#for both tangled and for willvis | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

miraclesnail · 4 years

Note

I remember telling you about the mice helper dream & Cinderella Will bit honestly Tangled but with willvis, charming theif Eugene=Travis,and Sunny Rapunzel with magic healing hair given by the sun=Will that is all (this is also my excuse to have Will with long hair)

Yes! Men with long hair are very nice!

ANd I’m sorry for taking so long to reply, exams and all ^^;

Tangled is actually one of my favorite Disney movies and idk I thought this up while studying for my exams last week. 5k fic under the cut!

child and animal abuse, anxiety, insecure!Will, animal death,

Changes: no friend like Pascal for Will, takes place during October and it’s snowing rather than in May, and I feel like Rapunzel and Will have two different mindsets when it comes to rule-breaking and what is acceptable so it won’t be 100% like the movie, sorry if that was what you wanted, Luke-Life ^^;

He’s born into the world, healthy and bright-eyed, snuggled in his mother’s arms and father’s embrace and brothers’ curiosity, all too soon taken away from the palace’s ground to an isolated tower.

He’s one and he’s walking by himself without help, waddling, clinging to his mother’s hands, to the furniture to the walls, walking in loops and loops and loops all over the tower, babbling halted at once under his mother’s annoyed groan.

He’s two and he can kinda/almost/nearly brush his hair on his own, but his hands are not wide enough to grab the handle and he so sorely wishes they are, just so Mother can stop doing this arduous task for him like she so often reminds him of.

He’s three and says his first sentence, the sentence his mother always sings while brushing his hair, flowers gleam and glow, let your power shine. It makes his mother particularly happy and he beams, wanting nothing more than his mother’s praises again.

He’s four and enamoured with singing, everything and anything, babbles and mumbles, fake and real words, but especially the song that makes his hair glows a pretty gold that chases away all the darkness.

He’s five and listens, raptured, as his mother tucks him in. “There are bad people out there, Will. People who will use your powers for evil. Promise me you will stay here. Promise me you won’t ever leave the tower,” she says and he smiles. He nods. He clings to his mother’s hand as she brushes his hair back and says, “I promise.”

He’s six and learning how to read. It’s really, really hard and mother gets increasingly more frustrated with him and starts calling him stupid, dimwit, slow. That part isn’t so fun, but what he is reading, what he is learning is fun and cool and he wants to read more! He wants to read everything!

He’s seven and learning how to sew, how to crochet, how to knit, how to draw, how to handwrite, how to play chess and checkers and poker and speed, how to make origami paper art, how to dance, how to wrap a bandage, how to write an autobiography, how to everything. He wants to learn how to do everything!

He’s eight and tries to be a good son, tries to cook dinner for his mother and him because he has nothing better to do and mother already does so much. But it all goes wrong. A fire starts. His mother appears from nowhere and puts it out and now he’s blinking back tears as mother yells at him, about how he nearly killed her, how he nearly burned his hair, how he hurt her and he’s sorry. He’s so sorry.

He’s nine and shaking as his mother yells at him and he doesn’t understand why she’s yelling, all he wanted was a book about history and no wait, he’s sorry, he didn’t mean to backtalk, don’t burn his books, wait wait wait wait don’t —

He’s ten and waving goodbye as his mother leaves to get food like she does everyday, leaving him alone with only pencils and brushes as company. He can’t… He doesn’t… No, shut up. You’re being ungrateful. But sometimes… sometimes he wonders if this is all his life will be.

He’s eleven and lonely.

He’s twelve and bored.

He’s thirteen and bored.

Fourteen. Bored.

Fifteen. Sixteen. Seventeen. Bored. Bored. Bored.

Then he’s eighteen and he’s panicking. For the first time ever, he is really, truly panicking.

It’s October and the first snow is falling. He had kept the window open because he doesn’t like the darkness and to his surprise and now growing horror, at the cave’s entrance is a man. Not well clothed for the winter storm but clothed enough for Will to know that is not his mother. His mother only has black cloaks and this man is wearing a white one. His mother has long, luscious black hair and this man has tufts of brown on his uncovered head.

Will watches, tucked under the balcony edge, as the man wander around in the snow slowly … slowly … slowly coming closer to his tower. What should he do? What should he do? Oh no, what should he do?

No, no. Calm down. Mother warned him about this. This was always a possibility. She had done her best but she couldn’t wipe the secrets of his hair’s magical powers from all of history. She said people might come for him and spins webs of lies to lure him out.

Today is that day.

Think, Will. The man hasn’t noticed you yet. Don’t let yourself be seen. You have time to think of what to do — oh god. The man is coming to the tower. He’s checking out the tower. He’s climbing the tower.

Oh no. Oh no. oh no oh no oh no ohnoohnoohnoohnonononononononoonnonono.

What should he do? What is he supposed to do? What did mother told him to do if this ever happened? Hide? Run? Scream? Hide and then escape? Drop an anvil down on the intruder’s head? The man is halfway up now. Make a decision. You’re running out of time.

Don’t panic, Will. Don’t panic.

Three fourths of the way up.

Time to panic. It’s time to panic.

He can hear the man now, his boots scruffing on the icy stone wall.

He’s out of time. Act now!

Just as the trespasser’s hand grips the window ledge, Will ducks into his closet… into… his very old… and very creaky closet. Not his brightest moment but there’s no time to find a new hiding spot. Hair bundled in one arm, Will closes the closet door with his free hand just as the man’s head pops up over the ledge.

There’s a grunt. A yelp as a body hits the floor. And joints cracking like someone is stretching.

The man is inside.

Oh my god someone is inside his tower.

He can’t breathe. He doesn’t dare breathe. He doesn’t dare move. Blood drums in his ears. His hands start to shake. Why didn’t he bring a weapon with him in here? His shearing scissors was right there. And so was his knitting sticks. Why didn’t he grab those? Why why why whywhywhyhwhywhywhy—

“Uh, hello?” the man says and Will nearly has a heart attack. He blindly thinks of what he has in his closet he can use as a weapon (hanger, scarves, shoes, a coat, nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing, nothingnothingnothing)

“Is anyone here?”

He hears boots scruff on his tile floor. The man is walking around now. Oh god please don’t check the closet. Please don’t. Please don’t. Please don’t. Please—

“I thought I saw someone up here. Sorry, I just have to ask a few questions and I’ll be on my way.”

Will swallows as he hears more boot scruffing.

“Please, this is kinda important. I’m at my wit’s end and I’m getting pretty desperate.”

His mind buzzes. The man… the man doesn’t sound like what mother described the outside world, greedy and mean and power hungry. The man almost sounds… scared, human even. No. This is a trick. It has to be a trick. They’re trying to lure him out. Don’t fall for their trick, Will. He’s smarter than that.

“Please is anyone here? Just a few questions, I swear. I’m not here to rob you or anything. I know it looks kinda bad, me entering without permission, but I promise it’s for a very good reason. Oh wow, I am definitely not making myself look any better.”

Will’s could feel his resolve quivering. The man sounds so sincere. He doesn’t sound like a bad person at all. Maybe mother was wrong and

A plate shatters and Will’s blood freezes over. Dangerous. He’s dangerous. You’re so stupid, Will, what were you about to do?

“Oh fudgesticks! I’m so sorry! I didn’t see that table there! Uh, um, hhhnn, I-I I’m really sorry. I….I … ”

The words tapered off, and Will presses himself closer to door, ears straining to pick up the words. He’s certain now. There’s pain laced in the man’s voice. Is he hurt? He is a bit too wordy to be hurt, but it could be shock making him act like this. No, Will. Think. This man climbed a 40 feet tower without help. He can’t be hurt.

“I…I… what am I doing? Look at yourself, Travis. Searching in random forests, breaking into random towers, and destroying private belongings. This is the quickest way to get arrested and hanged. Then who’s going to help Connor, huh? The town? I don’t think so. Mom and Dad? Not likely. You. Need. To. Get. Yourself. Together. And the first step in getting yourself together is self-reflection. And based on my self-reflection, I … I can’t believe I just entered into someone’s home without permission. Oh god, I really am getting desperate. What am I doing?”

Will bites his bottom lip. The man is hurt. Just not physically.

His hand presses against the door.

Don’t… whatever you’re about to do, don’t.

But the man is in pain. He can’t ignore someone in pain…

Mother will be furious.

Mother will understand. She’s always telling him everybody outside is horrible and selfish, but if he doesn’t help then doesn’t that make him a horrible person too? He’s supposed to be different.

He wants to be different.

What if it’s a trick? What if the man is lying?

Just a peek then. He’ll take a quick peek to see if the man is acting and Will pushes on the door just a tad. The hinges creak and he winces but there’s no voice, no boots scruffing, no noise and Will shifts to see through the crack.

The man — no, a boy, a boy around his age? — sits on the floor with his head buried in his hands, hunched over and defeated.

He doesn’t look dangerous, his mind supplies. He doesn’t seem to have any weapons on him. No knives, no machetes, no bows and arrows, but he does have a satchel and that could have a weapon. Other than that though, he seems safe. So what? You’re going to comfort a complete stranger who may, may not be here to kidnap you for your hair? Are you really that dumb? You’re really going to prove your mother right?

Will chews on his cheeks, stricken with doubt and paralyzed by his fear. Before he can decide on a course of action, the boy stands and Will can see his face for the first time.

He’s crying. The boy is crying and suddenly there’s fire running through his veins that’s not entirely panic.

Why are you crying? What’s wrong? I want to help you. Please don’t look so sad. Everything stays locked inside like it should, but Will hates how he couldn’t stop himself from pushing the closet door open more.

The boy runs a hand across his cheeks angrily, wiping away the tear tracks, before about-facing and walking to the open window.

He’s leaving now…

Why doesn’t that spark relief like it should?

Will tries to keep his eyes on the boy, but he lost his balance and now he’s falling out of his closet. His hands slap on the tile loudly to catch his fall and the boy definitely hears that. He spins around the same time Will raises his head and they lock eyes.

Fear, panic, self-hatred at his ineptness all course through him as he scrambles to his feet and backs away, tripping over his hair in the meanwhile. His mind is drawing a blank on what to say. He still doesn’t have a weapon. And when is Mother coming back?!

The boy stares at his face first and his hair second, and shit. Mother was right. The boy is here to steal his power for himself. He’s in trouble. Don’t go down without a fight. This is my hair. No one will use it unless I want them to.

The boy’s eyes widen in awe, but they’re more like those of a child — innocent and curious — with no hint of malice. He could be acting. He could be lying. Don’t be tricked.

“Woah. That’s… That’s a lot of hair. Way too much hair. How did you manage to fit all that inside that dinky, old closet? No, wait, how much shampoo and conditioner do you go through a month? Which company do you buy from? They probably don’t need any other customers thanks to you.”

“I don’t wash my hair.” Wow, his voice didn’t come out as shaky as he thought it would and wow, that was not what he meant to say.

The boy’s mouth turns upwards into an uncertain grin. “Uh, sure? Sorry, I came in uninvited. I did ask, but you didn’t say no.”

Will’s eyes narrows. “Asked? You didn’t asked. You just started climbing.”

“Well, at the bottom, I shouted if I could come up and you didn’t say no so…”

He did? Will wracks his brain, but he can’t remember much due to his panic. Don’t take his word for it.

Will takes a deep breath and steels himself. Don’t be afraid. “What do you want?”

The boy smiles wider, but still unsure. “Hi, my name is Travis.” And Travis holds out a hand for some reason.

Will stiffens, but the hand just remains between them, increasingly becoming more and more awkward until the hand drops back down to Travis’s side.

Travis coughs. “Okay, um, well, I was wondering if you have seen this yellow, glowing flower. It’s about yay big and this long and — ah, let me pull up a picture.” Travis is reaching into his satchel and Will’s breathing quickens. Blood roars in his ears. He sidesteps to the stool where he keeps his shearing scissors. When Travis pulls his hand out of his bag, Will pulls his scissors with him too and I’m not scared. I’m not scared. I’m not scared. I’m not scared. I’m not—

“Have you seen this flower?”

Travis is holding an unfurled scroll. Will blinks at the item, looking back to Travis, before going to the scroll again. Is he really not here for my hair?

Travis is patient as Will squints at the drawing on the parchment. It’s a flower with a great semblance to lilies, but nothing like the flowers his mother brings back with her. He shakes his head and the way Travis’s face fell hurts him more than he expected. He’s disappointed. You disappointed him. All our fault. All your fault.

“Oh, I see. I figured. That’s what most people say too. I’ll get out of your home now I guess.” And Travis is turning his back on him, defeated again.

And Will hates that. He can’t stand to see that.

“Wait.”

Wait? No! Leave! Go! Mother is going to kill him if she comes back to find him here!

Travis pauses and glances over his shoulder with eyes that’s so unfairly sad. Or maybe it’s just you’re so unfathomably weak, Will.

“My mother…” Will swallows, Stop, you can still stop now, and wets his mouth before proceeding. “My mother travels a lot. She might have seen the flower.”

It’s like flicking a switch. Travis stops hunching. The smile that follows is enough to blind him. Travis bounds back to him, laughing and smiling so hard it’s enough for Will to smile too.

“Really? This is incredible! You’re literally the first person I met who helped me! When can I meet her? Is she here right now?”

He talks fast, Will thinks. Because he has something to hide. Will slowly processes the barrage of questions and formulates the answer in his head. “She’s out right now. She doesn’t really like visitors,” he answers carefully.

Travis nods. “Oh yeah, I totally get it. Stranger danger, you know. All of that.”

“I don’t think you get it. You broke into my home,” Will deadpans and Travis frowns.

“Correction. Breaking in requires me unlocking a door or window. Your window, however, was wide open. So technically… I wasn’t breaking in.” Travis says with a beaming smile, shrugging. It’s hard to believe just moments ago, this guy was crying.

Think, Will. This guy can act. He’s tricking you. Push him out of the tower.

Will swallows and slips his scissors into pockets. “You should leave before my mother comes back.”

Again, that crestfallen face. Will fights the urge to change his mind. “I’ll ask her tonight. Let me look at it again and around midnight, you can come—”

“Ohhhhh, Will!”

No.

“Let down your hair!”

No! It’s too early! Why is she back so early?

“Is that her?” Travis asks excitedly. “I can talk with her now!”

Travis starts to run towards the window and without thinking, Will grabs Travis’s clothed wrist and pulls him back. Travis yelps and loses his balance. Will catches him, but he didn’t let go of the wrist and Travis didn’t pull away.

Instead Travis turns around slowly, delicately and his face is far too worried for Will’s liking.

“You can’t talk with her. She… She doesn’t— ” His mother’s enraged face from seven years ago pops into mind, her pulling the cat out of his arms, her hurling the cat out the window, Ms. Fluffy’s screeching ending abruptly, and his mother brushing his tears aside with a thumb and murmuring, I had to do it, Will. That cat could have been a spy. You were in danger, and even though he understands, it hurts all the same.

Will closes his eyes and shakes his head. Get over it, Will. It’s been years.

When he opens his eyes again, he finds Travis no longer smiling.

“I’m fine,” he continues, “My mother really don’t like strangers. Go hide in my room and don’t let her know you’re here. It’s at the very top of the stairs.”

When Travis hesitates, Will pushes him forward and hissing to go. Travis looks back one more time before rushing off and Will can’t help but notice that as he’s running up the wooden staircase, his steps are silent.

He can’t dwell on that for too long. Mother is probably getting antsy and — his excuse. What is his excuse for taking so long? Come on, Will. Think. Think. Think. Think.

“Will? Are you alright?” his mother shouts, and the lack of her usual casualness tells him she’s suspicious. He can’t waste any time. Lie on the spot. You can do it, Will.

“Coming,” Will shouts, before running to the window ledge. He tosses his hair over the hook and lets his hair drop to the ground. As soon as mother looped his hair and stepped on, Will pulls slowly, praying Travis has now hidden himself.

He pulls and pulls and pulls, just like he does everyday. He pulls and pulls and pulls, praying he’s close now just like he does every day.

A few tugs and this arduous task will finally be over.

few. More. Tugs.

A few more. Tugs.

Just. A. Few More.

Almost there.

He can see the curly hair of his mother. He can see her forehead now. Her neck. The cloak.

Almost.

Oh god.

He does this everyday. Why doesn’t it become easier?

When mother finally stepped onto the balcony, Will lets go of his hair and pants from the exertion. His arms burn, his shoulders ache, and seriously? Why hasn’t he built up muscle mass from this yet?

“Oh, Will,” mother says, sweeping her arms out of her cloak for a hug, “What took you so long? Your mummy was getting cold.”

“Sorry,” he gasps, stepping forward to hug her back, “I was— I was— I was—” THINK, WILL! “Napping. I was napping.”

Will winces at his lie, but his mother has already swept past him to hang up her cloak. “No amount of sleep is ever going to get rid of those eyebags, my dear. You look positively horrendous. I’m joking, Will. I ‘wuv you so very much.”

A hand is pinching his cheeks way too hard and it leaves just as abruptly. Will rubs his cheeks, wincing as he repeats back, “I love you too, mother.”

As per usual, his mother goes straight to the mirror as he takes her picnic basket to the dining table to sort through the groceries. It’s a lot of vegetables, as to be expected. Plus some of the color pencils and paint he asked for. She didn’t have to get you these but she did. Because she loves you and look at you here, disobeying her wishes and lying straight to her face. You’re such a great person.

A hand touches his shoulder and Will jumps, spinning around to find Mother no longer by the mirror but behind him and looking very, very concerned.

“Yes, mother?” he says, cursing the way his voice squeaks.

His mother’s eyes narrow. “I was calling you, Will.”

“You were? Why? What’s the matter? How can I help you?” shut up shut up SHUT UP SHUT UP. You’re making it so much worse!

“I was going to ask you to sing for me.”

“Sure! I can do that right now!”

And Mother frowns. “But now I think you’re hiding something from me.”

She’s on to him. It’s all over. She’s going to find Travis. She’s going to toss him out the tower. He’s going to die. And it will be because of him.

“Will?”

Will snaps to attention and smiles wider, brighter, and shakes his head. “Me? Hide something from you? No! Never! I’m always h-honest with you, mother!”

Mother crosses her arms. “Will.”

“Really! I’m telling the tr-truth.”

“Will.”

And Will’s heart quickens at the rise in her tone. He walks to the other side of the room to put the fruits away. “No, really. I’m not hiding anything.”

“Will.”

He shoves the apples into the basket with the other apples. “Just go sit down and I’ll be right over.”

“Will.”

He hangs the banana up on the rack, unable to keep his hands from twitching. “Sorry, if my voice is scratchy. I was singing earlier and I may have had a little too much fun.”

“Will.”

He tries to rearrange the fruits section but just knocks over the landscape portrait he drew last month. “My bad. Sorry. You know how I am. I’m so clumsy and ahahahaha!”

“Will!”

And WIll freezes. His cheeks flare. He takes a deep breath before turning around to his scowling mother.

“You’re lying to me.”

His head buzzes.

No, I’m not.

His head lowers. “Yes, I am. I’m sorry.”

His mother strides forward and Will flinches, wanting nothing more to pull back but you did this. You dug your own grave when you hide the man now lay in it.

A hand cups his cheek while the other pats his head. When his mother speaks, it’s soft and kind, not brash like he expected it to be.

“Oh, Will. You can tell me anything. You know that.”

I do. I do. But I’m sorry. I’m sorry I can’t tell you this.

“What are you hiding from me?”

“I— I — I—” His eyes dart around the room, searching for something, anything, to save him.

The hand on his cheek tightens. “Will? What are you hiding?” Now that tone isn’t too happy and his mind is blanking. He can’t think of anything to say but the truth. But he can’t just say the truth. There’s no way out. She’ll hurt him. All for the better. Where are the solutions? There’s no solutions. He doesn’t want anyone to be hurt. Should have thought of that earlier. Think!

Then out of the corner of his eyes, he sees Travis’s face. He sees Travis’s face. Peeking from his room. And holy shit, why isn’t he HIDING?!

“Will! Stop thinking and tell me!” his mother yells and he points towards his room by mistake. Travis ducks back inside, but it’s too late. The curtains shifts from his actions and mother saw that. Will watches the cogs turn in his mother’s head. He watches her expression turn ice-cold, murderous even. He watches her pull a dagger from her belt. And he watches her climb the stairs.

He starts to follow, but a hand and a glare stops him.

‘Stay here,’ she mouths and Will watches helpless as mother tiptoes up the stairs. She isn’t as silent as Travis but still quiet enough. He hopes its enough to warn Travis — wait, Travis is a home intruder. Why is he praying for his safety?

On the last step, it creaks loudly and mother makes a face. She grips her knife tighter and faster then he thinks possible, she darts inside.

He stops breathing, waiting, waiting… waiting for what? A fight? Travis screaming in pain? His mother yelling? Travis running out? Instead all he has is silence and it’s awful, heart-stopping even. Eons must have passed before the curtains is pushed aside and his mother steps out, her knife still glistering white.

She holds up a … a… a … is that a tortoise? Oh no, is that Travis’s pet?

Mother puts a hand on her waist. “Will, what is this?” she asks in contempt.

“ A tortoise,” he squeaks, heart pounding.

“Yes I see that. I’m not blind, but how did it got inside the tower?” Mother says, rolling her eyes.

“I saw it in the gr-grass, snow I mean! I was worried it was lost and that it might die so… so I let down my hair. it grabbed on and I… I…” Will trails off, tears filling his eyes as his mother is stepping down the stairs and going to the window. She’s going to toss the tortoise out the window, he realizes. She’s going to kill it.

“I thought we talked about this, WIll. You can’t bring in stray animals. They could be spies. They could relay information to your enemies. And when they come here, I would have to take care of it and mummy would get hurt, all because you had to be selfish. Do you understand?”

All your fault… tell her… Travis is still here… but…but Travis haven’t done anything wrong. Travis didn’t hurt him or mother.

He nods and watches with clenched hands as his mother walks to the window, undo the latches, and hurls the tortoise out.

The window is pulled shut.

Mother tries to comfort him, spinning sweet words of how it was all for him (it’s your fault) and how she didn’t want to do this (you force her to) and how she didn’t have a choice (she loves you).

His mother left for her private quarters, the room under the staircase, leaving him alone. As soon as her door shuts, Will lunges for the balcony and opens the window. He doesn’t know why he checks. Tortoises can’t fly, but maybe… maybe this one can! Maybe… maybe… please, maybe. There’s no bloody splat on the snow. Maybe! Maybe maybe maybe! Maybe this tortoise can—

“Oh boy, was that intense,” a boy’s voice says directly behind him and Will yelps, spinning around to find Travis out in the open and no no no no no.

“You have to hide!” he hisses, pushing Travis back up the stairs and glancing at his mother’s still closed door. Any moment, she can come back out and then Travis would … would… die? Would his mother kill another human? She killed an animal without remorse. She can kill a human.

Travis plants his feet. “I have to check on Hermes.”

Will pauses. “Hermes?”

Travis smiles and, it’s too relaxed, too lax for this situation. “My pet tortoise your dear mother tossed out the window.”

Tears brim in his eyes. If Travis got upset about having to leave and come back later, he can’t imagine what his reaction will be now. You should have stopped mother. You should have tried rather than just stand there and let it happen. There’s no excuses for what just happen.

“I… I’m sorry.” Why is his voice hiccuping? Stop that. Mother hates it when you do that. Travis will too. Stop, stop, stop, why won’t it stop? “I’m sorry I killed your tortoise. I’m sorry I couldn’t save him. I’m sorry I—”

“Hey,” Travis says softly and there’s hands on his shoulder — the first person other than mother to ever touch him and it’s gentle, way more gentle than any of mother’s affection and just as comforting.

“It’s okay. Look at me. You didn’t — your mother didn’t kill him. I made Hermes a little parachute. Here, follow me to the window.” And Travis is holding his hand now, leading him to the balcony and pointing to the ground. “Do you see? The parachute is white so it kinda blends in with the snow, but can you see where the color is offset by a little bit?”

Will can see it and a modicum of relief fills him. It’s quickly overshadowed though by his littlest knowledge of animal welfare.

“How long can tortoises stay in the snow? They’re desert creatures, aren’t they” Will whispers, watching the tortoises land safely on the snow. Immediately, the tortoise stands and burrows into the parachute.

Travis shrugs.

“I don’t know. Probably not that long, but Hermes is a fighter. Did you know this little guy survived a raven trying to eat him? But, yeah, the cold can’t be good for him. I’m going to go fetch him right now. Also I can’t help but notice that you, uh, aren’t very good at lying. Your fumbling back there almost made me weep,” Travis smirks, running a hand through his hair, still looking entirely too much at ease in spite of the situation.

“I-I-I never had a need to lie!” he hisses, hating how his cheeks flare and his insides burn.

Travis chuckles and step onto the balcony, pulling out two ice picks from his satchel. Weapons. He had weapons. But he didn’t use them.

“You should learn how to lie. Lying is very useful. It has gotten me out of many situations before.”

“I don’t need to get out of situations.”

“Then what was that fight just now with your mother?”

“That wasn’t… that isn’t… that’s not our norm,” Will stammers, “Normally I tell her everything. There’s never been any need for me to lie or hide secrets.”

Travis pauses, eyes raised to meet his. “Because… you’re always here?”

“Yes.”

“She sure… have a tight leash on you,” Travis says with a raised eyebrow. It takes maybe ten seconds for Will to recognize that as worry. Travis is worried for him. They barely know each other and someone is worried for him.

Is this warmth filling his chest normal?

Unconsciously, Will pushes a hand through his hair. “She has reasons to.”

“Right. I bet she does.” Travis doesn’t sound convinced as he digs his ice picks into the stone walls and situates himself against the stone, but he’s not climbing down yet. Instead Travis asks, “When should I come back?”

“You want to come back?” Will says flabbergasted, “Even with what just happened with my mother and your tortoise?”

Travis shrugs, a really unsafe move, and grins. “Well, yeah. I need you to ask about the flower and also you’re really fun to talk too, so when can I come back?”

Will wracks his brain. His mother’s bedtime varies. Sometimes she’s in bed before midnight. Sometimes she’s in bed by 4 in the morning. And — wait, he said I was fun to talk to? He said I was FUN to talk to?! Fun? FUN!

Travis’s foot slips. Will lunges for him, but Travis didn’t fall any further than a few inches. And remarkably, Travis laughs, quietly, but still a laugh and it’s such a sweet sound, so free-spirited, so carefree, despite being 40 feet above the ground.

“I’ll come back tomorrow. Does an hour earlier work?”

“Come back two hours earlier, at noon. My mother usually leaves by eleven.” What are you doing?

Travis smiles and winks. “See you then. Learn to lie and live a little until then.”

And Will watches Travis climbs down, slipping sometimes but never stopping to catch his breath. He waves from the bottom and Will waves back. Travis picks up Hermes, tucks the tortoise into his cloak, and at the cave entrance, waved one more time before disappearing.

The snow covers his tracks in minutes and just like that, it’s like nobody was ever there.

Will giggles. He laughs. He bellows into his empty tower, not believing this just happen, not believing he made contact with the outside world, not believing his mother was wrong about the world, not believing he lied to his mother for the first time ever, not believing this actually slipped past his ever diligent mother, and not believing this is going to happen again.

He’s 18 when he met Travis.

He’s 18 when this all started.

He’s 18 when everything changed.

This is how his life began.

#travis stoll #will solace #willvis #fanfiction #tangled AU #I'm weak #for both tangled and for willvis #:(#also not really edited yet ^^; sorry

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