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coffehbeans · 2 months

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Gt WAC Day 23

"A story with a nonhuman/ monstrous character"

THIS, this was a challenge to write ahsushus I'm so nervous cause it took me SO long and as per usual I'm still unsure about it.

This story is based on a dream I had a month ago, I was writing it since then so i could post it on day 23 of gtwac. So yep, new character. It's different from what I've wrote so far, but I hope you guys enjoy it!

Depending on the reception of this story I will continue it, but fair warning that it'll not be a happy one (IF I continue it).

I'm not sure if I'll rate this chapter in particular as above PG-13, but general warning for overall spooky, unsettling vibes.

Enjoy!

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Edward Becker has not seen his wife in seven years.

People called him crazy for waiting for her return. "She's done for", someone mentioned. "Why don't you find another one?", someone suggested, all falling in deaf ears as every single day, he'd go back from work, sit by the porch, and wait for her until the sun went down. A useless effort, as they said, a delusional hope, or the sign of going mad. But for Edward, it was his strength. The only support for his failed attempts at finding her. His last pillar of sanity that made him get up every morning and wait for her until nightfall. His wife would come back, like she always did. She would come back to his open arms, embrace him gently like she used to, cover him with kisses as he pulled her close. They would giggle and enter their home, enjoy a nice meal they cooked together, talking about their day during dinner, about plans for rebuilding their house, plans for a new job he wanted to get, plans about their future children. When night falls, they would sleep holding each other tight, relishing in their shared warmth.

All he had to do was wait for her by the porch.

...

One day, she did comeback.

It was past midnight. So dark and cold outside, most animals have gone to sleep, making the woods around his remote home dead silent. The cows and chickens of his small farm uttered no sound as they slept, and the wind billowed the wheat fields outside, his plain wooden house colored pitch black by the late-night sky. It was a weathered home, well kept indoors but in need of repairs, with ripped, dingy furniture and leaks on the roof. It was protected by a measly three-feet-tall fence that threatened to fall apart, and over the backyard, where the overgrown grass was blown by the wind, laid a simple wooden shed meant for storing farming equipment. Tossing and turning on his bed, Edward sat up with a jolt, sweat dripping on his face as anxiety threatened to eat him whole. He sighed, holding his face in his trembling hands, and letting out a shaky breath. He couldn't fall asleep in those nights, where the memory of Cordelia haunted his mind in his dreams, ones where she wore desperate expressions as she's dragged away from him by detached, withered hands, and no matter how much he ran, he didn't reach her. Nightmares where he found her dead body, pale and laying limp, lifeless eyes staring at him. Nightmares where he found her hurt, bleeding and beaten up, face covered by bruises – in most nights, those visions would plague him.

With a shiver, Edward got up, lighting up the oil lantern. He trudged for the kitchen, on his way to do the same as usual: put some water over the wood burning stove, boil it, try this new tea his friend had brought for him, and drink it aimlessly, hoping in vain for sleep to come back.

He sluggishly put wood pieces inside the firebox, reaching a hand for the lighter on the table. A flicker, two, and the fire was lit. He put the kettle over the stove with a clank, and stared at it blankly, waiting for bubbles to form. The house was pitch black, only the flickering flames of the stove and the lamp’s dim glow illuminated the room.

A loud sizzling of the kettle snapped Edward out of his torpor as the water boiled. He picked the hot handle, feeling its heat burning his skin, lifted it from the fire and — THUMP. A loud thud by the window behind him sent him jumping, fumbling with the kettle in his hands, heartbeat skyrocketing. He banged it on the table. Hot droplets prickled his hand. He turned around with rapid breaths. A blurred shadow dashed away from the window, sending a cold chill down his spine, the wind howling and heavy thuds echoing outside the house’s walls. Rhythmical and constant. Pounding on the ground. Edward sucked in a breath, head ringing against his skull. He stomped towards the cabinet containing his shotgun. There were thieves? In the middle of the night? Were they finally coming to steal a poor and mad man's house? He wouldn't allow it.

He can’t die yet. Not until Cordelia comes back to him.

Loading the gun with precise clicks, Edward aimed it at the window, darting his aim from window to window until he reached the door, the last place he heard the strange sound. With trembling hands over the trigger, his eyes focused on an invisible target. He held his breath, standing still. Not a single sound. Ears trained on any disturbance. THUMP. THUMP. A shadow passed by the window to his right. BANG!

He twisted his body and shot, missing the shadow by an inch.

"W-who's there!?" He shouted in a trepid tone.

No answer. Not even a sound. Maybe the sound of breathing. He couldn't tell. He couldn't tell if it was someone's breathing or his own.

The “sshhhs” and “thuds” echoed around him, heading towards the backyard. Edward adjusted the position of the gun in his arms.

He took a deep breath.

Edward ran to the back door and slammed it open with a kick, pointing the trembling shotgun towards the field. The sky was pitch-black outside, engulfing the horizon with its inky tint, and the stars didn't dare approach the darkness. The faint moonlight was partially obscured by the clouds, its glow too weak to lighten the outdoors. He huffed, feeling the weight of his gun, and headed further into the backyard with measured steps. His shoes crunched the grass below, the dry air amplifying the sound of his stride. Deadly silence filled the field. A puff of smoke left his nostrils as warm exhale met with the frigid air. Tightening the grip around the gun, he aimed it at the decrepit shed. Waiting for movement. Eyes trained forward. The dark blur of a large silhouette shifted behind it.

BANG.

He shot. Once. Twice. The sound of the bullets making his ears ring, metal creating holes in the aged wood. A loud, high-pitched, and definitely human scream cried behind it.

He stopped shooting, heart leaping to his throat. A weight plunked in his insides, making him loose the tight grip on his gun. Behind the shed, he heard it. A gasp. A whimper. A sob. Clearly feminine. Edward lowered the gun, furrowing his brows as the cries made a lump form inside his throat. A trick to let his guard down? A trap? It must be a trick for sure. No way an innocent person would show up in the middle of the night. No, there's no way. Goosebumps trailed down his back as the cries reached his ears. Why was there even someonehere?

The sobbing got louder, echoing in the cold, dark night. He shivered when the shrill voice reverberated in his ears, an uncomfortable knot twisting in his stomach at the thought he could have shot an innocent woman.

"Who... Who's there?" He repeated, cautious this time, as if talking to a cowering animal.

The sobs dwindled little by little. He didn't dare move. The figure was hidden behind the shed, not even the faint moonlight giving a glimpse of its appearance.

Finally, he heard it: that feminine voice. Frail, faint, and so utterly scared.

Its familiarity so potent, something clogged in his throat.

"... Ed..."

That voice. The voice he waited for so many years by the porch. The voice he dreamed of in his sleep. Screaming. Crying for help. Calling for his name.

"... Edward..."

The same voice that recited sweet words of so much care, so much love and adoration to him every day. The voice that followed a gentle embrace, the smell of perfume and a prolonged kiss. The same voice that said "I do" by the altar over 12 years ago, that whispered close to his ear, giggling with joy. The voice that chatted to him relentlessly, which he couldn't get enough of. The voice that laughed, cried, shouted, only to say sweet words of gentle love again. That melodic yet striking voice. Edward didn't notice the tears falling from his face. Didn't notice the gun falling to the ground. Didn't notice his feet moving on his own, towards the shed, towards the faint possibility that she was behind it. He stumbled faster towards it, raising a trembling hand. "C-Cordelia?!" "NO! DON'T COME CLOSER!" The powerful shout made him stop dead on his tracks, ears complaining from its sheer force. He never heard his wife sound so... Desperate. In panic. "... H-honey...?" "Pl-please... D-don't come closer yet." She said, her voice returning to its normal pitch, but shaking with trepidation.

"W-what's wrong...? Did I –"

Then he remembered it. The gun. The shootings. The fact he almost killed his own wife. His heart sank, face turning pale, his voice hoarse.

"Oh God. It's - it's really you, it was you and I almost, I-I a-almost... A-are you hurt? Are you bleeding? I –"

Edward took more shaking steps towards it, the nightmare of his dead wife still clear in his mind.

"NO!" - He stopped again. - "I-I'm fine! I'm not hurt, you d-didn’t hit me."

Edward covered his face with a hand and stopped himself from wanting to vomit.

"Cordelia I'm- ... I-I'm so, so sorry I thought it was a thief, I..."

He lowered his head, and took a shaky breath.

"Am I going crazy? Is – is it r-really you?! I, I waited for s-so long – I thought you were dead —!"

Tears poured desperately from Edward's eyes, his attempts to stop his sobs coming in vain. He hiccupped under his cries, breathing rapidly as reality came crashing down and years of restrained emotion leaked out. The voice sounded just like her. The voice could really be her.

‘Then, if it’s her, why is she hiding?’

"Please, d-dear, if it's really you..." - he whispered, his voice croaky and dry. Tears continued to fall.

"Please let me see you..." The shed grew eerily silent. Cold air made him quiver. A silent second spread throughout the night, the sounds of his sobs echoing through the pitch-black darkness. "I... I can't."

She whispered back in a shaky voice. Unsure. Afraid. Edward raised his head, glancing to the fallen gun on the grass, a realization hitting deep inside his stomach. "Are you scared of me...?" A pause. He heard her sucking in a breath. A long, deep exhale was carried by the wind. Her voice faint and trembling. "N-no... Dear, I... I'm not scared of you." The shed's wood creaked, like something was gripping it and scratching it down. "...I'm scared of myself." Edward's guilty expression changed to confusion. He furrowed his brows. A part of him wanted to giggle. His adorable wife, scared of herself? Why? She always had some impatience and anger she was discontent about, but even so... That made no sense. The way she acted, hiding from him, made no sense. Another part of Edward felt an odd sense of dread. As if something was not right. "Honey, why are you hiding from me? I... I waited for so long... I-I searched everywhere for you, and when I couldn't find anything, I waited. And when I couldn't wait anymore, I prayed. I hoped. I-I never paid attention to what the others said, even if they called me crazy." He took a step towards the shed. She sucked in a breath. Edward didn't notice more tears started to pour from his face. "And it's you, r-right? It's you who's behind here, right? Alive and well? Please dear... Don't let me think I've gone crazy!" He took another step closer. Then another. She whimpered behind the decrepit barn. Edward's vision was blurry from his own tears, but he didn't care anymore. He just needed to see her, even if it wasn't true. Even if he died.

Gosh, he just wanted to see her.

"Honey, DON'T!" The sheer loudness of her rigid voice made him stop dead on his tracks again. He opened his mouth, ready to protest, but Cordelia interrupted him.

"It's n-not... It's not that I'm not alive and well, Edward..." "So why are y-"

"...I-it's that I don't know what I am anymore..." He paused. That uneasy sense of dread sank heavier inside him. "What...? Cordelia, what do you mean-" "If I," – She interrupted, taking a deep breath. – "If I really come out of this shed, Will you promise, promise me that you will not run?" A shiver ran down his spine. Heartbeat rocked harder against his chest. Something's not right. Something's clearly not right. But Edward planted his feet firmly on the ground. It was his wife's voice. He lost her seven years ago. He doesn't know what happened to her in that time. She could be different from how she looked back then, hurt and bruised from whatever abuse they inflicted on her. Rage bubbled up inside him. Whoever did anything to her, he would kill them in cold blood. They would pay for taking her away from him. Being hurt and disfigured by her captors… That was probably what Cordelia meant.

There was no need for him to feel so nervous.

"You know I love you, dear... No matter what. You know I'd never run away from you... So why would you even ask that?"

"Please, Edward." She said louder than he expected. Desperate. Too desperate. "Please promise you won't run." The moonlight cast over the shed, the little gaps between the wooden plates showing a faint shadow behind it. A hulking mass, piled up like a bundle of hay, a head peeking out of the lump as if there was no body attached to it. Edward's eyes widened, heart drumming faster in his chest. Cold sweat scurried down his forehead. 'What is that?' And yet, he couldn't deny the pleading voice of his wife, sounding exactly as she did seven years ago. It couldn't possibly not be her. Something grave must have happened when she was gone, and that's why she was so afraid. Yes, that's most likely it.

So Edward gulped his nervousness down, and wiped the sweat from his face.

"Honey... I promise I won't run away from you... I would never run away from you."

A light, quiet wail whispered in the cold night, slowly dwindling down. A sniff sounded behind the shed. A long inhale and exhale belonging to powerful lungs.

Silence.

"... Alright."

And the heavy sound of something dragging over the earth.

A form encased in shadow peeked from the wooden walls over fourteen feet above him. Edward took a while to notice the large silhouette was a head. His wife's head. It was truly, truly her! Looking just like he remembered and – pale. So sickeningly pale. A dark and somber expression covered her face. Her eyes were baggy and downcast, white lips trembling. But more importantly, he couldn't understand why she has so high up.

"P-please..." - she uttered, almost to herself. - Please don't run..." Gargantuan claws appeared next to her, black, sharp nails curling over the creaking wood. A long, bony hand covered by charcoal scales. His wife pressed her eyes firmly shut. Edward took a step back, his mouth going dry. The sinking feeling in his stomach cut deeper. And then he saw why she was so high up.

The rest of her appeared under the pale moonlight, her form triple of a human size. A gigantic torso loomed over him like a small tree, covering him in her shadow. She wore nothing on her, long, mahogany hair covering her chest.

Then he looked down.

Black and yellow scales jutted out of her skin, covering her lower half, legs attached together in a single, cylindrical body that twitched and writhed as it came closer. The thick tail uncoiled behind the shed, extending further and further to Edward's right, so much so it could envelop around him if it moved. With loud thumps, Cordelia's massive form fell on the ground, hair obscuring her downcast face. Black talons gripped the soil as she pushed herself forward. Rough and coarse scales scraping against the earth as the hulking, round tail crunched the grass and lugged over it like a corpse dragging on the dirt. Rocks broke with a sickening "crunch" under its weight.

Edward's face contorted in shock. He took one, two steps back, eyes widening in horror, shaken to the core as his heart jumped in his throat. Pounding harder against his ribcage.

It was a gargantuan something, half snake, half something that resembled human. Resembled his wife. He mumbled incomprehensibly. Primal fear took over him. A crying, shaky voice resounded from the creature's mouth. A clawed hand the size of his head reaching out to him. "P-please... Edward..." He ran. He screamed bloody murder and dashed back towards his house, hearing it holler back his name. Tears fell from his eyes, desperation taking hold of his body. A deafening sound of thumps and scratches came from behind him, growing closer, coming for him.

"WAIT–!" Tha thing can’t be his wife. Whatever it was it could not be his wife. It shouldn't be his wife. It shouldn't be human. He ran through the house's corridors, left became right and up became down and the crunches behind him grew louder and louder and he had to hide, he had to hide but there was nothing in his room aside from the cold, old bed so he bolted, ran and ducked under it, mumbling shaky prayers, begging to heavens for his life. Begging that he was hallucinating. To not die to someone who looked so much like her.

That couldn't be real. He heaved. It can't be real, can't be real can't be real it can’t – He's gone crazy. Yes, that must be it. He's finally gone mad and that’s why.

But the cracks of the floorboards under the creature's weight sounded far too real for him to doubt. The scratching of the claws over the ground as it dragged its gargantuan body caused a fear too intense for him to doubt. The cracking of the walls as it squeezed itself inside felt too real for him to doubt. Edward clamped his mouth shut with a shaking hand, curling up under the bed and closing his eyes tight. If he remained immovable, if he remained silent, maybe it wouldn't find him. Maybe he wouldn't die. He gulped down a whimper that threatened to escape from his throat. Cordelia's voice resonated from the creature's mouth again. Weak, raspy, and grieving. It was a strategy to lure him out. Yes. That was probably it. It couldn't possibly be something else. Because that huge monster with crude scales couldn't be his wife, with soft skin and flowing hair, with her dress that billowed in the wind when they walked over green fields together. No. That thing could not be her. "Edward... Please, I-I..." She whispered under her heavy sobs. Loud thumps echoed outside the room. "I won't hurt you... Please believe me!"

The sobs that sounded so much like her broke his heart in half. But he remembered to what it belonged to. He would not fall for it. Even if he wanted to scream for help, knowing that no one would come. Even if a part of him wanted nothing more than believe it was all true and run towards its scaly arms. He gulped down his screams of fear, and remained silent. Frozen. Unmoving. He would not fall for it

The scrapes and scratches got louder. Scales hissed over the floorboards that chirred in protest.

"I'm not a monster. I'm not –" A claw unhinged itself from the floor and the creature raised itself up. A loud bump thundered on the ceiling, a shocked gasp echoed in the dry air. Edward clutched his eyes shut. Dust and debris fell on the ground. The monster laid down again, a heavy bang thundering in the silent house. The floorboards groaned as it settled on the ground.

"If you... If you look at me like that again, I-I think I'll go crazy... I can't stand it!"

Loud sobs filled the house. Edward flinched and clutched his eyes shut, breathing heavily, curling further inside himself. He resisted the urge to break down into tears.

The dragging and shuffling got heavier. The floorboards of his bedroom, the ones he was currently laid over, creaked in complaint of the weight being placed upon them. The sound got louder. Closer.

It was entering his room.

He sucked in a quivering gasp. Heart threatening to escape his throat, he shook as if the room was freezing cold, tears cascading down his face at the thought that he really could die now. He would die. He would die. Maybe he should. Maybe she should just end him.

He saw it. The black and yellow scales, shimmering as it moved. The snake body crawling as it reached the door, so massive it got stuck in the door frame. A push or two and it got free, the walls around it cracked, dust fell around him and a crunching sound reverberated in the room. Black claws scraped the ground, wood screeching in the deafening silence. A towering human body, pale torso as tall as him, laid down, auburn locks of hair trailing on the floor. The face obscured by its raised head.

It stopped moving. He looked at its skin with heaving breaths and widened eyes.

They remained still for what felt like an eternity. The only sound was his own heartbeat, his breathing and the creature's. The tail twitched and thumped against the walls with a loud noise. He flinched as his eyes darted back and forth, hearing the friction of scales against wood.

Silence.

She sniffed. And spoke first. "... When the civil war happened, we hid here once. You would wrap your arms around me, and we'd curl up together under the bed, praying that it'd protect us." – she whispered.

"– But even when I cried, even when we thought we would die, I still felt safe with you. Do you remember that, dear…?"

The sorrowful voice spoke of memories that a monster should not have. Edward felt cold. So cold, alone under that bed.

He closed his eyes tightly shut. Maybe, after a while, he wouldn't see her when he opened them. Hugging himself, Edward shuddered as a shiver crawled up his spine. Maybe he could still return to a normal life, where he didn’t hallucinate. Maybe he could still pretend none of this happened.

There was a shifting sound, and he sucked in a trepid breath. A thud, right in front of him. With his lips trembling, and teeth grinding against each other, Edward wondered if his death would be quick. But time stretched as the room fell into stifling silence, the monster's breathing ruffling on his face. It was right in front of him. He knew. He knew that he should just keep his eyes closed, waiting for his death. He knew that. His heart hurt inside his ribcage from pounding so hard, and his stomach sank lower with fear. He should close his eyes more firmly. He should just wait a while longer.

But instead, he opened them.

Her face. Her same crying face, if not for the magnified size and its greyish blue eyes with slitted pupils. A shadow of what once was her. His wife. The one he waited for so long. The one he imagined walking back to him as he sat by that porch every day. It did come back, as a monster, a ghost ready to haunt him, blame him for the pathetic man that he was, for not being able to prevent her from going missing. A reflection of what he lost. Evidence of his cowardice. A sign that he has gone mad.

That's what he wanted to believe.

But the face that resembled his wife so faithfully mirrored his expression of dread and grief. It covered itself in such humanity, with the exhausted eyes dripping with tears. With the mouth, when its pale lips parted as it sucked in a shaky breath, even if it revealed sharp teeth underneath. With its thick, auburn hair as it clung to her sweating face. It looked so distinctly human. So distinctly real. Not at all like a ghost. Not at all like a monster out to hunt him.

In that closeup by the gap under the bed, it just looked like his wife.

Edward’s breathing got less exasperated. His heart rocked less inside his chest. His tears dried as his widened eyes remained frozen on the figure before him. He glared at its mouth, as it opened to speak.

"Edward..." It whispered. So silently, so tender yet certain, just like the time when he had her by his side.

"... I am real."

The tears resurfaced, a mix of fear, hope and despair turned into quiet, then loud sobs, then muffled screams as Edward cried and curled up further under the bed, letting out years of frustration. Years of guilt as it made his chest hurt and his breathing to narrow. He couldn't hear her, who was sobbing on her own, as he drowned in the sorrows that leaked out of his weathered body like a dam that has been broken. Did he have her back? Could he really put a stop to this? He felt guilty. So guilty. Was that his fault? If he found her, would she have turned out like this? No, she wouldn’t. He knew she wouldn’t and that was why the tears wouldn’t stop. If the monster wanted to hurt him, Edward wouldn’t blame it, not even a little.

When he started to calm down, he didn't realize the creature was still there, in front of him, with tears gathered on its enlarged face. He regained his breath, steadily and gradually, refocusing his eyes on the grey blue irises. Her gaze softened, just like when she greeted him home after a tiring day, eyes inviting him for peaceful rest.

He needed that rest. More so than any other day.

"If I... If I move away, will you come out?"

She whispered so quietly Edward struggled to hear it. But it still sounded the same, that sweet, honeyed voice that said “I love you” with so much earnest and ease. But a part of him still doubted. His body still trembled under her alien gaze. Doubts echoed in his mind, and adrenaline pumped in his veins. If this was her, then how? Why? What kind of degenerate devil would do this to her?

But still, he wanted to believe... He did, but... He didn't want to die.

"Dear... If I wanted to hurt you, don't you think I'd already done so?"

There it was, her bolder side, the one that always made her win an argument, that scolded him sometimes but he always loved it when she did. The one that now made him snap out of it, and helped Edward realize that he didn't have any power in this situation from the very beginning. The creature was huge and could see him. Indeed, if it wanted it would have hurt him long ago. Edward repeated this in his head over and over until it was enough to clear his mind.

In a glimpse of calmness, he managed to speak in what was left of his hoarse voice. "Yes... You're right, honey." And she smiled. A relieved, sad smile, one that did not have any hope in it, but that was glad he at least spoke to her like a person. Like his wife. Even if it was only for a little bit.

She got up, the long claws visible for a second in Edward's field of vision. They recoiled towards the snake creature's chest as if it had touched a burning kettle, knowing he had seen its intimidating appendage. It shifted its body away and the scales glistened as it slithered towards the door. After a while, it stopped. The area in front of Edward was free to move now.

His heartbeat rocked louder. What if the moment he leaves it slices him open with those claws... – No. 'Snap out of it. Snap out of it.' he repeated in his head, recalling the events and the fact that if it was a predator after its prey, he was already too difficult to be bothered with. He would be fine, Edward assumed. He had to be.

And if all of that was a lie, then it was better that he died anyway, granting the sweet release of death instead of sinking into his madness.

Because if all that he saw this night was not real, then he really has gone mad.

Edward took a deep breath. One... Two... The snake creature remained still.

Three.

He scrambled away from the bed and sat up in a hurry, heaving like he had run a marathon. Eyes closed. Waiting for the inevitable.

It never came.

So he opened his eyes, coming face to face with the creature's scales stretching in the distance. His heart throbbed.

"I-it's okay, honey... You're doing great." She whispered, voice clogged by her own desire to break down into tears.

Edward took another deep breath. In… And out. No closing his eyes now. And slowly, he raised his head up, searching for the face of his beloved. Even if he was shaking from head to toe.

His eyes trailed up her body. Nervous and slim hands, covered by black scales, interlaced over her lap. The scales of her tail became thinner and thinner as he looked up, their color contrasting against the ivory skin of her human upper body. It was ashen, slim, the torso alone was as tall as he was. He looked to the chest concealed by her hair, mahogany and wavy, just like he remembered, although the strands were much longer and thicker than before. And finally, he reached it. The same sweet, tender face, looking down at him. The trembling lips struggled to show a reassuring smile, forcing her mouth shut in order to cover the fangs underneath it. Those elongated eyes, with thick eyelashes that fluttered, blinking away tears. The same straight nose. Those previously beautiful blue eyes, now a greyer shade and with pupils like a reptile's, yet with that human, longing glance, darting around Edward's face as she analyzed his every expression.

It was her. No doubt about that now.

Edward opened his mouth and closed it, struggling to form words. Thoughts spiraled inside his mind. Feelings of guilt, frustration, anger, indignation. Fear. Sorrow. Pain.

Yet hope. Above all it was hope.

Edward got up, not taking his eyes off hers.

That was no monster. It was, indeed, his wife.

"Oh, Cordelia, what have they done to you?"

His voice whispered, thick with sorrow. He looked up to see pools of tears splashing from Cordelia's face, a clear expression of relief. She sobbed, burying her face in her clawed hands, relieved that her husband called her by her name again. Relieved that he was here. Relieved that he didn't see her as a monster, at least for that moment. A piece of humanity she lost, a piece of her previous life that she missed, a piece of hope that was snatched away from her seven years ago and that she never thought she'd have again. It was returning for her.

He was returning for her.

Cordelia was surprised by a warm touch over her scaled lap. She wiped the tears from her eyes with the rough back of her hand, looking down with a gasp. Her husband was rubbing his hand over it, tiny and shaking, comforting her. An attempt to reach out.

"D-don't. They are hideous..." Tears flowed on her face.

‘Indeed, they were’, Edward thought. He never liked snakes, their scales always making his skin crawl whenever he found one in the farm. The feeling wasn't any different as he trailed his hands over her, goosebumps raised the hairs on his skin and he shuddered with each motion. Edward exhaled shakily. No matter how much he looked at it, even if everything felt unreal at the moment, he couldn’t deny who was in front of him.

"They are still you." He said.

Cordelia widened her eyes and Edward looked up at her with compassion on his face. Love, longing. They both yearned for that. For the same feeling to return to them. For the same life, that was so cruelly snatched away from them, to return as if nothing had gotten between them in the first place. Even if it was a pointless dream.

They fumbled awkwardly at what to do.

Edward wasn't sure how to proceed. His mind conjured images of him holding her tightly, back to her human form, like a dream manifesting. Yet the reality loomed over him and the long tail that filled his bedroom in multiple coils covered his skin with goosebumps, a knot tightening on his throat.

He looked up and confirmed it, Cordelia's unsure face was there. He’s not crazy. All of that was still her.

She looked away under his apprehensive gaze, turning deep red and ashamed of herself. Edward took a deep breath; she didn’t feel well and he needed to fix this. He looked down. Then looked up again.

"Can I hold you?"

The question took Cordelia aback. She backed away from him and widened her eyes. Her tail bumped on the cabinet and he twisted his neck towards the source of the sound, clearly flinching from the movement.

He was still terrified of her. Then, why...?

"You don't need to do this, Edward. You did great already –“

"No. I want to do this. If you're really you, I want to do this."

Cordelia looked down and saw Edward's determined face. Her heart broke silently inside her. Why he was so adamant in dealing with her, Cordelia didn't know. But gosh, if it wasn't for his fear and for her disgusting claws, she'd have held him close a long time ago. She missed it so much. How much she missed his strong embrace.

So she nodded, and he came closer.

Edward couldn't quite contain how much he was shaking. Couldn't contain his jolt when he touched her frigid skin, chills crawling down his spine. But despite this, he pushed on forward, kneeling over her scaled lap, glancing at how they shone even in the partial darkness. With silent fascination, Cordelia let her arms hover around him.

A moment hung between them.

And Edward latched onto her. He rested on her torso and enveloped his arms around her, as much as he could, as they barely reached her back. Cold. She was cold like a corpse. He rested his cheek against her stomach, shivering upon contact. Gosh, it was so cold. He wanted to pull away. He wanted to hold her closer. Cordelia didn't remember the last time she sensed so much warmth. She felt herself getting hot inside even when she thought she was not capable of feeling warm anymore. Edward snuggled closer to her chest, and she sighed, relishing in his contact. Gently, like she was cradling an injured bird, Cordelia enveloped her arms around him, careful not to hold him too tight or not to loom over him, either. Gosh, the way her arms completely engulfed him... She felt monstrous. Edward shrank upon contact and she started to let him go, fearing this was a bad decision, but the feeling of his hug getting tighter made her arms remain still.

They stayed like this for an amount of time, taking in each other’s presence. Edward heard his wife's strong heartbeat against him, which grounded him in his current predicament, but still... Maybe he'd blink and she'd be gone, or maybe something would finally reveal that he'd made all of that up. Cordelia's embrace got a little tighter, not in a way that was hurting him, but she shifted around and her shadow loomed over as she curled around him. Her arms closed the hug in, and his heart skipped a beat.

"I missed you." she croaked.

She leaned over Edward, pulling him closer. He sighed in sweet relief upon hearing her melodic voice, feeling exhaustion weighing down on him as his body relaxed. He sank in her gentle embrace, kissing the surface of the freezing cold skin.

"I missed you too, dear."

...

They were laying on their backs under the early morning light, on the floor of the same bedroom where everything happened. Cordelia's tail stretched way further outside the room, disappearing through the door. Edward rested on top of her, not after much insistence that he wrapped a warm blanket around him. He ran his fingers through her hair, dazed, letting the reality of the situation sink in. He wasn't exactly afraid now, but the memories of the night made his heart twist with a mix of dread and guilt. Edward needed to know. How bad was everything that happened to her? Too much happened, she was gone, and now he had her back. It felt unreal and too real at the same time. And yet, Edward needed answers. Maybe, just for a few minutes, he thought, they could stay like this, and pretend that nothing had happened, but he knew that curiosity would get the best of him. Cordelia looked down at her husband with tenderness, watching as he caressed her hair, as she avoided touching him with her claws. She noticed his pensive expression and frowned.

“Is something wrong?

Edward hesitated, looking for ways to phrase his question. "What happened that made you turn into this?" He asked finally, tone even, yet with seething rage building up inside his chest. "Who did this to you?"

Cordelia sighed, closing her eyes. All the memories surfaced in her head like a messy conjecture of disfigured images and sounds. She took a shuddering breath, and spoke.

"I regained memories of you first before I remembered my own name..."

#this was my attempt at suspense #giant/tiny #g/t #hope y'all like it!#I've got some goosebumps while writing this so I hope y'all get some too lol #coffeh writes #story #writing #sfw g/t #g/t story #g/t writing #oc: cordelia #oc: edward #g/t angst #g/t hurt and comfort #gtwac #wacprompts

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gt-jar · 2 months

Text

Two Worlds among the Stars

7. CHAPTER

<- previous | next ->

Word count: 4.125

The next time Noah woke up everything hurt. His entire body was aching. He was hoping it was just the consequence of his escape attempt yesterday, but his throat was just as sore as his muscles, and his head felt like he had run straight into a brick wall. There was no denying it, he was sick.

Great, that's exactly what he needed right now.

He lifted his head from his knees, only now noticing how stiff his neck was. Sleeping the entire night in a sitting position on a wooden table was definitely not one of his best ideas. But Noah was nothing, if not stubborn. And he had gotten his message across last night, so it was worth it. Maybe it finally went through the man's thick skull that he could shove his hypocrisy somewhere else. Speaking of which, where was that guy?

One look around showed that the giant wasn't sleeping in his bed anymore, Noah couldn't hear him either, which meant he wasn't nearby.

Just like that his morning felt a tiny bit less horrible.

Hopefully he would be gone for a while, Noah certainly wasn't in the mood for any talking, and with how great things were going for him at the moment the man surely was going to say something like “deserves you right for running away” or “it's your own fault that you're sick now”.

Not that he would be wrong. Just thinking about yesterday sent shivers down his back. All things considered, he was pretty lucky that he got off lightly with just a cold. Things could have ended a lot worse. But the last thing he needed right now was a lecture. His head was killing him already and he would like to avoid making it worse.

Noah let his head drop on his knees and closed his eyes again, maybe his headache would lessen like this. The position may be extremely uncomfortable, and he sure as hell wasn't doing his neck a favor, but it wasn't like he had better options right now. With the giant gone he was stuck on the table after all.

He still very much preferred the current peace over getting to the pillow on the man's nightstand. At least that's what he told himself.

He must have fallen asleep again, because the next thing he knew was that he woke up to a snapping sound. Noah forced his eyes to open, and sure enough the giant was snapping his fingers in front of his face. Why couldn't he just leave him alone?

“You okay, kid?” he asked with a furrowed brow.

“Sure, why wouldn't I be?” Noah answered, his voice involuntary taking on a defensive tone. Sure, he felt even worse than before, but that didn't mean he wanted to rub it in the man's face. If Noah was smart about it, the man wouldn't even notice that he was sick. Miss Harris never did either.

John didn't look convinced though. But as long as he would drop the matter, Noah didn't really care. He didn't have to believe him, Noah just wanted him to stop bothering him. Just until he felt better. Was that really too much to ask for?

“If you say so,” the man said.

He still eyed him suspiciously, but took a seat, so Noah counted it as a win, “how about some breakfast then? I'm sure you're hungry.”

Just like yesterday he prepared a plate with bread and jelly for the teen, pushing it half way between them. Noah already knew what was coming next and gritted his teeth in frustration.

“If you can sit with me to fool me, you can do it today as well,” he tapped his finger beside the plate, prompting him to come closer, “And remember, I'm not taking ‘no’ for an answer.”

Noah flexed his fingers, pretty much everything else felt sore. He braced his hands on the table, before pushing himself up. Just standing up made him dizzy, but he pushed through it. His legs felt so weak, like they had no bones in them to support his weight. He made his way over to the food, every step was exhausting him further. Noah just prayed that the man would leave him alone after this. Unfortunately, the spinning in his head only got worse, everything was starting to blurry. He had no control over his body and before he knew it he was falling towards the table.

Before he could hit the hard surface though, a pair of large hands caught him. His arms and legs were swinging and kicking, trying to find out where up and down was. He tensed when something cold touched his head. He realized that John's thumb was pressing against his forehead, and that's when he heard a hiss from above.

“When exactly were you going to tell me that you have a fever?” The man didn't sound too happy about the fact that Noah had tried to hide his sickness from him. Noah didn't understand why it was such a deal though.

“Why would I? It's just a fever. It's not like I haven't dealt with those on my own before. I can take care of myself.”

Noah swore the man looked like he wanted to say something, but decided against it.

Good for him.

Instead he huffed, and pulled him close as he walked over to his bed. As Noah was cradled against John's chest he realized just how cold he was.

Damn fever.

The desire to lean into the warmth the man's body was providing was almost unbearable. That guy was basically a living furnace! Thankfully, before he could do something really stupid, he was placed on the pillow that served as his bed.

Then John placed the plate with his breakfast and a thimble filled with water beside him on the nightstand.

“Get some sleep while I'm gone, and please do me a favor and try to eat something. I'll be back soon” After that he walked out the cave, probably to “work” as he called it.

For once Noah was too weak to argue and lied back down. John finally left him alone. That's what he had wanted after all.

Right?

John ended his patrol earlier than usual. There was no need to drag this out, after the show he pulled off, John doubted there would be any trespassers any time soon. And besides, he wasn't truly focused on his work anyway. His thoughts were somewhere else, worry clouding his mind, distracting him. To go home was an easy decision, the kid's well being was more important than his patrol right now.

When he got home, Noah was fast asleep, his breathing shallow and uneven. His blanket had slipped down a little in his sleep, so John pinched the hem between his fingers and pulled it up to Noah's chin again, carefully tucking the blanket around his shoulders. From the looks of it, the kid hadn't touched his food. Nor the water.

This wasn't good.

Neither of them had eaten last night, which meant the kid had skipped two meals already. John may not know much about humans, but this couldn't be healthy. Noah was already awfully light, even for a human, barely weighing anything to him. He needed to eat. And even John knew that it was important to drink enough fluids, when you were running a fever.

Ever since the village incident, John kept messing up. First losing his temper, and now the kid was sick, which was partly his fault. As if their situation wasn't bad enough as it was already. He could have avoided this, if he just made sure that Noah had properly dried himself off last night, instead of giving him a lecture. That could have easily waited until the next morning. John sighed, there was no point in dwelling on things that couldn't be undone, he needed to focus on the important things. Right now the kid needed his help, no matter what he claimed. And John was determined not to mess things up this time.

But who was he kidding, how could he not mess this up? He had no idea how to take care of a sick child, let alone a human child! He himself rarely got sick. What was he supposed to do? What if he accidentally made it worse? Okay no, overthinking wouldn't help Noah. Right now the kid was sleeping, which was probably good. Rest was good. What else? Right, basic needs. Noah still needed to eat.

John tried to remember what his mom used to cook, when he and his sister were sick. She always made them something that was easy on the stomach and didn't require much chewing. So he started to make soup.

The moment he wanted to throw the cut vegetables in the pot, a coughing fit startled him.

When he looked over his shoulder, Noah was sitting up, his body hunched over and cramped up. Coughs rattling his entire body. This probably was more than just painful to watch. John walked over to his nightstand and kneeled down beside it. His intention was to rub Noah's back to help him through his coughing fit, but when his fingers as much as brushed his back, the kid recoiled from contact as if his fingers had burned him. The boy sent him the nastiest glare John had seen in all their time together. He put his hands up to show that he meant no harm. Not that it had worked the last times he had tried to convince the kid that there was no need to be afraid. But hey! At least the coughing had stopped.

“Would you drop the act already?!”

John, for the first time truly oblivious to what the kid meant, asked, “What act?”

“Don't play dumb with me! You know exactly what I'm talking about! Stop pretending to be so nice!”

“What makes you think I’m pretending to be nice?”

“Oh, let me think. First of all, you have been terrorizing my village for fucking ages. And did you forget that I saw how you acted back at my village? How you threatened us. And now you want me to believe that you're a good guy? I don't know what you're hoping to achieve with this, but it won't work. So stop it.”

Well, the kid had a point.

John debated his next words. If he wanted the kid to believe him, when he said he didn't need to be afraid, he had to tell him the truth. Hopefully he won't regret his decision later.

“Okay, you got me, I was pretending,” before Noah could say anything about being right, John continued, “but I'm not pretending right now. I'm gonna be honest with you, this whole… big bad giant thing, how I acted at your village, that was just an act.” Noah made no move to Interrupt him, which he took as a good sign.

“I know you probably don’t believe me, but you're a smart boy. You probably figured out already that I'm just a normal guy. Except for my size there is nothing really special about me. And you're old enough to know that I didn't just… poof into existence.

I’m not the only giant. I have family. Friends. There’re a lot of other giants out there. And all these tales about us, that humans spread over the years, they are just a scheme to scare you off. We’re not blood-thirsty monsters, but… we pretend that we are, because it's the only thing that keeps us safe from you-”

“Safe? From us? You're kidding, right? What on earth could someone my size possibly do to threaten a fucking giant?” Noah barked.

“Kid, where do you think I got these from?” He pointed at his scars, “One human may not be able to do much damage, but numbers can make a big difference. And humans, who think their lives are at risk, are not known for their great decision making. You experienced that first-hand.”

“I'm sorry you got dragged into this. I truly am. I wasn't thinking when I took you with me, but I had to play along. I'm just trying to protect my kind.” John said, hoping Noah would understand.

“I'm not asking you to trust me and I'm not trying to gain anything from this, but please let me help you, at least until you're feeling better. You're more than welcome to go back to hating me after that. Just-”

“Could you just leave me alone?” Noah grumbled, no longer looking at him.

John sighed and stood up. This went as well as expected. But he knew he wouldn't achieve anything by force. All he could do was give Noah the time and space he needed and hope for the best.

Not much later, the soup was ready. John took a spoon and tasted it. It was not as good as he remembered it, but it was pretty decent, if you asked him. His mom would be impressed.

He went back to his nightstand to get Noah, who was asleep once again. John couldn't help but frown. The kid looked even smaller, curled up under the blanket like this.

So fragile.

Like he could actually break, if John wasn't careful. Instead of waking him up or picking him up, he carefully slid his hands under the pillow and carried it with Noah on top over to the table, where his meal already waited for him. The poor kid wasn't even aware of it.

Now came the hard part.

John sat down and gently nudged Noah's shoulder with his knuckle. Noah stirred a little but didn't wake up.

“Time to wake up, kid,” he whispered and nudged the kid again.

Thankfully, the boy's baby blue eyes finally blinked open. They were all glazed over, a far cry from the sharp gaze the kid usually had. It made something inside John's chest squeeze.

“Hey, I made you soup,” John said in a hushed tone.

“Not hungry” Noah mumbled and wanted to roll over, but John couldn't let him do that.

“Hey, none of that, you need to eat, if you wanna get better.”

John slipped his hand under Noah's back and guided him into a sitting position. He didn't pull his hand away though, the man doubted that the boy had enough strength to sit up on his own, with the way he was leaning against his palm.

“Work with me here, kid. Just a few spoons and then you can go back to sleep,” John scooped up some broth with his other hand and brought the spoon to Noah's lips. But all Noah did was turn his head away. John wondered if the boy was just trying to be difficult or if it was really this bad.

“Noah, you need to eat. Please,” John subconsciously started to rub Noah's shoulder with his thumb.

“And then you'll leave me alone?” At this moment Noah looked so much younger than fifteen. With his bleary eyes and frail voice. If John hadn't been worried before, he definitely would be now.

“Yeah, promise.” John gave him what he hoped was a reassuring smile. After another moment of hesitation, Noah finally opened his mouth.

“There we go,” John murmured, being visibly relieved about finally getting the kid to eat something. The process continued for a few minutes, with John whispering soft praises. He was able to feed Noah a few spoons, before the boy stopped to open his mouth, signaling that he had enough. He didn't eat much, but it was better than nothing. A few drops of broth dribbled down Noah's chin and John used the pad of his thumb to gently whip it away. The boy didn't even try to bat it away. At this point the poor kid could barely keep his eyes open.

John slowly lowered his hand down onto the pillow and pulled it out underneath Noah's back. As soon as his head hit the pillow the boy was out like a light again.

The man tucked him back in and let him sleep. Sleeping was probably the best for him right now. John debated on carrying the kid back to the nightstand, but decided against it. This way he could keep a better eye on the kid.

While Noah slept, John spent the rest of the day working on his newest little project, glancing over to where the human was laying from time to time. The piece of wood slowly but surely shaping into what he had in mind. Sure, he could be more productive, but John didn't have the heart to leave the sick child alone. He wanted to be nearby just in case he needed something, when he woke up.

He knew that it was very unlikely, but it was a possibility.

John had thought the silence would be a welcomed change, but it had the exact opposite effect. It filled him with dread. He would prefer it, if Noah kept insulting and glaring at him, if that meant the kid was feeling better. Seeing Noah being so still made him uneasy.

He glanced over again and saw that the kid was silently watching him, his eyes half-lidded, but awake nonetheless.

“Hey there, sleepy head. That cold took its toll on you, huh?” John looked at him with a sad smile.

“Been worse,” Noah said even though that was a complete and utter lie, he couldn't remember the last time he felt this awful.

He flinched when the man reached for him and placed his thumb on his forehead to feel his temperature again.

“Shh, I'm just checking.”

Maybe John was just imagining things, but to him it seemed like Noah was warmer than this morning. No wonder he was sleeping so much.

The man didn't pull his hand back right away. Instead he brushed his thumb over Noah's head a few times, almost tenderly stroking the hair out of his face. “See, everything is okay.”

Against Noah's will his eyes started to water, so he closed them. He couldn't remember the last time someone touched his head not to strike him. The gentle strokes felt so… good. Almost soothing his headache away. He could fall asleep like this.

But then the comforting touch was gone again.

Noah blamed his current state for wanting it back. How childish of him to even think such a thing. The fever was starting to mess with his head. Noah hoped this wouldn't last long.

“You can say it, y'know?” The boy rolled onto his back, so he didn't have to see John's face.

“Say what?”

“That it deserves me right for running away.” Noah just wanted to get this conversation out of the way.

There was a pause, then a sigh.

“Noah, believe it or not, but I don't enjoy seeing you like this. I really do want to help you. Here how about this, what would you usually do when you're sick?

“Working,” Noah answered dryly.

“You're kidding, right?” Noah's dead-pan expression told him otherwise.

“But didn't you say you're fifteen? I know I'm not a human expert, but I'm sure children aren't supposed to work.”

Noah scoffed at that.

“So? Money was always tight at the orphanage. And Miss Harris used to say, if I wasn't gonna be adopted, I could at least make myself useful.”

“Why would she say that?” The man asked quietly. Softly.

Noah let out a humorless laugh “Who would want a brat like me?” He almost wanted to turn his head to see the man's face, but decided it wasn't worth it. Then he added in a much softer voice, “And besides… I’m too old to be adopted anyway. People want the little kids, y’know the cute ones.” And with that he rolled over, signaling that their conversation was over.

Later that night, John was still sitting at the table, watching over Noah. Usually he went to bed relatively early, but worry kept him wide awake. His assumption had been correct. Noah's fever got worse. Through the day he had been drifting in and out of consciousness. Right now it seemed like he had settled in for the night, although it looked far from a peaceful slumber. The boy was curled up into a little ball and his brow was knitted in discomfort.

But that wasn't what had John worried.

In addition to the fever, Noah had started to have chills around noon, shivering under his blanket like a withered leaf in the wind, even after John had put more wood into the fire. It even seemed like the shivering just got worse the more time went by. John was running out of ideas. He couldn't just go to bed and leave the kid like this. Then an idea crossed his mind. Maybe it was stupid, but it couldn't hurt to try.

John gently rubbed Noah's shoulder to see if he would wake up. Luckily, the kid remained asleep. John took a breath and carefully scooped Noah up in his hand, who was not happy about being disturbed and the loss of his blanket. The kid started to stir, a quiet whimper escaping him. John quickly shushed him, silently praying that Noah wouldn't wake up. “Shh, I know, I know. Just sleep, everything is okay.” Thankfully that seemed to work and Noah settled down again. John just hoped it stayed that way, because there was no way the kid would let him do this if he was awake.

John placed the boy in the crook of his arm, if the fire wasn't working, maybe body heat would. Just when he pulled his hand away, Noah's face scrunched up. John wanted to kick himself for thinking this would work, an excuse already forming on his lips, but to John's surprise Noah didn't wake up.

No, quite the opposite actually. He rolled over, now facing John's torso, and curled up. John didn't dare to move. Or breath. He let a few moments pass to see if the kid really wasn't going to wake up. But even after several minutes Noah remained asleep.

This was… unexpected.

Unfortunately, the kid was still shivering. But maybe if he…? John knew he was pushing his luck, but still lowered his hand again, cupping it behind Noah's back, providing warmth from both sides. Absent-mindedly John started to stroke his thumb over Noah's back. Soon the shivering stopped and for the first time Noah's body seemed to relax, his troubled expression slowly melting away, and turning into something softer, still not fully relaxed but much more at ease.

It was hard to believe that this boy was the same one that had yelled at him yesterday. The boy had never let his guard down. Always ready to fight or flight. Always on alert. It made John's heart sink, that this was the only time the kid was this calm around him.

It was easy to forget just how young Noah was. But right now you could see past the mask he was wearing. With him being sick and John holding him like this. The man being well aware that he was holding Noah in a way someone would hold a child much younger than him.

He was just a kid. A kid that went through a lot already.

There was this tight feeling inside his chest again, but he ignored it.

Just when John wanted to relax now that the shivering had stopped, the kid began to move again.

The man, already fearing the worst, prepared himself to be cussed out.

Imagine his surprise when all the kid did was nestle closer to him, burying himself deeper into the warmth. And to top it off he grabbed his shirt in a loose fist and let out a content little sigh.

For a moment everything stilled.

John couldn't believe that really just happened. The kid was seriously snuggling up to him, even if it was just to seek warmth. Or maybe there was more to it.

But now was not the time to think about it.

Instead John went back to stroking Noah's back, while his shocked face turned into a fond smile. Under different circumstances he would consider this the most adorable thing he has seen in his entire life. But he knew if it weren't for Noah's bad state of health, this would have never happened. The kid still hated his guts.

And yet…

“And you say you're not cute,” John chuckled quietly, shaking his head.

The man leaned back in his chair, making himself more comfortable. Looks like he was going to sit here a little longer.

Though, John found that he didn't really mind.

Taglist: @da3dm @himbogiants @coffehbeans @mehs-mini-magic

#giant/tiny #g/t #g/t community #g/t writing #OC: Noah #OC: John #my-writing-jar #parental g/t #gtwac #gtwac day 21 #if i don't get any comments i'm gonna cry /hj

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