living creatures suspected to also possess limited 'shape-shifting' abilities.” At this Beast Boy paused--just a beat. “Named so for these abilities, the clay fish is capable of reorganizing its structural DNA in order to create false appendages and skin textures/colorization at will. These abilities may help the clay fish to intimidate possible predators or allow it to better blend in with its surroundings. Scientists are currently researching the clay fish’s unique genome, with the hope of discovering more efficient ways to conduct gene therapy in modern medicine."

Beast Boy lowered the phone. He raised an eyebrow. “That's what everyone's so worked up about? Some fish that can kinda shapeshift?" He tossed the phone back to Robin. "Pffft. I figured that party trick out ages ago,” he said, kicking up his feet on the table, closing his eyes. “They coulda just asked,” he said with a smile. “I’m always happy to help the greater good.”

“I don’t know, Beast Boy,” Robin said. “They told me that they were eventually planning on breeding them. So that they’d have some to...experiment on.”

Beast Boy instantly perked up. He caught a glimpse of Raven in his peripheral, who drew a finger across her throat.

“Okay, yeah,” he said, swallowing hard. “I see your point.”

Starfire was looking down at the floor. She had been for most of the meeting.

“Is something wrong, Star?” Robin asked, looking over at her.

She met his eyes, but she still seemed a little distraught. “Why did you not tell us sooner?”

Robin rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t know. I just...wasn’t sure they were really related. And I guess I’m still now a hundred percent sure.” He shrugged. “I didn’t want to give you all anything more to worry about.”

“So...what should we do?” Raven asked, also breaking her silence. But for her, silence through an entire meeting was pretty normal.

Robin bit his lip. “Well...that’s just it. I don’t know that there really is anything we can do differently.” He furrowed his brow, deep in thought. “All I’m saying is to keep on your toes. Unlike regular missions, if another one of these attacks happens, it might be something we can anticipate. And if we can predict it, we might be able to shut down before it really gets off the ground. Being even just half a step ahead of the game could save lives.”

“Don’t worry, Robin,” Beast Boy grinned, leaping up to his feet. “I got eyes like a hawk and ‘m quiet as the mouse he eats for breakfast.” He started to take a step forward to clasp a hand on Robin’s shoulder. But as soon as his foot hit the ground, a sharp pain shot up his leg and he started to wobble. Beast Boy crashed forward, his left arm slamming into the edge of the table on the way down. The whiz of a neglected hot wheels car faded as it zipped under the couch.

“Beast Boy! Are you the alright?” Starfire started with real concern in her voice.

Cyborg was busy looking under the couch to try and find the source of his fall.

“Eughhh...” he groaned, sitting up. He looked up at the table, where his half empty can of root beer had finished itself off. Beast Boy grit his teeth as he watched the sugary liquid crawl to every corner of the table--and Robin’s map.

Robin just stood there for a moment, looking down at it. He sighed, then hesitantly reached out and lifted the sticky brown paper from the table, watching as the excess root beer tricked off of it. “I guess I’ve made my point.”

“At...least it didn’t get on the carpet?” Beast Boy said, on his knees now. But that was a lie. It was on the carpet too.

“We’re doomed,” Raven said from the other side of the couch, rubbing her temples.

Beast Boy wasn’t sure why, but this time, Raven’s offhand remark actually stung--even more so than Robin’s.

But before anyone had time to say anything else, the room suddenly went dark. A blaring noise cut through the air. The TV flashed from suburban homes to a complex status report screen, showing a grid map of the city honed in on a specific location—the West Regional Bank. In the bottom left, a popup window began to stream security camera footage, showing several shadowy figures running down a hallway. One stopped for only a second, pointing a gun at the camera, which consequently short circuited and faded to static.

Without a word, Robin started running. Starfire and Cyborg followed close behind.

Raven sighed, as if she really weren’t in the mood, but turned to follow as well.

Beast Boy looked back up at the TV screen quickly. “I never even got to see which house they picked,” he mumbled to himself.

“Beast Boy!” Robin’s voice echoed down the hall.

“I’m coming, I’m coming!” he yelled back, as he begrudgingly turned to bring up the rear. The sidekick slot, they called it. Beast Boy sighed as he took off. He’d been ending up there a lot lately.

The Heat of the Moment

I wrote a one-shot earlier this week about my favorite boyo and his grumpy robot fren, so I decided to post it today! Basically, Chrome gets a virus and Yandere takes care of him, and the virus removes Chrome’s filter a little bit (not in the way you might think, tho ;)

Tags: @tired-eldritchhorror @peribloke

Read on AO3!

Enjoy!

~

It takes Yandere a long time to realize that something is amiss.

He and Chrome are out tonight, wreaking havoc in the city like usual. They haven’t gotten into any real fights until now, when they ran into a territorial gang and decided to wipe the floor with them. Yandere is literally outgunned, but he’s quicker with his katana than any of the gangsters are with a shot. Chrome seems to be faring similarly well, from what Yandere sees out of his peripherals. He’s not paying much attention to what Chrome’s doing; after all, Chrome is easily twice is strong as Yandere and made of metal instead of flesh. If anyone needs to watch the other’s back, it’s Chrome who needs to watch Yandere’s.

That’s what Yandere thinks, at least, until he hears a thud from somewhere behind him. It’s the sound of someone hitting the ground, but it’s louder than the sound most people make when they fall.

Yandere whips his head around to see Chrome collapsed on the ground. The gangster nearest to Chrome looks surprised by the situation, but quickly recovers and raises his gun to shoot.

“Don’t you dare!” Yandere cries, throwing his katana at the man. It spins through the air before landing, lodging itself in the man’s head. He falls backwards, dead before he hits the ground. While the rest of the group is stunned still, Yandere runs to the gangster, puts one foot on his head to brace himself, and yanks his katana out of his head. He doesn’t bother wiping off the blood or brain matter before he holds the katana up, ready to keep fighting.

“Who wants to die next?” Yandere growls.

The remaining gangsters look at each other and start running.

Yandere’s not above chasing and hunting down people who escape him, but the fleeing gangsters are the last thing on his mind. He puts his sword away and bends down to Chrome, who still lays unconscious.

“Aka-kun, wake up!” he cries, getting on his knees beside him. He searches Chrome’s back for injuries but can’t find anything, nor can he see any shine in his hair from leaking oil. He turns him over (not a small task, but adrenaline fuels Yandere’s strength) and immediately feels over his chest, looking for wounds. But there’s nothing. No bullet holes, no knife marks, no oil staining his shirt or skin, nothing but a mild scrape on Chrome’s forehead from hitting the ground. He’s completely untouched. Yandere is puzzled, and somehow even more concerned than before.

“Aka-kun, what happened?” he asks, wishing he’d paid more attention to him earlier in the fight. Chrome stirs then, letting out a groan.

That’s when Yandere realizes that Chrome is sweating. The night is cool and even all the exertion from fighting hasn’t made Yandere warm. Yet Chrome, who’s normally better at regulating his temperature than any human, is sweating like it’s a summer day. When Yandere listens closer, he can hear Chrome’s fans whirring fiercely, trying to cool himself down. Yandere puts his hand to Chrome’s forehead, then to his neck. His skin is as hot as it looks, almost too hot to touch, and greasy with coolant. Chrome groans again, shifting into Yandere’s hand.

“Too hot,” he gasps, voice quiet and weak. His eyes don’t open, and he makes no effort to get up.

“I know, Aka-kun,” Yandere murmurs, running a hand through Chrome’s hair and pushing damp bangs out of his face. “I’m taking you home. Can you stand at all?”

Chrome mumbles something unintelligible, and Yandere bites his lip in worry. He doesn’t have the phone number of any of the other Googles, so he can’t ask them for help. Dark’s in another state on business, and Wilford barely ever checks his phone. Yandere huffs out a sigh, half-resigned but half-determined. He’s going to get Chrome home, no matter what. Even if it means lugging Chrome’s arm across his shoulders and carrying (or dragging) Chrome all the way back to Ego Inc. himself.

Which is exactly what he ends up doing.

~~~

By the time Yandere makes it home, he’s sweating nearly as much as Chrome is, trembling from exertion, and his hands and arms are hurting where they touch Chrome’s bare skin. He practically drags Chrome to the control room, finds it totally empty (odd for the Googles), and in desperation, makes a slow trek down the hall to the clinic. Maybe Dr. Iplier can help, but all Yandere knows for sure is that he’s going to drop Chrome if he can’t set him down soon.

Luckily, Dr. Iplier sees Yandere come into the clinic, and is helping him with Chrome before the door closes behind them.

“Geez, kid, did you carry him all the way here?” Dr. Iplier asks, shocked but a little impressed as he puts Chrome’s other arm across his shoulders, taking some of his weight from Yandere.

“Yeah,” Yandere gasps, “And I’m gonna pass out if we don’t put him down somewhere right now.”

“Point taken,” Dr. Iplier says.

He helps Yandere carry Chrome to a hospital bed, and once he’s laid down and out of Yandere’s hold, Yandere sighs and plops down into a nearby chair.

“You alright, kiddo?” Dr. Iplier asks him, concerned. He takes one of Yandere’s arms, looking at the places where his skin touched Chrome’s. “It looks like Chrome gave you some burns.” But Yandere waves him off.

“‘S fine,” he pants, “Doesn’t hurt much.” The burns look and feel like nothing more than mild sunburns, and Yandere is still much more worried about Chrome than himself. “What’s wrong with Aka-kun?”

“Actually, I had a feeling you two would be coming in,” Dr. Iplier says. Yandere furrows his brow.

“Why?”

“Because, something’s going on with the Googles right now.” Dr. Iplier points past Chrome’s bed, and a couple beds down is Plus, who looks as sick as Chrome is. “A virus snuck into their systems during an automatic update they had today. All of them are like this.”

“How do you know all that?” Yandere asks.

“Google figured out what happened before his symptoms got too severe,” Dr. Iplier explains, “Right now he’s in his room. He shut himself down and started charging to wait it out.” He grumbles a little as he continues. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, because what happens if there’s a complication, but I guess he’s too stubborn to let anyone take care of him.” Yandere giggles a little.

“Where’s Oliver?” he asks.

“Bim’s looking after him,” Dr. Iplier says, “He insisted. And good thing, too, because Plus is turning out to be a handful.”

“Nnh,” Plus mutters from his bed, “Noo…not gonna…”

“Hey, easy,” Dr. Iplier tells him, walking briskly to his bedside. He gently pushes Plus’s shoulders down as he tries to get up. “Calm down, kiddo, whatever you’re seeing isn’t real.”

“I’m not…” Plus blinks slowly, eyes glazed. “I’m not…real?”

“That is not what I said,” Dr. Iplier sighs.

Yandere chuckles a little as Dr. Iplier continues to placate Plus, getting up from his chair and standing by Chrome. Chrome still doesn’t look good; he’s still sweating, his fans are louder than before, and he’s only half-conscious, muttering incoherently. Yandere feels a pang of sympathy and reaches out a hand, stroking Chrome’s hair. He lays his other hand over Chrome’s, where it lies still at his side. Chrome cracks his eyes open a sliver at the gentle touches.

“Too hot,” he moans, just like before.

“Shh,” Yandere tells him, leaning down and nuzzling his damp hair, “We’ll cool you off, you’ll be okay.”

It’s an odd situation for Yandere. Normally Chrome is the one taking care of him, not the other way around. Chrome is bigger and stronger than Yandere and naturally became protective as the two became friends. Not that Yandere isn’t equally as protective of Chrome, but he rarely has cause to show it. Even when Chrome gets hurt he insists he can take care of himself, and most of the time he can. He hardly needs Yandere to protect him from danger. But at the same time, Yandere is the older one of the two. He was created half a year before Chrome, and though an age difference like that means little to humans, it’s significant for figments, especially for a pair as young as they are. Chrome’s only just turned two, he’s still very much one of the babies among the egos. Yandere might tease him about it occasionally, but there are times when he feels the need to be responsible for Chrome. Times like this.

“Dad, you said Google’s symptoms weren’t as bad at first,” Yandere says, “Was that how it was for the others?”

“It was for Plus and Oliver, yes,” Dr. Iplier answers, walking back to Yandere now that Plus has calmed down. “I imagine it would’ve been the same for Chrome, too.”

“Oh, no, I didn’t…” Yandere starts, a sinking feeling in his chest, “I didn’t know. He was acting fine, I didn’t even know there was something…”

Now that he thinks back, though, Yandere can recall moments throughout the night where Chrome seemed a bit off. Times where he was quieter than usual, times where he walked more slowly. But none of it had struck Yandere as strange. He’d never put it all together. If he’d only realized that Chrome was sick sooner, then Chrome wouldn’t have collapsed in the middle of a fight and almost gotten shot.

“Hey, I can see the smoke coming out of your ears,” Dr. Iplier says, ruffling Yandere’s hair. “It’s the “oh-my-god-it’s-all-my-fault” smoke. I’m certain Chrome hid his symptoms from you on purpose. He probably didn’t think they were that serious; not even Google expected it to lay them all out like this. And you sure didn’t give Chrome the virus in the first place, so you don’t have to feel guilty for anything.”

“I guess…” Yandere mutters, smiling a little as Dr. Iplier kisses the top of his head. “How long are they gonna be sick?”

“Actually, Google thinks they’ll all be okay by tomorrow afternoon,” Dr. Iplier says, “The virus isn’t really that awful, but their systems are more focused on pushing it out quickly than on keeping their bodies stable. Otherwise they’d be under the weather but functional for a few days instead of incapacitated for twelve-odd hours.”

Yandere ponders as he looks down at Chrome.

“I could take care of Aka-kun…” he says quietly.

“I figured you’d say that,” Dr. Iplier replies, grinning, “And I’m fine with it. You just treat his condition like a fever and you’ll be all set. I’ll get you some cold compresses, and we can take him to his room if you want.”

“How come you didn’t take Plus to his room?” Yandere asks.

“Stop!” Plus suddenly shouts, lurching up to a sitting position. “You don’t know what…what you’re doing…” He looks at his arm and sees an IV of coolant there. “Why’s that there…get it out…”

“Because his hallucinations are too severe.” Dr. Iplier answers Yandere as he strides to Plus, just in time to stop him from pulling out his IV. “There’s less for him to break or hurt himself with in here, and I’m not taking any chances.” He looks back at Yandere as he gently pushes Plus back down, smoothing his hair with one hand to calm him. “Hopefully Chrome doesn’t have any troubling symptoms like that, but Oliver and Google didn’t, so Plus might just be an outlier.”

“Actually…statistical…error…” Plus mumbles.

“I can handle it,” Yandere says. He looks down at Chrome, whose eyes have closed again. Yandere squeezes his hand. “I’ll make sure he gets better.” Dr. Iplier smiles.

“I know you will, kiddo.”

~~~

A few minutes later sees Yandere and Chrome in Chrome’s room, with Chrome tucked into his bed under a light blanket. Yandere knows from hearing Chrome complain that he barely uses his bed while he charges, and that he wouldn’t bother with one if Oliver hadn’t insisted they all get them. But Yandere’s relieved that Chrome has it, because it means Chrome gets to charge more comfortably without having to leave his room. And he does need to charge–Yandere plugs him in to find he’s only at 14%. Normally Chrome would wait until he’s at a lower level to charge, but the virus seems to make him lose power faster, and make each percentage of charge count for less. Chrome is still dead to the world, shifting a little when Yandere plugs him in but otherwise unmoving. It’s a little unnerving, but Yandere won’t let himself be deterred. He sits at Chrome’s bedside, lays one cold washcloth across his forehead and pats sweat away from his face and neck with another, and waits for him to wake.

After a few minutes of steady charging to combat the virus’s drain on Chrome’s battery, he finally wakes up, more fully than before. His eyes don’t open all the way and they’re still glazed with fever, but he at least looks around himself, showing awareness he didn’t have earlier.

“What happened?” he asks. His voice is still quiet and tired, but he doesn’t sound like he’s about to pass out again.

“You freaked me out, that’s what happened!” Yandere cries. “You passed out in the middle of a fight and almost got shot! I thought you did get shot! I had to throw my sword at a guy to save you!”

There’s a pause as Chrome processes the information, and Yandere has a moment to be surprised at himself. He hadn’t realized just how worried he was–and still is–until he finally saw Chrome come around.

“You shouldn’t throw your weapon,” Chrome finally says, “You know that’s a bad idea.”

“That’s what you have to say for yourself?” Yandere asks, laughing a little, “You’re the one who had a virus and didn’t say anything. You’ve been feeling off all night, haven’t you?”

“Didn’t think it was that bad,” Chrome grumbles, “Didn’t know it would get worse.”

“Well, it did, and apparently your brothers have it, too. So I’m gonna be taking care of you until it goes away.”

“How long?”

“‘Til tomorrow afternoon. That’s what Ao-san said, according to Shishi.”

“Mm.”

Chrome looks as if he might fall asleep again.

“Mattaku, I’ve never seen you get so sick from a virus before,” Yandere murmurs, adjusting the washcloth on Chrome’s forehead. He notes that the cloth is already almost lukewarm.

“Hasn’t really happened before,” Chrome whispers, too tired to be louder, “Was one bad one…when we were new, before we were friends.”

Yandere has some vague memories of that, of the virus that cut through the new Googles like a knife a few weeks after they were made. It was so bad that there were rumors that the new Googles were not just sick, but fading. Once they found out that wasn’t true, Google started developing failsafes and updates to the Googles’ software to prevent something like that from happening again. The others even helped once they got better. Although this virus still slipped in, it’s not nearly as bad as that first one.

“I kinda remember,” Yandere says, “I felt bad for you guys, even though I didn’t know you. Everybody thought you were fading, and I…I know what it’s like.” Chrome nods; Yandere’s told him that story before. Yandere continues. “Isn’t it crazy? I almost faded and you got that awful virus. It’s like the universe didn’t want us to be friends.”

“Who cares about the universe,” Chrome mutters, “Too many people.”

“Even one human is too many humans for you, Aka-kun.”

“You don’t count, though,” Chrome adds. He thinks for a moment. “Bim and Dr. Iplier…don’t count either, ‘cause…Plus and Oliver like them.”

Yandere thinks the fever might be talking now, but he can’t help but grin.

“What about Google?”

“He hates all humans.” Chrome pauses, thinking. “Where is Google?”

“Charging in his room by himself,” Yandere answers. “Shishi’s taking care of Midori-kun and Bim-san’s taking care of Kiiro-kun.”

Another pause.

“…I'm hot,” Chrome whines.

Yandere can't help but giggle.

“What?” Chrome grouses.

“You woke up twice earlier, and all you said was “too hot” both times.” Yandere feels the washcloth on Chrome's forehead again and finds it warm. “Do you not remember?”

“No,” Chrome mutters, annoyed at being laughed at. Even sick, he's still his usual self.

Yandere takes the washcloth from Chrome’s forehead, and replaces it with the still-cold one he used to wipe Chrome's face and neck, before getting up. Despite his exhaustion and annoyance, Chrome reacts immediately.

“Where’re you going?” he asks.

“Getting this cold again, since you’re so hot,” Yandere answers with a grin, “But actually, it’s basically warm now, so I’m gonna soak it in cold water and come back. I’ll only be a minute.”

Chrome hums in acknowledgement before closing his eyes.

Luckily, the Googles do have bathrooms, one attached to each bedroom. Even though they don’t need a toilet, they do have a shower and sink for when their projects get messy, or when they’ve been sweating coolant on hot days. It’s a good thing they have their own showers, because Yandere is sure they’ll all be needing them once they’re better. The water from the sink faucet gets cold quickly, and it only takes a couple minutes for Yandere to get the washcloth cold again. When he walks back to Chrome in time to see his eyes flutter open, as though he almost just fell asleep.

“You can sleep, Aka-kun,” Yandere tells him as he sits beside him again.

“Don’t want to,” he mumbles. His eyes are glazed and still only half-open, but at least he’s still coherent–and as stubborn as ever.

Yandere just chuckles as he switches the washcloths, laying the newly-cold one on Chrome’s forehead and picking up the other to hold. Chrome sighs with relief. After a moment, Yandere sighs, too, as drops of cold water run from his hand where he held the washcloth down his arm, over the light burns he got earlier in the night. He rubs the drops into his arm with his other hand, chasing the cold. Chrome notices the movement, and cranes his head up from his pillow to get a better look.

“What happened?” he asks as Yandere moves to push him back down.

“Well, you were so hot that you burned me a little when I carried you home,” Yandere admits, gently pushing down Chrome’s shoulders the way he saw Dr. Iplier do to Plus earlier. Unlike Plus, though, Chrome doesn’t acquiesce to the pushing and calm down. He only seems to try harder to sit up.

“I burned you?” he asks, and Yandere is surprised by the level of concern on the edge of his voice. “I’m sorry.” The fight seems to leave him all at once and he lays back down again. “Didn’t mean to.”

“It’s okay, Aka-kun,” Yandere reassures him, stroking his hair. “I know you didn’t do it on purpose.”

“You should…get it fixed,” Chrome says, voice soft and weak again. Yandere thinks he might be a bit delirious, but somehow his fever-addled concern gives Yandere a warm feeling.

“It’s not that bad, and besides,” Yandere insists, “If I go to Shishi and get my burns healed then there’ll be no one to look after you.”

Chrome frowns at that–no, he full-on pouts. Yandere’s never seen that expression on him before, and he has to hold back a laugh at how ridiculous it looks. He can’t hold back his smile, though.

“Aw, don’t be grumpy,” Yandere murmurs, fondly kissing the top of his head, “I wouldn’t be here watching you if I didn’t want to. Don’t you tell me stuff like that all the time?”

It’s true, though in all fairness, everyone Yandere’s close to tells him things like that. And Yandere needs it; his self-esteem has never been high, and he often feels like a burden on other people’s time and energy. Maybe he’s a bit of a hypocrite to call Chrome out for having the same feelings Yandere does constantly, but he has to admit that it’s not fun to watch from the other side. He sort of understands the way the others look at him now, the expression they make when they tell Yandere he’s wanted and loved.

Chrome, for his part, seems placated by Yandere’s words and lets himself relax. He stops pouting and his eyes drift closed. Yandere expects him to finally fall asleep, but instead, his eyes crack open after a few moments. He peers at Yandere.

“What is it?” Yandere asks him.

“…Sit with me,” Chrome mumbles.

“I…already am?” Yandere says, confused.

“I mean…” Chrome stops, and then looks away. “Nevermind.”

Yandere remains puzzled for a moment until he realizes what Chrome is referring to. Sometimes, Yandere will find Chrome laying on the couch reading or playing a handheld game, and he’ll sneak up on him, sit by his head, and put his head in his lap. Chrome always protests at first, but always relents after a minute or two, leaning into Yandere’s lap and letting Yandere play with his hair. Yandere always suspected that Chrome liked it more than he let on, but he never would’ve anticipated him asking for it. Then again, Chrome is sick and a little delirious. Instead of making him hallucinate like Plus, the virus seems to have removed his tsundere-filter.

“I think I get it,” Yandere tells Chrome, standing from his chair, “Sit up a little, I’ll help you.”

Chrome grunts, clearly embarrassed, but he follows Yandere’s instruction regardless. After some maneuvering, Yandere ends up sitting partially on Chrome’s pillow with his legs dangling over the side of the bed. Chrome lays his head down on Yandere’s lap with a soft sigh, and Yandere smiles as he starts to pet Chrome’s hair. His hair is damp like it was before, though the stands nearest his face are wet with water from the washcloth rather than coolant. Yandere gently combs his fingers through it, working out knots and smoothing the strands down. Chrome’s eyes are closed again and Yandere thinks for sure that he’s going to fall asleep this time. But once again, his eyes open, barely a sliver.

“Yan,” he whispers, too tired to speak any louder.

“Hai?” Yandere replies.

“You’re…a good friend,” Chrome says.

“Aw, thank you,” Yandere murmurs, holding back a giggle, “You’re a good friend, too.”

“And the others…are good friends,” Chrome continues.

“The other Googles, you mean?” Yandere asks. Chrome nods weakly. He has a look on his face like there’s something important he’s trying to say, but he’s too exhausted and feverish to come up with the right words. “You should sleep, Aka-kun,” Yandere tells him.

“My brothers are…really good,” Chrome continues, “All…all four of them.”

That comment gives Yandere pause. He grins.

“Four brothers?” Yandere asks, unable to suppress the note of humor in his voice. Chrome nods again. “Majide, Aka-kun? I think the virus got into your brain,” he continues, teasing. “Last time I counted you had three.”

There’s a pause as Chrome’s face screws up in concentration. Yandere can practically–literally–hear the gears turning in his head as he thinks. In the end, he yawns, snuggling into the blankets.

“No,” he mumbles, barely audible, “I have four.”

It takes Yandere several long moments to realize what Chrome means, but when it finally hits him, he beams, covering in mouth in surprise. He forces himself not to squirm in excitement, and tries to quiet the giggles that bubble up his throat. He doesn’t want to disturb Chrome, after all, whose even breathing suggests he’s finally asleep. Once Yandere regains some composure, he continues stroking Chrome’s hair, leaning down as far as he can to playfully kiss the tip of Chrome’s nose.

“You’re a good brother, too, otouto,” Yandere whispers adoringly, so full of love that he feels fit to burst.

~~~

Google’s assumption ends up being correct, and my mid-afternoon the next day, all four Googles are back to their normal selves. Their fevers, exhaustion, and delirium are gone, and Ego Inc. quickly resumes its normal rhythm. Dark is still away, satisfied to be told that the virus in the Googles has passed, but everyone else falls back into their routine.

Well, almost everyone.

Google and Dr. Iplier are talking in the control room, going over what happened with Plus and Oliver and making sure everything is well, when Chrome storms in as if he’s being chased. This turns out to be true, when Yandere follows him in moments later, a bright sunshine smile on his face in contrast to Chrome’s scowl.

“Leave me alone already!” Chrome yells.

“Not until you say it!” Yandere yells back.

“What are you doing?” Google asks Chrome as he darts around the room, trying to evade Yandere. Yandere’s hands are up, ready to grab, and Chrome looks like a cornered mouse in comparison.

“He’s pestering me!” Chrome nearly whines.

“I’ll stop pestering you when you say it!” Yandere laughs in return.

Oliver holds back giggles and Plus smirks as Chrome and Yandere keep running, Chrome trying to get away and Yandere continuing to chase. When Chrome pauses to throw open his bedroom door, likely to lock himself in, Yandere jumps on his back and clings to him like a monkey.

“Gotcha~!” Yandere laughs.

“Get off me!” Chrome yells, trying to push him off. But Yandere wraps his legs around Chrome’s waist and clings to his neck, keeping himself stuck.

“I will,” he replies, “As soon as you say it!”

Chrome growls with frustration and looks to Dr. Iplier, who’s been watching the scene unfold with no small amount of amusement.

“Make him get off,” Chrome mutters. His cheeks start to turn red, and the others in the room realize that Chrome is much more embarrassed than angry.

“Well, I’d like to,” Dr. Iplier says, “But Yan’s stronger than I am. I won’t be able to pull him off you if he doesn’t want to get off.”

“Then you do it,” Chrome says, turning to Google.

“Oh, come on, Aka-kun!” Yandere whines, “Just say it! You basically already said it before!”

“I was delirious!”

“You still meant it, though, I could tell!”

“What did he say?” Plus asks, and Oliver nods from beside him, both extremely curious. Google allows himself a grin.

“Perhaps if we knew,” Google says, “We might be better equipped to solve this problem.”

“None of your business,” Chrome mutters. “Also, you all suck and I hate you.”

Yandere laughs and nuzzles Chrome’s hair.

“You can tell them, Aka-kun!” Yandere insists, “They’re your brothers, aren’t they?”

Chrome’s cheeks turn even redder. The others are even more intrigued now.

“What is it??” Oliver asks, practically vibrating with anticipation.

“Tell us!” Plus exclaims, his own excitement getting stronger.

Chrome doesn’t speak, stubbornly looking away, both from the Googles and from Yandere. Yandere’s smile falters a bit, and he leans in close to speak into Chrome’s ear, low enough so that even the other Googles can’t hear.

“You don’t have to tell them everything if you don’t want to,” he whispers, “But I still really, really want to hear you say you-know-what. It’d really mean a lot to me.”

Chrome sighs, not in annoyance like before, but in resignation.

“I’m still not telling you what I said before,” Chrome snaps at Plus and Oliver, who still look too excited for Chrome’s taste. Plus frowns and Oliver pouts. “Just…just the other thing.”

“Aw, Red–” Oliver starts.

“Let it go,” Google interrupts, sensing the change in Chrome’s behavior.

Oliver and Plus seem annoyed, but they relent. Dr. Iplier continues to look on with amusement.

“Aka-kuuuun~?” Yandere probes. Chrome huffs, sighs again and looks away.

“Fine,” he mutters, “I’ll say it.” His cheeks are tomato red, and he crosses his arms, still embarrassed. He speaks slowly and stilted. “I…love you…onii-san.”

Yandere laughs joyously as the other Googles’ jaws drop, and Dr. Iplier grins.

“I love you, too, otouto!” Yandere shouts, hugging Chrome tight. He kisses his cheek with a loud smack, making Chrome sputter indignantly. Yandere finally jumps off Chrome’s back, landing gracefully on his feet.

“That’s all I needed, arigato~!” Yandere giggles as he leaves the control room, practically skipping away.

After that, the room is left in silence for several long moments.

“Well, that happened,” Dr. Iplier says.

The room explodes into chaos. Oliver and Plus begin shouting questions over each other at Chrome. Chrome looks like he wants to crawl into a hole, but also like he’s trying not to smile. Google starts yelling at them all to calm down, and Dr. Iplier decides to leave him to it. He exits the room, but their shouting is still audible as he catches up with Yandere down the hall.

“So,” he says, grinning wryly, “I take it something big happened last night?”

“Yeah,” Yandere answers, still giggling and with eyes bright with happiness.

It’s the understatement of the year, but Yandere is too giddy to say anything more.

Cyrus’ Dictionary

1 || 2 || 3 || 4

Summary: Cyrus has always been good with words; there’s a reason English is his favorite subject. But with TJ, he seems to be at a loss for words. When they get paired up for a summer assignment, Cyrus slowly starts to build a new dictionary. One that involves TJ and everything they do together. Along the way, maybe he’ll find the words to tell him how he feels.

Chapter 2: Smultronställe

Word Count: 2523

Read on AO3

Don’t be late. Don’t be late. Don’t be late.

TJ hurried towards the swings, nearly tripping over his untied shoes (which Amber reminded him of earlier). He checked his phone again, and 12:01 shone back at him. Crap.

“Cyrus!” he called, seeing a figure in the distance, his swing moving ever so slightly. As he got closer, he could see that Cyrus looked, dare he say it, forlorn? He slowed his pace, trying to regain oxygen in his lungs so he wasn’t panting.

Cyrus didn’t respond; his gaze was laser focused on the ground, at a small patch of wild strawberries growing near the swings. He didn’t really notice when TJ had sat down by him, other than noting that the swing was moving.

“I brought your journal,” TJ said after a pause, handing it to Cyrus, who took it without looking up at him. He nodded in gratitude, placing the small book beside him. And then it was silent again. TJ tried to let it go on as much as he possibly could, counting the blades of glass that poked out from underneath the wood chips.

“Thanks,” Cyrus finally spoke, his voice sounding strangely small, “for the journal, I mean,”

TJ nodded, waiting for him to say more but he didn’t. Motivated by what one could only call absurd bravery, he extended his hand out for Cyrus, if he so desired. After feeling like it was a mistake and ready to take it back, the other boy reached his hand out and linked his pinky with TJ’s, and both boys audibly sighed.

“Smultronställe,” Cyrus mumbled, his and TJ’s hands swinging lightly between them, “it’s Swedish,” he added, noting TJ’s expression, “it means, like, well it literally translates to ‘a place of wild strawberries’, but it’s, like, a place you return to for relaxation and solace,”

“Swings,” TJ replied, after he’d processed that Cyrus was one mystery after another, “they’re peaceful,”

“. . .Yeah,” Cyrus hesitated, chewing on his lower lip, “a smultronställe is supposed to be a stress free place. . .”

“I sense a ‘but’ coming,” TJ filled in the space, gently giving the other boy’s pinky a squeeze.

Cyrus sighed, taking both of his hands and using them to prop up his head with his hands, his elbows resting on his thighs. “Do you ever feel weird?”

TJ blinked, rubbing his hands against his knees. “Weird? Like, in what sense?”

Cyrus sighed, gripping the swings and throwing his head back. “Like, I don’t know,” he groaned, failing to find the right words, “like, it’s like, I’m on the outside. Like I’m watching myself live a life that I’m being. . .not forced, per se,” he muttered, sitting upright, “but like. . .pushed? Maybe? I don’t know,”

TJ nodded, kicking his feet a little to start swaying. “I get that,” he agreed, “it’s like. . .you recognize that you’re living a life where some things that you thought you could or should control, you can’t,”

“Exactly, and like,” Cyrus huffed, “I should be able to have control over these things in my life. Control over who knows, and when, and how they find out,” he rambled, clenching his hands into fists, which did not go unnoticed by TJ.

“Hey,” TJ whispered, straddling the swing, “whatever it is you need to get off your chest,” he gestured to himself, “I’m here for you,”

Cyrus let out a shaky sigh, his eyes glossy with a layer of tears forming, threatening to fall with a single blink. “I. . .sorry, this is just hard to say and I’m worried, even though I really shouldn’t be because I know you’re a great person and,” he took a deep breath, trying to continue. He shut his eyes tightly, a few loose tears trickling down his face.

TJ instinctively reached out and swiped them away, putting his hands on Cyrus’ shoulders. “You don’t have to say anything you don’t want to,” TJ reminded him, feeling Cyrus relax under his touch. Cyrus’ heart was probably racing, but TJ’s felt like it was going to explode out of his chest.

“You’re gonna hate me,” he whispered, the very idea making a sob escape from his lips, “you’re never going to want to be around me again.”

TJ felt tears budding at the corners of his eyes, but he didn’t let them escape, for Cyrus’ sake. “I could never hate you, Underdog,” he promised, wanting nothing more than to just press a kiss to the other boy’s temple and make him feel better, “there’s nothing you can say to make me stop being around you. I mean, unless you murdered someone,”

Cyrus snorted, a tiny smile ghosting his lips. “I haven’t murdered anyone,” he replied softly, inhaling sharply, “but, TJ. . .I’m gay,”

And there it was. He finally mustered up the courage to push those two terrifying words out, and now they hung in the open. Cyrus couldn’t even look at TJ’s face, not willing himself to meet his gaze of what he was sure would be utmost disgust and disappointment.

“So?”

Cyrus’ head snapped up, his watery gaze meeting TJ’s nonchalant one. “What do you mean ‘so’”?

TJ shrugged, putting his hand on the other boy’s knee. “I mean that I’m glad you told me, but that it doesn’t change how I think of you. You’re still you, Cyrus. I’d accept you no matter what,” he promised, opening out his arms.

Cyrus straddled the swing as well, and leaned forward, burying his head in his TJ’s chest, and letting the tears flow openly. And even though the chains of the swings were digging into him (and probably TJ too, as a result), he felt so much better. It was, as cliche as it sounded, like a weight lifted off of his shoulders. He finally felt like he didn’t have to walk on eggshells around one person.

TJ, however, felt almost the opposite. Of course he would accept Cyrus, that wasn’t even a question; it would be hypocritical if he didn’t, afterall. He wanted so badly to tack on ‘I’m gay too’ to his little acceptance speech, but he didn’t. He didn’t want to take this important moment away from Cyrus. So, he simply cut that part out. But every second that passed, he started to regret that decision. Coincidentally so, every second that passed, he thought would be a worse and worse time to come out.

Cyrus picked his head up from TJ shirt, fanning his eyes quickly. “Sorry,” he mustered, choking out a laugh, “I didn’t think I’d be crying, at least this hard,”

“Don’t apologize, Cy. It can be terrifying to put yourself out there,” TJ reminded him.

Cyrus scoffed, swiping at his loose tears. “You mean like when a certain basketball player asks girls to dances but they never say no?”

TJ laughed nervously, averting his attention from the other boy. “Something like that,” he mumbled, just quiet enough so Cyrus didn’t hear.

“Now that I feel emotionally drained,” Cyrus chuckled softly, “we should do something, like actually fun. There’s a laser tag place pretty close by. . .what do you say?”

TJ smirked, cracking his knuckles. “Hate to break it to you, Underdog, but I am a master at laser tag,”

“Is that a challenge?” Cyrus raised his brows, “You absolute overconfident buffoon, laser tag is a game of skill, not athleticism,”

“We’ll see about that,”

About an hour later, they found themselves at the laser tag arena, with Amber, Andi, Marty, and Buffy. They texted them as soon as they left the swings, and agreed to meet up and play a round or two. And TJ may or may not have slipped the employee at the table a few dollars to convince him to be on Cyrus’ team. Amber and Andi were on opposing teams, but they swore they wouldn’t go for each other. Buffy and Marty begged to be on opposing teams, but the man was either too tired or didn’t care enough to do anything.

“Let me help you with that,” TJ offered, helping Cyrus slip the jacket over his head, “wouldn’t wanna lose because of faulty use,”

“Okay, so,” the employee, a man who looked no older than 20 sighed, “two teams. No running, no profanity, and please when I say the game is over, exit through the door. It’ll be lit by the orange arrows. Have fun,”

He opened the doors, and immediately, all the kids, including ones that they had never seen before, were scampering around the arena, filling the room with squeals and the sound of feet pounding the carpet.

Cyrus did what he did best; find a small corner, crouch, and try and stay hidden. A few little kids spooked him and shot at him, effectively lowering his score. Groaning, he put his head in his hands.

“Boo,” a familiar voice interrupted.

Cyrus scrambled to grab his laser gun, shooting blindly and hoping he was hitting something.

“We’re on the same team, dumbass,” TJ snarked kneeling down beside him, “I’m here to help you,” he added, sitting down and leaning against the wall.

“Thanks,” Cyrus mumbled, pulling his knees into his chest, “I’m not really good at this. I may or may not have lied,”

TJ breathed out a laugh, opening his mouth to say something, but he was cut off by a barrage of kids screaming and coming their way. After a split second, TJ jumped behind Cyrus.

“What are you doing?” Cyrus hissed, before feeling a pair of arms wrap loosely around him ad grab his laser gun.

“Helping you win, duh,” he muttered, taking Cyrus’ hands and putting them on his laser gun. He let his hand rest gently on top, and he couldn’t help but try and bite back a smile. Bringing their hands up, he helped Cyrus aim and shoot at the other team, the lights on their vest going out. Just then, a voice over the announcer said that the game was over, and to please follow the orange arrows to the exit.

Marty and Buffy were the first ones out the door, with Buffy pumping her fist, as she’d beat Marty. Amber and Andi walked out hand in hand, which honestly, did not surprise TJ, or Cyrus for that matter, in the slightest.

“Hey look! You did it!” TJ pointed at the screen, where the number one spot was occupied by the screen name of RAINBOW. It matched the name that Cyrus had on his vest.

“We did it. I wouldn’t have gotten close without your help, you know,” he insisted, taking his vest off and hanging it on the wall, TJ doing the same.

“I’m so proud of you, I could just hug you right now,” TJ exclaimed, clasping his hand over his mouth immediately after. Did he really just say that out loud?

Cyrus chuckled, shrugging. “What’s stopping you?”

TJ opened his mouth to reply, but nothing came out. To hell with it, he thought, reaching forward and wrapping Cyrus in a hug. Truly, he could stay like this forever, his life encapsulated in this one moment.

“You’re a pretty good hugger,” Cyrus commented, still not detaching from the other boy, “and that’s coming from someone who really enjoys hugs,”

TJ pulled his torso back, his arms still wrapped around Cyrus’ waist. “What makes you think I don’t really enjoy hugs? I love hugs,”

Cyrus rolled his eyes playfully, a smile dancing on his lips. “Surprise after surprise, Teej,”

“Alright break it up, lovebirds,” Buffy intruded, startling both boys out of their moment, “Marty and I are going for milkshakes. And,” she added, glancing at him, “he’s paying because I won laser tag,”

Marty pretended to bow down to her, raising and lowering his arms. “As you with, my queen,”

“You guys wanna come?”

Cyrus and TJ exchanged glances, shaking their heads in unison. “We’re good thanks,” Cyrus replied, to which Buffy gave him a knowing look, before turning and leaving with Marty, hand in hand.

Amber and Andi were over by the air hockey table, playing each other and laughing to hard that TJ thought one of them might pass out at some point. Amber looked up for a moment, meeting her brother’s eyes. He raised his brows, while Amber glanced at Cyrus over and over, as if trying to push TJ to talking to him.

“So,” he started, kicking at the carpet, “what should we do for the next activity? Anything you want,”

At that, Cyrus beamed, his eyes lighting up. “There’s a Christmas in July festival close by! And I know that it’s kind of far away but, like, tickets are on sale,” he suggested.

“That sounds awesome,” he smiled, before he faltered, “I think I’m going on vacation for part of July though. When is it?”

“Um,” he hummed, pulling out his phone and searching, “. . . it’s the 13th and 14th of July,”

TJ fist pumped the air, smiling. “I’ll be there,”

“Great,” he replied, followed by a beat of silence, “I’m gonna get going home but. . .today was so fun. Thanks for winning for me,”

“Hey,” TJ gently punched his shoulder, “you could’ve done it. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

Cyrus nodded, pivoting on his heel and walking out the door.

TJ smiled to himself. It’d been a pretty good day.

When he got home, Cyrus flopped down on his bed, pulling his journal out from under his bed and flipping to the back. He thought back to the events of the day, before picking a word.

cingulomania: the desire to hold someone in your arms

He lingered a moment longer, remembering him and TJ, together in the little arcade. TJ really did give the best hugs. Maybe-

“Nope,” Cyrus mumbled, flipping back to the front and pushing his emotions aside, “just gonna write down what happened. Journalism. No feelings. Just facts.”

6/4

Today me and Cyrus went to the swings and he came out to me we talked. Nothing in particular just about us. Then we went to the laser arcade with Marty, Buffy, Andi, and Amber. Cyrus and I stuck together and he ended up coming on top! I was really proud of him. Then we hugged in celebration and he told me that I gave the best hugs. We made plans to go to the Christmas in July festival, and it’s going to be so fun. I don’t know what we’re going to be doing tomorrow but I know it will be fun because it’s gonna be with him.

TJ sighed, running his fingers through his hair. He was probably going to have to rewrite this one, since there were so many things he needed to cross out. It didn’t help that all he could think about was Cyrus this and Cyrus that. Journalism was not going to be his forte if he couldn’t include emotions. Bummer.

[andi’s girlfriend: TJ]

[andi’s girlfriend: TJ]

[andi’s girlfriend: SHE ASKED ME ON A DATE]

[andi’s girlfriend: SFKSFSFSK I CANT EVEN]

[andi’s girlfriend: i’m going to her house ill be back later]

TJ smiled at his messages. Called it,  he thought to himself.

[Me: i’m gonna call her your girlfriend now and forever]

@shortstackofpeaches || @seanna313 || @geekingbeautytx || @heavenlybyers || @ginnychrises|| @wlwandimack || @giocondasstuff || @lemonboytyrus || @adorejrizzle || @swingsetboys || @ifellintotyrushell || @idk-dude-17 || @rbf-lesbian || @marianara-sauce || @kaptainjinxz || @alex-poster-pizz || @quietmarvel || @blueberry-my-hero-macadamia || @broadwayitbitch || @tjsmuffin || @tjthekippen || @idpleasesir || @hi-hello-hey-there || @caprisunandcookiedough || @booklove-2 || @illbeyourreasonwhy || @birdiesandflowers || @whistlepunk || @phinallyjackie || @thedampjofangirl || @tyrus4eva || @tj-is-a-lemony-boy || @tj-goodman-bittersweet-boy || @dis-app-oin-tme-nt || @nessarinthegay || @breadisticks || @typewriter-riz || @gobletofash || @bluemuffinboy || @sofuuh || @cheesystars || @tjmuffin || @multifandom-bxitch

bring it on home to me [3/5]

summary: The fight of everyone’s lives may be over, but for Nebula, Peter, and the rest of the Guardians, the search for the person they love most has just begun.

a/n: MAJOR spoiler warning for Avengers: Endgame, though I am a little vague about the events of what happened. Regardless, please don’t let me spoil it for you!

Fic title is, of course, from the song Bring It On Home To Me by Sam Cooke. 

word count: 3.5k | ao3 | tag

Peter stared down the bottom of his third bottle in the last hour, slumped over the railing that was somewhat familiar to him, though not quite the same one he knew. He’d long given up the pretense of being the confident, boastful, larger-than-life “Star-Lord” persona, or at least he had two bottles ago. The others could still be heard above all the ruckus of the casino that was still every bit as illegal as its previous iteration, Rocket’s gleeful cackle and Drax’s uproarious laugh especially carrying through the thin sheet metal walls. Peter knew that, for once, he was the buzzkill of the group, lurking outside the bar like the wallflower he’d never been, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

“We should go to Knowhere for our anniversary,” he had said to her one evening. They were lying in bed, warm and cozy and content, sifting through the team finances together. It wasn’t a particularly romantic activity, but they both found that any task, no matter how mundane, was best done in the other’s company.

She had blanched, setting down the holo-tablet to fix him with her usual dubious stare. “Why? Knowhere is filthy, both morally and literally.”

“Well, yeah, but it was where we had our first dance...sorta.” At her unimpressed look, he had added, “Okay, so technically our first dance was during that mission with the, uh, that consulate thing - ”

“Diplomats, Peter,” she had sighed.

“Yeah, yeah, same thing. Anyway, I guess I just always think it was Knowhere ‘cos it’s where we first got to really know each other. That you weren’t just a crazy assassin and I wasn’t just a handsome rogue - ”

“An acceptably attractive, morally ambiguous, and wholly dishonorable thief,” she had corrected him without missing a beat, shooting him a teasing grin. “And why do you put so much weight on anniversaries? They’re only superficially more significant than any other day of the year.”

“I dunno, maybe it’s a Terran thing.” He had pulled her in closer, gently lowered her head down over his heart, raking his fingers through her hair. She had instantly settled in, her eyes fluttering shut, enjoying the sensation of his touch. “My mom liked anniversaries. She said she liked any excuse to celebrate something or someone - birthdays, weddings, adoptions, jobs...that it meant that we made it. That something we had, something we thought was worth having, was meant to last.”

She had hummed, placing one hand on the other side of Peter’s chest so she could feel it rise with every breath he took. “It’s a lovely sentiment, actually. One that I can agree with. Your mother was an insightful woman.”

“She would’ve loved you.” He had tilted his chin downward somewhat so he could look at her resting peacefully on his chest, their legs intertwined. She had been wearing his hoodie and smelled of his cologne because of it, interlaced with the gentle and surprising sweetness of her shampoo. There had been a bandage on her thumb where she’d cut it during a mission two days ago when she was hastily trying to cut a rope that had wrapped itself around Groot’s leg while they were trying to get away from the bad guy of the week. The corners of her mouth had been turned up very slightly, her shoulders rising and falling as she drifted off to sleep. “I love you, Gamora. More than anything.”

She had chuckled, though her eyes remained closed. “Are you sure about that?”

“Yes.” His answer had been immediate.

She had patted his chest in response, once, twice, then her hand came to a stop. Her smile widened. “I love you, too.”

“You are the one who tried to put his hands on me.”

Peter jumped, turning and knocking over the bottles at his feet in his haste. His mouth fell open rather comically at the sight before him, the sight he’d been chasing for months now, the sight he couldn’t believe he was seeing. “I...uh, I’m, uh - ”

“My sister said you had a talent for talking too much. I’m not sure I see it.” She folded her arms across her chest, looking at him expectantly. Everything about her looked identical to how she’d looked on the day they met - her outfit, the length and style of her hair, right down to the stern scowl that he used to think was the only expression she was capable of. It made his chest ache. “Your persistence is admirable, I’ll give you that much. But I am not the one you know.”

“Well, I...we...think you’re on your way,” Peter stammered, bending to set down his bottle beside the others. “Nebula told us you still turned on Thanos in the end to help her out, and I saw you jump into the fight against him. Seems like somethin’ you’ll always do, no matter what universe or timeline or whatever you’re in.”

She faltered, the tightness of her mouth slacking somewhat, her brow furrowing into something more like worry than anger. Then, she slowly walked over to stand beside him at the railing, an unsettling sense of deja vu washing over him as he turned to watch her. “Both of you speak of me and to me as if I’m a good person. As if I haven’t committed horrible, unspeakable acts of terror and violence. I know what my father has done. I know what I’m capable of. And yet, my sister tells me I have the capacity to...to have friends? To have a lover? To be...to be part of a family?” Her voice cracked.

“You do,” he said earnestly. “Hell, you were the one who started this whole thing to begin with. The Guardians? We never would’ve happened if you hadn’t been trying to get the Orb away from Ronan. Either I would’ve sold it to the Broker and been on my way, or you would’ve stolen it and helped Ronan destroy Xandar. You said it yourself - you couldn’t stand by and let it happen.”

“Stop speaking of her as if she’s me,” she said through clenched teeth, refusing to meet his eyes. “I am not the one you lost.”

“Okay, okay.” He held his hands up in surrender, taking one step back to give her room to breathe. “Just...please don’t run away this time. We’ve been chasin’ you around the galaxy for months - ”

“I’ve noticed.”

“ - and we’re kinda running low on fuel. And funds. And food. Just, y’know, everything.” He softened. “Look, I get it. You don’t know me, you don’t care about staying for me. But you know your sister. Would you stay for her? At least...talk to her?”

Gamora slowly turned on her heel to direct her gaze inside the casino, eyes roaming across the rowdy scene before them, the sounds barely muffled by the poorly insulated walls. The others were having a rare moment of levity together at the betting tables, Rocket and Groot jumping enthusiastically up and down as they beat Drax at yet another hand, while Mantis was watching with a confused, but entertained smile. Nebula was sat at the bar by herself, staring down the bottom of a shot glass like it had personally wronged her. “I saved her.”

“Yeah. A bunch of times, actually. And you’ve saved me, too. And everyone else.”

She turned back to properly look at him for the first time. “When?”

“Well, we’ve been on dozens of jobs together, you really want me to describe them all?” he chuckled.

“No. I have a feeling once you start, you’ll never stop.” A smirk then formed on her face, something so similar to the smile she often wore around him whenever he was being...well, himself - that he felt a sharp pang in his chest to accompany the dull ache. Her expression then fell back into something far more forlorn. “I’ve spent these last months trying to figure out how to live in a universe that I don’t belong to. With my father and sister dead, with my purpose gone, with my identity belonging to another, I...I’m lost, Quill.”

“You have a place with us if you want it,” he promised, shivering at the sound of his name in her mouth. “And I’m thinking you do, since you came to me. I gotta ask, though - why did you come to me? Why not your sister?”

She visibly swallowed. “She isn’t the one I know. She killed her past self, the one that belonged to my timeline, to save my life. I don’t know how to understand her, I don’t know how to be the one that she needs, I don’t know what or who she needs. At least with you...we have no false pretense of me resembling the one you loved.”

“But you do. I…” He inhaled sharply, his eyes burning with unshed tears. “I look at you, and all I see is her when we first met, god, nine years ago now. I look at you standing here, and I remember the last time we were on Knowhere, her telling me how she couldn’t let Ronan or Thanos destroy planets, me telling her about the night my mom died. And when Nebula told me that you turned on Thanos and saved her with no hesitation, that’s...that’s the woman I know. The one I love.”

She went silent for a moment, turning back toward the stars, her eyes squeezing shut so she could think. “Sometimes...I wish I was her. It sounds like she was loved.”

“She was,” Peter said fiercely. “And not just by me and Nebula. The whole team, every last one of ‘em. I got a feeling, if you stay, make your new home with us...we’ll love you, too.”

“You make it sound as if I’m a lesser version of her. A replacement.”

“No, that’s not - ”

“But if you want to know why I stopped running away...I’m tired, Quill. I’m tired of not knowing what to do next.” Her shoulders slumped, and she leaned against the railing, her elbows barely keeping herself upright. “And though I have no interest in becoming a project for you and your friends, the temptation to at least...try to find my place among you is too strong to resist. Besides, I have nothing left to lose. Nothing at all.”

He could almost audibly hear his own heart break at her admission. “I’m sorry. About your timeline bein’ all messed up, about losin’ all those people you cared about...”

“Thanos is not my father,” she said darkly. “Nebula, though...this one said we were sisters. Friends.”

“You were. But you should really talk to her about that stuff, not me. Not my place to say nothin’.” Peter nodded toward the direction of the door. “You think you’re ready?”

“I need a moment. I’m not sure what to say,” she admitted, moving to sit down with her back against the railing. He automatically followed suit, sitting a polite distance away from her. They waited in silence for a few minutes, the only soundtrack accompanying them being the awful bass-heavy EDM pounding away at the bar and the raucous cries from its patrons, getting louder and louder with every sip they took. Peter was itching to reach for his Zune, to see if maybe a song, any song, would somehow bring back her memories, as if she had simply lost them rather than not having them in the first place. “Nebula also said you and I were together for four years.”

“Yeah. Yeah, we were.” Peter smiled sadly. “Damn good four years, too.”

“What was it like?” He looked at her incredulously; she shot him a defensive look in return. “This isn’t just small talk, Quill. I need to know what my other self experienced, what she valued, if I’m going to have a productive conversation with my sister.”

“Su-u-ure,” he drawled, smirking. “I got a bunch of stories if you’ve got some time.”

“Not that much,” she retorted. Regardless, she turned toward him so their faces were closer, her eyes fixated intently on his. He found himself momentarily lost in their familiarity, though they lacked the warmth he had grown so accustomed to. “Tell me.”

It had been fourteen hours since Yondu’s ashes were scattered across the expanse of space, and Peter finally found himself stirring awake in his bed on the Quadrant (Kraglin had spoken of a scrapyard he knew of on a nearby planet where they could string together a new ship, but Peter was in no mood to brainstorm new names for the time being), groggy from having slept so fitfully for so long. He groaned, flopping back into his sea of flattened pillows to reject the very concept of a new day. Then, his chest tightened in remembrance of everything that had occurred in the last week, of what had happened just last night. He let out a sudden pained cry.

“Peter? Peter!” She burst through the door and was by his side before he even registered her presence, pulling him up into a seated position with his back against the headboard. “I heard you yelling, are you hurt?”

“No,” he sighed, his breath coming out ragged. “I just remembered where I was, that’s all. Don’t mean to disturb you.”

“Not at all,” she said, moving back a little so he had room to exhale. “You have every right to be disoriented right now, Peter, it’s okay. We’ll take some time off before we get back to work. I think we could all use a break. Besides, we need to figure out how Mantis fits in here. She needs guidance.”

“I think you’d be good for that,” he said, lifting his chin to look at her. His breath slowly came back to him. “Better you than Drax.”

“I agree,” she said dryly, rubbing his shoulder to further calm him down. “Did you at least sleep through the night? I didn’t hear you get up once.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I did.” He put his hand over hers. “Hey, how are you holding up? Now that Nebula’s...gone again.”

“I think we’re on our way to something. Friendship, maybe,” she replied, looking lost in thought. “It’s not something I ever thought was possible, but...I have hope.”

“That’s great!” he exclaimed, brightening. “I mean, she still scares the crap outta me, but you both deserve a win. You really do.”

She nodded slowly. “Peter...I’m sorry about Yondu. I know how much he meant to you. And I shouldn’t have pushed you to have a relationship with your father, only to turn it around the second we arrived - ”

“Hey, no, you were right, okay? Your instincts were dead-on, as always,” he promised, squeezing her hand. “I’m sorry for losin’ it on you instead of hearing you out. We’re both stubborn as hell, not exactly the best foundation for a relationship - ”

“Relationship?” she interrupted with a teasing smile.

He blinked bewilderedly. “Yeah, last night when you said - ”

“I know what I said.” She moved closer, so close that their foreheads touched. His breath trembled for an entirely different reason; they hadn’t been this physically close since their near first kiss on Knowhere. “And I stand by what I said. But...you’re right. I think both of us could be more patient with each other...with ourselves. We take this slow, or not at all.”

“Yeah, that’s...that’s fair.” He then smirked, something mischievous and warm and already so familiar to her that she couldn’t help but smile in return. “But, uh, how slow are we talkin’?”

She hummed, then leaned in to press a gentle kiss to the corner of his mouth, so brief that he barely had time to reciprocate. He let out a startled laugh, watching in mild disappointment as she pulled away and got to her feet. “Mantis is making breakfast for all of us to celebrate her first day as a Guardian. I can already tell you it smells terrible, but I suggest we both eat it for her sake.”

“Hey, hey, wait - ” Peter got out of bed and reached for her hand, pulling her front flush against his. He gently cupped her jaw in one hand, used the other to run his fingers through her hair, the warmth in his chest growing stronger when she leaned into the touch. “Seriously, I know I literally dance around the subject sometimes, but you gotta tell me if I’m screwin’ up and not doin’ enough to fix it. Relationships are kinda new to me, too, and the last thing I wanna do is mess up what we have. Done enough of that lately, and I don’t wanna let you down.”

“Have you ever known me to hold anything back?” she drawled.

“Right, of course. What am I talking about?” he laughed, leaning down to kiss her, properly this time, feeling her smile against his lips, her arms sliding around his waist to keep them both steady. They held each other for a moment, ignoring the ominous rattles of the Quadrant and the distant arguing of their teammates, their family, before pulling away. “All I’m saying is that I trust you, Gamora. More than anything.”

“You know…” The surprising gentleness of her voice slowly pulled Peter out of his memory-induced haze. “Nebula told me who I was, what I meant to all of you, but...we never had the chance to talk about what happened in the aftermath. How you felt when you found out. If you trust me...will you trust me enough to tell me? I...I want to know.” Her expression was unusually open, pleading.

He looked away, staring down at his hands in the realization that he’d taken the Zune out of his pocket subconsciously, running his thumb across the front, feeling for the buttons like he had with the Walkman. The Zune was smaller, more touch-sensitive, a little less solid beneath his calloused fingers. “I lost my mom...then my real dad. How else was I s’posed to react when I lost you, too?” He hung his head. “I screwed up, I lost it, I...when Thanos said he ‘had’ to kill you, I…” His breath shook, his throat burned.

“She said...something about the Soul Stone.” Her brow furrowed. “I was sacrificed, wasn’t I?”

He nodded silently. “Nebula didn’t know exactly how Vormir worked until she joined up with the Avengers on Terra, and two of ‘em went and had to do the same thing. One came back without the - ”

“Quill, listen to me,” she interrupted urgently, reaching across to grab his arm, her fingernails digging in deep. “If I was sacrificed for the Soul Stone, it means a piece of my soul - her soul - lives on inside of it. Once Thanos gained control, he would have been able to see her, speak to her. We just need to - ”

“He destroyed ‘em.” Peter’s voice was hollow. “That bastard used the Stones to destroy the Stones. The one that the Avengers used, it was one they took from the past, before you...you…” He swallowed back the bile rising in his throat, unable to choke out the last word.

Her face fell. “So she’s lost, then. Every part of her.”

A harsh noise escaped his throat as if to cover up a poorly-concealed sob. “You don’t gotta rub it in. Believe me, I’ve been thinkin’ about her every damn day.”

She slowly got to her feet, unsure of how to comfort him. Her eyes flickered to something moving in her peripheral vision - Nebula, knocking back another generous swig from a lukewarm bottle while the others continued to gamble away what precious few team savings they had left. She seemed unaware of their presence outside, too fixated on whatever she had right in front of her. Her face was more hardened than ever, but the tremble of her mechanical fingers betrayed her expression. “There are people out there, cosmic forces, who might be able to restore her existence in my physical being. Maybe...maybe that is my ultimate purpose.”

Peter wiped away the silent tears that had rolled down his face, looking up at her in shock. “Wh - what? No, I...you said it yourself, you’re not a replacement, you’re your own person - ”

“Am I, though?” Every syllable of every word she spoke seemed to strike Peter right in the chest. “I was never meant to exist here, Quill. My time displacement has cursed me these last few months, left me wanting for something I could never find. If her soul still exists out there, somewhere, anywhere...there’s hope. Possibility. It wouldn’t be a disservice to me if we tried...but it would be a disservice to her if we didn’t.”

“I mean…” He gestured fruitlessly, barely able to pick himself up off the ground. “...I don’t even know where to start.”

“I do.” She looked down at him, her smile soft and sad and just a little bit more than determined. “Have you ever heard of the Sovereign?”

a/n: The morning-after interlude scene is how I've envisioned Peter and Gamora making things official ever since the first time I watched Vol. 2, but I don't think I've ever actually written it before somehow! Honestly, this chapter could have been incredibly long, had I gone into more of my Peter/Gamora headcanons that I've sprinkled throughout all my other MCU-canon fics and beyond, but there will be space for some of it in the last part, believe me ;)

The next update will be posted next Friday! Thanks so much for reading, likes and reblogs would be much appreciated, and see you next time :)

Second in Command (Ch. 14)

Summary: Life as the "spare to the heir" isn't all that it's cracked up to be when you're the supposed screw-up of the family, but people don't know what really happens behind closed doors.

Rating: Mature 

Tag List: @resident-of-storybrooke @kmomof4 @wellhellotragic @profdanglaisstuff @ekr032-blog-blog @bmbbcs4evr @onceuponaprincessworld @jennjenn615 @a-faekindagirl @mayquita @captainsjedi @captswanis4vr @teamhook @skyewardolicitycloisdelena91 @branlovesouat

A/N: In this chapter’s flashback scene, there’s a certain pair of shoes that Killian kept a certain piece of jewelry in during the last chapter. Happy Saturday, friends!

Entire story found on ao3 | here |

When Killian and Emma get home from their trip late that afternoon, the sun just beginning to set over the walls of Kensington, Abigail and Liam are taking their children for a walk in the gardens between their apartments, the little ones all bundled up to combat the mid-January evening chill. When the two of them see his brother’s family, Emma drops her bag, kisses his cheek, her lips cold against the heat of his skin, and then she’s practically sprinting over to Abigail, scooping Alexander up on the way before throwing her open arm around Abigail’s neck and hanging on for dear life. He has no bloody idea what’s going on until Emma pulls back from Abigail and he hears a literal, actual high-pitched squeal.

(From Abigail)

She’s obviously told Abigail about the proposal, the women and Alex now looking at Emma’s hand or more likely the ring gracing it and chatting with each other by the time that Killian makes it over there, their bags left where he was standing when Emma ran off.

“Congratulations,” Liam greets, cheery smile on his face as he pulls Killian into an embrace that’s more welcome than not. “I see you’ve finally asked Emma here to marry you.”

Seven months ago Liam had a bloody meltdown over the idea of Killian marrying Emma, and while Killian will never forget those words, he’s moved on from them. As has Liam who has been consistently working on being the brother Killian has always deserved but has just recently gotten at twenty-nine years old.

Sometimes he wonders what it would have been like to cut himself off from his family to be with Emma, but he finds that he likes having so many people to love…and who love him. Better late than never.

“Aye,” Killian laughs before leaning over to kiss Abigail’s cheek in greeting, doing the same to little Alex, finding the tiny scrap of skin exposed through his clothes, and grabbing Elizabeth’s tiny foot through her bootie, “and luckily for me, she said yes.”

Emma smiles softly at him in response to his words, her green eyes bright against the tan of her skin that looks almost out of place in the muted colors of a Kensington winter.

“Oh, tell me all about how it happened,” Abigail sighs, reaching into the stroller to hold Elizabeth so that the babe can get some of Abigail’s body heat, rocking her back in forth in her embrace like it’s the most natural thing in the world. He supposes it is. “Killian is sucha romantic, and he’s been planning this for a long while, months really. I’ve never seen a man so excited to be engaged. I bet it was wonderful.”

Emma’s eyebrows move across her forehead before her lips turn up on the right in a smirk at all of this information she’s getting from Abigail. He’s going to have to start keeping secrets from Abigail, too, if she’s going to share everything and cause his cheeks to heat.

“Darling,” Liam coos as he moves to wrap his arm around his wife’s waist and protect Elizabeth from the cold as well, “why don’t we give them some time to settle back in before we grill them for all of the details?”

“Oh, I’m hyped on coffee,” Emma laughs, balancing Alex on her hip before handing him over to Killian so that Killian can at least try to pretend that Alex loves him nearly as much as Alex loves Emma. “Let’s go inside because it’s freezing, and then I shall tell you every detail of how Killian was shaking in his boots and practically flung his shoe in the ocean while trying to get the ring out of it.”

That gets him some weird looks as they go to Emma and Killian’s apartment, the Christmas decorations still up, and that distracts Alexander enough so that he plays with his toys they keep here for him while the four of them chat about the trip, Emma rocking Elizabeth back and forth because apparently she’ll start wailing if she stops moving and Emma was insistent that she get to know the little lass a bit better.

Eventually Emma has to get up and run to the restroom, so she hands Elizabeth off to Killian because she knows he’s been practically aching to hold her all evening. She’s nearly two months old now, and Killian has missed over half of her life being gone for trips, one business and one pleasure. He knows that the little love will never know that, but he still feels the slightest tinge of guilt at not being here to help out with everything, even if he knows his brother and Abigail have a nanny to help them out when they’re not around or need to sleep. He’s always been there for Alex, and he plans to do the same with Elizabeth. She’s already enraptured him.

Emma comes back into the room, settling down next to him on the couch, and he sees her not so slyly try to snap a picture of he and Elizabeth, who has fallen asleep in his arms, surprisingly thick head of dark hair rubbing against his forearm while he supports the little lass’s head and gently rocks her so she doesn’t wake.

It’s a good time, even when Liam and Abigail start talking about how hectic it was planning their wedding and the details that go into it. Emma’s eyes go wide next to him, and Abigail must see that because she has to assure Emma that they will have all of the help they’ll ever need planning. All Emma really has to do is say yes or no and help design her dress, or dresses really since she’ll have two. He cannot wait to see her walking down the aisle. It doesn’t matter that millions across the world will watch along with the hundreds or thousands in attendance.

At the end of the day, it’s just them. It’s just Killian and Emma.

“Emmy?” Alex ponders, “You go bye bye.”

“I did go bye bye, buddy, but I’m here now.”

(She’s here. Always.)

He seems to be satisfied with her answer before going back to his toys. It’s only later that he crawls up into Killian’s lap and snuggles against his stomach, mumbling that Killian went bye bye, too.

Eventually Liam, Abigail, and the kids leave, and despite Emma claiming to be hyped up on coffee, the exhaustion from travel gets to the both of them, and they fall asleep in the living room, only waking when Killian’s phone goes off.

“Who is calling you at this ungodly hour?”

“It’s not yet nine in the evening, love.”

“That’s far past talking hours.”

He looks down to see his father’s name on his phone, and Killian groggily swipes his finger across the screen, holding up the phone to his ear and mumbling a tired hello.

Killian talks to Brennan for a little while longer, murmuring words into the phone even if all he wants to do is sleep, the plane ride having worn him out to the point that he’s barely a functioning human. His dad simply wants to have lunch tomorrow to discuss the engagement now that it’s official (Killian and Emma and called all of their parents to make sure every one of them knew before they got home in case the news somehow got out, but they still have to see everyone in person to truly celebrate) and to begin discussing all of the preliminary discussions for their future nuptials.

Killian remembers when Liam got married, just being on the periphery of the event, how incredibly detailed and, frankly, mad the whole thing was. Abigail was kind earlier when she simplified the planning process, but it was much more complicated than that. It took hundreds of thousands of people to plan, nondisclosure agreements being signed every other minute, and somehow his family managed to spend hundreds of millions of dollars on the events. Of course, Liam and Abigail’s wedding brought in at least double what it cost for tourism, but all Killian can think about is how as much as this day is going to be about he and Emma, it’s also going to be about the country and the Crown.

So now they have lunch plans with Killian’s parents tomorrow and dinner plans with David and Mary Margaret, and they really should have combined the two meals despite the fact that the meal with his parents will have to mostly be about official duties and what comes next. Just the typical things that come along with marrying into his family.

Their own kind of normal.

After his phone call, he and Emma do manage to make it all the way upstairs, struggling through their nightly routines before collapsing on their bed, Emma moaning about how good it is to be home. It really is.

“I’m nervous,” Emma admits while they’re getting ready for lunch the next day, the both of them dressing in jeans and sweaters. “Like, I haven’t been this nervous since I met your family for the first time, and that was a train wreck. Like, a train wreck where everything is on fire even though it’s underwater.”

He thinks that metaphor went a little…off the tracks, but he’s just going to keep that to himself at this point in time. He’ll make that pun later.

“It’s not going to be like that again. My family loves you.”

“Albert doesn’t.”

“Well, nobody bloody cares what Albert thinks, and Dad’s threatened to take away his titles and therefore his money, so he’ll basically be a monk practicing silence from now on.”

She lets out what basically equates to a pity chuckle before she begins bouncing her legs up and down at her vanity while she does her makeup. She really is so nervous that she might start an earthquake throughout all of England.

“Hey,” he urges before sitting down next to her on her bench, “what are you nervous about?”

She shakes her head from side to side before applying her blush.

“Tell me, love.”

Emma finishes coloring her cheeks before putting her brush down and turning to face him. “What if they’re all gung ho about all of this, and then your dad sees me with this ring and is, like, holy fuck I can’t let my son marry this girl?” Her leg is still shaking and her lips are pulled back against her teeth, the pretty pink disappearing into her skin while her eyes stay open like she’s forgotten how to blink.

“That’s not going to happen.”

“What if it does?”

“Emma Nolan, I will notlie to you, and I am not lying when I say that there is absolutely no way that my parents are going to suddenly have some kind of revelation and think you’re anything less than perfect for me and for this family.” He places his right hand on her left hand before pulling it to his lips and kissing her knuckles right by her engagement ring. “Now, do you want me to reschedule until you’re more comfortable, or are you okay going today?”

“No, no,” she sighs, getting up from the bench and adjusting her jeans, brushing at the imaginary lint, “I can go today. Just don’t let me drink coffee when we’re there because it’ll make me all jittery and nervous.”

“I thought that was just your natural state.”

She smacks his ass as he walks out of the bathroom. That’s the Emma he knows and loves.

Emma has relaxed after the length of the car ride to Windsor, where his parents have decided to stay after spending the past few weeks in Sandringham for all of the Christmas holidays and weeks thereafter.

“You know,” Killian croons as they pull through security, “this is probably where we’ll get married. In St. George’s Chapel.”

“Really?” Her eyes are bright as she leans over him to look at the exterior. “Can I see the inside of it?”

“I’ll have to check and see if I can take you on a tour if we have time after lunch,” Killian assures as he turns into their parking area, “but I promise you’ll see it before any decisions are made.”

By the time they make it to the informal dining room, it’s fifteen after when they were supposed to meet his parents, and when Killian opens the door, Brennan and Allison are standing almost directly by the entryway, their hands twined together and their feet taping so much like Emma’s had earlier. When they see he and Emma, his mother’s eyes squint as her entire face blooms into a smile while his father simply nods while his lips press together in a subtle grin, and even if Killian told Emma not to be nervous, he is incredibly relieved to see this reaction.

Old habits and thoughts die hard, he guesses.

“Good afternoon,” Killian laughs when neither of them make a move to say anything. “Are you guys practicing being statues?”

They both seem to snap out of whatever trance they’re in, releasing each other’s hands and moving forward to embrace both he and Emma, his mother squeezing the life out of Emma while his father buries his head in Killian’s neck, whispering congratulations to him while his mother audibly talks to Emma.

“Oh, let me see the ring on your finger, darling,” Allison fusses, pulling back from Emma and holding onto her left hand and admiring the diamonds. “This is just stunning. You know, Killian designed this?”

“I did know that.” Emma looks over to him and gives him a soft smile before nodding at the tight grip his mum has on her hand. “Who knew he was such a good jewelry designer? I think he’s missed his calling.”

“Allison,” Brennan nudges, taking Emma’s hands out of his wife’s and admiring the ring, “you’ve got to let me give the girl a hug. And possibly embrace your son, too. You know, he’s also getting married to this lovely lady who far outshines her ring.”

Emma’s cheeks immediately pink, and he feels like his heart is stuck in his throat, but in the best way possible. He doesn’t get much of a chance to think about that, though, because his mother’s tiny frame is embracing him, and he hasn’t been this fully, completely happy in a long time.

They sit to eat lunch, a winter salad full of chicken, beets, walnuts, and the like, and the conversation flows. His mother wants to know all about how it happened, laughing at Killian keeping the ring in his shoe and practically passing out on the beach (At least, that’s how Emma describes it. He wasn’t thatnervous…or maybe he was.) and then awing in all the right places when he and Emma recount all of the words he said. He honestly doesn’t remember everything, the words a bit of a blur, but Emma seems to remember it all. Good, it was all for her anyway.

Maybe a little bit for him.

Or a lot.

Okay, so it was…is for the both of them. Definitely.

His parents manage to hold off on all of the official Royal Family business until after they’ve eaten and moved to one of the sitting rooms for tea and coffee (which Emma drinks even if she was trying not to be jittery), like the blended British and American family that they are. Of course, he much prefers the coffee to the tea anyhow.

He’s apparently always been a bit of a rebel.

“So, I don’t know how much Killian has told you, Emma darling, or how much Allison’s aide has taught you with your lessons,” Brennan begins, taking a sip of tea before putting it on the side table, “but you’ve got quite the big change coming up.”

“That’s about all I know, to be honest. Everything’s been kind of vague, but I’m up for the challenge.”

She’s got her hands clasped in her lap and her feet crossed at her ankles, and he doesn’t know if she thinks she has to be in proper position for this lunch or if it’s just becoming a natural state when in places other than home. Emma Nolan, the woman who sits cross legged on kitchen countertops in nothing but a t-shirt with her hair sticking up all over the place and her glasses sliding off her nose is also the woman who now knows royal protocol and how to sit and speak when at official engagements.

It’s the smallest thing, and while he knows it’s a bit ridiculous, it shows how much she’s done just to be with him, how much she’s willing to do because she loves him. Sometimes he wonders if he does enough to show that he loves her. He likes to think that he does. She tells him that he does. She doesn’t complain about the changes in her life or the hoops she has to jump through, and Emma really is the most remarkable woman.

She’s going to break protocol all of the time, just because of who she is. She’ll show him public displays of affection or talk to someone for too long, giving hugs when she’s only supposed to give handshakes. He does the same thing. He used to be chastised for those things, but he imagines that he won’t anymore.

He reaches over to place his palm over her twined hands before his father continues.

“Well, good,” Brennan smiles, “because I’ve got a challenge for you.”

They have to pick a date, one that doesn’t interfere with any outstanding events or holidays. Their wedding will most likely be made into an official bank holiday, and Emma’s eyes go wide at that. Contracts will need to be made, staff for Emma will need to be hired, flowers grown, invitations designed, titles distributed, a dress (or two) made for Emma, and basically everything that comes with planning a wedding...greatly enhanced.

“Furthermore, darlings,” Allison continues on for Brennan, “Emma will start going on your official duties with you. The first of all being your engagement announcement and then the interview with the BBC.”

“Honestly,” Emma admits, “that’s what has me shaking in my boots right now. I can shake hands and kiss cheeks, but me talking on national television seems like a disaster waiting to happen.”

“We’ll make it as comfortable as possible. It’ll be just you, Killian, and whoever they send for the interview. You’ll know the questions ahead of time, and they’ll just be simple things like how you met or how he proposed and how you’re adjusting to your new life.”

“I’ll always be by your side, Emma,” Killian comforts, squeezing his hand over hers. “You’re a natural with people, and I’m sure you’ll be a natural on camera. I mean, I do it all of the time, and I don’t seem too awkward, do I?”

“Sure, babe. Whatever you think.” Emma pauses, and her lips part the slightest bit, like she has something she wants to say but isn’t sure if she should say it. “What about June eighth? For the wedding date? I know it’s on a Saturday this year, so that would mean no bank holiday, but I think that’s a good date since I know that weddings happen pretty quickly around here.”

“Why June eighth?” Brennan inquires.

Killian knows why.

“It’s our anniversary.”

“Hey,” he greets as he stumbles through the door, shedding his damp jacket and stepping into the relative dryness of the pub compared to the continual rain that seems to be falling from the heavens with no plans to cease, “are you guys open yet? I could use a drink. I’ve got a big anniversary to celebrate tonight.”

Emma stops wiping down the tables, tossing her wipes down on the wooden seat, before walking over to him and pressing up on her toes as she’s wrapping her arms around his neck, her smile coy as she hovers just the slightest bit too far away from him.

“We don’t open for three hours, but I think we can make an exception for someone who has a big anniversary tonight.” She cards her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck, and she looks so beautiful and happy, so unlike the last time he saw her. “Unless, you know, you’re one year sober or something like that.”

“It’s not something like that.”

He dips his head down to kiss Emma while she presses up further on her toes, his hands sliding into the back pockets of her jeans to pull her body further into him so that he can feel all of her.

“Happy first anniversary, Killian,” Emma whispers against his lips while her forehead presses against him. “It’s felt like a lifetime.”

“That’s not a good thing, love,” he chuckles before squeezing her bottom.

“You know what I meant.”

“I do.” He kisses her again before sliding his hands out of her pockets and turning her around, pushing her forward so that she stumbles out of the entryway of the pub and back toward the sitting areas. “Do you need help setting up for this afternoon before we do lunch?”

She contemplates her options for a moment, running her hands through her loose braid so that it comes even further undone before tossing him the container of wipes. “You can finish wiping down the tables and booths while I get the glasses out of the dishwasher, okay?”

“Sounds like a plan.”

The two of them finish working, preparing the pub for the night while music plays through the speakers. David and Mary Margaret eventually come downstairs to help, and when they all finish setting up, they eat a late lunch upstairs, spooning a casserole into their mouths while they watch the television.

“So what are the two of you doing for your anniversary?” Mary Margaret questions while the afternoon news flickers across the screen, a video of his father shaking hands with the Prime Minister after one of his quarterly meetings where Brennan goes to the Prime Minister instead of the Prime Minster coming to him, but then it quickly changes to a football match and his father’s face is gone.

“I’m working, Mom,” Emma mumbles with the casserole in her mouth. “Remember?”

“I’m almost positive we gave you the day off.”

Emma rolls her eyes at her mother’s reminder.

“Yeah, you did, but then both Will and Kat called out sick.”

“Em, it’s fine,” David assures her while picking up everyone’s plates and taking them to the kitchen to put in the sink. “Your mom and I can take care of it. You two should do something fun.”

Emma shrugs her shoulders. “You guys don’t have to do that. We’re fine right, babe?”

She looks over at him across the room, and he knows just by the way she’s worrying her lip between her teeth that she’d love the day off, but she doesn’t want to leave her parents in the lurch. “No, take the night off. We’ll do something fun like your dad suggested.”

Her lips part like she’s going to protest, but then she’s nodding her head up and down. “What are we going to do?”

Later that evening once David and Mary Margaret have opened the pub, he’s zipping up one of David’s raincoats, his regular coat from earlier not enough to protect from the water, so that it covers his chin, putting his hat on before sliding the hood over his hair while Emma slips into a pair of yellow wellies and a rain jacket herself.

“So your idea of us doing something fun is going for a walk in the pouring rain?”

She looks like she is one hundred percent not here for this idea, her brows furrowed and her eyes slanted as she studies him like she’s waiting for him to tell her that he’s kidding, but this is an opportunity for them to get out and about, even if it does require walking in the rain.

“Yep,” he confirms, popping the ‘p” before moving to pull Emma’s hood over her hair and tucking the stray strands behind her ears and tapping her shoulders while she scrunches her nose. He loves when she scrunches her nose. He loves her, and he really cannot believe she’s stuck with him for an entire year. Best bloody year of his life. “Think about it. No one will be out and about, and we won’t run the risk of being seen as anything other than two lunatics who want to catch a cold.”

“We’re totally going to catch a cold, Killian.”

“Without a doubt,” he agrees, sliding his phone in his back pocket and leading them out of the apartment, slipping out the side door of the pub and onto the practically empty streets of London that are slick with the rainfall that’s been pounding down all day.

He has no idea where he’s going. It’s not that he’s not familiar with the area, but he doesn’t have a destination in mind as Emma loops her arms through his elbow and they aimlessly wander outside while debating the merits of American television versus British television. He knows that he can’t stray too far from the pub, his deal with his security detail for them to keep quiet about where he spends his time depends on never straying too far away from Emma’s place without proper notice, but eventually they walk far enough to see the river and find a bench under a cluster of trees that keeps it mostly dry from the elements.

There are still boats and ships cruising by, some of them commercial while others have fairy lights strung up across the decks where parties were obviously supposed to happen before the rain started. Whoever decided to host an outdoor event in London in June is obviously one for placing bets and wishing on stars that the weather will be pleasant.

“I’m sorry about last week.”

His head snaps toward Emma who is staring out at the water and watching one of the boats with the lights flickering across the deck. Her face is all contorted in the way that it is when she’s upset about something, her bottom lip jutting out instead of being pulled between her lips and her eyes somehow even brighter as unshed tears linger there.

They were in an argument last week because Emma had been pissed at her parents while he felt the same about his own, and they took it out on each other, snide comments and biting remarks over Killian scuffing up the bar with his shoes and Emma picking up extra shifts even on the days that he had time to visit. That’s half the reason he was so insistent that she take time off for them to go out tonight, even if it is just them sitting on a public bench catching pneumonia. The entire thing was idiotic and frustrating and petty as hell, and they need quality time together.

They didn’t get it last week because Killian had been too cross to stay, and Emma had been too frustrated to let him. So he’d left, and he hadn’t been able to come back, a week full of engagements and meetings and only resolving things between the two of them over a phone call or two between his obligations.

It’s like he’s always obligated to something when he wants to be obligated to Emma.

“You don’t have anything to be sorry for, love,” he promises, watching the boats move across the water as well. “We were both cross with our parents, and we became cross with each other. I thought we talked through things.”

A small chuckle passes through Emma’s lips before she pats his leg, quick enough that it could have been a leaf blowing if he hadn’t seen her hand move and heard the rustle of the material of her raincoat.

“I lied to you last week,” Emma admits, and he’s honestly shocked by that. They don’t lie to each other, and if they do, they’re apparently damn good at hiding it. “And don’t freak out because it wasn’t something bad. It was a money thing.”

“Emma,” he sighs, because they’ve had this money talk several times before, and he thought maybe she was beginning to understand that her not being as financially well off as him doesn’t matter. He’d give it all up for her in an instant. “I thought we talked about – ”

“We did,” she interrupts, and he wishes he could see her face under the hood of her coat, but she’s pulled it across her face to keep his gaze away. “It’s not that.”

“Then what is it?”

She groans before turning her head to look at him and propping her head up on her hand on the back of the bench, some of her hair escaping out of the hood and frizzing when the rain hits it.

“I took extra shifts because I was trying to buy you those loafers you were talking about a few weeks ago to give you today, but they didn’t have your size in the store and I had to order them online. So basically, I lied to you like the people in The Gift of the Magi, but I’m assuming you didn’t sell your feet to buy me something so we should be okay.”

He lifts his feet and wiggles his toes through the boots just to prove that they’re still there, like he somehow could have done what she said. Emma Nolan is his favorite part of every day of his life, he’s a fan of every part of her, and he would be happy to sell his feet or his clothes or his whole damn apartment just to be with her. She doesn’t have to do anything but be herself, but it means the world to him that she would put in that much effort simply to give him a pair of dress shoes that he casually mentioned three or four weeks ago.

“First of all,” he begins, taking her free hand and bringing it to his lips, the skin tasting like rain water when his lips press against it, “I love you. That’s the most important thing. Second of all, I cannot wait to rock those shoes.” He moves his hand to her cheek, caressing her face while she turns her head and kisses his palm. “And we’re obviously never going to have a normal relationship, my love, and as sweet as you doing that for me is, please don’t lie to me about things like that. We don’t lie, remember? We’re honest and truthful about what we’re feeling. That’s the only thing that makes this work, and I sure as hell want this to work.”

He sees her eyes flutter closed, eyelashes almost invisible free of makeup and hidden in the darkness of the night sky. Water drips off of her hood and a single droplet lands on her cheek, running down her skin until it’s gone.

“I just,” she begins, and he sees a tear slip from her eyes to replace the rain droplet, “I feel like you are always doing so much for me, and I don’t want us to be unequal partners in this. I know I’m usually happy, but God, Killian, I’ve never done anything like you and me before. It’s scary and overwhelming and – ”

“Do you trust me?”

“What?”

“Do you trust me?”

“Of course I trust you.”

“Then trust me,” he moves to swipe away her tears with his knuckles, and there’s the smile he loves, “that no part of me thinks this is an unequal partnership, and if you think that, we’re going to work on fixing that, aye?”

She nods her head and then twists her body so that she can press her lips against his, his hat flipping upward when her nose presses into his face and her lips become more insistent against him. When it completely falls off his head, his hood coming off with it, Emma pulls back and laughs against his face before pulling his hat and hood back over him.

“You’re a good man, Killian, and I’m so glad that I kissed you that night, even if my dad saw us dry humping on the bar and then we didn’t talk again until…well, until one year ago today.”

“I’m mostly just glad we moved past dry humping.” He pauses before nipping at her bottom lip. “I quite enjoy having sex with you.”

Emma rolls her eyes, but when they come back around, there’s a lightness in them that wasn’t there a moment ago. Maybe it’s because she just cried for a moment, but then her hand is inching up the inside of his thigh as slowly as she possibly can, her long fingernails pressing into his skin through his slacks. His breathing is suddenly a little heady as his eyes flicker between watching her hands and her face, her lips now tugging up on one side.

“Do you,” she whispers against his cheek, the closest she can get to his ear with the rain gear on, “want me to go run into that market and get us something to eat?”

She pulls back from him with a giggle, and he’s left sitting there with his lips parted and a seriously confused mind…and body. “What now?”

“Do you want something to eat?”

“But we were, we were ah – ”

“Killian,” she begins, getting up from the bench and shaking the water that’s accumulated while they’ve been sitting down off of her, “you’re going to need food to keep up your energy later, because we have the apartment to ourselves and there’s fun times to be had.”

She’s quite the little minx, isn’t she?

Later Emma is sitting on her bedroom floor in nothing but his t-shirt and the pair of riding boots (great minds think alike for anniversary gifts apparently) he bought her despite the summer weather hopefully coming soon. She’d had on the peal earrings he purchased, too, but she didn’t want to lose them, so they’re resting in her jewelry box now. She looks ridiculous when she gets the boots zipped up and stands from the floor, showing off her new look while he’s got his head propped in his hand as he’s stretched out on the bed.

“So,” she implores, testing out her walk with the heels, and he wishes his shirt were just the slightest bit shorter on her, “what do you think?”

“I think you should walk around like that all of the time, if I’m honest.”

“Oh really?” She walks toward her door, twisting the knob and looking back at him. “So if I walked downstairs to the pub right now, just like this, all those people drinking their beers and sipping on their whiskeys, you’d still want me to dress like this?”

She walks out of the room before he has the chance to answer, and he scrambles out of her bed so quickly, his legs getting caught in the sheets, that when he finds her simply leaning against the hallway wall with this fucking smirk on her face, arms crossed against her chest bringing her shirt higher up to expose more of her legs, he absolutely cannot believe she teased him like that.

Well, he can, but he almost fell on his face trying to get to her.

Happy anniversary to him.

“You a little jealous there, babe?”

“Never,” he lies, stepping closer to her so that their faces are only inches apart, breaths intermingling while his hands brace against the wall above her, “but you are a bloody tease, and your legs look fantastic right now.”

“Imagine how they’d feel wrapped around you again.”

And then she’s ducking underneath his arms and walking back into her bedroom, and this woman is the love of his life. He knows it.

When they finish lunch with his parents, wedding date set (and wow is that insane to know the day that he’s getting married to Emma) and a date scheduled for their engagement portraits as well as their interview and photo call with the press, plus a few other appointments scheduled for the actual wedding planning, they have to hurry home to meet Emma’s parents who just texted Emma to let them know that they are on their way over which means they’ll likely be stuck sitting outside of their front door until Emma and Killian get there.

Sure enough, David and Mary Margaret Nolan are sitting on a bench right outside their door and similarly to when Emma saw Abigail yesterday, she takes off at breakneck speed and runs into her mother’s arms, visibly squeezing tight. By the time he catches up, she’s moved onto hugging David and he’s cupping the back of Emma’s hair, whispering something in her ear that has Emma nodding her head against him. Killian’s distracted by their embrace, and all he wants is to have a relationship like that with his own children one day, but then Mary Margaret’s small frame is embracing him, too, and while he’s not much of a crier, he has to choke back a sob at Mary Margaret’s words.

“I’m so glad it’s you,” she whispers into his ear, pressing up on her toes and kissing his cheek.

“I am, too.”

David embraces him as well, making a joke about being relieved that Killian finally popped the question because damn has it been hard to keep things from Mary Margaret. The Nolans have taught him a lot over the past half of a decade, like what it’s like to be good parents, how to work hard even if the work isn’t always enjoyable, what it’s like to be a cohesive, loving family, and mostly what a solid, devoted relationship looks like. Yes, his parents love each other, and yes, he knows now how they are not the distant couple he once thought they were. But it’s David and Mary Margaret who have taught him what it’s like to still be romantic three decades into a relationship (much to Emma’s dismay sometimes), or how to work through a rut or an argument in a way that’s not yelling and storming out of the room, even if that took awhile to learn. They’ve been there for him with his own family issues. They’ve been there for him even when he’s had issues with Emma, even if that’s their daughter they’re giving him relationship advice on, and as glad as they are to be having him as an official part of their family, it cannot compare to how thrilled he is to be a part of theirs.

The four of them make their way inside, heading into the kitchen and standing on opposite sides of the island while Emma fills in her parents on everything they talked about with his parents today, and when she tells them they already have a wedding date, her parents suddenly go silent like their tongues have been tied.

“What?” Emma nervously questions, her hand blindly reaching behind her in an attempt to find his. He doesn’t see it until she taps against his stomach, and that’s when he finally grabs it, holding her palm and rubbing his thumb over her knuckles to try to soothe her. “Why do you guys look like I just dumped a bucket of ice water on you and then made you go stand outside in the cold?”

“It’s just,” David begins, his stomach pressed against the counter, “we’ve known you were engaged for about a week now, and I find out that I am walking you down the aisle in a little under five months.” David pauses, and Killian sees his throat move when he gulps. “I do get to walk you down the aisle, right?”

“Of course, Dad,” Emma reassures, releasing Killian’s hand so that she can take her father’s hand in her own, “why would you think otherwise?”

David shrugs, and Killian’s heart aches over the fact that even though Killian vividly remembers David making a joke about their wedding being televised when Killian told him his intentions toward Emma, he still thought he might not get to walk his only daughter, his only child, down the aisle.

“Because,” Mary Margaret answers for David, “as much as you are just Killian to us, you’re not to the rest of the world, and it’s not like this is going to be any other wedding.”

“Guys, there’s going to be fanfare and traditions and a lot of things that we won’t understand, but at the end of the day, it’s simply Killian and me getting married. Dad, you’ll walk me down the aisle, and, Mom, you’ll help me get ready before you both give a super embarrassing speech at one of the receptions.”

“One of?”

“There are two,” Killian explains, and Emma’s parents look about as shocked as Emma when she found this out last night. “An afternoon tea my father will host full of all of the political and royal figures we invite, and then that night we’ll have an actual reception with drinking and dancing with a smaller group of people.”

“That sounds like quite the wedding,” Mary Margaret comments before placing her hand over Emma and David’s, and he’s so glad that they can have moments like this, “but I am thrilled. My baby is getting married to the most wonderful man alive.”

“I mean, I thought that was me, so Killian can be the second most wonderful man alive.”

Both Nolan women slap at David’s chest, and David winks at Killian in a way that reminds Killian so much of Emma that he almost has whiplash.

After the Nolans leave, he and Emma head upstairs to go to bed, or at least that’s what he thought they were going to do before Emma strips down to her knickers and starts trying on every dress in the closet, tossing them to the ground if she doesn’t like them while he watches in fascination from his spot seated on the ottoman they keep in there.

She puts on a stunning black gown that’s basically like a second skin, and he’d really like to know when she got that and why he hasn’t seen it, but then she’s shimmying out of it as well and laying it over the island. This is like the least erotic strip tease he’s ever seen.

“Emma, darling, what in the bloody hell are you doing?”

“I’m trying to find something to wear,” she motions toward all of the clothes everywhere, “for when we have all of that engagement stuff to do, for the pictures and the photo call and the interview, and I don’t know what’s appropriate for girlfriend Emma versus fiancé Emma.”

She’s freaking out, and he wasn’t really expecting that after the wonderful day they’ve had. But it does make sense with all of the overwhelming information she’s learned of their upcoming nuptials and her duties. It’s different thinking about them as a concept versus them being a reality.

“Hey,” he soothes, “come here.”

Her shoulders sag forward before she sullenly makes her way over to him, stopping just out of reach until he leans forward to grab her hips and starts rubbing his thumbs over her underwear while he looks up at her.

“You don’t have to worry about that today.”

“But I do have to worry about it.”

He gently yanks her toward him until she bends down and perches herself on his right thigh, reaching forward to cup his cheek and run her fingers across his skin.

“Not tonight,” he soothes, kissing her jaw, “and not alone. I know it’ll take some getting used to having people help dress you and do your hair and makeup, but we have that so that you can be less stressed. And eventually you’ll be an expert in all of this. You’re a quick study, my darling.”

“I just don’t want to do something wrong or upset the balance in your family any more than I have.”

“Is that what’s bothering you? You think you could somehow do something wrong?”

“I mean, yeah. Killian, I’m not blind. I grew up with you on the news and with your brother on the news. I know the types of girls you’re expected to marry, and even if I know nothing is going to change you and me and your family is okay with me now, but your dad kept talking about how much crazier the attention is going to get. Right now, the world thinks I’m this girl you’ve been dating for a few months. What’s going to happen when they find out we’re engaged?”

“Well, we’re going to get married.”

She rolls her eyes before resting her forehead against him. “I’m serious. What if people hate me? What if they think I dress horribly or, more importantly, what if they think that I cannot do good work to help better the country and the world through all of the work you do and the work I’m going to do?”

“Not everyone is going to like you, darling. I wish it wasn’t so, but it’s true. Not everyone likes me, and as long as we keep you away from the comment section on the internet, you’ll never have to know about the false nastiness that people spew.”

He pauses for a moment before moving forward to bite at her bottom lip while his hands run along her thigh. “But you know what?”

“What?”

“I like you.”

“Yeah,” she laughs against his lips, “I got that with you pulling the whole Beyoncé putting a ring on it thing.” He pinches her thigh, and she practically flies off of his lap as she squeals, “What was that for, you crazy man?”

“You’re supposed to say it back.”

“Well, you’re not supposed to pinch your fiancée like you’re some kind of five year old.”

She walks out of the closet after that, and he knows she’s not agitated by the way she sways her hips. And he really knows she’s not agitated from the way her bra lands at his feet after she throws it through the doorway. “I like you, Killian. Come to bed.”

epilogue

here it is. sorry in advance. (also, tumblr doesn’t keep italics and stuff and i’m too lazy to add them back in, so here it is on ao3 with all that jazz)

tag list: @the-woild-is-my-what-now @wetcoffeejpg @disasterbisexualhere @landofgoodbye @queer-pippa @king-of-new-yoirk @hellomynameisjo @hufflepuffpride210 @turnitoffspot

Guilt isn't something real. It's not physical, you can't touch it or get rid of it, but it's always there. It's almost as if it's an entity of its own. Guilt is a force that eats you up from the inside, clawing away at every last piece of hope that you had until it's gone and the only thing left is the knowledge that there's always something else you could've done.

The moment that Jack and Race walked into the lodging house, everything was different. None of the other newsies dared to say a word. They just sat there staring as Spot set Skip down on Davey's lap before rushing to the two. He slid an arm around Race's waist, supporting the boy a little more as they walked into a small room off the main hallway. The two older boys gently maneuvered Race onto one of the beds, closing the door behind them.

Jack finally let himself breathe as he sat down on the old, wood floors. The cracking paint on the walls, the rumble of the old plumbing running throughout, and all the things that reminded him that, as completely insane as it felt, he was home. He was home and the strike was over. He was here and so was Race. They were home. He and Spot carefully made sure the boy was comfortable before he heard the door behind them creak open.

Spot turned around expectantly like any regular person would've.

Jack immediately dove in front of Race, keeping the boy tucked behind him. He shut his eyes fiercely as if prepping for impact, but nothing came.

"Jack?" That wasn't Snyder. That wasn't Snyder, or one of the bulls, or a guard, or anyone that would ever hurt him.

He cracked his eyes open just the slightest amount and Davey was standing terrified in the doorway. His chest felt tight just looking at the boy so afraid of him, but he couldn't help the relief that flooded over him.

"Fuck," he muttered, running his hands through his hair as he felt his heartbeat begin to slow. He stood, wobbling a little on tired legs, and collapsed into the taller boy's arms. "Dave I's so sorry."

His tears poured down his cheeks as he clung tightly for dear life. "I thought I'd never see you again, Jack," Davey's voice shook as he spoke into Jack's hair. "God, I thought I almost lost you."

Their heartbeats were beating perfectly in sync, Jack finally letting himself relax even for just a second.

"I don' wanna' talk, I don' wanna' talk 'bout it, Dave," he breathed, his voice wavering a little as the other ran his fingers up and down Jack's spine.

"That's okay," Davey quickly assured him. "I won't make you talk about it until you're ready. Don't even worry about it."

Jack let out a shaky exhale and tightened his grip on Davey's waist.

"Come on, Jackie, let's go sit down. We can talk about this later, but let's get you to bed for a little while-"

"No!" Jack interrupted, holding onto Davey tight enough to probably leave a bruise, but the boy didn't make any attempt to move him. "I...I can't leave, I-I can't leave 'im."

" 'S fine, Kelly. I got 'im, jus' take care a' ya'self," Spot spoke up, his normally steely gaze now just as afraid as Jack's, a strange sort of comfort to the boy. "Let Dave take care a' ya', I'll be sure ta' let ya' know if anythin' happens, I promise."

Jack hesitated for a moment before he nodded against Davey's chest and the latter led him upstairs to the rooftop.

The silence of the increasingly emptying room was deafening. Spot felt like he could finally relax a little, though, as he closed the door and sat down on the edge of the small cot. He gently ran his fingers through Race's hair, trying as hard as he could not to think about how high his fever felt against his hand.

He couldn't lose Race. He just couldn't.

He took a chance on that kid, really opened up to someone for the first time since he'd been living on the streets, and he wasn't sure he'd ever be able to do it again if anything happened to that boy. So he couldn't lose him. He couldn't watch the one person he truly loved slip through his fingers without ever being able to do anything.

So that was why he took up a small collection from the kids in Brooklyn, he made some bets at the Sheepshead, and even took an extra few papes every day so he could get that boy a proper doctor. A little voice in the back of his head was warning him that it was hopeless. It was screaming not to waste his time on something so doomed, but he didn't care. Besides, it was for Race. Even if it was for nothing, it wouldn't be wasted. Any effort he made would be worth it for every single day they got to spend together.

And as he sat in that room for days just talking to the boy and waiting for him to wake up, he began to realize things. Like all the years that he had taken for granted. He never once sat down and thought about what his life would be like without Race sneaking in through his bedroom window every night. He never imagined what it would be like to sell alone at the races, never once daring to risk his money on the bets. Hell, he never thought he'd lose Race to the refuge even for just a few days! They spent years hiding what was then only an innocent friendship with Race somehow finding the means to sneak back and forth between Manhattan and Brooklyn hundreds of times.

Race never got caught. Not doing anything. He stole Finch's slingshot? No one would ever know. He snagged one of Henry's combs? Hell if anyone else knew! The refuge never even seemed like a problem until all of a sudden there he was.

Spot spent that night and many others not leaving that tiny room for longer than it took to go to the bathroom or to grab Race a glass of water from the tap in the kitchen.

Two days had gone by when Race finally started getting antsy. Hell, he hadn't seen his friends in ages at that point! Jack and Davey had been paranoid, not letting anyone into the room without showering first, swearing that if there was any way to prevent any more germs from getting in there, they would take full advantage of it.

But then Race asked to see Crutchie.

They all knew he was going to eventually. Crutchie had even been asking Jack if he could ever since the boys got back, but it was just too risky at first.

Until they thought, maybe it wasn't.

After all that time, Crutchie would finally get to see the boy that literally almost died just on the off chance he would save him. He wasn't sure if he could even bring himself to do it.

It wasn't until December twelfth. The worst day.

Everyone had thought things were getting better. They all thought the refuge was behind them. The strike was over, the newsies throughout the city were living better than ever before, and it seemed like that meant Manhattan too.

But that was before Race seemed to stop getting better. Sure, anything had been better than that cramped little cell in the refuge and it did wonders at first just to be back in the lodging house, but soon enough, there wasn't much else that fresh air and a bed could fix.

And that was when Jack started working harder. He took at least an extra fifty papes every day just in an attempt to get some more food for the boy at the end of the day.

And then Spot stopped leaving Manhattan. He would sell some papes through Manhattan's circulation if Race was asleep, and if he wasn't, he refused to leave his side.

It was awful not knowing whether anything they were doing was making a difference at all.

Most of Manhattan's boys weren't even allowed into the room where they were keeping Race. That is, unless he specifically asked for them. They claimed it was too dangerous and they couldn't risk the chance of making his infection worse by bringing in any unnecessary germs, but Race knew the other side to it.

They didn't the boys to see him.

Race couldn't really see what he looked like, but he knew it had to be bad. He knew however bad it was, it was enough to scare the kids, and that was all the answer he needed.

So he played along and agreed when he needed to that letting any extra germs in was a risk no one was willing to take.

But that morning of December twelfth, Jack came into Race's small room to try and get some fluids into him. Spot, who had refused to leave the boy's side yet again, was still asleep against the wall by the bed, his hand in Race's.

Race sat up slightly as he heard the boy walk in, accepting Jack's glass of water and sipping it slowly. The lukewarm drink still felt like heaven on his dry throat. He had gone a few days without speaking more than a few instances, but every breath was like sandpaper in his throat and he could barely fill his lungs from what felt like a pile of bricks on his chest.

Jack looked like a trainwreck. His eyes were bloodshot from lack of sleep and that didn't help the darkening bags under his eyes either. He never smiled anymore, not real ones anyway. He was too busy driving himself insane with guilt.

"Jackie," Race rasped, grateful that the boy was still close enough so he wouldn't have to strain his voice much. Jack looked up and met his gaze, a mutual sadness behind their eyes for the other's state. "D'ya think Crutchie's ready ta' see me?"

Jack twisted up the corner of his lips almost like the signature smirks that always used to paint his face, but this wasn't the same. But he nodded, shrugging his shoulders.

"I know ya' wanna' talk to 'im, he jus'...he's tryna' take tha' blame for all a' this. He's jus' scared, 's all. I's sure if I told 'im you's real eager ta' see 'im, he'd give in," Jack spoke with something akin to fondness in his tone when he spoke about his friend, almost like he felt the same.

He did, Race knew he did. Jack just wouldn't let himself admit it, but he felt responsible. He tortured himself with that guilt just the same.

"Thanks," Race mumbled, a small smile creeping its way out in hopes of reassuring the other.

Jack nodded once more, bowing his head as he stood, carefully closing the door behind him.

As soon as Jack was gone, Race squeezed Spot's hand gently, watching as the boy began to stir. God, he really was nearly as bad as Jack. He instantly sat up on his knees, switching his position to be able to assess the other. The panic in his eyes was almost natural at that point as Spot quickly feared for the worst.

Race smiled weakly, reaching up as he cupped Spot's cheek in his palm. The latter chuckled awkwardly, still slightly uncomfortable by the affection.

"I's okay, Spotty. Ya' don't gotta' worry all tha' time, I ain't goin' nowhere," Race whispered, softening the other's expression. Spot covered Race's hand on his face, leading it over slightly as he quickly kissed the boy' palm.

"I ain't gonna' stop worryin'," he stated, Race nodding as he knew it was true. "But I'll try."

The other smiled, his baby blue eyes once again holding a sparkled the way they used to.

"Thank you," he mumbled, leaning over the edge of the bed as he bent his head forward onto Spot's shoulder. He tilted his chin just enough for his chapped lips to meet the other's tanned neck and he felt his pulse beating.

Spot ducked down, his fingers curling gently around the other's shirt collar as he found Race's lips and kissed him for real that time. It felt like it had been so long. So, so, long. The hand holding his shirt slid back up to hold the base of his neck and Race tossed an arm over Spot's shoulder. They couldn't stop smiling. It was like a trance had suddenly changed everything, even for just a moment.

For just a moment, Race didn't feel like he was breaking apart. He didn't feel like every touch on his body was a burn. For once since he had left, he felt like he could breathe right and his headache wasn't making him dizzy, this time it was just the giddiness in his heart that made him feel like he was floating.

"I love you," Race murmured breathlessly as they broke apart, leaning their foreheads together. "I nearly lost my head in tha' refuge  afta' ya' said that, Spotty. I...I thought I wouldn't eva' be able ta' say it back, but I love ya'. I love ya' so much."

Spot had tears in his eyes when he leaned back. His hands were shaking as he quickly reached for Race's.

"Wait, did I...did I do somethin'? Spot, baby, I's sorry, I didn't mean ta', I swear, I jus'-"

Spot kissed him again, holding the back of the boy's neck as Race's surprise slowly turned into pleasure and he relaxed, winding his arms around Spot's shoulders.

"Don't ya' dare apologize," Spot grumbled breathily, only pausing for a second before diving back in. "I love ya' too, you goddamn idiot."

Race chucked, freezing as he heard the door creak open. He pulled away, looking up towards the door as his face went beet red. Crutchie was standing in the doorway, a mix of relief and embarrassment on his equally-red face.

'H-hey Crutch," Race spoke up, his voice cracking and definitely not helping his embarrassment.

Crutchie smiled, shifting in place awkwardly as he rubbed the back of his neck.

"I, uh...I can go if ya' want," he suggested, an uncomfortable forced smile on his face.

"No! No, it's...it's okay, we's jus' sayin' goodbye, right Spotty?" Race nudged his boyfriend's shoulder as the latter only gave a small sigh of disappointment. Race glared a little, but Spot just stood, bending down to quickly kiss the other's forehead, and he reluctantly left. "Thanks for comin'. I, um...I didn't really know what ta' say. Still don't really."

Crutchie crossed the room, sitting down on the edge of the bed beside Race as he listened to his friend ramble.

"Oh, it's okay," Crutchie quickly assured him. "I didn't really...know what ta' say either, I guess."

They didn't speak for a moment. Crutchie couldn't speak as soon as he heard Race cough. He watched the boy clutch his hands to his chest as his throat rasped and Crutchie felt sick.

"I can't," he mumbled, leaning forward to bury his face in his hands. "I can't jus'...sit here."

As Crutchie stood, dragging himself over to the door, he looked back at Race and the heartbroken look on his face said it all.

"Char-"

"I fuckin' did this ta' you," he breathed, his hands gripping at his face and hair as tears pooled in the corners of his eyes. Race tried to stand up, immediately wobbling like a foal on his stick-thin legs. He hadn't tried to stand without help in ages. He should've known he'd be in a sheepish heap on the ground within a few seconds. Crutchie tossed his crutch to the side as he tried to catch the other, but, as he should definitely know after years of using his crutch, he too, found himself on the ground.

And then Race laughed. It was small and hoarse, but it was a laugh. Crutchie looked up from frantically trying to make sure the boy was okay and felt himself relax.

"Sorry," he mumbled, blushing a little as he brushed away the tears that had been spilling down his cheeks just moments ago.

Race smiled sheepishly, folding his legs underneath his body as he picked himself up off the floor. He opened his arms, gesturing for the younger boy to come closer as he pushed himself across the floor to hug the other tightly. Race winced at first at the tightening of his skin that stung his chest, but it soon began to fade into numbness and he let himself focus on making sure that his friend was okay.

"I's so sorry," Crutchie mumbled into Race's shoulder, the shakiness returning to his voice. Race forced out a weak chuckle as he curled his arm up around the boy, ruffling his hair a little. "I's so sorry, this is all my fault, I...I should'a been tha' one in there, not you's. We don't...we don't trade lives."

Race felt his heart fall through his chest as it shattered on the floor.

"W-we don't trade lives for each other," Crutchie shuddered, gripping onto the back of Race's shirt in tight fistfuls. "Y-ya' can't give ya'self up jus' for me, I don'-"

"Crutch, I ain't tradin' my life for anythin'," Race interrupted. His eyes were tried and puffy, but stern. Not a hint of anything but honesty. "I wasn't gonna' let ya' in there, I know it ain't a place you's eva' gonna' get out of, so's I figured I'd give it a shot. Ya' know me, I's too stubborn ta' let 'em keep me locked up for long. It's jus' a matter a' days b'fore I bust outta' this joint too."

Crutchie giggled a little, redness filling his cheeks. He let his smile stay that time as Race coughed again, this time a little harsher, but Crutchie tried not to worry as much. Race was still there. he was still the annoying asshole who wouldn't let anyone keep him cooped up for long and before Crutchie could even blink, he'd be back on the streets jogging over to Brooklyn like nothing ever happened. He knew it. At the time felt so real he could see it when he shut his eyes.

So he did it again.

That night, just before the sun went down, Crutchie looked up from his book. With more convincing than the boys would like to admit, Crutchie was able to get them to agree to let him keep watch that night. He was almost certain Spot was probably still sitting right outside the door and Jack was probably sitting in the common room right next door with his ear to the wall, but he didn't care. It had only been about half an hour since Crutchie came back, but he was so much more relaxed than when he first showed up. Race was just drifting in and out of sleep, coughing every one in a while, and then going back to bed.

He never could've seen it coming. It didn't matter how many times Davey told him it wasn't his fault, or that he couldn't have known something was up, but he couldn't stop thinking about all the things he missed.

It had been less than half an hour when Race started coughing and didn't stop. After a few coughs, he closed his book, rolling over onto his side.

"Race? You okay?" He tried not to let the increasing worry show in his voice, but he could tell it was plastered all over his face as soon as Race rolled over onto his back and looked up at the other. "Oh shit, okay, j-jus' hold on a second, I's gonna' go get Jack, jus' s-stay right 'ere." Crutchie rambled, scrambling to his feet as he collected his crutch and practically flew out the door.

Just outside the door, as they both suspected, was Spot. He dashed in right behind Crutchie as he slid to his knees, immediately looking everywhere but Race's face.

"H-hey baby," he whispered, trying to choke back the panic in his voice as his throat went dry. God, his heart was going to beat right out of his chest if he didn't find some way to fix this. "It's gonna' be okay, I promise. I won't let anythin' happen to ya', I swear. Not ever again."

Race smiled a little, mainly just for Spot's sake, but it was there. He couldn't deny that the way Spot took Race's hand and held it to his own chest to prove he was there made him feel just a little bit better. Race opened his mouth to speak, a dry, raspy sound coming out instead as Spot quickly reached over to run his thumb over the boy's lips.

"Shh, don't hurt ya'self, Tony. It ain't worth it, jus' save it for later," he teased at the end, a little watery smile covering up the little devilish, self-conscious voice in his head telling him there wasn't going to be a 'later'. He blocked it out. He had to.

So Race didn't speak, he just pulled his hand away from where it held Spot's against the latter's chest, bringing it to his lips and kissing it softly where their fingers wound together. As he lifted their hands away, he closed his eyes softly for just a moment, taking a couple slow breaths as if he had the wind knocked out of him. His shaky inhales were painful, it was written all over his face, but he still held it back and didn't let it show.

That made all the difference after Jack stumbled in the door, catching himself from falling on the doorframe. It was like slow motion as Jack's confused look shattered into horror. He clutched his mouth, leaning his head into the doorframe, a few seconds of hesitation, possibly disbelief, crossing his mind before he opened his eyes again and nothing had changed. Not a dream. No, not even a nightmare.

"J-Jack?" Race spoke up, looking over Spot's shoulder as the mentioned boy moved to kneel beside Spot.

"Yeah, kid. I's right here," he spoke, forcing his lips to curl up, but not even coming close to meeting his eyes. "I's right 'ere, jus' like I's been every step a' the way. I ain't goin' nowhere, kid."

Race managed a small smile before coughing again, this time too fast to grab a scrap of the old rags and simply coughing into his hands instead. Nothing could ever prepare the boys in that room for the look on Race's face when he pulled away his hand and blood came dripping through his fingers and dribbling down his chin. He looked dizzy, like the thought of seeing something so horrific had finally sunk it, but Spot quickly climbed around on top of the bed, seating himself right beside Race as he sat up against the wall.

"C'mon Tony, ya' gotta' sit up, jus' come 'ere n' sit wit' me," he murmured, sliding his hands under Race's shoulders and pulling him back from behind, holding him tight against his chest. Spot wasn't sure if Race could feel his heartbeat pounding against his back, but it was there, searing and throbbing and absolutely fucking terrified. "That's it, you's okay, I got ya'."

Race winced a little as he finally reached a comfortable position, but he knew he would rather be curled up with Spot than alone in that claustrophobic little room drowning in his own blood.

"J-J-Jack?" He croaked, the aforementioned boy taking one of his hands as soon as he spoke.

"Right 'ere, kid," Jack sighed, trying to keep the fear out of his voice to the best of his ability.

"I don't wanna g-go," he cried, his eyes wide and full of tears as Jack froze under his gaze. "I...I's scared, Jack."

Spot's arms tightened around his boyfriend as he leaned forward, kissing the crook of the boy's neck. There was a small spot on Race's shirt where the other's tears had fallen.

Jack couldn't move. His mind was spinning in circles and everything hurt. He couldn't. He couldn't just...die.

He had promised. Jack made a promise when he took over Manhattan that he would protect those kids and now...now he had no idea what to do anymore. He wasn't sure if he was still crying, he couldn't feel anything, just the dizziness in his head and the knife that felt like it was twisting right into his heart.

Spot whispered something into Race's ear that only seemed to make things worse. Jack would've been the first to go after him, but for once, he couldn't bring himself to move.

"Everythin's gonna' be fine," Spot rambled, almost as if he was trying to convince himself, rather than Race. "I ain't gonna' let anythin' happen to ya', don't ya' know that? I ain't gonna' let you go, ya' should know by now, I ain't good at giving up, Tony."

Race smiled weakly, a slight tilt of his head giving him space to bury his face into Spot's neck, rolling onto his side and giving Jack a full view of the thing that was causing this whole mess. Right there, in the middle of Race's chest, was a spot of blood seeping through the front of his shirt and dripping slowly down through the holes in the fabric. Jack felt sick.

"I-I-I's so s-sorry," he shuddered, surprising himself that he was actually able to form words. Race looked up, his tired blue eyes meeting Jack's teary brown ones and not moving even for a second.

Race didn't move, instead, he just reached out a hand and grabbing onto Jack's. He was shaking so much Jack wasn't sure he was even consciously moving, but the second he could, he held tighter than he thought possible.

"J-Jackie, I ain't m-mad at ya'," Race whispered, Jack shaking his head, his hand covering his mouth as he tried to get himself to breathe easier. "I-I ain't mad at all, jus'...jus' d-don't leave m-me."

Jack shook his head again, firmer this time as he sniffled, ducking his head as he lifted their conjoined hands to his forehead. "I can't lose ya', kid. I ain't goin' anywhere, but you gotta' promise me ya' won't go neither."

Race laughed, a tiny, raspy, heartbroken laugh, and Jack blocked out every other sound. "Jack, ya' know I c-can't do that."

The latter sniffled, nodding slowly as he took shaky breaths.

"Y-yeah...," he sighed, his voice cracking as he forced out a smile without an ounce of believability.

They could've sat like that for hours with Spot holding Race tightly as he whispered quiet sweet-nothings in his ear and Jack sat beside the bed holding onto his hand and refusing to let himself think about anything else. It was almost so perfect. It was almost as if nothing earth-shatteringly awful was happening, but then he heard the screaming.

"Jack! Jack Kelly I know you's in there, c'mon! Let me in! Kelly, I swear ta' god, let me see Race! I's done waitin', let me in for fuck's sake!"

Race would recognize that voice anywhere.

"A-Albert?" His soft whisper was almost inaudible, but it was enough to raise Jack to the door and get him to open up.

And, speak of the devil, there he was. Albert stood at the door, Skip standing beside him leading him over. She was frustrated, it was written all over her face, but she didn't falter when Jack opened the door looking like someone who'd already been to hell and back.

"I ain't allowed in, I's sure," Skip sighed, almost as if she just wanted to say it to call Jack out. He glanced over his shoulder, but shook his head as he turned back to her. "Sorry, kiddo. I jus'...I don't want ya' ta' see this," he sighed, his voice heavier as Skip nodded, hugging him quickly before turning away.

"Tell 'im I miss 'im," she mumbled before turning away without another word. Jack looked up, his eyes meeting Alberts as the red-haired boy who always seemed to be sporting the palest skin of the group somehow seemed to have gone even paler. His face looked like he'd seen a ghost and Jack ran a hand through his hair, preparing himself before he opened the door for the boy, knowing that even if he didn't like what he saw, Albert didn't care.

"Be careful. I...I know I don't gotta' tell ya' not ta' say anythin' too scary, but he's terrified, Al. Jus' be there for 'im," Jack spoke, the other sniffling as he stepped inside.

"Oh god...," Albert whispered, Jack turning around as he shut the door behind them and Albert shakily stumbled into the place Jack had just been sitting. "Oh god, oh god, oh my fucking god, Race."

"Al-"

"No!" He snapped, sinking to his knees beside his best friend, taking his hand just like Jack had just been doing. "N-no...ya' don't get ta' tell me how ta' do this, Jack. Not this time. I's done listening ta' you's, not when this is what comes from it."

Race looked between Jack and Albert, shrinking away from both as he moved to sit closer to Spot. He couldn't bring himself to deal with his friends fighting, especially not over him.

"Allie, c'mon, it...it ain't w-worth it," he mumbled, but Albert wasn't having it.

"No, ya' know what? No, I's done 'ere. I paid for a week 'ere n' as soon as tha' weeks done, I's out. I got a fam'ly I could stay wit', n' I's been stayin' 'ere for so long 'cause I thought I had a fam'ly 'ere too, but from everythin' I know, a fam'ly wouldn't stand for one a' they's own stuck on his fucking death bed 'cause you thought we needed a few extra pennies," Albert cried, tears spilling down his cheeks as he glared at Jack, the latter slowly backing away as he looked back and forth between Albert and Race. "I don't care what ya' think ya' could or couldn't do ta' stop it. You's still tha' one that got us all inta' this mess, n' you's always gonna' be tha' one responsible!"

The silence that followed Albert's outburst was nearly deafening.

Jack stood there frozen for ages before he simply nodded, ducked his head, and turned towards the door.

"Jack," Race spoke up, his voice breaking as the former turned back around, looking at Race, now shifting away from both Spot and Albert. "Jack, y-you promised."

He froze, his hand shaking right above the doorknob. He promised. God, he had never wanted to keep a promise less in his life, but...he would do it if it was what Race wanted.

"Jackie, ya' s-said ya' w-w-wouldn't leave m-me," he rasped, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he finished, a smeared line of blood now brushed from his lip and down to his chin. Jack felt like he'd been kicked in the gut. He turned, not meeting Albert's eyes as he slid down on the end of the bed, facing the three others.

"I ain't goin' nowhere, kid. B'sides, you's ain't allowed no go nowhere either," he supplied, smirking half-heartedly.

Race didn't respond, he simply dove back into Spot's shoulder, his shoulders shaking heavily as he coughed, the other running his hands up and down the boy's back. Race pulled away, tears pouring down his cheeks so quickly they mixed with the blood running from his lips. He frantically tried to rub as much of it off as he could, the red stains now covering the front of his shirt and his hands, not to mention the boy behind him.

"S-s-stop," he whispered, his voice wavering as if he was dizzy, still not looking up at anything.

"Race-"

"A-Albie, ya' g-g-gotta' g-get outta' 'ere," he slurred, looking up as he met the boy's eyes. Albert had angry tears brewing in his eyes as the horror took over his expression. "P-please."

"Wait, what? Race, what tha' hell? I can't jus' leave ya' here!" He grabbed for one of Race's hands, but the latter pulled away, grabbing at Jack instead. He took a deep breath, wiping the corner of his mouth once more before he spoke.

"Al, y-you's my b-b-best friend. Ya' know t-that, b-b-but I c-can't have ya' b-b-blamin' Jack. He...h-he's tha' only one that's b-b-b-been wit' me t-through this whole m-m-mess. I c-can't do this w-without 'im," he cried softly, his voice barely audible and so raspy it sounded painful just to listen to. "Albie, ya' g-gotta' let us d-d-do this. I love ya' s-so much, b-b-but I c-can't h-have ya' in 'ere."

The mere seconds between that last word and the moment Albert moved to stand up could've been hours if you asked any of the boys. But he stood anyway, leaning over as he wrapped an arm around his shoulders, gripping the boy so tightly the others were afraid he might break, but Race did the same and they stayed like that for a moment before they finally began to move.

"I really do love' ya, brother," Albert spoke sadly, the tears in his eyes now beginning to slowly fall. "I-I's so sorry."

"I k-know ya' d-do," Race smiled, his eyes genuinely crinkling at the corners. "D-don't touch any a' my f-fuckin' cigars, a-asshole."

And Albert finally smiled as he stood, walking right up to the door before he stopped, balanced on the balls of his feet and he turned his head over his shoulder, a watery smile on his face.

"No promises," he whispered, both of their smiles fading the moment he stepped out the door.

So Race leaned back against Spot, wheezing a little like he was out of breath.

"Kelly," Spot started, absentmindedly weaving his fingers through Race's hair as he caught Jack's attention. "Get 'im some water or somethin'."

Yeah, Jack could see it in his eyes that Spot wanted a couple minutes alone, and yeah, he could hear it in his voice that as soon as Jack left the room he would break, but he stood anyway and nodded, not saying a word as he left. He took one look back at Race to make sure he was alright with the boy stepping out for a second, but he was way too distracted by Spot and frankly, getting his attention was a situation he definitely didn't want to be in.

"Tony?" Spot's voice was shy and soft as his breath nipped the back of Race's neck. He turned his head, looking up at the boy with his arms around him. A small smile appeared as their eyes finally met. "You doin' okay right now?"

Race shrugged, curling himself up a little as he looked away, resting his head under Spot's chin.

"C'mon, T, ya' gotta' help me out 'ere. I ain't goin' anywhere, I's here ta' help ya'. I gotta' know what's wrong so's I can fix it, okay baby?" He was so soft, so gentle, it was no wonder he wanted Jack to leave first. "Please, Tony. There's gotta' be somethin' I can do ta' fix this."

Race just tightened his arms around Spot's middle, shaking his head against the other's chest.

"Race, baby, I...I ain't jus' gonna' give up on this, you...you know I can't do that," he spoke, his voice wavering like it was seconds away from breaking.

"J-jus' hold m-m-me...please," Race mumbled, not really sure if it was even loud enough for Spot to hear, but it seemed to work because Spot just pulled him closer and ran his fingers through his hair, just like he always did whenever they were lucky enough to be alone. The silence was nice. It seemed like they were constantly slipping in and out of silence in that room, but it was nice. It was comforting the way they never needed to say anything, they were just perfectly happy laying there together.

That is, until things really took a turn for the worst.

Race coughed. Just once, nothing they hadn't all seen before, but then it happened again. And again. And again, and again, and again until he couldn't stop and there was blood all over his hands and dripping from his lips and he was crying and screaming with pain until Jack came running back. That moment as Jack ran in the door and Spot looked up at him with his boyfriend screaming in his arms, they knew

They were in the endgame now.

Everything was moving in slow motion. Spot's hands gently running up and down Race's back as he coughed, Jack's footsteps as he moved to crouch back down beside the bed, even Race's own tears seemed to be falling slowly as they all carefully made sure not to scare the boy further.

"H-hey, kid," Jack spoke, placing a hand on Race's knee. He was going to put on a brave face. He was going to put on a brave face and make sure that kid knew he wasn't alone and he was going to do it no matter what was about to happen. He owed the kid that much, at least. "You...you feelin' okay right now? Ya' know, like...ya' pillows n' shit?"

Race chuckled and both of the other boys had to admit it was nice. Just seeing another genuine smile was really, really nice. He nodded and Spot slowly kissed the side of his head, where his forehead met his hair and Race leaned back against him.

"Good ta' know I's makin' a good pillow, T," Spot said, pretending nothing happened when his voice broke as Race interrupted his sentence to cough his lungs out again into the crook of his elbow. He leaned back as he finished, his face plastered with pure exhaustion. No one should look like that after just coughing. His eyelids were drooping and his cheeks were so flushed it reminded Spot of the first moment after Race kissed him for the first time and-

No. Nope, he wouldn't ruin the best day of his life by thinking about it during the worst. No way.

"Jack?" Race asked, making Jack's heart jump into his throat for about the fiftieth time that day. "A-am...am I gonna' d-d-die?"

And there it was. The painful truth none of them had let themselves accept until that very moment. He said it. He said exactly what they were all thinking and that made it real because if Race felt it too...then they weren't just worried for nothing. So Jack ruffled his hair and pulled him in tight against his chest. Just in case he didn't get to do it again. Just in case.

"Don't worry 'bout anythin', kid," he spoke softly, nodding to Spot who had finally, after that entire ordeal, let his tears fall. Jack knew he had been avoiding the exact same thought. "That 'aint anythin' you's gotta' worry 'bout, I promise. Me n' Spotty, we's gonna' worry 'bout that, you-...you jus' try ta' relax, yeah? Think ya' can do that, Racer?"

A shrug and a small nod between wheezes and coughs was enough of an answer to Jack and it wasn't like they would get more even if they wanted it. Race laid almost fully on Spot, resting his head against the boy's chest with an arm wrapped around his middle and the other gripping the front of Spot's shirt tightly. They could both tell he was in pain just from the way he was laying. He didn't want to say anything, Race literally never did, but this was apparently no different. Always one for pride, Race would swallow his own and wouldn't let a soul know he was anything but perfectly fine. There was no reason to hide it anymore, but old habits die hard and that was definitely a very old habit.

"H-hey, S-S-Sean?" He stammered as he spoke, not even lifting his head from off the boy's chest.

"Hmm?"

"I's s-so t-t-tired," he whined, a hint of a yawn sneaking into the end of his words.

Fuck.

Spot looked at Jack and Jack looked at Spot and they both knew exactly what the other was thinking and hell no. Nope. No. No way.

"Y-yeah?" God, he tried so hard to stop the tears from falling as he started to rock back and forth just a little, keeping his love securely wrapped in his arms. "W-well, I think ya' can h-hold on a little longer for me, Tony. B'esides, it-it ain't even m-midnight yet."

Race nodded, rubbing his eyes and keeping them open a little longer.

"R-right," he breathed, not looking at either of the boys as if he was simply thinking out loud. "I get t-ta' see Sean at m-m-midnight, d-did ya' know t-that, Jackie?"

Shit. Okay, delusions kicking in was definitely not a good sign.

"O-oh, yeah? That's funny, because I think he got 'ere a little early, ain't that right, Spotty?"

Spot bent his head in, kissing the boy's cheek as Race beamed.

"Y-you...you're 'ere already!" He grinned as far as he could, his eyes lighting up and his trembling hands reaching up to cup Spot's face. "I m-missed ya'."

Spot took one of Race's hands and dragged it over to his lips, kissing the inside of the boy's palm. Jack honestly felt like he was intruding a little, but he couldn't bring himself to leave. Not now, not ever again.

"I missed ya' too, baby," he mumbled against Race's hand, dipping his head and letting himself be held for once. "B-but it's okay, I's here now, yeah? We's got plenty a' time now."

But Race shook his head. "I...I-I's still so t-t-tired."

Jack lifted himself off his knees to sit on the edge of the bed, accepting as Race reached for one of Jack's hands. He ran his thumb over the now fading bruises that remained on the boy's knuckles from their stay in the refuge. God, it seemed like so long ago now. He honestly thought things couldn't get any worse after that.

He couldn't have been more wrong.

"Jackie, you's a g-good big b-brother," he spoke, smiling as Jack quickly brushed away a few tears that fell. Maybe Jack smiled back because he didn't believe it, or maybe he smiled back because just seeing Race's undeniably contagious smile was rubbing off on him, or maybe he smiled because deep, deep down under layers and layers of self-doubt and constantly questioning if he did enough for his kids, he knew they all turned out alright. Some of them, so much more than just 'alright'.

"Thanks, kid," he sighed, reaching up to ruffle Race's hair just a little. "You's a pretty good little brother too."

And that seemed to do it. Pleased with his affirmation, he turned his head back up to Spot and laid as comfortably as he could in his arms.

"H-hey Sean?" He asked, the tiniest flush of color rising to his pale cheeks. "C-can...can I have a k-kiss g-g-goodnight?"

Spot nodded, biting his lip and shutting his eyes tight as Jack watched tears roll off his cheeks. He looked back down as Race's shaking hands reached up to gently brush away his tears.

" 'Course," he whispered, taking Race's face in his own hands. Even through it all, his eyes were still that beautiful baby blue that made Spot fall in love from the moment he first saw them. He couldn't even imagine what he would do if he never saw them again. His boy and his beautiful, beautiful face. His smile and how it spread across his face when he laughed, creating dimples in his cheeks and crinkles in the corners of his eyes, and...before he could make himself think of all the things he wanted to see right then more than anything, he just kissed him and prayed it would never end.

"Love you," Race mumbled as they slowly pulled away, a small yawn following as he kept his eyes shut for just a few extra seconds before he opened them again.

"I love ya' too, sweetheart," he spoke against the boy's lips, pecking them once again as he slipped a hand into Race's hair, wrapping his fingers around the boy's curls. "So, so much."

"Good...g-good, that's...that's r-real nice Spotty," he rambled, sinking into the boy's embrace. "I...I's gonna' take a n-nap, 's that o-okay?"

Silence. Purely terrifying silence. The kind that feels like if someone breaks it, the whole world will shatter into millions of pieces. The kind that, once it starts, it feels like it's never going to end. Even if you don't want it to. And Spot and Jack? God, they never wanted it to end.

"Y-yeah baby, if you's sure," Spot spoke, his voice shaking with every word.

"Y-yeah, I...I's sure," he yawned, curling around Spot. "A-actually, no."

Jack chuckled, a watery sniffle to follow it and he wrapped both his hands around one of Race's own. "Take ya' time, kid."

"N-no, I, uh, I w-wanna say s-somethin'," he mumbled. "J-Jack, I...I wanna t-tell ya' s-somethin'."

"Go for it, Racer."

"J-Jackie, don't b-beat ya'self up, p-p-please," he sighed. One look up at the other and Jack Kelly would never forget the look on his face. "I k-know you's g-g-gonna' feel like...like it's ya' f-fault, but I...I d-don't care 'bout w-who s-started tha' strike, I j-jus' hope ya' let ya'self g-g-get over this."

Jack shrugged, leaning his head against the wrapped bundle of their hands.

"P-please?"

"Sure thing, Tones," Jack smirked, the smile not even coming close to meeting his eyes.

"Heh," Race chuckled. "Y-ya' 'aint ever c-called me that b-b'fore."

"Ya' like it?" Race smiled and Jack took that as a little victory.

"Y-yeah...yeah t-tha's...," he trailed off, rubbing his eyes with his free hand before wrapping it around spot's shoulders and burying his face in his neck. "Hey, S-Spotty, t-thanks for n-not soakin' m-m-me the first t-time I k-k-kissed ya'."

Even Jack could laugh a little at that.

"Me too, babe," he smiled. "H-hey, how's about ya' relax a little, yeah? I know how much ya' love ta' talk, but I don't want ya' hurtin' ya'self, Tony."

Race shrugged, coughing a few times into his palms before he swung his legs off the edge of the bed, grabbing Jack's shoulders for stability as the other two freaked out.

"Race? Race, kid, c'mon ya' gotta' stop, jus' sit back down n' we's gonna' relax jus' like Conlon was sayin'," Jack spoke, quickly opposing the boy's force and trying to law him back down.

"I-I's fine, jus'...jus' let m-me...," Race trailed off, his grip faltering on Jack's shoulders as he let his chin fall against his chest and he hung his head in exhaustion, wheezing breaths filling the stressful silence. Jack let go with one hand, letting Spot catch Race from behind as he reached for the boy's face to lift his gaze.

Race shrugged himself away from the boys' efforts, sinking his head into his hands as he groaned meekly, a pained whine slipping from his lips as his breaths became labored.

"Kid, c'mon ya' gotta' sit up, it ain't good for ya', Racer," Jack mumbled, replacing his arm around Race's shoulders and quickly maneuvering him back to lay as flat as he could against Spot's chest.

Race's incoherent mumbling continued, making his slow, disoriented blinking slightly more worrying. He just looked dizzy.

"J-Jack?" He slurred, not meeting the former's gaze as his eyes fluttered sluggishly. "Jack, Jack, J-Jack, Jack."

The almost rhythmical chanting of the boy's dazed rambles shouldn't have meant anything to Jack, but he couldn't help but feel the sick stiffing in his gut that kept pleading for him to do something, to help him, to make it stop.

"Ya' gotta' focus for me, Ant. I can't make it stop if ya' don't try ta' work with me 'ere," Jack spoke, reaching for a glass of water beside the bed. Race shook his head when he saw it. He placed a hand on his own chest, his breathing dry and painful and confusing Jack for a moment before... "No. No, c'mon, kid, I ain't givin' up, ya' can't give up on me, I cant-"

He cried, finally letting the tears that had been brewing in his eyes burst as one sob made him grab for Race's hand.

"Tony, listen ta' me," Spot whispered softly from behind him. He kissed the underside of Race's jaw gently before continuing. "I know it hurts. I know it's so hard, n' I would take it myself in a heartbeat if I could, but ya' gotta' hold on. I can't lose you, T."

Race inhaled sharply, a small stream of blood trickling out from the corner of his mouth. He looked exhausted. Spot wasn't even sure if he'd understood what he was saying, but he needed to say it.

"I-I...I c-can't, Sean," he rasped, so quietly Jack didn't even hear more than breath, but Spot sure seemed to know what he said. He kissed Race on the forehead, rubbing circles on the boy's hollow cheeks as he started to slowly rock back and forth.

"Please," his voice cracked, his pleas falling silent as Race ignored his words and simply laid back against him.

Jack had a million things circling through his head that he wanted more than anything to be able to say. Besides, how do you even begin to pick your last words to someone when there's so much left unsaid? His head was throbbing and his ears were ringing and he couldn't tell if he was even speaking or not, but he needed that boy to know. He needed him to know everything.

And then it ended. Pleas fell on deaf ears and hands reached for limp ones and racing heartbeats met halted ones. His eyes were closed softly and it hit Jack like a ton of bricks as he stared at the boy laid in his friend's arms. They wouldn't open again. His lips were parted so slightly that one look at them felt wrong. Those lips always had a cigar between them and on the off chance that they didn't, they were spouting insults and jokes left and right but...not anymore. He couldn't look at Spot, he didn't want to see his face. He could see the tears falling off his cheeks and onto Race's but, he couldn't look at his face. If he looked at Spot's face, he'd see his own in it. Race didn't know. God, he had so many things left to say and now he lost his chance. 

How Jack had gone almost three years of leading Manhattan without anything like this. He had somehow found a way to keep his entire family of brothers and sisters safe for nearly three years to the point where he almost felt untouchable. It got to the point where he didn't even worry. He dove right into the strike without thinking twice about what could come out of it. It just didn't seem like an option. Never once in the strike did he think of the refuge, or his kids getting hurt, and not once did he think something like...this would ever happen. All throughout their time at the refuge, Jack wouldn't let himself believe anything could get any worse. When the strike rally took a turn for the worse, he thought that was as bad as it could get. When he watched the bulls go after Crutchie, he didn't think it could get any worse. When he immediately got caught up in his own fight, barely holding his own against Snyder's goons, he still thought that was as bad as things could get. Alone in the refuge? Nope, it got worse the moment Race got tossed in there with him. With every passing day in that absolute hell-hole, he told himself that that was the worst of it. It couldn't get worse than that. But it always did. It got worse every single day without fail.

Now here they were.

And Spot.

All those years ago when he ran away from his family after his father died, he didn't even think he had a future. He just wanted to get out. To get away from his mother and away from his house full of memories of his dad, and he never expected for some kid just a few years older than him to ask him if he needed a place to stay and actually give him a home and a job. He thought he was untouchable simply because no one dared to get close enough to him to do it. Until Race. Antonio "Racetrack" Higgins was an asshole with a quick wit, luck too precise for his own good, and probably the most addicting smile Spot had ever seen. One joking insult Spot had tossed his way on Race's first day selling at the Sheepshead and the smile that followed meant Spot was doomed. He never had a chance. In all honesty, he never had a chance against Race. From the moment Jack Kelly brought him over to Brooklyn and around the rest of the city to formally arrange his second-in-command, making sure they all knew who to go to if anything were to happen to Jack.

They never once planned what they would do if something happened to Race.

Spot took one look at him as he shook that boy's hand and he decided somewhere deep within his fortress of walls that he didn't want to let go. He decided that day and no matter how hard he tried, it never seemed to go away. He was glad it didn't. God, he wouldn't give that up for all the time in the world. It was selfish, he knew it, but he would rather have a short time than no time if it meant they could be together. He didn't even know what he would do now. He couldn't just go back to Brooklyn like nothing ever happened. For the rest of his life, he'd be carrying that on his shoulders, no matter what. But he had a job to do.

How were they all even supposed to do that now? Jack had to go out there and tell all of them their brother was gone, Spot had to go back to Brooklyn and pretend "that kid from Manhattan" wasn't the love of his life that he held in his arms as he died.

Manhattan would have to go out there and clean up the mess of the strike like it wasn't the worst decision they had ever made. Jack would have to go out that door and tell Skip that the lodging house wasn't always like this. That she just lost another brother and it hadn't even been a month since they'd come home.

Jack had to tell Crutchie the boy who saved his life had just lost his own.

Jack had to tell Davey their little 'crusade' had its first casualty.

Jack had to tell Albert his best friend was gone and there was nothing left to do.

Jack had to tell the whole house that...by the terms of the city's newsies they had to replace him already.

Jack had to tell them all that their friend was dead and it was his fault and he was terrified and in pain and Jack didn't do anything to stop it and he lost a kid oh my god he lost a kid.

Manhattan was crumbling to the ground from inside one tiny room. And no one knew but the remaining two of a trio that once ruled the whole world, whether the world knew it or not. They were kings in a world full of helpless subjects, terrified of the ones who did not hesitate to show their power. There was no hesitation when it came to homeless kids trying to keep themselves and their families alive when they got in the way of someone more important. Someone who doesn't know what it's like to find your own family. To pick up your sisters and brothers off the ground all tell them you'll make it through together. To find someone who's willing to put their own life before yours without a moment of hesitation. When someone knows there's no reason to do something for you, but they do it anyway because you're family and family doesn't care about the consequences of sacrifices.

When hesitation was gone, that was how they found their family. When Jack and Davey didn't hesitate to go on strike on the off chance that their families might not starve to death. When the kids didn't hesitate to jump into the fight the moment the bulls laid a hand on one of their own. When Race didn't hesitate for a second to step in and take Crutchie's place in the refuge because even though he knew he might not have much time, however little he had, Crutchie had less and that was always a sacrifice he was willing to make.

They didn't know what to do. How could they? It wasn't like they wanted to think about it and they definitely didn't have a plan, but they had to do something. They couldn't sit around because the longer they just sat around, the longer Jack let the guilt eat him alive, and the longer Spot cursed himself for not joining the strike before it was too late.

They were safe to pretend it was all a dream in that little room. As long as they didn't look and kept their heads in their hands and let their own sobs drown out any sounds around them, then they were fine. The moment they stepped out that door, they were not.

When they stepped out that door, it was hell. They were out, they were vulnerable, and it was real. They couldn't make it real. Jack knew exactly what his boys would say the moment he stepped out that door because they would see exactly what had happened written all over his face and they wouldn't be able to hide it for a second.

Or maybe they wouldn't. Maybe they'd be just as broken as the two and maybe they would understand. Maybe they would hug him and tell him it was okay when they all knew it wasn't and they wouldn't let that guilt tear him up from the inside out.

Because their family grew together, slowly but surely, and when they broke, they all broke together.